University of Virginia Library

To the generall Readers.

THE MIRROR of Man.

O man remember, from hence thou shalt passe:
Like as thy figure, once seene in a glasse,
Doth vanish away, yea so shall thy breath,
Bring earth vnto earth, when strike thee shall death.
This world wise men call, a thoroughfare to thee,
Follow thou it not, from vice do thou flee:
Seeke after knowledge, the truth to aduance,
Desire not to see, thy neighbors mischance.
Be lowly of lookes, and loyall of hart,
And true of thy word, in euery good part.
Beware of three things, the fyrst is worlds shoe,
The second false friends, the third is thy foe.
Feare God and thy Prince, be loth to offend,
Take nothing in hand, but thinke on the end.
Be swift to do good, and slowe to do ill,
And looke that thou keepe, thy conscience cleere still.
The greater thou growest, the gentler do seeme,
And do not too much, thine owne selfe esteeme.
The meeker men are, the more loue they win,
Make no man thy foe, that hath thy friend bin.
Giue honor to those, that rules and beares sway,
Striue not with the strong, tis better to obay.
Yeeld duty to all, the Scripture so saith,
But chiefly loue thou, the houshold of Faith.
Forget not the poore, their plaints pierce the skyes,
And God looketh on, the teares of their eyes.
Full sweet are those gifts, that getteth Gods grace:
The goods of the world, thou hast but a space:
A steward thou art, whilst ritches doth last,
Little is thine owne, of all that thou hast.
Yea much is thy charge, and small is thy ioy
Of wordly wealth heere, that wasts like a toy.
Account must be made, of each thing is spent,
Then great heapes of gold, in baggs are but lent.
Seeke not for profit, for care breakes the sleepe,
What fortune shall send, full warely do keepe.
Some earely do rise, yet late ere they thriue,
The lesse that they haue, the more they do striue,
Like fish in the flood, that gapes for a flye,
And swallows the hooke, and lets the bair lye.
Full many do snatch, and fare worse therefore,
When they haue ynough, then seeke they for more.
Goods makes men greedie, and breeds so great thirst,
They thinke that they may, drinke drosse till they birst.
As whelps do lap milke, both early and late,
(And prisnars in pound, craues almes at a grate,)
So gluttons gape wide, for gold as twere bred,
And neuer leaues crying, vntill they be fed.
Suffice thy selfe man, with that thou canst haue,
For beggers speed least, when most they do craue.
Hap yeelds not to words, nor words gets good hap,
To some that sayes nought, luck falls in their lap.
Sing thou the meane part, for measure is there,
The tennor or base, Fa burthen do beare.
The treble is lowd, yet graceth the song,
And all the queer likes, the lark and the long.
Good musick glads men, where all things acord,
Because there we sound, the feare of the Lord.
That feare tunes the strings, that musick doth make,
And works wondrous things, for Gods glories sake,
Keeps Princes in right, that wretches doth hate,
Mayntayns his owne flock, and stayes vp their state:
Makes Traytors aferd, who can not escape,
Because for their faults, the gallows doth gape:
That feare feares the fond, makes foolish more wise,
Makes bad men most blind, and cleers good mens eyes.
The bad cannot see, for want of sharp sight
The Lord nor his feare, nor nothing aright.
The good sees all playn, and so feares the more,
For that ere he fall, Gods grace goes before
And keeps him from foyle: a mercy God shoes
(In greatest extreames) to none but to those
He calls vnto grace, then is that feare great,
That holds subiects vp, and kings in their seate.
The feare of the rod, which makes children pule,
The feare of the lawe, that looks to good rule:
The feare of the sword, that kills many wayes,
Are not like this feare, that leynthens our dayes.
Then let this feare be, a mirror most bright,
A torch whose cleare beames, giues all the world light.
If man behold this, his feet shall not slide,
The lanterne of life, shall so be his guide,
That he shall goe through, all danger and dreed,
And tread vpon snakes, and serpents for need.
Make Scorpions afrayd, and take out their sting,
Kill adders and todes, and all venemous thing:
Find out all false harts, that mischiefe would doo,
Put falshed to shame, and punishment too.
