The emptie fallacies of mirth;
And in my midnight thoughts retaine,
How high so ere I spread, my root's in earth?
Fond youth! too long I playd
The wanton with a false delight.
Which when I toucht, I found a shade
That onely wrought on th' error of my sight.
Then since pride doth betray
The soule to flatter'd ignorance:
I from the World will steale away
And by humility my thoughts advance.
_Perdam Sapientiam Sapientum_
To the Right Honorable the Lord _Windsor_.
_My Lord_,
Forgive my envie to the World; while I
Commend those sober thoughts, perswade you
The glorious troubles of the Court. For though
The vale lyes open to each overflow,
And in the humble shade we gather ill
And aguish ayres: yet lightnings oftner kill
Oth' naked heights of mountaines, whereon we
May have more prospect, not securitie.
For when with losse of breath, we have orecome
Some steepe ascent of power, and forc'd a roome
On the so envi'd hill; how doe our hearts
Pant with the labour, and how many arts
More subtle must we practise, to defend
Our pride from sliding, then we did t' ascend?
How doth successe delude the mysteries
And all th' involv'd designements of the wise?
How doth that Power, our Pollitickes call chance,
Racke them till they confesse the ignorance
Of humane wit? Which, when 'tis fortified
So strong with reason that it doth deride
All adverse force oth' sudden findes its head
Intangled in a spiders slender thread.
Cœlestiall Providence! How thou dost mocke
The boast of earthly wisdome? On some rocke
When man hath a structure, with such art,
It doth disdaine to tremble at the dart
Of thunder, or to shrinke oppos'd by all
The angry winds, it of it selfe doth fall,
Ev'n in a calme so gentle that no ayre
Breaths loude enough to stirre a Virgins haire!
But misery of judgement: Though past time
Instruct us by th' ill fortune of their crimes,
And shew us how we may secure our state
From pittied ruine, by anothers fate;
Yet we contemning all such sad advice,
Pursue to build though on a precipice.
But you (my Lord) prevented by foresight
To engage your selfe to such an unsafe height,
And in your selfe both great and rich enough
Refused t'expose your vessell to the rough
Uncertaine sea of businesse: whence even they
Who make the best returne, are forc't to say:
The wealth we by our worldly traffique gaine,
Weighes light if ballanc'd with the feare or paine.
_Paucitatem dierum meorum nuncia mihi._ DAVID.
Tell me O great All knowing God!
What period
Hast thou unto my dayes assign'd?
Like some old leafelesse tree, shall I
Wither away: or violently
Fall by the axe, by lightning, or the Wind?
Heere, where I first drew vitall breath
Shall I meete death?
And finde in the same vault a roome
Where my fore-fathers ashes sleepe?
Or shall I dye, where none shall weepe
My timelesse fate, and my cold earth intombe?
Shall I 'gainst the swift _Parthians_ fight
And in their flight
Receive my death? Or shall I see
That envied peace, in which we are
Triumphant yet, disturb'd by warre;
And perish by th' invading enemie?
Astrologers, who calculate
Uncertaine fate
Affirme my scheme doth not presage
Any abridgement of my dayes:
And the Phisitian gravely sayes,
I may enjoy a reverent length of age.
But they are jugglers, and by slight
Of art the sight
Of faith delude: and in their schoole
They onely practise how to make
A mistery of each mistake,
And teach strange words, credulity to foole.
For thou who first didst motion give,
Whereby things live
And Time hath being! to conceale
Future events didst thinke it fit
To checke th' ambition of our wit,
And keepe in awe the curious search of zeale.
Therefore so I prepar'd still be,
My God for thee:
Oth' sudden on my spirits may
Some killing Apoplexie seize,
Or let me by a dull disease
Or weakened by a feeble age decay.
And so I in thy favour dye,
No memorie
For me a well-wrought tombe prepare,
For if my soule be 'mong the blest
Though my poore ashes want a chest,
I shall forgive the trespasse of my heire.
_Non nobis Domine._ DAVID.
