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Nor could incomprehensibleness deter
One, whose clear body was so pure and thin, Me from thus trying to imprison ber?
Because it need disguise no thought within ; Which when I saw that a strict grave could do, 'Twas but a through-light scarf her mind t'enroll; I saw not why verse might not do so too.
Or exhalation breath'd out from her soul :
As, when a temple's built, saints emulate
Those new stars every artist exercise ;
What place they should assign to them, they doubt, T is loss to trust a tomb with such a guest,
Argue, and agree not, till those stars go out:
So the world study'd whose this piece should be, Or to confine her in a marble chest,
Till she can be no body's else, nor she: Alas! what's marble, jeat, or porphyry,
But like a lamp of balsamum, desir'd Priz'd with the chrysolite of either eye,
Rather t'adorn than last, she soon expir'd, Or with those pearls and rubies which she was ? Cloth'd in her virgin-white integrity; Join the two Indies in one tomb, 't is glass; For marriage, though it doth not stain, doth die. And so is all to her materials,
To 'scape th' infirmities which wait upon
Woman, she went away before sh' was one ;
Took so much death as serv'd for opium ;
For though she could not, nor could choose to die, Life to that name, by which name they must live? Sh' hath yielded to too long an ecstasy. Sickly, alas! short liv'd, abortive be
He which, not knowing her sad history, Those carcass verses, whose soul is not she; Should come to read the book of Destiny, And can she, who no longer would be she,
How fair and chaste, hamble and high, sh' had been, (Being such a tabernacle) stoop to be
Much promis'd, much perform’d, at not fifteen, In paper wrap'd; or when she would not lie
And measuring future things by things before, In such an house, dwell in an elegy?
Should turn the leaf to read, and read no more,
Would think that either Destiny mistook,
But 't is not so: Fate did but usher her
To years of reason's use, and then infer
Her destiny to herself, which liberty
Her modesty not suffering her to be
Fellow-commissioner with Destiny, But those fine spirits, which do tune and set
She did no more but die ; if after her
Any shall live, which dare true good prefer,
T” accomplish that which should have been her fate. For since death will proceed to triumph still,
They shall make up that book, and shall have thanks He can find nothing after her to kill,
Of fate and her, for filling up their blanks. Except the world itself; so great was she, For future virtuous deeds are legacies, Thus brave and confident may nature be,
Which from the gift of her example rise ; Death cannot give her such another blow,
And 't is in Heav'n part of spiritual mirth,
To see how well the good play her on Eartb.
OF THE PROGRESS OF THE SOUL.
MRS. ELIZABETH DRURY, THE INCOMMODITIES OF THE May 't not be said, that her grave shall restore SOUL IN THIS LIFE, AND HER EXALTATION IN THE NEXT, Her greater, purer, firmer than before ?
THE SECOND ANNIVERSARY.
The harbinger to the progress.
