THE night is come, like to the day;
Depart not, Thou, great GOD, away!
Let not my sins, black as the night,
Eclipse the lustre of Thy light!
Keep still in my horizon! for, to me,
The sun makes not the day; but Thee!
Thou, whose nature cannot sleep,
On my temples, sentry keep!
Guard me 'gainst those watchful foes;
Whose eyes are open, while mine close!
Let no dreams my head infest,
But such as JACOB's temples blest!
While I do rest, my soul advance !
Make my sleep a holy trance ;
That I may, my rest being wrought,
Awake into some holy thought!
And with as active vigour run
My course, as doth the nimble sun!
Sleep is a death! O, make me try,
By sleeping, what it is to die!
And as gently lay my head
Upon my grave, as, now, my bed!
Howe'er I rest, great GOD, let me
Awake again, at last, with Thee!
And thus assured, behold, I lie
Securely, or to wake! or die!
These are my drowsy days! In vain
I do now wake; to sleep again!
O, come that hour, when I shall never
Sleep again; but wake for ever!
NOT that I wish my Mistress
More, or less, than what She is,
Write I these lines! For 'tis too late,
Rules to prescribe unto my fate!
But yet, as tender stomachs call
For some choice meat, that bear not all;
A queasy Lover may impart
What Mistress 'tis, that please his heart!
First, I would have her richly spread
With Nature's blossoms, white and red!
For flaming hearts will quickly die,
That have not fuel from the eye.
Yet this alone will never win,
Except some treasure lies within!
For where the spoil 's not worth the stay;
Men raise their siege, and go away!
I'd have her wise enough to know
When, and to whom, a grace to show!
For she that doth at random choose;
She will as soon her choice refuse!
And yet, methinks, I'd have her mind,
To flowing courtesy inclined;
And tender-hearted as a Maid:
Yet pity, only when I prayed.
And I would wish her true to be,
Mistake me not! I mean to me!
She that loves me, and loves one more,
Will love the Kingdom o'er and o'er!
And I could wish her full of wit;
Knew She how for to housewife it!
But she, whose wisdom makes her dare
To try her wit, will sell more ware!
Some other things, delight will bring;
As if She dances, play, and sing;
So they be safe! What though her parts
Catch ten thousand foreign hearts!
But, let me see! Should She be proud;
A little pride should be allowed!
Each amorous boy will sport and prate
Too freely, where he finds not State.
I care not much, though She let down
Sometime a chiding, or a frown;
But if She wholly quench desire,
'Tis hard to kindle a new fire!
To smile, to toy, is not amiss;
Sometimes to interpose a kiss :
But not to cloy! Such things are good,
Pleasant for sauce; but not for food!
THE KING ENJOYS HIS OWN AGAIN.
WHAT BOOKER can prognosticate,
Or speak of our Kingdom's present state;
I think myself to be as wise
As he that most looks in the skies!
My skill goes beyond the depths of the POND
Or RIVER in the greatest rain!
By the which I can tell, that all things will be well,
When the King comes home in peace again.
There is no Astrologer then, I say,
Can search more deep in this, than I!
To give you a reason from the stars,
What causeth Peace, or Civil Wars.
The Man in the Moon may wear out his shoon,
In running after CHARLES his Wain;
But all to no end! For the Times, they will mend,
When the King comes home in peace again.
Though, for a time, you may see White Hall
With cobwebs hanging over the wall;
Instead of silk and silver braid,
As formerly it used to have;
In every room, the sweet perfume,
Delightful for that Princely train;
The which you shall see, when the time it shall be, That the King comes home in peace again.
Full forty years, the royal Crown
Hath been his father's and his own;
And, I am sure, there 's none but he
Hath right to that sovereignty!
Then, who better may, the sceptre to sway
Than he that hath such right to reign!
The hope of your Peace! for the wars will then cease,
When the King comes home in peace again.
Till then, upon Ararat's hill,
My hope shall cast her anchor still;
Until I see some peaceful dove
Bring home the branch which I do love!
Still will I wait, till the waters abate;
Which most disturb my troubled brain. For I'll never rejoice, till I hear that voice, 'That the King comes home in peace again.'
Oxford and Cambridge shall agree, Crowned with honour and dignity. Learnèd men shall then take place, And bad men silenced with disgrace. They'll know it then, to be a shameful strain That hath so long disturbed their brain: For I can surely tell, that all things shall go well, When the King comes home in peace again.
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