FLOWERS OF ZION.  
BY WILLIAM DRUMMOND of Hawthorne-denne.  
TO WHICH IS ADJOINED HIS CYPRESS GROVE.  
Printed 1623.   
FLOWERS OF ZION: OR SPIRITVALL POEMS, BY W. D.  


TRiumphant Arches, Statues crowned with Bays,  
Proud Obelisks, Tombs of the vastest Frame,  
Colossuses brazen Atlases of Fame,  
Phanes vainly builded to vain Deities praise:  
States which unsatiate Minds in blood do raise,  
From the Crosse-starres unto the Arctic Team,  
Alas! and what we write to keep our Name,  
Like Spider's Cawls are made the sport of Days;  
All only constant is in constant Change,  
What done is, is undone, and when undone,  
Into some other figure doth it range,  
Thus rolls the restless World beneath the Moon:  
Wherefore (my Mind) above Time, Motion, Place,  
Thee raise, and Steps not reached by Nature, trace.    


A Good that never satisfies the Mind,  
A Beauty fading like the april flowers,  
A Sweet with floods of Gall that runs combined,  
A Pleasure passing ere in thought made ours,  
A Honour that more fickle is than wind,  
A Glory at Opinions frown that lours,  
A Treasury which bankrupt Time devours,  
A Knowledge than grave Ignorance more blind▪  
A vain Delight our equals to command,  
A Style of greatness, in effect a Dream,  
A fabling Thought of holding Sea and Land,  
A servile Lot, decked with a pompous Name:  
Are the strange Ends we toil for here below,  
Till wisest Death make us our errores know.    


LIfe a right shadow is,  
For if it long appear,  
Then is it spent, and Death's long Night draws near;  
Shadows are moving, light,  
And is there ought so moving as is this?  
When it is most in Sight,  
It steals away, and none can tell how, where,  
So near our Cradles to our Coffins are.    


Look how the Flower which lingeringly doth fade,  
The Morning's Darling late, the Summer's Queen,  
Spoilt of that juice which kept it fresh and green,  
As high as it did raise bows low the head:  
Right so my Life Contentments being dead,  
Or in their Contraries but only seen,  
With swifter speed declines than erst it spread,  
And (blasted) scarce now shows what it hath been.  
Therefore, as doth the Pilgrim, whom the Night  
Hastes darkly to imprison on his way,  
Think on thy Home (my Soul) and think aright,  
Of what yet rests thee of Life's wasting Day,  
Thy Sun posts Westward, passed is thy Morn,  
And twice it is not given thee to be borne.    


THe weary Mariner so fast not flies  
An howling Tempest, Harbour to attain,  
Nor Shepherd hastes when frays of Wolves arise  
So fast to Fold to save his bleeting train,  
As I (winged with Contempt and just Disdain)  
Now fly the World, and what it most doth prize,  
And Sanctuary seek free to remain  
From wounds of abject Times, and Envy's eyes;  
To me this World did once seem sweet and fair,  
Whiles Senses light, Minds Prospective kept blind,  
Now like imagined Landscape in the Air,  
And weeping Rainbows, her best joys I find:  
Or if ought here is had that praise should have▪  
It is a Life obscure, and silent Grave▪    


TOo long I followed have on fond Desire,  
And too long painted on deluding Streams,  
Too long refreshment sought midst burning Fire,  
Run after joys which to my Soul were Blames;  
Ah! when I had what most I did admire,  
And proved of Life's Delights the last extremes,  
I found all but a Rose, hedged with a Briar,  
A nought, a thought, a show of golden Dreams.  
Henceforth on thee (mine only Good) I'll think,  
For only thou canst grant what I do crave;  
Thy Nails my Pens shall be, thy Blood my Ink,  
Thy Winding-sheet my Paper, Study Grave:  
And till that Soul from Body parted be,  
No Hope I'll have but only only Thee.    


OF this fair Volume which we World do name,  
If we the sheets and leaves could turn with care,  
Of him who it corrects, and did it frame,  
We clear might read the Art and Wisdom ●are?  
Find out his Power which wildest Powers doth tame,  
His Providence extending everywhere,  
His justice which proud Rebels doth not spare,  
In every Page, no, Period of the same:  
But ●illie we like foolish Children rest,  
Well pleased with coloured Velumne, Leaves of Gold,  
Fair dangling Ribbones, leaving what is best,  
On the great Writers sense ne'er taking hold;  
Or if by chance we stay our Minds on aught,  
It is some Picture on the Margin wrought.    


THe Grief was common, common were the Cries,  
Tears, Sobs, and Groans of that afflicted Train,  
Which of Gods chosen did the Sum contain,  
And Earth rebounded with them, pierced were Skies;  
All good had left the World, each Vice did reign  
In the most monstrous sorts Hell could devose,  
And all Degrees, and each Estate did stain,  
Nor further had to go, whom to surprise;  
The World beneath, the Prince of Darkness lay,  
In every Phan who had himself installed,  
Was sacrificed unto, by Prayers called,  
Responses gave, which (fools) they did obey:  
When (pitying Man) God of a Virgin's womb  
Was borne, and those false Deities struck dumb.    


Run (Shepherds) run, where Bethleme blest appears▪  
We bring the best of News, be not dismayed,  
A Saviour there is borne, more old than years,  
Amidst the rolling Heaven this Earth who stayed;  
In a poor Cottage inned, a Virgin Maid,  
A weakling did him bear who all upbeares,  
There he is swaddled in clothes▪ in Manger laid,  
To who● too narrow Swadlings are our Spheres.  
Run (Shepherds) run and solemnize his Birth,  
This is that Night, no, Day grown great with Bliss,  
In which the Power of Satan broken is,  
In Heaven be Glory, Peace unto the Earth.  
Thus singing through the Air the Angel's swame,  
And Cope of Stars re-echood the same.    


O Than the fairest day, thrice fairer Night,  
Night to best Days▪ in which a Sun doth rife,  
Of which that golden Eye which clears the Skies,  
Is but a sparkling Ray, a Shadow light;  
And blessed ye (in silly Pastor's sight)  
Mild Creatures in whose warm Crib now lies,  
That Heaven-sent Youngling, holy-Maide-borne Wight,  
Midst, end, beginning of our Prophecies:  
Blessed Cottage that hath Flowers in Winter spread,  
Though withered blessed Gra●se, that hath the grace  
To deck and be a Carpet to that Place:   

Thus sang unto the sounds of oaken Reed  
Before the Babe, the Shepherds bowed on knees,  
And Springs ran Nectar, Hony dropped from Trees.    


TO spread the azure Canopy of Heaven,  
And make it twinkle with those spangs of Gold,  
To stay the ponderous Globe of Earth so even,  
That it should all, and nought should it uphold;  
To give strange motions to the Planets seven,  
Or jove to make so meek, or Mars so bold,  
To temper what is mo●st, dry, hot, and cold,  
Of all their jars that sweet accords are given:  
LORD, to thy Wisdom's nought▪ nought to thy Might,  
But that thou shouldst (thy Glory laid aside)  
Come meanly in mortality to bide,  
And die for those deserved eternal plight,  
A wonder is so far above our wit,  
That Angels stand amazed to muse on it.    


THe last and greatest Herald of Heaven's King,  
Girt with rough Skins, hies to the Deserts wild,  
Among that savage brood the Woods forth bring,  
Which he than Man more harmless found and mild;  
His food was Locusts, and what there doth spring,  
With Honey that from virgin Hi●es distilled,  
Parched Body, hollow Eyes, some uncouth thing  
Made him appear, long since from Earth exiled,  
There burst he forth, All ye whose Hopes rely  
On GOD, with me amidst these Deserts 〈◊〉  
Repent, repent, and from old errors turn▪   

Who listened to his voice, obeyed his cry?  
Only the Echoes which he made relent,  
Rung from their flinty Caves, repent repent▪    


THese Eyes (dear Lord) once Brandon's of Desire,  
Frail Scouts betraying what they had to keep,  
Which their own heart, than others set on fire,  
Their traitorous black before thee here out weep;  
These Locks of blushing deeds, the gilt attire,  
Waves curling, wrackefull shelves to shadow deep,  
Rings wedding Souls to Sins lethargic sleep,  
To touch thy sacred Feet do now aspire.  
In Seas of care behold a sinking Bark,  
By winds of sharp Remorse unto thee driven,  
O let me not exposed be Ruins mark,  
My faults confessed (LORD) say they are forgiven.  
Thus sighed to TESUS the Bethanian fair,  
His teare-wet Feet still drying with her Hair.    


I Countries changed, new pleasures out to find,  
But ah! for pleasure new I sound new pain,  
Enchanting Pleasure so did Reason blind,  
That Father's love and words I scorned as vain:  
For Tables rich, for bed, for following train  
Of careful servants to observe my Mind,  
These Herds I keep, my fellows are assigned,  
Rock is my Bed, and Herbs my Life sustain.  
Now while I famine feel, fear worse harms,  
Father and Lord I turn, thy Love (yet great)  
My faults will pardon, pity mine estate.   

This where an aged Oak had spread its Arms  
Thought the lost Child, while as the Herds he led,  
Not far off on the acorns wild them fed.    


IF that the World doth in amaze remain,  
To hear in what a sad deploring mood,  
The Pelican pours from her breast her Blood,  
To bring to life her younglings back again?  
How should we wonder of that sovereign Good,  
Who from that Serpent's sting (that had us slain)  
To save our lives, shed his Life's purple flood,  
And turned in endless joy our endless Pain?  
Ungrateful Soul, that charmed with false Delight,  
Hast long long wandered in Sins flowery Path,  
And didst not think at all, or thoughtst not right  
On this thy Pelicans great Love and Death,  
here pause, and let (though Earth it scorn) Heaven see  
Thee pour forth tears to him poured Blood for thee.    


IF uhen far in the East ye do behold,  
Forth from his Crystal Bed the Sun to rise,  
With rosy Robes and Crown of flaming Gold?  
If gazing on that Empress of the Skies  
That takes so many forms, and those fair Brands  
Which blaze in Heaven's high Vault, Night's watchful eyes?  
If seeing how the Seas tumultuous Bands  
Of bellowing Billows have their course confined?  
How vnsustained the Earth still steadfast stands?  
Poor mortal Wights, ye e'er found in your Mind  
A thought, that some great King did sit above,  
Who had such Laws and Rites to them assigned?  
A King who fixed the Poles, made Spheres to move,  
All Wisdom, Pureness, Excellency, Might,  
All Goodness, Greatness, justice, Beauty, Love;  
With fear and wonder hither turn your Sight,  
See, see (alas) Him now, not in that State  
Thought could forecast Him into Reason's light.  
Now Eyes with tears, now Hearts with grief make great,  
Bemoan this cruel Death and dreary case,  
If ever Plaints just W●e could aggravate?  
From Sin and Hell to save us humane Race,  
See this great King nailled to an abject Tree,  
An object of reproach and sad disgrace.  
O unheard Pity! Love in strange degree!  
He his own Life doth give, his Blood doth shed,  
●or Wormelings base such Worthiness to see.  
Poor Wights, behold His Visage pale as Led,  
His Head bowed to His Breast, Locks sadly rend,  
Like a cropped Rose that languishing doth fade.  
Weak Nature weep, astonished World lament,  
Lam●nt, you Winds, you Heaven that all contains,  
And thou (my Soul) let nought thy Griefs relent.  
Those Hands, those sacred Hands which hold the r●ines  
Of this great All, and kept from mutual wars  
The Elements, bear rend for thee their Veins:  
Those Feet which once must trade on golden Stars,  
For thee with Nails would be pierced through and ●orne,  
For thee heavens King from Heaven himself debars:  
This great heart-quaking Dolour wail and mourn,  
Ye that long since Him saw by might of Faith,  
Ye now that are, and ye yet to be borne.  
Not to behold his great Creator's Death,  
The Sun from sinful eyes hath veiled his light,  
And faintlie●journeyes up Heaven's saphire Path:  
And cutting from her Brows her Tresses bright,  
The Moon doth keep her Lords sad Obsequys,  
Impearling with her Tears this Robe of Night.  
All staggering and lazy lower the Skies,  
The Earth and elemental Stages quake,  
The long since dead from bursted Graves arise.  
And can things wanting sense yet sorrow take,  
And bear a Part with him who all them wrought?  
And Man (though borne with cries) shall pity lack?  
Think what had been your state, had he not brought  
To these sharp Pangs himself, and prized so high  
Your Souls, that with his Life them life he bought.  
What woes do you attend? if still ye lie  
Plunged in your wont ordures? wre●ched Brood,  
Shall for your sake again GOD ever die?  
O leave deluding shows, embrace true good,  
He on you calls, forgo Sins shameful trade,  
With Prayers now seek Heaven, and not with Blood.  
Let not the Lambs more from their Dames be had,  
Nor Al●●rs blush for sin, live every thing,  
That long time longed for sacrifice is made.  
All that is from you craved by this great King  
Is to believe, a pure Heart Incense is  
What gift (alas) can we him meaner bring?  
Haste sinne-sicke Souls, this season do do not miss,  
Now while remorseless Time doth grant you space,  
And GOD invites you to your only Bliss:  
He w●● you calls will not deny you Grace,  
But low-deepe bury fault▪ so ye repent,  
His Arms (lo) stretched are you to embrace.  
When Days are done, and Life's small spark is spent,  
So ye accept what freely here is given,  
Like brood of Angels deathless, all-content,  
Ye shall for ever live with him in Heaven.    


