Silex scintillans, or, Sacred poems and priuate eiaculations by Henry Vaughan ...

Death. A Dialogue.

Soule.

'TIs a sad Land, that in one day Hath dull'd thee thus, when death shall freeze Thy bloud to Ice, and thou must stay Tenant for Yeares, and Centuries, How wilt thou brook't? —

Body.

I cannot tell,— But if all sence wings not with thee, And something still be left the dead, I'le wish my Curtaines off to free Me from so darke, and sad a bed;

A neast of nights, a gloomie sphere, Where shadowes thicken, and the Cloud Sits on the Suns brow all the yeare, And nothing moves without a shrowd;

Soule.

'Tis so: But as thou sawest that night Wee travell'd in, our first attempts Were dull, and blind, but Custome straight Our feares, and falls brought to contempt,

Then, when the gastly twelve was past We breath'd still for a blushing East, And bad the lazie Sunne make hast, And on sure hopes, though long, did feast;

But when we saw the Clouds to crack And in those Cranies light appear'd, We thought the day then was not slack, And pleas'd our selves with what wee feard;

Just so it is in death. But thou Shalt in thy mothers bosome sleepe Whilst I each minute grone to know How neere Redemption creepes.

Then shall wee meet to mixe again, and met, 'Tis last good-night, our Sunne shall never set.

Job. Cap: 10. ver. 21.22.

Before I goe whence I shall not returne, even to the land of darknesse, and the shadow of death;

A Land of darknesse, as darkenesse it selfe, and of the sha∣dow of death, without any order, and where the light is as darknesse.