(untitled)

THe last and greatest Herauld of Heavens King,
Girt with rough Skins, hies to the Desarts wild,
Among that savage brood the Woods forth bring,
Which he more harmelesse found than man, and mild;
His food was Locusts, and what there doth spring,
With Honey that from Virgine Hives distill'd,
Parcht Body, hollow Eyes, some uncouth thing
Made him appeare, long since from Earth exil'd,
There burst he forth, all ye whose Hopes rely
On God, with me amidst these Desarts mourne,
Repent, repent, and from old errours turne.

Who list'ned to his voice, obey'd his cry;
Only the Ecchoes, which he made relent,
Rung from their flinty Caves, repent, repent.