University of Virginia Library

See you this Passion here that followes next,
That shakes and lookes as with a fever vext?
This is the pale and trembling caitife, Feare,
Whose dastard humors I will make appeare.
Note him and know him; This is he that mars
All our delights on earth: 'tis he that bars
Man the right use of pleasure, and 'tis hee
That was at first ordain'd our plague to be.
Come not too neare him, you that look for rest,
Lest he insinuate into your brest:
For entred once, it doth the body num,
Makes it distemper'd or deform'd become,
And sometime with illusions grim and foule,
Doth startle and affright the very soule:
The cause of it (if I may trust my skill)
Is but a false opinion of some ill,
That's present or to come. It inly stings;
And for companions ever with it brings
Both Paine and Shame: And diverse have I seen
That with this Passion much abus'd have been.

Some men there are, whose feare so foolish proves
It many unto game and laughter moves.
One came in lately almost out of breath;
As if he hardly had escaped death,
What was his feare? Alas, I tell you hee
Tooke a white poast some walking sprite to be;
Which strong surmise doth such impression take,
That though he since hath seen 'twas but a stake,
If on occasion, he be there be-nighted,
Hee's yet with presence of the place affrighted.

Another once I knew halfe staring mad,
And he had seene the Divell, that he had,
In an old house, sit cowring on a block,
When all at last prov'd but a Turky-cock.

Thus men oft feare when cause of feare is none,
Making themselves a jest for every one;
Yea, feare hath made a number so affraid,
That they have oft their dearest friends betraid:
For which cause onely I doe nere intend
To chose a coward to become my friend.

And if that women will advised be,
To make in this a Counsellor of me,
Let them admit no Coward in their love,
Left their conclusions doe as hopelesse prove,
As that poore Lasses unto whom befell
This sad adventure which I meane to tell.

Not farre from hence there dwelt not long agoe,
As blithe a Girle as any one I know,
A Gentlewoman of so good a ranke,
Her favour seem'd t'have well deserved thanke.
And cause in face and dowry few did match her,
Many a Gallant tride his wit to catch her;
While being kept but narrowly at home,
She car'd not so she might be gone, with whom.
And so, blind Fortune (that will seldome part
Her favours unto men of more desert)
Brings to the house a fellow that in show
Seem'd worthy of the prize, but was not so.
Yet having opportunity he tries,
Gets her good will, and with his purchase flies.
But ere 'twas long, the parents mist their daughter,
Rais'd all the towne and following closely after,
Were by meere chance unto an old house led,
Where this young couple were new gone to bed.
You that have ever in such taking bin,
Iudge what a case these naked folkes were in.
But what was done? The gallant left his prey,
And like a fearefull Coward slunke away.

Out on such asses, how could he for shame
So leave a woman to beare all the blame?
And for the griefe she suffers with her friends,
How can the villaine make the whore amends?
I know not: but for playing such a part,
'Tis certaine he hath lost the wenches heart:
And she for climing to a cowards bed,
Hath lost her credit with her Maiden-head.

Here's one effect of feare. And yet from hence
Springs also Cruelty, Impatience,
Breach of our promises, with much Envying;
That hurtfull and abhorred vice of Lying,
Murthers and Treasons: nay, there's nought so base,
So full of villanie, shame or disgrace,
The fearefull would not act withall his heart,
To free himselfe from feare of death or smart.
Yea, some would be contented very well
So they might scape death, to goe quick to hell.
Such is the nature of it that I've seen
Feare cause those evils that had else not been.
To some it sicknesse brings and some beside
E'en with the very feare of death have di'd:
And many of them have so carefull bin
To rid themselves from feares that they were in;
That as the Ship which doth Charybdis shun,
They ranne on Scylla, and were quite undone.
The reason is they so amazed be
With apprehending dangers which they see
Pursuing of them, as they thinke not on
The other mischiefes they may runne upon.
And evermore it is the Cowards error
To thinke the present danger ful'st of terrour.

The feare of evill more tormenteth some,
Than doth the thing they fear'd when once 'tis come
Men dread what is, what will be, and (alas!)
Many a thing that nere shall come to passe:
For if they only fear'd apparant things
(That likely-hood of some affrighting brings)
As troops of enemies, or theeves, or treason,
Pirats or stormes at sea, there were some reason,
Or colour for it then, but they will quake
At fictions: at meere nothings, their hearts ake
At their owne fancies superstitions,
At tales of Fairies or of Visions:
Yea, I have seene one melancholly sad
Vpon some foolish dreame that he hath had.