COme forth, come forth ye blessed triumphing Bands,  
Fair Citizens of that immortal Town,  
Come see that King which all this All commands,  
Now (overcharged with Love) die for his own;  
Look on those Nails which pierce his Feet and Hands,  
What a sharp Diadem his Brows doth crown?  
Behold his pallid Face, his Eyes which sown,  
And what a throng of thieves him mocking stands.  
Come forth ye empyrean Troops, come forth,  
Preserve this sacred Blood that Earth adorns,  
Gather those liquid Roses off his Thorns,  
O! to be lost they be of too much worth:  
For Streams ¹, juice ², Balm ³ they are, which quench ¹, kills ², charms ³,  
Of GOD ¹, Death ², Hell ³, the wrath ¹, the life ², the harmes3.    


Soul, which to Hell waste thrall,  
He, He for thine offence,  
Did suffer Death, who could not die at all▪  
O sovereign Excellence,  
O life of all that lives,  
Eternal Bounty which each good thing gives,  
How could Death mount so high?  
No wit this Point can reach,  
Faith only doth us teach,  
For us He died at all who could not dye▪    


LIfe to give life, deprived is of Life,  
And Death displayed hath Ensign against Death,  
So violent the Rigour was of Death,  
That nought could daunt it but the Life of Life:  
No Power had Power to thrall Life's Powers to Death,  
But willingly Life down hath laid Life,  
Love gave the wound which wrought this work of Death,  
His Bow and Shafts were of the Tree of Life.  
Now quakes the Author of eternal Death,  
To find that they whom erst he re●t of Life,  
Shall fill his Room above the lists of Death,  
Now all rejoice in Death who hope for Life.  
Dead JESUS lies who Death hath killed by Death,  
No Tomb his Tomb is, but new Source of Life.    


RIse from those fragrant Climes, thee now embrace,  
Unto this World of ours O haste thy Race,  
Fair Sun, and though contrary ways all year  
Thou hold thy course, now with the highest Sphere,  
join thy blue Wheels to hasten Time that lours,  
And lazy Minutes turn in perfect Hours;  
The Night and Death too long a league have made,  
To stow the World in Horrors ugly shade:  
Shake from thy Locks a Day with saffron rays  
So fair, that it outshine all other days;  
And yet do not presume (great Eye of light)  
To be that which this Day must make so bright,  
See, an eternal Sun hastes to arise,  
Not from the Eastern blushing Seas or Skies,  
Or any stranger World's Heavens Concaves have,  
But from the Darkness of an hollow Grave:  
And this is that all-powerfull Sun above,  
That crowned thy Brows with Rays, first made thee move.  
Lights Trumpeters, ye need not from your Bowers  
Proclaim this Day, this the angelic Powers  
Have done for you; But now an opal hue  
Bepaintes Heaven's Crystal, to the longing view  
Earth's late hid Colours glance, Light doth adorn  
The World, and (weeping joy) forth comes the Morn;  
And with her, as from a Lethargic Transe  
Breath (comed again) that Body doth advance,  
Which two sad Nights in rock lay coffined dead,  
And with au iron Guard environed,  
Life out of Death, Light out of Darkness springs,  
From a base jail forth comes the King of kings;  
What late was mortal, thralled to every woe,  
That lackeys life or upon sense doth grow,  
Immortal is, of an eternal Stamp,  
far brighter beaming than the morning Lamp.  
So from a black Eclipse out●peares the Sun:  
Such [when a huge of Days have on her run,  
In a far Forest in the pearlie East,  
And she herself hath burnt and spicy Nest]  
The lonlie Bird with youthful Pens and Comb,  
Doth soar from out her Cradle and her Tomb:  
So a small seed that in the Earth lies hid  
And dies, revi●ing bursts her cloddy Side,  
Adorned with yellow Locks, of new is borne,  
And doth become a Mother great with Corn,  
Of Grains brings hundreths with it, which when old,  
every the Furrows with a Sea of Gold.  
Hail holy Victor, greatest Victor hail,  
That Hell dost ransack, against Death prevail,  
O how thou longed for comes! with jubeling cries  
The all-triumphing Palladines of Skies  
Salute thy rising, Earth would joys no more  
Bear, if thou rising didst them not restore:  
A silly Tomb should not his Flesh enclose,  
Who did Heavens trembling Tarasses dispose,  
No Monument should such a jewel hold,  
No Rock, though Ruby, Diamond, and Gold.  
Thou only pity didst us humane Race,  
Bestowing on us of thy free●giuen Grace  
More than we forfeited and loosed first,  
In Eden's Rebel when we were accursed.  
Then Earth our portion was, Earth's joys but given,  
Earth and Earth's Bliss thou hast exchanged with Heaven.  
O what a height of good upon us streams  
From the great splendour of thy Bounty's Beams?  
When we deserved shame, horror, flames of wrath,  
Thou bled our wounds, and suffer didst our Death,  
But Father's justice pleased, Hell, Death overcome,  
In triumph now thou risest from thy Tomb,  
With Glories which past Sorrows countervail,  
Hail holy Victor, greatest Victor hail.  
Hence humble sense, and hence ye Guides of sense,  
We now reach Heaven, your weak intelligence  
And searching Powers, were in a flash made dim,  
To learn from all eternity, that him  
The Father bred, then that he here did come  
(His Bearers Parent) in a Virgin's Womb;  
But then when sold, betrayed, crowned, scourged with Thorn,  
Nailled to a Tree, all breathlcsse, bloodless, torn,  
Entombed, him risen from a Grave to find,  
Confounds your Cunning, turns like Moles you blind.  
Death, then that heretofore still barren waist,  
Nay, didst each other Birth eat up and waste,  
Imperious, hateful, pitiless, unjust,  
Unpartial equaller of all with dust,  
Stern Executioner of heavenly doom,  
Made fruitful, now Life's Mother art become,  
A sweet relief of Cares the Soul molest  
An Harbinger to Glory, Peace and Rest,  
Put off thy mourning Weeds, yield all thy Gall  
To daily sinning Life, proud of thy fall,  
Assemble thy Captives, bide all haste to rise,  
And every Corpse in earthquakes where it lies,  
Sound from each flowery Grave, and rocky jail,  
Hail holy Victor, greatest Victor hail.  
The World that warning late and faint did lie,  
Applauding to our joys, thy Victory,  
To a young Prime essays to turn again,  
And as ere soiled with Sin yet to remain,  
Her chilling Ag●es she begins to miss,  
All Bliss returning with the LORD of Bliss.  
With greater light Heavens Temples opened shine,  
Morn's smiling rise, evens blushing do decline,  
Clouds dappled glister, boisterous Winds are calm,  
Soft Zephyrs do the Fields with sighs embalm,  
In enamel blew the Sea hath hushed his R●ares,  
And with enamoured Curls doth kiss the Shores:  
All-bearing Earth, like a new-married Queen,  
Her Beauty's hightenes, in a Gown of Greene  
Perfumes the Air, her Meads are wrought with Flowers,  
In colours various, figures, smelling, powers,  
Trees wanton in the Groves with leavy Locks▪  
Her Hills empampred stand, The Vales, the Rocks  
Ring peals of joy, her Floods and prattling Brooks,  
(Stars liquid Mirrors) with serpinting Crookes,  
And whispering murmurs, sound unto the Main,  
That World's pure Age returned is again.  
The honey People leave their golden Bowers,  
And innocently pray on budding Flowers,  
In gloomy Shades perched on the tender Sprays  
The painted Singers fill the Air with Lays:  
Seas, Floods, Earth, Aire, all diversly do sound,  
Yet all their divers Notes hath but one ground,  
Re-echoed heeredowne from Heaven's azure Veil,  
Hail holy Victor, greatest Victor hail.  
O Day on which Deaths Adamantine Chain  
The LORD did break, ransacking Satan's Reign,  
And in triumphing Pomp his Trophies reared,  
Be thou blest ever, henceforth still endeared  
With Name of his own Day, the Law to Grace,  
Types to their substance yield, to thee give place  
The old New-Moones, with all festival Days,  
And what above the rest deserveth praise  
The reverend Sabbath, what could else they be  
Than golden Heralds, telling what by thee  
We should enjoy? shades past, now shine thou clear,  
And henceforth be thou Empress of the year,  
This Glory of thy Sister's sex to win,  
From work on thee, as other Days from Sin,  
That Mankind shall forbear, in every place  
The Prince of Planets warmeth in his race;  
And far beyond his paths in frozen Climes;  
And may thou be so blest to out-date Times,  
That when Heaven's Choir shall balze in accents loud  
The many Mercies of their sovereign Good,  
How he on thee did Sin, Death, Hell destroy,  
It may be aye the Burden of their joy..    


BEneath a sable veil, and Shadows deep,  
Of unaccessible and dimming light,  
In Silence ebane clouds more black than Night,  
The World's great Mind his secrets hid doth keep:  
Through those thick Mists when any mortal Wight  
Aspires, with halting pace, and Eyes that weep  
To pry, and in his Mysteries to creep,  
With Thunders he and Lightnings blasts their Sight.  
O Sun invisible, that dost abide  
Within thy bright abysmes, most fair, most dark,  
Where with thy proper Rays thou dost thee hide,  
O ever-shining, never full seen mark,  
To guide me in Life's Night, thy light me show,  
The more I search of thee, the less I know.    


IF with such passing Beauty, choice Delights,  
The Architect of this great Round did frame,  
This Palace visible, short lists of Fame,  
And silly Mansion but of dying Wights?  
How many Wonders, what amazing lights  
Must that triumphing Seat of Glory claim?  
That doth transcend all this great Alls vast heights,  
Of whose bright Sun ours here is but a beam.  
O blessed abode! O happy dwelling place!  
Where visibly th'Invisible doth reign,  
Blessed People which do see true Beauty's Face,  
With whose far Shadows scarce he Earth doth deign:  
All joy is but Annoy, all Concord Strife,  
Matched with your endless Bliss and happy life.    


Love which is here a care,  
That Wit and Will doth mar,  
Uncertain Truce, and a most certain War,  
A shrill tempestuous Wind,  
Which doth disturb the Mind,  
And like wild Waves our designs all commo●e;  
Among those Powers above,  
Which see their Maker's Face,  
It a contentment is, a quiet Peace,  
A Pleasure void of Grief, a constant rest,  
Eternal joy, which nothing can molest.    


THat space where raging Waves do now divide  
From the great Continent our happy Isle,  
Was sometime Land, and now where Ships do glide,  
Once with laborious Art the Plough did tile:  
Once those fair Bounds stretched out so far and wide,  
Where Towns, no, Shires enwalled, endear each mile,  
Were all ignoble Sea and marish vile,  
Where Proteus Flocks danced measures to the Tide.  
So Age transforming all still forward runs,  
No wonder though the Earth doth change her Face,  
New Manners, Pleasures new, turn with new Suns,  
Locks now like Gold grow to an hoary grace;  
Nay, Minds rare shape doth change, that lies despised,  
Which was so dear of late and highly prized.    


THis World a Hunting is,  
The Prey poor Man, the Nimrod fierce is Death,  
His speedy Gray●ounds are,  
Lust, Sickness, Envy, Care,  
Strife that near falls amiss,  
With all those ills which haunt us while we breath.  
Now, if by chance we fly  
Of these the eager chase,  
Old Age with stealing pace  
Casts up his Nets, and there we panting die,    


WHy (Worldlings) do ye trust frail Honour's dreams?  
And lean to guilted Glories which decay?  
Why do ye toil to registrate your Names  
On icy Pillars, which soon melt away?  
True Honour is not here, that place it claims  
Where black-browed Night doth not exile the Day,  
Nor no farre-shining lamp diues in the Sea,  
But an eternal Sun spreads lasting Beams:  
There, it attendeth you, where spotless Bands  
Of Spirits, stand gazing on their sovereign Bliss,  
Where years not hold it in their canckring hands,  
But who once noble ever noble is.  
Look home, lest he your weakened Wit make thrall,  
Who eden's foolish Gardner erst made fall.    


AS are those Apples, pleasant to the Eye,  
But full of smoke within, which use to grow  
Near that strange Lake where God poured from the Sky  
Huge showers of flames, worse flames to overthrow:  
Such are their works that with a glaring Show  
Of humble holiness, in Virtues die  
Would colour mischief, while within they glow  
With coals of Sin, though none the Smoke descry.  
Ill is that Angel that erst fell from Heaven,  
But not more ill than he, nor in worse case  
Who hides a traitorous Mind with smiling face,  
And with a Doves white feathers masks a Raven:  
Each Sin some colour hath it to adorn,  
Hypocrisy Allmightie God doth scorn.    


