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With the same shake, which at his passion
Did th' earth and all things with it move.
As Samson bore the doors away,
Christ's hands, though nail'd, wrought our salvation,

And did unhinge that day.

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,
That was required to make us gay,

And fit for Paradise.

Thou art a day of mirth :
And where the week-days trail on ground,
Thy flight is higher, as thy birth :
O let me take thee at the bound,
Leaping with thee from seven to seven,
Till that we both, being toss' from earth,

Fly hand in hand to heaven!

AVARICE.

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,

That he was fain, when thou wast destitute, To dig thee out of thy dark cave and grot.

Then forcing thee, by fire he made thee bright :

Nay, thou hast got the face of man; for we

Have with our stamp and seal transferr'd our right; Thou art the man, and man but dross to theo.

Man calleth thee his wealth, who made thee rich; And while he digs out thee, falls in the ditch.

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How well her name an Army doth present,
In whom the Lord of hosts did pitch his tent!

TO ALL ANGELS AND SAINTS.

O GLORIOUS spirits, who after all

your

bands See the smooth face of God, without a frown,

Or strict commands; Where every one is king, and hath his crown, If not upon his head, yet in his hands :

Not out of envy or maliciousness
Do I forbear to crave your special aid.

I would address
My vows to thee most gladly, blessed Maid,
And Mother of my God, in my distress :

Thou art the holy mine, whence came the gold,
The great restorative for all decay

In
young

and old; Thou art the cabinet where the jewel lay : Chiefly to thee would I my soul unfold.

But now, alas! I dare not; for our King,
Whom we do all jointly adore and praise,

Bids no such thing :
And where his pleasure no injunction lays
('Tis your own case), ye never move a wing.

All worship is prerogative, and a flower
Of his rich crown, from whom lies no appeal

At the last hour :
Therefore we dare not from his garland steal,
To make a posie for inferior power.

ye know

Although then others court you, if
What's done on earth, we shall not fare the worse

Who do not so ;
Since we are ever ready to disburse,
If any one our Master's hand can show.

EMPLOYMENT.

He that is weary, let him sit.

My soul would stir
And trade in courtesies and wit,

Quitting the fur,
To cold complexions needing it.

Man is no star, but a quick coal

Of mortal fire :
Who blows it not, nor doth control

A faint desire,
Lets his own ashes choke his soul.

When th' elements did for place contest

With Him, whose will Ordain'd the highest to be best :

The earth sat still, And by the others is opprest.

Life is a business, not good cheer;

Ever in wars.
The sun still shineth there or here,

Whereas the stars
Watch an advantage to appear.

O that I were an Orange-tree,

That busy plant ! Then I should ever laden be,

And never want Some fruit for him that dresseth me.

But we are still too young or old;

The man is gone, Before we do our wares unfold :

So we freeze on, Until the grave increase our cold.

DENIAL.

WHEN

When my devotions could not pierce

Thy silent ears ; Then was my heart broken, as was my verse ; My breast was full of fears

And disorder,

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

Of alarms.

As good go any where, they say,

As to benumb Both knees and heart, in crying night and day, Come, come, my God, 0 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 my knee,

But no hearing

Therefore my soul lay out of sight,

Untuned, unstrung:
My feeble spirit, unable to look right,
Like a nipt blossom, hung

Discontented.

O cheer and tune my heartless breast,

Defer no time; That so thy favours granting my request,

may

chime, And mend my rhyme.

They and

my mind

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