The poems of William Habington :: :: University of Virginia Library

Ye glorious wonders of the skies,
Shine still bright starres,
Th' Almighties mystick Characters!
Ile not your beautious lights surprize
T' illuminate a womans eyes.

Nor to perfume her veines, will I
In each one set
The purple of the violet.
The untoucht flowre may grow and dye
Safe from my fancies injurie.

Open my lippes, great God! and then
Ile soare above
The humble flight of carnall love.
Vpward to thee Ile force my pen,
And trace no path of vulgar men.

For what can our unbounded soules
Worthy to be
Their object finde, excepting thee?
Where can I fixe? since time controules
Our pride, whose motion all things roules.

Should I my selfe ingratiate
T' a Princes smile;
How soone may death my hopes beguile?
And should I farme the proudest state,
I'me Tennant to uncertaine fate

118

If I court gold; will it not rust?
And if my love
Toward a female beauty move;
How will that surfet of our lust
Distast us, when resolv'd to dust?

But thou Æternall banquet! where
For ever we
May feede without satietie!
Who harmonie art to the eare,
Who art, while all things else appeare!

While up to thee I shoote my flame
Thou dost dispence
A holy death, that murders sence,
And makes me scorne all pompes, that ayme
At other triumphes than thy name.

It crownes me with a victory
So heavenly, all
That's earth from me away doth fall.
And I, from my corruption free,
Grow in my vowes even part of thee.

Versa est in luctum cythara mea. IOB.

Love! I no orgies sing
Whereby thy mercies to invoke:
Nor from the East rich perfumes bring
To cloude thy Altars with the precious smoake.

Nor while I did frequent
Those fanes by lovers rais'd to thee:
Did I loose heathenish rites invent,
To force a blush from injur'd Chastitie.

119

Religious was the charme
I used affection to intice:
And though none burnt more bright or warme,
Yet chaste as winter was the Sacrifice.

But now I thee bequeath
To the soft silken youths at Court:
Who may their witty passions breath,
To raise their Mistresse smile, or make her sport.

They'le smooth thee into rime,
Such as shall catch the wanton eare:
And win opinion with the time,
To make them a high sayle of honour beare.

And may a powerfull smile
Cherish their flatteries of wit!
While I my life of fame beguile
And under my owne vine uncourted sit.

For I have seene the Pine
Famed for its travels ore the Sea:
Broken with stormes and age decline,
And in some creeke unpittied rot away.

I have seene Cædars fall,
And in their roome a Mushrome grow:
I have seene Comets, threatning all,
Vanish themselves: I have seene Princes so.

Vaine triviall dust! weake man!
Where is that vertue of thy breath,
That others save or ruine can,
When thou thy selfe art cal'd t' account by death?

When I consider thee
The scorne of Time, and sport of fate:
How can I turne to jollitie
My ill-strung Harpe, and court the delicate?

120

How can I but disdaine
The emptie fallacies of mirth;
And in my midnight thoughts retaine,
How high so ere I spread, my root's in earth?

Fond youth! too long I playd
The wanton with a false delight.
Which when I toucht, I found a shade
That onely wrought on th' error of my sight.

Then since pride doth betray
The soule to flatter'd ignorance:
I from the World will steale away
And by humility my thoughts advance.

Perdam Sapientiam Sapientum.

To the Right Honorable the Lord Windsor.

My Lord,

Forgive my envie to the World; while I
Commend those sober thoughts perswade you fly
The glorious troubles of the Court. For though
The vale lyes open to each overflow,
And in the humble shade we gather ill
And aguish ayres: yet lightnings oftner kill
Oth' naked heights of mountaines, whereon we
May have more prospect, not securitie.
For when with losse of breath, we have orecome
Some steepe ascent of power, and forc'd a roome
On the so envi'd hill; how doe our hearts
Pant with the labour, and how many arts
More subtle must we practise, to defend
Our pride from sliding, then we did t'ascend?
How doth successe delude the mysteries
And all th' involv'd designements of the wise?
How doth that Power, our Pollitickes call chance,
Racke them till they confesse the ignorance

