Passion and Discretion in Youth and Age, Poem 2

Passion and Discretion in Youth and Age · Poem 2

p. 1Paſsion and Diſcretion in Youth and Age.

WHen that arch light, which makes things made appeare, (neare,

Dame natures Nurſe, bright Phoebus doth draw

And from our Clymate, this times guider, Sol

Cals winter backe to the Autarticke Pole:

Then doth our late froſt-bitten regions ſmile,

Our piercing ayre, cold winds and, fruitles ſoyle,

All ſuffer change, yea cheeriſhed by the Sun

All things beneath rejoyce in what is done.

The earth puts on its rich, and ſweet attyre,

Sweete to the ſenſe, and rich to the deſire.

Fiſh in the waters do both ſcip and flote:

Birds in the ayre tune a melodious note;

Beaſts on the earth, yea Nature ſeemes to ſing

By ſignes of joy to well-come in the ſpring.

Now ſhall theſe creatures in ſubjection pent,

Declare ſuch ſignes and tokens of content,

Theſe ſenſles creatures glory in this meaſure,

And in their youth, the ſpring time take ſuch pleaſure?

And ſhall not I, who hitherto lay hid,

Like Natures pow'r, in winter time, as dead?

In this my ſpring time have a cheerefull voyce,

Now in my youth be merry and rejoyce?

p. 2Now, in my veines, my late coole blood runs warme:

My former feeble joynts are now growne firme:

My vitall ſpirits are revivi'd within:

My outward parts to anſwere them begin:

Yea all my pow'rs are quick; my cheekes are glowing:

Where Nature ſetteth its perfection ſhowing.

Now ſhall not I, I ſay, rejoyce? ſure yes;

Contentment cannot be deni'd in this:

Both ſenſe, and reaſon leaves it without blame:

All creatures living do approve the ſame.

Then ſhall I ſo degenerate from kinde,

Or ſwarve from ſenſe, and reaſon in my minde?

Againſt all reaſon, liberty, and truth

As to refuſe the ſweete contents of youth?

No ſure, I feele no ſuch deſire as this,

I will not thus deprive my ſelfe of bliſſe.

Smile then I will upon mine owne deſires,

And yeeld to what my tender heart requires:

Let looſe my thoughts, unbound my appitite,

And feed my fancie upon each delight.

Nature hath now ſet beauty in my face,

And with proportion done my body grace:

Rich gemmes each of them and of vertue rare,

But found united are without compare.

Beauty, its very name doth yeeld delight;

Its matchleſſe nature ſoares a greater height:

Yea reacheth to the heavens, from whence it came:

And is on earth the mirror of the ſame.

Then having this moſt admirable part,

How highly may I value my deſert?

What deepe contentment may I therein take?

And with what favours meet with for its ſake?

p. 3For, although I had nothing elſe to move,

This would perſwade, tis ſeated ſo above,

Yea Conquer when it liſt, for where the tryall

Is made by beauty, who can make deniall?

Againe now Noble Fortitude of minde,

With ſtrength of body to my courage joyn'd,

May make me truly glory in the ſame;

And labour to Eternalize my name,

By valiant enterpriſes for my Prince:

Or deedes of valour in mine owne defence.

Beſides, now learning, knowledge, art, or wit

Are for my apt, and tender yeares moſt fit:

Theſe be aſpiring faculties of praiſe,

Theſe be the pride, and glory of our dayes.

What greater pleaſure can my heart requeſt?

Here may I lift my ſelfe above the reſt,

And ſmiling, wonder at the vulgar ſort,

Whoſe ignorance doth make my wiſedome ſport.

Here may I ſearch the ſecrets of Nature,

And thence, to make mine owne content the greater,

Behold each hidden myſtery that lurkes

In the profundity of Natures workes:

Nay, which is higher, thus I may define,

Things above Nature, heavenly and divine.

But had I not theſe matchleſſe gifts of minde;

Nor yet my parts meere bodily, refin'd.

Yet, having but the gifts of fortune lent me,

But ſtore of wealth, but worldly riches plenty,

What need I care? wealth is the onelyonly thing

Which, unto moſt, doth moſt contentment bring.

Strength, wit, and beauty, learning; art, and ſuch,

Are in their natures to be valu'd much;

p. 4And, of the truely wiſe, are ſo reſpected:

Yet, without wealth, we find them oft neglected,

If not contemned. Strength is counted vaine:

Beauty deceitfull: wit affords no gaine:

Art's little uſefull: Learning's leſſe regarded:

Thus things moſt good, becomes moſt ill rewarded,

And all becauſe the Authours hand doth place them,

Where wealth affords not countenance to grace them.

Oh precious riches, whatſoere men ſay,

Wealth is the chiefeſt earthly god beares ſway:

Concludes moſt caſes, of the wiſe approv'd,

Of moſt deſired, and is beſt belov'd.

All this is true, and yet, for my part, know

I take no care to gaine ſuch riches though:

My ſublime thoughts fly higher, and have wings

Which carry my deſires above ſuch things:

And in my heart I count ſuch doters vaine

As for ſuch trifles doe moleſt their braine,

As earthly riches: which are gain'd with care,

And, being gotten are poſſeſt in feare.

The ſad imployments of ſuch fretting cares

Are much unfitting for my tender yeares;

And quite againſt my nature, which, I finde,

Is unto ſweeter liberty inclin'd.

My Parents they their youthfull time have ſpent,

And in their youth, tooke part of youths content:

But now growne ſtaid, and wanton thoughts ſuppreſt,

More weighty ſtudyes doe become them beſt:

Let them take care for getting gaine; not I:

Their ſaving wiſedome muſt my want ſupply.

The elder for the younger doth provide,

As by a Law in Nature ſtrictly ty'd:

p. 5Eſpeciall the Parent for the Childe.

It is the care of creatures bruite and wilde

To feede and foſter up their young: but then

Much more the care of reaſonable men.

And afterward if I a Parent be,

Ile doe for mine, as Parents doe for me.

Ile then be carefull of theſe outward things:

And ſlip no meanes that ſhow of profit brings:

But count it duty, as it is indeed,

To make proviſion for my tender ſeed.

The meane time Parents will, I hope, be won

To give me lēave to doe as they have done,

To ſeeke to fit my ſelfe unto the time,

And, like to all things, flouriſh in my prime,

Now in my youth be youthfully inclin'd,

With youthfull pleaſures ſatisfie my minde,

And take thoſe freedomes due unto my ſtate;

Youth juſtly pleades its liberties are great.

Which, if my Parents labour to reſtraine,

Injuſtice will appeare therein ſo plaine

That Parents ſhall be pleaſed to give way;

Or I excus'd, if I doe not obey.

Diſcretion.

BUt ſtay, mad Paſſion, whether doſt thou run?

Fond and miſtaken ſenſe, what haſt thou done▪

By what illuſions haſt thou ſhowne thy skill,

To make my reaſon ſubject to my will?

Thy motives and thy Rhetoricke are ſuch,

As may perſwade, and doe perſwade too much:

p. 6But ſoothing Paſſion, whatſoere is paſt,

I now reſolve to anſwer thee at laſt.

All things created doe obſerve their time,

And doe by nature flouriſh in their prime:

From whence thou labourſt to infer for truth,

That I by nature ſhould rejoyce in youth.

All which, in part, I doe acknowledge true,

And Nature ſeemes to challenge it as due,

And therefore may not be deny'd by me,

In ought where ſenſe with reaſon doth agree.

But if my nature would beare all the ſway,

And make my reaſon to my ſenſe obey,

I doe in reaſon no ſuch juſtice ſee,

To let my reaſon ſo ſubjected be.

Beſides, I doe my youthfull nature finde,

So much unto the worlds delights inclin'd,

That my eſtate, in this reſpect, requires

The greateſt care to bridle my deſires.

Then reſtleſſe Paſſion, keepe thy ſelfe retir'd,

I with thy Fury need not be inſpir'd,

Nor will I, if I can the ſame prevent,

I truſt, without thee, to reape beſt content.

Come then, Oh! come then, be advis'd by reaſon,

Mine owne deare ſelfe, this is the onelyonly ſeaſon.

The fruitfull earth doth afterward make knowne

What ſeed was in it in the Spring time ſowne.

The ſtocke, with what tis grafted in the Spring,

Such fruite doth forth for ever after bring.

And with what ſcent the veſſell firſt is fild,

The ſavour of it is not ſoone expeld.

Such is thy apt and youthfull nature; know,

What now is ſowne in thee is like to grow:

p. 7What habite now is got will prove the ſtrongeſt:

What cuſtome now is learn'd, will laſt the longeſt.

And therefore it doth now concerne thee, ſure,

To have moſt care to keepe thy ſelfe ſecure,

To ſeeke content where reaſon doth admit,

To ſettle thy deſires in what is fit,

That thou hereafter maiſt not cry, in vaine,

I learn'd what now I would unlearne againe.

Thou then, my ſelfe, whoſe ſafety is mine owne,

And favour mine, that unto thee is ſhowne,

As thou haſt a reſpect unto Diſcretion,

I doe adviſe thee to be ware of Paſſion,

And labour to diſcover thoſe deceites,

Whoſe gall lyes hidden in moſt pleaſant baites:

Yea though moſt neare and deare unto thee, ſeated

In thine owne boſome, let them be defeated.

If thine owne heart, which is to the moſt deare,

Would fall in love with any creature here,

Before thou dar'ſt to render thy conſent,

Thou muſt take heed there be no danger in't.

Or if that any more inferiour part

Of body, or of mind, would plead deſert,

As if they were ſome excellence allow'd;

Which vainely might induce thee to be proud:

Here it behooves thee to have ſpeciall care,

To arme thy ſelfe againſt this inbred ſnare,

This boſome brat, which will not be excluded;

That by thy ſelfe, thou be'ſt not ſelfe-deluded.

It (as in Youth it often comes to paſſe)

Thy wanton eye, views beauty in thy glaſſe,

Whoſe beames, reflecting, would thy thoughts inflame

With any admiration of the ſame,

p. 8Truſt not thine eye, nor yet thy glaſſe too farre,

They both deceitfull, both uncertaine are.

But ſay thy beauty be the ſame indeed

That it appeares, yea though it doth exceed,

Yet weigh the honey of it with the gall,

And thou ſhalt ſee the vantage of it ſmall.

It gaines much ſavour, and is moſt alluring:

Tis true, but favour gain'd by its procuring,

Is ſometimes ſuch as yeelds a preſent friend,

But ſeldome chaſte, and conſtant to the end:

For looke as beauty fades and weares away,

So doth ſuch friendſhip vaniſh and decay.

It tis alluring, tis indeed, but how?

To that which modeſt vertue doth allow?

Sure no, the nature of it doth intice,

In humaine faces, rather unto vice.

Againe, tis beauty that doth beare the praiſe,

And oft doth unto much preferment raiſe.

Indeed tis ſo; upon the ſudden oft

It from the dunghill, doth draw up a loft.

But what this Sun-ſhine doth exhale, like raine,

Falls, for the moſt part, in a cloud againe.

And for the praiſe and vertue on't, ſuſpition

So often brings the truth of it in queſtion,

That all the comfort which doth in it lye,

As it appeares, is but to feed the eye,

Whiles it doth gliſter, whiles it doth indure,

Which every little ſhaddow doth obſcure.

But if thou wouldſt give beauty an excuſe,

Then of thy beauty ſtrive to make this uſe

That as thy Youthfull face is faire, as cleere

Thy vertues may unto the world appeare,

p. 9That ſo thy face, this outward grace aſſign'd,

May ſhew the inward beauties of thy mind.

Or haſt thou ſtrength, and in thy boſome glowing

A reſolution of thy courage ſhowing?

This is in youth ſo farre from being blam'd,

That it deſerveth rather to be fam'd,

Provided ſtill that reaſon be thy guide

In thy attempts to have thy manhood tryd.

What lively youth with noble courage fraught?

To Martiall feats and Deſcipling well taught?

It doth deſerve the higheſt commendation,

It is the pride, and ſafety of a Nation:

Nay, which is more, where Mars is thus obey'd,

It makes the very enemy afraid.

All this may be admitted, this I grant:

But all this gives thee no ſuch cauſe to vant,

Mine owne fraile fleſh, yea fraile and weake indeed,

As to preſume, or boſt on ſuch a reed,

On ſuch a tottering, ſuch a feeble ſtay,

And which remaines ſo ſubject to decay,

That the moſt ſilly creature can be thought

May in a moment bring thy ſtrength to nought.

Or art indu'd with any other part,

Which would induce to boaſt of thy deſert?

As wit, as knowledge, learning, Art, or ſuch,

Theſe are indeed, to be eſteemed much:

Yea theſe ſame pow'rs and faculties of minde,

I do confeſſe are of the higheſt kinde,

And do deſerve the higheſt commendation:

Yet theſe remaine ſo ſubject unto paſſion,

That theſe, in many, do become moſt vaine,

Where pow'r is wanting paſſion to reſtraine:

p. 10And ſo much lifts up their conceits therein

That they almoſt forget that they are men.

