He that about thy roots takes pains to dig,
Would, if on thee were found but one good fig,
Preserve thee from the axe: but, barren tree,
Bear fruit, or else thy cnd will cursed be!
The utmost end of patience is at hand,
'Tis much if thou much longer here doth stand.
O cumber-ground, thou art a barren tree.
Bear fruit, or else thine end will cursed be!
Thy standing nor thy name will help at all;
When fruitful trees are spared, thou must fall.
The axe is laid unto thy roots, O tree!
Bear fruit, or else thine end will cursed be.

II.

UPON THE LARK AND THE FOWLER.

THOU simple bird, what makes thou here to play?
Look, there's the fowler, pr'ythee come away.
Do'st not behold the net? Look there, 'tis spread,
Venture a little further, thou art dead.

Is there not room enough in all the field
For thee to play in, but thou needs must yield
To the deceitful glitt'ring of a glass,

Flac'd betwixt nets, to bring thy death to pass?
Bird, if thou art so much for dazzling light,
Look, there's the sun above thee; dart upright;
Thy nature is to soar up to the sky,

Why wilt thou come down to the nets and die?
Take no heed to the fowler's tempting call;
This whistle, he enchanteth birds withal.
Or if thou see'st a live bird in his net,
Believe she's there, 'cause hence she cannot get.
Look how he tempteth thee with his decoy,
That he may rob thee of thy life, thy joy.
Come, pry'thee bird, I pry'thee come away,
Why should this net thee take, when'scape thou may?
Hadst thou not wings, or were thy feathers pull'd,
Or wast thou blind, or fast asleep wer't lull'd,
The case would somewhat alter, but for thee,
Thy eyes are ope, and thou hast wings to flee.
Remember that thy song is in thy rise,
Not in thy fall; earth's not thy paradise.
Keep up aloft, then, let thy circuits be
Above, where birds from fowler's nets are free.

Comparison.

This fowler is an emblem of the devil,
His nets and whistle, figures of all evil.
His glass an emblem is of sinful pleasure,
And his decoy of who counts sin a treasure.
This simple lark's a shadow of a saint,
Under allurings, ready now to faint.
This admonisher a true teacher is,

Whose works to show the soul the snare and bliss,
And how it may this fowler's net escape,
And not commit upon itself this rape.

III.

UPON THE VINE-TREE.

WHAT is the vine, more than another tree?
Nay most, than it, more tall, more comely be.
What workman thence will take a beam or pin,
To make ought which may be delighted in?
Its excellency in its fruit doth lie:
A fruitless vine, it is not worth a fly.

Comparison.

What are professors more than other men?
Nothing at all. Nay, there's not one in ten,
Either for wealth, or wit, that may compare,
In many things, with some that carnal are.
Good are they, if they mortify their sin,
But without that, they are not worth a pin.

IV.

MEDITATIONS UPON AN EGG.

1.

THE egg's no chick by falling from the hen;
Nor man a Christian, till he's born again.
The egg's at first contained in the shell;
Men, afore grace, in sins and darkness dwell.
The egg, when laid, by warmth is made a chicken,
And Christ, by grace, those dead in sin doth quicken.
The egg, when first a chick, the shell's its prison;
So's flesh to the soul, who yet with Christ is risen.
The shell doth crack, the chick doth chirp and peep,
The flesh decays, as men do pray and weep.
The shell doth break, the chick's at liberty,
The flesh falls off, the soul mounts up on high.
But both do not enjoy the self-same plight;
The soul is safe, the chick now fears the kite.

2.

But chicks from rotten eggs do not proceed,
Nor is a hypocrite a saint indeed.
The rotten egg, though underneath the hen,
If crack'd, stinks, and is loathsome unto men.
Nor doth her warmth make what is rotten sound;
What's rotten, rotten will at last be found.
The hypocrite, sin has him in possessior,
He is a rotten egg under profession.

3.

Some eggs bring cockatrices; and some men
Seem hatch'd and brooded in the viper's den.
Some eggs bring wild-fowls; and some men there be
As wild as are the wildest fowls that flce.
Some eggs bring spiders, and some men appear
More venom'd than the worst of spiders are.

1 Spiders being venomous was a vulgar error, universally

Some eggs bring piss-ants, and some seem to me

As much for trifles as the piss-ants be.
Thus divers eggs do produce divers shapes,

As like some men as monkeys are like apes.
But this is but an egg, were it a chick,

Here had been legs, and wings, and bones to pick.

V.

OF FOWLS FLYING IN THE AIR.

METHINKS I see a sight most excellent,
All sorts of birds fly in the firmament:
Some great, some small, all of a divers kind,
Mine eye affecting, pleasant to my mind.
Look how they tumble in the wholesome air,
Above the world of worldlings, and their care.
And as they divers are in bulk and hue,
So are they in their way of flying too.
So many birds, so many various things
Tumbling i' the element upon their wings.

