Passion and Discretion in Youth and Age
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The source of this document is the Early English Books Online (EEBO-TCP) website. Those books were transcribed in a character for character manner and can be very cumbersome to read since there was no standard spelling during that time. Many spelling variations such as "unlesse", "vnlesse", and "vnles" regularly appear.
This project was conceived to clean up those books as much as possible and make them more accessible to the interested reader, leading to the creation of a massive list of variant spellings and their corrections. This was used to clean up the text, but is of course only as complete as the list itself. Because of the nature of the original transcription, some words have missing characters or places where the original language (e.g., Greek) was not transcribed. This effort does not change that. Be aware that the original transcription can also be faulty and in some cases entire sentences may be missing.
Although this is no substitute for a properly compared, proofed, and scholarly edition, I believe that the result is a document which is far more accessible, particularly for searching for terms using standard spelling. The document has been cleaned and presented in what I hope is a pleasing and useful format for the vast majority of Christian brothers and sisters who just want access to read these spiritually nourishing works.
However, a word of warning: The Puritans were a very diverse group of people and their age was characterized with godliness, but also much upheaval, disputation and strife. They disagreed on many doctrines and some of these works contain less orthodox or Scriptural views than others. The reader is strongly advised to read with discernment, particularly if it is unknown whether author is trustworthy.
This project took a huge amount of time and skill to bring to fruition. I would particularly like to thank David Jonescue for the initial list of Puritans he found on EEBO and the concept behind this project as well as the continuous, unceasing efforts toward seeing this complete. Without his labor, this would not be available. Alex Sarrouf was invaluable in providing the initial list of over 7,000 spelling variations he had identified and corrected, as well as continuing to review more than 16,000 additions to that list for any typos.
Logan West
(with David Jonescue and Alex Sarrouf)
www.puritansearch.org
PASSION AND DISCRETION, IN YOVTH, AND AGE.
Here in
•
plain, and most familiar kind:
You may behold a Combat in the Mind:
Mans differing motions are the jar in question.
The Combatants are
Passion; and Discretion
Each striving to be chief in the desire.
Or, if you please
••
strain it any higher,
Then here you, partly, may behold the strife
Be
•••••
the Flesh, and Spirit in this Life,
LONDON, Printed by T. & R. Cotes, for Francis Grove, dwelling on Snow-hill, near the Sanazens head, without New-gate. 1641.
TO THE RIGHT NOBLE, AND TRULY VERTVOVS LADY TEMPERANCE
M Ost virtuous Lady, yea, Virtue it self, under whose protection to endeavor is most safe: and therefore that is here my most humble suite. I have, as insues, taken in hand to insist upon, or rather to deal with most peremptory, stout, and turbulent Passions. My encounter with such, being countenanced by yourself, shall mind the more happy success. Which favor, dear Lady, shall forever prove my encouragement, and approve your courtesy, under the shadow of whose wing I shall be sheltered as I walk, from all the searching heat, of accusing hatred; issuing forth the infernal furnace of detraction.
Thus far presuming, it is, doubtless, my duty, to vow you my service: in the performance of which, where I shall fail in act, I trust to fulfill it in desire, and forever rest.
Your Honors to Command, So long as mine own to obey: Edward Calver.
IF men here muse, or fain would know my mind,
Why thus I seem to invocate the wind:
To answer such, tis not because I see
Men, like the wind, or more inconstant be:
But rather that, what errors here are shown,
The blame of them may thus be all mine own.
For tis unfit that Infants, mis-begot,
Should Father'd be by such as faulted not.
But if my gentle Patron can inspire,
Then here imagine my intent is higher,
For then she may such heavenly favors show
As earthly Patrons have not to bestow.
But if these fully answer not the question,
Then this I did to imitate the fashion.
To the Courteous Reader.
REad friends and welcome, you I do request:
Here's nothing ill, to such as ill detest.
Your stomachs do not surfeit with your meat,
And therefore will not cast up what you eat.
Here you may take a taste, though not be filed,
Of such plain diet as my store doth yield:
Mere simples, or mere simple, if you will:
But you, I know, will censure not so ill:
And therefore to your taste, and stomach both,
I do present these dishes coming forth.
To the Captious Reader.
WHat, shall I bid thee read, and welcome? no,
It never was intended so by me:
I have no reason to invite my foe:
I made this for my Friend, and not for thee.
But, if, grim
Momus,
it comes so to pass
That thou shalt read this, and deride it then,
Or flout, or scoff, what need I care? alas,
It is but the use thou givest to other men:
Nay, tis thy Language, and for it, I hark;
Curres can afford no fairer speech than bark.
Passion and Discretion in Youth and Age.
W
Hen that arch light, which makes things made appear, (near,
Dame natures Nurse, bright
Phoebus
doth draw
And from our Clymate, this times guider,
Sol
Cals winter back to the Autarticke Pole:
Then doth our late frost-bitten regions smile,
Our piercing air, cold winds and, fruitless soil,
All suffer change, yea cheerished by the Sun
All things beneath rejoice in what is done.
The earth puts on its rich, and sweet attire,
Sweet to the sense, and rich to the desire.
Fish in the waters do both scip and flote:
Birds in the air tune a melodious note;
Beasts on the earth, yea Nature seems to sing
By signs of joy to well-come in the spring.
Now shall these creatures in subjection pent,
Declare such signs and tokens of content,
These senseless creatures glory in this measure,
And in their youth, the spring time take such pleasure?
And shall not I, who hitherto lay hid,
Like Natures power, in winter time, as dead?
In this my spring time have a cheerful voice,
Now in my youth be merry and rejoice?
Now, in my veins, my late cool blood runs warm:
My former feeble joints are now grown firm:
My vital spirits are revivi'd within:
My outward parts to answer them begin:
Yea all my pow'rs are quick; my cheeks are glowing:
Where Nature setteth its perfection showing.
Now shall not I, I say, rejoice? sure yes;
Contentment cannot be denied in this:
Both sense, and reason leaves it without blame:
All creatures living do approve the same.
Then shall I so degenerate from kind,
Or swerve from sense, and reason in my mind?
Against all reason, liberty, and truth
As to refuse the sweet contents of youth?
No sure, I feel no such desire as this,
I will not thus deprive myself of bliss.
Smile then I will upon mine own desires,
And yield to what my tender heart requires:
Let loose my thoughts, unbound my appitite,
And feed my fancy upon each delight.
Nature hath now set beauty in my face,
And with proportion done my body grace:
Rich gems each of them and of virtue rare,
But found united are without compare.
Beauty, its very name doth yield delight;
Its matchless nature soars a greater height:
Yea reacheth to the heavens, from whence it came:
And is on earth the mirror of the same.
Then having this most admirable part,
How highly may I value my desert?
What deep contentment may I therein take?
And with what favors meet with for its sake?
For, although I had nothing else to move,
This would persuade, tis seated so above,
Yea Conquer when it list, for where the trial
Is made by beauty, who can make denial?
Again now Noble Fortitude of mind,
With strength of body to my courage join'd,
May make me truly glory in the same;
And labor to Eternalize my name,
By valiant enterprises for my Prince:
Or deeds of valor in mine own defense.
Besides, now learning, knowledge, art, or wit
Are for my apt, and tender years most fit:
These be aspiring faculties of praise,
These be the pride, and glory of our days.
What greater pleasure can my heart request?
Here may I lift myself above the rest,
And smiling, wonder at the vulgar sort,
Whose ignorance doth make my wisdom sport.
Here may I search the secrets of Nature,
And thence, to make mine own content the greater,
Behold each hidden mystery that lurks
In the profundity of Natures works:
Nay, which is higher, thus I may define,
Things above Nature, heavenly and divine.
But had I not these matchless gifts of mind;
Nor yet my parts mere bodily, refined.
Yet, having but the gifts of fortune lent me,
But store of wealth, but worldly riches plenty,
What need I care? wealth is the only thing
Which, unto most, doth most contentment bring.
Strength, wit, and beauty, learning; art, and such,
Are in their natures to be valu'd much;
And, of the truly wise, are so respected:
Yet, without wealth, we find them oft neglected,
If not contemned. Strength is counted vain:
Beauty deceitful: wit affords no gain:
Art's little useful: Learning's less regarded:
Thus things most good, becomes most ill rewarded,
And all because the Authors hand doth place them,
Where wealth affords not countenance to grace them.
Oh precious riches, whatsoever men say,
Wealth is the chiefest earthly god bears sway:
Concludes most cases, of the wise approved,
Of most desired, and is best beloved.
All this is true, and yet, for my part, know
I take no care to gain such riches though:
My sublime thoughts fly higher, and have wings
Which carry my desires above such things:
And in my heart I count such doters vain
As for such trifles do molest their brain,
As earthly riches: which are gained with care,
And, being gotten are possessed in fear.
The sad employments of such fretting cares
Are much unfitting for my tender years;
And quite against my nature, which, I find,
Is unto sweeter liberty inclined.
My Parents they their youthful time have spent,
And in their youth, took part of youths content:
But now grown staid, and wanton thoughts suppressed,
More weighty studies do become them best:
Let them take care for getting gain; not I:
Their saving wisdom must my want supply.
The elder for the younger doth provide,
As by a Law in Nature strictly tied:
Especiall the Parent for the Child.
It is the care of creatures brute and wild
To feed and foster up their young: but then
Much more the care of reasonable men.
And afterward if I a Parent be,
I will do for mine, as Parents do for me.
I will then be careful of these outward things:
And slip no means that show of profit brings:
But count it duty, as it is indeed,
To make provision for my tender seed.
The mean time Parents will, I hope, be won
To give me lēave to do as they have done,
To seek to fit myself unto the time,
And, like to all things, flourish in my prime,
Now in my youth be youthfully inclined,
With youthful pleasures satisfy my mind,
And take those freedoms due unto my state;
Youth justly pleads its liberties are great.
Which, if my Parents labor to restrain,
Injustice will appear therein so plain
That Parents shall be pleased to give way;
Or I excused, if I do not obey.
Discretion.
BUt stay, mad Passion, whether dost thou run?
Fond and mistaken sense, what hast thou done▪
By what illusions hast thou shown thy skill,
To make my reason subject to my will?
Thy motives and thy Rhetoric are such,
As may persuade, and do persuade too much:
But soothing Passion, whatsoever is past,
I now resolve to answer thee at last.
All things created do observe their time,
And do by nature flourish in their prime:
From whence thou labourst to infer for truth,
That I by nature should rejoice in youth.
All which, in part, I do acknowledge true,
And Nature seems to challenge it as due,
And therefore may not be denied by me,
In ought where sense with reason doth agree.
But if my nature would bear all the sway,
And make my reason to my sense obey,
I do in reason no such justice see,
To let my reason so subjected be.
Besides, I do my youthful nature find,
So much unto the worlds delights inclined,
That my estate, in this respect, requires
The greatest care to bridle my desires.
Then restless Passion, keep thyself retired,
I with thy Fury need not be inspired,
Nor will I, if I can the same prevent,
I trust, without thee, to reap best content.
Come then, Oh! come then, be advised by reason,
Mine own dear self, this is the only season.
The fruitful earth doth afterward make known
What seed was in it in the Spring time sown.
The stock, with what tis grafted in the Spring,
Such fruit doth forth forever after bring.
And with what scent the vessel first is filled,
The savor of it is not soon expeld.
Such is thy apt and youthful nature; know,
What now is sown in thee is like to grow:
What habit now is got will prove the strongest:
What custom now is learned, will last the longest.
And therefore it doth now concern thee, sure,
To have most care to keep thyself secure,
To seek content where reason doth admit,
To settle thy desires in what is fit,
That thou hereafter mayest not cry, in vain,
I learned what now I would unlearne again.
Thou then, myself, whose safety is mine own,
And favor mine, that unto thee is shown,
As thou hast a respect unto Discretion,
I do advise thee to be ware of Passion,
And labor to discover those deceits,
Whose gall lies hidden in most pleasant baits:
Yea though most near and dear unto thee, seated
In thine own bosom, let them be defeated.
If thine own heart, which is to the most dear,
Would fall in love with any creature here,
Before thou darest to render thy consent,
Thou must take heed there be no danger init.
Or if that anymore inferior part
Of body, or of mind, would plead desert,
As if they were some excellence allowed;
Which vainly might induce thee to be proud:
Here it behooves thee to have special care,
To arm thyself against this inbred snare,
This bosom brat, which will not be excluded;
That by thyself, thou beest not self-deluded.
It (as in Youth it often comes to pass)
Thy wanton eye, views beauty in thy glass,
Whose beams, reflecting, would thy thoughts inflame
With any admiration of the same,
Trust not thine eye, nor yet thy glass too far,
They both deceitful, both uncertain are.
But say thy beauty be the same indeed
That it appears, yea though it doth exceed,
Yet weigh the honey of it with the gall,
And thou shalt see the vantage of it small.
It gains much savor, and is most alluring:
It is true, but favor gained by its procuring,
Is sometimes such as yields a present friend,
But seldom chaste, and constant to the end:
For look as beauty fades and wears away,
So doth such friendship vanish and decay.
It tis alluring, tis indeed, but how?
To that which modest virtue doth allow?
Sure no, the nature of it doth entice,
In human faces, rather unto vice.
Again, tis beauty that doth bear the praise,
And oft doth unto much preferment raise.
Indeed tis so; upon the sudden oft
It from the dunghill, doth draw up a loft.
But what this Sun-shine doth exhale, like rain,
Falls, for the most part, in a cloud again.
And for the praise and virtue on it, suspicion
So often brings the truth of it in question,
That all the comfort which doth in it lie,
As it appears, is but to feed the eye,
Whiles it doth glister, whiles it doth endure,
Which every little shadow doth obscure.
But if thou wouldst give beauty an excuse,
Then of thy beauty strive to make this use
That as thy Youthfull face is fair, as clear
Thy virtues may unto the world appear,
That so thy face, this outward grace assigned,
May show the inward beauties of thy mind.
Or hast thou strength, and in thy bosom glowing
A resolution of thy courage showing?
This is in youth so far from being blamed,
That it deserveth rather to be famed,
Provided still that reason be thy guide
In thy attempts to have thy manhood tryd.
What lively youth with noble courage fraught?
To Martial feats and Descipling well taught?
It doth deserve the highest commendation,
It is the pride, and safety of a Nation:
Nay, which is more, where
Mars
is thus obeyed,
It makes the very enemy afraid.
All this may be admitted, this I grant:
But all this gives thee no such cause to vant,
Mine own frail flesh, yea frail and weak indeed,
As to presume, or bost on such a reed,
On such a tottering, such a feeble stay,
And which remains so subject to decay,
That the most silly creature can be thought
May in a moment bring thy strength to naught.
Or art indu'd with any other part,
Which would induce to boast of thy desert?
As wit, as knowledge, learning, Art, or such,
These are indeed, to be esteemed much:
Yea these same pow'rs and faculties of mind,
I do confess are of the highest kind,
And do deserve the highest commendation:
Yet these remain so subject unto passion,
That these, in many, do become most vain,
Where power is wanting passion to restrain:
And so much lifts up their conceits therein
That they almost forget that they are men.
This, mine own self, too often comes to pass,
Men are deluded, looking in this glass:
Then let not this, which should be all thy stay,
From thine own self thus steal thyself away.
But rather as, the further thou dost learn,
The further still thou dost thy wants descerne;
So from the sight of what thou hast not gained,
All pride of what thou hast may be restrain'd.
Or hast thou wealth, which makes the greatest boast,
And is the only thing desired of most;
And that full oft whose radient golden rays
Makes Youth appear so glorious in our days.
Hast thou, I say, this worlds deluding grace?
Which hath almost thurst virtue out of place:
Yet let it of no such dominion be,
No such effect, mine own dear heart, in thee.
What though thou hast the means, which is thy gold,
To make thee to be wanton, vain, and bold?
Yet Nature in thy face sits so demure,
That modesty becomes thee better sure.
What though thou peradventure, mayst despence,
Thy stat's so great, with any small offense?
Yet do not so offend, though not for fear,
Yet for the love thou dost to virtue bear:
For virtue in thy breast now seen to blome
Will fore-tell friuts of fame in time to come.
Yea what although thy wealth were of that worth
That it could yield thee all delights on earth?
Yet wisdom would advise thee to take heed,
For moderations sake, not to exceed:
For to be moderate will grace thee more,
In this thy youth, then all thy earthly store:
And in thy pleasures yield thee that content
Which gross excess could never taste of init.
Besides excess in anything's unfit,
Though, otherwise, men do the thing admit:
Then what mayst thou expect shall be thy gain,
If thou exceedst in anything is vain?
