On the Prodigall.

TE

Ell me bright boy, tell me my golden Lad,

Whither away so frolick? why so glad?
What all thy wealth in counsaile? all thy state?
Are huskes so deare? troth 'tis a mighty rate.

Acts. 5.

The sick implore St. Peters shadow.
Nder thy shadow may I lurke a while,

Death's busie search I'le easily beguile;
Thy shadow, Peter, must shew me the Sun

My light's thy shadowes shadow, or ’tis done.

UN

W

On the still surviving marks of our Saviours wounds.
Hat ever storie of their crueltie,
Or Naile, or Thorne, or Speare have writ in thee.

Are in another sence,

Still legible,
Sweet is the difference,

Once I did spell
Every red Letter

A wound of thine
Now (what is better)

Balsome for mine.

Mark. 7.

The dumb healed and the people enjoyned silence. Hrist bids the dumb tongue speak, it speakes, the sound

He charges to be quiet, it runs round: If in the first he us’d his fingers touch,

His hands whole strength here could not be too much.

CH

Mat. 28.

Come see the place where the Lord lay.

Hew me himself, himself (bright Sir) Ô show

goe;

Were it enough to show the place and say

Looke Mary here, see where thy Lord once lay, Then could I show these armes of mine, and say

Looke Mary here, see where thy Lord once lay.

THY

To Pontius washing his hands.
Hy hands are wash't, but ô the water's spilt

That labour'd to have washt thy guilt;
The food, if any can, that can suffice,

Must have its fountaine in thine eyes.

To the infant Martyrs. GO

Oe smiling soules, your new built Cages breake,

In heaven you'l learne to sing, ere here to speake: Nor let the milkie fonts that bath your thirst

Be your delay, The place that calls you hence, is at the worst

Milke all the way.

On the miracle of Loaves.
Ow Lord, or never, they'l beleeve on thee :
Thou to their teeth hast prov'd thy Deity.

Mark. 4.

AS

,

Why are ye afraid, O ye of little faith?

S if the storme meant him,
Or 'cause heavens face is dim,

His needs a cloud :
Was ever froward wind
That could be so unkind?

Or wave so proud ?
The wind had need be angry, and the water black,
That to the mighty Neptune's self dare threaten wrack.

There is no storme but this
Of

your owne Cowardise
That braves you out;
You are the storme that mocks
Your selves; you are the rocks

Of your owne doubt:
Besides this feare of danger, ther's no danger here;
And he that here feares danger, does deserve his feare.

On the B. Virgins bashfullnesse.

'Hat on her lap she casts her humble eye,

'Tis the sweet pride of her humilitie. The faire starre is well fixt, for where, ô where, Could she have fixt it on a fairer spheare? 'Tis heaven, 'tis heaven she sees; Heaven's God there lyes, She can see heaven, and ne're lift up her eyes : This new guest to her eyes, new lawes hath given, 'Twas once looke up, 'tis now looke downe to heaven.

Upon Lazarus his teares.

Ich Lazarus! richer in those Gems thy Teares,

?

He scorns them now, but ô they'l sute full well

With th’ Purple he must weare in hell.

Two went up into the temple to pray.
Wo went to pray

? Ô rather say
One went to brag, th' other to pray:
One stands up close, and treads on high,
Where th' other dares not send his eye;
One neerer to God's Altar trod,
The other to the Altars God.

Upon the asse that bore our Saviour.

H

Ath only anger an Omnipotence

in Eloquence? Within the lips of love and joy doth dwell

No miracle?
Why else had Balaams asse a tongue to chide

His masters pride?
And thou (heaven burthen'd beast) hast ne're a word

To praise thy Lord? That he should find a tongue and vocall thunder

Was a great wonder, But ô me thinkes 'tis a farre greater one

That thou find'st none.

Mat. 8.

I am not worthy that thou should'st come under my roofe.

THY

Hy God was making hast into thy roofe,

Thy humble faith, and feare, keepes him aloofe: Hee'l be thy guest, because he may not be,

Hee'l come—into thy house? no, into thee.

I am the Doore.

Nd now th’art set wide ope, the spear's sad art

He to himselfe (I feare the worst)

And his owne hope
Hath shut these Doores of heaven, that durst

Thus set them ope.

Mat. 10.

T

The blind cured by the word of our Saviour.
Hou speak’st the word (Thy word's a Law)

Thou spak'st and streight the blind man saw:
To speake, and make the blind man see,
Was never man Lord spake like thee!
To speake thus was to speake (say I)
Not to his eare, but to his eye.

Mat. 27.

O

And he answered them nothing.
Mighty Nothing! unto thee,

Nothing, we owe all things that bee.
God spake once, when he all things made,
He sav'd all when he Nothing said.
The world was made of Nothing then;
'Tis made by Nothing now againe.

To our Lord, upon the water made Wine.

TH

Hou water turn'st to wine (faire friend of life)

Thy foe to crosse the sweet arts of thy reigne Distills from thence the tears of wrath and strife,

And so turnes wine to water back againe.