Kalendavium Hvmanae Vitae The Kalender of Mans Life: Authore Roberto Farlaeo Scoto Britanio [i.e. by by Robert Farley] |
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The Frontispeece.
The Sunne is glorious still, and maketh day,
Where ever shineth his Eternall Ray;
Yet when he sets, so clouds may vaile the skye,
That men may thinke him drownded to the eye.
Faire, strong is Man, if one should say, he'le dye,
Scarce can he well beleeve it, 'fore he try;
But seeing death in others, then he sayes;
Surely Deaths constant stroke vvill end my dayes.
Spring's dainty; Summer vigorous and strong;
Autumne hath plenty; Winter dyes ere long.
Where ever shineth his Eternall Ray;
Yet when he sets, so clouds may vaile the skye,
That men may thinke him drownded to the eye.
Faire, strong is Man, if one should say, he'le dye,
Scarce can he well beleeve it, 'fore he try;
But seeing death in others, then he sayes;
Surely Deaths constant stroke vvill end my dayes.
Spring's dainty; Summer vigorous and strong;
Autumne hath plenty; Winter dyes ere long.
The Sunne of Glory set, and then vvas night,
And darkenesse in the true beleevers sight;
Th' Eclipse did passe, and He was seene, by all,
Ascending, vvhether he the world doth call.
Let man behold his Saviour, he will say,
Welcome svveete death, my Iesus led the vvay.
Infants, and babes, young men, you strong, and old,
Turne to the right-hand, and the Sunne behold;
For as He conquers darkenesse, so vve shall
Triumph o're death, by Him vvho conquerd All.
And darkenesse in the true beleevers sight;
Th' Eclipse did passe, and He was seene, by all,
Ascending, vvhether he the world doth call.
Let man behold his Saviour, he will say,
Welcome svveete death, my Iesus led the vvay.
Infants, and babes, young men, you strong, and old,
Turne to the right-hand, and the Sunne behold;
For as He conquers darkenesse, so vve shall
Triumph o're death, by Him vvho conquerd All.
Ipse iubet mortis nos meminisse Deus.
To the Author.
Fame pluckes a pinion from the vvings of Time,
Dips it in nectar, graves thy mighty rime
Within her brasen sheetes, makes envy stand
(Mauger her heart) and light her duskie brand:
Whil'st she in crimson letters writes: These, these,
Shall be the whole worlds Ephemerides.
Dips it in nectar, graves thy mighty rime
Within her brasen sheetes, makes envy stand
(Mauger her heart) and light her duskie brand:
Whil'st she in crimson letters writes: These, these,
Shall be the whole worlds Ephemerides.
Did not Vrania loose thy fetter'd minde,
Out of the clayeie prison, and resign'd
Her place to it? did not thy purer lay
Flovv from the fountaine of the Milkie way?
Did not she dictate to thee, hovv to skan
These moneths of woe, this Almanacke of man?
An Almanacke that ne're shall b' out of date,
But last as long as time, as firme as fate.
She did, (heare, envie, heare and burst) and by
Her staffe thou took'st the height of Poetry:
Th' Arcadian Shepheards shall make thee their starre,
And place this next to Tityrus Calendar.
Out of the clayeie prison, and resign'd
Her place to it? did not thy purer lay
Flovv from the fountaine of the Milkie way?
Did not she dictate to thee, hovv to skan
These moneths of woe, this Almanacke of man?
An Almanacke that ne're shall b' out of date,
But last as long as time, as firme as fate.
She did, (heare, envie, heare and burst) and by
Her staffe thou took'st the height of Poetry:
Th' Arcadian Shepheards shall make thee their starre,
And place this next to Tityrus Calendar.
Like to another Phœbus thou dost take
Thy twelvemoneths taske through lifes short Zodiacke:
But these are too too narrovv bounds for thee,
Eeach moneth's an age, each age eternitie.
The names, not nature's of the moneths, I see
Described in thy cælestiall poetrie.
Fresh May and lusty Iune triumph alone
In thy warme breast, December there is none.
Envie her selfe can finde no fault but this,
Perfect thy moneths, thy globe imperfect is.
No parallell is seene in all thy spheare,
Besides too, no Æquator doth appeare.
Thy twelvemoneths taske through lifes short Zodiacke:
But these are too too narrovv bounds for thee,
Eeach moneth's an age, each age eternitie.
The names, not nature's of the moneths, I see
Described in thy cælestiall poetrie.
Fresh May and lusty Iune triumph alone
In thy warme breast, December there is none.
Envie her selfe can finde no fault but this,
Perfect thy moneths, thy globe imperfect is.
No parallell is seene in all thy spheare,
Besides too, no Æquator doth appeare.
E. Coleman.
To the Author.
Some use to flatter vvorth by too much Praise;Who rather doe detract than give him Bayes,
Who merits it: And some againe betray
Like some course Prologue to a courser Play)
The Authors Subject; both are bad: but I
Will none of both: rather I vvill belye
Desert, and say this Poeme speakes thee vaine:
For to speake truth, I'm angry with thy Straine;
For that it is so short: (though sweete) expect,
Ile taxe thee alwayes with that small defect.
Yet (out of Policie) perhaps thy Lyre
Thou layd'st aside so soone, least vve Expire;
And the chiefe cause proceede from thence: For 'tis
Certaine, as too much griefe is mortall, so of blisse.
All I vvill say, is, my beleefe is such
That after-times vvill thanke thee for this touch:
And such my Charity, I vvish it may
Out live the last, and longest Summers day,
And that this present Age, may please to give
It pleasant smiles; and helpe its Hope to live.
H. M.
TO THE COVRTEOVS READER.
The Roses.
Procne did flye, and Parti-colour'd FloraNow felt soft nipping colds breath from Aurora,
And Phœbus, usherd vvith the cooler day,
Gave vvarning to prevent his scorching ray;
While I the checkerd gardens walk'd along,
Seeking refreshment dainty flowers among,
I savv the fragrant herbes bending their tops,
With pearle-like dew hanging in silver drops;
And in the Colevvorts cabbines I did see,
The queeres of Nectar dancing joyfully,
I saw the Rose beds in their Pestan vveeds,
Wet vvith the foame of Phœbus neighing steedes;
The tender buds did in their night-geare stand,
Of hoary plush, vvrought by dame Natures hand,
Ready to put it off, vvhen they did spy
Dayes charriter coursing along the sky;
One might have doubt, vvhether the Heav'n did dye
The Roses, or they purple-paint the skye:
The Sunne and Rose, vvere in one liv'ry clad,
For they one Lady Aphrodite had;
Perhaps one smell they had, but that as higher
Evanish'd, this breath'd svveetely from the brier.
How many minutes dravveth forth an houre,
So many habits chang'd this curious flovver;
It sometimes nimph-like, mantled vvas in grenee,
Wearing a cap much like the Fairy Queene:
And had its haire in anticke fashion drest;
Then by and by her brest unlac'd, to shevv
What heavenly fragrant Nectar did thence flow;
At last sh'unvail'd herselfe, and shew'd her face,
To Phœbus, vvith a modest blushing grace;
Her dandling tresses wreath'd like threds of Gold.
Scarse vvithout envy Titan could behold;
But lo dame Natures darling, vvhich just novv
Did flourish naked stands, I knovv not hovv;
Of so great glory then, I thought it strange,
To see so suddaine and so sad a change,
The Rose to bud, to blossome in her prime,
To fade, to fall, to wither at one time;
Then for her mantle greene, a murry clout
All torne did hang her gastly lookes about;
The cap, the purple crest and all was gone,
Baldnesse her vvrinckled head did seize upon:
O what a sight it vvas to see her lie
Vpon her mothers lap ready to die!
Small comfort had the earth, to see her brood
Pluckt from her milky breasts, and bath'd in blood;
Phœbus vvho rising from the glassie streames
Did court this Virgin vvith his chearefull beames,
Going to bed he sees the naked thorne,
And cannot love her 'cause shee is forlorne.
So long as lasts a day, a Rose may live,
That day doth kill the Rose, which life did give:
A Virgin in the morning, and at noone
Which had her prime, becomes decrepit soone.
So pull the Rose, and thinke, vvhen thou dost see
It's brittle beauty, that it points to Thee.
Farewell.
SPRING.
March, or Mans birth.
This Sphere redoubling Fabricke wheeling round.
Which big vvith beings doth with shapes abound,
Before the Heavens did move, & Earth was stable,
Before the boundlesse Waves vvere Navigable,
It vvas a Chaos and confused masse,
Wherein the jarring seeds of all things vvas;
Such is the birth of Man, vvho doth comprise
The greater Fabricke in a lesser sise:
Before Heavens sacred spark, vvhereby he liveth
His vegetation, sense and reason giveth,
To Elements 'fore places bee assign'd,
And qualities to Organes are confin'd,
Before Ioves Image from the starrie light
Doth claime his race, and looke vvith face upright,
What is he at first but seede, vvhereof we see
The basest vermine take their pedegree;
Yet God the great Creator of all things
This vilenesse to a glorious creature brings.
Which big vvith beings doth with shapes abound,
Before the Heavens did move, & Earth was stable,
Before the boundlesse Waves vvere Navigable,
It vvas a Chaos and confused masse,
Wherein the jarring seeds of all things vvas;
Such is the birth of Man, vvho doth comprise
The greater Fabricke in a lesser sise:
Before Heavens sacred spark, vvhereby he liveth
His vegetation, sense and reason giveth,
To Elements 'fore places bee assign'd,
And qualities to Organes are confin'd,
Before Ioves Image from the starrie light
Doth claime his race, and looke vvith face upright,
What is he at first but seede, vvhereof we see
The basest vermine take their pedegree;
Yet God the great Creator of all things
This vilenesse to a glorious creature brings.
Like as the Graine doth in earths fruitfull vvombe,
As it vvere dead, it selfe in dust entombe,
Yet by earths vertue and his seeding power
Preserve it selfe safe from the vvinters stoure;
Vntill like Phryxus, Phœbus ride upon
The Ramme, and more conspicuous in his Throne,
With geniall heat, and life-begetting ray
He tvvist it forth and make it see the day.
So man in wombe an Embryon doth lye,
Curded like milke, and wrought miraculously,
Clothed like seede with huskes, vvrapt up in bags,
Which are its native home-spun svvadling rags.
Then God Almighty, vvho life to all things giveth,
Breaths in that Divine soule, vvhereby it liveth.
Here is a marriage made; to dust and clay
The Heaven is vvedded, still vvith it to stay;
Here immortality, by Gods command,
Poore fraile mortality takes by the hand;
O vvhat a pitty, that the Virgin soule
Should have a mate so leprous and so foule!
Its vvell in darkenesse they the match doe make,
For if it savv, the body it vvould forsake.
O if it could then speake, vvhat vvould it say,
That it hath come from Heaven, to dwell in clay?
Or that like Ionas, from the Saphire vaile
Its fallen into the belly of a Whale?
The lodging they have got is darke as hell,
But if not there, they knovv not vvhere to dvvell;
So oft we see them tumbling to and fro,
They shevv themselves content, but so and so:
Yea many times the soule so loaths this Inne,
It leaves it, vvhen it scarce hath entred in;
And oft the bowels doe become a grave
For their owne brood, to which they lodging gave.
But take the best, and you your selfe vvill blisse,
To see in birth vvhat misery there is;
Clamorous convulsions, painefull throvves, and cries,
Sharpe shewes strayning the backe, vveakniug the thighes,
Much like an Earthquakes shaking you may see,
Betvvixt them such intestine vvarres there be.
O doth the child then know, what is this life,
Who will not enter it without such strife?
Yea oft the one so fights against the other,
That Viper like the child doth kill the mother.
May you not thinke, the soule defild vvith sinne
Originall, doth to regrate begin,
And vvish it may not see this life at all,
Least it should adde thereto sinne actuall,
And once perhaps, should vvith the vvicked say,
O if it never had seene light of day.
As it vvere dead, it selfe in dust entombe,
Yet by earths vertue and his seeding power
Preserve it selfe safe from the vvinters stoure;
The Ramme, and more conspicuous in his Throne,
With geniall heat, and life-begetting ray
He tvvist it forth and make it see the day.
So man in wombe an Embryon doth lye,
Curded like milke, and wrought miraculously,
Clothed like seede with huskes, vvrapt up in bags,
Which are its native home-spun svvadling rags.
Then God Almighty, vvho life to all things giveth,
Breaths in that Divine soule, vvhereby it liveth.
Here is a marriage made; to dust and clay
The Heaven is vvedded, still vvith it to stay;
Here immortality, by Gods command,
Poore fraile mortality takes by the hand;
O vvhat a pitty, that the Virgin soule
Should have a mate so leprous and so foule!
Its vvell in darkenesse they the match doe make,
For if it savv, the body it vvould forsake.
O if it could then speake, vvhat vvould it say,
That it hath come from Heaven, to dwell in clay?
Or that like Ionas, from the Saphire vaile
Its fallen into the belly of a Whale?
The lodging they have got is darke as hell,
But if not there, they knovv not vvhere to dvvell;
So oft we see them tumbling to and fro,
They shevv themselves content, but so and so:
Yea many times the soule so loaths this Inne,
It leaves it, vvhen it scarce hath entred in;
And oft the bowels doe become a grave
For their owne brood, to which they lodging gave.
But take the best, and you your selfe vvill blisse,
To see in birth vvhat misery there is;
Clamorous convulsions, painefull throvves, and cries,
Sharpe shewes strayning the backe, vveakniug the thighes,
Betvvixt them such intestine vvarres there be.
O doth the child then know, what is this life,
Who will not enter it without such strife?
Yea oft the one so fights against the other,
That Viper like the child doth kill the mother.
May you not thinke, the soule defild vvith sinne
Originall, doth to regrate begin,
And vvish it may not see this life at all,
Least it should adde thereto sinne actuall,
And once perhaps, should vvith the vvicked say,
O if it never had seene light of day.
But marke, when he is borne, hovv he vvill give
An Embleme of the life, which he must live;
Telling as't vvere, vvhen he his hand puts forth,
That he must vvorke for what he shall be worth;
Or thrusting dovvne his naked foote he sayes,
That he must walke a Pilgrime all his dayes.
Hovv e're he comes, he naked poore doth lye
And can doe nothing silly babe but cry;
He cannot speake, but yavvle for greefe, and so
His rude expression cryeth (vva) for (vvoe)
So Thracian-like into this vvorld of feares
He ushereth himselfe vvith many teares.
An Embleme of the life, which he must live;
Telling as't vvere, vvhen he his hand puts forth,
That he must vvorke for what he shall be worth;
Or thrusting dovvne his naked foote he sayes,
That he must walke a Pilgrime all his dayes.
Hovv e're he comes, he naked poore doth lye
And can doe nothing silly babe but cry;
He cannot speake, but yavvle for greefe, and so
His rude expression cryeth (vva) for (vvoe)
So Thracian-like into this vvorld of feares
He ushereth himselfe vvith many teares.
These paines of birth and vvoefull agony
Foretokneth our ensuing misery;
They clearely doe point forth the curse of man,
That he must live in sorrovv, as he began:
His nakednesse shewes he must nothing have
Which vvith him he may carry to his grave.
Since then my birth is of my bane
Foretokneth our ensuing misery;
They clearely doe point forth the curse of man,
That he must live in sorrovv, as he began:
His nakednesse shewes he must nothing have
Which vvith him he may carry to his grave.
The primer, me beget againe,
Renevv my spirit Lord, so with Thee
I shall thy fathers dvvellings see.
A broken heart, and floods of teares,
Roaring, chatt'ring in the night,
Like Pelican from mortalls sight.
Heart-consuming sighes and cries,
Soule-quelling fits and agonies,
Thought-killing muttring, when the heart
Knovves no wayes hovv to play its part.
But moment-lasting sorrovv is
Fore-runner to eternall blisse,
If here on earth it doth annoy,
Yet leads it us to Heavens joy.
When vve shall vvith tearelesse eyes,
Meete our Saviour in the skies,
When we vvith him coheires shall be
Of glory and immortality.
Then shall our teares be wip't avvay,
Then shall there be no night, but day;
Then for our mourning vve shall sing,
A Halelujah to Heavens King.
APRIL.
O what a pleasure is't to seeMy new-sprung bud, which will be tree!
The glist'ring grasse with Phœbus ray
Doth make me cheerefull looke, and gay:
But (ah!) if these my Flowers should die,
Lord what would then become of me.
Ile tell thee, this thy brood will wither,
Doe not despare, you'le have another.
April, or Mans Infancie.
As
Aprils soft and balmy shovvers doe nourish
The March-bred Buds, untill they come to flourish;
Sunne with its heare, Heav'n with its devv them cherish,
Lest they with nipping cold, or drought should perish:
Even so the infant on his mothers knee,
Lest he should starve for want or penury,
With milky Nectar he his belly fills
Which floweth from the two breast-towring hills,
Oft times Stepmother nature, Mothers pride
Doth stop those sources, which vvhen they are dry'd,
What they cannot obtaine from cruell mothers,
Poore Infants! they are forc'd to beg from others:
Sometime the parents so unnaturall prove,
That they expose, which they sould dearest love;
Then beasts and birds, against their nature, shevv
More love then parents, who this duty owe:
Did not the Woolfe her fiercenesse lay aside,
To give what curs'd Amulius deny'd;
Romes tvvinnes so nurs'd with Woolfes unkindly foode,
Like ravenous beasts, one shed the others blood.
A Bitch did nurse great Cyrus, vvhen they did
Expose him, cause his surly Grandsire bid,
From that time forth in jarres his life he led,
Seeking for prey, and thirsting blood to shed,
Vntill by Schythian Tomyris at last,
His head into a bag of blood vvas cast.
What is the cause, vvhy children oft times are
Vnkind unto their parents? cause they were
Weaned from others; and it stands with reasons
That they should smell of, what first did them season.
The March-bred Buds, untill they come to flourish;
Sunne with its heare, Heav'n with its devv them cherish,
Lest they with nipping cold, or drought should perish:
Even so the infant on his mothers knee,
Lest he should starve for want or penury,
With milky Nectar he his belly fills
Which floweth from the two breast-towring hills,
Oft times Stepmother nature, Mothers pride
Doth stop those sources, which vvhen they are dry'd,
What they cannot obtaine from cruell mothers,
Poore Infants! they are forc'd to beg from others:
Sometime the parents so unnaturall prove,
That they expose, which they sould dearest love;
Then beasts and birds, against their nature, shevv
More love then parents, who this duty owe:
Did not the Woolfe her fiercenesse lay aside,
To give what curs'd Amulius deny'd;
Romes tvvinnes so nurs'd with Woolfes unkindly foode,
Like ravenous beasts, one shed the others blood.
A Bitch did nurse great Cyrus, vvhen they did
Expose him, cause his surly Grandsire bid,
From that time forth in jarres his life he led,
Seeking for prey, and thirsting blood to shed,
Vntill by Schythian Tomyris at last,
His head into a bag of blood vvas cast.
