Ivvenilia :: :: University of Virginia Library

Yet there's another propertie in Men
That means to set my Muse to work agen,
Inconstancie: and that no other is,
(Vnlesse I understand the same amisse)
But an unsetled humour of the minde,
Which so unstable is, it cannot finde
By any study that Opinion
Which long it dares to be resolved on:
'Tis meere irresolution, and estranging
From what is purpos'd by a fickle changing,

But sith this vice I threaten to detect,
Women I know will earnestly expect
To be sore rail'd on. But Ile gently use them,
Because I see their consciences accuse them,
And notwithstanding they deserve much blame,
Yet I'le not speak of ought unto their shame.
So they will think I mean them also, when
I treat of the inconstancie of Men:
And though their faults I seem not to upbraid,
'Cause nothing is directly of them said,
Yet they I hope will ne'er the more disdain
To be thought fickle, proud, and weak, and vain.

But now for Man; whereas I did complain,
He both in Deed, and Word, and Thought was vain
So I in this (I see) the like may doe,
Sith he in all these is inconstant too.

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It is a wondrous thing me thinks to see
How variable all his actions be;
He labours now, and's altogether set
Vpon the world, how he much wealth may get;
Vpon a sudden (then he thinks to mend it)
Hee's in an humour and a course to spend it:

Sometime he is consenting with the Devill,
And ready to doe any act that's evill.
Which he (perhaps) repenting, some divine
Or heavenly matter doth his thoughts refine,
So that he is resolv'd to spend that day
In reading what Gods holy Prophets say;
Which in his minde it may be worketh so,
He leaves it and will to a Sermon go;
But by the way a Bill he doth espie,
Which shews there's acted some new Comedy;
Then thither he is full and wholly bent,
There's nothing that shall hinder his intent.
But e'er he to the Theater can come,
He heares perhaps the sounding of a Drum;
Thereat he leaves both Stage-play and Devotion,
And will (forsooth) go see some idle motion.
E'er hee gets in his rowling wandring eyes
Behold some Fencer prest to play his prize,
Faith, then there is no remedy hee'll see't.
But e'er he can get halfe-way o'er the street,
Some very neare acquaintance doth salute him,
Who for a miser would perhaps repute him,
Vnlesse he kindely offer to bestow
The wine, or Beere at least, before he goe:
Well then, he will; but while they do devise
What Wine to have, perhaps they heare the cries
And howling which the eager Mastiffes make,
When they behold a Bull or Beare at stake;

174

Oh, on a sudden then they will be gone,
They'l see that first, and come and drink anon.

But just as he out of the Taverne peeps,
Some gallant Lasse along before him sweeps;
Whose youthfull brow adorn'd with beauty trim,
And lovely making doth so ravish him,
That as if he were bound her to attend,
He leaves Play, Fencer, Wine, Bull, Dogs, and Friend.
By which we see his minde is alwaies varying,
And seldome constant on one object tarrying.
But still that thing with most desire is sought,
Which is presented last unto his thought.

One while he likes best of the Country-sport,
Anon prefers the pleasure of the Court.
Another his mind's travelling to Spain,
Then unto France, and hither straight again.
Now he thinks highly of a single life,
And hates the marriage bed, as full of strife:
And yet e'en in the turning of a hand,
Hee's glad to make a joynture of his land,
And woo with much entreaty to obtain
That wife which he did but of late disdain.

One while he zealously professeth Christ,
Another while becomes an Atheist.
In Turkey he will Mahomet adore,
Among the cursed Pagans can implore
A Carved stone; in Rome he hath profest
The worship of the Antichristian beast;
And yet in England here with us he grants
No sound Religion but the Protestants.

And not alone according to the place,
Can these Camelions alter thus their case;
But for a shift themselves they do apply,
To answer both the Time and Company.

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Gallants shall finde them formall, Youngmen wilde,
Plain-men shall think them simple, Old-men milde.
And for the time with Edward they will be
(Ile warrant) Protestants as well as he.
And when his Sister Mary comes to reigne,
They can be Papists easily again.
Nay, I do feare me, though we have had teaching,
And almost threescore yeares the Gospels preaching.
(Vnconstant mankinde is so prone to ill,
And to be changing hath so good a will)
Too many both of old men and of youth,
Might soon be drawn for lies to leave the truth.

Lets note it, and it will be strange to see
What contradictions in our actions be:
Sometime that man we doe with Trophies raise
Whom we did but a while before dispraise:
Nor can we alway in one Passion keep,
But often for one thing rejoyce and weep.

