0' 
 
Contents 
 
 Introduction . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ix 
 
 Repentance 
 
 Pi 
 
 VGE 
 
 57 
 
 The Life of George 
 
 
 Faith . 
 
 
 58 
 
 Herbert by Isaac 
 
 
 Prayer 
 
 
 60 
 
 Walton . xxxiii 
 
 The Holy Com 
 
 
 
 
 
 munion . 
 
 
 61 
 
 1 HE 1 EMPLE . 
 
 cvii 
 
 Antiphon . 
 
 
 63 
 
 The Dedication 
 
 cviii 
 
 Love . 
 
 64, 
 
 65 
 
 The Printers to the 
 
 
 The Temper 
 
 66 
 
 Reader 
 
 cix 
 
 The Temper 
 
 
 67 
 
 The Church-Porch . 
 
 I 
 
 Jordan 
 
 
 68 
 
 Superliminare 
 
 24 
 
 Employment 
 
 
 69 
 
 The Church — 
 
 
 The Holy Scrip 
 
 
 
 The Altar . 
 
 25 
 
 tures 
 
 70' 
 
 71 
 
 The Sacrifice 
 
 26 
 
 Whitsunday 
 
 7* 
 
 The Thanksgiv- 
 
 
 Grace . 
 
 
 74 
 
 ing. 
 
 37 
 
 Praise 
 
 
 75 
 
 The Reprisall . 
 
 39 
 
 Affliction . 
 
 
 76 
 
 The Agonie 
 
 40 
 
 Mattens 
 
 
 77 
 
 The Sinner . 
 
 41 
 
 Sinne . 
 
 
 78 
 
 Good Friday- 
 
 42 
 
 Even-song . 
 
 
 79 
 
 Redemption 
 
 44 
 
 Church - monu 
 
 
 
 Sepulchre . 
 
 45 
 
 ments 
 
 
 80 
 
 Easter 
 
 46 
 
 Church-musick 
 
 
 8i 
 
 Easter Wings ^ 
 
 8,49 
 
 Church-lock anc 
 
 
 
 Holy Baptisme . 
 
 50 
 
 key 
 
 
 82 
 
 Holy Baptisme . 
 
 51 
 
 The Church 
 
 
 
 Nature 
 
 52 
 
 floore 
 
 
 83 
 
 Sinne . 
 
 5^ 
 
 The Windows 
 
 
 84 
 
 Affliction . 
 
 53 
 
 Trinitie Sunday 
 
 
 85 
 
vi 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Content 
 
 The Quidditie . 
 Humilitie . 
 Frailtie 
 Constancie . 
 Affliction . 
 The Starre . 
 Sunday- 
 Avarice 
 Anagram 
 To all Angels and 
 
 Saints 
 Employment 
 Deniall 
 Christmas . 
 Ungratefulnesse . 
 Sighs and Grones 
 The World . 
 Our Life is hid 
 
 with Christ in 
 
 God 
 Vanitie 
 Lent . 
 Vertue 
 The Pearl . 
 Affliction . 
 Man . 
 Antiphon . 
 Unkindnesse 
 Life . 
 Submission . 
 Justice 
 
 Charms and Knots 
 
 Affliction . 
 
 Mortification 
 
 Decay 
 
 Miserie 
 
 Jordan 
 
 Prayer 
 
 Obedience . 
 
 PAGE 
 8 f 
 ^5 
 
 Conscience . , 
 
 PAGE 
 
 »7 
 
 Sion , . ' , 
 
 133 
 
 »7 
 
 Home , , 
 
 ^34 
 
 »9 
 
 X ne x>ricisn v^nurcn 
 
 ^37 
 
 90 
 
 1 he Quip 
 
 13^ 
 
 92 
 
 Vanitie , 
 
 139 
 
 92 
 
 The Dawning 
 
 140 
 
 94 
 
 Jesu , , , 
 
 141 
 
 95 
 
 Businesse . , 
 
 141 
 
 97 
 
 Dialogue 
 
 143 
 
 
 Dulnesse 
 
 144 
 
 97 
 
 Love-joy , 
 
 H5 
 
 99 
 
 Providence . 
 
 140 
 
 ICQ 
 
 Hope , 
 
 ^53 
 
 lOI 
 
 Sinnes round 
 
 153 
 
 103 
 
 Time , 
 
 154 
 
 1 04 
 
 Grate fulnesse 
 
 ^55 
 
 105 
 
 Peace , , 
 
 155 
 
 
 Confession . 
 
 158 
 
 
 Giddinesse , 
 
 159 
 
 106 
 
 The bunch of 
 
 107 
 
 grapes 
 
 160 
 
 105 
 
 Love unknown . 
 
 IDI 
 
 I 10 
 
 Man's medley 
 
 104 
 
 III 
 
 1 he btorm . 
 
 165 
 
 
 Paradise 
 
 I DO 
 
 114 
 
 1 he Method 
 
 ^ r _ 
 107 
 
 116 
 
 Divinitie 
 
 168 
 
 117 
 
 Grieve not the 
 
 
 115 
 
 Holy Spirit 
 
 169 
 
 119 
 
 1 he r amilie 
 
 171 
 
 1 20 
 
 The Size , 
 
 172 
 
 I 20 
 
 Artillerie 
 
 174 
 
 I 22 
 
 Church-rents and 
 
 123 
 
 schismes , 
 
 175 
 
 I 24 
 
 Justice 
 
 X / <J 
 
 125 
 
 The Pilgrimage . 
 
 178 
 
 128 
 
 The Holdfast 
 
 179 
 
 129 
 
 Complaining 
 
 180 
 
 130 
 
 The Discharge . 
 
 181 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 vii 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Praise . . 183 
 An Offering . 184 
 Longing , . 186 
 The Bag . ,189 
 The Jews . . 191 
 The Collar, . 191 
 The Glimpse . 193 
 Assurance . .194 
 The Call . .196 
 Clasping of hands 196 
 Praise . .197 
 Joseph's coat , 199 
 The Pulley . . 199 
 The Priesthood . 200 
 The Search . , 202 
 Grief . , . 204 
 The Crosse. . 205 
 The Flower . 206 
 Dotage , ,208 
 The Sonne . . 209 
 AtrueHymne . 210 
 The Answer . 210 
 A Dialogue -An- 
 
 theme , .211 
 The Water-course 212 
 Self-condemnation 212 
 Bitter-sweet . 213 
 The Glance . 214 
 The Twenty- 
 third Psalm . 215 
 Marie Magdalene 216 
 
 Aaron . . 217 
 
 The Odour . . 218 
 
 The Foil . . 219 
 The Forerunners 220 
 
 The Rose , .221 
 
 Discipline . . 223 
 
 The Invitation 224 
 
 The Banquet . 225 
 
 The Posie . . 227 
 
 A Parodie . 228 
 
 The Elixer . . ' 230 
 
 A Wreath . .231 
 
 Death , . 232 
 
 Dooms-day . . 233 
 
 Judgement . . 234 
 
 Heaven . .^35 
 
 Love . . . 236 
 
 The Church Mili- 
 tant . . . 237 
 
 L'Envoy . . 247 
 
 Appendix — 
 
 The Holy Com- 
 munion , . 248 
 Love , . . 250 
 Trinitie Sunday . 251 
 Even-song . . 252 
 The Knell . .253 
 Perseverance . 253 
 
 Index . . .255 
 
Introduction 
 
 I 
 
 There does not appear to be any need to 
 attempt to write a fresh life of George Herbert 
 as an introduction to his Temple. Walton's 
 delightful biography is ever fresh, and though it 
 scarcely comes up to some of the other inimit- 
 able lives by the same hand, yet modern 
 research has succeeded in adding but little to 
 it. But, after all, Herbert's real biography is to 
 be found in his own works. In j4 Priest to 
 the Temple he gives us the ideal at which he 
 himself aimed, and has unconsciously drawn the 
 portrait of the Rector of Bemerton ; while many 
 of his poems are as strictly autobiographical 
 as Augustine's Confessions. The Poems, and 
 the Life by Walton, mutually illustrate each other. 
 In "Affliction" (No. i8) Herbert has sketched 
 in brief outline his whole career, and details to 
 illustrate it are abundantly supplied by Walton. 
 In " The Priesthood " (No. 1 30), again, we see 
 
X INTRODUCTION 
 
 the hopes and fears with which he approached 
 holy orders. "The Pearl'' (No. 64) tells us 
 of his varied experiences; and many another 
 poem reflects the struggles with ambition or 
 the changing moods of the author, laying bare 
 his heart in his times of depression and sadness 
 as well as in his hours of peace and heavenly 
 joy, and, as he himself said in his message to 
 Nicholas Ferrar from his deathbed, furnishing 
 a picture of the many spiritual conflicts that had 
 passed betwixt God and his soul, before he 
 could subject his will to that of his Master, in 
 whose service he ultimately found perfect 
 freedom."^ Under these circumstances it has 
 been thought suflBcient to prefix Walton's Life 
 to this edition of The Temple^ and to refer the 
 reader to that and to the Poems themselves for 
 the facts of Herbert's career. 2 {■'■^' - 
 
 As a poet, Herbert is not entirely free from 
 the faults of his age and school. The quaint- 
 ness of his wit, which to many persons forms 
 one of his greatest charms, leads him at times 
 
 1 See, in addition to the poems mentioned above, 
 those entitled " The Temper "(No. 25), ««Frailtie" 
 (No. 46),'' Affliction "(No. 63), Submission "(No. 
 70), «^The Crosse "(133), *«The Flower " (134), and 
 '^The Glance "(143). 
 
 2 Besides Walton's Life, mention may be made of 
 Barnabas Oley's ''Prefatory View of the Life and 
 Vertues of the Authour, and Excellencies of this Book,'* 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 to indulge in fantastic conceits and grotesque 
 images. These, however, are characteristic 
 quite as much of the age as of the man. 
 Herbert was born in 1593, and was therefore 
 twenty years younger than Donne — a close 
 personal friend of his mother and himself, a 
 year younger than Quarles, and the senior by 
 some twenty years or more of Richard Crashaw 
 and Henry Vaughan. All these belong to 
 what has been called the " Ingenious " or 
 ''Fantastic" School, the characteristics of 
 which are the quaintness of its wit, its elaborate 
 ingenuity, and far-fetched allusiveness.^ Donne 
 was the first to introduce this style into England, 
 borrowing it from the Continent ; and there can 
 be no doubt that he greatly influenced Herbert's 
 development. But it will be found that all the 
 writers of this school are, like Herbert, prone 
 to indulge with more or less frequency in 
 artificial and elaborate conceits and strange 
 freaks of fancy. And it may be added that in 
 adopting such forms for his poems as those given 
 
 prefixed to the first edition of A Priest to the Temple 
 in 1652 ; and of the very short notice in Aubrey's 
 Brief Lives, 
 
 There is a good (anonymous) modern life by an 
 enthusiastic admirer of Herbert, published by the 
 S.P.C.K. (1893); and the notice in the Dictionary 
 of National Biography gives the facts well. 
 
 1 Cf. J. W. Hales in Ward's English Poets, i. 558. 
 
xii 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 to <*The Altar'' (No. 3) and " Easter Wings '' 
 (No. 13), where the lines are so arranged as to 
 represent the outward form of that which is the 
 subject of the poem, Herbert was not original, 
 but was simply following a fashion that had been 
 set by others before him.^ But if in the form 
 of his verse Herbert is not altogether free from 
 the faulty tendencies of his age and school, he 
 is nevertheless a master of his art. He often 
 displays astonishing skill in the management of 
 his metres and rhymes, nor is he wanting in 
 the deeper gifts that go to make a true poet. 
 Moreover, in the purity of his thought and the 
 delicacy with which he treats his subjects, not 
 only is he completely free from the defects of 
 his age, but to him belongs the honour of having 
 set his face from the first against the coarseness 
 and impurity which stained so much of con- 
 temporary verse. A man of the world versed 
 in the manners of the Court, who " knew the 
 ways of learning, of honour, and of pleasure," 2 
 a wit second to none in his love of social inter- 
 course, he determined from the beginning to 
 
 1 See Winterton's Poeta Minor es Graci (Camb. 
 1635), where similar forms are found, one of which 
 was copied from a book printed in 15 16; and cf. 
 G. Puttenham's Arte of English Foesie (l ^S^), and T/ie 
 Spectator, No. 58. 
 
 2 See " The Pearl," p. iii. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 dedicate his poetic gift to the service of his Divine 
 Master. It is a noble testimony that is borne to 
 the character and influence of his verse by one 
 whom most critics would rank as Herbert's superior 
 in poetic gifts, but whom Herbert undoubtedly 
 greatly influenced, Henry Vaughan the Silurist. 
 
 "The first that with any effectual success 
 attempted a diversion of this foul and overflow- 
 ing stream, was the blessed man, Mr. George 
 Herbert, whose holy life and verse gained many 
 pious converts, of whom I am the least, and 
 gave the first check to a most flourishing and 
 admired wit of his time." i He stands, it may 
 be fairly claimed, at the head of the line of 
 devotional poets of the English Church. Others, 
 indeed, had written sacred poems before him — 
 George Wither' s Hymns and Songs of the 
 Church were published in 1623, ten years 
 earlier than The Temple ; but we know of 
 none earlier (and indeed of few later) who 
 could say as Herbert could, that he had formed 
 and kept the resolution that " his poor abilities 
 should be all and ever consecrated to God's 
 glory." 2 Coleridge is certainly right when he 
 says that the merits of his poems " will never be 
 
 ^ Preface to Silex Scintillans (ed. 1655). 
 
 2 See his letter to his mother, together with the 
 double sonnet sent to her, in the Life (below, p. xliv) ; 
 and cf. the poem entitled Jordan " (No. 27). 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 felt without a sympathy with the mind and 
 character of the man" ; but when he proceeds 
 to add that the reader must also " be an affec- 
 tionate and dutiful child of the Church, and 
 from habit, conviction, or a constitutional pre- 
 ^ disposition to ceremoniousness in piety as in 
 manners, find her forms and ordinances aids to 
 religion, not sources of formality," ^ we feel 
 that the remark requires some qualification, for 
 certainly some of those who, as Richard Baxter, 
 have rejected the forms and ordinances of the 
 Church, or who, as William Cowper, have not 
 belonged to that school within the Church 
 which has laid most stress upon them, have 
 shown the keenest appreciation of Herbert's 
 work. The truth is that Herbert is the ex- 
 clusive property of no one school of thought in 
 the Church. Rather he furnishes a good illus- 
 tration of the saying that the Evangelical and 
 High Church parties are complementary, and 
 not opposed to each other. Throughout, he 
 writes as a loyal son of the Church of England. 
 In ''The British Church" (No. 83), distinct 
 from Her in the Valley," and from " Her on 
 the Hills," he anticipates Bishop Ken's "Com- 
 munion of the Church of England, as it stands 
 distinguished from all Papal and Puritan innova- 
 1 Introduction to the Notes on Herbert's Poems 
 CPickering). 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 tions, and as it adheres to the doctrine of the 
 Cross." ^ It would be hard to find a juster 
 statement of the Anglican position in regard to 
 the Invocation of Saints, than that given in the 
 poeni To all Angels and Saints" (No. 53). 
 Together with the strong Sacramental teaching 
 of the High Churchman, Herbert combines a 
 firm grasp of Evangelical truth. His Eucharistic 
 doctrine as expressed in the two poems on 
 "Holy Communion," especially that printed 
 from the Williams MS. ,2 may have been learnt 
 from his early friend, Bishop Andrewes, while 
 poem after poem shows that he delighted to feel 
 that there was something sacramental in every part 
 of the fabric of the Church. To him, the porch 
 and the floor and the windows, as well as the font 
 and the altar, became outward signs of invisible 
 grace. And yet, at the same time, no poet ever 
 more firmly grasped or more movingly expressed 
 the great truths on which Evangelicalism has 
 always loved to lay stress ; as the immediate 
 access of the soul to God, the doctrine of the 
 atonement and of free grace through the all- 
 prevailing merits of Christ, and the supremacy 
 of holy Scripture. Thus all sections of the 
 Church can claim a share in Herbert. He 
 belongs exclusively to none. 
 
 1 See Plumptre's Thomas Ken, vol. ii. p. 209. 
 
 2 See below, p. 248. 
 
xvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 Of his influence upon subsequent writers, and 
 of the value set upon his work by high authorities, 
 there is much that might be said; but only 
 a few remarks can be made here. Henry 
 Vaughan's admission of his debt to him has 
 been already cited, but, to estimate the extent of 
 the debt, a careful study of Silex Scintillans 
 side by side with The Temple is required. 
 Herbert is in all probability the 
 
 Dear friend, whose holy, ever-living lines 
 
 Have done much good 
 To many, and have checked my blood, 
 My fierce, wild blood, that still heaves, and 
 inclines. 
 
 But still is tam'd 
 By those bright fires which thee inflamed. ^ 
 
 And in poem after poem we may trace allusions 
 to and reminiscences of his work.^ Richard 
 Crashaw was another of his younger contem- 
 poraries who took Herbert for his model. 
 His own poems were entitled Steps to the 
 Temple^ and the lines which he wrote " On 
 
 1 The Match," SiUx Scintillans, 
 
 2 Vaughan's reminiscences of Herbert are all care- 
 fully recorded by Mr. Chambers in the Notes to his 
 Poems in The Muses* Library. See also the Intro- 
 duction " to the same volume by Mr. H. C. Beech- 
 ing, who frankly admits the debt which the younger 
 poet owed to his predecessor, and fairly estimates the 
 extent of it. 
 
INTRODUCTION xvii 
 
 Mr. G. Herbert's book, entituled ^ The Temple 
 of Sacred Poems/ sent to a gentlewoman," form 
 a graceful tribute which may fitly be given here. 
 
 Know you, fair, on what you look ? 
 
 Divinest love lies in this book : 
 
 Expecting fire from your fair eyes. 
 
 To kindle this his sacrifice. 
 
 When your hands untie these strings, 
 
 Think you've an angel by the wings ; 
 
 One that gladly would be nigh, 
 
 To wait upon each morning sigh ; 
 
 To flutter in the balmy air 
 
 Of your well perfumed prayer ; 
 
 These white plumes of his he'll lend you. 
 
 Which every day to heaven will send you : 
 
 To take acquaintance of each sphere, 
 
 And all your smooth-fac'd kindred there. 
 
 And though Herbert's name do owe 
 
 These devotions ; fairest, know 
 
 While I thus lay them on the shrine 
 
 Of your white hand, they are mine.^ 
 
 In the eighteenth century, as might be ex- 
 pected, but little notice was taken of Herbert. 
 Addison, in the Spectator^ censures the 
 forms given to the Altar'' and Easter 
 Wings," and gives them as examples of "false 
 wit." 2 Samuel Johnson shows no sympathetic 
 acquaintance with his work.^ The number of 
 
 ^ Crashaw's Steps to the Temple, 
 2 The Spectator, No. 58. 
 
 *^ Cf. Palgrave's Treasury of Sacred Song, p. vi. 
 
xviii INTRODUCTION 
 
 editions of The Temple published during the 
 century was small compared to the number 
 published during the previous seventy years. 
 One exception, however, there is the general 
 tendency to neglect Herbert's work, and that 
 is a striking one. William Cowper in his 
 
 Memoir of his early Life," after describing 
 the agonies which he suffered through the 
 melancholy and " dejection of spirits " which 
 fell upon him when studying law in London, 
 writes as follows: — 
 
 At length I met with Herbert's Poems ; 
 and gothic and uncouth as they were, I yet 
 found in them a strain of piety which I could 
 not but admire. This was the only author I 
 had any delight in reading. I pored over him 
 all day long ; and though I found not here 
 what I might have found — a cure for my 
 malady, yet it never seemed so much alleviated 
 as while I was reading him." 
 
 This testimony seems to stand quite alone, 
 and the description of the poems as " gothic 
 and uncouth " rather happily sums up the 
 verdict which the taste of 'the eighteenth 
 century would be inclined to pass upon the 
 poems. With the nineteenth century a change 
 came, and Herbert was no longer neglected. 
 There are passages in Wordsworth's Poems 
 which suggest an acquaintance with The 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 Temple ; but it is surprising that John 
 Keble does not show much trace of his in- 
 fluence. The solitary reference to him in his 
 Pralectwnes ^ is not altogether favourable, and 
 it is only very occasionally that we come 
 across a passage in The Christian Tear which 
 is suggestive of him.^ Coleridge, however, 
 though speaking of his work as " comparatively 
 little known,'' had a strong sense of its merits. 
 He himself made notes upon the poems ; and 
 in The Friend and the Biographia Literaria he 
 has borne his testimony to Herbert's power as 
 a poet. In the last- mentioned work he selects 
 him as an example of what he terms " the neutral 
 
 ^ Keble's Pnelectiones, No. xxiv. p. 471. 
 
 2 In his note on the poem for Palm Sunday in The 
 Christian Tear, Dr. Lock refers for a parallel to 
 Herbert's " Introit " (Palgrave, Treasury of Sacred 
 Song, xxxvii.). This is the double sonnet, beginning 
 
 My God, where is that ancient heat towards 
 Thee," which is not found in The Temple^ but is given 
 in Walton's Life (see below, p. xliv). A more strik- 
 ing correspondence of language and thought, which 
 seems to imply indebtedness on Keble's part, is seen 
 when the second stanza of the poem for the Sixth 
 Sunday after Trinity is compared with the third 
 stanza of Herbert's Flower " (No. 134). It may be 
 added that Miss Yonge speaks of the line, Love is 
 a present for a mighty king," from the " Church- 
 Porch "(see p. 18), as a favourite motto of Keble's. 
 See JHusings on the Christian Year, p. xiii. 
 
XX INTRODUCTION 
 
 style," and describes him as *^an exquisite 
 master of this style, where the scholar and the 
 poet supplies the material,but the perfect, well-bred 
 gentleman the expressions and arrangement." ^ 
 
 In later days George Herbert's name has 
 once more become a household word, and the 
 charm of his writings has been widely recog- 
 nised. Editions of The Temple have been 
 numerous. Of these, special mention may be 
 made of that published by Pickering in 1835, 
 which contains Coleridge's Annotations ; of Dr. 
 Grosart's elaborate edition in the " Fuller 
 Worthies Library" (1874), the text and 
 greater part of the notes from which are 
 reprinted in the Aldine Edition of The Poetical 
 Works of George Herbert (Bell & Sons, 1892); 
 and of the facsimile reprint of the first edition 
 of The Temple, with a delightful introductory 
 essay by J. H. Shorthouse (Fisher Unwin, 
 1882). An appreciative account and criticism 
 of Herbert's work is also given in George 
 MacDonald's England's Antiphon ; and reference 
 may well be made to a thoughtful essay by Dr. I. 
 Gregory Smith, in the Christian Remembrancer , 
 vol. xliv., containing an interesting comparison 
 between George Herbert and John Keble. 
 
 Since, however, that which gives The 
 
 ^ Biographta Literaria, vol. ii. p. lOI ; and cf. The 
 Friend^ vol. i. p. 53. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 XXI 
 
 Temple a right to a place in a "Library 
 of Devotion " is not so much the writer's 
 intellectual gifts as a poet, as the spirit which 
 breathes through every line he wrote, this 
 section may be fitly closed with two striking 
 testimonies (belonging to an earlier age than 
 the writings last referred to) of the devotional 
 and spiritual value of the work. 
 
 In the touching account which Sir Thomas 
 Herbert has given of the two last years of 
 Charles I., we are told that when in captivity 
 the sacred Scripture was the book he most 
 delighted in," but that among other devotional 
 books, such as Bishop Andrewes' Sermons^ 
 and Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity^ he also "read 
 often in Herbert's divine poems." i And, 
 lastly, Richard Baxter, in the preface to his 
 Poetical Fragments^ says — 
 
 " I must confess after all, that, next the 
 Scripture Poems, there are none so savoury to 
 me as Mr. George Herbert's. I know that 
 Cowley and others far excel Herbert in wit 
 and accurate composure, but as Seneca takes 
 with me above all his contemporaries, because 
 
 ^ Sir T. Herbert's Memories of the Tivo last Tears of 
 Charles /., p. 6 1. According to Dibdin (^Library 
 Companion^ p. 702), Charles I. 's own copy, bound in 
 blue morocco with rich gold tooling, was once in 
 the library of Tom Martin of Palgrave. 
 
 b 
 
xxii INTRODUCTION 
 
 he speaketh things by words feelingly and 
 seriously, like a man that is past jest, so 
 Herbert speaks to God like a man that really 
 believeth in God, and whose business in the 
 world is most with God : heart- work and 
 heaven-work make up his book.'* 
 
 " Herbert speaks to God like a man that 
 really believeth in God, and whose business 
 in the world is most with God." That is 
 the real secret of the power and influence of 
 his work. 
 
 II 
 
 The story of the first publication of The 
 Temple need not be repeated here, as it is 
 given fully in Walton's Life.^ Nicholas Ferrar, 
 to whom the charge was committed, must have 
 had a few copies struck off almost immediately 
 upon receipt of the ^Mittle book" from Mr. 
 Duncon, for there still exists at least one undated 
 copy of an impression which evidently preceded 
 the first edition issued to the public bearing 
 the date of 1633.2 As soon as even the diffi- 
 culties (so graphically described by Walton)^ 
 
 ^ See below, p. c. 
 
 2 A facsimile of this undated copy in the Huth 
 Library was published in 1876 by Elliot Stock, with 
 an introduction by Dr. Grosart. 
 
 3 See below, pp. c, ci. 
 
INTRODUCTION xxiii 
 
 in connection with the licensing of the book 
 were overcome, it was published by the printers 
 to the University of Cambridge, Thomas Buck 
 and Roger Daniel ; and so great was the demand 
 for the volume that six editions were issued 
 within eight years ; the first and second in 
 1633 ; the third in 1634 ; the fourth in 1635 ; 
 the fifth in 1638 ; and the sixth in 164 1. With 
 the last of these was bound up Christopher 
 Harvey's "the Synagogue, or the Shadow of 
 the Temple : Sacred Poems and Private 
 Ejaculations, in imitation of Mr. George 
 Herbert" — an imitation indeed, but a very poor 
 one, of The Temple , with which, however, it 
 was from this time forward frequently printed. 
 The seventh edition followed in 1656 ; the eighth 
 in 1660; the ninth in 1667; and the tenth, 
 which was the earliest to contain R. White's 
 portrait of Herbert, in 1674; and the eleventh 
 in 1679. Later editions have been numerous, 
 but need not be catalogued here. Already be- 
 fore the close of the seventeenth century the 
 text had begun to suffer from corruption, as 
 misprints, occasionally of a serious character, 
 appear from 1679 onwards, some of them being 
 commonly repeated in most editions, until Dr. 
 Grosart corrected them for his edition in the 
 " Fuller Worthies Library." Unfortunately, 
 the text of this edition (repeated in the Aldine 
 
xxiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 Poets) cannot be regarded as altogether satis- 
 factory. ^ It neither follows the Editio princeps 
 of 1633 exactly, nor either of the two known 
 MSS. of Herbert's Poems described below ; 
 but is formed somewhat arbitrarily by selecting 
 one or other of the MS. readings which best 
 commends itself to the taste of the editor, and 
 in some cases it is not easy for the reader to 
 determine precisely the source of the text adopted. 
 It would have been far better had the editor 
 followed the first edition throughout, and con- 
 tented himself with giving the readings of the 
 MSS. in his notes. Of these MSS. a brief 
 account must now be given. 
 
 (i) The Bodleian Library, Tanner^ 307. 
 This is a folio volume in. x 7|- in.), on 
 
 the title-page of which is written: "The Original 
 of Mr. George Herbert's Temple ; as it was 
 at first licensed for the presse." At the right- 
 hand top corner of the same page stands the 
 name of W. Sancroft,^ and at the foot of the 
 
 1 Dr. Grosart has done so much for Herbert, and 
 all lovers of The Temple are under so deep a 
 debt of gratitude to him for his researches and 
 discoveries, that it seems ungracious to criticise 
 his work. But it must be confessed that, apart 
 from the unsatisfactory character of the text as 
 noticed above, the work suffers considerably from 
 inaccuracies and from lack of arrangement. 
 
 2 Mr. Falconer Madan informs me that the hand- 
 
INTRODUCTION xxv 
 
 page are the autograph signatures of the Vice- 
 Chancellor of the University of Cambridge, 
 and his four assessors who joined with him in 
 licensing the work : 
 
 B. Lany, Procan : ^ 
 
 Tho : Bainbrigg. 
 
 M. Wren. 
 
 William Beale. 
 
 Tho : Freeman. 
 The title of the book is given as simply 
 The Temphy^ without the addition of " Sacred 
 
 writing is that of the archbishop, and not of his 
 uncle, also W. Bancroft, the Master of Emmanuel, 
 who died in 1637, in the same year that the future 
 archbishop took his B.A. degree. The name is of 
 course merely a sign of ownership, and has nothing 
 whatever to do with the licensing of the work. 
 There is no evidence how the volume came into 
 Bancroft's possession, but he probably secured it at 
 some time during his residence at Emmanuel, either 
 as Fellow or Master. The handwriting is in his 
 developed as distinct from his early style, but must 
 be earlier than 1677, when he was consecrated Arch- 
 bishop of Canterbury. The note indicating that 
 the volume is the original of The Temple, as it was 
 first licensed for the presse," is also in Bancroft^ 
 hand. 
 
 1 1.e, Benjamin Lany, the Vice-Chancellor {Procan- 
 cellarius), Master of Pembroke Hall. 
 
 2 * ' Temple " was a name commonly given to a 
 church in the seventeenth century (cf. Comber's 
 Companion to the Temple^. It is Stated by Dr. Grosart, 
 
xxvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 Poems and Private Ejaculations'* found 
 in the printed edition. To it is due the 
 motto from Ps. xxix. 8 : "In His temple doth 
 every man speak of His honour ; " and the 
 Dedication " stands on the title-page, and is 
 not given, as in the printed copies, a page to 
 itself. The size of the volume forbids us to 
 identify it with the " little book given by 
 Herbert to Mr. Duncon. It is probably a fair 
 copy made from this by some clerk, in order 
 to be submitted to the Vice-Chancellor for his 
 licence. The printed edition follows it very 
 closely, although, as will be seen by the notes, 
 there are occasionally passages in which it 
 diverges from both the MSS., and rests on no 
 known authority. 
 
 (2) Dr. Williams' Library, Jones , 62. 
 In strictness of speech the Bodleian MS. is 
 the only one known to exist of The Temple, 
 
 and the statement has been repeated by others, that 
 the name ^'The Temple" is due to Ferrar, and 
 that Herbert's own title was «'The Church." This, 
 however, appears to be a mistake : at least there is 
 no evidence of it, for of the only two MSS. forth- 
 coming, (i) the Bodleian gives «'The Temple" as 
 the title, and (2) the Williams MS. has no title 
 whatever. The headline at the top of the pages, 
 ''The Church," is only given in the central part of 
 the volume for those poems which are so entitled in 
 the published editions. 
 
INTRODUCTION xxvii 
 
 But this other MS., in Dr. Williams' Library, 
 to which attention was first drawn by Dr. 
 Grosart, is in some ways of even greater 
 interest. It is a small volume (5f in. x 3f in.), 
 without any title, the folios being numbered 
 1-129. On I -8 9b stand seventy- nine English 
 poems, all but six of which are also found in 
 The Temple, 1 00, 1 01 are blanks, except 
 that on loib is written: "The following sup- 
 posed to be in Mr. Herbert's own writing: — 
 See the Records in ye custody of ye University 
 Orator at Cambridge." Then follow Herbert's 
 Latin poems, Passio Discerpta^ on 102— 107a, 
 and Lucus^ on loyb-i 19a, while the remaining 
 leaves of the book are left blank. The volume 
 was given to the library, together with several 
 other books, by the Rev. John Jones of 
 Sheepall, Herts, in the last century, and on 
 the fly-leaf is the following inscription : " Don 
 Jni Jones, Cler. e museo v. cl. D. H. M. 
 Venantodun. qui ob. 1730," ^ beneath which 
 Mr. Jones has added in pencil : " This book 
 came originally from the family of Little 
 Gidding, and was probably bound there. Q. 
 Whether this be not the manuscript copy that 
 was sent by Mr. Herbert a little before his 
 
 ^ D. H. M. , the donor of the volume to Mr. Jones, 
 has been identified with Dr. Henry Mapietoft of 
 Huntingdon. 
 
xxviii INTRODUCTION 
 
 death to Mr. Nic. Ferrar ? See Mr. Herbert^s 
 Life.'' As the binding closely corresponds 
 with that of other books bound at Little 
 Gidding, the statement in the first part of this 
 note is evidently correct, but this MS. cannot 
 be identified with the volume sent by Herbert 
 to Ferrar, for it is not properly a copy of 
 The Tempky as it contains rather less than 
 one-half of the poems included in that work, 
 while it comprises no fewer than six poems 
 which have never found a place in it. That 
 which, however, gives to the volume a very 
 special interest, is the fact that although the 
 English poems in it were not written out by 
 Herbert himself, they have nevertheless been 
 carefully corrected by his hand ; and the state 
 of the MS. shows very forcibly how true is his 
 own line — 
 
 often blotted what I had begunne."^ 
 
 Words are frequently changed, and there are 
 numerous alterations and erasures. Lines and 
 even whole stanzas are added or (more fre- 
 quently) struck out by the author himself, so 
 that we are here enabled to see him as it were 
 at work. It is difficult to say precisely what 
 value should be attached to the various readings, 
 for in many instances the text found in this 
 1 See ''Jordan" (No. 75). 
 
INTRODUCTION xxix 
 
 volume varies from that in the Bodleian MS. 
 and printed edition. It must always be re- 
 membered that The Temple was published 
 posthumously. Opportunity was wanting to 
 the author to correct the proofs, or to give to 
 the poems any final alterations which he might 
 have desired to make in them. Moreover, we 
 know nothing of the appearance and condition 
 of the "little book'' which on his deathbed he 
 sent to Ferrar. We are not therefore in a 
 position to say whether it had been carefully 
 prepared for publication by Herbert himself, 
 or whether it was merely a copy which he 
 happened to have with him, and on which he 
 was still working. In the published edition, 
 as in the Bodleian MS. (which may be 
 regarded as a fair copy of the "little book"), 
 in one case a line is clearly missing. ^ There 
 is certainly one misprint ^ (which the Williams 
 MS. enables us to correct), and we may well 
 suspect others. Thus we are scarcely justified 
 in putting aside the readings of the Williams 
 MS. as mere " chips of the workshop," dis- 
 carded by their author. The MS. has evidently 
 been corrected with some care, and it is quite 
 possible that had Herbert lived to see his poems 
 through the press, he might have preferred some, 
 
 1 In ''The Size" (No. 109), p. 173. 
 ^ In Man 'VNo. 66), p. 114. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 at least, of the readings adopted by him in this 
 copy to those contained in the "little book." 
 Under these circumstances it has been thought 
 desirable in the present edition to print the text 
 verbatim, as it is found in the Editio princeps of 
 1633, retaining the original spelling, and to add 
 in the footnotes the various readings of both 
 the Bodleian and Williams MSS., except those 
 in the latter through which Herbert has struck 
 his pen. These, as having been deliberately 
 rejected by their author, we are justified in 
 ignoring, and they are therefore not repeated 
 here. The MS. was collated by Dr. Grosart 
 for his edition of Herbert's Works, and a 
 fresh examination has been made for the 
 present edition, which has enabled the editor 
 to add a few variants which had escaped Dr. 
 Grosart' s notice, and in one or two not unim- 
 portant cases to correct his misreading of the 
 MS.i 
 
 For convenience of reference, a list of the 
 poems contained in this MS. is here appended. 
 
 1 In the notes to the poems, B. stands for the 
 Bodleian MS., and W. for that in the Williams 
 Library ; MSS. denotes that both of these agree 
 in giving a reading not found in the printed 
 text. My best thanks are due to the Trustees of 
 Dr. Williams' Library, and to their courteous Libra- 
 rian, for the loan of their MS. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 The names in italics are those of poems not 
 contained in The Temple. The poems them- 
 selves are given below on pp. 248-254. The 
 figures in brackets after the names of the other 
 poems give the reference to their position in 
 The Temple : 
 
 The Dedication. 
 The Church-Porch (i). 
 Perirrhanterium ( = 2. 
 Superliminare, stanza 
 
 Superliminare (=2. 
 stanza 2). 
 
 The Ahar (3). 
 
 The Sacrifice (4). 
 
 The Thanksgiving (5). 
 
 The Second Thanks- 
 giving (= 6, The Re- 
 prisall). 
 
 The Passion (=9. Good 
 Friday, Part II.). 
 
 The Passion (= 10. Re- 
 demption). 
 
 Good Friday (9). 
 
 The Sinner (8). 
 
 Easter (12. Part I.). 
 
 Easter (12. Part II.). 
 
 Easter Wings (13). 
 
 H. Baptisme (14). 
 
 H. Baptisme (i 5). 
 
 Love (24). 
 
 The H. Communion. 
 
 Church Musick (38). 
 
 The Christian Temper 
 (= 25. The Temper). 
 
 The Christian Temper 
 (z6). 
 
 Prayer (21). 
 
 Prayer ( = 22. Holy Com- 
 munion, Part II.). 
 
 Prayer ( = 39. Church- 
 Lock and Key). 
 
 Imploiment (28). 
 
 Whitsunday (30). 
 
 The H. Scriptures (29). 
 
 Love. 
 
 Sinn (35). 
 
 Trinity Sunday (42). 
 Trinity Sunday. 
 Repentance (19). 
 Praise (32). 
 Nature (16). 
 Grace (31). 
 Mattens (34). 
 E'vensong. 
 
 Christmas-Day (56). 
 Church Monuments^ 
 
 (37). 
 Frailty (46). 
 Content (43). 
 Poetry ( = 44. The Quid- 
 
 ditie). 
 Affliction (18). 
 Humility (45). 
 Sunday (50). 
 Jordan (27). 
 Deniall (55). 
 Ungratfulnesse (57). 
 Imploiment (54). 
 "A Wreath (157). 
 
xxxii INTRODUCTION 
 
 To all Angels and Saints 
 
 (53). , 
 
 The Pearle (64). 
 
 Tentation ( = 65. Afflic- 
 tion). 
 
 The World (59). 
 
 Col. iii. 3 (60). 
 
 Faith (20). 
 
 Lent (62). 
 
 Man (66). 
 
 Ode ( = 67. Antiphon). 
 Affliction (73). 
 Sinn (17). 
 
 Charms and Knots 
 
 (72). 
 Unkindnes (68). 
 Mortification (74). 
 
 The Publican (= 76. 
 
 Miserie). 
 Prayer (78). 
 Obedience (79). 
 Invention (=77 Jordan). 
 Perfection: The Elixir 
 
 (156). 
 The Knell. 
 Perseverance. 
 Death (158). 
 Dooms-day (159). 
 Judgment (160). 
 Heaven (161). 
 Love (162). 
 
 The Church Militant 
 
 (163). 
 L'Envoy (164). 
 
The Life of 
 
 Mr. George Herbert 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 TN a late retreat from the business of this 
 ^ world, and those many little cares with 
 which I have too often cumbered myself, 
 I fell into a contemplation of some of those 
 historical passages that are recorded in sacred 
 story : and more particularly of what had passed 
 betwixt our blessed Saviour and that wonder of 
 women, and sinners, and mourners, St. Mary 
 Magdalen. I call her saint, because I did not 
 then, nor do now consider her, as when she was 
 possessed with seven devils ; not as when her 
 wanton eyes and dishevelled hair were designed 
 and managed to charm and ensnare amorous 
 beholders. But I did then, and do now con- 
 sider her, as after she had expressed a visible 
 and sacred sorrow for her sensualities ; as after 
 those eyes had wept such a flood of penitential 
 tears as did wash, and that hair had wiped, and 
 she most passionately kissed the feet of her's 
 and our blessed Jesus. And I do now consider. 
 
 xxxiii 
 
xxxiv LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 that because she loved much, not only much 
 was forgiven her : but that beside that blessed 
 blessing of having her sins pardoned, and the 
 joy of knowing her happy condition, she also 
 had from Him a testimony that her alabaster 
 box of precious ointment poured on His head 
 and feet, and that spikenard, and those spices 
 that were by her dedicated to embalm and 
 preserve His sacred body from putrefaction, 
 should so far preserve her own memory, that 
 these demonstrations of her sanctified love, and 
 of her officious and generous gratitude, should 
 be recorded and mentioned wheresoever His 
 gospel should be read ; intending thereby, that 
 as His, so her name, should also live to suc- 
 ceeding generations, even till time itself shall 
 be no more. 
 
 Upon occasion of which fair example, I did 
 lately look back, and not without some content, 
 — at least to myself, — that I have endeavoured 
 to deserve the love, and preserve the memory, 
 of my two deceased friends. Dr. Donne, and 
 Sir Henry Wotton, by declaring the several 
 employments and various accidents of their lives. 
 And though Mr. George Herbert — whose life 
 I now intend to write — were to me a stranger 
 as to his person, for I have only seen him ; yet 
 since he was, and was worthy to be, their friend, 
 and very many of his have been mine, I judge 
 it may not be unacceptable to those that knew 
 any of them in their lives, or do now know 
 them by mine, or their own writings, to see this 
 conjunction of them after their deaths ; without 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT xxxv 
 
 which, many things that concerned them, and 
 some things that concerned the age in which 
 they lived, would be less perfect, and lost to 
 posterity. 
 
 For these reasons I have undertaken it ; and 
 if I have prevented any abler person, I beg 
 pardon of him and my reader. 
 
 THE LIFE 
 
 George Herbert was born the third day of 
 April, in the year of our redemption 1593. 
 The place of his birth was near to the town 
 of Montgomery, and in that castle that did then 
 bear the name of that town and county ; that 
 castle was then a place of state and strength, 
 and had been successively happy in the family 
 of the Herberts, who had long possessed it ; 
 and with it, a plentiful estate, and hearts as 
 liberal to their poor neighbours. A family that 
 hath been blessed with men of remarkable 
 wisdom, and a willingness to serve their country, 
 and, indeed, to do good to all mankind ; for 
 which they are eminent : But alas ! this family 
 did in the late rebellion suffer extremely in their 
 estates ; and the heirs of that castle saw it laid 
 level with that earth, that was too good to bury 
 those wretches that were the cause of it. 
 
 The father of our George was Richard 
 Herbert, the son of Edward Herbert, Knight, 
 the son of Richard Herbert, Knight, the son 
 of the famous Sir Richard Herbert of Cole- 
 
xxxvi LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 brook, in the county of Monmouth, Banneret, 
 who was the youngest brother of that memorable 
 William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, that lived 
 in the reign of our King Edward the Fourth. 
 
 His mother was Magdalen Newport, the 
 youngest daughter of Sir Richard, and sister to 
 Sir Francis Newport of High Arkall, in the 
 county of Salop, Knight, and grandfather of 
 Francis Lord Newport, now Controller of his 
 Majesty's Household. A family that for their 
 loyalty have suffered much in their estates, and 
 seen the ruin of that excellent structure, where 
 their ancestors have long lived, and been 
 memorable for their hospitality. 
 
 This mother of George Herbert — of whose 
 person, and wisdom, and virtue, I intend to give 
 a true account in a seasonable place — was the' 
 happy mother of seven sons and three daughters, 
 which she would often say was Job's number, 
 and Job's distribution ; and as often bless God, 
 that they were neither defective in their shapes, 
 or in their reason ; and very often reprove them 
 that did not praise God for so great a blessing. 
 I shall give the reader a short account of their 
 names, and not say much of their fortunes. 
 
 Edward, the eldest, was first made Knight 
 of the Bath, at that glorious time of our late 
 Prince Henry's being installed Knight of the 
 Garter ; and after many years' useful travel, 
 and the attainment of many languages, he was 
 by King James sent ambassador resident to the 
 then French king, Lewis the Thirteenth. 
 There he continued about two years ; but he 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT xxxvii 
 
 could not subject himself to a compliance with 
 the humours of the Duke de Luisnes, who was 
 then the great and powerful favourite at court : 
 so that upon a complaint to our King, he was 
 called back into England in some displeasure ; 
 but at his return he gave such an honourable 
 account of his employment, and so justified his 
 comportment to the Duke and all the court, 
 that he was suddenly sent back upon the same 
 embassy, from which he returned in the 
 beginning of the reign of our good King Charles 
 the First, who made him first Baron of Castle- 
 island, and not long after of Cherbury in the 
 county of Salop. He was a man of great 
 learning and reason, as appears by his printed 
 book De Veritate^ and by his History of the 
 Hetgn of King Henry the Eighth, and by several 
 other tracts. 
 
 The second and third brothers were Richard 
 and William, who ventured their lives to 
 purchase honour in the wars of the Low 
 Countries, and died officers in that employment. 
 Charles was the fourth, and died fellow of New 
 College in Oxford. Henry was the sixth, who 
 became a menial servant to the crown in the 
 days of King James, and hath continued to be 
 so for fifty years ; during all which time he 
 hath been Master of the Revels ; a place that 
 requires a diligent wisdom, with which God 
 hath blessed him. The seventh son was 
 Thomas, who, being made captain of a ship 
 in that fleet with which Sir Robert Mansell 
 was sent against Algiers, did there show a 
 c 
 
xxxviii LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 fortunate and true English valour. Of the 
 three sisters I need not say more than that they 
 were all married to persons of worth and 
 plentiful fortunes ; and lived to be examples of 
 virtue, and to do good in their generations. 
 
 I now come to give my intended account of 
 George, who was the fifth of those seven 
 brothers. 
 
 George Herbert spent much of his childhood 
 in a sweet content under the eye and care of 
 his prudent mother, and the tuition of a chaplain, 
 or tutor to him and two of his brothers, in her 
 own family, — for she was then a widow, — 
 where he continued till about the age of twelve 
 years ; and being at that time well instructed 
 in the rules of grammar, he was not long after 
 commended to the care of Dr. Neale, who was 
 then Dean of Westminster ; and by him to the 
 care of Mr. Ireland, who was then chief master 
 of that school ; where the beauties of his pretty 
 behaviour and wit shined, and became so 
 eminent and lovely in this his innocent age, that 
 he seemed to be marked out for piety, and to 
 become the care of heaven, and of a particular 
 good angel to guard and guide him. And thus 
 he continued in that school, till he came to be 
 perfect in the learned languages, and especially 
 in the Greek tongue, in which he after proved 
 an excellent critic. 
 
 About the age of fifteen — he being then a 
 King's scholar — he was elected out of that 
 school for Trinity College in Cambridge, to 
 which place he was transplanted about the year 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT xxxix 
 
 1608 ; and his prudent mother, well knowing 
 that he might easily lose or lessen that virtue 
 and innocence, which her advice and example 
 had planted in his mind, did therefore procure 
 the generous and liberal Dr. Nevil, who was 
 then Dean of Canterbury, and master of that 
 college, to take him into his particular care, and 
 provide him a tutor ; which he did most gladly 
 undertake, for he knew the excellencies of his 
 mother, and how to value such a friendship. 
 
 This was the method of his education, till he 
 was settled in Cambridge ; where we will leave 
 him in his study, till I have paid my promised 
 account of his excellent mother ; and I will 
 endeavour to make it short. 
 
 I have told her birth, her marriage, and the 
 number of her children, and have given some 
 short account of them. I shall next tell the 
 reader that her husband died when our George 
 was about the age of four years : I am next to 
 tell, that she continued twelve years a widow ; 
 that she then married happily to a noble 
 gentleman, the brother and heir of the Lord 
 Danvers, Earl of Danby, who did highly value 
 both her person and the most excellent endow- 
 ments of her mind. 
 
 In this time of her widowhood, she being 
 desirous to give Edward, her eldest son, such 
 advantages of learning, and other education, as 
 might suit his birth and fortune, and thereby 
 make him the more fit for the service of his 
 country, did, at his being of a fit age, remove 
 from Montgomery Castle with him, and some 
 
xl LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 of her younger sons, to Oxfora; and having 
 entered Edward into Queen's College, and 
 provided him a fit tutor, she commended him 
 to his care, yet she continued there with him, 
 and still kept him in a moderate awe of herself, 
 and so much under her own eye, as to see and 
 converse with him daily : but she managed this 
 power over him without any such rigid sourness, 
 as might make her company a torment to her 
 child ; but with such a sweetness and compliance 
 with the recreations and pleasures of youth, as 
 did incline him willingly to spend much of his 
 time in the company of his dear and careful 
 mother ; which was to her great content : for 
 she would often say, " That as our bodies take 
 a nourishment suitable to the meat on which 
 we feed ; so our souls do as insensibly take in 
 vice by the example or conversation with wicked 
 company'' : and would therefore as often say, 
 " That ignorance of vice was the best preserva- 
 tion of virtue ; and that the very knowledge of 
 wickedness was as tinder to inflame and kindle 
 sin and keep it burning." For these reasons 
 she endeared him to her own company, and 
 continued with him in Oxford four years ; in 
 which time her great and harmless wit, her 
 cheerful gravity, and her obliging behaviour, 
 gained her an acquaintance and friendship with 
 most of any eminent worth or learning, that 
 were at that time in or near that university ; 
 and particularly with Mr. John Donne, who 
 then came accidentally to that place, in this 
 time of her being there. It was that John 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT xli 
 
 Donne, who was after Dr. Donne, and Dean 
 of St. Paul's, London : and he, at his leaving 
 Oxford, writ and left there, in verse, a character 
 of the beauties of her body and mind : of the 
 first he says — 
 
 No spring nor summer-beauty has such grace. 
 As I have seen in an autumnal face. 
 
 Of the latter he says — 
 
 In ail her words to every hearer fit, 
 You may at revels, or at council sit. 
 
 The rest of her character may be read in his 
 printed poems, in that elegy which bears the 
 name of The Autumnal Beauty." For both 
 he and she were then past the meridian of 
 man's life. 
 
 This amity, begun at this time and place^ 
 was not an amity that polluted their souls ; but 
 an amity made up of a chain of suitable inclina- 
 tions and virtues ; an amity like that of St. 
 Chrysostom's to his dear and virtuous Olympias ; 
 whom, in his letters, he calls his saint : or an 
 amity, indeed, more like that of St. Hierome 
 to his Paula ; whose affection to her was such> 
 that he turned poet in his old age, and then 
 made her epitaph ; wishing all his body were 
 turned into tongues that he might declare her 
 just praises to posterity. And this amity 
 betwixt her and Mr. Donne was begun in a 
 happy time for him, he being then near to the 
 fortieth year of his age, — which was some 
 
xlii LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 years before he entered into sacred orders ; — 
 a time when his necessities needed a daily supply 
 for the support of his wife, seven children, and 
 a family. And in this time she proved one 
 of his most bountiful benefactors ; and he as 
 grateful an acknowledger of it. You may take 
 one testimony for what I have said of these 
 two worthy persons, from this following letter 
 and sonnet : — 
 
 " Madam, — Your favours to me are every- 
 where : I use them and have them. I enjoy 
 them at London, and leave them there ; and yet 
 find them at Mitcham. Such riddles as these 
 become things inexpressible ; and such is your 
 goodness. I was almost sorry to find your 
 servant here this day, because I was loath to 
 have any witness of my not coming home last 
 night, and indeed of my coming this morning. 
 But my not coming was excusable, because 
 earnest business detained me ; and my coming 
 this day is by the example of your St. Mary 
 Magdalen, who rose early upon Sunday to seek 
 that which she loved most; and so did I. 
 And, from her and myself, I return such 
 thanks as are due to one, to whom we owe all 
 the good opinion, that they, whom we need 
 most, have of us. By this messenger, and on 
 this good day, I commit the enclosed holy 
 hymns and sonnets — which for the matter, not 
 the workmanship, have yet escaped the fire — 
 to your judgment, and to your protection too, 
 if you think them worthy of it ; and I have 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT xliii 
 
 appointed this inclosed sonnet to usher them to 
 your happy hand. 
 
 " Your un worthiest servant, unless your 
 accepting him to be so have mended him, 
 
 Jo. Donne." 
 
 MiTCHAM, July 1 1 , 1 607. 
 
 To the Lady Magdalen Herbert : Of St. Mary 
 Magdalen. 
 
 Her of your name, whose fair inheritance 
 
 Bethina was, and jointure Magdalo, 
 An active faith so highly did advance, 
 
 That she once knew more than the Church did 
 know, 
 
 The Resurrection ! so much good there is 
 
 Delivered of her, that some Fathers be 
 Loth to believe one woman could do this, 
 
 But think these Magdalens were two or three. 
 Increase their number. Lady, and their fame : 
 
 To their devotion add your innocence : 
 Take so much of th' example, as of the name ; 
 
 The latter half ; and in some recompense 
 That they did harbour Christ himself, a guest, 
 
 Harbour these Hymns, to his dear name addrest. 
 
 J. D. 
 
 These hymns are now lost to us ; but doubt- 
 less they were such as they two now sing in 
 heaven. 
 
 There might be more demonstrations of the 
 friendship, and the many sacred endearments 
 betwixt these two excellent persons, — for I 
 have many of their letters in my hand, — and 
 much more might be said of her great prudence 
 and piety ; but my design was not to write 
 her's, but the life of her son ; and therefore I 
 
xliv LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 shall only tell my reader, that about that very 
 day twenty years that this letter was dated, and 
 sent her, I saw and heard this Mr. John Donne 
 — who was then Dean of St. Paul's — weep, and 
 preach her funeral sermon, in the Parish Church 
 of Chelsea, near London, where she now rests 
 in her quiet grave : and where we must now 
 leave her, and return to her son George, whom 
 we left in his study in Cambridge. 
 
