Poetick miscellanies of Mr John Rawlet, B.D. and late lecturer of S. Nicholas Church in the town and county of New-Castle upon Tine Rawlet, John, 1642-1686. 1687 Approx. 101 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 76 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2004-08 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A58136 Wing R358 ESTC R20708 12356516 ocm 12356516 60146

This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal. The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.

 Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A58136) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 60146) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 645:22) Poetick miscellanies of Mr John Rawlet, B.D. and late lecturer of S. Nicholas Church in the town and county of New-Castle upon Tine Rawlet, John, 1642-1686. White, Robert, 1645-1703. [3], ii, [2], 143 p. : port. Printed for Samuel Tidmarsh ..., London : 1687. Engraved port. of Rawlet by Robert White. Reproduction of original in Bodleian Library.

Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford.

EEBO-TCP is a partnership between the Universities of Michigan and Oxford and the publisher ProQuest to create accurately transcribed and encoded texts based on the image sets published by ProQuest via their Early English Books Online (EEBO) database (http://eebo.chadwyck.com). The general aim of EEBO-TCP is to encode one copy (usually the first edition) of every monographic English-language title published between 1473 and 1700 available in EEBO.

EEBO-TCP aimed to produce large quantities of textual data within the usual project restraints of time and funding, and therefore chose to create diplomatic transcriptions (as opposed to critical editions) with light-touch, mainly structural encoding based on the Text Encoding Initiative (http://www.tei-c.org).

The EEBO-TCP project was divided into two phases. The 25,363 texts created during Phase 1 of the project have been released into the public domain as of 1 January 2015. Anyone can now take and use these texts for their own purposes, but we respectfully request that due credit and attribution is given to their original source.

Users should be aware of the process of creating the TCP texts, and therefore of any assumptions that can be made about the data.

Text selection was based on the New Cambridge Bibliography of English Literature (NCBEL). If an author (or for an anonymous work, the title) appears in NCBEL, then their works are eligible for inclusion. Selection was intended to range over a wide variety of subject areas, to reflect the true nature of the print record of the period. In general, first editions of a works in English were prioritized, although there are a number of works in other languages, notably Latin and Welsh, included and sometimes a second or later edition of a work was chosen if there was a compelling reason to do so.

Image sets were sent to external keying companies for transcription and basic encoding. Quality assurance was then carried out by editorial teams in Oxford and Michigan. 5% (or 5 pages, whichever is the greater) of each text was proofread for accuracy and those which did not meet QA standards were returned to the keyers to be redone. After proofreading, the encoding was enhanced and/or corrected and characters marked as illegible were corrected where possible up to a limit of 100 instances per text. Any remaining illegibles were encoded as <gap>s. Understanding these processes should make clear that, while the overall quality of TCP data is very good, some errors will remain and some readable characters will be marked as illegible. Users should bear in mind that in all likelihood such instances will never have been looked at by a TCP editor.

The texts were encoded and linked to page images in accordance with level 4 of the TEI in Libraries guidelines.

Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements).

Keying and markup guidelines are available at the Text Creation Partnership web site.

 eng 2004-03 Assigned for keying and markup 2004-03 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2004-04 Sampled and proofread 2004-04 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2004-07 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion

Iohn Rawlet B. D. Died Septembr: 28th ▪ 1686. Aetat. 44.

Poetick Miscellanies OF Mr JOHN RAWLET, B. D. And late Lecturer of S. Nicholas Church IN THE TOWN and COUNTY OF New-Castle upon Tine.

Et prodesse valent & delectare Poetae. A verse may find him, who a Sermon flies: And turn delight into a Sacrifice. Herbert.

LICENSED.

Novemb. 22. 1686. Rob. Midgley.

LONDON, Printed for Samuel Tidmarsh, at the King's-Head in Cornhill, near the Royal Exchange. 1687.