No marble statue, nor high
Aspiring Piramid be rays'd
To lose its head within the skie!
What claime have I to memory?
God be thou onely prais'd!
Thou in a moment canst defeate
The mighty conquests of the proude,
And blast the laurels of the great.
Thou canst make brightest glorie set
Oth' sudden in a cloude.
How can the feeble workes of Art
Hold out 'gainst the assault of stormes?
Or how can brasse to him impart
Sence of surviving fame, whose heart
Is now resolv'd to wormes?
Blinde folly of triumphing pride!
Æternitie why buildst thou here?
Dost thou not see the highest tide
Its humbled streame in th' Ocean hide,
And nere the same appeare?
That tide which did its banckes ore-flow,
As sent abroad by the angry sea
To levell vastest buildings low,
And all our Trophies overthrow;
Ebbes like a theefe away.
And thou who to preserve thy name
Leav'st statues in some conquer'd land!
How will posterity scorne fame,
When th' Idoll shall receive a maime,
And loose a foote or hand?
How wilt thou hate thy warres, when he
Who onely for his hire did raise
Thy counterfet in stone; with thee
Shall stand Competitor: and be
Perhapes thought worthier praise?
No Laurell wreath about my brow!
To thee, my God, all praise, whose law
The conquer'd doth and conqueror bow!
For both dissolve to ayre, if thou
Thy influence but withdraw.
_Solum mihi superest sepulchrum._ JOB.
Welcome thou safe retreate!
Where th' injured man may fortifie
'Gainst the invasions of the great:
Where the leane slave, who th' Oare doth plye,
Soft as his Admirall may lye.
Great Statist! tis your doome
Though your designes swell high, and wide
To be contracted in a tombe!
And all your happie cares provide
But for your heire authorized pride.
Nor shall your shade delight
Ith' pompe of your proud obsequies.
And should the present flatterie write
A glorious Epitaph, the wise
Will say, The Poets wit here lyes.
How reconcil'd to fate
Will grow the aged Villager,
When he shall see your funerall state?
Since death will him as warme inter
As you in your gay sepulcher.
The great decree of God
Makes every path of mortals lead
To this darke common period.
For what by wayes so ere we tread,
We end our journey 'mong the dead.
Even I, while humble zeale
Makes fancie a sad truth indite,
Insensible a way doe steale:
And when I'me lost in deaths cold night,
Who will remember, now I write?
_Et fugit velut umbra._ JOB.
To the Right Honourable the Lord _Kintyre_.
_My Lord_
That shadow your faire body made
So full of sport it still the mimick playde
Ev'n as you mov'd and look'd but yesterday
So huge in stature; Night hath stolen away.
And this is th' emblem of our life: To please
And flatter which, we sayle ore broken seas
Unfaithfull in their rockes and tides; we dare
All the sicke humors of a forraine ayre.
And mine so deepe in earth, as we would trie
To unlocke hell, should gold there hoarded lie.
But when we have built up a ædefice
T' outwrastle Time, we have but built on ice:
For firme however all our structures be,
Polisht with smoothest Indian Ivory,
Rais'd high on marble, our unthankfull heire
Will scarce retaine in memory, that we were.
Tracke through the ayre the footesteps of the wind,
And search the print of ships sayl'd by; then finde
Where all the glories of those Monarchs be
Who bore such sway in the worlds infancie.
Time hath devour'd them all: and scarce can fame
Give an account, that ere they had a name.
How can he then who doth the world controle
And strikes a terror now in either Pole,
Th' insulting Turke secure himself that he
Shall not be lost to dull Posterity?
And though the Superstition of those Times
Which deified Kings to warrant their owne crimes
Translated Cæsar to a starre; yet they,
Who every Region of the skie Survay;
In their Cœlestiall travaile, that bright coast
Could nere discover which containes his ghost.
And after death to make that awe survive
Which subjects owe their Princes yet alive,
Though they build pallaces of brasse and jet
And keepe them living in a counterfet;
The curious looker on soone passes by
And findes the tombe a sickenesse to his eye.
