No More Learning

When the house doth sigh and weep,
And the world is drown'd in sleep,
Yet mine eyes the watch do keep,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the artless doctor sees
No one hope, but of his fees,
And his skill runs on the lees,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When his potion and his pill
Has, or none, or little skill,
Meet for nothing, but to kill;
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the passing bell doth toll,
And the furies in a shoal
Come to fright a parting soul,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the tapers now burn blue,
And the comforters are few,
And that number more than true,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the priest his last hath prayed,
And I nod to what is said,
'Cause my speech is now decayed,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When, God knows, I'm toss'd about,
Either with despair, or doubt;
Yet before the glass be out,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the tempter me pursu'th
With the sins of all my youth,
And half damns me with untruth,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the flames and hellish cries
Fright mine ears, and fright mine eyes,
And all terrors me surprise,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the judgment is reveal'd,
And that open'd which was seal'd,
When to Thee I have appeal'd,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!


42. THANKSGIVING.

Thanksgiving for a former, doth invite
God to bestow a second benefit.


43. COCK-CROW.

Bellman of night, if I about shall go
For to deny my Master, do thou crow.
Thou stop'dst St. Peter in the midst of sin;
Stay me, by crowing, ere I do begin:
Better it is, premonish'd for to shun
A sin, than fall to weeping when 'tis done.


44. ALL THINGS RUN WELL FOR THE RIGHTEOUS.

Adverse and prosperous fortunes both work on
Here, for the righteous man's salvation;
Be he oppos'd, or be he not withstood,
All serve to th' augmentation of his good.


45. PAIN ENDS IN PLEASURE.

Afflictions bring us joy in times to come,
When sins, by stripes, to us grow wearisome.


46. TO GOD.

I'll come, I'll creep, though Thou dost threat,
Humbly unto Thy mercy-seat:
When I am there, this then I'll do,
Give Thee a dart, and dagger too;
Next, when I have my faults confessed,
Naked I'll show a sighing breast;
Which if that can't Thy pity woo,
Then let Thy justice do the rest
And strike it through.


47. A THANKSGIVING TO GOD FOR HIS HOUSE.

Lord, Thou hast given me a cell
Wherein to dwell;
A little house, whose humble roof
Is weather-proof;
Under the spars of which I lie
Both soft and dry;
Where Thou my chamber for to ward
Hast set a guard
Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep
Me, while I sleep.
Low is my porch, as is my fate,
Both void of state;
And yet the threshold of my door
Is worn by th' poor,
Who thither come, and freely get
Good words or meat;
Like as my parlour, so my hall
And kitchen's small;
A little buttery, and therein
A little bin
Which keeps my little loaf of bread
Unclipt, unflead.
Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar
Make me a fire,
Close by whose living coal I sit,
And glow like it.
Lord, I confess, too, when I dine,
The pulse is Thine,
And all those other bits, that be
There placed by Thee;
The worts, the purslain, and the mess
Of water-cress,
Which of Thy kindness Thou hast sent;
And my content
Makes those, and my beloved beet,
To be more sweet.
'Tis Thou that crown'st my glittering hearth
With guiltless mirth;
And giv'st me wassail bowls to drink,
Spiced to the brink.
Lord, 'tis Thy plenty-dropping hand,
That soils my land;
And giv'st me for my bushel sown,
Twice ten for one.
Thou mak'st my teeming hen to lay
Her egg each day;
Besides my healthful ewes to bear
Me twins each year,
The while the conduits of my kine
Run cream for wine.
All these, and better Thou dost send
Me, to this end,
That I should render, for my part,
A thankful heart;
Which, fired with incense, I resign,
As wholly Thine;
But the acceptance, that must be,
My Christ, by Thee.

_Unflead_, lit. unflay'd.
_Purslain_, an herb.


48. TO GOD.

Make, make me Thine, my gracious God,
Or with Thy staff, or with Thy rod;
And be the blow, too, what it will,
Lord, I will kiss it, though it kill:
Beat me, bruise me, rack me, rend me,
Yet, in torments, I'll commend Thee;
Examine me with fire, and prove me
To the full, yet I will love Thee;
Nor shall Thou give so deep a wound
But I as patient will be found.


