|
| .11. |
| Death be not proud, thou some haue called thee [f. 35v] |
| Mighty and dreadfull, for thou art not so. |
| for those whom thou thinkst thou dost overthrow |
| Dy not poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee. |
| Frō rest & sleepe wch but thy pictures bee |
| Much pleasure; then frō thee much more must flow, |
| And soonest or best men wt thee do go, |
| Rest of ther bones, & Soules deliueree. |
| Thou art Slaue to Fate, Chance, kings, & desperat men, |
| And dost wt poyson, warr, & sicknesse dwell; |
| And Poppy or Charmes can make vs sleepe as well, |
| And easier then thy stroke, why swellst thou then? |
| One short sleepe past, we live eternally |
| And Death shalbe no more, Death thou shallt dy. |
|
| .12. |
| Wilt thou love God, as he, thee? then digest |
| My Soule, this holsome meditation: |
| How God the Spirit by Angels wayted on |
| In heauen; doth make his temple in thy brest. |
| The father hauing begott a Sonne most blest, |
| And still begetting, (for he nere begonne) |
| Hath daignd to chuse thee by adoption |
| Coheir to his glory'and Saboths endles rest. |
| And as a robd Man, wch by search doth find |
| His stolne stuffe sold, must loose or buy'it againe; |
| The Sonne of glory came downe and was slaine |
| Vs, whom he'had made, and Satan stole, to'vnbind. |
| T'was much yt Man was made like God before, |
| But yt God should be made like Man much more. |