Theophila Or Loves Sacrifice. Canto Ix Poem by Edward Benlowes

The RECAPITULATION.
And Pourtrait of a Heav'nly breathing Soul.

Whoso delights to burn in holy Fire
Of Virgin fair Theophila,
Joy, Salamander, in that Flame;
Thou so, Pirausta born, may'st like the Phoenix burn,
That to Eternitie thou rise,
Not losing Life, but sowing well the same:
A holier Ovids smoothed Verse
With Eyes of Heart, with Heart--all--Eyes, behold:
Such sacred Flames by Adamantine Hand
Ought to be plac't in lasting Urns;
But, 'cause these Writings needed Aid of Pens,
Virtue, than Birds more swift, unto the Scribe lend Wing,
And let the Readers Care more Eyes than Argus bring.


The PORTICO.
Love to the Master, and the Mate
Stirs it self feebly in Lifes lowest Sphear;
That to our Parent, and the Bed
More large extends, and breathes a Life of Sense;
That to our Countrey, and its Sire
Self raises loftier in Reasons Air:
But, That to GOD,
Ravisht with Ecstasie, It self transcends,
Nor Bounds, nor Limits would It own;
But, narrow'd That (like Lovers, kept apart)
Warms, heats, yea boyls, boyls up and over!
Longs for th' Eternal, sighs for Him, beyond that Lover!


THE ARGUMENT.
Blest Muse the Altar builds, where Love's ador'd;
And throweth down, loose Wit, thy Nest abhorr'd:
She, Clytie--like, to th' Sun of Glory turns;
GOD is her Sun, with Light of Zeal She burns.

Mvse, canst be silent, when each charmed Grove,
Harbours a thousand warbling Notes of Loue?

Art whets the Minde, and Hymns set Edge on Art:
Dart up an Epod; Zeal, crown thou the Dart.

Hope be thy Bowe, thy Hand Love, Faith the Shaft;
Let Hope shoot Faith to God with Loves strong Draft.

Sacred's my Theme; may my first Fruits Him please!
Faith plants, Hope nourishes, Love ripens These.

This World's the Field, GOD sows, his Word the Seed,
Satan the Thief, the Good, Corn, th' Ill the Weed.

Lord, mount me to the Pitch of Larks on High;
That I, as Birds wing'd Oars, may cut the Skie!

Saints would know GOD, so, as they Good may doe:
Let me both know this Good, and act It too!

Heav'ns Love, not knowledge doth the Palm acquire:
Who Heav'nly Knowledge gave, will give Desire.

That Ought I will, can, am, is, Christ, from Thee:
Christ, what I am, can, will, accept from me!

No Light, Tast, Strength without Thee; Thou alone
Art Health unto my Soul, my Salt, my Sun.

Thou, Light, Way, Life; who sees, walks, liveth by
That Flame, Path, Strength, does not fall, fail, nor die.

Upon thy Altars let my Verses prove
The Victime, Heart the Altar, the Fire Love!

Pray'r Frankincense, Tears Myrrhe, be Gold, Souls Health:
The Minds best Work, Hearts Laver, & Loves Wealth.

I This Verse--Hecatomb to Thee do bring;
As Solomon his numerous Offering.

The pious Muse courts Heav'n; when highest Things
She soars for, still She craves, Blest Dove, thy Wings!

With active Plumes flye up to th' Angel--Quire,
Where Chrysolites to gild thy Way conspire.

Love may Them lead by Verse, whom Sermons fright;
Bring Them, where Faith comes not, into Heav'ns Light.

O may our Numbers in sweet Musick flow;
Nor the least Harshnesse of Elisions know!

Shade me, ô Lord! I seek not Virgils Tree;
Hence Springs prophane; Glide, Siloam, by me!

Trampling vain Labours, with loose Wits defil'd,
The Hallow'd Brain brings forth a Spritely Childe.

