The mirrour of MERCY IN The midst of MISERY.
WHen Kingly Phoebus drove his Chariot downe
Into the Southern Kingdomes, there to crowne
Those People with his glory, when the Aire
Was cold, intemperate, neither foule nor faire,
But wond'rous various, and the Earth the whiles,
Casts off her amorous glaunces and sweet smiles,
Her costly Ornaments, Livery of Greene,
Her Robes of Gallantry, and lies unseen,
Lamenting for her Lover, when she feeles
Delay waites on his absent Chariot wheeles:
Just then it was, when Titan's Throne was gone,
And Cinthia doth possesse the darkned throne,
Usurping to her selfe halfe of the yeare,
And rules it with her sable Hemisphere.
When you might see Nights Empress ride in state,
And all the Starres and Royall Armies wait
Upon her high Commands, when you might see
The Giant Orien in the Canopie,
Walking the nightly Circles, as if none
But he should rule the World; Nights sable Throne
Is drawne by winged Pegasus, and shee
With Cyreus, Procean, and Andromache
Rides o're the milky way, when Sol retires,
To light the World with their dim feeble Fires.
It was October, and the very day
Sol entred into Scor [...]io, then I say,
When all my Actions were unsound, uneven,
Me thoughts I heard a threatning from Heaven,
Which fill'd my troubled fancy full of feares,
And ringed Deaths Alarum in mine eares.
Am I a God? and did I rai [...]e this World
From her first Chaos, to have blacknesse hurld
Against my sparkling Throne? Shall my pure eyes
Behold these Sinnes and base enormities
Without revenge? What! did my fingers frame
This Universe for th' glory of my name,
And made Man Lord of all, that he might be
In a capacity to honour me?
And am I thus rewarded? I'le goe spurne
Away the World, her glory, and I'le turne
Time from his Chariot wheeles, I'le rend in sunder
Her Axletrees, and with a clap of Thunder,
I'le puffe this spacious Fabrick aside:
And blast these mortalls in their height of pride.
At this I started: my distemper'd braines
Did ake, my head was tortered with great paines,
My body shivered, and my blood did boyle,
Like fiery Aetna, or the burning oyle
That Drunkards quaffe in Hell, my heart was saint,
My tongue too weake to utter a complaint,
Though I were full; I knew not what to say,
Nor scarce could tell where 'twas my torment lay.
Sometimes I burnt like the Promethean Fire
That came from Heaven, and sometimes my desire
Cool'd as the angry North, when Jove makes bold
To cl [...]ath the Universe with freezing cold.
Sometimes I was in Heaven, or else not farre
Below it, where I saw each wandring Starre
Move in their severall Orbs: Sometimes mine eyes
Beheld great wonders, as if all the Skies
Were pav'd with Pearles and Rubies, then I'de run
To view the glittering Palace of the Sun;
Where I beheld how Phoebus drove his throne
Over the Spangled vault, and I made moane
He went so swift away with hot desire,
Lashing his Horse with whips of flaming Wier.
Then to the middle Region of the Aire
My fancy would retire, to view the rare
Agreement of the Elements, how they
Keep in their bounds, and every houre obey
The Ordinance of Heaven, and then my minde
Would thinke how clouds rode on the winged winde.
Now horrid Aeolus who is heard too oft,
And wide-mouth'd Boreas raises stormes aloft;
[...]he sable Clowds have blotted all the Skies,
And to the apprehension of all eyes
[...]ave banish [...]d the Sunnes glory, all is black
With angry Clowds, the Poles do seem to crack,
The Axeltrees to rend, the Fabrick shakes
The Exalations, and the Vapours makes
The flashy Lightnings and the Winds to flie,
With Thunder-bolts from Jove's Artillerie.
Then, on the suddaine, all is hush and gone,
And smiling Phoebus in his kingly Throne:
The roaring Thunder now is quite given o're
And angry Jove will fire his Guns no more:
Neptune appeares to calme the swelling maine,
Delus and Boreas now are friends againe;
The Clowds are vanish'd, and the Heavens do smile,
As if they did but fright us all this while;
And all was done in jest, but to invoak
Us to believe a God, with that I'woke.
What horrid shape is that, that calls dim Night
To hide my torments, that abjure the light?
With that like thunder, or like flashy fire,
His fury rose, Wherefore dost thou inquire?
Sayes he, I am the King of feares, and I
Was sent with summons from Eternity:
I dwell in that dark Vault where the black line
Of Death is drawne, where Pluto, Proserpine,
Proud Beelzebub, and Mephestophilus,
Pale-sac'd Oblivion, horrid Cerberus,
Millions of Haggs and fearefull Furies haunt,
Grim Charon, and the churlish Rhadamant,
Where Etna's hill doth pour her hideous flames
Into the starry Region, and proclaims.
A terrour to the world, by soaring higher
Than flashy lightening or feeble fier;
While the amazed Marriner from a sarre,
Looking aloft admires what blazing Starre
Threatens the aged Moon, because they be
Fearfull fore runners of a tragedie.
At this! turn'd my face, and wept, till all
My ch [...]k [...] were bath'd; and is my Funerall
So sudda [...]ly to be, and is there none
Will send a sigh to heaven, a tear, a grone?
Will no one begg for me that heaven would stay
His hand a while and give me longer day?
Unhappy m [...]ther, where are all your gaines?
Poore satisfaction for your nine moneths paines;
Was it for nought but this? oh rather why
Did! not weep a shower of teares, and die
Within my Nurses armes? Then might I have
No fostering, but a cradle and a grave.
Oh beauteous Innocence, how blest art thou!
Sweet Vertue too! oh might I tarry now!
