Before whose face so many millions fled, And whose imperiall name no man could read; Illuminate my thoughts with the beames bright Of that white, powrefull, and celestiall Dove: Kindle my spirit with that sacred heate

Which me may ravish with an heavenly love; Whilst I thy ceaselesse graces doe repeate,

Downe pourde in full aboundance to mankind, Which comfort in my soul, poore wretch! I find.

SONNET X.

HEAVENLY Messias! sweete anointed King! Whose glorie round about the world doth reach, Which everie beast, plant, rocke, and river teach,

And aerie birds like angels ever sing,

And everie gale of winde in gustes doth bring, And everie man with reason ever preach: Behold, behold, that lamentable breach Which, my distressed conscience to sting,

False, spitefull Sathan in my soule doth make. Oh, sweete Messias! lend some gracious oyle To cure that wound, even for thy mercies sake; Least, by that breach, thy temple he dispoyle. Helpe, helpe, my Conscience thither him doth leade:

And hee will come, if Thou bruise not his head.

SONNET XIII.

DEARE David's Sonne! whom thy forefathers have In psalmes and prophecies unborne foretolde,That hell in adamantine chaines should holde, And thence poore sinners both inlarge and save, Whom former blindness to damnation gave:

Mee swallowed in the gulfe of sinne behold; A lambe amongst wild wolves, once of thy fold, Whom Sathan now doth for his portion crave Deare Sonne of David! helpe: yet helpe with

speede.

Thy wounds bleed fresh in my remembrance yet, Which blessed wounds did for offenders bleede: These wounds I will not in distresse forget; For all cheefe hope of my salvation grounds In nectre of these comfortable wounds.

SONNET XIV.

O BENIGNE Father! let my sutes ascend And please thy gracious eares, from my soule sent,

Even as those sweete perfumes of incense went From our forefathers' altars: who didst lend Thy nostrils to that mirrh which they did send, Even as I now crave thine eares to be lent. My soule, my soule, is wholy, wholy bent To do thee condigne service, and amend; To flie for refuge to thy wounded brest, To sucke the balme of my salvation thence; In sweete repose to take eternall rest, As thy child folded in thine armes' defence: But then my flesh, methought by Sathan firde, Said my proud sinfull soule in vain aspirde.

SONNET XXI.

SOLE hope and blessing of olde Israel's line! Which gave, by promise, to his blessed seede A land that should all blessings plentie breede, Rivers of pleasant honnie, milke, and wine; Whose offspring numberlesse Thou calledst thine;

Whome with thine angels' manna thou didst feede,

Being before from Pharoe's bondage freede, When Moyses first thy statutes did resigne: Behold, deare God! one, in these daies of grace, (Since by thy precious bloud thou freede mankinde By promise,) which a portion and a place Amongst thy children hopeth for to finde In gospel's comfort: through thy bloud's deare prise

Oh, let him purchase such a Paradise!

SONNET XXVIII.

FORTRESSE of hope, anchour of faithfull zeale,
Rocke of affiance, bulwarke of sure trust,
In whom all nations for salvation must
Put certaine confidence of their soules' weale:
Those sacred misteries, deare Lord! reveale
Of that large volume, righteous and just.
From mee, though blinded with this earthly
dust,

Doe not those gracious misteries conceale: That I by them, as from some beamesome lampe,

May find the bright and true direction

To my soule blinded, marching to that campe Of sacred soldiours,-whose protection

Hee that victorious on a white horse rideth Taketh, and evermore triumphant guideth.

SONNET XXXI.

O GLORIOUS Patrone of eternall blisse!

Victorious Conqueror of Hell and Death! Oh that I had whole westerne windes of breath!

My voice and tongue should not be so remisse; My notes should not be so rare and demisse: But everie river, forrest, hill, and heath,

Should eccho forth his praise; and underneath The world's foundations sound that it is His! Hee which did place the world's foundations; Hee which did make the sunne, the moone, and starres;

Who with his bloud redeem'd all nations, And, willing, none from Paradise debarres:Shall not all instruments and voices sounde His glories, which in all these things abounde?

SONNET XXXIII.

THRICE puissant generall of true Christian hoast! Whose voyce itselfe is dreadfull thunder-cracke, Whose wrath doth neither fire nor lightning lacke,

Whose stormie frowne makes tremble everie coast, Chasing thy fearefull foes from post to post; Whose hands force can all the world's forces sacke,

Who turnes his foeman's colours into blacke; Whose murthering thunderboults for arrowes bee, Whose sworde victorious, trenchant, doubleedged,

His holy Scripture is; whose foes convert The point to their owne brest, and have alledg'd

Vaine arguments, thy deare saints to subvert: As thou, deare God! art Judge; so give thy doome,

In justice, to subvert ambitious Rome.

SONNET XLVIII.

O GLORIOUS Conquest, and thrice glorious speare! But sev'n times thrice more glorious the Name By which, thrice powrefull, wee conjure the

same;

Which, but repeated, doth that Dragon feare, That olde Levyathan, whose jawes, Lord! teare: Roote out his tongue which doth Thy saints defame,

And thy sweete Gospell seeke to vaile with shame.

This the chief conquest of all conquests were; For which archangels and all angels might, With cherubins and seraphins, out bring

Victorious palmes, arraid in sincere white; For which all saints might Alleluya sing. Then, glorious Captaine, our chiefe God and Man, Breake thou the jawes of olde Levyathan.

SONNET LI.

BREAKE thou the jawes of olde Levyathan, Victorious Conqueror! breake thou the jawes, Which, full of blasphemie, maligne thy lawes, Ready to curse, to lie, slaunder, and banne; Which nothing but abhomination can;

Who, like a rangying lyon, with his pawes Thy little flocke with daily dread adawes: Antichrist's harrould, who with pride beganne Even into thy triumphant throane to prease, And therefore his first comfort had forgonne: The bodie's ruiner and soule's disease; Bawde to that harlot of proude Babilon,

Which mortall man to mortall sinnes inviteth,— Teare out those fanges with which hee thy flock biteth.