Is't not a signe of humane ficklenesse,
And a true note of our unsetlednesse,
When not alone some one, or two, or few,
But a great number, a selected Crew,
Pick'd out of all estates, and they the wisest,
The understanding'st, yea, and the precisest
Of a whole Empire, that when these (I say)
Have argued pro & con from day to day,
From week to week, to have (perhaps) enacted
One Law or Statute, yet when all's compacted,
And every thing seems clearly done and ended,
Then to have something in't to be amended?
Yea, and when this is done, and the Records
Fram'd in the plain'st and most effectuall words,
T'expresse their meaning, and they think it plain;
Yet at next reading 'tis dislik'd again?

176

This yeare they make a law, repeal't the next,
Then re-inact it, and then change the text;
Either by taking from, or adding to,
And so they have an endlesse work to doe.

But some may tell me that thus stands the case,
They must have both respect to time and place,
And that no Law devis'd by humane wit,
Can be for ev'ry place and season fit.
All which I yeeld for truth indeed, but then
Wee must confesse a misery in men,
That they (Camelion-like) must have a minde,
With every object unto change inclin'd.

I might speak of the changes which I see
In mens externall fortunes also be:
For this day he hath friends, to morrow none:
Now he hath wealth, and in an houre 'tis gone.
Some in their youth there be have all things store,
And yet do often live till they are poore.
Again, there's some in youth at beggers states,
Become in age to be great Potentates.
Some are of Kings made slaves, and Kings again,
Whilst others with the contrary complain.
For poore Eumenes, of a Potters sonne,
By fickle Fortunes help a kingdome won;
Who for him such a diet did provide,
That shortly after he of hunger dy'd,

I many such examples might infer,
But that would waste more time and make me erre
From my intent, who purpose to relate,
The ficklenesse of Man, not his estate.
Moreover, hee's a creature knows not how
To do an act which he shall long allow,
Or well himselfe approve. He cannot tell
What he would have, nor what he would not, well.

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For peradventure he is now content
To doe what he will in an houre repent.
He does and undoes what he did before,
Is discontented, and with no man more
Than with himselfe. In word hee's fickle too,
For he will promise what hee'll never doe.
If that he tell me he will be in Pauls,
Ile go look for him in the Temple-Halls;
For soonest to that place resort doth hee,
Whereas he saies or sweares he will not be.

Oh! had there been in words a constant trust,
I needed not t'have done as now I must;
I should have had no cause to have bewail'd
That which I once thought would have never fail'd:
But sith 'tis thus, at nothing more I grieve,
Than that unconstant words made me beleeve.

Were promises worth trust, what needed then
Such written contracts between Man and Man?
And wherefore should they make so much adoe
To have hands, seales, and witnesse thereunto?
Vnlesse it be for proofes to make it plain,
Their words are both inconstant, false, and vain.

To morrow he will earnestly gain-say
What stoutly is affirm'd by him to day:
Yea, truely hee's so wavering and unjust,
That scarce a word of his deserveth trust,
But as a creature of all good forlorn,
Sweares what's deny'd, and straight denies what's sworn.
That I suppose himselfe he doth but mock,
And is more changing than a Weather-cock.
For e'en the thought that's likliest to remain,
Another that's unlike puts out again.
Meer appetite (not reason) guides him still,
Which makes him so inconstant in his will.

178

Had he a suit at first made but of leather,
And cloathes enough to keep away the weather,
'Twere all his wish; well, so much let us grant,
And ten to one he something else will want;
But swears that he for more would never care,
Than to be able to have cloth to weare;
Which if he get, then would he very fain
Reach to have silks, for cloath he thinks too plain;
And so his wishes seldome would have stay,
Vntill that he hath wish'd for all he may.

But though from this infirmity there's no man
That I can well except, it is so common;
Yet surely I most properly may cal't,
Or tearm't to be the common peoples fault.
Think not I wrong them, for if it may not be
A fault so to digresse, you soon should see
Their nature and condition; but I hate it:
And here in this place I will now relate it.
Let therefore none condemne me if I break
My course awhile; for I of them will speak;
Something, I say, my Muse of them must tell,
She cannot beare it any farther well.
And yet expect not all, for Ile but shew
Of many hundred-thousand-faults a few.

