| |
| LOVE, thou art absolute sole lord | |
| Of life and death. To prove the word, | |
| We’ll now appeal to none of all | |
| Those thy old soldiers, great and tall, | |
| Ripe men of martyrdom, that could reach down | 5 |
| With strong arms their triumphant crown: | |
| Such as could with lusty breath | |
| Speak loud into the face of death | |
| Their great Lord’s glorious name; to none | |
| Of those whose spacious bosoms spread a throne | 10 |
| For love at large to fill: spare blood and sweat; | |
| We’ll see him take a private seat, | |
| Making his mansion in the mild | |
| And milky soul of a soft child. | |
| Scarce hath she learn’d 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 do; | 20 |
| Nor hath she e’er yet understood, | |
| Why to show love, she should shed blood; | |
| Yet though she cannot tell you why, | |
| She can love, and she can die. | |
| Scarce hath she blood enough to make | 25 |
| A guilty sword blush for her sake; | |
| Yet hath she a heart dare hope to prove, | |
| How much less strong is death than love. | |
| Since ’tis not to be had at home, | |
| She’ll travel for a martyrdom. | 30 |
| No home for her, confesses she, | |
| But where she may a martyr be. | |
| She’ll to the Moors, and trade with them | |
| For this unvalued diadem; | |
| She’ll offer them her dearest breath, | 35 |
| With Christ’s name in’t, in change for death. | |
| She’ll bargain with them, and will give | |
| Them God, and teach them how to live | |
| In Him; or if they this deny, | |
| For Him she’ll teach them how to die. | 40 |
| So shall she leave amongst them sown | |
| Her Lord’s blood, or at least her own. | |
| Farewell, then, all the world! adieu, | |
| Teresa is no more for you: | |
| Farewell all pleasures, sports, and joys, | 45 |
| (Never till now esteemèd toys): | |
| Farewell whatever dear may be, | |
| Mother’s arms, or father’s knee: | |
| Farewell house, and farewell home, | |
| She’s for the Moors and martyrdom. | 50 |
| |
| Sweet, not so fast! lo, thy fair spouse, | |
| Whom thou seek’st with so swift vows, | |
| Calls thee back, and bids thee come, | |
| T’ embrace a milder martyrdom. | |
| O how oft shalt thou complain | 55 |
| Of a sweet and subtle pain! | |
| Of intolerable joys! | |
| Of a death in which who dies | |
| Loves his death, and dies again, | |
| And would for ever so be slain! | 60 |
| And lives, and dies; and knows not why | |
| To live, but that he thus may never leave to die. | |
| How kindly will thy gentle heart | |
| Kiss the sweetly-killing dart? | |
| And close in thine embraces keep | 65 |
| Those delicious wounds that weep | |
| Balsam to heal themselves with. Thus | |
| When these thy deaths so numerous, | |
| Shall all at last die into one, | |
| And melt thy soul’s sweet mansion; | 70 |
| Like a soft lump of incense hasted | |
| By too hot a fire, and wasted | |
| Into perfuming clouds, so fast | |
| Shall thou exhale to heav’n at last, | |
| In a resolving sigh, and then, | 75 |
| O what?—ask not the tongues of men. | |
| Angels cannot tell. Suffice, | |
| Thyself shall feel thine own full joys, | |
| And hold them fast for ever. There, | |
| So soon as thou shall first appear, | 80 |
| The moon of maiden stars, thy white | |
| Mistress attended by such bright | |
| Souls as thy shining self, shall come, | |
| And in her first ranks make thee room, | |
| Where ’mongst her snowy family, | 85 |
| Immortal welcomes wait for thee. | |
| O what delight when she shall stand | |
| And teach thy lips heav’n with her hand, | |
| On which thou now may’st to thy wishes, | |
| Heap up thy consecrated kisses! | 90 |
| What joys shall seize thy soul, when she, | |
| Bending her blessed eyes on thee | |
| (Those second smiles of heav’n) shall dart | |
| Her mild rays through thy melting heart! | |
| Angels, thy old friends, there shall greet thee, | 95 |
| Glad at their own home now to meet thee. | |
| All thy good works which went before, | |
| And waited for thee at the door, | |
| Shall own thee there, and all in one | |
| Weave a constellation | 100 |
| Of crowns, with which the King thy spouse, | |
| Shall build up thy triumphant brows; | |
| All thy old woes shall now smile on thee, | |
| And thy pains sit bright upon thee. | |
| All thy sorrows here shall shine, | 105 |
| And all thy suff’rings be divine; | |
| Tears shall take comfort and turn gems, | |
| And wrongs repent to diadems. | |
| Ev’n thy deaths shall live, and new | |
| Dress the soul that erst they slew. | 110 |
| Thy wounds shall blush to such bright scars, | |
| As keep account of the Lamb’s wars. | |
| Those rare works where thou shalt leave writ | |
| Love’s noble history, with wit | |
| Taught thee by none but Him, while here | 115 |
| They feed our souls, shall clothe thine there. | |
| Each heavenly word by whose hid flame | |
| Our hard hearts shall strike fire, the same | |
| Shall flourish on thy brows, and be | |
| Both fire to us, and flame to thee; | 120 |
| Whose light shall live bright, in thy face | |
| By glory, in our hearts by grace. | |
| Thou shalt look round about, and see | |
| Thousands of crown’d souls throng to be | |
| Themselves thy crown; sons of thy vows, | 125 |
| The virgin-births, with which thy sovereign spouse | |
| Made fruitful thy fair soul. Go now, | |
| And with them all about thee, bow | |
| To Him; put on (He’ll say) put on, | |
| My rosy love, that thy rich zone, | 130 |
| Sparkling with the sacred flames | |
| Of thousand souls whose happy names | |
| Heav’n keeps upon thy score (thy bright | |
| Life brought them first to kiss the light, | |
| That kindled then to stars) and so | 135 |
| Thou with the Lamb, thy Lord, shalt go, | |
| And whereso’er He sets His white | |
| Steps, walk with Him those ways of light; | |
| Which who in death would live to see, | |
| Must learn in life to die like thee. | 140 |
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