Several of the poems I am interested in are on the Luminarium website; go to it for these:

For others, see below:

"Sighs and Groans"

					O doe not use mee
After my sinnes; looke not on my desert,
But on thy glory: then thou wilt refore
And not refuse mee: for thou only art
The might God, but I a silly worme
					O doe not bruise mee.

					O doe not urge mee!
For what account can thy ill steward make.
I have abus'd thy stock, destroy'd thy woods,
Suck'd all thy Magazins: my head did ake,
Till it found out how to consume thy goods.
					O doe not scourge mee.

					O doe not blind mee!
I have deserv'd that an Egyptian night
Should thicken all my powers: because my lust
Hath still sow'd figleaves to exclude thy light:
But aI am frailty, and already dust.
					O doe not grind mee!

					O doe not fill mee!
With the turn'd vial of thy bitter wrath:
For thou hast other vessels full of blood,
A part whereof my Saviour emptied hath
Even unto death: since he dy'd for my good,
					O doe not kill mee.

					But O repreive mee.
For thou hast life and death at thy commande:
Thou art both Judge and Saviour: Feast and Rod,
Cordial and Corrosive: put not thy hand
Into the bitter box, but O my God,
					My God, releive mee.


"Charms and Knots"

Who read a Chapter, when they rise,
Shall ne're be troubled with ill eies.

A Poore mans Rod, when thou dost ride,
Is both a weapon, and a guide.

Who shuts his hand, hath lost his gold:
Who opens it, hath it twice told.

Who goes to bed, and does not pray,
Maketh two Nights to ev'ry Day.

Who by aspersions throw a stone
At th'head of others, hitt their owne.

Who lookes on ground with humble eyes,
Finds himselfe there, and seeks to rise.

When th'haire is sweet through pride or lust,
The powder doth forget the dust.

Take one from ten, and what remaines?
Ten still, if Sermons goe for gaines.

In shallow waters heaven doth show;
But who drinks on, to Hell may goe.



Jesu is in my heart, His sacred name
Is deeply carved there, but th'other week
A great affliction broke the little frame,
Even all to pieces, which I went to seek:
And first I found the corner, where was J,
After, where ES, and next, wehre U was graved.
When I had got these parcels, instantly
I sat me down to spell them and perceived
That to my broken heart he was "I ease you,"
				And to my whole is JESU.



I blesse thee, Lord, because I Growe
Amongst thy trees, which in a Rowe
To thee both fruit and order Owe.

What open force, or hidden Charme
Can blast my fruit, or bring me Harme,
While the inclosure is thine Arme.

Inclose me still for feare I Start.
Bee to mee rather sharpe and Tart;
Then Lett mee want thy hand and Art.

When thou dost greater judgements Spare,
And with thy knife but prune and Pare,
Even fruitfull trees mroe fruitfull Are.

Such sharpnes shows the sweetest Frend.
Such cuttings rather heale, then Rend.
And such beginnings touch their End. 


"Clasping of Hands"

Lord, thou art mine, and I am thine,
If mine I am: and thine much more,
then I, or ought, or can be mine.
Yet to be thine doth mee restore;
So that againe I now am mine,
And with advantage mine the more
Since this being mine brings with it thine.
And though with mee dost thee restore.
		If I without thee would be mine,
		I neither should be mine, nor thine.

Lord, I am thine and thou art mine. 
So mine thou art, that something more
I may presume thee mine, then thine.
For thou didst suffer to restore
Not thee, but mee, and to be mine:
And with advantage mine the more,
Since thou in death wast none of thine,
yet then as mine didst mee restore.
		O be mine still, still make me thine,
		Or rather make no Thine and Mine.



The 23rd Psalm

The God of Love my Shepheard is,
		And he, that doth mee feed;
While he is mine, and I am his,
		What can I want or need.

He leads mee to the tender grasse,
		Where I both feed and rest,
Then to the streames that gently passe,
		In both I have the best.

Or if I stray, he doth convert,
		And bring my mind in frame:
And all this not for my desert,
		But for his holy Name.

Yea in Deaths shady black abode
		Well may I walk, not feare:
For thou art with mee; and thy rod
		To guide, thy staff to beare.

Nay thou dost make mee sitt and dine,
		Even in mine enemies sight:
My head with oile, my cuppe with wine
		Runnes over day and Night.

Surely thy sweet wondrous Love
		Shall measure all my daies,
And as it never shall remove
		So neither shall thy praise.