Midnights Meditations of Death :: :: University of Virginia Library

Midnights Meditations of Death

With Pious and Profitable Observations, and Consolations [by Edward Buckler]: Perused by Francis Quarles A little before his Death

Buckler, Edward (1610-1706)

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Profitable and pious thoughts of Death.

I. Part I. Of Deaths certainty.

In heav'ns high Parliament an act is pass'd,
Subscrib'd by that eternall Three in One,
That each created wight must one day tast
Of Deaths grim terrours: They exempted none
That sprang from Adam. All that red-earth-strain
Must to their earth again.

An ancient Register of burialls lies
In Genesis, to let us understand
That whosoever is begotten dies,
And every sort is under Deaths command.
His Empire's large: Rich, poore, old, young, and all
Must go when he doth call.

Mans life's book: and some of them are bound
Handsome and richly; some but meanly clad:
And for their matter, some of them are found
Learned and pious: others are too bad
For vilest fires: Both have their end.
There's a conclusion penn'd

As well as title-page; that's infancy,
The matter; that's the whole course of our lives.
One's Satans servant walking wickedly;
Another's pious, and in goodnesse thrives;
One's beggerly, another's rich and brave:
Both drop into the grave,

One man (a book in folio) lives till age
Hath made him crooked and put out his eyes:
His beard doth penance. And death in a rage
Mows down another whilst the infant cries
In's midwives lap: (that's an Epitome)
Both wear deaths liverie.

God made not death: Whence are we mortall then?
Sure Sinne's parent of this pale-fac'd foe;
Nought else did hatch it: and the first of men
He was Deaths grandfather: And all the wo
That in this or the next life we are in
Is caused by our sinne.

Meditation 1.

If I must dye, I'll catch at every thing
That may but mind me of my latest breath.
Deaths-heads, graves, knells, blacks, tombs, all these shall bring
Into my soul such usefull thoughts of death,
That this sable King of fears,
Though in chiefest of my health
He behind me come by stealth,
Shall not catch me unawares.

When-e're I visit any dying friend,
Each sigh and scrich, and every death-bed-grone
Shall reade me such a lecture of mine end,
That I'll suppose his case will be mine own.
As this poore man here doth lie
Rack'd all o're with deadly pain,
Never like to rise again,
Time will come when so must I.

Thus ghastly shall I look, thus every part
Of me shall suffer, thus my lips shall shrivel,
My teeth shall grin, and thus my drooping heart
Shall smoke out sighs and grones; and all the evil
Which I see this man lye under,
What sinne earns and death doth pay,
I shall feel another day.
Sinne from torment who can sunder?

Thus will my mournfull friends about me come:
My livelesse carcase shall be stretched out.
I must be packing to my longest home:
Thus will the mourners walk the streets about.
Thus for me the bells will toll:
Thus must I bid all adieu,
World, and wife, and children too:
Thus must I breathe out my soul.

At others fun'ralls when I see a grave,
That grave shall mind me of mortalitie.
I'll think that such a lodging I must have:
Thus in the pit my bones must scattered lie;
Here one bone and there another,
Here my ribs, and there my scull,
And my mouth of earth be full.
I must call the worms my mother.

When I do look abroad, methinks I see
A fun'rall Sermon penn'd in every thing.
Each creature speaks me mortall: Yonder tree,
Which, not a quarter since, the glorious spring
Had most proudly cloth'd in green,
And was tall, and young, and strong,
Now the ax hath laid along:
Nothing but his stump is seen.

And yonder fruitfull valleys yesternight
Did laugh and sing, they stood so thick with corn:
In was the sickle, and 'twas cut down quite,
And not a sheaf will stand to morrow morn.
Yonder beauteous imps of May,
Pretty eye-delighting flowers,
Whose face heav'n doth wash with showers
To put on their best aray:

I saw the fair'st, the Lily, and Carnation,
And coy Adonis particoloured sonne,
Subject to such a sudden alteration
That in a day their fading beauty's gone.
This tree, this corn, and this flower,
Or what things else vainest are,
To my self I do compare,
Who may die within this houre.

Meditation 2.

I'll ne'r be proud of beauty if I must
Be blemish'd when I die: And if the grave
Will mix my beauty with the vilest dust,
What profits pride? Reader, I'll pardon crave
Here to set you down a story
Of as rare and fair a She
As the Sunne did ever see,
Whom Death robb'd of all her glory.

I once saw Phœbus in his mid-day shine
Triumphing like the Sovereigne of the skies,
Untill two brighter rayes, both more divine,
Outblazed his: and they were this Nymphs eyes.
Forthwith Sol curtain'd his light,
Looking very red for shame
To be vanquish'd by this Dame,
And did slink out of her sight.

I once saw silver Cynthia, nights fair Queen,
In her full orb dimming each lesser flame,
Till this Nymphs beauty-vying front was seen
Outshining hers: then she look'd wan for shame.
The man in her, knew he how
But to quit that giddy place,
She had so divine a face,
Would have dwelt upon her brow.

Once was this woman pleas'd to walk the fields
Then proudly fragrant with Dame Flora's store:
The damask rose unto her beauty yields,
And was contented to be fair no more.
Sure I cannot say how truly,
Yet 'mongst many 't was a fame,
That the rose did blush for shame,
And the violet look'd most bluly.

Once did this woman to the temple go,
Where doth fair Venus marble-statue lie
Cut to the life, that one can hardly know
But that it lives indeed: When she came nigh,
He who then the temple kept
After would be often telling
She was so super-excelling
That for mad the marble wept.

Melodious musick's warbled by the spheres;
Swans sing their Epitaphs in curious layes,
Once with a singing Swan a part she bears:
As soon's those corall doores dismiss'd her voice,
The poore Swan held his peace and di'd:
And the spheres (as men do say)
Dumbly move unto this day.
This was by a rivers side.

What think you now of such a glorious woman?
This Phœnix sure was she, if any might,
That might be proud: And yet the tongue of no man
Can well expresse, nor any pen can write
What grim death hath done unto her;
Now she's of another feature,
Hardly can you know the creature:
Stay a while, and we will view her.

Th'almighty King that dwells above in heaven
Directs to's high Shrieve Death a certain writ,
Wherein a strait imperiall charge was given,
At's utmost peril forthwith on sight of it
To arrest that piece of beauty
And to wrap her up in clay
'Gainst the last great judgement-day.
Death address'd him to his duty;

And with great care gives warrant by and by
Unto his baillifs, Fever, Pox, and Gout,
Phrensie, Strangury, Colick, Squinancy,
Consumption, Dropsie, and an ugly rout
Beside these, for to assail her:
Deaths command was, that they must
Tie her fast in chains of dust:
He gave charge that none should bail her.

You would not think with what a furious pace
These catchpoles flie to pull this creature down:
But Pox was nimblest; she got to her face
And plow'd it up. This hag goes in a gown
Rugged and of colour tawny,
Button'd o're from top to toe;
(Skin-deep beauties deadly foe)
Uglier hag was never any.

Fain would the rest have fastned on her too,
But that this hag had frighted out her soul.
Now looks her carcase of another hue,
Grim, ugly, lothsome, ghastly, and as foul
As did ever eye look on.
What's become of that complexion
Which held all hearts in subjection?
In a moment all is gone.

If we might be so bold to dig the grave
Some few years hence where this good woman lies,
Sure we should find this beauty but a slave
To pallid putrefaction, and a prize
For those silly vermine worms:
As they crawl in stinking swarms
She doth hug them in her arms,
And doth give them suck by turns.

Here's a deformed lump indeed: and this
Must be the fortune of the fairest face.
None then are proud but fools: They love amisse
Whose hearts are chain'd to any thing but grace.
From the beauty of the skin
In the loveliest outward part,
Lord, vouchsafe to turn my heart
To love that which is within.

Meditation 3.

If Death will come, sure there will come an end
Of all this worlds deep-biting misery.
Nothing adverse that's here on earth doth tend
Beyond the grave: that's a delivery
From the pow'r of men and devils,
And what-ever other wo
May befall us here below
Death's a shelter from all evils.

Here I am poore: my daily drops of sweat
Will not maintein my full-stock'd family:
A dozen hungry children crie for meat,
And I have none; nor will words fatisfie.
Could I give their belly ears,
'T were a comfort, or could fill
Hungry stomacks with good will,
Or make daily bread of tears.

Here the oppressour with his griping claws
Sits on my skirts: my racking land-lord rears
Both rent and fine; with potent looks he aws
Me from mine own. Scarce any man but bears
In his bosome Ahabs heart.
Horse-leach-like that's ever craving
Other mens, and sick of having,
Right or wrong, will catch a part.

Here in these clay-built houses sicknesse reigns:
I have more maladies then I can name:
Each member of my body hath its pains.
Moreover, weeping, groning, sadnesse, shame,
Slanders, melancholy, fear,
Discontents, disgraces, losses,
And a thousand other crosses
Must be born if I live here.

But these are finite all. When I am dead
My poverty is ended and my care:
I heare my famish'd children crie for bread
No longer. Then I drink, I lodge, I fare
Just as well as Cæsar doth:
There ends cold and nakednesse,
All my former wretchednesse.
Death is meat, and drink, and cloth.

There's no face-grinding: There the mighty cease
From troubling; there the weary be at rest:
The servant's freed; the pris'ner is at ease:
All's still and quiet; no man is oppress'd:
For incroachers there are none.
Not a poore man's wronged, nor
Is his vineyard longed for:
Every man may keep his own.

Sicknesse there's none: when-ever Death shall take
My body hence and lodge it in the clay,
I shall not feel a tooth or finger ake,
Nor any other misery that may
In the least degree displease me.
For all sores the grave hath plasters,
And it cureth all disasters:
Of all burdens Death will ease me.

Malicious tongues fired below in hell
There will not hurt me; nor the poisonous breath
Of whispering detractours: I shall dwell
Securely in the dust. One stroke of Death
Sets me out of gun-shot quite;
Not the deepest-piercing tongue
Can there do me any wrong:
Bark they may, but cannot bite.

Lord, I am thine: and if it be thy will,
While I do live a stranger here below,
Brim-high with bitternesse my cup to fill,
And make me drink't; yet, Lord, withall bestow
But thy grace, and thou shalt see me
Patient: and my comfort's this,
That a short affliction 't is:
In a moment Death may free me.

Meditation 4.

If I must die, it must be my endeavour
So to provide that every thought of Death
May be a thought of comfort: that when-ever
That aged sire shall take away my breath,
I may willingly lay down
This old house that's made of clay,
Gladly welcoming the day
That brings an eternall crown.

But of all things a holy life's the way
Must lead me to a comfortable end;
To crucifie my lusts, and to obey
Gods sacred will in all things: This doth tend
Unto comfort, joy and ease.
Mark the man that is upright,
And sets God alwayes in's sight,
That mans end is ever peace.

What makes me fear a serpent? 't is his sting;
The mischief's there: When that is taken out,
I can look on him as a harmlesse thing,
And in my bosome carry him about.
What makes Death look rufully?
Not Deaths self: it is his sting
That doth fear and horrour bring,
And makes men so loth to die.

The sting of death is sinne: but there's a Jesus
Hath pluck'd it out. The guilt's done quite away;
The stain is wash'd. He sent his Spirit to ease us
In some good measure of that kingly sway
Which o're us sinne held before.
Blessed work of grace! now I
Strongest lusts can mortifie:
In my soul sinne reigns no more.

Now in me holinesse is wrought: which is
A pious disposition of the heart,
Inclining me to hate what's done amisse
In me and others, never to depart
From God to left hand or right,
Nor one of his laws to break;
But to think and do and speak
What's well-pleasing in his sight.

Each act from faith and love ariseth, and
The end I aim at is my Makers praise;
His word's my rule: my warrant's his command.
Thus am I fitted: Death, cut off my dayes,
If thou wilt, within this houre,
I will thank thee for thy pain:
For to me to die is gain.
I'll not fear a jote thy power.

What canst thou do that justly may affright me?
Though with thee in the dark I dwell a space,
Yet canst thou not eternally benight me:
Thou art my passage to a glorious place,
Where shall not be any night.
My rais'd ashes shall enjoy
There an everlasting day,
And an uneclipsed light.

I fear not death because of putrefaction,
Nor (if I might) would willingly decline it:
My body gains by 't; 't is the graves best action:
God, as a founder, melts it to refine it.
Death cannot annihilate,
And in despite of the grave,
Yet I shall a body have,
Fairer and in better state.

Gods second work excells his first by ods:
Our second birth, life, Adam, to repair
Our bodies, is a second work of Gods,
To make them better then at first they were,
Glorious, immortall, sound,
Nimble, beautifull, and so
Splendid that from top to toe
Not a blemish may be found.

What begger weeps when's rags are thrown away
To put on better clothes? Who is 't will grieve
To pull a rotten house down, that it may
Be fairer built? Why should we not receive
Death with both hands when he comes
To pull off those rags that hide us,
To unhouse us, and provide us
Richer clothes and better homes?

The griping pangs of Death do not affright
My heart at all: I have deserved mo.
And if upon no other terms I might
Enjoy my God, I to my God would go
Through hells self, although a throng
Of an hundred thousand juries
Of the black'st infernall Furies
Claw'd me as I went along.

Nor can those inward terrours make me quake
Which Death-beds often on the soul do bring.
I have no Death-bed-reck'nings for to make;
'T was made while I was well, and every thing
Was dispatch'd before, that I
Nothing in the world now, save
Home-desiring longings, have
Then to do but just to die.

Nor doth it trouble me that Death will take me
From those delights that are enjoy'd below.
Alas, I know that none of them can make me
One jote the happier man, nor can bestow
Any comfort, Carnall gladnesse,
Mirth, delight and jollity,
This worlds best felicitie,
All is vanity and madnesse;

Mere empty husks. Had I as many treasures
In my possession as the muddiest wretch
Did ever covet, and as many pleasures
As from the creature fleshly men can fetch;
Had I this: or if I were
Supreme Monarch, onely Lord
Of what earth and sea afford:
Yet I would not settle here.

To be dissolv'd is better: Death doth bring
A fairer fortune then it takes away.
It sets us in a world where every thing
Is a happinesse, a full and solid joy,
Not to be conceiv'd before
We come thither: but the blisse
Which exceedeth all is this,
That there we shall sinne no more.

Lord, grant a copious portion of thy Spirit.
The more I have of that the lesse I fear
What Death can do; for sure I shall inherit
All joy in heaven if I am holy here:
Nought suits with heaven but sanctitie.
Let, my God, thy Spirit and grace
Fit me for that holy place
And that holy companie.

Meditation 5.

If Death will come, what do men mean to sinne
With so much greedinesse? me thinks I see
What a sad case the godlesse world is in,
How fast asleep in her securitie.
Fearlessely in sinne men live,
As if Death would never come,
Or there were no day of doom
When they must a reck'ning give.

Observe a little yonder black-mouth'd swearer,
How's tongue with oathes and curses pelts the skies:
'T would grieve the heart of any pious hearer
But to bear witnesse of his blasphemies.
He darts wounds at God on high,
Puts on cursing as his clothes,
And doth wrap his tongue in oathes
To abuse Eternity.

In lawlesse lust the fornicatour fries,
And longs to slake it 'twixt forbidden sheets:
Ne'r sets the sunne but his adulterous eyes
Observes the twilight, and his harlot meets.
That which follows, when the night
Draws its curtain o'r the air
To conceal this goatish pair,
Modesty forbids to write.

And I could shew you (were it worth the viewing)
In that room three or foure drunkards reeling:
In this, as many more that sweat with spewing;
Some that have drunk away their sense and feeling;
Men of all sorts in their wine
And their ale sit domineering,
Cursing, railing, roring, swearing,
Under every baser signe.

'T is said (so vile is this big-belly'd sinne)
That in a day and lesse some foure or five
Of lustie drunken throats will swallow in
More then hath kept two families alive
A whole forthnight (yet made they
Merrie with 't.) Had I my wishes,
Such gulls should not drink like fishes;
But their throats should chāge their trade

The covetous man with his usurious clutches
Doth catch and hold fast all the wealth he may:
He leans on 't as a creeple on his crutches.
The miser studies nothing night and day
But his gain: he's like a swine
Looking downward, like a mole
Blind, and of an earthen soul,
Minding nothing that's divine.

These, and beside these other sorts of sinners,
In every parish you may dayly see
As greedy at their sinnes as at their dinners,
And wallowing in all impiety.
Sure these miscreants do never
Entertein a thought of dying;
Nor yet are afraid of frying
In hell flames for altogether.

Thou God of spirits, be pleas'd to aw my heart
With death and judgement: that, when I would sinne,
I may remember that I must depart,
And whatsoe're condition I am in
When I sink under Deaths hand,
(There's no penance in the grave,
Nor then can I mercy have)
So must I in judgement stand.

Meditation 6.

Lord, what a thief is Death! it robs us quite
Of all the world; great men, of all their honours;
Luxurious men, of all their fond delight;
Rich men, of all their money, farms and mannours.
Naked did the world find us,
And the world will leave us so:
We shall carrie when we go
Nothing, but leave all behind us.

Let Death do's worst, ambitious men do climb
By any sinne though it be ne're so foul:
Gold-thirsty misers swallow any crime
That brings gain with it, though it kill the soul.
Here for gain is over-reaching,
Cosening, cheating, lying, stealing,
Knavish and sinister dealing;
All arts of the devils teaching.

Whilst I am well advis'd I'll never strive
T'increase my wealth, if 't will increase my sinne:
I will be rather poore then seek to thrive
By means unlawfull: all's not worth a pinne.
When mine eye-lids Death doth close,
What I sinned for must be
Shak'd hands with eternally,
But the sinne that with me goes.

I'll not wast love upon these lower things,
Nor on the choicest of them doting sit:
For when sad Death a habeas corpus brings,
To take the world from me and me from it,
'Gainst which I have no protection;
To spend love in what I may
No where but on earth enjoy,
Were to loose all my affection.

The longest lease of temporalls God doth make
Is but for life. I'll patiently behave
My self, though from me God be pleas'd to take
In middle age that which his bounty gave:
Neither discontent nor passion
Shall make me repine or grumble;
'T is a way to make me humble,
And takes from me a temptation.

Thou mad'st my heart, Lord: keep it for thy self,
Lest love of dust eternally undo me:
Vouchsafe that this vain worthlesse empty pelf
May never win me, though it daily woo me.
If 't were lovely, yet 't is gone
When I dy. Lord, make me see
That there is enough in thee
To place all my love upon.

Meditation 7.

I am a stranger and a pilgrime here:
The world's mine inne, 't is not my dwelling-place;
(In this condition all my fathers were)
The life I live below is but a race.
Here I sojourn some few yeares:
This world is a countrey strange;
Death my pilgrimage will change
For a home above the spheares.

In elder time the gooddesse Quiet had
Her temple; but 't was plac'd without the gates
Of Ethnick Rome; to shew that good and bad
Have here their vexing and disturbing fates,
And do bear their crosse about
Whilst within the walls they stay
Of this world, and shall enjoy
No rest till Death let them out.

Here I am look'd upon with divers eyes,
Sometimes of envy, sometimes of disdain:
Here I endure a thousand miseries:
Some vex my person, some my credit stain;
My estate's impair'd by some:
But yet this doth comfort me,
That hereafter I shall be
Better us'd when I come home.

In all estates my patience shall sustein me:
I am resolved never to repine
Though ne'r so coursely this world entertein me:
Such is a strangers lot; such must be mine.
Were I of the world, to dwell
Here as in my proper home,
Without thoughts of life to come,
Then the world would use me well.

I am not of their minds in whom appears
No care for any world but this below:
Who lay up goods in store for many years,
As if they were at home; but will bestow
Neither care nor industry
Upon heaven, as if there
They were strangers, but had here
A lease of eternitie.

The banish'd Naso weeps in sable strain
The woes of banishment: nor could I tell,
If Death and it were offer'd, of the twain
Which to make choice of. O! to take farewell
Of our native soil, to part
With our friends and children dear,
And a wife that is so near,
Must needs kill the stoutest heart.

What is 't then to be absent from that house,
Eternall in the heav'ns, not made with hands!
From Angels, Saints, God, Christ himself, whose Spouse
Our soul is! from a haven where nothing lands
That defileth; where's no danger,
No fear, no pain, no distresse:
All's eternall happinesse!
What is 't to be here a stranger!

I have been oft abroad, yet ne'r could find
Half that contentment which I found at home;
Methought that nothing suited with my mind
Into what place soever I did come:
Though I nothing needed there,
Neither clothes, nor drink, nor meat,
Nor fit recreations, yet
Methought home exceeded farre.

Thither did my affections alwayes bend;
And I have wish'd, before I came half-way,
A thousand times, my journey at an end,
And have been angry with a minutes stay:
Sunne-set I did ever fear;
And a hill or dirty mile,
That delay'd me but a while,
Seem'd to set me back a yeare.

I built not tabernacles in mine inne,
Nor ever cry'd out, 'T is good being here.
No company would I be ever in
That drown'd but half an hour in wine or bier.
I have wish'd my horse would runne
With a farre more winged speed
Then those skittish jades that did
Draw the chariot of the Sunne.

From carnall self-love, Lord, my heart unfetter,
And then shall I desire my heavenly home
More then this here, because that home is better,
And pray with fervency, Thy kingdome come.
Lord, had thy poore servant done
What thou hast set him about,
I would never be without
Holy longings to be gone.

Meditation 8.

There was a State, as I have heard it spoken,
(The tale doth almost all belief surpasse)
That had a custome never to be broken,
(But a bad custome I am sure it was)
'Mongst themselves their King to choose:
The elected man must be
King as long's they would, and he
When they pleas'd his crown must loose.

This State elected and deposed when
And whom they would: but the deposed Prince
They suffered not to live 'mongst other men,
But drove him to a countrey farre from thence
Into wofull banishment,
Where he chang'd his royalty
For want and all misery;
Scarce a Kingly punishment.

One King there was that whilst his crown was on,
Knowing his subjects fickle disposition,
Beat his crown-worthy head to think upon
Some course of providence, to make provision
At the place of's banishment:
Full-stuff'd bags of money, and
What things else might purchase land,
He into that Kingdome sent.

It came to passe after some certain years,
His yoke seem'd heavy, and his people frown'd:
King-sick they were; their purpose soon appears:
A new King's chosen and the old's uncrow'nd.
And for exile, this foul beast,
Giddy, variable, rude,
The unconstant multitude,
Dealt with him as with the rest.

But that his wiser providence was such,
When's banish'd predecessours lived poore,
What he had sent before was full as much
As did exclude want or desire of more.
There he lacks not any thing;
He doth purchase towns and fields,
And what else the countrey yields:
In estate he's still a King.

So shall we fare hereafter in the next
As we provide in this life. Sure I see
A providence in all: Who is not vex'd,
And plung'd, and lean with too much industry?
Men of all sorts runne and ride,
Sweat and toil, and cark and care,
Get and keep, and pinch and spare;
And all's done for to provide.

For to provide? what? goods, and lands, and money,
Honours, preferments, pleasures, wealth and friends:
(As bees in summer-time provide their hony)
To sublunaries their provision tends,
And no farther; 't is for dust
That they labour and thick clay,
For these goods that will away,
And for treasures that will rust.

For to provide? for what? Their present life,
That's naturall; their bodies have their care:
Their spirituall state's neglected: there's no strife
For grace and goodnesse. Souls immortall are,
Living everlastingly
In eternall wo or blisse,
As here our provision as,
Yet are not a jote set by.

Men do provide amisse: Full well I know it,
I shall be banish'd from this sinne-smote place:
All here is fading, and I must forgo it.
What shall I lay up for hereafter? grace,
An unspotted conscience,
Faith in Christ, sobriety,
Holinesse, and honesty:
These will help when I go hence.

Strengthen those graces, Lord, which thou hast given,
And I shall quickly change both care and love;
My care for earth into a care for heaven,
Take off my heart from hence, and fix 't above,
And will lay up all provision
For that life which is to come
Whilst a stranger, that at home
I may find a blest condition.

II. PART II. Of Deaths impartiality:

from whose stroke neither Riches, Honours, Pleasures, Friends, Youth, nor any thing can protect us.

Sect. 1. Riches cannot protect us from the stroke of Death.

Of richest men in holy writ I read,
Whose basket & whose store the Lord had blest,
And in the land exceedingly increas'd
Their wealthy substance; yet they all are dead.
Riches do not immortalize our nature:
The richest dyes as well's the poorest creature.

'Bove all, the wealth of Solomon did passe;
Ne'r was man master of a greater store:
He went beyond all Kings that went before.
Silver as stones, and purest gold as brasse,
Adorn'd Jerusalem: a glorious thing!
Yet death strikes into dust this wealthy King.

Meditation 1.

If 'gainst Death's stroke my riches cannot arm me,
Nor comfort me a jote when I am dying:
I'll take a care these witches do not harm me
Whilst I do live. I know they will be trying
To do me any mischief; as before
And now they mischief all the whole world o're.

Some riches hurt with that old sinne of pride:
Rich men extremely swell; most commonly
This sinne and wealth both in one house abide:
Poore men are loo'kd on with a scornfull eye.
Strangely is his heart puft up with pride's bellows
That hath a fatter fortune then his fellows.

His words are big, looks lofty, mind is high;
He with his purse will needs drive all before him:
He ever looks for the precedency;
And vext he is if men do not adore him:
He bears the sway: another man must be,
If not so rich, not half so good as he.

Some men wealth doth infect with churlishnesse:
They answer roughly: they are crabbed misers.
(Course bread yields hardest crust) This is a dresse
Wherewith wealth decks our accidentall risers.
Since Nabals death a thousand rich men be
In every point as very hogs as he.

Some wealth makes prodigalls: there's no excesse
But they runne into. Back and belly strive
Which shall spend most: belly, with drunkennesse
And gormandizing: back, for to contrive
New stuffs and fashions. This excessive crue
Have wayes to spend that Dives never knew.

Observe these Caterpillers: One man puts
Into his throat a cellar full of drink:
Another makes a shambles of his guts.
The back is not behind; you would not think,
How for themselves, and for their curious dames,
One suit of clothes a good fat manour lames.

Some wealth makes idle: like so many drones
They suck what others sweat for, and do hate
All good imployments. Many wealthy ones
Have neither callings in the Church nor State;
And during life do nothing day by day
But sit to eat and drink, and rise to play.

These mischiefs are in wealth and many more:
It throws men into many a foolish lust.
But if Gods bounty multiply my store,
I'll drain these vices from 't: For when I must
Grone on my death-bed, these sinnes will displease me
And fright my soul, but riches cannot ease me.

Lord, either keep me poore, or make me rich
In grace as well as goods: my wealth undresse
(If I have any) of those vices which
Are wont to clothe it; so shall I possesse
Riches without those sinnes that riches bring,
That when death comes they sharpen not his sting.

Meditation 2.

Though God doth blesse me all my time along
With best of blessings, make my courses thrive,
Fill full my garners, make my oxen strong
To labour; and although his bountie give
As much to me as to a thousand more;
Though I am rich and all my neighbours poore;

Though Fortune fanne me with a courteous wing;
Though gold be at my beck; though I have sail'd
With prosp'rous gales; though not an adverse thing
Did e're betide me; though I never fail'd
Of good successe in any undertaking:
Yet am I still one of the common making;

A piece of dust and clay: and I may go
Into my grave as soon's a poorer man.
Our mold's alike; God at first made us so:
He makes the rich mans life but like a span;
And so the beggers is; just both alike:
And both fall when impartiall Death doth strike.

When they are fallen both alike they lie;
Both breathlesse, noisome, livelesse, senselesse, cold:
Both like the grasse are withered, dead and drie;
And both of them are ghastly to behold.
The ods is this, The poore man 'mongst the croud
Of buried mortalls hath the coursest shroud.

Why sinne the foolish sonnes of men for gain?
Why doth the Land-lord rack? the Us'rer bite?
Why doth the Judge with bribes his conscience stain?
Why doth the bauling Lawyer take delight
In spinning causes to a needlesse length,
Untill his clients purse hath lost its strength?

Why are Gods Ministers become men-pleasers?
And why are Patrones simoniacall?
Why are our Advocates such nippy teasers
Of honest causes? why the devil and all
Do Misers scrape? and why do Tradesmen rear
Their price, yet sell time dearer then their ware?

Sure these bad courses cannot choose but hurt us;
They make Deaths looks more ghastly, and his sting
More piercing: but our wealth cannot support us
'Gainst smallest pains and fears that Death will bring.
Riches do promise much but do deceive us:
When we have need of succour then they leave us.

Anoint me, Lord, with eye-salve, to discern
What poore contents the world affords at best.
Instruct me, Lord, and I shall quickly learn
That without thee there's no condition blest.
Bad wayes of gaining into hell will drive me:
But all my wealth will not from Death reprive me.

Meditation 3.

Some therefore sinne because they do abound
In store of wealth: this is the onely ground
Of many sinnes. Gods laws they do transgresse;
They wrong their equals, and the poore oppresse;
They tread religion and civilitie
Both under foot; all kind of tyrannie

They exercise on all within their reach,
Nothing can keep them in; they make a breach
Through all those fenses which at the beginning
God set to keep rebellious man from sinning:
They will be revellers, whoremongers, swearers,
Drunkards, oppressours, liers, and forbearers
Of no impiety: this is the reason,
Great men they are, and rich. 'T is petty treason,
Though in a modest way, for to reprove
Those sinfull courses which our betters love.
If we dare do it, though we have a calling
To do it boldly, we are tax'd for bawling
And saucie fellows; and another day
Sure we shall smart for 't. Lord, I'll never say,
I'll sinne because I'm rich; unlesse that I
Could say, I'm rich, and therefore will not die.

Meditation 4.

If from Deaths stroke my riches cannot shield me,
Nor on my death-bed any comfort give;
Then I will take a care that they shall yield me
Some joy and comfort whilst I am alive,
And never shall a jote my sinnes increase,
Nor hinder me from going hence in peace.

I'll get them well: my calling shall be lawfull;
My brows or brains shall sweat for what I have:
And I will use my calling with an awfull
Regard of God and conscience; nor will crave
What I have not a right to. They do eat
Scarce their own bread whose faces never sweat

Unlesse they sweat with eating. Nor can I
Find any warrant for those wayes of gain
Which many men do get their livings by:
To keep a needlesse Alehouse to maintein
An idle familie: to be a Pander,
A Fortune-teller, or an Apes commander:

A purblind Crowder, or a Rogue that canteth;
A Cuckold by consent for ready pay:
A sturdy Begger that not one limb wanteth:
Or one that borrows money on the way:
A Us'rer, who whether 't shine or rain,
If the Sunne stand not still, is sure of gain.

For these I find no warrant: nor for dealing
Deceitfully in selling or in buying.
To take more then what's sold is worth, is stealing;
Or to give lesse: the art of multiplying
Our lands, or gold, or silver, by subtracting
From other mens, or by unjust exacting

What is not ours. Better (in my opinion)
It were to feed on barley-bread and pottage
Made of salt, water, and an onion:
To wear a thred-bare coat, and in a cottage
Smoke-bound and rusty pennylesse to dwell,
Then to get wealth unlesse I get it well.

And when 't is justly gotten, every thought
That I'll bestow upon it shall be such
As it deserves: If heav'ns full hand hath brought
Plenty into my bosome, if as much
I have as I could wish, my care shall be
To think of't all as of a vanity.

A vanity that, for ought I do know,
May take its flight and in an houre leave me.
As God had many wayes for to bestow
His bounty on me, he hath to bereave me
As many more: as moveables I'll deem it
From me, or with me; and I will esteem it

A strong temptation unto many a sinne,
That never will perform what it doth promise:
That wealths fair books when we are deepest in
The greater reck'ning God exacteth from us.
I'll not afford my wealth a better thought:
And I do think I think on 't as I ought.

And as I ought I'll use 't: Not to be fewel
For any lust, nor to maintein my riot;
Not to be prodigall, vainglorious, cruel;
Nor yet to make my potent purse disquiet
My poorer brother: but from thence I'll raise
My neighbours profit and my Makers praise.

Where there is need, I'll ready be to give,
Glad to distribute: naked ones I'll cover:
Hungry and thirsty souls I will relieve:
Widows distress'd in me shall find another
Husband: to orphanes I will be in stead
Of parents to provide their daily bread.

I'll never empty send the poore away:
The Church shall ever find my purse unty'd:
The King shall have his due without delay:
The Common-wealth shall never be deny'd.
Thus shall my wealth be common unto many,
If ever God be pleas'd to send me any.

Riches so justly gotten, and imploy'd
So piously, although they cannot make
A man immortall, that he should avoid
The grave and rottennesse; yet do not shake
The soul with terrours and such desperate fears,
As what's ill gotten doth, when Death appears.

Make me a faithfull Steward, holy Father,
Of what thou hast intrusted me withall.
Where I straw'd not grant I may never gather;
Nor sinne in spending: Then send Death to call
Me to account, Lord, when thou wilt, and I
Shall entertein the message joyfully.

Sect. 2. Honours cannot protect us from the stroke of Death.

Of honours all that can be said doth meet
In Kings and Princes; glory, majesty,
Command, and titles: yet their sacred feet
Trudge to the grave-ward. Power, Royaltie,
A Kingdome, Crown, and Sceptre cannot be
Protections against mortalitie.

Princes are Gods on earth; yet sure they must,
As well as meaner men, be sick and die:
Their Royall bodies shall be chang'd to dust:
No crown below is worn eternally.
Of all those Kings which in Gods book we reade
One died, and another reign'd in's stead.

If good and loyall subjects had their wish,
A gracious Prince should never see the grave;
Nor should his Royall corps be made a dish
For worms: but pious wishes will not save
A King from dust. As other mens, his breath
Is in his nostrils: Crowns must bow to Death.

Sure, were it not a kind of petty treason
To wish his Majesty so long without
A crown of glory, I should think it reason
To pray his lamp of life might ne'r go out.
Though not in's self, yet, Lord, grant he may be
Immortall in a blessed progenie.

Meditation 1.

'Mongst us an humble great one is a wonder
Rarer by ods then is a winters thunder.
Great men and good each other seldome kisse:
Pride to preferment's married. O! there is
Not a thought within their brain
Of a grave, nor yet of seeing
Death; nor do they dream of being
Changed into dust again.

Consider, Sir, though you have been a taster
Of Princes favours, mounted all degrees
Of honour; have been called, Lord, and Master;
Though your approch hath bow'd as many knees
As once mighty Hamans: yet
Is it not Eternity
That you hold your greatnesse by.
Death and you must one day meet.

As I remember, I have read a story,
That one in Embassy sent from the King
Of Persia to Rome, was shew'd the glory
Of that proud citie: every famous thing
That was by the Romanes thought
To expresse the great and mighty
Prowesse of their glorious city,
Thither was the Persian brought.

There he beheld such glorious structures, rais'd
To dare the skies, that outwent all examples;
Where art and cost workman and founder prais'd:
Baths, Theatres, Tombs, Monuments, and Temples,
Statues that would wonder-strike
Any mortall man that should
Once behold them; neither could
All the world shew the like.

After this view Romes mighty Emperour,
Longing for praises, in the Persian tongue
Demanded of this strange Embassadour
What he now thought of Rome. I should do wrong
To your sacred Majesty,
Thus th'Ambassadour reply'd,
And this glorious place beside,
If I should not magnifie

Both you and it. But one thing I dislike
In Rome it self: I see that Death doth reigne
As well here as in Persia, and doth strike
The greatest down, and when he please doth chain
People, Senatours and Kings
In cold fetters made of dust:
Even noble Romanes must
Feel what putrefaction brings.

Your Emperours themselves have had their turns
In fun'rall piles. These tombs can testify
The Cæsars mortall. In these sacred urns
What lies but royall dust? Mortality
Happens here: and I know no man
But hath power to hold his breath
As long, and is free from Death
As much as the noblest Romane.

Look we a little on this land of ours:
Here's plenty, peace and every other blessing.
Into her bosome God in plenteous showres
Rains kindnesses that are beyond expressing.
Sure we of this kingdome may
Justly our Creatour praise
For a share in happier dayes
Then Rome did at best enjoy.

Ours is a land of barly and of wheat:
Our stones are iron, and our hills yield brasse.
A land wherein th'inhabitants do eat
Bread without scarcenesse; here our blessings passe
All enumeration:
What God severally bestows
Upon others joyntly flows
From his bounty to this nation.

Yet here men die too: not the russet Clowns,
And Peasants onely that do hold the plow,
And Shepherds that sit piping on the downs,
And milk-maids that do court'sie to a cow;
But those noble men that have
Titles, lordships, farms and mannours,
And a great book full of honours:
These go down into the grave.

See you not yonder super-stately palace?
Three generations since that house was builded.
A great man did it for his Lordships solace
In summer-time; but dying up he yielded
To his heir this stately pile:
This heir left it to his brother;
He dy'd too: and then another
Swagger'd there a little while.

And he that had it last is now remov'd
A story lower down into the dust.
Those swelling titles which were so belov'd;
That great estate in which the man did trust;
Troups of gallants that did give
Their attendance; all that treasure
Waiting on his Lordships pleasure
Could not keep the man alive.

Mark yonder marble-tomb: beneath it hath
This man a lodging. All those lines you see
On this side are a praising Epitaph,
And on the other side his titles be.
Of this fabrick if we might
One piece from another sunder,
And behold what lyeth under,
'T would be scarce so fair a sight.

Great ones, remember that there is a place
Which poore men call a death-bed, and a time
Of parting hence; you walk a nimble pace
To earth-ward every houre. Here though you clime
Up to Honour's highest round,
Drink a cup full to the brim
Of the world, in pleasures swim,
Death will lay you under ground.

Meditation 2.

VVhose heart so adamantine but would weep
Sad crimson drops to think upon some risers?
Lord, what a wicked shuffling they do keep
To lift themselves! Some have been sacrificers
Of their fathers, brothers, friends,
Kinsfolk, children, and have stood
Wetshod every step in bloud,
To attein their lofty ends.

Of martyrs what a lamentable heap
Did Herod make for fear to loose his crown!
A mother would have sold a cradle cheap
To buy a coffin or a mourning gown.
This fell Tyrants rage appears
Running down each Parents face:
His wrath left in every place
Childlesse mothers drown'd in tears.

And Absolom, that miracle of beauty,
So eagerly did long to be a King,
That he could soon unlearn his filiall duty,
And by a strange rebellion fain would bring
The thrice-venerable head
Of his aged father down
To the grave without a crown,
And he triumph in his stead.

