I am perswaded they that relish right, The Dainties of Religion, Food divine, Have therby such a permanent delight, And of best Treasures, such a lasting mine, As that their hearts to change do not incline, I therfore think theyr tastes of Truth is ill, Who Truths profession, quickly alter will. I speak not this to manifest despight To tru Religions growth or augmentacion, Nor do I take offence of greater Light Which brings _probatum est_, or commendacion From Truth it selfe, having therto relacion, But rather with the Saints I doe rejoyce, When God appeares to his in Gospel-voyce. Now touching that I hasten to expresse Concerning these, the ofspring of my mind, Who though they here appeare in homly dresse And as they are my works, I do not find But ranked with others, they may go behind, Yet for theyr matter, I suppose they bee Not worthlesse quite, whilst they with Truth agree. Indeed I grant that sounder judgments may (Directed by a greater Light) declare The ground of Truth more in a Gospel-way, But who time past with present will compare Shall find more mysteries unfolded are, So that they may who have right informacion More plainly shew the path-way to Salvacion. Yet this cannot prevayl to hinder me From publishing those Truths I do intend, As strong perfumes will not concealed be, And who esteemes the favours of a Freind, So little, as in silence let them end, Nor will I therfore only keep in thought, But tell what God still for my Soule hath wrought. When Clouds of Melancholy over-cast My heart, sustaining heavinesse therby, But long that sad condicion would not last For soon the Spring of Light would blessedly Send forth a beam, for helps discovery, Then dark discomforts would give place to joy, Which not the World could give or quite destroy. So sorrow serv’d but as springing raine To ripen fruits, indowments of the minde, VVho thereby did abillitie attaine To send forth flowers, of so rare a kinde, VVhich wither not by force of Sun or VVinde: Retaining vertue in their operacions, VVhich are the matter of those Meditacions. From whence if evill matter be extracted Tis only by a spider generacion, Whose natures are of vennom so compacted, As that their touch occasions depravacion Though lighting in the fragrantest plantacion: Let such conceale the evill hence they pluck And not disgorg themselves of what they suck. So shall they not the humble sort offend Who like the Bee, by natures secret act Convert to sweetnesse, fit for some good end That which they from small things of worth extract, Wisely supplying every place that lackt, By helping to discover what was meant Where they perceive there is a good intent.