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 high'r,

And high'r yet, that so the shrill-mouth'd quire

10

THE INVOCATION.

Of swift-wing'd seraphims may come and join,
And make the concert more than half divine.
Invoke no muse; let Heav'n 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 lab'ring 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 molehill earth,
Thine ear untroubled with their frantic mirth;
Let not the frailty of thy flesh disturb

Thy new-concluded peace; let reason curb
Thy hot-mouth'd passion; and let Heav'n'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 Heav'n, and reach the Olympic ear;
Our heav'n-blown fire must seek no other sphere.

Thou great Theanthropos, that giv'st and ground'st

Thy gifts in dust, and from our dunghill crown'st Reflecting honour, taking by retail

What thou hast giv'n in gross, from lapsed, frail, And sinful man: that drink'st full draughts, where

in

Thy children's lep'rous fingers, scurf'd with sin,
Have paddled; cleanse, O cleanse my crafty soul
From secret crimes, and let my thoughts control
My thoughts: O teach me stoutly to deny
Myself, that I may be no longer I:
Enrich my fancy, clarify my thoughts,
Refine my dross; O 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.

EMBLEMS.

BOOK L.

13

1.

Totus mundus in maligno (maliligno) positus est.
JAMES, I. 14.

Every man is tempted, when he is drawn away by his own lust, and enticed.

SERPENT. EVE.

Serp. Nor eat? not taste? not touch? not cast an eye Upon the fruit of this fair tree? and why?

Why eat'st thou not what Heav'n ordain'd for food? Or canst thou think that bad which Heav'n call'd

good?