And to be briefe: The vulgar are as rude,
A strange-inconstant-hare-braind multitude:
Born to and fro with every idle Passion;
And by Opinion led beside all fashion.
For novelty they hunt, and to a Song,
Or idle tale they'l listen all day long.
Good things soon tyre them, and they ever try
To all reports how they may adde a lie,
Like that of Scoggins Crows: and with them still
Custome hath born most sway, and ever will.

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Or good or bad what their forefathers do,
They are resolv'd to put in practise too.

They are seditious, and so given to range
In their opinions, that they thirst for change.
For if their Countrey be turmoyl'd with war,
They think that peace is more commodious farre.
If they be quiet, they would very fain
Begin to set the warres abroach again.
I well remember when an Irish Presse
Had made a Parish but a man the lesse,
Lord, what a hurly-burly there was then!
These warres (say they) hath cost us many a man,
The Countrey is impoverish'd by't, and we
Rob'd of our husbands and our children be;
With many sad complainings: But now peace
Hath made Bellona's bloudy anger cease,
Their ever-discontented natures grutch,
And think this happy peace we have, too much,
Yea, and their wisedomes beares us now in hand,
That it is war that doth enrich the land.

But what are these? not men of any merit,
That speak it from a bold and daring spirit,
But lightly some faint-hearted braving Momes
That rather had be hang'd at their own homes
Than for the welfare of their Countrey stay
The brunt of one pitch'd-battell but a day:
Or such as would distraught with feare become,
To heare the thundring of a martiall Drum.
They cannot keep a mean (a naughty crime)
Nor never are contented with the time;
But better like the state they have been in,
Although the present hath the better bin.
E'en as the Iews that loathing Manna fain
Would be in Ægypt at their flesh again,

180

Though they were there in bondage. So do these
Wish for the world as in Queen Maries dayes,
With all the blindnesse and the trumpery
That was expel'd the Land with Popery.
Why? things were cheap, and 'twas a goodly meny
When we had foure and twenty egges a penny:
But sure they ate them stale for want of wit,
And that hath made them addle-headed yet.

Then this (moreover) I have in them seen,
They alwaies to the good have envious been.
Milde men they reckon fools, and do uphold
Him to be valiant that is over-bold:
When he with wisemen is and ever was
Counted no better than a desperate Asse.
He that doth trust unto their love shall finde
'Tis more unconstant than the wavering winde:
Which since my time a man that many knew,
Relying on it, at his death found true.

Then they have oft unthankfully withstood
Those that have labour'd for the Common good.
And, being basely minded, evermore
Seek lesse the publike than the private store.
Moreover, such a Prince as yet was never,
Of whom the people could speak well of ever.
Nor can a man a Governour invent them,
How good soever that should long content them.
Their honesty as I do plainly finde,
Is not the disposition of their minde;
But they are forc'd unto the same through feare:
As in those villaines it may well appeare,
Who having found some vile ungodly cause,
If there be any means to wrest the Laws
By tricks or shifts to make the matter go
As they would have it, all is well enough:

181

Although the wrong and injury they proffer,
Be too apparant for a Iew to offer.

They know not Iustice; and oft causelesse hate:
Or where they should not, are compassionate.
As at an Execution I have seene,
Where malefactors have rewarded beene,
According to desert; before they know,
If the accused guilty be or no:
They on report, this hasty censure give;
He is a villaine, and unfit to live:
But when that he is once arraign'd and found
Guilty by law, and worthily led bound
Vnto the Scaffold, then they doe relent
And pitty his deserved punishment.

Those that will now brave gallant men be deem'd,
And with the common people be esteem'd,
Let them turne Hacksters as they walke the street,
Quarrell and fight with every one they meet,
Learne a Welsh song to scoffe the British bloud,
Or breake a jest on Scotchmen that's as good:
Or if they would that fools should highly prize them,
They should be Iugglers if I might advise them:
But if they want such feats to make them glorious,
By making Ballads they shall grow notorious.
Yet this is nothing, if they looke for fame,
And meane to have an everlasting name
Amongst the Vulgar, let them seeke for gaine
With Ward the Pirat, on the boisterous Maine;
Or else well-mounted keepe themselves on land,
And bid our wealthy Travellers to stand
Emptying their full-cram'd-bags: for they'l not stick
To speake in honour still of Cutting-dick.

But some may tell me, though that it be such,
It doth not goe against their conscience much:

182

And though there's boldnesse showne in such a case,
Yet Tyburne is a scurvy dying-place:
No, 'tis their credit; for the people then,
Will say, 'Tis pitty, they were proper men,
And with a thousand such like humors naught,
I doe perceive the common-people fraught.

