VERSES set Forth by HENRY FAULCONER BELL-MAN And Presented to His Worthy Masters in the VVard of FARRINGTON WITHIN
WHEN Sun from Sky is fled, and don't appear,
And Midnight-Silence doth possess each Ear;
When it doth freeze and snow, and cold Winds blow,
My Service in the dark I to you show.
Walking my Rounds, and Ringing of my Bell,
To see your Houses are in Safety well:
I go through Storms of Hail, and Frost, and Rain,
And still your Humble Servant will remain.
For Michaelmass-Day.
MASTERS, you know, this is not the first time,
That I have unto you express'd my Rime;
Good-Morrow, Sirs; you see I do not fail:
Upon this day St.
Michael did prevail
Over the Devil, only with this Speech,
The Lord rebuke thee, Satan; I beseech,
It is to teach us, that whilst here we live,
Bad Language to our Foes we should not give.
For the Evening.
SLEEP of the Blest makes Kings, and Kings of Men,
Whom Cares still flie, and Rest embraceth them,
Of Mischiefs, the sole solace, and best Friend
To give them due repose, and Comfort lend.
Who putting on the shape of Death, do'st give,
Only by that, all Creatures means to live.
Sleep, Thou hast but two Sisters; and they are,
Death and
Oblivion, both which shorten care.
MAsters, your
Bell-man humble Thanks Presents
Unto you all, for your Benevolence,
Of late receiv'd by him, from your free hand;
The Lord reward you, who hath all Command
With the best Blessings, in this Vale of strife,
Crown you hereafter with eternal life:
And so till after
Candlemass I'le Ring my Bell,
In hopes that these rude Lines will please you well.
ARISE from Sin, Awake from Sleep,
The Earth doth mourn, the Heavens weep;
The Winds and Seas distemper'd have bin,
And all's by Reason of Man's Sin:
Wherefore Arise, lay Sleep aside,
And call on God to be your Guide;
From raging Sword, and Arrows flight,
And from the Terrours of the Night;
From Fire's flame, from sin and sorrow,
God bless you all, and so Good-Morrow.
For Christmass-day.
TRUE
Son of God, Elder then Time, that hast
Thy Birth but now, yet from Beginning wast
Author of Light, and Light before all other;
O thou that wast the Parent of thy Mother:
Whose Word was made Flesh, and constrain'd to dwell
In the streight Prison of a Virgins Cell:
All this the King of Glory did, and more,
To make us Kings, that were but Slaves before.
For the Morning.
ASsist me, Muses all, that I may praise
The glorious Morning, and her glitt'ring Rays,
Thorough all the spacious Earth, for to thy grace
The
Morning-Sun steals Kisses from thy Face.
All sleepy Mankind to their Sports thou 'wakest,
And sleepy Slumbers from their Eye-lids takest,
Thy Beauty to behold, or hear thy Voice,
Serpents and Men, Beasts, Birds, and all rejoyce.
On DEATH.
DEATH is but one short
Sleep, and
Life's no more,
But one short Watch, an Houres-time before.
Let us endeavour, whilst to us there's light,
And see our Journey be not left till Night;
That when the Moment comes, which others dread,
We may with Courage climb our dying bed;
And so from thence to th'
Skies we may ascend,
To meet our Saviour
CHRIST at this Worlds END.