1 A man that looks on glass, All may of thee partake: Which with his tincture (for thy fake) A fervant with this claufe Who fweeps a room, as for thy laws, Makes that and th' action fine. This is the famous stone, That turneth all to gold: For that which God doth touch and own, A A Wreath. Wreathed garland of deserved praise, So live and like, that I may know thy ways, For this poor wreath, give thee a crown of praife. DE Death. EATH, thou waft once an uncouth hideous thing, The fad effect of fadder groans: Thy mouth was open, but thou could't not fing. For we confider'd thee, as at fome fix After the lofs of life and fense, Flesh being turn'd to duft, and bones to sticks. We look'd on this fide of thee, shooting short; The fhells of fledge fouls left behind, But fince our Saviour's death did put fome blood Thou art grown fair and full of grace, For we do now behold thee gay and glad, When fouls fhall wear their new array, Therefore we can go die as fleep, and truft Unto an honeft faithful grave; Making our pillows either down or duft. Doomsday. COME away, Make no delay. Summon all the duft to rife, Till it ftir, and rub the eyes; While this member jogs the other, Come away, Make this the day.. Duft, alas! no mufic feels. Come way, Let the graves make their confeffion, Come away, Thy ftock doth strays Some to winds their body lend, To a plague and public wo. Come away, 1 Man is out of order hurl'd,- Judgment. LMIGHTY Judge, how shall poor wretches brook Α' Able an heart of iron to appal, When thou shalt call For every man's peculiar book? That fome will turn thee to fome leaves therein That they in merit shall excel. But I refolve, when thou shalt call for mine, And thrust a testament into thy hand. Thou Echo, thou art mortal, all men know. Wert thou not born among the trees and leaves? What leaves are they? Impart the matter wholly. Echo. Are holy leaves the echo then of bliss ? Echo. Holy. Yes. Then tell me, What is that supreme delight ? 11 Echo. Light. Echo. Joy. Light to the mind: What thall the will enjoy ? But are there cares and business with the pleasure ? Ever. Light Joy and Leifure; but shall they perfevere ? Echo. Love. LOVE bad me welcome : yet my foul drew back, Guilty of dust and fin. But quick-ey'd Love obferving me grow flack Drew nearer to me, fweetly questioning, A gueft, I answer'd, worthy to be here: I the unkind, ungrateful? Ah! my dear, Love took my hand, and smiling did reply, Truth Lord, but I have marr'd them; let my shame And know you not, fays Love, who bore the blame? My dear then I will ferve. -You must fit down, fays Love, and taste my meatt, So I did fit and eat. Glory be to God on high, and on earth Peace, good will towards men. |