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With the same shake, which at his passion
Christ's hands, though nail'd, wrought our salvation,
The brightness of that day
We sullied by our foul offence:
Wherefore that robe we cast away,
Having a new at his expense,
Whose drops of blood paid the full price,
And fit for Paradise.
Thou art a day of mirth:
And where the week-days trail on ground,
O let me take thee at the bound,
Leaping with thee from seven to seven,
MONEY, thou bane of bliss, and source of woe,
Whence comest thou, that thou art so fresh and fine? I know thy parentage is base and low: Man found thee poor and dirty in a mine.
Surely thou didst so little contribute
To this great kingdom, which thou now hast got,
Then forcing thee, by fire he made thee bright:
Man calleth thee his wealth, who made thee rich; And while he digs out thee, falls in the ditch.
How well her name an Army doth present,
TO ALL ANGELS AND SAINTS.
O GLORIOUS Spirits, who after all your bands
Where every one is king, and hath his crown,
Not out of envy or maliciousness
I would address
My vows to thee most gladly, blessed Maid,
Thou art the holy mine, whence came the gold,
In young and old;
Thou art the cabinet where the jewel lay:
But now, alas! I dare not; for our King,
And where his pleasure no injunction lays
All worship is prerogative, and a flower
Therefore we dare not from his garland steal,
Although then others court you, if ye know
Since we are ever ready to disburse,
He that is weary, let him sit.
My soul would stir
And trade in courtesies and wit,
To cold complexions needing it.
Man is no star, but a quick coal
Who blows it not, nor doth control
Lets his own ashes choke his soul.
When th' elements did for place contest
Ordain'd the highest to be best:
The earth sat still,
And by the others is opprest.
Life is a business, not good cheer;
The sun still shineth there or here,
Watch an advantage to appear.
Then was my heart broken, as was my verse;
My breast was full of fears
My bent thoughts, like a brittle bow,
Did fly asunder:
Each took his way; some would to pleasures go, Some to the wars and thunder
As good go any where, they say,
As to benumb
Both knees and heart, in crying night and day, Come, come, my God, O come,
But no hearing.
O Thou that shouldst give dust a tongue
To cry to thee,
And then not hear it crying! all day long
My heart was in
But no hearing.
Therefore my soul lay out of sight,
My feeble spirit, unable to look right,