Du Bartas His Divine Weekes And Workes with A Compleate Collectio[n] of all the other most delight-full Workes: Translated and written by yt famous Philomusus: Iosvah Sylvester |
 |
 | 1. |
| 2. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| MEMORIALS OF MORTALITIE.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 | Du Bartas |  |
1033
MEMORIALS OF MORTALITIE.
Written in Tablets, or Quatrains, By Piere Mathiev. The Second Centurie. Translated; and Dedicated To the Right Honourable, Henry Wriothesley, Earle of South-hampton, &c.
[Shall it be said (I shame, it should be thought)]
Shall it be said (I shame, it should be thought)When After-Ages shall record Thy Worth;
My sacred Muse hath left Sovth-hampton forth
Of Her Record; to Whom so Much shee ought?
Sith from Thy Town (where My Saravia taught)
Her slender Pinions had their tender Birth;
And all, the little all she hath of worth,
Vnder Heav'ns Blessing, only Thence shee brought.
For lack, therefore, of fitter Argument;
And lother Now, it longer to delay;
Heer while the Part of Philips Page I play)
I consecrate This little Monument
Of gratefull Homage, to Thy noble Bounty;
And Thankefull loue to (My deer Nurse) Thy County.
Humbly devoted Iosvah Sylvester.
1034
MEMORIALS OF MORTALITIE.
1
Let whoso list, think Death a dreadfull thing,And hold The Graue in horror and in hate:
I think them, I, most worth the wel-comming;
Where, end our Woes; our Ioyes initiate.
2
Man, Death abhors, repines, and murmurs at-her,Blind in that Law which made her good, for Him:
Both Birth and Death the daughters are of Nature;
In Whom is nought imperfect, strange, or grim.
3
Death's vgliness is but imagined;Vnder foule Vizard a faire Face Shee weares:
Her vizard off, there is no more to dread;
We laugh at Children whom a Vizard feares.
4
Death, in strange Postures daily is disguised,With Darts and Sythes in hand, Beers on her back:
As Angels are with wings and locks devised;
So, Her a Body of bare Bones they make.
5
Who fears this Death, is more then deadly sick;In midst of Life he seems even dead for dread;
Death in his brest he bears, as buried Quick:
For, feare of Death is worse then Death indeed.
6
Each fears this Death: and with an equall Dread,The Young as from a hideous Monster hie-them.
Th'Old, at her sight shrink down into their Bed;
All shun her aye, the more Shee draweth nigh-them.
1035
7
What Good, or Bad, boads Life or Death, to giue;To be so fond of That, and This so flying?
Thou would'st not die, yet know'st not how to liue;
Not knowing, Life to be a liuing-dying.
8
One loues this Life, Another loathes it wholly:Som look for Ease, Promotion som, som Profit:
To loue it, for the Pleasures heer, is Folly;
Weakness, to hate it, for the Troubles of-it.
9
The Storm at Sea vnder a Calm is bred:Within Good-hap, Ill-hap hath life included;
Begun in Tears, in Toils continued;
And, without Dolour cannot be concluded.
10
Life, like a Taper, with the weakest BlastsIs waved, wasted, melted, puffed out:
In som, somtimes, even to the Snuff it lasts;
In others hardly to the halfe holds-out.
11
Fruit on the Trees first blooms, then buds, then growes,Then ripes, then rots: Such Our condition iust;
Begot, born, bred, live, die; so roundly goes
Times Wheel, to whirl our Bodies back to Dust.
12
This Life's a Tree, whose goodly Fruits are Men;One fals, Himselfe; Another's beaten down:
It's stript at last of Leaues and Apples then,
By Time's same hand which had them first bestown.
13
This Life's a Table, where, in earnest-iestFoure Gamsters play: Time, eldest, vantage takes,
And biddeth Pass: Loue fondly sets his Rest:
Man needs will see it; but, Death sweeps the stakes.
14
This Life (indeed) is but a Comœdie,Where This, the Kaiser playes; and That, the Clowne:
But, Death still ends it in a Tragœdie,
Without distinction of the Lord from Lowne.
15
This Life's a Warre, civill, and forrain too;Within, without, Man hath his Enemies:
To keep the Fort, Death doth the Towne vndoo;
To save the Soule, the Body Shee destroys.