NEw doth the Sun appear,  
The Mountain's Snows decay,  
Crowned with frail flowers forth comes the baby year,  
My Soul, Time posts away,  
And thou yet in that frost  
Which Flower and fruit hath lost,  
As if all here immortal were dost stay:  
For shame thy Powers awake  
Look to that Heaven which never Night makes black,  
And there at that immortal Sun's bright Rays,  
Deck thee with Flowers which fear not rage of Days.    


THrice happy he who by some shady Grove,  
far from the clamorous World, doth live his own,  
Though solitary, who is not alone,  
But doth, converse with that Eternal Love:  
O how more sweet is Birds harmonious Moan,  
Or the hoarse Sobbing of the widowed Dove?  
Than those smooth whisperings near a Prince's Throne,  
Which Good make doubtful do the evil approve?  
O how more sweet is Zephyres wholesome Breath,  
And Sighs embalmed, which newborn Flowers unfold,  
Than that applause vain Honour doth bequeath?  
How sweet are Streams to Poison drunk in Gold?  
The World is full of Horrors, Troubles, Slights,  
Woods harmless Shades have only true Delights.    


SWeet Bird, that singest away the early Hours,  
Of Winter's past or coming void of Care,  
Well pleased with Delights which present are,  
Fair Seasones, budding Sprays, sweet-smelling Flowers:  
To Rocks, to Springs, to Rills, from leavy Bowers:  
Thou thy Creator's Goodness dost declare,  
And what dear Gifts on thee he did not spare,  
A Stain to humane sense in Sin that lours.  
What Soul can be so sick, which by thy Songs  
(Attired in sweetness) sweetly is not driven  
Quite to forget Earth's turmoils, spites, and wrongs?  
And lift a reverend Eye and Thought to Heaven?  
Sweet Artless Songstarre, thou my Mind dost raise  
To Airs of Spheres, yes, and to Angels Lays.    


AS when it happeneth that some lovely Town  
Unto a barbarous Besieger falls,  
Who there by Sword and Flame himself installs,  
And (shameless) it in Tears and Blood doth drown;  
Her Beauty spoiled, her Citizens made Thralles,  
His spite yet can not so her all throw down,  
But that some Statue, Arch, Phan of renown,  
Yet lurks vnmaymed within her weeping walls:  
So after all the Spoil, Disgrace and Wrack,  
That Time, the World, and Death could bring combined,  
Amidst that Mass of Ruins they did make,  
Safe and all scarre●lesse yet remains my Mind:  
From this so high transcending Rapture springs,  
That I, all else defaced, not envy Kings.    


LEt us each day enure ourselves to dye,  
If this (and not our fears) be truly Death,  
Above the Circles both of Hope and Faith  
With fair immortal Pinniones to fly?  
If this be Death our best Part to untie  
(By ruining the jail) from Lust and Wrath,  
And every drowsy languor here beneath,  
It turning denized Citizen of Sky?  
To have more knowledge than all Books contain,  
All Pleasures even surmounting wishing Powre,  
The fellowship of God's immortal Train,  
And these that Time nor force shall e'er devour?  
If this be Death? what joy, what golden care  
Of Life, can with Death's ugliness compare?    


AMidst the azure clear  
Of Iordans sacred Streams,  
jordan of Libanon the offspring dear,  
When Zephyr's flowers unclose,  
And Sun shines with new Beams,  
With grave and stately grace a Nymph arose.  
Upon her Head she ware  
Of Amaranthes a Crown,  
Her left hand Palms, her right a Brand●n bare,  
Unveiled Skins whiteness lay,  
Gold hairs in Curls hang down,  
Eyes sparkled joy, more bright than star of Day.  
The Flood a Throne her reared  
Of Waves, most like that Heaven  
Where beaming Stars in Glory turn ensphered,  
The Air stood calm and clear,  
No Sigh by Winds was given,  
Birds left to sing, Herds feed, her voice to hear.  
World-wandring sorry Wights,  
Whom no thing can content  
Within these varying li●ts of Day's and Nights,  
Whose life (ere known amiss)  
In glittering Griefs is spent,  
Come learn (said she) what is your choicest Bliss▪  
From Toil and pressing Cares  
How ye may respite find,  
A Sanctuary from Soule-thralling Snares,  
A Port to harbour sure  
In spite of waves and wind,  
Which shall when Times Hourglass is run endure.  
Not happy is that Life  
Which ye as happy hold,  
No, but a Sea of fears, a field of strife,  
Charged on a Throne to sit  
With Diadems of Gold,  
Preserved by Force, and still observed by Wit;  
Huge Treasures to enjoy,  
Of all her Gems spoil Ind,  
All Seres silk in Garments to employ,  
Deliciously to feed,  
The Phoenix plumes to find  
To rest upon, or deck your purple Bed.  
Frail Beauty to abuse,  
And (wanton Sybarites)  
On past or present touch of sense to muse;  
Never to hear of Noise  
But what the Ear delights,  
Sweet Music's charms, or charming flatterers voice.  
Nor can it Bliss you bring,  
Hid Natures Depths to know,  
Why matter changeth, whence each form doth spring,  
Nor that your Fame should range,  
And after-Worlds it blow  
From Tamnanis to Nile, from Nile to Gange.  
All these have not the Powre  
To free the Mind from fears,  
Nor hideous horror can allay one hour,  
When Death in steal doth glance,  
In Sickness lurk or years,  
And wakes the Soul from out her mortal Trance.  
No, but blessed life is this,  
With chaste and pure Desire▪  
To turn unto the lodestar of all Bliss,  
On GOD the Mind to rest,  
Burnt up with sacred Fire,  
Possessing him to be by him possessed.  
When to the baulmie East  
Sun doth his light impart,  
Or when he diveth in the lowly West,  
And ravisheth the Day,  
With spotless Hands and heart  
Him cheerfully to praise and to him pray.  
To heed each action so,  
As ever in his sight,  
More fearing doing ill than passive woe▪  
Not to seem other thing  
Than what ye are aright,  
Never to do what may Repentance bring:  
Not to be blown with Pride,  
Nor moved at Glories breath,  
Which Shadowlike on wings of Time doth glide;  
So Malice to disarm,  
And conquer hasty Wrath,  
As to do good to those that work your harm:  
To hatch no base Desires  
Or Gold or Land to gain,  
Well pleased with what by Virtue one acquires,  
To have the Wit and Will  
Consorting in one Strain,  
Than what is good to have no higher skill.  
Never on Neighbours well,  
With Cockatrices Eye  
To look, nor make an others Heaven your Hell;  
Not to be Beauty's Thrall,  
All fruitless Love to fly▪  
Yet loving still a Love transcending all:  
A Love which while it burns  
The Soul with fairest Beams,  
In that uncreatde Sun the Soul it turns,  
And makes such Beauty prove,  
That (if Sense saw her Gleams?)  
All lookers on would pine and die for love.  
Who such a life doth live,  
Ye happy even may call  
E'er ruthless Death a whished end him give,  
And after then when given,  
More happy by his fall,  
For Humans, Earth, enjoying Angels, Heaven.  
Swift is your mortal Race,  
And glassy is the Field,  
vast are Desires not limited by Grace,  
Life a weak Tapper is,  
Then while it light doth yield  
Leave flying joys, embrace this lasting Bliss,  
This when the Nymph had said,  
She dived within the Flood,  
Whose Face with smiling Curls long after stayed,  
Then Sighs did Zephyrs press,  
Birds sang from every Wood,  
And Echoes rang, this was true Happiness.    


AN HYMN OF THE FAIREST FAIR.   