 And in Cambridge we may find our George 
 Herbert's behaviour to be such, that we may 
 conclude he consecrated the first-fruits of his 
 early age to virtue, and a serious study of 
 learning. And that he did so, this following 
 letter and sonnet, which were, in the first year 
 of his going to Cambridge, sent his dear mother 
 for a New Year's gift, may appear to be some 
 testimony : 
 
 . . . But I fear the heat or my late ague 
 hath dried up those springs by which scholars 
 say the Muses use to take up their habitations. 
 However, I need not their help to reprove the 
 vanity of those many love-poems that are daily 
 writ and consecrated to Venus ; nor to bewail 
 that so few are writ that look towards God and 
 heaven. For my own part, my meaning — dear 
 mother — is, in these sonnets, to declare my 
 resolution to be, that my poor abilities in poetry 
 shall be all and ever consecrated to God's glory : 
 and I beg you to receive this as one testimony." 
 
 My God, where is that ancient heat towards thee, 
 Wherewith whole shoals of Martyrs once did 
 burn, 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT xlv 
 
 Besides their other flames ? Doth Poetry- 
 Wear Venus' livery ? only serve her turn ? 
 Why are not Sonnets made of thee ? and lays 
 
 Upon thine altar burnt ? Cannot thy love 
 
 Heighten a spirit to sound out thy praise 
 As well as any she ? Cannot thy Dove 
 Outstrip their Cupid easily in flight? 
 
 Or, since thy ways are deep, and still the same,. 
 
 Will not a verse run smooth that bears thy 
 name ? 
 
 Why doth that fire, which by thy power and 
 might 
 
 Each breast does feel, no braver fuel choose 
 Than that, which one day, worms may chance 
 refuse ? 
 
 Sure, Lord, there is enough in thee to dry 
 Oceans of ink ; for as the Deluge did 
 Cover the Earth, so doth thy Majesty ; 
 
 Each cloud distils thy praise, and doth forbid 
 
 Poets to turn it to another use. 
 
 Roses and lilies speak Thee ; and to make 
 A pair of cheeks of them, is thy abuse. 
 
 Why should I women's eyes for crystal take ? 
 
 Such poor invention burns in their low mind 
 Whose fire is wild, an3 doth not upward go 
 To praise, and on thee, Lord, some ink bestow. 
 
 Open the bones, and you shall nothing find 
 
 In the best face but filth ; when Lord, in Thee 
 The beauty lies in the discovery. 
 
 G. H. 
 
 This was his resolution at the sending this 
 letter to his dear mother, about which time he 
 was in the seventeenth year of his age ; and as 
 he grew older, so he grew in learning, and 
 more and more in favour both with God and 
 man : insomuch that, in this morning of that 
 short day of his life, he seemed to be marked 
 out for virtue, and to become the care of 
 
xlvi LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 Heaven ; for God still kept his soul in so holy 
 a frame, that he may, and ought to be a pattern 
 of virtue to all posterity, and especially to his 
 brethren of the clergy, of which the reader may 
 expect a more exact account in what will 
 follow. 
 
 I need not declare that he was a strict 
 student, because, that he was so, there will be 
 many testimonies in the future part of his life. 
 I shall therefore only tell, that he was made 
 Minor Fellow in the year 1609, Bachelor of 
 Arts in the year 161 1 ; Major Fellow of the 
 College, March 15th, 161 5: and that in that 
 year he was also made Master of Arts, he being 
 then in the twenty - second year of his age ; 
 during all which time, all, or the greatest 
 diversion from his study, was the practice of 
 music, in which he became a great master ; and 
 of which he would say, "That it did relieve 
 his drooping spirits, compose his distracted 
 thoughts, and raised his weary soul so far above 
 earth, that it gave him an earnest of the joys of 
 heaven, before he possessed them." And it 
 may be noted, that from his first entrance into 
 the college, the generous Dr. Nevil was a 
 cherisher of his studies, and such a lover of his 
 person, his behaviour, and the excellent endow- 
 ments of his mind, that he took him often into 
 his own company ; by which he confirmed his 
 native gentleness : and if during this time he 
 expressed any error, it was, that he kept himself 
 too much retired, and at too great a distance 
 with all his inferiors ; and his clothes seemed 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT xlvii 
 
 to prove, that he put too great a value on his 
 parts and parentage. 
 
 This may be some account of his disposition, 
 and of the employment of his time till he was 
 Master of Arts, which was anno 1615, and in 
 the year 16 19 he was chosen Orator for the 
 University. His two precedent Orators were 
 Sir Robert Naunton, and Sir Francis Nether- 
 sole. The first was not long after made 
 Secretary of State, and Sir Francis, not very 
 long after his being Orator, was made secretary 
 to the Lady Elizabeth, Queen of Bohemia. 
 In this place of Orator our George Herbert 
 continued eight years ; and managed it with as 
 becoming and grave a gaiety, as any had ever 
 before or since his time. For " he had acquired 
 great learning, and was blessed with a high 
 fancy, a civil and sharp wit ; and with a natural 
 elegance, both in his behaviour, his tongue, and 
 his pen." Of all which there might be very 
 many particular evidences ; but I will limit 
 myself to the mention of but three. 
 
 And the first notable occasion of showing his 
 fitness for this employment of Orator was 
 manifested in a letter to King James, upon the 
 occasion of his sending that university his book 
 called Basilicon Dor on ; and their Orator was 
 to acknowledge this great honour, and return 
 their gratitude to his Majesty for such a con- 
 descension ; at the close of which letter he writ — 
 
 Quid Vaticanam Bodleianamque ohjicis^ hospes ! 
 Unicus est nobis BiUiotheca Liber • 
 
xlviii LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 This letter was writ in such excellent Latin, 
 was so full of conceits, and all the expressions 
 so suited to the genius of the King, that he 
 inquired the Orator's name, and then asked 
 William, Earl of Pembroke, if he knew him ? 
 whose answer was, " That he knew him very 
 well, and that he was his kinsman ; but he 
 loved him more for his learning and virtue, than 
 for that he was of his name and family." At 
 which answer the King smiled, and asked the 
 Earl leave that he might love him too, for he 
 took him to be the jewel of that university. 
 
 The next occasion he had and took to show 
 his great abilities, was, with them, to show also 
 hi^ great affection to that Church in which he 
 received his baptism, and of which he professed 
 himself a member ; and the occasion was this : 
 There was one Andrew Melvin, a minister of 
 the Scotch Church, and Rector of St. Andrews ; 
 who, by a long and constant converse with a 
 discontented part of that clergy which opposed 
 episcopacy, became at last to be a chief leader 
 of that faction ; and had proudly appeared to 
 be so to King James, when he was but King 
 of that nation, who, the second year after his 
 coronation in England, convened a part of the 
 bishops, and other learned divines of his Church, 
 to attend him at Hampton Court, in order to a 
 friendly conference with some dissenting brethren, 
 both of this and the Church of Scotland : of 
 which Scotch party Andrew Melvin was one ; 
 and he being a man of learning, and inclined 
 to satirical poetry, had scattered many malicious. 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT xlix 
 
 bitter verses against our Liturgy, our ceremonies, 
 and our Church government ; which were by- 
 some of that party so magnified for the wit, 
 that they were therefore brought into West- 
 minster School, where Mr. George Herbert, 
 then, and often after, made such answers to 
 them, and such reflections on him and his Kirk, 
 as might unbeguile any man that was not too 
 deeply pre-engaged in such a quarrel. But to 
 return to Mr. Melvin at Hampton Court 
 conference ; he there appeared to be a man of 
 an unruly v/it, of a strange confidence, of so 
 furious a zeal, and of so ungoverned passions, 
 that his insolence to the King, and others at 
 this conference, lost him both his Rectorship 
 of St. Andrews and his liberty too ; for his 
 former verses, and his present reproaches there 
 used against the Church and State, caused him 
 to be committed prisoner to the Tower of 
 London ; where he remained very angry for 
 three years. At which time of his commit- 
 ment, he found the Lady- Arabella an innocent 
 prisoner there ; and he pleased himself much in 
 sending, the next day after his commitment, 
 these two verses to the good lady ; which I 
 will underwrite, because they may give the 
 reader a taste of his others, which were like 
 these ; 
 
 Causa tibi mecum est communis^ carcertSy Ara^ 
 Bella, tibi causa est, Araque sacra mihi, 
 
 I shall not trouble my reader with an account 
 of his enlargement from that prison, or his death ; 
 
1 LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 but tell him Mr. Herbert's verses were thought 
 so worthy to be preserved, that Dr. Duport, 
 the learned Dean of Peterborough, hath lately- 
 collected and caused many of them to be printed, 
 as an honourable memorial of his friend Mr. 
 George Herbert, and the cause he undertook. 
 
 And in order to my third and last observa- 
 tion of his great abilities, it will be needful to 
 declare, that about this time King James came 
 very often to hunt at Newmarket and Royston, 
 and was almost as often invited to Cambridge, 
 where his entertainment was comedies, suited 
 to his pleasant humour ; and where Mr. George 
 Herbert was to welcome him with gratulations, 
 and the applauses of an Orator ; which he 
 always performed so well, that he still grew 
 more into the King's favour, insomuch that he 
 had a particular appointment to attend his 
 Majesty at Royston ; where, after a discourse 
 with him, his Majesty declared to his kinsman, 
 the Earl of Pembroke, that he found the 
 Orator's learning and wisdom much above his 
 age or wit. The year following, the King 
 appointed to end his progress at Cambridge, 
 and to stay there certain days ; at which time 
 he was attended by the great secretary of 
 nature and all learning. Sir Francis Bacon, 
 Lord Verulam, and by the ever - memorable 
 and learned Dr. Andrews, Bishop of Win- 
 chester, both which did at that time begin a 
 desired friendship with our Orator. Upon 
 whom, the first put such a value on his judg- 
 ment, that he usually desired his approbation 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT li 
 
 before he would expose any of his books to be 
 printed ; and thought him so worthy of his 
 friendship, that having translated many of the 
 Prophet David's Psalms into English verse, he 
 made George Herbert his patron, by a public 
 dedication of them to him, as the best judge of 
 divine poetry. And for the learned Bishop, 
 it is observable, that at that time there fell to be 
 a modest debate betwixt them two about pre- 
 destination, and sanctity of life ; of both of 
 which the Orator did, not long after, send the 
 Bishop some safe and useful aphorisms, in a long 
 letter, written in Greek ; which letter was so 
 remarkable for the language and reason of it, 
 that, after the reading of it, the Bishop put it 
 into his bosom, and did often show it to many 
 scholars, both of this and foreign nations ; but 
 did always return it back to the place where 
 he first lodged it, and continued it so near his 
 heart till the last day of his life. 
 
 To this I might add the long and entire 
 friendship betwixt him and Sir Henry Wotton, 
 and Dr. Donne ; but I have promised to 
 contract myself, and shall therefore only add 
 one testimony to what is also mentioned in the 
 Life of Dr. Donne ; namely, that a little before 
 his death he caused many seals to be made, and 
 in them to be engraven the figure of Christ, 
 crucified on an anchor, — the emblem of hope, — 
 and of which Dr. Donne would often say, 
 " Crux mihi anchor a.^^ — These seals he gave or 
 sent to most of those friends on which he put 
 a value ; and, at Mr. Herbert's death, these 
 
lii LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 Terses were found wrapt up with that seal, 
 which was by the Doctor given to him : 
 
 When my dear friend could write no more, 
 He gave this Seal and so gave o'er. 
 
 •When winds and waves rise highest I am sure, 
 This Anchor keeps my faith, that, me secure. 
 
 At this time of being Orator, he had learned 
 to understand the Italian, Spanish, and French 
 tongues very perfectly : hoping^ that as his 
 predecessors, so he might in time attain the 
 place of a Secretary of State, he being at that 
 time very high in the King's favour, and not 
 meanly valued and loved by the most eminent 
 and most powerful of the court nobility. This, 
 and the love of a court conversation, mixed 
 with a laudable ambition to be something more 
 than he then was, drew him often from 
 Cambridge, to attend the King wheresoever 
 the court was, who then gave him a sinecure, 
 which fell into his Majesty's disposal, I think, 
 by the death of the Bishop of St. Asaph. It 
 was the same that Queen Elizabeth had formerly 
 given to her favourite Sir Philip Sidney, and 
 valued to be worth an hundred and twenty 
 pounds per annum. With this, and his annuity, 
 and the advantage of his college, and of his 
 Oratorship, he enjoyed his genteel humour for 
 clothes, and court-like company, and seldom 
 looked towards Cambridge, unless the King 
 were there, but then he never failed ; and, at 
 other times, left the manage of his Orator's 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT liii 
 
 place to his learned friend, Mr. Herbert 
 Thorndike, who is now Prebend of West- 
 minster. 
 
 I may not omit to tell, that he had often 
 designed to leave the university, and decline all 
 study, which he thought did impair his health ; 
 for he had a body apt to a consumption, and 
 to fevers, and other infirmities, which he judged 
 were increased by his studies ; for he would 
 often say, "He had too thoughtful a wit; a 
 wit like a penknife in too narrow a sheath, too 
 sharp for his body." But his mother would 
 by no means allow him to leave the university, 
 or to travel ; and though he inclined very much 
 to both, yet he would by no means satisfy his 
 own desires at so dear a rate, as to prove an 
 undutiful son to so affectionate a mother ; but 
 did always submit to her wisdom. And what 
 I have now said may partly appear in a copy of 
 verses in his printed poems ; ^tis one of those 
 that bear the title of" Affliction " ; and it appears 
 to be a pious reflection on God's providence, 
 and some passages of his life, in which he 
 says — 
 
 Whereas my birth and spirit rather took 
 
 The way that takes the town : 
 Thou didst betray me to a lingering book, 
 
 And wrap me in a gown : 
 I was entangled in a world of strife, 
 N Before I had the power to change my life. 
 
 Yet, for I threaten'd oft the siege to raise, 
 
 Not simpering all mine age ; 
 Thou often didst with academic praise 
 
 Melt and dissolve my rage: 
 
 d 
 
liv LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 I took the sweeten'd pill, till I came where 
 I could not go away, nor persevere. 
 
 Yet, lest perchance I should too happy be 
 
 In my unhappiness, 
 Turning my purge to food, thou throwest me 
 
 Into more sicknesses. 
 Thus doth thy power cross-bias me, not making 
 Thine own gifts good, yet me from my ways 
 taking. 
 
 Now I am here, what thou wilt do with me 
 
 None of my books will show. 
 I read, and sigh, and wish I were a tree. 
 
 For then sure I should grow 
 To fruit or shade, at least some bird would trust 
 Her household with me, and I would be just. 
 
 Yet, though thou troublest me, I must be meek. 
 
 In weakness must be stout, 
 Well, I will change my service, and go seek 
 
 Some other master out ; 
 Ah, my dear God ! though I am clean forgot, 
 Let me not love thee, if I love thee not. 
 
 G. H. 
 
 In this time of Mr. Herbert's attendance 
 and expectation of some good occasion to 
 remove from Cambridge to court, God, in 
 whom there is an unseen chain of causes, did 
 in a short time put an end to the lives of two 
 of his most obliging and most powerful friends, 
 Lodowick, Duke of Richmond, and James, 
 Marquis of Hamilton ; and not long after him 
 King James died also, and with them all Mr. 
 Herbert's court hopes : so that he presently 
 betook himself to a retreat from London, to a 
 friend in Kent, where he lived very privately. 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT Iv 
 
 and was such a lover of solitariness, as was 
 judged to impair his health, more than his study 
 had done. In this time of retirement he had 
 many conflicts with himself, whether he should 
 return to the painted pleasures of a court life, 
 or betake himself to a study of divinity, and 
 enter into sacred orders, to which his mother 
 had often persuaded him. These were such 
 conflicts as they only can know that have 
 endured them ; for ambitious desires, and the 
 outward glory of this world, are not easily laid 
 aside ; but at last God inclined him to put on 
 a resolution to serve at His altar. 
 
 He did, at his return to London, acquaint a 
 court - friend with his resolution to enter into 
 sacred orders, who persuaded him to alter it, as 
 too mean an employment, and too much below 
 his birth, and the excellent abilities and endow- 
 ments of his mind. To whom he replied, It 
 hath been formerly judged that the domestic 
 servants of the King of Heaven should be of 
 the noblest families on earth. And though the 
 iniquity of the late times have made clergymen 
 meanly valued, and the sacred name of priest 
 contemptible; yet I will labour to make it 
 honourable, by consecrating all my learning, and 
 all my poor abilities to advance the glory of that 
 God that gave them ; knowing that I can never 
 do too much for Him, that hath done so much 
 for me, as to make me a Christian. And I will 
 labour to be like my Saviour, by making humility 
 lovely in the eyes of all men, and by following the 
 merciful and meek example of my dear Jesus." 
 
Ivi LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 This was then his resolution ; and the God 
 of constancy, who intended him for a great 
 example of virtue, ^continued him in it, for 
 within that year he was made deacon, but the 
 day when, or by whom, I cannot learn ; but 
 that he was about that time made deacon is most 
 certain; for I find by the records of Lincoln, 
 that he was made Prebend of Layton Ecclesia, 
 in the diocese of Lincoln, July 1 5th, 1626, and 
 that this Prebend was given him by John, then 
 Lord Bishop of that see. And now he had a 
 fit occasion to show that piety and bounty that 
 was derived from his generous mother, and his 
 other memorable ancestors, and the occasion was 
 this. 
 
 This Layton Ecclesia is a village near to 
 Spalden, in the county of Huntingdon, and the 
 greatest part of the parish church was fallen 
 down, and that of it which stood was so decayed, 
 so little, and so useless, that the parishioners 
 could not meet to perform their duty to God in 
 public prayer and praises ; and thus it had been 
 for almost twenty years, in which time there 
 had been some faint endeavours for a public 
 collection to enable the parishioners to rebuild it ; 
 but with no success, till Mr. Herbert under- 
 took it ; and he, by his own, and the contribution 
 of many of his kindred, and other noble friends, 
 undertook the re-edification of it ; and made it 
 so much his whole business, that he became 
 restless till he saw it finished as it now stands ; 
 being for the workmanship, a costly mosaic ; for 
 the form, an exact cross ; and for the decency 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT Ivii 
 
 and beauty, I am assured, it is the most remark- 
 able parish church that this nation affords. He 
 lived to see it so wainscotted, as to be exceeded 
 by none, and, by his order, the reading pew and 
 pulpit were a little distant from each other, and 
 both of an equal height; for he would often 
 say, " They should neither have a precedency or 
 priority of the other ; but that prayer and 
 preaching, being equally useful, might agree like 
 brethren, and having an equal honour and 
 estimation." 
 
 Before I proceed further, I must look back 
 to the time of Mr. Herbert's being made Prebend, 
 and tell the reader, that not long after, his 
 mother being informed of his intentions to 
 rebuild that church, and apprehending the great 
 trouble and charge that he was like to draw 
 upon himself, his relations and friends, before it 
 could be finished, sent for him from London to 
 Chelsea, — where she then dwelt, — and at his 
 coming, said, " George, I sent for you, to 
 persuade you to commit simony, by giving your 
 patron as good a gift as he has given to you ; 
 namely, that you give him back his prebend ; 
 for, George, it is not for your weak body, and 
 empty purse, to undertake to build churches." 
 Of which, he desired he might have a day's 
 time to consider, and then make her an answer. 
 And at his return to her the next day, when he 
 had first desired her blessing, and she given it 
 him, his next request was, " That she would, 
 at the age of thirty- three years, allow him to 
 become an undutiful son ; for he had made a 
 
iviii LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 vow to God, that, if he were able, he would 
 rebuild that church." And then showed her 
 such reasons for his resolution, that she presently 
 subscribed to be one of his benefactors ; and 
 undertook to solicit William, Earl of Pembroke, 
 to become another, who subscribed for fifty- 
 pounds ; and not long after, by a witty and 
 persuasive letter from Mr. Herbert, made it 
 fifty pounds more. And in this nomination of 
 some of his benefactors, James, Duke of Lenox, 
 and his brother. Sir Henry Herbert, ought to 
 be remembered ; as also the bounty of Mr. 
 Nicholas Farrer, and Mr. Arthur Woodnot: 
 the one a gentleman in the neighbourhood of 
 Layton, and the other a goldsmith in Foster 
 'Lane, London, ought not to be forgotten: for 
 the memory of such men ought to outlive their 
 lives. Of Mr. Farrer I shall hereafter give an . 
 account in a more seasonable place ; but before 
 I proceed further, I will give this short account 
 of Mr. Arthur Woodnot. 
 
 He was a man, that had considered overgrown 
 estates do often require more care and watchful- 
 ness to preserve than get them, and considered 
 that there be many discontents that riches cure 
 not ; and did therefore set limits to himself, as 
 to desire of wealth. And having attained so 
 much as to be able to show some mercy to the 
 poor, and preserve a competence for himself, he 
 dedicated the remaining part of his life to the 
 service of God, and to be useful to his friends ; 
 and he proved to be so to Mr. Herbert ; for 
 besides his own bounty, he collected and 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT lix 
 
 returned most of the money that was paid for 
 the rebuilding of that church ; he kept all the 
 account of the charges, and would often go down 
 to state them, and see all the workmen paid. 
 When I have said that this good man was a 
 useful friend to Mr. Herbert's father, and to his 
 mother, and continued to be so to him, till he 
 closed his eyes on his deathbed, I will forbear 
 to say more, till I have the next fair occasion 
 to mention the holy friendship that was betwixt 
 him and Mr. Herbert. From whom Mr. 
 Woodnot carried to his mother this following 
 letter, and delivered it to her in a sickness, 
 which was not long before that which proved to 
 be her last : — 
 
 A Letter o/yiK. George Herbert to his mother, 
 in her sickness • 
 
 " Madam, — At my last parting from you, I 
 w -o the better content, because I was in hope I 
 should myself carry all sickness out of your 
 family : but since I know I did not, and that 
 your share continues, or rather increaseth, I 
 wish earnestly that I were again with you ; and 
 would quickly make good my wish, but that my 
 employment does fix me here, it being now but 
 a month to our commencement : wherein my 
 absence, by how much it naturally augmenteth 
 suspicion, by so much shall it make my prayers 
 the more constant and the more earnest for you 
 to the God of all consolation. In the meantime, 
 I beseech you to be cheerful, and comfort your- 
 
Ix LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 self in the God of all comfort, who is not 
 willing to behold any sorrow but for sin. — What 
 hath affliction grievous in it more than for a 
 moment ? or why should our afflictions here 
 have so much power or boldness as to oppose 
 the hope of our joys hereafter ? Madam, as 
 the earth is but a point in respect of the heavens, 
 so are earthly troubles compared to heavenly 
 joys ; therefore, if either age or sickness lead 
 you to those joys, consider what advantage you 
 have over youth and health, who are now so 
 near those true comforts. Your last letter gave 
 me earthly preferment, and I hope kept heavenly 
 for yourself : but would you divide and choose 
 too ? Our college customs allow not that : and 
 I should account myself most happy, if I might 
 change with you ; for I have always observed 
 the thread of life to be like other threads or 
 skeins of silk, full of snarles and incumbrances. 
 Happy is he, whose bottom is wound up, and 
 laid ready for work in the New Jerusalem. For 
 myself, dear mother, I always feared sickness 
 more than death, because sickness hath made me 
 unable to perform those offices for which I 
 came into the world, and must yet be kept in 
 it ; but you are freed from that fear, who have 
 already abundantly discharged that part, having 
 both ordered your family and so brought up 
 your children, that they have attained to the 
 years of discretion, and competent maintenance. 
 So that now, if they do not well, the fault can- 
 not be charged on you, whose example and care 
 of them will justify you both to the world and 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT Ixi 
 
 your own conscience ; insomuch that, whether 
 you turn your thoughts on the life past, or on 
 the joys that are to come, you have strong 
 preservatives against all disquiet. And for 
 temporal afflictions, I beseech you consider, all 
 that can happen to you are either afflictions of 
 estate, or body, or mind. For those of estate, 
 of what poor regard ought they to be ? since, if 
 we had riches, we are commanded to give them 
 away : so that the best use of them is, having, 
 not to have them. But perhaps, being above the 
 common people, our credit and estimation calls 
 on us to live in a more splendid fashion : but, O 
 God ! how easily is that answered, when we 
 consider that the blessings in the holy scripture 
 are never given to the rich, but to the poor. I 
 never find ' Blessed be the rich,' or ' Blessed be 
 the noble ' ; but ' Blessed be the meek,' and 
 * Blessed be the poor,' and ' Blessed be the 
 mourners, for they shall be comforted.' And 
 yet, O God! most carry themselves so as if 
 they not only not desired, but even feared to be 
 blessed. And for afflictions of the body, dear 
 madam, remember the holy martyrs of God, 
 how they have been burned by thousands, and 
 have endured such other tortures, as the very 
 mention of them might beget amazement : but 
 their fiery trials have had an end ; and yours — 
 which, praised be God, are less — are not like 
 to continue long. I beseech you, let such 
 thoughts as these moderate your present fear and 
 sorrow : and know that if any of yours should 
 prove a Goliah-like trouble, yet you may say 
 
Ixii LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 with David, ' That God, who hath delivered 
 me out of the paws of the lion and bear, will 
 also deliver me out of the hands of this 
 uncircumcised Philistine/ Lastly, for those 
 afflictions of the soul ; consider that God intends 
 that to be as a sacred temple for himself to dwell 
 in, and will not allow any room there for such 
 an inmate as grief ; or allow that any sadness 
 shall be his competitor. And, above all, if any 
 care of future things molest you, remember those 
 admirable words of the Psalmist : ^ Cast thy 
 care on the Lord, and he shall nourish thee/ 
 To which join that of St. Peter, ' Casting all 
 your care on the Lord, for he careth for you.' 
 What an admirable thing is this, that God puts 
 his shoulder to our burden, and entertains our 
 care for us, that we may the more quietly 
 intend his service ! To conclude, let me com- 
 mend only one place more to you : Philipp. iv. 
 4. St. Paul saith there, * Rejoice in the Lord 
 always : and again I say. Rejoice.' He 
 doubles it, to take away the scruple of those 
 that might say. What, shall we rejoice in 
 afflictions ? Yes, I say again, rejoice ; so that 
 it is not left to us to rejoice, or not rejoice; 
 but, whatsoever befalls us, we must always, at 
 all times, rejoice in the Lord, who taketh care 
 for us. And it follows in the next verses: 
 * Let your moderation appear to all men : The 
 Lord is at hand : Be careful for nothing.' 
 What can be said more comfortably ? Trouble 
 not yourselves ; God is at hand, to deliver 
 us from all, or in all. Dear madam. 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT Ixiii 
 
 pardon my boldness, and accept the good 
 meaning of 
 
 Your most obedient son, 
 
 " George Herbert." 
 
 Trin. Coll., 
 May Z^^th^ 1622. 
 
 About the year 1629, and the thirty-fourth 
 of his age, Mr. Herbert was seized with a sharp 
 quotidian ague, and thought to remove it by the 
 change of air ; to which end he went to Wood- 
 ford in Essex, but thither more chiefly to enjoy 
 the company of his beloved brother. Sir Henry 
 Herbert, and other friends then of that family. 
 In his house he remained about twelve months, 
 and there became his own physician, and cured 
 himself of his ague, by forbearing to drink, and 
 not eating any meat, no not mutton, nor a hen, 
 or pigeon, unless they were'salted ; and by such 
 a constant diet he removed his ague, but with 
 inconvenie ices that were worse ; for he brought 
 upon himself a disposition to rheums, and other 
 weaknesses, and a supposed consumption. And 
 it is to be noted, that in the sharpest of his 
 extreme fits he would often say, Lord, abate 
 my great aiBiction, or increase my patience ; but 
 Lord, I repine not; I am dumb, Lord, before 
 Thee, because thou doest it." By which, and a 
 sanctified submission to the will of God, he 
 showed he was inclinable to bear the sweet yoke 
 of Christian discipline, both then and in the latter 
 part of his life, of which there will be many true 
 testimonies. 
 
Ixiv LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 And now his care was to recover from his 
 consumption, by a change from Woodford into 
 such an air as was most proper to that end. 
 And his remove was to Dauntsey in Wiltshire, 
 a noble house, which stands in a choice air ; the 
 owner of it then was the Lord Danvers, Earl of 
 Danby, who loved Mr. Herbert so very much, 
 that he allowed him such an apartment in it, as 
 might best suit with his accommodation and 
 liking. And in this place, by a spare diet, 
 declining all perplexing studies, moderate 
 exercise, and a cheerful conversation, his health 
 was apparently improved to a good degree of 
 strength and cheerfulness. And then he declared 
 his resolution both to marry and to enter into 
 the sacred orders of priesthood. These had 
 long been the desires of his mother, and his 
 other relations ; but she lived not to see either, 
 for she died in the year 1627. And though he 
 was disobedient to her about Layton Church, 
 yet, in conformity to her will, he kept his 
 Orator's place till after her death, and then 
 presently declined it ; and the more willingly, 
 that he might be succeeded by his friend Robert 
 Creighton, who now is Dr. Creighton, and the 
 worthy Bishop of Wells. 
 
 I shall now proceed to his marriage ; in order 
 to which, it will be convenient that I first give 
 the reader a short view of his person, and then 
 an account of his wife, and of some circumstances 
 concerning both. He was for his person of a 
 stature inclining towards tallness ; his body was 
 very straight, and so far from being cumbered 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT Ixv 
 
 with too much flesh, that he was lean to an 
 extremity. His aspect was cheerful, and his 
 speech and motion did both declare him a 
 gentleman ; for they were all so meek and 
 obliging, that they purchased love and respect 
 from all that knew him. 
 
 These, and his other visible virtues, begot him 
 much love from a gentleman of a noble fortune, 
 and a near kinsman to his friend the Earl of 
 Danby ; namely, from Mr. Charles Danvers of 
 Bainton, in the county of Wilts, Esq. This 
 Mr. Danvers, having known him long, and 
 familiarly, did so much affect him, that he often 
 and publicly declared a desire that Mr. Herbert 
 would marry any of his nine daughters, — for he 
 had so many, — but rather his daughter Jane 
 than any other, because Jane was his beloved 
 daughter. And he had often said the same to 
 Mr. Herbert himself ; and that if he could like 
 her for a wife, and she him for a husband, Jane 
 should have a double blessing : and Mr. Danvers 
 had so often said the like to Jane, and so much 
 commended Mr. Herbert to her, that Jane 
 became so much a platonic, as to fall in love 
 with Mr. Herbert unseen. 
 
 This was a fair preparation for a marriage ; 
 but, alas ! her father died before Mr. Herbert's 
 retirement to Dauntsey : yet some friends to 
 both parties procured their meeting ; at which 
 time a mutual affection entered into both their 
 hearts, as a conqueror enters into a surprised 
 city; and love having got such possession, 
 governed, and made there such laws and 
 
Ixvi LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 resolutions, as neither party was able to resist ; 
 insomuch, that she changed her name into 
 Herbert the third day after this first interview. 
 
 This haste might in others be thought a love- 
 frenzy, or worse ; but it was not, for they had 
 wooed so like princes, as to have select proxies ; 
 such as were true friends to both parties, such as 
 well understood Mr. Herbert's and her temper 
 of mind, and also their estates, so well before 
 this interview, that the suddenness was justifiable 
 by the strictest rules of prudence ; and the more, 
 because it proved so happy to both parties ; for 
 the eternal lover of mankind made them happy 
 in each other's mutual and equal affections, and 
 compliance ; indeed, so happy, that there never 
 was any opposition betwixt them, unless it were 
 a contest which should most incline to a compli- 
 ance with the other's desires. And though 
 this begot, and continued in them, such a mutual 
 love, and joy, and content, as was no way 
 defective ; yet this mutual content, and love, 
 and joy, did receive a daily augmentation, by 
 such daily obligingness to each other, as still 
 added such new affluences to the former fulness 
 of these divine souls, as was only improvable in 
 heaven, where they now enjoy it. 
 
 About three months after this marriage. Dr. 
 Curie, who was then Rector of Bemerton, in 
 Wiltshire, was made Bishop of Bath and Wells, 
 and not long after translated to Winchester, and 
 by that means the presentation of a clerk to 
 Bemerton did not fall to the Earl of Pembroke, 
 — who was the undoubted patron of it, — but to 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT Ixvii 
 
 the king, by reason of Dr. Curie's advancement : 
 but Philip, then Earl of Pembroke, — for 
 William was lately dead — requested the King 
 to bestow it upon his kinsman George Herbert ; 
 and the King said, " Most willingly to Mr. 
 Herbert, if it be worth his acceptance " ; and 
 the Earl as willingly and suddenly sent it him, 
 without seeking. But though Mr. Herbert had 
 formerly put on a resolution for the clergy ; yet, 
 at receiving this presentation, the apprehension 
 of the last great account, that he was to make 
 for the cure of so many souls, made him fast and 
 pray often, and consider for not less than a 
 month : in which time he had some resolutions 
 to decline both the priesthood and that living. 
 And in this time of considering, **ht endured,'* 
 as he would often say, such spiritual conflicts, 
 as none can think, but only those that have 
 endured them." 
 
 In the midst of these conflicts, his old and 
 dear friend, Mr. Arthur Woodnot, took a 
 journey to salute him at Bainton, — where he 
 then was with his wife's friends and relations — 
 and was joyful to be an eye-witness of his health 
 and happy marriage. And after they had 
 rejoiced together some few days, they took a 
 journey to Wilton, the famous seat of the Earls 
 of Pembroke ; at which time the King, the 
 Earl, and the whole court were there, or at 
 Salisbury, which is near to it. And at this 
 time Mr. Herbert presented his thanks to the 
 Earl for his presentation to Bemerton, but had 
 not yet resolved to accept it, and told him the 
 
Ixviii LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 reason why : but that night, the Earl acquainted 
 Dr. Laud, then Bishop of London, and after 
 Archbishop of Canterbury, with his kinsman's 
 irresolution. And the Bishop did the next day 
 so convince Mr. Herbert that the refusal of it 
 was sin, that a tailor was sent for to come 
 speedily from Salisbury to Wilton, to take 
 measure, and make him canonical clothes against 
 next day ; which the tailor did : and Mr. 
 Herbert being so habited, went with his presenta- 
 tion to the learned Dr. Davenant, who was then 
 Bishx)p of Salisbury, and he gave him institution 
 immediately, — for Mr. Herbert had been made 
 deacon some years before, — and he was also the 
 same day — which was April 26th, 1630, — 
 inducted into the good, and more pleasant than 
 healthful, parsonage of Bemerton ; which is a 
 mile from Salisbury. 
 
 I have now brought him to the parsonage of 
 Bemerton, and to the thirty-sixth year of his 
 age, and must stop here, and bespeak the reader 
 to prepare for an almost incredible story, of the 
 great sanctity of the short remainder of his holy 
 life ; a life so full of charity, humility, and all 
 Christian virtues, that it deserves the eloquence 
 of St. Chrysostom to commend and declare it : 
 a life, that if it were related by a pen like his, 
 there would then be no need for this age to look 
 back into times past for the examples of primitive 
 piety ; for they might be all found in the life of 
 George Herbert. But now, alas ! who is fit to 
 undertake it ? I confess I am not ; and am not 
 pleased with myself that I must ; and profess 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT Ixix 
 
 myself amazed, when 1 consider how few of the 
 clergy lived like him then, and how many live 
 so unlike him now. But it becomes not me to 
 censure : my design is rather to assure the reader 
 that I have used very great diligence to inform 
 myself, that I might inform him of the truth of 
 what follows ; and though I cannot adorn it 
 with eloquence, yet I will do it with sincerity. 
 
 When at his induction he was shut into 
 Bemerton Church, being left there alone to toll 
 the bell, — as the law requires him, — he stayed 
 so much longer than an ordinary time, before he 
 returned to those friends that stayed expecting 
 him at the church door, that his friend Mr. 
 Woodnot looked in at the church window, and 
 saw him lie prostrate on the groundT before the 
 altar ; at which time and place — as he after told 
 Mr. Woodnot — he set some rules to himself, for 
 the future manage of his life ; and then and there 
 made a vow to labour to keep them. 
 
 And the same night that he had his induction, 
 he said to Mr. Woodnot, " I now look back 
 upon my aspiring thoughts, and think myself 
 more happy than if I had attained what then I 
 so ambitiously thirsted for. And I now can 
 behold the court with an impartial eye, and see 
 plainly that it is made up of fraud and titles, and 
 flattery, and many other such empty, imaginary, 
 painted pleasures ; pleasures, that are so empty, 
 as not to satisfy when they are enjoyed. But in 
 God, and his service, is a fulness of all joy and 
 pleasure, and no satiety. And I will now use 
 all my endeavours to bring my relations and 
 e 
 
Ixx LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 dependants to a love and reliance on him, who 
 never fails those that trust him. But above all, 
 I will be sure to live well, because the virtuous 
 life of a clergyman is the most powerful eloquence 
 to persuade all that see it to reverence and love, 
 and at least to desire to live like him. And 
 this I will do, because I know we live in an age 
 that hath more need of good examples than 
 precepts. And I beseech that God, who hath 
 honoured me so much as to call me to serve him 
 at his altar, that as by his special grace he hath 
 put into my heart these good desires and 
 resolutions ; so he will, by his assisting grace, 
 give me ghostly strength to bring the same to 
 good effect. And I beseech him, that my 
 humble and charitable life may so win upon 
 others, as to bring glory to my Jesus, whom I 
 have this day taken to be my master and 
 governor ; and I am so proud of his service, 
 that I will always observe, and obey, and do his 
 will ; and always call him, Jesus my Master ; 
 and I will always contemn my birth, or any title 
 or dignity that can be conferred upon me, when 
 I shall compare them with my title of being a 
 priest, and serving at the altar of Jesus my 
 Master." 
 
 And that he did so may appear in many parts 
 of his book of Sacred Poems : especially in that 
 which he calls " The Odour." In which he 
 seems to rejoice in the thoughts of that word 
 Jesus, and say, that the adding these words, my 
 master, to it, and the often repetition of them, 
 seemed to perfume his mind, and leave an 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT Ixxi 
 
 oriental fragrancy to his very breath. And for 
 his unforced choice to serve at God's altar, he 
 seems in another place of his poems, "The 
 Pearl " (Matt. xiii. 45, 46), to rejoice and say : 
 *'He knew the ways of learning; knew what 
 nature does willingly, and what, when it is 
 forced by fire ; knew the ways of honour, and 
 when glory inclines the soul to noble expressions : 
 knew the court : knew the ways of pleasure, of 
 love, of wit, of music, and upon what terms he 
 declined all these for the service of his master 
 Jesus" : and then concludes, saying — 
 
 That, through these labyrinths, not my grovelling 
 wit. 
 
 But thy silk twist, let down from Heaven to me, 
 Bid both conduct, and teach me, how by it 
 
 To tlimb to thee. 
 
 The third day after he was made Rector of 
 Bemerton, and had changed his sword and silk 
 clothes into a canonical coat, he returned so 
 habited with his friend Mr. Wood not to 
 Bainton ; and immediately after he had seen and 
 saluted his wife, he said to her — " You are now 
 a minister's wife, and must now so far forget 
 your father's house, as not to claim a precedence 
 of any of your parishioners ; for you are to 
 know, that a priest's wife can challenge no 
 precedence or place, but that which she purchases 
 by her obliging humility ; and I am sure, places 
 so purchased do best become them. And let 
 me tell you, that I am so good a herald, as to 
 assure you that this is truth." And she was so 
 
Ixxii LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 meek a wife, as to assure him, " It was no vexing 
 news to her, and that he should see her observe 
 it with a cheerful willingness." And, indeed, 
 her unforced humility, that humility that was in 
 her so original, as to be born with her, made her 
 so happy as to do so ; and her doing so begot 
 her an unfeigned love, and a serviceable respect 
 from all that conversed with her ; and this love 
 followed her in all places, as inseparably as 
 shadows follow substances in sunshine. 
 
 It was not many days before he returned back 
 to Bemerton, to view the church and repair the 
 chancel : and indeed, to rebuild almost three 
 parts of his house, which was fallen down, or 
 decayed by reason of his predecessor's living at 
 a better parsonage - house ; namely, at Minal, 
 sixteen or twenty miles from this place. At 
 which time of Mr. Herbert's coming alone to 
 Bemerton, there came to him a poor old woman, 
 with an intent to acquaint him with her 
 necessitous condition, as also with some troubles 
 of her mind : but after she had spoke some few 
 words to him, she was surprised with a fear, and 
 that begot a shortness of breath, so that her 
 spirits and speech failed her ; which he perceiv- 
 ing, did so compassionate her, and was so humble, 
 that he took her by the hand, and said, " Speak, 
 good mother ; be not afraid to speak to me ; for 
 I am a man that will hear you with patience ; 
 and will relieve your necessities too, if I be able : 
 and this I will do willingly ; and therefore, 
 mother, be not afraid to acquaint me with what 
 you desire." After which comfortable speech. 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT Ixxiii 
 
 he again took her by the hand, made her sit 
 down by him, and understanding she was of his 
 parish, he told her " He would be acquainted 
 with her, and take her into his care.'^ And 
 having with patience heard and understood her 
 wants, — and it is some relief for a poor body to 
 be but heard with patience, — he, like a Christian 
 clergyman, comforted her by his meek behaviour 
 and counsel ; but because that cost him nothing, 
 he relieved her with money too, and so sent her 
 home with a cheerful heart, praising God, and 
 praying for him. Thus worthy, and — like 
 David's blessed man — thus lowly, was Mr. 
 George Herbert in his own eyes, and thus lovely 
 in the eyes of others. 
 
 At his return that night to his wife at Bainton, 
 he gave her an account of the passages betwixt 
 him and the poor woman ; with which she was 
 so affected, that she went next day to Salisbury, 
 and there bought a pair of blankets, and sent 
 them as a token of her love to the poor woman ; 
 and with them a message, that she would see 
 and be acquainted with her, when her house was 
 built at Bemerton." 
 
 There be many such passages both of him 
 and his wife, of which some few will be related : 
 but I shall first tell, that he hasted to get the 
 parish church repaired ; then to beautify the 
 chapel, — which stands near his house, — and that 
 at his own great charge. He then proceeded to 
 rebuild the greatest part of the parsonage- house, 
 which he did also very completely, and at his 
 own charge ; and having done this good work, 
 
Ixxiv LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 he caused these verses to be writ upon, or 
 engraven in, the mantel of the chimney in his 
 hall. 
 
 TO MY SUCCESSOR. 
 
 If thou chance for to find 
 
 A new house to thy mind, 
 And built without thy cost ; 
 
 Be good to the poor, 
 
 As God gives thee store, 
 And then my . labour's not lost. 
 
 We will now, by the reader's favour, suppose 
 him fixed at Bemerton, and grant him to have 
 seen the church repaired, and the chapel belong- 
 ing to it very decently adorned at his own great 
 charge, — which is a real truth ; — and having 
 now fixed him there, I shall proceed to give an 
 account of the rest of his behaviour, both to his 
 parishioners, and those many others that knew 
 and conversed with him. 
 
 Doubtless Mr. Herbert had considered, and 
 given rules to himself for his Christian carriage 
 both to God and man, before he entered into 
 holy orders. And 'tis not unlike, but that he 
 renewed those resolutions at his prostration before 
 the holy altar, at his induction into the church 
 of Bemerton : but as yet he was but a deacon, 
 and therefore longed for the next ember- week, 
 that he might be ordained priest, and made 
 capable of administering both the sacraments. 
 At which time the Reverend Dr. Humphrey 
 Henchman, now Lord Bishop of London, — 
 who does not mention him but with some 
 veneration for his life and excellent learning,- — 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT Ixxv 
 
 tells me, He laid his hand on Mr. Herbert's 
 head, and, alas ! within less than three years 
 lent his shoulder to carry his dear friend to his 
 grave." 
 
 And that Mr. Herbert might the better 
 preserve those holy rules which such a priest as 
 he intended to be ought to observe ; and that 
 time might not insensibly blot them out of his 
 memory, but that the next year might show him 
 his variations from this year's resolutions ; he 
 therefore did set down his rules, then resolved 
 upon, in that order as the world now sees them 
 printed in a little book, called The Country 
 Parson ; in which some of his rules are : 
 
 The Parson's knowledge. 
 The Parson on Sundays. 
 The Parson praying. 
 The Parson preaching. 
 The Parson's charity. 
 The Parson comforting 
 
 the sick. 
 The Parson arguing. 
 
 The Parson condescend- 
 ing. 
 
 The Parson in his 
 
 journey. 
 The Parson in his mirth. 
 The Parson with his 
 
 Churchwardens. 
 The Parson blessing 
 
 the people. 
 
 And his behaviour towards God and man may 
 be said to be a practical comment on these, and 
 the other holy rules set down in that useful 
 book : a book so full of plain, prudent, and 
 useful rules, that that country parson, that can 
 spare twelve pence, and yet wants it, is scarce 
 excusable ; because it will both direct him what 
 he ought to do, and convince him for not 
 having done it. 
 
 At the death of Mr. Herbert this book fell 
 
Ixxvi LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 into the hands of his friend Mr. Woodnot ; and 
 he commended it into the trusty hands of Mr. 
 Barnabas Oley, who pubHshed it with a most 
 conscientious and excellent preface ; from which 
 I have had some of those truths, that are related 
 in this life of Mr. Herbert. The text of his 
 first sermon was taken out of Solomon's Proverbs, 
 chap. iv. 23, and the words were, "Keep thy 
 heart with all diligence." In which first sermon 
 he gave his parishioners many necessary, holy, 
 safe rules for the discharge of a good conscience, 
 both to God and man ; and delivered his sermon 
 after a most florid manner, both with great 
 learning and eloquence ; but, at the close of this 
 sermon, told them, ''That should not be his 
 constant way of preaching ; for since Almighty 
 God does not intend to lead men to heaven by 
 hard questions, he would not therefore fill their 
 heads with unnecessary notions ; but that, for 
 their sakes, his language and his expressions 
 should be more plain and practical in his future 
 sermons." And he then made it his humble 
 request, " That they would be constant to the 
 afternoon's service, and catechising " ; and 
 showed them convincing reasons why he desired 
 it; and his obliging example and persuasions 
 brought them to a willing conformity to his 
 desires. 
 
 The texts for all his future sermons — which 
 God knows, were not many — were constantly 
 taken out of the gospel for the day ; and he did 
 as constantly declare why the Church did 
 appoint that portion of Scripture to be that day 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT Ixxvii 
 
 read ; and in what manner the collect for every 
 Sunday does refer to the gospel, or to the epistle 
 then read to them ; and, that they might pray 
 with understanding, he did usually take occasion 
 to explain, not only the collect for every 
 particular Sunday, but the reasons of all the 
 other collects and responses in our Church 
 service ; and made it appear to them, that the 
 whole service of the Church was a reasonable, 
 and therefore an acceptable sacrifice to God : as 
 namely, that we begin with Confession of 
 ourselves to be vile, miserable sinners " ; and that 
 we begin so, because, till we have confessed 
 ourselves to be such, we are not capable of that 
 mercy which we acknowledge we need, and 
 pray for : but having, in the prayer of our Lord, 
 begged pardon for those sins which we have 
 confessed; and hoping, that as the priest hath 
 declared our absolution, so by our public con- 
 fession, and real repentance, we have obtained 
 that pardon ; then we dare and do proceed to 
 beg of the Lord, "to open our lips, that our 
 mouth may show forth his praise " ; for till then 
 we are neither able nor worthy to praise him. 
 But this being supposed, we are then fit to say, 
 " Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and 
 to the Holy Ghost " ; and fit to proceed to 
 a further service of our God, in the collects, 
 and psalms, and lauds, that follow in the 
 service. 
 
 And as to the psalms and lauds, he proceeded 
 to inform them why they were so often, and 
 some of them daily, repeated in our Church 
 
Ixxviii LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 service ; namely, the psalms every month, 
 because they be an historical and thankful 
 repetition of mercies past, and such a composition 
 of prayers and praises, as ought to be repeated 
 often, and publicly ; for with such sacrifice God 
 is honoured and well-pleased. This for the 
 psalms. 
 
 And for the hymns and lauds appointed to be 
 daily repeated or sung after the first and second 
 lessons are read to the congregation ; he pro- 
 ceeded to inform them, that it was most reason- 
 able, after they have heard the will and goodness 
 of God declared or preached by the priest in his 
 reading the two chapters, that it was then a 
 seasonable duty to rise up, and express their 
 gratitude to Almighty God, for those his 
 mercies to them, and to all mankind ; and then 
 to say with the Blessed Virgin, " that their souls 
 do magnify the Lord, and that their spirits do 
 also rejoice in God their Saviour " : and that it 
 was their duty also to rejoice with Simeon in his 
 song, and say with him, " That their eyes have 
 also " seen their salvation " ; for they have seen 
 that salvation which was but prophesied till his 
 time : and he then broke out into these expres- 
 sions of joy that he did see it ; but they live to 
 see it daily in the history of it, and therefore 
 ought daily to rejoice, and daily to offer up 
 their sacrifices of praise to their God, for that 
 particular mercy. A service, which is now the 
 constant employment of that Blessed Virgin and 
 Simeon, and all those blessed saints that are 
 possessed of heaven : and where they are at this 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT Ixxix 
 
 time interchangeably and constantly singing, 
 "Holy, holy, holy, Lord God; glory be to 
 God on high, and on earth peace.'' And he 
 taught them that to do this was an acceptable 
 service to God, because the Prophet David says 
 in his Psalms, " He that praiseth the Lord 
 honoureth him." 
 
 He made them to understand how happy they 
 be that are freed from the incumbrances of that 
 law which our forefathers groaned under : 
 namely, from the legal sacrifices, and from the 
 many ceremonies of the Levitical law ; freed 
 from circumcision, and from the strict observa- 
 tion of the Jewish Sabbath, and the like. And 
 he made them know, that having received so 
 many and so great blessings, by being born since 
 the days of our Saviour, it must be an acceptable 
 sacrifice to Almighty God, for them to acknow- 
 ledge those blessings daily, and stand up and 
 worship, and say as Zacharias did, " Blessed be 
 the Lord God of Israel, for he hath — in our 
 days — visited and redeemed his people ; and — 
 he hath in our days — remembered, and showed 
 that mercy, which by the mouth of the prophet 
 he promised to our forefathers ; and this he has 
 done according to his holy covenant made with 
 them." And he made them to understand that 
 we live to see and enjoy the benefit of it, in His 
 birth, in His life, His passion. His resurrection, 
 and ascension into heaven, where He now sits 
 sensible of all our temptations and infirmities ; 
 and where He is at this present time making 
 intercession for us, to His and our Father : and 
 
Ixxx LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 therefore they ought daily to express their public 
 gratulations, and say daily with Zacharias, 
 " Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, that hath 
 thus visited and thus redeemed his people/' 
 These were some of the reasons by which Mr. 
 Herbert instructed his congregation for the use 
 of the psalms and hymns appointed to be daily 
 sung or said in the Church service. 
 
 He informed them also when the priest did 
 pray only for the congregation, and not for 
 himself ; and when they did only pray for him ; 
 as namely, after the repetition of the creed 
 before he proceeds to pray the Lord's Prayer, 
 or any of the appointed collects, the priest is 
 directed to kneel down, and pray for them, 
 saying, "The Lord be with you"; and when 
 they pray for him, saying, " And with thy 
 spirit ; and then they join together in the 
 following collects ; and he assured them, that 
 when there is such mutual love, and such joint 
 prayers offered for each other, then the holy 
 angels look down from heaven, and are ready to 
 carry such charitable desires to God Almighty, 
 and he as ready to receive them ; and that a 
 Christian congregation calling thus upon God 
 with one heart, and one voice, and in one 
 reverent and humble posture, looks as beautifully 
 as Jerusalem, that is at peace with itself. 
 
 He instructed them also why the prayer of 
 our Lord was prayed often in every full service 
 of the Church ; namely, at the conclusion of 
 the several parts of that service ; and prayed 
 then, not only because it was composed and 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT Ixxxi 
 
 commanded by our Jesus that made it, but as a 
 perfect pattern for our less perfect forms of 
 prayer, and therefore fittest to sum up and 
 conclude all our imperfect petitions. 
 
 He instructed them also, that as by the 
 second commandment we are required not to 
 bow down, or worship an idol, or false God ; 
 so, by the contrary rule, we are to bow down 
 and kneel, or stand up and worship the true 
 God. And he instructed them why the Church 
 required the congregation to stand up at the 
 repetition of the creeds ; namely, because they 
 thereby declare both their obedience to the 
 Church, and an assent to that faith into which 
 they had been baptized. And he taught them, 
 that in that shorter creed or doxology, so often 
 repeated daily, they also stood up to testify their 
 belief to be, that the God that they trusted in 
 was one God, and three persons ; the Father, 
 the Son, and the Holy Ghost ; to whom they 
 and the priest gave glory." And because there 
 had been heretics that had denied some of those 
 three persons to be God, therefore the congre- 
 gation stood up and honoured him, by confessing 
 and saying, " It was so in the beginning, is now 
 so, and shall ever be so, world without end." 
 And all gave their assent to this belief, by 
 standing up and saying. Amen. 
 
