Thomas Bancroft

Thomas Bancroft Poems

The Best Poem Of Thomas Bancroft

The Glvttons Feaver

It was in heate of summer height of noone,
When at the Sunne the Dog--starre seeme to bay,
(Like Wolues of Syria at the shining Moone,)
And with hot breath t' enflame the planets ray;
That, flatter'd forth to pleasures of the day,
Where once vsurping Richard could not stand
I chanc'd to walke, in center of this Land.

The place did please, so faire was Ambreame hill,
That seem'd to swell, as proud of royall blood,
Which on his border sharpest swords did spill,
Where liues, as cheape as leaues, were in the Wood.
When downe the Valley ranne a sanguine Flood,
As frighted with the horrour of the fight,
And Earth did blush at such a sauage sight.

Here pitcht my phansie on the Tyrants fate,
That, for the poison'd dainties of a King.
Like a rowl'd serpent flew vpon the State,
As direly bent to ruine all to bring;
But here, disarmed of ambitions sting,
Shot out his soule. Who thus to reach a Crowne
Through blood doth swim, in blood doth iustly drowne.

Richard, thought I, thy purchase was too deare,
With thy soules quiet for a Crowne to part,
That lasht with scourges of a conscious feare,
Whose euery stroke sent horrour to thy heart,
Didst at the glance of euery shadow start,
As thinking still the hasty feinds did striue
To deepest Hell to hurry thee aliue.

But if these lightnings of infernall fire
Thus blast the soule, and strike all comforts dead:
Great Thunderer, how heauy lights thine ire,
That, when all proppes are shrunke, all hopes are fled
All painted cloudes of pleasure vanished,
Falls on the wretched soule, and sinkes it low
With stormes of horrour, to eternall woe!

With these impressions in my cloudy thought,
I trauel'd on in birth of sad conceits,
As euery obiect on my phansie wrought,
Till neare dissolued in the melting heats
Whose strong reflex on euery creature beats,
I made mine eyes my harbengers, to take
Some shady roome vp, till the day did slake.

A neighbouring wood a noble Syluane owes,
(Fresh in remembrance of this fatall field,)
Which to adorne victorious Henries browes,
That Princely armes so royally did wield,
(For Palme, and Lawrell,) did tall poplar yeild,
Whose trembling leaues still cause of terror find
As still there were some danger in the wind.

'Twas then the shelter to a panting heard
Of falser hearts; whose faces to the rere
Had lost their Colours when the foe appear'd,
But here relieu'd with many a natiue speare
Put courage on, and 'mongst the thickest were.
In safety here the dainty Pheasant flies,
And timerous Hare may sleeping close her eyes,

Hither my waight of weary limbes inclin'd,
Where a quaint arbour, by some louer made
Of sharpe--set Holly with faint Iuie twin'd,
The embleme of his loue with loue repaid,
Sraight entertain'd me with a pleasing shade:
While the mou'd leaues seeme in the sunny ray,
Like guilded Laurell, ore my head to play.

In such a Pallace might free pleasure raigne,
Which the plum'd courtiers of the ayre did haunt,
That proud of sunne--shine, in a lofty straine
Did their owne praises to their echoes chaunt,
Of highest worth did to their shadowes vaunt;
And those that seeme their symphony to hate
Are Owles and Buzzards, birds of wretched fate.

Here, like a Corse, bestucke with Cypresse boughes,
I hid my sorrowes, while dull dreaming sleepe,
In a darke vapour stealing on my browes,
Did softly thence to euery member creepe,
In iuyce of Mandrake did my senses steepe,
That, like deiected cowards, now had left
Their Fort besieg'd, of succour quite bereft.

Deepe was my sleepe and deepe, me thought, I went
Into the bowels of a darke abysse,
That woe and horrour did as much present,
As highest Heauen doth happinesse and blisse
To glorious Saints, that worldly snares did misse.
It was the caue, where blacke Destruction lies,
Not fear'd, because not seene with mortall eyes.

Here shall they languish in eternall night,
Whom prisoners he takes, who nere tooke rest,
Nor flying Comfort, nor estrang'd Delight;
But balefull Sorrow with his wounded brest,
Harsh Horrour, Rage, and Famine most distrest,
Pale wither'd Sicknesse, Paine, and wrinkled Care,
With thousand Woes, his sad attendants are.

Here Gluttony, enrag'd for want of food,
Eates Enuies vipers, while the monster tires
On her owne heart; here in a freshing flood
Lust doth his penance for his hot desires;
His owne life--blood here vengefull Wrath requires,
Here Murther burnes on piles of dead mens bones,
And vnder mounts of Gold oppression grones.

Here lies Ambition, that no bound did know,
Rowl'd in the dust, still sinking in disgrace;
Here rugged treason, full of wounds, doth flow,
In his blood; here Sloth, to finde his pace,
Is sharply scourg'd, and in this dreadfull place
I, like a plummet to the center flung,
Did seeme a while in ayrie ballance hung.

But what I heard, what mortall tongue can tell
Or eare containe, and not in sunder riue?
It was the moane the Glutton made in Hell,
That, from his owne, vnto Heauen gates did driue
Poore Lazarus, the wretchedst soule aliue;
But now of friends, wealth, pleasures all forsooke,
With hideous cries this empty Kingdome shooke.

Now, memory, be faithfull to my muse;
Tell how he begg'd, that erst so swel'd in pride,
And what high language Abraham did vse,
T' vpraid his life, that misery defi'd,
Tell to his speeches what the wretch repli'd,
Who, like an Oxe of fatall garlands proud,
Thus in his fall began to roare aloud.

Infernall sergeants, whether will yee hale
A wretched creature? to what depth of woe
Must I descend in this Cimmerian vale?
Into this yawning furnace must I goe,
Whose roaring entrailes pitchy horrours throw,
To whose fierce flames a thousand Ætna's are
As smallest sparkes, extinguisht with compare?

How far, how far from all supernall light
Am I thrust downe by rude imperious hands?
How deepe ingulfed in this caue of night?
How wrackt, and swallow'd, as in Seas, and Sands?
How fast chain'd vp in euerlasting bands,
Here to abide th' Almighties fiercest ire,
Whose frowne a flash, whose wrath's eternall fire?

Faire Prince of light, that with thy roabe of Gold
Doth decke the world, that in cold darknesse lay,
Let me (O) still thy ioyfull beames behold,
To these sad shades remooue thy court of day,
Vouchsafe the splendour of one smiling ray;
At least once more vnto my comfort shine,
And all the beauties of the Heauens be thine.

What hideous storme of all confused woes
My sense with paine, my soule with horrour smites?
What dreadfull ambush of vnnumbred foes
Hath me begirt, whose ruthlesse rage delights
To force these yells, whose gastly forme affrights
'Boue all the whippes of vengeance, or the darts
Of grimmest death, oppos'd to guilty hearts?

Hath Nilus left no issue on his strand,
But all his monsters in this dungeon pent?
Are there no Serpents on the Libian sand,
But hither all transported to torment
With scorching stings, and poisons deadly sent?
Which how it doth, (all comfort quite to kill,)
With banefull steames this odious prison fill?

