Divine meditations upon several subjects whereunto is annexed Gods love and man's unworthiness, with several divine ejaculations / written by John Quarles.

A DIALOGUE Between the Soul and Satan.

Sat.

SOul, th'art well met. Soul. 'Tis true, for I am well.

Sat.

Say, whither art thou going? Soul. Not to Hell.

Sa.

Pish, talk no more of that, but tel me whither Thou go, st.; come, prithee let's go both together.

Soul.

A pretty motion; when I want a guide I'le send for thee, till then thou art deny'd To be my Usher.

Sat.

Prethee tell me why Thou art so obstinate, as to deny

So free a courtesie as I have shown; Mischance oft falls to them that walk alone; Be not so much a verse as to neglect This opportunity; I can protect Thy feet from sliding; dangers still attend Those that despise the favors of a friend.

Sou.

A friend! how canst thou prove that title?

Sat.

How? As thus; because I'm willing to allow The best assistance of my ready arm To guide, nay and protect thee from all harm; Therefore a friend. So. What you pretend to show Is but external; he that can bestow Internal friendship on a Soul distress'd Is a true friend; no matter for the rest. If Heav'n will guide my Soul I shal not stray, Or fear the evils of a dangerous way: But as for you, I needs must borrow leave To say, your friendship's onely to deceive; Con••••••ion paths your ways, and if I run By your advise, Ineeds must be undone. God bids me fly from sin if I refuse Obedience to his will, I shall abuse His just commands; then will my sorrows cry, When Mercy stops, Judgment begins to fly.

Sat.

Desist (fond Soul) and labor to divorce Thy lips from this too fabulous discourse;

Guild not thy words with vanity, perswade These thoughts (which are erroneous) to evade Thy serious mind; advise and thou shalt see My ways are best, be principl'd by me; Let not the swing of passion strike thee down, But follow me, 'tis I must give a Crown To thy deserts, 'tis I that can advance Thy down-cast Soul above the reach of chance; 'Tis I (mistaken Soul) 'tis I alone That must conduct thee to the sublime throne Of true Salvation; 'tis my hand must bring Thy trembling Soul before th'all-judging King Of Heaven and Earth; it is my power can fill Thy heart with joy; believe me, and I will. Trust not the babling languages of those That seem thy friends, but are thy greatest foes; They'r great to thy destruction, they'l connive stories And fawn, nay almost bury thee alive; They'l talk of Heavn and Hell, they'l tell thee Of endless, boundless, unconceived glories; They'l tell thee of Eternity, and woo Thy Soul out of thy ears, if thou 'lt bestow Thy pains to hear them; they'l infuse, and brew Their own designs, and tell thee all is true That they declare; they'l tell thee that they're sent As Messengers from Heav'ns high Parliament.

Believe me Soul, 'tis I that can display The Gospels Colours better far than they; There's nothing in that Volume so abstruse, But I can winde and twist it to my use: And there is nothing in this world can be Stil'd worth a Work, but can be done by me: I can do all, it lies within my power To make thee poor or rich in half an hour: I can command whole Legions to attend Upon my honor: Say, what nobler friend Canst thou embrace? I'le be a friend to all That will give audience to my faithful call; I'le make them swell with riches, they shall have As much, nay if not more, than they can crave: Am I not rare, and rich, and high, and great, Incomprehensible? Is not my seat The throne of happiness? Yet cannot I Invite thee to my sweet eternity? Come gentle Soul, into my twining arms, I'le hug thee, I'le delight thee with my charms, I'le shew thee all my Joys, nothing shall lie Hid from the view of thy all gazing eye: Happy, beyond expression. Soul. Satan, slay The Progress of thy tongue, and give me way, That I may vent my thoughts, for you have spoke At large already; and is this the stroke

Which you intend shall wound me? Be assur'd, The blow's but small, and well may be endur'd.

Sat.

What, mov'd to passion! Is thy mind disturb'd With foul mistrust? pray let those thoughts be curb'd; What, dost thou think I am perfidious? Fie; 'Tis folly to condemn before you try. Alas, alas! what profit can accrue To me by wronging such a Soul as you? What I express is onely for your good, But what is more than grave advice withstood? I doubt these weak, these empty thoughts presage A tempest, guarded with a storm of rage: Well then, storm on, and when thy storm is spent, Sit down and meditate, and then repent. Soul. Repent, Oh happy word! although exprest By a foul mouth; those that repent are blest. How dare thy hellish lips usurp a word Fill'd with divinity, but will afford No rest, no comfort, to thy horrid Soul? Be gone, be gone; and if thou canst condole Thy self, thou art (if Logick prove but true) Curst in the Major, and the Minor too. Bless me, ô heav'n: what blust'ring stormy weather Drove such a vile prodigious Monster hither? Touch-stone of baseness, dost thou come to prove Whether I'm gold, or dross? thou mayst remove

Thy forward hopes, because I hope to be Metal at last for Heav'n, and not for thee. Be gone, fallacious wretch, I cannot brook Thy golden baits, I have descry'd thy hook: Father of Lyes, thy policy is built Upon the sands, and plaister'd o're with guilt: Thy tongue foretells a storm; if so, be sure Thy sand-built policy shall not endure: Flattery's the life of baseness, and that Art Is well imprinted in thy subtile heart: Dost thou believe that I can entertain Belief from thee? Or dost thou think to reign Within my brest? No, no; thy cloudy powers Are at the best but falsifying showers: Be satisfi▪d, I cannot give the least Of credit to thee, nor I dare not feast My thoughts with such uncertainties; I know Thy dyet must and will corrupt to woe. Thou bidst me not condemn, before I make Some tryal of thy trust; If I should take Such green advice, I quickly should undo My wretched self; and in condemning you What profit could I have; or what relief Could I epect to mitigate my grief, My accusations would be blown as dust Before the wind; I'le neither try, nor trust.

