A verse may find him who a sermon flies,
Saith Herbert well. Great truths to dress in Meter,
Becomes a Preacher, who men's Souls doth prize,
That Truth in Sugar roll'd may taste the sweeter.
No cost too great, no care too curious is
To set forth Truth and win men's Souls to bliss.
In costly Verse, and most laborious Rhymes,
Are dish'd up here Truths worthy most regard:
No Toys, nor Fables (Poets' wonted crimes)
Here be, but things of worth, with wit prepar'd.
Reader, fall to, and if thy taste be good,
Thou'lt praise the Cook, and say, 'Tis choicest Food.
David's affliction bred us many a Psalm,
From Caves, from mouth of Graves that Singer sweet
Oft tun'd his Soul-felt notes: for not in 's calm,
But storms, to write most Psalms God made him meet.
Affliction turn'd his Pen to Poetry,
Whose serious strains do here before thee lie.
This man with many griefs afflicted sore,
Shut up from speaking much in sickly Cave,
Thence painful seizure hath to write the more,
And send thee Counsels from the mouth o' th' Grave.
One foot i' th' other world long time hath been,
Read, and thou'lt say, His heart is all therein.
Oh, happy Cave, that's to mount Nebo turn'd!
Oh, happy prisoner that's at liberty
To walk through th' other World! the Bonds are burn'd,
(But nothing else) in Furnace fiery.
Such fires unfetter Saints, and set more free
Their unscorch'd Souls for Christ's sweet company.
Cheer on, sweet Soul, although in briny tears
Steept is thy seed; though dying every day;
Thy sheaves shall joyful be when Christ appears,
To change our death and pain to life for aye.
The weepers now shall laugh; the jovial laughter
Of vain ones here shall turn to tears hereafter.
Judge right, and his restraint is our Reproof.
The sins of Hearers Preachers' Lips do close,
And make their Tongue to cleave unto its roof,
Which else would check and cheer full freely those
That need. But from this Eater comes some Meat.
And sweetness good from this affliction great.
In those vast Woods a Christian Poet sings
(Where whilom Heathen wild were only found)
Of things to come, the last and greatest things
Which in our Ears aloud should ever sound.
Of Judgment dread, Hell, Heaven, Eternity,
Reader, think oft, and help thy thoughts thereby.
Saith Herbert well. Great truths to dress in Meter,
Becomes a Preacher, who men's Souls doth prize,
That Truth in Sugar roll'd may taste the sweeter.
No cost too great, no care too curious is
To set forth Truth and win men's Souls to bliss.
In costly Verse, and most laborious Rhymes,
Are dish'd up here Truths worthy most regard:
No Toys, nor Fables (Poets' wonted crimes)
Here be, but things of worth, with wit prepar'd.
Reader, fall to, and if thy taste be good,
Thou'lt praise the Cook, and say, 'Tis choicest Food.
David's affliction bred us many a Psalm,
From Caves, from mouth of Graves that Singer sweet
Oft tun'd his Soul-felt notes: for not in 's calm,
But storms, to write most Psalms God made him meet.
Affliction turn'd his Pen to Poetry,
Whose serious strains do here before thee lie.
This man with many griefs afflicted sore,
Shut up from speaking much in sickly Cave,
Thence painful seizure hath to write the more,
And send thee Counsels from the mouth o' th' Grave.
One foot i' th' other world long time hath been,
Read, and thou'lt say, His heart is all therein.
Oh, happy Cave, that's to mount Nebo turn'd!
Oh, happy prisoner that's at liberty
To walk through th' other World! the Bonds are burn'd,
(But nothing else) in Furnace fiery.
Such fires unfetter Saints, and set more free
Their unscorch'd Souls for Christ's sweet company.
Cheer on, sweet Soul, although in briny tears
Steept is thy seed; though dying every day;
Thy sheaves shall joyful be when Christ appears,
To change our death and pain to life for aye.
The weepers now shall laugh; the jovial laughter
Of vain ones here shall turn to tears hereafter.
Judge right, and his restraint is our Reproof.
The sins of Hearers Preachers' Lips do close,
And make their Tongue to cleave unto its roof,
Which else would check and cheer full freely those
That need. But from this Eater comes some Meat.
And sweetness good from this affliction great.
In those vast Woods a Christian Poet sings
(Where whilom Heathen wild were only found)
Of things to come, the last and greatest things
Which in our Ears aloud should ever sound.
Of Judgment dread, Hell, Heaven, Eternity,
Reader, think oft, and help thy thoughts thereby.