An Epitaph on the Reverend and truly pious Mr. Iohn Rawlet, B. D. made by his sorrowful Friend I. M. RAwlet's Remains lodge in this humble Cave; As he was free from pride, so is his Grave. But Virtue needs no Pyramids: Its worth Bribes not the Heraulds pains to blaze it forth. As Diamonds shine by their own native Rayes, And Phoebus his own glittering beams displays; So great deserts are their own Monument: No Tomb, no Epitaph's so eloquent. Whilst others therefore their proud Marbles boast; He rests with greater honour, but less cost.
On his Divine Poems. REader, expect not here, the filth of th' Stage, Poems that please, but more debauch the Age. His chaster Muse such heavenly strains doth sing, As Angels chant to their Immortal King. By such pure harmony he tun'd his heart In the Coelestial Choir to bear a part.
THE CONTENTS. AN Epitaph on the Reverend and truly Pious Mr. John Rawlet. Pag. (i) On his Divine Poems. (ii) An Invitation to the Holy Communion, with directions, &c. Pag. 1 On the Holy Communion. 4 Another Poem of the same. 6 Directions for receiving the Holy Communion. 8 For early rising on a Lord's-day Morning. 11 Morning Thoughts. 13 Directions for the Evening. 16 On Whitsunday. 18 On Ascension. 23 On Divine Love. 25 On Death. 30 Midnight Meditations. 46 A description of True Prayer. 51 How to get and keep a quiet mind in all Conditions. 53 A Preservative against Temptations. 57 On Solitude. 59 The sum of our Duty. 68 Whilst I was hearing Musick. 70 On a great Thunder and storm, June 1. 1671 72 Calmness in a Storm, &c. 74 On the Rain that fell in June 1681. 77 On a Cross with a Crown upon it in Burton. 83 On the sight of Furness Fells. 86 On the parting of ways in a Iourny. 88 An account of my life in the North. 90 Paraphrases. Of Palm 19. 57. Thou art my Portion, O Lord. 94 Of Psalm 39. 6, 7. 96 Luke 11. 14, &c. 101 Of Seneca's Thyestes, Act. II. 103 A Plain Paraphrase. 104 His first Epistle to Lucilius. 105 His 70 Epistle. 109 Of Horace's Ode 22. 128 Martial's Epigram. lib. 1. 6. 132 Inscriptions and Epitaphs. For M. M. upon her recovery at Antwerp. 133 Written on Dr. Patrick's Devout Christian, given to a Friend. 135 An Epitaph designed for William Banks, Esquire. 136 On A. M. a tender Infant. 138 On Bishop Wilkins's Picture. 139 True Beauty. 141 On my own Picture. 142
AN INVITATION TO THE Holy Communion. WITH DIRECTIONS FOR THE Due Receiving it. HArk, we are call'd; O friends, Away, away, All things are ready, make no more delay. Are all things ready, and shall only we, For whom they are prepar'd, unready be? We that forbidden Fruit did long to taste, Shan't we, when call'd, to our Lord's table haste? When food provided is which will restore The blessedness our eating lost before? Let us then hasten, and this Call obey; 'Tis with the Prince that we must dine to day, Whose Sacred presence calls us to prepare And fit our selves; Hast must not banish care. Hither approach all fair and clean within From the defiling love of every sin, All bath'd in purest streams of hallowed tears, Which help to wash our stains and drown our fears. The Souls first dipt in this preparation flood, Are fit for farther cleansing by Christ's blood. Repentance is a second innocence, Joyn'd with resolves for new obedience: Draw nigh with faith and holy love adorn'd, And deep humility, which, though it's scorn'd By blinder mortals, is, in Gods own Eye, The Souls true beauty, richest gallantry: With ardent longings come, enflam'd to tast The deepest sweets of this divine repast, The grace and comfort here diffus'd abroad, And on the well-prepared Soul bestow'd. Beg him to fit you thus who did invite You hither; for both meat and appetite Do come from him: and by the hand that spread Our Table, must our Souls be furnished. And when in th' Wedding garment we are drest, With humble boldness to this Sacred feast Let us approach, this wondrous banquet, where The Master of the Feast becomes our cheer.
ON THE Holy Communion. THE Son of God made Man, his life laid down To save our Life; to purchase us a Crown, He bore the Cross; and that we might retain The memory hereof, he did ordain His Sacred Supper as his Churches Feast, When he bestows upon each humble Guest Those greater blessings which he represents By Bread and Wine, the outward Elements; He doth himself in this familiar way With Pardon, Grace, and Glory too convey To such, who, whilst by faith they these receive, To him themselves entirely back do give. Thus is a Marriage union finisht, and Christ and the Soul linkt in a mutual band: Thus at one Feast we mingle griefs and joyes, Christ's death and our own Nuptials solemnize. And if indeed our Faith and Love herein Are with Repentance joyn'd, if we for sin Sincerely grieve, sincerely plight our Troth, In Heaven we shall enjoy the fruits of Both.
ON THE Holy Communion. OUR blessed Lord, who loved us, and gave Himself for us, us by his death to save; That this his love and death might never be Forgotten, hath ordain'd a feast, when we With grateful hearts should still record his love, And to blest purposes his death improve. Oft let's remember then, and praise our Lord At's Holy Table, where he doth afford To worthy Guests Peace, Pardon, Grace, and Joy, Pleasures that satisfie but never cloy. And let us still set Jesus in our sight, In all our actions by this Copy write; That our dear Lord beholding us, may find His Sacred Image in our Life and Mind. Thus let us with great Zeal and Holy strife Christ's death remember, imitate his Life. So shall we grow in grace, till from this state Our Lord to Glory shall his friends translate: Then shall we be where blessed Jesus is, And feast with him in perfect endless bliss.
DIRECTIONS FOR RECEIVING THE Holy Communion. CHrist calls us to his Table, but who's fit In such an High and Holy place to sit? Only the Souls that are adorn'd with Grace, May here in presence of their Lord take place. Such whom the knowledge of his wondrous love To deepest sorrow for their sins doth move; Who place on him their Love and Confidence, And render a sincere Obedience To all his Laws: who make God's Love their Treasure, Preferring it above Wealth, Honour, Pleasure. Who do in Charity with all Men live, And those who wrong them from their Heart forgive: Who pure and sober are in all their ways, And in God's Service vow to spend their days. Art thou but such a one, thou art the Guest Whom Christ bids welcome to this Heavenly Feast. With Love and Joy his Death Commemorate, Whilst here thou feed'st; and hereby Consecrate Thy self entirely to him; and he will His promises and thy desires fulfill. He'll own thee for his Servant, and bestow Such Blessings as thou needest here below: Ev'n here he seals to thee Pardon and Peace And all thy Graces shall receive Increase: Until at length he raise thee far above, To taste the fullest Fruits of his dear love; Where we no more shall need our Bread and Wine, Ravisht with glorious Sights and Joys Divine: Wherefore, who in those Heavenly Joys would share, To sup with Christ on Earth let them prepare.
FOR EARLY RISING ON A Lords day Morning. THis day our blessed Lord did early rise, Let all his pious Servants do likewise; His good Disciples rose before the light, That his dead Body they with spices might And tears embalm: then let devotion raise Us up to give our God and Saviour praise. Thus let our Songs of praise shorten the night, Till we shall come into that heavenly light, When we shall hear no more of nights and days, No more shall cease to love, rejoyce and praise. O blest employments, these Saints truly blest, Who thus emploi'd enjoy eternal rest! This holy Rest let me this day begin; Resting to God from business, care and Sin. And let me in thy day and service find, Such pleasure and such profit to my mind, As may excite me all the following Week, And my whole Life my dearest Lord to seek. Not in a Garden, or a Cave of Stone; But in the Heavens, where on his glorious Throne, He doth exalted sit at God's right Hand; Thousands of Angels round about him stand. There free from sin and sorrow, sloth and sleep, There let me an eternal Sabbath keep.
Morning Thoughts. BOth God and Satan by my Bed-side stand; My Morning-thoughts are crav'd on either hand: He that gets these, is like to have the day. What, then, shall God be empty sent away? No, Lord, but let the whole made holy be, By these First-fruits I offer up to thee. I praise thee for this last Nights quiet rest, The Peace and Safety wherewith I am blest. I praise thee, my good God, that to my sight Once more thou hast restor'd the Morning-light: My Strength and Time, which thou do'st thus renew, I Consecrate to thee, they are thy due. Be with me this whole day: Save me herein From danger, if thou please, chiefly from sin. All the day long, Lord, keep me in thy fear; And make me ever sensible how near Thou art: In private, or in company, Let me remember thy all-seeing Eye Upon me plac'd, that I my self may frame To do thy Will, to glorifie thy Name. In sin with others let me not comply, But speak, act, think, as knowing thou art by. Good Lord, preserve me from that hainous Crime, Mis-spence of short, uncertain, precious Time. O let me not my golden hours wast, But live this day as if it were my last: That I may mind the work I have to do: Set Death and Judgment, Heav'n and Hell in view. Let me from Christ my Head, fresh strength derive, That I by Faith in thy dear Son may live. Let me do others good, my self at least; Let sin this day be weakned, grace increast. Help me to spend it so, that I at Night May, looking back upon it, take delight; And in Eternity thy Name may praise, For this, and all my well-improved Days.
DIRECTIONS FOR THE EVENING. REview at Night the Actions of the day; What time was well spent, what was thrown away: Bless God for Mercies, and confess the sin Thou know'st thou hast been guilty of therein. To God, through Christ, for Pardon humbly pray; Resolve against it for the following day. Dare not to close thy eyes before thou make All Reckoning clear: Perhaps thou may'st awake Before God's Judgment-Seat: How dar'st thou look Him in the Face, should he present a Book Of sins unpardon'd? But if thou hast made Thy Peace through Christ, thou need'st not be afraid; Both Soul and Body are secur'd from harms, Thou lodg'd in such a gracious Fathers Arms: Who all his Children will in safety keep, And so thou boldly may'st go die, or sleep.