49. ANOTHER TO GOD.

Lord, do not beat me,
Since I do sob and cry,
And swoon away to die,
Ere Thou dost threat me.
Lord, do not scourge me,
If I by lies and oaths
Have soil'd myself or clothes,
But rather purge me.


50. NONE TRULY HAPPY HERE.

Happy's that man to whom God gives
A stock of goods, whereby he lives
Near to the wishes of his heart:
No man is blest through every part.


51. TO HIS EVER-LOVING GOD.

Can I not come to Thee, my God, for these
So very many meeting hindrances,
That slack my pace, but yet not make me stay?
Who slowly goes, rids, in the end, his way.
Clear Thou my paths, or shorten Thou my miles,
Remove the bars, or lift me o'er the stiles;
Since rough the way is, help me when I call,
And take me up; or else prevent the fall.
I ken my home, and it affords some ease
To see far off the smoking villages.
Fain would I rest, yet covet not to die
For fear of future biting penury:
No, no, my God, Thou know'st my wishes be
To leave this life, not loving it, but Thee.

_Rids way_, gets over the ground.


52. ANOTHER.

Thou bid'st me come; I cannot come; for why?
Thou dwell'st aloft, and I want wings to fly.
To mount my soul, she must have pinions given;
For 'tis no easy way from earth to heaven.


53. TO DEATH.

Thou bid'st me come away,
And I'll no longer stay
Than for to shed some tears
For faults of former years,
And to repent some crimes
Done in the present times:
And next, to take a bit
Of bread, and wine with it:
To don my robes of love,
Fit for the place above;
To gird my loins about
With charity throughout;
And so to travel hence
With feet of innocence:
These done, I'll only cry
God mercy, and so die.


54. NEUTRALITY LOATHSOME.

God will have all, or none; serve Him, or fall
Down before Baal, Bel, or Belial:
Either be hot or cold: God doth despise,
Abhor, and spew out all neutralities.


55. WELCOME WHAT COMES.

Whatever comes, let's be content withal:
Among God's blessings there is no one small.


56. TO HIS ANGRY GOD.

Through all the night
Thou dost me fright,
And hold'st mine eyes from sleeping;
And day by day,
My cup can say
My wine is mix'd with weeping.

Thou dost my bread
With ashes knead
Each evening and each morrow;
Mine eye and ear
Do see and hear
The coming in of sorrow.

Thy scourge of steel,
Ah me! I feel
Upon me beating ever:
While my sick heart
With dismal smart
Is disacquainted never.

Long, long, I'm sure,
This can't endure,
But in short time 'twill please Thee,
My gentle God,
To burn the rod,
Or strike so as to ease me.


57. PATIENCE: OR, COMFORTS IN CROSSES.

Abundant plagues I late have had,
Yet none of these have made me sad:
For why? My Saviour with the sense
Of suff'ring gives me patience.


58. ETERNITY.

O years! and age! farewell:
Behold, I go
Where I do know
Infinity to dwell.

And these mine eyes shall see
All times, how they
Are lost i' th' sea
Of vast eternity.

Where never moon shall sway
The stars; but she
And night shall be
Drown'd in one endless day.


59. TO HIS SAVIOUR, A CHILD: A PRESENT BY A CHILD.

Go, pretty child, and bear this flower
Unto thy little Saviour;
And tell Him, by that bud now blown,
He is the Rose of Sharon known.
When thou hast said so, stick it there
Upon His bib or stomacher;
And tell Him, for good handsel too,
That thou hast brought a whistle new,
Made of a clean strait oaten reed,
To charm His cries at time of need.
Tell Him, for coral, thou hast none,
But if thou hadst, He should have one;
But poor thou art, and known to be
Even as moneyless as He.
Lastly, if thou canst win a kiss
From those mellifluous lips of His;
Then never take a second on,
To spoil the first impression.

_Handsel_, earnest money.