16
The World's a Sea, the Galley is this Life,The Master, Time; the Pole, Hope promiseth;
Fortune the Winde; the stormy Tempest, Strife;
And Man the Rowe-Slave, to the Port of Death.
1036
17
The World (me thinks) is like our Parliaments,Where Right too oft is over-born by Wrong;
Where Quirks and Quidits are of Consequence;
Where lastly nought Death's Sentence can prolong.
18
The World is much of a faire Mistress mood,Which, wily, makes more Fooles then Favourits;
Hugs These, hates Those; yet will of all be woo'd:
But never keeps the Promise that she plights.
19
Life's smoothest gloss is like the Sphear of GlassArchimedes framed, and fill'd with Stars;
As traile as faire: fo, the least storm (alas!)
That raps it, snaps it; and the Pleasure mars.
20
Th'Honor thou thirstest (as one Dropsie-sick)Weening to quaff it, often stops thy winde:
'T's a swelling Bladder; which when Death shall prick
(Thou wilt confess) thou but a puff didst finde.
21
And that Ambition, which affords thee WingsTo seek new Seas beyond Our Ocean's Arms,
For Mounts of Gold and Pearle, and precious things;
Shall not preserve thy Carcass from the Worms.
22
That Pleasure too, which stops thy Reasons earesBesots thy Soule, intoxicates thy Sense;
And sad Repentance still behinde it bears;
For moment Ioyes, leaves Sorrowes Monuments;
23
Pleasure which tires thee, but contents thee never,Thy Body wearing more than wearying:
Like Danaides Sive-like Tub, a-filling ever,
But never full for all their bucketing.
24
Beauty which makes the proudest Kings to crouch,Which serves the Soule as Letters in her favour;
To see delightfull; Dangerous, to touch;
From Death's drad Fury, may not, cannot save her.
25
But, Beauty, Grace-less, is a Saile-less Bark,A green-less Spring, a goodly light-less Room,
A Sun-less Day, a Star-less Night and Dark;
And yet this Grace cannot escape the Toomb.
26
When Bodie's Beauty with Soule's Beauty dwels,There's a Perfection passing all the rest:
Without This; Beauty seems a Blemish else:
Without That, Vertue seems not seemly drest.
1037
27
That Beauty, which the Aire, Age, Ague quailes,Which busies so our Eyes, Tongues, hands and hearts;
At fifteen, buds; at twenty, flowers; and failes,
Or fals, at thirty, and to Dust reverts.
28
Gold, the Worlds God, the Sun of Plutoe's Sons;Whom Fire and Sword incessant serve so fell;
Gold, Vertue's Friend, and Vices Fort at-once,
Serves oft for Bridge to pass in post to Hell.
29
Man's Knowledge heer, is but meer Ignorance:We see the wisest foulely stumble oft:
Learning is puft with Doubtfull Arrogance:
And Truth is lost while it is too-much sought.
30
With Mysteries the Idiot meddles most;Peeps into Heav'n, into Kings Counsels pries:
In Pulpit Phormio doth darrain an Host:
Thersites prates of Arms and Policies.
31
Th'Assyrian's Empire is now seen no more;The Medes and Persians did the Greeks intombe:
Great Alexander's Kingdom kinged Foure:
Whose Crownes, in fine, stoopt to the State of Rome.
32
Where are Those Monarchs, mighty Conquerors,Whose brows ere-while the whole Worlds Laurell drest,
When Sea and Land could show no Land but Theirs?
Now, of it All, only Seaven Hils do rest.
33
Where are Those Cities (great and goodly States)Of Ninive, with thrice fiue hundred Towers?
Great Babylon? Thebes, with a hundred Gates?
Carthage (Rome's Rivall) Didoe's dearest Bowers?
34
All These huge Buildings, These proud Piles (alas!)Which seem'd to threaten, Heav'n it selfe to scale;
Have now given place to Forrests, Groves, and Grass;
And Time hath chang'd their Names and Place withall.
35
Nay, wilt thou see, how-far Great Kings are foild?See how somtime in Gold they swallow Poyson:
See Ptolomeus Cross't, Boleslas boild,
Baiazeth in a Cage, Richard in Prison.
36
See, see a Prince, neer Cairo flayed quick:See Sapores by his proud Victor trod:
See Monk-like shav'n our Cloistred Childerick:
See Denis beare, for Sceptre, Pedant's Rod.