I Feel my Bosom glow with wontlesse Fires,  
Raised from the vulgar press my Mind aspires  
(Winged with high Thoughiss) unto his praise to climb,  
From deep Eternity who called forth Time,  
That Essence which not moved makes each thing move,  
Vncreatde Beauty all-creating Love;  
But by so great an object, radiant light,  
My Heart appalled, enfeebled rests my Sight,  
Thick Clouds benight my labouring Engine,  
And at my high attempts my Wits repine:  
If thou in me this sacred Rapture wrought,  
My Knowledge sharpen, Sarcells lend my Thought?  
Grant me (Times Father, world-containing King)  
A Power of thee in powerful Lays to sing,  
That as thy Beauty in Earth lives, Heaven shines,  
It dawning may or shadow in my Lines.  
As far beyond the starry walls of Heaven,  
As is the loftiest of the Planets seven  
Sequestered from this Earth, in purest light  
Outshining ours, as ours doth sable Night,  
Thou all-sufficient, Omnipotent,  
Thou ever-glorious, most excellent,  
GOD various in Names, in Essence one,  
High art installed on a golden Throne,  
Out-reaching, Heaven's wide Vastes, the Bounds of nought,  
Transcending all the Circles of our Thought,  
With diamantine Sceptre in thy Hand,  
There thou giv'st Laws, and dost this World command,  
This World of Concord's raised unliklie sweet,  
Which like a Ball lies prostrate to thy Feet.  
If so we may well say (and what we say  
here wrapped in flesh, led by dim Reasons' ray,  
To show by earthly Beauties which we see  
That spiritual Excellence that shines in thee,  
Good Lord forgive) not far from thy right Side,  
With curled Locks Youth ever doth abide,  
Rose-checked Youth who garlanded with Flowers,  
Still blooming, ceaselessly unto thee pours  
Immortal Nectar in a cup of Gold,  
That by no darts of Ages thou grow old,  
And as ends and beginnings thee not claim,  
Successionlesse that thou be still the same.  
Near to thy other side resistless Might,  
From Head to Foot in burnished Armour dight,  
That rings about him, with a wa●ing Brand,  
And watchful Eye, great Sentinel doth stand,  
That neither Time nor force in aught impair  
Thy Workmanship, nor harm thine Empire fair,  
Soon to give Death to all again that would  
Stern Discord raise which thou destroyed of old,  
Discord that foe to order, Nurse of War,  
By which the noblest things dimolisht are,  
But (caitiff) she no Treason doth devose,  
When Might to nought doth bring her enterprise,  
Thy all-upholding Might her Malice raines,  
And her in Hell throws bound in iron Chains.  
With Locks in waves of Gold that ebb and flow  
On y●orie neck, in Robes more white than Snow,  
Truth steadfastly before thee holds a Glass,  
Indented with Gems, where shineth all that was,  
That is, or shall be, here ere aught was wrought.  
Thou knew all that thy Power with time forth brought,  
And more, things number less which thou couldst make,  
That actually shall never being take,  
here thou beholdest thyself, and (strange) dost prove  
At once the Beauty, Lover and the Love..  
With Faces two (like Sisters) sweetly fair,  
Whose Blossoms no rough Autumn can impair,  
Stands Providence, and doth her looks disperse.  
Through every Corner of this Universe,  
Thy Providence, at once which general things  
And singular doth rule, as Empire's Kings,  
Without whose care this world (lost) would remain,  
As Ship without a Master in the Main,  
As Chariot alone, as Bodies prove  
Deprived of Souls, whereby they be, li●e, move.  
But who are they which shine thy Throne so near?  
With sacred countenance, and look severe,  
This in one hand a ponderous Sword doth hold,  
Her left stays charged with Balances of Gold,  
That with, Brows girt with Bays, sweet-smiling Face,  
Doth bear a Brandon, with a babish grace  
Two milk-white Wings him easily do move,  
O she thy justice is, and this thy Love!  
By this thou brought this Engine great to light,  
By that it framed in Number, Measure, Weight,  
That destiny doth reward to ill and good;  
But Sway of justice is by Love withstood,  
Which did it not relent and mildly stay,  
This World ere now had had its funeral Day.  
What Bands (enclustred) near to these abide,  
Which into vast infinity them hide?  
infinity that neither doth admit,  
Place, Time, nor Number to encroach on it:  
here Bounty sparkleth, here doth Beauty shine,  
Simplicity, more white than Gelsomine,  
Mercy with open wings, ay-varied Bliss,  
Glory, and joy, that Blisses darling is.  
Ineffable, all-pow'rfull GOD, all-free,  
Thou only livest, and each thing lives by thee,  
No joy, no, nor Perfection to thee came  
By the contriving of this World's great Frame,  
Ere Sun, Moon, Stars began their restless race,  
Ere painted with purple light was heavens round Face,  
Ere Aire had Clouds, ere Clouds wept down their showers,  
Ere Sea embraced Earth, ere Earth bare Flowers,  
Thou happy lived; World nought to thee supplied,  
All in thyself thy self thou satisfied:  
Of Good no slender Shadow doth appear,  
No age-worn track, which shined in thee not clear,  
Perfestions Sum, prime●cause of every Cause,  
Midst, end, beginning, where all good doth pa●se:  
Hence of thy Substance, differing in nought  
Thou in Eternity thy Son forth brought,  
The only Birth of thy unchanging Mind,  
Thine Image, Patterne-like that ever shined,  
Light out of Light, begotten not by Will  
But Nature, all and that same Essence still  
Which thou thyself, for thou dost nought possess  
Which he hath not, in ought nor is he less  
Than Thee his great Begetter; of this Light,  
Eternal, double, kindled was thy Spirit  
Eternally, who is with thee the same,  
All-holie Gift, Ambassador, Knot, Flame:  
Most sacred Triade, O most holy One,  
Vnprocreatde Father, ever-procreatde Son,  
Ghost breathed from both, you were, are▪ aye shall be,  
(Most blessed) Three in One, and One in Three,  
Vncomprehensible by reckless Hight,  
And unperceaved by excessiae Light.  
So in our Souls three and yet one are still,  
The Understanding, Memory, and Will;  
So (though unlike) the Planet of the Days  
So soon as he was made begat his Rays,  
Which are his Offspring, and from both was hurled,  
The rosy Light which comfort doth the World,  
And none forwent an other: so the Spring,  
The Wellhead, and the Stream which they forth bring,  
Are but one selfe-same Essence, nor in aught  
Do differ, save in order, and our Thought  
No chime of Time discerns in them to fall,  
But Three distinctly bide one Essence all.  
But these express not Thee, who can declare  
Thy being? Men and Angels dazzled are,  
Who force this Eden would with wit or sense  
A Cherubin shall find to bar him thence.  
All's Architect, Lord of this Universe,  
Ingulph'd is Wit would in thy Greatness pierce,  
Ah! as a Pilgrim who the Alps doth pass,  
Or Atlas' Temples crowned with winter glass,  
The airy Caucasus, the Apennine,  
Pyrenes cliffs where Sun doth never shine,  
When he some heaps of Hills hath over-went,  
Begins to think on rest, his journey spent,  
Till mounting some tall Mountain he do find,  
More heights before him than he left behind:  
With halting pace so while I would me raise  
To the unbounded Circuits of thy Praise,  
Some part of way I thought to have o'errun,  
But now I see how scarce I have begun,  
With Wonders new my Spirits range possessed,  
And wand'ring wayless in a maze them rest.  
In these vast Fields of Light, etherial Plains,  
Thou art attended by immortal Trains  
Of Intellectual Powers, which thou brought forth  
To praise thy Goodness, and admire thy Worth,  
In numbers passing other Creatures far,  
Since Creatures ●●st noble maniest are,  
Which do in knowledge us no less outrun  
Than Moon in light doth Stars, or Moon the Sun,  
Unlike, in Orders ranged and many ● Band  
(If Beauty in Disparity doth stand?)  
archangels▪ Angels, Cherubes, Seraphines',  
And what with name of Thrones amongst them shines,  
Large-ruling Princes, Dominations, Po●res,  
All-acting Virtues of those fl●ming To●res;  
These fred of umbrage, these of Labour free,  
Rest ravished with still beholding Thee,  
Inflamed with Beams which sparkle from thy Face,  
They can no more desire, far less embrace.  
Low under them, with slow and staggering pace  
Thy Handmaid Nature thy great Steps doth trace,  
The Source of second Causes, golden Chain  
That links this Frame as thou it doth ordain,  
Nature gazed on with such a curious Eye  
That Earthlings oft her deemed a Deity.  
By Nature led those Bodies fair and great  
Which faint not in their Course, nor change their State,  
Vnintermixt, which no disorder prove,  
Though aye and contrary they always move,  
The Organs of thy Providence divine,  
Books ever open, Signs that clearly shine,  
Time's purpled Maskers, then do them advance,  
As by sweet Music in a measured dance;  
Stars, Host of Heaven, ye Firmaments bright Flowers,  
Clear Lamps which over-hang this Stage of ours,  
Ye turn not there to deck the Weeds of Night,  
Nor Pageant-like to please the vulgar Sight,  
Great Causes sure ye must bring great Effects,  
But who can discant right your grave Aspects?  
He only who You made deciphere can  
Your Notes, Heavens Eyes ye blind the Eyes of Man.  
Amidst these Saphire farre-extending Heights,  
The never-twinkling ever-wondring Lights  
Their fixed Motions keep, one dry and cold,  
Deep-Leaden coloured, slowly there is rolled,  
With Rule and Line for Times steps meating even  
In twice three Lustres he but turns his Heaven.  
With temperate qualities and Countenance fair,  
Still mildly smiling sweetly debonnaire,  
An other cheers the World, and way doth make  
In twice six Autumns through the Zodiac.  
But hot and dry with flaming Locks and Brows  
Enraged, this in his red Pavilion glowest:  
Together running with like speed if space,  
Two equally in hands achieve their race,  
With blushing Face this oft doth bring the Day,  
And usheres oft to stately Stars the way,  
That various in virtue, changing, light,  
With his small flame impearles the veil of Night.  
Prince of this Court, the Sun in triumph rides,  
With the Year Snake-like in herself that glides,  
Times Dispensator, fair life-giving Source,  
Through Skies twelve Posts as he doth run his course,  
Heart of this All, of what is known to sense  
The likest to his Maker's excellence,  
In whose diurnal motion doth appear  
A Shadow, no, true portrait of the Year.  
The Moon moves lowest, silver Sun of Night,  
Dispersing through the World her borrowed light,  
Who in three forms her head abroad doth range,  
And only constant is in constant Change.  
Sad Queen of Silence, I near see thy Face,  
To wax, or wain, or shine with a full grace,  
But straighi (amazed) on Man I think, each Day  
His state who changeth, or if he find Stay,  
It is in dreary anguish, cares, and pains,  
And of his Labours Death is all the Gains?  
Immortal Monarch, can so fond a Thought  
Lodge in my Breast? as to trust thou first brought  
here in Earth's shady Cloister wretched Man,  
To suck the Air of Woe, to spend Life's span  
Midst Sighs and Plaints, a Stranger unto Mirth,  
To give himself his Death rebucking Birth?  
By sense and wit of Creatures made King,  
By sense and wit to live their Underling?  
And what is worst, have Eaglets eyes to see  
His own disgrace, and know an high degree  
Of Bliss, the Place, if he might thereto climb,  
And not live thralled to imperious Time?  
Or (dotard) shall I so from Reason swerve,  
To deem those Lights which to our use do serve,  
(For thou dost not them need) more nobly framed  
Than us, that know their course, and have them named?  
No, I ne'er think but we did them surpass  
As far, as they do Asterisms of Glass,  
When thou us made, by Treason high defiled,  
Thrust from our first estate we live ex●●d  
Wand'ring this Earth, which is of Death the Lot,  
Where he doth use the Power which he hath got,  
Indifferent Umpire unto Clowns and Kings,  
The supreme Monarch of all mortal things.  
When first this flowery Orb was to us given,  
It but in place disvalue was to Heaven,  
These Creatures which now our Sovereigns are,  
And as to Rebels do denounce us war,  
Then were our Vasselles, no tumultuous Storm,  
No Thunders, Quakings, did her Form deform,  
The Seas in tumbling Mountains did not roar,  
But like moist Crystal whispered on the Shore,  
No Snake did met her Meads, nor ambushed lower  
In azure Curls beneath the sweet-Spring Flower;  
The Nightshade, Henbane, Napell, Aconite,  
Her Bowels then not bare, with Death to smite  
Her guiltless Brood; thy Messengers of Grace,  
As their high Rounds did haunt this lower Place;  
O joy of joys! with our first Parents Thou  
To commune then didst deign, as Friends do now:  
Against thee we rebelled, and justly thus,  
Each Creature rebelled against us,  
Earth, reft of what did chief in her excel,  
To all became a jail, to most a Hell,  
In Times full Term until thy Son was given,  
Who Man with Thee, Earth reconciled with Heaven.  
Whole and entiere all in thyself thou art,  
All-where diffused, yet of this All no part,  
For infinite, in making this fair Frame  
(Great without quantity) in all thou came,  
And filling all, how can thy State admit,  
Or Place or Substance to be void of it?  
Were Worlds as many, as the Rays which stream  
From Days bright lamp, or madding Wits do dream,  
They would not reel in nought, nor wand'ring stray,  
But draw to Thee, who could their Centre's stay;  
Were but one hour this World disjoined from thee,  
It in one hour to nought reduced should be,  
For it thy Shadow is, and can they last,  
If severed from the Substances them cast?  
O only blest, and Author of all Bliss,  
No, Bliss itself, that all-where wished is,  
Efficient, exemplary, final Good,  
Of thine own Self but only understood;  
Light is thy Curtain, thou art Light of Light,  
An everwaking Eye still shining bright,  
In-looking all, exempt of passive Powre,  
And change, in change since Death's pale shade doth lower:  
All Times to thee are one, that which hath run,  
And that which is not brought yet by the Sun,  
To thee are present, who dost alwayss see  
In present act, what past is, or to be;  
Day-li●ers we remembrance do loss  
Of Ages worn, so Miseries us toss  
(Blind and lethargic of thy heavenly Grace,  
Which Sin in our first Parents did deface,  
And even while Embryones cursed by justest doom)  
That we neglect what gone is, or to come,  
But thou in thy great Archives scrolled haste  
In parts and whole, what ever yet hath past,  
Since first the marble Wheels of Time were rolled,  
As ever living, never waxing old,  
Still is the same thy Day and Yesterday,  
An undivided Now, a constant Ay.  
O King whose Greatness none can comprehend,  
Whose boundless Goodness doth to all extend,  
Light of all Beauty, Ocean without ground,  
That standing flowest, giving dost abound,  
Rich Palace, and Endweller ever blest,  
Never not working ever yet in Rest;  
What wit can not conceive, words say of Thee,  
here where we as but in a Mirror see,  
Shadows of shadows, Atoms of thy Might,  
Still owlie eyed when staring on thy Light,  
Grant that released from this earthly jail,  
And fred of Clouds which here our Knowledge veil,  
In Heaven's high Temples where thy Praises ring,  
I may in sweeter Notes hear Angels sing.     


GReat GOD, whom we with humbled Thoughts adore,  
Eternal, Infinite, Almighty King,  
Whose Dwellings Heaven transcend, whose Throne before  
archangels serve, and Seraphines' do sing;  
Of nought who wrought all that with wondering Eyes  
We do behold within this various Round,  
Who makes the Rocks to rock, to stand the Skies,  
At whose command Clouds peals of Thunder sound:  
Ah! spare us Worms, weigh not how we alas  
(Evil to ourselves) against thy Law's rebel,  
Wash off those spots which still in Conscience Glass  
(Though we be loath to look) we see too well▪  
Deserved Revenge of do not do not take,  
If thou revenge what shall abide thy Blow?  
Pass shall this World, this World which tho● didst make,  
Which should not perish till thy Trumpet blow,  
What Soul is found whom Parents Crime not stains?  
Or what with its own Sins defiled is not?  
Though justice Rigour threaten (ah) her Rains  
Let Mercy guide, and never be forgot.  
Less are our Faults far far than is thy Love,  
O what can better seem thy Grace divine,  
Than they that plagues deserve thy Bounty prove,  
And where thou shower mayst Vengeance, there to shine?  
Then look and pity, pitying forgive  
Us guilty Slaves, or Servants now in thrall,  
Slaves, if alas thou look how we do live,  
Or doing ill, or doing nought at all?  
Of an ungrateful Mind a foul Effect,  
But if thy Gifts which largely heretofore  
Thou hast upon us povvred thou do respect,  
We are thy Servants, nay, than Ser●ants more,  
Thy Children, yes, and Children de●relie bought,  
But what strange Chance us of this Lot 〈◊〉?  
Po●re worthless Wights how lowly are we brought,  
Whom Grace once Children made, Sin hath made Slaves?  
Sin hath made Slaves, but let those Bands Grace break,  
That in our wrongs thy Mercies may appear,  
Thy Wisdom not so mean is, power so weak,  
But thousand ways they can make World's thou fear.  
O Wisdom boundless! O 〈◊〉 Grace!  
Grace, Wisdom which make 〈◊〉 dim Reasons Eye,  
And could Heaven's King bring from his placelesse Place,  
On this ignoble Stage of Care to dye:  
To dye our Death, and with the sacred Streamie  
Of Blood and Water gushing from his Side,  
To make us clean of that contagious Blame,  
First on us brought by our first Parent's Pride.  
Thus thy great Love and Pity (heavenly King)  
Love, Pity which so well our Loss prevent,  
Of Evil itself (lo) could all Goodness bring,  
And sad beginning cheer with glad event.  
O Love and Pity! ill known of these Times,  
O Love and Pity! careful of our need,  
O Bounties! which our horrid Acts and Crimes  
(Grown numberless) contend near to exceed.  
Make this excessive ardour of thy love,  
So warm our Coldness, so our Lives renew,  
That we from Sin, Sin may from us remove,  
Wit may our Will, Faith may our Wit subdue.  
Let thy pure Love burn up all worldly Lust,  
Hell's candied Poison killing our best part,  
Which makes us joy in Toys, adore frail Dust  
In stead of Thee, in Temple of our Heart.  
Grant when at last our Souls these Bodies leave,  
Their loathsome Shops of sin and Mansions blind,  
And Doom before thy royal Seat receive,  
They may a Saviour, not a judge thee find.    


