A Nights Search :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Med'cines that must cure this sowle disease
According to my skill (if readers please
To gather patience to digest the rest,
They'l prize the remedies, being here exprest.

267

I'le shew in order: Morall and Divine,
With Naturall helps, as tempers do incline,
So must they be appl'd. Thou must begin,
First, to consider, 'tis a hatefull sin,
That heaven still hath curst, the actors thence
Are banisht; for a shamefull recompence,
As most unclean; it is against thy life,
Thy soule, thy health, thy substance, friends, and wife,
(If thou hast any) and the curse, and shame,
With wrath and guilt, wil prey upon thy name.
Earth will not hold thee long; while here thou art,
Thou dost but for a hel-hound play thy part.
Thou cur'st thy time short; for thy raging lust
Infects thy bones, thy flesh; brings thee to dust
Before thou art aware; mens hate is bred
To thee alive; they'l loath thee being dead.
When heaven, and earth disclaimes thee, hel will take
Thee for her owne, where thou thy bed must make
In burning flames: repent, repent in time,
Or sin will fill thy bones, being laid in slime.

Deny occasions, that would tempt thee to it;
Think on thy end, and then thou canst not do it.
Subdue the rise of lust; thy sin will bee
Slave like kept in captivity by thee.

Observe what others by their lusts have gain'd;
Have they not been disgrac'd, plagu'd, punisht, pain'd?
Those painted pleasures, blasted in the bloom,
Fore-run a horrid night! the day of Doom
Will shew thee to the world. Oh! watch and pray!
or lust, and hell, wil hurry thee away:

Keep down thy pamper'd flesh with fasting: then
Thou wilt forsake such beasts, and live with men.
Mind still the presence of the glorious God;
Submit to him in love, but fear his rod.

268

Make bargaine with thy eyes, ne're to behold
Faire, wanton objects: rather view the mold,
From which thy flesh was fram'd: (nor hast thou trust)
While here thou stayst, thou art but living dust.

Think everie griefe, distresse, disease, or paine,
Is sent to rank thy life among the slaine.
Thou maist be taken in the cursed act,
(As Zimri was) and damned for the fact.

Shun idlenesse; if thou art not employ'd
In honest wayes, the Devill will divide
Thy heart, thy strength, and draw thee to his will,
To pleasure him in any thing that's ill.
Thy leasure gives thee leave; (thou'lt work the faster,
If Nature spur thee on) a cruell master
He'l prove at last; when thou shouldst reap thy gaines,
What canst expect, but torment for thy paines?

Beware of drunkennesse; else that will breed
And kindle fewel; then this shamefull deed
Wil hatch it self: when thou hast drown'd thy braines,
The fog of lust will then possesse thy reines:
They're neere of kin; there is no cause of wonder,
That evill partners are not far asunder.
The time drawes on, when drunkennesse, and lust
Shall have their hell together; is't not just
That hel should draw them drie? or is't not fit,
That wittie mad men lose not sense, but wit?

Avoyd ill custome: 'tis no easie thing
To change a habit: he's a true bred King
That conquers but himselfe. Sin wil be stronger,
And as the evening shadow grows still longer,
So custome spreds it selfe. This one thing know,
Thou'st age enough to match with fiends below.
If thou be married, 'tis the breach of truth
Betwixt thee, and the partner of thy youth,

269

Which curses will requite: 'twill be a blot
To thee and thine, for ever; and thy lot
Will be the like, or worse; such men do find
Lex talionis (paid home in their kind.)

If thou art single, and thy lust prove strong,
Prevent the worst by Marriage: tarrying long
May force the floods to overflow the banks;
Then men grow fearelesse, fit for hellish pranks.
This sin is never single; it must be
Ioyn'd with anothers in adultery:
As though the guilty threatning to rebell,
Breath'd out disdaine, to go alone to hell.
He beares the double sin: though they agreed
A little time to sin; this shamefull deed,
When done, 'twill breed them everlasting odds:
They're painted roses which do turne to rods.

Looke on the imperfections of a whore;
Some in her person, but sh' as worse, and more
In disposition: if thou hast but wit,
This thing alone may 'swage thy frenzy fit,
But if thou hast no skil, or art in doubt,
Bring her to me, I'le help to find 'em out.