As, for the most part, all the pleasures here
Are, as abused, hows'ever they appear:
How much so ever they men's tastes delight,
How beautiful so ever to men's sight,
Or what content so ever they pretend,
They are both vain, and failing in the end.
This is most true; though youth may answer no;
But ask old age and it will say tis so,
Well grounded age, whose horry head is fraught
With much experience many years have taught.
And therefore surely mine own self, tis meet,
Though youthful pleasures for a time be sweet,
That thou doest always labor to fore-see,
What may the issue of thy pleasures be.
That when the pleasures of thy youth be past,
Repentance brings not sorrow at the last,
And makes thee in thy age confess this truth,
Most idle are the fond delights of youth.
Passion.
BUt must I be thus heedful, thus precise?
Thus in my youth set age before my eyes?
And through that pale-faced object thus be brought?
To spend my youthful days in careful thought?
As if my years no pleasure were allowed,
Or that my Fate were shadow'd by a cloud,
From whence my fortunes most obscure became,
And I borne only to bewail the same.
Is this my woeful bondage? surely no,
I may take greater liberty then so;
Youth may be youthful, tis in reason fit,
Both Law and Nature doth give way to it:
Then wherefore should I thus myself debar
Those youthful pleasures thus admitted are?
Be Metamorphis'd thus, in youth turn old,
In heat of Nature, dry, and dull, and cold?
Besides example the contrary teacheth,
And through the world the practice of it preacheth:
Youth doth enjoy delights in greatest measure,
And is besides most capable of pleasure:
And through the fitness of its nature known,
Delights in youth are to a custom grown;
Which custom is become the only praise
Of youthful years, in these our wanton days.
And therefore he that keeps himself retyr'd,
And shuns those merriments of youth desired,
The world accounts him but a home-bred scrub,
One crept out of
Diogenes
his tub:
Or one whose ingenuity is small,
His wit as little, breeding none at all;
And thereupon doth hold him in such scorn
As if that he were such a Monster borne
As were to nursing nature a disgrace,
And to the world a blemish in his place.
This is the censure which the world doth give
Of youth which most disconsolately live,
As, knowing their defects, to hide the same,
They keep themselves from company for shame.
Now were it wisdom in me do you think,
Whiles I may safely float a loft, to sink?
Whiles I may swim in pleasure and in joy,
To drown myself in sorrow and annoy?
No, doubtless, this were vain in me indeed,
To take such thought in youth were more than need:
To vex myself I need not go about,
For sorrows will come fast enough without,
I in my way shall meet with grief and woe,
Although I seek not for them as I go.
Besides tis certain, if I live till age,
I then must change my tire upon the stage,
And act the part of sorrow, in despite
Of all my former pleasure and delight.
It is thus dear self, what answer dost thou make?
I now, or never must my pleasure take:
Resolve me therefore, make the meaning plain,
Shall I abandon all delights as vain?
Shall I no more be ravesh'd with delight
In courting beauty dressed in red, and white?
Must I forsake all recreations past,
My hawks, my hounds, my music, and the rest?
And, which is most, unto the pleasant crew
Of my companions must I say adiue?
Shun all the sweet society of men,
Hannting with beasts, some solitary den:
And, like a careful object of despair,
Instead of scarlet, clod myself in hair?
What sayst thou? tell me, must I? mine own heart,
Become thus changed thus altered in each part?
Me thinks I feel thee troubled in my breast,
As if these motions did disturb thy rest;
And hear thee sounding in my listening ear,
What need I thus consume myself with care,
And loose all pleasure and content of mind
By curbing my affections in this kind?
Old winter may be sare, and weeping seen,
But let the Spring delightful be and green:
So gray heads may from gravity have grace;
But pleasant smiles adorn a youthful face.
What though in age, if I attain to it,
I must be grave, I must be merry yet?
There is a time for mourning, and for laughter,
Mirth now befits, and mourning best hereafter.
Nor need I, living, as men dying may,
Fare-well to all the worlds contentments say,
No this were cruel, wonderful amiss,
To put my life to such a death as this.
And therefore let not these conceits disquiet thee,
Mine own dear heart, I will not thus affright thee,
Not thus with night conclude thy day at noon,
Alas, not yet, tis yet by odds to soon:
No, thou shalt have dominion in me still,
My freedom's greatest when thou hast thy will.
And you those pleasures, which are my delight,
I will not cut off our acquaintance quite,
Nor of your comforts make too much delay,
But take my pleasure in you whiles I may.
Nor shall you my companions be forsaken,
With whom I have so often pleasure taken,
I will not so your company refrain,
But that we may be merry once again:
For though some earth-worm, which hath neither brain,
Nor part of man, accounts our meetings vain,
Yet, for the most part, all men that have spirit,
Or are of any breeding, wit, or merit,
Do often our society frequent,
And therein take much pleasure and content.
And is not this a fitting practice then
Which is in such great estimate with men?
Yes, out of question, my Companions dear,
There is no greater comfort for us here,
No race more pleasant underneath the Sun
Then this for youth, especially, to run.
Discretion in Youth.
Fraile flesh what meanst thou, why art in this passion?
How art become deluded in this fashion?
But wherefore should I question in this kind
When tis thy nature to be thus inclined?
Yea, mine own flesh, I know thy nature's such
As doth delight in wanton pleasure much:
Thy fond affections now are in their pride,
And sense most striving to be satisfied.
Besides, the worlds example I confess,
Is in this kind predominate no less:
Which forces in rebellion join'd, what Daw
Is sound of force to keep such foes in awe?
What Conquest more unlikely to be had?
What combat more disconsolate and sad?
Then striving to such ememies subvert
As are most near and dear unto the heart?
And thou dear self, whom I would not delude,
To gain a kingdom, though the way were showed:
Whats'ever in thee nature would excuse;
Or custom would occasion thee to use,
I tell thee, if thou wilt not go aside,
Then must not sense, but reason be thy guide:
And reason will direct thee in thy way,
And call thee back when sense would go astray:
And clossely whisper, Nature got a stain,
And ever since became corrupt and vain.
That howsoever natures face be clear,
And may be thought the same it doth appear:
Yet nature inwardly is much defiled,
Prov'd an imperfect, or abortive child,
Or to speak truly, if we so may constur,
Is from a perfect creature turned a monster;
Ever producing those effects in men
Which once by nature never could have been.
And therefore if thou dost sit still or idle
Thou dost let sense or nature have the bridle,
No doubt but they will carry thee with force,
Will hurry thy affections out of course,
And proffer thee a thousand pleasures; such,
Like
Sodom's
fruit, as vanish with a touch;
Or being tasted, like the Be, doth bring,
After the honey, a tormenting sting.
These are the bitter, sweet contentments, found
Which, for the most part, Nature doth propound,
To such as do affect it best of all,
Sweet to the taste, but in the stomach gall.
See then, dear self, what Nature is indeed,
That of thy nature so thou mayst take heed:
It once was pure, but now tis nothing such;
It hath some honey, but more gall by much.
Now if thou hast the wisdom, as tis meet,
To leave the bitter, and receive the sweet,
To taste the honey, and the sting avoid;
To take those pleasures which may be enjoy'd,
And leave the other which forbidden be,
Then happy art thou in a high degree.
But, mine own heart, this is a work of wonder,
The sweet and sower are hard to put asunder,
There must much force and violence be shown
To part those have so long together grown:
Thy nature will be what it hath been still,
Unless thou dost rebellion in it kill,
And conquer those affections in thy mind,
To which by nature thou art most inclined,
And so thyself within thyself subdue,
Which is as hard as making of thee new.
Oh victory of victories the bliss!
All conquests else are nothing unto this:
To win a City, overcome in field,
Force armies of thy enemies to yield,
To subdue Nations, gain a triple Crown,
Yea win the world and all the worlds renown,
Alas tis small, tis vain, tis fading, tush,
It is, in respect of this, not worth a rush.
This may seem harsh unto thee, I confess,
Now in thy Youth, as tis indeed no less:
Now when in Nature thou shouldst most delight,
Thus against nature to contend and fight:
But this must now thy combat be and care,
If thou hereafter wilt the Garland wear,
If thou wilt be a valiant Champion held,
Thou now must make these enemies to yield,
Now in thy strength these foes of thine subdue,
Which will more courage in thy weakness show:
Then arm thyself, resolve to see it done
Now in thy youth, tis not a whit too soon.
What though the world account this wisdom vain?
And its young fondlings hold it in disdain,
Because it tendeth only to debar
The world those joys its chief contentments are?
Yet thou must know the world doth err in this,
And sense is subject to conceive amiss,
And therefore thou must not thyself refer
Unto their censure if thou wilt not err.
The worlds fond minions may deride thy ways,
What though they do? their scandal is thy praise,
And unto good and wise men will declare
Thy sober carriage, and thy Christian care,
Who, rather that thou wouldst pass bounds or measure,
Wouldst thus expose thyself to their displeasure.
Besides, how so'ver senseless youths conclude
To love that best which doth them most delude,
To prize those pleasures at the highest rate
Which soonest both consumes them, end their state:
Yet, for the most part, such as flourish most,
And of their folly makes the greatest boast,
(So long as nature gives their bodies force,
And Fortune means to follow on their course)
These, finding in them natures force decaying,
Or Fortune failing, or, at least, delaying,
These men, of all, become most held in scorn,
As men deboyst, or out of fashion worn:
Men point at them, and in dirision hiss,
Is all their state, and pleasure come to this?
These are the fruits goodfellowship affords:
With other bitter and disdainful words.
See then dear self, the issue of excess,
That in thyself thou mayst the same express,
That thou hereafter beest not forced to grant,
Most vainly did I wast, what now I want:
Unhappy man, I counted counsel vain,
But now my pride's requited with disdain:
My dearest friends did sorrow for my part,
But now myself do justly feel the smart:
Thus, mine own heart, it often comes about,
With headstrong youth it falls thus hardly out.
Then, though the idle censure of our days,
To youth most wanton gives the greatest praise,
Yet since thou see'st their pleasures are but vain,
Whiles men enjoy them whiles they do remain:
Which out of question, cannot long be had,
But quickly vanish, and their end is bad:
What needest thou at thine own condition grutch?
Or think their vain felicity too much?
Their pleasures are but shadows of delight,
Their day but a fore-runner of their night,
Their sun shine doth but signify a storm,
Their soundest joy but a deceiving charm.
Then let not these deluding shows betray thee,
Nor yet the censure of the world dismay thee:
The proffers of the one are not to trust;
The scandal of the other is unjust:
And therefore, surely, neither of them fit
To be thy guide, though they may teach thee wit.
Come then, dear self, forsake these shadows mere,
And let some substance give direction here,
Let Reason now give answer in thy Youth;
That is, indeed, an Oracle of Truth:
That will not wrong thy tender years for gain:
Nor count thy care of moderation vain:
But rather tell thee it adorns thee best,
Thou canst not in a richer tire be dressed:
Nor for thy Young and tender age more meet:
For moderation is a virtue sweet,
Wherein doth fully lie confined and pent
All the rich treasures of allowd content.
But that which doth in any kind exceed
Is, doubtless vain, because tis more than need.
Passion.
GOod and wise counsel, tis, indeed, and fit
For men of age and gravity: but yet
For me, which am but in my Youth, and weak,
How can I do, what others can but speak?
Thus of my freedom to become debarred,
Which is a task for older men too hard.
Severest Stoics, Passion most refraining,
Cato
and
Plato,
pleasures most restraining,
These in their youth were youthful, though, grown old
These, out of envy, must have youth contrould.
And should I seek (as very few have done)
To Canonize myself a Saint so soon,
I should be fitter, as it doth appear,
By ten degrees, to live in heaven, then here.
Here men are men, and must be so inclined,
Or else they do degenerate from kind:
And, if I mean to build upon this frame,
I must conform myself unto the same:
I must not sadly sit alone and sleep,
When other Youth do pleasant revells keep.
Besides, now Nature doth most sweetly move,
With most delight, to be beloved, and love;
Affection now is powerful in my breast,
It sets before me undetermin'd rest;
Shewes me a creature in whose face doth shine
Most rare perfections, moral, and Divine:
And will not leave me till I give consent
To gain this object of such deep content.
And shall I go about to quench this flame,
To dash these fortunes ere I taste the same?
And loose this Price, this infinite of treasure,
By being sad, which might be gained by pleasure?
Or shall I be so ignorantly wise,
My love, with shows of hatred to disguise?
And what I most desire, think best to gain
By foolish feigned tokens of disdain:
And thereupon, as with despair possessed,
Refuse all means that proffer my request:
As if my fortunes warranted the same,
But I refuse, as one deboyst, for shame?
Or when that I with merriment should woo,
Shall I then sigh, and say what shall I do?
And, when the opportunity is gone,
Then bind myself to sadly live alone:
And do my penance for my oversight
In some dejected silly habit dyte:
As, if that shows of misery thus great,
Might move my love to pity my estate:
Were this a subtle policy in me?
Were this a practice fit for my degree?
No, surely no, this were but a conceit,
These have no substance these are of no weight;
Such cold weak motions are not like to move
Within the ardent glowing breast of love.
But, if I would enjoy my love as won,
Which in my youth is fittest to be done:
I must take all occasions that conduce
Unto that happy, heart contenting, use;
And prosecure the same without delay,
In spite of greatest danger in the way.
I must be free and generous of mind,
I must be unto youths delights inclined,
I must be ever jovell with the rest,
I must be in a complete habit dressed,
And fit myself to fed my loves desire,
Not only in my talk, but my attire;
For whatsoever's inwardly, ye know,
It is the outside that doth make the show.
And as affection by the eye is bred,
So, for the most part, by the eye tis fed;
From whence its flames are ever the more clear,
The fairer that its object doth appear:
For this is certain love hath most delight
On fairest flowers to feed its appitite.
Then farewell all severity, as cruel,
Which in my heat of love would quench this fuel,
And through preciseness, keep me so confind,
To loose my love, the treasure of my mind.
I see, and smile to see, my love begin
To smile on me: may I not smile therein?
Come then dear love this kindness pleads desert,
This courtesy encourageth my heart,
Yea though thou shouldst no other passage ope,
This should alone give maintenance to hope.
Henceforth I vow my service to thee then;
And, whatsoever formerly hath been,
To do thee a pleasure now shall be my care,
Thy livery for colors I shall wear;
And look what fashion shall content thee best
That will I always wear above the rest.
If my proportion answer not thy will,
My Taylor shall amend it by his skill:
Or if that cannot thy displeasure scape,
Then
Protus
like, I will seek to change my shape,
And be created, or be formed a new,
If not in substance, yet at least in show;
Yea, so my love may take delight in me,
I care not what it cost, nor what I be.
Some fools may count this my affection vain,
But I must hold their malice in disdain:
My dearest friends may work upon my mind,
In hope to make it otherwise inclined;
Yea urge, and threat the greatest punishment,
Yea seek with tears to alter my intent:
Yet all their water cannot quench this fire,
But rather serves to kindle more desire,
For true affection yields so fierce a flame,
Resistance proves but bellows to the same.
Discretion.
OH gross rebellion! how dost thou break out?
What fearful treach'ry dost thou go about?
What heinous and intolerable treason
Against thy Prince and lawful Sovereign reason?
Deare self, what art thou subject to such error?
To give most honor to the most inferior?
To let those parts mere sensitive bear sway,
Which should to reasons just commands obey.
Thy reason is deluded by thy sense,
And so thy judgment proves corrupted thence,
Which makes thee to think best of that condition
Which is most pleasing to thy disposition.
Thus far mere beasts and savage creatures go,
They are as stayed, and moderate as so:
They, which of reason wholly are denied,
And have but only appetite for guide.
But thou must pass the savage creatures guise,
Because indu'd with reasons faculties;
Or else the beast, without these powers of mind,
May be preferred before thee in his kind.
Yea, mine own heart, which dost by reason scan,
Thou must by reason show thyself a man,
And always unto reason yield subjection
Both in thy understanding, and affection.
Besides, thy youth is subject to obey
Affection, which in youth will run astray,
And therefore thou must use the greatest aid
Now in thy Youth to keep affection stayed.
But here I do not go about to prove
That thou in Youth shouldst disallow of love,
So it be lawful, but the thing admit,
As in thy Youth most absolutely fit:
For love in Youth united, proves most pure,
And is, again, most likely to endure:
Besides, it serves to settle the desire,
Which otherwise Youth could not so retire.
