A Prayer-Song, Poem 17 – Poem 26
On the Joys of heaven after the day of Judgment.
2 Cor. 2.
9 Eye hath not ſeen, nor ear heard, neither have entred into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.
1.
GHeſs now the Scenes of ev'ry age
Upon one Stage
Re-acted, and all ſhifted clean,
Both Stage and Scene;
Each hath his pay, and wafted home,
With Go or Come;
To act a better part, or worſe,
With bliſs or curſe.
Both play'd have to my Fancies eye,
A Tragi-Comi-Comi-Tragedy.
2.
As heav'n Aſtronomy confines
To Zones and Lines;
And with conceited Poles ſupports
The azure Courts;
And th'row its fancied Zodiack,
Can Titan track;
And takes heav'ns length and breadth, if bid,
As th' Angel did:
Their Jacob's ſtaff no leſs can do
Then if they had got Jacob's ladder too.
3.
Yet all this ſerves but to advance
Gilt Ignorance:
So heav'ns joys by blinde devotions
Are cloath'd in notions,
Which onelyonly gild our Neſcience
With ſeeming ſence.
Them we are forc'd to gheſs by pleaſures,
And earthly treaſures:
Since though the Turkiſh Alcharon
Deſcribes their Par'diſe, ours can be by none.
4.
But could our Merlins, by diſcerning
And Lynx-ey'd learning,
Who can the ſtarry Alphabet
In language ſet;
And though the clouds ſhould blot their book,
Can th'row them look:
Could they define the bleſſed manſions
B'yo…d theſe expanſions;
I'd love their Art: Divinity
Should then be handmaid to Aſtronomy.
5.
As on their Babel of Conceit
They mount heav'ns height:
So, though its beauty and dimenſion
Befools Invention,
Tranſcends the Zenith of all mancie
Of Art and Fancie;
Yet ſince that faculty of ſoul
Doth more inroll
Then 's ſeen or heard, we gheſs thoſe joys,
Though far above our knowledge, wiſh, or choice.
6.
To call them Riches, were not high,
But beggerly:
To call them Honours, were a vile
Inglorious ſtile:
To call them Pleaſures, were a groſs
And tedious gloſs,
Theſe Joys by myriads of pitches
Exceed ſuch Riches:
Though by ſuch names the bleſſed Spirit
Deſcribes thoſe joys which now the Saints inherit.
7.
Since no man th' heavens ever knew,
By Art or view;
Though ſome the Stars boaſt to deſcribe,
By name and tribe:
As if when firſt the heavens were,
They had been there,
And knew them all as well as he,
His ſilver skie.
Not knowing theſe, ſo plain and even,
Who can define the non-apparent heaven?
8.
Lord, ſince more then I can conceive,
I muſt believe;
And far beyond my Fancies ſcope,
I ſtill muſt hope:
Grant, what's conceived by my youth
Agree with truth:
And whatſoever doth out-ſtretch
My Fancies reach,
She at forbidden fruit not glance,
But flag her wing in humble Ignorance.
On the Torments of Hell.
Luke 16.
22 And it came to paſs that the begger died, and was buried, and was carried by the angels into Abrahams boſom. The rich man alſo died, and was buried.
23 And in hell he lift up his eyes, being in torments, and ſees Abraham afar off, and Lazarus in his boſom.
24 And he cried, and ſaid, Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and ſend Lazarus that he may dip the tip of his finger in water, and cool my tongue: for I am tormented in this flame.
1.
POor ſouls! whom endleſs flames do ſcorch,
Since that the earth flam'd like a pendant Torch;
Since at the Trumpets final ſound,
Our Jericho's high walls fell flat to ground,
And all was burnt: What Verſe hath tones
Sufficient to accent forth your groans?
2.
Should all the Poets adde each Fury,
And of the Muſes Nine make up a Jury,
And beg their Verdict to define
Hell 's miſeries; they muſt the Suit decline,
Should they exhauſt their Helicon,
And theſe ſhould drain their Styx and Acharon.
