Th'hydroptick drunkard, and night-fcouting thief,
Taou haft made me, and fhall thy work decay? The itchy lecher, and felf-tickling proud,
Repair me now, for now mine end doth hafte;
I run to death, and death meets me as fast, And all my pleasures are like yesterday. I dare not move my dim eyes any way; Defpair behind, and death before, doth caft Such terror, and my feeble flesh doth wafte By fin in it, which it t'wards hell doth weigh, Only thou art above, and when t'wards thee By thy leave I can look, I rife again; But our old fubtile foe fo tempteth me, That not one hour myself I can fuftain: Thy grace may wing me to prevent his art, And thou, like adamant, draw mine iron heart.
As due by many titles, I refign Myfelf to thee, O God! Firft I was made
By thee, and for thee; and when I was decay'd Thy blood bought that, the which before was thine.
I am thy fun, made with thyself to shine, Thy fervant, whofe pains thou hast still repay'd, Thy sheep, thine image; and, till I betray'd Myfelf, a temple of thy Spirit divine. Why doth the devil then ufurp on me? Why doth he fleal, nay, ravish, that's thy right? Except thou rife, and for thine own work fight, Oh! I fhall foon defpair, when I fhall fee That thou lov't mankind well, yet wilt not choose me,
And Satan hates me, yet is loth to lose me.
Oh! might these fighs and tears return again Into my breaft and eyes which I have spent, That I might, in this holy difcontent,
Mourn with fome fruit, as I have mourn'd in vain!
In mine idolatry what fhow'rs of rain
Have th' remembrance of past joys for relief Of coming ills. To (poor) me is allow'd No eafe; for long yet vehement grief hath been Th' effect and cause, the punishment and fin.
Oh! my black foul! now thou art fummoned By fickness, death's herald and champion, Thou 'rt like a pilgrim which abroad hath done Treason, and durft not turn to whence he is fled; Or like a thief, which, till death's doom be read, Wifheth himself delivered from prison; But damn'd, and hawl'd to execution, Wifheth that ftill he might b' imprisoned: Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lack; But who fhall give thee that grace to begin? Oh make thyfelf with holy mourning black, And red with blushing, as thou art with fin; Or wash thee in Chrift's blood, which hath this might, That, being red, it dies red fouls to white.
I am a little world, made cunningly Of elements and an angelic fprite; But black fin hath betray'd to endless night My world's both parts, and (oh!) both parts must
die. [high, You, which beyond that heav'n, which was moft Have found new fpheres, and of new land can write, Pour new feas in mine eyes, that so I might Drown my world with my weeping carnestly, Or wash it, if it must be drown'd no more: But oh it must be burnt; alas! the fire Of luft and envy burnt it heretofore, And made it fouler; let their flames retire, And burn me, O Lord! with a fiery zeal
Of thee and thy house, which doth in eating cal
This is my play's laft fcene; here Heavens appoint
Mine eyes did wafte? what griefs my heart did My pilgrimage's laft mile; and my race,
That sufferance was my fin I now repent ;
'Cause I did fuffer, I muft fuffer pain.
Idly yet quickly run, hath this last pace, My fpan's laft inch, my minute's latest point, And gluttonous death will instantly unjoint
My body and foul, and I fhall fleep a space : But my ever-waking part fhall fee that face Whofe fear already fhakes my every joint. Then as my foul to heav'n, her first feat, takes flight
And earth-borne body in the earth fhall dwell, So fall my fins, that all may have their right, To where they're bred, and would prefs me to hell.
Impute me righteous; thus purg'd of evil, For thus I leave the world, the flesh, the devil.
If faithful fouls be alike glorify'd As angels, then my father's foul doth fee, And adds this ev'n to full felicity,
That valiantly I hell's wide mouth o'erftride; But if our minds to these foul's be defcry'd By circumftances and by figns that be Apparent in us not immediately,
For those whom thou think'st thou doft over- throw
Die not, poor Death! nor yet canft thou kill me. From reft and fleep, which but thy picture be, Much pleasure, then, from thee much more must flow;
And fooneft our beft men with thee do go, Rest of their bones, and foul's delivery. Thou'rt flave to fate, chance, kings, and despe
Spit in my face, you Jews, and pierce my fide, Buffet and fcoff, fcourge and crucify me, For I have finn'd, and finn'd, and only he Who could do no iniquity hath dy'd, But by my death cannot be satisfy'd My fins, which pafs the Jews' impiety: They kill'd once an inglorious man, but I Crucify him daily, being now glorify'd. O let me then his ftrange love still admire. King's pardon, but he bore our punishment; As Jacob came, cloth'd in vile harsh attire, But to fupplaut, and with gainful intent : God cloth'd him felf in vile man's flesh, that fo He might be weak enough to suffer woe.
Why are we by all creatures waited on? Why do the prodigal elements fupply Life and food to me, being more pure than I,
How fhall my mind's white truth by them be Simpler, and further from corruption?
They fee idolatrous lovers weep and mourn,
And ftyle blafphemous conjurers to call
On Jefus' namie, and Pharifaical
Diflemblers feign devotion. Then turn, O penfive foal! to God, for he knows beft breaft. Thy grief, for he put it into my
If poifonous minerals, and if that tree Whofe fruit threw death on (elfe immortal) us; If lecherous goats, if ferpents envious, Cannot be damn'd, alas! why should I be? Why should intent or reafon, born in me, Make fins, elfe equal, in me more heinous? And mercy being eafy and glorious To God, in his ftern wrath why threatens he? But who am I that dare difpute with thee! O God! oh! of thine only worthy blood, And my tears, make a heav'nly Lethean flood, And drown in it my fin's black memory: That thou remember them fome claim as debt, I think it mercy if thou wilt forget.
