University of Virginia Library

Of Richesse.

To thee the Worldlings Idoll, doe I make,
These harsh-tund Poems for my countries sake,
Which thou hast wrong'd too long, alas for woe,
That we should see't and suffer't to be so.
It's thou that fosters enmitie, debate,
Sedition, faction, and doest ruinate
The Noblest states, in haling downe the rod
Of Vengeance on thee, that thou art made a God
On earth: For who, I pray thee doe but show
Deserues a Cap, or bended knee but thou?
Who merites honour, who can's credit stretch
So farre as thou, that art esteemed rich?
Nay, let me step yet further, I shall finde,
The worldes trash held soueraigne of the minde.
For who are wise but Rich-men, or who can
Find th'Golden meane, but in a Golden man
He is Earths darling; and in time will be,
Hells darling too, for who's so fit as he.
Indeed if Riches were sincerely vs'd,
And not so much by Cormorants abus'd;
That make their Chest their Christ, then might wee find,
In richest States, a charitable minde:
Who like good Stewards of what they possesse,
Would distribute to th'poore or more or lesse:
If not the silks of Sydon, or of Tyre,
Yet is their bountie showne by their desire;
For not the gift, but th'mind of him that giues,
Accepted is, and his Reward receiues.
But 'las how farre off many Rich-men be,
From th'bond of loue, or lincke of charitie?
Where Rich-men giue to th'rich, thinking it vaine,
To giue to them that cannot giue againe,
These will not doe as we in Scripture read,
That bids vs on the waters throw our bread.
“For then be sure, how ere wee seeme to others,
“We would regard our poore distressed brothers.
And make his tears which he poore soule sends forth
As Registers whence we produc'd our birth.
For 'las when we shall from this house of Clay,
Be cleane dissolved, as we must one day;
How heauie will our doome at that time be,
That pitied not our Brothers penurie?
Where shall our pompe and maiestie be then,
Where all those honors we receiu'd 'mongst men?
Where's our Attendance, where's our noble birth?
Or where's our wealth we gloried in on earth?
'Las we shall then be stript of all we haue,
Nought left vs but a Coffin and a Graue:
And happie we if so it might befall,
The Graue might end our griefe, but this's not all;
Lower the wretched must of force descend,
To that same place where sorrowes haue no end.
And doest thou yet (fond rich-man) hugg thy pelfe,
Which makes thee an Arch-traytor to thy selfe?
Doest thou consume thy dayes, adorning it,
That damns thy soule, infatuates thy wit;
Makes thee a Rebell, forcing thee to swerue,
From thy Creator, whom thou ought to serue?
Tortures thy guiltie Conscience (simple foole)
To haue thy state to witnesse 'gainst thy soule.
But thou'l obiect, why should I be so rough
'Gainst thee, that art resolu'd to doe enough
Before thou diest: For I doe heare thee still
Harpe on a good, and charitable Will.
Which shall expresse what thou in life time ment,
By thy last will, and finall Testament.
Good-wills be good indeed, and worthily
Doe they deserue our best of memorie:
But much I feare this good is mixt with ill,
And that good wills proceed not from Good will:
For if they did methinkes it should not grieue them,
To giue them freely, 'fore they'r forc't to leaue them.
And sure methinkes None can be sayd to giue,
But such as doe it franckly while they liue.
“For when they'r dead (as't shall be after showne)
“That which they giue cannot be call'd their owne.
And why should we our Rich-men so commend
That giue faire Legacies before their end;
Since Iudas well we know, of all men worst
Gaue dying, all he had, yet dy'd accurst:
Yet these men giue but part, Iudas gaue all,
(May English-Iewes be warn'd by Iudas fall.)
O then let Time, whose ripe occasion brings
A blest successe vnto the best of Kings.
Excite you Rich-men, both in life and death,
But most in life, to cheare such with your breath;
The breath of life, food, rayment, and the like,
As at your doores send out their rufull shrike.
Shut not your Eares, for be you sure of this,
Shutting from them, you shall be shut from blisse;
Take them into your houses, for we reede,
Some haue receiued Prophets in their weede.
For if you open not vnto the poore,
How shall you enter when you knocke at doore
Of Sions Pallace? For, approu'd wee see
Saints minister to Saints necessitie.
Be then your selues, and with Zacheus giue,
Not on your Death-beds, but now whilest you liue,
And are in health, for such shall haue reward,
Though not on Earth, yet surely afterward;
And their reward shall be so much the more
As they were open-hearted to the poore.