121

Of humane wit? Which, when 'tis fortified
So strong with reason that it doth deride
All adverse force oth' sudden findes its head
Intangled in a spiders slender thread.
Cœlestiall Providence! How thou dost mocke
The boast of earthly wisdome? On some rocke
When man hath rais'd a structure, with such art,
It doth disdaine to tremble at the dart
Of thunder, or to shrinke oppos'd by all
The angry winds, it of it selfe doth fall,
Ev'n in a calme so gentle that no ayre
Breaths loude enough to stirre a Virgins haire!
But misery of judgement! Though past times
Instruct us by th' ill fortune of their crimes,
And shew us how we may secure our state
From pittied ruine, by anothers fate;
Yet we contemning all such sad advice,
Pursue to build though on a precipice.
But you (my Lord) prevented by foresight
To engage your selfe to such an unsafe height,
And in your selfe both great and rich enough
Refused t' expose your vessell to the rough
Vncertaine sea of businesse: whence even they
Who make the best returne, are forc't to say:
The wealth we by our worldly traffique gaine,
Weighes light if ballanc'd with the feare or paine.

Paucitatem dierum meorum nuncia mihi. DAVID.

Tell me O great All-knowing God!
What period
Hast thou unto my dayes assign'd?
Like some old leafelesse tree, shall I
Wither away: or violently
Fall by the axe, by lightning, or the Wind?

122

Heere, where I first drew vitall breath
Shall I meete death?
And finde in the same vault a roome
Where my fore-fathers ashes sleepe?
Or shall I dye, where none shall weepe
My timelesse fate, and my cold earth intombe?

Shall I 'gainst the swift Parthians fight
And in their flight
Receive my death? Or shall I see
That envied peace, in which we are
Triumphant yet, disturb'd by warre;
And perish by th' invading enemie?

Astrologers, who calculate
Vncertaine fate
Affirme my scheme doth not presage
Any abridgement of my dayes:
And the Phisitian gravely sayes,
I may enjoy a reverent length of age.

But they are jugglers, and by slight
Of art the sight
Of faith delude: and in their schoole
They onely practise how to make
A mistery of each mistake,
And teach strange words credulity to foole.

For thou who first didst motion give,
Whereby things live
And Time hath being! to conceale
Future events didst thinke it fit
To checke th' ambition of our wit,
And keepe in awe the curious search of zeale.

Therefore so I prepar'd still be,
My God for thee:
Oth' sudden on my spirits may
Some killing Apoplexie seize,
Or let me by a dull disease
Or weakened by a feeble age decay.

123

And so I in thy favour dye,
No memorie
For me a well-wrought tombe prepare,
For if my soule be 'mong the blest
Though my poore ashes want a chest,
I shall forgive the trespasse of my heire.

Non nobis Domine. DAVID.

No marble statue, nor high
Aspiring Piramid be rays'd
To lose its head within the skie!
What claime have I to memory?
God be thou onely prais'd!

Thou in a moment canst defeate
The mighty conquests of the proude,
And blast the laurels of the great.
Thou canst make brightest glorie set
Oth' sudden in a cloude.

How can the feeble workes of Art
Hold out 'gainst the assault of stormes?
Or how can brasse to him impart
Sence of surviving fame, whose heart
Is now resolv'd to wormes?

Blinde folly of triumphing pride!
Æternitie why buildst thou here?
Dost thou not see the highest tide
Its humbled streame in th' Ocean hide,
And nere the same appeare?

That tide which did its banckes ore-flow,
As sent abroad by th' angry sea
To levell vastest buildings low,
And all our Trophes overthrow;
Ebbes like a theefe away.

124

And thou who to preserve thy name
Leav'st statues in some conquer'd land!
How will posterity scorne fame,
When th' Idoll shall receive a maime,
And loose a foote or hand?

How wilt thou hate thy warres, when he
Who onely for his hire did raise
Thy counterfet in stone; with thee
Shall stand Competitor, and be
Perhapes thought worthier praise?

No Laurell wreath about my brow!
To thee, my God, all praise, whose law
The conquer'd doth and conqueror bow!
For both dissolve to ayre, if thou
Thy influence but withdraw.

Solum mihi superest sepulchrum. IOB.

Welcome thou safe retreate!
Where th' injured man may fortifie
'Gainst the invasions of the great:
Where the leane slave, who th' Oare doth plye,
Soft as his Admirall may lye.

Great Statist! tis your doome
Though your designes swell high, and wide
To be contracted in a tombe!
And all your happie cares provide
But for your heire authorized pride.

Nor shall your shade delight
Ith' pompe of your proud obsequies.
And should the present flatterie write
A glorious Epitaph, the wise
Will say, The Poets wit here lyes.

125

How reconcil'd to fate
Will grow the aged Villager,
When he shall see your funerall state?
Since death will him as warme inter
As you in your gay sepulcher.