ON WHITSUNDAY. ALL hail great day! Day of our new Creation, And of Redemption the sure confirmation. Almighty Love, that did us first create In holiness and bliss, when from that state By our Apostasie, our selves we threw Into that state, doth us again renew; This did the blessed Jesus undertake, And by his Spirit wrought, which for his sake On us was shed; and which doth fully show, Christ is God's Son, by making Christians so. He being now advanc'd on Gods right hand, Doth exercise his regal Power, and By all the Miracles of this great day, Not only doth his present power display; But also shews his future purposes, And doth effect them by such signs as these, A rushing Wind do his Disciples hear, And cloven fiery Tongues on them appear. God both in Wind, and Fire, and Voice is here: Through all the World this wind commotion makes, Which both the Heathenish State, and Jewish shakes. For not the Idol-temples fall alone, But also that of the great Solomon; This fire soon grew into a mighty flame, And as if that strong wind had driven the same, Through the whole World it did with brightness shine, And did the World enlighten and refine. Those Cloven Tongues, th' Apostles mouths did fill, And did convey to them such wondrous skill, In all the Languages the World had known, That they exactly spoke them as their own: And whilst in these they do the Gospel preach, Their hearers they do both surprise and teach. These were to them Letters of Credence given, To shew their Embassy deriv'd from Heaven. What God inflicted once for punishment, Now as a blessing on the World is sent. Variety of Tongues that did disperse All Nations, now unites the Universe. The Babel-builders it did then confound; But now the Christian Church even from the ground, To such a vast firm structure doth it raise, As may engage Spectators to his praise, Whose wisdom can make all things serve his ends, The same thing hurts his Foes, and helps his Friends. What to th' Apostles he did then direct, Hath on each single Christian some effect. O Sacred Spirit, within my Soul repeat These blessings, which once made this day so great; Breath thou upon me with that heavenly Wind, Which may refresh and purifie my Mind; Kindle within me and preserve that fire, Which may with holy love my Breast inspire, And with an Active zeal my mind enflame, To do thy will, to glorifie thy name. Furnish me richly both with gifts and Grace To fit me for the duties of my place: So open thou my Lips, my Heart so raise, That both my Heart and Mouth may give thee praise, As in thy Temple; keep there residence Within my Soul, and never part from thence, Till I am fram'd and fitted by thy hand, A Pillar in God's House above to stand.
ON Ascension Day. ART thou ascended blessed Lord on high? And do I on this earth still grovelling lye, In muddy, sensual, fading pleasures, drown'd, Where pain and grief, horrours and Hell are found? O pity, dearest Lord, some pity take On a poor fainting Soul for thy names sake: Help Lord, Lord help, to thee I lift mine Eyes, Stretch forth thy helping hand, and make me rise, O raise my sinking Soul above the Mud, And dirt of low delights, which Flesh and Blood Relish and crave: Let my exalted mind It's pleasures in thy Love and Service find; But ne'r let that seem pleasant to my taste, Which grieves thy Spirit, and doth my Conscience waste; Keep my Soul mindful of its heavenly birth, That it may Heaven-ward tend, wean'd from this Earth. By all my falls upon this slippery Ground, Grant that I nearer may to Heaven rebound, And let all streams of comfort here below, Up to the Fountain lead me whence they flow. Let Faith, and Love, and Longings raise my Heart Up to the blissful place where Lord thou art; Let my chief joy spring from this Faith, and Love, Till I ascend to thee, and joyes above.
Divine Love. WHose Soul is once betroth'd, can ever he From that engagement disobliged be? The hearts, which love unites in loyal bands, Are chain'd as fast, as by their tongues and hands. Even thus am I in heart engag'd, my mind Is firmly fixt, but on no Female-kind: The blessed Jesus is my Lord, my Love; He is my choice, from him I'll never move. Away, then, all you objects that divert, And seek to draw from my dear Lord my heart: Go, Riches, Honours, Beauty, Bravery, go, Tempt these mean Souls who nothing better know▪ That uncreated Beauty, which hath gain'd My ravisht Heart, hath all your glory stain'd; His loveliness my Soul hath prepossest, And left no room for any other guest: Cease then with knockings to assault my Door, Disturb not my repose, attempt no more These gates which to the King of Glory be Made to fly open, and to none but he. For him I sigh, I wishly look, and long To be releas'd from this ensnaring throng Of poor bewildred Mortals, from whose sight My Soul doth meditate a nobler slight Into the Regions of eternal Joy, Where nothing shall her blessful peace annoy; There's her own home, her Country's there above, That blessed Land of Life, of Light and Love; There my dear Friends fled hence, with God are blest; Thither are swiftly hasting all the rest; There lives my Lord, and there I long to live, He gave these longings, and himself will give. Hast then, pale Death, accomplish my design; Thou that break'st others wedlocks, finish mine. This naked breast strike with thy sharpest Dart, The sweetest Cordial to a fainting Heart. Release my pained Soul from this dull clod Of prisoning Earth, and take her to her God, That there she may her Nuptials solemnize, Where neither Sin nor Death shall spoil her Joys. Lord, hear these groanings, and some pity take On a poor gasping Soul, which for thy sake, From earthly home, Freinds, Joys, and all would part, To be with thee for ever where thou art. O make me meet for this Translation, and Then on this happy message death command. In the mean time, Lord, shew thy self to me, Till thou shalt please to take me up to thee. So to mine Eyes thy glory still display, That they may never look another way. So let me taste the sweetness of thy Love, That no allurements may my mind once move. Quicken my longings, and encrease that flame, Which Heaven-wards lifts the Soul from whence it came Let flames of holy Love all others burn, And opposition into fewel turn. Let thy Sun-beams on a dark heart shine clear, All our earth kindled fires will disappear. In thee now let me find so much of Rest, As may with more impatience fill my breast; Till fill'd with thee, the pains of love increase, Till they shall in a full fruition cease. So seize on me, that we ne're more may part; Till thou shalt take my Soul, Lord, keep my heart, And dwell in me, till I with thee shall dwell. This Earth with thee is Heaven; without thee, Hell.
ON DEATH. I. TEll me, some kind Spirit, tell, How comes death so terrible? Thou, who art already fled in triumph, say, Why the embodied Soul is so in love with Clay? By what strange Magnetisms woo'd, She so adheres to Flesh and Blood? That fate must force her from that dull abode, Or she would groveling lye, Th' eternal Tenant of Mortality. The wretch whom a malignant Fever fires, And at each pore in liquid flame expires, Cold death's refreshing hands to shun, Doth to th' unkinder Doctor run, For Juleps, Blistrings, and Phlebotomy, And other medicinal Artillery: The Fever's vanquish'd, and the Man is free; But all this stir and torment only gains The priviledge of being rack'd again by these, Or the severer pains Of sorne more merciless Disease. Had not the Patient better fled to' a Tomb, Th' Asylum which distempers give, but where they never come? II. Old age it self, which, one would guess, Should with a kind of lust Lye down and sleep in Dust, Does yet the grand fatigue of life caress, And gapes for its last dregs with unextinguishable Thirst: When the dull eyes spirituous fire is lost, Like cooling Metals, fixt by Winters Frost, When the bald Head depopulate and bare Looks white like some smooth Globe of Ice, And of its once fair flourishing spring the Hair All that remains will not suffice The mighty summ to count, To which the numerous Years that have gone or't amount; Yet even this feeble piece of Hums and Ha's, That's but the Monument of what he was, Doth with his Cordials and Elixirs treat, To make his wearied Pulses beat With momentary heat; Still he abhors the dismal thoughts of Death, Still on his guard he stands, And fain he would defend his breath 'Gainst the great Conquerour's stroke, though but with Crutches in his hands. III. Strange Riddle of mysterious desire, That Man should hope his vital fire Should Vestal prove, and ne're expire: That he should wish th' Eclipsed beams, Like Arethusa, under ground might stray In a decrepit Body's dark, inglorious way▪ And never disembogue their shining streams Into the glorious Ocean of inexhausted day. Is this the Reason which we so much boast, That sure unerring Guide, No less our safety than our pride, And would this have us in a tempest ride, And endlesly be tost? When one kind Shipwrack would convey us to our native Coast, A coast where we might pleasure taste, High with the gust of all peril past. Where a perpetual spring of bliss Blooming in all the rich Luxuriancies Of never withering Ecstasis, Satiates but does not cloy The ravish'd mind, And no Tears fall, but those of joy Which, Nilus like, while they orewhelm are kind. IV. But though with all this pomp of words we prate, And paint the happy glories Which grace the triumphs of a future State; Yet sure we think 'em sensless stories, The pageantry of some distempered Head, Which fancies Pencil did delineate, The broken visions of the living when they dream'd 'oth' dead. That we are so loth to die, Proceeds from infidelity; For whatsoe're the mighty Men of Sense, Those skulls of Axiome and Philosophy, By reasons Telescope pretend t' evince, Beyond this World we can no other see, And not to be Worse than lifes greatest storm appears, Than all its Hurricanes of hopes and fears; So some baulkt Gamester who hath but one poor Stake Left of his Stock, and knows not when he may Get more to keep in play, Does his last chance with trembling take, And fain he would the fatal throw delay, The Box once lost to him for ever's past away. V. Or if we're fully satisfied, The Soul is to Divinity allied, That its impenetrable hypostasis Is of a lasting and substantial make, Which Death's arrest can never shake; But from our scattered Ashes shall arise, Bekindled with exhalted energies: If this her fixt perswasion be, Doubtless 'tis guilt that makes us pale, and grone, When fate sends out the black Decree Of dissolution. As a debauch't Gallant That's just embarquing for a foreign Land, 'Midst throngs of Creditors does worried stand, Who for quick payment with wild fury rant: So Conscience rallies up, Of crimes the worst, of Debts ten thousand Bills, Embitters with new poysons Death's ungrateful Cup, And the departing Soul with shame and horror fills. So that Mankind doth lye Under a sad necessity Of strong desire to live, and wretched fear to die: Which way so ere their faith they turn, A forcible Dilemma's Horn Wounds them in each Hypothesis: The Atheist would for ever live in this, 'Cause there's no other World; the Theist, 'cause there is. By Mr. Walrond of All Souls.
