A crovvne for a conquerour; and Too late to call backe yesterday. Two poems, the one divine and the other morall. / By R.D.

A CROVVNE FOR A CONQUEROUR; AND TOO LATE TO CALL BACKE YESTERDAY.

Two Poems, The one Divine, the other Morall.

By R. D.

LONDON: Printed by E. P. for Francis Conſtable, and are to be ſold at his ſhop, under Saint Martins Church, at Ludgate▪ 163 • .

A CROWNE FOR A CONQVEROVR: Made apparant in theſe words. Behold I come quickly, and my reward is with me, REV. 20. 12. BEhold? why Lord, is thy approach ſo rare, That it deſerves an Ecce? Ecces are Vſhers to admirable things. 'Tis true, If I (with ſpirit-raviſh'd Iohn) take view, Of th • e in thy celeſtiall ſeat, thy ſight Is cleare as Chryſtall, as the Sardin bright, And rounded with a raine-bow; twice 12 ſeates, (Whereon the ſhine of thy faire brightneſſe beates,) Bearing theſe foure and twenty Elders, all With white roabes, Palmes, and Crownes Imperial, This ſure deſerves an Ecce. Or at thy laſt And generall comming Lord, when thou ſhalt caſt A •• oniſhment on all things, and deſcend With an Earth-ſhaking ſhout, when hils ſhall bend And rocks diſſolve at the Arch-Angels voyce, And towers tremble at the Trumpets noyſe, This ſure deſerves an Ecce. But my Lord, (Give Duſt and Aſhes leave to ſpeake, afford My frailey ſo much favour) when thou doom'ſt A ſicke Saint on his bed to death, and comſt In a particular iudgement, Lord unfold Where lyes this word of wonder then, BEHOLD? Chriſt. When your ſick ſaint lyes gaſping, and his ſoule, Forſaken of the ſenſes, when his ſoule And deadly foe trumphs in h • s temptations, And with diſtruſtsand frequent perturbations Buffets his panting faith, and ſhewes his ſinnes Had in their circumſtances, and begins To blaſt the beauty of his hope, from thence, Implying that ſoule pierceing conſequence Of condigne iuſtice, from my deſerved rod, And askes your ſick ſaint, where is now thy God? Then, and even then, when his feare ſhaken faith, (Save, ſighes and greanes) no plea for pardon hath; Even when your ſaith doth faint, and in this throng Of fiery tryals, can but truely long For my ſalvation, then when Gyants warre Againſt his weckeneſse, when the heathen are Within my heritage his heart, and he Looking upon his right hand, but can ſee None that will pitty him, and on his left, But none compasſionates, ſeeming bereft Of helpe and hope, then gets his trembling ſoule To me his God, right humbly, and doth roule If ſelfe upon me, as the Hart doth pant After the brooke ſo doth his ſaith, being faint With theſe hot purſuits, thirſt for me his God. Then lay I by my exerciſing rod, And lend my ſtaffe of comfort, this bruis'd reed I breake not, but ſupport; whilſt he doth bleed, I bring him balme from Gilead: tell me you That modeſtly, yet queſtion'd, is there not due, To ſuch great grace an Ecce? Even when Your Saint lyes languageleſſe, being left of men, Tempted within, his faith, even like to dye, Doth ſore-ſicke of a ſpirituall ague lye▪ When nature failes, and conſcience gives his doome, God hath forgot thee, then BEHOLD I come. J Come. TWo wayes I come: yet as in fields we ſee Diverſe paths pointed upon one ſtile be; So, every way I to mine owne appeare, Tends to Eternity. Firſt I draw neere By my ſweet Spirit, the nobleſt company That can be kept, and the deepe myſtery Of your ſicke Saints ſalvation he makes plaine, Teaching him more then's whole life could attaine. When I bid death goe, then I come indeed, And ſhew him my ſalvation, then the good ſpeed, Of Faith and Patience comes, and makes him cry, Oh large rewa • d for little induſtry. Quickly. BVt drinke ſet in a