An Apologie for the precedent Hymne.

THus have I back againe to thy bright name
Faire sea of holy fires transfused the flame
I tooke from reading thee 'tis to thy wrong
I know that in my weak and worthlesse song
Thou here art set to shine, where thy full day
Scarce dawnes, ô pardon, if I dare to say
Thine own deare books are guilty, for from thence
I learnt to know that Love is eloquence
That heavenly maxim gave me heart to try
If what to other tongues is tun'd so high.
Thy praise might not speak English too, forbid
(by all thy mysteries that there lye hid;)
Forbid it mighty Love, let no fond hate
Of names and words so farre prejudicate
Soules are not Spaniards too, one frendly flood
Of Baptisme, blends them all into one blood.
Christs Faith makes but one body of all soules,
And loves that bodies soule; no Law controules
Our free trafick for heaven we may maintaine,
Peace sure with piety, though it dwell in Spaine.
What soule soever in any Language can
Speake heaven like hers, is my soules country-man.
O 'tis not Spanish, but 'tis heaven she speakes,
'Tis heaven that lies in ambush there, and breakes
From thence into the wondring readers breast,
Who finds his warme heart, hatcht into a nest
Of little Eagles, and young Loves, whose high
Flights scorne the lazie dust, and things that dye.
There are enow whose draughts as deep as hell
Drinke up all Spaine in Sack, let my soule swell
With thee strong wine of Love, let others swimme
In puddles, we will pledge this Seraphim
Bowles full of richer blood then blush of grape
Was ever guilty of, change wee our shape,
My soule, some drinke from men to beasts; ô then,
Drinke wee till we prove more, not lesse then men:
And turne not beasts, but Angels. Let the King,
Mee ever into these his Cellars bring;
Where flowes such Wine as we can have of none
But him, who trod the Wine-presse all alone:
Wine of youths Life, and the sweet deaths of Love,
Wine of immortall mixture, which can prove
Its tincture from the Rosie Nectar, wine
That can exalt weak earth, and so refine
Our dust, that in one draught, Mortality
May drinke it selfe up, and forget to dy.