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.