1

A man that looks on glass,
On it may ftay his eye;
Or if he pleafeth, thro' it pafs.
And then the heav'n fpy.

All may of thee partake:
Nothing can be fo mean,

Which with his tincture (for thy fake)
Will not grow bright and clean.

A fervant with this claufe
Makes drudgery divine :

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,
Cannot for lefs be told.

A

A Wreath.

Wreathed garland of deserved praise,
Of praise deferved unto thee I give,
I give to thee who knoweft all my was,
My crooked winding ways wherein I live,
Wherein I die, not live; for life is ftraight,
Straight as a line, and ever tends to thee,
To thee, who art more far above deceit,
Than deceit seems above fimplicity,
Give me fimplicity, that I may live,

So live and like, that I may know thy ways,
Know them and practise them; then fhall I give

For this poor wreath, give thee a crown of praife.

DE

Death.

EATH, thou waft once an uncouth hideous thing,
Nothing but bones,

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
Or ten years hence,

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;
Where we did find

The fhells of fledge fouls left behind,
Dry duft, which sheds no tears, but may extort.

But fince our Saviour's death did put fome blood
Into thy face,

Thou art grown fair and full of grace,
Much in requeft, much fought for as a good.

For we do now behold thee gay and glad,
As at doomsday;

When fouls fhall wear their new array,
And all thy bones with beauty shall be clad.

Therefore we can go die as fleep, and truft
Half that we have

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,
Each one whisp'ring, Live you, Brother?

Come away,

Make this the day..

Duft, alas! no mufic feels.
But thy trumpet: then it kneels,
As peculiar notes and strains
Cure Tarantulaes raging pains.

Come way,
O make no stay!

Let the graves make their confeffion,
Left at length they plead poffeffion :
Fleshes ftubbornness may have
Read that leffon to the grave.

Come away,

Thy ftock doth strays

Some to winds their body lend,
And in them may drown a friend :
Some in noifome vapours grow

To a plague and public wo.

Come away,
Help our decay.

1

Man is out of order hurl'd,-
Parcell'd out to all the world.
Lord, thy broken confort raife,
And the mufic fhall be praife.

Judgment.

LMIGHTY Judge, how shall poor wretches brook
Thy dreadful look,

Α'

Able an heart of iron to appal,

When thou shalt call

For every man's peculiar book?
What others mean to do, I know not well;
Yet I here tell,

That fome will turn thee to fome leaves therein
So void of fin,

That they in merit shall excel.

But I refolve, when thou shalt call for mine,
That to decline,

And thrust a testament into thy hand.
Let that be fcann'd;

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 ?

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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
From my first entrance in,

Drew nearer to me, fweetly questioning,
If I lack'd any thing.

A gueft, I answer'd, worthy to be here:
Love faid, you fhall be he.

I the unkind, ungrateful? Ah! my dear,
I cannot look on thee.

Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
Who made the eyes but I?

Truth Lord, but I have marr'd them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve. !

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.