63.
A Thousand Prophecies that talke strange things,
Had sowne of old these doubts in his deepe brest.
And now of late came tributary Kings,
Bringing him nothing but new feares from th' East,
More deepe suspicions, and more deadly stings,
With which his feav'rous cares their cold increast.
And now his dream (Hels firebrand) stil more bright, Shew'd him his feares, and kill'd him with the sight.
64.
No sooner therefore shall the Morning see
(Night hangs yet heavy on the lids of Day)
But all his Counsellours must summon'd bee,
To meet their troubled Lord: Without delay
Heralds and Messengers immediately
Are sent about, who poasting every way
To th'heads and Officers of every band;
Declare who sends, and what is his command.
65.
Why art thou troubled Herod? what vaine feare
Thy blood-revolving Brest to rage doth move?
Heavens King, who doffs himselfe weak flesh to weare,
Comes not to rule in wrath, but serve in love.
Nor would he this thy fear'd Crown from thee Teare,
But give thee a better with himselfe above.
Poore jealousie! why should he wish to prey
Upon thy Crowne, who gives his owne away?
66.
Make to thy reason man, and mock thy doubts,
Looke how below thy feares their causes are ;
Thou art a Souldier Herod; send thy Scouts,
See how hee's furnish't for so fear'd a warre?
What armour does he weare? A few thin clouts.
His Trumpets? tender cries; his men to dare
So much? rude Shepheards; What his steeds? Alas
Poore [Beasts] a slow Oxe, and a simple Asse.
Il fine del primo Libro.
Votiva Domus Petrensis Pro Domo Dei.
T magis in Mundi votis, Aviumg querelis
Jam veniens solet esse Dies, ubi cuspide primâ
Palpitat, & roseo Lux prævia ludit ab ortu;
Cùm nec abest Phoebus, nec Eois lætus habenis
Totus adest, volucrumġ procul vaga murmura mulcet :
Nos ità; quos nuper radiis afflavit honestis
Relligiosa Dies; nostrig per atria Cali
(Sacra Domus nostrum est Colum) jam luce tenellâ
Libat adhuc trepidæ Fax nondum firma Diei :
Nos ità jam exercet nimii impatientia Voti,
Spég sui propiore premit.
Quis pectora tanti Tendit amor Capti! Desiderio quàm longo Lentæ spes inhiant! Domus ô dulcissima rerum! Plena Deo Domus! Ah, Quis erit, Quis (dicimus) Ille, (0 Bonus, ô Ingens meritis, ô Proximus ipsi, Quem vocat in sua Dona, Deo!) quo vindice totas Excutiant Tenebras hæc Sancta Crepuscula ?
Quando erit, ut tremula Flos heu tener ille Diei,
Qui velut ex Oriente suo jam Altaria circûm
Lambit, & ambiguo nobis procul annuit astro,
Plenis se pandat foliis, & Lampade totâ
Lætus (ut è medio cûm Sol micat aureus axe)
Attonitam penetrare Domum bene possit adulto
Sidere, nec dubio Pia Moenia mulceat ore?
Quando erit, ut Convexa suo quoque pulchra sereno
Florescant, rosebg tremant Laquearia risu?
Quæ nimiùm informis tanq[u]am sibi conscia frontis
Perpetuis jam se lustrant lacrymantia guttis.
Quando erit, ut claris meliori luce Fenestris
Plurima per vitreos vivat Pia Pagina vultus?
Quando erit, ut Sacrum nobis celebrantibus Hymnum
Organicos facili, & nunquam fallente susurro
Nobile murmur agat nervos; pulmonis iniqui
Fistula nec monitus nec faciat male-fida sinistros?
Denique, quicquid id est, quod Res hic Sacra requirit,
Fausta illa, & felix (sitg ô Tua) Dextra, suam cui
Debeat hæc Aurora Diem. Tibi supplicat Ipsa,
Ipsa Tibi facit Ara preces. Tu jam Illius audi,
Audiet Illa tuas. Dubium est (modò porrige dextram)
Des magis, an capias: aude tantùm esse beatus,
Et danum hoc lucrare Tibi.
Scis Ipse volucres Quæ Rota volvat opes; has ergò hîc fige perennis Fundamenta Domûs Petrensi in Rupe; suámg Fortunæ sic deme Rotam. Scis Ipse procaces Divitias quàm prona vagos vehat ala per Euros, Divitiis illas, age, deme volucribus alas, Fácg suus Nostras illis sit nidus ad Aras: Remigii ut tandem pennas melioris adeptæ, Se rapiant Dominúmq; suum super æthera secum.
Felix ô qui sic potuit bene providus uti Proverb. 23. 5. Fortunæ pennis & opum levitate suarum, Devitiisque suis Aquile sic addidit Alas.
EJUSDEM
In cæterorum Operum difficili
O
Felix nimis Illa, & nostræ nobile Nomen
Invidia Volucris ! facili q[u]e funere surgens
Mater odora sui nitidæ nova fila juventæ,
Et festinatos peragit sibi fata per ignes.
Illa, haud natales tot tardis mensibus horas
Tam miseris tenuata moris, salutu velut uno
In nova secla rapit sese, & caput omne decoras
Explicat in frondes, rosedg repullulat ortu.
Cinnameos simul Illa rogos conscenderit, omnem
Læta bibit Phoebum, & jam jam victricibus alis
Plaudit humum, Cinerésque suos.-
Heu! dispare Fato
Nos ferimur; Seniorg suo sub Apolline Phoenix
Petrensis Mater, dubias librata per auras
Pendet adhuc, quæritg sinum in quo ponat inertes
Exuvias, spoliis suæ Reparata Senecta
Ore Pari surgat, Similig per omnia Vultu.
At nunc heu nixu secli melioris in ipso
Deliquium patitur!
At nunc heu Lentæ longo in molimine Vitæ
Interea moritur! Dubio stant Moenia vultu
Parte sui Pulchra, & fratres in fœdera Muros
Invitant fr[u]strà, nec respondentia Saxis
Saxa suis. Mærent Opera intermissa, manúsq;
Implorant.
Succurre Piæ, succurre Parenti, O Quisquis pius es. Illi succurre Parenti, Quam sibi tot sancta Matres habuere Parentem. Quisquis es, ô Tibi, crede, Tibi tot hiantia ruptis Manibus Ora loqui! Matrem Tibi, crede, verendam Muros tam longo laceros senibg situque Ceu Canos monstrare suos. Succurre roganti. Per Tibi Plena olim, per jam Sibi Sicca precatur Ubera, nè desis Senio. Sic longa Juventus Te foveat, querulæ nunquam cessura Senectæ.
On Mr. George Herberts booke intituled the Temple of Sacred Poems, sent to a Gentle-woman.
Now
K faire on what you looke;
you
Divinest love lyes in this booke :
Expecting fier from your eyes,
To kindle this his sacrifice.
When your hands untie these strings,
Think yo'have an Angell by the wings.
One that gladly will be nigh,
To waite upon each morning sigh.
To flutter in the balmy aire,
Of your well-perfumed praier;
These white plumes of his hee'l lend you,
Which every day to heaven will send you:
To take acquaintance of the spheare,
And all the smooth-fac'd kindred there.
And though Herbert's name doe owe
These devotions, fairest, know
That while I lay them on the shrine
Of your white hand, they are mine.
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