"Taste not," said God; "'tis mine and angels' meat;

"A certain death doth fit,

"Like an ill worm, i' th' core of it.

"Ye cannot know and live, nor live or know and eat." Thus fpoke God, yet man did go

Ignorantly on to know ;

Grew fo more blind, and the

Who tempted him to this, grew yet more blind than he.

The only science man by this did get,

Was but to know he nothing knew:
He ftrait his nakedness did view,

His ignorant poor eftate, and was asham'd of it.

Yet fearches probabilities,

And rhetorick, and fallacies,

And feeks by useless pride,

With flight and withering leaves that nakedness to hide.

"Henceforth," faid God," the wretched fons of earth "Shall fweat for food in vain,

“That will not long sustain ;

"And bring with labour forth each fond abortive birth. "That ferpent too, their pride,

“Which aims at things deny'd;
"That learn'd and eloquent luft

"Instead of mounting high, fhall creep upon the dust.”

S

THE USE OF IT IN DIVINE MATTERS.

OME blind themselves, 'caufe poffibly they may
Be led by others a right way;

They build on fands, which if unmov'd they find, 'Tis but becaufe there was no wind.

Lefs hard 'tis, not to err ourselves, than know
If our forefathers err'd or no.
When we truft men concerning God, we then
Truft not God concerning men.

Viñions and infpirations fome expect-
Their courfe here to direct;

Like fenfelefs chemifts their own wealth deftroy,

Imaginary gold t' enjoy:

So ftars appear to drop to us from sky,
And gild the paffage as they fly;

But when they fall, and meet th' oppofing ground,
What but a fordid flime is found?

Sometimes their fancies they 'bove reafon fet,

And faft, that they may dream of meat s Sometimes ill fpirits their fickly fouls delude, And baftard forms obtrude:

So Endor's wretched forcerefs, although

She Saul through his difguife did know, Yet, when the devil comes up difguis'd, the cries, "Behold the Gods arife."

In vain, alas! these outward hopes are try'd;
Reafon within 's our only guide;

Reason, which (God be prais'd!) ftill walks, for all

Its old original fall :

And, fince itself the boundless Godhead join'd

With a reasonable mind,

It plainly fhows that myfteries divine
May with our reason join.

The holy book, like the eighth sphere, does fhine
With thousand lights of truth divine:

So numberless the stars, that to the eye,
It makes but all one galaxy.

Yet Reafon muft affift too; for, in feas
So vaft and dangerous as these,
Our course by ftars above we cannot know,
Without the compass too below.

Though Reason cannot through Faith's myfteries fes, It fees that there and fuch they be ;

Leads to heaven's door, and there does humbly keep, And there through chinks and key-holes peep: Though it, like Mofes, by a fad command,

Mult not come into th' Holy Land,

Yet thither it infallibly does guide,
And from afar 'tis all defcry'd.

1

ON

THE

DEATH OF MR. CRASHAW.

OET and Saint! to thee alone are given

POET

The two moft facred names of Earth and Heaven;

The hard and rareft union which can be,

Next that of godhead with humanity.
Long did the Mufes' banish'd slaves abide,
And built vain pyramids to mortal pride;

Like Mofes thou (though fpells and charms withstand)
Haft brought them nobly home back to their holy land.
Ah wretched we, poets of earth! but thou
Wert living the fame poet which thou 'rt now;
Whilft angels fing to thee their airs divine,
And joy in an applause so great as thine.
Equal fociety with them to hold,

hell!

Thou need'ft not make new fongs, but fay the old;
And they (kind spirits !) shall all rejoice, to see
How little less than they exalted man may be.
Still the old Heathen Gods in Numbers dwell;
The heavenlieft thing on earth still keeps up
Nor have we yet quite purg'd the Christian land ;
Still idols here, like calves at Bethel, stand.
And, though Pan's death long fince all oracles broke,
Yet still in rhyme the fiend Apollo spoke :
Nay, with the worst of heathen dotage, we
(Vain men!) the monster Woman deify;

Find stars, and tie our fates there in a face,

And paradise in them, by whom we loft it, place.
What different faults corrupt our Muses thus ?
Wanton as girls, as old wives fabulous!

Thy spotlefs Mufe, like Mary, did contain
The boundless Godhead; fhe did well difdain
That her eternal verfe employ'd should be
On a lefs fubject than eternity;

And for a facred mistress fcorn'd to take,

But her whom God himself fcorn'd not his spouse to

make.

It (in a kind) her miracle did do ;

A fruitful mother was, and virgin too.

* How well (bleft fwan!) did Fate contrive thy death, And made thee render up thy tuneful breath In thy great miftrefs' arms, thou most divine And richest offering of Loretto's fhrine! Where, like fome holy facrifice t' expire, A fever burns thee, and Love lights the fire. Angels (they fay) brought the fam'd chapel there, And bore the facred load in triumph through the air: 'Tis furer much they brought thee there; and they, And thou, their charge, went finging all the way. Pardon, my mother-church! if I confent That angels led him when from thee he went; For ev'n in error fure no danger is,

When join'd with so much piety as his,

Mr. Crashaw died of a fever at Loretto, being

newly chofen canon of that church.

Ah,