By the full kingdome of that finall kisse
That seiz'd thy parting Soul, & seal'd thee his;
By all the heav'ns thou hast in him
(Fair sister of the SERAPHIM!)

By all of HIM we have in THEE;
Leave nothing of my SELF in me.
Let me so read thy life, that I
Unto all life of mine may dy.

A SONG.

ORD, when the sense of thy sweet g[r]ace
Sends up my soul to seek thy face.

Thy blessed eyes breed such desire,
I dy in love's delicious Fire.

O love, I am thy SACRIFICE.

Be still triumphant, blessed eyes.
Still shine on me, fair suns! that I
Still may behold, though still I dy.
Second part.

Though still I dy, I live again;
Still longing so to be still slain,
So gainfull is such losse of breath.
I dy even in desire of death.

Still live in me this loving strife
Of living DEATH & dying LIFE.
For while thou sweetly slayest me
Dead to my selfe, I live in Thee.

PRAYE R.

AN ODE, WHICH WAS
Præfixed to a little Prayer-book
· giv[e]n to a young

GENTLE-WOMAN.

O here a little volume, but great Book!
A nest of new-born sweets;

L°

Whose native fires disdaining

To ly thus folded, & complaining
Of these ignoble sheets,

Affect more comly bands

(Fair one) from the kind hands
And confidently look

To find the rest

Of a rich binding in your BREST.

It is, in one choise handfull, heavenn; & all
Heavn's Royall host; incamp't thus small
To prove that true schooles use to tell,
Ten thousand Angels in one point can dwell.
It is love's great artillery

Which here contracts i[t] self, & comes to ly

Close couch't in their white bosom : & from thence

As from a snowy fortresse of defence,

Against their ghostly foes to take their part,

And fortify the hold of their chast heart.

It is an armory of light

Let constant use but keep it bright,
You'l find it yeilds

To holy hands & humble hearts

More swords & sheilds

Then sin hath snares, or Hell hath darts.
Only be sure

The hands be pure

That hold these weapons; & the eyes
Those of turtles, chast & true;
Wakefull & wise;

Here is a freind shall fight for you,
Hold but this book before their heart;
Let prayer alone to play his part,
But ô the heart

That studyes this high ART
Must be a sure house-keeper;
And yet no sleeper.

Dear soul, be strong.

MERCY will come e're long

And bring his besom fraught with blessings,
Flowers of never fading graces

To make immortall dressings

For worthy soules, whose wise embraces
Store up themselves for HIM, who is alone
The SPOUSE of Virgins & the Virgin's son.
But if the noble BRIDEGROOM, when he come,
Shall find the loytering HEART from home;
Leaving her chast aboad
To gadde abroad

Among the gay mates of the god of flyes;
To take her pleasure & to play

And keep the devill's holyday;
To dance th'sunshine of some smiling
But beguiling

Spheares of sweet & sugred Lyes,
Some slippery Pair

Of false, perhaps as fair,

Flattering but forswearing eyes;
Doubtlesse some other heart
Will gett the start

Mean while, & stepping in before
Will take possession of that sacred store
Of hidden sweets & holy joyes.

WORDS which are not heard with EARES
(Those tumultuous shops of noise)
Effectuall wispers, whose still voice

The soul it selfe more feeles then heares;

Amorous languishments; luminous trances;
SIGHTS which are not seen with eyes;
Spirituall & soul-peircing glances

Whose pure & subtil lightning flyes

Home to the heart, & setts the house on fire
And melts it down in sweet desire:

Yet does not stay

To ask the windows leave to passe that way;
Delicious DEATHS; soft exalations
Of soul; dear & divine annihilations;
A thousand unknown rites

Of joyes & rarefy'd delights;

A hundred thousand goods, glories, & graces,
And many a mystick thing

Which the divine embraces

Of the deare spouse of spirits with them will bring
For which it is no shame

That dull mortality must not know a name.
Of all this store

Of blessings & ten thousand more

(If when he come

He find the Heart from home)
Doubtlesse he will unload

Himself some other where,
And poure abroad

His pretious sweets

On the fair soul whom first he meets.
O fair, ô fortunate! O riche, ô dear!
O happy & thrice happy she

Selected dove

Who ere she be,

Whose early love

With winged vowes

Makes hast to meet her morning spouse
And close with his immortall kisses.
Happy indeed, who never misses

To improve that pretious hour,
And every day

Seize her sweet prey

All fresh & fragrant as he rises

Dropping with a baulmy Showr
A delicious dew of spices;

O let the blissfull heart hold fast
Her heavnly arm-full, she shall tast
At once ten thousand paradises;
She shall have power

To rifle & deflour

The rich & roseall spring of those rare sweets Which with a swelling bosome there she meets Boundles & infinite

Bottomles treasures

Of pure inebriating pleasures.
Happy proof! she shal discover
What joy, what blisse,

How many Heav'ns at once it is
To have her GOD become her LOVER.