Fons Lachrymarum or a fountain of tears: From whence doth flow Englands Complaint, Jeremiahs Lamentations paraphras'd with Divine Meditations and an elegy Upon that Son of Valor Sir Charles Lucas. Written by John Quarles |
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You my Triennial Powers; come and dispose
Your ears to my discourse; and Ile disclose
My grief to you, whose Judgments can prescribe
A timely remedy without a bribe.
Then hark!
Your ears to my discourse; and Ile disclose
My grief to you, whose Judgments can prescribe
A timely remedy without a bribe.
Then hark!
The climing power of my disease is grown
To such a height, that I can hardly own
A minutes rest; my body politick
You apprehend (I know) is very sick:
Then let the depth of understanding move
The depth of pitty, that ye may remove
These growing inconveniences, that moan
For your assistance: Can a Kingdom groan,
And not be heard? Can a disease remain
Within my body, and not I complain
Of what I suffer? That were Tyrannie
Not to be paraleld. O pitty me,
And let the fervour of my language turn
Your thoughts to tears, to quench those flames that burn
My wasting intrals: Let your hearts relent
With meditating on my discontent:
Open your willing ears, and hear me call;
Oh do not fall aslumbring whilst I fall:
Oh hear me soon, that now complain too late:
Let my complaints make you compassionate;
Dissolve into a Sea of tears. Involve
Your selves with sackcloth. Let your minds revolve
Upon your native soil; resolve to spend
Your greatest skils, to consummate the end
Of my distractions; and let mercy joyn
With justice; so shall endless love combine
Your souls: That like Ezekiels wheels ye may
Run one within another, and not stray:
But like Isaiahs Seraphims, may cry,
O holy, holy, holy God on high.
To such a height, that I can hardly own
A minutes rest; my body politick
You apprehend (I know) is very sick:
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The depth of pitty, that ye may remove
These growing inconveniences, that moan
For your assistance: Can a Kingdom groan,
And not be heard? Can a disease remain
Within my body, and not I complain
Of what I suffer? That were Tyrannie
Not to be paraleld. O pitty me,
And let the fervour of my language turn
Your thoughts to tears, to quench those flames that burn
My wasting intrals: Let your hearts relent
With meditating on my discontent:
Open your willing ears, and hear me call;
Oh do not fall aslumbring whilst I fall:
Oh hear me soon, that now complain too late:
Let my complaints make you compassionate;
Dissolve into a Sea of tears. Involve
Your selves with sackcloth. Let your minds revolve
Upon your native soil; resolve to spend
Your greatest skils, to consummate the end
Of my distractions; and let mercy joyn
With justice; so shall endless love combine
Your souls: That like Ezekiels wheels ye may
Run one within another, and not stray:
But like Isaiahs Seraphims, may cry,
O holy, holy, holy God on high.
But stay? nor can I end, my griefs must fly
A little further; Mountains that are high
Must be discovered: Molehills often times
Lie out of sight, like undiscovered crimes.
A publike sorrow oftentimes admits
A cure from them, whose more concreted wits
Do daily study with more active arts
More publique mischief with more private heart
Doth not the fawning Crocodile obtain
By publique sorrow her more private gain?
Doth not the crafty Lapwing cry the least,
When she is nearest to her close-made nest?
Are there not those in this conniving age,
Whose outward meekness is but inward rage?
Are there not those in these contentious times,
That live by nothing, but their private crimes?
Oh, grief to speak it: Are there not a sort
Of wilful people, that can make a sport
At others ruins, whose pretended zeal
Hath bred much mischief in this Common-weal?
Are there not those that would pretend to be
Reformers, yet deform a Monarchie?
Are there not those, whose upstart honors crave
Perpetual durance, only to enslave
The Sons of honor? Thus they play the thief,
And joy in nothing, but in others grief.
Are there not those, who in one breath can cry
Against a Lyar, yet can forge a lye
For their advantage, and abjure the Laws?
