« AnteriorContinuar »
Thou, love, by making me love one
For younger lovers, dost my gifts thus disproportion.
Thou love taught'st me, by making me
TO THE LADY MAGDALEN HERBERT,
With the Poem following. MADAM,
Your favours to me are everywhere; I use them, and have them. I enjoy them at London, and leave them there, and yet find them at Mitcham. Such riddles as these become things inexpressible; and such is your goodness. I was almost sorry to find your servant here this day, because I was loth to have any witness of my not coming home last night, and indeed of my coming this morning; but my not coming was excusable, because earnest business detained me; and my coming this day is by the example of your St. Mary Magdalen, who rose early upon Sunday, to seek that which she loved most ; and so did I. And, from her and myself, I return such thanks as are due to one to whom we owe all the good opinion, that they whom we need must have of us. By this messenger, and on this good day, I commit the enclosed holy hymns and sonnets (which for the matter, not the workmanship, have yet escaped the fire) to your judgment, and to your protection too, if you think them worthy of it; and I have appointed this enclosed sonnet to usher them to your happy hand.
Your unworthiest servant,
have mended him,
TO THE LADY MAGDALEN HERBERT ; of St. MARY MAGDALEN.
Her of your name, whose fair inheritance
Bethina was, and jointure Magdalo;
That she once knew more than the church did know,
Delivered of her, that some fathers be
But think these Magdalens were two or three.
To their devotion, add your innocence ;
The latter half; and in some recompence
ON THE BLESSED Virgin Mary.
From that which others doth of grace bereave,
When in their mother's womb they life receive,
He thee his spirit for thy spouse did leave,
By whom thou did’st his only Son conceive, And so wast link'd to all the Trinity.
Cease then, O Queens ! that earthly crowns do wear,
To glory in the pomp of earthly things : If men such high respects unto you bear,
Which daughters, wives, and mothers, are of kings, What honour can unto that queen be done Who had your God for father, spouse, and son?
ELEGY ON Mrs. BOULSTRED. DEATH! be not proud : thy hand gave not this blow; Sin was her captive, whence thy power doth flow : The executioner of wrath thou art, But to destroy the just is not thy part. Thy coming terror, anguish, grief, denounces; Her happy state, courage, ease, joy, pronounces. From out the crystal palace of her breast, The clearer soul was called to endless rest : (Not by the thundering voice wherewith God threats, But as with crowned saints in heaven he treats) And, waited on by angels, home was brought, To joy that it through many dangers sought; The key of mercy gently did unlock The door 'twixt heaven and it, when life did knock. Nor boast the fairest frame was made thy prey, Because to mortal eyes it did decay : A better witness than thou art, assures That, though dissolved, it yet a space endures. No dram thereof shall want, or loss sustain, When her best soul inhabits it again.
Go then to people curst before they were,
Their souls in triumph to thy conquest bear.
On HIMSELF. My fortune and my choice this custom break, When we are speechless grown to make stones speak; Though no stone tell thee what I was, yet thou In my grave's inside see'st what thou art now : Yet thou’rt not yet so good; till death us lay To ripe and mellow, here we're stubborn clay. Parents make us earth, and souls dignify Us to be glass ; here to grow gold we lie. Whilst in our souls sin bred and paniper'd is, Our souls become worm-eaten carcases ; So we ourselves miraculously destroy ; Here bodies with less miracle enjoy Such privileges, enabled here to scale Heav'n, when the trumpet's air shall them exhale. Hear this, and mend thyself, and thou mend'st me, By making me, being dead, do good for thee: And think me well composed, that I could now A last sick hour to syllables allow,
That I might make your cabinet my tomb,
of them.... whils