University of Virginia Library

Mans life is like a Watch, whose Time if still
It Minuits right, distemper'd by no ill,
It is a rare Peece then; but oft we see,
It runnes too fast; in Action tis too free.
Sometimes, by wilfull providence set backe,
Sometimes, by dull neglect it goes too slacke,
Beates like a dying panting pulse so slow,
That by and by it stands; and then we know
Tis downe, some curious wheele is much amisse,
Or some sprynge broke, whereby the whole frame is
So farre pastrectifying, that it can
Never goe right; but like disorder'd Man,
Mis-spending pretious time in godlesse riot,
Time barrs of Heav'n, Angells immortall dyet.

Youth is a hot, unbridled, willfull folly,
Picke me out one that's Vertuous, truly holy
In this abused life; and you shall finde,
Infinite thousands of a Vicious minde.

Age Palsey-strucke ready for deaths darke grave,
Insensible of sinne, it all would have
That shew of profit brings; though ill got gaine,
And threatning heaven in thunder speake, refraine
Bad precepts; t'will not do; Truth tells us still,
Age proves Youth's scorne, through examples ill.
Vice leades the silver yeares to endlesse blame,
Vaine unstay'd youth to beggery, and shame.
'Tis Heav'ns just punishment; an ill lewd life,
In Young and old, meets with eternall strife.

Thinke then on thy Creatour wretched man,
Remember what thou art, thy life a span,
A weake thinne thread, spun from the downy wooll
Of tender children, to the Aged skull.
From youths rich Scarlet die, Beauties full force,
To the silver Tinsell snow, of a cold Course.
Man is an Actor, and the world the Stage,
Where some doe laugh, some weepe, some sing, some rage
All in their Parts, during the Scene of breath,
Act follies, scourg'd by the Tragedian death:
Such is the Fate of soules, ensnar'd within
Satans command; beware the twigg of sinne,
Least touch will take thee Pris'ner; Hellish gurles,
Prove like the perilous paths of Crocodiles,
That with a slimie Tongue lick't o're prepares
To murther Mortalls; such is Satans snare.
O why should Mortalls wish long life to live,
What comfort? what true joy do's this life give?
Ther's nothing, not one thought that do's us good,
But it is strangl'd straight by flesh and blood.
The longer life, the more we sinne, and fall
From bad to worse, from worse, to worst of all.
“Life loving fortunes, how ye puffe men up,
“To hugg their follie, drinke damnations Cup!
O that men were farre wiser, would but thinke,
How swell'd with pride, they desperately wincke
At their owne venom Vices; and yet storme
At others faults; good heav'n this sinne returne,
Or we shall perish; praying for our foes
Is of small use; this causes all our woes.
Rejoyce at no mans fall (with foule aspersion)
Although thy foe; but pray for his conversion;
So piety wills; still imitate the best,
Not worst of men; he that lives well, dies blest.
Observe, what Holy Rrit prompts thee to act,
“Pray for thy foes, 'tis a most pious fact,
If then thine enemie persist in ire,
“Heav'n on his head in flames, heapes coales of fire:
The cause, that on our heads just vengance drawes,
Springs from our selves; we breake Gods sacred Lawes,
Yet never minde it; complaints and daily cryes
Are much among us still, but no wet eyes
For crying sinnes; daggers of discontent
Stab home, where carelesse people ne'r repent.
Nothing more dang'rous, nor hath ever been,
Then to live still, i'th' Lethargie of sinne,
The clouded fight permits us not to Eie
Our owne foule faults; nor the Flint heart to spie
It's rockie substance; many have no sense,
No feeling of their sinnes large conscience,
Remove the cause betimes, let thou, and I,
Ev'ry one strive, offend not with thine eye.
“Fly from the tongues abuse, thy hard hearts terrour,
“Or live sinnes Slave, lost in a mist of errour.