How should I love thee! then I should not feare
To flie into the bosome of my Deare:
Where lifted up, ravisht I should behold
That shining City built of burnisht gold,
Like to transparent glass, then should I dare
To travaile through the dwellings of the aire,
To immortality, where I might see,
Wonders deny'd to our capacity;
There is perpetuall Youth, perpetuall Spring,
[...]o evening cold, no heat, nor no such thing
[...]s time or feeble age, nor timorous feare,
[...]nvy, deceipt and pride are strangers there.
[...]here is no dread of horror to perplex [...],
[...]o poverty to curb, no care to vexe,
[...]o fear [...] of Theeves to rob, no Moth to rust,
[...]o winking fraud, no trembling distrust;
[...]o trading there, nor trafi [...]king for toyes,
[...]ut every man his owne desires enjoyes.
[...]here troops of glorious Angels shall surprize
Having rare pleasures sitting on their eyes)
[...]he new-come Soule, in white transparant vailes
[...]esembling Snow, their garments deckt with trailes
Of Orient Pearle, with which you may behold
[...]right Diamonds, their girdles are of Gold;
[...]heir eyes like morning rayes, but shine more ra [...]e,
[...]ike threds of fringed Gold, their frizled haire,
[...]heir countenances sweet, where Love incloses
[...]he Lillies with a bed of fragrant Roses,
[...]nd send a thousand thousand graces downe
[...]rom their faire eyes, to welcome me, and crowne
My Soule with endlesse pleasures, and delights
Of rarities their Snowy hands invites
[...]o their rare walkes, where that Immortal love,
[...]ts richly shadowed in a hallowed grove:
[...]here pleasures still are length'ned with device,
[...]heir food is swelling fruit of Paradice;
Where on a banke of Violets our eares,
[...]hall drinke the ravishing musick of the spheres:
While we sing Hallelujahs to't, and cry
No Joy; no triumph to Eternity.
Oh! If the King of Heaven would please to smile,
And to my dayes adde but a little while;
A little, little longer, that poor I
Might learne to live before I come to dye,
How should I prize it? then with regenerate feare,
Would I goe bathe my eye-lids with a teare
For my black crimes; how should I slight this ball
Of Earth, and tread, and trample upon all
The glory of the world: then should my dayes
Be past in purity, and spent in praise:
But now I see my labouring sands are run
From times swift houre glasse; the dayes bright Sun
Is hurryed to the shades, where envious night
Will hide the lustre of his glorious light;
And now 'tis vaine for me thus to implore,
I must be gone and shall see Man no more.
Death.] I have out-stayed my patience, let's away
Together, yonder comes the dawning day,
And still we linger on, cease thy vaine prayers,
They are too tedious, and my waighty affaires
Will not admit delay; thy weake desire
Is vaine, thus, thus I'le quench my flameing Ire.
Time.] Hold, I command thee hold, or by my powers,
Yeares, ages, seasons, moneths, dayes, minutes, houres:
And by the spangled Palace of the Sun,
By all their glories, ere my glasse is run,
Strike if thou dar'st strike; look here this hand,
Hath brought from heaven, a powerful countermand.
I'le puff thy power away, and banish thee
To that low vault of black eternity;
Stand back, or to the shades thou shalt be hurld,
I'le make thee cease triumphing o're the world.
At this Death vanisht; and who ever saw
Those timerous people, that were struck in awe
With that great Comet, that did once appeare
Within the Horizon of our Hemisphere,
May guesse how we all wondred at the story,
Being much amazed at this Persons glory:
Therefore 'twixt grief or feare, joy, hope, or rage,
I thus replyed:
What mean these Changes? What has Time or Age
To do with us? What sodaine Change is this?
What glorious Guest? What Bird of Paradise
Does here attend us? What bright A [...]gel's he
Has left the Palace of Eternity,
To grace my Funerall with his Presence? O
Perhaps he comes but to encrease my woe,
And tell me what high glory I have lost,
And what rare pleasures; oh my hopes are crost!
I have offended Heaven by sinne, and now
He's angry, and does furrow up his brow;
Or else it may be he is come to jest
A while, and rock me to eternal rest,
And in a trance shew me that glorious Throne,
Where high borne Saints attend the Holy One,
Glob'd by the breath of Angels, that poor I
M [...]ghtin my sorrowes, Swan-like, singing, die.
So said the Vision, then approached nigher
Rare flashes of delightfull love and sier,
Glanc'd from his eye, his tressels dangled downe
By Art, his head was arched with a Crowne,
And in his hand a glass that made such way,
Whose lab'ring sands strove to outrun the day,
And tire his horse; the mantle that he wore
Lapt under his right arm, embroidered o're
With starrs of orient Pearl, that strove to shrowd
Their glimm'ring glory in an airy Clowd;
It was of Azure and the purest die,
Not much inferiour to the mid-day skie,
When Sol is in his glory; 'twas made fast
With a rich Diamond, his face surpast
The Queen of Love, and his right arm did hold
A rising Sun imbost with purest Gold.
Thus in this gallant posture having laid
His hand upon his hour-glasse, he said,
Time's Message.
Know fearful mortals, I Apollo am,
Who hearing of these sorrowes, hither came,
From my bright Palace, and high spangled Throne,
Aloft, to put a period to thy moan:
I dwell above, higher than Eagles wings,
The breath of Fame, or majesty of Kings;
There, where the lovely grey-ey'd morn perfumes
Her rosie Chariot with Sabean fumes,
Where Geminies are link'd with Cupids Yoaks,
And Jove sits crowned with a grove of Oaks,
From Jealous Juno, where Sols horse to gaine
Th [...] olympick hill, doth champ the frothy Reine
In fury, and with flaming nostrils dare
The frozen Artique, and the snowy Beare.