 He instructed them also what benefit they 
 had by the Church's appointing the celebration 
 of holidays and the excellent use of them, 
 namely, that they were set apart for particular 
 commemorations of particular mercies received 
 
Ixxxii LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 from Almighty God ; and — as Reverend Mr. 
 Hooker says — to be the landmarks to distinguish 
 times ; for by them we are taught to take notice 
 how time passes by us, and that we ought not 
 to let the years pass without a celebration of 
 praise for those mercies which those days give 
 us occasion to remember, and therefore they 
 were to note that the year is appointed to begin 
 the 25th day of March; a day in which we 
 commemorate the angel's appearing to the 
 Blessed Virgin, with the joyful tidings that 
 *^ she should conceive and bear a son, that 
 should be the redeemer of mankind." And 
 she did so forty weeks after this joyful saluta- 
 tion ; namely, at our Christmas ; a day in which 
 we commemorate his birth with joy and praise : 
 and that eight days after this happy birth we 
 celebrate his circumcision ; namely, in that 
 which we call New Year's day. And that, 
 upon that day which we call Twelfth day, we 
 commemorate the manifestation of the unsearch- 
 able riches of Jesus to the Gentiles : and that 
 that day we also celebrate the memory of his 
 goodness in sending a star to guide the three 
 wise men from the east to Bethlehem, that they 
 might there worship, and present him with their 
 oblations of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. 
 And he — Mr. Herbert — instructed them, that 
 Jesus was forty days after his birth presented by 
 his blessed mother in the temple ; namely, on 
 that day which we call "The Purification of 
 the Blessed Virgin, Saint Mary." And he 
 instructed them, that by the Lent-fast we 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT Ixxxiii 
 
 imitate and commemorate our Saviour's humili- 
 ation in fasting forty days ; and that we ought 
 to endeavour to be like him in purity : and that 
 on Good Friday we commemorate and condole 
 his crucifixion ; and at Easter commemorate his 
 glorious resurrection. A^d he taught them, 
 that after Jesus had manifested himself to his 
 disciples to be " that Christ that was crucified, 
 dead and buried " ; and by his appearing and 
 conversing with his disciples for the space of 
 forty days after his resurrection, he then, and 
 not till then, ascended into heaven in the sight 
 of those disciples ; namely, on that day which 
 we call the ascension, or Holy Thursday. 
 And that we then celebrate the performance of 
 the promise which he made to his disciples at 
 or before his ascension ; namely, " that though 
 he left them, yet he would send them the Holy 
 Ghost to be their comforter ; and that he 
 did so on that day which the Church calls 
 Whitsunday. Thus the Church keeps an his- 
 torical and circular commemoration of times, 
 as they pass by us ; of such times as ought to 
 incline us to occasional praises, for the particular 
 blessings which we do, or might receive, by 
 those holy commemorations. 
 
 He made them know also why the Church 
 hath appointed ember- weeks ; and to know the 
 reason why the commandments, and the Epistles 
 and Gospels, were to be read at the altar or 
 communion table, why the priest was to pray 
 the Litany kneeling; and why to pray some 
 collects standing : and he gave them many other 
 
Ixxxiv LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 observations, £t for his plain congregation, but 
 not fit for me now to mention ; for I must set 
 limits to my pen, and not make that a treatise, 
 which I intended to be a much shorter account 
 than I have made it : but I have done, when 
 I have told the reader that he was constant in 
 catechising every Sunday in the afternoon, and 
 that his catechising was after his second lesson, 
 and in the pulpit ; and that he never exceeded 
 his half-hour, and was always so happy as to 
 have an obedient and a full congregation. 
 
 And to this I must add, that if he were at 
 any time too zealous in his sermons, it was in 
 reproving the indecencies of the people's be- 
 haviour in the time of divine service ; and of 
 those ministers that huddle up the Church 
 prayers, without a visible reverence and affec- 
 tion ; namely, such as seemed to say the Lord's 
 Prayer or a collect in a breath. But for him- 
 self, his custom was to stop betwixt every 
 collect, and give the people time to consider 
 what they had prayed, and to force their desires 
 affectionately to God, before he engaged them 
 into new petitions. 
 
 And by this account of his diligence to make 
 his parishioners understand what they prayed, 
 and why they praised and adored their Creator, 
 I hope I shall the more easily obtain the reader's 
 belief to the following account of Mr. Herbert's 
 own practice ; which was to appear constantly 
 with his wife and three nieces — the daughters 
 of a deceased sister — and his whole family, 
 twice every day at the Church prayers in the 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT Ixxxv 
 
 chapel, which does almost join to his parsonage- 
 house. And for the time of his appearing, it 
 was strictly at the canonical hours of ten and 
 four : and then and there he lifted up pure and 
 charitable hands to God in the midst of the 
 congregation. And he would joy to have spent 
 that time in that place, where the honour of his 
 master Jesus dwelleth ; and there, by that 
 inward devotion which he testified constantly by 
 a humble behaviour and visible adoration, he, 
 like Joshua, brought not only " his own house- 
 hold thus to serve the Lord"; but brought 
 most of his parishioners, and many gentlemen in 
 the neighbourhood, constantly to make a part of 
 his congregation twice a day : and some of the 
 meaner sort of his parish did so love and 
 reverence Mr. Herbert, that they would let 
 their plough rest when Mr. Herbert's saint's- 
 bell rung to prayers, that they might also offer 
 their devotions to God with him ; and would 
 then return back to their plough. And his 
 most holy life was such, that it begot such 
 reverence to God, and to him, that they thought 
 themselves the happier, when they carried Mr. 
 Herbert's blessing back with them to their 
 labour. Thus powerful was his reason and 
 example to persuade others to a practical piety 
 and devotion. 
 
 And his constant public prayers did never 
 make him to neglect his own private devotions, 
 nor those prayers that he thought himself bound 
 to perform with his family, which always were 
 a set form, and not long ; and he did always 
 
 / 
 
Ixxxvi LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 conclude them with a collect which the Church 
 hath appointed for the day or week. Thus he 
 made every day's sanctity a step towards that 
 kingdom, where impurity cannot enter. 
 
 His chiefest recreation was music, in which 
 heavenly art he was a most excellent master, 
 and did himself compose many divine hymns 
 and anthems, which he set and sung to his lute 
 or viol : and though he was a lover of retired- 
 ness, yet his love to music was such, that he 
 went usually twice every week, on certain 
 appointed days, to the Cathedral Church in 
 Salisbury; and at his return would say, ''That 
 his time spent in prayer, and cathedral- music, 
 elevated his soul, and was his heaven upon 
 earth.'' But before his return thence to 
 Bemerton, he would usually sing and play his 
 part at an appointed private music - meeting ; 
 and, to justify this practice, he would often say, 
 " Religion does not banish mirth, but only 
 moderates and sets rules to it." 
 
 And as his desire to enjoy his heaven upon 
 earth drew him twice every week to Salisbury, 
 so his walks thither were the occasion of many 
 happy accidents to others ; of which I will 
 mention some few. 
 
 In one of his walks to Salisbury, he overtook 
 a gentleman, that is still living in that city ; and 
 in their walk together, Mr. Herbert took a fair 
 occasion to talk with him, and humbly begged 
 to be excused, if he asked him some account 
 of his faith ; and said, " I do this the rather 
 because though you are not of my parish, yet I 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT Ixxxvii 
 
 receive tithe from you by the hand of your 
 tenant ; and, sir, I am the bolder to do it, 
 because I know there be some sermon-hearers 
 that be like those fishes that always live in salt 
 water, and yet are always fresh." 
 
 After which expression, Mr. Herbert asked 
 him some needful questions, and having received 
 his answer, gave him such rules for the trial of 
 his sincerity, and for a practical piety, and in so 
 loving and meek a manner, that the gentleman 
 did so fall in love with him, and his discourse, 
 that he would often contrive to meet him in 
 his walk to Salisbury, or to attend him back 
 to Bemerton ; and still mentions the name of 
 Mr. George Herbert with veneration, and still 
 praiseth God for the occasion of knowing him. 
 
 In another of his Salisbury walks he met 
 with a neighbour minister ; and after some 
 friendly discourse betwixt them, and some 
 condolement for the decay of piety, and too 
 general contempt of the clergy, Mr. Herbert 
 took occasion to say — 
 
 " One cure for these distempers would be for 
 the clergy themselves to keep the ember-weeks 
 strictly, and beg of their parishioners to join 
 with them in fasting and prayers for a more 
 religious clergy. 
 
 "And another cure would be for themselves 
 to restore the great and, neglected duty of 
 catechising, on which the salvation of so many 
 of the poor and ignorant lay-people does depend ; 
 but principally, that the clergy themselves would 
 be sure to live unblamably ; and that the 
 
Ixxxviii LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 dignified clergy especially which preach temper- 
 ance would avoid surfeiting and take all occa- 
 sions to express a visible humility and charity in 
 their lives ; for this would force a love and an 
 imitation, and an unfeigned reverence from all 
 that knew them to be such." (And for proof 
 of this, we need no other testimony than the 
 life and death of Dr. Lake, late Lord Bishop 
 of Bath and Wells.) "This," said Mr. 
 Herbert, would be a cure for the wickedness 
 and growing atheism of our age. And, my 
 dear brother, till this be done by us, and done 
 in earnest, let no man expect a reformation of 
 the manners of the laity ; for ^tis not learning, 
 but this, this only that must do it ; and, till 
 then, the fault must lie at our doors." 
 
 In another walk to Salisbury he saw a poor 
 man with a poorer horse, that was fallen under 
 his load : they were both in distress, and needed 
 present help ; which Mr. Herbert perceiving, 
 put off his canonical coat, and helped the poor 
 man to unload, and after to load, his horse. 
 The poor man blessed him for it, and he blessed 
 the poor man ; and was so like the good 
 Samaritan, that he gave him money to refresh 
 both himself and his horse ; and told him. 
 
 That if he loved himself he should be merciful 
 to his beast." Thus he left the poor man : and 
 at his coming to his musical friends at Salisbury, 
 they began to wonder that Mr. George Herbert, 
 which used to be so trim and clean, came into 
 that company so soiled and discomposed : but 
 he told them the occasion. And when one of 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT Ixxxix 
 
 the company told him *'He had disparaged 
 himself by so dirty an employment," his answer 
 was, "That the thought of what he had done 
 would prove music to him at midnight ; and 
 that the omission of it would have upbraided 
 and made discord in his conscience, whensoever 
 he should pass by that place : for if I be bound 
 to pray for all that be in distress, I am sure that 
 I am bound, so far as it is in my power, to 
 practise what I pray for. And though I do 
 not wish for the like occasion every day, yet let 
 me tell you, I would not willingly pass one day 
 of my life without comforting a sad soul, or 
 showing mercy ; and I praise God for this 
 occasion. And now let's tune our instruments." 
 
 Thus, as our blessed Saviour, after his resur- 
 rection, did take occasion to interpret the 
 Scripture to Cleopas, and that other disciple, 
 which he met with and accompanied in their 
 journey to Emmaus ; so Mr. Herbert, in his 
 path toward heaven, did daily take any fair 
 occasion to instruct the ignorant, or comfort any 
 that were in affliction ; and did always confirm 
 his precepts by showing humility and mercy, 
 and ministering grace to the hearers. 
 
 And he was most happy in his wife's un- 
 forced compliance with his acts of charity, 
 whom he made his almoner, and paid constantly 
 into her hand, a tenth penny of what money he 
 received for tithe, and gave her power to dispose 
 that to the poor of his parish, and with it a 
 power to dispose a tenth part of the corn that 
 came yearly into his barn : which trust she did 
 
xc LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 most faithfully perform, and would often offer 
 to him an account of her stewardship, and as 
 often beg an enlargement of his bounty ; for 
 she rejoiced in the employment : and this was 
 usually laid out by her in blankets and shoes 
 for some such poor people as she knew to stand 
 in most need of them. This as to her charity. 
 — And for his own, he set no limits to it : nor 
 did ever turn his face from any that he saw in 
 want, but would relieve them ; especially his 
 poor neighbours ; to the meanest of whose 
 houses he would go, and inform himself of their 
 wants, and relieve them cheerfully, if they were 
 in distress ; and would always praise God, as 
 much for being willing, as for being able to do 
 it. And when he was advised by a friend to 
 be more frugal, because he might have children, 
 his answer was, *'He would not see the danger 
 of want so far off : but being the Scripture does 
 so commend charity, as to tell us that charity is 
 the top of Christian virtues, the covering of sins, 
 the fulfilling of the law, the life of faith ; and 
 that charity hath a promise of the blessings of 
 this life, and of a reward in that life which is 
 to come : being these, and more excellent things 
 are in Scripture spoken of thee, O charity ! and 
 that, being all my tithes and Church dues are a 
 deodate from Thee, O my God ! make me, O 
 my God ! so far to trust Thy promise, as to 
 return them back to Thee ; and by Thy grace I 
 will do so, in distributing them to any of Thy 
 poor members that are in distress, or do but 
 bear the image of Jesus my master," " Sir," 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT xci 
 
 said he to his friend, " my wife hath a competent 
 maintenance secured her after my death ; and 
 therefore, as this is my prayer, so this my 
 resolution shall, by God's grace, be unalterable." 
 
 This may be some account of the excellencies 
 of the active part of his life ; and thus he con- 
 tinued, till a consumption so weakened him, as 
 to confine him to his house, or to the chapel, 
 which does almost join to it ; in which he 
 continued to read prayers constantly twice every 
 day, though he were very weak : in one of 
 which times of his reading, his wife observed 
 him to read in pain, and told him so, and that 
 it wasted his spirits, and weakened him ; and he 
 confessed it did, but said, his " life could not be 
 better spent, than in the service of his master 
 Jesus, who had done and suffered so much for 
 him. But," said he, " I will not be wilful ; for 
 though my spirit be willing, yet I find my flesh 
 is weak ; and therefore Mr. Bostock shall be 
 appointed to read prayers for me to-morrow; 
 and I will now be only a hearer of them, till 
 this mortal shall put on immortality." And Mr. 
 Bostock did the next day undertake and continue 
 this happy employment till Mr. Herbert's death. 
 This Mr. Bostock was a learned and virtuous 
 man, an old friend of Mr. Herbert's, and then his 
 curate to the church of Fulston, which is a mile 
 from Bemerton, to which church Bemerton is 
 but a chapel of ease. And this Mr. Bostock did 
 also constantly supply the Church service for Mr. 
 Herbert in that chapel, when the music-meeting 
 at Salisbury caused his absence from it. 
 
xcii LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 About one month before his death, his friend 
 Mr. Farrer, — for an account of whom I am by 
 promise indebted to the reader, and intend to 
 make him sudden payment, — hearing of Mr. 
 Herbert's sickness, sent Mr. Edmund Duncon 
 — who is now rector of Friar Barnet in the 
 county of Middlesex — from his house of Gidden 
 Hall, which is near to Huntingdon, to see Mr. 
 Herbert, and to assure him he wanted not his 
 daily prayers for his recovery; and Mr. Duncon 
 was to return back to Gidden, with an account 
 of Mr. Herbert's condition. Mr. Duncon 
 found him weak, and at that time lying on his 
 bed, or on a pallet ; but at his seeing Mr. 
 Duncon he raised himself vigorously, saluted 
 him, and with some earnestness inquired the 
 health of his brother Farrer; of which Mr. 
 Duncon satisfied him, and after some discourse 
 of Mr. Farrer' s holy life, and the manner of his 
 constant serving God, he said to Mr. Duncon, — 
 "Sir, I see by your habit that you are a priest, 
 and I desire you to pray with me " : which 
 being granted, Mr. Duncon asked him, " What 
 prayers ? " To which Mr. Herbert's answer 
 was, " O, sir ! the prayers of my mother, the 
 Church of England : no other prayers are equal 
 to them ! But at this time, I beg of you to 
 pray only the Litany, for I am weak and faint" : 
 and Mr. Duncon did sc. After which, and 
 some other discourse of Mr. Farrer, Mrso 
 Herbert provided Mr. Duncon a plain supper, 
 and a clean lodging, and he betook himself to 
 rest. This Mr. Duncon tells me; and tells 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT xciii 
 
 me, that, at his first view of Mr. Herbert, he 
 saw majesty and humility so reconciled in his 
 looks and behaviour, as begot in him an awful 
 reverence for his person ; and says, " his dis- 
 course was so pious, and his motion so genteel 
 and meek, that after almost forty years, yet 
 they remain still fresh in his memory.'' 
 
 The next morning Mr. Duncon left him, 
 and betook himself to a journey to Bath, but 
 with a promise to return back to him within five 
 days ; and he did so : but before I shall say any- 
 thing of whatdiscourse then fell betwixt them two, 
 I will pay my promised account of Mr. Farrer. 
 
 Mr. Nicholas Farrer — who got the reputation 
 of being called Saint Nicholas at the age of six 
 years — was born in London, and doubtless had 
 good education in his youth ; but certainly was, 
 at an early age, made Fellow of Clare Hall in 
 Cambridge ; where he continued to be eminent 
 for his piety, temperance, and learning. About 
 the twenty- sixth year of his age he betook 
 himself to travel : in which he added, to his 
 Latin and Greek, a perfect knowledge of all 
 the languages spoken in the western parts of 
 our Christian world ; and understood well the 
 principles of their religion, and of their manner, 
 and the reasons of their worship. In this his 
 travel he met with many persuasions to come 
 into a communion with that Church which calls 
 itself Catholic : but he returned from his travels 
 as he went, eminent for his- obedience to his 
 mother, the Church of England. In his absence 
 from England, Mr. Farrer's father — who was 
 
xciv LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 a merchant — allowed him a liberal maintenance ; 
 and, not long after his return into England, Mr. 
 Farrer had, by the death of his father, or an 
 elder brother, or both, an estate left him, that 
 enabled him to purchase land to the value of 
 four or five hundred pounds a year ; the greatest 
 part of which land was at Little Gidden, four 
 or six miles from Huntingdon, and about 
 eighteen from Cambridge ; which place he 
 chose for the privacy of it, and for the hall, 
 which had the parish church or chapel belonging 
 and adjoining near to it; for Mr. Farrer, having 
 seen the manners and vanities of the world, and 
 found them to be, as Mr. Herbert says, "a 
 nothing between two dishes," did so contemn 
 it, that he resolved to spend the remainder of 
 his life in mortifications, and in devotion, and 
 charity, and to be always prepared for death. 
 And his life was spent thus : 
 
 He and his family, which were like a little 
 college, and about thirty in number, did most of 
 them keep Lent and all ember- weeks strictly, 
 both in fasting and using all those mortifications 
 and prayers that the Church hath appointed to 
 be then used : and he and they did the like 
 constantly on Fridays, and on the vigils or eves 
 appointed to be fasted before the saints' days : 
 and this frugality and abstinence turned to the 
 relief of the poor : but this was but a part of his 
 charity ; none but God and he knew the rest. 
 
 This family, which I have said to be in 
 number about thirty, were a part of them his 
 kindred, and the rest chosen to be of a temper 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT xcv 
 
 fit to be moulded into a devout life ; and all of 
 them were for their dispositions serviceable, and 
 quiet, and humble, and free from scandal. 
 Having thus fitted himself for his family, he 
 did, about the year 1630, betake himself to a 
 constant and methodical service of God ; and 
 it was in this manner: — He, being accompanied 
 with most of his family, did himself use to read 
 the common prayers — for he was a deacon — 
 every day, at the appointed hours of ten and 
 four, in the parish church, which was very near 
 his house, and which he had both repaired and 
 adorned ; for it was fallen into a great ruin, by 
 reason of a depopulation of the village before 
 Mr. Farrer bought the manor. And he did 
 also constantly read the matins every morning at 
 the hour of six, either in the church, or in an 
 oratory, which was within his own house. 
 And many of the family did there continue 
 with him after the prayers were ended, and 
 there they spent some hours in singing hymns, 
 or anthems, sometimes in the church, and often 
 to an organ in the oratory. And there they 
 sometimes betook themselves to meditate, or to 
 pray privately, or to read a part of the New 
 Testament to themselves, or to continue their 
 praying or reading the psalms ; and in case the 
 psalms were not always read in the day, then 
 Mr. Farrer, and others of the congregation, 
 did at night, at the ringing of a watch-bell, 
 repair to the church or oratory, and there betake 
 themselves to prayers and lauding God, and 
 reading the psalms that had not been read in the 
 
xcvi LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 day : and when these, or any part of the con- 
 gregation, grew weary or faint, the watch-bell 
 was rung, sometimes before, and sometimes after 
 midnight ; and then another part of the family 
 rose, and maintained the watch, sometimes by 
 praying, or singing lauds to God, or reading the 
 psalms ; and when, after some hours, they also 
 grew weary or faint, then they rung the watch- 
 bell and were also relieved by some of the 
 former, or by a new part of the society, which 
 continued their devotions — as hath been men- 
 tioned — until morning. And it is to be noted, 
 that in this continued serving of God, the 
 psalter or the whole book of psalms, was in 
 every four-and-twenty hours sung or read over, 
 from the first to the last verse : and this was 
 done as constantly as the sun runs his circle 
 every day about the world, and then begins 
 again the same instant that it ended. 
 
 Thus did Mr. Farrer and his happy family 
 serve God day and night ; thus did they always 
 behave themselves as in his presence. And 
 they did always eat and drink by the strictest 
 rules of temperance ; eat and drink so as to be 
 ready to rise at midnight, or at the call of a 
 watch- bell, and perform their devotions to God. 
 And it is fit to tell the reader, that many of the 
 clergy, that were more inclined to practical 
 piety and devotion, than to doubtful and need- 
 less disputations, did often come to Gidden 
 Hall, and make themselves a part of that happy 
 society, and stay a week or more, and then join 
 with Mr. Farrer and the family in these 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT xcvii 
 
 devotions, and assist and ease him or them in 
 their watch by night. And these various de- 
 votions had never less than two of the domestic 
 family in the night ; and the watch was always 
 kept in the church or oratory, unless in extreme 
 cold winter nights, and then it was maintained 
 in a parlour, which had a fire in it ; and the 
 parlour was fitted for that purpose. And this 
 course of piety, and great liberality to his poor 
 neighbours, Mr. Farrer maintained till his death, 
 which was in the year 1639. 
 
 Mr. Farrer's and Mr. Herbert's devout lives 
 were both so noted, that the general report of 
 their sanctity gave them occasion to renew that 
 slight acquaintance which was begun at their 
 being contemporaries in Cambridge ; and this 
 new holy friendship was long maintained without 
 any interview, but only by loving and endearing 
 letters. And one testimony of their friendship 
 and pious designs, may appear by Mr. Farrer's 
 commending the Considerations of John V aldesso 
 — a book which he had met with in his travels, 
 and translated out of Spanish into English, — to 
 be examined and censured by Mr. Herbert 
 before it was made public : which excellent 
 book Mr. Herbert did read, and return back 
 with many marginal notes, as they be now 
 printed with it ; and with them, Mr. Herbert's 
 affectionate letter to Mr. Farrer. 
 
 This John Valdesso was a Spaniard, and was 
 for his learning and virtue much valued and 
 loved by the great Emperor Charles the Fifth, 
 whom Valdesso had followed as a cavalier all 
 
xcviii LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 the time of his long and dangerous wars : and 
 when Valdesso grew old, and grew weary both 
 of war and the world, he took his fair oppor- 
 tunity to declare to the Emperor, that his 
 resolution was to decline his Majesty's service, 
 and betake himself to a quiet and contemplative 
 life, " because there ought to be a vacancy of 
 time betwixt fighting and dying." The 
 Emperor had himself, for the same, or other 
 like reasons, put on the same resolution : but 
 God and himself did, till then, only know 
 them ; and he did therefore desire Valdesso to 
 consider well of what he had said, and to keep 
 his purpose within his own breast, till they two 
 might have a second opportunity of a friendly 
 discourse ; which Valdesso promised to do. 
 
 In the meantime the Emperor appoints 
 privately a day for him and Valdesso to meet 
 again ; and after a pious and free discourse, they 
 both agreed on a certain day to receive the 
 blessed sacrament publicly ; and appointed an 
 eloquent and devout friar to preach a sermon of 
 contempt of the world, and of the happiness 
 and benefit of a quiet and contemplative life ; 
 which the friar did most affectionately. After 
 which sermon, the Emperor took occasion to 
 declare openly, That the preacher had begot 
 in him a resolution to lay down his dignities, 
 and to forsake the world, and betake himself to 
 a monastical life." And he pretended he had 
 persuaded John Valdesso to do the like : but 
 this is most certain, that after the Emperor had 
 called his son Philip out of England, and resigned 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT xcix 
 
 to him all his kingdoms, that then the Emperor 
 and John Valdesso did perform their resolutions. 
 
 This account of John Valdesso I received 
 from a friend, that had it from the mouth of 
 Mr. Farrer. And the reader may note, that in 
 this retirement John Valdesso writ his Hundred 
 and Ten Considerations^ and many other treatises 
 of worth, which want a second Mr. Farrer to 
 procure and translate them. 
 
 After this account of Mr. Farrer and John 
 Valdesso, I proceed to my account of Mr. 
 Herbert and Mr. Duncon, who according to 
 his promise returned from Bath the fifth day, 
 and then found Mr. Herbert much weaker than 
 he left him ; and therefore their discourse could 
 not be long : but at Mr. Duncon' s parting with 
 him, Mr. Herbert spoke to this purpose : " Sir, 
 I pray you give my brother Farrer an account 
 of the decaying condition of my body, and tell 
 him I beg him to continue his daily prayers for 
 me ; and let him know that I have considered, 
 that God only is what He would be ; and that 
 I am, by His grace, become now so like Him, as 
 to be pleased with what pleaseth Him ; and tell 
 him, that I do not repine but am pleased with 
 my want of health : and tell him, my heart is 
 fixed on that place where true joy is only to be 
 found ; and that I long to be there, and do 
 wait for my appointed change with hope and 
 patience." Having said this, he did, with so 
 sweet a humility as seemed to exalt him, bow 
 down to Mr. Duncon, and with a thoughtful 
 and contented look, say to him, " Sir, I pray 
 
c LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 deliver this little book to my dear brother 
 Farrer, and tell him he shall find in it a picture 
 of the many spiritual conflicts that have passed 
 betwixt God and my soul, before I could 
 subject mine to the will of Jesus my master : in 
 whose service I have now found perfect freedom. 
 Desire him to read it ; and then, if he can think 
 it may turn to the advantage of any dejected 
 poor soul, let it be made public ; if not, let him 
 burn it ; for I and it are less than the least of 
 God's mercies." Thus meanly did this humble 
 man think of this excellent book, which now 
 bears the name of The Temple ; or. Sacred Poems 
 and Private Ejaculations ; of which Mr. Farrer 
 would say, " There was in it the picture of a 
 divine soul in every page : and that the whole 
 book was such a harmony of holy passions, as 
 would enrich the world with pleasure and piety." 
 And it appears to have done so ; for there have 
 been more than twenty thousand of them sold 
 since the first impression. 
 
 And this ought to be noted, that when Mr. 
 Farrer sent this book to Cambridge to be licensed 
 for the press, the Vice-Chancellor would by 
 no means allow the two so much noted verses. 
 
 Religion stands a tiptoe in our land, 
 Ready to pass to the American strand, 
 
 to be printed ; and Mr. Farrer would by no 
 means allow the book to be printed and want 
 them. But after some time, and some arguments 
 for and against their being made public, the 
 Vice-Chancellor said, " I knew Mr. Herbert 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT ci 
 
 well, and know that he had many heavenly- 
 speculations, and was a divine poet : but I hope 
 the world will not take him to be an inspired 
 prophet, and therefore I licence the whole book." 
 So that it came to be printed without the 
 diminution or addition of a syllable, since it was 
 delivered into the hands of Mr. Duncon, save 
 only that Mr. Farrer hath added that excellent 
 preface that is printed before it. 
 
 At the time of Mr. Duncon's leaving Mr. 
 Herbert, — which was about three weeks before 
 his death, — his old and dear friend Mr. Woodnot 
 came from London to Bemerton, and never left 
 him till he had seen him draw his last breath, 
 and closed his eyes on his deathbed. In this 
 time of his decay, he was often visited and 
 prayed for by all the clergy that lived near to 
 him, especially by his friends the Bishop and 
 Prebends of the Cathedral Church in Salisbury; 
 but by none more devoutly than his wife, his 
 three nieces, — then a part of his family, — and 
 Mr. Woodnot, who were the sad witnesses of 
 his daily decay ; to whom he would often speak 
 to this purpose : ''I now look back upon the 
 pleasures of my life past, and see the content I 
 have taken in beauty, in wit, in music, and 
 pleasant conversation, are now all past by me 
 like a dream, or as a shadow that returns not, 
 and are now all become dead to me, or I to 
 them ; and I see, that as my father and genera- 
 tion hath done before me, so I also shall now 
 suddenly (with Job) make my bed also in the 
 dark ; and I praise God I am prepared for it j 
 
cii LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 and I praise him that I am not to learn patience 
 now I stand in such need of it ; and that I have 
 practised mortification, and endeavoured to die 
 daily, that I might not die eternally ; and my 
 hope is, that I shall shortly leave this valley of 
 tears, and be free from all fevers and pain ; and, 
 which will be a more happy condition, I shall 
 be free from sin, and all the temptations and 
 anxieties that attend it : and this being past, I 
 shall dwell in the New Jerusalem ; dwell there 
 with men made perfect ; dwell where these eyes 
 shall see my master and Saviour Jesus ; and 
 with him see my dear mother, and all my 
 relations and friends. But I must die, or not 
 come to that happy place. And this is my 
 content, that I am going daily towards it : and 
 that every day which I have lived, hath taken 
 a part of my appointed time from me ; and that 
 I shall live the less time, for having lived this 
 and the day past." These, and the like expres- 
 sions, which he uttered often, may be said to be 
 his enjoyment of heaven before he enjoyed it. 
 The Sunday before his death, he rose suddenly 
 from his bed or couch, called for one of his 
 instruments, took it into his hand and said — 
 
 My God, my God, 
 
 My music shall find thee, 
 
 And every string 
 Shall have his attribute to sing. 
 
 And having tuned it, he played and sung — 
 
 The Sundays of man's life, 
 Threaded together on time's string, 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT ciii 
 
 Make bracelets to adorn the wife 
 Of the eternal glorious King : 
 On Sundays Heaven's door stands ope ; 
 Blessings are plentiful and rife, 
 More plentiful than hope. 
 
 Thus he sung on earth such hymns and 
 anthems as the angels, and he, and Mr. Farrer 
 now sing in heaven. 
 
 Thus he continued meditating, and praying, 
 and rejoicing, till the day of his death ; and on 
 that day said to Mr. Woodnot, "My dear 
 friend, I am sorry, I have nothing to present to 
 my merciful God but sin and misery ; but the 
 first is pardoned, and a few hours will now put 
 a period to the latter ; for I shall suddenly go 
 hence, and be no more seen." Upon which 
 expression Mr. Woodnot took occasion to 
 remember him of the re-edifying Lay ton Church, 
 and his many acts of mercy. To which he 
 made answer, saying, " They be good works, if 
 they be sprinkled with the blood of Christ, and 
 not otherwise." After this discourse he became 
 more restless, and his soul seemed to be weary 
 of her earthly tabernacle ; and this uneasiness 
 became so visible, that his wife, his three nieces, 
 and Mr. Woodnot, stood constantly about his 
 bed, beholding him with sorrow, and an un- 
 willingness to lose the sight of him, whom they 
 could not hope to see much longer. As they 
 stood thus beholding him, his wife observed him 
 to breathe faintly, and with much trouble, and 
 observed him to fall into a sudden agony ; which 
 so surprised her, that she fell into a sudden 
 
civ LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 passion, and required of him to know how he 
 did. To which his answer was, " that he had 
 passed a conflict with his last enemy, and had 
 overcome him by the merits of his master 
 Jesus." After which answer, he looked up, 
 and saw his wife and nieces weeping to an 
 extremity, and charged them, if they loved him, 
 to withdraw into the next room, and there pray 
 every one alone for him ; for nothing but their 
 lamentations could make his death uncomfortable. 
 To which request their sighs and tears would 
 not suffer them to make any reply ; but they 
 yielded him a sad obedience, leaving only with 
 him Mr. Woodnot and Mr. Bostock. Immedi- 
 ately after they had left him, he said to Mr. 
 Bostock, " Pray, sir, open that door, then look 
 into that cabinet, in which you may easily find 
 my last will, and give it into my hand " : which 
 being done, Mr. Herbert delivered it into the 
 hand of Mr. Woodnot, and said, *^My old 
 friend, I here deliver you my last will, in which 
 you will find that I have made you my sole 
 executor for the good of my wife and nieces ; 
 and I desire you to show kindness to them, as 
 they shall need it : I do not desire you to be 
 just ; for I know you will be so for your own 
 sake ; but I charge you, by the religion of our 
 friendship, to be careful of them." And having 
 obtained Mr. Woodnot' s promise to be so, he 
 said, " I am now ready to die." After which 
 words, he said, " Lord, forsake me not now my 
 strength faileth me : but grant me mercy for the 
 merits of my Jesus. And now Lord — Lord, 
 
LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT cv 
 
 now receive my soul." And with those words 
 he breathed forth his divine soul, without any 
 apparent disturbance, Mr. Woodnot and Mr. 
 Bostock attending his last breath, and closing 
 his eyes. 
 
 Thus he lived, and thus he died, like a saint, 
 unspotted of the world, full of alms-deeds, full 
 of humility, and all the examples of a virtuous 
 life ; which I cannot conclude better, than with 
 this borrowed observation : 
 
 — All must to their cold graves : 
 
 But the religious actions of the just 
 
 Smell sweet in death, and blossom in the dust. 
 
 Mr. George Herbert's have done so to this, 
 and will doubtless do so to succeeding genera- 
 tions. I have but this to say more of him; 
 that if Andrew Melvin died before him, then 
 George Herbert died without an enemy. I wish 
 — if God shall be so pleased — that I may be so 
 happy as to die like him. Iz. Wa. 
 
 There is a debt justly due to the memory of 
 Mr. Herbert's virtuous wife ; a part of which I 
 will endeavour to pay, by a very short account 
 of the remainder of her life, which shall follow. 
 
 She continued his disconsolate widow about 
 six years, bemoaning herself, and complaining, 
 that she had lost the delight of her eyes ; but 
 more that she had lost the spiritual guide for her 
 poor soul ; and would often say, O that I had, 
 like holy Mary, the mother of Jesus, treasured 
 up all his sayings in my heart ! But since 1 
 have not been able to do that, I will labour to 
 
cvi LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 live like him, that where he now is I may be 
 also.'' And she would often say, — as the 
 prophet David for his son Absalom, — O that 
 I had died for him ! " Thus she continued 
 mourning till time and conversation had so 
 moderated her sorrows, that she became the 
 happy wife of Sir Robert Cook, of Highnam^ 
 in the county of Gloucester, Knight. And 
 though he put a high value on the excellent 
 accomplishments of her mind and body, and was 
 so like Mr. Herbert, as not to govern like a 
 master, but as an affectionate husband ; yet she 
 would even to him often take occasion to mention 
 the name of Mr. George Herbert, and say, that 
 name must live in her memory till she put off 
 mortality. By Sir Robert she had only one 
 child, a daughter, whose parts and plentiful 
 estate make her happy in this world, and her 
 well using of them gives a fair testimony that 
 she will be so in that which is to come. 
 
 Mrs. Herbert was the wife of Sir Robert 
 eight years, and lived his widow about fifteen ; 
 all which time she took a pleasure in mentioning 
 and commending the excellencies of Mr. George 
 Herbert. She died in the year 1663, and lies 
 buried at Highnam : Mr. Herbert in his own 
 church, under the altar, and covered with a 
 gravestone without any inscription. 
 
 This Lady Cook had preserved many of Mr. 
 Herbert's private writings, which she intended 
 to make public ; but they and Highnam House 
 were burnt together by the late rebels, and so 
 lost to posterity. I. W. 
 
THE 
 
 TEMPLE 
 
 SACRED POEMS 
 
 AND 
 PRIVATE EJA- 
 CULATIONS. 
 
 By Mr. George Herbert. 
 
 PsAL. 29. 
 In his "Temple doth every 
 man /peak of his honour. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE : 
 Printed by Thorn. Buck^ 
 and Roger T>aniel^ printers 
 to the Universitie. 
 
 cvii 
 
The Dedication 
 
 Lord, my Jirst fruits present themselves to thee ; 
 Tet not mine neither : for from thee they came^ 
 And must return, Accept of them and me, 
 And make us strive, nvho shall sing best thy name. 
 Turn their eyes hither, 'ivho shall make a gain : 
 Theirs, who shall hurt themselves or me, refrain. 
 
 cviii 
 
The Printers to the Reader ^ 
 
 'npHE dedication of this work having been 
 made by the Authour to the Divine Ma- 
 jestie onely, how should v/e now presume to 
 interest any mortall man in the patronage of it ? 
 Much lesse think we it meet to seek the recom- 
 mendation of the Muses, for that which himself 
 was confident to have been inspired by a diviner 
 breath than flows from Helicon, The world 
 therefore shall receive it in that naked simplicitie, 
 with which he left it, without any addition 
 either of support or ornament, more then is 
 included in it self. We leave it free and un- 
 forestalled to every man's judgement, and to the 
 benefit that he shall finde by perusall. Onely 
 for the clearing of some passages, we have 
 thought it not unfit to make the common 
 Reader privie to some few particularities of the 
 condition and disposition of the Person ; 
 
 Being nobly born, and as eminently endued 
 with gifts of the minde, and having by Industrie 
 and happy education perfected them to that 
 great height of excellencie, whereof his fellow- 
 ship of Trinitie Colledge in Cambridge, and his 
 Orator-ship in the Universitie, together with 
 
 ^ The work of Nicholas Ferrar. 
 cix 
 
cx PRINTERS TO THE READER 
 
 that knowledge which the King's Court had 
 taken of him, could make relation farre above 
 ordinarie. Quitting both his deserts and all the 
 opportunities that he had for worldly preferment, 
 he betook himself to the Sanctuarie and Temple 
 of God, choosing rather to serve at God's Altar, 
 then to seek the honour of State-employments. 
 As for those inward enforcements to this course 
 (for outward there was none) which many of 
 these ensuing verses bear witness of, they detract 
 not from the freedome, but adde to the honour 
 of this resolution in him. As God had enabled 
 him, so he accounted him meet not onely to be 
 called, but to be compelled to this service : 
 Wherein his faithful discharge was such, as may 
 make him justly a companion to the primitive 
 Saints, and a pattern or more for the age he 
 lived in. 
 
 To testifie his independencie upon all others, 
 and to quicken his diligence in this kinde, he 
 used in his ordinarie speech, when he made 
 mention of the blessed name of our Lord and 
 Saviour Jesus Christ, to adde. My Master. 
 
 Next God, he loved that which God himself 
 hath magnified above all things, that is, his 
 Word ; so as he hath been heard to make 
 solemn protestation, that he would not part with 
 one leaf thereof for the whole world, if it were 
 offered him in exchange. 
 
 His obedience and conformitie to the Church 
 and the discipline thereof was singularly remark- 
 able. Though he abounded in private devotions, 
 yet went he every morning and evening with his 
 
PRINTERS TO THE READER cxi 
 
 familie to the Church ; and by his example, 
 exhortations, and encouragements drew the 
 greater part of his parishioners to accompanie 
 him dayly in the publick celebration of Divine 
 Service. 
 
 As for worldly matters, his love and esteem 
 to them was so little, as no man can more 
 ambitiously seek, then he did earnestly endeavour 
 the resignation of an Ecclesiasticall dignitie, 
 which he was possessour of. But God per- 
 mitted not the accomplishment of this desire, 
 having ordained him his instrument for re-edifying 
 of the Church belonging thereunto, that had 
 layen ruinated almost twenty yeares. The 
 reparation whereof, having been unefFectually 
 attempted by publick collections, was in the end 
 by his own and some few others private free- 
 will-offerings successfully effected. With the 
 remembrance whereof, as of an especiall good 
 work, when a friend went about to comfort him 
 on his deathbed, he made answer, // is a good 
 <ivork^ if it be sprinkled with the hloud of Christ : 
 otherwise then in this respect he could finde 
 nothing to glorie or comfort himself with, 
 neither in this, nor in any other thing. 
 
 And these are but a few of many that might 
 be said, which we have chosen to premise as a 
 glance to some parts of the ensuing book, and 
 for an example to the Reader. We conclude 
 all with his own Motto, with which he used to 
 conclude all things that might seem to tend any 
 way to his own honour : 
 
 Lesse then the least of God^s mercies. 
 
I. The Church-Porch 
 
 P erirrhanterium ^ 
 
 ' I ^HOU, whose sweet youth and early hopes 
 
 ^ inhance 
 Thy rate and price, ^ and mark thee for a treasure \ 
 Hearken unto a Verser, who may chance 
 Ryme thee to good, and make a bait of pleasure. 
 
 A verse may finde him, who a sermon flies, 
 
 And turn delight into a sacrifice. 
 
 Beware of lust : ^ it doth pollute and foul 
 Whom God in Baptisme washt with his own 
 blood. 
 
 ^ "^he word signifies (i) an instrument for 
 sprinkling with lustral water, and (2) the vessel in 
 which the water is contained. It is used here in the 
 former sense. See No. 2. " Superliminare. " In W. 
 this poem is simply entitled "The Church-Porch." 
 
 2 The price of thee. — W. 
 
 3 This and the next two stanzas stand in W. as 
 follows : — 
 
 Beware of lust (startle not), O beware, 
 It makes thy soule a blott ; it is a rodd 
 
THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
 It blots thy lesson written in thy soul ; 
 
 The holy lines cannot be understood. 
 
 How dare those eyes upon a Bible look, 
 Much lesse towards God, whose lust is all 
 their book ? 
 
 Abstain wholly,^ or wed. Thy bounteous Lord 
 
 Allows thee choise of paths : take no by-wayes ; 
 
 But gladly welcome what he doth afford ; 
 
 Not grudging, that thy lust hath bounds and staies. 
 Continence hath his joy : weigh both ; and so 
 If rottennesse have more, let Heaven go. 
 
 If God had laid all common, certainly 
 
 Man would have been th' incloser : but since now 
 
 Whose twigs are pleasures, and they whip thee bare: 
 It spoils an angel : robs thee of thy God. 
 How dare those eyes upon a Bible looke, 
 Much lesse towards God, whose lust is all their 
 book ? 
 
 Abstaine or wedd: if thou canst not abstaine, 
 Yet wedding marrs thy fortune, fast and pray : 
 If this seeme monkish ; think w^h brings most paine, 
 Need or incontinency ; the first way 
 If thou chuse bravely and rely on God, 
 He'lle make thy wife a blessing, not a rodd. 
 
 Let not each fansy make thee to detest 
 A virgin-bed, wc^ hath a special crowne 
 If it concurr wth vertue : doe thy best. 
 And God will show thee how to take the towne, 
 And winn thy selfe : compare the ioyes, and so 
 If rottennes have more lett heaven goe. 
 
 ^ The reading "wholly abstaine" has obtained 
 almost universally since 1679. 
 
THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
 God hath impaFd us on the contrarie 
 Man breaks the fence, and every ground will 
 plough. 
 
 O what were man, might he himself misplace 
 Sure to be crosse he would shift feet and face. 
 
 Drink not the third glasse, which thou canst 
 not tame. 
 
 When once it is within thee ; but before 
 Mayst rule it, as thou list ; and poure the shame, 
 Which it would poure on thee, upon the floore. 
 It is most just to throw that on the ground, 
 Which would throw me there, if T keep the 
 round. 
 
 He that is drunken, may his mother kill 
 Bigge with" his sister ; he hath lost the reins. 
 Is outlawd by himself : ail kinde ^ of ill 
 Did with his liquour slide into his veins. 
 
 The drunkard forfets Man, and doth devest 
 All worldly right, save what he hath by beast.^ 
 
 Shall I, to please anothers wine-sprung minde. 
 Lose all mine own ? God hath giv'n me a 
 measure 
 
 Short of his canne, and bodie ; must I finde 
 A pain in that, wherein he findes a pleasure ? 
 
 iKindes.— W 
 
 2 In W. these two lines stand at the close of the 
 previous stanza in place of the lines «Mt is most just 
 etc.," and in their place here Herbert has these — 
 
 He that has all ill, and can have no good 
 Because no know^ledge, is not earth, but mudd. 
 
THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
 Stay at the third glasse : if thou lose thy hold, 
 Then thou art modest, and the wine grows bold. 
 
 If reason move not Gallants, quit the room, 
 (All in a ship wrack shift their severall way) 
 Let not a common ruine thee intombe : 
 Be not a beast in courtesie ; but stay. 
 
 Stay at the third cup, or forego the place. 
 
 Wine above all things doth Gods stamp deface. 
 
 Yet, if thou sinne in wine or wantonnesse. 
 
 Boast not thereof ; nor make thy shame thy glorie. 
 
 Frailtie gets pardon by submissivenesse ; 
 
 But he that boasts, shuts that out of his storie. 
 He makes flat warre with God, and doth defie 
 With his poore clod of earth the spacious sky. 
 
 *, 
 
 Take not his name, who made thy mouth, in vain : 
 It gets thee nothing, and hath ^ no excuse. 
 Lust and wine plead a pleasure, avarice ^ gain : 
 But the cheap swearer through his open sluce 
 
 Lets his soul runne for nought, as little fearing. 
 
 Were I an Epicure^ I could bate swearing. 
 
 When thou dost tell anothers jest, therein 
 Omit the oathes, which true wit cannot need : 
 Pick out of tales the mirth, but not the sinne. 
 He pares his apple, that will cleanly feed.^ 
 
 1 Has.— W. 2 Cheating.— W. 
 
 ^ Cf. A Priest to the Temple, c. xxv. , where Herbert 
 makes use of the same proverbial expression again. 
 ' ' If there be any ill in the custom that may be severed 
 from the good, he pares the apple, and gives them the 
 clean to feed on." 
 
THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
 Play not away the vertue of that name, 
 Which is thy best stake, when griefs make 
 thee tame. 
 
 The cheapest sinnes most dearely punisht are ; 
 
 Because to shun them also is so cheap : 
 
 For we have wit to mark them, and to spare. 
 
 O crumble not away thy souls fair heap. 
 
 If thou wilt die, the gates of hell are broad : 
 Pride and full sinnes have made the way a road. 
 
 Lie not ; but let thy heart be true to God, 
 Thy mouth to it, thy actions to them both : 
 Cowards tell lies, and those that fear the rod ; 
 The stormie working soul spits lies and froth. 
 Dare to be true. Nothing can need a ly : 
 A fault, which needs it most, grows two 
 thereby. 
 
 Flie idlenesse, which yet thou canst not flie 
 By dressing, mistressing, and complement. ^ 
 If those take up thy day,^ the sunne will crie 
 Against thee : for his light was onely lent. 
 
 1 This line is borrowed by Herbert from Donne's 
 poem To Mr. Tilman, after he had taken orders " — 
 
 But if thy gainings do surmount expression, 
 Why doth the foolish world scorn that profession 
 Whose j oyes pass speed ? Why do they think unfit 
 That gentry should joyn families with it ? 
 As if their days were only to be spent 
 In dressing, mistressing, and compliment. 
 
 2 Be all thy day.— W. 
 
 I 
 
6 THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
 God gave thy soul brave wings ; put not 
 
 those feathers 
 Into a bed, to sleep out ail ill weathers. 
 
 Art thou a Magistrate ? then be severe : 
 If studious ; copie fair, what time hath blurr'd ; 
 Redeem truth from his jawes : if souldier. 
 Chase brave employments ^ with a naked sword 
 Throughout the world. Fool not : for all 
 may have, 
 
 If they dare try, a glorious life, or grave. ^ 
 
 O England ! full of sinne, but most ^ of sloth ; 
 Spit out thy flegme, and fill thy brest with glorie : 
 Thy Gentrie bleats, as if thy native cloth 
 Transfus'd a sheepishnesse into thy storie : 
 Not that they all are so ; but that the most 
 Are gone to grasse, and in the pasture lost. 
 
 This losse springs chiefly from our education. 
 Some till their ground, but let weeds choke 
 their sonne ; 
 
 ^ Employment. — W. 
 
 2 Between this and the next stanza, W. adds the 
 following : — 
 
 If thou art nothing, think what thou wouldst bee : 
 He that desires is more then halfe way : 
 But if thou coole, then take some shame to thee, 
 Desire and shame will make thy labour play. 
 This is Earth's language, for if heaven come in. 
 Thou hast run all thy race ere thou beginn. 
 2 Full of all sinn, most. — W. 
 
THE CHURCH-PORCH 7 
 
 Some mark a partridge, never their childes 
 fashion : 
 
 Some ship them over, and the thing is done. 
 Studie this art, make it thy great designe ; 
 And if God's image move thee not, let thine. 
 
 Some great estates provide, but doe not breed 
 A mastering minde ; so both are lost thereby : 
 Or els they breed them tender, make them need 
 All that they leave : ^ this is flat povertie. 
 
 For he, that needs five thousand pound to live, 
 Is full as poore as he, that needs but five. 
 
 The way to make thy sonne rich, is to fill 
 His minde with rest, before his trunk ^ with 
 riches : 
 
 For wealth without contentment, climbes a hill 
 To feel those tempests, which fly over ditches. 
 But if thy sonne can make ten pound his measure, 
 Then all thou addest may be call'd his treasure. 
 
 When thou dost purpose ought, (within thy power) 
 Be sure to doe it, though it be but small : 
 Constancie knits the bones, and makes us stowre,^ 
 When wanton pleasures becken us to thrall. 
 
 1 All that is left.— W. 
 
 2 Trunks. — W. 
 
 3 So all the early printed editions ; but both the 
 MSS. (B. and W.) read soivre, ''Haliiwell, in his 
 Dictionary of Archaisms and Pro'vincialisms ^ quotes from 
 Palsgrave, tutor to Princess Mary, daughter of Henry 
 vm. , and author of the first French Grammar written 
 in English, the following : — ' Stowre, rude as coarse 
 cloth is, ^roj.' " — Lowe. 
 
8 THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
 Who breaks his own bond, forfeiteth himself : 
 What nature made a ship, he makes a shelf. ^ 
 
 Doe all things like a man, not sneakingly: 
 Think the king sees thee still ; for his King 
 does. 
 
 Simpring is but a lay-hypocrisie : 
 Give it a corner, and the clue undoes. 
 Who fears to do ill, sets himself to task : 
 Who fears to do well, sure should wear a 
 mask. 
 
 Look to thy mouth ; diseases enter there. 
 Thou hast two sconses,^ if thy stomack call ; 
 Carve, or discourse ; do not a famine fear. 
 Who carves, is kind to two ; who talks, to all. 
 
 Look on meat, think it dirt, then eat a bit ; 
 
 And ^ say withall. Earth to earth I commit. 
 
 Slight those who say amidst their sickly healths, 
 Thou liv'st by rule. What doth ^ not so, but 
 man ? 
 
 Houses are built by rule, and common-wealths. 
 Entice the trusty sunne, if that you^ can. 
 
 From his Ecliptick line : becken the skie. 
 
 Who lives by rule then, keeps good companie. 
 
 1 And though hee bee a ship, is his owne shelf. — 
 W. Shelf" here=^< reef." Cf. No. 76. "Miserie," 
 1. 77. 
 
 2 Sconses, i.e, bulwarks, or protections. Instead 
 of these words, W. has — Tast all, but feed not. 
 
 3 But W. 4 Does.— W. 5 Thou.— W, 
 
THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
 Who keeps no guard upon himself, is slack, 
 And rots to nothing at the next great thaw. 
 Man is a shop of rules, a well-truss'd pack, 
 Whose every parcell under-writes a law. 
 
 Lose not thy self, nor give thy humours 
 way : 
 
 God gave them to thee under lock and key. 
 
 By all means use sometimes to be alone. 
 Salute thy self : see what thy soul doth wear. 
 Dare to look in thy chest ; for 'tis thine own : 
 And tumble up and down what thou find'st 
 there. 
 
 Who cannot rest till hee good fellows finde, 
 He breaks up house, turns out of doores his 
 minde. 
 
 Be thriftie, but not covetous : therefore give 
 Thy need, thine honour, and thy friend his 
 due. 
 
 Never was scraper brave man. Get to live ; 
 
 Then live, and use it : els, it is not true 
 That thou hast gotten. Surely use alone 
 Makes money not a contemptible stone. 
 
 Never exceed thy income. Youth may make 
 Ev'n with the yeare : but age, if it will hit. 
 Shoots a bow short, and lessens still his stake, 
 As the day lessens, and his life with it. 
 
 Thy children, kindred, friends upon thee 
 call ; 
 
 Before thy journey fairly part with all. 
 
THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
 Yet 1 in thy thriving still misdoubt some evil ; 
 Lest gaining gain on thee, and make thee dimme 
 To all things els. Wealth is the conjurers 
 devil ; 
 
 Whom when he thinks he hath, the devil hath 
 him. 
 
 Gold thou mayst safely touch ; but if it stick 
 Unto thy hands, it woundeth to the quick. 
 
 What skills it, if a bag of stones or gold 
 About thy neck do drown thee ? raise thy head ; 
 Take starres for money ; starres not to be told 
 By any art, yet to be purchased. 
 
 None is so wasteful! as the scraping dame. 
 
 She loseth three for one ; her soul, rest, fame. 
 
 By no means runne in debt : take thine own 
 measure. 
 
 Who cannot live on twentie pound a yeare, 
 Cannot on fourtie : he's a man of pleasure, 
 A kinde of thing that's for it self too deare. 
 The curious unthrift makes his cloth ^ too 
 wide. 
 
 And spares nmiself, but would his taylor 
 chide. 
 
 1 111 W. this stanza is as follows : — 
 Yett in thy pursing still thy self distrust, 
 Least gaining gaine on thee, and fill thy hart : 
 Well if it cleave to coine, one common rust 
 Will canker both, yett thou alone shallt smart : 
 
 One common waight w^ill press downe both, 
 yet so 
 
 As that thy self alone to hell shall goe. 
 
 2 Clothes. ~W. 
 
THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
 Spend not on hopes. They that by pleading 
 clothes 1 
 
 Do fortunes seek, when worth and service fail, 
 Would have their tale beleeved for their oathes, 
 And are like empty vessels under sail. 
 
 Old courtiers know this ; therefore set out so, 
 As 2 all the day thou mayst hold out to go. 
 
 In clothes, cheap handsomenesse doth bear the 
 bell.3 
 
 Wisedome's a trimmer thing, then shop e*re 
 gave. 
 
 Say not then. This with that lace will do well ; 
 
 But, This with my discretion will be brave. 
 Much curiousnesse is a perpetuall wooing 
 Nothing with labour ; folly long a doing. 
 