3.
Let Wit excite her fruitleſs ſtrife,
To limn Eternal Death unto the Life,
And in a Synod call the Quire
Or Arts, all ſerved but to paint a fire;
Fire which but makes the brain to ſweat,
As void of true deſcription, as of heat.
4.
Reader, let thy Orpheus-like Fancie
Deſcend to Hell in ſome conceited Maney,
And with brisk Nectar oil the mouth
Of tortur'd Dives, which is parch'd with drouth;
All he could ſay how Furies wreak
Their rage, would be, I know not what to ſpeak.
5.
Aetna's to this an idle tapor,
Veſuvius a thin incenſed vapor;
Or as the Pyramids, whoſe ſpires
Mount onelyonly in proportion'd ſhapes of fires:
No fire to theſe is worth a name;
Even Sodom's but the ſhadow of this flame.
6.
And what need Poets feign a Styx
Or Acharon, ſince floods of tears here mix
Into a Sea, which wildly lurks
In darkneſs, and confuſed water-works;
Which all Hydrography no better
Can quote, then Xerxes th' Helleſpont could fetter.
7.
But cannot Dives from Theſe drench
His thirſt-parch'd mouth, and burning liver quench?
No: fire and water here are both
One element, which flaming ſtreams do froth:
Both having purg'd the world ſo groſs,
Meet in Hell 's furnace, to conſume the droſs.
8.
Lord ſince Hell 's pains exceed conceit,
Each gloſs on them 's a naked counterfeit:
Our Fancies ſtill have ſome remorſe;
Let us the worſt imagine, ſtill 't is worſe.
If heavens joys can't draw me home,
Let theſe true terrors fright me till I come.
The ſecond Part. On ſeveral occaſions, and ſeveral texts of Scripture.
Pſal. 119.
37 O turn away mine eyes, leſt they behold vanity.
1.
LOrd, what 's a Beauty! but a paint, at moſt,
Which with a breath's gone, 't is ſo vainly gloſt.
What beauty's dy'd ſo deep in grain, that dolour,
Or age, or ſickneſs, cannot blaſt its colour?
Since there's within 't no principle to nouriſh
Its verdant vigour to a conſtant flouriſh,
Lord, let me think 't but a more ſpecious worm,
And wink its beauty to an Antick form.
2.
Lord, what's a beauty! in it could I ſee
The Image which I loſt in loſing thee,
I'd court, and gaze, till through mine eyes that face
Reprinted on my ſoul that former grace.
Here's no ſuch form: although indeed ſome few
Think that in it we may thy footſteps view.
What's beauty then, for which we ſo much brawl,
But fleſh tranſparent th'row a ſmoother cawl?
3.
Lord, what's a Beauty? Did a more divine
Saint dwell within't, I would adore the ſhrine;
My captiv'd heart with zealous love ſhould boil;
I'd count each beauty as this beauty's foil.
But ſince the ſoul, the better part, is tainted,
Can th' outward part be free? muſt that be Sainted?
What's beauty then, if it be void of grace?
Thy Philip's Blackmore had the fairer face.
4.
Lord, what's a Beauty! our fair Grannam Eve
Soon prov'd a ſtrong Suadela, to deceive.
This treach'rous White & Red hath bred more war,
Then they did once 'twixt York and Lancaſter.
Lord, let me think thoſe eyes by th' wanton Muſe
Stil'd Stars, are Ignes fatui, to ſeduce:
Thoſe Coral-lips, my credit would explode;
Theſe Yv'ry teeth, my good report corrode.
5.
Lord, what's the world! Thou didſt not mean, I gheſs,
Th'worlds for Impoſtures, either great or leſs;
Nor mean'ſt the leſſer, whom thou mad'ſt compleater,
Should be at all ſeduced by the greater.
Yet as they repreſent each others parts,
The greater too hath its deluſive Arts.
