They may weep out the stains by them did rise:

Those doors being shut, all by the ear comes in.

Who marks in church-time other symmetry,

Makes all their beauty his deformity.

Let vain or busy thoughts have there no part:

Bring not thy plough, thy plots, thy pleasure thither

Christ purged the temple; so must thou thy heart.

All worldly thoughts are but these met together

To cozen thee. Look to thy actions well:

For churches either are our heaven or hell.

Judge not the preacher; for he is thy judge:

If thou mislike him, thou conceivest him not.

God calleth preaching folly. Do not grudge

To pick out treasures from an earthen pot.

The worst speak something good: if all want sense, God takes a text and preaches pa tience.

[From the Church Porch.]

SUM UP AT NIGHT.

SUM up at night, what thou hast done by day;

And in the morning, what thou hast to do.

Dress and undress thy soul: mark the decay

And growth of it: if with thy watch that too

Be down, then wind up both, since we shall be

Most surely judged, make thy accounts agree.

BOSOM SIN.

girt us round!

Parents first season us: then schoolmasters

Deliver us to laws: they send us bound

To rules of reason, holy messengers,

Pulpits and Sundays, sorrow dogging sin,

Afflictions sorted, anguish of all sizes,

Fine nets and stratagems to catch us in,

Bibles laid open, millions of surprises,

Blessings beforehand, ties of gratefulness,

The sound of glory ringing in our ears;

The dew shall weep thy fall to-night; For thou must die.

Sweet_rose, whose hue angry and brave

Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye,
Thy root is ever in its grave,

And thou must die.

Sweet spring, full of sweet days and

roses.

A box where sweets compacted lie, My music shows ye have your closes, And all must die.

Only a sweet and virtuous soul,
Like seasoned timber, never gives;
But though the whole world turn to
coal,
Then chiefly lives.

Which wrapt thy smooth limbs when thou didst implore

The gods' protection, but the night before;

Follow me weeping to my turf, and there

Let fall a primrose, and with it a

tear.

Then lastly, let some weekly strewings be

Devoted to the memory of me; Then shall my ghost not walk about, but keep

Still in the cool and silent shades of sleep.

THE PRIMROSE.

Ask me why I send you here
This sweet infanta of the year?
Ask me why I send to you

This primrose, thus bepearled with dew?

I will whisper to your ears,

The sweets of love are mixed with tears.

Ask me why this flower does show So yellow green and sickly too? Ask me why the stalk is weak And bending, yet it doth not break? I will answer, these discover What fainting hopes are in a lover.

THREE EPITAPHS.
UPON A CHILD

HERE she lies, a pretty bud,
Lately made of flesh and blood;
Who so soon fell fast asleep
As her little eyes did peep.
Give her strewings, but not stir,
The earth that lightly covers her!

UPON A CHILD.

VIRGINS promised when I died,
That they would, each primrose-tide,
Duly morn and evening come,
And with flowers dress my tomb:
Having promised, pay your debts,
Maids, and here strew violets.

UPON A MAID.

HERE she lies, in beds of spice,
Fair as Eve in paradise;
For her beauty it was such,
Poets could not praise too much.
Virgins, come, and in a ring
Her supremest requiem sing;
Then depart, but see ye tread
Lightly, lightly o'er the dead.

HOW THE HEART'S EASE FIRST
CAME.

FROLIC virgins once these were,
Over-loving, living here;

Being here their ends denied,
Ran for sweethearts mad and died.
Love, in pity of their tears,
And their loss of blooming years,
For their restless here-spent hours,
Gave them heart's-ease turned to
flowers.

LITANY TO THE HOLY SPIRIT. IN the hour of my distress When temptations me oppress, And when I my sins confess,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When I lie within my bed,
Sick at heart, and sick in head,
And with doubts discomforted,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the house doth sigh and weep,
And the world is drowned in sleep,
Yet mine eyes the watch do keep,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the artless doctor sees
No one hope, but of his fees,
And his skill runs on the lees,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me.

When his potion and his pill,
His or none or little skill,
Meet for nothing, but to kill·

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the passing bell doth toll, And the Furies, in a shoal, Come to fright a parting soul,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the tapers now burn blue,
And the comforters are few.
And that number more than true,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the priest his last hath prayed,
And I nod to what he said
Because my speech is now decayed,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When, God knows, I'm tost about
Either with despair or doubt,
Yet before the glass be out,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the Tempter me pursu'th.
With the sins of all my youth,
And half damns me with untruth
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the flames and hellish cries
Fright mine ears, and fright mine

CYDNUS.

And the amber breezes float Like thoughts to be dreamed of, but never told,

Around the dancing boat!

She has stepped on the burning sand; And the thousand tongues are mute,

And the Syrian strikes with a trembling hand

The strings of his gilded lute! And the Ethiop's heart throbs loud and high

Beneath his white symar,