1038
37
See Gordian there in his owne Girdle hung:See Phocas bones broken with furious Bats:
See Diomede to his owne Horses flung:
To Wolves Licaon, Popiel to Rats.
38
See, see proud Salmon sudden Thunder-slaine:See Theodorick with horrid Terror thrild:
See Longuemare hangd in a golden Chain;
See a fierce Courser dragging Brunechild.
39
See Attalus, having for Court, a Forge:See Phalaris burnt in Perillus Bull:
See Memprice left the greedy Wolves to gorge:
Cambyses Sword sheath'd in Him-selfe too full.
40
Who but will feare amid the Frights of France;Seeing how Death Two Henries reft of Life?
The Sire, in Paris, with a splinterd Lance;
The Son, before it with a poysoned Knife.
41
That Queen, whose Court was in a Castle coopt,(A Prisoner, heer; above, a Princess, hop't.)
Whose royall Throne to a Tragick Scaffold stoopt,
Her Head she felt with whiffing steel off-chopt.
42
That King, who could within his Kingdoms drad,See Sol still shine, when hence he vanisheth;
Who past Our Seas, another Empire had,
For All he had, had but a louzie Death.
43
Who more his Garden of Salona priz'dThan Rome's great Empire and the Worlds Command,
Knew well the Cares from Crowns insepariz'd;
And Scepters sad Waight in the strongest hand.
44
Towards our End insensible we slip:For, speaking, sporting, laughing, snoring deep,
Death still drawes on-wards: as at Sea the Ship
Sails to her Hav'n-ward, though the Master sleep.
45
Death Each-where kils: in hunting, Carloman;In's Cave, Caligula; Aristobulus,
In Bath; by th'Altar, Philip; Iulian,
In Camp; in Councell, conquering Iulius.
46
Death seeks th'Æmathian; and from Nero flies:One in a Shallow drownes, who Seas did scape:
An Emperour in eating Mushroms dies:
A Holy-Father in a Harlots lap.
1039
47
No hand but serves Death's turn: Edric by's Mother;Alboin by's Wise; Aristo by his Friends;
By's owne Son, Baiazeth, Conrad, by's Brother;
Mustapha, by his Sire; Self, Cato ends.
48
Death diversly makes him familiar heer:Henry the Black, a bit of Bread could fine;
A King of Goth's died, in a Tub of Beer;
Thales, of Thirst; of Hunger, Antonine.
49
Death, every-where, in every thing distilsHer fell Despite; Fire, Aier, Earth, Ocean:
Drusus, a Peare; a Fig Terpander kils;
A Fly (in drinking) choaketh Adrian.
50
As soon, a Soverain, as a Shepheard's gon:Men Dying heer have but one equall Quality:
By Birth and Death is Their Condition one;
Their Stay, and State, between, make th'Inequality.
51
There's no Death Sudden to the godly-Wise:His heart goes out to meet all haps before:
When he embarks, he casts Wracks Ieopardies;
And when Winde serves not, He will rowe no more.
52
Not knowing then, When, Where, thy Death will snatch;At Sea, or Land; Young, Old; Morn, Noon, or Night:
Look for it ever, every-where keep watch.
For, what we look-for, little can affright.
53
If Infants oft no sooner breathe then die;If Good-men little-last, and Wicked long:
Be not too-curious in that Secret's Why?
Th'are stroaks of that hand which strook never wrong.
54
Why Good men goe, and Why th'Vngodly stay,Dispute it not; God hath permitted so.
Those die, to live: These live to die for aye:
These, live at ease; Those in a World of Wo.
55
If from thy Dayes thou but thy Nights subtract;Thy Sleep's, thy Care's, thy Mawe's, thy Muse's waste,
What thy Wife weareth, What thy Friends exact,
Thy Griefs, thy Sutes: How short a Life thou hast!
56
The Head-ach, Tooth-ach, Gout, or Fever rife,Or Vlcer in the Leg, Stone, in the Reines,
By lingring Drops strains out the tedious Life;
Yet art thou loth that Death should rid thy Paines.
1040
57
Thy Term expir'd, Thou put'st-off Payment yet,And weenst to win much by som Months delay.
Sith pay thou must, wer't not as good be quit?
For, Death will be no gentler any Day.
