A Meditation on a Loadstone, and Iet.

WHen once the Loadstone shewes it selfe, then straight
The Iron carelesse of its wonted waight,
Vnto its wished object doth aspire,
As if it did enjoy the sense, Desire,
And thus the blacke-fac'd Iet is apt to draw
The dust, and to inchant the wanton straw,
This Iet and Loadstone well me thinkes imparts
An embleme of our fond-attractiv'd hearts,
The Spirit is that Loadstone that doth plucke
Our Iron hearts, that once so fast were stucke
Plung'd in the depth of sinne, and sets them sure,
In spight of devillish mallice to indure.
The World's the Iet that often doth controule
Vaine frothy man, and steale away his soule
With her inchanting trickes; thus Iet can bring
Light strawes, submissive to so vaine a thing:
Be thou my Loadstone Lord, then thou shalt see
My Iron heart will quickely cleave to thee.