What is the cause, vvhy children oft times are
Vnkind unto their parents? cause they were
Weaned from others; and it stands with reasons
That they should smell of, what first did them season.
But when the babe hath suckt, then must it goe
To Cradle, there to cry rockt too and fro.
(A pregnant Embleme of his life that followes,
Where like a barke, hee's tost among the billowes
Of hope and feare, nor rests till cruell fates
Doe thrust him into Proserpines black gates)
But lest vvith crying he should be opprest,
Humming Enchantments lull him to his rest.
To Cradle, there to cry rockt too and fro.
(A pregnant Embleme of his life that followes,
Where like a barke, hee's tost among the billowes
Of hope and feare, nor rests till cruell fates
Doe thrust him into Proserpines black gates)
But lest vvith crying he should be opprest,
Humming Enchantments lull him to his rest.
If any life be innocent at all,
The silly Infants life such may you call;
Yet to hovv great and various miseries,
Good God! the harmelesse Infant subject lies;
Nay, if an Herod shevv his cruelty,
These guiltlesse children every one must die.
Greece talkes of Midas Welth presaging Ants,
Of Platoes Beehiv'd eloquence she vaunts,
And Cradle-luck sent from the God; but I
Can see nothing foremeant in Infancie,
Besides great sorrow, trouble, care, and toyle,
And whatsoever can true pleasure spoyle.
Yet there's one comfort, children doe not know
Their misery, vvhich lessneth much their woe.
With Nurses milke I have drunke in
The silly Infants life such may you call;
Yet to hovv great and various miseries,
Good God! the harmelesse Infant subject lies;
Nay, if an Herod shevv his cruelty,
These guiltlesse children every one must die.
Greece talkes of Midas Welth presaging Ants,
Of Platoes Beehiv'd eloquence she vaunts,
And Cradle-luck sent from the God; but I
Can see nothing foremeant in Infancie,
Besides great sorrow, trouble, care, and toyle,
And whatsoever can true pleasure spoyle.
Yet there's one comfort, children doe not know
Their misery, vvhich lessneth much their woe.
The deadly guilt of parents sinne;
So am I, as my parent was
Infected vvith Adams trespasse.
But (ah) that is the meanest share
Considering vvhat mine actuall are;
I have my yeares in sinning past,
Nor can I leave them now at last.
O make me (Lord) in grace begin
To live before I end in sinne;
Let not my gray haires sinne to grave.
My soule doth cry still thou it Lord
With milke of thy eternall Word;
Author of grace, nurse grace in me,
So I at length shall strengthned be.
Clense me from first and second guilt,
Onely thou canst (Lord) if thou vvilt;
Then shall I be a Dennizon
There, vvhere uncleannesse commeth none.
Let not Hells Siren lull asleepe
My soule to drovvne it in the deepe;
Lord make it vvatch for Heav'ns joyes
Regarding nothing vvorldly toyes.
Behold my soule rock't too and fro,
Doth cry for feare and cannot goe;
Novv least in storme it drovvned be,
Take it into the ship with Thee.
So shall Thou thinke me to be thine,
And I shall thinke thy kingdome mine;
So shall my soule thy mercies prove
And learne thy mercies how to love.
[Now are my Flowers with Aurora dight]
Now are my Flowers with Aurora dight,And Flora sees her long wisht-for delight:
Each Tree a Quire, each Leafe a Bird doth beare,
All singing Harmony to Heav'ns Spheare;
The Lambkins skipping trip, they dance and play,
This is the glory of the moneth of May.
Remember Flowers fade, come will the night,
When Nightingale shall sing from Mortals sight.
May or Mans Childhood.
When
May, Springs-glory paints the gaudy fields,
And beauty t' Aprils sucking infants yeelds,
The bloomes and blossomes are so strangely dy'd,
That Nature seemes her cunning to have try'd.
Flora perfumes her brood, vvhich give a smell,
That may the Phœnix nest well paralell,
The plumed minstrels with their Musicke fils
The smiling heav'n, the vvood, and ecchoing hils.
Mans Childhood is his May, vvherein he playes,
And vvantonly beguiles his carelesse dayes:
Then lookes he like an Angell, had he vvings,
He is the prettiest 'mongst a thousand things.
What Snovv-vvhite Lilly, can Flora afford so faire,
Which vvith his spotlesse beauty may compare?
Pestans tvvice-bearing rose-beds, blush to see
His Virgins red-enamelled modesty;
His fragrant breath so from his breast doth smell,
As if Arabia's bird did therein dwell;
Nor fancied nosegay, nor compos'd perfume,
Above his simple nature dare presume.
Many repaire to Groves and love to heare
The Nightingale, the Thrush, and plumed quire,
If I should choose, I could take greater joy
To heare the pratling of a lovely boy.
His eyes like glistring Diamonds doe shine,
Twinckling like Lizards, while they stare on thine.
But marke what pleasant sport t'himselfe he makes,
All Arts and Trades he boldly undertakes;
He'le raise a Castle, build a sandy Mill,
He'le ride a horse, he'le traine, he's vvhat you will;
He doth what ever unripe Nature can,
He is the pleasant, pretty ape of man:
His wit like vvax to every thing can ply,
A strange observer, vvhat he sees hee'le try.
And beauty t' Aprils sucking infants yeelds,
The bloomes and blossomes are so strangely dy'd,
That Nature seemes her cunning to have try'd.
Flora perfumes her brood, vvhich give a smell,
That may the Phœnix nest well paralell,
The plumed minstrels with their Musicke fils
The smiling heav'n, the vvood, and ecchoing hils.
Mans Childhood is his May, vvherein he playes,
And vvantonly beguiles his carelesse dayes:
Then lookes he like an Angell, had he vvings,
He is the prettiest 'mongst a thousand things.
What Snovv-vvhite Lilly, can Flora afford so faire,
Which vvith his spotlesse beauty may compare?
Pestans tvvice-bearing rose-beds, blush to see
His Virgins red-enamelled modesty;
His fragrant breath so from his breast doth smell,
As if Arabia's bird did therein dwell;
Nor fancied nosegay, nor compos'd perfume,
Above his simple nature dare presume.
Many repaire to Groves and love to heare
The Nightingale, the Thrush, and plumed quire,
If I should choose, I could take greater joy
To heare the pratling of a lovely boy.
His eyes like glistring Diamonds doe shine,
Twinckling like Lizards, while they stare on thine.
But marke what pleasant sport t'himselfe he makes,
All Arts and Trades he boldly undertakes;
He'le raise a Castle, build a sandy Mill,
He'le ride a horse, he'le traine, he's vvhat you will;
He doth what ever unripe Nature can,
He is the pleasant, pretty ape of man:
A strange observer, vvhat he sees hee'le try.
But harke you Parents, be not overjoy'd,
Your pleasure (ah) may quickely be destroy'd.
You see the Damaske Rose which is the peer
Of flovvers, it fades and leaves the naked brier:
No blossome is so glorious and so faire,
But may be nipped vvith a noysome aire,
If an encountring blast of sickenesse blovv,
All feature passeth like a minuts shew,
He droopes his head, his gastly lookes condemne
The fondnesse of child-deifying men.
Then through his eyes as windovves looketh death,
A loathsome earthly smell infects his breath.
His merry tales and chat, is then forgot,
For painefull sickenesse makes him change his note.
Then looke hovv great your joy excell'd before,
Your griefe is doubled novv, if't be not more.
Here vvas a Sun-shine blinke, before the clouds
Did send the winds to combat vvith the floods;
Here vvas a calme above, while as belovv
The sea was great vvith storme, winds threatn'd to blovv.
Your pleasure (ah) may quickely be destroy'd.
You see the Damaske Rose which is the peer
Of flovvers, it fades and leaves the naked brier:
No blossome is so glorious and so faire,
But may be nipped vvith a noysome aire,
If an encountring blast of sickenesse blovv,
All feature passeth like a minuts shew,
He droopes his head, his gastly lookes condemne
The fondnesse of child-deifying men.
Then through his eyes as windovves looketh death,
A loathsome earthly smell infects his breath.
His merry tales and chat, is then forgot,
For painefull sickenesse makes him change his note.
Then looke hovv great your joy excell'd before,
Your griefe is doubled novv, if't be not more.
Here vvas a Sun-shine blinke, before the clouds
Did send the winds to combat vvith the floods;
Here vvas a calme above, while as belovv
The sea was great vvith storme, winds threatn'd to blovv.
Ah vvorld of vvoe! what thing canst thou call thine,
Poore man, but death can quickly say its mine?
Grant strength of grace, O Lord, to me,
Poore man, but death can quickly say its mine?
And make me grow from infancy
To childhood; teach me hovv to trace
The footesteps of thy saving grace.
While vvith unequall paces I,
Doe lag, shevv forth thy Light from high;
O doe not goe quite out of sight
Lord Soules Redeemer, sole delight.
I fall, raise me, and comfort give
Lord, vvhen I stagger, set me right,
O Soules eternall anchor plight.
And that I may the vvay endure,
With thy free graces me allure,
Lord if I faint encourage me;
But pull me if I stubborne be.
Thus suffer me not, Lord, to stray,
But guide me on the narrow vvay;
And 'cause thy Kingdome doth belong
To Children, place me them among:
Then Heavens bright Angell shall I be
Cloathed with immortality,
Rather such Childhood to me give,
Then here Methushalems age to live.
SVMMER
June, or Mans young age.
In
Iune vvhen Phœbus up to Cancer hies,
Driving aloft his Chariot in the skies,
The Earth is cherisht vvith a vvarmer ray,
Her Youthfull brood lusty appeare and gay;
Then promise they some fruit and give essayes,
Of vvhat shall be their further-ripening dayes:
Such is the stripling halfe-growne age of man,
When fiery seed of reason sparkle can,
When his rude vvit, but vvaxen (as the Beare
Fashions her cub) is lickt and fram'd vvith care.
Since mans great Sire did from his maker fall,
Mans reason's lost, scarce to be found at all;
Much like a gemme in Lethes darkenesse drownd,
With dangerous painefull dyving to be found.
There was a time, when man Gods off-spring stood
Indued vvith gifts greater then mortall good;
But whilst he rul'd his reines, his will did stray,
With drawing him out of the righter way:
Thus vvhen corrupte was the stocke and tree,
We branches thereof must corrupted be;
Borne voide of knowledge, rude and ignorant,
The meanest character of good vve want,
Like to a smooth and vvaxed vvriting table,
Its voide, but write you, to receive its able.
A tree vvhich crooked growes and bends avvry,
While it is young, skill can it rectifie;
So tender mindes the Masters care correcteth,
What Nature could not, Discipline effecteth;
Learning makes straight perverse and crooked vvits,
And them like vvax to any fashion fits.
He whom Apollo's Oracle did call,
The vvisest 'mongst the Greacian Sophies all,
Condemned, by a criticke of mans face,
As dull and stupid, void of vvit and grace,
Made ansvver, such himselfe by birth to be,
But better'd by Divine Philosophy.
A lavish Father, when his state he spoiles,
He puts his children to a thousand toyles;
Good God! vvhat paines and care it doth us cost,
To seeke and not to finde what Adam lost.
Language vvas Natures vvorke, vve should be borne
Thereto, vvithout fescue, or booke of horne.
But as to gather Sibyls leaves dispersed
Is desp'rate worke to find what she rehearsed;
To gather letter by letter, so vv'are faine
Syllabe by syllabe, vvord by vvord in vaine.
Driving aloft his Chariot in the skies,
The Earth is cherisht vvith a vvarmer ray,
Her Youthfull brood lusty appeare and gay;
Then promise they some fruit and give essayes,
Of vvhat shall be their further-ripening dayes:
Such is the stripling halfe-growne age of man,
When fiery seed of reason sparkle can,
When his rude vvit, but vvaxen (as the Beare
Fashions her cub) is lickt and fram'd vvith care.
Since mans great Sire did from his maker fall,
Mans reason's lost, scarce to be found at all;
Much like a gemme in Lethes darkenesse drownd,
With dangerous painefull dyving to be found.
There was a time, when man Gods off-spring stood
Indued vvith gifts greater then mortall good;
But whilst he rul'd his reines, his will did stray,
With drawing him out of the righter way:
Thus vvhen corrupte was the stocke and tree,
We branches thereof must corrupted be;
Borne voide of knowledge, rude and ignorant,
The meanest character of good vve want,
Like to a smooth and vvaxed vvriting table,
Its voide, but write you, to receive its able.
A tree vvhich crooked growes and bends avvry,
While it is young, skill can it rectifie;
So tender mindes the Masters care correcteth,
What Nature could not, Discipline effecteth;
Learning makes straight perverse and crooked vvits,
And them like vvax to any fashion fits.
He whom Apollo's Oracle did call,
The vvisest 'mongst the Greacian Sophies all,
As dull and stupid, void of vvit and grace,
Made ansvver, such himselfe by birth to be,
But better'd by Divine Philosophy.
A lavish Father, when his state he spoiles,
He puts his children to a thousand toyles;
Good God! vvhat paines and care it doth us cost,
To seeke and not to finde what Adam lost.
Language vvas Natures vvorke, vve should be borne
Thereto, vvithout fescue, or booke of horne.
But as to gather Sibyls leaves dispersed
Is desp'rate worke to find what she rehearsed;
To gather letter by letter, so vv'are faine
Syllabe by syllabe, vvord by vvord in vaine.
Our fraile and britle memory before
Did safely keepe the vvhole conceptions store;
A faithfull Steward, vvhat she kept, she could
Distribute that, vvhen use and season vvould;
But now who to his memory doth trust,
He vvrites the charter of his mind in dust.
Novv vvandring, brainesicke thoughts the speces kill,
And what they spare, old age abolish vvill.
Oft so a masse of things is hurld together,
That Chaos-like, one parts not from another;
When men novv search their braines, they cannot find
The box, which holds the conceit of their mind:
They fret, much like to dull Apothecaries
Who cannot hit upon their box and vvares.
Hence memories distrust makes us to write
Our minds in papers, that they may endite
Againe to us, so vvord of mouth is come
To silence of our vvritings, which are dumbe,
And vvhat vvas got before b' attentive eare
Dumbe bookes doe teach us, 'cause they're oculare.
Nor is this all, oft times the Schollar's so
Vntovvard, vvithout rod he vvill not goe;
Sometimes, cause nothing in his left side sturres,
Hee'le neither ride vvith rod, nor yet vvith spurres
Did safely keepe the vvhole conceptions store;
A faithfull Steward, vvhat she kept, she could
Distribute that, vvhen use and season vvould;
But now who to his memory doth trust,
He vvrites the charter of his mind in dust.
Novv vvandring, brainesicke thoughts the speces kill,
And what they spare, old age abolish vvill.
Oft so a masse of things is hurld together,
That Chaos-like, one parts not from another;
When men novv search their braines, they cannot find
The box, which holds the conceit of their mind:
They fret, much like to dull Apothecaries
Who cannot hit upon their box and vvares.
Hence memories distrust makes us to write
Our minds in papers, that they may endite
Againe to us, so vvord of mouth is come
To silence of our vvritings, which are dumbe,
And vvhat vvas got before b' attentive eare
Dumbe bookes doe teach us, 'cause they're oculare.
Vntovvard, vvithout rod he vvill not goe;
Sometimes, cause nothing in his left side sturres,
Hee'le neither ride vvith rod, nor yet vvith spurres
O what adoe is here for to supply
That which vve lost, but cannot novv come by!
Tell sonnes of Adam, what you thinke of one
Poore apple, vvhich, hath mankind thus undone.
That which vve lost, but cannot novv come by!
Tell sonnes of Adam, what you thinke of one
Poore apple, vvhich, hath mankind thus undone.
O Lord, who in this age vvas preaching found,
And teaching those who did the lavv expound,
Teach me, my Saviour, whats thy Fathers vvill,
And grant me grace that I may it fulfill.
I am by nature, and in grace a moule,
Redeemer touch mine eyes, illighten my Soule.
I am not Lord by Parents sinne so spilt,
Nor so defil'd vvith mine ovvne actuall guilt;
But if thou vvilt, thou canst by thy free grace,
Clense me from all vvhich doth my Soule deface;
What ever gifts Adam hath lost to me,
Those and farre greater, Lord, I find by Thee.
Master, make me thy Schollar; vvhen I shall
Correction crave, use mercy there vvithall;
Master, thy Schollar humbly begs of thee,
That to my strength thy rod may tempered be.
And teaching those who did the lavv expound,
Teach me, my Saviour, whats thy Fathers vvill,
And grant me grace that I may it fulfill.
I am by nature, and in grace a moule,
Redeemer touch mine eyes, illighten my Soule.
I am not Lord by Parents sinne so spilt,
Nor so defil'd vvith mine ovvne actuall guilt;
But if thou vvilt, thou canst by thy free grace,
Clense me from all vvhich doth my Soule deface;
What ever gifts Adam hath lost to me,
Those and farre greater, Lord, I find by Thee.
Master, make me thy Schollar; vvhen I shall
Correction crave, use mercy there vvithall;
Master, thy Schollar humbly begs of thee,
That to my strength thy rod may tempered be.
[Aries was strong. Taurus did stronger prove]
Aries was strong. Taurus did stronger prove,Then Gemini did double heat and love:
Cancer who mounted, straight returnd againe,
That Leo might couragious remaine;
Till Virgo with her fruitfull, hopefull eares
Doe rellish well the Farmers greedy feares.
Since Signes for Mortals good can so agree,
To Heav'n let ev'ry one most thankefull be.
July, or Striplings age.
VVhen rypening Iuly brings Hyperion forth,
From Tethys chambers lying tovvards North,
The fruitfull tree, advanceth more and more
His fruit, desiring still his kind to store:
So Man vvhen his Youths blossomes gin to blow,
Desires some vvay wits timely fruites to show.
After these vvits, vvhich imperfect were vvrought,
Are novv by licking into fashion brought;
Then every man betakes him to a trade.
For no man e're for idlenesse was made.
Like as the Bees the meddovves range about,
Tasting of every flovver the field throughout;
Some brotch the Primrose nectar some the Lillies,
Some crop the Thyme, and some the Daffodillies;
Each one a sundry way and flower doth take,
And yet all to one Hive doe honey make:
So men, in Youth, according to their mindes,
Doe choose their trades, of sundry diverse kindes;
For Esops skuls did not so disagree,
As men in severall phansies different be:
Yet though there is 'mongst men so great division,
All seeke one thing, this mortall lifes provision.
Hovv many sorts of things, hovv many joynts
Are of the body, hovv many crotchet points
Are of the mind, or senses fond delights,
Hovv many vices are in wicked wightes;
For goods, for evils, the're equall artes in number,
Which like an Hydra doth this life encumber.
Fathers of old time, surely, crav'd no more,
But clothes for backe and for the belly store;
Novv pride and ryots humors for to fit,
Whole countries, nations, doe employ their vvit;
A thousand trades, novv, doe the best you can,
Are too too little to compleate a man;
This accidentall good doth riot give,
One spendthrift maketh many poore men live.