The great decree of God
Makes every path of mortals lead
To this darke common period.
For what by wayes so ere we tread,
We end our journey 'mong the dead.

Even I, while humble zeale
Makes fancie a sad truth indite,
Insensible away doe steale:
And when I'me lost in deaths cold night,
Who will remember, now I write?

Et fugit velut umbra. IOB.

To the Right Honourable the Lord Kintyre.

My Lord

That shadow your faire body made
So full of sport it still the mimick playde
Ev'n as you mov'd and look'd but yesterday
So huge in stature; Night hath stolne away.
And this is th' emblem of our life: To please
And flatter which, we sayle ore broken seas
Vnfaithfull in their rockes and tides; we dare
All the sicke humors of a forraine ayre.
And mine so deepe in earth, as we would trie
To unlocke hell, should gold there hoarded lie.
But when we have built up an ædefice
T' outwrastle Time, we have but built on ice:
For firme however all our structures be,
Polisht with smoothest Indian Ivory,
Rais'd high on marble, our unthankfull heire
Will scarce retaine in memory, that we were:

126

Tracke through the ayre the footesteps of the wind,
And search the print of ships sayl'd by; then finde
Where all the glories of those Monarchs be
Who bore such sway in the worlds infancie.
Time hath devour'd them all: and scarce can fame
Give an account, that ere they had a name.
How can he then who doth the world controle
And strikes a terror now in either Pole,
Th' insulting Turke secure himselfe that he
Shall not be lost to dull Posterity?
And though the Superstition of those Times
Which deified Kings to warrant their owne crimes
Translated Cæsar to a starre; yet they,
Who every Region of the skie Survay;
In their Cœlestiall travaile, that bright coast
Could nere discover which containes his ghost.
And after death to make that awe survive
Which subjects owe their Princes yet alive,
Though they build pallaces of brasse and jet
And keepe them living in a counterfet;
The curious looker on soone passes by
And findes the tombe a sickenesse to his eye.
Neither when once the soule is gone doth all
The solemne triumph of the funerall
Adde to her glory or her paine release:
Then all the pride of warre, and wealth of peace
For which we toild, from us abstracted be
And onely serve to swell the history.
These are sad thoughts (my Lord) and such as fright
The easie soule made tender with delight,
Who thinkes that he hath forfetted that houre
Which addes not to his pleasure or his powre.
But by the friendship which your Lordship daignes
Your Servant, I have found your judgement raignes
Above all passion in you: and that sence
Could never yet demolish that strong fence
Which Vertue guards you with: By which you are
Triumphant in the best, the inward warre.

127

Nox nocti indicat Scientiam. DAVID.

When I survay the bright
Cœlestiall spheare:
So rich with jewels hung, that night
Doth like an Æthiop bride appeare.

My soule her wings doth spread
And heaven-ward flies,
Th' Almighty's Mysteries to read
In the large volumes of the skies.

For the bright firmament
Shootes forth no flame
So silent, but is eloquent
In speaking the Creators name.

No unregarded star
Contracts its light
Into so small a Charactar,
Remov'd far from our humane sight:

But if we stedfast looke,
We shall discerne
In it as in some holy booke,
How man may heavenly knowledge learne.

It tells the Conqueror,
That farre-stretcht powre
Which his proud dangers traffique for,
Is but the triumph of an houre.

That from the farthest North;
Some Nation may
Yet undiscovered issue forth,
And ore his new got conquest sway.

Some Nation yet shut in
With hils of ice
May be let out to scourge his sinne
'Till they shall equall him in vice.

128

And then they likewise shall
Their ruine have,
For as your selves your Empires fall,
And every Kingdome hath a grave.

Thus those Cœlestiall fires,
Though seeming mute
The fallacie of our desires
And all the pride of life confute.

For they have watcht since first
The World had birth:
And found sinne in it selfe accurst,
And nothing permanent on earth.

Et alta a longè cognoscit. DAVID.