This, mine owne ſelfe, too often comes to paſſe,

Men are deluded, looking in this glaſſe:

Then let not this, which ſhould be all thy ſtay,

From thine owne ſelfe thus ſteale thy ſelfe away.

But rather as, the further thou doſt learne,

The further ſtill thou doſt thy wants deſcerne;

So from the ſight of what thou haſt not gain'd,

All pride of what thou haſt may be reſtrayn'd.

Or haſt thou wealth, which makes the greateſt boaſt,

And is the onelyonly thing deſir'd of moſt;

And that full oft whoſe radient golden rayes

Makes Youth appeare ſo glorious in our dayes.

Haſt thou, I ſay, this worlds deluding grace?

Which hath almoſt thurſt vertue out of place:

Yet let it of no ſuch dominion be,

No ſuch effect, mine owne deare heart, in thee.

What though thou haſt the meanes, which is thy gold,

To make thee to be wanton, vaine, and bold?

Yet Nature in thy face ſits ſo demure,

That modeſtie becomes thee better ſure.

What though thou peradventure, mayſt deſpence,

Thy ſtat's ſo great, with any ſmall offence?

Yet do not ſo offend, though not for feare,

Yet for the love thou doſt to vertue beare:

For vertue in thy breſt now ſeene to blome

Will fore-tell friuts of fame in time to come.

Yea what although thy wealth were of that worth

That it could yeeld thee all delights on earth?

Yet wiſedome would adviſe thee to take heed,

For moderations ſake, not to exceed:

p. 11For to be moderate will grace thee more,

In this thy youth, then all thy earthly ſtore:

And in thy pleaſures yeeld thee that content

Which groſſe exceſſe could never taſt of in't.

Beſides exceſſe in any thing's unfit,

Though, otherwiſe, men do the thing admit:

Then what mayſt thou expect ſhall be thy gaine,

If thou exceedſt in any thing is vaine?

As, for the moſt part, all the pleaſures here

Are, as abus'd, hows'ever they appeare:

How much ſo ever they mens taſtes delight,

How beautifull ſo ever to mens ſight,

Or what content ſo ever they pretend,

They are both vaine, and failing in the end.

This is moſt true; though youth may anſwer no;

But aske old age and it will ſay tis ſo,

Well grounded age, whoſe horry head is fraught

With much experience many yeares have taught.

And therefore ſurely mine owne ſelfe, tis meet,

Though youthfull pleaſures for a time be ſweet,

That thou doeſt alwayes labour to fore-ſee,

What may the iſſue of thy pleaſures be.

That when the pleaſures of thy youth be paſt,

Repentance brings not ſorrow at the laſt,

And makes thee in thy age confeſſe this truth,

Moſt idle are the fond delights of youth.

Paſsion.

BUt muſt I be thus heedfull, thus preciſe?

Thus in my youth ſet age before my eyes?

p. 12And through that pale-fac'd object thus be brought?

To ſpend my youthfull dayes in carefull thought?

As if my yeares no pleaſure were allow'd,

Or that my Fate were ſhaddow'd by a cloud,

From whence my fortunes moſt obſcure became,

And I borne onelyonly to bewaile the ſame.

Is this my wofull bondage? ſurely no,

I may take greater liberty then ſo;

Youth may be youthfull, tis in reaſon fit,

Both Law and Nature doth give way to it:

Then wherefore ſhould I thus my ſelfe debar

Thoſe youthfull pleaſures thus admitted are?

Be Metamorphis'd thus, in youth turne old,

In heate of Nature, dry, and dull, and cold?

Beſides example the contrary teacheth,

And through the world the practice of it preacheth:

Youth doth enjoy delights in greateſt meaſure,

And is beſides moſt capable of pleaſure:

And through the fitneſſe of its nature known,

Delights in youth are to a cuſtome grown;

Which cuſtome is become the onelyonly praiſe

Of youthfull yeares, in theſe our wanton dayes.

And therefore he that keepes himſelfe retyr'd,

And ſhuns thoſe merriments of youth deſir'd,

The world accounts him but a home-bred ſcrub,

One crept out of Diogenes his tub:

Or one whoſe ingenuitie is ſmall,

His wit as little, breeding none at all;

And thereupon doth hold him in ſuch ſcorne

As if that he were ſuch a Monſter borne

As were to nurſing nature a diſgrace,

And to the world a blemiſh in his place.

p. 13This is the cenſure which the world doth give

Of youth which moſt diſconſolately live,

As, knowing their defects, to hide the ſame,

They keepe themſelves from company for ſhame.

Now were it wiſedome in me do you thinke,

Whiles I may ſafely float a loft, to ſinke?

Whiles I may ſwimme in pleaſure and in joy,

To drowne my ſelfe in ſorrow and annoy?

No, doubtleſſe, this were vaine in me indeed,

To take ſuch thought in youth were more than need:

To vexe my ſelfe I need not go about,

For ſorrowes will come faſt enough without,

I in my way ſhall meet with griefe and woe,

Although I ſeeke not for them as I goe.

Beſides tis certaine, if I live till age,

I then muſt change my tyre upon the ſtage,

And act the part of ſorrow, in deſpight

Of all my former pleaſure and delight.

Tis thus deare ſelfe, what anſwer doſt thou make?

I now, or never muſt my pleaſure take:

Reſolve me therefore, make the meaning plaine,

Shall I abandon all delights as vaine?

Shall I no more be raveſh'd with delight

In courting beauty dreſt in red, and white?

Muſt I forſake all recreations paſt,

My hawkes, my hounds, my muſicke, and the reſt?

And, which is moſt, unto the pleaſant crew

Of my companions muſt I ſay adiue?

Shun all the ſweete ſociety of men,

Hannting with beaſts, ſome ſolitary den:

And, like a carefull object of deſpaire,

In ſtead of ſcarlet, clod my ſelfe in haire?

p. 14What ſayſt thou? tell me, muſt I? mine own heart,

Become thus chang'd thus alter'd in each part?

Me thinks I feele thee troubl'd in my breſt,

As if theſe motions did diſturbe thy reſt;

And heare thee ſounding in my liſtening eare,

What need I thus conſume my ſelfe with care,

And looſe all pleaſure and content of minde

By curbing my affections in this kinde?

Old winter may be ſare, and weeping ſeene,

But let the Spring delightfull be and greene:

So gray heads may from gravity have grace;

But pleaſant ſmiles adorne a youthfull face.

What though in age, if I attaine to it,

I muſt be grave, I muſt be merry yet?

There is a time for mourning, and for laughter,

Mirth now befits, and mourning beſt hereafter.

Nor neede I, living, as men dying may,

Fare-well to all the worlds contentments ſay,

No this were cruell, wonderfull amiſſe,

To put my life to ſuch a death as this.

And therefore let not theſe conceits diſquiet thee,

Mine owne deare heart, I will not thus affright thee,

Not thus with night conclude thy day at noone,

Alas, not yet, tis yet by oddes to ſoone:

No, thou ſhalt have dominion in me ſtill,

My freedome's greateſt when thou haſt thy will.

And you thoſe pleaſures, which are my delight,

I will not cut off our acquaintance quite,

Nor of your comforts make too much delay,

But take my pleaſure in you whiles I may.

Nor ſhall you my companions be forſaken,

With whom I have ſo often pleaſure taken,

p. 15I will not ſo your company refraine,

But that we may be merry once againe:

For though ſome earth-worme, which hath neither braine,

Nor part of man, accounts our meetings vaine,

Yet, for the moſt part, all men that have ſpirit,

Or are of any breeding, wit, or merit,

Do often our ſociety frequent,

And therein take much pleaſure and content.

And is not this a fitting practiſe then

Which is in ſuch great eſtimate with men?

Yes, out of queſtion, my Companions deare,

There is no greater comfort for us here,

No race more pleaſant vnderneath the Sun

Then this for youth, eſpecially, to run.

Diſcretion in Youth.

Fraile fleſh what meanſt thou, why art in this paſſion?

How art become deluded in this faſhion?

But wherefore ſhould I queſtion in this kind

When tis thy nature to be thus inclin'd?

Yea, mine owne fleſh, I know thy nature's ſuch

As doth delight in wanton pleaſure much:

Thy fond affections now are in their pride,

And ſenſe moſt ſtriving to be ſatisfi'd.

Beſides, the worlds example I confeſſe,

Is in this kinde predominate no leſſe:

Which forces in rebellion joyn'd, what Daw

Is ſound of force to keepe ſuch foes in awe?

What Conqueſt more unlikely to be had?

What combat more diſconſolate and ſad?

p. 16Then ſtriving to ſuch ememies ſubvert

As are moſt neere and deare unto the heart?

And thou deare ſelfe, whom I would not delude,

To gaine a kingdome, though the way were ſhew'd:

Whats'ever in thee nature would excuſe;

Or cuſtome would occaſion thee to uſe,

I tell thee, if thou wilt not go aſide,

Then muſt not ſenſe, but reaſon be thy guide:

And reaſon will direct thee in thy way,

And call thee backe when ſenſe would go aſtray:

And cloſſely whiſper, Nature got a ſtaine,

And ever ſince became corrupt and vaine.

That howſoever natures face be cleere,

And may be thought the ſame it doth appeare:

Yet nature inwardly is much defil'd,

Prov'd an imperfect, or abortive child,

Or to ſpeake truly, if we ſo may conſtur,

Is from a perfect creature turnd a monſter;

Ever producing thoſe effects in men

Which once by nature never could have beene.

And therefore if thou doſt ſit ſtill or idle

Thou doſt let ſenſe or nature have the bridle,

No doubt but they will carry thee with force,

Will hurry thy affections out of courſe,

And proffer thee a thouſand pleaſures; ſuch,

Like Sodoms fruit, as vaniſh with a touch;

Or being taſted, like the Bee, doth bring,

After the honey, a tormenting ſting.

Theſe are the bitter, ſweet contentments, found

Which, for the moſt part, Nature doth propound,

To ſuch as do affect it beſt of all,

Sweete to the taſte, but in the ſtomacke gall.

p. 17See then, deare ſelfe, what Nature is indeed,

That of thy nature ſo thou mayſt take heed:

It once was pure, but now tis nothing ſuch;

It hath ſome honey, but more gall by much.

Now if thou haſt the wiſdome, as tis meet,

To leave the bitter, and receive the ſweet,

To taſte the honey, and the ſting avoid;

To take thoſe pleaſures which may be injoy'd,

And leave the other which forbidden be,

Then happy art thou in a high degree.

But, mine owne heart, this is a worke of wonder,

The ſweet and ſower are hard to put aſunder,

There muſt much force and violence be ſhowne

To part thoſe have ſo long together growne:

Thy nature will be what it hath beene ſtill,

Unleſſe thou doſt rebellion in it kill,

And conquer thoſe affections in thy minde,

To which by nature thou art moſt inclin'd,

And ſo thy ſelfe within thy ſelfe ſubdue,

Which is as hard as making of thee new.

Oh victory of victories the bliſſe!

All conqueſts elſe are nothing unto this:

To win a City, overcome in field,

Force armies of thy enemyes to yeeld,

To ſubdue Nations, gaine a triple Crowne,

Yea win the world and all the worlds renowne,

Alas tis ſmall, tis vaine, tis fading, tuſh,

Tis, in reſpect of this, not worth a ruſh.

This may ſeeme harſh unto thee, I confeſſe,

Now in thy Youth, as tis indeed no leſſe:

Now when in Nature thou ſhouldſt moſt delight,

Thus againſt nature to contend and fight:

p. 18But this muſt now thy combat be and care,

If thou hereafter wilt the Garland weare,

If thou wilt be a valiant Champion held,

Thou now muſt make theſe enemies to yeeld,

Now in thy ſtrength theſe foes of thine ſubdue,

Which will more courage in thy weakneſſe ſhew:

Then arme thy ſelfe, reſolve to ſee it done

Now in thy youth, tis not a whit too ſoone.

What though the world account this wiſedome vain?

And its young fondlings hold it in diſdaine,

Becauſe it tendeth onelyonly to debarre

The world thoſe joyes its chiefe contentments are?

Yet thou muſt know the world doth erre in this,

And ſenſe is ſubject to conceive amiſſe,

And therefore thou muſt not thy ſelfe referre

Unto their cenſure if thou wilt not erre.

The worlds fond minions may deride thy wayes,

What though they do? their ſcandall is thy praiſe,

And unto good and wiſe men will declare

Thy ſober carriage, and thy Chriſtian care,

Who, rather that thou wouldſt paſſe bounds or meaſure,

Wouldſt thus expoſe thy ſelfe to their diſpleaſure.

Beſides, how ſo'ver ſenſeleſſe youths conclude

To love that beſt which doth them moſt delude,

To priſe thoſe pleaſures at the higheſt rate

Which ſooneſt both conſumes them, end their ſtate:

Yet, for the moſt part, ſuch as flouriſh moſt,

And of their folly makes the greateſt boaſt,

(So long as nature gives their bodies force,

And Fortune meanes to follow on their courſe)

Theſe, finding in them natures force decaying,

Or Fortune failing, or, at leaſt, delaying,

p. 19Theſe men, of all, become moſt held in ſcorne,

As men deboyſt, or out of faſhion worne:

Men point at them, and in diriſion hiſſe,

Is all their ſtate, and pleaſure come to this?