60. THE NEW-YEAR'S GIFT.

Let others look for pearl and gold,
Tissues, or tabbies manifold:
One only lock of that sweet hay
Whereon the blessed baby lay,
Or one poor swaddling-clout, shall be
The richest New-Year's gift to me.

_Tabbies_, shot silks.


61. TO GOD.

If anything delight me for to print
My book, 'tis this: that Thou, my God, art in't.


62. GOD AND THE KING.

How am I bound to Two! God, who doth give
The mind; the king, the means whereby I live.


63. GOD'S MIRTH: MAN'S MOURNING.

Where God is merry, there write down thy fears:
What He with laughter speaks, hear thou with tears.


64. HONOURS ARE HINDRANCES.

Give me honours! what are these,
But the pleasing hindrances?
Stiles, and stops, and stays that come
In the way 'twixt me and home;
Clear the walk, and then shall I
To my heaven less run than fly.


65. THE PARASCEVE, OR PREPARATION.

To a love-feast we both invited are:
The figur'd damask, or pure diaper,
Over the golden altar now is spread,
With bread, and wine, and vessels furnished;
The sacred towel and the holy ewer
Are ready by, to make the guests all pure:
Let's go, my Alma; yet, ere we receive,
Fit, fit it is we have our parasceve.
Who to that sweet bread unprepar'd doth come,
Better be starv'd, than but to taste one crumb.

_Parasceve_, preparation.


66. TO GOD.

God gives not only corn for need,
But likewise sup'rabundant seed;
Bread for our service, bread for show,
Meat for our meals, and fragments too:
He gives not poorly, taking some
Between the finger and the thumb;
But for our glut and for our store,
Fine flour press'd down, and running o'er.


67. A WILL TO BE WORKING.

Although we cannot turn the fervent fit
Of sin, we must strive 'gainst the stream of it;
And howsoe'er we have the conquest miss'd,
'Tis for our glory that we did resist.


68. CHRIST'S PART.

Christ, He requires still, wheresoe'er He comes
To feed or lodge, to have the best of rooms:
Give Him the choice; grant Him the nobler part
Of all the house: the best of all's the heart.


69. RICHES AND POVERTY.

God could have made all rich, or all men poor;
But why He did not, let me tell wherefore:
Had all been rich, where then had patience been?
Had all been poor, who had His bounty seen?


70. SOBRIETY IN SEARCH.

To seek of God more than we well can find,
Argues a strong distemper of the mind.


71. ALMS.

Give, if thou canst, an alms; if not, afford,
Instead of that, a sweet and gentle word:
_God crowns our goodness wheresoe'er He sees,
On our part, wanting all abilities_.


72. TO HIS CONSCIENCE.

Can I not sin, but thou wilt be
My private protonotary?
Can I not woo thee to pass by
A short and sweet iniquity?
I'll cast a mist and cloud upon
My delicate transgression
So utter dark as that no eye
Shall see the hugg'd impiety;
Gifts blind the wise, and bribes do please
And wind all other witnesses;
And wilt not thou with gold be ti'd
To lay thy pen and ink aside?
That in the mirk and tongueless night
Wanton I may, and thou not write?
It will not be. And, therefore, now,
For times to come I'll make this vow,
From aberrations to live free;
So I'll not fear the Judge or thee.

_Protonotary_, once the title of the chief clerk in the Courts of
Common Pleas and King's Bench.


73. TO HIS SAVIOUR.

Lord, I confess, that Thou alone art able
To purify this my Augean stable:
Be the seas water, and the land all soap,
Yet if Thy blood not wash me, there's no hope.


74. TO GOD.

God is all sufferance here; here He doth show
No arrow nockt, only a stringless bow:
His arrows fly, and all His stones are hurl'd
Against the wicked in another world.

_Nockt_, placed ready for shooting.


75. HIS DREAM.

I dreamt, last night, Thou didst transfuse
Oil from Thy jar into my cruse;
And pouring still Thy wealthy store,
The vessel full did then run o'er;
Methought I did Thy bounty chide
To see the waste; but 'twas replied
By Thee, dear God, God gives man seed
Ofttimes for waste, as for his need.
Then I could say that house is bare
That has not bread and some to spare.


