1648
ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION

Psyche. Canto XX. The Mortification.

Psyche: or Loves Mysterie. In XX. Canto's: displaying the Intercourse betwixt Christ, and the Soule. By Joseph Beaumont, Mr. in Arts and ejected Fellow of S. Peters College in Cambridge.

Rev. Joseph Beaumont


Returned to Albion, Queen Psyche proceeds to establish order over her rebellious senses and passions; in the 1702 version this is compared to the restoration of King Charles.



THE ARGUMENT.
Right wisely busy in her Leisure, now
Psyche asserts her royal Power and by
Severest Tenderness contriveth how
In strict Obedience's chain to ty
The Commons of her Realm: as knowing well
The way to Live, was thus her Self to Kill.

Peace, gentle Queen of whatsoever makes
Sweets acceptable, Bliss delightful be;
What fatal Conjuration of Mistakes
Inchanteth mortal Hearts, that they will see
Thy Worth not by its own clear light, but by
The hideous Glass of War's Deformity!

They see Sol's beauty by his proper beams;
Gems by their native Lustre them allure;
They taste the Fountain's sweetness by the streams;
The Rose's scarlet Cheeks can them assure
The Flower is gorgeous: yet will they not
Thy Graces read, but by a Stain and Blot:

The Blot of every Sin, of Blood the Stain,
Which in the lawless Fields of Mars doth grow:
Thus silly Sheep by sad experience gain
To know the safety of the Fold, when through
The Mountains straying they have lost their way
And found themselves to Bears and Wolves a Prey.

Dear is this Learning, and how oft too late!
O how much sooner, and much cheaper might
They War's most tedious costly study bate,
If they to Thee would come to School, and write
But from th' Original of thy fair Eyes;
That Book, which dims the Volumes of the Skies!

Thy Temper is all Musick, never did
The least of Jars thy sweet Complexion crack:
From thine, all Concords first were copied;
Nor would the Center on his trusty back
Agree to bear the World, didst Thou not by
Thy dainty Chains his Load upon him ty.

In Time's first Dawn, when in th' untuned Deep
Each Thing was wroth and snarled at his Brother;
When Heav'n and Earth tumbled in one blind heap,
Struggled and strove to stifle one another;
When with their peevish selves all Creatures fought,
And in their own hearts for their Enemies sought:

With seasonable Kindness Thou didst come,
And those wild Tumults sweetly chase away:
The boistrous Pangs of Nature's travelling Womb
With happy Quietness Thou didst allay,
Making those Embryos friends, who never since
Have to that Knot of Love done Violence.

All rest contented with the Stations Thou
Appointedst them: and Earth is pleas'd as well
With her poor Habitation here below,
As Stars which in Heav'n's loftiest stories dwell.
Nor will the Winds, though big they be and proud,
Desire above the middle Air to croud.

The surly Sea, who in his boiling Wrath
Against the shore with mountainous Waves doth make;
Dreadeth that List of feeble Sands, which hath
No power his desperate Carreer to slake;
Because he reads in it Thy potent Law
Which to a meek Ebb chides his proudest Flow.

All honest Beasts and sociable, are
Made such by Thy mild Influence: in vain
The tender Oaten Pipe, and weaker Care
Of Pan's plain Sons their silly selves would strain,
Didst Thou not first persuade the Sheep to be
Best pleased with the Flock's Community.

The boldest Brats of Salvageness are not
So barbarous, but they to Thy Sweetness yield:
The rugged Bears in Thy commanding Knot
Are closed fast, when through the widest field
They range and roar: nor durst fierce Lyons break
Thy yoke of Friendship from their sturdy neck.

Men whose discording Tempers them invite
To seek new Worlds their several minds to please,
Are by Thy Cement taught to take delight
In courteous Unions of Families:
One House will hold a Brood, when Thou dost join
To build their Walls, and their Desires combine.

No Cities ever could erected be,
Did not Thine Hand the Architecture guide;
Were not the sound Materials by Thee
For every Street and every Isle supply'd:
Their Firmitude to neither Wood nor Stone
They owe, but to Thine Unity alone.

Most distant Countries Thou canst Neighbours make
By safe and friendly Traffick, which doth bear
One World into another's Lap, and pack
Away the rich and radiant East, that here
It may adorn the West; whose mutual Store
Of other Wealth requites that Golden Ore.

Nations whose differing Languages divide
Them from the hopes of joint Community,
Are in one Common-wealth securely ty'd
When Thou dost knit them up, and make them see
That All want friendly Help of All: that One
Is next to Nothing when 'tis left alone.

A Scepter's mighty Load Thou makest light,
And wean'st from Wearyness the Subjects' necks,
Except by wilful sottishness they slight
Thy Kindness, and their own Subjection vex.
For Highnoon's dark to those who will not see;
And Feathers Lead, when Men will tired be.

When sacred Thou prevail'st, all Laws do so,
And fair Astraea ventures down again;
Right through the blessed Streets hath leave to go,
And awful Modesty fails not to chain
All Rudeness up; which once let loose by War
Nor Heav'n, nor Earth, nor its own Weal doth spare.

The coolest Veil could never yet secure
The bashful Virgin from Lust's rampant fire;
But when in sober bounds thy Rules immure
The youthful Violence of hot Desire;
Her only safety lily Chastity
To thy white Banner owes, and purer Thee.

The Gown may keep the thoughtful Student warm,
Yet not but when they kindly are embraced,
And girded close by Thy incircling Arm:
Else is their poor unguarded Garb outfaced
By Buff and Shields; and they enforc'd to try
What Habit best will sute them when they fly.

For from their Studies reprobated They
Though unaccused, must Ejected be;
And sadly driv'n to make where e'r they may
The Universe their University:
Whilst in the Muses' Hives an upstart Breed
Of misbegot intruding Drones succeed.

All Arts which are of age, and grown complete,
That Happiness to Thy Tuition owe:
No Honey e'r had chose its dainty Seat
In Orator's Mouths; no Bay on Poet's brow
Had flourished; did not Thine Influence bless
All Learning's Seasons with due Fertilness.

By Thy sole Patent Heav'n on Earth hath room;
Churches have license to be what they are;
God is permitted here to have an Home,
And handsome too: thou puttest in the Bar
Which bids Profaness learn its distance, and
Confess that there's more than one Holy Land.

The Walls to their own Altars cannot yield
Protection, if Thou lend'st them not Thine aid;
The Roof cannot the Rites and Service shield
When by Heretick storms they are assay'd,
Except Thou help'st the Churches air to clear
And bridle up that popular Carreer.

The Theme of everlasting Admiration,
Miraculous Love's selected Mystery,
Lies prostituted to the Usurpation
Of lay unwashed Hands but where by thy
Just Discipline, from that Communion this
Shameless Community forestalled is.

The sacred Priests, who never injur'd be
By unrevenged Hand, are not secured,
Though all the Reverence of Piety
In venerable Awe hath them immur'd;
Unless Thy potent Arm be stretch'd to keep
The Shepherds from the mouths of their own Sheep.

For by the teeth of spightful Accusations
Whetted by thousand Lies, they snarle and grin;
Then by the crueler Jaws of Sequestrations
Grind and devour their patient Pastors, in
Prodigious desire that in their stead
They may by some rapacious Wolf be fed.

Or if their Mercy let them live 'tis but
To mock them by a killing Livelyhood,
The Fifth Part; which is sooner spent than got,
And that in getting; thus they suck the blood
They seemed to have left, and find a way
To make their very Charity destroy.

Religion's venerable Cedars, They
In whom the grand Apostles still survive;
Alas, must Root and Branch he torn away,
And room to Shrubs and scrambling Brambles give;
Vile Underwoods, and their own Planter's shame;
Elders in nothing but their stinking name.

In vain our holy Mother's own Freehold
That Title weareth, so unnatural be
Her Sons, and sacrilegiously bold;
Unless Thou curb'st their cursed Liberty:
Poor Church! she Bankrupt turns, except by Thee
Her Patrimony she protected see.

Nay Princes, upon whose majestick Head
God's Name was poured in the sacred Unction,
No sooner are by Thee abandoned;
But in despight to their most awful Function
Of all th' ingrateful and apostate Scum
Of their own Vassals, they the Scorn become.

No Region, though before the Garden where
All Happiness had ample room to grow,
Forsaken is by Thee, but strait doth wear
The woful garb of Misery, and flow
With streams of briney tears for those sweet currents
Where Milk and Honey join'd to make the torrents.

But Plenty's Horn in thy fair bosom dwells;
Whence, whereso'er thy happy foot but treads,
Thy Benisons it liberally spills,
And all the Fields with smiling Fatness spreads;
Whilst jolly Hinds repay thee honest praise,
Not Guns' dread Thunder, but soft oaten Layes

Away sneaks Vice, when thou thy face revealest,
And seeks blind Holes to hide her blacker head;
Whose Dwellings Thou to chosen Virtues dealest,
Cheering them up to take sure root and spread
Their Arms so wide that all the Country may
Under their shade calm Happiness enjoy.

O blessed Maid, how long, how long shall we
Our Curses number by the days and years!
The tedious days and years, which still we see
All black with sullen clouds of fatal Fears,
Whilst thou art fled, and leav'st our woful Land
In most unnatural War's destroying Hand!

How is unhappy Britain now become
The Isle of Sorrow which was once of Joy!
How have all Monsters made those Fields their Home
Where only harmless Sheep were wont to play!
How are the Drums and Cannons taught to roar
Where only Pipes of Reed were heard before!

How have we stained Albion's lily hue
In bloody gore, and wash'd that Name away!
How has our Red-cross prov'd too truly true
To that its Tincture! How are we a Prey
Unto our Selves, whilst we have made a Sea
No less amidst us, than about us be!

