Part 9

Religious was the charme I used affection to intice: And thought none burnt more bright or warme, Yet chaste as winter was the Sacrifice.

But now I thee bequeath To the soft silken youths at Court: Who may their witty passions breath, To raise their Mistresse smile, or make her sport.

They'le smooth thee into rime, Such as shall catch the wanton eare: And win opinion with the time, To make them a high sayle of honour beare.

And may a powerfull smile Cherish their flatteries of wit! While I my life of fame beguile And under my owne vine uncounted sit.

For I have seene the Pine Famed for its travels ore the Sea: Broken with stormes and age decline, And in some creeke unpittied rot away.

I have seene Cædars fall, And in their roome a Mushrome grow: I have seene Comets, threatning all, Vanish themselves: I have seene Princes so.

Vaine triviall dust! weake man! Where is that vertue of thy breath, That others save or ruine can, When thou thy selfe art cal'd t'account by death?

When I consider thee The scorne of Time, and sport of fate: How can I turne to jollitie My ill-strung Harpe, and court the delicate?

How can I but disdaine The emptie fallacies of mirth; And in my midnight thoughts retaine, How high so ere I spread, my root's in earth?

Fond youth! too long I playd The wanton with a false delight. Which when I toucht, I found a shade That onely wrought on th' error of my sight.

Then since pride doth betray The soule to flatter'd ignorance: I from the World will steale away And by humility my thoughts advance.

_Perdam Sapientiam Sapientum_ To the Right Honorable the Lord _Windsor_.

_My Lord_,

Forgive my envie to the World; while I Commend those sober thoughts, perswade you The glorious troubles of the Court. For though The vale lyes open to each overflow, And in the humble shade we gather ill And aguish ayres: yet lightnings oftner kill Oth' naked heights of mountaines, whereon we May have more prospect, not securitie. For when with losse of breath, we have orecome Some steepe ascent of power, and forc'd a roome On the so envi'd hill; how doe our hearts Pant with the labour, and how many arts More subtle must we practise, to defend Our pride from sliding, then we did t' ascend? How doth successe delude the mysteries And all th' involv'd designements of the wise? How doth that Power, our Pollitickes call chance, Racke them till they confesse the ignorance Of humane wit? Which, when 'tis fortified So strong with reason that it doth deride All adverse force oth' sudden findes its head Intangled in a spiders slender thread. Cœlestiall Providence! How thou dost mocke The boast of earthly wisdome? On some rocke When man hath a structure, with such art, It doth disdaine to tremble at the dart Of thunder, or to shrinke oppos'd by all The angry winds, it of it selfe doth fall, Ev'n in a calme so gentle that no ayre Breaths loude enough to stirre a Virgins haire! But misery of judgement: Though past time Instruct us by th' ill fortune of their crimes, And shew us how we may secure our state From pittied ruine, by anothers fate; Yet we contemning all such sad advice, Pursue to build though on a precipice. But you (my Lord) prevented by foresight To engage your selfe to such an unsafe height, And in your selfe both great and rich enough Refused t'expose your vessell to the rough Uncertaine sea of businesse: whence even they Who make the best returne, are forc't to say: The wealth we by our worldly traffique gaine, Weighes light if ballanc'd with the feare or paine.

_Paucitatem dierum meorum nuncia mihi._ DAVID.

Tell me O great All knowing God! What period Hast thou unto my dayes assign'd? Like some old leafelesse tree, shall I Wither away: or violently Fall by the axe, by lightning, or the Wind?

Heere, where I first drew vitall breath Shall I meete death? And finde in the same vault a roome Where my fore-fathers ashes sleepe? Or shall I dye, where none shall weepe My timelesse fate, and my cold earth intombe?

Shall I 'gainst the swift _Parthians_ fight And in their flight Receive my death? Or shall I see That envied peace, in which we are Triumphant yet, disturb'd by warre; And perish by th' invading enemie?

