As in the apple (which moft fair doth grow) The rotten worm is clos'd, which it devours, As in gilt cups with Gnoffian wine which flow, Oft poifon pompously doth hide its fours:

So lewdness, falfehood, mischief, them advance,
Clad with the pleasant rays of beauty's glance.

Good thence is chac'd, where beauty doth appear,
Mild lowlinefs with pity from it fly,
Where beauty reigns as in their proper sphere,
Ingratitude, difdain, pride, all descry,

The flower and fruit which virtue's tree should bear,

With her bad fhadow beauty maketh die :

Beauty a monster is, a monster hurl'd

From angry heaven, to fcourge this lower world.

As fruits which are unripe, and four of taste,
To be confect'd more fit than fweet we prove,
For fweet in spite of care themselves will waste,
When they long kept, the appetite do move:
So in the fweetness of his nectar love
The foul confects, and seasons of his feast:

Sour is far better which we fweet may make, Than fweet which fweeter fweetnefs will not take.

Foul may my lady be, and may her nofe
(A Tanariff) give umbrage to her chin;
May her gay mouth (which the no time may clofe)
So wide be, that the moon may turn therein,
May eyes, and teeth, be made conform to thofe,
Eyes Tet by chance, and white, teeth black and
thin:

May all what seen is, and is hid from fight,
Like unto these rare parts be framed right.

I fhall not fear thus though fhe stray alone,
That others her pursue, entice, admire.
And though the fometime counterfeit a groan,
I fhall not think her heart feels uncouth fire,
I fhall not ftyle her ruthless to my moan,
Nor proud, difdainful, wayward to defire:

Her thoughts with mine will hold an equal line,

I fhall be hers, and she shall all be mine. LXXXIX. Eurymedon's Praife of Mira. GEM of the mountains, glory of our plains, Rare miracle of nature, and of love, Sweet Atlas, who all beauty's heavens fuftains, No, beauty's heaven, where all her wonders move, The fun from east to west who all doth fee, On this low globe fees nothing like to thee.

One phoenix only liv'd ere thou waft born,
And earth but did one queen of love admire,
Three graces only did the world adorn,
But thrice three mufes fung to Phœbus' lyre,

Two phoenixes be now, love's queens are two,
Four graces, mufes ten, all made by you.

For thofe perfections which the bounteous heaven
To diverfe worlds in diverfe times affign'd,
With thousands more, to thee at once were given,
Thy body fair, more fair they made thy mind;

And that thy like no age fhould more behold When thou waft fram'd they after brake the mold

Sweet are the blushes, on thy face which shine, Sweet are the flames which sparkle from thine

eyes,

Sweet are his torments, who for thee doth pine, Most sweet his death, for thee who sweetly dies; For if he die, he dies not by annoy,

But too much sweetness and abundant joy.

What, are my flender lays to fhow thy worth?
How can bafe words a thing so high make known?
So wooden globes bright stars to us fet forth;
So in a cryftal is fun's beauty fhown;

More of thy praises, if my mufe should write,
More love and pity must the fame indite.
XC. Thaumantia at the Departure of Idmon.
FAIR Dian, from the height

[place, Of heav'n's first orb, who cheer'ft this lower Hide now from me thy light;

XCI. Erysine at the Departure of Alexis. AND wilt thou then, Alexis, mine depart? And leave these flow'ry meads, and crystal streams? Thefe hills as great as green with gold and gems, Which court thee with rich treasure in each part? Shall nothing hold thee? not my loyal heart, That bursts to lofe the comforts of thy beams? Nor yet this pipe, which wildest Satyrs tames? Lor lambkins wailing? nor old Dorus smart? O, ruthless shepherd, forefts ftrange among, What canft thou elfe but fearful dangers find! But ah, not thou, but honour doth me wrong! O, cruel honour! tyrant of the mind!

This faid fad Erycine, and all the flowers Impearled, as she went, with eyes falt howers

That heaven-fent Youngling, holy maid-born wight, 'Midft, end, beginning of our prophefies :

Blef cottage, that hath flow'rs in winter spread,
Though withered bleffed grais, that hath the grace
To deck, and be a carpet to that place.
Thus finging to the founds of oaten reed,
Before the babe, the fhepherds bow'd their knees,
And springs ran nectar, homey dropt from trees.
IX.