Theſe are the fruits goodfellowſhip affoords:

With other bitter and diſdainefull words.

See then deare ſelfe, the iſſue of exceſſe,

That in thy ſelfe thou mayſt the ſame expreſſe,

That thou hereafter be'ſt not forc'd to grant,

Moſt vainly did I waſt, what now I want:

Unhappy man, I counted counſell vaine,

But now my pride's requited with diſdaine:

My deareſt friends did ſorrow for my part,

But now my ſelfe do juſtly feele the ſmart:

Thus, mine owne heart, it often comes about,

With headſtrong youth it fals thus hardly out.

Then, though the idle cenſure of our daies,

To youth moſt wanton gives the greateſt praiſe,

Yet ſith thou ſee'ſt their pleaſures are but vaine,

Whiles men enjoy them whiles they do remaine:

Which out of queſtion, cannot long be had,

But quickly vaniſh, and their end is bad:

What needſt thou at thine owne condition grutch?

Or thinke their vaine felicity too much?

Their pleaſures are but ſhaddowes of delight,

Their day but a fore-runner of their night,

Their ſun ſhine doth but ſignifie a ſtorme,

Their ſoundeſt joy but a deceiving charme.

Then let not theſe deluding ſhews betray thee,

Nor yet the cenſure of the world diſmay thee:

The proffers of the one are not to truſt;

The ſcandall of the other is unjuſt:

p. 20And therefore, ſurely, neither of them fit

To be thy guide, though they may teach thee wit.

Come then, deare ſelfe, forſake theſe ſhadows meere,

And let ſome ſubſtance give direction here,

Let Reaſon now give anſwer in thy Youth;

That is, indeed, an Oracle of Truth:

That will not wrong thy tender yeares for gaine:

Nor count thy care of moderation vaine:

But rather tell thee it adornes thee beſt,

Thou canſt not in a richer tyre be dreſt:

Nor for thy Young and tender age more meet:

For moderation is a vertue ſweet,

Wherein doth fully lye confin'd and pent

All the rich treaſures of allowd content.

But that which doth in any kind exceed

Is, doubtleſſe vaine, becauſe tis more than need.

Paſsion.

GOod and wiſe counſell, tis, indeed, and fit

For men of age and gravity: but yet

For me, which am but in my Youth, and weake,

How can I doe, what others can but ſpeake?

Thus of my freedome to become debar'd,

Which is a taske for older men too hard.

Severeſt Stoickes, Paſſion moſt refraining,

Cato and Plato, pleaſures moſt reſtraining,

Theſe in their youth were youthfull, though, grown old

Theſe, out of envy, muſt have youth contrould.

And ſhould I ſeeke (as very few have done)

To Canonize my ſelfe a Saint ſo ſoone,

p. 21I ſhould be fitter, as it doth appeare,

By ten degrees, to live in heav'n, then here.

Here men are men, and muſt be ſo inclin'd,

Or elſe they doe degenerate from kind:

And, if I meane to build upon this frame,

I muſt conforme my ſelfe unto the ſame:

I muſt not ſadly ſit alone and ſleepe,

When other Youth doe pleaſant revells keepe.

Beſides, now Nature doth moſt ſweetly move,

With moſt delight, to be belov'd, and love;

Affection now is powerfull in my breſt,

It ſets before me undetermin'd reſt;

Shewes me a creature in whoſe face doth ſhine

Moſt rare perfections, morall, and Divine:

And will not leave me till I give conſent

To gaine this object of ſuch deep content.

And ſhall I goe about to quench this flame,

To daſh theſe fortunes ere I taſte the ſame?

And looſe this Price, this infinite of treaſure,

By being ſad, which might be gain'd by pleaſure?

Or ſhall I be ſo ignorantly wiſe,

My love, with ſhewes of hatred to diſguiſe?

And what I moſt deſire, thinke beſt to gaine

By fooliſh fained tokens of diſdaine:

And thereupon, as with deſpaire poſſeſt,

Refuſe all meanes that proffer my requeſt:

As if my fortunes warranted the ſame,

But I refuſe, as one deboyſt, for ſhame?

Or when that I with merriment ſhould wooe,

Shall I then ſigh, and ſay what ſhall I doe?

And, when the opportunity is gone,

Then bind my ſelfe to ſadly live alone:

p. 22And do my penance for my ouerſight

In ſome dejected ſilly habit dyte:

As, if that ſhews of miſery thus great,

Might move my love to pitty my eſtate:

Were this a ſubtile pollicy in me?

Were this a practiſe fit for my degree?

No, ſurely no, this were but a conceite,

Theſe have no ſubſtance theſe are of no weight;

Such cold weake motions are not like to move

Within the ardent glowing breſt of love.

But, if I would enjoy my love as wone,

Which in my youth is fitteſt to be done:

I muſt take all occaſions that conduce

Unto that happy, heart contenting, uſe;

And proſecure the ſame without delay,

In ſpight of greateſt danger in the way.

I muſt be free and generous of minde,

I muſt be unto youths delights inclin'd,

I muſt be ever jovell with the reſt,

I muſt be in a compleat habit dreſt,

And fit my ſelfe to fed my loves deſire,

Not onelyonly in my talke, but my attire;

For whatſoever's inwardly, ye know,

It is the outſide that doth make the ſhow.

And as affection by the eye is bred,

So, for the moſt part, by the eye tis fed;

From whence its flames are ever the more cleare,

The fairer that its object doth appeare:

For this is certaine love hath moſt delight

On faireſt flowers to feed its appitite.

Then farewell all ſeverity, as cruell,

Which in my heat of love would quench this fuell,

p. 23And through preciſeneſſe, keepe me ſo confind,

To looſe my love, the treaſure of my minde.

I ſee, and ſmile to ſee, my love begin

To ſmile on me: may I not ſmile therein?

Come then deare love this kindneſſe pleads deſert,

This courteſie incourageth my heart,

Yea though thou ſhouldſt no other paſſage ope,

This ſhould alone give maintenance to hope.

Henceforth I vow my ſervice to thee then;

And, whatſoever formerly hath beene,

To do thee a pleaſure now ſhall be my care,

Thy livery for colours I ſhall weare;

And looke what faſhion ſhall content thee beſt

That will I alwayes weare above the reſt.

If my proportion anſwer not thy will,

My Taylor ſhall amend it by his skill:

Or if that cannot thy diſpleaſure ſcape,

Then Protus like, Ile ſeeke to change my ſhape,

And be created, or be form'd a new,

If not in ſubſtance, yet at leaſt in ſhew;

Yea, ſo my love may take delight in me,

I care not what it coſt, nor what I be.

Some fooles may count this my affection vaine,

But I muſt hold their malice in diſdaine:

My deareſt friends may worke upon my minde,

In hope to make it otherwiſe inclin'd;

Yea urge, and threat the greateſt puniſhment,

Yea ſeeke with teares to alter my intent:

Yet all their water cannot quench this fire,

But rather ſerves to kindle more deſire,

For true affection yeelds ſo fierce a flame,

Reſiſtance proves but bellowes to the ſame.

p. 24Diſcretion.

OH groſſe rebellion! how doſt thou breake out?

What fearefull treach'ry doſt thou goe about?

What heinous and intollerable treaſon

Againſt thy Prince and lawfull Soveraigne reaſon?

Deare ſelfe, what art thou ſubject to ſuch error?

To give moſt honour to the moſt inferiour?

To let thoſe parts meere ſenſitive beare ſway,

Which ſhould to reaſons juſt commands obey.

Thy reaſon is deluded by thy ſenſe,

And ſo thy judgement proves corrupted thence,

Which makes thee to thinke beſt of that condition

Which is moſt pleaſing to thy diſpoſition.

Thus far meere beaſts and ſavage creatures goe,

They are as ſtayd, and moderate as ſo:

They, which of reaſon wholly are deny'd,

And have but onelyonly appetite for guide.

But thou muſt paſſe the ſavage creatures guiſe,

Becauſe indu'd with reaſons faculties;

Or elſe the beaſt, without theſe powers of mind,

May be preferd before thee in his kind.

Yea, mine owne heart, which doſt by reaſon ſcan,

Thou muſt by reaſon ſhew thy ſelfe a man,

And alwayes unto reaſon yeeld ſubjection

Both in thy underſtanding, and affection.

Beſides, thy youth is ſubject to obey

Affection, which in youth will run aſtray,

And therefore thou muſt uſe the greateſt ayd

Now in thy Youth to keepe affection ſtayd.

p. 25But here I doe not goe about to prove

That thou in Youth ſhouldſt diſalow of love,

So it be lawfull, but the thing admit,

As in thy Youth moſt abſolutely fit:

For love in Youth united, proves moſt pure,

And is, againe, moſt likely to indure:

Beſides, it ſerves to ſettle the deſire,

Which otherwiſe Youth could not ſo retire.

What then? deare ſelfe, why this muſt be thy care

Not ſo much when to place thy love, as where;

Not ſo much ſway'd by ſenſuall delight,

To rule thy reaſon by thy appetite.

Thou ſeeſt affection fetters like a chaine,

It plac'd, is hard to be diſplac'd againe,

And, like the ſeale which leaves the print behind,

It makes a deepe impreſſion in the mind.

And therefore, doubtleſſe, it behooves thee much

That in thy Youth thy providence be ſuch,

That thou hereafter doſt not find this true,

I had my will, but willfulneſſe I rue:

Yea, be reſolved, mine owne tender heart,

Youth which are wilfull often feele this ſmart.

And therefore be, deare ſelfe, herein diſcerning,

Let others ſad experience give thee warning:

Be well advis'd, ſtay thy affections, ponder,

And, for a while, let reaſon keepe them under.

What, art thou to confirme a league in love?

Which, once confirmed, muſt not then remove,

But, like thoſe lawes unchangeable, abides

Till death, the parties joyned thus, divides:

Art thou to doe this weighty thing, indeed?

Sure it requires the dilligenteſt heed,

p. 26The deepeſt meditation, and the beſt,

Becauſe the chiefeſt thing of all the reſt:

For if thy choyce be bad, thy joyes are done,

If otherwiſe, they are but then begun:

For in thy choyce conſiſteth peace, or ſtrife,

In it remaines the iſſues of thy life:

For that whereto thou now thy ſelfe doſt binde,

That is the portion thou muſt looke to find.

Tis ſo, deare ſelfe, then ere this knot be ty'd,

Conſider well, let counſell be thy guide;

Such can inſtruct thee, beſt directions frame

As have had juſt experience of the ſame.

But above all theſe, thou muſt have reſpect

Unto the way thy Parents doe direct,

For their conſent, and bleſſing in this thing

Doth, with their owne, Gods bleſſing alſo bring:

And where the Parents fit conſent is miſſing,

There, for the moſt part, God affords no bleſſing.

This is a rule in generall moſt fit,

And thou in duty muſt acknowledge it.

But yet there are ſome Parents in this kind,

Which are ſo much unto the earth inclind,

That, if their children will not have their blame,

They muſt, like them, be marryed to the ſame;

For earth, and earthly things is all their ayme.

Thoſe are the onelyonly heritage they clayme:

Without the leaſt regard of what is fit,

Either in vertue, breeding, ſhape, or wit.

Now ſuch as theſe, which onelyonly doe belay

To, baſely, mould their children up in clay,

And thinke them then in heav'n, when they, poore ſoules

In earth poſſeſt, ly ſcrambling, like moules.

p. 27Such men as theſe muſt not be too unkind

Although their children beare a better mind.

Nor are their children to be blam'd, although

They, ſtead of duty, doe their wiſdome ſhow,

And rather follow reaſon for their guide,

Than duty, which would lead them thus aſide:

This freedome may in modeſty be us'd,

And, upon ſuch neceſſity excus'd.

But, my deare ſelfe, make thou not this a ſnare,

Upon this freedome, caſt not off all care;

But to thy parents willingly incline,

So far as reaſon doth with duty joyne.

But above all things aym'd at in thy choyce,

Let vertue pleaſe thee, make thee moſt rejoyce,

For vertue herein muſt be valu'd higher,

Than either Parents, or thine owne deſire.

Parents are to be reverenc'd, as due;

Riches may be reſpected too, tis true:

Good breeding's to be honour'd in election:

And beauty ſeemeth to command affection.

Yet beauty, riches, breeding, or good birth,

All, without vertue, are but little worth.

And though theſe outward things cannot be had,

If vertue may, the choyce cannot be bad.

Beſides, if in thy choyce thou haſt the grace

To ayme at vertue in the chiefeſt place,

Then needſt thou uſe no apiſh imitation

In thy attire, by following the faſhion:

Deviſing fondly to new forme each part:

As if thy skill exceed Natures art.

No, theſe are fruitleſſe, and accounted vaine

Within that breſt where vertue doth remaine;

p. 28And rather ſerves thy weakeneſſe to diſcover,

Then any way delight a vertuous Lover.