Then by the opinion of some it seemes,
How much the Vulgar sort of men esteemes
Of Art and Learning. Certaine neighbouring swaines
(That think none wise men but whose wisdome gains
Where knowledge be it morall or divine,
Is valued as an Orient Pearle with Swine)
Meeting me in an Evening in my walke.
Being gone past me, thus began to talke:
First an old Chuffe whose roofe I dare be bold,
Hath Bacon hangs in't above five yeeres old,
Said, that's his sonne that's owner of the grounds
That on these pleasant Beechy Mountaine bounds;
D'ye marke me neighbours? This same yong mans vather
(Had a bin my zon, chad a hang'd him rather)
Assoone as he perceiv'd the little voole
Could creepe about the house, putten to schoole:
Whither he went not now and then a spurt,
As't had been good to keepe him from the durt;
Nor yet at leasure times (that's my zonnes stint)
Vor then indeed there had bin reason in't.
But for continuance, and beyond all zesse
A held him too 't six daies a weeke no lesse;
That, by S. Anne, it was a great presumption
It brought him not his end with a consumption.

And then besides he was not so content,
To putten there whereas our childers went,
(To learne the Horne-book and the Abcce through)
No that he thought not learning halfe enough,

183

But we must seeke the Country all about,
Where he might finde a better teacher out.
And then he buyes him (now a pips befall it)
A vlapping booke: (I know not what they call it)
'Tis Latine all; and thus begins: In speech,
And that's in English, Boy, beware your breech.

One day my Dick a leafe on't with him brought,
(Which he out of his fellowes booke had raught)
And to his mother and my selfe did reade it:
But we indeed did so extreamely dread it,
We gave him charge no more thereon to looke,
Vor veare it had beene of a conjuring booke.
But if you thinke I jest, goe aske my Wife,
If ere she heard such gibberish in her life.

But when he yong had cond the same by heart,
And of a meny moe the better part;
He went to Oxford, where he did remaine
Some certaine yeeres, whence hee's return'd again.
Now who can tell (it in my stomacke sticks)
And I doe veare he hath some Oxford tricks
But if't be zo, would he had ne'er come hither,
Vor we shall still be sure of blustering weather.
To what end else is all his vathers cost?
Th' ones charges, and the tothers labour's lost.
I warrant he so long a learning went,
That he almost a brothers portion spent;
And now it nought availes him: By this Holly
I thinke all learning in the world a folly,
And them I take to be the veriest vooles,
That all their lifetime doe frequent the Schooles.

Goe aske him now, and see if all his wits
Can tell you when a Barley season hits;
When Meddowes must be left to spring, when mown,
When Wheat, or Tarcs, or Rye, or Pease be sown:

184

He knowes it not; nor when 'tis meet to fold,
How to manure the ground that's wet and cold:
What Lands are fit for Pasture, what for Corne,
Or how to hearten what is over-worne.

Nay he scarce knowes a Gelding from a Mare,
A Barrow from a Sow, nor takes he care
Of such like things as these. He knowes not whether
There be a difference twixt the Ewe and Wether.
Can he resolve you (No, nor many more)
If Cowes doe want their upper teeth before?
Nay, I durst pawne a groat he cannot tell
How many legs a Sheepe hath very well.
Is't not a wiseman thinke yee? By the Masse
Cham glad at heart my zonne's not zuch an asse:
Why he can tell already all this geare,
As well almost as any of us here.

And neighbours, yet I'l tell you more; my Dick
Hath very pretty skill in Arsemetrick:
Can cast account, write's name, and Dunces daughter
Tought him to spell the hardest words ith Zauter,
And yet the Boy I'l warrant you knowes how
As well as you or I, to hold the Plow:
And this I noted in the V'rchen ever,
Bid him to take a booke he had as lether
All day have drawne a Harrow; truth is so,
I like'd it well although I made no show;
For to my comfort I did plainely see,
That he hereafter would not bookish be.

Then when that having nought at home to doe,
I sometime forc'd him to the Schoole to goe,
You would have griev'd in heart to heare him whine;
And then how glad he was to keepe the swine,
I yet remember, and what tricks the Mome
Would have invented to but stay at home,

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You would have wondred. But 'tis such another,
A has a wit for all the world like's Mother.
Yet once a moneth although it grieves him then,
Hee'l looke you in a book doe what ye can:
That Mother, Sister, Brother, all we foure
Can scarce perswade him from't in halfe an houre.
But oft I thinke he does it more of spight
To anger us, than any true delight:
Vor why? his Mother thinks as others doe,
(And I am halfe of that opinion too)
Although a little learning be not bad,
Those that are bookish are the soonest mad.
And therefore, sith much wit makes vooles of many,
Chill take an order, mine shall ne'er have any.

