Uncharitable ev'n to Charitie? Nor shall our zealous ones still have a fling At that most horrible and hornèd thing, 60 Forsooth the Pope: by which black name they call The Turk, the devil, Furies, Hell and all, And something more. O he is Antichrist: Doubt this, and doubt (say they) that Christ is Christ: Why, 'tis a point of Faith. What e're it be, 65 I'm sure it is no point of Charitie. In summe, no longer shall our people hope, To be a true Protestant's but to hate the Pope. NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS. I have taken the text of this poem as it originally appeared, because in all the editions of the Poems wherein it is given the last ten lines are omitted. TURNBULL discovered this after his text of the Poems was printed off, and so had to insert them in a Postscript, wherein his genius for blundering describes Shelford's volume as 'Five ... _Poems_.' These slight variations may be recorded: The title in all is 'On a Treatise of Charity.' Line 12, 1648 has 'thy' for 'this.' " 16, ib. 'shall' for 'shalt.' " 17, all the editions 'off'rings' for 'altars.' " 30, ib. 'A' for the first 'pure.' " 36, our text misprints 'look' for 'look't.' The poem is signed in Shelford's volume 'RICH. CRASHAW, Aul. Pemb. A.B.' It appeared in 'Steps' of 1646 (pp. 86-8), 1648 (pp. 101-2), 1670 (pp. 68-70). G. DIES IRÆ, DIES ILLA: THE HYMN OF THE CHVRCH, IN MEDITATION OF THE DAY OF IVDGMENT.[54] I. Hear'st thou, my soul, what serious things Both the Psalm and sybyll sings Of a sure Iudge, from Whose sharp ray The World in flames shall fly away. II. O that fire! before whose face Heaun and Earth shall find no place. O those eyes! Whose angry light Must be the day of that dread night. III. O that trump! whose blast shall run An euen round with the circling sun, And vrge the murmuring graues to bring Pale mankind forth to meet his King. IV. Horror of Nature, Hell, and Death! When a deep groan from beneath Shall cry, We come, we come, and all The caues of Night answer one call. V. O that Book! whose leaues so bright Will sett the World in seuere light. O that Iudge! Whose hand, Whose eye None can indure; yet none can fly. VI. Ah then, poor soul, what wilt thou say? And to what patron chuse to pray? When starres themselues shall stagger; and The most firm foot no more then stand. VII. But Thou giu'st leaue (dread Lord!) that we Take shelter from Thy self, in Thee; And with the wings of Thine Own doue Fly to Thy scepter of soft loue. VIII. Dear, remember in that Day Who was the cause Thou cam'st this way. Thy sheep was stray'd; and Thou wouldst be Euen lost Thyself in seeking me. IX.