Midnights Meditations of Death, Poem

Midnights Meditations of Death · Poem

Midnights MEDITATIONS OF DEATH: WITH Pious and Profitable Obſervations, and Conſolations:

Peruſed by FRANCIS QUARLES A little before his Death.

Publiſhed by E. B.

LONDON, Printed by John Macock, and are to be ſold at his houſe, in White Bear Court, on Adling hill. 1646.

Profitable and pious thoughts of Death.

Part 1. Of Deaths certainty.

IN heav'ns high Parliament an act is paſs'd,

Subſcrib'd by that eternall Three in One,

That each created wight muſt one day taſt

Of Deaths grim terrours: They exempted none

That ſprang from Adam. All that red-earth-ſtrain

Muſt to their earth again.

An ancient Regiſter of burialls lies

In Geneſis, to let us underſtand

That whoſoever is begotten dies,

And every ſort is under Deaths command.

His Empire's large: Rich, poore, old, young, and all

Muſt go when he doth call.

Mans life 's a book: and ſome of them are bound

Handſome and richly; ſome but meanly clad:

And for their matter, ſome of them are found

Learned and pious: others are too bad

For vileſt fires: Both have their end.

There 's a concluſion penn'd

As well as title-page; that 's infancy.

The matter; that 's the whole courſe of our lives.

One 's Satans ſervant walking wickedly;

Another 's pious, and in goodneſſe thrives;

One 's beggerly, another 's rich and brave:

Both drop into the grave.

One man (a book in folio) lives till age

Hath made him crooked and put out his eyes:

His beard doth penance. And death in a rage

Mows down another whilſt the infant cries

In 's midwives lap: (that 's an Epitome)

Both wear deaths liverie.

God made not death: Whence are we mortall then?

Sure Sinne 's the parent of this pale-fac'd foe;

Nought elſe did hatch it: and the firſt of men

He was Deaths grandfather: And all the wo

That in this or the next life we are in

Is cauſed by our ſinne.

Meditation 1.

IF I muſt dye, I 'll catch at every thing

That may but mind me of my lateſt breath.

Deaths-heads, graves, knells, blacks, tombs, all theſe ſhall bring

Into my ſoul ſuch uſefull thoughts of death,

That this ſable King of fears,

Though in chiefeſt of my health

He behind me come by ſtealth,

Shall not catch me unawares.

When-e're I viſit any dying friend,

Each ſigh and ſcrich, and every death-bed-grone

Shall reade me ſuch a lecture of mine end,

That I 'll ſuppoſe his caſe will be mine own.

As this poore man here doth lie

Rack'd all o're with deadly pain,

Never like to riſe again,

Time will come when ſo muſt I.

Thus ghaſtly ſhall I look, thus every part

Of me ſhall ſuffer, thus my lips ſhall ſhrivel,

My teeth ſhall grin, and thus my drooping heart

Shall ſmoke out ſighs and grones; and all the evil

Which I ſee this man lye under,

What ſinne earns and death doth pay,

I ſhall feel another day.

Sinne from torment who can ſunder?

Thus will my mournfull friends about me come:

My liveleſſe carcaſe ſhall be ſtretched out.

I muſt be packing to my longeſt home:

Thus will the mourners walk the ſtreets about.

Thus for me the bells will toll:

Thus muſt I bid all adieu,

World, and wife, and children too:

Thus muſt I breathe out my ſoul.

At others fun'ralls when I ſee a grave,

That grave ſhall mind me of mortalitie.

I'll think that ſuch a lodging I muſt have:

Thus in the pit my bones muſt ſcattered lie;

Here one bone and there another,

Here my ribs, and there my ſcull,

And my mouth of earth be full.

I muſt call the worms my mother.

When I do look abroad, methinks I ſee

A fun'rall Sermon penn'd in every thing.

Each creature ſpeaks me mortall: Yonder tree,

Which, not a quarter ſince, the glorious ſpring

Had moſt proudly cloth'd in green,

And was tall, and young, and ſtrong,

Now the ax hath laid along:

Nothing but his ſtump is ſeen.

And yonder fruitfull valleys yeſternight

Did laugh and ſing, they ſtood ſo thick with corn:

In was the ſickle, and 'twas cut down quite,

And not a ſheaf will ſtand to morrow morn.

Yonder beauteous imps of May,

Pretty eye-delighting flowers,

Whoſe face heav'n doth waſh with ſhowers

To put on their beſt aray:

I ſaw the fair'ſt, the Lily, and Carnation,

And coy Adonis particoloured ſonne,

Subject to ſuch a ſudden alteration

That in a day their fading beauty's gone.

This tree, this corn, and this flower,

Or what things elſe vaineſt are,

To my ſelf I do compare,

Who may die within this houre.

Meditation 2.

I'LL ne'r be proud of beauty if I muſt

Be blemiſh'd when I die: And if the grave

Will mix my beauty with the vileſt duſt,

What profits pride? Reader, I'll pardon crave

Here to ſet you down a ſtory

Of as rare and fair a She

As the Sunne did ever ſee,

Whom Death robb'd of all her glory.

I once ſaw Phoebus in his mid-day ſhine

Triumphing like the Sovereigne of the skies,

Untill two brighter rayes, both more divine,

Outblazed his: and they were this Nymphs eyes.

Forthwith Sol curtain'd his light,

Looking very red for ſhame

To be vanquiſh'd by this Dame,

And did ſlink out of her ſight.

I once ſaw ſilver Cynthia, nights fair Queen,

In her full orb dimming each leſſer flame,

Till this Nymphs beauty-vying front was ſeen

Outſhining hers: then ſhe look'd wan for ſhame.

The man in her, knew he how

But to quit that giddy place,

She had ſo divine a face,

Would have dwelt upon her brow.

Once was this woman pleas'd to walk the fields

Then proudly fragrant with Dame Flora's ſtore:

The damask roſe unto her beauty yields,

And was contented to be fair no more.

Sure I cannot ſay how truly,

Yet 'mongſt many 't was a fame,

That the roſe did bluſh for ſhame,

And the violet look'd moſt bluly.

Once did this woman to the temple go,

Where doth fair Venus marble-ſtatue lie

Cut to the life, that one can hardly know

But that it lives indeed: When ſhe came nigh,

He who then the temple kept

After would be often telling

She was ſo ſuper-excelling

That for mad the marble wept.

Melodious muſick's warbled by the ſpheres;

Swans ſing their Epitaphs in curious layes,

Once with a ſinging Swan a part ſhe bears:

As ſoon 's thoſe corall doores diſmiſs'd her voice,

The poore Swan held his peace and di'd:

And the ſpheres (as men do ſay)

Dumbly move unto this day.

This was by a rivers ſide.

What think you now of ſuch a glorious woman?

This Phoenix ſure was ſhe, if any might,

That might be proud: And yet the tongue of no man

Can well expreſſe, nor any pen can write

What grim death hath done unto her;

Now ſhe 's of another feature,

Hardly can you know the creature:

Stay a while, and we will view her.

Th' almighty King that dwells above in heaven

Directs to 's high Shrieve Death a certain writ,

Wherein a ſtrait imperiall charge was given,

At 's utmoſt peril forthwith on ſight of it

To arreſt that piece of beauty

And to wrap her up in clay

'Gainſt the laſt great judgement-day.

Death addreſs'd him to his duty;

And with great care gives warrant by and by

Unto his baillifs, Fever, Pox, and Gout,

Phrenſie, Strangury, Colick, Squinancy,

Conſumption, Dropſie, and an ugly rout

Beſide theſe, for to aſſail her:

Deaths command was, that they muſt

Tie her faſt in chains of duſt:

He gave charge that none ſhould bail her.

You would not think with what a furious pace

Theſe catchpoles flie to pull this creature down:

But Pox was nimbleſt; ſhe got to her face

And plow'd it up. This hag goes in a gown

Rugged and of colour tawny,

Button'd o're from top to toe;

(Skin-deep beauties deadly foe)

Uglier hag was never any.

Fain would the reſt have faſtned on her too,

But that this hag had frighted out her ſoul.

Now looks her carcaſe of another hue,

Grim, ugly, lothſome, ghaſtly, and as foul

As did ever eye look on.

What 's become of that complexion

Which held all hearts in ſubjection?

In a moment all is gone.

If we might be ſo bold to dig the grave

Some few years hence where this good woman lies,

Sure we ſhould find this beauty but a ſlave

To pallid putrefaction, and a prize

For thoſe ſilly vermine worms:

As they crawl in ſtinking ſwarms

She doth hug them in her arms,

And doth give them ſuck by turns.

Here 's a deformed lump indeed: and this

Muſt be the fortune of the faireſt face.

None then are proud but fools: They love amiſſe

Whoſe hearts are chain'd to any thing but grace.

From the beauty of the skin

In the lovelieſt outward part,

Lord, vouchſafe to turn my heart

To love that which is within.

Meditation 3.

IF Death will come, ſure there will come an end

Of all this worlds deep-biting miſery.

Nothing adverſe that's here on earth doth tend

Beyond the grave: that's a delivery

From the pow'r of men and devils,

And what-ever other wo

May befall us here below

Death's a ſhelter from all evils.

Here I am poore: my daily drops of ſweat

Will not maintein my full-ſtock'd family:

A dozen hungry children crie for meat,

And I have none; nor will words fatisfie.

Could I give their belly ears,

'T were a comfort, or could fill

Hungry ſtomacks with good will,

Or make daily bread of tears.

Here the oppreſſour with his griping claws

Sits on my skirts: my racking land-lord rears

Both rent and fine; with potent looks he aws

Me from mine own. Scarce any man but bears

In his boſome Ahabs heart.

Horſe-leach-like that's ever craving

Other mens, and ſick of having,

Right or wrong, will catch a part.

Here in theſe clay-built houſes ſickneſſe reigns:

I have more maladies then I can name:

Each member of my body hath its pains.

Moreover, weeping, groning, ſadneſſe, ſhame,

Slanders, melancholy, fear,

Diſcontents, diſgraces, loſſes,

And a thouſand other croſſes

Muſt be born if I live here.

But theſe are finite all. When I am dead

My poverty is ended and my care:

I heare my famiſh'd children crie for bread

No longer. Then I drink, I lodge, I fare

Juſt as well as Caeſar doth:

There ends cold and nakedneſſe,

All my former wretchedneſſe.

Death is meat, and drink, and cloth.

There 's no face-grinding: There the mighty ceaſe

From troubling; there the weary be at reſt:

The ſervant 's freed; the pris'ner is at eaſe:

All 's ſtill and quiet; no man is oppreſs'd:

For incroachers there are none.

Not a poore man 's wronged, nor

Is his vineyard longed for:

Every man may keep his own.

Sickneſſe there 's none: when-ever Death ſhall take

My body hence and lodge it in the clay,

I ſhall not feel a tooth or finger ake,

Nor any other miſery that may

In the leaſt degree diſpleaſe me.

For all ſores the grave hath plaſters,

And it cureth all diſaſters:

Of all burdens Death will eaſe me.

Malicious tongues fired below in hell

There will not hurt me; nor the poiſonous breath

Of whiſpering detractours: I ſhall dwell

Securely in the duſt. One ſtroke of Death

Sets me out of gun-ſhot quite;

Not the deepeſt-piercing tongue

Can there do me any wrong:

Bark they may, but cannot bite.

Lord, I am thine: and if it be thy will,

While I do live a ſtranger here below,

Brim-high with bitterneſſe my cup to fill,

And make me drink 't; yet, Lord, withall beſtow

But thy grace, and thou ſhalt ſee me

Patient: and my comfort 's this,

That a ſhort affliction 't is:

In a moment Death may free me.

Meditation 4.

IF I muſt die, it muſt be my endeavour

So to provide that every thought of Death

May be a thought of comfort: that when-ever

That aged ſire ſhall take away my breath,

I may willingly lay down

This old houſe that 's made of clay,

Gladly welcoming the day

That brings an eternall crown.

But of all things a holy life 's the way

Muſt lead me to a comfortable end;

To crucifie my luſts, and to obey

Gods ſacred will in all things: This doth tend

Unto comfort, joy and eaſe.

Mark the man that is upright,

And ſets God alwayes in 's ſight,

That mans end is ever peace.

What makes me fear a ſerpent? 't is his ſting;

The miſchief's there: When that is taken out,

I can look on him as a harmleſſe thing,

And in my boſome carry him about.

What makes Death look rufully?

Not Deaths ſelf: it is his ſting

That doth fear and horrour bring,

And makes men ſo loth to die.

The ſting of death is ſinne: but there 's a Jeſus

Hath pluck'd it out. The guilt 's done quite away;

The ſtain is waſh'd. He ſent his Spirit to eaſe us

In ſome good meaſure of that kingly ſway

Which o're us ſinne held before.

Bleſſed work of grace! now I

Strongeſt luſts can mortifie:

In my ſoul ſinne reigns no more.

Now in me holineſſe is wrought: which is

A pious diſpoſition of the heart,

Inclining me to hate what 's done amiſſe

In me and others, never to depart

From God to left hand or right,

Nor one of his laws to break;

But to think and do and ſpeak

What's well-pleaſing in his ſight.

Each act from faith and love ariſeth, and

The end I aim at is my Makers praiſe;

His word 's my rule: my warrant 's his command.

Thus am I fitted: Death, cut off my dayes,

If thou wilt, within this houre,

I will thank thee for thy pain:

For to me to die is gain.

I'll not fear a jote thy power.

What canſt thou do that juſtly may affright me?

Though with thee in the dark I dwell a ſpace,

Yet canſt thou not eternally benight me:

Thou art my paſſage to a glorious place,

Where ſhall not be any night.

My rais'd aſhes ſhall enjoy

There an everlaſting day,

And an uneclipſed light.

I fear not death becauſe of putrefaction,

Nor (if I might) would willingly decline it:

My body gains by 't; 't is the graves beſt action:

God, as a founder, melts it to refine it.

Death cannot annihilate,

And in deſpite of the grave,

Yet I ſhall a body have,

Fairer and in better ſtate.

Gods ſecond work excells his firſt by ods:

Our ſecond birth, life, Adam, to repair

Our bodies, is a ſecond work of Gods,

To make them better then at firſt they were,

Glorious, immortall, ſound,

Nimble, beautifull, and ſo

Splendid that from top to toe

Not a blemiſh may be found.

What begger weeps when 's rags are thrown away

To put on better clothes? Who is 't will grieve

To pull a rotten houſe down, that it may

Be fairer built? Why ſhould we not receive

Death with both hands when he comes

To pull off thoſe rags that hide us,

To unhouſe us, and provide us

Richer clothes and better homes?

The griping pangs of Death do not affright

My heart at all: I have deſerved mo.