Comparison.

These birds are emblems of those men that shall
Ere long possess the heavens, their all in all.
They are each of a diverse shape and kind,
To teach we of all nations there shall find,
They are some great, some little, as we see,
To show some great, some small, in glory be.'
Their flying diversely, as we behold,

Do show saints' joys will there be manifold;
Some glide, some mount, some flutter, and some do,
In a mix'd way of flying, glory too.

And all to show each saint, to his content,
Shall roll and tumble in that firmament.

believed, until modern discoveries have proved the contrary, excepting a few foreign species.—(Ed.)

This is a scriptural idea of the inhabitants of heaven. Re. xi. 8, saints 'small and great.' Mat. xix. 28: 'The Son of man on his throne, and the twelve apostles on their thrones.' Re. iv. 10: Four and twenty elders on their thrones.' Re. v. 11: An innumerable company of worshippers.'-(ED.)

2 In an ancient battledore or horn-book, and in one of

The kingdom's thine, the power too,
We thee adore;

The glory also shall be thine
For evermore.

VII.

MEDITATIONS UPON PEEP OF DAY.

I OFT, though it be peep of day, don't know
Whether 'tis night, whether 'tis day or no.
I fancy that I see a little light,
But cannot yet distinguish day from night;
I hope, I doubt, but steady yet I be not,
I am not at a point, the sun I see not.
Thus 'tis with such who grace but now possest,
They know not yet if they be cursed or blest.

VIII.

UPON THE FLINT IN THE WATER.

THIS flint, time out of mind, has there abode,
Where crystal streams make their continual road.
Yet it abides a flint as much as 'twere
Before it touched the water, or came there
Its hard obdurateness is not abated,
"Tis not at all by water penetrated.
Though water hath a soft'ning virtue in't,
This stone it can't dissolve, for 'tis a flint.
Yea, though it in the water doth remain,
It doth its fiery nature still retain.

If you oppose it with its opposite,

At you, yea, in your face, its fire 'twill spit.

Comparison.

This flint an emblem is of those that lie,

Like stones, under the Word, until they die.
Its crystal streams have not their nature changed,
They are not, from their lusts, by grace estranged.

IX.

UPON THE FISH IN THE WATER.
1.

THE water is the fish's element;

Take her from thence, none can her death prevent; And some have said, who have transgressors been, As good not be, as to be kept from sin.

2.

The water is the fish's element:

Leave her but there, and she is well content.

Henry VIII.'s primers, both in the editor's possession, this sentence is translated-'And let us not be led into temptation.'-(ED.)

When divine light first dawns upon the soul, and reveals sin, O how difficult is it to conclude that sin is pardoned, and the sinner blest!--(ED.)

While what's of worth they slightly pass it by,
Not doing, or doing it slovenly.

Their house must be well furnished, be in print,
Meanwhile their soul lies ley,3 has no good in't.
Its outside also they must beautify,

When in it there's scarce common honesty.
Their bodies they must have tricked up and trim,
Their inside full of filth up to the brim.
Upon their clothes there must not be a spot,
But is their lives more than one common blot.
How nice, how coy are some about their diet,
That can their crying souls with hogs'-meat quiet.
All drest must to a hair be, else 'tis naught,
While of the living bread they have no thought.
Thus for their outside they are clean and nice,
While their poor inside stinks with sin and vice.

XIV.

MEDITATIONS UPON A CANDLE.

MAN'S like a candle in a candlestick,
Made
up
of tallow and a little wick;
And as the candle when it is not lighted,
So is he who is in his sins benighted.
Nor can a man his soul with grace inspire,
More than can candles set themselves on fire.
Candles receive their light from what they are not;
Men grace from Him for whom at first they care not.
We
manage candles when they take the fire;
God men, when he with grace doth them inspire.
And biggest candles give the better light,
As grace on biggest sinners shines most bright.
The candle shines to make another see,
A saint unto his neighbour light should be.
The blinking candle we do much despise,
Saints dim of light are high in no man's eyes.
Again, though it may seem to some a riddle,
We use to light our candles at the middle.*
True light doth at the candle's end appear,
And grace the heart first reaches by the car.
But 'tis the wick the fire doth kindle on,
As 'tis the heart that grace first works upon.
Thus both do fasten upon what's the main,
And so their life and vigour do maintain.
The tallow makes the wick yield to the fire,
And sinful flesh doth make the soul desire
That grace may kindle on it, in it burn;
So evil makes the soul from evil turn."

"Be in print;' a proverbial expression, to show order and regularity; like type in print.-(ED.)

3 Ley;' barren or fallow, uncultivated, generally spelt lea. -(ED.)

This riddle is solved in the fourth line following. The light of the fear and love of God begins in the middle of our bodily frame, with the heart. Bunyan's love of religious riddles is seen in the second part of the Pilgrimage, when Christian is resting at the house of Gaius.-(ED.)

