Classic and Contemporary Poetry
ASHWEDNESDAY, by JOSEPH BEAUMONT First Line: Right welcome pleasant bitter day Last Line: Being as gods discerning good & evill. Subject(s): Abstinence; Ash Wednesday; Lent | ||||||||
RIGHT Welcome pleasant bitter Day: Smiles never did so sweetly play Upon ye sleek And shining cheek Of Joy, as now On thy sterne brow Severer Frowns, in whose black furrows lie Deep sowne ye Seeds of true Festivitie. O how much sweeter is ye Pill Which honest Bitternes doth fill With healing Powers, Then all ye Flowers And Creame, yt we And Luxurie Suck from abundant Diet's treacherous Breasts, Whose Office, sweetly is to choke Her Guests. Let Sugars tempting baits be spread On things, which flatteries help doe need: No need hast Thou Such charmes to throw Upon thy face, Whose potent grace Though spread with palest ashes, yet can move The Noblest Spirits with Thee to fall in love. For in those Ashes sure there lie Sparks of that Fire, wch cannot die: Embers of Love Which nobly prove Their Royall Race When in ye Face Of Heavn they flie, & with full fervour rise In flaming Pietie to their native skies. Envy no other Crowned Day Who art a purer Feast then they: None of thy Sweets Consist in Meats, And things where Beasts May be ye Guests: Angelick is thy Entertainement since Thou art the Festival of ABSTINENCE. A Feast wch doth invite each Guest Not to devoure, but to Regest To clense ye Heart And every Part Where Luxurie Had made a Stie: A Feast, where they most welcome are, & most Merry, who of ye deepest sadnesse tast. A Feast, which knows no other wine But what is Princely, & Divine, Which grows not in Canarie's sun Nor Grecian Hills; A Wine, which fills Gods Sacred Bottles & doth onely rise From ye fair Fountaines of repentent Eyes. A Feast, where we may feed & be Fatned up for Eternitie: And learne below How We may grow Fit for that Upper All-glorious Supper, Which Gods Magnificent Lamb doth there prepare For those, that Feast themselves with fasting here. A Feast, whose Musik doth rebound A welcome & delicious Sound Unto His Eares Who tunes ye Sphears. A Feast where Groanes And dolorous Tones Wait on each draught of Teares, whose variation Makes ye grave Musik of Mortification. Sit downe, Dear Friends, loe a soft Bed Of Ashes here is ready spread. Sit downe & feast Your fill: at least Sit downe to cross Our ancient Losse; Feed here, & countermine ye envious Devill, Being as Gods discerning Good & Evill. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN ANNUAL OF THE DARK PHYSICS by NORMAN DUBIE THE THIEF IN THE PAINTING by LARRY LEVIS LENTEN GREETING; TO A LADY by GEORGE SANTAYANA DELIA AND I by GEORGE HERBERT CLARKE HYMN: FIFTH SUNDAY IN LENT by REGINALD HEBER HYMN: FOURTH SUNDAY IN LENT by REGINALD HEBER Γενεθλιακον by JOSEPH BEAUMONT Γενεθλιακον by JOSEPH BEAUMONT A CONCLUSORIE HUMNE TO THE SAME WEEK; & FOR MY FRIEND by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |
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