Since then they're objects both to tempt mine eyes,
O turn them from beholding vanities.
6.
Lord, what's the world? 't is but a turning Globe,
Which whirls us now on high, then lowe as Job;
Or a toſs'd ſhip, whoſe now-aſpiring Maſt
Seems for to boar the clouds, then back doth caſt
Her rolling paſſengers, to ſeek a Tomb
In ſome vaſt Sea-ſhell, or ſome fiſhes womb.
Then what's the world? a bubble 'tis at moſt;
With winde 'tis onelyonly full, with winde 'tis toſt.
7.
Lord, what's the world? I will not wiſh me blinde,
Becauſe mine eyes thus tempt me; though I finde
A grave *Bp. Hall.one bid one, of one eye bereft,
Not t' weep that loſs, but that one yet was left:
Nor will miſtake thee, when thou bidſt not doubt,
If that mine eye offend, to pluck it out.
Lord, turn away mine eyes: all's one to me,
If ſo thou doſt, as if I did not ſee.
8.
Lord, what's the world? indeed the heav'ns aray'd
Are in thy Livery; we ſee diſplay'd
In them thy glorious Coat; they each night ſtory
In Starry characters their Makers glory.
But ſince a fly, worm, or the meaneſt elf,
If animate, excels the world it ſelf;
Why then's the world by noble man thus held
In ſuch eſteem, that is by ſuch excell'd?
The Author's Epainicron to God, for his Recovery from a ſharp Fever.
Pſal. 118.
18 The Lord hath chaſtened and corrected me ſore: but he hath not given me over unto death.
Iſai. 38.
18 For the grave cannot praiſe thee; death cannot celebrate thee: they that go down to the pit, canner hope for thy truth.
19. The living the living he ſhall praiſe thee, as I do this day.
1.
Lord, THough Scripture ſay,
A thouſand yeers one day
Are unto thee; yet muſt I think again,
To thee appears
Each day a thouſand yeers,
Till I thee thank for freedom from my pain.
2.
Late I was ſick;
'Twere vain with Launcet's prick
To vent my blood corrupted too too long:
I look'd for death,
As he that lay beneath
A threatning ſword which by a thred was hung.
3.
The active ſtrife
For hope or help of life,
Now fail'd me quite. And while the Doctor lingers,
How did I feel
A haſtie Death to ceel
My falling eye-lids with her Ycie fingers?
4.
The quick reſults
Within my fev'riſh Pulſe,
The minutes were by which the hours I counted;
Wherein delay'd
The tarder Doctors ayd:
So hours to days, and days to weeks amounted.
5.
To hold me home,
My laſt Viaticum
Was tender'd, to ſuſtain me in my journey:
Nor was I mute
For to preſent my ſute
To th' mediation of my ſweet Attorney.
6.
Life's influence,
Scar'd from my outward ſence,
Now to my hearts Metropolis was gone;
And in this ſtrait,
My ready ſoul did wait
With nimble wing for diſſolution.
7.
But like a brand
Pluck'd by thy gracious hand,
I have eſcap'd the burning unconſum'd:
Though death by Fever
Did rage as bad as ever.
Caldee's King on the furnac'd children fum'd.
8.
But as they, freed,
With one conſent agreed
To praiſe thee for thy kindneſs and thy love:
So let me praiſe
Thy mercy all my days;
So ſhall this mercy not my judgement prove.
Temptation.
Epheſ. 6.
14 Stand faſt therefore, having your loyns girt about with truth, and having on the breſt-plate of righteouſneſs,
15 And your feet ſhed with the preparation of the Goſpel of peace.
16 Above all, taking the ſhield of faith, whereby ye ſhall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked.
17 And take the helmet of ſalvation, and the ſword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.
1.
