Short Poems

Tom shifts the Trenchers; yet he never can
Endure that luke-warme name of Serving-man:
Serve or not serve, let Tom doe what he can,
He is a serving, who's a Trencher-man.

Bice laughs, when no man speaks; and doth protest
It is his own breech there that breaks the jest.

Margaret Falconbrige

Now is your turne (my Dearest) to be set
A Jem in this eternall Coronet:
'Twas rich before; but since your Name is downe,
It sparkles now like Ariadne's Crowne.
Blaze by this Sphere for ever: Or this doe,
Let Me and It shine evermore by you.

All things are open to these two events
Or to Rewards, or else to Punishments.

Sin never slew a soule, unlesse there went
Along with it some tempting blandishment.

Predestination is the Cause alone
Of many standing, but of fall to none.

God bought man here with his hearts blood expence;
And man sold God here for base thirty pence.

No man is tempted so, but may o'recome,
If that he has a will to Masterdome.

Justly our dearest Saviour may abhorre us,
Who hath more suffer'd by us farre, then for us.

God's present ev'ry where; but most of all
Present by Union Hypostaticall:
God, He is there, where's nothing else (Schooles say)
And nothing else is there, where He's away.