Astrologers, who calculate Uncertaine fate Affirme my scheme doth not presage Any abridgement of my dayes: And the Phisitian gravely sayes, I may enjoy a reverent length of age.

But they are jugglers, and by slight Of art the sight Of faith delude: and in their schoole They onely practise how to make A mistery of each mistake, And teach strange words, credulity to foole.

For thou who first didst motion give, Whereby things live And Time hath being! to conceale Future events didst thinke it fit To checke th' ambition of our wit, And keepe in awe the curious search of zeale.

Therefore so I prepar'd still be, My God for thee: Oth' sudden on my spirits may Some killing Apoplexie seize, Or let me by a dull disease Or weakened by a feeble age decay.

And so I in thy favour dye, No memorie For me a well-wrought tombe prepare, For if my soule be 'mong the blest Though my poore ashes want a chest, I shall forgive the trespasse of my heire.

_Non nobis Domine._ DAVID.

No marble statue, nor high Aspiring Piramid be rays'd To lose its head within the skie! What claime have I to memory? God be thou onely prais'd!

Thou in a moment canst defeate The mighty conquests of the proude, And blast the laurels of the great. Thou canst make brightest glorie set Oth' sudden in a cloude.

How can the feeble workes of Art Hold out 'gainst the assault of stormes? Or how can brasse to him impart Sence of surviving fame, whose heart Is now resolv'd to wormes?

Blinde folly of triumphing pride! Æternitie why buildst thou here? Dost thou not see the highest tide Its humbled streame in th' Ocean hide, And nere the same appeare?

That tide which did its banckes ore-flow, As sent abroad by the angry sea To levell vastest buildings low, And all our Trophies overthrow; Ebbes like a theefe away.

And thou who to preserve thy name Leav'st statues in some conquer'd land! How will posterity scorne fame, When th' Idoll shall receive a maime, And loose a foote or hand?

How wilt thou hate thy warres, when he Who onely for his hire did raise Thy counterfet in stone; with thee Shall stand Competitor: and be Perhapes thought worthier praise?

No Laurell wreath about my brow! To thee, my God, all praise, whose law The conquer'd doth and conqueror bow! For both dissolve to ayre, if thou Thy influence but withdraw.

_Solum mihi superest sepulchrum._ JOB.

Welcome thou safe retreate! Where th' injured man may fortifie 'Gainst the invasions of the great: Where the leane slave, who th' Oare doth plye, Soft as his Admirall may lye.

Great Statist! tis your doome Though your designes swell high, and wide To be contracted in a tombe! And all your happie cares provide But for your heire authorized pride.

Nor shall your shade delight Ith' pompe of your proud obsequies. And should the present flatterie write A glorious Epitaph, the wise Will say, The Poets wit here lyes.

How reconcil'd to fate Will grow the aged Villager, When he shall see your funerall state? Since death will him as warme inter As you in your gay sepulcher.

The great decree of God Makes every path of mortals lead To this darke common period. For what by wayes so ere we tread, We end our journey 'mong the dead.

Even I, while humble zeale Makes fancie a sad truth indite, Insensible a way doe steale: And when I'me lost in deaths cold night, Who will remember, now I write?

_Et fugit velut umbra._ JOB. To the Right Honourable the Lord _Kintyre_.

