University of Virginia Library

Vaine is this World, this Strumpet World that can
Yeild nothing constant; Love 'twixt man & man,
Which next his Maker should be most respected,
Is soonest broke, and most of all neglected,
Misse-led by ev'ry vaine phantastick toy,
To forget God; bewitcht with carnall joy,
Bundles of Baubles, imbecillitie,
Biles of Apparell, Botch Nobilitie,
Lordships, Ladyships, Fool'ries, and Fashions,
Lust-panting Humours, ten thousand passions.
Rich men, the more to blame, as this Age goes,
Debarre House-keeping to maintaine gay Cloathes.
A rich Caroach, three hundred pound a Gowne,
Thirty pound a Smocke, or their wives will frowne,
There is no living with them; they must ride,
Where, when, and how they lift in glitt'ring pride,
High flashing burning Braverie, blind eyes,
Flint Hearts, dull Eares, deafe to the poore mans cries.
Such is the dullnesse of mortalitie,
And such the worlds cold Hospitalitie.
“Brave Cloathes, full feeding, pride, ease, and laughter,
“Are peoples sinnes, that breed a peoples slaughter.
“Times maw-wormes, muck-wormes, cancker-wormes of sinne
“Ruines our Peace without, our Peace within.
“Each dustie Magistrate with Brib'rie fed,
“One robs the Living, another robs the dead,
“A third the Arch-theefe playes by cunning stealth,
“Knave Knights, by Patent rob the Common-wealth,
“Ioyne with much, too much ill Injustice, he
“Sodomiticall letcher for a greedy Fee
“Dares license Iust, glad if he may prevaile
“(Suck wealth from prostitute Harlots,) never faile.

Mans mind, which most his maker should respect,
(With feare and trembling, and that true respect
Belongs to his high Majestie) the net
Of sinne so snares, we worth-lesse wormes forget
Gods thunder-darting Vengeance, glorious state,
Still forget God, forget to contemplate
With ravishing Love, true Love, pure heart, pure eyes,
That's the defect, makes hourely mischiefs rise,
“Ambitious Lords attir'd in Anticke shape.
“Joy in the waies of Lust, Murther, and rape.
“Ladies, with charmes, trickes, humours, that they have,
“Abuse their Lords, dispatch 'em to the grave.
“The jealous Husband, mischievous in ill,
“Through vaine suspect, his constant wife to kill.
“The carelesse-Clergy-man in his degree
“Satan corrupts; makes for a golden fee
“The greedy Lawyer, (fed by Clients strife)
“Brib'd Angells take, for the the true Angell life.
Just Judge, the unjust dustie Magistrate,
Father the sonne, the sonne the Father hate;
Brother, the brother prosecute to death,
Quarrell for toyes; stop one anothers breath.
The World do's hour'ly tempt fooles worldly wise,
The deceitfull Trades-man that seemes precise,
And is an arrant Knave; to thinke the honie,
And only blessed life, still to get monie,
Mockes at the poore mans vertue, and in pride,
Stiles him a vertuous Foole; thus Knaves deride
The poverty of men, which do's as farre
(In Heav'nly wealth) transcend them, as a starre
The richest Gemme on Earth; But 'tis not so
With the World's wealthy worldlings; they say no,
Rich enough, honest enough; all they can
Aymes at the outward, not the inward man.
“Poverty made a scoffe, a scorne, a winde,
“Gold smothers Vertue, blackest actions blinde.
“Gold got in Gods name, with an honest face,
“Comes slow; but in the Devills name apace.
Such is the Worlds condition, Good Mens thrall,
On Earth ther's no true comfort, none at all.
The honest minded Scholler shall ne'r lack
“Sorrowes, nor want of meanes to breake his back.
“The pittifull Souldier in his greatest neede
“Ha's his throat cut; he shall be sure to bleede.
“The faire Gamester, for his milde square play,
“Is soonest cozen'd, sure to lose ev'ry day.
“The faithfull Lover oft is paid with hate,
“The more in Love, the more unfortunate,
Be rich or poore, in high or low estate,
I'th' mod'rate meane, or fully fortunate,
Vnsatiate mankind, ever discontent,
Desires to live, yet never lives content,
In scarcity of corne, for plenty cry,
In plenty, straight forget God instantly.
Such is mans erring soule, which ought to know,
“Life's but a long sad Pilgrimage of woe,
“An Arke of travell, shop of vanity,
“Store-house of trifles, inhumanity.
“A field of stones, a path of thornie prickes,
“Meadow of Scorpions, Grove of Basilickes.
The World's unquiet rest is all Mans foe,
Dangers attend us where so e're we goe.
Mischievous Deceits, Brawles, Quarrells, Fightings,
False-hearted Neighbour-hood, base back-bitings.
Friendships, so faithlesse ripe, full blowne with evill,
A friend to day, the next, for gaine proves Devill.
The World's condition right; 'tis slave to sinne,
Beware of it; the world's a cunning ginne,
'Twill entrap soules; call then to God for grace,
Let griefe for worldly crosses ne'r take place.
Never let sorrow runne into extreames
Vnlesse for sinne; so shall Celestiall Beames
Glorifie thy soule; make it immortall,
Free it from ills what ever can befall
In this false promising world; this Maze of woe,
Where wretched worldlings know not where to goe
To winde them out; such are the various waies
Of life-oppressing yeares, Moneths, Weekes and dayes.
As Prose ill read, abide too much missusing
Or vertuous verse, when Rogues have the perusing,
So fares it with the faire and flourishing line
Of that sweet Heavenly straine, Poesie Divine,
Basely neglected, by the monstre Crew,
“Of Puff-Past-Muddie-Mindes, that pish, and mew,
“Make a wry Close-stoole-face, a squint ey'd glance
“At Vertuous verse, (whose sad mischance
“Is to goe unregarded) when the crime,
“Of a Lascivious bastard Ballad-rime,
“(If baudy enough) though ner'e so unfit,
“Winns favour, profit, and the praise of wit.
“Reade with delight, and much, too much requir'd,
“Coppies sought after, greedily desir'd,
“When perfect Poetrie, (Musicke to the soule,
“Truths firme opposer, 'gainst crymes filthy foule)
“If read, most read for fashion, small delight,
“No, comfort, no respect, but scornefull slight.
“And such is Vertues Foe; the Worlds proud Minion,
“In whom ther's no true love, no perfect Vnion.