Abimelech, so strong was his ambition,
A bloudie bargain made with certain men
Of Belial, and to hinder competition
Did sacrifice at once threescore and ten
Of his brothers on a stone:
With so foul and deep a guilt
So much harmlesse bloud is spilt,
That himself may reigne alone.

Of that inhumane hell-bred tragedie
By Athaliah on the royall seed,
The motive was desire of majestie,
And that her own arms might the better speed.
Our third Richard goes for one
Of those butchers who think good
To cement their crowns with bloud,
And by murders reach a throne.

The great Turks absolute prerogative,
Which in securitie his crown mainteins,
Is not to suffer one of them to live
That hath a drop of royall bloud in's veins:
When he's crown'd there's nothing lacking
That may to the safetie tend
Of this Monarch, but to send
The ghosts of his kinsmen packing.

If I at leisure were to write a storie
Of such black deeds as these at large, I could
Tell you of numbers who to purchase glorie,
Honours and high rooms in the world, have sold
(And this policie they call)
A good conscience, dearer farre
Then a thousand kingdomes are,
And to boot their God and all.

And yet when all is done, there dwells a God above,
A God that's greater then the greatest are,
Who can and will send Death for to remove
The greatest hence, and bring them to the barre:
Where must stand both small and great,
To have sentence e'r they go
Of eternall blisse or wo
At Gods dreadfull judgement-seat.

When you are seated highest let your carriage
Be full of pietie: you do an act
Worthy your greatnesse if you make a marriage
'Twixt it and goodnesse, if you do contract
Honours unto holynesse.
Ever give the Lord his due
Honour who hath honoured you:
Then will Death affright the lesse.

Affright the lesse? 't will not affright at all.
The errand's welcome when a charge is giv'n
To that grim pursuivant that he must call
Your honours hence unto a court in heav'n.
To be great is not the thing
That can dying-comforts yield:
Goodnesse onely is the field
Whence all soul-refreshings spring.

Meditation 3.

If ever it should please God and the King
(Which I do not desire) to give me honours;
Yet never should my best preferments bring
Vices to boot: they should not change my manners.
Many a man hath been good
Unpreferr'd, and not a slave
To his lusts; yet honours have
Put him in another mood.

Of Saul we heare no evil whilst he stood
Endow'd with nothing but a private fortune:
And afterward we heare as little good
Of Saul a King: His honours did importune
His bad nature to produce
Such fruits as were too unfit
For a King, and to commit
Sinnes that were beyond excuse.

As long as man is limited within
The bounds of humble, base and mean estate,
He seems to make some conscience of a sinne,
And one that would be good at any rate:
But no wickednesse he spares
When (by chance) the man is mounted
And 'mongst great ones is accounted;
Then the man himself declares.

Then his depraved nature with loose rains
Runnes uncontrolledly into the mire
Of all impietie; no sinne remains
Unacted by him: doth he but desire
To be wicked, vain or idle,
Any lust to satisfie,
That lust he will gratifie:
His affections wear no bridle.

I'll never be deboist although my seat
Of glory in the world be ne'r so high:
I will not therefore sinne because I'm great;
For if I greater were, yet I must die,
And must at Gods bench appear,
Where my sentence shall be given
To receive a hell or heaven,
As my doings have been here.

Sect. 3. Pleasures cannot protect us from the stroke of Death.

Under the sunne there was not any joy
Which Solomon that wise and famous King
Had not a tast of: whatsoever may
Gladnesse, content, delight and solace bring,
That he from the creature gathers;
Not one pleasure doth he keep
His heart from: yet he's asleep
In the dust among his fathers.

His senses had those objects which delight,
Content, and please and ravish most his touch;
His tast, his hearing, smelling, and his sight,
His mind and humour too, all had as much
Of delicious satisfaction
As from all beneath the skie
Ever could be fetched by
Any possible extraction.

Three hundred concubines he had to please
His touch: by turns each of them was his guest
At night. Seven hundred wives beside all these;
The worst of them a Princesse at the least.
Such a female armie meets,
To make his delight run o'r.
Sure they are enough to store
Twice five hundred pair of sheets.

To please his tast this great Kings daily chear
Exceeded for varietie and plentie:
He had his Roe-buck and his Fallow-deer,
His fatted fowl, and everie other daintie.
He had palate-pleasing wine:
Gormandizers, whose best wishes
Terminate in toothsome dishes,
No where else would sup or dine.

And everie day both men and women-singers
Imprisoned his eare with charming voices:
The Viol touch'd with artificiall fingers,
An Organs breathing most melodious noises:
Sackbut, Psalterie, Recorder,
The shrill Cornet, and the sharp
Trumpet, Dulcimer and Harp;
These all sounded in their order.

And in his gardens he had lovely ranks
Of flowres for odour all sweets else excelling,
Whose beauteous lustre stellifi'd the banks;
All these were to delight his sense of smelling,
And perfumes of sweetest savour,
Which all other nations bring
As a present from their King
Who did woo his Princely favour.

For objects which were wont to please the eye,
He wanted none. Did he desire a sight
Of what might most affect? variety
Of lovely'st objects spangled with delight
Everiewhere themselves present:
Scarce did anywhere appear
Other objects then did wear
Outsides clothed with content.

Behold his thousand wives! If he would know
The height of beautie, it is seen in those.
A battel in a field of sanguine snow
Betwixt the spotlesse lilie and the rose:
Part they would on no condition,
Nor would either of them yield;
Yet at length are reconcil'd,
And there made a composition.

His gorgeous clothes, his silver and his gold,
His jewels, his incomparable treasure
Were all of them delightsome to behold,
And gave the eye a glorious glut of pleasure.
His friends, his magnificent
Buildings, fish-ponds, gardens, bowers
Interlac'd with gallant flowers
Gave both eye and mind content.

Yet he's dead. Delights cannot protect us
From Deaths assaults; pleasures eternize not
Our nature: yea, when sicknesse shall deject us
They will not ease nor comfort us a jote.
What doth most exactly please us
Here appears not where a grave is;
And what most of all doth ravish
On a death-bed will not ease us.

Meditation 1.

Methinks the trade of brainlesse Epicures
Is not so good as it doth seem to be.
The sweetest cup of luxury procures
No man below an immortalitie.
Yea, when sicknesses do lay
Him upon his bed, and strain
Everie part with deadly pain,
All his pleasures flie away.

Let's put the case there was a belly-god,
Whose studie 't was to give his throat content;
To sacrifice to's panch both rost and sod
Was his religion. Every element
Its imployment had: The Waters,
Fruitfull Earth and nimble Air,
Ransack'd with a costly care,
For fish, flesh and fowl, were caters:

The other cook'd it. This luxurious race
Did breath his stomach twice a day at least;
And each dish floted in provoking sawce,
Which still afresh his appetite increas'd.
From Dives that's now in hell,
For a table full of rare,
Toothsome and delicious fare,
This man bears away the bell.

Well; this fat hog of Epicurus stie
Falls sick of surfeting, or else the gout
Or dropsie gripes him most tormentingly,
That you would think his soul were going out.
Pains do hinder him from sleeping,
He lies restlesse, and is so
Full of tossings to and fro
That his house is fill'd with weeping.

His servants, seeing him so out of quiet,
Sadly bespoke him thus, Sir, here's a Phesant,
A dish of Partridge, Larks, or Quails, (a diet
Your Worship loves) a cup of rich and pleasant
Wine that comforts where it goes,
Muscadine, Canarie, Sherrie,
That hath often made you merrie:
This may ease you of your throes.

The man repli'd, If I had wine by ods
Better then nectar, which the poets feigne
Was drunk in goblets by the heathen Gods,
It would not ease me of my smallest pain.
Should God rain me from the skies
Manna, glorious Angels food,
'T would not do me any good:
'Gainst it would my stomachrise

There was another that plac'd no delight
In any thing but wealth; his chiefest good
Was purest gold: whether 't were wrong or right
He would be gaining: for he never stood
Upon conscience at all.
And to cry down avarice,
As he thought, was a device
Merely puritanicall.

To lie, to cheat, to swear, and, which is worse,
To forswear, to dissemble in his dealing,
Went ever down with him as things of course:
Nor would he slack a jote at down-right stealing.
Blind he was not; yet he saw
Not that statute-usury
Was at all forbidden by
Any part of morall law.

'T was fish whatever came within his net:
Sweet smell'd the dunghill that affoorded gain.
On such a thriving pinne his heart was set,
No thoughts but golden lodged in his brain.
Scraping thus early and late,
And increasing by these bad
Wayes and means, at length he had
Heaped up a vast estate.

They say a Turkish Musulman, that dies
A faithfull servant unto Mahomet,
Shall presently enjoy a paradise
Of brave delights indeed: The place is set
All about with glorious matters;
There are rivers, pleasant benches
Straw'd with flowres, & gallant wenches
That have eyes as broad as platters,

And many other joyes as good as these.
But all are bables to that strong content
Wherewith the man we told you of doth please
Himself in his estate: More merriment
In the images of Kings
Doth he find then six or seven
Martyr'd Turks do in their heaven.
Hearken how the miser sings;

I'll eat, drink, and play,
And I'll freely enjoy
My pleasures before I am old;
I'll be sorie no more,
For my soul hath in store
Abundance of silver and gold.

In this day and night
Will I place my delight;
It shall fatten my heart with laughter.
No man shall excell me;
For who is 't can tell me
What pleasures there will be hereafter?

His irreligious song was hardly ended,
When at his gate was heard one softly knocking:
It was that Tyrant Death, who came attended
With troups of griping throes; all these came flocking
Round about this golden fool.
As the issue did assure us,
God had sent these ghastly Furies
For to take away his soul.

Alas, Sir, said his servants what may be
The cause you send us out such wofull grones?
How fell you into such an agonie?
What ails your throat, your head, your heart, your bones
Or your stomach, or your brains,
That you howl so? here before you
Is that which must needs restore you,
And ease your extremest pains.

Here's gold and silver and as stately stuff
As England, Scotland, France, or Ireland yields:
Of jewels and of plate you have enough:
Of any man you have the fruitfull'st fields.
Fattest oxen throng your stall;
Tenants tumble in your rent:
Those to whom you mony lent
Bring both use and principall.

This cannot chuse but comfort. But the man,
That lay upon his easelesse death-bed sprawling,
Made this replie, If any of you can
By marks infallible make sure my calling
To my soul, and my election;
If from any text divine
You could prove that Christ is mine,
This would be a good refection.

Or if you could assure my parting ghost
Of seeing God to all Eternitie,
Of being one amongst that heavenly host
Whose blisse it is to praise him endlessely;
This were comfort that accordeth
With his case that is distrest
As now I am, but the rest
On a death-bed none affoordeth.

There was another man whose occupation
Was to passe time away: he made a trade
Of that which men do call a recreation:
He was indeed a very merry blade.
Taverns, bowling-alleys, playes,
Dauncing, fishing, fowling, racing,
Hawking, hunting, coursing, tracing,
Took up all his healthfull dayes.

But on a time a sudden sicknesse came,
And seised him in each extremer part,
(This grudging did begin to spoil his game)
But at the length it fast'ned on his heart;
There it plung'd him wofully,
And forthwith the man is led
Home and laid upon his bed:
Think him now at point to die.

A little after came into the room
A gallant troup of necessarie stuff,
His coachman, falconer, huntsman, page, and groom,
His mistresse with her hands both in a muff,
Sorie all to see him so.
But see how these fools invent
To give a sick man content,
And to ease him ere they go.

One breaks a jest, another tells a tale;
One strikes the lute, another sings a dittie;
(But neither of them pray to God at all)
Another tells what news is in the citie:
Everie man is in his vein,
And all jointly do contrive
Pleasant passages to drive
Out of doore their masters pain.

They ask'd him if he pleas'd to take the air,
Or call for's coach and ride to see a play.
And whether he would hunt the buck or hare,
Or to a tavern go to drive away
Or to drown times tediousnesse,
Or else to a tennis-court
Whither gallants do resort,
Or else play a game at chesse.

The man reply'd, Ye know I must be gone
The way of all, I cannot tell how soon;
And I have other things to think upon:
Already it is with me afternoon;
Erelong my declining sunne
Needs must set. Oh! my life hangs
On a thred: these mortall pangs
Crack it. Out my glasse is runne.

Time was I doted on these idle toyes:
Now can they not a dram of comfort yield.
Too late I see they are death-bed joyes,
No refuge from soul-vexing storms, no shield
When a mortall blow is given.
Prate no more: let not a man
Open's mouth unlesse he can
Tell me how to get to heaven.

There was another that for nothing car'd
(It was a woman) but for vain excesse
In bravery of clothes; no cost was spar'd,
Nor art, nor care, that served to expresse
To the full a female pride:
But at length it came to passe
That this spruce and gallant lasse
Fell extremely sick and di'd.

But I must tell you, that, whilst like a lion
Pains tore her bones in pieces, ere she sent
Her last breath out, (imagine her of Sion
A matchlesse daughter) to her chamber went,
Weeping ripe, her good handmaiden,
Purposing as much as may be
To chear up her dying Ladie:
For with comforts was she laden.