To be thus fond or vaine in this condition,

Doth but ingender, or beget ſuſpicion,

Becauſe immodeſty in the attire

Doth note immoderation in deſire,

Imports a want of wit, and doth impart

A ſhrewd preſumption of a wanton heart:

That all ſuch fondneſſe, or as vaine expence,

Are loſt, where vertue hath its reſidence;

For vertue ſtoups to no ſuch baites as they,

But ſoares a pitch is far above ſuch prey.

Like as the precious Diamond, which but

By Diamond, or nothing, can be cut.

So love, in vertues breſt, will take no print

But onelyonly that which vertue doth indent.

That vertue is the onelyonly way to wooe,

And eke to win, where vertue hath to doe.

Let vertue then be firſt thine owne, and ſure

Thou ſhalt prevaile, where vertuē doth indure:

For like to like, moſt willingly incline;

And vertues met, moſt readily doe joyne:

Which joyn'd, what tongue is able to expreſſe

The joy ſuch vertuous boſomes doe poſſeſſe:

No change can turne their honey into gall,

Becauſe that vertuē makes good uſe of all;

Reſembling much, though in a lower kind,

The heavenly higheſt marriage of the mind.

p. 29Paſſion.

VVHat ſtrange harſh ſtrictnes is here urged ſtill?

As if that Love could be confin'd at will:

My love is ſettl'd, where I hope to finde

Thoſe vertues which are pleaſing to my minde.

Shall Parents then, whoſe ſight is not ſo cleare

To ſee the Truth before it doth appeare,

Condemne my choyce, as wonderfull to blame,

Before they know the tryall of the ſame?

Deare friends, I know you wiſh me not amiſſe:

But you may erre as well as I in this.

In this my choyce may bleſſings hidden lye,

Which deepeſt inſight cannot yet deſcry.

And that ſame choyce which you account the beſt,

May prove, perhaps, the worſt of all the reſt:

For, whatſoever the appearance ſhew'th,

It tis the tryall manifeſts the truth.

Beſides, what reaſon can that choyce admit

Where love doth want, though otherwiſe moſt fit?

For my part nothing ever ſhall me move

To joyne in marriage, where I cannot love.

Deare Parents then remaine content I pray,

And unto this my choyce in love give way,

Let not ſuppoſed dangers make you dread,

I truſt your feares are greater than they need,

But why doe I thus vainely ſpend my wind

To invocate my parents in this kind?

When as I ſee, they will not give conſent,

But are againſt me obſtinately bent.

p. 30Is this their love to anſwer my requeſt?

Or elſe their care to keepe my body chaſt?

Muſt I my deepe affection fixt remove,

Or loſe my portion, with my Parents love?

Unhappy creature, cruell is my fate,

Moſt comfortleſſe, moſt deſperate my ſtate:

What ſorrowes are ſufficient to declare

The deſtiny that falls unto my ſhare?

But what will ſorrow eaſe me of this woe?

Or be a meanes to change my fortunes? no,

To adde, unto my ſad condition, griefe

Can not in any kind afford reliefe,

But rather ſerves to aggravate the ſmart,

Which hath already ſeas'd upon my heart.

Then farewell care and ſorrow in this caſe:

I will ſeeke merry company for eaſe,

I will unto ſome Taverne now repaire,

And ſeeke for eaſe of Melancholly there:

For there no doubt, I ſhall occaſion finde

To drive theſe cares and ſorrowes-from my minde:

Yea take ſome merry humour on me, rather

Then fondly prove dejected altogether.

The Humoriſt.

Come then, well met, mine one Companion, ſtay,

Thy company will drive all dumps away:

My humor's croſt; but come, that ſeate is thine,

By this good rogue mine Hoſt: here's excellent wine.

His Companion.

Beleeve me ſir, I cannot ſtay, for haſt

Doth call me hence; and yet at your requeſt,

Ile taſte your wine, becauſe it gives delight.

Hu.

Well, doe, and tell me if it be not right.

p. 31Co.

I marry ſir, beleeve me this is he,

You have ſome judgement now indeed, I ſee.

Hu.

I ſaith tis good, but pry thee ſit thee ſtill,

And taſte it well, and tell me then thy skill:

Here's to thee once againe, and by this bowle,

Unto a friend of thine, a dainty ſoule:

And this ſame ſwad mine Hoſt ſhall pledg't I ſweare.

Co.

Why come ſir then, proteſt I doe not care,

Ile ſtay a while: and here's this cup of wine

To you mine Hoſt, and to a friend of mine,

The Hoſt.

To me good ſir? I thank you for your love,

And I ſhall pledge you ere I doe remove.

And yet you Gallants, ſhall I tell you plaine?

This ſacke, did ſo intoxicate my braine

The other night, it made its ſinews cracke:

And yet ſome ſay it doth aſſiſt the backe.

But I can fetch what ſhall its fury choke;

I have a pipe of the moſt precious ſmoke

All Europe yeelds: And ſir, my ſervice now

In this ſame cup I repreſent to you.

Hu.

To me, thou monſter and true Cerberus breed,

Why here's a dainty damned rogue indeed:

Well th'art a beagle for the chaſe, no doubt,

And, were I at a loſſe, couldſt find it out.

Now harke, I pry-thee, twere a pretty jeaſt,

To fox this horſon horny-headed beaſt,

And call my Hoſteſſe; for I ſee the elfe

Could gladly make a cookcold of himſelfe.

Co.

Good faith it ſeemes he car'd not for a ſtraine,

Provided with a pox, it brought in gaine:

But hang't, me thought as I this Hoſtes view'd,

She look'd as if ſhe had beene lately ſtew'd.

p. 32Hu.

Oh out upon her hackney whore, damnation,

Her breath is fit to breed the Viſitation,

Ile ſee her damn'd ere I. But now I thinke,

By happy fortune on't, before I drinke,

Ile drinke a health, and with my trueſt heart,

Ev'n from the very middle of this quart,

Unto a friend a favourite of mine,

So ſweet a creature, beautifull, divine.

No woman living with more vertues grac'd,

So courteous, kind, ſo conſtant, and too chaſt:

And, by this light ſir, prythee let me cravethee,

Thou ſhalt receive this honour'd health, He have thee:

Here's to thee, with my cap upon the ground:

Ah, this ſame licker keepes my inwards ſound:

Come drawer quicke, come empty this ſame quart.

And, Dicke, ſome ſmoke, come forth thou knave, where art?

Ho.

Here ſir, oh pardon, I was buſi'd much;

But here's a pipe this Land hath little ſuch.

Hu.

This Land, thou prat'ſt, thou mightſt have gone to Rome

And fetch't it ſince; but Dicke let's taſte it come.

Ah, dicke my villaine, this is of the prime,

Ile take thy word, my boy, another time.

Co.

Beleeve me ſir, this ſmoke is not to lack,

Hu.

No faith, tis good, but here's thy pinte of ſack,

By Phoebus light, thou ſhalt not ſay me no,

Come pry-thee tak't and pledge this health, why ſo:

This cookcold, coſſet, I ſhould ſay, my dicke

Shall have it too: tis well ſir, drawer quicke,

Another quart, this ſmoke requires ſome licker:

Here dicke, here's that will make thy braines the quicker,

Tis all thine owne, yea every drop I ſweare.

Ho.

Who I ſir? no, beſeech you now forbeare,

p. 33What will you make me loſe my wits indeed?

Hu.

Foole, loſe thy wits? tis true, thou haſt much need

To ſtand at this, when ten times this a day

Is but thy dyet; come turn't of, I ſay,

Proteſt thou ſhalt, whats'ere thou doſt reply.

Ho.

Proteſt I cannot ſir: and yet Ile try.

Hu.

See here, I pray, this Porpus could not drinke,

And yet had this ſame pinte beene three, I thinke,

His throate would hardly have beene ſatisfy'd:

But drawer quicke, we'le have theſe wants ſupply'd.

But ſirra change this cup, Ile no more take

Such bowles as theſe, they make my braines to ake.

Co.

Sir, you and I are herein well agreed,

For I am weary of theſe bowles indeed:

But if it pleaſe you, and you meane to ſtay,

Let's reſt a while, or ſpend ſome time in play.

Hu.

Content, mine Hoſt haſt thou a paire of dice?

To try a chance in friendſhip is no vice:

And yet I have no mind unto theſe bones,

They did ſo anger, and delude me once.

Co.

Good faith, ſir, now I thinke upon the ſame,

The other day, by chance, I ſaw a game

Upon the cards, which did delight me more

Than any game I ever ſaw before,

It was, me thought, ſo pretty a conceit:

But what you pleaſe, the matter's of no weight.

Hu.

At cards, or dice, I never purchas'd gaine,

But cards are counted baſeſt of the twaine:

And therefore whither I doe win, or loſe

I make the dice the inſtruments I chooſe,

Ho.

Here ſir, here's dice; and yet I ſhould be loth,

But that I know your patient natures both.

p. 34Co.

Come, feare not man, there ſhall no anger be,

Tis not theſe dice ſhall make us diſagree:

And yet me thinkes they prettily begin;

But, tuſh, tis not for both at once to win.

Ho.

Good faith, ſir, I commend your reſolution,

The dice, no doubt, will make you reſtitution:

I ſee tis not for love of gaine you play,

But rather ſo to drive the time away.

Co.

Mine Hoſt tis true, for my part, I proteſt,

That let the dice run which way they thinke beſt.

Hu.

Fore heav'ns, I thinke, tis I muſt take the care

To ſtay the dice, unleſſe they ran more ſquare:

Beſides, you ſcramble up the dice ſo faſt,

You will not give me leave to ſee my caſt:

I thinke you need not ſhaddow what is throwne,

My chance is not ſo lucky when tis knowne:

Well, ſure the dice are falſe, or elſe in chanted,

Or, I that throw them by ſome witch am haunted;

Or elſe they could not prove ſo much accurſt,

That every chance ſhould prove thus at the worſt.

Ho.

Have patience, Maſter, reſt content a while;

The dice will turne, and frowning fortune ſmile:

Expect the beſt, and let your anger fall,

The end, I truſt, will make a meanes for all.

Hu.

The end? thou aſſe, haſt thou ſo little wit

To thinke theſe dealings, or theſe dice are fit?

Ile burne them if they doe no better runne,

And then for ſweare ſuch gameſters, and have done.

Co.

Such gameſters, ſir, ſuch words as thoſe I ſcorn,

I wrong'd you not an ace I may be ſworne;

And herein if you doe ſuppoſe I lye,

Tis you that doe the wrong, ſir, and not I:

p. 35I thought you had beene temperate before,

But ſince you ſay ſo much Ile play no more.

Hu.

What, have you got my money in this way,

And now will offer not to hold me play?

Co.

Fore heav'ns I care not, uſe your greateſt skill,

You ſhall not make me play againſt my will.

Ho.

In wrath, what meane you Gentlemen I pray?

Such old acquaintance and fall out at play?

You ſhall not Gallants, come be patient now;

Ile ſpend my quart of Sacke to ſee you throw:

Runne Drawer, Maſters it doth vex my heart

That friends from my houſe ſhould in anger part:

Here Noble ſir, this quart I doe preſent

Upon condition you ſhall be content.

Hu.

Come Richard come, thy thetoricke is ſuch,

To yeeld to thee, who living can thinke much?

Well ſir, when you and I ſhall meet agen;

Youle give me leave to try my fortunes then?

Co.

Sir, heavens forbid that I ſhould ſay you nay,

Or ſeeke to doe you any wrong at play.

Hu.

So then, here ſir: but, ere we doe begin,

Whoſe love ſhall we commemorate herein?

Proteſt a ſpeciall friends of thine and mine,

That Ladyes which would have us ſtay and dine:

And ſir, youle pledge this health I dare be bold.

Co.

Ile try my braines, if that my guts will hold,

But that Ile pledge that heavenly creature ſure,

What puniſhment ſoever I endure.

Hu.

Ah, how this Nectar vivifies my heart,

And addes freſh courage unto every part.

Now what man underneath the Coopes of Heaven

Will anſwer me upon occaſion given?

p. 36Mars, here I ſtand, who dares except at this?

But ſir, before my heart, you doe amiſſe,

You did not drinke ſo much as I, I ſee.

Co.

Sir, but I did though; you miſtaken be.

Hu.

Who, I miſtaken? by the devill no:

Come take your due, you ſhall not gull me ſo.

Co.

I did you right, and Ile not be your gull.

Hu.

Tis falſe, proteſt, you did not drink't ſo full.

Co.

Proteſt tis falſe, whats'ere you doe reply.

Hu.

Why then, it ſeemes, you will be ſworne I lye?

What lye? thou ſlave, give me the lye? away.

Co.

What you will ſtab, yes ſtab y'had beſt; but ſtay

Ho.

Oh, heav'ns my maſters, what d'ye meane? in ſpight?

Beſeech you be content, what friends & fight?

Regard your reputations more, forbeare,

Ile part you, come, you ſhall not fight I ſweare.

Hu.

