University of Virginia Library

MORAL DISCOURSES.

A Discourse of Love, the Parent of Passions.

No Mind can think, nor Understanding know,
To what a Height and Vastness Love can grow:
Love as a God all Passions doth Create,
Besides it Self, and those Determinate:
To Love bows down, and Prays devoutly, Fear;
Sadness and Grief Love's heavy Burthens bear;
Anger makes Rage, and Envy, Splene and Spight,
Like Thunder Roar, and in Love's Quarrels Fight.
Th'Informing Spie of Love is Jealousie,
And Doubt its Guide, to Search where th'Foes do lye;
Pity, Love's Child, whose Eyes with Tears do flow,
On every Object misery doth show:
Hate is Love's Champion, which opposeth all
Love's Enemies; their Ruine and their Fall.

A Discourse of Love Neglected, and Burnt up with Grief.

Love is the Cause, and Hate is the Effect,
Wch is produc'd, when Love doth find neglect;
For Love's like Fire, which doth on Fuel burn,
And Grief as Coals, wch quench'd to Blackness turn;
Whence Pale and Melancholy Ashes grow,
Which every Wind, though weak, about doth blow;
For Life and Strength from thence is gone, and past
With th'Species, which did cause the Form to last;
Which Form, as it was first, comes ne're again:
Thus Love in Melancholy adust is Slain.

A Discourse of Man's Pride, or seeming Prerogative.

What Creature's in this World besides Mankind,
That can such Arts and new Inventions find?
Or has such Fancies as to Similize,
Or can so Rule and Govern as the Wise?
Or that can by his Wit his Mind indite,
Can Numbers set, and subtile Letters write?
What Creature else but Man can Speak true Sense,
At Distance give and take Intelligence?
VVhat Creature else by Reason can abate
All Passions, can raise Doubts, Hopes, Love and Hate?
And can so many Countenances show,
Which are the Ground by which Affections grow?
They're several Dresses which the Mind puts on,
Some serve as Veils, which over it are thrown.
What Creature is, that has such peircing Eyes,
That mingles Souls, and in fast Friendship ties?
VVhat Creature else but Man has such delights,
So Various, and such Strong, Odd appetites?
Man can Distill, and is a Chymist rare,
Divides and Sep'rates Water, Fire, and Air;
He can Divide, and doth Asunder take
All Nature's Works, what ever she doth make;
Can take the Breadth, Depth, Length, & Height of things,
And know the Virtue of each Plant that Springs;
Make Creatures all Submit unto his will,
And Live by Fame, though Death his Body Kill:
VVhat else, but Man, can Nature imitate,
VVith th'Pen and Pencil can new Worlds create?
There's none like Man; for like the Gods is he;
Then let the World his Slave and Vassall be.

Of Foolish Ambition.

Ten thousand Pounds a Year will make me Live,
Fortune then must a Kingdome to me give;
I'l Conquer all, like Alexander Great,
And, like to Cæsar, my Opposers beat:
Give me a Fame, that with the VVorld may last,
Let all Tongues tell of my great Actions past;
Let every Child, that Learns to Speak, my Name
Repeat, to keep the Memory of my Fame;
And then great Fortune, give to me thy Power,
To ruine Man, and raise him in an Hour;
Let me Command the Fates, and Spin their Thread,
And Death to stay his Sith, when I forbid;
And Destiny, give me your Chains to tye,
Effects from Causes to produce thereby;
And let me like the Gods be high alone,
That nothing may but by my VVill be done.

Of Humility.