THE laft and greatest herald of heav'n's king,
Girt with rough skins, hies to the defarts wild,
Among that favage brood the woods forth bring,
Which he more harmless found than man, and mild;
His food was locuits, and what there doth ipring,
With honey that from virgin hives diftill'd,
Parch'd body, ho:low eyes, fome uncouth thing,
Made him appear, long fince from earth exil'd,
There burit he forth; all ye whofe hopes rely
On God, with me amidft thefe defarts mourn,
Repent, repent, and from old errors turn.
Who liften'd to his voice, obey'd his cry
Only the echoes, which he made relent,
Rung from their flinty caves, repent, repent.
X.

These eyes (dear Lord) once tapers of defire,
Frail fcouts, betraying what they had to keep,
Which their own heart, then others fet on fire,
'Their trait'rous black before thee here out-weep;
Thefe locks of blufhing deeds, the gilt attire,
Waves curling, wrackful fhelves to fhadow deep,
Rings wedding fouls to fin's lethargic fleep,
To touch thy facred feet do now afpire.
In feas of care behold a finking bark,
By winds of fharp remorfe unto thee driven,
O, let me not be ruin's aim'd-at mark!
My faults confefs'd, Lord, fay they are forgiven.
Thus figh'd to Jefus the Bethanian fair,
His tear-wet feet fill drying with her hair.
XI.

I CHANGED Countries, new delights to find,
But, ah! for pleasure I did find new pain,
Enchanting pleasure fo did reafon blind,
That father's love and words I fcorn'd as vain:
For tables rich, for bed, for following train
Of careful fervants to obferve my mind,
Thefe herds I keep my fellows are affign'd,
My bed's a rock, and herbs my life fuftain.
Now while I famine feel, fear worfer 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 lone child, while as the herds he led,
And pin'd with hunger on wild acorns fed.
XII.

Ir that the world doth in amaze remain,
To hear in what a fad deploring mood
The pelican pours from her breast her blood,
To bring to life her younglings back again;
How should we wonder at that fovereign Good,
Who from that ferpent's fting (that had us flain)
To fave our lives, fhed his life's purple flood,
And turn'd to endless joy our endless pain?
Ungrateful foul, that charm'd with falfe delight,
Haft long long wander'd in fin's flow'ry path,
And didit not think at all, or thoughtft not right
O this thy pelican's great love and death,

Thee pour forth tears to him pour'd blood for
thee.
XIII.

Ir in the east when you do there behold
Forth from his cryftal bed the fun do rife,
With rofy robs and crown of flaming gold;
If gazing on that emprefs of the fkies,
That takes fo many forms, and thofe fair branda
Which blaze in heaven's high vault, night's
watchful eyes;

If feeing how the feas tumultuous bands

Of bellowing billows, have their course confia'd, How unfuftain'd the earth ftill ftedfast stands; Poor mortal wights, you e'er found in your mind A thought, that fome great king did lit above, Who had fuch laws and rites to them affign'd: A king who fix'd the poles, made fpheres to move, All wisdom, purenefs, excellency, might, All goodness, greatnefs, juftice, beauty, love; With fear and wonder hither turn your fight,

Sce, fee (alas) him now, not in that flate Thought could forecast him into reason's light, Now eyes with tears, now hearts with grief make great,

Bemoan this cruel death and ruthful cafe,
If ever plaint's just woe could aggravate.
From fin and hell to fave us human race,

See this great King nail'd to an abject tree,
An object of reproach and fad difgrace.

O unheard pity! love in ftrange degree!
He his own life doth give, his blood doth shed,
For wormlings bafe fuch worthinefs to fee.
Poor wights, behold his visage pale as lead,

His head bow'd to his breaft, locks fadly rent, Like a crept rofe that languifhing doth fade. Weak nature weep afonifh'd world lament! Lament, you winds! you, heaven, that all con.

For thee heaven's King from heaven himself debars :

This great heart-quaking dolour wail and mourn,
Ye that long fince him faw by might of faith,
Ye now that are, and ye yet to be born.
Not to behold his great Creator's death,

The sun from finful eyes hath veil'd his light, And faintly journies up heaven's fapphire path; And cutting from her brows her treffes bright, The moon doth keep her Lord's fad obfequies, Impearling with her tears her robe of night. All ftaggering and lazy low'r the skies;

The earth and elemental ftages quake; The long-fince dead from bursted graves arife. And can things wanting fenfe yet forrow take, And bear a part with him who all them wrought? And man (though born with cries) shall pity

Jack

Think what had heen your ftate, had he not brought To thefe fharp pangs himfelf, and priz'd fo high Your fouls, that with his life them life he bought.

What woes do you attend, if ftill ye lie Plung'd in your wonted ordures? wretched brood!

Shall for your fake again God ever die?
O, leave deluding fhows! embrace true God!
He on yon calls, forego fin's fhameful trade,
With prayers now feck heaven, and not with
blood.