Neither when once the soule is gone doth all
The solemne triumph of the funerall
Adde to her glory or her paine release:
Then all the pride of warre, and wealth of peace
For which we toild, from us abstracted be
And onely serve to swell the history.
These are sad thoughts (my Lord) and such as fright
The easie soule made tender with delight,
Who thinkes that he hath forfetted that houre
Which addes not to his pleasure or his powre.
But by the friendship which your Lordship daignes
Your Servant, I have found your judgement raignes
Above all passion in you: and that sence
Could never yet demolish that strong fence
Which Vertue guards you with: By which you are
Triumphant in the best, the inward warre.
_Nox nocti indicat Scientiam._ DAVID.
When I survay the bright
Cœlestiall spheare:
So rich with jewels hung, that night
Doth like an Æthiop bride appeare.
My soule her wings doth spread
And heaven-ward flies,
Th' Almighty's Mysteries to read
In the large volumes of the skies.
For the bright firmament
Shootes forth no flame
So silent, but is eloquent
In speaking the Creators name.
No unregarded star
Contracts its light
Into so small a Charactar,
Remov'd far from our humane sight:
But if we stedfast looke,
We shall discerne
In it as in some holy booke,
How man may heavenly knowledge learne.
It tells the Conqueror,
That farre-stretcht powre
Which his proud dangers traffique for,
Is but the triumph of an houre.
That from the farthest North;
Some Nation may
Yet undiscovered issue forth,
And ore his new got conquest sway.
Some Nation yet shut in
With hils of ice
May be let out to scourge his sinne
'Till they shall equall him in vice.
And then they likewise shall
Their ruine have,
For as your selves your Empires fall,
And every Kingdome hath a grave.
Thus those Cœlestiall fires,
Though seeming mute
The fallacie of our desires
And all the pride of life confute.
For they have watcht since first
The World had birth:
And found sinne in it selfe accurst,
And nothing permanent on earth.
_Et alta a longè cognoscit._ DAVID.
To the cold humble hermitage
(Not tenanted but by discoloured age,
Or youth enfeebled by long prayer
And tame with fasts) th' Almighty doth repaire.
But from the lofty gilded roofe
Stain'd with some Pagan fiction, keepes a loofe.
Nor the gay Landlord daignes to know
Whose buildings are like Monsters but for show.
Ambition! whither wilt thee climbe,
Knowing thy art, the mockery of time?
Which by examples tells the high
Rich structures, they must as their owners dye:
And while they stand, their tennants are
Detraction, flattry, wantonnesse, and care,
Pride, envie, arrogance, and doubt,
Surfet, and ease still tortured by the gout.
O rather may I patient dwell
In th' injuries of an ill-cover'd cell!
'Gainst whose too weake defence the haile,
The angry winds, and frequent showres prevaile.
Where the swift measures of the day,
Shall be distinguisht onely as I pray:
And some starres solitary light
Be the sole taper to the tedious night.
The neighbo'ring fountaine (not accurst
Like wine with madnesse) shall allay my thirst:
And the wilde fruites of Nature give
Dyet enough, to let me feele I feele, I live.
You wantons! who impoverish Seas,
And th' ayre dispeople, your proud taste to please!
A greedy tyrant you obey
Who varies still its tribute with the day.
What interest doth all the vaine
Cunning of surfet to your sences gaine?
Since it obscure the Spirit must
And bow the flesh to sleep disease or lust.
While who forgetting rest and fare;
Watcheth the fall and rising of each starre,
Ponders how bright the orbes doe move,
And thence how much more bright the heav'ns above
Where on the heads of Cherubins
Th' Almightie sits disdaining our bold sinnes:
Who while on th' earth we groveling lye
Dare in our pride of building tempt the skie.
_Universum stratum ejus versasti in infirmitate ejus._ DAVID.
