Fovndresse of the Reformation of the Discalced Carmelites, both men and Women; a Woman for Angelicall heigth of speculation, for Masculine courage of performance, more then a woman. Who yet a child, out ran maturity, and durst plott a Martyrdome.
LOVE, thou art Absolute sole lord | |
| Of Life and Death. To prove the word, | |
| Wee’l now appeal to none of all | |
| Those thy old Souldiers, Great and tall, | |
| Ripe Men of Martyrdom, that could reach down | 5 |
| With strong armes, their triumphant crown; | |
| Such as could with lusty breath | |
| Speak lowd into the face of death | |
| Their Great Lord’s glorious names, to none | |
| Of those whose spatious Bosomes spread a throne | 10 |
| For Love at larg to fill, spare blood and sweat; | |
| And see him take a private seat, | |
| Making his mansion in the mild | |
| And milky soul of a soft child. | |
| Scarse has she learn’t to lisp the name | 15 |
| Of Martyr; yet she thinks it shame | |
| Life should so long play with that breath | |
| Which spent can buy so brave a death. | |
| She never undertook to know | |
| What death with love should have to doe; | 20 |
| Nor has she e’re yet understood | |
| Why to show love, she should shed blood | |
| Yet though she cannot tell you why, | |
| She can Love, and she can Dy. | |
| Scarse has she Blood enough to make | 25 |
| A guilty sword blush for her sake; | |
| Yet has she’a Heart dares hope to prove | |
| How much lesse strong is Death then Love. | |
| Be love but there; let poor six yeares | |
| Be pos’d with the maturest Feares | 30 |
| Man trembles at, you straight shall find | |
| Love knowes no nonage, nor the Mind. | |
| ’Tis Love, not Yeares or Limbs that can | |
| Make the Martyr, or the man. | |
| Love touch’t her Heart, and lo it beates | 35 |
| High, and burnes with such brave heates; | |
| Such thirsts to dy, as dares drink up, | |
| A thousand cold deaths in one cup. | |
| Good reason. For she breathes All fire. | |
| Her weake brest heaves with strong desire | 40 |
| Of what she may with fruitles wishes | |
| Seek for amongst her Mother’s kisses. | |
| Since ’tis not to be had at home | |
| She’l travail to à Martyrdom. | |
| No home for hers confesses she | 45 |
| But where she may à Martyr be. | |
| Sh’el to the Moores; And trade with them, | |
| For this unvalued Diadem. | |
| She’l offer them her dearest Breath, | |
| With Christ’s Name in’t, in change for death. | 50 |
| Sh’el bargain with them; and will give | |
| Them God; teach them how to live | |
| In him: or, if they this deny, | |
| For him she’l teach them how to Dy. | |
| So shall she leave amongst them sown | 55 |
| Her Lord’s Blood; or at lest her own. | |
| Farewel then, all the world! Adieu. | |
| Teresa is no more for you. | |
| Farewell, all pleasures, sports, and ioyes, | |
| (Never till now esteemed toyes) | 60 |
| Farewell what ever deare may be, | |
| Mother’s armes of Father’s knee. | |
| Farewell house, and farewell home! | |
| She’s for the Moores, and Martyrdom. | |
| Sweet, not so fast! lo thy fair Spouse | 65 |
| Whom thou seekst with so swift vowes, | |
| Calls thee back, and bidds thee come | |
| T’embrace a milder Martyrdom. | |
| Blest powres forbid, Thy tender life | |
| Should bleed upon a barborous knife; | 70 |
| Or some base hand have power to race | |
| Thy Brest’s chast cabinet, and uncase | |
| A soul kept there so sweet, ô no; | |
| Wise heavn will never have it so. | |
| Thou art love’s victime; and must dy | 75 |
| A death more mysticall and high. | |
| Into love’s armes thou shalt let fall | |
| A still-surviving funerall. | |
| His is the Dart must make the Death | |
| Whose stroke shall tast thy hallow’d breath; | 80 |
| A Dart thrice dip’t in that rich flame | |
| Which writes thy spouse’s radiant Name | |
| Upon the roof of Heav’n; where ay | |
| It shines, and with a soveraign ray | |
| Beates bright upon the burning faces | 85 |
| Of soules which in that name’s sweet graces | |
| Find everlasting smiles. So rare, | |
| So spirituall, pure, and fair | |
