Whisper, How wide is all this long pretencc!
There is in love a sweetnesse ready penn'it:
Copie out onely that, and save expense.

78. PRAYER.

Of what an easie quick accesse,
My blessed Lord, art thou! how suddenly
May our requests thine eare invade !

To shew that state dislikes not easinesse,
If I but lift mine eyes, my suit is made :
Thou canst no more not heare, than thou canst dic.

Of what supreme almightie power

Is thy great arm which spans the east and west,
And tacks the centre to the sphere !

By it do all things live their measur'd houre:
We cannot ask the thing, which is not there,
Blaming the shallownesse of our request.

Of what unmeasurable love

Art thou possest, who, when thou couldst not die,
Wert fain to take our flesh and curse,

And for our sakes in person sinne reprove;
That by destroying that which ty'd thy purse,
Thou mightst make way for liberalitie!

Since then these three wait on thy throne,
Ease, Power, and Love; I value prayer so,
That were I to leave all but one,

Wealth, fame, endowments, vertues, all should go;
I and deare prayer would together dwell,
And quickly gain, for each inch lost, an ell.

79. OBEDIENCE.

My God, if writings may

Convey a Lordship any way

Whither the buyer and the seller please;
Let it not thee displease,

If this poore paper do as much as they.

On it my heart doth bleed

As many lines, as there doth need

To pass itself and all it hath to thee.
To which I do agree,

And here present it as my speciall deed.

If that hereafter Pleasure

Cavill, and claim her part and measure,

As if this passed with a reservation,

Or some such words in fashion;

I here exclude the wrangler from thy treasure.

O let thy sacred will

All thy delight in me fulfill!

Let me not think an action mine own way,
But as thy love shall sway,

Resigning up the rudder to thy skill.

Lord, what is man to thee,

That thou shouldst minde a rotten tree? Yet since thou canst not choose but see my actions; So great are thy perfections,

Thou mayst as well my actions guide, as see.

Besides, thy death and bloud

Show'd a strange love to all our good: Thy sorrows were in earnest; no faint proffer, Or superficiall offer

Of what we might not take, or be withstood.

Wherefore I all forego :

To one word onely I say, No:

Where in the deed there was an intimation
Of a gift or donation,

Lord, let it now by way of purchase go.

He that will passe his land,

As I have mine, may set his hand
And heart unto this deed, when he hath read;
And make the purchase spread

To both our goods, if he to it will stand.

How happie were my part,

If some kinde man would thrust his heart

Into these lines; till in heav'n's court of rolls
They were by winged souls

Entred for both, farre above their desert!

80. CONSCIENCE.

PEACE pratler, do not lowre:

Not a fair look, but thou dost call it foul:
Not a sweet dish, but thou dost call it sowre:
Musick to thee doth howl.

By listning to thy chatting fears

I have both lost mine eyes and eares.

Pratler, no more, I say:

My thoughts must work, but like a noiselesse sphere,
Harmonious peace must rock them all the day:
No room for pratlers there.

If thou persistest, I will tell thee,
That I have physick to expell thee.

And the receit shall be

My Saviour's bloud; whenever at his board
I do but taste it, straight it cleanseth me,
And leaves thee not a word;

No, not a tooth or nail to scratch,

And at my actions carp, or catch.

Yet if thou talkest still,

Besides my physick, know there's some for thee:
Some wood and nails to make a staffe or bill

For those that trouble me :

The bloudie cross of my deare Lord
Is both my physick and my sword.

81. SION.

LORD, with what glorie wast thou serv'd of old,
When Solomon's temple stood and flourished!

Where most things were of purest gold ;
The wood was all embellished

With flowers and carvings, mysticall and rare :
All show'd the builder's, crav'd the seer's care.

Yet all this glorie, all this pomp and state,
Did not affect thee much, was not thy aim:
Something there was that sow'd debate:

Co

Thy

Ho

Wherefore thou quitt'st thy ancient claim: And now thy Architecture meets with sinne; For all thy frame and fabrick is within.

There thou art struggling with a peevish heart, Which sometimes crosseth thee, thou sometimes it: The fight is hard on either part.

Great God doth fight, he doth submit.

All Solomon's sea of brass and world of stone
Is not so deare to thee as one good grone.

And truly brasse and stones are heavie things,
Tombes for the dead, not temples fit for thee:
But grones are quick, and full of wings,
And all their motions upward be ;

And ever as they mount, like larks they sing:
The note is sad, yet musick for a king.

82. HOME.

COME, Lord, my head doth burn, my heart is sick,
While thou dost ever, ever stay:

Thy long deferrings wound me to the quick,.
My spirit gaspeth night and day.
O shew thy self to me,

Or take me up to thee!

How canst thou stay, considering the pace

The bloud did make, which thou didst waste?

When I behold it trickling down thy face,
I never saw thing make such haste.
O show thy self, &c.