If beasts be hungry in the desert field,
The earth their meate, their drinke the rivers yeeld;
What vvicked hopes doe mortals entertaine
Seeking to shunne hungers heart-biting paine:
Vntimely fasting, a Nemesis we see
Of mans untimely feasting impiously,
Man eate, when God forbad him to doe so,
Therefore vvhen man vvould eate, oft God sayes no;
Thus man before he is thought vvorthy of meate,
He must find our some way to toyle and svveate:
So vvhen the Youth begins his painefull trade,
He sees vvhat he is now, what he was made.
From Tethys chambers lying tovvards North,
The fruitfull tree, advanceth more and more
His fruit, desiring still his kind to store:
So Man vvhen his Youths blossomes gin to blow,
Desires some vvay wits timely fruites to show.
After these vvits, vvhich imperfect were vvrought,
Are novv by licking into fashion brought;
Then every man betakes him to a trade.
For no man e're for idlenesse was made.
Like as the Bees the meddovves range about,
Tasting of every flovver the field throughout;
Some brotch the Primrose nectar some the Lillies,
Some crop the Thyme, and some the Daffodillies;
Each one a sundry way and flower doth take,
And yet all to one Hive doe honey make:
So men, in Youth, according to their mindes,
Doe choose their trades, of sundry diverse kindes;
For Esops skuls did not so disagree,
As men in severall phansies different be:
Yet though there is 'mongst men so great division,
All seeke one thing, this mortall lifes provision.
Hovv many sorts of things, hovv many joynts
Are of the body, hovv many crotchet points
Are of the mind, or senses fond delights,
Hovv many vices are in wicked wightes;
For goods, for evils, the're equall artes in number,
Which like an Hydra doth this life encumber.
Fathers of old time, surely, crav'd no more,
But clothes for backe and for the belly store;
Novv pride and ryots humors for to fit,
Whole countries, nations, doe employ their vvit;
Are too too little to compleate a man;
This accidentall good doth riot give,
One spendthrift maketh many poore men live.
If beasts be hungry in the desert field,
The earth their meate, their drinke the rivers yeeld;
What vvicked hopes doe mortals entertaine
Seeking to shunne hungers heart-biting paine:
Vntimely fasting, a Nemesis we see
Of mans untimely feasting impiously,
Man eate, when God forbad him to doe so,
Therefore vvhen man vvould eate, oft God sayes no;
Thus man before he is thought vvorthy of meate,
He must find our some way to toyle and svveate:
So vvhen the Youth begins his painefull trade,
He sees vvhat he is now, what he was made.
But loe, I heare some say; the Schollar's blest,
As free from labour, and enjoying rest,
Talking of dauncing Nymphes, and shaddowy vvoods,
Parnassus groves, and pleasant running floods;
It's envyes voice; vvho discontented still,
That vvhich shek nowes not, discommend she will.
Put Damocles in Dionysius place,
Hee'le praise the pleasure, but enjoy no peace:
That thou may'st weare the Ivy, canst thou looke
With sleepelesse eyes, and paleface on thy booke?
What meane the Vultures which Prometheus teare,
But vvatchfull study, and heart-eating care.
As in a clocke, springs motion doth make
The barrell, fusie, wheeles, and ballance shake:
So vvhen the minde doth stirre with thoughts opprest,
Thinke you the bodies spirits are at rest.
But looke vvhat doth his encyclopedy
Teach him, but lectures of his misery.
Cause Paradises tongue he cannot reach,
Grammar doth him Babels confusion teach;
His life time cannot give what cradles could,
Mithridate vvas a babe, if tongues vvere tould.
So little credite man hath, vvithout art
Of Rhetoricke, he cannot move the heart;
His smoothed tongue he doth more powerfull find,
Then reason; yet his words are oft but vvind.
Darke ignorance so mantles up his vvit,
That Platoes yeare can scarce deliver it,
From rotnesse of the Logick systemes rable,
Which proving all things, proveth man a bable.
He by Arithmeticke can picke the shore
Of all his sands; and adde to millions more,
Divide and multiply the starres, and tell
How many drops doe make the Ocean swell;
But vvhen he comes his dayes to calculate,
He finds a figure or two doe stand for that.
Though musicke be a svveet solatious thing,
It teacheth him his Lachrimæ to sing,
And Swan-like in a dolefull Elegy,
A dying to bewaile mortality.
Astronomy doth make him discontent,
That he should peepe up through an instrument,
And take the elevation of that place,
From whence he had his being and his race.
Whiles that Geometry doth teach him how
The surface of this earthly globe to vievv,
To cut it out by zones aud climates way,
By hotter, colder, and the longer day,
To pace it forth, in inches, rods, and miles,
From Easterne Seas, unto the Westerne Isles,
From dayes Meridian, to the midnight line,
Where night is darkest, day doth brightest shine;
When he lookes home t'himselfe, he sighes and sayes:
In measuring earth, vvhy spend I thus my dayes?
Archytas ghost, neere to the Matin shore,
Besides a little dust, doth seeke no more;
Why should I then survey this globe vvith eyes,
And sore vvith thought above the sphered skyes?
When destiny shall cut my fatall haire,
Of all this earth, seven foote shall be my share,
Thus may vve see, that as in age vve grovv,
Sorrovves along vvith us in age doe goe,
A Youth one comfort after all, at last
Receives; some of his toyle and sorrovves past.
As free from labour, and enjoying rest,
Talking of dauncing Nymphes, and shaddowy vvoods,
Parnassus groves, and pleasant running floods;
It's envyes voice; vvho discontented still,
That vvhich shek nowes not, discommend she will.
Put Damocles in Dionysius place,
Hee'le praise the pleasure, but enjoy no peace:
That thou may'st weare the Ivy, canst thou looke
With sleepelesse eyes, and paleface on thy booke?
What meane the Vultures which Prometheus teare,
But vvatchfull study, and heart-eating care.
As in a clocke, springs motion doth make
The barrell, fusie, wheeles, and ballance shake:
So vvhen the minde doth stirre with thoughts opprest,
Thinke you the bodies spirits are at rest.
But looke vvhat doth his encyclopedy
Teach him, but lectures of his misery.
Grammar doth him Babels confusion teach;
His life time cannot give what cradles could,
Mithridate vvas a babe, if tongues vvere tould.
So little credite man hath, vvithout art
Of Rhetoricke, he cannot move the heart;
His smoothed tongue he doth more powerfull find,
Then reason; yet his words are oft but vvind.
Darke ignorance so mantles up his vvit,
That Platoes yeare can scarce deliver it,
From rotnesse of the Logick systemes rable,
Which proving all things, proveth man a bable.
He by Arithmeticke can picke the shore
Of all his sands; and adde to millions more,
Divide and multiply the starres, and tell
How many drops doe make the Ocean swell;
But vvhen he comes his dayes to calculate,
He finds a figure or two doe stand for that.
Though musicke be a svveet solatious thing,
It teacheth him his Lachrimæ to sing,
And Swan-like in a dolefull Elegy,
A dying to bewaile mortality.
Astronomy doth make him discontent,
That he should peepe up through an instrument,
And take the elevation of that place,
From whence he had his being and his race.
Whiles that Geometry doth teach him how
The surface of this earthly globe to vievv,
To cut it out by zones aud climates way,
By hotter, colder, and the longer day,
To pace it forth, in inches, rods, and miles,
From Easterne Seas, unto the Westerne Isles,
From dayes Meridian, to the midnight line,
Where night is darkest, day doth brightest shine;
In measuring earth, vvhy spend I thus my dayes?
Archytas ghost, neere to the Matin shore,
Besides a little dust, doth seeke no more;
Why should I then survey this globe vvith eyes,
And sore vvith thought above the sphered skyes?
When destiny shall cut my fatall haire,
Of all this earth, seven foote shall be my share,
Thus may vve see, that as in age vve grovv,
Sorrovves along vvith us in age doe goe,
A Youth one comfort after all, at last
Receives; some of his toyle and sorrovves past.
What Heaven above, belovv, the Sea, and Land
Containe, all stand and fall at thy command.
Father, all things to thee their eyes doe bend,
Thou do'st, to them their food in season send;
What ere thou hast created by thy vvord,
Thou keepst, if they acknovvledge Thee their Lord.
Thou with thy blessing feedst the wandring Crovv,
Although it cannot either till or sovv,
The Lillies of the field they cannot twist
Or spinne, yet are they, Lord, so by Thee blest,
That Salomon in all his rich aray,
Was not so glorious as they are gay.
Why art thou Soule cast dovvne vvith feare and care?
Trust in thy Lord and Maker, He's thy share
And portion sure, vvho will unto thee grant,
What usefull things for life he knovves thee vvant.
But yet lest idlenesse should on me cease,
Which is the Hydra of vice, and Soules disease:
Give me some calling Lord, whereby I may,
Sweate truely for my daily bread, this day,
Which may maintaine my gray-haires, vvhen I can
Doe nothing but bewaile the state of man.
What knovvledge, Lord, thou giv'st me of the creature,
Make it the οτι of Thee my great Creator.
When I behold the Cristall Heavens so faire,
So many vvinged troopes piercing the aire,
So many finned armies in the strands,
Rovving themselves amongst the rockes and sands;
When I behold the flowers, the fields and fennes,
The grazing flockes, the vvild beasts in their dennes;
When I rip up my breast, and there doe finde,
An earthly body, but an heavenly minde;
I see thy greatnesse Lord, in every thing,
To thee therefore I will here praises sing:
Till I shall come unto thy blessed traine,
Then death shall put an end to all my paine.
Containe, all stand and fall at thy command.
Father, all things to thee their eyes doe bend,
Thou do'st, to them their food in season send;
What ere thou hast created by thy vvord,
Thou keepst, if they acknovvledge Thee their Lord.
Thou with thy blessing feedst the wandring Crovv,
Although it cannot either till or sovv,
The Lillies of the field they cannot twist
Or spinne, yet are they, Lord, so by Thee blest,
That Salomon in all his rich aray,
Was not so glorious as they are gay.
Why art thou Soule cast dovvne vvith feare and care?
Trust in thy Lord and Maker, He's thy share
And portion sure, vvho will unto thee grant,
What usefull things for life he knovves thee vvant.
But yet lest idlenesse should on me cease,
Which is the Hydra of vice, and Soules disease:
Give me some calling Lord, whereby I may,
Sweate truely for my daily bread, this day,
Doe nothing but bewaile the state of man.
What knovvledge, Lord, thou giv'st me of the creature,
Make it the οτι of Thee my great Creator.
When I behold the Cristall Heavens so faire,
So many vvinged troopes piercing the aire,
So many finned armies in the strands,
Rovving themselves amongst the rockes and sands;
When I behold the flowers, the fields and fennes,
The grazing flockes, the vvild beasts in their dennes;
When I rip up my breast, and there doe finde,
An earthly body, but an heavenly minde;
I see thy greatnesse Lord, in every thing,
To thee therefore I will here praises sing:
Till I shall come unto thy blessed traine,
Then death shall put an end to all my paine.
[VVhat Plough & harrow with Laborious toile]
VVhat Plough & harrow with Laborious toile,Did trust to mother earth, & fruitfull soile;
Astræa, justice Scepter who can sway,
To Sickle and the Barne doth that repay;
The Husbandman he will now weepe no more;
When just Astræa shews him hope of store.
The Gods are just, let men then pious be,
To use their blessings with sobriety.
August, or Mans Youth.
VVhen
Phœbus doth with chast Astrea meete,
Crovvning the fruits & fields with influence sweet
Then plants bring forth their fruits, after their kinde,
Not all alike, some good some bad vve finde.
So man in Youth shewes by his conversation,
His tovvardnesse, and former education.
Like as the fire vvhich long hath lurkt in ashes,
When it gets stronger fevvel, flames and flashes,
So nature vvhich in vveakenesse long did lurke,
Doth novv in heate of blood begin to vvorke:
Or like strong vvines in caske, vvhen first they vent,
They shevv themselves in motion vehement,
So man in leavned age, and youthfull prime
Gives passions most violent for a time;
Tinder nor flaxe takes not with Vulcanes ire
More quickely, than youths bloods set on fire,
And oft condemnes the Storcke apathie,
As by his passionate valour vve may see.
So Pellas flovver did conquer all the East,
Alcides kill'd the many-headed beast,
Iason vvith the noble Youths of Greece,
In spight of dangers vvonne the golden fleece:
This passion as it is a vvhetting stone
To goodnesse, so to evill it spurreth on.
Loves passion made Perithous descend
To Plutoes house t' attend his lustfull end;
Anger made Eteocles kill his brother,
Nor could their funerall smoake agree together;
Revenge did cause Orestes put to death
His mother, vvho did give him life and breath;
So griefe made Ajax turne his vvrath from Troy,
And with the fatall svvord himselfe destroy:
This age still in extremes can scarce obey
Reason, cause passion beares so great a sway,
And oft, vvhen reason and affection too
Concurre, the danger's, not to overdoe.
It leadeth us unto a forked way,
Where the great Hercules was sayd to stay,
The one is broad, plumed on every side,
With Damaske Roses, and with Flora's pride,
There Ceres gifts in great aboundance grow,
And Bacchus cupps with nectar overflovv;
There's dovvny beds stuffed with swanlike plumes,
There every thing is svveetned vvith perfumes;
The winged quiristers vvith their svveete throates,
Doe warble forth their eare-bereaving notes;
And painted pleasure lyeth all along
Vpon her dovvnes, the fragrant flovvers among;
Her lookes are lovely, and her eyes are cleare
Much like to Venus, vvhen she did appeare
First from the sea; the honey's not so svveete,
As are her vvords, she's outwardly compleate,
But O if one should see her breast vvithin,
Farre different would he finde it from her skinne.
What ever she pretends she meanes no lesse
Than death, destruction, gall, and bitternesse;
Her eyes, like Basiliskes, they see and kill,
Her voyce like Sirens doth entise to ill;
Beleeve her no vvayes, vvhen she sheddeth teares,
For like the Crocodiles, they're full of feares;
She gives Circean cuppes of giddy vvine,
Mixt vvith toades poyson, and the Lotish rine,
And turnes man into Goate, or mimicke Ape,
Or Wolfe, or Lyon, vvhich doth roare and gape;
Oft times she vvith her cupps so doth them drench,
That without blood their thirst they cannot quench;
But which is worst of all behold the end,
To misery and death they are condemn'd.
A little swinish pleasure deare they buy,
With Gout, Consumption, or the Pleurisie,
And brings upon themselves such misery,
That they can choose, or doe nothing, but dye.
Perhaps one Polemo vvho in her vvaies,
Hath lavish'd out his young and tender dayes,
When he a wise Xenocrates doth heare,
Will be ashamed, and his garlands teare;
But he is one amongst a thousand, vvho
Farre otherwayes, then he hath done, vvill doe;
For vitious custome puts them so in ure,
As that it doth their hearts and minds obdure;
Their better parts from Heav'n it doth deface,
And tyran-like usurpeth Natures place,
Then nothing profits carefull education,
And hope is gone of healthfull reformation.
O vvhat a pitty's this! Nature brought forth,
A towardnesse, vvhich gave some hopes of vvorth;
Their mother suffered paines, and gave them sucke,
And dandled them with songs of happy lucke,
Then vvere they put to Schooles, and learning taught,
And novv when tis their prime, all is for naught.
Crovvning the fruits & fields with influence sweet
Then plants bring forth their fruits, after their kinde,
Not all alike, some good some bad vve finde.
So man in Youth shewes by his conversation,
His tovvardnesse, and former education.
Like as the fire vvhich long hath lurkt in ashes,
When it gets stronger fevvel, flames and flashes,
So nature vvhich in vveakenesse long did lurke,
Doth novv in heate of blood begin to vvorke:
Or like strong vvines in caske, vvhen first they vent,
They shevv themselves in motion vehement,
So man in leavned age, and youthfull prime
Gives passions most violent for a time;
Tinder nor flaxe takes not with Vulcanes ire
More quickely, than youths bloods set on fire,
And oft condemnes the Storcke apathie,
As by his passionate valour vve may see.
So Pellas flovver did conquer all the East,
Alcides kill'd the many-headed beast,
Iason vvith the noble Youths of Greece,
In spight of dangers vvonne the golden fleece:
This passion as it is a vvhetting stone
To goodnesse, so to evill it spurreth on.
Loves passion made Perithous descend
To Plutoes house t' attend his lustfull end;
Anger made Eteocles kill his brother,
Nor could their funerall smoake agree together;
Revenge did cause Orestes put to death
His mother, vvho did give him life and breath;
So griefe made Ajax turne his vvrath from Troy,
And with the fatall svvord himselfe destroy:
This age still in extremes can scarce obey
Reason, cause passion beares so great a sway,
Concurre, the danger's, not to overdoe.
It leadeth us unto a forked way,
Where the great Hercules was sayd to stay,
The one is broad, plumed on every side,
With Damaske Roses, and with Flora's pride,
There Ceres gifts in great aboundance grow,
And Bacchus cupps with nectar overflovv;
There's dovvny beds stuffed with swanlike plumes,
There every thing is svveetned vvith perfumes;
The winged quiristers vvith their svveete throates,
Doe warble forth their eare-bereaving notes;
And painted pleasure lyeth all along
Vpon her dovvnes, the fragrant flovvers among;
Her lookes are lovely, and her eyes are cleare
Much like to Venus, vvhen she did appeare
First from the sea; the honey's not so svveete,
As are her vvords, she's outwardly compleate,
But O if one should see her breast vvithin,
Farre different would he finde it from her skinne.
What ever she pretends she meanes no lesse
Than death, destruction, gall, and bitternesse;
Her eyes, like Basiliskes, they see and kill,
Her voyce like Sirens doth entise to ill;
Beleeve her no vvayes, vvhen she sheddeth teares,
For like the Crocodiles, they're full of feares;
She gives Circean cuppes of giddy vvine,
Mixt vvith toades poyson, and the Lotish rine,
And turnes man into Goate, or mimicke Ape,
Or Wolfe, or Lyon, vvhich doth roare and gape;
Oft times she vvith her cupps so doth them drench,
That without blood their thirst they cannot quench;
But which is worst of all behold the end,
To misery and death they are condemn'd.
With Gout, Consumption, or the Pleurisie,
And brings upon themselves such misery,
That they can choose, or doe nothing, but dye.
Perhaps one Polemo vvho in her vvaies,
Hath lavish'd out his young and tender dayes,
When he a wise Xenocrates doth heare,
Will be ashamed, and his garlands teare;
But he is one amongst a thousand, vvho
Farre otherwayes, then he hath done, vvill doe;
For vitious custome puts them so in ure,
As that it doth their hearts and minds obdure;
Their better parts from Heav'n it doth deface,
And tyran-like usurpeth Natures place,
Then nothing profits carefull education,
And hope is gone of healthfull reformation.
O vvhat a pitty's this! Nature brought forth,
A towardnesse, vvhich gave some hopes of vvorth;
Their mother suffered paines, and gave them sucke,
And dandled them with songs of happy lucke,
Then vvere they put to Schooles, and learning taught,
And novv when tis their prime, all is for naught.