Who, thou? thou aſſe, thou ſlave, away ſtand by;

Ile be reveng'd, a ſlave, give me the lye?

Sdeath, is he gone? what art thou ſuch an aſſe,

Or ſuch a knave to let the cheater paſſe?

If that I live Ile be reveng'd by hell:

The meane time this ſhall teach me wit: farewell.

Ho.

What, are you angry, and will ſo begone?

You have ſmall reaſon for the ſame, or none.

But there's a reckoning left for you to pay,

Before you part, or elſe your horſe ſhall ſtay;

I meane not to be thus abus'd, my friend,

And loſe my reckoning by you in the end:

I tooke you to be better rul'd: and ſo

I doe intend to make you ere you goe.

p. 37Diſcretion.

SEe here, deare ſelfe, yea I beſeech thee ſee

What the hard happes of wilfull children be;

Who will not parents wholſome rules obey,

How juſtly heav'ns doe ſuffer them to ſtray,

And leave them to the force of diſpoſition

Who did refuſe moſt gentle admonition:

As if affections lawes were better farre

Then either reaſons rules, or duties are.

But mine owne heart, thou muſt not thus conclude,

Such grounds are falſe, and propoſitions rude:

For duties fruite is bleſſedneſſe inſuing:

But diſobedience fore-tells death, or ruine;

Ruine, indeed, the worſt we can relate,

As of all goodneſſe, body, and eſtate:

As doth appeare by the precedent part,

Where buitiſh Paſſion is deſcrib'd by art.

Whoſe rude deſcription ſuch abuſe declares

As is offencive to all modeſt eares:

Such impudence, as I, deare ſelfe, indeed,

Both ſhake to write, and am aſham'd to read.

And therefore never ſhould have beene indented,

To foule my pen; nor yet by me invented,

But that, deare ſelfe, my onelyonly purpoſe here

In making of theſe Paſſions thus appeare,

Is thereby to detaine thee from the ſame,

Which, thus fore-ſeen, thou mayſt forbeare for ſhame.

Leaſt, failing in theſe Paſſions thus made knowne,

Thine owne hand writing be againſt thee ſhowne:

p. 38Which would be ſhame as great as the abuſe,

And ſerve to leave thee without all excuſe.

In which reſpect, the chaſteſt eare, I hope,

Will both excuſe my purpoſe, and my ſcope.

Know then, deare ſelfe, thou doſt thy ſelfe expoſe

Both to the ſight, and cenſure of thy foes:

Thou therefore now muſt be exceeding wary

That in this nature thou doſt not miſcarry:

For if thou doſt, the eyes of other men,

Will be thy cruell over-ſeers then.

But haſt thou but that meaſure of Diſcretion

So wiſely to unmaske this drunken Paſſion,

As to diſcerne it as it is indeed,

With ſober eyes, ſevillity and heed,

It will appeare ſo odious in thy ſight,

So moſt inhumane, ſuch a monſter right,

That ev'n the very ſhape of it, I truſt,

Will make thee to abhorre it as unjuſt:

To loath and ſhun it as thou doſt the devill;

Becauſe, like him, tis abſolutely evill.

Beſides, deare ſelfe, the ruine, ſhame and care,

Which are the fruites that drunkenneſſe doth beare;

May juſtly move thee to deteſt the thing

Which in concluſion, doth confuſion bring.

Firſt, it confounds the Legacy of fate,

Conſumes and undoes men in their eſtate;

Moves them to venture their poſſeſſions large,

And drinke downe all remembrance of the charge:

Then hazard all their moveables to ſinke,

Or ſuffer Ship-wracke in a Sea of drinke:

And heedleſſe creatures, when thus run aſhore,

Remaine deboyſt, dejected men, and poore.

p. 39Next it conſumes the credit and good name,

Brings a reproach full ſcandall on the ſame.

Diſgraceth birth, good breeding, learning, wit;

Or whatſoever otherwiſe is fit.

Beſides, as tis an enemy to wealth,

So, in the body it decayes the health,

Confounds the ſenſes, and corrupts the breath,

Brings foule diſeaſes, and untimely death.

But laſtly, that which moſt deludes the heart,

It doth confound the underſtanding part,

Benummes the powers and faculties of minde,

Which, in this ſtrange infatuated kinde,

Remaine as dead; and man becomes a beaſt,

Or worſe, or in a worſe eſtate at leaſt.

God, of all creatures, hath made man the beſt;

Man makes himſelfe the worſt of all the reſt.

God hath given man abillities Divine:

Man doth become more ſenſleſſe than the ſwine:

God in the forming man hath perfect been:

Man will undoe what God hath done therein.

For what is man, thus ſtupifi'd in braine,

But a meere lumpe of ſenſleſſe Earth againe?

Deare ſelfe, obſerve this iſſues from exceſſe,

Theſe are th'effects of ſavage drunkenneſſe.

But here I goe not any way about

To bring thy ſober liberty in doubt,

All friendly meetings and ſociety

With ſuch as have a care of piety,

But hold it fit, and of it doe approve

As a great meanes to breed good will and love:

And ſure it may (though by abuſe attended)

In its owne nature, juſtly be commended.

p. 40But here lyes that which doth undoe us ſtill,

That which, deare ſelfe, converts our good to ill;

God in his mercy having daign'd to give us

Innumerable good things to releeve us;

We out of weakeneſſe, either quite refuſe them,

Or in the uſing of them quite abuſe them:

Which moſt prepoſt'rous cuſtome to ſuppreſſe,

Let love and friendſhip be without exceſſe.

Paſsion in Age.

FOnd man what meant I? what was in my minde?

When I was Youthfull how was I inclind?

I then was heedleſſe, ignorant, and nice,

And counted care of worldly gaine a vice:

Youths chiefe contentments, vaine delights & pleaſure

Were all I ſought for, they were then my treaſure.

I held them muck wormes, and in much diſdaine,

That did not value pleaſure above gaine:

I felt no ſorrow then for what I ſpent,

Becauſe it purchas'd that which gave content.

But now I ſee my errour in the ſame,

How fooliſh I was, and how farre to blame,

How wanton pleaſure did delude my minde,

And wrought upon my weakneſſe in this kinde.

How many opportunities moſt fit,

Which both advice, and reaſon did admit,

Of gaine or profit did I then neglect,

Without all care in any ſuch reſpect?

p. 41This was my folly, and is now my croſſe,

Becauſe I now have feeling of my loſſe,

And vaine expence: But were I young againe

I would, I thinke, not be ſo mad, or vaine,

I would not be ſo idle in expence

To feed meere fancy or unbridl'd ſenſe:

Nor ſhould the mirth where mad companions meet,

Nor all the Syrens ſugred charmes as ſweet,

Nor whatſoever pleaſure elſe as bad,

Yeeld me delight, where gaine might not be had.

For gaine is that which is to be regarded:

Alas, how is the laviſh foole rewarded?

That takes moſt paines to waſte away his ſtate,

That buyes his pleaſures at the deereſt rate,

And ſpends his meanes to purchaſe friends of thoſe

Which, when his meanes is ſpent, become his foes;

And flout and jeere him in deriſion baſe,

Behind his backe, if not before his face:

Beſides the want this novice falls into,

Which is the greateſt miſery or woe.

This is the height of youthfull vanities,

Though, in my youth, I thought it otherwiſe:

How was my tender reaſon then in thrall?

But, what is paſt I cannot now recall.

Well, let that paſſe; the time that is behind,

I will, I hope, be of another minde,

Tis time to make uſe of the time remaines,

Come then invention, let us beat our braines

What ſtretching gainefull ſtratagems are beſt?

Direct me, for it is no time to reſt;

Nor muſt I ſtand at ſcruples in the way,

Nor yet regard what idle people ſay.

p. 42Come, I have money, that ſhall out to uſe,

What though ſome count that practice an abuſe?

They are miſtaken ſure, or they be ſuch

As doe, through want, forbeare to doe aſmuch;

For I account him more preciſe then fit

That makes a doubt, of that which Lawes admit;

But let them herein doubt that will, for me,

If I make any, all my doubt ſhall be,

Leaſt my ſecurity ſhould doubtfull prove,

I need in this no other ſcruple move.

But to be ſure, I know a peece of land

Which will be ſold, that's in a ſpend thrifts hand,

If I had that in pawne I were ſecure,

For that is ſuch a pawne as will indure:

How ſhall I take this novice in a ſnare?

But, tuſh, my gold will tempt him theres no feare:

For though he cannot prize it as he ought,

Yet he, I know, to ſuch a ſtraite is brought

That he muſt needes be bold with ſuch as lend,

And, at his need now, if I ſtand his friend,

And ſeeke to him, till I aſſured be

His land is ſure, he then ſhall ſeeke to me.

But this ſuffice not, I have money more,

And every quarter will increaſe my ſtore.

Now ſome, I ſee, doe mightily increaſe

By making happy ventures on the Seas;

Whoſe profit, I confeſſe, I doe approve,

But yet their venture, that I doe not love:

I am not to my wealth ſoill inclind,

To truſt it to the mercy of the wind,

I like not that. But rather all my drift

(As that, ſome ſay,'s a ſpeciall way of thrift)

p. 43Is at ſome Mannor, Lordſhip, or to buy

Some office where much benefit doth lye;

Now ſuch a purchaſe were to ſome effect,

Would both increaſe my wealth, and gaine reſpect.

But if I purpoſe ſuch a thing, indeed,

I muſt uſe great, and circumſpecteſt heed

To walke a ſparing and a ſaving way

That ſo I may provide for ſuch a day.

The meane time then, the money comes to me

Shall, in the meane time, out ingendring be:

Such things, whats'ever, as I have to ſell,

I meane to keepe, or put them off full well:

Yea though my garner, or my barnes be fir'd,

With the increaſe my fruitfull crops doe yeeld,

Before Ile ſell it at an under rate,

That way to make away with my eſtate;

Ile thraſh my corne, and hide it in the ground,

(Whereas it ſhall not readily be ſound)

And buy the corne I ſpend, as a device

To helpe to raiſe and aggravate the price,

Ere Ile be bound to feed the ſtinking poore

At ſuch a reckoning with my precious ſtore.

Nor need I, for my corne, ere long, no doubt,

Will beare a price, and then Ile bring it out

When it is at the height, and, if they will,

Then let the poore revile, or uſe their skill,

Tis not the cry, nor curſe of ſuch a vaine,

Or foule mouth'd crew ſhall make me ſlip my gaine.

Then next, becauſe Ide haſten my intents,

There is no ſhift but I muſt raiſe my Rents,

And ſuch as be my Tenants too, muſt beare

Thoſe rates and duties, they would make my ſhare:

p. 44What though their charge be great, and times be bad?

The Rent I could on other men have had,

And can have yet, and ſome thing elſe to drinke,

And therefore I doe uſe them well, I thinke:

And they have no juſt reaſon to complaine:

But if they doe, tis labour but in vaine,

For though I take their money, as tis fit,

I am not bound to maintaine them for it.

Beſides, I now muſt ſpare a little more

Of what I ſpent within my houſe before,

Two meales a day muſt now ſuffice, and ſuch

As Nature doth require, and not too much.

I doe commend of Wheat, but now, inſtead,

Both Rye, and Barley, they will make good Bread,

Yea good enough for ſervants: and the poore,

I truſt my dogge ſhall keepe them from my doore.

Ile waſte no money now to buy new cloathes,

New faſhions they are things an old man loathes;

My old cloathes of antiquity can boaſt,

And therefore ſure to be reſpected moſt,

And, for my body, Ile refuſe no paines,

But toyle and labour all day long for gaines,

And when tis night, and others reſt doe take,

I then will exerciſe my braine awake,

And lye and ſweetly ponder and deviſe

Some gainefull exerciſe againſt I riſe,

For me, and mine, that by this meanes I may

Make benefit of both the night, and day.

Theſe meditations give me ſuch content,

I grutch my ſleepe that would the ſame prevent.

Then what ſhall herein hinder my deſire?

I can imagine no contentment higher:

p. 45And therefore this ſhall be my higheſt pitch,

OnelyOnly to toyle, and ſtudy to be rich,

And this I will endeavour to expreſſe:

Though with my tongue, I doe not it confeſſe.

But if I muſt, for tender Natures ſake,

Some further uſe of Recreation make,

My Liberary to my view preſents

The ſweet fruition of moſt choyce contents:

There I have certaine ſtatute Bookes at hand,

Where I may view the Tenours of my Land:

There I have juſt Arethmatickes to count

Unto what ſummes my uſuries amount:

And eke an Affamerides, which may

Shew me my other commings in each day.

And there to pleaſure me, I may behold

My bonds, and bills, my ſilver, and my gold;

Which Jewels if I ſhould but feele, I thinke,

It would refreſh me more than meate and drinke.

Diſcretion in Age.

DEare ſelfe, what art thou all inclin'd to earth?

Is nothing elſe in thy account of worth?

Or, at the leaſtwiſe, nothing elſe that may

Here upon earth, be valu'd with this clay?