Lyes are no lyes, if they advance their Cause.
Are there not those that persecute the Arts,
And yet retain Monopolizing hearts?
Are there not those that dayly take delight
To twist themselves into anothers right?
Do not all these, which I have nam'd, pretend
To do all this, to a religious end?
And ah Religion! how art thou betray'd
By those, whose worthless industry have layd
Thine honor in the dust; nay, and have thrown
Dirt in their faces, that shall dare to own
Thy very name? these are a sort of people
That love no Church, because they hate the steeple:
I dare affirm, that Proteus ne're could be
So much transform'd, as they have transform'd thee:
Nor can I yet conclude; I must deplore
My greater sorrows, yet a little more:
Let no man take exceptions, for I speak
Unto my self; sorrow must find a leak.
I cannot hold; and oh that I were able
To make my feeble tongue infatigable,
That by my full expressions, I may prove
How much the Serpent over-rules the Dove.
A little further; Mountains that are high
Must be discovered: Molehills often times
Lie out of sight, like undiscovered crimes.
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A cure from them, whose more concreted wits
Do daily study with more active arts
More publique mischief with more private heart
Doth not the fawning Crocodile obtain
By publique sorrow her more private gain?
Doth not the crafty Lapwing cry the least,
When she is nearest to her close-made nest?
Are there not those in this conniving age,
Whose outward meekness is but inward rage?
Are there not those in these contentious times,
That live by nothing, but their private crimes?
Oh, grief to speak it: Are there not a sort
Of wilful people, that can make a sport
At others ruins, whose pretended zeal
Hath bred much mischief in this Common-weal?
Are there not those that would pretend to be
Reformers, yet deform a Monarchie?
Are there not those, whose upstart honors crave
Perpetual durance, only to enslave
The Sons of honor? Thus they play the thief,
And joy in nothing, but in others grief.
Are there not those, who in one breath can cry
Against a Lyar, yet can forge a lye
For their advantage, and abjure the Laws?
Lyes are no lyes, if they advance their Cause.
Are there not those that persecute the Arts,
And yet retain Monopolizing hearts?
Are there not those that dayly take delight
To twist themselves into anothers right?
17
To do all this, to a religious end?
And ah Religion! how art thou betray'd
By those, whose worthless industry have layd
Thine honor in the dust; nay, and have thrown
Dirt in their faces, that shall dare to own
Thy very name? these are a sort of people
That love no Church, because they hate the steeple:
I dare affirm, that Proteus ne're could be
So much transform'd, as they have transform'd thee:
Nor can I yet conclude; I must deplore
My greater sorrows, yet a little more:
Let no man take exceptions, for I speak
Unto my self; sorrow must find a leak.
I cannot hold; and oh that I were able
To make my feeble tongue infatigable,
That by my full expressions, I may prove
How much the Serpent over-rules the Dove.
There was a time (not long since) when my fits
Had found an expiation, if those wits
(Which prov'd too serpentine) had not delayd
Their too-soon violated vows, and playd
A double game: I even blush to name
What odds they had, and how they lost the game.
The world (though sad) is not so melancholly,
But that it smiles at, and records that folly:
The breach of vows cracks honor, and the loss
Of opportunity, deserves a cross
In honors book; and he that shall neglect
A publike good, shall find a bad respect
In private hearts, and ruine must attend
A publique Actor, for a private end.
Are there not those hate Rome, and yet make room
For Cataline, and labour to entomb
His vile prescriptions in their Romish thoughts,
And yet excuse themselves, and him, from faults?
Do I not see them how they run his paths
With headlong force, and prosecute his Laws?
Do I not see their Agents, how they strive
To ruine others, and to keep alive
Themselves, that liv'd not, till this greedy age
Rak'd them from dunghils, to adorn the Stage
Of Hell-bred Tyranny? Do I not see
How much they'r honor'd for their Tyrannie?