But 'las how many Spunges now there be
Which soake the needie, and with crueltie
Oppresse the silly Orphane? It is true,
Too many be there of this wicked crew,
That pester this sweete Iland, with the cryes
Of poore distressed soules, whence vengeance hies
With fethered speed, to make these great-ones know
“There is a God aboue that sees below;
And can discusse each secret, and has power
To punish the rich when they the poore deuoure.
Deare Noboth cryes, and none doe pittie him,
While Ahab sleepes securely in his sinne;
Naboth must loose his Vineyard, true he must
“For what's vniust, by Greatnesse is made iust.
His ground lyes fitly for him, and he will
Either obtaine it, or his Neighbour kill:
For if the poore-man chance but to denie it,
He meanes with some forg'd Title to come by it:
So as by force he's stript of land and all,
'For th'Prouerbe holds, the weakest goes to th'wall.
But heare me rich-man whom so ere thou be
That triumphs thus in others miserie:
When thou hast purchast what thou didst desire,
Be sure Oppression must not loose her hire;
For there's a Iudgement, and a sharpe one too,
Will startle thee, though thou art carelesse now.
Then wil poor Naboth, whom thou here didst wrong
Witnesse against thee, while thy faltering tongue
Without defence, with silence charm'd shall be,
Yeelding to all that is obiect'd 'gainst thee.
How fearefull will that sentence then appeare,
When death and horror shall be euery where?
When gastly spirits summon thee to hell,
And thou art forct to bid thy ioyes farewell:
“Where cruel worms shall eate thy hart-strings out
“Where grones & grieues, sighs, shrikes sound all about.
What is the fruit then of Oppression? Sure
That Vale of Tophet which shall ere endure.
And make him draw an euer-loathing breath,
Dying in life, and liuing in a death.
O then how happie hee that so doth liue
As th'one hand knows not, what the other giue.
Dispencing freely, what he doth possesse
Of all his substance, which doth well expresse
His loue to God, whose Mansion is aboue,
Bearing his Image such especiall loue;
For God hath promis'd such to liue for euer,
“Sith he himselfe doth loue a chearefull Giuer.
O that this flowrie Ile, whose sacred name
Makes her recorded in the Booke of fame;
Where Times-illustrate Trophies show her glory,
“So well display'd in many auncient storie;
Would scourge these Gold adorers for exemple,
“All Symmoniacke patrones out ath Temple:
So should the Gospell, Ophyrs purest gold,
Be more esteem'd then to be bought or sold;
So should we haue in Sion Shepherds store,
VVhich come not in at window, but at dore:
So should our Church resume her golden Age;
And learning freely get a Parsonage.
So should good Shepherds make their flocks encrease
And know their office not to flea nor fleece.
So should our Church be as it ought to be,
Not subiect to smooth-faced Symonie.
So should our Church-men gain them more esteeme,
“Seeme what they be, and be the same they seeme.
So should th'Donation of a Benefice
Ayme at a man of Merit, not of price;
So should Gods house be honour'd more then now,
Hauing such Pastours as might tell vs how.
O Patrones if you knew how ill it were,
To make the Church a Mart, or publique faire:
Where Magus-like you sell the Churches good,
If this I say you rightly vnderstood;
You would accurse the Riches you haue got
By such synister meanes: and wish your lot
Had beene Employment in the Common-weale,
(Though on the mean'st condition) then to steale,
Purloyne, embezle what the Church doth owe,
Which you on lust and ryot doe bestow.
Much better were't to begge from doore to doore,
Then being Rich, to make Gods Temple poore.
For well I wot the Fathers Symonie,
Layes heauie curse on his posteritie.
And that foundation which is so begunne,
Seldome succeedes from Father to the Sonne.
For this we know approu'd by sacred writ,
Which comprehends the mysteries of wit;
Not humane but diuine, where Treasures store
Are lockt vp from the proud, and ope to th'poore.
That though the Rich seeme in aboundance blest,
And now Secure sayes, Now soule take thy rest.
Yet all this Blisse continues but a day,
For Night will come and take his soule away.
Yea, though the Rich-men of the world doe seeme,
Like a Bay-tree, whose leaues be euer greene;
Yet their foundations stand not on firme ground,
“For comming back their place shall not be found.
But for the Righteous and his hopefull seede,
Who euer saw them forc't to begge their bread.
Sure Dauid did not (as himselfe hath told)
Though he was young and liu'd till he was old.
O how the best of Blessings are abus'd,
Good in themselues and if discreetly vs'd.
Natures indowments, but deprau'd we see,
And count them worst of any things that be.
