Trivial poems and triolets. Written in obedience to Mrs Tomkin's commands, By Patrick Carey |
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| TRIOLETS. |
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 | Trivial poems |  |
43
TRIOLETS.
I WILL SING UNTO THE LORD.
Psalm xiii. vers. vi.
[Worldly designes, feares, hopes, farwell!]
1
Worldly designes, feares, hopes, farwell!Farewell all earthly joyes and cares!
On nobler thoughts my soule shall dwell,
Worldly designes, feares, hopes, farwell!
Att quiett, in my peacefull cell,
I'le thincke on God, free from your snares;
Worldly designes, feares, hopes, farwell!
Farwell all earthly joys and cares.
3
I'le seeke my God's law to fullfill,Riches and power I'le sett att nought;
Lett others striue for them that will,
I'le seeke my God's law to fullfill:
Least sinfull pleasures my soule kill,
(By folleye's uayne delights first caught,)
I'le seeke my God's law to fulfill,
Riches and power I'le sett att nought.
4
Yes (my deare Lord!) I'ue found itt soe;Noe joyes but thine are purely sweet;
Other delights come mixt with woe,
Yes (my deare Lord!) I'ue found itt soe.
44
With true content in cells wee meete;
Yes (my deare Lord!) I'ue found it soe,
Noe joyes but thine are purely sweet.
[By ambition raysed high]
“O that I had wings like a doue,
For then would I fly away, and bee att rest.”
Ps. lv. vers. vi.
For then would I fly away, and bee att rest.”
Ps. lv. vers. vi.
1
By ambition raysed high,Oft did I
Seeke (though bruis'd with falls) to fly.
When I saw the pompe of kings
Plac'd aboue,
I did loue
To draw neare, and wish'd for wings.
2
All these joyes which caught my mindNow I find
To bee bubbles, full of wind:
Glow-wormes, onely shining bright
When that wee
Blinded bee
By darck follye's stupid night.
3
Looking up then I did goeTo and froe,
When indeed they were below:
For now, that mine eyes see cleare,
Fayre noe more
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Farre beneath mee they appeare.
4
But a nobler light I spy,Much more hye
Then that sun which shines i'th' sky:
Since itt's sight, all earthly things
I detest;
There to rest,
Give, O give mee the doue's wings!
Seruire Deo, Regnare est.
1
Are these the things I sigh'd for soe, before?For want of these, did I complayne of Fate?
Itt cannot bee. Sure there was somewhat more
That I saw then, and priz'd att a true rate;
Or a strange dullnesse had obscur'd my sight,
And euen rotten wood glitters i'th' night.
2
Mine eyes were dimme, I could noe nearer gett;This trash was with itt's most aduantage plac'd:
Noe meruayle then, if all my thoughts were sett
On folly, since itt seem'd soe fayrely grac'd.
But now that I can see, and am gott neare,
Ugly (as 'tis indeed) itt doth appeare.
3
Now, were I putt on th'Erithrean sands,I would not stoope the choycest jew'les to take:
Should th'Indian bring me gold in full-fill'd hands,
I would refuse all offers hee could make,
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Gold's but guilt clay, or the best sort of brasse.
4
Long since (for all his monarchy) that beeWhich rules in a large hiue, I did dispize:
A mole-hill's chiefest ant I laugh'd to see,
But any prince of men I much did prize.
The world now seemes to mee noe bigger then
Mole-hill, or hiue; ants, bees, noe lesse then men.
5
Who wishes then for power, or plenty craues,O lett him looke downe on them both from hence!
Hee'l see that kings in thrones, as well as graues
Are but poore wormes, enslau'd to uilest sence:
Hee'l find that none are poore who care for nought;
But they who hauing much, for more haue sought.
6
Come, poore deluded wretch! climbe up to mee;My naked hermitage will teach all this:
'Twill teach thee too where truest riches bee,
And how to gayne a neuer-fading blisse.
'Twill make thee see that truely none doe raigne,
But those who serue our common souuerayne.