| Must be th’immortall instrument | |
| Upon whose choice point shall be sent | 90 |
| A life so lov’d; And that there be | |
| Fitt executioners for Thee, | |
| The fair’st and first-born sons of fire | |
| Blest Seraphim, shall leave their quire | |
| And turn love’s souldiers, upon Thee | 95 |
| To exercise their archerie. | |
| O how oft shalt thou complain | |
| Of a sweet and subtle Pain. | |
| Of intolerable Ioyes; | |
| Of a Death, in which who dyes | 100 |
| Loves his death, and dyes again. | |
| And would for ever so be slain. | |
| And lives, and dyes; and knowes not why | |
| To live, But that he thus may never leave to Dy. | |
| How kindly will thy gentle Heart | 105 |
| Kisse the sweetly-killing Dart! | |
| And close in his embraces keep | |
| Those delicious Wounds, that weep | |
| Balsom to heal themselves with. Thus | |
| When These thy Deaths, so numerous, | 110 |
| Shall all at last dy into one, | |
| And melt thy Soul’s sweet mansion; | |
| Like a soft lump of incense, hasted | |
| By too hott a fire, and wasted | |
| Into perfuming clouds, so fast | 115 |
| Shalt thou exhale to Heavn at last | |
| In a resolving Sigh, and then | |
| O what? Ask not the Tongues of men. | |
| Angells cannot tell, suffice, | |
| Thy selfe shall feel thine own full ioyes | 120 |
| And hold them fast for ever there | |
| So soon as you first appear, | |
| The Moon of maiden starrs, thy white | |
| Mistresse, attended by such bright | |
| Soules as thy shining self, shall come | 125 |
| And in her first rankes make thee room; | |
| Where ’mongst her snowy family | |
| Immortall wellcomes wait for thee. | |
| O what delight, when reveal’d Life shall stand | |
| And teach thy lipps heav’n with his hand; | 130 |
| On which thou now maist to thy wishes | |
| Heap up thy consecrated kisses. | |
| What ioyes shall seize thy soul, when she | |
| Bending her blessed eyes on thee | |
| (Those second Smiles of Heav’n) shall dart | 135 |
| Her mild rayes through thy melting heart! | |
| Angels, thy old freinds, there shall greet thee | |
| Glad at their own home now to meet thee. | |
| All thy good Workes which went before | |
| And waited for thee, at the door, | 140 |
| Shall own thee there; and all in one | |
| Weave a constellation | |
| Of Crowns, with which the King thy spouse | |
| Shall build up thy triumphant browes. | |
| All thy old woes shall now smile on thee | 145 |
| And thy paines sitt bright upon thee, | |
| All thy sorrows here shall shine. | |
| All thy Suffrings be divine. | |
| Teares shall take comfort, and turn gemms | |
| And Wrongs repent to Diademms. | 150 |
| Ev’n thy Death shall live; and new | |
| Dresse the soul that erst they slew. | |
| Thy wounds shall blush to such bright scarres | |
| As keep account of the Lamb’s warres. | |
| Those rare Workes where thou shalt leave writt | 155 |
| Love’s noble history, with witt | |
| Taught thee by none but him, while here | |
| They feed our soules, shall cloth Thine there. | |
| Each heavnly word by whose hid flame | |
| Our hard Hearts shall strike fire, the same | 160 |
| Shall flourish on thy browes, and be | |
| Both fire to us and flame to thee; | |
| Whose light shall live bright in thy Face | |
| By glory, in our hearts by grace. | |
| Thou shalt look round about, and see | 165 |
| Thousands of crown’d Soules throng to be | |
| Themselves thy crown. Sons of thy vowes | |
| The virgin-births with which thy soveraign spouse | |
| Made fruitfull thy fair soul, goe now | |
| And with them all about thee bow | 170 |
| To Him, put on (hee’l say) put on | |
| (My rosy love) That thy rich zone | |
| Sparkling with the sacred flames | |
| Of thousand soules, whose happy names | |
| Heav’n keep upon thy score. (Thy bright | 175 |
| Life brought them first to kisse the light | |
| That kindled them to starrs.) and so | |
| Thou with the Lamb, thy lord, shalt goe; | |
| And whereso’ere he setts his white | |
| Stepps, walk with Him those wayes of light | 180 |
| Which who in death would live to see, | |
| Must learn in life to dy like thee. | |
