The mind of the Front.  
THe Globe terrestrial Nature's randevouze  
Heavens all life giving power did first infuse  
By secondary causes since preserved,  
And multiplied, by doubtful fate preferred.  
Time ripens, and time reaps, than sows again  
The plenty of her store-house to maintain,  
Which Death devours, whom justly we install  
Lord Paramount and supreme head of all  
That's sublunary, serving but as fuel  
T' incense the rage of his victorious Dueil.  
Crowned with a Laurel (which t' avoid we labour)  
Marcheth in triumph; Called, 
* Death●… Gollia●●….  La dance Machabre.   

LA DANCE MACHABRE or Death's Duel by W. C.  
LONDON Printed by William Stansby 
J. Cecil sculps.    

A la Royne.  
MADAME,  
LA Maiesté & la douceur le plus souuennt separeés comme le ciel l'est de la terre sont avec un aduantage nompareil, si diuinement & inseparablement assemblées en vous, que pour le present estes la gloire d'Angleterre, comme des vostre naissance vous estes la splendeur de la France; Quélles mont donne la hardiessed e m'adresser à vos piedes ausquels l'on vient de toutes partes aussy facilement qu'aux temples & aux autels: Pour y faire des prieres, presenter, des offrandes & obtenir des faveurs. Car ayant desir de mettre au iour ce petit Escrit pour ayder aux hommes peruertis de cèst sicle corrompu, à retourner de l'insolence a la crainte du Ciel & de la debanche à la raison par le sentiment de ce quilz doiuent estre & par la pensee de ce quilz ne sont pas, la malice leur ayant fermé les yeux de l'ame pour ne veior, & l'impieté bouché les oreilles pour n'entendre à bien faire, comme dit le Roy Prophete. je ne debuois & ne pouucis l'offrir qu' a vostre Maiesté, Que si plusieurs blasment la temerité de mon entreprise, & condamnent l'orgueil de ma presomption ce sera trop Madame pour leur fermes la bouche, & leur donner suiet de lire & pratiquer tout ce quilz doiuent, si V. M. approuue mon desseing, & sils'se sowiennent que si selon l'opinion de Seneque le seul iugement d' Auguste vault plus qne les dans de Claudius, et un seul aduis de Socratte plus quaetoute la liberalitè d' Alexandre, l'opprobation de V. Auguste M. suffira pour effacer riout le default de mon ewre & son regard benin luy donner a plus de lustre & de powoir que le foleil ne fait de chaleur & de lumiere à ceste fleur quice tourne deuers luy. Ces honorables faveurs dont ie supplie tres humblement V. M. me fauoriser, m'obligeront, Madame, à souhaiter la longueur de vos iours estre sans nombre, comme le sont vos vertus, Vostre Esleuation dans le Ciel aussy haulte qu'est vostre exaltation dans le monde & à desirer l'honneur d'estre pour jamais.  
de V. M. Madame Le tres humble & tres Obeissant seruiteur & subjet. Colman.   

TO THE GREAT Empress of our little WORLD.  
MAdam, may I presume without offence  
Upon your Highness' favour, to dispense  
With this my rude Composure, What I have  
I give, and more there's no man ever gave,  
Being the first piece ventured on the Stage  
Since you were ours, To crave your Patronage,  
You cannot with your Honour choose but give  
It harbour, and a liberty to live  
For its own merit (rightly understood)  
Let Enuic censure whether it be good.  
What wants he that enjoyeth all, the wise  
Philosopher demands, Then thus replies  
Some one to tell him truth, which want I have  
Supplied, and humbly your free pardon crave.  
All men will flatter my unpractised youth  
In that hath ventured to shake hands with truth,  
Which never shames the Master. Water these  
Young Plants in time they may grow goodly Trees.  
Live long the Glory of your Royal Stem,  
Heaven crown with an immortal Diadem.  
Your Highness' most humble Servant and Subject, W. Colman.   

The Author to his Book.  
Gross food best suits with vulgar appetites,  
On choicest morsels few place their delights.  
Lascivious Pamphlets evermore take best  
When Poems of Devotion few digest.  
Brought'st thou some light-heeld passage on the stage,  
Or Planet stricken Lover in a rage,  
Then would the Ladies hug thee old and young  
Make thee their Morning Prayer and Evensong,  
Take thee to bed at night, and in the morn  
Repeat again, the better to inform  
Their memories, at every fripping Feast  
Thou shouldst be sure to be a grateful Guest.  
Didd'st thou discover stratagems of State  
How this fell in the nick and that too late  
Then mightst thou go with confidence to Court  
And be applauded there for doing hurt,  
So for the rest, but thou shalt welcome be  
Only to men in want and misery  
With such perhaps thou mayst some hours beguile  
And from amidst their sorrows force a smile:  
Or in some Hermit's melancholy Cell  
Reside awhile. Some few there are that dwell  
Amongst the monster multitude of men  
Will freely entertain thee now and then,  
The rest as old Devotion out of date  
Will cast thee off, and bid thee hold thy prate.  
If any do expect strong lines, Behold  
To tell them these sufficient are to hold  
Them tugging. Fairly read with that intent  
Which they abroad into the world are sent.  
Though not performed with that Poetic fire  
The niceness of our present times inspire.  
He spoils the operation of a Pill  
Conformeth it unto the Patients will.  
Each giddy brain I do not seek to please,  
But first find out then cure the foul disease  
Of wilful ignorance protracting time  
Until the doleful signals fatal chime.  
So I commit thee to th'uncertain fate  
Of Censure, may perhaps prove fortunate.  
W. C   

To his dear friend the Author upon his well fought Duel.  
IF from th'abundance of the heart we speak,  
None can be so maliciously weak  
To think thee other then thou seem'st to be  
In this; th'interior Character of thee.  
Envy may spit her venom, Critics jeer  
But thou art placed upon a rock so near  
To heaven, their malice cannot climb so high  
But backwards fall upon themselves, and die.  
john Peashall.   

To his dear friend the Author.  
Have you not heard the melancholy note  
The Raven sends from her Prophetic throat,  
The Lich-owles screcke, the dreadful Thunder roar  
The Martial Drum, men wallowing in their gore  
A midnight passing Bell or Belmans' Song,  
The raging Lioness for her lost young,  
So sound thy sacred Sonnets in our ears  
Stirring us up with Music to our fears.  
E. H.   

To my Friend the Author and his Book.  
IF the Grand Rabbis of our modern times  
Shall squeeze out of thee some poor venial crimes  
For which thou shalt be solemnly convented  
(As was thy Master) be not discontented  
Since both of you are Cannon proof, care not  
For Baily, Button, not their Musket shot.  
Authority that's crazed, is still most brief  
And hangs a true man where there wants a thief.  
No fool, the proverb saith, unto the oldest  
And evermore blind Bayard is the boldest.  
Thomas Veridicus.   

To the Author upon his Poem.  
While other Muses wanton Poems sing,  
Thy pen being taken from a Cherubs wing  
Teacheth the way to bliss, where they and we  
Meet in a choir, to adore Eternity  
Death must begin our triumph, and the dust  
That hangs upon our fleshy garment must  
Be first brushed of, the vanities of life  
Riches and pleasures, that but sweeten strife  
And to the eye of sense makes death appear  
Deformed, by thy diviner raptures here  
Are quite destroyed, the rugged path made even  
And men acknowledge thee the way to Heaven.  
james Sherlie.   

To my worthiest friend Master W. C. on his Book, La Dance Machabre.  
FRiend, thou dost ill to rank me in this place,  
Though I shall honour thee in my disgrace.  
For as choice dainties, after grosser food,  
Taste better far, than other ways they would:  
So men by reading this harsh verse of mine,  
Shall relish better these sweet strains of thine.  
What boot these lines alas? When every one  
May read they praises written in thine own.  
Such needless things may make weak people deem,  
Thy Book wants sureties to beget esteem.  
Here hath thy sad Muse, like a dying Swan,  
Sung a sweet story, of the death of man.  
O, may she live, that glad-deceived we,  
May hear her often sing such melody.  
john Crompton.   


Sum quod 〈◊〉 Fui quodes Behold fond man I am what thou shalt be And as thou art so was Jonee like thee.    

Death's Duel. Mors omnibus communis. We must all die.  

1  
Olympic Odes soft lays fond Lover's breath,  
Domestic jars, nor foreign broils I bring:  
Nor crowned Lyaeus with a frantic wreath,  
'twixt life and death the fatal war I sing:  
Which whilst I but recite, me thinks from all  
At every accent should a salt tear fall.   

2  
Assist ye heavenly powers, no other Muse  
I invocate, cast down propitious Eyes,  
My humble genius with such fire infuse  
Our words may fall like Lightning from the Skies  
Striking th' amazed mortals with such terror  
They may not love, but live to see, their error.   

3  
Stay, not too fast lest thou impose an end  
To what we briefly have discoursed upon  
Before thou truly know what we intent,  
Too hasty feeding hurts digestion,  
Read note, if not to profit, What's comprised  
Herein, is merely but cpitomized▪   

4  
We highly prise this noble friend, and that,  
This boon Companion, and that Parasite  
Whose smooth tongued language ever levels at  
Those things which do administer delight:  
But in conclusion, Death's our truest friend,  
Tells us what we must trust to in the end.   

5  
Tells us, that we are mortal, that we know  
Our last night's habitation, not the next;  
That humane pleasures like sweet Roses grow  
Amidst a thousand miseries perplexed.  
Since joy and grief inseparably go  
Nor can we reap our pleasures without woe.   

6  
The Twins of Fortune, at one instant borne  
Both Male and Female, birth-rites due to neither,  
Like Turtle-doves they resalute each morn,  
Wander all day, and lodge at night together.  
All ages, all conditions, all estates  
Know this, discovered in their several fates.   

7  
The strongest Fort besieged with powerful foes  
Till victuals and munition waxeth scant  
May for a time subsist, but in the close  
Must of necessity submit to want:  
So youth and nature bore up stiff while,  
But in the end, Death gives them ●●…th the foil.   

8  
The life of man is tripartite, the first  
Of nature, which is liable to death,  
The second, after which all good men thirst,  
Of same, commencing with our utmost breath,  
The last eternal, consummates our bliss,  
Whither for Death there no admittance is.   