Oh what meanes man that having mischifes store,
Must in his owne conceit needs make them more?
Thinks he those will not grim enough appeare,
Vnlesse he apprehend them first by feare?
Sure 'tis a plague the Divell did invent,
To worke in man a lasting discontent,
And taught it Adam; whereupon he said,
I saw my nakednesse and was affraid.
It is our weaknesse: yet I cannot see
A reason why we should so fearefull be.

May we not joy and be as merry still
With hope of good, as sad with feare of ill?
Sure I thinke yes; and will on hope so feed,
No ill shall feare me till tis come indeed:
For that which seemeth likeliest to betide me,
God in his mercy yet may put beside me.
And though much proofe had bred within my brest
That resolution yet, of all the rest
This last confirm'd it most: for the other day,
When the hard frost had stopt the Scullers way,
And left faire Thames with Ice so strongly archt
That on the melting pavement people march'd:
Amongst the rest one bolder than was fit,
All heedelesse of his way fell out of it,
Vpon a peece of Ice, which with a cracke,
Rent from the maine, and stopt his going backe:
This Icie fragment from the rest did swim,
And to the Bridge a prisoner carried him,
Where the spectators signes of pitty gave,
And had a will but not a power to save.
Which in his Passion then conceiving well
Downe on his knees in that poore Arke he fell,
And lifting up his hands did him implore
That sav'd old Ionas without Saile or Oare.
And see Gods mercy: when he drew so neare,
No hope of safeguard seemed to appeare;
When he had there just three times whirled bin,
And that the Arch was like to suck him in.
Then quite beyond all hope, e'en in a trice,
There thrust-betweene a greater peece of Ice,
Which comming downe as if it scorn'd to stay,
Beat by the lesser peece to give it way.
A while that staid: yet he had beene faine,
When that was gone to take his turne againe,
But that, next God the people stood his friend,
And sav'd him by a rope, that's some mans end.

Whereby I gather, we may sometime now
Escape a mischiefe though we see not how.
And in my minde this argument is cleare,
That we have as much cause to hope, as feare.

More trembling humors I might here unfold,
Which some will be unwilling should be told
And therefore passe them But I doe protest
This hurtfull Monster I so much detest,
That I am much unwilling to omit
The least occasion of disgracing it.
Yet doe I not allow their resolution,
Who meerely of a hellish constitution,
Have hearts obdurate, and so hard in evill,
They neither seeme affraid of God nor Devill.
Such I have noted too, but truly they
Are in as bad though in another way.
They prate and sweare as if they could affright,
Or make Hobgoblin run away by night;
When questionlesse as bold as they appeare,
They are perplexed with an inward feare:
Yea, I have knowne a trifle or a blast,
Hath made such Champions oftentimes agast.

There is an honest Feare that hinders sin,
Which hath of all good men allowed beene:
And there's a feare that keepes a Kingdomes state
From ruine if it be not tane too late.
It is not Servile feare that slavish crime;
But rather 'tis a providence betime,
That makes men very heedfull to fore-thinke
Danger to come and not (as we doe) winke
At our owne nakednesse; as without care
Who spide it; so our selves we see not bare.

This Feare it is that makes men to provide
Against a storme, they may the better bide
The fury of it: this tis keepes off wrong.
And makes a Citie or a Kingdome strong.
And I much doubt, the wanting of these feares
Will make us smart for't yet ere many yeares.
For since we are become a pretty number
Although we can but one another cumber,
Or serve to make a Hubbub; we suppose
There are no Nations dare to be our foes.
We thinke a wonderous policy we shew,
If once in foure yeares we doe take a view
Or count the number of our able men.
Flattering our selves therewith; as if that then
(Having so great and huge a multitude,
Though we were ne'er so inexpert and rude)
There were no cause of feare. But a Realmes might
Consists not in the number that must fight;
As in their skill, and of good Souldiers ten
Will foile an hundred unexperienc'd men,
Such as are we. For 'tis a shame to speake
How wonderfull unfitly, and how weake
This ignorance makes most of us; except
Whom brave South-hamptons government hath kept
In warlike order; I doe meane indeed
Our Hampshire Ilanders; of whom for need
A hundred Boies that ne'er had haire on chin,
Shall from five hundred of up-landish, win
Both field and Towne. Whereby it may appeare,
Good government, with profitable feare,
Within a few short yeares so well will thrive,
One shall become to have the ods of five.

Those therefore that are wise enough to tell
When they do any thing amisse, or well,
Still in this Passion doe observe a meane,
And not to Feare, or to Presumption leane.