1. Let's bless the Babe: and, as we sing His praise, so let us bless the King.

_Chor._ Long may He live till He hath told His New-Years trebled to His old: And when that's done, to re-aspire A new-born Phnix from His own chaste fire.

99. G.o.d'S PARDON.

When I shall sin, pardon my trespa.s.s here; For once in h.e.l.l, none knows remission there.

100. SIN.

Sin once reached up to G.o.d's eternal sphere, And was committed, not remitted there.

101. EVIL.

Evil no nature hath; the loss of good Is that which gives to sin a livelihood.

102. THE STAR-SONG: A CAROL TO THE KING SUNG AT WHITEHALL.

_The Flourish of Music; then followed the Song._

1. Tell us, thou clear and heavenly tongue, Where is the Babe but lately sprung?

Lies he the lily-banks among?

2. Or say, if this new Birth of ours Sleeps, laid within some ark of flowers, Spangled with dew-light; thou canst clear All doubts, and manifest the where.

3. Declare to us, bright star, if we shall seek Him in the morning's blushing cheek, Or search the beds of spices through, To find him out.

_Star._ No, this ye need not do; But only come and see Him rest A Princely Babe in's mother's breast.

_Chor._ He's seen, He's seen! why then a round, Let's kiss the sweet and holy ground; And all rejoice that we have found _A King before conception crown'd_.

4. Come then, come then, and let us bring Unto our pretty Twelfth-tide King, Each one his several offering;

_Chor._ And when night comes, we'll give Him wa.s.sailing; And that His treble honours may be seen, We'll choose Him King, and make His mother Queen.

103. TO G.o.d.

With golden censers, and with incense, here Before Thy virgin-altar I appear, To pay Thee that I owe, since what I see In, or without, all, all belongs to Thee.

Where shall I now begin to make, for one Least loan of Thine, half rest.i.tution?

Alas! I cannot pay a jot; therefore I'll kiss the tally, and confess the score.

Ten thousand talents lent me, Thou dost write; 'Tis true, my G.o.d, but I can't pay one mite.

_Tally_, the record of his score or debt.

104. TO HIS DEAR G.o.d.

I'll hope no more For things that will not come; And if they do, they prove but c.u.mbersome.

Wealth brings much woe; And, since it fortunes so, 'Tis better to be poor Than so t' abound As to be drown'd Or overwhelm'd with store.

Pale care, avaunt!

I'll learn to be content With that small stock Thy bounty gave or lent.

What may conduce To my most healthful use, Almighty G.o.d, me grant; But that, or this, That hurtful is, Deny Thy suppliant.

105. TO G.o.d: HIS GOOD WILL.

Gold I have none, but I present my need, O Thou, that crown'st the will, where wants the deed.

Where rams are wanting, or large bullocks' thighs, There a poor lamb's a plenteous sacrifice.

Take then his vows, who, if he had it, would Devote to Thee both incense, myrrh and gold Upon an altar rear'd by him, and crown'd Both with the ruby, pearl, and diamond.

106. ON HEAVEN.

Permit mine eyes to see Part, or the whole of Thee, O happy place!

Where all have grace, And garlands shar'd, For their reward; Where each chaste soul In long white stole, And palms in hand, Do ravish'd stand; So in a ring, The praises sing Of Three in One That fill the Throne; While harps and viols then To voices say, Amen.

107. THE SUM AND THE SATISFACTION.

Last night I drew up mine account, And found my debits to amount To such a height, as for to tell How I should pay 's impossible.

Well, this I'll do: my mighty score Thy mercy-seat I'll lay before; But therewithal I'll bring the band Which, in full force, did daring stand Till my Redeemer, on the tree, Made void for millions, as for me.

Then, if thou bidst me pay, or go Unto the prison, I'll say, no; Christ having paid, I nothing owe: For, this is sure, the debt is dead By law, the bond once cancelled.

_Score_, debt or reckoning.

_Band_, bond.

_Daring_, frightening.

108. GOOD MEN AFFLICTED MOST.

G.o.d makes not good men wantons, but doth bring Them to the field, and, there, to skirmishing.

With trials those, with terrors these He proves, And hazards those most whom the most He loves; For Sceva, darts; for Cocles, dangers; thus He finds a fire for mighty Mutius; Death for stout Cato; and besides all these, A poison, too, He has for Socrates; Torments for high Attilius; and, with want, Brings in Fabricius for a combatant: But b.a.s.t.a.r.d-slips, and such as He dislikes, He never brings them once to th' push of pikes.

109. GOOD CHRISTIANS

Play their offensive and defensive parts, Till they be hid o'er with a wood of darts.

110. THE WILL THE CAUSE OF WOE.

When man is punish'd, he is plagued still, Not for the fault of nature, but of will.