The other is a steepe and narrovv path,
And, beside vvhich you make, no passage hath,
Its straw'd with briers, thornes grovv all along,
Through which, who ere so walkes, he needs must throng;
On every side are monsters, such as dwell
In Plutos prisons, and the pits of hell:
Here sits gray-headed, and heart killing cares,
Here lyes palefaced, and joynt shaking feares;
Here watchfull Dragons, vvhose unsleepy eyes,
The care relenting Morphevvs never sees;
There vaine and phrenticke labour rowles a stone
Like Sisyphus the craggy rockes upon;
At last Despaire drooping and almost dead,
Scarcely can pull the rope over her head.
On th'other side, the furious Passions stand,
Marching vvith armes along in traine-like band.
Anger vvith fiery eyes and frownes doth threat
To pull high thundring Iove dovvne from his seate:
Next comes Contention vvith her cursed brands
Seeking to set on fire both sea and lands;
Then Hatred in her hollow heart doth keepe
Revenge, and for occasion forth doth peepe;
There Rashnesse, on a rope hangs by the toe,
And of her boldnesse makes a foolish shovv:
Vaine Hope with vvaxen vvings doth love to flye
Like Icarus, above the Azure sky,
Fierce monsters doe this narrovv passage bound,
And deadly dangers it encompasse round.
Yet Vertue doth her follovvers safely guide,
Least they should goe astray on either side.
Prudence through the darke windings doth them lead,
Safely vvith Ariadnes clevv of thread.
Then Vertues ushers, Courage, Constancy,
Doe hearten them on against adversity:
And shovv them Vertues Castle, how on high,
It stands resplendent all with Majesty.
If they doe stumble gainst a blocke or stone,
Then Constancy saies, stay not here, goe on;
And Hope proclaimes afarre: Loe here you shall
Have joy for sorrovv, Hony for your gall.
Here peace and joyfull rest, for ever dvvell
Which neither crosse nor time shall ever quell,
So vvhen they have these hideous monsters past
With joy they reach the mountaines top at last.
Where Vertues pallace stands on pillars square
The courts of gold, the gates of chrystall are,
And all this glorious castle's founded on
The Chrysolite, Saphire, and Berill stone.
Before the stately gates, blacke Envy lies,
Tormented vvith the aspect of her eyes;
On whom, vvhen once these Champions doe trample,
Through Vertues Courts, they enter Honours Temple,
Then Glory doth eternall Trophees raise,
And Fame Seraphik-like, their name doth blaze.
There but two vvayes; and yet where one dare venter
On this, a thousand by the other enter:
Vertue, oft, all alone doth goe and dwell;
Pleasure doth lead whole colonies to hell.
Nay, I dare say, the most of men doe stray
At first, and enter in the broader vvay;
Happy are they vvho doe returne, before
They runne too deepe in cursed pleasures score,
Darke ignorance doth blindfold many so,
That from the meane into th' extremes they goe.
Their ship scarce from the shore her course doth take,
When she on deadly rockes doth shipvvracke make;
Others have knovvledge and the best desire,
But crost with stormes and fortunes spightfull ire,
There strength and meanes ansvver not to their mind,
And so poore soules they're forst to lag behind.
Amongst so many thousands of this age
How fevv vvith faire applause goe off the stage;
And yet those fevv like Gideons fleece, vve see
Tith'd by untimely fates mortality.
When fruites are almost ripe, storme can them shake,
When Youth is almost man, death may him take.
Search you deaths Lime pits, and youle finde therein,
As oft the Young Steeres as the Oxes skinne;
Oft time old gray-haird vvrinkles svvim in teares,
For youthes vvho dyed in their prime of yeeres;
The ancient Pollard Oake ofttimes doth see,
The overthrovving of a Young Beech tree,
This onely lavv is propper unto man,
To dye, or soone, or late, doe vvhat he can.
One way he comes to life, if Fates dispose
Will once of him, a thousand vvayes he goes.
And, beside vvhich you make, no passage hath,
Its straw'd with briers, thornes grovv all along,
Through which, who ere so walkes, he needs must throng;
On every side are monsters, such as dwell
In Plutos prisons, and the pits of hell:
Here sits gray-headed, and heart killing cares,
Here lyes palefaced, and joynt shaking feares;
Here watchfull Dragons, vvhose unsleepy eyes,
The care relenting Morphevvs never sees;
There vaine and phrenticke labour rowles a stone
Like Sisyphus the craggy rockes upon;
Scarcely can pull the rope over her head.
On th'other side, the furious Passions stand,
Marching vvith armes along in traine-like band.
Anger vvith fiery eyes and frownes doth threat
To pull high thundring Iove dovvne from his seate:
Next comes Contention vvith her cursed brands
Seeking to set on fire both sea and lands;
Then Hatred in her hollow heart doth keepe
Revenge, and for occasion forth doth peepe;
There Rashnesse, on a rope hangs by the toe,
And of her boldnesse makes a foolish shovv:
Vaine Hope with vvaxen vvings doth love to flye
Like Icarus, above the Azure sky,
Fierce monsters doe this narrovv passage bound,
And deadly dangers it encompasse round.
Yet Vertue doth her follovvers safely guide,
Least they should goe astray on either side.
Prudence through the darke windings doth them lead,
Safely vvith Ariadnes clevv of thread.
Then Vertues ushers, Courage, Constancy,
Doe hearten them on against adversity:
And shovv them Vertues Castle, how on high,
It stands resplendent all with Majesty.
If they doe stumble gainst a blocke or stone,
Then Constancy saies, stay not here, goe on;
And Hope proclaimes afarre: Loe here you shall
Have joy for sorrovv, Hony for your gall.
Here peace and joyfull rest, for ever dvvell
Which neither crosse nor time shall ever quell,
So vvhen they have these hideous monsters past
With joy they reach the mountaines top at last.
Where Vertues pallace stands on pillars square
The courts of gold, the gates of chrystall are,
The Chrysolite, Saphire, and Berill stone.
Before the stately gates, blacke Envy lies,
Tormented vvith the aspect of her eyes;
On whom, vvhen once these Champions doe trample,
Through Vertues Courts, they enter Honours Temple,
Then Glory doth eternall Trophees raise,
And Fame Seraphik-like, their name doth blaze.
There but two vvayes; and yet where one dare venter
On this, a thousand by the other enter:
Vertue, oft, all alone doth goe and dwell;
Pleasure doth lead whole colonies to hell.
Nay, I dare say, the most of men doe stray
At first, and enter in the broader vvay;
Happy are they vvho doe returne, before
They runne too deepe in cursed pleasures score,
Darke ignorance doth blindfold many so,
That from the meane into th' extremes they goe.
Their ship scarce from the shore her course doth take,
When she on deadly rockes doth shipvvracke make;
Others have knovvledge and the best desire,
But crost with stormes and fortunes spightfull ire,
There strength and meanes ansvver not to their mind,
And so poore soules they're forst to lag behind.
Amongst so many thousands of this age
How fevv vvith faire applause goe off the stage;
And yet those fevv like Gideons fleece, vve see
Tith'd by untimely fates mortality.
When fruites are almost ripe, storme can them shake,
When Youth is almost man, death may him take.
Search you deaths Lime pits, and youle finde therein,
As oft the Young Steeres as the Oxes skinne;
Oft time old gray-haird vvrinkles svvim in teares,
For youthes vvho dyed in their prime of yeeres;
The overthrovving of a Young Beech tree,
This onely lavv is propper unto man,
To dye, or soone, or late, doe vvhat he can.
One way he comes to life, if Fates dispose
Will once of him, a thousand vvayes he goes.
The stormy seas doe not vvith vvaves so fret,
When roaring surges, glovvming clouds doe threat,
As with contrary tides my breast doth swell,
And doubtfull thoughts my plunged soule doth quell;
Whilst furious anger doth me headlong lead,
And shaking feares doe strike me almost dead;
While hope doth raise and sorrovv dovvne me cast;
Lord after storme, shevv forth thy calme at last.
Chase anger, feare, vaine hope and griefe away,
That joy and rest of soule, enjoy I may.
The first fruites of my young age sanctifie,
With strength of body, strength thy grace in me,
Direct me Lord along thy narrow path,
Which may lead me to Heaven, by saving faith,
Strengthen me with perseverance to the end,
From Satan, and Hels monsters me defend:
So vvhen I shall come to Heavens rest, I'le sing,
O cruell death, where is thy deadly sting:
And vvhen I shall triumph in Heaven vvith thee,
I'le say, O Grave, where is thy victory,
Before I vvant this rest, I had rather goe
Through thousand Lab'rinths of this mortall vvoe.
These worldly crosses, last but for a day,
And like the Eastvvind, quickly flye avvay:
But sure I am vvhen earthly sorrovv's past,
Heav'ns thought-surpassing joy shall ever last.
When roaring surges, glovvming clouds doe threat,
As with contrary tides my breast doth swell,
And doubtfull thoughts my plunged soule doth quell;
Whilst furious anger doth me headlong lead,
And shaking feares doe strike me almost dead;
While hope doth raise and sorrovv dovvne me cast;
Lord after storme, shevv forth thy calme at last.
Chase anger, feare, vaine hope and griefe away,
That joy and rest of soule, enjoy I may.
The first fruites of my young age sanctifie,
With strength of body, strength thy grace in me,
Direct me Lord along thy narrow path,
Which may lead me to Heaven, by saving faith,
Strengthen me with perseverance to the end,
From Satan, and Hels monsters me defend:
So vvhen I shall come to Heavens rest, I'le sing,
O cruell death, where is thy deadly sting:
And vvhen I shall triumph in Heaven vvith thee,
I'le say, O Grave, where is thy victory,
Before I vvant this rest, I had rather goe
Through thousand Lab'rinths of this mortall vvoe.
These worldly crosses, last but for a day,
And like the Eastvvind, quickly flye avvay:
But sure I am vvhen earthly sorrovv's past,
Heav'ns thought-surpassing joy shall ever last.
AVTVMNE.
September, or Mans age.
VVhen Libra in equall scales weighs night and day,
And Phœbus through the midline makes his way:
Then every plant thankefull to nature seedeth,
As it vvas bred, so other plants it breedeth,
For vievv the Vniverse and you shall finde,
That every thing seekes to preserve its kind;
With sexe and seede nature bids multiply
Man, beast, the foule and fish, the hearbe and tree,
None of their volumes ere so great can be,
Which compendiz'd in seed, vve doe not see,
And none so meane and small but doe encrease
And multiply the more, because they're lesse.
Mans age, mans life vvhen it doth equall share,
In by past nights, and dayes vvhich comming are,
Then man in his September seekes a mate,
His speece for to conserve and propagate.
When God into mans nostrils breathed life,
He fittest thought for him to have a wife,
And he vvho sayd, vvoe to him vvho's alone,
Gave man a consort and companion:
He gave him not a Peacock nor a Goate,
Nor Dogge, nor Parret vvith her mimicke throate,
But of himselfe his fellovv he did make,
And from his side his consort he did take.
But all this while Sathan mans mortall foe,
Lurking his craft and malice did not shovv,
So vvhen he savv the vveaker sexe of man,
To use his stratagems then he began.
Sometimes Themistocles vvas wont to say,
That Diophantus Athens state did svvay;
The Childes desire vvas all his mothers vvill,
Nor vvould she rest till he did that fulfill;
And Athens vvas obedient to his call,
So by Sorites Diophant was all;
And wherein Adam did trespasse he knevv:
His off-spring thereof should be guilty too.
So when the devill that lying Sophister.
With cunning captions had seduced her,
She with her Complements to cogge began,
In place of joy becomming woe to man;
And justly so for trusting her relation,
Better then God, and vvorkes of the Creation;
Thus marriage vvhich before a blessing vvas
Became a curse, because of mans trespasse.
O dolefull, doubtfull case! what shall man doe?
He knovves not here vvhat hand to turne him to,
If he live all alone, he childlesse goes
To grave, chast Venus joyes he never knovves;
Vnthankefull to dame Nature he doth live,
Who life receiv'd, but life to none vvill give;
Much like as Cato came to Flora's play,
And having entred, straight did runne away;
So Natures stage, he entring rather can
Depart, before he act the married man;
Before he will glad marriage torches have,
With funerall Lights he's carried to his grave;
He lives, but to what end? that he may see,
The vvorld, and like Ephemeron quickely die;
All of him dies at once, his overthrovv
Is totall, death doth kill him at one blow;
The curse of Onan he must undergoe,
Cause being bid raise seed he did not so;
What if all vvere like him, vvhere should there be
Saints for the Heaven, for earth posterity;
Great Xerxes then might justly shed his teares,
And say, that all should dye within fevv yeares.
In joy he hath no true companion,
And knowes not hovv for to rejoyce alone;
Woes him in sorrow, he must needes despaire,
Who hath no fellovv, who may with him share;
His riches who shall have, he doth not know,
A stranger reapes them, who did never sow.
What if th' Assyrian bird lives vvithout mate,
And yet her rarest kinde doth propagate?
What if some Phenix-like can Virgins live?
To those vve honour due and reverence give;
For when they're burn'd in glory's spycie flame,
They leave eternall off-spring of their fame;
But vve of mankind talke, where one so dyes,
A thousand batchlers in oblivion lyes.
And Phœbus through the midline makes his way:
Then every plant thankefull to nature seedeth,
As it vvas bred, so other plants it breedeth,
For vievv the Vniverse and you shall finde,
That every thing seekes to preserve its kind;
With sexe and seede nature bids multiply
Man, beast, the foule and fish, the hearbe and tree,
None of their volumes ere so great can be,
Which compendiz'd in seed, vve doe not see,
And none so meane and small but doe encrease
And multiply the more, because they're lesse.
Mans age, mans life vvhen it doth equall share,
In by past nights, and dayes vvhich comming are,
Then man in his September seekes a mate,
His speece for to conserve and propagate.
When God into mans nostrils breathed life,
He fittest thought for him to have a wife,
And he vvho sayd, vvoe to him vvho's alone,
Gave man a consort and companion:
He gave him not a Peacock nor a Goate,
Nor Dogge, nor Parret vvith her mimicke throate,
But of himselfe his fellovv he did make,
And from his side his consort he did take.
But all this while Sathan mans mortall foe,
Lurking his craft and malice did not shovv,
So vvhen he savv the vveaker sexe of man,
To use his stratagems then he began.
Sometimes Themistocles vvas wont to say,
That Diophantus Athens state did svvay;
The Childes desire vvas all his mothers vvill,
Nor vvould she rest till he did that fulfill;
So by Sorites Diophant was all;
And wherein Adam did trespasse he knevv:
His off-spring thereof should be guilty too.
So when the devill that lying Sophister.
With cunning captions had seduced her,
She with her Complements to cogge began,
In place of joy becomming woe to man;
And justly so for trusting her relation,
Better then God, and vvorkes of the Creation;
Thus marriage vvhich before a blessing vvas
Became a curse, because of mans trespasse.
O dolefull, doubtfull case! what shall man doe?
He knovves not here vvhat hand to turne him to,
If he live all alone, he childlesse goes
To grave, chast Venus joyes he never knovves;
Vnthankefull to dame Nature he doth live,
Who life receiv'd, but life to none vvill give;
Much like as Cato came to Flora's play,
And having entred, straight did runne away;
So Natures stage, he entring rather can
Depart, before he act the married man;
Before he will glad marriage torches have,
With funerall Lights he's carried to his grave;
He lives, but to what end? that he may see,
The vvorld, and like Ephemeron quickely die;
All of him dies at once, his overthrovv
Is totall, death doth kill him at one blow;
The curse of Onan he must undergoe,
Cause being bid raise seed he did not so;
What if all vvere like him, vvhere should there be
Saints for the Heaven, for earth posterity;
Great Xerxes then might justly shed his teares,
And say, that all should dye within fevv yeares.
And knowes not hovv for to rejoyce alone;
Woes him in sorrow, he must needes despaire,
Who hath no fellovv, who may with him share;
His riches who shall have, he doth not know,
A stranger reapes them, who did never sow.
What if th' Assyrian bird lives vvithout mate,
And yet her rarest kinde doth propagate?
What if some Phenix-like can Virgins live?
To those vve honour due and reverence give;
For when they're burn'd in glory's spycie flame,
They leave eternall off-spring of their fame;
But vve of mankind talke, where one so dyes,
A thousand batchlers in oblivion lyes.
What shall he marry? that's a life of care,
Of sorrow, poverty, if not despaire.
For every one is not a Socrates
Who can a bold and mad Xantippe please.
Our life's a journey to our heav'nly aboad,
He walkes vvith ease, who walkes without a load;
This life's a vvarrefare, vvherein vve must fight
Against Step-mother Fortunes ire and spight,
The greater burthens doe a man oppresse,
He needes must sincke the more, and fight the lesse,
What man hath not his crosse, which he must carry;
He's subject to anothers if he marry;
Weigh man and vvife, and (as Tirefias sayd
Of her desire) you'le finde her crosse dovvne vveigh'd.
Doth beauty like thee? that a foe doth prove
Oftimes to chastity and mariage love,
Not fit for Gyges sight, once made a prey
To lust, for greefe, it made it selfe away.
Great portions please thee; these are cause of pride,
Disdaine and brauling jarres on either side,
Terentia queld Tullyes svveete eloquence,
To Antony oft Fulvia gave offence;
In marriage vvho are vail'd for modesty,
Once marryed take to them supremacy;
I vvill not talke of great Alcides wife
And Claudius shrevv, judges of death and life;
Some thinking joyes, the more they common are
The greater, will have no peculiare;
A bad vvife, a consumption you may call,
For none but death can free thee from her thrall.
You'le praise Penelope and Alcestis care,
And she, vvho thought all, like her huband vvere;
But every one cannot to Corinth saile,
All vvish the best, but all cannot prevaile;
Wife's choos'd by Lott'ry, be you ne're so wise,
You may have forty blanks, and not one prise.
Suppose you have a good one, chaste and faire,
Both rich and modest prudent, full of care,
Teeming with children, never raising strife,
Like to Cornelia or a Sabin wife;
If death shall take her, or fatality,
Vndoe her, if thy children deare shall dye.
Then for thy former joyes, what griefe is seene,
Happy wert thou, if happy th'hadst not beene.
Like as the vviddower turtle all alone,
Makes sad the shaddovvy groves with dolefull mone,
Searching each wood; no wood his mate doth give,
Yet search he vvill; alone he cannot live:
So is't vvith thee, vvhom love ty'd vvith his knot,
By thee, that love can never be forgot;
Thou'st lost thy better part, thou pin'st away,
Halfe man, defrauding grave, and wronging day;
Perhaps thy dreames in sleepe doe make thee blest,
While as thou fancies her in midnight rest,
And she belyes thy joy; but once avvake,
Then more, and more thou grievest for her sake,
Thou vvear'st out nights and dayes in griefe and moane,
Like Orpheus, when Eurydice vvas gone,
He broke his strings, and Harpe away he cast,
When she the second time to hell had past.
Of sorrow, poverty, if not despaire.