9  
Blessed Heavens defend me, the World's mayor part  
Reflect not on whose arrant they are sent,  
The Stage scarce entered, they forget their part,  
Turn days to nights, and nights to days ill spent:  
Such liberty unto ourselves we give,  
Till Death, we know not truly how to live.   

10  
The thief reflects not what it is to steal  
Before he sees the Gallows, not the Maid  
(Until her belly do the fact reveal)  
A th'stolen embraces of her loves dismayed,  
The Prodigal reflecteth not upon  
A plentiful estate, till he have none.   

11  
Consider wisely what thou hast to do  
In this vain World with serious meditation,  
How short the time, what's likely to ensue,  
And frustrate not the end of thy Creation  
Since here is nought whereon thou canst rely  
But to be borne, to labour, and to die:   

12  
What though thou dost enjoy a greater measure  
Of temporal felicity than those  
That live reclused, for every dram of pleasure  
Expect a world of happiness to lose.  
There's but one Heaven, then think not to rejoice  
Both here and hence, thou must not have it twice.   

13  
Unthrifty youth time prodigally spends,  
That flies away with vndilcouered haste,  
Mocking our hopes, still future joys pretends,  
Takes small content in recreations past.  
Imagination sets our thoughts on fire,  
And what we cannot have we most desire.   

14  
So little Children wish would we were men  
Freed from the fetters of our pupil age;  
Grown old, they covet to be young again,  
Pretending in their ways to be more sage  
And circumspect, what is not we think best,  
And others in their meaner fortunes blessed.   

15  
The careful Pilot wafting from the Shore  
His ful-f●a●…ght Vessel, sitteth at the Stern  
judiciously to guide what goes before,  
And from the hoary-headed Pole doth learn  
Which way to steer and furrow up the Ocean  
With a secure, though unsteady motion.   

16  
The World's the Sea, and we the Vessels are,  
Consideration, Stearesman, and pale death  
The Stern, in which we have an equal share.  
Swiftfooted time still towards us beckeneth  
Dappled with age, which careless youth doth know,  
Yet all too late believes it to be so.   

17  
But so it is, what ere we do pretend  
And fond flatter our Imagination,  
Being as near unto our journeys end  
(For aught we know) as aged declination;  
Experience tells us; Whence we may presage,  
No certainty in youth, nor hope in age.   

18  
The one may live, the other cannot long,  
A possibility on which we build  
Our certain ruin, and receive a wrong  
That's irrecoverable, if we yield  
Unto such reason's nature will produce,  
In her desires evermore pro use.   

19  
He, whose pulse beats the strongest, hath no more  
Assurance of his life, than he that lies  
Upon his deathbed, and perhaps, before  
His dear companion whom he mourns for, dies.  
The near allied, whose care the sick attends Ouid.  
Sicken themselves, and die before their friends.   

20  
The Priest doth offer holy sacrifice  
Upon the Altar for departing souls  
Live to be present at his Obsequies  
And hear the Sexton's Death-bell when it toules:  
So the Physician while he Physic gives  
T'another, dies himself, his Patient lives.   

21  
The forward heir, Who thinks that life too long  
By which he lives, desirous to see  
His Father canonised whilst he is young,  
And not go limping to immortality,  
Leaves him ofttimes, although decrepit, ill,  
To be the Overseer of his Will.   

22  
For honour this, for office that man waits,  
A third gapes for a new bought Benefice,  
Mean while death with inevitable baits  
Cancels their hopes, the Priest the Clerk survives,  
And many a time and oft when he is dead,  
Feeds on the Goose that grazeth o'er his head.   

23  
Poor wretched man, why dost thou captivate  
Thy knowledge, and betray it to mischance,  
Striving to hide thy miserable fate,  
Which thou mayst call thine own inheritance;  
Naked thou wast delivered from the Womb,  
And naked shalt return unto the Tomb;   

24  
How soon thou knowst not, For thou art but here  
Tenant at will, although for term of life,  
Nor will thy Landlord give a parting year,  
Nor be kept out by Laws contentious strife,  
What evidence soever thou produce,  
Or long prescriptions fraudulent abuse.   

25  
Why then do thy vain thoughts reflect so much  
On Glow-worms that have neither warmth nor light,  
Earth has no real happiness, and such  
As careless of their soul, think no delight  
But what these body's taste, time and their grief  
Will furnish with repentance, not relief.   

26  
Who was thy Father? filth and rottenness,  
The Worms thy brethren and thy sisters are,  
So holy job doth thy descent express,  
Thy life a vale of ever-feeding care,  
A Summer's bird, a fading flower of May,  
Tomorrow dead that flourisheth to day.   

27  
Th' uncertain, certain hour of our death,  
The table-book of humane misery,  
Tells us Mortality is but a breath  
Shut in or out by casuality  
Early, or late, by day, or night, abroad,  
At home, or wheresoever we make abode.   

28  
Think how a tyle-sheard passing on thy way  
By accident falls down and strikes thee dead  
And that ere long thou mayst be wrapped in clay  
Who even now enioy'st thy downy bed,  
He that to such frail evidence doth trust  
Doth carve the water, and ingraves in dust.   

29  
What though thy house be sumptuous, and thy fare,  
Thy wife both virtuous, beautiful, and wise,  
Thy children hopeful and obedient are,  
Thy servants most obsequious in their guise,  
Thy coffers full, thy Lordships round about thee.  
Yet thou must go and they must stay without thee.   

30  
And these upon thy deathbed shall appear  
Like to so many glorious miseries,  
Or like an Office thou didst lately bear  
Transferred t'another man before thine eyes:  
For certain 'tis what chiefly doth content thee,  
In that sad hour to leave shall most torment thee.   

31  
Then the deboist disorders of thy youth  
Th' unjust detaining of another's right  
Supported more by strong hand then by truth,  
As done but yesterday, before thy sight  
In hideous forms appear, which being well  
Thou hadst no time to think on, there's thy hell.   

32  
Much like a pampered jade grow'n-belly-proud  
Flings up his heels, and his own Master strikes,  
Contemns his poor Companions who allowed  
No more than what they dear earn, Dislikes  
Their mild Condition, and through wantonness  
Feeds on the best of their dear purchased gross;   

33  
Aspiring thoughts above our fortunes soar,  
And true content, Man's chiefest happiness,  
By emulation is shut out of Door,  
Valuing our wants by other men's excess  
We glance at those in worth and wealth out go us,  
Regarding not how many walk below us.   

34  
Disturb not thine own quiet with a thought  
Of what thou wast, or what thou mightst have been,  
Advancement comes neglected and not sought,  
As Monkayes with the chains they are tie in.  
Play with the common corrasives of fate.  
Which as they had beginnings have their date.   

35  
For just Heaven guilty of no ill at all,  
From the beginning hath contrived it so  
That in all ages some shall rise, some fall,  
The goods of fortune wander to and fro:  
From man to man, and as the Poet sings  
Kings come from beggars, beggars come from Kings.   

36  
'tis strange to see how men from time to time  
Flatter themselves with presupposed joys  
Not growing in this sublunary Clime,  
And feed on hopes, enjoyed, appear but toys,  
So that in fine we spend out time in wishing;  
Though we have all, yet something still is missing,   

37  
Which shows, th'immortal soul of man, cozened  
Within this mortal Prison takes no rest,  
Nor true content in any thing can find  
Till it ascend, for ever to be blessed  
Above the reach of any humane thought,  
Within our muddy apprehensions wrought.   

38  
All arts may hither come again to School,  
And find new matter to insist upon:  
Grammarians here find out a general rule  
That will admit of no exception,  
Then whisper in their ears, we all must die  
And tell them that their Maxime's a lie.   

39  
Here the Logician may with ease conclude  
A Syllogism most methodical  
Without distinction figure, form, or mood,  
All humane Arguments sophistical,  
Death will not dally, nor admit dispute  
Be thou ne'er so ingenious and acute.   

40  
Th' Arithmetician that can rectify  
By daily use and rules infallible  
His fractions, add, subtract, or multiply,  
To number his own minutes is not able.  
Though the Musician daily in tune set  
His instrument, he cannot pass this fret.   

41  
Th' ginger that daily notice takes  
What Planets reign, what Staries predominate,  
Whence he uncertain demonstrations makes,  
And doth our future fortunes calculate,  
No further can transcend, but leaves us here,  
Life leads the vanguard, Death brings up the rear.   

42  
The grave Philosopher that can divine  
And pry into th'abstrusest mysteries  
Hangs us his Trophies here, and doth resign  
His knowledge choked with foul absurdities,  
Surceasing farther of his skill to boast,  
Concludeth here, that all his labour's lost.   

43  
The industrious Herald that wracks Pedigrees  
Upon the tenter-hookes, whereby to show  
Th' antiquity of Names and Families,  
Death interrupts, and can no further go,  
He only hath the privilege to tell  
Us, what men were, who lived, and who died, well.   

44  
Here the Physician with his pills and potions  
Astonished stands confounded in his Art.  
The Surgeon doth his Cataplasms and Lotions  
Apply, no succour or relief impart.  
Whatsoever hath beginning here, must end,  
Or first or last, not can itself defend.   

45  
No privilege hath honour, Parentage,  
The wise, and foolish perish both together,  
Old men, and Infants, careless middle-age,  
Draw cuts by turns indifferent to either,  
Rich men, and poor, magnanimous, and cowards,  
Play all Mumchance, all's but a game at hazards.   

46  
No friend at Court, no quillet in the Law,  
No golden bride, the life of eloquence,  
Can keep his common Enemy in awe,  
No armed Guard to stand in thy defence,  
No Supersedeas from a higher Court  
Can pleasure thee, or do the Plaintiff hurt.   

47  
No widow's tears, no wronged Orphans cries,  
No protestations, vows, nor promises,  
No Altars smoking with burnt sacrifice  
This Al-commanding power can appease.  
The fatal Sisters having spun their thread  
Make holiday, and thou art left for dead.   

48  
Behold thy friends about thee, who informed  
By thy Physician that thou canst not live,  
Study their ends, tears flow as if they mourned,  
Corrupting him with promises, to give  
Largely that shall thy fatal Penman be,  
Each for himself laborious, none for thee.   

