But when I thus difpute and grieve,
I do refume my fight;

And pilf'ring what I once did give,
Diffeife thee of thy right.

How know I, if thou should'st me raise,
That I hould then raise thee?
Perhaps great places, and thy praise
Do not fo well agree.

Wherefore unto my gift I ftand;
I will no more advise :

Only do thou lend me a hand,
Since thou haft both mine eyes.

Justice.

I Cannot skill of thefe thy ways.

Lord, thou did't make me, yet thou woundest me; Lord, thou doft wound me, yet thou d‹ft relieve me ; Lord, thou relieveft, yet I die by thee;

Lord, thou doft kill me, yet thou doft reprieve me.

But when I mark my life and praife,
Thy juftice me most fitly pays;
For I do praife thee, yet I praife thee not;
My prayers mean thee, yet my prayers ftray..
I would do well, yet fin the hand hath got;
My foul doth love thee, yet it loves delay.

I cannot skill of thefe my ways.

Charms and Knots.

WHO read a chapter when they rife,

Shall ne'er be troubled with ill eyes.

A poor man's rod, when thou doft ride,
Is both a weapon and a guide.

Who fhuts his hand, hath loft his gold:
Who opens it, hath it twice told.

Who goes to bed, and doth not pray,
Maketh two nights to ev'ry day.

Who by afperfions throw a stone
At th' head of others, hit their own.

Who looks on ground with humble eyes,,
Finds himself there, and feeks to rise.

When th' hair is sweet thro' pride or luft,
The powder doth forget the duft.

Take one from ten, and what remains ?
Ten ftill, if fermons go for gains.
In fhallow waters heav'n doth show:
But who drinks on, to hell may go.

Affliction.

My God, I read this day,

That planted paradife was not fo firm,
As was and is thy floating ark, whose stay
And anchor thou art only, to confirm

And ftrengthen it in ev'ry age,
When waves do rife, and tempest rage.

At first we liv'd in pleasure;

Thine own delights thou did'ft to us impart :

When we grew wanton, thou did'ft ufe difpleasure
To make us thine; yet that we might not part,
As we at firft did board with thee,

Now thou would'st taste our misery.

There is but joy and grief;

If either will convert us we are thine :
Some angels us'd the first; if our relief
Take up the fecond, then the double line
And feveral baits in either kind

Furnish thy table to thy mind.

Affliction then is ours;

We are the trees whom shaking faftens more,
While bluftring winds destroy the wanton bowers,
And ruffle all their curious knots and ftore.
My God, fo temper joy and wo,

That thy bright beams may tame thy bow.

Mortification.
How foon doth man decay!

When clothes are taken from a cheft of sweets
To fwaddle infants, whose young breath
Scarce knows the way:

Thofe clouts are little winding-fheets,
Which do confign and fend them unto death.
When boys first go to bed,
They ftep into their voluntary graves;

Sleep binds them faft; only their breath
Makes them not dead :

Succeffive nights, like rolling waves,

Convey them quickly who are bound for death.
When youth is frank and free,

And calls for mufic, while his veins do fwell,
All day exchanging mirth and breath

In company;

That mufic fummons to the knell,

Which shall befriend him at the house of death.

When man grows ftaid and wife,
Getting a house and home. where he may move
Within the circle of his breath,
Schooling his eyes;

That dumb enclosure maketh love
Unto the coffin that attends his death.

When age grows low and weak, Marking his grave, and thawing ev'ry year, Till all do melt, and drown his breath When he would speak;

A chair or litter fhews the bier

Which fhall convey him to the house of death.

Man ere he is aware,
Hath put together a folemnity,

And dreft his herfe, while he hath breath
As yet to fpare.

Yet Lord, inftruct us so to die,

That all thefe dyings may be life in death.

Decay.

WEET were the days when thou didst lodge with Lot,

SWEET were

Advise with Abraham, when thy power could not
Encounter Mofes' ftrong complaints and moan:
Thy words were then, Let me alone.

One might have fought, and found thee presently
At fome fair oak, or bufh, or cave, or well:
Is my God this way? No, they would reply:
He is to Sinai gone, as we heard tell:

Lift, ye may hear great Aaron's bell.

But now thou doft thyself immure and clofe
In fome one corner of a feeble heart:

Where yet both fin and fatan, thy old foes,
Do pinch and ftreighten thee, and use much art
To gain thy thirds and little part.

I fee the world grows old, when as the heat
Of thy great love once spread, as in an urn
Doth closet up itself, and still retreat,
Cold fin ftill forcing in, till it return,

And calling juftice all things burn.

LORD,

Misery.

let the angels praise thy name.

Man is a foolish thing, a foolish thing;

Folly and fin play all his game.

His houfe ftill burns; and yet he still doth fing, Man is but glass,

He knows it, fill the glass.

How canftthou brook his foolishness ?
Nay, he'll not lose a cup of drink for thee:
Bid him but temper his excefs;

Not he; he knows where he can better be,
As he will fwear,

Than to serve thee in fear.

What strange pollutions doth he wed, And make his own, as if none knew but he ! No man fhall beat into his head,

That thou within his curtains drawn canst fee: They are of cloth,

Where never yet came moth.