It's I, that chase the regions of the night
Away, those horrid shadowes that affright
Languishing Lovers; whose unknowne desires
Are vertuous, those circles of blue fires:
That doe from the infernall darknesse rise
Amaine, and glaunce before unquiet eyes,
That none of these from the Iberian glades,
May black the world with their inveterate shades;
And so it was in that same houre, when thou
Didst ope thy lips in that most holy vow:
That if the King of Heaven would please to smile,
And to thy time adde but a little while;
Then thou wouldst spend the remnant of thy years
In raining from thy eye-lids showers of teares
For thy black crimes, and then thy following dayes,
Should passe in purity, and be spent in praise.
Heaven heard thy words, and his all-piercing eye
Relented for thy sorrows, he did spye
Thy low estate, and sent me post away,
To stop deaths hand, and give thee longer day;
And here my message endeth, all thy score
Is wip't away, see that thou sinne no more,
Lest Heaven be deaf, when next thou dost complain,
Live happy, thus I turne my glasse againe.
Simile.] At this Time vanish too, and I began
To gather strength. Have you beheld a Man
New risen from a swound, whose wandring eyes
At first can scarce discover where he lies,
Till by the help of Art and Nature he
Gathers a little more capacity
To know the standers by, and with some paine,
Gets up upon his feeble feet againe.
So I recovered, new risen from the dead,
And live to pay what I have promised.
Which I shall doe, but this discourse I'le wave,
Onely three words I have brought from the grave
Unto three sorts of persons, theyl refer,
To th'Souldier, Poet, and Astrologer.
And first to thee thou Noble Son of Fame,
That from deep wounds didst strive to make thy name
Ride o're the world, and for a little breath
Of praise, durst gaze upon the face of death:
I like that humour well in them that doe
Such things with Valour, and with Vertue too;
But you Hells Instrument that often dye
The earth with crimson blood, untill the cry
Of Widows, Mothers, Orphans too, are faine
With showers of teares to wash it white againe.
You that dispeople Earth, and poyson Aire,
And murder young and old; both soule and faire,
Children and Scholars, these that cannot stand
Against the opposition of your hand;
That strew your walks with bloud, and fire, and pay
The tribute of a bleeding wound a day:
Thou canst not sight with death, he with a frowne
Will make thee trembling lay thy weapons down,
Like a base coward, though thy body be
Wall'd round about with armour Cap-a-pe.
And you that by the magick of your quill
Write language that can make alive, or kill,
And with your brazen Epitaphs endeavour
To make the dead survive, and live for ever,
That out-charme Orpheus, Amphion, Mercurie,
Apollo, Cleo, or Melpomene,
That write in hidden mysteries, and can prate
In rapture, and are Poets Laureat:
Ye Sonnes of Phoebus, you that can display
Upon the top of high invention, say,
What will you answer Death? Will all the charmes
Of Rhetorick, redeem thee from his armes?
Or if the twy fork'd mountaine hide thee, will
Death feare to clamber up Parnassus hill?
No: then thy sweetest lines and choisest sense,
High Rhetorick is but fruitlesse eloquence.
Thou canst not charm him with a lyrick strain,
Nor can the Muses fetch thee back againe.
And last, to thee, that unto Heaven dost flie,
And with the Eagle mak'st thy nest on high;
That with thine Ephemeridis canst see
Saturne, Jove, Mars, Sol, Venus, Mercurie,
With all their Angulars, and Variations,
Their Sextiles, Squares, Trines, Retrogradations,
Conjunctions, Oppositions, fixed Signes,
Circular, Ecliptique, Equinoctiall Lines,
And calculatest for the following yeare,
Starres, Tropicks, Horoscoqe, and Hemisphere;
And art exceeding skilfull in the seaven
Celestiall Orbs, say Register of Heaven,
Why dost not flie from Death? D [...]st thou not care
For the grim Monster? Why dost not prepare
For his approach? Or is thy wisdome shewn,
In telling others fortunes, not thine owne?
Were I a Merlin or a Rabulis,
Skill'd like to Prolomee, or opernicus,
I'd take the winged morning and go shrowd
Into the bosome of an airy clowd,
Or saddle winged Pegasus, an [...] flee,
With the swift Eagle and Andromeche
Into Joves palace, where obscured I
Might live eternally and never dye.
But Oh, that will not be, there is a power
Higher than these and that same dismall hower
Of death is hid from all, who can withstand
The blow, and ward the terrour of his hand:
And on the other side, so no disease
Can take us off sooner then heaven please;
No evill constellations of the Starrs,
Perills at Sea, nor wounds of bloody Warres;
Dangers of death, nor sorrowes which impaire
Our health, infections nor corrupted aire,
Which I have found, when I lay at the doore
Of death, and all my hopes were given o're.
Just then Sols Chariot being in his fall,
Entred the house, they Domus mortis call;
And Luna entred Scorpio, which to me,
Presaged nothing but mortalitie.
And yet I live, and better too, for here
I behold Angels of a higher Spheare,
Which sung me amorous Eclogues: lullabyes,
And charm'd soft sleep into my troubled eyes,
Eas'd my deluded fancy, put my braine,
And my Souls Organs into tune againe:
Oh how shall I adore you! you whose fiers,
With hallowed flames so sweetly did inspire
This better soule of reason: and did see
My paine, and came from Heaven to pity me:
How shall I serve you now? and die so pure
That I may come to that sweet place where you are;
Where Saints and Angels arme in arme doe walke,
Through those blest groves: whose sweet discourse & talk
Is love: where we each other may behold
In everlasting glory uncontroul'd;
To all Eternity: And Oh my God!
