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With which in mild, chaste language she did wooe To draw him drinke, and for his camels too.

And now thou knewst her comming, it was time To get thee wings on, and devoutly climbe Unto thy God; for marriage of all states Makes most unhappy, or most fortunates.

This brought thee forth, where now thou didst undresse

Thy soule, and with new pinions refresh
Her wearied wings, which so restored did flye
Above the stars, a track unknown and high;
And in her piercing flight perfum'd the ayre,
Scatt'ring the myrrhe and incense of thy pray'r.
So from Lahai-roi's well some spicie cloud,
Woo'd by the sun, swels up to be his shrowd,
And from her moist wombe weeps a fragant showre,
Which, scatter'd in a thousand pearls, each flowre
And herb partakes; where having stood awhile
And something coold the parch'd and thirstie isle,
The thankfull earth unlocks herselfe, and blends
A thousand odours, which, all mixt, she sends
Up in one cloud, and so returnes the skies
That dew they lent, a breathing sacrifice.

Thus soar'd thy soul, who, though young, didst inherit

Together with his bloud thy father's spirit, Whose active zeale and tryed faith were to thee Familiar ever since thy infancie.

A wel in the south country where Jacob dwelt, betweene Cadish and Bered. Heb. the wel of him that liveth and seeth me.

Others were tym'd and train'd up to't, but thou
Didst thy swift years in piety out-grow.

Age made them rev'rend, and a snowie head;
But thou wert so, e're time his snow could shed.
Then who would truly limne thee out, must paint
First a young patriarch, then a marry'd saint.

THE BRITTISH CHURCH.

I.

Ан! he is fled!

And while these here their mists and shadows hatch, My glorious Head

Doth on those hills of myrrhe and incense watch. Haste, haste, my deare!

The souldiers here

Cast in their lotts againe.

That seamless coat,

The Lewes touch'd not,

These dare divide and staine.

II.

O get thee wings!

Or if as yet, untill these clouds depart,
And the day springs,

Thou think'st it good to tarry where thou art,
Write in thy bookes

My ravish'd looks,

Slain flock and pillag'd fleeces,

And haste thee so

As a young roe

Upon the mounts of spices.

O rosa campi! O lilium convallium! quomodò nunc facta es pabulum aprorum!

THE LAMPE.

'Tis dead night round about: horrour doth creepe And move on with the shades; stars nod and sleepe, And through the dark aire spin a firie thread, Such as doth gild the lazie glow-worm's bed.

Yet burn'st thou here a full day, while I spend My rest in cares, and to the dark world lend These flames, as thou dost thine to me; I watch That houre, which must thy life and mine dispatch. But still thou doest out-goe me, I can see Met in thy flames all acts of piety; Thy light is charity; thy heat is zeale;

And thy aspiring, active fires reveale

Devotion still on wing; then thou dost weepe

Still as thou burn'st, and the warme droppings

creepe

To measure out thy length, as if thou'dst know
What stock and how much time were left thee now;
Nor dost thou spend one teare in vain, for still
As thou dissolv'st to them, and they distill,

They're stor❜d up in the socket, where they lye,
When all is spent, thy last and sure supply:
And such is true repentance; ev'ry breath
Wee spend in sighes is treasure after death.
Only one point escapes thee; that thy oile
Is still out with thy flame, and so both faile:
But whensoe're I'm out, both shal be in;
And where thou mad'st an end, there I'le begin.

Mark xiii. 35.

Watch you, therefore; for you know not when the master of the house cometh, at even, or at midnight, or at the cock-crowing, or in the morning.

MAN'S FALL AND RECOVERY.

FAREWELL, you everlasting hills! I'm cast
Here under clouds, where stormes and tempests
This sully'd flowre,

Rob'd of your calme, nor can I ever make,
Transplanted thus, one leafe of his t'awake;
But ev'ry houré

[blast

He sleepes and droops; and in this drowsie state Leaves me a slave to passions and my fate.

Besides I've lost

A traine of lights, which in those sunshine dayes Were my sure guides, and only with me stayes,

Unto my cost,

One sullen beame, whose charge is to dispense

More punishment than knowledge to my sense.

Two thousand yeares

1 sojourn'd thus. At last Jeshurun's king Those famous tables did from Sinai bring. These swell'd my feares,

Guilts, trespasses, and all this inward awe;
For sinne tooke strength and vigour from the law.
Yet have I found

A plenteous way, (thanks to that Holy One!)
To cancell all that e're was writ in stone.
His saving wound

Wept bloud, that broke this adamant, and gave
To sinners confidence, life to the grave.
This makes me span

My fathers' journeys, and in one faire step
O're all their pilgrimage and labours leap.
For God, made man,

Reduc'd th' extent of works of faith; so made
Of their Red Sea a spring; I wash, they wade.

Rom. xviii. 19.

As, by the offence of one, the fault came on all men to condem nation; so, by the righteousness of one, the benefit abounded towards all men to the justification of life.

THE SHOWRE.

I.

'Twas so; I saw thy birth. That drowsie lake From her faint bosome breath'd thee, the disease Of her sick waters, and infectious ease.

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