What then? dear self, why this must be thy care
Not so much when to place thy love, as where;
Not so much swayed by sensual delight,
To rule thy reason by thy appetite.
Thou seest affection fetters like a chain,
It placed, is hard to be displac'd again,
And, like the seal which leaves the print behind,
It makes a deep impression in the mind.
And therefore, doubtless, it behooves thee much
That in thy Youth thy providence be such,
That thou hereafter dost not find this true,
I had my will, but willfulness I rue:
Yea, be resolved, mine own tender heart,
Youth which are willful often feel this smart.
And therefore be, dear self, herein discerning,
Let others sad experience give thee warning:
Be well advised, stay thy affections, ponder,
And, for a while, let reason keep them under.
What, art thou to confirm a league in love?
Which, once confirmed, must not then remove,
But, like those laws unchangeable, abides
Till death, the parties joined thus, divides:
Art thou to do this weighty thing, indeed?
Sure it requires the dilligentest heed,
The deepest meditation, and the best,
Because the chiefest thing of all the rest:
For if thy choice be bad, thy joys are done,
If otherwise, they are but then begun:
For in thy choice consisteth peace, or strife,
In it remains the issues of thy life:
For that whereto thou now thyself dost bind,
That is the portion thou must look to find.
It is so, dear self, then ere this knot be tied,
Consider well, let counsel be thy guide;
Such can instruct thee, best directions frame
As have had just experience of the same.
But above all these, thou must have respect
Unto the way thy Parents do direct,
For their consent, and blessing in this thing
Doth, with their own, God's blessing also bring:
And where the Parents fit consent is missing,
There, for the most part, God affords no blessing.
This is a rule in general most fit,
And thou in duty must acknowledge it.
But yet there are some Parents in this kind,
Which are so much unto the earth inclind,
That, if their children will not have their blame,
They must, like them, be married to the same;
For earth, and earthly things is all their aim.
Those are the only heritage they claim:
Without the least regard of what is fit,
Either in virtue, breeding, shape, or wit.
Now such as these, which only do belay
To, basely, mould their children up in clay,
And think them then in heaven, when they, poor souls
In earth possessed, lie scrambling, like moules.
Such men as these must not be too unkind
Although their children bear a better mind.
Nor are their children to be blamed, although
They, stead of duty, do their wisdom show,
And rather follow reason for their guide,
Than duty, which would lead them thus aside:
This freedom may in modesty be used,
And, upon such necessity excused.
But, my dear self, make thou not this a snare,
Upon this freedom, cast not off all care;
But to thy parents willingly incline,
So far as reason doth with duty join.
But above all things aim'd at in thy choice,
Let virtue please thee, make thee most rejoice,
For virtue herein must be valu'd higher,
Than either Parents, or thine own desire.
Parents are to be reverenc'd, as due;
Riches may be respected too, tis true:
Good breeding's to be honor'd in election:
And beauty seemeth to command affection.
Yet beauty, riches, breeding, or good birth,
All, without virtue, are but little worth.
And though these outward things cannot be had,
If virtue may, the choice cannot be bad.
Besides, if in thy choice thou hast the grace
To aim at virtue in the chiefest place,
Then needest thou use no apish imitation
In thy attire, by following the fashion:
Devising fondly to new form each part:
As if thy skill exceed Natures art.
No, these are fruitless, and accounted vain
Within that breast where virtue doth remain;
And rather serves thy weakness to discover,
Then any way delight a virtuous Lover.
To be thus fond or vain in this condition,
Doth but ingender, or beget suspicion,
Because immodesty in the attire
Doth note immoderation in desire,
Imports a want of wit, and doth impart
A shrewd presumption of a wanton heart:
That all such fondness, or as vain expense,
Are lost, where virtue hath its residence;
For virtue stoups to no such baits as they,
But soars a pitch is far above such prey.
Like as the precious Diamond, which but
By Diamond, or nothing, can be cut.
So love, in virtues breast, will take no print
But only that which virtue doth indent.
That virtue is the only way to woo,
And eke to win, where virtue hath to do.
Let virtue then be first thine own, and sure
Thou shalt prevail, where virtuē doth endure:
For like to like, most willingly incline;
And virtues met, most readily do join:
Which join'd, what tongue is able to express
The joy such virtuous bosoms do possess:
No change can turn their honey into gall,
Because that virtuē makes good use of all;
Resembling much, though in a lower kind,
The heavenly highest marriage of the mind.
Passion.
WHat strange harsh strictness is here urged still?
As if that Love could be confined at will:
My love is settl'd, where I hope to find
Those virtues which are pleasing to my mind.
Shall Parents then, whose sight is not so clear
To see the Truth before it doth appear,
Condemne my choice, as wonderful to blame,
Before they know the trial of the same?
Deare friends, I know you wish me not amiss:
But you may err as well as I in this.
In this my choice may blessings hidden lie,
Which deepest insight cannot yet descry.
And that same choice which you account the best,
May prove, perhaps, the worst of all the rest:
For, whatsoever the appearance show'th,
It tis the trial manifests the truth.
Besides, what reason can that choice admit
Where love doth want, though otherwise most fit?
For my part nothing ever shall me move
To join in marriage, where I cannot love.
Deare Parents then remain content I pray,
And unto this my choice in love give way,
Let not supposed dangers make you dread,
I trust your fears are greater than they need,
But why do I thus vainly spend my wind
To invocate my parents in this kind?
When as I see, they will not give consent,
But are against me obstinately bent.
Is this their love to answer my request?
Or else their care to keep my body chaste?
Must I my deep affection fixed remove,
Or lose my portion, with my Parents love?
Unhappy creature, cruel is my fate,
Most comfortless, most desperate my state:
What sorrows are sufficient to declare
The destiny that falls unto my share?
But what will sorrow ease me of this woe?
Or be a means to change my fortunes? no,
To add, unto my sad condition, grief
Can not in any kind afford relief,
But rather serves to aggravate the smart,
Which hath already seas'd upon my heart.
Then farewell care and sorrow in this case:
I will seek merry company for ease,
I will unto some Tavern now repair,
And seek for ease of Melancholy there:
For there no doubt, I shall occasion find
To drive these cares and sorrows-from my mind:
Yea take some merry humor on me, rather
Then fondly prove dejected altogether.
The Humorist.
Come then, well met, mine one Companion, stay,
Thy company will drive all dumps away:
My humor's crossed; but come, that seat is thine,
By this good rogue mine Host: here's excellent wine.
His Companion.
Believe me sir, I cannot stay, for hast
Doth call me hence; and yet at your request,
I will taste your wine, because it gives delight.
Hu.
Well, do, and tell me if it be not right.
Co.
I marry sir, believe me this is he,
You have some judgment now indeed, I see.
Hu.
I saith tis good, but pry thee sit thee still,
And taste it well, and tell me then thy skill:
Here's to thee once again, and by this bowle,
Unto a friend of thine, a dainty soul:
And this same swad mine Host shall pledgit I swear.
Co.
Why come sir then, protest I do not care,
I will stay a while: and here's this cup of wine
To you mine Host, and to a friend of mine,
The Host.
To me good sir? I thank you for your love,
And I shall pledge you ere I do remove.
And yet you Gallants, shall I tell you plain?
This sack, did so intoxicate my brain
The other night, it made its sinews crack:
And yet some say it doth assist the back.
But I can fetch what shall its fury choke;
I have a pipe of the most precious smoke
All
Europe
yields: And sir, my service now
In this same cup I represent to you.
Hu.
To me, thou monster and true
Cerberus
breed,
Why here's a dainty damned rogue indeed:
Well th'art a beagle for the chase, no doubt,
And, were I at a loss, couldst find it out.
Now hark, I pry-thee, twere a pretty jest,
To fox this horson horny-headed beast,
And call my Hostesse; for I see the else
Could gladly make a cookcold of himself.
Co.
Good faith it seems he cared not for a strain,
Provided with a pox, it brought in gain:
But hangit, me thought as I this Hosts viewed,
She looked as if she had been lately stew'd.
Hu.
Oh out upon her hackney whore, damnation,
Her breath is fit to breed the Visitation,
I will see her damned ere I. But now I think,
By happy fortune on it, before I drink,
I will drink a health, and with my truest heart,
Even from the very middle of this quart,
Unto a friend a favourite of mine,
So sweet a creature, beautiful, divine.
No woman living with more virtues graced,
So courteous, kind, so constant, and too chaste:
And, by this light sir, prythee let me cravethee,
Thou shalt receive this honor'd health, He have thee:
Here's to thee, with my cap upon the ground:
Ah, this same licker keeps my inwards sound:
Come drawer quick, come empty this same quart.
And,
Dicke,
some smoke, come forth thou knave, where art?
Ho.
Here sir, oh pardon, I was busi'd much;
But here's a pipe this Land hath little such.
Hu.
This Land, thou prat'st, thou mightest have gone to
Rome
And fetched it since; but
Dicke
let's taste it come.
Ah,
dicke
my villain, this is of the prime,
I will take thy word, my boy, another time.
Co.
Believe me sir, this smoke is not to lack,
Hu.
No faith, tis good, but here's thy pinte of sack,
By
Phoebus
light, thou shalt not say me no,
Come pry-thee takit and pledge this health, why so:
This cookcold, cosset, I should say, my
dicke
Shall have it too: tis well sir, drawer quick,
Another quart, this smoke requires some licker:
Here
dicke,
here's that will make thy brains the quicker,
It is all thine own, yea every drop I swear.
Ho.
Who I sir? no, beseech you now forbear,
What will you make me lose my wits indeed?
Hu.
Fool, lose thy wits? tis true, thou hast much need
To stand at this, when ten times this a day
Is but thy diet; come turnit of, I say,
Protest thou shalt, whats'ere thou dost reply.
Ho.
Protest I cannot sir: and yet I will try.
Hu.
See here, I pray, this Porpus could not drink,
And yet had this same pinte been three, I think,
His throat would hardly have been satisfied:
But drawer quick, we'le have these wants supplied.
But sirra change this cup, I will no more take
Such bowles as these, they make my brains to ache.
Co.
Sir, you and I are herein well agreed,
For I am weary of these bowles indeed:
But if it please you, and you mean to stay,
Let's rest a while, or spend some time in play.
Hu.
Content, mine Host hast thou a pair of dice?
To try a chance in friendship is no vice:
And yet I have no mind unto these bones,
They did so anger, and delude me once.
Co.
Good faith, sir, now I think upon the same,
The other day, by chance, I saw a game
Upon the cards, which did delight me more
Than any game I ever saw before,
It was, me thought, so pretty a conceit:
But what you please, the matter's of no weight.
Hu.
At cards, or dice, I never purchased gain,
But cards are counted basest of the twain:
And therefore whither I do win, or lose
I make the dice the instruments I choose,
Ho.
Here sir, here's dice; and yet I should be loath,
But that I know your patient natures both.
Co.
Come, fear not man, there shall no anger be,
It is not these dice shall make us disagree:
And yet me thinks they prettily begin;
But, tush, tis not for both at once to win.
Ho.
Good faith, sir, I commend your resolution,
The dice, no doubt, will make you restitution:
I see tis not for love of gain you play,
But rather so to drive the time away.
Co.
Mine Host tis true, for my part, I protest,
That let the dice run which way they think best.
Hu.
Fore heavens, I think, tis I must take the care
To stay the dice, unless they ran more square:
Besides, you scramble up the dice so fast,
You will not give me leave to see my cast:
I think you need not shadow what is thrown,
My chance is not so lucky when tis known:
Well, sure the dice are false, or else in chanted,
Or, I that throw them by some witch am haunted;
Or else they could not prove so much accurst,
That every chance should prove thus at the worst.
Ho.
Have patience, Master, rest content a while;
The dice will turn, and frowning fortune smile:
Expect the best, and let your anger fall,
The end, I trust, will make a means for all.
Hu.
The end? thou asse, hast thou so little wit
To think these dealings, or these dice are fit?
I will burn them if they do no better run,
And then for swear such gamesters, and have done.
Co.
Such gamesters, sir, such words as those I scorn,
I wronged you not an ace I may be sworn;
And herein if you do suppose I lie,
It is you that do the wrong, sir, and not I:
I thought you had been temperate before,
But since you say so much I will play no more.
Hu.
What, have you got my money in this way,
And now will offer not to hold me play?
Co.
Fore heavens I care not, use your greatest skill,
You shall not make me play against my will.
Ho.
In wrath, what mean you Gentlemen I pray?
Such old acquaintance and fall out at play?
You shall not Gallants, come be patient now;
I will spend my quart of Sacke to see you throw:
Run Drawer, Masters it doth vex my heart
That friends from my house should in anger part:
Here Noble sir, this quart I do present
Upon condition you shall be content.
Hu.
Come
Richard
come, thy thetoricke is such,
To yield to thee, who living can think much?
Well sir, when you and I shall meet agen;
Youle give me leave to try my fortunes then?
Co.
Sir, heavens forbid that I should say you nay,
Or seek to do you any wrong at play.
Hu.
So then, here sir: but, ere we do begin,
Whose love shall we commemorate herein?
Protest a special friends of thine and mine,
That Ladies which would have us stay and dine:
And sir, youle pledge this health I dare be bold.
Co.
I will try my brains, if that my guts will hold,
But that I will pledge that heavenly creature sure,
What punishment soever I endure.
Hu.
Ah, how this Nectar vivifies my heart,
And adds fresh courage unto every part.
Now what man underneath the Coopes of Heaven
Will answer me upon occasion given?
Mars,
here I stand, who dares except at this?
But sir, before my heart, you do amiss,
You did not drink so much as I, I see.
Co.
Sir, but I did though; you mistaken be.
Hu.
Who, I mistaken? by the devil no:
Come take your due, you shall not gull me so.
Co.
I did you right, and I will not be your gull.
Hu.
It is false, protest, you did not drinkit so full.
Co.
Protest tis false, whats'ere you do reply.
Hu.
Why then, it seems, you will be sworn I lie?
What lie? thou slave, give me the lie? away.
Co.
What you will stab, yes stab y'had best; but stay
Ho.
Oh, heavens my masters, what d'ye mean? in spite?
Beseech you be content, what friends & fight?
Regard your reputations more, forbear,
I will part you, come, you shall not fight I swear.
Hu.
Who, thou? thou asse, thou slave, away stand by;
I will be revenged, a slave, give me the lie?
Sdeath, is he gone? what art thou such an asse,
Or such a knave to let the cheater pass?
If that I live I will be revenged by hell:
The mean time this shall teach me wit: farewell.
Ho.
What, are you angry, and will so begone?
You have small reason for the same, or none.
But there's a reckoning left for you to pay,
Before you part, or else your horse shall stay;
I mean not to be thus abused, my friend,
And lose my reckoning by you in the end:
I took you to be better ruled: and so
I do intend to make you ere you go.
Discretion.
SEe here, dear self, yea I beseech thee see
What the hard happes of willful children be;
Who will not parents wholesome rules obey,
How justly heavens do suffer them to stray,
And leave them to the force of disposition
Who did refuse most gentle admonition:
As if affections laws were better far
Then either reasons rules, or duties are.
But mine own heart, thou must not thus conclude,
Such grounds are false, and propositions rude:
For duties fruit is blessedness ensuing:
But disobedience fore-tells death, or ruin;
Ruin, indeed, the worst we can relate,
As of all goodness, body, and estate:
As doth appear by the precedent part,
Where buitish Passion is described by art.
Whose rude description such abuse declares
As is offencive to all modest ears:
Such impudence, as I, dear self, indeed,
Both shake to write, and am ashamed to read.
And therefore never should have been indented,
To foul my pen; nor yet by me invented,
But that, dear self, my only purpose here
In making of these Passions thus appear,
Is thereby to detain thee from the same,
Which, thus foreseen, thou mayst forbear for shame.
Least, failing in these Passions thus made known,
Thine own hand writing be against thee shown:
Which would be shame as great as the abuse,
And serve to leave thee without all excuse.
In which respect, the chastest ear, I hope,
Will both excuse my purpose, and my scope.
Know then, dear self, thou dost thyself expose
Both to the sight, and censure of thy foes:
Thou therefore now must be exceeding wary
That in this nature thou dost not miscarry:
For if thou dost, the eyes of other men,
Will be thy cruel over-seers then.
But hast thou but that measure of Discretion
So wisely to unmaske this drunken Passion,
As to discern it as it is indeed,
With sober eyes, sevillity and heed,
It will appear so odious in thy sight,
So most inhumane, such a monster right,
That even the very shape of it, I trust,
Will make thee to abhor it as unjust:
To loath and shun it as thou dost the devil;
Because, like him, tis absolutely evil.