The sulp'hrous fumes, that from the flaming skies
Blast the poore infant in the burdned wombe,
Th'abhorred caues, where Plague, and Famine lies,
Where neuer beame, nor breath of Heauen hath come,
When the long buried vapours breake their tombe,
Vent not so sicke a dampe, so foule a breath,
As here enwrappes me in a Cloud of death,

Ah dolefull eccho of this dreadfull caue!
At once to heare the wailing Dragons moane,
The hungry Lion roare, the franticke raue,
The weeping Hart bray, and the Mandrake grone,
The cries of captiues in confused tone,
Would with lesse horrour grate my tender sense,
Than these harsh woes, that crie all comfort hence.

Such is the musicke made of dying mones
In this rude chantry, that no meane doth know,
But treble shriekes the base of deepest grones,
With heauy tenour of lamenting woe,
Taught by tormentours, that no pittie show.
Strange consort, which no harmony commends,
And yet keepes time, that neuer neuer ends!

That impious faction, Corahs rebell crew,
Whom greedy vengeance snatcht aliue to Hell,
When the cleft Earth did grimmest horrour shew.
And all on heaps to deepe--mouth'd ruine fell,
Sent not so sharpe a shrieke, so loud a yell,
As here from thousand throates with piercing sound
Strikes euery care, and leaues a gastly wound.

Where fiends and Furies all at once vnchain'd,
With pois'ned scourges to afflict me here,
Where euery part with sense of torture pain'd,
And euery sense his part of woe doth beare,
Nor euer glimpse of comfort doth appeare?
Hath onely here dire Mischiefe chose to dwell,
And heauiest Sorrow sunke his caue to Hell?

For Tyrian purple, and Achaeian bysse,
Here doe I lye close wrapt in sheets of fire;
For sumptuous fare (my more than Heauenly blisse,)
Here thirst, and hunger on mine entrailes tire;
For mirth, here mischiefes to my paine conspire;
For a bright pallace, heres blacke Ruines stage,
Where actors howle and hissing serpents rage.

What tyrant ioyn'd these adamantine bands?
What Fury in my bowells built her Hell?
Is all my flesh a fire? My bones the brands?
My sinewes all divul'st with passion fell?
Doe all my veines with liquid sulphur swell?
Cracke all mine arteries with tortures tride,
Yet must more stormes, more wrackfull woes abide?

Great Heauen, that dost that Starry brow aduance,
Thou, that the measures of quicke--turning time
About the world eternally dost dance,
Cannot so high these restlesse dolours climbe?
Cannot these cries, that drowne th' harmonious chime
Of all thy spheares, some tender pittie mone?
Is there no beame of mercy shines aboue?

Why dost thou mocke with euer--blazing fires
These ceaslesse torments, to enrage my woe?
O could my fury arm'd with strong desires
Strike out those lights, that neuer comfort shew,
And on that proud roofe rusty darkenesse throw:
Into how blind, and rude a Chaos should
Those wheeles of time, thy giddy orbes be rowl'd?

What temptest fights thus sharply in my paines,
That, in the ardours of this quenchlesse fire,
Shiuers a hundred winters through my frames,
Nor suffers once my torments to respire?
Fond wretched soule to chase a wild desire
To this sad fall, and for fraile earthly toyes
Loose an eternall Iubile of ioyes?

Abhorred Sinne, that on the world didst plucke
Vast ruine downe, too heauy to be borne!
Thou, that a scarre on natures brow hast stucke,
With thornes and thistles hast her beauties torne,
And stript her of her roabes diuinely worne
Thou, deadly plague, the poison'd spring of all
Mans fatall woes, maist triumph in my fall.

Damn'd hagge, that all in mischiefe hast out gone,
Whose very breath infects all vitall aire!
Seuen--headed monster, that to senslesse stone
Dost turne the heart, and sinke it in despaire,
To th'vgliest shape transform'st the creature faire!
How haue I troden all thy flowery, sweet,
But cursed paths, that in this dungeon meet!

O Pride, high traitour, eldest child of hell,
Apparant heire of misery, and shame!
Thou bane of blisse, that mad'st bright Angells swell
Till they burst Heauen, and downe in legions came!
Bold mischiefe at the highest throne to aime
How haue I follow'd all thy steepe desires,
And flashing riots, to these flaming fires!

And thou, foule Gluttony, deepe gulfe of sinne,
Full Sea of mischiefes, that with swelling tide
Dost bring lust, sloth, with traine of sorrowes in,
And rankely spring'st each vitious weed beside;
How (like a stalled beast) by thee, and pride
Haue I beene fed, and drest for greedy hell,
That I thus deepe into his bowells fell!

O eyes, why were yea blind to heauenly light?
O eares, why deafe vnto the prophets sound;
O hands, why were yea lame to render right?
O knees, why stiffe, and strange to hallowed ground?
O feet, why slow to haue safe vertue found?
Curst be yea all, vile traitors, most vnkind,
That with his foes against your Lord combin'd.

Curst be this tongue, base organ of deceipt;
Curst be this braine, that did high pride admire;
Curst be this heart, that burn'd in lustfull heat;
Curst be this spirit, that still blew the fire;
Curst be this flesh, the forge of lewd desire;
Curst be all senses, parts, and powers of mine,
That did all wayes of blessed life decline.

How haue I rauell'd out the knotty thread
Of mortall life, that in our prime of yeeres
Hides wormes and dust within a flowery bed?
'Twixt Earth and Earth 'tis but a straite of teares,
A helplesse palsie of weake faithlesse feares,
A storme of sighes, a bubble fill'd with breath,
That swells, and shines, but vanishes in death.

Did I enioy, (or were they all but dreames?)
All sweets of pleasure, heights of all delight,
That with swift motion, as the sunnie beames,
Tooke wing, and with irreuocable flight
Left me to horrours of this endlesse night,
(Like a shot starre,) from prides high turrets throwne
To Stygian deepes, where comfort neuer shone?

Where's now that wealth would counter--poize my woes?
Ill--honour'd Mammon, that with daring hand
Dost cast at Kingdomes, and of Crownes dispose,
Yet art a God of such a short command!
And you, faint friends, that by our fortunes stand,
How soone you loose vs in a maze of griefe,
Nor euer will be found to yeild reliefe!

Prodigious world! the rende'vouz of Hell!
Vast Sea of danger! Nursery of woes!
Great shoppe of vanities, where all will sell!
Blacke stage of mischiefes! Field of mortall foes!
Rude garden--plot of vice, where rankely growes
In euery bed, lust; in each border, pride,
'Mongst choicest plants some banefull weeds beside!

Old faithlesse baud! Enchantresse! More vntrue
Then treasons heart! More various then the Moone!
More counterfeit then the Camelians hiew!
How hast thou clipt my golden hopes so soone,
Blasted and darkned all my ioyes at noone!
How hast thou borrow'd all my time and strength,
And paid me home with miseries at length!

There's not a path in all thy spacious round,
But is with snares and traps, and serpents stor'd;
No piece of all thy painted beauties sound,
But for some blemish or disease abhor'd;
No limbe but lame, and for some wound deplor'd:
Now haue I follow'd all my guilefull traines,
And pleasing dangers, to these lasting paines!

Shall I nere more thy ioyfull face behold,
Thy face, O Heauen, where lasting beauties shine?
Nor (that which fairer seem'd), my glittering Gold?
Did I at once my treasures all designe?
Where are my Robes? my junkets? and my Wine?
My swarmes of friends? like busy Gnats, each one
Fill'd, and flowne off, all in an instant gone.

