DEATH Dis-sected; OR, A FORT Against MISFORTUNE IN A Cordial, compounded of many pious and profitable Meditations on Man's Mortality.  
Digested into several Poems, by T. I.  Fortiter ille facit, qui miser esse potest. 
Printed by Authority for the use of the Author.   

To the truly worthy Mr. ANSELL BEAUMONT  
SIR  
IF in this age when Sovereignty is no symptom of Security, and Majesty but a new name for Misery) I may claim a pious privilege to present you with the useful Mirror of Mortality, I hope these pale imperfect Poems will meet the candour of your Approbation with no less welcome than Death (when looked for at the latter day) finds in the harbour of a quiet Conscience; And although you may challenge the liberty to wonder, why (in these Times, when Witty malice, Holy Ignorance, and Devout Impiety are the prodigious effects of most men's industry) I descant ●…he old plainsong of Mortality, when you have well considered the (more than ordinary) seasonable necessity, and from these humble Contemplations, collected the eternal Profit, I hope you will extend a pardon and protection to him who conceius it a complete dignity, if honoured with the happy title of  
SIR, Your Humblest Servant, THO. JORDAN.   

Profitable and pious thoughts of Death.  

Part I. Of Death's certainty.  


IN heaven's high Parliament an act is passed,  
Subscribed by that eternal Three in One,  
That each created wight must one day taste  
Of Death's grim terrors: They exempted none  
That sprang from Adam. All that red-earth-strain  
Must to their earth again.   

An ancient Register of burials lies  
In Genesis, to let us understand  
That whosoever is begotten dies,  
And every sort is under Death's command.  
His Empire 's large: Rich, poor, old, young, and all  
Must go when he doth call.   

Man's life 's a book: and some of them are bound  
Handsome and richly; some but meanly clad:  
And for their matter, some of them are sound  
Learned and pious: others are too bad  
For vilest sires: Both have their end.  
There 's a conclusion penned   

As well as title-page; that 's infancy.  
The matter; that 's the whole course of our lives.  
One 's Satan's servant walking wickedly;  
Another 's pious, and in goodness thrives;  
One 's beggarly, another 's rich and brave:  
Both drop into the grave.   

One man (a book in folio) lives till age  
Hath made him crooked and put out his eyes:  
His beard doth penance. And death in a rage  
Mows down another whilst the infant cries  
In is midwives' lap: (that 's an Epitome)  
Both wear deaths livery.   

God made not death: Whence are we mortal then?  
Sure Sin 's the parent of this pale-faced foe;  
Nought else did hatch it: and the first of men  
He was Death's grandfather: And all the woe  
That in this or the next life we are in  
Is caused by our sin.    

Meditation 1.  

IF I must die, I will catch at every thing  
That may but mind me of my latest breath.  
Deaths-heads, graves, knells, blacks, tombs, all these shall bring  
Into my soul such useful thoughts of death,  
That this sable King of fears,  
Though in chiefest of my health  
He behind me come by stealth,  
Shall not catch me unawares.   

When-e're I visit any dying friend,  
Each sigh and scrich, and every death-bed-grone  
Shall read me such a lecture of mine end,  
That I will suppose his case will be mine own.  
As this poor man here doth lie  
Racked all o'er with deadly pain,  
Never like to rise again,  
Time will come when so must I.   

Thus ghastly shall I look, thus every part  
Of me shall suffer, thus my lips shall shrivel,  
My teeth shall grin, and thus my drooping heart  
Shall smoke out sighs and groans; and all the evil  
Which I see this man lie under,  
What sin earns and death doth pay,  
I shall feel another day.  
Sin from torment who can sunder?   

Thus will my mournful friends about me come:  
My liveless carcase shall be stretched out.  
I must be packing to my longest home:  
Thus will the mourners walk the streets about.  
Thus for me the bells will toll:  
Thus must I bid all adieu,  
World, and wife, and children too:  
Thus must I breathe out my soul.   

At others fun'ralls when I see a grave,  
That grave shall mind me of mortality.  
I will think that such a lodging I must have:  
Thus in the pit my bones must scattered lie;  
Here one bone and there another,  
Here my ribs, and there my scull,  
And my mouth of earth be full.  
I must call the worms my mother.   

When I do look abroad, methinks I see  
A funeral Sermon penned in every thing.  
Each creature speaks me mortal: Yonder tree,  
Which, not a quarter since, the glorious spring  
Had most proudly clothed in green,  
And was tall, and young, and strong,  
Now the axe hath laid along:  
Nothing but his stump is seen.   

And yonder fruitful valleys yesternight  
Did laugh and sing, they stood so thick with corn:  
In was the sickle, and it was cut down quite,  
And not a sheaf will stand to morrow morn.  
Yonder beauteous imps of May,  
Pretty eye-delighting flowers,  
Whose face heaven doth wash with showers  
To put on their best array:   

I saw the fairest, the Lily, and Carnation,  
And coy Adonis particoloured son,  
Subject to such a sudden alteration  
That in a day their sading beauty 's gone.  
This tree, this corn, and this flower,  
Or what things else vainest are,  
To myself I do compare,  
Who may die within this hour.    

Meditation 2.  

I WILL ne'er be proud of beauty if I must  
Be blemished when I die: And if the grave  
Will mix my beauty with the vilest dust,  
What profits pride? Reader, I will pardon crave  
Here to set you down a story  
Of as rare and fair a She  
As the Sun did ever see,  
Whom Death robbed of all her glory.   

I once saw Phoebus in his midday shine  
Triumphing like the Sovereign of the skies,  
Until two brighter rays, both more divine,  
Outblazed his: and they were this Nymphs eyes.  
Forthwith Sol curtained his light,  
Looking very red for shame  
To be vanquished by this Dame,  
And did slink out of her sight.   

I once saw silver Cynthia, nights fair Queen,  
In her full orb dimming each lesser flame,  
Till this Nymphs beauty-vying front was seen  
Outshining hers: then she looked wan for shame.  
The man in her, knew he how  
But to quit that giddy place,  
She had so divine a face,  
Would have dwelled upon her brow.   

Once was this woman pleased to walk the fields  
Then proudly fragrant with Dame Flora's store:  
The damask risen unto her beauty yields,  
And was contented to be fair no more.  
Sure I cannot say how truly,  
Yet 'mongst many it was a fame,  
That the rose did blush for shame,  
And the violet looked most bluly.   

Once did this woman to the temple go,  
Where doth fair Venus' marble-statue lie  
Cut to the life, that one can hardly know  
But that it lives indeed: When she came nigh,  
He who then the temple kept  
After would be often telling  
She was so super-excelling  
That for mad the marble wept.   

Melodious music's warbled by the spheres;  
Swans sing their Epitaphs in curious lays,  
Once with a singing Swan a part she bears:  
As soon 's those coral doors dismissed her voice,  
The poor Swan held his peace and died:  
And the spheres (as men do say)  
Dumbly move unto this day.  
This was by a river's side.   

What think you now of such a glorious woman?  
This Phoenix sure was she, if any might,  
That might be proud: And yet the tongue of no man  
Can well express, nor any pen can write  
What grim death hath done unto her;  
Now she 's of another feature,  
Hardly can you know the creature:  
Stay a while, and we will view her.   

Th' almighty King that dwells above in heaven  
Directs to is high Shrieve Death a certain writ,  
Wherein a straight imperial charge was given,  
At is utmost peril forthwith on sight of it  
To arrest that piece of beauty  
And to wrap her up in clay  
'Gainst the last great judgement-day.  
Death addressed him to his duty;   

And with great care gives warrant by and by  
Unto his bailifs, Fever, Pox, and Gout,  
Frenzy, Strangury, Colic, Squinancy,  
Consumption, Dropsy, and an ugly rout  
Beside these, for to assail her:  
Death's command was, that they must  
Tie her fast in chains of dust:  
He gave charge that none should bail her.   

You would not think with what a furious pace  
These catchpoles fly to pull this creature down:  
But Pox was nimblest; she got to her face  
And ploughed it up. This hag goes in a gown  
Rugged and of colour tawny,  
Buttoned o'er from top to toe;  
(Skin-deep beauties deadly foe)  
Uglier hag was never any.   

Fain would the rest have fastened on her too,  
But that this hag had frighted out her soul.  
Now looks her carcase of another hue,  
Grim, ugly, loathsome, ghastly, and as soul  
As did ever eye look on.  
What 's become of that complexion  
Which held all hearts in subjection?  
In a moment all is gone.   

If we might be so bold to dig the grave  
Some few years hence where this good woman lies,  
Sure we should find this beauty but a slave  
To pallid putresaction, and a prize  
For those silly vermin worms:  
As they crawl in stinking swarms  
She doth hug them in her arms,  
And doth give them suck by turns.   

Here 's a deformed lump indeed: and this  
Must be the fortune of the fairest face.  
None then are proud but fools: They love amiss  
Whose hearts are chained to any thing but grace.  
From the beauty of the skin  
In the loveliest outward part,  
Lord, vouchsafe to turn my heart  
To love that which is within.    

Meditation 3.  

IF Death will come, sure there will come an end  
Of all this world's deep-biting misery.  
Nothing adverse that 's here on earth doth tend  
Beyond the grave: that 's a delivery  
From the power of men and devils,  
And  other woe  
May befall us here below  
Death 's a shelter from all evils.   

Here I am poor: my daily drops of sweat  
Will not maintain my full-stocked family:  
A dozen hungry children cry for meat,  
And I have none; nor will words satisfy.  
Can I give their belly ears,  
IT were a comfort, or could fill  
Hungry stomaches with good will,  
Or make daily bread of tears.   

Here the oppressor with his griping claws  
Sits on my skirts: my racking landlord rears  
Both rend and fine; with potent looks he awes  
Me from mine own. Scarce any man but bears  
In his bosom Ahabs heart.  
Horse-leach-like that 's ever craving  
Other men's, and sick of having,  
Right or wrong, will catch a part.   

Here in these clay-built houses sickness reigns:  
I have more maladies than I can name:  
Each member of my body hath its pains.  
Moreover, weeping, groaning, sadness, shame,  
Slanders, melancholy, fear,  
Discontents, disgraces, losses,  
And a thousand other crosses  
Must be born if I live here.   

But these are finite all. When I am dead  
My poverty is ended and my care:  
I hear my famished children cry for bread  
No longer. Then I drink, I lodge, I far  
Just as well as Caesar doth:  
There ends cold and nakedness,  
All my former wretchedness.  
Death is meat, and drink, and cloth.   

There 's no face-grinding: There the mighty cease  
From troubling; there the weary be at rest:  
The servant 's freed; the prisoner is at ease:  
All 's still and quiet; no man is oppressed:  
For incroachers there are none.  
Not a poor man 's wronged, nor  
Is his vineyard longed for:  
Every man may keep his own.   

Sickness there 's none:  Death shall take  
My body hence and lodge it in the clay,  
I shall not feel a tooth or finger ache,  
Nor any other misery that may  
In the least degree displease me.  
For all sores the grave hath plasters,  
And it cureth all disasters:  
Of all burdens Death will ease me.   

Malicious tongues fired below in hell  
There will not hurt me; nor the poisonous breath  
Of whispering detractours: I shall dwell  
Securely in the dust. One stroke of Death  
Sets me out of gunshot quite;  
Not the deepest-piercing tongue  
Can there do me any wrong:  
Bark they may, but cannot by't.   

Lord, I am thine: and if it be thy will,  
While I do live a stranger here below,  
Brim-high with bitterness my cup to fill,  
And make me drink it; yet, Lord, withal bestow  
But thy grace, and thou shalt see me  
Patient: and my comfort 's this,  
That a short affliction it is:  
In a moment Death may free me.    

Meditation 4.  

IF I must die, it must be my endeavour  
So to provide that every thought of Death  
May be a thought of comfort: that   
That aged sire shall take away my breath,  
I may willingly lay down  
This old house that 's made of clay,  
Gladly welcoming the day  
That brings an eternal crown.   

But of all things a holy life 's the way  
Must lead me to a comfortable end;  
To crucify my lusts, and to obey  
Gods sacred will in all things: This doth tend  
Unto comfort, joy and ease.  
Mark the man that is upright,  
And sets God always in is sight,  
That man's end is ever peace.   

What makes me fear a serpent? it is his sting;  
The mischief's there: When that is taken out,  
I can look on him as a harmless thing,  
And in my bosom carry him about.  
What makes Death look ruefully?  
Not Death's self: it is his sting  
That doth fear and horror bring,  
And makes men so loath to die.   

The sting of death is sin: but there 's a Jesus  
Hath plucked it out. The guilt 's done quite away;  
The stain is washed. He sent his Spirit to ease us  
In some good measure of that kingly sway  
Which o'er us sin held before.  
Blessed work of grace! now I  
Strongest lusts can mortify:  
In my soul sin reigns no more.   

Now in me holiness is wrought: which is  
A pious disposition of the heart,  
Inclining me to hate what 's done amiss  
In me and others, never to departed  
From God to left hand or right,  
Nor one of his laws to break;  
But to think and do and speak  
What's wellpleasing in his sight.   

Each act from faith and love ariseth, and  
The end I aim at is my Maker's praise;  
His word 's my rule: my warrant 's his command.  
Thus am I fitted: Death, cut off my days,  
If thou wilt, within this hour,  
I will thank thee for thy pain:  
For to me to die is gain.  
I will not fear a jote thy power.   

What canst thou do that justly may affright me?  
Though with thee in the dark I dwell a space,  
Yet canst thou not eternally benight me:  
Thou art my passage to a glorious place,  
Where shall not be any night.  
My raised ashes shall enjoy  
There an everlasting day,  
And an uneclipsed light.   