Had found an expiation, if those wits
(Which prov'd too serpentine) had not delayd
Their too-soon violated vows, and playd
A double game: I even blush to name
What odds they had, and how they lost the game.
The world (though sad) is not so melancholly,
But that it smiles at, and records that folly:
The breach of vows cracks honor, and the loss
Of opportunity, deserves a cross
In honors book; and he that shall neglect
A publike good, shall find a bad respect
18
A publique Actor, for a private end.
Are there not those hate Rome, and yet make room
For Cataline, and labour to entomb
His vile prescriptions in their Romish thoughts,
And yet excuse themselves, and him, from faults?
Do I not see them how they run his paths
With headlong force, and prosecute his Laws?
Do I not see their Agents, how they strive
To ruine others, and to keep alive
Themselves, that liv'd not, till this greedy age
Rak'd them from dunghils, to adorn the Stage
Of Hell-bred Tyranny? Do I not see
How much they'r honor'd for their Tyrannie?
The Salamander, when hee's crown'd with fire,
Is in his Kingdom, if his Crown expire,
His life concludes: Tell me what then remains,
Except the reliques of consuming flames.
Is in his Kingdom, if his Crown expire,
His life concludes: Tell me what then remains,
Except the reliques of consuming flames.
Even so the Salamanders of these daies,
(Whose hearts are made of flames) at last will blaze,
And smother into ashes: Thus declin'd,
What can they leave (except a stink) behind?
Each thing must live within it's element;
Discretion tells us, fishes must content
themselves with water; and all things must live
Content, with that which Heav'n was pleas'd to give.
'Tis only man that surfeits with desire:
The earth, the ayr, the water quickning fire:
And all was made for man, and man man was made
Of all these things: Oh let it not be sayd,
That fire predominates, and breeds contest
Within my bowels, and destroys the rest.
Oh strive, now your unruly flames arise,
To quench your hearts with water from your eyes:
Strive not with Cataline, that lavish creature,
To stop great mischiefs, by enacting greater:
(Whose hearts are made of flames) at last will blaze,
And smother into ashes: Thus declin'd,
What can they leave (except a stink) behind?
Each thing must live within it's element;
Discretion tells us, fishes must content
themselves with water; and all things must live
Content, with that which Heav'n was pleas'd to give.
'Tis only man that surfeits with desire:
The earth, the ayr, the water quickning fire:
And all was made for man, and man man was made
Of all these things: Oh let it not be sayd,
19
Within my bowels, and destroys the rest.
Oh strive, now your unruly flames arise,
To quench your hearts with water from your eyes:
Strive not with Cataline, that lavish creature,
To stop great mischiefs, by enacting greater:
But tell me now, how can your thoughts reflect
Upon a Peace, when as ye dis-respect
The principle? 'tis an uncertain way
To gain a Peace by arms; for every day
Will breed new tumults, which will in conclusion
Inviron you with Armies of confusion:
Peace cannot swim in blood, blood cannot stand
Like pools of water in a peaceful Land.
Delight not thus in contraries; forsake
Your former ways, let not your hearts partake
Of blood, and ruine; Heav'n will never own
A blood-bedab'led soul: 'Tis not unknown
How ye have belch'd out oaths, & vow'd to bring
Peace to your Country, honor to your King:
Now wher's your Countries peace? now wher's the glory
Your King was promis'd? Oh nefandous story!
Can peace and strife cohabitate? Can fame
And glory be imprison'd? 'Tis your shame,
Not his dishonor, that ye perpetrate
Such horrid acts: I tremble to relate
What I have suffer'd: Is't not you that have
Exploded all my comforts? You that crave
(Like greedy Cormorants) still more and more,
Pretending charity, yet starve the poor?
Was it not you, whose active hands provided
To pull down Crosses, that have thus divided
My yielding people? Can ye now pull down
These Crosses ye have builded? You that crown
Your hearts with malice, will you always stand
In opposition? Will you still command
In spight of fortune? Will ye always be
Majestique too, in spight of Majestie?