NOr was with Death my combat ſuch,
But now I'm tempted all ſo much;
So that me thinks my Senſes halt
'Twixt two; which was the worſt aſſault:
Unleſs thou, Lord, who conquer'dſt Death,
And lately crown'dſt me with that wreath;
As thou haſt vanquiſh'd Hell too, I'm undone,
Unleſs thou finiſh what thou haſt begun.
2.
Is't not enough, by the ſiniſter
Temptations of her whiſp'ring ſiſter
My ſoul's ſeduc'd, with frailty cloath'd;
And to infirmity betroth'd;
That th'eaſie ſoul by fleſh is tempted,
Nor night, nor day, nor place exempted;
As if in ſlights ſhe did the Devil ape,
And meant them no temptations, but a rape?
3.
Is't not enough, that by the fraud
of Hell, that makes the World her Band,
I'm by the World ſeduc'd; and Senſe
Wooes, not refiſts its influence;
Whoſe very bleſſings are but Baits,
As if th' air breath'd nought but deceits:
So that we all might breathe our mourning thus;
Falſe world, Impoſture is thy Genius?
4.
But are we ſubject to the darts
Of helliſh Fiends, which ſeize our hearts,
Like ſubtil Lightning's fierce inqueſts,
Which melts the gold within the cheſts?
As if they aim'd t'uſurp thy part,
Who onelyonly know'ſt and try'ſt the heart;
Into whoſe Cloſets they themſelves convey,
Unleſs thou, Lord, vouchſafe to keep the key.
5.
Lord, gird my loyns with truth, and dreſs
Me i'th'breſt-plate of righteouſneſs;
Let my feet be prepar'd, (my God)
And with the peaceful Goſpel ſhod:
Shield me with faith, (the chiefeſt Spell)
To quench the firy darts of hell:
Daign th'helmet of ſalvation, and the ſword
Of thy bleſt Spirit, Lord, which is thy Word.
6.
But I no more can wear this armour,
Then thy Delight and Judah's Par'mour
Could ſtout Saul's againſt him of Gath;
For ſuch too are Hell's arms and wrath:
Nor can no more foyl with thy Word,
Then could that Turk with Caſtriot's ſword:
I'm weak and ignorant; 't is thou alone
Muſt teach me both to fight, and put it on.
7.
But where's this Armour to be found?
No Cyclops frame it under ground.
He hopes in vain to win the field,
Who fights againſt Hell with Hell's ſhield:
Such Armours are but empty ſhrouds,
As thin and airy as the clouds.
Thou, who wilt crown our conqueſt, doſt impale
Our ſouls with theſe Arms, from thy Arſenal.
8.
Then if thou ſtor'ſt me with theſe Arms,
My ſoul ſhall need no other Charms;
If thou with theſe my ſpirit furniſh,
They'll fright Hell with their very burniſh;
Nor doubt I leſt Hells arrows points
Should wound me th'row theſe armors joints:
I then might ſend that anſwer, Let him ſcoff,
And boaſt at laſt, that puts his armour off.
Pſal. 62.
9 As for the children of men, they are but vain; the children of men are deceitful upon the weights: they are altogether lighter then vanity it ſelf.
1.
DRead Lord! w'are all too light: the empty ſcale
Towards heav'n mounts with a complaining tale:
The over-balanc'd one on Orcus knocks,
As if it means to rend the brazen locks
That priſon vengeance; and it preſſeth deep,
As if it thought Deſtruction were aſleep.
2.
If thus our Caſe with dreadful Juſtice ſtand,
How ſhall we ſcape her tother armed hand?
Think we God is not with our ways acquainted,
And Juſtice's Sword no ſharper then 't is painted?
The Lion's painted fiercer then he is:
But deeming Juſtice ſo, we judge amiſs.
3.
Thus ſtands our Caſe: but if thy Mercy buoys
Th' o'er-balanc'd Scale in even counterpoize,
Then may we paſs good, with a grain or two
Of thy dear blood, as oft light Pieces do:
And then if Juſtice ſhould be moſt extreme,
We ſhould o'er-weigh with a declining beam.
