Gently our Saviour she began to shrive,
Whether he were the Son of God, or no;
For any other she disdain'd to wife:
And if he were, she bid him fearless throw
Himself to ground; and therewithal did show
A flight of little angels, that did wait
Upon their glittering wings, to latch him
straight;

And longed on their backs to feel his glorious weight.

But when she saw her speech prevailed nought,
Herself she tumbled headlong to the floor:
But him the angels on their feathers caught,
And to an airy mountain nimbly bore,
Whose snowy shoulders, like some chalky
shore,

Restless Olympus seem'd to rest upon

With all his swimming globes: so both are gone

The Dragon with the Lamb. Ah, unmeet paragon!

All suddenly the hill his snow devours,
In lieu whereof a goodly garden grew,
As if the snow had melted into flow'rs,
Which their sweet breath in subtle vapours
threw :

That all about perfumed spirits flew.

For whatsoever might aggrate the sense, In all the world, or please the appetence, Here it was poured out in lavish affluence. Not lovely Ida might with this compare, Though many streams his banks besilvered, Though Xanthus with his golden sands he bare: Nor Hybla, though his thyme depastured, As fast again with honey blossomed :

No Rhodope, no Tempe's flow'ry plain : Adonis' garden was to this but vain, Though Plato on his beds a flood of praise did rain.

For in all these some one thing most did grow,
But in this one grew all things else beside;
For sweet Variety herself did throw
To every bank, here all the ground she dide
In lily white, there pinks eblazed white,

And damask all the earth; and here she shed
Blue violets, and there came roses red:
And every sight the yielding sense as captive
led.

The garden like a lady fair was cut,
That lay as if she slumber'd in delight,
And to the open skies her eyes did shut;
The azure fields of Heav'n were 'sembled right
In a large round, set with the flow'rs of light:
The flow'rs-de-luce, and the round sparks of
dew,

That hung upon their azure leaves, did show Like twinkling stars, that sparkle in the evening blue.

Upon a hilly bank her head she cast,

On which the bower of Vain-delight was built. White and red roses for her face were plac't, And for her tresses marigolds were spilt: Them broadly she displayed, like flaming gilt,

Till in the ocean the glad day were drown'd: Then up again her yellow locks she wound, And with green fillets in their pretty cauls them bound.

What should I here depaint her lily hand,
Her veins of violets, her ermine breast,
Which there in orient colours living stand:
Or how her gown with silken leaves is drest,
Or how her watchman, arm'd with boughy
crest,

A wall of prim hid in his bushes bears, Shaking at every wind their leavy spears, While she supinely sleeps ne to be waked fears?

Over the hedge depends the graping elm,
Whose greener head, empurpuled in wine,
Seemed to wonder at his bloody helm,
And half suspect the bunches of the vine,
Lest they, perhaps, his wit should undermine,
For well he knew such fruit he never bore:
But her weak arms embraced him the more,
And her with ruby grapes laugh'd at her

paramour.

Under the shadow of these drunken elms
A fountain rose, where Pangloretta uses
(When her some flood of fancy overwhelms,
And one of all her favourites she chooses)
To bathe herself, whom she in lust abuses.

And from his wanton body sucks his soul, Which, drown'd in pleasure in that shallow bowl,

And swimming in delight, doth amorously roll.
The font of silver was, and so his showers
In silver fell, only the gilded bowls
(Like to a furnace, that the min'ral powers)
Seem'd to have mol't it in their shining holes:
And on the water, like to burning coals,

On liquid silver leaves of roses lay:
But when Panglory here did list to play,
Rose-water then it ran, and milk it rain'd,
they say.

The roof thick clouds did paint, from which three boys

Three gaping mermaids with their ewers did feed,

Whose breasts let fall the streams, with sleepy noise,

To lions' mouths, from whence it leapt with speed,

And in the rosy laver seem'd to bleed,

The naked boys unto the water's fall, Their stony nightingales had taught to call, When Zephyr breath'd into their wat❜ry interail.

