Passion and Discretion in Youth and Age, Poem 3

Passion and Discretion in Youth and Age · Poem 3

p. 79Paſsion, and Diſcretion.

The Second Booke.

Paſsion in Wealth.

HAving full tyde why ſhould I ſlacke mine Oare?

When windes, beſide, ſtand proſp'rous for my ſhore,

And, with a ſoft and gentle fruitfull gale,

(As waiting on my will) doe fill my ſaile.

If Heav'n raines Manna in a plentious meaſure

Shall man refuſe to taſte the ſame with pleaſure?

When ſenſleſſe earth in Summer time is proud

To drinke the ſhow'rs of an inferiour cloud.

Then if Heavens bountious hand fils full my cup,

Shall I, in dread that I ſhould drinke it up,

Not taſte thereof, but childiſhly forbeare

The uſe of ſuch a happineſſe for feare?

No, no, I muſt not ſo forgetfull prove,

To ſlight a favour ſlackes the doners love:

And oftentimes a gift beſtow'd in vaine

Provokes the giver to recall't againe.

Rouze then my faint ſad miſ-informed heart,

And take ſome pleaſure, make uſe of thy part

p. 80And let not thy neglecting favours ſhowne

Rob thee of both Gods bleſſing, and thine owne.

Moſt proſp'rous, yea if not Divineſt fate

With earths chiefe bliſſe hath dignifi'd my ſtate,

Hath given me wealth, which is the onelyonly worth,

Or onelyonly that accounted ſo on earth.

Then riſe my thoughts above the common pitch,

And count it height of honour to be rich.

Inſpir'd with comfort, all your powers unite

To hugge my fortunes with moſt deepe delight.

What ſublunary bliſſe can I have higher

Then wealth; and ſo the world at my deſire?

For Wealth hath got the world at ſuch a bay

That wealth doth almoſt beare the greateſt ſway.

What foe, that's mortall, have I cauſe to dread

When I have ſuch a friend as Wealth at neede?

What poyſon-pointed weapon need I feare

When I have ſuch a coate of Male to weare?

What blacke mouth'd Envy, breathing in my face,

Can blaſt my Reputation with diſgrace?

When I poſſeſſe an Antidote ſo ſtrong

As can expell the poyſon of the tongue.

What ſable fortune can diſturbe my reſt

When I have ſuch a comfort in my cheſt?

Nay, it is ſuch a Cordiall as can

Revive the moſt dejected heart of man.

If I deſire to ſatisfie my ſenſes,

I need not curbe my Nature for expences,

For I have Wealth to ſatisfie it ſtill;

And having Wealth I need not want my will.

Or, if there were no danger to clime high,

Who hath more meanes of getting up than I?

p. 81When, if I ſhould but ſuch a thing intend,

I have the onelyonly Ladder to a…cend.

Or, otherwiſe, ſhould Fortune turne her wheele

To turne me downe; yea though the world ſhould reele

Or ſeeme to ſtagger, yet my ſtanding's ſuch

I feare no fall, nor changing fortune much.

I feare grim faces as I feare the frowne

Of Mars his picture, in a Curtaine, drawne

Before his Venus, ſo her ſmiles to hide,

When I have cords to draw that vaile aſide.

What ſervile office, nav, what ſordid act,

If I had a delight in ſuch a fact,

Could I not get effected out of hand,

And for my coyne have agents at command;

The thoughtfull poore man thinks it doth him grace

To doe me honour when I come in place,

And, if my coyne commands him, to his force,

To beare my burden, he becomes my horſe.

Both rich and poore are ſilent when I ſpeake,

The poore for feare, the rich for favours ſake:

And ſhould I miſſe what man can not afford,

The Elements themſelves will ſtore my board.

What cates can I imagine for my taſte?

What gueſt can I delight in at my feaſt?

What ſenſe-contenting ſolace can I name,

That I can want, if I deſire the ſame?

What is there made that is not made for me?

When for my turne the Elements agree;

And all the creatures in the ſame are ſent

By the Creator, to give me content.

Yea, all are mine, Hauke, hounds & ſtately geldings,

The ſweeteſt muſicke, the moſt ſumptuous buildings,

p. 82The chiefe applauſe, the richeſt robes that be,

And faireſt objects, all are made for me.

Then is not my eſtate to be deſired?

Or I in my eſtate to be admired?

My ſtate affords what heau'ns on earth beſtow,

And I am in the onelyonly Heav'n below.

Againe, if heav'ns (as though rebuk'd for keeping

Themſelves from teares) fall to exceſſive weeping;

Or, otherwiſe, beneath the heav'nly Tapers,

The liquid clouds convert to duſty vapours:

From whence the earth, whoſe fruitfulneſſe depends

Upon thoſe bleſſings which from heaven deſcends,

Proves fruitleſſe, and a famine doth begin

To ſeiſe the Land, I ſuffer not therein.

Nay ſhould the ſhrill, and dreadfull Ecchoes flye

From coſt, to coſt of fell Bellonas cry:

Yea angry heav'ns, and earth ſhould ſeeme at ſtrife,

What need I care? it threaten'd not my life.

If awfull Caeſar my aſſiſtance lackes,

I can put armes upon ſome others backes.

And though a famine may conſume the poore,

I need not feare a famine in my ſtore.

What lacke I then, or what doth me oppreſſe?

I feele no want, nor wiſh my portion leſſe;

I have ſufficient whiles I live, and when

I dye, have iſſue to injoy it then.

But were I childleſſe, or my portion greater,

I ſhould have children, though not ſonnes by nature,

But by adoption, who would be full glad

To become heires unto ſo kind a dad.

Reſt then I may and reape what is mine owne;

Yea, crop the fruits which other men have ſowne:

p. 83And thus on earth, imparadiſ'd in pelfe,

Moſt ſweetly ſing a Requiem to my ſelfe.

Stay then my thoughts, tis vanity to range,

My ſtate is ſuch that I deſire no change:

Let men diſtreſt, or poore men ſtrive in cares,

Whoſe ſuites, and cryes are tedious in mine eares.

My ſtate is here depending upon none,

I can ſubſiſt within the ſame alone,

I take mens favours not as kindneſſe ſhowne,

But ſervice due, and ſo receive mine owne.

