Yet, while some rays of that great light They never shall so blinde my sight, For though thou doest that great light lock, I can discern wolves from the sheep. Not but that I have wishes too, And pray, "These last may be as first, Or better;" but thou long ago Hast said, "These last should be the worst.” Besides, thy method with thy own, Thy own dear people, pens our times; Again, if worst and worst implies And yet, as in night's gloomy page For though we hourly breathe decays, Yet thou the great eternal Rock, Since, then, thou art the same this day And nothing doth thy love allay, As thou long since wert pleas'd to buy So let thy grace now make the way O come! refine us with thy fire! Let not thy stars for Balaam's hire THE PROFFER. BE still, black parasites, Flutter no more; Were it still winter, as it was before, But now the dew and sun have warm'd my bowres, But you would honey make: These buds will wither, And what you now extract, in harder weather Wise husbands will, you say, their wants prevent; O poysonous, subtile fowls! The flyes of hell, That buz in every ear, and blow on souls And rot, descend not here, nor think to stay! Think you these longing eyes, Though sick and spent, And almost famish'd, ever will consent To leave those skies, That glass of souls and spirits, where well drest They shine in white, like stars, and rest. Shall my short hour, my inch, And crum of life now ready to disband, And having born the burthen all the day, No, no; I am not he: Go, seek elsewhere! I skill not your fine tinsel, and false hair, And smooth seducements: I'le not stuff my story With your poor commonwealth and glory. There are that will sow tares And scatter death Amongst the quick, selling their souls and breath For any wares; But when thy Master comes, they'll finde and see, There's a reward for them and thee. Then keep the antient way! Spit out their phlegm, And fill thy brest with home; think on thy dream: A calm, bright day! A land of flowers and spices! the word givenIf these be fair, O what is Heaven! COCK-CROWING. FATHER of lights! what sunnie seed, Their magnetisme works all night, Their eyes watch for the morning hue, It seems their candle, howe'r done, If such a tincture, such a touch, If a meer blast so fill the sail, O thou immortall light and heat! Whose hand so shines through all this frame, That, by the beauty of the seat, We plainly see who made the same. Seeing thy seed abides in me, Dwell thou in it, and I in thee! |