My Soule! When thou and I
Shall on our frighted death-bed lye;
Each moment watching when pale death
Shall snatch away our latest breath,
And 'tweene two long joyn'd Lovers force
An endlesse sad divorce:
How wilt thou then? that art
My rationall and nobler part,
Distort thy thoughts? How wilt thou try
To draw from weake Philosophie
Some strength: and flatter thy poor state,
'Cause tis the common fate?
How wilt thy spirits pant
And tremble when they feele the want
Of th' usuall organs; and that all
The vitall powers begin to fall?
When 'tis decreed, that thou must goe,
Yet whither; who can know?
How fond and idle then
Will seeme the misteries of men?
How like some dull ill-acted part
The subtlest of proud humane art?
How shallow ev'n the deepest sea,
When thus we ebbe away?
But how shall I (that is
My fainting earth) looke pale at this?
Disjointed on the racke of paine.
How shall I murmur, how complaine;
And craving all the ayde of skill,
Finde none, but what must kill?
Which way so ere my griefe
Doth throw my sight to court releese,
I shall but meete despaire; for all
Will prophesie my funerall:
The very silence of the roome
Will represent a tombe.
And while my Childrens teares,
My Wives vaine hopes, but certaine feares,
And councells of Divines advance
Death in each dolefull circumstance:
I shall even a sad mourner be
At my owne obsequie.
For by examples I
Must know that others sorrowes dye
Soone as our selves, and none survive
To keepe our memories alive.
Even our fals tombes, as loath to say
We once had life, decay.
_Laudate Dominum de cœlis._ DAVID.
You Spirits! who have throwne away
That enveous weight of clay
Which your cælestiall flight denyed:
Who by your glorious troopes supply
The winged Hierarchie,
So broken in the Angells pride!
O you! whom your Creators sight
Inebriates with delight!
Sing forth the triumphs of his name
All you enamord soules! agree
In a loud symphonie:
To give expressions to your flame!
To him, his owne great workes relate,
Who daign'd to elevate
You 'bove the frailtie of your birth:
Where you stand safe from that rude warre,
With which we troubled are
By the rebellion of our earth.
While a corrupted ayre beneath
Here in this World we breath
Each houre some passion us assailes:
Now lust casts wild-fire in the blood,
Or that it may seeme good,
It selfe in wit or beauty vailes.
Then envie circles us with hate,
And lays a siege so streight,
No heavenly succor enters in:
But if Revenge admittance finde,
For ever hath the mind
Made forfeit of it selfe to sinne.
Assaulted thus, how dare we raise
Our mindes to thinke his praise,
Who is Æternall and immens?
How dare we force our feeble wit
To speake him infinite,
So farre above the search of sence?
O you! who are immaculate
His name may celebrate
In your soules bright expansion.
You whom your venues did unite
To his perpetuall light,
That even with him you now shine one.
While we who t' earth contract our hearts,
And onely studie Arts
To shorten the sad length of Time:
In place of joyes bring humble feares:
For hymnes, repentant teares
And a new sigh for every crime.
_Qui quasi flos egreditur._
To the Right Honourable, the Lady _Cat. T._
Faire Madame! You
May see what's man in yond' bright rose.
Though it the wealth of Nature owes,
It is opprest, and bends with dew.
Which shewes, though fate
May promise still to warme our lippes,
And keepe our eyes from an ecclips;
It will our pride with teares abate.
Poor silly flowre!
Though in thy beauty thou presume,
And breath which doth the spring perfume;
Thou may'st be cropt this very houre.
And though it may
Then thy good fortune be, to rest
Oth' pillow of some Ladies brest;
Thou'lt whither, and be throwne away.
For 'tis thy doome
However, that there shall appeare
No memory that thou grew'st heere,
Ere the tempestuous winter come.
But flesh is loath
By meditation to fore see
How loath'd a nothing it must be:
Proud in the triumphes of its growth.
And tamely can
Behold this mighty world decay
And weare by th' age of time away:
Yet not discourse the fall of man.
But Madam these
Are thoughts to cure sicke humane pride.
And med'cines are in vaine applyed.
