Poems, by J.D. VVith elegies on the authors death

To the Countesse of Bedford.

HOnour is so sublime perfection, And so refinde; that when God was alone And creaturelesse at first, himselfe had none;

But as of the elements, these which wee tread, Produce all things with which wee'are joy'd or fed, And, those are barren both above our head:

So from low persons doth all honour flow; Kings, whom they would have honoured, to us show, And but direct our honour, not bestow.

For when from herbs the pure part must be wonne From grosse, by Stilling, this is better done By despis'd dung, then by the fire or Sunne.

Care not then, Madame, 'how low your prayses lye; In labourers balads oft more piety God findes, then in Te Deums melodie.

And, ordinance rais'd on Towers so many mile Send not their voice, nor last so long a while As fires from th'earths low vaults in Sicil Isle.

Should I say I liv'd darker then were true, Your radiation can all clouds subdue, But one, 'tis best light to contemplate you.

You, for whose body God made better clay, Or tooke Soules stuffe such as shall late decay, Or such as needs small change at the last day.

This, as an Amber drop enwraps a Bee, Covering discovers your quicke Soule; that we May in your through-shine front our hearts thoughts see.

You teach (though wee learne not) a thing unknowne To our late times, the use of specular stone, Through which all things within without were shown.

Of such were Temples; so and such you are; Beeing and seeming is your equall care, And vertues whole summe is but know and dare.

But as our Soules of growth and Soules of sense Have birthright of our reasons Soule, yet hence They fly not from that, nor seeke presidence.

Natures first lesson, so, discretion, Must not grudge zeale a place, nor yet keepe none, Not banish it selfe, nor religion.

Discretion is a wisemans Soule, and so Religion is a Christians, and you know How these are one, her yea, is not her no.

Nor may we hope to sodder still and knit These two, and dare to breake them; nor must wit Be colleague to religion, but be it.

In those poore types of God (round circles) so Religions tipes, the peeclesse centers flow, And are in all the lines which alwayes goe.

If either ever wrought in you alone Or principally, then religion Wrought your ends, and your wayes discretion.

Goe thither stil, goe the same way you went, Who so would change, do covet or repent; Neither can reach you, great and innocent.