Besides, dear self, the ruin, shame and care,
Which are the fruits that drunkenness doth bear;
May justly move thee to detest the thing
Which in conclusion, doth confusion bring.
First, it confounds the Legacy of fate,
Consumes and undoes men in their estate;
Moves them to venture their possessions large,
And drink down all remembrance of the charge:
Then hazard all their moveables to sink,
Or suffer Ship-wrack in a Sea of drink:
And heedless creatures, when thus run ashore,
Remaine deboyst, dejected men, and poor.
Next it consumes the credit and good name,
Brings a reproach full scandal on the same.
Disgraceth birth, good breeding, learning, wit;
Or whatsoever otherwise is fit.
Besides, as tis an enemy to wealth,
So, in the body it decays the health,
Confounds the senses, and corrupts the breath,
Brings foul diseases, and untimely death.
But lastly, that which most deludes the heart,
It doth confound the understanding part,
Benummes the powers and faculties of mind,
Which, in this strange infatuated kind,
Remaine as dead; and man becomes a beast,
Or worse, or in a worse estate at least.
God, of all creatures, hath made man the best;
Man makes himself the worst of all the rest.
God hath given man abillities Divine:
Man doth become more senseless than the swine:
God in the forming man hath perfect been:
Man will undo what God hath done therein.
For what is man, thus stupifi'd in brain,
But a mere lump of senseless Earth again?
Deare self, observe this issues from excess,
These are th'effects of savage drunkenness.
But here I go not any way about
To bring thy sober liberty in doubt,
All friendly meetings and society
With such as have a care of piety,
But hold it fit, and of it do approve
As a great means to breed good will and love:
And sure it may (though by abuse attended)
In its own nature, justly be commended.
But here lies that which doth undo us still,
That which, dear self, converts our good to ill;
God in his mercy having daign'd to give us
Innumerable good things to relieve us;
We out of weakness, either quite refuse them,
Or in the using of them quite abuse them:
Which most prepost'rous custom to suppress,
Let love and friendship be without excess.
Passion in Age.
FOnd man what meant I? what was in my mind?
When I was Youthfull how was I inclind?
I then was heedless, ignorant, and nice,
And counted care of worldly gain a vice:
Youths chief contentments, vain delights & pleasure
Were all I sought for, they were then my treasure.
I held them muck worms, and in much disdain,
That did not value pleasure above gain:
I felt no sorrow then for what I spent,
Because it purchased that which gave content.
But now I see my error in the same,
How foolish I was, and how far to blame,
How wanton pleasure did delude my mind,
And wrought upon my weakness in this kind.
How many opportunities most fit,
Which both advice, and reason did admit,
Of gain or profit did I then neglect,
Without all care in any such respect?
This was my folly, and is now my cross,
Because I now have feeling of my loss,
And vain expense: But were I young again
I would, I think, not be so mad, or vain,
I would not be so idle in expense
To feed mere fancy or unbridl'd sense:
Nor should the mirth where mad companions meet,
Nor all the Sirens sugared charms as sweet,
Nor whatsoever pleasure else as bad,
Yield me delight, where gain might not be had.
For gain is that which is to be regarded:
Alas, how is the lavish fool rewarded?
That takes most pains to waste away his state,
That buys his pleasures at the dearest rate,
And spends his means to purchase friends of those
Which, when his means is spent, become his foes;
And flout and jeer him in derision base,
Behind his back, if not before his face:
Besides the want this novice falls into,
Which is the greatest misery or woe.
This is the height of youthful vanities,
Though, in my youth, I thought it otherwise:
How was my tender reason then in thrall?
But, what is past I cannot now recall.
Well, let that pass; the time that is behind,
I will, I hope, be of another mind,
It is time to make use of the time remains,
Come then invention, let us beat our brains
What stretching gainful stratagems are best?
Direct me, for it is no time to rest;
Nor must I stand at scruples in the way,
Nor yet regard what idle people say.
Come, I have money, that shall out to use,
What though some count that practice an abuse?
They are mistaken sure, or they be such
As do, through want, forbear to do as much;
For I account him more precise then fit
That makes a doubt, of that which Laws admit;
But let them herein doubt that will, for me,
If I make any, all my doubt shall be,
Least my security should doubtful prove,
I need in this no other scruple move.
But to be sure, I know a piece of land
Which will be sold, that's in a spend thrifts hand,
If I had that in pawn I were secure,
For that is such a pawn as will endure:
How shall I take this novice in a snare?
But, tush, my gold will tempt him theres no fear:
For though he cannot prize it as he ought,
Yet he, I know, to such a strait is brought
That he must needs be bold with such as lend,
And, at his need now, if I stand his friend,
And seek to him, till I assured be
His land is sure, he then shall seek to me.
But this suffice not, I have money more,
And every quarter will increase my store.
Now some, I see, do mightily increase
By making happy ventures on the Seas;
Whose profit, I confess, I do approve,
But yet their venture, that I do not love:
I am not to my wealth soill inclind,
To trust it to the mercy of the wind,
I like not that. But rather all my drift
(As that, some say,'s a special way of thrift)
Is at some Manor, Lordship, or to buy
Some office where much benefit doth lie;
Now such a purchase were to some effect,
Would both increase my wealth, and gain respect.
But if I purpose such a thing, indeed,
I must use great, and circumspectest heed
To walk a sparing and a saving way
That so I may provide for such a day.
The mean time then, the money comes to me
Shall, in the mean time, out ingendring be:
Such things, whats'ever, as I have to sell,
I mean to keep, or put them off full well:
Yea though my garner, or my barns be fired,
With the increase my fruitful crops do yield,
Before I will sell it at an under rate,
That way to make away with my estate;
I will thrash my corn, and hide it in the ground,
(Whereas it shall not readily be sound)
And buy the corn I spend, as a device
To help to raise and aggravate the price,
Ere I will be bound to feed the stinking poor
At such a reckoning with my precious store.
Nor need I, for my corn, ere long, no doubt,
Will bear a price, and then I will bring it out
When it is at the height, and, if they will,
Then let the poor revile, or use their skill,
It is not the cry, nor curse of such a vain,
Or foul mouthed crew shall make me slip my gain.
Then next, because Ide hasten my intents,
There is no shift but I must raise my Rents,
And such as be my Tenants too, must bear
Those rates and duties, they would make my share:
What though their charge be great, and times be bad?
The Rent I could on other men have had,
And can have yet, and something else to drink,
And therefore I do use them well, I think:
And they have no just reason to complain:
But if they do, tis labor but in vain,
For though I take their money, as tis fit,
I am not bound to maintain them for it.
Besides, I now must spare a little more
Of what I spent within my house before,
Two meals a day must now suffice, and such
As Nature doth require, and not too much.
I do commend of Wheat, but now, instead,
Both Rye, and Barley, they will make good Bread,
Yea good enough for servants: and the poor,
I trust my dog shall keep them from my door.
I will waste no money now to buy new clothes,
New fashions they are things an old man loathes;
My old clothes of antiquity can boast,
And therefore sure to be respected most,
And, for my body, I will refuse no pains,
But toil and labor all day long for gains,
And when tis night, and others rest do take,
I then will exercise my brain awake,
And lie and sweetly ponder and devise
Some gainful exercise against I rise,
For me, and mine, that by this means I may
Make benefit of both the night, and day.
These meditations give me such content,
I grutch my sleep that would the same prevent.
Then what shall herein hinder my desire?
I can imagine no contentment higher:
And therefore this shall be my highest pitch,
Only to toil, and study to be rich,
And this I will endeavor to express:
Though with my tongue, I do not it confess.
But if I must, for tender Natures sake,
Some further use of Recreation make,
My Liberary to my view presents
The sweet fruition of most choice contents:
There I have certain statute Books at hand,
Where I may view the Tenours of my Land:
There I have just Arethmatickes to count
Unto what sums my usuries amount:
And eke an Affamerides, which may
Shew me my other comings in each day.
And there to pleasure me, I may behold
My bonds, and bills, my silver, and my gold;
Which Jewels if I should but feel, I think,
It would refresh me more than meat and drink.
Discretion in Age.
DEare self, what art thou all inclined to earth?
Is nothing else in thy account of worth?
Or, at the leastwise, nothing else that may
Here upon earth, be valu'd with this clay?
Earth is, indeed, the matter of thy frame,
And thou must sure, again unto the same;
For things Created naturally run,
Into those elements where they begun)
This cannot be denied: that in this kind
Thou mayst be something to the earth inclined.
Yea nearness, and affinity is such,
As seems by nature to require as much:
And reason of affection doth admit.
Where near alliance doth the same beget.
Besides, a frugal providence in thee
Doth both with reason and thy years agree:
All ages, yea and all estates stand need
To have this careful Providence and heed;
As that whereon depends, as doth appear,
Next under God, their only safety here.
And such as do neglect this duty great,
And idly spend their time, or their estate,
They are to be condemned as unjust,
And no fit Stewards to be put in trust,
They are to those depend on them a curse,
But are by odds unto themselves a worse:
Good men account them base above the rest,
And God, He doth them most of all detest:
This is the issue, or the ill effect
Which still attends this Prodigal neglect.
Deare self, tis so; but let not this excuse,
Let not this color of a lawful use
Of getting goods, or earthly treasure slight,
Make that thy only practice, and delight,
And to that gain become so much addicted
That gain far greater shall become neglected.
I tell thee wealth is very much, inclined
Both to seduce and steal away the mind,
And if thou dost but unto it incline,
It will possess thee totally in fine,
And in thy bosom bear such sway, that grace,
And tender-hearted virtue must give place.
Which Mammon in thee to this monster grown,
Thou shalt remain no longer then thine own,
But live a servile servitude and gross
Under this Monster, Mammon, earthly dross.
For as men do of fire, and water say,
They are good servants when they do obey:
But if they come to get the upper hand;
Are cruel Masters where they do command.
So goods, and care of worldly gain, confined
Within those limits reason hath enjoin'd,
Are very good: but if they do exceed,
And yet the upper hand, for want of heed,
They then will grow outrageous, and will play
The Tyrant in thee, making thee obey:
Torment thy mind, with endless care oppressed,
And wast thy body, giving it no rest.
For wealth, like wine in excellence exceeds,
If thou canst take no more thereof then need,
And will afford much comfort and delight,
But take too much and 'twill confound thee quite,
Or so besot thy understanding part,
That it will make thee drunken at the heart.
For as to add more water to the source,
Doth make it run but with the greater force:
Or as to put more fuel to the flame,
Doth but increase or more enrage the same.
So fondly seeking to alay this fire,
Or scorching thirst of gain in the desire,
By adding wealth, to wealth possessed before,
Doth but increase desire of wealth the more:
For riches in them, naturally rising,
Have only power attractive, not sufficing:
That tis not all the wealth thou canst require,
Can satisfy a covetous desire.
Nay, know thou mayst in worldly wealth excel,
As it is feigned of
Tantalus
in hell,
Who, though in water stands up to the chin,
And scorched with thirst, yet cannot drink therein.
So thou, I say, in worldly wealth mayest swim,
And yet not have the power to taste, like him,
One drop of comfort in the same; nay know
Thou mayst have riches to thy overthrow
And mere destruction, when thy riches shall
Become thy joy, thy master, God and all.
This is, dear self, a certainty indeed,
Men hungers still that do on riches feed,
For feeding thus doth appitite beget,
The more men feed the more they hunger yet,
Then do not thou endeavor thus to fill
So foul a monster as will hunger still,
Or rather be the further to suffice,
The more it swallows: No, be thou more wise,
And show thy understanding by thy care,
Or manly courage to avoid this snare,
Which for a color, or excuse pretends
Thy safety on the use of it depends,
Besides, dear self, where Avarice takes place,
It is a deadly enemy to grace:
It roots out virtue, and is much inclined
To smother all good motions in the mind:
It banisheth all pity from the door,
And is a cruel foe unto the poor:
It counteth men of charity unwise,
And such as are religious, too precise,
And all things underneath the Sun but vain,
But only such as do afford some gain
Yea, the presumption of this god is great,
This Mammon seeketh to usurp the seat
Of God himself, in that he doth aspire
To take the chiefest place in man's desire.
But mine own heart give God the chiefest place,
For earthly Mammon is a monster base,
And such as be the servants of that beast
Their servitude is base above the rest.
Besides, dear self, thy fading years are such
As in this, Nature may persuade thee much;
Thy Age doth plead by arguments full strong
That thou must leave these earthly things ere long:
Thou must forsake those Lands thou hast in hold,
Thy stately buildings, and thy precious gold,
And stripped of all ere long; thy biding have
Amongst the dead within the silent grave.
Thy powers of mind already do decay,
And Nature 'gins to take its force away:
Which being so, as so it is, dear self,
Why shouldst thou be in love with earthly pelf?
Which thou so soon art certain to forsake;
And when tis gone, thy reckoning is to make,
When thou for aide hast greatest use, then shall
Thy flattering riches flee, and leave thee all.
This is a truth most certainly concluded,
Then be not with this fruitless wealth deluded:
But seek those riches that will never rust,
Nor ever fail thee, being put in trust;
Let virtue be the treasure of thy mind,
Be unto heaven and heavenly things inclined,
For those are riches which will help at need,
When as thou hast most use for help indeed,
Those in the end will stand in thy defense,
And in the mean time, ere thou dost go hence,
Will yield thee joy and comfort in thy breast,
And will besides, become thy wisdom best:
For virtue will thy wisdom best express,
And eke thy age it doth require no less,
Thy years are such as justly do require
Thou shouldst be heavenly now in thy desire,
Contemning earth, and earthly things as vain,
And such, with which thou canst not long remain,
But must be severed: and the day insues
When thou shalt all such comforters refuse,
As merely fruitless: when one little grain
Of heavenly grace, or everlasting gain
Will do more good, and yield thee more content
Than all the World is able to present.
Deare self, forsake this earth then in desire,
Raise thy affections elevate them higher,
And fixe them where they need not thus remove,
On the Eternal treasures are above:
That so thy secret conscience may have rest,
And comfort from those virtues in thy breast:
And others, which shall see the same (as fit)
Shall give much honor both to thee, and it:
And, by thy sage, and good example moved,
Thy virtues shall in them become beloved;
And thou become a teacher, as, in truth,
The aged should in virtue be to Youth.
Passion.
HEaven, and things Heav'nly, it must be confessed,
Are above all things infinitely best,
And so I do account them in my mind;
And so, I trust, I shall them one day find,
When I shall stand in need of them at last,
When all my earthly comforts shall be past.
But in the mean time whiles I have my stay
Here upon earth, where earthly things bear sway,
And in the world have got so much command
That worldly wealth hath got the upper hand.
What madness were it, might you think, in me
If of this treasure I should careless be?
Or count the same a thing of little worth,
Which is the gain accounted of on earth:
And only such as do enjoy the same
Are counted men of estimate and fame.
Alas, what were it for my credit here?
Though I in gifts of Nature should appear
Most perfect; adding unto Nature, Art,
And learning, to illusterate each part?
Yet were I poor and wanted Riches, tush,
All my perfections were not worth a rush:
Nor would within the worlds account take place,
My poverty would give them such disgrace.
Nay, were I moved in another kind,
With grace and virtue to adorn my mind,
To be Religious, zealously affected,
And unto heaven, and heavenly things addicted.
Yet were I poor and wanted earthly gain,
All my Religion would be counted vain,
And I, with my endeavors, thus should pass
Under the censure of dissembling asse,
Or under titles of contempt as much,
As idle, factious, ignorant, or such.
But, otherwise, were I of birth most base;
And of good breeding never knew the place,
Were I deformed in body, same, or blind;
And were as much defective in my mind,
Had neither grace, humanity, nor wit,
Nor any other faculty were fit:
But were in speeches; and behavior rude,
And in my practice most deboyst and lewd;
A foe to virtue, and to bosoms chaste
A tempter sworn, or enemy professed;
A monster, or as mere a drunken sot
As ever
Bachus
bred, or drunk a pot:
And unto these did resolution add,
To make all others that I could, as bad.
Yet, notwithstanding all this shown, and more,
Had I but wealth, but earthly riches store,
The sweet possession of revenues great,
Which might give honor unto my estate:
The world it durst not tax me then with blame,
But rather yield me reverence and fame,
At least that reputation and respect
Which worldly wealth, or nothing could effect:
For greatest riches seek the highest place,
Aspires to honor, and expels disgrace.