I fear not death because of putrefaction,  
Nor (if I might) would willingly decline it:  
My body gains by it; it is the graves best action:  
God, as a founder, melts it to refine it.  
Death cannot annihilate,  
And in despite of the grave,  
Yet I shall a body have,  
Fairer and in better state.   

God's second work excels his first by odds:  
Our second birth, life, Adam, to repair  
Our bodies, is a second work of Gods,  
To make them better than at first they were,  
Glorious, immortal, sound,  
Nimble, beautiful, and so  
Splendid that from top to toe  
Not a blemish may be found.   

What beggar weeps when is rags are thrown away  
To put on better clothes? Who is it will grieve  
To pull a rotten house down, that it may  
Be fairer built? Why should we not receive  
Death with both hands when he comes  
To pull off those rags that hid us,  
To unhouse us, and provide us  
Richer clothes and better homes?   

The griping pangs of Death do not affright  
My heart at all: I have deserved more.  
And if upon no other terms I might  
Enjoy my God, I to my God would go  
Through hell's self, although a throng  
Of an hundred thousand juries  
Of the blackest infernal Furies  
Clawed me as I went along.   

Nor can those inward terrors make me quake  
Which Deathbeds often on the soul do bring.  
I have no Death-bed-reck'ning for to make;  
IT was made while I was well, and every thing  
Was dispatched before, that I  
Nothing in the world now, save  
Home-desiring long, have  
Then to do but just to die.   

Nor doth it trouble me that Death will take me  
From those delights that are enjoyed below.  
Alas, I know that none of them can make me  
One jote the happier man, nor can bestow  
Any comfort. Carnal gladness,  
Mirth, delight and jollity,  
This world's best felicity,  
All is vanity and madness;   

Mere empty husks. Had I as many treasures  
In my possession as the mddiest wretch  
Did ever covet, and as many pleasures  
As from the creature fleshly men can fetch;  
Had I this: or if I were  
Supreme Monarch, only Lord  
Of what earth and sea afford:  
Yet I would not settle here.   

To be dissolved is better: Death doth bring  
A fairer fortune than it takes away.  
It sets us in a world where every thing  
Is a happiness, a full and solid joy,  
Not to be conceived before  
We come thither: but the bliss  
Which exceedeth all is this,  
That there we shall sinne no more.   

Lord, grant a copious portion of thy Spirit.  
The more I have of that the less I fear  
What Death can do; for sure I shall inherit  
All joy in heaven if I am holy here:  
Nought suits with heaven but sanctity.  
Let, my God, thy Spirit and grace  
Fit me for that holy place  
And that holy company.    

Meditation 5.  

IF Death will come, what do men mean to sin  
With so much greediness? me thinks I see  
What a sad case the godless world is in,  
How fast asleep in her security.  
Fearlessely in sin men live,  
As if Death would never come,  
Or there were no day of doom  
When they must a reckoning give.   

Observe a little yonder black-mouthed swearer,  
How 's tongue with oaths and curses pelts the skies:  
IT would grieve the heart of any pious hearer  
But to bear witness of his blasphemies.  
He darts wounds at God on high,  
Puts on cursing as his clothes,  
And doth wrap his tongue in oaths  
To abuse Eternity.   

In lawless lust the fornicator fries,  
And longs to slake it 'twixt forbidden sheets:  
Ne'er sets the sun but his adulterous eyes  
Observes the twilight, and his harlot meets.  
That which follows, when the night  
Draws its curtain o'er the air  
To conceal this goatish pair,  
Modesty forbids to write.   

And I could show you (were it worth the viewing)  
In that room three or four drunkards reeling:  
In this, as many more that sweat with spewing;  
Some that have drunk away their sense and ceiling;  
Men of all sorts in their wine  
And their ale sit domineering,  
Cursing, railing, roaring, swearing,  
Under every base sign.   

IT is said (so vile is this big-bellyed sin)  
That in a day and less some four or five  
Of lusty drunken throats will swallow in  
More than hath kept two families alive  
A whole fortnight (yet made they  
Merry with it.) Had I my wishes,  
Such gulls should not drink like fishes;  
But their throats should change their trade   

The covetous man with his usurious clutches  
Doth catch and hold fast all the wealth he may:  
He leans on it as a cripple on his crutches.  
The miser studies nothing night and day  
But his gain: he 's like a swine  
Looking downward, like a mole  
Blind, and of an earthen soul,  
Minding nothing that 's divine.   

These, and beside these other sorts of sinners,  
In every parish you may daily see  
As greedy at their sins as at their dinners,  
And wallowing in all impiety.  
Sure these miscreants do never  
entertain a thought of dying;  
Nor yet are afraid of frying  
In hell flames for altogether.   

Thou God of spirits, be pleased to awe my heart  
With death and judgement: that, when I would sin,  
I may remember that I must departed,  
And whatsoever condition I am in  
When I sink under Death's hand,  
(There 's no penance in the grave,  
Nor then can I mercy have)  
So must I in judgement stand.    

Meditation 6.  

Lord, what a thief is Death! it robs us quite  
Of all the world; great men, of all their honours;  
Luxurious men, of all their fond delight;  
Rich men, of all their money, farms and manors.  
Naked did the world find us,  
And the world will leave us so:  
We shall carry when we go  
Nothing, but leave all behind us.   

Let Death do is worst, ambitious men do climb  
By any sin though it be ne'er so soul:  
Gold-thirsty misers swallow any crime  
That brings gain with it, though it kill the soul.  
Here for gain is overreaching,  
Cozening, cheating, lying, stealing,  
Knavish and sinister dealing;  
All arts of the devils teaching.   

Whilst I am well advised I will never strive  
T' increase my wealth, if it will increase my sin:  
I will be rather poor than seek to thrive  
By means unlawful: all 's not worth a pin.  
When mine eyelids Death doth close,  
What I sinned for must be  
Shaked hands with eternally,  
But the sin that with me goes.   

I will not waste love upon these lower things,  
Nor on the choicest of them doting sit:  
For when sad Death a habeas corpus brings,  
To take the world from me and me from it,  
'Gainst which I have no protection;  
To spend love in what I may  
No where but on earth enjoy,  
Were to lose all my affection.   

The longest lease of temporals God doth make  
Is but for life. I will patiently behave  
Myself, though from me God be pleased to take  
In middle age that which his bounty gave:  
Neither discontent nor passion  
Shall make me repine or grumble;  
IT is a way to make me humble,  
And takes from me a temptation.   

Thou mad'st my heart, Lord: keep it for thyself,  
Lest love of dust eternally undo me:  
Vouchsafe that this vain worthless empty pelf  
May never win me, though it daily woe me.  
If it were lovely, yet it is gone  
When I die. Lord, make me see  
That there is enough in thee  
To place all my love upon.    

Meditation 7.  

I Am a stranger and a pilgrim here:  
The world 's mine inn, it is not my dwelling-place;  
(In this condition all my fathers were)  
The life I live below is but a race.  
Here I sojourn some few years:  
This world is a country strange;  
Death my pilgrimage will change  
For a home above the spheres.   

In elder time the goddess Quiet had  
Her temple; but it was placed without the gates  
Of Ethnic Rome; to show that good and bad  
Have here their vexing and disturbing fates,  
And do bear their cross about  
Whilst within the walls they stay  
Of this world, and shall enjoy  
No rest till Death let them out.   

Here I am looked upon with divers eyes,  
Sometimes of envy, sometimes of disdain:  
Here I endure a thousand miseries:  
Some vex my person, some my credit stain;  
My estate 's impaired by some:  
But yet this doth comfort me,  
That hereafter I shall be  
Better used when I come home.   

In all estates my patience shall sustain me:  
I am resolved never to repine  
Though ne'er so coursely this world entertain me:  
Such is a stranger's lot; such must be mine.  
Were I of the world, to dwell  
Here as in my proper home,  
Without thoughts of life to come,  
Then the world would use me well.   

I am not of their minds in whom appears  
No care for any world but this below:  
Who lay up goods in store for many years,  
As if they were at home; but will bestow  
Neither care nor industry  
Upon heaven, as if there  
They were strangers, but had here  
A lease of eternity.   

The banished Naso weeps in sable strain  
The woes of banishment: nor could I tell,  
If Death and it were offered, of the twain  
Which to make choice of. O! to take farewell  
Of our native soil, to part  
With our friends and children dear,  
And a wife that is so near,  
Must needs kill the stoutest heart.   

What is it then to be absent from that house,  
Eternal in the heavens, not made with hands!  
From Angels, Saints, God, Christ himself, whose Spouse  
Our soul is! from a haven where nothing lands  
That defileth; where 's no danger,  
No fear, no pain, no distress:  
All 's eternal happiness!  
What is it to be here a stranger!   

I have been oft abroad, yet ne'er could find  
Half that contentment which I found at home;  
Methought that nothing suited with my mind  
Into what place soever I did come:  
Though I nothing needed there,  
Neither clothes, nor drink, nor meat,  
Nor sit recreations, yet  
Methought home exceeded fare.   

Thither did my affections always bend;  
And I have wished, before I came halfway,  
A thousand times, my journey at an end,  
And have been angry with a minutes stay:  
Sunset I did ever fear;  
And a hill or dirty mile,  
That delayed me but a while,  
Seemed to set me back a year.   

I built not tabernacles in mine inn,  
Nor ever cried out, IT is good being here.  
No company would I be ever in  
That drowned but half an hour in wine or bier.  
I have wished my horse would run  
With a fare more winged speed  
Then those skittish jades that did  
Draw the chariot of the Sun.   

From carnal self-love, Lord, my heart unfetter,  
And then shall I desire my heavenly home  
More than this here, because that home is better,  
And pray with fervency, Thy kingdom come.  
Lord, had thy poor servant done  
What thou hast set him about,  
I would never be without  
Holy long to be gone.    

Meditation 8.  

THere was a State, as I have heard it spoken,  
(The tale doth almost all belief surpass)  
That had a custom never to be broken,  
(But a bad custom I am sure it was)  
'Mongst themselves their King to choose:  
The elected man must be  
King as long 's they would, and he  
When they pleased his crown must lose.   

This State elected and deposed when  
And whom they would: but the deposed Prince  
They suffered not to live 'mongst other men,  
But drove him to a country fare from thence  
Into woeful banishment,  
Where he changed his royalty  
For want and all misery;  
Scarce a Kingly punishment.   

One King there was that whilst his crown was on,  
Knowing his subjects ●ickle disposition,  
Beat his crown-worthy head to think upon  
Some course of providence, to make provision  
At the place of is banishment:  
Full-stuffed bags of money, and  
What things else might purchase land,  
He into that Kingdom sent.   

It came to pass after some certain years,  
His yoke seemed heavy, and his people frowned:  
King-sick they were; their purpose soon appears;  
A new King 's chosen and the old 's uncrow'nd.  
And for exile, this foul beast,  
Giddy, variable, rude,  
The unconstant multitude,  
Dealt with him as with the rest.   

But that his wiser providence was such,  
When 's banished predecessors lived poor,  
What he had sent before was full as much  
As did exclude want or desire of more.  
There he lacks not any thing;  
He doth purchase towns and fields,  
And what else the country yields:  
In estate he 's still a King.   

So shall we far hereafter in the next  
As we provide in this life. Sure I see  
A providence in all: Who is not vexed,  
And plunged, and lean with too much industry?  
Men of all sorts run and ride,  
Sweat and toil, and cark and care,  
Get and keep, and pinch and spare;  
And all 's done for to provide.   

For to provide? what? goods, and lands, and money,  
Honours, preferments, pleasures, wealth and friends:  
(As bees in summertime provide their honey)  
To sublunaries their provision tends,  
And no farther; it is for dust  
That they labour and thick clay,  
For these goods that will away,  
And for treasures that will rust.   

For to provide? for what? Their present life,  
That 's natural; their bodies have their care:  
Their spiritual state 's neglected: there 's no strife  
For grace and goodness. Souls immortal are,  
Living everlastingly  
In eternal woe or bliss,  
As here our provision is,  
Yet are not a jote set by.   

Men do provide amiss: Full well I know it,  
I shall be banished from this sinne-smote place:  
All here is fading, and I must forgo it.  
What shall I lay up for hereafter? grace,  
An unspotted conscience,  
Faith in Christ, sobriety,  
Holiness, and honesty.  
These will help when I go hence.   

Strengthen those graces, Lord, which thou hast given,  
And I shall quickly change both care and love;  
My care for earth into a care for heaven,  
Take off my heart from hence, and six it above,  
And will lay ' up all provision  
For that life which is to come  
Whilst a stranger, that at home  
I may find a blessed condition.     

PART II. Of Death's impartiality: from whose stroke neither 

Riches,  
Honours,  
Pleasures,  
Friends,  
Youth,  
nor any thing   can protect us.  

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


OF richest men in holy writ I read,  
Whose basket & whose store the Lord had blest,  
And in the land exceedingly increased  
Their wealthy substance; yet they all are dead.  
Riches do not immortalize our nature:  
The richest dies as well 's the poorest creature.   

'Bove all, the wealth of Solomon did pass;  
Ne'er was man master of a greater store:  
He went beyond all Kings that went before.  
Silver as stones, and purest gold as brass,  
Adorned Jerusalem: a glorious thing!  
Yet death strikes into dust this wealthy King.    

Meditation 1.  

IF 'gainst Death's stroke my riches cannot arm me,  
Nor comfort me a jote when I am dying:  
I will take a care these witches do not harm me  
Whilst I do live. I know they will be trying  
To do me any mischief; as before  
And now they mischief all the whole world o'er.   