For every one is not a Socrates
Who can a bold and mad Xantippe please.
Our life's a journey to our heav'nly aboad,
He walkes vvith ease, who walkes without a load;
This life's a vvarrefare, vvherein vve must fight
Against Step-mother Fortunes ire and spight,
The greater burthens doe a man oppresse,
He needes must sincke the more, and fight the lesse,
What man hath not his crosse, which he must carry;
He's subject to anothers if he marry;
Weigh man and vvife, and (as Tirefias sayd
Of her desire) you'le finde her crosse dovvne vveigh'd.
Doth beauty like thee? that a foe doth prove
Oftimes to chastity and mariage love,
Not fit for Gyges sight, once made a prey
To lust, for greefe, it made it selfe away.
Great portions please thee; these are cause of pride,
Disdaine and brauling jarres on either side,
To Antony oft Fulvia gave offence;
In marriage vvho are vail'd for modesty,
Once marryed take to them supremacy;
I vvill not talke of great Alcides wife
And Claudius shrevv, judges of death and life;
Some thinking joyes, the more they common are
The greater, will have no peculiare;
A bad vvife, a consumption you may call,
For none but death can free thee from her thrall.
You'le praise Penelope and Alcestis care,
And she, vvho thought all, like her huband vvere;
But every one cannot to Corinth saile,
All vvish the best, but all cannot prevaile;
Wife's choos'd by Lott'ry, be you ne're so wise,
You may have forty blanks, and not one prise.
Suppose you have a good one, chaste and faire,
Both rich and modest prudent, full of care,
Teeming with children, never raising strife,
Like to Cornelia or a Sabin wife;
If death shall take her, or fatality,
Vndoe her, if thy children deare shall dye.
Then for thy former joyes, what griefe is seene,
Happy wert thou, if happy th'hadst not beene.
Like as the vviddower turtle all alone,
Makes sad the shaddovvy groves with dolefull mone,
Searching each wood; no wood his mate doth give,
Yet search he vvill; alone he cannot live:
So is't vvith thee, vvhom love ty'd vvith his knot,
By thee, that love can never be forgot;
Thou'st lost thy better part, thou pin'st away,
Halfe man, defrauding grave, and wronging day;
Perhaps thy dreames in sleepe doe make thee blest,
While as thou fancies her in midnight rest,
Then more, and more thou grievest for her sake,
Thou vvear'st out nights and dayes in griefe and moane,
Like Orpheus, when Eurydice vvas gone,
He broke his strings, and Harpe away he cast,
When she the second time to hell had past.
O dolefull case of man! O cruell fate!
Marry, or not, still vvretched is his state.
Good God! hath wretched man come this farre on,
And yet can finde no joy to build upon,
In Autume such a tempest if he see
What thinke you will his stormy Winter be?
Marry, or not, still vvretched is his state.
Good God! hath wretched man come this farre on,
And yet can finde no joy to build upon,
In Autume such a tempest if he see
What thinke you will his stormy Winter be?
Almighty God, who gavest strait command,
To honour parents and our sacred Sires;
That so vve may enjoy the promis'd land,
And brooke thy blessings and our hearts desires;
Thou likevvise sayest, men doe parents leave
Be taking them to marriage chastity,
That they may to their lawfull consorts cleave,
And have some comfort of posterity.
But he that will not for thy sake leave all,
Parents, vvife, children, and what goods he hath,
Vnworthy of thee (O Lord) thou dost him call,
Who should be saved by thy blessed death
Some after wedding, drinke the cheerefull vvine
Of gladnesse, vvhile their cup doth overflow,
While without dregges of sorrovv it doth shine,
What vvant and trouble meanes they doe not know.
If I shall drinke the vvater of affliction,
Because the marriage wine is gone and past,
Turne't into nectar of thy benediction;
So shall the vvine be best which comes at last.
In all estates, Lord grant me constancy,
Least I with good successe be overjoy'd,
Or yet cast dovvne vvith great adversity,
Let me not be with crosses much annoy'd.
What e're the state of this my marriage is,
I shall one day a better vvedding see;
With this one comfort, Lord, my Soule I blisse,
With thee Heav'ns Lord, my Soule shall marryed be.
Iacob, great Iuda's sire wrought eare and late,
He thought the time quickly avvay did slide,
Though vvorne in night vvith cold, in day vvith heat,
All seemed nothing, cause he lov'd his bride.
Shall not my Soule, for Christ the bride groomes glory,
Suffer what ever mortall crosse shall be,
For all these crosses are but transitory,
His joyes shall last to all eternity.
He did poore soule, so much of thee esteeme,
Delivering thee from Hels infernall pit,
That with his blood, he did thy life redeeme,
That thou may'st vvith him in his glory sit.
Watch therefore, Soule, let not thy Lights goe out,
Let constant hope, and faith, still persevere,
So when thy blessed Bridegroomes joyfull shout,
Shall rise, thou mayest enter vvithout feare.
Then millions of winged Angels shall,
Vnto Heav'ns gloryous firy-courts thee bring,
And there amongst these troopes Cœlestiall,
The Seraphines thy marriage song shall sing.
To honour parents and our sacred Sires;
That so vve may enjoy the promis'd land,
And brooke thy blessings and our hearts desires;
Thou likevvise sayest, men doe parents leave
Be taking them to marriage chastity,
That they may to their lawfull consorts cleave,
And have some comfort of posterity.
But he that will not for thy sake leave all,
Parents, vvife, children, and what goods he hath,
Vnworthy of thee (O Lord) thou dost him call,
Who should be saved by thy blessed death
Some after wedding, drinke the cheerefull vvine
Of gladnesse, vvhile their cup doth overflow,
While without dregges of sorrovv it doth shine,
What vvant and trouble meanes they doe not know.
If I shall drinke the vvater of affliction,
Because the marriage wine is gone and past,
Turne't into nectar of thy benediction;
So shall the vvine be best which comes at last.
Least I with good successe be overjoy'd,
Or yet cast dovvne vvith great adversity,
Let me not be with crosses much annoy'd.
What e're the state of this my marriage is,
I shall one day a better vvedding see;
With this one comfort, Lord, my Soule I blisse,
With thee Heav'ns Lord, my Soule shall marryed be.
Iacob, great Iuda's sire wrought eare and late,
He thought the time quickly avvay did slide,
Though vvorne in night vvith cold, in day vvith heat,
All seemed nothing, cause he lov'd his bride.
Shall not my Soule, for Christ the bride groomes glory,
Suffer what ever mortall crosse shall be,
For all these crosses are but transitory,
His joyes shall last to all eternity.
He did poore soule, so much of thee esteeme,
Delivering thee from Hels infernall pit,
That with his blood, he did thy life redeeme,
That thou may'st vvith him in his glory sit.
Watch therefore, Soule, let not thy Lights goe out,
Let constant hope, and faith, still persevere,
So when thy blessed Bridegroomes joyfull shout,
Shall rise, thou mayest enter vvithout feare.
Then millions of winged Angels shall,
Vnto Heav'ns gloryous firy-courts thee bring,
And there amongst these troopes Cœlestiall,
The Seraphines thy marriage song shall sing.
[Take heed when Barnes are full, and wine doth flow]
Take heed when Barnes are full, and wine doth flowLeast Scorpius with his sting all overthrow;
Dog-dayes are past, when men were glad to weare
Torne cloathes, if you be wise, October feare;
Extreames are dangerous, doe not you make bold
From fire, to runne out naked in the cold.
In midst of plenty, let us thinke on want;
If we be healthfull let's not therefore vant.
October, or middle age.
VVhen
Scorpius in his bending cleyes doth gripe
Phœbus, and gray-haird Ceres fruites are ripe,
Then wisht-for times to husbandmen appeare,
When rurall Gods hath blest the fruitefull yeare;
Then Corne is reapt, and joyfully they movv,
And gather, vvhat in hopes they first did sow;
Then ev'ry man and beast, with sweat doe toyle,
To take the Harvest from the fertile soyle,
When Parents doe enjoy their wish, and see
Their children come to full maturity,
Then is the Harvest of the life of man,
Then ev'ry one endeav'reth vvhat he can.
Like as the Pisemires with their num'rous bands,
Six-footed creatures cover fields and lands,
When they doe carry home their Winter store,
Great stackes of Corne, they lessen more and more:
So men in companies themselves divide,
And rob the world of riches and her pryde.
What Country doth beneath th' Horizon lye,
What sea, vvhat place, not seene by Phœbus eye,
What depth, vvhat darkenesse neere unto the Center,
Is there, to which mans labour doth not venter?
Thus India sometime rich, doth novv complaine,
And Pactol, vvhich vvith Gold, Midas did staine:
Tagus, and Iber, once did richly flovv,
But novv their Channels mosse doth overgrovv,
Now seeke they, vvhat they gave, from forraigne coastes,
In vaine novv Corinth of her Copper boasts:
The daughters of the Sunne doe not decore
With Amber teares Eridanus his shore:
In vaine th' Arabian picks the glistring sands
For Gemmes, Sidon admires her empty strands.
Sparta no scarlet, Amycle no wooll
Produceth, other coasts are thereof full;
The Phœnix knowes not where her nest to build,
Sabea cannot savory spices yeeld,
Paros exhausted is of Marble stone,
Maurisias precious tables are all gone;
And thou faire Babylon, some time agoe
What vvere thy hangings, now thou dost not knovv;
Persia take heede, the Chalybes can give
No iron, though in this iron age they live;
Salon thy darts are gone, vvhich thou was vvont,
Amidst thy streames to temper hard as flint;
Ceres from fertile Gargara hath fled,
And Sicily by Enna scarce is fed;
Dodon no Acornes, Egypt Lentiles send,
Nor doe vve now Methymnas grapes commend;
In Gaurus and Falernas vvines are rare,
With Hymet any place dare most compare,
Corsicke no honey yeelds; Ida hath lost
His pines; of groaves Parnassus cannot boast,
Idume sends no palmes, nor Cyrnus yevves,
Nor Pestum roses of so many hevves;
Cilicias gardens seldome saffron sees;
Eurotas banck's doe beare no olive trees,
Now Pontus bezer, Colchis poyson lacke,
This long agoe doth mourne for Argos sake.
Industrious mankind patient of great toyle,
Make monsters, men, beasts, fish, fovvles change their soyle.
The glory of horses, Epire hath forsaken,
And Britaine hath Calabrius glory taken,
Whose sheepe doe goe beyond Euganean flockes,
With snovvlike fleeces and their curled lockes,
The Lyons vvhich kings Iubas land hath bred,
We see them in our chaines and fetters led;
The Daunian vvolves, Spartan, Molossian dogges,
The Marsian Bores Arcadian beares, and hogges;
The African may here his monsters find,
His painted birds, and foules of strangest kind.
O mankind borne to beare care and distresse,
Who darest Natures furthest bounds trangresse,
Thou plow'st the seas, not fearing dolefull vvracke,
And tramplest on the Tyran Neptunes backe,
Thou dost the ruines of the Heav'n uphold,
Thou dost thy selfe in foamy vvaves enfold,
Thou dar'st the vvind, and vvearyest threatning fate,
When Heav'n and stormy seas, are at debate;
Oft times thy lodging is a roaring rocke,
Or planke, to stormes thou'rt then a mocking stocke;
Thou seest thy fellovves tumble, nor dost knovv,
What first shall give thee deaths last cursed blow.
Then call'st thou Heaven for helpe, and none canst find,
Encreasing seas vvith teares, with sighes the vvind;
But vvhen thou com'st unto the vvisht-for shore,
Thou wilt not vow, that thou shalt saile no more,
But while thou shipbroke, beg'st for misery,
Thou think'st another voyage hovv to try.
Thou knovv'st not hovv at home to live in rest,
Meanely, and therefore still vvill be distrest.
Some seeke Niles source, the Poles some come so neere,
That light and darkenesse doth compleat a yeere;
There new-found Lands, nor can one vvorld suffice,
What mans too curious fancy doth devise;
Some digge earths cavernes, not unlike to moles,
Hating the day, they live in pits and holes,
And from Cimmerian darkenesse of the hell,
They seeke their riches from curst Pluto's cell.
Some like the fishes dive into the strands,
And there doe grople 'mongst the rockes and sands.
O toylesome Lote of men! hath so the fates
Ordain'd their life? O hard commanding fates!
Nature thought good her treasures to conceale,
Which nothing, besides labour, can reveale.
The Oxe bred bees with stings defend their hives,
And fight for them, as for their dearest lives:
The Rose is fenc't with prickies round about,
He must be prickt, who seekes to finde them out,
The Moly beares a blossome vvhite as snovv,
His svvarthy roote deepe in the earth doth grovv,
It cureth maladies of every kinde,
But hardly digged up, vvhen men it finde:
With all the grove so Proserpine doth cover
The bough, vvith vvhich men Lethes flood passe over,
Who seeke from the Hesperides a prize,
Must lull a sleepe the Dragons vvatchfull eyes.
What nature hath produced vvorke it must,
Heav'n by th' intelligence about is thrust,
It knovves no rest, the sunne from East doth rise,
And tovvards West doth course along the skies,
Vp from the Goate he climes to Cancers seate,
Then to the Goate againe he makes retreate.
The Moone her courses multiplyeth so
That still one countenance she ne're doth shevv;
The earth keepes seasons of the yeere, in spring
She bringeth forth the buddes of every thing;
In summer she them heate and moysture yeelds,
With corne in Autumne she doth crovvne the fields,
But vvhen the Winter stormes and vvindes doe blovv,
She's vvrapped up with seede in fleece of Snovv:
The Sea rests never, beasts must undergoe
The yoke of toyle, and mankinde must live so.
Phœbus, and gray-haird Ceres fruites are ripe,
Then wisht-for times to husbandmen appeare,
When rurall Gods hath blest the fruitefull yeare;
Then Corne is reapt, and joyfully they movv,
And gather, vvhat in hopes they first did sow;
Then ev'ry man and beast, with sweat doe toyle,
To take the Harvest from the fertile soyle,
When Parents doe enjoy their wish, and see
Their children come to full maturity,
Then is the Harvest of the life of man,
Then ev'ry one endeav'reth vvhat he can.
Like as the Pisemires with their num'rous bands,
Six-footed creatures cover fields and lands,
When they doe carry home their Winter store,
Great stackes of Corne, they lessen more and more:
So men in companies themselves divide,
And rob the world of riches and her pryde.
What Country doth beneath th' Horizon lye,
What sea, vvhat place, not seene by Phœbus eye,
What depth, vvhat darkenesse neere unto the Center,
Is there, to which mans labour doth not venter?
Thus India sometime rich, doth novv complaine,
And Pactol, vvhich vvith Gold, Midas did staine:
Tagus, and Iber, once did richly flovv,
But novv their Channels mosse doth overgrovv,
Now seeke they, vvhat they gave, from forraigne coastes,
In vaine novv Corinth of her Copper boasts:
The daughters of the Sunne doe not decore
With Amber teares Eridanus his shore:
In vaine th' Arabian picks the glistring sands
For Gemmes, Sidon admires her empty strands.
Produceth, other coasts are thereof full;
The Phœnix knowes not where her nest to build,
Sabea cannot savory spices yeeld,
Paros exhausted is of Marble stone,
Maurisias precious tables are all gone;
And thou faire Babylon, some time agoe
What vvere thy hangings, now thou dost not knovv;
Persia take heede, the Chalybes can give
No iron, though in this iron age they live;
Salon thy darts are gone, vvhich thou was vvont,
Amidst thy streames to temper hard as flint;
Ceres from fertile Gargara hath fled,
And Sicily by Enna scarce is fed;
Dodon no Acornes, Egypt Lentiles send,
Nor doe vve now Methymnas grapes commend;
In Gaurus and Falernas vvines are rare,
With Hymet any place dare most compare,
Corsicke no honey yeelds; Ida hath lost
His pines; of groaves Parnassus cannot boast,
Idume sends no palmes, nor Cyrnus yevves,
Nor Pestum roses of so many hevves;
Cilicias gardens seldome saffron sees;
Eurotas banck's doe beare no olive trees,
Now Pontus bezer, Colchis poyson lacke,
This long agoe doth mourne for Argos sake.
Industrious mankind patient of great toyle,
Make monsters, men, beasts, fish, fovvles change their soyle.
The glory of horses, Epire hath forsaken,
And Britaine hath Calabrius glory taken,
Whose sheepe doe goe beyond Euganean flockes,
With snovvlike fleeces and their curled lockes,
The Lyons vvhich kings Iubas land hath bred,
We see them in our chaines and fetters led;
The Marsian Bores Arcadian beares, and hogges;
The African may here his monsters find,
His painted birds, and foules of strangest kind.
O mankind borne to beare care and distresse,
Who darest Natures furthest bounds trangresse,
Thou plow'st the seas, not fearing dolefull vvracke,
And tramplest on the Tyran Neptunes backe,
Thou dost the ruines of the Heav'n uphold,
Thou dost thy selfe in foamy vvaves enfold,
Thou dar'st the vvind, and vvearyest threatning fate,
When Heav'n and stormy seas, are at debate;
Oft times thy lodging is a roaring rocke,
Or planke, to stormes thou'rt then a mocking stocke;
Thou seest thy fellovves tumble, nor dost knovv,
What first shall give thee deaths last cursed blow.
Then call'st thou Heaven for helpe, and none canst find,
Encreasing seas vvith teares, with sighes the vvind;
But vvhen thou com'st unto the vvisht-for shore,
Thou wilt not vow, that thou shalt saile no more,
But while thou shipbroke, beg'st for misery,
Thou think'st another voyage hovv to try.
Thou knovv'st not hovv at home to live in rest,
Meanely, and therefore still vvill be distrest.
Some seeke Niles source, the Poles some come so neere,
That light and darkenesse doth compleat a yeere;
There new-found Lands, nor can one vvorld suffice,
What mans too curious fancy doth devise;
Some digge earths cavernes, not unlike to moles,
Hating the day, they live in pits and holes,
And from Cimmerian darkenesse of the hell,
They seeke their riches from curst Pluto's cell.
Some like the fishes dive into the strands,
And there doe grople 'mongst the rockes and sands.
Ordain'd their life? O hard commanding fates!
Nature thought good her treasures to conceale,
Which nothing, besides labour, can reveale.
The Oxe bred bees with stings defend their hives,
And fight for them, as for their dearest lives:
The Rose is fenc't with prickies round about,
He must be prickt, who seekes to finde them out,
The Moly beares a blossome vvhite as snovv,
His svvarthy roote deepe in the earth doth grovv,
It cureth maladies of every kinde,
But hardly digged up, vvhen men it finde:
With all the grove so Proserpine doth cover
The bough, vvith vvhich men Lethes flood passe over,
Who seeke from the Hesperides a prize,
Must lull a sleepe the Dragons vvatchfull eyes.
What nature hath produced vvorke it must,
Heav'n by th' intelligence about is thrust,
It knovves no rest, the sunne from East doth rise,
And tovvards West doth course along the skies,
Vp from the Goate he climes to Cancers seate,
Then to the Goate againe he makes retreate.