58
Th'affaires of Parting poast not to to-Morn,For, on Delay, Repentance waits with Woe:
The Winde and Tide will in a Moment turn:
All houres are good for Those resolv'd to goe.
59
Grudging to die in flower of thine age,Thou griev'st to be too-soon dicharg'd from Prison:
Repin'st, too-soon t'have don thy Pilgrimage,
Loth to have-in thy Harvest in due Season.
60
Make of thy Deeds, not of thy Dayes, account:Think not how far, but think how fair thou passest:
See to what Summe thy Vertues will amount;
For, Life and Gold are chose by waight; the massi'st.
61
Life's valued by th'effect, not by the age;The labour, not the lasting, praise it most:
Long hath he liv'd that liveth to be sage;
Good life (too-often) in long life is lost.
62
Long Acts commend not most a Comœdie,'Tis still esteemed as the Parts are plaid:
So, in our Lives, not Yeers considered be;
But, worthy Actions by the Wise are waigh'd.
63
Who grieves because he liv'd not heer, yer born,A hundred yeers; is double worthy laughter:
But, trebble He who at his Death doth mourn;
Sure not to live a hundred yeers heer-after.
64
Man's not more Happy for long living heere.Number of Dayes doe not more Blisses bring:
More Compass makes not a more complete Sphear.
As round's a little, as a larger Ring.
65
And, if that Death wait on thee, and protract;With Vsurie, shee'll make thee pay it double:
Thy Ioyes in Dream, thy Dolors still in act,
To make long Life a long Repenting Trouble.
66
If Hee that heer thee in his Vineyard hir'd,Pay thee at Noon thy Wages, full as much
As Those that there all the whole Day have tir'd;
Why murmurst thou? why dost thou grieve and grutch?
1041
67
He casts his Work well, well his Work-men kens;Thy Slackness, Slowness, Weakness to hold out:
Therefore, yer weary, he thy Way-fare ends;
Lest, staying longer, thou marre all, 'tis doubt.
68
He gives our Task, and he again will take it;Who Him, vnwilling; Him, vnworthy serves:
Before he call, 'tis folly to forsake it;
And who-so leaves it, to be left deserves.
69
Or first, or last, on All this Stamp is set;Early or late, into This Port must Wee:
Who gave the Charge, ordained the Retrait;
One self-same Law did Life and Death decree.
70
The more the Body dures, Soule more indures;Never too-soon can Shee from thence exile:
Pure, in she came; there living, Shee impures;
And suffers there a thousand Woes the while.
71
The Soule is forç't within the Flesh to dwell;In danger there she lives, and sleeps in fear:
To hatch her Bird, she needs must break her Shell,
And think It never can too-soon appear.
72
Soule blames the Body, Body blames the Soule;But, Death surprising, ends their Quarrell prest:
Down goes the Body, in the Dust to roule;
The faithfull Soule, vp to th'eternall Rest.
73
Death frees the Soule from Bodies wilfull Errors;From the Soules Vices, Shee the Bodie saves:
The Soule's Annoyes, are to the Body Terrors;
The Bodies Torments, to the Soule are Graves.
74
This Body is not Man: His Stuff's more fine;His Beauty, with Heav'ns Beauty hath Affinitie:
The Body dead, That ever-lives, divine;
As even a Beam from the supream Divinitie.
75
If then the Soule, so long Heer languishingWithin the Bodie, doe not gladly part;
She hath forgotten her owne Source or Spring,
And that Shee must, from whence she came, revert.
76
But, more then Death, Death's Pain appalleth thee;That's but a Stream which swiftly vanisheth:
There's, as no Pain, in that Extreamitie:
For, th'Body, down, doth nothing feele in death.
1042
77
Then quit those Fears that in thy Phantsie stick:For, violent Evils have no permanence:
If that Death's Pain be keen, 'tis also quick;
And by the Quickness takes away the Sense.
78
To leave thy Babes behinde, thy heart it gripes;In Whose, Thou shalt reviue, from lap to lap:
Happy who hath them; for they are our Types:
And oft Who hath None, 's happy by mishap.
79
To leave thy Wife thou wail'st, well worth excusing;'T's necessary Ill, Good stranger-like;
Which, cleerest Eyes (Selfe-wise) too-oft mischusing,
In little Flesh finde many Bones to pick.