 Play not for gain, but sport. Who pi ayes for 
 more, 
 
 Then he can lose with pleasure, stakes his heart ; 
 Perhaps his wives too, and whom she hath bore : 
 Servants and churches also play their part. 
 Onely a herauld, who that way doth passe, 
 Findes his crackt name at length in the 
 church-glasse. 
 
 If yet' thou love game at so deere a rate, 
 Learn this, that hath old gamesters deerely cost : 
 
 1 Cloths.— MSS. 2 That,— W. 
 
 ^ Cf. the occurrence of the same expression in The 
 Search," No. 129. 
 
12 THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
 Dost lose ? rise up : dost winne ? rise in that 
 state. 
 
 Who strive to sit out losing hands, are lost. 
 Game is a civil gunpowder, in peace 
 Blowing up houses with their whole increase. 
 
 In conversation boldnesse now bears sway. 
 But know, that nothing can so foolish be, 
 As empty boldnesse : therefore first assay 
 To stuffe thy minde with solid braverie ; 
 
 Then march on gallant : get substantiall worth. 
 
 Boldnesse guilds finely, and will set it forth. 
 
 Be sweet to all. Is thy complexion sowre ? 
 Then keep such companie ; make them thy 
 allay : 
 
 Get a sharp wife, a servant that will lowre. 
 A stumbler stumbles least in rugged way. 
 
 Command thy self in chief. He lifes warre 
 knows. 
 
 Whom all his passions follow, as he goes. 
 
 Catch not at quarrels. He that dares not speak 
 Plainly and home, is coward of the two. 
 Think not thy fame at ev'ry twitch will break : 
 By great deeds shew, that thou canst little do ; 
 
 And do them not : that shall thy wisdome be ; . 
 
 And change thy temperance into braverie. 
 
 If that thy fame with ev'ry toy be pos'd, 
 'Tis a thinne webbe, which poysonous fancies 
 make : 
 
THE CHURCH-PORCH 13 
 
 But the great souldiers honour was compos'd 
 Of thicker stufFe, which would endure a shake. 
 Wisdome picks friends ; civilitie playes the 
 rest. 
 
 A toy shunn'd cleanly passeth with the best.^ 
 
 Laugh not too much : the wittie man laughs 
 least : 
 
 For wit is newes onely to ignorance. 
 Lesse at thine own things laugh ; lest in the jest 
 Thy person share, and the conceit advance.^ 
 Make not thy sport, abuses : for the fly 
 That feeds on dung, is coloured thereby. 
 
 Pick out of mirth, like stones out of thy ground, 
 Profanenesse, filthinesse, abusivenesse. 
 These are the scumme, wit^ which coarse wits 
 abound : 
 
 The fine may spare these well, yet not go lesse. 
 All things are bigge with jest ; nothing that's 
 plain. 
 
 But may be wittie, if thou hast the vein. 
 
 Wit's an unruly engine, wildly striking 
 Sometimes a friend, sometimes the engineer. 
 Hast thou the knack ? pamper it not with liking : 
 But if thou want it, buy it not too deere. 
 Many affecting wit beyond their power, 
 Have got to be a deare fool for an houre. 
 
 ^ Is ame's interest. — W. 
 
 2 And thou thy mirth inhance. — W. 
 
THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
 A sad wise valour is the brave complexion, 
 That leads the van, and swallows up the cities. 
 The gigler is a milk-maid, whom infection. 
 Or a fir'd beacon frighteth from his ditties. 
 Then he's the sport : the mirth then in him 
 rests, 
 
 And the sad man is cock of all his jests. 
 
 Towards great persons use respective ^ boldnesse : 
 That temper gives them theirs, and yet doth take 
 Nothing from thine : in service, care, or cold- 
 nesse 
 
 Doth ratably thy fortunes marre or make. 
 Feed no man in his sinnes : for adulation 
 Doth make thee^ parcell-devil in damnation. 
 
 Envie not greatnesse : for thou mak'st thereby 
 Thy self the worse, and so the distance greater. 
 Be not thine own worm : yet such jealousie. 
 As hurts not others, but may make thee better, 
 
 Is a good spurre. Correct thy passions spite ; 
 
 Then may the beasts draw thee to happy 
 light. 
 
 When basenesse is exalted,^ do not bate 
 
 The place its honour, for the persons sake. 
 
 The shrine is that which thou dost venerate ; 
 
 And not the beast, that bears it on his back. 
 I care not though the cloth of state should be 
 Not of rich arras, but mean tapestrie. 
 
 1 Respectfull.— W. 2 You.— B. 
 
 3 When base men are exalted. — W. 
 
THE CHURCH-PORCH 15 
 
 Thy friend put in thy bosome : wear his eies 
 Still in thy heart, and he may see what's there. 
 If cause require, thou art his sacrifice ; 
 Thy drops of bloud must pay down all his fear : 
 But love is lost; the way^ of friendship's 
 gone. 
 
 Though David had his Jonathan^ Christ his 
 John, 
 
 Yet be not surety, if thou be a father. 
 
 Love is a personall debt. I cannot give 
 
 My childrens right, nor ought he take it : rather 
 
 Both friends should die, then hinder them to live. 
 
 Fathers first enter bonds to natures ends ; 
 
 And are her sureties, ere they are a friends. 
 
 If thou be single, all thy goods and ground 
 Submit to love ; but yet not more then all. 
 Give one estate, as one life. None is bound 
 To work for two, who^ brought himself to 
 thrall. 
 
 God made me one man ; love makes me no 
 more, 
 
 Till labour come, and make my weaknesse 
 score. 
 
 In thy discourse, if thou desire to please : 
 All such is courteous, usefull, new, or wittie. 
 Usefulnesse comes by labour, wit by ease ; 
 Courtesie grows in ^ court ; news in the citie. 
 
 1 The art.— W. That.— W. 3 At.— W. 
 
i6 THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
 Get a good stock of these, then draw the 
 card ; 
 
 That suites him best, of whom thy speech is 
 heard. 
 
 Entice all neatly to what they know best ; 
 For so thou dost thy self and him a pleasure : 
 ( But a proud ignorance will lose his rest, 
 Rather then shew his cards) steal from his 
 treasure 
 
 What to ask further. Doubts well rais'd do 
 lock 
 
 The speaker to thee, and preserve thy stock. 
 
 If thou be Master-gunner, spend not all 
 That thou canst speak, at once ; but husband it. 
 And give men turns of speech : do not forestall 
 By lavishnesse thine own, and others wit, 
 As if thou mad' St thy will. A civil guest 
 Will no more talk all, then eat all the feast. 
 
 Be calm in arguing : for fiercenesse makes 
 Errour a fault, and truth discourtesie. 
 Why should I feel another mans mistakes 
 More, then his sicknesses or povertie ? 
 In love I should : but anger is not love. 
 Nor wisdome neither : therefore gently move. 
 
 Calmnesse is great advantage : he that lets 
 Another chafe, may warm him at his lire : 
 Mark all his wandrings, and enjoy his frets ; 
 As cunning fencers suffer heat to tire. 
 
THE CHURCH-PORCH 17 
 
 Truth dwels not in the clouds : the bow that's 
 there, 1 
 
 Doth often aim at, never hit the sphere. 
 
 Mark what another sayes : for many are 
 Full of themselves, and answer their own notion* 
 Take all into thee ; then with equall care 
 Ballance each dramme of reason, like a potion. 
 If truth be with thy friend, be with them 
 both : 
 
 Share in the conquest, and confesse a troth. 
 
 Be usefull where thou livest, that they may 
 Both want, and wish thy pleasing presence 
 still.2 
 
 Kindnesse, good parts, great places are the way 
 To compasse this. Finde out mens wants and 
 will. 
 
 And meet them there. All worldly joyes go 
 lesse 
 
 To the ^ one joy of doing kindnesses. 
 
 Pitch thy behaviour low, thy projects high ; 
 So shalt thou humble and magnanimous be : ^ 
 Sink not in spirit : who aimeth at the sky. 
 Shoots higher much then he that means a tree.^ 
 
 1 That bow doth hitt 
 
 No more then passion, when shee talkes of it. — W. 
 
 2 Need and bee glad, and wish thy presence still. 
 — W. 
 
 3 That._W. 
 
 4 Cf. '<The Author to the Reader" in A Priest to 
 the Temple: "He shoots higher that threatens the moon, 
 than he that aims at a tree. " 
 
i8 THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
 A grain of glorie mixt with humblenesse 
 Cures both a fever and lethargicknesse.^ 
 
 Let thy minde still be bent, still plotting where, 
 And when, and how the businesse may be done. 
 Slacknesse breeds worms ; but the sure traveller. 
 Though he alight sometimes, still goeth on. 
 
 Active and stirring spirits live alone. 
 
 Write on the others, Here lies such a one. 
 
 Slight not the smallest losse, whether it be 
 In love or honour ; take account of all ; 
 Shine like the sunne in every corner : see 
 Whether thy stock of credit swell, or fall. 
 Who say, I care not, those I give for lost ; ^ 
 And to instruct them, 'twill not qait the 
 cost. 
 
 Scorn no mans love, though of a mean degree ; 
 
 (Love is a present for a mightie ^ king) 
 
 Much lesse make any one thine ^ enemie. 
 
 As gunnes destroy, so may a little sling. ^ 
 The cunning workman never doth refuse 
 The meanest tool, that he may chance to use. 
 
 All forrain wisdome doth amount to this. 
 To take all that is given ; whether wealth, 
 
 ^ A drowsiness. — W. 
 
 2 Those I give for gone : 
 
 They dye in holes w^here glory never slione. — W. 
 
 3 The greatest.— W. ^ Thy.—W. 
 
 ^ As swords cause death, so may a little sting. — W. 
 
THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
 Or love, or language ; nothing comes amisse : 
 A good digestion turneth all to health : 
 And then as farre as fair behaviour may, 
 Strike off all scores ; none are so cleare as 
 they. 
 
 Keep all thy native good, and naturalize 
 All forrain of that name ; but scorn their ill : 
 Embrace their activenesse, not vanities. 
 Who follows all things, forfeiteth his will. 
 If thou observest strangers in each fit. 
 In time theyM runne thee out of all thy wit. 
 
 Affect 1 in things about thee cleanlinesse, 
 That all may gladly board thee, as a flowre. 
 Slovens take up their stock of noisomnesse 
 Beforehand, and anticipate their last houre. 
 Let thy mindes sweetnesse have his operation 
 Upon thy body, clothes, and habitation. 
 
 In Almes regard thy means, and others merit. 
 Think heav'n a better bargain, then to give 
 Onely thy single market-money for it. 
 Joyn hands with God to make a man to live. 
 
 ^ In place of this stanza W. has the following : — 
 
 Leave not thine owne deere cuntry-cleanlines 
 For this French sluttery, wch so currant goes: 
 As if none could bee brave but w^ho profess 
 First to bee slovens, and forsake their nose: 
 Let thy minds sweetnes have his operation 
 Upon thy body, cloths, and habitation. 
 
20 THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
 Give to all something ; to a good poore man. 
 Till thou change names, and be where he 
 began. 
 
 Man is God's image ; but a poore man is 
 Christs stamp to boot : both images regard. 
 God reckons for him, counts the favour his : 
 Write, So much giv'n to God ; thou shalt be 
 heard. 
 
 Let thy almes go before, and keep heav'ns 
 gate 
 
 Open for thee ; or both ^ may come too late. 
 
 Restore to God his due in tithe and time : 
 A tithe purloin' d cankers the whole estate. 
 Sundaies observe : think when the bells do 
 chime, 
 
 'Tis angels musick ; therefore come not late. 
 God then deals blessings ; If a king did so. 
 Who would not haste, nay give, to see the 
 show ? 
 
 Twice on the ^ day his due is understood ; 
 For all the week thy food so oft he gave thee. 
 Thy cheere is mended ; bate not of the food. 
 Because 'tis better, and perhaps may save thee. 
 Thwart not th' Almighty God : ^ O be not 
 crosse. 
 
 Fast when thou wilt ; but then 'tis gain, not 
 losse. 
 
 1 They.— W. 
 ^ The mighty God. 
 
 ,— W. 
 
 2 That.-~W. 
 
THE CHURCH-PORCH 21 
 
 Though private prayer be a brave designe, 
 Yet publick hath ^ more promises, more love : 
 And love's a weight to hearts, to eies a signe. 
 We all are but cold suitours ; let us move 
 Where it is warmest. Leave thy six and 
 seven ; 
 
 Pray with the most : for where most pray, is 
 heaven. 
 
 When once thy foot enters the church, be bare. 
 God is more there, then thou : for thou art there 
 Onely by his permission. Then beware, 
 And make thy self all reverence and fear. 
 
 Kneeling ne're spoil' d silk stocking : 2 quit 
 thy state. 
 
 All equall are within the churches gate. 
 
 Resort to sermons, but to prayers most : 
 Praying 's the end of preaching. O be drest ; 
 Stay not for th' other pin : why thou hast lost 
 A joy for it worth worlds. Thus hell doth jest 
 Away thy blessings,^ and extreamly flout 
 thee. 
 
 Thy clothes being fast, but thy soul loose 
 about thee. 
 
 In time of service seal up both thine eies. 
 And send them to thine ^ heart; that spying 
 sinne, 
 
 1 Has.— W. 2 Stockings.— W. 
 
 3 Our blessings from us. — W. Thy.— W. 
 2 
 
22 THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
 They may weep out the stains by them did rise : 
 Those doores being shut, all by the eare comes in. 
 Who marks in church-time others symmetric,^ 
 Makes all their beautie his deformitie. 
 
 Let vain or ^ busie thoughts have there no part : 
 Bring not thy plough, thy plots, thy pleasures 
 thither. 
 
 Christ purg'd his temple ; so must thou thy 
 heart. 
 
 All worldly thoughts are but theeves met together 
 To couzin thee. Look to thy actions well : 
 For churches are either our heav'n or hell. 
 
 Judge not the preacher ; for he is thy Judge : 
 If thou mislike him, thou conceiv'st 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 preacheth patience. 
 
 He that gets patience, and the blessing which 
 Preachers conclude with, hath not lost his 
 pains. 
 
 He that by being at church escapes the ditch, 
 Which he might fall in by companions, gains. 
 
 ^ Others comliness 
 
 Turns all their beauty to his ugliness. — W. 
 2 And.— W. 3 I Cor. i. 21. 
 
 4 Cf. 2 Cor. iv. 7. 
 
THE CHURCH-PORCH 23 
 
 He that loves Gods abode, and to combine 
 With saints on earth, shall one day with them 
 shine. 
 
 Jest not at preachers language, or expression ; 
 How know'st thou, but thy sinnes made him 
 miscarrie ? 
 
 Then turn thy faults and his into confession : 
 God sent him, whatsoe're he be : O tarry, 
 And love him for his Master : his condition, 
 Though it be ill, makes him no ill Physician. 
 
 None shall in hell such bitter pangs endure. 
 As those, who mock at Gods way of salvation. 
 Whom oil and balsames ^ kill, what salve can 
 cure ? 
 
 They drink with greedinesse a full damnation. 
 The Jews refused thunder ; and we, folly. 
 Though God do hedge us in, yet who is holy ? 
 
 Summe up at night, what thou hast done by day; ^ 
 And in the morning, what thou hast to do. 
 Dresse and undresse thy soul : mark the decay 
 And growth of it : if with thy watch, that too 
 Be down, then winde up both, since we shall 
 be 
 
 Most surely judg'd, make thy accounts agree. 
 
 In brief, acquit thee bravely ; play the man. 
 Look not on pleasures as they come, but go. 
 
 1 Mercies. — W. 
 
 2 That day.— W. 
 
THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
 Deferre not the least vertue : lifes poore span 
 Make not an ell, by trifling in thy wo. 
 
 If thou do ill ; the joy fades, not the 
 pains : 
 
 If well ; the pain doth fade, the joy remains. 
 
 2. Superliminare ^ 
 
 npHOU, whom the former precepts have 
 Sprinkled and taught, how to behave 
 Thy self in church ; approach, and taste 
 The churches mysticall repast. 
 
 A VOID profanenesse ; ^ come not here : 
 Nothing but holy, pure, and cleare, ' 
 Or that which groneth to be so. 
 May at his perill further go. 
 
 1 In W. the first four lines of this poem are headed 
 P erirranterium ; the last four alone being entitled 
 Superlim'tnare^ i.e. the lintel of the doorway. Cf. 
 Ex. xii. 22. 
 
 2 Br. Grosart punctuates thus: <^ Avoid, profane- 
 ness ! This has no authority from the MSS. or 
 early editions, but it serves to bring out what is 
 clearly Herbert's meaning. Profaneness is personified 
 and addressed : Avoid," being equivalent to 
 
 Avaunt I " 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 3. The Altar 
 
 A BROKEN Altar, Lord, thy servant 
 reares. 
 
 Made of a heart, and cemented with teares: 
 Whose parts are as thy hand did frame ; 
 No workmans tool hath touch'd the same.^ 
 
 A Heart alone 
 
 Is such a stone, 
 
 As nothing but 
 
 Thy pow'r doth cut. 
 
 Wherefore each part 
 
 Of my hard heart 
 
 Meets in this frame, 
 
 To praise thy name. 
 That if I chance to hold my peace, 
 These stones to praise thee may not cease.^ 
 O let thy blessed Sacrifice be mine, 
 And sanctifie this Altar to be thine. 
 
 1 Cf. Ex. XX. 25. 2 cf. St. Luke xix. 40. 
 
26 THE CHURCH 
 
 4. The Sacrifice 
 
 /^H allye^ who passe by, whose eyes and minde 
 To worldly things are sharp, but to me 
 blinde ; 
 
 To me, who took eyes that I might you finde : 
 Was ever grief like mine ? ^ 
 
 The Princes of my people make a head 
 Against their Maker : they do wish me dead. 
 Who cannot wish, except I give them bread 
 Was ever grief like mine ? 
 
 Without me each one, who doth now me brave. 
 Had to this day been an Egyptian slave. 
 They use that power against me, which I gave : 
 Was ever grief like mine ? 
 
 Mine own Apostle, who the bag did beare, 
 Though he had all I had, did not forbeare 
 To sell me also, and to put me there : 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 For thirtie pence he did my death devise, 
 Who at three hundred did the ointment prize. 
 Not half so sweet as my sweet sacrifice : 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 1 Cf. Lam. i, 12. 
 
THE CHURCH 27 
 
 Therefore my soul melts, and my hearts deare 
 treasure 
 
 Drops bloud (the onely beads) my words to 
 measure : 
 
 0 let this cup passcy if it he thy pleasure : 
 
 Was ever grief like mine ? 
 
 These drops being temper'd with a sinners tears, 
 A Balsome are for both the Hemispheres : 
 Curing all wounds, but mine ; all, but my fears : 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 Yet my Disciples sleep : I cannot gain 
 One houre of watching ; but their drowsie brain 
 Comforts not me, and doth my doctrine stain : 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 Arise, arise, they come. Look how they runne. 
 Alas ! what haste they make to be undone ! 
 How with their lanterns do they seek the sunne ! 
 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 With clubs and staves they seek me, as a thief, 
 Who am the way of truth, ^ the true relief ; 
 Most true to those, who are my greatest grief : 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 Judas ^ dost thou betray me with a kisse ? 
 Canst thou finde hell about my lips ? and misse 
 Of life, just at the gates of life and blisse ? 
 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 1 The way and truth.— W. Cf. St. John xiv. 6. 
 
28 THE CHURCH 
 
 See, they lay hold on me, not with the hands 
 Of faith, but furie : yet at their commands 
 I suffer binding, who have loos'd their bands : 
 Was ever grief like mine ? 
 
 All my Disciples flie ; fear puts a barre 
 Betwixt my friends and me. They leave the 
 starre, 
 
 That brought the wise men of the East from 
 farre. 
 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 Then from one ruler to another bound 
 They leade me ; urging, that it was not sound 
 What I taught : Comments would the text 
 confound. 
 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 The Priest ^ and rulers all false witnesse seek 
 'Gainst him, who seeks not life, but is the meek 
 And readie Paschal Lambe of this great week: 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 Then they accuse me of great blasphemie. 
 That I did thrust into the Deitie, 
 Who never thought that any robberie : ^ 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 ^ Priests. — W., and many modern editions since 
 1674. 
 
 2 Cf. Phil. ii. 6. 
 
THE CHURCH 29 
 
 Some said, that I the Temple to the floore 
 In three dayes raz'd, and raised as before. 
 Why, he that built the world can do much more : 
 Was ever grief like mine ? 
 
 Then they condemne me all with that same breath. 
 Which I do give them daily, unto death. 
 Thus Adam my first breathing rendereth : ^ 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 They binde, and leade me unto Herod : he 
 Sends me to Pilate. This makes them agree ; 
 But yet their friendship is my enmitie : 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 Herod and all his bands do set me light. 
 Who teach all hands to warre, fingers to fight, 
 And onely am the Lord of hosts and might : 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 Herod in judgement sits, while I do stand ; 
 Examines me with a censorious hand : 
 I him obey, who all things else command : 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 The Jeivs accuse me with despitefulnesse ; 
 And vying malice with my gentlenesse. 
 Pick quarrels with their onely happinesse : 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 1 Cf. Gen. ii. 7. 
 
30 THE CHURCH 
 
 I answer nothing, but with patience prove 
 If stonie hearts will melt with gentle love. 
 But who does hawk at eagles with a dove ? 
 
 Was ever grief like mine ? 
 
 My silence rather doth augment their crie ; 
 My dove doth back into my bosome flie, 
 Because the raging waters still are high : ^ 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 Heark how they crie aloud still, Cructfie: 
 It is not Jit he live a day^ they crie, 
 Who cannot live lesse then eternally : 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 Pilate a stranger holdeth off ; but they, 
 Mine owne deare people, cry, Aivay^ away^ 
 With noises confused frighting the day : 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 Yet still they shout, and crie, and stop their eares, 
 Putting my life among their sinnes and fears, 
 And therefore with my bloud on them and theirs : 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 See how spite cankers things. These words 
 aright 
 
 Used, and wished, are the whole worlds light : 
 But hony is their gall, brightnesse their night : 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 1 Cf. Gen. viii. 8, 9. 
 
THE CHURCH 31 
 
 They choose a murderer, and all agree 
 In him to do themselves a courtesie : 
 For it was their own cause ^ who killed me : 
 Was ever grief like mine ? 
 
 And a seditious murderer he was : 
 But I the Prince of peace ; ^ peace that doth passe 
 All understanding, ^ more then heav'n doth 
 glasse : ^ 
 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 Why, Cesar is their onely King, not I : 
 He clave the stonie rock, when they were drie ; ^ 
 But surely not their hearts, as I well trie : ^ 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 Ah ! how they scourge me ! yet my tendernesse 
 Doubles each lash : and yet their bitternesse 
 Windes up my grief to a mysteriousnesse : 
 Was ever grief. Sec. 
 
 They buffet me,-^ and box me ^ as they list. 
 Who grasp ^ the earth and heaven with my ^ fist. 
 And never yet, whom I would punish, miss'd : 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 ^ Case. — W. 2 jsa. jx. 6. 
 
 2 Phil. iv. 7. 4 Then heaven, glasse. — W. 
 
 5 Cf. Ex. xvii. 6. 
 
 ^ But not their harts, as I by proofe do try. — W. 
 7 Him.— .MSS. 8 Grasps.— W. 
 
 » His.— MSS. 10 He.— MSS. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 Behold, they spit on me in scornful! wise, 
 Who by my spittle gave the blinde man eies, ^ 
 Leaving his blindnesse to mine enemies : 
 , tjsiim '.; Was ever grief like mine ? 
 
 My face they cover, though it be divine. 
 As Moses face was vailed, ^ so is mine. 
 Lest on their double-dark souls either shine : 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 Servants and abjects flout me ; they are wittie : 
 Now prophesie ivho strikes thee, is their dittie. 
 So they in me denie themselves all pitie : 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 And now I am deliver'd unto death, 
 Which each one cals for so with utmost breath, 
 That he before me well nigh sufFereth : 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 Weep not, deare friends, since I for both have 
 wept 
 
 When all my tears were bloud, the while you 
 slept ; 
 
 Your tears for your own fortunes should be kept : 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 The souldiers lead me to the common hall ; 
 There they deride me, they abuse me all : 
 Yet for twelve heav'nly legions I could call: 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 ^ St. John ix. 6. ^ Ex. xxxiv. 33 ; 2 Cor. iii. 13. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 Then with a scarlet robe they me aray ; 
 Which shews my bloud to be the onely way, 
 And cordiall left to repair mans decay : 
 
 Was ever grief like mine ? 
 
 Then on my head a crown of thorns I wear ; 
 For these are all the grapes Sion doth bear, 
 Though I my vine planted and watred there : 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 So sits the earths great curse in Adams falH 
 Upon my head : so I remove it all 
 From th' earth unto my brows, and bear the 
 thrall : 
 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 Then with the reed they gave to me before, ^ 
 They strike my head, the rock ^ from whence 
 all store 
 
 Of heav'nly blessings issue evermore : * 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 They bow their knees to me, and cry. Hail king : 
 What ever scofFes or ^ scornfulnesse can bring, 
 I am the floore, the sink, where they it fling : 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 ^ Gen. iii. i8. 2 Gave mee heretofore. — W» 
 
 3 Cf. I Cor, X. 4. 4 To the poore.— W. 
 «And.— W. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 Yet^ since mans scepters are as frail as reeds, 
 And thorny all their crowns, bloudie their 
 weeds ; ^ 
 
 I, "v^ho am Truth, turn into truth their deeds : 
 Was ever grief like mine ? 
 
 The souldiers also spit upon that ^ face, 
 Which ^ Angels did desire to have the grace. 
 And Prophets once to see, but found no place : 
 Was ever grief, 6cc. 
 
 Thus trimmed forth they bring me to the rout. 
 Who Crucifie him, crie with one strong shout. 
 God holds his peace at man, and man cries out : ^ 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 They leade me in once more, and putting then 
 Mine own clothes on, they leade me out agen. 
 Whom devils flie, thus is he toss'd of men : 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 And now wearie of sport, glad to ingrosse 
 All spite in one, counting my life their losse. 
 They carrie me to my most bitter crosse : 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 ^ In W. this stanza is as follows : — 
 
 Yet since in frailty, cruelty shrowd turns, 
 Allscepters, Reeds: Cloths, Scarlet: crowns arethorns, 
 I, who am Truth, turne into truth their scorns : 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 2 I.e, garments. ^ ]viy. — W ^ Whom. — W. 
 ^ With stronger blows strike mee as I come out 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 35 
 
 My crosse I bear my self, untill I faint : 
 Then Simon bears it for me by constraint. 
 The decreed burden of each mortall Saint : ^ 
 Was ever grief like mine ? 
 
 0 all ye who passe hy^ behold and see ; 
 
 Man stole the fruit, but I must climbe the tree ; 
 
 The tree of life to all, but onely me : 
 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 Lo, here I hang, charg'd with a world of sinne, 
 The greater world o' th' two ; for that came in 
 By words, but this by sorrow I must win : 
 Was ever grief, 8cc. 
 
 Such sorrow, as if sinfull man could feel. 
 
 Or feel his part,^ he would not cease to kneel, 
 
 Till all were melted, though he were all steel ; 
 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 But, 0 my God^ my God ! why leav'st thou me. 
 The Sonne, in whom thou dost delight to be ? ^ 
 
 My Gody my God 
 
 Never was grief like mine. 
 
 Shame tears my soul, my bodie many a wound ; ^ 
 Sharp nails pierce this, but sharper that confound ; 
 Reproches, which are free, while I am bound. 
 
 Was ever grief like mine ? 
 
 ^ The gladsome burden of a mortal saint. — W. 
 
 2 Share.— W. 3 Art well-pleased to be.— W. 
 
 ^ My soule is full of shame, my flesh of wound. — W. 
 
36 THE CHURCH 
 
 Now heal thy self, Physician ; now come down^ 
 Alas ! I did so, when I left my crown 
 And fathers smile for you, to feel his frown : ^ 
 Was ever grief like mine ? 
 
 In healing not my self, there doth consist 
 All that salvation, which ye ^ now resist ; 
 Your safetie in my sicknesse doth subsist : 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 Betwixt two theeves I spend my utmost breath. 
 As he that for some robberie suffereth. 
 Alas ! what have I stollen from you ? death : 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 A king my title is, prefixt on high ; 
 Yet by my subjects am condemn'd to die 
 A servile death in servile companie : 
 
 Was ever grief, Sec. 
 
 They gave me vineger mingled with gall, 
 But more with malice : yet, when they did call, 
 With Manna, Angels food, I fed them all : 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 They part my garments, and by lot dispose 
 My coat, the type of love, which once cur'd those 
 Who sought for help, never malicious foes : 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 1 And fathers smile to feele for you his frowne. — W. 
 
 2 You.—W. 
 
THE CHURCH 37 
 
 Nay, after death their spite shall further go ; 
 For they will pierce my side, I full well know ; 
 That as sinne came, so Sacraments might flow : 
 Was ever grief like mine ? 
 
 But now I die ; now all is finished. 
 
 My wo, mans weal : and now I bow my head. 
 
 Onely let others say, when I am dead, 
 
 Never was grief like mine. 
 
 5, The Thanksgiving 
 
 /^H King of grief! ^ (a title strange, yet true. 
 To thee of all kings onely due) 
 
 Oh King of wounds! ^ how shall I grieve for thee, 
 Who in all grief preventest me ? 
 
 Shall I weep bloud ? why thou hast wept such 
 store 
 
 That all thy body was one doore.^ 
 Shall I be scourged, flouted, boxed, sold ? 
 
 'Tis but to tell the tale is told. 
 3Iy Gody my Gody why dost thou part from me P 
 
 Was such a grief as cannot be. 
 Shall I then sing, skipping, thy dolefull storie,^ 
 
 And side with thy triumphant glorie ? 
 
 1 King of all grief. — W. 
 
 2 King of all wounds. — W. 
 
 2 This, the true reading, is round in both the MSS., 
 though the misprint *'gore" has widely obtained 
 since the edition of 1679, in which it first appears. 
 
 ^ Skipping thy dolefull story. — B. ; neglecting thy 
 sad story. — W. 
 
 3 
 
3$ THE CHURCHt 
 
 Shall thy strokes be my stroking ? thorns, my 
 flower ? 
 
 Thy rod, my posie ? crosse, my bower ? 
 But how then shall I imitate thee, and 
 
 Copie thy fair, though bloudie hand ? 
 Surely I will reuenge me on thy love. 
 
 And trie who shall victorious prove. 
 If thou dost give me wealth ; I will restore 
 
 All back unto thee by ^ the poore. 
 If thou dost give me honour ; men shall see. 
 
 The ^ honour doth belong to thee. 
 I will not marry ; or, if she be mine, 
 
 She and her children shall be thine. 
 My bosome friend, if he blaspheme thy name, 
 
 I will tear thence ^ his love and fame. 
 One half of me being gone, the rest I give ^ 
 
 Unto some Chappell, die or live. 
 As for thy ^ passion — But of that anon, 
 
 When with the other I have done. 
 For thy predestination I'le contrive. 
 
 That three yeares hence, if I survive, 
 I'le build a spittle,^ or mend common wayes, 
 
 But mend mine own without delayes. 
 Then I will use the works of thy creation, 
 
 As if I us'd them but for fashion. 
 The world and I will quarrell ; and the 
 yeare 
 
 S'hall not perceive, that I am. here. 
 
 1 In W. 
 
 3 Out.— W. 
 
 5 The misprint "my" 
 originated in 1679. 
 
 ^ I.e. 'spital or hospital. 
 
 2 That.— W. 
 4 I'le give. -W. 
 (found in many editions) 
 
 7 My.— W. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 My musick shall finde thee, and ev'ry string 
 
 Shall have his attribute to sing ; ^ 
 That all together may accord in thee, 
 
 And prove one God, one harmonie. 
 If thou shalt give me wit, it shall appeare. 
 
 If thou hast giv'n it me, 'tis here. 
 Nay, I will reade thy book, and never move 
 
 Till I have found therein thy love ; ^ 
 Thy art of love, which Fie turn back on thee, 
 
 O my deare Saviour, Victorie ! 
 Then for thy passion — I will do for that — 
 
 Alas, my God, I know not what. 
 
 6. The Reprisall' 
 
 I HAVE consider'd it, and finde 
 There is no dealing ^ with thy mighty passion : 
 For though I die for thee, I am behinde ; 
 
 My sinnes deserve the condemnation. 
 
 ^ See Walton's Life, p. cii, for Herbert's use of 
 these lines on the Sunday before his death. 
 
 2 And never linn 
 
 Till I have found thy love therein. — W. 
 Linn, i.e. " cease " or "give over.'' The word was 
 common in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries 
 in this sense. It is used by Spenser, Faerie Queene, Bk. 
 III. Canto iii. st. 30, and more than once by Milton 
 in his prose works, e.g. on Di'vorce^ Bk. I. Pref. 
 
 3 In W. the title is *'The Second Thanksgiving." 
 Cf, "The Thanksgiving/' 1, 29, 30. 
 
 4 Medling. — W. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 O make me innocent, that I 
 May give a disentangled state and free : 
 And yet thy wounds still my attempts defie, 
 
 For by thy death I die for thee. 
 
 Ah 1 was it not enough that thou 
 By thy eternall glorie didst outgo me ? 
 Couldst thou not griefs sad conquests me allow. 
 
 But in all victories overthrow me ? 
 
 Yet by confession will I come 
 Into the 1 conquest. Though I can do nought 
 Against thee, in thee will I overcome 
 
 The man, who once against thee fought. 
 
 7. The Agonie 
 
 PHILOSOPHERS have measur'd 
 ^ mountains, 
 Fathom'd the depths of seas, of states, and kings, 
 Walk'd with a stafFe to heav'n, and traced 
 fountains : 
 But there are two vast, spacious things, 
 The which to measure it doth more behove : 
 Yet few there are that found them ; Sinne and 
 Love. 
 
 Who would know Sinne, let him repair 
 Unto Mount Olivet; there shall he see 
 A man so wrung with pains, that all his hair, 
 
 His skinne, his garments bloudie be, 
 
 ^Thy.— \V. 
 
THE CHURCH 41 
 
 Sinne is that presse and vice, which forceth pain 
 To hunt his cruell food through ev'ry vein. 
 
 Who knows not Love, let him assay 
 And taste that juice, which on the crosse a pike 
 Did set again abroach ; then let him say 
 
 If ever he did taste the like. 
 Love is that liquor sweet and most divine, 
 Which my God feels as bloud ; but I, as wine. 
 
 8. The Sinner 
 
 T ORD, how I am all ague, when I seek 
 
 What I have treasur'd in my memorie ! 
 Since, if my soul make even with the 
 week, 
 
 Each seventh note by right is due to thee. 
 I finde there quarries of pil'd vanities. 
 
 But shreds of holinesse, that dai*e not 
 venture 
 
 To shew their face, since crosse to thy 
 decrees : 
 
 There the circumference earth is, heav'n the 
 centre. 
 
 In so much dregs the quintessence is small : 
 
 The spirit and good extract of my heart 
 Comes to about the many hundredth part. 
 Yet Lord restore thine image, heare my call : 
 
 And though my hard heart scarce to 
 
 thee can grone. 
 Remember that thou once didst write in 
 stone. 
 
48 THE CHURCH 
 
 9. Good Friday 
 
 o MY chief good, 
 How shall I measure out thy bloud ? 
 How shall I count what thee befell, 
 
 And each grief tell ? 
 
 Shall I thy woes 
 Number according to thy foes ? 
 Or, since one starre show'd thy first breath, 
 
 Shall all thy death ? 
 
 Or shall each leaf, 
 Which falls in Autumne, score a grief? 
 Or cannot leaves, but fruit, be signe 
 
 Of the true vine ? 
 
 Then let each houre 
 Of my whole life one grief devoure ; 
 That thy distresse through all may runne, 
 
 And be my sunne. 
 
 Or rather let 
 My severall sinnes their sorrows get ; 
 That as each beast his cure doth know, 
 
 Each sinne may so. 
 
THE CHURCH 43 
 
 Since 1 bloud is fittest, Lord, to write 
 Thy sorrows in, and bloudie fight ; 
 My heart hath store, write there, where in 
 One box doth lie both ink and sinne : 
 
 That when sinne spies so many foes, 
 Thy whips, thy nails, thy wounds, thy woes, 
 All come to lodge there, sinne ^ may say. 
 No room for me, and flie away. 
 
 Sinne ^ being gone, oh fill the place. 
 And keep possession with thy grace ; 
 Lest sinne take courage and return, 
 And all the writings blot or burn. 
 
 ^^In W. this is a separate poem, and is entitled 
 <*The Passion." The opening lines of it are as 
 follows; — 
 
 Since nothing, Lord can bee so good 
 To write thy sorrows in as blood. 
 
 2 He.— W. 
 
 2 In W. this stanza is as follows : — 
 
 Sinn being gone, O, doe thou fill 
 The place, and keep possession still: 
 For by the writings all may see 
 Thou hast an ancient claime to mee. 
 
44 THE CHURCH 
 
 lo. Redemption ^ 
 
 1_JAVING been tenant long to a rich Lord 
 ^ ^ Not thriving, I resolved to be bold, 
 And make a suit unto him, to afford 
 A new small-rented lease, and cancell th' old. 
 
 In heaven at his manour I him sought : 
 
 They told me there, that he was lately 
 gone 
 
 About some land, which he had dearly 
 bought 
 
 Long since on earth, to take possession. 
 
 I straight returned, and knowing his great birth. 
 Sought him accordingly in great resorts ; 
 In cities, theatres, gardens, parks, and 
 courts : 
 
 At length I heard a ragged noise and mirth 
 
 Of theeves and murderers : there I him 
 espied, 
 
 » Who straight. Tour suit is granted^ said, 
 and died. 
 
 1 "The Passion."— -W. 
 
THE CHURdH 45 
 
 II. Sepulchre 
 
 r\ BLESSED bodie! Whither art thou 
 thrown ? 
 
 No lodging for thee, but a cold hard stone ? 
 So many hearts on earth, and yet not one 
 Receive thee ? 
 
 Sure there is room within our hearts good store ; 
 For they can lodge transgressions by the score : 
 Thousands of toyes dwell there, yet out of doore 
 They leave thee. 
 
 But that which shews them large, shews them 
 unlit. 
 
 What ever sinne did this pure rock commit, 
 Which holds thee now ? Who hath indited it 
 Of murder ? 
 
 Where our hard hearts have took up stones to 
 brain thee, 
 
 And missing this, most falsly did arraigne thee ; 
 Onely these stones in quiet entertain thee. 
 And order. 
 
 And as of old, the law by heav'nly art 
 Was writ in stone ; so thou, which also art 
 The letter of the word, find'st no fit heart 
 To hold thee. 
 
46 THE CHURCH 
 
 Yet do we still persist as we began, 
 And so should perish, but that nothing can, 
 Though it be cold, hard, foul, from loving man 
 Withold thee. 
 
 12. Easter 
 
 ID ISE heart; thy Lord is risen. Sing his 
 "''^ praise 
 
 Without delayes, 
 Who takes thee by the hand, that thou likewise 
 
 With him mayst rise : 
 That, as his death calcined thee to dust, 
 His life may make thee gold, and much more 
 just. 
 
 Awake, my lute, and struggle for thy part 
 With all thy art. 
 
 The crosse taught ail wood to resound his name. 
 Who bore the same. 
 
 His streched sinews taught all strings,, what key 
 
 Is best to celebrate this most high day. 
 
 Consort both heart and lute, and twist a song 
 Pleasant and long : 
 
 Or since all musick is but three parts vied 
 And multiplied ; 
 
 O let thy blessed Spirit bear a part, 
 
 And make up our defects with his sweet art. 
 
THE CHURCH 47 
 
 1 1 got me flowers to straw thy way ; 
 
 I got me boughs ofF many a tree : 
 
 But thou wast up by break of day, 
 
 And brought' St thy sweets along with thee. 
 
 The Sunne arising in the East, 
 
 Though he give light, and th' East perfume ; 
 
 If they should offer to contest 
 
 With thy arising, they presume. 
 
 Can there be any day but this. 
 Though many sunnes to shine endeavour ? 
 We count three hundred, but we misse ; 
 There is but one, and that one ever. 
 
 1 The remaining stanzas, which clearly form the 
 **song" called for above, are given in W. in a 
 different form : 
 
 I had prepared many a flowre 
 To strow thy way and victorie ; 
 But thou wast up before myne houre, 
 Bringinge thy sweets along with thee. 
 
 The sunn arising in the East, 
 
 Thou hee bring light and th' other sents, 
 
 Can not make up so brave a feast 
 
 As thy discouerie presents. 
 
 Yet though my flours be lost, they say 
 A hart can never come too late ; 
 Teach it to sing thy praise this day. 
 And then this day my life shall date. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
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THE CHURCH 
 
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 THE CHURCH 
 
 14. H. Baptisme^ 
 
 A S he that sees a dark and shadie grove, 
 
 Stayes not, but looks beyond it on the skie; 
 So when I view my sinnes, mine eyes remove 
 More backward still, and to that water flie. 
 
 Which is above the heav'ns, whose spring and rent 
 Is in my deare Redeemers pierced side.^ 
 O blessed streams ! either ye do prevent 
 
 And stop our sinnes from growing thick and wide, 
 
 Or else give tears to drown them, as they grow. 
 In you Redemption measures all my time. 
 And spreads the plaister equall to the crime : 
 
 You taught the book of life my name, that so 
 
 What ever future sinnes should me miscall. 
 Your first acquaintance might discredit alL 
 
 1 A different form of this poem is given in W. : 
 When backward on my sins I turne mine eyes, 
 
 And then beyond them all my Baptisme view, 
 As he yt heaven b yond much thicket spyes ; 
 I pass ye shades, and fixe vpon the true 
 Waters above y® heavens : O sweet streams, 
 
 You doe prevent most sins, and for y® rest 
 You give us tears to wash them : lett those beams, 
 Wch then ioin'd w^li you, still meet in my brest, 
 And mend, as rising Starrs and rivers doe. 
 
 In you Redemption micasures all my tyme, 
 Spredding ye plaister equal to y© cryme. 
 You taught ye book of life my name, that so 
 Whatever future sinns should mee miscall, 
 Yor first acquaintance might discreditt all. 
 
 2 St. John xix. 34. Cf. The Sacrifice," 1. 247. 
 
THE CHURCH 51 
 
 15. H. Baptisme 
 
 Since, Lord, to thee 
 A narrow way and little gate ^ 
 Is all the passage, on my infancie 
 
 Thou didst lay hold, and antedate 
 
 My faith in me. 
 
 O let me still 
 Write thee great God, and me a childe ; 
 Let me be soft and supple to thy will. 
 
 Small to my self, to others milde, 
 Behither ilL2 
 
 Although 2 by stealth 
 My flesh get on, yet let her sister 
 My soul bid nothing, but preserve her ^ wealth : 
 The growth of flesh is but a blister ; 
 Childhood is health. 
 
 1 St. Matt. vii. 14. 
 
 2 Behither, i.e. beyond, or except. The word is simi- 
 larly used by Barnabas Oley in his Preface to the 
 Christian Reader," whicli was prefixed to the second 
 edition of Herbert's Priest to the Temple: have 
 not observed any one thing, behither vice, that hath 
 occasioned so much contempt of the clergie as un- 
 willingness to take or keep a poor living." 
 
 3 Though that.— W ^ Keep her first W. 
 
5« 
 
 THE CHURCH 
 
 1 6. Nature 
 
 T^ULL of rebellion, I would die, 
 
 Or fight, or travell, or denie 
 That thou hast ought to do with me. 
 
 O tame my heart ; 
 It IS thy highest art 
 To captivate strong holds to thee.^ 
 
 If thou shalt let this venome lurk, 
 And in suggestions fume and work. 
 My soul will turn to bubbles straight. 
 
 And thence by kinde 
 Vanish into a winde. 
 Making thy workmanship deceit. 
 
 O smooth my rugged heart, and there 
 Engrave thy rev'rend law and fear ; 
 Or make a new one, since the old 
 
 Is saplesse grown. 
 And a much fitter stone 
 To hide my dust, then thee to hold. 
 
 17. Sinne 
 
 LORD, with what care hast thou begirt us 
 round ! 
 
 Parents first season us : then schoolmasters 
 Deliver us to laws ; they send us bound 
 To rules of reason^ holy messengers, 
 
 1 2 Cor. X. 4. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 53 
 
 Pulpits and sundayes, sorrow dogging sinne, 
 Afflictions sorted, anguish of all sizes, 
 Fine nets and strategems ^ to catch us in, 
 
 Bibles laid open, millions of surprises, 
 
 Blessings beforehand, tyes of gratefulnesse, 
 The sound of glorie ringing in our eares : 
 Without, our shame ; within, our consciences ; 
 
 Angels and grace, eternall hopes and fears. 
 
 Yet 2 all these fences and their whole array 
 One cunning bosome-sinne blows quite away. 
 
 1 8. Affliction 
 
 "\'\7'HEN first thou didst entice to thee my 
 heart, 
 
 I thought the service brave : 
 So many joyes I writ down for my part. 
 
 Besides what I might have 
 Out of my stock of naturall delights. 
 Augmented with thy gracious benefits.^ 
 
 I looked on thy furniture so fine,^ 
 
 And made it fine to me : 
 
 Thy glorious houshold-stuffe did me entwine,^ 
 And 'tice me unto thee.^ 
 
 1 Casuahies. — W. 
 
 ^ In W, the last two lines run thus — 
 
 Yet all these fences w*^ one bosome sinn, 
 Are blown away, as if they neer had bin. 
 
 3 Grace's perquisites. — W. Rich. — W. 
 
 ^ Bewitch. — W. 6 Into thy f amilie. — W. 
 
 4 
 
54 THE CHURCH 
 
 Such starres I counted mine : both heav'n and 
 earth 
 
 Payd me my wages in a world of mirth. 
 
 What pleasures could I want, whose King I 
 served ? 
 
 Where joyes my fellows were. 
 Thus argu'd into hopes, my thoughts reserved 
 
 No place for grief or fear.^ 
 Therefore my sudden soul caught at the place. 
 And made her youth and fiercenesse seek thy face. 
 
 At first thou gav'st me milk and sweetnesses ; 
 
 I had my wish and way : 
 My dayes were straw' d with flow'rs and happi« 
 nesse ; 
 
 There was no moneth but May, 
 But with my yeares sorrow ^ did twist and grow. 
 And made a partie unawares for wo. 
 
 My flesh began unto my soul in pain. 
 
 Sicknesses cleave my bones ; 
 
 Consuming agues dwell in ev'ry vein. 
 
 And tune my breath to grones.^ 
 
 Sorrow was all my soul ; I scarce beleeved, 
 
 Till grief did tell me roundly, that 1 lived.^ 
 
 ^ I was preserved 
 
 Before that I could feare. — W. 
 
 2 Sorrows. — W. 
 
 3 See Walton's Life, p. liii. 
 
 4 I did not know 
 
 That I did live but by a pang of woe. — W. 
 
THE CHURCH 55 
 
 When I got health, thou took'st away my life, 
 And more; for my friends die 'A 
 
 My mirth and edge was lost ; a blunted knife 
 Was of more use then I. 
 
 Thus thinne and lean without a fence or friend, 
 
 I was blown through 2 with ev'ry storm and 
 winde. 
 
 Whereas my birth and spirit rather took 
 
 The way that takes the town ; ^ 
 
 Thou didst betray me to a lingring book, 
 And wrap me in a gown. 
 
 I was entangled in the world of strife, 
 
 Before I had the power to change my life. 
 
 Yet, for I threatned oft the siege to raise, 
 Not simpring all mine age, 
 
 Thou often didst with Academick praise 
 Melt and dissolve my rage. 
 
 I took thy sweetned pill, till I came neare ; 
 
 I could not go away, nor persevere."^ 
 
 1 The Duke of Richmond died in 1623-24; the 
 Marquis of Hamilton in 1625 ; James i. in the 
 same year, *^and with them all Mr. Herbert's 
 Court hopes'' (Walton's Life, p. liv). Andrewes 
 and Bacon both died in 1627, and Herbert's mother, 
 Lady Dan vers, in 1627. 
 
 2 Thorough. — W. 
 
 ^ Cf. the occurrence of the same expression in 
 The Church-Porch," in the version given in W. , 
 above, p. 2. 
 
 4 Till I came, where 
 
 I could not goe away nor persevere. — W. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 Yet lest perchance I should too happie be 
 
 In my unhappinesse, 
 Turning my purge to food, thou throwest me 
 
 Into more sicknesses. ^ 
 Thus doth thy power crosse-bias ^ me, not 
 making 
 
 Thine own gift good, yet me from my wayes 
 taking. 
 
 Now I am here, what thou wilt do with me 
 None of my books will show : 
 
 I reade, and sigh, and wish I were a tree ; 
 
 For sure then I should grow 
 
 To fruit or shade : at least some bird would 
 trust 
 
 Her houshold to me, and I should be just. 
 
 Yet, though thou troublest me, I must be meek; 
 
 In weaknesse must be stout. 
 Well, I will change the service, and go seek 
 
 Some other master out. 
 Ah my deare God ! ^ though I am clean forgot. 
 Let me not love thee, if I love thee not.^ 
 
 ^ See Walton's Life, p. Ixiii. 
 Cross-bias me^ i.e. give an inclination athwart my 
 own. 
 
 3 King.— W. 
 
 4 It is told of Archbishop Sharp that the last 
 words he said were those of Mr. Herbert, * Ah, my 
 dear God, though I am clean forgot, &c.' He had 
 these words often in his mouth while he was in 
 health ; but would add that Mr. Herbert was much 
 dispirited when he wrote them " (Sharp's Life of 
 
THE CHURCH 57 
 
 . 19. Repentance 
 
 T ORD, I confesse my sinne is great ; 
 
 Great is my sinne. Oh! gently treat 
 With thy quick flow'r, thy momentanie ^ 
 bloom ; 
 
 Whose life still pressing 
 Is one undressing, 
 A steadie aiming at a tombe. 
 
 Mans age is two houres work, or three : 
 Each day doth round about us see. 
 Thus are we to delights : but we are all 
 To sorrows old,^ 
 If life be told 
 From what life feeleth, Adams falL 
 
 O let thy height of mercie then 
 Compassionate short-breathed men. 
 Cut me not off for my most foul transgression : 
 I do confesse 
 My foolishnesse ; 
 My God, accept of my confession. 
 
 Sharp), The lines seem to mean, ''Although for- 
 gotten of God, unless my love to him still continues 
 in my desolation, let me never be able to love Him.'* 
 See Palgrave's Treasury of Sacred Song, P- 333 
 1 Momentarie. — MSS. 
 
 ^ Looking on this side and beyond us all 
 We are born old. — W. 
 
58 THE CHURCH 
 
 Sweeten at length this bitter bowl, 
 Which thou hast pour'd into my soul ; 
 Thy wormwood turn to health, windes to fair 
 weather : 
 
 For if thou stay, 
 I and this day, 
 As we did rise, we die together. 
 
 When thou for sinne rebukest man, 
 Forthwith he waxeth wo and wan : 
 Bitternesse fills our bowels ; all our hearts 
 Pine, and decay. 
 And drop away. 
 And Carrie with them th' other parts. ^ 
 
 But thou wilt sinne and grief destroy ; 
 That so the broken bones may joy,^ 
 And tune together in a well-set song. 
 
 Full of his praises. 
 Who dead men raises. 
 Fractures well cur'd make us more strong. 
 
 20. Faith 
 
 T ORD, how couldst thou so mucn appease 
 -■^ Thy wrath for sinne, as when mans sight 
 
 was dimme. 
 And could see little, to regard his ease. 
 
 And bring by Faith all things to him ? 
 
 ^ Melt and consume 
 
 To smoke and fume, 
 Fretting to death our other parts, — W. 
 2 Ps. li. 8. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 59 
 
 Hungrie I was, and had no meat : 
 I did conceit a most delicious feast ; 
 I had it straight, and did as truly eat, 
 
 As ever did a welcome guest. 
 
 There is a rare outlandish root. 
 Which when I could not get, I thought it here : 
 That apprehension cur'd so well my foot, 
 
 That I can walk to heaven well neare. 
 
 I owed thousands and much more : 
 I did beleeve that I did nothing owe, 
 .And liv'd accordingly ; my creditor 
 Beleeves so too, and lets me go.^ 
 
 Faith makes me any thing, or all 
 That I beleeve is in the sacred storie : 
 And where sinne placeth ^ me in Adams fall. 
 
 Faith sets me higher in his glorie. 
 
 If I go lower in the book. 
 What can be lower then the common manger ? 
 Faith puts me there with him, who sweetly took 
 
 Our flesh and frailtie, death and danger.^ 
 
 If blisse had lien in art or strength, 
 None but the wise or strong had gained it : 
 Where now by Faith all arms are of a length ; 
 
 One size doth all conditions fit. 
 
 ^ With no new score, 
 
 My creditour beleev'd so too. — W. 
 2 Places.— W. 
 
 2 My nature on him w^h the danger. — W. 
 
6o 
 
 THE CHURCH 
 
 A peasant may beleeve as much 
 As a great Clerk, and reach the highest stature. 
 Thus dost thou make proud knowledge bend^ and 
 crouch 
 
 While grace fills up uneven nature. 
 
 When creatures had no reall light 
 Inherent in them, thou didst make the sunne, 
 Impute a lustre, and allow them bright ; 
 
 And in this shew,^ what Christ hath done. 
 
 That which before was darkned clean 
 With bushie groves, pricking the lookers eie, • 
 Vanisht away, when Faith did change the 
 scene : 
 
 And then appear'd a glorious skie. 
 
 What though my bodie runne to dust ? 
 Faith cleaves unto it, counting evr'y grain 
 With an exact and most particular trust, 
 
 Reserving all for flesh again. 
 