To bodies far 'bove all disease.
For you so live
As th' Angels in one perfect state;
Safe from the ruines of our fate,
By vertues great preservative.
And though we see
Beautie enough to warme each heart;
Yet you by a chaste Chimicke Art,
Calcine fraile love to pietie.
_Quid gloriaris in malicia?_ DAVID.
Swell no more proud man, so high!
For enthron'd where ere you sit
Rais'd by fortune, sinne and wit:
In a vault thou dust must lye.
He who's lifted up by vice
Hath a neighb'ring precipice
Dazeling his distorted eye.
Shallow is that unsafe sea
Over which you spread your saile:
And the Barke you trust to, fraile
As the Winds it must obey.
Mischiefe, while it prospers, brings
Favour from the smile of Kings;
Uselesse soone is throwne away.
Profit, though sinne it extort,
Princes even accounted good,
Courting greatnesse nere withstood,
Since it Empire doth support.
But when death makes them repent
They condemne the instrument,
And are thought Religious for 't.
Pitch'd downe from that height you beare,
How distracted will you lye;
When your flattering Clients flye
As your fate infectious were?
When of all th' obsequious throng
That mov'd by your eye and tongue,
None shall in the storme appeare?
When that abject insolence
(Which submits to the more great,
And disdaines the weaker state,
As misfortune were offence)
Shall at Court be judged a crime
Though in practise, and the Time
Purchase wit at your expence.
Each small tempest shakes the proud;
Whose large branches vainely sprout
'Bove the measure of the roote.
But let stormes speake nere so loud,
And th' astonisht day benight;
Yet the just shines in a light
Faire as noone without a cloud.
_Deus Deus Meus._ DAVID.
Where is that foole Philosophie,
That bedlam Reason, and that beast dull sence;
Great God! when I consider thee
Omnipotent, Æternall, and imens?
Unmov'd thou didst behold the pride
Of th' Angels, when they to defection fell?
And without passion didst provide
To punish treason, rackes and death in hell.
Thy Word created this great All,
Ith' lower part whereof we wage such warres:
The upper bright and sphæricall
By purer bodies tenanted, the starres.
And though sixe dayes it thee did please
To build this frame, the seventh for rest assigne;
Yet was it not thy paine or ease,
But to teach man the quantities of Time.
This world so mighty and so faire,
So 'bove the reach of all dimension:
If to thee God we should compare,
Is not the slenderst atome to the Sun.
What then am I poore nothing man!
That elevate my voyce and speake of thee?
Since no imagination can
Distinguish part of thy immensitie?
What am I who dare call thee God!
And raise my fancie to discourse thy power?
To whom dust is the period,
Who am not sure to farme this very houre?
For how know I the latest sand
In my fraile glasse of life, doth not now fall?
And while I thus astonisht stand
I but prepare for my own funerall?
Death doth with man no order keepe:
It reckons not by the expence of yeares,
But makes the Queene and beggar weepe,
And nere distinguishes betweene their teares.
He who the victory doth gaine
Falls as he him pursues, who from him flyes,
And is by too good fortune slaine.
The Lover in his amorous courtship dyes.
The states-man suddenly expires
While he for others ruine doth prepare:
And the gay Lady while sh' admires
Her pride, and curles in wanton nets her haire.
No state of man is fortified
'Gainst the assault of th' universall doome:
But who th' Almightie feare, deride
Pale death, and meete with triumph in the tombe.
_Quonian ego in flagella paratus sum._ DAVID.
Fix me on some bleake precipice,
Where I ten thousand yeares may stand:
Made now a statute of ice,
Then by the summer scorcht and tan'd!
Place me alone in some fraile boate
'Mid th' horrors of an angry Sea:
Where I while time shall move, may floate
Despairing either land or day!
Or under earth my youth confine
To th' night and silence of a cell:
Where Scorpions may my limbes entwine.
O God! So thou forgive me hell.
Æternitie! when I think thee,
(Which never any end must have,
Nor knew'st beginning) and fore-see
Hell is design'd for sinne a grave.