What's Life? a Vapour; Beauty? Ashes; Gain?
An Idol; Honour? Bubble; the World? vain:

Life flits away, and Beauty wanes at full,
Gold cheats, and Honour fades, the World is dull.

Lifes Pleasure's short, and Pleasures Life is vain;
It knowes not highest Blisse, GODS Love, to gain.

That Torch which flam'd so bright in Hero's Room,
Did light her lov'd Leander to his Tomb.

To Death a thousand Wayes, to Life but one:
For Sin who groans not, he for Sin shall groan.

Arm'd Wrath perfidious Tyrants throwes from high;
They conquer Right, Sin Them; Th' Avenger's nigh.

Sinners first Steps, Sins Seed, and Fruit avoid;
Many by neer Infection are destroy'd.

Kill Vice i'th' Egge: John, Joseph, Robelesse fly;
Peter, Thou stay'st, and stay'st but to deny!

By Night and Day, at Home, and when Abroad,
Guilt stings the Soul, and thereon layes its Load!

Of Decalogue, Creed, Supper of the LORD,
Though Laws speak loud, our Church hath scarce a Word!

Hence Flocks are pin'd. The Judge in Time will come
Unthought of: Neer to Guilt's the Avengers Doom!

Nor Pray'r, nor Price, nor Fraud, nor Rage, nor Art
Can help; Ah, fear then Flames eternal Smart!

Wet--cheekt, how oft I've moan'd to Thee my Dear,
All Night awake, alone, ô Cure, appear!

Seest Thou, and suff'rest? Stop Sins Course, & Birth;
Let not that Hand bear Arms, that sowes the Earth.

Loves Pow'r's infus'd from God, a free--giv'n Grace;
Theophila from Love takes Name and Race.

Thou burn'st, pierc't Theophil, with firie Dart;
If blessed Heat enflames thy vigorous Heart,

The more Thou burn'st, the more be Bellows still;
As thy Flames grow, Let those Flames Others fill!

Heat the Luke--warm, to Those, more hot, give Fire;
Bless GOD; Refresh with Grace, enflame Desire.

The Poets Pharos be that sets forth sail,
While he steers sheet--fill'd with a holy Gale.

Pure Wit's the Sails, quick Judgement Oars, Thou th' Star,
Pilot the Scribe, Sea Vein, the Ship Hymns are.

I give Wits Tackling to thy guiding Hands:
Honour in giving, Love in taking stands.

Binde up what's loose, what's rash new--mold, refell
What's ill, lame help, smooth rough, depress what swell.

Thou slight'st Earths ratling Squibs, with Sulphur fill'd:
Kingdoms such Nests are as the Birds do build.

Above all Worldly Wealth thy Riches rise;
Thy Microcosm the Macrocosm out--vies.

Thou lay'st out hoarded Gold the Poor to aid;
So, with GODS Love, thy Love to GOD's repaid.

Thy sacred Skill imparted Reverence breeds;
Thy Worship's Practise, and thy Words are Deeds.

Fiends Hate, Saints Prize, whence Lyrick Strings sound clear,
Of spotless Faith, pure Minde, to th' Highest dear.

The Emerald--Grove envies thy golden Hair,
Whose Curls make Graces blush Themselves more fair.

As many Joyes thy starry Beauties shed,
As Bees in Attis, Gems in Skies are spred.

The Diamond sparkleth Rage at thine Eye--Beams,
Whose chast Orbs brandish thence their sacred Gleams.

The Coral Die is blankt at Lips so red,
And livid Grapes at rosie Cheeks hang head:

I'd gaze o'th' Lili'd Cheek, and the Lips Rose,
But ô, thy Cheek, thy Lip surpasseth those!

Grace pours sweet--flowing Words from charming Lips,
Sparkling 'bove Nectar which i'th' Crystal skips.

Rare Psaltresse, with Heav'n--drops inebriate,
What Sweets to Mouth, and Ear dost Thou create?

Sweet Violets, Saffron, Balm, Myrrhe from Thee flowes,
Bdell, Incense, Cedar, Cinn'amon, Nard, the Rose.

