[p. 38] 
E. B. Reed, 
The Preface to the Psalmes. 
Vaine Fancy whether now darst thou aspire 
W'» smoky Coales to light the holy Fire 
Could thou indeed as wt? the Phenix burne 
In perfum’d flames & into Ashes turne 
Thou might’st hope (vaine hope) yet once againe 
To rise w't purer notions in thy Braine 
But t’would nott serue for they would still be darke 
Till from thyn Alter Lord I take a sparke 
I need not then assend up any higher 
In offring this to fetch another fire 
Inspired thus may on my Muse distill 
Dewes nott from Parnass but Herman’s sweet Hill. 
Salle 
Blest is the man in walking daly shuns 
Pernitious Councel that from th’ wicked Comes 
Nor to the sinners paths his steps doth bend 
Or he yitt up to Scorners chaire assend 
Who in the early morne & euening laite 
On lawes deuine makes choyse to meditate 
As by the runing streames the well sett tree 
His fruit in season yeild, the iust shall be 
Whos leafe shall neuer fade & what he doth 
Shall thriue as itt & shal be fruitfull both 
But wtt the wicked itt is diffrent farre 
As chaff tost in the Ayre, So they are 
Nor shall he stand fore th’ impartial Judge 
Or mongst the iust who in sins way doe trudge 
Psal 19 
The heauens Lord the siluer studed frame 
They are the Curious works thy hands declare 
Time vnto time itt doth recount the same 
To places most remote, ther voyce it heares 
Ore all the earth ther arched Sphers extends 
The Tun on’s throne ther rises ther desends 