76. GOD'S BOUNTY.

God's bounty, that ebbs less and less
As men do wane in thankfulness.


77. TO HIS SWEET SAVIOUR.

Night hath no wings to him that cannot sleep,
And time seems then not for to fly, but creep;
Slowly her chariot drives, as if that she
Had broke her wheel, or crack'd her axletree.
Just so it is with me, who, list'ning, pray
The winds to blow the tedious night away,
That I might see the cheerful, peeping day.
Sick is my heart! O Saviour! do Thou please
To make my bed soft in my sicknesses:
Lighten my candle, so that I beneath
Sleep not for ever in the vaults of death;
Let me Thy voice betimes i' th' morning hear:
Call, and I'll come; say Thou the when, and where.
Draw me but first, and after Thee I'll run
And make no one stop till my race be done.


78. HIS CREED.

I do believe that die I must,
And be return'd from out my dust:
I do believe that when I rise,
Christ I shall see, with these same eyes:
I do believe that I must come,
With others, to the dreadful doom:
I do believe the bad must go
From thence, to everlasting woe:
I do believe the good, and I,
Shall live with Him eternally:
I do believe I shall inherit
Heaven, by Christ's mercies, not my merit.
I do believe the One in Three,
And Three in perfect unity:
Lastly, that JESUS is a deed
Of gift from God: and here's my creed.


79. TEMPTATIONS.

Temptations hurt not, though they have access:
Satan o'ercomes none, but by willingness.


80. THE LAMP.

When a man's faith is frozen up, as dead;
Then is the lamp and oil extinguished.


81. SORROWS.

Sorrows our portion are: ere hence we go,
Crosses we must have; or, hereafter woe.


82. PENITENCY.

A man's transgressions God does then remit,
When man He makes a penitent for it.


83. THE DIRGE OF JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER: SUNG BY THE VIRGINS.

O thou, the wonder of all days!
O paragon, and pearl of praise!
O virgin-martyr, ever blest
Above the rest
Of all the maiden train! We come,
And bring fresh strewings to thy tomb.

Thus, thus, and thus we compass round
Thy harmless and unhaunted ground;
And as we sing thy dirge, we will
The daffodil
And other flowers lay upon
The altar of our love, thy stone.

Thou wonder of all maids, liest here.
Of daughters all the dearest dear;
The eye of virgins; nay, the queen
Of this smooth green,
And all sweet meads; from whence we get
The primrose and the violet.

Too soon, too dear did Jephthah buy,
By thy sad loss, our liberty:
His was the bond and cov'nant, yet
Thou paid'st the debt:
Lamented maid! he won the day,
But for the conquest thou didst pay.

Thy father brought with him along
The olive branch and victor's song:
He slew the Ammonites, we know,
But to thy woe;
And in the purchase of our peace,
The cure was worse than the disease.

For which obedient zeal of thine,
We offer here, before thy shrine,
Our sighs for storax, tears for wine;
And to make fine
And fresh thy hearse-cloth, we will, here,
Four times bestrew thee ev'ry year.
Receive, for this thy praise, our tears:
Receive this offering of our hairs:
Receive these crystal vials fill'd
With tears distill'd
From teeming eyes; to these we bring,
Each maid, her silver filleting,

To gild thy tomb; besides, these cauls,
These laces, ribbons, and these falls,
These veils, wherewith we use to hide
The bashful bride,
When we conduct her to her groom:
And all we lay upon thy tomb.

No more, no more, since thou art dead,
Shall we e'er bring coy brides to bed;
No more, at yearly festivals
We cowslip balls
Or chains of columbines shall make
For this or that occasion's sake.

No, no; our maiden pleasures be
Wrapp'd in the winding-sheet with thee:
'Tis we are dead, though not i' th' grave:
Or, if we have
One seed of life left, 'tis to keep
A Lent for thee, to fast and weep.