To the cold humble hermitage
(Not tenanted but by discoloured age,
Or youth enfeebled by long prayer
And tame with fasts) th' Almighty doth repaire.
But from the lofty gilded roofe
Stain'd with some Pagan fiction, keepes aloofe.
Nor the gay Landlord daignes to know
Whose buildings are like Monsters but for show.
Ambition! whither wilt thou climbe,
Knowing thy art, the mockery of time?
Which by examples tells the high
Rich structures, they must as their owners dye:
And while they stand, their tennants are
Detraction, flatt'ry, wantonnesse, and care,
Pride, envie, arrogance, and doubt,
Surfet, and ease still tortured by the gout.
O rather may I patient dwell
In th' injuries of an ill-cover'd cell!
'Gainst whose too weake defence the haile,
The angry winds, and frequent showres prevaile.
Where the swift measures of the day,
Shall be distinguisht onely as I pray:

129

And some starres solitary light
Be the sole taper to the tedious night.
The neighbo'ring fountaine (not accurst
Like wine with madnesse) shall allay my thirst:
And the wilde fruites of Nature give
Dyet enough, to let me feele I live.
You wantons! who impoverish Seas,
And th' ayre dispeople, your proud taste to please!
A greedy tyrant you obey
Who varies still its tribute with the day.
What interest doth all the vaine
Cunning of surfet to your sences gaine?
Since it obscure the Spirit must
And bow the flesh to sleepe, disease or lust.
While who forgetting rest and fare;
Watcheth the fall and rising of each starre,
Ponders how bright the orbes doe move,
And thence how much more bright the heav'ns above
Where on the heads of Cherubins
Th' Almightie sits disdaining our bold sinnes:
Who while on th' earth we groveling lye
Dare in our pride of building tempt the skie.

Universum stratum ejus versasti in infirmitate ejus. DAVID.

My Soule! When thou and I
Shall on our frighted death-bed lye;
Each moment watching when pale death
Shall snatch away our latest breath,
And 'tweene two long joyn'd Lovers force
An endlesse sad divorce:

How wilt thou then? that art
My rationall and nobler part,
Distort thy thoughts? How wilt thou try
To draw from weake Philosophie
Some strength: and flatter thy poore state,
'Cause tis the common fate?

130

How will thy spirits pant
And tremble when they feele the want
Of th' usuall organs; and that all
The vitall powers begin to fall?
When 'tis decreed, that thou must goe,
Yet whether; who can know?

How fond and idle then
Will seeme the misteries of men?
How like some dull ill-acted part
The subtlest of proud humane art?
How shallow ev'n the deepest sea,
When thus we ebbe away?

But how shall I (that is
My fainting earth) looke pale at this?
Disjointed on the racke of paine.
How shall I murmur, how complaine;
And craving all the ayde of skill,
Finde none, but what must kill?

Which way so ere my griefe
Doth throw my sight to court releefe,
I shall but meete despaire; for all
Will prophesie my funerall:
The very silence of the roome
Will represent a tombe.

And while my Childrens teares,
My Wives vaine hopes, but certaine feares,
And councells of Divines advance
Death in each dolefull circumstance:
I shall even a sad mourner be
At my owne obsequie.

For by examples I
Must know that others sorrowes dye
Soone as our selves, and none survive
To keepe our memories alive.
Even our fals tombes, as loath to say
We once had life, decay.

131

Laudate Dominum de cælis. DAVID.

You Spirits! who have throwne away
That enveous weight of clay
Which your cælestiall flight denyed:
Who by your glorious troopes supply
The winged Hierarchie,
So broken in the Angells pride!

O you! whom your Creators sight
Inebriates with delight!
Sing forth the triumphs of his name
All you enamord soules! agree
In a loud symphonie:
To give expressions to your flame!

To him, his owne great workes relate,
Who daign'd to elevate
You 'bove the frailtie of your birth:
Where you stand safe from that rude warre,
With which we troubled are
By the rebellion of our earth.

While a corrupted ayre beneath
Here in this World we breath
Each houre some passion us assailes:
Now lust casts wild-fire in the blood,
Or that it may seeme good,
It selfe in wit or beauty vailes.

Then envie circles us with hate,
And layes a siege so streight,
No heavenly succor enters in:
But if Revenge admittance finde,
For ever hath the mind
Made forfeit of it selfe to sinne.

132

Assaulted thus, how dare we raise
Our mindes to thinke his praise,
Who is Æternall and immens?
How dare we force our feeble wit
To speake him infinite,
So farre above the search of sence?

O you! who are immaculate
His name may celebrate
In your soules bright expansion.
You whom your vertues did unite
To his perpetuall light,
That even with him you now shine one.

While we who t' earth contract our hearts,
And onely studie Arts
To shorten the sad length of Time:
In place of joyes bring humble feares:
For hymnes, repentant teares
And a new sigh for every crime.

Qui quasi flos egreditur.

To the Right Honourable, the Lady Cat. T

Faire Madam! You
May see what's man in yond' bright rose.
Though it the wealth of Nature owes,
It is opprest, and bends with dew.