Sat.

Nor try, nor trust? Art thou resolv'd to cross My real motions? Do, and see whose loss Will prove most weighty; if I lose the heat Of thy weak love, my loss will not be great, But if I should withdraw my love from thee, How like a Map of well-drawn misery Wouldst thou appear? be wise, corect thy thoughts Neglected favors prove the greatest faults. Take my instructions, for 'tis I must bring Content unto thee; 'tis a glorious thing To be immortal: prethee Soul decline Thy former ways; say shall I call thee mine? Mine, mine thou art; I'le load thee with renown; Let me but conquer, thou shalt wear the Crown. How pleasing are my joys! how full of peace Are all my ways! my glories still increase: I'm great and good, I take delight to win Distressed Souls, and lead them from their sin; I cannot chuse but pity those that lye Vpon the beds of sensuality; My melting Soul is always free to give Comfort to them that study how to live. Alas, the care and trouble that I take Is more for their content, than my own sake: My gates are always open, they that venture To come to me shall (with a welcom) enter;

And when they call, and cry, I will appear My self unto them, and rejoyce to hear Their sad complaints; I will not hide my face From them that seek the glory of my grace: I cannot be unconstant; I must grieve To hear their sorrows, and I will relieve. I will be pitiful to them that trust In me alone, I cannot be unjust; I cannot, no I cannot; Earth shall move Sooner than I will falsifie my love: I am eternal; they that will endeavor To gain my love, shall have my heart for ever.

Soul.

'Tis not your empty words shall make my brest Stoop to the flatt'ry of thy vain request; Though I have ears to hear, I have a mind That will not shake at the hard-breathing wind Of your discourse; what you pretend for reason Is nothing but the froth of private treason: 'Tis not your multiloquious tongue can turn The Biass of my Soul, or make me spurn At Holy Writ; 'tis not your fond conceit Of being good, shall make me to retreat From Heav'ns Commands; 'tis not your promis'd joys Can make me chearful; or your painted toys Can lure me to your fist; 'tis not the dart Of your vain love can penetrate my heart;

'Tis not your seeming clemency can make My Soul to love you, for your Pities sake; 'Tis not your always-open gates that shall Entice my steps to your large Guilded Hall; 'Tis not your self-appearance shall invite My well-composed thoughts to your delight; 'Tis not your greatness that shall make me yield To your desires; Religion is my shield: Ile neither fear nor love your rash evasions, Nor give attendance to your smooth perswasions: 'Nis difficult to serve two Masters well; Who strays from Heav'n, must needs approach to Hell. I am advis'd to shun the broad-path'd ways That lead to ruine; what the Scripture says I must believe; 'tis dangerous to fly Without the wings of true Divinity: The Scriptures are my way, my light, my guide, And they that go without them needs must slide: The paths are strait in which I ought to run The course of grace, until my days are done; And they that change a Vertue for a Vice, Deserve no fruit from Heav'ns blest Paradise.

Sat.

Surcease those fond conceits, thou dost but spin Thine own destruction, and connive at sin: Urge not the Scriptures, for I dare maintain My paths are best, and other ways are vain:

Thy Scripture-conscience will at last confound Th' amazed thoughts, and give thy Soul a wound That hates a cure, then shalt thou prove unblest, Whilst others find the plainest Road's the best. Suppose thou wert (I speak it for thy sake) Mov'd by occasions, forc'd to undertake A long-way'd journey, wouldst thou not enquire The readiest way, but run into the mire? If thou shouldst act a crime so fouly bad, Folly would style thee fool, and Wisdom mad. Stray not into the Wilderness of grief, But come to me, take courage and be brief In thy designs; perswade thy self, that I Am both thy light, thy way, and best supply In time of need; I am thy prop, thy stay; Therefore resolve, and trifle not away Thy thriftless Soul; be not thy self destroyer; I'le be thy Love, and thou my Loves enjoyer: Know that my real brest contrives no end, But what may merit so divine a friend As thine own self: folly and wisdom lies Before thy face; be either fool, or wise: Protract no time, but make a speedy choice, Thy welfare shall instruct me to rejoyce; Observe my actions, pry it to my parts, Let's know each other by exchange of hearts;