And all about, embayed in soft sleep,

A herd of charmed beasts a-ground were spread,
Which the fair witch in golden chains did keep,
And them in willing bondage fettered:
Once men they liv'd, but now the men were
dead,

And turn'd to beasts, so fabled Homer old, That Circe with her potion, charm'd in gold, Us'd manly souls in beastly bodies to immould.

Through this false Eden, to his leman's bow'r,
(Whom thousand souls devoutly idolize)
Our first destroyer led our Saviour;
There in the lower room, in solemn wise,
They danc'd a round, and pour'd their sacrifice
To plump Lyæus, and among the rest,
The jolly priest, in ivy garlands drest,
Chanted wild orgials, in honour of the feast.
Others within their arbours swilling sat,
(For all the room about was arboured)
With laughing Bacchus, that was grown so fat,
That stand he could not, but was carried,
And every evening freshly watered,

To quench his fiery cheeks, and all about Small cocks broke through the wall, and sallied out

Flaggons of wine, to set on fire that spuing rout.

This their inhumed souls esteem'd their wealths,

To crown the bousing can from day to night, And sick to drink themselves with drinking healths,

Some vomiting, all drunken with delight. Hence to a loft, carv'd all in ivory white, They came, where whiter ladies naked went, Melted in pleasure and soft languishment, And sunk in beds of roses, amorous glances sent.

Fly, fly, thou holy Child, that wanton room, And thou, my chaster Muse, those harlots shun, And with him to a higher story come,

Where mounts of gold and floods of silver run, The while the owners, with their wealth undone,

Starve in their store, and in their plenty pine, Tumbling themselves upon their heaps of mine,

Glutting their famish'd souls, with the deceitful shine.

Ah! who was he such precious berils found ? How strongly Nature did her treasures hide, And threw upon them mountains of thick ground,

To dark their ory lustre! but quaint Pride Hath taught her sons to wound their mother's side,

And gage the depth, to search for flaring shells,

In whose bright bosom spumy Bacchus swells,

That neither Heaven nor Earth henceforth in safety dwells.

O sacred hunger of the greedy eye,
Whose need hath end, but no end covetise,
Empty in fulness, rich in poverty,
That having all things, nothing can suffice,
How thou befanciest the men most wise!

The poor man would be rich, the rich man
great,

The great man king, the king in God's own seat

Enthron'd, with mortal arm dares flames, and thunder threat.

Therefore above the rest Ambition sate,
His court with glitterant pearl was all inwall'd,
And round about the wall, in chairs of state,
And most majestic splendour, were install'd
A hundred kings, whose temples were impall'd
In golden diadems, set here and there
With diamonds, and gemmed every where,
And of their golden virges none disceptred

were.

High over all, Panglory's blazing throne,
In her bright turret, all of crystal wrought,
Like Phoebus' lamp, in midst of Heaven, shone:
Whose starry top, with pride infernal fraught,
Self-arching columns to uphold were taught:
In which her image still reflected was

By the smooth crystal, that, most like her glass,

In beauty and in frailty did all others pass.
A silver wand the sorceress did sway,
And, for a crown of gold, her hair she wore ;
Only a garland of rose-buds did play
About her locks, and in her hand she bore
A hollow globe of glass, that long before
She full of emptiness had bladdered,
And all the world therein depictured;
Whose colours, like the rainbow, ever vanished.

Such wat❜ry orbicles young boys do blow
Out from their soapy shells, and much admire
The swimming world, which tenderly they row
With easy breath till it be waved higher :
But if they chance but roughly once aspire,
The painted bubble instantly doth fall.
Here when she came, she 'gan for music call,
And sung this wooing song, to welcome him
withal :

"Love is the blossom where there blows
Every thing that lives or grows :
Love doth make the Heav'ns to move,
And the Sun doth burn in love:
Love the strong and weak doth yoke,
And makes the ivy climb the oak;
Under whose shadows lions wild,
Soften'd by love, grow tame and mild:
Love no med'cine can appease,
He burns the fishes in the seas;
Not all the skill his wounds can stench,
Not all the sea his fire can quench:
Love did make the bloody spear
Once a leavy coat to wear,

While in his leaves there shrouded lay
Sweet birds, for love, that sing and play:
And of all love's joyful flame,

I the bud and blossom am.

Only bend thy knee to me,

Thy wooing shall thy winning be.

"See, see the flowers that below,
Now as fresh as morning blow,
And of all, the virgin rose,
That as bright Aurora shows:
How they all unleaved die,
Losing their virginity;
Like unto a summer-shade,
But now born, and now they fade.

Every thing doth pass away,
There is danger in delay:
Come, come, gather then the rose,
Gather it, or it you lose.

All the sand of Tagus' shore
Into my bosom casts his ore :
All the valleys' swimming corn
To my house is yearly borne:
Every grape of every vine

Is gladly bruis'd to make me wine:
While ten thousand kings, as proud,
To carry up my train have bow'd,
And a world of ladies send me
In my chambers to attend me.
All the stars in Heav'n that shine,
And ten thousand more are mine:
Only bend thy knee to me,

Thy wooing shall thy winning be." Thus sought the dire enchantress in his mind Her guileful bait to have embosomed: But he her charms dispersed into wind, And her of insolence admonished, And all her optic glasses shattered.

So with her sire to Hell she took her flight, (The starting air flew from the damned spright)

Where deeply both aggriev'd, plunged themselves in night.

But to their Lord, now musing in his thought,
A heavenly volley of light angels flew,
And from his Father him a banquet brought,
Through the fine element; for well they know,
After his Lenten fast, he hungry grow:

And as he fed, the holy quires combine
To sing a hymn of the celestial Trine;
All thought to pass, and each was past all
thought divine.

The birds' sweet notes, to sonnet out their joys, Attemper'd to the lays angelical;

And to the birds the winds attune their noise; And to the winds the waters hoarsely call, And echo back again revoiced all;

That the whole valley rung with victory. But now our Lord to rest doth homewards

(Proud of the mire in which his soul is pen'd),

Clodded in lumps of clay, his weary life to end.

"His body, dust-where grew such cause of pride?

His soul, thy image:-what could he envy? Himself, most happy, if he so would bide: Now grown most wretched, - who can remedy?

He slew himself, himself the enemy.

That his own soul would her own murder wreak,

If I were silent, Heav'n and Earth would speak;

And if all fail'd, these stones would into clamours break.

"How many darts made furrows in his side, When she, that out of his own side was made,

Gavo feathers to their flight? where was the pride

Of their new knowledge? whither did it fade, When, running from thy voice into the shade He fled thy sight, himself of light bereav'd;

And for his shield a heavy armour weav'd. With which, vain man, he thought God's eyes to have deceiv'd?

"And well he might delude those eyes that see,

And judge by colours; for who ever saw
A man of leaves, a reasonable tree?

But those that from this stock their life

did draw,

Soon made their father godly, and by law

Proclaimed trees almighty: gods of wood, Of stocks and stones, with crowns of

laurel stood,

Templed, and fed by fathers with their children's blood.

"The sparkling fanes, that burn in beaten gold,

And, like the stars of Heav'n in midst of night,

Black Egypt, as her mirrors, doth behold, Are but the dens where idol-snakes delight Again to cover Satan from their sight:

Yet these are all their gods, to whom they vie

The crocodile, the cock, the rat, the fly, Fit gods, indeed, for such men to be served by.

"The fire, the wind, the sea, the Sun, and Moon,

The flitting air, and the swift-winged hours,
And all the watchmen, that so nimbly run,
And sentinel about the walled towers
Of the world's city, in their heavenly
bowers;

And, lest their pleasant gods should
want delight,

Neptune spues out the Lady Aphrodite, And but in Heav'n proud Juno's peacocks scorn to light.

