Bad is that angel that erst fell from heaven,
But not so bad as he, nor in worse case,

Who hides a traitorous mind with smiling face,
And with a dove's white feathers clothes a raven :
Each sin some colour has it to adorn;
Hypocrisy, Almighty God doth scorn.

MADRIGAL.

THIS life, which seems so fair,

Is like a bubble blown up in the air

By sporting children's breath,

Who chase it every where,

And strive who can most motion it bequeath.
And though it sometimes seems of its own might,
Like to an eye of gold to be fixed there,
And film to hover in that empty height,

That only is because it is so light.

But in that pomp it doth not long appear;
For, when 'tis most admired in a thought,
Because it erst was nought, it turns to nought.

THE CRUCIFIXION.

IF in the east, when you do there behold
Forth from his crystal bed the sun to rise,
With rosy robes, and crowns of flaming gold;
If, gazing on that empress of the skies,

That takes so many forms, and those fair brands

Which blaze in heaven's high vault, night's watchful eyes;

If, seeing how the sea's tumultuous bands

Of bellowing billows have their course confined,

How unsustained the earth still stedfast stands;

Poor mortal wights, you e'er formed in your mind
A thought that some great king did sit above,
Who had such laws and rites to them assigned:

A king who fixed the poles, made spheres to move,
All wisdom, pureness, excellency, might,

All goodness, greatness, justice, beauty, love; With fear and wonder hither turn your sight,

See, see, alas! Him now, not in that state Thought could forecast Him into reason's light.

Now eyes with tears, now hearts with grief make great, Bemoan this cruel death and ruthful case,

If ever plaints just woe could aggravate: From sin and hell to save us human race,

See this great King nailed to an abject tree,
An object of reproach and sad disgrace,

O unheard pity! love in strange degree!
He his own life doth give, his blood doth shed,
For wormlings base, such worthiness to see.
Poor wights! behold his visage, pale as lead,

His head bowed to his breast, locks sadly rent,
Like a cropped rose that languishing doth fade.

Weak nature, weep! astonished world, lament! Lament, you winds! yon heaven, that all contains, And thou, my soul, let nought thy griefs relent! Those hands, those sacred hands, which held the reins Of this great all, and kept from mutual wars

The elements, bare rent for thee their veins :

Those feet which once must tread on golden stars,
For thee with nails would be pierced through and torn;
For thee heaven's king from heaven's self debars :
This great heart-quaking dolour wail and mourn,
Ye that long since Him saw by might of faith,

Ye now that are, and ye yet to be born.

Not to behold his great Creator's death, The sun from sinful eyes hath veiled his light,

And faintly journeys up heaven's sapphire path; And cutting from her brows her tresses bright,

The moon doth keep her Lord's sad obsequies,

Impearling with her tears her robe of night;
All staggering and lazy lour the skies;
The earth and elemental stages quake;

The long-since dead from bursted graves arise.
And can things wanting sense yet sorrow take,

And bear a part with Him who all them wrought, And man (though born with cries) shall pity lack?

Think what had been your state, had he not brought To these sharp pangs Himself, and prized so high

Your souls, that with his life them life He bought What woes do you attend, if still ye lie

Plunged in your wonted follies, wretched brood!

Shall for your sake again God ever die?

Oh! leave deluding shows, embrace true good;

He on you calls, forego sin's shameful trade;

With prayers now seek ye heaven, and not with blood,

Let not the lambs more from their dams be had,

Nor altars blush for sin; live every thing! That long-time longed-for sacrifice is made.

All that is from you craved by this great King,

Is to believe: a pure heart incense is.

What gift, alas! can we Him meaner bring?
Haste, sin-sick souls! this season do not miss,
Now while remorseless time doth grant you space,
And God invites you to your only bliss:

He who you calls, will not deny you grace,
But low deep bury faults, so ye repent;

His arms lo! stretched are, you to embrace.

When days are done, and life's small spark is spent,

So you accept what freely here is given,

Like brood of angels deathless, all content,

Ye shall for ever live with Him in heaven.

THE RESURRECTION.

RISE from those fragrant climes thee now embrace;
Unto this world of ours, oh! haste thy race,

Fair sun, and though contrary ways all year,

Thou hold'st thy course, now with the highest share;
Join thy blue wheels to hasten time that lours,
And lazy minutes turn to perfect hours:

The night and death too long a league have made,

To stow the world in horror's ugly shade.
Shake from thy locks a day with saffron rays,

So fair that it outshine all other days,

And yet do not presume, great eye of light,
To be that which this day must make so bright.

See an eternal Sun, hastes to arise:

Not from the eastern blushing sea or skies,

Or any stranger-world heaven's concaves have,

But from the darkness of a hollow grave.

And this is that all-powerful Sun above,

That crowned thy brows with rays, first made thee move. Light's trumpeters, ye need not from your bowers Proclaim this day; this the angelic powers

Have done for you: but now an opal hue

Bepaints heaven's crystal to the longing view:

Earth's late hid colours shine, light doth adorn

The world, and, weeping joy, forth comes the morn;
And with her, as from a lethargic trance,

The breath returned, that bodies doth advance,
Which two sad nights in rock lay coffined dead,

And with an iron guard environed;

Life out of death, light out of darkness springs,

From a base gaol comes forth the King of kings.
What late was mortal, thralled to every woe
That lackeys life, or upon sense doth grow,
Immortal is, of an eternal stamp,

Far brighter beaming than the morning lamp.
So from a black eclipse out peers the sun:
Such (when her course of days have on her run,

In a far forest in the pearly East,

And she herself hath burnt, and spicy nest,)
The lovely bird with youthful pens and comb,
Doth soar from out her cradle and her tomb:
So a small seed that in the earth lies hid,
And dies, reviving bursts her cloggy side,
Adorned with yellow locks anew is born,
And doth become a mother great with corn;

Of grains, brings hundreds with it, which when old,
Enrich the furrows which do float with gold.

Hail, holy Victor! greatest Victor, hail!
That hell doth ransack, against death prevail,

Oh! how Thou longed for com'st! with joyful cries,
The all triumphing palatines of skies

Salute thy rising; earth would joys no more
Bear, if Thou rising didst them not restore.
A silly tomb should not his flesh inclose,
Who did heaven's trembling terraces dispose;
No monument should such a jewel hold,
No rock, though ruby, diamond and gold.
Thou didst lament and pity human race,
Bestowing on us, of thy free-given grace,
More than we forfeited and losed first,

In Eden, rebels, when we were accursed:

Then earth our portion was, earth's joys but given;

Earth and earth's bliss Thou hast exchanged with heaven. Oh! what a height of good upon us streams

From the great splendor of thy bounty's beams!

When we deserved shame, horror, flames of wrath,
Thou bledst our wounds and suffer didst our death:
But, Father's justice pleased, hell, death, o'ercome,
To triumph now, Thou risest from thy tomb,
With glories which past sorrows countervail.
Hail, holy Victor! greatest Victor, hail!

Hence, humble sense, and hence, ye guides of sense!
We now reach heaven; your weak intelligence,
And searching powers, were in a flash made dim,
To learn from all eternity, that Him