A Sea, broke ope from our own desperate Veins,
Which both to Crown and Mitre shipwreck threats:
A Sea, in which though Some still fish for Gains,
They'l be at length the Draught to their own Nets.
Alas, there's nothing to be gained here
But certain Loss; which makes the Trade too dear.

How have we coin'd fond Names of Hate, which we
With sword and bullet to the death persue!
Are there no Turks! that thus the Unity
Of our brave English Name must by a new
Portentuous Rent, all massacred appear
Into the Roundhead and the Cavalier!

Yea ev'n that Roundhead, like his Master's Foot
Is clov'n, and into two new Monsters split:
The Presbyterian (once the only Root,
Now but a Branch,) and Independent; fit
And hopeful Twins, and like to multiply
Into a more-and-more-divided Fry.

How have we strove our Lyon's Nails to pare,
Who was before the royal Dread and Awe
Of all the neighbour Beasts! How has our Fear
And Jealousy now help'd their Cause to grow
To greater strength! How has our first Expence
But op'd our Purse till all be drained thence!

How have our idle Compositions given,
Power to our foes' Divisions to maintain!
How are our Servants by our Madness thriven
Into imperious Lords! whilst We are fain
To be at charges toward our own Plunder,
And keep an Army up to keep us under!

Sweet Queen of Joys, O when, when will it be!
When will the blessed Dawn of thy fair Eyes
Clear our benighted Hemisphere, that We
And all our wonted Bliss, with thee may Rise!
Dear Peace, when will thy calming Presence please
Our inland Tempest's billows to appease?

When shall we cease, with mighty Care and Cost
To raise the heap of our own Ruins high!
When shall we yield to be no longer tost
In waves of self-affected Misery!
When shall we with our Tortures cease to play!
When shall we Do, what we so often Say!

When shall we scorn to make our Isle the scorn
Of All who at self-sought Disasters jest!
When shall we judge our selves enough forlorn!
When shall we think our Woes deserve at least
Our own Compassion; that our Bowels may
Be wounded only by that healing way.

(Such were my Muse's sighs, when She and I
Heard in our Cell, the Crack of Church and State
So sad a time of its Nativity
Had Psyche's legend. For, the better fate
Of worried Britan stay'd with Him to come
Who only worthy was to bring it home.

He wondrous He, upon the Belgick main
Imbark'd, and then in triumph landed it
Safe on the Kentish Strand: where Charles his Wain
Broke from its long and black Eclipse; and met
Those gazing Throngs, whose strange Applauses press
Both Heav'n and Earth their Gladness to attest.

From hence, to scarce-believing London flew
The grand Restorer: in whose glorious Train
How suddenly great Britain greater grew,
Outshining her old self, to entertain
Her new felicity! O loyal Pride,
Which meek Submission bravely testify'd!

Thus through his vast Metropolis, the King
Now of her heart, pass'd to his royal Home!
Whilst all th' adorned Streets with shouting rung.
No Acclamations ever thundred from
More earnest Mouths; no Calm of Peace was e'r
Welcom'd with such tempestuous Joys, as here.

Prudent and tender Phylax, knew that He
In both those Titles, nothing could bestow
Which in Advantages would richer be
To his most precious Pupil's heart, than now
To exile every troublous Mist and clear
The count'nance of her Habitation's sphere.

He knew the worth of Peace; and long ago
When he had left his Charge in Palestine
He hither flew, and order'd business so
That all things into Quiet did combine:
Yet none could tell it was to entertain
Psyche, now ready to return again.

But she, arrived at her native Home
Wonder'd to find Security made Queen
Of all that Region: vacant was no room
For Molestation to be tampering in;
Nor any gap left ope, by which she might
Thrust in her head, and Settlement affright.

Her Friends and Parents much advanc'd this Wonder,
When in their cheerly Gratulations they
Told her, how Peace had trode all Perils under
Her sure-set feet, and puff'd the Storm away.
They told it o'r, and o'r, and marvel'd why
She turn'd to Phylax her mistrusting eye.

Which He observing, to her silent Doubt
Made this Reply: suspect no Falsehood here;
'Tis Truth thou seest; a Truth my Care has brought
About, to bid thee welcome home, my Dear.
Thy Voyage finish'd is; and safely thou
May'st in this Hav'n of Rest thy Bark bestow.

But see thou rigg'st it still, and keep'st it trim,
For fear some treacherous storm hereafter rise:
What boots it, stoutly through strange Seas to swim
And poorly prove at home a Tempest's Prize?
Safe is the Harbour whilst thy Care awakes:
Just Shipwrack sleeping Pilots overtakes.

Complete Security dwells in no Bay
But that above, to which thine Heart doth sail:
There in the Downs of Peace for ever may
Thy Vessel ride: but here no Help can bail
Thee from the Wind's arrest, if thou forget
To aid thy self, and thine own Watches set.

O set them then, and bravely antidate
The Rest that happy makes the heav'nly Port;
Cheap, cheap's the Prize, though at the dearest Rate:
O stick not then to pay thus little for't.
Thy Life no further than a span can reach;
And wilt not thou thus far thy Labour stretch?

If thou repent thee of thy bargain, say
That with false Wares thy Phylax cheated thee:
Throw, boldly throw both them and Me away;
And call the Shoar more treacherous than the Sea
Conclude all things but Vanity, are vain,
And count Perdition for the only Gain.

But surely no such desperate Thought will e'r
Debauch the sober heart of Psyche: No;
My Hopes are greater of thy holy Care,
With which mine own shall be combined too;
For as a Guard upon thy Guard will I
My wonted Love and Watchfulness imploy.

Nor will thy other Soul-embraving Friend
Be slow in lending thee her mighty Aid:
She who through every Obstacle can rend
Her conquering way; She who hath often stay'd
Thy tottering feet, and often thee restor'd
To thy lost Self, and thy forsaken Lord.

Scarce had he spoke; but (as the heav'nly Dew
Into Earth's thirsty mouth drops soaking Joy)
Right seasonable Charis hither flew,
Whose thrilling Influence op'd its dainty way,
With most invincibly-delicious art,
Through Psyche's soft breast to her softer heart.

Nor did her Favor use, or need, her tongue;
But spake it self in Psyche's inmost ear;
And by soul-plying secret language rung
More solid sweets than airy Words could bear:
The Virgin understood its meaning well,
And hugg'd it in her heart's profoundest cell.

(That cell wherein her Life inshrined lay,
Which now rose up in pious reverence,
And to this royal Guest gave willing way:
For what is Grace's blessed Influence,
But Life's best Life? and therefore well may in
The vital Palace reign as sovereign Queen.)

So close she hugg'd it, that it there grew warm,
And glow'd so hot, that strait it fell on fire:
The sudden flame sounded a smart Alarm
Through all her breast, and roused brave Desire:
Desire, the other Forces muster'd up;
And now no bar her high Design could stop.

As when heroick Fervour has awoke
A Prince's heart to take a strict Survey
Of all his Realm, and Reformation make
Of what is swerv'd from Right's and Law's Highway:
To his own King, the King of Heav'n, he calls
For Aid, and then to his great Bus'ness falls:

So entheous Psyche, prostrate on her face,
Begs Jesus's help to speed her Enterprise:
(For Phylax now by Heav'n admonished was
To snatch his Presence from his Pupil's eyes:
In press obedience to which Item,
He Fled strait into Invisibility.)

Dear Lord, said she, who never didst reject
Thy Worms, which to thy footstool crawl for Aid;
Thy Pity on thy Handmaid O reflect,
That she by her faint self be not betray'd.
Thou, who vouchsaf'd to kindle my Desire,
Assist me, least it prove an useless Fire.

Well knows thy wronged Majesty, how I
The flames Thou giv'st me, oft, too oft, did choke,
And sent up no Returns at all to thy
Most liberal Heav'n, but black and stinking smoke;
Hell's proper breath, and yet as truly mine
When to Cerinthus's School I ran from Thine.

O trust me not alone; though now my Will
Bravely inspired and spurred on by Thee,
Aims at a lofty mark; yet Psyche still
Is that unfortunate and feeble she
Who in her full carreers proves out of breath,
And when she soars to Life sinks down to Death.

Dear is my Guardian's Company to me:
And yet when He is here, I am alone:
My soul in no Companion finds but Thee
A perfect Cure of Desolation:
For I my self, alas, do never stay
Ev'n with my self, if Thou but step'st away.

But if Thou stay'st, I shall defiance give
To any Labour and to any Pain:
As oft's mine own do faint, I shall receive
New spirits from Thee, and venture on again:
Nor shall misfortune cheat me of my Play,
For though I die, I still shall win the day.

Yet not for mine, but for thy Grace's, and
For thine own Credit, here I crave success:
Paid soley to the Praise of thy kind Hand
Shall be th' Atchievment's glory: Psyche is
Beneath Disgrace, but it in honor do's
Concern thy strength no Victory to loose.

Up towr'd her Prayer, and knock'd at Jesus's ear;
So loud it knock'd, that strait he let it in;
In, to his Favor's Presence-chamber, where
Their highest Ends all lowly Suters win:
Its Embassy was heard, and Jesus granted
What Psyche in this noble Business wanted.

This bred fresh courage in her soul, and she
With doubled Gallantry adventur'd on
Her generous Task: Her antient Royalty,
Which bold Incroachment oft had bode upon,
She meant to rescue, and assert her Crown;
Though for her Spouse's sake, more than her own.

A general Court she calls, and summons all
Her Subjects in, her royal mind to know:
Large this Appearance prov'd; both great and small
Hasting their prest obedience to show.
For, strict the Proclamation was, and they
Some special Business did expect that day.