Or, if I had a tytle to be try'd,

Or ſtood in need of any thing beſide,

Why I have ſuch a loadſtone in my fiſt

As can attract even almoſt what I liſt.

Cheere then my heart, and let no want be felt,

Inlarge thy ſelfe, thou mayſt have what thou wilt:

But, being full already, take thy reſt,

Leſt thou ſhouldſt ſeeme to ſtrive for what thou haſt.

Diſcretion in Wealth.

SOft, ſoft, fond Paſſion, ſith the winds are faire,

And waters ſeeme to anſwer to deſire,

What need of ſtriving? can that veſſell ſinke

Which wind, and water beares aloft d'ye thinke?

But mine owne heart miſtake not thou thy ſtate,

Fond ſelfe, doe not thy ſelfe infatuate,

Thou may'ſt have tyde, and wind to fill thy ſaile;

But winds are turning, and the tyde will faile.

Then, if thou haſt a purpoſe to ſtand ſure,

Build not on that which cannot long indure:

p. 84Of wouldſt thou any certaine comfort find,

Truſt not ſuch changing objects as the wind.

For what is wealth but wind, or windy ſtuffe?

Got in a gale, and vaniſh'd with a puffe;

And he that hath the longeſt calme, at laſt

Doth find his ſubſtance ſubject to a blaſt.

What, to a blaſt? a creature without forme?

Yea to a weaker creature, to a worme,

Nay to the moth, the canker, ruſt, and rot,

And being gone it is as ſoone forgot.

All this is certaine, this is verifi'd:

OnelyOnly thy ſubſtance is uncertaine try'd,

And if uncertaine, then deceitfull gaine,

Which got, is loſt, and loſt, is got in vaine.

Deluded ſelfe, then how dares ſenſe or Paſſion

Tell thee thy ſtate admits no alteration?

But, having wealth, canſt neither want, nor fall,

When wealth it ſelfe doth waver moſt of all.

But ſenſe is ſavage, or a buite, at leaſt,

And Paſſion is the Fury of that beaſt;

At firſt made good, but, by the fall made bad,

Are now prov'd rebels, and are often mad.

Then can'ſt, deare ſelfe, be carry'd ſo aſide,

As to commit thy ſelfe to ſuch a guide?

Shall heav'ns bred reaſon, Queene of humane race,

Unto her ſervile hand-maide ſenſe give place?

Fye no, let bruitiſh Paſſion be ſuppreſt,

Leſt ſenſe be onelyonly Soveraigne in the beaſt:

But in thy breſt, who art a man by name,

Let reaſon rule, to ſhew thou art the ſame.

If thou doſt feare thy reaſon be too weake

To plead thy caſe, when ſtubborne ſenſe ſhall ſpeake,

p. 85Implore his aide, who binds thee to contend;

He that injoynes the quarrell will defend.

If Will be wanting, he can give deſire,

If ſtrength be failing, he can force inſpire,

And if thy foes would force thee to give place,

Inſtead of reaſon, he can give thee grace.

Faint and fond heart, then why art thou afraid?

If thou canſt aske it, heavens can give thee aide:

Then aske, yea rather begge it on thy knees,

Then yeeld unto ſuch enemies as theſe.

Then let thy underſtanding part beare ſway,

Senſe was not made to governe, but obey:

Nor are thoſe objects pleaſing moſt to ſenſe

Moſt pleaſing objects to intelligence.

Senſe would perſwade thee onelyonly to delight,

Or feed thy ſenſuall ſavage appetite,

And having wealth, which is the onelyonly ſtore,

To feed that Monſter, thou ſhalt need no more.

But couldſt thou, ſetting partiall ſenſe apart,

Conſult with reaſon, by diviner art,

Thou then ſhouldſt ſee how thou haſt beene deluded,

How ſenſe hath into reaſons ſeat intruded.

Thou then ſhouldſt ſee thy inauſpitious ſtate

So long as ſenſe doth reaſon captivate;

And thence be forced to confeſſe, with ſhame

Thy ſervice hath beene bondage in the ſame.

Thou then ſhouldſt find that wealth's a fading dower.

Rais'd in an age, and ruin'd in an houre;

Affording trifles for propounded treaſure,

A taſte for ſweetneſſe, and a drop for meaſure.

Thou then ſhouldſt prove that mens applauſe is vaine

A glory ſprung from other mens diſdaine,

p. 86And then confeſſe that thou, and thy eſtate,

And all things earthly, flowing, muſt abate.

Then thou my ſelfe, whoſe Queen of ſenſe is reaſon,

Conſent not to that rebell ſenſe in Treaſon:

And ſith thou ſeeſt thy Treaſure is but vaine,

Truſt not too much to ſuch uncertaine gaine.

It proffers what it hath not to ſupply,

It oft delights, but cannot ſatisfie,

It makes men hope for what they cannot have,

It may aſſiſt, but it can never ſave.

For reſt propounded, it affordeth trouble,

For fame, or pleaſure, ſhadowes, or a bubble,

For hop'd for fullneſſe, it doth empty leave,

In greateſt danger it doth moſt deceive.

It feeds the ſenſes, anſwers their deſire,

But that doth make thoſe rebels to conſpire;

It fils the body, but it hath a wile

To famiſh the neglected Soule the while.

It hath ſome force to gaine a little fame,

But hath no power to get an honeſt name;

It doth procure ſome bleſſings, if well us'd,

But cares, and ſnares, and curſes, if abus'd.

Cares, to torment the body, and the mind,

Snares, to intrap the ſilly ſoule made blind,

A double curſe, to ruinate thy ſtore,

Proceeding both from God, and from the poore.

Dim-ſighted Paſſion, or deceiving moſt,

Is this the ſtate whereon thou doſt ſo boaſt?

Are theſe thy ſtreames of pleaſure to be rich?

Or theſe thy charmes wherewith thou doſt bewitch?

Thoſe, thoſe are they, it is thy charme, indeed,

That makes men ſo much truſt unto a reed,

p. 87And ſo miſtake, to take, of bleſſings given,

The ſhadow, for the ſubſtance, earth for Heav'n.

Sweet ſelfe, can reaſon thus be overthrowne

In any heart of man, yes, in thine owne;

The mould was no whit better to thy frame

Then other men are made of, but the ſame.

Then ſith thy foes are great, thy force but ſmall,

Truſt notthy ſtrength too much, not ſenſe at all:

But much leſſe, take thy riches for thy ſtay,

Which vaniſh like a vapour, or betray.