 21. Prayer 
 
 ORAYER the Churches banquet. Angels age, 
 Gods breath in man returning to his birth. 
 The soul in paraphrase, heart in pilgrim- 
 ^age, 
 
 The Christian plummet sounding heav'n and 
 earth ; 
 
 ^ Bov/. — W. 2 This shadows out.— W. 
 
THE CHURCH 6i 
 
 Engine against th' Almightie, sinners towre,i 
 Reversed thunder, Christ-side-piercing spear. 
 
 The six-daies-world transposing in an houre,^ 
 A kinde of tune, which all things heare and 
 fear ; 
 
 ill bn.; 
 
 Softnesse, and peace, and joy, and love, and 
 blisse, 
 
 Exalted Manna, gladnesse of the best. 
 Heaven in ordinarie, man well drest. 
 The milkie way, the bird of Paradise, 
 
 Church- bel 8 beyond the starres heard, the souls 
 bloud, 
 
 The land of spices ; something understood. 
 
 22. The H. Communion 
 
 ^1^^ OT in rich furniture, or fine aray, 
 ^ ^ Nor in a wedge of gold. 
 
 Thou, who from me wast sold. 
 To me dost now thy self convey ; 
 For so thou should' st without me still have been. 
 Leaving within me sinne : 
 
 But by the way of nourishment and strength 
 Thou creep' St into my breast ; 
 Making thy way my rest. 
 And thy small quantities my length ; 
 
 1 Sinner's fort. — W. 
 
 2 Transposer of ye world, wonder's resort.— W, 
 
#3 THE CHURCH 
 
 Which spread their forces into every part, 
 Meeting sinnes force and art. 
 
 Yet can these not get over to my soul, 
 Leaping the wall that parts 
 Our souls and fleshly hearts ; 
 But as th' outworks, they may controll 
 
 My rebel-flesh, and carrying thy name, 
 
 AflFright both sinne and shame. 
 
 Onely thy grace, which with these elements 
 comes, 
 
 Knoweth the ready way. 
 And hath the privie key, 
 Op'ning the souls most subtile rooms ; 
 While those to spirits refin'd, at doore attend 
 Dispatches from their friend. 
 
 Give 1 me my captive soul, or take 
 My bodie also thither. 
 
 Another lift like this will make 
 Them both to be together. 
 
 Before that sinne turn'd flesh to stone, 
 And all our lump to leaven ; 
 
 A fervent sigh might well have blown 
 Our innocent earth to heaven. 
 
 1 The previous part of this poem is wanting in W. 
 The latter part, beginning here, is given, but is 
 entitled " Prayer." 
 
THE CHURCH 63 
 
 For sure when Adam did not know 
 To sinne, or sinne to smothery 
 
 He might to heav'n from Paradise go, 
 As from one room t' another. 
 
 Thou^ hast restored us to this ease 
 By this thy heav'nly bloud ; 
 
 Which I can go to, when I please. 
 
 And leave th' earth to their food. 
 
 23. Antiphon 
 
 Cho. T ET all the world in ev'ry corner sing, 
 ^^"^ My God and King, 
 
 Vers, The heav'ns are not too high, 
 His praise may thither flie : 
 The earth is not too low, 
 His praises there may grow. 
 
 Cho, Let all the world in ev'ry corner sing. 
 My God and King, 
 
 1 For this stanza W. substitutes the following : — 
 
 But wee are strangers grown, O Lord, 
 
 Lett prayer help our losses : 
 Since thou hast taught vs by thy word 
 
 That wee may gaine by crosses. 
 
64 THE CHURCH 
 
 Vers. The church with psalms must shout. 
 No doore can keep them out : 
 But above all, the heart 
 Must bear the longest part. 
 
 Cho. Let all the world in ev'ry corner sing, 
 My God and King, 
 
 24. Love. I 
 
 TMMORTALL Love, authour of this great 
 frame, 
 
 Sprung from that ^ beautie which can never 
 fade ; 
 
 How hath man parcel'd out thy glorious 
 name, 
 
 And thrown it on 2 that dust which thou hast 
 made, 
 
 While mortall love doth^ all the title gain ! 
 Which siding with invention, they together 
 Bear all the sway, possessing heart and brain, 
 
 (Thy workmanship) and give thee share in 
 neither. 
 
 Wit fancies beautie, beautie raiseth wit : 
 
 The world is theirs ; they two play out the 
 game, 
 
 1 The.— W. 2 in._W. 3 Does.— W, 
 
THE CHURCH 65 
 
 Thou standing by : and though thy glorious 
 name 
 
 Wrought our deliverance from th' infernall pit, 
 
 Who sings thy praise ? onely a skarf or glove 
 Doth warm our hands, and make them write 
 of love. 
 
 II 
 
 TMMORTALL Heat, O let thy greater 
 ^ flame 
 
 Attract the lesser to it : let those fires, 
 Which shall consume the world, first make it 
 tame ; 
 
 And kindle in our hearts such true desires, 
 
 As may consume our lusts, and make thee way. 
 Then shall our hearts pant thee ; then shall 
 our brain 
 
 All her invention on thine Altar lay. 
 And there in hymnes send back thy fire again : 
 
 Our eies shall see thee, which before saw dust ; 
 Dust blown by wit, till that they both were 
 blinde : 
 
 Thou shalt recover all thy goods in kinde, 
 Who wert disseized by usurping lust : 
 
 All knees shall bow to thee ; all wit shall 
 rise. 
 
 And praise him who did make and mend our 
 eies. 
 
66 THE CHURCH 
 
 25. The Temper^ 
 
 TJOW should I praise thee, Lord! how 
 ^ should my rymes 
 Gladly engrave thy love in steel, 
 If what my soul doth feel sometimes, 
 My soul might ever feel ! 
 
 Although there were some fourtie ^ heav'ns, or 
 more, 
 
 Sometimes I peere above them all ; 
 Sometimes I hardly reach a score. 
 Sometimes to hell I fall. 
 
 O rack me not to such a vast extent ; 
 Those distances belong to thee : 
 The world's too little for thy tent, 
 A grave too big for me. 
 
 Wilt thou meet arms with man, that thou dost 
 stretch 
 
 A crumme of dust from heav'n to hell ? 
 Will great God measure with a wretch ? 
 Shall he thy stature spell ? 
 
 O let me, when thy roof my soul hath hid, 
 O let me roost and nestle there : 
 Then of a sinner thou art rid. 
 And I of hope and fear. 
 
 * "The Christian Temper."— W. 2 a hundred.— W. 
 
THE CHURCH 67 
 
 Yet take thy way ; for sure thy way is best : 
 Stretch or contract me thy poore debter : 
 This is but tuning of my breast. 
 To make the musick better. 
 
 Whether I flie with angels, fall with dust,^ 
 Thy hands made both, and I am there : 
 Thy power and love, my love and trust, 
 Make one place ev'ry where. 
 
 26. The Temper 2 
 
 TT cannot be. Where is that mightie joy. 
 Which just now took up all my heart ? 
 Lord, if thou must needs use thy dart, 
 Save that, and me ; or sin for both destroy. 
 
 The grosser world stands to thy word and art ; 
 But thy diviner world of grace 
 Thou suddenly dost raise and race,^ 
 
 And ev'ry day a new Creatour art. 
 
 O fix thy chair of grace, that all my powers 
 May also fix their reverence : 
 For when thou dost depart from hence. 
 
 They grow unruly, and sit in thy bowers. 
 
 1 Whether I angell it or fall to dust. — W. 
 
 2 The Christian Temper."— W. 
 
 3 The spelling "race "(for **raze") was probably 
 adopted by Herbert for the sake of the rhyme. Cf. 
 "raz'd, and raised " in The Sacrifice," 1. 64. 
 
68 THE CHURCH 
 
 Scatter, or binde them all to bend to thee : 
 Though elements change, and heaven move, 
 Let not thy higher Court remove, 
 
 But keep a standing Majestic in me. 
 
 27. Jordan 
 
 'Y\7'HO sayes that fictions onely and false hair 
 ^ ^ Become a verse ? Is there in truth no 
 beautie ? 
 
 Is all good structure in a winding stair ? 
 May no lines passe, except they do their dutie 
 Not to a true, but painted chair ? 
 
 Is it no verse, except enchanted groves 
 And sudden arbours shadow course - spunne 
 lines i 
 
 Must purling streams refresh a lovers loves ? 
 Must all be vail'd, while he that reades, divines, 
 Catching the sense at two removes ? 
 
 Shepherds are honest people ; let them sing : 
 Riddle who list, for me, and pull for Prime : ^ 
 
 1 Pull for prime. ' < Prime " is said to be the winning 
 hand in Primers," an old game with cards, in 
 which apparently the cards were not dealt by the 
 dealer, but pulled from the pack by the player. 
 Donne has a similar phrase and allusion in " Satire," 
 II. 1. 86— 
 
 Peacemeale hee gets lands, and spends as much tyme 
 Wringing each acre, as maids pulling prime — 
 
 where there is a various reading, " as men pulling 
 
 for prime. " . 
 
THE CHURCH 69 
 
 I envie no mans nightingale or spring ; 
 Nor let them punish me with losse of ryme, 
 Who plainly say, My Gody My King. 
 
 28. Employment 
 
 TF as a flowre doth spread and die, 
 
 Thou wouldst extend me to some good. 
 Before I were by frosts extremitie 
 
 Nipt in the bud ; 
 
 The sweetnesse and the praise were thine ; 
 But the extension and the room, 
 Which in thy garland I should fill, were mine 
 At thy great doom. 
 
 For as thou dost impart thy grace. 
 The greater shall our glorie be. 
 The measure of our joyes is in this place, 
 
 The stufFe with thee. 
 
 Let me not languish then, and spend 
 A life as barren to thy praise. 
 As is the dust, to which that life doth tend. 
 But with delaies. 
 
 All things are busie ; onely I 
 Neither bring hony with the bees. 
 Nor flowres to make that, nor the husbandrie 
 To water these. 
 
 5 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 I am no link in thy great chain, 
 But all my companie is a weed.^ 
 
 Lord place me in thy comfort ; give one strain 
 
 29. The H. Scriptures. I 
 
 ,H Book 1 infinite sweetnesse ! let my heart 
 
 Suck ev'ry letter, and a hony gain,^ 
 Precious for any grief in any part ; 
 To cleare the breast, to mollifie all pain.^ 
 
 Thou art all health, health thriving, till it make 
 A full eternitie : thou art a masse 
 Of strange delights, where we may wish 
 and take. 
 
 Ladies, look here; this is the thankfull glasse. 
 
 That mends the lookers eyes ; this is the well 
 That washes what it shows. Who can 
 indeare 
 
 1 Cf. «'The Crosse" (No. 133), 1. 30. 
 *^ Lord, that I may the sunns perfection gaine 
 
 3Cf. A Priest to the Temple, c. iv : The chief 
 and top of his knowledge consists in the Book of 
 books, the storehouse and magazine of life and com- 
 fort, the holy Scriptures. There he sucks and 
 lives. " 
 
 Suple outward paine. — W. 
 
 To my poore reed.^ 
 
 Give mee his speed. — W. 
 
THE CHURCH 71 
 
 Thy praise too much ? ^ thou art heav'ns 
 Lidger^ here, 
 Working against the states of death and hell. 
 
 Thou art joyes handsell : heav'n lies flat 
 in thee, 
 
 Subject to ev'ry mounters bended knee. 
 
 II 
 
 /^H that I knew how all thy lights combine, 
 And the configurations of their glorie ! 
 Seeing not onely how each verse doth 
 shine. 
 
 But all the constellations of the storie. 
 
 This verse marks that, and both do make a 
 motion 
 
 Unto a third, that ten leaves off doth 
 lie: 3 
 
 1 Enough.— W. 
 
 ^ Lidger, i. e. ambassador. " The word is quite 
 distinct from leaguer, a camp," with which it is 
 sometimes confused. Vaughan has the word in the 
 form ''leiger" in his poem ''Corruption" in Silex 
 Scintillans : " Angels lay leiger here. 
 
 s ''All truth being consonant to itself, and all being 
 penned by one and the self-same Spirit, it cannot be, 
 but that an industrious and judicious comparing of 
 place with place must be a singular help for the right 
 consideration of the Scriptures. " — A Priest to the 
 Temple^ C. iv. 
 
72 THE CHURCH 
 
 Then as dispersed herbs do watch ^ a 
 potion, 
 
 These three make up some Christians destinie : 
 
 Such are thy secrets, which my life makes good. 
 And comments on thee : ^ for in ev'ry thing 
 Thy words do finde me out, and parallels 
 bring. 
 
 And in another make me understood. 
 
 Starres are poore books, and oftentimes do 
 misse : 
 
 This book of starres lights to^ eternall 
 blisse. 
 
 30. Whitsunday 
 
 T ISTEN^ sweet Dove unto my song. 
 
 And spread thy golden wings in me ; 
 Hatching my tender heart so long. 
 Till it get wing, and flie ^ away with thee. 
 
 Where is that fire which once descended 
 On thy Apostles ? thou didst then 
 
 1 Watch a potion. The phrase has never been satis- 
 factorily explained, and it is impossible not to suspect 
 error, though both the MSS. and the Editio princeps 
 have the word " watch " quite plainly. 
 
 2 And more than fancy. — W. ^ Q^n spell. — W. 
 ^ Come blessed Dove, charm'd wt^^ my song, 
 
 Display thy golden wings in mee. — W. 
 6 Till I get wing to fly.— W. 
 
THE CHURCH 73 
 
 Keep open house, richly attended, 
 Feasting all comers by twelve chosen men.^ 
 
 Such glorious gifts thou didst bestow, 
 That th' earth did like a heav'n appeare ; 
 The starres were coming down to know 
 If they might mend their wayes, and serve here. 
 
 The 2 sunne, which once did shine alone, 
 Hung down his head, and wisht for night. 
 When he beheld twelve sunnes for one 
 Going about the world, and giving light. 
 
 But since those pipes of gold,^ which brought 
 That cordial 1 water to our ground, 
 Were cut and martyr' d by the fault 
 Of those, who did themselves through their side 
 wound. 
 
 ^ With livery-graces furnishing tliy men. — W. 
 
 2 The last four stanzas are wanting in W., and in 
 their place stand the following: — 
 
 But wee are falne from heaven to earth, 
 And if wee can stay there, its well, 
 He yt first fell from his great birth 
 Wt^out thy help, leads us his way to hell. 
 
 Lord, once more shake y© heaven and earth, 
 Least want of graces seem thy thrift ; 
 For sinn would faine remove y^ dearth. 
 And lay it on thy husbandry for shift. 
 
 Show yt thy brests cannot be dry, 
 
 But yt from them ioyes purle for ever, 
 
 Melt into blessings all the sky. 
 
 So wee may cease to suck, to praise thee, never. 
 
 3 Cf. Zech. iv. 12. 
 
74 THE CHURCH 
 
 Thou shutt'st the doore, and keep'st within ; 
 Scarce a good joy creeps through the chink i 
 And if the braves ^ of conquering sinne 
 Did not excite thee, we should wholly sink. 
 
 Lord, though we change, thou art the same ; 
 The same sweet God of love and light : 
 Restore this day, for thy great name, 
 Unto his ancient and miraculous right. 
 
 If still the sunne ^ should hide his face. 
 Thy house would but ^ a dungeon prove. 
 Thy works nights captives : O let grace 
 
 The dew doth ev'ry morning fall ; 
 And shall the dew out-strip thy dove ? 
 The dew, for which grasse cannot call. 
 
 ^Braves, i.e. bravadoes, or boasts. Cf. Fuller: 
 Bitter was the 6ra've which railing Rabsheca sent to 
 holy Hezekiah. " — Worthies, 1. 33. 
 2 If the sunn still. — W. 
 2 Thy great house would. — W. 
 
 31. Grace 
 
 Drop from above ! 
 
 Drop from above. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 75 
 
 Death ^ is still working like a mole, 
 And digs my grave at each remove : 
 Let grace work too, and on my soul 
 
 Unto a hardnesse, void of love : 
 Let suppling grace, to crosse his art, 
 
 Drop from above. 
 
 O come ! for thou dost know the way. 
 Or if to me thou wilt not move, 
 Remove me, where I need not say, 
 
 'TpO write a verse or two, is all the praise. 
 That I can raise : 
 Mend my estate in any wayes. 
 Thou shalt have more. 
 
 I go to Church ; help me to wings, and I ^ 
 Will thither flie ; 
 Or, if I mount unto ^ the skie, 
 I will do more. 
 
 Drop from above. 
 
 Sinne is still hammering my heart 
 
 Drop from above. 
 
 32. Praise 
 
 ^ This stanza is wanting in W. 
 
 2 Make me an angel, I. — -W. 
 
 3 Or if I steale up to. — W. 
 
76 THE CHURCH 
 
 Man 1 is all weaknesse ; there is no such thing 
 As Prince or King : 
 His arm is short ; yet with a sling 
 He may do more. 
 
 An herb destill'd, and drunk, may dwell next 
 doore, 
 
 On the same floore, 
 To a brave soul : Exalt the poore, 
 They can do more.^ 
 
 O ^ raise me then I poore bees, that work all day. 
 Sting my delay, 
 Who have a work, as well as they, 
 And much, much more. 
 
 33. Affliction 
 
 Kill me not ev'ry day. 
 Thou Lord of life ; since thy one death for me 
 Is more then all my deaths can be, 
 
 Though I in broken pay 
 Die over each houre of Methusalems stay. 
 
 1 This stanza stands as fourth in W. 
 
 For to a poore 
 It -may doe more. — W. 
 ^ In W. this stanza is as follows : — 
 
 O raise me, then : for if a spider may- 
 Spin all ye day : 
 Not flyes, but I, shall be his prey, 
 Who doe no more. 
 
THE CHURCH 77 
 
 If all mens tears were let 
 Into one common sewer, sea, and brine ; 
 
 What were they all, compar'd to thine ? 
 
 Wherein if they were set, 
 They would discolour thy most bloudy sweat. 
 
 Thou art my grief alone, 
 Thou Lord conceal it not : and as thou art 
 All my delight, so all my smart : 
 
 Thy crosse took up in one. 
 By way of imprest,^ all my future mone. 
 
 34. Mattens 
 
 I 
 
 CANNOT ope mine eyes. 
 But thou art ready there to catch 
 My morning-soul and sacrifice : 
 Then we must needs for that day make a match. 
 
 My God, what is a heart ? 
 Silver, or gold, or precious stone. 
 Or starre, or rainbow, or a part 
 Of all these things, or all of them in one ? 
 
 My God, what is a heart. 
 That thou shouldst it so eye, and wooe, 
 Powring upon it all thy art. 
 As if that thou hadst nothing els to do ? 
 
 1 Imprest^ i. e, earnest-money. 
 
78 
 
 THE CHURCH 
 
 Indeed mans whole estate 
 Amounts (and richly) to serve thee : 
 He did not heav'n and earth create, 
 Yet studies them, not him by whom they be. 
 
 Teach me thy love to know ; 
 That this new light, which now I 
 see. 
 
 May both the work and workman show : 
 Then by a sunne-beam I will climbe to thee. 
 
 35. Sinne 
 
 THAT I could a sinne once see ! 
 We paint the devil foul, yet he 
 Hath some good in him, all agree. 
 Sinne is flat opposite to th' Almighty, seeing 
 It wants the good of verfue, and of hemg. 
 
 But God more care of us hath had : 
 If apparitions make us sad, 
 By sight of sinne we should grow 
 mad. 
 
 Yet as in sleep we see foul death, and live : 
 So devils are our sinnes in perspective.^ 
 
 ^ Alany editions since 1674 have the misprint 
 ^' prospective." 
 
THE CHURCH 79 
 
 36. Even-song^ 
 
 Blest be the God of love, 
 Who gave me eyes, and light, and power this day, 
 Both to be busie, and to play. 
 But much more blest be God above, 
 
 Who gave me sight alone, 
 Which to himself he did denie : 
 For when he sees my waies, I dy : 
 But I have got his sonne, and he hath none. 
 
 What have I brought thee home 
 For this thy love ? have I discharged the debt, 
 Which this dayes favour did beget ? 
 I ranne ; but all I brought, was fome. 
 
 Thy diet, care, and cost 
 Do end in bubbles, balls of winde ; 
 Of winde to thee whom I have crost. 
 But balls of wilde-fire to my troubled minde. 
 
 Yet still thou goest on. 
 And now with darknesse closest wearie eyes. 
 Saying to man. It doth suffice : 
 Henceforth repose ; your work is done. 
 
 ^ This poem is not in W., but in its place is a 
 different poem on the same subject. See below, p. 252, 
 where it is given. 
 
So THE CHURCH 
 
 Thus in thy Ebony box 
 Thou dost inclose us, till the day 
 Put our amendment in our way, 
 And give new wheels to our disordered clocks. 
 
 I muse, which shows more love, 
 The day or night : that is the gale, this th' harbour; 
 That is the walk, and this the arbour ; 
 Or that the garden, this the grove. 
 
 My God, thou art all love. 
 Not one poore minute 'scapes thy breast. 
 But brings a favour from above ; 
 And in this love, more then in bed, I rest. 
 
 37. Church-monuments 
 
 T E that my soul repairs to her devotion, 
 
 ^ ^ Here I intombe my flesh, that it betimes 
 May take acquaintance of this heap of dust ; 
 To which the blast of deaths incessant motion. 
 Fed with the exhalation of our crimes, 
 Drives all at last. Therefore I gladly trust 
 
 My bodie to this school, that it may learn 
 To spell his elements, and finde his birth 
 Written in dustie heraldrie and lines ; 
 Which dissolution sure doth best discern, 
 Comparing dust with dust, and earth with earth. 
 These laugh at leat, and Marble put for signes, 
 
THE CHURCH 8i 
 
 To sever the good fellowship of dust, 
 And spoil the meeting. What shall point out 
 them, 
 
 When they shall bow, and kneel, and fall down 
 flat 
 
 To kisse those heaps, which now they have in trust? 
 Deare flesh, while I do pray, learne here thy 
 stemme 
 
 And true descent ; that when thou shalt grow fat, 
 
 And wanton in thy cravings, thou mayst know, 
 That flesh is but the glasse, which holds the dust 
 That measures all our time ; which also shall 
 Be crumbled ^ into dust. Mark here below 
 How tame these ashes are, how free from lust, 
 That thou mayst fit thyself against thy fall. 
 
 38. Church-musick 
 
 CWEETEST of sweets, I thank you: when 
 ^ displeasure 
 
 Did through my bodie wound myminde. 
 You took me thence, and in your house of pleasure 
 
 A daintie lodging me assigned. 
 
 Now I in you without a bodie move. 
 
 Rising and falling with your wings : 
 
 1 Broken.— W. 
 
82 THE CHURCH 
 
 We both together sweetly live and love, 
 
 Yet say sometimes, God help poore 
 Kings?- 
 
 Comfort, 'He die ; for if you poste ^ from me, 
 Sure I shall do so, and much more : 
 
 But if I travell in your companie, 
 
 You know the way to heavens doore. 
 
 39. Church-lock and key^ 
 
 T KNOW it is my sinne, which locks ^ thine 
 eares, 
 
 And bindes thy hands ; 
 Out-crying my requests, drowning my tears ; 
 Or else the chilnesse of my faint demands.^ 
 
 But ^ as cold hands are angrie with the fire. 
 And mend ^ it still ; 
 
 1 A new stanza is inserted between this and the 
 next in W. — 
 
 O what a state is this w^li never knew 
 Sicknes, or shame, or sinn, or sorrow: 
 
 Where all my debts are payd, none can accrue, 
 Wch knoweth not what means too morrow. 
 
 2 Part.— W. 
 
 3 The title of this in W. is " Prayer.'' 
 
 4 Stops.— W. 
 
 Between this stanza and the next Vv^ inserts the 
 following : — 
 
 If either Innocence or fervencie 
 
 Did play their part, 
 Armies of blessings would contend and vye, 
 Wc^ of them soonest should attaine my hart. 
 6 Yet.— W. 7 Mending.— W. 
 
THE CHURCH 83 
 
 So I do lay the want of my desire, 
 
 Not on my sinnes, or coldnesse, but thy will. 
 
 Yet ^ heare, O God,, onely for his blouds sake 
 
 Which pleads for me : 
 For though sinnes plead too, yet like stones they 
 make 
 
 His blouds sweet current much more loud to be. 
 
 40. The Church-floore 
 
 A/fARK you the floore ? that square and 
 speckled stone, 
 
 Which looks so firm and strong. 
 Is Patience : 
 
 And th' other black and grave, wherewith each 
 one 
 
 Is checker'd all along, 
 Humilitie : 
 
 The gentle rising, which on either hand 
 Leads to the Quire above, 
 Is Confidence ; 
 
 But the sweet cement, which in one sure band 
 Ties the whole frame, is Lo've 
 And Char'itie, 
 
 ^ Instead of this stanza W. has — 
 
 O make mee wholy guiltles, or at least 
 
 Guiltles so farr, 
 That zele and purenes circling my request 
 May guard it safe beyond y© highest starr. 
 
84 THE CHURCH 
 
 Hither sometimes Sinne steals, and stains 
 The marbles neat and curious veins : 
 
 But all is cleansed when the marble weeps. 
 
 Sometimes Death, puffing at the doore, 
 Blows all the dust about the floore ; 
 
 But while he thinks to spoil the room, he sweeps. 
 Blest be the Architect^ whose art 
 Could build so strong in a weak heart. 
 
 41. The Windows 
 
 LORD, how can man preach thy eternal! 
 word ? 
 
 He is a brittle crazie glasse : 
 Yet in thy temple thou dost him afford 
 
 This glorious and transcendent place. 
 To be a window, through thy grace. 
 
 But when thou dost anneal ^ in glasse thy storie. 
 Making thy life to shine within 
 
 The holy Preachers ; then the light and glorie 
 More reverend grows, and more doth 
 win ; 
 
 Which else shows watrish, bleak, and 
 thin. 
 
 Doctrine and life, colours and light, in one 
 
 When they com.bine and mingle, bring 
 
 A strong regard and aw : but speech alone 
 Doth vanish like a flaring thing. 
 And in the eare, not conscience ring. 
 
 ^ Anneal '. a technical term for heating the glass so 
 as to fix the colours. 
 
THE CHURCH 85 
 
 42. Trinitie Sunday 
 
 T ORD, who hast form'd me out of mud,i 
 
 And hast redeemM me through thy bloud, 
 And sanctifi'd me to do good ; 
 
 Purge all my sinnes done heretofore : 
 For I confesse my heavie score, 
 And I will strive to sinne no more. 
 
 Enrich my heart, mouth, hands in me. 
 
 With faith, with hope, with charitie. 
 That I may runne, rise, rest with thee. 
 
 43. Content 
 
 pEACE mutt'ring thoughts, and do not 
 ^ grudge to keep 
 
 Within the walls of your own breast : 
 Who cannot on his own bed sweetly sleep. 
 
 Can on anothers hardly rest. 
 
 Gad not abroad at ev'ry quest and call 
 
 Of an untrained hope or 2 passion. 
 
 To court each place or fortune that doth ^ fall. 
 Is wantonnesse in contemplation. 
 
 Mark how the fire in flints ^ doth quiet lie. 
 Content and warm t' it self alone : 
 
 But when it would appeare to others eye. 
 Without a knock it never shone. 
 
 1 Rais'd me from the mudd. — W. 2 And. — W. 
 3 Does.— W. 4 Flint.— W. 
 
 6 
 
86 THE CHURCH 
 
 Give me the pliant minde, whose gentle measure 
 
 Complies and suits with all estates ; 
 Which can let loose to a crown, and yet with 
 pleasure 
 
 Take up within a cloisters gates.^ 
 
 This soul doth span the world, and hang content 
 From either pole unto the centre : 
 
 Where in each room of the well-furnisht tent 
 
 He lies warm, and without adventure. 
 
 The brags of life are but a nine dayes wonder ; 
 
 And after death the fumes that spring 
 From private bodies, make as big a thunder. 
 
 As those which rise from a huge King. 
 
 Onely thy Chronicle is lost ; and yet 
 
 Better by worms be all once spent. 
 
 Then to have hellish moths still gnaw and fret 
 Thy name in books, which may not 
 rent : 
 
 When all thy deeds,whose brunt thou feel'st alone, 
 Are chaw'd by others pens ^ and 
 tongue ; 
 
 And as their wit is, their digestion. 
 
 Thy nourisht fame is weak or strong. 
 
 Then cease discoursing soul, till thine own ground. 
 Do not thy self or friends importune. 
 
 He that by seeking hath himself once found. 
 Hath euer found a happie fortune. 
 
 1 Cf. the reference to Charles V. as given in Walton's 
 Life of Herbert, above, p. xcviii. 
 
 2 Pen.— W. 
 
THE CHURCH 87 
 
 44. The Quidditie^ 
 
 liyTY God, a verse is not a crown, 
 
 No point of honour, or gay suit, 
 No 2 hawk, or ^ banquet, or ^ renown, 
 Nor a good sword, nor yet a lute : 
 
 It cannot vault, or dance, or play ; 
 It never was in France or Spain ; 
 Nor can it entertain the day 
 With a ^ great stable or demain : 
 
 It is no office, art, or news, 
 Nor the Exchange, or busie Hall ; 
 But it is that which while I use 
 I am with thee, and Most take all. 
 
 45. Humilitie 
 
 T SAW the Vertues sitting hand in hand 
 In sev'rall ranks upon an azure throne. 
 Where all the beasts and fowls by their command 
 Presented tokens of submission. 
 
 ^ The word is apparently used here not in its proper 
 sense of the essence of a thing," but rather as 
 meaning "a trifle" or conceit." In W. the title 
 is Poetry." 
 
 ^ W. has " nor " three times over in this line. 
 
 3 My.— W. 
 
88 THE CHURCH 
 
 Humilitie, who sat the lowest there 
 
 To execute their call, 
 
 When by the beasts the presents tendred were, 
 Gave them about to all. 
 
 The angrie Lion did present his paw, 
 AVbich by consent was giv'n to Mansuetude. 
 The fearfull Hare her eares, which by their law 
 Humilitiie did reach to Fortitude. 
 The jealous Turkie brought his corall-chain ; 
 
 That went to Temperance. 
 On Justice was bestow'd the Foxes brain, 
 
 Kill'd in the way by chance. 
 
 At length the Crow bringing the Peacocks plume, 
 (For he would not) as they beheld the grace 
 Of that brave gift, each one began to fume. 
 And challenge it, as proper to his place, 
 Till they fell out : which when the beasts espied. 
 
 They leapt upon the throne ; 
 And if the Fox had livM to rule their side. 
 
 They had depos'd each one. 
 
 Humilitie, who held the plume, at this 
 Did weep so fast, that the tears trickling down 
 SpoiFd all the train : then saying. Here it is 
 For <which ye <wr angle ^ made them turn their 
 frown 
 
 Against the beasts : so joyntly bandying. 
 
 They drive them soon away; 
 
 And then amerc'd them, double gifts to bring 
 At the next Session-day. 
 
THE CHURCH 89 
 
 46. Frailtie 
 
 T ORD, in my silence how do I despise 
 ^ What upon trust 
 
 Is styled honour^ riches, or fair eyes ; 
 
 But is fair 'dust ! 
 I surname them guilded clay, 
 Deare ^ earth, fne grass e or hay ; 
 In all, I think my foot doth ever tread 
 Upon their head. 
 
 But when I view abroad both Regiments ; 
 
 The worlds, and thine ; 
 Thine clad with simplenesse, and sad events ; 
 
 The other fine, 
 Full of glorie and gay weeds,^ 
 Brave language, braver deeds : 
 That which was dust before, doth quickly rise. 
 And prick mine eyes. 
 
 O brook not this, lest if what even now ^ 
 
 My foot did tread, 
 Affront those joyes, wherewith thou didst 
 endow, 
 
 And long since wed 
 
 1 In W. the last three lines are as follows : — 
 
 Misuse them all the day, 
 And ever as I walk, my foot doth tredd 
 Vpon their head. 
 
 2 Weeds, i.e. " garments," as in " The Sacrifice " (No. 
 4), 1. 178. 
 
 2 Least if yt wcii iust now. — W. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 My poore soul, ev'n sick of love : 
 It may a Babel prove 
 "Commodious to conquer heav'n and thee 
 Planted in me. 
 
 47- Constancie ^ 
 
 Who is the honest man ? 
 He that doth still and strongly good pursue. 
 To God, his neighbour, and himself most true : 
 
 Whom neither force nor fawning can 
 Unpinne, or wrench from giving all their due. 
 
 Whose honestie is not 
 So loose or easie, that a ruffling winde 
 Can blow away, or glittering look it blinde : 
 
 Who rides his sure and even trot. 
 While the world now rides by, now lags behinde. 
 
 1 The original of this is said to have been Herbert's 
 stepfather. Sir John Danvers. See The Standard of 
 Equality^ which was dedicated to him in 1647 by Philo- 
 Decaeus: ''Lighting casually on the poems of Mr. 
 George Herbert, lately deceased (whose pious life and 
 death have converted me to a full belief that there is a 
 S*. George), and therein pursuing the description of 
 a ' constant man,' it directed my thoughts unto 
 yourself; having heard that the author in his life- 
 time had therein designed no other title than your 
 character in that description " (quoted in Dr. Grosart's 
 edition of Herbert''s Poems'), 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 91 
 
 Who, when great trials come, 
 Nor seeks, nor shunnes them ; but doth calmly 
 stay, 
 
 Till he the thing and the example weigh : 
 
 All being brought into a summe. 
 What place or person calls for, he doth pay. 
 
 Whom none can work or wooe 
 To use in any thing a trick or sleight. 
 For above all things he abhorres deceit : 
 
 His words and works and fashion too 
 All of a piece, and all are cleare and straight. 
 
 Who never melts or thaws 
 At close tentations : when the day is done. 
 His goodnesse sets not, but in dark can runne : 
 
 The sunne to others writeth laws. 
 And is their vertue ; Vertue is his Sunne. 
 
 Who, when he is to treat 
 With sick folks, women, those whom passions 
 sway, 
 
 Allows for that, and keeps his constant way : 
 
 Whom others faults do not defeat ; 
 But though men fail him, yet his part doth play. 
 
 Whom nothing can procure, 
 When the wide world runnes bias,^ from his will 
 To writhe his limbes, and share, not mend the ill. 
 
 This is the Mark-man, safe and sure. 
 Who still is right, and prayes to be so still. 
 
 1 Bias is here an adverb = "obliquely - 'or "athwart." 
 So in Rowlands' Let. Humours Blood, i. 47 : "His tongue 
 runs byas on affairs. " 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 48. Affliction 
 
 MY heart did heave, and there came forth, 
 0 God! 
 
 By that I knew that thou wast in the grief, 
 To guide and govern it to my relief, 
 Making a scepter of the rod : 
 Hadst thou not had thy part, 
 Sure the unruly sigh had broke my heart. 
 
 But since thy breath gave me both life and shape, 
 Thou knowst my tallies ; and when there's 
 assign' d 
 
 So much breath to a sigh, what's then behinde ? 
 Or if some yeares with it escape. 
 The sigh then onely is 
 A gale to bring me sooner to my blisse. 
 
 Thy life on earth was grief, and thou art still 
 Constant unto it, making it to be 
 A point of honour, now to grieve in me, 
 And in thy members suffer ill. 
 They who lament one crosse. 
 Thou dying dayly, praise thee to thy losse. 
 
 49. The Starre 
 
 t) RIGHT spark, shot from a brighter place, 
 ^ Where beams surround my Saviours face, 
 Canst thou be any where 
 So well as there ? 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 Yet, if thou wilt from thence depart. 
 Take a bad lodging in my heart ; 
 
 For thou canst make a debter, 
 And make it better. 
 
 First with thy fire- work burn to dust 
 Folly, and worse then folly, lust : 
 Then with thy light refine, 
 And make it shine : 
 
 So disengag'd from sinne and sicknesse, 
 Touch it with thy celestiall quicknesse. 
 That it may hang and move 
 After thy love. 
 
 Then with our trinitie of light, 
 
 Motion, and heat, let's take our flight 
 Unto the place where thou 
 Before didst bow. 
 
 Get me a standing there, and place 
 
 Among the beams, which crown the face 
 Of him, who dy'd to part 
 Sinne and my heart : 
 
 That so among the rest I may 
 
 Glitter, and curie, and winde as they : 
 That winding is their fashion 
 Of adoration. 
 
 Sure thou wilt joy, by gaining me 
 To flie home like a laden bee 
 
 Unto that hive of beams 
 And garland- streams. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 50. Sunday 
 
 DAY most calm, most bright, 
 The fruit of this, the next worlds bud, 
 Th' indorsement of supreme delight, 
 Writ by a friend, and with his bloud ; 
 The couch of time ; cares balm and bay : 
 The week were dark, but for thy light : 
 Thv torch doth show the way. 
 
 The other dayes and thou 
 Make up one man ; whose face thou art, 
 Knocking at heaven with thy brow : 
 The worky-daies are the back-part ; 
 The burden of the week lies there. 
 Making the whole to stoup and bow. 
 
 Till thy release appeare. 
 
 Man had straight forward gone 
 To endlesse death : but thou dost pull 
 And turn us round to look on one, 
 Whom, if we were not very dull, 
 We could not choose but look on still ; 
 Since there is no place so alone, 
 
 The which he doth not fill. 
 
 ^ In W. the first stanza is as follows : — 
 O day so calme, so bright : 
 The couch of tyme, balme of teares, 
 Th' indorsement of supreme delight, 
 The parter of my wrangling feares, 
 Setting in order what they tumble : 
 The week were dark, but yt thy light 
 Teaches it not to stumble. 
 
THE CHURCH 95 
 
 Sundaies ^ the pillars are, 
 On which heav'ns palace arched lies : 
 The other dayes fill up the spare 
 And hollow room with vanities. 
 They are the fruitfull beds and borders 
 In Gods rich garden : that is bare, 
 
 Which parts their ranks and orders. 
 
 The Sundaies of mans life, 
 Thredded together on times string, 
 Make bracelets to adorn the wife 
 Of the eternal! glorious King.^ 
 On Sunday heavens gate stands ope ; 
 Blessings are plentifull and rife. 
 
 More plentifull then hope.^ 
 
 This day my Saviour rose. 
 And did inclose this light for his : 
 That, as each beast his manger knows, 
 Man might not of his fodde Tiisse. 
 Christ hath took in this piece of ground. 
 And made a garden there for those 
 
 Who want herbs for their wound. 
 
 1 In W, this stanza is as follows : — 
 
 Sundaies the pillars are 
 On which heaven's kingdome arch'd doth stand : 
 The other days fill up the spare 
 And hollow room on either hand : 
 They are y© rowes of fruitful trees 
 Parted w*^ alleys or wth grass 
 
 In God's rich Paradise. 
 
 2 Make bracelets for y® spouse and wife 
 Of the linortali onely King. — W. 
 
 3 See Walton's Life (above, p. ciii) for Herbert's 
 use of this stanza on the last Sunday of his life. 
 
96 THE CHURCH 
 
 The rest of our Creation 
 Our great Redeemer did remove 
 With the same shake, which at his passion 
 Did th' earth and all things with it move. 
 As Samson bore the doores away,^ 
 Christs hands, though nail'd, wrought our 
 salvation, 
 
 And did unhinge that day. 
 
 The brightnesse of that day 
 We sullied by our foul offence : 
 Wherefore that robe we cast away, 
 Having a new at his expence, 
 Whose drops of bloud paid the full price. 
 That was required to make us gay. 
 
 And fit for Paradise. 
 
 Thou art a day of mirth : 
 And where the week-dayes trail on ground. 
 Thy flight is higher, as thy birth. 
 O let me take thee at the bound, 
 Leaping with thee from sev'n to sev'n, 
 Till that we both, being toss'd from earth, 
 
 Flie hand in hand to heav'n ! 
 
 51. Avarice 
 
 AyTONE Y, thou bane of blisse, and sourse of wo, 
 -LVX 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. 
 
 ^ Judg, xvi. 3, 
 
THE CHURCH 97 
 
 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 transferred 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. 
 A (Mary ) 
 
 52. Ana- I gram 
 
 How well her name an j4rmy doth present. 
 In whom the Lord of hosts did pitch his tent ! 
 
 53. To all Angels and Saints 
 
 /^H 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 : ^ 
 
 1 Cf. Rev. iv. 10. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 Not out of envie 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 make a posie for inferiour power. 
 
 Although then others court you, if ye know 
 What's done on earth, we shall not fare the 
 worse, 
 
 Who do not so ; 
 Since we are ever ready to disburse. 
 If any one our Masters hand can show. 
 
 1 Sa-red.— W. 
 3 Your. — W\ 
 
 2 My.— W. 
 4 Great.— W. 
 
THE CHURCH $9 
 
 54. Employment 
 
 TLJ E that is weary, let him sit. 
 
 My soul would stirre 
 And trade in courtesies and wit, 
 
 Quitting the furre 
 To cold complexions needing it. 
 
 Man is no starre, but a quick coal 
 
 Of mortall fire : 
 
 Who blows it not, nor doth controll 
 A faint desire, 
 
 Lets his own ashes choke his soul. 
 
 When th' elements did for place contest 
 
 With him, whose will 
 
 Ordain'd the highest to be best ; 
 
 The earth sat still. 
 
 And by the others is opprest. 
 
 Life is a businesse, not good cheer ; 
 
 Ever in warres. 
 The sunne still shineth there or here. 
 
 Whereas the starres 
 Watch an advantage to appeare. 
 
 Oh^ that I were an Orenge-tree, 
 
 That busie plant ! ^ 
 ^ In W, the following is substituted for this stanza:— 
 O that I had the wing and thigh 
 
 Of laden bees : 
 Then would I mount vp instantly, 
 
 And by degrees 
 On men dropp blessings as I fly. 
 2 Busy^ because it has both blossoms and fruit on 
 it at one and the same time. " — Grosart. 
 
100 THE CHURCH 
 
 Then snould I ever laden be, 
 
 And never want 
 Some fruit for him that dressed me. 
 
 But we are still too ^ young or old ; 
 
 The man is gone, 
 Before we do our wares unfold : 
 
 So we freeze on,^ 
 Untill the grave increase our cold. 
 
 55. Deniall 
 
 "^"V^HEN my devotions could not pierce 
 ' ^ Thy silent eares ; 
 
 Then was my heart broken, as was my verse : 
 My breast was full of fears 
 And disorder : 
 
 My bent thoughts, like a brittle bow. 
 Did flie asunder : 
 Each took his way ; some would to pleasures go, 
 Some to the war res and thunder 
 Of alarms. 
 
 As good go any where, they say. 
 As to benumme 
 Both knees and heart,^ in crying night and day. 
 Come, come, my God, 0 come, 
 But no hearing. 
 
 ^ Ever. — W. 2 Thus wee creep on, — W. 
 
 3 Both hart and knees. — W. 
 
THE CHURCH loi 
 
 O that thou shouldst give dust a tongue 
 To crie to thee, 
 And then not heare it crying ! all day long 
 My heart was in my knee, 
 
 Therefore my soul lay out of sight,^ 
 Untun'd, unstrung : 
 My feeble spirit, unable to look right. 
 Like a nipt blossome, hung 
 Discontented. 
 
 O cheer and tune my heartlesse breast, 
 Deferre no time ; 
 That so thy favours granting my request. 
 
 They and my minde ^ may chime, 
 And mend 2 my ryme.^ 
 
 ALL after pleasures as I rid one day,^ 
 
 My horse and I, both tir'd, bodie and 
 minde. 
 
 With full crie of affections, quite astray ; 
 I took up in the next inne I could finde. 
 
 There when I came, whom found I but my 
 deare. 
 
 My dearest Lord, expecting till the grief 
 
 1 Soule.— W. 2 Meet.— W. 
 
 ^ Cf. MacDonald's England^ s Antiphon, p. 184. 
 ^ Riding on a day. — W. 
 
 But no hearing. 
 
 56. Christmas 
 
 7 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 Of pleasures brought me to him, readie there 
 To be all passengers most sweet relief? 
 
 O Thou, whose glorious, yet contracted light, 
 Wrapt in nights mantle, stole into a manger ; 
 Since my dark soul and brutish is thy right, 
 
 To Man of all beasts be not thou a stranger : 
 
 Furnish and deck my soul, that thou mayst have 
 A better lodging, then a rack, or grave. ^ 
 
 'TpHE 2 shepherds sing : and shall I silent be ? 
 
 My God, no hymne for thee ? 
 My soul's a shepherd too ; a flock it feeds 
 
 Of thoughts, and words, and deeds ; 
 The pasture is thy word : the streams, thy grace 
 
 Enriching all the place. 
 Shepherd and flock shall sing, and all my powers 
 
 Out-sing the day-light houres. 
 Then we will chide the sunne for letting night 
 
 Take up his place and right : 
 We sing one common Lord ; wherefore he 
 should 
 
 Himself the candle hold. 
 I will go searching, till I finde a sunne" 
 
 Shall stay, till we have done ; 
 A willing shiner, that shall shine as gladly, 
 
 As frost-nipt sunnes look sadly. 
 
 1 Furnish my soule to thee, yt being drest. 
 
 Of better lodging thou maist be possest. — W. 
 - This latter part of the poem is wanting in W. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 Then we will sing, and shine all our own day, 
 
 And one another pay : 
 His beams shall cheer my breast, and both so 
 
 twine. 
 
 Till ev'n his beams sing, and my musick shine. 
 
 57. Ungratefulnesse 
 
 T ORD, with what bountie and rare 
 clemencie 
 
 Hast thou redeemed us from the grave ! 
 
 If thou hadst let us runne. 
 Gladly had man ador'd the sunne. 
 
 And thought his god most brave ; 
 Where now we shall be better gods then he. 
 
 Thou hast but two rare cabinets full of treasure,^ 
 The Trinitie and Incarnation : 
 
 Thou hast unlockt them both,- 
 And made them jewels to betroth 
 The work of thy creation 
 Unto thy self in everlasting pleasure. 
 
 The statelier cabinet is the Trinitie, 
 
 Whose sparkling light accesse denies : 
 
 Therefore thou dost not show 
 This fully to us,^ till death blow 
 The dust into our eyes : 
 For by that * r>owder thou wilt make us see. 
 
 ^ Thou hadst but two rich cabinets of treasure. — W. 
 2 Laid open both. — W. 3 This to us fully. — W. 
 4 This.— W. 
 
I04 THE CHURCH 
 
 But all thy sweets are packt up in the other ; 
 Thy mercies thither flock and flow : 
 
 That as the first affrights, 
 This may allure us with delights ; 
 Because this box ^ we know ; 
 For we have all of us just such another. 
 
 But man is close, reservM, and dark to thee : 
 When thou demandest but a heart, 
 
 He cavils instantly. 
 In his poore cabinet of bone 
 
 Sinnes have their box apart, 
 Defrauding thee, who gavest two for one. 
 
 58. Sighs and Grones 
 
 o DO not use me 
 After my sinnes ! look not on my desert, 
 Buf on thy glorie ! then thou wilt reform 
 And not refuse me : for thou onely art 
 The mightie God, but I a sillie worm ; 
 
 O do not bruise me ! 
 
 O do not urge me ! 
 For what account can thy ill steward make ? 
 I have abus'd thy stock, destroyed thy woods, 
 Suckt all thy magazens : my head did ake. 
 Till it found out how to consume thy goods : 
 
 O do not scourge me ! 
 
 1 Bone.— B. Ct. 1. 28. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 O do not blinde me ! 
 I have deserv'd that an Egyptian night 
 Should thicken all my powers ; because my lust 
 Hath still sow'd fig-leaves to exclude thy light : 
 But I am frailtie, and already dust ; 
 
 O do not grinde me ! 
 
 O do not fill me 
 With the turn'd viall of thy bitter wrath ! 
 For thou hast other vessels full of bloud, 
 A . part whereof my Saviour empti'd hath, 
 Ev'n unto death : since he di'd for my good, 
 
 O do not kill me ! 
 
 But O reprieve me ! 
 For thou hast life and death at thy command ; 
 Thou art both Judge and Saviour^ feast and rod^ 
 Cordtall SLudCorrosive : put not thy hand 
 Into the bitter box ; but O my God, 
 
 My God, relieve me ! 
 
 59. The World 
 
 T OVE built a stately house ; where Fortune 
 came. 
 
 And spinning phansies, she was heard to say. 
 That her fine cobwebs did support the frame, 
 Whereas they were supported by the same : 
 But Wisdome quickly swept them all away. 
 
 Then Pleasure came, who liking not the fashion, 
 Began to make Balcones^ Terraces^ 
 
io6 THE CHURCH 
 
 Till she had weakned all by alteration : 
 But rev'rend la^s^ and many a proclamation 
 Reformed all at length ^ with menaces. 
 
 Then enter'd Sinne, and with that Sycomore, 
 Whose leaves first sheltred man from drought 
 
 and dew,2 
 Working and winding slily evermore, 
 The inward walls and Sommers ^ cleft and tore : 
 But Grace shor'd these, and cut that as it grew. 
 
 Then Sinne combin'd with Death in a firm band 
 To rase the building to the very floore : 
 Which they efiFected, none could them withstand. 
 But Love and Grace took Glorie by the hand,'^ 
 And built a braver Palace then before. 
 
 60. Coloss. 3. 3 
 
 Our life is hid with Christ in God* 
 
 ly/TY words and thoughts do both expresse 
 ^ ^ this notion, 
 
 That Life hath with the sun a double motion. 
 The first Is straight, and our diurnal 1 friend, 
 The other Hid^ and doth obliquely bend. 
 
 1 Quickly reformed all.— W. 2 ct. Gen. iii. 7. 
 
 3 Sommers^ i.e. the central beam of a floor support- 
 ing the joists. 
 
 ^ But Love took Grace and Glorie by the hand. — 
 W. 
 
THE CHURCH 107 
 
 Our life is wrapt In flesh, and tends to earth. 
 The other winds towards Him^ whose happie 
 birth 
 
 Taught me to live here so. That still one eye 
 Should aim and shoot at that which Is on high : 
 Quitting with daily labour all My pleasure. 
 To gain at harvest an eternall Treasure, 
 
 61. Vanitie 
 
 The fleet Astronomer can bore. 
 And thred the spheres with his quick-piercing 
 minde : 
 
 He views their stations, walks from doore to 
 doore. 
 
 Surveys, as if he had design'd 
 To make a purchase there : he sees their dances, 
 
 And knoweth long before. 
 Both their full-ey'd aspects, and secret glances. 
 
 The nimble Diver with his side 
 Cuts through the working waves, that he may 
 fetch 
 
 His dearely-earned pearl, which God did hide 
 
 On purpose from the ventrous wretch; 
 That he might save his life, and also hers. 
 Who with excessive pride 
 Her own destruction and his danger wears. 
 
 The subtil Chymick can devest 
 And strip the creature naked, till he finde 
 The callow principles within their nest : 
 
io8 THE CHURCH 
 
 There he imparts to them his minde, 
 Admitted to their bed-chamber, before 
 
 They appeare trim and drest 
 To ordinarie suitours at the doore. 
 
 What hath not man sought out and 
 found, 
 
 But his deare God ? who yet his glorious law 
 Embosomes in us, mellowing the ground 
 
 With showres and frosts, with love and 
 aw, 
 
 So that we need not say, Where's this command ? 
 
 Poore man, thou searchest round 
 To finde out deaths but missest life at hand. 
 
 62. Lent 
 
 "Y^/'ELCOME deare feast of Lent: who 
 
 ^ ^ loves not thee, 
 He loves not Temperance, or Authoritie, 
 But is composed of passion.^ 
 The Scriptures bid us fast ; the Church sayes, 
 noiv : 
 
 Give to thy Mother, what thou wouldst allow 
 To ev'ry Corporation. 
 
 The humble soul compos' d of love and fear 
 Begins at home, and layes the burden there. 
 
 When doctrines disagree. 
 He sayes, in things which use hath justly got, 
 I am a scandall to the Church, and not 
 
 The Church is so to me. 
 
 1 A child of passion. — W 
 
THE CHURCH 109 
 
 True Christians should be glad of an occasion 
 To use their temperance, seeking no evasion, 
 
 When good is seasonable ; 
 Unlesse Authoritie, which should increase 
 The obligation in us, make it lesse, 
 
 And Power it self disable. 
 
 Besides the cleannesse of sweet abstinence. 
 Quick thoughts and motions at a small expense, 
 
 A face not fearing light : 
 Whereas in fulnesse there are sluttish fumes, 
 Sowre exhalations, and dishonest rheumes, 
 
 Revenging the delight. 
 
 Then those same pendant profits, which the spring 
 And Easter intimate, enlarge the thing. 
 
 And goodnesse of the deed. 
 Neither ought other mens abuse of Lent 
 Spoil the 1 good use ; lest by that argument 
 
 We forfeit all our Creed. 
 
 It's true, we cannot reach Christs fortieth day ; 
 Yet to go part of that religious way. 
 
 Is better then to rest : 
 We cannot reach our Saviours puritie ; 
 Yet are we bid. Be holy ev^n as he. 
 
 In both let's do our best. 
 
 Who goeth in the way which 2 Christ hath gone, 
 Is much more sure to meet with him, then one 
 That travelleth by-wayes : 
 
 1 Our.— W. 
 
 2 That way which. — B. ; the way that. — W. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 Perhaps my God, though he be farre before, 
 May turn, and take me by the hand, and more 
 May strengthen my decayes. 
 
 Yet Lord instruct us to improve our fast 
 By starving sinne and taking such repast. 
 
 As may our faults ^ controll : 
 That ev'ry man may revell at his doore. 
 Not in his parlour ; banquetting the poore,^ 
 
 And among those his soul. 
 
 63. Vertue 
 
 OWEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright, 
 ^ The bridall of the earth and skie: 
 The dew shall weep thy fall to night ; 
 
 For thou must die. 
 