No sooner had this Conflux swell'd the Hall
Of Psyche's palace, but in princely state
Ballast both with her Scepter and her Ball
She fairly sails into her sovereign Seat.
Up stood the Company, while she sate down,
And bow'd their heads to Her's, and to her Crown.

How kindly she that joint submission took
As Earnest of their several Duties, she
Assur'd them first by her welpleased Look
(With which she paus'd a while; for Majesty
Must not make haste) then by her softer Tongue,
From whence her charming honey thus she wrung:

My multiplyed self, my numerous I,
In whom as many and as pleasant Lives
I live, as each of you enjoy; how high
Content to me your loyal Prescence gives,
Shall not be now my Theme; it were too long
A story, and would do the other wrong:

The Other; which, since it would more than fill
This Day, (as having cost me several years
To travel through it,) I must only tell
Part of its Wonders; for against your Ears
I plot no tyranny, nor aim to break
Them on a tedious Narration's Rack.

Through many Climats I have whirled been
Safe by the Conduct of my Guardian's Care:
The World I in its several Garbs have seen,
And how their Clothes and Manners Mortals wear;
Fair Cities, foul inhabitants; and sorry
Hamlets, yet noble by their Dwellers' Glory.

I saw Men live in their outsides alone,
Scarce dreaming that within a Soul they had:
And yet (because the fashion help'd it on,)
A Cloke they wisely of Religion made:
A Summer Cloke, so thin and light, that they
Ne'r felt it when upon their backs it lay.

The crisp'd, perfum'd, belac'd, befooled Wights,
Jetting in histrionick Pride I saw;
And jolly Cupid's smug salacious Knights
Proud of atchieving Virtue's overthrow;
With Bacchus's wrangling Squires, whose strange Contest
Was, who should prove the best at being Beast.

Fondlings I saw their fatal Bane embrace,
And loath the Antidote of Piety:
I saw true Honor loaded with Disgrace,
And humble Zeal disdained by those high
And silken Things, who know no way to be
Gentile, but Pride and sinful Liberty.

I saw severely-holy Souls, the Aim
Of lusty Gallants' scorn and peevish Hate;
Who threap'd upon their patient heads the Blame
Of foolish Singularity; and that
Alone because they down the flattering Tide
Of deep Damnation would not with them ride.

The holier Stories, whence the Holy Land
Deriv'd her Name, I by their footsteps read
For many there still deep imprinted stand
To give all pious Pilgrims aim, and lead
Their hearts in that meek hardy Path, which for
Their sakes great Love himself would not abhor.

But by that Lesson of Humility
Both proud and confident I strangely grew;
My own poor waxen wings I needs would try,
And wilfully from those stout Pinions flew
Which Phylax always for my service spread
When sturdy Dangers levell'd at my head.

My Wings, alas, did only me commit
An helpless booty to the Birds of Prey:
With Kites and Vultures strait I was beset,
Whose foul heretick Tallons pluck'd away
My best and fairest plumes; and hasting were
My blood and life with equal spight to tear.

But Heav'n and Phylax present pity took,
And snatched me from that fatal Company,
Up to a Palace whose illustrious Look
Revived mine; whose royal Courtesy
Gave me more solid precious Things, than those
Plunder's wild Law made forfeit to my foes.

This was Ecclesia's famous Court; where I
Beheld the Miracles of Discipline:
No Spectacle e'r blessed mortal eye
With Ravishments more sacred and divine;
Which on my heart themselves so deep did seal,
That there th' Impression must for ever dwell.

So sweet a Calm of heav'nly Peace was there,
That no Disturbance could its Jars intrude:
Which made it genuine Heav'n on Earth appear,
All over with harmonious Pleasures strew'd:
Each Courtier perfect was in's Office grown,
And lov'd it best because it was his own.

And happy are those Courts, and none but those,
Where wise Content doth in all Stations dwell;
Where every Officer, if put to choose,
Would only be ambitious to excel
In what's his own Imployment, and appear
Splendid in none but in his proper sphere.

Such welplac'd Beams as theirs, can only be
The comely Glory of a Prince's Court.
Thus all the prudent Stars above agree
To swell and garnish Heav'n's majestick Port:
Each orb thus loves his own dear Road, and on
His mighty Journy doth with Musick run.

Thus those more radiant Sparks which on the face
Of th' Empyrean Vastness glittering are,
The holy Angels, hug their Orders Place,
And wish no nobler Work than meets them there.
And who can Us impede, if stoutly We
Resolve to model thus our Polity?

How lovelyly shine these Examples, which
Invite our Study into Honor's way!
What Tongue would grudge in its sublimest it pitch
Of strained Art, to consecrate a Lay
Of praise to them? and why should we admire
What yet we dare not venture to desire?

Foul Shame forbid our Souls should flag so low
As ne'r to try one reach at Excellence.
Grant it should cost us all a sweating brow;
The Gain will more than wipe off that Expence.
Ease, Ease alone's the Rust of that brave Metal
Which strengthens noble Spirits for Virtue's Battel.

No pains so painful are to those who know
Their Soul's Activity, as lazy Rest:
And on my foes, might I free Curses throw;
My worst should be, What Drones esteem the best:
No Imprecations would I shoot, but this;
And damn them to no Hell but Idleness.

Come then, Enacted let it henceforth be,
That all our Bows shall to the utmost bend:
That generous and hardy Industry
Through all our Court her active arms extend:
That each one in his proper Office prove
How much my Credit, and their own, they love.

Though I be Queen, I stick not to submit,
And yield my neck to this our common Law:
The yoke for Me no less then you is fit;
And be assured, I my part will draw.
If e'r you see me shrink at any strains,
It shall be your Discharge from further pains.

But if you winch and kick, and scorn to be
Partners with me in your propounded Prize;
Know I'm no youngling now; maturity
Dwells in my Hand and Brain; well can I poise
My Scepter, and have learned how to make
Those who disdain to bow, be fain to break.

I paid an high price for that Learning, when
Crafty Agenor made his market here,
And who can blame my Prudence, if I mean
To make the most of what has cost so dear?
It must and shall appear, how well I know
That Kindness makes but Rebels bolder grow.

But O! I feel my unaccustom'd Tongue
Distaste this threatning stile: for sweetest I
Esteem my breath, when melted to a Song
In Commendation of your Loyalty.
Your Loyalty, which now me thinks, I see
Flaming in forward Sacrifice to Me.

She ceased here. When lo, on all the Hall
A chain of general musing silence lay,
Divers suspected that this Law would gall
Their necks beyond all Patience: yet they
Fearing their Parties votes would prove too weak
Durst not their belking Motions open make.

Not with their Tongues: but with their Eyes about
The Room they walk'd, and question'd one another;
In every look they met both Hope and Doubt
Which mutually their trembling selves did smother;
Their shoulders some, and some their heads did shake
Plainly confessing what they fear'd to speak.

At length presuming it the safer way
Their vessels down the potent stream to steer;
They with the rest resolved to Obey,
And rather bend than break. Thus thankless fear
Of being crush'd by Boreas' wrath, can win
The lazy Clouds through widest Skies to run.

Thrice bow'd the whole Assembly to the ground,
And thrice their Thanks professed to their Prince;
Whose Prudence such a certain way had found
To yoke her Subjects unto Excellence.
And may Rebellion's brand and curse, said they,
Mark and revenge all them that Disobey.

Thus pass'd the Act: which being fairly writ,
High on the middle Pillar of the Hall
Was hung, by Psyche's wise Command, that it
Might of their Duties daily warn them All,
So is the Rod stuck up at School, whose look
Awes Children's eyes and points them to their book.

But She, to practice what was now Decreed,
Begins with them who easiest were to tame
That their Examples useful seeds might breed,
A ready stinging Argument of Shame,
To lash those Servants who more manly were
If they more weakly should their Task forbear.

Her Porters five She called one by one,
Their several Instructions now to take.
Opsis was first; to whom she thus begun:
Though thine high Seat, and sprightful Quickness make
Thee ready at Discoveries, yet I
Am sharper sighted, and can deeper pry.

Believe me then, Thou hast most need to be
Jealous of what usurpeth Beauty's skin.
Danger is politick, and Treachery
Too wise to lodge in a suspicious Inn.
The rankest Weeds in richest soils abound,
The deepest Holes in smoothest floods are found.

That Apple which bewitch'd our Grandame's eyes,
Was in Pomona's goodlyest robe array'd;
Its plump and ruddy cheeks did sweetly rise,
And seeming smiles in all its count'nance play'd;
Yet in it's Juice there lurk'd that venomous Sea
Which drown'd the World in deep Mortality.

Fair were the Grapes to Noah's fearless eye,
Nor with less pleasure fauna they on his taste:
His unsuspecting Heart was also by
Their sweet enchantments ravish'd, till at last
His treacherous Guest trip'd up his heels, and He
Spew'd out confession of the victory.

Elisha's servant read no cause of fear
In that wild Vine, whose smooth Hypocrisy
Woo'd him to fill his mantle with the Cheer
Which thus had feasted his wellpleased Eye:
Yet cheated Man, he did he knew not what
And shred abundant Death into the pot.

Israel's and Wisdom's most renowned King
In folly's guilt was plunged by his Eyes;
Which in his Queens' bright Beauties rioting,
Slyly seduc'd him first to idolize
Those female Powers; and then fall down before
What he set up, and Stocks and Stones adore.

Iscariot's Eyes, when fascinated by
Most dangerous Money's gaudy glistering look,
No longer could those richer Beams descry
Whose pure Exuberance from his Master's broke
But he, blind Traytor, to eternal Night
Betray'd himself, in scorning Jesus's Light.