I may affirm, that never Nation had
So good a King, whose Subjects are so bad.
Do ye not see how Heav'n hath pleas'd to smile
Upon his soul, and bless him all this while
With long-continued patience? It is he
Whose life, hath given life to Pietie.
He is a second Job, whose patience can
Outvie the base indignities of man:
Go ransake Europe, see if you can find
A more composed Prince, whose noble mind
Can entertain a grief, and never vent
(But turn) his passion into blest content;
Whole volumns of his griefs may be exprest;
And since I dare not speak, Ile weep the rest:
Upon a Peace, when as ye dis-respect
The principle? 'tis an uncertain way
To gain a Peace by arms; for every day
Will breed new tumults, which will in conclusion
Inviron you with Armies of confusion:
Peace cannot swim in blood, blood cannot stand
Like pools of water in a peaceful Land.
Delight not thus in contraries; forsake
Your former ways, let not your hearts partake
Of blood, and ruine; Heav'n will never own
A blood-bedab'led soul: 'Tis not unknown
How ye have belch'd out oaths, & vow'd to bring
Peace to your Country, honor to your King:
Now wher's your Countries peace? now wher's the glory
Your King was promis'd? Oh nefandous story!
Can peace and strife cohabitate? Can fame
And glory be imprison'd? 'Tis your shame,
Not his dishonor, that ye perpetrate
Such horrid acts: I tremble to relate
What I have suffer'd: Is't not you that have
Exploded all my comforts? You that crave
(Like greedy Cormorants) still more and more,
Pretending charity, yet starve the poor?
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To pull down Crosses, that have thus divided
My yielding people? Can ye now pull down
These Crosses ye have builded? You that crown
Your hearts with malice, will you always stand
In opposition? Will you still command
In spight of fortune? Will ye always be
Majestique too, in spight of Majestie?
I may affirm, that never Nation had
So good a King, whose Subjects are so bad.
Do ye not see how Heav'n hath pleas'd to smile
Upon his soul, and bless him all this while
With long-continued patience? It is he
Whose life, hath given life to Pietie.
He is a second Job, whose patience can
Outvie the base indignities of man:
Go ransake Europe, see if you can find
A more composed Prince, whose noble mind
Can entertain a grief, and never vent
(But turn) his passion into blest content;
Whole volumns of his griefs may be exprest;
And since I dare not speak, Ile weep the rest:
Oh stop my tears, or else my eyes will flow
Into a deluge; for my sorrows know
No mean at all; extreams of tears must fall
For such extreams of grief: Attend me all,
Whose hearts are not too flinty; Ile declare
Your Soveraigns suffering, with your Soveraigns care
How many widowed nights has his sad heart
Worn out with sorrow, having none t impart
His thoughts unto, except he please to spend
His language on the ears of such a friend
As Human was; whose unrestrained power
Punisht his own offence in half an hour.
Judg you, whose hearts have vow'd a double life,
What are th'endearments of a tender wife.
Judg you (what 'tis) whom bounteous Heav'n hath blest,
With numerous off-springs, to be dispossest
Of those encreasing comforts, which discry
No real joy, but in their parents eye.
And if th'enjoyment of these blessings yield
Such large content, needs must the want unshield
The soul of comfort: Oh unhappy fate!
Who'd be a father at so dear a rate?
A wife, unhappy, happy word; a wife
Happy oft-times to an unhappy life:
A wife, that word importeth joys
Unparaleld; that very word destroys
Armies of grief, and oftentimes it brings
A heav'nly sorrow to the hearts of Kings;
And curs'd be they, heav'n gives me leave to speak,
That shall presume to seperate, or break
Conjugal bands; How many in this Land
Lie subject to this curse? how many stand
Amaz'd, almost distracted, that have been
Actors? Heav'n bless my King, protect my Queen;
How many false aspersions have you cast
Upon their heads? Did ye not strive to blast
Their spotless honors? What was spoke of late,
I hate to think, much more to nominate:
Admit it had been truth, then had ye not
Prov'd much un ust, to leave so large a blot
Within this Kingdom: Thus you can discry
Inferior molehills, but let mountains lie.
