UPON THE LARK AND THE FOWLER.

THOU simple bird, what makes thee here to play?

Look, there's the fowler, prithee come away. Dost not behold the net? Look, there 'tis spread;

Venture a little further, thou art dead.

Is there not room enough in all the field For thee to play in, but thou needs must yield To the deceitful glitt'ring of a glass Between nets placed, to bring thy death to pass?

Bird, if thou art so much for dazzling light, Look, there's the sun above thee, dart upright;

Thy nature is to soar up to the sky;

Why wilt thou, then, come down to the nets and die?

His glass an emblem is of sinful pleasure, Decoying such who reckon sin a treasure.

This simple lark's a shadow of a saint, Under allurings ready now to faint. What you have read a needful warning is, Design'd to show the soul its share and bliss.

MEDITATIONS UPON AN EGG.

THE egg's no chick by falling from the hen, Nor man a Christian till he's born again.

The egg's at first contained in the shell;
Men afore grace in sins and darkness dwell.
The egg, when laid, by warmth is made a
chicken,

call;

This whistle he enchanteth birds withal. What tho' thou seest a live bird in his net? She's there because from thence she cannot get.

Look how he tempteth thee with his decoy, That he may rob thee of thy life, thy joy. Come, prithee, bird; I prithee come away; Why shouldst thou to this net become a prey?

Hadst thou not wings, or were thy feathers pull'd,

Or wast thou blind, or fast asleep wert lull'd, The case would somewhat alter, but for thee, Thy eyes are ope, and thou hast wings to flee.

Remember that thy song is in thy rise, Not in thy fall; earth's not thy paradise. Keep up aloft, then; let thy circuits be Above, where birds from fowlers' nets are free.

COMPARISON.

This fowler is an emblem of the devil, His nets and whistle fingers of all evil;

quicken,

The chick at first is in the cell confin'd;
So heaven-born souls are in the flesh detain'd.
The shell doth crack, the chick doth chirp and
peep;

The flesh decays, and men then pray and weep.
The shell doth break, the chick's at liberty;
The flesh falls off, the soul mounts up on high.
But both do not enjoy the selfsame plight-
The soul is safe, the chick now fears the kite.

But chicks from rotten eggs do not proceed, Nor is an hypocrite a saint indeed. The rotten egg, tho' underneath the hen, If crack'd, is foul, and loathsome unto men; Nor doth her warmth make what is rotten

sound:

What's rotten, rotten will at last be found.
The hypocrite, sin has in him possession;
He is a rotten egg under profession.

Some eggs bring cockatrices; and some men Seem hatch'd and brooded in the viper's den.

Some eggs bring wild-fowls; and some men there be

As wild as are the wildest fowls that flee.
Some eggs bring spiders; and some men appear
More venom'd than the worst of spiders are.
Some eggs bring pismires; and some seem to me
As much for trifles as the pismires be.
And thus do divers eggs form diff'rent shapes,
As like some men as monkeys are like apes;
But this is but an egg; were it a chick,
Here had been legs, and wings, and bones to
pick.

The water is the fish's element: Her sportings there to her are excellent; So is God's service unto holy men; They are not in their element till then.

UPON THE SWALLOW.

THIS pretty bird, oh how she flies and sings! But could she do so if she had not wings? Her wings bespeak my faith, her songs my

peace;

When I believe and sing my doubtings cease.

UPON THE FLINT IN THE WATER.
THIS flint time out of mind hath there abode
Where crystal streams make their continual
road,

Yet it abides a flint as much as 'twere
Before it touch'd the water or came there.

Its hardness is not in the least abated, 'Tis not at all by water penetrated; Though water hath a soft'ning virtue in't, It can't dissolve the stone, for 'tis a flint.

Yea, tho' in the water it doth still remain, Its fiery nature still it does retain; If you oppose it with its opposite, Then in your very face its fire 'twill spit.

COMPARISON.

This flint an emblem is of those that lie Under the word like stones until they die; Its crystal streams have not their natures chang'd;

They are not from their lusts by grace estrang'd.

UPON THE FISH IN THE WATER. THE water is the fish's element:

Take her from thence, none can her death prevent;

UPON THE BEE.

THE bee goes out, and honey home doth bring, And some who seek that honey find a sting. Now wouldst thou have the honey, and be free From stinging, in the first place kill the bee.

COMPARISON.

This bee an emblem truly is of sin, Whose sweet unto a many death hath been: Wouldst thou have sweet from sin, and yet not

die,

Sin, in the first place, thou must mortify.

UPON OVERMUCH NICENESS.

'TIS strange to see how overnice are some About their clothes, their bodies, and their home,

While what's of worth they slightly pass it by, Not doing it at all, or slovenly.

Their houses must well furnish'd be in print, While their immortal soul has no good in't; Its outside also they must beautify,

While there is in't scarce common honesty.