Some riches hurt with that old sin of pride:  
Rich men extremely swell; most commonly  
This sin and wealth both in one house abide:  
Poor men are loo'kd on with a scornful eye.  
Strangely is his heart puft up with pride 's bellowe  
That hath a satter fortune than his fellows.   

His words are big, looks lofty, mind is high;  
He with his purse will needs drive all before him:  
He ever looks for the precedency;  
And vexed he is if men do not adore him:  
He bears the sway: another man must be,  
If not so rich, not half so good as he.   

Some men wealth doth infect with churlishness:  
They answer roughly: they are crabbed misers.  
(Course bread yields hardest crust) This is a dress  
Wherewith wealth decks our accidental risers.  
Since Nabals' death a thousand rich men be  
In every point as very hogs as he.   

Some wealth makes prodigals: there 's no excess  
But they run into. Back and belly strive  
Which shall spend most: belly, with drunkenness  
And gormandizing: back, for to contrive  
New stuffs and fashions. This excessive crew  
Have ways to spend that Dives never knew.   

Observe these Caterpillars: One man puts  
Into his throat a cellar full of drink:  
Another makes a shambles of his guts.  
The back is not behind; you would not think,  
How for themselves, and for their curious dames,  
One suit of clothes a good fat manor lame.   

Some wealth makes idle: like so many drones  
They suck what others sweat for, and do hate  
All good employments. Many wealthy ones  
Have neither callings in the Church nor State;  
And during life do nothing day by day  
But sit to eat and drink, and rise to play.   

These mischiefs are in wealth and many more:  
It throws men into many a foolish lust.  
But if God's bounty multiply my store,  
I'll drain these vices from it: For when I must  
Grone on my deathbed, these sins will displease me  
And fright my soul, but riches cannot ease me.   

Lord, either keep me poor, or make me rich  
In grace as well as goods: my wealth undress  
(If I have any) of those vices which  
Are wont to cloth it; so shall I possess  
Riches without those sins that riches bring,  
That when death comes they sharpen not his sting.    

Meditation 2.  

THough God doth bless me all my time along  
With best of blessings, make my courses thrive,  
Fill full my garners, make my oxen strong  
To labour; and although his bounty give  
As much to me as to a thousand more;  
Though I am rich and all my neighbours poor;   

Though Fortune fan me with a courteous wing;  
Though gold be at my beck; though I have sailed  
With prosperous gales; though not an adverse thing  
Did  betid me; though I never failed  
Of good success in any undertaking:  
Yet am I still one of the common making;   

A piece of dust and clay: and I may go  
Into my grave as soon 's a poorer man.  
Our mould 's alike; God at first made us so:  
He makes the rich man's life but like a span;  
And so the beggars is; just both alike:  
And both fall when impartial Death doth strike.   

When they are fallen both alike they lie;  
Both breathless, noisome, liveless, senseless, cold:  
Both like the grass are withered, dead and dry;  
And both of them are ghastly to behold.  
The odds is this, The poor man 'mongst the crowd  
Of buried mortals hath the coursest shroud.   

Why sin the foolish sons of men for gain?  
Why doth the Landlord rack? the Us'rer by't?  
Why doth the Judge with bribes his conscience slain?  
Why doth the bawling Lawyer take delight  
In spinning causes to a needless length,  
Until his client's purse hath lost its strength?   

Why are Gods Ministers become men-pleasers?  
And why are Patroness simoniacal?  
Why are our Advocates such nippy teasers  
Of honest causes? why the devil and all  
Do Misers scrape? and why do Tradesmen rear  
Their price, yet sell time dearer than their ware?   

Sure these bad courses cannot choose but hurt us;  
They make Deaths looks more ghastly, and his sting  
More piercing: but our wealth cannot support us  
'Gainst smallest pains and fears that Death will bring.  
Riches do promise much but do deceive us:  
When we have need of succour than they leave us.   

Anoint me, Lord, with eyesalve, to discern  
What poor contents the world affords at best.  
Instruct me, Lord, and I shall quickly learn  
That without thee there 's no condition blest.  
Bad ways of gaining into hell will drive me:  
But all my wealth will not from Death reprieve me.    

Meditation 3.  
SOme therefore sin because they do abound  
In store of wealth: this is the only ground  
Of many sins. God's laws they do transgress;  
They wrong their equals, and the poor oppress;  
They tread religion and civility  
Both under foot; all kind of tyranny  
They exercise on all within their reach.  
Nothing can keep them in; they make a breach  
Through all those senses which at the beginning  
God set to keep rebellious man from sinning:  
They will be revellers, whoremongers, swearers,  
Drunkards, oppressors, liars, and forbearers  
Of no impiety: this is the reason,  
Great men they are, and rich. IT is petty treason,  
Though in a modest way, for to reprove  
Those sinful courses which our betters love.  
If we dare do it, though we have a calling  
To do it boldly, we are taxed for bawling  
And saucy fellows; and another day  
Sure we shall smart for it. Lord, I will never say,  
I will sinne because I them rich; unless that I  
Can say, I them rich, and therefore will not die.   

Meditation 4.  

IF from Death's stroke my riches cannot shield me,  
Nor on my deathbed any comfort give;  
Then I will take a care that they shall yield me  
Some joy and comfort whilst I am alive,  
And never shall a jote my sins increase,  
Nor hinder me from going hence in peace.   

I will get them well: my calling shall be lawful;  
My brows or brains shall sweat for what I have:  
And I will use my calling with an awful  
Regard of God and conscience; nor will crave  
What I have not a right to. They do eat  
Scarce their own bread whose faces never sweat   

Unless they sweat with eating. Nor can I  
Find any warrant for those ways of gain  
Which many men do get their live by:  
To keep a needless Alehouse to maintain  
An idle family: to be a Pander,  
A Fortune-teller, or an Ape's commander:   

A purblind Crowder, or a Rogue that canteth;  
A Cuckold by consent for ready pay:  
A sturdy Beggar that not one limb wanteth:  
Or one that borrows money on the way:  
A Us'rer, who whether it shine or rain,  
If the Sun stand not still, is sure of gain.   

For these I find no warrant: nor for dealing  
Deceitfully in selling or in buying.  
To take more than what 's sold is worth, is stealing;  
Or to give less: the art of multiplying  
Our lands, or gold, or silver, by subtracting  
From other men's, or by unjust exacting   

What is not ours Better (in my opinion)  
It were to feed on barley-bread and pottage  
Made of salt, water, and an onion:  
To wear a threadbare coat, and in a cottage  
Smoke-bound and rusty pennyless to dwell,  
Then to get wealth unless I get it well.   

And when it is justly gotten, every thought  
That I will bestow upon it shall be such  
As it deserves: If heaven's full hand hath brought  
Plenty into my bosom, if as much  
I have as I could wish, my care shall be  
To think of't all as of a vanity.   

A vanity that, for aught I do know,  
May take its flight and in an hour leave me.  
As God had many ways for to bestow  
His bounty on me, he hath to bereave me  
As many more: as moveables I will deem it  
From me, or with me; and I will esteem it   

A strong temptation unto many a sin,  
That never will perform what it doth promise:  
That wealth's fair books when we are deepest in  
The greater reckoning God exacteth from us.  
I will not afford my wealth a better thought:  
And I do think I think on it as I ought.   

And as I ought I will use it: Not to be fuel  
For any lust, nor to maintain my riot;  
Not to be prodigal, vainglorious, cruel;  
Nor yet to make my potent purse disquiet  
My poorer brother: but from thence I will raise  
My neighbour's profit and my Maker's praise.   

Where there is need, I will ready be to give,  
Glad to distribute: naked ones I will cover:  
Hungry and thirsty souls I will relieve:  
Widows distressed in me shall find another  
Husband: to orphans I will be in stead  
Of parents to provide their daily bread.   

I will never empty send the poor away:  
The Church shall ever find my purse untied:  
The King shall have his due without delay:  
The Commonwealth shall never be denied.  
Thus shall my wealth be common unto many,  
If ever God be pleased to send me any.   

Riches so justly gotten, and employed  
So piously, although they cannot make  
A man immortal, that he should avoid  
The grave and rottenness; yet do not shake  
The soul with terrors and such desperate fears,  
As what 's ill gotten doth, when Death appears.   

Make me a faithful Steward, holy Father,  
Of what thou hast entrusted me withal.  
Where I strawed not grant I may never gather;  
Nor sin in spending: Then send Death to call  
Me to account, Lord, when thou wilt, and I  
Shall entertain the message joyfully.     

Sect. 2. Honour's cannot protect us from the stroke of Death.  


OF honours all that can be said doth meet  
In Kings and Princes; glory, majesty,  
Command, and titles: yet their sacred feet  
Trudge to the grave-ward. Power, Royalty,  
A Kingdom, Crown, and Sceptre cannot be  
Protections against mortality.   

Princes are Gods on earth; yet sure they must,  
As well as meaner men, be sick and die:  
Their Royal bodies shall be changed to dust:  
No crown below is worn eternally.  
Of all those Kings which in God's book we read  
One died, and another reigned in is stead.   

If good and loyal subjects had their wish,  
A gracious Prince should never see the grave;  
Nor should his Royal corpse be made a dish  
For worms: but pious wishes will not save  
A King from dust. As other men's, his breath  
Is in his nostrils: Crowns must bow to Death.   

Sure, were it not a kind of petty treason  
To wish his Majesty so long without  
A crown of glory, I should think it reason  
To pray his lamp of life might ne'er go out.  
Though not in is self, yet, Lord, grant he may be  
Immortal in a blessed progeny.    

Meditation 1.  

‛ MOngst us an humble great one is a wonder  
Rarer by odds then is a winter's thunder.  
Great men and good each other seldom kiss:  
Pride to preferment 's married. O! there is  
Not a thought within their brain  
Of a grave, nor yet of seeing  
Death; nor do they dream of being  
Changed into dust again.   

Consider, Sir, though you have been a taster  
Of Prince's favours, mounted all degrees  
Of honour; have been called, Lord, and Master;  
Though your approach hath bowed as many knees  
As once mighty haman's: yet  
Is it not Eternity  
That you hold your greatness by.  
Death and you must one day meet.   

As I remember, I have read a story,  
That one in Embassy sent from the King  
Of Persia to Rome, was showed the glory  
Of that proud city: every famous thing  
That was by the Romans thought  
To express the great and mighty  
Prowess of their glorious city,  
Thither was the Persian brought.   

There he beheld such glorious structures, raised  
To dare the skies, that outwent all examples;  
Where art and cost workman and founder praised:  
Baths, Theatres, Tombs, Monuments, and Temples,  
Statues that would wonder-strike  
Any mortal man that should  
Once behold them; neither could  
All the world show the like.   

After this view Rome's mighty Emperor,  
Longing for praises, in the Persian tongue  
Demanded of this strange Ambassador  
What he now thought of Rome. I should do wrong  
To your sacred Majesty,  
Thus th' Ambassador replied,  
And this glorious place beside,  
If I should not magnify   

Both you and it. But one thing I dislike  
In Rome itself: I see that Death doth reign  
As well here as in Persia, and doth strike  
The greatest down, and when he please doth chain  
People, Senators and Kings  
In cold setters made of dust:  
Even noble Romans must  
Feel what putrefaction brings.   

Your Emperors themselves have had their turns  
In funeral piles. These tombs can testify  
The Caesar's mortal. In these sacred urns  
What lies but royal dust? Mortality  
Happens here: and I know no man  
But hath power to hold his breath  
As long, and is free from Death  
As much as the noblest Roman.   

Look we a little on this land of ours:  
Here 's plenty, peace and every other blessing.  
Into her bosom God in plenteous showers  
Rains kindnesses that are beyond expressing.  
Sure we of this kingdom may  
Justly our Creator praise  
For a share in happier days  
Than Rome did at best enjoy.   

Ours is a land of barley and of wheat:  
Our stones are iron, and our hills yield brass.  
A land wherein th' inhabitants do eat  
Bread without scarceness; here our blessings pass  
All enumeration:  
What God severally bestows  
Upon others jointly flows  
From his bounty to this nation.   

Yet here men die too: not the russet Clowns,  
And Peasants only that do hold the plough,  
And Shepherds that sit piping on the downs,  
And milkmaids that do curtsy to a cow;  
But those noble men that have  
Titles, lordships, farms and manors,  
And a great book full of honours:  
These go down into the grave.   

See you not yonder super-stately palace?  
Three generations since that house was builded.  
A great man did it for his Lordship's solace  
In summertime; but dying up he yielded  
To his heir this stately pile:  
This heir left it to his brother;  
He died too: and then another  
Swaggered there a little while.   

And he that had it last is now removed  
A story lower down into the dust.  
Those swelling titles which were so beloved;  
That great estate in which the man did trust;  
Troops of gallants that did give  
Their attendance; all that treasure  
Waiting on his Lordship's pleasure  
Can not keep the man alive.   

Mark yonder marble-tomb: beneath it hath  
This man a lodging. All those lines you see  
On this side are a praising Epitaph,  
And on the other side his titles be.  
Of this fabric if we might  
One piece from another sunder,  
And behold what lieth under,  
IT would be scarce so fair a sight.   

Great ones, remember that there is a place  
Which poor men call a deathbed, and a time  
Of parting hence; you walk a nimble pace  
To earth-ward every hour. Here though you climb  
Up to Honour's highest round,  
Drink a cup full to the brim  
Of the world, in pleasures swim,  
Death will lay you under ground.    

Meditation 2.  

WHose heart so adamantine but would weep  
Sad crimson drops to think upon some risers?  
Lord, what a wicked shuffling they do keep  
To lift themselves! Some have been sacrificers  
Of their fathers, brothers, friends,  
Kinsfolk, children, and have stood  
Wetshod every step in blood,  
To attein their lofty ends.   