Thus she began, and spake it with a grace,
Be comforted, good Madame, never let
A little sicknesse spoil so good a face;
Your Ladyship cannot so soon forget
Your contents. If ever any
Gentlewoman liv'd that might
Find materialls of delight,
You, good Madame, have as many.

Here for your feeet are tinkling ornaments;
Here are your bonnets, and your net-work-cauls,
Fine linen too that every eye contents,
Your head-bands, tablets, eare-rings, chains, and falls,
Your nose-jewels, and your rings,
Your hoods, crisping-pinnes, & wimples,
Glasses that bewray your pimples,
Vails, and other pretty things:

Here are your dainty mantles, and your sutes
Of changeable apparel, and your tires
Round like the moon, your bracelets, (finger-fruits)
Of busie houres) mufflers, and golden wires;
And so many more that no man
Can repeat nor yet remember
From October to September:
This would comfort any woman.

Suppose her, if you will, an English Lady;
And think you heare her waiting-gentlewoman
Bespeak her thus, Madame, here is a gawdy
And glorious shew, (these fashions are not common.)
Here's your beaver and your feather,
Here are silver-ribband knots,
Trunks full of rich riding-coats,
Gallant shelters 'gainst the weather.

Here are your holland and your cambrick-smocks,
Your gowns of velvet, satten, taffatie,
Irons to curvifie your flaxen locks,
And spangled roses that outshine the skie:
For your head here's precious geere,
Bonelace-cros-cloths, squares & shadows,
Dressings, which your Worship made us
Work upon above a yeare.

Rich chains of pearl to tie your hair together,
And others to adorn your snowie breast;
Silk stockings, starre-like shoes of Spanish leather:
And that which farre excelleth all the rest
And begets most admiration,
Of your clothes is not their matter,
Though the world affords not better,
But it is their Frenchest fashion.

Madame, believe 't, the fairest of the Graces
Subscribes to you. Whenever you appear
Adorned with your gold and silver-laces,
Your presence makes the greedi'st eye good chear.
This consideration
In time past was wont to please you:
Now then, Madame, let it ease you
And afford you consolation.

The dying woman, when this speech was done,
After a grone or two made this replie,
Doth such a curtain-lecture suit with one
That everie houre doth look when she should die?
'T is not congruous. Wer'st thou able
My poore naked soul to dresse
With a Saviours righteousnesse,
This indeed were comfortable:

But all the rest is not. Oh! how I grieve
To think upon my former vanitie:
Alas, I feel these toyes cannot relieve,
Nor ease, nor comfort. Thus let luxurie
Pitch on what it will, its joyes
Are but painted, nor can bring us
Ease when pangs of Death do wring us,
Much lesse can they make our dayes

Eternall here. Thy servant, Lord, beseecheth
The presence of thy spirit that discovers
How vain that carnall joy is which bewitcheth
With pleasant poison all her sottish lovers.
Let not earth-delights forestall me:
Help thy servant to provide
Pleasures that will then abide
When thou sendest Death to call me.

Meditation 2.

Farewell those pleasures which the creatures breed:
These carnall comforts shall be none of mine;
They slink away in time of greatest need:
I'll get me comforts that are more divine,
Such as God provideth for us
By his Spirit and in his word:
They are such as will afford
Joy unspeakable and glorious.

Unsanctified palates cannot find
A relish in Gods service: 't is their follie
That nothing in it suiteth with their mind,
That they account religion melancholie.
And the cause of their misprision
Is because they cannot see
Things divine; for yet they be
In their naturall condition.

But sanctified souls have better eyes.
Each Person in the sacred Trinitie
Sends comfort down, and such as farre outvies
The best delight that is below the skie.
Father, Sonne, and holy Ghost,
Be it spoke with reverence,
Seem to strive which shall dispense
Blessings that do comfort most.

The Father, as his title often writes
Himself a God of peace and consolation,
He sends me comforts by those sacred lights
Which bring me errands from his habitation:
And so firm and full and free
Is each promise in his book,
That on whichsoe'r I look
Blessed comforts I do see:

So firm, that first the hugest hills and mountains
Shall dance out of their places, starres shall fall,
Streams shall run backward to their mother-fountains,
The earth shall tumble, ere he will recall
One of's promises: For why,
(And this gives strong consolation
In the middest of temptation)
He's a God, and cannot lie.

So full, that there's not any thing left out
That I could wish. What I would have him be
God is. Would I be compassed about
With mercie? find relief in miserie?
Would I by his Spirit be led?
And have all my sinnes forgiven?
And hereafter go to heaven?
All this God hath promised.

So free, that to deserve that promis'd glory
I nothing have but what his mercie gave me:
'T is gratis rather then compensatorie
Whatever God doth to convert or save me.
And if any good I do,
'T is done by supplies Divine;
So Gods work and none of mine:
Grace begins and ends it too.

What if by nature I was made a sheep,
And by corruption I am gone astray,
Whether I think, or speak, or do, or sleep,
Or wake, do ever wander from the way
I was set in, and am toss'd
So by lust that my soul wanders
Into many by-meanders,
Like a sillie sheep that's lost?

Yet God's my shepherd: When his mercy spi'd me
Wandring it brought me home; and ever since
It doth watch over, feed, defend, and guide me,
And ever will do so till I go hence:
And hereafter in the even,
When my latest sand is runne,
And my pasture here is done,
It will fold my soul in heaven.

The Sonne doth comfort. 'T was his errand down
To preach glad tidings to the meek, and turn
Their wo to ease; to earn a glorious crown
For sinners, and to comfort those that mourn;
Broken-hearted ones to bind,
And to set at libertie
Pris'ners in captivitie,
And give eye-sight to the blind.

There's comfort in his wounds: His sacred stripes
Do heal our leprous souls of all their sores:
'T is nothing but his pretious bloud that wipes
Our guilt away and cancelleth our scores.
Six times did he shed his bloud,
(And sure our estate did need it
That so many times he did it)
And each drop was for our good.

Those circumcision-drops of's infancie,
Those drops that's anguish in the garden vented,
Those drops when he was scourged Jewishly,
Those drops when's head with sharpest thorns was tented,
Those drops when his limbs were nailed
To the crosse, those when the fierce
Souldiers spear his side did pierce;
Each drop for our good prevailed.

There's comfort in his crosse: That vile old man
That hangs about us to our dying day
Is crucified with him that it can
Not exercise half of its wonted sway:
Lessened is its kingly power.
Surely sinne, it struggles so,
Hath receiv'd a mortall blow,
And is dying everie houre.

There's comfort in his death: For us he dy'd,
For us he felt his Fathers heavie wrath,
And his impartiall justice satisfi'd,
And us his alsufficient passion hath
Pluck'd from Satan vi & armis,
And his meritorious pain
Freed us from sinnes guilt and stain,
And whatever else might harm us.

There's comfort in his resurrection too.
He rose again that we might be accounted
Righteous and just, (This no man else could do)
And that our sinnes, whose number farte surmounted
All the starres that shine in heaven,
All our hairs, and all the sand
That lies scattered on the strand,
For his sake might be forgiven.

And God the holy Ghost doth comfort bring:
By speciall office it is his imployment
To settle in the soul a lively spring,
From whence doth issue such a sweet enjoyment
Of divine, heart-pleasing blisse,
As the world will not believe,
Nor can any heart conceive
But the heart wherein it is.

It is this blessed Spirit that doth seal
Assurance to my conscience of a share
In what God, in and through his Sonne, doth deal
To needy sinners that converted are.
It assures me of Gods love
In the free and full remission
Of my sinnes, and exhibition
Of those joyes that are above.

Let now the world, that's wont to tell a storie
Of strange delights, shew me but such a pleasure,
As to be sure of God, and Christ, and glory,
And then I'll hug it as my choicest treasure.
Thus each Person of the three
Is imploy'd (if I do live
Holy as I ought) to give
Joy and comfort unto me.

Grant a man once to be in Christ, and he
On sublunarie pleasures soon will trample;
And yet for pleasures, who shews best, will vie
With all the world: give him but one example,
What gets pleasure, and what feeds it;
Whatsoe'r 'mongst earthly things
To the mind most pleasure brings;
He can shew what farre exceeds it.

Can learning please? he is a man of parts.
Me thinks sure at his very fingers end
He hath exactly all the liberall arts;
At least he hath such arts as will commend
Any man a great deal more,
And will sooner bring to heaven,
Then will any of those seven
On which learned men do pore.

His Logick is so scientificall,
His Syllogismes are in so blest a mood,
A thousand arguments his heart lets fall
That rightly from good premises conclude
Him a child of God on high,
And a member of his Sonne,
And an heir, when's race is runne,
Of a blest Eternitie.

His Rhetorick excells. He can perswade
More then those well-penn'd sweet orations which
Demosthenes or Tullie ever made.
Doth he that prayer-hearing God beseech?
Presently his eare he gains.
For fine words it is no matter:
Let him like a swallow chatter
Or a crane, yet he obtains.

And for Arithmetick; his numeration
Is of his dayes: this makes the man applie
His heart to wisdome, that in any station
He may perform his dutie prudently.
And those sinnes, to make them hatefull,
Which his conscience most do cumber
Everie day the man doth number;
And Gods blessings, to be gratefull.

And for Addition; 't is his diligence
Vertue to adde to faith; to vertue, knowledge;
Love, godlinesse, peace, kindnesse, patience,
One to another: that his soul's a Colledge
Filled with divinest graces:
And not one grace idle lies,
But all do their exercise
In their severall turns and places.

When he subtracteth, 't is not from the poore,
As most men do, not from the King nor Church;
But from sinnes monstrous bodie. More and more
He weakens the old man that lies at lurch
In each of his faculties,
And his master-sinne, the strongest
Lust that hath been harboured longest
In his soul he mortifies.

He multiplies not, as in many places
Men do, his riches; but he multiplies
And doth augment his saving gifts and graces,
If not in habit yet in exercise.
He divides his goods, he feedeth
Hungrie bellies, and relieveth
Such as are distress'd, and giveth
Unto everie one that needeth.

When he reduceth, 't is his conversation
In ev'rie point from what it was by nature:
He moulds his life into another fashion,
And shews himself to be a new-made creature.
And for such a mans Progression;
He's not fixed in his place
Like a statue, but in grace
Grows to credit his profession.

He ever worketh by the Rule of Three
That do above in heaven bear record.
The Golden Rule, whereby his actions be
Squar'd and directed, is their written word.
Though sometimes he work by Fractions,
Gives God broken services,
'Cause he's flesh in part; yet is
He sincere in all his actions.

And for a pious mans Astronomie;
What if he cannot tell the sev'rall motions
Those orbs have which do roll about the skie?
Starres names, site, bignesse, and such other notions?
What if he know not how soon
The sunne will eclipsed be?
Nor hath wit enough to see
The new world that's in the moon?

Yet he doth know the milkie way that leads
Unto the palace of the highest King:
Whose presence the whole host of heaven dreads,
Who made the starres, the spheres, and everie thing;
Steers the course that each orb runnes,
Binds starres influence, looseth the bands
Of Orion, and his hands
Guide Arcturus with his sonnes.

For Geometrie; what if he cannot tell
How many miles the vast earth is about?
Yet doth his pious art by farre excell
In finding many greater matters out:
Matters that exceed the strength
Of best wits, the full extension
Of Christ's love in each dimension,
Height, and depth, & breadth, & length.

For Grammar; he can wickednesse decline.
His supernaturall Philosophie
Is wisdome to salvation. Most divine
His musick is: That God that dwells on high
Is pleas'd with no other tone.
There is nothing he can heare
Makes such musick in his eare
As a sanctified grone.

For Physick; his most admirable knowledge
Hath found out a Catholicon. (This ranks
His skill deservedly above the Colledge,
Above French or Italian mountebanks.)
There's no sicknesse, he is sure,
Be it ne'r so strong or foul,
That affecteth any soul,
But the bloud of Christ can cure.

The greatest Clerk is but a learned fool,
If's learning be not mixt with godlinesse.
The greatest Scholar's he that goes to school
To learn of Christ the wayes of holinesse.
Thus if learning be a treasure
That doth please, or skill in arts,
Or to be a man of parts;
He that's holy finds this pleasure.

Doth toothsome and delicious chear delight?
The godly have it once a week at least.
Our bounty-handed Saviour doth invite
His servants to a rich and sumptuous feast,
Where his own self is our server;
Such a feast of fattest things
As if all the guests were Kings:
Where faith may be her own carver.

Do riches please? A godly mans estate
Surpasseth that of Crœsus: he hath more
Then out of Christ is had at any rate.
God hath endow'd him with a blessed store
Better then a heap of gold,
Which nor thief, nor moth, nor rust,
Can steal, eat, or turn to dust:
His are bags that ne'r wax old.

Gods rich and precious promises are his,
Which by a precious faith he makes his own:
Gods richest mercy; there's no wealth like this:
Christs precious bloud, whereof a drop alone
Was of higher valuation
Then all men and Angels be,
Or what e'r the sunne did see
Ever since the first creation.