Their bodies they must have trick'd up and trim,

been,

As good not be as to be kept from sin.

The water is the fish's element:

Leave her but there and she will be content;
So's he who in the path of life doth plod;
Take all, says he; let me but have
my
God.

Whereas their lives are but one common blot.

How nice, how coy are some about their diet That can their crying souls with hogs' meat quiet!

All must be drest to a hair, or else 'tis naught, While of the living bread they have no thought

MEDITATIONS UPON A CANDLE. MAN'S like a candle in a candlestick, Made up of tallow and a little wick;

For what the candle is before 'tis lighted, Just such be they who are in sin benighted; Nor can a man his soul with grace inspire, More than the candles set themselves on fire.

Candles receive their light from what they are not;

Men grace from Him for whom at first they

care not.

We manage candles when they take the fire; God, men, when he with grace doth them inspire.

And biggest candles give the better light, As grace on biggest sinners shines most bright.

The candle shines to make another see; A saint unto his neighbour light should be. The blinking candle we do much despise; Saints dim of light are high in no man's eyes.

Again, though it may seem to some a riddle, We use to light our candle at the middle. True light doth at the candle's end appear, And grace the heart first reaches by the ear; But 'tis the wick the fire doth kindle on, As 'tis the heart that grace first works upon. Thus both do fasten upon what's the main, And so their life and vigour do maintain.

The tallow makes the wick yield to the fire, And sinful flesh doth make the soul desire That grace may kindle on it, in it burn; So evil makes the soul from evil turn.

But candles in the wind are apt to flare, And Christians in a tempest to despair. We see the flame with smoke attended is, And in our holy lives there's much amiss.

Sometimes a thief will candlelight annoy, And lusts do seek our graces to destroy. What brackish is will make a candle splutter; 'Twixt sin and grace there's oft a heavy clutter. Sometimes the light burns dim, 'cause of the snuff,

And sometimes 'tis blown quite out with a puff; But watchfulness preventeth both these evils, Keeps candles light, and grace, in spite of devils.

But let not snuffs nor puffs make us to doubt; Our candles may be lighted, tho' puff'd out.

The candle in the night doth all excel;
Nor sun, nor moon, nor stars then shine so well.
So is the Christian in our hemisphere,
Whose light shows others how their course to

steer.

When candles are put out, all's in confusion; Where Christians are not devils make intrusion. They then are happy who such candles have; All others dwell in darkness and the grave. But candles that do blink within the socket, And saints whose eyes are always in their pocket,

Are much alike; such candles make us fumble, And at such saints good men and bad do stumble.

Good candles don't offend, except sore eyes,
Nor hurt, unless it be the silly flies;
Thus some hate burning candles in the night,
As some do living holy for delight.

But let us draw towards the candle's end,
The fire, you see, doth wick and tallow spend,
As grace man's life, until his glass is run;
And so the candle and the man is done.

The man now lays him down upon his bed; The wick yields up its fire, and so is dead. The candle now extinct is, but the man By grace mounts up to glory, there to stand.

UPON THE SACRAMENTS. Two sacraments I do believe there be, Ev'n Baptism and the Supper of the Lord. Both mysteries divine, which do to me, By God's appointment, benefit afford.

But shall they be my God, or shall I have Of them so foul and impious a thought

To think that from the curse they can me save? Bread, wine, or water me no ransom bought.

UPON THE SUN'S REFLECTION UPON THE CLOUDS IN A FAIR MORNING. LOOK yonder! Ah! me thinks mine eyes

do see Clouds edg'd with silver, as fine garments be: They look as if they saw the golden face That makes black clouds most beautiful with

grace.

I know thou art a creature far above me, Therefore I shun, I fear, and also love thee. But tho' thy God hath made thee such a creature,

Thou hast against him often play'd the traitor. Thy sin has fetch'd thee down: leave off to boast;

Nature thou hast defiled, God's image lost.
Yea, thou thyself a very beast hast made,
And art become like grass, which soon doth
fade.

Thy soul, thy reason, yea, thy spotless state,
Sin has subjected to th' most dreadful fate;
But I retain my primitive condition;
I've all but what I lost by thy ambition.

SINNER.

Thou venom'd thing, I know not what to call thee:

The dregs of nature surely did befall thee;

Thou wast compos'd o' th' dross and scum of all;

Men hate thee, and in scorn thee Spider call.

SPIDER.

My venom's good for something, since God made it;

Thy nature sin hath spoil'd and doth degrade it.

Thou art despoil'd of good, and, tho' I fear thee,

I will not, tho' I might, despise and jeer thee.
Thou sayst I am the very dregs of nature;
Thy sin's the spawn of devils, 'tis no creature.
Thou sayst man hates me 'cause I am a spider;
Poor man! thou of thy God art a derider;
My vemon tendeth to my preservation;
Thy pleasing follies work out thy damnation.
Poor man! I keep the rules of my creation;
Thy sin has cast thee headlong from thy sta-
tion.

