Divine poems Containing The History of Ionah. Ester. Iob. Sampson. Sions Sonets. Elegies. Written and newly augmented, by Fra: Quarles |
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Medit. 14.
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 | Divine poems |  |
Medit. 14.
Tis Vertue to flye Vice: there's none more stout
Than he that ventures to picke vertue out
Betwixt a brace of Vices: Dangers stand,
Threatning his ruine upon either hand;
His Card must guide him, lest his Pinnace run
Vpon Charybdis, while it Seylla shun:
In moderation all Vertue lyes;
Tis greater folly to be over-wise,
Than rudely ignorant: The golden meane,
Is but to know enough; safer to leane
To Ignorance, than Curiosity,
For lightning blasts the Mountaines that are high:
The first of men, from hence deserv'd his fall,
He sought for secrets, and found death, withall:
Secrets are unfit objects for our eyes,
They blinde us in beholding: He that tryes
To handle water, the more hard he straines
And gripes his hand, the lesse his hand retaines:
The mind that's troubled with that pleasing itch
Of knowing Secrets, having flowne a pitch
Beyond it selfe, the higher it ascends,
And strives to know, the lesse it apprehends:
That secret Wiseman, is an open Foole,
Which takes a Counsell-chamber, for a Schoole.
Than he that ventures to picke vertue out
Betwixt a brace of Vices: Dangers stand,
Threatning his ruine upon either hand;
His Card must guide him, lest his Pinnace run
Vpon Charybdis, while it Seylla shun:
In moderation all Vertue lyes;
Tis greater folly to be over-wise,
Than rudely ignorant: The golden meane,
Is but to know enough; safer to leane
To Ignorance, than Curiosity,
For lightning blasts the Mountaines that are high:
The first of men, from hence deserv'd his fall,
He sought for secrets, and found death, withall:
Secrets are unfit objects for our eyes,
They blinde us in beholding: He that tryes
To handle water, the more hard he straines
And gripes his hand, the lesse his hand retaines:
The mind that's troubled with that pleasing itch
Of knowing Secrets, having flowne a pitch
Beyond it selfe, the higher it ascends,
And strives to know, the lesse it apprehends:
239
Which takes a Counsell-chamber, for a Schoole.
The eye of Man desires no farther light,
Than to descry the object of his sight:
And rests contented with the Suns reflection,
But (lab'ring to behold his bright complexion)
If it presume t'out-face his glorious Light,
The beames bereave him, justly, of his sight:
Even so the mind should rest in what's reveal'd,
But over-curious, if in things conceald
She wades too farre, beyond her depth, unbounded,
Her knowledge will be lost, and she confounded,
Farre safer 'tis, of things unsure, to doubt,
Than undertake to riddle secrets out.
It was demanded once, What God did doe
Before the World he framed? Whereunto
Answer was made, He built a Hell for such,
As are too curious, and would know too much.
Than to descry the object of his sight:
And rests contented with the Suns reflection,
But (lab'ring to behold his bright complexion)
If it presume t'out-face his glorious Light,
The beames bereave him, justly, of his sight:
Even so the mind should rest in what's reveal'd,
But over-curious, if in things conceald
She wades too farre, beyond her depth, unbounded,
Her knowledge will be lost, and she confounded,
Farre safer 'tis, of things unsure, to doubt,
Than undertake to riddle secrets out.
It was demanded once, What God did doe
Before the World he framed? Whereunto
Answer was made, He built a Hell for such,
As are too curious, and would know too much.
Who flyes with Icarus his feathers, shall
Have Icarus his fortunes and his fall.
A noble Prince, (whose bounteous hand was bent,
To recompence his servants faith, and vent
The earnest of his favors,) did not profer,
But wild him boldly to prevent his offer:
Thankfull, he thus replyed, Then grant vnto me,
This boone, With-hold thy Princely secrets from me.
Have Icarus his fortunes and his fall.
A noble Prince, (whose bounteous hand was bent,
To recompence his servants faith, and vent
The earnest of his favors,) did not profer,
But wild him boldly to prevent his offer:
Thankfull, he thus replyed, Then grant vnto me,
This boone, With-hold thy Princely secrets from me.
That holy Man, in whose familiar eare
Heavn oft had thundred, might not come too near:
The Temple must have Curtaines; mortall hearts
Must rest content to see his Hinder-parts.
Heavn oft had thundred, might not come too near:
The Temple must have Curtaines; mortall hearts
Must rest content to see his Hinder-parts.
I care not (Lord) how farre thy Face be off,
If I but kisse thy Hand, I have enough.
If I but kisse thy Hand, I have enough.
| Divine poems | |