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But as the Morning-Sun to drooping Flowers,
As weary Travellers a Shade do find,
As to the parched Violet Evening-showers;
Such is from thee to me a Look that's kind.

But when that Look is drest in Words, 'tis like
The mystick pow'r of Musick's unison;
Which when the finger doth one Viol strike,
The other's string heaves to reflection.

Be kind to me, and just then to our love,

To which we owe our free and dear Converse;
And let not tract of Time wear or remove
It from the privilege of that Commerce.

Tyrants do banish what they can't requite:

But let us never know such mean desires; But to be grateful to that Love delight

Which all our joys and noble thoughts inspires.

Katherine Philips.

70

80

DIVINE POEMS.

TH

Holy Sonnets.

Hou hast made me, And shall thy worke decay?
Repaire me now, for now mine end doth haste,
I runne to death, and death meets me as fast,
And all my pleasures are like yesterday;
I dare not move my dimme eyes any way,
Despaire behind, and death before doth cast
Such terrour, and my feeble flesh doth waste
By sinne in it, which it t'wards hell doth weigh;
Onely thou art above, and when towards thee
By thy leave I can looke, I rise againe;
But our old subtle foe so tempteth me,

That not one houre my selfe I can sustaine;
Thy Grace may wing me to prevent his art,
And thou like Adamant draw mine iron heart.

ΙΟ

His is my playes last scene, here heavens appoint

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My pilgrimages last mile; and my race
Idly, yet quickly runne, hath this last pace,
My spans last inch, my minutes latest point,
And gluttonous death, will instantly unjoynt
My body, and soule, and I shall sleepe a space,
But my ever-waking part shall see that face,
Whose feare already shakes my every joynt :

Then, as my soule, to'heaven her first seate, takes flight,
And earth-borne body, in the earth shall dwell,

So, fall my sinnes, that all may have their right,
To where they are bred, and would presse me, to hell.
Impute me righteous, thus purg'd of evill,

For thus I leave the world, the flesh, the devill.

ΙΟ

T the round earths imagin'd corners, blow

AT

Your trumpets, Angells, and arise, arise

From death, you numberlesse infinities

Of soules, and to your scattred bodies goe,

All whom the flood did, and fire shall o'erthrow,

All whom warre, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies,

Despaire, law, chance, hath slaine, and you whose eyes, Shall behold God, and never tast deaths woe.

But let them sleepe, Lord, and mee mourne a space,

For, if above all these, my sinnes abound,

"Tis late to aske abundance of thy grace,

When wee are there; here on this lowly ground,
Teach mee how to repent; for that's as good
As if thou hadst seal'd my pardon, with thy blood.

ΙΟ

D

Eath be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,

For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,

Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,

Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.

Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,

And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

IO

Hat if this present were the worlds last night?

Soule, where thou dost dwell,

The picture of Christ crucified, and tell
Whether that countenance can thee affright,

Teares in his eyes quench the amasing light,

Blood fills his frownes, which from his pierc'd head fell.
And can that tongue adjudge thee unto hell,

Which pray'd forgivenesse for his foes fierce spight?
No, no; but as in my idolatrie

I said to all my profane mistresses,
Beauty, of pitty, foulnesse onely is
A signe of rigour: so I say to thee,
To wicked spirits are horrid shapes assign'd,
This beauteous forme assures a pitious minde.

Atter my heart, three person'd God; for, you

BA

As yet but knocke, breathe, shine, and seeke to mend; That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow mee,'and bend

Your force, to breake, blowe, burn and make me new.
I, like an usurpt towne, to'another due,

Labour to'admit you, but Oh, to no end,

Reason your viceroy in mee, mee should defend,
But is captiv'd, and proves weake or untrue.
Yet dearely'I love you,'and would be loved faine,
But am betroth'd unto your enemie :

Divorce mee,'untie, or breake that knot againe ;
Take mee to you, imprison mee, for I

Except you'enthrall mee, never shall be free,
Nor ever chast, except you ravish mee.

IO

How me deare Christ, thy spouse, so bright and clear.

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How me dear Christ, thy spouse, her shore

Goes richly painted? or which rob'd and tore
Laments and mournes in Germany and here?
Sleepes she a thousand, then peepes up one yeare?
Is she selfe truth and errs? now new, now outwore?
Doth she, and did she, and shall she evermore
On one, on seaven, or on no hill appeare?
Dwells she with us, or like adventuring knights
First travaile we to seeke and then make Love?
Betray kind husband thy spouse to our sights,
And let myne amorous soule court thy mild Dove,
Who is most trew, and pleasing to thee, then
When she'is embrac'd and open to most men.

John Donne.

ΙΟ

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