Divine poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

That day went Haman forth; for his swolne brest
Was fill'd with joyes, and heart was full possest
Of all the height Ambition could require,
To satisfie her prodigall Desire.

But when he passed through the Palace Gate,
(His eye-sore) aged Mardocheus sate,
With head unbar'd, and stubborne knee unbear,
Vnapt to fawne, with slavish blandishment:

140

Which when great Human saw, his boyling brest
(So great disdaine unable to digest)
Ran o're; his blood grew hot, and new desires
Incenst, and kindled his avenging fires:
Surcharg'd with griefe, and sick with male-content
Through his distemper'd passion, home he went;
Where (to asswage the swelling of his sorrow
With words, the poorest helps distress can borrow)
His wife, and friends he summon'd to partake
His cause of discontent, and thus bespake:

See, see, how Fortune with a lib'rall hand,
Hath with the best, and sweetest of the Land,
Crown'd my desiers, and hath timely blowne
My budded hopes, whose ripenesse hath out-growne
The limits, and the height of expectation,
Scarce to be had, but in a Contemplation:

See, see, how Fortune (to inlarge his breath,
And make me living in despight of Death)
Hath multiply'd my loynes, that after-Fame
May in my flocke preserve my blood, my Name.

To make my honour with my fortunes euen,
Behold, my gracious Lord the King hath given
And trusted to my hand the sword of Pow'r;
Or life, or death lies where I laugh or lowre:
Who stands more gracious in my Princes eye?
How frownes the King, if Haman be not by?

Ester the Queene hath made the King her Guest,
And (wisely weighing how to grace the Feast
With most advantage) hath (in policy)
Jnvited me: And no man else but I
(Onely a fit Companion for a King)
May taste the secrets of the banquetting.

Yet what availes my wealth, my place, my might?
How can I relish them? with what delight?

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What pleasure it in dainties, if the taste
Be in it selfe distemper'd? Better fast:
In many sweets, one sowre offends the pallate,
One loathsome weed annoyes the choycest Sallat:
What are my riches, what my honourd Place?
What are my Children? or my Princes Grace,
So long as cursed Mordecai survives?
Whose very breath infects, whose life deprives
My life of blisse, and visage sternely strikes
Worse venome to mine eyes then Basiliskes.

When Haman then had launc'd his ripned griefe,
In bloody termes, they thus apply'd reliefe:

Erect a Gibbet, fifty Cubits hie,
Then urge the King (what will the King deny
When Haman sues?) that slavish Mordecai
Be hang'd thereon; his blood will soone allay
The heat of thine; his cursed death shall fame
The highnesse of thy power, and his shame;
So when thy suit shall find a faire event,
Goe banquet with the King, and live content.

The Councell pleas'd: The Gibbet fairly stands,
Soone done, as said: Revenge finds nimble hands.

Meditat. 12

Some Ev'ls I must approve, al Goods, I dare not,
Some are, & seem not good; some seem & are not:
In choosing goods my heart will make the choyce,
My flattring eye shall have no casting voyce;
No outward sense may choose an inward blisse,
For seeming Happinesse least happy is:
The eye (the chiefest Cinque-port of the Heart)
Keepes open doores, and playes the Traytors part,

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Lets painted pleasures in, to bribe th'Affections,
Which masks foule faces under false complexions;
It hath no pow'r to judge, nor can it see
Things as they are, but as they seeme to be.

There's but one happinesse, one perfect blisse;
But how obtain'd, or where, or what it is,
The world of nature ne're could apprehend,
Grounding their labours on no other end
Than bare opinion, diversly affecting
Some one thing, some another, still projecting
Prodigious fancies, till their learned Schooles
Lent so much knowledge as to make them fooles:
One builds his blisse upon the blaze of glory:
Can perfect happinesse be transitory?
In strength, another summes Felicity:
What horse is not more happy farre than he?
Some pile their happinesse on heapes of wealth:
Which (sicke) they'd loath, if gold could purchase health:
Some, in the use of beautie place their end;
Some, in th'enjoyment of a Courtly friend:
Like wasted Lampes, such happinesses smother;
Age puffeth out the one; and wants, the other.
The happinesse, whose worth deserves the name
Of chiefe, with such a fier doth inflame
The brests of mortalls, that heav'n thinkes it fit
That men should rather thinke than taste of it;
All earthly joyes some other aime intend,
This, for it selfe's desir'd, no other end:
Those, (if enjoy'd) are crost with discontent,
If not in the pursuit, in the event:
This (truly good) admits no contrarietie,
Without defect, or yet a loath'd saciety.

The least is more than my desert can claime,
(Thankfull for both) at this alone I aime.