The Rose, Swains Spice: Such Heav'n--dew'd Verse dost frame,
As sweet as Honey--comb, as bright as Flame.

While Combs, and Flames divine from Thee are cast,
I'm fed, as fir'd; Ev'n Flames do nurse my Taste!

The Swan pines at thy Neck; This Milkie Way
Doth Steps, begun to th' Holy LAMB, display.

There fals on thine Alp--Breasts a lasting Snow,
To which Snow's black, Swans foul, the Goose a Crow.

The hoary Frost turns Durt, vi'd with thy Hand,
And, where thy Fooot does tread, it prides the Land.

On Lilies Milk, on Violets Purple throw,
On Saffron Gold, Scarlet o'th' Rose bestow;

Wreaths, worthy Thee, fair Flora ne're can weave;
Nor can our highest Strains Thee higher heave.

With all--bred Flowr's, & glitt'ring Buds Thou beam'st;
As if t' have cropt all Paradise Thou seem'st.

Each Vertue's in thy Life, so pois'd, so fine;
What's first? This? That? or T'other? since All shine.

Love to thy Soul deriv'd is from Above,
Where Honour reigns, sparks Beauty, triumphs Love.

In Chymick Art Thou my Elixir be;
Convert to Gold the worthlesse Dross in me.

Fire makes of Ashes Glass, makes Metals shine;
This Fire my Body may to Spirit calcine.

Enamour'd Ir'on does to the Magnet flie;
Yea Sparks in hardest Flints concealed lie.

Nothing more hard than Stone, more soft than Fire;
Yet Stones are melted by inflam'd Desire.

Is't so? Who'd not dissolve in Flames of Love?
Be Thou the Grace, Thou my Thoughts Loadstar prove.

Mindes Gemme, Eyes Apple, Hearts intenser Flame;
Thou shew'dst the Way, I'll prosecute the Same.

For GOD created, bright in Virtues Train,
Weigh'st Right, quell'st Passions, & o're Deeds dost reign.

GOD is thy Life, Law Virtue, Glorie CHRIST;
Him, who leads Thee by Love, Thou lov'st Him high'st.

CHRIST, to endure the Cross, what did Thee move?
The Pledge of Bitterness was Pledge of Love!

Is GOD both Meat, and Lover? CHRIST thy Food?
What Banquet is This Lover! As Sweet, as Good!

CHRIST's Spice (Thou say'st) Light, Triumph, Praise to me;
Musick, Wine, Feast, Fame, Crown, GOD; All to Thee.

LORD, Thou art All in All! Thou lost, All's nought;
How base seems muddy Earth, where Heav'n is sought!

Earth's Exile, Death the Gate, my Home's Above;
My Staff's Hope, Faith Companion, Leader Love.

Turn Indie into Jewels, Heav'n to Verse,
Nor Indie can thy Worth, nor Heav'n reherse.

Let me Thee fear, and love; Fear Loves Heat blowes;
Fear is Devotions Fount, whence Love o'reflowes.

Thy Word's my Rule, I cleave to Thee, my Vine;
LORD, Thou art All to me, I'm wholly Thine.

O, hear my Pray'r, my Suff'rings bear, my Task
Take off, redresse my Wrongs, grant what I ask!

With Pray'r, Desire, Faith, Zeal, Hope, Deed I call,
Laud, seek, love, pray, worship Thee All in All.

If I behold Thee, I'm all flaming Spice;
If not behold Thee, I'm congeal'd to Ice!

Adde Flames to Flames, that I may melt away!
Be I belov'd of Thee, or else Deaths Prey!

Sweet Seas, light Yoke, a friendly Flame I finde,
Which me with Love doth drown, and burn, and binde.

I'm not mine own, but faint for GOD above!
Rose--deck me Virgins, for I'm sick of Love!

Nought of a Liver, hath a Lovers Heart;
Or, live belov'd, or Life--bereft, depart!