Of martyrs what a lamentable heap  
Did Herod make for fear to lose his crown!  
A mother would have sold a cradle cheap  
To buy a coffin or a mourning gown.  
This fell Tyrant's rage appears  
Running down each Parent's face:  
His wrath left in every place  
Childless mothers drowned in tears.   

And Absolom, that miracle of beauty,  
So eagerly did long to be a King,  
That he could soon unlearn his filial duty,  
And by a strange rebellion fain would bring  
The thrice-venerable head  
Of his aged father down  
To the grave without a crown,  
And he triumph in his stead.   

Abimelech, so strong was his ambition,  
A bloody bargain made with certain men  
Of Belial, and to hinder competition  
Did sacrifice at once threescore and ten  
Of his brothers on a stone:  
With so foul and deep a guilt  
So much harmless blood is spilt,  
That himself may reign alone.   

Of that inhuman hellbred tragedy  
By Athaliah on the royal seed,  
The motive was desire of majesty,  
And that her own arms might the better speed.  
Our third Richard goes for one  
Of those butchers who think good  
To cement their crowns with blood,  
And by murders reach a throne.   

The great Turks absolute prerogative,  
Which in security his crown mainteins,  
Is not to suffer one of them to live  
That hath a drop of royal blood in is veins:  
When he 's crowned there 's nothing lacking  
That may to the safety tend  
Of this Monarch, but to send  
The ghosts of his kinsmen packing.   

If I at leisure were to write a story  
Of such black deeds as these at large, I could  
Tell you of numbers who to purchase glory,  
Honours and high rooms in the world, have sold  
(And this policy they call)  
A good conscience, dearer fare  
Than a thousand kingdoms are,  
And to boot their God and all.   

And yet when all is done, there dwells a God above,  
A God that 's greater than the greatest are,  
Who can and will send Death for to remove  
The greatest hence, and bring them to the bar:  
Where must stand both small and great,  
To have sentence e'er they go  
Of eternal bliss or woe  
At God's dreadful judgement-seat.   

When you are seated highest let your carriage  
Be full of piety: you do an act  
Worthy your greatness if you make a marriage  
'Twixt it and goodness, if you do contract  
Honours unto holiness.  
Ever give the Lord his due  
Honour who hath honoured you:  
Then will Death affright the less.   

Affright the less? it will not affright at all.  
The errand 's welcome when a charge is given  
To that grim pursuivant that he must call  
Your honours hence unto a court in heaven.  
To be great is not the thing  
That can dying-comforts yield:  
Goodness only is the field  
Whence all soul-refreshing spring.    

Meditation 3.  

IF ever it should please God and the King  
(Which I do not desire) to give me honours;  
Yet never should my best preferments bring  
Vices to boot: they should not change my manners.  
Many a man hath been good  
Unpreferred, and not a slave  
To his lusts; yet honours have  
Put him in another mood.   

Of Saul we hear no evil whilst he stood  
Endowed with nothing but a private fortune:  
And afterward we hear as little good  
Of Saul a King: His honours did importune  
His bad nature to produce  
Such fruits as were too unfit  
For a King, and to commit  
Sins that were beyond excuse.   

As long as man is limited within  
The bounds of humble, base and mean estate,  
He seems to make some conscience of a sin,  
And one that would be good at any rate:  
But no wickedness he spares  
When (by chance) the man is mounted  
And 'mongst great ones is accounted;  
Then the man himself declares.   

Then his depraved nature with lose rains  
Runs uncontrolledly into the mire  
Of all impiety; no sin remains  
Unacted by him: doth he but desire  
To be wicked, vain or idle,  
Any lust to satisfy,  
That lust he will gratify:  
His affections wear no bridle.   

I will never be deboist although my seat  
Of glory in the world be ne'er so high:  
I will not therefore sin because I them great;  
For if I greater were, yet I must die,  
And must at God's bench appear,  
Where my sentence shall be given  
To receive a hell or heaven,  
As my do have been here.     

Sect. 3. Pleasure's cannot protect us from the stroke of Death.  


Under the sun there was not any joy  
Which Solomon that wise and famous King  
Had not a taste of: whatsoever may  
Gladness, content, delight and solace bring,  
That he from the creature gathers;  
Not one pleasure doth he keep  
His heart from: yet he 's asleep  
In the dust among his fathers.   

His senses had those objects which delight,  
Content, and please and ravish most his touch;  
His taste, his hearing, smelling, and his sight,  
His mind and humour too, all had as much  
Of delicious satisfaction  
As from all beneath the sky  
Ever could be fetched by  
Any possible extraction.   

Three hundred concubines he had to please  
His touch: by turns each of them was his guest  
At night. Seven hundred wives beside all these;  
The worst of them a Princess at the least.  
Such a female army meets,  
To make his delight run o'er.  
Sure they are enough to store  
Twice five hundred pair of sheets.   

To please his taste this great Kings daily cheer  
Exceeded for variety and plenty:  
He had his Roebuck and his Fallow-deer,  
His fatted fowl, and every other dainty.  
He had palate-pleasing wine:  
Gormandizers, whose best wishes  
Terminate in toothsome dishes,  
No where else would sup or dine.   

And every day both men and women-singers  
Imprisoned his ear with charming voices:  
The Viol touched with artificial fingers,  
An Organs breathing most melodious noises:  
Sackbut, psaltery, Recorder,  
The shrill Cornet, and the sharp  
Trumpet, Dulcimer and Harp;  
These all sounded in their order.   

And in his gardens he had lovely ranks  
Of flowers for odour all sweets else excelling,  
Whose beauteous lustre stellified the banks;  
All these were to delight his sense of smelling,  
And perfumes of sweetest savour,  
Which all other nations bring  
As a present from their King  
Who did woe his Princely favour.   

For objects which were wont to please the eye,  
He wanted none. Did he desire a sight  
Of what might most affect? variety  
Of lovely'st objects spangled with delight  
Everiewhere themselves present:  
Scarce did anywhere appear  
Other objects than did wear  
Outsides clothed with content.   

Behold his thousand wives! If he would know  
The height of beauty, it is seen in those.  
A battle in a field of sanguine snow  
Betwixt the spotless lily and the rose:  
Part they would on no condition,  
Nor would either of them yield;  
Yet at length are reconciled,  
And there made a composition.   

His gorgeous clothes, his silver and his gold,  
His jewels, his incomparable treasure  
Were all of them delightsome to behold,  
And gave the eye a glorious glut of pleasure.  
His friends, his magnificent  
Buildings, fishponds, gardens, bowers  
Interlaced with gallant flowers  
Gave both eye and mind content.   

Yet he 's dead. Delights cannot protect us  
From Death's assaults; pleasures eternize not  
Our nature: yea, when sickness shall deject us  
They will not ease nor comfort us a jote.  
What doth most exactly please us  
Here appears not where a grave is;  
And what most of all doth ravish  
On a deathbed will not ease us.    

Meditation 1.  

MEthinks the trade of brainless Epicures  
Is not so good as it doth seem to be.  
The sweetest cup of luxury procures  
No man below an immortality.  
Yea, when sicknesses do lay  
Him upon his bed, and strain  
Every part with deadly pain,  
All his pleasures fly away.   

Let 's put the case there was a belly-god,  
Whose study it was to give his throat content;  
To sacrifice to is paunch both roast and sod  
Was his religion. Every element  
Its employment had: The Waters,  
Fruitful Earth and nimble Air,  
Ransacked with a costly care,  
For fish, flesh and fowl, were caters:   

The other cooked it. This luxurious rare  
Did breathe his stomach twice a day at least;  
And each dish sloted in provoking sauce,  
Which still afresh his appetite increased.  
From Dives that 's now in hell,  
For a table full of rare,  
Toothsome and delicious fare,  
This man bears away the bell.   

Well; this fat hog of Epicurus sty  
Falls sick of surfeiting, or else the gout  
Or dropsy gripes him most tormentingly,  
That you would think his soul were going out.  
Pains do hinder him from sleeping,  
He lies restless, and is so  
Full of toss to and fro  
That his house is filled with weeping.   

His servants, seeing him so out of quiet,  
Sadly bespoke him thus, Sir, here 's a Pheasant,  
A dish of Partridge, Larks, or Quails, (a diet  
Your Worship loves) a cup of rich and pleasant  
Wine that comforts where it goes,  
Muscadine, Canary, Sherrie,  
That hath often made you merry:  
This may ease you of your throes.   

The man replied, If I had wine by odds  
Better than nectar, which the poets feign  
Was drunk in goblets by the heathen Gods,  
It would not ease me of my smallest pain.  
Should God rain me from the skies  
Manna, glorious Angels food,  
IT would not do me any good:  
'Gainst it would my stomachrise   

There was another that placed no delight  
In any thing but wealth; his chiefest good  
Was purest gold: whether it were wrong or right  
He would be gaining: for he never stood  
Upon conscience at all.  
And to cry down avarice,  
As he thought, was a device  
Merely puritanical.   

To lie, to cheat, to swear, and, which is worse,  
To forswear, to dissemble in his dealing,  
Went ever down with him as things of course:  
Nor would he slack a jote at downright stealing.  
Blind he was not; yet he saw  
Not that statute-usury  
Was at all forbidden by  
Any part of moral law.   

IT was fish whatever came within his net:  
Sweet smelled the dunghill that afforded gain.  
On such a thriving pin his heart was set,  
No thoughts but golden lodged in his brain.  
Scraping thus early and late,  
And increasing by these bad  
Ways and means, at length he had  
Heaped up a vast estate.   

They say a Turkish Musulman, that dies  
A faithful servant unto Mahomet,  
Shall presently enjoy a paradise  
Of brave delights indeed: The place is set  
All about with glorious matters;  
There are rivers, pleasant benches  
Strawed with flowers, & gallant wenches  
That have eyes as broad as platters,   

And many other joys as good as these.  
But all are babbles to that strong content  
Wherewith the man we told you of doth please  
Himself in his estate: More merriment  
In the images of Kings  
Doth he find then six or seven  
Martyred Turks do in their heaven.  
Harken how the miser sings;   

I'll eat, drink, and play,  
And I will freely enjoy  
My pleasures before I am old;  
I will be sorry no more,  
For my soul hath in store  
Abundance of silver and gold.   

In this day and night  
Will I place my delight;  
It shall fatten my heart with laughter.  
No man shall excel me;  
For who is it can tell me  
What pleasures there will be hereafter?   

His irreligious song was hardly ended,  
When at his gate was heard one softly knocking:  
It was that Tyrant Death, who came attended  
With troops of griping throes, all these came flocking  
Round about this golden fool.  
As the issue did assure us,  
God had sent these ghastly Furies  
For to take away his soul.   

Alas, Sir, said his servants what may be  
The cause you send us out such woeful groans?  
How fell you into such an agony?  
What ails your throat, your head, your heart, your bones  
Or your stomach, or your brains,  
That you howl so? here before you  
Is that which must needs restore you,  
And ease your extremest pains.   

Here 's gold and silver and as stately stuff  
As England, Scotland, France, or Ireland yields:  
Of jewels and of plate you have enough:  
Of any man you have the fruitfull'st fields.  
Fattest oxen throng your stall;  
Tenants tumble in your rent:  
Those to whom you money lent  
Bring both use and principal.   

This cannot choose but comfort. But the man,  
That lay upon his easeless deathbed sprawling,  
Made this reply, If any of you can  
By marks infallible make sure my calling  
To my soul, and my election;  
If from any text divine  
You could prove that Christ is mine,  
This would be a good refection.   

Or if you could assure my parting ghost  
Of seeing God to all Eternity,  
Of being one amongst that heavenly host  
Whose bliss it is to praise him endlessely;  
This were comfort that accordeth  
With his case that is distressed  
As now I am, but the rest  
On a deathbed none affordeth.   

There was another man whose occupation  
Was to pass time away: he made a trade  
Of that which men do call a recreation:  
He was indeed a very merry blade.  
Taverns, bowling-alleys, plays,  
Dancing, fishing, fowling, racing,  
Hawking, hunting, coursing, tracing,  
Took up all his healthful days.   

But on a time a sudden sickness came,  
And seized him in each extremer part,  
(This grudging did begin to spoil his game)  
But at the length it fastened on his heart;  
There it plunged him woefully,  
And forthwith the man is led  
Home and laid upon his bed:  
Think him now at point to die.   

A little after came into the room  
A gallant troup of necessary stuff,  
His coachman, falconer, huntsman, page, and groom,  
His mistress with her hands both in a muff,  
Sorry all to see him so.  
But see how these fools invent  
To give a sick man content,  
And to ease him ere they go.   

One breaks a jest, another tells a tale;  
One strikes the lute, another sings a ditty;  
(But neither of them pray to God at all)  
Another tells what news is in the city:  
Every man is in his vein,  
And all jointly do contrive  
Pleasant passages to drive  
Out of door their master's pain.   

They asked him if he pleased to take the air,  
Or call for is coach and ride to see a play.  
And whether he would hunt the buck or hare,  
Or to a tavern go to drive away  
Or to drown times tediousness,  
Or else to a tennis-court  
Wither gallants do resort,  
Or else play a game at chess.   

The man replied, Ye know I must be gone  
The way of all, I cannot tell how soon;  
And I have other things to think upon:  
Already it is with me afternoon;  
Erelong my declining sun  
Needs must set. Oh! my life hangs  
On a thread: these mortal pangs  
Crack it. Out my glass is run.   

Time was I doted on these idle toys:  
Now can they not a dram of comfort yield.  
Too late I see they are not deathbed joys,  
No refuge from soul-vexing storms, no shield  
When a mortal blow is given.  
Prate no more: let not a man  
Open is mouth unless he can  
Tell me how to get to heaven.   

