Or hope to express her least perfection's part, Whose beauty fills the heavens with her light, And darks the earth with shadow of her sight? Ah, gentle muse! thou art too weak and faint The pourtrait of so heavenly hue to paint.
Let angels, which her goodly face behold
And see at will, her soveraigne praises sing,
And those most sacred mysteries unfold
Of that faire love of mightie Heaven's King;
Enough is me to admyre so heavenly thing,
And, being thus with her huge love possest
In the only wonder of herselfe to rest.
But whoso may, thrise happie man him hold,
Of all on earth whom God so much doth grace,
And lets his owne beloved to behold;
For in the view of her celestiall face
All joy, all blisse, all happinesse, have place;
Ne ought on earth can want unto the wight
Who of herselfe can win the wishfull sight.
For she, out of her secret treasury,
Plenty of riches forth on him will pour,
Even heavenly riches, which there hidden lie
Within the closet of her chastest bowre,
The eternal portion of her precious dowre,
Which mighty God hath given to her free,
And to all those which thereof worthy bee.
None thereof worthy bee but those whom she
Vouchsafeth to her presence to receive,
And letteth them her lovely face to see,
Whereof such wondrous pleasures they conceive,
And sweet contentment, that it doth bereave
Their soul of sense through infinite delight,
And them transport from flesh into the spright.
In which they see such admirable things,
As carries them into an extasy,
And hear such heavenly notes and carolings
Of God's high praise, that fills the brazen sky,
And feel such joy and pleasure inwardly,
That maketh them all worldly cares forget,
And only think on that before them set.
Ne from thenceforth doth any fleshy sense
Or idle thought of earthly things remain,
But all that earst seem'd sweet seems now offence,
And all that pleased earst now seems to pain:
Their joy, their comfort, their desire, their gain,
Is fixed all on that which now they see;
All other sights but fained shadowes bee.
And that fair lampe which useth to inflame
The hearts of men with self-consuming fire,
Thenceforth seems foul, and full of sinful blame;
And all that pomp to which proud minds aspire
By name of honour, and so much desire,
Seems to them baseness, and all riches dross,
And all mirth sadness, and all lucre loss.
So full their eyes are of that glorious sight,
And senses fraught with such satietie,
That in nought else on earth they can delight,
But in the respect of that felicitie,
Which they have written in their inward eye;
On which they feed, and in their fast'ned mind
All happy joy and full contentment find.
Ah, then, my hungry soul! which long hast fed On idle fancies of thy foolish thought,
And, with false beautie's flattring bait misled,
Hast after vaine deceitfull shadowes sought,
Which all are fled, and now have left thee nought
But late repentance through thy follies' prief;'
Ah! ceasse to gaze on matter of thy grief:-
And looke at last up to that Soveraine Light,
From whose pure beams all perfect beauty springs,
That kindleth love in every godly spright,
Even the love of God; which loathing brings
Of this vile world and these gay-seeming things;
With whose sweet pleasures being so possest,
Thy straying thoughts henceforth for ever rest.
SIR JOHN DAVIES was an eminent lawyer in the reigns of Queen Elizabeth and James I. His chief literary production is entitled "Nosce Teipsum, or the Soul of Man and the Immortality thereof." From this poem the ensuing extracts are taken. It is remarkable for the clear and logical conduct of the argument; and, among the productions of that age, for the smooth and equable flow of its verse.
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