But, as thy wealth ſhould be at thy command,

Or, as a talent truſted in thy hand,

Or as a tryall how thou art affected,

So uſe't, ſo rule't, ſo cover, or neglect it.

Tis made thy ſervant make it then obey:

Tis ruinous, where ſervants beare the ſway:

Beſides, it tis too baſe a ſubject farre

To rule where reaſon and diſcretion are.

Tis lent thee, as a Talent put in truſt,

Then make uſe of it, keepe it from the ruſt;

But ſpend not vainely, as thou muſt not hide it,

For thou muſt anſwer how thou haſt imploy'd it.

Tis given thee, as a tryall, to ſee whether

Thou wilt reſpect the gift, above the giver;

Thou mayſt receive it, but not as the Swine,

Reſpect it too, but not to it Incline.

Know then, in fine, thy wealth is like a fire,

Where thou mayſt warme, but not inflame deſire;

To uſe it wiſely, it may ſerve thy turne,

But if thou com'ſt too neere it, it will burne.

Come not too neare it then at any hand,

Scorne to be mark'd with ſuch a noted brand:

p. 88Tis ſafer ſure to labour hard to ſweate,

Then to be ſcorch'd in getting ſuch a heate.

Paſsion in Want.

WHat, borne to beg? or borne to beare, at leaſt,

Still in the collor? why not then a beaſt?

The beaſt can but beneath a burden lye,

And ſometimes want reliefe, and ſo doe I.

Or ſay the beaſt be ſubject to correction,

Am I not underneath the ſame ſubjection?

Yes, whoſoever doe offend or ſlip,

And ſcape unlaſhed, I muſt have the whip.

Tis my offence that onelyonly doth offend

Or my offence that onelyonly is diſcern'd:

Or, at the leaſt, tis my unhappy fate,

When I offend, to meete the Mageſtrate.

Some men have friends, when they offend, to free them

Some men offend as if that none did ſee them,

And ſome offenders have the rod in awe:

But I, tis onelyonly I muſt have the Law.

Sterne! and remorfeleſſe ſtubborne Law, as death,

Am I the fitteſt object for thy wrath?

Beſeemes it thee to ſeiſe upon me ſo,

So ſmall a prey, and let the greater goe?

If thou muſt needes be rigorous to wrong,

Be cruell to offenders that are ſtrong,

To ſuch as ſlight, or care not for thy frowne,

Make ſuch men ſtoup I am already downe.

But wherefore ſhould I invocate in vaine?

Tis fruitleſſe ſure to beg or to complaine,

p. 89My ſuites are ſuch as doe offend the eare,

Complaints can then not mittigate my care.

What helpeleſſe then? yea hopeleſſe too, indeed,

For I muſt ſuffer, tis by Law decreed,

I muſt ſubmit to each inſulting checke,

The burden ſtill muſt lye upon my necke.

Arme then I muſt to ſuffer all injoyn'd me,

Stoup downe to take the burden up aſſign'd me,

And quietly put my necke into the yoke,

The ſentence paſt, I can not now revoke.

Sun, riſe not yet then, let me reſt a while,

For when thou riſeſt, I muſt fall to toyle;

The day, which gives to other men delight

That is my Mill to grind in till tis night.

Sweet Sun, then, being riſen, ſpeed thy motion

To caſt thy ſeiſe into the Weſterne Ocion,

That when thy beames are vaniſh'd in the Weſt,

The gentle night may call me home to reſt.

Long look'd for darkneſſe, come then eaſe my ſorrow

Let me put off my yoke untill to morrow,

Refreſh me with thy comforts while I ſtay,

I may have ſtrength to labour when tis day.

Thy reſt-affording ſhadowes are my ſhelter,

The day is toyleſome, and the Sun doth ſwelter;

Then let thy ſhadows Cannopy my bed,

Thy ſhelter be a pillow for my head.

But here, againe, when I ſhould reape this good,

Should take my reſt, my Children cry for food,

And to me, with heart-cutting teares doe ſay,

Deare Father, we have had no bread to day.

Then, mov'd with pitty, what I have, I give them,

Which cannot fill them, though it may relieve them;

p. 90Which eaten, and they empty ſtill, they cry

Father ſome more, when I have no ſupply.

With words I ſeeke my childrens cry to ceaſe,

Not having food to make them hold their peace,

And with a ſigh, as if my heart would burſt,

I promiſe food, but I muſt earne it firſt.

Beaſts, which are ſavage, ſeed their young with food:

Birds, which are ſilly, ſatisfie their brood:

But I, moſt ſordid, heare my ſeed complaine,

And call, and crave, and cry for food in vaine.

Sweet babes, whoſe faces lively doe expreſſe

Their wofull Fathers Image in diſtreſſe,

Why was I made an inſtrument to breed you,

And not made able, being bred, to feed you?

Deare children ceaſe, your ſobs increaſe my cares,

You ſhall have bread, although my drinke be teares;

Ile bind my body, like a ſlave to ſerve,

Before the iſſue of the ſame ſhall ſtarve.

But doting fortune, why art thou ſo blind?

Or why art thou ſo partiall, or unkind?

Was I borne under that unlucky ſtarre

Which onelyonly threatens famine, plague, or warre?

Are Deſtinies ſo powerfull where they threat?

Or ſo much partiall in dividing ſtate?

Some muſt have much, ſome Mountanes to their ſhare

But for me nothing; not a moule-hill ſpare?

Moſt groſſe injuſtice, or unequall ſure,

This is too much for patience to indure;

Some feed on dainties, and I fed with droſſe,

They take no paines, I labour like a horſe.

When other men are pamper'd, or doe feaſt,

I pine with hunger, or do want, at leaſt,

p. 91Their Fragments are too good for me; tis well

If I can be partaker of the ſmell.

Well Dives, take thy pleaſure in thy ſtore;

I hope for crummes, though baited from thy doore;

I muſt have copper, thou the coyne, full bagges,

I empty baskets, thou the robes, I ragges.

Thou art exalted, I am counted baſe,

Thou muſt have honour, I muſt have diſgrace,

Thou muſt be ſought to, I muſt ſeeke and crave,

Thou muſt be maſter, I muſt be the ſlave.