Sleep in thy peace, thy bed of spice,
And make this place all paradise:
May sweets grow here: and smoke from hence
Fat frankincense:
Let balm and cassia send their scent
From out thy maiden-monument.

May no wolf howl, or screech-owl stir
A wing about thy sepulchre!
No boisterous winds, or storms, come hither
To starve or wither
Thy soft sweet earth! but, like a spring,
Love keep it ever flourishing.

May all shy maids, at wonted hours,
Come forth to strew thy tomb with flow'rs:
May virgins, when they come to mourn,
Male-incense burn
Upon thine altar! then return,
And leave thee sleeping in thy urn.

_Cauls_, nets for the hair.
_Falls_, trimmings hanging loosely.
_Male-incense_, incense in globular drops.


84. TO GOD: ON HIS SICKNESS.

What though my harp and viol be
Both hung upon the willow tree?
What though my bed be now my grave,
And for my house I darkness have?
What though my healthful days are fled,
And I lie number'd with the dead?
Yet I have hope, by Thy great power,
To spring; though now a wither'd flower.


85. SINS LOATHED, AND YET LOVED.

_Shame checks our first attempts_; but then 'tis prov'd
_Sins first dislik'd are after that belov'd_.


86. SIN.

Sin leads the way, but as it goes, it feels
The following plague still treading on his heels.


87. UPON GOD.

God, when He takes my goods and chattels hence,
Gives me a portion, giving patience:
What is in God is God; if so it be
He patience gives, He gives Himself to me.


88. FAITH.

What here we hope for, we shall once inherit;
By faith we all walk here, not by the Spirit.


89. HUMILITY.

Humble we must be, if to heaven we go:
High is the roof there; but the gate is low:
Whene'er thou speak'st, look with a lowly eye:
Grace is increased by humility.


90. TEARS.

Our present tears here, not our present laughter,
Are but the handsels of our joys hereafter.

_Handsels_, earnest money, foretaste.


91. SIN AND STRIFE.

After true sorrow for our sins, our strife
Must last with Satan to the end of life.


92. AN ODE, OR PSALM TO GOD.

Dear God,
If Thy smart rod
Here did not make me sorry,
I should not be
With Thine or Thee
In Thy eternal glory.

But since
Thou didst convince
My sins by gently striking;
Add still to those
First stripes new blows,
According to Thy liking.

Fear me,
Or scourging tear me;
That thus from vices driven,
I may from hell
Fly up to dwell
With Thee and Thine in heaven.


93. GRACES FOR CHILDREN.

What God gives, and what we take,
'Tis a gift for Christ, His sake:
Be the meal of beans and peas,
God be thanked for those and these:
Have we flesh, or have we fish,
All are fragments from His dish.
He His Church save, and the king;
And our peace here, like a spring,
Make it ever flourishing.


94. GOD TO BE FIRST SERVED.

Honour thy parents; but good manners call
Thee to adore thy God the first of all.


95. ANOTHER GRACE FOR A CHILD.

Here a little child I stand
Heaving up my either hand;
Cold as paddocks though they be,
Here I lift them up to Thee,
For a benison to fall
On our meat and on us all. Amen.

_Paddocks_, frogs.


96. A CHRISTMAS CAROL SUNG TO THE KING IN THE PRESENCE AT WHITEHALL.

_Chor. _ What sweeter music can we bring,
Than a carol for to sing
The birth of this our heavenly King?
Awake the voice! awake the string!
Heart, ear, and eye, and everything
Awake! the while the active finger
Runs division with the singer.

_FROM THE FLOURISH THEY CAME TO THE SONG. _

1. Dark and dull night, fly hence away
And give the honour to this day
That sees December turn'd to May.

2. If we may ask the reason, say
The why and wherefore all things here
Seem like the spring-time of the year.

3. Why does the chilling winter's morn
Smile like a field beset with corn?
Or smell like to a mead new shorn,
Thus, on the sudden?

4. Come and see
The cause, why things thus fragrant be:
'Tis He is born, whose quick'ning birth
Gives life and lustre, public mirth,
To heaven and the under-earth.

