Solomons recantation, entitvled Ecclesiastes paraphrased with a soliloquie or meditation upon every chapter : very seasonable and useful for these times / by Francis Quarles ; with a short relation of his life and death.
         Quarles, Francis, 1592-1644.
      
       
         This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription A56841 of text R6110 in the  English Short Title Catalog (Wing Q117). Textual changes  and metadata enrichments aim at making the text more  computationally tractable, easier to read, and suitable for network-based collaborative curation by amateur and professional end users from many walks of life.  The text has been tokenized and linguistically annotated with  MorphAdorner. The annotation includes standard spellings that support the display of a text in a standardized format that preserves archaic forms ('loveth', 'seekest'). Textual changes aim at restoring the text the author or stationer meant to publish.  This text has not been fully proofread 
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         EarlyPrint Project
         Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO
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         A56841
         Wing Q117
         ESTC R6110
         12636751
         ocm 12636751
         64884
         
           
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         (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A56841)
         Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 64884)
         Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 773:22)
      
       
         
           
             Solomons recantation, entitvled Ecclesiastes paraphrased with a soliloquie or meditation upon every chapter : very seasonable and useful for these times / by Francis Quarles ; with a short relation of his life and death.
             Quarles, Francis, 1592-1644.
          
           
             This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription A56841 of text R6110 in the  English Short Title Catalog (Wing Q117). Textual changes  and metadata enrichments aim at making the text more  computationally tractable, easier to read, and suitable for network-based collaborative curation by amateur and professional end users from many walks of life.  The text has been tokenized and linguistically annotated with  MorphAdorner. The annotation includes standard spellings that support the display of a text in a standardized format that preserves archaic forms ('loveth', 'seekest'). Textual changes aim at restoring the text the author or stationer meant to publish.  This text has not been fully proofread 
           [6], 62, [2] p., 1 leaf of plates : port.
           
             Printed for Richard Royston ...,
             London :
             1648.
          
           
             In verse.
             Reproduction of original in Huntington Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
         eng
      
       
         
           Quarles, Francis, 1592-1644.
           Bible. -- O.T. -- Ecclesiastes -- Paraphrases.
        
      
    
       A56841  R6110  (Wing Q117).  civilwar no Solomons recantation, entituled Ecclesiastes, paraphrased. With a soliloquie or meditation upon every chapter. Very seasonable and usefull f Quarles, Francis 1648    22134 21 5 0 0 0 0 12 C  The  rate of 12 defects per 10,000 words puts this text in the C category of texts with between 10 and 35 defects per 10,000 words. 
        2002-03 TCP
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        2002-06 Judith Siefring
        Sampled and proofread
      
        2002-06 Judith Siefring
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        2002-07 pfs
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             Pictor
             adumbravit
             Vultum
             guem
             cernimus
             ,
             aft
             hic
          
           
             Non
             vaset
             egregias
             pingere
             mentis
             Opes
          
           
             Has
             siscire
             cupis
             ,
             sua
             consule
             Carmina
             ,
             in
             illis
          
           
             Dotes
             percipies
             pectoris
             eximias
             .
          
        
         
           
             What
             heere
             wee
             see
             is
             but
             a
             
               Graven
            
             face
             .
          
           
             Onoly
             the
             
               shaddow
            
             of
             that
             brittle
             case
          
           
             Wherin
             were
             treasur'd
             up
             those
             Gemms
             ,
             which
             he
          
           
             Hath
             left
             behind
             him
             to
             Posteritie
             .
          
        
         
           
             Al
             :
             Ross
             .
             W
             M
             Sculy
             :
          
        
      
       
         
         
           
             SOLOMONS
          
           RECANTATION
           ,
           ENTITVLED
           ECCLESIASTES
           ,
           PARAPHRASED
           .
           With
           a
           SOLILOQUIE
           or
           Meditation
           upon
           every
           Chapter
           .
           
             Very
             Seasonable
             and
             Usefull
             for
             these
             times
             .
          
        
         
           By
           FRANCIS
           QUARLES
           .
        
         
           VVITH
           A
           SHORT
           RELATION
           OF
           His
           LIFE
           and
           DEATH
           .
        
         
           The
           third
           Edition
           .
        
         
           O
           curas
           hominum
           !
           O
           quantum
           est
           in
           rebus
           inane
           !
        
         
           
             LONDON
             .
          
           Printed
           for
           RICHARD
           ROYSTON
           ,
           and
           are
           to
           be
           sold
           at
           his
           Shop
           at
           the
           Signe
           of
           the
           
             Angel
          
           in
           
             Ivy-Lane
             .
          
           1648.
           
        
      
       
       
       
         
           A
           SHORT
           RELATION
           Of
           the
           Life
           and
           Death
           of
           Mr.
           FRANCIS
           QUARLES
           ,
           BY
           URSULA
           QUARLES
           ,
           his
           sorrowfull
           Widow
           .
        
         
           THough
           it
           be
           inconsistent
           with
           the
           duty
           of
           a
           Wife
           ,
           to
           be
           injurious
           in
           any
           respect
           to
           her
           Husband
           ;
           yet
           in
           this
           my
           bold
           undertaking
           I
           fear
           I
           shall
           be
           so
           to
           mine
           :
           which
           I
           doubt
           not
           but
           he
           would
           have
           forgiven
           ,
           if
           he
           had
           been
           living
           ,
           as
           proceeding
           from
           love
           ;
           and
           I
           hope
           his
           friends
           will
           pardon
           (
           now
           he
           is
           dead
           )
           as
           being
           the
           last
           duty
           I
           can
           perform
           to
           a
           loving
           Husband
           .
           Those
           that
           see
           with
           what
           pen
           his
           
             Works
          
           are
           written
           ,
           will
           say
           his
           
             Life
          
           deserved
           a
           more
           skilful
           Artist
           to
           set
           it
           forth
           :
           which
           office
           though
           many
           might
           have
           been
           procured
           to
           undertake
           ;
           and
           to
           which
           I
           doubt
           not
           ,
           but
           some
           would
           voluntarily
           have
           offered
           themselves
           ,
           if
           they
           had
           known
           that
           such
           a
           thing
           had
           been
           intended
           :
           yet
           have
           I
           (
           with
           much
           zeal
           ,
           though
           small
           discretion
           )
           adventured
           upon
           it
           my self
           ,
           as
           being
           fully
           assured
           that
           none
           can
           be
           more
           sensible
           of
           the
           losse
           of
           him
           ,
           then
           I
           ,
           though
           thousands
           might
           have
           exprest
           that
           losse
           to
           the
           world
           with
           more
           Art
           and
           better
           judgement
           .
        
         
           He
           was
           a
           Gentleman
           both
           by
           birth
           and
           desert
           :
           descended
           of
           an
           ancient
           Family
           ,
           and
           yet
           (
           which
           is
           rare
           in
           these
           last
           and
           worst
           times
           )
           he
           was
           an
           ornament
           to
           his
           Ancestors
           .
           His
           Father
           was
           
             Iames
             Quarles
          
           of
           
             Rumford
          
           Esquire
           ,
           Clerk
           of
           the
           Green-cloth
           ,
           and
           Purveior
           of
           the
           Navie
           to
           Queen
           
             Elizabeth
             ,
          
           and
           yonger
           brother
           to
           Sir
           
             Robert
             Quarles
             .
          
           His
           education
           was
           sutable
           to
           his
           birth
           ;
           first
           ,
           at
           schoole
           in
           the
           Country
           ,
           where
           his
           School-fellows
           will
           say
           ,
           he
           surpassed
           all
           his
           equals
           ;
           afterward
           at
           
             Christs
             Colledge
          
           in
           
             Cambridge
             ,
          
           where
           how
           he
           profited
           ,
           I
           am
           not
           able
           to
           judge
           ,
           but
           am
           fully
           assured
           by
           men
           of
           much
           learning
           and
           judgement
           ,
           that
           his
           
             Works
          
           in
           very
           many
           places
           doe
           sufficiently
           testifie
           more
           then
           ordinary
           fruits
           of
           his
           Vniversity
           studies
           .
           Last
           of
           all
           ,
           he
           was
           transplanted
           from
           thence
           to
           
             Lincolns
             Inne
             ,
          
           where
           for
           some
           years
           he
           studied
           the
           
             Laws
             of
             England
             ;
          
           not
           so
           much
           out
           of
           desire
           to
           benefit
           himself
           thereby
           ,
           as
           his
           friends
           and
           neighbours
           ,
           (
           shewing
           therein
           his
           continuall
           inclination
           to
           peace
           )
           by
           composing
           suits
           and
           differences
           amongst
           them
           .
        
         
           After
           he
           came
           to
           maturity
           ,
           he
           was
           not
           desirous
           to
           put
           himself
           into
           the
           world
           ,
           otherwise
           he
           might
           have
           had
           greater
           preferments
           then
           he
           had
           :
           He
           was
           neither
           so
           unfit
           for
           Court
           preferment
           ,
           nor
           so
           ill
           beloved
           there
           ,
           but
           that
           he
           might
           have
           raised
           his
           fortunes
           thereby
           ,
           if
           he
           had
           had
           any
           inclination
           that
           way
           .
           But
           his
           mind
           was
           chiefly
           set
           upon
           his
           devotion
           and
           study
           :
           yet
           not
           altogether
           so
           much
           ,
           but
           that
           he
           faithfully
           discharged
           the
           place
           of
           
             Cup-bearer
          
           to
           the
           Queen
           of
           
             Bohemia
             ,
          
           and
           the
           office
           of
           
             Secretary
          
           to
           the
           Reverend
           and
           learned
           Lord
           Primate
           of
           
             Ireland
             ,
          
           that
           now
           is
           ;
           and
           of
           
             Chronologer
          
           to
           the
           famous
           City
           of
           
             London
             ;
          
           which
           place
           he
           held
           to
           his
           death
           ,
           and
           would
           have
           given
           that
           City
           (
           and
           the
           world
           )
           a
           
           testimony
           that
           he
           was
           their
           faithfull
           servant
           therein
           ,
           if
           it
           had
           pleased
           God
           to
           blesse
           him
           with
           life
           to
           perfect
           what
           he
           had
           begun
           .
           He
           was
           the
           Husband
           of
           one
           Wife
           ,
           by
           whom
           he
           had
           eighteen
           children
           ;
           and
           how
           faithful
           and
           loving
           he
           was
           ,
           my
           pen
           and
           their
           tears
           are
           not
           able
           to
           expresse
           .
        
         
           In
           all
           his
           duties
           to
           God
           and
           man
           ,
           he
           was
           conscionable
           and
           orderly
           :
           He
           preferred
           God
           and
           Religion
           to
           the
           first
           place
           in
           his
           thoughts
           ,
           his
           King
           &
           Country
           to
           the
           second
           ,
           his
           Family
           and
           Studies
           he
           reserved
           to
           the
           last
           :
           As
           for
           God
           ,
           he
           was
           frequent
           in
           his
           devotions
           and
           prayers
           to
           him
           ,
           and
           almost
           constant
           in
           reading
           or
           meditating
           on
           his
           holy
           Word
           ,
           as
           his
           
             Divine
             Fancies
          
           and
           other
           parts
           of
           his
           
             Works
          
           will
           sufficiently
           testifie
           .
           For
           his
           Religion
           ,
           he
           was
           a
           true
           son
           of
           the
           Church
           of
           
             England
             ;
          
           an
           even
           Protestant
           ,
           not
           in
           the
           least
           degree
           biassed
           to
           this
           hand
           of
           superstition
           ,
           or
           that
           of
           schisme
           ,
           though
           both
           those
           Factions
           were
           ready
           to
           cry
           him
           down
           for
           his
           inclination
           to
           the
           contrary
           .
           His
           love
           to
           his
           King
           and
           Country
           in
           these
           late
           unhappy
           times
           of
           distraction
           ,
           was
           manifest
           ,
           in
           that
           he
           used
           his
           pen
           ,
           and
           powred
           out
           his
           continuall
           prayers
           and
           tears
           to
           quench
           this
           miserable
           fire
           of
           dissention
           ,
           while
           too
           many
           others
           added
           daily
           fewell
           unto
           it
           .
           And
           for
           his
           family
           ,
           his
           care
           was
           very
           great
           over
           that
           ,
           even
           then
           ,
           when
           his
           occasions
           caused
           his
           absence
           from
           it
           .
           And
           when
           he
           was
           at
           home
           his
           exhortations
           to
           us
           to
           continue
           in
           virtue
           and
           godly
           life
           ,
           were
           so
           pious
           and
           frequent
           ;
           his
           admonitions
           so
           grave
           and
           piercing
           ;
           his
           reprehensions
           so
           mild
           and
           gentle
           ,
           and
           (
           above
           all
           )
           his
           own
           example
           in
           every
           religious
           and
           morall
           duty
           ,
           so
           constant
           and
           manifest
           ,
           that
           his
           equall
           may
           be
           desired
           ,
           but
           can
           hardly
           be
           met
           withall
           .
        
         
           Neither
           was
           his
           good
           example
           of
           a
           godly
           life
           contained
           only
           with●n
           his
           own
           Family
           :
           others
           as
           well
           as
           we
           ,
           have
           (
           or
           at
           least
           might
           have
           )
           made
           good
           use
           of
           it
           .
           For
           he
           was
           not
           addicted
           to
           any
           notorious
           vice
           whatsoever
           :
           He
           was
           courteous
           and
           affable
           to
           all
           ;
           moderate
           and
           discreet
           in
           all
           his
           actions
           :
           And
           though
           it
           be
           too
           frequent
           a
           fault
           (
           as
           we
           see
           by
           experience
           )
           in
           Gentlemen
           whose
           dispositions
           incline
           them
           to
           the
           study
           of
           Poetry
           ,
           to
           be
           loose
           and
           debauch'd
           in
           their
           lives
           and
           conversations
           ;
           yet
           was
           it
           very
           far
           from
           him
           :
           Their
           delight
           could
           not
           be
           greater
           in
           the
           Tavern
           ,
           then
           his
           was
           in
           his
           Study
           ;
           to
           which
           he
           devoted
           himself
           late
           and
           early
           ,
           usually
           by
           three
           a
           clock
           in
           the
           morning
           .
           The
           fruits
           thereof
           are
           best
           tasted
           by
           those
           ,
           who
           have
           most
           perused
           his
           
             Works
             ,
          
           and
           therefore
           I
           shall
           be
           silent
           in
           that
           particular
           .
           For
           though
           it
           had
           been
           necessary
           in
           another
           to
           have
           spoken
           somewh●t
           of
           his
           
             writings
             ;
          
           yet
           I
           hope
           it
           will
           not
           be
           expected
           from
           me
           ,
           seeing
           that
           neither
           the
           judgement
           of
           my
           Sex
           can
           be
           thought
           competent
           ,
           nor
           (
           if
           it
           were
           )
           would
           the
           nearnesse
           of
           my
           relation
           to
           him
           suffer
           me
           to
           praise
           that
           ,
           ●
           commendations
           whereof
           from
           others
           ,
           I
           have
           often
           blushed
           .
        
         
           I
           shall
           therefore
           rather
           desire
           le●ve
           to
           speak
           a
           word
           or
           two
           concerning
           the
           blessed
           end
           of
           my
           dear
           Husband
           ,
           which
           was
           every
           way
           answerable
           to
           his
           godly
           life
           ;
           or
           rather
           (
           indeed
           )
           surpassed
           it
           .
           For
           as
           gold
           is
           purified
           in
           the
           fire
           ,
           so
           were
           all
           his
           Christian
           virtues
           more
           refined
           and
           remarkable
           during
           the
           time
           of
           his
           sicknesse
           .
        
         
           His
           patience
           was
           wonderfull
           ,
           insomuch
           as
           he
           would
           confesse
           no
           pain
           ,
           even
           then
           when
           ●ll
           his
           friends
           perceived
           his
           disease
           to
           be
           mortall
           ;
           but
           still
           rendred
           thanks
           to
           God
           for
           his
           speciall
           love
           to
           him
           ,
           
             in
             taking
             him
             into
             his
             own
             hands
             to
             chastise
             ,
             while
             others
             were
             exposed
             to
             the
             fury
             of
             their
             enemies
             ,
             the
             power
             of
             pistols
             ,
             and
             the
             trampling
             of
             horses
             .
          
        
         
         
           He
           exprest
           great
           sorrow
           for
           his
           sins
           ,
           and
           when
           it
           was
           told
           him
           ,
           that
           his
           friends
           conceived
           he
           did
           thereby
           much
           harm
           to
           himself
           :
           he
           answered
           ,
           
             They
             were
             not
             his
             friends
             ,
             that
             would
             not
             give
             him
             leave
             to
             be
             penitent
             .
          
        
         
           His
           Exhortations
           to
           his
           friends
           that
           came
           to
           visit
           him
           were
           most
           divine
           ;
           wishing
           them
           
             to
             have
             a
             care
             of
             the
             expence
             of
             their
             time
             ,
             and
             every
             day
             to
             call
             themselves
             to
             an
             accompt
             ,
             that
             so
             when
             they
             come
             to
             their
             bed
             of
             sicknesse
             ,
             they
             might
             lie
             upon
             it
             with
             a
             rejoycing
             heart
             .
          
           And
           doubtlesse
           such
           an
           one
           was
           his
           :
           Insomuch
           as
           he
           thanked
           God
           ,
           that
           whereas
           he
           might
           have
           justly
           expected
           ,
           that
           
             his
             conscience
             should
             look
             him
             in
             the
             face
             like
             a
             Lyon
             ,
             it
             rather
             looked
             upon
             him
             like
             a
             Lamb
             :
          
           and
           that
           
             God
             had
             forgiven
             him
             his
             sins
             ,
             and
             that
             night
             sealed
             him
             his
             pardon
             :
          
           And
           many
           other
           heavenly
           expressions
           to
           the
           like
           effect
           .
           I
           might
           here
           adde
           what
           blessed
           advice
           he
           gave
           to
           me
           in
           particular
           ,
           
             still
             to
             trust
             in
             God
             ,
             whose
             promise
             is
             ,
             to
             provide
             for
             the
             Widow
             and
             Fatherlesse
             ,
             &c.
          
           but
           this
           is
           already
           imprinted
           in
           my
           heart
           ;
           and
           therefore
           I
           shall
           not
           need
           here
           again
           to
           insert
           it
           .
        
         
           His
           charity
           was
           extraordinary
           ,
           in
           freely
           forgiving
           his
           greatest
           enemies
           ,
           even
           those
           who
           were
           the
           cause
           of
           his
           sicknesse
           ,
           and
           by
           consequence
           of
           his
           death
           .
           For
           ,
           whereas
           a
           Petition
           full
           of
           unjust
           aspersions
           ,
           was
           preferred
           against
           him
           by
           eight
           men
           ,
           (
           whereof
           he
           knew
           not
           any
           two
           ,
           nor
           they
           him
           ,
           save
           only
           by
           sight
           )
           the
           first
           news
           of
           it
           struck
           him
           so
           to
           the
           heart
           ,
           that
           he
           never
           recovered
           it
           ,
           but
           said
           plainly
           ,
           
             it
             would
             be
             his
             death
             .
          
           And
           when
           his
           friends
           (
           to
           comfort
           him
           )
           told
           him
           that
           Mr.
           
             I.
             S.
          
           (
           the
           chief
           promoter
           thereof
           )
           was
           called
           to
           an
           accompt
           for
           it
           ,
           and
           would
           go
           neer
           to
           be
           punished
           ;
           his
           answer
           was
           ,
           
             God
             forbid
             ,
             I
             seek
             not
             revenge
             ,
             I
             freely
             forgive
             him
             ,
             and
             the
             rest
             ;
             onely
             I
             desire
             to
             be
             vindicated
             from
             their
             unjust
             aspersions
             ;
             especially
             .
          
           
           [
           that
           for
           ought
           they
           know
           I
           may
           be
           a
           Papist
           ]
           
             whereas
             I
             never
             spake
             word
             to
             any
             of
             them
             in
             my
             life
             .
          
           Which
           imputation
           ,
           how
           slanderous
           it
           was
           ,
           may
           e●sily
           be
           discovered
           by
           a
           pass●ge
           in
           his
           greatest
           extremity
           ,
           wherein
           his
           discretion
           may
           (
           perhaps
           )
           be
           taxed
           by
           some
           ,
           but
           his
           Religion
           cannot
           be
           questioned
           by
           any
           .
           For
           ,
           a
           very
           able
           Doctor
           of
           the
           Romish
           Religion
           ,
           being
           sent
           unto
           him
           by
           a
           friend
           ,
           he
           would
           not
           take
           what
           he
           had
           prescribed
           ,
           only
           because
           he
           was
           a
           Papist
           .
        
         
           These
           were
           the
           remarkable
           passages
           in
           him
           during
           his
           sicknesse
           :
           
           The
           rest
           of
           the
           time
           he
           spent
           in
           Contemplation
           of
           God
           ,
           and
           meditating
           upon
           his
           Word
           ;
           especially
           upon
           Christs
           sufferings
           ,
           and
           what
           a
           benefit
           those
           have
           ,
           that
           by
           faith
           could
           lay
           hold
           on
           him
           ,
           and
           what
           vertue
           there
           was
           in
           the
           least
           drop
           of
           his
           precious
           blood
           :
           intermingling
           here
           and
           there
           many
           devout
           prayers
           and
           ejaculations
           ;
           which
           continued
           with
           him
           as
           long
           as
           his
           speech
           :
           and
           after
           ,
           as
           we
           could
           perceive
           by
           some
           imperfect
           expressions
           .
           At
           which
           time
           a
           friend
           of
           his
           exhorting
           him
           to
           apply
           himself
           to
           finish
           his
           course
           here
           ,
           and
           prepare
           himself
           for
           the
           world
           to
           come
           ;
           he
           spake
           in
           Latin
           to
           this
           effect
           (
           as
           I
           am
           told
           )
           
             O
             dulcis
             Salvator
             mundi
             ,
             sint
             tua
             ultima
             verba
             in
             Cruce
             ,
             mea
             ultima
             verba
             in
             luce
             :
             In
             manus
             tuas
             Domine
             commendo
             spiritum
             meum
             .
             Et
             quae
             ore
             meo
             fari
             non
             possint
             ,
             ab
             animo
             &
             corde
             sint
             à
             te
             te
             accepta
             .
             O
             sweet
             Saviour
             of
             the
             world
             ,
             let
             thy
             last
             words
             upon
             the
             Crosse
             ,
             be
             my
             last
             words
             in
             this
             world
             :
             Into
             thy
             hands
             Lord
             I
             commend
             my
             spirit
             :
             And
             what
             I
             cannot
             utter
             with
             my
             mouth
             ,
             accept
             from
             my
             heart
             and
             soul
             .
          
           Which
           words
           being
           uttered
           distinctly
           ,
           
           to
           the
           understanding
           of
           his
           friend
           ,
           he
           fell
           again
           into
           his
           former
           Contemplations
           and
           Prayers
           ;
           and
           so
           quietly
           gave
           up
           his
           soul
           to
           God
           ,
           the
           eight
           day
           of
           
             September
             ,
          
           1644.
           after
           he
           had
           lived
           two
           and
           fifty
           years
           ,
           and
           lyeth
           buried
           in
           the
           Parish
           Church
           of
           S.
           
             Foster
             ,
             London
             .
          
        
         
           Thus
           departed
           that
           blessed
           soul
           ,
           whose
           losse
           I
           have
           great
           reason
           to
           bewail
           ,
           and
           many
           others
           in
           time
           will
           be
           sensible
           of
           .
           But
           my
           particular
           comfort
           is
           in
           his
           dying
           words
           ,
           that
           
             God
             will
             be
             a
             Husband
             to
             the
             Widow
             :
          
           And
           that
           which
           may
           comfort
           others
           as
           well
           as
           me
           ,
           is
           (
           what
           a
           reverend
           Divine
           wrote
           to
           a
           friend
           concerning
           his
           death
           )
           that
           
             our
             losse
             is
             gain
             to
             him
             ,
             who
             could
             not
             live
             in
             a
             worse
             age
             ,
             nor
             die
             in
             a
             better
             time
             .
          
        
         
           And
           here
           again
           ,
           I
           humbly
           beg
           the
           Readers
           pardon
           .
           For
           I
           cannot
           expect
           but
           to
           be
           censured
           ,
           by
           some
           for
           writing
           thus
           much
           ,
           and
           by
           others
           for
           writing
           no
           more
           .
           To
           both
           which
           ,
           my
           excuse
           is
           ,
           my
           want
           of
           ability
           and
           judgement
           in
           matters
           of
           this
           nature
           .
           I
           was
           more
           averse
           (
           indeed
           )
           from
           medling
           with
           the
           Petition
           ,
           then
           any
           other
           thing
           I
           have
           touched
           upon
           ;
           lest
           (
           perhaps
           )
           it
           should
           be
           thought
           to
           savour
           a
           little
           of
           revenge
           ;
           but
           God
           is
           my
           witnesse
           I
           had
           no
           such
           intention
           .
           My
           only
           aim
           and
           scope
           was
           ,
           to
           fulfil
           the
           desires
           and
           commands
           of
           my
           dying
           Husband
           .
           Who
           wished
           all
           his
           friends
           to
           take
           notice
           ,
           and
           make
           it
           known
           ,
           that
           
             as
             be
             was
             trained
             up
             and
             lived
             in
             the
             true
             Protestant
             Religion
             ,
             so
             in
             that
             Religion
             he
             died
             .
          
        
         
           
             URSULA
             QUARLES
             .
          
        
      
       
         
           A
           Letter
           from
           a
           learned
           Divine
           upon
           the
           news
           of
           the
           Death
           of
           Master
           Quarles
           .
        
         
           
             My
             worthy
             friend
             M.
             
               Hawkins
               .
            
          
        
         
           I
           Received
           your
           Letter
           joyfully
           ,
           
           but
           the
           news
           (
           therein
           contained
           )
           sadly
           and
           heavily
           ;
           It
           met
           me
           upon
           my
           return
           home
           from
           
             Sturbridge
             ;
          
           and
           did
           work
           on
           my self
           and
           wife
           ,
           I
           pray
           God
           it
           may
           work
           kindly
           on
           us
           all
           .
           We
           have
           lost
           a
           true
           friend
           ;
           and
           were
           the
           losse
           only
           mine
           or
           yours
           ,
           it
           were
           the
           lesse
           ,
           but
           thousands
           have
           a
           losse
           in
           him
           ;
           yea
           ,
           the
           Generations
           which
           shall
           come
           after
           will
           lament
           it
           .
           But
           our
           losse
           is
           gain
           to
           him
           ,
           (
           who
           could
           not
           live
           in
           a
           worse
           age
           ,
           nor
           die
           in
           a
           better
           time
           )
           let
           us
           endeavour
           like
           good
           Gamesters
           to
           make
           the
           best
           we
           may
           of
           this
           throw
           ,
           cast
           us
           by
           the
           hand
           of
           Gods
           good
           Providence
           ,
           that
           it
           may
           likewise
           prove
           gain
           to
           us
           ;
           which
           will
           be
           ,
           if
           in
           case
           we
           draw
           nearer
           unto
           him
           ,
           and
           take
           off
           our
           hearts
           from
           all
           earthly
           hopes
           and
           comforts
           ;
           using
           this
           world
           as
           if
           we
           used
           it
           not
           ;
           so
           shall
           we
           rejoyce
           as
           if
           we
           rejoyced
           not
           in
           their
           using
           ,
           and
           mourn
           as
           if
           we
           mourned
           not
           in
           the
           parting
           with
           them
           .
           —
        
         
           
             Essex
             .
             
               Sept.
               12.
               1644.
               
            
          
           
             Your
             assured
             friend
             
               Nehemiah
               Rogers
               .
            
          
        
      
    
     
       
       
         
           SOLOMONS
           Recantation
           ,
           Intituled
           ECCLESIASTES
           .
        
         
           CAP.
           I.
           
        
         
           
             1
             The
             Preacher
             sheweth
             that
             all
             humane
             courses
             are
             vain
             :
             4
             Because
             the
             creatures
             are
             restlesse
             in
             their
             courses
             ,
             9
             They
             bring
             forth
             nothing
             new
             ,
             and
             all
             old
             things
             are
             forgotten
             ,
             12
             And
             because
             he
             hath
             found
             it
             so
             in
             the
             studies
             of
             Wisdome
             .
          
        
         
           
             Vers.
             1.
             
          
           
             Thus
             sayes
             the
             best
             of
             Preachers
             and
             of
             Kings
             ,
          
           
             THus
             
               Solomon
            
             the
             Sonne
             of
             
               David
            
             sings
             .
          
        
         
           
             2.
             
          
           
             The
             greatest
             happinesse
             that
             earth
             can
             prize
          
           
             Is
             all
             most
             vain
             ,
             and
             vainest
             vanities
             .
          
        
         
           
             3.
             
          
           
             What
             profit
             can
             accrue
             to
             man
             ?
             what
             gains
          
           
             Can
             crown
             his
             actions
             ,
             or
             reward
             his
             pains
             ?
          
           
             Beneath
             the
             Orbe
             of
             heavens
             surrounding
             Sun
             ,
          
           
             What
             worth
             his
             labour
             hath
             his
             labour
             done
             ?
          
        
         
           
             4.
             
          
           
             One
             Generation
             gives
             another
             way
             ,
          
           
             But
             earth
             abids
             in
             one
             perpetuall
             stay
             :
          
        
         
           
             5.
             
          
           
             The
             Prince
             of
             Light
             puts
             on
             his
             morning
             Crown
             ,
          
           
             And
             in
             the
             Evening
             layes
             his
             glory
             down
             :
          
           
             Where
             leaving
             earth
             to
             take
             a
             short
             repose
             ,
          
           
             He
             soon
             returns
             ,
             and
             rises
             where
             he
             rose
             :
          
        
         
           
             6.
             
          
           
             The
             troubled
             Ayre
             provokes
             the
             southern
             States
             ,
          
           
             And
             then
             it
             blusters
             at
             the
             Borean
             gates
             ;
          
           
             It
             whirles
             about
             in
             his
             uncertaine
             spheare
             ,
          
           
             And
             rides
             his
             unknown
             Circuit
             ev'ry
             where
             ;
          
        
         
         
           
             7.
             
