Come my true Consort in my Joyes and Care!
Let this uncertaine and still wasting share
Of our fraile life be giv'n to God. You see
How the swift dayes drive hence incessantlie,
And the fraile, drooping World (though still thought gay,)
In secret, slow consumption weares away.
All that we have, passe from us: and once past
Returne no more; like clouds, they seeme to last,
And so delude loose, greedy mindes. But where
Are now those trim deceits? to what darke sphere
Are all those false fires sunck, which once so shin'd
They captivated Soules, and rul'd mankind?
He that with fifty ploughes his lands did sow,
Will scarce be trusted for two Oxen now,
His rich, lowd Coach known to each crowded street
Is sold, and he quite tir'd walkes on his feet.
Merchants that (like the Sun) their voyage made
From East to West, and by whole-sale did trade,
Are now turn'd Sculler-men, or sadly swett
In a poore fishers boat with line and nett.
Kingdomes and Cities to a period tend,
Earth nothing hath, but what must have an end:
Mankind by plagues, distempers, dearth and warre,
Tortures and prisons dye both neare and farre;
Furie and hate rage in each living brest,
Princes with Princes, States with States contest;
An Universall discord mads each land,
Peace is quite lost, the last times are at hand
…
A Crown of thornes his blessed head did wound,
Nails pierc'd his hands and feet, and he fast bound
Stuck to the painefull Crosse, where hang'd till dead
With a cold speare his hearts dear blood was shed.
All this for man, for bad, ungratefull Man
The true God suffer'd! not that sufferings can
Adde to his glory ought, who can receive
Accesse from nothing, whom none can bereave
Of his all-fullnesse: but the blest designe
Of his sad death was to save me from mine;
He dying bore my sins, and the third day
His early rising rais'd me from the clay.
To such great mercies what shall I preferre,
Or who from loving God me shall deterre?
Burne me alive, with curious, skillfull paine
Cut up and search each warme and breathing vaine:
When all is done, death brings a quick release,
And the poor mangled body sleepes in peace.
Hale me to prisons, shut me up in brasse:
My still free Soule from thence to God shall passe;
Banish or bind me, I can be no where
A stranger, nor alone; My God is there.
Let this uncertaine and still wasting share
Of our fraile life be giv'n to God. You see
How the swift dayes drive hence incessantlie,
And the fraile, drooping World (though still thought gay,)
In secret, slow consumption weares away.
All that we have, passe from us: and once past
Returne no more; like clouds, they seeme to last,
And so delude loose, greedy mindes. But where
Are now those trim deceits? to what darke sphere
Are all those false fires sunck, which once so shin'd
They captivated Soules, and rul'd mankind?
He that with fifty ploughes his lands did sow,
Will scarce be trusted for two Oxen now,
His rich, lowd Coach known to each crowded street
Is sold, and he quite tir'd walkes on his feet.
Merchants that (like the Sun) their voyage made
From East to West, and by whole-sale did trade,
Are now turn'd Sculler-men, or sadly swett
In a poore fishers boat with line and nett.
Kingdomes and Cities to a period tend,
Earth nothing hath, but what must have an end:
Mankind by plagues, distempers, dearth and warre,
Tortures and prisons dye both neare and farre;
Furie and hate rage in each living brest,
Princes with Princes, States with States contest;
An Universall discord mads each land,
Peace is quite lost, the last times are at hand
…
A Crown of thornes his blessed head did wound,
Nails pierc'd his hands and feet, and he fast bound
Stuck to the painefull Crosse, where hang'd till dead
With a cold speare his hearts dear blood was shed.
All this for man, for bad, ungratefull Man
The true God suffer'd! not that sufferings can
Adde to his glory ought, who can receive
Accesse from nothing, whom none can bereave
Of his all-fullnesse: but the blest designe
Of his sad death was to save me from mine;
He dying bore my sins, and the third day
His early rising rais'd me from the clay.
To such great mercies what shall I preferre,
Or who from loving God me shall deterre?
Burne me alive, with curious, skillfull paine
Cut up and search each warme and breathing vaine:
When all is done, death brings a quick release,
And the poor mangled body sleepes in peace.
Hale me to prisons, shut me up in brasse:
My still free Soule from thence to God shall passe;
Banish or bind me, I can be no where
A stranger, nor alone; My God is there.