Thou haſt the calme, and I the rugged guske,

Thou haſt the kernell, I have but the huske;

Thy vice ſeemes vertue, or is not reſpected;

My Vertue, vice, or more than vice neglected.

Tis bootleſſe then in thee to be preciſe,

And vaine in me to labour to be wiſe;

Thy grandeſt vice is nothing, in eſteeme,

My greateſt Vertues leſſe than nothing ſeeme.

But can the world thus by the world be gull'd?

Or canſt thou Dives, thus a ſleepe be lull'd?

Will thy dull eares, or more obdurate breſt

Not heare my cry, nor anſwer my requeſt?

Or doſt thou laugh to heare my children mourne,

And cry for bread, when thou haſt all the corne?

As if thou didſt imagine by that way

Both I, and mine, and all would be thy prey.

Well, eate thy fill, and gorge thy ſelfe with more,

And what thou eat'ſt not, hoord it up in ſtore:

And, if poore Lazarus trembles at thy gate,

Tell him the crummes are gone, he comes too late.

What ſhall I ſay? or ſhall I ſilent keepe?

Dives hath dyn'd, and now he is a ſleepe.

p. 92Then whether ſhall I travell for reliefe?

What object is there that will eaſe my griefe?

If I looke upwards to the azure skies,

In hope that heav'ns would eaſe my miſeries,

There are thoſe impropitious Planets raigning

Which ty'd me to theſe ſorrowes by ordaining.

If I looke downwards, to that neather Orbe,

To earth for comfort, when the Heavens doe curb,

There I find nothing can my cares remove,

But feele beneath, what was injoyn'd above.

There, there I toyle and labour like a bruite;

I plow, and ſow; but others reape the fruite;

I dig for Oare, but ſeldome touch the money,

I there am ſtung, but others ſucke the honey.

OnelyOnly the empty, and impartiall ayre,

That is mine freely, leſt I ſhould deſpaire,

I ſucke that life-preſerving ſuccour, which

Is all the portion that can make me rich.

Sweet ayre then, and leaſt guilty of offences,

Be thou my comfort, vivifie my ſenſes,

And, if all other Elements agree

To barre we ſuccour, let me live by thee.

But I am vaine, in hope to eaſe my cares,

Thus to entreat a creature without eares:

If eares be deaſe, then creatures which have none,

Although I cry, muſt needs be like a ſtone.

Then let me reſt, tis folly to intreat,

For I muſt labour, if I meane to eate,

I may complaine, or vex my ſelfe to dead,

But I muſt grind, or I muſt have no bread.

p. 93VVHat all in Paſſion? overcome with mood?

Deſpaire of comfort? make a doubt of food?

As if the doore of all reliefe were lock'd,

And all thy hungry expectations mock'd.

Is there no reſt, no pitty, peace, nor love

For thee on earth, nor comming from above?

So deepely moved, nothing but complaine?

Can not the hand which did create ſuſtaine:

Deare ſelfe, ſurceaſe, recall thy ſelfe, forbeare,

The danger, ſure, is leſſer then the feare,

Thy life is no ſuch Tragedy of woe

As thou conceiv'ſt, thou doſt but thinke it ſo.

Tis true, tis hard, I know, to humane nature

To yeeld ſubjection to a fellow creature,

That the ſame mould, ſame workmanſhip and all

Should downe unto the ſelfe-ſame creature fall.

But be content, tis not thy imperfection

In forme, or ſubſtance, binds thee to ſubjection,

But onelyonly he that formed all doth ſay

Let ſome men rule, and otherſome obey.

Diſtemper'd, or more ſtuborne ſelfe, by much,

Then yeeld ſubjection, ſtoup, and doe not grutch;

To man thus ſtouping, thou muſt underſtand

Thou honourſt God, obeying his command:

And ſo preſerv'ſt thy Soveraigne title ſtill,

Subject to nothing but thy Makers will.

Whoſe will thou wilt not, nay thou canſt not ſhun,

What he doth will muſt readily be done;

p. 94Then ſith his will ſhould willingneſſe beget,

Obey his will that bindes thee to ſubmit.

What though the man thou ſtoup'ſt unto be vaine,

Or one that doth requite thee with diſdaine?

Or one that ſhuns thee as he walkes the ſtreete,

As if thou ſhouldſt infect him when you meete.

Or one that takes thee for a varmine, which

Doth live upon the ſubſtance of the rich,

And thereupon, in ſafeguard of his ſtore,

Doth keepe a dogge to keepe thee from his doore.

Yet, if he hath a place above aſſign'd,

Thou muſt obey becauſe tis ſo injoyn'd,

Though he be bad, thou muſt thy good expreſſe,

His vices muſt not make thy vertues leſſe.

Beſides, if all mens portions here were great,

If all men were made equall in eſtate,

Why then there would no government be had,

All would be Maſters, all the world run mad.

But God on ſome doth very much beſtow,

Againe, he placeth other ſome as low,

That from reſpect to each mans places due

May both command, and ſervitude inſue.

Deare ſelfe, then ceaſe thy ſorrows in this kind,

Although thy body be ſuppreſt; thy mind

Is not ſubjected, but may flye a pitch

Above the higheſt checking of the rich.

Then if thy mind, the Image of thy ſoule,

Be not ſubjected to the worlds controule,

But freely towring on her unclipt wings,

May take her pleaſure on the better things,

What cauſe haſt thou then to complaine of cords?

When thy eſtate ſuch liberty affords:

p. 95The matchleſſe freedomes of the mind are more

Than all the treaſure on the Indian ſhore.

Fond ſelfe, then how canſt thou complaine of want?

Canſt in this fullneſſe thinke thy portion ſcant?

Oh! yes, ſay'ſt thou, theſe are but mentall joyes,

Or, as ſome count, imaginary toyes;

Theſe have no ſubſtance, theſe are but deceit,

Or empty ayrie notions of no weight,

Theſe are no kernels, theſe are but a ſhell:

And tis not words can empty ſtomackes fill.

Or haſt thou food, it muſt be of the worſt,

And, ere thou haſt it, thou muſt earne it firſt,

Thou muſt conſume thy body into ſweate

Before thou canſt refreſh the ſame with meate.

Which being fed, tis but (as fed in vaine)

To make it fit to be conſum'd againe:

Or as the Galley ſlave is with the Turke,

Thou doſt but eate to make thee ſtrong to worke.