Hide all my faults in love, let not thy rod
Afflict for ever: why dost thou take such paines
With wormes? Oh wash away my guilt staines
With thy deare merits, that which is above
Desert, & crown me not with Laurels, but with love;
And then, Oh then! though foolish fancies fill
My measured lines, and undervalued quill
With scorne, and though the basest of all men
On earth slight the Geometry of my Pen;
Yet I will now goe soare a little higher,
And light my blazing torch with holy fire;
That my poore Tapor may resemble thine,
Whose sparkling glories are of fire Divine;
And when these lips shall faile to speak, Oh then!
When all my earthly worke is done, and when
My pen is dull'd, and when I shall restore
Nature her debt, when I shall be no more:
Then grant without a blemish I may flee,
Into the Palace of Eternity:
Or shew me here the promised Land, that I
May live, and wander thither when I dye.
IT was in the day, when the Soule was armed with Vertue and unarmed Innocencie; singing her Epithalamiums among the trees of the Garden, like a Bird of Paradice. 'Twas then, when she could spread her airy wings, and fly to Heaven, chaunting her sonnets (with the Hallelujahs of Angels) in her welltun'd Layes) to the delight of her Lover. Before, Sensuality, Security, Pride, Discourtesie, Opinion, and Disdaine, had blinded those well-form'd eyes, and blackt so faire a face; but now instead of Aspiring, he is Descending; instead of soaring to Heaven, he must goe sow the Earth, where his sweaty Pain must curb his aspiring Pride.
This was the day, if it might be called day, the latter part whereof was Tragicall; wherein (I think) the Sunne was muffled in a black, mantle of clouds which resembled ink put into water; and like a curtaine of night did overspread the Universe, as if they meant to banish out the day; or like another Phaeton into some unknown world to drive the flaming throne. The Heavens, that sometimes seemed to smile at Mans Innocencie, upon whose well-form'd body, if the Sun in his pride had shot a burning ray, then gentle Zepherus with soft and silken wings would fan [Page 21]coole aire upon him. But now the thundring Heavens and stormy Winds strive which shall be loudest; the first with their horrid cracks doe shake the Fabrique, as if they would break the Axletrees of the Earth, and hurle her from her Artique and Antartique Poles: The other with roaring gusts of wind boyle up such mighty waves, and shoot such angry surges at the Sun, as if they meant to drowne the day, or in their furie to wash away the world.
Thus Man is thrust out of Paradice, and instead of having converse with Angels, he is become a companion for Devils; he that aspired so much after knowledge, knows nothing now but that which he would not know: ah me! how is the beauty of Innocency become a map of misery? the Man that was made Immortall to live, hath now received Sentence to dye: ah me, how are the mighty fallen! he that was once the Image of Heaven, the Glory of the Earth, the wonder of the World, the pride of Nature, and the Angels true Idea, is now a curse to the Earth, and an offence to Heaven, borne to misery, and banisht out of glory: whose dayes of life are hasting, whose death comes on poasting, having no power to lengthen the one, nor friends to lament the other.
The symptomes of Immortality are gone, and sinne hath puft his power away; he that climbed, can hardly crawle, and he that had Feathers to fly, can scarce finde Feet to follow; for so much do the words of our subject import: Draw me, and I will run after thee.
And now with a free will answer me, all free welwillers, you that have still the power your Father had in Paradice, that can overthrow Sinne, and conquer Sathan; shut up Hell, and open Heaven; and baffle all those principalities and powers, temptations and corruptions, which often in our Journey to Heaven doe make us lye becalmed; does not thine eye check to see our subject? does not thy heart smite thee to reade thine inability?
Peradventure thou wilt aske how God drawes the Soule? I could answer severall wayes; God is not ty'd to the education, condition, meanes, time, matter, nor manner of his creature: And his wayes are above our thoughts, as far as an infinite Creator is beyond a finite creature: it is the prerogative of his grace, to draw one man one way, and another man another way; all of which for their number and nature are past our finding out, neverthelesse, I shall name five wayes, and they be these;
- By his Workes.
- By his Word.
- By his Lash.
- By his Light.
- And by his Love.
First, God draws by his workes, and this I believe, would puzzle the Intellects of Angels to rehearse, who I think are the fittest Orators to utter the glory of his greatnesse; since they are not clouded [Page 23]with a vaile of flesh, but can behold those works of wonder, in a more perfect forme, which I believe doth not a little amaze those glorious creatures, while they bow before the Immortall throne.
What meanes the forming of this spacious universe, and the setting so faire a fabrick in such a curious frame; the Imperiall Heavens, where Argel [...] sing Hallelujahs. I shall not speak of that sence, it passeth the highest capacity; and in relation of which, many abler pens than mine have been already dull'd; it being circkled with such brightnesse and glory, in such a capacious Orbe, that no mortall can behold and not drop downe and dye.
And when Aurora sets open her golden gates, in what a Majesty the Sun arises, as from a bed of Roses, to rouze up sleepy mortals, and lend his light to all, unmuzling Darknesse from the lower World: And with what swiftnesse doth he hurry through the Zodiack, adding Summers heat, and Winters cold, and sometimes a Medium when he mingles his sire with the cold and freezing Aire; and how welcome is his approach to the Earth, who against the returne of his Chariot wheeles, doth cast off her mantle of mourning, and adornes her selfe with costly fruits, sweet flowers, perfumed finells, rich odours, amorous glances, sweet smiles, beauty, bravery, dignity and glory, wrapt in a robe of the purest dye, and flourishing in a never-fading livery of green.
Beside, the Moon, Planets, and fixed Starres, and all those Royall Armies that spangle the Canopie, [Page 24]that in their nightly Watches, they might adorne the darkned Throne, when Darknesse drawes a sable Curtaine o're the Skie, and the Sun hath done the day: What shall I say, for the time would faile me to tell you of the Royall Armies of Heaven; their secret workings in their severall Orbes, the Golden Mines, costly Jemms, rich Jewels of the Earth, her pompous Apparell, delitious fare, Physicall Herbes, gallant Fruits, sweet Flowers, the wonders of Art, the hidden fecresies of Nature, that lye in the boundlesse Earth; unfathom'd Sea, unseen Fire, and perfumed Aire.