          
           
             All
             Rivers
             to
             the
             Seas
             their
             tribute
             yield
             ,
          
           
             And
             yet
             th'
             Hydropick
             Seas
             are
             never
             fill'd
             ,
          
           
             Their
             sliding
             streames
             pursue
             their
             passage
             home
             ,
          
           
             And
             drive
             their
             hasty
             tides
             frō
             whence
             they
             come
             .
          
        
         
           
             8.
             
          
           
             The
             world
             is
             all
             compos'd
             of
             change
             ;
             nor
             can
          
           
             Her
             vanity
             be
             Character'd
             by
             Man
             :
          
           
             The
             eye
             's
             not
             satisfi'd
             ;
             and
             what
             we
             heare
             ,
          
           
             Fils
             not
             the
             Concave
             of
             th'
             insatiate
             eare
             :
          
        
         
           
             9.
             
          
           
             The
             thing
             that
             heretofore
             hath
             been
             ,
             we
             see
          
           
             Is
             but
             the
             same
             that
             is
             ,
             and
             is
             to
             be
             :
          
           
             And
             what
             is
             done
             ,
             is
             what
             is
             to
             be
             done
             ;
          
           
             There
             's
             nothing
             that
             is
             new
             beneath
             the
             Sunne
             .
          
        
         
           
             10.
             
          
           
             What
             Novelty
             can
             earth
             proclaim
             ,
             and
             say
             ,
          
           
             It
             had
             no
             Precedent
             before
             this
             day
             ?
          
           
             No
             ,
             no
             ,
             there
             's
             nothing
             modern
             times
             can
             owne
             ,
          
           
             The
             which
             precedent
             Ages
             have
             not
             known
             :
          
        
         
           
             11.
             
          
           
             The
             deeds
             of
             former
             days
             expire
             their
             date
          
           
             In
             our
             collapsed
             Memories
             ,
             and
             what
          
           
             Times
             early
             sunshine
             hath
             not
             ripened
             yet
             ,
          
           
             Succeeding
             Generations
             shall
             forget
             .
          
        
         
           
             12.
             
          
           
             I
             
               Solomon
               ,
            
             whose
             choice
             affections
             owne
          
           
             The
             Churches
             service
             dearer
             then
             my
             Throne
             ,
          
           
             Was
             chosen
             and
             anointed
             King
             ,
             and
             now
          
           
             Wear
             Israels
             Crown
             upon
             my
             studious
             brow
             :
          
        
         
           
             13.
             
          
           
             I
             bent
             my
             heart
             ,
             by
             wisdome
             ,
             to
             descry
          
           
             What
             are
             subsists
             beneath
             the
             spangled
             sky
             ;
          
           
             With
             such
             hard
             travel
             hath
             our
             God
             thought
             good
          
           
             To
             exercise
             the
             souls
             of
             flesh
             and
             blood
             .
          
        
         
           
             14.
             
          
           
             My
             thoughts
             have
             ponder'd
             all
             that
             hath
             been
             done
          
           
             Betwixt
             the
             solid
             
               Center
            
             and
             the
             
               Sunne
               ,
            
          
           
             And
             loe
             !
             the
             object
             of
             my
             
               Contemplation
            
          
           
             Is
             but
             meer
             
               vanity
               ,
            
             and
             souls
             
               vexation
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             15.
             
          
           
             Not
             all
             this
             knowledge
             can
             reduce
             the
             state
          
           
             Of
             crooked
             nature
             to
             a
             perfect
             straight
             ;
          
           
           
             Nor
             summe
             our
             Ignorances
             ,
             which
             surmount
          
           
             The
             language
             of
             
               Arithmeticks
            
             Account
             .
          
        
         
           
             16.
             
          
           
             I
             view'd
             my
             heart
             ,
             and
             there
             found
             greater
             store
          
           
             Of
             wisdome
             ,
             then
             all
             those
             that
             liv'd
             before
             :
          
           
             No
             knowledge
             could
             remaine
             ,
             no
             wisdome
             lye
          
           
             Close
             from
             mine
             eare
             ,
             nor
             clouded
             from
             mine
             eye
             .
          
        
         
           
             17.
             
          
           
             I
             gave
             my
             all
             enquiring
             heart
             to
             know
          
           
             Not
             wisdome
             onely
             ,
             but
             ev'n
             folly
             too
             :
          
           
             And
             I
             perceiv'd
             that
             all
             this
             Contemplation
          
           
             Was
             vain
             ,
             and
             nothing
             but
             the
             souls
             Vexation
             :
          
        
         
           
             18.
             
          
           
             For
             he
             that
             labours
             for
             much
             wisdome
             ,
             gains
          
           
             Grief
             in
             th'
             enjoyment
             ;
             in
             pursuit
             but
             pains
             :
          
           
             And
             who
             improves
             his
             knowledg
             ,
             strives
             to
             borrow
          
           
             A
             fair
             advantage
             to
             encrease
             his
             sorrow
             .
          
        
         
           
             SOLILOQUIE
             I.
             
          
           
             HOw
             are
             the
             
               vain
            
             desires
             of
             flesh
             and
             blood
          
           
             Befoold
             in
             that
             mistaken
             
               thing
            
             call'd
             good
             !
          
           
             How
             
               Travell
            
             seeks
             it
             !
             How
             unwearied
             hearts
          
           
             Make
             it
             the
             object
             both
             of
             
               Armes
            
             and
             
               Arts
               !
            
          
           
             How
             many
             certaine
             obvious
             ev'lls
             attend
          
           
             The
             way
             to
             this
             uncertain
             Iournies
             end
             !
          
           
             We
             tyre
             the
             night
             in
             thought
             ,
             the
             day
             in
             toyl
             ,
          
           
             Spare
             neither
             sweat
             nor
             lucubrated
             oyl
             ,
          
           
             To
             seek
             the
             thing
             we
             cannot
             find
             ;
             or
             found
             ,
          
           
             We
             cannot
             hold
             ;
             or
             held
             ,
             we
             cannot
             ground
          
           
             So
             firm
             ,
             as
             to
             resist
             the
             various
             swings
          
           
             Of
             fickle
             
               Fortune
               ,
            
             or
             the
             frowns
             of
             Kings
             .
          
           
             Poor
             fruitlesse
             labours
             of
             deluded
             Man
             !
          
           
             How
             vainly
             are
             ye
             spent
             ?
             How
             short
             a
             span
          
           
             Of
             seeming
             pleasure
             serves
             ye
             to
             requite
          
           
             Long
             Leagues
             of
             travell
             ?
             For
             one
             drops
             delight
          
           
           
             Of
             ayry
             Froth
             ,
             how
             are
             ye
             forc'd
             to
             borrow
          
           
             Strong
             Gales
             of
             Hope
             ,
             to
             sail
             through
             seas
             of
             sorrow
             ?
          
           
             Why
             do
             we
             thus
             afflict
             our
             l●b'ring
             soules
          
           
             With
             dregs
             of
             wormwood
             ,
             and
             carouse
             full
             Bowls
          
           
             Of
             boyling
             anguish
             ?
             To
             what
             hopefull
             end
          
           
             Droyl
             we
             our
             crazy
             bodies
             ,
             and
             expend
          
           
             Our
             sorrow-wasted
             spirits
             ,
             to
             acquire
          
           
             A
             Good
             ,
             not
             worth
             a
             breath
             of
             our
             desire
             ?
          
           
             A
             Good
             ,
             whose
             fulsome
             sweetnesse
             clogs
             and
             cloyes
          
           
             The
             soul
             ,
             but
             neither
             lasts
             nor
             satisfies
             :
          
           
             How
             poore
             an
             Object
             pleases
             !
             And
             how
             soon
          
           
             That
             pleasure
             finds
             an
             end
             !
             How
             quickly
             
               Noon
            
          
           
             How
             quickly
             
               Night
               !
            
             And
             what
             to
             day
             we
             prize
          
           
             Above
             our
             souls
             ,
             to
             morrow
             we
             despise
          
           
             Beneath
             a
             
               Trifle
               :
            
             What
             in
             former
             
               Times
            
          
           
             We
             own'd
             as
             Vertue
             ,
             now
             we
             tax
             as
             
               Crimes
               .
            
          
           
             What
             is
             this
             
               World
               ,
            
             but
             ev'n
             a
             great
             
               Exchange
            
          
           
             Of
             dear-bought
             pen
             worths
             ,
             all
             compos'd
             of
             
               Change
               ?
            
          
           
             Where
             frothy
             
               Honour
            
             may
             be
             bought
             and
             sold
          
           
             With
             heart-corrupting
             ,
             eye-beguiling
             Gold
             :
          
           
             Where
             sullen
             wealth
             ,
             and
             friend-betraying
             treasure
          
           
             May
             passe
             in
             barter
             for
             repented
             
               Pleasure
               :
            
          
           
             Where
             painted
             sweetnesse
             (
             though
             a
             grain
             too
             light
             )
          
           
             Shall
             buy
             a
             Lords
             Estate
             for
             one
             poor
             night
             :
          
           
             Where
             unstain'd
             beauties
             youth
             shall
             buy
             an
             old
          
           
             Breath-tainted
             Churl
             ,
             diseas'd
             with
             Gouts
             and
             Gold
             :
          
           
             Where
             Birthrights
             ,
             Blessings
             ,
             nay
             and
             souls
             to
             boot
          
           
             (
             And
             yet
             not
             deem'd
             a
             pen'worth
             under
             foot
             )
          
           
             Shall
             passe
             for
             fond
             delights
             :
             where
             very
             
               Names
            
          
           
             Without
             an
             
               Alias
               ,
            
             (
             to
             lay
             after
             
               Claimes
            
          
           
             To
             a
             poor
             Lordship
             )
             shall
             be
             swept
             away
          
           
             For
             Clods
             of
             earth
             ,
             and
             those
             for
             one
             nights
             
               Play
               .
            
          
           
             Tell
             me
             ,
             my
             puzled
             soul
             ,
             what
             wouldst
             thou
             buy
             ?
          
           
             Goe
             in
             and
             cheapen
             :
             Let
             thy
             curious
             eye
             .
          
           
           
             Make
             her
             own
             choice
             :
             They
             will
             present
             thy
             view
          
           
             With
             numerous
             joyes
             :
             Buy
             something
             that
             is
             new
             :
          
           
             Alas
             !
             
               there
               's
               nothing
               new
               beneath
               the
               skie
               .
            
             
          
           
             Look
             further
             ;
             further
             yet
             :
             Goe
             please
             thine
             eye
             ,
          
           
             Search
             ,
             till
             the
             object
             and
             thine
             eye
             agrees
             :
          
           
             
               Thine
               eye
               's
               not
               satisfi'd
               with
               what
               it
               sees
               .
            
             
          
           
             Buy
             something
             that
             will
             last
             ;
             that
             will
             remain
          
           
             To
             after
             dayes
             :
             
               All
               's
               momentary
               ,
               all
               's
               vain
               .
            
          
           
             I
             ,
             but
             my
             soul
             ,
             here
             's
             fairer
             Merchandise
             ,
             
          
           
             
               Wisdome
               and
               Knowledge
            
             :
             That
             to
             make
             thee
             wise
             ;
          
           
             This
             to
             instruct
             thee
             :
             Come
             ,
             thou
             needst
             not
             fear
             
          
           
             Too
             hard
             a
             bargaine
             :
             Goe
             ,
             and
             purchase
             there
             :
          
           
             Alas
             !
             
               much
               wisdome
               makes
               thy
               grief
               but
               double
            
             ;
             
          
           
             Encrease
             of
             Knowledge
             brings
             increase
             of
             trouble
             .
          
           
             I
             ,
             but
             my
             soul
             ,
             the
             gracious
             eye
             of
             heaven
          
           
             Hath
             smil'd
             upon
             thee
             .
             His
             full
             hand
             hath
             given
          
           
             A
             large
             addition
             to
             thy
             thriv'n
             estate
             ;
          
           
             Thy
             barns
             and
             bags
             are
             fill'd
             ;
             thy
             servants
             wait
          
           
             Vpon
             thy
             businesse
             ,
             and
             their
             shoulders
             bear
          
           
             Thy
             fruitfull
             burdens
             ;
             who
             like
             Pilots
             stear
          
           
             Thy
             reeling
             vessell
             :
             Thou
             art
             richly
             '
             endow'd
          
           
             With
             Knowledge
             ,
             Wisedome
             ,
             Iudgement
             ,
             and
             allow'd
          
           
             Some
             Grains
             to
             make
             thee
             weight
             :
             Me
             thinks
             ,
             thy
             heart
          
           
             So
             arm'd
             with
             strong
             Resolves
             should
             never
             start
          
           
             At
             threatning
             evills
             :
             Me
             thinks
             ,
             thy
             daring
             eye
          
           
             (
             If
             all
             the
             Crystall
             Rafters
             of
             the
             skie
          
           
             Should
             make
             one
             ruine
             ,
             and
             that
             ruine
             fall
          
           
             About
             thine
             ears
             )
             should
             be
             unmov'd
             at
             all
             .
          
           
             No
             ,
             no
             ,
             my
             soul
             ,
             't
             is
             neither
             Barn
             nor
             purse
          
           
             Cramm'd
             up
             with
             coin
             or
             Corn
             ,
             can
             balk
             the
             Curse
          
           
             Entaild
             upon
             thy
             sinne
             :
             Nor
             height
             of
             Blood
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             all
             that
             this
             mistaken
             Earth
             calls
             Good
             :
          
           
             Not
             very
             
               Knowledge
               ,
            
             no
             nor
             
               Wisdome
            
             can
             
          
           
             Exempt
             thee
             from
             the
             Common
             lot
             of
             Man
             .
          
           
           
             The
             wisest
             Prince
             that
             ever
             blest
             a
             Nation
             
          
           
             Found
             all
             things
             vain
             ,
             and
             when
             enjoy'd
             ,
             Vexation
             .
          
        
      
       
         
           CAP.
           II.
           
        
         
           
             1
             The
             vanity
             of
             humane
             courses
             in
             the
             workes
             of
             pleasure
             .
             12.
             
             Though
             the
             wise
             be
             better
             then
             the
             fool
             ,
             yet
             both
             have
             but
             one
             event
             .
             18.
             
             The
             vanity
             of
             humane
             labour
             ,
             in
             leaving
             it
             they
             know
             not
             to
             whom
             .
             24.
             
             Nothing
             better
             then
             joy
             in
             our
             labour
             ,
             but
             that
             is
             Gods
             gift
             .
          
        
         
           
             1.
             
          
           
             SInce
             knowledge
             then
             affords
             my
             soul
             no
             rest
             ,
          
           
             My
             roving
             thoughts
             tri'd
             mirth
             ,
             &
             were
             possest
          
           
             Of
             all
             the
             pleasures
             earth
             could
             lend
             ;
             yet
             I
          
           
             Found
             mirth
             and
             pleasure
             all
             but
             vanity
             :
          
        
         
           
             2.
             
          
           
             I
             laugh'd
             at
             laughter
             as
             a
             toyish
             Antick
             ;
          
           
             And
             counted
             all
             my
             mirth
             no
             lesse
             then
             frantick
             :
          
        
         
           
             3.
             
          
           
             My
             heart
             (
             but
             wisely
             foolish
             )
             did
             encline
          
           
             To
             costly
             fare
             ,
             and
             frolick
             cups
             of
             wine
             ,
          
           
             That
             in
             these
             pleasures
             I
             might
             find
             some
             good
             ,
          
           
             To
             crown
             the
             short
             lif'd
             dayes
             of
             flesh
             and
             blood
             :
          
        
         
           
             4.
             
          
           
             I
             built
             magnifick
             Palaces
             ,
             did
             frame
          
           
             Great
             buildings
             to
             the
             glory
             of
             my
             name
             :
          
           
             I
             planted
             Vineyards
             ,
             whose
             plump
             clusters
             might
          
           
             Rejoyce
             my
             heart
             ,
             and
             lend
             my
             soul
             delight
             :
          
        
         
           
             5.
             
          
           
             I
             made
             me
             fruitfull
             Orchards
             for
             my
             pleasure
             ,
          
           
             And
             curious
             Gardens
             to
             refesh
             my
             leisure
             ;
          
           
             I
             stored
             them
             with
             trees
             ,
             and
             these
             with
             Bowers
             ,
          
           
             And
             made
             a
             
               Paradise
            
             of
             fruits
             and
             flowers
             :
          
        
         
           
             6.
             
          
           
             I
             made
             me
             standing
             pools
             ,
             to
             entertain
          
           
             My
             breathlesse
             guests
             and
             all
             their
             num'rous
             train
             :
          
           
             I
             cut
             me
             Aquiducts
             ,
             whose
             current
             flees
          
           
             And
             water
             all
             my
             wildernesse
             of
             trees
             :
          
        
         
         
           
             7.
             
          
           
             Armies
             of
             servants
             do
             attend
             my
             state
             ,
          
           
             Both
             foreiners
             ,
             and
             born
             within
             my
             gate
             :
          
           
             Herds
             I
             possest
             ,
             and
             flocks
             above
             all
             them
          
           
             That
             reign'd
             before
             me
             in
             Jerusalem
             :
          
        
         
           
             8.
             
          
           
             Abundant
             silver
             ,
             gold
             ,
             and
             precious
             stones
          
           
             By
             Kings
             presented
             ,
             my
             Exchequer
             ownes
             :
          
           
             All
             sorts
             of
             Musick
             (
             earths
             delight
             )
             had
             I
          
           
             To
             feed
             mine
             ear
             ,
             Beauties
             to
             please
             mine
             eye
             :
          
           
             Such
             State
             ,
             magnificence
             ,
             and
             princely
             store
          
        
         
           
             9.
             
          
           
             Wondring
             Jerus'lem
             never
             saw
             before
             :
          
           
             In
             all
             this
             pomp
             ,
             my
             heart
             had
             not
             forgot
          
           
             The
             lawfull
             use
             :
             My
             wisedome
             fail'd
             me
             not
             :
          
           
             I
             gave
             mine
             eyes
             what
             ere
             mine
             eyes
             requir'd
             ,
          
        
         
           
             10.
             
          
           
             Deny'd
             my
             hearts
             no
             mirth
             my
             heart
             desir'd
             :
          
           
             For
             my
             poor
             hearts
             delight
             was
             all
             my
             gains
             ,
          
           
             My
             pleasure
             was
             the
             portion
             of
             my
             paines
             .
          
           
             At
             length
             I
             cast
             my
             serious
             eye
             upon
          
        
         
           
             11.
             
          
           
             My
             painfull
             workes
             ,
             &
             what
             my
             hands
             have
             done
             :
          
           
             But
             loe
             ,
             beneath
             the
             Sun
             no
             contentation
             ,
          
           
             All
             ,
             all
             was
             vanity
             ,
             and
             souls
             vexation
             .
          
           
             With
             that
             I
             turn'd
             my
             weary
             thoughts
             agen
          
        
         
           
             12.
             
          
           
             On
             wisdome
             ,
             and
             the
             foolishnesse
             of
             men
             ;
          
           
             (
             Search
             they
             that
             please
             to
             search
             ,
             alas
             
             the'rs
             none
          
           
             Can
             search
             the
             truth
             more
             strict
             then
             
               Solomon
            
             )
          
           
             When
             my
             impartiall
             Judgement
             did
             compare
          
        
         
           
             13.
             
          
           
             Folly
             with
             wisdome
             ,
             this
             doth
             ev'n
             as
             farre
          
           
             Excell
             the
             other
             ,
             as
             Meridian
             light
          
           
             Excels
             the
             shadows
             of
             the
             darkest
             night
             :
          
           
             The
             wise
             man
             eyes
             are
             in
             his
             head
             ;
             They
             stand
          
        
         
           
             14.
             
          
           
             Like
             Watchmen
             in
             the
             Towre
             ,
             to
             guard
             the
             land
             :
          
           
             But
             fools
             haunt
             darknesse
             ;
             yet
             my selfe
             perceive
          
           
             The
             self-same
             lot
             both
             fools
             and
             wisemen
             have
             .
          
           
             Ah!
             then
             (
             said
             I
             )
             if
             equall
             fortune
             lies
          
        
         
           
             15.
             
          
           
             For
             fools
             and
             me
             ,
             what
             vantage
             to
             be
             wise
             ?
          
           
           
             What
             profit
             hath
             my
             wisdome
             ?
             Then
             thought
             I
          
           
             The
             height
             of
             wisdome
             hath
             her
             Vanity
             .
          
        
         
           
             16.
             
          
           
             The
             foolish
             Bauble
             ,
             and
             the
             learned
             Bayes
          
           
             Are
             both
             forgotten
             in
             succeeding
             dayes
             :
          
           
             Impartiall
             death
             shall
             close
             the
             dying
             eyes
          
           
             Both
             of
             the
             fool
             ,
             and
             also
             of
             the
             wise
             :
          
        
         
           
             17.
             
          
           
             Therefore
             I
             hated
             life
             ,
             for
             from
             
             th'events
             :
          
           
             Of
             humane
             actions
             flow
             my
             discontents
             :
          
           
             Life
             spent
             in
             action
             ,
             or
             in
             contemplation
             ,
          
           
             Is
             all
             but
             vanity
             ,
             and
             souls
             Vexation
             .
          
        
         
           
             18.
             
          
           
             I
             hated
             all
             that
             e'r
             my
             hands
             had
             done
          
           
             In
             seeking
             happinesse
             beneath
             the
             Sunne
             ;
          
           
             For
             what
             I
             did
             I
             cannot
             call
             mine
             own
             ,
          
           
             Anothers
             hand
             must
             reap
             ,
             what
             mine
             hath
             sown
             .
          
        
         
           
             19.
             
          
           
             Who
             knows
             if
             my
             successour
             is
             to
             be
          
           
             A
             wise
             man
             or
             a
             fool
             ?
             Howe'r
             't
             is
             he
          
           
             Must
             spend
             with
             ease
             ,
             what
             I
             have
             earn'd
             with
             pain
          
           
             And
             souls
             Vexation
             ;
             this
             is
             also
             vain
             :
          
        
         
           
             20.
             
          
           
             For
             which
             ,
             my
             soul
             (
             thus
             fool'd
             with
             vain
             pursuit
          
           
             Of
             blossom'd
             happinesse
             that
             bears
             no
             fruite
             )
          
           
             Whisper'd
             despair
             of
             all
             that
             I
             had
             done
          
           
             To
             purchase
             perfect
             good
             beneath
             the
             Sunne
             .
          
        
         
           
             21.
             
          
           
             Some
             men
             there
             be
             whose
             more
             elaborate
             gains
          
           
             (
             The
             fruits
             of
             lawfull
             cares
             ,
             and
             prudent
             pains
             )
          
           
             Descend
             to
             those
             that
             knew
             nor
             pains
             nor
             Art
             ;
          
           
             This
             is
             a
             vanity
             and
             afflicts
             the
             heart
             .
          
        
         
           
             22.
             
          
           
             For
             what
             reward
             hath
             man
             of
             all
             his
             droyl
          
           
             His
             ev'ning
             trouble
             ,
             and
             his
             morning
             toyl
             ,
          
           
             His
             hearts
             vexation
             ,
             and
             his
             griefs
             that
             run
          
           
             Through
             all
             his
             labours
             underneath
             the
             Sun
             ?
          
        
         
           
             13.
             
          
           
             His
             dayes
             are
             sorrows
             ;
             tedious
             griefs
             attend
          
           
             His
             travail
             ,
             hopelesse
             of
             a
             journies
             end
             ;
          
           
             His
             restlesse
             nights
             afford
             his
             closed
             eye
          
           
             No
             slumbers
             :
             This
             is
             also
             vanity
             .
          
        
         
         
           
             24.
             
          
           
             There
             's
             nothing
             sweeter
             then
             to
             take
             repast
          
           
             Of
             meats
             and
             drinks
             ,
             and
             now
             and
             then
             to
             cast
          
           
             Griefs
             burthen
             off
             ,
             and
             gently
             loose
             the
             rains
          
           
             By
             intermingling
             pleasures
             with
             our
             pains
             :
          
           
             But
             this
             ,
             I
             know
             ,
             lies
             not
             in
             our
             command
             ,
          
           
             It
             is
             a
             blessing
             from
             th'
             Almighties
             hand
             :
          
        
         
           
             25.
             
          
           
             For
             who
             can
             eat
             ?
             what
             mortall
             can
             apply
          
           
             His
             heart
             to
             force
             a
             pleasure
             more
             then
             I
             ?
          
        
         
           
             26.
             
          
           
             Heaven
             gives
             the
             just
             man
             wisdome
             ,
             knowledg
             ,
             mirth
             ;
          
           
             To
             sinners
             ,
             travell
             ;
             to
             heap
             earth
             to
             earth
             ;
          
           
             Wherewith
             t'
             enrich
             the
             righteous
             Generation
             ;
          
           
             This
             is
             his
             vanity
             ,
             and
             souls
             Vexation
             .
          
        
         
           
             SOLILOQUIE
             II.
             
          
           
             BUt
             stay
             my
             soule
             !
             Art
             thou
             resolved
             ,
             than
             ,
          
           
             T'
             abjure
             delight
             ,
             and
             turne
             Capuccian
             ?
          
           
             Because
             thy
             earth
             hath
             thus
             eclips'd
             the
             light
          
           
             Of
             thy
             contentment
             ,
             wilt
             thou
             make
             it
             night
             ?
          
           
             Wert
             thou
             condemn'd
             to
             sorrows
             ?
             wert
             thou
             born
          
           
             To
             live
             in
             languishment
             ,
             and
             die
             forlorn
             ?
          
           
             Abuse
             not
             thy
             Creation
             :
             Thou
             wert
             made
          
           
             Not
             thus
             to
             sterve
             thy
             blossomes
             in
             the
             shade
          
           
             Of
             barren
             melancholy
             ;
             or
             to
             wast
          
           
             Thy
             pensive
             hours
             in
             the
             boysterous
             blast
             .
          
           
             Of
             stormy
             discontent
             :
             
               Com
               ,
               com
               ,
               my
               soul
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Hoyst
               up
               thy
               sails
               to
               mirth
            
             :
             Let
             others
             houle
             
          
           
             And
             whine
             :
             Let
             such
             as
             alwayes
             are
             at
             wars
          
           
             With
             their
             owne
             fortunes
             ,
             curse
             their
             ill
             fac'd
             stars
             :
          
           
             Passe
             thou
             thy
             frolique
             youth
             in
             Revels
             ,
             sports
             ,
          
           
             And
             fresh
             delights
             :
             frequent
             the
             purple
             Courts
          
           
             Of
             prosperous
             
               Princes
               :
            
             St●e
             thy
             heart
             in
             mirth
             ,
          
           
             And
             crush
             the
             childe
             of
             sorrow
             in
             her
             birth
             :
          
           
           
             O
             but
             ,
             my
             soul
             ,
             
               what
               profit
               can
               accrew
            
             
          
           
             
               From
               lavish
               mirth
               ?
            
             what
             pleasure
             is
             't
             ,
             to
             skrue
          
           
             An
             Antick
             face
             and
             grimme
             ?
             or
             to
             enforce
          
           
             An
             empty
             laughter
             in
             a
             vain
             discourse
             ?
          
           
             Why
             then
             my
             soul
             ,
             
               Goe
               winde
               the
               Plummets
               up
            
             
          
           
             
               Of
               thy
               down
               spirits
               ,
               with
               a
               chirping
               cup
               :
            
          
           
             Redeem
             thee
             from
             the
             gripes
             of
             care
             ,
             and
             rapes
          
           
             Of
             grief
             ,
             and
             drench
             them
             in
             the
             blood
             of
             grapes
             .
          
           
             I
             ,
             but
             perchance
             in
             that
             sad
             heart
             of
             thine
          
           
             There
             is
             a
             wound
             ,
             craves
             rather
             oyle
             then
             wine
             .
          
           
             If
             then
             thy
             cure
             prove
             worse
             then
             thy
             disease
             ,
          
           
             That
             grief
             thou
             dar'st
             not
             cure
             ,
             attempt
             to
             ease
             :
          
           
             Forget
             thy
             sorrows
             ;
             or
             if
             rugged
             sense
          
           
             Will
             not
             be
             woo'd
             by
             language
             to
             dispense
          
           
             With
             her
             provoking
             foe
             ,
             advise
             with
             Art
             :
          
           
             Those
             stubborn
             streames
             thou
             canst
             not
             stop
             ,
             divert
             :
          
           
             And
             like
             a
             pain-afflicted
             stripling
             ,
             play
          
           
             With
             some
             new
             toy
             ,
             to
             while
             thy
             grief
             away
             .
          
           
             Goe
             ,
             raise
             
               great
               works
               ,
            
             whose
             structure
             may
             impart
             
          
           
             The
             masters
             wisdome
             ,
             and
             the
             builders
             Art
             :
          
           
             
               Build
               houses
               ,
            
             whose
             magnificence
             may
             proclaim
          
           
             Thy
             worth
             ,
             as
             lasting
             Monuments
             of
             thy
             name
             .
          
           
             
               Plant
               Orchards
            
             for
             thy
             pleasure
             :
             Deck
             thy
             bowers
             
          
           
             With
             dainty
             
               fruits
               ,
            
             and
             delectable
             flowers
             :
          
           
             Cut
             
               Waterworks
               :
            
             instruct
             the
             silver
             tide
             
          
           
             To
             wanton
             up
             and
             down
             :
             Teach
             her
             to
             slide
          
           
             In
             soft
             Meanders
             ,
             through
             the
             fluid
             veins
          
           
             Of
             the
             green
             breasted
             stream
             embroydered
             plains
             ;
          
           
             Ravish
             thy
             soul
             with
             Musick
             ,
             and
             refresh
          
           
             The
             wasted
             spirits
             of
             thy
             unweildy
             flesh
          
           
             With
             high-bred
             raptures
             :
             Let
             harmonious
             Ayres
          
           
             Compose
             the
             discords
             of
             thy
             droyling
             cares
             :
          
           
             Take
             pleasure
             in
             thy
             pale-enclosed
             grounds
             ,
          
           
             And
             let
             the
             Rhet'rick
             of
             thy
             deep-mouth'd
             hounds
          
           
           
             Perswade
             thy
             head-strong
             sorrows
             so
             to
             fly
          
           
             Before
             thy
             Heard
             ,
             as
             they
             before
             the
             Cry
             .
          