Let not the lambs more from their dams be had,
Nor altars blush for fin: live every thing;
That long time long'd for facrifice is made.
All that is from you crav'd by this great King
Is to believe, a pure heart incenfe is,
What gift (alas) can we him meaner bring?
Hafte fin-fick fouls, this feafon do not mifs,
Now while remorfelefs Time doth grant you
space,

And God invites you to your only blifs:
He who you calls will not deny you grace,
But low-deep bury faults, fo ye repent,
His arms (lo) ftretched are you to embrace.
When days are done, and life's fmall fpark is ipent,
So you accept what freely here is given,
Like brood of angels deathfefs, all-content,
Ye fhall for ever live with him in heaven.
XIV.

COME forth, come forth, ye bleft triumphing bands,

Fair citizens of that immortal town,

Come fee that king which all this all commands,
Now (overcharg'd with love) die for his own;
Look on thofe nails which pierce his feet and hands,
What a fharp diadem his brows doth crown?
Behold his pallid face, his heavy frown,
And what a throng of thieves him mocking flands.
Come forth, ye empyrean troops, come forth,
Preferve this facred blood that earth adorns,
Gather thofe liquid rofes off his thorns,

O to be loft they be of too much worth:

No power had pow'r to thrall life's pow'rs to death,

But willingly life down hath laid his life,
Love gave the wound which wrought this work
of death.

His how and fhafts were of the tree of life;
Now quakes the author of eternal death,
To find that they whom late he reft of life,
Shall fill his room above the lifts of death,
Now all rejoice in death who hope for life.
Dead Jefus lies who Death hath kill'd by death,
No tomb his tomb is, but new fource of life.
XVII.

RISE from thofe fragrant climes thee now eme brace,

Unto this world of ours, O hafte thy race,
Fair fun, and though contrary ways all year
Thou hold thy courfe, now with the higneft fhare,
Join thy blue wheels to haften time that lowrs,
Aud lazy minutes turn to perfe& hours;
The night and death too long a league have made,.
To flow the world in horror's ugly fhade:
Shake from thy locks a day with faffron rays
So fair, that it outfhine all other days;
And yet do not prefume (great eye of light)
To be that which this day muft make fo bright,
See, an eternal Sun haftes to arise,
Not from the eastern blushing feas or fkies,
Or any ftranger worlds heaven's concaves have,
But from the darkness of an hollow grave,
And this is that all powerful Sun above,

That crown'd thy brows with rays, firft made thee move.

Light's trumpeters, ye need not from your bow'rs
Proclaim this day, this the angelic pow'rs
Have done for you; but now an opal hue
Bepaints heaven's crystal to the longing view:
Earth's late hid colours fhine, light doth adorn
The world, and (weeping joy) forth comes the

morn;

And with her, as from a lethargic trance

The breath return'd that bodies doth advance, Which two fad nights in rock lay coffin'd dead, And with an iron guard environed:

From a bafe jail forth comes the King of Kings,
What late was moria! thrall'd to every wo.
That Lackey's life, or upon feufe doth grow,
Immortal is of an eternal ftamp,

Far brighter beaming than the morning lamp.
So from a black eclipfe outpeers the fun :
Such [when her courfe of days have on her run,
In a far foreft in the pearly east,

And fhe herfelf hath burnt and fpicy neft]
The lovely bird with youthful pens and comb,
Doth foar from out her cradle and her tomb:
So a fall feed that in the earth lies hid
And dies, reviving burfts her cloddy fide,
Adorn'd with yellow locks of new is born,
And doth become a raother great with corn,
Of grains brings hundred with it, which, when
o'd,

Enrich the furrows which do float with gold.

Hail, holy Victor, greateft Victor, hal: That hell do.h ranfack, again death prevail,

how thou long'd for com'ft! with joyful cries,
The all-triumphing Palatinates of fkies
Salute thy rifing, earth would joys no more
Bear, if thou rifing didft then not restore:
A filly tomb fhould not his flesh enclose,
Who did heaven's trembling terrasses dispose;
No monument fhould fuch a jewel hold,
No rock, though ruby, diamond, and gold,
Thou didst lament and pity human race,
Beftowing on us of thy free-given grace
More than we forfeited and lofed first,
In Eden rebels when we were accurft.
Then earth our portion was, earth's joys but giv'n,
Larth and earth's bless thou haft exchang'd with
heav'n.

O what a height of good upon us ftreams
From the great fplendour of thy bounty's beams!
When we deferv'd fhame, horror, flames of wrath,
Thon bled'ft our wounds, and suffer didst our death,
But Father's juftice pleas'd, hell, death o'ercome,
In triumph now thou rifeft from thy tomb,
With glories which past forrows countervail,
Hail, holy Victor, greateft Victor, hail!

