Dear soul, she knew who did vouchsafe and deign
To bear her filth; and that her sins did dash
E'en God Himself: wherefore she was not loth,
As she had brought wherewith to stain,
So to bring in wherewith to wash;
And yet in washing one, she washed both.

AARON.

HOLINESS on the head,

Light and perfection on the breast,
Harmonious bells below raising the dead
To lead them unto life and rest.
Thus are true Aarons drest.*

Profaneness in my head,

Defects and darkness in my breast,
A noise of passions ringing me for dead
Unto a place where is no rest:
Poor priest! thus am I drest.

Only another head

I have another heart and breast,
Another music, making live, not dead,
Without whom I could have no rest :
In Him I am well drest.

Christ is my only head,

My alone only heart and breast,
My only music, striking me e'en dead;
That to the old man I may rest,

And be in Him new drest.

* Exodus xxviii. 29–37.

So holy in my Head,
Perfect and light in my dear Breast,

My doctrine tuned by Christ (who is not dead,
But lives in me while I do rest),
Come, people; Aaron's drest.

THE ODOUR.

II. Cor. ii.

How sweetly doth “

sweetly doth "My Master" sound! "My Master!"

As ambergris leaves a rich scent

Unto the taster,

So do these words a sweet content,
An Oriental fragrancy, "My Master!"

With these all day I do perfume my mind,
My mind e'en thrust into them both;
That I might find

What cordials make this curious broth,

This broth of smells that feeds and fats my mind.

"My Master," shall I speak? O that to Thee

That these two words might creep and grow
To some degree of spiciness to Thee!

Then should the Pomander,* which was before
A speaking sweet, mend by reflection

*A little ball of perfumes to hold in the hand, the warmth of which brought out its scent.

And tell me more;

For pardon of my imperfection

Would warm and work it sweeter than before.

For when "My Master," which alone is sweet,
And e'en in my unworthiness pleasing,
Shall call and meet

"My Servant," as Thee not displeasing, That call is but the breathing of the sweet.

This breathing would with gains by sweetening me (As sweet things traffic when they meet) Return to Thee;

And so this new commerce and sweet Should all my life employ, and busy me.

The sphere of virtue and each shining grace,
As plainly as that above doth show,
This were the better sky, the brighter place.

God hath made stars the foil

To set off virtues; griefs to set off sinning.
Yet in this wretched world we toil,

As if grief were not foul, nor virtue winning.

THE FORERUNNERS.

THE harbingers are come. See, see their mark:

White is their colour, and behold my head.

But must they have my brain? must they dispark * Those sparkling notions, which therein were bred? Must dulness turn me to a clod?

Yet have they left me, "Thou art still my God."

Good men ye be, to leave me my best room,
E'en all my heart, and what is lodgèd there:
I pass † not, I, what of the rest become,
So "Thou art still my God" be out of fear.

He will be pleased with that ditty;
And if I please Him, I write fine and witty.
Farewell, sweet phrases, lovely metaphors:
But will ye leave me thus? when ye before
Of stews and brothels only knew the doors,
Then did I wash you with my tears, and more,
Brought you to church well drest and clad :
My God must have my best, e'en all I had.

Lovely enchanting language, sugar-cane,
Honey of roses, whither wilt thou fly?

Hath some fond lover 'ticed thee to thy bane?
And wilt thou leave the church and love a sty?
Fie! thou wilt soil thy broidered coat,

And hurt thyself, and him that sings the note?

*To open or do away with a park.

† Care not.

The poems or rather verses of that period were very impure. Vaughan says, "The first that with any effectual success attempted a diversion of this foul and overflowing stream was the blessed man Mr. George Herbert, whose

Let foolish lovers, if they will love dung,
With canvas, not with arras, clothe their shame:
Let folly speak in her own native tongue.
True beauty dwells on high: ours is a flame
But borrowed thence to light us thither.
Beauty and beauteous words should go together.

pass not take

your way;

Yet if you go, I
For "Thou art still my God" is all that ye
Perhaps with more embellishment can say.
Go, birds of spring: let winter have his fee ;
T.et a bleak paleness chalk the door,
So all within be livelier than before.

THE ROSE.

PRESS me not to take more pleasure
In this world of sugared lies,

And to use a larger measure

Than my strict yet welcome size.

First, there is no pleasure here:
Coloured griefs indeed there are,
Blushing woes that look as clear

As if they could beauty spare.

Or if such deceits there be,

Such delights, I meant to say,

There are no such things to me,

Who have passed my right away.

holy life and verse gained many pious converts (of whom I am the least), and gave the first check to a most flourishing and admired Wit of his time."-Pref. ace to Silex Scintilians, p. 58.