Besides, example daily makes it clear,
What freedom tis to be a rich man here,
What privileges wait upon him still
To feed his fancy, or suffice his will:
What kind of earthly comfort can he crave,
That may be had, which here he may not have?
If honor be the thing he doth desire,
It is wealth, or nothing, that must raise him higher:
For honor doth on worldly wealth depend,
And as wealth riseth, honor doth ascend:
Again, as wealth doth fall into decay,
So, for the most part, honor falls away.
If worldly pleasures satisfy him best,
What pleasure can he in his heart request,
The earth affords, his heart to satisfy,
Which earthly treasure, gold cannot supply?
For as the needle draws along the twine,
So Gold hath earthly pleasures on a line,
And, for the most part, that way gold doth draw,
The worlds contments follow, as in a we.
Or if it be the maintenance of right
When wrong is offered, that he doth delight:
Or sweet revenge, to satisfy the mind,
When injury is done in any kind.
Why there is nothing of the like respect,
With gold, in working any such effect.
It makes the witness confident and bold
To speak his mind, although he be contrould.
It gives the Lawyer courage in his case,
It makes him use most necessary pleas,
And will to childish silence not be put
So long as gold can keep his case on foot.
Or, otherwise, (by tender pity moved
To do that ancient duty, and approved)
If that a man would Charity extend,
Would be a help, or comfort to his friend:
Would aide the simple, fatherless, or poor,
And give, to such as wanted, of his store;
Or had a purpose to be understood
A Benefactor to the common good.
Yet if he wanted means, unto his mind,
And had not where withal to be thus kind;
His purpose would be, to no purpose, lost,
Because his will, thus by his want was crossed,
And his good meanings die, with his devotion,
For want of gold, to give them life and motion.
Oh gold most precious! what can more be said?
If virtue thus depends upon thy aid,
And cannot fly, unless thou givest it wings,
But lies, and dies, as well as other things.
The greatest Monarch never so much swayed
As to become of all the world obeyed;
Nor fairest creature, most alluring made,
Like thee, could ever all the world persuade.
But thou dost sway a Scepter in thy hand,
Which doth the worlds whole Monarchy command:
And, like the Sun, such rays do from thee flow
As do attract the love of all below.
Who is so great, or stately to disdain
To be a suitor for thy precious gain?
Or who so wise, so holy, or upright
As truly scorns to yield unto thy might?
The Noblest and the bravest Spirit quail
When thy sweet genious, or familiar fails.
And eke, again, the most deboyst that lives
Revives his Soul when thou assistance gives.
Come then dear gold, my hearts content and stay;
Who will not, if thou dost command, obey?
Thy powers are so attractive I should feel
Some motion of them, though my heart were steel,
As tis full hard; but yet not such a flint,
But that it hath some feeling of thee init:
And, if thy greatness might not it disdain,
I would be more familiar with thee fain:
For I account thy pleasures far above
All youthful beauty, or delights of love,
Or anything, if anything abides,
Of more contentment, in the world besides.
Discretion.
BVt stay, dear self, what art thou all in gold?
These are extremes; some moderation hold:
Gold is a stately habit, I confess,
And is accounted in the world no less.
But gold, it may be, is not thy attire,
But gold is in thy bosom thy desire;
And so, it bearing sway within thy breast,
Thou art by it, not it by thee possessed.
And thou become a servant, and enthrall
To that should do thee service most of all:
Which is, indeed, that misery of mind
Wherein, men miserable, are most blind.
But, mine own heart, be thou discerning here,
And make it known thy understanding's clear,
And is not dazzled by those golden rays,
Which do eclipse the brightness of our days.
I do acknowledge earthly goods a blessing,
And be they wanting, many things are missing:
Yet where they are, and do exceed, tis plain,
They are as bad, or dangerous again.
For where these earthly riches do exceed
The measure that a sober man doth need,
They there leave off their nature of content,
And take the nature of a punishment,
And, with the endless care of boundless pelf,
Torments the mind as much as hell it self.
This is most true, although we sometimes see
Men seem at ease, that thus tormented be:
Who like the Salamander in the fire,
Delight to live thus tortured in desire.
Besides, although we manifestly find
Things earthly, pleasing to an earthly mind.
Yet virtue, that which maketh truly rich,
That we see, always flies a higher pitch.
As Heaven, the seat of happiness, we know,
Is furthest distant from earths center low;
So, doubtless, heaven, and things that heavenly be
Can worst with earth, and earthly things agree:
The spacious space between them put is such
As serves alone to signify as much.
That too much riches do appear a curse:
Again, too little is accounted worse:
These are extremes, and cannot be the best,
Because extremes they can afford no rest.
What then, dear self? why certainly between
These two extremes, there still abides a mean,
Which golden mean is of a higher rate
Then, almost, all men value the estate.
For what true comfort can there be attained,
Which with a sweet contentment is not gained?
Again, what true content can be devised,
That is not also, in the mean comprised,
Sure double happy is he that atchieves
The sweet conjunction of these relatives,
Which meeting are so readily inclined
To make such heavenly harmony in mind:
What note more sweet than from the mean ariseth?
What strain's more full than that which still sufficeth?
The mean all true contentment doth present;
And who more happy than the man content?
Sweet compitancy, how rare do we find
Thee to the man of a contented mind?
What rest, what peace, what joy dost thou allow him,
And with what matchless comfort dost indow him?
Keep'st him secure and safe in all respects,
Preserv'st him from all turbulent effects:
And full sufficiency dost give him, which
Is ten times better than to have too much.
The man a loft, may boast upon the same;
The man renowned may glory in his fame:
The man ambitious may seek to clime higher:
The man envious, to have his desire:
The rich man may his insultations make,
And sooth himself for his abundance sake.
Yet neither high, nor low, nor rich, nor poor,
Nor any other state on earth hath more
True rest, true peace, true comfort and content,
Or sound and solid satisfaction init,
Then this contains, than this affords to such
As rightly do embrace it; nor so much.
Deare self, then herein set thy heart at rest,
The mean is it where virtue doth consist;
That if thou hast sufficience in store,
It is madness then to vex thyself for more;
When adding more to that thou dost possess
Will make thy comfort, in them both, the less,
Or rather, in this nature to speak right,
Will take away the comfort of them quite.
Besides the toil, the study, and the fear
In storing up these needless fruits of care,
Is such, as may in reason well suffice
To make a Creature rational more wise.
And for the vulgar credit or applause
Whereof these worldly riches are the cause,
If duly weighed and ponder'd as it ought,
It will appear not half the thing tis thought.
For what is all the honor, or the praise
Bestow'd on greedy rich men nowadays?
But only outward reverence; and such
As the bestowers inwardly do grutch,
Because they know tis undeserv'd: though fear
Doth make them thus some reverence declare.
Nay, he that is most earnest to obtain
These earthly goods, the greediest of gain,
The fame he aims at, turns into disgrace,
And his endeavors are accounted base,
And men do brand him, in the stead of fame,
With most reproach full titles for the same;
As cruel, earth-worm, Usurper: And more,
He always is accursed of the poor,
Who, in their hunger, do for vengeance call
For him: and such as he that eat up all.
Besides, the earth he eateth up so fast,
It threats again to eat up him at last:
And, in the mean time, earnestly doth groan
That he should have so much of it alone,
And do no good with it: which the Creator
Ordain'd should be a necessary creature.
And therefore it, to be revenged, ere long
Will witness bear how he hath done it wrong:
When as the Judge, who doth in truth delight,
Will hear the case, and do the creature right.
Deare self tis so, then set not thou thy love
On such a friend, as if thou dost, will prove
Thy greatest foe, and for thy kindness shown,
Unkindly plead to have thee overthrown.
But if thou must, as needs thou must indeed,
Make use of earth, or earthly wealth at need,
Then labor to employ it in that kind,
Which by the Author of it was enjoin'd,
In doing good, extending of thy store
To pious uses, and unto the poor;
And then, unto thy comfort, in the end
Thy wealth, in earnest, will become thy friend
And witness for thee, when thy case is tried
How justly by thee, it hath been employ'd.
This is, dear self, the only sweet of all,
That may in wealth extracted be from gall;
For worldly riches are a sugared bait
Wherein lies poison hidden by deceit.
Then be thou heedful mine own tender heart,
And in this nature show thou hast some art,
Who, like a skillful Alchemist and tried,
Can'st here the silver, from the dross divide.
Observe that rule, which hath been long forgot,
To use thy wealth, as if thou used it not:
That so, if such an accident should be
As, ere thou dy'st, should part thy wealth, and thee,
Thou mayst with patients, free from discontent,
Restore the Owner what he freely lent:
Or, at the least, when death, at last shall strike,
Thou mayst, with joy, do willingly the like.
Passion.
MIne own dear heart, why take'st thou not thy rest?
Why art thou thus disquieted in my breast?
As if I prized this world at such a rate
That I were careless of my future state:
No, fear it not, it is not so, I trust,
For I desire the portion of the Just,
And have a hope, as well as a desire,
As, to rise here, to rise hereafter higher.
And, to that end, I am in hope tis known,
My good endeavors to the world are shown;
My purse is still as ready as my mind
To be a helpful worker in this kind,
My part is always called for as the chief,
When Charity is calling for relief:
And, whatsoever idle spend goods prate,
I am much helpful to uphold the state.
Thus, whiles I live, I do my wealth employ,
And have a resolution, when I die
To be a further friend unto the poor,
They then may bless me as they did before:
And, if I thought he would these things report,
I then would well requite a Preacher for it.
The mean time it must first be understood,
I must have wherewithal to do this good;
And therefore things thus needful, I am tied
In reason and in Conscience to provide.
Besides, it is my duty, and I find,
A duty too that strictly is enjoin'd,
That here I should be provident and wise,
And use all lawful means I can devise
That such as do upon my aid rely
May feel no want of what I should supply.
But further yet I find within my breast
A Law by odds more powerful than the rest,
Which is the Law of Nature in my mind,
Which doth by Nature move me to be kind,
And careful that my children, which I grant
Are near and dear unto me, may not want.
If Lightnings meteors threate to scorch the skies,
Straight, as inrag'd, distempered Thunder cries:
Or any other near united twain,
If one fares ill, the other doth complain.
Mine own dear children, whom I tender much,
It is fit that my affection should be such:
What heart would not dissolve to see you miss?
What tender bowels would not burst at this?
Sweet Babes, who, like to Birds before they fly,
For food do only to the Old ones cry;
Me thinks I hear you pitifully call
Father, be careful of your Children small,
And as your substance did us substance give,
So of your substance, Father, let us live:
We are your offspring, issu'd from your loins,
What nearness more respective care enjoins?
Let pity move you to respect your own,
Compassion, fitly, first at home is shown:
We wholly yet upon your hand are staid,
We only do rely upon your aid.
If you have not a Fatherly respect,
If you, dear Father, do our caseneglect,
What kindness, or what comfort may we then
Expect to find from any other men?
Deare Father, let affection then bear sway,
Prevent your Children's ruin and decay,
And as our tears you do in pity tender,
Be, as you are our Father, our defender,
That so the tender seed that you have sown
May be preserved, and flourish when tis grown.
These are the voices which me thinks, I hear,
Unto which voices who can but give ear?
What Father living can refrain from tears,
That thus his Children sad complaining hears?
But, doubtless, double cruel is that swine
Which gives his child this reason to repine.
For my part, as it is my duty, so
It shall be my endeavor thereunto,
Whiles with my children here I have my stay,
To do my children all the good I may.
The working Pysmire and the laboring Be,
As if they did ensuing wants fore-see,
Do aptly teach us, in the time we may,
To get in store against another day;
Lest we, or those that we are bound to feed,
Should stand in want, in time of greatest-need.
Yea, as tis said, all Creatures teach the same,
Both Birds, and Beasts; then were it not a shame
If I; who should have reason for my guide,
Should not with prudence for mine own provide?
Besides, I seeing earthly wealth is such
That naught else, earthly, is esteemed so much;
And men, without it, are accounted base,
What other gifts soever do them grace:
If I have any true desire to see
My tender children here respected be:
Or when I shall surcease to be, and leave them,
Would have the world respect and honor give them.
It doth behove me, whiles I here remain,
To heedful be, and slip no means of gain,
But use my best endeavor, in this kind,
To leave them credit, that I leave behind.
That so when I shall cease, or fall asleep,
My wealth, which then I shall no longer keep,
May grace my issue which shall then survive,
That so my credit may be kept alive
In my posterity, in that my seed
Shall live and flourish, when I shall be dead.
When otherwise, if I shall waste my store,
And, through my folly, leave my issue poor,
They shall be sure to feel the irksome want
That doth attend the state where things are scant,
With the disdain, reproachful titles, shame,
And miseries that wait upon the same.
Besides, my children shall have cause to curse
Their fate, if not their Father, which is worse:
Their fate for frowning, but their Father, I,
Not for mere frowning, but for cruelty;
Who, when I ought, and might have purchased here,
Hard heart, was careless of my children dear.
Thus, if I be not provident, tis plain,
Both I, and mine, whiles here I do remain,
Must fare the worse: and when I must away,
And in my grave be molded up in clay:
Where, one would think, I might remain in peace:
Yet with me there the world will not surcease,
But call my follyes up, to my disgrace,
Appearing in the poorenesse of my race,
Who, through my want of diligence and heed,
Shall taste of want, and miserable need.
Oh cruelty! what creature hath thus done?
It is pity Father ever should have Son,
That shall thus far unnatural be known,
As not to make provision for his own.
Then who is so unnatural, so blind,
So void of care, or reason in his mind?
As to contemn the providence of such
As for their children lay up treasure much.
Sure none that are of any substance will,
None that have wit will so condemn their skill,
None that have Fatherly affection can,
None that retain the nature of a man.
If Fathers here should fail, and were not moved,
Through tender care of children dearly loved,
To take much pains, and have a prudent heed
To lay up store, for times that shall succeed;
Their hot affections would herein abate,
And care of things to come would out of date:
And so, by setting providence a stay,
The world would quickly ruin and decay.
But God, out of his goodness and his care,
His infinite of wisdom to declare:
Hath in each heart imprinted, as Creator,
A care of the preserving kind by nature.
Which tender care of off-springs future good,
Hath been a means the world so long hath stood:
And when this care shall cease, the world, tis plain;
Shall run to a confused heap again.
I might enlarge this further, to make clear
The case in question, but it doth appear
So plain and evident unto the wise,
That, what is shown already may suffice.
Then what shall stay, or hinder my intent?
As if it justly might the same prevent.
This is the treasure: whatsoev'r men fain
Of mental, or imaginary gain.
That is to be commended, I confess;
And, such as do enjoy it, are no less.
But this is that same providence, which here
Affords the profit that is held most dear:
Yea, tis so useful that, it seems, the frame
Of all the world depends upon the same.
Then this shall be my study, and my art,
That of this building I may bear a part:
That, if hereafter, any man shall look,
He may perceive what prudent care I took:
And such as shall succeed me, may be bold
To take the part, which thus I did uphold.
Sweet comfort, doubtless, and to be admired:
Who will not with these profits be inspired?
They do possess me in so deep a kind,
And have indeed, so ravished my mind,
That, if to speak the truth I may not blush,
I count all profits, else, not worth a rush.
Discretion in Age.
IF home-bred, or domestic foes be such
As cause more dread than foreign foes by much:
Then much more may the inbred foe be thought
Most hard to be into subjection brought:
Because the nearness of a foe, we find,
Doth add advantage to a cruel mind,
Deare self, consider, this is just thy state,
Within thy bosom there is this debate;
This most irreconcilliable jar:
There Passion, and Discretion are at war:
There Nature seeks its freedom to defend:
There reason with affection doth contend:
Or rather there, to pen the title right,
Proud flesh doth with the humble spirit fight.
Mine own dear heart, then arm thyself thou must,
These fatal foes of thine are not to trust,
Their force is great, their malice is not small,
Their arguments most dangerous of all:
And when by force thou wilt not be subdued,
They then will fawn and flatter to delude:
And if all this cannot agreement draw;
They then will plead their quarrel good by Law:
That if thou stand it not, to withstand them fast,
They will prevail and make thee yield at last.
But mine own heart, be thou advised here
To shun those dangers, which thou seest so clear,
And let the knowledge of the same suffice,
To make thee loath the bait they would disguise.
Here Passion is impatient to seduce,
Under the shadow of a lawful use
Of worldly wealth, and pleads by reasons strong
That it, in reason, doth to men belong
To be most wise and provident for gain,
As that wherein such safety doth remain
That they without it cannot well subsist,
And as they wish their children should be blest,
Or would have happiness betide them,
They must this means of happiness provide them.
