But, dearest mother, (what those miss)
The mean thy praise and glory is ;-
And long may be!

Blessed be God whose love it was
To double-moat thee with his grace,
And none but thee.

THE QUIP.

THE merry world did, on a day,
With his train-bands and mates agree
To meet together, where I lay;
And all in sport to jeer at me.

First, Beauty crept into a rose;

Which, when I pluck'd not, " Sir," said she, "Tell me, I pray, whose hands are those ?" -But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.

Then Money came; and, chinking still, "What tune is this, poor man ?" said he : "I heard in music you had skill." -But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.

Then came brave Glory puffing by,
In silks, that whistled, "Who but he ?"
He scarce allow'd me half an eye.
-But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.

Then came quick Wit and Conversation;
And he would needs a comfort be,
And, to be short, make an oration.

-But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.

Yet when the hour of thy design
To answer these fine things shall come;
Speak not at large; say, I am thine.
And then they have their answer home.

VANITY.

O HEAR betimes, lest thy relenting
May come too late!

To purchase heaven for repenting,
Is no hard rate.

If souls be made of earthly mold,
Let them love gold;

If born on high,

Let them unto their kindred fly: For they can never be at rest, Till they regain their ancient nest. Then, silly soul, take heed; for earthly joy Is but a bubble, and makes thee a boy.

BUSINESS.

CANST be idle, can'st thou play,
Foolish soul, who sin'd to-day?

Rivers run, and springs each one
Know their home, and get them gone :

Hast thou tears, or hast thou none ?

If, poor soul, thou hast no tears,
Would thou hadst no fault or fears!
Who hath these, those ills forbears.

Winds still work; it is their plot,
Be the season cold or hot:
Hast thou sighs, or hast thou not?

If thou hast no sighs or groans,

Would thou hadst no flesh and bones!

Lesser pains 'scape greater ones.

But if yet thou idle be,

Foolish soul, who died for thee ?

Who did leave his Father's throne,
To assume thy flesh and bone?
Had he life, or had he none ?

If he had not liv'd for thee,
Thou hadst died most wretchedly;
And two deaths had been thy fee.

He so far thy good did plot,
That his own self he forgot.
Did he die, or did he not?

If he had not died for thee,
Thou hadst liv'd in misery;

Two lives worse than ten deaths be.

And hath any space of breath

"Twixt his sins and Saviour's death?

He that loseth gold, though dross,

Tells to all he meets, his cross:
He that hath sins, hath he no loss?

He that finds a silver vein,
Thinks on it, and thinks again;
Brings thy Saviour's death no gain?

Who in heart not ever kneels,
Neither sin nor Saviour feels.

DULNESS.

WHY do I languish thus, drooping and dull, As if I were all earth?

O give me quickness, that I may with mirth Praise thee brimfull!

The wanton lover in a curious strain
Can praise his fairest fair;

And with quaint metaphors her curled hair
Curl o'er again :

Thou art my loveliness, my life, my light,
Beauty alone to me:

Thy bloody death, and undeserv'd, makes thee

Pure red and white.

When all perfections as but one appear,
That-those thy form doth show,
The very dust, where thou dost tread and go,
Makes beauties here.

Where are my lines, then? my approaches ? views?

Where are my window-songs?

Lovers are still pretending, and ev'n wrongs
Sharpen their Muse.

But I am lost in flesh, whose sugar'd lies
Still mock me, and grow bold:

Sure thou didst put a mind there if I could
Find where it lies.

Lord, clear thy gift, that with a constant wit
I may but look towards thee :—
Look only for to love thee, who can be,
What angel, fit?

PROVIDENCE.

O SACRED Providence, who from end to end
Strongly and sweetly movest! shall I write,
And not of thee, through whom my fingers bend
To hold my quill? Shall they not do thee right?

Of all the creatures both in sea and land
Only to man thou hast made known thy ways,
And
put the pen alone into his hand,
And made him secretary of thy praise.

Beasts fain would sing; birds ditty to their notes;
Trees would be tuning on their native lute
To thy renown: but all their hands and throats
Are brought to man, while they are lame and

mute.