Emblemes by Fra: Quarles

THE FAREWELL. REVEL. II.X. Be thou faithfull unto death, and I will give thee the crowne of life.

1

BE faithfull? LORD, what's that? Believe: 'Tis easie to Believe; But what? That He whom thy hard heart has wounded, And whom thy scorne has spit upon, Has paid thy Fine, and has compounded For those soule deeds thy hands have done. Believe, that He whose gentle palmes Thy needle-pointed Sinnes have nail'd, Hath borne thy slavish load (of Almes) And made supply where thou hast fail'd: Did ever mis'ry find so strange Reliefe? It is a Love too strong for mans Beliefe.

2

Believe that He whose side Thy crimes have pierc'd with their rebellions, di'd, To save thy guilty soule from dying, Ten thousand horrid deaths, from whence There was no scape, there was no flying, But through his dearest bloods expence: Believe, this dying Friend requires No other thanks for all his paine;

But ev'n the truth of weake desires, And for his love, but love againe; Did ever mis'ry find so true a Friend? It is a love too vast to comprehend.

3

With Floods of teares baptize And drench these dry, these unregen'rate eyes; LORD, whet my dull, my blunt beliefe, And break this fleshly rock in sunder, That from this heart, this hell of griefe May spring a Heav'n of love and wonder: O, if thy mercies will remove And melt this lead from my beliefe, My griefe will then refine my love, My love will then refresh my griefe; Then weepe mine eyes as He has bled; vouchsafe To drop for ev'ry drop an Epitaph.

4

But is the Crowde of Glory The wages of a lamentable Story? Or can so great a purchase rise From a salt Humour? Can mine eye Run fast enough t'obtaine this Prize? If so; LORD, who's so mad to die? Thy Teares are Trifles; Thou must doe: Alas, I cannot; Then endeavour: I will: But will a tugg or two Suffice the turne? Thou must persever: Ile strive till death; And shall my feeble strife Be crown'd? Ile crowne it with a Crowne of life.

5

But is there such a dearth. That thou must buy what is thy due by birth?

He whom Thy hands did forme of dust, And gave him breath upon Condition, To love his great Creator, must He now be thine, by Composition? Art thou a gracious GOD, and mild, Or head-strong man rebellious rather? O, man's a base rebellious Child, And thou a very gracious Father: The Gift is Thine; we strive; thou crown'st our strife; Thou giv'st us Faith; and Faith, a Crowne of Life.