Page images
[ocr errors]


On the Prodigall.


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.

On the still surviving marks of our Saviours wounds.

Hat ever storie of their crueltie,

W Ha

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.

Mat. 28.

Come see the place where the Lord lay.

Hew me himself, himself (bright Sir) ô show. Which way my poor teares to himself may 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.

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 flood, if any can, that can suffice,
Must have its fountaine in thine eyes.

To the infant Martyrs.

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.

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:

[ocr errors]


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,
Then Dives in the roabes he weares:
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.

Ath only anger an Omnipotence
in Eloquence?
Within the lips of love and joy doth dwell
No miracle?


a tongue to chide His masters pride?

Why else had Balaams asse


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 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.


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.

[merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small]
[ocr errors][merged small]

I am the Doore.


Nd now th'art set wide ope, the spear's sad art
Lo! hath unlockt thee at the very
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.

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.

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.


'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.

« PreviousContinue »