51. AVARICE.

MONEY, thou bane of blisse, and source of wo, Whence com'st thou, that thou art so fresh and

fine?

I know thy parentage is base and low : Man found thee poore and dirtie in a mine.

Surely thou didst so little contribute

To this great kingdome, which thou now hast got, That he was fain, when thou wert destitute, To digge thee out of thy dark cave and grot.

Then forcing thee, by fire he made thee bright: Nay, thou hast got the face of man; for we Have with our stamp and seal transferr'd our right: Thou art the man, and man but drosse to thee.

Man calleth thee his wealth, who made thee rich; And while he digs out thee, falls in the ditch.

How well her name an Army doth present,
In whom the Lord of hosts did pitch his tent !

53. TO ALL ANGELS AND SAINTS.

OH glorious spirits, who after all your bands
See the smooth face of God, without a frown,
Or strict commands;

Where ev'ry one is king, and hath his crown,
If not upon his head, yet in his hands:

Not out of envy or maliciousnesse
Do I forbear to crave your speciall aid.

I would addresse

My vows to thee most gladly, blessed Maid,
And Mother of my God, in my distresse :

Thou art the holy mine, whence came the gold, The great restorative for all decay

In young and old;

Thou art the cabinet where the jewell lay:
Chiefly to thee would I my soul unfold.

But now, (alas!) I dare not; for our King,
Whom we do all joyntly adore and praise,
Bids no such thing:

And where his pleasure no injunction layes,
('Tis your own case) ye never move a wing.

All worship is prerogative, and a flower
Of his rich crown, from whom lyes no appeal
At the last houre:
Therefore we dare not from his garland steal,
To makea posie for inferiour power.