thirſty labourers eye, And not in's reach, augments his miſery. Or ſay a friend doe bring it, each delay Leſſens the courteſie, and makes more way To tothers torment: therefore (thou ſad ſoule That ſighſt to be diſſolv'd, and do'ſt condole My long thought ſtay) BEHOLD! as I with grace Doe come, ſo I come QVICKLY, I whoſe face The Builders ſpat on, I the refusd ſtone, (Their ſcourge,) will be to thee a Saviour ſhowne. Chriſtian. O wounded Maſter! now I know tis thee Eagle-eyed faith informes me, ſhe doth ſee The wide wound in thy ſide, thy holy head Thruſt through with thorns, when al thy body bled. Comſt thou deare maſter? comſt thou quickly too? Look ſoul, what he, for whom th'aſt ſighd doth do! He comes, and he comes for thee, fairely greet him, It is the Bridegroome, ſoule, goe forth and me • t him. And my reward is with me. The world ſaith ſtill, The more haſte, the worſe ſpeed, Haſte makes no waſte with me; what was decreed, To guerdon thy ſharp ſufferings, I have not Sent by a ſwifter convoy, nor forgot. As I come quickly, ſo, Behold; I bring My reward with me, Triumph for ſuffering. Chriſtian. Thy reward Lord? tis thine yet, but for mee Thou broughtſt it ſure, if thine, tis mine, for wee Were long ſince troth plight to each other wrong, I ſing elſe of thee in the ſweet Love-ſonge. There I proteſt in a truth all diuine, I my beloveds am, and hee is mine. But (my hearts noble Maſter) what may it bee Thou calſt heere thy Reward? Me thinks I ſee In thy white, liberall hand a Crowne, and ſet With ſeuen celeſtiall ſtones (none counterfet.) Bearing theſe names, Election, Creation, Redemption, and that midle Iemme Vocation. Sanctification, Iuſtification, and Glorification. Theiſe ſeuen ſtones doe ſtand About this Crowne more glorious then the ſtars And this is their Reward, die in thy warres. For me this crowne? oh what ſweete paines I prove! Grace giues the Wound, and I lye ſick of Love. Alas Lord, my vnworthynes! Chriſt. Forbeare. Though you to Heaven might paſſe through humble tears Yet in Mee all your worthineſſe is come Before my Father. I have given in the ſumme Of all your ſufferings, all your ſighes, your teares, Your gracious groanings, your faith-vanquiſht fears; Your prayers, your almes, your earning bowels, when Y'ave knowne me hungry, in poore helpeleſſe men. Your pious acts, which ſhall preſerve your name Sweet as a perfume in the mouth of Fame. What think you this (ſumm'd up in heaven) will be? Truely the Totall is Eternity. Have you not heard of one Oneſimus. Paul did but write for him, I will ſpeake thus For you my deare one, Father I beſeeche Thy Mercy for this ſinner. Let my ſpeech Phile- Be prevalent, as with him was my word, Which unto Faith begot him: yet afford Mee audience Holy Father; in times paſt He was unprofitable, but this laſt Part of his life (full of ſincerity) Was fruitfull to the faithfull and to me. T'was for a ſeaſon he went from thee ſure, That thou for ever mightſt receive him; Cure His wounded conſcience, and accept him now, Not as a ſervant LORD, to him allow, The liberty of a beloved Sonne. Oh righteous Father! if this Saint hath runne In areares with thee, if bee owe thee ought, Put it to my accounts, for I have bought Him highly, yet that thou ſuſtaine no loſſe, Deare Father, ſcore his debt upon my Croſſe. Thus will I ſpeak for him whom ſin caſts down, Thus plead his Cauſe to whom I give this Crowne. Chriſtian.

But Lord, before I of this grace be ſped, Admit my Faith fail, then I loſe the head, (down, Should wear this wreath, faith beats all enemies And overcomes the world, to ſuch this Crowne By promiſe appertaines.

Chriſt.