• Convictions of sin make the soul turn from sin.-(ED.)

But candles in the wind are apt to flare,
And Christians, in a tempest, to despair.
The flame also with smoke attended is,
And in our holy lives there's much amiss.
Sometimes a thief will candle-light annoy,
And lusts do seek our graces to destroy.
What brackish is will make a candle sputter;
'Twixt sin and grace there's oft' a heavy clutter.
Sometimes the light burns dim, 'cause of the snuff,
Sometimes it is blown quite out with a puff;
But watchfulness preventeth both these evils,
Keeps candles light, and grace in spite of devils.
Nor let not snuffs nor puffs make us to doubt,
Our candles may be lighted, though puffed out.
The candle in the night doth all excel,

Nor sun, nor moon, nor stars, then shine so well.
So is the Christian in our hemisphere,
Whose light shows others how their course to steer.
When candles are put out, all's in confusion;
Where Christians are not, devils make intrusion.
Then happy are they who such candles have,
All others dwell in darkness and the grave.
But candles that do blink within the socket,
And saints, whose eyes are always in their pocket,
Are much alike; such candles make us fumble,
And at such saints good men and bad do stumble.'
Good candles don't offend, except sore eyes,
Nor hurt, unless it be the silly flies.
Thus none like burning candles in the night,
Nor ought to holy living for delight.

But let us draw towards the candle's end:
The fire, you see, doth wick and tallow spend,
As grace man's life until his glass is run,
And so the candle and the man is done.
The man now lays him down upon his bed,
The wick yields up its fire, and so is dead.
The candle now extinct is, but the man
By grace mounts up to glory, there to stand.

XV.

UPON THE SACRAMENTS.

Two sacraments I do believe there be,
Baptism and the Supper of the Lord;
Both mysteries divine, which do to me,

By God's appointment, benefit afford.
But shall they be my God, or shall I have
Of them so foul and impious a thought,
To think that from the curse they can me save?
Bread, wine, nor water, me no ransom bought.3

This character is admirably drawn in the second part of the Pilgrim's Progress, p. 200—Mr. Brisk, a suitor to Mercy. -(ED.)

2 Preterite of the verb 'to save,' from the Saxon agan, to be held or bound by moral obligation.-Imperial Dictionary. — (Ed.)

3 What folly, nay, madness, for man to pretend to make

Spider.

My venom's good for something, 'cause God made it,
Thy sin hath spoiled thy nature, doth degrade it.
Of human virtues, therefore, though I fear thee,
I will not, though I might, despise and jeer thee.
Thou say'st I am the very dregs of nature,
Thy sin's the spawn of devils, 'tis no creature.
Thou say'st man hates me 'cause I am a spider,
Poor man, thou at thy God art a derider;
My venom tendeth to my preservation,
Thy pleasing follies work out thy damnation.
Poor man, I keep the rules of my creation,
Thy sin has cast thee headlong from thy station.
I hurt nobody willingly, but thou

Art a self-murderer; thou know'st not how
To do what good is; no, thou lovest evil;
Thou fliest God's law, adherest to the devil.'

753

But if thy God thou wilt not hearken to, What can the swallow, ant, or spider do? Yet I will speak, I can but be rejected, Sometimes great things by small means are effected. Hark, then, though man is noble by creation, He's lapsed now to such degeneration, Is so besotted and so careless grown, As not to grieve though he has overthrown Himself, and brought to bondage everything Created, from the spider to the king. This we poor sensitives do feel and see; For subject to the curse you made us be. Tread not upon me, neither from me go; "Tis man which has brought all the world to woe. The law of my creation bids me teach thee; I will not for thy pride to God impeach thee. I spin, I weave, and all to let thee see, Thy best performances but cobwebs be. Thy glory now is brought to such an ebb, It doth not much excel the spider's web; My webs becoming snares and traps for flies, Do set the wiles of hell before thine eyes; Their tangling nature is to let thee see, Thy sins too of a tangling nature be. My den, or hole, for that 'tis bottomless, Doth of damnation show the lastingness. My lying quiet until the fly is catch'd, Shows secretly hell hath thy ruin hatch'd. In that I on her seize, when she is taken, I show who gathers whom God hath forsaken. The fly lies buzzing in my web to tell Thee how the sinners roar and howl in hell. Now, since I show thee all these mysteries, How canst thou hate me, or me scandalize?

Spider.

Come, hold thy peace; what I have yet to say, If heeded, help thee may another day.

Since I an ugly ven'mous creature be, There is some semblance 'twixt vile man and me. My wild and heedless runnings are like those Whose ways to ruin do their souls expose. Daylight is not my time, I work in th' night, To show they are like me who hate the light. The maid sweeps one web down, I make another, To show how heedless ones convictions smother; My web is no defence at all to me,

Nor will false hopes at judgment be to thee.

Sinner.

O spider, I have heard thee, and do wonder
A spider should thus lighten and thus thunder!