But if thy lust exceed in strength, being great,
Starve it with hunger; and asswage the heat,
With faire coole water; drink nor wine, nor beere,
Till thou hast purg'd thy soule, and made all cleare.
Refuse no counsell, let it pierce thy heart,
And welcome a reproofe though it seemes smart
To thee: 'tis wholsome company with such
That hate this vice, and love good; for there's much
Good gotten by them; they've no poison'd breath;
In life like such as thou wouldst have at death.

Give up thy selfe to Christ: then thou maist say
Thou'rt not thine own: thou canst not go astray,

270

To joyne with harlots, for thy soul's bespoken,
The marriage day is set; his love's the token
Of thy eternal good. Hee'le ever keep
Thee from those vermine that about thee creep.
Here's profit, pleasure, everlasting gaine,
Which with consent wil banish all thy paine.

View heavens glory; fixing still thine eyes
With confidence, to pierce the lofty skyes:
And look beyond thy sense; and silence reason;
Note well the beauty, take the blessed season
To raise thy heart; see what reward those find
That were not foyl'd with lust, or womankind.

But when thou look'st, take this advise of mine,
Thine eyes, thy heart, thy ends must be Divine.

Then turne thine eyes tow'ards hel, where thou maist see
The plagues, the torments, and the misery
That hel-hound do indure: and that will make
Thy raging lust grow tame, thy heart wil ake,
To think the swallowing of a blasted pleasure
Should gender wrath, endlesse in weight and measure.
The potion's mingled, those that drink that cup
Their streames of lust will soon be dryed up.
Their dainty pallats thirst, th' insatiate whore,
With roaring Tom, shall act that sin no more.
Their moystur's gone; but there's the greater fire
Mixt stil with brimstone; that's the whorish hire.
There are no beauties; no, nor light to see
Except t'be shame, and sins deformitie.
They dwell with devils; and their inward room
Is burning hell, their prison, and their tomb.
What if thou shouldst when none of these will take,
Destroy a member? some for heavens sake
Have done as much ('tis better thou shouldst cast
One part away, than lose thy selfe at last.

271

Mistake me not, I doe not prompt thee to it;
If former meanes prevaile, thou maist not doe it.)
To save his soule who is't that would not use
A certaine cure? pray here my pen excuse.

There's nothing else, except time dos afford
Fresh remedies: (being ancient) he is stor'd
With cures both old and new: the sinner old,
Will leave his lust, or that him, 'cause he's cold.
For physick helps, those that professe that Art
Can shew thee, which will calme thy boyling heart,
If that should misse (I think this will not faile)
Live like a begging Fryar in a jayle.
Stone wals, and iron grates are very good
To temper thee, and qualifie thy blood.

But if it be a woman, she must shun
Her liberty, work hard, not like a Nun,
To stitch a gorget; but to turne a mill,
Or draw a wheelbarrow, though against her will;
There are appointed places, 'mong the rest;
(If I may judge) the Bridewels are the best.
And let the whip lye always in her sight.
Let blew-cote beadles lock her up at night,
And call her early up, let time be inch't,
And of her labour let her not be pinch't.

There's one thing more, which I am loth to name,
'Twill strangle lust, but 'twill preferre thy shame.
Probatum est, 'tis nothing but a rope,
Made fast and loose, 'tis all the hangmans hope.
Thy hope, thy pleasure, with thy life will end;
'Tis then too late to say thou wilt amend.
The hangman's still in haste, the carmans pay
Will not availe to tarry halfe a day.
The Priest will pray, but he is never long:
He has it ready: when he holds his tongue

272

The pangs of death come on thee; when thy face
Is cover'd ore, oh! what a fearefull case
Art thou in then; the men in post will ride,
But when they come and find thee dead, fast tyde
Vnto a halters end; the people gone,
To Gregory, and thy grave thou'rt left alone.
But where abides thy soule? 'las! who can know?
I feare 'twill be confin'd to dwell below.

Remember what I say, read o're this book:
Perhaps thou maist in reading love to looke
Vpon thine own estate: (learne to be wise)
'Tis sharp, but wholsome, 'twill not blast thine eyes,
If 'twill but turne thy heart, 'twill quit the cost,
Or strengthen any, 'tis not labour lost.
The guiltlesse, and the convert shall for mee
Go uncontroll'd. Then let my Muse passe free.
Read it with patience; take what is thy due.
I heare the whispring of a bawdy crue:
I needs must answer them? Or they'l abuse
My harmlesse meaning, and my free-borne Muse.