With patience ſit, I that keepe it for thee, keepe thee for it.

Chriſtian.

Then I receive it with all due regard, Not as my merit (Lord) but thy reward.

FINIS.

TOO LATE TO CALL BACKE YESTERDAY.

AND, TO-MORROW COMES NOT YET.

The words fancied in a DIALOGVE, ſuppoſed betweene A LOVER AND THE DAY.

By R. D.

NOLI ALTVM 〈◊〉 printer's device of Elizabeth Purslowe

LONDON Printed by E.P. for Francis Conſtable 163 • .

TO MY NOBLE FRIENDS, Mr RICHARD ROBINSON, And Mr MICHAEL BOWYER.

THeſe Poems (true and Noble Friends) being ſome expence of my time at Sea, I have thus habited, to preſent them as my true love to you on the Land. In one morning J preſent you with two poems. They are Virgins that never before kiſt the Preſse, yet now come ready preſt to kiſse your hands. J have phraſed them rather with a native familiarity, then an impertinent Elegancy, leaſt by diſregulating Art, J had made nature monſtrous. Yet where the dignity of the ſubiect duely invites a higher-valued language, J have (to my ability) endeavored a redemption. Were I verſd in the tricke of flattery, I ſhould have Deckt my dedication with ſome proteſtations of your worthineſſe and my love But I ſuppoſe honeſt faithfulneſse rather blemiſhed then embelliſhedwith thoſe adulterated beauties; Favour mee to read this Meſſenger of my love; and more, to Accept it as the fruites of thoſe faire reſpects in which (as J euer was) I am alwaies,

At your commandement a ſervant, ROB. DAVENPORT.

TOO LATE TO CALL BACK YESTERDAY; AND TO-MORROW COMES NOT YET. He yeſterday a Lover was, To-morrow comes to Age, He cals, both fayle: towards Heaven to-day He points his pilgrimage. Lover HO! yeſterday! Yeſter. Who cals? Lover. A Lover. Yeſter. Why? Lover. Deare yeſterday come backe. Yeſter. Lover not I, I dare not ſo tranſgreſſe againſt times glaſſe, Lover One word—but one word Yeſter. Not one: let me paſſe. By the Dewes that deckt thy lockes, By the Heards, and by the Flockes, By Times oft Wel-taken Lock. By the Swallow, Cy the Coke That tould the Ploughman thy approach, And that the Sunne was taking Coach, By the Dainty-languag'd Larke. By every thing that hates the Darke, Good yeſterday come backe. By thy faire and lovely Face, And by the Sun which gave that grace Sweet Yeſterday come backe. Yeſt. What ſhould I doe? Lov. I gave my Miſtris vowes, nay and teares to; Bring them all backe, for (oh ſad truth to ſay!) She ſeem'd true then, I find her falſe To-Day. Yeſter-Day. What's this to me? their griefs they paſt cure find, Who (to give love eyes) ſtrike their Reaſon blind. Lov. I ſtain'd thy faire face with a foule ſin, bring But that then backe. Yeſt. Foole! hope for no ſuch thing. Goe grieve, goe weep; & let thy teare-ſtain'd face Court Mercy, and beget thee new to grace. For, to repent is nere too late, all ſay. But 'tis Too late to call backe yeſterday. Lov. Why then (my blinded Reaſon to reſtore) I'le leave to Love, and love to ſinne no more.

TO-MORROW COMES NOT YET.