What meane the shining Lamps of Heaven, that chase away darknesse from the world; the dividing of the unruly Elements, the hanging of the Earth just in the Center of the Heavens; her wondrous motion between the two Poles, her equall distance from the flaming Chariot of the Sun, and the hidden region of Fire, lest with contagious heate our hearts should faile, lest we should suck up hot lightning, and imbrace in our bosomes Fire in the stead of Aire.
The workes of God have in all ages drawn Souls, as may witnesse the Plagues of Egypt, the Prosperity of Israel, the overthrow of Nations, the clashing of Kingdomes, the dividing of the red Sea, the Manna in the Wildernesse, the thundering of the Law on Mount Sina, the Birth of our Saviour, the deeds that he did, the Sick that were healed, the Eyes that were opened [...]e Devills dispossessed, the Wicked [Page 25]converted, the Lame that were cured, the Lepers that were cleansed, the Dead that were raised, the calming of the Sea to the Disciples, the Holy Ghost that was given to the Apostles, the draught of Fishes to Peter, the Vision from Heaven to Paul. These works of God (I say) have in all ages wrought on both Sinners and Saints, causing the one to admire, and the other to adore.
Secondly, God drawes by his word; and if it were demanded what word? I should answer, the sweetest words that Art or Love can frame, the word of the Gospell, what directions, dehortations, what councels and comforts? what inticements and allurements? every Line is penn'd with Love, every Page hath its promise, that he that runs may read; and if it were not so, how should the poore Pilgrim wander to the holy land? when on the one hand the world presents him with riches, and rarities, honour and pleasure, presumption and pride, dignity, vaineglory, stately buildings, costly, faire, trampling Horses, rich Jewels, rare Musick, inchaunting faces, amorous glaunces, sweet smiles; when his journey to Heaven is strewed with Briars and Thornes, difficulties and dangers, afflictions, desertions, trialls, temptations; being despised, disgraced, afflicted, tormented and abused with envy and folly, discourtesie, disloyalty, opinion and disdaine, and how often doe these poore Soules strike Saile, and lye becalm'd? when the Heavens are covered with blacknesse and darknesse, and the Sun of glory is mantled [Page 26]in a sable cloud, and hath turned the glorious morn into a gloomy day.
Therefore the Almighty wisdome, thought best to draw by his word, and no part of his word so prevalent as promises, to support the Soule in the midst of sorrow, they being the promises of this life, and of that which is to come; the promises of pardon of sinne, of rest for the Soule, of protection from danger, of deliverance from Feare, of communion with the Spirit, of fellowship with the Sonne, of eternall life, and the Fathers love; and how exceeding great and precious are they? great in the superlative, the greatest. All that we have, are nothing to promises: they are like Spikenard in the Kings Palace, or Manna in the Wildernesse: or Solomons Chariot paved with Love, or Balme in Gilead, or Moses rod, or the ointment poured on Jesus Christ, or that perfume that ran about the head of Aaron, being for our security in the possession of the Prince of Peace, built upon the rock of ages: the Usurer (it may be) hath rusty prosperity, the high-borne flashy dignity, the Prodigall a puffe of Pleasure, the Souldier a blast of honour: But tell me thou Silkeworme, or speak thou glorious slave, how long will they last?
Many men have great Estates, but they have but a little time; the children of Israel murmured for want of bread, and 'twas that which made Hagar sad, when her bottle of water was out, but you that travel to the holy land, your water shall never faile. Consider then how they ennoble the minde, how they [Page 27]make us partakers of the Divine Nature, how they purge away Sinne, and sanctifie the Soule, how in all afflictions they give us strong Consolations, that there is no danger but we shall be delivered from it, no crosse but we shall be able to beare it, nor no duty but we shall be able to doe it. Consider how they open the Eares, how they enlighten the Eyes, how they direct the Feet to walke, and teach the Fingers to fight; how they give us rest for wearinesse, courage for faintnesse, and kindle fire in the stead of feare.
Object. But it may be objected, why doth God make promises of reward, if the Creature cannot worke? or why doth he command, when we have not ability to obey?
Answ. God gave Man his portion in Paradice, he was indued with excellency, when he came out of his hands, and God is not bound to give him a new stock, though he hath found out many inventions to run out the old. God is no more bound to preserve us, than he was to create us, therefore Mans inability doth not discharge him from his duty, God still reteineth his prerogative royall, though we have lost a Subjects Loyalty, he hath not lost his Kingly Dignity, but still may command, though we (poor we) have no ability to obey! God calls on all men every where to repent, will it therefore follow Man can repent? No, but it is our duty to do [...] it, and our misery that we cannot.
But farther, God hath made an everlasting covenant [Page 28]with us, and workes that in us, which he requireth of us, and hath undertaken to doe that which he hath commanded us to doe; John 6.5, 6. therefore having removed this Objection, let us goe forward to see what strong consolation promises doe afford us; the truth of it is, the promises are those that make our lives comfortable in the world: we are travelling to Heaven, and all the portion we have is in promises, to assure us we shall lack nothing in our Journey, Heb. 6.17, 18. Thy portion is in thy Fathers hand, and therefore whether it be losses, crosses, temptations, desertions or persecutions that trouble thee; be contented, for ere long thou shalt passe through all thy poverty, and when thou comest home, shalt feed on husks no more; what joy will the Father and all his holy Angels make at thy arrivall? then all teares shall be wiped from thine eyes, and thou shalt soon forget thy light afflictions, and momentany miseries, when thou shalt sit smiling in eternity, and thy head impaled in such an exceeding weight of glory.