[Whilst I beheld the necke o'th' doue]
“The invisible things of him from the creation of the world
are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made.”
Ep. to ye Rom. i. 20.
1
Whilst I beheld the necke o'th' doue,I spy'de, and read these words.
47
Which takes your eye,
Is not at all the bird's.
The dusky rauen might
Haue with these colours pleas'd your sight,
Had God but chose soe to ordayne aboue;
This labell wore the doue.
2
Whilst I admir'd the nightingale,These notes she warbled o're.
Noe melody
Indeed haue I,
Admire mee then noe more:
God has itt in his choice
To giue the owle, or mee this uoyce;
'Tis Hee, 'tis Hee that makes mee tell my tale;
This sang the nightingale.
3
I smelt and prays'd the fragrant rose,Blushing, thus answer'd she.
The prayse you gaue,
The sent I haue,
Doe not belong to mee;
This harmelesse odour, none
But only God indeed does owne;
To bee his keepers, my poore leaues hee chose;
And thus reply'de the rose.
4
I tooke the honny from the bee,On th'bagge these words were seene.
More sweet then this
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Yett gall itt might haue beene:
If God itt should soe please,
Hee could still make itt such with ease;
And as well gall to honny change can Hee;
This learn't I of the bee.
5
I touch'd, and lik'd the downe o'th' swanne;But felt these words there writt.
Bristles, thornes, here
I soone should beare,
Did God ordayne but itt;
If my downe to thy touch
Seeme soft and smooth, God made itt such;
Giue more, or take all this away, Hee can;
This was I taught by th'swan.
6
All creatures then, confesse to GodThat th'owe him all, but I.
My senses find
True, what my mind
Would still, oft does deny.
Hence Pride! out of my soule!
O're itt thou shalt noe more controule;
I'le learne this lesson, and escape the rod:
I too, haue all from God.
49
Crux via Cœlorum.
1
Lowdly the winds doe blow,High doe the sea-waues goe;
Where is the saylour now, I'de know?
Amidst the billowes (looke) how hee is tost,
Yett hopes the shore t'obtayne:
In a small barcke the ocean hee has cross't:
All for a little gayne.
Hee fitts his sayles to th'wind,
Then carelessely hee sings;
The hope hee has contents his mind,
And comfort to him brings.
Heauen for to gayne then, shall I bee lesse bold,
Then is a saylour for a little gold?
2
Whilst itt doth rayne, freeze, snow;Whilst coldest winds doe blow,
How clad does the poore captiue goe?
Noe furres has hee to wrappe his body in;
Nay more, hee cares for none,
But scornes all weathers in his naked skin;
Feare makes him make noe moane.
He has uppon his backe
The marckes of many a wand;
Yett (after stripes) hee is not slacke
To kiss his master's hand.
And shall I then for loue, repine to beare
Lesse then a naked slaue endures for feare?
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3
The scarres of many a blowCan the maym'd souldier show,
Yett still unto the warre does goe.
Fame makes him watch many a winter-night,
Hee sleeps oft on the ground;
With hunger, thirst, and foes hee oft must fight,
And all but for a sound.
Whole long dayes must hee march,
When all his force is spent;
The scorching sun his skinne doth parch,
Yett is his heart content.
Shall then for fame a souldier doe all this,
And I shrincke, suff'ring lesse for heauenly blisse?
4
In a darke caue belowThe conqueror does throw
His miserable vanquish'd foe.
Deepe is the dungeon where that wretch is cast,
Thither day comes not nigh;
Dampish and nasty uapours doe him blast,
Yett still his heart is high.
His prison is soe straight
He cannot mooue at will;
Huge chaynes oppresse him with their waight,
Yett has hee courage still.
And can I thinke I want my Libertee,
When in such thrall hee keepes his mind so free?
5
Itt shall not bee: Noe, noe;The saylour I'le out-goe,
The souldier, slaue, and uanquish'd foe,
When others rage, I'le thincke how I am tost,
51
The naked slaue shall, i'th' most pearcing frost,
Make mee beare any payne.