In deed, dear self, this argument, in show,
Is of much force, and in some kind is true,
The Father is most strictly tied, I grant,
To have a care his children may not want:
And children, when they come to go, I yield,
May walk the better, by this stay up-held,
And by the portion that their parents give,
May be the more incourag'd, whiles they live,
To store up for their issue too: and so
To do to theirs, as they were done unto.
All this seems equal, excellent, and fit,
And that which truth, and reason both admit:
That if there were no more to say but this,
This, doubtless, were the only way to bliss.
But mine own heart, the sting remains behind;
This is the honey that deludes the mind:
Men door upon the sweet that riches bring,
But never once suspect they have a sting:
A sting lies hid, by honey over-cast,
Which will be felt, when honey fails at last,
And make men know, as tis well known, that stings
Do still lie hidden under golden wings.
Deare self tis so, then let it be thy care
To shun the danger that is in the snare:
Do thou no further unto wealth incline
Then may be for the good of thee, and thine,
But if thou hast a fatherly desire,
(As fit, and that which reason doth require)
To store up riches for thy tender seed,
Which may relieve and help them at their need:
Then in providing thou must be more wise
Than to weave webbes, as Spiders do, for flies,
Which are so frail and subject to decay,
That the mere wind doth blow the same away.
Thou must be careful that thy store uplaid,
Intended for thy tender children's aide,
Be goods well gotten, honestly attained,
Not by deceit, or means unlawful gained,
But such as Truth may warrant will abide,
When Justice calls the matter to be tryde.
For, otherwise, thy ill got wealth, intended
To grace thy children, when thy grace is ended,
It will be, like the Spiders web, as though
It were mere nothing, when the wind doth blow;
When God shall breathe upon it, in displeasure,
To blast the fruit of such ill-gotten treasure.
That, as 'twas gotten by deceit by thee,
It to thy children may deceitful be;
And, when they think it should become their stay,
Then waste, or make it wings and fly away.
Thus, for the most part, goods ill gotten wast,
Though for an age they, peradventure, last,
Which is not often: but that bides not long,
(This is most certain) which is gained by wrong.
Besides, tis plain and evidently seen
That goods which have unjustly gotten been,
As they were badly gotten, by as vain,
Or sordid means they do consume again:
For tis a Maxim, with a full consent,
Goods badly gotten, will be badly spent:
As if the father did the child contstrain
To spend in vice, what he in vice did gain;
Which is a curse; though children judge amiss,
The largest portion is the greatest bliss:
And think them fools that think there is a curse
That children may inherit from the purse,
Or from the portion that their Parents give them,
So it be large or great enough they leave them.
Although experience teacheth, the conclusion:
Of goods ill got, is ruin and confusion.
Deare self, then do not thou thyself this wrong,
Nor those that do unto thyself belong;
Torment not thou thy body; and thy mind,
To heap up store of riches in this kind.
What idle madness is it, or as vain,
To lie down late, and early rise again?
To eat the bread of carefullnesse, and think
The dregs of pleasure good enough to drink?
And all to gain a little goods; which, got,
Twere ten times better that thou hadst them not,
But hadst been, to thy happiness, more wise
Both for thyself, and for thy seed likewise;
For thee, because thy gain will prove thy shame,
For thine, because deluded by the same.
Deluded? yea, most grossly too, deluded,
It cannot sure be otherwise concluded:
For what can more deceitful be than this,
A curse should be intended for a bliss:
A child which on his portion doth rely,
Should, when he hath it, be undone thereby.
Undone, indeed, because it cannot stay,
But as 'twas got, in hast it must away;
And when tis vanished out of sight and gone,
How is that child deluded, that alone
Rely'd thereon? is he not quite undone?
Yes, certainly, most wretched is that Son,
Whose haplesse Father, or unhappy fate
Provided for him such a failing state.
Had not his Father (by delusion guided)
Such a deluding state for him provided,
He should not then have on that means rely'd,
As only to that means of living tied)
But should have in his tender years, as fit,
Instructed been to exercise his wit,
To gain such knowledge in some honest way,
As might have yielded means another day:
Some lawful Art, or Science, which are sure,
When other portions vanish, to endure.
When he that wholly is without such aide,
Whose means, or patrimony is decayed
(Whiles he on most inconstant fortune waits)
Is urged to means unlawful, or to straits.
Mine own dear self, this is a certain Truth,
Which still hath been most incident to Youth.
Then if thou wouldst not have thy name defiled;
Or if thou hast respect unto thy Child:
Then scrape not for him such uncertain gain,
But rather teach him that which will remain:
That so the portion that thou dost provide
May, to thy credit, with thy child abide.
What though the portion that thou givest be small?
Yet, if it hath that blessing there withal
That it was justly gained; and, when enjoy'd
As justly and as piously employ'd,
It doubtless, shall be for their comfort more
That shall enjoy thy riches or thy store,
Then if it had been ten times more; and got
By means unjust, which Truth admitteth not.
Foundations sound, which, like the Rocks, lie low,
Are better far to build upon, you know,
Then hugest mountains, that are heaps of sand,
Or hollow caves, where buildings cannot stand.
Even so that well got substance which is sound,
Although it lies but level with the ground,
Is very little: Yet tis better sure
To build upon, and longer will endure
Then that estate which by deceit did rise,
Although it threats to reach unto the Skies.
But being windy, hovering, and light,
One blast from heaven doth overthrow it quite,
And, by this ever sad event ensuing,
Brings building, and the builder both to ruin.
But if, dear self, thy seed, by thy intent,
Should be the better for thee by descent,
Then thou must labor to be here the same
That may hereafter yield thee a good name.
That so that precious jewel it may live
When thou art dead; and to thy issue give
That true bred worth, or credit; which, I know,
The richest worldling hath not to bestow.
If this, then, thou canst purchase up in store
To leave behind thee, though thou leave'st no more,
This is alone a patrimony great:
The comfort of which portion or estate,
With thy example, may provoke thy seed,
When thou art hence departed, to take heed
To be to their succeeding race so kind
To leave them this inheritance behind.
That, as it in them by descent took place,
It may be still descending in their race:
That so they to their issue may restore
What from their parents they received before;
Which is a debt, or rather duty laid
On men by Conscience, should be duly paid.
A Postscript.
WHat shall I here conclude? Oh yes! tis time,
Fond Hypocrites cannot endure this rime,
It is idle, tis Phantasticall they say,
And altogether fruitless: what are they?
Sure had my verse no more true meaning init
Then they have, it should never come in Print.
But can men make no Music on the Vial,
Because some make a noise confused in trial?
Yes, hypocrites, though it, like you be hollow,
Yet, strained by art, the notes are sweet that follow.
So verse, or rather Poesie, if it meets
With Art, is, like a Posy full of sweetes:
Though some like Apes, to imitate the same,
Do spew out rimes, distasteful, to their shame.
BUt hark, what voice is this that answers mine?
Me thinks I hear malicious envy grine,
As if it were in malice with my quill,
And tells me, that I boast upon my skill;
When I of knowledge am as far to seek
As he that knows not Grammar, is of Greek.
Fond Hagge take heed, I have not done thee wrong,
By an usurping thy invenum'd tongue:
Nor borrowed Language, thereby to make known
The skill of other men, and not mine own.
Though it perhaps, doth often come to pass
An English Fool, becomes a Latin Ass.
But look what herein hath been my endeavor,
It is all mine own, how ignorant soever:
And I perhaps, may reach a higher strain;
Though here I cease, till I begin again.
To his Most Noble and much Reverenced Friend, and Kinsman, Master JOHN STRVT.
Sir,
I Do so far presume of your favor as to shelter these ensuing Lines under the shadow of your Protection. J, indeed, acknowledge my boldness in thus intruding upon your worth, to defend my weakness.
Notwithstanding, J am herein encouraged in part to presume of your Pardon. The slender subject here presented to your view, consists of two parts, Passion, and Discretion: The first part, which is Passion, that is absolutely mine own: an inheritance discending from most ancient Parentage. The other, which is Discretion, is yours by Possession; and due by Desert: in which J do but bring the shadow to your Sight, of that which you have the substance in yourself. In which respect it is but my duty to entitle you to that which is yours by due. Jn which kind also, not only that which insues, but that which is precedent may beg your Patronage, as part of your Inheritage.
J do confess J have imprinted the name of that noble Lady Temperance in the front of my Endeavors; but J know you will account it no disgrace to part with so worthy a partner; whose beauties, J am confident, do (if possibly they may do) As much delight your heart, as the alone Lady of your affections, doth your bosom: which can no way be imputed to wantonness, but to wisdom. For what can be of more validity to preserve the nuptial knot inviolate, then the sacred tie of virtuous Temperance?
But, not any way to direct, but only to delight you, J have thus far encroached upon your leave. And in Fine, humbly petitioning for your favor, J rest Yours at Command, as bound.
Edward Calver.
To the Jmpartiall Reader.
WHat, shall I here proceed? and seemed to cease?
Resolve me Read, speak? or hold my peace?
But thou art silent, or I out of hearing:
Sure, till I know thy mind, Ide best be sparing.
But if thy judgment justly shall reprove me,
I shall recant; but Judge not things above thee.
Passion, and Discretion.
The Second Book.
Passion in Wealth.
HAving full tide why should I slack mine Oare?
When winds, beside, stand prosp'rous for my shore,
And, with a soft and gentle fruitful gale,
(As waiting on my will) do fill my sails.
If Heaven rains Manna in a plenteous measure
Shall man refuse to taste the same with pleasure?
When senseless earth in Summer time is proud
To drink the show'rs of an inferior cloud.
Then if Heavens bounteous hand fills full my cup,
Shall I, in dread that I should drink it up,
Not taste thereof, but childishly forbear
The use of such a happiness for fear?
No, no, I must not so forgetful prove,
To slight a favor slackes the doners love:
And oftentimes a gift bestowed in vain
Provokes the giver to recallit again.
Rouze then my faint sad mis-informed heart,
And take some pleasure, make use of thy part
And let not thy neglecting favors shown
Rob thee of both God's blessing, and thine own.
Most prosp'rous, yea if not Divinest fate
With earths chief bliss hath dignified my state,
Hath given me wealth, which is the only worth,
Or only that accounted so on earth.
Then rise my thoughts above the common pitch,
And count it height of honor to be rich.
Inspir'd with comfort, all your powers unite
To hug my fortunes with most deep delight.
What sublunary bliss can I have higher
Then wealth; and so the world at my desire?
For Wealth hath got the world at such a bay
That wealth doth almost bear the greatest sway.
What foe, that's mortal, have I cause to dread
When I have such a friend as Wealth at need?
What poison-pointed weapon need I fear
When I have such a coat of Male to wear?
What black mouthed Envy, breathing in my face,
Can blast my Reputation with disgrace?
When I possess an Antidote so strong
As can expel the poison of the tongue.
What sable fortune can disturb my rest
When I have such a comfort in my chest?
Nay, it is such a Cordial as can
Revive the most dejected heart of man.
If I desire to satisfy my senses,
I need not curb my Nature for expenses,
For I have Wealth to satisfy it still;
And having Wealth I need not want my will.
Or, if there were no danger to clime high,
Who hath more means of getting up than I?
When, if I should but such a thing intend,
I have the only Ladder to a
•
cend.
Or, otherwise, should Fortune turn her wheel
To turn me down; yea though the world should reel
Or seem to stagger, yet my standing's such
I fear no fall, nor changing fortune much.
I fear grim faces as I fear the frown
Of
Mars
his picture, in a Curtain, drawn
Before his
Venus,
so her smiles to hide,
When I have cords to draw that veil aside.
What servile office, nav, what sordid act,
If I had a delight in such a fact,
Could I not get effected out of hand,
And for my coin have agents at command;
The thoughtful poor man thinks it doth him grace
To do me honor when I come in place,
And, if my coin commands him, to his force,
To bear my burden, he becomes my horse.
Both rich and poor are silent when I speak,
The poor for fear, the rich for favors sake:
And should I miss what man cannot afford,
The Elements themselves will store my board.
What cates can I imagine for my taste?
What guest can I delight in at my feast?
What sense-contenting solace can I name,
That I can want, if I desire the same?
What is there made that is not made for me?
When for my turn the Elements agree;
And all the creatures in the same are sent
By the Creator, to give me content.
Yea, all are mine, Hauke, hounds & stately geldings,
The sweetest music, the most sumptuous buildings,
The chief applause, the richest robes that be,
And fairest objects, all are made for me.
Then is not my estate to be desired?
Or I in my estate to be admired?
My state affords what heau'ns on earth bestow,
And I am in the only Heaven below.
Again, if heavens (as though rebuked for keeping
Themselves from tears) fall to excessive weeping;
Or, otherwise, beneath the heavenly Tapers,
The liquid clouds convert to dusty vapors:
From whence the earth, whose fruitfulness depends
Upon those blessings which from heaven descends,
Proves fruitless, and a famine doth begin
To seise the Land, I suffer not therein.
Nay should the shrill, and dreadful Ecchoes fly
From cost, to cost of fell
Bellonas
cry:
Yea angry heavens, and earth should seem at strife,
What need I care? it threatened not my life.
If awful
Caesar
my assistance lacks,
I can put arms upon some others backs.
And though a famine may consume the poor,
I need not fear a famine in my store.
What lack I then, or what doth me oppress?
I feel no want, nor wish my portion less;
I have sufficient whiles I live, and when
I die, have issue to enjoy it then.
But were I childless, or my portion greater,
I should have children, though not sons by nature,
But by adoption, who would be full glad
To become heirs unto so kind a dad.
Rest then I may and reap what is mine own;
Yea, crop the fruits which other men have sown:
And thus on earth, imparadis'd in pelf,
Most sweetly sing a
Requiem
to myself.
Stay then my thoughts, tis vanity to range,
My state is such that I desire no change:
Let men distrest, or poor men strive in cares,
Whose suites, and cries are tedious in mine ears.
My state is here depending upon none,
I can subsist within the same alone,
I take men's favors not as kindness shown,
But service due, and so receive mine own.
Or, if I had a title to be tried,
Or stood in need of anything beside,
Why I have such a loadstone in my fist
As can attract even almost what I list.
Cheere then my heart, and let no want be felt,
Inlarge thyself, thou mayst have what thou wilt:
But, being full already, take thy rest,
Lest thou shouldst seem to strive for what thou hast.
Discretion in Wealth.
SOft, soft, fond Passion, since the winds are fair,
And waters seem to answer to desire,
What need of striving? can that vessel sink
Which wind, and water bears aloft d'ye think?
But mine own heart mistake not thou thy state,
Fond self, do not thyself infatuate,
Thou mayest have tide, and wind to fill thy sails;
But winds are turning, and the tide will fail.
Then, if thou hast a purpose to stand sure,
Build not on that which cannot long endure:
Of wouldst thou any certain comfort find,
Trust not such changing objects as the wind.
For what is wealth but wind, or windy stuff?
Got in a gale, and vanished with a puff;
And he that hath the longest calm, at last
Doth find his substance subject to a blast.
What, to a blast? a creature without form?
Yea to a weaker creature, to a worm,
Nay to the moth, the canker, rust, and rot,
And being gone it is as soon forgot.
All this is certain, this is verifi'd:
Only thy substance is uncertain tried,
And if uncertain, then deceitful gain,
Which got, is lost, and lost, is got in vain.
Deluded self, then how dares sense or Passion
Tell thee thy state admits no alteration?
But, having wealth, canst neither want, nor fall,
When wealth it self doth waver most of all.
But sense is savage, or a buite, at least,
And Passion is the Fury of that beast;
At first made good, but, by the fall made bad,
Are now proved rebels, and are often mad.
Then canst, dear self, be carried so aside,
As to commit thyself to such a guide?
Shall heavens bred reason, Queen of human race,
Unto her servile hand-maid sense give place?
Fye no, let brutish Passion be suppressed,
Lest sense be only Sovereign in the beast:
But in thy breast, who art a man by name,
Let reason rule, to show thou art the same.
If thou dost fear thy reason be too weak
To plead thy case, when stubborn sense shall speak,
Implore his aide, who binds thee to contend;
He that enjoins the quarrel will defend.
If Will be wanting, he can give desire,
If strength be failing, he can force inspire,
And if thy foes would force thee to give place,
Instead of reason, he can give thee grace.
Faint and fond heart, then why art thou afraid?
If thou canst ask it, heavens can give thee aide:
Then ask, yea rather beg it on thy knees,
Then yield unto such enemies as these.