49  
Nor thy poor soul now totally contained  
In some small corner of a panting heart,  
With death thy other members being maimed  
Acting on this World's Theatre that part,  
To which some sooner than their fellows come,  
Called Exit, such a one whose part is done.   

50  
Which sometimes lights on a relìgious King  
Or bloody Tyrant, Politician, Fool,  
Rich Cormorant, or hungar-starued thing,  
Or on some julius Caesar borne to rule;  
Though each a part his several part doth play,  
In fine, they all go off the Stage one way.   

51  
A great Commander having in the field,  
A hundred thousand men their force to try  
Such as the World their betters could not yield,  
Viewing hìs Army, wept; demanded why?  
To think (said he) within one hundred year  
Not one of these shall to the World appear.   

52  
Do but consider, be thou ne'er so young,  
How many dear Companions thou hast lost,  
By course of nature might have lived as long,  
To enjoy the wanton pleasures which thou dost,  
Only that Death in courtesy hath lent  
Thee some uncertain minutes to repent.   

53  
Reprieved by Heavens most boundless clemency,  
Who like a too indulgent Parent strives  
To reconcile us with that uchemencie,  
By miracle doth oft preserve our lives;  
Of which most fearful precedents we have,  
Yet no impression in our hearts engrave.   

54  
You in whose hearts the seed of wickedness,  
Whence budded forth man's misery is sown,  
Prising yourselves and your own worthiness  
At higher rates than may be called your own,  
As if on Earth you would be Deified,  
The worms shall one day triumph o'er your pride.   

55  
You Mam mon-mongers, horders up of wealth,  
Slaves to your own, rich only in conceit  
Whose hungry bellies unto all your wealth  
Was ne'er beholding for a good meal's meat,  
Whose death gives life to others, likewise you  
Must pay the worms what to yourselves were due.   

56  
Luxurious wanton delicacies Minion,  
Who pampers nature merely, to destroy her,  
Yielding thyself a Slave unto opinion,  
Thinking thou most, when thou dost lest, enjoy her:  
These are the Barber-Surgeons, whose long trains  
Shall one day scow'r thy infectious reins.   

57  
You the unworthy burdens of the earth  
Pine and consume away, yet are not old  
Making of Christain Charity a dearth,  
Laugh only when you some sad sight behold;  
The worms shall suck the rancour from your hearts,  
With which you poison your malicious darts.   

48  
You Gormandizers placing your delights  
In choicest morsels evermore to please  
Your cloyed unsatisfied appetites,  
Nurse up yourselves in idleness and ease:  
The silly worms rejoice to see you eat  
On dear bought dainties to procure them meat.   

49  
You senseless hot-spurres on each slight occasion  
Banish discretion in your frantic fits  
Into all mischief making an invasion,  
Wise in the judgements of your afterwits  
Alas how little will those silly things  
Value your terrifying threatenings.   

60  
You moths in nature, Caterpillars, men  
Only in name and form, like fruitless plants,  
Who live but (as it were) to say Amen  
To others labours which supply your wants  
Equally gross in body and in spirit  
Which one day these poor vermin must inhere it.   

61  
What shall I say of the world's wealthy Minions  
Their vncouched thoughts and all admired glory  
Raised above all meus or their own opinions,  
Rotten in dust, forgotten is their story,  
Unless perhaps what here so glittering shined  
Went out in snuff, and left ill sent behind.   

62  
Whither are those bewitching beauties fled  
Subduing them, that all the world beside  
Could never vanquish, Are they not all dead?  
Nipped in the blossom of enticing pride,  
Or else grown old, like fruit untimely gotten  
Their outside withered, and their inside rotten.   

63  
Produce but one victorious Potentate  
Commanding all, lived uncontrolled of any  
That hath not paid his fealty to fate,  
On whom the fates depended of so many;  
The Sun that shines most glorious hath its set,  
So deaths th' Omega of our Alphabet.   

64  
The grave Philosophers coming to view  
The sumptuous Shrine of Alexander made  
Of massy gold, did thus begin to rue  
Man's misery, and to each other said,  
He that of gold possessed so great a measure  
Is now of gold become the loathsome treasure.   

65  
To whose aspiring thoughts, yet all in vain,  
The spacious World presented was, Lo now  
Four foot of Earth doth quietly restrain,  
To whom so many ftubborne necks did bow.  
He that so many but last night could free  
From death, now cannot help himself, you see.   

66  
Feared yesterday of all and honoured,  
The Earth he did oppress now presseth him,  
Contemned, neglected, and unreverenced,  
None fears his frowns, nor seeks his grace to win,  
Greater than any but last night, now lies  
Nor loved of Friends, nor feared of Enemies.   

67  
O greatness in whose all-commanding power  
Mercy and justice are established,  
Con well this Lesson, think upon that hour  
In which you must yourselves be summoned,  
Death feared no colours, For it all commands  
Both crowned heads, and Scepter-bearing hands.   

68  
Who lends mine eyes a Fountain of fresh tears,  
To re-deplore man's miserable birth,  
The lamentable spending of his years,  
His sad return unto our Mother Earth,  
Whence; what he is, and whither he must go,  
And how men live as if they did not know.   

69  
'T would soil my paper worse than doth the ink  
With which I write, exactly to express  
What every wise judicious man may think  
Of his own base and self unworthiness  
From the first act of generation, far  
Morelothsome in corruption than beasts are.   

70  
Which heavens all foreseeing power would have  
Contrived so to curb and keep in awe  
Our haughty proud rebellious flesh, to save  
Th' immortal soul, which otherwise no law  
Could subjugated, since as we are, O wonder,  
Nor laws of God, nor man, can keep us under.   

71  
Trees, herbs, flowers, plauts, produce sweet nourishments  
Both toour taste delightful and the smell.  
Man, nitts, lice, spittle, stinking Excrements;  
Nay, more than that the very beasts excel  
Man's temperature, refusing oft to do  
Those things which we enforce ourselves unto.   

72  
If such the first fruits which our springtide yields  
In th'height, heat, vigour, Sunshine of our days  
When youth proclaims its glory in the fields  
Crowning our Temples with victorious bays,  
What loathsome poisonous, and unsavoury juice  
Will bruised Autumnc from the press produce.   

73  
When crutched age wrapped in her careful Chair  
Crow'n white with years not innocence, blames  
Disordered youth, whose liu'ry it doth wear,  
Regardless truth to heedless youth proclaims  
Belched forth in tedious and distasteful stories  
In th' dear bought purchase of her knowledge glories.   

74  
Becomne the certain Almanac of times  
Uncertain motion future qualities  
Whose parched sinews quavering doth chime  
All in to their own funeral Obsequies:  
And being dead with base corruption swells,  
Scenting far worse than any dunghill smells.   

75  
When thy best seasoned thoughts seem to afford  
Thee most content: forgetful what is past,  
Or yet to come, ask them but in a word  
What it shall be, they ' I think upon at last?  
Without all question they will answer thee  
We shall repeut our present vanitic.   

76  
Or when thy tongue the heart's interpreter  
Strikes up a false Alarm, ravishing  
Thy senses like a wanton Orator  
With scurrilous impolished warbling,  
Think but on death and it will soon confute  
Thy strongest arguments and strike thee mute.   

77  
Or when thine eyes immodestly shall gaze  
On fading beauties curiosity  
Which either age, or accident may raze,  
And make more ugly than deformity;  
Think how that beauty underneath doth wear  
Death's pale-faced Liucery, which all mortals fear.   

78  
And she that takes her false intelligence  
From the deceitful Index of a glass  
Glad to be cozened in her own defence  
Bid her reflect what even now she was  
Before that nature was abused by art,  
Helps not when death shall come to play his part.   

79  
'Tis not a borrowed look or wanton glance  
Of an alluring eye that can divert  
Th' inevitable fury of his Lance  
Nor all thy Courtly congees though thou wert  
Equallin beauty, breeding, and the rest  
Of womanish additions with the best.   

80  
And thou fond Lover look into the grave  
Of thy dead Mistress, and her lost condition,  
Behold the Saintly beauty lately gave  
Such motives of respect and adoration  
To thy inflamed thoughts, which did devose  
To deifieed, thyself the sacrifice.   

81  
Calling her eyes the worlds all glorious lights  
The splendour of whose Goddesse-like complexion  
Gave light sufficient to the darkest night  
Vowing thyself a Slave to her affection,  
Praiting the loucly tresses of her hairs  
Enchanted threads of gold, delightful snares.   

82  
Which held thee captive, in which bondage thou  
Inioy'dst most freedom, as thyself wast wont  
With fearful protestations to vow,  
Casting each night a most exact account  
Of her new purchased favours, now entombed  
Lies putrifide, to loath fomnesse consumed.   

83  
Behold her hands unto thy hands adjoined  
Whose wanton fingers prettily did weave  
Themselves with mutual amity conjoined  
Within thy fingers, whose moist palms did leave  
In thine the witness of unbridled lust,  
Are now consumed to nothing, or to dust.   

84  
Doc but imagine that she were exposed  
Set out withal the ornaments of Art  
For thee to sport thyself withal, enclosed  
Within thine arms to act a lover's part,  
Which so delightful was but even now  
Sealing each wanton promise with a vow.   

85  
No sighs would from fond jealousy arise  
Within thy breast, for fear of her displeasure  
No observations how she cast her eyes  
On thy corrival, or in what a measure  
She entertained his love, but couldst betide,  
Him to repose in quiet by her side.   

86  
No wanton Poems in her praise are penned,  
No favours worn, no drinking of her health,  
No challenges her honour to defend,  
Nor yet nocturnal visits made by stealth,  
No servants bribed, fond parents to deceive,  
But free access without demanding leave.   

87  
Where the Earth's Common wealths men, each poor worm  
Into her private Bedchamber repairs  
And rudely rifles her religious urn,  
Makes no distinction 'twixt those precious wares  
So highly prized but even now, and those  
Which nature doth of courser stuff compose.   

88  
Or when thy lips, hands, feet shall dare to touch  
Forbidden fruit, or tread unhallowed patl●●…  
Or pallet is delighted overmuch,  
Or limbs, with curious dishes, wanton baths,  
Which for the present so thy fancy please,  
In thy dull grave thou shalt find none of these.   