And if upon no other terms I might

Enjoy my God, I to my God would go

Through hells ſelf, although a throng

Of an hundred thouſand juries

Of the black'ſt infernall Furies

Claw'd me as I went along.

Nor can thoſe inward terrours make me quake

Which Death-beds often on the ſoul do bring.

I have no Death-bed-reck'nings for to make;

'T was made while I was well, and every thing

Was diſpatch'd before, that I

Nothing in the world now, ſave

Home-deſiring longings, have

Then to do but juſt to die.

Nor doth it trouble me that Death will take me

From thoſe delights that are enjoy'd below.

Alas, I know that none of them can make me

One jote the happier man, nor can beſtow

Any comfort. Carnall gladneſſe,

Mirth, delight and jollity,

This worlds beſt felicitie,

All is vanity and madneſſe;

Mere empty husks. Had I as many treaſures

In my poſſeſſion as the muddieſt wretch

Did ever covet, and as many pleaſures

As from the creature fleſhly men can fetch;

Had I this: or if I were

Supreme Monarch, onelyonly Lord

Of what earth and ſea afford:

Yet I would not ſettle here.

To be diſſolv'd is better: Death doth bring

A fairer fortune then it takes away.

It ſets us in a world where every thing

Is a happineſſe, a full and ſolid joy,

Not to be conceiv'd before

We come thither: but the bliſſe

Which exceedeth all is this,

That there we ſhall ſinne no more.

Lord, grant a copious portion of thy Spirit.

The more I have of that the leſſe I fear

What Death can do; for ſure I ſhall inherit

All joy in heaven if I am holy here:

Nought ſuits with heaven but ſanctitie.

Let, my God, thy Spirit and grace

Fit me for that holy place

And that holy companie.

Meditation 5.

IF Death will come, what do men mean to ſinne

With ſo much greedineſſe? me thinks I ſee

What a ſad caſe the godleſſe world is in,

How faſt aſleep in her ſecuritie.

Fearleſſely in ſinne men live,

As if Death would never come,

Or there were no day of doom

When they muſt a reck'ning give.

Obſerve a little yonder black-mouth'd ſwearer,

How 's tongue with oathes and curſes pelts the skies:

'T would grieve the heart of any pious hearer

But to bear witneſſe of his blaſphemies.

He darts wounds at God on high,

Puts on curſing as his clothes,

And doth wrap his tongue in oathes

To abuſe Eternity.

In lawleſſe luſt the fornicatour fries,

And longs to ſlake it 'twixt forbidden ſheets:

Ne'r ſets the ſunne but his adulterous eyes

Obſerves the twilight, and his harlot meets.

That which follows, when the night

Draws its curtain o'r the air

To conceal this goatiſh pair,

Modeſty forbids to write.

And I could ſhew you (were it worth the viewing)

In that room three or foure drunkards reeling:

In this, as many more that ſweat with ſpewing;

Some that have drunk away their ſenſe and feeling;

Men of all ſorts in their wine

And their ale ſit domineering,

Curſing, railing, roring, ſwearing,

Under every baſer ſigne.

'T is ſaid (ſo vile is this big-belly'd ſinne)

That in a day and leſſe ſome foure or five

Of luſtie drunken throats will ſwallow in

More then hath kept two families alive

A whole forthnight (yet made they

Merrie with 't.) Had I my wiſhes,

Such gulls ſhould not drink like fiſhes;

But their throats ſhould chāge their trade

The covetous man with his uſurious clutches

Doth catch and hold faſt all the wealth he may:

He leans on 't as a creeple on his crutches.

The miſer ſtudies nothing night and day

But his gain: he 's like a ſwine

Looking downward, like a mole

Blind, and of an earthen ſoul,

Minding nothing that 's divine.

Theſe, and beſide theſe other ſorts of ſinners,

In every pariſh you may dayly ſee

As greedy at their ſinnes as at their dinners,

And wallowing in all impiety.

Sure theſe miſcreants do never

Entertein a thought of dying;

Nor yet are afraid of frying

In hell flames for altogether.

Thou God of ſpirits, be pleas'd to aw my heart

With death and judgement: that, when I would ſinne,

I may remember that I muſt depart,

And whatſoe're condition I am in

When I ſink under Deaths hand,

(There 's no penance in the grave,

Nor then can I mercy have)

So muſt I in judgement ſtand.

Meditation 6.

Lord, what a thief is Death! it tobs us quite

Of all the world; great men, of all their honours;

Luxurious men, of all their fond delight;

Rich men, of all their money, farms and mannours.

Naked did the world find us,

And the world will leave us ſo:

We ſhall carrie when we go

Nothing, but leave all behind us.

Let Death do 's worſt, ambitious men do climb

By any ſinne though it be ne're ſo foul:

Gold-thirſty miſers ſwallow any crime

That brings gain with it, though it kill the ſoul.

Here for gain is over-reaching,

Coſening, cheating, lying, ſtealing,

Knaviſh and ſiniſter dealing;

All arts of the devils teaching.

Whilſt I am well advis'd I'll never ſtrive

T' increaſe my wealth, if 't will increaſe my ſinne:

I will be rather poore then ſeek to thrive

By means unlawfull: all 's not worth a pinne.

When mine eye-lids Death doth cloſe,

What I ſinned for muſt be

Shak'd hands with eternally,

But the ſinne that with me goes.

I 'll not waſt love upon theſe lower things,

Nor on the choiceſt of them doting ſit:

For when ſad Death a habeas corpus brings,

To take the world from me and me from it,

'Gainſt which I have no protection;

To ſpend love in what I may

No where but on earth enjoy,

Were to looſe all my affection.

The longeſt leaſe of temporalls God doth make

Is but for life. I 'll patiently behave

My ſelf, though from me God be pleas'd to take

In middle age that which his bounty gave:

Neither discontent nor paſſion

Shall make me repine or grumble;

'T is a way to make me humble,

And takes from me a temptation.

Thou mad'ſt my heart, Lord: keep it for thy ſelf,

Leſt love of duſt eternally undo me:

Vouchſafe that this vain worthleſſe empty pelf

May never win me, though it daily woo me.

If 't were lovely, yet 't is gone

When I dy. Lord, make me ſee

That there is enough in thee

To place all my love upon.

Meditation 7.

I Am a ſtranger and a pilgrime here:

The world 's mine inne, 't is not my dwelling-place;

(In this condition all my fathers were)

The life I live below is but a race.

Here I ſojourn ſome few yeares:

This world is a countrey ſtrange;

Death my pilgrimage will change

For a home above the ſpheares.

In elder time the goddeſſe Quiet had

Her temple; but 't was plac'd without the gates

Of Ethnick Rome; to ſhew that good and bad

Have here their vexing and diſturbing fates,

And do bear their croſſe about

Whilſt within the walls they ſtay

Of this world, and ſhall enjoy

No reſt till Death let them out.

Here I am look'd upon with divers eyes,

Sometimes of envy, ſometimes of diſdain:

Here I endure a thouſand miſeries:

Some vex my perſon, ſome my credit ſtain;

My eſtate 's impair'd by ſome:

But yet this doth comfort me,

That hereafter I ſhall be

Better us'd when I come home.

In all eſtates my patience ſhall ſuſtein me:

I am reſolved never to repine

Though ne'r ſo courſely this world entertein me:

Such is a ſtrangers lot; ſuch muſt be mine.

Were I of the world, to dwell

Here as in my proper home,

Without thoughts of life to come,

Then the world would uſe me well.

I am not of their minds in whom appears

No care for any world but this below:

Who lay up goods in ſtore for many years,

As if they were at home; but will beſtow

Neither care nor induſtry

Upon heaven, as if there

They were ſtrangers but had here

A leaſe of eternitie.

The baniſh'd Naſo weeps in ſable ſtrain

The woes of baniſhment: nor could I tell,

If Death and it were offer'd, of the twain

Which to make choice of. O! to take farewell

Of our native ſoil, to part

With our friends and children dear,

And a wife that is ſo near,

Muſt needs kill the ſtouteſt heart.

What is 't then to be abſent from that houſe,

Eternall in the heav'ns, not made with hands!

From Angels, Saints, God, Chriſt himſelf, whoſe Spouſe

Our ſoul is! from a haven where nothing Iands

That defileth; where 's no danger,

No fear, no pain, no diſtreſſe:

All 's eternall happineſſe!

What is 't to be here a ſtranger!

I have been oft abroad, yet ne'r could find

Half that contentment which I found at home;

Methought that nothing ſuited with my mind

Into what place ſoever I did come:

Though I nothing needed there,

Neither clothes, nor drink, nor meat,

Nor fit recreations, yet

Methought home exceeded farre.

Thither did my affections alwayes bend;

And I have wiſh'd, before I came half-way,

A thouſand times, my journey at an end,

And have been angry with a minutes ſtay:

Sunne-ſet I did ever fear;

And a hill or dirty mile,

That delay'd me but a while,

Seem'd to ſet me back a yeare.

I built not tabernacles in mine inne,

Nor ever cry'd out, 'T is good being here.

No company would I be ever in

That drown'd but half an hour in wine or bier.

I have wiſh'd my horſe would runne

With a farre more winged ſpeed

Then thoſe skittiſh jades that did

Draw the chariot of the Sunne.

From carnall ſelf-love, Lord, my heart unfetter,

And then ſhall I deſire my heavenly home

More then this here, becauſe that home is better,

And pray with fervency, Thy kingdome come.

Lord, had thy poore ſervant done

What thou haſt ſet him about,

I would never be without

Holy longings to be gone.

Meditation 8.

THere was a State, as I have heard it ſpoken,

(The tale doth almoſt all belief ſurpaſſe)

That had a cuſtome never to be broken,

(But a bad cuſtome I am ſure it was)

Mongſt themſelves their King to chooſe:

The elected man muſt be

King as long 's they would, and he

When they pleas'd his crown muſt looſe.

This State elected and depoſed when

And whom they would: but the depoſed Prince

They ſuffered not to live 'mongſt other men,

But drove him to a countrey farre from thence

Into wofull baniſhment,

Where he chang'd his royalty

For want and all miſery;

Scarce a Kingly puniſhment.

One King there was that whilſt his crown was on,

Knowing his ſubjects fickle diſpoſition,

Beat his crown-worthy head to think upon

Some courſe of providence, to make proviſion

At the place of's baniſhment:

Full-ſtuff'd bags of money, and

What things elſe might purchaſe land,

He into that Kingdome ſent.

It came to paſſe after ſome certain years,

His yoke ſeem'd heavy, and his people frown'd:

King-ſick they were; their purpoſe ſoon appears:

A new King 's choſen and the old 's uncrow'nd.

And for exile, this foul beaſt,

Giddy, variable, rude,

The unconſtant multitude,

Dealt with him as with the reſt.

But that his wiſer providence was ſuch,

When 's baniſh'd predeceſſours lived poore,

What he had ſent before was full as much

As did exclude want or deſire of more.

There he lacks not any thing;

He doth purchaſe towns and fields,

And what elſe the countrey yields:

In eſtate he 's ſtill a King.

So ſhall we fare hereafter in the next

As we provide in this life. Sure I ſee

A providence in all: Who is not vex'd,

And plung'd, and lean with too much induſtry?

Men of all ſorts runne and ride,

Sweat and toil, and cark and care,

Get and keep, and pinch and ſpare;

And all 's done for to provide.

For to provide? what? goods, and lands, and money,

Honours, preferments, pleaſures, wealth and friends:

(As bees in ſummer-time provide their hony)

To ſublunaries their proviſion tends,

And no farther; 't is for duſt

That they labour and thick clay,

For theſe goods that will away,

And for treaſures that will ruſt.

For to provide? for what? Their preſent life,

That 's naturall; their bodies have their care:

Their ſpirituall ſtate 's neglected: there 's no ſtrife

For grace and goodneſſe. Souls immortall are,

Living everlaſtingly

In eternall wo or bliſſe,

As here our proviſion is,

Yet are not a jote ſet by.

Men do provide amiſſe: Full well I know it,

I ſhall be baniſh'd from this ſinne-ſmote place:

All here is fading, and I muſt forgo it.

What ſhall I lay up for hereafter? grace,

An unſpotted conſcience,

Faith in Chriſt, ſobriety,

Holineſſe, and honeſty:

Theſe will help when I go hence.

Strengthen thoſe graces, Lord, which thou haſt given,

And I ſhall quickly change both care and love;

My care for earth into a care for heaven,

Take off my heart from hence, and fix 't above,

And will lay up all proviſion

For that life which is to come

Whilſt a ſtranger, that at home

I may find a bleſt condition.

PART II. Of Deaths impartiality:

Sect. I. Riches cannot protect us ſrom the ſtroke of Death.

OF richeſt men in holy writ I read,

Whoſe basket & whoſe ſtore the Lord had bleſt,

And in the land exceedingly increas'd

Their wealthy ſubſtance; yet they all are dead.

Riches do not immortalize our nature:

The richeſt dyes as well 's the pooreſt creature.

'Bove all, the wealth of Solomon did paſſe;

Ne'r was man maſter of a greater ſtore:

He went beyond all Kings that went before.

Silver as ſtones, and pureſt gold as braſſe,

Adorn'd Jeruſalem: a glorious thing!

Yet death ſtrikes into duſt this wealthy King.

Meditation 1.

IF 'gainſt Death's ſtroke my riches cannot arm me,

Nor comfort me a jote when I am dying:

I'll take a care theſe witches do not harm me

Whilſt I do live. I know they will be trying

To do me any miſchief; as before

And now they miſchief all the whole world o're.

Some riches hurt with that old ſinne of pride:

Rich men extremely ſwell; moſt commonly

This ſinne and wealth both in one houſe abide:

Poore men are loo'kd on with a ſcornfull eye.

Strangely is his heart puft up with pride 's bellows

That hath a fatter fortune then his fellows.

His words are big, looks lofty, mind is high;

He with his purſe will needs drive all before him:

He ever looks for the precedency;

And vext he is if men do not adore him:

He bears the ſway: another man muſt be,

If not ſo rich, not half ſo good as he.

Some men wealth doth infect with churliſhneſſe:

They anſwer roughly: they are crabbed miſers.

(Courſe bread yields hardeſt cruſt) This is a dreſſe

Wherewith wealth decks our accidentall riſers.

Since Nabals death a thouſand rich men be

In every point as very hogs as he.

Some wealth makes prodigalls: there's no exceſſe

But they runne into. Back and belly ſtrive

Which ſhall ſpend moſt: belly, with drunkenneſſe

And gormandizing: back, for to contrive

New ſtuffs and faſhions. This exceſſive crue

Have wayes to ſpend that Dives never knew.

Obſerve theſe Caterpillers: One man puts

Into his throat a cellar full of drink:

Another makes a ſhambles of his guts.