There was another that for nothing cared  
(It was a woman) but for vain excess  
In bravery of clothes; no cost was spared,  
Nor art, nor care, that served to express  
To the full a female pride:  
But 〈◊〉 length it came to pass  
That this spruce and gallant lass  
Fell extremely sick and died.   

But I must tell you, that, whilst like a lion  
Pains tore her bones in pieces, ere she sent  
Her last breath out, (imagine her of Zion  
A matchless daughter) to her chamber went,  
Weeping ripe, her good handmaiden,  
Purposing as much as may be  
To cheer up her dying Lady:  
For with comforts was she laden.   

Thus she began, and spoke it with a grace,  
Be comforted, good Madam, never let  
A little sickness spoil so good a face;  
Your Ladyship cannot so soon forget  
Your contents. If ever any  
Gentlewoman lived that might  
Find materials of delight,  
You, good Madam, have as many.   

Here for your foots are tinkling ornaments;  
Here are your bonnets, and your net-work-cauls,  
Fine linen too that every eye contents,  
Your head-bands, tablets, earrings, chains, and falls,  
Your nose-jewels, and your rings,  
Your hoods, crisping-p●…nes, & wimples,  
Glasses that bewray ●…ur pimples,  
Vails, and other pretty things:   

Here are your dainty mantles, and your suits  
Of changeable apparel, and your tires  
Round like the moon, your bracelets, (finger-fruits)  
Of busy hours) mufflers, and golden wires;  
And so many more that no man  
Can repeat nor yet remember  
From October to September:  
This would comfort any woman.   

Suppose her, if you will, an English Lady;  
And think you hear her waiting-gentlewoman  
Bespeak her thus. Madame, here is a gaudy  
And glorious show, (these fashions are not common.)  
Here 's your beaver and your feather,  
Here are silver-ribband knots,  
Trunks full of rich riding-coats,  
Gallant shelters 'gainst the weather.   

Here are your holland and your cambrick-smocks,  
Your gowns of velvet, satin, taffatie,  
Irons to curvisie your flaxen locks,  
And spangled roses that outshine the sky:  
For your head here 's precious gear,  
Bonelace-cros-cloths, squares & shadows,  
Dress, which your Worship made us  
Work upon above a year.   

Rich chains of pearl to tie your hair together,  
And others to adorn your snowy breast;  
Silk stockings, starlike shoes of Spanish leather:  
And that which fare excelleth all the rest  
And begets most admiration,  
Of your clothes is not their matter,  
Though the world affords not better,  
But it is their Frenchest fashion.   

Madame, believe it, the fairest of the Graces  
Subscribes to you. Whenever you appear  
Adorned with your gold and silver-laces,  
Your presence makes the greedi'st eye good cheer.  
This consideration  
In time past was wont to please you:  
Now then, Madam, let it ease you  
And afford you consolation.   

The dying woman, when this speech was done,  
After a groan or two made this reply,  
Doth such a curtain-lecture suit with one  
That every hour doth look when she should die?  
IT is not congruous. Wer'st thou able  
My poor naked soul to dress  
With a Saviour's righteousness,  
This indeed were comfortable:   

But all the rest is not. Oh! how I grieve  
To think upon my former vanity:  
Alas, I feel these toys cannot relieve,  
Nor ease, nor comfort. Thus let luxury  
Pitch on what it will, its joys  
Are but painted, nor can bring us  
Ease when pangs of Death do wring us,  
Much less can they make our days   

Eternal here. Thy servant, Lord, beseecheth  
The presence of thy spirit that discovers  
How vain that carnal joy is which bewitcheth  
With pleasant poison all her sottish lovers.  
Let not earth-delights forestall me:  
Help thy servant to provide  
Pleasures that will then abide  
When thou sendest Death to call me.    

Meditation 2.  

FArewell those pleasures which the creatures breed:  
These carnal comforts shall be none of mine;  
They slink away in time of greatest need:  
I will get me comforts that are more divine,  
Such as God provided for us  
By his Spirit and in his word:  
They are such as will afford  
Joy unspeakable and glorious.   

Unsanctified palates cannot find  
A relish in God's service: it is their folly  
That nothing in it suiteth with their mind,  
That they account religion melancholy.  
And the cause of their misprision  
Is because they cannot see  
Things divine; for yet they be  
In their natural condition.   

But sanctified souls have better eyes.  
Each Person in the sacred Trinity  
Sends comfort down, and such as fare outvies  
The best delight that is below the sky.  
Father, Son, and holy Ghost,  
Be it spoke with reverence,  
Seem to strive which shall dispense  
Blessings that do comfort most.   

The Father, as his title often writes  
Himself a God of peace and consolation,  
He sends me comforts by those sacred lights  
Which bring me errands from his habitation:  
And so firm and full and free  
Is each promise in his book,  
That on whichsoe'r I look  
Blessed comforts I do see:   

So firm, that first the hugest hills and mountains  
Shall dance out of their places, stars shall fall,  
Streams shall run backward to their mother-fountains,  
The earth shall tumble, ere he will recall  
One of is promises: For why,  
(And this gives strong consolation  
In the midst of temptation)  
He 's a God, and cannot lie.   

So full, that there 's not any thing left out  
That I could wish. What I would have him be  
God is. Would I be compassed about  
With mercy? find relief in misery?  
Would I by his Spirit be led?  
And have all my sins forgiven?  
And hereafter go to heaven?  
All this God hath promised.   

So free, that to deserve that promised glory  
I nothing have but what his mercy gave me:  
IT is gratis rather than compensatorie  
Whatever God doth to convert or save me.  
And if any good I do,  
IT is done by supplies Divine;  
So God's work and none of mine:  
Grace gins and ends it too.   

What if by nature I was made a sheep,  
And by corruption I am gone astray,  
Whether I think, or speak, or do, or sleep,  
Or wake, do ever wander from the way  
I was set in, and am tossed  
So by lust that my soul wanders  
Into many by-meanders,  
Like a silly sheep that 's lost?   

Yet God 's my shepherd: When his mercy spied me  
Wand'ring it brought me home; and ever since  
It doth watch over, feed, defend, and guide me,  
And ever will do so till I go hence:  
And hereafter in the even,  
When my latest sand is run,  
And my pasture here is done,  
It will sold my soul in heaven.   

The Son doth comfort. IT was his errand down  
To preach glad tidings to the meek, and turn  
Their woe to ease; to earn a glorious crown  
For sinners, and to comfort those that mourn;  
 one's to bind,  
And to set at liberty  
Prisoners in captivity,  
And give eyesight to the blind.   

There 's comfort in his wounds: His sacred stripes  
Do heal our leprous souls of all their sores:  
IT is nothing but his precious blood that wipes  
Our guilt away and cancelleth our scores.  
Six times did he shed his blood,  
(And sure our estate did need it  
That so many times he did it)  
And each drop was for our good.   

Those circumcision-drops of is infancy,  
Those drops that 's anguish in the garden vented,  
Those drops when he was scourged Jewishly,  
Those drops when 's head with sharpest thorns was tented,  
Those drops when his limbs were nailed  
To the cross, those when the fierce  
Soldier's spear his side did pierce;  
Each drop for our good prevailed.   

There 's comfort in his cross: That vile old man  
That hangs about us to our dying day  
Is crucified with him that it can  
Not exercise half of its wont sway:  
Lessened is its kingly power.  
Surely sin, it struggles so,  
Hath received a mortal blow,  
And is dying every hour.   

There 's comfort in his death: For us he died,  
For us he felt his Father's heavy wrath,  
And his impartial justice satisfied,  
And us his alsufficient passion hath  
Plucked from Satan vi & armis,  
And his meritorious pain  
Freed us from sin's guilt and stain,  
And whatever else might harm us.   

There 's comfort in his resurrection too.  
He risen again that we might be accounted  
Righteous and just, (This no man else could do)  
And that our sins, whose number fare surmounted  
All the stars that shine in heaven,  
All our hairs, and all the sand  
That lies scattered on the strand,  
For his sake might be forgiven.   

And God the holy Ghost doth comfort bring:  
By special office it is his employment  
To settle in the soul a lively spring,  
From whence doth issue such a sweet enjoyment  
Of divine, heart-pleasing bliss,  
As the world will not believe,  
Nor can any heart conceive  
But the heart wherein it is.   

It is this blessed Spirit that doth seal  
Assurance to my conscience of a share  
In what God, in and through his Son, doth deal  
To needy sinners that converted are.  
It assures me of God's love  
In the free and full remission  
Of my sins, and exhibition  
Of those joys that are above.   

Let now the world, that 's wont to tell a story  
Of strange delights, show me but such a pleasure,  
As to be sure of God, and Christ, and glory,  
And then I will hug it as my choicest treasure.  
Thus each Person of the three  
Is employed (if I do live  
Holy as I ought) to give  
Joy and comfort unto me.   

Grant a man once to be in Christ, and he  
On sublunary pleasures soon will trample;  
And yet for pleasures, who shows best, will vie  
With all the world: give him but one example,  
What gets pleasure, and what feeds it;  
Whatsoever 'mongst earthly things  
To the mind most pleasure brings;  
He can show what fare exceeds it.   

Can learning please? he is a man of parts.  
Me thinks sure at his very singer's end  
He hath exactly all the liberal arts;  
At least he hath such arts as will commend  
Any man a great deal more,  
And will sooner bring to heaven,  
Then will any of those seven  
On which learned men do poor.   

His Logic is so scientifical,  
His Syllogisms are in so blest a mood,  
A thousand arguments his heart let's fall.  
That rightly from good premises conclude  
Him a child of God on high,  
And a member of his Son,  
And an heir, when is race is run,  
Of a blessed Eternity.   

His Rhetoric excels. He can persuade  
More than those well-penned sweet orations which  
Demosthenes or Tully ever made.  
Doth he that prayer-hearing God beseech?  
Presently his ear he gains.  
For fine words it is no matter:  
Let him like a swallow chatter  
Or a crane, yet he obtains.   

And for Arithmetic; his numeration  
Is of his days: this makes the man apply  
His heart to wisdom, that in any station  
He may perform his duty prudently.  
And those sins, to make them hateful,  
Which his conscience most do cumber  
Every day the man doth number;  
And God's blessings, to be grateful.   

And for Addition; it is his diligence  
Virtue to add to faith; to virtue, knowledge;  
Love, godliness, peace, kindness, patience,  
One to another: that his soul 's a College  
Filled with divinest graces:  
And not one grace idle lies,  
But all do their exercise  
In their several turns and places.   

When he subtracteth, it is not from the poor,  
As most men do, not from the King nor Church;  
But from sins monstrous body. More and more  
He weakens the old man that lies at lurch  
In each of his faculties,  
And his master-sinne, the strongest  
Lust that hath been harboured longest  
In his soul he mortifies.   

He multiplies not, as in many places  
Men do, his riches; but he multiplies  
And doth augment his saving gifts and graces,  
If not in habit yet in exercise.  
He divides his goods, he feedeth  
Hungry bellies, and relieveth  
Such as are distressed, and giveth  
Unto every one that needeth.   

When he reduceth, it is his conversation  
In every point from what it was by nature:  
He moulds his life into another fashion,  
And shows himself to be a new-made creature.  
And for such a man's Progression;  
He 's not fixed in his place  
Like a statue, but in grace  
Grows to credit his profession.   

He ever worketh by the Rule of Three  
That do above in heaven bear record.  
The Golden Rule, whereby his actions be  
Squared and directed, is their written word.  
Though sometimes he work by Fractions,  
Gives God broken services,  
'Cause he 's flesh in part; yet is  
He sincere in all his actions.   

And for a pious man's Astronomy;  
What if he cannot tell the several motions  
Those orbs have which do roll about the sky?  
Stars names, site, bigness, and such other notions?  
What if he know not how soon  
The sun will eclipsed be?  
Nor hath wit enough to see  
The new world that 's in the moon?   

Yet he doth know the milky way that leads  
Unto the palace of the highest King:  
Whose presence the whole host of heaven dreads,  
Who made the stars, the spheres, and every thing;  
Steers the course that each orb runs,  
Binds stars influence, looseth the bands  
Of Orion, and his hands  
Guide Arcturus with his sons.   

For Geometry; what if he cannot tell  
How many miles the vast earth is about?  
Yet doth his pious art by fare excel  
In finding many greater matters out:  
Matters that exceed the strength  
Of best wits, the full extension  
Of Christ 's love in each dimension,  
Height, and depth, & breadth, & length.   

For Grammar; he can wickedness decline.  
His supernatural Philosophy  
Is wisdom to salvation. Most divine  
His music is: That God that dwells on high  
Is pleased with no other tone.  
There is nothing he can hear  
Makes such music in his ear  
As a sanctified groan.   

For Physic; his most admirable knowledge  
Hath found out a Catholicon. (This ranks  
His skill deservedly above the College,  
Above French or Italian mountebanks.)  
There 's no sickness, he is sure,  
Be it ne'er so strong or foul,  
That affecteth any soul,  
But the blood of Christ can cure.   

The greatest Clerk is but a learned fool,  
If 's learning be not mixed with godliness.  
The greatest Scholar 's he that goes to school  
To learn of Christ the ways of holiness.  
Thus if learning be a treasure  
That doth please, or skill in arts,  
Or to be a man of parts;  
He that 's holy finds this pleasure.   

Doth toothsome and delicious cheer delight?  
The godly have it once a week at least.  
Our bounty-handed Saviour doth invite  
His servants to a rich and sumptuous feast,  
Where his own self is our server;  
Such a feast of fattest things  
As if all the guests were Kings:  
Where faith may be her own carver.   

