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The fleet Astronomer can bore
And thread the spheres with his quick-piercing mind :
He views their stations, walks from door to door,

Surveys, as if he had design'd
To make a purchase there : he sees their dancez

And knoweth long before,
Both their full-eyed aspects, and secret glances.

The nimble Diver with his side Cuts through the working waves, that he may fetch His dearly-earned pearl, which God did hide

On purpose from the venturous wretch ;
That he might save his life, and also hers,

Who with excessive pride
Her own destruction and his danger wears.

The subtle Chymic can divest And strip the creature naked, till he find The callow principles within their nest :

There he imparts to them his mind, Admitted to their bed-chamber, before

They appear trim and drest To ordinary suitors at the door.

What hath not man sought out and found, But his dear God? who yet his glorious law Embosoms in us, mellowing the ground

With showers and frosts, with love and awe; So that we need not say, Where's this command ?

Poor man ! thou searchest round To find out death, but missest life at hand.


WELCOME, dear feast of Lent: who loves not thee, He loves not Temperance, or Authority,

But is composed of passion. The Scriptures bid us fast; the Church says, Now: : Give to thy Mother what thou wouldst allow

To every Corporation.

The humble soul, composed of love and fear,
Begins at home, and lays the burden there,

When doctrines disagree :

says, In things which use hath justly got, I am a scandal to the Church, and not

The Church is so to me.

True Christians should be glad of an occasion
To use their temperance, seeking no evasion,

When good is seasonable ;
Unless Authority, which should increase
The obligation in us, make it less,

And Power itself disable.

Besides the cleanness of sweet abstinence,
Quick thoughts and motions at a small expense,

A face not fearing light :
Whereas in fulness there are sluttish fumes,
Sour exhalations, and dishonest rheums,

Revenging the delight.

Then those same pendent profits, which the spring And Easter intimate, enlarge the thing,

And goodness of the deed.

Neither ought other men's abuse of Lent
Spoil the good use ; lest by that argument

We forfeit all our Creed.

'Tis true, we cannot reach Christ's fortieth day; Yet to go part of that religious way

Is better than to rest :
We cannot reach our Saviour's purity;
Yet are we bid, Be holy even as he.

In both let's do our best.

Who goeth in the way which Christ hath gone, Is much more sure to meet with him, than one

That travelleth by-ways. Perhaps my God, though he be far before, May turn, and take me by the hand, and more,

May strengthen my decays.

Yet, Lord, instruct us to improve our fast
By starving sin, and taking such repast

As may our faults control:
That every man may revel at his door,
Not in his parlour ; banqueting the poor,

And among those his soul.


SWEET Day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky,
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night;

For thou must die.

Sweet Rose, whose hue angry and brave
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye,
Thy root is ever in its grave,

And thou must die.

Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses,
A box where sweets compacted lie,
My Music shows ye


And all must die.

Only a sweet and virtuous soul,
Like season'd timber, never gives ;
But though the whole world turn to coal,

Then chiefly lives.



I know the ways of Learning; both the head
And Pipes that feed the press, and make it run;
What Reason hath from Nature borrowed,
Or of itself, like a good housewife, spun
In laws and policy; what the stars conspire,
What willing Nature speaks, what forced by fire;
Both th' old discoveries, and the new-found seas,
The stock and surplus, cause and history :
All these stand open, or I have the keys :

Yet I love thee.

I know the ways of Honour, what maintains
The quick returns of courtesy and wit :

In vies of favours whether party gains,
When glory swells the heart, and mouldeth it
To all expressions both of hand and eye,
Which on the world a true-love-knot may tie,
And bear the bundle, wheresoe'er it goes :
How many drams of spirit there must be
To sell my life unto my friends or foes :

Yet I love thee.

I know the ways of Pleasure, the sweet strains,
The lullings and the relishes of it;
The propositions of hot blood and brains ;
What mirth and music mean ; what love and wit
Have done these twenty hundred years, and more :
I know the projects of unbridled store :
My stuff is flesh, not brass ; my senses live,
And grumble oft, that they have more in me
Than he that curbs them, being but one to five :

Yet I love thee.

I know all these, and have them in my hand :
Therefore not sealed, but with open eyes
I fly to thee, and fully understand
Both the main sale, and the commodities;
And at what rate and price I have thy love;
With all the circumstances that may move :
Yet through the labyrinths, not my grovelling wit,
But thy silk-twist let down from heaven to me,
Did both conduct and teach me, how by it

To climb to thee.

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