The back is not behind; you would not think,

How for themſelves, and for their curious dames,

One ſuit of clothes a good fat manour lames.

Some wealth makes idle: like ſo many drones

They ſuck what others ſweat for, and do hate

All good imployments. Many wealthy ones

Have neither callings in the Church nor State;

And during life do nothing day by day

But ſit to eat and drink, and riſe to play.

Theſe miſchiefs are in wealth and many more:

It throws men into many a fooliſh luſt.

But if Gods bounty multiply my ſtore,

I'll drain theſe vices from 't: For when I muſt

Grone on my death-bed, theſe ſinnes will diſpleaſe me

And fright my ſoul, but riches cannot eaſe me.

Lord, either keep me poore, or make me rich

In grace as well as goods: my wealth undreſſe

(If I have any) of thoſe vices which

Are wont to clothe it; ſo ſhall I poſſeſſe

Riches without thoſe ſinnes that riches bring,'

That when death comes they ſharpen not his ſting.

Meditation 2.

THough God doth bleſſe me all my time along

With beſt of bleſſings, make my courſes thrive,

Fill full my garners, make my oxen ſtrong

To labour; and although his bountie give

As much to me as to a thouſand more;

Though I am rich and all my neighbours poore;

Though Fortune fanne me with a courteous wing;

Though gold be at my beck; though I have ſail'd

With proſp'rous gales; though not an adverſe thing

Did e're betide me, though I never fail'd

Of good ſucceſſe in any undertaking:

Yet am I ſtill one of the common making;

A piece of duſt and clay: and I may go

Into my grave as ſoon 's a poorer man.

Our mold 's alike; God at firſt made us ſo:

He makes the rich mans life but like a ſpan;

And ſo the beggers is; juſt both alike:

And both fall when impartiall Death doth ſtrike.

When they are fallen both alike they lie;

Both breathleſſe, noiſome, liveleſſe, ſenſeleſſe, cold:

Both like the graſſe are withered, dead and drie;

And both of them are ghaſtly to behold.

The ods is this, The poore man 'mongſt the croud

Of buried mortalls hath the courſeſt ſhroud.

Why ſinne the fooliſh ſonnes of men for gain?

Why doth the Land-lord rack? the Us'rer bite?

Why doth the Judge with bribes his conſcience ſtain?

Why doth the bauling Lawyer take delight

In ſpinning cauſes to a needleſſe length,

Untill his clients purſe hath loſt its ſtrength?

Why are Gods Miniſters become men-pleaſers?

And why are Patrones ſimoniacall?

Why are our Advocates ſuch nippy teaſers

Of honeſt cauſes? why the devil and all

Do Miſers ſcrape? and why do Tradeſmen rear

Their price, yet ſell time dearer then their ware?

Sure theſe bad courſes cannot chooſe but hurt us;

They make Deaths looks more ghaſtly, and his ſting

More piercing: but our wealth cannot ſupport us

'Gainſt ſmalleſt pains and fears that Death will bring.

Riches do promiſe much but do deceive us:

When we have need of ſuccour then they leave us.

Anoint me, Lord, with eye-ſalve, to diſcern

What poore contents the world affords at beſt.

Inſtruct me, Lord, and I ſhall quickly learn

That without thee there 's no condition bleſt.

Bad wayes of gaining into hell will drive me:

But all my wealth will not from Death reprive me.

Meditation 3.

SOme therefore ſinne becauſe they do abound

In ſtore of wealth: this is the onelyonly ground

Of many ſinnes. Gods laws they do tranſgreſſe;

They wrong their equals, and the poore oppreſſe;

They tread religion and civilitie

Both under foot; all kind of tyrannie

They exerciſe on all within their reach.

Nothing can keep them in; they make a breach

Through all thoſe fenſes which at the beginning

God ſet to keep rebellious man from ſinning:

They will be revellers, whoremongers, ſwearers,

Drunkards, oppreſſours, liers, and forbearers

Of no impiety: this is the reaſon,

Great men they are, and rich. 'T is petty treaſon,

Though in a modeſt way, for to reprove

Thoſe ſinfull courſes which our betters love.

If we dare do it, though we have a calling

To do it boldly, we are tax'd for bawling

And ſaucie fellows; and another day

Sure we ſhall ſmart for 't. Lord, I 'll never ſay,

I 'll ſinne becauſe I 'm rich; unleſſe that I

Could ſay, I 'm rich, and therefore will not die.

Meditation 4.

IF from Deaths ſtroke my riches cannot ſhield me,

Nor on my death-bed any comfort give;

Then I will take a care that they ſhall yield me

Some joy and comfort whilſt I am alive,

And never ſhall a jote my ſinnes increaſe,

Nor hinder me from going hence in peace.

I 'll get them well: my calling ſhall be lawfull;

My brows or brains ſhall ſweat for what I have:

And I will uſe my calling with an awfull

Regard of God and conſcience; nor will crave

What I have not a right to. They do eat

Scarce their own bread whoſe faces never ſweat

Unleſſe they ſweat with eating. Nor can I

Find any warrant for thoſe wayes of gain

Which many men do get their livings by:

To keep a needleſſe Alehouſe to maintein

An idle familie: to be a Pander,

A Fortune-teller, or an Apes commander:

A purblind Crowder, or a Rogue that canteth;

A Cuckold by conſent for ready pay:

A ſturdy Begger that not one limb wanteth:

Or one that borrows money on the way:

A Us'rer, who whether 't ſhine or rain,

If the Sunne ſtand not ſtill, is ſure of gain.

For theſe I find no warrant: nor for dealing

Deceitfully in ſelling or in buying.

To take more then what 's ſold is worth, is ſtealing;

Or to give leſſe: the art of multiplying

Our lands, or gold, or ſilver, by ſubtracting

From other mens, or by unjuſt exacting

What is not ours. Better (in my opinion)

It were to feed on barley-bread and pottage

Made of ſalt, water, and an onion:

To wear a thred-bare coat, and in a cottage

Smoke-bound and ruſty pennyleſſe to dwell,

Then to get wealth unleſſe I get it well.

And when 't is juſtly gotten, every thought

That I 'll beſtow upon it ſhall be ſuch

As it deſerves: If heav'ns full hand hath brought

Plenty into my boſome, if as much

I have as I could wiſh, my care ſhall be

To think of't all as of a vanity.

A vanity that, for ought I do know,

May take its flight and in an houre leave me.

As God had many wayes for to beſtow

His bounty on me, he hath to bereave me

As many more: as moveables I 'll deem it

From me, or with me; and I will eſteem it

A ſtrong temptation unto many a ſinne,

That never will perform what it doth promiſe:

That wealths fair books when we are deepeſt in

The greater reck'ning God exacteth from us.

I 'll not afford my wealth a better thought:

And I do think I think on 't as I ought.

And as I ought I 'll uſe 't: Not to be fewel

For any luſt, nor to maintein my riot;

Not to be prodigall, vainglorious, cruel;

Nor yet to make my potent purſe diſquiet

My poorer brother: but from thence I'll raiſe

My neighbours profit and my Makers praiſe.

Where there is need, I 'll ready be to give,

Glad to diſtribute: naked ones I 'll cover:

Hungry, and thirſty ſouls I will relieve:

Widows diſtreſs'd in me ſhall find another

Husband: to orphanes I will be in ſtead

Of parents to provide their daily bread.

I 'll never empty ſend the poore away:

The Church ſhall ever find my purſe unty'd:

The King ſhall have his due without delay:

The Common-wealth ſhall never be deny'd.

Thus ſhall my wealth be common unto many,

If ever God be pleas'd to ſend me any.

Riches ſo juſtly gotten, and imploy'd

So piouſly, although they cannot make

A man immortall, that he ſhould avoid

The grave and rottenneſſe; yet do not ſhake

The ſoul with terrours and ſuch deſperate fears,

As what 's ill gotten doth, when Death appears,

Make me a faithfull Steward, holy Father,

Of what thou haſt intruſted me withall.

Where I ſtraw'd not grant I may never gather;

Nor ſinne in ſpending: Then ſend Death to call

Me to account, Lord, when thou wilt, and I

Shall entertein the meſſage joyfully.

Sect. 2. Honours cannot protect us from the ſtroke of Death.

OF honours all that can be ſaid doth meet

In Kings and Princes; glory, majeſty,

Command, and titles: yet their ſacred feet

Trudge to the grave-ward. Power, Royaltie,

A Kingdome, Crown, and Sceptre cannot be

Protections againſt mortalitie.

Princes are Gods on earth; yet ſure they muſt,

As well as meaner men, be ſick and die:

Their Royall bodies ſhall be chang'd to duſt:

No crown below is worn eternally.

Of all thoſe Kings which in Gods book we reade

One died, and another reign'd in 's ſtead.

If good and loyall ſubjects had their wiſh,

A gracious Prince ſhould never ſee the grave;

Nor ſhould his Royall corps be made a diſh

For worms: but pious wiſhes will not ſave

A King from duſt. As other mens, his breath

Is in his noſtrils: Crowns muſt bow to Death.

Sure, were it not a kind of petty treaſon

To wiſh his Majeſty ſo long without

A crown of glory, I ſhould think it reaſon

To pray his lamp of life might ne'r go out.

Though not in 's ſelf, yet, Lord, grant he may be

Immortall in a bleſſed progenie.

Meditation 1.

'MOngſt us an humble great one is a wonder

Rarer by ods then is a winters thunder.

Great men and good each other ſeldome kiſſe:

Pride to preferment 's married. O! there is

Not a thought within their brain

Of a grave, nor yet of ſeeing

Death; nor do they dream of being

Changed into duſt again.

Conſider, Sir, though you have been a taſter

Of Princes favours, mounted all degrees

Of honour; have been called, Lord, and Maſter;

Though your approch hath bow'd as many knees

As once mighty Hamans: yet

Is it not Eternity

That you hold your greatneſſe by.

Death and you muſt one day meet.

As I remember, I have read a ſtory,

That one in Embaſſy ſent from the King

Of Perſia to Rome, was ſhew'd the glory

Of that proud citie: every famous thing

That was by the Romanes thought

To expreſſe the great and mighty

Proweſſe of their glorious city,

Thither was the Perſian brought.

There he beheld ſuch glorious ſtructures, rais'd

To dare the skies, that outwent all examples;

Where art and coſt workman and founder prais'd:

Baths, Theatres, Tombs, Monuments, and Temples,

Statues that would wonder-ſtrike

Any mortall man that ſhould

Once behold them; neither could

All the world ſhew the like.

After this view Romes mighty Emperour,

Longing for praiſes, in the Perſian tongue

Demanded of this ſtrange Embaſſadour

What he now thought of Rome. I ſhould do wrong

To your ſacred Majeſty,

Thus th' Ambaſſadour reply'd,

And this glorious place beſide,

If I ſhould not magnifie

Both you and it. But one thing I diſlike

In Rome it ſelf: I ſee that Death doth reigne

As well here as in Perſia, and doth ſtrike

The greateſt down, and when he pleaſe doth chain

People, Senatours and Kings

In cold fetters made of duſt:

Even noble Romanes muſt

Feel what putrefaction brings.

Your Emperours themſelves have had their turns

In fun'rall piles. Theſe tombs can teſtify

The Caeſars mortall. In theſe ſacred urns

What lies but royall duſt? Mortality

Happens here: and I know no man

But hath power to hold his breath

As long, and is free from Death

As much as the nobleſt Romane.

Look we a little on this land of ours:

Here 's plenty, peace and every other bleſſing.

Into her boſome God in plenteous ſhowres

Rains kindneſſes that are beyond expreſſing.

Sure we of this kingdome may

Juſtly our Creatour praiſe

For a ſhare in happier dayes

Then Rome did at beſt enjoy.

Ours is a land of barly and of wheat:

Our ſtones are iron, and our hills yield brafſe.

A land wherein th' inhabitants do eat

Bread without ſcarceneſſe; here our bleſſings paſſe

All enumeration:

What God ſeverally beſtows

Upon others joyntly flows

From his bounty to this nation.

Yet here men die too: not the ruſſet Clowns,

And Peaſants onelyonly that do hold the plow,

And Shepherds that ſit piping on the downs,

And milk-maids that do court'ſie to a cow;

But thoſe noble men that have

Titles, lordſhips, farms and mannours,

And a great book full of honours:

Theſe go down into the grave.

See you not yonder ſuper-ſtately palace?

Three generations ſince that houſe was builded.

A great man did it for his Lordſhips ſolace

In ſummer-time; but dying up he yielded

To his heir this ſtately pile:

This heir left it to his brother;

He dy'd too: and then another

Swagger'd there a little while.

And he that had it laſt is now remov'd

A ſtory lower down into the duſt.

Thoſe ſwelling titles which were ſo belov'd;

That great eſtate in which the man did truſt;

Troups of gallants that did give

Their attendance; all that treaſure

Waiting on his Lordſhips pleaſure

Could not keep the man alive.

Mark yonder marble-tomb: beneath it hath

This man a lodging. All thoſe lines you ſee

On this ſide are a praiſing Epitaph,

And on the other ſide his titles be.

Of this fabrick if we might

One piece from another ſunder,

And behold what lyeth under,

'T would be ſcarce ſo fair a ſight.

Great ones, remember that there is a place

Which poore men call a death-bed, and a time

Of parting hence; you walk a nimble pace

To earth-ward every houre. Here though you climb

Up to Honour's higheſt round,

Drink a cup full to the brim

Of the world, in pleaſures ſwim,

Death will lay you under ground.

Meditation 2.

VVHoſe heart ſo adamantine but would weep

Sad crimſon drops to think upon ſome riſers▪

Lord, what a wicked ſhuffling they do keep

To lift themſelves! Some have been ſacrificers

Of their fathers, brothers, friends,

Kinsfolk, children, and have ſtood

Wetſhod every ſtep in bloud,

To attein their lofty ends.

Of martyrs what a lamentable heap

Did Herod make for fear to looſe his crown!

A mother would have ſold a cradle cheap

To buy a coffin or a mourning gown.

This fell Tyrants rage appears

Running down each Parents face:

His wrath left in every place

Childleſſe mothers drown'd in tears.

And Abſolom, that miracle of beauty,

So eagerly did long to be a King,

That he could ſoon unlearn his filiall duty,

And by a ſtrange rebellion fain would bring

The thrice-venerable head

Of his aged father down

To the grave without a crown,

And he triumph in his ſtead.

Abimelech, ſo ſtrong was his ambition,

A bloudie bargain made with certain men

Of Belial, and to hinder competition

Did ſacrifice at once threeſcore and ten

Of his brothers on a ſtone:

With ſo foul and deep a guilt

So much harmleſſe bloud is ſpilt,

That himſelf may reigne alone.

