Solomon's recantation :: :: University of Virginia Library

A good reputed Name is sweeter far
Than Breaths of Aromatick Ointments are:
And that sad Day when first we drew our Breath
Is not so happy as the Day of Death.
Better it is to be a Fun'ral Guest,
Than find the Welcomes of a frolick Feast:
There mayst thou view thy End, and take Occasion
T'enrich thy Thoughts with fruitful Contemplation.
Better to cloud thy Face with Grief, than show
The lavish Wrinkles of a laughing Brow;
For by the sad Demeanour of thine Eyes
The Heart's instructed, and becomes more wise.
The wise Man's sober Heart is always turning
His wary Footsteps to the House of Mourning;
But Fools consume, and revel out the Night
In Dalliance, and the Day in loose Delight.
The Virtue of a wise Man's fair Reproof,
Brings greater Benefit to a Man's Behoof,
Than all those Ear-bewitching Sweets than can
Belch from the Language of a foolish Man.
Look how the crackling Thorns under the Pot
Blaze for a Season, but continue not;

E'en so do foolish Flatt'ries entertain
Our Souls with Joy; but all that Joy is vain.
When wise Men turn Oppressors, they have crackt
Their Understandings in the very Act;
And the Acceptance of a Bribe destroys
The Grounds of Judgment, and it blinds her Eyes.
In all Attempts the Onset does not lend
So sweet a Satisfaction, as the End:
And he whose gentle Spirit is endow'd
With Meekness, is far better than the Proud.
Let not thy hot-mouth'd Spirit entertain
Too sudden Passion with too slack a Rein;
For rash and unadvised Anger rests
Embosom'd, and abides in foolish Breasts.
Let not thy murm'ring Tongue desire to know
Why former Days were not so bad as now;
Where Heav'n declares a Will, no wise Man's Eye
Should search a Cause, or Lips enquire a Why.
Wisdom is profitable to advance
Man's Welfare, joined with Inheritance;
By this Conjunction Profit doth arise
To those that toyl beneath the sweltring Skies.
Wisdom's a Guard; and Treasure a Defence
To supersede our Wants, reliev'd from thence.
Wisdom's th'Extract of Knowledge, and conveys
To the Possessor-everlasting Days.
O let thy Thoughts enquire and understand
The well-weigh'd Works of the Almighty's Hand.
What he hath settled in a crooked State,
No Industry of Man can make it strait.
In thy good Day take Pleasure, and be wise;
In thy bad Day have Patience, and advise;
For Heav'n gives both by turns, to let Man see
How alterable Earthly Pleasures be.
Much have I seen in this my short liv'd Day;
Among the rest, the just Man snacht away
In his just Works, whilst wicked find Success,
And prosper in their long-liv'd Wickedness.

Since then th'upright Man's Recompence is such,
Be not too wise, nor righteous over much;
Why should thy too much Righteousness betray
Thy danger'd Life, and make thy Life a Prey?
Nor let the Flesh suggest thee, or advise
Thy Thoughts to be too wicked, too unwise.
Why should thy Folly captivate thy Breath,
And make thee Pris'ner to untimely Death?
In all thy Courses therefore it is best
To lodge Uprightness in thy constant Breast.
For he that feareth the Almighty, shall
Outwear his Ev'l, or find no Ev'l at all:
Wisdom affords more Strength, more fortifies
The undejected Courage of the wise,
Than all the twisted Pow'r of those that are
The Guides of Cities, or their Men of war.
Yet is there none beneath the crystal Skies
So just in Action, or in Word so wise;
That doeth always good, or hath not been
Sometimes polluted with the Stains of Sin.
At Passions Language stop thy gentle Ear,
Lest if thy Servant curse thee thou shouldst hear.
For oftentimes thy Heart will let thee see
That others likewise have been curs'd by thee.
This Wisdom by my Travel I attain'd,
And in my Thoughts conceiv'd that I had gain'd
No common Height, but on a strict Revise
I found my Wisdom came far short of wise.
Objects far distant, Secrets too profound
What Eye can entertain; what Heart can sound?
I bent my studious Heart to search and pry
Into the Bosom of Philosophy;
I gave my self to understand the Art
Of Folly, and the Madness of the Heart:
I found the Harlot's Ways more bitter are
Than Death, whose Arms are Gins, whose Heart's a Snare,
Whom Heav'n doth favour shall decline her Gates,
But Sinners shall be taken by her Baits.

Lo, this I have observ'd (the Preacher says)
By strict Enquest into their sev'ral Ways:
Whereof my restless, my laborious Mind
Would make Discov'ry, but despairs to find;
Among a thousand Men perchance that one
May be trac'd out, but among Women, none.
Lo here the Fruits of all my Disquisition,
Only to know the devious Condition
Of poor degen'rous Man, whose first Estate
Heav'n copied from himself, upright, and strait.

SOLILOQUY VII.

