Diseased his well-composed mind, forestall'd
With heavenly riches, which had wholly call'd
His thoughts from earth, to live above in th' air
A very bird of paradise. No care

Had he of earthly trash. What might suffice
To fit his soul to heavenly exercise,
Sufficed him; and may we guess his heart
By what his lips bring forth, his only part
Is God and godly thoughts. Leaves doubt to none
But that to whom one God is all, all's one.

What he might eat or wear he took no thought,
His needful food he rather found than sought.
He seeks no downs, no sheets, his bed's still made;
If he can find a chair or stool, he's laid;

When day peeps in, he quits his restless rest;
And still, poor soul, before he's up, he's dress'd.
Thus dying did he live, yet lived to die

In th' Virgin's lap, to whom he did apply

His virgin thoughts and words, and thence was styled

By foes, the chaplain of the virgin mild,

While yet he lived without: his modesty

Imparted this to some, and they to me.

Live happy, then, dear soul! enjoy thy rest

Eternally by pains thou purchasedst,

While Car must live in care, who was thy friend,
Nor cares he how he live, so in the end

He
may enjoy his dearest Lord and thee ;
And sit and sing more skilful songs eternally.

THOMAS CAR.

AN EPIGRAM

Upon the Pictures in the following Poems which the Author first made with his own hand admirably well, as may be seen in his Manuscript dedicated to the Right Honourable Lady the

WIXT

Lady Denbigh.

pen and pencil rose a holy strife Which might draw virtue better to the life; But wits gave votes to that: but painters

swore

They never saw pieces so sweet before

As these fruits of pure nature; where no art
Did lead the untaught pencil, nor had part
In th' work.

The hand grown bold, with wit will needs contest.
Doth it prevail? ah, wo! say each is best.
This to the ear speaks wonders; that will try
To speak the same, yet louder, to the eye.
Both their aims are holy, both conspire

To wound, to burn the heart with heavenly fire.
This then's the doom, to do both parties right:
This, to the ear speaks best; that, to the sight!*
THOMAS CAR.

* Printed only in the edition of 1652.

L

TO THE NOBLEST AND BEST OF LADIES

THE COUNTESS OF DENBIGH:

Persuading her to resolution in Religion, and to render herself without further delay into the communion of the Catholic Church.

HAT heaven-entreated heart is this
Stands trembling at the gate of bliss?
Holds fast the door, yet dares not venture

Fairly to open it and enter?

Whose definition is a doubt

"Twixt life and death, 'twixt in and out? Say, ling'ring fair! why comes the birth

Of

your brave soul so slowly forth?
Plead your pretences, O you strong
In weakness, why you choose so long
In labour of yourself to lie,
Nor daring quite to live nor die.

Ah, linger not, loved soul! a slow

And late consent was a long no;
Who grants at last, long time had tried

And did his best to have denied.

What magic bolts, what mystic bars
Maintain the will in these strange wars!
What fatal, what fantastic bands
Keep the free heart from its own hands!
So, when the year takes cold, we see
Poor waters their own prisoners be;
Fetter'd and lock'd up fast they lie
In a sad self-captivity;

Th' astonish'd nymphs their floods' strange fate deplore,

To see themselves their own severer shore.

Thou that alone canst thaw this cold,

And fetch the heart from its strong hold,
Almighty Love! end this long war,
And of a meteor make a star.

O, fix this fair indefinite,

And 'mongst thy shafts of sovereign light
Choose out that sure decisive dart,

Which has the key of this close heart,
Knows all the corners of't, and can control
The self-shut cabinet of an unsearch'd soul!
O, let it be at last Love's hour;
Raise this tall trophy of thy pow'r;

Come once the conquering way, not to confute,
But kill this rebel-word-Irresolute;

That so, in spite of all this peevish strength

Of weakness, she may write-Resolved at length !
Unfold at length, unfold fair flow'r,

And use the season of Love's show'r;

Meet his well-meaning wounds, wise heart!
And haste to drink the wholesome dart;

That healing shaft, which heav'n till now

Has in Love's quiver hid for you.
O dart of love! arrow of light!
O, happy you, if it hit right!
It must not fall in vain, it must
Not mark the dry regardless dust.
Fair one, it is your fate; and brings
Eternal worlds upon its wings.

Meet it with wide-spread arms; and see
Its seat your soul's just centre be.
Disband dull fears; give Faith the day;
To save your life, kill your delay
It is Love's siege, and sure to be
Your triumph, though his victory.
'Tis cowardice that keeps this field,
And want of courage not to yield.
Yield then, O yield, that Love may win
The fort at last, and let Life in.
Yield quickly, lest perhaps you prove
Death's prey, before the prize of Love.
This fort of your fair self, if't be not won,
He is repuls'd indeed, but you're undone.

TO THE NAME ABOVE EVERY NAME, THE

NAME OF JESUS. A HYMN.

SING the name which none can say
But touch'd with an interior ray;

The name of our new peace; our good:

Our bliss, and supernatural blood: