A47509:856
The glorious lover a divine poem upon the adorable mystery of sinners redemption / by B.K., author of War with the Devil.
London: printed by J.D. for Christopher Hussey, 1679
Modern spelling is a reading aid: the words are the author’s, only the spelling is modernized. Original shows the page as printed, with the transcription marks.
Soul! Harken to me or thou art undone, I cannot leave thee thus, nor yet be gone, I see thy state; thy state I pity too, Thy treacherous Lovers seek thine overthrow. It is in vain for me to ask thy Love, Until thou breakst with them, and dost remove ⟨p. 67⟩Thy Heart from those that thy Affections have, Who to vile Lusts thy Faculties inslave. What dost thou think I can have in mine Eye? What self-advantage will accrew thereby? What gain I, if thou grantest my request? All that I beg's thy greatest Interest. I ever happy was, and so shall be, Although at present thus distrest for Thee. How can'st thou, cruel Soul, thus let me stand, Barr'd out of Doors, whilst others do command The choicest Room within thy yielding Breast, Lodgings too good for such destructive Guests. Believe me, poisonous Toads and Serpents lurk Within thine Arms, which will thy ruin work: Those Lovers which thou keep'st so close within Are Murderers. Trust not that Monster SIN, Nor any of his Hellish Company; For though no harm thou dost at present spy, But wantonly presum'st to sport and play, And canst not see the fatal snares they lay: Soul! o'pe the Door, and I'le discover all The secret Plots, devised for thy fall; Or, push the Window back, let in some light, And I will shew thee a most dismal sight: Thy self I'le shew thee, which couldst thou behold, Thou'dst see thou art undone, betray'd and sold To slavery, from whence there's no Redemption, Torments, from wch ther's not the least exemption. Then wake, look now, behold thy wretched plight, Or straight thou r't seized with eternal Night.
The Soul is deaf, or certainly she's dead, Or by some powerful Magic Charms misled: For she no Answer in the least doth give: Sad 'tis with them whom Satan doth deceive. How blind are Creatures in their natural state? Oh! how insensible and desperate! They sleep securely, and will never hear, Till direful Thunder bore their stupid Ear: Boldly they frolic on Hell's smoky Brink, And never on its gaping dangers think, Till swallowed down, to endless flames they sink.
The Soul is deaf, or certainly she's dead, Or by some pow'rful Magick Charms misled: For she no Answer in the least doth give: Sad 'tis with them whom Satan doth deceive. How blind are Creatures in their natural state? Oh! how insensible and desperate! They sleep securely, and will never hear, Till direful Thunder bore their stupid Ear: Boldly they frollick on Hell's smoaky Brink, And never on its gaping dangers think, Till swallow'd down, to endless flames they sink.
But silence now! Here comes a Reverend Friend, A Servant to the Prince, pray, Sirs, attend: He's sent about the Business that's depending, Oh! that it might obtain an happy ending: He is a man his Master loves most dear, And he to him doth like Affection bear: His interest he will now be sure t' improve, That all obstructions he may quite remove, Which in the way of the poor Soul doth lie, For whose sad state, lo! tears stand in his Eye: His Heart is full, his Spirit greatly grieved, To think how she by crafty Sin's deceived; And seeing what his glorious Master bears, His Soul•s almost dissolved into Tears.
But silence now! Here comes a Reverend Friend, A Servant to the Prince, pray, Sirs, attend: He's sent about the Business that's depending, Oh! that it might obtain an happy ending: He is a man his Master loves most dear, And he to him doth like Affection bear: His int'rest he will now be sure t' improve, That all obstructions he may quite remove, Which in the way of the poor Soul doth lie, For whose sad state, lo! tears stand in his Eye: His Heart is full, his Spirit greatly griev'd, To think how she by crafty Sin's deceiv'd; And seeing what his glorious Master bears, His Soul•s almost dissolved into Tears.
I from the Great and mighty Prince am sent,
To see, vile Soul! If thou wilt yet repent,
And ope thy Eyes to view what thou hast done▪
And o'pe thy Eyes to view what thou hast done▪
In piercing the dear heart of such an one,
As is that Sovereign Lord thou dost abuse,
As is that Soveraign Lord thou dost abuse,
And all his offers shamefully refuse.
Two things consider throughly: first of all,