Byr Lady, you'r the wiser (quoth the rest)
The course you take in our conceit's the best:
Your zonne may live in any place i'th land
By his industrious and laborious hand;
Whilst he (but that his Parents are his stay)
Hath not the meanes to keepe himselfe a day.
His study to our sight no pleasure gives,
Nor meanes, nor profit, and thereby he lives
So little thing the better, none needs doubt it,
He might have beene a happier man without it:
For though he now can speake a little better,
It is not words you know will free the debter.

Thus some, whose speeches shew well what they be
For want of matter fell to talke of me:
Of whom, though something they have said be true,
Yet sith in stead of giving Art her due,
They have disgrac'd it. Notwithstanding, I
Have not the knowledge that these Dolts envy,
Or can so much without incurring blame,
As take unto my selfe a Schollers name:

186

Yet now my reputation here to save,
(Sith I must make account of what I have)
Ile let you know though they so lightly deeme it,
What gaine's in knowledge, and how I esteeme it.

As often as I call to minde the blisse,
That in my little knowledge heaped is;
The many comforts, of all which the least
More joyes my heart than can be well exprest:
How happy then thinke I, are they whose soules
More wisedome by a thousand part inroules;
Whose understanding hearts are so divine,
They can perceive a million more than mine?
Such have content indeed. And who that's Man,
And should know reason, is so senselesse then
To spurne at Knowledge, Art or Learning, when
That onely showes they are the race of Men?
And what may I then of these peasants deeme,
Which doe of wisedome make so small esteeme;
But that, indeed, such blockish, senselesse logs,
Sprang from those Clownes Latona turn'd to frogs:
Alas! Suppose they nothing can be got
By precious stones, 'cause Swine esteeme them not?
Or doe they thinke because they cannot use it,
That those that may have Knowledge, will refuse it?

Well, if their shallow coxcombes can containe
A reason when 'tis told them; I'l explaine
How that same little knowledge I have got,
Much pleasures me (though they perceive it not,)
For first thereby, though none can here attaine
For to renew their first estate againe,
A part revives (although it be but small)
Of that I lost by my first Fathers fall.
And makes me man; which was before (at least)
As haplesse, if not more, than is the beast,

187

That reason wants: for his condition still,
Remaines according to his Makers will.
They never dreame of that. And then by this,
I finde what godly and what evill is:
That knowing both, I may the best ensue;
And as I ought, the worser part eschew.
Then I have learn'd to count that drosse but vaine,
For which such Boores consume themselves with pain
I can endure all discontentments, crosses,
Be Ioviall in my want and smile at losses;
Keepe under Passions, stop those insurrections,
Rais'd in my Microcosmus by affections,
Be nothing grieved for adversity,
Nor ne'er the prouder for prosperity.
How to respect my Friends I partly know,
And in like manner how to use my Foe.
I can see others lay their Soules to pawne,
Looke upon Great-men, and yet scorne to fawne;
Am still content; and dare whilst God gives grace,
E'en looke my grimmest fortunes in the face.
I feare mens censures as the char-coale sparks,
Or as I doe a toothlesse Dog that barks;
The one frights children, th' other threats to burne;
But sparkes will die, and brawling Curres returne.
Yea, I have learn'd that still my care shall be
A rush for him that cares a straw for me.
Now what would men have more? Are these no pleasures;
Or doe they not deserve the name of treasures?
Sure yes; and he that hath good learning store,
Shall finde these in't, besides a thousand more.

O! but our Chuffs thinke these delights but course,
If we compare them to their Hobby-horse:
And they beleeve not any pleasure can
Make them so merry as Maid-marian.

188

Nor is the Lawyer prouder of his fee,
Than these will of a Cuckooe Lordship be:
Though their sweet Ladies make them father that
Some other at their Whilson-Ales begat.
But he whose carriage is of so good note,
To be thought worthy of their lords fooles coat,
That's a great credit; for because that he
Is ever thought the wisest man to be.
But, as there's vertue where the Divel's precisest,
So ther's much knowledge where a foole's the wisest

But what meane I? let earth content these Moles,
And their high'st pleasure be their Summer-poles;
Round which I leave their Masterships to dance,
And much good doe't them, with their ignorance.
So this I hope will well enough declare
How rude these vulgar sort of people are.