A CYPRESS GROVE, BY W. D.   

A CYPRESS GROVE.  
THough it hath been doubted if there be in the Soul such imperious and superexcellent Power, as that it can by the vehement & earnest working of it, deliver knowledge to another without bodily Organs, & by the only Conceptions and Ideas of it produce real Effects; yet it hath been ever and of all held as infallible and most certain, that it often (either by outward inspiration, or some secret motion in itself) is augure of its own Misfortunes, and hath Shadows of approaching dangers presented unto it before they fall forth. Hence so many strange apparitions and signs, true Visions, uncouth heaviness, and causeless uncomfortable languish: of which to seek a reason, unless from the sparkling of GOD in the Soul, or from the Godlike sparkles of the Soul, were to make Reason unreasonable, by reasoning of things transcending her reach.  
Having often and divers times, when I had given myself to rest in the quiet solitariness of the Night, found my Imagination troubled with a confused fear, no, sorrow, or horror, which interrupting Sleep did astonish my senses, and rouse me all appalled, and transported in a sudden agony and amazedness; of such an unaccustomed perturbation, not knowing, nor being able to dive into any apparent Cause, carried away with the stream of my (then doubting) Thoughts, I began to ascribe it to that secret foreknowledge and presaging Power of the Prophetic Mind, and to interpret such an Agony to be to the Spirit as a faintness and universal weariness useth to be to the Body, a sign of following sickness, or as winter Lightnings or Earthquakes are to Commonwealthes and great Cities-Herbingers of more wretched events.  
Hereupon not thinking it strange if whatsoever is humane should befall me, knowing how Providence overcomes Grief, and discountenances Crosses; and that as we should not despair of Evils which may happen us, we should not be too confident, nor lean much to those Goods we enjoy: I began to turn over in my remembrance all that could afflict miserable Mortality, and to forecast every thing that with a Mask of horror could show it sel●e to humane Eyes: Till in the end, as by Unities and Points, Mathematicians are brought to great numbers, and huge greatness, after many fantastical glances of the Woes of Mankind, and those encumbrances which follow upon Life, I was brought to think, and with amazement, on the last of humane Terrors, or (as one termed it) the last of all dreadful and terrible Evils, Death. For to easy censure it would appear, that the Soul, if it foresee that divorcement which it is to have from the Body, should not without great reason be thus over-grieved, and plunged in inconsolable and unaccustomed Sorrow: considering their near Union, long familiarity and love, with the great change, Pain, Ugliness, which are apprehended to be the inseparable attendants of Death.  
They had their being together, Parts they are of one reasonable Creature, the harming of the one, is the weakening of the working of the other; what sweet contentments doth the Soul enjoy by the senses? They are the Gates and Windows of its Knowledge, the Organs of its Delight. If it be tedious to an excellent Player on the Lute, to abide but a few Months the want of one, how much more must the being without such noble Tools and Engines be plaintfull to the Soul? And if two Pilgrims which have wandered some few miles together, have a hearts-grief when they are near to part, what must the Sorrow be at the parting of two so loving Friends and never-loathing Lovers as are the Body and Soul?  
Death is the violent estranger of acquaintance, the eternal Divorcer of Marriage, the Ravisher of the Children ●rom the Parents, the Stealer of Parents from their Children, the interrer of Fame, the sole cause of forgetfulness, by which the Living talk of those gone away as of so many Shadows or age▪ worn Stories: all Strength by it is enfeebled, Beauty turned into deformity & rottenness, Honour in contempt, Glory into baseness. It is the reasonless breaker off of all Actions, by which we enjoy no more the sweet Pleasures of Earth, nor gaze upon the ●●a●elie revolutions of the Heavens, Sun perpetually setteth; Star●es never rise unto us, It in one moment robbeth us of what with so great toil and care in many years we have heaped together: By this are Successions of Lineages cut short, Kingdoms left heirelesse, and greatest States orphaned: it is not overcome by Pride, smoothed by Flattery, diverted by Time, Wisdom save this can prevent and help every thing. By Death we are exiled from this fair City of the World, it is no more a World unto us, nor we any more people into it. The ruins of Phanes, Palaces, and other magnificent Frames, yield a sad prospect to the Soul, and how should it without horror view the wrack of such a wonderful Masterpiece as is the Body?  
That Death naturally is torrible and to be abhorred, it can not well and altogether be denied, it being a privation of Life, and a not-being, and every privation being abhorred of Nature, and evil in itself, the fear of it too being ingenerate universallie in all Creatures; yet I have often thought that even naturally to a Mind by only Nature resolved and prepared, it is more terrible in Conceit than in Verity, and at the first Glance, than when well pried into, and that rather by the weakness of our Fantasy, than by what is in it, and that the marble colours, of Obsequies, Weeping, and funeral Pomp (which we ourselves cast over it) did add much more ghastliness unto it than otherways it hath. To aver which conclusion, when I had gathered my wand'ring Thoughts, I began thus with myself.  
If on the great Theatre of this Earth amongst the numberless number of men, To die were only proper to thee and thine, then undoubtedly thou hadst reason to repine at so severe and partial a Law? But since it is a necessity, from the which never an Age by-pa●● hath been exempted, and unto which they which be, and so many as are to come, are thralled (no consequent of Life being more common and familiar) Why shouldst thou with unprofitable, and nought availing stubbornness, oppose to so unevitable and necessary a Condition? this is the highway of Mortality, our general home, behold what Millions have trod it before thee, what Multitudes shall after thee, with them which at that same instant run. In so universal a calamity (if Death be one) private Complaints cannot be heard, with so many royal Palaces, it is no loss to see thy poor Caban burn. Shall the Heavens stay their ever-rolling Wheels (for what is the motion of them, but the motion of a swift and ever-whirling Wheel, which twineth forth, and again uprolleth our life?) and hold still time, to prolong thy miserable days, as if the highest of their working were to do homage unto thee? Thy death is a piece of the order of this All, a part of the Life of this World, for while the World is the World, some Creatures must dye, & others take life. Eternal things are raised far above this Sphere of Generation & Corruption, where the first Matter, like an everflowing & ebbing Sea, with divers waves, but the same water, keepeth a restless and never-tyring current; what is below, in the universality of the kind, not in itself doth abide, Man a long line of years hath continued, This Man every hundreth is swept away. This Globe environed with air, is the sole Region of Death, the Grave where every thing that taketh Life must rot, the Stage of Fortune and Change, only glorious in the unconstancy and varying alterations of it, which though many seem yet to abide one, and being a certain entire one, are ever many. The never-agreeing bodies of the elemental Brethren turn one in another, the Earth changeth her countenance with the Seasons, sometimes looking cold, and naked, other times, hot and flowery: Nay, I cannot tell how, but even the lowest of those celestial bodies, that mother of months, and Empress of seas and moisture, as if she were a Mirror of our constant mutabiltie appeareth (by her too great nearness unto us) to participate of our changes, never seeing us twice with that same Face, now looking black, then pale and won, sometimes again in the perfection and fullness of her beauty shining over us. Death no less than Life doth here act a part, the taking away of what is old, being the making a way for what is young. They which forwent us did leave a Room for us, and should we grieve to do the same to those which should come after us? who being suffered to see the exquisite rarities of an Antiquaries Cabinet is grieved that the curtain be drawn & to give place to new Pilgrims? and when the Lord of this Universe hath showed us the amazing wonders of his various frame, should we take it to heart, when he thinketh time, to dislodge? This is, His unalterable and unevitable Decree, as we had no part of our will in our entrance into this Life, we should not presume of any in our leaving it, but soberly learn to will that which he wills, whose very willing giveth being to all that it wills, and reverencing the Orderer, not repine at the order and Laws, which all-where and always are so perfectly established, that who would essay to correct and amend any of them, should either make them worse, or desire things beyond the Level of Possibility.  
If thou dost complain that there shall be a time in the which thou shalt not be, why dost thou not too grieve that there was a time in the which thou wast not? and so that thou are not as old, as that enlifening Planet of time? for not to have been a thousand years before this moment, is as much to be deplored, as not to be a thousand after it, the effect of them both being one: that will be after us which long long ere we were, was. Our children's children have that same reason to murmur that they were not young men in our days, which we have to complain that we shall not be old in theirs. The Violets have their time, though they empurple not the Winter, and the Roses keep their season though they disclose not their beauty in the Spring.  
Empires, States, Kingdoms, have by the doom of the supreme providence their fatal Periods, great Cities lie madly buried in their dust, Arts and Sciences have not only their Eclipses, but their wanings and deaths, the ghastly wonders of the world, raised by the ambition of ages are overthrown and trampled, some Lights above, not idly entitled Stars, are loosed and never more seen of us: The excellent Fabric of this Universe itself shall one day suffer ruin, or a change like a ruin, and poor Earthlings thus to be handled complain.  
But is this Life so great a good, that the lose of it should be so dear unto Man? if it be? the meanest Creatures of Nature thus be happy, for they live no less than he; If it be so great a felicity, how is it esteemed of Man himself at so small a rate, that for so poor gains, nay, one disgraceful word, he will not stand to lose it? what excellency is there in it, for the which he should desire it perpetual, and repine to be at rest, and return to his old Grandmother Dust? of what moment are the labours and actions of it, that the interruption and leaving off of them should be to him so distasteful, and with such grudging lamentations received?  
Is not the entering into Life weakness? the continuing sorrow? in the one he is exposed to all the injuries of the Elements, and like a condemned trespasser (as if it were a fault to come to the light) no sooner borne than manacled and bound; in the other he is restlessly like a Ball tossed in the Tennis-court of this world, when he is in the brightest Meridian of his glory, there mistereth nothing to destroy him, but to let him fall his own height, a reflex of the Sun, a blast of wind, nay, the glance of an eye, is sufficient to undo him: How can that be any great matter, which so small instruments and slender actions are masters of?  
His Body is but a mass of discording humours boiled together by the conspiring influences of superior Lights▪ which though agreeing for a trace of time, yet can never be made uniform, and kept in a just proportion. To what sickness is it subject unto, beyond those of the other Creatures? No part of it being which is not particularly infected and afflicted by some one, nay, every part with many? so that the Life of divers of the meanest creatures of Nature hath with great reason, by the most wise, been preferred to the natural life of man: And we should rather wonder how so fragile a matter should so long endure, than how so soon decay.  
Are the actions of the most part of men, much differing from the exercise of the Spider? that pitcheth toils and is tapist, to pray on the smaller creatures, and for the weaving of a scornful web eviscerateth itself many days, which when with much industry finished, a tempestuous puff of wind carrieth away both the work and the worker? or are they not like the plays of Children? or (to hold them at their highest rate) as is a May-Game, or what is more earnest, some study at Chess? every day we rise and lie down, apparel and disapparrell our selves, weary our bodies and refresh them, which is a circle of idle travels, and labours (like Penelope's task) unprofitably renewed. Some time we are in a chase after a fading Beauty, now we seek to enlarge our bounds, increase our treasure, feeding poorly, to purchase what we must leave to those we never saw, or (happily) to a Fool, or a Prodigal heir: raised with the wind of Ambition, we court that idle name of Honour, not considering how they mounted aloft in the highest ascendant of earthly Glory, are but like tortured Ghosts wandering with golden fetters in glistering Prisons, having fear & danger their unseperable executioners, in the midst of multitudes rather guarded than regarded. They whom opake imaginations and inward melancholy, have made weary of the world's eye, though they have withdrawn themselves from the course of vulgar affairs, by vain contemplations, curious searches, are more diquieted, and live a life worse than others, their wit being too sharp to give them a true taste of their present infelicity, and to increase their woes; while they of a more shallow and simple conceit, have want of knowledge, and ignorance of themselves, for a remedy and antidote against all the calamities of life.  
What Chameleon, what E●ripe, what Moon doth change so oft as man? he seemeth not the same person, in one and the same day, what pleaseth him in the morning is in the evening unto him distasteful. Young he scorns his childish Conceits, & wading deeper in years (for years are a Sea into which he wadeth until he drown) he esteemeth his Youth unconstancy, Rashness, Folly; Old he begins to pity himself, plaining, because he is changed that the world is changed, like those in a Ship, which when they launch from the Shore, are brought to think the Shore doth fly from them. When he is fred of evil in his own estate, he grudges and vexes himself at the happiness and fortunes of others, he is pressed with care for what is present, with sorrow for what is past, with fear for what is to come, nay, for what will never come, and as in the Eye one tear forceth out another, so makes he one sorrow follow upon a former, and every day lay up stuff of grief for the next.  
The Air, the Sea, the Fire, the Beasts, be cruel executioners of Man, yet Beasts, Fire, Sea, and Air, are pitiful to Man in comparison of Man, for more men are destroyed by men, than by them all. What scorns, wrongs, contumelies, imprisonments, torments, poisons, receiveth man of man? What engynes and new works of death are daily found forth by man against man? What Laws to thrall his liberty? fantasies and scarbugs, to inveigle his reason? Amongst the Beasts is there any that hath so servile a lot in another's behalf as Man? yet neither is content, nor he who reigneth, nor he who serveth.  
The half of our life is spent in Sleep, which hath such a resemblance to Death, that often it seperats as it were the Soul from the body, and teacheth it a sort of being above it, making it soar beyond the Sphere of sensual delights, and attain Knowledge unto which while the body did awake it could scarce aspire. And who would not, rather than abide chained in his loathsome Galley of the world sleep ever (that is dye) having all things at one Stay be free from those vexations, misaduenters, contempts, indignities, and many many anguishs, unto which, this life is invasseled and subdued? and well looked unto our greatest contentment and happiness here, seemeth rather to consist in the being released from misery, than in the enjoying of any great good.  
What have the most eminent of mortals to glory in? Is it Greatness? Who can be great on so small a Round as is this Earth, and bounded with so short a course of time? How like is that to castles or imaginary Cities raised in the Sky by chance-meeting Clouds? Or to Giants modelled (for a sport) of Snow, which at the hotter looks of the Sun melt away, and lie drowned in their own moisture? such an impetuous vicissitude towseth the estates of this World. Is it Knowledge? But we have not yet attained to a perfect Understanding of the smallest Flower, and why the Grass should rather be green than red. The Element of Fire is quite put out, the Air is but Water rarified, the Earth moveth, and is no more the Centre of the Universe, is turned into a Magnes; Stars are not fixed, but swim in the etherial spaces, Comets are mounted above the Planets, some affirm there is an other world of men and creatures, with Cities and Towers in the Moon, the Sun is lost, for it is but a cleft in the lower heavens, through which the light of the highest shines: Thus Sciences by the divers motions of this Globe of the brain of man are become opinions. What is all we know, compared with what we know not? We have not yet agreed about the chief good and felicity. It is (perhaps) artificial Cunning, how many curiosities be framed by the least Creatures of Nature, unto which the industry of the most curious Artisans doth not attain? Is it Riches? What are they but the casting out of Friends, the snares of liberty, bands to such as have them, possessing rather, than possessed, Metals which Nature hath hid (foreseeing the great harm they should occasion) and the only opinion of man hath brought in estimation? like Thorns which laid on an open hand, may be blown away, and on a closing and hard gripping, wound it, Prodigalles misspend them, Wretches miskeepe them: when we have gathered the greatest abundance, we ourselves can enjoy no more thereof, than so much as belongs to one man: What great and rich men do by others, the meaner sort do themselves. Will some talk of our Pleasures? It is not (though in the fables) told out of purpose, that Pleasure in haste being called up to Heaven, did here forget her apparel, which Sorrow thereafter finding (to deceive the world) attired herself with: And if we would say the truth of most of our joys, we must confess that they are but disguised sorrows; the dra,s of their Honey are soured in pounds of Gall, Remorse ever ensueth them, and never do they exist but by their opposite sadness, nay, in some they have no effect at all if some wakning grief hath not preceded and forwent them. Will some Lady's vaunt of their beauty? that is but skinne-deepe, of two senses only known, short even of Marble-Statues, and Pictures, not the same to all eyes, dangerous to the beholder, and hurtful to the possessor, an enemy to Chastity, a thing made to delight others, more than those which have it, a superficial lustre hiding bones and the brains, things fearful to be looked upon: growth in years doth blast it, or Sickness, or Sorrow preventing them. Our strength matched with that of the unreasonable Creatures, is but weakness: all we can set our eyes on, in these intricate mazes of life, is but vain perspective and deceiving shadows, appearing far other ways a far off, than when enjoyed and gazed upon in a near distance.  