           
             Alas
             ,
             Alas
             ,
             my
             poore
             deluded
             soul
             ,
          
           
             Think'st
             thou
             to
             quench
             thy
             fire
             with
             oyl
             ,
             or
             cool
          
           
             Thy
             flame
             with
             Cordials
             ?
             Can
             thy
             born
             disease
          
           
             Expect
             a
             Cure
             from
             such
             Receipts
             as
             these
             ?
          
           
             No
             no
             ,
             these
             bellows
             mount
             the
             blaze
             the
             higher
             ,
          
           
             Thou
             leap'st
             but
             from
             the
             pan
             into
             the
             fire
             .
          
           
             I
             ,
             but
             my
             soul
             ,
             me thinks
             a
             
               wife
               forecast
            
             
          
           
             (
             Though
             not
             redresse
             the
             mischiefs
             that
             are
             past
             )
          
           
             May
             claim
             some
             kind
             of
             priv'ledge
             to
             prevent
          
           
             The
             ev'lls
             that
             future
             changes
             may
             present
             ;
          
           
             If
             not
             ,
             what
             harm
             ,
             what
             disconvenience
             lies
          
           
             In
             being
             fool
             ?
             what
             
               vantage
               to
               wise
            
          
           
             
               Both
               fool
               and
               wise
               must
               pay
               an
               equall
               shot
            
             
          
           
             
               At
               Natures
               table
               ;
            
             have
             the
             self-same
             lot
             .
          
           
             Why
             then
             ,
             my
             soul
             ,
             since
             sorrow
             needs
             must
             haunt
             
          
           
             Thy
             life
             ,
             condemn'd
             to
             labour
             ,
             cease
             to
             daunt
          
           
             Thy
             bold
             endeavours
             with
             the
             sense
             of
             care
             ,
          
           
             Cheare
             up
             thy
             whining
             heart
             ,
             and
             
               take
               thy
               share
            
          
           
             Of
             all
             thy
             labours
             ,
             eat
             ,
             and
             drink
             ;
             
               and
               let
            
             
          
           
             Thy
             sense
             enjoy
             the
             wages
             of
             thy
             sweat
             :
          
           
             
               'T
               is
               all
               thy
               Portion
            
             :
             Take
             what
             may
             be
             had
             ;
          
           
             Bad
             is
             the
             best
             ,
             then
             make
             the
             best
             of
             bad
             :
          
           
             Sweeten
             thy
             pains
             ;
             Mixe
             pleasure
             with
             thy
             sorrow
             ;
          
           
             Who
             knows
             to
             day
             ,
             what
             shall
             betide
             to
             morrow
             ?
          
        
      
       
       
         
           CAP.
           III.
           
        
         
           
             1
             By
             the
             necessary
             change
             of
             times
             ,
             vanity
             is
             added
             to
             humane
             travail
             ,
             11
             There
             is
             an
             exellency
             in
             Gods
             works
             :
             16
             But
             as
             for
             man
             ,
             God
             shall
             judge
             his
             works
             there
             ,
             and
             here
             he
             shall
             be
             like
             a
             beast
             .
          
        
         
           
             Vers.
             1.
             
          
           
             THe
             great
             creator
             in
             his
             wise
             Decree
          
           
             Hath
             pitcht
             a
             time
             when
             every
             change
             shall
             be
             ,
          
           
             And
             through
             his
             watchfull
             Providence
             hath
             given
          
           
             A
             season
             to
             each
             purpose
             under
             heaven
             ;
          
        
         
           
             2.
             
          
           
             There
             is
             a
             time
             appointed
             for
             our
             birth
             ,
          
           
             And
             there
             's
             a
             time
             for
             earth
             to
             turn
             to
             earth
             :
          
           
             There
             is
             a
             time
             to
             plant
             ;
             A
             time
             wherein
          
           
             To
             pluck
             those
             plants
             ,
             thus
             planted
             ,
             up
             again
             :
          
        
         
           
             3.
             
          
           
             There
             is
             a
             season
             when
             to
             build
             ,
             ev'n
             so
             ,
          
           
             There
             is
             a
             season
             to
             demolish
             too
             :
          
           
             There
             is
             a
             season
             to
             inflict
             a
             wound
             ,
          
           
             And
             there'is
             another
             season
             to
             make
             sound
             :
          
        
         
           
             4.
             
          
           
             There
             is
             a
             time
             for
             teares
             to
             drown
             thy
             eye
             ;
          
           
             A
             time
             to
             laugh
             and
             lay
             thy
             sorrowes
             by
             :
          
           
             There
             is
             a
             time
             to
             mourn
             ;
             A
             time
             to
             meet
          
           
             The
             sprightly
             Musick
             with
             thy
             numerours
             feet
             :
          
        
         
           
             5.
             
          
           
             There
             is
             a
             due
             appointed
             season
             ,
             either
          
           
             To
             scatter
             stones
             ,
             or
             gather
             stones
             together
             :
          
           
             There
             is
             a
             time
             t'
             embrace
             ,
             and
             there
             be
             spaces
          
           
             Of
             time
             ,
             appointed
             to
             resrain
             embraces
             :
          
        
         
           
             6.
             
          
           
             There
             is
             a
             time
             to
             gain
             ,
             and
             there
             's
             ordain'd
          
           
             An
             other
             time
             to
             loosse
             the
             things
             we
             gain'd
             ;
          
           
             There
             is
             a
             time
             to
             recollect
             and
             lay
          
           
             Thy
             treasure
             up
             ;
             a
             time
             to
             cast
             away
             :
          
        
         
           
             7.
             
          
           
             There
             is
             a
             time
             appointed
             when
             to
             rend
             ;
          
           
             And
             there
             's
             a
             time
             appointed
             when
             to
             mend
             :
          
           
           
             A
             time
             for
             silence
             ,
             and
             a
             time
             to
             break
          
           
             Reserved
             silence
             ;
             there
             's
             a
             time
             to
             speake
             :
          
        
         
           
             8.
             
          
           
             A
             time
             to
             love
             ,
             and
             there
             's
             a
             time
             t'
             abate
          
           
             Our
             warm
             affections
             ;
             there
             's
             a
             time
             to
             hate
             :
          
           
             A
             time
             of
             warre
             ,
             and
             there
             's
             a
             time
             to
             cease
          
           
             The
             Bloody
             Battell
             :
             There
             's
             a
             time
             for
             Peace
             .
          
        
         
           
             9.
             
          
           
             If
             heavens
             decree
             thus
             bound
             the
             works
             of
             men
             ,
          
           
             What
             profit
             gaines
             the
             fruitlesse
             worker
             then
             ?
          
           
             What
             boots
             our
             travell
             ,
             or
             those
             works
             of
             ours
             ,
          
           
             If
             all
             our
             plots
             depend
             on
             heav'nly
             pow'rs
             ?
          
        
         
           
             10.
             
          
           
             Nor
             are
             our
             actions
             ,
             or
             their
             secret
             ends
          
           
             Govern'd
             by
             chance
             ;
             nor
             doe
             our
             works
             depend
          
           
             On
             hood
             wink'd
             
               Fortune
               ;
            
             no
             ,
             pleas'd
             heaven
             thinks
             good
          
           
             To
             exercise
             the
             soule
             of
             flesh
             and
             blood
             :
          
        
         
           
             11.
             
          
           
             What
             ere
             he
             did
             ,
             is
             fair
             ,
             and
             timely
             done
             ,
          
           
             He
             gave
             the
             world
             for
             man
             to
             muse
             upon
             :
          
           
             Whose
             eye
             ,
             with
             admiration
             may
             discover
          
           
             The
             motion
             ,
             not
             the
             progresse
             of
             the
             Mover
             .
          
        
         
           
             12.
             
          
           
             I
             know
             ,
             that
             from
             the
             works
             of
             flesh
             and
             blood
          
           
             As
             they
             are
             mans
             ,
             there
             can
             arise
             no
             good
             ;
          
           
             Unlesse
             perchance
             to
             qualifie
             with
             oyle
          
           
             The
             soul-afflicting
             vin'gre
             of
             his
             toyle
             ;
          
        
         
           
             13.
             
          
           
             Or
             if
             it
             happen
             that
             his
             soule
             may
             eat
          
           
             And
             drink
             ,
             and
             reap
             the
             harvest
             of
             his
             sweat
          
           
             To
             sweeten
             sorrows
             ,
             may
             we
             understand
          
           
             It
             is
             a
             gift
             from
             the
             Almigties
             hand
             :
          
        
         
           
             14.
             
          
           
             I
             know
             that
             heavens
             
               Decree
            
             is
             seal'd
             .
             and
             free
          
           
             From
             alteration
             ,
             a
             most
             firme
             
               Decree
               :
            
          
           
             And
             so
             or
             dain'd
             ,
             that
             the
             presumptuous
             Race
          
           
             Of
             man
             may
             feare
             the
             Majesty
             of
             's
             face
             :
          
        
         
           
             15.
             
          
           
             The
             thing
             that
             is
             ,
             hath
             been
             ;
             and
             what
             of
             old
          
           
             Hath
             been
             ,
             succeeding
             ages
             shall
             behold
             :
          
           
             The
             great
             Disposer
             keeps
             the
             selfe-same
             track
          
           
             And
             calls
             his
             timely
             revolutions
             back
             .
          
        
         
         
           
             16.
             
          
           
             I
             view'd
             the
             Chair
             of
             Judgement
             ,
             where
             I
             saw
          
           
             In
             stead
             of
             Righteousnesse
             ,
             perverted
             Law
             :
          
           
             I
             view'd
             the
             Courts
             of
             Equity
             ,
             and
             spy'd
          
           
             Corruption
             there
             ,
             and
             Justice
             warp'd
             aside
             .
          
        
         
           
             17.
             
          
           
             O
             then
             (
             thought
             I
             )
             the
             Judge
             of
             heav'n
             shall
             do
          
           
             Right
             to
             the
             wicked
             ,
             and
             the
             righteous
             too
             .
          
           
             For
             ther
             's
             a
             time
             true
             Justice
             shall
             proceed
          
           
             On
             ev'ry
             Purpose
             ,
             upon
             every
             Deed
             .
          
        
         
           
             18.
             
          
           
             Then
             puzzel'd
             in
             my
             thoughts
             ,
             I
             thus
             advis'd
             ,
          
           
             Heav'n
             suffers
             mortalls
             to
             be
             exercis'd
          
           
             In
             their
             own
             miseries
             ,
             that
             they
             may
             see
          
           
             They
             'r
             not
             more
             happy
             then
             the
             sensuals
             bee
             .
          
        
         
           
             19.
             
          
           
             To
             man
             and
             beast
             the
             self-same
             lots
             befall
             ;
          
           
             Man
             dies
             ,
             so
             dies
             the
             Beast
             :
             alas
             they
             all
          
           
             Enjoy
             one
             breath
             ;
             what
             Royalties
             remain
          
           
             To
             Man
             above
             a
             Beast
             :
             For
             both
             are
             vain
             ;
          
        
         
           
             20.
             
          
           
             Both
             travell
             to
             the
             self
             same
             place
             ;
             Both
             tend
          
           
             Their
             paces
             to
             the
             self-same
             Journies
             end
             :
          
           
             The
             substance
             of
             their
             flesh
             is
             both
             the
             same
             ,
          
           
             But
             dust
             ,
             to
             dust
             both
             turn
             from
             whence
             they
             came
             .
          
        
         
           
             21.
             
          
           
             What
             curious
             Inquisitor
             doth
             know
          
           
             The
             place
             whereto
             ascending
             souls
             do
             goe
             ?
          
           
             Or
             can
             renown'd
             Philosophy
             declare
          
           
             Whither
             the
             dying
             spirits
             of
             beasts
             repair
             ?
          
        
         
           
             22.
             
          
           
             This
             rightly
             weigh'd
             ,
             it
             seems
             the
             better
             choyce
          
           
             For
             man
             to
             suck
             his
             labours
             ,
             and
             rejoyce
             :
          
           
             'T
             is
             all
             the
             Portion
             he
             is
             like
             to
             have
             :
          
           
             Who
             knows
             the
             entertainments
             of
             the
             Grave
             ?
          
        
         
           
             SOLILOQUIE
             III.
             
          
           
             COme
             now
             my
             Soul
             ,
             thou
             hast
             with
             toylsome
             pains
          
           
             Outworn
             the
             day
             ;
             and
             ,
             with
             thy
             dear-bought
             gains
             ,
          
           
           
             Thou
             hast
             refresht
             thy
             spirits
             ;
             and
             ,
             at
             length
             ,
          
           
             With
             lusty
             diet
             ,
             hast
             redeem'd
             thy
             strength
             ;
          
           
             Thou
             hast
             forgot
             thy
             labours
             ,
             and
             thy
             Rest
          
           
             Hath
             crown'd
             contentment
             in
             thy
             peace
             full
             brest
             :
          
           
             Art
             thou
             now
             pleas'd
             ?
             what
             can
             thy
             heart
             require
             ,
          
           
             More
             then
             thou
             hast
             ,
             to
             fill
             thy
             vast
             desire
             ?
          
           
             True
             ,
             if
             my
             bubble
             life
             could
             get
             a
             Lease
          
           
             Of
             his
             small
             Rest
             ,
             nay
             ,
             if
             the
             present
             Peace
          
           
             Were
             but
             secur'd
             from
             this
             succeeding
             sorrow
             ,
          
           
             Long
             since
             design'd
             to
             the
             next
             neighb'ring
             morrow
             ,
          
           
             It
             were
             some
             hapinesse
             ,
             and
             would
             present
          
           
             A
             large
             proportion
             of
             a
             short
             content
             :
          
           
             But
             
               Change
            
             (
             the
             Moth
             of
             transitory
             things
             
          
           
             That
             's
             never
             worse
             then
             when
             the
             seasons
             brings
          
           
             A
             flash
             of
             Good
             )
             doth
             all
             things
             so
             unframe
          
           
             That
             earths
             content
             doth
             scarce
             deserve
             the
             name
          
           
             Of
             common
             happinesse
             ;
             which
             like
             the
             wind
             ,
          
           
             Varits
             ,
             still
             meeting
             with
             a
             various
             mind
             .
          
           
             Vnconstant
             earth
             !
             what
             can
             thy
             treasure
             show
             ,
          
           
             That
             is
             not
             ,
             like
             thy selfe
             ,
             unconstant
             too
             ?
          
           
             How
             full
             of
             Change
             !
             How
             full
             of
             alteration
             !
          
           
             Nay
             ,
             fixt
             in
             nothing
             but
             thy
             meer
             foundation
             .
          
           
             And
             like
             thy selfe
             ,
             our
             naturall
             parent
             ,
             we
          
           
             Constant
             in
             nothing
             ,
             but
             in
             loving
             thee
             !
          
           
             One
             while
             we
             plunge
             in
             tears
             ;
             and
             by
             and
             by
             ,
             
          
           
             We
             rage
             in
             
               laughter
               ,
            
             yet
             not
             knowing
             why
             :
          
           
             To
             day
             ,
             the
             Zeal
             of
             our
             affection
             's
             such
             ,
          
           
             We
             burn
             in
             
               love
               ,
            
             to
             marrow
             ,
             
               hate
            
             as
             much
             :
          
           
             Sometimes
             we
             feare
             not
             when
             our
             ev'lls
             appear
             ;
             
          
           
             Sometimes
             ,
             affrighted
             at
             no
             cause
             of
             fear
             :
          
           
             One
             while
             we
             should
             and
             will
             not
             ,
             will
             and
             should
             not
             ;
          
           
             Nay
             ,
             at
             the
             self
             same
             moment
             ,
             would
             not
             would
             not
             .
          
           
             To
             day
             we
             feast
             ,
             and
             quaffe
             in
             frolique
             Bowles
             ;
             
          
           
             To
             morrow
             fast
             ,
             and
             pinch
             our
             guilty
             Soules
             :
          
           
           
             Now
             
               Musick
               ,
            
             now
             a
             
               Knell
            
             saluts
             our
             eares
             ;
          
           
             at
             noon
             we
             swim
             in
             wine
             ,
             at
             night
             in
             teares
             .
          
           
             Ore
             night
             our
             vowes
             are
             made
             ,
             our
             joy
             concluded
             :
          
           
             To
             day
             the
             danger
             's
             past
             ,
             and
             heav'n
             deluded
             :
          
           
             The
             last
             six
             Monthes
             our
             fortune
             swell'd
             with
             store
             ,
          
           
             And
             now
             they
             break
             ,
             was
             never
             Iob
             so
             poore
             :
          
           
             Time
             was
             ,
             that
             
               Peace
            
             enricht
             our
             joyfull
             I
             and
             ;
             
          
           
             Time
             is
             ,
             our
             martiall
             drum
             beats
             
               Warre
            
             at
             hand
             .
          
           
             Unconstant
             Earth
             !
             O
             ,
             is
             it
             not
             enough
          
           
             Thy
             days
             are
             ev'll
             at
             best
             ;
             and
             but
             a
             puffe
          
           
             At
             longest
             ?
             At
             the
             fruitfullest
             but
             vain
             ?
          
           
             But
             sad
             ,
             at
             merriest
             ;
             and
             at
             sweetest
             ,
             pain
             ?
          
           
             Is
             not
             all
             this
             enough
             ?
             enough
             to
             make
          
           
             The
             miserable
             childe
             of
             man
             forsake
          
           
             The
             false
             protection
             of
             thy
             magick
             eye
             ,
          
           
             With
             out
             th'
             addition
             of
             inconstancy
             ?
          
           
             It't
             not
             enough
             that
             we
             poor
             Farmers
             pay
          
           
             Quit-rent
             to
             Nature
             at
             the
             very
             day
             ,
          
           
             And
             at
             our
             dying
             howre
             bequeath
             to
             thee
          
           
             Our
             whole
             subsistence
             for
             a
             Legacie
             ?
          
           
             But
             thou
             must
             leave
             our
             frailties
             as
             a
             prey
          
           
             To
             time
             born
             Change
             ,
             that
             will
             permit
             no
             stay
          
           
             In
             one
             estate
             ,
             nor
             give
             us
             leave
             to
             lye
          
           
             Sad
             Patients
             in
             a
             quiet
             misery
             !
          
           
             O
             but
             my
             saul
             ,
             why
             dost
             thou
             thus
             contend
          
           
             With
             thy
             Creators
             pleasure
             ?
             Cease
             to
             spend
          
           
             This
             needlesse
             breath
             :
             Shall
             thy
             disordered
             will
             
          
           
             Confront
             his
             
               Providence
               ?
            
             or
             call
             that
             ill
             ,
          
           
             Which
             he
             thinks
             good
             ?
             Tell
             me
             ,
             my
             soul
             ,
             shall
             he
          
           
             That
             gave
             thee
             being
             ,
             be
             prescrib'd
             by
             thee
             ?
          
           
             He
             made
             thee
             for
             his
             glory
             ;
             not
             to
             spend
          
           
             Thy
             days
             in
             slavish
             labour
             ,
             nor
             to
             end
          
           
             Thy
             painfull
             travell
             in
             the
             shades
             of
             death
             :
             
          
           
             But
             thou
             hast
             tainted
             that
             immortall
             breath
             ,
          
           
           
             Which
             qualif'd
             thy
             life
             ,
             and
             made
             thee
             free
          
           
             Of
             heav●n
             and
             earth
             ,
             and
             joynt
             Patentee
          
           
             With
             smooth
             fac'd
             Cherubims
             ;
             And
             too
             too
             proud
          
           
             Of
             thy
             short
             honoure
             ,
             wrapt
             thy
             thoughts
             ,
             and
             bow'd
          
           
             Thy
             straight
             desiers
             to
             unknown
             delight
             ,
          
           
             And
             wrapt
             thy
             glory
             in
             the
             clouds
             of
             night
             :
          
           
             Lost
             thy
             freewill
             to
             good
             ,
             didst
             overthrow
          
           
             Thy
             perfect
             knowledg
             with
             desire
             to
             know
             ;
          
           
             bereft
             of
             wisdome
             lab'ring
             to
             be
             wise
             ,
          
           
             
               Now
               peer'd
               with
               beasts
               ,
            
             that
             only
             works
             and
             dies
             .
          
           
             Both
             ,
             born
             to
             sorrow
             ,
             breathe
             the
             selfe
             same
             breath
             ;
             
          
           
             Live
             both
             alike
             ,
             both
             die
             the
             selfe
             same
             death
             :
          
           
             Since
             then
             ,
             my
             soule
             ,
             thy
             hopes
             may
             not
             aspire
          
           
             To
             what
             thou
             wouldst
             ,
             suit
             thy
             supprest
             desire
          
           
             To
             what
             thou
             maist
             :
             and
             let
             thy
             wisdome
             play
          
           
             Bad
             cards
             with
             best
             advantage
             :
             what
             the
             day
          
           
             Brings
             in
             by
             travell
             ,
             let
             the
             frolique
             night
          
           
             Consume
             in
             
               Mirth
               ,
            
             and
             spend
             in
             full
             
               Delight
               :
            
          
           
             Take
             thou
             to
             day
             let
             others
             take
             to
             morrow
             ;
             
          
           
             He
             earns
             the
             Solace
             ,
             that
             endures
             the
             sorrow
             .
          
        
      
       
         
           CAP.
           IV.
           
        
         
           
             1.
             
             Vanity
             is
             increased
             unto
             men
             by
             oppression
             ,
             4.
             
             By
             envy
             ,
             5.
             
             By
             idlenesse
             ,
             7.
             
             By
             covetousnesse
             ,
             9.
             
             By
             solitarinesse
             ,
             13.
             
             By
             wilfullnesse
             .
          
        
         
           
             1.
             
          
           
             MY
             soul
             return'd
             and
             fixt
             her
             thoughts
             upon
          
           
             The
             hard
             oppressions
             made
             beneath
             the
             Sun
             ;
          
           
             And
             ,
             loe
             .
             the
             tears
             of
             captives
             in
             distresse
             ,
          
           
             Cry'd
             loud
             for
             Comfort
             ,
             yet
             were
             comfortlesse
             ;
          
           
             Great
             was
             th'
             oppressors
             power
             ,
             yet
             the
             grief
          
           
             Of
             the
             opprest
             was
             void
             of
             all
             relief
             :
          
        
         
         
           
             2.
             
          
           
             O
             ,
             then
             I
             counted
             their
             condition
             blest
             ,
          
           
             Whom
             death
             hath
             lulld
             in
             everlasting
             rest
             ;
          
           
             Yea
             ,
             farre
             more
             blest
             then
             those
             that
             live
             ,
             to
             stand
          
           
             Afflicted
             patients
             at
             th'
             oppressors
             hand
             .
          
        
         
           
             3.
             
          
           
             Nay
             ,
             farre
             then
             both
             are
             they
             more
             blessed
             ,
             whom
          
           
             Conception
             never
             hansell'd
             in
             the
             womb
             ;
          
           
             Or
             those
             Abortives
             ,
             whom
             untimely
             birth
          
           
             Excus'd
             from
             all
             the
             sorrowes
             of
             the
             earth
             .
          
        
         
           
             4.
             
          
           
             I
             mus'd
             again
             ,
             and
             found
             when
             pains
             had
             crakt
          
           
             The
             harder
             shell
             to
             some
             Heroick
             act
             ,
          
           
             Pale
             envy
             stricks
             the
             kernell
             with
             taxation
             ;
          
           
             O
             ,
             this
             is
             vanity
             ,
             and
             souls
             vexation
             .
          
        
         
           
             5.
             
          
           
             The
             sluggish
             fool
             that
             solitary
             stands
             ,
          
           
             With
             yauning
             lips
             ,
             and
             bosome-folded
             hands
             ,
          
           
             Consumes
             his
             empty
             dayes
             ,
             at
             last
             ,
             is
             fed
          
           
             With
             his
             own
             flesh
             ,
             that
             would
             not
             move
             for
             bread
             :
          
        
         
           
             6.
             
          
           
             His
             idle
             tongue
             thus
             pleading
             for
             his
             sloth
             ,
          
           
             Better
             one
             hand
             be
             fill'd
             with
             rest
             ,
             then
             both
          
           
             Stretch'd
             forth
             in
             travell
             ,
             to
             prepare
             full
             diet
             ,
          
           
             With
             hearts
             vexation
             ,
             and
             the
             souls
             disquiet
             .
          
        
         
           
             7.
             
          
           
             Thus
             pausing
             Contemplation
             shew'd
             mine
             eye
          
           
             A
             new
             prospect
             of
             humane
             vanity
             ;
          
        
         
           
             8.
             
          
           
             There
             is
             a
             lonely
             man
             that
             hath
             none
             other
          
           
             To
             foster
             then
             himselfe
             ,
             nor
             child
             nor
             brother
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             droyling
             hands
             think
             nothing
             can
             supply
          
           
             The
             greedy
             wants
             of
             his
             insatiate
             eye
             ;
          
           
             He
             robs
             himselfe
             ,
             nor
             knows
             for
             whose
             relife
             ;
          
           
             This
             is
             a
             vanity
             and
             wounding
             grief
             .
          
        
         
           
             9.
             
          
           
             The
             single
             state
             of
             him
             that
             lives
             alone
          
           
             Is
             double
             grief
             ;
             Two
             better
             is
             then
             One
             :
          
           
             For
             two
             can
             share
             the
             sorrows
             that
             befall
          
           
             To
             one
             ;
             One
             's
             worse
             then
             not
             to
             be
             at
             all
             ;
          
        
         
           
             10.
             
          
           
             If
             eithers
             drooping
             shoulders
             be
             betray'd
          
           
             To
             a
             sad
             burden
             ,
             there
             's
             a
             mutuall
             ayd
             :
          
           
           
             Woe
             to
             the
             man
             whom
             danger
             meets
             alone
             ,
          
           
             For
             ther
             's
             no
             arme
             to
             help
             him
             but
             his
             owne
             :
          
        
         
           
             11.
             
          
           
             When
             two
             divide
             the
             comforts
             of
             a
             Bed
             ,
          
           
             If
             one
             gains
             kindly
             warmth
             ,
             the
             others
             sped
             :
          
           
             But
             warmth
             turns
             back
             to
             him
             that
             lies
             alone
             ;
          
           
             The
             steel
             will
             yeeld
             no
             sparks
             without
             the
             stone
             .
          
        
         
           
             12.
             
          
           
             If
             fury
             from
             a
             stronger
             arme
             assailes
             ,
          
           
             One
             falls
             before
             the
             foe
             when
             two
             prevails
             :
          
           
             But
             if
             a
             third
             put
             in
             a
             timely
             stroke
             ,
          
           
             The
             Cord
             that
             's
             threefold
             ,
             is
             not
             quickly
             broke
             .
          
        
         
           
             13.
             
          
           
             To
             be
             a
             poore
             wise
             child
             ,
             is
             jud'gd
             a
             thing
          
           
             More
             honourable
             then
             to
             be
             a
             King
          
           
             That
             's
             old
             and
             foolish
             ,
             and
             whose
             disposition
          
           
             Checks
             at
             advice
             ,
             and
             spurns
             at
             admonition
             .
          
        
         
           
             14.
             
          
           
             The
             low
             and
             lanke
             estates
             are
             often
             known
          
           
             To
             clime
             from
             Prisons
             ,
             to
             the
             princely
             Throne
             ;
          
           
             And
             glorious
             Monarchs
             have
             been
             seen
             to
             fail
             ,
          
           
             And
             change
             their
             glittering
             Glory
             for
             a
             Goal
             .
          
        
         
           
             15.
             
          
           
             So
             have
             I
             seen
             the
             vulgar
             hearts
             grow
             cold
          
           
             To
             with'ring
             Greatnesse
             ,
             whilest
             their
             eyes
             behold
          
           
             The
             blooming
             heyre
             ,
             to
             whom
             affections
             run
          
           
             Like
             morning
             eyes
             to
             greet
             the
             rising
             Sun
             .
          
        
         
           
             16.
             
          
           
             Past
             Ages
             quench
             the
             fathers
             fading
             light
          
           
             In
             the
             Sons
             hopes
             ,
             and
             future
             dayes
             benight
          
           
             The
             Son
             in
             his
             Succeeders
             expectation
             ;
          
           
             O
             ,
             this
             is
             vanity
             and
             souls
             vexation
             .
          
        
         
           
             SOLILOQUIE
             IV.
             
          
           
             MY
             soul
             ,
             to
             what
             a
             strange
             disguised
             
               Good
            
          
           
             Art
             thou
             bewitcht
             !
             O
             how
             hath
             flesh
             and
             
               Blood
            
          
           
             Betray'd
             thee
             to
             a
             happinesse
             that
             brings
          
           
             No
             comfort
             but
             from
             transitory
             things
             !
          
           
           
             How
             is
             thy
             freedome
             curb'd
             !
             How
             art
             thou
             clogg'd
          
           
             With
             dull
             mortality
             ,
             bestow'd
             and
             bogg'd
          
           
             In
             thine
             own
             frailty
             !
             How
             art
             thou
             repos'd
          
           
             In
             sin
             .
             polluted
             dust
             !
             embrac'd
             ,
             enclos'd
          
           
             In
             the
             foul
             armes
             of
             thy
             owne
             base
             Corruptions
             !
          
           
             How
             is
             thy
             will
             disturb'd
             with
             th'
             inturruptions
          
           
             Of
             crosse
             desires
             ?
             desires
             ,
             not
             knowing
             where
          
           
             To
             finde
             a
             Center
             ,
             rambling
             here
             and
             there
             ;
          
           
             Which
             ,
             like
             their
             objects
             ,
             alterable
             ,
             rome
          
           
             Like
             idle
             vagrants
             without
             passe
             ,
             or
             home
             .
          
           
             Review
             thy selfe
             my
             soul
             ;
             Cast
             up
             thy
             dayes
             ,
          
           
             They
             are
             but
             few
             ;
             Thy
             life
             is
             but
             a
             blaze
             :
          
           
             Go
             take
             an
             inventory
             of
             those
             Ioyes
          
           
             Which
             thy
             false
             earth
             allowes
             :
             I
             hey
             are
             but
             toyes
             ,
          
           
             To
             mock
             the
             frailty
             of
             thy
             flatter'd
             
               Sense
               ,
            
          
           
             Attended
             with
             a
             thousand
             discontents
             :
          
           
             Hath
             Heaven
             inricht
             thy
             pains
             with
             thriving
             drift's
          
           
             Of
             mighty
             Gold
             ?
             endow'd
             thy
             minde
             with
             gifts
          
           
             Of
             sacred
             Art
             ?
             Or
             glorifi'd
             thy
             name
          
           
             With
             honour
             posted
             on
             the
             wings
             of
             Fame
             ?
          
           
             What
             is
             there
             then
             ,
             that
             lies
             in
             earths
             election
          
           
             To
             raise
             thy
             hap'nesse
             to
             more
             higb
             perfection
             ?
          
           
             I
             ,
             but
             my
             soule
             ,
             what
             great
             ,
             what
             higher
             hand
          
           
             Shall
             stop
             the
             mouth
             of
             
               Envy
               ?
            
             Or
             command
             
          
           
             Her
             snake
             devouring
             fangs
             to
             keep
             the
             peace
          
           
             Vpon
             thy
             worried
             Name
             ?
             To
             every
             Lease
          
           
             Of
             earths
             best
             granted
             happinesse
             ,
             belongs
          
           
             The
             sharp
             Proviso
             of
             malicious
             tongues
             :
          
           
             They
             ,
             they
             shall
             blast
             thy
             fortunes
             ;
             leave
             a
             tang
          
           
             Vpon
             thy
             new
             broch'd
             Honour
             :
             They
             shall
             hang
          
           
             Like
             Burres
             ,
             upon
             thy
             welfare
             ,
             and
             destroy
             ,
          
           
             Like
             th'
             Easternworm
             ,
             the
             gourd
             of
             all
             thy
             joy
             .
          
           
             Or
             if
             thou
             chance
             to
             scape
             the
             whispering
             tongue
          
           
             Of
             secret
             Envie
             ,
             Force
             ,
             and
             bold-fac'd
             Wrong
             ,
             
          
           
           
             May
             hap
             to
             roare
             upon
             thy
             full
             mouth'd
             Sails
             ,
          
           
             And
             rude
             
               Opression
            
             with
             her
             Harpy
             nails
             ,
          
           
             may
             gripe
             thy
             fair
             
               Prosperity
               ,
            
             and
             great
          
           
             Vpon
             the
             vastnesse
             of
             thy
             great
             estate
             .
          
           
             Or
             if
             those
             foraign
             dangers
             should
             forbeare
          
           
             To
             make
             ;
             assault
             ,
             or
             made
             ,
             prove
             lesse
             severe
             ;
          
           
             From
             out
             thy
             very
             bosome
             may
             arise
          
           
             Intestine
             Foes
             ,
             to
             make
             thy
             peace
             ,
             their
             prize
             :
          
           
             If
             that
             
               Dull
               worme
               ,
            
             that
             cloaths
             the
             mossy
             land
             
          
           
             Withrags
             ,
             but
             kissethy
             
               bosome-folded
               hand
               ,
            
          
           
             It
             eats
             thy
             treasure
             with
             a
             secret
             rust
             ,
          
           
             And
             layes
             thy
             bed-rid
             honour
             in
             the
             dust
             .
          
           
             Or
             if
             thy
             droiling
             hand
             should
             once
             beslave
             
          
           
             Thy
             glorious
             freedome
             with
             a
             
               thirst
               to
               have
               ,
            
          
           
             And
             take
             thee
             prisner
             to
             thy
             loose
             desirets
             ,
          
           
             Thy
             happinesse
             ,
             even
             whilst
             enjoy'd
             ,
             expires
             .
          
           
             Or
             if
             a
             liberall
             Content
             should
             crown
          
           
             Thy
             Gould
             with
             Rest
             ,
             and
             make
             thine
             own
             ,
             thine
             own
             ;
          
           
             Perchance
             ,
             thou
             want'st
             a
             
               Partner
               ,
            
             that
             may
             share
             
          
           
             In
             all
             thy
             fortunes
             :
             or
             (
             if
             sped
             )
             an
             heire
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             worth
             ,
             and
             hopefull
             merrits
             may
             revive
          
           
             Thy
             houor'd
             Dust
             ,
             and
             keep
             thy
             name
             alive
             .
          
           
             Or
             if
             the
             pleased
             hand
             of
             heaven
             subscribe
          
           
             To
             those
             desires
             ,
             a
             
               selfe-conceit
            
             may
             bribe
          
           
             Thy
             passion
             guided
             Will
             to
             take
             up
             Arms
             
          
           
             'Gainst
             soveraign
             Reason
             ,
             at
             whose
             bold
             Alarm
             's
          
           
             Thy
             false
             affections
             may
             riseup
             ,
             and
             shake
          
           
             Thy
             fancy-baffled
             
               Judgement
               ,
            
             and
             so
             make
          
           
             A
             Gap
             for
             mischief
             ,
             which
             may
             reccommend
          
           
             Thy
             reeling
             Fortunes
             to
             aruinous
             End
          
           
             Now
             tell
             me
             ,
             O
             my
             soul
             !
             wherein
             can
             earth
          
           
             Deserve
             thy
             pains
             ,
             or
             gratifie
             thy
             birth
             ,
          
           
             In
             framing
             equall
             happinesse
             ;
             nay
             ,
             in
             freeing
          
           
             Thy
             partiall
             heart
             from
             unrepented
             Beeing
             ?
          
           
           
             O
             ,
             is
             't
             not
             better
             ,
             not
             to
             thirst
             at
             all
             ,
          
           
             Then
             thirst
             in
             vain
             ,
             or
             quench
             thy
             thirst
             with
             gall
             ?
          
           
             Are
             not
             the
             Cloysters
             of
             the
             
               Barren
               Wombe
               ,
            
             
          
           
             Far
             more
             desiderable
             ,
             then
             to
             come
          
           
             Into
             the
             wilde
             ,
             into
             the
             common
             Hall
          
           
             Of
             troubled
             
               Natures
            
             factious
             
               Court
               ,
            
             where
             all
          
           
             Move
             in
             their
             Orbs
             of
             Care
             ,
             and
             severall
             wayes
             ,
          
           
             Fulfill
             their
             
               Revolutions
            
             of
             sad
             dayes
             ?
          
           
             Are
             not
             the
             shady
             Bowers
             of
             
               death
            
             more
             sweet
             
          
           
             Then
             the
             bold
             Sunshine
             ,
             where
             we
             hourely
             meet
          
           
             Fresh
             ev'lls
             ,
             like
             Atomes
             ,
             whose
             deluding
             breath
          
           
             Tickles
             our
             fancies
             till
             we
             laugh
             to
             death
             ?
          
           
             Our
             day
             of
             birth
             leads
             in
             our
             dayes
             of
             Trouble
             ;
          
           
             My
             soul
             prize
             not
             this
             earth
             ;
             this
             Toy
             ;
             this
             Bubble
             .
          
        
      
       
         
           CAP.
           V.
           
        
         
           
             1
             Vanities
             in
             divine
             service
             ,
             8
             in
             murmuring
             against
             oppression
             ,
             9
             and
             in
             riches
             .
             18
             Ioy
             in
             riches
             is
             the
             gift
             of
             God
             .
          
        
         
           
             1.
             
          
           
             ATtend
             thy
             footsteps
             when
             thou
             drawest
             near
          
           
             The
             house
             of
             God
             ;
             and
             be
             more
             apt
             to
             hear
             ,
          
           
             Then
             give
             the
             sacrifice
             of
             fools
             ,
             which
             know
          
           
             Not
             in
             their
             sacrifice
             what
             ev'll
             they
             do
             :
          
        
         
           
             2.
             
          
           
             Let
             not
             thy
             tongue
             be
             rash
             ;
             Commit
             no
             wast
          
           
             Of
             words
             before
             thy
             God
             by
             over
             hast
             ;
          
           
             Since
             he
             from
             heav'n
             beholds
             thy
             actions
             here
             ,
          
           
             All
             lavish
             babling
             let
             thy
             lips
             forbeare
             :
          
        
         
           
             3.
             
          
           
             As
             dreams
             and
             rest-disturbing
             fancies
             flow
          
           
             From
             floods
             of
             businesse
             which
             by
             day
             we
             doe
             ;
          
           
             So
             multitude
             of
             words
             are
             daily
             sprung
          
           
             From
             th'
             idle
             fountain
             of
             a
             foolish
             tongue
             .
          
        
         
         
           
             4.
             
          
           
             When
             thou
             hast
             bound
             thee
             to
             thy
             God
             by
             vow
          
           
             Defer
             not
             payment
             ,
             but
             perform
             it
             thou
             :
          
           
             Discharge
             thy
             bonds
             ,
             for
             heaven
             takes
             no
             delight
          
           
             In
             fools
             ,
             that
             violate
             the
             faith
             they
             plight
             ;
          
        
         
           
             5.
             
          
           
             Far
             safer
             't
             is
             thy
             vows
             vere
             never
             made
             ,
          
           
             Then
             heaven
             promis'd
             payment
             ,
             never
             pai'd
             .
          
        
         
           
             6.
             
          
           
             Let
             not
             thy
             lips
             ensnare
             thee
             ;
             plead
             not
             thou
          
           
             Before
             thy
             Angel
             ,
             
               'T
               was
               too
               rash
               a
               vow
               :
            
          
           
             O
             why
             should'st
             thou
             provoke
             thy
             God
             ,
             and
             dare
          
           
             His
             curse
             upon
             thy
             practise
             ,
             and
             thy
             pray'r
             ?
          
        
         
           
             7.
             
          
           
             Dreams
             oft
             are
             vain
             ,
             and
             folly'is
             mixt
             among
          
           
             The
             language
             of
             a
             multiloquious
             tongue
             ;
          
           
             But
             let
             the
             wisdome
             of
             thy
             lips
             appeare
          
           
             Before
             thy
             God
             with
             reverentiall
             fear
             .
          
        
         
           
             8.
             
          
           
             Seest
             thou
             perverred
             Justice
             in
             the
             land
             ,
          
           
             And
             poor
             men
             grip'd
             beneath
             th'
             oppressours
             hand
          
           
             Stand
             not
             amaz'd
             :
             Th'
             Almighty
             views
             their
             way
             ,
          
           
             And
             there
             be
             pow'rs
             at
             hand
             more
             high
             then
             they
             .
          
        
         
           
             9.
             
          
           
             The
             fruitfull
             surface
             of
             the
             pregnant
             soyl
             ,
          
           
             Enrich'd
             by
             the
             laborious
             ploughmans
             toyl
             ,
          
           
             Brings
             forth
             to
             all
             ;
             nay
             ,
             very
             Kings
             do
             build
          
           
             Their
             whole
             subsistence
             from
             the
             fertill
             field
             :
          
        
         
           
             10.
             
          
           
             'T
             is
             not
             full
             heaps
             of
             eye-rejoycing
             Gold
          
           
             Can
             feed
             ,
             or
             screen
             thy
             nakednesse
             from
             cold
             :
          
           
             Nor
             can
             the
             piles
             of
             treasur'd
             wealth
             sustain
          
           
             Thy
             drooping
             spirits
             :
             this
             is
             also
             vain
             .
          
        
         
           
             11.
             
          
           
             As
             goods
             increase
             .
             ev'n
             so
             their
             number
             ,
             who
          
           
             Must
             share
             the
             goods
             encrease
             ,
             encreaseth
             too
             .
          
           
             What
             hath
             the
             owner
             more
             then
             they
             ,
             but
             this
             ,
          
           
             What
             they
             consume
             ,
             his
             eyes
             behold
             as
             his
             ?
          
        
         
           
             12.
             
          
           
             How
             sweetly
             pleasant
             is
             the
             sleep
             of
             such
          
           
             As
             labour
             ,
             eat
             they
             little
             ,
             or
             eat
             much
             ?
          
           
             When
             as
             the
             wealth
             of
             idle
             Owners
             ,
             keep
          
           
             Their
             heart
             from
             quiet
             ,
             and
             their
             eyes
             from
             sleep
             :
          
        
         
         
           
             13.
             
          
           
             There
             is
             an
             ev'll
             that
             happens
             now
             and
             then
          
           
             Beneath
             the
             Sun
             ,
             among
             the
             sons
             of
             men
             .
          
           
             Oft
             have
             I
             seen
             increasing
             riches
             grow
          
           
             To
             be
             their
             great
             made
             Owners
             overthrow
             ;
          
           
             And
             vex
             their
             souls
             with
             care
             and
             then
             repay
          
           
             Unprosp'rous
             pains
             with
             grief
             ,
             and
             melt
             away
             .
          
        
         
           
             14.
             
          
           
             His
             wealth
             is
             fled
             ,
             and
             when
             he
             should
             transfer
             it
          
           
             Upon
             his
             heir
             ,
             ther
             's
             nothing
             to
             inherrit
             .
          
        
         
           
             15.
             
          
           
             Look
             how
             he
             came
             into
             the
             world
             ,
             the
             same
          
           
             He
             shall
             go
             out
             ,
             as
             naked
             as
             he
             came
             ;
          
           
             Of
             what
             his
             lab'ring
             arm
             hath
             brought
             about
             ,
          
           
             His
             dying
             hand
             shall
             carry
             nothing
             out
             :
          
        
         
           
             16.
             
          
           
             This
             is
             a
             wounding
             Grief
             ,
             that
             as
             he
             came
             ,
          
           
             In
             ev'ry
             point
             ,
             he
             shall
             returne
             the
             same
             ,
          
           
             What
             profit
             can
             his
             soules
             affliction
             find
             ,
          
           
             That
             toyls
             for
             aire
             ,
             and
             travels
             but
             for
             wind
             ?
          
        
         
           
             17.
             
          
           
             The
             pilgrimage
             of
             his
             laborious
             dayes
             ,
          
           
             Is
             sordid
             and
             obscure
             ,
             and
             all
             his
             wayes
          
           
             Are
             blockt
             with
             troubles
             ,
             and
             his
             souls
             disquiet
             ,
          
           
             To
             gain
             his
             very
             life-sustaining
             diet
             .
          
        
         
           
             18.
             
          
           
             I
             hold
             it
             therefore
             the
             most
             happy
             lot
             ,
          
           
             To
             eat
             and
             drink
             ,
             and
             reap
             what
             pains
             hath
             got
             ,
          
           
             To
             crown
             those
             days
             which
             his
             Creator
             gave
             ;
          
           
             'T
             is
             all
             the
             portion
             he
             is
             like
             to
             have
             :
          
        
         
           
             19.
             
          
           
             All
             such
             to
             whom
             the
             bounteous
             hand
             of
             heav'n
          
           
             Gives
             wealth
             ,
             and
             license
             to
             enjoy
             it
             giv'n
             ,
          
           
             To
             sweeten
             labour
             ,
             may
             they
             understand
             ,
          
           
             It
             is
             a
             favour
             from
             th'
             Almighties
             hand
             :
          
        
         
           
             20.
             
          
           
             Such
             ,
             doubtlesse
             ,
             in
             their
             labour
             ,
             shall
             forget
          
           
             Their
             painfull
             sorrows
             ,
             and
             their
             toylsome
             sweat
             ;
          
           
             For
             heav'n
             ,
             hath
             crown'd
             their
             fair
             desires
             ,
             and
             sent
          
           
             A
             peacefull
             conscience
             ,
             and
             a
             pleas'd
             content
             .
          
        
         
         
           
             SOLILOQUIE
             .
             V.
             
          
           
             BUt
             hark
             ,
             my
             soul
             ,
             the
             morning
             Bels
             invite
          
           
             Thy
             early
             paces
             to
             a
             new
             delight
             :
          
           
             Away
             ,
             away
             ;
             the
             holy
             Saints-bell
             rings
             ,
          
           
             Put
             on
             thy
             robes
             ,
             and
             oyle
             thy
             sacred
             wings
             :
          
           
             Call
             home
             thy
             heart
             ,
             and
             bid
             thy
             Thoughts
             surcease
          
           
             To
             be
             thy
             Thoughts
             ;
             Go
             ,
             bind
             them
             to
             the
             peace
             ;
          
           
             Take
             good
             security
             ,
             or
             if
             such
             fail
             ,
          
           
             Commit
             them
             to
             the
             all-commanding
             Iail
          
           
             Of
             thy
             cram'd
             bags
             ,
             there
             to
             lie
             close
             and
             fast
          
           
             Vntill
             thy
             heav'n
             atoning
             vowes
             be
             past
             :
          
           
             Confine
             thy
             rambling
             pleasures
             to
             the
             trust
          
           
             Of
             vacant
             houres
             :
             And
             let
             thy
             wisdome
             thrust
          
           
             Indulgent
             
               Hagar
               ,
            
             and
             her
             base
             born
             child
          
           
             From
             thy
             sad
             Gates
             ;
             Let
             them
             be
             both
             exil'd
          
           
             From
             thy
             soft
             b●some
             ;
             Let
             not
             
               Ishmael
            
             share
          
           
             Whith
             holy
             
               Isa'c
               ;
               Isa'c
            
             must
             be
             heire
             :
          
           
             Nor
             let
             thy
             sorrow
             melted
             heart
             bemone
          
           
             Thy
             banisht
             bondslave
             ,
             nor
             her
             thirsty
             sonne
             :
          
           
             Take
             thou
             no
             care
             for
             them
             ;
             Heav'n
             will
             supply
          
           
             Their
             craving
             thirst
             with
             bottles
             from
             thine
             eye
             :
          
           
             Leave
             all
             thy
             servill
             Fancies
             in
             the
             vale
             ,
          
           
             Mount
             thou
             the
             sacred
             Hill
             ,
             and
             there
             ,
             bewaile
          
           
             Thy
             dying
             
               Isa'c
               ,
            
             whose
             free
             gift
             may
             be
          
           
             A
             living
             pledge
             betwixt
             thy
             God
             and
             thee
             .
          
           
             Here
             maist
             thou
             feast
             thy
             soul
             ,
             and
             fill
             thy
             brest
          
           
             With
             heavenly
             Raptures
             ,
             and
             with
             holy
             Rest.
             
          
           
             Here
             shall
             thy
             Piety
             sweeten
             all
             thy
             pains
             ,
          
           
             And
             Grace
             shall
             here
             replieve
             what
             Griefe
             distrains
             :
          
           
             Here
             maist
             thou
             shrowd
             thee
             from
             those
             ev'lls
             that
             wait
          
           
             Upon
             the
             frailty
             of
             thy
             frail
             estate
             .
          
           
           
             Here
             may
             thy
             Griefs
             unbosome
             all
             their
             grones
             ,
          
           
             And
             finde
             redresse
             from
             the
             high
             Throne
             of
             Thrones
             .
          
           
             Hast
             then
             ;
             O
             hie
             thee
             to
             that
             sacred
             place
             :
          
           
             Why
             stay'st
             thou
             ?
             See
             ,
             the
             widened
             Armes
             of
             Grace
          
           
             Invite
             thy
             presence
             ,
             and
             with
             open
             brest
          
           
             Promise
             fair
             welcome
             to
             so
             fair
             a
             Guest
             !
          
           
             O
             but
             my
             Zeal-transported
             soul
             ,
             take
             heed
             ;
          
           
             Too
             rash
             a
             haste
             brings
             oft
             too
             dear
             a
             
               Speed
               :
            
          
           
             
               Observe
               thy
               steps
               ;
            
             Thy
             feet
             are
             apt
             to
             slide
             ,
             
          
           
             If
             thy
             misguided
             paces
             swerve
             aside
             ;
          
           
             Death
             waits
             at
             either
             hand
             ,
             to
             make
             a
             prize
          
           
             Of
             wavering
             foot-steps
             ,
             and
             miswandring
             eyes
             :
          
           
             Near
             the
             best
             blessings
             neighb'ring
             dangers
             dwell
             ,
          
           
             The
             very
             Suburbs
             of
             blest
             Heaven
             ,
             is
             Hell
             .
          
           
             Thus
             when
             thy
             awfull
             presence
             shall
             draw
             near
          
           
             These
             Hallalujous
             Courts
             ,
             advise
             ,
             and
             fear
             ;
          
           
             Put
             off
             thy
             shoes
             ;
             'T
             is
             holy
             ground
             thou
             tread'st
             :
          
           
             Be
             not
             too
             bold
             ;
             thou
             dy'st
             unlesse
             thou
             dread'st
             .
          
           
             Now
             ,
             may
             thy
             holy
             boldnesse
             safely
             venture
          
           
             To
             passe
             these
             delectable
             
               Ports
               ,
            
             and
             enter
             .
          
           
             Now
             cloath
             thy
             heart
             with
             Reverence
             ;
             Be
             fill'd
          
           
             With
             secret
             Raptures
             ;
             Let
             thy
             fancy
             build
          
           
             No
             Castles
             here
             ;
             Beware
             thou
             banish
             hence
          
           
             The
             sinfull
             objects
             of
             invited
             Sense
             :
          
           
             Make
             heav'ns
             command
             (
             and
             let
             thy
             Zealous
             motion
          
           
             Subscribe
             to
             that
             )
             the
             cause
             of
             thy
             devotion
             ;
          
           
             Let
             heav'ns
             direction
             be
             thy
             form
             ,
             and
             bend
          
           
             Thy
             endfull
             heart
             to
             make
             heav'ns
             glory
             th'
             end
             :
          
           
             Worship
             that
             's
             moulded
             in
             Traditious
             Schools
             ,
          
           
             Is
             but
             the
             Sensuall
             
               Sacrifice
               of
               fooles
               .
            
          
           
             Be
             wisely
             
               carefull
            
             what
             thy
             
               lips
            
             impart
             ;
             
          
           
             Bring
             thy
             soft
             tongue
             acquainted
             with
             thy
             heart
             :
          
           
             Be
             slow
             to
             speak
             ,
             and
             be
             as
             quick
             to
             heare
             ;
          
           
             Heaven
             loves
             a
             single
             tongue
             ,
             a
             double
             care
             :
          
           
           
             Make
             haste
             to
             
               pay
            
             what
             thy
             
               vow'd
               promise
            
             owes
             ;
             
          
           
             Destruction
             dwels
             in
             unperformed
             
               Vowes
               .
            
          
           
             Thus
             mayst
             thou
             break
             the
             heart-corroding
             Fangs
          
           
             Of
             griping
             Care
             ,
             and
             scape
             the
             dying
             
               Pangs
            
          
           
             Of
             living
             death
             :
             Here
             ,
             here
             ,
             thou
             maist
             controul
          
           
             Earths
             power
             ,
             and
             imparadise
             thy
             soule
          
           
             In
             soft
             and
             sacred
             Rest
             beyond
             th'
             extent
          
           
             Of
             whining
             grief
             ,
             and
             murmuring
             discontent
             .
          
           
             I
             ,
             but
             my
             soule
             ,
             grosse
             vanity
             even
             dwels
          
           
             In
             thy
             devotion
             ,
             whose
             rank
             offering
             smels
          
           
             So
             strong
             of
             earth
             ,
             that
             very
             heavens
             deride
          
           
             Our
             very
             Altars
             ,
             and
             abhorre
             the
             
               Pride
            
          
           
             Of
             our
             disguis'd
             humilitie
             ,
             which
             brings
          
           
             A
             secret
             curse
             upon
             our
             holiest
             things
             :
          
           
             Hence
             ,
             hence
             ,
             my
             soul
             ,
             proceed
             those
             boysterous
             waves
          
           
             That
             plunge
             our
             frailties
             :
             This
             ,
             O
             this
             enslaves
          
           
             Our
             ●raven'd
             Spirits
             so
             ,
             that
             we
             even
             faile
          
           
             Or
             shrink
             before
             the
             Combat
             ,
             and
             turn
             taile
          
           
             To
             every
             slight
             affliction
             :
             this
             unlevells
          
           
             Thy
             even-way'd
             Peace
             ,
             with
             indigested
             evills
             :
          
           
             This
             sowers
             all
             thy
             sweets
             ,
             sads
             all
             thy
             Rest
             ,
          
           
             Nay
             dispossesses
             thee
             ,
             even
             whilst
             possest
          
           
             Of
             thy
             Imperious
             Treasure
             .
             —
          
           
             O
             then
             my
             soule
             ,
             where
             shall
             thy
             wounds
             obtain
          
           
             That
             soveraign
             balsome
             ?
             who
             shall
             ease
             thy
             pain
             ?
          
           
             In
             what
             blest
             ear
             will
             thy
             complaints
             finde
             place
             ?
          
           
             What
             holy
             Altar
             shall
             thy
             armes
             embrace
             ?
          
           
             If
             here
             be
             no
             protection
             for
             opprest
          
           
             And
             lab'ring
             souls
             ,
             where
             shall
             poor
             souls
             have
             Rest
             ?
          
           
             Earths
             Ioyes
             are
             vain
             ,
             and
             they
             that
             shall
             commit
          
           
             Trust
             in
             vain
             earth
             ,
             are
             far
             more
             vain
             then
             it
             ,
          
        
      
       
       
         
           CAP
           :
           VI
           .
        
         
           
             2
             The
             vanity
             of
             riches
             without
             use
             .
             3.
             
             Of
             children
             ,
             6
             and
             old
             age
             without
             riches
             .
             9.
             
             The
             vanity
             of
             sight
             and
             wandring
             desires
             .
             11.
             
             The
             conclusion
             of
             vanities
             .
          
        
         
           
             Vers.
             1.
             
          
           
             THere
             is
             an
             Ev'll
             ,
             which
             my
             observing
             eye
          
           
             Hath
             taken
             notice
             of
             beneath
             the
             skye
             ;
          
           
             It
             is
             an
             ev'll
             frequents
             the
             troubled
             brest
          
           
             Of
             wretched
             man
             ,
             and
             robs
             him
             of
             his
             rest
             .
          
        
         
           
             2.
             
          
           
             To
             see
             where
             God
             hath
             multipli'd
             and
             giv'n
          
           
             What
             wealth
             and
             honour
             earth
             can
             beg
             of
             heav'n
             ,
          
           
             And
             yet
             no
             power
             to
             use
             it
             ,
             but
             descends
          
           
             To
             very
             strangers
             :
             O
             ,
             this
             grief
             transcends
             !
          
        
         
           
             3.
             
          
           
             Who
             multiply
             their
             loynes
             and
             years
             ,
             yet
             have
          
           
             Souls
             unsuffic'd
             with
             good
             ,
             and
             soil
             the
             grave
          
           
             With
             blemisht
             and
             dishonor'd
             names
             ,
             I
             say
          
           
             Abortive
             births
             are
             better
             far
             then
             they
             :
          
        
         
           
             4.
             
          
           
             For
             he
             can
             hardly
             own
             a
             being
             ,
             whom
          
           
             Nature
             casts
             forth
             from
             the
             untimely
             womb
             :
          
           
             Darknesse
             infolds
             him
             in
             her
             secret
             shades
             ,
          
           
             His
             nam
             's
             forgotten
             ,
             and
             his
             mem'ry
             fades
             .
          
        
         
           
             5.
             
          
           
             The
             worlds
             surveighing
             Lamp
             does
             not
             affright
          
           
             The
             pleasing
             slumbers
             of
             his
             peacefull
             night
             :
          
           
             There
             be
             no
             ears
             ,
             no
             eyes
             ,
             to
             heare
             ,
             to
             see
             ,
          
           
             The
             living
             soul
             hath
             not
             such
             rest
             as
             he
             :
          
        
         
           
             6.
             
          
           
             Yea
             though
             he
             live
             a
             thousand
             yeares
             twice
             told
             ,
          
           
             What
             worth
             his
             eyes
             ,
             can
             his
             sad
             eyes
             behold
             ?
          
           
             Doe
             they
             not
             both
             arrive
             ,
             not
             both
             resort
          
           
             To
             the
             dull
             portals
             of
             the
             selfe-same
             Port
             ?
          
        
         
           
             7.
             
          
           
             The
             best
             reward
             of
             mans
             laborious
             sweat
          
           
             Is
             but
             a
             morsell
             of
             quotidian
             meat
             :
          
           
           
             This
             may
             suffice
             his
             body
             ,
             but
             the
             will
          
           
             Of
             his
             insatiate
             soul
             what
             hand
             can
             fill
             ?
          
        
         
           
             8.
             
          
           
             What
             is
             it
             then
             the
             wisemans
             labour
             gains
          
           
             More
             then
             the
             painfull
             fool
             by
             all
             his
             pains
             ?
          
           
             What
             wants
             the
             poore
             man
             that
             by
             prudent
             labour
          
           
             Knowes
             how
             to
             live
             ,
             more
             then
             his
             wealthy
             neighbour
             ?
          
        
         
           
             9.
             
          
           
             Better
             enjoy
             a
             competence
             ,
             and
             crave
             not
          
           
             More
             wealth
             ,
             then
             stil
             desire
             the
             wealth
             we
             have
             not
          
           
             To
             wish
             ,
             what
             if
             enjoy'd
             brings
             molestation
             ,
          
           
             Is
             but
             meere
             vanity
             ,
             and
             souls
             vexation
             .
          
        
         
           
             10.
             
          
           
             The
             worldly
             confluence
             of
             treasure
             can
          
           
             Exempt
             no
             mortall
             from
             the
             lot
             of
             man
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             can
             his
             wealth
             instruct
             him
             to
             withstand
          
           
             The
             angry
             strokes
             of
             the
             Almighties
             hand
             :
          
        
         
           
             11.
             
          
           
             Since
             the
             encrease
             of
             wealth
             procur'd
             by
             pain
             ,
          
           
             Preserv'd
             with
             feare
             ,
             with
             sorrow
             lost
             again
             ,
          
           
             Encreaseth
             grief
             in
             the
             possessors
             brest
             ,
          
           
             What
             vantage
             then
             hath
             man
             to
             be
             possest
             ?
          
