Divine glimpses of a maiden muse being various meditations and epigrams on several subjects : with a probable cure of our present epidemical malady if the means be not too long neglected / by Chr. Clobery ...

To self.

1.

MY neerest friend, and yet my meerest foe; Who mak'st me two, that else but one would be, And in that one-ness happy, being so One with my dread creator: self thou me Dost from my self divide, and both from God. Fond self! were I my self, I could not bear Thy charming pressures, and forbear the rod, To scourge thy folly. But I still give ear To thy enticements, who allur'st my soul Clean paths to traverse, and to tread the foul.

2.

Thou foul'st my paths, thy self; yea, thou lay'st snares In ev'ry foot-step to intrap us both: Thy baits are spells, inchant us unawares: Bewitch depraved nature; and betroth Her to her mortal'st foe, her ruling sin. Look I on beauty, Gods sweet creature good, And useful? thou forthwith convey'st lust in To my frail heart: thou set'st on fire my blood:

Provok•…•… me to defilement: thoughts unchaste Pollute my soul, and my weak faith devaste.

3.

Think I on lawful thriving? or on wealth? Thou poysonest that thought with Avarice. Think I on honour? thou bringst in by stealth Pride and Ambition, and each haughty Vice. If on Religions sacred self I ponder; Thou temptst to Superstition, Schism, or Errour: My Faith with doubts, my Hope with fears keepst un∣der; Fill'st my distracted heart with horrid terrour. Pray I with zeal? thou stir'st vain glory in me: If coldly, to cease praying thou wilt win me.

4.

Hear I Gods holy word? or do I read His sacred Oracles? thou interposest Base worldly garbage: and dost me mislead By fleshly thoughts: or my Soul indisposest For such religious Duties by dull slumber, By mock-death-sleep, or chilliness of spirit, Or else with avaricious care dost cumber; Or puff performance with conceit of merit. And so a snake in my most fair paths lay'st, And (like a faithless self) thy self betray'st.

5.

Would I bewail my sins? thou p••trifi'st My melting heart: thou dri'st my tear-big-eyes, Drawst in my sigh-puft sayles, and balm appli'st To fest'red Ulcers, whilst my Conscience cryes They should be search'd and cleans'd: and so dost kill, By artless curing. But if I sustain A petty worldly cross, thou shew'st thy skill With Probe and Corrosive•…•… and here again Thou kill'st me twice, whom worlds cross should not wound, Were not thy dastard heart so apt to swound.

6.

Call I a Parliament within my brest, And summon thither Faith, Hope, filial Fear, Love, and enlightned Conscience, with the rest Of the Lords House: if they do all appear: Wit, Learning, Reason, humane Wisdom, Care, The Moral Vertues, and Dame Natures Gifts, (All which, well us'd, good Common Members are) Out th'Higher House: And then are put to shifts Themselves, by thee, who mak'st them actless fall: Thou Autocrator-like, dost turn out all.

7.

But Oh! if I a parley with thee call, Each thought's as soon enacted, as conceiv'd: Thy elbow-counsel are, World, Dev'l, and all, That we our selves by self may be deceiv'd. Ah self-deluding self! thou hast retain'd A cunning counsel, whose abstruse advice Passes thy depth: thoul't see't when they have train'd Thee on to ruine: prethee Self be wise; And so adieu; we needs must part: farewel: I'm bent for Heaven, and thou art guide to Hell.

Yet ah! I'm loath; but I thy witchcrafts smell, Thou mak'st this Stave, my Yard of Verse an Ell.