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And as all finite things seeke infinite,
From thence deriuing what beyond them is,
So man was led by charmes of this dark sp’rit,
Which hee could not know till hee did amisse,
To trust those serpents, who learn'd since they

fell, Knew more than we did, euen their own made


Which crafty oddes made vs those clouds imbrace,
Where sinne in ambush lay to ouerthrow
Nature, that would presume to fadome grace,
Or could beleeue what God said was not so.

Sinne, then we knew thee not, and could not hate;
And now we know thee, now it is too late.

O false and treacherous probability,
Enenty of truth, and friend to wickednesse,
With whose bleare eyes opinion learnes to see
Truth's feeble party here, and barrennesse :

When thou hast thus misled humanity,
And lost obedience in the pride of wit,
With reason dar’st thou iudge the Deity,

And in thy flesh make bold to fashion it?
Vaine thought! the word of power a riddle is,
And till the vayles be rent, the flesh new borne,
Reueales no wonders of that inward blisse,
Which, but where faith is, euery where findes


Who therefore censures God with fleshly sp’rit, As well in Time may wrap vp Infinite.

Syon lyes waste, and thy Jerusalem,
O Lord, is falne to ytter desolation :



Against thy prophets and thy holy men
The sinne hath wrought a fatall combination;

Prophan'd thy name, thy worship ouerthrowne,

And made thee, liuing Lord, a God vnknowne.
Thy powerfull lawes, thy wonders of creation,
Thy Word incarnate, glorious heauen, darke hell,
Lye shadowed vnder man's degeneration,
Thy Christ still crucifi'd for doing well :

Impiety, O Lord, sits on thy throne,
Which makes thee, liuing Light, a God vn-

Man's superstition hath thy truths entomb’d,
His atheisme againe her pomps defaceth

; That sensuall, vnsatiable, vast wombe Of thy seene Church thy unseene Church

disgraceth: There liues no truth with them that seem thine

owne, Which makes thee, liuing Lord, a God vn

knowne. Yet vnto thee, Lord, (mirrour of transgression) Wee, who for earthly idols haue forsaken Thy heauenly Image, (sinlesse pure impression) And so in nets of vanity lye taken ;

All desolate, implore that to thine owne,

Lord, thou no longer liue a God vnknowne. Yet, Lord, let Israel's plagues be not eternall, Nor sinne for euer cloud thy sacred mountaines ; Nor with false flames, spirituall but infernall, Dry vp thy mercies euer-springing fountaines :

Rather, sweete Jesus, fill vp time, and come, To yeeld the sinne her euerlasting doome.



Who feare the Lord are trewly blest,

That dewly worke to doe his will :
Great lands are by his seed possesst ;

His howse, his heires, shall prosper still. With plenty God shall blesse his store,

And stay his state, that loveth right: Yf darkenes come, yet evermore

The Lord shall lend him happy light. His love, his mercie, hee bestowes

On him that saves the poore from wrong, And gives, and lends, and kindnes shewes,

Yet still discreetly guides his tongue. His memorie shall ever bide ;

Yea, though in grave his bones be layd, His foote shall never fayle or slyde;

No news shall make his hart affrayd. He putts in God assured trust;

And trusting so, hee doth suppose They need not shrink whose cause is just

He shall prevayle against his foes. Hee doth in hast, but not in wast,

His goods disperse to such as need; His righteousness shall ever last,

His praise and honor shall exceed. The wicked man, when he this seeth, That God the good doth love and cherish,

for griefe and gnash his teeth— His wicked thoughts with him shall perish.

Shall pyne

By Babell's brooks we sitt and weep,

O Sion, when on thee we think;
Our harps hang'd upp doe sylence keep

On trees along the river's brink:
Yet they that thralle us thus by wrong,
Amid our sorrowes aske a song.
Come, sing us now a song, say they,

As once you song at anie hand:
Alasse ! how can we sing or play

Jehovah's songs in strangers' land ?
Yet let my hand forgett all playes,
If Salem I forget to praise.
If Salem byde not firm in mynd,

Let to my roofe my tongue be glew'd,
If other joy then her I finde.

Lord, think on Edom's race so rude, That thus that daie did whet this nation, Root up, root up her strong foundation.

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The Fift Chapter.
WITHIN my garden plot,

Loe, I am present now!
I gathered haue the myrrhe and spice

That in aboundance growe.
With honey, milke, and wine,

I haue refresht me here:
Eat, drink, my friends, be mery there,

With harty friendly cheare.
Although in slumbering sleepe

It seemes to you I lay,
Yet heare I my beloued knock,

Methinkes I heare him say:
Open to me the gate,

My loue, my heart's delight,
For, loe, my locks are all bedewed

With drizling drops of night.
My garments are put off,

Then may I not doo so;
Shal I defile my feet I washt

So white as any snow?

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