DOTAGE. FALSE glosing pleasures,-casks of happiness,— Foolish night-fires,-women's and children's wishes, Chases in arras,-gilded emptiness, Shadows well mounted,-dreams in a career,— Embroider'd lies,-nothing between two dishes:These are the pleasures here. True earnest sorrows,-rooted miseries,— But oh, the folly of distracted men, BITTER-SWEET. Ан, my dear angry Lord! Since thou dost love,-yet strike; Sure, I will do the like. I will complain,-yet praise ;- And all my sour-sweet days I will lament, and love. AARON. HOLINESS on the head; Light and perfections on the breast, Harmonious bells below, raising the dead, To lead them unto life and rest;Thus are true Aarons dress'd. Profaneness in my head; Defects and darkness in my breast; Only another head I have, another heart and breast; Another music, making 'live, not dead; Without whom I could have no rest :In him I am well dress'd. Christ is my only head; My alone, only heart and breast; So, holy in my head; Perfect and light in my dear breast; My doctrine tun'd by Christ, who is not dead, But lives in me, while I do rest : Come, people; Aaron's dress'd DISCIPLINE. THROW away thy rod, Take the gentle path! For my heart's desire To a full consent. Not a word or look I affect to own, Though I fail, I weep: To the throne of grace. Then let wrath remove; Love is swift of foot; And can shoot, And can hit from far. Who can 'scape his bow? That which wrought on thee, Brought thee low, Needs must work on me: Throw away thy rod! Throw away thy wrath! THE BANQUET. WELCOME, Sweet and sacred cheer! Welcome dear! With me, in me, live and dwell: Passeth tongue, to taste, or tell. O what sweetness from the bowl Such as is, and makes, divine! As we sugar melt in wine? Or hath sweetness in the bread Made a head To subdue the smell of sin; Flow'rs, and gums, and powders giving All their living, Lest the enemy should win? Doubtless neither star nor flower Hath the power Such a sweetness to impart. Only God who gives perfumes, And with it perfumes my heart. But as pomanders and wood Yet, being bruis'd, are better scented; Could improve, Here, as broken, is presented. When I had forgot my birth,' And on earth, In delights of each was drown'd; God took blood, and needs would be Spilt with me, And so found me on the ground. Having rais'd me to look up, In a cup Sweetly he doth meet my taste. Wine becomes a wing at last. For, with it alone I fly To the sky: Where I wipe mine eyes and see Him I view, Who hath done so much for me. Let the wonder of this pity Be my ditty, And take up my lines and life: |