TO HIS SWEET SAVIOUR

Night hath no wings to him that cannot sleep,
And Time seems then not for to fly but creep;
Slowly her chariot drives, as if that she
Had broke her wheel or cracked her axletree.
Just so it is with me, who, list'ning, pray

The winds to blow the tedious night away,

That I might see the cheerful peeping day.

Sick is my heart: O Saviour! do Thou please
To make my bed soft in my sicknesses;

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Lighten my candle, so that I beneath

ΙΟ

Sleep not forever in the vaults of death;

Let me Thy voice betimes i' th' morning hear;

Call and I'll come, say Thou the when and where;
Draw me but first, and after Thee I'll run,
And make no one stop till my race be done.

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Is it to quit the dish
Of flesh, yet still

To fill

The platter high with fish?

Is it to fast an hour,

Or ragg'd to go,

Or show

A downcast look, and sour?

No; 't is a fast, to dole

Thy sheaf of wheat
And meat

Unto the hungry soul.

It is to fast from strife,

From old debate

And hate;

To circumcise thy life;

To show a heart grief-rent;

To starve thy sin,

Not bin.

And that's to keep thy Lent.

WILLIAM HABINGTON

TO ROSES

IN THE BOSOM OF CASTARA

Ye blushing virgins happy are

In the chaste nunn'ry of her breasts-
For he'd profane so chaste a fair

Who e'er should call them Cupid's nests.

Transplanted thus, how bright ye grow,
How rich a perfume do ye yield!
In some close garden, cowslips so
Are sweeter than i' th' open field.

In those white cloisters live secure
From the rude blasts of wanton breath,
Each hour more innocent and pure,
Till you shall wither into death.

Then that which, living, gave you room
Your glorious sepulchre shall be:
There wants no marble for a tomb,
Whose breast hath marble been to me.
About 1632.

THE REWARD OF INNOCENT LOVE

We saw, and wooed each other's eyes;
My soul contracted then with thine,
And both burnt in one sacrifice,
By which our marriage grew divine.

Let wilder youth, whose soul is sense,
Profane the temple of delight,
And purchase endless penitence
With the stolen pleasure of one night.

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NOX NOCTI INDICAT SCIENTIAM

When I survey the bright
Celestial sphere,

So rich with jewels hung that night
Doth like an Ethiop bride appear,

My soul her wings doth spread

And heavenward flies,

Th' Almighty's mysteries to read

In the large volumes of the skies.

For the bright firmament

Shoots forth no flame

So silent but is eloquent

In speaking the Creator's name.

No unregarded star

Contracts its light

Into so small a character,

Removed far from our human sight,

But if we steadfast look

We shall discern

In it, as in some holy book,

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ΙΟ

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