An addition by another hand. VI. But the true Christian whose firm Faith doth sway His Heart and Life, who humbly doth obey That Gospel he believes, and in good earnest makes Heaven his end, and Holiness the way Wherein he constantly doth walk, Whilst he thro' this low World his journey takes, And leaves great things which others use to talk. This gallant Man can Death outbrave, Which if a Monarch fear, that Monarch is a Slave. Mean Slave is he who fears to die, He lives, yea dies in daily fear; Death tho' far off he thinks and makes it near, Afraid of every Man that passeth by, Of every Beast and Bird, and every Fly, Of every Bit and every Draught, Which is ever poysoned by his own dire thought. Fain the poor Wretch would longer live, And yet he fears what longer Life must give. He dare not Eat, he dare not Sleep, Tho' thousand armed Guards strict watch do keep: O're him the mighty Prisoner Day and Night They watch as if 'twere to prevent his flight. These aw'd with threats and hir'd with great rewards, To keep him safe, yet cannot save his breast From fears which still disturb his rest: Alas the Tyrant fears those very armed Guards. VII. But the true Christian free From this ignoble painful slavery, O're fear of Death has got the Victory, And o're the love of Life and all that's here Which this low Life to Mortals doth endear, His Soul by Grace refin'd from drossie Earth, From sordid Lusts and love of Sin, Made mindful of its own high Birth; It will not be confin'd within These narrow bounds of Matter and of Time, But up into Eternity will clime, With wings of Faith and fervent Love doth soar To the Aethereal Regions there to share Those Glories which our Lord is gone before For all his faithful Followers to prepare: Our Lord who drove away dark shades of Night, Brought Life and Immortality to light, And with that darkness banisht fear, And by that Light our minds did chear; The Christian he doth teach to wait, And long for Death that shall translate His Soul to its most blissful State; And makes him patient to endure The cares of Life, or miseries of old Age, Even when the torturing Stone, the Gout or Colick rage, He bears with courage what he cannot cure. VIII. Not love of Life but hope of Heaven does give This courage, and makes him content to live In midst of Racks and cruel Pain, Who in the midst of joys counts Death his gain. Strong and untir'd, he acts th' allotted part, Undauntedly he bears th' inflicted smart, Not that he fondly cares still to repeat Lifes tedious Circle, still to eat, To Drink, to Talk, to Work and Sleep, Still to roll the Stone up Hill, The Stone which tumbles downward still; Only he knows he must his Station keep Untill the General bids sound a Retreat, And when he hears that joyful sound, Gladly he doth himself prepare To march away; and doth himself his breast make bare: When Death draws nigh to give the healing wound, He dare not on his Life commit a Rape, Heaven is not taken by that Violence, But he dare meet Death in the horrid'st shape; He nothing fears from that kind Providence, Which wisely orders all, Axes, and Halters, Flames and Swords, Whatever else we dreadful call, What are they all but Bugbear words To fright weak Childish minds, but cannot fright That Man of Wisdom and of Might, The valiant Christian not afaid to die; For Death is all those great words signifie. IX. If Death be all, what does the good Man care, Whether an Halter or a Quinsie choke, And stop that breath which he doth freely yield; Whether an Ax or Apoplexy give the Stroke, The gentle Stroke of Death: The good Man generously dare In a good cause die in the open Field, As well as in his Bed give up his breath: Nor does he fear the stormy Ocean's Wave, In a Sea Monsters Paunch dare make his Grave, Is unconcern'd whether he expire In some Malignant Fevers fire, Or in the nobler flames of Martyrdom, Elias-like, he be conducted home. O're all he is a Conqueror, And somewhat more; 'Ith' midst of all he can in triump sing, O Death where is thy Sting? Of that long since thou was bereft, For in our dying Lord that sting was left, In stead whereof Death now hath got a Wing, Which helps to waft the Heaven-born Soul on High, When once releas'd from this dull earthly Clod, There the free Soul to her own home doth fly, For ever there to make her blest abode; Where she no more doth fear to sin, to smart, or die, But there she clearly doth behold her God, Her God she there loves and enjoys eternally.
Midnight Meditations. LOOK here, my Soul, how sparkling and how bright These Stars do shine in this cold frosty Night; From the Sun's absence they advantage take, Their native lustre visible to make; Their beams set in array adorn the Skie As if they did Nights black approach defie; This cold which freezeth us, it does but clear The Air, and make their brightness more appear: Let these fair Stars be patterns unto thee And teachers too shewing what thou should'st be, When sacred Providence the Heavenly Law, Made up of Love and Wisdom, shall withdraw That pleasing Sun-shine of prosperity, Which from thy Cradle hath attended thee, And by its Revolutions shall this state Into afflictions dark cold night translate; Or if thy body sickness should confine To a dark room to languish there and pine In pain, or malice should attempt thy fame, And with black Slanders strive to cloud thy name; Or what's thought worse than either, should thou be Stark naked stript and pincht by Poverty; Or shouldst thou be for some great merit sent To a dark Prison or a Banishment: Then muster all thy powers up, O my Soul, Whose shining may these Clouds of Night controul: Let all these oppositions serve to raise But greater Trophies to thy virtue's Praise; Virtue like valour is a thing ne're known, If in encountring dangers never shown▪ Now let a bright unspotted innocence In sweet Contentment, Courage, Patience, Shed its mild beams, let Hope and Joy display Lustres which turn night into lightsome day. So shall the Darkness as a foil be friend Thy Beauty, and a greator glory lend: So thy Eclipse shall but attract more Eyes; So from oppression thou shalt greater rise; So by our treading thrives the Chamomil, As if our feet did but manure the Soil; Nor is affliction's night the only case Wherein thy brightness should the dark shades chase, But when my Soul temptations unto Sin, Like foggy darkning mists, shall from within, Or from without arise, striving to stain And fully thee with guilt; then ler disdain Break forth in virtuous Sparklings, and dispel Those noysome Vapours which arise from Hell: Yea when at last that King of terrors, Death, Shall summon thee to yield thy utmost Breath, And with its dismal shape strive to affright Thee with the horror of eternal night; With an undaunted mind his Message hear, With chearful smiling looks his presence hear, Dread not his aspect, turn not from his Dart, But with resolvedness present thy Heart; Thy Heart now burning most with Heavenly fire Which Heavenwards wafts thee, there thou shalt expire, True Phoenix in the flames of Love and Joy: Death shall not hurt thee, thou shalt it destroy, And though to Mortal Eyes thou disappear, Thou shalt shine brighter in an higher Sphear, Even like these Stars thou n'ere shalt find a Night, But shalt be swallowed up in greater Light.
A Description of True Prayer, whether with a Form, or without. GOD is a Spirit, and in Spirit will By us be Worshipp'd: But this Holy skill Of Worshipping aright is not an Art Of Words from Brain or Book, but in the Heart 'Tis plac'd. An Heart that with the Lips doth move, Venting the breathings of its inward Love. An Heart that's awed with greatest Reverence, Which may consist with filial Confidence: An Heart whose ardent longings do aspire After those Blessings which our Tongues desire, And puts upon endeavours to attain The grace we crave, which else we crave in vain▪ This Heart prays right, such Cordial Prayers as these Profit our selves, and do our Maker please. Thus let us pray, and when we end our days, Prayer shall be chang'd for everlasting Praise.
How to get and keep a quiet Mind in all Conditions. WOuldst thou enjoy an easie quiet mind, Let thy own will to God's will be resign'd: Follow his conduct, serve him with delight, With Pious awe live still as in his sight: Banish fond Dreams of earthly happiness, With Prudence use the Goods thou dost possess. To Proud and Sickly Fancy give no place, But follow Nature over-ruled by Grace. Nature craves little, Grace sometimes takes less; Pride, Avarice and Lust demand excess. Examine well all earthly things, and see Thy love but to their worth proportion'd be. Let not excess of Joy corrupt thy mind, Pleasures too luscious leave a sting behind: Regarding this World as a Travellers Stage, Seek the delight but of a Pilgrimage; Converse with thy own mind, get so much leisure As oft to entertain thy self with pleasure, Whom Crouds of Men and business still employ, Such not themselves, nor Friends, nor God enjoy. In all enjoyments most God's goodness taste, In all designs make him the first and last. Let Joys and Pains both quicken holy Love, And earnest longings after God above. Never depend on things without thy power, Things which chance may, time quickly will devour. Calmly forethink what evils may betide, Not to torment thy self but to provide Courage and Comfort which attend the Wise, Whilst common changes are no great surprise. To rule the outward World never design, This is God's work, to rule thy Passions thine. Doing thy part leave all to him who knows How all events most wisely to dispose. All thy desires make known to God in Prayer, And then alone on God cast all thy care. Mind not the World's opinion much, nor grow Unhappy meerly 'cause Men think thee so: Their thoughts or words can leave no mark behind; Thy self dost make th' impression on thy mind. If thou feel real smart, make it not more: Anger and Grief do but increase the Sore. Know that the greatest hurts are from within, And misery proceeds only from Sin. Sin above all things flee, and never cease, Till thou with God thro' Christ hast made thy Peace: And all thy Life pursue that innocence, And usefulness which inward joyes dispence. Grow in all Grace, chiefly in Holy Love To God and Man, which fits for Heaven above: In hope whereof rejoyce, and so partake The first-fruits of those joys which Heaven do make; Yea now the Soul that with his God doth dwell, By Faith and Love, finds Heaven within a Cell. Then wholly live on God, make him thy all, With Faith and Patience waiting for Death's call. Thy Soul thus fixt, nothing can much annoy, Till God shall fix thee in eternal joy.
A PRESERVATIVE AGAINST Temptations to Sin. REmember when Temptations do begin, Satan would have, God would not have thee sin. Satan and God about thee do contend: Which do'st thou think thy Foe, and which thy Friend? Thy Flesh, be sure, with Satan soon will joyn: Wilt thou with both against thy God combine? O horrid and unheard of Treachery! to close Against our dearest Friend with Mortal Foes; Against our Friend, who came to give us aid, Lest we to those our Foes should be betray'd. Shall Satan, by thy help, obtain the day Whil'st God as griev'd and conquer'd, goes away? Shall Satan be imbrac'd, whilst God shall be Resisted, so that he will flie from thee? What, shall the Spirit's movings on our Hearts Be quencht, and not the Devils fiery Darts? Remember then the best and worst of sin, Thy Flesh and Satan take delight therein; Both thy sore Enemies: But then believe It wounds thy Soul, and doth God's Spirit grieve. Satan and Sin their Servants do destroy, God to his Servants gives eternal joy. Wherefore, O Lord, I yield my self to thee, Let not sin have dominion over me. Thy easie Yoak I'll wear, when that's laid down, Let thy Free grace vouchsafe a glorious Crown.