The Moone her courses multiplyeth so
That still one countenance she ne're doth shevv;
The earth keepes seasons of the yeere, in spring
She bringeth forth the buddes of every thing;
In summer she them heate and moysture yeelds,
With corne in Autumne she doth crovvne the fields,
But vvhen the Winter stormes and vvindes doe blovv,
She's vvrapped up with seede in fleece of Snovv:
The Sea rests never, beasts must undergoe
The yoke of toyle, and mankinde must live so.
Then you my fellovves let us still advance,
Through all these hazards of unluckie chance,
Our lot is elsewhere, joy shall come at last,
Then gladly shall vve thinke of troubles past.
Through all these hazards of unluckie chance,
Then gladly shall vve thinke of troubles past.
From mornings East, unto the evenings West,
From South, to North, as Poles doe rise and fall,
Men framing Fortune still seeke for the best,
And oft too curious are deceiv'd of all.
They seeke what fire and vvater can destroy,
Or moth consume, or theefe can steale avvay,
Or vvherein they doe place their greatest joy,
The enemy can take it as a prey.
Heav'n hath my treasure with my Lord and King,
With companies of glorious Saints in blisse,
Where holy quires doe dance triumph and sing,
They follow, and our Saviour leader is.
Here Nectar rivers every vvhere doe flovv,
Ioy vvithout sorrovv, holy daliance,
Here stands Ambrosias heapes, where ere you goe,
And vvhat immortall glory can advance.
If you should multiply ten thousand ages,
They shall not end this joy and glorious light,
Nay though you goe beyond ten thousand stages,
Nor all the dayes vvhich never shall knovv night.
Hither lead me, O Lord through all distresse,
O're mountaines of the land, rockes of the seas,
Through whatsoever hath no quietnesse,
Through stormes and thunder, if it so Thee please.
So that the Haven of this my voyage be,
Heav'ns rest, so that the goale be of my race,
The Court of Angels, who attend on Thee,
And in thy Fathers house some dvvelling place.
From South, to North, as Poles doe rise and fall,
Men framing Fortune still seeke for the best,
And oft too curious are deceiv'd of all.
They seeke what fire and vvater can destroy,
Or moth consume, or theefe can steale avvay,
Or vvherein they doe place their greatest joy,
The enemy can take it as a prey.
Heav'n hath my treasure with my Lord and King,
With companies of glorious Saints in blisse,
Where holy quires doe dance triumph and sing,
They follow, and our Saviour leader is.
Here Nectar rivers every vvhere doe flovv,
Ioy vvithout sorrovv, holy daliance,
Here stands Ambrosias heapes, where ere you goe,
And vvhat immortall glory can advance.
If you should multiply ten thousand ages,
They shall not end this joy and glorious light,
Nay though you goe beyond ten thousand stages,
Nor all the dayes vvhich never shall knovv night.
Hither lead me, O Lord through all distresse,
O're mountaines of the land, rockes of the seas,
Through whatsoever hath no quietnesse,
Through stormes and thunder, if it so Thee please.
So that the Haven of this my voyage be,
Heav'ns rest, so that the goale be of my race,
The Court of Angels, who attend on Thee,
And in thy Fathers house some dvvelling place.
[Now piercing darts descend from heav'n above]
Now piercing darts descend from heav'n above,We are corslets if your bodyes health you love,
For Autumnes latter raine, strikes to the heart,
Oftner than doth the flying Parthians dart.
When Sagittarius bends his bow, take heede,
For if you shun't not, he can strike you dead.
O gracious Heav'n who can make mortals sad,
And merry; still foretelling good and bad.
November, or age farre spent.
VVhen Pleiades doe rise from Easterne hindge,
And now November latter harvest brings
Vshering the Winter; men doe Ceres huccen,
Which is unhusked by hard treading Oxen;
Then from the pressed grapes the wine runnes downe,
And Muste vvith Nectars foame, the Fats doth crovvne;
From vvaxen cels, some doe the hony straine,
And pots are full, vvhile empty hives complaine;
Then every one workes vvhat in him can lye
Yet all one and the same vvorke doe not ply.
Even such-like men in full ripe age, vve finde,
Whose faces differ no more then their minde;
Each one a diverse palate hath, nor can
One taste that which likes vvell another man;
Some soare like Eagles, and will reach the sky,
Others, like vermine in earths dust doe lye;
There few, or none, but vvhom great Iove doth love,
Who keepe the meane, vvho vvise and happy prove.
And now November latter harvest brings
Vshering the Winter; men doe Ceres huccen,
Which is unhusked by hard treading Oxen;
Then from the pressed grapes the wine runnes downe,
And Muste vvith Nectars foame, the Fats doth crovvne;
From vvaxen cels, some doe the hony straine,
And pots are full, vvhile empty hives complaine;
Then every one workes vvhat in him can lye
Yet all one and the same vvorke doe not ply.
Even such-like men in full ripe age, vve finde,
Whose faces differ no more then their minde;
Each one a diverse palate hath, nor can
One taste that which likes vvell another man;
Some soare like Eagles, and will reach the sky,
Others, like vermine in earths dust doe lye;
There few, or none, but vvhom great Iove doth love,
Who keepe the meane, vvho vvise and happy prove.
Ambition mortals greatest plague doth hye,
Vpwards, and with Icarian wings will flye;
While Gyant-like, she vvill rob Heav'n of all,
She catcheth still the more notorious fall.
Pellas faire flower, vvho could not be content
With the rich conquest of the Orient,
Nor vvith a mortall father did proclaime
Himselfe Ioves bastard, to his Parents shame;
The hoofe which Lethes water did containe,
Did prove him mortall, and his hopes but vaine,
Whose huge desires, one vvorld could not suffice,
A short and narrow coffin vvas his prize.
God tyrans flouts, nor can with pride avvay,
Without a rivall, he the vvorld doth svvay,
Nor could Alcides club or hayrie coate,
Save from a fatall rope Commodus throate.
Caligula most impious amongst men,
Dar'd to behead his Country Gods, and then
Did cause their shoulders his gold'n head up beare,
That all might vvorship him vvith divine feare.
O curst impiety that can no way
Be expiated! vvhich vvith Heaven's scepter svvay,
And match their Scepters vvith Ioves thundring hand,
Who doth the greatest Monarchies command,
There Scepters are but fraile, and fortune strange,
There Scepters vvith a beggers staffe doth change;
Why doe these purple tyranes often dye
Shedding their purple soules most cruelly?
Because Heav'ns Deity then doe contemne,
And like Salmonius thunder amongst men.
For others Fortune wisely did foresee,
Cradels well fitting vvith their lovv degree,
Commanding them no vvayes t' aspire so high
As to usurpe sacred supremacy:
Yet some have so ambitious desire,
They will not live second in Romes Empire.
Monsters of men, Earths plagues, Hells cursed brood,
They will be wicked cause the Gods are good,
Seeking t' ensnare Earthes Sacred government:
Besides curst treason they have no intent,
But yet heav'ns hand can still that povver defend,
Which to its blest anoynted it doth lend;
They're authors of their vvoe, they catch a fall,
And cursed death just Nemesis of all,
Who scale the Cedars finde top-boughes too weake,
Which once oppressed easily doe breake:
Much like a vvhirle-vvind rushing from above,
Waxing still more, the more that it doth move,
While it doth vvrastle vvith the aged Oake,
It weak'ns its eager strength at every stroke:
So doth ambition vex those, who doe flye,
With all their might to supreame dignity;
Which vvhen they cannot reach, they breake their strength,
And vvith their vveight, they fall to ground at length,
They seeke the honours 'gainst the Eternall Will
Of Iove. When thunder strikes the highest hill,
More safely in a cottage you may lurke,
Then in a Pallace cursed treason worke,
Better vvith Clymene at home t'abide,
Then Phœbus flaming horses to misguide;
What greater madnesse then to tempt the Sunne
With vvaxen vvings, vvhich presently will runne?
Saile softly; Fortune passeth by the shores,
Catching the ship, which vvith her streamers soares.
O happy mankind, if men once did know
With meane estate themselves content to show!
That life is safest which doth keepe a meane,
Free from ambition, and from falshood cleane;
It neither stands nor fals at vulgars breath,
Nor feares ambitious Sejans cursed death;
Nor Manlius fate, who wou'd be Lord of Rome,
And from the Capitol had both praise and doome.
Vpwards, and with Icarian wings will flye;
While Gyant-like, she vvill rob Heav'n of all,
She catcheth still the more notorious fall.
Pellas faire flower, vvho could not be content
With the rich conquest of the Orient,
Nor vvith a mortall father did proclaime
Himselfe Ioves bastard, to his Parents shame;
The hoofe which Lethes water did containe,
Did prove him mortall, and his hopes but vaine,
Whose huge desires, one vvorld could not suffice,
A short and narrow coffin vvas his prize.
God tyrans flouts, nor can with pride avvay,
Without a rivall, he the vvorld doth svvay,
Save from a fatall rope Commodus throate.
Caligula most impious amongst men,
Dar'd to behead his Country Gods, and then
Did cause their shoulders his gold'n head up beare,
That all might vvorship him vvith divine feare.
O curst impiety that can no way
Be expiated! vvhich vvith Heaven's scepter svvay,
And match their Scepters vvith Ioves thundring hand,
Who doth the greatest Monarchies command,
There Scepters are but fraile, and fortune strange,
There Scepters vvith a beggers staffe doth change;
Why doe these purple tyranes often dye
Shedding their purple soules most cruelly?
Because Heav'ns Deity then doe contemne,
And like Salmonius thunder amongst men.
For others Fortune wisely did foresee,
Cradels well fitting vvith their lovv degree,
Commanding them no vvayes t' aspire so high
As to usurpe sacred supremacy:
Yet some have so ambitious desire,
They will not live second in Romes Empire.
Monsters of men, Earths plagues, Hells cursed brood,
They will be wicked cause the Gods are good,
Seeking t' ensnare Earthes Sacred government:
Besides curst treason they have no intent,
But yet heav'ns hand can still that povver defend,
Which to its blest anoynted it doth lend;
They're authors of their vvoe, they catch a fall,
And cursed death just Nemesis of all,
Who scale the Cedars finde top-boughes too weake,
Which once oppressed easily doe breake:
Much like a vvhirle-vvind rushing from above,
Waxing still more, the more that it doth move,
It weak'ns its eager strength at every stroke:
So doth ambition vex those, who doe flye,
With all their might to supreame dignity;
Which vvhen they cannot reach, they breake their strength,
And vvith their vveight, they fall to ground at length,
They seeke the honours 'gainst the Eternall Will
Of Iove. When thunder strikes the highest hill,
More safely in a cottage you may lurke,
Then in a Pallace cursed treason worke,
Better vvith Clymene at home t'abide,
Then Phœbus flaming horses to misguide;
What greater madnesse then to tempt the Sunne
With vvaxen vvings, vvhich presently will runne?
Saile softly; Fortune passeth by the shores,
Catching the ship, which vvith her streamers soares.
O happy mankind, if men once did know
With meane estate themselves content to show!
That life is safest which doth keepe a meane,
Free from ambition, and from falshood cleane;
It neither stands nor fals at vulgars breath,
Nor feares ambitious Sejans cursed death;
Nor Manlius fate, who wou'd be Lord of Rome,
And from the Capitol had both praise and doome.
Some men doe seeke with gold, their bagges to fill,
And hoording treasures, thirst for treasures still;
They scrape vvhat ever flovves from Hermus sand,
And what the red sea casteth forth to land,
They deifie their riches and their store;
The more it is, they seeke for more and more;
Their chincky breasts they cannot fill vvith gold,
Their hearts desire their coffers cannot hold:
They covet more, the greater state they have,
And having purchas'd more, still more they crave;
Thou cursed Plague of mankinde avarice,
Author of vvoe and Hydra of all vice,
Earths Genious thou onely dost adore,
Neglecting Heav'n vvhich lasts for evermore;
Thou like the dropsie still thy thirst do'st feede,
The more thou drinkest, greater is thy neede,
With care and feare, the more thou dost possesse,
With griefe thou thinkest thy riches lesse and lesse,
Were't not for thee, mortals might happie be,
Such as the blessed golden age did see;
Good without feare of Lavves, vvho still did smile
Content vvith ev'ry state, rich vvithout guile.
Some love to feast their bellies all the day,
With Sælian cates in idlenesse and play;
They doe devoure whole vvoods and lakes, and Seas,
And Falerne mountaines, so their gut to please;
They feast the Sunne, carowsing to the night,
And vvearie out the next insuing light.
Tell me whose glory is onely dainety fare,
Such as Vitellius, Æsops dishes were;
Tell me vvho Ceres doubtfull suppers love,
At last, vvhat doth your vvaste and charges prove?
These soft delights doe breake your sinevvie strength,
And dropsie shaketh loose your joynts at length;
What comes of all your cates? the jakes can tell,
Which turnes your gold into Mephitis smell.
Thrice and more happy is the sober man,
Who on a little live contented can;
Like Heraclitus, vvho with meale and vvater
Maintaines the peace, and knowes not hovv to flatter;
He think't enough, vvhat God doth sparely give,
And in his meane estate doth richly live:
He doth his bread-corne by the Plough provide,
And loves to sup hard by the river side:
Whose vvater to his sober pallate tasteth,
Better then Nectar, vvhich the gluttons wasteth;
His minde is constant, chaste, and moderate,
Himselfe is honest, strong, and temperate;
Like Curij; and Camilli, who did dvvell
In cottages, vvhom nothing ere could quell;
Or like Serranus who his plough did leave,
That he Romes powerfull ensignes might receive;
O happy Soules, vvho vvith eternall praise,
Did blesse their Country, and their trophees raise.
And hoording treasures, thirst for treasures still;
They scrape vvhat ever flovves from Hermus sand,
And what the red sea casteth forth to land,
They deifie their riches and their store;
The more it is, they seeke for more and more;
Their chincky breasts they cannot fill vvith gold,
Their hearts desire their coffers cannot hold:
They covet more, the greater state they have,
And having purchas'd more, still more they crave;
Author of vvoe and Hydra of all vice,
Earths Genious thou onely dost adore,
Neglecting Heav'n vvhich lasts for evermore;
Thou like the dropsie still thy thirst do'st feede,
The more thou drinkest, greater is thy neede,
With care and feare, the more thou dost possesse,
With griefe thou thinkest thy riches lesse and lesse,
Were't not for thee, mortals might happie be,
Such as the blessed golden age did see;
Good without feare of Lavves, vvho still did smile
Content vvith ev'ry state, rich vvithout guile.
Some love to feast their bellies all the day,
With Sælian cates in idlenesse and play;
They doe devoure whole vvoods and lakes, and Seas,
And Falerne mountaines, so their gut to please;
They feast the Sunne, carowsing to the night,
And vvearie out the next insuing light.
Tell me whose glory is onely dainety fare,
Such as Vitellius, Æsops dishes were;
Tell me vvho Ceres doubtfull suppers love,
At last, vvhat doth your vvaste and charges prove?
These soft delights doe breake your sinevvie strength,
And dropsie shaketh loose your joynts at length;
What comes of all your cates? the jakes can tell,
Which turnes your gold into Mephitis smell.
Thrice and more happy is the sober man,
Who on a little live contented can;
Like Heraclitus, vvho with meale and vvater
Maintaines the peace, and knowes not hovv to flatter;
He think't enough, vvhat God doth sparely give,
And in his meane estate doth richly live:
He doth his bread-corne by the Plough provide,
And loves to sup hard by the river side:
Better then Nectar, vvhich the gluttons wasteth;
His minde is constant, chaste, and moderate,
Himselfe is honest, strong, and temperate;
Like Curij; and Camilli, who did dvvell
In cottages, vvhom nothing ere could quell;
Or like Serranus who his plough did leave,
That he Romes powerfull ensignes might receive;
O happy Soules, vvho vvith eternall praise,
Did blesse their Country, and their trophees raise.
The Souldier, vvho vvith firy courage stands,
Against the Martiall fierce encountring bands,
Who vvith his svvord makes way, and will not flie,
Maintaining Church and Countries liberty;
Whether in darkenesse he ly'th centenall,
Or doth entrench his forces vvith a vvall,
Or on a suddaine fell dovvne tallest vvoods,
Or undermine strong Townes, or svvim o're floods,
Or breake the ice, search Foordes, assaile the Ports,
Or vvith fierce vvarlike engines batter Forts;
He for his Countryes sake, is glad to dye,
And vvill with honest vvounds his courage try,
While first he scales the vvall, and thorow runnes,
The Fortlets, fearing neither svvords nor gunnes.
So when he leads his captive foes in chaines,
When iron-men when Horse, and Mars his traines
Doe shovv his spoyles, and with his Trophees march,
The fight is read in the triumphall Arch,
With feasts and shevves, they doe renue the day,
With triumph-songs his glory they display;
Trumpets forgetting ire, sound joy and peace,
He in his chariot rides aloft with grace.
So through the ruine of the vvall he goes,
And feeds the eyes of all men with his shovves;
Higher he cannot reach, but fall he may,
From top of glory into mire and clay;
Fortune with Triumphs deales unconstantly,
And victory vvith doubtfull wings doth flye.
Boast of thy triumphs Hannibal and tell,
How thou the Ports of Rome vvith feare didst quell,
Measure their Knights in bushels, mountaines breake
With vineger; vvhen fortune shall forsake
Thy standard, thou must serve a forraigne King,
Till thou at length dy'st by thy poyson'd ring;
Why boasts Achilles that fierce Hector's gone,
If Paris shall revenge his death anone;
From Troy vvith triumph Agamemnon goes,
But (ah) at home he findes his fatall foes.
Inconstant lot of men, vvhich greatest things,
To greater dovvnfall and confusion brings!
If Cræsus hold the toppe of Fortunes wheele,
Cyrus anon vvill cause him downeward reele,
Vntill incensed Tomyris doth thrust
His head in blood, his honour in the dust;
So fortune constant in unconstancy,
And false, thou changest lowest things with high.
Happy is he vvho sets himselfe for all
Chances, who hopes a rising, feares a fall,
And so doth guide his life in all estates,
That he nor cares for Fortunes smiles nor threats:
Like as a rocke which stands with fixed rootes,
At windes and vvhirling tempests scoffes and flouts;
They breake themselves vvhile vvith impetuous chocke
They dash and butte against th' unmoved rocke;
Even so a wise man, if a tumult rise,
Can vulgar feares and levity despise,
If fates doe crosse him vvith an hatefull ire,
Before his patience, their despight doth tire.
Nay if the world should fall about his eares,
It would not quell his constant heart vvith feares.
Against the Martiall fierce encountring bands,
Who vvith his svvord makes way, and will not flie,
Maintaining Church and Countries liberty;
Whether in darkenesse he ly'th centenall,
Or doth entrench his forces vvith a vvall,
Or on a suddaine fell dovvne tallest vvoods,
Or undermine strong Townes, or svvim o're floods,
Or breake the ice, search Foordes, assaile the Ports,
Or vvith fierce vvarlike engines batter Forts;
He for his Countryes sake, is glad to dye,
And vvill with honest vvounds his courage try,
While first he scales the vvall, and thorow runnes,
The Fortlets, fearing neither svvords nor gunnes.