Do riches please? A godly man's estate  
Surpasseth that of Croesus: he hath more  
Than out of Christ is had at any rate.  
God hath endowed him with a blessed store  
Better than a heap of gold,  
Which nor thief, nor moth, nor rust,  
Can steal, eat, or turn to dust:  
His are bags that ne'er wax old.   

God's rich and precious promises are his,  
Which by a precious faith he makes his own:  
God's richest mercy; there 's no wealth like this.  
Christ's precious blood, whereof a drop alone  
Was of higher valuation  
Than all men and Angels be,  
Or what e'er the sun did see  
Ever since the first creation.   

Doth rich apparel please? Christ's righteousness  
Clothes all his members to conceal their shame.  
Ne'er was King's daughter in so pure a dress,  
Unless she were adorned with the same.  
IT is a robe that God doth please:  
Angels that on God do wait,  
And ne'er lost their first estate,  
Are not clothed like one of these.   

For all delights, the cheating world hath none  
So good by half 'mongst all her painted store  
As those the soul finds in religion:  
With purest joy the pious heart runs o'er.  
Let the world diversify  
Her delights a thousand ways,  
Yet they come short of those joys  
That are found in piety.   

When I must die, my joy that 's natural  
Forsaketh me; that which is secular  
Takes leave assoon as ever Death doth call;  
Joys that were criminal converted are  
Into most tormenting fears:  
Only that which is divine  
On a Deathbed will be mine.  
And what if when Death appears   

It cannot shield me from that fatal blow?  
(I would not it should do me so much wrong:  
For if I were immortal here below  
I were not happy) yet it will go along  
With me when I do departed.  
Carnal joys, Lord, from me banish,  
Let divine delights replenish  
every corner of my heart.     

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


IF I were great, rich, prosperous, secure,  
Successful in the world, I should be sure  
That more time-servers would my friendship woe,  
Then I could reckon in a year or two.  
As greedy Eagles to a carcase hasten,  
And with sharp talons on their prey do fasten;  
So would they flock about me. Or if I  
Can learn the art of popularity,  
I might be rich in friends, yet all my store  
Would not know how to keep Death out of door.    

Meditation 1.  

OF Proteus' it is feigned that he could  
Transform himself to any kind of shape:  
Into a Dove, or Lamb, and when he would,  
Into a Tiger, Lion, Bear, or Ape,  
Or a Mountain, Rock, or Spring,  
Or Earth, Water, Fire, Air,  
Into any forms that are  
Stamped in any kind of thing.   

And Aristippus could exactly flatter:  
He had the art of winning gainful friends,  
And, that his fortune might be made the fatter,  
Had all behaviours at his finger's ends.  
He could groan when 's friend was sickly,  
And could weep when he was sad:  
Any humour, good or bad,  
Did become him very quickly.   

Did I believe that metempsychosis  
Pythagoras did dream of, I should swear  
That Proteus ghost to this day neither is  
In hell nor yet in heaven, but doth wear  
Now a body, and the base  
Ghost of Aristippus dwells  
In a thousand bodies: else  
How could thousands have the face   

To personate so many humours? act  
So many parts at once, and balk no sin?  
Yea, perpetrate with ease the basest fact  
That hell e'er punished, to wind them into great friendships, though they miss  
Heaven's favour, all the while  
Dreaming that a great man's smile  
Is on earth the only bliss?   

And yet when that last enemy shall come  
And grind their aching bones with griping throes,  
To bring their bodies to their longest home,  
There 's not a man 'mongst all their friends that knows  
How to take away their pain.  
In comes ghastly Death among  
The midst of that friendly throng,  
And turns them to dust again.    

Meditation 2.  

THere 's none among the sacred troup of Saints  
Yet militant below but doth desire  
God's favour most, and most of all laments  
When it is lost, and always sets a higher  
Estimate upon the rays  
That are darted from above  
By the God of peace and love,  
Then on all he here enjoys.   

Ne'er doth the chased hart in hottest weather,  
When horse and hound pursue him o'er the plains,  
And hunt him sweeting twenty miles together,  
That all his blood is boiled within his veins,  
When he 's to the hardest driven,  
Pant so much for water-brooks,  
As a soul deserted looks  
For a kind aspect from heaven.   

Once did Elias zealous prayers climb  
To heaven, and made the windows there so fast  
(This came to pass in wicked Ahabs' time)  
That one and twenty months twice told were passed  
E'er there fell a shower of rain  
Or a drop of morning dew:  
In the meadows nothing grew,  
Nor was any kind of grain   

Fed by the parched mould. How do ye think  
That thirsty, dry, and barren land did yawn  
And gape to heav'n-ward for a draught of drink?  
Just so, whenever God's favour is withdrawn  
From a soul, it doth distress her.  
Ne'er earth thirsted more for rain,  
Then doth she for God again  
To relieve her and refresh her.   

Have you not seen a mother's woeful tears  
Embalm the carcase of her only son?  
How to all comfort she stops both her ears,  
Wrings both her hands, and makes a bitter moan?  
Fain in sorrow would she swim,  
Or be drowned, it is so deep:  
She hath heart enough to weep  
Heaven full up to the brim.   

But this is nothing to that matchless anguish  
That breaks in pieces every pious heart,  
And makes the soul with darkest sadness languish,  
If from it a sense of God's good will departed.  
O how strangely David 's troubled  
When God hide away his face!  
(Though but for a little space)  
See how his complaints are doubled.   

How long? for ever, Lord, wilt thou forget me?  
How long wilt thou thy gracious visage hid?  
How long be angry? wilt thou never let me  
Enjoy thy face again? shall I abide  
Thus for evermore bereavest  
Of all comfort, joy, and peace?  
Shall my soul ne'er dwell at ease?  
Hast thou, Lord, no mercy left?   

O once again be pleased to turn, and give  
My soul a relish of thy wont grace:  
There 's nothing can my sadded heart relieve,  
If thou dost hid thy comfortable face.  
Thou in tears thy servant drownest,  
Thou dost fill my cheeks with furrows  
And my soul with ghastly sorrows,  
Whensoever, Lord, thou frownest.   

The world doth value at a precious rate  
Things here below. Some highly prise their sport;  
Some, jewels; some, a plentiful estate;  
And some, preferments in a Prince's court:  
But for life; we so esteem it  
Above whatsoever is best,  
That with loss of all the rest  
We are ready to redeem it.   

But none of these God's children do regard  
So much as God's love by a thousand parts:  
Feel they but this, to entertain it is spared  
The best and highest room in all their hearts.  
They affect no worldly pelf  
In comparison of this  
Kindness; yea, to them it is  
Better fare than life itself.   

Have they no reason for this eager thirst  
After God's love and friendship? sure they see  
God's favour and his kindness is the first  
And chiefest good: all other friendships be  
Most deceitful, trustless, vain.  
When the pangs of Death do seize us  
Mortal favours cannot ease us:  
God can rid us of our pain.   

But grant he do not, yet these pains shall send  
Our souls to him that loves us, to enjoy  
A painless life that ne'er shall see an end.  
He whom God loves can on a deathbed say,  
I know my Redeemer liveth;  
For me there 's laid up a crown:  
When this clay-built house is down  
God a better mansion giveth.   

I'll never woe the smile of man, whose breath  
Is in his nostrils, by sinister ways;  
IT will not advantage at the hour of Death:  
All my supportment on these carnal stays  
At the length will but deceive me.  
IT is to have a friend above,  
IT is God's favour and his love,  
Or else nothing, must relieve me.   

Lord, make thy graces in my soul appear;  
My heart from every loathsome blemish cleanse,  
That I may clearly see thine image there;  
For that 's an undeceived evidence  
Of thy favour: which when I  
Once am certain to obtain,  
I will not faint for any pain,  
Nor will care how soon I die.     

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


A Young man may die, but an old man must;  
This may die quickly, that cannot live long:  
Often are graves filled full with youthful dust.  
Though youth be jocund, lusty, merry, strong,  
Yet is it subject unto Death-bed-pains;  
IT is mortal blood that runs along their veins.   

In all appearance old men's halting feet are  
Moved to the grave-ward with the greatest speed,  
(Like that disciples which did outrun Peter)  
But sometimes younger men step in indeed:  
And peradventure twenty years or more  
Sooner than those that looked in before.   

Graves gape for every sort: The butcher 's seen  
Often to kill the youngest of the flock.  
Some long to pluck those apples that are green:  
Death crops the branches and forbears the stock.  
Children are wrapped up in their winding-sheets,  
And aged parents mourn about the streets.   

Jobs children died before himself: for after  
The death of ten he lived to get ten other.  
We sigh out, Ah my son! or, Ah my daughter!  
As oft as, Ah my father, or my mother!  
The first that ever died resigned his breath  
Nine hundred years before his father's death.   

Yea, many times, Death's gripe are so cruel,  
Before the groaning mother's child-birth-pain  
Is past, the infant 's buried, like a jewel  
But shown and presently shut up again,  
Perhaps within a minute after birth  
Is forthwith sent to cradle in the earth.   

Perhaps he is not born at all, yet dies,  
And dies a very thrifty Death: to save  
Funeral expenses he in is mother lies  
Entombed, both lodged in a single grave:  
And with him lies in one poor narrow room  
His swadling-clouts, nurse, mother, cradle, tomb.    

Meditation 1.  

SOme sins there be (as holy writ doth teach)  
That interrupt the current of our days:  
He that 's found guilty of them cannot reach  
That length of life which he that 's free enjoys.  
Sin (you know) and Death are twins,  
Or Death is Sin's progeny.  
Many of us if we die  
In our youth may thank our sins.   

One sin is disobedience to that pair  
Which did beget us. If I shall despise  
My parents lawful precepts, if my care  
Be not to do what 's pleasing in their eyes,  
If I willingly neglect  
Any thing which I do know  
Is a duty that I owe,  
I may Death betimes expect.   

Another sin is unprepared receiving  
That blessed Supper which doth feed and heal,  
And in and to a soul that is believing  
A full release of sins doth freely seal:  
Where that body and that blood  
Is presented on the table,  
Which are infinitely able  
To do hungri'st sinners good.   

If I come hither an unworthy guest;  
Or if before my heart I do not prove;  
Or if I come as to a common feast;  
Or come without Thanks, Knowledge, Faith, and Love:  
If I carry any crime  
Thither with me unlamented,  
Or go ere I have repent,  
Death may take me henoe betime.   

Another is bloodthirstiness: when we  
To do a mischief are so strongly bend  
That we sleep not unless our projects be  
Contrived to ensnare the innocent:  
When we are so like the Devil,  
Every way satanical,  
That tongue, brains, heart, hands, and all  
Are employed in what is evil.   

These sins and others like them do procure  
Untimely Deaths. Lord, purify my heart  
From every sin; but chief, Lord, secure  
My soul from these, that I may not departed  
Hence too soon. Lord, my desire  
Is not to live long; but I  
Only pray that I may die  
In thy favour not thine ire.    

Meditation 2.  

THere is a sin that seldom doth escape  
A rich man's heir, (yet it is a foul transgression)  
For parent's Death with open mouth to gape,  
That their estates may come to his possession.  
He gapes that his friends may sleep:  
Parentalia are rites  
Very welcome: he delights  
At a father's grave to weep.   

Poor harebrained fool! Perhaps thou may'st go first:  
This night thy younger soul may be required;  
Thy Death may frustrate that ungodly thirst:  
Whose then is that estate thou hast desired?  
If these gallants were not blind,  
Sure they could not choose but see  
That a thousand children be  
Dead, their parents left behind.   

Of any kind of sin (to speak the truth)  
That Satan can beget upon the soul,  
Most commonly man 's guilti'st in his youth:  
Our youthful nature is beyond control.  
Some examples are afforded,  
In whose history appears  
Looseness in our younger years:  
These the Scriptures have recorded.   

The very first that e'er sucked mother's teat,  
Because his works were naught, his brother's good,  
Did boil his choler to so strong a heat  
That he must slake it in his brother's blood.  
How much rancour did he show  
So much harmless blood to spill,  
And a quarter-part to kill  
Of all mankind at a blow?   

Unnatural, accursed, graceless Cham  
Never did grieve, nor sigh, nor blush, but he  
Laughed at and mocked his drunken father's shame.  
(A sober father's curse his portion be.)  
Profane Esau did make sale  
Of is birthright for is bellyful;  
As 'mongst us there 's many a gull  
That sells heaven for pots of ale.   

And Absalon was most deformed within;  
His head-piece had more hair than wit by odds:  
His beauty went no deeper than his skin;  
He feared not man's law nor regarded Gods.  
In him David had a son  
Beastly and ambitious too:  
He did wrong his bed, and do  
What he could to steal his throne.   

Incestuous Amnon dotes upon his sister,  
And in his own blood cools his lawless fires.  
That brother should have sinned that had but kissed her,  
If moved unto it by unchaste desires:  
But he makes a rape upon her,  
And so furious is his lust  
That it cannot hold but must  
Rob a virgin of her honour.   

And I could tell you of a number more  
Most sinful, vicious, vile, exorbitant,  
Whose courses are upon the Scriptures score,  
As if their youth had sealed them a grant  
To be neither wise nor holy,  
But to run into excess  
Of all kind of wickedness,  
And do homage unto folly.   

The sage Gymnosophists, who first did give  
The wilder Indians good and wholesome laws:  
The Magis, by whom Persia learned to live  
In order: the Chaldei, whose wise laws  
The Assyrians justly ruled  
And did gui●…e in every thing:  
Numa, Rome's devoutest King,  
Who the elder Romans schooled:   

That famous Solon, whom th' Athenians owe  
For all their statutes: and Lycurgus, he  
Whose wisdom taught the Spartans how to know  
What to omit and do: and more there be  
That have published wholesome laws  
To curb all indeed; but yet  
Chief it was to put a bit  
In men's wild and youthful jaws.   

