XXII. Sir John Beaumont

ENOUGH delight, O mine eternall good!

I feare to perish in this fiery flood;

And doubt, lest beames of such a glorious light

Should rather blind me, then extend my sight:

For how dare mortals here their thoughts erect

To taste those ioyes which they in heauen expect?

But God inuites them in his boundless loue,

And lifts their heauy minds to things aboue.

Who would not follow such a pow’rfull guide,

Immid’st of flames, or through the raging tide?

What carelesse soule will not admit the grace

Of such a Lord, who knowes the dang’rous place

In which his seruants liue—their natiue woes,

Their weake defence, and fury of their foes;

And casting downe to earth these golden chaines,

From hel’s steepe brinke their sliding steps restraines?

His deare affection flies with wings of haste;

He will not stay till this short life be past:

But in this vale, where teares of griefe abound,

He oft with teares of ioy his friends hath drown’d.

Man, what desir’st thou? wouldst thou purchase health,

Great honour, perfect pleasure, peace, and wealth?

All these are here, and in their glory raigne:

In other things these names are false and vaine.

True wisdome bids vs to this banquet haste,

That precious nectar may renew the taste

Of Eden’s dainties, by our parents lost

For one poore apple, which so deare would cost,

That eu’ry man a double death should pay.

But mercy comes the latter stroke to stay

And—leauing mortall bodies to the knife

Of iustice—striues to saue the better life.

No sou’raigne med’cine can be halfe so good

Against destruction as this angels’ food,

This inward illustration, when it finds

A seate in humble and indifferent minds.

If wretched men contemne a sunne so bright,

Dispos’d to stray and stumble in the night,

And seeke contentment where they oft haue knowne,

By deare experience, that there can be none;

They would much more neglect their God, their end,

If aught were found whereon they might depend,

Within the compasse of the gen’rall frame;

Or if some sparkes of this celestiall flame

Had not engraued this sentence in their brest:

In him that made them is their onely rest.