 | The Labyrinth Of Mans Life |  |
Can man opprest, though silent, rest content?
Can griefe grow great, and can the heart consent?
Tweene mirth and mourning can true concord be?
Can fire and flaxe consorted well, agree?
Can seeming grace that is not grace in deed,
Relieue the heart, it wounds, and yeelds no meed,
Hope, fed with fawnes, is like a withering tree,
That's dead at heart, yet seemes aliue to be.
That Hope that hath naught but faire words to feed it,
Is crush'd by him (in show) that seemes to breed it.
Dispaire at helme, how can Assurance sayle,
Assurance tost, wits card and compasse fayle.
What then can bring hopes houering barke to rest,
That's forc'd to floate in sea of raging breast?
Onely sad silence, in a secret cell,
Where onely patience and contentment dwell.
This Cell is happines, to them it finde
More precious far, then gold vnto the minde.
By sea and land to finde it some men runne,
As neere at last, as when their race begunne.
The place, the thing, the way they seeke amis,
Fond Fancie knowes not, what Contentment is.
Men run they know not where, seeke know not what,
Finde not Content: not to be wondred at.
For wit, nor art, nor policie can finde,
That true content, that cures sad griefe of minde.
Who doth suppresse and bridle Appetite,
Hath best content, if not an hypocrite.
Appetite implied all affections,
Mou'd as the heart, giues her directions.
As when the heart, is ouer-gorg'd with Lust,
It vomits forth, grosse humors, things vniust.
Anger, Reuenge, Enuy, wrath, and Hate,
Fruits onely growing, on the desperate:
The desperate cannot true patience haue,
They kill content, which they would seeme to craue.
The daughters of Ioy-priued Acheron
Alecto, Megera, and Tysiphon.
Hels furies, got on darkest shade of night,
Feede with dispaire, their vassals voide of light.
Depriu'd of light, men liue, they loue, they hate,
Abhor, affect, disdaine, are passionate.
Neuer content, content (in show) they grieue,
Fawning, they frowne. And seeming dead they liue.
Seeming aliue, are in heart, dead in deed,
They seeme to see, and seeing take not heed.
But grudge to see, anothers good content,
That still as like, in good and ill euent.
Not mou'd to mirth, when fawning fortune shines,
Nor feares her stormes, when her fayre faune declines.
Can griefe grow great, and can the heart consent?
Tweene mirth and mourning can true concord be?
Can fire and flaxe consorted well, agree?
Can seeming grace that is not grace in deed,
Relieue the heart, it wounds, and yeelds no meed,
Hope, fed with fawnes, is like a withering tree,
That's dead at heart, yet seemes aliue to be.
That Hope that hath naught but faire words to feed it,
Is crush'd by him (in show) that seemes to breed it.
Dispaire at helme, how can Assurance sayle,
Assurance tost, wits card and compasse fayle.
What then can bring hopes houering barke to rest,
That's forc'd to floate in sea of raging breast?
Onely sad silence, in a secret cell,
Where onely patience and contentment dwell.
This Cell is happines, to them it finde
More precious far, then gold vnto the minde.
By sea and land to finde it some men runne,
As neere at last, as when their race begunne.
The place, the thing, the way they seeke amis,
Fond Fancie knowes not, what Contentment is.
Men run they know not where, seeke know not what,
Finde not Content: not to be wondred at.
That true content, that cures sad griefe of minde.
Who doth suppresse and bridle Appetite,
Hath best content, if not an hypocrite.
Appetite implied all affections,
Mou'd as the heart, giues her directions.
As when the heart, is ouer-gorg'd with Lust,
It vomits forth, grosse humors, things vniust.
Anger, Reuenge, Enuy, wrath, and Hate,
Fruits onely growing, on the desperate:
The desperate cannot true patience haue,
They kill content, which they would seeme to craue.
The daughters of Ioy-priued Acheron
Alecto, Megera, and Tysiphon.
Hels furies, got on darkest shade of night,
Feede with dispaire, their vassals voide of light.
Depriu'd of light, men liue, they loue, they hate,
Abhor, affect, disdaine, are passionate.
Neuer content, content (in show) they grieue,
Fawning, they frowne. And seeming dead they liue.
Seeming aliue, are in heart, dead in deed,
They seeme to see, and seeing take not heed.
But grudge to see, anothers good content,
That still as like, in good and ill euent.
Not mou'd to mirth, when fawning fortune shines,
Nor feares her stormes, when her fayre faune declines.
For, in my Cell I found a pylot fit,
That steres the barke, where I contented sit,
Twixt Silla, and Caribdis gulfes of feare,
I safely saile conducted by her steare.
Oft bearing neare, where sweet Sirenes sing,
Sometimes where furies haue their habiting,
Sirenes here, the furies there, me haile,
Diuinely steer'd, twixt both along I saile.
Yet oft the tempests of sad crosses rage,
Then take I harbor, in port Good courage:
Casting Hope-anker, on soyle sapience
Floating secure, in hull true sapience.
Aloofe a little from Cape ficklenes,
Where oft I heare sad songs of heauines.
Silent I sate in Cabbin of desire,
The storme past ouer, we hoyse and retire.
And on the banke desert, I did descry,
One cast ashore, through wracke of penury.
And as we past him by, he thus relates,
The doubtfull Labyrinth of all estates.
That steres the barke, where I contented sit,
Twixt Silla, and Caribdis gulfes of feare,
I safely saile conducted by her steare.
Oft bearing neare, where sweet Sirenes sing,
Sometimes where furies haue their habiting,
Sirenes here, the furies there, me haile,
Diuinely steer'd, twixt both along I saile.
Then take I harbor, in port Good courage:
Casting Hope-anker, on soyle sapience
Floating secure, in hull true sapience.
Aloofe a little from Cape ficklenes,
Where oft I heare sad songs of heauines.
Silent I sate in Cabbin of desire,
The storme past ouer, we hoyse and retire.
And on the banke desert, I did descry,
One cast ashore, through wracke of penury.
And as we past him by, he thus relates,
The doubtfull Labyrinth of all estates.
| The Labyrinth Of Mans Life | |