THE FORERUNNERS.

THE harbingers are come. See, see their mark : White is their color, and behold my head.

But must they have my brain? must they dispark Those sparkling notions which therein were bred? Must dulness turn me to a clod?

Yet have they left me, Thou art still my God.

Good men ye be, to leave me my best room,
E'en all my heart, and what is lodged there:
I pass not, I, what of the rest become,
So, Thou art still my God, be out of fear.

He will be pleased with that ditty;
And, if I please Him, I write fine and witty.

Farewell, sweet phrases, lovely metaphors:
But will ye leave me thus? When ye before
Of stews and brothels only knew the doors,
Then did I wash you with my tears, and, more,

Brought you to church well drest and clad: My God must have my best, e'en all I had.

Lovely, enchanting language, sugar-cane,
Honey of roses, whither wilt thou fly?

Hath some fond lover 'ticed thee to thy bane?
And wilt thou leave the church, and love a sty?
Fy, thou wilt soil thy broider'd coat,

And hurt thyself, and him that sings the note.

Let foolish lovers, if they will love dung,
With canvas, not with arras, clothe their shame:
Let folly speak in her own native tongue.
True beauty dwells on high: ours is a flame

But borrow'd thence to light us thither. Beauty and beauteous words should go together.

Yet if you go, I pass not; take your way:
For, Thou art still my God, is all that ye
Perhaps with more embellishment can say.
Go, birds of spring; let winter have his fee;
Let a bleak paleness chalk the door,
So all within be livelier than before.

THE ROSE.

PRESS me not to take more pleasure
In this world of sugar'd lies,

And to use a larger measure

Than my strict, yet welcome size.

First, there is no pleasure here:

Color'd griefs indeed there are,

Blushing woes, that look as clear
As if they could beauty spare.

Or, if such deceits there be,

Such delights I meant to say;

There are no such things to me,
Who have pass'd my right away.

But I will not much oppose

Unto what you now advise:

Only take this gentle rose,

And therein my answer lies.

What is fairer than a rose?

What is sweeter? yet it purgeth.

Purgings enmity disclose,

Enmity forbearance urgeth.

If then all that worldlings prize
Be contracted to a rose;

Sweetly there indeed it lies,

But it biteth in the close.

So this flower doth judge and sentence
Worldly joys to be a scourge;

For they all produce repentance,
And repentance is a purge.

But I health, not physic, choose :
Only though I you oppose,

Say that fairly I refuse;

For my answer is a rose.

DISCIPLINE.

THROW away Thy rod, Throw away Thy wrath: O my God,

Take the gentle path.

For my heart's desire

Unto Thine is bent:

I aspire

To a full consent.

Not a word or look

I affect to own,

But by book,

And Thy book alone.

Though I fail, I weep;
Though I halt in pace,
Yet I creep

To the throne of grace.

Then let wrath remove:

Love will do the deed;

For with love

Stony hearts will bleed.

Love is swift of foot;
Love's a man of war,

And can shoot,

And can hit from far.

Who can 'scape his bow?

That which wrought on Thee,

Brought Thee low,

Needs must work on me.

Throw away Thy rod;

Though man frailties hath,

Thou art God:

Throw away Thy wrath.

THE INVITATION.

COME ye hither, all whose taste

Is your waste;

Save your cost, and mend your fare.

God is here prepared and dress'd, And the feast,

God, in whom all dainties are.

Doth define,

Come ye hither, all whom wine

Naming you not to your good:

Weep what ye have drunk amiss,

And drink this,

Which, before ye drink, is blood.