Earth is, indeed, the matter of thy frame,

And thou muſt ſure, againe unto the ſame;

For things Created naturally run,

Into thoſe elements where they begun)

This cannot be deny'd: that in this kind

Thou mayſt be ſomething to the earth inclin'd.

p. 46Yea neereneſſe, and affinity is ſuch,

As ſeemes by nature to require as much:

And reaſon of affection doth admit.

Where neere aliance doth the ſame beget.

Beſides, a frugall providence in thee

Doth both with reaſon and thy yeares agree:

All ages, yea and all eſtates ſtand need

To have this carefull Providence and heed;

As that whereon depends, as doth appeare,

Next under God, their onelyonly ſafety here.

And ſuch as doe neglect this duty great,

And idly ſpend their time, or their eſtate,

They are to be condemned as unjuſt,

And no fit Stewards to be put in truſt,

They are to thoſe depend on them a curſe,

But are by oddes unto themſelves a worſe:

Good men account them baſe above the reſt,

And God, He doth them moſt of all deteſt:

This is the iſſue, or the ill effect

Which ſtill attends this Prodigall neglect.

Deare ſelfe, tis ſo; but let not this excuſe,

Let not this collour of a lawfull uſe

Of getting goods, or earthly treaſure ſlight,

Make that thy onelyonly practice, and delight,

And to that gaine become ſo much addicted

That gaine farre greater ſhall become neglected.

I tell thee wealth is very much, inclin'd

Both to ſeduce and ſteale away the minde,

And if thou doſt but unto it incline,

It will poſſeſſe thee totally in fine,

And in thy boſome beare ſuch ſway, that grace,

And tender-hearted vertue muſt give place.

p. 47Which Mammon in thee to this monſter growne,

Thou ſhalt remaine no longer then thine owne,

But live a ſervile ſervitude and groſſe

Under this Monſter, Mammon, earthly droſſe.

For as men doe of fire, and water ſay,

They are good ſervants when they doe obey:

But if they come to get the upper hand;

Are cruell Maſters where they doe command.

So goods, and care of worldly gaine, confin'd

Within thoſe limits reaſon hath injoyn'd,

Are very good: but if they doe exceed,

And yet the upper hand, for want of heed,

They then will grow outragious, and will play

The Tyrant in thee, making thee obey:

Torment thy minde, with endleſſe care oppreſt,

And waſt thy body, giving it no reſt.

For wealth, like wine in excellence exceedes,

If thou canſt take no more thereof then need,

And will afford much comfort and delight,

But take too much and 'twill confound thee quite,

Or ſo beſot thy underſtanding part,

That it will make thee drunken at the heart.

For as to adde more water to the ſorce,

Doth make it run but with the greater force:

Or as to put more fuell to the flame,

Doth but increaſe or more inrage the ſame.

So fondly ſeeking to alay this fire,

Or ſcorching thirſt of gaine in the deſire,

By adding wealth, to wealth poſſeſt before,

Doth but increaſe deſire of wealth the more:

For riches in them, naturally riſing,

Have onelyonly power attractive, not ſufficing:

p. 48That tis not all the wealth thou canſt require,

Can ſatisfie a covetous deſire.

Nay, know thou mayſt in worldly wealth excell,

As it is fain'd of Tantalus in hell,

Who, though in water ſtands up to the chin,

And ſcorch'd with thirſt, yet cannot drinke therein.

So thou, I ſay, in worldly wealth may'ſt ſwim,

And yet not have the power to taſte, like him,

One drop of comfort in the ſame; nay know

Thou mayſt have riches to thy overthrow

And meere deſtruction, when thy riches ſhall

Become thy joy, thy maſter, God and all.

This is, deare ſelfe, a certainety indeed,

Men hungers ſtill that doe on riches feed,

For feeding thus doth appitite beget,

The more men feed the more they hunger yet,

Then doe not thou endeavour thus to fill

So foule a monſter as will hunger ſtill,

Or rather be the further to ſuffice,

The more it ſwallowes: No, be thou more wiſe,

And ſhew thy underſtanding by thy care,

Or manly courage to avoyd this ſnare,

Which for a colour, or excuſe pretends

Thy ſafety on the uſe of it depends,

Beſides, deare ſelfe, where Avarice takes place,

It is a deadly enemy to grace:

It roots out vertue, and is much inclin'd

To ſmother all good motions in the minde:

It baniſheth all pitty from the doore,

And is a cruell foe unto the poore:

It counteth men of charity unwiſe,

And ſuch as are religious, too preciſe,

p. 49And all things underneath the Sun but vaine,

But onelyonly ſuch as doe afford ſome gaine

Yea, the preſumption of this god is great,

This Mammon ſeeketh to uſurpe the ſeate

Of God himſelfe, in that he doth aſpire

To take the chiefeſt place in mans deſire.

But mine owne heart give God the chiefeſt place,

For earthly Mammon is a monſter baſe,

And ſuch as be the ſervants of that beaſt

Their ſervitude is baſe above the reſt.

Beſides, deare ſelfe, thy fading yeares are ſuch

As in this, Nature may perſwade thee much;

Thy Age doth plead by arguments full ſtrong

That thou muſt leave theſe earthly things ere long:

Thou muſt forſake thoſe Lands thou haſt in hold,

Thy ſtately buildings, and thy pretious gold,

And ſtript of all ere long; thy biding have

Amongſt the dead within the ſilent grave.

Thy powers of minde already doe decay,

And Nature 'gins to take its force away:

Which being ſo, as ſo it is, deare ſelfe,

Why ſhouldſt thou be in love with earthly pelfe?

Which thou ſo ſoone art certaine to forſake;

And when tis gone, thy reckoning is to make,

When thou for aide haſt greateſt uſe, then ſhall

Thy flattering riches flee, and leave thee all.

This is a truth moſt certainely concluded,

Then be not with this fruiteleſſe wealth deluded:

But ſeeke thoſe riches that will never ruſt,

Nor ever faile thee, being put in truſt;

Let vertue be the treaſure of thy minde,

Be unto heav'n and heavenly things inclin'd,

p. 50For thoſe are riches which will helpe at need,

When as thou haſt moſt uſe for helpe indeed,

Thoſe in the end will ſtand in thy defence,

And in the meane time, ere thou doſt go hence,

Will yeeld thee joy and comfort in thy breſt,

And will beſides, become thy wiſdome beſt:

For vertue will thy wiſdome beſt expreſſe,

And eke thy age it doth require no leſſe,

Thy yeares are ſuch as juſtly doe require

Thou ſhouldſt be heavenly now in thy deſire,

Contemning earth, and earthly things as vaine,

And ſuch, with which thou canſt not long remaine,

But muſt be ſever'd: and the day inſues

When thou ſhalt all ſuch comforters refuſe,

As meerely fruitleſſe: when one little graine

Of heavenly grace, or everlaſting gaine

Will doe more good, and yeeld thee more content

Than all the World is able to preſent.

Deare ſelfe, forſake this earth then in deſire,

Raiſe thy affections elevate them higher,

And fixe them where they need not thus remove,

On the Eternall treaſures are above:

That ſo thy ſecret conſcience may have reſt,

And comfort from thoſe vertues in thy breſt:

And others, which ſhall ſee the ſame (as fit)

Shall give much honour both to thee, and it:

And, by thy ſage, and good example mov'd,

Thy vertues ſhall in them become belov'd;

And thou become a teacher, as, in truth,

The aged ſhould in vertue be to Youth.

p. 51Paſſion.

HEaven, and things Heav'nly, it muſt be confeſt,

Are above all things infinitely beſt,

And ſo I doe account them in my minde;

And ſo, I truſt, I ſhall them one day finde,

When I ſhall ſtand in need of them at laſt,

When all my earthly comforts ſhall be paſt.

But in the meane time whiles I have my ſtay

Here upon earth, where earthly things beare ſway,

And in the world have got ſo much command

That worldly wealth hath got the upper hand.

What madneſſe were it, might you thinke, in me

If of this treaſure I ſhould careleſſe be?

Or count the ſame a thing of little worth,

Which is the gaine accounted of on earth:

And onelyonly ſuch as doe injoy the ſame

Are counted men of eſtimate and fame.

Alas, what were it for my credit here?

Though I in gifts of Nature ſhould appeare

Moſt perfect; adding unto Nature, Art,

And learning, to illuſterate each part?

Yet were I poore and wanted Riches, tuſh,

All my perfections were not worth a ruſh:

Nor would within the worlds account take place,

My poverty would give them ſuch diſgrace.

Nay, were I moved in another kind,

With grace and vertue to adorne my mind,

To be Religious, zealouſly affected,

And unto heaven, and heavenly things addicted.

p. 52Yet were I poore and wanted earthly gaine,

All my Religion would be counted vaine,

And I, with my endeavours, thus ſhould paſſe

Under the cenſure of diſſembling aſſe,

Or under titles of contempt as much,

As idle, factious, ignorant, or ſuch.

But, otherwiſe, were I of birth moſt baſe;

And of good breeding never knew the place,

Were I deform'd in body, ſame, or blind;

And were as much defective in my minde,

Had neither grace, humanity, nor wit,

Nor any other faculty were fit:

But were in ſpeeches; and behaviour rude,

And in my practiſe moſt deboyſt and lewd;

A foe to vertue, and to boſomes chaſte

A tempter ſworne, or enemy profeſs'd;

A monſter, or as meere a drunken ſot

As ever Bachus bred, or drunke a pot:

And unto theſe did reſolution adde,

To make all others that I could, as bad.

Yet, notwithſtanding all this ſhowne, and more,

Had I but wealth, but earthly riches ſtore,

The ſweete poſſeſſion of revenues great,

Which might give honour unto my eſtate:

The world it durſt not taxe me then with blame,

But rather yeeld me reverence and fame,

At leaſt that reputation and reſpect

Which worldly wealth, or nothing could effect:

For greateſt riches ſeeke the higheſt place,

Aſpires to honour, and expels diſgrace.

Beſides, example dayly makes it cleere,

What freedome tis to be a rich man here,

p. 53What priviledges waite upon him ſtill

To feed his fancy, or ſuffice his will:

What kinde of earthly comfort can he crave,

That may be had, which here he may not have?

If honour be the thing he doth deſire,

Tis wealth, or nothing, that muſt raiſe him higher:

For honour doth on worldly wealth depend,

And as wealth riſeth, honour doth aſcend:

Againe, as wealth doth fall into decay,

So, for the moſt part, honour falls away.

If worldly pleaſures ſatisfie him beſt,

What pleaſure can he in his heart requeſt,

The earth affords, his heart to ſatisfie,

Which earthly treaſure, gold cannot ſupply?

For as the needle drawes along the twine,

So Gold hath earthly pleaſures on a line,

And, for the moſt part, that way gold doth draw,

The worlds contments follow, as in a we.

Or if it be the maintenance of right

When wrong is offer'd, that he doth delight:

Or ſweet revenge, to ſatisfie the minde,

When injury is done in any kinde.

Why there is nothing of the like reſpect,

With gold, in working any ſuch effect.

It makes the witneſſe confident and bold

To ſpeake his minde, although he be contrould.

It gives the Lawyer courage in his caſe,

It makes him uſe moſt neceſſary pleas,

And will to childiſh ſilence not be put

So long as gold can keepe his caſe on foot.

Or, otherwiſe, (by tender pitty mov'd

To doe that ancient duty, and approv'd)

p. 54If that a man would Charity extend,

Would be a helpe, or comfort to his friend:

Would aide the ſimple, fatherleſſe, or poore,

And give, to ſuch as wanted, of his ſtore;

Or had a purpoſe to be underſtood

A Benefactor to the common good.

Yet if he wanted meanes, unto his minde,

And had not where withall to be thus kinde;

His purpoſe would be, to no purpoſe, loſt,

Becauſe his will, thus by his want was croſt,

And his good meanings dye, with his devotion,

For want of gold, to give them life and motion.

Oh gold moſt pretious! what can more be ſaid?

If vertue thus depends upon thy ayde,

And can not fly, unleſſe thou giv'ſt it wings,

But lyes, and dyes, as well as other things.

The greateſt Monarch never ſo much ſway'd

As to become of all the world obey'd;

Nor faireſt creature, moſt alluring made,

Like thee, could ever all the world perſwade.

But thou doſt ſway a Scepter in thy hand,

Which doth the worlds whole Monarchy command:

And, like the Sun, ſuch rayes doe from thee flow

As doe attract the love of all below.

Who is ſo great, or ſtately to diſdaine

To be a ſuiter for thy pretious gaine?

Or who ſo wiſe, ſo holy, or upright

As truely ſcornes to yeeld unto thy might?

The Nobleſt and the braveſt Spirit quailes

When thy ſweet genious, or familiar failes.

And eke, againe, the moſt deboyſt that lives

Revives his Soule when thou aſſiſtance gives.

p. 55Come then deare gold, my hearts content and ſtay;

Who will not, if thou doſt command, obey?