Of that inhumane hell bred tragedie

By Athaliah on the royall ſeed,

The motive was deſire of majeſtie,

And that her own arms might the better ſpeed.

Our third Richard goes for one

Of thoſe butchers who think good

To cement their crowns with bloud,

And by murders reach a throne.

The great Turks abſolute prerogative,

Which in ſecuritie his crown mainteins,

Is not to ſuffer one of them to live

That hath a drop of royall bloud in 's veins:

When he 's crown'd there 's nothing lacking

That may to the ſafetie tend

Of this Monarch, but to ſend

The ghoſts of his kinsmen packing.

If I at leiſure were to write a ſtorie

Of ſuch black deeds as theſe at large, I could

Tell you of numbers who to purchaſe glorie,

Honours and high rooms in the world, have ſold

(And this policie they call)

A good conſcience, dearer farre

Then a thouſand kingdomes are,

And to boot their God and all.

And yet when all is done, there dwells a God above,

A God that 's greater then the greateſt are,

Who can and will ſend Death for to remove

The greateſt hence, and bring them to the barre:

Where muſt ſtand both ſmall and great,

To have ſentence e'r they go

Of eternall bliſſe or wo

At Gods dreadfull judgement-ſeat.

When you are ſeated higheſt let your carriage

Be full of pietie: you do an act

Worthy your greatneſſe if you make a marriage

'T wixt it and goodneſſe, if you do contract

Honours unto holyneſſe.

Ever give the Lord his due

Honour who hath honoured you:

Then will Death affright the leſſe.

Affright the leſſe? 't will not affright at all.

The errand 's welcome when a charge is giv'n

To that grim purſuivant that he muſt call

Your honours hence unto a court in heav'n.

To be great is not the thing

That can dying-comforts yield:

Goodneſſe onelyonly is the field

Whence all ſoul-refreſhings ſpring.

Meditation 3.

JF ever it ſhould pleaſe God and the King

(Which I do not deſire) to give me honours;

Yet never ſhould my beſt preferments bring

Vices to boot: they ſhould not change my manners.

Many a man hath been good

Unpreferr'd, and not a ſlave

To his luſts; yet honours have

Put him in another mood.

Of Saul we heare no evil whilſt he ſtood

Endow'd with nothing but a private fortune:

And afterward we heare as little good

Of Saul a King: His honours did importune

His bad nature to produce

Such fruits as were too unfit

For a King, and to commit

Sinnes that were beyond excuſe.

As long as man is limited within

The bounds of humble, baſe and mean eſtate,

He ſeems to make ſome conſcience of a ſinne,

And one that would be good at any rate:

But no wickedneſſe he ſpares

When (by chance) the man is mounted

And 'mongſt great ones is accounted;

Then the man himſelf declares.

Then his depraved nature with looſe rains

Runnes uncontrolledly into the mire

Of all impietie; no ſinne remains

Unacted by him: doth he but deſire

To be wicked, vain or idle,

Any luſt to ſatisfie,

That luſt he will gratifie:

His affections wear no bridle.

I 'll never be deboiſt although my ſeat

Of glory in the world be ne'r ſo high:

I will not therefore ſinne becauſe I 'm great;

For if I greater were, yet I muſt die,

And muſt at Gods bench appear,

Where my ſentence ſhall be given

To receive a hell or heaven,

As my doings have been here.

Sect. 3. Pleaſures cannot protect us from the ſtroke of Death.

Under the ſunne there was not any joy

Which Solomon that wiſe and famous King

Had not a taſt of: whatſoever may

Gladneſſe, content, delight and ſolace bring,

That he from the creature gathers;

Not one pleaſure doth he keep

His heart from: yet he 's aſleep

In the duſt among his fathers.

His ſenſes had thoſe objects which delight,

Content, and pleaſe and raviſh moſt his touch;

His taſt, his hearing, ſmelling, and his ſight,

His mind and humour too, all had as much

Of delicious ſatisfaction

As from all beneath the skie

Ever could be fetched by

Any poſſible extraction.

Three hundred concubines he had to pleaſe

His touch: by turns each of them was his gueſt

At night. Seven hundred wives beſide all theſe;

The worſt of them a Princeſſe at the leaſt.

Such a female armie meets,

To make his delight run o'r.

Sure they are enough to ſtore

Twice five hundred pair of ſheets.

To pleaſe his taſt this great Kings daily chear

Exceeded for varietie and plentie:

He had his Roe-buck and his Fallow-deer,

His fatted fowl, and everie other daintie.

He had palate-pleaſing wine:

Gormandizers, whoſe beſt wiſhes

Terminate in toothſome diſhes,

No where elſe would ſup or dine.

And everie day both men and women-ſingers

Impriſoned his eare with charming voices:

The Viol touch'd with artificiall fingers,

An Organs breathing moſt melodious noiſes:

Sackbut, Pſalterie, Recorder,

The ſhrill Cornet, and the ſharp

Trumpet, Dulcimer and Harp;

Theſe all ſounded in their order.

And in his gardens he had lovely ranks

Of flowres for odour all ſweets elſe excelling,

Whoſe beauteous luſtre ſtellifi'd the banks;

All theſe were to delight his ſenſe of ſmelling,

And perfumes of ſweeteſt ſavour,

Which all other nations bring

As a preſent from their King

Who did woo his Princely favour.

For objects which were wont to pleaſe the eye,

He wanted none. Did he deſire a ſight

Of what might moſt affect? variety

Of lovely'ſt objects ſpangled with delight

Everiewhere themſelves preſent:

Scarce did anywhere appear

Other objects then did wear

Outſides clothed with content.

Behold his thouſand wives! If he would know

The height of beautie, it is ſeen in thoſe.

A battel in a field of ſanguine ſnow

Betwixt the ſpotleſſe lilie and the roſe:

Part they would on no condition,

Nor would either of them yield;

Yet at length are reconcil'd,

And there made a compoſition.

His gorgeous clothes, his ſilver and his gold,

His jewels, his incomparable treaſure

Were all of them delightſome to behold,

And gave the eye a glorious glut of pleaſure.

His friends, his magnificent

Buildings, fiſh-ponds, gardens, bowers

Interlac'd with gallant flowers

Gave both eye and mind content.

Yet he 's dead. Delights cannot protect us

From Deaths aſſaults; pleaſures eternize not

Our nature: yea, when ſickneſſe ſhall deject us

They will not eaſe nor comfort us a jote.

What doth moſt exactly pleaſe us

Here appears not where a grave is;

And what moſt of all doth raviſh

On a death-bed will not eaſe us.

Meditation 1.

MEthinks the trade of brainleſſe Epicures

Is not ſo good as it doth ſeem to be.

The ſweeteſt cup of luxury procures

No man below an immortalitie.

Yea, when ſickneſſes do lay

Him upon his bed, and ſtrain

Everie part with deadly pain,

All his pleaſures flie away.

Let 's put the caſe there was a belly-god,

Whoſe ſtudie 't was to give his throat content;

To ſacrifice to 's panch both roſt and ſod

Was his religion. Every element

Its imployment had: The Waters,

Fruitfull Earth and nimble Air,

Ranſack'd with a coſtly care,

For fiſh, fleſh and fowl, were caters:

The other cook'd it. This luxurious race

Did breath his ſtomach twice a day at leaſt;

And each diſh floted in provoking ſawce,

Which ſtill afreſh his appetite increas'd.

From Dives that 's now in hell,

For a table full of rare,

Toothſome and delicious fare,

This man bears away the bell.

Well; this fat hog of Epicurus ſtie

Falls ſick of ſurfeting, or elſe the gout

Or dropſie gripes him moſt tormentingly,

That you would think his ſoul were going out.

Pains do hinder him from ſleeping,

He lies reſtleſſe, and is ſo

Full of toſsings to and fro

That his houſe is fill'd with weeping.

His ſervants, ſeeing him ſo out of quiet,

Sadly beſpoke him thus, Sir, here 's a Pheſant,

A diſh of Partridge, Larks, or Quails, (a diet

Your Worſhip loves) a cup of rich and pleaſant

Wine that comforts where it goes,

Muſcadine, Canarie, Sherrie,

That hath often made you merrie:

This may eaſe you of your throes.

The man repli'd, If I had wine by ods

Better then nectar, which the poets feigne

Was drunk in goblets by the heathen Gods,

It would not eaſe me of my ſmalleſt pain.

Should God rain me from the skies

Manna, glorious Angels food,

'T would not do me any good:

'Gainſt it would my ſtomachriſe

There was another that plac'd no delight

In any thing but wealth; his chiefeſt good

Was pureſt gold: whether 't were wrong or right

He would be gaining: for he never ſtood

Upon conſcience at all.

And to cry down avarice,

As he thought, was a device

Merely puritanicall.

To lie, to cheat, to ſwear, and, which is worſe,

To forſwear, to diſſemble in his dealing,

Went ever down with him as things of courſe:

Nor would he ſlack a jote at down-right ſtealing.

Blind he was not; yet he ſaw

Not that ſtatute-uſury

Was at all forbidden by

Any part of morall law.

'T was fiſh whatever came within his net:

Sweet ſmell'd the dunghill that affoorded gain.

On ſuch a thriving pinne his heart was ſet,

No thoughts but golden lodged in his brain.

Scraping thus early and late,

And increaſing by theſe bad

Wayes and means, at length he had

Heaped up a vaſt eſtate.

They ſay a Turkiſh Muſulman, that dies

A faithfull ſervant unto Mahomet,

Shall preſently enjoy a paradiſe

Of brave delights indeed: The place is ſet

All about with glorious matters;

There are rivers, pleaſant benches

Straw'd with flowres, & gallant wenches

That have eyes as broad as platters,

And many other joyes as good as theſe.

But all are bables to that ſtrong content

Wherewith the man we told you of doth pleaſe

Himſelf in his eſtate: More merriment

In the images of Kings

Doth he find then ſix or ſeven

Martyr'd Turks do in their heaven.

Hearken how the miſer ſings;

I 'll eat, drink, and play,

And I 'll freely enjoy

My pleaſures before I am old;

I 'll be ſorie no more,

For my ſoul hath in ſtore

Abundance of ſilver and gold.

In this day and night

Will I place my delight;

It ſhall fatten my heart with laughter.

No man ſhall excell me;

For who is 't can tell me

What pleaſures there will be hereafter?

His irreligious ſong was hardly ended,

When at his gate was heard one ſoftly knocking:

It was that Tyrant Death, who came attended

With troups of griping throes; all theſe came flocking

Round about this golden fool.

As the iſſue did aſſure us,

God had ſent theſe ghaſtly Furies

For to take away his ſoul.

Alas, Sir, ſaid his ſervants what may be

The cauſe you ſend us out ſuch wofull grones?

How fell you into ſuch an agonie?

What ails your throat, your head, your heart, your bones

Or your ſtomach, or your brains,

That you howl ſo? here before you

Is that which muſt needs reſtore you,

And eaſe your extremeſt pains.

Here 's gold and ſilver and as ſtately ſtuff

As England, Scotland, France, or Ireland yields:

Of jewels and of plate you have enough:

Of any man you have the fruitfull'ſt fields.

Fatteſt oxen throng your ſtall;

Tenants tumble in your rent:

Thoſe to whom you mony lent

Bring both uſe and principall.

This cannot chuſe but comfort. But the man,

That lay upon his eaſeleſſe death-bed ſprawling,

Made this replie, If any of you can

By marks infallible make ſure my calling

To my ſoul, and my election;

If from any text divine

You could prove that Chriſt is mine,

This would be a good refection.

Or if you could aſſure my parting ghoſt

Of ſeeing God to all Eternitie,

Of being one amongſt that heavenly hoſt

Whoſe bliſse it is to praiſe him endleſſely;

This were comfort that accordeth

With his caſe that is diſtreſt

As now I am, but the reſt

On a death-bed none affoordeth.

There was another man whoſe occupation

Was to paſse time away: he made a trade

Of that which men do call a recreation:

He was indeed a very merry blade.

Taverns, bowling-alleys, playes,

Dauncing, fiſhing, fowling, racing,

Hawking, hunting, courſing, tracing,

Took up all his healthfull dayes.

But on a time a ſudden ſickneſse came,

And ſeiſed him in each extremer part,

(This grudging did begin to ſpoil his game)

But at the length it faſt'ned on his heart;

There it plung'd him wofully,

And forthwith the man is led

Home and laid upon his bed:

Think him now at point to die.

A little after came into the room

A gallant troup of neceſsarie ſtuff,

His coachman, falconer, huntsman, page, and groom,

His miſtreſse with her hands both in a muff,

Sorie all to ſee him ſo.

But ſee how theſe fools invent

To give a ſick man content,

And to eaſe him ere they go.

One breaks a jeſt, another tells a tale;

One ſtrikes the lute, another ſings a dittie;

(But neither of them pray to God at all)

Another tells what news is in the citie:

Everie man is in his vein,

And all jointly do contrive

Pleaſant paſsages to drive

Out of doore their maſters pain.

They ask'd him if he pleas'd to take the air,

Or call for 's coach and ride to ſee a play.

And whether he would hunt the buck or hare,

Or to a tavern go to drive away

Or to drown times tediousneſſe,

Or elſe to a tennis-court

Whither gallants do reſort,

Or elſe play a game at cheſſe.

The man reply'd, Ye know I muſt be gone

The way of all, I cannot tell how ſoon;

And I have other things to think upon:

Already it is with me afternoon;

Erelong my declining ſunne

Needs muſt ſet. Oh! my life hangs

On a thred: theſe mortall pangs

Crack it. Out my glaſſe is runne.

Time was I doted on theſe idle toyes:

Now can they not a dram of comfort yield.

Too late I ſee they are not death-bed joyes,

No refuge from ſoul-vexing ſtorms, no ſhield

When a mortall blow is given.

Prate no more: let not a man

Open 's mouth unleſſe he can

Tell me how to get to heaven.

There was another that for nothing car'd

(It was a woman) but for vain exceſſe

In bravery of clothes; no coſt was ſpar'd,

Nor art, nor care, that ſerved to expreſſe

To the full a female pride:

But at length it came to paſſe

That this ſpruce and gallant laſſe

Fell extremely ſick and di'd.

But I muſt tell you, that, whilſt like a lion

Pains tore her bones in pieces, ere ſhe ſent

Her laſt breath out, (imagine her of Sion

A matchleſſe daughter) to her chamber went,

Weeping ripe, her good handmaiden,

Purpoſing as much as may be

To chear up her dying Ladie:

For with comforts was ſhe laden.

Thus ſhe began, and ſpake it with a grace,

Be comforted, good Madame, never let

A little ſickneſſe ſpoil ſo good a face;

Your Ladyſhip cannot ſo ſoon forget

Your contents. If ever any

Gentlewoman liv'd that might

Find materialls of delight,

You; good Madame, have as many.