        
         
           
             12.
             
          
           
             Who
             knows
             ,
             what
             's
             good
             for
             man
             in
             his
             dull
             blaze
          
           
             Of
             life
             ,
             his
             swift
             ,
             his
             shadow
             flying
             dayes
             ?
          
           
             Or
             who
             can
             tell
             ,
             when
             his
             short
             houre
             is
             run
             ,
          
           
             Th'
             event
             of
             all
             his
             toyl
             beneath
             the
             Sun
             ?
          
        
         
           
             SOLILOQUIE
             .
             VI
             .
          
           
             WHat
             meant
             that
             great
             creating
             Pow'r
             to
             frame
          
           
             This
             spatious
             
               Universe
               ?
            
             Was
             not
             his
             name
          
           
             Glorious
             enough
             without
             a
             Witnesse
             ?
             Why
          
           
             Did
             that
             corrected
             Twi-light
             of
             his
             eye
          
           
             Un-muzle
             darknesse
             ,
             and
             with
             morning
             light
          
           
             Redeem
             the
             day
             from
             new
             baptized
             night
             ?
          
           
             What
             meant
             that
             sacred
             Power
             to
             command
          
           
             Divorce
             betwixt
             united
             Sea
             and
             Land
             ?
          
           
           
             Why
             wrapt
             he
             earth
             (
             as
             yet
             untoucht
             with
             showers
             )
          
           
             In
             a
             greene
             Robe
             embroid
             red
             all
             with
             flowers
             ?
          
           
             What
             meant
             the
             Beames
             of
             his
             refulgent
             eyes
          
           
             To
             print
             their
             Image
             in
             the
             crystall
             skyes
             ?
          
           
             What
             princely
             guests
             with
             all
             their
             num'rous
             traine
          
           
             Did
             he
             expect
             ?
             was
             he
             to
             entertaine
             ?
          
           
             That
             his
             magnificent
             ,
             his
             bounteous
             hand
          
           
             Made
             such
             Provision
             both
             by
             sea
             and
             land
             ?
          
           
             What
             royall
             State
             's
             at
             hand
             ?
             what
             Potentate
             ?
          
           
             On
             whom
             must
             all
             these
             Royall
             armies
             wait
             ?
          
           
             Who
             worthy
             of
             so
             great
             a
             preparation
             ,
          
           
             Is
             th'
             object
             of
             such
             royall
             expectation
             ,
          
           
             What
             Prince
             is
             to
             be
             borne
             ?
             What
             glorious
             birth
          
           
             Is
             to
             be
             celebrated
             ?
          
           
             Groaning
             earth
          
           
             Brought
             forth
             a
             lump
             not
             much
             above
             a
             span
             ,
          
           
             A
             little
             ,
             naked
             ,
             puling
             thing
             ,
             call'd
             
               Man
               .
            
          
           
             
               Man
               ,
            
             a
             poore
             shiftlesse
             transitory
             thing
             ,
          
           
             Born
             without
             sword
             or
             shield
             ,
             not
             having
             wing
          
           
             To
             fly
             from
             threatning
             danger
             ,
             not
             an
             arme
          
           
             To
             grapple
             with
             these
             num'rous
             ev'lls
             that
             swarme
          
           
             About
             his
             new-born
             frailty
             ,
             warpt
             aside
          
           
             From
             faire
             obedience
             to
             rebellious
             Pride
             .
          
           
             
               Man
               ,
            
             in
             whose
             frame
             the
             great
             
               Three-One
            
             advis'd
             ,
          
           
             And
             with
             a
             studied
             hand
             epitomiz'd
          
           
             The
             large
             ,
             voluminous
             ,
             and
             perfect
             story
          
           
             Of
             all
             his
             works
             ;
             The
             Manuall
             of
             his
             Glory
             :
          
           
             
               Man
               ,
            
             in
             whose
             soule
             ,
             the
             all-Eternall
             drew
          
           
             The
             Image
             of
             himselfe
             ,
             for
             earth
             to
             view
          
           
             With
             fear
             and
             wonder
             ,
             in
             whose
             Sov'raign
             eye
          
           
             He
             breath'd
             the
             flames
             of
             dreadfull
             Majesty
             ,
          
           
             Fill'd
             him
             with
             power
             ,
             entrusted
             to
             his
             hand
          
           
             Earths
             Empire
             ,
             and
             the
             lower
             worlds
             command
             ;
          
           
             Crow'nd
             him
             with
             glory
             ,
             made
             him
             little
             lower
          
           
             Then
             heav'n-bred
             Angls
             that
             excell
             in
             power
             .
          
           
           
             O
             but
             my
             soule
             ,
             how
             is
             that
             hand
             asham'd
          
           
             Of
             his
             owne
             work
             !
             How
             is
             this
             frame
             unfram'd
             !
          
           
             How
             is
             this
             
               Manuall
            
             blotted
             ?
             Every
             word
          
           
             How
             interlin'd
             ?
             How
             is
             this
             Image
             blurr'd
             ?
          
           
             How
             are
             those
             sparks
             of
             Majesty
             ,
             that
             were
          
           
             So
             bright
             ,
             now
             baffled
             with
             degen'rous
             feare
             ?
          
           
             How
             is
             that
             power
             that
             was
             bred
             and
             borne
          
           
             The
             earth
             Commander
             ,
             now
             become
             the
             scorne
          
           
             Of
             dunghill
             passion
             ,
             shipwrackt
             with
             the
             Gust
          
           
             Of
             every
             fatuous
             and
             inferiour
             Lust
             !
          
           
             How
             is
             the
             Sunbright
             Honour
             of
             his
             Name
          
           
             Eclipst
             !
             How
             is
             his
             Glory
             cloath'd
             with
             shame
             !
          
           
             Reflect
             upon
             thy selfe
             ,
             my
             soul
             :
             Enquire
          
           
             Into
             the
             vastnesse
             of
             thy
             vaine
             desire
             :
          
           
             What
             would'st
             thou
             have
             ,
             which
             being
             had
             )
             may
             fill
          
           
             Th'
             unfathom'd
             Gulf
             of
             thy
             insatiate
             
               will
               ?
            
          
           
             Thou
             level'st
             at
             ?
             a
             
               Good
               :
            
             Whrrein
             consists
          
           
             The
             
               Good
            
             Thou
             level'st
             at
             To
             what
             strange
             
               Lists
            
          
           
             Is
             her
             conceal'd
             
               Omnipotence
            
             confinde
             ?
          
           
             Where
             is
             this
             will-commanding
             
               Saint
            
             enshrin'd
             ?
          
           
             Is
             not
             her
             royall
             person
             gone
             to
             view
          
           
             The
             Mines
             of
             
               Ophir
               ,
            
             to
             the
             rich
             
               Peru
               ?
            
          
           
             Or
             is
             she
             gone
             to
             oyle
             the
             wings
             of
             
               Time
            
             
          
           
             With
             unctious
             pleasures
             in
             some
             forain
             Clime
             ?
          
           
             Or
             is
             she
             mounted
             on
             the
             slippery
             
               Throne
            
          
           
             Of
             staggering
             
               Honour
               ,
            
             there
             disguis'd
             ,
             unknowne
             ?
          
           
             Alas
             ,
             my
             soul
             ,
             if
             heaven
             should
             suit
             thy
             store
          
           
             With
             thy
             desire
             ,
             then
             wouldst
             desire
             yet
             more
             :
          
           
             Or
             if
             spring
             tides
             of
             
               Gold
            
             shonld
             a
             degree
             
          
           
             Transcend
             thy
             wish
             ,
             perchance
             it
             would
             want
             thee
             :
          
           
             What
             if
             a
             num'rous
             
               Off-spring
            
             should
             proclame
             
          
           
             A
             perpetuity
             to
             th'
             lasting
             Name
             ;
          
           
             Or
             if
             the
             even-spun
             
               Twine
            
             should
             be
             extended
          
           
             Till
             thou
             could'st
             number
             Nations
             all
             descended
          
           
           
             From
             thine
             own
             loynes
             ;
             yet
             ,
             if
             the
             sparing
             hand
          
           
             Of
             wayward
             Providence
             should
             chance
             to
             brand
          
           
             Thy
             dayes
             with
             poverty
             ,
             th'
             
               abortive
               birth
            
             
          
           
             Is
             more
             indebted
             to
             the
             gracious
             earth
          
           
             Then
             thou
             ,
             Whose
             shadow-grasping
             hand
             even
             tires
          
           
             Upon
             the
             vanity
             of
             the
             vast
             desires
             :
          
           
             Nay
             ,
             if
             both
             beav'n
             and
             earth
             should
             undertake
          
           
             T'
             extract
             the
             best
             from
             all
             
               Mankind
            
             to
             make
          
           
             One
             perfect
             happy
             man
             ,
             and
             thou
             wert
             
               Hee
               ;
            
          
           
             Thy
             
               finite
            
             fortunes
             still
             would
             disagree
          
           
             With
             thy
             
               insatiate
               soul
               :
            
             Some
             
               Q●almes
            
             of
             earth
             ,
             
          
           
             Hereditary
             to
             thy
             humane
             birth
             ,
          
           
             Would
             print
             thy
             pamper'd
             soul
             with
             such
             a
             fresh
          
           
             And
             lively
             
               Character
            
             of
             feeble
             flesh
             ,
          
           
             That
             all
             thy
             joyes
             (
             do
             Fortune
             what
             she
             can
             )
          
           
             May
             not
             exempt
             thee
             from
             the
             Lot
             of
             
               Man
               .
            
          
        
      
       
         
           CAP.
           VII
           .
        
         
           
             1
             Remedies
             against
             vanity
             ,
             are
             a
             good
             name
             .
             2
             Mortification
             7
             Patience
             .
             11
             Wisdome
             .
             23.
             
             The
             difficulty
             of
             wisdome
             .
          
        
         
           
             1.
             
          
           
             A
             Good
             reputed
             Name
             is
             sweeter
             farre
          
           
             Then
             breaths
             of
             Aromatick
             Oyntments
             are
             :
          
           
             And
             that
             sad
             day
             when
             first
             we
             drew
             our
             breath
          
           
             Is
             not
             so
             happy
             as
             the
             day
             of
             death
             .
          
        
         
           
             2.
             
          
           
             Better
             it
             is
             to
             be
             a
             fun'rall
             gust
             ,
          
           
             Then
             finde
             the
             welcomes
             of
             a
             frolick
             feast
             :
          
           
             There
             may'st
             thou
             view
             thy
             end
             ,
             and
             take
             occasion
          
           
             T'
             enrich
             thy
             thoughts
             with
             friutful
             contemplation
             .
          
        
         
           
             3.
             
          
           
             Better
             to
             cloud
             thy
             face
             with
             grief
             ,
             then
             show
          
           
             The
             lavish
             wrinkles
             of
             a
             laughing
             brow
             ;
          
           
           
             For
             by
             the
             sad
             demeanour
             of
             thine
             eyes
          
           
             The
             heart
             's
             instructed
             ,
             and
             becomes
             more
             wise
          
        
         
           
             4.
             
          
           
             The
             wise
             mans
             sober
             heart
             is
             alwayes
             turning
          
           
             His
             wary
             footsteps
             to
             the
             house
             of
             mourning
             ;
          
           
             But
             fools
             consume
             ,
             and
             revell
             out
             the
             night
          
           
             In
             dalliance
             ,
             and
             the
             day
             in
             loose
             delight
             .
          
        
         
           
             5.
             
          
           
             The
             vertue
             of
             a
             wise
             mans
             fair
             reproof
             ,
          
           
             Brings
             greater
             benefit
             to
             a
             mans
             behoof
             ,
          
           
             Then
             all
             those
             eare-bewitching
             sweets
             that
             can
          
           
             Belch
             from
             the
             language
             of
             a
             foolish
             Man
             .
          
        
         
           
             6.
             
          
           
             Look
             how
             the
             crackling
             thornes
             under
             the
             pot
          
           
             Blaze
             for
             a
             season
             ,
             but
             continue
             not
             ;
          
           
             Ev'n
             so
             do
             foolish
             flatt'ries
             entertain
          
           
             Our
             souls
             with
             joy
             ;
             but
             all
             that
             joy
             is
             vain
             .
          
        
         
           
             7.
             
          
           
             When
             wisemen
             turn
             oppressors
             ,
             they
             have
             crackt
          
           
             Their
             understandings
             in
             the
             very
             act
             ;
          
           
             And
             the
             acceptance
             of
             a
             Bribe
             destroyes
          
           
             The
             grounds
             of
             judgment
             ,
             and
             it
             blinds
             her
             eyes
             .
          
        
         
           
             8.
             
          
           
             In
             all
             attempts
             the
             onset
             does
             not
             lend
          
           
             So
             sweet
             a
             satisfaction
             ,
             as
             the
             end
             :
          
           
             And
             he
             whose
             gentle
             spirit
             is
             endow'd
          
           
             With
             meeknesse
             ,
             is
             far
             better
             then
             the
             proud
             .
          
        
         
           
             9.
             
          
           
             Let
             not
             thy
             hot-mouth'd
             ,
             spirit
             entertain
          
           
             Too
             sudden
             passion
             with
             too
             slack
             a
             Rain
             ;
          
           
             For
             rash
             and
             unadvised
             anger
             rests
          
           
             Embosom'd
             ,
             and
             abides
             in
             foolish
             brests
             .
          
        
         
           
             10.
             
          
           
             Let
             not
             thy
             murm'ring
             tongue
             desire
             to
             know
          
           
             Why
             former
             dayes
             were
             not
             so
             bad
             as
             now
             ;
          
           
             Where
             heav'n
             declares
             a
             will
             .
             no
             wise
             mans
             eye
          
           
             Should
             search
             a
             Cause
             ,
             or
             lips
             enquire
             a
             
               why
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             11.
             
          
           
             Wisdome
             is
             profitable
             to
             advance
          
           
             Mans
             welfare
             ,
             joyned
             with
             inheritance
             ;
          
           
             By
             this
             conjunction
             profit
             doth
             arise
          
           
             To
             those
             that
             toyl
             beneath
             the
             sweltring
             skies
             .
          
        
         
         
           
             12.
             
          
           
             Wisdome's
             a
             Guard
             ;
             and
             treasure
             ,
             a
             defence
          
           
             To
             supersede
             our
             wants
             ,
             reliev'd
             from
             thence
             .
          
        
         
           
             13.
             
          
           
             Wisdom's
             th'
             extract
             of
             knowledge
             ,
             and
             convayes
          
           
             To
             the
             possessor
             everlasting
             dayes
             .
          
           
             O
             let
             thy
             thoughts
             enquire
             and
             understand
          
           
             The
             well-weigh'd
             works
             of
             the
             Almighties
             hand
             .
          
           
             What
             he
             hath
             setled
             in
             a
             crooked
             state
             ,
          
           
             No
             industry
             of
             man
             can
             make
             it
             straight
             .
          
        
         
           
             14.
             
          
           
             In
             thy
             good
             day
             take
             pleasure
             ,
             and
             be
             wise
             ;
          
           
             In
             thy
             bad
             day
             have
             patience
             ,
             and
             advice
             ;
          
           
             For
             heav'n
             gives
             both
             by
             turns
             ,
             to
             let
             man
             see
          
           
             How
             alterable
             earthly
             pleasures
             bee
             .
          
        
         
           
             15.
             
          
           
             Much
             have
             I
             seene
             in
             this
             my
             short-liv'd
             day
             ;
          
           
             Among
             the
             rest
             ,
             the
             just
             man
             snatcht
             away
          
           
             In
             his
             just
             works
             ,
             whilst
             wicked
             finde
             successe
             ,
          
           
             And
             prosper
             in
             their
             long-liv'd
             wickednesse
             .
          
        
         
           
             16.
             
          
           
             Since
             then
             th'
             upright
             mans
             recompence
             is
             such
             ,
          
           
             Be
             not
             too
             wise
             ,
             nor
             righteous
             over
             much
             ;
          
           
             Why
             should
             they
             too
             much
             righteousnesse
             betray
          
           
             Thy
             danger'd
             life
             ,
             and
             make
             thy
             life
             a
             prey
             ?
          
        
         
           
             17.
             
          
           
             Nor
             let
             the
             flesh
             suggest
             thee
             ,
             or
             advise
          
           
             Thy
             thoughts
             to
             be
             too
             wicked
             ,
             too
             unwise
             .
          
           
             Why
             should
             thy
             folly
             captivate
             thy
             breath
             ,
          
           
             And
             make
             thee
             prisner
             to
             untimely
             death
             ?
          
        
         
           
             18.
             
          
           
             In
             all
             thy
             courses
             threfore
             it
             is
             best
          
           
             To
             lodge
             uprightnesse
             in
             thy
             constant
             brest
             .
          
           
             For
             he
             that
             feareth
             the
             Almighty
             ,
             shall
          
           
             Outwear
             his
             ev'll
             ,
             or
             finde
             no
             ev'll
             at
             all
             :
          
        
         
           
             19.
             
          
           
             Wisdome
             affords
             more
             strength
             ,
             more
             fortifies
          
           
             The
             undejected
             courage
             of
             the
             wise
             ,
          
           
             Then
             all
             the
             twisted
             pow'r
             of
             those
             that
             are
          
           
             The
             Guides
             of
             Citties
             ,
             or
             their
             men
             of
             warre
             ;
          
        
         
           
             20.
             
          
           
             Yet
             is
             there
             none
             beneath
             the
             crystall
             skies
          
           
             So
             just
             in
             action
             ,
             or
             in
             word
             so
             wise
             ;
          
           
           
             That
             doth
             alwayes
             good
             ,
             or
             hath
             not
             bin
          
           
             Sometimes
             polluted
             with
             the
             stains
             of
             sin
             .
          
        
         
           
             21.
             
          
           
             At
             passions
             language
             stop
             thy
             gentle
             eare
             ,
          
           
             Least
             if
             thy
             servant
             curse
             thee
             thou
             shouldst
             heare
             .
          
        
         
           
             22.
             
          
           
             For
             often
             times
             thy
             heart
             will
             let
             thee
             see
          
           
             That
             others
             like
             wise
             have
             been
             curs'd
             by
             thee
             .
          
        
         
           
             23.
             
          
           
             This
             wisdome
             by
             my
             travell
             I
             attain'd
          
           
             And
             in
             my
             thoughts
             conceiv'd
             that
             I
             had
             gain'd
          
           
             No
             common
             height
             ,
             but
             on
             a
             strict
             revise
          
           
             I
             found
             my
             wisdome
             came
             far
             short
             of
             wise
             .
          
        
         
           
             24.
             
          
           
             Objects
             far
             distant
             ,
             secrets
             too
             profound
          
           
             What
             eye
             can
             entertain
             ;
             what
             heart
             can
             sound
             ?
          
        
         
           
             25.
             
          
           
             I
             bent
             my
             studies
             heart
             to
             search
             and
             pry
          
           
             Into
             the
             bosome
             of
             
               Philosophy
               ;
            
          
           
             I
             gave
             my selfe
             to
             understand
             the
             Art
          
           
             Of
             folly
             ,
             and
             the
             madnesse
             of
             the
             heart
             :
          
        
         
           
             26.
             
          
           
             I
             found
             the
             harlots
             wayes
             more
             bitter
             are
          
           
             Then
             death
             ,
             whose
             arms
             are
             Ginnes
             ,
             whose
             heart
             's
             a
             snare
          
           
             Whom
             heav'n
             doth
             favour
             shall
             decline
             her
             Gates
             ,
          
           
             But
             sinners
             shall
             be
             taken
             by
             her
             baites
             .
          
        
         
           
             27.
             
          
           
             Loe
             this
             I
             have
             observ'd
             ,
             (
             the
             Preacher
             sayes
             )
          
           
             By
             strict
             enquest
             into
             their
             sev'rall
             wayes
             :
          
        
         
           
             28.
             
          
           
             Whereof
             my
             restlesse
             ,
             my
             laborious
             mind
          
           
             Would
             make
             discov'ry
             ,
             but
             dispairs
             to
             find
             ;
          
           
             Among
             a
             thousand
             men
             perchance
             that
             one
          
           
             May
             be
             trac'd
             out
             ,
             but
             among
             women
             ,
             none
             .
          
        
         
           
             29.
             
          
           
             Loe
             here
             the
             fruits
             of
             all
             my
             disquisition
             ,
          
           
             Onely
             to
             know
             the
             devious
             condition
          
           
             Of
             poore
             degen'rous
             man
             ,
             whose
             first
             estate
          
           
             Heav'n
             copied
             from
             himselfe
             ,
             upright
             ,
             and
             straight
             .
          
        
         
         
           
             SOLILOQUIE
             VII
             .
          
           
             SInce
             then
             my
             Soul
             ,
             the
             frail
             and
             false
             Estate
          
           
             Of
             fading
             happinesse
             cannot
             create
          
           
             The
             least
             contentment
             in
             thy
             various
             minde
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             fancy-guided
             motion
             cannot
             finde
          
           
             The
             point
             of
             Rest
             ,
             but
             like
             the
             boyling
             waves
          
           
             Tost
             in
             the
             stormes
             of
             Earth
             ,
             sometimes
             outbraves
          
           
             The
             threatning
             Firmament
             ,
             then
             at
             a
             breath
          
           
             Darts
             down
             ,
             and
             dashes
             at
             the
             dores
             of
             death
             ;
          
           
             Since
             waxen-winged
             
               Honour
            
             is
             not
             void
          
           
             Of
             danger
             ,
             whether
             aim'd
             at
             ,
             or
             injoy'd
             ;
          
           
             Since
             heart
             enchaunting
             
               Profit
            
             hath
             not
             fruit
             ,
          
           
             But
             care
             ,
             both
             in
             fruition
             ,
             and
             pursuit
             ;
          
           
             Since
             
               Pleasure
            
             like
             a
             wanton
             itch
             doth
             breed
          
           
             In
             the
             Ranck
             flesh
             ,
             but
             scratcht
             untill
             it
             bleed
             ;
          
           
             Since
             
               laughter
               is
               but
               madnesse
               ,
            
             and
             high
             diet
          
           
             Th'
             officious
             
               Pander
            
             of
             our
             own
             disquiet
             ;
          
           
             Since
             glorious
             
               Buildings
               ,
            
             and
             magnifique
             
               Towers
               ,
            
          
           
             Fructiferous
             
               Orchards
               ,
            
             oderiferous
             
               Bowers
               ;
            
          
           
             Full
             clusterd
             
               Vineyards
               ,
               Beauties
               ,
            
             and
             the
             choice
          
           
             Of
             
               Musick
            
             both
             by
             instrument
             and
             voice
             ,
          
           
             Can
             lend
             thy
             heart
             no
             full
             content
             ,
             nor
             still
          
           
             The
             various
             clamours
             of
             th'
             insatiate
             will
             ;
          
           
             Since
             humane
             wisdome
             is
             but
             humane
             
               trouble
               ,
            
          
           
             And
             double
             
               Knowledge
            
             makes
             our
             
               sorrow
            
             double
             ;
          
           
             Since
             what
             we
             have
             but
             lights
             our
             wish
             to
             more
             ,
          
           
             And
             in
             the
             height
             of
             plenty
             makes
             us
             poore
             ;
          
           
             And
             what
             we
             have
             not
             ,
             too
             too
             apt
             to
             crave
             ,
          
           
             Ev'n
             dispossesses
             us
             of
             what
             we
             have
             ;
          
           
             Nay
             since
             the
             very
             act
             of
             our
             devotion
          
           
             Can
             bring
             no
             Rest
             ,
             nor
             qualifie
             the
             motion
          
           
           
             Of
             our
             unbounded
             thoughts
             ,
             to
             sweeten
             out
          
           
             This
             span
             of
             frailty
             ,
             plungd
             ,
             and
             orb'd
             about
          
           
             With
             floods
             of
             Bitternesse
             :
             Since
             none
             of
             these
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             all
             can
             crown
             our
             labours
             ,
             nor
             appease
          
           
             Our
             raging
             hearts
             ,
             O
             my
             deceivd
             soule
             ,
          
           
             Where
             wilt
             thou
             purchase
             Peace
             ?
             Who
             shall
             controule
             ,
          
           
             Who
             shall
             suppresse
             those
             Passions
             that
             contest
          
           
             Within
             the
             kingdome
             of
             thy
             troubled
             brest
             ?
          
           
             Whither
             ?
             to
             what
             strange
             Region
             wilt
             thou
             fly
          
           
             To
             finde
             content
             ,
             and
             baulk
             that
             vanity
          
           
             Which
             haunts
             this
             bubble
             earth
             ,
             and
             makes
             thee
             still
          
           
             A
             slave
             to
             thy
             infatuated
             will
             ?
          
           
             Call
             home
             thy selfe
             :
             Inspect
             thy selfe
             a
             new
             ,
          
           
             And
             take
             thy
             
               Birth-right
            
             to
             a
             fresh
             review
             :
          
           
             Thou
             art
             immortall
             ;
             art
             divine
             by
             birth
             ,
          
           
             A
             spark
             of
             heav'n
             ;
             Thou
             art
             not
             borne
             of
             earth
             ;
          
           
             Earth
             is
             the
             foot
             stoole
             of
             thy
             heavenly
             Throne
             ;
          
           
             Made
             for
             thy
             baser
             parts
             to
             trample
             on
             .
          
           
             Look
             not
             so
             low
             ,
             my
             soul
             ,
             There
             's
             nothing
             there
             :
          
           
             Fit
             for
             thy
             sacred
             view
             ;
             It
             is
             no
             Sphere
          
           
             For
             thee
             to
             move
             in
             :
             No
             ,
             let
             worms
             and
             beasts
          
           
             And
             salvage
             brutes
             trade
             there
             ,
             and
             lay
             their
             Gests
          
           
             Of
             progresse
             ,
             to
             surround
             with
             weary
             paces
          
           
             The
             base
             Confines
             of
             those
             inferiour
             Places
             .
          
           
             I
             ,
             but
             my
             soul
             ,
             th'
             Alliance
             of
             my
             flesh
          
           
             Claims
             kindred
             there
             ,
             takes
             pleasure
             to
             refresh
          
           
             Her
             wasted
             body
             there
             :
             Earth
             is
             her
             mother
             ,
          
           
             The
             worme
             her
             sister
             ,
             and
             the
             beast
             her
             brother
             .
          
           
             T
             is
             true
             ,
             she
             is
             thy
             spouse
             ,
             Heav'n
             ty'd
             the
             knot
          
           
             For
             none
             to
             loose
             but
             Heav'n
             :
             I
             know
             her
             lot
          
           
             Is
             mortall
             ,
             fraile
             ,
             and
             being
             born
             of
             earth
             ,
          
           
             Corrupt
             ,
             and
             weares
             the
             Badges
             of
             her
             birth
             .
          
           
             If
             she
             transgresse
             ,
             it
             's
             thou
             must
             beare
             the
             blame
             ,
          
           
             And
             all
             her
             deeds
             reflect
             upon
             thy
             name
             ;
          
           
           
             O
             then
             beware
             ,
             and
             if
             she
             needs
             must
             goe
          
           
             To
             visit
             earth
             ,
             first
             ,
             let
             her
             frailty
             know
             ,
          
           
             How
             apt
             she
             is
             to
             fall
             ,
             and
             eke
             how
             prone
          
           
             To
             blurre
             ,
             and
             strain
             thy
             honour
             and
             her
             owne
             .
          
           
             
               A
               name
               unblemisht
               with
               the
               sinfull
               soyle
            
             
          
           
             
               Of
               sordid
               earth
               ,
               is
               as
               a
               precious
               oyle
               ,
            
          
           
             Which
             like
             a
             soveraign
             Antidote
             prevents
          
           
             That
             plague
             of
             vanity
             which
             earth
             presents
             .
          
           
             Then
             tell
             her
             ,
             tell
             her
             ,
             that
             her
             mother
             earth
          
           
             Must
             give
             her
             buriall
             as
             she
             gave
             her
             birth
             :
          
           
             Tell
             her
             ,
             O
             tell
             her
             ,
             Every
             gasp
             of
             breath
          
           
             Are
             minuts
             moving
             to
             the
             howre
             of
             death
             :
          
           
             And
             let
             her
             know
             ,
             
               The
               house
               of
               mourning
               brings
            
             
          
           
             More
             profit
             then
             the
             Palaces
             of
             Kings
             :
          
           
             Tell
             her
             ,
             Lessereall
             happinesse
             doth
             dwell
          
           
             In
             a
             
               full
               Banquet
               ,
            
             then
             a
             
               passing-Bell
               .
            
             
          
           
             Arme
             her
             with
             
               patience
            
             apt
             to
             entertaine
             
          
           
             Thy
             wisereproofs
             :
             but
             if
             her
             passion
             raigne
             ,
          
           
             Correct
             it
             wisely
             :
             Teach
             her
             sober
             eye
          
           
             A
             willing
             
               ignorance
            
             in
             things
             too
             high
             
          
           
             If
             
               liberall
               earth
            
             should
             chance
             to
             crowne
             her
             store
             ,
          
           
             Let
             her
             
               wise
               modesty
            
             receive
             no
             more
             
          
           
             Then
             she
             can
             manage
             ;
             Pilots
             that
             are
             wise
          
           
             Proportion
             out
             their
             Canvase
             to
             the
             skies
             .
          
           
             Let
             not
             her
             knowledg
             with
             the
             Eagle
             fly
             ,
          
           
             Ilulesse
             her
             wisdome
             have
             an
             Eagles
             eye
             .
          
           
             
               Wisdome
            
             digests
             what
             
               Knowledge
            
             did
             devoure
             ,
             
          
           
             Things
             sweet
             in
             taste
             ,
             are
             indigested
             sowre
             .
          
           
             In
             
               prosp'rous
            
             fortunes
             let
             her
             joy
             be
             such
             ,
             
          
           
             That
             in
             
               hard
               times
            
             she
             may
             not
             grieve
             too
             much
             .
          
