« iepriekšējāTurpināt »
Yet can a friend what Thou hast done fulfil?
O, write in brass, My God upon a tree
Only to purchase my good-will';
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, 'Who made the eyes but I?'
'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.
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
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.'
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
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 At every word,
Methought I heard one calling, 'Child';
And I replied, 'My Lord.'
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;
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.
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-
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.