Then let thy understanding part bear sway,
Sense was not made to govern, but obey:
Nor are those objects pleasing most to sense
Most pleasing objects to intelligence.
Sense would persuade thee only to delight,
Or feed thy sensual savage appetite,
And having wealth, which is the only store,
To feed that Monster, thou shalt need no more.
But couldst thou, setting partial sense apart,
Consult with reason, by diviner art,
Thou then shouldst see how thou hast been deluded,
How sense hath into reasons seat intruded.
Thou then shouldst see thy inauspitious state
So long as sense doth reason captivate;
And thence be forced to confess, with shame
Thy service hath been bondage in the same.
Thou then shouldst find that wealth's a fading dower.
Rais'd in an age, and ruined in an hour;
Affording trifles for propounded treasure,
A taste for sweetness, and a drop for measure.
Thou then shouldst prove that men's applause is vain
A glory sprung from other men's disdain,
And then confess that thou, and thy estate,
And all things earthly, flowing, must abate.
Then thou myself, whose Queen of sense is reason,
Consent not to that rebel sense in Treason:
And since thou seest thy Treasure is but vain,
Trust not too much to such uncertain gain.
It proffers what it hath not to supply,
It oft delights, but cannot satisfy,
It makes men hope for what they cannot have,
It may assist, but it can never save.
For rest propounded, it affordeth trouble,
For fame, or pleasure, shadows, or a bubble,
For hoped for fullness, it doth empty leave,
In greatest danger it doth most deceive.
It feeds the senses, answers their desire,
But that doth make those rebels to conspire;
It fills the body, but it hath a wile
To famish the neglected Soul the while.
It hath some force to gain a little fame,
But hath no power to get an honest name;
It doth procure some blessings, if well used,
But cares, and snares, and curses, if abused.
Cares, to torment the body, and the mind,
Snares, to entrap the silly soul made blind,
A double curse, to ruinate thy store,
Proceeding both from God, and from the poor.
Dim-sighted Passion, or deceiving most,
Is this the state whereon thou dost so boast?
Are these thy streams of pleasure to be rich?
Or these thy charms wherewith thou dost bewitch?
Those, those are they, it is thy charm, indeed,
That makes men so much trust unto a reed,
And so mistake, to take, of blessings given,
The shadow, for the substance, earth for Heaven.
Sweet self, can reason thus be overthrown
In any heart of man, yes, in thine own;
The mould was no whit better to thy frame
Then other men are made of, but the same.
Then since thy foes are great, thy force but small,
Trust notthy strength too much, not sense at all:
But much less, take thy riches for thy stay,
Which vanish like a vapor, or betray.
But, as thy wealth should be at thy command,
Or, as a talent trusted in thy hand,
Or as a trial how thou art affected,
So useit, so ruleit, so cover, or neglect it.
It is made thy servant make it then obey:
It is ruinous, where servants bear the sway:
Besides, it tis too base a subject far
To rule where reason and discretion are.
It is lent thee, as a Talent put in trust,
Then make use of it, keep it from the rust;
But spend not vainly, as thou must not hide it,
For thou must answer how thou hast employ'd it.
It is given thee, as a trial, to see whether
Thou wilt respect the gift, above the giver;
Thou mayst receive it, but not as the Swine,
Respect it too, but not to it Incline.
Know then, in fine, thy wealth is like a fire,
Where thou mayst warm, but not inflame desire;
To use it wisely, it may serve thy turn,
But if thou comest too near it, it will burn.
Come not too near it then at any hand,
Scorn to be marked with such a noted brand:
It is safer sure to labor hard to sweat,
Then to be scorched in getting such a heat.
Passion in Want.
WHat, borne to beg? or borne to bear, at least,
Still in the collor? why not then a beast?
The beast can but beneath a burden lie,
And sometimes want relief, and so do I.
Or say the beast be subject to correction,
Am I not underneath the same subjection?
Yes, whosoever do offend or slip,
And scape unlashed, I must have the whip.
It is my offense that only doth offend
Or my offense that only is discerned:
Or, at the least, tis my unhappy fate,
When I offend, to meet the Magestrate.
Some men have friends, when they offend, to free them
Some men offend as if that none did see them,
And some offenders have the rod in awe:
But I, tis only I must have the Law.
Sterne! and remorfelesse stubborn Law, as death,
Am I the fittest object for thy wrath?
Beseemes it thee to seise upon me so,
So small a prey, and let the greater go?
If thou must needs be rigorous to wrong,
Be cruel to offenders that are strong,
To such as slight, or care not for thy frown,
Make such men stoup I am already down.
But wherefore should I invocate in vain?
It is fruitless sure to beg or to complain,
My suites are such as do offend the ear,
Complaints can then not mitigate my care.
What helpless then? yea hopeless too, indeed,
For I must suffer, tis by Law decreed,
I must submit to each insulting check,
The burden still must lie upon my neck.
Arm then I must to suffer all enjoin'd me,
Stoup down to take the burden up assigned me,
And quietly put my neck into the yoke,
The sentence past, I cannot now revoke.
Sun, rise not yet then, let me rest a while,
For when thou risest, I must fall to toil;
The day, which gives to other men delight
That is my Mill to grind in till tis night.
Sweet Sun, then, being risen, speed thy motion
To cast thy seise into the Western Ocion,
That when thy beams are vanished in the West,
The gentle night may call me home to rest.
Long looked for darkness, come then ease my sorrow
Let me put off my yoke until tomorrow,
Refresh me with thy comforts while I stay,
I may have strength to labor when tis day.
Thy rest-affording shadows are my shelter,
The day is toilsome, and the Sun doth swelter;
Then let thy shadows Cannopy my bed,
Thy shelter be a pillow for my head.
But here, again, when I should reap this good,
Should take my rest, my Children cry for food,
And to me, with heart-cutting tears do say,
Deare Father, we have had no bread today.
Then, moved with pity, what I have, I give them,
Which cannot fill them, though it may relieve them;
Which eaten, and they empty still, they cry
Father some more, when I have no supply.
With words I seek my children's cry to cease,
Not having food to make them hold their peace,
And with a sigh, as if my heart would burst,
I promise food, but I must earn it first.
Beasts, which are savage, seed their young with food:
Birds, which are silly, satisfy their brood:
But I, most sordid, hear my seed complain,
And call, and crave, and cry for food in vain.
Sweet babes, whose faces lively do express
Their woeful Fathers Image in distress,
Why was I made an instrument to breed you,
And not made able, being bred, to feed you?
Deare children cease, your sobs increase my cares,
You shall have bread, although my drink be tears;
I will bind my body, like a slave to serve,
Before the issue of the same shall starve.
But doting fortune, why art thou so blind?
Or why art thou so partial, or unkind?
Was I borne under that unlucky star
Which only threatens famine, plague, or war?
Are Destinies so powerful where they threat?
Or so much partial in dividing state?
Some must have much, some Mountanes to their share
But for me nothing; not a moule-hill spare?
Most gross injustice, or unequal sure,
This is too much for patience to endure;
Some feed on dainties, and I fed with dross,
They take no pains, I labor like a horse.
When other men are pampered, or do feast,
I pine with hunger, or do want, at least,
Their Fragments are too good for me; tis well
If I can be partaker of the smell.
Well
Dives,
take thy pleasure in thy store;
I hope for crumbs, though baited from thy door;
I must have copper, thou the coin, full bags,
I empty baskets, thou the robes, I rags.
Thou art exalted, I am counted base,
Thou must have honor, I must have disgrace,
Thou must be sought to, I must seek and crave,
Thou must be master, I must be the slave.
Thou hast the calm, and I the rugged guske,
Thou hast the kernel, I have but the husk;
Thy vice seems virtue, or is not respected;
My Virtue, vice, or more than vice neglected.
It is bootless then in thee to be precise,
And vain in me to labor to be wise;
Thy grandest vice is nothing, in esteem,
My greatest Virtues less than nothing seem.
But can the world thus by the world be gull'd?
Or canst thou
Dives,
thus a sleep be lulled?
Will thy dull ears, or more obdurate breast
Not hear my cry, nor answer my request?
Or dost thou laugh to hear my children mourn,
And cry for bread, when thou hast all the corn?
As if thou didst imagine by that way
Both I, and mine, and all would be thy prey.
Well, eat thy fill, and gorge thyself with more,
And what thou eat'st not, hoard it up in store:
And, if poor
Lazarus
trembles at thy gate,
Tell him the crumbs are gone, he comes too late.
What shall I say? or shall I silent keep?
Dives
hath dyn'd, and now he is a sleep.
Then whether shall I travel for relief?
What object is there that will ease my grief?
If I look upwards to the azure skies,
In hope that heavens would ease my miseries,
There are those impropitious Planets reigning
Which tied me to these sorrows by ordaining.
If I look downwards, to that nether Orbe,
To earth for comfort, when the Heavens do curb,
There I find nothing can my cares remove,
But feel beneath, what was enjoin'd above.
There, there I toil and labor like a brute;
I plow, and sow; but others reap the fruit;
I dig for Oare, but seldom touch the money,
I there am stung, but others suck the honey.
Only the empty, and impartial air,
That is mine freely, lest I should despair,
I suck that life-preserving succor, which
Is all the portion that can make me rich.
Sweet air then, and least guilty of offenses,
Be thou my comfort, vivify my senses,
And, if all other Elements agree
To bar we succor, let me live by thee.
But I am vain, in hope to ease my cares,
Thus to entreat a creature without ears:
If ears be dease, then creatures which have none,
Although I cry, must needs be like a stone.
Then let me rest, tis folly to entreat,
For I must labor, if I mean to eat,
I may complain, or vex myself to dead,
But I must grind, or I must have no bread.
WHat all in Passion? overcome with mood?
Despair of comfort? make a doubt of food?
As if the door of all relief were locked,
And all thy hungry expectations mocked.
Is there no rest, no pity, peace, nor love
For thee on earth, nor coming from above?
So deeply moved, nothing but complain?
Can not the hand which did create sustain:
Deare self, surcease, recall thyself, forbear,
The danger, sure, is lesser then the fear,
Thy life is no such Tragedy of woe
As thou conceive'st, thou dost but think it so.
It is true, tis hard, I know, to human nature
To yield subjection to a fellow creature,
That the same mould, same workmanship and all
Should down unto the self-same creature fall.
But be content, tis not thy imperfection
In form, or substance, binds thee to subjection,
But only he that formed all doth say
Let some men rule, and othersome obey.
Distemper'd, or more stuborne self, by much,
Then yield subjection, stoup, and do not grutch;
To man thus stouping, thou must understand
Thou honourst God, obeying his command:
And so preserve'st thy Sovereign title still,
Subject to nothing but thy Makers will.
Whose will thou wilt not, nay thou canst not shun,
What he doth will must readily be done;
Then since his will should willingness beget,
Obey his will that binds thee to submit.
What though the man thou stoup'st unto be vain,
Or one that doth requite thee with disdain?
Or one that shuns thee as he walks the street,
As if thou shouldst infect him when you meet.
Or one that takes thee for a varmine, which
Doth live upon the substance of the rich,
And thereupon, in safeguard of his store,
Doth keep a dog to keep thee from his door.
Yet, if he hath a place above assigned,
Thou must obey because tis so enjoin'd,
Though he be bad, thou must thy good express,
His vices must not make thy virtues less.
Besides, if all men's portions here were great,
If all men were made equal in estate,
Why then there would no government be had,
All would be Masters, all the world run mad.
But God on some doth very much bestow,
Again, he placeth other some as low,
That from respect to each man's places due
May both command, and servitude insue.
Deare self, then cease thy sorrows in this kind,
Although thy body be suppressed; thy mind
Is not subjected, but may fly a pitch
Above the highest checking of the rich.
Then if thy mind, the Image of thy soul,
Be not subjected to the worlds control,
But freely towering on her unclipt wings,
May take her pleasure on the better things,
What cause hast thou then to complain of cords?
When thy estate such liberty affords:
The matchless freedoms of the mind are more
Than all the treasure on the Indian shore.
Fond self, then how canst thou complain of want?
Canst in this fullness think thy portion scant?
Oh! yes, sayest thou, these are but mental joys,
Or, as some count, imaginary toys;
These have no substance, these are but deceit,
Or empty airy notions of no weight,
These are no kernels, these are but a shell:
And tis not words can empty stomachs fill.
Or hast thou food, it must be of the worst,
And, ere thou hast it, thou must earn it first,
Thou must consume thy body into sweat
Before thou canst refresh the same with meat.
Which being fed, tis but (as fed in vain)
To make it fit to be consumed again:
Or as the Galley slave is with the
Turk,
Thou dost but eat to make thee strong to work.
But mine own self, beware of sense bred harms,
These are most subtle, most deluding charms:
Thy Soul, I tell thee, is the better part,
Though sense would have thee most prefer thy heart.
Then having soul-ensuing food, the best,
Repine not: Nor despair thou of the rest,
Thou and thy Children shall have food to eat,
He that hath given you mouths, will give you meat.
He hath a store house, where much fullness lies.
Of his hid treasure, hiden from thine eyes:
Nay, he can turn the very stones to bread:
The silly Ravens that call on him are fed.
Then trust on him, his Promise is his Deed,
He will not fail thee, calling at thy need:
Nor canst thou be more ready to declare
Thy wants in calling, then he is to hear.
What though the rich have all things at desire?
Are fed with dainties, clad in rich attire,
And take their pleasure? since the truth informs
They are but fed, or pampered for the worms:
They which, perhaps, impatient of delay,
Do call to their Creator for such prey.
Then though their cates be rare, or do excel,
If thou hast that suffice thee? tis as well:
Their rarest dainties can but hunger stay,
And so thy mean and plainest diet may.
Or have they virtue to keep health in store?
I dare presume, thy homely feed hath more:
That all the odds is only in the taste,
Which is but as a needless sauce in waste.
And what although thy outward weed be plain,
Or simple, such as some men do disdain,
Yet by it if the cold may be defended?
It doth the good for which it was intended.
Then having that, thou hast to serve thy need:
Forefathers were contented with a weed;
And did as much excess hereof deride
As now in the excess hereof is pride.
Or why shouldst at thy working state repine?
When tis the state that God doth all enjoin:
When man would needs the fruit forbidden eat,
God tied him straight to labor for his meat.
Then work, it is the will of thy Creator.
Besides, it makes thee eat, and sleep the better,
It preserves health; subdues the rebel sense,
And gives much scoope unto intelligence.
Deceived self, repine not then at all,
Thy poverty was purchased by thy fall;
And he on whom was most of all bestowne
Deserves as poor a portion as thine own.
And if that he which here possesseth most
Disdaines thee, or with insulations boast,
Tell him the Fatall wheel doth turn amaine,
Which drew him up, to throw him down again.
And in the end, when thou thy race hast run,
And art to give account what thou hast done,
The less thy portion, or thy part hath been
The less, no doubt, will thy account be then;
Which is a comfort, and will then appear
A greater comfort than tis counted here.
Then, in the mean time, why shouldest thou be sad?
Because that men account thy fortunes bad:
Thy treasures are the virtues of the mind,
In which the world, or worldly men are blind.
The poor man, pious, is to God as dear
As men most wealthy, or advanced here:
And though the poor suffers here a while,
Those frowns ere long, will vanish with a smile.
For howsoever, man may show despite,
Both God, and Law do favor men upright:
And he that hath all favors in his store,
What fitter object for him than the poor.
Passion in Honor.
ARe men made God's? or by the God's made men?
If God's, why are we not ascending then?
Why lie we chained or pudl'd in the mire?
When either gods, or men we may aspire.
Up then my thoughts, from earthly toys remove,
Betake you to your wings, theres prize above;
Rouse, rouse, me thinks I see an object fair,
It seems a golden Eagle in the air;
What ist? if it be not the very same?
Oh, tis her bird, which we entitle fame:
See how she doth descend, as on a string,
As if she meant to set me on her wing.
Then fly my thoughts, and meet her in the way,
Glide swiftly through the air make no delay:
Rare Phoenix, let me take thee on my fist
That I may take my pleasure when I list.
What, dost thou check, or seem to bend away?
Stoup gentle Faulkon, thou shalt have the prey,
I take thee for my pleasure, but to fly,
I will nurse thee as the apple of mine eye.
Well, now I have my wish, I am secure,
The bird I sought is stoup'd unto my lucre,
That airy bird, the sweetest bird that sings,
Or rather flies! O, bear me on thy wings.
Let me enjoy the favors of thy love,
Who dost come down to carry me above,
That I may take those pleasures as I rise
Which are most high; the lower I despise.