4.
But ſince Sin's heavie too, how can agree
In truth this various levi-gravity?
Unleſs it be, that weighty things we fleight,
And over-value things of ſlender weight.
Thus Scriptures juſtly their complaints may levy:
In weighty things w'are light, in light things heavy
5.
But ſhouldſt thou weigh us as w'are in our ſelves,
Vain as Inconſtancie, and light as Elves;
Mightſt thou not by the breath of thy diſpleaſure,
Breath into nought at all our empty meaſure?
And mightſt Belſhazzar's doom with that ſame hand,
Not onelyonly on our walls, but foreheads brand?
6.
Dread Lord, the beſt are as the ſmalled duſt
Within the balance: ſo thy Truth diſcuſt:
How can we then expect but to miſcarry,
Weigh'd with the Shekel of thy Sanctuary?
Such, angry Juſtice ſoon to hell proſcribes,
Who hath quick eyes to judg, tho' none for bribes.
7.
If could our Churls with Gold, our airy Gallants,
With all their Glories, raiſe the ſtooping balance;
In ſheets of Gold I'd clothe me; never check
At Honours Lure, but ſtill obey its beck:
But Gold is vain, and Honour light; and they,
The more they're lin'd with theſe, the leſs they weigh.
8.
Thus ſhouldſt thou weigh what man amiſs hath don,
What man could ſtand it, but thy onelyonly Son?
Who was weigh'd in man's balance of deceit,
That we might be found of ſufficient weight;
Who was out-weigh'd by thirty pence, that we
Might ſo paſs currant in thy Treaſury.
Eccleſ. 5.
11 When goods increaſe, they are increaſed that eat them: and what good is there to the owners thereof, ſaving the beholding of them with their eyes?
GO, Worldings, ſet your eye-lids on the rack;
Gaze on your wealth, until your eye-ſtrings crack.
With too intenſive views, all your delight
May weary, but ne'er ſatisfie your ſight;
No, though the windows of your eyes were glaz'd
With Multiplying-glaſſes while you gaz'd.
You that adore your heaps with admiration,
As doth Aſtronomy a Conſtellation;
And if with th' heav'ns you in love do joyn,
'Tis 'cauſe they're of the colour with your Coyn:
Go hug your ſelves in your belov'd condition;
You onelyonly have in uſe, I in fruition
Theſe gifts of Fortune: Vertue may indeed
Them be without; but you do ſtand in need
Amidſt your wealth; neither can you boaſt more
Of being rich, then I of being poor.
Now can my ſoul mount freely with her wings,
Not with the baggage clog'd of earthly things.
Here parents may, by underſerv'd removes,
Deveſt us of our birth-right, and their loves:
So that all duty can't induce their minde,
No, not to ſhare their ſtore by Gavel-kinde;
So leaving grief and poverty their portion,
As if their firſt-born were but an abortion.
There Satan's Vouchers can nor diſ-inherit,
Nor Juſtice cauſe divorce, where Chriſt's my merit.
As falſe, as ſad, is that concluſion,
That thinks Gods bleſſing's with a birth-right gone.
Come, worldlings, come, who wiſh to have no pledge
Of your ſalvation, but Achan's wedge;
I'll ſhew you wealth, to which your gold is droſs,
And all your Gallants bravery but moſs.
Within you glorious curtains thou mayſt finde
A Carkanet of Jewels is enſhrin'd.
Aſcend, and tell me if a Pearl ere ſhone
In equal luſtre with you Jaſper-ſtone.
The Jewels of a Monarch's Crown, the coſt
Wherewith of old were Aaron's Robes imboſt,
Were childiſh ſhells to theſe, true Midas diſhes,
Which do but choak the owner with his wiſhes.
There's the true Topaz, Iacinth, and Beryl;
What Jewel not? which thou without the peril
Of coveting mayſt luſt for: there's a Mine,
Which onelyonly if thou wilt deſire, is thine.
