Charitas Nimia, Or The Dear Bargain.[55]

Lord, what is man? why should he coste Thee So dear? what had his ruin lost Thee? Lord, what is man? that thou hast ouerbought So much a thing of nought?

Loue is too kind, I see; and can Make but a simple merchant-man. 'Twas for such sorry merchandise, Bold painters haue putt out his eyes.

Alas, sweet Lord, what wer't to Thee If there were no such wormes as we? Heau'n ne're the lesse still Heau'n would be, Should mankind dwell In the deep Hell: What haue his woes to doe with Thee?

Let him goe weep O're his own wounds; Seraphims will not sleep Nor spheares let fall their faithfull rounds. Still would the youthfull spirits sing; And still Thy spatious palace ring; Still would those beauteous ministers of light Burn all as bright.

And bow their flaming heads before Thee: Still thrones and dominations would adore Thee; Still would those euer-wakefull sons of fire Keep warm Thy prayse Both nights and dayes, And teach Thy lou'd name to their noble lyre.

Let froward dust then doe it's kind; And giue it self for sport to the proud wind. Why should a peice of peeuish clay plead shares In the aeternity of Thy old cares? Why shouldst Thou bow Thy awfull brest to see What mine own madnesses haue done with me?

Should not the king still keepe his throne Because some desperate fool's vndone? Or will the World's illustrious eyes Weep for euery worm that dyes.

Will the gallant sun E're the lesse glorious run? Will he hang down his golden head Or e're the sooner seek his Western bed, Because some foolish fly Growes wanton, and will dy?

If I were lost in misery, What was it to Thy Heaun and Thee? What was it to Thy pretious blood If my foul heart call'd for a floud?

What if my faithlesse soul and I Would needs fall in With guilt and sin; What did the Lamb, that He should dy? What did the Lamb, that He should need, When the wolf sins, Himself to bleed?

If my base lust, Bargain'd with Death and well-beseeming dust: Why should the white Lamb's bosom write The purple name Of my sin's shame? Why should His vnstaind brest make good My blushes with His Own heart-blood?

O my Saviovr, make me see How dearly Thou hast payd for me, That lost again my life may proue, As then in death, so now in loue.

S. MARIA MAIOR.

Dilectus meus mihi, et ego illi, qui pascitur inter lilia. Cant. ii.