Where is that coast, where safety doth reside?
Those bounteous Fields with Oliue blest, and Vine?
Those swelling Hils, the lofty walkes of pride?
Rich Vales? faire Brooks, whose straying course, like mine,
So pleasant seem'd, and downeward did decline?
In one dead sea are all my pleasures drown'd,
All comforts wrackt, and neuer to be found?

For now false pleasures, that no sooner wed
But were diuorc'd, no sooner gain'd but gone,
Hath my damnd'd soule, in errours night mis--led,
Lost the true treasures to the world vnknowne,
The rich possession of a heauenly throne,
With the blest vision of that forme diuine,
Where thousand sunnes of light and glory shine!

Were Fates so kind, as to the coasts of light
To send me backe, and thread my life againe:
O Heauen, how for thy Kingdome would I fight!
How striue, and climbe the blessed Palme to gaine,
In that high Court of happinesse to raigne!
How should mine ages second course abound
With fruits of grace, to be with glory crown'd!

My meat should be the dainties of the Word,
Strongly concocted with the heate of zeale;
My Wine, such as the Bride--groome doth afford,
My mirth, sweete heauenly mercies to reueale,
And my whole age but one continued meale.
So would I prooue a Glutton then, and spend
My lifes reuenue to that gratefull end.

My garment should be Innocence, as white
As Chastity could blanch it, spangled round
With Gold of pure example shining bright,
Embroidred with rich vertues on the ground,
With constancies rare border fairely bound.
So would I then be proud, and loath to hide
From the worlds eyes such ornaments of pride.

My house should be the Hospitall of poore.
My Barne their granary, my Gold their rent;
Still should the Altar's smoake, and on the floore
Of the blest Temple should my knees be bent,
Mine eyes should flow, my beaten brest relent;
On Heauens pure beauties would I fixe my heart,
Nor should the stroke of thunder make it start.

Thus to her load starre should my soule incline,
My breathed flesh still panting vp the hill;
My studies should be height of things diuine,
My teacher, truth; till happiest in my skill
I did my heart with sacred wisedome fill,
And knew the mysteries of Heauen as well.
As now (alasse!) the misteries of Hell.

Dire Conscience! what thunder broke thy rest.
And did not dash thy prisoner to ayre!
How dost thou now lye worming in my brest,
That raging Hell doth not more grimly stare
Then thy wild lookes of horrour, and despaire!
How hast thou hung each action vpon times
Neglected file, and registred my crimes!

Why dost thou twit me with voluptuous pride,
How ill I spent the treasure of my time,
My thoughts mis--centerd, all mine actions wry'd
In falsest aimes; yet in my pleasures prime,
Whose headlong course did steepest dangers climbe,
Wouldst neuer prompt me how this fall to shunne,
Whilst I to Hell in full careere did runne?

As a high Rocke, hung on the craggy side
Of some steepe Mountaine, swelling with disdaine
Of the low Region prostrate to his pride,
Shooke with an Earth--quake, tumbling downe amaine
With thundring terrour on the trembling plaine,
That the tost aire from euery caue rebounds,
And deafes the Vales with loud confused sounds:

So, hurried on, to ruine did I haste,
Whilst yawning fiends my funerals did yell,
That on my treasures mount had pitcht so fast,
As nought should shake me, ere I headlong fell;
So firmely, as a Rocke, I seem'd to dwell,
And rockt a sleepe in downy pleasure lay,
Till mischiefe rouz'd, and seaz'd her cursed pray.

Iniurious Time, that vnto light doth bring
The worst of things, yet me to darknesse sent!
Cannot I plucke one feather from thy wing,
Recall one houre of thousands vainely spent,
Wherein I might my wretched age lament?
'Twere worth a Kingdome, wert thou now my friend,
A dearer fauour Time could neuer lend.

Then would I purge the venome of my heart,
And beate my brest, that did the viper keepe;
With sharpe compunction euery sense should smart,
My clouded braine with sad defluxion weepe,
And all my sinnes lie drown'd in sorrowes deepe:
So some few minutes might my losse repay,
And crowne a blacke night with a ioyfull day.

What heauy darknesse, highest Lord of Light,
Doth thus oppresse me in this dreadfull place?
Ah! might I once enioy thy blisfull sight!
T' admire new worlds of wonder in thy face!
How were I happy in so high a grace!
Once to behold, (though then for euer blind,)
In one blest knot, all beauties sweete combin'd!

High--honour'd Victours, ioyn'd in glorious Quiuers
To sing his praises, that your conquest crown'd,
Where hoasts of Angels, like bright mounting fires,
Tread the dimn'd Stars in measure to the sound;
Whilst wretched I sighes, plaints, and cries confound,
T' haue lost at once both Crowne and State diuine,
For pleasures base, for sinnes deceitfull shine!

If I haue mourn'd to see that Prince of day,
When the pale loue--sicke Lady of the maine
In a kind treason clipt his golden ray,
But straight restor'd it to the world againe,
How should mine eyes these bitter floods refraine,
But weepe his absence, at whose glory bright
A thousand sunny Lampes their beauties light?

Haue I not seene a daring vapour rise
High into ayre, ambitious to ascend,
But straight imprison'd in the cloudy skies,
How it spittes lightning, roares, and seemes to rend
Those glittering curtaines, as at once to spend.
The angry engines of hot Heauen, to fright,
And start old Chaos from the deepes of night?

How then must I for euer damned thrall,
Barr'd from my blisse, and center of my rest,
The soueraigne prize, and source of pleasures all,
That onely feast's the spirit, fill's the brest,
In endlesse honours doth the soule inuest;
How must I here in woes, that know no bound,
Then the whole world a dearer soule confound!

Those slumbering yeeres, I did in pleasure spend,
Why did they wake in death, in woe expire?
Or, sith so soone they started to their end,
Stopping the torrent of my wild desire,
Why should my torments in this ruthlesse fire
Suruiue all ages, and my griefes amount
To higher summes, then euer time shall count?

Oft haue I knowne an exhalation trie
The centers strength, and trembled to behold
How it shooke Mountaines, and dranke Riuers dry.
Still thirsty of reuenge, as if it would
(For false imprisonment) the Earth haue rowl'd
From her deepe seat, the massie base vp--blowne.
And the huge frame to vaste confusion throwne.

And doe I here, empal'd in floods of fire,
That trembles to behold the farthest light,
Struggle with dying panges, and nere expire;
Yet arm'd with rage, my miseries to right,
Confound not Heauen, and Earth in fell despight;
That I might see, though in the ruin'd skie,
Some sparkes of ioy, before all comfort die?

Vp Snaky vengeance, in a fiery storme
Bring on thy Furies, all the cursed band;
I shall out--face thee in thy vgliest forme;
Shake all thy whippes, and kindle euery brand,
Thou shalt not fright, nor force me from my stand:
Let me, that here all hoasts of Heauen defie,
Thy Stygian troopes, all plagues infernall trie.

Come griefly torturers of ruthlesse Hell,
My coale--blacke scorpions, (if no blacker art
Hath charm'd your rage, that chain'd in darknesse dwell,)
Fixe all your stinges in center of my heart,
With poinant anguish strike through euery part;
And where more strong some vitall force remaines,
Set to your tortures, sharpen all my paines.

O for some pyramid, to proudest fame
Rear'd high as Babell, on whose mounting spire,
(Sith I must perish in a cursed flame,)
Like some dire meteor streaming blood and ire,
I might stand centred in this hellish fire,
That with hot fury might his axell burne
From the maine globe and all to cinders turne.

