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Theophila

Or Loves Sacrifice. A Divine Poem. Written by E. B. Esq; Several Parts thereof set to fit Aires by Mr J. Jenkins

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175

Upon the Vanitie of the World.

Long have I sought the Wish of All
To finde; And what it is Men call
True Happiness; But cannot see
The World hath It, which It can be,
Or with It hold a Sympathie.
He that enjoyes what here below
Frail Elements have to bestow,
Shall finde most sweet bare Hopes at first;
Fruition by Fruition's burst,
Sea-water so allayes the Thirst.
Who ever would be happy then,
Must be so to Himself; for, when
Judges are taken from without,
To Judge what we are, fenc'd about,
They do not judge, but guesse, and doubt.
His Soul must hug no private Sin;
For, that's a thorn conceal'd i'th' Skin;
But Innocence, where She is nurst
Plants valiant Peace; So, Cato durst
Ev'n then be best, when Rome was worst.
God-built He must be in his Minde;
That is, Divine; whose Faith no Winde
Can shake; when firmly Herelics
Upon the ALMIGHTY, He outflies
Low Chance, and Fate of Destinies.
As Fountains rest not till they lead,
Meandring high, as their first Head:
So, Man rests not till He hath trod
Deaths Height: then, by that Period,
He rests too, rais'd in Soul to GOD.
Owen Feltham