Doth rich apparel please? Christs righteousnesse
Clothes all his members to conceal their shame.
Ne'r was Kings daughter in so pure a dresse,
Unlesse she were adorned with the same.
'T is a robe that God doth please:
Angels that on God do wait,
And ne'r lost their first estate,
Are not cloth'd like one of these.

For all delights, the cheating world hath none
So good by half 'mongst all her painted store
As those the soul finds in religion:
With purest joy the pious heart runnes o'r.
Let the world diversifie
Her delights a thousand wayes,
Yet they come short of those joyes
That are found in pietie.

When I must die, my joy that's naturall
Forsaketh me; that which is secular
Takes leave assoon as ever Death doth call;
Joyes that were criminall converted are
Into most tormenting fears:
Onely that which is divine
On a Death-bed will be mine.
And what if when Death appears

It cannot shield me from that fatall blow?
(I would not it should do me so much wrong:
For if I were immortall here below
I were not happie) yet 't will go along
With me when I do depart.
Carnall joyes, Lord, from me banish,
Let divine delights replenish
Ev'rie corner of my heart.

Sect. 4. Friends cannot protect us from the stroke of Death.

If I were great, rich, prosperous, secure,
Successefull in the world, I should be sure
That more time-servers would my friendship woo,
Then I could reckon in a yeare or two.
As greedie Eagles to a carcase hasten,
And with sharp tallons on their prey do fasten;
So would they flock about me. Or if I
Could learn the art of popularity,
I might be rich in friends, yet all my store
Would not know how to keep Death out of doore.

Meditation 1.

Of Proteus 't is fained that he could
Transform himself to any kind of shape:
Into a Dove, or Lamb, and when he would,
Into a Tiger, Lion, Bear, or Ape,
Or a Mountain, Rock, or Spring,
Or Earth, Water, Fire, Air,
Into any forms that are
Stampt in any kind of thing.

And Aristippus could exactly flatter:
He had the art of winning gainfull friends,
And, that his fortune might be made the fatter,
Had all behaviours at his fingers ends.
He could grone when's friend was sickly,
And could weep when he was sad:
Any humour, good or bad,
Did become him very quickly.

Did I believe that metempsychosis
Pythagoras did dream of, I should swear
That Proteus ghost to this day neither is
In hell nor yet in heaven, but doth wear
Now a body, and the base
Ghost of Aristippus dwells
In a thousand bodies; else
How could thousands have the face

To personate so many humours? act
So many parts at once, and balk no sinne?
Yea, perpetrate with ease the basest fact
That hell e'r punished, to wind them in-
to great friendships, though they misse
Heavens favour, all the while
Dreaming that a great mans smile
Is on earth the onely blisse?

And yet when that last enemie shall come
And grind their aching bones with griping throes,
To bring their bodies to their longest home,
There's not a man 'mongst all their friends that knows
How to take away their pain.
In comes ghastly Death among
The midst of that friendly throng,
And turns them to dust again.

Meditation 2.

There's none among the sacred troup of Saints
Yet militant below but doth desire
Gods favour most, and most of all laments
When it is lost, and alway sets a higher
Estimate upon the rayes
That are darted from above
By the God of peace and love,
Then on all he here enjoyes.

Ne'r doth the chased hart in hottest weather,
When horse and hound pursue him o'r the plains,
And hunt him sweating twentie miles together,
That all his bloud is boil'd within his veins,
When he's to the hardest driven,
Pant so much for water-brooks,
As a soul deserted looks
For a kind aspect from heav'n.

Once did Elias zealous prayers climb
To heav'n, and made the windows there so fast
(This came to passe in wicked Ahabs time)
That one and twentie months twice told were past
E'r there fell a showre of rain
Or a drop of morning dew:
In the meadows nothing grew,
Nor was any kind of grain

Fed by the parched mold. How do ye think
That thirstie, drie, and barren land did yawn
And gape to heav'n-ward for a draught of drink?
Just so, whene'r Gods favour is withdrawn
From a soul, it doth distresse her.
Ne'r earth thirsted more for rain,
Then doth she for God again
To relieve her and refresh her.

Have you not seen a mothers wofull tears
Embalm the carcase of her onely sonne?
How to all comfort she stops both her eares,
Wrings both her hands, and makes a bitter moan?
Fain in sorrow would she swim,
Or be drown'd, it is so deep:
She hath heart enough to weep
Heaven full up to the brim.

But this is nothing to that matchlesse anguish
That breaks in pieces ev'rie pious heart,
And makes the soul with darkest sadnesse languish,
If from 't a sense of Gods good will depart.
O how strangely David's troubled
When God hid away his face!
(Though but for a little space)
See how his complaints are doubled.

How long? for ever, Lord, wilt thou forget me?
How long wilt thou thy gratious visage hide?
How long be angrie? wilt thou never let me
Enjoy thy face again? shall I abide
Thus for evermore bereft
Of all comfort, joy, and peace?
Shall my soul ne'r dwell at ease?
Hast thou, Lord, no mercy left?

O once again be pleas'd to turn, and give
My soul a relish of thy wonted grace:
There's nothing can my sadded heart relieve,
If thou dost hide thy comfortable face.
Thou in tears thy servant drown'st,
Thou dost fill my cheeks with furrows
And my soul with ghastly sorrows,
Whensoever, Lord, thou frown'st.

The world doth value at a precious rate
Things here below. Some highly prize their sport;
Some, jewelss some, a plentifull estate;
And some, preferments in a Princes court:
But for lifes we so esteem it
Above whatsoe'r is best,
That with losse of all the rest
We are ready to redeem it.

But none of these Gods children do regard
So much as Gods love by a thousand parts:
Feel they but this, to entertein 't is spar'd
The best and highest room in all their hearts.
They affect no wordly pelf
In comparison of this
Kindnesse; yea, to them it is
Better farre then life it self.

Have they no reason for this eager thirst
After Gods love and friendship? sure they see
Gods favour and his kindnesse is the first
And chiefest good: all other friendships be
Most deceitfull, trustlesse, vain.
When the pangs of Death do seise us
Mortall favours cannot ease us:
God can rid us of our pain.

But grant he do not, yet these pains shall send
Our souls to him that loves us, to enjoy
A painlesse life that ne'r shall see an end,
He whom God loves can on a death-bed say,
I know my Redeemer liveth;
For me there's laid up a crown:
When this clay-built house is down
God a better mansion giveth.

I'll never woo the smile of man, whose breath
Is in his nostrils, by sinister wayes;
'T will not advantage at the houre of Death:
All my supportment on these carnall stayes
At the length will but deceive me.
'T is to have a friend above,
'T is Gods favour and his love,
Or else nothing, must relieve me.

Lord, make thy graces in my soul appear;
My heart from ev'rie lothsome blemish cleanse,
That I may clearly see thine image there;
For that's an undeceived evidence
Of thy favour: which when I
Once am certain to obtein,
I'll not faint for any pain,
Nor will care how soon I die.

Sect. 5. Youth cannot protect us from the stroke of Death.

A young man may die, but an old man must;
This may die quickly, that cannot live long:
Often are graves fill'd full with youthfull dust.
Though youth be jocund, lustie, merrie, strong,
Yet is it subject unto Death-bed-pains;
'T is mortall bloud that runnes along their veins.

In all appearance old mens halting feet are
Mov'd to the grave-ward with the greatest speed,
(Like that disciples which did outrunne Peter)
But sometimes younger men step in indeed:
And peradventure twentie years or more
Sooner then those that looked in before.

Graves gape for ev'rie sort: The butcher's seen
Often to kill the youngest of the flock.
Some long to pluck those apples that are green:
Death crops the branches and forbears the stock.
Children are wrapp'd up in their winding-sheets,
And aged parents mourn about the streets.

Jobs children di'd before himself: for after
The death of ten he liv'd to get ten other.
We sigh out, Ah my sonne! or, Ah my daughter!
As oft as, Ah my father, or my mother!
The first that ever di'd resign'd his breath
Nine hundred yeares before his fathers death.

Yea, many times, Deaths gripings are so cruel,
Before the groning mothers child-birth-pain
Is past, the infant's buri'd; like a jewel
But shewn and presently shut up again,
Perhaps within a minute after birth
Is forthwith sent to cradle in the earth.

Perhaps he is not born at all, yet dies,
And dies a verie thriftie Death: to save
Fun'rall expenses he in's mother lies
Entombed, both lodg'd in a single grave:
And with him lies in one poore narrow room
His swadling-clouts, nurse, mother, cradle, tomb.

Meditation 1.

Some sinnes there be (as holy writ doth teach)
That interrupt the current of our dayes:
He that's found gultie of them cannot reach
That length of life which he that's free enjoyes.
Sinne (you know) and Death are twins,
Or Death is Sinnes progeny.
Many of us if we die
In our youth may thank our sinnes.

One sinne is disobedience to that pair
Which did beget us. If I shall despise
My parents lawfull precepts, if my care
Be not to do what's pleasing in their eyes,
If I willingly neglect
Any thing which I do know
Is a duty that I ow,
I may Death betimes expect.

Another sinne is unprepar'd receiving
That blessed Supper which doth feed and heal,
And in and to a soul that is believing
A full release of sinnes doth freely seal:
Where that body and that bloud
Is presented on the table,
Which are infinitely able
To do hungri'st sinners good.

If I come hither an unworthie guest;
Or if before my heart I do not prove;
Or if I come as to a common feast;
Or come without Thanks, Knowledge, Faith, and Love:
If I carrie any crime
Thither with me unlamented,
Or go ere I have repented,
Death may take me hence betime.

Another is Bloud-thirstinesse: when we
To do a mischief are so strongly bent
That we sleep not unlesse our projects be
Contrived to insnare the innocent:
When we are so like the Devil,
Everie way satanicall,
That tongue, brains, heart, hands, and all
Are imploy'd in what is evil.

These sinnes and others like them do procure
Untimely Deaths. Lord, purifie my heart
From everie sinne; but chiefly, Lord, secure
My soul from these, that I may not depart
Hence too soon. Lord, my desire
Is not to live long; but I
Onely pray that I may die
In thy favour not thine ire.

Meditation 2.

There is a sinne that seldome doth escape
A rich mans heir, (yet 't is a foul transgression)
For parents Death with open mouth to gape,
That their estates may come to his possession.
He gapes that his friends may sleep:
Parentalia are rites
Verie welcome: he delights
At a fathers grave to weep.

Poore hare-brain'd fool! Perhaps thou may'st go first:
This night thy younger soul may be requir'd;
Thy Death may frustrate that ungodly thirst:
Whose then is that estate thou hast desir'd?
If these gallants were not blind,
Sure they could not choose but see
That a thousand children be
Dead, their parents left behind.

Of any kind of sinne (to speak the truth)
That Satan can beget upon the soul,
Most commonly man's guilti'st in his youth:
Our youthfull nature is beyond controll.
Some examples are afforded,
In whose historie appears
Loosenesse in our yonger years:
These the Scriptures have recorded.

The verie first that e'r suck'd mothers teat,
Because his works were naught, his brothers good,
Did boil his choler to so strong a heat
That he must slake it in his brothers bloud.
How much rancour did he show
So much harmlesse bloud to spill,
And a quarter-part to kill
Of all mankind at a blow?

Unnaturall, accursed, gracelesse Cham
Never did grieve, nor sigh, nor blush, but he
Laugh'd at and mock'd his drunken fathers shame.
(A sober fathers curse his portion be.)
Prophane Esau did make sale
Of's birthright for's bellie-full;
As 'mongst us there's many a gull
That sells heaven for pots of ale.

And Absalom was most deform'd within;
His head-piece had more hair then wit by ods:
His beautie went no deeper then his skinne;
He fear'd not mans law nor regarded Gods.
In him David had a sonne
Beastly and ambitious too:
He did wrong his bed, and do
What he could to steal his throne.

Incestuous Amnon dotes upon his sister,
And in his own bloud cools his lawlesse fires.
That brother should have sinn'd that had but kiss'd her,
If mov'd unto it by unchast desires:
But he makes a rape upon her,
And so furious is his lust
That it cannot hold but must
Rob a virgin of her honour.

And I could tell you of a number more
Most sinfull, vitious, vile, exorbitant,
Whose courses are upon the Scriptures score,
As if their youth had sealed them a grant
To be neither wise nor holy,
But to runne into excesse
Of all kind of wickednesse,
And do homage unto follie.

The sage Gymnosophists, who first did give
The wilder Indians good and wholesome laws:
The Magi, by whom Persia learn'd to live
In order: the Chaldei, whose wise laws
The Assyrians justly rul'd
And did guide in everie thing:
Numa, Romes devoutest King,
Who the elder Romanes school'd:

That famous Solon, whom th'Athenians ow
For all their statutes: and Lycurgus, he
Whose wisdome taught the Spartanes how to know
What to omit and do: and more there be
That have publish'd wholesome laws
To curb all indeed; but yet
Chiefly 't was to put a bit
In mens wild and youthfull jaws.

