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Ripe men of martyrdom, that could reach down,
With strong arms, their triumphant crown;
Such as could with lusty breath,

Speak loud into the face of Death

Their great Lord's glorious name, to none

Of those whose spacious bosoms spread a throne

For Love at large to fill; spare blood and sweat :
And see him take a private seat,
Making his mansion in the mild
And milky soul of a soft child.

Scarce has she learnt to lisp the name
Of martyr; yet she thinks it shame

Life should so long play with that breath
Which spent can buy so brave a death.

She never undertook to know

What Death with Love should have to do;
Nor has she e'er yet understood
Why to show love, she should shed blood,
Yet though she cannot tell you why
She can love, and she can die.





Scarce has she blood enough to make
A guilty sword blush for her sake;


Yet has she a heart dares hope to prove

How much less strong is Death than Love.

Be Love but there; let poor six years

Be posed with the maturest fears
Man trembles at, you straight shall find
Love knows no nonage, nor the mind;
'Tis love, not years or limbs that can


Make the martyr, or the man.

Love touched her heart, and lo it beats


High, and burns with such brave heats;

Such thirsts to die, as dares drink up
A thousand cold deaths in one cup.

Good reason for she breathes all fire;
Her white breast heaves with strong desire
Of what she may, with fruitless wishes,
Seek for amongst her mother's kisses.

Since 'tis not to be had at home
She'll travel to a martyrdom.
No home for her's confesses she
But where she may a martyr be.



She'll to the Moors; and trade with them
For this unvalued diadem:

She'll offer them her dearest breath,

With Christ's name in 't, in change for death:


She'll bargain with them; and will give
Them God; teach them how to live
In Him: or, if they this deny,

For Him she 'll teach them how to die
So shall she leave amongst them sown
Her Lord's blood; or at least her own.

Farewell then, all the World! adieu!
Teresa is no more for you.
Farewell, all pleasures, sports, and joys
(Never till now esteemèd toys)


Farewell, whatever dear may be,
Mother's arms, or father's knee:

Farewell house, and farewell home!

She's for the Moors, and martyrdom.

Sweet, not so fast! lo, thy fair Spouse,
Whom thou seek 'st with so swift vows;
Calls thee back, and bids thee come
T'embrace a milder martyrdom.

Blest powers forbid, thy tender life
Should bleed upon a barbarous knife:
Or some base hand have power to rase
Thy breast's chaste cabinet, and uncase





A soul kept there so sweet: O no,
Wise Heaven will never have it so.
Thou art Love's victim; and must die
A death more mystical and high:
Into Love's arms thou shalt let fall
A still-surviving funeral.


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Upon whose choice point shall be sent
A life so loved: and that there be


Fit executioners for thee,

The fairest and first-born sons of fire
Blest seraphim, shall leave their quire,
And turn Love's soldiers, upon thee
To exercise their archery.

O how oft shalt thou complain
Of a sweet and subtle pain:
Of intolerable joys:

Of a death, in which who dies
Loves his death, and dies again

And would for ever so be slain.

And lives, and dies; and knows not why

To live, but that he thus may never leave to die.

How kindly will thy gentle heart

Kiss the sweetly-killing dart!




And close in his embraces keep
Those delicious wounds, that weep
Balsam to heal themselves with: thus
When these thy deaths, so numerous,
Shall all at last die into one,

And melt thy soul's sweet mansion;
Like a soft lump of incense, hasted
By too hot a fire, and wasted

Into perfuming clouds, so fast



Shalt thou exhale to Heaven at last

In a resolving sigh, and then

O what? Ask not the tongues of men;

Angels cannot tell; suffice

Thyself shall feel thine own full joys,
And hold them fast for ever there.
So soon as thou shalt first appear,
The moon of maiden stars, thy white
Mistress, attended by such bright


Souls as thy shining self, shall come


And in her first ranks make thee room;

Where 'mongst her snowy family

Immortal welcomes wait for thee.

O what delight, when revealed Life shall stand,

And teach thy lips Heaven with His hand;


On which thou now may'st to thy wishes

Heap up thy consecrated kisses.

What joys shall seize thy soul, when she,

Bending her blessed eyes on Thee,

(Those second smiles of Heaven,) shall dart


Her mild rays through Thy melting heart.

Angels, thy old friends, there shall greet thee
Glad at their own home now to meet thee.
All thy good works which went before
And waited for thee, at the door,


Shall own thee there; and all in one

Weave a constellation

Of crowns, with which the King thy Spouse
Shall build up thy triumphant brows.

All thy old woes shall now smile on thee,


And thy pains sit bright upon thee,

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Those rare works where thou shalt leave writ
Love's noble history, with wit


Taught thee by none but Him, while here
They feed our souls, shall clothe thine there.
Each heavenly word, by whose hid flame
Our hard hearts shall strike fire, the same


Shall flourish on thy brows, and be

Both fire to us and flame to thee;

Whose light shall live bright in thy face
By glory, in our hearts by grace.

Thou shalt look round about, and see
Thousands of crown'd souls throng to be

Themselves thy crown: sons of thy vows

The virgin-births with which thy sovereign Spouse

Made fruitful thy fair soul.

Go now

And with them all about thee, bow To Him; put on, (He'll say,) put on (My rosy love) that thy rich zone



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