Divine poems Containing The History of Ionah. Ester. Iob. Sampson. Sions Sonets. Elegies. Written and newly augmented, by Fra: Quarles |
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Medita. 10.
There is a time, to laugh: A time, to turne
Our smiles to teares: There is a time to mourn:
There is a time for joy, and a time for griefe,
A time to want, and a time to finde reliefe,
A time to binde, and there's a time to breake,
A time for silence, and a time to speake,
A time to labour, and a time to rest,
A time to fast in, and a time to feast:
Things, that are lawfull, have their times, and use;
Created good; and, onely by abuse,
Made bad: Our sinfull usage does unfashion
What heaven hath made, and makes a new creatiō:
Ioy is a blessing: but too great excesse
Makes Ioy, a madnesse, and, does quite unblesse
So sweet a gift; And, what, by moderate use;
Crownes our desiers, banes them in th'abuse:
Wealth is a blessing; But too eager thurst
Of having more, makes what we have, accurst:
Rest is a blessing; But when Rest withstands
The healthfull labour of our helpfull hands,
It proves a curse; and staines our guilt, with crime,
Betraies our irrecoverable time:
To feast and to refresh our hearts with pleasure,
And fill our soules with th'overflowing measure
Of heavens blest bounty, cannot but commend
The precious favours of so sweet a friend;
But, when th'abundance of a liberall diet,
Meant for a blessing, is abus'd by Riot,
Th'abused blessing, leaves the gift, nay, worse,
It is transform'd, and turn'd into a curse:
Things that afford most pleasure, in the use,
Are ever found most harmfull in the abuse:
Vse them like Masters; and their tyrannous hand
Subjects thee, like a slave, to their command;
Vse them as Servants; and they will obey thee;
Take heed; they'l either blesse thee, or betray thee.
Our smiles to teares: There is a time to mourn:
There is a time for joy, and a time for griefe,
A time to want, and a time to finde reliefe,
A time to binde, and there's a time to breake,
A time for silence, and a time to speake,
A time to labour, and a time to rest,
A time to fast in, and a time to feast:
Things, that are lawfull, have their times, and use;
Created good; and, onely by abuse,
Made bad: Our sinfull usage does unfashion
What heaven hath made, and makes a new creatiō:
Ioy is a blessing: but too great excesse
Makes Ioy, a madnesse, and, does quite unblesse
So sweet a gift; And, what, by moderate use;
Crownes our desiers, banes them in th'abuse:
Wealth is a blessing; But too eager thurst
Of having more, makes what we have, accurst:
Rest is a blessing; But when Rest withstands
The healthfull labour of our helpfull hands,
It proves a curse; and staines our guilt, with crime,
Betraies our irrecoverable time:
To feast and to refresh our hearts with pleasure,
And fill our soules with th'overflowing measure
Of heavens blest bounty, cannot but commend
The precious favours of so sweet a friend;
But, when th'abundance of a liberall diet,
Meant for a blessing, is abus'd by Riot,
403
It is transform'd, and turn'd into a curse:
Things that afford most pleasure, in the use,
Are ever found most harmfull in the abuse:
Vse them like Masters; and their tyrannous hand
Subjects thee, like a slave, to their command;
Vse them as Servants; and they will obey thee;
Take heed; they'l either blesse thee, or betray thee.
Could our Fore fathers but revive, and see
Their Childrens Feasts, as now a dayes they bee:
Their studied dishes, Their restoring stuffe,
To make their wanton bodies sinne enough;
Their stomack-whetting Sallats, to invite
Their wastfull palat to an appetite;
Their thirst-procuring dainties, to refine
Their wanton tasts, and make them strong, for wine;
Their costly viands, charg'd with rich perfume;
Their Viper-wines, to make old age presume
To feele new lust, and youthfull flames agin,
And serve another prentiship to sinne:
Their time-betraying Musicke; their base noise
Of odious Fidlers; with their smooth-fac'd boyes,
Whose tongues are perfect, if they can proclame
The Quintessence of basenesse without shame;
Their deepe-mouth'd curses, new invented oathes,
Their execrable Blasphemy, that loathes
A minde to thinke on; their obsceaner words,
Their drunken Quarrels, their unsheathed swords:
O how they'd blesse themselves, & blush, for shame,
In our behalfs, and hast from whence they came,
To kisse their graves, that hid them from the crimes
Of these accursed and prodigious times.
Their Childrens Feasts, as now a dayes they bee:
Their studied dishes, Their restoring stuffe,
To make their wanton bodies sinne enough;
Their stomack-whetting Sallats, to invite
Their wastfull palat to an appetite;
Their thirst-procuring dainties, to refine
Their wanton tasts, and make them strong, for wine;
Their costly viands, charg'd with rich perfume;
Their Viper-wines, to make old age presume
To feele new lust, and youthfull flames agin,
And serve another prentiship to sinne:
Their time-betraying Musicke; their base noise
Of odious Fidlers; with their smooth-fac'd boyes,
Whose tongues are perfect, if they can proclame
The Quintessence of basenesse without shame;
Their deepe-mouth'd curses, new invented oathes,
Their execrable Blasphemy, that loathes
A minde to thinke on; their obsceaner words,
Their drunken Quarrels, their unsheathed swords:
O how they'd blesse themselves, & blush, for shame,
In our behalfs, and hast from whence they came,
To kisse their graves, that hid them from the crimes
Of these accursed and prodigious times.
Great God; O, can thy patient eye behold
This height of sinne, and can thy vengeance hold?
This height of sinne, and can thy vengeance hold?
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