I hurt nobody willingly, but thou

Art a self-murderer; thou knowst not how To do what's good; no, for thou lovest evil; Thou fly'st God's law, adherest to the devil.

SINNER.

Thou ill-shap'd thing! there's an antipathy 'Twixt man and spiders, 'tis in vain to lie; Stand off, I hate thee; if thou dost come nigh me,

I'll crush thee with my foot; I do defy thee.

SPIDER.

They are ill-shap'd who warped are by sin: Hatred in thee to God hath long time been; No marvel then, indeed, if me his creature Thou dost defy, pretending name and feature; But why stand off? My presence shall not throng thee;

'Tis not my 'venom, but thy sin, doth wrong

thee.

Come, I will teach thee wisdom; do but hear

me:

I was inade for thy profit-do not fear me.

But if thy God thou wilt not hearken to, What can the swallow, ant, and spider do? Yet I will speak; I can but be rejected: Sometimes great things by small means are effected.

Hark, then! Tho' man is noble by creation. He's lapsed now to such degeneration As not to grieve, so careless is he grown, Tho' he himself has sadly overthrown

And brought to bondage every earthly thing,
Ev'n from the very spider to the king.
This we poor sensitives do feel and see,
For subject to the curse you made us be.
Tread not upon me, neither from me go;
'Tis man which has brought all the world to

woe.

The law of my creation bids me teach thee: I will not for thy pride to God impeach thee. I spin, I weave, and all to let thee see Thy best performances but cobwebs be. Thy glory now is brought to such an ebb It doth not much excel the spider's web. My webs, becoming snares and traps for flies, Do set the wiles of hell before thine eyes; Their tangling nature is to let thee see Thy sins (too) of a tangling nature be. My den or hole, for that 'tis bottomless, Doth of damnation show the lastingness. My lying quiet till the fly is catcht, Shows secretly hell hath thy ruin hatcht; In that I on her seize when she is taken, I show who gathers whom God hath forsaken. The fly lies buzzing in my web to tell How sinners always roar and howl in hell.

Now, since I show thee all these mysteries, How canst thou hate me or me scandalize?

SINNER.

Well, well; I will no more be a derider;
I did not look for such things from a spider.

SPIDER.

Come, hold thy peace. What I have yet to

say,

If heeded, may help thee another day.
Since I an ugly, ven'mous creature be,
There's some resemblance 'twixt vile man and
me.

My wild and heedless runnings are like those Whose ways to ruin do their souls expose. Daylight is not my time; I work i' th' night, To show they are like me who hate the light. The maid sweeps one web down; I make another,

To show how heedless ones convictions smother.

My web is no defence at all for me,
Nor will false hopes at judgment be to thee.

SINNER.

O spider, I have heard thee, and do wonder A spider should thus lighten and thus thunder.

SPIDER.

Do but hold still, and I will let thee see
Yet in my ways more mysteries there be.
Shall not I do thee good if I thee tell,
I show to thee a fourfold way to nell?
For since I set my web in sundry places,
I show men go to hell in divers traces.

One I set in the window, that I might
Show some go down to hell with Gospel light,
One I set in a corner, as you see,

To show how some in secret snared be.

Gross webs great store I set in darksome places,

To show how many sin with brazen faces.

Another web I set aloft on high,

To show there's some professing men must die. Thus in my ways God's wisdom doth conceal, And by my ways that wisdom doth reveal.

I hide myself when I for flies do wait,
So doth the devil when he lays his bait;
If I do fear the losing of my prey,

I stir me and more snares upon her lay:
This way and that her wings and legs I tie,
That sure as she is catch'd so she must die;
But if I see she's like to get away,
Then with my venom I her journey stay;
All which my ways the devil imitates
To catch men, 'cause he their salvation hates.

SINNER.

O spider, thou delight'st me with thy skill: I pray thee spit this venom at me still.

SPIDER.

I am a spider, yet I can possess
The palace of a king, where happiness
So much abounds. Nor when I do go thither,
Do they ask what or whence I come, or whither
I make my hasty travels; no, not they;
They let me pass, and I go on my way.
I seize the palace, do with hands take hold
Of doors, of locks, or bolts; yet I am bold,
When in, to clamber up unto the throne,
And to possess it, as if 'twere my own;
Nor is there any law forbidding me
Here to abide or in this palace be.

At pleasure I ascend the highest stories,
And then I sit, and so behold the glories
Myself is compass'd with, as if I were
One of the chiefest courtiers that be there.

Here lords and ladies do come round about me With grave demeanour, nor do any flout me