I'le give thee mine, and for my love restore Thine unto me; grant this, Ile ask no more. Be free to give, as I am free to crave; Th'adst better live my friend, than die my slave: For if thou shalt deny what I desire, I'le make my bellows to advance the fire Of thy distress, and sorrows shall corrode Thy stubborn heart, and care shall make abode Within thy brest; perpetuated grief Shall find a voice, but ramble from relief. I'le gripe thee, till I make thee understand The fiery language of my furious hand: Sighings, and groanings, sobs, and rears, and cries Shall be thy sad Concomitants; thine eyes Shall stare upon (well may I call them new And horrid) Lights, such Lights as shall renew Thy growing torments; every thing shal be Thy fellow-slaves in servile miserie: I'le yoke thee with distress, nay, and I'le chain Thy struggling Soul with everlasting pain; I'le crow'd thee full of sorrows, and I'le double Thy unconceived, uncontrouled trouble, Whilst I, triumphing I, will sit aloft, And be ador'd, and scoff to see thee scoft: Pity shal be a stranger to my brest; My care shal be to make thy Soul unblest;

The tydes of woe shall overflow thy thoughts, And be equivalent unto thy faults; Be sure, that what extremity can be Thought worth the using, shall be us'd on thee: Now I have spoke, if thou wilt not repent, I'le cease to speak, and study to torment.

Sou.

How full of poyson's every word that flows Out of thy mouth? what trust can I repose In such a flatterrer? I dare not try, Or throw my self upon thy courtesie: I know thou canst not answer my request; There is no truth in a self-praising brest. If I should dive into the deep abyss Of thy black thoughts, what glory, or what bliss Should I discern? Or if I should deliver My heart to thee, thou'dst disrespect the giver; Though at the first perhaps thou wouldst express A seeming-unbeseeming thankfulness, Yet at the last I know thou would decline Thy promis'd ways, and style me to be thine. Fair words find eafie passage, they proceed But from the tongue, th'event stil crowns the deed Three things denote a friend; first to conceal A secret speech; the next is to reveal A private good; the ••ast, is to advise The safest way t' obtain an enterprise

And he that can do this, as you pretend, Deserves the title of a real friend: But my Religion tutors me to say, (Nay and affirm,) You neither can, nor may; I'm sure it is (if reason dare prove true) One thing to speak, another thing to do. Your words are ayry messengers, which fly Into my ears, and there enroul a Lye; Many untruths have broken the common Goal Of thy foul mouth; thou sayst thon canst prevail To make me glorious, aud thou canst encrease My joys, and crown me with eternal peace: Thou sayst th'art good and great, & that thy paths Lead to Salvation; thou declar'st thy Laws To be most just; if all these things be true, I needs must call the Scriptures false, or you; Truth bids me tell thee boldly, when thou cry'st Th'art great, and good, and rich, and rare, thou lyst: If thou art good, and great, pray tell me why Thou wilt behold so vile a wretch as I? These things bespeak thee humble, unto which Thou plead'st not guilty; and if thou art rich, How can it be, that thou wilt condescend To feed my wants, that am so poor a friend? Strange is that charity, which seems to shine From such a diabolick brest as thine.

If my belief could keep an equal pace With my swift tongue, how ful of Faith & Grace Should I appear? Such Faith as would devast My wanton Soul, and make mee weep as fast It is impossible to find a Sion That has no Governor, except a Lyon.

The Souls Petition to God.

Oh Heav'n, I crave that thou wouldst keep me stil From this most vile Progenitor of Ill: Suffer him not t'infold me in his arms, Or overcome me with his wanton charms; Oh make my heart obdure that he may knock Upon my Soul, as on a marble Rock; Be thou my Fort, and then I shall endure His furious On sets, and repose secure; Give me thy Grace, that I may be content; Make me as strong, as he is impudent. Now let the spring-tyde of thy fierce desires Flow to the height, thou shalt not quench my fires Know Satan, know, my heart reserves no place For thy abode, I scorn thee to thy face; The well-dy'd colours of my Soul declares Defiance to thee, and my brest prepares To give thee battle; strike, I rear thee not; Who's arm'd with Faith, needs fear no Cannon sho

Sat.

What impious tongue is that which dares defie My power with so much boldnes?

So.

Wretch, 'tis I; 'Tis I (infernal Traytor) that will spend My strength to prove thou art flatt'ring feind.

Sat.

Move me to anger, do, and thou shalt find A courteous friend at last may prove unkind: Have I not woo'd thee almost night and day To goe to Heaven?

Sou.

The quite contrary way.

Sat.

Have I not labour'd like a watchful father To nourish thee?

Sou.

Or like a Devil rather.

Sat.

Have I not always taken great delight?

Sou.

To take away good gold, and give me light.

Sat.

How much nocturnal and diurnal care Have I sustain'd for thee?

Sou.

True, t'insnare.

Sat.

Have I not been assiduous to await Upon thy pleasure?

Sou.

and corrupt my state.

Sat.

Have I not proffer'd all that can be given To a sick Soul?

Sou.

To drive my Soul from Heaven

San.

Did I not promise to be true and just?

Sou.

Did I not say, I'de neither try nor trust?

Sat.

Did I not promise that I'de make thee wise?

Sou.

Did I not say thou wert compos'd of lies?

Sat.

Did I not promise to encrease thy store?

So.

Did I not say such wealth would make me poor

Sat.