Into a deluge; for my sorrows know
No mean at all; extreams of tears must fall
For such extreams of grief: Attend me all,
Whose hearts are not too flinty; Ile declare
Your Soveraigns suffering, with your Soveraigns care
How many widowed nights has his sad heart
Worn out with sorrow, having none t impart
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His language on the ears of such a friend
As Human was; whose unrestrained power
Punisht his own offence in half an hour.
Judg you, whose hearts have vow'd a double life,
What are th'endearments of a tender wife.
Judg you (what 'tis) whom bounteous Heav'n hath blest,
With numerous off-springs, to be dispossest
Of those encreasing comforts, which discry
No real joy, but in their parents eye.
And if th'enjoyment of these blessings yield
Such large content, needs must the want unshield
The soul of comfort: Oh unhappy fate!
Who'd be a father at so dear a rate?
A wife, unhappy, happy word; a wife
Happy oft-times to an unhappy life:
A wife, that word importeth joys
Unparaleld; that very word destroys
Armies of grief, and oftentimes it brings
A heav'nly sorrow to the hearts of Kings;
And curs'd be they, heav'n gives me leave to speak,
That shall presume to seperate, or break
Conjugal bands; How many in this Land
Lie subject to this curse? how many stand
Amaz'd, almost distracted, that have been
Actors? Heav'n bless my King, protect my Queen;
How many false aspersions have you cast
Upon their heads? Did ye not strive to blast
Their spotless honors? What was spoke of late,
I hate to think, much more to nominate:
22
Prov'd much un ust, to leave so large a blot
Within this Kingdom: Thus you can discry
Inferior molehills, but let mountains lie.
But tell me then, is this the only way
To make a glorious King? Heaven grant he may
Want such obnoxious honor, till he crave
Honor from you, to whom he honors gave:
Consider well, and ye will find it true,
'Twas heav'n that made him glorious, & not you:
'Twas he that fill'd his soul with true renown,
And crown'd his Cross as you have crost his crown.
Heav'n breaks no Covenants, he never fails,
He never unvotes what he votes, or rails
Against his enemies, but grieves to see
Their souls run headlong to their destinie.
Abused Peace perverts into a Curse:
What can be better, or what may be worse
Then Peace, whose presence (like the Sun) displays
Its golden ensignes; whose refulgent rays
Adorns the earth, and fills the gazing eye
With glorious light, and peaceful Majesty?
To make a glorious King? Heaven grant he may
Want such obnoxious honor, till he crave
Honor from you, to whom he honors gave:
Consider well, and ye will find it true,
'Twas heav'n that made him glorious, & not you:
'Twas he that fill'd his soul with true renown,
And crown'd his Cross as you have crost his crown.
Heav'n breaks no Covenants, he never fails,
He never unvotes what he votes, or rails
Against his enemies, but grieves to see
Their souls run headlong to their destinie.
Abused Peace perverts into a Curse:
What can be better, or what may be worse
Then Peace, whose presence (like the Sun) displays
Its golden ensignes; whose refulgent rays
Adorns the earth, and fills the gazing eye
With glorious light, and peaceful Majesty?
But when rude Boreas summons all his pow'r,
And argues with the Seas; In half an hour
You may behold a change: they which before
Were wrapt in silence, now begin to rore
Into a fury; contradictions bring
Endless disputes: Shall Boreas be a King,
And rule th'unruly waves? (when surges meet,
How rudely do they part, how rudely greet!)
