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CLVII. A WREATH.
Bu
A WREATIJED garland of deserved praise,
Of praise deserved, unto thee I give,
I give to thee, who knowest all my ways,
My crooked winding ways, wherein I live,
Wherein I die, not live ; for life is straight,
Straight as a line, and ever tends to thee,
To thee, who art more far above deceit,
Than deceit seems above simplicity.
Give me simplicity, that I may live,
So live and like, that I may know thy ways,
Know them and practise them : then shall I give
For this poor wreath, give thee a crown of praise.

CLVIII. DEATH.

Death, thou wast once an uncouth hideous thing,

Nothing but bones,

The sad effect of sadder groans:
Thy mouth was open, but thou couldst not sing.

For we consider'd thee as at some six

Or ten years hence,

After the loss of life and sense,
Flesh being turn'd to dust, and bones to sticks.

We look'd on this side of thee, shooting short ;

Where we did find

The shells of fledge souls left behind, Dry dust, which sheds no tears, but

may extort.

But since our Saviour's death did put some blood

Into thy face;

Thou art grown fair and full of grace, Much in request, much sought for, as a good.

For we do now behold thee gay and glad,

As at doomsday;

When souls shall wear their new array, And all thy bones with beauty shall be clad.

Therefore we can go die as sleep, and trust

Half that we have
Unto an honest faithful

grave; Making our pillows either down, or dust.

CLIX: DOOMSDAY.

Come

away,
Make no delay.
Summon all the dust to rise,
Till it stir, and rub the eyes ;
While this member jogs the other,
Each one whispering, Live you, brother?

Come away,

Make this the day.
Dust, alas, no music feels,
But thy trumpet : then it kneels,
As peculiar notes and strains
Cure Tarantula's raging pains.

Come away,

O make no stay!
Let the graves make their confession,
Lest at length they plead possession :
Flesh's stubbornness may have
Read that lesson to the grave.

Come away,

Thy flock doth stray.
Some to winds their body lend,
And in them may drown a friend :
Some in noisome vapours grow
To a plague and public woe.

Come away,

Help our decay.
Man is out of order hurl'd,
Parcell'd out to all the world.
Lord, thy broken consort raise,
And the music shall be praise.

CLX. JUDGMENT.

ALMIGHTY Judge, how shall poor wretches brook

Thy dreadful look,
Able a heart of iron to appal,

When thou shalt call
For every man's peculiar book ?

What others mean to do, I know not well;

Yet I hear tell,

That some will turn thee to some leaves therein

So void of sin,
That they in merit shall excel.

But I resolve, when thou shalt call for mine,

That to decline,
And thrust a Testament into thy hand :

Let that be scann'd.
There thou shalt find my faults are thine.

CLXI. HEAVEN.

O who will show me those delights on high ?
Есно.

I.
Thou Echo, thou art mortal, all men know.
Echo.

No. Wert thou not born among the trees and leaves ? Есно. .

Leaves. And are there any leaves, that still abide ? Есно.

Bide. What leaves are they? impart the matter wholly. Есно.

Holy. Are holy leaves the Echo then of bliss ? Есно.

Yes. Then tell me, what is that supreme delight? Есно.

Light. Light to the mind : what shall the will enjoy ? Есно.

Joy. But are there cares and business with the pleasure ? Есно. .

Leisure. Light, joy, and leisure ; but shall they persever? Есно. .

Ever.

CLXII. LOVE.

Love bade me welcome : yet my soul drew back,

Guilty of dust and sin. But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack

From my first entrance in, Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,

If I lack'd any thing.

A guest, I answer'd, worthy to he here:

Love said, you shall be he.
I the unkind, ungrateful ? Ah my dear,

I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,

Who made the eyes but I ?

Truth Lord, but I have marr’d them: let my

shame Go where it doth deserve. And know you not, says Love, who bore the blame?

My dear, then I will serve. You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat :

So I did sit and eat.

FINIS,

GLORY BE TO GOD ON HIGH, AND ON EARTII PEACE,

GOOD WILL TOWARDS MEN.

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