When with returning Thoughts I do behold
My self, I find all Creatures of that Mould,
And for the Mind, which some say is like Gods,
I do not find 'twixt Man and Beast such Odds,
Only the Shape of Man is fit for use,
Which makes him seem much wiser than a Goose;
For had a Goose, which seems of Simple Kind,
A Shape to form and fit things to her Mind,
To make such Creatures as her would Obey,
Could hunt and shoot those that would 'scape away,
As Wise she'ld seem as Man, be as much Fear'd,
And when the Goose comes near, the Man be Scar'd.
Who knows, but Beasts may Wiser than Men be?
VVe no such Errours or Mistakes can see;
Like quiet Men they do Injoy their rest,
To Eat and Drink in Peace, they think it best;
Their Food is all they seek, the rest think Vain,
If they not to Eternity remain:
Despise not Beasts, nor yet be proud of Art,
But Nature thank, for Forming so each Part;
And since all Knowledge by your Form you gain,
Then let not Pride above your Reason Reign;
VVhen you find Motion in your Brain works best,
Then slight not Beasts, for being in them Deprest;
Nor Boast of Speech, 'cause Reason it can show,
For Beasts have Reason too, for ought we know:
Shape doth Inform the Mind of what we find,
VVhich being taught, Man's wiser than Beast kind.

Of Riches, or Covetousness.

VVhat will not Riches in abundance do,
And make the Mind of Man submit unto?
They Bribe out Virtue from her Strongest hold,
And make the Coward Valorous and Bold;
They corrupt Chastity, melt Thoughts of Ice,
And Bashfull Modesty they do Intice:
They make the Humble proud, and Meek to swell,
Destroy all Loyalty, make Hearts rebell;
They do untie the Knots of Friendship fast,
All natural Affections forth they cast;
They Kill the Innocent, do Hearts divide,
Buy Conscience out, and every Cause decide;
They make that Man doth venture Life and Health,
So much desir'd and dear to him is VVealth;
They buy out Heav'n, and do cast Souls to Hell;
For Man to get this Dross, his God will Sell.

Of Poverty.

My Dwelling is a low Thatcht House, my Cell
'S not big enough for Pride's great Heart to dwell;
My Rooms are not of Stately Cedars built,
No Marble Chimney-piece, no Wainscot Gilt;
No Statues Cut, or Carv'd, or Cast in Brass,
Which had they Life, would Nature's Art surpass;
No Painted Pictures which Apelles drew,
There's nothing else but Lime and Hair to View;
No Agath-Table with a Tortoise frame,
Nor Stools stuft with Birds feathers, Wild or Tame;
But a Stump of an Old decayed Tree,
And Stools that have three Leggs, and half Lame be,
Cut with a Hatchet from some broken Boughs;
And this is all which Poverty allows:
Yet is it free from Cares, no Thieves doth fear,
The Door is Open, all are Welcome there;
Not like the Rich, who Guests do entertain
With Cruelty, when Birds and Beasts are Slain,
Who Oyl their Bodies with their melted Grease,
And by their Flesh their Bodies Fat increase:
We need no Cook, nor Skil to Dress our meat;
For Nature Dresses most of what we Eat;
As Roots and Herbs, not such as Art doth sow,
But which in Fields do Naturally grow:
Our wooden Cups we from the Spring do fill,
VVhich is the VVine-press of great Nature still;
Rich men, when they for to delight their Taste,
Suck out the Juice from th'Earth, her Strength they waste;
For bearing oft she'l grow so Lean and Bare,
That like a Sceleton she will appear;
Into their Drink the subtile Spirits they
From Barley and the Full-ripe Grape convey:
Thus by their Luxury their Life they waste,
And their Delight is still to please their Taste;
This heats the Mind with an ambitious Fire;
None Happy is, but in a Low desire;
Their Longings do run out, and fix no where;
For what they have, or can have, nought they Care,
But Long for what they have not, this th'admire,
Oft Sick for want; so Restless is Desire.
VVhen we from Labours come, we quiet Sleep,
No restless Thoughts our Sense awake doth keep;
All's still and silent in our House and Mind,
Our Thoughts are chearfull and our Hearts are kind;
And Life, although 't in Motion still does dwell,
Yet Rest in Life a Poor man Loveth well.

Of Tranquillity.

