University of Virginia Library

Thrice welcome Hope; the Devill keep home the tother.
Despaire and Feare are fitting for no other.
This is the Passion that of all the rest
We have most reason to esteem of best.
For if it be with good advice applide,
A salve it is God did himselfe provide
To ease not onely every outward griefe;
But when the Soul wants comfort or releefe
It will redresse her pain; although it were
The shaking off that hideous Monster, Feare.

This is a Balme so precious, had we power
To take it to our selves at such an houre
When black Despaire doth pinch us; this indeed
Would so expell it, as we should not need
The drugges of Rome: But what (alas!) can wee
Rightly apply, and not instructed be?
Vnlesse some power assist us, it is true
Our nature so unapt is to pursue
The way it should, that we do follow still
The crooked'st paths and lose our selves in i'l.
Hope is a blessing but we so abuse it,
As to our hurt more than our good we use it.
Yea this, that was of all the Passions best,
We have as much corrupted as the rest;
Ev'n that, on which our chiefest good depends,
And to our highest of contentment tends.
For we must note well that this Passion's double,
One Hope is certain, th' other full of trouble,
And most uncertain. Now the first attends
Things meere immortall, and alone depends
On th' expectation of the certain'st things,
With that perfection of true joy, which brings
No trouble with it. This, through Faith we gain;
And 'tis sufficient to make any pain
Seem short and easie. 'Tis the life of man,
And such a comfort as no mortall can
Live if he want it. And yet sometime this
Each way as idle as the other is.
For oftentimes we see the same is found
To be erected on no other ground
But ignorance, or meere securitie.
Which ruine all who do on them relie.
Some praise their own deserts, and on that sand
Would fain have the divinest hope to stand.
Which no contentment doubtlesse can assure,
Nor without wav'ring to the end endure.
And if it do not, to small end will be
That idle trust and confidence which we
Can have elsewhere; since every other kinde
Of Hope, which I amongst us men do finde,
Is of uncertain earthly things; and such
As neither long endure, nor please us much.

Then the best likelihoods that may be shown,
And the strong'st humane reasons that are known,
Are nothing worth to ground a hope upon,
But in the turning of a hand, all's gone.
Were all the men on earth procured to
Some thing that lay in one mans power to doe.
And all were well resolv'd to see it done:
(Yea wer't but one daies work, and that begun)
Well might we hope that they would bring to passe
So small a thing as that; but yet (alas!)
None can assure so much, because none know
A warrant from above it shall be so.
And therefore though I wish that every man
Should take upon him the best hope he can
In all his outward actions, yet should he
Take care on honest grounds it builded be.
And therewith be so wel-prepared still,
That if his doubtfull hope do fall out ill,
He ne'er repine, but tak't as if the same
Had been expected long before it came.
And sith that fickle-trust did nought availe him,
Depend on the true-hope shall never faile him.
For what is plac'd on humane wit or strength,
Is vain, and most uncertain; 'cause at length
How-e'er it may seem sure, it may deceive him,
And when he hath most need of comfort leave him.

This Hope is now become the Patronesse,
And chiefe maintainer of mans wickednesse:
Ther's not a villany man doth intend,
Vnlesse that he have this to be his friend.
Hope egges him on, and with a thousand wiles
His much abused confidence beguiles.
Hope tells the theefe, if he will rob, he may
Have twenty means to hide himselfe away.
Hope doth entise the Prodigall to spend,
And will not let him thinke upon his end;
But doth perswade him, some good boty shall
Hap at the last to make amends for all.
And never ceaseth thus to beare him faire,
Till she undoes, and leaves him to despaire.
Shee soothes the Gamester in his trifles vaine;
And draws the Pirate on with hope of gaine.
She makes the Courtier into treason run;
Our Great-mens Followers serve till they're undone,
And for the present (having nought to give)
Vpon reversions all her servants live.

Now every man unto this hope is led
By sundry other Passions in him bred,
As Love, Ambition, Avarice, or such:
And true it is, in these our hope is much.

But oftentimes we into errours run
So blindely on that we are quite undone,
Because indeed we hopefully expect
Many such things as we can ne'er effect;
And give to our desires a larger scope
Than will admit of any likely hope.
So we our selves abuse, and are disgrac'd
Oft-times with that, which wer't with reason plac'd
Vpon an honest and a certain ground,
Would seldome be so vainly frustrate found.
But Lovers hopes, and such as are so bold
On every paultry trifle to lay hold,
Neither last long, nor for the time indeed
Can they one jot of true contentment breed.

Ambitious men, what e'er they do intend,
Have still new hopes to bring their plots to end.
But they are all so built on such weak props,
That e'er they be possessed of their hopes,
All overthrown we in a moment spie,
And they with their inventions ruin'd lie.
Into which mischiefe he yet never fell
That knew but how to use this Passion well.