'T were worth my ruine 'mongst the starres to fall,
Like Lucifer shot headlong for his pride;
To see the bolts of vengeance grind the ball
Of the curst Earth, benighted nature slide
To her first dungeon, and all creatures hide
Their formes in darkenesse; 't were a sport to make
Confusion shout, and hell with laughter shake.

But whither runnes my madnesse? how I raue?
Must woe and mischiefe euer be my theame?
Still must I call for death, yet keepe the graue?
Through rage and anguish must I still blaspheame,
And fry, and freeze, with heat, and cold extreame?
Still must I howle at heauen, and bite my chaine,
And gnash my teeth through horrour of my paine?

Were I more yeeres then time hath minutes spent,
Or this burst frame would into atomes fly,
In all the plagues, deepe hell could ere inuent,
Adiudg'd to languish, and vnpitied lie;
Yet lastly liue, or, lost in darkenesse, die:
Still were my hope a Halcyon, to appease
These angry stormes, and calme these boiling Seas.

Were the hot engines, all that euer flew
With red--wing'd lightning, to my torture cast;
Vnto more flames, then euer Ætna threw,
Were I condemn'd and yet releas'd at last,
When thousand myriads of slow yeeres were past:
'T were yet a solace, that, in darkesome night
Of heauiest woes, would shew my sorrowes light.

But (Oh the griefe!) this euer--raging fire,
Which the incensed breath of heauen doth feed,
Th'immortall death, that on my heart doth tire,
This cursed heart, that euermore must bleed,
How farre it doth the direst thought exceed!
How quite confound me in a state of woe,
That onely hell is deepe enough to know!

But stay, what wonders doe mine eyes behold?
What strange impressions in so high a spheare?
Two sunnes at once embeam'd with flaming Gold?
Rather two Saints, that in that State appeare?
What thrones they hold? what Palmes in triumph beare?
What Diademes they weare? what Roabes, that shine
(Not like my purple, but) like rayes Diuine?

'Tis Abraham, for Faith so farre renown'd,
With that Saint--begger, was so low debas'd
With wants and sores, but now with glory Crown'd.
Blest Lazarus! how highly is he grac'd!
With how deare armes of amity embrac'd!
His lifes poore stocke he might with comfort spend,
That was assur'd of such a bosome--friend.

I will assay what mercy raignes aboue
That with some truce affliction may befriend.
Deare Patriarch, if paine may pittie moue,
If sorest throwes, that euer heart did rend,
If heauiest sorrowes may so high ascend,
To a sad captiue curst to blackest woe
With fauour shine, and some sweet comfort show.

Thou that, enthron'd vpon the golden Poles,
Dost drinke rich Nectar from th' immortall spring
To thy ioy'd children there triumphant soules,
(So may fresh armies serue thy Heauenly King,
And vnto thee glad newes of conquest bring,)
Doe not in honours happy court disdaine
A wretches plaint; the language of my paine.

Let from thy bosome Lazarus descend,
With one cold droppe my burning tongue to slake,
One droppe of water on his fingers end:
For (oh!) my torments in this fiery Lake,
At whose dread Name the peccant soule should quake,
Who can expresse? my sorrowes boundlesse are,
As are thy ioyes, and both beyond compare.

For cursed Sodome didst thou strongly pleade,
When ore their sinnes incensed vengeance hung;
But more dire droppes this goary heart hath bled,
Then on those heads the flaming tempest flung,
A hotter storme broyles this bewailing tongue:
Then let thy pitty to my plaints awake,
And on my woes some deare compassion take.

He ended; when, as if the spheares had rung
Some tune--full change, or thunder learn'd to chide
In milder language, or some Cherub sung;
With powerfull voyce, that Hell to silence ty'd,
From his high throne the Patriarch repli'd,
Whose sacred words, first steept in heauenly dew,
Thus from his lippes in golden vollies flew.

What change is this? what wonder strikes mine eare?
Art thou the man that did supinely sleepe
On pleasures couch, vnto the world so deare,
That now, benighted in th' infernall deepe,
Dost thus raue out thy sorrowes, howle, and weepe;
While I scorn'd wretch that at thy gates did pine,
Doth in full Orbe of heauenly glory shine?

Where's now your power, you, that proudly could
Lead your blind Goddesse in a golden chaine?
Where now your roabes so gorgeous to behold?
Your mounts of Gold rais'd in your worldly raigne?
Of friends and parasites your pompous traine?
Did all, like leaues, fly with your flitting breath,
And leaue you naked in that storme of death?

Fond prodigall to spend an age of Gold,
And act at last a woefull beggers part,
When nought auailes thy sorrowes to vnfold!
A thousand times vnhappy that thou art,
That 'boue thy dish wouldst neuer raise thy heart,
When mercy smil'd vpon thee from the skies,
How canst thou now lift vp those wretched eyes?

Doe but thy times of pleasure now record,
That didst no God; but Gluttony, confesse;
For whom thy house a Temple did afford,
Whose Altar was thy table of excesse,
Which still the fattest Sacrifice did presse;
The hallowed water was delicious wine,
The fire, thy lust, that neuer did decline.

Amongst thy cuppes, with Rosy garlands crown'd,
Cens'd with perfumes, in Princely purple drest,
All cares extinct, all sorrowes deepely drown'd,
Still didst thou sit, becalmd with ease and rest,
Mirth in thy face, and solace in thy brest;
But as for Heauen, it was (a Pole) to high
For thy bruite sense, that would to pleasure fly.

On basest Earth was centred all thy rest,
That drossy masse, expos'd to lowest scorne;
Which how it seemes like some foule wormy nest,
Of nature quite abandon'd and forelorne,
Clos'd in the thicket of sharpe rending thorne,
Whose prickles, cares, whose leaues, deceitfull arts.
And stony fruits are hard vnfruitfull hearts?

'Tis but a Field, where sinne corruption sowes,
Where euery breaths infection blastes an eare,
Against the graine where euery creature goes:
Yet on this sandy base, that nought will beare,
How high thou didst thy bold ambition reare,
Whose honour 'fore the thunder--clap of death
Was but a flash, and vanisht with thy breath?

Looke how a Porcpisce, in the boyling Maine,
Ioy'd with the newes of some tempestuous blast,
Playes in the waues, as in the winds disdaine;
While the poore Sea--man sadly climbs his Mast,
Folds vp his sailes, and in his frights agast
Heaues his pale eyes these powers to implore,
To waft his light Barke to the restfull shore:

So, let high Heauen, that with a piercing beame
Disclouds each thought, his wrathfull forehead bend:
Still wouldst thou wallow in full pleasures streame:
Let poore pin'd Lazarus all day extend
His bloodlesse hands and throate with clamours rend:
Yet, as thy heart had from some Rocke bin hew'd,
Nor storme it fear'd, nor calme of pitty shew'd.

Now shall thy iudge thy cruelty requite,
And strike that fire from out thy flinty brest,
Shall to his glory lend a forced light:
Nor shall the throwes of anguish euer wrest
The tune--full heart, with heauenly vertue blest,
Nor sinne still trumph, but too late shall thinke
Vengeance nere sleepes, though iustice seeme to winke

Still, still ingulfed in that Brimstone--flood,
That rowles about those--griesly vaults of night,
Shalt thou bewaile that lost eternall good,
Whereof this Saint enioyes the ioyfull sight,
A plenilune of neuer--waining light,
Whose very glimpse would cleare all clouds of woe,
And make to life dead seas of sorrow flow.