If Death be good, why should it be feared? And if it be the work of Nature, how should it not be good? For Nature is an ordinance and rule, which GOD hath established in the creating this Universe (as is the Law of a King) which can not err: For how should the Maker of that ordinance err? sith in him there is no impotency and weakness, by the which he might bring forth what is unperfect, no perverseness of will, of which might proceed any vicious action, no ignorance by the which he might go wrong in working, being most powerful, most good, most wise, nay, alwise, all-good, all-powrefull; He is the first orderer, and marshalleth every other order, the highest Essence, giving essence to all other things; of all causes the cause, He worketh powerfully, bonteou●lie, wisely, and maketh (his artificial Organ) Nature do the same. How is not Death of Nature? sith what is naturally generate, is subject to corruption, and such an harmony (which is Life) rising from the mixture of the four Elements, which are the Ingredients of our body, can not ever endure; The contrarity of their qualities (as a consuming Rust in the base Metals) being an inward cause of a necessary dissolution. Again, how is not Death good? sith it is the thaw of all those vanities which the frost of Life bindeth together. If there be a facietie in Life, then must there be a sweetness in Death? The Earth were not ample enough to contain her offspring if none died: in two or three Ages (without Death) what an unpleasant and lamentable Spectacle, were the most flourishing Cities? for what should there be to be seen in them, save bodies languishing and cou●bing again into the Earth? pale disfigured faces, Skelitons in stead of men? and what to be heard, but the exclamations of the young, complaints of the old, with the pitiful cries of sick and pining persons? there is almost no infirmity worse than age.  
If there be any evil in death, it would appear to be that pain and torment, which we apprehend to arise from the breaking of those straight bands which keep the Soul and body together; which, sith not without great struggling and motion, seems to prove itself vehement and most extreme. The senses are the only cause of pain, but before the last Trances of death, they are so brought under that they have no (or very little) strength, and their strength lessening, the strength of pain too must be lessened. How should we doubt, but the weakness of senselesseneth pain, Sith we know that weakened and maimed parts which receive not nourishment, are a great deal less sensible, than the other parts of the body; And see, that old decrepit persons leave this world almost without pain, as in a sleep? If bodies of the most sound and wholesome constitution be these which most vehemently feel pain? it must then follow, that they of a distemperate and crazy constitution, have least feeling of pain, and by this reason, all weak and sick bodies should not much feel pain, for if they were not distempered and evil complexioned, they would not be sick. That the Sight, Hearing, Taste, Smelling leave us without pain, and unawares, we are undoubtedly assured, and why should we not think the same of the Feeling? That which is capable of feeling, are the vital spirits, which in a man in a perfect health are spread and extended through the whole body, and hence is it that the whole body is capable of pain: But in dying bodies we see that by pauses and degrees the parts which are furthest removed from the heart, become cold, and being deprived of natural heat, all the pain which they feel, is that they do feel no pain. Now, even as ere the sick be aware, the vital spirits have with drawn themselves from the whole extension of the body, to succour the heart (like distressed Citizens which finding their walls battered down, fly to the defence of their Citadel) so do they abandon the heart without any sensible touch: As the flame, the oil failing, leaveth the wick, or as light the Air which it doth invest. As to the shrinking motions, and convulsions of sinews and members, which appear to witness great pain, let one represent to himself the strings of an high-tuned Lut, which breaking, retire to their natural windings, or a piece of Ice, that without any outward violence, cracketh at a Thaw: No otherwise do the sinews of the body, finding themselves slack and unbended from the brain, and their wont labours and motions cease, struggle, and seem to stir themselves, but without either, pain or sense. Swooning is a true portrait of death, or rather it is the same, being a cessation from all action, motion, and function of sense and life: But in Swooning there is no pain, but a silent rest, and so deep and sound a sleep that the natural is nothing in comparison of it; What great pain then can there be in Death, which is but a continued Swooning, and a never again returning to the works and dolorous felicity of life?  
Now although Death were an extreme pain, sith it is in an instant, what can it be? why should we fear it? for while we are, it cometh not, and it being come we are no more. Nay, though it were most painful, long continuing, and terrible, ugly why should we fear it? Sith fear is a foolish passion but where it may preserve; but it can not preserve us from Death, yea rather the fear of it, banishing the comforts of present contentmentes, makes Death to advance and approach the more near unto us. That is ever terrible which is unknown, so do little children fear to go in the dark, and their fear is increased with tales.  
But that (perhaps) which anguisheth thee most, is to have this glorious pageant of the World, removed from thee, in the Spring and most delicious season of thy life; for, though to dye be usual, to dye young may appear extraordinary. If the present fruition of these things be unprofitable and vain, what can a long continuance of them be? Stranger and new Halcyon, why wouldst thou longer nestle amidst these unconstant and stormy waves? Hast thou not already suffered enough of this World, but thou must yet endure more? To live long, is it not to be long troubled? But number thy years, which are now () and thou shalt find, that where as ten have over-lived thee, thousands have not attained this age. One year is sufficient to behold all the magnificence of Nature, nay, even one day and night, for more is but the same brought again: This Sun, that Moon, these Stars, the varying dance of the Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter, is that very same which the golden Age did see. They which have the longest time lent them to live in, have almost no part of it at all, measuring it either by that space of time which is past, when they were not, or by that which is to come: Why shouldst thou then care, whether thy days be many or few, which when prolonged to the uttermost, prove, paralleled with eternity, as a Tear is to the Oeea●? To dye young, is to do that soon, and in some fewer days, which once thou must do; it is but the giving over of a Game that, after never so many hazards, must be lost. When thou hast lived to that age thou desirest, or one of Plato's years, so soon as the last of thy days riseth above thy Horizon, thou wilt then as now, demand longer respite, and expect more to come: It is Hope of long life, that maketh life seem short. Who will behold, and with the eyes of advice behold, the many changes depending on humane affairs, with the after-claps of Fortune, shall never lament to dye young. Who knows what alterations and sudden disasters, in outward estate or inward contentments, in this wilderness of the world, might have befallen him who dyeth young, if he had lived to be old? Heaven foreknowing imminent harms, taketh those which it loves to itself before they fall forth. Pure and (if we may so say) Virgin Souls, carry their bodies with no small agonies, and delight not to remain long in the dregs of humane corruption, still burning with a desire to turn back to the place of their rest, for this world is their Inn and not their Home. That which may fall forth every hour, cannot fall out of time. Life is a journey in a dusty way, the furthest Rest is Death, in this some go more heavily burdened, than others: swift and active Pilgrims come to the end of it in the Morning, or at Noon, which Tortoyse-paced Wretches, clogged with the fragmentary rubbish of this world, scarce with great travel crawl unto at Midnight. Days are not to be esteemed after the number of them, but after the goodness: more Compass maketh not a Sphere more complete, but as round is a little as a large Ring; nor is that Musician most praise worthy who hath longest played, but he in measured accents who hath made sweetest Melody, to live long hath often been a let to live well. Muse not how many years thou mightst have enjoyed life, but how sooner thou mightst have lossed it, neither grudge so much that it is no better, as comfort thyself that it hath been no worse: let it suffice that thou hast lived till this day, and (after the course of this world) not for nought, thou hast had some smiles of of Fortune, favours of the worthiest, some friends, and thou hast never been disfavoured of the Heaven.  
Though not for Life itself, yet that to after-worlds' thou mightst leave some monument that once thou wast, happily in the clear light of reason, it would appear that life were earnestly to be desired: for sith it is denied us to live ever (said one) let us leave some worthy Remembrance of our once here being, and draw out this Span of life to the greatest length, and so far as is possible. O poor Ambition! to what I pray thee mayst thou concreded it? Arches and stately Temples, which one age doth raise, doth not another raze, Tombs and adopted Pillars, lie buried with those which were in them buried: Hath not Avarice defaced, what Religion did make glorious? all that the hand of man can uprear, is either over-turned by the hand of man, or at length by standing & continuing consumed: as if there were a secret opposition in fate (the unevitable decree of the Eternal) to control our in dustrie, & conter-checke all our devices & proposing. Possessions are not enduring, Children lose their names, Families glorying (like Marigolds in the Sun) on the highest top of Wealth and Honour (no better than they which are not yet borne) leaving off to be: So doth Heaven confound what we endeavour by labour and art to distinguish. That renown by Papers, which is thought to make men immortal, and which nearest doth approach the life of these eternal Bodies above, how slender it is, the very word of Paper doth import, and what is it when obtained, but a multitude of words, which coming Time's may scorn; How many millions never hear the names of the most famous Writers, and amongst them to whom they are known how few turn over their Pages, and of such as do, how many sport at their conceits, taking the verity for a fable, and oft a fable for verity, or (as we do pleasants) use all for recreation? Then the arising of more famous, doth darken, and turn ignoble the glory of the former, being held as Garments worn out of fashion. Now, when thou hast attained what praise thou couldst desire, and thy fame is emblazoned in many Stories, it is but an Echo, a mere Sound, a Glow-worm, which seen a far, casteth some cold beams, but approached is found nothing, an imaginary happiness, whose good depends on the opinion of others: Desert and Virtue for the most part want Monuments and Memory, seldom are recorded in the Volummes of admiration, while Statues & Torphees, are erected to those, whose names should have been buried in their dust, and folded up in the darkest clouds of oblivion: So do the rank Weeds in this Garden of the World choacke and overrun the sweetest Flowers. Applause whilst thou livest, serveth but to make thee that fair mark against which Envy and Malice direct their Arrows, at the best is like that Syracusians Sphere of Chirstall, as frail as fair: and borne after thy death, it may as well be ascribed, to some of those were in the Trojan Horse, or to such as are yet to be borne an hundreth years hereafter, as to thee, who nothing knows, and is of all unknown. What can it avail thee to be talked of, whilst thou art not? Consider in what bounds our fame is confined, how narrow the lists are of humane Glory, and the furthest she can stretch her wings. This Globe of the Earth which seemeth huge to us, in respect of the Universe, & compared with that wide wide pavillon of Heaven, is less than little, of no sensible quantity, and but as a point: for the Horizon which boundeth our sight, divideth the Heaven as in two halves, having always six of the Zodiac Signs above, and as many under it, which if the Earth had any quantity compared to it, it could not do. More if the Earth were not as a point, the Stars could not still in all parts of it appear to us of a like greatness; for where the Earth raised itself in Mountains, we being more near to Heaven, they would appear to us of a greater quantity, and where it is humbled in Valleys, we being further distant, they would seem unto us l●sse: But the Star●●s in all parts of the Earth appearing of a like greatness, and to every part of it the Heaven imparting to our sight the half of its inside, we must avouch it to be but as a point. Well did one compare it to an Ant-hill, and men (the Inhabitants) to so many Pismires, and Grasshoppers, in the toil and variety of their diversified studies. Now of this small indivisible thing, thus compared, how much is covered with Waters? how much not at all discovered? how much habited and desert? and how many millions of millions are they, which share the remnant amongst them, in languages, custumes, divine rites differing, and all almost to others unknown? But let it be granted that Glory and Fame are some great matter, and can reach Heaven itself, sith they are oft buried with the honoured, and pass away in so fleet a revolution of time, what great good can they have in them? How is not Glory temporal, if it increase with years and depend on time? Then imagine me (for what cannot Imagination reach unto?) one could be famous in all times to come, and over the whole World present, yet shall he be for ever Obscure and ignoble to those mighty Ones, which were only heretofore esteemed famous amongst the Assyrians, Persians, Romans. Again the vain affectation of man is so suppressed, that though his works abide some space, the worker is unknown: the huge Egyptian Pyramids, and that Grot in Pa●silipo, though they have wrestled with time, and worn upon the waste of days, yet are their authors no more known, than it is known by what strange Earth-quackes, and deluges, Yles were divided from the Continent, or Hills bursted forth of the Valleys. Days, Months, and Years, are swallowed up in the great Gulf of Time (which puts out the eyes of all their Glory) and only a fatal oblivion remains: of so many Ages past, we may well figure to ourselves some liklie appearances, but can affirm little certainty.  
But (my Soul) what ails thee, to be thus backward and astonished, at the remembrance of Death, sith it doth not reach thee, more than darkness doth those farre-shinning Lamps above? Rouse thyself for shame, why shouldst thou fear to be without a body, ●ith thy maker and the spiritual and supercelestial Inhabitants have no bodies? Hast thou ever seen any Prisoner, who when the jail Gates were broken up, & he enfranchised & set loose, would rather plain and sit still on his Fetters, than seek his freedom? or any Mariner, who in the midst of Storms arriving near the Shore, would launch forth again unto the Main, rather than strick Sail and joyfully enter the leas of a save Harbour? If thou rightly know thyself, thou hast but small cause of anguish; for if there be any resemblance, of that which is infinite, in what is finite (which yet by an infinite imperfection is from it distant) if thou be not an Image, thou art a shadow of that unsearchable Trinity, in thy three essential powers, Understanding, Will, Memory; which though three, are in thee but one, and abiding one, are distinctly three: But in nothing more comest thou near that Sovereign Good, than by thy perpetuity, which who strive to improve, by that same do it prove: Like those that by arguing themselves to be without all reason, by the very arguing, show how they have some. For, how can what is wholly mortal, more know what is immortal, than the eye can know sounds, or the ear question about colours; if none had eyes, who would ever descant of light or shadow? To thee nothing in this visible World is comparable; thou art so wonderful a beauty and so beautiful a wonder, that if but once thou couldst be gazed upon by bodily eyes, every heart would be inflamed with thy love, and ravished from all servile baseness and earthly desires. Thy being depends not on matter, hence by thine Understanding, dost thou dive into the being of every other thing; and therein art so pregnant, that nothing by place, similitude, subject, time, is so conjoined, which thou canst not separate; as what neither is, nor any ways can exist, thou canst feign, and give an abstract being unto. Thou seemest a World in thyself, containing Heaven, Stars, Seas, Earth, Floods, Mountains, Forests, and all that liveth: Yet rests thou not satiate with what is in thyself, nor with all in the wide Universe, until thou raise thyself, to the contemplation of that first illuminating Intelligence, far above Time, and even reaching Eternity itself, into which thou art transformed, for, by receiving thou (beyond all other things) art made that which thou recceivest. The more thou knowest, the more apt thou art to know, not being amated with any object that excelleth in predominance, as Sense by objects sensible. Thy Will is uncompellable, resisting force, daunting Necessity, despising Danger, triumphing over Affliction, unmoved by Pity, and not constrained by all the toils and disasters of Life. What the Airts-master of this Universe is in governing this Universe, thou art in the body; and as he is wholly in every part of it, so art thou wholly in every part of the body. By thee man is that Hymen of eternal and mortal things, that Chain together binding unbodied and bodily substances, without which the goodly Fabric of this World were unperfect. Thou hast not thy beginning from the fecundity, power, nor action of the elemental qualities, being an immediate masterpiece of that great Maker: Hence hast thou the forms and figures of all things imprinted in thee from thy first original. Thou only at once art capable of contraries, of the three parts of Time, thou makest but one. Thou knowest thyself so separate, absolute and divers an essence from thy body, that thou disposest of it as it pleaseth thee, for in thee there is no passion so weak which mastereth not the fear of leaving it. Thou shouldst be so far from repining at this separation, that it should be the chief of thy desires; sith it is the passage and means to attain thy perfection and happiness. Thou art here but as in an infected and leprous Inn, plunged in a flood of humours, oppressed with cares, suppressed with ignorance, defiled and destained with vice, retrograde in the course of virtue; small things seem here great unto thee, and great things small, Follie appeareth Wisdom, and Wisdom Follie. Ferd of thy fleshly care, thou shalt rightly discern the beauty of thyself, and have perfect fruition of that all-sufficient and all-suffizing Happiness, which is GOD himself; to whom thou owest thy being, to Him thou owest thy well being, He and Happiness are the same. For, if GOD had not Happiness, He were not GOD, because Happiness is the highest and greatest Good: If then GOD have Happiness, it can not be a a thing differing from Him; for, if there were any thing in Him, differing from Him, He should be an essence composed and not simple, more what is differing in any thing, is either an accident or a part of itself; In GOD Happiness can not be an accident, because He is not subject to any accidents, if it were a part of Him (since the part is before the whole) we should be forced to grant, that some thing was before GOD. Bedded and bathed in these earthly ordures, thou canst not come near this sovereign Good, nor have any glimpse of the far-off dawning of his uncessable brightness, no, not so much as the eyes of the Birds of the night have of the Sun. Think then by Death, that thy shell is broken, and thou then but even hatched, that thou art a Pearl, raised from thy Mother, to be enchased in Gold, and that the death-day of thy body, is thy birthday to Eternity.  
