And purg'd with tears,

Gods Image re-appears.

The peny truly shews whose stamp it bears.

The sheep long lost,

Sins wilderness oft crost,

Is found, regain'd, return'd; spare, spare no cost.

'Tis heav'ns own suit,

Hark how it woo's you to't:

When Angels needs must speak, shall man be mute?

JOHN COLLOP.

THE WEDDING GARMENT

FAITH is the wedding garment, lind within,
With love, without foul spots, or staines of sin.
Humility is the most decent lace,

And patient hope, which doth this garment grace.
Without this royal robe no guest is fit

To sup, or at the Lords own table sit.

ROWLAND WATKYNS.

TO ALTHEA, FROM PRISON

I

WHEN Love with unconfined wings
Hovers within my Gates;

And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at the Grates:
When I lye tangled in her haire,
And fetterd to her eye;

The Gods that wanton in the Aire,
Know no such Liberty.

II

When flowing Cups run swiftly round
With no allaying Thames,

Our carelesse heads with Roses bound,
Our hearts with Loyal Flames;
When thirsty griefe in Wine we steepe,
When Healths and draughts go free,
Fishes that tipple in the Deepe,
Know no such Libertie.

III

When (like committed Linnets) I
With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetnes, Mercy, Majesty,
And glories of my King;

When I shall voyce aloud, how Good
He is, how Great should be;
Inlarged Winds that curle the Flood,
Know no such Liberty.

IV

Stone Walls doe not a Prison make,
Nor I'ron bars a Cage;
Mindes innocent and quiet take
That for an Hermitage;
If I have freedom in my Love,
And in my soule am free;
Angels alone that soar above,
Enjoy such Liberty.

RICHARD LOVELACE.

TO LUCASTA GOING TO THE WARS

I

TELL me not (Sweet) I am unkinde,
That from the Nunnery

Of thy chaste breast, and quiet minde,
To War and Armes I flie.

II

True; a new Mistresse now I chase,
The first Foe in the Field;
And with a stronger Faith imbrace
A Sword, a Horse, a Shield.

III

Yet this Inconstancy is such,

As you too shall adore;

I could not love thee (Deare) so much,
Loved I not Honour more.

RICHARD LOVELACE.

AND SHE WASHED HIS FEET WITH
HER TEARES

THE proud Ægyptian Queen, her Roman Guest,
(T'express her Love in Hight of State, and Pleasure)
With Pearl dissolv'd in Gold, did feast,
Both Food, and Treasure.

And now (dear Lord!) thy Lover, on the fair
And silver Tables of thy Feet, behold!

Pearl in her Tears, and in her Hair,

Offers thee Gold.

EDWARD SHERBURNE.

A SONG TO AMORET

If I were dead, and in my place,
Some fresher youth design'd,

To warme thee with new fires, and grace
Those Armes I left behind;

Were he as faithfull as the Sunne,
That's wedded to the Sphere;

His bloud as chaste, and temp'rate runne,
As Aprils mildest teare;

Or were he rich, and with his heapes,
And spacious share of Earth,
Could make divine affection cheape,
And court his golden birth:

For all these Arts I'de not believe,
(No though he should be thine)
The mighty Amorist could give
So rich a heart as mine.

Fortune and beauty thou mightst finde,
And greater men then I:

But my true resolved minde,
They never shall come nigh.

For I not for an hour did love,

Or for a day desire,

But with my soule had from above,

This endles holy fire.

HENRY VAUGHAN.

PEACE

My Soul, there is a Countrie
Far beyond the stars,
Where stands a winged Centrie
All skilfull in the wars,
There above noise, and danger

Sweet peace sits crown'd with smiles,
And one born in a Manger
Commands the Beauteous files,
He is thy gracious friend,
And (O my Soul awake!)
Did in pure love descend

To die here for thy sake,
If thou canst get but thither,
There growes the flowre of peace,
The Rose that cannot wither,
Thy fortresse, and thy ease;
Leave then thy foolish ranges;
For none can thee secure,
But one, who never changes,
Thy God, thy life, thy Cure.

HENRY VAUGHAN.

THE CALL

ROMIRA, stay,

And run not thus like a young Roe away,
No enemie

Pursues thee (foolish girle) tis onely I,
I'le keep off harms,

If thou'l be pleas'd to garrison mine arms;
What dost thou fear