Divine poems Containing The History of Ionah. Ester. Iob. Sampson. Sions Sonets. Elegies. Written and newly augmented, by Fra: Quarles |
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Meditat. 8.
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 | Divine poems |  |
Meditat. 8.
Th'Egyptians, amidst their sollemne Feasts,
Vsed to welcome, and present their Guests
With the sad sight of Mans Anatomy,
Serv'd in with this loud Motto, All must dye.
Fooles often goe about, when as they may
Take better vantage of a neerer way.
Looke well into your bosomes; doe not flatter
Your knowne infirmities: Behold, what matter
Your flesh was made of: Man, cast back thine eye
Vpon the weaknesse of thine Infancye;
See how thy lips hang on thy mothers Brest,
Bawling for helpe, more helplesse then a Beast,
Vsed to welcome, and present their Guests
With the sad sight of Mans Anatomy,
Serv'd in with this loud Motto, All must dye.
Fooles often goe about, when as they may
Take better vantage of a neerer way.
Looke well into your bosomes; doe not flatter
Your knowne infirmities: Behold, what matter
Your flesh was made of: Man, cast back thine eye
Vpon the weaknesse of thine Infancye;
See how thy lips hang on thy mothers Brest,
Bawling for helpe, more helplesse then a Beast,
Liv'st thou to childhood? then, behold, what toies
Doe mocke the sense, how shallow are thy joyes.
Com'st thou to downy yeares? see, how deceits
Gull thee with golden fruit, and with false baits
Slily beguile the prime of thy affection.
Art thou attain'd at length to full perfection
Of ripened yeares? Ambition hath now sent
Thee on her frothy errand, Discontent
Payes thee thy wages. Doe thy grizly haires
Begin to cast account of many cares
Vpon thy head? The sacred lust of gold
Now fits thy spirit, for fleshly lust, too cold,
Makes thee a slave to thine owne base desire,
Which melts and hardens, at the selfe-same Fire.
Art thou decrepit? Then thy very breath
Is grievous to thee, and each griefe's a death:
Looke where thou list, thy life is but a span,
Thou art but dust, and, to conclude, A Man.
Doe mocke the sense, how shallow are thy joyes.
Com'st thou to downy yeares? see, how deceits
Gull thee with golden fruit, and with false baits
Slily beguile the prime of thy affection.
Art thou attain'd at length to full perfection
Of ripened yeares? Ambition hath now sent
Thee on her frothy errand, Discontent
Payes thee thy wages. Doe thy grizly haires
Begin to cast account of many cares
Vpon thy head? The sacred lust of gold
Now fits thy spirit, for fleshly lust, too cold,
Makes thee a slave to thine owne base desire,
Which melts and hardens, at the selfe-same Fire.
207
Is grievous to thee, and each griefe's a death:
Looke where thou list, thy life is but a span,
Thou art but dust, and, to conclude, A Man.
Thy life's a Warfare, thou a Souldier art,
Satan's thy Foe-man, and a faithfull Heart
Thy two-edg'd Weapon, Patience thy Shield,
Heaven is thy Chiefetain, and the world thy Field.
Satan's thy Foe-man, and a faithfull Heart
Thy two-edg'd Weapon, Patience thy Shield,
Heaven is thy Chiefetain, and the world thy Field.
To be afraid to dye, or wish for death,
Are words and passions of despairing breath:
Who doth the first, the day doth faintly yeeld,
And who the second, basely flies the field.
Are words and passions of despairing breath:
Who doth the first, the day doth faintly yeeld,
And who the second, basely flies the field.
Mans not a lawfull Stearsman of his dayes,
His bootlesse wish, nor hastens, nor delayes:
We are Gods hired Workmen, he discharges
Some, late at night, and (when he list) inlarges
Others at noone, and in the morning some:
None may relieve himselfe, till he bid, Come:
If we receive for one halfe day, as much
As they that toyle till evening, shall we grutch?
His bootlesse wish, nor hastens, nor delayes:
We are Gods hired Workmen, he discharges
Some, late at night, and (when he list) inlarges
Others at noone, and in the morning some:
None may relieve himselfe, till he bid, Come:
If we receive for one halfe day, as much
As they that toyle till evening, shall we grutch?
Our life's a Road, in death our Iourney ends,
We goe on Gods Embassage, some he sends
Gall'd with the trotting of hard Misery,
And others, pacing on Prosperity:
Some lagge, whilest others gallop on, before;
All goe an end, some faster, and some slower.
We goe on Gods Embassage, some he sends
Gall'd with the trotting of hard Misery,
And others, pacing on Prosperity:
Some lagge, whilest others gallop on, before;
All goe an end, some faster, and some slower.
Lead me that pase (great God) that thou think'st best,
And I will follow with a dauntlesse brest:
Which (ne'rethelesse) if I refuse to doe,
I shall be wicked, and yet follow to.
Assist me in my Combat with the flesh,
Relieve my fainting powers, and refresh
My feeble spirit: I will not wish to be
Cast from the world; Lord, cast the world from me.
And I will follow with a dauntlesse brest:
Which (ne'rethelesse) if I refuse to doe,
I shall be wicked, and yet follow to.
Assist me in my Combat with the flesh,
Relieve my fainting powers, and refresh
My feeble spirit: I will not wish to be
Cast from the world; Lord, cast the world from me.
| Divine poems | |