The higher, the richer prey is to be won,
Then let us mount, thou needest not fear the Sun;
I fear no falling, thou thy strength hast felt,
Thy wings, I trust, will neither scorch, nor melt.
Thou heavens bred bird, then heave thy sails, I know
Thy nature doth disdain to prey below:
And I shall never have my full desire,
Though I mount high, if there be game yet higher.
Then raise me to the Regions of thy Dame,
Or, if it may be, higher than the same:
For, if I reach not to the highest top,
I shall account my Ocion but a drop.
It is true, good fortunes did on me attend
Before I had a motion to ascend,
I then had friends, and many favors granted,
With much respect, and Gold I never wanted.
Yea, large possessions; and was little pent
Of any earthly object of content,
But had on earth, what might be had, assigned,
That might content a reasonable mind.
And in these pleasures I took much repose,
Yea, did conceive no higher joys then those:
But, like the Be, lay sucking on those flowers,
Not looking up, from whence such honey showers.
But, as men's minds are subject unto change,
So did my thoughts, in time, begin to range,
And, by some secret inspirations, moved,
Which were no sooner motions, but approved:
I glanced upwards, thereby, if I might,
To view some higher object of delight.
Where (with a heart-attracting sight) mine eyes
Discry'd thee hover very near the skies,
Wherewith inflamed, it moved me to desire
Thou mightest come down, or I ascend up higher,
That I might see thee to discern thee fuller,
And view thy beauties in their proper color.
Then all the pleasures I enjoy'd before
Became as nothing if I had not more;
I did disdain, or very much neglect
All former favors, treasure, or respect,
And only ravished with thyself on high,
Contemning things below, I sought to fly.
Heavens! what a dreadful hell had I in part?
What Passions had possession in my heart?
Sometimes in hope, and sometimes in despair,
Like
Icarus,
to be soaring in the air.
I slipped no means conducing to my ends,
But was an humble suitor to my friends,
My wits I did upon the Tainters strain,
And made my purse as lavish as my brain.
Now, by these helps, and others my devising,
With much a do, I got some hopes of rising,
Which hopes infram'd, and helps so fed desire;
That I at length, am got up thus much higher.
But here I stand, from hence I cannot stir,
My thoughts, and wits are here at a demure:
I am as if imprisoned in my state,
Which makes me loath, what I desired of late.
I do confess when I at first did grow
Unto that height, which now I count too low,
I was contented, and my heart was glad,
As one sufficed with the state I had.
My thoughts, and senses were revived and merry,
My spirits were refreshed as with sherry;
And I became as one with comfort risen,
Who had been long in thralldome, out of prison.
The world did then admire me, as amazed,
And at my birth of honor stood and gazed,
And with much show of reverence and fame,
To grace this birth, did celebrate the same.
My entertainment was with such applause
That I myself began to stand and pause,
As if amazed at myself to see
The honor done unto my new degree.
But now, alas, my honor is but cold,
My new degree is now accounted old:
And men begin to question my desert
Because there falls no motion to my part.
No motion, no preferment seen at all,
No rising, which is next unto a fall;
His rising was with rumors of repute,
Which praises are forgotten now, or mute.
Thus, thus me thinks I hear the people prate,
Which shows they either do disdain, or hate;
Because I rise not as some others mount,
The world doth call my worth unto account.
Distemper'd people, destitute of shame,
Can you both praise, and then dispraise the same?
And wretched I, that men so vain, or sleeping
Should have the Trumpet of my fame in keeping.
Must my applause be subject to the rude
Inconstant censure of the multitude?
And only as their various gale shall blow
My reputation here must ebb, or flow.
What is it then to be exalted here
To place of Honor? when it doth appear,
It that he be not still ascending higher,
But do sit still, our honor doth retire.
Come then Invention, nimble motion'd wit,
What project now, what plot can you beget?
Or what doth want, or what is in the way?
I can command, and can that bear no sway?
Oh! restless, joyless, have I means, and will
To be ascending, and yet sit I still?
Have I such force afforded to resist
Obscurest clouds, and yet am in a mist?
Forgetfull Fortune, canst no favor show?
It had been better I had kept below,
Than to have been unto this state erected,
And being up, to be therein neglected.
Oh! give me motion, people may discover
That I am rising, let them see me hover,
That I may hear their Ecchoes in the air
My praises sounding, or I do despair.
But why am I thus Passionate in mind?
Despairing, or distrusting in this kind?
Though shadows late have turned my day to night,
The Sun is rising now to give me light.
Those higher Orbes, whose clouds dispersing gleames
Are ever ready when we want their beams,
Have, from their heavenly Ark, sent down a Dove
To take me up, and carry me above,
Thou heavenly Dove then, since thou art come down
To decke my head, Oh! let me have a crown:
Or, if thou thinkest that be too great a praise,
At lest return not till I have some Bayes.
The floods are gone, the flowers, and leaves are green,
Then let the same be by my Garland seen;
That men may see the earth hath drunk those showers
Which hung between me, and the higher powers.
That so the people, which have long forgot me,
Or with an eye respectlesse looked at me,
May make me now the object of their praise,
As one whom heavens hath a delight to raise.
And you the sacred Muses of our age
Delight to act my triumphs on the stage,
And in such ample forms imprint my glory
That many ages hence may read the story.
And let my Arms, augmented, to my line
Increase of Honor give. And when my shrine
Shall once intombe my body, let my fame
Perpetuated be upon the same.
Discretion in Honor.
WHat do I wake, or neither wake nor sleep?
But dreams possess me with illusions deep:
Poor silly earth, inspired with fancies proud,
Imagines it may trample on a cloud.
Deceiving, or deceived heart, at least,
Canst thou be thus transported in my breast?
Canst thou be thus aspiring, or presuming,
Shall earthly worms, be airy forms assuming?
Deceived self, how canst thou thus transported?
Or whether are thy sober wits resorted?
What art become so empty, light a thing
That all thy mind is now to be on wing?
Nothing but soaring in the air on high,
Nothing will please thee if thou dost not fly,
So far besotted with these airy things
Thou dreamest of birds should set thee on their wings,
Of golden Doves, of Eagles: to speak plain,
Of Castles in the air, or in thy brain.
And whence proceeds these troubles? only bred
Of gross distempered Humors in thy head,
Which growing to extremes, in this condition,
Converts thy very soul into ambition.
But mine own heart, and mine own head be staid,
Cal home your thoughts, collect your wits now straid.
They in the air are hunting of a feather,
And thou on earthly'st only gazing thither.
Fools play with Feathers, art not thou the same,
To let thy thoughts run after such a game?
Which though it seems to stoop to thee, in fine,
May light upon another's head, not thine.
And what is fame here? is it any other
Than a mere painted, or a golden feather?
Tost in the empty air, to and fro
By each inconstant vapor that doth blow.
The people's acclamations, which we find
Are just as light, and changing as the wind;
Whereon relying, men may hoise up sails,
But when a stress, or tempest comes they fail.
But mine own self, be more thine own entire,
Not tost thus to, and fro, upon desire;
Let not supposed happiness, though great,
Move thee to loath a present happy state.
What dost thou want? what canst thou wish, indeed
Either to satisfy desire, or need?
Which thou hast not already in such plenty
As may, so long as thou art man, content thee?
Possessions thou hast in possession many,
Silver and Gold thou hast no want of any,
Fullness of pleasure speed before thee lies,
Titles of Honor too, that may suffice.
And howsoever thy mistrustful heart,
Proceeding from suspect of thy desert,
May move thee to surmise the World neglects thee,
Yet people peradventure, more respects thee
Than thou hast eyes are open to observe,
Yea more, it may be, than thou dost deserve.
But say the people do begin to slight thee,
And trumpets of thy fame, which did delight thee,
Are now not sounded with so great applause
As once thy Honor gave the World a cause.
What then? shalt thou be thereupon inrag'd,
And only curse the people, who, engaged
To do thee Honor, do not make it known,
As if there were no fault herein thine own?
Sense blinded self, thy eye-sight is not clear,
Thou looks too far, for that which is too near,
Thou blam'st the people, when the fault is thine,
Remove the cause, th'effect will then decline.
Would'st hear the Ecchoes of thy praise rebound
Then let thy Virtues give that trumpet sound,
For if the Ecchoes of thy praises cease
It is because thy Virtues do decrease.
Be Virtuous, and be famous in thy place,
For Virtue is in Thrones the highest grace:
High borne, high placed, befits a lofty story;
But lasting fame, is only Virtues glory.
Deare self, then be not in that frantic mood,
To labor here to be more great, then good:
But, if that greatness needs must be thy prey,
Let goodness go before to make the way.
But wherefore hast thou such a mind to rise?
When thou art such a pitch as may suffice:
Is climbing without danger dost suppose?
Whoever fell, but first of all he rose?
Then who to rise would vex himself at all,
When rising doth but presuppose a fall?
Nor can he (though he dreams himself secure)
That doth sit tottering on the top, sit sure.
Besides, it is the envy of the times
To aim at him that sits aloft, or climes:
Ambitious spirits cannot brook superiors,
Thou they themselves be many ways inferiors.
Men still are doting on that fond surmising,
That one man's falling, proves another's rising;
That always men advanced high, are lying
Within the boundless reach of much envying.
Fond self, then do not struggle so with fate
To change the better, for a greater state:
Nor yet suppose tis greatness of the same,
If goodness want, that can preserve thy fame.
Nay, beest thou bad, twill mar thy greatness quite,
For, though men dare not brand thee in thy sight,
Yet in thy absence men will speak their mind;
And show, although they wink, they are not blind.
Besides, if bad, the higher in degree,
By odds the greater will thy downfall be:
And when thou shalt be down, nay, shalt be de dead;
And in thy silent grave art buried.
Although thou then mayst, peradventure, have
A stately Tomb erected on thy grave,
Most firmly fixed to preserve thy fame,
With a fair Epitaph upon the same.
Yet thou must not imagine this will serve
Thy much defaced Honor to preserve,
No, these can slender commendations raise,
These are but silly monuments of praise.
Indeed, perhaps, when such men shall it seē
As are mere strangers to the Land, or thee,
Thou mayst have some conceived Honor by them,
Untill report doth better certify them.
But when that such shall therein hap to view thee
As in thy life, and Conversation knew thee;
If any Virtue be therein indented,
Alas, will they say, this was but invented.
And thus thy sumptuous Epitaph, or Tomb,
Intended to thy Honor, shall become,
Instead of Trophies written on thy shrine,
A shame to thee, and scandal to thy line.
Deluded self, then wouldest have Honor here?
Then strive to be the same thou wouldst appear:
For tis not place, nor, title, nor degree
Can set thy greatness from men's censures free.
Or wouldst thou have thy Honor to endure?
To thee, and thine? let Virtue make it sure:
For Virtue only writes with such a pen
As doth indent beyond the Art of men.
Take Virtue then to be thy only prize,
For, without Virtue, men but fall, that rise:
But, doubtless he whom Virtue doth advance,
His state is little subject unto chance.
Sweet Virtue! why do we no more admire?
But careless we that do no more desire thee:
It is thou that only makest us wear the Bayes,
And we that only do neglect thy praise.
If thou givest light to lowest shrubs of all,
What luster givest to Cedars that are tall?
If thou givest grace to meanest men that live?
What Glory dost thou to the mighty give?
Deare self, then seek to clime no otherwise
Then Virtue teacheth, if thou needs must rise:
But, if thou wouldst be certain not to fall,
The surest way is not to clime at all.
Passion and Discretion.
Passion.
COme sweet delights, come let me taste you quicker
Your Quintessence is Nectar, Courtly lickor:
I taste your honey, and I taste again,
Yet unsuffic'd, as if I drunk in vain:
I drink, and drink thereon, and yet am dry:
Oh! have you fullness that can make supply?
Strange! ever sucking, and yet empty still?
Come let me taste you fully, drink my fill.
Discretion.
Fond man, what mean'st? dost hunger for delight?
To feed on that which feedeth Appitite?
Or wouldst thou drink those liquors, like the Seas,
To quench thy thirst, which will thy thirst increase?
There thou, indeed, mayst drink till thou dost burst,
Or thou dost drown, but never quench thy thirst:
Nor can that liquor satisfy at all,
Though taste like honey, which converts to gall.
Passion.
Earth, earth, earth, earth, what is it void of sense?
Why have I feeling then, who came from thence?
I call to earth, for earth to ease my cares,
But why have I a tongue, and earth no ears?
Unhappy man, must I my case bemoan
To move the earth, and earth becomes a stone?
Let pity then forever cease to be:
Oh! give me earth, or let the earth take me.
Discretion.
All-earth, what ayl'st thou? nothing but that mire
Which thou wert made of, suits with thy desire?
Is earth so sweet to taste on, or to smell?
Be satisfied, thou shalt have earth thy fill.
Thy gaping mouth, and unsufficed throat,
With earth filled up, shall make thee change thy note,
And, in revenge, the earth thou call'st so fast,
To feed on here, shall eat up thee at last.
Passion.
You melting clouds, which mourn above my head,
Let tears drop down, my dearest friend is dead:
Remorselesse death hath now untide that knot
Most dead affection fastened, or begot.
Departed Friend, dear was thy presence to me,
Deep wounding death, what vengeance dost thou show me
Deare friend, but must death sever's with his dart?
Life, rather leave me too, tis death to part.
Discretion.
Lamenting creature, cease thy sobs, forbear
Thy friends at rest, then why art thou in care?
Death was but sent to free thy friend from strife,
Then blame not death, nor rob thyself of life.
Life is but lent, and so a debt, indeed,
Which must be paid, before the debtor's freed,
If freedom then by dying may be gained,
Thy friend is freed, and thou thyself art chained.
Passion.
Faire? yea most fair, mistake not I the glass?
Is there such beauty in a human face?
Or more then human, very near Divine,
If not mere heavenly, could it else so shine?
Heavens Master-piece, or Natures rarest art,
Thy Sun-like beams attract my yielding heart:
I gaze on thee, and gazing lose my sight,
And yet the more I gaze, the more delight.
Discretion.
Vain Doter, dost, nay, darst thou pry so near?
Thy sight so weak, this Sun so passing clear:
Regard thy sight, look off a while: its power
Will fail anon; it wither like a flower.
Beauty be comes a bait; dost thou not know
That Snakes do hide where fairest flowers do grow?
The pith of griest, is in this bark of joy:
Faire
Hellen
caused the overthrow of
Troy.
Passion.
Tush; I have brains, why stand I doubting still?
My wits will serve to answer for my will:
What need I tremble then, or stand in awe?
When Logic will defend, why fear I law?
Come then Invention let us beat our brains,
Plot for our ends, and give desire the reins:
Our secret Projects shall have good success,
If otherwise, our wits shall find redress.
Discretion.
Proud
Haman,
or
Achitophel,
be wise.
He's most a fool, most on his wit relies.
Seest thou not how they sink, or run a shore
That make their Wit their Boat, their Will their Oare
Presume not then, man's Policy is light,
Events are secret, hiden from his sight:
He may the outside of things present find,
But in things secret, or to come he's blind.
Passion.
Woe, woe, why came I forth my Mothers wom be?
Why was not that Sepulcher still my Tom be?
There I had ease, and rest, but borne to strife,
Cries did foretell the sorrows of my life:
Sorrowes, indeed, tormented with such pain
Which to conceive, confounds conceit, as vain:
Can Natures wants by Art have no supply?
Oh! ease me, ease me, ease me or I die.
Discretion.
I moan thee much, but thou must be content,
Thy case is all men's, coming by descent;
Adam
did eat, and surfeit; thou his son
Art bound to suffer, still the sore doth run.
Despair not though, but pacify thy mind,
There is no sore, but hath a salve assigned:
If in the body, Physic there doth good,
If in the soul, then her Physicians blood.
Passion.
What, have I spent my time, and Parents cost,
Ingaining Learning, and my labor lost?
Is Learning now neglected? yes, become,
It seems by me, not worthy of a Roome:
Or; if I be got in, I am so pent,
The room I have doth give me no content:
I know my worth, and what the world doth owe me;
But purblind world, will neither pay, nor know me,
Discretion.
Have patience man, the world doth place admit,
And Honor too, to men deserving it:
Then rest content, thou shalt have what thou wouldest,
Be'st thou the same thou sayest; if not, why shouldst?
Thou mayest have learning great, yet not allowed:
Thou mayest have learning good, yet making proud:
Thou mayest by learning show the Truth most full:
Thou mayest by Learning most deceive and gull.
If Learning then can put such shapes upon her,
Let heavens give grace, that Learning may give honor.
FINIS.