Volume 1 — EPICEDES AND OBSEQVIES Vpon The deaths of sundry Personages.

LOOKE to mee faith, and looke to my faith, God; For both my centers feele this period. Of waight one center, one of greatnesse is; And Reason is that center, Faith is this; 5For into'our reason flow, and there do end All, that this naturall world doth comprehend: Quotidian things, and equidistant hence, Shut in, for man, in one circumference. But for th'enormous greatnesses, which are 10So disproportion'd, and so angulare, As is Gods essence, place and providence, Where, how, when, what soules do, departed hence, These things (eccentrique else) on faith do strike; Yet neither all, nor upon all, alike. 15For reason, put to'her best extension, Almost meetes faith, and makes both centers one. And nothing ever came so neare to this, As contemplation of that Prince, wee misse. For all that faith might credit mankinde could, 20Reason still seconded, that this prince would. If then least moving of the center, make More, then if whole hell belch'd, the world to shake, What must this do, centers distracted so, That wee see not what to beleeve or know? 25Was it not well beleev'd till now, that hee, Whose reputation was an extasie On neighbour States, which knew not why to wake, Till hee discover'd what wayes he would take; For whom, what Princes angled, when they tryed, 30Met a Torpedo, and were stupified; And others studies, how he would be bent; Was his great fathers greatest instrument, And activ'st spirit, to convey and tie This soule of peace, through Christianity? 35Was it not well beleev'd, that hee would make This generall peace, th'Eternall overtake, And that his times might have stretch'd out so farre, As to touch those, of which they emblems are? For to confirme this just beleefe, that now 40The last dayes came, wee saw heav'n did allow, That, but from his aspect and exercise, In peacefull times, Rumors of war did rise. But now this faith is heresie: we must Still stay, and vexe our great-grand-mother, Dust. 45Oh, is God prodigall? hath he spent his store Of plagues, on us; and onely now, when more Would ease us much, doth he grudge misery; And will not let's enjoy our curse; to dy? As, for the earth throwne lowest downe of all, 50T'were an ambition to desire to fall, So God, in our desire to dye, doth know Our plot for ease, in being wretched so. Therefore we live; though such a life wee have, As but so many mandrakes on his grave. 55What had his growth, and generation done, When, what we are, his putrefaction Sustaines in us; Earth, which griefes animate? Nor hath our world now, other Soule then that. And could griefe get so high as heav'n, that Quire, 60Forgetting this their new joy, would desire (With griefe to see him) hee had staid below, To rectifie our errours, They foreknow. Is th'other center, Reason, faster then? Where should we looke for that, now we'are not men? 65For if our Reason be'our connexion Of causes, now to us there can be none. For, as, if all the substances were spent, 'Twere madnesse, to enquire of accident, So is't to looke for reason, hee being gone, 70The onely subject reason wrought upon. If Fate have such a chaine, whose divers links Industrious man discerneth, as hee thinks; When miracle doth come, and so steale in A new linke, man knowes not, where to begin: 75At a much deader fault must reason bee, Death having broke off such a linke as hee. But now, for us, with busie proofe to come, That we'have no reason, would prove wee had some. So would just lamentations: Therefore wee 80May safelyer say, that we are dead, then hee. So, if our griefs wee do not well declare, We'have double excuse; he'is not dead; and we are. Yet I would not dy yet; for though I bee Too narrow, to thinke him, as hee is hee, 85(Our Soules best baiting, and midd-period, In her long journey, of considering God) Yet, (no dishonour) I can reach him thus, As he embrac'd the fires of love, with us. Oh may I, (since I live) but see, or heare, 90That she-Intelligence which mov'd this spheare, I pardon Fate, my life: Who ere thou bee, Which hast the noble conscience, thou art shee, I conjure thee by all the charmes he spoke, By th'oathes, which onely you two never broke, 95By all the soules yee sigh'd, that if you see These lines, you wish, I knew your history. So much, as you, two mutuall heav'ns were here, I were an Angell, singing what you were.