That gorgeous fruit which dangled on the Trees
That decked Asphaltites's ugly shore,
Outvy'd in fragrant Gold th' Hesperides
Admired boughs, and more Enticements wore
On its smug cheeks: yet all this Statelyness
Was but of Ashes and of stinks the Dress.

The dainty skin which shines on Beauty's face,
Where White's the life of Red, and Red of White,
Alas too oft proves but the lovely Case
Of odious lust and Pride, The goodlyest Wight
Is seldom Good; and hard it is to find
Under a splendid look, a graceful mind.

Be warey then in time, for fear some Bait
Demurely steals an Hook into thine Eye;
For fear the Blandishments of sweet Deceit
Pour Bitterness on thy Credulity.
Security delights in Fear's meek Cell,
And scorns in Confidence's Towers to dwell.

Thou'lt ne'r repent thee of the easy cost
Before thine Eyes a constant Watch to set:
Two nimble Lids thou always ready hast,
Which, if thou wilt, all Dangers out can shut.
Shall it be said, that Opsis means to keep
Those Curtains only to inclose her Sleep?

When Dinah's Eyes would needs be gadding out,
And tracing Hamor's Court; though honest She
Only to feed her curious fancy sought,
Insnar'd she was in Shechem's Treachery,
And, silly Maiden, suddenly became
An Holocaust to Lust's unhappy flame.

O then indanger not, nor waste thy Look
On any Object that concerns thee not:
Thy proper Bus'ness is the safest Book
On which thy studies can be fixed: but
If thou on others cast'st thy venturous eyes,
Thou dangerous Errors read'st and Heresies.

Thou hear'st thy Task; a Task by which thou may'st
Be safe and happy, as my Self would be,
So shall thy Tears be useless, when thou hast
No Crimes to wash: so shall the Bravery
Of thy sweet Beams persist for ever clear,
And from Hell's gloomy Fire no outrage fear.

The time will surely come, as sure as Fate,
Which will this Abstinence of thine requite;
When thou shalt freely rove and range through that
Ocean of Beauties which make Heav'n so bright.
Discredit not with Earthly sights, those eyes
Which are design'd to read the glorious skies.

The glorious skies and what makes them be so?
That double Fount whence purest Glories rise,
The Eyes of Jesus; which on thine shall throw
Whole Deluges of everlasting Bliss;
When they have done their duty here beneath,
And once by Him awakened are from death.

But sure that Duty never will be done
By dwelling on that Mirrour in thy hands;
That brittle Emblem of Corruption,
Which though a polish'd sparkling Front commends,
It wears unlovely Blackness on its back,
And at the mercy lives of every Knock.

Opsis this Charge receiv'd with anxious Look,
And trembled at its smart severity:
That Tremor from her hand her Mirrour shook;
Which falling into its own ruins, she
With many a foolish tear its death lamented,
And took her leave unwillingly contented.

The next was Acoe; Who came dancing in,
And with her wanton fingers tripped o'r
A tickled Lute, in jolly hopes to win
The favor of her awful Sovereign; for
She felt the pulse of every String to find
Where lay the soul of Melody inshrin'd.

Grave Psyche, till the Galliard's Close, was mute
But then reply'd: now lend thine ear to me,
Who will requite thy Layes. I grant thy Lute
Cheer'd and encourag'd by Art's bravery,
May pant thee Airs more sweet in thy esteem
Than any breath which from my lips can stream.

But what is Sweetest, is not always Best,
And therefore not so sweet as is its Name;
Else treacherous Charmers' Pipes must be confest
To merit all the loudest Trumps of Fame:
Though their delicious Tunes Spight's Hisses be
Dissembled under cheating Harmony.

Else might th' insidious Sirens' warbling Note
Vie with the Accents of the Nightingale;
Although no barbarous Tempest's bellowing throat
Did with more certain Peril e'r assail
The Mariner; unless with timely Care
Against her Musick up he seal'd his ear.

Else were th' Hyaena, who with friendly tone
Demurely knocketh at the simple door,
As courteous as his Salutation,
Though in his breast he bloody Treason bore;
And that false Mouth which them bespake so fair
Prepared were the silly Lambs to tear.

Else should the Parasite, whose trade it is
To feed and clothe himself by Praising thee
And stroaking all thy rankling Wickedness:
Be thy more useful faithful Friend, than He
Who for thy breeding Canker's sure prevention
Applies the Corsive of sound Reprehension.

Else should Agyrtes's honey-tipped Tongue
Of ears and hearts more meritorious be,
Than is th' unstudied and harsh-grating Song
Of plain Syneidesis: though dangerous He
Speaks nothing but the Dialect of Hell,
Whilst trusty She doth vocal Heav'n distil.

Remember Acoe with what oily words
The Serpent ointed Eve's imprudent ears:
Yet all the Syllables were two-edg'd swords,
Longbearded Arrows, or envenom'd Spears:
Which flew not only through her careless heart,
But wounds and Death through all the world did dart.

That Serpent marking what himself had done,
Wisely applyd it to his own Defence:
So did his cunning Generation,
Who stop their ears against the Influence
Of soft Enchantments. And it can be no
Disgrace, to learn a Virtue of a Foe.

Had Delilah's Tongue not been so musical,
It ne'r had ventur'd upon Samson's might;
Nor in his chamber conquer'd more than all
Philistia's Powers could do in open sight.
But when the sturdiest Bands were try'd in vain,
Her supple Language prov'd his fatal Chain.

Puff'd with Heav'n-daring Pride and Victory
Great Holofernes fear'd no dint of Fear;
When walled in with his vast Army,
He Vow'd Jacob's Stock up by the roots to tear.
Yet Judith's glozing Tongue his Boasts outdid;
For having won his Ears, she gain'd his Head.

O then thine Avenues let Prudence shut
When wordly Charms are tuning Falshood's strings:
Be deaf, and happy; rather than admit
Those traiterously-melodious Flourishings;
Which stealing once into thy heart, will there
With everlasting Jars thy Conscience tear.

The Voice of Truth, though seeming plain and dry,
Flows with more honey than all Tongues beside:
With Honey so sincere, that Purity
It self in those sole streams delights to glide.
Securely may'st thou be Luxuriant here,
Nor Any Surfeit from this Fulness fear.

Thus shalt thou never need to hunt abroad
For News, the Bait by which Fools mock their hunger;
Who when most fill'd with this most empty food
Find their abused Appetite the stronger.
Well may'st thou other Novelties refuse
For now, alas, ev'n Truth it self is News.

Let others slander't with the name of Pride,
I'l stile it Virtue in thee, to disdain
That Foam of useless Prattle, which doth ride
Upon the idely-busy tongues of vain
And shallow Mortals; who though all the day
They spin out long Discourses, Nothing say.

Scorn light fond Accents, and reserve thine Ear
For those which solid Musick's sweets distil;
Years post about apace: the Time draws near,
When thou exalted on Heav'n's glistering Hill
With those rich Notes shalt entertained be,
Whose Comfort makes the spherick melody.

My Guardian's blessed Voice there shalt thou hear,
And all the winged Quire, whose sprightful Tongues
Blisses and Honors, joys and triumphs cheer,
By lofty raptures of their entheous Songs:
Songs, which must ne'r inebriate any Ear
But what were sober kept on purpose here.

On Acoe so hard this Lesson grated,
That in her heart she wish'd she had been deaf:
And, since their odd Rebellion was defeated,
She fear'd the Senses could have no Relief
By any new: full well she knew beside
Who most should feel it when her Queen did chide.

She groan'd, and let her Lutestrings down as though
Those of her heart with them she loosned had:
And then, O sweetest Womb of Pleasures, how
Shall Acoe live, said she, now thou ly'st dead!
With that, she fetch'd her Musick's funeral sigh,
And kiss'd her Lute, and gently laid it by.

Then Osphresis came in; who in one hand
Courted a Civit box, and in the other
A Nest of Rosebuds built upon a Wand
Of Juniper, and quaintly knit together.
Which Psyche seeing, Court it warily,
Roses wear Pricks as well as Leaves, said she.

Could all the Balm of Gilead, all the spice
Of happy Araby, inform thee how
To counterplot those fatal Miseries
Whose certain Seeds in thine own bosom grow;
I could approve such Helps: but they, as frail
And mortal as thy self, thy hopes will fail.

Alas, so deep Corruption rooted is
Ev'n in the center of thy fading breast;
That Odours spend their breath in vain to dress
The tainted Soil. How largely 'tis confest
By all the former Ages Ashes, that
Mortality on Man is seal'd by Fate!

And shall the Son and true apparent Heir
Of Rottenness mispend his time upon
Unprofitable Sweets, by which the Air
Is for a while inrich'd and that alone?
Sweets which each silly Wind that whisketh by,
Snatcheth, and scattereth, in proud mockery.

Why should'st thou studious be to make the Prey
Of stinking Worms, so sweetly dainty? why
Affect'st thou on perfumed beds to lay
Thine head, which must e'r long a-rotting lie?
Why should'st thou with such curious cost and trouble
Conspire Corruption's victory to double?

Wer't not a cheaper and a wiser Plot,
Aforehand with displeasant smiles to grow
Acquainted; that the brackish Grave may not
By being strange to thee, the bitterer show?
Besides; Perfumes, Contagions may be
With Delicacies Bane infecting thee.

Howe'r, thou usest not those Odours which
So much thou usest: others nostrils reap
The crop of Sweets thou plantedst, and grow rich
At thy vain charge; whilst thou dost only keep
To please thy Neighbours' smell, thy powder'd Tresses,
And preciously-aromatized Dresses.

O Osphresis, that thou didst truly know
What fields of Fragrances, what beds of spice,
What hills of Roses, plains of Spiknard grow
In fair and eververdant Paradise;
Thou generously would'st scorn to dote upon
Earth's poor Perfumes, which whilst they come are gone.

