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. 11.
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 | Divine poems |  |
Meditat. 11.
How apprehensive is the heart of Man
Of all, and onely those poore things that can
Lend him a minutes pleasure, and appay
His sweat but with the happinesse of a day!
How can he toyle for trifles, and take paine
For fading goods, that onely entertaine
His pleased thoughts with poore & painted showes,
Whose joy hath no more truth, than what it owes
To change! How are the objects of his musing
Worthlesse, and vaine, that perish in the using?
How reasonable are his poore desires,
The height of whose ambition, but aspires
To flitting shadowes, which can onely crowne
His labour, with that nothing, of their owne!
We feed on huskes, that might as well ataine
The fatted Calfe, by comming home againe:
And, like to Esau, while we are suppressing
Our present wants, neglect and lose the blessing:
How wise we are for things, whose pleasure cooles
Like breath; For everlasting joyes, what Fooles!
How witty, how ingeniously wise,
To save our credits, or to win a prize!
Wee plot; Our browes are studious. First we try
One way; If that succeed not, we apply
Our doubtfull mindes to attempt another course:
We take advice; consult; our tongues discourse
Of better wayes; and, what our failing braines,
Cannot effect with faire and fruitlesse paines;
There, crooked fraud must helpe, and flie deceit
Must lend a hand, which by the potent sleight
Of right-forsaking Bribry must betray
The prize into our hands, and win the day,
Which if it faile (it does but seldome faile)
Then open force, and fury must prevaile:
When strength of wit, and secret power of fraud
Grow dull, constraint must conquer, and applaud
With ill got vict'ry; which at length obtain'd,
Alas, how poore a trifle have we gain'd!
How are our soules distempered; to engrosse
Such fading pleasures! To ore-prize the drosse,
And under-rate the Gold! for painted Ioyes,
To sell the true, and heaven it selfe for Toyes!
Of all, and onely those poore things that can
Lend him a minutes pleasure, and appay
His sweat but with the happinesse of a day!
How can he toyle for trifles, and take paine
For fading goods, that onely entertaine
His pleased thoughts with poore & painted showes,
Whose joy hath no more truth, than what it owes
To change! How are the objects of his musing
Worthlesse, and vaine, that perish in the using?
How reasonable are his poore desires,
The height of whose ambition, but aspires
To flitting shadowes, which can onely crowne
His labour, with that nothing, of their owne!
We feed on huskes, that might as well ataine
The fatted Calfe, by comming home againe:
And, like to Esau, while we are suppressing
Our present wants, neglect and lose the blessing:
How wise we are for things, whose pleasure cooles
Like breath; For everlasting joyes, what Fooles!
How witty, how ingeniously wise,
To save our credits, or to win a prize!
Wee plot; Our browes are studious. First we try
One way; If that succeed not, we apply
Our doubtfull mindes to attempt another course:
We take advice; consult; our tongues discourse
318
Cannot effect with faire and fruitlesse paines;
There, crooked fraud must helpe, and flie deceit
Must lend a hand, which by the potent sleight
Of right-forsaking Bribry must betray
The prize into our hands, and win the day,
Which if it faile (it does but seldome faile)
Then open force, and fury must prevaile:
When strength of wit, and secret power of fraud
Grow dull, constraint must conquer, and applaud
With ill got vict'ry; which at length obtain'd,
Alas, how poore a trifle have we gain'd!
How are our soules distempered; to engrosse
Such fading pleasures! To ore-prize the drosse,
And under-rate the Gold! for painted Ioyes,
To sell the true, and heaven it selfe for Toyes!
Lord; clarifie mine eyes, that I may know
Things that are good, from what are good in show:
And give me wisedome, that my heart my learne
The diffrence of thy favours, and discerne
What's truely good, from what is good in part;
With Martha's trouble, give me Maries heart.
Things that are good, from what are good in show:
And give me wisedome, that my heart my learne
The diffrence of thy favours, and discerne
What's truely good, from what is good in part;
With Martha's trouble, give me Maries heart.
| Divine poems | |