Which shewes, though fate
May promise still to warme our lippes,
And keepe our eyes from an ecclips;
It will our pride with teares abate.

Poore silly flowre!
Though in thy beauty thou presume,
And breath which doth the spring perfume;
Thou may'st be cropt this very houre.

133

And though it may
Then thy good fortune be, to rest
Oth' pillow of some Ladies brest;
Thou'lt wither, and be throwne away.

For 'tis thy doome
However, that there shall appeare
No memory that thou grew'st heere,
Ere the tempestuous winter come.

But flesh is loath
By meditation to fore see
How loath'd a nothing it must be:
Proud in the triumphes of its growth.

And tamely can
Behold this mighty world decay
And weare by th' age of time away:
Yet not discourse the fall of man.

But Madam these
Are thoughts to cure sicke humane pride.
And med'cines are in vaine applyed,
To bodies far 'bove all disease.

For you so live
As th' Angels in one perfect state;
Safe from the ruines of our fate,
By vertues great preservative.

And though we see
Beautie enough to warme each heart;
Yet you by a chaste Chimicke Art,
Calcine fraile love to pietie.

134

Quid gloriaris in malicia? DAVID.

Swell no more proud man, so high!
For enthron'd where ere you sit
Rais'd by fortune, sinne and wit:
In a vault thou dust must lye.
He who's lifted up by vice
Hath a neighb'ring precipice
Dazeling his distorted eye.

Shallow is that unsafe sea
Over which you spread your saile:
And the Barke you trust to, fraile
As the Winds it must obey.
Mischiefe, while it prospers, brings
Favour from the smile of Kings;
Vselesse soone is throwne away.

Profit, though sinne it extort,
Princes even accounted good,
Courting greatnesse nere withstood,
Since it Empire doth support.
But when death makes them repent
They condemne the instrument,
And are thought Religious for 't.

Pitch'd downe from that height you beare,
How distracted will you lye;
When your flattering Clients flye
As your fate infectious were?
When of all th' obsequious throng
That mov'd by your eye and tongue,
None shall in the storme appeare?

135

When that abject insolence
(Which submits to the more great,
And disdaines the weaker state,
As misfortune were offence)
Shall at Court be judged a crime
Though in practise, and the Time
Purchase wit at your expence.

Each small tempest shakes the proud;
Whose large branches vainely sprout
'Bove the measure of the roote.
But let stormes speake nere so loud,
And th' astonisht day benight;
Yet the just shines in a light
Faire as noone without a cloud.

Deus Deus Meus. DAVID.

Where is that foole Philosophie,
That bedlam Reason, and that beast dull sence;
Great God! when I consider thee,
Omnipotent, Æternall, and imens?
Vnmov'd thou didst behold the pride
Of th' Angels, when they to defection fell?
And without passion didst provide
To punish treason, rackes and death in hell.
Thy Word created this great All,
Ith' lower part whereof we wage such warres:
The upper bright and sphæricall
By purer bodies tenanted, the starres.
And though sixe dayes it thee did please
To build this frame, the seventh for rest t'assigne;
Yet was it not thy paine or ease,
But to teach man the quantities of Time.
This world so mighty and so faire,
So 'bove the reach of all dimension:
If to thee God we should compare,
Is not the slenderst atome to the Sun.

136

What then am I poore nothing man!
That elevate my voyce and speake of thee?
Since no imagination can
Distinguish part of thy immensitie?
What am I who dare call thee God!
And raise my fancie to discourse thy power?
To whom dust is the period,
Who am not sure to farme this very houre?
For how know I the latest sand
In my fraile glasse of life, doth not now fall?
And while I thus astonisht stand
I but prepare for my owne funerall?
Death doth with man no order keepe:
It reckons not by the expence of yeares.
But makes the Queene and beggar weepe,
And nere distinguishes betweene their teares.
He who the victory doth gaine
Falls as he him pursues, who from him flyes,
And is by too good fortune slaine.
The Lover in his amorous courtship dyes.
The states-man suddenly expires
While he for others ruine doth prepare:
And the gay Lady while sh' admires
Her pride, and curles in wanton nets her haire.
No state of man is fortified
'Gainst the assault of th' universall doome:
But who th' Almightie feare, deride
Pale death, and meete with triumph in the tombe.

Quoniam ego in flagella paratus sum. DAVID.

Fix me on some bleake precipice,
Where I ten thousand yeares may stand:
Made now a statue of ice,
Then by the sommer scorcht and tan'd!

