The Temple: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations/The Forerunners
For works with similar titles, see The Forerunners.
¶ The Forerunners.
The harbingers are come. See, see their mark;White is their colour, and behold my head.But must they have my brain? must they disparkThose sparkling notions, which therein were bred?Must dulnesse turn me to a clod?Yet have they left me, Thou art still my God.
Good men ye be, to leave me my best room,Ev'n all my heart, and what is lodged there:I passe not, I, what of the rest become,So Thou art still my God, be out of fear.He will be pleased with that dittie;And if I please him, I write fine and wittie.
Farewell sweet phrases, lovely metaphors.But will ye leave me thus? when ye beforeOf stews and brothels onely knew the doores,Then did I wash you with my tears, and more,Brought you to Church well drest and clad;My God must have my best, ev'n all I had.
Lovely enchanting language, sugar-cane,Hony of roses, whither wilt thou flie?Hath some fond lover tic'd thee to thy bane?And wilt thou leave the Church, and love a stie?Fie, thou wilt soil thy broider'd coat,And hurt thy self, and him that sings the note.
Let foolish lovers, if they will love dung,With canvas, not with arras clothe their shame:Let follie speak in her own native tongue.True beautie dwells on high: ours is a flameBut borrow'd thence to light us thither.Beautie and beauteous words should go together.
Yet if you go, I passe not; take your way:For, Thou art still my God, is all that yePerhaps with more embellishment can say,Go birds of spring: let winter have his fee;Let a bleak palenesse chalk the doore,So all within be livelier then before.