For which, as nowe on fire I am, to worke them to their good,
So will I melt into a bath to washe them in My bloode:
With this He vanisht out of sight, and swiftly shroncke awaye,
And straight I callèd unto mynde that it was Christmas-daye.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
See our Memorial-Introduction for Ben Jonson's 'Conversation' with Druummond of Hawthornden on this poem.
Line 5, Turnbull misreads 'exceeding:' line 6, also misreads 'with what' for 'which with.'
NEW HEAVEN, NEW WARRE.
Come to your heaven, yowe heavenly quires!
Earth hath the heaven of your desires;
Eemove your dwellinge to your God,
A stall is nowe His beste aboade;
Sith men their homage do denye,
Come, angells, all their fault supply.
His chilling could doth heate require,
Come, seraphins, in liew of fire;
This little ark no cover hath,
Let cherubs' winges His boody swath ;