 Sweet rose, whose hue angrie 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 dayes and roses, 
 A box where sweets compacted lie ; 
 My musick shows ye have your closes. 
 And all must die. 
 
 Onely a sweet and vertuous soul. 
 Like seasoned timber, never gives ; 
 But though the whole world turn to coal. 
 Then chiefly lives. 
 
 1 AH vice.— W. 2 cf, Isa. Iviii. 7. 
 
 3His,~W. 
 
THE CHURCH iji 
 
 64. The Pearl 
 
 Matth. 13. 
 
 T KNOW the wayes of learning ; both the head 
 And pipes that feed the presse, and make 
 it runne ; 
 
 What reason hath from nature borrowed,^ 
 Or of it self, like a good huswife, spunne 
 In laws and policie ; what the starres conspire, 
 What willing nature speaks, what forc'd by fire ; 
 Both th' old discoveries, and the new-found seas. 
 The stock and surplus, cause and historie : 
 All these stand open, or I have the keyes : 
 Yet I love thee. 
 
 I know the wayes of honour, what maintains 
 The quick returns of courtesie and wit : 
 In vies of favours whether partie gains. 
 When glorie swells the heart, and moldeth it 
 To all expressions both of hand and eye. 
 Which on the world a true-love-knot may tie, 
 And bear the bundle, wheresoe're it goes : 
 How many drammes of spirit there must be 
 To sell my life unto my friends or foes : 
 Yet I love thee. 
 
 I know the wayes of pleasure, the sweet strains. 
 The lullings and the relishes of it ; 
 The propositions of hot bloud and brains ; 
 What mirth and musick mean ; what love and wit 
 
 ^ Purchased. — W 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 Have done these twentie ^ hundred yeares, and 
 more : 
 
 I 2 know the projects of unbridled store : 
 My stufFe is flesh, not brasse ; my senses live, 
 And grumble oft, that they have more in me 
 Then he that curbs them, being but one to five : 
 Yet I love thee. 
 
 I know all these, and have them in my hand : 
 Therefore not sealed,^ but with open eyes 
 I flie to thee, and fully understand 
 Both the main sale, and the commodities ;• 
 And at what rate and price I have thy love ; 
 With all the circumstances that may move : 
 Yet through the ^ labyrinths, not my groveling 
 wit, 
 
 But thy silk twist let down from heav'n to me, 
 Did both conduct and teach me, how by it 
 To climbe to thee. 
 
 1 Many. — W. 
 
 2 In W. the remaining lines of this stanza are as 
 given below; but Herbert has erased the first three of 
 them as if dissatisfied with them, without, however, 
 substituting anything in their place ; 
 
 Where both their baskets are all their store, 
 The smacks of dainties and their exaltation : 
 What both y^ stops and pegs of pleasure bee. 
 The ioyes of company or contemplation. 
 
 Yet I love thee. 
 
 W. has seeled (for sealed "), which is a technical 
 term in hawking for closing the eyes by sewing the 
 eyelids together. 
 ^ These.— W. 
 
THE CHURCH 113 
 
 65. Affliction^ 
 
 T> ROKEN in pieces all asunder, 
 
 ^ Lord, hunt me not, 
 
 A thing forgot. 
 
 Once a poore creature, now a wonder,^ 
 A wonder tortur'd in the space 
 Betwixt this world and that of grace. 
 
 My thoughts are all a case of knives, 
 Wounding my heart 
 With scatter'd smart. 
 As watring pots give flowers their lives. 
 Nothing their furie can controll. 
 While they do wound and prick ^ my soul. 
 
 All my attendants are at strife. 
 Quitting their place 
 Unto my face : 
 Nothing performs the task of life : 
 
 The elements are let loose to light. 
 And while I live, trie out their right. 
 
 Oh help, my God ! let not their plot 
 Kill them and me, 
 And also thee. 
 Who art my life : dissolve the knot. 
 As the sunne scatters by his light 
 All the rebellions of the night. 
 
 1 Tentation.— W 2 cf. Ps. Ixxi. 7. 
 
 3 Pink.— MSS 
 
114 THE CHURCH 
 
 Then shall those powers, which work for grief, 
 Enter thy pay, 
 And day by day 
 Labour thy praise, and my relief ; 
 
 With care and courage building me, 
 
 Till I reach heav'n, and much more thee. 
 
 66. Man 
 
 My God, I heard this day, 
 That none doth build ^ a stately habitation, 
 But he that means to dwell therein. 
 What house more stately hath there been. 
 Or can be, then is Man ? to whose creation 
 All things are in decay. 
 
 For Man is ev'ry thing, 
 And more : He is a tree, yet bears no fruit ; ^ 
 A beast, yet is, or should be more : 
 Reason and speech we onely bring. 
 Parrats may thank us, if they are not mute, 
 They go upon the score. 
 
 Man is all symmetric. 
 Full of proportions, one limbe to another. 
 And all to all the world besides : 
 Each part may call the farthest, brother : 
 For head v/ith foot hath private amitie. 
 And both with moons and tides. 
 
 ^ That no man builds, — W. 
 
 2 W. has " more fruit." This suggests that no " 
 in B. and the printed editions may have originated in 
 a miswriting for " mo " ( = more). 
 
THE CHURCH 115 
 
 Nothing hath got so farre, 
 But Man hath ^ caught and kept it, as his prey. 
 His eyes dismount the highest starre : 
 He is in little all the sphere. 
 Herbs gladly cure our flesh ; because that they 
 Finde their acquaintance there. 
 
 For us the windes do blow, 
 The earth doth rest, heav'n move, and fountains 
 flow.2 
 
 Nothing we see, but means our good. 
 As our delight^ or as our treasure : 
 The whole is, either our cupboard of food^ 
 Or cabinet pleasure. 
 
 The starres have us to bed ; 
 Night draws the curtain, which the sunne with- 
 draws ; 
 
 Musick and light attend our head. 
 All things unto our Jlesh are kinde 
 In their descent and being ; to our m 'lnde 
 In their ascent and cause. 
 
 Each thing is full of dutie : 
 Waters united are our navigation ; 
 Distinguished, our habitation ; 
 Below, our drink ; above, our meat ; 
 Both are our cleanlinesse. Hath one such 
 beautie ? ^ 
 
 Then how are all things neat ? 
 
 1 Has.— W. 
 
 2 Earth resteth, heaven moveth, fountains flow. — W, 
 2 If one have beauty. — W. 
 
ii6 THE CHURCH 
 
 More servants wait on Man, 
 Then he'l take notice of: in ev'ry path 
 
 He treads down that which doth befriend him. 
 When sicknesse makes him pale and wan. 
 Oh mightie love ! Man is one world, and hath 
 Another to attend him. 
 
 Since then, my God, thou hast 
 So brave a Palace built ; O dwell in it. 
 That it may dwell with thee at last ! 
 Till then, afford us so much wit ; 
 That, as the world serves us, we may serve thee, 
 And both thy servants be.^ 
 
 67. Antiphon ^ 
 
 Chor. pRAISED be the God of love, 
 ^ Men, Here below. 
 
 Angels, And here above : 
 
 Cho, Who hath dealt his mercies so, 
 •Ang, To his friend. 
 Men. And to his foe ; 
 
 Cho, That both grace and glorie tend 
 Ang, Us of old. 
 Men, And us in th' end. 
 
 Cho, The great shepherd of the fold 
 Ang, Us did make. 
 Men, For us was sold. 
 
 1 That as world to vs is kind and free^ 
 
 So we may bee to Thee. — W. 
 
 2 Ode.— W. 
 
THE CHURCH 117 
 
 Cho, He our foes in pieces brake ; 
 
 ^ng. Him we touch ; 
 
 Men. And him we take. 
 Cho. Wherefore since that he is such, 
 
 j4ng. We adore, 
 
 Men. And we do crouch. 
 
 Cho. Lord, thy praises should be more.^ 
 Men. We have none, 
 j^ng. And we no store. ^ 
 
 Cho. Praised be the God alone, 
 
 Who hath made of two folds one. 
 
 68, Unkindnesse 
 
 T ORD, make me coy and tender to offend ; 
 In friendship, first I think, if that agree, 
 Which I intend. 
 Unto my friends intent and end. 
 I would not use a friend, as I use Thee. 
 
 If any touch my friend, or his good name ; 
 It is my honour and my love to free 
 
 His blasted ^ fame 
 From the least spot or thought of blame 
 I could not use a friend, as I use Thee. 
 
 My friend may spit upon my curious fioore : 
 Would he have gold ? I lend it instantly ; 
 
 ^ Lord, thou dost deserve much more. — W. 
 
 2 Wee have no store. — W. ^ Darkned. — W. 
 
 8 
 
Ti8 THE CHURCH 
 
 But let the poore, 
 And thou within them starve at doore. 
 I cannot use a friend, as I use Thee. 
 
 When that my friend pretendeth to a place, 
 I quit my interest, and leave it free : 
 
 But when thy grace 
 Sues for ray heart, I thee displace, 
 Nor would I use a friend, as I use Thee. 
 
 Yet can a friend what thou hast done fulfill ? 
 O write in brasse. My God upon a tree 
 His hloud did spill 
 Onely to purchase my good-^ill : 
 Tet use I not my foes, as I use thee. 
 
 69. Life 
 
 T MADE a posie, while the day ran by : 
 
 Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie 
 My life within this band. 
 But time did becken to the flowers, and they 
 By noon most cunningly did steal away. 
 
 And wither'd in my hand. 
 
 My hand was next to them, and then my heart : 
 I took, without more thinking, in good part 
 
 Times gentle admonition : 
 Who did so sweetly deaths sad taste convey, 
 Making my minde to smell my fatall day ; 
 
 Yet sugring the suspicion. 
 
THE CHURCH 119 
 
 Farewell deare flowers, sweetly your time ye 
 spent, 
 
 Fit, while ye liv'd, for smell or ornament. 
 
 And after death for curesc 
 I follow straight without complaints or grief, 
 Since if my sent be good, I care not, if 
 
 It be as short as yours. 
 
 70. Submission 
 
 T>UT that Thou art my wisdome. Lord, 
 ^ And both mine eyes are thine. 
 My minde would be extreamly stirr'd 
 For missing my designe. 
 
 Were it not better to bestow 
 
 Some place and power on me ? 
 
 Then should thy praises with me grow. 
 And share in my degree. 
 
 But when I thus dispute and grieve, 
 
 I do resume my fight. 
 And pilfring what I once did give. 
 
 Disseize thee of thy right. 
 
 How know I, if thou shouldst me raise. 
 That I should then raise thee ? 
 
 Perhaps great places and thy praise 
 Do not so well agree. 
 
 Wherefore unto my gift I stand ; 
 
 I will no more advise : 
 Onely do thou lend me a hand, 
 
 Since thou hast both mine eyes. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 71. Justice 
 
 I CANNOT skill of these thy wayes. 
 Lordy thou didst make me, yet thou ivoundest me ; 
 Lordy thou dost nvound me, yet thou dost relieve 
 
 me : 
 
 Lord, thou relievest, yet I die hy thee : 
 
 ZiOrd, thou dost kill me, yet thou dost reprieve me. 
 
 But when I mark my life and praise, 
 Thy justice me most fitly payes : 
 For, / do praise thee, yet I praise thee not : 
 My prayers mean thee, yet my prayers stray : 
 I ivould do ivell, yet sinne the hand hath got : 
 My soul doth love thee, yet it loves delay, 
 I cannot skill of these my wayes. 
 
 72. Charms and Knots 
 
 TS^HO reade a chapter when they rise, 
 ^ ^ Shall ne're be troubled with ill ^ eyes. 
 
 A poore mans rod, when thou dost ride, 
 Is both a weapon and a guide. ^ 
 
 Who shuts his hand, hath lost his gold : 
 Who opens it, hath it twice told. 
 
 1 Sore.— W 
 
 2 A poore man's rod if thou wilt hire, 
 
 Thy horse shal never fall or tire. — W. 
 
THE CHURCH 121 
 
 Who goes to bed and doth 1 not pray, 
 Maketh two nights to ev'ry day.^ 
 
 Who by aspersions throw a stone 
 
 At th' head ^ of others, hit their own.^ 
 
 Who ^ looks on ground with humble eyes, 
 Findes himself there, and seeks to rise. 
 
 When th' hair is sweet through pride or lust, 
 The powder doth ^ forget the dust. 
 
 Take one from ten, and what remains ? 
 Ten still, if sermons go for gains. ^ 
 
 1 Does.— W. 
 
 2 Doubles the night and trips by day. — W. 
 8 Hart.— W. 
 
 •* Cf. A Priest to the Temple, c. xxviii. , The parson 
 in contempt " : 
 
 " He that throws a stone at another, hits himself." 
 '5 In W, the order of this and the next couplet is 
 reversed. ^ Does. — W. 
 
 In the place of the last two couplets W. has the 
 following:— v., 
 Who turnes a trencher, sett^th free 
 A prisoner crusht w^li gluttonie. 
 
 Take one from ten, and what remains ? 
 Ten if a sermon goe for gains. 
 
 The world thinks all things bigg and tall, 
 Grace turnes ye optick, then they fall. 
 
 A falling starr has lost his place ; 
 The courtier getts it that has grace. 
 
 In small draughts heaven does shine and dwell; 
 Who dives on further, may find hell. 
 
 s Cf. Prov. iii. 9, lo. The idea is that the tithes 
 given to the priest are repaid by his services. 
 
122 THE CHURCH 
 
 In shallow waters heav'n doth show ; 
 But who drinks on, to hell may go. 
 
 73. Affliction 
 
 My God, I read this day. 
 That planted Paradise was not so firm, 
 As was and is thy floting Ark ; whose stay 
 And anchor thou art onely, to confirm 
 And strengthen it in ev'ry age. 
 When waves do rise, and tempests rage. 
 
 At first we liv'd in pleasure ; 
 Thine own delights thou didst to us impart : 
 When we grew wanton, thou didst use displeasure 
 To make us thine : yet that we might not part. 
 As we at first did board with thee, 
 Now thou wouldst taste our miserie. 
 
 There is but joy and grief ; 
 If either will convert us, we are thine : 
 Some Angels us' d the first ; if our relief 
 Take up the second, then thy double line 
 And sev'rall baits in either kinde 
 Furnish thy table to thy minde. 
 
 Affliction then is ours ; 
 We are the trees, whom shaking fastens more. 
 While blustring windes destroy the wanton 
 bowres. 
 
 And ruffle all their curious knots and store. 
 My God, so temper joy and wo, 
 That thy bright beams may tame thy bow. 
 
THE CHURCH 123 
 
 74. Mortification 
 
 How soon doth ^ man decay ! 
 When clothes are taken from a chest of sweets 
 To swaddle infants, whose young breath 
 
 Scarce knows the way ; 
 Those clouts 2 are little winding sheets, 
 Which do consigne and send them unto death. 
 
 When boyes go first to bed. 
 They step into their voluntarie graves, 
 
 Sleep bindes them fast ; onely their breath 
 
 Makes them not dead : 
 Successive nights, like rolling waves, 
 Convey them quickly, who are bound for death. 
 
 When youth is frank and free, 
 And calls for musick, while his veins do swell, 
 All day exchanging mirth and breath 
 
 In companie ; 
 That musick summons to the knell, 
 Which shall befriend him at the house of death. 
 
 When man grows staid and wise. 
 Getting a house and home, where he may move 
 Within the circle of his breath. 
 
 Schooling his eyes ; 
 That dumbe inclosure maketh love 
 Unto , the coffin, that attends his death. 
 
 1 Does.— W 
 
 2 Clouts, i.e. rags; cf. Jer. xxxviii. ii, 12. 
 
124 THE CHURCH 
 
 When age grows low and weak, 
 Marking his grave, and thawing ev'ry yeare, 
 Till all do melt, and drown his breath 
 
 When he would speak ; 
 A chair or litter shows the biere. 
 Which shall convey him to the house ^ of death* 
 
 Man, ere he is aware. 
 Hath put together a solemnitie, 
 
 And drest his herse, while he has breath 
 
 As yet to spare : 
 Yet Lord, instruct us so to die. 
 That all these dyings may be life in death. 
 
 75. Decay 
 
 OWEET were the dayes, when thou didst 
 ^ lodge with Lot, 
 Struggle with Jacob, sit with Gideon, 
 Advise with Abraham, when thy power could not 
 Encounter Moses strong complaints and mone : 
 Thy words were then. Let me alone 
 
 One might have sought and found thee presently 
 At some fair oak, or bush, or cave, or well : 
 Is my God this way ? No, they would reply : 
 He is to Sinai gone, as we heard tell : 
 
 List, ye may heare great Aarons bell. 
 
 ^ Place. — W. xxxii. 10 ; cf. Deut. ix. 14. 
 
THE CHURCH 125 
 
 But now thou dost thy self immure and close 
 In some one corner of a feeble heart : 
 Where yet both Sinne and Satan, thy old foes, 
 Do pinch and straiten thee, and use much art 
 To gain thy thirds and little part. 
 
 I see the world grows old, when as the heat 
 Of thy great love once spread, as in an urn 
 Doth closet up it self, and still retreat. 
 Cold sinne still forcing it, till it return. 
 
 And calling Justice, all things burn. 
 
 76. Miserie^ 
 
 Lord, let the Angels praise thy name. 
 Man is a foolish thing, a foolish thing. 
 
 Folly and Sinne play all his game.^ 
 His house still burns, and yet he still doth sing, 
 Man is but grassCy 
 He kno<ws it y Jill the glasse. 
 
 How canst thou brook his foolishnesse ? 
 Why he'l not lose a cup of drink for thee : 
 
 Bid him but temper his excesse ; 
 Not he : he knows, where he can better be, 
 As he will swear, 
 Then to serve thee in fear. 
 
 What strange pollutions doth he wed. 
 And make his own ? as if none knew, but he. 
 No man shall beat into his head, 
 
 1 The Publican.— W. 2 pj^y out his game.— W. 
 
126 THE CHURCH 
 
 That thou within his curtains drawn canst see : ^ 
 They are of cloth, 
 Where never yet came moth. 
 
 The best of men, turn but thy hand 
 For one poore minute, stumble at a pinne : 
 
 They would not have their actions scann'd, 
 Nor any sorrow tell them that they sinne. 
 Though it be small. 
 And measure not their fall. 
 
 They quarrell thee, and would give over 
 The bargain made to serve thee : but thy love 
 
 Holds them unto it, and doth cover 
 Their follies with the wing ^ of thy milde Dove, 
 Not suffering those 
 Who would, to be thy foes. 
 
 My God, Man cannot praise thy name : 
 Thou art all brightnesse, perfect puritie ; 
 
 The sunne holds down his head for shame. 
 Dead with eclipses, when we speak of thee : 
 How shall infection 
 Presume on thy perfection ? 
 
 As dirtie hands foul all they touch, 
 And those things most, which are most pure 
 and fine ; 
 
 So our clay hearts, ev'n when we crouch 
 To sing thy praises, make them lesse divine. 
 Yet either this. 
 Or none thy portion is. 
 
 ^ Ps. cxxxix. 2. 2 Wings. — W. 
 
THE CHURCH 127 
 
 Man ^ cannot serve thee ; let him go, 
 And serve the swine : there, there is his delight : 
 
 He doth not like this vertue, no ; 
 Give him his dirt to wallow in all night : 
 These Preachers make 
 His head to shoot and ake. 
 
 Oh foolish man ! where are thine eyes ? 
 How hast thou lost them in a croud of cares ? 
 
 Thou pull'st the rug,^ and wilt not rise, 
 No not to purchase the whole pack of starres : 
 There let them shine, 
 Thou must go sleep, or dine. 
 
 The bird that sees a daintie bowre 
 Made in the tree, where she was wont to sit. 
 
 Wonders and sings, but not his power 
 Who made the arbour : this exceeds her wit. 
 But Man doth know 
 The spring, whence all things flow : 
 
 And yet as though he knew it not. 
 His knowledge winks, and lets his humours reigne; 
 They make his life a constant blot. 
 
 ^ In W. this stanza is as follows ; — 
 
 Man cannot serve thee ; let him goe, 
 And feed the swine all his mind and might : 
 
 For this he wondrous well doth know 
 They will be kind, and all his pains requite, 
 Making him free 
 Of that good companie. 
 
 2 Thou lyest warme. — W. 
 
J 28 THE CHURCH 
 
 And all the bloud of God to run in vain. 
 
 Ah wretch ! what verse 
 Can thy strange wayes rehearse ? 
 
 Indeed at first Man was a treasure, 
 
 A ring, whose posie was, My pleasure : 
 He was a garden in a Paradise : 
 Glorie and grace 
 Did crown his heart and face. 
 
 But sinne hath fool'd him. Now he is 
 A lump of flesh, without a foot or wing 
 
 To raise him to the ^ glimpse of blisse : 
 A sick toss'd vessel, dashing on each thing ; 
 
 "T^THEN first my lines ^ of heavenly joyes 
 
 ^ ^ made mention. 
 Such was their lustre, they did so excell, 
 That I sought out quaint words, and trim 
 invention ; 
 
 ^ Ah wretched man, 
 
 Who may thy follies span ? — W. 
 
 2 A.— W. 
 
 3 I.e. reef. Cf the notes on " The Church-Porch/' 
 above, p. 8. 
 
 ^ Invention. — W. ^ Verse — W. 
 
 A box of jewels, shop of rarities, 
 
 Nay, his own shelf : ^ 
 My God, I mean my self. 
 
 77. Jordan^ 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 My thoughts began to burnish,^ sprout,^ and swell, 
 Curling with metaphors a plain intention, 
 Decking ^ the sense, as if it were to sell. 
 
 Thousands of notions in my brain did runne, 
 
 OfPring their service, if I were not sped : 
 
 I often blotted what I had begunne ; 
 
 This was not quick enough, and that was dead. 
 
 Nothing could seem too rich to clothe the sunne, 
 
 Much lesse those joyes which trample on his head. 
 
 As ^ flames do work and winde, when they ascend, 
 So did I weave my self into the sense. 
 But while I bustled, I might heare a friend 
 Whisper, Ho^ ivide is all this long pretence I 
 There is in love a sweetness e readie penn d : 
 Copie out onely that^ and save expense* 
 
 78. Prayer 
 
 Of what an easie quick accesse, 
 My blessed Lord, art thou ! ^ how suddenly 
 May our requests thine eare ^ invade ! 
 
 ^ Burnish^ i.e. spread out. So Fuller : " We must not 
 all run up in height like a hop-pole, but also burnish 
 and spread in breadth." — Joseph's Coat. 
 
 2 Spredd. — W. ^ Praising. 
 
 ^ In W. this stanza is as follows : — 
 
 As flames do work and winde when they ascend, 
 So I bespoke me much insinuation ; 
 But while I bustled I might heare a friend 
 Whisper, how wide is all this preparation ! 
 There is in love a sweetnesse ready penn'd ; 
 Copy out that, there needs no alteration. 
 
 5 Art thou, my blessed King ! — W. ^ Eares. — W. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 To shew that state dislikes not easinesse. 
 If I but lift mine eyes, my suit is made : 
 Thou canst no more not heare, then thou canst die. 
 
 Of what supreme almightie power 
 Is thy great arm which spans the east and west, 
 
 And tacks the centre to the sphere ! 
 By it do all things live their measur'd ^ houre : 
 We cannot ask the thing, which is not there, 
 Blaming the shallownesse of our request. 
 
 Of what unmeasureable love 
 Art thou possest, who, when thou couldst not die, 
 
 Wert fain to take our flesh and curse. 
 And for our sakes in person sinne reprove. 
 That by destroying that which ty'd thy purse, 
 Thou mightst make way for liberalitie ! 
 
 Since then these three wait on thy throne, 
 Ease^ Power, and Love ; I value prayer so, 
 
 That were I to leave all but one. 
 Wealth, fame, endowments, vertues, all should go; 
 I and deare prayer would together dwell. 
 And quickly gain, for each inch lost, an ell. 
 
 79. Obedience 
 
 My God, if writings may 
 Convey a Lordship any way 
 Whither the buyer and the seller please ; 
 
 Let it not thee displease, 
 If this poore paper do as much as they. 
 
 1 Silly.— W. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 On it my heart doth bleed 
 As many lines^ as there doth need ^ 
 To passe it self and all it hath to thee, 
 
 To which I do agree, 
 And here present it as my speciall deed. 
 
 If that hereafter Pleasure 
 Cavill, and claim her part and measure, 
 As if this passed with a reservation, 
 
 Or some such words in fashion ; 
 I here exclude ^ the wrangler from thy treasure. 
 
 O let thy sacred will 
 All thy delight in me fulfill ! 
 Let me not think an action mine own way, 
 
 But as thy love shall sway, 
 Resigning up the rudder to thy skill. 
 
 Lord, what h man to thee, 
 That thou shouldst minde a rotten tree ? 
 Yet since thou canst not choose but see my actions, 
 
 So great are thy perfections, 
 Thou mayst as well my actions guide, as see. 
 
 Besides, thy death and bloud 
 Show'd a strange love to all our good : 
 Thy sorrows were in earnest ; no faint proffer, 
 
 Or superficial! offer 
 Of what we might not take, or be withstood. 
 
 Wherefore I all forego : 
 To one word onely I say. No ; 
 
 As it does need. — W. 
 
 2 Shutt out.— W. 
 
132 
 
 THE CHURCH 
 
 Where in the deed there was an intimation 
 
 Of a gift or donation^ 
 Lord, let it now by way o{ purchase go. 
 
 He that will passe his land, 
 As I have mine, may set his hand 
 And heart unto this deed, when he hath ^ read ; 
 
 And make the purchase spread 
 To both our goods, if he to it will stand. 
 
 How happie were my part, 
 If some kinde man would thrust his heart 
 Into these lines ; till in heav'ns court of rolls 
 
 They were by winged souls 
 Entred for both, farre above their desert ! 
 
 80. Conscience 2 
 
 Peace pratler, do not lowre : 
 Not a fair look, but thou dost call it foul : 
 Not a sweet dish, but thou dost call it sowre : 
 Musick to thee doth howl. 
 By listning to thy chatting fears 
 I have both lost mine eyes and eares. 
 
 Pratler, no more, I say : 
 My thoughts must work, but like a noiselesse 
 sphere ; 
 
 1 Doth.— W. 
 
 2 From this point onwards none of the poems are 
 found in W. until "The Elixir" (No. 156). 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 Harmonious peace must rock them all the day : 
 No room for pratlers there. 
 If thou persistest, I will tell thee, 
 That I have physick to expell thee. 
 
 And the receit shall be 
 My Saviours bloud : when ever at his board 
 I do but taste it, straight it cleanseth me, 
 And leaves thee not a word ; 
 No, not a tooth or nail to scratch. 
 And at my actions carp, or catch. 
 
 Yet if thou talkest still. 
 Besides my physick, know there's some for thee : 
 Some wood and nails to make a stafFe or bill 
 For those that trouble me : 
 The bloudie crosse of my deare Lord 
 Is both my physick and my sword. 
 
 8 1. Sion 
 
 LORD, with what glorie wast thou serv'd 
 of old. 
 
 When Solomons temple stood and flourished ! 
 
 Where most things were of purest gold ; 
 
 The wood was all embellished 
 With flowers and carvings, mysticall and rare : 
 All showed the builders, crav'd the seers care. 
 
 Yet all this glorie, all this pomp and state 
 Did not affect thee much, was not thy aim ; 
 
 9 
 
134 THE CHURCH 
 
 Something there was, that sow'd debate : 
 Wherefore thou quitt'st thy ancient claim : 
 
 And now thy Architecture meets with sinne ; 
 
 For all thy frame and fabrick is within. 
 
 There thou art struggling with a peevish heart, 
 Which sometimes crosseth thee, thou sometimesit: 
 
 The fight is hard on either part. 
 
 Great God doth fight, he doth submit. 
 All Solomons sea of brasse and world of stone 
 Is not so deare to thee as one good grone. 
 
 And truly brasse and stones are heavie things, 
 
 Tombes for the dead, not temples fit for thee : 
 But grones are quick, and full of wings, 
 And all their motions upward be ; 
 
 And ever as they mount, like larks they sing ; 
 
 The note is sad, yet musick for a king. 
 
 82. Home 
 
 /^OME Lord, my head doth burn, my heart 
 ^ is sick, 
 
 While thou dost ever, ever stay : 
 Thy long deferrings wound me to the quick. 
 My spirit gaspeth night and day. 
 O show thy self to me. 
 Or take me up to thee ! 
 
 How canst thou stay, considering the pace 
 
 The bloud did make, which thou didst 
 waste ? 
 
THE CHURCH 135 
 
 When I behold it trickling down thy face, 
 I never saw thing make such haste. 
 O show thy self to me, 
 Or take me up to thee ! 
 
 When man was lost, thy pitie lookt about 
 
 To see what heJp in th' earth or skie : 
 
 But there was none ; at least no help without : 
 The help did in thy bosome lie. 
 O show thy, &c. 
 
 There lay thy sonne : and must he leave that nest. 
 That hive of sweetnesse, to remove 
 
 Thraldome from those, who would not at a feast 
 Leave one poore apple for thy love ? 
 O show thy, Sec, 
 
 He did, he came : O my Redeemer deare. 
 After all this canst thou be strange ? 
 
 So many yeares baptizM, and not appeare ? 
 
 As if thy love could fail or change. 
 O show thy, &c. 
 
 Yet if thou stayest still, why must I stay ? 
 
 My God, what is this world to me ? 
 This world of wo ? hence all ye clouds, away, 
 
 Away ; I must get up and see. 
 O show thy, &c. 
 
 What is this weary world ; this meat and drink, 
 That chains us by the teeth so fast ? 
 
 What is this woman-kinde, which I can wink 
 Into a blacknesse and distaste ? 
 O show thy, &c. 
 
136 THE CHURCH 
 
 With one small sigh thou gav'st me th' other day 
 
 I blasted all the joyes about me : 
 And scouling on them as they pin'd away, 
 
 Now come again, said I, and flout me. 
 O show thy self to me, 
 Or take me up to thee ! 
 
 Nothing but drought and dearth, but bush and 
 brake. 
 
 Which way so-e're I look, I see. 
 Some may dream merrily, but when they wake. 
 They dresse themselves and come to thee. 
 O show thy, &c. 
 
 We talk of harvests ; there are no such things. 
 But when we leave our corn and hay : 
 
 There is no fruitfull yeare, but that which brings 
 The last and lov'd, though dreadfull day. 
 O show thy, &c. 
 
 Oh loose this frame, this knot of man untie ! 
 
 That my free soul may use her wing. 
 Which now is pinion'd with mortalitie, 
 
 As an intangled, hamper'd thing. 
 O show thy, &c. 
 
 What have I left, that I should stay and gronc ; 
 
 The most of me to heav'n is fled: 
 My thoughts and joyes are all packt up and 
 gone. 
 
 And for their old acquaintance plead. 
 O show thy, &c. 
 
THE CHURCH 137 
 
 Come dearest Lord, passe not this holy season, 
 My flesh and bones and joynts do pray : 
 And ev'n my verse, when by the ryme and reason 
 The word is, Siay,^ sayes ever. Come, 
 O show thy self to me, 
 Or take me up to thee ! 
 
 83. The British Church 
 
 T JOY, deare Mother, when I view 
 ^ Thy perfect lineaments, and hue 
 
 Both sweet and bright. 
 
 Beautie in thee takes up her place, 
 And dates her letters from thy face. 
 
 When she doth write. 
 
 A fine aspect in fit array, 
 
 Neither too mean, nor yet too gay, 
 
 Shows who is best. 
 
 Outlandish looks may not compare : 
 For all they either painted are. 
 
 Or else undrest. 
 
 She on the hills, which wantonly 
 Allureth all, in hope to be 
 
 By her preferred. 
 
 Hath kiss'd so long her painted shrines, 
 That ev'n her face by kissing shines. 
 For her reward. 
 
 ^ To rhyme with pray in the second line of the 
 stanza ; cf. MacDonald's England'' s Antiphon, p. 184. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 She in the valley is so shie 
 Of dressing, that her hair doth lie 
 About her eares : 
 
 While she avoids her neighbours pride, 
 She wholly goes on th' other side. 
 
 And nothing wears. 
 
 But dearest Mother, (what those misse) 
 The mean thy praise and glorie is, 
 And long may be. 
 
 Blessed be God, whose love it was 
 To double-moat thee with his grace, 
 And none but thee. 
 
 84. The Quip 
 
 ' I ^HE merrie world did on a day 
 
 ^ With his train-bands and mates agr 
 To meet together, where I lay, 
 And all in sport to geere at me. 
 
 First, Beautie crept into a rose. 
 Which when I pluckt not, Sir, said she. 
 Tell me, I pray, Whose hands are those 
 But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.^ 
 
 Then Money came, and chinking still, 
 What tune is this, poore man ? said he : 
 I heard in Musick you had skill. 
 But thou shalt answer. Lord, for me. 
 
 1 Cf. Ps. xxxviii. 15 (P.B.V.). 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 Then came brave Glorie puffing by 
 In silks that whistled, who but he ? 
 He scarce allowM me half an eie. 
 But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. 
 
 Then came quick Wit and Conversation, 
 And he would needs a comfort be. 
 And, to be short, make an oration. 
 But thou shalt answer. Lord, for me. 
 
 Yet when the houre of thy designe 
 To answer these fine things shall come ; 
 Speak not at large, say, I am thine : 
 And then they have their answer home. 
 
 85. Vanitie 
 
 poo RE silly soul, whose hope and head lies 
 low ; 
 
 Whose flat delights on earth do creep and grow ; 
 To whom the starres shine not so fair, as eyes ; 
 Nor solid work, as false embroyderies ; 
 Heark and beware, lest what you now do measure 
 And write for sweet, prove a most sowre dis- 
 pleasure. 
 
 O heare betimes, lest thy relenting 
 May come too late ! 
 
 To purchase heaven for repenting. 
 Is no hard rate. 
 
 If souls be made of earthly mold. 
 Let them love gold; 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 If born on high, 
 Let them unto their kindred flie : 
 For they can never be at rest, 
 Till they regain their ancient nest. 
 Then silly soul take heed ; for earthly joy 
 Is but a bubble, and makes thee a boy. 
 
 86. The Dawning 
 
 A WAKE sad heart, whom sorrow ever 
 drowns ; 
 
 Take up thine eyes, which feed on earth ; 
 Unfold thy forehead gathered into frowns : 
 Thy Saviour comes, and with him mirth : 
 Awake, awake ; 
 And with a thankfull heart his comforts take. 
 But thou dost still lament, and pine, and 
 crie ; 
 
 And feel his death, but not his victorie. 
 
 Arise sad heart ; if thou dost not withstand, 
 
 Christs resurrection thine may be : 
 Do not by hanging down break from the hand. 
 Which as it riseth, raiseth thee : 
 Arise, arise ; 
 And with his buriall-linen drie thine eyes : 
 Christ left his grave-clothes, that we might, 
 when grief 
 
 Draws tears, or bloud, not want an handker- 
 chief. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 87, Jesu 
 
 JESU is in my heart, his sacred name 
 Is deeply carved there : but th' other week 
 A great affliction broke the little frame, 
 Ev'n all to pieces: which I went to seek : 
 And first I found the corner, where was t/, 
 After, where E and next where U was graved. 
 When I had got these parcels, instantly 
 I sat me down to spell them, and perceived 
 That to my broken heart he was I ea^e you^ 
 
 And to my whole is JE S U. 
 
 88. Businesse 
 
 ANST be idle ? canst thou play, 
 ^ Foolish soul who sinn'd to day ? 
 
 Rivers run, and springs each one 
 Know their home, and get them gone : 
 Hast thou tears, or hast thou none ? 
 
 If, poore soul, thou hast no tears ; 
 Would thou hadst no faults or fears ! 
 Who hath these, those ill forbears. 
 
 Windes still work : it is their plot, 
 
 Be the season cold, or hot : 
 
 Hast thou sighs, or hast thou not ? 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 If thou hast no sighs or grones, 
 Would thou hadst no flesh and bones ! 
 Lesser pains scape greater ones. 
 
 But if yet thou idle be. 
 
 Foolish soul, Who di'd for thee ? 
 
 Who did leave his Fathers throne 
 To assume thy flesh and bone ; 
 Had he life, or had he none ? 
 
 If he had not liv'd for thee. 
 Thou hadst di'd most wretchedly ; 
 And two deaths had been thy fee. 
 
 He so farre thy good did plot, 
 That his own self he forgot. 
 Did he die, or did he not ? 
 
 If he had not di'd for thee. 
 Thou hadst liv'd in miserie. 
 Two lives worse then ten deaths be. 
 
 And hath any space ^ of breath 
 'Twixt his sinnes and Saviours death ? 
 
 He that loseth gold, though drosse, 
 Tells to all he meets, his crosse : 
 He that sinnes, hath he no losse ? 
 
 1 Spare B. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 He that findes a silver vein, 
 Thinks on it, and thinks again ; 
 Brings thy Saviours death no gain ? 
 
 Who in heart not ever kneels, 
 Neither sinne nor Saviour feels. 
 
 89. Dialogue 
 
 CWEETEST Saviour, if my soul 
 ^ Were but worth the having. 
 Quickly should I then controll 
 
 Any thought of waving. 
 But when all my care and pains 
 Cannot give the name of gains 
 To thy wretch so full of stains ; 
 What delight or hope remains ? 
 
 What ( childe^ is the hallance thine, 
 Thine the poise and measure P 
 
 If I say, Thou shalt be mine ; ^ 
 Finger not my treasure. 
 
 What the gains in having thee 
 
 Do amount to, onely he. 
 
 Who for man 'was sold, can see ; 
 
 That transferr' d tV accounts to me. 
 
 But as I can see no merit. 
 Leading to this favour ; 
 
 So the way to fit me for it. 
 Is beyond my savour. 
 
144 THE CHURCH 
 
 As the reason then is thine 5 
 So the way is none of mine : 
 I disclaim the whole designe : 
 Sinne disclaims and I resigne. 
 
 That IS all, if that I could 
 
 Get without repining ; 
 And my clay my creature ivould 
 
 Folloiv my resigning. 
 That as I did freely part 
 With my glorie and desert. 
 Left all joy es to feel all smart — 
 
 Ah ! no more : thou break' st my heart. 
 
 » 
 
 90. Dulnesse 
 
 l^^fT'HY do I languish thus, drooping and dull, 
 
 ^ ^ As if I were all earth ? 
 
 O give me quicknesse, that I may with mirth 
 Praise thee brim-full ! 
 
 The wanton lover in a curious strain 
 
 Can praise his fairest fair ; 
 And with quaint metaphors her curled hair 
 Curl o're again. 
 
 Thou art my lovelinesse, my life, my light, 
 
 Beautie alone to me : 
 Thy bloudy death and undeserv'd, makes thee 
 Pure red and white. 
 
THE CHURCH 145 
 
 When all perfections as but one appeare, 
 
 That those thy form doth show, 
 The very dust, where thou dost tread and go. 
 Makes beauties here ; 
 
 Where are my lines then ? my approaches ? views ? 
 
 Where are my window-songs ? 
 Lovers are still pretending, and ev'n wrongs 
 Sharpen their Muse : 
 
 But I am lost in flesh, whose sugred lyes 
 
 Still mock me, and grow bold : 
 Sure thou didst put a minde there, if I could 
 Finde where it lies. 
 
 Lord, cleare thy gift, that with a constant wit 
 
 I may but look towards thee : 
 Look onely ; for to lo've thee, who can be. 
 What angel lit ? 
 
 91. Love-joy 
 
 A S on a window late I cast mine eye, 
 
 I saw a vine drop grapes with J and C 
 Anneal'd on every bunch. One standing by 
 Ask'd what it meant. I (who am never loth 
 To spend my iudgement) said, It seem'd to me 
 To be the bodie and the letters both 
 Of Joy and Charitie. Sir, you have not miss'd. 
 The man reply'd ; It figures JESUS CHRIST. 
 
146 THE CHURCH 
 
 92. Providence 
 
 OS AC RED Providence, who from end to 
 end 
 
 Strongly and sweetly mo vest ! ^ shall I write, 
 And not of thee, through whom my fingers bend 
 To hold my quill ? shall they not do thee right ? 
 
 Of all the creatures both in sea and land 
 Onely to Man thou hast made known thy wayes, 
 And put the penne alone into his hand. 
 And made him Secretarie ^ of thy praise. 
 
 Beasts fain would sing ; birds dittie to their notes; 
 Trees would be tuning on their native lute 
 To thy renown : but all their hands and throats 
 Are brought to Man, while they are lame and 
 mute. 
 
 Man is the worlds high Priest : he doth present 
 The sacrifice for all ; while they below 
 Unto the service mutter an assent. 
 Such as springs use that fall, and windes that 
 blow. 
 
 He that to praise and laud thee doth refrain, 
 Doth not refrain unto himself alone, 
 
 ^ Cf. Wisdom, viii. i : " Wisdom reacheth from 
 one end to another mightily: and sweetly doth she 
 order all things." " Attingit ergo a fine usque ad 
 finem fortiter, et disponit omnia suaviter. " — Vulg. 
 
 2 Cf. the expression used of Bacon — ''the great 
 secretary of nature," in Walton's Life of Herbert, 
 above, p. I. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 But robs a thousand who would praise thee fain, 
 And doth commit a world of sinne in one. 
 
 The beasts say, Eat me : but, if beasts must teach. 
 The tongue is yours to eat, but mine to praise. 
 The trees say. Pull me : but the hand you stretch. 
 Is mine to write, as it is yours to raise. 
 
 Wherefore, most sacred Spirit, I here present 
 For me and all my fellows praise to thee : 
 And just it is that I should pay the rent. 
 Because the benefit accrues to me. 
 
 We all acknowledge both thy power and love 
 To be exact, transcendent, and divine ; 
 Who dost so strongly and so sweetly move. 
 While all things have their will, yet none but 
 thine. 
 
 For either thy command^ or thy permission 
 Lay hands on all : they are thy right and left. 
 The first puts on with speed and expedition ; 
 The other curbs sinnes stealing pace and theft. 
 
 Nothing escapes them both ; all must appeare. 
 And be dispos'd, and dress'd, and tunM by thee. 
 Who sweetly temper' st all. If we could heare 
 Thy skill and art, what musick would it be ! 
 
 Thou art in small things great, not small in any : 
 Thy even praise can neither rise, nor fall. 
 Thou art in all things one, in each thing many : 
 For thou art infinite in one and all. ^ 
 
148 THE CHURCH 
 
 Tempests are calm to thee ; they know thy hand, 
 And hold it fast, as children do their fathers. 
 Which crie and follow. Thou hast made poore 
 sand 
 
 Check the proud sea, ev^n when it swells and 
 gathers. 
 
 Thy cupboard serves the world : the meat is set. 
 Where all may reach : no beast but knows his 
 feed. 
 
 Birds teach us hawking ; fishes have their net : 
 The great prey on the lesse, they on some weed. 
 
 Nothing ingendred doth prevent his meat : 
 Flies have their table spread, ere they appeare. 
 Some creatures have in winter what to eat ; 
 Others do sleep, and envie not their cheer. 
 
 How finely dost thou times and seasons spin. 
 And make a twist checkered with night and day ! 
 Which as it lengthens windes, and windes us in. 
 As bouls go on, but turning all the way. 
 
 Each creature hath a wisdome for his good. 
 The pigeons feed their tender oif-spring, crying. 
 When they are callow ; but withdraw their food 
 When they are fledge, that need may teach them 
 flying. 
 
 Bees work for man ; and yet they never bruise 
 Their masters flower, but leave it, having done, 
 As fair as ever, and as fit to use ; 
 So both the flower doth stay, and hony run. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 149 
 
 Sheep eat the grasse, and dung the ground for 
 more : 
 
 Trees after bearing drop their leaves for soil : 
 Springs vent their streams, and by expense get 
 store : 
 
 Clouds cool by heat, and baths by cooling boiL 
 
 Who hath the vertue to expresse the rare 
 And curious vertues both of herbs and stones ? 
 Is there an herb for that ? O that thy care 
 Would show a root, that gives expressions ! 
 
 And if an herb hath power, what have the starres ? 
 A rose, besides his beautie, is a cure. 
 Doubtlesse our plagues and plentie, peace and 
 war res 
 
 Are there much surer then our art is sure. 
 
 Thou hast hid metals : man may take them 
 thence ; 
 
 But at his perill : when he digs the place. 
 He makes a grave ; as if the thing had sense, 
 And threatned man, that he should fill the 
 space. 
 
 Ev'n poysons praise thee. Should a thing be 
 lost ? 
 
 Should creatures want for want of heed their due ? 
 Since where are poysons, antidots are most : 
 The help stands close, and keeps the fear in view. 
 
 The sea, which seems to stop the traveller. 
 Is by a ship the speedier passage made. 
 
ISO THE CHURCH 
 
 The windes, who think they rule the mariner, 
 Are rulM by him, and taught to serve his trade* 
 
 And as thy house is full, so I adore 
 Thy curious art in marshalling thy goods. 
 The hills with health abound ; the vales with 
 store ; 
 
 The South with marble ; North with furres and 
 woods. 
 
 Hard things are glorious ; easie things good 
 cheap. 
 
 The common all men have ; that which is rare. 
 Men therefore seek to have, and care to keep. 
 The healthy frosts with summer-fruits compare. 
 
 Light without winde is glasse : warm without 
 weight 
 
 Is wool] and furres : cool without closenesse, 
 shade : 
 
 Speed without pains, a horse : tall without height^ 
 A servile hawk : low without losse, a spade. 
 
 All countreys have enough to serve their need : 
 If they seek fine things, thou dost make them run 
 For their offence ; and then dost turn their speed 
 To be commerce and trade from sunne to sunne. 
 
 Nothing wears clothes, but Man ; nothing doth 
 need 
 
 But he to wear them. Nothing useth fire, 
 But Man alone, to show his heav'nly breed : 
 And onely he hath fuell in desire. 
 
THE CHURCH 151 
 
 When th' earth was dry, thou mad'st a sea of 
 wet : 
 
 When that lay gather'd, thou didst broach the 
 mountains : 
 
 When yet some places could no moisture get, 
 The windes grew gard'ners, and the clouds good 
 fountains. 
 
 Rain, do not hurt my flowers ; but gently 
 spend 
 
 Your hony drops ; presse not to smell them 
 here : 
 
 When they are ripe, their odour will ascend. 
 And at your lodging with their thanks appeare. 
 
 How harsh are thorns to pears ! and yet they 
 make 
 
 A better hedge, and need less reparation. 
 How smooth are silks compared with a stake. 
 Or with a stone ! yet make no good foundation. 
 
 Sometimes thou dost divide thy gifts to man. 
 Sometimes unite. The Indian nut alone 
 Is clothing, meat and trencher, drink and kan, 
 Boat, cable, sail and needle, all in one. 
 
 Most herbs that grow in brooks, are hot and 
 dry. 
 
 Cold fruits warm kernells help against the 
 winde. 
 
 The lemmons juice and rinde cure mutually. 
 The whey of milk doth loose, the milk doth 
 binde. 
 
152 THE CHURCH 
 
 Thy creatures leap not, but expresse a feast, 
 Where all the guests sit close, and nothing 
 wants. 
 
 Frogs marry fish and flesh ; bats, bird and beast ; 
 Sponges, non-sense and sense ; mines, th' earth 
 and plants. 
 
 To show thou art not bound, as if thy lot 
 Were worse then ours ; sometimes thou shiftest 
 hands. 
 
 Most things move th' under-jaw ; the Crocodile 
 not. 
 
 Most things sleep lying ; th' Elephant leans or 
 stands. 
 
 But who hath praise enough ? nay who hath 
 any ? 
 
 None can expresse thy works, but he that knows 
 them : 
 
 And none can know thy works, which are so 
 many. 
 
 And so complete, but onely he that owes them. 
 
 All things that are, though they have sev'rall 
 wayes. 
 
 Yet in their being joyn with one advise 
 To honour thee : and so I give thee praise 
 In all my other hymnes, but in this twice. 
 
 Each thing that is, although in use and name 
 It go for one, hath many wayes in store 
 To honour thee ; and so each hymne thy fame 
 Extolleth many wayes, yet this one more. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 153 
 
 3. Hope ^ 
 
 T GAVE to Hope a watch of mine : but he 
 ^ An anchor gave to me. 
 
 Then an old prayer-book I did present : 
 
 And he an optick sent. 
 With that I gave a viall full of tears : 
 
 But he a few green eares : 
 Ah Loyterer ! I'le no more, no more Fie bring : 
 
 I did expect a ring. 
 
 94. Sinnes round 
 
 CORRIE I am, my God, sorrie I am, 
 
 ^ That my offences course it in a ring. 
 My thoughts are working like a busie flame, 
 Until] their cockatrice they hatch and bring : 
 And when they once have perfected their 
 draughts. 
 
 My words take lire from my inflamed thoughts. 
 
 My words take fire from my inflamed thoughts. 
 Which spit it forth like the Sicilian hill. 
 They vent the wares, and passe them with their 
 faults. 
 
 And by their breathing ventilate the ill. 
 
 But words suffice not, where are lewd intentions : 
 
 My hands do joyn to finish the inventions. 
 
 1 For various suggestions as to the meaning of this 
 enigmatical poem, see Notes and Queries, first series, ix. 
 154; X. i8; X. 333. 
 
154 
 
 THE CHURCH 
 
 My hands do joyn to finish the inventions : 
 And so my sinnes ascend three stories high, 
 As Babel grew, before there were dissentions. 
 Yet ill deeds loyter not ; for they supplie 
 New thoughts of sinning : wherefore, to my 
 shame, 
 
 Sorrie I am, my God, sorrie I am. 
 
 95. Time 
 
 Ayf EETING with Time, slack thing, said I, 
 Thy sithe is dull ; whet it for shame. 
 
 No marvel! Sir, he did replie. 
 
 If it at length deserve some blame : 
 
 But where one man would have me grinde it, 
 Twentie for one too sharp do finde it. 
 
 Perhaps some such of old did passe, 
 
 Who above all things lov'd this life ; 
 
 To whom thy sithe a hatchet was, 
 
 Which now is but a pruning-knife. 
 
 Christs coming hath made man thy debter, 
 Since by thy cutting he grows better. 
 
 And in his blessing thou art blest : 
 
 For where thou onely wert before 
 
 An executioner at best ; 
 
 Thou art a gard'ner now, and more, 
 An usher to convey our souls 
 Beyond the utmost starres and poles. 
 
THE CHURCH 155 
 
 And this is that makes life so long, 
 While it detains us from our God. 
 Ev'n pleasures here increase the wrong, 
 And length of dayes lengthen the rod. 
 
 Who wants the place, where God doth dwell, 
 
 Partakes already half of hell. 
 
 Of what strange length must that needs be. 
 Which ev'n eternitie excludes ! 
 Thus farre Time heard me patiently : 
 Then chafing said, This man deludes : 
 
 What do I hear before his doore ? 
 
 He doth not crave lesse time, but more. 
 
 96. Gratefulnesse 
 
 'TpHOU that hast giv'n so much to me, 
 
 ^ Give one thing more, a gratefull heart,^ 
 See how thy beggar works on thee 
 By art. 
 
 He makes thy gifts occasion more. 
 And sayes. If he in this be crost, 
 All thou hast giv'n him heretofore 
 Is lost. 
 
 But thou didst reckon, when at first 
 Thy word our hearts and hands did crave, 
 What it would come to at the worst 
 To save. 
 
 ^ Cf. Shakespeare's Henry VI, Part II. Act i. sc. i. : 
 O Lord, that lends me life, 
 Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness ! " 
 
156 THE CHURCH 
 
 Perpetual! knockings at thy doore, 
 Tears sullying thy transparent rooms, 
 Gift upon gift, much would have more, 
 And comes. 
 
 This not withstanding, thou wentst on, 
 And didst allow us all our noise : 
 Nay thou hast made a sigh and grone 
 Thy joyes. 
 
 Not that thou hast not still above 
 Much better tunes, then grones can make ; 
 But that these countrey -aires thy love 
 Did take. 
 
 Wherefore I crie, and crie again ; 
 And in no quiet canst thou be. 
 Till I a thankfull heart obtain 
 Of thee: 
 
 Not thankfull, when it pleaseth me ; 
 As if thy blessings had spare dayes : 
 But such a heart, whose pulse may be 
 Thy praise. 
 
 97. Peace 
 
 OWEET Peace, where dost thou dwell? 
 ^ humbly crave, 
 
 Let me once know. 
 I sought thee in a secret cave. 
 And ask'd, if Peace were there. 
 A hollow winde did seem to answer. No : 
 
 Go seek elsewhere. 
 
THE CHURCH 157 
 
 I did ; and going did a rainbow note : 
 
 Surely, thought I, 
 This is the lace of Peaces coat ; 
 I will search out the matter. 
 But while I lookt, the clouds immediately 
 
 Did break and scatter. 
 
 Then went I to a garden, and did spy 
 A gallant flower, 
 The crown Imperial 1: Sure, said I, 
 Peace at the root must dwell. 
 But when I digg'd, I saw a worm devoure 
 
 What show'd so well. 
 
 At length I met a rev'rend good old man. 
 
 Whom when for Peace 
 I did demand ; he thus began ; 
 There was a Prince of old 
 At Salem dwelt, who liv'd with good increase 
 Of flock and fold. 
 
 He sweetly liv'd ; yet sweetnesse did not save 
 His life from foes. 
 But after death out of his grave 
 There sprang twelve stalks of wheat ; 
 Which many wondring at, got some of those 
 To plant and set. 
 
 It prospered strangely, and did soon disperse 
 Through all the earth : 
 For they that taste it do rehearse, 
 That vertue lies therein, 
 A secret vertue bringing peace and mirth 
 By flight of sinne. 
 
158 THE CHURCH 
 
 Take of this grain, which in my garden grows, 
 And grows for you ; 
 Make bread of it : and that repose 
 And peace which ev'ry where 
 With so much earnestnesse you do pursue 
 Is onely there. 
 
