A Prayer-Song, Title page – Introduction
foreign Or, A PRAYER-SONG; BEING Sacred Poems ON THE HISTORY OF THE BIRTH and PASSION OF OUR Bleſſed SAVIOUR, And ſeveral other choice texts of SCRIPTURE.
In two PARTS.
By Daniel Cudmore, Gent.
LONDON, Printed by J. C. for William Ley in Paul's Chain. 1655.
foreign or A Prayer-Song. Being Sacred Poem…. On ye Hiſtory of ye birth … paſsiō of our Blessed Savioiur. And ſeveral other choyce texts of Scripture. by Daniel Cudmore Gent.
And Wee are his witnſses of theſe things.
Acts. 5.32.
Behold a Virgine &
Mathew. 1.23.
This Ieſus which is taken up into.
Acts. 1.11.
Behold the man
Iohn 10.5.
Hee is not heare but is riſen
Mat 28.6.
La Printed by I:C: for William Ley at Paul's Chayne. 1655.
To his honoured Friend HENRY WORTH Eſq;
Sir,
IN Italy they have a Proverb, that Paper bluſheth not: intimating thereby, I ſuppoſe, that what we are aſhamed perhaps to tender in perſon, the pale meſſenger of an Epiſtle will not bluſh to preſent. On theſe terms it is, that (having uſurp'd your Name in this Dedication, and being more happy (if in either) in my Pen then Tongue, (and ſo more obliged to the Printer then to Nature) I beg your pardon and acceptance. I am not ignorant what cenſures I ſhall incur in this adventure; viz that the foundation indeed is good, as being portions of Scripture; but the ſuperſtructure, wood, hay, and ſtubble, as being not ſupplied with materials from thoſe Hurams of Spirit and Learning; and ſo rather apples of lead, than of gold, in theſe pictures of ſilver: that what Socrates ſaid in modeſty of his Works, may be ſaid in earneſt of mine, That the Paper is more worth then the Work. Theſe Objections, and more than I can anticipate, much leſs prevent, have purſued me to Sanctuary under the ſhadow of your EAGLES wing, where I doubt neither of acceptance nor ſafety. Not that I would make your Patronage an Aſylum for Ignorance, or your Protection a Refuge for inconſiderate Boldneſs: but that I know your Noble nature to be ever ready to countenance the endeavours, and to protect the ſtudies of Vertue and Honeſty; whereof as I ſhall ſtill endeavour to be a conſtant embracer, ſo of you always a true honourer: in token whereof, I humbly devote my ſelf
From my Study in Tiverton this … of … Your obliged ſervant,Daniel Cudmore.
To his induſtrious Friend, Mr. DANIEL CUDMORE.
I Dare preſume to tell the bold-fac'd Times,
Divinity looks best, thus cloath'd in Rymes.
Of all the Factions that have crept of late
Into the bowels of our whining State,
None's like the Momuſites; for ev'ry one
Studies to carp, nay ſcarce lets God alone.
Deſtroy'd by tongues the tow'r of Babel lies;
Heav'n grant we fall not by our Hereſies.
Believe me, Friend, thy Labours ſhew thou art
Indu'd with Wiſdom; and thy ſerious heart
Hath no outragious Faction, but each line
Diſtil'd from heav'n, tells us that they are thine.
Go on with courage: though Religion lie
Now groaning under ſad Deformity,
And at this time bears an Ecliptick ſtain,
'T will end in conqueſt, and ſhine bright again.
Jo. Quarles.
To the worthy Author.
GOod works are their own praiſers: they that ſhow
What 'tis to praiſe a work, praiſe what they know.
I'll tell thee, friend, thy labor was my pain
In reading; and that reading, was my gain.
I did not onelyonly reade, but underſtood
What 't was I read; and therefore ſay, 'T is good.
And if my erring judgement have miſtook,
Let the world judge my Judgment, not thy Book.
I'll therefore ſecond what I ſaid before:
'Tis good, I'm ſure 'tis good; and what needs more?
Ric. Harriſon, Inte. Tomp.
To the ingenious Author, upon his Book.
TO praiſe thy work were but to work thy praiſe;
'T is Vertue that thou aimſt at, & not Bays:
Thy Work is thy Encomium; therefore I
Will ſpend no time in Prodigality
Of flatt'ring praiſe: but this in ſhort I'll tell;
I read, I lik'd, I prais'd: and ſo farewel.
Charles Hubburt, Gr. Inne.
The Introduction.
Pſal. 90.
17 Prosper thou the works of our hands upon us; O proſper thou our handy-work.
LOrd, thou without whoſe-bleſſing & ſucceſs,
Our Wits degenerate to Wickedneſs;
Who if thou bidſt not Write, that book may die
In ſhame, or prove the Author's Tragedie:
Who David's tongue mad'ſt as a ready pen,
When thee he prais'd the faireſt of all men:
O make my pen as ready as his tongue,
In this my Euchodie and Prayer-ſong:
Refine my Wit, to Wiſdom, in this Poem;
Accept the Dedication, ſpeak the Proem.
Let Naaman love his proud Damaſcus ſtreams,
And others hug their Heliconian dreams:
Thoſe ſprings alone that flow from Sions hill
Shall drench my barren brain, and moiſt my quill.
But ſince all ſprings inſpire not, but befool,
Ʋnleſs thy Angel of Betheſda's pool
Deſcend and move them with his healing grace;
Unleſs thy Spirit move upon their face:
Oh would they now deſcend and ſo baptize
My childiſh fancie in theſe Myſteries:
Then ſhould I ſing thy Birth, as if my breſt
With one of thoſe thy Angels were poſſeſt;
And write thy deeds, as if thou hadſt afforded
Me what th' Evangeliſts have not recorded:
So would I wail thy death, that ſome ſhould think
Thy vinegar and gall my onelyonly Ink;
My Pen ſhould be ſo tart, that it ſhould tear,
And deeper pierce then did the Souldiers ſpear.
But thou who knew'ſt our weakneſs by the ſenſe
Of a dear-purchaſed experience,
Have pity on my Ignorance, and daign
Some ſparks of native wiſdom here again;
That in this, men of a judicious head
If not thy Image, may thy footſteps read.
Yet let not th' earth, thus by thy footſteps trod,
Be proud, but ſtill remember 't is a clod;
Leſt it thy praiſes curtal, and abridge
Thee of thy right, by Paper-ſacriledge.