Yet all the purest names of Odours are
Short of that soul-enlivening Incense which
From Heav'n's high Altar pyramides doth rear
Of Suavity, and Bliss it self inrich.
O then reserve thy Sense, for that which will
Its Fast with all the best of Fulness fill.

And yet mean while I will to thee allow,
More worthy Sweets, than those thou throw'st away,
In Virtue's garden do but walk, and Thou
Shalt meet such spicey Breaths of holy Joy
As will compell thy ravish'd soul to think,
This World's gentilest sent, but precious stink.

Such Breaths, as will perfume thy bears indeed,
And all thy Thoughts and Words aromatize;
Until their odorous Emanations breed
Delight in God's own nostrils; who doth prize
All pious Incense, only by the sent
Of its meek Sacrificers pure Intent.

So spake the Queen: whose words, though soft and sweet
As is the morning blast of eastern Gales,
Seem'd strong and rank to Osphresis: who beat
Her foolish thoughts on present Hills and Dales
Of fragrant wealth, which she desir'd to crop,
Being loth to live on that cold sent of hope.

Deep sighing, she thrice on her Civet, and
Thrice on her smiling Posy smelt; but yet
At length she drop'd them out of either hand,
Perceiving Psyche's awful Count'nance set
With Resolution; and no longer stout,
As Geusis marched in, she trembled out.

But Psyche, prompted by the honey Comb
Which Geusis hug'd, thus 'gan the maid to greet:
What if that Nest of Sweetness hath no room
For any thing that is intirely sweet?
What if the Bee hath in that Cabinet
More of her Sting, than of her Honey put?

Hard, hard it is, to eat no more than may
True friendship keep 'twixt Safety and Delight:
The least Excess will thee to Pangs betray,
And break thy Work by day, thy Rest by night.
Indeed a surfeit goes like Honey down,
But strait with Gall the heart is overflown.

How ravenous is the mouth of Mars his Sword,
Vast Armies swallow'd up by it, confess:
Yet Luxury with sharper Stings is stor'd;
Her throat's devouring Gulf much wider is:
No reeking Steel thou ever yet didst see
Blush in the guilt of so much blood, as She.

We wrong, alas, we wrong the bloody Paws
Of Lyons, Panthers, Tigres, Bears, and Wolves;
Yea and the direful Plague's relentless Jaws,
By calling them most salvage: We our Selves
More deadly Plagues, and Beasts more cruel are;
For our own Lives with our own Teeth we tear.

Of his Sobrieties sage stayed weight
Had great Belshazzar not been cozen'd by
The cruel Sweets of Luxury's Deceit;
He had not in Heav'n's scale of Equity
Been found so light, as by Darius down
From his high Empires Zenith to be blown.

Of her in time had Dives taken heed,
When in each Dish for him she lay in wait,
When into every Boul her self she shed,
When each superfluous Bit she made a Bait;
In Hell the wretched Gallant had not lain
Acting poor Lazarus his part in vain.

His broiled Tongue had not so earnest been
In lamentable Outcries, to obtain
No crowned Cups of lusty foaming Wine,
But one cold drop of Water, to restrain
Those rampant Flames which with luxuriant spight
Reveng'd his former Luxuries' Delight.

But Lazarus, whose meek ambition was
No more than with this Glutton's Dogs to be
A Commoner; into the sweet Embrace
Of Abraham, and of Felicity
Mounted, on Angels' pinions towr'd, and there
Injoy'd a fuller Feast than Dives here.

Wise Saint, his stomack he had sav'd, that he
With a full Appetite might thither go
Where sumptuous Dainties hold their Monarchy,
And purest Pleasures by whole Rivers flow.
And if Thou after Him desir'st to climb,
Be sure to trace his footsteps here in time.

I know the Boards of many holy Souls
In Fatness often have been seen to shine
On which their golden overflowing Bouls
Leap'd up in sparks of aromatick Wine:
But canst thou say, That they themselves did so
Surely their Looks and Lives will tell thee No.

This constant Plenty did but keep them close
To temperance's manlyest Exercise;
And difficultest Virtues' list they chose
When to their Boards they went, to play the prize
Of Abstinence, and, by forbearing, fight
With those arrayed Armies of Delight.

Heroick Hearts! who though beleaguered by
A siege of Superfluity, could yet
Mantain chaste Moderation, But thy
Metal and temper, Geusis, are not fit
To wage war with temptations: no, 'tis well
If thou by flying canst thy Safety steal.

To sparing Diet fly: there may'st thou eat
And drink thine Health; but never in Excess.
Excess makes Sickness reek in all thy meat
And with thy Liquor, Surfeits treason press
Into thy Cup: by which before thou art
Aware, thy Head is drowned, chok'd thy Heart.

But fasting's vertue never fails to be
A sovereign Purge where vicious humours reign;
Whilst other Physick drains thy Purse, not Thee,
This plots not to evacuate thy Coin;
But battle bids, and bids to none but those
Who are thy Body's or thy Spirit's foes.

This will prepare, and keep thy Taste in taste,
Till this short Eve shall be exspired, which
Ushers thee to that everlasting feast,
Where at the Lamb's most royal Board the rich
Extremities of Delicacies will
More than thy mouth, yea or thy wishes fill.

And since thou know'st thy Duty; likewise know
I love thee better than to let thee 'scape
Severest censure, if thou swervest now
From this fair Path which leads to Blisse's Top,
And with such ballast stuff'st thy self, as will
If Heav'n prevent not, lag thee down to Hell.

Close all this while her Comb had Geusis held;
But this last Word's smart dint prevail'd to smite
It from her quaking hand: at which she swell'd
With sullen sadness, and began to bite
Her lips: but marking then stern Psyche's eye,
She bow'd her head and made her will comply.

Scarce was she out; but mincing Haphe came,
Whose hands were in a Muff of Sables drown'd;
Her Body wantonized in a frame
By Ease's measure made, a Robe, which round
With silken softness courted her: no Pin
Nor Seam presum'd to touch her dainty skin.

The sight made Psyche smile: And what, said she;
If that soft furniture grow thick with Pricks?
If harshest Hair or sackcloth, gentler be,
Which close and strait on hardy Bodies sticks?
Alas the Wounds of Silk more dangerous far
Than those of sharpest Swords and Arrows are.

Such Weapons' Wounds can never further sink
Than to the Bodie's bottom; but a proud
Attire doth sadly soak the Soul, and drink
Its best blood up; nor knows she how to shroud
Her self from this mishap so long as she
Builds inward Joys on outward Bravery.

Potiphera was deeper wounded by
The delicacies of her soft array,
Then Joseph by his Chains' austerity
Whose iron load eat ope a cruel way
Through skin and flesh: her wounds did her destroy,
His cur'd their earthly Pain with Heav'nly Joy.

Thou know'st in what a Soft and curious Dress
Madam Herodias danced down to hell:
Whilst reverend John, array'd in Simpleness,
Did proudlyest-decked Mortals so excel,
That, though in Herod's Court despised, yet
Plain as he was, he into Heav'n's was let.

Had'st thou beheld his homespun Camel's hair,
And leathern Thong; how would thy quaint and new
Fashions, thy Lawns, thy Silks, thy Sables dare
Their cowardly effeminate face to shew?
Would not thy worthless Skin have blush'd to see
It self in fairer Robes then glorious He.

What ugl[i]er Sight can Fancy's storehouse show,
Than goodly-formed Man disfigured by
Strange garbs and cuts, and madly bent to grow
More handsom than himself! what Vanity
Of Pride so foolish, as for man to aim
A comelyer fashion than his God to frame!

Thou in Life's scene hast but one Part to play,
Why like a thousand things then art thou drest?
Why art thou big and rufling loose to day,
To morrow spruce and slender? if the best
Garb be thy Wish, the Best can be but one:
Why dost thou woo them all, yet weddest none?

O could'st thou see that course and rural Suit
The wise Creator did for Adam make;
How would it thy vain Gallantry confute,
Who all the world's best Dainties up would'st rake
Thy vulgar Carcase, to array, when He
In Leather goes who's King of Earth and Sea!

God's Copy satisfy'd the Saints of old,
Who sought no further than Goats or Sheep
For Skins, in which they might their own infold:
A rude Plantation this; yet hence they reap
A royal Harvest, and bedeck'd in fair
Robes of immortal Glory glittering are.

No beds of wanton Down desired They
Wherein to loose themselves; but were content
In Dens and Caves their manly heads to lay;
Where they to Rest with fuller comfort went
Than pompous lusty Solomon, when he
Climb'd up his couch of stately Ivory.

Nor e'r was's known that precious Pearl would lie
In any Shells but wondrous course and plain;
That any search could Gold and Silver spy
But nestled in some dark and dirty Vein:
That briskest sparks of fire would choose their rest
But in some black rude Flint's unlikely breast.

I grant that now distinct Degrees require
Such Garbs as may their Dignity proclaim:
Not that they by their outside beams aspire
To gaudy foolish Glory; for their aim
Is only by this necessary Art
Their Place's proper honor to assert.

Else Man's perversly-blear and peevish Eye
Would find a way how not to be aware
Of what dread Lustre flames in Majesty;
Or that the Sacerdotal Temples are
With venerable Privileges crown'd,
Which from their Function's Sanctity redound.

This made Heav'n's Ordination of old
The consecrated Body of the Priest
With reverence-commanding Gems and Gold,
And finest Linen's Purity invest.
But what's all this to Thee, whose private State
All Helps of publick Dignity may bate?