89  
Think when thy squeamish smell not satisfied  
With such as nature freely doth produce  
Takes it in snuff, if that it be not cloyed  
With forced perfumes, unnatural styled juice  
Whose stinking carcase dead a day or two,  
One hardly can approach within the view.   

90  
No marvel then though artificial care  
To nature's imperfections we give,  
Since to ourselves our selves more loathsome are  
Then any other creature that doth live  
Which if we want with speed we buried are  
Left our corruption should infect the air.   

91  
Why are we then so curiously clothed  
With borrowed beauties, perriwiggs, perfumes,  
Deceitful dress, that shall soon be loathed,  
e'en of ourselves, disrobed of others plumes,  
Put by the veil which modestly doth hide  
Immodestnature, and behold thy pride.   

92  
That body which was lately entertained  
With all variety of dainty meat,  
Soft pillows, beds of down, so richly chained,  
Wrapped warm from cold, laid open in the heat,  
On which the winds were scarce allowed to blow,  
Of all the world neglected, lies fullow.   

93  
Within the limits of a winding sheet  
Confined, both breathless, and disrobed of all  
Those flattering ornaments from head to feet  
If one lament, ten glory in thy fall,  
Who by thy long life have been much perplexed,  
Although perhaps their own turn shall be next.   

94  
But yet to die were nothing, if we could  
Our fowl misdeeds and sinful acts entreat  
To stay behind us, than no doubt we should  
Speed well enough, but O alas they threat  
Our everlasting ruin, and will cry  
To heaven for vengeance, when we come to die.   

95  
Then drunkenness will seem a mortal sin  
Which passeth now but for good fellowship;  
And Lechery be solemnly brought in  
As matter of damnation, which doth slip  
When we are well, but for a trick of youth:  
Till death we never truly know the truth.   

96  
Detraction then, that white-faced Devil, sent  
From hell, attired in a Saintlike weed  
Pretending good, more cunningly to vent  
Her malice, and for every grain of seed  
Whole measures sows of Cockle, will (I fear)  
Like leprosy upon thy soul appear.   

97  
Which passeth now for tabletalk, and serves  
Them for discourse, else knew not what to say  
To pick a thank, and happily deserves  
An invitation the next holiday  
From those that listen after novelties  
And seldom but take up with forged lies.   

98  
So easy of belief we are in things  
Tend to another man's disparagement,  
But he that any well-deserving brings  
In question, if he gain tacit assent,  
'tis all that he must look for, as afraid  
By others worths, our wants should be betrayed.   

99  
The violating of a Father's will,  
Or trust reposed in one friend by another,  
Damned usury now held a venial ill,  
Hypocrisy that doth all mischief smother,  
As black as hell will in thy sight appear,  
And with remorse thy very heartstrings tear.   

100  
Each trivial transgression than will seem  
A capital offence, nor shall we be  
Backward to crave their pardon we esteem  
Our chiefest enemies, in all things free  
Both to knowledge and remunerate  
All injuries, our tender conscience grate.   

101  
O could our living actions correspond  
But with our dying thoughts, how seldom then  
Should we transgress, or violate the bond  
Which God and nature hath imposed on men  
But O our resolutions then too strong  
When we are well seldom continue long.   

102  
Much like a felon that's condemned to dye,  
For misdemeanour sues for a reprieve  
An humble knee and pity moving eye,  
With heaved up hands (each to excel doth strive)  
Plead for their Lord, with whom they stand or fall,  
Who being enlarged proves often worst of all.   

103  
What Caesar is it when he comes to lie  
Upon his deathbed, ready for the grave  
But he could wish that he had lived to die  
A holy Hermit in some hollow Cave,  
And spent those hours in pious meditations  
Were cast away in fruitless recreations.   

104  
What joys us most and giveth bese content  
Wealth, honour, beauty, valour, sovereignty,  
When death approacheth, doth us most tormen  
And trench upon our present misery:  
By how much we enjoy whilst that we live,  
The greater is th' account we have to give.   

105  
It is not all thy gold can purchase then  
A minute's respite to repent, nor all  
The drugs Physicians minister to men,  
Who do themselves the helps of nature call  
Can spin out time (so prevalent is death)  
To give thee leave to breathe another breath.   

106  
The mighty Monarch of the world, whose power  
No humane force can limit, here erects  
His ne plus ultra: Look he ne'er so sour,  
Grim Death fears not his frowes not force respects,  
Inexorable strikes him to the heart,  
Kills him stone dead before he feels in smart.   

107  
Th' ambitious Statesman with his working brain,  
Th' officious Courtier, with forced compliment,  
The Grand Madam with all her buxom train  
Th' ingenious Sycophant, the malcontent  
To plot, colloque, sport, gibe, repine, desist  
At death sad summons with a head I wist.   

108  
When all thy limbs are wracked with dying pain,  
With cold dead sweat all covered over, think  
What thorny thoughts will then distract thy brain,  
How many Cups of Sorrow thou wilt drink,  
And sad repentance, when thou shalt behold,  
Thy sins as in a Catalogue enrolled.   

109  
What then will pleasure and commodities  
Of this vain world avail thee, Prince's favours,  
Victorious conquests? 'gainst thine enemies,  
In office great, and by thy own endeavours  
Thy Children, Kinsfolks in abundance left,  
When thou poor soul shalt be of all bereft.   

110  
Imagine thou wast even now to die  
(For so thou art for aught that thou canst tell)  
And then examine whether nothing lie  
Heavy upon thy guilty conscience well  
From all impartiality be free,  
Then think each bell that toll, toll out for thee.   

111  
Use but the selfsame diligence thou wouldst  
In case thy body were infirm and ill  
For thy soul's health (as reason good thou shouldst)  
Or for thy friends, how many are there will  
Ride day and night nay venture their own lives  
To save a friends when for the soul none strives?   

112  
Doth but a finger ache, much more the head  
Or stomach be distempered strait we run  
To a Physician and recovered  
What diligence those meats and drinks to shun  
Procuring such infirmity we use  
But proffered Physic for our souls refuse.   

113  
Neglect th'anointed of our Lord, nay spit  
The venom of our malice in the face  
Of Church authority and slander it  
To make our own disorders no disgrace,  
And joy to spy a fault where there is none  
In one of them, to mitigate our own.   

114  
We think all cost too little we bestow  
Upon ourselves, the greatest enemy  
We have, to hasten our own overthrow  
But poor half staruen mendicants deny  
A slenderalmes, or if some few we give,  
Think it sufficient how so ere we live.   

115  
A certain good religious Prince being ask,  
By one of his (a careless Courtier) why  
From his delights, he so himself had taste  
And did not spend his days in jollity  
As others did? to whom he little said,  
But by example thus his answers made.   

116  
First placing him upon a rotten chair  
Hung up in cords, and underneath a fire,  
Over his head a naked sword, a hair,  
Supporting it, than said learn to aspire,  
And show a cheerful countenance, and be  
Merry thyself as thou invitest me.   

117  
Who thus replied, my Lord can I rejoice,  
Seeing the fatal period of my life  
Present with such variety and choice  
Of casualties, on every side me rife,  
A rotten seat, a fire underneath,  
A naked sword, all threatening present death.   

118  
Such is my case answered the Prince to him,  
My body weak, and doth each moment waste,  
Hell underneath the recompense of sin,  
The sword of justice over me is placed,  
These are the motives why I do retire,  
Death, judgement, heaven and hell's eternal fire.   

119  
O foolish man that never wilt impose  
An end unto thy follies, yet canst say  
Unto thyself in private only those  
Shall smile in death who never ran that way;  
Then wrong not so thy judgement as to do  
What thine own conscience pleads thee guilty to.   

120  
But some the better to advance their folly,  
Discourse of death, and they reply, you'll put  
Me strait into a fit of Melancholy,  
Flinging away in anger, or else shut  
Their ears, and wish you alter your discourse,  
Or basely jest you out on't, which is worse.   

121  
Others not only grumble when they hear  
Of death, but if you chance to bring their age  
In question (though perhaps they be not near  
Grey hairs) will enter straight into a rage  
Challenge your breeding, nothing else digest  
But their own commendations, merit least.   

122  
These are the careless crew of Libertines  
Spending their days in sensuality,  
Having no other end in their designs,  
Of whom thus holy job doth prophesy.  
Amidst their pleasures and delights they dwell,  
And in a moment are thrust down to hell.   

123  
O fearful sentence, able to awake  
A sin sick soul though ne'er so fast asleep,  
Cause the religious Anchoret to quake,  
And every minute his pale visage steep  
With brinish tears, sin only life and death  
Are separated with a little breath.   

124  
Authore incognito.  
THreescore and ten the life and age of man  
In holy David's eye was but a span.  
And half that time is lost and spent in sleep,  
So only thirty five for use we keep.  
Our days of youth must be abated all,  
Childhood and youth wise Solomon doth call  
But vanity, for vanity he says,  
Is what befalls us in our childish days.  
Our days of age we take no pleasure in,  
And those of sorrow wish had never been.  
So age deducted, youth and sleep and sorrow,  
Only one span is all the life we borrow.   

125  
What can the World advance us, though we should  
Be numbered amongst those called fortunate,  
We are but cast within the finer mould,  
And made more brickell, greatness of estate  
Doth but augment our cares, preferment win  
Of popular applause, which nurture's sin.   

126  
And puffs thee up like to a windy bladder  
Tossed in the airy Element of fame,  
So by degrees thou climst the fatal Ladder  
Making thy fall the greater and thy shame.  
O feel thy pulse, the horologue of time  
Which doth each minute more or less very fine.   

127  
Industrious nature hath not been so free  
In her endowments thou shouldst be so proud,  
Allotting every living thing but thee,  
Wherewith they may defend themselves, and shroud  
Their nakedness; man only left to reason,  
Which once infringde he's guilty of high treason.   

128  
When hellish thoughts thy easy yielding will  
Transport, for profit or for pleasures sake,  
Without reflection be it good or ill,  
Just, or unjust, that thou dost undertake,  
Reflect upon the comfort thou shalt have  
Of th'one, or th'other, in thy joyless grave.   