Did I not promise to advance thy fame?

Sou.

Did I not say thy honors were thy shame?

Sat.

Did I not promise to uphold thy peace?

Sou.

Did I not say such wars would never cease?

Sat.

Did I not promise thee a Crown of life?

Sou.

Did I not say that Crown would Crown my

Sat.

Did I not promise thee eternal glory? (strife?

Sou.

Did I not say that promise was a story?

Sat.

Did I not promise I would give thee all?

Sou.

Did I not say such promises were small?

Sat

Did I not tell thee I was great and good?

Sou.

Did I not answer 'twas in shedding blood?

Sat.

Did I not tell thee that my ways were best?

Sou.

Did I not answer that they were unblest?

Sat.

Did I not tel thee that thou shouldst have joy?

Sou.

Did I not answer such as would destroy?

Sat.

Did I not tell thee that I did lament?

Sou.

Did I not answer that I was content?

Sat.

Did I not tell thee what a friend I'd prove?

Sou.

Did I not answer that I could not love?

Sat.

Thus by fair terms I labour'd to obtain,

Sou.

Thus in foul terms I told thee 'twas in vain.

Sat.

Then I began to threaten thee with grief,

Sou.

And then I fled to Heav'n, and found relief.

Sat.

I threatened to afflict thee with large pains,

Sou.

I told thee such afflictions were my gains.

Sat.

I told thee more than now I will express,

Sou.

My answers made thee wish I had spoke less.

Sat.

But now I see my real words can find No rest within the Center of thy mind; For 'tis in vain to sow the seeds of life In a dead heart that is manur'd with strife: I'le therefore cease my importuning love, I'le shew my Serpent, and keep close my Dove. Do, do thy worst, vile wretch, Ile make thee know Griefs abstract, and the quintessence of woe; I'le load thee with extremities, thy brest Shall always crave, but find no place of rest: Had but my grave advice receiv'd a place Within thy heart, thou hadst been fil'd with grace; But now the inundations of thy trouble Shall overflow thee, and I will redouble My new-contrived plagues; I'le make thee feel My melting heart is now transform'd to steel: Thy tongue shall (like a bolt of thunder) roul And roar within thy mouth; thy sulphurous Soul Shall flash forth lightning, and thy blood-red eyes Shall blaze like Comets in the troubled Skies: Thy teeth shall gnash, as if they scorn'd to be Concomitants in so much misery; Oh how I'le carbonado every part, And fill thy body with increasing smart; Thy Soul shall lure for death, but that shall hate To pierch upon thee, and contemn thy state:

Life shall be still incroaching, but thy breath Shall scorn that life, and hate it unto death; Thy flesh shall drop forth brimston, and thy bones Shall court each other in their crackling tones; Horror shall be thy watchman, curses shall Possess thy rongue, one torment still shall call Upon another; when thy voice shall cry But for a drop; Confusion shall reply, No, no, thou shalt not, if a golden Myne Could buy a drop, that drop should not be thine: Then shalt thou say, if thou hadst been at first Advis'd by me, thou hadst not been accurst: Thus in this sad Dilemma shalt thou roar, And crave my succour, but I'le not deplore Thy woful state, because thou wert averse To goodness, after folly comes a curse: Then shalt thou know and find I will exile All thoughts of pity, and I'le rather smile Than grieve at thy distress; ah know 'tis bard To force an entrance where the gates are bar'd: Fond Soul, be serious, let thy thoughts reflect On my indulgency, and give respect Unto my clemency; believe I will Be good to thee, do but forsake thy ill; Forsake, forsake that evil which will turn To thy destruction; do not, do not burn

The precious fuel of thy chaste desires In idle, wanton, all-consuming fires, The post of time is swift, and knows no stay; 'Tis time to go when Reason calls away: Protraction's dangerous; it is not good To strive with that which scorns to be withstood. Then do not thou procrastinate, but take This opportunity, do but forsake Thy former ways, and readily incline Thy self to me, and I will make thee shine With so much lustre, that all eyes shall gaze Upon thy brightness, and admire with praise: Oh may my language reach thee too believe, That so my torments may not make thee grieve In utter darkness, that thou mayst imbrace Those glories, which adorn my peaceful place: Repent, (dear Soul) repent what thou hast done, Then call me Father, and I'le love my son: Thus having told thee all, I'le here desist; Be thou more apt to yield than to resist.

Sou.

I find, I find you first in flict a wound, And then with balsome strive to make it sound: You make me smile at first, but after groan; One hand incloses bread, the other stone; I fain would take the bread, but that I stand In fear and danger of the stony hand:

Therefore, to shun all danger, I'le despise Your fond advice, and practise to be wise: If all should prove, that you have told me, true, I know the best and worst that thou canst do; As for your threatnings, they shall not disturb My peaceful thoughts, my faith shall be their curb: Urge me no mote, but let me rest in quiet, Strong is that stomack can digest thy dyet.

Sat.