It is a sign that colt is wild that needs  
So strong a bridle. Ground that doth require  
So much manuring sure is full of weeds.  
It is because she wallows in the mire  
That we need to wash a sow.  
Men in youth must needs be bad,  
To curb whom those laws were made  
Which we told you of but now.   

IT was a commanded custom that the Jews  
Should once in every two and fifty weeks  
Visit their temple; no man might refuse  
To worship there. Each fourth year the Greeks  
Their Olympian sacrifice  
Orderly performed: and  
Th' Egyptians used to stand  
Lifting up devoutest eyes   

Unto their Idol every seventh year  
Within th' appointed temple. And it is said  
Once in ten years the Romans did appear  
To sacrifice: then was Apollo paid  
His great Hecatomb, and then  
Unto Delphos many went  
With their gifts, for thither sent  
Presents every sort of men.   

And of the Samnites authors do relate,  
That th' ancientest of them did most solemnly  
Once in five years their Lustra celebrated:  
But it is delivered by Antiquity  
That the youth of all these nations  
Strictly all commanded were  
To these places to repair  
Oftener to make their oblations.   

What doth this intimate, but that the crimes  
Of youth are great and frequent, and their vices  
Exorbitant, that they so many times  
Have need to purge them by such sacrifices?  
By experience we do find  
What bad courses men do follow  
In their youth, and how they wallow  
In base lusts of every kind.   

And if you ask these brainless hot-spurres why  
They dedicate themselves to such lewd courses;  
They yet are young, these gallants still reply,  
And youth must have its swing: but no remorse is  
Wrought at all in any heart  
For this lewdness; there remains  
Not a thought within their brains,  
That the youngest may departed.   

Lord, take possession of my heart betimes:  
My youth is fittest for thy service; take it  
Unto thyself: make white those crimson crimes  
That fain would soil it: let me never make it  
A pretence (as many do)  
To be lewd, but think that I  
In the height of youth may die,  
May die and be damned too.    

Meditation 3.  

Parent's methinks betime should strive to make  
Their children good, that heaven may receive them.  
If God should send an early Death to take  
Them from the earth, it cannot choose but grieve them,  
And fill full with bitter woe  
Any parent's heart to see  
That their children wicked be,  
And Death come and find them so.   

Those fruitful couples whom the Lord hath blest  
With children, should take greatest care to breed them  
Religiously: In this more love 's expressed,  
Then in their care to clothe them or to feed them,  
Or what else they can bestow  
For their life or livelihood,  
And to do their children good  
In the things that are below.   

You must instruct your children in their way:  
That 's double, Civil and Religious too:  
They must be taught Gods precepts to obey,  
And to their neighbours give what is their due.  
If you do not strive to set them,  
By that rule which God hath given,  
In the way that leads to heaven,  
You did wrong them to beget them.   

There 's such a power and force in education,  
That justly we may call it a second nature:  
Nature finds matter, nurture gives the fashion,  
And turns a man into another creature.  
If a youth in is manners halt,  
On his parents we do lay  
All the blame, and use to say,  
That his breeding is in fault.   

The heathen, who did see but by that light  
Which purblind nature lent them, ever caught  
At all occasions they conceived might  
Be helps to have their youth in goodness taught.  
In their bodies would they find  
(For no where but in the book  
Of the creatures did they look)  
Lessons to instruct the mind.   

It is observed that Socrates let pass  
No ways nor means at all that might conduce  
To their amendment: often to a glass  
He brought them, and that shadow had its use.  
By his means their faces bred them:  
For however their complexion  
Did appear, by that reflection  
From it a lecture would he read them.   

That fair ones must take heed they did not soil  
That comely outside with deformititie  
Within: to have an inside foul would spoil  
The choicest beauty: that their symmetry,  
Just proportion of parts,  
And their comeliness of face  
Was not worth a jote, if grace  
Did not beautify their hearts.   

And that deformed ones should have a care,  
That virtuous endowments, of the soul  
Might recompense those blemishes that were  
By nature placed to make the body foul:  
That the mind and nothing else  
Makes us either foul or fair.  
Outside beauties nothing are  
To a mind where virtue dwells.   

Of any age their youth is fitt'st to take  
The print of vice or virtue: it is a clean  
Unwritten table, where a man may make  
What characters he will. If e'er you mean  
To make strait a crooked tree,  
You must do it while it is a twig:  
When your children are grown big  
They will not reform be.   

Sometimes (if need require) you shall do well  
To use the rod: if duly you correct them,  
IT may be a means to whip their souls from hell:  
From many sins may prudent stripes protect them.  
No such physic as the rod:  
There 's health in a loving scourge,  
It will children's manners purge,  
And will make them sit for God.   

But whensoever you fasten any blows,  
Let sins against the holy name of God  
Be first corrected: for a child that knows  
To give his due to heaven, on him the rod  
Will prevail with little labour  
To correct him how to live  
Civilly, and how to give  
What he owes unto his neighbour.   

And yet you must be moderate in strokes:  
You may not make a trade of chastisements.  
A parent that corrects too much provokes  
His child to wrath; so pious documents  
Will be cast away in vain.  
Too much mercy is not sit,  
Neither too much rigour; yet  
Mercy 's better of the twain.   

That high and great Jehovah, whom we find  
Adorned with mercy, goodness, justice, wrath,  
Is evermore to mercy most inclined:  
Of all the rest that most employment hath.  
He that suffered near mount Zion,  
(And whatever he did hollow  
By his practice we should follow)  
Was a Lamb as well 's a Lion.   

And e'er you strike observe their dispositions:  
Those four complexions in man's grosser part  
Are but a few; the finer part 's conditions  
Are many more. Some at a look will start;  
Others will but make a mock  
At the lash itself, and never  
Will express the least endeavour  
To amend with many a knock.   

The Nat'ralists can tell you of a stone  
Extremely hard, which blood or milk will soften:  
But with the strongest hammer there is none  
Can do it, though he beat it ne'er so often.  
The sea yields a certain weed,  
Which, if gently gripped, will fly;  
Roughly, will yield presently:  
Rigour such stout nature's need.   

Some children's dispositions are like nettles:  
The gentl'er you do handle them they sting  
The more; fair means in them no virtue settles:  
Some are like thorns; the harder you do wring  
The more deeply will they pierce.  
Mark their natures, and you shall  
By due chastisements recall  
Both the gentle and the fierce.   

But it must be 'bove all your chiefest care  
To shine before your children by the light  
Of good example: for examples are  
Of most prevailing natures. What the sight  
Can be master of appears  
To be more convincing fare  
Then all other truths that are  
Only objects of the ears.   

A high perfection did the heathen deem it  
To imitate their Joy: were it but in  
His close adulteries, they did esteem it  
A commendable passage not a sin.  
In a wrong way, or a right,  
Samplers lead, I know not how:  
If King Alexander bow  
Not a courtier stands upright.   

If Cyrus' nose be bad, or if a scar  
Chance to disfigure his imperial face;  
If Plato 's learned shoulders be too square;  
One 's subjects, th' others scholars, are so base  
As to draw it into a fashion:  
And if Aristotle stammer,  
All his boys will lisp and hammer  
Out their words in imitation.   

If cruel Dionysius tyrannize,  
Each man grows fierce: and if Antiochus  
Be lustful, he is not accounted wise  
That will not be effeminate: and thus  
Ptolemeus Philadelph  
Loving letters, by example  
Egypt underfoot did trample  
Ignorance as did himself.   

With scholars (like himself) Augustus filled  
The Roman Empire: and Tiberius he  
Stored it with such as were exactly skilled  
In fair dissimulation, and could be  
Leaders in the hateful train  
Of those monsters who by heart  
Had learned perfectly the art  
To dissemble, lie, and feign.   

Good Constantine's example filled the land  
With Christians like himself, and Julians did  
Beget a troup of Atheists: such command  
Examples have. In holy writ we read  
That examples either way,  
For God or against him, for  
Great Jehovah's worship or  
Baalim's, did the people sway.   

If Israel's or Judah 's King were good,  
The people presently destroyed their groves:  
Scarce in the land a graven image stood:  
High places owls did rest in: each man loves  
(At the least in show) that Jealous  
God that in the desert fed them,  
And from Egypt 's bondage led them;  
For him only are they zealous.   

If Israel's or Judah 's King were bad,  
So were the people: Altars strait were reared  
To senseless Idols; not a house but had  
Their graven Images; and no man feared  
Unto Baal to bend his knee.  
Men live by similitude  
More than law; and most conclude  
Upon what their Princes be.   

If Nabuchadnezzar the mighty King  
Be pleased to fall down to a golden image,  
Thither with speed do their devotions bring  
People of every kingdom, tongue, and lineage.  
Three excepted, all adore him:  
There 's not one enough precise  
To refuse; it doth suffice  
That the King did so before him.   

Thou art a King if thou a parent art,  
Each family 's a petty kingdom, and  
The parent's Monarch: it were a kingly part  
To make thy little subjects understand  
How in virtue to excel  
By thy practice; that 's a skill  
'Bove all other: children will  
No way else be taught so well.   

Look how the primum mobile doth move,  
Accordingly do move the other spheres:  
As in a Jack the wheel that is above  
With its first mover just proportion bears.  
In a family it is so:  
Look what way the parents take,  
That the rest their rule will make,  
Chief there the children go.   

Not any godly precept so exact is,  
Which you shall teach your children to obey;  
But that, if you shall thwart it by your practice,  
Thus will your junior houshold-members say,  
At least they will whisper thus,  
If virtue be good, then why  
Do not you live virtuously?  
If not, why d' ye press it on us?   

If by these ways you strive to educate,  
Whom God hath blest with fruitful progenies,  
Your children well, their early Death or late  
Shall not a jote augment your miseries.  
A child's death is not a rod  
To afflict a parent's heart.  
He that dies well doth departed  
Hence that he may live with God.   

Lord, if thou make my wife a fruitful vine,  
Make it withal my chiefest care to dress  
The branches well; the glory shall be thine,  
And if they die my grief shall be the less.  
A child's death 's a precious savour  
In thy nostrils that was here  
Taught to live, Lord, in thy fear;  
For he dieth in thy favour.    

Meditation 4.  

IF youth itself may drop into the grave,  
When children die methinks they should bequeath  
Surviving parents comforts. Sure they have  
No cause (were not affection strong) to grieve  
Overmuch, as many do:  
For Death is impartial,  
By his stroke all ages fall,  
Both the old'st and youngest too.   

Think duly on it. Why should your eyes run o'er  
For what you have no way to remedy?  
If you should heaven eternally implore,  
It would not send them back. But you will reply,  
'Cause there 's no way to be found  
That may help us to recover  
Them again, our eyes run over,  
And our tears do so abound.   

Nor ever will your highest flood of sorrow  
Transport them back into the world again:  
Yourselves may follow them before to morrow.  
Those deep-fetched sighs are smoked out all in vain,  
So are all those drops you mourn  
Shed in vain; haply you may  
Soon go after them, but they  
Are too happy to return.   

Is it your love that doth produce such groans?  
How easily alas is love mistaken!  
Methinks you cannot love and grieve at once;  
To love were to rejoice that they have shaken  
Hands with misery to dwell  
In a world of bliss above;  
Grief at this is fare from love,  
It seems not to wish them well.   

Or is it because that they are dead you weep?  
I do not think that when they were begotten,  
You dreamed them death free, or had hopes to keep  
Them here for ever; that they would be rotten  
In their graves you could not choose  
But consider: for a span  
To be quickly ended, can  
Never go for any news.   

Nor with good reason can you lay the blame  
On Death at all, but on yourselves that did  
Beget them mortal: for the very same  
Matter wherewith they were begot and said,  
Fits them for an alteration  
By the hand of Death. If you  
Grudge that Death hath ●a'n his due,  
You may blame their generation.   

Or do you grieve because they died so soon?  
If ways be foul, and journeys perilous,  
Who taketh up his lodging e'er it be noon  
Is best at ease. IT is like God loveth those  
Whom he takes betime away:  
Sad experience lets us know  
That the happi'st here below  
Have a miserable stay.   

Or is your only child deceased, that passion  
Doth domineer so? here I could allow  
Methinks your tears a free immoderation,  
But that (on better ground than Jephtha's vow)  
I remember what was done  
By that parent, who is penned  
Down for great Jehovah 's friend,  
In case of his only son.   

Even when it was dead a miracle did fill  
His Sarahs' womb, but it was filled but once.  
Isaac was all: Yet Abraham must kill  
This all himself. God did it for the nonce  
That he might his graces prove,  
Yet the man made no denial,  
But did by so strange a trial  
Manifest his faith and love.   

This case must needs strike nearer to the heart  
Than yours; yet he doth presently submit.  
Love (I confess) is very loath to part  
With what it loves, but grace doth put a bit  
Into nature's mouth that she  
May not grumble nor repine  
At what 's a decree Divine,  
But subscribe it cheerfully.   

Just like the Autumn-sap of fruitful trees  
So love descends; and it is ardent when  
Dispersed, but by infinite degrees  
More ardent when it is contracted: men  
That have but an only son,  
If Death take him hence, their loss  
Is a great one; but this cross  
Must be born. Thy will be done,   

Is what yourselves do pray for every day:  
And when this will of God 's declared, you  
Greatly offend if you do murmur. May  
Not God, and Sin, and Nature claim their due?  
Very ill you do behave you  
If you give not heaven leave  
Thankfully for to bereave  
You again of what it gave you.   