Madame,

FAIRE soule, which wast, not onely, as all soules bee, Then when thou wast infused, harmony, But did'st continue so; and now dost beare A part in Gods great organ, this whole Spheare: 5If looking up to God; or downe to us, Thou finde that any way is pervious, Twixt heav'n and earth, and that mans actions doe Come to your knowledge, and affections too, See, and with joy, mee to that good degree 10Of goodnesse growne, that I can studie thee, And, by these meditations refin'd, Can unapparell and enlarge my minde, And so can make by this soft extasie, This place a map of heav'n, my selfe of thee. 15Thou seest mee here at midnight, now all rest; Times dead-low water; when all mindes devest To morrows businesse, when the labourers have Such rest in bed, that their last Church-yard grave, Subject to change, will scarce be'a type of this, 20Now when the clyent, whose last hearing is To morrow, sleeps, when the condemned man, (Who when hee opes his eyes, must shut them than Againe by death,) although sad watch hee keepe, Doth practice dying by a little sleepe, 25Thou at this midnight seest mee, and as soone As that Sunne rises to mee, midnight's noone, All the world growes transparent, and I see Through all, both Church and State, in seeing thee; And I discerne by favour of this light, 30My selfe, the hardest object of the sight. God is the glasse; as thou when thou dost see Him who sees all, seest all concerning thee, So, yet unglorified, I comprehend All, in these mirrors of thy wayes, and end. 35Though God be our true glasse, through which we see All, since the beeing of all things is hee, Yet are the trunkes which doe to us derive Things, in proportion fit, by perspective, Deeds of good men; for by their living here, 40Vertues, indeed remote, seeme to be neare. But where can I affirme, or where arrest My thoughts on his deeds? which shall I call best? For fluid vertue cannot be look'd on, Nor can endure a contemplation. 45As bodies change, and as I do not weare Those Spirits, humors, blood I did last yeare, And, as if on a streame I fixe mine eye, That drop, which I looked on, is presently Pusht with more waters from my sight, and gone, 50So in this sea of vertues, can no one Bee'insisted on; vertues, as rivers, passe, Yet still remaines that vertuous man there was. And as if man feed on mans flesh, and so Part of his body to another owe, 55Yet at the last two perfect bodies rise, Because God knowes where every Atome lyes; So, if one knowledge were made of all those, Who knew his minutes well, hee might dispose His vertues into names, and ranks; but I 60Should injure Nature, Vertue, and Destinie, Should I divide and discontinue so, Vertue, which did in one intirenesse grow. For as, hee that would say, spirits are fram'd Of all the purest parts that can be nam'd, 65Honours not spirits halfe so much, as hee Which sayes, they have no parts, but simple bee; So is't of vertue; for a point and one Are much entirer then a million. And had Fate meant to have his vertues told, 70It would have let him live to have beene old; So, then that vertue in season, and then this, We might have seene, and said, that now he is Witty, now wise, now temperate, now just: In good short lives, vertues are faine to thrust, 75And to be sure betimes to get a place, When they would exercise, lacke time, and space. So was it in this person, forc'd to bee For lack of time, his owne epitome: So to exhibit in few yeares as much, 80As all the long breath'd Chronicles can touch. As when an Angell down from heav'n doth flye, Our quick thought cannot keepe him company, Wee cannot thinke, now hee is at the Sunne, Now through the Moon, now he through th'aire doth run, 85Yet when he's come, we know he did repaire To all twixt Heav'n and Earth, Sunne, Moon, and Aire; And as this Angell in an instant knowes, And yet wee know, this sodaine knowledge growes By quick amassing severall formes of things, 90Which he successively to order brings; When they, whose slow-pac'd lame thoughts cannot goe So fast as hee, thinke that he doth not so; Just as a perfect reader doth not dwell, On every syllable, nor stay to spell, 95Yet without doubt, hee doth distinctly see And lay together every A, and B; So, in short liv'd good men, is'not understood Each severall vertue, but the compound good; For, they all vertues paths in that pace tread, 100As Angells goe, and know, and as men read. O why should then these men, these lumps of Balme Sent hither, this worlds tempests to becalme, Before by deeds they are diffus'd and spred, And so make us alive, themselves be dead? 105O Soule, O circle, why so quickly bee Thy ends, thy birth and death, clos'd up in thee? Since one foot of thy compasse still was plac'd In heav'n, the other might securely'have pac'd In the most large extent, through every path, 110Which the whole world, or man the abridgment hath. Thou knowst, that though the tropique circles have (Yea and those small ones which the Poles engrave,) All the same roundnesse, evennesse, and all The endlesnesse of the equinoctiall; 115Yet, when we come to measure distances, How here, how there, the Sunne affected is, When he doth faintly worke, and when prevaile, Onely great circles, than can be our scale: So, though thy circle to thy selfe expresse 120All, tending to thy endlesse happinesse, And wee, by our good use of it may trye, Both how to live well young, and how to die, Yet, since we must be old, and age endures His Torrid Zone at Court, and calentures 125Of hot ambitions, irrelegions ice, Zeales agues, and hydroptique avarice, Infirmities which need the scale of truth, As well as lust, and ignorance of youth; Why did'st thou not for these give medicines too, 130And by thy doing