But mine owne ſelfe, beware of ſenſe bred harmes,

Theſe are moſt ſubtle, moſt deluding charmes:

Thy Soule, I tell thee, is the better part,

Though ſenſe would have thee moſt prefer thy heart.

Then having ſoule-inſuing food, the beſt,

Repine not: Nor deſpaire thou of the reſt,

Thou and thy Children ſhall have food to eate,

He that hath given you mouthes, will give you meate.

He hath a ſtore houſe, where much fullneſſe lyes.

Of his hid treaſure, hiden from thine eyes:

Nay, he can turne the very ſtones to bread:

The ſilly Ravens that call on him are fed.

Then truſt on him, his Promiſe is his Deed,

He will not faile thee, calling at thy need:

p. 96Nor canſt thou be more ready to declare

Thy wants in calling, then he is to heare.

What though the rich have all things at deſire?

Are fed with dainties, clad in rich attire,

And take their pleaſure? ſith the truth informes

They are but fed, or pamper'd for the wormes:

They which, perhaps, impatient of delay,

Doe call to their Creator for ſuch prey.

Then though their cates be rare, or doe excell,

If thou haſt that ſuffice thee? tis as well:

Their rareſt dainties can but hunger ſtay,

And ſo thy meane and plaineſt dyet may.

Or have they vertue to keepe health in ſtore?

I dare preſume, thy homely feed hath more:

That all the oddes is onelyonly in the taſte,

Which is but as a needleſſe ſawce in waſte.

And what although thy outward weed be plaine,

Or ſimple, ſuch as ſome men doe diſdaine,

Yet by it if the cold may be defended?

It doth the good for which it was intended.

Then having that, thou haſt to ſerve thy need:

Forefathers were contented with a weed;

And did as much exceſſe hereof deride

As now in the exceſſe hereof is pride.

Or why ſhouldſt at thy working ſtate repine?

When tis the ſtate that God doth all injoyne:

When man would needs the fruite forbidden eate,

God ty'd him ſtraight to labour for his meate.

Then worke, it is the will of thy Creator.

Beſides, it makes thee eate, and ſleepe the better,

It preſerves health; ſubdues the rebell ſenſe,

And gives much ſcoope unto intelligence.

p. 97Deceived ſelfe, repine not then at all,

Thy poverty was purchas'd by thy fall;

And he on whom was moſt of all beſtowne

Deſerves as poore a portion as thine owne.

And if that he which here poſſeſſeth moſt

Diſdaines thee, or with inſulations boaſt,

Tell him the Fatall wheele doth turne amaine,

Which drew him up, to throw him downe againe.

And in the end, when thou thy race haſt run,

And art to give account what thou haſt done,

The leſſe thy portion, or thy part hath beene

The leſſe, no doubt, will thy account be then;

Which is a comfort, and will then appeare

A greater comfort than tis counted here.

Then, in the meane time, why ſhould'ſt thou be ſad?

Becauſe that men account thy fortunes bad:

Thy treaſures are the vertues of the minde,

In which the world, or worldly men are blind.

The poore man, pious, is to God as deare

As men moſt wealthy, or advanced here:

And though the poore ſuffers here a while,

Thoſe frownes ere long, will vaniſh with a ſmile.

For howſoever, man may ſhew deſpight,

Both God, and Law doe favour men upright:

And he that hath all favours in his ſtore,

What fitter object for him than the poore.

Paſsion in Honour.

ARe men made Gods? or by the Gods made men?

If Gods, why are we not aſcending then?

p. 98Why lye we chain'd or pudl'd in the mire?

When either gods, or men we may aſpire.

Up then my thoughts, from earthly toyes remove,

Betake you to your wings, theres prize above;

Rouſe, rouſe, me thinkes I ſee an object faire,

It ſeemes a golden Eagle in the ayre;

What iſt? if it be not the very ſame?

Oh, tis her bird, which we intitle fame:

See how ſhe doth deſcend, as on a ſtring,

As if ſhe meant to ſet me on her wing.

Then flye my thoughts, and meet her in the way,

Glide ſwiftly through the ayre make no delay:

Rare Phoenix, let me take thee on my fiſt

That I may take my pleaſure when I liſt.

What, doſt thou checke, or ſeeme to bend away?

Stoup gentle Faulkon, thou ſhalt have the prey,

I take thee for my pleaſure, but to fly,

Ile nurſe thee as the apple of mine eye.

Well, now I have my wiſh, I am ſecure,

The bird I ſought is ſtoup'd unto my lucre,

That airy bird, the ſweeteſt bird that ſings,

Or rather flyes! O, beare me on thy wings.

Let me injoy the favours of thy love,

Who doſt come downe to carry me above,

That I may take thoſe pleaſures as I riſe

Which are moſt high; the lower I deſpiſe.

The higher, the richer prey is to be won,

Then let us mount, thou needſt not feare the Sun;

I feare no falling, thou thy ſtrength haſt felt,

Thy wings, I truſt, will neither ſcorch, nor melt.

Thou heav'ns bred bird, then heave thy ſailes, I know

Thy nature doth diſdaine to prey below:

p. 99And I ſhall never have my full deſire,

Though I mount high, if there be game yet higher.

Then raiſe me to the Regions of thy Dame,

Or, if it may be, higher than the ſame:

For, if I reach not to the higheſt top,

I ſhall account my Ocion but a drop.

Tis true, good fortunes did on me attend

Before I had a motion to aſcend,

I then had friends, and many favours granted,

With much reſpect, and Gold I never wanted.

Yea, large poſſeſſions; and was little pent

Of any earthly object of content,

But had on earth, what might be had, aſſign'd,

That might content a reaſonable minde.

And in theſe pleaſures I tooke much repoſe,

Yea, did conceive no higher joyes then thoſe:

But, like the Bee, lay ſucking on thoſe flowers,

Not looking up, from whence ſuch hony ſhowers.

But, as mens minds are ſubject unto change,

So did my thoughts, in time, begin to range,

And, by ſome ſecret inſpirations, mov'd,

Which were no ſooner motions, but approv'd:

I glanced upwards, thereby, if I might,

To view ſome higher object of delight.