 98. Confession 
 
 O WHAT a cunning guest 
 Is this same grief! within my heart I made 
 
 Closets ; and in them many a chest ; 
 
 And like a master in my trade, 
 In those chests, boxes ; in each box, a till : 
 Yet grief knows all, and enters when he will. 
 
 No scrue, no piercer can 
 Into a piece of timber work and winde, 
 As Gods afflictions into man. 
 When he a torture hath design'd. 
 They are too subtill for the subt'llest hearts ; 
 And fall, like rheumes, upon the tendrest parts. 
 
 We are the earth ; and they. 
 Like moles within us, heave, and cast about ; 
 And till they foot and clutch their prey. 
 They never cool, much lesse give out. 
 No smith can make such locks, but they have 
 keyes : 
 
 Closets are halls to them ; and hearts, high- 
 wayes. 
 
' THE CHURCH 159 
 
 Onely an open breast 
 Doth shut them out, so that they cannot enter ; 
 Or, if they enter, cannot rest, 
 But quickly seek some new adventure. 
 Smooth open hearts no fastning have ; but fiction 
 Doth give a hold and handle to affliction. 
 
 Wherefore my faults and sinnes, 
 Lord, I acknowledge ; take thy plagues away : 
 For since confession pardon winnes, 
 I challenge here the brightest day, 
 The clearest diamond : let them do their best, 
 They shall be thick and cloudie to my breast. 
 
 99. Giddinesse 
 
 /^H, what a thing is man ! how farre from 
 power. 
 
 From setled peace and rest ! 
 He is some twentie sev'rall men at least 
 Each sev'rall houre. 
 
 One while he counts of heav'n, as of his 
 treasure : 
 
 But then a thought creeps in. 
 And calls him coward, who for fear of sinne 
 
 Will lose a pleasure. 
 
 Now he will fight it out, and to the warres ; 
 
 Now eat his bread in peace. 
 And snudge ^ in quiet : now he scorns increase 5 
 
 Now all day spares. 
 
 ^Snudge, i.e. lie snug. 
 
i6o THE CHURCH 
 
 He builds a house, which quickly down must 
 
 As if a whirlwinde blew 
 And crusht the building : and it's partly true, 
 His minde is so. 
 
 O what a sight were Man, if his attires 
 Did alter with his minde ; 
 
 And like a Dolphins skinne, his clothes com- 
 bined 
 With his desires ! 
 
 Surely if each one saw anothers heart, 
 
 There would be no commerce. 
 
 No sale or bargain passe : all would disperse. 
 And live apart. 
 
 Lord, mend or rather make us : one creation 
 
 Will not suffice our turn : 
 Except thou make us dayly, we shall spurn 
 
 Our own salvation. 
 
 loo. The bunch of grapes 
 
 JOY, I did lock thee up : but some bad man 
 Hath let thee out again : 
 And now, me thinks, I am where I began 
 Sev'n yeares ago : one vogue and vein, 
 One aire of thoughts usurps my brain. 
 I did toward Canaan draw ; but now I am 
 Brought back to the Red sea, the sea of shame. 
 
THE CHURCH i6i 
 
 For as the Jews of old by Gods command 
 
 Traveird, and saw no town : 
 So now each Christian hath his journeys spann'd : 
 
 Their storie pennes and sets us down. 
 
 A single deed is small renown. 
 Gods works are wide, and let in future times ; 
 His ancient justice overflows our crimes. 
 
 Then have we too our guardian fires and clouds ; 
 
 Our Scripture-dew drops fast : 
 We have our sands and serpents, tents and 
 shrowds ; 
 
 Alas ! our murmurings come not last. 
 
 But where' s the cluster ? where' s the taste 
 Of mine inheritance ? Lord, if I must borrow, 
 Let me as well take up their joy, as sorrow. 
 
 But can he want the grape, who hath the wine ? 
 
 I have their fruit and more. 
 Blessed be God, who prospered Noahs vine, 
 
 And made it bring forth grapes good store. 
 But much more him I must adore, 
 Who of the laws sowre juice sweet wine did 
 make, 
 
 Ev'n God himself, being pressed for my sake. 
 
 loi. Love unknown 
 
 T^EARE Friend, sit down, the tale is long 
 and sad : 
 
 And in my faintings I presume your loue 
 Will more complie, then help. A Lord I had, 
 
i62 THE CHURCH 
 
 And have, of whom some grounds which may 
 improve, 
 
 I hold for two lives, and both lives in me. 
 To him I brought a dish of fruit one day, 
 And in the middle plac'd my heart. But he 
 
 (I sigh to say) 
 Lookt on. a seruant, who did know his eye 
 Better then you know me, or (which is one) 
 Then I my self. The servant instantly 
 Quitting the fruit, seiz'd on my heart alone. 
 And threw it in a font, wherein did fall 
 A stream of bloud, which issu'd from the side 
 Of a great rock : I well remember all. 
 And have good cause : there it was dipt and 
 di'd. 
 
 And washt, and wrung : the very wringing yet 
 Enforceth tears. Tour heart <zvas foul, I fear. 
 Indeed 'tis true. I did and do commit 
 Many a fault more then my lease will bear ; 
 Yet still askt pardon, and was not deni'd. 
 But you shall heare. After my heart was well, 
 And clean and fair, as I one even-tide 
 
 (I sigh to tell) 
 Walkt by my self abroad, I saw a large 
 And spacious fornace flaming, and thereon 
 A boyling caldron, round about whose verge 
 Was in great letters set AFFLICTION. 
 The greatnesse shewM the owner. So I went 
 To fetch a sacrifice out of my fold. 
 Thinking with that, which I did thus present. 
 To warm his love, which I did fear grew cold. 
 But as my heart did tender it, the man 
 Who was to take it from me, slipt his hand. 
 
THE CHURCH 163 
 
 And threw my heart into the scalding pan ; 
 My heart, that brought it (do you understand ?) 
 The offerers heart. Tour heart luas hardy I 
 fear. 
 
 Indeed 'tis true. I found a callous matter 
 Began to spread and to expatiate there : 
 But with a richer drug, then scalding water, 
 I bath'd it often, ev'n with holy bloud, 
 Which at a board, while many drunk bare wine, 
 A friend did steal into my cup for good, 
 Ev'n taken inwardly, and most divine 
 To supple hardnesses. But at the length 
 Out of the caldron getting, soon I fled 
 Unto my house, where to repair the strength 
 Which I had lost, I hasted to my bed. 
 But when I thought to sleep out all these faults 
 
 (I sigh to speak) 
 I found that some had stuff' d the bed with 
 thoughts, 
 
 I would say thorns. Deare, could my heart 
 not break. 
 
 When with my pleasures ev'n my rest was gone ? 
 Full well I understood, who had been there : 
 For I had giv'n the key to none, but one : 
 It must be he. Tour heart <was dull^ I fear. 
 Indeed a slack and sleepie state of minde 
 Did oft possesse me, so that when I pray'd. 
 Though my lips went, my heart did stay be- 
 hinde. 
 
 But all my scores were by another paid, 
 Who took the debt upon him. Truly^ Friendy 
 For ought I heare, your Master shoivs to you 
 More favour then you ivot of Mark the end. 
 
 I 
 
1 64 THE CHURCH 
 
 The Font did onely^ ^what <was old, reneiv . 
 The Caldron suppled, ^what ivas groivn too hard: 
 The Thorns did quicken, ivhat was groivn too 
 dull: 
 
 All did hut strive to mend, ivhat you had marred. 
 Wherefore be cheered, and praise him to the full 
 Each day, each houre, each moment of the <week, 
 Who fain ivould have you he, new, tender, quick,. 
 
 1 02. Mans medley 
 
 tJEARK, how the birds do sing, 
 And woods do ring. 
 All creatures have their joy : and man hath his. 
 Yet if we rightly measure, 
 
 Mans joy and pleasure 
 Rather hereafter, then in present, is. 
 
 To this life things of sense 
 
 Make their pretence : 
 In th' other Angels have a right by birth : 
 Man ties them both alone. 
 
 And makes them one. 
 With th' one hand touching heav'n, with th' other 
 earth. 
 
 In soul he mounts and flies. 
 In flesh he dies. 
 He wears a stufFe whose thread is coarse and 
 round, 
 
 But trimm'd with curious lace. 
 And should take place 
 After the trimming, not the stuffe and ground. 
 
THE CHURCH 165 
 
 Not, that he may not here 
 
 Taste of the cheer, 
 But as birds drink, and straight lift up their head, 
 So must he sip and think 
 . Of better drink 
 
 He may attain to, after he is dead. 
 
 But as his joyes are double ; 
 
 So is his trouble. 
 He hath two winters, other things but one : 
 Both frosts and thoughts do nip. 
 And bite his lip ; 
 And he of all things fears two deaths alone. 
 
 Yet ev'n the greatest griefs 
 May be reliefs, 
 Could he but take them right, and in their wayes. 
 Happie is he, whose heart 
 
 Hath found the art 
 To turn his double pains to double praise. 
 
 103. The Storm 
 
 T F as the windes and waters here below 
 ^ Do flie and flow. 
 
 My sighs and tears as busie were above ; 
 
 Sure they would move 
 And much affect thee, as tempestuous times 
 Amaze poore mortals, and object ^ their crimes. 
 
 1 Object^ i.e. place before their faces. 
 II 
 
1 66 THE CHURCH 
 
 Starres have tneir storms, ev'n in a high degree, 
 As well as we. 
 
 A throbbing conscience spurred by remorse 
 
 Hath a strange force : 
 
 It quits the earth, and mounting more and more^ 
 
 Dares to assault thee, and besiege thy doore. 
 
 There it stands knocking, to thy musicks wrong. 
 And drowns the song. 
 Glorie and honour are set by till it 
 
 An answer get. 
 Poets have wrong'd poore storms : such dayes 
 are best ; 
 
 They purge the aire without, within the breast. 
 
 1 04. Paradise 
 
 T BLESSE thee, Lord, because i grow 
 ^ Among thy trees, which in a row 
 To thee both fruit and order o w. 
 
 What open force, or hidden charm 
 Can blast my fruit, or bring me harm. 
 While the inclosure is thine arm? 
 
 Inclose me still for fear I start. 
 Be to me rather sharp and tart. 
 Then let me want thy hand and art. 
 
 When thou dost greater judgements spare, 
 And with thy knife but prune and pare, 
 Ev'n fruitfull trees more fruitfull are. 
 
THE CHURCH i 
 
 Such sharpnes shows the sweetest f r e n d 
 Such cuttings rather heal then rend: 
 And such beginnings touch their end. 
 
 105. The Method 
 
 PoORE heart, lament. 
 For since thy God refuseth still, 
 There is some rub, some discontent. 
 
 Which cools his will. 
 
 Thy Father could 
 Quickly effect, what thou dost move ; 
 For he is Poiver*: and sure he <ivould\ 
 
 For he is Lo've, 
 
 Go search this thing, 
 Tumble thy breast, and turn thy book. 
 If thou hadst lost a glove or ring, 
 
 Wouldst thou not look ? 
 
 What do I see 
 Written above there ? Yesterday 
 I did heha'oe me carelesly. 
 
 When I did pray. 
 
 And should Gods eare 
 To such indifferents chained be, 
 Who do not their own motions heare ? 
 
 Is God lease free ? 
 
i68 THE CHURCH 
 
 But stay ! what's there I 
 Late IV hen I ^ould have something done, 
 I had a motion to forbear^ 
 
 Tet I ivent on. 
 
 And should Gods eare, 
 Which needs not man, be ty'd to those 
 Who heare not him, but quickly heare 
 
 His utter foes ? 
 
 Then once more pray : 
 Down with thy knees, up with thy voice. 
 Seek pardon first, and God will say, 
 
 Glad heart rejoyce. 
 
 1 06. Divinitie 
 
 A S men, for fear the starres should sleep and 
 ^ nod. 
 
 And trip at night, have spheres suppli'd ; 
 As if a starre were duller then a clod. 
 
 Which knows his way without a guide : 
 
 Just so the other heav'n they also serve. 
 
 Divinities transcendent skie : 
 Which with the edge of wit they cut and carve. 
 
 Reason triumphs, and faith lies by. 
 
 Could not that wisdome, which first broacht 
 the wine. 
 
 Have thicken'd it with definitions ? 
 And jagg' d his seamlesse coat, had that been fine. 
 
 With curious questions and divisions ? 
 
THE CHURCH 169 
 
 But all the doctrine, which he taught and gave, 
 Was cleare as heav'n, from whence it came. 
 
 At least those beams of truth, which onely save, 
 Surpasse in brightnesse any flame. 
 
 Lo've God, and love your neighbour. Watch and 
 pray. 
 
 Do as ye <would he done unto. 
 O dark instructions ; ev'n as dark as day ! 
 Who can these Gordian knots undo ? 
 
 But he doth bid us take his bloud for wine. 
 
 Bid what he please ; yet I am sure. 
 To take and taste what he doth there designe, 
 
 Is all that saves, and not obscure. 
 
 Then burn thy Epicycles, foolish man ; 
 
 Break all thy spheres, and save thy head. 
 Faith needs no stafl^e of flesh, but stoutly can 
 
 To heav'n alone both go, and leade. 
 
 107. Ephes. 4, 30 
 
 Grieve not the Holy Spirit, ksfc 
 
 A ND art thou grieved, sweet and sacred 
 ^ Dove, 
 
 When I am sowre, 
 And crosse thy love ? 
 Grieved for me ? the God of strength and power 
 Griev'd for a worm, which when I tread, 
 I passe away and leave it dead ? 
 
lyo THE CHURCH 
 
 Then weep mine eyes, the God of love doth 
 grieve : 
 
 Weep foolish heart. 
 And weeping live : 
 For death is drie as dust. Yet if ye part, 
 End as the night, whose sable hue 
 Your sinnes expresse ; melt into dew. 
 
 When sawcie mirth shall knock or call at 
 doore. 
 
 Cry out. Get hence. 
 Or cry no more. 
 Almightie God doth grieve, he puts on sense : 
 I sinne not to my grief alone. 
 But to my Gods too ; he doth grone. 
 
 Oh take thy lute, and tune it to a strain. 
 Which may with thee 
 All day complain. 
 There can no discord but in .ceasing be. 
 Marbles can weep ; and surely strings 
 More bowels have, then such hard things. 
 
 Lord, I adjudge my self to tears and grief, 
 Ev'n endlesse tears 
 Without relief. 
 If a cleare spring for me no time forbears, 
 But runnes, although I be not drie ; 
 I am no Crystall, what shall I ? 
 
THE CHURCH 171 
 
 Yet if I wail not still, since still to wail 
 Nature denies ; 
 And flesh would fail, 
 If my deserts were masters of mine eyes : 
 
 Lord, pardon, for thy sonne makes good 
 My want of tears with store of bloud. 
 
 108. The Familie 
 
 ITfTHAT doth this noise of thoughts within 
 ^ ^ my heart 
 
 As if they had a part ? 
 What do these loud complaints and puling fears, 
 As if there were no rule or eares ? 
 
 But, Lord, the house and familie are thine, 
 
 Though some of them repine. 
 Turn out these wranglers, which defile thy seat : 
 For where thou dwellest all is neat. 
 
 First Peace and Silence all disputes controll, 
 Then Order plaies the soul ; 
 And giving all things their set forms and houres. 
 Makes of wilde woods sweet walks and 
 bowres. 
 
 Humble Obedience neare the doore doth stand. 
 
 Expecting a command : 
 Then whom in waiting nothing seems more slow, 
 Nothing more quick when she doth go. 
 
172 THE CHURCH 
 
 Joyes oft are there, and griefs as oft as joyes ; 
 
 But griefs without a noise : 
 Yet speak they louder, then distemper'd fears. 
 What is so shrill as silent tears ? 
 
 This is thy house, with these it doth abound : 
 
 And where these are not found, 
 Perhaps thou com'st sometimes, and for a day ; 
 But not to make a constant stay. 
 
 109. The Size 
 
 Content thee, greedie heart. 
 Modest and moderate joyes to those, that have 
 Title to more hereafter when they part, 
 Are passing brave. 
 Let th' upper springs into the low 
 Descend and fall, and thou dost flow. 
 
 What though some have a fraught 
 Of cloves and nutmegs, and in cinamon sail ; 
 If thou hast wherewithall to spice a draught, 
 When griefs prevail ; 
 And for the future time art heir 
 To th' Isle of spices ? Is't not fair ? 
 
 To be in both worlds full 
 Is more then God was, who was hungrie here. 
 Wouldst thou his laws of fasting disanull ? 
 Enact good cheer ? 
 Lay out thy joy, yet hope to save it ? 
 Wouldst thou both eat thy cake, and have it? 
 
THE CHURCH 173 
 
 Great joyes are all at once ; 
 But little do reserve themselves for more : 
 Those have their hopes ; these what they have 
 renounce, 
 
 And live on score : 
 Those are at home ; these journey still, 
 And meet the rest on Sions hill. 
 
 Thy Saviour sentenc'd joy, 
 And in the flesh condemn'd it as unfit. 
 At least in lump : for such doth oft destroy ; ^ 
 Whereas a bit 
 Doth tice us on to hopes of more. 
 And for the present health restore. 
 
 A Christians state and case 
 Is not a corpulent, but a thinne and spare, « 
 Yet active strength : whose long and bonie face 
 Content and care 
 Do seem to equally divide. 
 Like a pretender, not a bride. 
 
 Wherefore sit down, good heart ; 
 
 Grasp not at much, for fear thou losest all. 
 
 If comforts fell according to desert,^ 
 
 They would great frosts and snows destroy : 
 For we should count. Since the last joy. 
 
 ^ A line is evidently missing here in the printed 
 edition as well as B. (the poem is not in W.). Dr. 
 Grosart (" Fuller Worthies " Edition) supplies it as 
 follows: — «'At all- times fall." Mr. Ernest Rhys 
 (" The Canterbury Poets ") suggests, ^ ^ Did always fall. " 
 
174 THE CHURCH 
 
 Then close again the seam, 
 Which thou hast open'd : do not spread thy robe 
 In hope of great things. Call to minde thy dream. 
 An earthly globe, 
 On whose meridian was engraven, 
 These seas are tears ^ and heaven the haven • 
 
 no. Artillerie 
 
 A S I one ev'ning sat before my cell, 
 ^ Me thoughts a starre did shoot into my lap* 
 I rose, and shook my clothes, as knowing well, 
 That from small fires comes oft not small mishap. 
 When suddenly I heard one say. 
 Do as thou usest^ disobey^ 
 Expell good motions from thy hreasty 
 Which have the face of fire^ hut end in rest, 
 
 I, who had heard of musick in the spheres. 
 But not of speech in starres, began to muse : 
 But turning to my God, whose ministers 
 The starres and all things are ; If I refuse. 
 Dread Lord, said I, so oft my good ; 
 Then I refuse not ev'n with bloud 
 To wash away my stubborn thought : 
 For I will do, or suffer what I ought. 
 
 But I have also starres and shooters too. 
 Born where thy servants both artilleries use. 
 My tears and prayers night and day do wooe. 
 And work up to thee ; yet thou dost refuse. 
 
THE CHURCH 175 
 
 Not, but I am (I must say still) 
 Much more oblig'd to do thy will, 
 Then thou to grant mine : but because 
 Thy promise now hath ev'n set thee thv laws. 
 
 Then we are shooters both, and thou dost deigne 
 To enter combate with us, and contest 
 With thine own clay. But I would parley fain : 
 Shunne not my arrows, and behold my breast. 
 
 Yet if thou shunnest^ I am thine : * 
 
 I must be so, if I am mine. 
 
 There is no articling with thee : 
 I am but finite, yet thine infinitely. 
 
 III. Church-rents and^ schismes 
 
 "DRAVE rose, (alas I ) where art thou? in 
 the chair 
 
 Where thou didst lately so triumph and shine, 
 A worm doth sit, whose many feet and hair 
 Are the more foul, the more thou wert divine. 
 This, this hath done it, this did bite the root 
 And bottome of the leaves : which when the 
 winde 
 
 Did once perceive, it blew them under foot. 
 Where rude unhallow'd steps do crush and 
 grinde 
 
 Their beauteous glories. Onely shreds of 
 thee. 
 
 And those all bitten, in thy chair I see. 
 
 1 Or.— B. 
 
176 THE CHURCH 
 
 Why doth my Mother blush ? is she the rose, 
 And shows it so ? Indeed Christs precious bloud 
 Gave you a colour once ; which when your foes 
 Thought to let out, the bleeding did you good, 
 And made you look much fresher then before. 
 But when debates and fretting jealousies 
 Did worm and work within you more and more, 
 Your colour faded, and calamities 
 
 Turned your ruddie into pale and bleak : 
 Your health and beautie both began to break. 
 
 Then did your sev'rall parts unloose and start : 
 Which when your neighbours saw, like a north- 
 winde. 
 
 They rushed in, and cast them in the dirt 
 Where Pagans tread. O Mother deare and 
 kinde. 
 
 Where shall I get me eyes enough to weep. 
 As many eyes as starres ? since it is night. 
 And much of Asia and Europe fast asleep. 
 And ev'n all Africk ; would at least I might 
 With these two poore ones lick up all the 
 dew. 
 
 Which falls by night, and poure it out for 
 you ! 
 
 1 12. Justice 
 
 r\ DREADFUL L Justice, what a fright 
 and terrour 
 
 Wast thou of old. 
 When sinne and errour 
 
THE CHURCH 177 
 
 Did show and shape thy looks to me. 
 And through their glasse discolour 
 thee ! 
 
 He that did but look up, was proud and bold. 
 
 The dishes of thy ballance seem'd to gape. 
 Like two great pits ; 
 The be^m and scape ^ 
 Did like some tort'ring ^ engine 
 show : 
 
 Thy hand above did burn and glow, 
 Danting the stoutest hearts, the proudest wits. 
 
 But now that Christs pure vail presents the 
 sight, 
 
 I see no fears ; 
 
 Thy hand is white, 
 Thy scales like buckets, which attend 
 And interchangeably descend. 
 Lifting to heaven from this well of tears. 
 
 For where before thou still didst call on me, 
 Now I still touch 
 And harp on thee. 
 Gods promises have made thee mine ; 
 Why should I justice now decline ? 
 Against me there is none, but for me much. 
 
 1 Scape, i.e. the shaft or upright of the balance, the 
 beam being the cross piece from which the dishes hang. 
 
 2 Torturing. — B. In some modern editions 
 wrongly printed " tottering. " 
 
178 THE CHURCH 
 
 113. The Pilgrimage^ 
 
 T TRAVELLED on, seeing the hill, where lay 
 My expectation. 
 A long it was and weary way. 
 The gloomy cave of Desperation 
 I left on th' one, and on the other side 
 . The rock of Pride. 
 
 And so I came to phansies medow strow'd 
 With many a flower : 
 Fain would I here have made a"bode, 
 But I was quicken'd by my houre. 
 So to cares cops I came, and there got through 
 With much ado. 
 
 That led me to the wilde of passion, which 
 Some call the wold ; 
 A wasted place, but sometimes rich. 
 Here I was robb'd of all my gold, 
 Save one good Angell, which a friend had ti'd 
 Close to my side. 
 
 ^ Of this poem Wilmott writes in the Introduction to 
 his edition of Herbert, p. xxv. : " Written, probably, 
 before Bunyan was born — certainly while he was an 
 infant, it contains all the Progress of the Pilgrim in 
 outline. We are shown the Gloomy Cave of Despera- 
 tion, the Rock of Pride, the Mead of Fancy, the 
 Copse of Care, the Wild Heath where the Traveller 
 is robbed of his Gold, and the Gladsome Hill that 
 promises a fair prospect, but only yields a lake of 
 brackish water on the top. Such a composition 
 would scarcely escape the notice of that Spenser of 
 the people who afterwards gave breadth and anima- 
 tion and figures to the scene," 
 
THE CHURCH 179 
 
 At length I got unto the gladsome hill, 
 Where lay my hope, 
 Where lay my heart; and climbing 
 still. 
 
 When I had gained the brow and 
 top, 
 
 A lake of brackish waters on the ground 
 Was all I found. 
 
 With that abash'd and struck with many a 
 sting 
 
 Of swarming fears, 
 I fell, and cry'd, Alas my King ; 
 Can both the way and end be tears i 
 Yet taking heart I rose, and then perceived 
 
 I was deceiv'd : 
 
 My hill was further : so I flung away. 
 Yet heard a crie 
 Just as I went. None goes that ivay 
 And lives : If that be all, said I, 
 After so foul a journey death is fair. 
 And but a chair. 
 
 114. The Holdfast 
 
 T THREATNED to observe the strict decree 
 Of my deare God with all my power and 
 might. 
 
 But I was told by one, it could not be ; 
 Yet I might trust in God to be my light. 
 
i8o THE CHURCH 
 
 Then will I trust, said I, in him alone. 
 
 Nay, ev'n to trust in him, was also his : 
 We must confesse, that nothing is our own. 
 
 Then I confesse that he my succour is : 
 
 But to have nought is ours, not to confesse 
 
 That we have nought. I stood amaz'd at 
 this, 
 
 Much troubled, till I heard a friend expresse, 
 That all things were more ours by being his. 
 What Adam had, and forfeited for all, 
 Christ keepeth now, who cannot fail or fall. 
 
 115. Complaining 
 
 1~\0 not beguile my heart, 
 Because thou art 
 My power and wisdome. Put me not to shame. 
 Because I am 
 Thy clay that weeps, thy dust that calls. 
 
 Thou art the Lord of glorie ; 
 
 The deed and storie 
 Are both thy due : but I a silly flie. 
 That live or die 
 According as the weather falls. 
 
 Art thou all justice. Lord ? 
 
 Shows not thy word 
 More attributes ? Am I all throat or eye, 
 To weep or crie ? 
 Have I no parts but those of grief? 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 i8i 
 
 Let not thy wrathful! power 
 Afflict my houre, 
 My inch of life : or let thy gracious power 
 Contract my houre, 
 That I may climbe and finde relief. 
 
 1 1 6. The Discharge 
 
 r>USIE enquiring heart, what wouldst thou 
 ^ know ? 
 
 Why dost thou prie, 
 And turn, and leer, and with a licorous eye 
 Look high and low ; 
 And in thy lookings stretch and grow ? 
 
 Hast thou not made thy counts, and summed up 
 all? 
 
 Did not thy heart 
 Give up the whole, and with the whole depart ? 
 
 Let what will fall : 
 That which is past who can recall ? 
 
 Thy life is Gods, thy time to come is gone. 
 And is his right. 
 
 He is thy night at noon : he is at night 
 Thy noon alone. 
 The crop is his, for he hath sown. 
 
 And well it was for thee, when this befell. 
 That God did make 
 
 Thy businesse his, and in thy life partake : 
 For thou canst tell, 
 If it be his once, all is well. 
 
i82 THE CHURCH 
 
 Onely the present is thy part and fee. 
 
 And happy thou, 
 If, though thou didst not beat thy future brow, 
 
 Thou couldst well see 
 What present things required of thee. 
 
 They ask enough ; why shouldst thou further 
 go ? 
 
 Raise not the mudde 
 Of future depths, but drink the cleare and good. 
 
 Dig not for wo 
 In times to come ; for it will grow. 
 
 Man and the present fit : if he provide, 
 
 He breaks the square. 
 
 This houre is mine : if for the next I care, 
 I grow too wide, 
 And do encroach upon deaths side. 
 
 For death each houre environs and surrounds. 
 
 He that would know 
 And care for future chances, cannot go 
 
 Unto those grounds. 
 But through a Church-yard which 
 them bounds. 
 
 Things present shrink and die : but they that 
 spend 
 
 Their thoughts and sense 
 On future grief, do not remove it thence, 
 But it extend, 
 And draw the bottome out an end. 
 
THE CHURCH 183 
 
 God chains the dog till night : wilt loose the 
 chain, 
 
 And wake thy sorrow ? 
 Wilt thou forestall it, and now grieve to morrow, 
 And then again 
 Greive over freshly all thy pain ? 
 
 Either grief will not come : or if it must. 
 Do not forecast. 
 
 And while it cometh, it is almost past. 
 
 Away distrust : 
 My God hath promis'd, he is just. 
 
 117. Praise 
 
 IZ'ING of Glorie, King of Peace, 
 '^'^ I will love thee : 
 
 And that love may never cease, 
 I will move thee. 
 
 Thou hast granted my request, 
 
 Thou hast heard me : 
 
 Thou didst note my working breast, 
 Thou hast spar'd me. 
 
 Wherefore with my utmost art 
 I will sing thee. 
 
 And the cream of all my heart 
 I will bring thee. 
 
 Though my sinnes against me cried. 
 
 Thou didst cleare me ; 
 
 And alone, when they replied, 
 
 Thou didst heare me. 
 
i84 THE CHURCH 
 
 Sev'n whole dayes, not one in seven, 
 I will praise thee. 
 
 In my heart, though not in heaven, 
 I can raise thee. 
 
 Thou grew'st soft and moist with tears, 
 Thou relentedst : 
 
 And when Justice calFd for fears, 
 Thou d^ssentedst. 
 
 Small it is, in this poore sort 
 
 To enroll thee : 
 
 Ev'n eternitie is too short 
 
 To extoll thee. 
 
 1 1 8. An Offering 
 
 /^OME, bring thy gift. If blessings were as 
 ^ slow 
 
 As mens returns, what would become of fools ? 
 What hast thou there ? a heart ? but is it pure ? 
 Search well and see ; for hearts have many 
 holes. 
 
 Yet one pure heart is nothing to bestow : 
 In Christ two natures met to be thy cure. 
 
 O that within us hearts had propagation. 
 Since many gifts do challenge many hearts ! 
 Yet one, if good, may title to a number ; 
 And single things grow fruitfull by deserts. 
 
THE CHURCH 185 
 
 In publick judgements one may be a nation, 
 And fence a plague, while others sleep and 
 slumber. 
 
 But all I fear is lest thy heart displease. 
 As neither good, nor one : so oft divisions 
 Thy lusts have made, and not thy lusts alone ; 
 Thy passions also have their set partitions. 
 These parcel] out thy heart : recover these. 
 And thou mayst offer many gifts in one. 
 
 There is a balsome, or indeed a bloud. 
 Dropping from heav'n, which doth both cleanse 
 and close 
 
 All sorts of wounds ; of such strange force it is. 
 Seek out this All-heal, and seek no repose. 
 Until! thou finde and use it to thy good : 
 Then bring thy gift ; and let thy hymne be this ; 
 
 Since my sadnesse 
 Into gladnesse 
 Lord thou dost convert, 
 O accept 
 
 What thou hast kept, 
 As thy due desert. 
 
 Had I many. 
 
 Had I any, 
 (For this heart is none) 
 
 All were thine 
 
 And none of mine : 
 Surely thine alone. 
 
i86 THE CHURCH 
 
 Yet thy favour 
 May give savour 
 
 To this poore oblation ; 
 
 And it raise 
 To be thy praise, 
 
 And be my salvation. 
 
 119. Longing 
 
 With sick and famisht eyes, 
 With doubling knees and weary bones, 
 To thee my cries. 
 To thee my grones, 
 To thee my sighs, my tears ascend : 
 ' ' No end ? 
 
 My throat, my soul is hoarse ; 
 My heart is withered like a ground 
 
 Which thou dost curse. 
 My thoughts turn round. 
 And make me giddie; Lord, I fall, 
 Yet call. 
 
 From thee all pitie flows. 
 Mothers are kinde, because thou art. 
 And dost dispose 
 To them a part : 
 Their infants, them ; and they suck thee 
 More free. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 Bowels of pitle, heare ! 
 Lord of my soul, love of my minde, 
 Bow down thine eare ! 
 Let not the winde 
 Scatter my words, and in the same 
 Thy name ! 
 
 Look on my sorrows round ! 
 Mark well my furnace ! O what flames. 
 What heats abound ! 
 What griefs, what shames 
 Consider, Lord ; Lord, bow thine eare, 
 And heare ! 
 
 Lord Jesu, thou didst bow 
 Thy dying head upon the tree : 
 O be not now 
 More dead to me ! 
 Lord heare 1 Shall he that made the eare. 
 Not heare ? 1 
 
 Behold, thy dust doth stirre, 
 It moves, it creeps, it aims at thee : 
 Wilt thou deferre 
 To succour me, 
 Thy pile of dust, wherein each crumme 
 Sayes, Come I 
 
 To thee help appertains. 
 Hast thou left all things to their course. 
 
 1 Ps. xciv, 9. 
 
1 88 THE CHURCH 
 
 And laid the reins 
 Upon the horse ? 
 Is all lockt ? hath a sinners plea 
 No key ? 
 
 Indeed the world's thy book, 
 Where all things have their lease assign'd : 
 Yet a meek look 
 Hath interlin'd. 
 Thy board is full, yet humble guests 
 Finde nests. 
 
 Thou tarriest, while I die. 
 And fall to nothing : thou dost reigne. 
 And rule on high, 
 While I remain 
 In bitter grief : yet am I stil'd 
 
 Thy childe. 
 
 Lord, didst thou leave thy throne. 
 Not to relieve ? how can it be. 
 
 That thou art grown 
 Thus hard to me ? 
 Were sinne alive, good cause there were 
 To bear. 
 
 But now both sinne is dead. 
 And all thy promises live and bide. 
 
 That wants his head ; 
 These speak and chide. 
 And in thy bosome poure my tears. 
 As theirs. 
 
THE CHURCH 189 
 
 Lord Jesu, heare my heart, 
 Which hath been broken now so long, 
 That ev'ry part 
 Hath got a tongue ! 
 Thy beggars grow ; rid them away 
 To day. 
 
 My love,, my sweetnesse, heare ! 
 By these thy feet, at which my heart 
 Lies all the yeare, 
 Pluck out thy dart. 
 And heal my troubled breast which cryes, 
 Which dyes. 
 
 120. The Bag 
 
 A WAY despair ; my gracious Lord doth 
 heare. 
 
 Though windes and waves assault my keel, 
 He doth preserve it : he doth steer, 
 Ev'n when the boat seems most to reel. 
 Storms are the triumph of his art : 
 Well may he close his eyes, but not his heart. 
 
 Hast thou not heard, that my Lord Jesus di'd ? 
 Then let me tell thee a strange storie. 
 The God of power, as he did ride 
 In his majestick robes of glorie, 
 Resolv'd to light ; and so one day 
 
 He did descend, undressing ail the way. 
 
I90 THE CHURCH 
 
 The starres his tire of light and rings obtained, 
 The cloud his bow, the fire his spear, 
 The sky his azure mantle gain'd. 
 And when they ask'd, what he would wear ; 
 He smilM and said as he did go, 
 
 He had new clothes a making here below. 
 
 When he was come, as travellers are wont, 
 
 He did repair unto an inne. 
 
 Both then, and after, many a brunt 
 
 He did endure to cancell sinne ; 
 
 And having giv'n the rest before, 
 Here he gave up his life to pay our score. 
 
 But as he was returning, there came one 
 That ran upon him with a spear. 
 He, who came hither all alone. 
 Bringing nor man, nor arms, nor fear, 
 Receiv'd the blow upon his side, 
 
 And straight he turn'd, and to his brethren cry*d, 
 
 If ye have anything to send or write, 
 (I have no bag, but here is room) 
 Unto my fathers hands and sight 
 (Beleeve me) it shall safely come. 
 That I shall minde, what you impart ; 
 
 Look, you may put it very neare my heart. 
 
 Or if hereafter any of my friends 
 
 Will use me in this kinde, the doore 
 Shall still be open ; what he sends 
 I will present, and somewhat more, 
 Not to his hurt. Sighs will convey 
 
 Any thing to me. Heark despair, away. 
 
THE CHURCH 191 
 
 121. The Jews 
 
 poo RE nation, whose sweet sap, and 
 juice 
 
 Our cyens^ have purloin'd, and left you drie : 
 Whose streams we got by the Apostles sluce, 
 And use in baptisme, while ye pine and die : 
 Who by not keeping once, became a debter ; 
 And now by keeping lose the letter : 
 
 Oh that my prayers ! mine, alas ! 
 Oh that some Angel might a trumpet sound ; 
 At which the Church falling upon her face 
 Should crie so loud, untill the trump were 
 drown'd, 
 
 And by that crie of her deare Lord obtain, 
 That your sweet sap might come again ! 
 
 122. The Collar^ 
 
 T STRUCK the board, and cryM, No more. 
 ^ I will abroad. 
 
 What ? shall I ever sigh and pine ? 
 My lines and life are free ; free as the rode, 
 Loose as the winde, as large as store. 
 
 Shall I be still in suit ? 
 Have I no harvest but a thorn 
 
 ^ Cyens, i.e, scions. 
 
 2 The title probably means " God's Restraint " ; cf. 
 MacDonald's England^s Antiphon, p. 1 79. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 To let me bloud, and not restore 
 What I have lost with cordiall fruit? 
 
 Sure there was wine 
 Before my sighs did drie it : there was corn 
 Before my tears did drown it. 
 Is the yeare onely lost to me ? 
 
 Have I no bayes to crown it ? 
 No flowers, no garlands gay ? all blasted ? 
 
 All wasted ? 
 Not so, my heart : but there is fruit, 
 
 And thou hast hands. 
 Recover all thy sigh-blown age 
 On double pleasures : leave thy cold dispute 
 Of what is fit, and not forsake thy cage. 
 Thy rope of sands. 
 Which pettie thoughts have made, and made to 
 thee 
 
 Good cable, to enforce and draw. 
 And be thy law, 
 While thou didst wink and wouldst not see. 
 
 Away ; take heed : 
 I will abroad. 
 Call in thy deaths head there : tie up thy fears. 
 
 He that forbears 
 To suit and serve his need. 
 Deserves his load. 
 But as I rav'd and grew more fierce and wilde 
 At every word. 
 Me thoughts I heard one calling, Childe : 
 
 And I reply'd, My Lord. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 193 
 
 123. The Glimpse 
 
 Whither away delight ? 
 Thou cam'st but now ; wilt thou so soon depart. 
 
 And give me up to night ? 
 For many weeks of lingring pain and smart 
 But one half houre of comfort for my heart ? 
 
 Me thinks delight should have 
 More skill in musick, and keep better time. 
 
 Wert thou a winde or wave, 
 They quickly go and come with lesser crime : 
 Flowers look about, and die not in their prime* 
 
 Thy short abode and stay 
 Feeds not, but addes to the desire of meat. 
 
 Lime begg'd of old (they say) 
 A neighbour spring to cool his inward heat ; 
 Which by the springs accesse grew much more 
 great. 
 
 In hope of thee my heart 
 Pickt here and there a crumme, and would not 
 die ; 
 
 But constant to his part 
 When as my fears foretold this, did replie, 
 A slender thread a gentle guest will tie. 
 
 Yet if the heart that wept 
 Must let thee go, return when it doth knock. 
 Although thy heap be kept 
 
194 THE CHURCH 
 
 For future times, the droppings of the stock 
 May oft break forth, and never break the lock. 
 
 If 1 have more to spinne. 
 The wheel shall go, so that thy stay be short. 
 
 Thou knowst how grief and sinne 
 Disturb the work. O make me not their sport, 
 Who by thy coming may be made a court ! 
 
 124. Assurance 
 
 O SPITEFULL bitter thought! 
 Bitterly spiteful! thought ! Couldst thou invent 
 So high a torture ? Is such poyson bought ? 
 Doubtlesse, but in the way of punishment. 
 When wit contrives to meet with thee, 
 No such rank poyson can there be. 
 
 Thou said'st but even now, 
 That all was not so fair, as I conceived. 
 Betwixt my God and me ; that I allow 
 And coin large hopes ; but, that I was deceived : 
 
 Either the league was broke, or neare it ; 
 
 And, that I had great cause to fear it. 
 
 And what to this ? what more 
 Could poyson, if it had a tongue, expresse ? 
 What is thy aim ? wouldst thou unlock the doore 
 To cold despairs, and gnawing pensivenesse i 
 
THE CHURCH 195 
 
 Wouldst thou raise devils ? I see, I know, 
 I writ thy purpose long ago. 
 
 But I will to my Father, 
 Who heard thee say it. O most gracious Lord, 
 If all the hope and comfort that I gather, 
 Were from my self, I had not half a word, 
 Not half a letter to oppose 
 
 What is objected by my foes. ' 
 
 But thou art my desert : 
 And in this league, which now my foes invade. 
 Thou art not onely to perform thy part. 
 But also mine ; as when the league was made 
 Thou didst at once thy self indite. 
 And hold my hand, while I did write. 
 
 Wherefore if thou canst fail. 
 Then can thy truth and I : but while rocks stand. 
 And rivers stirre, thou canst not shrink or quail : 
 Yea, when both rocks and all things shall 
 disband. 
 
 Then shalt thou be my rock and tower, • 
 And make their ruine praise thy power. 
 
 Now foolish thought go on. 
 Spin out thy thread, and make thereof a coat 
 To hide thy shame : for thou hast cast a bone 
 Which bounds on thee, and will not down thy 
 throat : 
 
 What for it self love once began, 
 Now love and truth will end in man. 
 
196 THE CHURCH 
 
 125. The Call 
 
 OME, my Way, my Truth, my Life : 
 
 ^ Such a Way, as gives us breath : 
 Such a Truth, as ends all strife : 
 And such a Life, as killeth death. 
 
 Come, my Light, my Feast, my Strength : 
 Such a Light, as shows a feast : 
 Such a Feast, as mends in length : 
 Such a Strength, as makes his guest. 
 
 Come, my Joy, my Love, my Heart : 
 Such a Joy, as none can move : 
 Such a Love, as none can part: 
 Such a Heart, as joyes in love. 
 
 126, Clasping of hands 
 
 ORD, thou art mine, and I am thine, 
 
 If mine I am : and thine much more, 
 Then I or ought, or can be mine. 
 Yet to be thine, doth me restore ; 
 So that again I now am mine. 
 And with advantage mine the more. 
 Since this being mine, brings with it thine. 
 And thou with me dost thee restore. 
 If I without thee would be mine, 
 I neither should be mine nor thine. 
 
THE CHURCH 197 
 
 Lord, I am thine, and thou art mine : 
 So mine thou art, that something more 
 I may presume thee mine, then thine. 
 For thou didst suffer to restore 
 Not thee, but me, and to be mine : 
 And with advantage mine the more. 
 Since thou in death wast none of thine. 
 Yet then as mine didst me restore. 
 
 O be mine still ! still make me thine ! 
 
 Or rather make no Thine and Mine ! 
 
 127. Praise 
 
 T ORD, I will mean and speak thy praise, 
 ^ Thy praise alone. 
 
 My busie heart shall spin it all my dayes : 
 And when it stops for want of store. 
 
 Then will I wring it with a sigh or grone. 
 That thou mayst yet have more. 
 
 When thou dost favour any action, 
 It runnes, it flies : 
 All things concurre to give it a perfection. 
 
 That which had but two legs before. 
 When thou dost blesse, hath twelve : one wheel 
 doth rise 
 
 To twentie then, or more. 
 
 But when thou dost on businesse blow, 
 It hangs, it clogs : 
 Not all the teams of Albion in a row 
 Can hale or draw it out of doore. 
 
 13 
 
198 THE CHURCH 
 
 Legs are but stumps, and Pharaohs wheels but 
 logs, 
 
 And struggling hinders more. 
 
 Thousands of things do thee employ 
 In ruling all 
 This spacious globe : Angels must have their joy. 
 
 Devils their rod, the sea his shore, 
 The windes their stint : and yet when I did call. 
 Thou heardst my call, and more. 
 
 I have not lost one single tear : 
 
 But when mine eyes 
 Did weep to heav'n, they found a bottle there 
 
 (As we have boxes for the poore) 
 Readie to take them in ; yet of a size 
 
 That would contain much more. 
 
 But after thou hadst slipt a drop 
 
 From thy right eye, 
 (Which there did hang like streamers neare the 
 top 
 
 Of some fair church to show the sore 
 And bloudie battell which thou once didst trie) 
 The glasse was full and more. 
 
 Wherefore I sing. Yet since my heart. 
 
 Though press'd, runnes thin ; 
 O that I might some other hearts convert, 
 
 And so take up at use good store : 
 That to thy chests there might be coming in 
 Both all my praise, and more 1 
 
THE CHURCH 199 
 
 128. Josephs coat 
 
 'XXTOUNDED I sing, tormented I indite, 
 
 ^ ^ Thrown down I fall into a bed, and rest : 
 Sorrow hath chang'd its note : such is his will. 
 Who changeth all things, as him pleaseth best. 
 
 For well he knows, if but one grief and smart 
 Among my many had his full career, 
 Sure it would carrie with it ev'n my heart. 
 And both would runne untill they found a biere 
 
 To fetch the bodie ; both being due to grief. 
 But he hath spoil'd the race ; and giv'n to anguish 
 One of Joyes coats, ticing it with relief 
 To linger in me, and together languish. 
 
 I live to shew his power, who once did bring 
 
 yij joyes to ^eep^ and now my griefs to sing. 
 
 129, The Pulley 
 
 HEN God at first made man* 
 
 Having a glasse of blessings standing by ; 
 Let us (said he) poure on him all we can : 
 Let the worlds riches, which dispersed lie, 
 Contract into a span. 
 
 So strength first made a way ; 
 Then beautie flow'd, then wisdome, honour^ 
 pleasure : 
 
 When almost all was out, God made a stay, 
 Perceiving that alone of all his treasure 
 Rest in the bottome lay. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 For if I should (said he) 
 Bestow this jewell also on my creature, 
 He would adore my gifts in stead of me, 
 And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature. 
 
 So both should losers be. 
 
 Yet let him keep the rest. 
 But keep them with repining restlesnesse : 
 Let him be rich and wearie, that at least, 
 If goodnesse leade him not, yet wearinesse 
 
 May tosse him to my breast. 
 
 130. The Priesthood 
 
 r> LEST Order, which in power dost so excell, 
 That with th' one hand thou liftest to the 
 ^ sky. 
 
 And with the other throwest down to hell 
 In thy just censures ; fain would I draw nigh, 
 Fain put thee on, exchanging my lay-sword 
 For that of th' holy word.^ 
 
 But thou art fire, sacred and hallow' d fire ; 
 And I but earth and clay : should I presume 
 To wear thy habit, the severe attire 
 My slender compositions might consume. 
 I am both foul and brittle ; much unfit 
 To deal in holy Writ. 
 
 ^ Cf. "Walton's Life (above, p. Ixxi), where he 
 describes how, when he was made Rector of Bemerton 
 and ordained priest, Herbert "changed his sword 
 and silk clothes into a canonical coat." 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 Yet have I often seen, by cunning hand 
 And force of fire, what curious things are made 
 Of wretched eartho Where once I scorn' d to 
 stand. 
 
 That earth is fitted by the fire and trade 
 Of skilfull artists, for the boards of those 
 
 Who make the bravest shows. 
 
 But since those great ones, be they ne're so great. 
 Come from the earth, from whence those vessels 
 come ; 
 
 So that at once both feeder, dish, and meat 
 Have one beginning and one finall summe : 
 I do not greatly wonder at the sight, 
 
 If earth in earth delight. 
 
 But th' holy men of God such vessels are. 
 As serve him up, who all the world commands : 
 When God vouchsafeth to become our fare. 
 Their hands conuey him, who conveys their 
 hands. 
 
 O what pure things, most pure must those 
 things be. 
 
 Who bring my God to me ! 
 
 Wherefore I dare not, I, put forth my hand 
 To hold the Ark, although it seem to shake ^ 
 Through th' old sinnes and new doctrines of 
 our land. 
 
 Onely, since God doth often vessels make 
 Of lowly matter for high uses meet, 
 
 I throw me at his feet. 
 
 1 Cf. 2 Sam. vi. 6. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 There will I lie, untill my Maker seek 
 For some mean stuffe whereon to show his skill : 
 Then is my time. The distance of the meek 
 Doth flatter power. Lest good come short of ill 
 In praising might, the poore do by submission 
 What pride by opposition. 
 
 131. The Search 
 
 HITHER, O, whither art thou fled, 
 ^ My Lord, my Love ? 
 
 My searches are my daily bread ; 
 
 Yet never prove. 
 
 My knees pierce th' earth, mine eies the skie ; 
 
 And yet the sphere 
 And centre both to me denie 
 
 That thou art there. 
 
 Yet can I mark how herbs below 
 
 Grow green and gay, 
 
 As if to meet thee they did know. 
 While I decay. 
 
 Yet can I mark how starres above 
 
 Simper and shine. 
 
 As having keyes unto thy love. 
 
 While poore I pine. 
 
 I sent a sigh to seek thee out. 
 
 Deep drawn in pain, 
 WingM like an arrow : but my scout 
 
 Returns in vain. 
 
THE CHURCH 203 
 
 I tun'd another (having store) 
 
 Into a grone ; 
 
 Because the search was dumbe before : 
 But all was one. 
 
 Lord, dost thou some new fabrick mold 
 
 Which favour winnes, 
 
 And keeps thee present, leaving th' old 
 Unto their sinnes ? 
 
 Where is my God ? what hidden place 
 Conceals thee still ? 
 
 What covert dare eclipse thy face ? 
 
 Is it thy will ? 
 
 O let not that of any thing ; 
 
 Let rather brasse, 
 Or steel, or mountains be thy ring. 
 
 And I will passe. 
 
 Thy will such an intrenching is, 
 
 As passeth thought : 
 
 To it all strength, all subtilties 
 
 Are things of nought. 
 
 Thy will such a strange distance is. 
 
 As that to it 
 East and West touch, the poles do kisse, 
 
 And parallels meet. 
 
 Since then my grief must be as large, 
 As is thy space, 
 
 Thy distance from me ; see my charge. 
 Lord, see my case. 
 
204 THE CHURCH 
 
 O take these barres, these lengths away ; 
 
 Turn, and restore me : 
 Be not Almightie, let me say, 
 
 Against, but for me. 
 
 When thou dost turn, and wilt be neare ; 
 
 What edge so keen, 
 What point so piercing can appeare 
 
 To come between ? 
 
 For as thy absence doth excell 
 
 All distance known : 
 
 So doth thy nearenesse bear the bell,^ 
 Making two one. 
 
 132. Grief 
 
 WHO will give me tears ? Come all ye 
 springs. 
 
 Dwell in my head and eyes : ^ come clouds, and 
 rain : 
 
 My grief hath need of all the watry things, 
 That nature hath produc'd. Let ev'ry vein 
 Suck up a river to supply mine eyes. 
 My weary weeping eyes too drie for me, 
 Unlesse they get new conduits, new supplies 
 To bear them out, and with my state agree. 
 What are two shallow foords, two little spouts 
 Of a lesse world ? the greater is but small, 
 
 1 Cf ««The Church-Porch," above, p. 11. 
 
 2 Cf. Jer. ix. I. 
 
THE CHURCH 205 
 
 A narrow cupboard for my griefs and doubts, 
 Which want provision in the midst of all. 
 Verses, ye are too fine a thing, too wise 
 For my rough sorrows : cease, be dumbe and 
 mute. 
 
 Give up your feet and running to mine eyes, 
 And keep your measures for some lovers lute, 
 Whose grief allows him musick and a ryme : 
 For mine excludes both measure, tune, and time. 
 
 Alas, my God ! 
 
 133. The Crosse 
 
 WHAT is this strange and uncouth 
 thing? 
 
 To make me sigh, and seek, and faint, and die, 
 Untill I had some place, where I might sing. 
 
 And serve thee ; and not onely I, 
 But all my wealth, and familie might combine 
 To set thy honour up, as our designe. 
 
 And then when after much delay. 
 Much wrastling, many a combate, this deare end. 
 So much desir'd, is giv'n, to take away 
 
 My power to serve thee ; to unbend 
 All my abilities, my designes confound. 
 And lay my threatnings bleeding on the ground. 
 
 One ague dwelleth in my bones, 
 Another in my soul (the memorie 
 What I would do for thee, if once my grones 
 
 Could be allow' d for harmonie). 
 
2o6 
 
 THE CHURCH 
 
 I am in all a weak disabled thing, 
 Save in the sight thereof, where strength doth 
 sting. 
 
 Besides, things sort not to my will, 
 Ev'n when my will doth studie thy renown : 
 Thou turnest th' edge of all things on me still, 
 
 Taking me up to throw me down : 
 So that, ev'n when my hopes seem to be sped, 
 I am to grief alive, to them as dead. 
 
 To have my aim, and yet to be 
 Farther from it then when I bent my bow ; 
 To make my hopes my torture, and the fee 
 
 Of all my woes another wo, 
 Is in the midst of delicates to need. 
 And ev'n in Paradise to be a weed. 
 
 Ah my deare Father, ease my smart ! 
 These contrarieties crush me : these crosse 
 actions 
 
 Doe winde a rope about, and cut my heart : 
 And yet since these thy contradictions 
 Are properly a crosse felt by thy sonne. 
 With but foure words, my words, 7")6y rLvill he done, 
 
 134. The Flower 
 
 TJOW fresh, O Lord, how sweet and 
 ^ ^ clean 
 
 Are thy returns ! ev'n as the flowers in spring ; 
 
 To which, besides their own demean. 
 The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring. 
 
THE CHURCH 207 
 
 Grief melts away- 
 Like snow in May, 
 As if there were no such cold thing. 
 
 Who would have thought my shriveFd 
 heart 
 
 Could have recover'd greennesse ? It was gone 
 
 Quite under ground ; as flowers depart 
 To see their mother- root, when they have blown ; 
 
 Where they together 
 All the hard weather, 
 Dead to the world, keep house unknown. 
 
 These are thy wonders. Lord of power. 
 Killing and quickning, bringing down to hell 
 
 And up to heaven in an houre ; 
 Making a chiming^ of a passing-bell. 
 
 We say amisse, 
 This or that is : 
 Thy word is all, if we could spell. 
 
 O that I once past changing were. 
 Fast in thy Paradise, where no flower can 
 wither ! 
 