The marche I'le call to mind,
When weary, and gett wings:
Least I should thincke my selfe confin'd
The pris'ner, freedome brings.
When e're restraint, or greife, or feare, or cold,
Tempt me, these thoughts will then my mind uphold.
“Man is born unto trouble.”
—Job, ch. v. uers. 7.
Crucifixus pro Nobis.
[Looke, how hee shakes for cold!]
CHRIST IN THE CRADLE.
1
Looke, how hee shakes for cold!How pale his lippes are growne!
Wherein his limbes to fold
Yett mantle has hee none.
His pretty feet, and hands
(Of late more pure and white
Then is the show
That paynes them soe)
Haue lost their candour quite.
His lippes are blew
(Where roses grew)
Hee's frozen eu'ry where:
All th'heate he has
Joseph, alasse!
Giues in a groane; or Mary in a teare.
52
CHRIST IN THE GARDEN.
2
Looke, how hee glowes for heate!What flames come from his eyes!
'Tis blood that hee does sweate,
Blood his bright forehead dyes,
See, see! Itt trickles downe:
Looke, how itt showers amayne!
Through euery pore
His blood runnes ore,
And empty leaues each uayne.
His very heart
Burnes in each part;
A fire his brest doth seare:
For all this flame,
To coole the same
Hee onely breathes a sigh, and weepes a teare.
CHRIST IN HIS PASSION.
3
What bruises doe I see!What hideous stripes are those!
Could any cruell bee
Enough, to giue such blowes?
Looke, how they bind his armes
And uex his soule with scornes,
Upon his hayre
They make him weare
A crowne of pearcing thornes.
Through hands and feete
Sharpe nayles they beate;
And now the crosse they reare:
Many looke on;
But onely John
Stands by to sigh, Mary to shed a teare.
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4
Why did hee shake for cold?Why did hee glow for heate?
Dissolue that frost hee could,
Hee could call backe that sweate.
Those bruises, strippes, bonds, tauntes,
Those thornes, which thou didst see,
Those nayles, that crosse,
His own life's losse
Why, O why sufferr'd hee?
'Twas for thy sake.
Thou, thou didst make
Him all those torments beare:
If then his loue
Doe thy soule mooue,
Sigh out a groane, weep downe a melting teare.
Ex dolore gaudium.
Fallax et Instabilis.
“There is nothing new under the sun.”
—Ecl. i. u. 10.
1
'Tis a strange thing this world,Nothing but change I see:
And yett itt is most true
That in't there's nothing new,
Though all seeme new to mee.
The rich becomme oft poore,
54
The poore man rich doth grow,
And soe 'twas heretofore:
Nor is itt a new thing
To haue a subiect made a king;
Or that a king should from his throne bee hurl'd.
'Tis a strange thing this world.
2
All things below doe change,The sea in rest ne'er lyes;
Ne'er lay in rest, nor will:
The weather alters still,
And ne'er did otherwise.
Consum'd is many a towne
By fire; how, none can tell:
Playnes up to mountaynes swell,
While mountaynes doe sincke downe.
Yett ought wee not t'admire
The sea, the ayre, the earth, or fire:
The sun does thincke nothing of all this strange;
Since all things here still change.
3
Lett none then fix his heartUppon such trifling toyes;
But seeke some obiect out,
Whose change hee ne'er may doubt;
There, lett him place his joyes.
Since that our soules are made
For euer to endure;
Of chiefest greife w'are sure,
If what wee loue must fade:
55
When one must goe, t'other remayne.
With what I loue then, that I ne'er may part,
On God I'le fix my heart.
“Vide in omnibus uanitatem, et afflictionem animi, et nihil permanere sub sole.”
—Eccl. ii. u. 11.Nulla Fides.
1
For God's sake marcke that fly:See what a poore, weake, little thing itt is.
When thou hast marck'd, and scorn'd itt; know that this,
This little, poore, weake fly
Has kill'd a pope; can make an emp'rour dye.