My peremptory Pleasure therefore 'tis
That Thou thy fittest Patterns copy out:
Since thou delighted art with Tenderness,
Be Tender of thy Bliss; and never doubt
But that will softer prove, and warmer be
Than are thy Wishes and that Muff to thee.

This said; she spake her Expectation by
Her serious Looks which darted Haphe through
With servile dread, and summon'd off her eye
Which hankered upon her Fur till now.
Sad was the foolish Maid, she knew not why,
Being only chid from tickling Misery.

For full as loth as that Beast's back which wore
The furry skin at first, did part with it,
She let her hand drop down her Muff before
Her Sovereign's foot, and made her head submit.
But yet she shrunk her shoulders, and betray'd
How sad a load she counted on them laid.

Psyche, her Cinque-Ports being thus secured,
For Glossa call'd; who cheerfully came in,
And with a thousand Complements allured
The kind Opinion of her frowning Queen:
But thou mistak'st, said she, in reck'ning by
Thy numerous Complements thy Loyalty.

Truth's quickly said; for pure unspotted she
Delights in her own genuine Nakedness,
And scorns that ceremonious Bravery
Which Flattery's Deformity doth dress.
Dull Wood alone needs Vernice; radiant Gems
Are brave in their own native naked beams.

Much Talk is either stretched out by Lies,
Which poison all the streams wherein they flow;
Or tricked up with pritty Vanities,
Which like fond Ribands, serve but for a show,
And catch Spectators' eyes, but tic not that
Which they embrace with their close-fauning Knot.

The idle Froth which plays upon the face
Of troubled Waters, swelleth not with Wind
So pitifully slight and empty, as
Is that which bubbles from a royled Mind;
When, overflowing Wisdom's sober brims,
In drunken Prattle on the Lips it swims.

As is thy neighbor Geusis apt to be
Luxurious by too much Taking in:
So thou the hazard run'st of Gluttony
By Pouring out: if once thy Lips begin
To give the Reins to Words, thou in profound
Intemperance wilt suddenly be drown'd.

Silence, her Master never did undo;
But O how guilty is Multiloquie
Of this unnatural Treason! Nature, who
The danger spy'd by Providence's eye,
Was studious this mischief to prevent
When thee a ready double Guard she lent.

The outer are thy Lips; which though they be
But soft and tender, yet their two-leav'd Door
So close they shut, that not the first Degree
Of Words, not Breath it self has power to bore
Its path, but silently must tack about
And through the Nose's sluces wrestle out.

The inner, are those Ranks of Ivory, which
Right strongly barracado up thy way:
To sally out in vain thy Murmurs itch
Unless the Passage fondly these betray.
'Tis no hard task for thee to rest in peace
Who strengthned art by two such Guards as these.

Before thou speakest, thou art Queen alone,
And freely may'st command and rule thy thought:
But thou to foreign Jurisdiction
Surrendrest it, when Words have blown it out:
For strait 'tis subject to the cruel Laws
Of every Auditor's censorious Jaws.

When leave thou giv'st to other Tongues to walk,
They travel for thy gain: if wise he be
Who speaks, thou learnest Wisdom by his Talk;
If fond, thou reapest from his Vanity
A wholsom warning: but when e'r thy Cock
Alone doth run, thou spendest on the Stock.

Fear no Discredit by Pauciloquie:
All Jesus's footsteps high and noble are;
Never was stripped Sheep more mute than He,
His human fleece when Spight inhumane shore.
And if the Word himself was not ashamed
Of Silence, can it in the Tongue be blamed?

Nay dullest Fools, when they their Lips contained,
Have often purchas'd Wisdom's reputation;
Whilst greatest Clarks who rashly have unreined
Their prancing Tongues, from their own Credit's station
By their unruly venturous Coursers down
The Precipices of Contempt are thrown.

What will it boot thee to inhance that score
Of debts thou ow'st the dreadful Judge; since thou
A strict account must render up before
His throne, of all the stragling words that flow
From thee in vain? Why, why wilt thou to death
Be sentenced by thine own lavish Breath?

Improve it rather in an holy Thrift,
And make it up to Heav'n thy Prayers blow;
Or Hallelujahs thither let it lift;
And not, like wanton Gales, play here below.
But if thou needs wilt idely prattle, I
Must deal in earnest with thy Vanity.

No word to this, check'd Glossa could reply,
But look'd demurely, and obeysance did:
Her conge to withdraw, in Psyche's eye
And in her Nod, no sooner had she read;
But out she meekly went, and left the room
Free for the Passions now thither come.

As these in order stood before the Throne,
With earnest Looks the Queen first aw'd them, and
Then thus began: Now you are here alone,
I am content to let you understand
How you I prize, so long as you can be
What Heav'n has made you, to your selves and Me.

Of all the Commons who allegiance owe
To this my Crown, I you the noblest count;
More quick, more generous Service you can show
Than those whose highest faculties can mount
But to exterior grosser things, which are
Lab'ring in Sensibilitie's dull sphere.

On your fleet backs I can far higher flie,
And with more speed, than on the Senses' wings:
But you I welcome bid, or I defie
The tribute which to me their Service brings.
You are the lovely Mirrour which presents
My Disposition's truest lineaments.

Fine inward Body of the Soul are you,
The outside of the hidden Heart: all springs
Which there peep up, learn openly to flow
In your free chapels; and th' abstrusest things
Which in the Mind's dark Temper nuzling lie,
By you exposed are to every eye.

But as your native strength and worth is high,
So is the Guilt of your Extravagance:
Though Worms, the Sons of vile Dirt, mudling lie
In their Dames' bosom, they do not inhance
Their Baseness: but should Birds be groveling there,
The sordid Crime unnatural would appear.

Be then but truly what you are, and flie
In your own sphere: so you shall surely meet
Together with your own Felicity,
My Love and Praise: damp not that generous heat
Whose embers in your veins desire to flame
Into the Lustre of eternal Fame.

Love, know thy self, and own an holy Pride;
Thine Arms were not made pliant, to embrace
Such low ignoble Joys as can abide
Beasts for their Owners: never then disgrace
The gallantry of thy illustrious wings
By hankering here about vile earthly Things.

Though to Humility's submissive Law
Thou art sworn Subject; yet thine
Aim may be At Excellency's lofty crest: for know
That Meekness Jesus's steps may trace, and
He Through deep Contempt's black Valley towred up
To God's right hand, and Glory's brightest Top.

Virtue, and Heav'n (the soil whence first it sprung)
Exposed are to thee a royal Prey:
If rotten Earth can more allurements bring,
More worth, more satisfaction, than they;
Pour scorn upon them, and thy self apply
To hug the Pleasures of Mortality.

The great Adventures of all Saints deride,
Who spent their lives those Prizes to obtain;
And bless fond Wantons, who swum down the Tide
Of these short Sweets, into that Gulf of Pain
Where endless Horrors boil, and where ev'n Love
It self is changed, and doth If abed prove.

But ne'r may'st Thou prove so, most noble Thou,
The privileged and selected she,
Who, whilst thy Sisters all are fain to row
In some shore-girted measurable Sea,
Into Infinitude may'st lanch, and there
Thy endless Course without all Compass steer.

Fear, be not thou afraid to know thy Part:
'Tis not to quake at any Powers which Hell
Or Earth can arm against thy jealous Heart:
Those Tempests all are chain'd, nor can they swell
Higher than his more lofty Hand will yield,
Which always out is stretch'd to be thy Shield.

See'st thou that single Hair, which shivering lies
Upon thy breast, and dreads the mildest Wind?
Were all th' Aereal Principalities
In one sworn knot of Violence combin'd,
'Twould pose their Might and Wit to tear it thence,
If checked by that Hand of Providence.

Thy duty is, to tremble at the sight
Of that foul Monster which makes Hell so black;
Sin's face alone is that which needs affright
Thy tenderest Eyes; a Face, whose dint can rack
The Basilisks with pois'nous torture, and
All Dragons' fiery Souls with terror rend.

Yet if thy Wilfulness will not attend
The frightfulness of that most dismal look;
View but the Horrors of a Cursed End,
And make Eternal flames a while thy Book:
There shalt thou read what will deserve to be
With ghastly Dread contemplated by thee.

And in this shaking fit, shalt thou admire
What madness makes fond Mortals quake so much
At fortune's frowns, or at a Prince's ire
Yet never fear the wrath of Vengeance which
Inrag'd by Brimstone in the burning Pit
Gapes wide for All, who, slighting, merit it.

But when with soft and gentle Tremor thou
Would'st sweetly exercise thy self; apply
Thy reverent Thoughts to Him whose sovereign brow
Adorns the Crown of highest Majesty.
So will thy God his eyes to thine incline;
Which on thy heart with dainty Awe will shine.

And Thou, stern Hatred, as relentless be
As Rocks, or Souls of Tigres in thy spight:
But see the dart of this thy Cruelty
Miss not its proper Butt: thine only fight
With Sin's bold troops must he; on which accurst
And dangerous Enemy do, do thy worst.

All other foes, how fell soe'r, belong
To Love's vast Jurisdiction; for She
Knows how revenge to take on any Wrong
By drowning it in mighty Charity.
Thy Wrath is sharp, but hers is gentle, Thou
With steel dost break, but She with Warmth doth thaw.

Be warey then to guide thy stroke aright,
For close the Sin and Sinner linked are
Least when thou aim'st against the Crime, thy fight
Unto the Person thou extend'st thy war.
The Person's God's, who nothing hates which he
Hath made, and therefore will not suffer Thee.

Hope, lavish not thy fruitless Expectation
On any birth this World's womb forth can bring:
Why should'st thou dance attendance on vexation,
On wind, on froth, on shadows vanishing
In their original; and gape to be
Replenished with meer Vacuity?