           
             Let
             her
             count
             
               Wisdome
            
             as
             her
             chiefest
             good
             ,
             
          
           
             And
             the
             price
             easie
             ,
             whether
             sweat
             or
             blood
             :
          
           
             And
             let
             the
             perclose
             of
             her
             thoughts
             be
             this
             ,
             
          
           
             To
             study
             what
             
               Man
               was
               ,
            
             and
             what
             
               Man
               is
               .
            
          
           
           
             So
             now
             my
             soule
             ,
             thy
             will
             instructed
             flesh
          
           
             May
             visit
             earth
             ,
             and
             with
             her
             sweets
             refresh
             ,
          
           
             Thy
             wasted
             spirit
             ,
             secure
             from
             all
             those
             ills
          
           
             Which
             threaten
             ruine
             to
             distempered
             wills
             :
          
           
             Now
             maist
             thou
             eat
             and
             drink
             ,
             and
             make
             supplies
          
           
             For
             after
             dayes
             ,
             and
             close
             thy
             peacefull
             eyes
          
           
             In
             calme
             content
             ,
             and
             scape
             those
             hidden
             snares
          
           
             That
             lurke
             in
             pleasures
             ,
             and
             increase
             our
             cares
             .
          
           
             He
             onely
             takes
             advantage
             of
             his
             Lot
             ,
          
           
             That
             uses
             earth
             ,
             as
             if
             he
             us'd
             it
             not
             .
          
        
      
       
         
           CAP.
           VIII
           .
        
         
           
             1
             Kings
             are
             greatly
             to
             be
             respected
             ,
             6
             Divine
             providence
             is
             to
             be
             observed
             .
             12
             It
             is
             better
             with
             the
             Godly
             in
             adversity
             ,
             then
             with
             the
             wicked
             in
             prosperity
             .
             16
             The
             worke
             of
             God
             is
             unsearchable
             ,
          
        
         
           
             1.
             
          
           
             WHo
             's
             equall
             to
             the
             Wiseman
             ?
             who
             but
             he
          
           
             can
             judge
             of
             things
             ,
             or
             what
             their
             naturs
             be
             :
          
           
             Wisdome
             adornes
             the
             Cheek
             with
             lovely
             grace
             ;
          
           
             And
             plants
             courageous
             boldnesse
             in
             the
             face
             .
          
        
         
           
             2.
             
          
           
             Let
             me
             advise
             the
             Subjects
             heart
             to
             stand
          
           
             Devoted
             alwayes
             to
             the
             Kings
             command
             :
          
           
             For
             having
             sworn
             Allegeance
             to
             him
             ,
             both
          
           
             Heav'n
             and
             thy
             Conscience
             doe
             attest
             thy
             oath
             .
          
        
         
           
             3.
             
          
           
             Let
             not
             thy
             discontented
             haste
             incite
          
           
             Abrupt
             departure
             from
             his
             awfull
             sight
             :
          
           
             If
             thou
             hast
             err'd
             ,
             continue
             not
             in
             ill
             ,
          
           
             For
             Princes
             Acts
             are
             guided
             by
             their
             will
             :
          
        
         
           
             4.
             
          
           
             The
             potent
             Majesty
             of
             a
             Princes
             word
          
           
             Is
             backt
             and
             made
             authentick
             by
             the
             sword
             :
          
           
             What
             vent'rous
             tongue
             dare
             question
             or
             demand
          
           
             The
             least
             account
             from
             his
             illustrious
             hand
             ?
          
        
         
         
           
             5.
             
          
           
             Whose
             loyall
             brests
             observe
             the
             Laws
             of
             Kings
             ,
          
           
             Shall
             never
             know
             the
             grief
             Rebellion
             brings
             :
          
           
             The
             wisemans
             heart
             knowes
             times
             ,
             and
             judgment
             too
             ,
          
           
             Not
             only
             when
             to
             speak
             ,
             but
             what
             to
             doe
             .
          
        
         
           
             6.
             
          
           
             For
             ther
             's
             to
             every
             purpose
             among
             men
          
           
             A
             judgement
             how
             to
             doe
             ,
             a
             season
             when
             ,
          
           
             Which
             if
             mistaken
             ,
             or
             not
             understood
             ,
          
           
             Brings
             so
             much
             mis'ry
             upon
             flesh
             and
             blood
             .
          
        
         
           
             7.
             
          
           
             For
             man
             is
             ignorant
             of
             what
             may
             fall
             ,
          
           
             And
             who
             is
             he
             can
             tell
             him
             when
             it
             shall
             .
          
        
         
           
             8.
             
          
           
             No
             man
             hath
             power
             to
             prolong
             his
             breath
             ,
          
           
             Or
             make
             him
             shot-free
             in
             the
             day
             of
             death
             :
          
           
             There
             's
             no
             retreat
             in
             that
             sad
             warre
             ,
             nor
             can
          
           
             Mans
             wickednesse
             preserve
             the
             wicked
             man
             .
          
        
         
           
             9.
             
          
           
             All
             this
             have
             I
             observed
             ,
             and
             have
             given
          
           
             My
             heart
             to
             note
             each
             action
             under
             Heaven
             :
          
           
             There
             was
             a
             time
             when
             th'
             oppressors
             arme
          
           
             Opprest
             his
             brother
             to
             th'
             oppressors
             harme
             .
          
        
         
           
             10.
             
          
           
             So
             have
             I
             seene
             grave
             Judges
             (
             but
             unjust
             )
          
           
             That
             sat
             in
             judgement
             ,
             honor'd
             to
             the
             dust
          
           
             Which
             hid
             their
             crimes
             ;
             these
             seemed
             to
             obtain
          
           
             Some
             happinesse
             :
             This
             happinesse
             is
             vain
             .
          
        
         
           
             11.
             
          
           
             Because
             a
             present
             sentence
             is
             not
             past
          
           
             Upon
             the
             wicked
             ,
             their
             dull
             hearts
             at
             last
          
           
             Grow
             quite
             obdure
             ;
             resolv'd
             ,
             and
             fully
             bent
             .
          
           
             To
             act
             what
             evll's
             their
             greedy
             lusts
             present
             .
          
        
         
           
             12.
             
          
           
             Put
             case
             the
             sinner
             multiply
             his
             Crime
             ,
          
           
             And
             his
             long
             dayes
             ,
             ev'n
             rust
             the
             Sithe
             of
             Time
             :
          
           
             Yet
             well
             I
             know
             they
             only
             shall
             be
             blest
             ,
          
           
             That
             sear
             th'
             Almighty
             with
             a
             filiall
             brest
             .
          
        
         
           
             13.
             
          
           
             I
             ,
             but
             the
             wicked
             shall
             not
             scape
             secure
             ,
          
           
             Though
             he
             live
             long
             ,
             he
             shall
             not
             long
             endure
             ,
          
           
             But
             like
             a
             shadow
             shall
             his
             dayes
             appeare
             ,
          
           
             Because
             he
             fear'd
             not
             whom
             he
             ought
             to
             feare
             .
          
        
         
         
           
             14.
             
          
           
             There
             is
             a
             vanity
             raigns
             here
             below
             ,
          
           
             I
             see
             the
             wise
             man
             reap
             what
             sinners
             sow
             ,
          
           
             And
             sinners
             share
             when
             just
             men
             sow
             the
             seed
             ;
          
           
             This
             Grief
             (
             said
             I
             )
             all
             other
             Griefs
             exceed
             .
          
        
         
           
             15.
             
          
           
             Then
             prais'd
             I
             mirth
             ,
             and
             held
             it
             the
             best
             choice
          
           
             Beneath
             the
             sun
             ,
             to
             eat
             ,
             and
             to
             rejoyce
             :
          
           
             For
             this
             is
             all
             the
             good
             ,
             this
             all
             the
             gains
          
           
             Is
             like
             to
             chear
             our
             days
             ,
             and
             crown
             our
             pains
             .
          
        
         
           
             16.
             
          
           
             But
             when
             I
             set
             my
             busie
             heart
             to
             know
          
           
             Wisdome
             ,
             and
             heav'ns
             strange
             working
             here
             below
             :
          
           
             (
             For
             day
             and
             night
             my
             studyes
             did
             deny
          
           
             Sleep
             to
             mine
             eye-lids
             ,
             slumbers
             to
             mine
             eye
             )
          
        
         
           
             17.
             
          
           
             O
             then
             I
             found
             his
             works
             beneath
             the
             sun
          
           
             Past
             finding
             out
             ;
             my
             fruitlesse
             thoughts
             did
             run
          
           
             This
             heav'nly
             maze
             ,
             till
             they
             at
             length
             concluded
             ,
          
           
             Mans
             wit
             stoops
             here
             ;
             here
             wisdom
             stands
             deluded
             .
          
        
         
           
             SOLILOQUIE
             VIII
             .
          
           
             BUt
             stay
             ,
             my
             soul
             !
             What
             language
             does
             appear
             ?
          
           
             Am
             I
             deceiv'd
             ?
             Or
             did
             I
             seem
             to
             hear
             ?
          
           
             Which
             
               Tenet
            
             shal
             I
             baulk
             ?
             And
             which
             ,
             imbrace
             ?
          
           
             Hath
             
               Truth
            
             like
             
               Janus
               ,
            
             got
             a
             double
             face
             ?
          
           
             Did
             not
             that
             voice
             ,
             
             that
             voted
             
               Wisdome
               vain
            
          
           
             But
             very
             now
             ,
             
             
               now
            
             cry
             it
             up
             againe
             ?
          
           
             Shall
             what
             was
             late
             condemn'd
             as
             a
             disease
             ,
          
           
             Now
             prove
             a
             Remedy
             ?
             Such
             slips
             as
             these
          
           
             Are
             brands
             of
             humane
             frailty
             ,
             which
             belong
          
           
             To
             us
             and
             ours
             ;
             It
             well
             be
             seems
             our
             tongue
          
           
             To
             contradict
             and
             jangle
             :
             
               Error
               's
            
             known
          
           
             By
             many
             faces
             ;
             Truth
             admits
             but
             one
             :
          
           
             How
             haps
             it
             then
             ,
             that
             
               wisdome
               ,
            
             whose
             encrease
          
           
             Adds
             to
             our
             
               Grief
               ,
            
             yet
             crowns
             our
             dayes
             with
             
               peace
               ?
            
          
           
           
             Be
             not
             deceiv'd
             ,
             my
             soul
             ;
             Let
             not
             one
             Name
          
           
             Confound
             two
             Natures
             ,
             and
             make
             two
             the
             same
             :
          
           
             Shall
             Names
             give
             
               Natures
               ?
            
             Dare
             thy
             tongue
             professe
          
           
             An
             equall
             priviledge
             to
             
               Curse
            
             and
             
               Blesse
            
          
           
             For
             one
             Names
             sake
             ?
             No
             ,
             my
             deluded
             soul
             ,
          
           
             Sooner
             may
             
               Light
            
             and
             
               Darknese
               ,
               Fair
            
             and
             
               Foul
               ,
            
          
           
             Sooner
             may
             
               Good
            
             and
             
               Evill
               ;
            
             nay
             ,
             
               Heaven
            
             and
             
               Hell
            
          
           
             May
             sooner
             startle
             from
             their
             
               Parallel
               ,
            
          
           
             And
             turn
             
               Joynt-tenants
            
             in
             one
             perfect
             
               Line
               ,
            
          
           
             Then
             these
             two
             Wisdomes
             ,
             
               Humane
            
             and
             
               Divine
               .
            
          
           
             That
             breeds
             a
             
               Tumor
            
             in
             the
             flatuous
             brest
             ;
          
           
             This
             lays
             it
             :
             That
             brings
             trouble
             ,
             and
             This
             rest
             :
          
           
             That
             kindles
             fires
             ,
             and
             those
             fires
             encrease
          
           
             To
             self-contention
             ;
             This
             concludes
             a
             Peace
             :
          
           
             That
             duls
             the
             thoughts
             ,
             supprest
             with
             low
             desires
             ;
          
           
             This
             mounts
             thy
             soule
             with
             more
             heroick
             fires
             :
          
           
             That
             cannot
             brook
             the
             transitory
             frown
          
           
             Of
             Fortunes
             brow
             ;
             This
             makes
             a
             Crosse
             a
             Crown
             :
          
           
             That
             fils
             thy
             hopes
             with
             froth
             ,
             and
             blurs
             thy
             youth
          
           
             With
             black-mouth'd
             
               Error
               ;
            
             This
             directs
             to
             
               Truth
               :
            
          
           
             That
             scorns
             advice
             ,
             and
             like
             an
             own-selfe
             
               Lover
            
          
           
             Befools
             thee
             ;
             But
             this
             honors
             the
             
               Reprover
               :
            
          
           
             That
             fears
             ,
             and
             flees
             ,
             or
             fals
             at
             every
             breath
          
           
             Of
             discontent
             :
             This
             triumphs
             ,
             even
             in
             death
             ;
          
           
             That
             breaks
             Relations
             ,
             and
             for
             private
             ends
             ,
          
           
             Dissolves
             Allegeance
             ,
             and
             disbands
             true
             friends
             ;
          
           
             This
             loves
             society
             ,
             cals
             not
             
               Mine
               ,
            
             but
             
               Ours
               ,
            
          
           
             Yeilds
             due
             obedience
             to
             superior
             
               Pow'rs
               :
            
          
           
             That
             prickt
             by
             
               Passion
            
             rushes
             into
             crimes
             ;
          
           
             This
             backt
             with
             
               Reason
            
             councels
             with
             the
             
               Times
               :
            
          
           
             That
             gives
             the
             name
             of
             
               Power
               ;
            
             This
             the
             thing
             :
          
           
             That
             makes
             a
             
               Tyrant
               ;
            
             This
             creates
             a
             King
             :
          
           
             That
             lights
             thy
             
               Honor
               ,
            
             fading
             like
             a
             blaze
             ;
          
           
             This
             crowns
             thy
             
               Name
            
             with
             everlasting
             dayes
             :
          
           
           
             That
             breeds
             a
             Serpent
             ;
             This
             brings
             forth
             a
             Dove
             :
          
           
             That
             works
             a
             servil
             fear
             ;
             This
             filiall
             love
             :
          
           
             That
             deads
             thy
             spirit
             ;
             This
             makes
             thee
             wisely
             bold
             :
          
           
             That
             scowres
             thy
             Brass
             ;
             But
             this
             refines
             thy
             Gold
             :
          
           
             That
             fills
             thy
             Feast
             with
             Cares
             ;
             with
             fears
             ,
             thy
             Breast
             ;
          
           
             This
             makes
             thy
             morsell
             a
             perpetuall
             Feast
             :
          
           
             That
             cools
             thy
             
               Palate
               ,
            
             but
             inflames
             thy
             fire
             ;
          
           
             This
             slakes
             thy
             
               Thirst
               ,
            
             and
             satiates
             thy
             desire
             .
          
           
             O
             then
             ,
             my
             soul
             ,
             correct
             that
             flesh
             and
             blood
          
           
             That
             blinds
             thee
             so
             ;
             and
             ,
             like
             a
             gloomy
             Cloud
             ,
          
           
             Thus
             interposes
             ,
             and
             obscurely
             flyes
             ,
          
           
             Betwixt
             the
             sacred
             object
             ,
             and
             thine
             eyes
             :
          
           
             Clear
             up
             ,
             my
             soul
             ,
             and
             like
             the
             eye
             of
             day
             ,
          
           
             Chastise
             that
             peccant
             darknesse
             ,
             and
             display
          
           
             Those
             mists
             of
             earth
             ,
             which
             like
             false
             Glasses
             shew
          
           
             Fanatick
             figures
             ,
             and
             present
             thy
             view
          
           
             With
             specious
             objects
             ,
             precious
             in
             esteem
             ,
          
           
             (
             Alas
             )
             but
             nothing
             lesse
             ,
             then
             what
             they
             seem
             .
          
           
             Then
             shall
             the
             wisdome
             of
             that
             scarlet
             Whore
          
           
             And
             all
             her
             bald-pate
             
               Panders
               ,
            
             painted
             o're
          
           
             With
             counterfaited
             
               Holinesse
               ,
            
             appear
          
           
             In
             her
             true
             colours
             ,
             so
             that
             every
             ear
          
           
             That
             hears
             her
             base
             Impostures
             ,
             and
             the
             fame
          
           
             Of
             her
             lewd
             
               Piety
               ,
            
             shall
             abhorre
             the
             
               Name
            
          
           
             Of
             bloudy
             
               Rome
               :
            
             Then
             shall
             the
             spotted
             Beast
          
           
             Put
             off
             her
             golden
             
               Trappings
               ;
            
             and
             undrest
          
           
             Of
             all
             her
             glory
             ,
             be
             turn'd
             out
             to
             graze
          
           
             In
             uncouth
             deserts
             ,
             and
             consume
             her
             dayes
          
           
             With
             
               Dragons
               ,
               Tigers
               ,
            
             and
             those
             salvage
             things
             ,
          
           
             Now
             pamper'd
             with
             the
             bloud
             of
             Saints
             and
             Kings
             .
          
           
             O
             then
             the
             crooked
             
               Paths
            
             of
             
               Error
               ,
            
             fraud
             ,
          
           
             And
             Candle-light
             devotion
             ,
             trim'd
             and
             straw'd
          
           
             With
             sweet-lipt
             Roses
             ,
             shall
             appear
             as
             plain
             ,
          
           
             As
             tide-forsaken
             Rocks
             along
             the
             Main
             .
          
           
           
             Then
             shall
             true
             wisdome
             ,
             like
             fair
             
               Sheba's
            
             Queen
             ,
          
           
             Begin
             her
             royall
             Progresse
             ,
             and
             now
             seen
          
           
             In
             perfect
             Beauty
             ,
             shall
             erect
             her
             
               Throne
            
          
           
             In
             every
             breast
             ,
             and
             every
             
               Solomon
            
          
           
             Shall
             court
             her
             Glory
             ,
             and
             intranc'd
             in
             pleasure
             ,
          
           
             Shall
             smell
             her
             spices
             ,
             and
             divide
             her
             treasure
             .
          
        
      
       
         
           CAP.
           IX
           .
        
         
           
             1
             Like
             things
             happen
             to
             good
             and
             bad
             .
             4.
             
             There
             is
             a
             necessity
             of
             death
             unto
             men
             .
             7
             Comfort
             is
             all
             their
             portion
             in
             this
             Iife
             .
             11
             Gods
             providence
             ruleth
             over
             all
             .
             13
             Wisdome
             is
             better
             then
             strength
             .
          
        
         
           
             Vers.
             1.
             
          
           
             ALL
             this
             I
             ponder'd
             ,
             and
             at
             length
             I
             found
          
           
             All
             actions
             ,
             whether
             just
             or
             wise
             are
             crown'd
          
           
             By
             secret
             providence
             :
             And
             no
             man
             knows
             ,
          
           
             Gods
             love
             or
             hate
             ,
             by
             blessings
             or
             by
             blows
             .
          
        
         
           
             2.
             
          
           
             All
             haps
             alike
             to
             all
             ;
             The
             same
             things
             doe
          
           
             Befall
             the
             righteous
             and
             th'
             unrighteous
             too
             .
          
           
             Th'
             unclean
             ,
             and
             clean
             ,
             have
             here
             the
             self-same
             pay
             ;
          
           
             And
             he
             that
             prays
             ,
             and
             he
             that
             doth
             not
             pray
             :
          
           
             Alike
             befals
             to
             good
             and
             bad
             ,
             and
             both
          
           
             To
             him
             that
             swears
             ,
             and
             him
             that
             fears
             an
             oath
             :
          
        
         
           
             3.
             
          
           
             It
             is
             a
             grief
             that
             grates
             beneath
             the
             Sun
             ,
          
           
             That
             like
             events
             betide
             to
             every
             one
             ;
          
           
             Which
             makes
             the
             desp'rate
             hearts
             of
             men
             to
             rave
          
           
             With
             mischief
             ,
             till
             they
             drop
             into
             the
             Grave
             .
          
        
         
           
             4.
             
          
           
             For
             the
             ambition
             of
             their
             hopes
             extend
          
           
             But
             to
             this
             life
             ,
             and
             with
             this
             life
             they
             end
             :
          
           
             Better
             to
             be
             a
             living
             dog
             (
             they
             plead
             )
          
           
             Then
             to
             be
             known
             a
             Lyon
             that
             is
             dead
             :
          
        
         
           
             5.
             
          
           
             For
             they
             that
             live
             know
             well
             that
             they
             shall
             die
             ,
          
           
             And
             therefore
             take
             their
             time
             ;
             But
             they
             that
             lie
          
           
           
             Rak'd
             up
             in
             deaths
             cold
             Embers
             ,
             they
             know
             not
          
           
             Or
             good
             or
             ill
             ;
             Their
             names
             are
             quite
             forgot
             :
          
        
         
           
             6.
             
          
           
             They
             have
             no
             friends
             to
             love
             ,
             no
             foes
             to
             hate
             ;
          
           
             They
             know
             no
             vertue
             to
             spit
             venome
             at
             ;
          
           
             They
             sell
             no
             sweat
             for
             gains
             ,
             nor
             do
             they
             buy
          
           
             Pleasure
             with
             pains
             ,
             or
             trade
             beneath
             the
             sky
             :
          
        
         
           
             7.
             
          
           
             Goe
             then
             ,
             rejoyce
             ,
             and
             eat
             :
             Let
             a
             full
             boul
          
           
             Casheire
             thy
             cares
             ,
             and
             chear
             thy
             frolick
             soul
             ;
          
           
             What
             heaven
             hath
             lent
             thee
             with
             a
             liberall
             hand
             ,
          
           
             To
             serve
             ,
             and
             chear
             thy
             frailty
             up
             ,
             command
             .
          
        
         
           
             8.
             
          
           
             Indulge
             thy
             carefull
             flesh
             with
             new
             supply
             ,
          
           
             And
             change
             of
             garments
             of
             the
             purest
             dy
             ;
          
           
             Refresh
             thy
             limbs
             ,
             annoy'd
             with
             sweat
             and
             toyle
             ,
          
           
             With
             costly
             bathes
             ,
             thy
             head
             with
             precious
             oyle
             .
          
        
         
           
             9.
             
          
           
             Delight
             thy self
             in
             thy
             delicious
             wife
          
           
             All
             the
             vain
             days
             of
             thy
             vain
             wasting
             life
             ;
          
           
             Of
             all
             the
             works
             thy
             painfull
             hand
             hath
             done
             ,
          
           
             This
             ,
             this
             is
             all
             the
             price
             beneath
             the
             Sunne
             .
          
        
         
           
             10.
             
          
           
             What
             ere
             thy
             hand
             endavours
             ,
             that
             may
             gain
          
           
             Contentment
             ,
             spare
             not
             either
             cost
             or
             pain
             ;
          
           
             For
             there
             's
             no
             hand
             to
             work
             ,
             no
             pow'r
             to
             have
             ,
          
           
             No
             wisdome
             to
             contrive
             within
             the
             grave
             .
          
        
         
           
             11.
             
          
           
             I
             find
             the
             swift
             not
             always
             win
             the
             prize
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             strength
             of
             arm
             the
             battell
             ,
             nor
             the
             wise
          
           
             Grow
             rich
             in
             fortunes
             ,
             nor
             the
             men
             of
             skill
          
           
             In
             favour
             ;
             all
             as
             time
             and
             fortune
             will
             .
          
        
         
           
             12.
             
          
           
             Man
             knoweth
             not
             his
             time
             ;
             As
             Fishes
             are
          
           
             Snar'd
             in
             the
             net
             ,
             Birds
             tangled
             in
             the
             snare
             ,
          
           
             So
             be
             the
             sons
             of
             men
             surpriz'd
             with
             snares
             ,
          
           
             When
             mischief
             fals
             upon
             them
             unawares
             .
          
        
         
           
             13.
             
          
           
             This
             wisdome
             have
             I
             seen
             beneath
             the
             skye
             ,
          
           
             Which
             wisely
             weigh'd
             ,
             deserves
             a
             wise
             mans
             eye
             .
          
        
         
           
             14.
             
          
           
             There
             was
             a
             little
             City
             poorly
             mann'd
             ,
          
           
             'Gainst
             which
             a
             Potent
             King
             brought
             up
             a
             band
          
           
           
             Of
             Martiall
             strength
             ,
             besieg'd
             it
             ,
             and
             withall
          
           
             Built
             mighty
             Bulwarks
             'gainst
             her
             slender
             wall
             ;
          
        
         
           
             15.
             
          
           
             In
             this
             half
             conquer'd
             City
             there
             was
             found
          
           
             A
             poor
             wise
             man
             ,
             whose
             wisedome
             did
             confound
          
           
             Both
             thē
             &
             al
             the
             works
             their
             strength
             could
             plant
             ;
          
           
             Yet
             no
             reward
             reliev'd
             this
             poor
             mans
             want
             .
          
        
         
           
             16.
             
          
           
             O
             then
             (
             thought
             I
             )
             poor
             wisdome
             will
             at
             length
          
           
             Discover
             greater
             worth
             then
             golden
             strength
             ;
          
           
             Yet
             is
             the
             poor
             mans
             wisdome
             poorly
             priz'd
             ,
          
           
             His
             word
             's
             not
             heard
             ,
             or
             being
             heard
             ,
             despis'd
             :
          
        
         
           
             17.
             
          
           
             The
             whisp'ring
             wise
             mans
             tongue
             prevaileth
             more
             ,
          
           
             Then
             when
             the
             lips
             of
             foolish
             Rulers
             roare
             :
          
        
         
           
             18.
             
          
           
             Prudent
             advise
             is
             more
             transcendent
             far
             ,
          
           
             Then
             strength
             of
             Arm
             ,
             or
             Instruments
             of
             war
             :
          
           
             But
             rash
             attempts
             of
             a
             misguided
             hand
          
           
             Defeat
             themselves
             ,
             and
             ruine
             all
             the
             land
             .
          
        
         
           
             SOLILOQUIE
             IX
             .
          
           
             BUt
             ah
             ,
             my
             soul
             ,
             what
             boots
             it
             to
             be
             wise
             ?
             
          
           
             Or
             what
             
               Advantage
               ?
            
             what
             great
             profit
             lies
          
           
             In
             a
             fair
             Iourny
             ?
             to
             be
             well
             supply'd
          
           
             With
             all
             Accoutrements
             ,
             a
             knowing
             Guide
             ,
          
           
             A
             metled
             Steed
             ,
             a
             sweet
             and
             temperate
             sky
             ,
          
           
             Short
             miles
             ,
             and
             way-beguiling
             Company
             ;
          
           
             When
             armed
             death
             stands
             ready
             to
             attend
          
           
             Thy
             parting
             Stirrop
             at
             thy
             Iournies
             end
             ?
          
           
             Thy
             wisdome
             cannot
             save
             thee
             ;
             ha's
             no
             power
          
           
             To
             keep
             thee
             shotfree
             ,
             or
             to
             quit
             that
             hower
             .
          
           
             Dull
             
               Nabals
            
             Howreglasse
             runs
             as
             slow
             a
             pace
          
           
             As
             active
             
               Solomons
               :
            
             An
             equall
             space
          
           
             Divides
             their
             minuts
             ;
             Deaths
             impartiall
             hand
          
           
             Wounds
             all
             alike
             ,
             and
             death
             will
             give
             no
             sand
             .
          
           
           
             What
             then
             my
             soul
             ?
             If
             wisdome
             should
             entaile
          
           
             Our
             happinesse
             on
             this
             life
             ,
             or
             fill
             our
             Saile
          
           
             In
             this
             wilde
             
               Ocean
            
             with
             perpetuall
             breath
             ,
          
           
             When
             should
             we
             finde
             a
             
               Hav'n
               ?
            
             If
             partiall
             death
          
           
             Should
             favour
             wisdome
             ,
             and
             not
             exercise
          
           
             Her
             office
             there
             ,
             't
             were
             misery
             to
             be
             wise
             :
          
           
             The
             prudent
             
               Pilot
               ,
            
             whose
             marinall
             skill
          
           
             Makes
             the
             proud
             windes
             obedient
             to
             his
             will
             ,
          
           
             And
             ploughs
             the
             Billows
             with
             lesse
             fear
             then
             wrong
             ,
          
           
             Takes
             no
             delight
             to
             make
             his
             voyage
             long
             ;
          
           
             But
             with
             his
             wise
             endeavours
             seeks
             to
             guide
          
           
             His
             slender
             
               Pinnace
               ,
            
             and
             to
             curb
             the
             pride
          
           
             Of
             the
             rebellious
             waves
             ,
             and
             doth
             addresse
          
           
             His
             care
             to
             crown
             his
             voyage
             with
             successe
             :
          
           
             Our
             life
             's
             the
             voyage
             ,
             and
             this
             world
             the
             Ocean
             ;
          
           
             Our
             cares
             are
             waves
             tost
             in
             continuall
             motion
             ;
          
           
             Our
             thoughts
             are
             busie
             windes
             ,
             that
             often
             blow
          
           
             Too
             strong
             a
             Gale
             ,
             and
             tosses
             to
             and
             fro
          
           
             Our
             crazie
             Vessels
             :
             Every
             soul
             does
             bear
          
           
             The
             office
             of
             a
             
               Pilot
               ,
            
             now
             to
             stear
             ,
          
           
             Now
             to
             advise
             ;
             and
             still
             to
             lay
             commands
          
           
             Upon
             th'
             Affection-Saylors
             ,
             whose
             rude
             hands
          
           
             Are
             alwayes
             active
             ,
             ready
             to
             fulfill
          
           
             The
             wise
             directions
             of
             the
             
               Pilots
            
             will
             .
          
           
             It
             matters
             not
             ,
             my
             soul
             ,
             how
             long
             or
             short
          
           
             Thy
             voyage
             be
             ,
             if
             safe
             ;
             they
             gain
             the
             Port
          
           
             With
             best
             advantage
             ,
             that
             in
             peace
             arrive
          
           
             With
             ribs
             unshook
             ;
             and
             all
             their
             men
             alive
             .
          
