What fins on every minute fall

Score on the glaffe ;

Then weigh and rate

Their heavy State,

Untill

The glaffe with teares you fill;

That done, we shall be safe and good,

Those beafts were cleane that chew'd the Cud.

Hou that know'ft for whom I mourne,

And why these teares appeare, That keep'ft account till the returne Of all his duft left here;

As eafily thou mightst prevent,

As now produce, these teares,

And adde unto that day he went
A faire fupply of yeares.

But 'twas my finne that forc'd thy hand
To cull this Prim-rose out,

That by thy early choice forewarn'd

My foule might looke about.

O what a vanity is man!

How like the Eye's quick winke

His Cottage failes, whose narrow span
Begins even at the brink!

Nine months thy hands are fashioning us,
And many yeares alas!

E're we can lifp, or ought difcuffe

Concerning thee, muft paffe;

Yet have I knowne thy flightest things,
A feather, or a shell,

A flick, or Rod, which fome Chance brings,
The best of us excell.

Yea, I have knowne these fhreds out laft
A faire-compacted frame,

And for one Twenty we have past
Almoft outlive our name.

Thus haft thou plac'd in man's outfide
Death to the Common Eye,

That heaven within him might abide,
And close eternitie.

Hence youth and folly, man's first shame,
Are put unto the flaughter,

And ferious thoughts begin to tame

The wife-man's madness, Laughter. Dull, wretched wormes! that would not keepe Within our first faire bed,

But out of Paradife muft creepe
For ev'ry foote to tread!

Yet had our Pilgrimage bin free,

And smooth without a thorne,

Pleasures had foil'd Eternitie,

And tares had choakt the Corne.
Thus by the Croffe Salvation runnes ;
Affliction is a mother,

Whose painfull throes yield many fons,
Each fairer than the other.

A filent teare can peirce thy throne,

When lowd Joyes want a wing;

And sweeter aires ftreame from a grone,
Than any arted ftring.

Thus, Lord, I fee my gaine is great,
My loffe but little to it;

Yet fomething more I muft intreate,
And only thou canft doe it.

O let me, like him, know my End,
And be as glad to find it!

And whatfoe'r thou fhalt Commend,

Still let thy fervant mind it!

Then make my foule white as his owne,
My faith as pure and steddy,

And deck me, Lord, with the fame Crowne
That has crownd him already!

Vanity of Spirit.

Uite fpent with thoughts I left my Cell,
and lay

Where a fhrill spring tun'd to the early day.
I beg'd here long, and gron'd to know

Who gave
the Clouds fo brave a bow,
Who bent the spheres, and circled in
Corruption with this glorious Ring;
What is his name, and how I might
Defcry fome part of his great light.

I fummon'd nature; peirc'd through all her store;
Broke
up fome feales,which none had touch'd before;
Her wombe, her bofome, and her head,

Where all her fecrets lay a bed,

I rifled quite, and having past
Through all the Creatures, came at last
To search myselfe, where I did find
Traces, and founds of a strange kind.
Here of this mighty fpring I found fome drills,
With Ecchoes beaten from th' eternall hills.

Weake beames and fires flash'd to my fight,

Like a young East, or Moone-shine night, Wich fhew'd me in a nook cast by

A peece of much antiquity,

With Hyerogliphicks quite difmembred,
And broken letters fcarce remembred.

I tooke them up, and, much Joy'd, went about
T' unite those peeces, hoping to find out

The mystery; but this near done,
That little light I had was gone.
It griev'd me much. At laft, faid I,
Since in thefe veyls my Ecclips'd Eye
May not approach thee, (for at night
Who can have commerce with the light?)
I'le difapparell, and to buy

But one half glaunce most gladly dye.

The Retreate.

Appy those early dayes, when I
Shin'd in my Angell-infancy!
Before I understood this place
Appointed for my fecond race,
Or taught my foul to fancy ought
But a white, Celestiall thought;
When yet I had not walkt above
A mile or two from my first love,
And looking back, at that short space,
Could see a glimpse of his bright-face;
When on fome gilded Cloud or flowre
My gazing foul would dwell an houre,
And in those weaker glories fpy

D

Some fhadows of eternity;

Before I taught my tongue to wound
My Conscience with a finfull found,
Or had the black art to dispence
A fev'rall finne to ev'ry fence,
But felt through all this fleshly dreffe
Bright bootes of everlastingneffe.

O how I long to travell back,
And tread again that ancient track!
That I might once more reach that plaine,
Where first I left my glorious traine;
From whence th' Inlightned fpirit fees
That shady City of Palme trees.
But ah! my foul with too much stay
Is drunk, and ftaggers in the way!
Some men a forward motion love,
But I by backward steps would move;
And when this duft falls to the urn,
In that ftate I came return.

[

Ome, come! what doe I here?

Since he is gone

Each day is grown a dozen year,

And each houre one.

Come, come!

Cut off the fum

By these foil'd tears!
(Which only thou
Know'ft to be true,)
Dayes are my feares.