The rural part is turned into a den
Of savage men;

And where's a city from foul vice so free But may be termed the worst of all the three?

Domestic cares afflict the husband's bed, Or pains his head:

Those that live single take it for a curse, Or do things worse:

These would have children; those that have them moan,

Or wish them gone:

What is it, then, to have or have no wife,

But single thraldom or a double strife?

Our own affections still at home to please
Is a disease;

To cross the seas to any foreign soil,
Peril and toil;

Wars with their noise affright us; when

they cease,

We're worse in peace:

What then remains, but that we still should cry

For being born, and, being born, to die?

Robert Southwell

The Burning Babe

As I in hoary winter's night stood shivering in the snow,

Surprised was I with sudden heat which made my heart to glow:

And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was near,

A pretty babe all burning bright did in the air appear;

Who, scorched with excessive heat, such floods of tears did shed

As though His floods should quench His flames with which His tears were fed: "Alas!" quoth He, "but newly born in fiery heats I fry,

Yet none approach to warm their hearts or feel my fire but I!

"My faultless breast the furnace is; the fuel, wounding thorns;

Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke; the ashes, shames and scorns;

The fuel Justice layeth on, and Mercy blows the coals,

The metal in this furnace wrought are men's defiled souls:

For which, as now on fire I am to work them to their good,

Sc will I melt into a bath, to wash them in my blood."

With this He vanished out of sight and swiftly shrunk away,

And straight I called unto mind that it was Christmas Day.

A Child my Choice

Let folly praise that fancy loves, I praise and love that Child

Whose heart no thought, whose tongue

no word, whose hand no deed defiled. I praise Him most, I love Him best, all praise and love is His;

While Him I love, in Him I live, and cannot live amiss.

Love's sweetest mark, laud's highest theme, man's most desired light,

To love Him life, to leave Him death, to live in Him delight.

He mine by gift, I His by debt, thus each to other due,

First friend He was, best friend He is, all times will try Him true.

Though young, yet wise, though small, yet strong; though man, yet God He is; As wise He knows, as strong He can, as God He loves to bless.

His knowledge rules, His strength defends, His love doth cherish all;

His birth our joy, His life our light, His death our end of thrall.

Alas! He weeps, He sighs, He pants, yet do His angels sing;

Out of His tears, His sighs and throbs, doth bud a joyful spring.

Almighty Babe, whose tender arms can force all foes to fly,

Correct my faults, protect my life, direct me when I die!