And is it so? will no perswasions work Upon thy thoughts? Those pregnant crimes that lurk Within thy brest, will, like to Scorpions, gnaw Thy groaning heart; such sorrow knows no Law; But since thou wilt not be advis'd, expect To find reward, as I have found neglect. Ah, why fond wretch, why dost thou thus provide Thy feeble self to strive against the tyde? Alas, alas! why art thou lull'd asleep In follies Lap? Rouze up for shame, and weep For thine infirmities; be not thus cross To him that would preserve thee from a Loss: 'Tis time to cast away the works of night, And cloath thee with the shining robes of light.

Sou.

If your strong Oratory had the skill To make me yield to your unsatiate will, It were enough; what more could you desire, Than a bad period to your bad desire?

But stay (bold friend) I'le meditate and see What fruit will spring from thine infernal tree. Sat. What, must I stay (vile wretch) till you dispute And prove the goodness of my pleasing fruit? Must I be always waiting on the train Of your desires, and spend my time in vain? No, no, I will not: for it is unfit I should attend, if you will not submit; Th' incensed fury of my spirits burn To be in action, I will not adjourn A minute longer; go, and hug thy vice, Thou lov'st the bargain, but abhor'st the price: Urge me no more, away, I have forgot All thoughts of friendship, and I know thee not: And here I leave thee to the Lawless power Of thine own passion; Cursed be that hour That brought thee forth; if all this will not do, May all men curse thee, and I'le curse thee too.

Sou.

And can the spring of thy affections find So soon an Autumn? Canst thou be unkind With so much ease? and can your real brest (As you so call't) be so soon dispossest Of Love and Patience? Oh how bad and strange Is the effect of such a sudden change! 'Tis disputable, for I know not whether Anger, or' policy, or both together,

Wharst thee to these extreams: well then pursue Thine own desires, and I will bid adieu To all thy follies; yet my heart begun T' expand it self before the glim'ring Sun Of thy perswasions; if thy sharp'ned rage Had not so soon exploded me the stage, I fear, I fear, I had before this hour Been prostituted to thy tameless power: Be gone, be gone; but stay, hark Satan, hark, Go boast you shot, but fairly miss'd the mark.

Sat.

Why dost thou bid me go? I m sure you speak (As I have done) in jest, thou wilt not break The bonds of friendship; though thou hast exprest Thy self in anger, yet thou ar•• in jest: Those good conceits that live in th'inner places Of my close heart, tels me th'art fill'd with graces: But there is none that can proclaim and cry They're free from rage, no not so much as I: When I am angry, then my heart is pleas'd, Because I'm satisfy'd; my mind is eas'd Of a most pressing load, which seems to tire And waste me with a brest-consuming fire. " A wise mans ear must always entertain " Things spoke in passion to be void and vain: " The tongue's a restless member, and oft-times " Out-runs the wit, and then it flyes and climbs

Above all sense: " When Reason finds divorce, " The tongue proves subject to a headlong course. What I have spoke observe, and thou shalt find Proceeded from my passion, not my mind: The misconstruction of a word may make The dearest friends to vary, and forsake The plains of friendship, tho' their hearts are free From the curst evils of inconstancy: Therefore mistake me not, nor do not thou Construe my words with an incensed brow; Smile on me then, and cheerfully impart The loving childings of a friendly heart; Then shalt thou see with what a willing arm I will conduct and guide thee from all harm; Believe me Soul, I am not come to scatter Uncertain stories, but a real matter; What I hold forth unto thee, is the stem Of a pure heart, thou art the only Jem Shall grow upon it; come, and let's combine, I shall rejoyce to see thee prove divine.

Sou.

The Biass of thy Love runs now so strong, That I much fear 'twill not continue long; I find, I find thou hast the art to sail With any wind; thou labour'st to prevail, But 'tis in vain, for know, I trust thee not, My zealous heart is fearful of a plot;

I cannot be so foolish as to trust Without assurance that thou wilt be just: Wilt thou be true? Speak with a real breath.

Sat.

I will be just (believe me) unto death; I will, I will; oh may I never be True to my self, it I am false to thee.

Sou.

If thou art just and constant, tel me where Thy seat is plac'd, and who is Prince of th'air; Be true in this, and thou shalt find that I, According to thy answer, wil reply.

Sat.

I'le tell thee then (because I'le now fulfil The vast desires of thy enquiring will) Where my refulgent Seat is plac't; prepare Thy ears to hear, I'le speedily declare. The large extent of my unbounded grace Cannot be comprehended in one place, Because I am immortal, unconfin'd To time or place; I live in every mind That's truly real, and not disagreeing To my known Laws; I have no local Being: The World's a spacious Body, I the Soul Which lives in every part compleat and whole: Thus this dispute is easily decided, For what's immortal cannot be divided. Nay more, because I'le fill thee with content, I say I'm Prince of every Element,

Therefore of air: Now if thou canst enquire Any thing more, I'le answer thy desire.

Sou.

Before I suffer my swist thoughts to slide Into more questions, I'le be satisfi'd In what is past: If so it be, you have No local Being, how then will you save Those Hosts of Souls which you intend shall be Seal'd with the Signet of Eternity? Did you not tell me, that your peaceful Seat Was rich, sublime, (and without measure) great? If thus it be, as 'tis exprest by you, 'Tis more than strange that 'tis not local too; Clear but this doubt, and thou shalt quickly find Those duties that attend an honest mind Flow from my brest, till then I'le rest in peace, As you perform, so shall my Love encrease.