Behold this Bower, rear'd so high aboue
Those iarring elements their heate and cold,
Those cloudy Tents, that with the wind remoue,
Or restlesse Orbes with rapid motion rowl'd:
No Earth quake vndermines this happiest hold,
Vpon these battlements no tempest fals,
No thunder batters these imperiall Wals.

It is that Pallace, built to lasting ioyes,
Into whose height the King of glory goes,
That in his hand the mundane Globe doth poize,
And to the blest a world of pleasure showes;
To whom he doth rich Diademes dispose,
That here, (as pendant on the golden threads
Of their pure liues,) adorne their happy heads.

Wall'd all with Iasper is this lofty Bower,
Which, as his base, vnualued gemmes vphold;
The Porters, Angels high in place and power;
Each gate, a pearle of bright celestiall mould;
The pauements, Starres, fixt in eternall Gold,
Roof'd, as with Siluer, with condensed flame
Of glorious light, that filles th'immortall frame.

In dazeling splendour of ten thousand dayes
Shines the high Monarch, that all glory lends,
Sunning all treasures in those precious rayes,
On whom the heauenly hierarchie attends,
As on whose Throne all vitall ioy depends.
In his pure beames let flights of Angels soare,
And with presented Crownes all Kings adore.

Pay worlds of Nations tribute to this King,
That doth their States in happines inuest;
Let his high prayses with the Sunne take wing,
And cleare the Firmament from East to West.
Great glorious Lord, by all thine Armies blest;
Thou, in whose hand I see that golden reed,
Measure my heart, and let my zeale proceed.

Pure Maiesty, that mayst all Crownes refine!
Thrise hallowed flame of light, of life, of loue!
Bright Orbe of grace, that doth to glory shine!
High treasurer of honours stor'd aboue!
Circle, and center vnto all that mooue!
Natures sweet Organist! thy highest straine
What voyce can reach, to sing thy happi'st raigne?

One beame of thine out--shines a world of light,
One call would start corruption from the graues,
One glance would cleare the cloudy brow of night,
One nod becalme the Oceans surging waues,
One smile send sorrow sighing to his caues,
One Altar--sparke of thine in lightlesse Hell
Would kindle day, and all the shades dispell.

Of Heauens rich beauties to the rauisht sight
One mirrour here all treasures doe reflect,
One Globe all beames of glory doth vnite,
One load--starre all the voyagers direct,
One soueraigne power in safety all protect,
One banquet here both soules and senses feasts,
And filles and feeds, nor euer cloyes the guests.

The ten--fold curtaine of these azure spheares
Serues but to vaile this Arke from fleshly eyes;
But when her head the soule exultant reares,
With open wings where heauenly glory flies,
What wonder doth her faculties surprize!
How doth she here extend her powers wide
To drinke in pleasures from the boundlesse tide!

A glittering Ocean of cleare wauing glasse
Melts from the Throne of Maiesty diuine,
That Edens stoods in purenesse doth surpasse,
Where seuerall droppes the galaxy out--shine,
That, mixt, would change the brackish waues to Wine,
And the blacke lake, where Sodome erst did burne,
To precious streames of liquid Crystall turne.

So, when the planets louely Prince doth fixe
His dazeling beauties on some spongy cloud,
Where the braue beames in gorgeous colours mixe,
The rorid vapor of such honour proud,
To be in Heauen so gloriously embow'd,
Dissolues in ioy, and 'bout the burning skies
In siluer droppes the melting treasure flies.

Here the glad pilgrime, crown'd with lasting wealth,
Viewes his bath'd limbes from euery blemish cleare.
Nor cares to weed the wonted fields for health:
Here mounts that tree, whose flourish all the yeere
For sacred guests doth soueraigne banquets beare,
In whose rich tast delicious pleasure flowes
Into all formes, and heauens all sweetnesse showes.

Not Angels dainties in the Desert shar'd,
Nor honied milke of Cana'ns flowery brest,
Haue with this plants rare delicates compar'd;
Vnder whose shadowes sleepes eternall Rest
With ioyes surcharg'd, of treasur'd hopes possest:
Who tast this fruit the Serpent haue beguil'd,
Nor with foule lusts their shiny soules defil'd.

No thirst nor hunger shall their ioyes deuoure,
No waues of sorrow shall their browes enfold,
No boisterous storme their vernant prime defloure;
Where beauty knowes not age, nor age makes old.
O wondrous change of base inglorious mould!
Blest soules, that in afflictions roughest maine
Wracking their sinnes, this heauenly Hauen gaine!

Here are no pageants to inuite the sight,
No syren--songs to rocke the slumbering eare,
No generous wines t' exalt the appetite,
No odorous fumes that spirits wont to cheare,
No amorous claspe to draw affection neare;
And yet a fulnesse, where all faire and sweet,
All lines of life, all pathes of pleasure meet.

A glorious triumph with high honours blest,
An aire of harmony that filles the quires,
A rich rare banquet, an ambrosiacke feast,
A sweet perfume that with no time expires,
A ioy sublim'd in loues high sacred fires,
A pleasures maze, an Ocean, where to drowne
Is depth of blisse, a Kingdome and a Crowne.

Harke, how these Hero's, that in honour'd quest
Of higest blisse did to this mount aspire,
Shout out their ioyes, with language not exprest;
How Zealous Dauid, clear'd with heauenly fire,
Shrilles out his ditties to his golden lyre;
Whilst the rapt Angells with immortall layes
Make vp the musicke, and their Makers praise:

Here may the souldier, that with painefull march
Did to such height of happinesse ascend
Hang vp his armes in this triumphall arch.
And treasures share, that time shall neuer spend:
The Sea--sicke voyager let hither bend
A dextrous course; though now he plow the maine,
A bounteous haruest shall reward his paine.

Who euer noone with midnight did compare,
A hallowed Temple with a pestred roome,
The beames of Maiesty with clouds of care,
A marriage--chamber with a fatall tombe,
Or to the spacious world the narrow wombe;
Let him to Heauen all earthly ioyes oppose,
And all his lines in deepes of wonder--lose.

Were I againe to walke the worldly round,
A thousand hopefull Isacs would I slay,
Till with deare blood I had the Mountaines drown'd,
To gaine one glimpse of this eternall day;
Which might my faythfull sonnes but once suruay,
How would they impe their hearts with fleete desire
To mount this pitch, and to these ioyes aspire!

What is lifes winter to this spring of yeeres,
But a loose meteor in fraile beauties skies,
Disperst with sighes, and dropt away in teares?
'Tis but a flourish 'fore the fall prize,
A knot of miseries, that death vnties:
And what desire's so impotent, so base,
T' adore a cloud, when Heauen presents his face?

