Good men ye be, to leave me my best room,
Ev'n all my heart, and what is lodged there:
I passe not, I, what of the rest become,
So, Thou art still my God, be out of fear.

He will be pleased with that dittie;
And if I please him, I write fine and wittie.

Farewell sweet phrases, lovely metaphors:
But will ye leave me thus? when ye before
Of stews and brothels onely knew the doores,
Then did I wash you with my tears, and more,

Brought you to Church well drest and clad : My God must have my best, ev'n all I had.

Lovely enchanting language, sugar-cane,
Hony of
roses, whither wilt thou flie?

Hath some fond lover tic'd thee to thy bane?
And wilt thou leave the Church, and love a stie ?
Fie, thou wilt soil thy broider'd coat,

And hurt thyself, and him that sings the note.

Let foolish lovers, if they will love dung,
With canvas, not with arras clothe their shame :
Let follie speak in her own native tongue.
True beautie dwells on high: ours is a flame

But borrow'd thence to light us thither. Beautie and beauteous words should go together.

Yet if you go, I passe not; take your way:
For, Thou art still my God, is all that ye
Perhaps with more embellishment can say.
Go birds of spring: let winter have his fee;

Let a bleak palenesse chalk the doore,
So all within be livelier then before.

150. THE ROSE.

PRESSE me not to take more pleasure

In this world of sugred lies,

And to use a larger measure

Than my strict, yet welcome size.

First, there is no pleasure here:

Colour'd griefs indeed there are, Blushing woes, that look as cleare, As if they could beautie spare.

Or if such deceits there be,

Such delights I meant to say ; There are no such things to me, Who have pass'd my right away.

But I will not much oppose

Unto what you now advise:

Onely take this gentle rose,

And therein my answer lies.

What is fairer then a rose?

What is sweeter? yet it purgeth.

Purgings enmitie disclose,

Enmitie forbearance urgeth.

If then all that worldlings prize
Be contracted to a rose;

Sweetly there indeed it lies,

But it biteth in the close.

So this flower doth judge and sentence
Worldly joyes to be a scourge:
For they all produce repentance,
And repentance is a purge.

But I health, not physick choose:
Onely though I you oppose,

Say that fairly I refuse,

For my answer is a rose.

151. DISCIPLINE.

THROW away thy rod,
Throw away thy wrath :
O my God,

Take the gentle path.

For my heart's desire

Unto thine is bent:

I aspire

To a full consent.

Not a word or look

I affect to own,

But by book,

And thy book alone.

Though I fail, I weep:
Though I halt in pace,

Yet I creep

To the throne of grace.

Then let wrath remove;
Love will do the deed:

For with love

Stonię hearts will bleed.

Love is swift of foot;

Love's a man of warre,

And can shoot,

And can hit from farre.

Who can scape his bow?

That which wrought on thee,

Brought thee low,

Needs must work on me.

Throw away thy rod;

Though man frailties hath,

Thou art God:

Throw away thy wrath.

152. THE INVITATION.

COME ye hither all, whose taste
Is your waste;

Save your cost, and mend your fare.

God is here prepar'd and drest,

And the feast,

God, in whom all dainties are.

Come ye hither all, whom wine

Doth define,

Naming you not to your good: Weep what ye have drunk amisse,

And drink this,

Which before ye drink is bloud.

Come ye hither all, whom pain

Doth arraigne,

Bringing all your sinnes to sight:

Taste and fear not: God is here
In this cheer,

And on sinne doth cast the fright.

Come ye hither all, whom joy

Doth destroy,

While ye graze without your bounds:

Here is joy that drowneth quite

Your delight,

As a floud the lower grounds.

Come ye hither all, whose love

Is your dove,

And exalts you to the skie:

Here is love, which, having breath

Ev'n in death,

After death can never die.

Lord I have invited all,

And I shall

Still invite, still call to thee:

For it seems but just and right

In my sight,

Where is all, there all should be.

153. THE BANQUET.

WELCOME Sweet and sacred cheer, Welcome deare;

With me, in me, live and dwell:

For thy neatnesse passeth sight,

Thy delight

Passeth tongue or taste or tell.