This notwithstanding, thou went'st on,
And didft allow us all our noise :

Nay thou haft made a figh and groan
Thy joys.

Not that thou haft not still above
Much better tunes, than groans can make ;

But that these country-airs thy love

Did take.

Wherefore I cry, and cry again;
And in no quiet canst thou be,
Till I a thankful heart obtain

Of thee:

Not thankful, when it pleaseth me;
As if thy bleffings had spare days:
But fuch a heart, whofe pulfe may be
Thy praise.

97. Peace.

WEET Peace, where doft thou dwell?

Let me once know.

I fought thee in a secret cave,

I

[humbly crave,

And afk'd, if Peace were there.

A hollow wind did feem to answer, No:

Go feek elsewhere.

I did; and going did a rainbow note:
Surely, thought I,

This is the Lace of Peace's coat :
I will search out the matter.

But while I look'd, the clouds immediately
Did break and scatter.

Then went I to a garden, and did spy
A gallant flower,

The crown Imperial: Sure, faid I,
Peace at the root muft dwell.

But when I digg'd, I saw a worm devour
What show'd fo well.

At length I met a reverend good old man :
Whom when for Peace

I did demand, he thus began;

There was a Prince of old

At Salem dwelt, who lived with good increase Of flock and fold.

He sweetly lived; yet sweetness did not save His life from foes.

But after death out of his

grave

There sprang twelve stalks of wheat :

Which many wondering at, got fome of those To plant and fet.

It profper'd strangely, and did foon disperse

Through all the earth:

For they that taste it do rehearse,

That virtue lies therein;

A fecret virtue, bringing peace and mirth
By flight of fin.

Take of this grain, which in my garden grows, And grows for you;

Make bread of it: and that repose

WHAT a cunning guest

Is this fame grief! within my heart I made

Closets; and in them

and in them many a cheft;

And like a master in my trade,

In those chefts, boxes; in each box, a till: Yet grief knows all, and enters when he will.

No screw, no piercer can

Into a piece of timber work and wind,
As God's afflictions into man,

When he a torture hath design'd.

They are too fubtle for the subtleft hearts;
And fall, like rheums, upon the tendereft parts.

We are the earth; and they,

Like moles within us, heave, and cast about :

And till they foot and clutch their prey,
They never cool, much less give out.

No Smith can make fuch locks, but they have keys; Closets are Halls to them; and hearts, highways.

Only an open breaft

Doth shut them out, fo that they cannot enter;
Or, if they enter, cannot rest,

But quickly feek some new adventure. Smooth open hearts no fastening have; but fiction Doth give a hold and handle to affliction.

Wherefore my faults and fins,

Lord, I acknowledge; take thy plagues away :
For fince confeffion pardon wins,

I challenge here the brightest day,
The cleareft diamond: let them do their best,
They shall be thick and cloudy to my breast.

99. Giddinefs.

H, what a thing is man! how far from
From fettled peace and rest!

He is fome twenty several men at least
Each feveral hour.

power,

One while he counts of heaven, as of his treasure: But then a thought creeps in,

And calls him coward, who for fear of fin

Will lose a pleasure.

Now he will fight it out, and to the wars;
Now eat his bread in peace,

And fnudge in quiet: now he scorns increase ;
Now all day fpares.

He builds a houfe, which quickly down must go,
As if a whirlwind blew

And crush'd the building: and 'tis partly true,
His mind is fo.

O what a fight were Man, if his attires
Did alter with his mind;

And, like a Dolphin's fkin, his clothes combined
With his defires!

Surely if each one faw another's heart,
There would be no commerce,

No Sale or Bargain pass: all would difperfe,
And live apart.

Lord, mend or rather make us: one creation
Will not fuffice our turn:

Except thou make us daily, we shall spurn
Our own falvation.

100. The Bunch of Grapes.

OY, I did lock thee up: but fome bad man
Hath let thee out again:

And now, methinks, I am where I began

Seven years ago: one vogue and vein,