University of Virginia Library

Of Securitie.

Si securus, vres.

No vice I thinke, that euer was, or is,
Endāgers th'soule of man, so much as this.
Which that I may define, it seemes to be
The sleepe of sin, or the soules Lethargie,
Sencelesse, and carelesse of what ere befall,
Secure then, when she should most of all
Stand on her guard, nor is she 'fraid a whit
Of any harme, till she encounter it.
This Vice consorts with such as loue to feede,
And cram themselues: where she doth vse to breed
These perturbations in the minde of Man,
Whence th'Source of our Corruption first began.
Lust, ryot, sloth, contempt of Godlinesse,
Pride, dissolution, and forgetfulnesse
Of what we are, exposing (O most fowle)
The glorious substance of an heauenly soule,
Vnto the basest seruitude, that is,
To wit, th'delights of Earthly vanities.
Yea, I may say there is no Vice at all
That makes th'Soules motion so vnnaturall
Vnto her selfe, as doth Securitie:
Since th'Soule, which should in action euer be,
Becomes by her, slothfull, remisse, and dull,
Prest by a Belly that is euer full.
Many we haue that labour of this vice,
Yea, of this sinne our Great-men haue a spice;
Who with the Rich-man fare deliciously,
Are clad in purple, and neglectfully
Looke on the poore, while lulled in sinnes lapp,
They neuer mind what afterward may happ:
These giue no eare vnto the pitious mones,
Nor dolefull shrikings of distressed ones;
These are secure of their poore Brothers grieues,
“For they haue some sow pillows to their sleeues.
Euen Prelates which should peirce the eares of Kings
But they doe worse in speaking pleasant things;
For well they finde more profit's to be got
By smeering vice, as if they knew it not,
Then by displaying vices that are bred,
For this hath caus'd some to be silenced.
O age! When men that are the mouths of God,
And should not spare to shake the fearefull rod
Of his displeasure, will for some light matter,
Reuolt from God, and be induc'd to flatter:
But of all other, there's none so secure,
Or prone vnto it, as the Epicure.
For we may heare him euer bent to cry
Let's eate and drinke, to morrow we shall die.
A strange perswasion, and an Argument
As't seemes to me, from Reason different,
That shortnesse of our Time should make's forget
Our selues so much, as to be giuen to eate
When we should die: if this approu'd might be,
“There were some cause of mans Securitie.
When after Death, and that our Time is gone,
There were no farther matter to be done.
But there is something in vs, that doth show,
And tell vs plaine, our End must not be so,
Which may be prou'd by our Experience,
If we haue felt the sting of Conscience.
Yea, whatsoere our Atheist obiect,
Against that high and supreme Archi-tect,
Though now he feele it not, he must confesse,
And that with Gall of inward bitternesse,
There is a power (and that a diuine power)
Who will auenge him of the wicked doer.
But some I heare to argue in this sort,
(And with my soule I am much sorry for't:)
“This day we may enioy our pleasures; true
“And then you'l, what, begin next day anew
To vse those pleasures which you did before,
And so from day to day treasure vp store
Of Vengeance; O how fearefull is this path,
To trace you on vnto the day of wrath?
Hence you presume of God: but doe not thinke,
“That God doth sleepe, tho he may seeme to winke.
For like as in th'old World we doe reade,
When they had sported, feasted, married,
And now became as those that care-lesse were,
Through ryot, and excessiue belly-cheere:
The Flood came on them, so as we may see,
They were cut off in their Securitie:
Euen so may you, that seeme to make delay
Of your Conuersion thus, from day to day,
Be taken napping in your height of sinne,
How fearefull then's the case that you are in?
I know delight in Sinne, doth Custome bring,
And Custome to Securitie's the Spring
Which makes vs hardned (adding to Sinnes store)
Which more in number, seeme lesse then before.
But that we may, against this Hydra fight,
'First head we cut off must be sins Delight,
Which when we haue lopt off, we may begin
To take away the Custome of this sinne.
And so through want of Custome, we may free
Our selues in time of this Securitie.
O that we would consider but our dayes,
How short they are, and with how many wayes
We are enclos'd with Foes on euery side,
With inward motions, as with lust and pride:
With outward motions, as with bayts of sinne,
Where euery Sence doth let a Traytour in.
O then we would be wise, and stand in doubt,
Least these foes should get in, that now are out.
Nor can we be too warie of our foes,
Since we are pestered with some of those
Which are within our Bosome nourished,
And as our lifes more dearely tendred:
These be our houshold friends, which sting to death,
Depriuing them of life, which gaue them breath.
“And of all others none annoy men so,
“As doth a priuate or domesticke foe.
For he by subtile vnsuspected guile,
(Pretending nought but amitie the while)
Enters the Fort (and like a cunning Elfe)
Becomes a very Traytor to himselfe.
Yet so, as when his practises haue end,
This seeming friend, becomes an hellish fiend.
Yea, we shall finde his saying true, who sayth,
Securenesse brings Apostacie of Faith,
Which is approu'd in many a wretched man,
As for example in that Iulian,
Who through securitie despis'd the rod
Of Iustice, and turn'd Rebell vnto God.
Yea, many such euen in this Age we know,
Who start a-side, like to a broken Bow:
And are forgetfull (as before was said)
For what especiall purpose they were made.
Hence may I iustly taxe the Libertine,
Who idly spends the most part of his Time,
In prophanation of the Sabboth day,
And in the streetes neglectfully doth stay,
As if there were no Vineyard where he might
Labour one houre at least, before't be night:
And yet I doe not grieue for them so much,
As I in due compassion, doe for such,
Who haue beene idling, both in youth and age,
And now nere th'End of their frayle Pilgrimage:
Are now as farre from God, when they haue done,
Nay, farther too, then when they first begun.
O misery! that men who reason haue,
And now through age, haue one foote in the graue,
Should through a wilful blindnes, thus bewray
Such mad greene thoughts, now when their heads be gray.
Me thinkes those furrowes which be in their face,
Should as a Mirrour tell them here's no place
Long to dwell in, or if they would but see
Gray hayres, those Heralds of Mortalitie,
Which as predictions, Age is wont to send,
Me thinkes they might remember now their end.
But this they will not: they'l endure no Glasse,
Lest they should see how soone their time doth passe.
Sure I doe thinke, what th'Morall sayd of old,
Of all that be nought's viler to behold,
Then such a man, who many yeares hath spent,
Yet of his yeares can show no Argument,
Saue his Gray-haires: for he doth Nature wrong,
That shows no fruits how he hath liued long.
Yea, we should know great difference appeares
Twixt our expence of houres, and of yeares,
For many may be aged in the one,
Who leaue no Name behind when they are gone:
Such is th'Expence of yeares, but happie they,
Who by their houres doe measure out their day;
For when they die, the vertues of their minde,
Like a sweete Oyntment leaue their smell behinde.
Thus much in briefe of th'Vice: now't doth remaine
To speake, where this Securitie doth raigne.