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

HOLY SONNETS.

La Corona.

1.

DEigne at my hands this crown of prayer and praise, Weav'd in my low devout melancholie, Thou which of good, hast, yea art treasury, All changing unchang'd Antient of dayes, But doe not, with a vile crowne of fraile bayes, Reward my muses white sincerity, But what thy thorny crowne gain'd, that give mee, A crowne of Glory, which doth flower alwayes; The ends crowne our workes, but thou crown'st our ends, For, at our end begins our endlesse rest, The first last end, now zealously possest, With a strong sober thirst, my soule attends. 'Tis time that heart and voice be lifted high, Salvation to all that will is nigh,

ANNVNCIATION.

2

Salvation to all that will is nigh, That All, which alwayes is All every where, Which cannot sinne, and yet all sinnes must beare, Which cannot die, yet cannot chuse but die, Loe, faithfull Virgin, yeelds himselfe to lye In prison, in thy wombe; and though he there Can take no sinne, nor thou give, yet he'will weare Taken from thence, flesh, which deaths force may trie.

Ere by the spheares time was created, thou Wast in his minde, who is thy Sonne, and Brother, Whom thou conceiv'st, conceiv'd; yea thou art now Thy Makers maker, and thy Fathers mother, Thou'hast light in darke; and shutst in little roome, Immensity cloysterd in thy deare wombe.

NATIVITIE.

3

Immensitie cloysterd in thy deare wombe, Now leaves his welbelov'd imprisonment, There he hath made himselfe to his intent Weake enough, now into our world to come; But Oh, for thee, for him, hath th'Inne no roome? Yet lay him in this stall, and from the Orient, Starres, and wisemen will travell to prevent Th'effects of Herods jealous generall doome; Seest thou, my Soule, with thy faiths eyes, how he Which fils all place, yet none holds him, doth lye? Was not his pity towards thee wondrous high, That would have need to be pittied by thee? Kisse him, and with him into Egypt goe, With his kinde mother, who partakes thy woe.

TEMPLE.

4

With his kinde mother who partakes thy woe, Ioseph turne backe; see where your child doth sit, Blowing, yea blowing out those sparks of wit, Which himselfe on the Doctors did bestow; The Word but lately could not speake, and loe It sodenly speakes wonders, whence comes it, That all which was, and all which should be writ, A shallow seeming child, should deeply know? His Godhead was not soule to his manhood, Nor had time mellowed him to this ripenesse, But as for one which hath a long taske, 'Tis good, With the Sunne to beginne his businesse, He in his ages morning thus began By miracles exceeding power of man.

CRVCIFYING.

5

By miracles exceeding power of man, Hee faith in some, envie in some begat, For, what weake spirits admire, ambitious, hate; In both affections many to him ran, But Oh! the worst are most, they will and can, Alas, and do, unto the immaculate, Whose creature Fate is, now prescribe a Fate, Measuring selfe-lifes infinity to span, Nay to an inch, loe, where condemned hee Beares his owne crosse, with paine, yet by and by

When it beares him, he must beare more and die; Now thou art lifted up, draw mee to thee, And at thy death giving such liberall dole, Moyst, with one drop of thy blood, my dry soule.

RESVRRECTION.

6

Moyst with one drop of thy blood, my dry soule, Shall (though she now be in extreme degree Too stony hard, and yet too fleshly,) bee Freed by that drop, from being starv'd, hard, or foule, And life, by this death abled, shall controule Death, whom thy death slue; nor shall to mee Feare of first or last death, bring miserie, If in thy little booke my name thou enroule, Flesh in that long sleep is not putrified, But made that there, of which, and for which 'twas; Nor can by other meanes be glorified. May then sinnes sleep, and death soone from me passe, That wak't from both, I againe risen may Salute the last, and everlasting day.

ASCENTION.

7

Salute the last and everlasting day, Joy at the uprising of this Sunne, and Sonne, Yee whose just teares, or tribulation Have purely washt, or burnt your drossie clay; Behold the Highest, parting hence away, Lightens the darke clouds, which hee treads upon,

Nor doth hee by ascending, show alone, But first hee, and hee first enters the way, O strong Ramme, which hast batter'd heaven for mee, Mild lambe which with thy blood, hast mark'd the path; Bright torch, which shin'st, that I the way may see, Oh, with thy owne blood quench thy owne just wrath, And if thy holy Spirit, my Muse did raise, Deigne at my hands this crowne of prayer and praise.