Here for your feeet are tinkling ornaments;

Here are your bonnets, and your net-work-cauls,

Fine linen tōo that every eye contents,

Your head-bands, tablets, eare-rings, chains, and falls,

Your noſe-jewels, and your rings,

Your hoods, criſping-pinnes, & wimples,

Glaſſes that bewray your pimples,

Vails, and other pretty things:

Here are your dainty mantles, and your ſutes

Of changeable apparel, and your tires

Round like the moon, your bracelets, (finger-fruits)

Of buſie houres) mufflers, and golden wires;

And ſo many more that no man

Can repeat nor yet remember

From October to September:

This would comfort any woman.

Suppoſe her, if you will, an Engliſh Lady;

And think you heare her waiting-gentlewoman

Beſpeak her thus, Madame, here is a gawdy

And glorious ſhew, (theſe faſhions are not common.)

Here 's your beaver and your feather,

Here are ſilver-ribband knots,

Trunks full of rich riding-coats,

Gallant ſhelters' gainſt the weather.

Here are your holland and your cambrick-ſmocks,

Your gowns of velvet, ſatten, taffatie,

Irons to curvifie your flaxen locks,

And ſpangled roſes that outſhine the skie:

For your head here 's precious geere,

Bonelace-croſ-cloths, ſquares & ſhadows,

Dreſſings, which your Worſhip made us

Work upon above a yeare.

Rich chains of pearl to tie your hair together,

And others to adorn your ſnowie breaſt;

Silk ſtockings, ſtarre-like ſhoes of Spaniſh leather:

And that which farre excelleth all the reſt

And begets moſt admiration,

Of your clothes is not their matter,

Though the world affords not better,

But it is their Frencheſt faſhion.

Madame, believe 't, the faireſt of the Graces

Subſcribes to you. Whenever you appear

Adorned with your gold and ſilver-laces,

Your preſence makes the greedi'ſt eye good chear.

This conſideration

In time paſt was wont to pleaſe you:

Now then, Madame, let it eaſe you

And afford you conſolation.

The dying woman, when this ſpeech was done,

After a grone or two made this replie,

Doth ſuch a curtain-lecture ſuit with one

That everie houre doth look when ſhe ſhould die?

'T is not congruous. Wer'ſt thou able

My poore naked ſoul to dreſſe

With a Saviours righteouſneſſe,

This indeed were comfortable:

But all the reſt is not. Oh! how I grieve

To think upon my former vanitie:

Alas, I feel theſe toyes cannot relieve,

Nor eaſe, nor comfort. Thus let luxurie

Pitch on what it will, its joyes

Are but painted, nor can bring us

Eaſe when pangs of Death do wring us,

Much leſſe can they make our dayes

Eternall here. Thy ſervant, Lord, beſeecheth

The preſence of thy ſpirit that diſcovers

How vain that carnall joy is which bewitcheth

With pleaſant poiſon all her ſottiſh lovers.

Let-not earth-delights foreſtall me:

Help thy ſervant to provide

Pleaſures that will then abide

When thou ſendeſt Death to call me.

Meditation 2.

FArewell thoſe pleaſures which the creatures breed:

Theſe carnall comforts ſhall be none of mine;

They ſlink away in time of greateſt need:

I'll get me comforts that are more divine,

Such as God provideth for us

By his Spirit and in his word:

They are ſuch as will afford

Joy unſpeakable and glorious.

Unſanctified palates cannot find

A reliſh in Gods ſervice: 't is their follie

That nothing in it ſuiteth with their mind,

That they account religion melancholie.

And the cauſe of their miſpriſion

Is becauſe they cannot ſee

Things divine; for yet they be

In their naturall condition.

But ſanctified ſouls have better eyes.

Each Perſon in the ſacred Trinitie

Sends comfort down, and ſuch as farre outvies

The beſt delight that is below the skie.

Father, Sonne, and holy Ghoſt,

Be it ſpoke with reverence,

Seem to ſtrive which ſhall diſpenſe

Bleſsings that do comfort moſt.

The Father, as his title often writes

Himſelf a God of peace and conſolation,

He ſends me comforts by thoſe ſacred lights

Which bring me errands from his habitation:

And ſo firm and full and free

Is each promiſe in his book,

That on whichſoe'r I look

Bleſſed comforts I do ſee:

So firm, that firſt the hugeſt hills and mountains

Shall dance out of their places, ſtarres ſhall fall,

Streams ſhall run backward to their mother-fountains,

The earth ſhall tumble, ere he will recall

One of 's promiſes: For why,

(And this gives ſtrong conſolation

In the middeſt of temptation)

He 's a God, and cannot lie.

So full, that there 's not any thing left out

That I could wiſh. What I would have him be

God is. Would I be compaſſed about

With merciemercy? find relief in miſerie?

Would I by his Spirit be led?

And have all my ſinnes forgiven?

And hereafter go to heaven?

All this God hath promiſed.

So free, that to deſerve that promis'd glory

I nothing have but what his merciemercy gave me:

'T is gratis rather then compenſatorie

Whatever God doth to convert or ſave me.

And if any good I do,

'T is done by ſupplies Divine;

So Gods work and none of mine:

Grace begins and ends it too.

What if by nature I was made a ſheep,

And by corruption I am gone aſtray,

Whether I think, or ſpeak, or do, or ſleep,

Or wake, do ever wander from the way

I was ſet in, and am toſs'd

So by luſt that my ſoul wanders

Into many by-meanders,

Like a ſillie ſheep that 's loſt?

Yet God 's my ſhepherd: When his mercy ſpi'd me

Wandring it brought me home; and ever ſince

It doth watch over, feed, defend, and guide me,

And ever will do ſo till I go hence:

And hereafter in the even,

When my lateſt ſand is runne,

And my paſture here is done,

It will fold my ſoul in heaven.

The Sonne doth comfort. 'T was his errand down

To preach glad tidings to the meek, and turn

Their wo to eaſe; to earn a glorious crown

For ſinners, and to comfort thoſe that mourn;

Broken-hearted ones to bind,

And to ſet at libertie

Pris'ners in captivitie,

And give eye-ſight to the blind.

There 's comfort in his wounds: His ſacred ſtripes

Do heal our leprous ſouls of all their ſores:

'T is nothing but his pretious bloud that wipes

Our guilt away and cancelleth our ſcores.

Six times did he ſhed his bloud,

(And ſure out eſtate did need it

That ſo many times he did it)

And each drop was for our good.

Thoſe circumciſion-drops of's infancie,

Thoſe drops that 's anguiſh in the garden vented,

Thoſe drops when he was ſcourged Jewiſhly,

Thoſe drops when 's head with ſharpeſt thorns was tented,

Thoſe drops when his limbs were nailed

To the croſſe, thoſe when the fierce

Souldiers ſpear his ſide did pierce;

Each drop for our good prevailed.

There 's comfort in his croſſe: That vile old man

That hangs about us to our dying day

Is crucified with him that it can

Not exerciſe half of its wonted ſway:

Leſſened is its kingly power.

Surely ſinne, it ſtruggles ſo,

Hath receiv'd a mortall blow,

And is dying everie houre.

There 's comfort in his death: For us he dy'd,

For us he felt his Fathers heavie wrath,

And his impartiall juſtice ſatisfi'd,

And us his alſufficient paſſion hath

Pluck'd from Satan vi & armis,

And his meritorious pain

Freed us from ſinnes guilt and ſtain,

And whatever elſe might harm us.

There 's comfort in his reſurrection too.

He roſe again that we might be accounted

Righteous and juſt, (This no man elſe could do)

And that our ſinnes, whoſe number farre ſurmounted

All the ſtarres that ſhine in heaven,

All our hairs, and all the ſand

That lies ſcattered on the ſtrand,

For his ſake might be forgiven.

And God the holy Ghoſt doth comfort bring:

By ſpeciall office it is his imployment

To ſettle in the ſoul a lively ſpring,

From whence doth iſſue ſuch a ſweet enjoyment

Of divine, heart-pleaſing bliſſe,

As the world will not believe,

Nor can any heart conceive

But the heart wherein it is.

It is this bleſſed Spirit that doth ſeal

Aſſurance to my conſcience of a ſhare

In what God, in and through his Sonne, doth deal

To needy ſinners that converted are.

It aſſures me of Gods love

In the free and full remiſſion

Of my ſinnes, and exhibition

Of thoſe joyes that are above.

Let now the world, that 's wont to tell a ſtorie

Of ſtrange delights, ſhew me but ſuch a pleaſure,

As to be ſure of God, and Chriſt, and glory,

And then I'll hug it as my choiceſt treaſure.

Thus each Perſon of the three

Is imploy'd (if I do live

Holy as I ought) to give

Joy and comfort unto me.

Grant a man once to be in Chriſt, and he

On ſublunarie pleaſures ſoon will trample;

And yet for pleaſures, who ſhews beſt, will vie

With all the world: give him but one example,

What gets pleaſure, and what feeds it;

Whatſoe'r 'mongſt earthly things

To the mind moſt pleaſure brings;

He can ſhew what farre exceeds it.

Can learning pleaſe? he is a man of parts.

Me thinks ſure at his very fingers end

He hath exactly all the liberall arts;

At leaſt he hath ſuch arts as will commend

Any man a great deal more,

And will ſooner bring to heaven,

Then will any of thoſe ſeven

On which learned men do pore.

His Logick is ſo ſcientificall,

His Syllogiſmes are in ſo bleſt a mood,

A thouſand arguments his heart lets fall

That rightly from good premiſes conclude

Him a child of God on high,

And a member of his Sonne,

And an heir, when 's race is runne,

Of a bleſt Eternitie.

His Rhetorick excells. He can perſwade

More then thoſe well-penn'd ſweet orations which

Demoſthenes or Tullie ever made.

Doth he that prayer-hearing God beſeech?

Preſently his eare he gains.

For fine words it is no matter:

Let him like a ſwallow chatter

Or a crane, yet he obtains.

And for Arithmetick; his numeration

Is of his dayes: this makes the man applie

His heart to wiſdome, that in any ſtation

He may perform his dutie prudently.

And thoſe ſinnes, to make them hatefull,

Which his conſcience moſt do cumber

Everie day the man doth number;

And Gods bleſsings, to be gratefull.

And for Addition; 't is his diligence

Vertue to adde to faith; to vertue, knowledge;

Love, godlineſse, peace, kindneſse, patience,

One to another: that his ſoul 's a Colledge

Filled with divineſt graces:

And not one grace idle lies,

But all do their exerciſe

In their ſeverall turns and places.

When he ſubtracteth, 't is not from the poore,

As moſt men do, not from the King nor Church;

But from ſinnes monſtrous bodie. More and more

He weakens the old man that lies at lurch

In each of his faculties,

And his maſter-ſinne, the ſtrongeſt

Luſt that hath been harboured longeſt

In his ſoul he mortifies.

He multiplies not, as in many places

Men do, his riches; but he multiplies

And doth augment his ſaving gifts and graces,

If not in habit yet in exerciſe.

He divides his goods, he feedeth

Hungrie bellies, and relieveth

Such as are diſtreſs'd, and giveth

Unto everie one that needeth.

When he reduceth, 't is his converſation

In ev'rie point from what it was by nature:

He moulds his life into another faſhion,

And ſhews himſelf to be a new-made creature.

And for ſuch a mans Progreſsion;

He 's not fixed in his place

Like a ſtatue, but in grace

Grows to credit his profeſsion.

He ever worketh by the Rule of Three

That do above in heaven bear record.

The Golden Rule, whereby his actions be

Squar'd and directed, is their written word.

Though ſometimes he work by Fractions,

Gives God broken ſervices,

'Cauſe he 's fleſh in part; yet is

He ſincere in all his actions.

And for a pious mans Aſtronomie;

What if he cannot tell the ſev'rall motions

Thoſe orbs have which do roll about the skie?

Starres names, ſite, bigneſſe, and ſuch other notions?

What if he know not how ſoon

The ſunne will eclipſed be?

Nor hath wit enough to ſee

The new world that 's in the moon?

Yet he doth know the milkie way that leads

Unto the palace of the higheſt King:

Whoſe preſence the whole hoſt of heaven dreads,

Who made the ſtarres, the ſpheres, and everie thing;

Steers the courſe that each orb runnes,

Binds ſtarres influence, looſeth the bands

Of Orion, and his hands

Guide Arcturus with his ſonnes.

For Geometrie; what if he cannot tell

How many miles the vaſt earth is about?

Yet doth his pious art by farre excell

In finding many greater matters out:

Matters that exceed the ſtrength

Of beſt wits, the full extenſion

Of Chriſt 's love in each dimenſion,

Height, and depth, & breadth, & length.

For Grammar; he can wickedneſſe decline.

His ſupernaturall Philoſophie

Is wiſdome to ſalvation. Moſt divine

His muſick is: That God that dwells on high

Is pleas'd with no other tone.

There is nothing he can heare

Makes ſuch muſick in his eare

As a ſanctified grone.

For Phyſick; his moſt admirable knowledge

Hath found out a Catholicon. (This ranks

His skill deſervedly above the Colledge,

Above French or Italian mountebanks.)

There 's no ſickneſſe, he is ſure,

Be it ne'r ſo ſtrong or foul,

That affecteth any ſoul,

But the bloud of Chriſt can cure.

The greateſt Clerk is but a learned fool,

If's learning be not mixt with godlineſse,

The greateſt Scholar's he that goes to ſchool

To learn of Chriſt the wayes of holineſse.

Thus if learning be a treaſure

That doth pleaſe, or skill in arts,

Or to be a man of parts;

He that's holy finds this pleaſure.

Doth toothſome and delicious chear delight?

The godly have it once a week at leaſt.

Our bounty-handed Saviour doth invite

His ſervants to a rich and ſumptuous feaſt,

Where his own ſelf is our ſerver;

Such a feaſt of fatteſt things

As if all the gueſts were Kings:

Where faith may be her own carver.

Do riches pleaſe? A godly mans eſtate

Surpaſseth that of Croeſus: he hath more

Then out of Chriſt is had at any rate.

God hath endow'd him with a bleſsed ſtore

Better then a heap of gold,

Which nor thief, nor moth, nor ruſt,

Can ſteal, eat, or turn to duſt:

His are bags that ne'r wax old.

Gods rich and precious promiſes are his,

Which by a precious faith he makes his own:

Gods richeſt mercy; there's no wealth like this:

Chriſts precious bloud, whereof a drop alone

Was of higher valuation

Then all men and Angels be,

Or what e'r the ſunne did ſee

Ever ſince the firſt creation.

Doth rich apparel pleaſe? Chriſts righteouſneſſe

Clothes all his members to conceal their ſhame.