'Tis not Idolatry to be thus greedy,
But Piety: thrice-bleſſed are ſuch needy.
Why doſt thou ſtartle at this wealthy tender,
Which Thieves can't rob, nor Fortune cauſe ſurrender?
Prov. 28.
13. He that covereth his ſin, ſhall not prosper.
1.
COver our ſins!
Sees not bright Phoſper
Falſe Weights and Hins;
And can they proſper?
Sin may, like a falſe Nun,
Cloyſter'd in darkneſs lie:
It may avoid the Sun,
Not God's revenging eye.
Some, yet, to cloathe their naked ſin,
With Eve and Adam ſowe fig-leaves;
And one to hide his Vices in,
Such webs as doth the Spider, weaves.
But if could fooliſh ſin avail to cover
The skies with theſe imaginary clouds;
Would not a quick-ey'd pendant veng'ance hover,
To rend and pierce their artificial ſhrouds?
2.
Cover our ſins
From God? From him
What wings or fins
Can flie or ſwim?
We Wizards need, nor Weirds,
No torturing extremes:
Truths Vouchers, flocks or herds,
Or walls will be, or beams.
What Medium's ſo groſs, t' exclude
God, who's all, whe'er in earth or skie?
Who's in ſo cloſe a Parlour mew'd,
To ſhun his ſight, who is all eye?
What darkneſs, but the God of light can ſcatter?
His ſearching winde doth enter ev'ry cranny.
Juſtice puts off her Vizor, though ſome flatter,
'Tis at wilde aim if that her ſword ſmite any.
3.
Cover our ſins!
Since puniſhment
And vice are twins,
Though different.
Wrath takes ſin by the heel,
As Jacob Eſau once;
And makes it fall or kneel
T'hell, or repentant groans.
No eager hoof, or flipp'ry keel,
Can ſin to ſafe Aſylums bear;
Though hid within a winding eel,
Or in evaſions couch'd it were.
Let's not in private dare an evil fact,
Leſt with a Cockatrices killing eye,
God make his Seeing and Revenge one act:
No time or place knew long immunity.
4.
Cover our ſins!
Sees Iſr'el's keeper
OnelyOnly the skin,
And ſees no deeper?
Ere done, he ſees our deeds;
Much more when they are done:
He ſees them in their ſeeds;
Much more when they are grown.
If we could hide us in the air,
Heav'n is God's molten Looking-glaſs:
Should we for ſafety t' hell repair,
Holl hath nor covering nor caſe.
But if we ſo much luſt to lurk and hide,
Let's take Aſylum in thoſe bleſt five clifts
Of that great Rock; let's neſtle in his ſide:
Let us his Prieſthood feed upon theſe fifts.
Pſal. 60.
2 Thou haſt moved the land, and divided it: heal the ſores thereof, for it ſhaketh.
1.
TH'aſt mov'd us, Lord; our troubled times reſemble
An earth-quake beſt; for ſo we quake & tremble.
The lofty fabricks of our beauteous Iſles
Now lie confus'd, and heap'd in ru'nous piles.
Lord, thou haſt mov'd us, as corn-fields we finde
Decline their knotty ſtems before the winde.
2.
Yet thou canſt move worſe then by Civil wars;
When thou ſhalt move the world, when fixed ſtars
Like Autumn-leaves ſhall from the heavens drop,
When the feign'd Poles ſhall fail to under-prop
Their maſſie weight: yet Lord, now, let thy love
And mercy move us, ere thy pow'r thus move.
3.
Lord, thou haſt mov'd our land; it moved hath
Been by the breath of thy provoked wrath,
Worſe then that wind that would diſpeople th'woods,
And make proud Maſts to kiſs the angry floods:
Yet ſince thy breath can kindle coals worſe far
Then thoſe of Juniper, untouch'd we are.
4.