_Chor. _ We see Him come, and know Him ours,
Who, with His sunshine and His showers,
Turns all the patient ground to flowers.

1. The darling of the world is come,
And fit it is we find a room
To welcome Him.
2. The nobler part
Of all the house here is the heart,

_Chor. _ Which we will give Him; and bequeath
This holly and this ivy wreath,
To do Him honour; who's our King,
And Lord of all this revelling.

_The musical part was composed by M. Henry Lawes. _

_Division_, a rapid passage of music sung in one breath or a single
syllable.


97. THE NEW-YEAR'S GIFT: OR, CIRCUMCISION'S SONG. SUNG TO THE KING IN
THE PRESENCE AT WHITEHALL.

1. Prepare for songs; He's come, He's come;
And be it sin here to be dumb,
And not with lutes to fill the room.

2. Cast holy water all about,
And have a care no fire goes out,
But 'cense the porch and place throughout.

3. The altars all on fire be;
The storax fries; and ye may see
How heart and hand do all agree
To make things sweet. _Chor. _ Yet all less sweet than He.

4. Bring Him along, most pious priest,
And tell us then, whenas thou seest
His gently-gliding, dove-like eyes,
And hear'st His whimpering and His cries;
How can'st thou this Babe circumcise?

5. Ye must not be more pitiful than wise;
For, now unless ye see Him bleed,
Which makes the bapti'm, 'tis decreed
The birth is fruitless. _Chor. _ Then the work God speed.

1. Touch gently, gently touch; and here
Spring tulips up through all the year;
And from His sacred blood, here shed,
May roses grow to crown His own dear head.

_Chor. _ Back, back again; each thing is done
With zeal alike, as 'twas begun;
Now singing, homeward let us carry
The Babe unto His mother Mary;
And when we have the Child commended
To her warm bosom, then our rites are ended.
_Composed by M. Henry Lawes. _


98. ANOTHER NEW-YEAR'S GIFT: OR, SONG FOR THE CIRCUMCISION.

1. Hence, hence profane, and none appear
With anything unhallowed here;
No jot of leaven must be found
Conceal'd in this most holy ground.

2. What is corrupt, or sour'd with sin,
Leave that without, then enter in;

_Chor. _ But let no Christmas mirth begin
Before ye purge and circumcise
Your hearts, and hands, lips, ears, and eyes.

3. Then, like a perfum'd altar, see
That all things sweet and clean may be:
For here's a Babe that, like a bride,
Will blush to death if ought be spi'd
Ill-scenting, or unpurifi'd.

_Chor. _ The room is 'cens'd: help, help t' invoke
Heaven to come down, the while we choke
The temple with a cloud of smoke.

4. Come then, and gently touch the birth
Of Him, who's Lord of Heaven and Earth:

5. And softly handle Him; y'ad need,
Because the pretty Babe does bleed.
Poor pitied Child! who from Thy stall
Bring'st, in Thy blood, a balm that shall
Be the best New-Year's gift to all.

1. Let's bless the Babe: and, as we sing
His praise, so let us bless the King.

_Chor. _ Long may He live till He hath told
His New-Years trebled to His old:
And when that's done, to re-aspire
A new-born Phœnix from His own chaste fire.


99. GOD'S PARDON.

When I shall sin, pardon my trespass here;
For once in hell, none knows remission there.


100. SIN.

Sin once reached up to God's eternal sphere,
And was committed, not remitted there.


101. EVIL.

Evil no nature hath; the loss of good
Is that which gives to sin a livelihood.



102. THE STAR-SONG: A CAROL TO THE KING SUNG AT WHITEHALL.

_The Flourish of Music; then followed the Song. _

1. Tell us, thou clear and heavenly tongue,
Where is the Babe but lately sprung?
Lies he the lily-banks among?

2. Or say, if this new Birth of ours
Sleeps, laid within some ark of flowers,
Spangled with dew-light; thou canst clear
All doubts, and manifest the where.

