The sea is out, & the wind of his Spirit calm, & I cannot buy a wind, or by requesting the sea cause it to flow again; only I wait on, upon the banks & shore-side, till the Lord send a full sea, that with up-sails I may lift up Christ: Yet sorrow for his absence is sweet, & sighs with Saw ye him whom my soul loveth, have their own delights: Oh that I might gather hunger against his long-looked for return! Well were my soul if Christ were the element, mine own element, & that I loved & breathed in him, & if I could not live without him: I allow not laughter upon my self when He is away; yet He never leaveth the house, but the leaveth drink-money behind him, & a pawn that he will return: Woe, woe to me if he should go away & take all his flitting with him: Even to dream ⟨p. 347⟩of him is sweet: To build a house of pining wishes for his return, to spin out a web of sorrow & care & languishing & sighs, either dry or wet as they may be, because he hath no leisure (if I may sp•a• so) to make a visit, or to see a poor friend, sweeteneth & refresheth the thoughts of the heart: A misty dew will stand for rain, & do some good, & keep some greenness in the herbs, till our Lord's clouds •ue upon the earth, & send down a watering of rain: Truly I think Christ's misty dew a welcome message from heaven till my Lor•'s rain fall: Woe, woe is me for the Lord's vineyard in Scotland: Howbeit the Father of the house embrace a child, & feed him & kiss him; yet it is sorrow and sadness to the children, that our poor mother hath gotten her leave, & that our Father hath given up house: It is an unheartsom thing to see our Father & mother agree so ill, yet the Bastards if they be fed care not: O Lord cast not water on Scotland's smoking coal. It is a strange gate the saints go to heaven, our enemies often eat & drink us, & we go to heaven through their bellies & stomachs, & they vomit the church of God undigested among their hands, & even while we are shut up in prisons by them, we advance in our journey. Remember my service to my Lord, your kind Son, who was kind to me in my bonds, & was not ashamed to own me: I would be glad that Christ got the morning-service of his life now in his young years: It would suit him well to give Christ his young & green love: Christ's stamp and seal would go far down in a young soul, If he would receive the thrust of Christ's stamp:
The sea is out, & the wind of his Spirit calm, & I cannot buy a wind, or by requesting the sea cause it to flow again; onely I wait on, upon the banks & shore-side, till the Lord send a full sea, that with up-sailes I may lift up Christ: Yet sorrow for his absence is sweet, & sighes with Saw ye him whom my soul loveth, have their own delights: Oh that I might gather hunger against his long-looked for return! Well were my soul if Christ were the element, mine own element, & that I loved & breathed in him, & if I could not live without him: I allow not laughter upon my self when He is away; yet He never leaveth the house, but the leaveth drink-money behinde him, & a pawne that he will return: Woe, woe to me if he should goe away & take all his flitting with him: Even to dream ⟨p. 347⟩of him is sweet: To build a house of pining wishes for his return, to spin out a web of sorrow & care & languishing & sighes, either dry or wet as they may be, because he hath no leisure (if I may sp•a• so) to make a visite, or to see a poor friend, sweetneth & refre•heth the thoughts of the heart: A mistie dew will stand for rain, & doe some good, & keep some greenness in the herbs, till our Lord's clouds •ue upon the earth, & send down a watering of rain: Truly I think Christ's mistie dew a welcome message from heaven till my Lor•'s rain fall: Woe, woe is me for the Lord's vineyard in Scotland: Howbeit the Father of the house embrace a childe, & feed him & kiss him; yet it is sorrow and sadness to the children, that our poor mother hath gotten her leave, & that our Father hath given up house: It is an unheartsom thing to see our Father & mother agree so ill, yet the Bastards if they be fed care not: O Lord cait not water on Scotland's smoking coal. It is a strange gate the saints goe to heaven, our enemies often eat & drink us, & we goe to heaven through their bellies & stomacks, & they vomit the church of God undigested among their hands, & even while we are shut up in prisons by them, we advance in our j•urney. Remember my service to my Lord, your kinde Son, who was kinde to me in my bonds, & was not ashamed to own me: I would be glad that Christ got the morning-service of his life now in his young years: It would sute him well to give Christ his young & green love: Christ's stamp and seal would goe far down in a young soul, If he would receive the thrust of Christ's stamp:
