Poems, Poems 1
HOLY SONNETS.
La Corona.
1.
DEigne at my hands this crown of prayer and praiſe,
Weav'd in my low devout melancholie,
Thou which of good, haſt, yea art treaſury,
All changing unchang'd Antient of dayes,
But doe not, with a vile crowne of fraile bayes,
Reward my muſes white ſincerity,
But what thy thorny crowne gain'd, that give mee,
A crowne of Glory, which doth flower alwayes;
The ends crowne our workes, but thou crown'ſt our ends,
For, at our end begins our endleſſe reſt,
The firſt laſt end, now zealouſly poſſeſt,
With a ſtrong ſober thirſt, my ſoule attends.
'Tis time that heart and voice be lifted high,
Salvation to all that will is nigh,
ANNVNCIATION.
2
Salvation to all that will is nigh,
That All, which alwayes is All every where,
Which cannot ſinne, and yet all ſinnes muſt beare,
Which cannot die, yet cannot chuſe but die,
Loe, faithfull Virgin, yeelds himſelfe to lye
In priſon, in thy wombe; and though he there
Can take no ſinne, nor thou give, yet he'will weare
Taken from thence, fleſh, which deaths force may trie.
Ere by the ſpheares time was created, thou
Waſt in his minde, who is thy Sonne, and Brother,
Whom thou conceiv'ſt, conceiv'd; yea thou art now
Thy Makers maker, and thy Fathers mother,
Thou'haſt light in darke; and ſhutſt in little roome,
Immenſity cloyſterd in thy deare wombe.
NATIVITIE.
3
Immenſitie cloyſterd in thy deare wombe,
Now leaves his welbelov'd impriſonment,
There he hath made himſelfe to his intent
Weake enough, now into our world to come;
But Oh, for thee, for him, hath th'Inne no roome?
Yet lay him in this ſtall, and from the Orient,
Starres, and wiſemen will travell to prevent
Th'effects of Herods jealous generall doome;
Seeſt thou, my Soule, with thy faiths eyes, how he
Which fils all place, yet none holds him, doth lye?
Was not his pity towards thee wondrous high,
That would have need to be pittied by thee?
Kiſſe him, and with him into Egypt goe,
With his kinde mother, who partakes thy woe.
TEMPLE.
4
With his kinde mother who partakes thy woe,
Ioſeph turne backe; ſee where your child doth ſit,
Blowing, yea blowing out thoſe ſparks of wit,
Which himſelfe on the Doctors did beſtow;
The Word but lately could not ſpeake, and loe
It ſodenly ſpeakes wonders, whence comes it,
That all which was, and all which ſhould be writ,
A ſhallow ſeeming child, ſhould deeply know?
His Godhead was not ſoule to his manhood,
Nor had time mellowed him to this ripeneſſe,
But as for one which hath a long taske, 'Tis good,
With the Sunne to beginne his buſineſſe,
He in his ages morning thus began
By miracles exceeding power of man.
CRVCIFYING.
5
By miracles exceeding power of man,
Hee faith in ſome, envie in ſome begat,
For, what weake ſpirits admire, ambitious, hate;
In both affections many to him ran,
But Oh! the worſt are moſt, they will and can,
Alas, and do, unto the immaculate,
Whoſe creature Fate is, now preſcribe a Fate,
Meaſuring ſelfe-lifes infinity to ſpan,
Nay to an inch, loe, where condemned hee
Beares his owne croſſe, with paine, yet by and by
When it beares him, he muſt beare more and die;
Now thou art lifted up, draw mee to thee,
And at thy death giving ſuch liberall dole,
Moyſt, with one drop of thy blood, my dry ſoule.
RESVRRECTION.
6
Moyſt with one drop of thy blood, my dry ſoule,
Shall (though ſhe now be in extreme degree
Too ſtony hard, and yet too fleſhly,) bee
Freed by that drop, from being ſtarv'd, hard, or foule,
And life, by this death abled, ſhall controule
Death, whom thy death ſlue; nor ſhall to mee
Feare of firſt or laſt death, bring miſerie,
If in thy little booke my name thou enroule,
Fleſh in that long ſleep is not putrified,
But made that there, of which, and for which 'twas;
Nor can by other meanes be glorified.
May then ſinnes ſleep, and death ſoone from me paſſe,
That wak't from both, I againe riſen may
Salute the laſt, and everlaſting day.
ASCENTION.
7
Salute the laſt and everlaſting day,
Joy at the upriſing of this Sunne, and Sonne,
Yee whoſe juſt teares, or tribulation
Have purely waſht, or burnt your droſſie clay;
Behold the Higheſt, parting hence away,
Lightens the darke clouds, which hee treads upon,
Nor doth hee by aſcending, ſhow alone,
But firſt hee, and hee firſt enters the way,
O ſtrong Ramme, which haſt batter'd heaven for mee,
Mild lambe which with thy blood, haſt mark'd the path;
Bright torch, which ſhin'ſt, that I the way may ſee,
Oh, with thy owne blood quench thy owne juſt wrath,
And if thy holy Spirit, my Muſe did raiſe,
Deigne at my hands this crowne of prayer and praiſe.