It is a signe that colt is wild that needs
So strong a bridle. Ground that doth require
So much manuring sure is full of weeds.
It is because she wallows in the mire
That we need to wash a sow.
Men in youth must needs be bad,
To curb whom those laws were made
Which we told you of but now.

'T was a commanded custome that the Jews
Should once in ev'rie two and fiftie weeks
Visit their temple; no man might refuse
To worship there. Each fourth year the Greeks
Their Olympian sacrifice
Orderly performed: and
Th'Egyptians us'd to stand
Lifting up devoutest eyes

Unto their Idole ev'ry seventh yeare
Within th'appointed temple. And 't is said
Once in ten years the Romanes did appear
To sacrifice: then was Apollo paid
His great Hecatomb, and then
Unto Delphos many went
With their gifts, for thither sent
Presents ev'rie sort of men.

And of the Samnites authours do relate,
That th'ancient'st of them did most solemnly
Once in five years their Lustra celebrate:
But 't is delivered by Antiquitie
That the youth of all these nations
Strictly all commanded were
To these places to repair
Oftner to make their oblations.

What doth this intimate, but that the crimes
Of youth are great and frequent, and their vices
Exorbitant, that they so many times
Have need to purge them by such sacrifices?
By experience we do find
What bad courses men do follow
In their youth, and how they wallow
In base lusts of ev'rie kind.

And if you ask these brainlesse hot-spurres why
They dedicate themselves to such lewd courses;
They yet are young, these gallants still replie,
And youth must have its swing: but no remorse is
Wrought at all in any heart
For this lewdnesse; there remains
Not a thought within their brains,
That the youngest may depart.

Lord, take possession of my heart betimes:
My youth is fittest for thy service; take it
Unto thy self: make white those crimson crimes
That fain would soil it: let me never make it
A pretense (as many do)
To be lewd, but think that I
In the height of youth may die,
May die and be damned too.

Meditation 3.

Parents methinks betime should strive to make
Their children good, that heaven may receive them.
If God should send an early Death to take
Them from the earth, it cannot choose but grieve them,
And fill full with bitter woe
Any parents heart to see
That their children wicked be,
And Death come and find them so.

Those fruitfull couples whom the Lord hath blest
With children, should take greatest care to breed them
Religiously: In this more love's express'd,
Then in their care to cloth them or to feed them,
Or what else they can bestow
For their life or livelyhood,
And to do their children good
In the things that are below.

You must instruct your children in their way:
That's double, Civil and Religious too:
They must be taught Gods precepts to obey,
And to their neighbours give what is their due.
If you do not strive to set them,
By that rule which God hath given,
In the way that leads to heaven,
You did wrong them to beget them.

There's such a powre and force in education,
That justly we may call 't a second nature:
Nature finds matter, nurture gives the fashion,
And turns a man into another creature.
If a youth in's manners halt,
On his parents we do lay
All the blame, and use to say,
That his breeding is in fault.

The heathen, who did see but by that light
Which purblind nature lent them, ever caught
At all occasions they conceived might
Be helps to have their youth in goodnesse taught.
In their bodies would they find
(For no where but in the book
Of the creatures did they look)
Lessons to instruct the mind.

It is observ'd that Socrates let passe
No wayes nor means at all that might conduce
To their amendment: often to a glasse
He brought them, and that shadow had its use.
By his means their faces bred them:
For however their complexion
Did appear, by that reflexion
From 't a lecture would he reade them.

That fair ones must take heed they did not soil
That comely outside with deformititie
Within: to have an inside foul would spoil
The choicest beautie: that their symmetry,
Just proportion of parts,
And their comlinesse of face
Was not worth a jote, if grace
Did not beautifie their hearts.

And that deformed ones should have a care,
That vertuous endowments, of the soul
Might recompense those blemishes that were
By nature plac'd to make the bodie foul:
That the mind and nothing else
Makes us either foul or fair.
Out-side beauties nothing are
To a mind where vertue dwells.

Of any age their youth is fitt'st to take
The print of vice or vertue: 't is a clean
Unwritten table, where a man may make
What characters he will. If e'r you mean
To make straight a crooked tree,
You must do 't while 't is a twig:
When your children are grown big
They will not reformed be.

Sometimes (if need require) you shall do well
To use the rod: if duly you correct them,
'T may be a means to whip their souls from hell:
From many sinnes may prudent stripes protect them.
No such physick as the rod:
There's health in a loving scourge,
It will childrens manners purge,
And will make them fit for God.

But whensoe'r you fasten any blows,
Let sinnes against the holy name of God
Be first corrected: for a child that knows
To give his due to heav'n, on him the rod
Will prevail with little labour
To correct him how to live
Civilly, and how to give
What he ows unto his neighbour.

And yet you must be moderate in strokes:
You may not make a trade of chastisements.
A parent that corrects too much provokes
His child to wrath; so pious documents
Will be cast away in vain.
Too much mercie is not fit,
Neither too much rigour; yet
Mercie's better of the twain.

That high and great Jehovah, whom we find
Adorn'd with mercie, goodnesse, justice, wrath,
Is evermore to mercie most inclin'd:
Of all the rest that most employment hath.
He that suffered near mount Sion,
(And whatever he did hallow
By his practice we should follow)
Was a Lamb as well's a Lion.

And e'r you strike observe their dispositions:
Those foure complexions in mans grosser part
Are but a few; the finer part's conditions
Are many more. Some at a look will start;
Others will but make a mock
At the lash it self, and never
Will expresse the least endevour
To amend with many a knock.

The Nat'ralists can tell you of a stone
Extremely hard, which bloud or milk will soften:
But with the strongest hammer there is none
Can do it, though he beat it ne'r so often.
The sea yields a certain weed,
Which, if gently grip'd, will flie;
Roughly, will yield presently:
Rigour such stout natures need.

Some childrens dispositions are like nettles:
The gentl'er you do handle them they sting
The more; fair means in them no vertue settles:
Some are like thorns; the harder you do wring
The more deeply will they pierce.
Mark their natures, and you shall
By due chastisements recall
Both the gentle and the fierce.

But it must be 'bove all your chiefest care
To shine before your children by the light
Of good example: for examples are
Of most prevailing natures. What the sight
Can be master of appears
To be more convincing farre
Then all other truths that are
Onely objects of the ears.

A high perfection did the heathen deem it
To imitate their Jove: were it but in
His close adulteries, they did esteem it
A commendable passage not a sinne.
In a wrong way, or a right,
Samplers lead, I know not how:
If King Alexander bow
Not a courtier stands upright.

If Cyrus nose be bad, or if a scarre
Chance to disfigure his imperiall face;
If Plato's learned shoulders be too square;
One's subjects, th'others scholars, are so base
As to draw 't into a fashion:
And if Aristotle stammer,
All his boyes will lisp and hammer
Out their words in imitation.

If cruel Dionysius tyrannize,
Each man grows fierce: and if Antiochus
Be lustfull, he is not accounted wise
That will not be effeminate: and thus
Ptolemeus Philadelph
Loving letters, by example
Egypt underfoot did trample
Ignorance as did himself.

With scholars (like himself) Augustus fill'd
The Romane Empire: and Tiberius he
Stor'd it with such as were exactly skill'd
In fair dissimulation, and could be
Leaders in the hatefull train
Of those monsters who by heart
Had learn'd perfectly the art
To dissemble, lie, and feigne.

Good Constantine's example fill'd the land
With Christians like himself, and Julian's did
Beget a troup of Atheists: such command
Examples have. In holy writ we reade
That examples either way,
For God or against him, for
Great Jehovah's worship or
Baalim's, did the people sway.

If Israel's or Judah's King were good,
The people presently destroy'd their groves:
Scarce in the land a graven image stood:
High places owls did rest in: each man loves
(At the least in shew) that Jealous
God that in the desert fed them,
And from Egypt's bondage led them;
For him onely are they zealous.

If Israel's or Judah's King were bad,
So were the people: Altars straight were rear'd
To senselesse Idoles; not a house but had
Their graven Images; and no man fear'd
Unto Baal to bend his knee.
Men live by similitude
More then law; and most conclude
Upon what their Princes be.

If Nebuchadnezzar the mightie King
Be pleas'd to fall down to a golden image,
Thither with speed do their devotions bring
People of ev'rie kingdome, tongue, and linage.
Three excepted, all adore him:
There's not one enough precise
To refuse; it doth suffice
That the King did so before him.

Thou art a King if thou a parent art,
Each family's a pettie kingdome, and
The parents Monarch: 't were a kingly part
To make thy little subjects understand
How in vertue to excell
By thy practice; that's a skill
'Bove all other: children will
No way else be taught so well.

Look how the primum mobile doth move,
Accordingly do move the other spheres:
As in a Jack the wheel that is above
With its first mover just proportion bears.
In a familie 't is so:
Look what way the parents take,
That the rest their rule will make,
Chiefly there the children go.

Not any godly precept so exact is,
Which you shall teach your children to obey;
But that, if you shall thwart it by your practice,
Thus will your junior houshold-members say,
At least they will whisper thus,
If vertue be good, then why
Do not you live vertuously?
If not, why d' ye presse 't on us?

If by these wayes you strive to educate,
Whom God hath blest with fruitfull progenies,
Your children well, their early Death or late
Shall not a jote augment your miseries.
A childs death is not a rod
To afflict a parents heart.
He that dies well doth depart
Hence that he may live with God.

Lord, if thou make my wife a fruitfull vine,
Make it withall my chiefest care to dresse
The branches well; the glorie shall be thine,
And if they die my grief shall be the lesse.
A childs death's a precious savour
In thy nostrils that was here
Taught to live, Lord, in thy fear;
For he dieth in thy favour.

Meditation 4.

If youth it self may drop into the grave,
When children die methinks they should bequeath
Surviving parents comforts. Sure they have
No cause (were not affection strong) to grieve
Overmuch, as many do:
For Death is impartiall,
By his stroke all ages fall,
Both the old'st and youngest too.

Think duly on 't. Why should your eyes runne o'r
For what you have no way to remedie?
If you should heav'n eternally implore,
It would not send them back. But you'll replie,
'Cause there's no way to be found
That may help us to recover
Them again, our eyes runne over,
And our tears do so abound.

Nor ever will your highest floud of sorrow
Transport them back into the world again:
Your selves may follow them before to morrow.
Those deep-fetch'd sighs are smok'd out all in vain,
So are all those drops you mourn
Shed in vain; hap'ly you may
Soon go after them, but they
Are too happie to return.

Is it your love that doth produce such grones?
How easily alas is love mistaken!
Methinks you cannot love and grieve at once;
To love were to rejoyce that they have shaken
Hands with miserie to dwell
In a world of blisse above;
Grief at this is farre from love,
It seems not to wish them well.

Or is 't because that they are dead you weep?
I do not think that when they were begotten,
You dream'd them death-free, or had hopes to keep
Them here for ever; that they would be rotten
In their graves you could not choose
But consider: for a span
To be quickly ended, can
Never go for any news.

Nor with good reason can you lay the blame
On Death at all, but on your selves that did
Beget them mortall: for the very same
Matter wherewith they were begot and fed,
Fits them for an alteration
By the hand of Death. If you
Grudge that Death hath ta'n his due,
You may blame their generation.

Or do you grieve because they di'd so soon?
If wayes be foul, and journeys perillous,
Who taketh up his lodging e'r 't be noon
Is best at ease. 'T is like God loveth those
Whom he takes betime away:
Sad experience lets us know
That the happi'st here below
Have a miserable stay.

Or is your onely child deceas'd, that passion
Doth domineer so? here I could allow
Methinks your tears a free immoderation,
But that (on better ground then Jephtha's vow)
I remember what was done
By that parent, who is penn'd
Down for great Jehovah's friend,
In case of his onely sonne.

Ev'n when 't was dead a miracle did fill
His Sarahs womb, but it was fill'd but once.
Isaac was all: Yet Abraham must kill
This all himself God did it for the nonce
That he might his graces prove,
Yet the man made no deny all,
But did by so strange a triall
Manifest his faith and love.

This case must needs strike nearer to the heart
Then yours; yet he doth presently submit.
Love (I confesse) is very loth to part
With what it loves, but grace doth put a bit
Into natures mouth that she
May not grumble nor repine
At what's a decree Divine,
But subscribe it chearfully.

Just like the Autumn-sap of fruitfull trees
So love descends; and it is ardent when
Dispersed, but by infinite degrees
More ardent when it is contracted: men
That have but an onely sonne,
If Death take him hence, their losse
Is a great one; but this crosse
Must be born. Thy will be done,

Is what your selves do pray for every day:
And when this will of God's declared, you
Greatly offend if you do murmure. May
Not God, and Sinne, and Nature claim their due?
Very ill you do behave you
If you give not heav'n leave
Thankfully for to bereave
You again of what it gave you.

Lord, if thou please to stock my table round
About with children, yet I will be glad:
Nor shall my sorrow overmuch abound,
Though I do see them in their grave-clothes clad;
For the sooner are they blest:
And within the shortest space
Whom thou help'st to winne a race,
They the sooner are at rest.