[fenfe,

Hence humble fenfe, and hence, ye guides of We now reach heaven, your weak intelligence And fearching pow'rs 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 fold, betray'd, crown'd, fcourg'd
with thorn,

Nail'd to a tree, all breathlefs, bloodless, torn,
Entomb'd, him rifen from a grave to find, [blind.
Confounds your cunning, turns, like moles, you
Death, thou that heretofore ftill barren waft,
Nay, didft each other birth eat up and waste,
Imperious, hateful, pitilefs, unjuft,
Impartial, equaller of all with dust,
Stern executioner of heavenly doom,
Made fruitful, now life's mother art become,
A fweet relief of cares the foul molest,
An harbinger to glory, peace, and rest,
Put off thy mourning weeds, yield all thy gall
To daily finning life, proud of thy fall,
Affemble all thy captives, hafte to rife,
And every corfe in earth quakes where it lies,
Sound from each flowery grave and rocky jail,
Hail, holy Victor, greatest Victor, hail!

The world that wanning late and faint did lie,
Applauding to our joys thy victory,
To a young prime effays to turn again,
And as e'er (oil'd with fin yet to remain,
Her chilling agues she begins to mifs.
All blifs returning with the Lord of Blifs.
With greater light heaven's temples opened fhine,
Morn's fmiling rife, even's blufhing do decline,
Clouds dappled glifter, boift'rous winds are calm,
Soft zephyrs do the fields with fighs embalm,
In filent calms the fea hath huth'd her roars,
And with enamour'd curls doth kifs the fhores:
All-bearing earth, like a new-married queen,
Her beauties heightens in a gown of green,
Perfumes the air, her meads are wronght with
flow'rs,

1

In colours various, figures, fmelling, pow'rs,

Trees wanton in the groves with leavy locks,
Her hills enamell'd stand, the vales, the rocks
Ring peals of joy, her floods and prattling brooks,
(Stars liquid mirrors) with ferpenting crooks,
And whispering murmurs found unto the main,
The golden age returned is again.

The honey people leave their golden bow'rs,
And innocently prey on budding flow'rs,
In gloomy fhades perch'd on the tender sprays
The painted fingers fill the air with lays:
Scas, floods, earth, air, all diverfly do found,
Yet all their diverse notes have but one ground,
Re-echo'd here down from heaven's azure vale,
Hail, holy Victor, greatest Victor, hail!

O day on which Death's adamantine chain
The Lord did break, did ranfack Satan's reign,
And in triumphing pomp his trophies rear'd,
Be thou bleft ever, henceforth ftill endear'd
With name of his own day; the law to grace,
Types to their fubftance yield, to thee give place
The old new-moons, with all festival days,
And what above the reft deferveth praise,
The reverend Sabbath, what could elfe they be
Than golden heralds, telling what by thee
We should enjoy? fhades past, now shine thou clear,
And henceforth be thou emprefs of the year,
This glory of thy fifters fix to win,
From work on thee, as other days from fin,
That mankind fhall forbear, in every place
The prince of planets warmeth in his race
And far beyond his paths in frozen climes;
And may thou be fo bleft to out-date times,
That when heaven's choir shall blaze in accents
loud

The many mercies of their Sovereign Good, How he on thee did fin, death, hell destroy, may be fill the burden of their joy.

It

XVIII.
BENEATH a fable vale, and fhadows deep,
Of unacceffible and dimming light,

In filence ebon clouds more black than night,
The world's great mind his fecrets hid doth keep,
Through thofe thick mifls when any mortal wight
Afpires, with halting pace, and eyes that weep
To pry, and in his myfteries to creep,
With thunders he and lightnings blafts their sight;
O fun invifible, that doft abide

Within thy bright abysmes, moft fair, most dark,
Where with thy proper rays thou dost thee hide,
O ever-fhining, never full-feen mark,

To guide me in life's night, thy light me show.
The more I fearch of thee, the less I know.
XIX.

Ir with fuch paffing beauty, choice delights,
The Architect of this great round did frame,
This palace vifible, short lifts of Fame,
And filly manfion but of dying wits;
How many wonders, what amazing lights
Muft that triumphing feat of glory claim,
That doth transcend all this all's vastest heights,
Of whofe bright fun ours here is but a beam?
O bleft abode! O happy dwelling place!
Where vifibly th' Invifible doth reign,
Bleft people which do fee true Beauty's face,
With whofe far fhadow fearce he earth doth deign