tell us what to doe? Though as small pocket-clocks, whose every wheele Doth each mismotion and distemper feele, Whose hand gets shaking palsies, and whose string (His sinewes) slackens, and whose Soule, the spring, 135Expires, or languishes, whose pulse, the flye, Either beates not, or beates unevenly, Whose voice, the Bell, doth rattle, or grow dumbe, Or idle,'as men, which to their last houres come, If these clockes be not wound, or be wound still, 140Or be not set, or set at every will; So, youth is easiest to destruction, If then wee follow all, or follow none. Yet, as in great clocks, which in steeples chime, Plac'd to informe whole towns, to'imploy their time, 145An error doth more harme, being generall, When, small clocks faults, only'on the wearer fall; So worke the faults of age, on which the eye Of children, servants, or the State relie. Why wouldst not thou then, which hadst such a soule, 150A clock so true, as might the Sunne controule, And daily hadst from him, who gave it thee, Instructions, such as it could never be Disordered, stay here, as a generall And great Sun-dyall, to have set us All? 155O why wouldst thou be any instrument To this unnaturall course, or why consent To this, not miracle, but Prodigie, That when the ebbs, longer then flowings be, Vertue, whose flood did with thy youth begin, 160Should so much faster ebb out, then flow in? Though her flood was blowne in, by thy first breath, All is at once sunke in the whirle-poole death. Which word I would not name, but that I see Death, else a desert, growne a Court by thee. 165Now I grow sure, that if a man would have Good companie, his entry is a grave. Mee thinkes all Cities, now, but Anthills bee, Where, when the severall labourers I see, For children, house, Provision, taking paine, 170They'are all but Ants, carrying eggs, straw, and grain; And Church-yards are our cities, unto which The most repaire, that are in goodnesse rich. There is the best concourse, and confluence, There are the holy suburbs, and from thence 175Begins Gods City, New Jerusalem, Which doth extend her utmost gates to them. At that gate then Triumphant soule, dost thou Begin thy Triumph; But since lawes allow That at the Triumph day, the people may, 180All that they will, 'gainst the Triumpher say, Let me here use that freedome, and expresse My griefe, though not to make thy Triumph lesse. By law, to Triumphs none admitted bee, Till they as Magistrates get victorie; 185Though then to thy force, all youthes foes did yield, Yet till fit time had brought thee to that field, To which thy ranke in this state destin'd thee, That there thy counsailes might get victorie, And so in that capacitie remove 190All jealousies 'twixt Prince and subjects love, Thou could'st no title, to this triumph have, Thou didst intrude on death, usurp'dst a grave. Then (though victoriously) thou hadst fought as yet But with thine owne affections, with the heate 195Of youths desires, and colds of ignorance, But till thou should'st successefully advance Thine armes 'gainst forraine enemies, which are Both Envy, and acclamations popular, (For, both these engines equally defeate, 200Though by a divers Mine, those which are great,) Till then thy War was but a civill War, For which to Triumph, none admitted are. No more are they, who though with good successe, In a defensive war, their power expresse; 205Before men triumph, the dominion Must be enlarg'd and not preserv'd alone; Why should'st thou then, whose battailes were to win Thy selfe, from those straits nature put thee in, And to deliver up to God that state, 210Of which he gave thee the vicariate, (Which is thy soule and body) as intire As he, who takes endeavours, doth require, But didst not stay, t'enlarge his kingdome too, By making others, what thou didst, to doe; 215Why shouldst thou Triumph now, when Heav'n no more Hath got, by getting thee, then't had before? For, Heav'n and thou, even when thou livedst here, Of one another in possession were. But this from Triumph most disables thee, 220That, that place which is conquered, must bee Left safe from present warre, and likely doubt Of imminent commotions to breake out: And hath he left us so? or can it bee His territory was no more then Hee? 225No, we were all his charge, the Diocis Of ev'ry exemplar man, the whole world is, And he was joyned in commission With Tutelar Angels, sent to every one. But though this freedome to upbraid, and chide 230Him who Triumph'd, were lawfull, it was ty'd With this, that it might never reference have Unto the Senate, who this triumph gave; Men might at Pompey jeast, but they might not At that authoritie, by which he got 235Leave to Triumph, before, by age, he might; So, though, triumphant soule, I dare to write, Mov'd with a reverentiall anger, thus, That thou so earely wouldst abandon us; Yet I am farre from daring to dispute 240With that great soveraigntie, whose absolute Prerogative hath thus dispens'd with thee, 'Gainst natures lawes, which just impugners bee Of early triumphs; And I (though with paine) Lessen our losse, to magnifie thy gaine 245Of triumph, when I say, It was more fit, That all men should lacke thee, then thou lack it. Though then in our time, be not suffered That testimonie of love, unto the dead, To die with them, and in their graves be hid, 250As Saxon wives, and French soldurii did; And though in no degree I can expresse Griefe in great Alexanders great excesse, Who at his friends death, made whole townes devest Their walls and bullwarks which became them best: 255Doe not, faire soule, this sacrifice refuse, That in thy grave I doe interre my Muse, Who, by my griefe, great as thy worth, being cast Behind hand, yet hath spoke, and spoke her last.

