XXIV.

Does the Night arise?

Still thy tears do fall and fall.
Does Night loose her eyes?

Still the fountain weeps for all.

Let Night or Day do what they will,
Thou hast thy task: thou weepest still.

XXV.

Does thy song lull the air?
Thy falling tears keep faithful time.
Does thy sweet-breathed prayer

Up in clouds of incense climb?
Still at each sigh, that is, each stop,
A bead, that is, a tear, does drop.

XXVI.

At these thy weeping gates
(Watching their watery motion),
Each winged moment waits:
Takes his tear, and gets him gone.
By thine eyes' tinct ennobled thus,
Time lays him up; he's precious.

XXVII.

Time, as by thee He passes, Makes thy ever-watery eyes

His hour-glasses.

By them His steps He rectifies.

The sands He used no longer please,

For His own sands He'll use thy seas.

XXVIII.

Not, 'so long she lived,'

Shall thy tomb report of thee;

But, 'so long she grievèd':

Thus must we date thy memory. Others by moments, months, and years Measure their ages; thou, by tears.

XXIX.

So do perfumes expire,

So sigh tormented sweets, opprest

With proud unpitying fire,

Such tears the suffering rose, that's vext

With ungentle flames, does shed,

Sweating in a too warm bed.

XXX.

Say, ye bright brothers,

The fugitive sons of those fair eyes,

Your fruitful mothers!

What make you here? what hopes can 'tice

You to be born? what cause can borrow

You from those nests of noble sorrow?

XXXI.

Whither away so fast?

For sure the sluttish earth

Your sweetness cannot taste,

Nor does the dust deserve your birth. Sweet, whither hast you then? O say Why you trip so fast away?

XXXII.

We go not to seek

The darlings of Aurora's bed,

The rose's modest cheek,

Nor the violet's humble head.

Though the field's eyes too Weepers be,

Because they want such tears as we.

XXXIII.

Much less mean we to trace
The fortune of inferior gems,
Preferr'd to some proud face,

Or perched upon fear'd diadems: Crown'd heads are toys. We go to meet A worthy object, our Lord's feet.

A hymn to the Name and honour of The Admirable Saint Teresa:

Foundress of the Reformation of the Discalced Carmelites, both men and women; a woman for angelical height of speculation, for masculine courage of performance, more than a woman, who yet a child outran maturity, and durst plot a martyrdom.

Love, thou art absolute sole lord

Of life and death. To prove the word

We'll now appeal to none of all

Those thy old soldiers, great and tall,

Ripe men of martyrdom, that could reach down,

With strong arms, their triumphant crown ;

Such as could with lusty breath,

Speak loud into the face of Death

Their great Lord's glorious name, to none

Of those whose spacious bosoms spread a throne
For Love at large to fill; spare blood and sweat :
And see him take a private seat,

Making his mansion in the mild
And milky soul of a soft child.

Child uage.

Scarce has she learnt to lisp the name
Of martyr; yet she thinks it shame
Life should so long play with that breath
Which spent can buy so brave a death.
She never undertook to know

What Death with Love should have to do;

Nor has she e'er yet understood

Why to show love, she should shed blood,
Yet though she cannot tell you why,
She can love, and she can die.

sword blush.

Scarce has she blood enough to make
A guilty sword blush for her sake;
Yet has she a heart dares hope to prove
How much less strong is Death than Love.

Be Love but there; let poor six years
Be posed with the maturest fears
Man trembles at, you straight shall find
Love knows no nonage, nor the mind;
'Tis love, not years or limbs that can
Make the martyr, or the man.
Love touched her heart, and lo it beats
High, and burns with such brave heats;
Such thirsts to die, as dares drink up
A thousand cold deaths in one cup.
Good reason; for she breathes all fire;
Her white breast heaves with strong desire
Of what she may, with fruitless wishes,
Seek for amongst her mother's kisses.

Since 'tis not to be had at home

She'll travel to a martyrdom.

No home for hers confesses she

But where she may a martyr be.

She'll to the Moors; and trade with them

For this unvalued diadem: