Alas! and has the Year no Spring for you? Both winds and waters urge their way, And murmure if they meet a stay. 40 Mark how the curl'd waves work and wind, All hating to be left behind. Each bigge with businesse thrusts the other, And seems to say, Make haste, my brother. The aiery nation of neat doves, _pure_ 45 That draw the chariot of chast Loves, Chide your delay: yea those dull things, Whose wayes have least to doe with wings, Make wings at least of their own weight, And by their love controll their Fate. 50 So lumpish steel, untaught to move, Learn'd first his lightnesse by his love. What e're Love's matter be, he moves By th' even wings of his own doves, Lives by his own laws, and does hold 55 In grossest metalls his own gold. All things swear friends to Fair and Good Yea suitours; man alone is wo'ed, Tediously wo'ed, and hardly wone: Only not slow to be undone. 60 As if the bargain had been driven So hardly betwixt Earth and Heaven; Our God would thrive too fast, and be Too much a gainer by't, should we Our purchas'd selves too soon bestow 65 On Him, who has not lov'd us so. When love of us call'd Him to see If wee'd vouchsafe His company, He left His Father's Court, and came Lightly as a lambent flame, 70 Leaping upon the hills, to be The humble king of you and me. Nor can the cares of His whole crown (When one poor sigh sends for Him down) Detain Him, but He leaves behind 75 The late wings of the lazy wind, Spurns the tame laws of Time and Place, And breaks through all ten heav'ns to our embrace. Yield to His siege, wise soul, and see Your triumph in His victory. 80 Disband dull feares, give Faith the day: To save your life, kill your Delay. 'Tis cowardise that keeps this field; And want of courage not to yield. Yield then, O yield, that Love may win 85 The Fort at last, and let Life in. Yield quickly, lest perhaps you prove Death's prey, before the prize of Love. This fort of your fair self if't be not wone, He is repuls'd indeed, but you'r undone. 90 FINIS. FROM 'CARMEN DEO NOSTRO' (1652). _Non vi._ ''Tis not the work of force but skill To find the way into man's will. 'Tis loue alone can hearts unlock; Who knowes the Word, he needs not knock.' To the noblest and best of Ladyes, the Countesse of Denbigh, perswading her to Resolution in Religion, and to render her selfe without further delay into the Communion of the Catholick Church.