Since then my Soul, the frail and false Estate
Of fading Happiness cannot create
The least Contentment in thy various Mind,
Whose Fancy-guided Motion cannot find
The Point of Rest, but like the boiling Waves
Tost in the Storms of Earth, sometimes outbraves
The threatning Firmament, then at a Breath
Darts down, and dashes at the Doors of Death;
Since waxen-winged Honour is not void
Of Danger, whether aim'd at, or enjoy'd;
Since Heart-enchanting Profit hath not Fruit,
But Care, both in Fruition, and Pursuit;
Since Pleasure like a wanton Itch doth breed
In the rank Flesh, but scratcht until it bleed;
Since Laughter is but Madness, and high Diet
The officious Pander of our own Disquiet;
Since glorious Buildings, and magnifick Towers,
Fructiferous Orchards, Odoriferous Bowers;
Full clustered Vineyards, Beauties, and the choice
Of Musick, both by Instrument and Voice,
Can lend thy Heart no full Content, nor still
The various Clamours of th'insatiate Will;

Since human Wisdom is but human Trouble,
And double Knowledge makes our Sorrow double;
Since what we have, but lights our Wish to more,
And in the Height of Plenty makes us poor;
And what we have not, too too apt to crave,
Ev'n disposses us of what we have;
Nay, since the very Act of our Devotion
Can bring no Rest, nor qualify the Motion
Of our unbounded Thoughts, to sweeten out
This Span of Frailty, plung'd, and orb'd about
With Floods of Bitterness: Since none of these,
Nor all can crown our Labours, nor appease
Our raging Hearts, O my deceived Soul,
Where wilt thou purchase Peace? Who shall controul,
Who shall suppress those Passions that contest
Within the Kingdom of thy troubled Breast?
Whither? to what strange Region wilt thou fly
To find Content, and baulk that Vanity
Which haunts this bubble Earth, and makes thee still
A Slave to thy infatuated Will?
Call home thy self: Inspect thy self anew,
And take thy Birthright to a fresh Review:
Thou art immortal; art divine by birth,
A Spark of Heav'n; thou art not born of Earth;
Earth is the Footstool of thy heavenly Throne;
Made for thy baser Parts to trample on.

Look not so low, my Soul, there's nothing there
Fit for thy sacred View; it is no Sphere
For thee to move in: No, let Worms and Beasts,
And salvage Brutes trade there, and lay their Gests
Of Progress, to surround with weary Paces
The base Confines of those inferiour Places.

Ay, but my Soul, th'Alliance of my Flesh
Claims Kindred there, takes pleasure to refresh
Her wasted Body there: Earth is her Mother,
The Worm her Sister, and the Beast her Brother.

'Tis true, she is thy Spouse, Heav'n ty'd the Knot
For none to loose but Heav'n: I know her Lot

Is mortal, frail, and being born of Earth,
Corrupt, and wears the Badges of her Birth.
If she transgress, it's thou must bear the Blame,
And all her Deeds reflect upon thy Name;
O then beware, and if she needs must go
To visit Earth, first, let her Frailty know,
How apt she is to fall, and she how prone
To blur and stain thy Honour and her own.

A Name unblemisht with the sinful Soil
Of sordid Earth, is as a precious Oil,
Which like a sovereign Antidote prevents
That Plague of Vanity which Earth presents.

Then tell her, tell her, that her Mother Earth
Must give her Burial, as she gave her Birth:
Tell her, O tell her, every Gasp of Breath
Are Minutes moving to the Hour of Death:
And let her know, The House of Mourning brings
More Profit than the Palaces of Kings:
Tell her, less real Happiness doth dwell
In a full Banquet, than a passing Bell.

Arm her with Patience apt to entertain
The wise Reproofs: but if her Passion reign,
Correct it wisely: Teach her sober Eye
A willing Ignorance in things too high.

If liberal Earth should chance to crown her Store,
Let her wise Modesty receive no more
Than she can manage; Pilots that are wise,
Proportion out their Canvas to the Skies.

Let not her Knowledge with the Eagle fly,
Unless her Wisdom hath an Eagle's Eye.
Wisdom digests what Knowledge did devour,
Things sweet in taste, are indigested sowre.

In prosp'rous Fortunes let her Joy be such,
That in hard Times she may not grieve too much.

Let her count Wisdom as her chiefest Good,
And the Price easie, whether Sweat or Blood:

And let the Perclose of her Thoughts be this,
To study what Man was, and what Man is.

So now my Soul, thy well instructed Flesh
May visit Earth, and with her Sweets refresh,
Thy wasted Spirit, secure from all those Ills
Which threaten Ruin to distempered Wills:
Now mayst thou eat and drink, and make Supplies
For after-days, and close thy peaceful Eyes
In calm Content, and scape those hidden Snares
That lurk in Pleasures, and increase our Cares.
He only takes Advantage of his Lot,
That uses Earth, as if he us'd it not.