MAN is the World, and death th'Ocean, To which God gives the lower parts of man. This Sea invirons all, and though as yet God hath set markes, and bounds, twixt us and it, 5Yet doth it rore, and gnaw, and still pretend, And breaks our bankes, when ere it takes a friend. Then our land waters (teares of passion) vent; Our waters, then, above our firmament, (Teares which our Soule doth for her sins let fall) 10Take all a brackish taft, and Funerall, And even these teares, which should wash sin, are sin. We, after Gods Noe, drowne our world againe. Nothing but man of all invenom'd things Doth worke upon itselfe, with inborne stings. 15Teares are false Spectacles, we cannot see Through passions mist, what wee are, or what shee. In her this sea of death hath made no breach, But as the tide doth wash the slimie beach, And leaves embroder'd workes upon the sand, 20So is her flesh refin'd by deaths cold hand. As men of China,'after an ages stay, Do take up Porcelane, where they buried Clay; So at this grave, her limbecke, which refines The Diamonds, Rubies, Saphires, Pearles, and Mines, 25Of which this flesh was, her soule shall inspire Flesh of such stuffe, as God, when his last fire Annuls this world, to recompence it, shall, Make and name then, th'Elixar of this All. They say, the sea, when it gaines, loseth too; 30If carnall Death (the yonger brother) doe Usurpe the body,'our soule, which subject is To th'elder death, by sinne, is freed by this; They perish both, when they attempt the just; For, graves our trophies are, and both deaths dust. 35So, unobnoxious now, she'hath buried both; For, none to death sinnes, that to sinne is loth, Nor doe they die, which are not loth to die; So hath she this, and that virginity. Grace was in her extremely diligent, 40That kept her from sinne, yet made her repent. Of what small spots pure white complaines! Alas, How little poyson cracks a christall glasse! She sinn'd, but just enough to let us see That God's word must be true, All, sinners be. 45Soe much did zeale her conscience rarefie That, extreme truth lack'd little of a lye, Making omissions, acts; laying the touch Of sinne, on things that sometimes may be such. As Moses Cherubines, whose natures doe 50Surpasse all speed, by him are winged too: So would her soule, already'in heaven, seeme then, To clyme by teares, the common staires of men. How fit she was for God, I am content To speake, that Death his vaine hast may repent. 55How fit for us, how even and how sweet, How good in all her titles, and how meet, To have reform'd this forward heresie, That women can no parts of friendship bee; How Morall, how Divine shall not be told, 60Lest they that heare her vertues, thinke her old: And lest we take Deaths part, and make him glad Of such a prey, and to his tryumph adde.