Sat.

Ambiguous Soul, why dost thou thus connive At thine own follies? Why dost thou deprive Thy self of comfort, comforts that will heal Th'exulcerous sores of thy distemper'd weal? Why art thou thus inquisitive? the thing That thou desir'st to know (if known) will bring Small satisfaction to thy dubious brest; He's wise enough that knows he shall be blest; If you enquire in such a doubtful case, Youl loose your rest in seeking out the place:

Surcease thy thoughts, and do not proudly knock Thy self in peices, now thou knowst the rock; Pry not too sarl et secret things alone, My Zodiack has more signs than must be known; 'Tis not the Heav'n of Heavn's that can contain Me, the Creator, and my glorious train; I am even what I please and what I will be Even where I will.

So.

Where's that?

Sa.

what's that to thee The knowledge of my seat does no way tend To thy salvation, therefore cease to spend Such fruitless thoughts, cast by this needless care, Learn to know what I am, no matter where.

Sou.

I must confess, it is not good to pry In things that suit not the capacity; But seeing 'twas your pleasure to express So much of friendship, I made bold t' address My self unto you; pardon then my crimes, You know that wisest men may doubt sometimes: Your weights are light, or else your courage fails, You have not strength enough to turn the scales Of my affections, yet you had almost Droven my ill man'd ship upon your Coast, The winds of your perswasions rage and roar Within my brest, I cannot find a shoar For my desires; I'm tost from wave to wave, And am become a most distracted slave;

Those heavenly thoughts which formerly frequen∣red The closet of my brest are now prevented By base bred fancies, fancies that arise From a soul brain, and makes me to despise Almost my self; I know not what to do, I dare not, oh I dare not yield to you; And yet I hardly can believe thou wilt Burthen thy conscience with so foul a guilt As to betray me, sure thou art morekind Than to abuse a well-affected mind; But yet I dare not trust a Soul pursuer, Because thou kil'st when thou pretend'st to cure. I reel, I reel (if not sustain'd) I shall Receive a sudden and a deadly fall; What shall I do in this deplor'd condition? I fear, I fear I've lost my best Physitian: Try Satan, try, and see what may be done For a sick Soul, that foolishly has run Beyond it self; oh see what thou canst do To give me ease, and then I'le call the true.

Sat.

Now Soul I love thee; rouze, bid grief depart Thou hast the symptomes of an honest heart: Me thinks I could, with much content, afford To say thou speak'st a Christian at a word; Cheer up, and know that many troubles wait Upon the changes of an ancient State;

The work of Reformation always brings Trouble at first, but afterwards it sings Anthems of Peace, whose fortunate event Will more than countervail thy discontent. He that has spent the treasure of his days Under one Roof, has reason to dispraise The troubles of removing; yet at last (When his defatigating cares are past) He may declare himself to be a debter To fortune, and confess that Life the better. Even so mayst thou (dear Soul) hereafter say, Blest be that hand which led thee from the way And paths of Ignorance, although at first ['Tis often known, beginnings are the worst] Thou feel'st a private nakedness within, Because thou hast uncloath'd thy self of sin: Although, I must confess there cannot be A vacuum in Nature, yet in thee There is an emptiness, and must be still, For what is empty, craves a time to fill: If he whose stomach hath sustain'd the rage Of sharp'ning hunger, should at first asswage His appetite with fulness, would it not Produce a surfeit, and impose a blot Upon his wisdom, raising such a strife Within his Microcosmus, that his life

Would be endanger'd; therefore learn by rote, That moderation is the chiefest note; In all my Gammut, none can sing so high A note as moderation, only I. If I should let thee make too large a meal Of my rich joyes at first, I should reveal Too much of folly; for it thou shouldst take A surfeit at the first, it needs must make Thee fear, nay hate, to entertain my diet; 'Tis better far to spare at first than riot: Moreover, should I let thee taste thy fill At first, I know the reins of thy fierce will Would scorn a hand, 'tis dangerous to trust; Presumptions spur can never want for rust: Come Soul, let reason rule thee, do not stain Thy well-dy'd judgment, 'tis a greater pain To fear, than sufler; come, I long to see Thee wanton with mee in Eternitie; Then doubt no more, resolve, and let's away, There is no greater grief than to delay A happiness; be well inform'd of this, Procrastination is a foe to Bliss.

Sou.

Thy words imposthumate my heart, I feel A greater pain than ever Ixions wheel Knew how t'inflict, extremities still crowd Into my thoughts; my sorrows call aloud,

And none will hear; what shall I do; for I Unworthy am to live, unfit to dye; Except th' all ruling power above will please T'inspect my Soul, and furnish me with ease, To whose blest ears I'le recommend my suit, My sorrows will not let my tongue be mute. Great Auditor of groans, oh let my cries, My sighs, my tears, invite thy eares, thine eyes To hear, and view me; for I must confess, My crimes are great, and I am nothing less Than what is least; alas! and nothing better Than what is worst, oh pardon me thy debter: I'm rost with grief, and know not where to fleer My shipwrack'd self, but still my fins appear Before my face, whose looks almost affright, And make me start into eternal night: What shall I do? or whether shall I flee, That am an alien (Lord) except to thee? From thee I cannot, and I am too vile To come unto thee, having made a spoyl Of those most sacred mercies, which thy hand Confer'd upon me; there is no command But I have broke; yet gracious Lord, I know That thy abounding mercies can o'reflow My sand excelling sins, which cannot lie Absconded from thine all-surveying eye.

