Then should the pomander,* which was before
A speaking sweet, mend by reflection,
And tell me more:

For pardon of my imperfection

Would warm and work it sweeter than before.

For when My Master, which alone is sweet,
And ev'n in my unworthinesse pleasing,
Shall call and meet

My Servant, as thee not displeasing,
That call is but the breathing of the sweet.

This breathing would with gains, by sweetning me, (As sweet things traffick when they meet,) Return to thee:

And so this new commerce and sweet Should all my life employ, and busie me.

THE FOIL.

IF we could see below

The sphere of vertue, and each shining grace,
As plainly as that above doth show;
This were the better skie, the brighter place.

God hath made starres the foil

To set off vertues; griefs to set off sinning:
Yet in this wretched world we toil,
As if grief were not foul, nor vertue winning.
• A ball or powder of sweet substances.

THE FORERUNNERS.

THE harbingers are come. See, see their mark :
White is their colour; and behold my head.
But must they have my brain? must they dispark*
Those sparkling notions which therein were bred?
Must dulnesse 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,
Ev'n all my heart, and what is lodged there:
I passe not, I, what of the rest become,
So, Thou art still my God, be out of fear.

He will be pleased with that dittie ;
And, if I please him, I write fine and wittie.

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

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

Lovely, enchanting language, sugar-cane,
Hony of roses, whither wilt thou flie?

Hath some fond lover tic'd thee to thy bane?
And wilt thou leave the church, and love a stie ?
To throw open a park.

Fie, 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 follie speak in her own native tongue.
True beautie dwells on high: ours is a flame

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

Yet, if
you go, I passe 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 palenesse chalk the doore,
So all within be livelier then before.

THE ROSE.

PRESSE me not to take more pleasure
In this world of sugred lies,

And to use a larger measure

Than my strict, yet welcome size.

First, there is no pleasure here:

Colour'd griefs indeed there are,

Blushing woes, that look as cleare

As if they could beautie 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:

Onely take this gentle rose,

And therein my answer lies.

What is fairer then a rose?

What is sweeter? yet it purgeth.

Purgings enmitie disclose,

Enmitie forbearance urgeth.

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

Sweetly there indeed it lies,

But it biteth in the close.

So this flower doth judge and sentence
Wordly joyes to be a scourge;

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

But I health, not physick, choose:

Onely 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 hearts 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

Stonie hearts will bleed.

Love is swift of foot;

Love's a man of warre,