When we have wandered all our ways,
Shuts up the story of our days;

But from this earth, this grave, this dust,
My God shall raise me up, I trust!

PILGRIMAGE

Give me my scallop-shell of Quiet,
My staff of Faith to walk upon;
My scrip of Joy, immortal diet,
My bottle of Salvation,

My gown of Glory, hope's true gage;
And thus I'll take my pilgrimage.

Blood must be my body's balmer,

No other balm will there be given; Whilst my soul, like quiet palmer,

Travelleth towards the land of heaven;

Over the silver mountains,

Where spring the nectar fountains:

There will I kiss

The bowl of bliss;

And drink mine everlasting fill

Upon every milken hill,

My soul will be a-dry before;

But after, it will thirst no more.

THE LIE

Go, Soul, the body's guest,
Upon a thankless arrant:
Fear not to touch the best;

The truth shall be thy warrant:

Go, since I needs must die,

And give the world the lie.

Say to the court, it glows

And shines like rotten wood; Say to the church, it shows

What's good, and doth no good:

If court and church reply,
Then give them both the lie.

Tell potentates, they live
Acting by others' action;
Not loved unless they give,
Not strong but by a faction:
If potentates reply,
Give potentates the lie.

Tell men of high condition,

That manage the estate, Their purpose is ambition, Their practice only hate:

And if they once reply,

Then give them all the lie.

Tell them that brave it most,

They beg for more by spending, Who, in their greatest cost,

Seek nothing but commending:
And if they make reply,
Then give them all the lie.

Tell zeal it wants devotion;
Tell love it is but lust;
Tell time it is but motion;
Tell flesh it is but dust;
And wish them not reply,
For thou must give the lie.

Tell age it daily wasteth;

Tell honour how it alters;
Tell beauty how she blasteth;
Tell favour how it falters:

And as they shall reply,
Give every one the lie.

Tell wit how much it wrangles

In tickle points of niceness; Tell wisdom she entangles

Herself in over-wiseness:

And when they do reply,
Straight give them both the lie.

Tell physic of her boldness;
Tell skill it is pretension;

Tell charity of coldness;

Tell law it is contention:
And as they do reply,
So give them still the lie.

Tell fortune of her blindness;
Tell nature of decay;
Tell friendship of unkindness;
Tell justice of delay:

And if they will reply,

Then give them all the lie.

Tell arts they have no soundness,
But vary by esteeming;
Tell schools they want profoundness,
And stand too much on seeming:

If arts and schools reply,

Give arts and schools the lie.

Tell faith it's fled the city;

Tell how the country erreth;
Tell manhood shakes off pity;
Tell virtue least preferreth:
And if they do reply,
Spare not to give the lie.

So when thou hast, as I

Commanded thee, done blabbing-
Although to give the lie

Deserves no less than stabbing—
Stab at thee he that will

No stab the soul can kill.

SIR JOHN BEAUMONT

IN DESOLATION

O Thou, Who sweetly bend'st my stubborn will, Who send'st Thy stripes to teach and not to

kill!

Thy chearrful face from me no longer hide; Withdraw these clouds, the scourges of my pride; I sinke to hell, if I be lower throwne:

I see what man is, being left alone.

My substance, which from nothing did begin,
Is worse than nothing by the waight of sin:
I see my selfe in such a wretched state,
As neither thoughts conceive, nor words relate.
How great a distance parts us! for in Thee
Is endless good, and boundless ill in mee.
All creatures prove me abject, but how low
Thou onely know'st, and teachest me to know:
To paint this basenesse, Nature is too base;
This darknesse yields not but to beames of grace.
Where shall I then this piercing splendour find?
Or found, how shall it guide me, being blind?