Thy powers are ſo attractive I ſhould feele

Some motion of them, though my heart were ſteele,

As tis full hard; but yet not ſuch a flint,

But that it hath ſome feeling of thee in't:

And, if thy greatneſſe might not it diſdaine,

I would be more familiar with thee faine:

For I account thy pleaſures farre above

All youthfull beauty, or delights of love,

Or any thing, if any thing abides,

Of more contentment, in the world beſides.

Diſcretion.

BVt ſtay, deare ſelfe, what art thou all in gold?

Theſe are extreames; ſome moderation hold:

Gold is a ſtately habit, I confeſſe,

And is accounted in the world no leſſe.

But gold, it may be, is not thy attire,

But gold is in thy boſome thy deſire;

And ſo, it bearing ſway within thy breſt,

Thou art by it, not it by thee poſſeſt.

And thou become a ſervant, and inthrall

To that ſhould doe thee ſervice moſt of all:

Which is, indeed, that miſery of minde

Wherein, men miſerable, are moſt blinde.

But, mine owne heart, be thou diſcerning here,

And make it knowne thy underſtanding's cleere,

And is not dazled by thoſe golden rayes,

Which doe eclipſe the brightneſſe of our dayes.

p. 56I doe acknowledge earthly goods a bleſſing,

And be they wanting, many things are miſſing:

Yet where they are, and doe exceed, tis plaine,

They are as bad, or dangerous againe.

For where theſe earthly riches doe exceed

The meaſure that a ſober man doth need,

They there leave off their nature of content,

And take the nature of a puniſhment,

And, with the endleſſe care of boundleſſe pelfe,

Torments the mind as much as hell it ſelfe.

This is moſt true, although we ſometimes ſee

Men ſeeme at eaſe, that thus tormented be:

Who like the Salamander in the fire,

Delight to live thus tortur'd in deſire.

Beſides, although we manifeſtly finde

Things earthly, pleaſing to an earthly minde.

Yet vertue, that which maketh truely rich,

That we ſee, alwayes flyes a higher pitch.

As Heaven, the ſeat of happineſſe, we know,

Is furtheſt diſtant from earths center low;

So, doubtleſſe, heav'n, and things that heavenly be

Can worſt with earth, and earthly things agree:

The ſpacious ſpace betweene them put is ſuch

As ſerves alone to ſignifie as much.

That too much riches doe appeare a curſe:

Againe, too little is accounted worſe:

Theſe are extreames, and can not be the beſt,

Becauſe extreames they can afford no reſt.

What then, deare ſelfe? why certainely betweene

Theſe two extreames, there ſtill abides a meane,

Which golden meane is of a higher rate

Then, almoſt, all men value the eſtate.

p. 57For what true comfort can there be attain'd,

Which with a ſweet contentment is not gain'd?

Againe, what true content can be devis'd,

That is not alſo, in the meane compris'd,

Sure double happy is he that atchieves

The ſweet conjunction of theſe relatives,

Which meeting are ſo readily inclin'd

To make ſuch heavenly harmony in minde:

What note more ſweet than from the mean ariſeth?

What ſtrain's more full than that which ſtill ſufficeth?

The meane all true contentment doth preſent;

And who more happy than the man content?

Sweet compitancy, how rare doe we find

Thee to the man of a contented mind?

What reſt, what peace, what joy doſt thou allow him,

And with what matchleſſe comfort doſt indow him?

Keep'ſt him ſecure and ſafe in all reſpects,

Preſerv'ſt him from all turbulent effects:

And full ſufficiency doſt give him, which

Is ten times better than to have too much.

The man a loft, may boaſt upon the ſame;

The man renown'd may glory in his fame:

The man ambitious may ſeeke to clime higher:

The man envious, to have his deſire:

The rich man may his inſultations make,

And ſooth himſelfe for his abundance ſake.

Yet neither high, nor low, nor rich, nor poore,

Nor any other ſtate on earth hath more

True reſt, true peace, true comfort and content,

Or ſound and ſolid ſatisfaction in't,

Then this containes, than this affords to ſuch

As rightly doe imbrace it; nor ſo much.

p. 58Deare ſelfe, then herein ſet thy heart at reſt,

The meane is it where vertue doth conſiſt;

That if thou haſt ſufficience in ſtore,

Tis madneſſe then to vexe thy ſelfe for more;

When adding more to that thou doſt poſſeſſe

Will make thy comfort, in them both, the leſſe,

Or rather, in this nature to ſpeake right,

Will take away the comfort of them quite.

Beſides the toyle, the ſtudy, and the feare

In ſtoring up theſe needleſſe fruites of care,

Is ſuch, as may in reaſon well ſuffice

To make a Creature rationall more wiſe.

And for the vulgar credit or applauſe

Whereof theſe worldly riches are the cauſe,

If duely weigh'd and ponder'd as it ought,

It will appeare not halfe the thing tis thought.

For what is all the honour, or the praiſe

Beſtow'd on greedy rich men now adayes?

But onelyonly outward reverence; and ſuch

As the beſtowers inwardly doe grutch,

Becauſe they know tis undeſerv'd: though feare

Doth make them thus ſome reverence declare.

Nay, he that is moſt earneſt to obtaine

Theſe earthly goods, the greedieſt of gaine,

The fame he aymes at, turnes into diſgrace,

And his endeavours are accounted baſe,

And men doe brand him, in the ſtead of fame,

With moſt reproach full titles for the ſame;

As cruell, earth-worme, Uſurper: And more,

He alwayes is accurſed of the poore,

Who, in their hunger, doe for vengeance call

For him: and ſuch as he that eate up all.

p. 59Beſides, the earth he eateth up ſo faſt,

It threates againe to eate up him at laſt:

And, in the meane time, earneſtly doth groane

That he ſhould have ſo much of it alone,

And doe no good with it: which the Creator

Ordain'd ſhould be a neceſſary creature.

And therefore it, to be reveng'd, ere long

Will witneſſe beare how he hath done it wrong:

When as the Judge, who doth in truth delight,

Will heare the caſe, and do the creature right.

Deare ſelfe tis ſo, then ſet not thou thy love

On ſuch a friend, as if thou doſt, will prove

Thy greateſt foe, and for thy kindneſſe ſhowne,

Unkindly plead to have thee overthrowne.

But if thou muſt, as needs thou muſt indeed,

Make uſe of earth, or earthly wealth at need,

Then labour to imploy it in that kinde,

Which by the Author of it was injoyn'd,

In doing good, extending of thy ſtore

To pious uſes, and unto the poore;

And then, unto thy comfort, in the end

Thy wealth, in earneſt, will become thy friend

And witneſſe for thee, when thy caſe is try'd

How juſtly by thee, it hath beene imploy'd.

This is, deare ſelfe, the onelyonly ſweet of all,

That may in wealth extracted be from gall;

For worldly riches are a ſugred baite

Wherein lyes poyſon hidden by deceit.

Then be thou heedfull mine owne tender heart,

And in this nature ſhew thou haſt ſome art,

Who, like a skilfull Alchymiſt and try'd,

Can'ſt here the ſilver, from the droſſe divide.

p. 60Obſerve that rule, which hath beene long forgot,

To uſe thy wealth, as if thou us'd it not:

That ſo, if ſuch an accident ſhould be

As, ere thou dy'ſt, ſhould part thy wealth, and thee,

Thou mayſt with patients, free from diſcontent,

Reſtore the Owner what he freely lent:

Or, at the leaſt, when death, at laſt ſhall ſtrike,

Thou mayſt, with joy, doe willingly the like.

Paſsion.

MIne owne deare heart, why tak'ſt thou not thy reſt?

Why art thou thus diſquieted in my breſt?

As if I priz'd this world at ſuch a rate

That I were careleſſe of my future ſtate:

No, feare it not, it is not ſo, I truſt,

For I deſire the portion of the Juſt,

And have a hope, as well as a deſire,

As, to riſe here, to riſe hereafter higher.

And, to that end, I am in hope tis knowne,

My good endeavours to the world are ſhowne;

My purſe is ſtill as ready as my minde

To be a helpefull worker in this kind,

My part is alwayes call'd for as the chiefe,

When Charity is calling for reliefe:

And, whatſoever idle ſpend goods prate,

I am much helpefull to uphold the ſtate.

Thus, whiles I live, I doe my wealth imploy,

And have a reſolution, when I dye

To be a further friend unto the poore,

They then may bleſſe me as they did before:

p. 61And, if I thought he would theſe things report,

I then would well requite a Preacher for't.

The meane time it muſt firſt be underſtood,

I muſt have wherewithall to doe this good;

And therefore things thus needfull, I am ty'd

In reaſon and in Conſcience to provide.

Beſides, it is my duty, and I finde,

A duty too that ſtrictly is enjoyn'd,

That here I ſhould be provident and wiſe,

And uſe all lawfull meanes I can deviſe

That ſuch as doe upon my ayde rely

May feele no want of what I ſhould ſupply.

But further yet I find within my breſt

A Law by oddes more powerfull than the reſt,

Which is the Law of Nature in my minde,

Which doth by Nature move me to be kinde,

And carefull that my children, which I grant

Are neare and deare unto me, may not want.

If Lightnings meteors threate to ſcorch the skies,

Straight, as inrag'd, diſtemper'd Thunder cryes:

Or any other neare united twaine,

If one fares ill, the other doth complaine.

Mine owne deare children, whom I tender much,

Tis fit that my affection ſhould be ſuch:

What heart would not diſſolve to ſee you miſſe?

What tender bowels would not burſt at this?

Sweet Babes, who, like to Birds before they flye,

For food doe onelyonly to the Old ones cry;

Me thinkes I heare you pittifully call

Father, be carefull of your Children ſmall,

And as your ſubſtance did us ſubſtance give,

So of your ſubſtance, Father, let us live:

p. 62We are your off-ſpring, iſſu'd from your loynes,

What neareneſſe more reſpective care injoynes?

Let pitty move you to reſpect your owne,

Compaſſion, fitly, firſt at home is ſhowne:

We wholly yet upon your hand are ſtaid,

We onelyonly doe relye upon your ayde.

If you have not a Fatherly reſpect,

If you, deare Father, doe our caſeneglect,

What kindneſſe, or what comfort may we then

Expect to finde from any other men?

Deare Father, let affection then beare ſway,

Prevent your Childrens ruine and decay,

And as our teares you doe in pitty tender,

Be, as you are our Father, our defender,

That ſo the tender ſeed that you have ſowne

May be preſerv'd, and flouriſh when tis growne.

Theſe are the voyces which me thinkes, I heare,

Unto which voyces who can but give eare?

What Father living can refraine from teares,

That thus his Children ſad complaining heares?

But, doubtleſſe, double cruell is that ſwine

Which gives his child this reaſon to repine.

For my part, as it is my duty, ſo

It ſhall be my endeavour thereunto,

Whiles with my children here I have my ſtay,

To doe my children all the good I may.

The working Pyſmire and the labouring Bee,

As if they did inſuing wants fore-ſee,

Doe aptly teach us, in the time we may,

To get in ſtore againſt another day;

Leſt we, or thoſe that we are bound to feed,

Should ſtand in want, in time of greateſt-need.

p. 63Yea, as tis ſaid, all Creatures teach the ſame,

Both Birds, and Beaſts; then were it not a ſhame

If I; who ſhould have reaſon for my guide,

Should not with prudence for mine owne provide?

Beſides, I ſeeing earthly wealth is ſuch

That nought elſe, earthly, is eſteem'd ſo much;

And men, without it, are accounted baſe,

What other gifts ſoever doe them grace:

If I have any true deſire to ſee

My tender children here reſpected be:

Or when I ſhall ſurceaſe to be, and leave them,

Would have the world reſpect and honour give them.

It doth behove me, whiles I here remaine,

To heedfull be, and ſlip no meanes of gaine,

But uſe my beſt endeavour, in this kinde,

To leave them credite, that I leave behinde.

That ſo when I ſhall ceaſe, or fall aſleepe,

My wealth, which then I ſhall no longer keepe,

May grace my iſſue which ſhall then ſurvive,

That ſo my credit may be kept alive

In my poſterity, in that my ſeed

Shall live and flouriſh, when I ſhall be dead.

When otherwiſe, if I ſhall waſte my ſtore,

And, through my folly, leave my iſſue poore,

They ſhall be ſure to feele the irkſome want

That doth attend the ſtate where things are ſcant,

With the diſdaine, reproachfull titles, ſhame,

And miſeries that waite upon the ſame.

Beſides, my children ſhall have cauſe to curſe

Their fate, if not their Father, which is worſe:

Their fate for frowning, but their Father, I,

Not for meere frowning, but for cruelty;

p. 64Who, when I ought, and might have purchas'd here,

Hard heart, was careleſſe of my children deare.

Thus, if I be not provident, tis plaine,

Both I, and mine, whiles here I doe remaine,

Muſt fare the worſe: and when I muſt away,

And in my grave be moulded up in clay:

Where, one would thinke, I might remaine in peace:

Yet with me there the world will not ſurceaſe,

But call my follyes up, to my diſgrace,

Appearing in the pooreneſſe of my race,

Who, through my want of dilligence and heed,

Shall taſte of want, and miſerable need.

Oh cruelty! what creature hath thus done?

Tis pitty Father ever ſhould have Sonne,

That ſhall thus farre unnaturall be knowne,

As not to make proviſion for his owne.

Then who is ſo unnaturall, ſo blind,

So void of care, or reaſon in his minde?

As to contemne the providence of ſuch

As for their children lay up treaſure much.

Sure none that are of any ſubſtance will,

None that have wit will ſo condemne their skill,

None that have Fatherly affection can,

None that retaine the nature of a man.

If Fathers here ſhould faile, and were not mov'd,

Through tender care of children dearely lov'd,

To take much paines, and have a prudent heed

To lay up ſtore, for times that ſhall ſucceed;

Their hot affections would herein abate,

And care of things to come would out of date:

And ſo, by ſetting providence a ſtay,

The world would quickly ruine and decay.

p. 65But God, out of his goodneſſe and his care,

His infinite of wiſedome to declare:

Hath in each heart imprinted, as Creator,

A care of the preſerving kinde by nature.

Which tender care of off-ſprings future good,

Hath beene a meanes the world ſo long hath ſtood:

And when this care ſhall ceaſe, the world, tis plaine;

Shall run to a confuſed heape againe.

I might inlarge this further, to make cleere

The caſe in queſtion, but it doth appeare

So plaine and evident unto the wiſe,

That, what is ſhowne already may ſuffice.

Then what ſhall ſtay, or hinder my intent?

As if it juſtly might the ſame prevent.

This is the treaſure: whatſoev'r men faine

Of mentall, or imaginary gaine.

That is to be commended, I confeſſe;

And, ſuch as doe injoy it, are no leſſe.

But this is that ſame providence, which here

Affords the profit that is held moſt deare:

Yea, tis ſo uſefull that, it ſeemes, the frame

Of all the world depends upon the ſame.

Then this ſhall be my ſtudy, and my art,

That of this building I may beare a part:

That, if hereafter, any man ſhall looke,

He may perceive what prudent care I tooke:

And ſuch as ſhall ſucceed me, may be bold

To take the part, which thus I did uphold.

Sweet comfort, doubtleſſe, and to be admir'd:

Who will not with theſe profits be inſpir'd?

They doe poſſeſſe me in ſo deepe a kind,

And have indeed, ſo raviſhed my minde,

p. 66That, if to ſpeake the truth I may not bluſh,

I count all profits, elſe, not worth a ruſh.

Diſcretion in Age.

IF home-bred, or domeſticke foes be ſuch

As cauſe more dread than forraigne foes by much:

Then much more may the inbred foe be thought

Moſt hard to be into ſubjection brought:

Becauſe the neereneſſe of a foe, we finde,

Doth adde advantage to a cruell minde,

Deare ſelfe, conſider, this is juſt thy ſtate,

Within thy boſome there is this debate;

This moſt irreconcilliable jarre:

There Paſſion, and Diſcretion are at warre:

There Nature ſeekes its freedome to defend:

There reaſon with affection doth contend:

Or rather there, to pen the title right,

Proud fleſh doth with the humble ſpirit fight.

Mine own deare heart, then arme thy ſelfe thou muſt,

Theſe fatall foes of thine are not to truſt,

Their force is great, their malice is not ſmall,

Their arguments moſt dangerous of all:

And when by force thou wilt not be ſubdu'd,

They then will fawne and flatter to delude:

And if all this can not agreement draw;

They then will plead their quarrell good by Law:

That if thou ſtand it not, to withſtand them faſt,

They will prevaile and make thee yeeld at laſt.

But mine owne heart, be thou adviſed here

To ſhun thoſe dangers, which thou ſeeſt ſo cleare,

p. 67And let the knowledge of the ſame ſuffice,

To make thee loath the baite they would diſguiſe.

Here Paſſion is impatient to ſeduce,

Under the ſhadow of a lawfull uſe

Of worldly wealth, and pleads by reaſons ſtrong

That it, in reaſon, doth to men belong

To be moſt wiſe and provident for gaine,

As that wherein ſuch ſafety doth remaine

That they without it cannot well ſubſiſt,

And as they wiſh their children ſhould be bleſt,

Or would have happineſſe betide them,

They muſt this meanes of happineſſe provide them.

In deed, deare ſelfe, this argument, in ſhew,

Is of much force, and in ſome kind is true,

The Father is moſt ſtrictly ty'd, I grant,

To have a care his children may not want:

And children, when they come to goe, I yeeld,

May walke the better, by this ſtay up-held,

And by the portion that their parents give,

May be the more incourag'd, whiles they live,

To ſtore up for their iſſue too: and ſo

To doe to theirs, as they were done unto.

All this ſeemes equall, excellent, and fit,

And that which truth, and reaſon both admit:

That if there were no more to ſay but this,

This, doubtleſſe, were the onelyonly way to bliſſe.

But mine owne heart, the ſting remaines behinde;

This is the hony that deludes the minde:

Men dore upon the ſweet that riches bring,

But never once ſuſpect they have a ſting:

A ſting lies hid, by honey over-caſt,

Which will be felt, when honey failes at laſt,

p. 68And make men know, as tis well knowne, that ſtings

Doe ſtill lye hidden under golden wings.

Deare ſelfe tis ſo, then let it be thy care

To ſhunne the danger that is in the ſnare:

Doe thou no further unto wealth incline

Then may be for the good of thee, and thine,

But if thou haſt a fatherly deſire,

(As fit, and that which reaſon doth require)

To ſtore up riches for thy tender ſeed,

Which may relieve and helpe them at their need:

Then in providing thou muſt be more wiſe

Than to weave webbes, as Spiders doe, for flyes,

Which are ſo fraile and ſubject to decay,

That the meere wind doth blow the ſame away.

Thou muſt be carefull that thy ſtore uplaid,

Intended for thy tender childrens aide,

Be goods well gotten, honeſtly attain'd,

Not by deceit, or meanes unlawfull gain'd,

But ſuch as Truth may warrant will abide,

When Juſtice cals the matter to be tryde.

For, otherwiſe, thy ill got wealth, intended

To grace thy children, when thy grace is ended,

It will be, like the Spiders web, as though

It were meere nothing, when the wind doth blow;

When God ſhall breathe upon it, in diſpleaſure,

To blaſt the fruite of ſuch ill-gotten treaſure.

That, as 'twas gotten by deceit by thee,

It to thy children may deceitfull be;

And, when they thinke it ſhould become their ſtay,

Then waſte, or make it wings and flye away.

Thus, for the moſt part, goods ill gotten waſt,

Though for an age they, peradventure, laſt,

p. 69Which is not often: but that bides not long,

(This is moſt certaine) which is gain'd by wrong.

Beſides, tis plaine and evidently ſeene

That goods which have unjuſtly gotten beene,

As they were badly gotten, by as vaine,

Or ſordid meanes they doe conſume againe:

For tis a Maxime, with a full conſent,

Goods badly gotten, will be badly ſpent:

As if the father did the child conſtraine

To ſpend in vice, what he in vice did gaine;

Which is a curſe; though children judge amiſſe,

The largeſt portion is the greateſt bliſſe:

And thinke them fooles that thinke there is a curſe

That children may inherit from the purſe,

Or from the portion that their Parents give them,

So it be large or great enough they leave them.

Although experience teacheth, the concluſion:

Of goods ill got, is ruine and confuſion.

Deare ſelfe, then doe not thou thy ſelfe this wrong,

Nor thoſe that doe unto thy ſelfe belong;

Torment not thou thy body; and thy minde,

To heape up ſtore of riches in this kinde.

What idle madneſſe is it, or as vaine,

To lye downe late, and early riſe againe?

To eate the bread of carefullneſſe, and thinke

The dregges of pleaſure good enough to drinke?

And all to gaine a little goods; which, got,

Twere ten times better that thou hadſt them not,

But hadſt beene, to thy happineſſe, more wiſe

Both for thy ſelfe, and for thy ſeed likewiſe;

For thee, becauſe thy gaine will prove thy ſhame,

For thine, becauſe deluded by the ſame.

p. 70Deluded? yea, moſt groſſely too, deluded,

It can not ſure be otherwiſe concluded:

For what can more deceitfull be than this,

A curſe ſhould be intended for a bliſſe:

A child which on his portion doth relye,

Should, when he hath it, be undone thereby.

Undone, indeed, becauſe it can not ſtay,

But as 'twas got, in haſt it muſt away;

And when tis vaniſh'd out of ſight and gone,

How is that child deluded, that alone

Rely'd thereon? is he not quite undone?

Yes, certainely, moſt wretched is that Sonne,

Whoſe hapleſſe Father, or unhappy fate

Provided for him ſuch a failing ſtate.

Had not his Father (by deluſion guided)

Such a deluding ſtate for him provided,

He ſhould not then have on that meanes rely'd,

As onelyonly to that meanes of living ty'd)

But ſhould have in his tender yeares, as fit,

Inſtructed beene to exerciſe his wit,

To gaine ſuch knowledge in ſome honeſt way,

As might have yeelded meanes another day:

Some lawfull Art, or Science, which are ſure,

When other portions vaniſh, to indure.

When he that wholly is without ſuch aide,

Whoſe meanes, or patrimony is decay'd

(Whiles he on moſt inconſtant fortune waites)

Is urg'd to meanes unlawfull, or to ſtraites.

Mine owne deare ſelfe, this is a certaine Truth,

Which ſtill hath beene moſt incident to Youth.

Then if thou wouldſt not have thy name defil'd;

Or if thou haſt reſpect unto thy Child:

p. 71Then ſcrape not for him ſuch uncertaine gaine,

But rather teach him that which will remaine:

That ſo the portion that thou doſt provide

May, to thy credit, with thy child abide.

What though the portion that thou giv'ſt be ſmal?

Yet, if it hath that bleſſing there withall

That it was juſtly gain'd; and, when injoy'd

As juſtly and as piouſly imploy'd,

It doubtleſſe, ſhall be for their comfort more

That ſhall injoy thy riches or thy ſtore,

Then if it had beene ten times more; and got

By meanes unjuſt, which Truth admitteth not.

Foundations ſound, which, like the Rockes, lye low,

Are better farre to build upon, you know,

Then hugeſt mountaines, that are heapes of ſand,

Or hollow caves, where buildings cannot ſtand.

Even ſo that well got ſubſtance which is ſound,

Although it lyes but levell with the ground,

Is very little: Yet tis better ſure

To build upon, and longer will indure

Then that eſtate which by deceit did riſe,

Although it threates to reach unto the Skies.

But being windy, hovering, and light,

One blaſt from heav'n doth overthrow it quite,

And, by this ever ſad event inſuing,

Brings building, and the builder both to ruine.

But if, deare ſelfe, thy ſeed, by thy intent,

Should be the better for thee by deſcent,

Then thou muſt labour to be here the ſame

That may hereafter yeeld thee a good name.

That ſo that pretious jewell it may live

When thou art dead; and to thy iſſue give

p. 72That true bred worth, or credit; which, I know,

The richeſt worldling hath not to beſtow.

If this, then, thou canſt purchaſe up in ſtore

To leave behind thee, though thou leav'ſt no more,

This is alone a patrimony great:

The comfort of which portion or eſtate,

With thy example, may provoke thy ſeed,

When thou art hence departed, to take heed

To be to their ſucceeding race ſo kind

To leave them this inheritance behind.

That, as it in them by deſcent tooke place,

It may be ſtill deſcending in their race:

That ſo they to their iſſue may reſtore

What from their parents they receiv'd before;

Which is a debt, or rather duty laid

On men by Conſcience, ſhould be duly paid.

A Poſtſcript.

VVHat ſhall I here conclude? Oh yes! tis time,

Fond Hypocrites can not indure this rime,

Tis idle, tis Phantaſticall they ſay,

And altogether fruitleſſe: what are they?

Sure had my verſe no more true meaning in't

Then they have, it ſhould never come in Print.

But can men make no Muſicke on the Viall,

Becauſe ſome make a noyſe confus'd in tryall?

p. 73Yes, hypocrites, though it, like you be hollow,

Yet, ſtrain'd by art, the notes are ſweet that follow.

So verſe, or rather Poeſie, if it meetes

With Art, is, like a Poſie full of ſweetes:

Though ſome like Apes, to imitate the ſame,

Doe ſpue out rimes, diſtaſtfull, to their ſhame.

BUt harke, what voyce is this that anſwers mine?

Me thinkes I heare malicious envy grine,

As if it were in malice with my quill,

And tells me, that I boaſt upon my skill;

When I of knowledge am as farre to ſeeke

As he that knowes not Grammar, is of Greeke.

Fond Hagge take heed, I have not done thee wrong,

By an uſurping thy invenum'd tongue:

Nor borrow'd Language, thereby to make knowne

The skill of other men, and not mine owne.

Though it perhaps, doth often come to paſſe

An Engliſh Foole, becomes a Latine Aſſe.

But looke what herein hath beene my endeavour,

Tis all mine owne, how ignorant ſoever:

And I perhaps, may reach a higher ſtraine;

Though here I ceaſe, till I begin againe.