129  
Think but how many hours thou hast spent  
In furbushing a painted piece of clay  
When few or none were to devotion lent.  
And what small comfort it will be that day:  
Thy guilty soul her fatal doom to hear,  
Before the judge of judges shall appear.   

130  
But that which doth deceive us chiefly is  
Vain hope of a long life, deferring still  
From time to time (nor think we do amiss)  
Consideration of our death, until  
Old age but he that is not apt to day,  
Tomorrow will be less, more apt to stray.   

131  
Besides no humane diligence can steer  
A course so even through the rugged Seas  
Of this tempessuous Ocean, be we near  
So vigilant, but whilst we study these,  
Now those disasters (boding death) to shun,  
Unto our graves with greater speed we run.   

132  
For fear of some contagious pestilence,  
We fly from this place, and relinquish that,  
No harbour yields a secure residence,  
That is not subject to be levelled at  
By millions of mischances, though we fly  
From th' arctic, to th' antarctic, we must die.   

133  
Some scarce on this, on that more freely feed,  
For each man's held to be his own Physician,  
And all is but to die with greater heed,  
Things oft repeated makes the deep'st impression.  
So death's to him most terrible of all  
Taketh most pains t'anticipate his fall.   

134  
The painful ploughman laboureth to eat,  
And doth esteem his Physic best of all,  
Then eats to labour till he drop with sweat,  
Without observing any principal  
Of Galen, or Hipocrates, whom he  
Values no more than his old axeltres.   

135  
But cries rise early, go to bed betimes,  
Feed hard, and hardly, labour for digestion,  
And hath no leisure to be bad, all crimes  
Includes in war, dearth, famine and oppression,  
Thinketh who escapes them, and observes the rest,  
May write a hundred ere he die at least.   

136  
But what avails such dull security  
Wherein he lives, or rather dreams away  
Irrevocable time, when as we see  
Him dead and buried ere his grass be hay,  
Before the grain which his own hands had sown  
Be fully ripe, and is by others mown.   

137  
When thy bewitching bed invites sweet rest,  
After the toilsome travels of the day,  
'Tis but an emblem of thy grave, expressed  
In finer colours, and more rich array,  
By the soft pillow swelling on each side,  
Thy drowsy head, a green turf specified.   

138  
The silken veils which seem to banish light  
Do represent thy hearse, their rings the bells,  
Which drawn stand for thy passing peal that night,  
The Coverlite which round about thee swells,  
Thy rising grave resembles which over grown  
With grass, searce by thy dearest friends is known.   

139  
And if perchance a bedfellow thou have  
According to thy hearts desire chosen,  
What is it, but two bodies in one grave,  
Replete with heat: the other cold and frozen:  
So far we are mistaken whilst the Sun's  
Beams scorch; but mark not how the shadow runs.   

140  
For one of these removed perhaps within  
A month or two another doth possess  
The place scarce cold (as no such thing had been  
Forgot) enjoying all that happiness  
Thou for a time called'st thy; but now interred  
Into thy place another is preferred.   

141  
Besides the certain period of man's life  
By course of nature incident to all,  
How many fearful, accidents more rise  
Then all diseases set together, call  
Us hence at unawares, whilst that we be  
In th'hight of glory and prosperity.   

142  
Observe the common currents of the time,  
Inquire what news (which nature doth desire)  
And thou shalt hear of some one in the prime  
Of youth and nature murdered, or by fire,  
Or water, ended, his untimely race  
The worlds no mausion but a baiting place.   

143  
Great julius Caesar in the Capital  
When he had conquered all the world was slain,  
Who came more like a God unto his fall  
(So did proud Rome her Victor entertain)  
Then a poor mortal, to breathe forth his life  
By the fell passage of a fatal knife.   

144  
So did brave Frances Henry third, and fourth,  
(Nor let us name the last without a tear)  
In whose true noble breast was lodged all worth  
That from a Prince might challenge love, or fear,  
Whose towering thoughts to such things did aspire,  
He may be said a man composed of fire.   

145  
But why should we the limits of our own  
Unhappy Island violate, to find  
Examples, as if we had none at whom,  
Our second Edward, Richard, call to mind:  
Nor let us leave a Buckingham forgotten;  
Whose marrow boiling bones are hardly rotten.   

146  
To you foundmen these lines I dedicate  
Who fear to die, whose modern pastimes sway  
Your giddy thoughts, t'unfold the book of fate  
And view what we were once and what to day,  
And what we shall be, how things ebb and flow  
Through obvious paths unfit for us to know.   

147  
Believe and love, admire and adore,  
More knowledge by an humble resignation  
We purchase then by often turning over,  
Th' inscrutable designs of our Creation.  
What by experience we may daily learn  
Sufficient is man's frailty to discern.   

Ouidij Lib. 15. Most exquisitely Englished by Master GEORGE SANDYS.  

148  
DOth not the Image of our age appear,  
In the successive quarters of the year.  
The springtide tender, sucking infancy  
Resembling, than the iucefull blade sprouts high,  
Though tender weak, hope to the Ploughman yields,  
All things then flourish; flowers the gaudy fields  
With colours paint, no virtue yet in leaves,  
Then following Summer greater strength receives  
A lusty youth, no age more strength acquires,  
More fruitful or more burning in desires.  
Mature Autumn heat of youth alaid.  
The sober means, 'twixt youth and age more stayed,  
And temperate in Summer's wain repairs  
His reverend Temples, sprinkled with grey hairs.  
Then comes old Winter void of all delight  
With trembling steps, his head, or bald, or white,  
So change our bodies without rest or stay,  
What we were yesterday, not what to day  
Shall be tomorrow, once alone of men,  
The seed and hope the womb our mansion, then  
Kind nature showed her cunning, not content  
That our vexed bodies should be longer penned  
In Mother's stretched entralls, forthwith bear  
Them from the prison to the open air.  
We strengthless lie when first of light possessed,  
Strait creep upon all four much like a beast;  
Then staggering with weak nerves stand by degrees,  
And by some stay support our feeble knees.  
Now lusty, swiftly run, youth quickly spent,  
And those our middle times incontinent  
We sink in setting age, this last devours  
The former, and demolisheth their powers.  
Old Milo wept when he his Arms beheld  
Which late the strongest beast in strength excelled,  
Big as Alcides' brawns, in flagidie hide,  
Now hanging by slack sinews, Helen cried  
When she beheld her wrinkles in a glass,  
And asked herself why she twice ravished was.   

149  
Thus did the heathen rightly contemplate  
(Without the abstruse mysteries of faith)  
Upon the mutability and state  
Of man's mortality; wherein he hath  
Discreetly taught us Christians what to do,  
Reflecting what must certainly ensue.   

150  
Which if we did so many would not run  
Such headlong courses to their own perdition  
But strive with earnest diligence to shun  
Those things which pass for mirth and recreation,  
And not conceive that time lost or misspent  
Not dedicated to some merriment.   

151  
For know that man to Gods own Image framed,  
Endued with reason, and supernal grace,  
Was but here placed by his Creator (uamed  
Lord o'er all other creatures) for a space,  
To serve as't were his prenticeship, that he  
(His precepts kept) of Heaven might make him free.   

152  
And not to live and die like beasts, whose souls  
Transcend no farther than their bodies go,  
Governed by sense, whom nothing else controls  
But man's prerogative, and their own woe.  
For were it so (which for to think's a sin)  
Better for maned were never to have been.   

153  
Since not to know what known must be forgotten  
(For what we never had cannot be lost)  
A great deal better is besides pains taken  
To live, with worldly crosses is so saused,  
That were our pleasures measured with our pain,  
Few would the one, the other to regain.   

154  
Only the hope of heaven in us hath  
So great a stroke, by miracle confirmed,  
The radical foundation of our faith,  
By steadfast hope and charity discerned,  
That to a man who weighs all things aright  
To dies to live, to live 's but small delight.   

155  
Yet too too many whom bewitching wealth,  
Soul-killing honour, momentany pleasures,  
Invest, with an addition of good health,  
Would hardly earth's exchange for heavenly treasures,  
Such is the dull stupidity of those  
Whose faith no farther than their knowledge goes.   

156  
Still loath to die, though Charon's boat hath stayed  
Full quarter ebb; grey hairs, green thoughts retain,  
With no infirmity of age dismayed,  
Though scarce the figure of a man remain,  
Both Dotards, toothelesse, grisselesse, and bald,  
Nasty, crook-backt, in every member galled.   

157  
These are so coltish that they die their hair,  
Wear Periwigs, shave themselves twice aday,  
Engraft new teeth within their heads which were  
writhe from some Hog's chaps; disport and play,  
With a young Pigs nigh, as if nature sent  
A fresh supply of what before was spent.   

158  
But as in weakness, so in wickedness,  
Do your old doting women bear the bell  
Though ne'er so much appaild with age, express  
Their good will struing ever to excel  
Your fondest Wanton, in whose mouths still rise  
The Proverb for their warranty. Life's Life.   

159  
Daubing their slaggie cheeks, anoint their nerves,  
Stand poring in a glass, expose their dugs,  
Provoke stale nature with restoritives;  
Write love letters, dance galliards, with their drugs,  
And tempting gold, insight some smooth faced boy,  
In that which is love's remedy to joy.   

160  
Tell these of death, that one feet in the grave,  
Unto the market (strait they will be bold  
To answer) come (so many shifts they have)  
The young sheepskin as soon as doth the old.  
Thus nuzeld in their sensuality  
Towards death and hell they post on merrily.   

161  
The husbandman t'exchange a barten soil  
May with much ease and pleasure be persuaded,  
In hope of better, where his daily toil  
With equal profit may be richly jaded,  
But where small profit and less pleasures taken.  
That's without great repugnancy forsaken.   

162  
For he whose lo roofed fortune doth afford  
Him only necessary maintenance,  
And can his mind to such small means accord,  
lives truly happy, and with confidence  
Meets death half way, in hope soon to possess  
A Kingdom of eternal happiness.   

163  
Only the poor Religious man enjoys  
What we with so much diligence pursue;  
Who all things deems as necessary toys  
That under heaven can come within his view.  
So that in fine the matter well debated  
We cannot say he dies, but is translated.   

164  
No tempting titles, nor bewitching wealth,  
No costly cates, food only to preserve  
Decrepit nature, and maintain good health,  
The better to enable him to serve  
His Lord and maker he desires; whose storè,  
Doth totally consist in being poor.   

