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

Holy Sonnets.

I.

AS due by many titles I resigne My selfe to thee, O God, first I was made By thee, and for thee, and when I was decay'd Thy blood bought that, the which before was thine, I am thy sonne, made with thy selfe to shine, Thy servant, whose paines thou hast still repaid, Thy sheepe, thine Image, and till I betray'd My selfe, a temple of thy Spirit divine; Why doth the devill then usurpe on mee? Why doth he steale nay ravish that's thy right? Except thou rise and for thine owne worke fight, Oh I shall soone despaire, when I doe see That thou lov'st mankind well, yet wilt'not chuse me. And Satan hates mee, yet is loth to lose mee.

II.

Oh my blacke Soule! now thou art summoned By sicknesse, deaths herald, and champion; Thou art like a pilgrim, which abroad hath done Treason, and durst not turne to whence hee is fled, Or like a thiefe, which till deaths doome be read, Wisheth himselfe delivered from prison; But damn'd and hal'd to execution, Wisheth that still he might be imprisoned; Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lacke; But who shall give thee that grace to beginne? Oh make thy selfe with holy mourning blacke, And red with blushing, as thou art with sinne; Or wash thee in Christs blood, which hath this might That being red, it dyes red soules to white.

III.

This is my playes last scene, here heavens appoint My pilgrimages last mile; and my race Idly, yet quickly runne, hath this last pace, My spans last inch, my minutes latest point, And gluttonous death, will instantly unjoynt My body, and my soule, and I shall sleepe a space, But my'ever-waking part shall see that face,

Whose feare already shakes my every joynt: Then, as my soule, to'heaven her first seate, takes flight, And earth borne body, in the earth shall dwell, So, fall my sinnes, that all may have their right, To where they'are bred, and would presse me, to hell. Impute me righteous, thus purg'd of evill, For thus I leave the world, the flesh the devill.

IV.

At the round earths imagin'd corners, blow Your trumpets, Angells, and arise, arise From death, you numberlesse infinities Of soules, and to your scattred bodies goe, All whom the flood did, and fire shall o'erthrow, All whom warre, death, age, agues, tyrannies, Despaire, law, chance, hath slaine, and you whose eyes, Shall behold God, and never tast deaths woe, But let them sleepe, Lord, and mee mourne a space, For, if above all these, my sinnes abound, 'Tis late to aske abundance of thy grace, When wee are there; here on this lowly ground, Teach mee how to repent; for that's as good As if thou'hadst seal'd my pardon, with thy blood.

V.

If poysonous mineralls, and if that tree, Whose fruit threw death on else immortall us, If lecherous goats, if serpents envious Cannot be damn'd; Alas; why should I bee? Why should intent or reason, borne in mee, Make sinnes, else equall, in mee, more heinous? And mercy being easie, and glorious To God, in his sterne wrath, why threatens hee? But who am I, that dare dispute with thee? O God, Oh! of thine onely worthy blood, And my teares, make a heavenly Lethean flood, And drowne in it my sinnes blacke memorie, That thou remember them, some claime as debt, I thinke it mercy, if thou wilt forget,

VI.

Death be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe, For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow, Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee; From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee, Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow, And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,

Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie Thou art slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And doth with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell. And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well, And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then? One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally, And death shall be no more, death thou shalt die.

VII.

Spit in my face you Jewes, and pierce my side, Buffet, and scoffe, scourge, and crucifie mee, For I have sinn'd, and sinn'd, and onely hee, Who could do no iniquitie, hath dyed: But by my death can not be satisfied My sinnes, which passe the Jewes impiety: They kill'd once an inglorious man, but I Crucifie him daily, being now glorified; Oh let mee then, his strange love still admire: Kings pardon but he bore our punishment. And Iacob came cloth'd in vile harsh attire But to supplant, and with gainfull intent God cloth'd himselfe in vile mans flesh, that so Hee might be weake enough to suffer woe.

VIII.

Why are wee by all creatures waited on? Why doe the prodigall elements supply Life and food to mee, being more pure then I, Simple, and further from corruption? Why brook'st thou, ignorant horse, subjection? Why dost thou bull, and bore so seelily Dissemble weaknesse, and by'one mans stroke die, Whose whole kinde, you might swallow & feed upon? Weaker I am, woe is mee, and worse then you, You have not sinn'd, nor need be timorous, But wonder at a greater wonder, for to us Created nature doth these things subdue, But their Creator, whom sin, nor nature tyed, For us, his Creatures, and his foes, hath dyed.

IX.

What if this present were the worlds last night? Marke in my heart, O Soule, where thou dost dwell, The picture of Christ crucified, and tell Whether his countenance can thee affright, Teares in his eyes quench the amasing light, Blood fills his frownes, which from his pierc'd head fell And can that tongue adjudge thee unto hell,

Which pray'd forgivenesse for his foes fierce spight? No, no; but as in my idolatrie I said to all my profane mistresses, Beauty, of pitty, foulnesse onely is A signe of rigour: so I say to thee, To wicked spirits are horrid shapes assign'd, This beauteous forme assumes a pitious minde.

X.

Batter my heart, three person'd God; for, you As yet but knocke, breathe, shine, and seeke to mend; That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow mee, 'and bend Your force, to breake, blowe, burn and make me new, I, like an usurpt towne, to'another due, Labour to'admit you, but Oh, to no end, Reason your viceroy in mee, mee should defend, But is captiv'd, and proves weake or untrue, Yet dearely'I love you, and would be lov'd faine, But am betroth'd unto your enemie, Divorce mee, 'untie, or breake that knot againe, Take mee to you, imprison mee, for I Except you'enthral mee, never shall be free, Nor ever chast, except you ravish mee.

XI.

Wilt thou love God, as he thee! then digest, My Soule, this wholsome meditation, How God the Spirit, by Angels waited on In heaven, doth make his Temple in thy brest, The Father having begot a Sonne most blest, And still begetting, (for he ne'r begonne) Hath deign'd to chuse thee by adoption, Coheire to'his glory, 'and Sabbaths endlesse rest; And as a robb'd man, which by search doth finde His stolne stuffe sold, must lose or buy'it againe: The Sonne of glory came downe, and was slaine, Us whom he'had made, and Satan stolne, to unbinde. 'Twas much, that man was made like God before, But, that God should be made like man, much more.

XII.

Father, part of his double interest Unto thy kingdome, thy Sonne gives to mee, His joynture in the knottie Trinitie, Hee keepes, and gives to me his deaths conquest, This Lambe, whose death, with life the world hath blest, Was from the worlds beginning slaine, and he Hath made two Wills, which with the Legacie

Of his and thy kingdome, doe thy Sonnes invest, Yet such are these laws, that men argue yet Whether a man those statutes can fulfill; None doth, but thy all-healing grace and Spirit, Revive againe what law and letter kill, Thy lawes abridgement, and thy last command Is all but love; Oh let this last Will stand!