_Fry._ That confirms his Devotion to be real, no way tainted With ostentation, or hyp[ocr]isie, The cankers of Religion; his Sermon So full of gravity, and with such sweetness Deliver'd, that it drew the admiration Of all the hearers on him; his own Letters To you, which witness he will leave the World, And these to fair _Olinda_, his late Mistriss, In which he hath with all the moving language That ever express'd Rhetorick, solicited The Lady to forget him, and make you Blessed in her embraces, may remove All scrupulous doubts. _Clar._ It strikes a sadness in me. I know not what to think of 't. _Fry._ Ere he entred His solitary Cell, he pen'd a Ditty, His long, and last farewel to Love and Women, So feelingly, that I confess however It stands not with my order to be taken With such poetical Raptures; I was mov'd, And strangely with it. _Clar._ Have you the Copy? _Fry._ Yes, Sir; My Novice too can sing it, if you please To give him hearing. _Clar._ And it will come timely, For I am full of melancholy thoughts, Against which I have heard with reason Musick To be the speediest cure, 'pray you apply it. A Song by the Novice. _Adieu fond love, farewel you wanton powers,_ _I am free again;_ _Thou dull Disease of bloud, and idle hours;_ _Bewitching pain,_ _Flye to the Fools that sigh away their time,_ _My nobler love to Heaven doth climb,_ _And there behold Beauty still young,_ _That Time can ne'r corrupt, nor Death destroy;_ _Immortal sweetness by fair Angels sung,_ _And honour'd by Eternity and Joy:_ _There lives my love, thither my hopes aspire,_ _Fond love declines, this heavenly [love] grows higher._ _Fri._ How do ye approve it? _Clar._ To its due desert, It is a Heavenly Hymn, no ditty Father, It passes through my ears unto my soul, And works divinely on it; give me leave A little to consider; shall I be Outdone in all things? nor good of my self, Nor by example? shall my loose hope still, The viands of a fond affection, feed me As I were a sensual beast? spiritual food Refus'd by my sick palat? 'tis resolv'd. How far off Father, doth this new made Hermit Make his abode? _Fri._ Some two dayes journey Son. _Clar._ Having reveal'd my fair intentions to ye, I hope your piety will not deny me Your aids to further 'em? _Fri._ That were against a good mans charity. _Clar._ My first request is, You would some time, for reasons I will shew you, Defer delivery of _Lidians_ Letters To fair _Olinda_. _Fri._ Well Sir.