165  
He that's to grapple with his enemy,  
Slips of his loser garments, and betakes  
Him to his trowses. Superfluity  
Of temporal additions likewise makes  
Us more unapt and weaker to withstand  
Hellish temptations ever more at hand.   

166  
The greatest Monarch when he comes to die,  
And that poor puff of breath he breathes exhaled,  
Tell me what is he more than thou or I  
A stinking carcassie, withered and appalled,  
Only wrapped up within a finer sheet,  
More helps of art applied to keep it sweet.   

167  
It makes a greater blunder in the world,  
More joyful mourning Liveries are worn,  
Some few deneires amongst the vulgar hurled,  
A score or two of torches more are borne  
Before his hearse, more hymns, and dirges sung,  
More ceremony used; more bells are rung.   

168  
And in the Church a richer tomb shall have,  
Where none but Kings and Queens have been interred  
Of his own Line; yet all is but a grave  
Before the rest on's neighbours graves preferred,  
Most for the golden superficies deemed,  
So superficial men are most esteemed.   

169  
A mercenary Epitaph his Shrine  
Shall grace, more for the Poets praise then his;  
Which shall not be engraved on yours or mine,  
But what advantage hath he by all this?  
He's the unworthy burden of a womb,  
That nothing leaves behind him but a Tomb.   

170  
'Tis true Kings have their Chronicles, wherein  
For one good deed ten bad ones are recorded,  
If they have any privilege therein  
Let no man grudge it should be them afforded,  
May my good actions with my bad ones die,  
Rather than flourish with my infamy.   

171  
But great ones greater privileges crave,  
Wherefore I know not, and grown confident  
Do any thing, for which they can but have  
Any, though, near so slightly precedent.  
We heed not men's religions but their lives,  
Example more than precept edifies.   

172  
Though we look ne'er so stern, be ne'er so stout,  
Though ne'er so valiant, full of active slight,  
Though ne'er so witty, cautelous and young,  
The glory of a Nation and delight,  
Nature to such security doth give  
Ten thousand ways to die, but one to live.   

173  
The poor thatched cottage can as soon repel  
Death's furious implacability,  
As can the Lower, or th' Escuriell,  
And with a great deal more facility.  
Saint Angelo, Diogenes tub, with like  
Success and resolution doth it strike.   

174  
Plutarch upon Scipio.  
Devicto Hannibale, capta Carthagine, & aucto  
Imperio, hoc cineres Marmore tectus habet,  
Cui non Europe, non obstitit Africa quondam,  
Respice res hominum quam breuts urna premit.   

175  
Plutarch upon Scipio.  
Fierce Hannibal o'ercome Carthage surprised,  
His Empire much augmented's here comprised,  
Whom Africa, nor Europe could withstand,  
Behold man brought unto a narrow strand.   

176  
Wave-mounting vessels with a full-stretch● sail,  
Though rigged and tackeld ne'er so well, at last  
When Scylla, nor Charybdis can prevail,  
With worms of their own generation waste.  
Though all external accidents we scape,  
Nature itself will perpetrate the rape.   

177  
When David felt his bosom swell with pride,  
(A man according unto Gods own heart)  
Thus he began himself, himself to chide,  
Dost thou not know poor creature what thou art,  
Naked thou cam'st into the world with pain,  
From whence thou naked shall return again.   

178  
Philip a King of Macedon, we read  
With this inscription daily was saluted  
Leaving his lodgings, that he might take heed,  
The better what with his great weakness shuted.  
Remember man that thou art mortal still  
To subjugated a refractory will.   

179  
Great Chrales said fifteen beggars every day,  
With his own hands, an antidote for pride,  
Which spectacle would Princes duly lay  
Before their eyes so many would not guide  
The Stern of State so Imperiously, but know  
The debt is equal that we mortals owe.   

180  
Henry the Second King of France was slain  
With one poor spill flew from a broken spear  
In th' height of triumphs, caused to entertain  
His Daughters Nuptial, when he least did fear  
Death's fierce assault who finds as many doors  
To enter in▪ as we have nerves and pores.   

181  
Tarquin was merry when a small fish bone  
Stuck in his throat and choked him, so we read  
Of Fabius with one small hair alone,  
Swallowed in milk was instantly found dead.  
Set these sad spectacles before thine eye,  
And let thy foul misdeeds before thee die.   

182  
Time past thou canst not properly call thine▪  
Of that to come thou hast least certainty▪  
Not sure to live one minute, so in fine  
Amidst of all thy ioviallitie,  
One only point of nimble footed time,  
Is all thou hast to brag on, or call thine▪   

183  
How many go unto their quiet rest,  
In perfect health of body and of mind;  
Resolved to be the next day at some feast,  
Or merriment, expecting there to find  
All things that may administer delight,  
Who disappointed are by death that night.   

184  
The joyful Bridegroom to the Church repairs,  
With his fair Mistress, brighter than the Sun,  
And for no cost that may delight her spares,  
Proud of the prize with difficulty won,  
Who live not both (although together wed)  
To taste the pleasures they imagined.   

185  
The greedy griping Purchaser oft times  
Gives earnest for the soil he near enjoys,  
And he that plants the Vineyard, prunes the Vines,  
All his endeavours totally employs  
To see it flourish neither tastes the wine,  
Nor eats the grapes, for which he spent his time.   

186  
The Clients fees the Lawyer pleads; the cause  
Rests with the judge in his most private breast  
For good or bad success▪ as he doth pause  
Upon the matter death doth him arrest,  
Tells him the verdict under hand and seal  
Against himself is past, without repeal.   

187  
Nugamur mortemque procul, procul esse putamus,  
At medijs latet haec abdita visceribus,  
Scilicet ex illa qua primum nascimur hora,  
Prorepunt iuncto vitaque morsque pede.  
Partem aliquam furtim, qua se metitur & ipsa,  
De vitae filo quelibet hora rapit.  
Paulatim morimur momento extinguimur uno,  
Vt lampas olco deficiente perit.   

188  
We trifle as if death were nothing nigh,  
When it doth lurking in our bowels lie,  
For hand in hand from our first hour's birth  
Death walks withlife, to qualify our mirth,  
Stealing each minute though perceived by none,  
Part of life's clue, to lengthen out her own.  
So by degrees we in a moment die,  
As when a Lamp for want of oil grows dry.   

189  
The Devil casts such mists before our eyes  
That what is nearest we think farthest of,  
Belief soon enters where desire lies;  
Which makes us look on Funerals and laugh.  
Although we see our fellows daily die  
Promise unto ourselves eternity.   

190  
Objecting what caused this, what that man's death.  
Who else had lived many a fair year,  
Reflecting not we draw the selfsame breath,  
And liable to those mishaps they wear,  
Nor that the young sheep cometh from the fold  
As soon unto the slaughter, as the old.   

191  
A thief condemned to die although he go  
Unto the place where he must suffer death  
Farther than doth his fellows, or more slow,  
Knows he must die, and his protracted breath  
But multiplies his miseries, well knowing  
Though he go ne'er so slowly yet he's going.   

192  
And when thou waking liest in thy bed,  
How often dost thou hear the passing bell  
For some departing soul not fully dead,  
Perchance some friend thou lovedst dearly well  
With whom not long before thou oft hadst been  
Copartner in some execrable sin.   

193  
When discontents our vexed souls oppress,  
We value it a happiness no more  
To breathe this loathsome air; forgot, no less  
Forward in folly than we were before  
Only those freely may rejoice in death  
Who with content, drew discontented breath.   

194  
How many brought (to use the common phrase)  
During this momentary Pilgrimage  
Even to death's door, returning in a maze  
Make holy vows to heaven, and engage  
Their souls for true performance, which within  
One months forgot as no such thing had been.   

195  
Sea-faringmen, with timorous passengers,  
Who sail within an inch of death each hour  
When Neptune roars th' frighted souls deters,  
How Saint like will they out petitions power,  
But calm the waves becoming smooth and even  
Drink drunk, and swear, as they'd pull God from heaven.)   

196  
How penitent, how humble and submiss,  
A sickness shaken sinner thou shalt see,  
That one would swear he ne'er would do amiss  
Again for all the world, recovered he  
Sooner forgets it then a child the rod,  
And violates his plighted troth to God.   

197  
Thrice happy souls who only live to breathe  
The little time of innocence forth,  
Whose harmless thoughts did ever sail beneath  
The knowledge of the base world's little worth!  
He that is borne to day, and dies to morrow,  
Loseth some hours of joy, but months of sorrow.   

198  
Had Priam died before the walls of Troy  
Dismantled wear, or Paris, Helen scene,  
He had gone to his Sepulchre with joy,  
Old Hecuba been buried a Queen;  
Anchises need not to have sought a shore  
T'interre his body, had he died before.   

199  
Do not we daily heaven importune  
(Though indirectly through a vain delusion  
And greedy appetite) for wealth, which soon  
Becomes the Author of our own confusion.  
The humble Cottage poverty doth guard,  
Nor stands in need of either watch or ward.   

200  
Who would not be a second Cicero,  
Or sweet tongued Ovid, or Demosthenes,  
Whose too much worth wrought their own overthrow?)  
Sick men desire what's worst for their disease,  
Then death there's nothing we can less endure,  
Yet wish those things which our own deaths procure.   

201  
preeminency is but envies pray,  
Be it in wealth, wit, beauty, eloquence,  
To want, pride, lust, ambition making way,  
'Gainst which there is no bulwark of defence,  
Nature ne'er framed an excellence so great,  
Death could not study some way to defeat.   

202  
'tis strange to see what stratagems men use  
To propagate decaying Families.  
When nature doth her common helps refuse  
By rebaptising their lost progenies,  
Their names entailing (for a time good stands)  
Upon their female issue with their lands.   

203  
And sometimes when the lawful lineage that  
For many ages hath continued falls,  
In-steps some bastards peremptory brat  
And his propostrous progeny installs.  
Death no distinction makes, in whose hands lies  
The certain ruin of all Families.   