Place me alone in some fraile boate
'Mid th' horrors of an angry Sea:
Where I while time shall move, may floate
Despairing either land or day!

137

Or under earth my youth confine
To th' night and silence of a cell:
Where Scorpions may my limbes entwine.
O God! So thou forgive me hell.

Æternitie! when I thinke thee,
(Which never any end must have,
Nor knew'st beginning) and fore-see
Hell is design'd for sinne a grave.

My frighted flesh trembles to dust,
My blood ebbes fearefully away:
Both guilty that they did to lust
And vanity, my youth betray.

My eyes, which from each beautious sight
Drew Spider-like blacke venome in:
Close like the marigold at night
Opprest with dew to bath my sin.

My eares shut up that easie dore
Which did proud fallacies admit:
And vow to heare no follies more;
Deafe to the charmes of sinne and wit.

My hands (which when they toucht some faire,
Imagin'd such an excellence,
As th' Ermines skin ungentle were)
Contract themselves, and loose all sence.

But you bold sinners! still pursue
Your valiant wickednesse, and brave
Th' Almighty Iustice: hee'le subdue
And make you cowards in the grave.

Then when he as your judge appeares,
In vaine you'le tremble and lament.
And hope to soften him with teares,
To no advantage penitent.

138

Then will you scorne those treasures, which
So fiercely now you doate upon:
Then curse those pleasures did bewitch
You to this sad illusion.

The neighb'ring mountaines which you shall
Wooe to oppresse you with their weight:
Disdainefull will deny to fall;
By a sad death to ease your fate.

In vaine some midnight storme at sea
To swallow you, you will desire:
In vaine upon the wheele youle pray
Broken with torments to expire.

Death, at the sight of which you start,
In a mad fury then you'le Court:
Yet hate th' expressions of your heart,
Which onely shall be sigh'd for sport.

No sorrow then shall enter in
With pitty the great judges eares.
This moment's ours. Once dead, his sin
Man cannot expiate with teares.

Militia est vita hominis.

To Sir Hen Per.

Sir

Were it your appetite of glory, (which
In noblest times, did bravest soules bewitch
To fall in love with danger,) that now drawes
You to the fate of warre; it claimes applause:
And every worthy hand would plucke a bough
From the best spreading bay, to shade your brow.
Since you unforc'd part from your Ladies bed
Warme with the purest love, to lay your head
Perhaps on some rude turfe, and sadly feele
The nights cold dampes wrapt in a sheete of steele.

139

You leave your well grown woods: and medows wch
Our Severne doth with fruitfull streames enrich.
Your woods where we see such large heards of Deere
Your meades whereon such goodly flockes appeare.
You leave your Castle, safe both for defence
And sweetely wanton with magnificence
With all the cost and cunning beautified
That addes to state, where nothing wants but pride.
These charmes might have bin pow'rful to have staid
Great mindes resolv'd for action, and betraid
You to a glorious ease: since to the warre
Men by desire of prey invited are,
Whom either sinne or want makes desperate
Or else disdaine of their owne narrow fate.
But you nor hope of fame or a release
Of the most sober goverment in peace,
Did to the hazard of the armie bring:
Onely a pure devotion to the King
In whose just cause whoever fights, must be
Triumphant: since even death is victory.
And what is life, that we to wither it
To a weake wrinckled age, should torture wit
To finde out Natures secrets; what doth length
Of time deserve, if we want heate and strength?
When a brave quarrell doth to armes provoke
Why should we feare to venter this thin smoke
This emptie shadow, life? this which the wise
As the fooles Idoll, soberly despise?
Why should we not throw willingly away
A game we cannot save, now that we may
Gaine honour by the gift? since haply when
We onely shall be statues of men
And our owne monuments, Peace will deny
Our wretched age so brave a cause to dye.
But these are thoughts! And action tis doth give
A soule to courage, and make vertue live:
Which doth not dwell upon the valiant tongue
Of bold Philosophie, but in the strong

140

Vndaunted spirit, which encounters those
Sad dangers, we to fancie scarce propose.
Yet tis the true and highest fortitude
To keepe our inward enemies subdued:
Not to permit our passions over sway
Our actions, nor our wanton flesh betray
The soules chaste Empire: for however we
To th' outward shew may gaine a victory
And proudly triumph: if to conquour sinne
We combate not, we are at warre within.

Vias tuas Domine demonstra mihi.

