Carmen Deo nostro, te decet hymnus sacred poems, / collected, corrected, augmented, most humbly presented. To my Lady the Countesse of Denbigh by her most deuoted seruant. R.C. In heaty [sic] acknowledgment of his immortall obligation to her goodnes & charity.

About this Item

Title
Carmen Deo nostro, te decet hymnus sacred poems, / collected, corrected, augmented, most humbly presented. To my Lady the Countesse of Denbigh by her most deuoted seruant. R.C. In heaty [sic] acknowledgment of his immortall obligation to her goodnes & charity.
Author
Crashaw, Richard, 1613?-1649.
Publication
At Paris :: By Peter Targa, printer to the Arch-bishope of Paris, in S. Victors streete at the golden sunne.,
M. DC. LII. [1652]
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Subject terms
English poetry -- 17th century.
Link to this Item
http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A80774.0001.001
Cite this Item
"Carmen Deo nostro, te decet hymnus sacred poems, / collected, corrected, augmented, most humbly presented. To my Lady the Countesse of Denbigh by her most deuoted seruant. R.C. In heaty [sic] acknowledgment of his immortall obligation to her goodnes & charity." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A80774.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 8, 2025.

Pages

Page 121

DESCRIPTION. OF A RELIGIOVS HOVSE AND CONDITION OF LIFE (OVT OF BARCLAY.)

NO roofes of gold o're riotous tables shining Whole dayes & suns deuour'd with end∣lesse dining; No sailes of tyrian sylk proud pauements sweeping; Nor iuory couches costlyer slumbers keeping; False lights of flairing gemmes; tumultuous ioyes; Halls full of flattering men & frishing boyes; What e're false showes of short & flippery good Mix the mad sons of men in mutuall blood. But WALKES & vnshorn woods; and soules, iust so Vnforc't & genuine; but not shady tho. Our lodgings hard & homely as our fare. That chast & cheap, as the few clothes we weare. Those, course & negligent, As the naturall lockes Of these loose groues, rough as th'vn polish't rockes.

Page 122

A hasty Portion of praescribed sleep; Obedient slumbers? that can wake & weep, And sing, &, & sigh, & work, and sleep again; Still rowling à round spear of still-returning pain. Hands full of harty labours; doe much, that more they may, And work for work, not wages; let to morrow's New drops, wash off the sweat of this daye's sorrows. A long & dayly-ding life, which breaths A respiration of reuiuing deaths. But neither are there those ignoble stings That nip the bosome of the world's best things, And lash Earth-laboring souls. No cruell guard of diligent cares, that keep Crown'd woes awake; as things too wise for sleep. But reuerent discipline, & religious fear, And soft obedience, find sweet biding here; Silence, & sacred rest; peace, & pure ioyes; Kind loues keep house, ly close, make no noise, And room enough for Monarchs, while none swells Beyond the kingdomes of contentfull Cells. The self-remembring SOVL sweetly recouers Her kindred with the starrs; not basely houers Below; But meditates her immortall way Home to the originall sourse of LIGHT & intelle∣ctuall Day.
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