Volume 1 — From 'Carmen Deo Nostro' (1652).

''Tis not the work of force but skill To find the way into man's will. 'Tis loue alone can hearts unlock; Who knowes the Word, he needs not knock.'

What heau'n-intreated heart is this1 Stands trembling at the gate of blisse? Holds fast the door, yet dares not venture Fairly to open it, and enter. Whose definition is a doubt5 'Twixt life and death, 'twixt in and out. Say, lingring Fair! why comes the birth Of your brave soul so slowly forth? Plead your pretences (O you strong In weaknes!) why you choose so long10 In labor of your selfe to ly, Nor daring quite to liue nor dy? Ah! linger not, lou'd soul! a slow And late consent was a long no; Who grants at last, long time try'd15 And did his best to haue deny'd: What magick bolts, what mystick barres Maintain the will in these strange warres? What fatall yet fantastick, bands Keep the free heart from its own hands?20 So when the year takes cold, we see Poor waters their own prisoners be: Fetter'd and lockt vp they ly In a sad selfe-captivity. The astonisht nymphs their flood's strange fate deplore,25 To see themselues their own seuerer shore. Thou that alone canst thaw this cold, And fetch the heart from its strong-hold; Allmighty Love! end this long warr, And of a meteor make a starr.30 O fix this fair Indefinite! And 'mongst Thy shafts of soueraign light Choose out that sure decisiue dart Which has the key of this close heart, Knowes all the corners of't, and can controul35 The self-shutt cabinet of an vnsearcht soul. O let it be at last, Loue's hour! Raise this tall trophee of Thy powre; Come once the conquering way; not to confute But kill this rebell-word 'irresolute,'40 That so, in spite of all this peeuish strength Of weaknes, she may write 'resolv'd' at length. Vnfold at length, vnfold fair flowre And vse the season of Loue's showre! Meet His well-meaning wounds, wise heart,45 And hast to drink the wholsome dart. That healing shaft, which Heaun till now Hath in Loue's quiuer hid for you. O dart of Loue! arrow of light! O happy you, if it hitt right!50 It must not fall in vain, it must Not mark the dry, regardless dust. Fair one, it is your fate; and brings Æternal worlds upon its wings. Meet it with wide-spread armes, and see55 Its seat your soul's iust center be. Disband dull feares; giue faith the day; To saue your life, kill your delay. It is Loue's seege, and sure to be Your triumph, though His victory.60 'Tis cowardise that keeps this feild And want of courage not to yeild. Yeild then, O yeild, that Loue may win The fort at last, and let life in. Yeild quickly, lest perhaps you proue65 Death's prey, before the prize of Loue. This fort of your faire selfe, if't be not won, He is repulst indeed; but you are vndone.