The feare of the Lord, looks through each desait,
Makes sleight and craft blush, that long lyes in wait
To worke some foule feate. Fy man what new kind
Of tretchery now, hath stayned thy mind.
Thou wast of old time, as firme as a rock,
Now brittle as glasse, thats gone with a knock.
Thy troth was like gold, that will take no rust,
Now few men do know, in whome they may trust.
World is waxt wily, that erst was full playne,
Fine heds would catch all, with cunning of brayne.
A churle from the plow, can palter and shift,
And when thou least thinks, he giues thee a lift.
No bargain he makes but wins by some reach,
Thus kartars and cloyns, can courtiers now teach.
Such tricks are now vsed, as world were bewitched,
Yet lozels with lewdnesse, are little enritched.
Wherefore thou playn-man, (if any such be,)
Be wise if thou can, and warned by me.
Goodnes gets credit, then vse well thy sense,
Beat back all vices, with vertuous defence.
Be doing of good, redeeme thy lost time,
Make a faire pozie, whiles flowres are in prime.
Whiles leysure doth serue, and lawd may be woon,
Be laboring for prayse, a right race to run:
And he that runs best, both heere and else where,
Of euery gay flowre, a garland shall weare.
Honor and glory, all good men shall find,
Bad people like dust, doth wander with wind.
Good men with garlands were wont to be graced,
And with foule reproch, the bad were defaced:
Then each one would striue, to win true renowne,
Which kept them a foote, when others fell downe.
And well was the man, might do a good turne,
Which shews that in lamp, good oyle did still burne:
His light neare goes out, that loues to do well,
The rest neuer thinks, of heauen nor hell.
Such epicures liue, as they should not dye,
Who eare they beware, with Diues do lye.
But build thou thy nest, where blessednes is,
For those that feare God, are borne vnto blis.
Slowth and idle wit, brings beggery vnwares,
Do well and dread not, the weight of worlds cares.
Wisdome is great wealth, sufferance winneth mitch,
Who hopes to haue all, shall seldome be ritch.
Seeke for good fortune, liue not by wishing,
Cast nets in the sea, there is best fishing.
Yeeld to the stronger, striue not with thy better,
He neare means to pay, thats euery mans detter.
Who sowes may well reape, some what hath some sauor,
Nothing is gotten, without toyle and labor.
Patience is pretious, and quenches debate,
Pride sels good conditions, and purchaseth hate.
Meeknes gets friendship, faire words all men liketh,
Ill will is a weapon, that priuely striketh.
Better is little, to liue in measure,
Then with mutch trouble, to haue great treasure.
Content is a King, and makes the heart quiet,
Who spares for to spend, doth keepe a sound diet.
Sharp words makes more woūds, then surgeons can heale,
It harmes priuate gaine, and staynes common-weale.
Malice blowes the fire, that burnes without wood,
Brag makes great boast, but doth little good.
Enuy is churlish, and lookes like ban dog,
A snudge is surly, and grunts like a hog.
Murmure works mischiefe, and hates all good order,
Byzy the babler, breeds brawles in each border.
Contempt is a caytiff, as curst as a kite,
Disdayne like a bladder, is blowne vp with spite.
Slander doth bite sore, behind good mens backs,
Then wit runs before, flings fier into flaxe.
Enuy doth wonder, how wisedome ariseth,
And what God prefers, the world still despiseth.
The more men do couet, the lesse they attayne,
The lesse some deserue, the more they do gayne.
Hap lyes on hazard, as chance lyes in dice,
All turns to goodnes, where vertue rules vice.
Meddle not with matters, that passeth thy powre,
But take in good part, the sweet and the sowre.
Be surety for none, that office is bad,
For birds out of hand, shall seldom be had.
A bird vnder wing, flyes where he doth list,
And minds not agayne, to come to the fist.
The sinnews of life, hath lost their sweet bloud,
When hoorders of gold, are gone from their good.
Keep that thou hast woon, with sweat and sowre sorrow,
And fill not their bags, that still beg and borrow.
Settle thy senses, to beare euery losse,
For all men on earth, must needs haue their crosse.
The greatest that liues, are mooud at some chance,
For fortune may frowne, on those she did aduance.
Way worldly causes, with weights of wise poyes,
All fortunes follyes, are held but meere toyes.