That Mind, which would in Peace and Quiet be,
Must cast off Cares and foolish Vanity;
VVith right Honest desires an House 't must Build
Upon the Ground of Honour, which being Seel'd
VVith Constant Resolutions, will last long,
If it on Pillars stands of Justice strong;
Let nothing dwell there, but Thoughts truly holy,
Turn out dull Ignorance, and rude rash Folly;
There will the Mind injoy it Self in pleasure;
For to it Self it is the greatest Treasure:
But they are Poor, whose Mind is discontent,
VVhat Joy they have, it is to them but Lent.
The World is like unto a troubled Sea,
Life like a Barque made of a rotten Tree,
VVhere every Wave indangers it to Split,
And Drown'd it is, if 'gainst a Rock it hit;
But if this Barque be made with Temp'rance strong,
It mounts the Waves, and Travels far and long;
If Prudence it doth as a Pilot guide,
It 'scapes all Rocks, and goes with Wind and Tide;
There Love, the Merchant, Trafficks up to Heav'n,
And for his Prayers Mercies him hath given;
Conscience, as Factor, sets the Price of things,
Tranquillity, as Buyer, Money brings.

Of the Shortness of Man's Life, and his Foolish Ambition.

Walking in Gardens sweet, each Flow'r when I
Mark'd, how't did Spring, Bud, Blow, VVither and Dye,
I Contemplating was of Man's short stay,
Since like those Flow'rs I saw him pass away;
Yet Builds he Houses thick, and strong, and high,
As if he should Live to Eternity;
Hoards up a Mass of Wealth, yet cannot fill
His empty Mind, but Covet he will still.
To gain and keep, such falshood Men do use,
'Gainst Right and Truth no base ways they refuse.
I would not blame them could they Death out-keep,
Or ease their Pains, or cause a quiet Sleep;
Or purchase Heav'n, there like the Gods to Live,
And to the Sun, Moon, Stars, could Orders give,
Command the VVinds to Blow, Seas to Obey,
And Level all their VVaves, cause VVinds to stay;
But they no Power have unless to Dye,
And Care in Life is a great Misery;
This Care's but for a Word, an empty Sound,
In which is neither Soul nor Substance found;
Yet as their Heir they make it to Inherit,
And all they have, they leave unto this Spirit;
To get this Child of Fame, and this bare Word,
They fear no Dangers, neither Fire nor Sword;
All horrid Pains and Deaths they will indure,
Or any thing, can it but Fame procure:
O man, O man! What high Ambition grows
Within his Brain, and yet how Low he goes!
To be Contented only with a Sound,
Where neither Life nor Body can be found!

A Moral Discourse of Man and Beast.

Of the Ant.

Mark but the little Ant how she doth run,
In what a busie Motion she goes on,
As if she Order'd all the VVorld's affairs,
VVhen 'tis but only one small Straw she bears;
And when a Fly doth on the Ground lye Dead,
Lord! How they stir, how full is every Head!
Some it along with Feet and Mouths do Trail,
And some thrust on with Shoulder and with Tail;
And if a stranger Ant comes on that way,
She helps them strait, ne're asketh if she may,
Nor stays to have Rewards, but is well pleas'd
T' have Labour for her Pains, so they be Eas'd.
They Live as the Lacedæmonians did,
For all is Common, nothing is forbid,
No private Feast, but altogether meet,
And wholsome Food, though plain, in publick Eat;
They have no Envy, all Ambition's down,
There is neither Superiour nor Clown:
No Palaces for Pride erect they will,
Their House is common, called the Ants Hill;
All help to Build and Keep it in Repair,
No special VVork-men, but all Lab'rers are;
No Market's Kept, no Meat have they to Sell,
But what each Eats, all welcome is, and well;
No Jealousie, each takes his Neighbour's VVife
VVithout offence, which never breedeth strife;
They Fight no Duels, nor do give the Lie,
Their greatest Honour is to Live, not Dye:
For they to Keep up Life through Dangers venture,
To get Provisions in against the VVinter;
But many lose their Life as chance doth fall,
None is perpetual, Death devoureth all.