 Many a spring I shoot up fair. 
 Offering at heav'n, growing and groning thither : 
 Nor doth my flower 
 Want a spring-showre, 
 
 My sinnes and I joining together : 
 
 But while I grow in a straight line. 
 Still upwards bent, as if heav'n were mine own, 
 
SioS THE CHURCH 
 
 Thy anger comes, and I decline : 
 What frost to that ? what pole is not the zone. 
 Where all things burn. 
 When thou dost turn, 
 And the least frown of thine is shown ? 
 
 And now in age I bud again, 
 After so many deaths I live and write ; 
 
 I once more smell the dew and rain. 
 And relish versing : O my onely light, 
 It cannot be 
 That I am he 
 On whom thy tempests fell all night. 
 
 These are thy wonders. Lord of love, 
 To make us see we are but flowers that glide : 
 
 Which when we once can finde and prove. 
 Thou hast a garden for us, where to bide. 
 
 Who would be more. 
 Swelling through store. 
 Forfeit their Paradise by their pride. 
 
 135. Dotage 
 
 Tj^ALSE glozing pleasures, casks of happi- 
 ^ nesse. 
 
 Foolish night-fires, womens and childrens wishes. 
 Chases in Arras, guilded emptinesse. 
 Shadows well mounted, dreams in a career, 
 Embroidered lyes, nothing between two dishes ; 
 
 These are the pleasures here. 
 
THE CHURCH 209 
 
 True earnest sorrows, rooted miseries, 
 Anguish in grain, vexations ripe and blown, 
 Sure-footed griefs, solid calamities, 
 Plain demonstrations, evident and cleare. 
 Fetching their proofs ev'n from the very bone ; 
 
 These are the sorrows here. 
 
 But oh the folly of distracted men. 
 Who griefs in earnest, joyes in jest pursue ; 
 Preferring, like brute beasts, a lothsome den 
 Before a court, ev'n that above so cleare. 
 Where are no sorrows, but delights more true. 
 
 Then miseries are here ! 
 
 136. The Sonne 
 
 T ET forrain nations of their language boast. 
 
 What fine varietie each tongue affords : 
 I like our language, as our men and coast : 
 Who cannot dresse it well, want wit, not words. 
 How neatly doe we give one onely name 
 To parents issue and the sunnes bright starre ! 
 A Sonne is light and fruit ; a fruitfull flame 
 Chasing the fathers dimnesse, carri'd farre 
 From the first man in th' East, to fresh and new 
 Western discov'ries of posterities 
 So in one word our Lords humilitie 
 We turn upon him in a sense most true : 
 
 For what Christ once in humblenesse began, 
 We him in glorie call. The Sonne of Man. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 137. A true Hymne 
 
 My joy, my life, my crown I 
 My heart was meaning all the day, 
 Somewhat it fain would say : 
 And still it runneth mutt' ring up and down 
 With onely this, My joy ^ my life^ my croivn. 
 
 Yet slight not these few words : 
 If truly said, they may take part 
 
 Among the best in art. 
 The finenesse which a hymne or psalme affords. 
 Is, when the soul unto the lines accords. 
 
 He who craves all the minde. 
 And all the soul, and strength, and time. 
 
 If the words onely ryme. 
 Justly complains, that somewhat is behinde 
 To make his verse, or write a hymne in kinde. 
 
 Whereas If th' heart be moved. 
 Although the verse be somewhat scant, 
 God doth supplie the want. 
 As whenth' heart sayes (sighing to be approved) 
 could Hove! and stops : God writeth. Loved. 
 
 138. The Answer 
 
 A/TY comforts drop and melt away like snow : 
 I shake my head, and all the thoughts 
 and ends, 
 
 Which my fierce youth did bandie, fall and flow 
 Like leaves about me ; or like summer friends, 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 Flye& of estates and sunne-shine.i But to all, 
 Who think me eager, hot, and undertaking, 
 But in my prosecutions slack and small; 
 As a young exhalation, newly waking, 
 Scorns his first bed of dirt, and means the sky 
 But cooling by the way, grows pursie and slow, 
 And setling to a cloud, doth live and die 
 In that dark state of tears : to all, that so 
 
 Show me, and set me, I have one reply. 
 Which they that know the rest, know more 
 then L 
 
 139. A Dialogue-Antheme 
 
 Christian, Death 
 
 Chr, \ LAS, poore Death, where is thy 
 glorie ? 
 
 Where is thy famous force, thy ancient sting ? 
 Dea. jilas poore mortally 'void of storie. 
 
 Go spell and reade hoiv I have kilPd thy King. 
 Chr, Poore death ! and who was hurt thereby ? 
 
 Thy curse being laid on him, makes thee 
 accurst. 
 
 Dea. Let losers talk : yet thou shalt die ; 
 
 These arms shall crush thee. Chr. Spare not,, 
 do thy worst. 
 I shall be one day better then before : 
 Thou so much worse, that thou shalt be 
 no more. 
 
 I Cf. Shakespeare, Henri/ VI, Part III. Act II. sc. vi. ; 
 The common people swarm like summer flies:. 
 And whither fly the gnats, but to the sun ? " 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 140. The Water-course 
 
 ' I ^HOU who dost dwell and linger here 
 
 ^ below, 
 Since the condition of this world is frail, 
 Where of all plants afflictions soonest grow ; 
 If troubles overtake thee, do not wail : 
 
 For who can look for lesse, that loveth 
 
 But rather turn the pipe, and waters course 
 
 To serve thy sinnes, and furnish thee with store 
 
 Of sov'raigne tears, springing from true remorse : 
 
 That so in purenesse thou mayst him adore, 
 
 TTCTi • . 1 (Salvation. 
 
 Who Pives to man, as he sees iit^-r^ 
 
 ^ (JJamnation. 
 
 141. Self-condemnation 
 
 Xhou who condemnest Jewish hate. 
 For choosing Barabbas a murderer 
 
 Before the Lord of glorie ; 
 Look back upon thine own estate. 
 Call home thine eye (that busie wanderer) 
 That choice may be thy storie. 
 
 He that doth love, and love amisse 
 This worlds delights before true Christian joy, 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 213 
 
 Hath made a Jewish choice : 
 The world an ancient murderer is ; 
 Thousands of souls it hath and doth destroy 
 With her enchanting voice. 
 
 He that hath made a sorrie wedding 
 Between his soul and gold, and hath preferred 
 False gain before the true, 
 Hath done what he condemnes in reading : 
 For he hath sold for money his deare Lord, 
 And is a Judas-Jew. 
 
 Thus we prevent the last great day, 
 And judge our selves. That light, which sin 
 and passion 
 
 Did before dimme and choke. 
 When once those snufTes are ta'ne away, 
 Shines bright and cleare, ev'n unto condemnation. 
 Without excuse or cloke. 
 
 142. Bitter-sweet 
 
 A H my deare angrie Lord, 
 
 Since thou dost love, yet strike ; 
 Cast down, yet help afford ; 
 Sure I will do the like. 
 
 I will complain, yet praise ; 
 I v/ill bewail, approve : 
 And all my sowre- sweet dayes 
 I will lament, and love. 
 
 . 14 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 143. The Glance 
 
 'When first thy sweet and gracious eye 
 Vouchsaf'd ev'n in the midst of youth and night 
 To look upon me, who before did lie 
 Weltring in sinne ; 
 I felt a sugred strange delight, 
 Passing all cordials made by any art. 
 Bedew, embalme, and overrunne my heart, 
 And take it in. 
 
 Since that time many a bitter storm 
 My soul hath felt, ev'n able to destroy. 
 Had the malicious and ill-meaning harm 
 His swing and sway : 
 But still thy sweet originall joy 
 Sprung from thine eye, did work within my soul. 
 And surging griefs, when they grew bold, controll. 
 And got the day. 
 
 If thy first glance so powerful 1 be, 
 A mirth but open'd and seaFd up again ; 
 What wonders shall we feel, when we shall see 
 Thy full-ey'd love ! 
 When thou shalt look us out of pain. 
 And one aspect of thine spend in delight 
 More then a thousand sunnes disburse in light. 
 In heav'n above. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 144. The 23 Psalme 
 
 ' I ^HE God of love my shepherd is. 
 And he that doth me feed : 
 
 While he is mine, and I am his, 
 What can I want or need ? 
 
 He leads me to the tender grasse. 
 Where I both feed and rest ; 
 
 Then to the streams that gently passe 
 In both I have the best. 
 
 Or if I stray, he doth convert 
 
 And bring my minde in frame : 
 
 And all this not for my desert, 
 But for his holy name. 
 
 Yea, in deaths shadie black abode 
 Well may I walk, not fear : 
 
 For thou art with me ; and thy rod 
 To guide, thy stafFe to bear. 
 
 Nay, thou dost make me sit and dine, 
 Ev'n in my enemies sight : 
 
 My head with oyl, my cup with wine 
 Runnes over day and night. 
 
 Surely thy sweet and wondrous love 
 Shall measure all my dayes ; 
 
 And as it never shall remove, 
 So neither shall my praise. 
 
2i6 THE CHURCH 
 
 145. Marie Magdalene 
 
 T^I7HEN blessed Marie wip'd her Saviours 
 ^ ^ feet, 
 
 (Whose precepts she had trampled on before) 
 And wore them for a jewell on her head, 
 Shewing his steps should be the street, 
 Wherein she thenceforth evermore 
 With pensive humblenesse would live and tread : 
 
 She being stain'd her self, why did she strive 
 
 To make him clean, who could not be defil'd ? 
 
 Why kept she not her tears for her own faults. 
 And not his feet ? Though we could dive 
 In tears like seas, our sinnes are piFd 
 
 Deeper then they, in words, and works, and 
 thoughts* 
 
 Deare soul, she knew who did vouchsafe and 
 deigne 
 
 To bear her filth ; and that her sinnes did dash 
 Ev'n God himself : wherefore she was not loth, 
 As she had brought wherewith to stain. 
 So to bring in wherewith to wash : 
 And yet in washing one, she washed both. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 146. Aaron 
 
 HOLINESSE on the head,i 
 Light and perfections 2 on the breast, 
 Harmonious bells below,^ raising the dead 
 To leade them unto life and rest. 
 
 Thus are true Aarons drest. 
 
 Profanenesse in my head, 
 Defects and darknesse in my breast, 
 A noise of passions ringing me for dead 
 Unto a place where is no rest : 
 Poore priest thus am I drest. 
 
 Onely another head 
 I have, another heart and breast, 
 Another musick, making live not dead. 
 Without whom I could have no rest ; 
 In him I am well drest. 
 
 Christ is my onely head. 
 My alone onely heart and breast. 
 My onely musick, striking me ev'n dead ; 
 That to the old man I may rest. 
 
 And be in him new drest. 
 
 ^ Cf. Ex. xxviii. 36. 
 Light and perfections^ i.e. Urim and Thummim 
 see Ex. xxviii. 30). 
 Ibid. 33-35. 
 
2i8 THE CHURCH 
 
 So holy in my head, 
 Perfect and light in my deare breast, 
 My doctrine tun'd by Christ, (who is not dead, 
 But lives in me while I do rest) 
 Come people ; Aaron's drest. 
 
 147. The Odour, 2 Cor. 2 
 
 TJI O W sweetly doth My Master ^ sound ! My 
 ^ Master / 
 
 As Amber-greese leaves a rich sent 
 Unto the taster : 
 
 So do these words a sweet content, 
 An orientall fragrancie. My Master, 
 
 With these all day I do perfume my minde, 
 
 My minde ev'n thrust into them both : 
 
 That I might finde 
 What cordials make this curious broth, 
 This broth of smells, that feeds and fats my 
 minde. 
 
 My Master, shall I speak ? O that to thee 
 My servant were a little so. 
 As flesh may be ; 
 That these two words might creep and 
 grow 
 
 To some degree of spicinesse to thee ! 
 
 ^ Cf. ''The Printers to the Reader," above, p. ex. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 Then should the Pomander,^ which was before 
 A speaking sweet, mend by reflection, 
 
 And tell me more : 
 For pardon of my imperfection 
 
 Would warm and work it sweeter then before 
 
 For when My Master^ which alone is sweet, 
 
 And ev'n in my unworthinesse pleasing, 
 
 Shall call and meet, 
 My servant y as thee not displeasing, 
 
 That call is but the breathing of the sweet. 
 
 This breathing would with gains by sweetning me 
 (As sweet things traffick when they 
 meet) 
 
 Return to thee. 
 And so this new commerce and sweet 
 Should all my life employ, and busie me. 
 
 148. The Foil 
 
 If we could see below 
 The sphere of vertue, and each shining grace 
 
 As plainly as that above doth show ; 
 This were the better skie, the brighter place. 
 
 God hath made starres the foil 
 To set off vertues ; griefs to set off sinning : 
 Yet in this wretched world we toil. 
 As if grief were not foul, nor vertue winning. 
 
 ^ Pomander, i.e, a scent-ball or box containing per- 
 fumes. The word occurs again in ««The Banquet" 
 TNo. 153), belowj p. 226. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 149. The Forerunners 
 
 npHE harbingers 1 are come. See, see their 
 
 ^ mark ; 
 White is their colour, and behold my head. 
 But must they have my brain ? must they dispark 
 Those sparkling notions, which therein were 
 bred? 
 
 Must dulnesse turn me to a clod ? 
 Yet have they left me, Thoit art still my God. 
 
 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. 
 
 1 Harbingers : the word is used here in its proper 
 meaning of a messenger sent on before to prepare a 
 lodging. Grosart quotes, as illustrating Herbert's 
 use of it, the following from " Albumazar " : — 
 
 " I have no reason, nor spare room for any, 
 Love's harbinger hath chalk'd upon my heart, 
 And with a coal writ on my brain, ' For Flavia,' 
 This house is wholly taken up * For Flavia.' " 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 Louely 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 thy self, 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 
 
 jDRESSE me not to take more pleasure 
 ^ In this world of sugred lies. 
 And to use a larger measure 
 
 Then 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. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 t)r if such deceits there be, 
 
 Such deUghts 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. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 151. Discipline 
 
 npHROW away thy rod, 
 ^ Throw away thy wrath 
 
 0 my God, 
 Take the gentle path. 
 
 For my hearts desire 
 Unto thine is bent : 
 
 1 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 
 Stonie hearts will bleed. 
 
 Love is swift of foot ; 
 Love's a man of warre. 
 
 And can shoot 
 And can hit from farre. 
 
224 THE CHURCH 
 
 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 
 
 /^OME ye hither all, whose taste 
 Is your waste ; 
 
 Save your cost, and mend your fare. 
 
 God is here prepared 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. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 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. 
 
 '^TT'ELCOME sweet and sacred cheer 
 
 ^ Welcome deare 3 
 
 With me, in me, live and dwell : 
 For thy neatnesse passeth sight, 
 
 Thy delight 
 Passeth tongue to taste or tell. 
 
 O what sweetnesse from the bowl 
 
 Fills my soul, 
 
2 26 THE CHURCH 
 
 Such as is, and makes divine ! 
 Is some starre (fled from the sphere) 
 Melted there, 
 As we sugar melt in wine ? 
 
 Or hath sweetnesse in the bread 
 
 Made a head 
 
 To subdue the smell of sinne ; 
 
 Flowers, and gummes, and powders giving 
 All their living, 
 
 Lest the enemie should winne ? 
 
 Doubtlesse, neither starre nor flower 
 
 Hath the power 
 
 Such a sweetnesse to impart : 
 
 Onely God, who gives perfumes, 
 
 Flesh assumes. 
 
 And with it perfumes my heart. 
 
 But as Pomanders and wood 
 
 Still are good. 
 
 Yet being bruis'd or better sented : 
 
 God, to show how farre his love 
 
 Could improve. 
 
 Here, as broken, is presented. 
 
 When I had forgot my birth. 
 
 And on earth 
 
 In delights of earth was drown'd ; 
 
 God took bloud, and needs would be 
 Spilt with me. 
 
 And so found me on the ground. 
 
THE CHURCH 227 
 
 Having rais'd me to look up, 
 
 In a cup 
 
 Sweetly he doth meet my taste. 
 But I still being low and short, 
 
 Far re from court. 
 Wine becomes a wing at last. 
 
 For with it alone I flie 
 
 To the skie : 
 Where I wipe mine eyes, and see 
 What I seek, for' what I sue ; 
 
 Him I view. 
 Who hath done so much for me. 
 
 Let the wonder of this pi tie 
 
 Be my dittie. 
 
 And take up my lines and life ; 
 
 Hearken under pain of death, 
 
 Hands and breath ; 
 
 Strive in this, and love the strife. 
 
 154. The Posie 
 
 Let wits contest. 
 And with their words and posies windows fill : 
 
 Lesse then the least 
 Of all thy mercies,^ is my posie still. 
 
 1 See Gen. xxxii. lo; and cf. Herbert's words when 
 on his deathbed he gave the MS. of T/ie Temple to 
 Nicholas Ferrar. — Walton's Life, above, p. c. 
 
228 
 
 THE CHURCH 
 
 This on my ring, 
 This by my picture, in my book I write : 
 
 Whether I sing, 
 Or say, or dictate, this is my delight. 
 
 Invention rest. 
 Comparisons go play, wit use thy will : 
 
 Lesse then the least 
 Of all Gods mercies^ is my posie still. 
 
 155. A Parodie^ 
 
 OOULS joy, when thou art gone, 
 ^ And I alone. 
 
 Which cannot be, 
 Because thou dost abide with me. 
 And I depend on thee ; 
 
 1 The original, which Herbert here parodies," is 
 a love-song of Donne's. It is only in the first stanza, 
 which runs as follows, that there is any similarity : — 
 Soul's joy, now I am gone. 
 And you alone — 
 Which cannot be, 
 Since I must leave myself with thee, 
 And carry thee with me — 
 Yet when unto our eyes 
 Absence denyes 
 Each other's right. 
 And makes to us a constant night, 
 When others change to light ; 
 O, give no way to grief. 
 But let relief 
 
 Of mutual love 
 This wonder to the vulgar prove 
 Our bodies, not we, move. 
 ' — Donne's Poems (Edit. Grosart), vol. ii, p. 235. 
 
THE CHURCH 229 
 
 Yet when thou dost suppresse 
 
 The cheerfulnesse 
 
 Of thy abode, 
 And in my powers not stirre abroad, 
 But leave me to my load : 
 
 O what a damp and shade 
 
 Doth me invade ! 
 
 No stormie night 
 Can so afflict or so affright, 
 As thy eclipsed light. 
 
 Ah Lord ! do not withdraw, 
 Lest want of aw 
 Make Sinne appeare ; 
 And when thou dost but shine lesse cleare. 
 Say, that thou art not here. 
 
 And then what life I have, 
 While Sinne doth rave, 
 And falsly boast. 
 That I may seek, but thou art lost ; 
 
 Thou and alone thou know'st. 
 
 O what a deadly cold 
 
 Doth me infold ! 
 
 I half beleeve. 
 That Sinne sayes true : but while I grieve, 
 Thou com' St and dost relieve. 
 
 15 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 156. The Elixer^ 
 
 npEACH 2 me, my God and King, 
 ^ In all things thee to see, 
 And what I do in any thing, 
 To do it as for thee : 
 
 Not 2 rudely, as a beast. 
 To runne into an action ; 
 But still to make thee prepossest. 
 And give it his perfection. 
 
 A man that looks on glasse, 
 On it may stay his eye ; 
 Or if he pleaseth, through it passe, 
 And then the heav'n espie. 
 
 All may of thee partake : 
 Nothing can be so mean. 
 Which with his^ tincture (for thy sake) 
 Will not grow bright and clean. 
 
 1 Perfection. The Elixir." — W. (The second title 
 having been added by Herbert himself.) 
 2 In W. the first stanza is as follows : — 
 
 Lord, teach mee to referr 
 All things I doe to thee, 
 
 That I not onely may not err, 
 But allso pleasing bee. 
 
 ^ This stanza is wanting in W. 
 '* The common misprint, **this" for "his," first 
 occurs in 1656. 
 
THE CHURCH 231 
 
 A servant with this clause 
 Makes drudgerie divine : 
 Who sweeps a room, as for thy laws, 
 Makes that and th' action fine. 
 
 This is the famous stone 
 That turneth all to gold : 
 For that which God doth touch and own 
 Cannot for lesse be told.^ 
 
 157. A Wreath 
 
 A WREATHED garland of deserved praise. 
 
 Of praise deserved, unto thee I give, 
 I give to thee, who knowest all my wayes. 
 My crooked winding wayes, wherein I live, 
 Wherein I die, not live : for life is straight. 
 Straight as a line, and ever tends to thee. 
 To thee, who art more farre above deceit. 
 Then deceit seems above simplicitie. 
 Give me simplicitie, that I may live. 
 So live and like, that I may know thy wayes. 
 Know them and practise them : then shall I give 
 For this poore wreath, give thee a crown of 
 praise. 
 
 1 In W. this last stanza is added by Herbert him- 
 self. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 158. Death 
 
 T^EATH, thou wast once an uncouth hideous 
 ^ thing, 
 
 Nothing but bones, 
 The sad effect of sadder grones ; 
 Thy mouth was open, but thou couldst not sing. 
 
 For we consider' d thee as at some six 
 Or ten yeares hence, 
 After the losse of life and sense, 
 Flesh being turn'd to dust, and bones to sticks. 
 
 We lookt on this side of thee, shooting short ; 
 Where we did finde 
 The shells of fledge souls left behinde. 
 Dry dust, which sheds no tears, but may extort. 
 
 But since our Saviours death did put some bloud 
 Into thy face ; 
 Thou art grown fair and full of grace, 
 Much in request, much sought ^ for, as a good. 
 
 For we do now behold thee gay and glad, 
 As at dooms-day ; 
 When souls shall wear their new aray. 
 And all thy bones with beautie shall be clad. 
 
 Therefore we can go die as sleep, and trust 
 Half that we have 
 Unto an honest faithfull grave ; 
 Making our pillows either down, or dust. 
 
 1 Long'd.— W. 
 
THE CHURCH 
 
 159. Dooms-day 
 
 Come away, 
 Make no delay. 
 Summon all the dust to rise, 
 Till it stirre, and rubbe the eyes ; 
 While this member jogs the other, 
 Each one whispring, Live you brother 
 
 Come away. 
 Make this the day. 
 Dust, alas, no musick feels. 
 But thy trumpet ; then it kneels, 
 As peculiar notes and strains 
 Cure Tarantulaes raging pains. 
 
 Come away, 
 O make no stay ! 
 Let the graves make their confession, 
 Lest at length they plead possession : 
 Fleshes stubbornnesse may have 
 Read that lesson to the grave. 
 
 Come away. 
 Thy flock doth stray. 
 Some to windes their bodie ^ lend, 
 And in them may drown a friend : 
 Some in noisome vapours grow 
 To a plague and publick wo. 
 
 1 Bodies.— W. 
 
234 THE CHURCH 
 
 Come away-j 
 
 Help our decay. 
 
 Man is out of order hurl'd, 
 ParceFd out to all the world. 
 Lord, thy broken consort raise, 
 And the musick shall be praise. 
 
 1 60. Judgement 
 
 LMIGHTIE Judge, how shall poore 
 
 ^ wretches brook 
 
 Thy dreadfull look, 
 Able a heart of iron to appall, 
 
 When thou shalt call 
 For ev'ry mans peculiar book ? 
 
 What others mean to do, I know not well ; 
 
 Yet I heare ^ tell. 
 That some will turn thee to some leaves therein 
 
 So void of sinne, 
 That they in merit shall excell. 
 
 But I resolve, when thou shalt call for mine, 
 That to decline. 
 
 And thrust a Testament into thy hand ; 
 
 Let that be scann'd. 
 There thou shalt finde my faults are thine. 
 
 1 Misprinted here " in 1674. 
 
THE CHURCH 235 
 
 161. Heaven 
 
 OWHO will show me those delights on high ? 
 Echo. 1. 
 Thou Echo, thou art mortall, all men know. 
 
 Echo. No. 
 Wert thou not born among the trees ^ and leaves ? 
 
 Echo. Eeaves. 
 And are there any leaves, that ^ still abide ? 
 
 Echo. Bide. 
 What leaves are they ? impart the matter wholly. 
 
 Echo. Holy. 
 Are holy leaves the Echo then of blisse \ 
 
 Echo. Tes. 
 Then tell me, what is that supreme delight I 
 Echo. Light. 
 Light to the minde : what shall the will enjoy ? 
 
 Echo. Joy. 
 But are there cares and businesse with the 
 pleasure ? 
 
 Echo. Leisure. 
 Light, joy, and leisure ; but shall they persever ? 
 
 Echo. Ever. 
 
 I Woods W. 
 
 2 Which.— W. 
 
236 THE CHURCH 
 
 162. Love 
 
 LOVE bade me welcome : yet my soul drew 
 back, 
 
 Guiltie of dust and sinne. 
 But quick-ey'd Love, observing me grow slack 
 
 From my first entrance in. 
 Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning, 
 
 If I lack'd any thing. 
 
 A guest, I answer'd, worthy to be here : 
 Love said, you shall be he. 
 
 I the unkinde, ungrateful 1 ? Ah my deare, 
 I cannot look on thee. 
 
 Love took my hand, and smiling did reply. 
 Who made the eyes but I ? 
 
 Truth Lord, but I have marr'd them : let my 
 shame 
 
 Go where it doth deserve. 
 And know you not, sayes Love, who bore the 
 blame ? 
 
 My deare, then I will serve. 
 You must sit down, sayes Love, and taste my meat: 
 So I did sit and eat. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Glorie be to God on high^ and on earth peace ^ good 
 iv'ill towards men. 
 
THE CHURCH MILITANT 237 
 
 163. The Church Militant 
 
 LMIGHTIE Lord, who from thy glorious 
 
 throne 
 
 Seest and rulest all things ev'n as one : 
 The smallest ant or atome knows thy power, 
 Known also to each minute of an houre : 
 Much more do Common-weals acknowledge thee, 
 And wrap their policies in thy decree. 
 Complying with thy counsels, doing nought 
 Which doth not meet with an eternall thought. 
 But above all, thy Church and Spouse doth prove 
 Not the decrees of power, but bands of love. 
 Early didst thou arise to plant this vine,i 
 Which might the more indeare it to be thine. 
 Spices come from the East ; so did thy Spouse, 
 Trimme as the light, sweet as the laden boughs 
 Of Noahs shadie vine, chaste as the dove ; 
 Prepar'd and fitted to receive thy love.^ 
 The course was westward, that the sunne might 
 light 
 
 As well our understanding as our sight. 
 Where th' Ark did rest, there Abraham began 
 To bring the other Ark from Canaan. 
 Moses pursu'd this : but King Solomon 
 Finish'd and fixt the old religion. 
 When it grew loose, the Jews did hope in vain 
 By nailing Christ to fasten it again. 
 
 1 Thou didst rise early for to plant this vine. — W. 
 
 2 All emblems which thy darling doth improve. — W, 
 
238 THE CHURCH MILITANT 
 
 But to the Gentiles he bore crosse and all, 
 Rending with earthquakes the partition-wall : 
 Onely whereas the Ark in glorie shone, 
 Now with the crosse, as with a stafFe, alone. 
 Religion, like a pilgrime, westward bent, 
 Knocking at all doores, ever as she went. 
 Yet as the sunne, though forward be his flight. 
 Listens behinde him, and allows ^ some light, 
 Till all depart : ^ so went the Church her way. 
 Letting, while one foot stept, the other stay 
 Among the eastern nations for a time. 
 Till both removed to the western clime. 
 To Egypt first she came, where they did prove 
 Wonders of anger once, but now of love. 
 The ten Commandments there did flourish more 
 Then the ten bitter plagues had done before. 
 Holy Macarius and great Anthonie 
 Made Pharaoh Moses, changing th' historie. 
 Goshen was darknesse, Egypt full of lights, 
 Nilus for monsters brought forth Israelites. 
 Such power hath mightie Baptisme to produce 
 For things misshapen, things of highest use. 
 How deare to me^ 0 God^ thy counsels are ! ^ 
 Who may ivith thee compare P 
 Religion thence fled into Greece, where arts^ 
 Gave her the highest place in all mens hearts. 
 Learning was pos'd. Philosophic was set, 
 Sophisters taken in a fishers net. 
 Plato and Aristotle were at a losse. 
 And wheel' d. about again to spell Christ^Crosse. 
 
 ^ Gives them. — W. 2 gone. — W. 
 
 3 Cf. Ps. cxxxix. 17. 
 
 ^ Thence into Greece she fled, where curious arts. — W. 
 
THE CHURCH MILITANT 239 
 
 Prayers chas'd syllogismes into their den, 
 And Ergo was transformed into Amen. 
 Though Greece took horse as soon as Egypt did^ 
 And Rome as both ; yet Egypt faster rid, 
 And spent ^ her period and prefixed time 
 Before the other. Greece being past her prime. 
 Religion went to Rome^ subduing those. 
 Who, that they might subdue, made all their foes.^ 
 The Warrier his deere skarres no more resounds. 
 But seems to yeeld Christ hath^ the greater 
 wounds. 
 
 Wounds willingly endur'd to work his blisse. 
 Who by an ambush lost his Paradise. 
 The great heart stoops, and taketh from the 
 dust 
 
 A sad repentance, not the spoils of lust : 
 Quitting his spear, lest it should pierce again 
 Him in his members, who for him was slain. 
 The Shepherds hook grew to a scepter here. 
 Giving new names and numbers to the yeare. 
 But th* Empire dwelt in Greece^ to comfort them 
 Who were cut short in Alexanders stemme. 
 In both of these Prowesse and Arts did tame 
 And tune ^ mens hearts against the Gospel came ; 
 Which using, and not fearing skill in th' one, 
 Or strength in th' other, did erect her throne.^ 
 
 ^ Spending. — W. 
 
 2 In W. these last three lines are as follows ; — 
 
 Before the other -two were in their prime ; 
 From Greece to Rome she went, subduing those 
 Who had subdued all the world for foes. 
 
 3 Had.— W. 4 Cleanse.— W. 
 ^ Took possession. — W. 
 
240 THE CHURCH MILITANT 
 
 Many a rent and struggling th' Empire knew, 
 (As dying things are wont) untill it flew 
 At length to Germante, still westward bending, 
 And there the Churches festivall attending : 
 That as before Empire and Arts made way, 
 (For no lesse Harbingers would serve then 
 they) 
 
 So they might still, and point us out the place 
 Where first the Church should raise her down- 
 cast face. 
 
 Strength levels grounds, Art makes a garden 
 there ; 
 
 Then showres Religion, and makes all to bear. 
 Spain in the Empire shar'd with Germanie^ 
 But England in the higher victorie : 
 Giving the Church a crown to keep her state, 
 And not go lesse then she had done of late. 
 Constantines British line meant this of old, 
 And did this mysterie wrap up and fold 
 Within a sheet of paper, which was rent 
 From times great Chronicle, and hither sent. 
 Thus both the Church and Sunne together ran 
 Unto the farthest old meridian. • 
 JHoiv deare to me, 0 God, thy counsels are ! 
 
 Who may uuith thee compare P 
 Much about one and the same time and place. 
 Both where and when the Church began her race, 
 Sinne did set out of Eastern Babylon, 
 And travell'd westward also : journeying on ^ 
 He chid the Church away, where e're he came, 
 Breaking her peace, and tainting her good name. 
 
 ^ Coasting on. — W. 
 
THE CHURCH MILITANT 241 
 
 At first he got to Egypt^ and did sow 
 Gardens of gods, which ev'ry yeare did grow, 
 Fresh and fine deities. They were at great cost. 
 Who for a god clearely a sal let lost. 
 Ah, what a thing is man devoid of grace. 
 Adoring garlick with an humble face. 
 Begging his food of that which he may eat, 
 Starving the while he worshippeth his meat ! 
 Who makes a root his god, how low is he, 
 If God and man be severed infinitely ! 
 What wretchednesse can give him any room, 
 Whose house is foul, while he adores his broom ? 
 None will beleeve this now, though money be 
 In us the same transplanted foolerie. 
 Thus Sinne in Egypt sneaked for a while ; 
 His highest was an ox or crocodile. 
 And such poore ^ game. Thence he to Greece 
 doth passe. 
 
 And being craftier much then Goodnesse was. 
 He left behinde him garrisons of sinnes 
 To make good that which ev'ry day he winnes. 
 Here Sinne took heart, and for a garden-bed 
 Rich shrines and oracles he purchased : 
 He grew a gallant, and would needs foretell 
 As well what should befall, as what befell. 
 Nay, he became a poet, and would serve 
 His pills of sublimate in that conserve. 
 The world came both ^ with hands and purses full 
 To this great lotterie, and all would pull. 
 But all was glorious cheating, brave deceit. 
 Where some poore truths were shuffled for a bait 
 
 1 Small.—W. 
 
 2 Came in.—W. 
 
242 THE CHURCH MILITANT 
 
 To credit him, and to ^ discredit those 
 Who after him should braver truths disclose. 
 From Greece he went to Rome : and as before 
 He was a God, now he's an Emperour. 
 Nero and others lodg'd him bravely there. 
 Put him in trust to rule the Romane sphere. 
 Glorie was his chief instrument of old : 
 Pleasure succeeded straight, when that grew cold. 
 Which soon was blown to such a mightie flame, 
 That though our Saviour did destroy the game, 
 Disparking oracles, and all their treasure. 
 Setting affliction ^ to encounter pleasure ; 
 Yet did a rogue with hope of carnall joy 
 Cheat the most subtill nations. Who so coy, 
 So trimme,^ as Greece and Egypt ? yet their hearts 
 Are given over, for their curious arts, 
 To such Mahometan stupidities. 
 As the old heathen would deem prodigies. 
 Hoiv deare to me^ 0 Gody thy counsels are ! 
 
 Who may ^with thee compare P 
 Onely the West and Rome do keep them free 
 From this contagious infidelitie. 
 And this is all the Rock, whereof they boast. 
 As Rome will one day finde unto her cost.^ 
 Sinne being not able to extirpate quite 
 The Churches here, bravely resolv'd one night 
 To be a Church-man too, and wear a Mitre : 
 The old debauched ruffian would turn writer. 
 
 iSo.— W. 2 Afflictions.— W. 3 Spruse.— W. 
 W. substitutes — 
 
 Traditions are accounts without our host. 
 And adds this couplet — 
 
 They who rely on them must reckon twice, 
 
 When written Truths shall censure man's device. 
 
THE CHURCH MILITANT 243 
 
 I saw him in his studie, where he sate 
 Busie in controversies sprung of late. 
 A gown and pen became him wondrous well : 
 His grave aspect had more of ^ heav'n then 
 hell: 
 
 Onely there was a handsome picture by, 
 To which he lent a corner of his eye. 
 As Sinne in Greece a Prophet was before, 
 And in old Rome a mightie Emperour ; 
 So now being Priest he plainly did professe 
 To make a jest of Christs three offices : 
 The rather since his scattered jugglings were 
 United now in one both time and sphere. 
 From Egypt he took pettie deities, 
 From Greece oracular infallibilities, 
 And from old Rome the libertie of pleasure. 
 By free dispensings ^ of the Churches treasure. 
 Then in memoriall of his ancient throne 
 He did surname his palace, Babylon. 
 Yet that he might the better gain all nations, 
 And make that name good by their transmigra- 
 tions ; 
 
 From all these places, but at divers times, 
 He took fine vizards to conceal his crimes : 
 From Egypt Anchorisme and retirednesse. 
 Learning from Greece, from old Rome stateli- 
 nesse : 
 
 And blending these he carri'd all mens eyes, 
 While Truth sat by, counting his victories : 
 Whereby he grew apace and scorn' d to use 
 Such force as once did captivate the Jews ; 
 
 Was liker. — W, 2 jgy dispensations. — W. 
 
244 THE CHURCH MH^ITANT 
 
 But did bewitch, and finely work each nation ^ 
 Into 2 a voluntarie transmigration. 
 All poste to Rome : Princes submit their necks 
 Either t* his publick foot or private tricks. 
 It did not fit his gravitie to stirre, 
 Nor his long journey, nor his gout and ^ furre. 
 Therefore he sent out able ministers. 
 Statesmen within, without doores cloisterers : 
 Who ^ without spear, or sword, or other drumme 
 Then what was in their tongue, did overcome ; 
 And having conquered, did so strangely rule. 
 That the whole world did seem but the Popes 
 mule. 
 
 As new and old Rome did one Empire twist ; 
 So both together are one Antichrist, 
 Yet with two faces, as their Janus was ; 
 Being in this their old crackt looking-glasse. 
 Hoiv deare to me^ 0 Gody thy counsels are ! 
 
 Who may iv'ith thee compare P 
 Thus Sinne triumphs in Western Babylon ; 
 Yet not as Sinne, but as Religion. 
 Of his two thrones he made the latter best. 
 And to defray his journey from the east. 
 Old and new Babylon are to hell and night. 
 As is the moon and sunne to heav'n and 
 light. 
 
 1 But did bewitch both kings and many a nation. 
 — W. 
 
 2 Unto.— .W. 3 Or.— W. 
 
 4 For this and the next three lines W. substitutes — 
 Whobrought hisdoctrinesand his deeds from Rome ; 
 But when they were vnto Sorbon come, 
 The waight was such they left ye doctrines there, 
 Shipping ye vices onely for our sphere. 
 
THE CHURCH MILITANT 245 
 
 When th' one did set, the other did take place, 
 Confronting equally the law and grace. 
 They are hells land-marks, Satans double crest : 
 They are Sinnes nipples, feeding th' east and 
 west. 
 
 But as in vice the copie still exceeds 
 The pattern, but not so in vertuous deeds ; 
 So though Sinne made his latter seat the better, 
 The latter Church is to the first a debter. 
 The second Temple could not reach the first : 
 And the late reformation never durst 
 Compare with ancient times and purer yeares ; 
 But in the Jews and us deserveth tears. 
 Nay, it shall ev'ry yeare ^ decrease and fade ; 
 Till such a darknesse do the world invade 
 At Christs last coming, as his first did finde : 
 Yet must there such proportions 2 be assign'd 
 To these diminishings, as is between 
 The spacious world and Jur'te to be seen. 
 Religion stands on tip-toe in our land, 
 Readie to passe to the American strand. ^ 
 When height of malice, and prodigious lusts, 
 Impudent sinning, witchcrafts, and distrusts 
 (The marks of future bane) shall fill our cup 
 Unto the brimme, and make our measure up ; 
 When Sein shall swallow Tiber j and the Thames 
 By letting in them both, pollutes her streams : 
 When Italie of us shall have her will. 
 And all her calender of sinnes fulfill ; 
 
 1 Day.— W. 2 Proportion.— W. 
 
 3 On these two famous lines, which nearly pre- 
 vented The Temple from being licensed, see Walton's 
 Life, above, p. c. 
 
 16 
 
246 THE CHURCH MILITANT 
 
 Whereby one may fortell, what sinnes next yeare 
 Shall both in France and England domineer : 
 Then shall Religion to America flee : 
 They have their times ^ of Gospel, ev'n as we. 
 My God, thou dost prepare for them a way 
 By carrying first their gold from them away : 
 For gold and grace did never yet agree : 
 Religion alwaies sides with povertie. 
 We think we rob them, but we think amisse : 
 We are more poore, and they more rich by this. 
 Thou wilt revenge their quarrell, making grace 
 To pay our debts, and leave our ^ ancient place 
 To go to them, while that which now their nation 
 But lends to ^ us, shall be our desolation. 
 Yet as the Church shall thither westward flie, 
 So Sinne shall trace and dog her instantly : 
 They have their period also and set times 
 Both for their vertuous actions and their crimes. 
 And where of old the Empire and the Arts 
 Usher'd the Gospel ever in mens hearts, 
 Spain hath done one ; when Arts perform the 
 other, 
 
 The Church shall come, and Sinne the Church 
 
 shall smother : 
 That when they haue accomplished the ^ round. 
 And met in th' east their first and ancient sound, 
 Judgement may meet them both and search 
 
 them round. 
 
 Thus do both lights, as well in Church as Sunne, 
 Light one another, and together runne.^ 
 
 iTime.~W. 2Her.— W. 
 
 3 Lendeth.— W. ^ Their.— W. 
 
 ^ Like comick lovers ever one way runn. — W. 
 
L'ENVOY 
 
 247 
 
 Thus also Sinne and Darknesse follow still 
 The Church and Sunne with all their power 
 and skill.i 
 
 But as the Sunne still goes both west and east ; 
 So also did the Church by going west 
 Still eastward go ; because it drew more neare 
 To time and place, where j udgement shall appeare. 
 How deare to mcy 0 God^ thy counsels are / 
 
 Who may ivith thee compare ? 
 
 164. L'Envoy 
 
 J^ING of glorle^ King of peace ^ 
 ^ With the one make warre ^ to cease ; 
 With the other blesse thy sheep, 
 Thee to love, in thee to sleep. 
 Let not Sinne devoure thy fold, 
 Bragging that thy bloud is cold. 
 That thy death is also dead, 
 While his conquests dayly spread ; 
 That thy flesh hath lost his food. 
 And thy Crosse is common wood. 
 Choke him, let him say ^ no more, 
 But reserve his breath in store. 
 Till thy conquests and his fall 
 Make his sighs to use it all. 
 And then bargain with the winde 
 To discharge what is behinde. 
 Blessed he God alone. 
 Thrice blessed Three in One A 
 
 1 Thus also Sinne and Darknesse constantly 
 Follow the Church and Sunn where ere they fly. — W. 
 
 2 Warrs. ^ Speak. W. omits these two lines. 
 
248 
 
 APPENDIX 
 
 [The six poems that follow are all taken from 
 the Williams MS., where they stand interspersed 
 among the others. ( For the position which each 
 of them occupies, see above, p. xxxi).] 
 
 165. The Holy Communion 
 
 Q GRATIOUS Lord, how shall I know 
 Whether in these gifts Thou bee so 
 
 As Thou art everywhere ? 
 Or rather so, as Thou alone 
 Tak'st all y® lodging, leaving none 
 
 For thy poore creature there. 
 
 First I am sure, whether bread stay, 
 Or whether Bread doe fly away, 
 
 Concerneth Bread, not mee ; ^ 
 But y* both Thou and all Thy traine 
 Bee there, to Thy truth and my gaine 
 
 Concerneth mee and Thee. 
 
 And if in comming to Thy foes. 
 Thou dost come first to them, y* showes 
 The hast of Thy good will ; 
 
 1 Cf. Hooker,^. P., V. Ixvii. 12: ''What these 
 elements are in themselves it skilleth not, it is enough 
 that to me which take them they are the body and 
 blood of Christ ; " and Andrewes, Responsio ad Bellarm, 
 p. 13: PrsEsentiam credimus non minus quam vos 
 veram : de modo praesentise nihil temere definimus, 
 addo, nec anxie inquirimus. 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 249 
 
 Or if that Thou two stations makest, 
 In Bread and mee, the way Thou takest 
 Is more, but for mee still. 
 
 Then of this also I am sure, 
 
 That Thou didst all those pains endure 
 
 To abolish Sinn, not wheat ; 
 Creatures are good and have their place ; 
 Sinn onely w^^ did all deface 
 
 Thou drivest from his seat. 
 
 'f 
 
 I could beleeve an Impanation 
 At the rate of an Incarnation, 
 
 If Thou hadst dyde for Bread ; 
 But that w^^ made my soule to dye, 
 My flesh and fleshly villany. 
 
 That allso made Thee dead. 
 
 That flesh is there mine eyes deny : 
 And what should flesh but flesh discry, 
 
 The noblest sence of five ? 
 If glorious bodies pass the sight. 
 Shall they be food and strength and might. 
 
 Even there where they deceive ? 
 
 Into my soule this cannot pass ; 
 
 Flesh (though exalted) keeps his grass. 
 
 And cannot turn to soule. 
 Bodyes and minds are different spheres ; 
 Nor can they change their bounds and meres. 
 
 But keep a constant pole. 
 
250 
 
 APPENDIX 
 
 This gift of all gifts is the best, 
 Thy flesh the least I request ; 
 
 Thou took' St that pledge from raee : 
 Give mee not that I had before, 
 Or give mee that so I have more ; 
 
 My God, give mee all Thee. 
 
 166. Love 
 
 ' I ^HOU art too hard for me in Love ^ 
 
 There is no dealing w*^ Thee in that art,, 
 That IS Thy Masterpeece, I see» 
 When I contrive and plott to prove 
 Something that may be conquest on my part, 
 Thou still, O Lord, outstrippest mee. 
 
 Sometimes, when as I wash, I say. 
 And shrodely as I think. Lord wash my soule. 
 
 More spotted then my flesh can bee. 
 
 But then there comes into my way 
 Thy ancient baptism, w^^ when I was foule 
 
 And knew it not, yet cleansed mee. 
 
 I took a time when Thou didst sleep. 
 Great waves of trouble combating my brest : 
 
 I thought it brave to praise Thee then ; 
 
 Yet then I found that Thou didst creep 
 Into my hart w*^ ioye, giving more rest 
 
 Then flesh did lend Thee back agen. 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 Let mee but once the conquest have 
 Vpon y® matter, twill Thy conquest prove : 
 
 If Thou subdue mortalitie, 
 
 Thou dost no more then doth y® grave ; 
 Whereas if I orecome Thee and Thy love, 
 
 Hell, Death, and Divel come short of mee. 
 
 167. Trinitie Sunday 
 
 TJ[ E that is one 
 
 Is none ; 
 
 Two reacheth Thee 
 In some degree : 
 Nature and grace 
 ^^th glory may attaine thy face. 
 Steele and a flint strike fire ; 
 Witt and desire 
 Never to thee aspire. 
 Except life catch and hold those fast. 
 That w^^ beleefe 
 Did not confess in y® first theefe 
 
 His fall can tell 
 From heaven through earth to hell. 
 Lett two of those alone 
 To them that fall. 
 Who God and saints and angels loose at last : 
 Hee that has one 
 Has all. 
 
252 
 
 APPENDIX 
 
 1 68. Even-song 
 
 npHE day is spent, and hath his will on mee : 
 ^ I and Sunn have runn our races : 
 I went y® slower, yet more paces ; 
 For I decay, not hee. 
 
 Lord, make my losses up, and sett mee free ; 
 That I, who cannot now by day 
 Look on his daring brightnes, may 
 
 Shine then more bright then hee. 
 
 If thou defer r this light, then shadow mee ; 
 
 Least that the night, earths gloomy shade, 
 Fouling her nest, my earth invade. 
 
 As if shades knew not thee. 
 
 But thou art light and darkness both togeather : 
 If that bee dark we cannot see ; 
 The sunn is darker than a tree. 
 
 And thou more dark then either. 
 
 Yet thou art not so dark since I know this 
 But that my darknes may touch thine ; 
 And hope, that may teach it to shine, 
 
 Since light thy darknes is. 
 
 O lett my soule, whose keyes I must deliver 
 Into the hands of senceles dreams 
 W^^ know not thee, suck in thy beams 
 
 And wake w^^ thee for ever. 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 253 
 
 169. The Knell 
 
 The bell doth toUe 
 Lord, help thy servant whose perplexed soule 
 
 Doth wishly look 
 
 On either hand, 
 And sometimes offers, sometimes makes a stand. 
 
 Struggling on th' hook. 
 
 Now is the season 
 Now y® great combat of our flesh and reason 
 
 O help my God. 
 
 See, they breake in, 
 Disbanded humours, sorrows, troops of sinn 
 
 Each w*^ his rodd. 
 
 Lord make thy blood 
 Convert and colour all the other flood 
 
 And streams of grief. 
 
 That they may bee 
 Julips and cordials when wee call on thee 
 
 For some relief. 
 
 170. Perseverance 
 
 \/TY God y® poore expressions of my Love, 
 ± ± ^^ch ^arme these lines and serve them 
 
 vp to thee 
 Are so, as for the present I did move 
 Or rather as thou movedst mee. 
 
254 
 
 APPENDIX 
 
 But what shall issue, whither these my words 
 Shall help another, but my iudgment bee ; 
 As a burst fouling-peece doth save y® birds 
 But kill the man, is seal'd w*^ thee. 
 
 For who can tell though thou hast dyde to winn 
 And wedd my soule in glorious paradise, 
 Whither my many crymes and vse of sinn 
 May yet forbid the banes and bHss ? 
 
 Onely my soule hangs on thy promisses 
 W*^ face and hands clinging vnto thy brest ; 
 Clinging and crying, crying w*^out cease, 
 Thou art my rock, thou art my rest. 
 
Index 
 
 The Titles of the Several Poems contained in 
 this Book 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Aaron . , ,217 
 Affliction 53, 76, 92, 113, 
 122 
 
 Agonie ... 40 
 Altar ... 25 
 Anagram of the 
 
 Virgin Marie . 97 
 To all Angels and 
 
 Saints. . . 97 
 The Answer . . 210 
 A Dialogue-Antheme 211 
 Antiphon . 63, 116 
 Artillerie . .174 
 Assurance , .194 
 Avarice . . .96 
 
 B 
 
 The Bag . .189 
 The Banquet . . 225 
 H. Baptisme . 50? 51 
 Bitter-sweet , . 213 
 The British Church 137 
 The bunch of grapes ,160 
 Businesse . . 141 
 
 The Call 
 Charms and knots 
 Christmas 
 Church-floore , 
 Church - lock and 
 
 key, . 
 Church Militant 
 Church-monuments 
 Church-musick 
 Church-Porch 
 Church - rents ai 
 
 schismes 
 Church-windows 
 Clasping of hands 
 The Collar . 
 Coloss. 3. 3. Our 
 
 Life, &:c. . 
 H. Communion 
 Complaining . 
 Self-condemnation 
 Confession 
 Conscience 
 Constancie 
 Content . 
 The Crosse 
 
 255 
 
256 
 
 INDEX 
 
 D 
 
 The Dawning 
 Death . 
 Decay , 
 Deniall . 
 Dialogue 
 The Discharg( 
 Discipline 
 Divinitie 
 Dooms-day 
 Dotage , 
 Dulnesse 
 
 PAGE 
 140 
 232 
 124 
 ICQ 
 
 H3 
 181 
 223 
 168 
 233 
 208 
 144 
 
 Easter . , .46 
 
 Easter-wings . 48, 49 
 
 The Elixer . . 230 
 
 Employment . 69, 99 
 
 L'Envoy . . 247 
 Ephes. 4. 30. Grieve 
 
 not, &c. . .169 
 
 Even-song . 79, 252 
 
 Paith 
 
 5^ 
 
 The Familie . 
 
 171 
 
 The Flower . 
 
 206 
 
 The Foil 
 
 219 
 
 The Forerunners 
 
 220 
 
 Frailtie . 
 
 89 
 
 OlDDlNESSE 
 
 The Glance 
 
 159 
 214 
 
 The Glimpse 
 Good Friday 
 Grace 
 
 Gratefulnesse 
 Grief . 
 
 H 
 
 Heaven , 
 
 The Holdfast 
 
 Home , 
 
 Hope 
 
 Humilitie 
 
 A true Hymne 
 
 I 
 
 Jesu 
 
 The Jews 
 The Invitation 
 Jordan . 
 Josephs coat . 
 Judgement 
 Justice . 
 
 K 
 
 The Knell 
 
 PAGE 
 
 193 
 42 
 
 74 
 155 
 204 
 
 ^35 
 179 
 
 134 
 153 
 
 210 
 
 . 141 
 . 191 
 . 224 
 
 68, 128 
 . 199 
 . 234 
 120, 176 
 
 253 
 
 Lent » . .108 
 Life . . .118 
 Longing . . 186 
 Love . 64, 65, 236, 250 
 
INDEX 
 
 257 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Love-joy . . 145 
 Love unknown . 161 
 
 M 
 
 Man . . ,114 
 
 Mans medley . , 164 
 S. Marie Magdalene 216 
 
 Mattens . . * 11 
 
 The Method . .167 
 
 Miserie . . . 125 
 
 Mortification. . 123 
 
 N 
 
 Nature . . ,52 
 
 O 
 
 Obedience . . 130 
 
 The Odour . .218 
 
 An Offering . .184 
 
 P 
 
 Paradise . , 166 
 A Parodie . . 228 
 Peace . , .156 
 The Pearl, Matt. 13 11 1 
 Perirrhanterium . i 
 Perseverance , . 253 
 The Pilgrimage . 178 
 The Posie , . 227 
 Praise . 75, 183, 197 
 Prayer , . 60, 129 
 The Priesthood . 200 
 
 page 
 
 Providence . . 146 
 
 The 23 Psalme . 215 
 
 The Pulley . . 199. 
 
 Q 
 
 The Quidditie. . 87 
 
 The Quip . . 138. 
 
 R 
 
 Redemption . . 44. 
 
 Repentance . . 57 
 
 The Reprisall . 39 
 
 The Rose . .221 
 
 S 
 
 The Sacrifice , . 2^ 
 Saints, 'uide Angels. 
 Schismes, 'vide Church- 
 rents. 
 
 H. Scriptures. 70, 71 
 
 The Search . . 202^ 
 
 Sepulchre . . 45 
 
 Sighs and grones . 104 
 
 Sinne , . 52, 7S 
 
 Sinnes round . . 153 
 
 The Sinner . . 41 
 
 Sion , . • 13 s 
 
 The Size . 172 
 
 The Sonne . . 209> 
 
 The Starre . . 92 
 
 The Storm . .165 
 
 Submission . . 119 
 Sunday ... 94 
 
 Superliminare . 24. 
 
2s8 
 
 INDEX 
 
 T 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Temper . 66, 67 
 The Thanks-giving 37 
 Time . . . 154 
 Trinitie Sunday 85, 251 
 
 U 
 
 Ungratefulnesse . 103 
 Unkindnesse . .117 
 
 V 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Vanitie . . 107, 139 
 Vertue . . ,110 
 
 W 
 
 The Water-course . 212 
 Whitsunday , . 72 
 The World . 105 
 A Wreath . .231 
 
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