The world's last day, thy glory's full degree : Your force and vigour, ere it were near gone, Like as those stars, which thou o'erlookest far, Wisely bestow'd and laid it all on one;
Are in their place, and yet still mored are :
No soul (whilst with the luggage of this clay Forgetting her, the main reserve of all;
Yet in this deluge, gross and general,
Immortal maid, who though thou would'st refuse
A father, since her chaste ambition is
These hymns may work on future wits, and so Although I cannot get thy glory see:
May great grand-children of thy praises grow; And thou (great spirit) which hers follow'd hast And so, though not revive, embalm and spice So fast, as none can follow thine so fast;
The world, which else would putrify with vice. So far, as none can follow thine so far,
For thus man may extend thy progeny, (And if this flesh did not the passage bar,
Until man do but vanish, and not die. Hadst caught her) let me wonder at thy flight, These hymns thy issue may increase so long, Which long agon hadst lost the vulgar sight, As till God's great venite change the song. And now mak’st proud the better eyes, that they Thirst for that time, O my insatiate soul, Can see thee lessen'd in thine airy way;
And serve thy thirst with God's safe-sealing bowl. So while thou mak’st her soul by progress known, Be thirsty still, and drink still, till thou go Thou mak'st a noble progress of thine own; To th' only health; to be hydroptic so, From this world's carcass having mounted high Forget this rotten world; and into thee To that pure life of immortality;
Let thine own times as an old story be; Since thiné aspiring thoughts themselves so raise, Be not concern'd: study not why, or when; That more may not beseem a creature's praise; Do not so much as not believe a man. Yet still thou vow'st her more, and every year For though to err be worst, to try truths forth, Mak'st a new progress, whilst thou wand'rest here; Is far more business than this world is worth. Still upward mount; and let thy maker's praise The world is but a carcass; thou art fed Honour thy Laura, and adorn thy lays:
By it, but as a worm that carcass bred ; And since thy Muse her head in Heaven shrouds, And why should'st thon, poor worm, consider more Oh let her never stoop below the clouds :
When this world will grow better than before? And if those glorious sainted souls may know Than those thy fellow worms do think upon Or what we do, or what we sing below,
That carcass's last resurrection?
To be thus stupid is alacrity;
She, to whom all this world was but a stage,
Where all sat hark’ning how her youthful age
Should be employ'd, because in all she did
Some figure of the golden times was hid. NOTHING could make me sooner to confess,
Who could not lack whate'er this world could give, That this world had an everlastingness,
Because she was the forın that made it live; Than to consider that a year is run,
Nor could complain that this world was unfit Since both this lower world's, and the Sun's sun, To be stay'd in then, when she was in it. The lustre and the vigour of this all
She, that first try'd indifferent desires Did set ; 't were blasphemy to say, did fall. By virtue, and virtue by religious fires; Bat as a ship, which hath struck sail, doth run She, to whose person paradise adherd; By force of that force, which before it won: As courts to princes: she, whose eyes enspher'd Or as sometimes in a bebeaded man,
Star-light enough, t'have made the south control Though at those two red seas, which freely ran, (Had she been there) the star-full northern pole; One from the trunk, another from the head, She, she is gone; she's gone: when thou know'st this, His soul be sail'd to her eternal bed,
What fragmentary rubbish this world is His eyes will twinkle, and his tongue will roll, Thou know'st, and that it is not worth a thought ; As though he beck'ned and call'd back his soul, He honours it too much that thinks it nought. He grasps his hands, and he pulls up his feet, Think then, my soul, that death is but a groom, And seems to reach, and to step forth to meet Which brings a taper to the outward room, His soul; when all these motions, which we saw,
Whence thou spy'st first a little glimmering light, Are but as ice, which crackles at tbaw:
And after brings it nearer to thy sight: Or as a lute, which in moist weather rings
For such approaches doth Heav'n make in death: Her knell alone, by cracking of her strings; Think thyself labouring now with broken breath, So struggles this dead world, now she is gone: And think those broken and soft notes to be For there is motion in corruption.
Division, and thy happiest barmony. As some days are at the creation pam'd,
Think thee laid on thy death-bed, loose and slack; Before the Sun, the which fram'd days, was fram'd: And think that but unbinding of a pack, So after this Sup 's set some show appears,
To take one precious thing, thy soul, from thence. And orderly vicissitude of years.
Think thyself parch'd with fever's violence,
Anger thine ague more, by calling it
Think that thou hear'st thy knell, and think no more, Think, that no stubborn sullen anchorit,
Whether in that new world men live and 'ie.