204  
Nor private men and Families destroys,  
But Kings and Kingdoms throws unto the ground,  
Hugh Babel's bulk, Jerusalem and Troy's  
Admired strength, whose memories are found  
Alone in books, so thou proud Rome shalt fall,  
Who call'st thyself the Supreme head of all.   

205  
Nothing retains its pristine state, but still  
Some change or mutability is found,  
New Cities built, the old decayed, nor will  
The setleds' Kingdom on this massy round  
Subsist, but shall to others be transferred  
By course of time their memories interred.   

206  
The World's the road, and we the passengers,  
Are billeted at several Inns, the Crown  
Some entertains, and for Ambassadors  
The Angel is reserved, others go down  
Unto the Mitre, or the Cardinal's hat,  
Some to the Plough, some unto this, some that.   

207  
Our journey's end is either heaven or hell,  
To which we all must first or last attain,  
Heaven prepared for those live and die well,  
And hell the wicked destined to restrain,  
Not for a certain or prefixed time,  
In this most blessed, or that accursed clime.   

208  
And doth not this wise Worldlings you concern!  
Who make religion but a stalking-horse,  
And can at every alteration Perne,  
Nor eat, nor drink, nor sleep a pin the worse.  
Whom some untimely death like to a frost  
In Summer nips, so all your glories lost.   

209  
What wouldst thou give when gifts will not prevail,  
What wouldst thou do when neither strength nor time  
Of doings left, when death shall thee assail,  
And blast thy forward hopes even in their prime,  
Examine the defects of other men,  
And do those things which they would have done then.)   

210  
You that broach Schisines, and damned Heresies,  
Sell your own souls for sensuality,  
To magnify your dunghill progenies,  
Teach others for your own ends liberty.  
Reflect upon the doctrine you will teach  
Upon your deathbeds, and the selfsame preach.   

211  
Wrong not the all believing laity  
Struck with a two hours preach into a qualm,  
Think all devotion, zeal, and piety,  
Consisteth in the singing of a Psalm,  
And turning over the Bible, which I fear  
More in their hands, then in their hearts they wear.   

212  
So blind men judge of colours, babies choose  
The gaudy outside of a bitter sweet,  
But good and wholesome sustenance refuse;  
More for their health and weak digestion mere,  
So did Ulysses cunningly obtain  
Achilles' arms, his arms could not sustain.   

213  
Be Pastors, and not prators, feed your sheep  
With wholesome harmless doctrine, feed not on them,  
Nor let them wade alone into the deep,  
If for them you'll not pray, pray not upon them,  
It is the chiefest ornament of Art  
To teach both th'active and the passive part.   

214  
Gull not the World with an unblessed belief,  
As great Ones do, if they are not belied,  
To think an outward Sanctity the chief  
Perfection. Gold before its purified  
Retains much dross nor will for currant go  
Although it seem most perfect to the show.   

215  
Behold fond worldlings one but even now  
In prime of nature and contentious wealth,  
Struck with some sudden chance no man knows how,  
At unawares; death ever comes by stealth,  
Upon his lamentable deathbed lying  
With all the postures of a man that's dying.   

217  
Deep sighs and groans, his colour pale and waune;  
No moisture left to cool his parched tongue,  
The blood dried up which in his blue veins ran,  
His feeble limbs with nerves and arctures strong  
Unable to support each other now,  
And in their several offices to bow.   

216  
His eyes grown hollow, and his sinews dry,  
Hair from his head, nails from his fingers fret  
No part escapes, tor mented he doth lie,  
The pangs of death, distils prodigious sweat,  
Life to the heart for succour strait retiring  
Who first received her, lastly leaves it dying.   

217  
Mean while th'amazed multitude he wils  
By his example to be vigilant,  
And careful in their ways, whose cares he fills  
With wholesome counsel, how they should prevent  
This mischief, that occasion, he imparts  
In zeal, which never penitrates their hearts.   

218  
Through obvious paths his wand'ring thoughts amazed  
Sets them on shore amidst his worldly blisses,  
On whose vain objects he so fond gazed,  
And now too late ten thousand times he wishes,  
His shattered vessel ready to be split,  
With more discretion he had governed it.   

219  
Then you the witness of his youthful folly,  
Base Adulators, and Associates  
He blames, were wont to purge his melancholy  
(For so you call devotion) at such rates  
As now his guilty soul forced to be gone  
At so short warning grieves to think upon.   

220  
Doubtful what the event will be, confides  
In him alone on whom we all rely,  
Whose mercies more than all his works besides,  
Who never doth a penitent deny  
That humbly begs, though it be ne'er so late  
For his transgressions ne'er so desperate.   

221  
The soul departed what remains behind,  
A loathsome carcase, by the diligence  
Of loving neighbours decently enshrined,  
Which other ways would yield no small offence;  
Hard-hearted creatures that can daily do  
Such things, which no impression leave in you.   

222  
Conveyed with expedition to the tomb  
Dust unto dust the greedy pillagers  
And Commonwealths men of our mother's womb  
Impatient blame their slothful Haruengers  
Who give us up amidst our funeral rites,  
To quench the fury of their appetites.   

223  
Crawling into the several passages  
Of our dead bodies, sometimes throw the head,  
At their own freedom work their Voyages,  
Throw heart, loins, liver, Epicure like fed,  
On which they feast, in which each one resides,  
Pitching his tents, as since their progress guides.   

224  
Our Microcosm pillaged, ransacked, sacked,  
Raising the siege leave only in the room  
The straggling ruins of so foul a fact,  
To time, which they themselves could not consume,  
Which oft by othersare digged up to find  
The hidden mysteries are left behind.   

225  
Some devote person purchaseth thy skull,  
On which in's Closet he doth meditate,  
Says here were lips, eyes, all these hollows full  
Of wanton flesh, and sparkling blood of late,  
Now only serves me for a looking glass  
To see that I am now what this once was.   

226  
Thus shalt thou be tormented in thy grave,  
Flouted and jeered, thy flesh consumed, thy bones  
Scattered abroad, on which poor mortals have  
No more regard than of so many stones  
Whose stony hearts such objects never stir  
Nor from the least of wickedness deter.   

227  
Some savage beasts devour, as we do them,  
To fowls and fishes others are exposed,  
Who by degrees return to us again  
First in a thousand several shapes enclosed,  
For whatsoever is composed of earth's  
The same, throughout innumerous forms & births.   

228  
Suppose thou have the happiness to die  
In thine own Country, at thy proper home,  
And in thy father's Sepulchre to lie,  
Preserved for his own Family alone.  
He that shall come to seek thee there shall find  
Naught but a ruined careasse, left behind.   

229  
The poor remainder of thy wanton flesh,  
Which scarce the figure of a man retains,  
No humane application can refresh,  
Nor sparkling blood runs in thy parched veins,  
Nor unchaste thoughts the wanton heat return,  
Wherewith inflamed thy sinful youth did burn.   

230  
Base is the entertainment thou dost give  
Thy living friends resort to visit thee,  
In stead of sweet perfrmes (when thou didst live  
And fluent words of course, than deeds more free)  
Distilling forth infectious vapours, such  
No man thy carcase can endure to touch.   

231  
By how much more with choice fare thou wert fed,  
Whilst thou wast living here on earth, thou art  
So much the more distasteful being dead,  
If secondary means no help impart,  
For the corruption of the best things, think,  
Make but the greater and the dearer stink.   

232  
The most deformedst miserable wretch,  
The earth inhabits, breath's the selfsame air,  
The selfsame blood our swelling arctures stretch,  
Runs in his veins though ne'er so well we fare,  
Though not inflamed with so much active heat,  
Nor do his pulses with that vigour beat.   

233  
Here nature ends her story, fame the rest  
Lodged in the living memories of men  
Preserves, and he that hath deserved best  
Scarce escapes the frump of some malicious pen;  
Which though it cannot to the world deface him,  
Will wrack its utmost power to disgrace him.   

234  
The grave Divine shall flourish in the Schools,  
Th'Historian be grateful unto all,  
The wanton Poet only amongst fools,  
All bodies both Ecclesiastical  
And Politic, their chief supporters strive  
T'immortalize, their same preserved alive.   

235  
Of which the soul participates alone  
Without the body, not yet glorified,  
According to the measure which the one  
Or th'other's labours benefit confide,  
Likewise the soul of him shall tortured be  
Leaves works behind him of impiety.   

236  
Kings have their Chronicles, and so shall those  
Lived famous in their times, the vulgar die  
Whose obscure lives nor challenge verse nor prose,  
Some seek to raise their fame from infamy,  
So Hero stratus kindled with desire  
Of fame, Diana's Temple set on fire,   

237  
How impiously provident men are  
To purchase a self perpetuity,  
Which way it comes they do not greatly care,  
So they be famous, though in infamy,  
I know not by what fate or fury led  
Ambitious to be talked of when theyare dead.   

238  
Steep thy dull soul in that Celestial dew  
The heavens distilled upon the drooping earth  
For her lost Landlords, through those Stigmats hue  
Thy way to heaven, by a second birth;  
Advance the Ensign of our Saviour jesus  
On which he died, from death and hell to ease us.   

239  
Then mayst thou smiling look death in the face  
Ten thousand times and never be afraid,  
'Tis want of faith forestalleth offered grace,  
And is the cause so many are dismayed.  
Striving to have (so stupid is poor man)  
As much here of their-heaven as they can.   

240  
Which men would never do did they believe  
What they profess the ploughman would not toil  
Were he not sure of something to relieve  
His wife and children (when he tills his soil)  
The next year after, nor the footman run  
But for his hire when the journeys done.   

241  
If men were confident of heaven and hell,  
Other then in a superficial way,  
They would not loiter as they do, nor sell  
Salvation for the pleasure of a day.  
He were a madman would refuse a Crown  
For taking up, when it is laid him down.   

242  
What were the troubles, discontents and grief,  
We suffer in this transitory life  
Compared with heaven, had we but belief,  
'T would break the neck of all contentious strife,  
Those frozen Characters the world infest  
Of thine, and mine, would be in small request.   

243  
Churchmen would not be covetous, and more  
Ambitious than any other men,  
Their Simony would soon be given over,  
To which the Clerk would gladly say Amen,  
Whereby it doth appear in fine, that all  
Their faith at most is but Apocryphal.   

