Aн, sweet Content, where is thy mild abode ?
Is it with shepherds and light-hearted swains
Which sing upon the downs and pipe abroad
Tending their flocks and cattle on the plains?
Ah, sweet Content, where dost thou safely rest?
In heaven, with angels which the praises sing
Of him that made, and rules at his behest,
The minds and hearts of every living thing?
Ah, sweet Content, where doth thine harbour hold?
Is it in churches, with religious men
Which please the gods with prayers manifold, And in their studies meditate it then? Whether thou dost in heaven or earth appear,
Be where thou wilt, thou wilt not harbour here.
FAIR Clytie doth flourish with the spring
And eftsoons withered, like thy golden hair,
And Io's violets grow flourishing
But soon defaced, which thine eyes'semblance bear: Anemone, with hyacinth spring's pride,
Like to thy beauty lose their lovely gloss; So will thy cheeks with graces beautified Return to wrinkles, and to nature's dross : Roses (as from thy lips) sweet odours send,
Which herbs in them whilst juice and virtues rest From some diseases' rigour, life defend : These (as thyself) once withered, men detest: Then love betimes; these withered flowers of yore Revive thy beauty lost returns no more.
Love is a name too lovely for the god;
He naked goes, red-coloured in his skin,
And bare (all as a boy) fit for a rod :
Hence into Afric, there seek out thy kin
Among the Moors and swarthy men of Ind;
Me thou of joys and sweet content hast hindred : Hast thou consumed me, and art of my kind? Hast thou enraged me, yet art of my kindred? Nay Ismarus, or Rhodope thy father,
Or craggy Caucasus thy crabbed sire,
Vesuvius else, or was it Ætna rather,
For thou how many dost consume with fire?
Fierce tigers, wolves, and panthers gave thee suck,
For lovely Venus had not such evil luck.
GRACIOUS, divine, and most omnipotent!
Receive thy servant's talent in good part,
Which hid it not, but willing did convert
It to best use he could when it was lent:
The sum (though slender yet not all mispent)
Receive, dear God of grace, from cheerful heart
Of him, that knows how merciful thou art
And with what grace to contrite sinners bent.
my fault, I did not as I should,
My sinful flesh against my soul rebelled,
But since I did endeavour what I could,
Let not my little nothing be withheld
From thy rich treasuries of endless grace;
But (for thy sake) let it procure a place.
UP, sluggish soul, awake, slumber no more,
This is no time to sleep in sin secure ;
If once the Bridegroom pass and shut the door No entrance will be gained, thou may'st be sure. Now thou art up, fill up thy lamp with oil,
Haste thee and light it at the fire of love;
Watch and attend; what is a little toil
To gain thee entrance to the joys above?
Go, meet the Bridegroom, with low reverence,
Humbly, with patience, wait upon his grace,
Follow his steps with love and diligence,
Leave all for him, and only him embrace.
So shalt thou enter with him into rest,
And at his heavenly table sit and feast.
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