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Love.

Ove bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back,

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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, ungratefull? 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.

George Herbert.

JOB XIII. XXIV.

Wherefore hidest thou thy face, and boldest me for thy enemie?

W

Hy dost thou shade thy lovely face? O why

Does that ecclipsing hand, so long, deny

The Sun-shine of thy soule-enliv'ning eye?

Without that Light, what light remaines in me?
Thou art my Life, my Way, my Light; in Thee
I live, I move, and by thy beames I see.

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Thou art my Life; If thou but turne away,
My life's a thousand deaths: thou art my Way;
Without thee, Lord, I travell not, but stray.

My Light thou art; without thy glorious sight,
Mine eyes are darkned with perpetuall night.
My God, thou art my Way, my Life, my Light.

Thou art my Way; I wander, if thou flie:
Thou art my Light; If hid, how blind am I?
Thou art my Life; If thou withdraw, I die.

Mine eyes are blind and darke, I cannot see ;
To whom, or whither should my darknesse flee,
But to the Light? And who's that Light but Thee?

My path is lost; my wandring steps do stray;
I cannot safely go, nor safely stay;

Whom should I seek but Thee, my Path, my Way?

O, I am dead: To whom shall I, poore I,
Repaire? To whom shall my sad Ashes fly
But Life? And where is Life but in thine eye?

And yet thou turn'st away thy face, and fly'st me;
And yet I sue for Grace, and thou deny'st me;
Speake, art thou angry, Lord, or onely try'st me?

Unskreene those heav'nly lamps, or tell me why
Thou shad'st thy face; Perhaps, thou think'st, no eye
Can view those flames, and not drop downe and die.

If that be all, shine forth, and draw thee nigher;
Let me behold and die; for my desire
Is Phoenix-like to perish in that Fire.

IO

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Death-conquer'd Laz'rus was redeem'd by Thee;
If I am dead, Lord set deaths prisner free;
Am I more spent, or stink I worse than he?

If my pufft light be out, give leave to tine
My shamelesse snuffe at that bright Lamp of thine;
O what's thy Light the lesse for lighting mine?

If I have lost my Path, great Shepheard, say,
Shall I still wander in a doubtfull way?
Lord, shall a Lamb of Isr'els sheepfold stray?

Thou art the Pilgrims Path; the blind mans Eye;
The dead mans Life; on thee my hopes rely;
If thou remove, I erre ; I grope; I die.

Disclose thy Sun-beames; close thy wings, and stay;
See see, how I am blind, and dead, and stray,

O thou, that art my Light, my Life, my Way.

Francis Quarles.

CANTICLES II. XVI.

My beloved is mine, and I am his; He feedeth among

the Lillies.

V'n like two little bank-dividing brookes,

E That wash the pebles with their wanton streames,

And having rang'd and search'd a thousand nookes,
Meet both at lengthe in silver-brested Thames,
Where in a greater Current they conjoyne:
my Best-Beloveds am; so He is mine.

So I

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Ev'n so we met; and after long pursuit,

Ev'n so we joyn'd; we both became entire; No need for either to renew a Suit,

For I was Flax and he was Flames of fire:

Our firm united soules did more than twine ; So I my Best-Beloveds am; so He is mine.

If all those glittring Monarchs that command
The servile Quarters of this earthly Ball,
Should tender, in Exchange, their shares of land,
I would not change my Fortunes for them all:

Their wealth is but a Counter to my Coyne;
The world's but theirs; but my Beloved's mine.

Nay, more; If the fair Thespian Ladies all

Should heap together their diviner treasure: That Treasure should be deem'd a price too small To buy a minutes Lease of half my Pleasure;

"Tis not the sacred wealth of all the Nine

Can buy my heart from Him; or His, from being mine.

Nor Time, nor Place, nor Chance, nor Death can bow
My least desires unto the least remove;

Hee's firmely mine by Oath; I, His, by Vow;
Hee's mine by Faith; and I am His by Love;
Hee's mine by Water; I am His, by Wine;
Thus I my Best-Beloveds am; Thus He is mine.

He is my Altar; I, his Holy Place;

I am his Guest; and he, my living Food;
I'm his, by Poenitence; He, mine by Grace;
I'm his, by Purchase; He is mine, by Blood;
Hee's my supporting Elme; and I, his Vine:
Thus I Best-Beloveds
my
Thus He is mine.

am;

ΙΟ

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