2
Behold yon sparcke of fire:How little hott! how neare to nothing 'tis!
When thou hast donne despising, know that this,
This contemn'd sparcke of fire,
Has burn't whole townes; can burne a world entire.
3
That crawling worme there see:Ponder how ugly, filthy, uild itt is.
When thou hast seene and loath'd itt, know that this
This base worme thou doest see,
Has quite deuour'd thy parents; shall eate thee.
4
Honour, the world, and man,What trifles are they! Since most true itt is
56
Soe much abhorr'd worm, can
Honour destroy; burne worlds; deuoure up man.
[What use has hee made of his soule]
1
What use has hee made of his souleWho (still on uices bent)
N'ere stroue his passions to controule;
But hum'ring them, his life has spent?
Pray tell me, if I can
Call such a very thing as that is, man?
For since that iust as sense has bidde,
Itt doe, or leaue; itt wrought, or ceast;
And would not heare when reason chidde,
Or her commands reguard the least;
Itt might haue liu'd e'ene as itt did,
And yett have beene a beast.
2
Had itt a lyon beene; just soeItt would roare out, and fume:
Were itt a peacocke; itt would goe
Just thus, admiring itt's owne plume:
Or if itt were a goate;
Thus, onely on base pleasures itt would dote.
More then this thing, the rauenous hogge
Searches not, where his gutts to fill:
Nor att a stranger's hound, the dogge
O'th' house more snarle or enuy will;
Then this odde thing (though apt to cogge)
Repine att others still.
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3
The crow, that hoardes up all she findes;The ant, that still takes paynes;
Doe nothing more, then hee who minds
But how to fill his baggs with gaynes.
The snayle and sluggerd bee
Within alike, tho' in shape they disagree.
Call not that thing then, man; euen as
Thou wouldst not iniure by the same
Man, who like God created was;
God who for man's sake, man became:
But, since soe much o'th' beast itt has,
Call itt by itt's owne name.
Accepit in uano animam suam.
—Psalm xxiii. uers 4.Dirige vias meas Domine!
1
Open thy selfe, and then looke in;Consider what thou mightst haue bin,
And what thou art now made by sin.
2
Asham'd o'th' state to which th'art brought,Detest, and greeue for each past fault;
Sigh, weepe, and blush for each foule thought.
3
Feare, but dispayre not, and still loue;Looke humbly up to God aboue
And him thoul't soone to pitty mooue.
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4
Resolue on that which prudence showes;Performe what thou doest well propose;
And keepe i'th' way thou hast once chose.
5
Uice, and what lookes like uitious, shunne;Lett use make good acts eas'ly donne:
Haue zeale, as when th'hadst first begunne.
6
Hope strongly, yett bee humble still;Thy good is God's; what thine, is ill:
Doe thus, and thee affect hee will.
7
Pray, when with others; when alone.To scorne, or prayse bee as a stone:
Forgett thy selfe, and all, but One.
8
Remooue what stands twixt God, and thee.Use not thy fancy, him to see:
One with his will, make thy will bee.
9
Looke purely on God when thou doest well;But not on heauen; much lesse on hell:
Thoul't gett him thus in thee to dwell.
10
Use-lesse our Master wee doe serue;Our labours noe reward deserue;
Yett happy who these rules obserue.
59
Nobis natus in Pretium: Nobis datus in Prœmium.
1
Great God! I had beene nothing but for thee;Thy all-creating power first made mee bee:
And yett, noe sooner had I gott
A being, but I straight forgott
That thou (Great God!) that thou had'st giuen itt mee.
My being somewhat I did spend
Onely, thy goodnesse to offend;
And, though chastis'd, yet ne'er would mend.
2
Christ! but for thee, I had remayned soe;Thou didst redeeme mee, though I were thy foe.
And yett thou hadst noe sooner spilt
Thy blood, to wash away my guilt,
But my ingratitude I straight did show.