Where (with a heart-attracting ſight) mine eyes

Diſcry'd thee hover very neere the skies,

Wherewith inflam'd, it mov'd me to deſire

Thou mightſt come downe, or I aſcend up higher,

That I might ſee thee to diſcerne thee fuller,

And view thy beauties in their proper colour.

Then all the pleaſures I injoy'd before

Became as nothing if I had not more;

p. 100I did diſdaine, or very much neglect

All former favours, treaſure, or reſpect,

And onelyonly raviſh'd with thy ſelfe on high,

Contemning things below, I ſought to flye.

Heavens! what a dreadfull hell had I in part?

What Paſſions had poſſeſſion in my heart?

Sometimes in hope, and ſometimes in deſpaire,

Like Icarus, to be ſoaring in the ayre.

I ſlipt no meanes conducing to my ends,

But was an humble ſuitor to my friends,

My wits I did upon the Tainters ſtraine,

And made my purſe as laviſh as my braine.

Now, by theſe helpes, and others my deviſing,

With much a doe, I got ſome hopes of riſing,

Which hopes infram'd, and helpes ſo fed deſire;

That I at length, am got up thus much higher.

But here I ſtand, from hence I cannot ſtirre,

My thoughts, and wits are here at a demurre:

I am as if impriſon'd in my ſtate,

Which makes me loath, what I deſir'd of late.

I doe confeſſe when I at firſt did grow

Unto that height, which now I count too low,

I was contented, and my heart was glad,

As one ſufficed with the ſtate I had.

My thoughts, and ſenſes were reviv'd and merry,

My ſpirits were refreſhed as with ſherry;

And I became as one with comfort riſen,

Who had beene long in thralldome, out of priſon.

The world did then admire me, as amazed,

And at my birth of honour ſtood and gazed,

And with much ſhow of reverence and fame,

To grace this birth, did celebrate the ſame.

p. 101My entertainment was with ſuch applauſe

That I my ſelfe began to ſtand and pauſe,

As if amazed at my ſelfe to ſee

The honour done unto my new degree.

But now, alas, my honour is but cold,

My new degree is now accounted old:

And men begin to queſtion my deſert

Becauſe there fals no motion to my part.

No motion, no preferment ſeene at all,

No riſing, which is next unto a fall;

His riſing was with rumors of repute,

Which praiſes are forgotten now, or mute.

Thus, thus me thinkes I heare the people prate,

Which ſhewes they either doe diſdaine, or hate;

Becauſe I riſe not as ſome others mount,

The world doth call my worth unto account.

Diſtemper'd people, deſtitute of ſhame,

Can you both praiſe, and then diſpraiſe the ſame?

And wretched I, that men ſo vaine, or ſleeping

Should have the Trumpet of my fame in keeping.

Muſt my applauſe be ſubject to the rude

Inconſtant cenſure of the multitude?

And onelyonly as their various gale ſhall blow

My reputation here muſt ebbe, or flow.

What is it then to be exalted here

To place of Honour? when it doth appeare,

It that he be not ſtill aſcending higher,

But doe ſit ſtill, our honour doth retire.

Come then Invention, nimble motion'd wit,

What project now, what plot can you beget?

Or what doth want, or what is in the way?

I can command, and can that beare no ſway?

p. 102Oh! reſtleſſe, joyleſſe, have I meanes, and will

To be aſcending, and yet ſit I ſtill?

Have I ſuch force afforded to reſiſt

Obſcureſt clouds, and yet am in a miſt?

Forgetfull Fortune, canſt no favour ſhow?

It had beene better I had kept below,

Than to have beene unto this ſtate erected,

And being up, to be therein neglected.

Oh! give me motion, people may diſcover

That I am riſing, let them ſee me hover,

That I may heare their Ecchoes in the ayre

My praiſes ſounding, or I doe deſpaire.

But why am I thus Paſſionate in mind?

Deſpairing, or diſtruſting in this kind?

Though ſhadowes late have turn'd my day to night,

The Sun is riſing now to give me light.

Thoſe higher Orbes, whoſe clouds diſperſing gleames

Are ever ready when we want their beames,

Have, from their heav'nly Arke, ſent downe a Dove

To take me up, and carry me above,

Thou heavenly Dove then, ſith thou art come down

To decke my head, Oh! let me have a crowne:

Or, if thou think'ſt that be too great a praiſe,

At leſt returne not till I have ſome Bayes.

The flouds are gone, the flowres, and leaves are greene,

Then let the ſame be by my Garland ſeene;

That men may ſee the earth hath drunke thoſe ſhowers

Which hung betweene me, and the higher powers.

That ſo the people, which have long forgot me,

Or with an eye reſpectleſſe looked at me,

May make me now the object of their praiſe,

As one whom heavens hath a delight to raiſe.

p. 103And you the ſacred Muſes of our age

Delight to act my tryumphs on the ſtage,

And in ſuch ample formes imprint my glory

That many ages hence may read the ſtory.

And let my Armes, augmented, to my line

Increaſe of Honour give. And when my ſhrine

Shall once intombe my body, let my fame

Perpetuated be upon the ſame.

Diſcretion in Honour.

WHat doe I wake, or neither wake nor ſleepe?

But dreames poſſeſſe me with illuſions deepe:

Poore ſilly earth, inſpir'd with fancies proud,

Imagines it may trample on a cloud.

Deceiving, or deceived heart, at leaſt,

Canſt thou be thus tranſported in my breſt?

Canſt thou be thus aſpiring, or preſuming,

Shall earthly wormes, be airy formes aſſuming?

Deceived ſelfe, how canſt thou thus tranſported?

Or whether are thy ſober wits reſorted?

What art become ſo empty, light a thing

That all thy mind is now to be on wing?

Nothing but ſoaring in the ayre on high,

Nothing will pleaſe thee if thou doſt not fly,

So farre beſotted with theſe airy things

Thou dreameſt of birds ſhould ſet thee on their wings,

Of golden Doves, of Eagles: to ſpeake plaine,

Of Caſtles in the ayre, or in thy braine.

And whence proceeds theſe troubles? onelyonly bred

Of groſſe diſtemper'd Humors in thy head,

p. 104Which growing to extreames, in this condition,

Converts thy very ſoule into ambition.

But mine owne heart, and mine owne head be ſtaid,

Cal home your thoughts, collect your wits now ſtraid.

They in the ayre are hunting of a feather,

And thou on earthly'ſt onelyonly gazing thither.

