He did, He came: O, my Redeemer deare,
After all this canst Thou be strange?
So many yeares baptiz'd, and not appeare,
As if Thy love could fail or change?
O, show Thyself to me,

25

Or take me up to Thee!

30

Yet if Thou stayest still, why must I stay?
My God, what is this world to me?

What is this weary world, this meat and drink,
That chains us by the teeth sq fast?

What is this woman-kinde, which I can wink

Into a blacknesse and distaste?

O, show Thyself to me,

Or take me up to Thee!

With one small sigh Thou gav'st me th' other day

I blasted all the joyes about me,

And scouling on them as they pin'd away,

'Now come again,' said I, ‘and flout me :'
O, show Thyself to me,

Or take me up to Thee!

40

45

Nothing but drought and dearth, but bush and brake,

Which way so-e're I look, I see ;
Some may dream merrily, but when they wake

50

They dresse themselves and come to Thee:

O, show Thyself to me,

Or take me up to Thee!

We talk of harvests-there are no such things

But when we leave our corn and hay;

There is no fruitfull yeare but that which brings
The last and lov'd, though dreadfull day :
O, show Thyself to me,

Or take me up to Thee!

Oh, loose this frame, this knot of man untie;
That my free soul may use her wing,

Which now is pinion'd with mortalitie,

As an intangl'd, hamper'd thing:

O, show Thyself to me,

Or take me up to Thee!

What have I left, that I should stay and grone?
The most of me to heav'n is fled;

My thoughts and joyes are all packt up and gone,
And for their old acquaintance plead :

O, show Thyself to me,

Or take me up to Thee!

Come, dearest Lord, passe not this holy season,

pray;

My flesh and bones and joynts do
And ev'n my verse, when by the ryme and reason
The word is 'Stay,' says ever, 'Come :'
O, show Thyself to me,

Or take me up to Thee!

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60

65

70

75

81.¶THE BRITISH CHURCH.

I joy, deare Mother, when I view
Thy perfect lineaments and hue,

Both sweet and bright.

Beautie in thee takes up her place,

And dates her letters from thy face,
When she doth write.

A fine aspéct in fit aray,

Neither too mean nor yet too gay,

Shows who is best.

Outlandish looks may not compare;

For all they either painted are,

Or else undrest.

5

10

She on the hills, which wantonly

Church of Rome

Allureth all in hope to be

By her preferr'd,

Hath kiss'd so long her painted shrines,

That ev'n her face by kissing shines,

For her reward.

She in the valley is so shie

Of dressing, that her hair doth lie

About her eares;

While she avoids her neighbour's pride,

She wholly goes on th' other side,

And nothing wears.

15

Puritans

20

But, dearest Mother, what those misse,
The mean thy praise and glorie is,
And long may be.

Blessed be God, Whose love it was

To double-moat thee with His grace,

And none but thee.

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82.THE QUIP.

The merrie World did on a day

With his train-bands and mates agree

To meet together where I lay,

And all in sport to geere at me.

First Beautie crept into a rose,

Which when I pluckt not, 'Sir,' said she,
'Tell me, I pray, whose hands are those?'
But Thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.
Then Money came, and chinking still,
'What tune is this, poore man?' said he ;
'I heard in Musick you had skill:'
But Thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.
Then came brave Glorie puffing by
In silks that whistled, who but he !
He scarce allow'd me half an eie:
But Thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.
Then came quick Wit and Conversation,
And he would needs a comfort be,

And, to be short, make an oration:
But Thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.

Yet when the houre of Thy designe
To answer these fine things shall come,
Speak not at large; say, I am Thine,
And then they have their answer home.

83. VANITIE.

Poore silly soul, whose hope and head lies low,
Whose flat delights on earth do creep and grow;
To whom the starres shine not so faire as eyes,
Nor solid work as false embroyderies,-
Heark and beware, lest what you now do measure
And write for sweet prove a most sowre displeasure.

O, heare betimes, lest thy relenting
May come too late;

To purchase heaven for repenting

Is no hard rate.

15

5

10

Then, silly soul, take heed; for earthly joy
Is but a bubble, and makes thee a boy.