On fulness rather wait, and lift thine Eye,
Thy longing eye, to Heav'n, in which it dwells
Far off indeed the Object is, but thy
Discerning Power, at distance most excels.
Be brave and confident, thou can'st not miss
A mark so ample and so fair as this.

Since Absence nothing is to mystick Thee
But its bare name (for to thy reaching eye
The thing is present, though it hidden be
In darkest bosom of futurity.)
O turn fruition; antidate thy Bliss
And climb aforehand into Paradise.

But thou, tart Anger, never hunt abroad
For meat to please thy washpish appetite:
Home will supply thee with sufficient food
To fatten thee with solid true Delight.
What faults soever thou espyest here,
Fall to and make thee merry with the cheer.

Thy useful Self why should'st thou strive to be
In others' bosoms, rather than thine own?
Wrath's arrows seldom fly aright, when she
Levels against a foreign Mark her frown:
Her Archery is surest practiz'd on
The Buts of her domestick Sins alone.

No less to Thee, pale thoughtful Jealousy
Belongs this Item: Let no vain surmise
Of others' bus'ness breed perplexity
In thine; but inward turn thy prying eyes,
And give the reins to thy suspicion here
In any thing which looks not sound and clear.

I grant thee leave, ev'n not to spare thy Queen;
Be diligent, and if thou wilt, severe:
For sure if thou such heretofore had'st been
Immured safe in never-sleeping fear
Psyche had dwelt, and not been conquer'd by
The charms of Lust, and fouler Heresy.

Yet sorrow, thou thy fears may'st safely spend
On alien and on publick Mischiefs; thou
May'st help Compassion freely to extend
Her reaching bowels, and her bounty show
In sympathetick tenderness to all
Whom tyrannous Disasters hold in thrall.

Provided, all thy store thou pour'st not forth
To quench thy Neighbours' flames, but stor'st up some
To wash out those sad stains which from thy birth
Have daily multiplyed here at home.
These, these, deserve them: but no drop shalt thou
On any temporal Cross of mine bestow.

O no! a Tear's a nobler thing than so,
Nor must be squander'd in such vain expence.
No oriental Pearls, though married to
Richest Embroideries, shew such presence
To Beauty, as those precious Beads, whose Mine
Lives in the fertile womb of humane Eyn.

Let wanton Fortune take her proud delight
In trampling on what Error Goods doth call:
A name which mocks the Thing, whose frail and slight
Being at Change's beck must rise and fall.
Let her insult; why should thy Tears flow down
For fortune's faults, and not lament thine own?

Joy, thou hast hitherto too careless been
In distribution of thy lavish Smiles:
What is't to thee, if fields abroad are green;
If Plenty with her Bliss thy coffers fills;
If any thing without thee prospers, when
Thou poor, and parch'd, and barren art within:

If thou at home canst nothing worthy find
Of just applauding Notice; no brave feat
Of resolute Virtue, no soul-plying Wind
Of Heav'n's great Spirit, no adventurous Heat
Of holy Love: alas, thy Merriment
Is but th' Hypocrisy of Discontent.

'Tis but a shaddowy dreaming Pleasure, which
May float and play in thy fantastick brain,
But ne'r can to thy bosom's region reach
Which still beclouded is with pensive pain.
Yea ev'n thy laughter with deep wrinkles plows
Thy face, and in thy Mirth Care's Visage shows.

In smiling Wine let rampant Roarers brue
The Quintessence of their lymphatick mirth:
Let idleness's busy Sons persue
Pleasure through thousand Sports; in tedious Earth
Let Muckworms delve, and grope, Content to gain:
What's that to thee, if they will sweat in vain?

In God alone, and what of Him in thy
Meek loyal Soul thou find'st, fix thy delight;
And then walk out; yet only to descry
What hearts pant Heav'n like thine; that only sight
Abroad, deserves thou should'st Spectator be;
All else, with Grief suit better than with Thee.

And you the rest, whose near attendance on
My royal Person equally requires
Exact and generous Duty; see you run
Not on the errands of your own Desires,
But mine; which should be yours: and know, that I
Much better than your selves can you employ.

So shall our Kingdom with such Peace be blest
As no intrusion of storms shall fear.
So of your selves you all shall be possest
And reign in your own bounds, as I do here.
So no Agenor shall again intice
You to Conspire to your own Miseries.

But if you scorn to walk in Honor's way
(Which way is, Doing what becomes you best)
Yet must not I permit you to betray,
Your own Capacity of Welfare. Is't
Your Lot or Office here to Govern? No;
Your Queen her power better knows than so

She ending here: the Passions each on other
Cast cowardly-couragious glances: for,
Though loth their itching Waywardness to smother,
These strict injunctions griped them so sore,
Yet none such venturous metal had, as up
To lead their belking Stomacks' forlorn Hope.

Then vex'd at one another's faintness, they
Hung down their sheepish look, and bent their knees
In token they were ready to obey
Their Queen's, however new and strange, Decrees;
And so in peevish shame went blushing out
That they into Subjection's Guilt were brought.

For those whose Palats ne'r were taught to taste
The piercing Sweets of Holy Discipline,
By wilful Licence's mad Revels cast
Their fond Accounts of freedom, and repine
At any chains, although they keep them in
From rushing to the slavery of Sin.

Psyche observ'd how they this serious Bit
Into their mouths like sullen Horses took
How mutinously they foam'd and champed it,
And in their hearts the Reins aforehand broke.
This made her instantly resolve to ride
Them hard, and weary out their lusty Pride.

Not theirs alone; but her chaf'd Senses too,
Whom their new Laws had almost Passions made
So hard their stubborn necks they grated, so
Straitly they ty'd them to a sourer trade
Than e'r they drove before, or than they had
Observ'd professed by the World abroad.

She by a Peremptory brave Decree
Enacted Scorn of every thing which here
The Tempter makes a bait to Luxury,
Pride, Avarice, or any Crimes which bear
Chief rule in mortal Hearts, whilst heedless they
Mark not the Hook ev'n when they are its Prey.

A general Proclamation then she made
That none who to her Scepter homage owe
In any case presume abroad to gad;
Unless Necessity were seen to go
As their Companion; who might limits set
Both to their Walk, and what they did in it.

Nor would now Prudence her commission seal
To any Judge's serious eye, to see
Due execution of her Laws, for well
She knew, that to her self her own would be
Most true and trusty: and she vowed here
To prove her self as Watchful as Severe.

As when an headstrong Torrent, wont to throw
His lawless arms on every Mead where he
Listed to riot, is injoyn'd to flow
In some strait Chanel's Regularity
The stream with belking indignation heats,
And foams against the Banks with murmuring threats:

So with high-swelling self-tormenting Wrath
Her Subjects pent in these new narrow bounds,
Impatiently rebel against their Path,
And every one his fretful grief expounds
In long long commentaries of Complaint:
The only freedom of their close Restrant.

Were other Subjects yok'd so strait as We,
Their Company would lighter make our yoke;
For Misery spread in Community
Abates the terror of her cruel look.
But how, said they, shall we support alone
This mountainous load of Persecution!

If 'twere the fashion any where beside
For Sense and Passion thus in chains to lie
Our Souls it would not torture to be ty'd
In patternable slavery: but why
Must all the World laugh at our Woes, whilst We
The sole Examples of this Bondage be?

Psyche, who all their strugling Murmurs heard
With awful Majesty inflam'd her eye:
And, Come, said she, if I must needs be fear'd,
Who would much rather have been loved by
My Subjects; be it so: for know, that still
Keep you intirely Such I must and will.

Yet since the fashion 's all your Plea, and you
As singular have tax'd your present State;
Observe I pray how amply I allow
You your own wish: but see you kick not at
My royal love, nor force me to the fashion
Which Princes use in Rebels' Insultation.

The noble Mode which I have put you in,
Is that which made the Saints of old so fine;
That they the eyes of Heav'n it self could win,
And ravish All but those to whom divine
And earth-despising Beauty dimmer seems
Than pallid Gold's and glaring Silver's beams.

Yea, that illustrious Realm whose situation
Lies higher than the Stars, has no disdain
At that which you repute a servile fashion:
For every Angel his own will doth chain
Close to his Sovereign's Law, and never flies
Abroad, but when his pinions That employs.

Tell me not then what Garbs and Humors are
By this blind foolish World ador'd, but take
Your Copy from those Patterns which outdare
The worth of any Parellel; and make
Those men your Pity, who make you their scorn:
Your fashion gorgeous is, but theirs forlorn.

These words with such convincing horror flew
Upon the faces of the mutinous Rout
That all their Murmurs' Blasts away they blew
Calming the storms which in their bosoms wrought.
And now their Stoutness nothing had to say
Nothing remain'd to do, but to obey.

So when the stubborn Colt has kick'd, and flung
And tryed his rebellious strength in vain,
Finding his stomack and his neck too young
To grapple with his skilful Rider's Rein;
To strong Necessity he giveth place
And melteth into an obedient pace.

Thus from exterior Troubles sequestred,
Close to her private business Psyche fell;
She, long before the Sun sprung out of bed,
And call'd it morning, e'r the least could tell
Aurora dressing was; for I, said she,
Have fiercer Steeds to rule than Titan's be.

Then, higher in to Heav'n, than he can roll
His wheels, she leap'd; so stout and sinewy were
Her early Mattens; which carreerd her Soul
Up to the pinacle of Glory; where
Praises and Prayers in a flood before
Her Spouse's footstool she of course did pour.

Her hands then letting down, she set them to
Their second Task; and hasted to prepare
Clothes for the Orphans and the Widows, who
By generous Charitie's Adoption were
Become her Children: thus did prudent She
Nobly make fruitful her Virginity.