A Moral Discourse of Corn.

The Yellow-bearded Corn bows down each Head,
Like Gluttons, when their Stomack's over-fed;
Or like as those whose Wealth makes heavy Cares,
So doth the Full-ripe Corn hang down their Ears;
For Plenty makes Oppression, gives small Ease,
And Superfluity is a Disease;
Yet all that Nature makes doth still aspire
Forward to get, never doth Back retire,
Untill the Sithe of Death doth lay them low
Upon the Earth, from whence they first did Grow.
Then who would Hoard up Wealth, and take such pains,
Since nothing but the Earth has all the gains?
No Riches are, but what i'th' Mind is found,
They are but Poor, who seek them under Ground;
For Time that Feeds on Life, makes all things fall,
Is never Satisfy'd, but Eats up all:
Then let the Minds of Men in Peace take rest,
And count a Moderation still the best;
And do not Grumble, or Covet Nature's store;
For those that are Content, can ne're be Poor;
But bless the Gods, submit to their Decree,
Think all things best, what they are pleas'd, must be:
He that doth Grumbl' at what he cannot mend,
Is one, that takes a thing at the wrong end.

Of the Knowledge of Beasts.

Who knoweth, but that Beasts as they do lye
In Meadows low, or else on Mountains high,
May Contemplations have upon the Sun,
And how his Daily, Yearly Circles run?
VVhether the Sun about the Earth doth Rove,
Or else the Earth on its own Poles doth move;
And in the Night, when twinkling Stars they see,
Like Man, imagine them all Suns to be;
And may the Stars and Planets number well,
And, could they Speak as Men, their Motions tell;
And how each Planet in its Orb doth move,
Against all Man's Astrology may prove;
For they may know the Stars and their Aspects,
VVhat Influence they cast, and their Effects.

Of Fish.

Who knows, but Fish which in the Sea do Live,
Can a good Reason of its Saltness give?
And how it Ebbs and Flows, perchance they can
Shew Reasons more than ever yet could Man.

Of Birds.

Who knows, but Birds, which under th'Azure Skies
Do fly, know whence the blustring Winds do rise?
And what a Thunder is, which no Man knows,
And what a blazing Star, or where it goes;
VVhether it be a Chip fall'n from the Sun,
And Vanish when its Aliment is done;
Or a Sulphureous Vapour drawn up high,
And when the Sulphur's spent, the Flame doth Dye;
Or whether 't be a Jelly set on Fire,
And wasting like a Candle doth expire;
Or whether 't be a Star whole and intire,
The Birds perhaps might tell, could we inquire.

Earths Complaint.

O Nature, Nature! Hearken to my Cry,
I'm VVounded sore, but yet I cannot Dye;
My Children which I from my Womb did bear,
Do dig my Sides, and all my Bowels tear,
They Plow deep Furrows in my very Face,
From Torment I have neither time nor place;
No other Element is so abus'd,
Or by Mankind so Cruelly is us'd.
Man cannot reach the Skys to Plow and Sow,
Nor can they Set or make the Stars to grow,
But they are still as Nature did them Plant,
Neither Maturity nor Growth they want;
They never Dye, nor do they yield their place
To younger Stars, but still run their own Race:
The Sun doth never Groan, young Suns to bear,
For he himself is his own Son and Heir;
He in the Centre sits just like a King,
Round him the Planets are as in a Ring;
The largest Orbs over his Head turn slow,
And underneath the swiftest Planets go;
All several Planets several Measures take,
And with their Motions do sweet Musick make:
Thus all the Planets round about him move,
And he returns them Light for their kind Love.

A Discourse of a Knave.