Ne'r was Kings daughter in ſo pure a dreſſe,

Unleſſe ſhe were adorned with the ſame.

'T is a robe that God doth pleaſe:

Angels that on God do wait,

And ne'r loſt their firſt eſtate,

Are not cloth'd like one of theſe.

For all delights, the cheating world hath none

So good by half 'mongſt all her painted ſtore

As thoſe the ſoul finds in religion:

With pureſt joy the pious heart runnes o'r.

Let the world diverſifie

Her delights a thouſand wayes,

Yet they come ſhort of thoſe joyes

That are found in pietie.

When I muſt die, my joy that 's naturall

Forſaketh me; that which is ſecular

Takes leave afſoon as ever Death doth call;

Joyes that were criminall converted are

Into moſt tormenting fears:

OnelyOnly that which is divine

On a Death-bed will be mine.

And what if when Death appears

It cannot ſhield me from that fatall blow?

(I would not it ſhould do me ſo much wrong:

For if I were immortall here below

I were not happie) yet 't will go along

With me when I do depart.

Carnall joyes, Lord, from me baniſh,

Let divine delights repleniſh

Ev'rie corner of my heart.

Sect. 4. Friends cannot protect us from the ſtroke of Death.

IF I were great, rich, proſperous, ſecure,

Succeſſefull in the world, I ſhould be ſure

That more time-ſervers would my friendſhip woo,

Then I could reckon in a yeare or two.

As greedie Eagles to a carcaſe haſten,

And with ſharp tallons on their prey do faſten;

So would they flock about me. Or if I

Could learn the art of popularity,

I might be rich in friends, yet all my ſtore

Would not know how to keep Death out of doore.

Meditation 1.

OF Proteus 't is fained that he could

Transform himſelf to any kind of ſhape:

Into a Dove, or Lamb, and when he would,

Into a Tiger, Lion, Bear, or Ape,

Or a Mountain, Rock, or Spring,

Or Earth, Water, Fire, Air,

Into any forms tha… are

Stampt in any kind of thing.

And Ariſtippus could exactly flatter:

He had the art of winning gainfull friends,

And, that his fortune might be made the fatter,

Had all behaviours at his fingers ends.

He could grone when 's friend was ſickly,

And could weep when he was ſad:

Any humour, good or bad,

Did become him very quickly.

Did I believe that metempſychoſis

Pythagoras did dream of, I ſhould ſwear

That Proteus ghoſt to this day neither is

In hell nor yet in heaven, but doth wear

Now a body, and the baſe

Ghoſt of Ariſtippus dwells

In a thouſand bodies: elſe

How could thouſands have the face

To perſonate ſo many humours? act

So many parts at once, and balk no ſinne?

Yea, perpetrate with eaſe the baſeſt fact

That hell e'r puniſhed, to wind them in-to great friendſhips, though they miſſe

Heavens favour, all the while

Dreaming that a great mans ſmile

Is on earth the onelyonly bliſſe?

And yet when that laſt enemie ſhall come

And grind their aching bones with griping throes,

To bring their bodies to their longeſt home,

There 's not a man 'mongſt all their friends that knows

How to take away their pain.

In comes ghaſtly Death among

The midſt of that friendly throng,

And turns them to duſt again.

Meditation 2.

THere's none among the ſacred troup of Saints

Yet militant below but doth deſire

Gods favour moſt, and moſt of all laments

When it is loſt, and alway ſets a higher

Eſtimate upon the rayes

That are darted from above

By the God of peace and love,

Then on all he here enjoyes.

Ne'r doth the chaſed hart in hotteſt weather,

When horſe and hound purſue him o'r the plains,

And hunt him ſweating twentie miles together,

That all his bloud is boil'd within his veins,

When he 's to the hardeſt driven,

Pant ſo much for water-brooks,

As a ſoul deſerted looks

For a kind aſpect from heav'n.

Once did Elias zealous prayers climb

To heav'n, and made the windows there ſo faſt

(This came to paſſe in wicked Ahabs time)

That one and twentie months twice told were paſt

E'r there fell a ſhowre of rain

Or a drop of morning dew:

In the meadows nothing grew,

Nor was any kind of grain

Fed by the parched mold. How do ye think

That thirſtie, drie, and barren land did yawn

And gape to heav'n-ward for a draught of drink?

Juſt ſo, whene'r Gods favour is withdrawn

From a ſoul, it doth diſtreſſe her.

Ne'r earth thirſted more for rain,

Then doth ſhe for God again

To relieve her and refreſh her.

Have you not ſeen a mothers wofull tears

Embalm the carcaſe of her onelyonly ſonne?

How to all comfort ſhe ſtops both her eares,

Wrings both her hands, and makes a bitter moan?

Fain in ſorrow would ſhe ſwim,

Or be drown'd, it is ſo deep:

She hath heart enough to weep

Heaven full up to the brim.

But this is nothing to that matchleſſe anguiſh

That breaks in pieces ev'rie pious heart,

And makes the ſoul with darkeſt ſadneſſe languiſh,

If from 't a ſenſe of Gods good will depart.

O how ſtrangely David 's troubled

When God hid away his face!

(Though but for a little ſpace)

See how his complaints are doubled.

How long? for ever, Lord, wilt thou forget me?

How long wilt thou thy gratious viſage hide?

How long be angrie? wilt thou never let me

Enjoy thy face again? ſhall I abide

Thus for evermore bereft

Of all comfort, joy, and peace?

Shall my ſoul ne'r dwell at eaſe?

Haſt thou, Lord, no mercy left?

O once again be pleas'd to turn, and give

My ſoul a reliſh of thy wonted grace:

There 's nothing can my ſadded heart relieve,

If thou doſt hide thy comfortable face.

Thou in tears thy ſervant drown'ſt,

Thou doſt fill my cheeks with furrows

And my ſoul with ghaſtly ſorrows,

Whenſoever, Lord, thou frown'ſt.

The world doth value at a precious rate

Things here below. Some highly prize their ſport;

Some, jewels; ſome, a plentifull eſtate;

And ſome, preferments in a Princes court:

But for life; we ſo eſteem it

Above whatſoe'r is beſt,

That with loſſe of all the reſt

We are ready to redeem it.

But none of theſe Gods children do regard

So much as Gods love by a thouſand parts:

Feel they but this, to entertein 't is ſpar'd

The beſt and higheſt room in all their hearts.

They affect no wordly pelf

In compariſon of this

Kindneſſe; yea, to them it is

Better farre then life it ſelf.

Have they no reaſon for this eager thirſt

After Gods love and friendſhip? ſure they ſee

Gods favour and his kindneſſe is the firſt

And chiefeſt good: all other friendſhips be

Moſt deceitfull, truſtleſſe, vain.

When the pangs of Death do ſeiſe us

Mortall favours cannot eaſe us:

God can rid us of our pain.

But grant he do not, yet theſe pains ſhall ſend

Our ſouls to him that loves us, to enjoy

A painleſſe life that ne'r ſhall ſee an end.

He whom God loves can on a death-bed ſay,

I know my Redeemer liveth;

For me there 's laid up a crown:

When this clay-built houſe is down

God a better manſion giveth.

I 'll never woo the ſmile of man, whoſe breath

Is in his noſtrils, by ſiniſter wayes;

'T will not advantage at the houre of Death:

All my ſupportment on theſe carnall ſtayes

At the length will but deceive me.

'T is to have a friend above,

'T is Gods favour and his love,

Or elſe nothing, muſt relieve me.

Lord, make thy graces in my ſoul appear;

My heart from ev'rie lothſome blemiſh cleanſe,

That I may clearly ſee thine image there;

For that 's an undeceived evidence

Of thy favour: which when I

Once am certain to obtein,

I 'll not faint for any pain,

Nor will care how ſoon I die.

Sect. 5. Youth cannot protect us from the stroke of Death.

A Young man may die, but an old man muſt;

This may die quickly, that cannot live long:

Often are graves fill'd full with youthfull duſt.

Though youth be jocund, luſtie, merrie, ſtrong,

Yet is it ſubject unto Death-bed-pains;

'T is mortall bloud that runnes along their veins.

In all appearance old mens halting feet are

Mov'd to the grave-ward with the greateſt ſpeed,

(Like that diſciples which did outrunne Peter)

But ſometimes younger men ſtep in indeed:

And peradventure twentie years or more

Sooner then thoſe that looked in before.

Graves gape for ev'rie ſort: The butcher 's ſeen

Often to kill the youngeſt of the flock.

Some long to pluck thoſe apples that are green:

Death crops the branches and forbears the ſtock.

Children are wrapp'd up in their winding-ſheets,

And aged parents mourn about the ſtreets.

Jobs children di'd before himſelf: for after

The death of ten he liv'd to get ten other.

We ſigh out, Ah my ſonne! or, Ah my daughter!

As oft as, Ah my father, or my mother!

The firſt that ever di'd reſign'd his breath

Nine hundred yeares before his fathers death.

Yea, many times, Deaths gripings are ſo crucl,

Before the groning mothers child-birth-pain

Is paſt, the infant 's buri'd; like a jewel

But ſhewn and preſently ſhut up again,

Perhaps within a minute after birth

Is forthwith ſent to cradle in the earth.

Perhaps he is not born at all, yet dies,

And dies a verie thriftie Death: to ſave

Fun'rall expenſes he in 's mother lies

Entombed, both lodg'd in a ſingle grave:

And with him lies in one poore narrow room

His ſwadling-clouts, nurſe, mother, cradle, tomb.

Meditation 1.

SOme ſinnes there be (as holy writ doth teach)

That interrupt the current of our dayes:

He that 's found gultie of them cannot reach

That length of life which he that 's free enjoyes.

Sinne (you know) and Death are twins,

Or Death is Sinnes progeny.

Many of us if we die

In our youth may thank our ſinnes.

One ſinne is diſobedience to that pair

Which did beget us. If I ſhall deſpiſe

My parents lawfull precepts, if my care

Be not to do what 's pleaſing in their eyes,

If I willingly neglect

Any thing which I do know

Is a duty that I ow,

I may Death betimes expect.

Another ſinne is unprepar'd receiving

That bleſſed Supper which doth feed and heal,

And in and to a ſoul that is believing

A full releaſe of ſinnes doth freely ſeal:

Where that body and that bloud

Is preſented on the table,

Which are infinitely able

To do hungri'ſt ſinners good.

If I come hither an unworthie gueſt;

Or if before my heart I do not prove;

Or if I come as to a common feaſt;

Or come without Thanks, Knowledge, Faith, and Love:

If I carrie any crime

Thither with me unlamented,

Or go ere I have repented,

Death may take me hence betime.

Another is Bloud-thirſtineſſe: when we

To do a miſchief are ſo ſtrongly bent

That we ſleep not unleſſe our projects be

Contrived to inſnare the innocent:

When we are ſo like the Devil,

Everie way ſatanicall,

That tongue, brains, heart, hands, and all

Are imploy'd in what is evil.

Theſe ſinnes and others like them do procure

Untimely Deaths. Lord, purifie my heart

From everie ſinne; but chiefly, Lord, ſecure

My ſoul from theſe, that I may not depart

Hence too ſoon. Lord, my deſire

Is not to live long; but I

OnelyOnly pray that I may die

In thy favour not thine ire.

Meditation 2.

THere is a ſinne that ſeldome doth eſcape

A rich mans heir, (yet 't is a foul tranſgreſſion)

For parents Death with open mouth to gape,

That their eſtates may come to his poſſeſſion.

He gapes that his friends may ſleep:

Parentalia are rites

Verie welcome: he delights

At a fathers grave to weep.

Poore hare-brain'd fool! Perhaps thou may'ſt go firſt:

This night thy younger ſoul may be requir'd;

Thy Death may fruſtrate that ungodly thirſt:

Whoſe then is that eſtate thou haſt deſir'd?

If theſe gallants were not blind,

Sure they could not chooſe but ſee

That a thouſand children be

Dead, their parents left behind.

Of any kind of ſinne (to ſpeak the truth)

That Satan can beget upon the ſoul,

Moſt commonly man 's guilti'ſt in his youth:

Our youthfull nature is beyond controll.

Some examples are afforded,

In whoſe hiſtorie appears

Looſeneſſe in our yonger years:

Theſe the Scriptures have recorded.

The verie firſt that e'r ſuck'd mothers teat,

Becauſe his works were naught, his brothers good,

Did boil his choler to ſo ſtrong a heat

That he muſt ſlake it in his brothers bloud.

How much rancour did he ſhow

So much harmleſſe bloud to ſpill,

And a quarter-part to kill

Of all mankind at a blow?

Unnaturall, accurſed, graceleſſe Cham

Never did grieve, nor ſigh, nor bluſh, but he

Laugh'd at and mock'd his drunken fathers ſhame.

(A ſober fathers curſe his portion be.)

Prophane Eſau did make ſale

Of 's birthright for 's bellie-full;

As 'mongſt us there 's many a gull

That ſells heaven for pots of ale.

And Abſalom was moſt deform'd within;

His head-piece had more hair then wit by ods:

His beautie went no deeper then his skinne;

He fear'd not mans law nor regarded Gods.

In him David had a ſonne

Beaſtly and ambitious too:

He did wrong his bed, and do

What he could to ſteal his throne.

Inceſtuous Amnon dotes upon his ſiſter,

And in his own bloud cools his lawleſſe fires.

That brother ſhould have ſinn'd that had but kiſſ'd her,

If mov'd unto it by unchaſt deſires:

But he makes a rape upon her,

And ſo furious is his luſt

That it cannot hold but muſt

Rob a virgin of her honour.

And I could tell you of a number more

Moſt ſinfull, vitious, vile, exorbitant,

Whoſe courſes are upon the Scriptures ſcore,

As if their youth had ſealed them a grant

To be neither wiſe nor holy,

But to runne into exceſſe

Of all kind of wickedneſſe,

And do homage unto follie.

The ſage Gymnoſophiſts, who firſt did give

The wilder Indians good and wholeſome laws:

The Magi, by whom Perſia learn'd to live

In order: the Chaldei, whoſe wiſe laws

The Aſſyrians juſtly rul'd

And did guide in everie thing:

Numa, Romes devouteſt King,

Who the elder Romanes ſchool'd:

That famous Solon, whom th' Athenians ow

For all their ſtatutes: and Lycurgus, he

Whoſe wiſdome taught the Spartanes how to know

What to omit and do: and more there be

That have publiſh'd wholeſome laws

To curb all indeed; but yet

Chiefly 't was to put a bit

In mens wild and youthfull jaws.

It is a ſigne that colt is wild that needs

So ſtrong a bridle. Ground that doth require

So much manuring ſure is full of weeds.