In his prime vertues did the world consist;
All pretious bounties did the Earth afford,
Which off that stage the banefull Serpent hiss'd
In all the wealth her ample wombe doth hord
Were man ensphear'd, and of great Nature Lord:
Were he new stampt, and all his powers, am'd
By his steepe fall, in straight perfection fram'd;

Were all the sweets, that euer Zephyre blew,
Wrapt in one cloud, and for his solace brought;
All fruits and flowers, that in Eden grew,
VVere they distill'd for his delicious draught;
VVere euery sense with highest rapture caught;
VVere his cleare heart to heauen erected right
To measure heights of ioy, and pure delight:

Yet were the ioyes of that delightfull state,
(Though freed from bonds of misery and paine,
From times vicissitude, and stroke of fate,)
But as poore rivelets to the bondlesse Maine
Of these high pleasures, but as scattred graine
To these large fields whose haruest doth abound,
That all the yeere is with rich plenty Crown'd,

If with iust wonder mortall eyes behold
One rising planet his refulgent grace,
VVrapping the new--borne day in sheets of gold,
All Heauen enflaming with his loueliest face;
VVhilst from his throne he doth in conquest chace
Vsurping darkenesse, that with mournfull night,
Wing'd with blacke vapours, sadly takes her flight:

VVhat height of rapture doth the soule surprize,
To see the sun--shine of ten thousand dayes,
VVith all the splendour of th'illustrious skies,
Meet in full circle with vnited rayes,
That to the view all heauenly treasures layes!
How shall this glory blesse with vitall light
Those longing eyes, that hither bend their sight!

Into one Pandect were the spheares compil'd,
With Tropickes claspt, with Hemicycles bound;
Were for my penns the Angells winges despoil'd:
Mine inke, this Ocean, pretious and profound;
My characters, new Starres, of Heauenly sound;
Should I more leaues then euer Autumne shooke
With wonders fill, in this Celestiall Booke:

Yet should I scarce these treasur'd ioyes vnfold,
In whose rich fulnesse Lazarus doth flow,
And farre beyond all flight of time shall hold;
Whilst thou, damn'd Glutton, in excesse of woe
Shalt surfet still, nor health, nor comfort know:
Thou wouldst not giue one crumme all heauen to gaine,
Nor maist thou hope one droppe to ease thy paine.

From this bright Mount, where happinesse doth fit,
'Boue earthly change and heauenly motion plac'd,
To the deepe darkenesse of th'infernall pit,
The distance large, the latitude is vast,
Nor euer embassie betwixt them past:
Cast is their lot, vnchanged rests their state,
That once haue past the broad, or narrow gate.

Droppe out thine eye--balls in a briny shower,
And beat thy heart, that would no sooner mourne:
Though vast eternity shall time deuour,
And in one flame the generall machine burne,
Still shall thy wheele of torment sharply turne,
When thou hast wearied all the Starres in sky,
And lands on Earth, to summe thy sorrowes by.

Here clos'd the musicke of that Heauenly tone;
When, as in depth of Hinnons gloomy vale,
Some wretched infant on the Altar throwne,
The bloody Priests with sacred horrours pale,
(Whilst the poore dying birth did shrieke and waile,)
Rais'd high their noise, and hideously did wound
The eares of Heauen, that on the mischiefe frown'd:

'Mongst thousand thralls to plagues and tortures sent
So wail'd the Epicure, more deepe distrest;
Thrise did he cracke his chaines, and thrise he rent
The clinging Snakes from off his goary brest;
What wild despaire could to his thought suggest
He taught his rage: and thus, with flaming breath,
Gaspt in the panges of euerlasting death.

O gulfe of horrour! poison of my fate!
O depth of woe, that neuer thought could gage!
O waight of misery! O dolefull state!
How quencht my comfort! and how hot this rage
Of torment, which no pittie doth asswage!
Ah that a creature frozen in despaire
These flames should 'bide, and not dissolue to aire

Curst that I am, how can my heart containe
So vast a sorrow? will the ioyfull day
Of gracious mercy neuer dawne againe?
Wrackt is my hope? and to this desert bay
Will my lost comfort neuer find the way?
Must I for anguish euer howle among
These hideous fiends, and gnaw this banefull tongue?

Woe to the authours of this wofull state,
That poison'd nature with contagious seed:
Woe to the wombe, where first I tooke my fate,
Why did it not some Snake, or Scorpion breed?
Woe to the nurse did such a monster feed,
And not some panther from the desert sent,
That piece--meale might her cursed corps haue rent.

Woe to the light, that first my life descri'd:
Fate strike each minute of that hatefull day:
That ominous circuit when the Sunne doth ride,
Let him in cloudy darkenesse loose his way,
And to the farthest frozen regions stray:
That with his heat those Icy mountaines steepe
May melting flow, and seeme my woes to weepe.

When first I suckt the poysons of the world,
Why drew I not destruction from the skies?
Why were not sheetes of flaming sulphur hurl'd
Vpon my cradle? nor did mischiefe rise
In earthly damps to blast, my hatefull eyes,
That neuer fixt on Heauen? how sadly slow
Was vengeance, arm'd to strike the deadly blow?

Dread Lord, that mounted on the radiant spheares
Dost as the dust the cloudy vapours raise,
Let thy blacke whirle winde, that the Mountaines teares,
Wracke me at once, and drowne these dolefull layes,
Teare, tosse, driue, loose me in thy stormy waies:
Thou, that mou'st all things, vnto nothing turne
The cursedst brand, that in these flames doth burne.

Thou, that with swiftest embassie dost send
The dreadfull lightning from the darkned skie,
O let thy fierce cloud--bursting vengeance rend
Through deepest Hell, and in thy tempest flye
My fiery soule, but straight flash out and dye:
That I may once more see thy glorious light,
Though then to vanish into endlesse night.

Thus all in vaine as 'gainst both tide and wind,
My sorrow sailes, as euery sigh doth driue:
But of fiue brethren, which I left behind,
VVhose pride and luxury doth mine suruiue,
VVhat shall become? if here they once arriue,
How sharply will their miseries rebound
Vpon my heart and gall each bleeding wound?

Dearest of Saints, that art diuinely stil'd
The friend of God, befriend his image so,
As vnto these with worldly soile defil'd
To let thy Lazarus with a message goe,
And vnto them this depth of danger show;
How for those sinnes, that feed their lewd desires,
I pine, thirst, burne in these vnquenched fires.

Let him to light this horrid darknesse bring,
These sulph'rous floods, and fell tormentours rage,
That they may seeme to feele these serpents sting;
Let him the glory of Heauens ample stage
And beauty blaze, that feares no dint of age;
That burning then with heauenly loue they might
These flames preuent, and find that blisfull light.

Natures first light, sayd Abraham, displaies
A sacred shine, that cleares the darkest mind,
And beautifies her sphere with heauenly rayes
This be their prospect; be they nere so blind,
They may in her the great Creator find:
Religions noble feed, that rarely growes
In fields of flesh, in euery brest she sowes.

She as a volume doth her worke bestow,
In euery race of creatures drawes a line;
Each plant her leaues doth for their learning show,
And not an Astericoke doth faintly shine
In Heauens high front, but is a marke diuine:
No worme, weede, pebble wants his natiue worth,
But creepes, growes, rests to set his Authour forth.

These roabes of State, the high imperiall skies,
Powdred with Starres, what dulnesse doth behold;
And not the greatnesse of that King descries,
That in these vestures doth the world enfold?
Who sees the Sunne enthron'd in burning Gold,
And not the Father of all heauenly light,
That doth aduance this mirrour to the sight?

The wrath of Heauen who feeles and trembles not?
Who knowes his Armoury with terrors stor'd,
His Wild--fire, Lightning, and his Thunder--shot,
His burning Lance, his dart, and blazing Sword,
Kindled and brandisht by his powerfull Word;
Who beares on high th' embatteled tempests roare,
And fals not downe the great God to adore?

