Prison-Pietie or, Meditations Divine and Moral. Digested into Poetical Heads, On Mixt and Various Subjects. Whereunto is added A Panegyrick to The Right Reverend, and most Nobly descended, Henry, Lord Bishop of London. By Samuel Speed, Prisoner in Ludgate, London |
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On Ingratitude. |
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On Ingratitude.
Lord, what a danger lately I escap'd!Torrents of Terrours just before me gap'd:
Upon the brink I was, yet scaped free;
They are well kept, O Lord, are kept by thee.
Surely thy meaning only was to fright,
As an advice that I might shun a smite.
Thus thy great providence doth think it fit
To hit the mark sometimes by missing it.
Let me not now appear so idly rude,
To pay my God with my Ingratitude;
And give my thanks to Fortune, as if she
Were Governess of my Tranquillity:
But if my thanks may make a recompence,
I'll pay them to the eye of Providence.
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That therefore I my thankfulness inlarge,
Lest my ingratitude should justly cause,
That since this Arrow seemingly did pause,
By touching of my hat, but miss'd my head;
The next may pierce my heart, and strike me dead.
The antient Romans did this Law contrive;
Ingrateful ones should be devour'd alive:
He that receiv'd, and thankfulness would want,
Was cast, whilst living, to the Cormorant.
Lycurgus made no Law to punish such,
Thinking no wretch could dare to sin so much.
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