It is becauſe ſhe wallows in the mire

That we need to waſh a ſow.

Men in youth muſt needs be bad,

To curb whom thoſe laws were made

Which we told you of but now.

'T was a commanded cuſtome that the Jews

Should once in ev'rie two and fiftie weeks

Viſit their temple; no man might refuſe

To worſhip there. Each fourth year the Greeks

Their Olympian ſacrifice

Orderly performed: and

Th' Egyptians us'd to ſtand

Lifting up devouteſt eyes

Unto their Idole ev'ry ſeventh yeare

Within th' appointed temple. And 't is ſaid

Once in ten years the Romanes did appear

To ſacrifice: then was Apollo paid

His great Hecatomb, and then

Unto Delphos many went

With their gifts, for thither ſent

Preſents ev'rie ſort of men.

And of the Samnites authours do relate,

That th' ancient'ſt of them did moſt ſolemnly

Once in five years their Luſtra celebrate:

But 't is delivered by Antiquitie

That the youth of all theſe nations

Strictly all commanded were

To theſe places to repair

Oftner to make their oblations.

What doth this intimate, but that the crimes

Of youth are great and frequent, and their vices

Exorbitant, that they ſo many times

Have need to purge them by ſuch ſacrifices?

By experience we do find

What bad courſes men do follow

In their youth, and how they wallow

In baſe luſts of ev'rie kind.

And if you ask theſe brainleſſe hot-ſpurres why

They dedicate themſelves to ſuch lewd courſes;

They yet are young, theſe gallants ſtill replie,

And youth muſt have its ſwing: but no remorſe is

Wrought at all in any heart

For this lewdneſſe; there remains

Not a thought within their brains,

That the youngeſt may depart.

Lord, take poſſeſſion of my heart betimes:

My youth is fitteſt for thy ſervice; take it

Unto thy ſelf: make white thoſe crimſon crimes

That fain would ſoil it: let me never make it

A pretenſe (as many do)

To be lewd, but think that I

In the height of youth may die,

May die and be damned too.

Meditation 3.

PArents methinks betime ſhould ſtrive to make

Their children good, that heaven may receive them.

If God ſhould ſend an early Death to take

Them from the earth, it cannot chooſe but grieve them,

And fill full with bitter woe

Any parents heart to ſee

That their children wicked be,

And Death come and find them ſo.

Thoſe fruitfull couples whom the Lord hath bleſt

With children, ſhould take greateſt care to breed them

Religiouſly: In this more love 's expreſſ'd,

Then in their care to cloth them or to feed them,

Or what elſe they can beſtow

For their life or livelyhood,

And to do their children good

In the things that are below.

You muſt inſtruct your children in their way:

That 's double, Civil and Religious too:

They muſt be taught Gods precepts to obey,

And to their neighbours give what is their due.

If you do not ſtrive to ſet them,

By that rule which God hath given,

In the way that leads to heaven,

You did wrong them to beget them.

There 's ſuch a powre and force in education,

That juſtly we may call 't a ſecond nature:

Nature finds matter, nurture gives the faſhion,

And turns a man into another creature.

If a youth in 's manners halt,

On his parents we do lay

All the blame, and uſe to ſay,

That his breeding is in fault.

The heathen, who did ſee but by that light

Which purblind nature lent them, ever caught

At all occaſions they conceived might

Be helps to have their youth in goodneſſe taught.

In their bodies would they find

(For no where but in the book

Of the creatures did they look)

Leſſons to inſtruct the mind.

It is obſerv'd that Socrates let paſſe

No wayes nor means at all that might conduce

To their amendment: often to a glaſſe

He brought them, and that ſhadow had its uſe.

By his means their faces bred them:

For however their complexion

Did appear, by that reflexion

From 't a lecture would he reade them.

That fair ones muſt take heed they did not ſoil

That comely outſide with deformititie

Within: to have an inſide foul would ſpoil

The choiceſt beautie: that their ſymmetry,

Juſt proportion of parts,

And their comlineſſe of face

Was not worth a jote, if grace

Did not beautifie their hearts.

And that deformed ones ſhould have a care,

That vertuous endowments, of the ſoul

Might recompenſe thoſe blemiſhes that were

By nature plac'd to make the bodie foul:

That the mind and nothing elſe

Makes us either foul or fair.

Out-ſide beauties nothing are

To a mind where vertue dwells.

Of any age their youth is fitt'ſt to take

The print of vice or vertue: 't is a clean

Unwritten table, where a man may make

What characters he will. If e'r you mean

To make ſtraight a crooked tree,

You muſt do 't while 't is a twig:

When your children are grown big

They will not reformed be.

Sometimes (if need require) you ſhall do well

To uſe the rod: if duly you correct them,

'T may be a means to whip their ſouls from hell:

From many ſinnes may prudent ſtripes protect them.

No ſuch phyſick as the rod:

There 's health in a loving ſcourge,

It will childrens manners purge,

And will make them fit for God.

But whenſoe'r you faſten any blows,

Let ſinnes againſt the holy name of God

Be firſt corrected: for a child that knows

To give his due to heav'n, on him the rod

Will prevail with little labour

To correct him how to live

Civilly, and how to give

What he ows unto his neighbour.

And yet you muſt be moderate in ſtrokes:

You may not make a trade of chaſtiſements.

A parent that corrects too much provokes

His child to wrath; ſo pious documents

Will be caſt away in vain.

Too much merciemercy is not fit,

Neither too much rigour; yet

MercieMercy 's better of the twain.

That high and great Jehovah, whom we find

Adorn'd with merciemercy, goodneſſe, juſtice, wrath,

Is evermore to merciemercy moſt inclin'd:

Of all the reſt that moſt employment hath.

He that ſuffered near mount Sion,

(And whatever he did hallow

By his practice we ſhould follow)

Was a Lamb as well 's a Lion.

And e'r you ſtrike obſerve their diſpoſitions:

Thoſe foure complexions in mans groſſer part

Are but a few; the finer part 's conditions

Are many more. Some at a look will ſtart;

Others will but make a mock

At the laſh it ſelf, and never

Will expreſſe the leaſt endevour

To amend with many a knock.

The Nat'raliſts can tell you of a ſtone

Extremely hard, which bloud or milk will ſoften:

But with the ſtrongeſt hammer there is none

Can do it, though he beat it ne'r ſo often.

The ſea yields a certain weed,

Which, if gently grip'd, will flie;

Roughly, will yield preſently:

Rigour ſuch ſtout natures need.

Some childrens diſpoſitions are like nettles:

The gentl'er you do handle them they ſting

The more; fair means in them no vertue ſettles:

Some are like thorns; the harder you do wring

The more deeply will they pierce.

Mark their natures, and you ſhall

By due chaſtiſements recall

Both the gentle and the fierce.

But it muſt be 'bove all your chiefeſt care

To ſhine before your children by the light

Of good example: for examples are

Of moſt prevailing natures. What the ſight

Can be maſter of appears

To be more convincing farre

Then all other truths that are

OnelyOnly objects of the ears.

A high perfection did the heathen deem it

To imitate their Jove: were it but in

His cloſe adulteries, they did eſteem it

A commendable paſſage not a ſinne.

In a wrong way, or a right,

Samplers lead, I know not how:

If King Alexander bow

Not a courtier ſtands upright.

If Cyrus noſe be bad, or if a ſcarre

Chance to disfigure his imperiall face;

If Plato 's learned ſhoulders be too ſquare;

One 's ſubjects, th' others ſcholars, are ſo baſe

As to draw 't into a faſhion:

And if Ariſtotle ſtammer,

All his boyes will liſp and hammer

Out their words in imitation.

If cruel Dionyſius tyrannize,

Each man grows fierce: and if Antiochus

Be luſtfull, he is not accounted wiſe

That will not be effeminate: and thus

Ptolemeus Philadelph

Loving letters, by example

Egypt underfoot did trample

Ignorance as did himſelf.

With ſcholars (like himſelf) Auguſtus fill'd

The Romane Empire: and Tiberius he

Stor'd it with ſuch as were exactly skill'd

In fair diſſimulation, and could be

Leaders in the hatefull train

Of thoſe monſters who by heart

Had learn'd perfectly the art

To diſſemble, lie, and feigne.

Good Conſtantine's example fill'd the land

With Chriſtians like himſelf, and Julian's did

Beget a troup of Atheiſts: ſuch command

Examples have. In holy writ we reade

That examples either way,

For God or againſt him, for

Great Jehovah's worſhip or

Baalim's, did the people ſway.

If Iſrael's or Judah 's King were good,

The people preſently deſtroy'd their groves:

Scarce in the land a graven image ſtood:

High places owls did reſt in: each man loves

(At the leaſt in ſhew) that Jealous

God that in the deſert fed them,

And from Egypt 's bondage led them;

For him onelyonly are they zealous.

If Iſrael's or Judah 's King were bad,

So were the people: Altars ſtraight were rear'd

To ſenſeleſſe Idoles; not a houſe but had

Their graven Images; and no man fear'd

Unto Baal to bend his knee.

Men live by ſimilitude

More then law; and moſt conclude

Upon what their Princes be.

If Nebuchadnezzar the mightie King

Be pleas'd to fall down to a golden image,

Thither with ſpeed do their devotions bring

People of ev'rie kingdome, tongue, and linage.

Three excepted, all adore him:

There 's not one enough preciſe

To refuſe; it doth ſuffice

That the King did ſo before him.

Thou art a King if thou a parent art,

Each family 's a pettie kingdome, and

The parents Monarch: 't were a kingly part

To make thy little ſubjects underſtand

How in vertue to excell

By thy practice; that 's a skill

'Bove all other: children will

No way elſe be taught ſo well.

Look how the primum mobile doth move,

Accordingly do move the other ſpheres:

As in a Jack the wheel that is above

With its firſt mover juſt proportion bears.

In a familie 't is ſo:

Look what way the parents take,

That the reſt their rule will make,

Chiefly there the children go.

Not any godly precept ſo exact is,

Which you ſhall teach your children to obey;

But that, if you ſhall thwart it by your practice,

Thus will your junior houſhold-members ſay,

At leaſt they will whiſper thus,

If vertue be good, then why

Do not you live vertuouſly?

If not, why d' ye preſſe 't on us?

If by theſe wayes you ſtrive to educate,

Whom God hath bleſt with fruitfull progenies,

Your children well, their early Death or late

Shall not a jote augment your miſeries.

A childs death is not a rod

To afflict a parents heart.

He that dies well doth depart

Hence that he may live with God.

Lord, if thou make my wife a fruitfull vine,

Make it withall my chiefeſt care to dreſſe

The branches well; the glorie ſhall be thine,

And if they die my grief ſhall be the leſſe.

A childs death 's a precious ſavour

In thy noſtrils that was here

Taught to live, Lord, in thy fear;

For he dieth in thy favour.

Meditation 4.

IF youth it ſelf may drop into the grave,

When children die methinks they ſhould bequeath

Surviving parents comforts. Sure they have

No cauſe (were not affection ſtrong) to grieve

Overmuch, as many do:

For Death is impartiall,

By his ſtroke all ages fall,

Both the old'ſt and youngeſt too.

Think duly on 't. Why ſhould your eyes runne o'r

For what you have no way to remedie?

If you ſhould heav'n eternally implore,

It would not ſend them back. But you 'll replie,

'Cauſe there 's no way to be found

That may help us to recover

Them again, our eyes runne over,

And our tears do ſo abound.

Nor ever will your higheſt floud of ſorrow

Tranſport them back into the world again:

Your ſelves may follow them before to morrow.

Thoſe deep-fetch'd ſighs are ſmok'd out all in vain,

So are all thoſe drops you mourn

Shed in vain; hap'ly you may

Soon go after them, but they

Are too happie to return.

Is it your love that doth produce ſuch grones?

How eaſily alas is love miſtaken!

Methinks you cannot love and grieve at once;

To love were to rejoyce that they have ſhaken

Hands with miſerie to dwell

In a world of bliſſe above;

Grief at this is farre from love,

It ſeems not to wiſh them well.

Or is 't becauſe that they are dead you weep?

I do not think that when they were begotten,

You dream'd them death-free, or had hopes to keep

Them here for ever; that they would be rotten

In their graves you could not chooſe

But conſider: for a ſpan

To be quickly ended, can

Never go for any news.

Nor with good reaſon can you lay the blame

On Death at all, but on your ſelves that did

Beget them mortall: for the very ſame

Matter wherewith they were begot and fed,

Fits them for an alteration

By the hand of Death. If you

Grudge that Death hath ta'n his due,

You may blame their generation.

Or do you grieve becauſe they di'd ſo ſoon?

If wayes be foul, and journeys perillous,

Who taketh up his lodging e'r 't be noon

Is beſt at eaſe. 'T is like God loveth thoſe

Whom he takes betime away:

Sad experience lets us know

That the happi'ſt here below

Have a miſerable ſtay.

Or is your onelyonly child deceas'd, that paſſion

Doth domineer ſo? here I could allow

Methinks your tears a free immoderation,

But that (on better ground then Jephtha's vow)

I remember what was done

By that parent, who is penn'd

Down for great Jehovah's friend,

In caſe of his onelyonly ſonne.

Ev'n when 't was dead a miracle did fill

His Sarahs womb, but it was fill'd but once.

Iſaac was all: Yet Abraham muſt kill

This all himſelf. God did it for the nonce

That he might his graces prove,

Yet the man made no denyall,

But did by ſo ſtrange a triall

Manifeſt his faith and love.

This caſe muſt needs ſtrike nearer to the heart

Then yours; yet he doth preſently ſubmit.

Love (I confeſſe) is very loth to part

With what it loves, but grace doth put a bit

Into natures mouth that ſhe

May not grumble nor repine

At what 's a decree Divine,

But ſubſcribe it chearfully.

Juſt like the Autumn-ſap of fruitfull trees

So love deſcends; and it is ardent when

Diſperſed, but by infinite degrees

More ardent when it is contracted: men

That have but an onelyonly ſonne,

If Death take him hence, their loſſe

Is a great one; but this croſſe

Muſt be born. Thy will be done,

Is what your ſelves do pray for every day:

And when this will of God 's declared, you

Greatly offend if you do murmure. May

Not God, and Sinne, and Nature claim their due?

Very ill you do behave you

If you give not heav'n leave

Thankfully for to bereave

You again of what it gave you.

Lord, if thou pleaſe to ſtock my table round

About with children, yet I will be glad:

Nor ſhall my ſorrow overmuch abound,

Though I do ſee them in their grave-clothes clad;

For the ſooner are they bleſt:

And within the ſhorteſt ſpace

Whom thou help'ſt to winne a race,

They the ſooner are at reſt.

Meditation 5.

