Fons Lachrymarum or a fountain of tears: From whence doth flow Englands Complaint, Jeremiahs Lamentations paraphras'd with Divine Meditations and an elegy Upon that Son of Valor Sir Charles Lucas. Written by John Quarles |
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Quis miserior quàm qui suam nescit miseriam?
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 | Fons Lachrymarum |  |
Quis miserior quàm qui suam nescit miseriam?
Do I not dayly see that nothing can
Be so unstable as the state of man?
Do I not see how fortune can correct
Misfortune; and as suddenly neglect
Poor helpless man? Somtimes his thoughts are crown'd
With golden joys, and sometimes kiss the ground:
Somtimes he's fill'd with laughter, somtimes weeps;
Sometimes he walks in state, & sometimes creeps.
A morning joy proves sometimes grief at night,
For fortunes dial goes not always right.
'Tis vain: 'tis vain: and ah that I could weep
My self into a deluge, and so steep
My cheeks in tears: Oh that I could imbark
My naked Soul, and swim like Noah's Ark
In that grand Ocean, which my flowing eyes
Have made, and over-look my miseries!
Distemp'red thoughts, why do ye thus torment
My yeelding Soul? why does my Soul relent?
Why am I thus afflicted? why doth sorrow
Take an advantage of my Soul, and borrow
Quotidian plagues, and study how to make
My heart its Theator? How shall I shake
These coupling fetters from my captiv'd heart?
How shall I bid adue to grief, and part?
Where shall I run, and labor to unsnare
My breasts inhabitant? Oh how, or where
Shall I retire my self! In what sad place
Shall I deplore my miserable case?
Could I but find a place where I might dwell,
And only see the Sun, I'd bid farewel
To all false pleasures.
Be so unstable as the state of man?
Do I not see how fortune can correct
Misfortune; and as suddenly neglect
Poor helpless man? Somtimes his thoughts are crown'd
With golden joys, and sometimes kiss the ground:
Somtimes he's fill'd with laughter, somtimes weeps;
Sometimes he walks in state, & sometimes creeps.
A morning joy proves sometimes grief at night,
For fortunes dial goes not always right.
'Tis vain: 'tis vain: and ah that I could weep
My self into a deluge, and so steep
My cheeks in tears: Oh that I could imbark
My naked Soul, and swim like Noah's Ark
In that grand Ocean, which my flowing eyes
Have made, and over-look my miseries!
91
My yeelding Soul? why does my Soul relent?
Why am I thus afflicted? why doth sorrow
Take an advantage of my Soul, and borrow
Quotidian plagues, and study how to make
My heart its Theator? How shall I shake
These coupling fetters from my captiv'd heart?
How shall I bid adue to grief, and part?
Where shall I run, and labor to unsnare
My breasts inhabitant? Oh how, or where
Shall I retire my self! In what sad place
Shall I deplore my miserable case?
Could I but find a place where I might dwell,
And only see the Sun, I'd bid farewel
To all false pleasures.
For now my Soul still hovers to and fro
From place to place: sometimes it flies too low;
Sometimes, with more aspiring wings, it flies,
And envies at impossibilities:
Then back again, and with a seeming mirth
Surveys the center of this flattering earth.
And thus my Soul, being left in this sad being,
Agrees in nothing else but disagreeing:
My ways are pav'd with thorns, I take my diet
From sorrows table, furnish'd with disquiet:
I am the principle of grief, my eyes,
Like windows, open to all miseries:
My head's a fountain, and from thence doth flow
The headlong rivers of unbridled woe.
My sighs, like sudden storms, disturb my rest,
As if I had a Boreas in my brest.
Needs must I be molested in my dreams,
My heart's the receptacle of all streams:
Then blame me not, if sorrow makes me cry;
Sum all misfortune up, and that am I.
But stay my thoughts; post not away too fast:
Extreams are dangerous, and cannot last.
A sudden thought hath made me to confess,
I may be happy in unhappiness.
And what's a thought? 'tis but a sudden puff;
Yet many may confound, when one's enough.
Come let's repose, and make a little stay,
One Sun's sufficient to adorn a day.
Why should I wander in the darksom shades
Of my own errors, whilest a grief invades
My naked senses? 'Tis in vain to strive
Against the power of God, who can contrive
What pleases him: Why shall I then repine
At what he sends? Can wretched I confine
His will to mine? Oh no; He suffers well,
Whose suffrings tell him there's no other Hell,
But in this world: Who would not then endure
Terrestrial torments, that he may procure
Celestial pleasures? Sorrow brings no loss
To him whose patience can sustain a cross.
Hereafter I will labor to prevent
A little Sorrow by a great Content.
From place to place: sometimes it flies too low;
Sometimes, with more aspiring wings, it flies,
And envies at impossibilities:
Then back again, and with a seeming mirth
Surveys the center of this flattering earth.
And thus my Soul, being left in this sad being,
Agrees in nothing else but disagreeing:
My ways are pav'd with thorns, I take my diet
From sorrows table, furnish'd with disquiet:
I am the principle of grief, my eyes,
Like windows, open to all miseries:
My head's a fountain, and from thence doth flow
The headlong rivers of unbridled woe.
92
As if I had a Boreas in my brest.
Needs must I be molested in my dreams,
My heart's the receptacle of all streams:
Then blame me not, if sorrow makes me cry;
Sum all misfortune up, and that am I.
But stay my thoughts; post not away too fast:
Extreams are dangerous, and cannot last.
A sudden thought hath made me to confess,
I may be happy in unhappiness.
And what's a thought? 'tis but a sudden puff;
Yet many may confound, when one's enough.
Come let's repose, and make a little stay,
One Sun's sufficient to adorn a day.
Why should I wander in the darksom shades
Of my own errors, whilest a grief invades
My naked senses? 'Tis in vain to strive
Against the power of God, who can contrive
What pleases him: Why shall I then repine
At what he sends? Can wretched I confine
His will to mine? Oh no; He suffers well,
Whose suffrings tell him there's no other Hell,
But in this world: Who would not then endure
Terrestrial torments, that he may procure
Celestial pleasures? Sorrow brings no loss
To him whose patience can sustain a cross.
Hereafter I will labor to prevent
A little Sorrow by a great Content.
| Fons Lachrymarum | |