Our free traffique for Heau'n; we may maintaine

Peace, sure, with piety, though it come from Spain. 20

What soul so e're, in any language, can

Speak Heau'n like her's, is my soul's country-man.

O'tis not Spanish, but 'tis Heau'n she speaks!
'Tis Heau'n that lyes in ambush there, and breaks
From thence into the wondring reader's brest;

Who feels his warm heart hatcht into a nest

Of little eagles and young loues, whose high
Flights scorn the lazy dust, and things that dy.
There are enow whose draughts (as deep as Hell)
Drink vp all Spain in sack. Let my soul swell
With the strong wine of Loue: let others swimme
In puddles; we will pledge this seraphim

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Bowles full of richer

blood then blush of grape

Was euer guilty of.

Change we our shape

(My soul) some drink from men to beasts, O then
Drink we till we proue more, not lesse, then men,
And turn not beasts but angels. Let the King
Me euer into these His cellars bring,
Where flowes such wine as we can haue of none
But Him Who trod the wine-presse all alone:
Wine of youth, life, and the sweet deaths of Loue;
Wine of immortall mixture; which can proue
Its tincture from the rosy nectar; wine
That can exalt weak earth; and so refine
Our dust, that at one draught, Mortality
May drink it self vp, and forget to dy.

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Make not too much hast to admire

That fair-cheek't fallacy of fire.

That is a seraphim, they say
And this the great Teresia.
Readers, be rul'd by me; and make
Here a well-plact and wise mistake:
You must transpose the picture quite,
And spell it wrong to read it right;
Read him for her, and her for him,
And call the saint the seraphim.

Painter, what didst thou vnderstand

To put her dart into his hand?

See, euen the yeares and size of him

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Showes this the mother seraphim.

This is the mistresse flame; and duteous he

Her happy fire-works here, comes down to see.

O most poor-spirited of men!

Had thy cold pencil kist her pen,

Thou couldst not so vnkindly err

To show vs this faint shade for her.

Why, man, this speakes pure mortall frame;

And mockes with female frost Loue's manly flame.
One would suspect thou meant'st to paint

Some weak, inferiour, woman-saint.

But had thy pale-fac't purple took

Fire from the burning cheeks of that bright booke,

Thou wouldst on her haue heap't vp

all

That could be found seraphicall ;

VOL. I.

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X

But if it be the frequent fate

Of worst faults to be fortunate;

If all's præscription; and proud wrong

Hearkens not to an humble song;

For all the gallantry of him,

Giue me the suffring seraphim.

His be the brauery of all those bright things,

The rosy hand, the radiant dart;

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The glowing cheekes, the glistering wings;

Leaue her alone the flaming heart.

Leaue her that; and thou shalt leaue her

Not one loose shaft but Loue's whole quiver.

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For in Loue's feild was neuer found

A nobler weapon then a wovnd.

Loue's passiues are his actiu'st part,

The wounded is the wounding heart.

O heart the æquall poise of Loue's both parts
Bigge alike with wound and darts.

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Liue in these conquering leaues; liue all the same,
And walk through all tongues one triumphant flame.
Liue here, great heart; and loue and dy and kill;
And bleed and wound; and yeild and conquer still. So
Let this immortall life wherere it comes

Walk in a crowd of loues and martyrdomes.

Let mystick deaths wait on't; and wise soules be

The loue-slain wittnesses of this life of thee.

O sweet incendiary! shew here thy art,

Vpon this carcasse of a hard, cold hart;

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