Thirdly, God draws by his Lash: Before I was afflicted, I went astray, but now I have learned thy Statutes, Psal. 119.67. but there being so many things extant for the supporting of afflicted Soules, I shall onely say thus much, that conquering is as well by str [...]king as striking; howbeit our Heavenly Father knowes best how to drive one, and draw another; who are to be affrighted with a frowne, and who to be allured by love; Linnen is made whiter by [Page 29]Bucking, and Woolen cleaner by Beating; Sufferings and Sorrowes come not upon us without a cause, though to them that have too little Faith, or too much of slavish feare, they serve but as Water in the Ship, or rough Windes to the Sailes, that sinks the one, and blows away the other, because they see not the hand that sends them, but like the Dogge, bite at the Stone, and minde not the Man.
Fourthly, God drawes the Soule by his Light: when night appeares in her spangled Canopie, and mounts her darkned throne, to follow her flying predecessor; when with too long delay she shakes her dewy locks, as she rides upon the backs of downy Ravens sleek and sable Plumes, and hurles black darknesse from her Chariot wheels, wrapping the world in a Mantle of mourning, by the charming power of her sable Hemisphere: then the forsaken Universe is lost a while, and drowsie Mortalls (rockt in her charming lullabies) in the midst of danger sleep secure: notwithstanding the terrors of the night, and the dangers of the dark, those fearefull visions, and strange apparitions that affright languishing lovers, and sometimes glaunce before unquiet eyes.
Thus the poore Soule, in the time of Ignorance, is like the Egyptians that grovelled in the darke, or the blinde Sodomites that could not finde the door, who were (in the midst of distraction) hurried to destruction: the first buried alive in the Water, the last burned to death in the Fire. Alas there is no coming to Paradice by pleasure, nor gaining Heaven by [Page 30]honour; not Honour nor Dignity, Pleasure, vaineglory, a Kingly Throne, nor a transitory Crowne. It is not coyne can purchase Canaan, nor Money merit Mercy; Nay, to come nearer, it is not Earths happinesse, nor the Creatures holinesse, Mans sincerity nor his mindes purity, that can merit Heaven; not by Prayers nor Promises, Duties nor Indeavours. Which when the Sun of Righteousnesse hath discovered to the Soule, (when he sees there is no contentment in the Creature, till it centers in the Creator; no satisfaction in it selfe, no rest in the Soule, but that the redemption thereof depends on another) therefore in a selfe abhorrencie, he mutters to himselfe these or the like speeches.
The World shall never have my heart no more, no, though I should sit at the upper end thereof in Princes Palaces, and had the peculiar treasure of Kings; though I were drest in robes of the purest die, and far'd deliciously every day; though I were drawne in a Chariot of Ebonie, or sate upon a chaire of Downe, or did ride upon the wings of Fame; though I had stately buildings, and could for recreation retire a while into curious Gardens, rare Walks, and gallant Groves, where I might heare the birds sing out their ravishing tones, in a well-measured evennesse, and be lull'd asleep with the still musick of murmuring Water, and perfumed Aire; though I had all the beauties of the Arcadian Court, and had every roome adorned with White, Greene and Blue hangings, fastned with Cords of fine Linnen and [Page 31]Purple, and Silver Rings, and though my Bed were of Gold, hung round with Diamond and Pearle, and stood upon a pavement of Red and Blue, and White and Black Marble.
Deluding Vanities, I'le teare you from my heart, what doe you here weake chaines? my Pride presumed once you had the power to fetter Hell, and guard me from the terrors of the evill day; I once believed you could have brought content, when your delights dropt in my Soule like dew into the bosome of a flower; and thou poore flattered heart, whom oft I have esteemed pure; I thought my prayers once would open Heaven, and bring down Guardian Angels from the Canopie of Love, to catch my Orizons, and beare my night oblations to the holy one; but light doth chase these black delusions now, like darknesse from the rising of the morne; since I my selfe am nothing, I'le goe to him that hath the treasure of all: If he will please to except me, I will cease to be my owne, and live to his glory (no otherwise) that I might redeem those vaine-spent houres which I have throwne away.
Fiftly and lastly, God drawes the Soule by his Love: And here (sweet Readers) I should indite an Epithalamium of Love, but having lost my best Fancies with my Fortunes, I shall rather darken than dignifie so rare a Subject, set Hills on Hills, till they aspire above the lofty Alps, whose proud imperious Piramids, may serve as a Rampant against the [Page 32]Sunnes rage, and all is below Love; 'tis not the treasure of the world in one, the wealth of Tagus, nor the rich Peru, nor Pearle enough to pave the Courts of Kings, mountaines of Silver, nor mines of golden Ore, that can buy Love: It is the mirror of Earth, the majesty of Heaven, the ornament of the Soule, the beauty of the Body, the glory of the Spheares, the upholder of the Universe, the delight of Man, the Dignity of Angels, the map of Honour, and the worlds great wonder. Which when the Soule once tasteth, how is it raised with Joy? how ravisht with Delight? how rich is he in Adversity? how merry in Misery? reckoning his Poverty, prosperity; his Afflictions, felicity; his Disgraces, high dignity, as having nothing, yet possessing all things; delighting in company, yet loves to be alone; praying for life, yet desirous to dye; counting his dayes but houres, and yet his minutes years.