244  
The griping Miser would not forfeits take  
Of other men's estates at half the worth,  
Bugger his Gold, nor it his Idol make,  
The fruits which infidelity bring forth.  
Who would not change, might he continue here,  
With God Almightic for his Hemisphere.   

245  
Court Favourites would not then temporize  
For their own ends, embrace all shapes, all forms,  
All postures, all religions, sacrifice  
Themselves unto the Devil to raise flormes  
Amongst the monster multitude, who send  
Them with remorseless curses to their end.   

246  
The want on Lady would not make her bed,  
The common hospital of brutish lust,  
Her womb the sepulchre of unborn dead,  
Nor lawful heirs from their possessions thrust  
By that adulterate issue she bestows  
Upon her husband unsuspected goes.   

247  
The City Mushrum would not swear and lie  
Himself into a living, which he leaves  
Unto ill prospering posterity,  
Who father's wealth and mother's wit receives,  
By which created either Lords or Ladies,  
Beget a brood of hopeful half hatched babies.   

248  
The Machiavellian would not vex his braives  
To put in practice his Atheistical  
And damned positions, did he but retain  
A faith two steps above historical,  
Who holds Religion (till he come to die)  
Merely the subject of State policy.   

249  
The Lawyer would not plead his Client's cause.  
As Mules bear burdens fed still as they go,  
Or else stand like an Ass, with hums and haughes▪  
Tell him he starves it, that he is too slow  
In prosecution, when in deed the want  
Is only that he thinks his fees too scant;   

250  
The dainty damsel would not do those things  
Her mother would have blushed t' have thought upon  
And call it breeding; that she Devil brings  
All out of order in our Nation,  
So impudent our female sex's are grown  
That by their garb they scarce from men are known▪   

251  
And thou damned Atheist bruiter then are brutes  
Who daily laud and praise (each in his kind)  
Their Lord, which all thy arguments confutes  
The hell-hatch issue of a devilish mind,  
Look up to heaven, thou needest no other story  
To speak him God, and manifest his glory.   

252  
The infant waters gushing from the rocks  
Imprisoning caverns murmur as they steer  
Their headlong course, one to another flocks,  
And as they draw unto their end more near  
More stubborn grow, and more unruly then  
Before, which is most incident to men.   

253  
One soothes another up in wickedness,  
And precedents for precepts are maintained  
Many oflenders makes th'offence seem less,  
And custom is not easily restrained,  
‛ ill habits frame excuses, they engraft  
A second nature, hardly to be left.   

254  
Maintain not then thy silly brother ass  
Too high in flesh, for if thou do he'll kick  
And being suffered to get heart a grass  
Cast down his master when the spur doth prick,  
And reason good that he should so requite him,  
endeavoureth to make his own Dog bite him.   

255  
If he begin unmannerly to bray,  
Grow belly proud, or wanton in his pace,  
Feed him with bran, mix stubble with his hay,  
Drink from the fountain, sometimes thou mayst lace,  
This tender hide, disturb him of his sleep  
Such things th'unruly in subjection keep.   

256  
If wealth abound, be liberal and free,  
No man can serve two masters, heaven and earth,  
If poverty do pinch, let patience be  
The antidote, with a religious mirth,  
Let no disaster daunt thee, but rely,  
On steadfast Faith, sweet Hope, blessed Charity.   

257  
Pieus Mirandula whose learning famed  
Him through the World for depth of speculation  
Seemed as it were thereof to be ashamed,  
Little advancing to his soul's salvation  
Wishing he had the power (to us seems strange)  
With some devout old woman to exchange.   

258  
Seek in the first place what's first to be sought  
Nor let thy wand'ring thoughts at rovers run,  
He sails securest that is easily fraught  
The work's half ended that is well begun  
Even in goodness study by all means  
Much more in other things t'avoid extremes.   

259  
He knows enough that knows how to live well  
For as men live most commonly they die  
And until death no mortal power can tell  
What shall befall him, such variety  
Of fortunes we are subject unto all  
Let him that stands securest fear to fall.   

260  
Stain not the beauty of thy noble soul  
With th'ugly foul deformity of sinew  
More horrid than the place from whence it stole,  
But if through frailty it should enter in,  
Permit it not a minute there to dwell.  
We cannot say he lives that lives not well.   

261  
Nor can we say he's dead, although he die  
According to the common acceptation,  
Whose innocence doth like incense fly  
up to the Throne of mercy for salvation  
Steering a course so solid, smooth and even,  
The final object of his labour's heaven.   

262  
Mors dominos seruis, & sceptra ligonibus aequat,  
Dissimiles simili conditione trahens.   

The Lord, the Slave, the Peasant, and the King  
Unlike in life, in death the selfsame thing.   
FINIS.    

Upon the Right Honourable George Lord Talbot Earl of Shrewsbury, etc.  
I May express a willingness to show  
The duty to thy memory I owe,  
But O thy virtues soar a pitch far higher,  
Then any pen can reach but in desire,  
In whom two distinct attributes accord,  
To be religious, and to be a Lord;  
Few such we find amongst our Noble men,  
That grace their honours, not their honours them.  
Ambitious thoughts did never break thy sleep,  
Nor how to get unjustly, nor to keep.  
An humble suitor might know where to find  
Your Lordship's lodging, constant as your mind.  
Nor did you his petition sooner read,  
That had the Groom of your Bedchamber feed,  
Whose constant servants better by their own  
Then any gaudy Livery were known,  
Whose Coach and horses did more all the year  
An old Church-door, than a new Tavern fear.  
No wanton pleasures did thy youth defile,  
Nor vain delights thy middle-age beguile,  
Old age was not by doting passion led,  
With like discretion either managed,  
So, that perseverance with immortal fame  
Hath crowned thy end, the glory of thy name,  
And high descent, predestinate to be  
A fair example to posterity.  
Thy Manor-house stood not for show or grace,  
Nor for a Landmark, but a janding place;  
Whose inward uniformity did please  
More than the golden superficies.  
Instead of Marble pillars at thy door  
We did behold whole multitudes of poor  
Relieved whose incessant votes did strive  
To canonize thee for a Saint alive.  
W. C.   

AN ELEGY.  
Upon the Lady marchioness of Winchester, daughter to the right Honourable Thomas Lord Savage, etc.  
INstruct my pen with an immortal verse  
Whilst holy tears enamel thy sad hearse  
Sweet Saint on earth, in Heaven no less we know  
Thy beauty here, there goodness makes thee so.  
I rather should direct my prayers to thee  
Then study to compose an Elegy,  
Teaching the world with confidence they must  
Perform their vows to thy religious dust  
With many a weary step, to know what shall  
Unto their long protracted hopes befall.  
What newborn sin (that heaven could not devose  
To expiate a meaner sacrifice  
Then thy dear loss, all other doth exceed)  
Reigneth amongst us? who so freely feed  
The fatal sisters? that they made such haste  
To finish up their work with so much waste.  
How many glorious branches might have sprung  
From thee so good, so beautiful and young.  
They were mistaken in their count I fear  
And numbered every virtue for a year.  
W. C.   

AN ELEGY.  
UPON THE RIGHT HONOURABLE WILLIAM Lord PAGET Baron of Beaudesert.  
THe best intelligence that we can have  
Of greatness ever riseth from the grave,  
There are the curtains drawn, and men appear  
Not as they seemed to be but as they were:  
And so dost thou, who rightly understood  
Thoughtst no addition great but to be good,  
In which alone t'excel thou didst strive,  
Living an absolute contemplative.  
Abhorring that unsettled generation  
Who make a business of their recreation,  
Whose glorious titles serve as a disguise,  
To cast a mist before the vulgars' eyes.  
As if that honour's essence were to hide  
Their folly, sensuality and pride,  
No tell-tale Libels after thee are thrown  
To stain thine honour, not so much as one  
Inuective line, or murmuring complaint  
Thy ever happy memory doth taint,  
We need no marble monument to raise  
Or recommend thy worth, or speak thy praise  
Unto succeeding ages, shall outlive  
All helps that humane hand or wit can give  
In the succession of thy noble line  
Wherein thy living memory doth shine  
Most glorious; whilst with wonder we behold  
So many goodly Characters enrolled  
Of thee, whose growing virtues speak the worth  
And beauty of the soil that brought them forth.  
W. C.   

An Elegy.  
UPON THE HONOURABLE Sir JOHN BEAUMONT Knight Baronet.  
A Beanmont dead; he forfeiteth his pen  
That writeth not an Elegy. For when  
The Muse's darlings whose admired numbers  
Recorded are amongst our age's wonders,  
Exchange this dull earth for a Crown of glory,  
All are engaged t'immortalize their story.  
But thou hast left us sacred poesy  
Reduced unto her former infancy.  
Having (as all things else by long gradation)  
Lost her first lustre, till thy reformation,  
Forcing her back into the ancient stream  
Taughts thy chaste muse divinity, a theme  
So far neglected, we did hardly know  
If there were any (but a name) or no.  
Mirror of men who leftest us not a line  
Wherein thy living honour doth not shine  
Equal with that of the celestial Globe  
Clad in the splendour of her midnight robe.  
Only that Venus never did appear  
Within the Circle of thy Hemisphere,  
Which so much adds to thy religous verse,  
Succeeding ages shall not dare rehearse  
Without some sacred ceremony, sent  
Beforehand, as a divine compliment.   

The Authors Apology for the title of his Book injuriously conferred by Roger Muchill, upon a Sermon of Doctor Donnes.  
DEath in a fury hath the Felon took  
That stole my Title, Donne, to grace thy book.  
To wrong the living and commit a rape  
Upon the dead, how could he think to scape?  
I am but too much honoured to be styled  
Th'vn willing Gossip to thy unknown child.  
But he that sought so basely my disgrace  
Behind my back; hath wronged thee to thy face.  
I would revenge thy quarrel but that he  
That deals with dirt shall but defiled be.  
Live in thy living fame; and let this serve  
Not thine, but mine own honour to preserve.   

An Epitaph upon Roger Muchill.  
HErelies Muchill that ne'er did good (who thought  
To cousin Death) in his untimely vault.  
Harm watch, harm catch, his avarice was such  
That at the length, he stole a Pot to much.  
But he that would not take his bond before  
May take his word, he shall do so no more.  
FINIS.