Who viewes the Earth in airy ballance waigh'd,
With all her of spring on that ample floore,
With Riuers caru'd, with Minerals in--laid;
Who sees the Ocean with his scaly store,
His watery Mountaines rowling to the shore;
And doth not thence in high reflection moue
A heauenly beame vnto this Throne aboue?

Those wondrous powers of the subtile soule,
That with deepe thoughts vnto the center fires,
But in an instant mounts aboue the Pole,
And linkes a chaine of causes to the skies,
May they not learne her to be heauenly wise,
To know where rest and happinesse are plac'd,
And thither bend her motion, thither hast?

But that so various land so vast a frame,
As the maine Orbe, so many turnes should last,
Still kept in motion, still remaines the same,
With euery wheele so firme, each pinne so fast,
That not a ioynt is wrench'd, nor part displac'd;
How can it not the soule transported mooue
To pay the heauenly tributes, feare and loue?

Lik a great Watch, whose maker is the Spring,
Is natures frame, that euery shortest houre
Should strike the soule, and make it loudly ring:
And sound the praises of th' all--mouing Power,
That thus inuites her to his heauenly bower,
Thus in each creature, like inferiour Kings,
By picture wooes, and all to knowledge brings.

But his owne Language may thy brethren heare,
From Heauens high Region doth his voyce resound;
The Temple and the Synagogues are neare,
To these alone is their attention bound;
Plant they their feete vpon the hallowed ground,
Whence let the flames of ardent zeale arise;
So shall they cleare their sinnes, and climbe the skies.

Let them the volumes of great Moses turne,
And learne what high Iehouah did ordaine,
When to match Heauen the cloudy Mount did burne,
Thunder and Trumpet did confound amaine
Th' embattled terrours, that Earth shooke againe;
Thus to enflame and strike with sacred aw
Each mortall brest, t' embrace th'eternall Law.

Let them behold the Prophets heauenly flight,
Those towering Eagles, that their eyes to prooue
Pierc'd to the brightest Sunne, the Lord of Light,
That the darke soule illumines from aboue:
Those from the Mountaine could the cloud remooue,
And let in sight to mysteries profound;
Truth is their spirit, happinesse their sound.

There is that Antidote that foyles the graue,
To cleare eternity there shines the way;
'Tis by that booke the Almighty Iudge doth saue;
It is that Port of light, that opens day,
The powerfull influence that doth conuay
Life to the soule, the happy seed that springes
With humblest growth, but highest glory brings.

There may they tast on stony Tables set
That precious food, that time shall neuer wast;
Though fiercest Tyranny from Hell were set,
And with the world her cruelty should last:
Where Death stood sentinell this Word hast past,
, And as the sunne, (but with more heate and light,)
Shall cleare the world, nor euer yeild to night.

There may they see in antique leaues enrowl'd
That gracious charter, granted from aboue;
There may they faire Theosophy behold,
Ennobled by her Serpent, and her Doue;
There may they reach linckt by diuinest loue
The sacred vertues, as a chaine let downe,
T' exalt the soule to her celestiall Crowne.

Great worke of truth, whose structure doth excell!
Canon of iustice, that to lowest ground
Beats downe the forts of sinne, and batters Hell?
Organ of mercy! how for euer bound
Is this blest Quire to its celestiall sound,
That hath repair'd those ruines wrought by pride,
And all these thrones with Kingly States suppli'd!

The warbling murmurs of the Siluer floods,
The numerous swarmes that on fresh Hybla light,
The whistling gales that fanne th' Arabian woods,
The Swannes high rapture at his lowest flight,
Strike not an accent of that sweet delight,
That in this message of deare Heauen is found,
Whose euery note doth precious Musick sound.

Build all by that, as by a rule of Gold,
Their liues faire structure; in the mirrour bright
Let them the soules each lineament behold,
And dresse her beauties by that heauenly light,
Which vnto all, that trauell day or night
Through the worlds desert to this promis'd land,
Doth for a cloud, and fiery piller stand.

The lampes of heauen, and light ambitious fire
Let planet--strooken Persia still adore,
Nor higher let her sunne burnt zeale aspire;
Her Eagles ayd let fighting Thebes implore;
Fall Babylon her mighty Whale before;
On monsters Memphis doate, and deepe in ground
Seeke her greene gods in euery Garden found.

Let the blinde Ethnickes, barr'd from happier lights,
Thus forge their gods in phansies least diuine,
And wrong religion with vnhallowed rites:
Those clearer soules, that vnto Heauen encline,
Must aime at God in his directing line:
Vnto his precepts must they upright stand,
Or headlong fall, and feele his dreadfull hand,

As in a straight 'mongst Rockes, and Shelues, and Sands
Is man emplung'd, nor happy course can fleere;
But on the mount his great Directour stands,
Giues him his Word, he shall finde safety neare;
When if he headlong rush, nor care to heare,
What hope remaines him, or what reason why,
But he should split, and wracke, and sinke, and die?

God, rich in goodnesse doth his bounties showre
On euery creature: but with ample flood
His precious blessing vpon man doth powre:
Man that, vnkinde, forsakes that soueraigne good,
Leaues the sweete Fountaine for th' infectious mud,
And iustly beares his wraths eternall weight,
Whose awefull Law his wilfull lust did sleight?

Deepe in a prison full of wormes and snakes
Lies every soule, to hopelesse bondage sold,
But on the Patient, God compassion takes,
And striues to raise her from that noysome fold;
Where if she faile to fixe her faythfull hold
On present ayd, what future end remaines
Saue endlesse sorrows, plagues, and woes, and paines?

Then Let thy brethren, purg'd from fowle excesse,
From banefull pride, and brutish cruelty,
To safer paths their heedfull steps addresse:
Let them to Heauens blest oracles apply
A chaster eare, and fixe a faythfull eye
On those high hopes, whereof the heauenly Lord
Assures the soule by truths eternall Word.

There flowes that spring, that with a current faire
Through Rockes of cruelty doth passage find,
Through Hils of pride, through Vallies of despaire,
Through Vaults of ignorance in darknesse blind,
Through Mines of auarice with Hell conioyn'd:
Through euery soile doth happily conuay
His precious streames, and cleares his narrow way.

There may they drinke nor surfet neede to feare,
And bath securely, though in flouds profound;
'Tis that their sinnes foule leprosie will cleare,
Will cure the vlcers of their soules vnfound,
And 'swage the rancour of that festred wound,
Which the curst Serpent with a banefull sting
Did erst inflict on natures tender spring.

Let them that faire, that facile meanes embrace,
On sacred truth, that firme foundation, stay;
And that deare Lord so sweet in gifts of grace,
That with his loues fresh flowers doth aray
The naked world, and strewes the Heauenly way,
Let them aboue the clouds his mercies raise,
And fill their mouths with his immortall praise.

Thus if the treasure of their age they spend,
Lightned of sinne that Heauen cannot sustaine,
They to these thrones of glory shall ascend
But, be their dayes extinct in pleasures vaine,
What but eternall darkenesse shall remaine?
VVhile their loath'd bodies feed the wormie graue,
Their soules shall waile in that infernall caue.

Here in a floud of anguish, sadly broke,
The damned miscreant more deepely drown'd,
'Mongst teares and cries, and sobbing sorrowes spoke:
Alasse! though Moses should himselfe expound
His holiest Lawes, they would but sleight his sound,
At least no faith, no credit would be lent;
On deafned eares is musicke vainely spent.