So when he leads his captive foes in chaines,
When iron-men when Horse, and Mars his traines
Doe shovv his spoyles, and with his Trophees march,
The fight is read in the triumphall Arch,
With feasts and shevves, they doe renue the day,
With triumph-songs his glory they display;
Trumpets forgetting ire, sound joy and peace,
He in his chariot rides aloft with grace.
So through the ruine of the vvall he goes,
And feeds the eyes of all men with his shovves;
From top of glory into mire and clay;
Fortune with Triumphs deales unconstantly,
And victory vvith doubtfull wings doth flye.
Boast of thy triumphs Hannibal and tell,
How thou the Ports of Rome vvith feare didst quell,
Measure their Knights in bushels, mountaines breake
With vineger; vvhen fortune shall forsake
Thy standard, thou must serve a forraigne King,
Till thou at length dy'st by thy poyson'd ring;
Why boasts Achilles that fierce Hector's gone,
If Paris shall revenge his death anone;
From Troy vvith triumph Agamemnon goes,
But (ah) at home he findes his fatall foes.
Inconstant lot of men, vvhich greatest things,
To greater dovvnfall and confusion brings!
If Cræsus hold the toppe of Fortunes wheele,
Cyrus anon vvill cause him downeward reele,
Vntill incensed Tomyris doth thrust
His head in blood, his honour in the dust;
So fortune constant in unconstancy,
And false, thou changest lowest things with high.
Happy is he vvho sets himselfe for all
Chances, who hopes a rising, feares a fall,
And so doth guide his life in all estates,
That he nor cares for Fortunes smiles nor threats:
Like as a rocke which stands with fixed rootes,
At windes and vvhirling tempests scoffes and flouts;
They breake themselves vvhile vvith impetuous chocke
They dash and butte against th' unmoved rocke;
Even so a wise man, if a tumult rise,
Can vulgar feares and levity despise,
If fates doe crosse him vvith an hatefull ire,
Before his patience, their despight doth tire.
It would not quell his constant heart vvith feares.
Grant courage Lord, and by thy saving grace,
Through all mine hostile troupes me safely leade,
Suffer me not to shrinke from ranke and place,
But fight 'gainst treach'ry, envy, feare and dread.
My invvard enemy doth my heart assaile,
My outward foe vvith vvounds upon me set,
Goe where I vvill, my foemen doe prevaile,
With Satans bloody ambush I'me beset.
Thou'rt my Captaine, Thou'rt my God and Lord,
My castle, safety, rocke, defence, and prize
Thy shaddovv, safeguard can to me afford,
Gainst all what ever enemies devise.
Till they be put to rout, and I set free,
Then shalt thou Tyrans to subjection bring
Vnder thy great Man-person'd Deity,
And vvith their bands, their rebell neck's shall vvring.
When from Heavens corners, trumpets loud shall blovv,
When thou O Lord the vvicked dost endite,
Thou in the clouds shalt make a glorious shovv,
And with thy Fathers blessed ones invite.
O what a triumph shall that triumph be,
When godly men shall from their graves arise
Before their Saviour; and impiety
Shall stand before their Iudges flaming eyes.
The wicked shall passe to Sulphureous fire,
There tortures to endure vvith out all end,
The flame, the worme, the vvhips that never tyre,
And to eternall darkenesse be condemn'd.
The godly mount on high vvith glorious song,
Mongst Seraphims and Cherubims most bright,
With triumph-pomp, convoying Christ along
T'enjoy all pleasure, glory in Gods sight.
Through all mine hostile troupes me safely leade,
Suffer me not to shrinke from ranke and place,
But fight 'gainst treach'ry, envy, feare and dread.
My invvard enemy doth my heart assaile,
My outward foe vvith vvounds upon me set,
Goe where I vvill, my foemen doe prevaile,
With Satans bloody ambush I'me beset.
Thou'rt my Captaine, Thou'rt my God and Lord,
My castle, safety, rocke, defence, and prize
Thy shaddovv, safeguard can to me afford,
Gainst all what ever enemies devise.
Till they be put to rout, and I set free,
Then shalt thou Tyrans to subjection bring
Vnder thy great Man-person'd Deity,
And vvith their bands, their rebell neck's shall vvring.
When from Heavens corners, trumpets loud shall blovv,
When thou O Lord the vvicked dost endite,
Thou in the clouds shalt make a glorious shovv,
And with thy Fathers blessed ones invite.
O what a triumph shall that triumph be,
When godly men shall from their graves arise
Before their Saviour; and impiety
Shall stand before their Iudges flaming eyes.
The wicked shall passe to Sulphureous fire,
There tortures to endure vvith out all end,
The flame, the worme, the vvhips that never tyre,
And to eternall darkenesse be condemn'd.
The godly mount on high vvith glorious song,
Mongst Seraphims and Cherubims most bright,
With triumph-pomp, convoying Christ along
T'enjoy all pleasure, glory in Gods sight.
WINTER.
December, or old age.
VVhen
Phœbus makes to Capricorne retreat,
In Southvvard declination lessoning heat,
Then days doe languish and the sadder yeare,
Lookes gloomy with his cold and dolefull cheare;
Not like that yeare, which Flora's pride did shovv,
With Roses red, and Lillies vvhite as snovv;
The dayes halfe-shortned more and more decrease,
The nights extended and the Light growes lesse;
Then mortals in Cimmerian darkenesse dwell,
The aire vvith hoare-frost, winds with coldnesse svvell;
Rivers are duld with ice, the earth is bound
With cold, and pooles of teares o'reflovv the ground;
The Sea lookes gray with vvaves, and every thing
Doth droope, for absence of the pleasant spring:
So sad and slow, old age on man doth seize,
Fraughted with evils, an Hydra of cursd disease,
Lothing it selfe, oft so it hates the day,
That joyfully it makes it selfe avvay.
Then crasie gray-haires cloathes the head with snovv,
And swanlike plumes about the temples grow:
Like as an Oake which Boreas bare hath made,
Look's bald, onely its stocke doth cast a shade;
So mans malignant age, with dreary fate,
Doth rob him of his lockes, and peele his pate.
Leafs fall, shevves Winter, man is neere to dye,
When age the fatall razor doth supply.
In Southvvard declination lessoning heat,
Then days doe languish and the sadder yeare,
Lookes gloomy with his cold and dolefull cheare;
Not like that yeare, which Flora's pride did shovv,
With Roses red, and Lillies vvhite as snovv;
The dayes halfe-shortned more and more decrease,
The nights extended and the Light growes lesse;
Then mortals in Cimmerian darkenesse dwell,
The aire vvith hoare-frost, winds with coldnesse svvell;
Rivers are duld with ice, the earth is bound
With cold, and pooles of teares o'reflovv the ground;
The Sea lookes gray with vvaves, and every thing
Doth droope, for absence of the pleasant spring:
So sad and slow, old age on man doth seize,
Fraughted with evils, an Hydra of cursd disease,
Lothing it selfe, oft so it hates the day,
That joyfully it makes it selfe avvay.
Then crasie gray-haires cloathes the head with snovv,
And swanlike plumes about the temples grow:
Like as an Oake which Boreas bare hath made,
Look's bald, onely its stocke doth cast a shade;
So mans malignant age, with dreary fate,
Doth rob him of his lockes, and peele his pate.
Leafs fall, shevves Winter, man is neere to dye,
When age the fatall razor doth supply.
What novv availes the Ivory beauties grace,
Which did with Pestane Roses paint the face,
As Amaranths vvhich grovv vvhite Lillies by,
Or Thracian snovv, vvhich takes vermillion dye,
Novv is it plough'd vvith wrinckles and lookes wan,
And leane, more like a with'red vveed then man;
Like scorched grasse, vvhen Sirius heate doth burne,
And into ashes doth earths moysture turne:
His cheekes are hollow, his body looketh thin
In place of muscles hangs a vvrinckled skin:
His gemme-like eyes sometime Dames natures pryde
Are dim, and novv for shame themselves doe hide,
They scarce can see the Sunne, they're blinde as Moles,
In place of eyes, we see nothing but holes.
His back's a ridged bone, his shoulders bend,
Which sometimes could vvith Pelops vvell contend;
All feature's gone, his beauties faire and bright
Is made a sceleton and ugly sight.
Mad Paris; vvhy to Sparta dost thou hye,
To breake the lavves of hospitality?
Why dost thou call the Grecian fleete to Troy,
Which 'fore it doth returne vvill it destroy?
Is't cause thy brest with love is set on fire,
And thou nothing but Hellen canst desire?
Looke to thy mothers vvrinckles and her face,
Which age and filthy leannesse doth disgrace;
Her bleardnesse and her age thou dost detest
Yet once it kindled fire in Priams brest:
Helen thy greatest joy and sole delight,
After thy death and Iuno's deadly spight,
After friends slaughters, and thy sisters rape,
Shall scratch her vvrinckles like a munckie Ape,
And oft with teares shall blot the looking glasse,
Seeing vvhat she is novv, and vvhat she was.
Which did with Pestane Roses paint the face,
As Amaranths vvhich grovv vvhite Lillies by,
Or Thracian snovv, vvhich takes vermillion dye,
Novv is it plough'd vvith wrinckles and lookes wan,
And leane, more like a with'red vveed then man;
And into ashes doth earths moysture turne:
His cheekes are hollow, his body looketh thin
In place of muscles hangs a vvrinckled skin:
His gemme-like eyes sometime Dames natures pryde
Are dim, and novv for shame themselves doe hide,
They scarce can see the Sunne, they're blinde as Moles,
In place of eyes, we see nothing but holes.
His back's a ridged bone, his shoulders bend,
Which sometimes could vvith Pelops vvell contend;
All feature's gone, his beauties faire and bright
Is made a sceleton and ugly sight.
Mad Paris; vvhy to Sparta dost thou hye,
To breake the lavves of hospitality?
Why dost thou call the Grecian fleete to Troy,
Which 'fore it doth returne vvill it destroy?
Is't cause thy brest with love is set on fire,
And thou nothing but Hellen canst desire?
Looke to thy mothers vvrinckles and her face,
Which age and filthy leannesse doth disgrace;
Her bleardnesse and her age thou dost detest
Yet once it kindled fire in Priams brest:
Helen thy greatest joy and sole delight,
After thy death and Iuno's deadly spight,
After friends slaughters, and thy sisters rape,
Shall scratch her vvrinckles like a munckie Ape,
And oft with teares shall blot the looking glasse,
Seeing vvhat she is novv, and vvhat she was.
What profits strength, vvhen feeble age doth shrinke,
The body under his ovvne weight shall sinke,
Ioves sacred oake, whose growing standing age,
Tvvo hundred yeeres hath stood 'gainst Boreas rage,
When the third fatall age is come at last,
It staggers yeelding to the meanest blast:
Atlas, who did the starry Heaven uphold,
When worne with space of yeares he vvaxed old,
He laide his charge Alcides necke upon,
Whom Iove begetting drove two nights inone:
Milon, vvho learnd to carry by degrees
A Bull, did vveepe to see his feeble knees,
When vvorne vvith age, his sinevvs he did find,
And Limbes not ansvvering to his champion minde.
The Lyon, at whose noyse, the vvoods did quake,
And every beast, with dreadfull feare did shake,
Novv broken vvith yeares, he scarce his taile can drag,
Behind the silly flockes he's forc'd to lagge,
He's hunger bitten, the herds securely play,
He sees, but cannot catch his vvonted prey.
Even so the Souldier vvho did vveare a Crowne
Of Oake, and oft triumphed with renowne,
(Such as brave Cocles for his Country stood,
Or Romulus sprinkled with Acrons blood,
Or stout Marcellus, or fierce Cossus which
Did Iupiter Feretrius all enrich)
Now free to Mars he hangeth up his armes,
Nor is he sturred up with fierce alarmes;
When Martiall trumpets sound, and drummes are beaten,
When horses neigh, when noyse the starres doth threaten,
He sits unmov'd, nothing his courage whets,
His vvonted heate and spirit he forgets.
The Marriner who saild the Pygmies coast,
After with many stormes he hath beene tost,
He takes himselfe to rest, because he can
Not now endure the raging Ocean;
He hangs his pitchie cloathes on Neptunes shrine,
The land both him and ship doth novv confine,
Both vveary of Sea; it rots upon the shore,
He lyes at home, cause he can saile more;
That vvhich the Sea hath left, and stormes and toyle,
He minds to trust it to his Country soyle.
Svveetenesse is gone, nothing but dregs remaine,
The bottome doth both least and vvorst containe.
Why seeke you wretched men to reckon your dayes
With three ag'd Nestor? as if it vvere praise,
To live beyond the Stagge, and Crovv; no day
Doth want his crosse, each houre vvhich doth delay
Our death, prolongs our misery, our woe
Encreaseth more, the more in age vve grovv;
The leaking ship, the longer vvay she makes,
The greater danger still she undertakes;
And if she shall lanch further in the deepe,
No skilfull Art can her from shipwracke keepe.
Thrice happy Troile who did bravely dye,
Before thy gray-haires tasted misery;
If destinies had so vvith Priame delt,
He should not have so grievous sorrovve's felt,
His childrens death, rapes, flames and clam'rous groanes:
Nor vvith his blood, have drench'd the Altar stones.
The body under his ovvne weight shall sinke,
Ioves sacred oake, whose growing standing age,
Tvvo hundred yeeres hath stood 'gainst Boreas rage,
When the third fatall age is come at last,
It staggers yeelding to the meanest blast:
When worne with space of yeares he vvaxed old,
He laide his charge Alcides necke upon,
Whom Iove begetting drove two nights inone:
Milon, vvho learnd to carry by degrees
A Bull, did vveepe to see his feeble knees,
When vvorne vvith age, his sinevvs he did find,
And Limbes not ansvvering to his champion minde.
The Lyon, at whose noyse, the vvoods did quake,
And every beast, with dreadfull feare did shake,
Novv broken vvith yeares, he scarce his taile can drag,
Behind the silly flockes he's forc'd to lagge,
He's hunger bitten, the herds securely play,
He sees, but cannot catch his vvonted prey.
Even so the Souldier vvho did vveare a Crowne
Of Oake, and oft triumphed with renowne,
(Such as brave Cocles for his Country stood,
Or Romulus sprinkled with Acrons blood,
Or stout Marcellus, or fierce Cossus which
Did Iupiter Feretrius all enrich)
Now free to Mars he hangeth up his armes,
Nor is he sturred up with fierce alarmes;
When Martiall trumpets sound, and drummes are beaten,
When horses neigh, when noyse the starres doth threaten,
He sits unmov'd, nothing his courage whets,
His vvonted heate and spirit he forgets.
The Marriner who saild the Pygmies coast,
After with many stormes he hath beene tost,
He takes himselfe to rest, because he can
Not now endure the raging Ocean;
He hangs his pitchie cloathes on Neptunes shrine,
The land both him and ship doth novv confine,
Both vveary of Sea; it rots upon the shore,
He lyes at home, cause he can saile more;
He minds to trust it to his Country soyle.
Svveetenesse is gone, nothing but dregs remaine,
The bottome doth both least and vvorst containe.
Why seeke you wretched men to reckon your dayes
With three ag'd Nestor? as if it vvere praise,
To live beyond the Stagge, and Crovv; no day
Doth want his crosse, each houre vvhich doth delay
Our death, prolongs our misery, our woe
Encreaseth more, the more in age vve grovv;
The leaking ship, the longer vvay she makes,
The greater danger still she undertakes;
And if she shall lanch further in the deepe,
No skilfull Art can her from shipwracke keepe.
Thrice happy Troile who did bravely dye,
Before thy gray-haires tasted misery;
If destinies had so vvith Priame delt,
He should not have so grievous sorrovve's felt,
His childrens death, rapes, flames and clam'rous groanes:
Nor vvith his blood, have drench'd the Altar stones.
What doth not age consume? The monument
Of Caria's gone, the Pyramids are spent;
Rhodes graet Colossus novv is turn'd to nought,
And strength of body is to weakenesse brought;
Age lessning vigour turnes man to a ghost,
Who lately did of nerves and sinevves boast.
Beauty decayes, wealth cannot cure disease,
On Natures gifts, consuming age doth seize;
Constant and firme, Vertue remaines alone,
And comforts age, when strength and all are gone,
Gray-haires provision. Like as Phœbus bright
Darkneth the Planets vvith his greater light;
So vertues greatnesse doth all sorrovves quell
And suffers not hearts sad complaints to swell.
It doth content it selfe, its ovvne reward
In greatest danger, still the safest guard.
When flames did Syracuses Castles burne,
When Roman forces did them overturne;
Mongst slaughters, clamours, ruines, deadly noyse,
Thou Archimedes onely didst rejoyce;
Alcyonz like in trouble thou hadst rest,
And scarsely felt the svvord thrust in thy brest.
Of Caria's gone, the Pyramids are spent;
Rhodes graet Colossus novv is turn'd to nought,
And strength of body is to weakenesse brought;
Age lessning vigour turnes man to a ghost,
Who lately did of nerves and sinevves boast.
Beauty decayes, wealth cannot cure disease,
On Natures gifts, consuming age doth seize;
Constant and firme, Vertue remaines alone,
And comforts age, when strength and all are gone,
Gray-haires provision. Like as Phœbus bright
Darkneth the Planets vvith his greater light;
So vertues greatnesse doth all sorrovves quell
And suffers not hearts sad complaints to swell.
In greatest danger, still the safest guard.
When flames did Syracuses Castles burne,
When Roman forces did them overturne;
Mongst slaughters, clamours, ruines, deadly noyse,
Thou Archimedes onely didst rejoyce;
Alcyonz like in trouble thou hadst rest,
And scarsely felt the svvord thrust in thy brest.
O happy rest of minde, O onely pleasure,
Comfort of age, mans blest and onely treasure,
Thou lessnest woe, nothing can thee annoy,
In midst of misery, thou affordest joy.
Comfort of age, mans blest and onely treasure,
Thou lessnest woe, nothing can thee annoy,
In midst of misery, thou affordest joy.
Gray hayres encompasse novv my head, snovves
Tell me that Boreas blovves.
A foggy dimmenesse doth my eyes assaile,
My grinders gin to faile.
My staggering pillars cannot stand at all,
My house is neere to fall.
Old age brings vvith it sicknesse and disease,
My limbes seeke sluggish ease.
All pleasure's gone; it doth me sore annoy,
To thinke of youths delight and former joy.
Tell me that Boreas blovves.
A foggy dimmenesse doth my eyes assaile,
My grinders gin to faile.
My staggering pillars cannot stand at all,
My house is neere to fall.
Old age brings vvith it sicknesse and disease,
My limbes seeke sluggish ease.
All pleasure's gone; it doth me sore annoy,
To thinke of youths delight and former joy.
My mind doth dreame of Ghostes, before mine eyes
Deaths image still doth rise.