           
             It
             lies
             not
             in
             the
             skilfull
             
               Pilots
            
             power
          
           
             T'
             avoid
             tempestuous
             Seas
             ,
             but
             to
             endure
             ;
          
           
             'T
             is
             wisdome
             to
             endure
             ,
             as
             well
             as
             doe
             ;
          
           
             Who
             bravely
             suffers
             ,
             is
             victorious
             too
             .
          
           
             Then
             chear
             ,
             my
             soul
             ;
             Let
             not
             the
             frowns
             of
             earth
          
           
             Disturb
             thy
             peace
             ,
             or
             interrupt
             thy
             mirth
             :
          
           
           
             Let
             not
             that
             rude
             ,
             that
             
               Apogean
            
             storm
          
           
             Of
             flesh
             and
             blood
             dismay
             thee
             ,
             or
             deform
          
           
             The
             beauty
             of
             thy
             thoughts
             ,
             or
             cast
             thy
             minde
          
           
             Into
             a
             base
             despondence
             :
             Let
             the
             winde
          
           
             Blow
             were
             it
             please
             ,
             a
             well-prepared
             brest
          
           
             Will
             give
             thee
             shelter
             ,
             and
             afford
             thee
             rest
             .
          
           
             When
             worldly
             crosses
             tempt
             thee
             ,
             understand
          
           
             Heav'n
             tryes
             thy
             temper
             then
             ;
             If
             then
             thou
             stand
          
           
             Upright
             in
             Court
             ,
             and
             of
             unshaken
             minde
             ,
          
           
             The
             Test
             approves
             thee
             ,
             and
             thou
             art
             refin'd
             .
          
           
             Then
             chear
             ,
             my
             soul
             ;
             Let
             not
             the
             rubs
             of
             earth
          
           
             Disturb
             thy
             peace
             ,
             or
             interrupt
             thy
             mirth
             ;
          
           
             If
             heav'n
             hath
             crown'd
             thy
             labours
             with
             successe
             ,
          
           
             Enjoy
             it
             freely
             ;
             
               Eat
               and
               drink
               ,
            
             and
             blesse
          
           
             The
             gracious
             giver
             ;
             Let
             thy
             soul
             rejoyce
          
           
             And
             take
             a
             chearfull
             pleasure
             in
             the
             choice
          
           
             Of
             all
             delights
             ;
             and
             what
             his
             bounty
             gave
          
           
             With
             a
             free
             hand
             ,
             fear
             not
             thou
             to
             receive
          
           
             With
             a
             free
             heart
             :
             
               Refresh
               thy
               fainting
               head
            
          
           
             
               With
               precious
               Oyles
               ,
            
             and
             change
             thy
             carefull
             bread
             
          
           
             To
             feasts
             of
             Ioy
             ;
             Or
             if
             a
             crosse
             should
             greet
          
           
             Thy
             frolique
             soul
             ,
             march
             bravely
             on
             ,
             and
             meet
          
           
             Adversity
             half
             way
             ;
             and
             with
             a
             heart
          
           
             Too
             great
             for
             earth
             to
             wrong
             ,
             shake
             hands
             and
             part
             .
          
           
             Chear
             then
             my
             soul
             ;
             Let
             not
             the
             rubs
             of
             earth
          
           
             Disturb
             thy
             peace
             ,
             or
             interrupt
             thy
             mirth
             :
          
           
             Goe
             ,
             sweeten
             up
             thy
             labours
             and
             thy
             life
          
           
             With
             fresh
             delights
             :
             
               Rejoyce
               thee
               in
               the
               wife
            
             
          
           
             And
             partner
             of
             thy
             bosome
             ;
             Let
             her
             brest
          
           
             Suffice
             thee
             as
             the
             Center
             of
             thy
             rest
             :
          
           
             Deny
             thy
             heart
             no
             pleasure
             ,
             that
             may
             lye
          
           
             Within
             the
             lawfull
             limits
             of
             thine
             eye
             .
          
           
             
               Take
               time
               while
               time
               shall
               serve
               ;
            
             To
             morrow
             may
          
           
             Be
             none
             of
             ours
             ;
             Come
             ,
             come
             ,
             be
             wise
             to
             day
             ;
             
          
           
           
             And
             teach
             thy
             labours
             to
             bestow
             their
             sorrow
          
           
             On
             those
             that
             practise
             to
             be
             fooles
             to
             morrow
             .
          
        
      
       
         
           CAP.
           X.
           
        
         
           
             1
             Observations
             of
             wisdome
             and
             folly
             .
             16
             Of
             Riot
             ,
             18
             Slothfulnesse
             ,
             19
             and
             money
             .
             20
             Mens
             thoughs
             of
             Kings
             ought
             to
             be
             reverenced
             .
          
        
         
           
             Vers.
             1.
             
          
           
             LOok
             how
             dead
             flies
             (
             thoughfew
             in
             number
             )
             soil
             ,
          
           
             Corrupt
             and
             putrefy
             the
             purest
             Oil
             :
          
           
             Ev'n
             so
             a
             little
             folly
             stains
             his
             fame
          
           
             Whom
             fair
             Repute
             for
             wisdome
             lends
             a
             name
             .
          
        
         
           
             2.
             
          
           
             A
             wise
             mans
             heart
             is
             plac'd
             at
             his
             right
             hand
             ,
          
           
             His
             plots
             and
             councels
             are
             of
             strong
             command
             ;
          
           
             But
             hearts
             of
             fools
             are
             weak
             and
             rash
             ,
             bereft
          
           
             Of
             sage
             advice
             ;
             their
             hearts
             are
             at
             their
             left
             .
          
        
         
           
             3.
             
          
           
             Nay
             ,
             if
             their
             steps
             but
             measure
             out
             the
             way
             ,
          
           
             Their
             Garb
             ,
             their
             Looks
             ,
             their
             Language
             do
             betray
          
           
             Their
             folly
             ,
             read
             by
             whomsoere
             they
             meet
             ;
          
           
             Themselves
             proclaim
             their selves
             in
             ev'ry
             street
             .
          
        
         
           
             4.
             
          
           
             If
             thy
             Superior
             happen
             to
             incense
          
           
             His
             jealous
             wrath
             at
             thy
             suppos'd
             offence
             ,
          
           
             Doe
             thou
             thy
             part
             and
             yeild
             ,
             for
             yeilding
             slakes
          
           
             The
             raging
             flame
             ,
             that
             great
             transgression
             makes
             .
          
        
         
           
             5.
             
          
           
             I
             see
             an
             ev'll
             beneath
             the
             Sun
             that
             springs
          
           
             From
             error
             ,
             reigning
             in
             the
             breasts
             of
             Kings
             :
          
        
         
           
             6.
             
          
           
             Fools
             are
             made
             Statesmen
             ,
             &
             command
             at
             Court
             ,
          
           
             And
             men
             of
             parts
             are
             made
             the
             lower
             sort
             .
          
        
         
           
             7.
             
          
           
             So
             have
             I
             seen
             proud
             servants
             mounted
             high
          
           
             On
             Lordly
             Steeds
             ,
             and
             Lords
             to
             lackey
             by
             .
          
        
         
           
             8.
             
          
           
             He
             that
             shall
             dig
             a
             pit
             ,
             that
             shall
             prepare
          
           
             A
             snare
             ,
             shall
             be
             ensnar'd
             in
             his
             own
             snare
             .
          
           
           
             And
             he
             that
             tramples
             down
             a
             hedge
             shall
             meet
          
           
             A
             Serpent
             to
             salute
             his
             trampling
             feet
             .
          
        
         
           
             9.
             
          
           
             He
             that
             shall
             shake
             a
             stone-compacted
             wall
             ,
          
           
             Shall
             undergoe
             the
             danger
             of
             the
             fall
             :
          
           
             Who
             undertakes
             to
             cleave
             the
             knotty
             Oak
             ,
          
           
             Shall
             be
             a
             painfull
             partner
             in
             the
             stroak
             :
          
        
         
           
             10.
             
          
           
             But
             if
             th'
             unwhetted
             edge
             be
             blunt
             ,
             the
             arm
          
           
             Must
             give
             more
             strength
             ,
             &
             so
             receive
             more
             harm
             ;
          
           
             But
             if
             he
             challenge
             wisdome
             for
             his
             guide
             ,
          
           
             Wisdome
             will
             doe
             ,
             what
             painfull
             strength
             deni'd
             .
          
        
         
           
             11.
             
          
           
             The
             rash
             reproving
             mouth
             of
             fools
             are
             arm'd
          
           
             Like
             unenchaunted
             serpents
             ,
             if
             not
             charm'd
             .
          
        
         
           
             12.
             
          
           
             The
             wise
             mans
             words
             are
             gracious
             ,
             where
             they
             go
             ,
          
           
             But
             foolish
             language
             doth
             themselves
             o'rethrow
             .
          
        
         
           
             13.
             
          
           
             Folly
             brings
             in
             the
             Prologue
             with
             his
             tongue
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             Epilogue
             is
             Rage
             and
             open
             wrong
             .
          
        
         
           
             14.
             
          
           
             The
             fool
             abounds
             in
             tongue
             ,
             there
             's
             none
             can
             know
          
           
             What
             his
             words
             mean
             ,
             or
             what
             he
             means
             to
             doe
             .
          
        
         
           
             15.
             
          
           
             The
             tedious
             actions
             of
             a
             fool
             doth
             try
          
           
             The
             patience
             of
             the
             weary
             stander
             by
             ;
          
           
             Because
             his
             weaknesse
             knows
             not
             how
             to
             lay
          
           
             His
             actions
             posture
             in
             a
             Civill
             way
             .
          
        
         
           
             16.
             
          
           
             Woe
             to
             the
             Land
             ,
             whose
             Princes
             wisdome
             swayes
          
           
             The
             Scepter
             ,
             in
             the
             nonage
             of
             her
             dayes
             ;
          
           
             And
             whose
             grave
             Rulers
             ,
             that
             should
             haunt
             the
             seat
          
           
             Of
             sacred
             Justice
             ,
             rise
             betime
             to
             eat
             .
          
        
         
           
             17.
             
          
           
             Blessed
             art
             thou
             ô
             Land
             ,
             when
             as
             thy
             King
          
           
             Derives
             his
             royall
             blood
             from
             th'
             ancient
             spring
          
           
             Of
             Majesty
             ,
             and
             Rulers
             timely
             diet
          
           
             Serves
             to
             maintain
             their
             strength
             ,
             &
             not
             their
             riot
             .
          
        
         
           
             18.
             
          
           
             By
             too
             much
             slothfulnesse
             the
             building
             fals
          
           
             Into
             decay
             ,
             and
             ruine
             strikes
             her
             wals
             ,
          
           
             And
             through
             the
             sluggish
             posture
             of
             his
             hand
          
           
             The
             weather-beaten
             house
             forgets
             to
             stand
             :
          
        
         
         
           
             19.
             
          
           
             Who
             eats
             and
             drinks
             and
             frolicks
             ,
             uncontrol'd
             ,
          
           
             Maintaining
             riot
             with
             his
             wanton
             gold
             .
          
        
         
           
             20.
             
          
           
             Curse
             not
             the
             King
             ,
             nor
             them
             that
             bear
             the
             sword
             ,
          
           
             No
             ,
             not
             in
             thought
             ,
             tho
             thought
             express
             no
             word
             ;
          
           
             The
             fowls
             of
             heav'n
             shall
             vent
             such
             hideous
             things
             ,
          
           
             And
             swift
             Report
             shall
             fly
             with
             secret
             wings
             .
          
        
         
           
             SOLILOQUIE
             X.
             
          
           
             BUt
             ah
             ,
             my
             soul
             !
             How
             closely
             folly
             cleaves
          
           
             To
             slesh
             &
             blood
             !
             How
             mungrell
             nature
             weaves
          
           
             Wisdome
             and
             folly
             in
             the
             self-same
             Loome
             ,
          
           
             Like
             webbe
             and
             woof
             ,
             whereby
             they
             both
             become
          
           
             One
             perfect
             webbe
             to
             cloath
             our
             imperfections
          
           
             With
             Linsy-woolsy
             ,
             and
             our
             mixt
             affections
          
           
             With
             foolish
             wisdome
             !
             O
             how
             full
             of
             earth
          
           
             Was
             our
             first
             
               Ore
               ,
            
             which
             at
             our
             sinfull
             birth
          
           
             Was
             taken
             from
             the
             
               Womb
               ;
            
             Now
             purifi'd
          
           
             In
             sacred
             Fires
             ,
             and
             more
             then
             seven
             times
             tri'd
          
           
             In
             sharp
             afflictions
             furnace
             ;
             yet
             how
             base
          
           
             Our
             
               Bullion
            
             is
             !
             not
             worthy
             of
             the
             Face
          
           
             That
             makes
             us
             currant
             ;
             O
             how
             apt
             and
             prone
          
           
             Is
             flesh
             and
             blood
             to
             fall
             ,
             if
             let
             alone
          
           
             But
             one
             poor
             Minute
             !
             Most
             in
             danger
             then
          
           
             To
             be
             surpriz'd
             and
             foyl'd
             with
             Folly
             ,
             when
          
           
             Our
             bold
             
               Presumption
            
             tempts
             our
             thoughts
             to
             prise
          
           
             Our
             wisdoms
             over-much
             ,
             and
             seeme
             too
             wise
             .
          
           
             How
             one
             rash
             action
             ;
             O
             
               how
               one
               dead
               Flie
            
             
          
           
             Embalm'd
             in
             thy
             sweet
             
               Oyle
            
             does
             putrefie
          
           
             Thy
             
               Box
               of
               Spikenard
               !
            
             How
             it
             casts
             a
             shame
          
           
             Upon
             the
             beauty
             of
             thy
             honour'd
             Name
             !
          
           
             O
             then
             ,
             my
             soul
             ,
             take
             heed
             to
             keep
             thy
             heart
          
           
             At
             thy
             right
             hand
             ;
             There
             ,
             there
             she
             will
             impart
          
           
           
             Continuall
             secrets
             ,
             and
             direct
             thy
             wayes
             
          
           
             In
             sacred
             
               Ethicks
               ,
            
             sweetning
             out
             thy
             dayes
          
           
             With
             season'd
             
               Knowledge
               ,
            
             knowledge
             past
             the
             reach
          
           
             Of
             black-mouth'd
             
               Error
               ,
            
             shall
             instruct
             and
             teach
          
           
             Thy
             tongue
             wise
             silence
             ;
             Wisedome
             when
             to
             break
          
           
             Thy
             closed
             lips
             ,
             and
             Iudgement
             how
             to
             speak
             :
          
           
             Shee
             'l
             teach
             thee
             Christian
             
               Policy
               ,
            
             and
             how
          
           
             To
             keep
             thee
             safe
             when
             as
             thy
             
               Princes
            
             brow
             
          
           
             Shall
             threaten
             death
             ,
             even
             when
             the
             flame
             shall
             flye
          
           
             Like
             horrid
             
               Lightning
            
             from
             his
             wrathfull
             
               Eye
               .
            
          
           
             I
             ,
             but
             the
             rage
             of
             
               Princes
            
             oftentimes
          
           
             Darts
             
               Lightning
            
             at
             the
             
               Person
               ,
            
             not
             his
             
               Crimes
               ;
            
          
           
             And
             their
             misguided
             will
             oft
             times
             demands
          
           
             Obedience
             there
             ,
             where
             Conscience
             countermands
             .
          
           
             Take
             heed
             ,
             my
             soul
             ;
             Thou
             tread'st
             upon
             the
             Ice
             ,
          
           
             Be
             not
             too
             vent'rous
             here
             ,
             nor
             too
             too
             nice
             :
          
           
             Rush
             not
             too
             bold
             ;
             thou
             mayst
             as
             soon
             convince
          
           
             An
             Error
             in
             thy
             Conscience
             ,
             as
             thy
             
               Prince
               .
            
          
           
             To
             lay
             commands
             upon
             ind●fferent
             things
             ,
          
           
             Is
             a
             sole
             Royalty
             belongs
             to
             Kings
             .
          
           
             If
             here
             thy
             conscience
             doubt
             ,
             the
             Book
             of
             Life
          
           
             Must
             cast
             the
             balance
             ,
             and
             decide
             the
             strife
             :
          
           
             If
             this
             way
             ,
             thy
             enforc'd
             obedience
             then
          
           
             Must
             stoop
             ;
             If
             that
             ,
             
               Please
               rather
               God
               then
               men
               .
            
          
           
             If
             
             th'Embers
             of
             his
             rage
             should
             chance
             to
             lye
          
           
             Rak'd
             up
             ,
             or
             furnace
             from
             his
             angry
             eye
             ,
          
           
             
               Quit
               not
               thy
               duty
               :
            
             'T
             is
             thy
             part
             t'
             asswage
             
          
           
             The
             jealous
             flames
             of
             his
             consuming
             rage
             .
          
           
             What
             ,
             if
             through
             
               Error
            
             or
             misguided
             will
          
           
             He
             leaves
             the
             way
             to
             Good
             ,
             and
             cleaves
             to
             Ill
             ;
          
           
             Lend
             him
             thy
             
               Prayers
               ;
            
             Lament
             ,
             advise
             ,
             perswade
             ,
          
           
             Lift
             not
             thy
             hand
             ,
             nor
             let
             thy
             tongue
             upbraid
          
           
             His
             sacred
             
               Person
               ;
            
             Hee
             's
             by
             heav'n
             appointed
          
           
             To
             be
             thy
             
               Prince
               ;
            
             O
             
               touch
               not
               heav'ns
               Anointed
               .
            
          
           
           
             What
             ,
             if
             he
             lend
             the
             fulnesse
             of
             his
             pow'r
          
           
             To
             those
             imperious
             Spirits
             that
             devour
          
           
             Subjects
             like
             bread
             ,
             and
             drink
             the
             loyall
             blood
          
           
             Of
             men
             like
             water
             ;
             men
             ,
             not
             once
             allow'd
          
           
             To
             plead
             for
             life
             ;
             but
             silently
             subscribe
          
           
             To
             those
             that
             cannot
             judge
             without
             a
             Bribe
             ?
          
           
             What
             ,
             if
             his
             power
             pleases
             to
             commit
          
           
             His
             past'rall
             staffe
             to
             such
             as
             are
             more
             fit
          
           
             To
             kill
             and
             eat
             ,
             or
             recommend
             his
             flocks
          
           
             To
             such
             dum
             dogs
             ,
             of
             whom
             nor
             wolfe
             nor
             fox
          
           
             Will
             stand
             in
             awe
             ,
             or
             shew
             their
             feares
             by
             flight
             ,
          
           
             That
             have
             not
             tongues
             to
             bark
             ,
             nor
             teeth
             to
             bite
             ?
          
           
             Rebell
             not
             thou
             ,
             nor
             in
             a
             hostile
             way
          
           
             Accoast
             thy
             
               Prince
               ;
            
             Or
             suffer
             or
             obey
             .
          
           
             What
             if
             the
             Common
             Favorite
             of
             the
             times
          
           
             (
             The
             Courtly
             
               Fool
               ,
            
             grown
             great
             with
             count'nance
             climes
             )
          
           
             Up
             to
             a
             Lordship
             ,
             when
             the
             Man
             of
             merit
             
          
           
             Broke
             on
             the
             wheel
             of
             Fortune
             must
             inherit
          
           
             Nothing
             but
             scorn
             and
             want
             ;
             and
             a
             
               poor
            
             name
          
           
             Betraid
             to
             pity
             ,
             and
             to
             empty
             Fame
             ?
          
           
             Be
             thou
             thy self
             ,
             let
             not
             thine
             eye
             be
             evill
             :
          
           
             To
             a
             wise
             heart
             both
             hils
             and
             dales
             are
             levell
             .
          
           
             How
             
               happy
            
             is
             that
             land
             ,
             how
             blest
             the
             
               Nation
            
          
           
             Whose
             Prince
             directs
             by
             Power
             ,
             not
             by
             
               Passion
               ?
            
             
          
           
             Whose
             sacred
             wisdome
             knowes
             how
             great
             a
             price
          
           
             True
             vertue
             beares
             ,
             and
             how
             to
             punish
             
               Vice
               ;
            
          
           
             Whose
             royall
             Majesty
             ,
             and
             princely
             love
          
           
             Can
             both
             incorporate
             ,
             and
             joyntly
             move
          
           
             In
             a
             self
             glorious
             Orbe
             ,
             and
             from
             one
             Sphear
          
           
             Breathe
             such
             rare
             influence
             of
             love
             ,
             and
             fear
          
           
             Into
             the
             hearts
             of
             Men
             ,
             that
             all
             the
             land
          
           
             Shall
             cry
             a
             
               Solomon
               ,
            
             and
             sweetly
             stand
          
           
             Rapt
             with
             sweet
             Peace
             ,
             and
             sacred
             admiration
             :
          
           
             How
             
               happy
            
             is
             that
             land
             ,
             how
             blest
             the
             
               Nation
               !
            
          
        
      
       
       
         
           CAP.
           II.
           
        
         
           
             1
             Directions
             for
             Charity
             .
             7
             Death
             in
             life
             ,
             9
             and
             the
             day
             of
             judgement
             in
             the
             days
             of
             youth
             ,
             are
             to
             be
             thought
             on
             .
          
        
         
           
             Vers.
             1.
             
          
           
             VPon
             the
             waters
             let
             thy
             bread
             be
             cast
             ,
          
           
             And
             thou
             shalt
             find
             it
             when
             some
             dayes
             are
             past
             .
          
        
         
           
             2.
             
          
           
             Give
             lib'rall
             Almes
             ,
             for
             it
             's
             unknown
             to
             thee
          
           
             How
             full
             of
             wants
             thy
             after
             days
             shall
             be
             .
          
        
         
           
             3.
             
          
           
             If
             clouds
             be
             full
             ,
             will
             they
             deny
             to
             powr
          
           
             Their
             fruitfull
             blessings
             in
             a
             lib'rall
             show'r
             ?
          
           
             Or
             North
             ,
             or
             South
             ,
             or
             wheresoere
             the
             Tree
          
           
             Shall
             fall
             ,
             no
             question
             it
             shall
             fall
             to
             thee
             .
          
        
         
           
             4.
             
          
           
             He
             that
             observes
             the
             winde
             shall
             never
             sow
             :
          
           
             Who
             marks
             the
             clouds
             shall
             never
             reap
             nor
             mow
             .
          
        
         
           
             5.
             
          
           
             Like
             as
             the
             Embryo's
             growth
             within
             their
             wombs
             ,
          
           
             Is
             strange
             to
             thee
             ,
             and
             how
             the
             soul
             becomes
          
           
             The
             bodies
             inmate
             ,
             ev'n
             so
             all
             the
             rest
          
           
             Of
             Heav'ns
             high
             works
             are
             strangers
             to
             thy
             brest
             .
          
        
         
           
             6.
             
          
           
             Cast
             thou
             thy
             morning
             seed
             upon
             the
             land
             ,
          
           
             And
             at
             the
             evening
             hold
             not
             back
             thy
             hand
             ;
          
           
             For
             who
             is
             he
             can
             tell
             thee
             which
             of
             these
          
           
             Shall
             prosper
             best
             ,
             or
             bring
             the
             best
             encrease
             ?
          
        
         
           
             7.
             
          
           
             'T
             is
             true
             ,
             the
             light
             is
             sweet
             ,
             and
             every
             one
          
           
             Takes
             pleasure
             in
             the
             world-rejoycing
             Sunne
             :
          
        
         
           
             8.
             
          
           
             But
             who
             lives
             many
             joyfull
             years
             ,
             if
             he
          
           
             But
             count
             how
             long
             his
             after
             shades
             shall
             be
          
           
             In
             earths
             dark
             bosome
             ,
             how
             can
             he
             refrain
          
           
             To
             think
             these
             short-liv'd
             flattering
             pleasures
             vain
             ?
          
        
         
           
             9.
             
          
           
             Rejoyce
             ,
             ô
             young
             man
             in
             thy
             youthfull
             ways
             ;
          
           
             Let
             thy
             heart
             cheer
             thee
             in
             thy
             youthfull
             days
             ,
          
           
           
             Delight
             thine
             eyes
             ,
             thy
             heart
             ,
             and
             take
             thy
             way
             ;
          
           
             But
             know
             that
             heavens
             accompt
             will
             find
             a
             day
             .
          
        
         
           
             10.
             
          
           
             Then
             banish
             fals-ey'd
             mirth
             :
             Be
             dispossest
          
           
             Of
             those
             lewd
             fires
             that
             so
             inflame
             thy
             brest
             ;
          
           
             For
             childhood
             ,
             youth
             ,
             and
             all
             their
             joyes
             remain
          
           
             But
             for
             a
             season
             ,
             and
             they
             all
             are
             vain
             .
          
        
         
           
             SOLILOQUIE
             XI
             .
          
           
             SO
             now
             my
             soul
             ,
             thy
             wisdome-season'd
             brest
          
           
             May
             eat
             and
             drink
             ,
             and
             labour
             ,
             and
             digest
          
           
             Thy
             carefull
             morsels
             ,
             and
             with
             holy
             mirth
          
           
             Disperse
             the
             clouds
             of
             melancholy
             earth
             :
          
           
             Now
             maist
             thou
             sit
             beneath
             thy
             clustred
             
               Vine
               ,
            
          
           
             And
             presse
             thy
             Grapes
             ,
             and
             drinke
             thy
             frolick
             wine
          
           
             In
             soft
             and
             plenteous
             
               Peace
               ,
            
             and
             leave
             tomorrow
          
           
             To
             bear
             the
             burden
             of
             her selfe-borne
             sorrow
             :
          
           
             Now
             maist
             thou
             walk
             secure
             from
             all
             those
             threats
          
           
             Of
             peevish
             Fortune
             ,
             and
             the
             sly
             deceits
          
           
             Of
             flattering
             pleasure
             :
             Plenty
             cannot
             drown
          
           
             Thine
             eyes
             in
             mirth
             ,
             nor
             misery
             cast
             thee
             down
             :
          
           
             If
             the
             blew
             Rafters
             of
             the
             falling
             skies
          
           
             Should
             leave
             their
             spangled
             Mansion
             ,
             and
             surprise
          
           
             Thy
             feeble
             strength
             ,
             well
             may
             their
             ruines
             smite
             thee
             ;
          
           
             And
             grinde
             thy
             clod
             to
             dust
             ,
             but
             not
             affright
             thee
             .
          
           
             What
             want'st
             thou
             then
             ,
             my
             soul
             ,
             that
             may
             augment
          
           
             The
             reall
             happinesse
             of
             a
             true
             content
             ?
          
           
             What
             vertue
             's
             wanting
             now
             ,
             whose
             absence
             may
          
           
             Encourage
             bold-fac'd
             vanity
             to
             betray
          
           
             Thy
             even-spunne
             dayes
             to
             sorrow
             ;
             or
             occasion
          
           
             Thy
             fair-contriv'd
             designes
             to
             tast
             vexation
             ?
          
           
             Wouldst
             thou
             have
             Honor
             ?
             thou
             enjoy'st
             it
             :
             Treasure
             ?
          
           
             Thou
             hast
             it
             :
             wouldst
             thou
             gain
             the
             greater
             pleasure
          
           
           
             Of
             a
             true
             noble
             Spouse
             ;
             whose
             life
             may
             show
          
           
             Vertues
             rare
             quintessence
             ?
             Thou
             hast
             that
             too
             :
          
           
             Wouldst
             thou
             have
             hopefull
             Sonnes
             to
             crown
             thy
             Last
          
           
             With
             Peace
             and
             Honour
             ?
             Such
             rare
             Sonnes
             thou
             hast
             :
          
           
             Thy
             
               Princes
            
             favour
             ?
             Or
             thy
             peoples
             love
             ?
          
           
             All
             this
             thou
             hast
             ;
             Wisdome
             in
             things
             above
             ?
          
           
             Thou
             hast
             it
             :
             Knowledge
             in
             these
             Toyes
             beneath
             ?
          
           
             Thou
             hast
             it
             :
             Skill
             in
             th'
             
               Arts
               ?
            
             or
             curious
             breath
          
           
             Of
             whispering
             
               State
               ?
            
             All
             this
             thou
             hast
             :
             Where
             ,
             then
             ,
          
           
             Shall
             thy
             new
             wishes
             ●ix
             ,
             Rare
             Man
             of
             men
             ?
          
           
             I
             ,
             but
             my
             soul
             ,
             one
             good
             is
             wanting
             still
          
           
             To
             summe
             a
             full
             perfection
             ,
             and
             to
             fill
          
           
             Thy
             
               Cruise
            
             with
             happinesse
             :
             which
             if
             possest
             ,
          
           
             Thou
             hast
             a
             
               Diademe
               ,
            
             crownes
             all
             the
             rest
             :
          
           
             Hadst
             thou
             the
             
               tongues
               of
               men
               ,
            
             and
             couldst
             thou
             break
          
           
             Thy
             lips
             in
             
               Oracles
               ;
            
             Or
             couldst
             thou
             speak
          
           
             The
             dialects
             of
             
               Angels
            
             when
             they
             sing
          
           
             Their
             sacred
             
               Canzons
            
             to
             their
             Soveraign
             King
             ,
          
           
             
               A
               tinkling
               Cymball
               ,
            
             or
             the
             hideous
             sounds
          
           
             Of
             discomposed
             
               discords
               ,
            
             or
             the
             
               Rounds
            
          
           
             Of
             frolick
             midnight
             madnesse
             would
             requite
          
           
             Thy
             wild
             attention
             with
             as
             much
             delight
             ,
          
           
             And
             breathe
             as
             sweetly
             in
             the
             
               Almighties
            
             eare
          
           
             If
             heart-rejoycing
             
               Charity
            
             be
             not
             there
             :
          
           
             Hadst
             thou
             what
             strength
             the
             
               Parnassean
            
             Muse
          
           
             Can
             blesse
             thy
             fancy
             with
             ,
             or
             heaven
             infuse
             ;
          
           
             Hadst
             thou
             a
             
               Faith
               to
               make
               the
               mountaines
               fly
            
          
           
             In
             the
             vast
             
               Orbe
               ,
            
             like
             Atomes
             in
             thine
             eye
             ;
          
           
             Lesse
             then
             those
             Atomes
             would
             thy
             faith
             appear
             ,
          
           
             If
             faith-confirming
             
               Charity
            
             be
             not
             there
             :
          
           
             Shouldst
             thou
             ,
             to
             purchase
             heaven
             ,
             renounce
             thy
             Right
          
           
             Of
             
               all
               thy
               goods
               ,
            
             and
             turne
             an
             
               Anchorite
               ;
            
          
           
             Or
             should
             thy
             courage
             ,
             to
             deserve
             the
             name
          
           
             Of
             
               Martyr
               ,
            
             give
             thy
             body
             to
             the
             flame
             ,
          
           
           
             When
             that
             blood
             pleads
             ,
             heaven
             will
             not
             lend
             an
             eare
          
           
             If
             heav'n-engaging
             
               Charity
            
             be
             not
             there
             .
          