VVE do not die by chance nor yet by fortune,

But how and when the Lord will have us die:

He numbers all our dayes; we cannot ſhorten

Nor lengthen them a minute: Deſtiny

Neither ſpinnes nor cuts the thread.

God a certain period ſets:

No man ſhorter falls, or gets

Further, then the bounds decreed.

If God vouchſafe to number out the hairs

That do adorn and cloth our ſinfull heads;

Who doubteth that his providence forbears

To count our dayes? If not a ſparrow treads

On the earth 's face thus or thus,

But his providence awaketh

For to note it, ſure he taketh

Greater care by farre of us.

If any godleſſe wits ſo curious be

To talk of Hezekiah's fifteen years,

His ſentence God did change, not his decree,

The anſwer is: yet Eſay 's tongue appears

To ſpeak not a jote the leſſe

Truth; 't was with a ſuppoſition:

God doth threaten with condition

Either tacit or expreſſe.

When Peſtilence, that lothſome, dreadfull hag,

Bepatch'd with botches, wanders up and down,

And into ev'ry houſhold drops the plague,

Scarce any Turk in an infected town

But will wife and friend afford

Daily viſits and imbraces:

They flie no contagious places,

Nor fear either bed or bord.

Their reaſon is, Gods providence doth write

Their fortunes on their foreheads; neither can

Their day of life be longer, nor their night

Of Death come ſooner then God wills it: Man

Muſt yield 's ghoſt when God will haveit.

For health and life, if God will

Save it, 't is not plague can kill:

If not, 't is not they can ſave it.

Such block-heads have not brains enough to think

That as the time, ſo God withall decrees

The means of life; as phyſick, meat and drink,

Clothes, recreations, and what elſe he ſees

Needfull. They themſelves deſtroy,

And are to their ſafety ſtrangers,

That runne into mortall dangers,

And not ſhun them when they may.

Howe'r imploy'd, Lord, grant I may have leiſure

Religiouſly to meditate that thou

My dayes doſt number, and my life doſt meaſure,

And make me think, Lord, that this very now,

That this twinkling of an eye

Is the period thou haſt ſet:

Lord, grant I may ne'r forget

That this moment I may die.

PART III. Of Deaths ſuddenneſſe.

THough ſometimes Death doth ſtay till it be late

At night, untill our moſt decrepit years,

And when he comes, doth (like a King) in ſtate

Send harbingers before; yet Death appears

Sometimes unlook'd for early in the morning,

And takes us up before he gives us warning.

When at full tide our youthfull bloud doth flow

In every vein, and when our pulſes dance

A healthfull meaſure, when our ſtomachs know

No qualms at all, as we would ſay by chance

Snatch'd are our bodies to their longeſt homes,

And Death is paſt before a ſickneſſe comes.

How many ſleepie mortals go to bed

With healthful bodies, and do riſe no more!

How many hungry mortals have been fed

Contentedly at dinner? yet before

Againſt a ſecond meal they whet their knives

Death ſteals away their ſtomachs and their lives.

How many in the morning walk abroad

For to be breath'd on by the keener air?

Perhaps to clarifie their groſſer bloud,

Or elſe to make their rougher cheeks look fair.

But e'r they tread a furlong in the froſt,

Death nips them: ſo their former labour 's loſt.

Nature is parſimonious: Man may live

With little: but alas with how much leſſe

A man may die! There 's nothing but may give

A mortall blow: ſmall matters may undreſſe

Our ſouls of clay. A thouſand wayes we have

To ſend our crazie bodies to the grave.

The elements confeder how they may

Procure our Death: the Air we ſuck to live

It ſelf hath poi'ſned thouſands in a day,

And made ſuch havock that the ſlain did ſtrive

For elbow-room in Church-yards: houſes were

Good cheap, and onelyonly ſhrowds and coffins dear.

If we could come to ſpeak with Pharaoh's ghoſt,

'T would tell how many met with ſudden graves

Beneath the water; that a mighty hoſt

Was ſlain and buried by the ſurly waves,

Except a few which ſurfeted with ſtore

The crop-ſick ſea did vomit on the ſhore.

Sometimes our mother Earth, as if ſhe were

So hunger-bitten that ſhe needs muſt eat

Her children, gapes as for ſome toothſome cheer,

And multitudes one ſwallow down doth let;

Which either in her womb ſhe doth beſtow,

Or elſe doth ſend them to the world below.

That uſefull creature Fire, whoſe light and heat

Doth comfort, and, when Earth doth penance, warm us,

Whoſe cookerie provides us wholeſome meat;

Yet mortally this element doth harm us.

One morning ſent from heav'n ſuch dreadfull flaſhes

As did intomb five cities in their aſhes.

We may remember ſome that have been kill'd

By falls of buildings; ſome, by drunken ſwords.

By beaſts both wild and tame our bloud is ſpill'd.

There 's not a creature but a death affords.

'Bove fourtie childrens limbs God's anger tears

In pieces with the teeth of ſavage bears.

But there 's ſome likely hood that ſudden Death

By means like theſe may eaſily befall us:

But many times we mortalls loſe our breath

By wayes leſſe probable. The Lord doth call us

Upon a ſudden hence by petty things:

Sometimes the meaneſt means Death's errand brings.

Our ſtaff of life may kill: a little crumb

Of bread may choke us going down awry.

A ſmall hair in their drink hath cauſed ſome

To breath their laſt. By any thing we die.

Sometimes a ſudden grief or ſudden joy

Have might enough to take our ſouls away.

Meditation 1.

HOw weak 's the thread of life, that any thing

How weak ſo e'r can break it by and by!

How ſhort 's the thread of life, that Death can bring

Both ends of it together ſuddenly!

Well may the ſcriptures write the life of man

As weak as water and as ſhort 's a ſpan.

How ſoon is water ſpilt upon the ground!

Once ſpilt, what hand can gather 't up again?

Fome that doth riſe to day is ſeldome found

Floting to morrow. When the wanton rain

Gets bubbles to make ſport with on the water,

A minute breaks them into their firſt matter.

Such is our life. How ſoon doth Death uncaſe

Our ſouls? and when they once are fled away,

Who can return them? As upon the face

Of thirſtie ground when water 's ſhed to day,

The morrow ſees it not: ſo when we die

None can revive us; as we fall, we lie.

Our life 's a vapour. Vapours do ariſe

Sometimes indeed with ſuch a ſeeming power,

As if they would eclipſe the glorious skies,

And muffle up the world, but in an houre

Or two at moſt theſe vapours are blown o'r,

And leave the air as clear as 't was before.

We look big here a little while and briſtle,

And ſhoulder in the ſmiling world, as though

There were no dancing but as we would whiſtle,

So ſtrangely domineer we here below.

But as a vapour in a ſun-ſhine day

We vaniſh on a fudden quite away.

Our life is like the ſmoke of new-made fire:

As we in age and ſtature upward tend,

Our diſs;olution is ſo much the nigher.

Smoke builds but caſtles in the air: aſcend

Indeed it doth aloft, but yet it muſt

At high'ſt diſſolve, we vaniſh into duſt.

What is a ſhadow? Nothing. Grant it were

A thing that had a name and being too,

Yet let a cloud 'twixt us and heav'n appear,

Its turn'd into its former nothing. Do

Our ſhadows vaniſh? ſurely ſo do we:

At noon a man, at night a corps we ſee.

Our life 's a cloud, and from varietie

Of vapours are created diverſe ſorts:

The ſtronger laſt a time, the weaker flie

With leſfe ado; yet half a day tranſports

Both ſtrong'ſt and weakeſt hence, and in their flight

Their nimble ſpeed outrunnes the quickeſt ſight.

Some men are healthfull, merrie, luſtie, ſtrong;

Some crazy, weak, ſad, ſickly, drooping: both

Poſt hence with winged ſpeed: we may not wrong

Life's footmanſhip; for ſure with greater ſloth

Clouds through the air the ſtrongeſt wind doth ſend,

Then frail mans life doth gallop to its end.

With greater ſloth? A man that now is here,

Perhaps an houre, yea half a minute hence,

That man may in another world appear.

Our life moves faſter then thoſe things which ſenſe

Acquaint us with, faſter then ſhips by farre,

Or birds, or bullets that do plow the air.

All fleſh is graſſe: how ſuddenly that fades!

Graſſe in the morning ſtandeth proudly green,

E'r night the husbandmen prepare their blades

To cut it down, and not a leaf is ſeen

But e'r the morrow 's wither'd into hay,

That in its ſummer-ſuit was cloth'd to day.

We grow and flouriſh in the world a ſpace,

Our dayes with eaſe, mirth, health, ſtrength, heav'n doth crown:

But 't is not long we run this happy race,

Death cometh with his ſithe and mows us down,

When we are apt to ſay, for ought we know

As yet we have an age of dayes to grow.

Our life 's a flower that groweth in the field.

A garden-flower is but a fading thing,

Though it hath hedges, banks, and walls to ſhield

It ſelf from cropping: long 't is e'r the ſpring

Doth bring it forth; three quarters of a yeare

Are gone before its beauty doth appear.

And when it ſhineth in its faireſt pride,

One hand or other will be ſure to pluck it.

But let 's ſuppoſe all ſnatching fingers ty'd,

And grant withall that never Bee doth ſuck it

To blemiſh it a jote, yet will the breath

Of winter blow the faireſt flower to death.

'T is long before we get us very farre

Into the world: for after generation

There is a time when lifeleſſe lumps we are,

And have not bodies of a humane faſhion:

Such as we have both life and motion want,

And when we live we live but like a plant.

A while we do but grow: then like a beaſt

We have our ſenſes: next indeed we live

The life of him that lives to be a feaſt

For deſpicable worms. The womb doth give

No paſſage to us yet; we are (like corn

Sown lately) fit to be but are not born.

When born, 't is long before we can procure

Our legs or underſtandings to aſſiſt us:

And then 't is long before we grow mature:

And all this while if ſudden Death hath miſt us,

Yet in the hoary winter of our age

Our part is ended and we quit the ſtage.

Lord, what is man? Lord, rather what am I?

I cannot tell my ſelf unleſſe thou teach me:

From thee came Know thy ſelf down through the skie

To mortalls here. Thy ſervant doth beſeech thee

To make me know, though it be to my ſhame,

How vaniſhing, how weak, and frail I am.

Meditation 2.

VVHat would I do if I were ſure to die

Within this houre? ſure heartily repent,

My ſinfull couch ſhould never more be drie

But drown'd in tears, ſad grones my heart ſhould rent,

And my ſorrow ſtill increaſe

With repenting till I die,

That once reconciled I

Might be found of God in peace.

Then preſently I'll ſet about it, for

My time 's uncertain, and for ought I know

God may not leave my ſoul a minute more

To animate my body here below.

Deep-fetch'd ſighs and godly ſorrow

Shall poſſeſſe my heart to day:

'T is a fooliſh ſinne to ſay

That I will …epent to morrow.

What if I die before? juſt as the tree

Doth fall it lies. When I am in the grave

I cannot grieve for ſinne, nor can I be

Converted unto God, nor pardon crave.

Had I breath and grace to crave it,

Yet God's time of merciemercy 's gone:

'T is giv'n in this life alone,

In the next I cannot have it.

What would I leave undone if ghaſtly Death

Stood at my elbow? ſure I would not wallow

In thoſe pollutions that reigne here beneath;

No lewd and wicked courſes would I follow.

I ſhould tremble at a thought

Of uncleanneſſe, if I were

Sure that dreadfull time were near

When I muſt to earth be brought.

Why ſhould I ſinne at all? for in the act

Of my next ſinne a ſudden Death may catch me.

(A town ſecure is much the ſooner ſack'd.)

What know I but God ſetteth Death to watch me,

That when any luſt hath preſſ'd me

For his ſervice, that I may

Down to hell without delay,

Death may preſently arreſt me?

If we did well, ſtill ſhould we fear to meet

Death in thoſe places where we uſe to ſinne,

And as we enter think we heare the feet

Of Death behind us coming ſoftly in?

We ſhould fear when ſinnes delight us,

When we ſwallow any crime,

Leſt that very point of time

Juſtice ſhould ſend Death to ſmite us.

I know whatever is on this ſide hell,

Is merciemercy all: that we were not ſent thither

When we ſinn'd laſt, is merciemercy. What befell

Zimri and Cozbi as they lay together?

Phinehas zealous ſpear did thruſt

Both to death, and bored holes

To let out thoſe guilty ſouls,

Which were melted into luſt.

Help me, O Lord; to do and leave undone

What thou command'ſt, for ſudden Death prepare me,

That at what time ſoe'r my glaſſe is run

Thy holy Angels may to heav'n bear me.

Give thy ſervant grace, that I

May ſo fear the face of ſinne

As a ſerpents, leſt that in

Th' unrepented act I die.

Meditation 3.

DOth Death come ſuddenly? ſo much the better:

If I am readie and do daily die,

So much the ſooner 't will my ſoul unfetter

T' enjoy the beſt degree of libertie.

And if Death will ſend me where

I ſhall evermore remain,

I will never care how vain,

Or how frail my life is here.

My life is like the wind: but when this puff

Is paſs'd I ſhall eternally enjoy

A place in heav'n, where all is calm enough,

Where never blaſt is felt that brings annoy,

Where is everlaſting eaſe,

Not a ſtorm nor tempeſt there,

Nor a jote of trouble, where

All is quietneſſe and peace.

My life is like a vapour: but aſſoon

As this thin miſt, this vapour, is diſperſed,

My day ſhall be an undeclining noon,

Whoſe glorious brightneſſe cannot be rehearſed,

Which will ſhew me (for ſo clear

And ſo ſhining is that place)

God immortall face to face,

Whom I ſaw but darkly here.

My life is water ſpilt and caſt away

Upon the ground: but after it is ſhod,

In ſtead thereof I ſhall a ſtream injoy,

As Cryſtall clear, which from the throne of God

And the Lamb of God proceedeth.

Water 't is of life, and laſteth

Ever, which a ſoul that taſteth

Once no more refreſhing needeth.

My life is like a ſhadow that doth vaniſh:

But whenſoe'r this ſhadow 's vaniſh'd quite,

Subſtantiall glories will my ſoul repleniſh,

And ſolid joyes will crown it with delight.

The worlds are but fading joyes;

Shadows we all purchaſe here:

Never untill Death appear

Have we true and reall joyes.

My life 's a flower: but when it withers here

It is tranſplanted into paradiſe,

Where all things planted flouriſh all the year,

Where Boreas never breaths a cake of ice.

With ſweet air the place is bleſt;

There is an eternall ſpring:

Thither, Lord, thy ſervant bring.

Here my homely Muſe doth reſt,

Nor another flight will make

Till ſhe ſee how this will take.

FINIS.

End of the text · Edward Buckler, Midnights Meditations of Death (1646)