IX. PSALMS XVIII. V.
The sorrowes of hell compassed me about, and the snares of death prevented me.
Is not this Type well cut? In ev'ry part
Full of rich cunning? fil'd with Zeuxian Art?
Are not the Hunters, and their Stygean Hounds
Limm'd full to th'life? Didst ever heare the sounds,
The musicke, and the lip-divided breaths
Of the strong-winded Horne, Recheats, and deaths
Done more exact? Th'infernall Nimrods hollow?
The lawlesse Purliews? and the Game they follow?
The hidden Engines? and the snares that lie
So undiscover'd, so obscure to th'eye?
The new-drawne net? and her entangled Pray?
And him that closes it? Beholder, say,
Is't not well-done? seemes not an em'lous strife
Betwixt the rare cut picture, and the life?
These Purlieu-men are Devils; And the Hounds,
(Those quick-nos'd Canibals that scoure the grounds)
Temptations; and the Game these Fiends pursue,
Are humane soules, which still they have in view;
Whose Fury if they chance to scape, by flying,
The skilfull Hunter plants his net, close lying
On th'unsuspected earth, baited with treasure,
Ambitions honour, and selfe-wasting pleasure;
Where if the soule but stoope, death stands prepar'd
To draw the net, and drawne, the soule's ensnar'd.
Poore soule! how art thou hurried to and fro?
Where canst thou safely stay? where safely go?
If stay; these hot-mouth'd Hounds are apt to teare thee,
If goe; the snares enclose, the nets ensnare thee:
What good in this bad world has pow'r t'invite thee
A willing Guest? wherein can earth delight thee?
Her pleasures are but Itch; Her wealth, but Cares;
A world of dangers, and a world of snares:
The close Pursuers busie hands do plant
Snares in thy substance; Snares attend thy want;
Snares in thy credit; Snares in thy disgrace;
Snares in thy high estate; Snares in thy base;
Snares tuck thy bed; and Snares arround thy boord;
Snares watch thy thoughts; and Snares attache thy word;
Snares in thy quiet; Snares in thy Commotions;
Snares in thy diet; Snares in thy devotion;
Snares lurk in thy resolves; Snares, in thy doubt;
Snares lie within thy heart, and Snares, without;
Snares are above thy head, and Snares, beneath;
Snares in thy sicknesse; Snares are in thy death:
O, if these Purlieus be so full of danger,
Great God of Harts, the worlds sole sov'raigne Ranger,
Preserve thy Deere, and let my soule be blest
In thy safe Forrest, where I seeke for rest:
Then let the Hell-hounds roare; I feare no ill;
Rouze me they may, but have no pow'r to kill.
S. AMBROS. Lib. 4 in Cap. 4 Lucae.
The reward of honours, the height of power, the delicacie of diet, and the
beauty of a harlot are the snares of the Devill.
S. AMBROS. de bono mortis.
Whilst thou seekest pleasures, thou runnest into snares, for the eye of the
harlot is the snare of the Adiulterer.
SAVANAR.
In eating, he sets before us Gluttony; In generation, luxury; In labour,
sluggishnesse; In conversing, envy; in governing, covetousnesse; In correcting,
anger; In honour, pride; In the heart, he sets evill thoughts; In the mouth, evill
words; in actions evill workes; when awake, he moves us to evill actions; when
asleepe, to filthy dreames.
EPIGRAM 9.
[Be sad, my Heart, Deep dangers wait thy mirth]
Be sad, my Heart, Deep dangers wait thy mirth;
Thy soule's way-laid by sea; by Hell; by earth;
Hell has her hounds; Earth, snares; the Sea, a shelfe;
But most of all, my heart, beware thy selfe.
