Schola Cordis or the Heart of it Selfe, gone away from God ::

Base lust and luxury the scumme and drosse
Of hell-borne pleasures, please thee to the losse
Of thy souls precious eyesight, reason; so
Mindnesse thy mind, heartlesse thine heart doth grow.

Ode. 2.

1

Laid downe already? and so fast asleepe?
Thy precious heart left loosly on thine hand,
Which with all diligence thou shouldest keep,
And guard against those enemies, that stand
Ready prepar'd to plunge it in the deep
Of all distresse? Rouze thee, and understand
In time, what in the end thou must confesse,
That misery at last and wretchednesse
Is all the fruit that springs from slothfull idlenesse.

2

Whilst thou li'st soaking in security,
Thou drown'st thy selfe in sensuall delight,
And wallow'st in debauched luxurie,
Which when thou art awake and see'st, will fright
Thine heart with horror. When thou shalt descry

By the daylight the danger of the night,
Then, then, if not too late, thou wilt confesse,
That endlesse misery and wretchednesse
Is all the fruit that springs from riotous excesse.

3

Whilst thou dost pamper thy proud flesh, and thrust
Into thy panch the prime of all thy store,
Thou dost but gather fuell for that lust,
Which boyling in thy liver runneth o're,
And frieth in thy throbbing veines, which must
Needs vent, or burst, when they can hold no more.
But oh consider what thou shalt confesse
At last, that misery and wretchednesse
Is all the fruit that springs from lustfull wantonnesse.

4

Whilst thou dost feed effeminate desires
With spumy pleasures, whilst fruition
The coals of lust fannes into flaming fires,
And spurious delights thou doatest on,
Thy mind through cold remisnesse ev'n expires,
And all the active vigour of't is gone.
Take heed in time, or else thou shalt confesse
At last that misery and wretchednesse
Is all the fruit that springs from carelesse-mindednesse.

5

Whilst thy regardlesse sense-dissolved mind
Lies by unbent, that should have been thy spring
Of motion, all thy headstrong passions find
Themselves let loose, and follow their own swing,
Forgetfull of the great account behind,
As though there never would be such a thing,
But, when it comes indeed, thou wilt confesse
That misery alone and wretchednesse
Is all the fruit that springs from soule-forgetfulnesse.

6

Whilst thou remembrest not thy later end,
Nor what a reck'ning one day thou must make,
Putting no difference betwixt foe and friend,
Thou suffer'st hellish Fiends thine heart to take,
Who, all the while thou triflest, doe attend,
Ready to bring it to the burning lake
Of fire and brimstone: where thou shalt confesse
That endlesse misery and wretchednesse
Is all the fruit that springs from stupid heartlesnesse.

University of Virginia Library

The taking away of the Heart.

Epigr. 2.

Ode. 2.

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