Where have I wandred? In what way
Horrid as night
Increast by stormes did I delight?
Though my sad soule did often say
T'was death and madnesse so to stray.

On that false ground I joy'd to tread
Which seem'd most faire,
Though every path had a new snare,
And every turning still did lead,
To the darke Region of the dead.

But with the surfet of delight
I am so tyred
That now I loath what I admired,
And my distasted appetite
So 'bhors the meate, it hates the sight.

For should we naked sinne discry
Not beautified
By th' ayde of wantonnesse and pride
Like some mishapen birth 'twould lye
A torment to th' affrighted eye.

141

But cloath'd in beauty and respect
Even ore the wise,
How powerfull doth it tyrannize!
Whose monstrous forme should they detect
They famine sooner would affect.

And since those shadowes which oppresse
My sight begin
To cleere, and show the shape of sinne,
A Scorpion sooner be my guest,
And warme his venome in my brest.

May I before I grow so vile
By sinne agen,
Be throwne off as a scorne to men!
May th' angry world decree, t' exile
Me to some yet unpeopled Isle.

Where while I straggle, and in vaine
Labor to finde
Some creature that shall have a minde,
What justice have I to complaine
If I thy inward grace retaine?

My God if thou shalt not exclude
Thy comfort thence:
What place can seeme to troubled sence
So melancholly darke and rude,
To be esteem'd a solitude?

Cast me upon some naked shore
Where I may tracke
Onely the print of some sad wracke;
If thou be there, though the seas roare,
I shall no gentler calme implore.

Should the Cymmerians, whom no ray
Doth ere enlight
But gaine thy grace, th' have lost their night:
Not sinners at high noone, but they
'Mong their blind cloudes have found the day.

142

Et Exaltavit Humiles.

How cheerefully th' unpartiall Sunne
Gilds with his beames
The narrow streames
Oth' Brooke which silently doth runne
Without a name?
And yet disdaines to lend his flame
To the wide channell of the Thames?

The largest mountaines barren lye
And lightning feare,
Though they appeare
To bid defiance to the skie;
Which in one houre
W' have seene the opening earth devoure
When in their height they proudest were.

But th' humble man heaves up his head
Like some rich vale
Whose fruites nere faile
With flowres, with corne, and vines ore-spread.
Nor doth complaine
Oreflowed by an ill season'd raine
Or batter'd by a storme of haile.

Like a tall Barke with treasure fraught
He the seas cleere
Doth quiet steere:
But when they are t' a tempest wrought;
More gallantly
He spreads his saile, and doth more high
By swelling of the waves, appeare.

For the Almighty joyes to force
The glorious tide
Of humane pride
To th' lowest ebbe; that ore his course
(Which rudely bore
Downe what oppos'd it heretofore)
His feeblest enemie may stride.

143

But from his ill-thatcht roofe he brings
The Cottager
And doth preferre
Him to th' adored state of Kings:
He bids that hand
Which labour hath made rough and tand
The all commanding Scepter beare.

Let then the mighty cease to boast
Their boundlesse sway:
Since in their Sea
Few sayle, but by some storme are lost.
Let them themselves
Beware for they are their owne shelves.
Man still himselfe hath cast away.

Dominus Dominantium.

Supreame Divinitie! Who yet
Could ever finde
By the bold scrutinie of wit,
The treasurie where thou lock'st up the wind?

What Majesty of Princes can
A tempest awe;
When the distracted Ocean
Swells to Sedition, and obeyes no Law?

How wretched doth the Tyrant stand
Without a boast?
When his rich fleete even touching land
He by some storme in his owne Port sees lost?

Vaine pompe of life! what narrow bound
Ambition
Is circled with? How false a ground
Hath humane pride to build its triumphs on?

144

And Nature how dost thou delude
Our search to know?
When the same windes which here intrude
On us with frosts and onely winter blow:

Breath temprate on th' adjoyning earth;
And gently bring
To the glad field a fruitfull birth
With all the treasures of a wanton Spring.

How diversly death doth assaile;
How sporting kill?
While one is scorcht up in the vale
The other is congeald oth' neighboring hill.

While he with heates doth dying glow
Above he sees
The other hedg'd in with his snow
And envies him his ice although he freeze.

Proud folly of pretending Art,
Be ever dumbe.
And humble thy aspiring heart,
When thou find'st glorious Reason overcome.

And you Astrologers, whose eye
Survayes the starres!
And offer thence to prophesie
Successe in peace, and the event of warres.

Throw downe your eyes upon that dust
You proudly tread!
And know to that resolve you must!
That is the scheme where all their fate may read.