80
Th'art loth to leave the Cour'ts Delights, Devices,Where None lives long vnbrav'd, or vnabhorred:
Where Treason's Prudence; where the Vertues Vices:
Where som no Eyes, and where som have no Forehead.
81
The Mariner, that runs from Rock to Rock,From Wrack to Wrack, dwelling in dangers rife,
Wave's Bal, Wind's Thral, and Tempest's Shuttlecock,
Would not exchange His for the Courtiers Life.
82
The Court beguiles thee, as black-Angel-Bands,In giving Leaves for Fruits to Circes Sisters:
Their brightest Torches are but funerall Brands:
And, in the Court, All is not Gold that glisters.
83
Thou would'st in Death revenge thy wronged Worth,Make known thy Love, haue shown thy brave Ambition:
Why fram'st thou not thy Death vnto thy Birth,
Which brought thee naked forth, and voyd of Passion?
84
Fain would'st thou see thy Learning's fruit (perhaps)Ripe, yer Thou rot; that's but a vain Desire:
Art now-adayes may starve, while Ignorance
Hath Shades for Summer; and for Winter, Fire.
85
All day thou trudgest thorough thick and thin,For that dull Bulk which doth thee daily brave:
Phinice wreaths Ropes, which aye his Ass winds-in:
The Soule that serves the Body, is a Slave.
86
As many steps in Death as Life we tread:Esteem, for Deaths, all Daies since thou hadst breath:
To come's not Thine; Present, is instant fled:
And Time, in time, is over-comn by Death.
1043
87
When Man's imbarkt on th'Vniversall Deck,He neither swiften can his Course, nor slack it:
Tide, Winde, and Weather, are not at his Beck;
And, To put back, hath many often wracked.
88
Som, somtimes grieve for one that gladly dies:Socrates ioyes, sith wrong he suffereth:
Xantippa melts in Tears; He laughs, Shee cries:
Diversly iudging of these Darts of Death.
89
To run vnto this Death, is Desperate rage:Wise Patience only waits it every-where:
Who scorns it, showes a Resolution sage:
For, Cowards flie it, and the Idiots feare.
90
When the last Sand of our last Glass goes out,Without recoyling, we must step our last:
As, without grudge or noise, dislodge the Stout;
And when they must goe, stay not to be chaç't.
91
The Pilgrim longs to have his Iourney don;The Mariner would fain be off the Seas:
The Work-man ioyes to end his Work begun;
And yet Man mournes to finish his Disease.
92
For a short time Thy Sun is over-cast:But, Thou shalt once re-see 't more bright than ever:
And, that same Day, which heer thou think'st thy last,
Is a New-birth Day, to be ended never.
93
What Wrong doth Death, I pree-thee Worldling say,When, losing (vnder hope of happier matches)
Curting thy Life, he takes thy Card away;
And when, to save thy Life, thy Light he snatches?
94
Fear'st thou, Faint-heart, that narrow Plank to passWhich God Himselfe hath gon; which all Men must?
That, like a Childe, held by the sleeve (alas!)
With Eye still glancing on the brim thou go'st?
95
Beyond it, thou shalt see those pleasant Plains,Whose boundless Beauty all Discourse transcendeth:
Where Kings and Subiects soules, have fellow Raigns,
On blessed Thrones, whose Glory never endeth.
96
What shalt thou see more, for more living Heer?This Heaven, this Sun, thou oft before hast seen:
And shouldst thou live another Plato's Yeer,
This World would be the same that it hath been.
1044
97
Death's end of Ills, and only SanctuaryOf him that cannot scape the Grudge, the Gall
Of a severe Iudge and proud Adversary:
It is a Point which Heav'n appoints to All.
98
At that Divorce sigh Bodies, Soules do solace:Th'Exile exulteth at his Home-Retrait:
This Bodie's but the Inne, 'tis not the Palace:
Th'immortall Soule, hath an immortall Seat.
99
Death's as the Dawning of that happy Day,Where without Setting shines the Eternall Sun,
Where-in who walk, can never never stray:
Nor Fear they Night who to the Day-ward run.
100
There's Rest eternall for thy Labours rife:There's for thy Bondage bound-less Liberty:
There when Death endeth, she begins thy Life.
And where's no more Time, there's Eternity.
FINIS.
| Du Bartas | |