Fooles play with Feathers, art not thou the ſame,

To let thy thoughts run after ſuch a game?

Which though it ſeemes to ſtoupe to thee, in fine,

May light upon anothers head, not thine.

And what is fame here? is it any other

Than a meere painted, or a golden feather?

Toſt in the empty ayre, to and fro

By each inconſtant vapour that doth blow.

The peoples acclamations, which we find

Are juſt as light, and changing as the wind;

Whereon relying, men may hoyſe up ſaile,

But when a ſtreſſe, or tempeſt comes they faile.

But mine owne ſelfe, be more thine owne intire,

Not toſt thus to, and fro, upon deſire;

Let not ſuppoſed happineſſe, though great,

Move thee to loath a preſent happy ſtate.

What doſt thou want? what canſt thou wiſh, indeed

Either to ſatisfie deſire, or need?

Which thou haſt not already in ſuch plenty

As may, ſo long as thou art man, content thee?

Poſſeſſions thou haſt in poſſeſſion many,

Silver and Gold thou haſt no want of any,

Fullneſſe of pleaſure ſpeed before thee lyes,

Titles of Honour too, that may ſuffice.

And howſoever thy miſtruſtfull heart,

Proceeding from ſuſpect of thy deſert,

p. 105May move thee to ſurmiſe the World neglects thee,

Yet people peradventure, more reſpects thee

Than thou haſt eyes are open to obſerve,

Yea more, it may be, than thou doſt deſerve.

But ſay the people doe begin to ſlight thee,

And trumpets of thy fame, which did delight thee,

Are now not ſounded with ſo great applauſe

As once thy Honour gave the World a cauſe.

What then? ſhalt thou be thereupon inrag'd,

And onelyonly curſe the people, who, ingag'd

To doe thee Honour, doe not make it knowne,

As if there were no fault herein thine owne?

Senſe blinded ſelfe, thy eye-ſight is not cleere,

Thou lookes too farre, for that which is too neere,

Thou blam'ſt the people, when the fault is thine,

Remove the cauſe, th'effect will then decline.

Would'ſt heare the Ecchoes of thy praiſe rebound

Then let thy Vertues give that trumpet ſound,

For if the Ecchoes of thy praiſes ceaſe

It is becauſe thy Vertues doe decreaſe.

Be Vertuous, and be famous in thy place,

For Vertue is in Thrones the higheſt grace:

High borne, high plac'd, befits a lofty ſtory;

But laſting fame, is onelyonly Vertues glory.

Deare ſelfe, then be not in that franticke mood,

To labour here to be more great, then good:

But, if that greatneſſe needs muſt be thy prey,

Let goodneſſe goe before to make the way.

But wherefore haſt thou ſuch a mind to riſe?

When thou art ſuch a pitch as may ſuffice:

Is climing without danger doſt ſuppoſe?

Whoever fell, but firſt of all he roſe?

p. 106Then who to riſe would vex himſelfe at all,

When riſing doth but preſuppoſe a fall?

Nor can he (though he dreames himſelfe ſecure)

That doth ſit tottering on the top, ſit ſure.

Beſides, it is the envy of the times

To ayme at him that ſits aloſt, or climes:

Ambitious ſpirits cannot brooke ſuperiors,

Thou they themſelves be many wayes inferiors.

Men ſtill are doting on that fond ſurmiſing,

That one mans falling, proves anothers riſing;

That alwayes men advanced high, are lying

Within the boundleſſe reach of much envying.

Fond ſelfe, then doe not ſtruggle ſo with fate

To change the better, for a greater ſtate:

Nor yet ſuppoſe tis greatneſſe of the ſame,

If goodneſſe want, that can preſerve thy fame.

Nay, be'ſt thou bad, twill mar thy greatneſſe quite,

For, though men dare not brand thee in thy ſight,

Yet in thy abſence men will ſpeake their minde;

And ſhew, although they winke, they are not blind.

Beſides, if bad, the higher in degree,

By oddes the greater will thy downefall be:

And when thou ſhalt be downe, nay, ſhalt be de dead;

And in thy ſilent grave art buryed.

Although thou then mayſt, peradventure, have

A ſtately Tombe erected on thy grave,

Moſt firmely fixed to preſerve thy fame,

With a faire Epitaph upon the ſame.

Yet thou muſt not imagine this will ſerve

Thy much defaced Honour to preſerve,

No, theſe can ſlender commendations raiſe,

Theſe are but ſilly monuments of praiſe.

p. 107Indeed, perhaps, when ſuch men ſhall it ſeē

As are meere ſtrangers to the Land, or thee,

Thou mayſt have ſome conceived Honour by them,

Untill report doth better certifie them.

But when that ſuch ſhall therein hap to view thee

As in thy life, and Converſation knew thee;

If any Vertue be therein indented,

Alas, will they ſay, this was but invented.

And thus thy ſumptuous Epitaph, or Tombe,

Intended to thy Honour, ſhall become,

Inſtead of Trophies written on thy ſhrine,

A ſhame to thee, and ſcandall to thy line.

Deluded ſelfe, then would'ſt have Honour here?

Then ſtrive to be the ſame thou wouldſt appeare:

For tis not place, nor, title, nor degree

Can ſet thy greatneſſe from mens cenſures free.

Or wouldſt thou have thy Honour to indure?

To thee, and thine? let Vertue make it ſure:

For Vertue onelyonly writes with ſuch a pen

As doth indent beyond the Art of men.

Take Vertue then to be thy onelyonly prize,

For, without Vertue, men but fall, that riſe:

But, doubtleſſe he whom Vertue doth advance,

His ſtate is little ſubject unto chance.

Sweet Vertue! why doe we no more admire?

But careleſſe we that doe no more deſire thee:

Tis thou that onelyonly mak'ſt us weare the Bayes,

And we that onelyonly doe neglect thy praiſe.

If thou giv'ſt light to loweſt ſhrubs of all,

What luſter giv'ſt to Cedars that are tall?

If thou giv'ſt grace to meaneſt men that live?

What Glory doſt thou to the mighty give?

p. 108Deare ſelfe, then ſeeke to clime no otherwiſe

Then Vertue teacheth, if thou needs muſt riſe:

But, if thou wouldſt be certaine not to fall,

The ſureſt way is not to clime at all.