With shame I must confess the subtile art Of Satan hath impoysoned my heart; Oh I am sick to death, I swell, I burst, Never was any Soul so much accurst. There's none but thee, thou sacred Antidote Can cure my grief, be therefore pleas'd to note My sad condition, let my sorrows lye Before thy face, oh hear me when I cry; Grant me the shield of Faith, that I may stand In opposition to the powerful hand Of active Satan, weaken (Lord) his power And add unto my strength; let every hour Afford new mercies, mercies that may sail Into my brest, ah should my Foe prevail, Oh, then I perish, shorten (Lord) his chain And lengthen out my patience, oh make vain His fierce attempts, that he my feel, and see When he is strongest, I'm as strong as he, Then shall my lips extol thee, and proclaim The greatness of thy glory, and his shame. Give but thy grace unto me (Lord) and then Say what thou wilt, my tongue shall say Amen. Let everlasting plagues and horror dwell Within so fit a soul, let black-mouth'd Hell Remove his scituation, and take An everlasting Lease, oh let him make

A Ten'ment of thee; dost thou think that I Will hear thy prayers? oh no, I scorn thee, fye Away, begon—

Sou.

What voice is this, that makes this bold intru∣sion Into my ears and grumbles out confusion? Me thinks I see a storm-portending cloud, Bowel'd with thunder, and I hear a loud And horrid noyse, a noyse that will confound A wel-prepared ear, to hear the sound; Who would not quake at such a voice as this That roars forth Malice with an Emphasis? My thoughts are interrupted, and amazement, Flashes like Lightning through the brittle case∣ment Of my ill glased-brest; it cannot be The voice of Heav'n, a God so pure as he Hates to be envious, malice cannot spring From such a good and (Love-composed) King: Although his voice (made terrible) oft-times By the addition of mans dayly crimes Thunders against a sinner, yet his breath Can take no pleasure in a sinners death. Hereafter (Lord) when malice finds a voice To speak, my understanding shall rejoyce, In knowing who it is, this heart of mine Shall never quake at any voice but thine;

Then let hels deep-mouth'd blood-hound, roar and thunder Ile neither fear, nor love, nor quake, nor wonder. For 'tis not strange to hear a Lyon roare That wants his prey, the more he has, the more He seeks for more, imploying still his power In seeking how, and whom he may devour: Know therefore Sathan, that I am prepar'd To meet thee, and I will not be out-dar'd; 'Tis not thy false malicious tongue shall tempt My heart to love, no, nor thy rage exempt My thoughts from heav'n, although thy craft still For opportunity to stop good works; When I compose my self, and strive to pray, lurks Thou seek'st to turn my thoughts another way. Thou great corrupter of Diviner parts, Thou watchful thief that steal'st into the hearts Of silly mortals, think not to devour My armed heart, with thy pursuing power.

Sat.

Wil nothing move thee? wilt thou stil mistrust If fair means will not move thee, foul means must. What dost thou think, my arm is grown so short It cannot reach thee? dost thou think to sport With my commands? say, thou imperious mite Who gave thee being, who created light, Who made the Heav'ns, the Earth, the Sea, reply Audacious wretch, speak, was it thee, or I?

Thou vain contender, dost thou think to gain By striving with me, any thing but pain, Oh no, thou shalt not, for I'le still renew Thy pinching sorrows: therefore bid adieu To all thy comforts, for thou shalt no more Injoy those blessings thou injoy'dst before, Oh how thy horrid tongue shall roar and cry With Dives for a drop, but no supply Shall dare t'appear; the more thou crav'st, the less Thou shalt be heard, for nothing shall express The least of pleasure to thy per-boyl'd heart, Thy chiefest food shall be perpetual smart. Be well assured that thy ears, thy eyes Shall hear, nor see, nought but extremities, Be gon, be gon, my fury hates delay, Hell, and Damnation be thy lot, away.

Sou.

Experience makes me understand thou art A lively actor, of a deadly part, I find the greatness of your swelling rage; Your Prologue speaks 'twould be a bloudy stage If you might act as King, but Heav'n prevent The cursed plots of your accurst intent; I fear thee not, because I know thy power Is limitted, and thou canst nor devour Without commission, therefore do thy worst, And let thy envy swell until it burst

And fall to nothing, my Creator gives Me faith to say that my Redeemer lives, And will protect me from the rage of those That are my known and secret deadly Foes. Thy thundring words shall not make me comply∣ing For he's unwise that dyes for fear of dying; Thus being guarded with the shield of grace I'le spit defyance in thine impious face. Thou art a Lyon, and thou seek'st for blood How bad's that soul that dares to think thee good; Urge me no more, cashiere thy fruitless trouble, The more thou strivst, the more Ile strive to double My resolutions, for I dare not venture To rest my heart on such a bloudy center, Oh no I dare not; he that shall let go, A certain friend, for a most certain foe, Justly deserves, to have no other same, But what reproach can build upon his name; Should I permit my rambling thoughts to glance Upon thy love, the Plea of Ignorance Could not be prevalent, because 'tis known Unto the blest-united three in one That I (by his assistance) have descry'd Thy real flatt'ry, and thy humble pride; I dare affirm no greater pride can be Than that that's acted with humility,

But here I'le stop, and leave thee to inherit Th' effects of a diabolique spirit.

