[ Epig. 4. Ex Lib. Ep.] Veniat delectus meus in hortum ſuum. Cant. 5. Epig. 4. Let my beloved come into his Garden. Cant. 5.
P ulcher Amor sumpsit rudis instrumenta coloni, Et sua deposuit tela suasque faces: Et manibus stivam rapuit; castique laboris Ad sua ruricolas junxit aratra boves. Ilicet, ut facili subvertit vomere corda, Castaque virginibus Gratia crevit agris; Flos, ait, unus abest: sunt cetera millia florum; Ut nullus possit, Christe, deesse, Veni. L ove takes the tooles of a rude Country clowne, His owne Artill’ry, and his torch layes down; With staffe in’s hand, Oxen to th’Plow he set For tillage, and such honest labour fit; Straight, as he turn’d up hearts with easie share, And grace i’th’ virgin-furrowes did appeare, ’Mongst thousand others, one flower, quoth he, is mist: That none may wanting be, come thou, O Christ.
[ Qualis eſt Dilectus tuus? ex Cant. 5.] Ex Lib. Epig. 37. Who is thy Beloved? Out of Cant. 5. Lib. Epig. 37.
Q ualis erat, tuus ille? tuus pulcherrimus ille? Dicebat nuper barbara turba mihi. Arripio dextrâ pennam, lævaque tabellam, Et noto, Christe, tuo quicquid in orbe noto. Pingo rosas, aurum, gemmas, viridaria, silvas, Arva, lacus, celeri sidera pingo manu; Et tabulam monstrans, Noster pulcherrimus, inquam, Qualis erat, vultis discere? talis erat. W hat is that Spouse of thine? that fairest Hee? The barb’rous people said, of late, to mee. A Pen I tooke, and in a Tablet drew Whatsoe’re, O Christ, in thy blest orbe I view. Roses, and Gold I paint, Gems, Groves, Corne-land, Green Gardens, Lakes, and Stars with nimble hand; Would you needs learne, what might my fairest bee? Looke o’re this tablet, pray, O such was Hee.
[ Epig. 40. Lib. Ep.] Veni de Libano ſponſa. Epig. 40.
E t fugis, & fugiens clamas, quid sponsa moraris? Non fugis, ut fugias: ut capiare, fugis, T hou run’st, & running cry’st, why dost thou stay My Spouse? thou would’st be ta’ne, not get away.
[ Ex lib. Epi. 48.] —— Lilia manu præferenti. Ep. 48. To —— bearing Lillyes in her hand.
H æc, quæ virgineis nituntur lilia culmis, Undè verecundas explicuêre comas? Non generant similes Pæstana rosaria flores, Nec simili Pharius messe superbit ager: Non hæc purpureis mater Corcyra viretis, Nec parit æquoreis pulsa Carystos aquis. Cùm nullas habeant natales lilia terras, Qui neget è castâ lilia nata manu? T hese Lillyes which on virgin stalks doe bend, From whence do they their chaster leaves extend? The Pæstan beds such flowres did ne’re bring forth, Nor Pharian fields e’re gloried in such worth: Alcinous purple banks, ne’re teem’d with these, Nor rich Carystos watred by the Seas. Since then these flow’res no native place do know, Who can deny from her chast hand they grow.
[ Ex Lib. Ep. 51.] Iohanni de Lugo, dum poſt morbum ad intermiſſam de Pœenitentiâ doctrinam rediret. Ex. Lib. Ep. 51. To Iohan de Lugo, when after a long ſickneſſe, he returned to his intermitted Lecture of Repentance.
F ertur inornatis nuper Metanœa capillis Flesse, repentinâ cùm raperêre febri: Fertur & indomito frænos laxasse dolori, Et lacrymis madidos exhibuisse sinus: Cùm rursus domito repetis tua pulpita morbo, Fertur inornatas disposuisse comas: Et domitos hilari risu frænasse dolores, Et lacrymis vacuos explicuisse sinus. Quis, Pater, incolumi de te non gaudeat, ipsæ Si gaudent Lacrymæ, ridet & ipse Dolor? W ith hairs unkemb’d Repentance late did mourn, When with so feirce a Feaver thou wert torne: Shee’s said, to let loose raynes t’untamed griefe, To’affoord her moyst’ned bosome, no reliefe, But when th’desks agen, thy sicknesse tam’d, Thou mountd’st, she’s said her careless haire t’have kemb’d T’have bridled in her conquer’d griefe, and smile, Of teares, her open’d bosome to beguile. Who cannot then be glad, thou being safe? When teares rejoyce, and griefe it selfe doth laugh.
[ Christi in Cruce vox. Ep. 110.] Sitio. The voyce of Chriſt upon the Croſſe. I Thirſt.
A h sitio, clamas, Princeps pulcherrime rerum: Non habeo pro te dulcia vina, siti. Tu tamen, ah sitio, clamas: dabo pocula, Sponse: Heu mihi! sed misto pocula felle dabo. Hæc mi Sponse, bibe: quæris cui fortè propines? Ad me pro mundi, Christe, salute bibe. A las I thirst, great King, thou loude dost grone, I have no pleasant Wine for Thee, thirst on. Yet oh I thirst, thou cry’st: a Cup to thee Woes mee! I’le give: but mix’d with gall’t must be. Drink this, my Spouse: perhaps thou’lt ask to whom? To me, O Christ, to th’health o’th’world let’t come.
FINIS.

Imprimatur, Na. Brent.
Feb. 10. 1645.

[ PUBLICATIONS OF THE AUGUSTAN REPRINT SOCIETY]

Many of the listed titles are available from Project Gutenberg. Where possible, links are included.

First Year (1946-1947)

Numbers 1-6 out of print.

Titles:

[1.] Richard Blackmore’s Essay upon Wit (1716), and Addison’s Freeholder No. 45 (1716).