T The Size.

Content thee, greedy Heart.

Modeft and moderate Joys to those, that have
Title to more hereafter when they part,
Are paffing brave.

Let th' upper Springs into the low
Defcend and fall, and thou doft flow.

What though fome have a fraught
Of Cloves and Nutmegs, and in Cinamon fail?
If thou hast wherewithal to fpice a Draught,
When Griefs prevail,

And for the future time art Heir
To the Ifle of Spices, is't not fair?

To be in both Worlds full
Is more than God was, who was hungry here.
Wouldst thou his Laws of Fafting disannul?
Enact good Chear?

Lay out thy Joy, yet hope to fave it?
Wouldst thou both eat thy Cake, and have it?

Great Joys are all at once;

But little do reserve themselves for more:

Those have their hopes; these what they have re-
And live on score:

(nounce

Those are at home; thefe journey fill,

And meet the reft on Sion's Hill.

Thy Saviour fentenc'd Joy,

And in the Flesh condemn'd it as unfit,
At least in Lump; for fuch doth oft destroy,
Whereas a bit

Doth tice us on to hopes of more,
And for the prefent Health reftore.

G

132

A Chriftian's State and Case

Is not a corpulent, but a thin and spare,
Yet active Strength: Whofe long and bony Face
Content and Care
Do feem to equally divide,
Like a Pretender, not a Bride.

Wherefore fit down good Heart,

Grafp not at much, for fear thou lofeft all:
If Comforts feel according to defert,

They would great Frofts and Snows deftroy:
For we should count fince the last Joy.

Then close again the Seam

Which thou haft open'd; do not spread thy Robe
In hope of great things. Call to mind thy Dream,
An earthly Globe,

On whose Meridian was engraven,
Thefe Seas are Tears, and Heav'n the Haven.

¶ Artillery.

SI one Evening fat before my Cell,
Me-thoughts a Star did fhoot into my Lap.

A Mont & Star did foot to,

I rose and fhook my Clothes, as knowing well, That from fmall Fires cones oft no fmall mishap: When fuddenly I heard one say,

Do as thou ufeft, disobey,

Expel good Motions from thy Breaft,

Which have the Face of Fire, but end in Reft.

I, who had heard of Mufick in the Spheres,
But not of Speech in Stars, began to muse:
But turning to my God, whofe Minifters
The Stars and all Things are; if I refuse,

Dread Lord, faid I, fo oft my good;
Then I refufe not ev'n with Blood
To wash away my ftubborn Thought:
For I will do, or fuffer what I ought.

But I have alfo Stars and Shooters too,
Born where thy Servants both Artilleries use.
My Tears and Prayers Night and Day do woe,
And work
up to thee; yet thou dost refuse.
Not but I am (I must say still)

Much more oblig'd to do thy Will,

Than thou to grant mine: But because

Thy Promise now hath ev'n fet thee thy Laws:

Then we are Shooters both, and thou doft deign
To enter Combat with us, and contest

With thine own Clay. But I would parley fain:
Shun not my Arrows, and behold my "Breast.
Yet if thou fhunneft, I am thine :

I must be fo, if I am mine.

There is no articling with thee:
I am but finite, yet thine infinitely.

¶ Church Rents and Schifms.

Rave Rofe, (alas!) where art thou? in the Chair, BWhere thou didit lately fotriumph and shine,

A Worm doth fit, whofe many Feet and Hair
Are the more foul the more thou art divine.
This, this hath done it, this did bite the Root
And bottom of the Leaves; which when the Wind
Did once perceive, it blew them under Foot,
Where rude unhallow'd Steps do crush and grind
Their beauteous Glories. Only Shreds of thee,
And thofe all bitten, in thy Chair I fee.

Why doth my Mother blufh? Is fhe the Rose,
And fhows it fo? Indeed Chrift's precious Blood
Gave you a Colour once; which when your Foes
Thought to let out, the bleeding did you good,
And made you look much fresher than before.
But when Debates and fretting Jealoufies

Did worm and work within you more and more,
Your Colour faded, and Calamities

Turned your Ruddy into Pale and Bleak;
Your Health and Beauty both began to break.

Then did you fev'ral parts unloose and start:
Which when your Neighbours faw,like a North-wind
They rushed in, and caft them in the Dirt
Where Pagans tread. O Mother dear and kind,
Where fhall I get me Eyes enough to weep,
As many Eyes as Stars, fince it is Night,
And much of Afia and Europe faft afleep,
And even all Africk; would at least I might

With these two poor ones lick up all the Dew,
Which falls by Night, and pour it out for you.

¶ Fuftice.

T Justice.

Dreadful Juflice, what a Fright and Terror
Waft thou of old,

When Sin and Error

Did fhow and fhape thy Looks to me, And through their Glass discolour thee! He that did but look up, was proud and bold. The Dishes of thy Balance feem'd to gape, Like two great Pits;

The Beam and Scape

Did like fome tort'ring Engine fhow: Thy Hand above did burn and glow, Danting the ftouteft Hearts, the proudest Wits, But now that Chrift's pure Vail presents the fight, I fee no Fears:

Thy Hand is white,

Thy Scales like Buckets, which attend
And interchangeably defcend,

Lifting to Heaven from this Well of Tears.

For where before thou didst call on me,

Now I ftill touch

And harp on thee.

God's Promises have made thee mine: Why fhould I Justice now decline? Against me there is none, but for me much.

¶ The Pilgrimage.

I Travel on, feeing the Hill, where lay

My Expectation,

A long it was and weary way.
The Gloomy Cave of Desperation

I left

on th'

one,

and on the other fide
The Rock of Pride.