Let us be One! In One, Two melted flow!
Let one Life, as one Love, inform us Two!

My only Joy, I'm Thine; Thou mine; and Both
The like Flame burns; Th' One loves, as t' Other doth.

Fire! Fire! Love is Belov'd! My Maker's mine!
Loving, I'm lov'd! while with my Spouse I twine!

O Love belov'd! Her, who such Joyes partakes,
Silence makes Wonder, Wonder Silence makes!

To Heav'n I live, to Earth I die; dying rise!
So, Hell being chain'd, Love takes the Victors Prize.

Lovers so love, as for the Lov'd to die!
As Stradas Lute was Life and Destinie.

If these my Layes have either Light, or Name,
Name from thy Word, Light from thy Grace doth flame.

Who came a Mole, goes Argus hence by Love;
I shall Faiths Priest to hopefull Charis prove.

Theophilas Bayes to Me more Honour brings,
Than Gems that blaze on the proud Heads of Kings.

For what boot worldly Crowns with Souls losse bought,
Heights fall, spruce Courtship fades, Vice brings to nought.

We may hereafter, as we now have found
The Voice of Fame above, so, under Ground.

The Last shall last; Term can't Vacation lend
To th' Lover; Here 'tis End to have no end.

To see, not know, is not to see:
Then, let our English Reader be
Warn'd, not on Latian Alps to roam;
The next Vales path will lead Him home.

Long have I sought the Wish of All
To finde; And what it is Men call
True Happiness; But cannot see
The World hath It, which It can be,
Or with It hold a Sympathie.

He that enjoyes what here below
Frail Elements have to bestow,
Shall finde most sweet bare Hopes at first;
Fruition by Fruition's burst,
Sea--water so allayes the Thirst.

Who ever would be happy then,
Must be so to Himself; for, when
Judges are taken from without,
To Judge what we are, fenc'd about,
They do not judge, but guesse, and doubt.

His Soul must hug no private Sin;
For, that's a thorn conceal'd i'th' Skin;
But Innocence, where She is nurst
Plants valiant Peace; So, Cato durst
Ev'n then be best, when Rome was worst.

God--built He must be in his Minde;
That is, Divine; whose Faith no Winde
Can shake; when firmly Herelics
Upon the ALMIGHTY, He outflies
Low Chance, and Fate of Destinies.

As Fountains rest not till they lead,
Meandring high, as their first Head:
So, Man rests not till He hath trod
Deaths Height: then, by that Period,
He rests too, rais'd in Soul to GOD.

Storms on the Minde from Honours Hill descend;
Titles external Beams adde not to Blisse:
The Poor wants much, the Covetous All. My Soul,
No painted Praise, nor flowr'd Encomiums prize
Equal to pious Breathings of pure Love:
Eschew the petty Pleasures of the Time,
And Heav'ns Refreshments make thy Jubilie:
Imagine not to swim in worldly Pomp,
And afterwards to reign with Christ in Blisse;
Earth must be Gall, that God may Honey prove:
He the best Relish hath of Heav'n, who most
Disdains the base Licentiousness o'th' Age;
We must be empty'd of our Selves, before
We can have Entrance into th' Heav'nly Court:
If we desire Fruition of the Sun,
Then must our Backs upon the Shade be turn'd;
Disclaim'd by Christ are those the World doth love,
And those whom Christ do's love, the World contemns:
He of his Greatnesse doth Himself divest,
Who goes from God, and Creature--comforts seeks.
O, what a mean dispised thing is Man,
Unless he raise Himself above the Earth,
Since nought but his Creator makes him high!
Let's think't no Shame t' endure what Christ endur'd,
Nor glory to do that which Judas did;
Dead to the World, let's be alive to God,
Who gain his Favour are supremely blest:
This is the Height of Wisdom, to desire
Those things in Life, which Thou wouldst dying crave:
Then on the Thoughts of Death thy Lamps Oyl spend,
And muse upon that State which nere shall end.