Why shouldst thou be feare-stroken, and discomforted▪ for thy parting from this mortal Bride thy body, sith it is but for a time, and such a time, as she shall not care for, nor feel any thing in, nor thou have much need of her? Nay, sith thou shalt receive her again, more goodly and beautiful, than when in her fullest perfection thou enjoyed her; being by her absence made like unto that Indian Crystal, which after some revolutions of Ages, is turned into purest Diamond. If the Soul be the form of the Body, and the form separated from the matter of it, can not ever so continue, but is inclined and disposed to be reunited thereinto: What can let and hinder this desire, but that some time it be accomplished, and obtaining the expected end, rejoin itself again unto the body? The Soul separate hath a desire, because it hath a will, and knows it shall by this reunion receive perfection: too, as the matter is disposed, and inclineth to its form when it is without it, so would it seem that the Form should be towards its matter in the absence of it. How, is not the Soul the form of the body, sith by it, it is, and is the beginning and cause of all the actions and functions of it: For, though in excellency it pass every other form, yet doth not that excellency take from it the nature of a form? If the abiding of the Soul from the body be violent, then can it not be everlasting, but have a regress: How is not such an estate of being and abiding not violent to the Soul, if it be natural to it, to be in matter, and (separate) after a strange manner, many of the powers and faculties of it (which never leave it) are not duly exercised? This Union seemeth not above the Horizon of natural reason, far less impossible to be done by GOD, and though Reason can not evidently here demonstrate, yet hath she a misty and groping notice. If the body shall not arise, how can the only & Sovereign Good, be perfectly and infinitely good? For, how shall he be just, nay, have so much justice as Man, if He suffer the evil and vicious, to have a more prosperous and happy life, than the followers of Religion and Virtue; which ordinarily useth to fall forth in this life? For, the most wicked are Lords and Gods of this Earth, sleeping in the lee port of honour, as if the spacious habitation of the World had been made only for them; and the Virtuous and good, are but forlorn castaways, floating in the surges of distress, seeming here either of the eye of providence not pitied, or not regarded: being subject to all dishonours, wrongs, wracks, in their best estate, passing away their days (like the Daisies in the Field) in silence and contempt. Sith than he is most good, must just, of necessity, there must be appointed by him an other time and place of 〈◊〉, in the which there shall be a reward for leaving well, and a punishment for doing evil, with a life whereinto both shall receive their due; and not only in their Souls di●●●ted, for, ●ith both the parts of man did act a part in the right or wrong, it carrieth great reason with it, that they both be arraigned before that high justice, to receive their own: Man is not a Soul only, but a Soul and Body, to which either guerdon or punishment is due. This seemeth to be the voice of Nature in almost all the Religions of the World; this is that general testimony, charactered in the minds of the most barbarous and savage people; for, all have had some roving guesses at Ages to come, and a dim duskish light of another life, all appealing to one general judgement Throne. To what else could serve so many expiations, sacrifices, prayers, solemnities, and mystical ceremonies? To what such sumptuous Temples, and care of the dead: to what all Religion? If not to show, that they expected a more excellent manner of being, after the navigation of this life did take an end. And who doth deny it, must deny that there is a Providence, a GOD, confess that his worship, and all study and reason of virtue are vain; and not believe that there is a World, are creatures, and that He Himself is not what He is.  
But it is not of Death (perhaps) that we complain, but of Time, under the fatal shadow of whose ●inges, all things decay and wether: This is that Tyrant, which executing against us his diamantine laws, altereth the harmonious constitution of our bodies, benumning the Organs of our knowledge, turneth our best Senses senseless; makes us loathsome to others, and a burden to ourselves: Of which evils Death releiueth us. So that if we could be transported (O happy colony!) to a place exempted from the laws and conditions of Time, where neither change, motion, nor other affection of material and corruptible things were; but an immortal, unchangeable, impassable, all-sufficient kind of life, it were the last of things wishable, the term and centre of all our desire's. Death maketh this transplantation; for the last instant of corruption, or leaving off of any thing to be what it was, is the first of generation, or being of that which succeedeth; Death then being the end of this miserable transitory life, of necessity must be the beginning of that other all excellent and eternal: And so causelessly of a virtuous Soul it is either feared or complained on.  
As those Images were pourtraited in my mind (the morning Star now almost arising in the East) I found my thoughts in a mild and quiet calm; and not long after, my Senses one by one forgetting their uses, began to give themselves over to rest, leaving me in a still and peaceable sleep; if sleep it may be called, where the mind awaking is carried with free wings from out fleshly bondage? For, heavy lids, had not long covered their lights, when I thought, nay, sure I was where I might discern all in this great All; the large compass of the rolling Circles, the brightness and continual motion of those Rubies of the Night, which (by their distance) here below can not be perceived; the ●iluer countenance of the wand'ring Moon, shining by another's light, the hanging of the Earth as (environed with a girdle of Crystal) the Sun enthronised in the midst of the Planets, eye of the Heavens, Gem of this precious Ring the World. But whilst with wonder and amazement I gazed on those celestial Splendours, and the beaming Lamps of that glorious Temple (like a poor Countryman brought from his solitary mountains and flocks, to behold the magnificence of some great City) There was presented to my fight a Man, as in the spring of his years, with that self same grace, comely feature, Majestic look which the late () was wont to have: on whom I had no sooner set mine eyes, when (like one Planet-stroken) I became amazed: But he with a ●ild demeanour, and voice surpassing all Humane sweetness, appeared (me thought) to say,  
What is it doth thus anguish and trouble thee? Is it the remembrance of Death, the last Period of wretchedness, and entry to these happy places; the Lantern which lighteneth men to see the mystery of the blessedness of Spirits, and that glory which transcendeth the Courtaine of things visible? Is thy Fortune below on that dark Globe (which scarce by the smallness of it appeareth here) so great, that thou art heartbroken and dejected to leave it? What if thou wert to leave behind thee a () so glorious in the eye of the World (yet but a mote of dust encircled with a Pond) as that of mine, so loving () such great hopes, these had been apparent occasions of lamenting, and but apparent? Dost thou think thou leavest Life too soon? Death is best young; things fair and excellent, are not of long endurance upon Earth. Who liveth well, liveth long; Souls most beloved of their Maker, are soon relieved from the bleeding cares of Life, and most swiftly wa●ted through the Surges of Humane miseries. Opinion that great enchantress and peiser of things, not as they are, but as they seem, hath not in any thing more, than in the conceit of Death abused Man: Who must not measure himself, and esteem his estate, after his earthly being, which is but as a dream: For, though he be borne on the Earth, he is not borne for the Earth, more than the Embryon for the mother's womb. It plaineth to be relieved of its bands, and to come to the light of this World, and Man wailleth to be loosed from the Chains with which he is fettered in that valley of vanities: It nothing knoweth whither it is to go, nor ought of the beauty of the visible works of GOD, neither doth Man of the magnificence of the intellectual World above, unto which (as by a Midwife) he is directed by Death. Fools, which think that this fair and admirable Frame, so variouslie disposed, so rightly marshaled, so strongly maintained, enriched with so many excellencies, not only for necessity, but for ornament and delight, was by that Supreme Wisdom brought forth, that all things in a circulary course, should be and not be, arise and dissolve, and thus continue: as if they were so many Shadows cast out and caused by the encountering of these Superior Celestial Bodies, changing only their fashion and shape, or fantastical Imageries, or prints of faces into Crystal. No no, the Eternal Wisdom hath made Man an excellent Creature, though he fain would unmask himself, and return to nothing: And though he seek his felicity among the reasonless Wights, he hath fixed it above. Look how some Prince or great King on the Earth, when he hath raised any stately City, the work being atchi●●ed, is wont to set his Image in the midst of it, to be admired and gazed upon: No otherwise did the Sovereign of this All, the Fabric of it perfected, place Man (a great Miracle) form to his own pattern, in the midst of this spacious and admirable City. GOD containeth all in Him as the beginning of all, Man containeth all in him, as the midst of all; inferior things be in Man more noble than they exist, superior things more meanly, Celestial things favour him, earthly things are vassaled unto him, he is the band of both; neither is it possible but that both of them have peace with him, if he have peace with him, who made the Covenant between them and him? He was made that he might in the Glass of the World behold the infinite Goodness, Power, and glory of his Maker, and beholding know, and knowing Love, and loving enjoy, and to hold the Earth of him as of his Lord Paramount; never ceasing to remember and praise Him. It exceedeth the compass of conceit, to think that that Wisdom which made every thing so orderly in the parts, should make a confusion in the whole, and the chief Masterpiece; how bringing forth so many excellencies for Man, it should bring forth Man for baseness and misery. And no less strange were it, that so long life should be given to Trees, Beasts, and the Birds of the Air, Creatures inferior to Man, which have less use of it, and which can not judge of this goodly Fabric, and that it should be denied to Man: Unless there were another manner of living prepared for him, in a place more noble and excellent.  
But alas! (said I) had it not been better that for the good of his native Courtrie a () endued with so many peerless gifts, had yet lived? How long will ye (replied he) like the Ants, think there are no fairer Palaces, than their Hills; or like to purblind Moles, no greater light, than that little which they shun? As if the master of a Camp, knew when to remove a Sentinel, and He who placeth Man on the Earth, knew ●ot how long he had need of Him? Every one cometh there to act his part of this Tragicomedi● called Life, which done, the Courtaine is drawn, and he removing is said to dye. That Providence which prescriueth Causes to every event hath not only determined a definite and certain number of days, but of actions to all men, which they cannot go beyond.  
Most () then (answered I) Death is not such an evil and pain, as it is of the Vulgar esteemed? Death (said he) nor painful is, nor evil (except in contemplation of the cause) being of itself as indifferent as Birth: Yet can it not be denied, but amidst those dreams of earthly pleasures, the uncouthness of it, with the wrong apprehension of what is unknown in it, are noisome, But the Soul sustained by its Maker, resolved, and calmly retired in itself, doth find that Death (●ith it is in a moment of Time) is but a short, nay, sweet sigh; and is not worthy the remembrance compared with the smallest dram of the infinite Felicity of this Place. here is the Palace Royal of the Almighty KING, in which the uncomprehensible comprehensiblie manifesteth Himself; in Place highest, in substance not subject to any corruption or change, for it is above all motion, and solid turneth not; in quantity greatest, for, if one Star, one Sphere be so vast, how large, how huge in exceeding dimensions, must those bounds be, which do them all contain? In quantity most pure and orient, Heaven here is all but a Sun, or the Sun all but a Heaven. If to Earthlings the Footstool of GOD, and that Stage which He raised for a small course of Time, seemeth so Glorious and Magnificent; What estimation would they make (if they could see) of His eternal Habitation and Throne? and if these be so wonderful, what is the sight of Him, for whom, and by whom all was created; of whose Glory to behold the thousand thousand part, the most pure Intellegences are fully satiate, and with wonder and delight rest amazed; for the Beauty of His light and the Light of His Beauty are uncomprehensible? here doth that earnest appetite of the Understanding content itself, not seeking to know any more; For it seeth before it, in the vision of the Divine essence (a Miroir in the which not Images or shadows, but the true and perfect Essence of every thing created, is more clear and conspicuous, than in itself) all that may be known or understood. here doth the Will pause itself, as in the centre of its Eternal rest, glowing with a fiery affection of that infinite and all-sufficient Good; which being fully known, cannot (for the infinite motives and causes of love which are in Him) but be fully and perfectly loved: As He is only true and essential Bounty, so is He the only essential and true Beauty, deserving alone all love and admiration, by which the Creatures are only in so much fair and excellent, as they participate of His Beauty and excelling Excellencies. here is a blessed Company, every one joying as much in another's Felicity, as in that which is proper, because each seeth another equally loved of GOD; Thus their distinct joys are no fewer, than the copartners of the joy: And as the Assembly is in number answerable to the large capacity of the Place, so are the joys answerable to the numberless number of the Assembly. No poor and pitiful mortal, confined on the Globe of Earth, who hath never seen but sorrow, or interchangeably some painted superficial pleasures, can rightly think on, or be sufficient to conceive the tearmelesse Delights of this Place. So many Feathers move not on Birds, so many Birds dint not the Air, so many leaves tremble not on Trees, so many Trees grow not in the solitary Forests, so many Waves turn not in the Ocean, and so many grains of Sand limit not those Waves: As this triumphant Court hath variety of Delights, and joys exempted from all comparison. Happiness at once here is fully known and fully enjoyed, and as infinite in continuance as extent. here is flourishing and never-fading youth without Age, Strength without Weakness, Beauty never blasting, Knowledge without Learning, Abundance without Loathing, Peace without Disturbance, Participation without Envy, Rest without Labour, Light without rising or setting Sun, Perpetuity without moments, for Time (which is the measure of endurance) did never enter in this shining Eternity. Ambition, Disdain, Malice, difference of Opinions, can not approach this Place, resembling those foggy mists, which cover those Lists of sublunary things. All Pleasure paragoned with what is here is pain, all Mirth mourning, all Beauty deformity: here one days abiding, is above the continuing in the most fortunate estate on the Earth many years, and sufficient to countervail the extremest torments of Life. But, although this Bliss of Souls be great, and their joys many, yet shall they admit addition, and be more full and perfect, at that long wished and general meeting with their Bodies.  
Amongst all the wonders of the great Creator, not one appeareth to be more wonderful (replied I) than that our Bodies should arise, having suffered so many changes, and Nature denying a return from Privation to a Habit.  
Such power (said he) being above all that the Understanding of Man can conceive, may well work such wonders; For, if Man's Understanding could comprehend all the secrets and counsels of that Eternal Majesty, it must of necessity be equal unto it. The Author of Nature is not thralled to the laws of Nature, but worketh with them, or contrary to them, as it pleaseth Him: What He hath a will to do, He hath a power to perform. To that power which brought all this All from nought, to bring again in one instant any substance which ever was into it, unto what it was once, should not be thought impossible; For, who can do more, can do less, and His power is no less, after that which was by Him brought forth is decayed and vanished, than it was before it was produced; being neither restrained to certain limits, or instruments, or to any determinate & definite manner of working: where the power is without restraint, the workeadmitteth no other limits, than the workers will. This World is as a Cabinet to GOD, in which the small things (how ever to us hid and secret) are nothing less keeped, than the great. For, as He was wise and powerful to create, so doth His Knowledge comprehend His own Creation; yea, every change and variety in it, of which it is the very Source. Not any Atom of the scattered Dust of mankind though daily flowing under new Forms, is to Him unknown: and His Knowledge doth distinguish and discern, what once His power shall waken and raise up. Why may not the Arts-master of the World, like a Molder, what he hath framed in divers shapes, confound in one mass, and then severally fashion them out of the same? Can the Spargiricke by his Art restore for a space to the dry and withered Rose, the natural Purple and Blush: And can not the Almighty raise and refine the body of Man, after never so many alterations on the Earth? Reason herself finds it more possible for infinite power to cast out from itself a finite world, and restore any thing in it, though decayed and dissolved, to what it was first; than for Man a finite piece of reasonable misery, to change the form of matter made to his hand: the power of GOD never brought forth all that It can, for than were it bounded, and no more infinite. That Time doth approach (O haste ye Times away) in which the Dead shall live, and the Living be changed, and of all actions the Guerdon is at hand; Then shall there be an end without an end, Time shall finish, and Place shall be altered, Motion yielding unto rest, and another World of an Age eternal and unchangeable shall arise: Which when He had said (me thought) He vanished▪ and I● all astonished did awake.    

