Of flitting time; a furnish'd pack, whose wares
Are sullen griefs, and soul-tormenting cares:
A vale of tears, a vessel tunn'd with breath,
By sickness broach'd, to be drawn out by death:
A hapless, helpless thing, that born, does cry
To feed, that feeds to live, that lives to die.
Great GoD and man, whose eye spent drops so often
For me, that cannot weep enough; O soften
These marble brains, and strike this flinty rock;
Or, if the music of thy Peter's cock

Will more prevail, fill, fill my heark'ning ears
With that sweet sound, that I may melt in tears!
I cannot weep until thou broach mine eye;

O give me vent, or else I burst, and die.

S. AMBROS. in Psalm cxviii.

He that commits sins to be wept for, cannot weep for sins committed; and being himself most lamentable, hath no tears to lament his offences.

NAZIANZ. Orat. iii.

Tears are the deluge of sin, and the world's sacrifice.

S. HIERON. in Esaiam.

Prayer appeases GOD, but a tear compels him: that moves him, but this constrains him.

EPIG. 8.

Earth is an island ported round with fears; Thy way to Heav'n is through the sea of tears; It is a stormy passage, where is found

The wreck of many a ship, but no man drown'd.

The sorrows of hell compassed me about, and the snares of death prevented me.

Is not this type well cut, in ev'ry part
Full of rich cunning! fill'd with Zeuxian art?
Are not the hunters, and their Stygian hounds,
Limn'd full to th' life? didst ever hear the sounds

Of music, and the lip-dividing breaths

Of the strong winded horn, recheats, and deaths,
Done more exact? th' infernal Nimrod's halloo ?
The lawless purlieus? and the game they follow?
The hidden engines, and the snares that lie
So undiscover'd, so obscure to th' eye?
The new-drawn net, and her entangled prey?
And him that closes it? Beholder, say,

Is't not well done? seems not an em❜lous strife
Betwixt the rare cut picture and the life?
These purlieu men are devils; and the hounds
(Those quick-nos'd cannibals, that scour the
grounds),

Temptations; and the game, the fiends pursue,
Are human souls, which still they have in view;
Whose fury if they chance to 'scape by flying
The skilful hunter plants his net close lying
On th' unsuspected earth, baited with treasure,
Ambitious honour, and self-wasting pleasure:
Where, if the soul but stoop, death stands prepar'd
To draw the net, and drown the souls ensnar'd.
Poor soul! how art thou hurried to and fro?
Where canst thou safely stay? where safely go?
If stay; these hot-mouth'd hounds are apt to tear
thee:

If go; the snares enclose, the nets ensnare thee:
What good in this bad world has pow'r t' invite

thee

A willing guest? wherein can earth delight thee? Her pleasures are but itch; her wealth, but cares: A world of dangers, and a world of snares:

The close pursuers' busy hands do plant
Snares in thy substance; snares attend thy want;
Snares in thy credit; snares in thy disgrace;
Snares in thy high estate; snares in thy base;
Snares tuck thy bed; and snares surround thy
board;

Snares watch thy thoughts; and snares attach thy word;

Snares in thy quiet; snares in thy commotion; Snares in thy diet; snares in thy devotion; Snares lurk in thy resolves, snares in thy doubt; Snares lie within thy heart, and snares without; Snares are above thy head, and snares beneath; Snares in thy sickness, snares are in thy death. Oh! if these purlieus be so full of danger,

Great GOD of hearts, the world's sole sov'reign ranger;

Preserve thy deer; and let my soul be blest
In thy safe forest, where I seek for rest:
Then let the hell-hounds roar, I fear no ill;
Rouse me they may; but have no power to kill.