Sat.

Accursed Caitiffe, dost thou think to scape The fury of my hand, or make a rape Upon my goodness? no, the Sun and Moon Shall stop their usual progresses as soon As I will change my mind; Vengeance is mine And I'le repay it, on that Soul of thine. Be gon, be gon, expect thy sudden doom, It is thy sins give punishment a room: Let everlasting Plagues, and horrour dwell Within so fit a Soul; let black-mouth'd Hell Remove his scituation, and so take A still continuing Lease, on her him make A ten'ment of thee, dost thou think that I Will hear thy prayers? oh no I scorn thee, fie Away, begon—

Sou.

If words could kill, I had been ere this time Worded to death, but now I hope to clime Above the reach of words in thy despight, Where thou mayst grumble at me, but not bite. Even as the surly blood-desiring Dog Ty'd with a chain, or loaded with a clog Growes fiercer with restraint, and stands in awe Of nothing but his Master, to whose Law

He must submit and keep within his list; For fear will not permit him to resist: But if some wandring passenger should chance To walk along, he quickly would advance His watchful head, and running to and fro From place to place, he tuggs but cannot go Beyond his bounds, but labors still in vain (With fruitless bring of his senseless chain) To free himself, but when he finds his strength Is not sufficient to out-go the length Of his well-fastned chain, he soon divides His sharp fang'd jawes, and bauls until his sides And lungs are weary, then he runs the round Until he layes himself upon the ground: Where he remaineth much displeas'd and vext, Seeming to threaten ruine to the next. So thou (hels ty'd-dog) if thou couldst but strain And quit thy self from heav'ns fast-holding chain What Soul should scape thy jaws, or be possest Of lasting peace, or comfortable rest? How sad, how miserable had it been For patient Job, had but thy power been seen Upon his heart; but Heaven that will controul In spight of malice, chain'd thee from his soul: Alas, alas! Thy chain is not so long, To reach a soul, not is thy power so strong

To break it at thy pleasure, thou mayst baul And bark forth envy, but not hurt at all; If thou art God [as thou pretendest] why, Why dost thou suffer such a thing as I T'expostulate so long, and dost not show Thy Judgements in my speedy overthrow? Sat. It is my goodness, and not thy desert That breeds forbearance in my tender heart, Alas, alas, what honour would accrue To me in conquering such a thing as you, I could within a moments time asswage, (But that my clemency out-vies my rage) Thy swelling fury, for I could discharge Vollies of wrath, and easily inlarge They restless torments, I could make thee run (Like morning mists before the rising Sun) Out of my presence, If I should but say The word be gon, alas thou couldst not stay, But ah, I cannot, for I hate to harm, Love guids my strength, & that strength guids my arm. Even as the Shepherd with bedewed locks Watches the feeding of his harmless flocks For fear the bold-fac'd Wolf should chance to peep Into the coasts of his beloved sheep, And like a lawless Tyrant, soon commence (Against those Emblems, of pure innocence)

A bloody action, which would soon incite The Shepherds grief, to see so sad a sight, So I th'eternal Shepherd daily watch My wel-fed lambs, for fear Hels wolf should catch Or fright (not being fearful to be bold) My gentle flocks from their delightful fold; I am beloved, and mine own, will own My sacred Name, my voice is not unknown Unto my sheep, they always will be all Firmly obedient to my cheerful call, For which obedience they shall find reward Nay such a one, as always shall accord To their desires, thrice happy shall they be In truly calling, and in owning me To be their Shepherd, nothing can more please M'indulgent soul, than such dear flocks as these, I will preserve them, and no wolf shall dare To seize upon them, or presume to tear Their downy fleeces, nothing shall be nearer Unto my heart, and nothing shall be dearer In my affections, for I will affect Even where, and when I finde a true respect. Sou. What strange contusions hath thy language bred Within my serious thoughts? how hast thou fed My ears with flatteries, but it is in vain; Because my heart hath vow'd not to retain

Thy sain'd expressions, nothing shall remove My Love from God, nor nothing make me love Thy wretched self; then be content, and cease To urge my mind, or interrupt my Peace. Go, do thy worst, and when that worst is done Sit down as wisely, as thou hast begun.

Sat.

Art thou resolv'd? Well then, let vengeance Upon thy cursed head, be gon, thou mite (Nay less) of goodness, go, make haste t'inherit light Those plagues that wait upon so damn'd a spirit.

Sou.

May this be call▪d a farewell, if it be, The self same farewell must attend on thee; I hate, nay, scorn to bid farewell to you, 'Tis charity enough to bid, adieu.