Ev'n poisons praise thee. Should a thing be lost ?
Should creatures want, for want of heed, their due ?
Since where are poisons, antidotes are most ;
The help ftands close, and keeps the fear in view.
The fea, which feems to stop the traveller,
Is by a fhip the speedier paffage made.
The winds, who think they rule the mariner,
Are rul'd by him, and taught to serve his trade.
And as thy houfe is full, fo I adore
Thy curious art in marshalling thy goods.
The hills with health abound, the vales with ftore;
The South with marble; North with furs and woods.
Hard things are glorious; eafy things good cheap;
The common all men have; that which is rare,
Men therefore feek to have and care to keep.
The healthy frofts with fummer fruits compare.
Light without wind is glafs; warm without weight
Is wool and furs; cool without coldnefs, fhade;
Speed without pains, a horse; tall without height
A fervile hawk; low without lofs, a fpade.
All countries have enough to ferve their need:
If they feek fine things, thou doft make them run
For their offence; and then doft turn their speed
To be commerce and trade from fun to fun,
Nothing wears clothes but man; nothing doth need
But he to wear them. Nothing ufeth fire,
But man alone to fhew his heav'nly breed:
And only he hath fewel in defire.
When th' earth was dry, thou mad'ft a fea of wet;
When that lay gather'd, thou did't broach the mountains;
When yet fome places could no moiffure get,
The winds grew gard'ners, and the clouds good fountains.
Rain doth not hurt my flowers; but gently spend
Your honey drops; press not to smell them here;
When they are ripe, their odour will ascend,
And at your lodging with their thanks appear.
How harsh are thorns to pears! and yet they make
A better hedge, and needlefs reparation.
How smooth are filks, compared with a stake,
Or with a stone! yet make no good foundation.
Sometimes thou doft divide thy gifts to man,
Sometimes unite. The Indian nut alone
Is cloathing, meat and trencher, drink and can,
Boat, cable, fail and needle, all in one.
Moft herbs that grow in brooks, are hot and dry.
Cold fruits warm kernels help against the wind,
The lemon's juice and rind cure mutually.
The whey of milk doth loose, the milk doth bind.
Thy creatures leap not, but exprefs a feast,
Where all the guests fit clofe, and nothing wants.
Frogs marry fish and flesh; bats, bird and beaft;
Sponges, nonfense and sense; mines, th' earth and plants.
To fhew thou art not bound, as if thy lot
Were worse than ours, fometimes thou fhifteft hands. Moft things move th' under jaw; the crocodile not. Most things fleep lying, th' elephant leans or ftands.
But who hath praise enough? nay, who hath any ?
None can exprefs thy works, but he that knows them;
And none can know thy works, which are so many,
And so compleat, but only he that owes them.
All things that are, though they have sev'ral ways,
Yet in their being join with one advice!
To honor thee; and fo I give thee praise
In all my other hymns, but in this twice.
Each thing that is, altho' in use and name
It go for one, hath many ways in ftore
To honor thee; and so each hymn thy fame
Extolleth many ways, yet this one more
Gave to Hope a watch of mine; but he
An Anchor gave to me.
Then an old prayer-book I did prefent:
And he an optic fent.
With that I gave a vial full of tears:
But he a few green ears.
Ah loiterer! I'll no more, no more I'll bring:
I did expect a ring.
ORRY Iam, my God, forry I am,
That my offences course it in a ring.
My thoughts are working like a busy flame;
Until their cockatrice they hatch and bring:
And when they once have perfected their draughts.
My words take fire from my inflamed thoughts.
My words take fire from my inflamed thoughts.
Which fpit it forth like the Sicilian hill.
They vent the wares, and pass them with their faults,
And by their breathing ventilate the ill.
But words fuffice not, where are lewd intentions:
My hands do join to finish the inventions.
My hands do join to finish the inventions:
And fo my fins afcend three stories high,
As Babel grew, before there were diffentions,
Yet ill deeds loiter not; for they fupply
New thoughts of finning; wherefore to my fhame
Sorry I am, my God, forry I am.
EETING with Time, flack thing, faid I,
MEETING
No marvel, Sir, he did reply,
If it at length deserve some blame:
But where one man would have me grind it,
Twenty for one too sharp do find it.
Perhaps fome fuch of old did pass,
Who above all things lov'd his life;
To whom thy fithe a hatchet was,
Which now is but a pruning knife.
Chrift's coming hath made man thy debtor,
Since by thy cutting he grows better.
And in his bleffing thou art bleft:
For where thou only wert before
An executioner at beft;
Thou art a gard'ner now and more,
An ufher to convey our fouls
Beyond the utmost stars and poles.
And this is that makes life fo long,
While it detains us from our God.
Ev'n pleasures here increase the wrong:
And length of days lengthen the rod.
Who wants the place where God doth dwell,
Partakes already half of hell.
Of what strange length must that needs be,
Which ev'n eternity excludes !
Thus far Time heard me patiently:
Then chafing faid, this man deludes:
What do I here before his door ?
He doth not crave less time, but more.
He fweetly liv'd; yet fweetness did not fave
His life from foes.
But after death out of his grave
There fprang twelve ftalks of wheat :
Which many wond'ring at, got some of those
To plant and fet.
It profper'd ftrangely, and did foon disperse
Through all the earth:
For they that taste it do rehearse,
That virtues lie therein;
A fecret virtue, bringing Peace and Mirth
By flight of fin.
Take of this grain, which in my garden grows,
And grows for you;
Make bread of it; and that repose
And Peace, which every where
With fo much earnestness you do pursue,
Is only there.
Confession.
What a cunning gueft
Is this fame grief! within my heart I made
Closets, and in them many a cheft;
And, like a mafter in my trade,
In those chefts, boxes; in each box, a till:
Yet grief knows all, and enters when he will.
No fcrue, no piercer can
Into a piece of timber work and wind,
As God's afflictions into man,
When he a torture hath defign'd.
They are too fubtil for the fubtleft hearts;
And fall, like rheums upon the tendereft parts,
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