D EATH I recant, and say, unsaid by mee What ere hath slip'd, that might diminish thee. Spirituall treason, atheisme 'tis, to say, That any can thy Summons disobey. 5Th'earths face is but thy Table; there are set Plants, cattell, men, dishes for Death to eate. In a rude hunger now hee millions drawes Into his bloody, or plaguy, or sterv'd jawes. Now hee will seeme to spare, and doth more wast, 10Eating the best first, well preserv'd to last. Now wantonly he spoiles, and eates us not, But breakes off friends, and lets us peecemeale rot. Nor will this earth serve him; he sinkes the deepe Where harmelesse fish monastique silence keepe, 15Who (were Death dead) by Roes of living sand, Might spunge that element, and make it land. He rounds the aire, and breakes the hymnique notes In birds (Heavens choristers,) organique throats, Which (if they did not dye) might seeme to bee 20A tenth ranke in the heavenly hierarchie. O strong and long-liv'd death, how cam'st thou in? And how without Creation didst begin? Thou hast, and shalt see dead, before thou dyest, All the foure Monarchies, and Antichrist. 25How could I thinke thee nothing, that see now In all this All, nothing else is, but thou. Our births and lives, vices, and vertues, bee Wastfull consumptions, and degrees of thee. For, wee to live, our bellowes weare, and breath, 30Nor are wee mortall, dying, dead, but death. And though thou beest, O mighty bird of prey, So much reclaim'd by God, that thou must lay All that thou kill'st at his feet, yet doth hee Reserve but few, and leaves the most to thee. 35And of those few, now thou hast overthrowne One whom thy blow makes, not ours, nor thine own. She was more stories high: hopelesse to come To her Soule, thou'hast offer'd at her lower roome. Her Soule and body was a King and Court: 40But thou hast both of Captaine mist and fort. As houses fall not, though the King remove, Bodies of Saints rest for their soules above. Death gets 'twixt soules and bodies such a place As sinne insinuates 'twixt just men and grace, 45Both worke a separation, no divorce. Her Soule is gone to usher up her corse Which shall be'almost another soule, for there Bodies are purer, then best Soules are here, Because in her, her virtues did outgoe 50Her yeares, would'st thou, O emulous death, do so? And kill her young to thy losse? must the cost Of beauty,'and wit, apt to doe harme, be lost? What though thou found'st her proofe 'gainst sins of youth? Oh, every age a diverse sinne pursueth. 55Thou should'st have stay'd, and taken better hold, Shortly, ambitious; covetous, when old, She might have prov'd: and such devotion Might once have stray'd to superstition. If all her vertues must have growne, yet might 60Abundant virtue'have bred a proud delight. Had she persever'd just, there would have bin Some that would sinne, mis-thinking she did sinne. Such as would call her friendship, love, and faine To sociablenesse, a name profane; 65Or sinne, by tempting, or, not daring that, By wishing, though they never told her what. Thus might'st thou'have slain more soules, had'st thou not crost Thy selfe, and to triumph, thine army lost. Yet though these wayes be lost, thou hast left one, 70Which is, immoderate griefe that she is gone. But we may scape that sinne, yet weepe as much, Our teares are due, because we are not such. Some teares, that knot of friends, her death must cost, Because the chaine is broke, though no linke lost.

LANGUAGE thou art too narrow, and too weake To ease us now; great sorrow cannot speake; If we could sigh out accents, and weepe words, Griefe weares, and lessens, that tears breath affords. 5Sad hearts, the lesse they seeme the more they are, (So guiltiest men stand mutest at the barre) Not that they know not, feele not their estate, But extreme sense hath made them desperate. Sorrow, to whom we owe all that we bee; 10Tyrant, in the fift and greatest Monarchy, Was't, that she did possesse all hearts before, Thou hast kil'd her, to make thy Empire more? Knew'st thou some would, that knew her not, lament, As in a deluge perish th'innocent? 15Was't not enough to have that palace wonne, But thou must raze it too, that was undone? Had'st thou staid there, and look'd out at her eyes, All had ador'd thee that now from thee flies, For they let out more light, then they tooke in, 20They told not when, but did the day beginne. She was too Saphirine, and cleare for thee; Clay, flint, and jeat now thy fit dwellings be; Alas, shee was too pure, but not too weake; Who e'r saw Christall Ordinance but would break? 25And if wee be thy conquest, by her fall Th'hast lost thy end, for in her perish all; Or if we live, we live but to rebell, They know her better now, that knew her well. If we should vapour out, and pine, and die; 30Since, shee first went, that were not miserie. Shee chang'd our world with hers; now she is gone, Mirth and prosperity is oppression; For of all morall vertues she was all, The Ethicks speake of vertues Cardinall. 35Her soule was Paradise; the Cherubin Set to keepe it was grace, that kept out sinne. Shee had no more then let in death, for wee All reape consumption from one fruitfull tree. God tooke her hence, lest some of us should love 40Her, like that plant, him and his lawes above, And when wee teares, hee mercy shed in this, To raise our mindes to heaven where now she is; Who if her vertues would have let her stay Wee'had had a Saint, have now a holiday. 45Her heart was that strange bush, where, sacred fire, Religion, did not consume, but'inspire Such piety, so chast use of Gods day, That what we turne to feast, she turn'd to pray, And did prefigure here, in devout tast, 50The rest of her high Sabaoth, which shall last. Angels did hand her up, who next God dwell, (For she was of that order whence most fell) Her body left with us, lest some had said, Shee could not die, except they saw her dead; 55For from lesse vertue, and lesse beautiousnesse, The Gentiles fram'd them Gods and Goddesses. The ravenous earth that now wooes her to be Earth too, will be a Lemnia; and the tree That wraps that christall in a wooden Tombe, 60Shall be tooke up spruce, fill'd with diamond; And we her sad glad friends all beare a part Of griefe, for all would waste a Stoicks heart.

