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THE IDEA BEATIFICA L.

End, and Beginning of each thing that growes,
Whofe felfe no end, nor yet beginning knowes,

That hath no eyes to lee, nor cars to heare,
Yet fees and heares, and is all eye, all eare,
That no whear is contain'd, and yet is every whear,

Changer of all things, yet immutable,
Before and after all, the first, and last,
That mooving all, is yet immoveable,
Great without quantitie, in whofe forecast,
Things paft are prefent, things to come are past ;
Swift without motion, to whose open eye,

The hearts of wicked men unbretted lie,
At once ablent, and pretent to them, farre and nigh.

It is no flaming luftre, made of light,
No fweet concent, or well-tim'd harmonie,
Ambrofia, for to feaft the appetite,
Or flowrie odour mixt with 1picerie.
No foft embrace, or pleafure bodilily,
And yet it is a kind of inward feast,

A harmony, that founds within the breast,

An odour, light, embrace, in which the foule doth reft.

A heav'nly

A heav'nly feast, no hunger can confume,
A light unfeene, yet fhines in every place,
A found, no time can fteale, a fweet perfume
No windes can fcatter, an entire embrace,
That no fatietie can ere unlace,

Ingrac't into fo high a favour, thear

The Saints, with their beaw-peers, whole worlds outwear, And things unfeene doe fee, and things unheard doe hear.

Chrift's Triumph,

Part II. Stan. 38—41.

Ed. 1610. by G. Fletcher,

REFLECTIONS ON DEATH,

T

H' Egyptians, amidst their folemne feafts,
Ufed to welcome, and present their guests

With the fad fight of Man's anatomy,

Serv'd in with this loud motto, "All muft die."
Fooles often goe about, when as they may
Take better vantage of a neerer way.
Looke well into your bofomes: doe not flatter
Your knowne infirmities: behold, what matter
Your fleshe was made of: Man, caft backe thine
Upon the weakneffe of thine infancy;

See how thy lips hang on thy mother's breft

Bawling for helpe, more helpleffe than a beast.

eye,

Liv'ft thou to Childhood? then, behold, what toies Poe mocke the fenfe, how fhallow are thy joyes.

Com'ft

Com'st thou to downie yeares? See, how deceits
Gull thee with golden fruit, and with falfe baits
Slily beguile the prime of thine affection.
Art thou attain'd at length to full perfection
Of ripen'd yeares? Ambition hath now fent
Thee on her frothy errand; Discontent
Payes thee thy wages. Doe thy grizly haires'
Begin to caft account of many cares

Upon thy head? The facred luft of gold
Now fires thy fpirit, for fleshly luft too cold,
Makes thee a flave to thine owne bafe defire,
Which melts and hardens at the self same fire.
Art thou decrepit? then thy very breath
Is grievous to thee, and each griéfe's a death.
Looke where thou lift, thy life is but a span,
Thou art but duft, and, to conclude, a Man.
Thy life's a warfare, thou a fouldier art,
Satan's thy foe-man, and a faithfull heart
Thy two-edg'd weapon, patience thy fhield,
Heaven is thy Chiefetain, and the world thy field.
To be afraid to die, or wifh for death,
Are words and paffions of defpairing breath:
Who doth the first, the day doth faintly yeeld,
And who the fecond, bafely flies the field.
Man's not a law full ftearfman of his dayes,
His bootleffe with, nor haltens nor delayes:
We are God's hired workmen; he discharges
Some late at night, and (when he list) inlarges
Others at noone, and in the morning, some :
None may relieve himselfe, till he bid come:
If we receive for one halfe day as much
As they that toyle till evening, shall we grutch?
Job Militant,

Med. 8. by F. Quarles.
Ed. 1630.

The

The Immortality of the SOUL, implied from

its Motion.

The Soul, which in this earthly mould

The fpirit of God doth fecretly infuse,
Because at firft fhe doth th' Earth behold,
And only this material world fhe views:

At first her mother Earth fhe holdeth dear,
And doth embrace the world, and worldly things;
She flies close by the ground, and hovers here,

And mounts not up with her celestial wings.

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Yet under heav'n fhe cannot light on aught
That with her heavenly nature doth agree;
She cannot reft, fhe cannot fix her thought,
She cannot in this world contented be.

For who did ever yet, in Honour, Wealth,
Or Pleasure of the fence, contentment find?
Who ever ceas'd to wifh when he had Health?
Or having Wisdom was not vext in mind ?

With this defire fhe hath a native might
To find out every truth if she had time ;
Th' innumerable effects to fort aright,
And by degree from cause to cause to climb.

But

But fince our life fo faft away doth flide,
As doth a hungry Eagle through the wind:
Or as a fhip tranfported with the tide,
Which in their paffage leave no print behind;

Of which swift little time fo much we spend

While fome few things we through the fence do ftrain,
That our fhort race of life is at an end,

Ere we the principles of skill attain.

Sir John Davies,

p. 68.

The Inftability of HUMAN GREATNESS.

'OND Man, that looks on Earth for happinesse,

FOND

And here long feeks what here is never found! For all our good we hold from heav'n by lease, With many forfeits and conditions bound;

Nor can we pay the fine and rentage due ;

Though now but writ, and feal'd, and giv'n anew,

Yet daily we it break, then daily muit renew.

Why should'st thou here look for perpetuall good,
A every loffe against heav'ns face repining?
Do but behold where glorious Cities (tood,
With gilded tops, and filver turrets fhining;

There now the Hart fearlefie of grey-hound feeds,
And loving Pelican in fafety breeds;

There fhrieching Satyres fill the people's emptie fteads.

Where

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