Meditation 5.

VVe do not die by chance nor yet by fortune,
But how and when the Lord will have us die:
He numbers all our dayes; we cannot shorten
Nor lengthen them a minute: Destiny
Neither spinnes nor cuts the thread.
God a certain period sets:
No man shorter falls, or gets
Further, then the bounds decreed.

If God vouchsafe to number out the hairs
That do adorn and cloth our sinfull heads;
Who doubteth that his providence forbears
To count our dayes? If not a sparrow treads
On the earth's face thus or thus,
But his providence awaketh
For to note it, sure he taketh
Greater care by farre of us.

If any godlesse wits so curious be
To talk of Hezekiah's fifteen years,
His sentence God did change, not his decree,
The answer is: yet Esay's tongue appears
To speak not a jote the lesse
Truth; 't was with a supposition:
God doth threaten with condition
Either tacit or expresse.

When Pestilence, that lothsome, dreadfull hag,
Bepatch'd with botches, wanders up and down,
And into ev'ry houshold drops the plague,
Scarce any Turk in an infected town
But will wife and friend afford
Daily visits and imbraces:
They flie no contagious places,
Nor fear either bed or bord.

Their reason is, Gods providence doth write
Their fortunes on their foreheads; neither can
Their day of life be longer, nor their night
Of Death come sooner then God wills it: Man
Must yield's ghost when God will have it.
For health and life, if God will
Save it, 't is not plague can kill:
If not, 't is not they can save it.

Such block-heads have not brains enough to think
That as the time, so God withall decrees
The means of life; as physick, meat and drink,
Clothes, recreations, and what else he sees
Needfull. They themselves destroy,
And are to their safety strangers,
That runne into mortall dangers,
And not shun them when they may.

Howe'r imploy'd, Lord, grant I may have leisure
Religiously to meditate that thou
My dayes dost number, and my life dost measure,
And make me think, Lord, that this very now,
That this twinkling of an eye
Is the period thou hast set:
Lord, grant I may ne'r forget
That this moment I may die.

III. PART III. Of Deaths suddennesse.

Though sometimes Death doth stay till it be late
At night, untill our most decrepit years,
And when he comes, doth (like a King) in state
Send harbingers before; yet Death appears
Sometimes unlook'd for early in the morning,
And takes us up before he gives us warning.

When at full tide our youthfull bloud doth flow
In every vein, and when our pulses dance
A healthfull measure, when our stomachs know
No qualms at all, as we would say by chance
Snatch'd are our bodies to their longest homes,
And Death is past before a sicknesse comes.

How many sleepie mortals go to bed
With healthful bodies, and do rise no more!
How many hungry mortals have been fed
Contentedly at dinner? yet before
Against a second meal they whet their knives
Death steals away their stomachs and their lives.

How many in the morning walk abroad
For to be breath'd on by the keener air?
Perhaps to clarifie their grosser bloud,
Or else to make their rougher cheeks look fair.
But e'r they tread a furlong in the frost,
Death nips them: so their former labour's loft.

Nature is parsimonious: Man may live
With little: but alas with how much lesse
A man may die! There's nothing but may give
A mortall blow: small matters may undresse
Our souls of clay. A thousand wayes we have
To send our crazie bodies to the grave.

The elements confeder how they may
Procure our Death: the Air we suck to live
It self hath poi'sned thousands in a day,
And made such havock that the slain did strive
For elbow-room in Church-yards: houses were
Good cheap, and onely shrowds and coffins dear.

If we could come to speak with Pharaoh's ghost,
'T would tell how many met with sudden graves
Beneath the water; that a mighty host
Was slain and buried by the surly waves,
Except a few which surfeted with store
The crop-sick sea did vomit on the shore.

Sometimes our mother Earth, as if she were
So hunger-bitten that she needs must eat
Her children, gapes as for some toothsome cheer,
And multitudes one swallow down doth let;
Which either in her womb she doth bestow,
Or else doth send them to the world below.

That usefull creature Fire, whose light and heat
Doth comfort, and, when Earth doth penance, warm us,
Whose cookerie provides us wholesome meat;
Yet mortally this element doth harm us.
One morning sent from heav'n such dreadfull flashes
As did intomb five cities in their ashes.

We may remember some that have been kill'd
By falls of buildings; some, by drunken swords.
By beasts both wild and tame our bloud is spill'd.
There's not a creature but a death affords.
'Bove fourtie childrens limbs God's anger tears
In pieces with the teeth of savage bears.

But there's some likelyhood that sudden Death
By means like these may easily befall us:
But many times we mortalls lose our breath
By wayes lesse probable. The Lord doth call us
Upon a sudden hence by petty things:
Sometimes the meanest means Death's errand brings.

Our staff of life may kill: a little crumb
Of bread may choke us going down awry.
A small hair in their drink hath caused some
To breath their last. By any thing we die.
Sometimes a sudden grief or sudden joy
Have might enough to take our souls away.

Meditation 1.

How weak's the thread of life, that any thing
How weak so e'r can break it by and by!
How short's the thread of life, that Death can bring
Both ends of it together suddenly!
Well may the scriptures write the life of man
As weak as water and as short's a span.

How soon is water spilt upon the ground!
Once spilt, what hand can gather 't up again?
Fome that doth rise to day is seldome found
Floting to morrow. When the wanton rain
Gets bubbles to make sport with on the water,
A minute breaks them into their first matter.

Such is our life. How soon doth Death uncase
Our souls? and when they once are fled away,
Who can return them? As upon the face
Of thirstie ground when water's shed to day,
The morrow sees it not: so when we die
None can revive us; as we fall, we lie.

Our life's a vapour. Vapours do arise
Sometimes indeed with such a seeming power,
As if they would eclipse the glorious skies,
And muffle up the world, but in an houre
Or two at most these vapours are blown o'r,
And leave the air as clear as 't was before.

We look big here a little while and bristle,
And shoulder in the smiling world, as though
There were no dancing but as we would whistle,
So strangely domineer we here below.
But as a vapour in a sun-shine day
We vanish on a sudden quite away.

Our life is like the smoke of new-made fire:
As we in age and stature upward tend,
Our dissolution is so much the nigher.
Smoke builds but castles in the air: ascend
Indeed it doth aloft, but yet it must
At high'st dissolve, we vanish into dust.

What is a shadow? Nothing. Grant it were
A thing that had a name and being too,
Yet let a cloud 'twixt us and heav'n appear,
Its turn'd into its former nothing. Do
Our shadows vanish? surely so do we:
At noon a man, at night a corps we see.

Our life's a cloud, and from varietie
Of vapours are created diverse sorts:
The stronger last a time, the weaker flie
With lesse ado; yet half a day transports
Both strong'st and weakest hence, and in their flight
Their nimble speed outrunnes the quickest sight.

Some men are healthfull, merrie, lustie, strong;
Some crazy, weak, sad, sickly, drooping: both
Post hence with winged speed: we may not wrong
Life's footmanship; for sure with greater sloth
Clouds through the air the strongest wind doth send,
Then frail mans life doth gallop to its end.

With greater sloth? A man that now is here,
Perhaps an houre, yea half a minute hence,
That man may in another world appear.
Our life moves faster then those things which sense
Acquaint us with, faster then ships by farre,
Or birds, or bullets that do plow the air.

All flesh is grasse: how suddenly that fades!
Grasse in the morning standeth proudly green,
E'r night the husbandmen prepare their blades
To cut it down, and not a leaf is seen
But e'r the morrow's wither'd into hay,
That in its summer-suit was cloth'd to day.

We grow and flourish in the world a space,
Our dayes with ease, mirth, health, strength, heav'n doth crown:
But 't is not long we run this happy race,
Death cometh with his sithe and mows us down,
When we are apt to say, for ought we know
As yet we have an age of dayes to grow.

Our life's a flower that groweth in the field.
A garden-flower is but a fading thing,
Though it hath hedges, banks, and walls to shield
It self from cropping: long 't is e'r the spring
Doth bring it forth; three quarters of a yeare
Are gone before its beauty doth appear.

And when it shineth in its fairest pride,
One hand or other will be sure to pluck it.
But let's suppose all snatching fingers ty'd,
And grant withall that never Bee doth suck it
To blemish it a jote, yet will the breath
Of winter blow the fairest flower to death.

'T is long before we get us very farre
Into the world: for after generation
There is a time when lifelesse lumps we are,
And have not bodies of a humane fashion:
Such as we have both life and motion want,
And when we live we live but like a plant.

A while we do but grow: then like a beast
We have our senses: next indeed we live
The life of him that lives to be a feast
For despicable worms. The womb doth give
No passage to us yet; we are (like corn
Sown lately) fit to be but are not born.

When born, 't is long before we can procure
Our legs or understandings to assist us:
And then 't is long before we grow mature:
And all this while if sudden Death hath mist us,
Yet in the hoary winter of our age
Our part is ended and we quit the stage.

Lord, what is man? Lord, rather what am I?
I cannot tell my self unlesse thou teach me:
From thee came Know thy self down through the skie
To mortalls here. Thy servant doth beseech thee
To make me know, though it be to my shame,
How vanishing, how weak, and frail I am.

Meditation 2.

VVhat would I do if I were sure to die
Within this houre? sure heartily repent,
My sinfull couch should never more be drie
But drown'd in tears, sad grones my heart should rent,
And my sorrow still increase
With repenting till I die,
That once reconciled I
Might be found of God in peace.

Then presently I'll set about it, for
My time's uncertain, and for ought I know
God may not leave my soul a minute more
To animate my body here below.
Deep-fetch'd sighs and godly sorrow
Shall possesse my heart to day:
'T is a foolish sinne to say
That I will repent to morrow.

What if I die before? just as the tree
Doth fall it lies. When I am in the grave
I cannot grieve for sinne, nor can I be
Converted unto God, nor pardon crave.
Had I breath and grace to crave it,
Yet God's time of mercie's gone:
'T is giv'n in this life alone,
In the next I cannot have it.

What would I leave undone if ghastly Death
Stood at my elbow? sure I would not wallow
In those pollutions that reigne here beneath;
No lewd and wicked courses would I follow.
I should tremble at a thought
Of uncleannesse, if I were
Sure that dreadfull time were near
When I must to earth be brought.

Why should I sinne at all? for in the act
Of my next sinne a sudden Death may catch me.
(A town secure is much the sooner sack'd)
What know I but God setteth Death to watch me,
That when any lust hath press'd me
For his service, that I may
Down to hell without delay,
Death may presently arrest me?

If we did well, still should we fear to meet
Death in those places where we use to sinne,
And as we enter think we heare the feet
Of Death behind us coming softly in?
We should fear when sinnes delight us,
When we swallow any crime,
Lest that very point of time
Justice should send Death to smite us.

I know whatever is on this side hell,
Is mercie all: that we were not sent thither
When we sinn'd last, is mercie. What befell
Zimri and Cozbi as they lay together?
Phinehas zealous spear did thrust
Both to death, and bored holes
To let out those guilty souls,
Which were melted into lust.

Help me, O Lord, to do and leave undone
What thou command'st, for sudden Death prepare me,
That at what time soe'r my glasse is run
Thy holy Angels may to heav'n bear me.
Give thy servant grace, that I
May so fear the face of sinne
As a serpents, lest that in
Th'unrepented act I die.

Meditation 3.

Doth Death come suddenly? so much the better:
If I am readie and do daily die,
So much the sooner 't will my soul unfetter
T'enjoy the best degree of libertie.
And if Death will send me where
I shall evermore remain,
I will never care how vain,
Or how frail my life is here.

My life is like the wind: but when this puff
Is pass'd I shall eternally enjoy
A place in heav'n, where all is calm enough,
Where never blast is felt that brings annoy,
Where is everlasting ease,
Not a storm nor tempest there,
Nor a jote of trouble, where
All is quietnesse and peace.

My life is like a vapour: but assoon
As this thin mist, this vapour, is dispersed,
My day shall be an undeclining noon,
Whose glorious brightnesse cannot be rehearsed,
Which will shew me (for so clear
And so shining is that place)
God immortall face to face,
Whom I saw but darkly here.

My life is water spilt and cast away
Upon the ground: but after it is shod,
In stead thereof I shall a stream injoy,
As Crystall clear, which from the throne of God
And the Lamb of God proceedeth.
Water 't is of life, and lasteth
Ever, which a soul that tasteth
Once no more refreshing needeth.

My life is like a shadow that doth vanish:
But whensoe'r this shadow's vanish'd quite,
Substantiall glories will my soul replenish,
And solid joyes will crown it with delight.
The worlds are but fading joyes;
Shadows we all purchase here:
Never untill Death appear
Have we true and reall joyes.

My life's a flower: but when it withers here
It is transplanted into paradise,
Where all things planted flourish all the year,
Where Boreas never breaths a cake of ice.
With sweet air the place is blest;
There is an eternall spring:
Thither, Lord, thy servant bring.
Here my homely Muse doth rest,

Nor another flight will make
Till she see how this will take.