Yet can a friend what Thou hast done fulfil? O, write in brass, My God upon a tree His blood did spill, Only to purchase my good-will'; LOVE LOVE bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back, But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning 'A guest,' I answered, 'worthy to be here': Love said, 'You shall be he.' 'I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear! I cannot look on thee.' Love took my hand, and smiling did reply, 'Truth, Lord; but I have marred them; let my shame Go where it doth deserve.' 'And know you not,' says Love, 'who bore the blame? 'My dear, then I will serve.' 'You must sit down,' says Love, 'and taste my meat.' So I did sit and eat. THE PULLEY WHEN God at first made man, Having a glass of blessings standing by, So strength first made a way, Then beauty flowed, then wisdom, honour pleasure; When almost all was out, God made a stay, Perceiving that, alone of all His treasure, Rest in the bottom lay. 'For if I should,' said He, 'Bestow this jewel also on My creature, 'Yet let him keep the rest, But keep them with repining restlessness; Let him be rich and weary, that at least, If goodness lead him not, yet weariness May toss him to My breast.' THE COLLAR I STRUCK the board, and cried, 'No more; I will abroad. What, shall I ever sigh and pine? My lines and life are free; free as the road, Loose as the wind, as large as store. Shall I be still in suit? Have I no harvest but a thorn To let me blood, and not restore What I have lost with cordial fruit? Sure there was wine Before my sighs did dry it; there was corn Before my tears did drown it; Is the year only lost to me? No flowers, no garlands gay? all blasted, Not so, my heart; but there is fruit, Recover all thy sigh-blown age On double pleasures; leave thy cold dispute Which petty thoughts have made: and made to thee Good cable, to enforce and draw, And be thy law, While thou didst wink and wouldst not see. I will abroad. Call in thy death's-head there, tie up thy fears; He that forbears To suit and serve his need Deserves his load.' But as I raved and grew more fierce and wild Methought I heard one calling, 'Child'; LIFE I MADE a posy while the day ran by: Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie My life within this band; But Time did beckon to the flowers, and they By noon most cunningly did steal away, And withered in my hand. My hand was next to them, and then my heart; I took, without more thinking, in good part Time's gentle admonition; Who did so sweetly Death's sad taste convey, Farewell, dear flowers; sweetly your time ye spent, Fit while ye lived for smell or ornament, And after death for cures. I follow straight, without complaints or grief, It be as short as yours. MISERY LORD, let the angels praise Thy name: Folly and sin play all his game; His house still burns, and yet he still doth singMan is but grass, He knows it-'Fill the glass.' How canst Thou brook his foolishness? Why, he'll not lose a cup of drink for Thee: Bid him but temper his excess, Not he he knows where he can better be As he will swear Than to serve Thee in fear. What strange pollutions doth he wed, And make his own! as if none knew but he. No man shall beat into his head That Thou within his curtains drawn canst see: "They are of cloth Where never yet came moth.' The best of men, turn but Thy hand And measure not the fall. They quarrel Thee, and would give over The bargain made to serve Thee; but Thy love Holds them unto it, and doth cover Their follies with the wings of Thy mild Dove, Not suffering those Who would, to be Thy foes. My God, man cannot praise Thy name: The sun holds down his head for shame, Presume on Thy perfection? As dirty hands foul all they touch, And those things most which are most pure and fine, So our clay-hearts, even when we crouch To sing Thy praises, make them less divine: Yet either this Or none Thy portion is. |