Can (being one star) Hesper and Vesper be;
He, that charm'd Argus' eyes, sweet Mercury, Aud as, though all do know, that quantities Works not on her, who now is grown all eye; Are made of lines, and lines from points arise, Who, if she meet the body of the Sun, None can these lines or quantities unjoint,
Goes through, not staying till his course be run; And say, this is a line, or this a point;
Who finds in Mars his camp no corps of guard, So though the elements and humours were Nor is by Jove, nor by his father, barr'd; In her, one could not say, this governs there; But ere she can consider how she went, Whose even constitution might bave won
At once is at and through the firmament. Any disease to venture on the Sun,
And as these stars were but so many beads Rather than her; and make a spirit fear,
Strung on one string, speed updistinguish'd leads That he too disuniting subject were ;
Her through those spberes, as through those beads To whose proportions if we would compare
a string, Cubes, they 're unstable; circles, angular; Whose quick succession makes it still one thing: She, who was such a chain as Fate employs As doth the pith, which, lest our bodies slack, To bring mankind all fortunes it enjoys,
Strings fast the little bones of neck and back;
For when our soul enjoys this her third birth,
Where darkness was before, when tapers come. And though he may pretend a conquest, since This must, my soul, thy long-short progress be Heav'n was content to suffer violence;
T” advance these thoughts; remember then that she, Yea, though he plead a long possession too, [do) She, whose fair body no such prison was, (For they're in Heav'n on Earth,who Heav'n's works But that a soul might well be pleas'd to pass Though he had right, and pow'r, and place before, An age in her; she, whose rich beauty lent Yet Death must usber and unlock the door. Mintage to other beauties, for they went Think further on thyself, my soul, and think But for so much as they were like to her; How tbou at first wast made but in a sink; She, in whose body (if we dare prefer Think, that it argued some infirmity,
This low world to so high a mark as she) That those two souls, which then thou found'st in me, The western treasure, eastern spicery, Thou fed'st upon, and drew'st into thee both Europe, and Afric, and the unknown rest My second soul of sense, and first of growth. Were easily found, or what in them was best ; Think but how poor thou wast, how obnoxious, And when we've made this large discovery Whom a small lump of flesh could poison thus. Of all, in her some one part then will be This curdled milk, this poor unletter'd whelp, Twenty such parts, whose plenty and riches is My body, could, beyond escape or help,
Enough to make twenty such worlds as this; Infect thee with original sin, and thou
She, whom had they known, who did first betroth Could'st neither then refuse, nor leave it now. The tutelar angels, and assigned one both
To nations, cities, and to companies,
So much good, as would make as many more: To functions, offices, and dignities,
She, whose example they must all implore, And to each several man, to him and him,
Who would, or do, or think well, and confess They would have giv'n ber one for every limb; That all the virtuous actions they express, She, of wbose soul if we may say, 't was gold, Are but a new and worse edition Her body was th' electrum, and did hold
Of her some one thought, or one action : Many degrees of that; we understood
She, who in th’art of knowing Heav'n was grown Her by her sight; her pure and eloquent blood Here upon Earth to such perfection, Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought, That she hath, ever since to Heav'n she came, That one might almost say, her body thought; (In a far fairer print) but read the same; She, she thus richly and largely hous'd, is gone, She, she not satisfy'd with all this weight, And chides us, slow-pac'd snails, who crawl upon
(For so much knowledge, as would over-freight Our prison's.prison, Earth, nor think us well, Another, did but ballast her) is gone Longer than whilst we bear our brittle shell. As well t' enjoy as get perfection; But 't were but little to have chang'd our room,
And calls us after her, in that she took If, as we were in this our living tomb
(Taking herself) our best and worthiest book. Oppress'd with ignorance, we still were so. Return not, my soul, from this ecstasy, Poor soul, in this thy flesh what dost thou know? And meditation of what thou shalt be, Thou know'st thyself so little, as thou know'st not To earthly thoughts, tilt it to thee appear, How thou didst die, nor how thou wast begot. With whom thy conversation must be there. Thou neither know'st bow thou at first cam'st in,
With whom wilt thou converse ? what station Nor how thou took'st the poison of man's sin; Canst thou choose out free from infection, Nor dost thou (though thou know'st that thou art so) That will not give thee theirs, nor drink in thine ? By what way thou art made immortal, know. Shalt thou not find a spongy slack divine Thou art too narrow, wretch, to comprehend Drink and suck in th' instructions of great men, Even thyself, yea, though thou would'st but bend And for the word of God vent them again? To know thy body. Have not all souls thought Are there not some courts (and then no things be For many ages, that our body 's wrought So like as courts) which in this let us see, Of air, and fire, and other elements ?