My frighted flesh trembles to dust,
My blood ebbes fearefully away:
Both guilty that they did to lust,
And vanity, my youth betray.
My eyes, which from each beautious sight
Drew Spider-like blacke venome in:
Close like the marigold at night
Opprest with dew to bath my sin.
My eares shut up that easie dore
Which did proud fallacies admit:
And vow to heare no follies more;
Deafe to the charmes of sinne and wit.
My hands (which when they toucht some faire
Imagin'd such an excellence,
As th' Ermines skin ungentle were)
Contract themselves, and loose all sence.
But you bold sinners! still pursue
Your valiant wickednesse, and brave
Th' Almighty Justice: hee'le subdue
And make you cowards in the grave.
Then when he as your judge appeares,
In vaine you'le tremble and lament.
And hope to soften him with teares,
To no advantage penitent.
Then will you scorne those treasures, which
So fiercely now you doate upon:
Then curse those pleasures did bewitch
You to this sad illusion.
The neighb'ring mountaines which you shall
Wooe to oppresse you with their weight:
Disdainefull will deny to fall,
By a sad death to ease your fate.
In vaine some midnight storme at sea
To swallow you, you will desire:
In vaine upon the wheels you'le pray
Broken with torments to expire.
Death, at the sight of which you start,
In a mad fury then you'le Court:
Yet hate th' expressions of your heart,
Which onely shall be sigh'd for sport.
No sorrow then shall enter in
With pitty the great judges eares.
This moment's ours. Once dead, his sin
Man cannot expiate with teares.
_Militia est vita hominis._
To Sir _Hen. Per._
_Sir_
Were it your appetite of glory, (which
In noblest times, did bravest soules bewitch
To fall in love with danger,) that now drawes
You to the fate of warre; it claimes applause:
And every worthy hand would plucke a bough
From the best spreading bay, to shade your brow.
Since you unforc'd part from your Ladies bed
Warme with the purest love, to lay your head
Perhaps on some rude turfe, and sadly feele
The nights cold dampes wrapt in a sheete of steele.
You leave your well grown woods; and meadows which
Our _Severne_ doth with fruitfull streames enrich.
Your woods where we see such large heards of Deere
Your meades whereon such goodly flockes appeare.
You leave your Castle, safe both for defence
And sweetely wanton with magnificence
With all the cost and cunning beautified
That addes to state, where nothing wants but pride.
These charmes might have bin pow'rful to have staid
Great mindes resolv'd for action, and betraid
You to a glorious ease: since to the warre
Men by desire of prey invited are,
Whom either sinne or want makes desperate,
Or else disdaine of their owne narrow fate.
But you, nor hope of fame or a release
Of the most sober government in peace,
Did to the hazard of the armie bring
Onely a pure devotion to the King
In whose just cause whoever fights, must be
Triumphant: since even death is victory.
And what is life, that we to wither it
To a weake wrinckled age, should torture wit
To finde out Natures secrets; what doth length
Of time deserve, if we want heate and strength?
When a brave quarrell doth to arms provoke
Why should we feare to venter this thin smoke
This emptie shadow, life? this which the wise
As the fooles Idoll, soberly despise?
Why should we not throw willingly away
A game we cannot save, now that we may
Gaine honour by the gift? since haply when
We onely shall be statue of men
And our owne monuments, Peace will deny
Our wretched age so brave a cause to dye.
But these are thoughts! And action tis doth give
A soule to courage, and make vertue live:
Which doth not dwell upon the valiant tongue
Of bold Philosophie, but in the strong
Undaunted spirit, which encounters those
Sad dangers, we to fancie scarce propose.
Yet tis the true and highest fortitude
To keepe our inward enemies subdued:
Not to permit our passions over sway
Our actions, not our wanton flesh betray
The soules chaste Empire: for however we
To th' outward shew may gaine a victory
And proudly triumph: if to conquour sinne
We combate not, we are at warre within.
_Vias tuas Domine demonstra mihi._