ON SOLITUDE. I. WElcome sweet Solitude, who loves not thee, Loves not himself: for only he Who from the busie throng is quit, He to retire into himself is free, He with himself may sit. II. Than our Dear self is any thing more Dear? Shall we then seem to hate or fear What most we love? yet so do they Who rather had be rambling here, and there, Than with themselves to stay. III. Some hideous frightful thing there is within, Even a consciousness of Sin: That if alone doth them affright; Which to torment them when it doth begin, Straightway they take their flight. IV. Even from themselves poor Men they strive to fly; Thrust into vicious Company, There hoping for a little Peace From Noise, from Sport, from Riot, and thereby Their Torments they increase. V. Who weary of himself, himself still flies, And Vice for a diversion tries; Hence greater weariness shall feel: The Plaister which his folly doth devise, Wounds worse than did the Steel. VI. Thus the Slave loaden with his Guilt and Chain, From Prison breaks, but not from pain; His Irons gall him in the road, Untill at last he's hurried back again To feel a double Load. VII. Thus in the numerous herd, the wounded Hart Would shroud himself, but still the Dart Sticks in his Flesh, widens his Wound; He cannot in the Croud shake off his smart, Nor scape the following Hound. VIII. Then welcome, Solitude, abhor'd by none, But Fools and vicious Men alone; Whilst courted by the Wise and Good, Who by Fruition have its blessings known, Its pleasure's understood. IX. Whilst they hither, from the World remove, In all that's Good they do improve, And here where nothing can annoy, Rendring themselves worthy of their own love, Themselves they do enjoy. X. Wearied with Noise and Hurry here, we have The Rest and Silence of a Grave; The Mind too freed from stir and noise, Begins to feel what pious minds most crave, Foretasts of Heavenly joyes. XI. The Moon from view retir'd, receives most light From Heaven, and Heaven-ward shines most bright: But what time we her Full do call, When she comes forth expos'd to common sight, 'Tis then Eclipses fall. XII. Here Virtue's fixt, which justling Crouds did shake, Here it doth Sanctuary take, When Lusts and Passions it pursue; Here gathering strength, doth brave resistance make, And all her Foes subdue. XIII. The mind exhausted by the multitude, Here hath its strength renew'd; Like Fields opprest by constant Plough, It doth when Fallow laid in Solitude, More Rich and Fertile grow. XIV. They who from others seem the most recluse; For others Good most Fruit produce; Who labour under Ground, there find The Gold which after serves for common use, And doth enrich Mankind. XV. Rich Streams of Blessings from the Hermits cell O'reflow the World, which none can tell From whence they flow, but like some Fountain, Unknown as th' head of Nile, he oft doth dwell In the obscurer Mountain. XVI. The learned tribe whose works the World do bless, Finish those works in some recess; Both the Philosopher and Divine, And Poets most who still make their address In private to the Nine. XVII. Thus on the Banks of Thames great Cowley chose His private Chertsey for repose; Cowley whose Verse like those rich streams, So deep, as clear, in various numbers slows, And long shall last as Thames.
THE Sum of our Duty. LOve God with all thy Heart and Soul, and Mind; To Friend and Foe be just, be true and kind. Obey they Parents, and thy Rulers Laws; Never rebel, but suffer in God's Cause. Be Meek and Patient, Humble, Sober; Chast, In these good ways be constant to the last. And when thou hast done all, then humbly cry, An useless, sinful Servant, Lord, am I. My strength and grace is from thy Holy Spirit; My hope is in thy Mercies, and Christ's Merit. Whilst here I live, let not thy Spirit leave me; And when I die, O Blessed Lord, Receive me.
Whilst I was hearing Musick▪ Feb. 1. 1671. LOrd, take my Soul, and tune it to thy will, It wanteth tuning, but thou want'st no skill. O let thy Grace my mind bring into frame, So shall I love and praise thy glorious name. In thy great goodness shall my heart rejoyce, Thy goodness I will praise with chearful voice: Also my Life I'l study so to frame, That all my works may glorifie thy name. Thus shall my Feet, my Tongue and Heart agree, This harmony thou lov'st, this pleaseth me; Thus will I spend my time on Earth, thus I Will serve thee whilst I live, and when I die, I in a nobler sort thy name will praise, Let Grace raise me, so I'l thy Glory raise.
On a great Thunder and Storm, Iune 1. 1671. THY power, O Great Iehovah, I adore, Whose voice in Thunder through the Clouds doth roar; This voice I'l entertain with awful fear, With greater aw I will thy threatnings hear; Thy lightning which doth pierce where 'tis not felt, It spares my Body, but my heart shall melt: Much more thy Spirit shall, whose flames divine Consume our lusts, but do our Souls refine. Showrs which gush forth, when the Clouds broken be; Purge Me and th' Air, soften the Earth and Me. Afflictions, Storms and Showrs of Love and Peace, This Purity and Softness shall encrease: Thus Ear, and Eye, and Mind, Reason and Sense, Each hath its Object, learns its Lesson thence. Which way so ere I turn my eye or thought, I something find, whence Piety is taught. Lord teach me ever duly to improve The tokens of thy Wisdom, Pow'r and Love.
CALMNESS IN A STORM: Made in a Stormy Iourney, Septemb. 1672. IN rough foul Ways, my Mind is smooth and clear; When the Winds roar, then do I loudest Sing: When the Sky low'rs, Smiles in my Looks appear: Clouds weeping Rain, no Tear from me can wring. What is it can disturb that inward Peace, Which from disturbances receives increase? This Wisdom, and this Courage, sometimes I Can in my little Stormy Journies use: In th' Storms of Life, there's much more reason why The same brave Resolution I should chuse. Life is a Journey full of Troubles; these, Wisdom may turn into Advantages. Do I grow poor? I'le more enrich my Mind, Am I defam'd? I'le make my Virtue shine More brightly through those Mists; are Friends unkind? God shall be dearer. Doth my Health decline? My Soul to Heaven shall thrive; when Death shall give The mortal Wound, then shall I truly live. Thus the great Hercules, from Iuno's spite Favours receiv'd, this made his fame encrease; First Toils and Dangers gave him first Delight And Glory; thus the martial Man is Peace; Not to bare chance, and quiet times, would owe, But to the Valour which subdues his Foe. O daring conqu'ring Virtue 'tis, we prize, As this claims Glory as its just desert: Shelves, Sands, and Tempests are the Exercise And Honour of the skilful Pilots Art. Who boasts a Virtue that was never tri'd, Is a stout Seaman by a Fire-side. Great Praise we to our wise Creator owe, Who tho he hath not (which he eas'ly could) Made all things sweet and smooth; to make them so, Gives us the pow'r; all Earth he made not Gold; But gives th' Elixir which can do as much, Turning course Stones to pure Gold, by its touch.
On the Rain that fell in June—81. after a long Drought, from the beginning of April; begun in my Iourney. WHilst, gracious Lord, thy Creatures all around, Give thee what praise they can, shall Man be found The only sensless, dull and silent Thing? Shall he be mute, whilst ev'n the Fields do sing? Their pleasedness is in their Colour seen; How soon the parched Earth looks fresh and green The thankful Corn its head doth humbly bend, Flow'rs and Herbs, sweet Odors heaven-ward send. The chearful Birds, which in all Weathers sing, And thereby chide and shame Mans murmuring, Now use their utmost Art, and strain their Throats, To warble forth their sweet melodious Notes. The duller Beasts hear this, and straightway they, As dancing to this Musick, Frisk and Play. A noble gratitude they teach, whilst for these showrs, They thankful are, whose benefit is ours. And what, shall we, who more receive than they, And more can render, shall not we repay Those thanks to which the lower Creatures all, As well as our Creator, do us call? And both we disobey, and both we wrong, If we with all the rest joyn not our Song. Since they by us, their Praises send to Hea'vn; By us, who know all good Things thence are giv'n. And who with Speech and Reason were indu'd; First to conceive, then shew our Gratitude. Wherefore I do adore that Providence, Which these enriching Showers doth dispence. That to the languishing and parched Earth, And dying, Grain and Herbs gives life and birth. The thirsty Fields which could no moisture get From Springs or Rivers, are refresht with wet, In such a way, as would mirac'lous seem, Did not the commonness abate esteem. What makes the Vapours to ascend on high, And there condense to Clouds, that fill the Sky? What makes those hollow Clouds strong to contain Within their Wombs vast Treasuries of Rain? And what supports them, when thus weighty grown, To keep them from a sudden tumbling down? Justly we may applaud, justly admire The Chymistry of that Coelestial Fire, Which from salt Seas fresh Vapors doth extract; Like thanks and wonder doth that Art exact, Which makes the Clouds to hover as they fall, And breaks, and parcels them in drops so small; Which on the Earth, whilst gently they distil, Revive those Fruits, which Flouds and Spouts would kill. Thus, Lord, thy Works thy Glory do proclaim; Both Heav'n and Earth conspire to praise thy Name. Ev'n every pile of Grass, and every Show'r Which makes that Grass to grow, doth shew thy Pow'r. No less they shew thy Bounty to us all, On whom thy Sun doth shine, thy Rain doth fall. How wondrous is that Bounty which renews Daily those Gifts, which daily we abuse? Mercy is thy delight: O, teach us more To imitate that Mercy we adore. And whilst the Earth improves the Sun and Rain, Let us not still receive thy Gifts in vain. Let warmth and softness in our Hearts be wrought, And holy Fruits unto perfection brought: Such Fruits as may our Benefactor please, Who sends these Gifts, and greater Gifts than these. He gave his Son, his Son did shed his Blood; By goodness, God designs to make us good: And this design his Goodness doth pursue, Whilst he affords the rich and heavenly Dew, Of's Word and Grace, to quicken and renew Our thirsty Souls. O God, thou art all Love; On this alone we live here, and above. This doth preserve that Life, which first it gave; From this the comforts of our Life we have. This now gives Grace, and Glory hath prepar'd; By this we Work, from this have our reward. And since this Love, with blessings fills our days, Lord give us Hearts as full of Love and Praise. Such Hearts as may direct our Hands and Tongues To pious Actions, and to grateful Songs. And as each Moment brings from God above Mercy through which we live, and breathe, and move; So, Lord, let every pulse, and every Breath, And every action praise Thee until Death, Which stops that Breath, our Souls shall thither raise, Where love's our Life, and all our Work is praise. And, what Crowns all, where Death shall not destroy This blessed Life of Love and Praise, and Joy.
On a Cross with a Crown upon it, in Burton, betwixt Lancashire and Kendale; Sept. 18.—80. THis day in Riding through a Town, Upon the Cross I saw a Crown; Which straightway brought unto my mind What we in Holy Writ do find; That Christ did first his Cross sustain, Before he was advanc'd to reign; And this is every Christians case, Who wins the prize, must run the race. Our selves we first must well behave, E're modestly Rewards we crave; Bearing the burthen of the day, E're we receive the evening-pay; And Conquer in our Christian fight, Before we have to Triumph right: And many sorrows undergo Before the Joys of Heav'n we know. Lord, to thy Orders I submit, Confessing they are just and sit: Reason doth teach us, and thy Word, The Servant's not above his Lord; By Patience and Obedience, he To Glory went, and so must we: But since thy Grace alone doth send Help in the way, bliss in the end, Such measures of this Grace impart, As may both give strength and desert; Lord furnish me with pow'r and skill, To do and suffer all thy Will; Make me but willing to obey, And what commands thou pleasest lay. Make me but able to abide, And how thou wilt let me be tri'd. Lord help me so thy yoke to wear, Help me my burdens so to bear, That when they shall be both laid down, I may receive a glorious Crown.
On the sight of Furness Fells, Iune 19.—71. OFT have I seen a barren Mountain shroud Its lofty head within a liquid Cloud, There at its will (thus height still makes things proud) Quaffing up Vapours, which had else been Rain, Drinking all up, yet sending nought again, But still a barren Mountain doth remain; Whilst humble Valleys which do lye below, Waiting till Heaven its kindly Dews bestow, In Corn and Wine, in Milk and Honey slow. Thus greedy, proud, impatient minds that crave Still more and more, from Heaven or nothing have, Or yield no Fruit of whatsoere it gave. Whilst humble Souls, by silent patience, Which strongly wooes, soon get great blessings thence, And thither still return their recompence.