_My Lord_

That shadow your faire body made So full of sport it still the mimick playde Ev'n as you mov'd and look'd but yesterday So huge in stature; Night hath stolen away. And this is th' emblem of our life: To please And flatter which, we sayle ore broken seas Unfaithfull in their rockes and tides; we dare All the sicke humors of a forraine ayre. And mine so deepe in earth, as we would trie To unlocke hell, should gold there hoarded lie. But when we have built up a ædefice T' outwrastle Time, we have but built on ice: For firme however all our structures be, Polisht with smoothest Indian Ivory, Rais'd high on marble, our unthankfull heire Will scarce retaine in memory, that we were. Tracke through the ayre the footesteps of the wind, And search the print of ships sayl'd by; then finde Where all the glories of those Monarchs be Who bore such sway in the worlds infancie. Time hath devour'd them all: and scarce can fame Give an account, that ere they had a name. How can he then who doth the world controle And strikes a terror now in either Pole, Th' insulting Turke secure himself that he Shall not be lost to dull Posterity? And though the Superstition of those Times Which deified Kings to warrant their owne crimes Translated Cæsar to a starre; yet they, Who every Region of the skie Survay; In their Cœlestiall travaile, that bright coast Could nere discover which containes his ghost. And after death to make that awe survive Which subjects owe their Princes yet alive, Though they build pallaces of brasse and jet And keepe them living in a counterfet; The curious looker on soone passes by And findes the tombe a sickenesse to his eye. Neither when once the soule is gone doth all The solemne triumph of the funerall Adde to her glory or her paine release: Then all the pride of warre, and wealth of peace For which we toild, from us abstracted be And onely serve to swell the history. These are sad thoughts (my Lord) and such as fright The easie soule made tender with delight, Who thinkes that he hath forfetted that houre Which addes not to his pleasure or his powre. But by the friendship which your Lordship daignes Your Servant, I have found your judgement raignes Above all passion in you: and that sence Could never yet demolish that strong fence Which Vertue guards you with: By which you are Triumphant in the best, the inward warre.

_Nox nocti indicat Scientiam._ DAVID.

When I survay the bright Cœlestiall spheare: So rich with jewels hung, that night Doth like an Æthiop bride appeare.

My soule her wings doth spread And heaven-ward flies, Th' Almighty's Mysteries to read In the large volumes of the skies.

For the bright firmament Shootes forth no flame So silent, but is eloquent In speaking the Creators name.

No unregarded star Contracts its light Into so small a Charactar, Remov'd far from our humane sight:

But if we stedfast looke, We shall discerne In it as in some holy booke, How man may heavenly knowledge learne.

It tells the Conqueror, That farre-stretcht powre Which his proud dangers traffique for, Is but the triumph of an houre.

That from the farthest North; Some Nation may Yet undiscovered issue forth, And ore his new got conquest sway.

Some Nation yet shut in With hils of ice May be let out to scourge his sinne 'Till they shall equall him in vice.

And then they likewise shall Their ruine have, For as your selves your Empires fall, And every Kingdome hath a grave.

Thus those Cœlestiall fires, Though seeming mute The fallacie of our desires And all the pride of life confute.

For they have watcht since first The World had birth: And found sinne in it selfe accurst, And nothing permanent on earth.

_Et alta a longè cognoscit._ DAVID.

To the cold humble hermitage (Not tenanted but by discoloured age, Or youth enfeebled by long prayer And tame with fasts) th' Almighty doth repaire. But from the lofty gilded roofe Stain'd with some Pagan fiction, keepes a loofe. Nor the gay Landlord daignes to know Whose buildings are like Monsters but for show. Ambition! whither wilt thee climbe, Knowing thy art, the mockery of time? Which by examples tells the high Rich structures, they must as their owners dye: And while they stand, their tennants are Detraction, flattry, wantonnesse, and care, Pride, envie, arrogance, and doubt, Surfet, and ease still tortured by the gout. O rather may I patient dwell In th' injuries of an ill-cover'd cell! 'Gainst whose too weake defence the haile, The angry winds, and frequent showres prevaile. Where the swift measures of the day, Shall be distinguisht onely as I pray: And some starres solitary light Be the sole taper to the tedious night. The neighbo'ring fountaine (not accurst Like wine with madnesse) shall allay my thirst: And the wilde fruites of Nature give Dyet enough, to let me feele I feele, I live. You wantons! who impoverish Seas, And th' ayre dispeople, your proud taste to please! A greedy tyrant you obey Who varies still its tribute with the day. What interest doth all the vaine Cunning of surfet to your sences gaine? Since it obscure the Spirit must And bow the flesh to sleep disease or lust. While who forgetting rest and fare; Watcheth the fall and rising of each starre, Ponders how bright the orbes doe move, And thence how much more bright the heav'ns above Where on the heads of Cherubins Th' Almightie sits disdaining our bold sinnes: Who while on th' earth we groveling lye Dare in our pride of building tempt the skie.