This day they seeme sweet, to morrow proue sowre,
Are subiect to change, and turne in an houre.
Chances coms seldome, if chances be good,
Neuer crossed chance, makes any good blood.
Then crossed they are, when they can not last,
Nothing is constant, nor stands sure and fast.
The best way for health, is walking at large,
With some little wealth, to mayntayne the charge.
And seeke for no more, than God shall well send,
For ill gotten goods, full soone thou shalt spend.
What sweat of browe brings, is holesome and sweet,
What coms with fine sleight, for man is vnmeet.
Playn dealing gets prayse, the world so began,
Now couzning and craft, is crept into man.
And all our new knacks, are cards finely shuffled,
That coms from their hands, whose faces are muffled.
Play thou the old guise, and so game begin,
As mutch for the sport, as that thou mayst win.
No pastime is free, from falshood and craft,
For falshood I see, will neuer be laft.
Deale not with dodging, for each one can palter,
Not one from profit, his nature will alter.
Let dice and cards goe, great craft therein lyes,
With both those old games, men blind Argoes eyes.
Who playes but for pins, or poynts is beguild,
For old men are now, deceiud by a child.
Cosenage is common, it springs on new fashions,
Driues some sad minds, in many sore passions.
Part not from money, for when it is gone,
Thy wealth leaues thy hart, as cold as a stone.
Trust not to faire words, for they are but nets,
Or limetwigs of toong, that neuer payes dets.
Hope not in promis, the world is but fickle,
The maners of men, and time is too tickle.
That craft hath possest, he holds as his owne,
No climing the neast, when birds be all flowne.
Bid each man prouide, himselfe before hand,
Hazard not thy life, thy goods nor thy land.
Yet make not of muck, no more than is right,
Although heauy purse, doth make the hart light.
The desire of gold, doth drowne men in lust,
Who in their great wealth, do put too mutch trust.
Vertue is more worth, yet lesse it is sought,
And nothing to man, more honor hath brought.
On vertue growes grace, that euer doth flourish,
Then happy is he, that vertue can nourish.
It lifts men aloft, in highest degree,
And gets great fauor, of Princes you see.
Promotion coms not, from the East nor the West,
But happens and fals, on those God hath blest.
He makes none to rise, but such as he likes,
The chosen he keeps, the abiect he strikes.
The vertuous shall thriue, in spite of the pye,
For all preferments, in Gods grace doth lye.
Some thinks them selues wise, and so ouer ween,
But God holds them back, whose heads are but green.
True honor lyes sick, (if bountie be dead)
And gay golden world, is turned to lead.
This hard brazen age, doth flourish too fast,
Which is a great signe, mutch goodnes is past.
Nay dry wodden world, that nothing can spare,
Makes countreymen poore, and courtiers full bare.
The spring will not run, to comfort sore eyne,
The moone is in clips, the sunne doth not shine.
The starres do seeme dim, by meane of a clowde,
Ritch men growes haulty, and beggers wax prowde.
If any warme thawe, did melt the cold snoe,
(Or from sweet sommer, sharp winter would goe)
Hard world would wax soft, and freez no more then,
And God would sure send, some grace among men.
A frozen world now, turns water into yce,
Conuerts in short time, true vertue to vice.
Playnnes goes barefoot, and treads on hard stones,
Cunning plucks the skin, and flesh from the bones.
Franknes is barred, and lockt from our sight,
Pitty hids his head, and patience takes flight.
Charitie growes cold, almes deeds hath no place,
Mercy is not knowne, by fauor nor face.
Mildnes is forgot, modestie growes wild,
Good manners of life, is almost exild.
Offence waxeth bold, and traytors withall,
Hope of a pardon, makes many men fall.
Trusting in friendship, makes some be trust vp,
Or ride in a cart, to kis saint Giles cup.
Pickthank can promis, but neuer performe,
Thus in faire kirnell, creeps many a foule worme.
With kissing of hands, and curchy full lowe,
A tame trick is found, to take a wild krow.
Cunning salutes you, to come by his wish,
So with a small bayt, he takes a great fish.
Pride stands on tiptoes, in hope to be seen,
When wisdom well knows, how fooles ouerween.
He thrusts most for place, and highly presumes,
That findeth least grace, in his fustian fumes.