Our land's a broken bone, by Diſcord burſt;
Which timely ſet, may prove as ſtrong as firſt;
But if delay'd until a Gangrene ſeize it,
What art can cure it, or what hand can eaſe it?
When man's help fails, thou only canſt complete it:
None but thy hand, that broke the bone, can ſet it.
5.
W' are ſick; no part in or 'twixt th' head or foot,
But is diſe as'd, ſick both in branch and root:
But ſince moſt Doctors, while they cure, exhauſt
The moiſture radical, and ſpirits waſt;
Let's unto him, whoſe wiſdom knows at length
To cure the wound, yet not t' impair the ſtrength.
6.
My heart bleeds, Lord, to think our Nation hath
So few to ſtand betwixt us and thy wrath:
Our fins ſo hainous might moſt juſtly ſhame
The mouth of Mercy for to plead our name;
And Juſtice ſeems to plead, at Mercy vext,
Bold Mercy ceaſe thy chat, my turn is next.
7.
How groſs is Nature's ſin, that thus can move,
As here on earth, ſo war in heav'n above?
Sets God againſt himſelf, can raiſe diſputes
Betwixt his juſt and gracious Attributes.
Will not the angry heav'ns the world impeach
As true occaſioners of this their breach?
8.
But thou, who both in one haſt reconcil'd,
That Mercy ſate content, ſtern Juſtice ſmil'd;
On thee the weight of all our ſins was laid:
Oh do not us again with them upbraid.
Thou raz'dſt not the partition-wall in vain:
Oh do not ſuffer't to be built again.
On the Spring.
MY Senſe is raviſh'd, when I ſee
This happie Seaſons Jubilee.
What ſhall I term it? a new birth,
The reſurrection of the earth,
Which hath been buried, we know,
In a cold Winding-ſheet of ſnow.
The Winters breath had pav'd all o'er
With Cryſtal Marble th'world's great floor:
But now the earth is livery'd
In verdant ſuits, by April dy'd;
And, in deſpight of Boreas ſpleen,
Deck'd with a more accompliſh'd green.
The gaudy Primroſe long ſince hath
Diſclos'd her beauty by each path.
The floods, as freez'd for Chariot-proof,
Were planch'd o'er with a Cryſtal roof:
Now in their chanels ſweetly glide,
As Nyle, when they his banks divide.
The trees rob'd of their leafie pride,
With moſſie frize had cloath'd each ſide;
Whoſe hoary beards ſeem'd to preſage
To blooming youth their winters age:
But now invite to come and lie
Under their quilted Canopie.
Blithe Damon, like a jolly man,
Long ſince unto the mountains ran,
Where quietly he ſits to pipe,
Whereat his lambs do ſeem to skip;
Then running to their dams, they tug,
VVith pleaſant ſpeed, the ſwelling dug.
Anon, let's to yon hawthorn ſteal,
And hearken how ſweet Philomele
Grieves not ſo much at Tereus crime,
As joys to ſee the Summer's prime.
How to the Spring the whiſtling Thruſh
His Sonnets ſings on ev'ry buſh!
The Sun late ſquinted from the skye,
And look'd on us with half an eye:
But now with glad and golden chear
Phlegon mounts up our Hemiſphere.
Our blood's mild, as if by ſome art
W' had ſuck'd ſome new-born infant 's heart.
In brief, quaint Nature ſeems here nice
In type to ſhadow Paradice.
Lord, all things bud, and ſhall I davour
Without the ſunſhine of thy favour?
VVilt never prime? haſt paſs'd a doom,
That ſeaſon never more ſhall bloom?
Inflict not on me ſuch a dearth,
A greater curſe then on the earth.
If did my ſin in Tereus ſhape
Act on thy Philomel a rape;
My ſoul like Progne ſhall be juſt,
And on his brats revenge his luſt.
Let Primroſe-like Repentance riſe,
Dew'd by the April of mine eyes:
Then will I not doubt but next thou
VVilt make each grace in order blow.