On the Report of the Death of the Author.  

IF that were true which whispered is by Fame,  
That Damon's light no more on Earth doth burn,  
His Patron Phoebus' physic would disclaim,  
And clothed in clouds as erst for Phaeton mourn▪   

Yea, Fame by this had got so deep a Wound,  
That scarce she could have power to tell his Death,  
Her Wings cut short; who could her Trumpet sound,  
Whose Blaze of late was nursed but by His Breath?   

That Spirit of His which most with mine was free,  
By mutual traffic interchanging Store,  
If chased from Him it would have comed to me,  
Where it so oft familiar was before.   

Some secret Grief distempring first my Mind,  
Had (though not knowing) made me feel this loss:  
A Sympathy had so our Souls combined,  
That such a parting both at once would: toss.   

Though such Reports to others terror give,  
Thy heavenly Virtues who did never spy,  
I know Thou, that canst make the dead to live,  
Immortal art, and needs not fear to die.   
Sir WILLIAM ALEXANDER.   

To S. W. A.  

THough I have twice been at the Doors of Death,  
And twice found shoot those Gates which ever mourn,  
This but a lightning is, Truce ta'en to Breath,  
For late-born Sorrows augurre fleet return.   

Amidst thy sacred Cares, and courtly Toils,  
Alexis, when thou shalt hear wand'ring Fame  
Tell, Death hath triumphed o'er my mortal Spoils,  
And that on Earth I am but a sad Name;   

If thou e'er held me dear? by all our Love,  
By all that Bliss, those joys Heaven here us gave,  
I conjure Thee, and by the Maids of jove,  
To grave this short Remembrance on my Grave.  
here Damon lies, whose Songs did some time● grace  
The murmuring Eske, may Roses shade the place.    

To the Memory of the most excellent Lady, JANE Countess of Perth.  

THis Beauty which pale Death in Dust did turn,  
And closed so soon within a Coffin sad,  
Did, pass like Lightning, like to Thunder burn;  
So little Life, so much of Worth it had.   

Heavens but to show their Might here made it shine,  
And when admired, then in the World's Disdain  
(O Tears, O Grief!) did call it back again,  
Lest Earth should vaunt She kept what was Divine.   

What can we hope for more? what more enjoy?  
Sith fairest Things thus soon have their End,  
And, as on Bodies Shadows do attend,  
Sith all our Bliss is followed with Annoy?  
Yet She's not dead, She lives where She did love,  
Her Memory on Earth, Her Soul above.