When errours of my youth I call to mind,
Old age doth sorrow finde.
Youths glory like the rainebovves painted spheres,
Doth vanish into teares.
O Father pardon and vvith saving faith,
Repaire what losse age hath.
Let thy good spirit quicken thy grace in me,
That Heav'n my thought, my hearts desire may be.
Deaths image still doth rise.
When errours of my youth I call to mind,
Old age doth sorrow finde.
Youths glory like the rainebovves painted spheres,
Doth vanish into teares.
O Father pardon and vvith saving faith,
Repaire what losse age hath.
Let thy good spirit quicken thy grace in me,
That Heav'n my thought, my hearts desire may be.
Grant me assurance of forgivnesse Lord,
Earnest of sprit and vvord.
So shall the thought of Heavens eternall rest,
Comfort my soule distrest.
So let me be dissolv'd, to be with Thee,
Our Father, Lord, to see,
Where blessed peace, eternall joy doth dvvell,
Which no time e're can quell.
Where faith doth sight, and hope doth vvish obtaine,
Where endlesse love for evermore shall raigne.
Earnest of sprit and vvord.
So shall the thought of Heavens eternall rest,
Comfort my soule distrest.
So let me be dissolv'd, to be with Thee,
Our Father, Lord, to see,
Where blessed peace, eternall joy doth dvvell,
Which no time e're can quell.
Where faith doth sight, and hope doth vvish obtaine,
Where endlesse love for evermore shall raigne.
[I am Aquarius, now is my turne]
I am Aquarius, now is my turne,To throw forth balefull floods out of mine urne;
Spring wher's thy dresse? Summer thy fragrant flowers?
Autumne thy pleasant fruits? loe here's my showers.
What ever pleasure in the world was found,
By this my fatall deluge now is drown'd.
When men a Noah so long preaching heare,
Let ev'ry one take heede and stand in feare.
Ianuary, or Death.
VVhen cold Aquarius empties all his paile,
And Iupiter vvith clouds the vvorld doth vaile,
When noysing tempest jerks the vvinter sky,
And crackling haile, alongs the aire doth flye,
Then to earths bovvels Plants do send their juice,
And every thing benummed stands vvith ice;
If any seeds of life are to be found,
They lye entombed in the frosty ground;
The groaning vvoods, their burthens cannot beare,
Which from the stocke the boughs and barke doe teare,
With icy setters rivers fast are bound.
And in a Crystall coffing Lakes are found,
Live fishes in dead vvaters svvimme, and cold,
Cramplike, the earth doth vvith Convulsion hold:
Mans vvinter is, vvhen he hath waxed old,
And vvith his staffe, can scarce himselfe uphold;
The lesse he growes, the heavier he him finds,
And stooping dovvne, nothing but grave he minds,
Thither he hastning vvith three feete, cannot
Make good his pace, and fals in Charons boat.
We knovv our birth; there's one way to this light,
But more then thousand vvayes to fatall night;
The destinies doe cut the threed nevv spunne,
As well as that, vvhich wearing hath undone.
Death misseth none, and Proteus could not take
More shapes, then she strange kinds of death can make;
To some more cruell torments she invents,
Gibbet and Racke, which naturall death prevents;
To some more meeke, them softly she outvveares,
Substracting life, by multiplying yeares;
What man can tell the many thousand kindes
Of strange diseases, which for man she findes?
Sunne never so many Atomes fly,
As fates have vvayes for our Mortality;
We have one life, we may a thousand wayes
Lose it; each stroke of pulse can end our dayes.
Whether consumption us extenuate,
As waxe vvith lingring fire is macerate,
Or too much heate or moysture doth us quell,
Or squincie inflames the jawes and makes them svvell;
Or aches, meegrimes, head-tormenting paine,
And staring catalepsis from the braine;
Or a continuall sleepe of lethargie,
Or giddy shaking of some Artery;
Or strong Convulsion fits of crampe or goute,
Or leprosie vvhich paints the skinne vvithout;
And deadly vvater which puffes up the skin,
Thirsting the more, the more it swilleth in:
Or running cancer usher us to death,
Or vitall bellowes scarce afford us breath;
Or poxe or measles; cunning death doth knovv
A thousand trickes mans life to overthrovv,
But none more grievous than infectious ayre,
Which lyeth vvaste this Fabricke every where;
Then fainting brookes vvith Lethes streames doe flovv,
Clouds big with death abroad doe poyson blovv;
When men and beasts mortality doe breath,
And beasts for devv, from grasse doe licke their death:
Heav'n raines infection, suddaine death doth fall
Like Manna, meat's made poyson, honey gall.
It rageth most 'gainst men, as vve have seene,
Who of this evill partakers late have beene;
When raging in this land both night and day,
It did not tithe, but svveepe vvhole townes away;
As thou (alasse) faire London vvell canst tell,
Hovv thou Thames river with thy teares didst swell;
They could declare, vvhom sepulchers cannot
Containe, nor yet have past in Charons boat;
The Plague more grievous is then death, no wits
Can ere devise more fearefull lookes and fits;
A heavy languor doth their spirits tire,
Their eyes with flames, their faces burne with fire;
A scorching vapour doth their head possesse;
The sore bursts forth; their eyes with stupidnesse
Doe stare; their nostrils drop vvith filthy gore;
Their eares doe tingle, and their griefe is more:
Their bowels like to burst vvith sighes and mones,
Dravv from their invvard parts most grievous grones,
Their tongues swell in their throates, and thirst them kils,
They grasp cold stones, vvhen they have their wils:
Blacke vvheales arising give a certaine token,
That novv their fatall threed of life is broken.
No mortall evill like this Pandora brought,
Nor such disease stepmother Nature vvrought:
The double-headed serpent vvith his sting,
Nor sandy viper, can such venime bring,
Nor Scytale, whose back's like glistring gold,
Nor thirsty Snake, nor Salamander cold,
Nor rotting Horne-worne, nor the Scorpions taile,
Nor Toade, nor wide mouth'd serpent so prevaile,
Nor Africks Aspe nor Basiliske, vvho sees
Afarre and kils vvith poyson of his eyes,
And Iupiter vvith clouds the vvorld doth vaile,
When noysing tempest jerks the vvinter sky,
And crackling haile, alongs the aire doth flye,
Then to earths bovvels Plants do send their juice,
And every thing benummed stands vvith ice;
If any seeds of life are to be found,
They lye entombed in the frosty ground;
The groaning vvoods, their burthens cannot beare,
Which from the stocke the boughs and barke doe teare,
With icy setters rivers fast are bound.
And in a Crystall coffing Lakes are found,
Live fishes in dead vvaters svvimme, and cold,
Cramplike, the earth doth vvith Convulsion hold:
Mans vvinter is, vvhen he hath waxed old,
And vvith his staffe, can scarce himselfe uphold;
The lesse he growes, the heavier he him finds,
And stooping dovvne, nothing but grave he minds,
Thither he hastning vvith three feete, cannot
Make good his pace, and fals in Charons boat.
We knovv our birth; there's one way to this light,
But more then thousand vvayes to fatall night;
The destinies doe cut the threed nevv spunne,
As well as that, vvhich wearing hath undone.
Death misseth none, and Proteus could not take
More shapes, then she strange kinds of death can make;
To some more cruell torments she invents,
Gibbet and Racke, which naturall death prevents;
To some more meeke, them softly she outvveares,
Substracting life, by multiplying yeares;
What man can tell the many thousand kindes
Of strange diseases, which for man she findes?
As fates have vvayes for our Mortality;
We have one life, we may a thousand wayes
Lose it; each stroke of pulse can end our dayes.
Whether consumption us extenuate,
As waxe vvith lingring fire is macerate,
Or too much heate or moysture doth us quell,
Or squincie inflames the jawes and makes them svvell;
Or aches, meegrimes, head-tormenting paine,
And staring catalepsis from the braine;
Or a continuall sleepe of lethargie,
Or giddy shaking of some Artery;
Or strong Convulsion fits of crampe or goute,
Or leprosie vvhich paints the skinne vvithout;
And deadly vvater which puffes up the skin,
Thirsting the more, the more it swilleth in:
Or running cancer usher us to death,
Or vitall bellowes scarce afford us breath;
Or poxe or measles; cunning death doth knovv
A thousand trickes mans life to overthrovv,
But none more grievous than infectious ayre,
Which lyeth vvaste this Fabricke every where;
Then fainting brookes vvith Lethes streames doe flovv,
Clouds big with death abroad doe poyson blovv;
When men and beasts mortality doe breath,
And beasts for devv, from grasse doe licke their death:
Heav'n raines infection, suddaine death doth fall
Like Manna, meat's made poyson, honey gall.
It rageth most 'gainst men, as vve have seene,
Who of this evill partakers late have beene;
When raging in this land both night and day,
It did not tithe, but svveepe vvhole townes away;
As thou (alasse) faire London vvell canst tell,
Hovv thou Thames river with thy teares didst swell;
Containe, nor yet have past in Charons boat;
The Plague more grievous is then death, no wits
Can ere devise more fearefull lookes and fits;
A heavy languor doth their spirits tire,
Their eyes with flames, their faces burne with fire;
A scorching vapour doth their head possesse;
The sore bursts forth; their eyes with stupidnesse
Doe stare; their nostrils drop vvith filthy gore;
Their eares doe tingle, and their griefe is more:
Their bowels like to burst vvith sighes and mones,
Dravv from their invvard parts most grievous grones,
Their tongues swell in their throates, and thirst them kils,
They grasp cold stones, vvhen they have their wils:
Blacke vvheales arising give a certaine token,
That novv their fatall threed of life is broken.
No mortall evill like this Pandora brought,
Nor such disease stepmother Nature vvrought:
The double-headed serpent vvith his sting,
Nor sandy viper, can such venime bring,
Nor Scytale, whose back's like glistring gold,
Nor thirsty Snake, nor Salamander cold,
Nor rotting Horne-worne, nor the Scorpions taile,
Nor Toade, nor wide mouth'd serpent so prevaile,
Nor Africks Aspe nor Basiliske, vvho sees
Afarre and kils vvith poyson of his eyes,
Good God, doe banish such a curse avvay,
That friends, their friends in sicknesse comfort may.
How many in the Oceans bottome lye,
Or else by love, or warres revenge, doe dye?
O brittle, fraile, uncertaine life, undone
By thousand evils, and yet not match to one!
Shall fury of Heavn, of Sea, and Land this blow,
And winds concurre a bubble to o'rethrow.
So vvhen the soule the body doth forsake
And can it selfe to fyrie heav'n betake,
Happy that after labours it can goe
To Heav'ns eternall mansions from below,
T' enjoy the pleasures of eternall rest,
With triumphs 'mongst the Angels to be blest;
Happy vvho after so uncertaine chance
Can safely to the haven of Heav'ns advance.
Perhaps the body hath become a prey
To beasts, or in the ayre doth rot avvay,
Or feedes the vultures, or by cruell fate,
To greedy fishes hath become a bate:
Fevv to their mothers belly doe returne,
And fevv are layd on sav'ry piles to burne,
For vvhom old women sing a mourning song;
None besides those, vvho dye their friends among,
Whose kinsmen deere their dying eyes doe shut,
And from their beds them in a coffing put.
So when the soule hath parted cleane avvay
And left the body like a lumpe of clay:
The carcase is not colder then the love
Of vvife and friends, vvho doe unconstant prove.
The heire in mourning vveedes lookes very fine,
He maskes his joy, and thankes the fates divine,
And nature, that his gray-hayr'd father's gone,
And he of all his bagges left heire alone:
He joyes to see the treasures nevvly found,
The more he sees, his sighes more softly sound:
The dead is sacrificed on the shrine,
Of Proserpine, the heire sayes, All is mine:
And 'cause he cannot goe, he's caried forth
Accompany'd with all his friends of vvorth:
His trophees flye abroad, and martiall armes,
And vvarlike trumpets whisper sad alarmes.
Hyr'd mourners shevv his yeeres, the pompe so brave,
Convoy him to his cold and sad like grave:
But vvhen they come to deaths pale habitation
And see the pit which gapes vvith desolation,
They throvv the naked coffing in; of all
His friends, not one for love vvill vvith him fall:
All gets them gone, he still alone doth lye,
Rottennesse, wormes bate, tale of mortality.
That friends, their friends in sicknesse comfort may.
How many in the Oceans bottome lye,
Or else by love, or warres revenge, doe dye?
O brittle, fraile, uncertaine life, undone
By thousand evils, and yet not match to one!
Shall fury of Heavn, of Sea, and Land this blow,
And winds concurre a bubble to o'rethrow.
And can it selfe to fyrie heav'n betake,
Happy that after labours it can goe
To Heav'ns eternall mansions from below,
T' enjoy the pleasures of eternall rest,
With triumphs 'mongst the Angels to be blest;
Happy vvho after so uncertaine chance
Can safely to the haven of Heav'ns advance.
Perhaps the body hath become a prey
To beasts, or in the ayre doth rot avvay,
Or feedes the vultures, or by cruell fate,
To greedy fishes hath become a bate:
Fevv to their mothers belly doe returne,
And fevv are layd on sav'ry piles to burne,
For vvhom old women sing a mourning song;
None besides those, vvho dye their friends among,
Whose kinsmen deere their dying eyes doe shut,
And from their beds them in a coffing put.
So when the soule hath parted cleane avvay
And left the body like a lumpe of clay:
The carcase is not colder then the love
Of vvife and friends, vvho doe unconstant prove.
The heire in mourning vveedes lookes very fine,
He maskes his joy, and thankes the fates divine,
And nature, that his gray-hayr'd father's gone,
And he of all his bagges left heire alone:
He joyes to see the treasures nevvly found,
The more he sees, his sighes more softly sound:
The dead is sacrificed on the shrine,
Of Proserpine, the heire sayes, All is mine:
And 'cause he cannot goe, he's caried forth
Accompany'd with all his friends of vvorth:
His trophees flye abroad, and martiall armes,
And vvarlike trumpets whisper sad alarmes.
Convoy him to his cold and sad like grave:
But vvhen they come to deaths pale habitation
And see the pit which gapes vvith desolation,
They throvv the naked coffing in; of all
His friends, not one for love vvill vvith him fall:
All gets them gone, he still alone doth lye,
Rottennesse, wormes bate, tale of mortality.
[Men, beasts and birds, mountaines, and castles hye]
Men , beasts and birds, mountaines, and castles hyeLike fishes in oblivion drowned lye;
The seas and floods prevaile, and all is gone,
Deucalion and Pyrra, are left alone;
The faire, the pleasant, fruitfull yeare is past,
And Consummatum now hath com'd at last.
As in the seas, the life, there fishes have,
So shall we take our being from the grave.
February, or Epitaphs, which may be termed Februa, celebrated for the memory of certaine soules.
Epitaph of Adam the first father of mankind.
I first of mankind, made by povver divine,Immortall once, brought death on me and mine.
Alone I stood, but marryed, I became
Cursed, as likevvise cursed vvas my dame.
I sinned first, but not alone, my brood
Were one vvith me, whether I fell or stood.
Salvation first was preacht to me, as I
By faith, so may my off spring come thereby.
Of Methusalem the longest liver of mankind.
I'me he, vvhom all for age doe wonder at,Whose minutes fixed starres scarce calculate:
If of the sea, an houre glasse you should make,
Each houre of mine each drop of sea could take;
Hovv many waves in Sea can you devise,
As I have seene Sunnes from the Sea arise?
Oftner than once the Phenix I have knovvne,
From spycie cradles freshly to have flowne:
Oakes and their off springs off spring I did see
Decay'd vvith fatall yeeres antiquity:
I thought I could not dye; but death me told,
That dye I must, though I vvere ne're so old:
This comforts me, the longer I did live,
The fates the shorter sleepe of death shall give.
Of Abraham, the Father of the Faithfull.
When hope of issue novv vvas all forlorne,And Sara laughed God of Heaven to scorne,
She straight brought forth, and me a Father made,
Cause I beleeved what Almighty said;
The child the hope vvas of posterity,
Which to the starres of Heav'n should equall be;
God bid me sacrifice this onely Sonne,
My vvill h' accepted, as it had beene done.
Tell me, was not this constant faith in me,
To looke for fruites and yet to burne the tree?
So by one Sonne, I was made father then
Of Israel, and of all faithfull men:
As I, so shall my off-spring travlers be
On earth, untill their Country Heav'n they see.
Of Sampson the strongest judge of Israel.
A Nazarite from the wombe, God did me call,My mother did not taste of vvine at all;
The Mighty Iudge of Israel, and the fell
Revenge of Philistimes, as well could tell,
My rivales, vvhom I quickely did confound,
The Corne vvhich firy foxes burnt on ground,
Those whom I kild vvith jawbone of an asse,
Which in my deadly thirst my fountaine vvas:
So Gaza's gates my strength did testify,
The vvithes, ropes, vveb, which I broke easily:
Yet all this strength a silly vvoman could
Vndoe, seduced with foes-briding gold.
Of David the most holy King of Israel.
I the sweete singer once in IsraelWho lov'd these songs, which lik'd Almighty vvell,
Who danc'd before the Arke in peoples sight,
Accounted therefore by my Michal light:
I made Harpe, Timbrell, Lute, my vvhole delight,
Heav'ns harmony, my joy both day and night;
Yet sometimes on my couch these joyes did turne,
In floods of teares, and I did sadly mourne:
As in all things, so in the godly heart
Sorrow and joy by course doe play their part;
Sometimes the heart is calme and sweetely still,
When God the soule doth vvith his presence fill;
Sometimes in deadly sorrow it is drown'd,
And then no gracious presence can be found.
Be not cast dovvne good soule, hovve're it goe;
If thou be sad, it shall not still be so.
Of Absalom the fairest of Israel.
Thou Absalom great Israels beauty rare.What did availe thy shape, and feature faire,
What profit made thy lockes and vveighty haire,
Thy eyes vvith vvhich the starres could vvell compare;
Thy comely cheekes, thy lips vermilion red,
As lillies doe decore the roses bed,
Thy iv'ry shoulders and thy snovv-vvhite necke,
Thy youthfull grace which did thy body decke;
Thy dainty armes vvith their embracements svveete,
Thy body without blemish all compleat?
If novv reprochfull vice doth brand thy fame,
And leudnesse of thy life disgrace thy name.
The vertue of the mind thou shouldst have sought,
For beauty, vvithout that, is painting thought.
Of Solomon the wisest and richest King of Israel.
I once the Solomon, vvho did excellIn vvit, in riches had no paralell,
Who did from Cedars to the Ivy knovv,
Whose plenteous silver did like slaitestones goe,
Whose glorious fame a Queene brought from the South,
That she a vvitnesse might be of the truth.
She came, and savv, and wonderd, and did say,
That those vvere happy, who did with me stay,
I had alone, vvhich all their ovvne doe call,
Riches, and honour, pleasure, I had all:
Yet I did find all under Sunne to be
Mortall, fraile, brittle, and but vanity.
Ουδεν ανευ του Θεου.
FINIS.
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