Whilest peaceful Zephyrus must be deny'd
To breathe upon the floods? Can storms abide
For ever? No: rash Boreas must at last
Submit to Zephyrus; whose milder blast
Proclaims a sudden Peace, and strives to grace
The simp'ring Ocean with a smoother face:
And argues with the Seas; In half an hour
You may behold a change: they which before
Were wrapt in silence, now begin to rore
Into a fury; contradictions bring
Endless disputes: Shall Boreas be a King,
And rule th'unruly waves? (when surges meet,
How rudely do they part, how rudely greet!)
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To breathe upon the floods? Can storms abide
For ever? No: rash Boreas must at last
Submit to Zephyrus; whose milder blast
Proclaims a sudden Peace, and strives to grace
The simp'ring Ocean with a smoother face:
But whither am I hurried? slack my sails,
I fly beyond my Port; I find the gales
Of grief are too robustuous, and I doubt!
I cannot anchor here, but tack about.
I fly beyond my Port; I find the gales
Of grief are too robustuous, and I doubt!
I cannot anchor here, but tack about.
Seven years are now compleated since my grief
Had its initiation, yet relief
Stands at a distance; Peace is in a doubt
Whether to come within, or stay without.
Your rash proceedings, and your great disgraces
Make Peace even blush to look you in the faces:
Oh miserable men that live to know
Such times, such a reduplicating wo!
Is there no art remains? Is there no way
To set you right, that thus have gone astray?
Is there no faithful Lot to pray for Peace,
And stop the cause, that so th'effect may cease?
Is there no Jonah dare proclaim, and cry
Unto the sons of men, Destruction's nigh?
But are they all asleep, now sorrows swarm?
(Oh how can they repose in such a storm!)
Rouze slumbring souls, and lift your heads above
The decks of negligence; The God of Love
Will be too angry, if you sleep too long:
Advance your thoughts, and let your pray'rs be strong
For me, who am thus weak, and must decay,
Except this grief-encreasing Remora
Be wip'd away; Oh may I not offend
The Auditor of Heav'n, if I shall spend
Some words to this effect; I must confess
Dear God, I am corrupted, I address
My self to thee; Oh let thy healing hand
Prescribe a Balsam for this bleeding Land:
I have been too progressive, grant I may
Be retrograded to my former way:
Spoil not the path because I step'd aside,
Correct my feet, and let the path abide.
What though the path be something rough and small
Better's a rough path then no path at all;
For now I ramble up and down, and see
No certainty, except of miserie.
Is it discretion to pull down a fair
Cathedral Church because one spider's there?
Is is discretion to condemn the Sun
Because the Dial's false? the times must run
Their revolutions; set the Dial right,
Then you'l not want a truth till Sol wants light.
Had its initiation, yet relief
Stands at a distance; Peace is in a doubt
Whether to come within, or stay without.
Your rash proceedings, and your great disgraces
Make Peace even blush to look you in the faces:
Oh miserable men that live to know
Such times, such a reduplicating wo!
Is there no art remains? Is there no way
To set you right, that thus have gone astray?
Is there no faithful Lot to pray for Peace,
And stop the cause, that so th'effect may cease?
Is there no Jonah dare proclaim, and cry
Unto the sons of men, Destruction's nigh?
But are they all asleep, now sorrows swarm?
(Oh how can they repose in such a storm!)
Rouze slumbring souls, and lift your heads above
The decks of negligence; The God of Love
Will be too angry, if you sleep too long:
Advance your thoughts, and let your pray'rs be strong
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Except this grief-encreasing Remora
Be wip'd away; Oh may I not offend
The Auditor of Heav'n, if I shall spend
Some words to this effect; I must confess
Dear God, I am corrupted, I address
My self to thee; Oh let thy healing hand
Prescribe a Balsam for this bleeding Land:
I have been too progressive, grant I may
Be retrograded to my former way:
Spoil not the path because I step'd aside,
Correct my feet, and let the path abide.