A prosperous Knave, that Mischief still doth Plot,
Swells big with Pride, since he has Power got;
His Conscience like a Purse open and wide,
False Hands do cast in Bribes on every side;
And as his Guts are stuft with Excrement,
So is his Head with Thoughts of ill Intent;
No Pitty shews to Men opprest with Grief,
But yet is apt to Pitty much a Thief;
He thinks them Fools that VVickedness do shun,
Esteems them VVise that Evil ways do run;
The Noble he doth Scorn, if they be Poor,
The Rich, though ne're so Base, he doth Adore;
He always Smiles as if he Peace still meant,
When all the while his Heart to Evil's bent;
He'l Friendship shew, and large Professions make,
VVhere he doth think Advantages to take:
Thus doth a Glossing Knave the VVorld abuse,
To work his end, the Devil his Friend he'l chuse.

Of a Fool.

I do hate Fools, for they my Brains do Crack,
And when they Speak my Patience's on the Rack;
Their Actions all from Reason quite do run,
Their Ends prove Bad, 'cause ill they first begun;
They fly from VVisdome, do her Counsels fear,
As if some Ruine near their Heads there were;
They seek the Shadow, let the Substance go,
And what is Good, or Best, they do not know:
Yet stiff in their Opinions are always,
Although you do them Bray, as Salomon says.
As in a Spiders VVeb a little Fly,
So Fools wrapt up in VVebs of Errours lye;
And as the Spider Flies with Poison fills,
So Mischief, after Errours, Fools oft Kills.

Of Melancholy.

A sad and Solemn Verse doth please the Mind,
With Chains of Passions doth the Spirits bind.
As Pencil'd Pictures drawn present the Night,
VVhose Darker Shadows give the Eye delight;
A Melancholy Object draws the Eye,
And always hath a seeming Majesty;
By its Converting qualities there grows
A perfect Likeness, when it Self it shows:
Then let the VVorld in Mourning sit and weep,
Since only Sadness we are apt to keep;
In Light and Toyish things we seek for change,
The Mind grows weary, and about doth Range;
VVhat Serious is, there Constancy will dwell,
Which shews that Sadness Mirth doth far excell.
VVhy should Men grieve, when they think on their Grave,
Since they no Settlement in Mirth can have?
The Grave, though Sad, in quiet still they keep,
VVithout Disturbing Dreams they lye Asleep;
No rambling Thoughts do vex their restless Brains,
No Labour hard doth dry and scorch their Veins;
No Care to Search for that they cannot Find,
VVhich is an Appetite in every Mind:
Then wish, good Man, to Dye in quiet Peace,
Since Death in Misery is a Release.

A Discourse of the Devils Power.

VVomen and Fools fear in the Dark to be,
Lest they the Devil in some Shape should see;
As if like silly Owls he took delight
To sleep all Day, and go abroad at Night;
Beat Pots and Pans, and Candles do Blow out,
And all the Night do keep a Revel-rout;
Do make the Sow to grunt, the Pigs to squeak,
The Dogs to bark, Cats mew, as if they Speak.
Alas, poor Devil, his Power is but small,
Only to make a Cat or Dog to Bawl;
To make with Pewter, Tin, and Brass a noise,
To stew with fearfull Sweat poor Girles and Boys.
Why should we fear him, since he doth no harm?
For we may Bind him Fast within a Charm.
Then what a Devil ails a Woman old,
To play such Tricks, whereby her Soul is Sold?
Can he destroy Mankind, or new Worlds make,
Or alter States for an Old Woman's Sake?
Can he the Day benight, or stop the Sun,
Or make the Planets from their Course to run?
And yet me thinks 'tis Odd, and very Strange,
That since the Devil cannot Bodies change,
He should have Power over Souls, to draw
Them from their God, and from his Holy Law,
Perswading Conscience to do more Ill,
Than the sweet Grace of God to Rule the will;
To cut off Faith, by which our Souls should clime
On high, and leave all Folly and all Crime;
Destroying honesty, Disgracing truth,
When he can neither make Old Age nor Youth;
He cannot add nor make a Minute short,
And yet keep many Souls from Heaven's Court;
It seems his Power shall for ever last,
Because 'tis over Souls which never Waste:
And thus hath God the Devil power lent,
To punish Man, unless he doth Repent.