3. Declare to us, bright star, if we shall seek
Him in the morning's blushing cheek,
Or search the beds of spices through,
To find him out.

_Star. _ No, this ye need not do;
But only come and see Him rest
A Princely Babe in's mother's breast.

_Chor. _ He's seen, He's seen! why then a round,
Let's kiss the sweet and holy ground;
And all rejoice that we have found
_A King before conception crown'd_.

4. Come then, come then, and let us bring
Unto our pretty Twelfth-tide King,
Each one his several offering;

_Chor. _ And when night comes, we'll give Him wassailing;
And that His treble honours may be seen,
We'll choose Him King, and make His mother Queen.


103. TO GOD.

With golden censers, and with incense, here
Before Thy virgin-altar I appear,
To pay Thee that I owe, since what I see
In, or without, all, all belongs to Thee.
Where shall I now begin to make, for one
Least loan of Thine, half restitution?
Alas! I cannot pay a jot; therefore
I'll kiss the tally, and confess the score.
Ten thousand talents lent me, Thou dost write;
'Tis true, my God, but I can't pay one mite.

_Tally_, the record of his score or debt.


104. TO HIS DEAR GOD.

I'll hope no more
For things that will not come;
And if they do, they prove but cumbersome.
Wealth brings much woe;
And, since it fortunes so,
'Tis better to be poor
Than so t' abound
As to be drown'd
Or overwhelm'd with store.

Pale care, avaunt!
I'll learn to be content
With that small stock Thy bounty gave or lent.
What may conduce
To my most healthful use,
Almighty God, me grant;
But that, or this,
That hurtful is,
Deny Thy suppliant.


105. TO GOD: HIS GOOD WILL.

Gold I have none, but I present my need,
O Thou, that crown'st the will, where wants the deed.
Where rams are wanting, or large bullocks' thighs,
There a poor lamb's a plenteous sacrifice.
Take then his vows, who, if he had it, would
Devote to Thee both incense, myrrh and gold
Upon an altar rear'd by him, and crown'd
Both with the ruby, pearl, and diamond.


106. ON HEAVEN.

Permit mine eyes to see
Part, or the whole of Thee,
O happy place!
Where all have grace,
And garlands shar'd,
For their reward;
Where each chaste soul
In long white stole,
And palms in hand,
Do ravish'd stand;
So in a ring,
The praises sing
Of Three in One
That fill the Throne;
While harps and viols then
To voices say, Amen.


107. THE SUM AND THE SATISFACTION.

Last night I drew up mine account,
And found my debits to amount
To such a height, as for to tell
How I should pay 's impossible.
Well, this I'll do: my mighty score
Thy mercy-seat I'll lay before;
But therewithal I'll bring the band
Which, in full force, did daring stand
Till my Redeemer, on the tree,
Made void for millions, as for me.
Then, if thou bidst me pay, or go
Unto the prison, I'll say, no;
Christ having paid, I nothing owe:
For, this is sure, the debt is dead
By law, the bond once cancelled.

_Score_, debt or reckoning.
_Band_, bond.
_Daring_, frightening.


108. GOOD MEN AFFLICTED MOST.

God makes not good men wantons, but doth bring
Them to the field, and, there, to skirmishing.
With trials those, with terrors these He proves,
And hazards those most whom the most He loves;
For Sceva, darts; for Cocles, dangers; thus
He finds a fire for mighty Mutius;
Death for stout Cato; and besides all these,
A poison, too, He has for Socrates;
Torments for high Attilius; and, with want,
Brings in Fabricius for a combatant:
But bastard-slips, and such as He dislikes,
He never brings them once to th' push of pikes.


109. GOOD CHRISTIANS

Play their offensive and defensive parts,
Till they be hid o'er with a wood of darts.


110. THE WILL THE CAUSE OF WOE.

When man is punish'd, he is plagued still,
Not for the fault of nature, but of will.


111. TO HEAVEN.

Open thy gates
To him, who weeping waits,
And might come in,
But that held back by sin.
Let mercy be
So kind to set me free,
And I will straight
Come in, or force the gate.


112.