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How can'st thou say, considering the pace

The blood did make which thou didst wake? When I beheld it trickling down thy face, I never saw thing make such halte.

O shew thyself to me,

Or take me up to thee!
When man was lost, thy pity look'd about,

To see what help in th' earth or sky:
But there was none; at least no help without :
The help did in thy bosom lie.

o shew thyself, &c.

There lay thy Son: and must he leave that nest,

That hive of sweetness, to remove Thraldom from those, who would not at a feat Leave one poor apple for thy love?

O shew thyself, &c.

He did, he came: O my Redeemer dear,

After all this canst thou be strange ? So many years baptiz'd, and not appear ; As if thy love could fail or change ?

o shew thyself, &c.

Yet if thou stayest still, why must I stay?

My God, what is this world to me?
This world of wo? hence all ye clouds, away,
Away; I must get up and fee.

O new thyself, EC.

What is this weary world, this meat and drink,

That chains us by the teeth so fast ? What is this woman-kind, which I can wink Into a blackness and distaste?

O shew thyself, &c.


With one small sigh thou gav'st me th’ other day

I blasted all the joys about me :
And scouling on them, as they pin’d away,
Now come again, said I, and flout me.

O shew thyself to me,

Or take me up to thee ?
Nothing but drought and dearth, but bush and brake,

Which way foe'er I look, I fee.
Some may dream merrily, but when they wake,
They dress themselves, and come to thee.

O shew thyself, &c.
We talk of harvest; there are no such things,

But when we leave our corn and hay:
There is no fruitful year, but that which brings
The last and lov'd, though dreadful day.

O shew thyself, 8c..
O loose this frame, this knot of man untie,
That my free soul may

use her wing, Which now is pinion'd with mortality ; As an entangled, hamper'd thing.

O fhew thyself, &c.
What have I left, that I should stay and groan ?

The most of me to heav'n is fled :
My thoughts and joys are all packt up and gone,
And for their old acquaintance plead.

O shew thyself, &c.
Come, dearest Lord, pass not this holy season,

My flesh and bones, and joints do pray:
And ev'n my verse, when by the rhyme and season
The word is Stay, says ever, Come.

O shew thyself to me,
Or take me up to thee!

F 3

The British Church. I , I Thy perfect lineaments, and hue

Both sweet and bright.
Beauty in thee takes up her place,
And dates her letters from thy face,

When she doch write.
A fine aspect in fit arnay,
Neithertoo mean, nor yet too gay,

Shews who is belt.
Outlandish looks may not compare,
For all they either painted are,

Or else undreft. She on the hills, which wantonly Allureth all, in hope to be

By her preferr'd,
Hath kiss'd so long her painted shrines,
That ev'n her face by kisling lines,

For her reward.
She in the valley is fo fhy
Of dresling, that her hair doth lie

About her ears:
While she avoids her neighbour's pride,
She wholly goes on th other side,

And nothing wears.
But, dearest mother, (what those miss)
The mean thy praise and glory is,

And long may be.
Blessed be God, whose love it was
To double-mote thee with his grace,

And none but thee.

The Quip.

THE merry world did on a day


With his train-bands and mates agree To meet together, where I lay, And all in sport to jeer at me.

First, Beauty crept into a rose ;
Which when I pluckt not, Sir, faid the,
Tell me, I pray, whose hands are those ?
But thou shalt anfwer, Lord, for mic.

Then Money came, and chinking Itill,
What tune is this, poor man? faid he :
I heard in music you had fkill.
But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.

Then came brave Glory puffing by,
In silks that whistled, who but he ?
He scarce allow'd me half an eye.
But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.

Then came quick Wit and Conversation,
And he would needs a comfort be,
And, to be short, make an oration.
But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.

Yet when the hour of thy design
To answer these fine things shall come ;
Speak not at large, say, I am thine,
And then they have their answer home,



Whose fíat delights on earth do creep and grow; To whom the stars shine not so fair as eyes ; Nor solid work, as false embroideries; Hark and beware, left what you now do measure, And write for sweet, prove a most sour displeasure.

O hear betimes, left thy relenting

May come too late!
To purchase heaven for repenting

Is no hard rate.
If souls be made of earthly mold,

Let them love gold ;

If born on high,
Let them unto their kindred fly :
For they can never be at rest,

Till they regain their ancient nest.
Then filly soul take heed; for earthly joy
Is but a bubble, and makes thee a boy.

The Dawning

A :

Take up thine eyes, which feed on earth;
Unfold thy forehead gather'd into frowns :
Thy Saviour comes, and with him mirth :

Awake, awake ;
And with a thankful heart his comforts take.

But thou doft ftill lament, and pine, and cry,
And feel his death, but not his victory

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