How oft the sword of vengeance did we see
Brandisht against our Luxury; and pride,
Voluptuous surfets, lust, and tyranny?
Yet to our hearts all passage still denied,
All threats and terrours did our height deride:
Not all th' Ægyptian mischiefes were of force
Our loue--sicke hearts from pleasure to diuorce.


But from the horrours of this gastly caue,
Or from those mansions of eternall rest,
Should some strange Legate, lately sent to graue,
Returne, to tell what wretched soules vnblest
To deepest plagues and torment were opprest;
Or what high ioyes their painefull cares repay,
That vpward striue, and keepe the heauenly way:

Then would they, sure, their sinfull heart discusse,
And, pierc'd with griefe, their wretchednesse lament;
Had they no hearts, but Rockes of Caucasus
Fixt in their breasts, they could not but relent
With melting sorrow for their dayes mispent:
Should such a messenger such newes relate,
They would beleeue, nor doubt th' eternall State.

No more, reply'd the Father--saint againe,
Then if blind errour, straid from lightlesse Hell,
With bold delusion should presume to faine,
What summes of Angels from their stations fell.
And what, vnchang'd, in brightest glory dwell,
How neare the world his finall period hies,
Or what more deepe in misty darkenesse lies.

Those sacred sages, that to Heauen did lend
New light, that clear'd all misteries diuine.
That into leaues did golden truth extend,
And vnto God drew soules with euery line,
Haue open set so full, so rich a mine
Of pretious wealth, as may each soule suffice,
That at iust rate doth heauenly treasures prize.

So strong is Truth, that hath all fates withstood,
Such arteries of life it doth display,
Such nerues of power, veines of deerest blood,
Of precious soule th'vnualued debt to pay;
So brightly shines that pure celestiall ray,
Sent from the fountaine of supernall light,
That springes the day, and cleares the cloudy night?

That who against such euidence offend,
Such waight of sense, such Maiesty despise,
VVould not to stranger embassies attend,
Though some pale prisoner from the graue should rise,
And rippe vp Hells blacke bosome sore their eyes
Nere will they credit what the truth imparts,
Whose brests are ston'd with such obdurate hearts.

Should Heauen cracke thunder, till the melting skies
Should droppe their starres and threat an endlesse night;
Whilst, ioy'd with mischiefe, grimmest hell should rise,
With all her plagues and tortures brought to light;
That from the horrours of the dismall sight
The Sunne should start, and runne his golden head
In pitchy cloudes, whilst day to darkenesse sted:

Yet would the senslesse Earth as soone relent,
And weepe new springs for hopelesse humane kind,
As impious man his blackest crimes lament,
That had become with beames of knowledge blind,
Nor the high way to happinesse would find:
The Key of grace that should the heart vnlocke
When sinne excludes, it is but vaine to knocke.

As heauens high court, so in that humbler way,
That thither tends, bestarr'd with wondrous light,
Which through the world their vitall beames display:
God to his pallace euery soule invites;
Whilst man, regardlesse of celestiall sights,
Neglects his call, and barres vp euery sense,
As bent to keepe each heauenly blessing thence.

Tyrant of nature, from his height depos'd,
To drowne his proud dust in a maine of teares!
What hellish poison hath his senses clos'd,
That, when high God doth from the burning Spheares
Denounce hot vengeance, neyther sees nor heares,
Nor feares his frowne, all creatures else doth awe,
That with prone homage serue the heauenly Law?

Were he not fiercer then the sauage flockes,
Were he not colder then the stormy ayre,
Were he not harder then the flinty Rockes,
Or prouder then th' aspiring Cedars are;
He would with shame or sorrow quite despaire,
To finde himselfe more stupid growne then these
Wilde beasts, cold blasts, hard stones, and haughty trees.

Had those first mortals, in the Deluge drown'd,
But diu'd to Hell, and shortly rose againe,
To tell sad newes, what woefull change they found,
To those proud builders vpon Shinar plaine?
Had they desisted from attempts so vaine?
No, their fond thought had meant their Babell high'r
Farther to climbe from that informall fire.

Had those swift legates, those celestiall scouts,
Whom Lots blest roofe with ioy did entertaine,
Onely of torments told those implous routs,
Nor burnt them downe to more infernall paine;
What had they done, but with more fell disdaine
Incenst their lusts, that Heauen did most oppose?
So fire, all aid, more strong, more raging growes.

What swarmes of insects, stormes of flaming haile,
What pitchy fogges, what waters sadly dy'd,
What fores, what deaths stearne Ægypt did assaile,
That had those heauenly messengers defi'd,
Ere they could bend the stubborne Tyrants pride,
Who dauntlesse stood, ay 'gainst the Waues a Rocke,
That proudly seemes their foaming rage to mocke?

Looke how a Vessell, neare some wrackfull strand,
Pusht by the rage of some impetuous blast
Vpon an ambush of soft swallowing sand,
Whilst to her ayd the weeping surges hast
Still lower sinkes, and strikes more deepely fast;
Nor from that bed of ruine ere doth rise,
But in one graue both drown'd, and buried lies:

So whilst fraile mortals in that worldly maine,
Where thousand Syrens chaunt their sweete deceit,
Doe wildly float in waues of errors vaine;
Though on their crimes the heauenly heralds beate
With strokes redoubled, and sharpe vengeance threate;
Yet sinke they will, (where heauen his hand withdrawes,)
In sinnes, as sands, to Hels deuouring iawes.

As stony tables, humane hearts containe
The heauenly Law, that euery soule commands:
And must be broke, before they firme remaine,
Brooke by contrition, knockt with mornefull hands,
For sinnes vnnumbred, as the Libian sands:
Else, be their breasts inscribed nere so deepe,
As Rockes their gemmes, they vselesse treasure keepe.

Not all the sweetes of eloquence, distill'd
From precious flowers: not all the charmes of art,
That euer soule with soft affection fill'd:
Not Hels dire terrours, nor the threatfull dart
Of stearnest death can moue the sinners heart,
When (sicke of wickednesse) he senselesse growes,
And saddest symptomes of destruction showes.

That glorious Monarch, at whose dread command
Swift Heauen recoiles, Earth to her center riues,
He that lockes Hell, and chaines th' infernall band:
He, he it is, that frees from heauiest gyues
The pittied thrall, and gasping wretch reuiues:
'Tis he, whose power numb'ds the hand of death,
That else strikes home nor leaues a liuing breath.

That Lord, that doth to euery humane spheare
Reason, and Will, as Luminaries lend,
As duller planets, plants the senses there,
Directs their motions to their happiest end:
A headlong race else greatest sophies send
To blacke confusion: though aloft they dwell,
And shine neare Heauen, their shades decline to Hell.

Thus farre my dreame, vsurping reasons seate,
Playd in the working current of my blood:
When in loud thunder, after scorching heat,
I starting found my phansie in a wood:
A key--cold gelly on my temples stood,
A stupid darknesse did becloud my braine,
And starke, as death, did euery limbe remaine,

Like the pale Thracian comme from shades below,
I seem'd a stranger, to the face of light:
Yet found my way vnto that Towne to goe,
Fain'd by the Poets song, and bloody fight,
My soules quicke iourney speedily to write:
That this deepe dreame, vntill my latest sleepe,
Might in my minde a cleare impression keepe.

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