How can't thou flay, confidering the pace The blood did make which thou didst wafte? When I beheld it trickling down thy face, I never faw thing make fuch haste. O fhew thyself to me, Or take me up to thee! When man was loft, thy pity look'd about, There lay thy Son: and muft he leave that neft, He did, he came: O my Redeemer dear, Yet if thou stayest still, why must I stay? O fhew thyself, &c. What is this weary world, this meat and drink, What is this woman-kind, which I can wink O fhew thyself, &c. With one small figh thou gav'ft me th' other day Or take me up to thee? Nothing but drought and dearth, but bush and brake, Some may dream merrily, but when they wake, We talk of harvest; there are no fuch things, O loose this frame, this knot of man untie, What have I left, that I fhould stay and groan? and gone, My thoughts and joys are all packt up Come, dearest Lord, pass not this holy feason, And ev❜n my verse, when by the rhyme and season O fhew thyself to me, F 3 The British Church. I Joy, dear mother, when I view Thy perfect lineaments, and hue Beauty in thee takes up her place, A fine afpect in fit array, Neither too mean, nor yet too gay, Outlandish looks may not compare, She on the hills, which wantonly By her preferr'd, Hath kiss'd fo long her painted shrines, That ev'n her face by kiffing shines, For her reward. She in the valley is fo fhy Of dreffing, that her hair doth lie While the avoids her neighbour's pride, And nothing wears. But, dearest mother, (what those miss) Bleffed be God, whofe love it was The Quip. HE merry world on a day To meet together, where I lay, And all in fport to jeer at me. First, Beauty crept into a rose; Then Money came, and chinking still, Then came brave Glory puffing by, Then came quick Wit and Conversation, Yet when the hour of thy defign Vanity. POOR filly foul, whofe hope and head lies low; Whofe flat delights on earth do creep and grow; To whom the ftars fhine not so fair as eyes; Nor folid work, as falfe embroideries; Hark and beware, left what you now do measure, And write for fweet, prove a most four displeasure. A O hear betimes, left thy relenting To purchase heaven for repenting If fouls be made of earthly mold, If born on high, Let them unto their kindred fly: The Dawning. WAKE fad heart, whom forrow ever drowns: Unfold thy forehead gather'd into frowns: Awake, awake; |