"The senseless earth, the serpent, dog, and cat;

And, worse than all these, man, and worst of men,

Usurping Jove, and swelling Bacchus fat, And drunk with the vine's purple blood;

and then

The fiend himself they conjure from his den, Because he only yet remain'd to be Worse than the worst of men; they flee from thee,

And wear his altar-stones out with their pliant knee.

"All that he speaks (and all he speaks are lies)

Are oracles; 'tis he (that wounded all) Cures all their wounds; he (that put out their eyes)

That gives them light; he (that death first did call

Into the world) that with his orisal,

Inspirits earth: he Heav'n's all-seeing

eye,

He Earth's great prophet, he, whom rest doth fly,

That on salt billows doth, as pillows, sleeping lie.

"But let him in his cabin restless rest,

The dungeon of dark flames, and freezing fire,

Justice in Heav'n against man makes request

To God, and of his angels doth require
Sin's punishment: if what I did desire,

Or who, or against whom, or why, or
where,

Of, or before whom ignorant I were, Then should my speech their sands of sins to mountains rear.

"Were not the Heav'ns pure, in whose courts I sue,

The judge, to whom I him,

sue,

just to requite

The cause-for sin, the punishment-most due,

Justice herself-the plaintiff to endite him, The angels-holy, before whom I cite him, He-against whom, wicked, unjust, im

Plough through the sea's green fields, and nets display

To catch the flying winds, and steal away,

Coz'ning the greedy sea, pris'ning their nimble

prey.

"Would not the air be fill'd with streams of death,

To poison the quick rivers of their blood, Did not thy winds fan, with their panting breath,

The flitting region? would not th' hasty flood

Empty itself into the sea's wide wood?

Did'st not thou lead it wand'ring from his way,

To give men drink, and make his waters stray,

To fresh the flow'ry meadows, through whose fields they play ?

"Who makes the sources of the silver fountains

From the flint's mouth, and rocky valleys slide,

Thick'ning the airy bowels of the mountains?

Who hath the wild herds of the forest ty'd In their cold dens, making them hungry bide,

Till man to rest be laid? can, beastly, he, That should have most sense, only senseless be,

And all things else, beside himself, so aweful see ?

"Were he not wilder than the savage beast,

Prouder than haughty hills, harder than rocks,

Colder than fountains from their springs releas'd,

Lighter than air, blinder than senseless stocks,

More changing than the river's curling locks;

If reason would not, sense would soon reprove him,

And unto shame, if not to sorrow move him,

To see cold floods, wild beasts, dull stocks, hard stones out-love him.

"Under the weight of sin the earth did fall,

And swallow'd Dathan, and the raging wind,

And stormy sea, and gaping whale, did call For Jonas: and the air did bullets find, And shot from Heav'n a stony show'r to grind

The five proud kings that for their idols fought,

The Sun itself stood still to fight it out, And fire from Heav'n flew down, when sin to Heav'n did shout.

"Should any to himself for safety fly, The way to save himself, if any were, Were to fly from himself: should he rely Upon the promise of his wife ?-but there What can he see, but that he most may fear,

A Siren, sweet to death? upon his friends? Who that he needs, or that he hath not lends ?

Or wanting aid himself, aid to another sends? "His strength ?-but dust: his pleasure ?cause of pain :

His hope?-false courtier: youth or beauty? -brittle:

Entreaty ?-fond: repentance ?-late and vain :

Just recompence ?-the world were all too little:

Thy love?-he hath no title to a tittle: Hell's force ?-in vain her furies Hell shall gather:

His servants, kinsmen, or his children rather ?

His child, if good, shall judge; if bad, shall curse his father.

"His life ?-that brings him to his end, and leaves him :

His end ?-that leaves him to begin his