And though this Soule may be as unwelcome to the Peacocks of the world, as Ink upon their Gorgets, Water in their Shoos, Dirt upon their Cheeks, or Ashes in their Eyes, yet he is borne of the Family of Heaven, and lives more high than they. His Drink is Wine of Consolation, his Bread the food of the Gospell, his cloathing the Armour of Righteousnesse, his Shield, the Shield of Faith, his Dowry the Kingdome of Glory, his Recreation is Religion, his Bed the bosome of Abraham, under the Canopie of Love, surrounded by Guardian Angels; where he doth (as well he may) teach sorrow how to sing, [Page 33]sighing his crying Elegies in Heavenly raptures, sending many a groan to Heaven, that he might be dissolved, till soft and silken slumbers close his amorous eyes.
But is this Act our owne? can the blinde eye put a difference 'twixt light and darknesse? can fordid Earth out-vie the shining Heavens? or a Candle vie with the glory of the Sun at the top of noon day? can deformity become purity? or Devils plead with holy Angles? can Poverty purchase Dignity? or the thing that is sensuall become supernaturall? Oh no! It is the worke of the Creator, therefore bow not thy glory to the Creature. That God should come a wooing to thy Soule, to thee that hadst no comelinesse nor beauty! that God should love thee, who hadst no lovelinesse in thee! that God should lay out so much, and yet look for so little! that God should speak to thee, when Man onely spake to others! and that thou shouldst feel his worke, when others did but here his Word! that God should summe up thy Sighs, and bottle up thy Teares, and for a little insamy crowne thee with a Crowne of Glory! that God should convert thee in the morning of thy dayes, and let others goe on till the evening of their age! that he should give thee a token of Heaven, when so many thousands drop into Hell! that thou shouldst be converted with joy, when others have had thunder claps of Mount Sinah ringing in their eares, while they have sailed through the Red Sea of sorrow, in the midst of the valley of Achor; [Page 34]thou hast been drawne by the still voice of a promise, thy wayes were strowed with Roses, thy footsteps washt with butter, and thou hast been allured by Love, and then that God should Metamorphose thy nature, and turne thee from a Nabal to an Abigal; from a Demos, to a David; from a Judas, to a John; from a Publican, to a Puritan; and then lead thee by an Eye of Faith, and the powerfull Arme of Love to trust thy Soule upon his bare word to all Eternity, whether thy Judgement may be Life or Death.
Soul.
I Shall never be able to get any ease for my trouled heart, just such another fit of amazement fell upon me, when Tread of the Vision from Heaven, that shone about the head of Paul, then was I in as great a straight as now; therefore I will say with him, Lord what wilt thou have me doe? If Man in Innocency, who was a piece of Excellency, the Image of Heaven, Companien of Angels, and Lord of Earth, had then no power to stand, how then shall be secure from a fall? If he that resembled Heaven could not, then I that am like to Hell shall not; Oh my heart! how happy had I been, if I had died as soon as I was borne, or if these wretched eye had never seen the day, then had I not seen mine owne deserved overthrow: but I will reason no more, the remnant of my dayes that I shall languish here, I'le give to Contemplation, and passe my wearyed [Page 35]time in Teares, and see if in the midst of sorrow I can weep my selfe away, and like a hunted Partridge hide my selfe,
— For I
Must waste my Soule in sorrow till I dye.
Christ.
What Man art thou, that when Nights gloomy shades hath drawne her sable Curtaine o're the Sky, and banisht out the Day, durst stand to question Heaven; whose sacred name, thy black unhallowed tongue ought not to mention, but on thy knees with reverence: say, canst thou plead with him at whose command attend those sulphurous flames which Aetna's fiery mouth doth vomit into Ayre, why is thy heart so full of carnality to dispute of Mans ability? and question Heavens love,—were all the powers of Hell come downe in Battle array, to beare thee captive in their furious Armes, though they should surround thee with hot Lightning, and cast their fiery darts to wound thee, as thick as Atoms in the Aire, yet I alone would stand thy fierce assault, and with a blow, I'de quell their pride, and set my Prisoner free.
Soul.
How comely is deformity beautified at thy approach? and all that blacknesse chac'd away, that darkned my understanding with a frowne; resembling the majesty of the Sun ushered by glory from his shining throne, but as it would be presumption in me to thinke I merit forgivenesse from thee, so would it be rebellion to refuse thy profered love, which is everlasting life, but I am unworthy.
Christ.
Poor Soul, remember how deare thou art in Heavens eyes, 'twas not the treasure of a thousand Worlds, Mountaines of Silver, nor Mines of Gold, promises of Men, purchase of Crowns, policy of States, purity of Saints, nor power of Angels, that could redeem thee from eternall death, till I did pay the price, and wilt not thou believe me now? except my profferred love, and let me lead through this darkned vale; thou canst not finde the way alone, see if I will not bring thee to my Fathers house, and lay thee under the Canopie of Love; though dangers were before thee as thick as Starres above thee, my hand should crush them all, and with an angry breath, I'le blast their fury in their height of pride.
Soul.
Oh my deare let me not see paradice in a vision! that when I wake it may appeare a dreame: I know thou canst doe all things, but I am so stained with Spots, and drest in raggs of such deformity, that I shall but fall as dirt upon thy Cheeks, or Ashes in thine Eyes; the best I have is but unwilling willingnesse, why dost thou descend below thy incomparable throne, to trouble thine eares with me? Alas what can I give thee for all thy paines, but Rebellion? and sure the saving of such a wretch as I, will not advance thy glory: but speak apace my Sighs, my best Orators, I faine would resigne my will to thee for ever, Oh guide and direct me for I am wholly thine.
Christ.
How comely are thy eyelids in their Tears, which sit upon thy face like Arythrian Pearl, with a [Page 37]Vermylian dye, they shine like to the eye-lids of the morne, for when the Sun retires behinde a cloud a while, to weep alone unseen, methinkes he lookes like thee; those drops upon thy cheeks, are like the early dew that comes to kisse the Rose, and in a Summer morne, doth fall into the bosome of a flower; the Courts of Kings, or Princes Palaces, are poor habitations, I had rather live with thee than with the greatest Monarchs of the World.