That wits and tongues of libellers are weak, And now they think of new ingredients.
Because they do more ill than these can speak ? And one soul thinks one, and another way The poison 's gone through all, poisons affect Another thinks, and 't is an even lay.
Chiefly the chiefest parts; but some effect Know'st thou but how the stone doth enter in In nails, and hairs, yea, excrements will show; The bladder's cave, and never break the skin? So lies the poisou of sin in the most low. Know'st thou how blood, which to the heart doth Up, up, my drowsy soul, where thy new ear flow,
Shall in the angels' songs no discord hear; Doth from one ventricle to th’ other go?
Where thou shalt see the blessed mother-maid And for the putrid stuff which thou dost spit, Joy in not being that which men have said; Know'st thou how thy lungs have attracted it? Where she's exalted more for being good, There are no passages, so that there is
Than for her interest of motherhood : (For ought thou know'st) piercing of substances. Up to those patriarchs, which did longer sit And of those many opinions, which men raise Expecting Christ, than they 've enjoy'd him yet: Of nails and hairs, dost thou know which to praise? | Up to those prophets, which now gladly see What hope have we to know ourselves, when we Their prophecies grown to be history: Know not the least things, which for our use be? Up to th' apostles, who did bravely run We see in authors, too stiff to recant,
All the Sun's course, with more light than the Sun: An hundred controverses of an ant;
Up to those martyrs, who did calmly bleed And yet one watches, starves, freezes, and sweats, Oil to th' apostle's lamps, dew to their seed: To know but catechisms and alphabets
Up to those virgins, who thought, that almost Of unconcerning things, matters of fact;
They inade joint-tenants with the Holy Ghost,
Up, up, for in that squadron there doth live
For she made wars, and triumph'd; reason still Thou look'st through spectacles; small things seem Did not o'erthrow, but rectify her will: great
And she made peace; for no peace is like this, Below; but up onto the watch-tower get, That beauty and chastity together kiss: And see all things despoil'd of fallacies:
She did high justice, for she crucify'd Thou shalt not peep through lattices of eyes, Ev'ry first motion of rebellion's pride: Nor hear through labyrinths of ears, nor learn And she gave pardons, and was liberal, By circuit or collections to discern;
For, only herself except, she pardon'd all: In Heav'n thou straight know'st all concerning it, she coin'd, in this, that her impression gave And what concerns it not, shall straight forget. To all our actions all the worth they have: There thou (but in no other school) may'st be She gave protections; the thoughts of her breast Perchance as learned, and as full as she;
Satan's rude officers could oe'er arrest. She, who all libraries had throughly read
As these prerogatives, being met in one, At bome in her own thoughts, and practised Made ber a sovereigo state ; religion
Made her a church; and these two made her all. 'T is such a full, and such a filling good,
To fill the place of one of them, or more,
She, whom we celebrate, is gone before : She, she doth leave it, and by death survive She, who had here so much essential joy, All this in Heav'n; whither who doth not strive As no chance could distract, much less destroy; The more, because she's there, he doth not know Who with God's presence was acquainted so, That accidental joys in Heav'n do grow.
(Hearing, and speaking to him) as to know But pause, my soul ; and study, tre thou fall His face in any natural stone or tree, On accidental joys, th' essential.
Better than when in images they be: Still before accessories do abide
Who kept by diligent devotion A trial, must the principal be try'd.