But here upon there's some may question make,
Whether I onely for the vulgar take
Such men as these. To whom I answer, no;
For let them hereby understand and know,
I doe not meane these meaner sort alone
Tradesmen or Labourers; but every one,
Be he Esquire, Knight, Baron, Earle, or more,
For if he have not learn'd of Vertues lore,
But followes vulgar Passions; then e'en he,
Amongst the vulgar shall for one man be
And that poore Groom whom he thinks shold adore him,
Shall for his vertue be preferr'd before him:
For though the world doe such men much despise,
They seeme most noble in a wise-mans eies.

And notwithstanding some doe noblest deeme
Such as are sprung of great and high esteeme,
And those to whom the Country doth afford
The title of a Marquesse or a Lord,

189

Though 'twere atchieved by their fathers merit,
And they themselves men of a dunghill spirit;
Cowards or fooles, (and such as ever be
Prating or boasting of their pedegree)
When they are nothing but a blot or shame,
Vnto the noble house from whence they came:
Yet these (I say) unlesse that they have wit,
To guide the Common-wealth, as it is fit
They should; and as their good fore-fathers did
How ere their faults may seeme by greatnesse hid,
They shall appeare; and that poore Yeomans sonne,
Whose proper vertue hath true honour wonne;
Preferred be; for though Nobility
That comes by birth hath most antiquity;
And though the greater sort, befooled shall,
That new enobled man, an upstart call,
Yet, him most honour I, whose noblenesse
By vertue comes; yea such mens worthinesse
Most ancient is. For that is just the same,
By which all Great-men first obtain'd their fame.
I therefore hope 'twill not offend the Court,
That I count some therewith the Vulgar sort,
And outset others though men thinke me bold,
That this opinion I presume to hold.

But shall I care what others thinke or say?
There is a path besides the beaten way;
Yea and a safer. For here's Christs instruction,
The broadest way leads soonest to Destruction.
And truly no opinions deceive
Sooner than those the Vulgar sort receive:
And therefore, he that would indeed be wise,
Must learne their rude conditions to despise,
And shun their presence; for we have beene taught,
Diseases in a presse are quickly caught.

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Now Satyr, leave them till another time,
And spare to scourge the Vulgar with thy Rime:
If any thinke thou hast digrest too long,
They may passe over this, and doe no wrong.

But in my former matter to proceed;
Who (being of mans Race) is so much freed
From ficklenesse, that he is sure to find
Himselfe to morrow in that very mind
Hee's in to day? though he not onely know
No reason wherefore he should not be so,
But also though he plainly doe perceive
Much cause he should not that opinion leave.
If no man finde it so, who justly can
Be forced to relye, or trust in Man;
Whose thoughts are changing, and so oft amisse,
That by himselfe, himselfe deceived is:

Who is so sottish as to build Salvation
On such a feeble tottering foundation
As Man? Who is't that having a respect
To his soules safety, will so much neglect
That precious assurance, as to lay
His confidence on that false peece of clay,
Which being fickle, merits farre lesse trust,
Than letters written in the sand or dust:
Doe they not see those they have soundest deem'd,
And for their constantst Writers long esteem'd,
All wavering in assertions? yea, but looke,
And you shall finde in one and the same booke,
Such contradiction in opinion,
As shewes their thoughts are scarce at union.

Where finde you him that dares be absolute,
Or alwaies in his sayings resolute?
There's none; I by mine owne experience speake,
Who have a feeling that we men are weake:

191

Whereon much musing makes me inly mourne,
And grieve almost that I a man was borne.
(Yet hereupon I doe desire that no man,
Would gather that I long to be a woman.)

Alas! how often had I good intendments
And with my whol hart vow'd & swore amendments;
Yea purpos'd that, wherein I once thought never
Ynconstancy should let me to persever?
And yet for all my purpose and my vow,
I am oft altered ere my selfe knowes how.

But therefore, sith it is not I alone,
Or any certaine number that is knowne,
To be unstable, but e'en all that be;
Sith none (I say) is from this frailty free,
Let us confesse it all, and all implore
Our nere-repenting God that evermore
Remaines the same, we may be (as we ought)
More certaine both in word and deed and thought:
That he will keepe us from Inconstancie,
Yea, from all damned, lewd Apostacie;
And howsoever our affections change
And we in slight opinions hap to range;
Yet, pray his Truth in us be so ingraved,
That biding to the end we may be saved.