Weep, what ye have drunk amiss;
And drink this,

Which, before you drink, is blood.

Come ye hither, all, whom pain
Doth arraign;

Bringing all your sins to sight.
Taste, and fear not; God is here,
In this cheer,

And on sin doth cast the fright.

Come ye hither, all, whom joy
Doth destroy,

While ye graze without your bounds.
Here is joy, that drowneth quite
Your delight;

As a flood the lower grounds.

Come

ye hither, all, whose love
Is your dove,

And exalts you to the sky.

Here is love, which, having breath
E'en in death,

After death can never die.

Lord, I have invited all ;

And I shall

Still invite, still call, to thee.

For it seems but just and right
In my sight,

Where is all, there all should be.

The Banquet.

WELCOME, Sweet and sacred cheer!
Welcome, dear!

With me, in me, live and dwell:
For thy neatness passeth sight;
Thy delight

Passeth tongue, to taste, or tell.

Oh, what sweetness from the bowl
Fills my soul;

Such as is, and makes, divine !
Is some star, fled from the sphere,
Melted there,

As we sugar melt in wine?

Or hath sweetness in the bread
Made a head

To subdue the smell of sin;
Flowers, and gums, and powders giving
All their living,

Lest the enemy should win?

Doubtless, neither star, nor flower
Hath the power

Such a sweetness to impart.

Only God, who gives perfumes,

Flesh assumes;

And with it, perfumes my heart.

But, as pomanders and wood

Still are good;

Yet being bruised, are better scented:

God, to shew how far his love
Could improve,

Here, as broken, is presented

When I had forgot my birth,
And on earth

In delights of earth was drowned,
God took blood; and needs would be
Spilt with me,

And so found me on the ground.

Having raised me to look up,
In a cup

Sweetly he doth meet my taste.
But, I still being low and short,
Far from court,

Wine becomes a wing at last.

For, with it alone, I fly

To the sky;

Where I wipe mine eyes, and see
What I seek, for what I sue.

Him I view,

Who hath done so much for me.

Let the wonder of this pity
Be my ditty,

And take up my lines and life:
Harken! under pain of death,

Hands and breath,

Strive in this; and love the strife.

The Poesy.

LET wits contest,

And, with their words and poesies, windows fill. LESS THAN THE LEAST

OF ALL THY MERCIES, is my poesy still :

This on my ring,

This by my picture, in my book, I write.
Whether I sing,

Or say, or dictate, this is my delight.

Invention, rest;

Comparisons, go play; wit, use thy will:

LESS THAN THE LEAST

OF ALL GOD'S MERCIES, is

my poesy still.

A Parody.

SOUL's joy, when thou art gone,
And I, alone ;-

Which cannot be,

Because thou dost abide with me,
And I depend on thee.

Yet, when thou dost suppress

The cheerfulness

Of thy abode,

And in my powers not stir abroad,

But leave me to my load;

Oh, what a damp and shade

Doth me invade !

No stormy night

Can so afflict, or so affright,
As thy eclipsed light.

Ah, Lord! do not withdraw,

Lest want of awe

Make sin appear;

And, when thou dost but shine less clear, Say, that thou art not here.

And then what life I have,

(While sin doth rave,

And falsely boast,

That I may seek, but thou art lost,)
Thou, and alone thou, know'st.

Oh, what a deadly cold

Doth me infold!

I half believe

That sin says true. But while I grieve, Thou com'st, and dost relieve.

The Elixir.

TEACH me, my God and King,
In all things thee to see;
And, what I do in any thing,
To do it as for thee:

Not rudely, as a beast,

To run into an action;

But still to make thee prepossessed,
And give it his perfection.