Lord, if thou please to stock my table round  
About with children, yet I will be glad:  
Nor shall my sorrow overmuch abound,  
Though I do see them in their grave-clothes clad;  
For the sooner are they blest:  
And within the shortest space  
Whom thou helpest to win a race,  
They the sooner are at rest.    

Meditation 5.  

WE do not die by chance nor yet by fortune,  
But how and when the Lord will have us die:  
He numbers all our days; we cannot shorten  
Nor lengthen them a minute: Destiny  
Neither spins nor cuts the thread.  
God a certain period sets:  
No man shorter falls, or gets  
Further, than the bounds decreed.   

If God vouchsafe to number out the hairs  
That do adorn and clothe our sinful heads;  
Who doubteth that his providence forbears  
To count our days? If not a sparrow treads  
On the earth 's face thus or thus,  
But his providence awaketh  
For to note it, sure he taketh  
Greater care by fare of us.   

If any godless wits so curious be  
To talk of Hezekiah's fifteen years,  
His sentence God did change, not his decree,  
The answer is: yet Esay 's tongue appears  
To speak not a jote the less  
Truth; it was with a supposition:  
God doth threaten with condition  
Either tacit or express.   

When Pestilence, that loathsome, dreadful hag,  
Bepatched with botches, wanders up and down,  
And into every household drops the plague,  
Scarce any Turk in an infected town  
But will wife and friend afford  
Daily visits and embraces:  
They fly no contagious places,  
Nor fear either bed or board.   

Their reason is, God's providence doth write  
Their fortunes on their foreheads; neither can  
Their day of life be longer, nor their night  
Of Death come sooner than God wills it: Man  
Must yield is ghost when God will have it.  
For health and life, if God will  
Save it, it is not plague can kill:  
If not, it is not they can save it.   

Such blockheads have not brains enough to think  
That as the time, so God withal decrees  
The means of life; as physic, meat and drink,  
Clothes, recreations, and what else he sees  
Needful. They themselves destroy,  
And are to their safety strangers,  
That run into mortal dangers,  
And not shun them when they may.   

Howe'er employed, Lord, grant I may have leisure  
Religiously to meditate that thou  
My days dost number, and my life dost measure,  
And make me think, Lord, that this very now,  
That this twinkling of an eye  
Is the period thou hast set:  
Lord, grant I may ne'er forget  
That this moment I may die.      

PART III. Of Death's suddenness.  


THough sometimes Death doth stay till it be late  
At night, until our most decrepit years,  
And when he comes, doth (like a King) in state  
Send harbingers before; yet Death appears  
Sometimes unlooked for early in the morning,  
And takes us up before he gives us warning.   

When at full tide our youthful blood doth flow  
In every vein, and when our pulses dance  
A healthful measure, when our stomaches know  
No qualms at all, as we would say by chance  
Snatched are our bodies to their longest homes,  
And Death is passed before a sickness comes.   

How many sleepy mortals go to bed  
With healthful bodies, and do rise no more!  
How many hungry mortals have been fed  
Contentedly at dinner? yet before  
Against a second meal they whet their knives  
Death steals away their stomaches and their lives.   

How many in the morning walk abroad  
For to be breathed on by the keener air?  
Perhaps to clarify their grosser blood,  
Or else to make their rougher cheeks look fair.  
But e'er they tread a furlong in the frost,  
Death nips them: so their former labour 's lost.   

Nature is parsimonious: Man may live  
With little: but alas with how much less  
A man may die! There 's nothing but may give  
A mortal blow: small matters may undress  
Our souls of clay. A thousand ways we have  
To send our crazy bodies to the grave.   

The elements confeder how they may  
Procure our Death: the Air we suck to live  
Itself hath poi'sned thousands in a day,  
And made such havoc that the slain did strive  
For elbow-room in Churchyards: houses were  
Good cheap, and only shrowds and coffins dear.   

If we could come to speak with Pharaoh's ghost,  
IT would tell how many met with sudden graves  
Beneath the water; that a mighty host  
Was slain and buried by the surly waves,  
Except a few which surfeited with store▪  
The cropsick sea did vomit on the shore.   

Sometimes our mother Earth, as if she were  
So hunger-bitten that she needs must eat  
Her children, gapes as for some toothsome cheer,  
And multitudes one swallow down doth let;  
Which either in her womb she doth bestow,  
Or else doth send them to the world below.   

That useful creature Fire, whose light and heat  
Doth comfort, and, when Earth doth penance, warm us,  
Whose cookery provides us wholesome meat;  
Yet mortally this element doth harm us.  
One morning sent from heaven such dreadful flashes  
As did entomb five cities in their ashes.   

We may remember some that have been killed  
By falls of buildings; some, by drunken swords.  
By beasts both wild and tame our blood is spilled.  
There 's not a creature but a death affords.  
'Bove forty children's limbs God's anger tears  
In pieces with the teeth of savage bears.   

But there 's some likelihood that sudden Death  
By means like these may easily befall us:  
But many times we mortally lose our breath  
By ways less probable. The Lord doth call us  
Upon a sudden hence by petty things:  
Sometimes the meanest means Death's errand brings.   

Our staff of life may kill: a little crumb  
Of bread may choke us going down awry.  
A small hair in their drink hath caused some  
To breathe their last. By any thing we die.  
Sometimes a sudden grief or sudden joy  
Have might enough to take our souls away.    

Meditation 1.  

HOw weak 's the thread of life, that any thing  
How weak so e'er can break it by and by!  
How short 's the thread of life, that Death can bring  
Both ends of it together suddenly!  
Well may the scriptures writ the life of man  
As weak as water and as short 's a span.   

How soon is water spilt upon the ground!  
Once spilt, what hand can gather it up again?  
Foam that doth rise to day is seldom sound  
Floating to morrow. When the wanton rain  
Gets bubbles to make sport with on the water,  
A minute breaks them into their first matter.   

Such is our life. How soon doth Death uncase  
Our souls? and when they once are fled away,  
Who can return them? As upon the face  
Of thirsty ground when water 's shed to day,  
The morrow sees it not: so when we die  
None can revive us; as we fall, we lie.   

Our life 's a vapour. Vapours do arise  
Sometimes indeed with such a seeming power,  
As if they would eclipse the glorious skies,  
And muffle up the world, but in an hour  
Or two at most these vapours are blown o'er,  
And leave the air as clear as it was before.   

We look big here a little while and bristle,  
And shoulder in the smiling world, as though  
There were no dancing but as we would whistle,  
So strangely domineer we here below.  
But as a vapour in a sunshine day  
We vanish on a sudden quite away.   

Our life is like the smoke of new-made fire:  
As we in age and stature upward tend,  
Our dissolution is so much the nigher.  
Smoke builds but castles in the air: ascend  
Indeed it doth aloft, but yet it must  
At highest dissolve, we vanish into dust.   

What is a shadow? Nothing. Grant it were  
A thing that had a name and being too,  
Yet let a cloud 'twixt us and heaven appear,  
It's turned into its former nothing. Lo  
Our shadows vanish? surely so do we▪  
At noon a man, at night a corpse we see.   

Our life 's a cloud, and from variety  
Of vapours are created divers sorts:  
The stronger last a time, the weaker sly  
With less ado; yet half a day transports  
Both strongest and weakest hence, and in their flight  
Their nimble speed outruns the quickest sight.   

Some men are healthful, merry, lusty, strong;  
Some crazy, weak, sad, sickly, drooping: both  
Post hence with winged speed: we may not wrong  
Life's footmanship; for sure with greater sloth  
Clouds through the air the strongest wind doth send,  
Then frail man's life doth gallop to its end.   

With greater sloth? A man that now is here,  
Perhaps an hour, yea half a minute hence,  
That man may in another world appear.  
Our life moves faster than those things which sense  
Acquaint us with, faster than ships by fare,  
Or birds, or bullets that do blow the air.   

All flesh is grass: how suddenly that fades!  
Grass in the morning standeth proudly green,  
E'er night the husbandmen prepare their blades  
To cut it down, and not a leaf is seen  
But e'er the morrow 's withered into hay,  
That in its summer-suit was clothed to day.   

We grow and flourish in the world a space,  
Our days with ease, mirth, health, strength, heaven doth crown:  
But it is not long we run this happy race,  
Death cometh with his  and mows us down,  
When we are apt to say, for aught we know  
As yet we have an age of days to grow.   

Our life 's a flower that groweth in the field.  
A garden-flower is but a fading thing,  
Though it hath hedges, banks, and walls to shield  
Itself from cropping: long it is e'er the spring  
Doth bring it forth; three quarters of a year  
Are gone before its beauty doth appear.   

And when it shineth in its fairest pride,  
One hand or other will be sure to pluck it.  
But let 's suppose all snatching fingers tied,  
And grant withal that never Be doth suck it  
To blemish it a jote, yet will the breath  
Of winter blow the fairest flower to death.   

IT is long before we get us very fare  
Into the world: for after generation  
There is a time when lifeless lumps we are,  
And have not bodies of a humane fashion:  
Such as we have both life and motion want,  
And when we live we live but like a plant.   

A while we do but grow: then like a beast  
We have our senses: next indeed we live  
The life of him that lives to be a feast  
For despicable worms. The womb doth give  
No passage to us yet; we are (like corn  
Sown lately) sit to be but are not born.   

When born, it is long before we can procure  
Our legs or understandings to assist us:  
And then it is long before we grow mature:  
And all this while if sudden Death hath missed us,  
Yet in the hoary winter of our age  
Our part is ended and we quit the stage.   

Lord, what is man? Lord, rather what am I?  
I cannot tell myself unless thou teach me:  
From thee came Know thyself down through the sky  
To mortals here. Thy servant doth beseech thee  
To make me know, though it be to my shame,  
How vanishing, how weak, and frail I am.    

Meditation 2.  

What would I do if I were sure to die  
Within this hour? sure hearty repent,  
My sinful couch should never more be dry  
But drowned in tears, sad groans my heart should rend,  
And my sorrow still increase  
With repenting till I die,  
That once reconciled I  
Might be found of God in peace.   

Then presently I'll set about it, for  
My time 's uncertain, and for aught I know  
God may not leave my soul a minute more  
To animate my body here below.  
Deep-fetched sighs and godly sorrow  
Shall possess my heart to day:  
IT is a foolish sin to say  
That I will repent to morrow.   

What if I die before? just as the tree  
Doth fall it lies. When I am in the grave  
I cannot grieve for sin, nor can I be  
Converted unto God, nor pardon crave.  
Had I breath and grace to crave it,  
Yet God's time of mercy 's gone:  
IT is given in this life alone,  
In the next I cannot have it.   

What would I leave undone if ghastly Death  
Stood at my elbow? sure I would not wallow  
In those pollutions that reign here beneath;  
No lewd and wicked courses would I follow.  
I should tremble at a thought  
Of uncleanness, if I were  
Sure that dreadful time were near  
When I must to earth be brought.   

Why should I sinne at all? for in the act  
Of my next sin a sudden Death may catch me.  
(A town secure is much the sooner sacked)  
What know I but God setteth Death to watch me,  
That when any lust hath pressed me  
For his service, that I may  
Down to hell without delay,  
Death may presently arrest me?   

If we did well, still should we fear to meet  
Death in those places where we use to sin,  
And as we enter think we hear the feet  
Of Death behind us coming softly in?  
We should fear when sins delight us,  
When we swallow any crime,  
Lest that very point of time  
Justice should send Death to smite us.   

I know whatever is on this side hell,  
Is mercy all: that we were not sent thither  
When we sinned last, is mercy. What befell  
Zimri and Cozbi as they lay together?  
Phinehas zealous spear did thrust  
Both to death, and bored holes  
To let out those guilty souls,  
Which were melted into lust.   

Help me, O Lord, to do and leave undone  
What thou command'st, for sudden Death prepare me,  
That at what time soe'er my glass is run  
Thy holy Angels may to heaven bear me.  
Give thy servant grace, that I  
May so fear the face of sin  
As a serpents, lest that in  
Th' unrepented act I die.    

Meditation 3.  

DOth Death come suddenly? so much the better:  
If I am ready and do daily die,  
So much the sooner it will my soul unfetter  
T' enjoy the best degree of liberty.  
And if Death will send me where  
I shall evermore remain,  
I will never care how vain,  
Or how frail my life is here.   

My life is like the wind: but when this puff  
Is passed I shall eternally enjoy  
A place in heaven, where all is calm enough,  
Where never blast is felt that brings annoy,  
Where is everlasting ease,  
Not a storm nor tempest there,  
Nor a jote of trouble, where  
All is quietness and peace.   

My life is like a vapour: but assoon  
As this thin mist, this vapour, is dispersed,  
My day shall be an undeclining noon,  
Whose glorious brightness cannot be rehearsed,  
Which will show me (for so clear  
And so shining is that place)  
God immortal face to face,  
Whom I saw but darkly here.   

My life is water spilt and cast away  
Upon the ground: but after it is shod,  
In stead thereof I shall a stream enjoy,  
As Crystal clear, which from the throne of God  
And the Lamb of God proceedeth.  
Water it is of life, and lasteth  
Ever, which a soul that tasteth  
Once no more refreshing needeth.   

My life is like a shadow that doth vanish:  
But whensoever this shadow 's vanished quite,  
Substantial g●…es will my soul replenish,  
And solid joys will crown it with delight.  
The worlds are but fading joys;  
Shadows we all purchase here:  
Never until Death appear  
Have we true and real joys.   

My life 's a flower: but when it withers here  
It is transplanted into paradise,  
Where all things planted flourish all the year,  
Where Boreas never breathes a cake of ice.  
With sweet air the place is blest;  
There is an eternal spring:  
Thither, Lord, thy servant bring.  
Here my homely Muse doth rest,   

Nor another flight will make  
Till she see how this will take.     
FINIS.