For it's the best of Fortunes complement,
To ayme in Riches at the soules content;
Which planted on the soueraigne of blisse,
Makes what is ours in Essence one with his.
But such as ayme at honour, and by art
Of smooth insinuation, make their heart
A stranger to their Language, to obtaine
A little earthly profit; What is their gaine
But th'Guerdon of Ambition? Which aspires
Too high, to reach the port of her desires.
Yea, I may say, if ere we could espie
A Cammell haled through a Needles eye;
Or any worke how difficult so ere,
Accomplisht by a Pigmey: we may here
Produce the like, nay, I may say farre more,
For like to this was nere produc'd before.
“For it's a Sentence that's alreadie giuen,
“It's hard for Rich-men to inherite heauen.
Such men indeed as are by wealth inricht,
To make their gold their God, their Chest their Christ.
Gold maks not rich, whence is that Prouerb growne
So common now: Content is worth a Crowne.
For many poore-men richer farre we see,
Through their content, then such as Richest be.
Old Chremes in the Poet rakes for pelfe,
And to enrich his heire torments himselfe.
Which when his Son has got (marke th'misers care)
He spends as fast on lust and luscious Fare.
Bare were his Fathers dishes, Bedding meane,
Home-spun his Coat, his chop-falne cheeks as leane;
Hunger his Sauce, his Recreation paine,
To tell his Gold and put it vp againe.
Yet see the fruit of's labour, and his end,
What th'Father could not vse, the Sonne can spend.
For true it is which was auerr'd by one,
“A scraping Father makes a sporting Sonne.
Well knowne that maxime is (tho th'instance euill,
Happie's that sonne whose Father goes to th'Deuill.
Many we reade of, that were like to these,
As Hermon, Phædon, and Hermocrates:
The first whereof was so enthrall'd to wealth,
As he contemn'd the Benefit of health;
And seeing that there was no remedie,
But he must yeeld to frayle mortalitie:
To shew that Loue he bore to wealth before,
He made himselfe his owne Executour.
Next Phædon was, who seeing death at hand,
Commanded such as did about him stand;
That when he was departed, streight they should,
Stitch in his winding sheete peeces of gold,
For sure (quoth he) I am, those Iudges three
Which be in hell, will soone corrupted be;
If they but see this Gold, and so shall I
By bribing Hell obtaine my libertie.
But of all others that Hermocrates
May be esteemed for the vain'st of these,
Who when he saw that fatall time was come,
That he must die, command'd them build a Tombe
Of purest Gold, and that there should be layd
Three bags of Gold as Pillowes for his head;
For if (quoth he) our death as it's exprest,
Be but a sleepe, in which we seeme to rest,
Till that our soules such priuiledge obtaine,
To re-assume their Bodies once againe.
Small is the rest which I am like to haue,
Without this blest companion in my Graue.
And heare me friends, good cause I haue to doubt it,
Since while I liu'd, sleepe could I nere without it.
O if we knew what wealth were in content,
And how a verie little's competent
To Nature, we would learne what Scriptures teach,
Desiring rather to be good than rich.
For goodnesse is a lasting Epithyte,
And giues vs knowledge of that Infinite
Which is transcendent, if then vnderstood
“It is the best of Richesse to be good.
And sure methinkes three causes there should be,
Might moue vs hate all super fluitie
In these respects: First, they inconstant are
And subiect to mutation; next, the care
They bring to their possessour: last of all
They force vs from Gods Prouidence to fall.
Which violation slaueth some we see,
Falling from God vnto Idolatrie.
For though this Golden Calfe of Horeb stand,
Not open to the World, yet this Land
Hath many priuate Baalites, I feare,
Which more affection to their Idoll beare,
Then to their Maker: and though they haue art
To hide their Guilt, they worship't with their heart.
And hath not then this Iland cause to mourne,
To see her people thus to Baals turne,
And leaue their God? Yes, she has cause to show
At no time more effects of Griefe then now:
Where this Souls-dropsie, thirstie Auarice
Enforceth Rich-men to Idolatrise;
Who, when they haue cram'd vp their Chests with store,
The more they haue, they couet still the more.
And whereto tends all this? If we might stay,
Or going hence beare our estate away:
There were some reason of our care to get,
And yet no cause of our adoring it.
But neither borne to stay, nor beare it hence,
Thus to admire it, it is foolishnesse.
For know Rich-man a shrowd shall be thy store,
“This poore men haue, & Rich-men haue no more.
“But haste the Muse to what is knowne of thee,
“As thou wast borne to't, write of Pouertie.