On the Parting of Ways in a Iourney. I Often as I Travel, find Divided ways divide my mind; Perplext I stand, and don't well know Whether I here or there should go: At length I forward must advance, Guided by guesses or by chance; And when I have some paces gone, I find they both do meet in one. This gives my mind some recompence For th' former trouble and suspence. Thus in Religions nicer ways, One here, and there another strays, Each fiercely cries that he's i'th' right; And both my tender mind affright: Then to the Sacred Rule I go, To see if this my way doth show; This humble Souls in great things guides, But subtle trisles ne're decides. When nothing thence is understood, The footsteps of the wise and good, With care I trace, and on I hold, Till my maturer thoughts grow bold To slight this trifling difference, As seeming of mean consequence; Since in all things of weight they both agree, And I in them, with both, this quiets me.
An account of my Life in the North. Bene qui latuit bene vixit. SInce you, dear friend, wonder how here I live, This homely Verse a brief account shall give; I live, if not in pleasure, yet at case, Not in loud laughters, but in silent peace; And tho I rarely meet with merriment, I more a stranger am to discontent: Here's no excess, nor are things needful scant; I seldom feast, but yet I never want. No dainties here to luxury invite, Our food serves well the sober appetite, Which need not be with poignant Sawces drest, Our healthful Hunger of all Sawce is best. Doctors we have none, nor much need them here; The Doctors we more than Diseases fear: For Country-folks think they sell death to dear. Altho I lie not on a rich Down-bed, Yet do sweet sleeps refresh my weary head. No Walks or Gardens here, but yet the Field And fragrant Meadows equal pleasures yield: No Lutes or Viols entertain my ear, But more melodious Birds I daily hear. Riches I have not, nor do riches need, Whilst here at easy rates we clothe and feed. I have no Servants whom I may command, Nor have I work that needs a Servants hand. I am not high enough to envied be, Nor do I one whom I should envy, see; Here's no applause to make me proud or vain, Nor do I meet with censures or disdain; My people, if they are not wise and great, Are not untractable through self-conceit; No factious, giddy heads that make a Schism For fear of Popery or Arminianism: No sawey, arrogant controllers, such That cry, This is too little, this too much: No such vile wretches who their Preacher hate 'Cause he reproves sin at too smart a rate: Wherefore I envy not flocks of more wealth, Which give more trouble whilst they have less health. If of Companions I have no great store, With my own mind I may converse the more; And from my old Friends tho I am confin'd, Letters may keep us in each others mind: Or if, whilst buried here, I lose their love, I'l fix my mind on surer things above. But need I Friends, need I Companions crave, Whilst I as many Friends as Neighbours have? Or if I want the joy of bosom Friends, I 'scape the pain which still that joy attends: For whilst they live our hearts oft ake with fear; But break and bleed when of their death we hear. And if I want the comfort of a Wife, I have the pleasures of a single life; If I no Gallants here, nor Beauties see, From slavish Love and Courtship I am free: What fine things else you in the South can name, Our North can shew as good, if not the same: Ev'n as in Winter you have shorter Nights, But Summer us with longer Days requites. Thus if my want of joy makes life less sweet, Death then will seem less bitter when we meet. But what is this Worlds Joy? 'Tis Innocence And Virtue that do truest joys dispence: If Innocence and Virtue with me dwell, They'l make a Paradice of an Hermits Cell.
On Psal. 19. 57. Thou art my portion, O Lord. DIstemper'd men, whose Souls are all on fire For earthly toys, do heighten their desire By what they reach to; and the more they have, The less content, the more they still do crave: Wealth, Honours, Pleasures, all do but enflame Corrupted Appetites, not fill the same. As Oil, when thrown upon a raging fire Quenches it not, but makes the flame rise high'r; So they in burning Fevers, whilst they think To cool their heat, encrease it with cold drink. The best of creatures never were design'd By their Creator to content the mind, But are bestow'd to lead us unto him; We up these Streams should to the Fountain swim: Only those blessed Souls who place their love On God himself, and on the Joys above; That solid satisfaction do attain, Which others hunt the World for, all in vain. God is our centre and our place of Rest; He fills alone the most enlarged breast. He who enjoys him always, of excess Will ne're complain; nor be of emptiness Who doth enjoy him fully: Once but tast His sweetest goodness, and thou ne're wilt wast Thy time, or love thy serious thought or pains Of things that merit not the name of gains: Him thou wilt make thy Portion and thy Lot; Nor spend thy Coin for that which profits not: In him are heighths and depths of good, to move And satisfy his peoples boundless love.
On Psalm 39. 6, 7. IN a retired Hermitage I dwell, Where no disturbance can approach my Cell; Where scarce with any noise my ears are struck, But th' gentle murmurs of a purling Brook, Or the soft whispers of the Winds that move The trembling Leaves of an adjoyning Grove; Or the sweet musick of the winged Quire, Unto whose mirth and freedom I aspire. Here with a calm and easie mind I sit, From throngs, from bus'ness, and from passions quit: And hence, as from an higher Region, I The ways of mortals on this Earth descry, Their toilsom follies, and their fruitless pains, Heavy their toils, alas, but small their gains; Shadows they follow, dote on painted toys, Strangers to manly, solid, lasting joys. Here see the Earthworm lab'ring in a Mine For heaps of Clay, which tho he doth refine, It's still but glittering Clay; yet the poor slave Here digs, till unawares he finds his Grave; Where down he lies, but leaves behind his Gold; (For which his Liberty, his Ease, his Soul he sold) His Gold he leaves oft to an unknown Heir, Who wildly wasts the fruits of all his care. Strange madness this, which Misers hath possest, Who starve themselves to make their Heirs a feast. Here see the proud Man hunting after Fame, And yet by vice and bus'ness blots his name; Adores himself, and would have all adore, And therefore is by all despis'd the more; Scorns to submit to any Man, and yet To his own Passions vilely doth submit. He lavishes much labour, skill, and time, Up into some high dignity to climb; On which his vain designs, if Fortune smile, Tott'ring and trembling there he stands a while; Till thence by some slight push he headlong fall, Whither he up by tedious steps did crawl. Unweildy greatness, and his dangerous height, Make him to fall with greater shame, more weight. The Man of pleasure thinks himself more wise; Gilt Earth and pop'lar air he doth despise; Delights he craves more fit for flesh and blood; Give him his grosser and more savoury mud, The pleasures of his Throat and Lust, wherein Wallowing, he drowns himself and sense of Sin; And yet his course his own designs doth thwart, Rendring the Life he's fond of, dull and short. The pleasures that he takes, his health destroy, Health, without which no pleasures we enjoy: His pleasures leave far greater pain behind; They please his senses, but torment his mind. O brutish sensless wretch! who when he might With Angels tast of pure and high delight, Will rather chuse on pois'nous dirt to dine, Will chuse in filth to lodg with Dogs and Swine. Well, let them take their choice; But how shall I This short swift moment spend before I dye? What shall I seek? What shall I wait for here? Oh! need'st thou ask what should to thee be dear, My Soul? What is it, when this World is gone, Will then thy portion be? Seek Him alone, Ev'n the Eternal God, the only rest Of Holy Souls, who in his Love are blest: His Love shall Honour be, his Grace my Treasure, His Service and his Smiles, my highest Pleasure. May I but feel I love, and know I please My God, I'l ask no greater things than these No greater on this Earth. But here I'l wait That happy hour, wherein he shall translate My weary wandring Soul unto her rest, When she of Joys Divine shall be possest; Joys flowing from the blessed God, and make Blessed the Souls who do of them partake: My hope, my trust, my love on him I'l place, Waiting till I in joy behold his face,
On Luke 11. 14, &c. WHen Satan from a Sinners heart Ejected is by Grace, Restless through malice, still he strives To gain his ancient place. He who doth readmit this Guest, His state becomes much worse, His wickedness more hainous is, Greater shall be his Curse. Then watch and pray; the very first Motions to sin suppress; Constantly use the means of Grace, Promoting Holiness. Lord cleanse our Hearts, and then of us A firm possession take; Engage us to thy self, that we May never thee forsake.
Seneca Thyestes, Act. 2. STet quicun que volet potens Au • ae culmine lubrico; Me dulcis saturet quies: Obscuro positus loco Leni perfruar otio. Nullis nota Quiritibus Aetas per tacitum fluat. Sic cum transierint mei Nullo cum strepitu dies, Plebeius moriar senex. Mors illi gravis incubat, Qui notus nimis omnibus Ignotus moritur sibi.
A Plain Paraphrase. LET who will climb to heights of Honour, where What they with labour get, they hold with fear. On lower ground give me an humble nest, In private shades with peace and safety blest; Here I'l in silence pass my sliding years, Strange to great men, strange to their cares and fears In this obscure, quiet recess shall I An honest Country Parson live and die. But dreadful terrors do his death attend, Who all his time in crouds and noise doth spend; Knows not himself, nor thinks of his last end.
A Translation of the first Epistle of Seneca to Lucilius. HOld on, brave friend, in those good purposes Thy last did mention; by such means as these Live to thy self; the time that heretofore So many ways was lost, now lose no more. Our time, some's stoln (believe me what I say) Some fairlier seems withdrawn, some slips away. But of all ways none is a worse mispence, Than losing it by sloth and negligence. View with attentive eyes the most of men, With whom thou dost converse, and tell me then, Is not their life, much of it, loosely spent, Idly yet more, all on impertinent And trifling things is lost? Where canst thou name A man that prizes time? that sets the same Value on Hours as Gold, who every day Perceives he's dying, whilst days wear away? 'Tis a mistake to think death yet to come As all at once, which always works, and some Of it's already past: for all the breath We have, expir'd is in the hands of death. Act as thou speakest, then with all thy pow'r Lay hold on and improve each present hour. So on to morrow needst thou not depend, If thou to day hast wisdom well to spend. All things without us can't be call'd our own, But Time is truely ours, and Time alone. This fleeting slipp'ry thing doth nature give, As riches, to possess whilst here we live. Yet of this precious treasure eas'ly may Who ever will, vast portions steal away Strange folly this! that things of little cost Or worth, things easily repair'd when lost, Should be so priz'd, that men bestow'd with such Mean things as these, themselves they reckon much Obliged to the Donor, but we hear No thanks for this rare jewel Time; so rare, That Gratitude it self no way can find Whereby it may this gift repay in kind. But you may ask how I from day to day My time do spend? whether I my self obey My self herein? I am, I must confess, Like one who joyns care with his lavishness; Who though's expences do his bounds surmount, Yet of 's expences still he keeps account. I dare not say I lose no time, yet I So careful am, that I can tell you why, And how, and what I lose: so the same Fate I'm in with him who to a poor estate Not through his own fault is reduc'd, to whom Pardon from all, succour from none doth come. Thus I can tell how I come poor: but what? Is that man poor who hath enough? Sure not. Yet you, my friend, I rather would advise With care to keep your time, betimes be wise To use it well, you the old Proverb know, Thrift comes too late when th' Purse is grown too low. And rather haste, since Old-age Time behind Not only least, but worst, we use to find.
