Tot Flores QUARLES, quot Paradisus habet;
Lectori benè male-volo.

Qui legit ex Horto hôc Flores, qui carpit, uterque
Jure potest Violas dicere, jure Rosas:
Non è Parnasso VIOLAM, festivè ROSETO
Carpit Apollo, magis quæ sit amœna, ROSAM.
Quot Versus VIOLAS legis; & quem verba locutum
Credis, verba dedit: Nam dedit ille ROSAS.
Utque Ego non dicam hæc VIOLAS suavissima; Tute
Ipse facis VIOLAS, Livide, si violas.

Nam velut è VIOLIS sibi fugit Aranea virus:

Vertis at in succos Hasque ROSAS que tuos.
Quas violas Musas, VIOLAS puto, quasque recusas
Dente tuo rosas, has, reor, esse ROSAS.

Sic rosas, facis esse ROSAS, dum Zoile, rodis:
Sic facies has VIOLAS, Livide, dum violas.

BRENT HALL, 1634.

EDW. BENLOWES.

ΤΟ

MY MUCH HONOURED, AND NO LESS TRULY BELOVED FRIEND,

EDWARD BENLOWES, Esq.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

You have put the Theorbo into my hand, and I have played: you gave the musician the first encouragement; the music returneth to you for patronage. Had it been a light air, no doubt but it had taken the most, and among them the worst; but being a grave strain, my hopes are, that it will please the best, and among them you. Toyish airs please trivial ears; they kiss the fancy, and betray it. They cry, Hail, first; and after, Crucify. Let daws delight to immerd themselves in dung, whilst eagles scorn so poor a game as flies. Sir, you have art and candour; let the one judge, let the other excuse.

Your most affectionate friend,
FRA. QUARLES.

TO THE READER.

AN Emblem is but a silent parable. Let not the tender eye check, to see the allusion to our blessed SAVIOUR figured in these types. In Holy Scripture He is sometimes called a Sower; sometimes a Fisher; sometimes a Physician. And why not presented so as well to the eye as to the ear? Before the knowledge of letters, God was known by hieroglyphics. And indeed what are the heavens, the earth, nay, every creature, but Hieroglyphics and Emblems of His glory? I have no more to say; I wish thee as much pleasure in the reading, as I had in writing. Farewell, Reader.

FRANCIS QUARLES.

By fathers back'd, by holy writ led on,
Thou show'st the way to HEAVEN by Helicon:
The Muses' font is consecrate by thee,

And Poesy baptized Divinity:

Bless'd soul, that here embark'st: thou sail'st apace,

'Tis hard to say, moved more by wit or grace,
Each Muse so plies her oar: But O the sail
Is fill'd from Heaven with a diviner gale:
When poets prove divines, why should not I
Approve in verse this divine poetry?

Let this suffice to license thee the press:
I must no more; nor could the truth say less.

Sic approbavit

RIC. LOVE, Procan. Cant.

QUARLES' EMBLEMS.

BOOK THE FIRST.

THE INVOCATION.

ROUSE thee, my soul, and drain thee from the dregs
Of vulgar thoughts; screw up the heighten'd pegs
Of thy sublime Theorbo four notes higher,
And higher yet, that so the shrill-mouth'd choir
Of swift-wing'd seraphims may come and join,
And make the concert more than half divine.
Invoke no Muse; let Heaven be thine Apollo;
And let his sacred influences hallow
Thy high-bred strains. Let his full beams inspire
Thy ravish'd brains with more heroic fire:
Snatch thee a quill from the spread eagle's wing,
And, like the morning lark, mount up and sing:
Cast off these dangling plummets, that so clog
Thy labouring heart, which gropes in this dark fog
Of dungeon earth; let flesh and blood forbear
To stop thy flight, till this base world appear
A thin blue landscape: let thy pinions soar
So high a pitch, that men may seem no more
Than pismires, crawling on the mole-hill earth,
Thine ear untroubled with their frantic mirth;

10

20

Let not the frailty of thy flesh disturb

Thy new-concluded peace; let reason curb

Thy hot-mouth'd passion; and let Heaven's fire season
The fresh conceits of thy corrected reason.

Disdain to warm thee at lust's smoky fires,
Scorn, scorn to feed on thy old bloat desires:
Come, come my soul, hoist up thy higher sails,

The wind blows fair; shall we still creep like snails,
That glide their ways with their own native slimes?
No, we must fly like eagles, and our rhymes
Must mount to Heaven, and reach the Olympic ear;
Our Heaven-blown fire must seek no other sphere.

21

30

Thou great Theanthropos,1 that givest and ground'st Thy gifts in dust, and from our dunghill crown'st Reflecting honour, taking by retail

40

What thou hast given in gross, from lapsed, frail,
And sinful man: that drink'st full draughts, wherein
Thy children's lep'rous fingers, scurf'd with sin,
Have paddled; cleanse, oh cleanse my crafty soul
From secret crimes, and let my thoughts control
My thoughts: oh teach me stoutly to deny
Myself, that I may be no longer I:
Enrich my fancy, clarify my thoughts,
Refine my dross; oh wink at human faults;
And through the slender conduit of my quill
Convey thy current, whose clear streams may fill
The hearts of men with love, their tongues with praise:
Crown me with glory, take, who list, the bays.

16 Theanthropos:' God-man,