Paſsion and Diſcretion.

Paſsion.

COme ſweet delights, come let me taſte you quicker

Your Quinteſſence is Nectar, Courtly lickor:

I taſt your honey, and I taſte againe,

Yet unſuffic'd, as if I drunke in vaine:

I drinke, and drinke thereon, and yet am dry:

Oh! have you fullneſſe that can make ſupply?

Strange! ever ſucking, and yet empty ſtill?

Come let me taſte you fully, drinke my fill.

Diſcretion.

Fond man, what mean'ſt? doſt hunger for delight?

To feed on that which feedeth Appitite?

Or wouldſt thou drinke thoſe liquours, like the Seas,

To quench thy thirſt, which will thy thirſt increaſe?

There thou, indeed, mayſt drinke till thou doſt burſt,

Or thou doſt drowne, but never quench thy thirſt:

Nor can that liquor ſatisfie at all,

Though taſte like honey, which converts to gall.

p. 109Paſsion.

Earth, earth, earth, earth, what is it voyd of ſenſe?

Why have I feeling then, who came from thence?

I call to earth, for earth to eaſe my cares,

But why have I a tongue, and earth no eares?

Unhappy man, muſt I my caſe bemoane

To move the earth, and earth becomes a ſtone?

Let pitty then for ever ceaſe to be:

Oh! give me earth, or let the earth take me.

Diſcretion.

All-earth, what ayl'ſt thou? nothing but that mire

Which thou wert made of, ſuits with thy deſire?

Is earth ſo ſweet to taſte on, or to ſmell?

Be ſatisfi'd, thou ſhalt have earth thy fill.

Thy gaping mouth, and unſufficed throate,

With earth fill'd up, ſhall make thee change thy note,

And, in revenge, the earth thou call'ſt ſo faſt,

To feed on here, ſhall eate up thee at laſt.

Paſsion.

You melting clouds, which mourne above my head,

Let teares drop downe, my deareſt friend is dead:

Remorſeleſſe death hath now untide that knot

Moſt dead affection faſten'd, or begot.

Departed Friend, deare was thy preſence to me,

Deep wounding death, what vengeance doſt thou ſhow me

Deare friend, but muſt death ſever's with his dart?

Life, rather leave me too, tis death to part.

p. 110Diſcretion.

Lamenting creature, ceaſe thy ſobs, forbeare

Thy friends at reſt, then why art thou in care?

Death was but ſent to free thy friend from ſtrife,

Then blame not death, nor rob thy ſelfe of life.

Life is but lent, and ſo a debt, indeed,

Which muſt be paid, before the debtor's freed,

If freedome then by dying may be gain'd,

Thy friend is freed, and thou thy ſelfe art chain'd.

Paſſion.

Faire? yea moſt faire, miſtake not I the glaſſe?

Is there ſuch beauty in a humane face?

Or more then humane, very neere Divine,

If not meere heav'nly, could it elſe ſo ſhine?

Heavens Maſter-piece, or Natures rareſt art,

Thy Sun-like beames attract my yeelding heart:

I gaze on thee, and gazing loſe my ſight,

And yet the more I gaze, the more delight.

Diſcretion.

Vaine Doter, doſt, nay, darſt thou pry ſo neere?

Thy ſight ſo weake, this Sun ſo paſſing cleere:

Regard thy ſight, looke off a while: its power

Will faile anon; it wither like a flower.

Beauty be comes a baite; doſt thou not know

That Snakes doe hide where faireſt flowers doe grow?

The pith of grieſt, is in this barke of joy:

Faire Hellen caus'd the overthrow of Troy.

p. 111Paſsion.

Tuſh; I have braines, why ſtand I doubting ſtill?

My wits will ſerve to anſwer for my will:

What need I tremble then, or ſtand in awe?

When Logicke will defend, why feare I law?

Come then Invention let us beat our braines,

Plot for our ends, and give deſire the reines:

Our ſecret Projects ſhall have good ſucceſſe,

If otherwiſe, our wits ſhall find redreſſe.

Diſcretion.

Proud Haman, or Achitophel, be wiſe.

Hee's moſt a foole, moſt on his wit relyes.

Seeſt thou not how they ſinke, or run a ſhore

That make their Wit their Boat, their Will their Oare

Preſume not then, mans Policy is light,

Events are ſecret, hiden from his ſight:

He may the outſide of things preſent find,

But in things ſecret, or to come he's blind.

Paſsion.

Woe, woe, why came I forth my Mothers wom be?

Why was not that Sepulcher ſtill my Tom be?

There I had eaſe, and reſt, but borne to ſtrife,

Cryes did foretell the ſorrowes of my life:

Sorrowes, indeed, tormented with ſuch paine

Which to conceive, confounds conceit, as vaine:

Can Natures wants by Art have no ſupply?

Oh! eaſe me, eaſe me, eaſe me or I dye.

p. 112Diſcretion.

I moane thee much, but thou muſt be content,

Thy caſe is all mens, comming by deſcent;

Adam did eate, and ſurfet; thou his ſonne

Art bound to ſuffer, ſtill the ſore doth run.

Deſpaire not though, but pacifie thy minde,

There is no ſore, but hath a ſalve aſſign'd:

If in the body, Phyſicke there doth good,

If in the ſoule, then her Phyſitions blood.

Paſsion.

What, have I ſpent my time, and Parents coſt,

Ingaining Learning, and my labour loſt?

Is Learning now neglected? yes, become,

It ſeemes by me, not worthy of a Roome:

Or; if I be got in, I am ſo pent,

The roome I have doth give me no content:

I know my worth, and what the world doth owe me;

But purblind world, will neither pay, nor know me,

Diſcretion.

Have patience man, the world doth place admit,

And Honour too, to men deſerving it:

Then reſt content, thou ſhalt have what thou would'ſt,

Be'ſt thou the ſame thou ſay'ſt; if not, why ſhouldſt?

Thou may'ſt have learning great, yet not allow'd:

Thou may'ſt have learning good, yet making proud:

Thou may'ſt by learning ſhew the Truth moſt full:

Thou may'ſt by Learning moſt deceive and gull.

If Learning then can put ſuch ſhapes upon her,

Let heavens give grace, that Learning may give honor.

FINIS.

End of the text · Edward Calver, Passion and Discretion in Youth and Age (1641)