What though the path be something rough and small
Better's a rough path then no path at all;
For now I ramble up and down, and see
No certainty, except of miserie.
Is it discretion to pull down a fair
Cathedral Church because one spider's there?
Is is discretion to condemn the Sun
Because the Dial's false? the times must run
Their revolutions; set the Dial right,
Then you'l not want a truth till Sol wants light.
Let all things move within their orbs; suppose
Th'inferior lights should labor to depose
The Prince of light, and drive him from his throne,
And by an usurpation make't their own:
What strange aspects would this produce t'affright
Supine Astronomers, to see that light,
Which was at distance, now approach so neer,
And blaze in an improper Hæmisphere:
Consider then, would not the Stars let fall
Too great an influence, the Sun too small,
On humane bodies? Oh may they remain
In their own Region, then would Sol again
Enjoy his just prerogatives, and feed
The world with such a lustre, as I need:
Peace is the light I want, could I obtain
But Peace, how soon should I survive again!
Peace is the best Physitian; I require
Nothing but Peace to quench my hot desire.
Th'inferior lights should labor to depose
The Prince of light, and drive him from his throne,
And by an usurpation make't their own:
What strange aspects would this produce t'affright
Supine Astronomers, to see that light,
Which was at distance, now approach so neer,
And blaze in an improper Hæmisphere:
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Too great an influence, the Sun too small,
On humane bodies? Oh may they remain
In their own Region, then would Sol again
Enjoy his just prerogatives, and feed
The world with such a lustre, as I need:
Peace is the light I want, could I obtain
But Peace, how soon should I survive again!
Peace is the best Physitian; I require
Nothing but Peace to quench my hot desire.
A good Physitian will be sure to see,
E're he prescribes, where lies the maladie;
Then he I begin to study, and to try
What may be best; whether Phlebotomy
Be good, and if it be, opens a vein,
And so restores his Patients ease again:
Thus, thus, grand authors of my woes should you
Have done at first, if ye had been but true
To me; but when at first my griefs you saw
Ye thought it good to purge me with your Law:
And having purg'd me, ye began to see
How weak I was; and what a low degree
Y'ad brought me to, and then ye fell at strife,
By killing me, how to preserve my life.
You brought strange Doctors to me, whose advice
I'm sure was purchas'd by too high a price:
They bid me lift my arms up to my head,
And stir my Body; for diseases bred
For want of exercise: they bid me play
A game or two at Irish every day.
I took th'advice, then I begun to find
A sudden alteration, and my mind
Was so transported, that me thoughts the ground
Began to dance, and I my self turn'd round:
I fell into a traunce, with this presumption,
And ever since I've liv'd in a Consumption.
Let this example all the world assure,
An English Grief will have no Scottish Cure.
And so farewel, if these be your conditions,
Henceforth you may prove—But not Physitians
E're he prescribes, where lies the maladie;
Then he I begin to study, and to try
What may be best; whether Phlebotomy
Be good, and if it be, opens a vein,
And so restores his Patients ease again:
Thus, thus, grand authors of my woes should you
Have done at first, if ye had been but true
To me; but when at first my griefs you saw
Ye thought it good to purge me with your Law:
And having purg'd me, ye began to see
How weak I was; and what a low degree
Y'ad brought me to, and then ye fell at strife,
By killing me, how to preserve my life.
You brought strange Doctors to me, whose advice
I'm sure was purchas'd by too high a price:
They bid me lift my arms up to my head,
And stir my Body; for diseases bred
For want of exercise: they bid me play
A game or two at Irish every day.
26
A sudden alteration, and my mind
Was so transported, that me thoughts the ground
Began to dance, and I my self turn'd round:
I fell into a traunce, with this presumption,
And ever since I've liv'd in a Consumption.
Let this example all the world assure,
An English Grief will have no Scottish Cure.
And so farewel, if these be your conditions,
Henceforth you may prove—But not Physitians
| Fons Lachrymarum | |