A stately conceit, makes stoutnes despised,
Blind bayard beleeues, he goes all desguised.
Brag boasts of wonders, time to entertayne,
Words makes great thunders, that neuer brings rayne
Pride will not speake, till meeknes faunes on him,
With ouer long looks, that stares mutch vpon him.
That drowzy deuice, may feed a vayne humor,
And in iugging world, may breed a great rumor.
Yong wanton with wiles, wins mutch as he thinks,
When stayed wit smiles, and world thereat winks.
Clap on all the sayles, the ball will rebound,
But when wether fayles, the Ship lyes on ground.
Tides haue but their times, so ouer they pas,
And worldlings do dreame, on things neuer was.
Brauery still beggeth, where fountaine doth run,
Coms from Gods blessing, vnto the warme sunne.
A practice of late, the thriftles tryes now,
Who goes from court gate, vnto the playne plow.
Landlords lacks liuing (what pitty is that)
They looke for a bee, and catch but a gnat.
Great rents runs to ruffs, and hides him in haste,
Yong heires comes after, and cryes out on wast.
Leases and lordships, are drownd in gold lace,
Old auntient demaynes, consumes a great pace.
The Sun puts away, that Father did get,
So my yong mayster, drops quickly in det.
Hauock runs on head, and looks not behind,
And many wants bread, that bears a good mind.
Muck makes men mizers, the richer they are,
The lesse do they spend, and worse will they fare.
Good turns are so strang, they can not be had,
The best sort do find, their fortune but bad.
Makeshift the micher, thinks not of amending,
Craft rubs out a life, with borrowing and lending.
With shuffling of cards, and trotting of bones,
Both money and time, are lost all at once.
Losse chafeth the mind, and alters the cace,
Breaketh good credit, and brings great disgrace.
Who learns not to cog, must leaue off to play,
For with fine foysting, men catch what they may.
And looke what is lost, in wayne of the moone,
Is like a fooles bolt, that shot is too soone.
Man may not presume, on hye to be stalled,
He must tarry time, vntill he be called.
He can not amend, his fortune by strength,
But he in ballance, is wayed at length.
And if he wax light, like coyne that is clipt,
When vp he would rise, then downe is he tript.
O man call to mind, how many stands vnder
The wheele of good hap (vnto the worlds wonder)
Whiles that a few mount, the clowds to the starres,
In cities, in townes, in peace and in warres.
Which argues in deed, mans might is but small,
To help him one iot, to rise or to fall.
For he that best knowes, what doth become man,
Takes order for all, do you what ye can.
Who safely will goe, or surely would stand,
Dwels in some low place, and walks on playne land.
These mountaynes are hye, and hard for to clime,
Where tempests and stormes, blowes roughly sometime.
Great trees haue weake bowes, that bends at each blast,
Small graffs do grow long, and stands in stock fast.
The poore sleeps in peace, and rise in great rest,
And thinks at their meate, ynough is a feast.
Brown bread vnto them, is sweeter God knowes,
Then manchet to some, that goes in gay cloes.
Hard hunger brings health, health needs no great phisick,
Full paunches goes puffing, with coughcold and tizick.
Much feeding breeds griefe, fine bankets brings sicknes,
Long fasting sharps wit, whets dulhead with quicknes.
In Oxford and Cambridge, where diet is fine,
There learning doth flowe, and knowledge doth shine.
Who setteth forth bookes, but those that reade mitch,
Feeds but on little, looks not to be ritch?
Who serues best in field, but such as can fast,
And bite a bare crust, till danger be past?
Who runs with long breath, as light as a Doe,
But such as for need, long empty can goe?
Who tels a good tale, as orators doo,
But such as spares meate, and keeps diet too?
Who sayleth so farre, and brings home more gayne,
Then those that eates bisket, and taketh great payne?
Who hath sharper wit, then those that are leane,
And can not grow grose, their food is so cleane.
This is not set downe, to teach with tearmes hye,
The Dolphin to swim, or Faulkon to flye.
An archer and writer, shoots many bolts wide,
Some flyes in the ayre, and some fals aside.
But none hits the marke, past reach stands the white,
And But is shot at, or fancyes we write.
So now this fit ends, and breath I do take,
In hope of this world, some verses to make.