145

Cogitabo pro peccato meo.

In what darke silent grove
Profan'd by no unholy love,
Where witty melancholy nere
Did carve the trees or wound the ayre,
Shall I religious leasure winne
To weepe away my sinne?

How fondly have I spent
My youthes unvalued treasure, lent
To traffique for Cœlestiall joyes?
My unripe yeares pursuing toyes;
Iudging things best that were most gay
Fled unobserv'd away.

Growne elder I admired
Our Poets as from heaven inspired.
What Obeliskes decreed I fit
For Spencers Art, and Sydnyes wit?
But waxing sober soone I found
Fame but an Idle sound.

Then I my blood obey'd
And each bright face an Idoll made:
Verse in an humble Sacrifice,
I offer'd to my Mistresse eyes.
But I no sooner grace did win
But met the devill within.

But growne more polliticke
I tooke account of each state tricke:
Observ'd each motion, judg'd him wise,
Who had a conscience fit to rise.
Whom soone I found but forme and rule
And the more serious foole.

146

But now my soule prepare
To ponder what and where we are:
How fraile is life, how vaine a breath
Opinion, how uncertaine death:
How onely a poore stone shall beare
Witnesse that once we were.

How a shrill Trumpet shall
Vs to the barre as traytors call.
Then shall we see too late that pride
Hath hope with flattery bely'd
And that the mighty in command
Pale Cowards there must stand.

Recogitabo tibi omnes annos meos. ISAY.

Time! where didst thou those yeares inter
Which I have seene decease?
My soules at war and truth bids her
Finde out their hidden Sepulcher,
To give her troubles peace.

Pregnant with flowers doth not the Spring
Like a late bride appeare?
Whose fether'd Musicke onely bring
Caresses, and no Requiem sing
On the departed yeare?

The Earth, like some rich wanton heire,
Whose Parents coffin'd lye,
Forgets it once lookt pale and bare
And doth for vanities prepare,
As the Spring nere should dye.

147

The present houre, flattered by all
Reflects not on the last;
But I, like a sad factor shall
T' account my life each moment call,
And onely weepe the past.

My mem'ry trackes each severall way
Since Reason did begin
Over my actions her first sway:
And teacheth me that each new day
Did onely vary sin.

Poore banckrout Conscience! where are those
Rich houres but farm'd to thee?
How carelessely I some did lose,
And other to my lust dispose
As no rent day should be?

I have infected with impure
Disorders my past yeares.
But Ile to penitence inure
Those that succeed. There is no cure
Nor Antidote but teares.

Cupio dissolvi. Paule.

The soule which doth with God unite,
Those gayities how doth she slight
Which ore opinion sway?
Like sacred Virgin wax, which shines
On Altars or on Martyrs shrines
How doth she burne away?

148

How violent are her throwes till she
From envious earth delivered be,
Which doth her flight restraine?
How doth she doate on whips and rackes,
On fires and the so dreaded Axe,
And every murd'ring paine?

How soone she leaves the pride of wealth,
The flatteries of youth and health
And fames more precious breath.
And every gaudy circumstance
That doth the pompe of life advance
At the approach of death?

The cunning of Astrologers
Observes each motion of the starres
Placing all knowledge there:
And Lovers in their Mistresse eyes
Contract those wonders of the skies,
And seeke no higher sphere.

The wandring Pilot sweates to find
The causes that produce the wind
Still gazing on the Pole.
The Politician scornes all Art
But what doth pride and power impart,
And swells the ambitious soule.

But he whom heavenly fire doth warme,
And 'gainst these powerfull follies arme,
Doth soberly disdaine
All these fond humane misteries
As the deceitfull and unwise
Distempers of our braine.

He as a burden beares his clay,
Yet vainely throwes it not away
On every idle cause:
But with the same untroubled eye
Can or resolve to live or dye,
Regardlesse of th' applause.

149

My God! If 'tis thy great decree
That this must the last moment be
Wherein I breath this ayre;
My heart obeyes joy'd to retreate
From the false favours of the great
And treachery of the faire.

When thou shalt please this soule t' enthrowne,
Above impure corruption;
What should I grieve or feare,
To thinke this breathlesse body must
Become a loathsome heape of dust
And nere again appeare.

For in the fire when Ore is tryed;
And by that torment purified:
Doe we deplore the losse?
And when thou shalt my soule refine,
That it thereby may purer shine
Shall I grieve for the drosse?

FINIS