           
             Since
             then
             ,
             my
             soul
             ,
             both
             Faith
             and
             Works
             lie
             dead
          
           
             If
             
               Charity
            
             fail
             ,
             be
             wise
             ,
             and
             
               cast
               thy
               bread
            
          
           
             
               Upon
               the
               Waters
               ;
            
             As
             the
             Waters
             runne
             
          
           
             Deal
             thou
             thy
             dole
             ,
             untill
             thy
             dole
             be
             done
             .
          
           
             
               Man
               is
               Gods
               Husbandry
               ;
            
             If
             then
             the
             Plough
          
           
             Of
             carefull
             want
             hath
             struck
             the
             furrow'd
             Brow
             ,
          
           
             And
             make
             it
             fit
             for
             seed
             ;
             
               Hold
               not
               thy
               hand
               ;
            
          
           
             He
             robs
             himself
             that
             faintly
             sows
             the
             Land
             :
          
           
             Stay
             not
             for
             showres
             ;
             The
             soile
             ,
             if
             overflowne
             ,
             
          
           
             Will
             drown
             thy
             seed-corn
             ,
             and
             return
             thee
             none
             :
          
           
             Let
             not
             some
             weeds
             discourage
             thee
             to
             sow
             ,
          
           
             The
             Plough
             will
             root
             them
             up
             ;
             or
             if
             they
             grow
          
           
             Too
             sturdy
             for
             the
             Coulters
             point
             to
             kill
             ,
          
           
             Fear
             not
             thy
             harvest
             ;
             A
             hard
             Winter
             will
             .
          
           
             Cast
             not
             lank
             grain
             upon
             too
             lean
             a
             ground
             ,
          
           
             Fair
             Crops
             from
             off
             all
             Corn
             are
             rarely
             found
             .
          
           
             Sow
             closely
             what
             thou
             sow'st
             ,
             and
             least
             in
             sight
             ,
          
           
             The
             eyes
             of
             Doves
             will
             make
             thy
             harvest
             light
             :
          
           
             But
             stay
             !
             Thou
             mayst
             surcharge
             as
             well
             as
             sterve
          
           
             The
             soile
             ;
             But
             wise
             men
             know
             what
             seed
             will
             serve
             :
          
           
             Thy
             work
             thus
             wisely
             done
             ;
             what
             ,
             then
             ,
             remains
             ?
          
           
             Give
             Heav'n
             the
             glory
             ,
             and
             expect
             the
             Gains
             .
          
        
      
       
         
           CAP.
           XII
           .
        
         
           
             1
             The
             Creatour
             is
             to
             be
             remembred
             in
             due
             time
             .
             8
             The
             Preachers
             care
             to
             edifie
             .
             13
             The
             fear
             of
             God
             is
             the
             chief
             Antidote
             of
             vanity
             .
          
        
         
           
             REmember
             thy
             Creator
             in
             thy
             prime
          
           
             Of
             present
             youth
             ,
             before
             the
             black-mouth'd
             time
          
           
           
             Of
             sullen
             age
             approach
             ;
             before
             the
             day
          
           
             Thy
             dying
             pleasures
             find
             a
             dull
             decay
             ;
          
        
         
           
             2.
             
          
           
             Before
             the
             Sun
             ,
             and
             Moon
             ,
             and
             Stars
             appear
          
           
             Dark
             in
             thy
             Microcosmall
             Hemisphear
             ;
          
        
         
           
             3.
             
          
           
             Before
             the
             Clouds
             of
             sorrows
             multitiply
             ,
          
           
             And
             hide
             the
             Chrystall
             of
             the
             gloomy
             sky
             ;
          
           
             Before
             the
             Keepers
             of
             thy
             crazy
             Tow'r
          
           
             Be
             palsie-striken
             ,
             and
             thy
             men
             of
             pow'r
          
           
             Sink
             as
             they
             march
             ,
             and
             grinders
             cease
             to
             grind
          
           
             Distastfull
             bread
             ,
             and
             windows
             are
             grown
             blind
             .
          
        
         
           
             4.
             
          
           
             Then
             shall
             the
             Castles
             two-leafd
             gates
             be
             barr'd
          
           
             When
             as
             the
             Milstones
             language
             is
             not
             heard
             ;
          
           
             The
             horn-mouth
             Belman
             shal
             affright
             thy
             slūbers
             ,
          
           
             Thy
             untun'd
             ear
             shall
             loath
             harmonious
             numbers
             :
          
        
         
           
             5.
             
          
           
             Each
             obvious
             mole-hill
             shall
             encrease
             thy
             fears
             ,
          
           
             And
             carefull
             snow
             shall
             blanch
             thy
             falling
             hairs
             ;
          
           
             A
             fly
             shall
             load
             thy
             shoulders
             :
             Thy
             desire
          
           
             And
             all
             thy
             bed-rid
             passions
             shall
             expire
             .
          
           
             Pale
             death
             's
             at
             hand
             ,
             and
             mourners
             come
             to
             meet
          
           
             Thy
             tear-bedabled
             fun'rals
             in
             the
             street
             .
          
        
         
           
             6.
             
          
           
             Then
             shall
             the
             sinews
             silver
             cord
             be
             los'd
             ,
          
           
             Thy
             brains
             gold
             bowle
             be
             broke
             :
             The
             undispos'd
          
           
             And
             idle
             liver
             's
             fountain
             dri'd
             ;
          
           
             The
             blouds
             Meandring
             Cisterns
             unsuppli'd
             .
          
        
         
           
             7.
             
          
           
             Then
             shall
             the
             dust
             her
             dust
             to
             dust
             deliver
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             spirit
             shall
             return
             to
             God
             the
             Giver
             .
          
        
         
           
             8.
             
          
           
             Whereto
             th'
             Ecclesiastick
             thus
             replies
             ,
          
           
             All
             ,
             all
             is
             vain
             ,
             and
             vainest
             vanities
             .
          
        
         
           
             9.
             
          
           
             Because
             his
             true
             repentant
             soul
             was
             wise
             ,
          
           
             He
             read
             this
             wisdome-lecture
             ,
             did
             advise
          
           
             And
             search
             the
             Fountain
             ,
             whence
             he
             did
             convay
          
           
             The
             fruitfull
             streams
             in
             a
             Proverbiall
             way
             .
          
        
         
           
             10.
             
          
           
             He
             sought
             and
             found
             such
             words
             ,
             which
             had
             the
             might
          
           
             To
             entermingle
             profit
             with
             delight
             ;
          
           
           
             And
             what
             his
             spirit-prompted
             pen
             did
             write
          
           
             Was
             truth
             it self
             ,
             and
             most
             exact
             upright
             .
          
        
         
           
             11.
             
          
           
             The
             wise
             mans
             words
             are
             like
             to
             Goads
             ,
             that
             doe
          
           
             Stir
             up
             the
             drowzy
             ,
             and
             spur
             up
             the
             slow
             :
          
           
             And
             like
             to
             nailes
             to
             be
             made
             fast
             and
             driv'n
          
           
             By
             hands
             to
             th'
             hearts
             of
             men
             sent
             down
             from
             heav'n
             .
          
        
         
           
             12.
             
          
           
             Make
             use
             ,
             my
             Son
             ,
             of
             what
             this
             hand
             hath
             penn'd
             ,
          
           
             There
             is
             no
             end
             of
             Pamphlets
             to
             no
             end
             ;
          
           
             These
             tire
             the
             flesh
             ,
             and
             after
             age
             is
             spent
             ,
          
           
             They
             breathe
             some
             knowledg
             ,
             but
             no
             true
             content
             .
          
        
         
           
             13.
             
          
           
             Mark
             then
             the
             ground
             where
             the
             main
             building
             stands
             ,
          
           
             
               Fear
               thou
               thy
               God
               ,
               Observe
               his
               just
               commands
               .
            
          
           
             Within
             the
             limits
             of
             this
             sacred
             Ground
          
           
             Mans
             duty
             lies
             ;
             true
             Happinesse
             is
             found
             :
          
        
         
           
             14.
             
          
           
             No
             work
             shall
             passe
             untri'd
             :
             No
             hand
             hath
             done
          
           
             What
             shal
             not
             plead
             at
             heav'ns
             Tribunall
             Throne
             :
          
           
             All
             secrets
             good
             and
             bad
             attend
             his
             Eye
             ;
          
           
             His
             Eyes
             behold
             where
             day
             could
             never
             prye
             .
          
        
         
           
             Deus
             his
             quoque
             finem
             .
          
        
         
           
             SOLILOQUIE
             XII
             .
          
           
             NOw
             launch
             ,
             my
             soul
             ,
             into
             this
             Sea
             of
             Tears
             ;
          
           
             Fear
             storms
             and
             Rocks
             ,
             yet
             smile
             upon
             thy
             fears
             ;
          
           
             Weigh
             Anchor
             ;
             Hoist
             thy
             weather-beaten
             Sailes
             ;
          
           
             The
             Tides
             run
             smooth
             ;
             The
             wind
             breaths
             prosp'rous
             Gales
             .
          
           
             Tridented
             
               Neptune
            
             now
             hath
             struck
             a
             peace
          
           
             With
             full-mouth'd
             
               Aeolus
               ,
            
             and
             the
             wars
             surcease
             :
          
           
             They
             sound
             a
             parley
             ,
             and
             begin
             to
             treat
             ,
          
           
             And
             Sea-green
             
               Triton
            
             sounds
             a
             shrill
             Retreat
             .
          
           
           
             March
             now
             ,
             my
             soul
             ,
             through
             
               Hadadrimmons
            
             Vale
          
           
             Without
             a
             tear
             ;
             or
             if
             thou
             must
             bewaile
             ,
          
           
             Mourn
             for
             vain
             Earth
             ,
             and
             drop
             in
             alms
             one
             tear
          
           
             For
             him
             that
             findes
             no
             happinesse
             but
             there
             .
          
           
             Now
             mayst
             thou
             trample
             on
             the
             
               Asp
               ,
            
             and
             tread
          
           
             On
             the
             
               young
               Lyon
               ,
            
             and
             th'
             
               old
               Dragons
            
             head
             ;
          
           
             Wisdome
             shall
             guide
             thee
             ,
             Love
             shall
             circumclose
             thee
             ,
          
           
             That
             fraud
             shall
             not
             beguile
             ,
             or
             force
             oppose
             thee
             .
          
           
             Thy
             Prince
             shall
             honor
             thee
             ,
             thy
             Peers
             embrace
             thee
             ;
          
           
             No
             Crime
             shall
             shame
             thee
             ,
             &
             no
             tongue
             disgrace
             thee
             ;
          
           
             The
             rich
             shall
             rev'rence
             thee
             ,
             the
             poor
             shall
             blesse
             thee
             ;
          
           
             Wrath
             shall
             not
             over-rule
             ,
             nor
             pride
             oppresse
             thee
             ;
          
           
             Thy
             want
             shall
             not
             afflict
             ,
             nor
             wealth
             betray
             thee
             ,
          
           
             This
             shall
             not
             puffe
             thee
             up
             ,
             nor
             chat
             dismay
             thee
             :
          
           
             Pleasure
             shall
             not
             ensnare
             ,
             nor
             pains
             torment
             thee
             ,
          
           
             This
             shall
             not
             make
             thee
             sad
             ,
             nor
             that
             repent
             thee
             .
          
           
             Blest
             shall
             thy
             labours
             be
             ,
             and
             sweet
             thy
             Rest
             ;
          
           
             Blest
             shall
             thy
             thoughts
             be
             ,
             and
             thy
             Actions
             blest
             ;
          
           
             Blest
             in
             thy
             peace
             ,
             and
             blest
             in
             thy
             promotion
             ;
          
           
             Blest
             in
             thy
             sports
             ,
             and
             blest
             in
             thy
             devotion
             ;
          
           
             Blest
             in
             thy
             losses
             ,
             blest
             in
             thy
             encreases
             ;
          
           
             Blest
             in
             thy
             health
             ,
             and
             blest
             in
             thy
             diseases
             ;
          
           
             Blest
             in
             thy
             Knowledge
             ,
             blest
             in
             thy
             Corrections
             ;
          
           
             Blest
             in
             thy
             Soul
             ,
             and
             blest
             in
             thy
             Affections
             .
          
           
             O
             then
             ,
             my
             soul
             ,
             let
             thy
             Affections
             flow
          
           
             In
             streams
             of
             love
             to
             Him
             that
             lov'd
             thee
             so
             ;
          
           
             Let
             not
             His
             high-priz'd
             benefits
             depart
          
           
             From
             thy
             remembrance
             ,
             grave
             them
             in
             thy
             heart
          
           
             With
             Tools
             of
             Adamant
             ,
             that
             they
             may
             last
          
           
             To
             after-times
             ,
             that
             when
             thy
             days
             be
             past
             ,
          
           
             Thy
             well-instructed
             children
             may
             emblaze
          
           
             Thy
             Makers
             goodnesse
             to
             the
             last
             of
             days
             .
          
           
             Blesse
             thou
             the
             Lord
             ,
             my
             soul
             ;
             Let
             thy
             whole
             frame
             ,
          
           
             And
             all
             within
             thee
             magnifie
             that
             name
          
           
           
             That
             blest
             thee
             so
             ;
             Blesse
             thou
             the
             Lord
             ,
             my
             soul
             ,
          
           
             Report
             his
             precious
             favours
             ,
             and
             enroll
          
           
             His
             numerous
             mercies
             in
             thy
             gratefull
             brest
             :
          
           
             
               Remember
               thy
               Creator
               ;
            
             O
             protest
          
           
             His
             praises
             to
             the
             world
             ,
             and
             let
             thy
             tongue
             
          
           
             Make
             him
             the
             subject
             of
             thy
             youthfull
             song
             ;
          
           
             Give
             him
             the
             firstlings
             of
             thy
             strength
             ,
             even
             than
          
           
             When
             fading
             Childehood
             seeks
             to
             ripen
             man
          
           
             Upon
             the
             downy
             cheeks
             ;
             when
             vigour
             trains
          
           
             The
             sparkling
             blood
             through
             thy
             Meandring
             veins
             ;
          
           
             Before
             thy
             flowing
             marrow
             shall
             foment
          
           
             Thy
             lust
             full
             fires
             ;
             before
             the
             false
             content
          
           
             Of
             frothy
             pleasures
             shall
             begin
             t'
             invite
          
           
             Thy
             fond
             Affections
             to
             a
             vain
             delight
             .
          
           
             Then
             ,
             then
             ,
             my
             soul
             ,
             whilst
             thy
             supplies
             are
             fresh
          
           
             And
             strong
             ,
             wage
             war
             with
             thy
             rebellious
             flesh
             ;
          
           
             Gird
             up
             thy
             loyns
             ,
             and
             march
             ,
             spare
             neither
             sweat
          
           
             Nor
             bloud
             ,
             take
             courage
             ,
             strike
             ,
             subdue
             ,
             defeat
             :
          
           
             Sing
             a
             triumphant
             song
             ,
             sing
             
               Io
               Paean
               ;
            
          
           
             Adorn
             thy
             brows
             with
             Palm
             ,
             and
             again
             sing
             
               Io
               Paean
               .
            
          
           
             Take
             time
             while
             time
             shall
             serve
             ;
             't
             is
             thine
             to
             day
             ,
          
           
             But
             secret
             danger
             still
             attends
             delay
             .
          
           
             Doe
             while
             thou
             mayst
             ;
             To
             day
             has
             eagle
             wings
             ,
          
           
             And
             who
             can
             tell
             what
             change
             to
             morrow
             brings
             ?
          
           
             Advantage
             wasts
             ,
             and
             strength
             of
             body
             wears
             ,
          
           
             Life
             has
             no
             lease
             ;
             and
             Youth
             ,
             no
             Tearm
             for
             years
             :
          
           
             When
             creeping
             
               Age
            
             shall
             quench
             thy
             sprightly
             fires
             ,
          
           
             And
             breathe
             cold
             Winter
             on
             thy
             
               chill
               desires
               ,
            
             
          
           
             What
             fire
             shall
             burn
             thy
             Offerings
             ?
             O
             what
             praise
          
           
             Can
             issue
             forth
             from
             cold
             decrepit
             dayes
             ?
          
           
             When
             ebbing
             bloods
             neap-tides
             shall
             strike
             thy
             
               lims
            
             
          
           
             With
             trembling
             Palsies
             ;
             When
             dry
             Age
             bedims
          
           
             The
             
               optick
               sunshine
            
             of
             thy
             bed-rid
             days
             ,
          
           
             What
             boots
             thy
             cold
             ,
             thy
             Paralytick
             praise
             ?
          
           
           
             When
             secret
             Ulcers
             shall
             attaint
             thy
             breath
          
           
             With
             fumes
             more
             noysome
             then
             the
             sinks
             of
             death
             ,
          
           
             What
             pleasure
             shall
             thy
             great
             Creator
             raise
          
           
             From
             thy
             breath
             tainted
             ,
             and
             unsav'ry
             praise
             ?
          
           
             Come
             then
             ,
             my
             soul
             ,
             Rouze
             up
             thy
             dull
             desire
             ,
          
           
             And
             quicken
             thy
             faint
             coals
             of
             sacred
             fire
             ,
          
           
             That
             lie
             rak'd
             up
             in
             th'
             Embers
             of
             thy
             flesh
             ;
          
           
             Fetch
             breath
             from
             heaven
             ,
             &
             with
             that
             breath
             refresh
          
           
             Thy
             glim'ring
             sharks
             :
             Brook
             not
             the
             least
             delay
             ,
          
           
             Embers
             grow
             cold
             ,
             and
             sparks
             will
             soon
             decay
             .
          
           
             THE
             END
             .
          
        
      
    
     
       
         
           In
           obitum
           viri
           clarissimi
           ,
           atque
           ingeniosissimi
           Poëtae
           ,
           Francisci
           Quarles
           ,
           
             {non-Roman}
             {non-Roman}
             {non-Roman}
             {non-Roman}
             {non-Roman}
          
        
         
           
             I
          
           Cygne
           felix
           ,
           ocyùs
           avola
           ,
        
         
           Cantator
           ales
           ,
           cùm
           neque
           jam
           vada
        
         
           Ripis
           supersint
           ,
           nec
           quietae
        
         
           Purus
           aquae
           fluat
           (
           ecce
           !
           )
           rivus
           ;
        
         
           Fontes
           nec
           ipsi
           :
           Sanguine
           ,
           sanguine
        
         
           (
           Heu
           !
           cuncta
           manant
           ;
           quod
           mare
           civicae
        
         
           Non
           decoloravêre
           caedes
           ?
        
         
           Ipsa
           ,
           vides
           ,
           rubet
           Hippocrene
           .
        
         
           Et
           quis
           poëtis
           jam
           locus
           aut
           latex
           ?
        
         
           Quae
           lympha
           Musis
           ?
           cùm
           cruor
           undique
           .
        
         
           Hinc
           ,
           hinc
           migrandum
           ,
           ni
           bibemus
        
         
           Purpureas
           Heliconis
           undas
           .
        
         
           At
           ô
           Camaenarum
           &
           dolor
           &
           decus
           ;
        
         
           Tu
           si
           recedas
           ,
           quis
           tua
           funera
        
         
           Cantabit
           ,
           ô
           divine
           vates
           ?
        
         
           Quo
           moritur
           moriente
           Phoebus
           .
        
         
           Quisquámne
           fundet
           jam
           
             querulum
          
           melos
           ?
        
         
           (
           Falsum
           nec
           omen
           nominis
           hoc
           tui
           ;
           )
        
         
           Moestúmve
           panget
           carmen
           art●
           ,
        
         
           Melpomenes
           citharâ
           canorus
           ?
        
         
         
           Quis
           sertacoelojam
           dabit
           ?
           aut
           pium
        
         
           Emblema
           texet
           floribus
           ingenî
           ?
        
         
           Quis
           symbolorum
           voce
           pictâ
        
         
           Vnà
           oculos
           animúmque
           ,
           pascet
           ?
        
         
           Quis
           melle
           puro
           jam
           ,
           calami
           potens
           ,
        
         
           Condîta
           promet
           dia
           poëmata
           ?
        
         
           Aut
           funditabit
           ,
           grande
           ,
           sacro
        
         
           Enthea
           metra
           calens
           furore
           ?
        
         
           Quis
           sanctitatem
           nectáre
           carminis
        
         
           Tinctam
           propinans
           ,
           digna
           Deo
           canet
           ?
        
         
           Coelúmque
           ,
           versu
           claudet
           omni
           ,
        
         
           Atque
           fidem
           fidibus
           sonabit
           ?
        
         
           Tu
           nempe
           litem
           ,
           si
           pote
           ,
           publicam
        
         
           Compescuisses
           dulcisonis
           modis
           ,
        
         
           Ni
           laeva
           nobis
           mens
           ,
           &
           orbi
        
         
           Harmoniam
           reducem
           dedisses
           .
        
         
           Mollîsse
           magnos
           tu
           poter
           as
           duces
           ,
        
         
           Fer
           as
           ut
           Orpheus
           flexanimis
           sonis
           ;
        
         
           Pacémque
           pulsam
           ,
           júsque
           mundo
           ,
           a●
        
         
           Eurydicen
           retulisse
           cantu
           .
        
         
           Per
           te
           coîssent
           dissita
           pectora
           ,
        
         
           Per
           te
           coîssent
           diruta
           moenia
           :
        
         
           Tu
           solus
           Amphion
           peri●us
        
         
           Vel
           lapides
           sociare
           plectro
           .
        
         
           Postquàm
           hoc
           negatum
           ;
           ponere
           nover
           as
        
         
           Emblema
           saltem
           flebile
           seculi
           ,
        
         
           Bellique
           :
           nostris
           sed
           nec
           ullum
        
         
           Par
           Hieroglyphicum
           ruinis
           .
        
         
           Quando
           ergo
           te
           nec
           terra
           capit
           ,
           tuis
        
         
           Nec
           digna
           Musis
           ;
           I
           ,
           pete
           coelites
           ,
        
         
           Intérque
           coetus
           Angelorum
        
         
           Perpetuum
           modulare
           carmen
           .
        
         
           
             Jacobus
             Duport
             ,
             Graecae
             Linguae
             Professor
             Cantab.
             
          
        
      
       
       
         
           An
           Elegle
           upon
           the
           famous
           Poet
           FRANCIS
           QUARLES
           .
        
         
           
             IS
             
               Quarles
            
             dead
             ?
             his
             active
             spirit
             flown
          
           
             And
             none
             to
             lend
             a
             tear
             ,
             a
             sigh
             ,
             a
             groan
             ,
          
           
             For
             the
             worlds
             losse
             ?
             me thinks
             at
             least
             all
             eyes
          
           
             (
             Since
             tongues
             can
             not
             )
             should
             weep
             large
             Elegies
             .
          
           
             Expect
             no
             Muses
             ;
             for
             they
             at
             his
             death
          
           
             Compassionate
             ,
             lost
             their
             Poetique
             breath
             .
          
           
             Expect
             no
             marble
             Tombe
             ;
             he
             's
             above
             fate
             ;
          
           
             His
             name
             (
             if
             Learning
             live
             )
             shall
             know
             no
             date
             :
          
           
             His
             issue
             shall
             survive
             posterity
             ,
          
           
             This
             age
             and
             th'
             next
             ,
             and
             so
             t'
             eternity
             .
          
           
             Peruse
             his
             
               Phansies
               ,
            
             and
             his
             
               Emblems
            
             wrapt
             ;
          
           
             And
             see
             
               S.
               Paul
            
             into
             the
             third
             heav'ns
             rapt
             :
          
           
             Or
             else
             some
             Cherubim
             sent
             down
             from
             thence
          
           
             T'
             unfold
             heav'ns
             Mysteries
             in
             heav'ns
             Eloquence
             .
          
           
             A
             Poet-saint
             he
             was
             ,
             in
             him
             each
             line
          
           
             Speakes
             out
             at
             large
             rare
             Poet
             ,
             choyce
             Divine
             .
          
           
             His
             message
             done
             ,
             he
             flyes
             unto
             his
             Maker
             ,
          
           
             Of
             what
             he
             told
             us
             here
             ,
             to
             be
             partaker
             .
          
           
             His
             prison'd
             soul
             was
             so
             harmonious
             here
             ;
          
           
             Now
             loose
             ,
             what
             Musick
             ,
             think
             you
             ,
             makes
             she
             there
             !
          
           
             She
             wept
             ,
             then
             sung
             ;
             now
             sung
             ,
             '
             gaine
             wept
             in
             rime
             :
          
           
             Her
             Rests
             now
             know
             no
             stop
             ,
             her
             joy
             no
             time
             .
          
           
             Her
             Phansy
             Vision
             is
             ,
             she
             now
             doth
             live
          
           
             With
             Angels
             food
             ,
             knowledge
             intuitive
             .
          
           
             By
             Emblems
             dark
             to
             spell
             the
             Deity
          
           
             She
             taught
             before
             ,
             now
             sees
             Divinity
             .
          
           
             But
             stay
             my
             Muse
             :
             the
             clouds
             doe
             interpose
          
           
             Twixt
             thee
             and
             her
             ;
             't
             is
             better
             for
             thee
             close
             ,
          
           
             Then
             pierce
             ,
             or
             peep
             too
             farre
             .
             Phoebus
             is
             set
             ;
          
           
             
             Th'hast
             pay'd
             thy
             tribute
             light
             ,
             thy
             tribute
             heat
             ,
          
           
             Sigh
             out
             the
             rest
             :
             or
             wouldst
             thou
             to
             him
             go
             ,
          
           
             Thy
             Love
             ,
             thy
             Life
             ?
             Go
             be
             entombed
             too
             .
          
        
         
           
             R.
             Stable
             .
          
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
      
       
         Notes, typically marginal, from the original text
         
           Notes for div A56841e-320
           
             
               Vide
               Psal.
               31.
               ver.
               7.
               
               &
               20.
               
            
             I
             have
             hated
             them
             that
             hold
             of
             superstitious
             vanities
             :
             and
             my
             trust
             hath
             been
             in
             the
             Lord
             .
          
           
             Let
             the
             lying
             lips
             be
             put
             to
             silence
             :
             which
             cruelly
             ,
             disdainfully
             ,
             and
             despitefully
             speak
             against
             the
             righteous
             .
          
        
         
           Notes for div A56841e-900
           
             Postscript
             .
          
        
         
           Notes for div A56841e-1040
           
             Vers.
             9
             
          
           
             Vers.
             8
             
          
           
             Vers.
             2
             
          
           
             Vers.
             16
             
          
           
             Vers.
             18
             
          
           
             Vers.
             17
             
          
           
             Vers.
             16
             
          
        
         
           Notes for div A56841e-3420
           
             Vers.
             1
             
          
           
             Vers.
             2
             
          
           
             Vers.
             3
             
          
           
             Vers.
             4
             
          
           
             Vers.
             5
             
          
           
             Vers.
             6
             
          
           
             Vers.
             12
             
          
           
             Vers.
             13
             
          
           
             Vers.
             15
             
          
           
             Vers.
             24
             
          
        
         
           Notes for div A56841e-6110
           
             Vers.
             1
             
          
           
             Vers.
             4
             
          
           
             Vers.
             8
             
          
           
             Vers.
             4
             
          
           
             Vers.
             8
             
          
           
             Vers.
             ●●
          
           
             Vers.
             ●●
          
           
             Vers.
             19
             
          
           
             Vers.
             22
             
          
        
         
           Notes for div A56841e-8630
           
             Vers.
             4
             
          
           
             Vers.
             1
             
          
           
             Vers.
             5
             
          
           
             Vers.
             8
             
          
           
             Vers.
             9
             
          
           
             Vers.
             13
             
          
           
             Vers.
             2
             
          
           
             Vers.
             3
             
          
        
         
           Notes for div A56841e-10780
           
             Vers.
             1
             
          
           
             Vers.
             2
             
          
           
             Vers.
             4
             
          
        
         
           Notes for div A56841e-13160
           
             Vers.
             ●
          
           
             Vers.
             2
             
          
           
             Vers.
             3
             
          
           
             Vers.
             5
             
          
           
             Vers.
             7
             
          
        
         
           Notes for div A56841e-15220
           
             Vers.
             1
             
          
           
             Vers.
             2
             
          
           
             Vers.
             3
             
          
           
             Vers.
             8
             
          
           
             Vers.
             10
             
          
           
             Vers.
             11
             
          
           
             Vers.
             12
             
          
           
             Vers.
             14
             
          
           
             Vers.
             25
             
          
           
             Vers.
             29
             
          
        
         
           Notes for div A56841e-18450
           
             Chap.
             1.
             18
             
          
           
             Chap.
             8.
             1.
             
          
        
         
           Notes for div A56841e-20940
           
             Vers.
             2
             
          
           
             Vers.
             8
             
          
           
             Vers.
             9
             
          
           
             Vers.
             10
             
          
        
         
           Notes for div A56841e-23100
           
             Vers.
             1
             
          
           
             Vers.
             2
             
          
           
             Vers.
             4
             
          
           
             Vers.
             4
             
          
           
             Vers.
             6
             
          
           
             Vers.
             17
             
          
        
         
           Notes for div A56841e-25540
           
             Vers.
             1
             
          
           
             Vers.
             6
             
          
        
         
           Notes for div A56841e-27250
           
             Vers.
             6
             
          
           
             Vers.
             3
             
          
           
             Vers.
             2