Solomon's recantation Intituled Ecclesiastes, paraphras'd. With A Soliloquy or Meditation Upon Every Chapter. By Francis Quarles |
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 | CHAP X. Solomon's recantation |  |
I see an Ill beneath the Sun that springs
From Error, reigning in the Breast of Kings:
Fools are made Statesmen, and command at Court,
And Men of Parts are made the lower Sort.
So have I seen proud Servants mounted high
On lordly Steeds, and Lords to lackey by.
He that shall dig a Pit, that shall prepare
A Snare, shall be ensnar'd in his own Snare.
And he that tramples down a Hedge shall meet
A Serpent to salute his trampling Feet.
He that shall shake a Stone-compacted Wall,
Shall undergo the Danger of the Fall:
Who undertakes to cleave the knotty Oak,
Shall be a painful Partner in the Stroak:
But if th'unwhetted Edge be blunt, the Arm
Must give more Strength, and so receive more Harm;
But if he challenge Wisdom for his Guide,
Wisdom will do, what painful Strength deny'd.
The rash reproving Mouth of Fools are arm'd
Like unenchanted Serpents, if not charm'd.
The wise Man's Words are gracious, where they go,
But foolish Language doth themselves o'erthrow.
Folly brings in the Prologue with his Tongue,
Whose Epilogue is Rage and open Wrong.
The Fool abounds in Tongue, there's none can know
What his Words mean, or what he means to do.
The tedious Actions of a Fool doth try
The Patience of the weary Stander by;
Because his Weakness knows not how to lay
His Actions Posture in a civil Way.
Wo to the Land, whose Prince's Wisdom sways
The Scepter in the Nonage of her Days;
And whose grave Rulers, that should haunt the Seat
Of sacred Justice, rise betime to eat.
Blessed art thou O Land, when as thy King
Derives his royal Blood from th'ancient Spring
Of Majesty, and Rulers timely diet
Serves to maintain their Strength, and not their Riot.
By too much Slothfulness the Building falls
Into Decay, and Ruin strikes her Walls,
And through the sluggish Posture of his Hand
The Weather-beaten House forgets to stand:
Who eats and drinks and frolicks, uncontroul'd,
Maintaining Riot with his wanton Gold.
Curse not the King, nor them that bear the Sword,
No, not in Thought, tho' Thought express no Word;
The Fowls of Heav'n shall vent such hideous Things,
And swift Report shall fly with secret Wings.
From Error, reigning in the Breast of Kings:
Fools are made Statesmen, and command at Court,
And Men of Parts are made the lower Sort.
So have I seen proud Servants mounted high
On lordly Steeds, and Lords to lackey by.
He that shall dig a Pit, that shall prepare
A Snare, shall be ensnar'd in his own Snare.
And he that tramples down a Hedge shall meet
A Serpent to salute his trampling Feet.
He that shall shake a Stone-compacted Wall,
Shall undergo the Danger of the Fall:
Who undertakes to cleave the knotty Oak,
Shall be a painful Partner in the Stroak:
But if th'unwhetted Edge be blunt, the Arm
Must give more Strength, and so receive more Harm;
But if he challenge Wisdom for his Guide,
Wisdom will do, what painful Strength deny'd.
The rash reproving Mouth of Fools are arm'd
Like unenchanted Serpents, if not charm'd.
The wise Man's Words are gracious, where they go,
But foolish Language doth themselves o'erthrow.
Folly brings in the Prologue with his Tongue,
Whose Epilogue is Rage and open Wrong.
The Fool abounds in Tongue, there's none can know
What his Words mean, or what he means to do.
The tedious Actions of a Fool doth try
The Patience of the weary Stander by;
Because his Weakness knows not how to lay
His Actions Posture in a civil Way.
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The Scepter in the Nonage of her Days;
And whose grave Rulers, that should haunt the Seat
Of sacred Justice, rise betime to eat.
Blessed art thou O Land, when as thy King
Derives his royal Blood from th'ancient Spring
Of Majesty, and Rulers timely diet
Serves to maintain their Strength, and not their Riot.
By too much Slothfulness the Building falls
Into Decay, and Ruin strikes her Walls,
And through the sluggish Posture of his Hand
The Weather-beaten House forgets to stand:
Who eats and drinks and frolicks, uncontroul'd,
Maintaining Riot with his wanton Gold.
Curse not the King, nor them that bear the Sword,
No, not in Thought, tho' Thought express no Word;
The Fowls of Heav'n shall vent such hideous Things,
And swift Report shall fly with secret Wings.
| CHAP X. Solomon's recantation | |