IX. The Farewell to the World.
1
Since the world doth deceive ev'ry one that doth cleave
To't, I now take my leave
From the pleasures thereof, and begin to abhor it:
And did you but know as much as I do,
You'd say I had reason sufficiently for it.
2
What's the best of the worth that the world doth set forth
From the South to the North?
If you look but with reason upon it, it's rotten.
Wherein shall I trust? when I'm laid in the dust,
The flags of my glory will all be forgotten.
3
What's the Prince in his Throne, or the Lord of the town,
Or the States-man in's gown?
If the sound of their titles do onely support 'um,
Their fame will not last till ages are past;
And the things they aspire at will surely come short home.
4
What's the Courtier in plush, or his Mistress's blush,
If she stands every push?
She's not worth the touch of a Gentlemans Lacquey:
If you stick to her close you may forfeit your nose;
Sh' has that in her panniers will presently wrack ye.
5
What's the Mayor in his ruff, or the Souldier in buff,
And his ruffling stuff,
If their powers do serve them but onely to chat on?
They are as grosse as the Clown, that comes and sits down,
While his amorous Mistresse makes water with's hat on.
6
What's the Nun in her nook, or the Clerk from his book,
Or the Judges grim look,
When the pris'ners applaud him with Oh good my Lord Sir?
Take him but from the Law, and he's not worth a straw;
Bid him parse the Greek Grammer, he knows not a word sir.
7
What's the Miser in's dross, who is fearfull of loss?
All his hopes are but mosse;
And the zeal of his fashion is in his trunk-breeches:
But the Scull in his boat, or the Fool in his coat,
Hath a far larger portion of freedom and riches.
8
'Tis the soul that doth shape his designs by the grap
Doth all sorrows escape,
And is freed from the curses of danger and trouble
And I tell you no lie, such a soul I enjoy,
And I find my good, qualities daily redouble.