_Universum stratum ejus versasti in infirmitate ejus._ DAVID.

My Soule! When thou and I Shall on our frighted death-bed lye; Each moment watching when pale death Shall snatch away our latest breath, And 'tweene two long joyn'd Lovers force An endlesse sad divorce:

How wilt thou then? that art My rationall and nobler part, Distort thy thoughts? How wilt thou try To draw from weake Philosophie Some strength: and flatter thy poor state, 'Cause tis the common fate?

How wilt thy spirits pant And tremble when they feele the want Of th' usuall organs; and that all The vitall powers begin to fall? When 'tis decreed, that thou must goe, Yet whither; who can know?

How fond and idle then Will seeme the misteries of men? How like some dull ill-acted part The subtlest of proud humane art? How shallow ev'n the deepest sea, When thus we ebbe away?

But how shall I (that is My fainting earth) looke pale at this? Disjointed on the racke of paine. How shall I murmur, how complaine; And craving all the ayde of skill, Finde none, but what must kill?

Which way so ere my griefe Doth throw my sight to court releese, I shall but meete despaire; for all Will prophesie my funerall: The very silence of the roome Will represent a tombe.

And while my Childrens teares, My Wives vaine hopes, but certaine feares, And councells of Divines advance Death in each dolefull circumstance: I shall even a sad mourner be At my owne obsequie.

For by examples I Must know that others sorrowes dye Soone as our selves, and none survive To keepe our memories alive. Even our fals tombes, as loath to say We once had life, decay.

_Laudate Dominum de cœlis._ DAVID.

You Spirits! who have throwne away That enveous weight of clay Which your cælestiall flight denyed: Who by your glorious troopes supply The winged Hierarchie, So broken in the Angells pride!

O you! whom your Creators sight Inebriates with delight! Sing forth the triumphs of his name All you enamord soules! agree In a loud symphonie: To give expressions to your flame!

To him, his owne great workes relate, Who daign'd to elevate You 'bove the frailtie of your birth: Where you stand safe from that rude warre, With which we troubled are By the rebellion of our earth.

While a corrupted ayre beneath Here in this World we breath Each houre some passion us assailes: Now lust casts wild-fire in the blood, Or that it may seeme good, It selfe in wit or beauty vailes.

Then envie circles us with hate, And lays a siege so streight, No heavenly succor enters in: But if Revenge admittance finde, For ever hath the mind Made forfeit of it selfe to sinne.

Assaulted thus, how dare we raise Our mindes to thinke his praise, Who is Æternall and immens? How dare we force our feeble wit To speake him infinite, So farre above the search of sence?

O you! who are immaculate His name may celebrate In your soules bright expansion. You whom your venues did unite To his perpetuall light, That even with him you now shine one.

While we who t' earth contract our hearts, And onely studie Arts To shorten the sad length of Time: In place of joyes bring humble feares: For hymnes, repentant teares And a new sigh for every crime.

_Qui quasi flos egreditur._ To the Right Honourable, the Lady _Cat. T._

Faire Madame! You May see what's man in yond' bright rose. Though it the wealth of Nature owes, It is opprest, and bends with dew.

Which shewes, though fate May promise still to warme our lippes, And keepe our eyes from an ecclips; It will our pride with teares abate.

Poor silly flowre! Though in thy beauty thou presume, And breath which doth the spring perfume; Thou may'st be cropt this very houre.

And though it may Then thy good fortune be, to rest Oth' pillow of some Ladies brest; Thou'lt whither, and be throwne away.

For 'tis thy doome However, that there shall appeare No memory that thou grew'st heere, Ere the tempestuous winter come.

But flesh is loath By meditation to fore see How loath'd a nothing it must be: Proud in the triumphes of its growth.

