On New-yeares day

This twilight of two yeares, not past nor next,Some embleme is of mee, or I of this,Who Meteor-like, of stuffe and forme perplext,Whose what, and where, in disputation is,If I should call mee any thing, should misse.

I summe the yeares, and mee, and finde mee notDebtor to th'old, nor Creditor to th'new,That cannot say, My thankes I have forgot,Nor trust I this with hopes, and yet scarce trueThis bravery is, since these times shew'd mee you.

In recompence I would show future timesWhat you were, and teach them to'urge towards such.Verse embalmes vertue;'and Tombs, or Thrones of rimes,Preserve fraile transitory fame, as muchAs spice doth bodies from corrupt aires touch.

Mine are short-liv'd; the tincture of your nameCreates in them, but dissipates as fast,New spirits: for, strong agents with the sameForce that doth warme and cherish, us doe wast;Kept hot with strong extracts, no bodies last:

So, my verse built of your just praise, might wantReason and likelihood, the firmest Base,And made of miracle, now faith is scant,Will vanish soone, and so possesse no place,And you, and it, too much grace might disgrace.

When all (as truth commands assent) confesseAll truth of you, yet they will doubt how I,One corne of one low anthills dust, and lesse,Should name, know, or expresse a thing so high,And not an inch, measure infinity.

I cannot tell them, nor my selfe, nor you,But leave, lest truth b'endanger'd by my praise,And turne to God, who knowes I thinke this true,And useth oft, when such a heart mis-sayes,To make it good, for, such a praiser prayes.

Hee will best teach you, how you should lay outHis stock of beauty, learning, favour, blood;He will perplex security with doubt,And cleare those doubts; hide from you,'and shew you good,And so increase your appetite and food;

Hee will teach you, that good and bad have notOne latitude in cloysters, and in Court;Indifferent there the greatest space hath got;Some pitty'is not good there, some vaine disport,On this side sinne, with that place may comport.

Yet he, as hee bounds seas, will fixe your houres,Which pleasure, and delight may not ingresse,And though what none else lost, be truliest yours,Hee will make you, what you did not, possesse,By using others, not vice, but weakenesse.

He will make you speake truths, and credibly,And make you doubt, that others doe not so:Hee will provide you keyes, and locks, to spie,And scape spies, to good ends, and hee will showWhat you may not acknowledge, what not know.

For your owne conscience, he gives innocence,But for your fame, a discreet warinesse,And though to scape, then to revenge offenceBe better, he showes both, and to represseIoy, when your state swells, sadnesse when'tis lesse.

From need of teares he will defend your soule,Or make a rebaptizing of one teare;Hee cannot, (that's, he will not) dis-inrouleYour name; and when with active joy we heareThis private Ghospell, then'tis our New Yeare.