 | The Passionate Sparke of a Relenting Minde |  |
The Estate of worldly Estates.
1
Each hath his Time whom Fortune will aduanceWhose fickle wheel runs restlesse round about
Some flatt'ring lye oft changeth others chance
Dangers deceipt in guiltie harts breeds doubt.
It's seene
What yet hath beene
With tract of time to passe,
And change
Of Fortune strange
At last hath turn'd their glasse.
2
Enuie triumph's on tops of high EstateAll ouer-hung with veiles of feigned show
Man climbes aboue the course of such conceate
That loftie-like, they loath to look below.
And what?
All's haszard that
Wee seek on Dice to set,
For some
To height's do come
Then falls in dangers net.
4
The gallant man, if poore, hee's thought a wretch,His Vertue rare is held in high disdayne
The greatest Foole is wise if he be rich
And wisedome flowes from his Lunatique brayne,
Thus see
Rare sprit's to bee
Of no account at all.
Disgrace
Hath got such place
Each ioyes at others fall.
3
The brib'rous minde who makes a God of gouldHe scornes to plead without he haue reward
Then poore mens suites at highest rat's are sould
Whilst Au'rice damn'd, nor Ruth hath no regard.
For heere
He hath no feare
Of Gods consuming curse
His gaines
Doth pull with paines
Plagues from the poore mans purse.
5
The furious flames of Sodom's sodaine fier,With feruent force consume vaine Pride to nought
With wings of wax let soaring him aspire
Aboue the Starres of his ambitious thought.
And so
When hee doth go
On top of Prides high glory
Then shall
His sodain fall
Become the worlds sad Story.
6
Ingratitude that ill,-ill-fauor'd IllIn noble brestes hath builded Castles strong
Obliuion sett's-vp the Troph's that still
Bewrayes the filthie vildenesse of that wrong.
Ah minde
Where deu'llish kinde
Ingratitude doth dwell
That Ill
Coequals still
The greatest Ill in hell.
7
On poysons filth contagious Error spreedsHeau'ns spotlesse eyes looks as amaz'd with wonder
Their Viprous mindes such raging horror breeds
To teare Religions virgin-roabes asunder.
What then
O wicked men
And Hels Eternall pray
Go mourne
And in time turne
From your erronious way.
8
What course wants crosse? what kinde of state wants strife?What worldling yet could euer seem content?
What haue wee heere in this our thwartring life?
Ioy, Beautie, Honour, Loue, like smoak are spent.
I say
Time goe's away
Without returne againe
How wise!
Who can despise
These worldly vapors vaine.
FINIS.
| The Passionate Sparke of a Relenting Minde | |