And tamely can Behold this mighty world decay And weare by th' age of time away: Yet not discourse the fall of man.

But Madam these Are thoughts to cure sicke humane pride. And med'cines are in vaine applyed. To bodies far 'bove all disease.

For you so live As th' Angels in one perfect state; Safe from the ruines of our fate, By vertues great preservative.

And though we see Beautie enough to warme each heart; Yet you by a chaste Chimicke Art, Calcine fraile love to pietie.

_Quid gloriaris in malicia?_ DAVID.

Swell no more proud man, so high! For enthron'd where ere you sit Rais'd by fortune, sinne and wit: In a vault thou dust must lye. He who's lifted up by vice Hath a neighb'ring precipice Dazeling his distorted eye.

Shallow is that unsafe sea Over which you spread your saile: And the Barke you trust to, fraile As the Winds it must obey. Mischiefe, while it prospers, brings Favour from the smile of Kings; Uselesse soone is throwne away.

Profit, though sinne it extort, Princes even accounted good, Courting greatnesse nere withstood, Since it Empire doth support. But when death makes them repent They condemne the instrument, And are thought Religious for 't.

Pitch'd downe from that height you beare, How distracted will you lye; When your flattering Clients flye As your fate infectious were? When of all th' obsequious throng That mov'd by your eye and tongue, None shall in the storme appeare?

When that abject insolence (Which submits to the more great, And disdaines the weaker state, As misfortune were offence) Shall at Court be judged a crime Though in practise, and the Time Purchase wit at your expence.

Each small tempest shakes the proud; Whose large branches vainely sprout 'Bove the measure of the roote. But let stormes speake nere so loud, And th' astonisht day benight; Yet the just shines in a light Faire as noone without a cloud.

_Deus Deus Meus._ DAVID.

Where is that foole Philosophie, That bedlam Reason, and that beast dull sence; Great God! when I consider thee Omnipotent, Æternall, and imens? Unmov'd thou didst behold the pride Of th' Angels, when they to defection fell? And without passion didst provide To punish treason, rackes and death in hell. Thy Word created this great All, Ith' lower part whereof we wage such warres: The upper bright and sphæricall By purer bodies tenanted, the starres. And though sixe dayes it thee did please To build this frame, the seventh for rest assigne; Yet was it not thy paine or ease, But to teach man the quantities of Time. This world so mighty and so faire, So 'bove the reach of all dimension: If to thee God we should compare, Is not the slenderst atome to the Sun. What then am I poore nothing man! That elevate my voyce and speake of thee? Since no imagination can Distinguish part of thy immensitie? What am I who dare call thee God! And raise my fancie to discourse thy power? To whom dust is the period, Who am not sure to farme this very houre? For how know I the latest sand In my fraile glasse of life, doth not now fall? And while I thus astonisht stand I but prepare for my own funerall? Death doth with man no order keepe: It reckons not by the expence of yeares, But makes the Queene and beggar weepe, And nere distinguishes betweene their teares. He who the victory doth gaine Falls as he him pursues, who from him flyes, And is by too good fortune slaine. The Lover in his amorous courtship dyes. The states-man suddenly expires While he for others ruine doth prepare: And the gay Lady while sh' admires Her pride, and curles in wanton nets her haire. No state of man is fortified 'Gainst the assault of th' universall doome: But who th' Almightie feare, deride Pale death, and meete with triumph in the tombe.

_Quonian ego in flagella paratus sum._ DAVID.

Fix me on some bleake precipice, Where I ten thousand yeares may stand: Made now a statute of ice, Then by the summer scorcht and tan'd!

Place me alone in some fraile boate 'Mid th' horrors of an angry Sea: Where I while time shall move, may floate Despairing either land or day!

Or under earth my youth confine To th' night and silence of a cell: Where Scorpions may my limbes entwine. O God! So thou forgive me hell.

Æternitie! when I think thee, (Which never any end must have, Nor knew'st beginning) and fore-see Hell is design'd for sinne a grave.