Why brook'ft thou, ignorant horfe! subjection? Why do you, bull and boar, fo fillily Diffemble weakness, and by one man's ftroke die, Whofe whole kind you might swallow' and feed upon?
Weaker I am, woe's me? and worse than you: You have not finn'd, nor need be timorous, But wonder at a greater, for to us Created nature doth these things fubdue; But their Creator, whom fin nor nature ty'd, For us, his creatures and his foes, hath dy'd.
No, no; but as in my idolatry I faid to all my profane miftreffes, Beauty of pity, foulnefs only is A fign of rigour, fo I fay to thee:
To wicked fpirits are horrid fhapes affign'd; This beauteous form affumes a piteous mind.
Batter my heart, three-perfon'd God, for you As yet but knock; breathe, fhine, and seek to mend, That I may rife and ftand, o'erthrow me, and bend [new. Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me I, like an ufurpt town, to another due, Labour t' admit you, but oh! to no end: Reason, your viceroy in me, we should defend, But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue; Yet dearly I love you, and would be lov'd fain, But am betroth'd unto your enemy. Divorce me, untie, or break that note again; Take me to you, imprison me; for I, Except you' enthral me, never shall be free, Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
Wilt thou love God as he thee? then digeft, My Soul! this wholesome meditation, How God the Spirit, by angels waited on In heav'n, doth make his temple in thy breast. The Father having begot a Son most blest, And ftill begetting, (for he ne'er begun) Hath deign'd to choose thee by adoption,
Coheir to his glory, and Sabbath's endless teft: And as a robb'd man, which by fearch doth find His ftoln ftuff fold, muft lofe or buy't again; The Sun of glory came down and was flain, Us, whom he 'had made, and Satan ftole, t' un- bind.
'Twas much that man was made like God before,
But that God fhould be made like man much
Father, part of his double intereft Unto thy kingdom thy Son gives to me; His jointure, in the knotty Trinity
He keeps, and gives to me his death's conqueft. This Lamb, whofe death with life the world hath bleft,
Was from the world's beginning flain, and he Hath made two wills which, with the legacy Of his and thy kingdom, thy fons inveft: Yet fuch are thefe laws, that men argue yet Whether a man thofe ftatutes can fulfil : None doth; but thy all-healing grace and Spirit Revive again what law and letter kill : Thy law's abridgment and thy last command Is all but love; O, let this laft will ftand!
MARK but this Flea, and mark, in this, How little that which thou deny'st me is; Me it fuck'd first, and now sucks thee, And in this Flea our two bloods mingled be. Confefs it this cannot be faid
A fin or shame, or lofs of maidenhead; Yet this enjoys before it woo,
And pamper'd fwells with one blood made of two; And this, alas! is more than we could do.
Oh! stay; three lives in one Flea spare, Where we almost, nay, more than marry'd are. This Flea is you and I, and this
Our marriage bed and marriage temple is. Though parents grudge, and you, we're met, And cloister'd in these living walls of jet; Though use make you apt to kill me, Let not to that felf-murder added be, And facrilege, three fins in killing three.
Cruel and fudden, haft thou fince Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence? Wherein could this Flea guilty be, Except in that blood which it fuck'd from thee? Yet thou triumph'ft, and fay'ft that thou Find'ft not thyfelf nor me the weaker now: 'Tis true; then learn how falfe fears be: Juft fo much honour, when thou yield'ft to me, Will wafte, as this Flea's death took life from thee.
THE GOOD-MORROW.
I WONDER, by my troth! what thou and I
Did till we lov'd? Were we not wean'd till then. But fuck'd on childish pleasures fillyly? Ordlumber'd we in the feven-fleeper's den? 'Twas fo; but as all pleasures fancies be, If ever any beauty I did fee,
Which I defir'd and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.
And now good-morrow to our waking fouls, Which watch not one another out of fear; For love all love of other fights controuls, And makes one little room an every-where.
WOMAN'S CONSTANCY.
Now then haft lov'd me one whole day, Tomorrow when thou leav'ft what wilt thou say? Wilt thou then antedate fome new-made vow? Or izy that now
We are not just thofe perfons which we were? Or that oaths, made in reverential fear Of Love and his wrath, any may forswear? Or, as true deaths true marriages untie, So lovers contracts, images of those,
Find but ull Sleep, Death's image, them unloofe? Or, your own end to justify
For having purpos'd change and falfehood, you Can have no way but falfehood to be true? Vain lunatic! against thefe fcapes I could Difpute and conquer, if I would; Which I abftain to do,
For by to-morrow I may think so too.
Thy beams fo reverend and ftrong, Doft thou not think
I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink, But that I would not lofe her fight fo long? If her eyes have not blinded thine, Look, and to-morrow late tell me, Whether both th' Indias of fpice and mine Be where thou left them, or lie here with me: Afk for thofe kings whom thou saw'st yesterday, And thou shalt hear, All here in one bed lay.
She's all ftates, and all princes I, Nothing else is.
Princes do but play us; compar'd to this All honour's mimic, all wealth alchymy. Thou, Sun! art half as happy as we
In that the world's contracted thus: Thine age asks cafe; and fince thy duties be To warm the world, that's done in warming us Shine here to us, and thou art every where; This bed thy center is, these walls thy sphere,
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