Seneca Epist. 70. IF we'l be friends, it seems I must relate My each days actions; see at what a rate Of freedom I converse with thee, and will Keep nothing from thee, so to keep thee still. I visit now the Schools, and lately there Did the Philosophers disputing hear. What at these years? why not? what should I scorn To learn at length, 'cause I have long forborn? I justly happy should my self esteem, Was this the only act did misbeseem My years. This School all ages doth admit; Let us whilst young, when old let's visit it. I to the Theater am carri'd, age Is held no plea to keep me from the Stage. Seldom a bloody fencing-match is made 'Twixt Gladiators, but I see it plaid. Are Sports before Philosophy prefer'd? Must those be seen, and may not this be heard? Perfection only may dismission give From Learning; whilst thou liv'st, learn how to live. Receive this necessary truth from me, Who'm old my self, old men should learners be. But Oh the madness of our age! when I (As in my way, you know, to th' Schools) pass by Th' Italian Theater, what crowding's there (So men about the Cryer flock) to hear The Graecian Musick, here Oh toyish pride; Who tunes his Pipes best Auditors decide. Mean while those places where good men should be, We only full of empty Seats do see. Yea and their few frequenters most deride As dronish fools, men lazily imploy'd. Welcome such jeers, with smiles encounter them; A fools contempt, a wise man will contemn. On, on Lucilius, now thy Studies ply, Lest growing old, thou Scholar turn, as I Am glad to do: Now hasten, or undone, Thy age will leave the work thy youth begun. Why, why what progress should I make? Dost ask? What yet hast done? what thinkst? Believe't a task Wisdom to get; high titles may, I know, And unsought Honours be conferred; so Men may be wealthy by inheritance; But where's the man whose virtue came by chance? This, this with pains is got, 'twill cost no less The man that would in one all goods possess. What's honest, only's good; those things that please The fancies of the vulgar, nor in these Is certainty or truth; I'le tell you why I think thus: for I did not justifie You say, in th' letter that I sent before, This my assertion, but did praise it more Than prove it; In a word then, each thing's known Good, by what's first and properly its own, Thus we commend the cluster-laded Vines, The industrious servant, and good tasted Wines. Why is the Carriers horse made strong i'th' back? But 'cause he is appointed for the pack. 'Mongst a variety of dogs, in those That hunt the Game by th' sent, we praise the nose. Swiftness in them that take their prey by flight; Fierceness in those which with wild beasts do fight. In every creature what's most genuine And self-peculiar, answering the design 'Twas made for, that it's best is judged; then Reason's the best accomplishment of men. Reason doth man farthest from brutes remove, Exalts him nearest to the Gods above. 'Tis this alone is mans propriety; In other things beasts share as well as he. Is he indu'd with strength? so Lions are. With beauty? why, the Peacock may compare With him. Or is he swift? so is an Horse. I need not say Man in all these is th' worse. Excluding accidents, what can he claim For his? He hath a body; true, the same Have Trees. Or voluntary motion, so Have worms: A voice; but Dogs we know Have shriller mouths: A Bull can louder roar Than he can hollow: Nightingales have more Melodious throats. Reason is therefore his, His happiness depends alone on this. If Beings have a proper good, and then Begin to be accounted happy, when The good they were design'd for, they possess; Reason consummate, is mans happiness. 'Tis this we call Virtue or Honesty, Synonimous both these expressions be. We now enquire not what in general Is good, but what we may a mans Good call. Virtue, thou say'st, is eas'ly understood, That it is a, but not the only good. Yet it appears so, since in all you love Virtue by't self: in all, Vice disapprove. Suppose a man blest with o'reflowing wealth, Honours, Retinue, Friends all great, good health; Yet can these outside bravenesses scarce fee You to approve him, if he vicious be. On th' other hand, imagine one in wants, Friendless, ne're waited on by Supplicants; Claiming no honour as his birthright, no Continued line of Ancestors can show; Yet his known goodness will thy love procure Maugre those disadvantages: Then sure We must allow, that th' only Good of man, Which in the absence of all other can Get that esteem; nought else can, wanting this. The like in other things apparent is. A painted fineness, Gold or Silver beak, Rich lading, Ivory Ceilings, do not speak. Ships therefore good, but a close-jointed building Well rigg'd into a firmness, neither yielding To waves or storms; a sitness to obey The Pilots hand that doth direct its way. The Sword it self we praise not for the gilt Belt that it hangs in; for a Silver Hilt, Or Scabbard set with Pearls; but when it's made Of well-wrought steel, an Armour-piercing Blade. So in his Rule, the skilful Architect Doth straightness, not fine workmanship respect. Each thing claims praise for th' innate properties That serve its end, not bare appendices. It skills not what men have then, how they fill Their Chests with Us'ry, how much Land they till; How many crouching Honourers they have, What costly Glass they drink in, or how brave Rich Beds they lie on, what fine Clothes they wear, How high they live: No, but how good they are. And then they're good, when in their actions they, Reason conform'd to Nature's Laws, obey. This Virtue is, which doth its owners make Blessed; and works as they of this partake, Goodness derive; since nought but what doth flow From this is good, sure it alone is so. If you will grant all humane goods consin'd To vvhat's most properly the man, his Mind, Virtue alone will be admitted, vvhich Confirms, enlarges to the noblest pitch, Exalts the soul; Whatever else incites, And seems to gratifie or appetites, Enfeebles, and corrupts them in the end: Such objects whilst they speciously pretend To heighten our conditions, they but raise An empty swelling pride, and so debase Our minds, and with the pageantry of Shews And pompous Nothings, they our hopes abuse. In all our actions reference must be had For guidance of our lives, to Good and Bad. From those impartially consulted, we Learn what perform'd, what must omitted be. Let the resolv'd good man his duty know, He will thereto through hardships, losses, go, And threatning dangers; but no proffer'd price, No honour, safety, ease, can him intice To what dishonest seems; no hopes invite Him to what's ill; from good no fears affright. Virtue and Vice seem only good and ill, Since a respect to these should rule our will, And give us Law's whereby our lives to frame. An even Virtue which all times the same Tenour retains, is of all goods the best, Because who own it once, are dispossest Thereof by no attempts of force or art: This Wisdom ne're to folly can revert. We meet with frequent instances of those, Whose inconsulted rashness doth expose Them to those hardships common spirits fear, Who trample on what others hold most dear. Thus have some Voluntaries dar'd to hold Their hands like fire-brands in the flames; whose bold Resolved laughter not the tort'ring rack Disturb'd, but they could smile whilst sinews crack. Men of such hardned tempers oft have been, Whose tearless eyes their Children dead have seen; Who have encountred Death in fearless sort. Thus Love, Ambition, Rage dare dangers court. And should judicious Constancy do less Than but a sit of furious senslesness? Nor good nor ill those things are, which the wise Always, and which sometimes the rash despise. 'Tis virtue only hath deserv'd the name Of good, which 'midst all Fortune's still the same, Walks with a noble and regardless state; Rendred by none dejected, nor elate. That ought is good beside what's honest, this Conceit destructive of all Virtue is. Hence men will think they may, and strive to find Somewhat that's good, not seated in the mind. But this Opinion is false, this course Repugnant is to Reason, Virtues source. He the good man, you will confess, appears Who most religiously the Gods reveres, Who, what misfortunes ever him befall, Doth with a chearful patience bear them all; As ord'red by an higher Providence Which to each one his portion doth dispence. Then with an argument this strengthens us, Since pious Honesty doth dictate thus, To be submissive to the Gods, and not Fret at mischances, nor bewail our lot, Nor quarrel at their Orders, but resign Our selves to them, and do what they enjoyn. If any thing but Honesty may go For good, what inward vexings hence will flow? An anxious wish a long life to attain, Follow'd with carking restlesness to gain Life's Utensils, which is an endless care, Roving, and vain, which no wise man can bear. But Honesty, that certain good is found, Which our affections, and pursuits can bound. If pomp, wealth, pleasures, make us happy, then We may the Gods less happy judg than men. If Souls exist from bodies separate, We justly hope a more exalted state, Than what they now arrive at whilst immerst In duller matter: but it will be worst, If these enjoyments which she doth partake By th' bodies mediation, for its sake Are real goods; But how absurd is this To think the Souls release can worst its bliss? Shall the wide World-expatiating free mind Fall short of what it was when earth-confind? If ought external's good, we must confess, Beasts share herein, and so in blessedness. But Honesty the only good we call, For which wise men dare do and suffer all. But raise thy thoughts a while, and then if clear This notion doth not to thy self appear, I'l make thy self the judg: Imagine then Thy death might hugely serve thy Country-men, Would'st thou not it with patience (now confess) Suffer, yea, and embrac't with willingness. See what a price on Honesty you set, Whilst ev'n for it, you all things else forget▪ You for the common good dare dye, altho You dye as soon as of your death you know. Else in a small time intervening, they Who nobly dye, rewarding pleasures may Conceive: Tho slaughter'd Heroes in their Grave, Of Earths affairs no farther knowledg have; Tho their brave actions here perform'd, create No satisfaction in a future state; Yet