My chaynes thou kindly didst unloose;
My liberty I soone did loose;
And, to becomme a slaue, did choose.
3
Blest Spirit! (once agayne my soule to try)Thou didst her cleanse, renew, and sanctify.
Scarce was she purged by thy flame,
But straight, more horrid, she became
Then, e're (blest Spirit!) thou didst her purify.
All the three persons now in uayne
Had try'de a peruerse soule to gayne,
Who was resolu'd on her owne bane.
60
4
Thus, though to saue mee God stroue eu'ry way,To punishment I did my selfe betray.
I greeue for th'ill that I haue donne;
I weepe to see my selfe undonne;
But, in excuse, have not one word to say.
Yes (God!) since thou didst me create,
Then ransome, then sanctificate;
Saue what th'hast bought att such a rate!
Exprimetur.
Who without horrour, can that house behold
(Though ne're soe fayre) which is with tombe stones made;
Whose walls, fraught with inscriptions writt of old,
Say still, Here underneath some-body's layde.
Though such translated church-yards shine with gold,
Yett they the builder's sacriledge up-brayde;
And the wrong'd ghosts, there haunting uncontroul'd,
Follow each one his monumentall shade.
(Though ne're soe fayre) which is with tombe stones made;
Whose walls, fraught with inscriptions writt of old,
Say still, Here underneath some-body's layde.
Though such translated church-yards shine with gold,
Yett they the builder's sacriledge up-brayde;
And the wrong'd ghosts, there haunting uncontroul'd,
Follow each one his monumentall shade.
But they that by the poore-man's downefall rise,
Haue sadder epitaphes caru'd on their chests:
As, Here the widow, Here the orphan lyes.
Who sees their wealth, their avarice detests;
Whilst th'iniur'd for revenge urge heauen with cryes;
And, through itt's gvilt, th'oppressour's mind ne'er rests.
Haue sadder epitaphes caru'd on their chests:
As, Here the widow, Here the orphan lyes.
Who sees their wealth, their avarice detests;
Whilst th'iniur'd for revenge urge heauen with cryes;
And, through itt's gvilt, th'oppressour's mind ne'er rests.
61
Dies Iræ, Dies Illa.
1
A day full of horrour, mustAll this world dissolue to dust:
Prophets say itt; w'are to trust.
2
What heart will bee uoyd of feareWhen our great judge shall appeare
Strictly each man's cause to heare?
3
A shrill trumpett there will soundAll must rise from under-ground,
And the Judge's throne surround.
4
How astonish'd then will beeDeath and Nature, when they see
From their lawes each body free?
5
A booke where men's deeds are writtShall be read; the Judge to itt
Will th'eternall sentence fitt.
6
Att his sitting, twill be uayneTo conceale a secret stayne;
Nought unpunish'd shall remayne.
7
How shall I that day endure?What friend shall I then procure,
When the just are scarce sicure?
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8
My request doe not reject,Thou that sauest thine elect;
God! of mercy mee protect.
9
Christ! remember in that day,I'me thy sheep, tho' gonne astray!
Leaue mee not to wolues a pray.
10
Weary, oft mee sought thou hast;For mee, nayl'd to the crosse thou wast:
Loose not all this pray'rs att last.
11
Though my sinnes to vast summes mount,Yett thy mercyes them surmount:
O ne're call them to account!
12
I confesse my guilt; th'art meeke:Grant that pardon which I seeke!
Loe, shame's blushes dye each cheeke.
13
Mary, and the theife, scarce leaueSin, but thou doest them receaue;
What hopes hence mayn't I conceaue?
14
True, my prayers deserue not ought;By thy passion th'art besought:
Keepe me from the fiery vault!
15
Mongst the sheepe grant mee a stand;Driue mee from the goat's curs'd band,
Placing mee on thy right hand.
63
16
This t'obtayne, my knees I bend;For this, all my prayers I send:
Lord, take care of my last end!
17
O! that day'le cause weeping eyes,When to judgement men shall rise;
'Gainst then, mercy! my soule cryes.
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