Works

We are co-heirs with Christ; nor shall His own
Heirship be less by our adoption.
The number here of heirs shall from the state
Of His great birthright nothing derogate.

'Tis no discomfort in the world to fall,
When the great crack not crushes one, but all.

The same who crowns the conqueror, will be
A coadjutor in the agony.

Be not dismayed though crosses cast thee down;
Thy fall is but the rising to a crown.

Dry your sweet cheek, long drown'd with sorrow's rain,
Since, clouds dispers'd, suns gild the air again.
Seas chafe and fret, and beat, and overboil,
But turn soon after calm as balm or oil....

What needs complaints,
When she a place
Has with the race
Of saints?
In endless mirth,
She thinks not on
What's said or done
In earth:
She sees no tears,
Or any tone...

To him who longs unto his Christ to go,
Celerity even itself is slow.

Confession twofold is, as Austin says,
The first of sin is, and the next of praise.
If ill it goes with thee, thy faults confess:
If well, then chant God's praise with cheerfulness.

Conformity was ever known
A foe to dissolution:
Nor can we that a ruin call,
Whose crack gives crushing unto all.

Conformity gives comeliness to things:
And equal shares exclude all murmurings.

God then confounds man's face when He not bears
The vows of those who are petitioners.

Chorus Sacerdotum. From the temple to your home
May a thousand blessings come!
And a sweet concurring stream
Of all joys to join with them.

Chorus Juvenum. Happy Day,
Make no long stay
Here...

Consult ere thou begin'st; that done, go on
With all wise speed for execution.

Discreet and prudent we that discord call
That either profits, or not hurts at all.

'Tis not the food, but the content
That makes the table's merriment.
Where trouble serves the board, we eat
The platters there as soon as meat.
A little pipkin with a bit
Of mutton or of veal in it,...

Get up, get up for shame, the blooming Morn
Upon her wings presents the god unshorn.
See how Aurora throws her fair
Fresh-quilted colours through the air;
Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see...

God had but one Son free from sin; but none
Of all His sons free from correction.

'Twas C'sar's saying: Kings no less conquerors are
By their wise counsel, than they be by war.

Thrice, and above, blest, my soul's half, art thou,
In thy both last and better vow;
Could'st leave the city, for exchange, to see
The country's sweet simplicity;
And it to know and practise, with intent...

I cannot love as I have lov'd before;
For I'm grown old and, with mine age, grown poor.
Love must be fed by wealth: this blood of mine
Must needs wax cold, if wanting bread and wine.