The English Parnassus, or, A helpe to English poesie containing a collection of all rhyming monosyllables, the choicest epithets, and phrases : with some general forms upon all occasions, subjects, and theams, alphabeticaly digested : together with a short institution to English poesie, by way of a preface / by Joshua Poole.

Glad.

This day I received my private Gospel. Swell, swell my joyes, and faint not to declare Your selves as ample as your causes are, I did not live till now, this my first houre Wherein I see my thoughts reacht by my power, The earth receives me not, 'tis aire I tread, And each step that I take my advanced head Knocks out a star in heaven. More glad than is The teeming earth to see the long'd for Sun Peep through the hornes of the celestial ram, My joyes like waves each other overcome, And gladnesse drowns where it begins to flow. It is the only way to make me contradict my selfe when I account•• my selfe miserable. I have not any discontent which is not lost in the joy I receive, This sweetnesse all the bitternesse of my spirit in my most sens••∣ble d••stasts. Eenough to blot out all the story of my misfortune. I surfeit with excessive joy.

Can there be a thing Under the heavenly Iris that can bring More joy unto my soul, or can present My Genius with a fuller blandishment, The raven almost famisht joyes not more When restlesse billowes tumble to the shore An heap of bodies shipwrackt on the sea. I write, and having written I destroy, Because my lines have bounds, but not my joy▪ So joyes the Pilot that hath scap't a grave In the swell'd bosome of an angry wave, And after all his shipwrack't hopes at last Doth in that port his joyful anchour cast, Which hath occasioned many pious aires, And been the subject of his serious praiers. Can fate present What after this, I can call discontent? More proud am I of this, than Phaeton When Phoebus flaming chariot he did guide; Before he knew the danger coming on, Or else than Jason, when from Colchos he Returned with the fleeces victory. Then on his neck shedding a shower of joy, That ten-years travell'd Greek return'd from sea Nere joyd so much to see his Ithaca. Pouring himself into embracements, Loosing himself in Labyrinths of joy. So joy'd Andromeda freed from her chaines And the grim monster. His breast scarce holds his joyes, whose fancy works On golden wonders. I know not whether I then was more compos'd of joy or joy of me, for I seemed not merty, but mirth it self. As glad, as was the wandering youth of Greece, When he from Colchos brought the golden fleece. Like sea-men that descry the land at last, For whose glad sight, they get the hatches under, And to the Ocean tell their joyes in thunder. Shaking those barnackles into the sea, At once that in the wombe, and cradle lay. As Nymphs and Shepheards when the timbrell rings, Or crooked Dolphin, when the saylour sings.

Whose joy and mirth. Transcends the united pleasures of the earth. What angels tongue can let The world conceive our pleasures when we met. Who could have seen how that kind Roman dame Orecome with joy did yeild her latest breath, Her son returning laden with such fame, When thankful Rome had mourned for his death. Might have beheld her personated right, When I approached to—sight. Like as a man whose hourely wants implore Each meals relief, trudging from doore to doore, That hears no dialect from churlish lips, But newes of Beadles and their torruring whips, Takes up perchance some unexpected treasure, New-lost, departs, and joyful beyond measure, Is so transported, that he scarce believes So great a truth, and what his eye perceives, Not daring trust, fearing it is some vision, Or fl••ttering dream, deserving but derision. I am too narrow to contain my joy. The Merchant when he plowes the angry seas, And sees the mounting billowes fall upon him. As if all elements, and all their anger Were turn'd into one vow'd destruction, Shall not with greater joy embrace his safety. My joy cannot shew it self modest enough without the badge of bitternesse, my tears. My plenteous joyes, Wanton in fulnesse, seeke to hide themselves In drops of sorrow. Imparadis'd. An extasie of joy. Drunken with joy. Ready to leap out of their skin.