And from this voluntary Offspring She
Reap'd pure delight: for they who Parents are
By Nature's Help, too oft engaged be
In their unnatural Brood's vexatious Care:
But she from her's no Discontent could find,
Being the chosen Children of her mind.

Yet with her Work, her Prayers she so enchas'd
That she of both a goodly checker made:
For through her pious hands no bus'ness pass'd,
But Heav'n she enterwove; her constant trade
Was but a faithful Prenticehood to Him
Whose royal Temples wear Heav'n's Diadem.

So though the mariner with busy Care
Waits on his Card, yet oft he lifts his eye
To drink direction from that trusty Star
Which darteth on his Voyage, Certainty;
And by this mixed study safely rides
Over the proudest and the furthest Tides.

Never could She find leisure to attend
On ceremonious Idelness, nor by
The civil speciousness of Visits spend
Her precious Time on courteous Vanity.
Wealth against Wealth she never meant to try,
Nor bandy Feasts, or Entertainments vy.

Yet painful Bus'ness her abroad could draw,
And wheresoe'r the sick despised Poor
Lay succourless, she by the Gospel Law
Her self accounted summon'd to restore
Her needy Lord that tender help which she
Had oft receiv'd from his Benignity.

For Him on all those languid Beds she saw;
His pained broken limbs, His parched skin,
His burning Tumours, His black stripes, His raw
And gaping Wounds: and these so strongly won
On her Compassion, that her own they proved,
Whilst her soft bowels them both felt and loved.

The odious Sores which would have loathing bred
Ev'n in the Surgeon's eyes, she gladly view'd;
Her choicest Plasters pleasantly she spread,
And all her Powders with delight she strewed.
Her self she robbed of her Clothes to wind
About the Naked, and the maimed bind.

By their Diseases height she joy'd to measure
The worth of such distressed Company:
The foulest Lepers yielded choicest pleasure
To her Attendance; who aspir'd to be
Chief Servant unto those whose noisom stench
Could Parents love and Childrens duty quench.

In vain her Senses turn'd their nauseous head,
Since she resolv'd to love what they abhorr'd:
In vain her dainty Passions murmured,
And Logos too with some Dislike was stirred:
Her Resolution she the more professed,
And ever Kiss'd the Sores which she had dressed.

The coy-ey'd Ladies, with a squeamish look,
Admir'd and loath'd her lowly Complement:
Not for a world would their fine Fingers brook
The touch of what they saw her Lips resent
As soft and sweet: yet could not their Disdain
Her Kisses most courageous zeal restrain.

She still her merciful Design persues,
And by divine Insinuation tries
How in her Potions she may Heav'n infuse,
And reach the soul's mysterious Maladies.
Heart-startling Hints she sprinckles here and there,
And poures in holy Cordials every where.

Nor by this paradoxick Zeal alone
Did she run counter to the World's carreer:
But valiant in her high Devotion,
Adventur'd further yet to domineer
Over her Flesh and Blood; whose lusty heat
Down flat by Abstinence she meant to beat.

Wherefore no set and customary Time
Tempted her to unnecessary Meat;
But earnest Hunger always toll'd the chime
Which smartly her admonished to eat.
And then her Meal she would not measure by
Her stomachful, but bare sufficiency.

And thus did she her Food her Servant make,
Whilst others, slaves to their own Tables were;
Thus did she rellish every Bit, and take
The genuine Pleasure of her sober Fare:
Whilst those whom Plenty's Fat brimful doth keep,
Their Palat's proper Joys can never reap.

This Art so pluck'd her Bodies plumes, that she
Could easily grasp, and rule it with her Will:
For she resolv'd it never more should be
Permitted bigger than it self to swell;
And if it winch'd and strugled, straiter yet
By fresh severity she yoked it.

The tenderest Flesh's delicacy, she
Us'd as an argument to pass them by:
Those Fishes, whose rude shells are found to be
Of daintiest Nutriment the Treasury,
She for that Reason still despis'd; and none
But choicest Viands always chose to shun.

The Garden's roseal and lily store,
With all its wealth of Spice and Odours, she
For being such, did scorn: of eastern Ore,
Since it was rich, she would no Hoarder be:
From Lute and Harp, because they pleasing were
She pleasure took to sequester her ear.

(For yet Religion's cheerly jovial Days
Incourag'd not the Christian Hemisphere:
No Musick married Instrumental Lays
To holy Churche's Anthems, striving here
To echo those celestial Tunes which ring
From Angels throats about their glorious King.

Else surely Psyche's Soul must needs have leap'd
At such Delights; and her sweet-tuned Heart
With its exultant Pulse due time have keep'd
To all such pious Airs; by which the Art
Of charming Sanctity can steal upon
The coldest bosom, hot Devotion.)

Delicious Wine, because it guilty was
But of it self, exactly she eschewed:
The Gallantry of clothes, she held Disgrace
In those whose hearts had Vanity subdued:
By simplest Nature's Rules she strove to square
What she did touch, or taste, or smell, or hear.

To Heav'n she charg'd on Fervor's wings to ride
All those Affections which could traffick there,
To be her Factors, and her Stock provide,
Against her Death should thither send up her.
And those, whose work lay here below, she taught
To think it Heav'n, when upon Earth they wrought.

By constant waiting on her Penitence
Her Tears acquir'd so quick an habit, that
No Tide with such perpetual Effluence
Its swelling Brine above the shores could shoot;
Her Flood disdained Ebbs, and still she found
Both night and day her cheeks and bosom drown'd.

Etesian Winds could never hold so long
In breath as her loud sighs unwearied Blast;
Nor could the Air's thin storms blow half so strong,
Or one another forward croud so fast:
And what for her Design so fit a gale
Who meant through Sorrow's Ocean to sail?

Indeed when Days of reverend Churche's Joy
Did in their festival horizon dawn,
She laid aside her penitent Annoy,
And with the Catholick Triumph mix'd her own:
Yet still her Sighs and Tears she could not choose
At least for joyous Love, to interpose.

Her Couch was ready furnish'd every where,
Her valiant Sleep being on the naked Ground:
Forecasting as she was, her lodging there
Right politickly she contriv'd; and found
A way to make her Grave seem neither odd
Nor uncooth, when she there should go to bed.

And though faint Flesh, this Couch might churlish deem,
She felt it courteous in the best of Love;
Those lusty Thoughts which in a soft-lay'd Dream
With hot uncleanness through the fancy rove;
Were curbed by this sober Hardship's Rein
Which cool'd all mutinies' pulses in her Brain.

For, wanton Cogitations Cowards are,
The delicate tender Sons of easy Rest:
Who painful Virtues hardy quarters fear.
And only love a lazy downy Nest.
Soft are their limbs, and therefore warm and drie
Would fain be kept, and upon Feathers lie.

When sparing Capricorn would not allow
To Day, a space as liberal, as to Night;
She no advantage took, but studied how
To piece up curtail'd Day with Candle-light:
And still was up, though Phebus were in bed,
Till her Devotion's Task she finish'd had.

But that to such extension swell'd, that she
Was often spy'd, and overtaken by
The laziest Morn, e'r her great work could be
As great's her mind, and gain maturity.
Yet then to Rest she seldom bowed till
Her weary Head down on her Prayerbook fell.

For Time, inestimable Time, was that
On which her only Avarice she fed:
Griev'd that the world with such elaborate
And costly Idleness had studied,
A thousand courtly Pastimes, seeing they
Alas, pass not the Time, but Man, away:

Madly-improvident Man; who though vain he
Be sure he's sure of nothing, but to Die;
Though in his power the next poor moment be
No more than is the next Age; labours by
The help of long-extended empty Sport
To make the too-too-posting Hours seem short.

Psyche ne'r found so tedious a Day,
But still she thought Night crouded on too fast:
She knew, as hard and narrow, so the Way
To Heav'n was long; and in her greatest haste
She fear'd Death's darkness might rush on, e'r she
Safe at her mighty Journey's end could be.

Unwearied Custom in this strictness made
The sweetest world unsavory to her Taste:
Her Senses relish'd not their wonted Trade,
Tame were her Passions, and her Fervor's chaste;
Her Body humbled and beat down so low,
That no rank weeds in that dry Soil could grow.

Her Pulse beat none but Moderation's pace;
Her virgin Blood cloistred it self within,
And never look'd abroad but when her face
In graceful Virtue's blushing Dress would shine;
Her venerable gravely-moving Eye
Darted no beams but those of Piety.

About her Soul her fleshy Vestment sate
As close and fit as Fitness could devise;
A Maid more trim and sprucely delicate
She seemed now in Heav'n's judicious eyes,
Than when she wore a larger bulk without her
And her full Body ruffled more about her.

So just and strait her Feature was, no wild
Distortions or Distempers room could spy
Where to assail her: Health its kingdom held
In every Part, and brisk Activity
Liv'd in her mortified Flesh; whose skin
Look'd near as pale, as she was pure within.

But yet her Mental Powers more lively were,
Not being hampered or clogged by
Those Fumes and Clouds which from luxuriant Cheer
Full at the face of heedless Reason fly;
And damp those Eyes with lazy Dimness which
Objects sublime intended were to reach.

The Bow of all her sprightful Faculties
She order'd to be always strung and bent:
No bus'ness was so quick as to surprise
Her heart asleep; nor could she be content
Lazy Concoction's leisure to attend;
If work were ready, ready was her Hand.

Thus quite disbanded in her troubled sky
All gloomy Frowns she saw, which cleer'd into
The cheerful beauty of serenity:
She saw her rudely-blustering servants, who
Disturb'd her Region, in one Calm united:
And at this sight of Peace her soul delighted.

[1702; Grosart (1880) 2:143-63]

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