God's image in such reparation And what essential joy canst thou expect
Within her heart, that what decay was grown, Here upon Earth? what permanent effect Was her first parents' fault, and not her own : Of transitory causes? Dost thou love
Who, being solicited to any act, Beauty ? (And beauty worthiest is to move) Still heard God pleading his safe pre-contract : Poor cozen'd cozener, that she, and that thou, Who by a faithful confidence was here Which did begin to love, are neither now.
Betroth'd to God, and now is married there; You are both Auid, chang'd since yesterday; Whose twilights were more clear than our mid-day; Next day repairs (bạt ill) last day's decay. Who dream'd devoutlier than most use to pray: Nor are (although the river keep the name) Who being here fill'd with grace, yet strove to be Yesterday's waters and to day's the same. Both where more grace and more capacity So flows her face, and thine eyes; neither now At once is given : she to Heav'a is gone, That saint, nor pilgrim, which your loving vow Who made this world in some proportion Concern'd, remains; but whilst you think you be A Heav'n, and here became unto us all, Constant, you 're hourly in inconstancy.
Joy (as our joys admit) essential. Honour may have pretence unto our love,
But could this low world joys essential touch, Because that God did live so long above
Heav'n's accidental joys would pass them much. Without this honour, and then lov'd it so,
How poor and lame must then our casual be? That he at last made creatures to bestow
If thy prince will his subjects to call thee Honour on him; not that he needed it,
My lord, and this do swell thee, thou art then,
When no physician of redress can speak,
And whilst thou joy'st in this, the dangerous rest, Is built, as rise and fall, to more and less,
The bag may rise up, and so strangle thee. Alas! 't is but a casual happiness.
What e'er was casual, may ever be: Hath ever any man t' himself assign'd
What should the nature change? or make the same This or that happiness t' arrest his mind,
Certain, which was but casual when it came? But that another man, which takes a worse, All casual joy doth loud and plainly say, Thinks him a fool for having ta'en that course? Only by coming, that it can away. They who did labour Babel's tow'r t' erect, Only in Heav'n joy's strength is never spent, Might have consider'd, that for that effect And accidental things are permanent. All this whole solid Earth could not allow,
Joy of a soul's arrival ne'er decays; Nor furnish forth materials enow;
(For that soul ever joys, and ever stays) And that his centre, to raise such a place, Joy, that their last great consummation Was far too little to have been the base :
Approaches in the resurrection; No more affords this world foundation
When earthly bodies more celestial T' erect true joy, were all the means in one. Sball be than angels were ; for they could fall; But as the heathen made them several gods This kind of joy doth every day admit Of all God's benefits, and all his rods,
Degrees of growth, but none of losing it. (For as the wine, and corn, and onions are
In this fresh joy, 't is no small part that she, Gods unto them, so agues be, and war)
She, in whose goodness he that names degree, And as by changing that whole precious gold Doth injure her; ('t is loss to be call'd best, To such small copper coins, they lost the old, There where the stuff is not such as the rest ;) And lost their only God, who ever must
She, who left such a body as even she Be sought alone, and not in such a thrust : Only in Heav'n could learn, how it can be So much mankind true happiness mistakes; Made better; for she rather was two souls, No joy enjoys that man, that many makes. Or like to full on both sides-written rolls, Then, soul, to thy first pitch work up again; Where minds might read upon the outward skin Know that all lines, which circles do contain, As strong records for God, as minds within: For once that they the centre touch, do touch She, who, by making full perfection grow, Twice the circumference; and be thou such, Pieces a circle, and still keeps it so, Double on Heav'n thy thoughts, on Earth employ'd; Long'd for, and longing for 't, to Heav'n is gone, All will not scrve; only who have enjoy'd
Where she receives and gives addition. The sight of God in fulness, can think it;
Here in a place, where misdevotion frames For it is both the object and the wit.
A thousand prayers to saints, whose very names This is essential joy, where neither he
The ancient church knew not, Heav'n knows not yet, Can suffer diminution, nor we;
And where what laws of poetry admits