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POEMS

BACCARE FRONTEM

CINGITE, NE VATI NOCEAT MALA LINGUA FUTURO,

Virgil, Eclog. 7.

On the Morning of Christs Nativity

Compos'd 1629.

This is the Month, and this the happy morn
Wherin the Son of Heav'ns eternal King,
Of wedded Maid, and Virgin Mother born,
Our great redemption from above did bring;
For so the boly sages once did sing,

That be our deadly forfeit should release,
And with bis Father work us a perpetual peace.

ii

That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable,
And that far-beaming blaze of Majesty,
Wherwith be wont at Heav'ns bigh Councel Table,
To sit the midst of Trinal Unity,

He laid aside; and bere with us to be,

Forsook the Courts of everlasting Day,

And chose with us a darksom House of mortal Clay.

iii

Say, Heav'nly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein
Afford a present to the Infant God?

Hast thou no vers, no hymn, or solemn Strein,
To welcom him to this his new abode,

Now while the Heav'n by the Suns team untrod,
Hath took no print of the approching light,
And all the spangled bost keep watch in squadrons bright?

iv

See bow from far upon the Eastern rode
The Star-led Wisards baste with odours sweet,
O run, prevent them with thy humble ode,
And lay it lowly at his blessed feet;
Have thou the bonour first, thy Lord to greet,
And joyn thy voice unto the Angel Quire,
From out his secret Altar toucht with hallow'd fire.

The Hymn

i

It was the Winter wilde,
While the Heav'n-born-childe,

All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies;
Nature in aw to bim

Had doff't ber gawdy trim,

With her great Master so to sympathize: It was no season then for her

To wanton with the Sun ber lusty Paramour.

ii

Only with speeches fair

She woo's the gentle Air

To bide ber guilty front with innocent Snow, And on her naked shame,

Pollute with sinfull blame,

The Saintly Vail of Maiden white to throw, Confounded, that her Makers eyes

Should look so neer upon her foul deformities.

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