whilst they in premeditation view The fair advantages which will ensue Their deaths (which like themselves had noble ends) Their Countries good, or safety of their Friends, They suffer not, but rather death enjoy, Whilst in a pleasing extasy they dye. But yet e'en they whose more surprizing fate Deprives them of the last great pleasure, that Their forethoughts might afford, without delay Dare fearless meet their hasty death, whilst they All other interests wave, content alone A well-deserving action to have done. Offer disswasives to their enterprize, Tell them their more deserving memories Will not survive them long, their Country too Unkind, will undervalue what they do. To all they'l answer, These are by-respects; This work not for self-relative effects, But for its Honesty, we undertake, Which nothing can perswade us to forsake. This is th' apparent good which not alone The perfect, but all generous minds do own. All other things men study to attain, Are poor enjoyments, mutable and vain; Empty of ought but trouble: For they are Got and possest with equal anxious care. And tho indulgent fortune may amass And heap them on her favourites, alas! They are but burthens which the bearers press, Sometimes o'rewhelm them with their weightiness▪ The Purpled Nobles, Silken Gallants, those Men gaze at so, if search'd into, disclose Themselves but owners of an happiness. The Stage-play Actor borrows from his dress, Which richly glorious, with a stately port Like the great one he personates, extort To's assum'd self some few hours reverence from Wanton spectators, who returning home, Are soon of those opinions dispossest, He into's former meanness is undrest. They are not great whom raised we behold To Honours heights, or Mountain tops of Gold: Their advantageous standing puts a chea: On common eyes, which misconceive them great, And fail to take their altitude aright, Measuring the Ground they stand on for their height. A Dwarf's a Dwarf, tho plac'd upon an Hill; A Giant in a Vail's Gaint still. But we for th'man mistake his ornaments, For what's his own but borrow'd accidents; Divest him of his Riches, Honours, those Bounties of flatt'ring Fortune, which impose On ignorant admirers, whose short view Reacheth but outsides; wave his Body too: Then make a judgment of him whether he Great from himself, or from externals be. Can he with lively looks, heart undistrest Behold the glitt'ring Blade set to his breast, As careless whether's Soul by's mouth, or by His wider wound forth from his body fly? Can he with an unmoved patience bear The great'st misfortunes? And when he shall hear Threatnings of Tortures, Prison, Banishment, Or all that witty Tyrannies invent, As their own pleasures, and the Coward's fears, Can boldly say, No danger now appears To me? I long since have forethought them all; Learn'd to prepare for whatsoe're may fall? Preexpectation doth alleviate ill, Which blinder confidents of fortune will As not foreseen, and sudden, strange esteem, And this surprisal makes it greater seem: For what intolerable did appear At the first sight, by use men learn to bear. What sufferings, Fools, that Providence the Wise Doth teach, who thereby doth familiarize Ills to himself: whilst daunted those cry, We Thought: not such fortunes did await us, he Did to the worst himself obnoxious know; Come what will come, he knew it might be so.
A Paraphrase on the 22d. Ode of Horace. Integer vitae, &c. THE upright man whose heart and life is pure From guile and vice, needs neither Sword nor Spear, His Virtue ever makes him so secure, He needs no Bow; nor pois'ned Arrows wear; Cowards, or wrathful men, themselves thus arm, The good man neither does, nor fears he harm. He that has tam'd the Tyger in his Breast, Wild Lusts and Passions, safe may take his road Through Woods and Deserts, never-fearing-Beast, All will adore him, as a petty-God, All will approach him with deep reverence, Paying the homage due to innocence. As I the other day did careless rove, Having no weapon but a well-string'd Lute, I spi'd an huge fierce Wolf within the Grove, Who by my musick charm'd, did there stand mute, And wondring seem'd to listen, whilst my Verse Did th' praises of eternal love rehearse. Strange sire of heav'nly love which reconciles The Savage Beasts, and angry Elements, Turns rage and fury into friendly smiles, And mischief either conquers or prevents; To him vvho doth the great Creator love, The World of creatures all vvill harmless prove. This Armour's strong, tho light: a Coat of Mail Not to be pierc'd by Bullet or by Steel; It gives a strength o're vvhich nought can prevail; May I its force vvithin my breast but feel, Fearless I'le follovv vvhither Fate shall call; Smiling I'l bear vvhatever shall befall. Place me on Northern Hills of frozen Snovv, On vvhich the Pole-star doth directly stand, There will I give the love and praise I owe To him whose love makes that a pleasant Land. 'Gainst frosts and Snows Love is the only charm, These flames melt Snows, these flames my breast shall warm. Or throw me on the parched Lybian Sands, Where flaming Sun-beams do the Trav'ler burn; Love all Divine, those scorching heats withstands, Gods Love will Deserts to a Garden turn; His Smiles, his Words are Fountains, Shades and Breeze. Each place is Paradice, when I have these. No Winter frosts, this holy Love shall chill, No prosp'rous Summer's heat shall it abate; But higher it shall flame, and higher still, Till it to Heav'n my Soul in Flames translate: God's Love is all I crave in Heaven above: On Earth below, I only craves Gods Love.
Lib. 1. Martial Epigram 6tum. AN Eagle once a Child aloft did bear, The Child secure, the Eagle most in fear. Thus Caesars Lions sport them with their Prey, The Hare in their wide Mouth doth safely play. Which then the greater Wonder shall be thought? A mighty Power each to pass hath brought, Jove did the first, the latter Caesar wrought.
For M. M. upon her Recovery, when at Antwerp. OH, praise the Lord, my Soul, humbly adore The riches of his Grace, which more and more To me his Handmaid hath been still exprest; Let Love and Praise be equally encreast. 'Twas God, who first did Life and Reason give; By him I am preserv'd, in him I live: His Mercy, and his Pow'r did lately save My Soul from Death, my Body from the Grave. 'Tis just, I to my God should wholly live, Who hath renew'd the Life he first did give. Thou that didst make me put my mind in frame; Make me thy Servant, who thy Creature am. As thou hast lately made my Body whole, So do much more for my more precious Soul. What thou hast wrought without, now work within; My pain is gone, Lord cleanse me from my Sin: Thy healthful Spirit upon me bestow, That I in Grace may daily stronger grow. So strengthen me, that I may walk in ways Of Holiness and Peace through all my daies, Till thou shalt take me hence to live above, In endless Joys with thee, the God of Love.
Written on Dr. Patrick's Devout Christian, given to a Friend. IN Prayer, the Tongue hath but the lesser part; Devotion's chiefly seated in the Heart: This with our Lips we humbly must express, And in our Lives by serious Holiness. They who on Earth, with Heart, Lips, Life, adore Their God, in Heav'n shall praise him evermore: Whilst then our Pray'rs begin, and end the Day, Let's daily live as strictly as we pray.
Au Epitaph design'd for that most excellently accomplisht and Publick-spirited Gentleman, William Banks Esq, of Winstantly in Lancashire; who died at Chastleton in Oxfordshire, Iuly 6.—76. UNder this Monument the Reliques lie Of a Great Man, all that of him could die; Who whilst he liv'd, liv'd to the noblest ends, To serve his God, his Country, and his Friends. Wherefore his God, his Friends, his Country give Freedom from Death, and make him still to live: His Soul with God in Regions lives above, In Regions like his Soul, all Peace and Love: With dearest Friends his precious Memory Lives fresh and fragrant; nor with them shall die. His grateful Country doth preserve his name, Just Praises, and true Tears, Embalm the same: His lovely Picture still hath Life and Breath, In hopeful Children; so small Power hath Death Over good Men, who when they seem to yield, Then, like their dying Lord, they win the Field; Only the Grave in peace retains their Dust, Until the Resurrection of the Just. Multis ille bonis flebilis occidit; Nulli flebilior quam mihi.
On A. M. a tender Infant. HEre Sweetness lies, and Innocence, whose Breath Was stopt by early, not unfriendly Death: She's gone to rest, just as she did begin Sorrow to know, before she knew to sin: Death that doth Sin and Sorrow thus prevent, Is the next Blessing to a Life well spent.
ON Bishop WILKINS'S Picture. Decemb. 30.—82. THis is his Shadow, who was once the Glory And Pillar of our British Church; whose Story Ages to come shall wondring read, this Age Shall mourn his death, tremble at its presage: He was all that which makes men great and good; But's loss will make his Worth best understood. His just Description I no more can give, Than th' Painter can make this his Picture live; His truer Picture lives within my mind, And in the pious Works he left behind; In both, my sorrows some relief shall find: Till his great Soul ere long I meet above, Amongst blest Spirits in Heav'nly Joy and Love.
True Beauty. LET blind Admirers, handsom Faces praise, And graceful Features to great Honour raise; The Glories of the red and white express; I know no beauty but in Holiness: If God of beauty be the uncreate Perfect Idea, in this lower State The greatest beauties of an human mold, Who most resemble Him, we justly hold; Whom we resemble, not in flesh and blood, But being pure and holy, just and good. May such a Beauty fall but to my share, For Curious Shape, or Face, I ne're shall care.
On my Picture. SEE here the Shadow of another Shade, Which, like its Picture, soon away will fade; To Worms and Moths a Portion soon will fall, Both short-liv'd Copy and Original. And yet rejoice, my Friends, since th' unseen mind Lives when dead Shades and Corps are lest behind; And shall we be concern'd what will become Of fading Faces, rotten Bones and Tomb, Whilst th' unseen Mind, whose form no art can draw, Exempted is from Deaths severer Law? Virtue doth Life and lasting Beauty give; Virtue and virtuous minds for ever live; With God they live in joys together, where, Of losing God, Joys, Friends, is no more fear. Rejoice then Friends, this Glory make your choice, Always do good, always in God rejoice. FINIS.
Books Written by Mr. John Rawlet, B. D. and sold by Samuel Tidmarsh, in Cornhil.

A Treatise of Sacramental Covenanting with Christ, shewing the ungodly their contempt of Christ, in their contempt of the Sacramental Covenant: With a Preface chiefly designed for the satisfaction of Dissenters, and to exhort all men to Peace and Vnity.

An Explication of the Creed, the Ten Commandments, and the Lords Prayer, with the addition of some Forms of Prayer.

A Dialogue betwixt two Prorestants, (in answer to a Popish Catechise called, a short Catechism against all Sectaries), plainly shewing, That the Members of the Church of England are no Sectaries, but true Catholicks, and that our Church is a sound part of Christ's holy Catholick Church, in whose Communion therefore the People of this Nation are most strictly bound in Conscience to remain.

The Christian Monitor, containing an earnest Exhortation to an Holy Life, with some directions in order thereto; written in a plain and easie Stile, for all sorts of people.

Poetick Miscellanies.