O Divine Poesie I lament thy state,
To see thy beauty disproportionate,
So poorely in esteeme, ther's few I see,
Or none at all, take true delight in thee.
This wanton World farre sooner will approve,
Ioy in Pot-Poets lousie Ryming love,
Or want on Ovids straine, to itch the eare,
And stirre the bloud to Lust; rather then heare
The Sempeternall Aime of Noble verse
Which points at Heav'n; and tells us of that fierce
All-threatning Thunderer; he that descries
Our secret deeds; our blackest Actions spies,
At which; amaz'd my Muse stands wrapt in wonder,
Beggs mercy, mercy, O thou God of Thunder,
Or we shall shipwrack all; All, too too blame,
Farre too unmindfull of Gods sacred name,
His blessings day by day; his great mercy,
Long suffering, and excelling safety.
Why should we worries stand precious in Heavens sight
And nor be damn'd to everlasting-Night
For our foule-erring sinnes; sinnes that excell:
Ingratitude to Heav'n, picks open Hell.
Hell; that this instant Gapes to seize this world,
Which deserves eu'ry moment to be hurld
To endlesse Flames; but for the Excellence
Of OVR FATHER'S wonderfull patience.
O for the Pen of pure perfection,
To Character mans imperfection,
Open the blind excessive sinners Eyes,
(Force teares for sinne) make him, himselfe despise,
Teare ope his eyes, that All-amaz'd with Horrour,
Trembling, he may behold his dreadfull Errour
Live; as in sulphurous Flames, see his evill,
See the Grand Devill, and cease to be a Devill.
Holla commanding Empresse of my Braine,
Whither thus flings my Muse, divert thy straine.
The Worlds a Racke, Times Tenter-hooke to catch
At mindes most honest, makes a man a wretch,
Thousands in want, finding no way to cure it,
Hazard the Gallowes, rather then endure it.
Mis'ry of Miseri's, when Coyne growes scant,
Mans fortunes Foot-ball, ther's no woe to want.
It dulls brave witts, when nothing else can doe it;
Tames, & makes desp'rate, when Tyme brings men to it.
Want makes a man turne slave, unto a slave,
Scof't, scorn'd, and flouted at by ev'ry knave,
By ev'ry silken sodden-headed Foole,
That never felt Heav'ns rod, nor Mis'ries schoole.
Want breatheth mischeifs never thought upon,
Makes too many dainty Dames turne wanton.
Want (like a Mad-man) makes men sweare and dice;
Forget their God, turne Vertue into Vice.
Husband and wife, the sister, and the Brother,
Compell'd through want, devoure one another.
Merchants, Lawyers, yea, some Divines will fall,
When want doth soundly gripe, 'twill trie 'em all.
And therefore (as an Antidote) be sure,
Strive to please God first; that's the onely cure
'Gainst Wolvish want; then let thy present state,
Thinke on some honest meanes; 'twill new create
Thy understanding; put thee on a way
With rev'rent Soule, on bended knees each day
To serve thy God aright; so he from falling
Proves thy Protector; gives thee a Vertuous calling.
Heav'n grant, the honest mind may never knowe
The fierce assaults of wants; that hell of woe,
Torture of minde, murd'rer of modestie,
High-way to Theft, Cut-throate of chastitie,
The key of whoredome, Bane of that true love,
Which many boast; but few did ever prove:
Many vow Love, for ever to be true,
Yet, when want comes, whores are not more untrue,
How sweetly did that Sacred Psalmist sing,
And runne Times true Division on the string
Of Misery, when he of God did crave
Nor want, nor too much wealth, least in the Grave
Of damn'd Despaire, much want might hale him in,
And riches mount him to the highest sinne;
Lackey his way to lewdnesse, to mistrust
Gods mercies, and to practise waies unjust,
A holy feare, seiz'd on that Sacred King
To dread wants dangrous Dart, proud riches sting.
May the good Man, still thirst for mercies Cup,
Clymbe Jacobs sacred Ladder, and mount up
Into a fiery Chariot, burning zeale,
Live a bright Angell, in Heav'ns common-weale,
Free from this world, whose pompe and bravery,
Is but a Land of Dirt, meere slavery.

Mundus domus ampla malorum,
Ac scelerum Patria est.