Soul.
Oh what is there in me worthy of love? I shall be the unworthiest Instrument that ever was made to celebrate thy praise; The Organs of my soul are all untuned; and every noble faculty of my spirit is obscure; I am poore and despis'd, and the world rejects me, but 'tis no matter, if thou wilt love me, though I be hated of all: but how shall I spend my weary houres when thou art gone away?
Christ.
I'le send the Spirit to beare thee company, when thou dost sit alone, and sometimes dropst a teare, his hand shall wipe it away, and glad thy heart; teach sorrow how to sing, and when thou walkest abroad, a guard of Angels shall secure thee from injury my love.
Soul.
When I am sad alone, my busie thoughts shall fly on wings of contemplation, and see thee in Heaven, and I will watch and pray till stealing slumbers with soft and airy wings, shall bring my languishing Spirit, to the Visions of Eternity, where I may dream of thee; and when I wake, I'le walk and view the world, and when I see the spangled Canopie, and behold the [Page 38]wondrous motion of the Orbs, I'le thinke upon thy glory there.
Christ.
I'le goe prepare a place for thee, a place in eternity above the teeth of time, there where the grey-ey'd morne ushers the flaming Chariot of the day, surrounded in brightnesse and glory, where we will dwell in temples not made with hands, in streets of Gold like to transparant glasse; and when the houre-glass of thy life is run, and time hath brought thy journey to an end, I le dresse thy temples in a victors Orbe, and arch them with a Crowne.
Soul.
Well, while I live here, I'le be exceeding humble, (and if I can holy) in all my actions, I'le resemble thee. If sinfull thoughts begin to staine my Soule, I'le weep them o're ere I have thought them out. If I am abused, I will get upon the wings of prayer, and tell thee all my wrongs, my life shall be a continuall repentance; I will not back-slide, rather than so, I will wast my Soule with Sobs, and Sigh away my Body into aire.
Christ.
Farewell, dearest farewell, make hast and meet me in Heaven, let not the assaults of sin daunt thee, but with an Heroick heart stand the fiery trialls; remaine as spotlesse as my love; I will goe before to the Palace of Peace, scituated in Eternity, the purest milke white robes shall be our vestments for the Marriage day, and our Musick the Halleluja's of Angels, run then with patience, for when thou comest to the end of the race, I will welcome thee home,
— And wee'l knit fast the bands
Of Marriage, and in glory joyne our hands.
Soul.
And doth this empty world deserve thus much of me, to steale my heart in the prime of all my age, that I should lift up my voice in my best tunes, chaunting amorous Sonets hourely to its praise? no, every of these have left me now dull melancholy, the picture of my sorrow, Oh how the object of my Soules delight did please himselfe to incourage me! did I enjoy that happinesse for ever! I should have some of Heaven here, but now what joy have I to live, whose life is but a trouble? this world, this poore, this low, this transitory world, is but a scene of sorrow, 'tis but a dying life, or living death, and that which troubles me is, how long it will be ere I shall have his company againe: when he went away, me thoughts he resembled the flod Sun, when downe the Westerne world he drives his teem, leaving the Ʋniverse in a mantle of mourning, and I could wish my night were coming too: why do I languish thus? since I cannot see his face, I will goe heare his word, that I may learne to doe his will, methoughts he had me fight against temptations, and look for fiery tryalls, I will doe it; and for the love of him I will passe a thousand dangers,—
—In which my courage shall,
Stand up Victorious, or in battle fall.
Ye Sons of Honour, Heires of Glories Crown, whose sacred feet must trample the Holy Fields; what is it that makes you sing in sorrow, and glo [...]y in your shame? that crownes your hearts with courage? and beautifies your faces with a smile? that sets fortitude upon your browes, and places sweetnesse in your amorous [Page 40]eyes? that doth advance you in adversity, makes you rich in poverty, and glory in indignity, is it not Love [...] what is it that will keep up your spirits at that Dreadfull Day, when the Trumpet shall be sounded, the World shall be startled, the Graves shall be opened, the Dead shall be raised, and the Unjust shall be Judged? will it not be Love? when the Fabrick of the World shall be shaken, and the Axletrees or the Earth broken, and Time shall lose his way, when the Kings of the Earth, and all their mighty Armies shall looke pale, and their winged Bulwarks grapple, and their battered Kingdomes fly about their eares in clouds of dust, when the Spheres are sweltting in flames, the Earth surrounded by fire, and bufling windes beat Thunder out of Aire; when with terror from on high, the day shall be as black, as if Don Phoebus frighted from his chaite, left ugly darknesse on his Chariot wheels: and indeed, Love may be compared to Wine, with which Kings sometimes have drunke themselves to such a height of kindnesse, that they have remembred Majesty no more: alas every Christian hath his crosse, every day its difficulty, every time its trouble, and every action a a severall temptation; the best of what is here, is but Sunshine mixt with Raine, sweet with fower, and every smile intermingled with a frowne; but then ye shall put off your fl [...]shly garments [...]corruption, and be drest in the habit of Heaven, out of the ward [...]p of glory, and be entertained with the pleasures of Paradice, where there are incomparable delicates for the taste, sweet persumes for the smell, rare musick for the Eare, ravishing objects for the Eye; where thou shalt lye on a Bed of Roses, in swelling soft Eternity, and be lul'd in Angels armes; but it being beyond description, too high for imagination, impossible for the minde to conceive it, unlawfull for the tongue to utter it, I shall conclude the Book, for methinkes a gloomy Cloud doth stop the passage of my Pen, and I can write no more.
FINIS.