Come thou, who art the wine and wit Of all I’ve writ: The grace, the glory, and the best Piece of the rest. Thou art of what I did intend The all and end; And what was made, was made to meet Thee, thee, my sheet. Come then and be to my chaste side Both bed and bride: We two, as reliques left, will have One rest, one grave: And hugging close, we will not fear Lust entering here: Where all desires are dead and cold As is the mould; And all affections are forgot, Or trouble not. Here, here, the slaves and prisoners be From shackles free: And weeping widows long oppress’d Do here find rest. The wrongèd client ends his laws Here, and his cause. Here those long suits of Chancery lie Quiet, or die: And all Star-Chamber bills do cease Or hold their peace. Here needs no Court for our Request Where all are best, All wise, all equal, and all just Alike i’ th’ dust. Nor need we here to fear the frown Of court or crown: Where fortune bears no sway o’er things, There all are kings. In this securer place we’ll keep As lull’d asleep; Or for a little time we’ll lie As robes laid by; To be another day re-worn, Turn’d, but not torn: Or like old testaments engross’d, Lock’d up, not lost. And for a while lie here conceal’d, To be reveal’d Next at the great Platonick year, And then meet here. _274._ Platonick year] the perfect or cyclic year, when the sun, moon, and five planets end their revolutions together and start anew. See _Timæus_, p. 39. _275._ _Litany to the Holy Spirit_ In the hour of my distress, When temptations me oppress, And when I my sins confess, Sweet Spirit, comfort me! When I lie within my bed, Sick in heart and sick in head, And with doubts discomforted, Sweet Spirit, comfort me! When the house doth sigh and weep, And the world is drown’d in sleep, Yet mine eyes the watch do keep, Sweet Spirit, comfort me! When the passing bell doth toll, And the Furies in a shoal Come to fright a parting soul, Sweet Spirit, comfort me! When the tapers now burn blue, And the comforters are few, And that number more than true, Sweet Spirit, comfort me! When the priest his last hath pray’d, And I nod to what is said, ’Cause my speech is now decay’d, Sweet Spirit, comfort me! When, God knows, I’m toss’d about Either with despair or doubt; Yet before the glass be out, Sweet Spirit, comfort me! When the tempter me pursu’th With the sins of all my youth, And half damns me with untruth, Sweet Spirit, comfort me!