Lov. Since then yeſterday is gon, To-Morrow! wing thee, haſte, come on. To-M. I muſt not looke To-Day i'th face. Lov. Yet good To-Morrow mend thy pace. To-M. I dare not. Lov. Why? To-M. If I too ſwiftly paſſe, I preſſe Times ſands too hard, and breake his glaſſe. Lov. By my Hopes to thee extended. By the Feares of men condemned. By the Ioyes thou briug'ſt along. By the Griefs that with thee throng. By the promiſ'd meetings made. By the money thou't ſee payde. By their gladneſſe that receive it. By their ſadneſſe that doe heare it. By thoſweet Maydes languiſhings To whoſe beds thine Evening brings Kind husbands, To-Morrow make haste. To-Mo. Why? Lov. Shall I tell thee merrily? With thee my lands come to my hands, and ſommes of money ſtore. With thee I'le laugh, caper and quaffe, and never mind a Miſtriſſe more. To-Mo. This haſts not me. I muſt perforce refuſe thee Better not ſee, then ſee me and abuſe me. Lov. Why then To-Morow make a friendly haſt, And my wild, rough, old WILL I will new caſt. I, that To-Day am practiz'd in the trade Of ſin, I will To-morrow be new made. Therefore To-Morrow make haſt. To-Mo. Thus ſome ſay, Who are found worſe To-Morrow then To-Day. When Verbaliſts ſubdue our eaſie truſt, We plough in ſand, and write our hopes in duſt. Diſſembler ceaſe; ſwift vowes we ſoone forget, Repent To-Day To-Morrow comes not yet. Lov. Why then (to ſhun ſucceſſion of my ſorrow) I'le be new made To-day, yet mend To-Morrow.

TO-DAY WHILE I MAY.

Lov. Well met To-Day. Why ſuch great haſt? To-Day. To pleaſe The long • ng eyes of the Antipodes. Yeſterday is their Day, in joy and ſorrow. And I, thatam thy Day, I am their Morrow. The round fac'd world is look't on by us three, I purſue Yeſterday, To-Morrow mee. Lo. Yet good To-Day doe not ſo ſwiftly ſlide. By the cauſes this Day tride. By thy beauty And. by all. Thy dainty Deckings. By the fall Of thy ſweet fertile ſhowres. And by Thy againe unclouded eye. By the Birds that ſing thy grace. By the winds that fanne thy face, By thy foure and twenty ſteps. By thy minutes active leapes, By my intended goodneſſe. And By times ſtrickt-obſerved ſand. Since tis too late, as all men ſay, To call backe gadding yeſterday. And ſince To-morrow comes not yet, To my paine a period ſet. Being left alone to thee, Good To-day ſtay, be kind and pitty me. To D. And why, important pleader, ſhould I ſtay? Lover I feele a noble change methinkes to day, My ſoules deare Lover cals for me his choyce, And I deſire to day to heare his voyce. Inlarge not then my griefes by thy neglect, But let my high cauſe court thy kind reſpect. To D. This ſtops not me, Farewell, I muſt away. Lovers call for me paſt America. Love. Why then deare lover of my ſoule, (Since I cannot times controule) Seeke thy ſheep, loſt in this worlds brackey ground, Seeke him that doth deſire to be found. Chriſt. Why wooeſt thou me? have ſinners hope to ſpeed? Lov. True Lord, a ſinner, yet a broken Kneed. Chriſt. Thy life is ſpotted, foule, and blacke as night Lov. True Maſter, but thy life was virgin white. By thy Love my hearts Delight. By thy un-match'd excellence. By thy victorious Patience. By thy comely ſilence, when Thou (my God) wert skorn'd of men. By that ſweet, and ſaving looke Thou didſt caſt back on Peters Booke Me in thy mercy. Let thy grace abound. Seeke him, that doth deſire to be found. Chr. Tell me oh thou for whom I bled, (I ſee A Majeſtie in thy Humilitie) And therefore tell me my loſt ſheep, be true, And tell me where thou feed'ſt. A teare or two Will bring thee backe. Or, if th'art gon aſtray, I'le ſend A voyce behind thee, that ſhall ſay This is the, way walke in't. Lov. I am not in Thy SPICIE GARDEN, but a Sea of ſin. I feede not Lord amongſt the LILLIES, No; I feaſt with mine owne follies. Since 'tis ſo That YESTERDAY I was loſt in this ground, And being not ſure TO-MORROW to be found; Deere Maſter, and good Shepherd; mind thy gaines, Find me TO-DAY, and take me for thy paines. FINIS.