SORROW, who to this house scarce knew the way: Is, Oh, heire of it, our All is his prey. This strange chance claimes strange wonder, and to us Nothing can be so strange, as to weepe thus. 5'Tis well his lifes loud speaking workes deserve, And give praise too, our cold tongues could not serve: 'Tis well, hee kept teares from our eyes before, That to fit this deepe ill, we might have store. Oh, if a sweet briar, climbe up by'a tree, 10If to a paradise that transplanted bee, Or fell'd, and burnt for holy sacrifice, Yet, that must wither, which by it did rise, As we for him dead: though no familie Ere rigg'd a soule for heavens discoverie 15With whom more Venturers more boldly dare Venture their states, with him in joy to share. Wee lose what all friends lov'd, him; he gaines now But life by death, which worst foes would allow, If hee could have foes, in whose practise grew 20All vertues, whose names subtile Schoolmen knew. What ease, can hope that wee shall see'him, beget, When wee must die first, and cannot dye yet? His children are his pictures, Oh they bee Pictures of him dead, senselesse, cold as he. 25Here needs no marble Tombe, since hee is gone, He, and about him, his, are turn'd to stone.

Sir,

I PRESUME you rather try what you can doe in me, then what I can doe in verse; you know my uttermost when it was best, and even then I did best when I had least truth for my subjects. In this present case there is so much truth as it defeats all Poetry. Call therefore this paper by what name you will, and, if it bee not worthy of him, nor of you, nor of mee, smother it, and bee that the sacrifice. If you had commanded mee to have waited on his body to Scotland and preached there, I would have embraced the obligation with more alacrity; But, I thanke you that you would command me that which I was loath to doe, for, even that hath given a tincture of merit to the obedience of Your poore friend and servant in Christ Jesus I. D.

WHETHER that soule which now comes up to you Fill any former ranke or make a new; Whether it take a name nam'd there before, Or be a name it selfe, and order more 5Then was in heaven till now; (for may not hee Bee so, if every severall Angell bee A kind alone?) What ever order grow Greater by him in heaven, wee doe not so. One of your orders growes by his accesse; 10But, by his losse grow all our orders lesse; The name of Father, Master, Friend, the name Of Subject and of Prince, in one are lame; Faire mirth is dampt, and conversation black, The household widdow'd, and the garter slack; 15The Chappell wants an eare, Councell a tongue; Story, a theame; and Musicke lacks a song; Blest order that hath him! the losse of him Gangreend all Orders here; all lost a limbe. Never made body such hast to confesse 20What a soule was; All former comelinesse Fled, in a minute, when the soule was gone, And, having lost that beauty, would have none; So fell our Monasteries, in one instant growne Not to lesse houses, but, to heapes of stone; 25So sent this body that faire forme it wore, Unto the spheare of formes, and doth (before His soule shall fill up his sepulchrall stone,) Anticipate a Resurrection; For, as in his fame, now, his soule is here, 30So, in the forme thereof his bodie's there. And if, faire soule, not with first Innocents Thy station be, but with the Pænitents, (And, who shall dare to aske then when I am Dy'd scarlet in the blood of that pure Lambe, 35Whether that colour, which is scarlet then, Were black or white before in eyes of men?) When thou rememb'rest what sins thou didst finde Amongst those many friends now left behinde, And seest such sinners as they are, with thee 40Got thither by repentance, Let it bee Thy wish to wish all there, to wish them cleane; Wim him a David, her a Magdalen.