My bofom-friend, if he blafpheme thy name,
I will tear thence his love and fame.
One half of me being gone, the rest I give
Unto fome Chapel, die or live.
As for thy paffion—But of that anon,

When with the other I have done.
For thy predeftination, I'll contrive,

That three years hence, if I furvive, I'll build a spital, or mend common ways,

But mend my own without delays. Then I will use the works of thy creation,

As if I used them but for fashion. The world and I will quarrel; and the year Shall not perceive, that I am here. My mufic fhall find thee, and every string Shall have his attribute to fing;

That altogether may accord in thee,

And prove one God, one harmony. If thou fhalt give me wit, it shall appear,

If thou haft given it me, 'tis here.
Nay, I will read thy book, and never move
Till I have found therein thy love;
Thy art of love, which I'll turn back on thee,
Oh my dear Saviour, Victory!

Then for thy paffion-I will do for that—
Alas, my God, I know not what.

I

VI. THE REPRISAL.

HAVE confider'd it, and find

There is no dealing with thy mighty paffion:

For though I die for thee, I am behind;

My fins deserve the condemnation.

O make me innocent, that I

May give a difentangled ftate and free;
And yet thy wounds ftill my attempts defy,
For by thy death I die for thee.

Ah! was it not enough that thou

By thy eternal glory didst outgo me?
Couldst thou not grief's fad conquefts me allow,
But in all victories overthrow me?

Yet by confeffion will I come

Into the conqueft. Though I can do nought
Against thee, in thee I will overcome

The man, who once against thee fought.

PHILOS

VII. THE AGONY.

HILOSOPHERS have measured mountains, Fathom'd the depths of feas, offtates, and kings, Walk'd with a staff to heaven, and traced fountains : But there are two vaft, fpacious things,

Thewhich to measure it doth more behove:
Yet few there are that found them; Sin and Love.

Who would know Sin, let him repair

Unto mount Olivet; there fhall he fee

A man,

fo wrung with pains, that all his hair,
His skin, his garments bloody be.

Sin is that prefs and vice, which forceth pain
To hunt his cruel food through every vein.

Who knows not Love, let him assay,
And taste that juice, which on the cross a pike

Did fet abroach; then let him fay

If ever he did taste the like.

Love is that liquor fweet and most divine,
Which my God feels as blood; but I, as wine.

VIII. THE SINNER.

LORD, how I am all ague, when I feek

What I have treasured in my memory !
Since, if my foul make even with the week,
Each seventh note by right is due to thee.
I find there quarries of piled vanities,

But fhreds of holiness, that dare not venture

To show their face, fince cross to thy decrees: There the circumference earth is, heaven the centre. In fo much dregs the quinteffence is small:

The spirit and good extract of my heart Comes to about the many hundredth part. Yet, Lord, reftore thy image, hear my call: [groan, And though my hard heart scarce to thee can Remember that thou once didft write in ftone.

IX. GOOD FRIDAY.

MY chief good,

How fhall I measure out thy blood?

How fhall I count what thee befell,

And each grief tell?

Shall I thy woes

Number according to thy foes?

Or, fince one star show'd thy first breath,
Shall all thy death?

Or fhall each leaf,

Which falls in Autumn, score a grief?
Or cannot leaves, but fruit, be fign,
Of the true vine?

Of

Then let each hour

my whole life one grief devour; That thy distress through all may run, my fun.

And be

Or rather let

My feveral fins their forrows get;
That, as each beast his cure doth know,
Each fin may fo.

SINCE blood is fittest, Lord, to write
Thy forrows in, and bloody fight;

My heart hath store; write there, where in
One box doth lie both ink and fin:

That when fin fpies fo many foes,

Thy whips, thy nails, thy wounds, thy woes,

All come to lodge there, fin may fay,

No room for me, and fly away.

Sin being gone, oh fill the place,
And keep poffeffion with thy grace;
Left fin take courage

and return,

And all the writings blot or burn.

H

X. REDEMPTION.

AVING been tenant long to a rich Lord,

Not thriving, I refolved to be bold,

And make a fuit unto him, to afford

A new small-rented lease, and cancel the old.

In Heaven at his manor I him fought:

They told me there, that he was lately gone About fome land, which he had dearly bought Long fince on earth, to take poffeffion.

I ftraight return'd, and knowing his great birth,
Sought him accordingly in great resorts;

In cities, theatres, gardens, parks, and courts:
At length I heard a ragged noise and mirth
Of thieves and murderers: there I him efpied,
Who ftraight, Your suit is granted, said, and died.

O

So

XI. SEPULCHRE.

BLESSED body! whither art thou thrown?
No lodging for thee, but a cold hard stone?
many hearts on earth, and yet not one
Receive thee?

Sure there is room within our hearts good store;
For they can lodge tranfgreffions by the score:
Thousands of toys dwell there, yet out of door
They leave thee.