PASSION AND DISCRETION, IN YOUTH, AND AGE.  

Here in● plain, and most familiar kind:  
You may behold a Combat in the Mind:  
Man's differing motions are the jar in question.  
The Combatants are Passion; and Discretion  
Each striving to be chief in the desire.  
Or, if you please ●●straine it any higher,  
Then here you, partly, may behold the strife  
Be●●●●● the Flesh, and Spirit in this Life,   
LONDON, Printed by T. & R. Cotes, for Francis Grove, dwelling on Snow-hill, near the Sanazens head, without Newgate. 1641.   

TO THE RIGHT NOBLE, AND TRULY VIRTUOUS LADY TEMPERANCE  
MOst virtuous Lady, yea, Virtue itself, under whose protection to endeavour is most safe: and therefore that is here my most humble suit. I have, as ensues, taken in hand to insist upon, or rather to deal with most peremptory, stout, and turbulent Passions. My encounter with such, being countenanced by yourself, shall mind the more happy success. Which favour, dear Lady, shall for ever prove my encouragement, and approve your courtesy, under the shadow of whose wing I shall be sheltered as I walk, from all the searching heat, of accusing hatred; issuing forth the infernal furnace of detraction.  
Thus far presuming, it is, doubtless, my duty, to vow you my service: in the performance of which, where I shall fail in act, I trust to fulfil it in desire, and for ever rest.  
Your Honours to Command, So long as mine own to obey: Edward Calver.   


IF men here muse, or fain would know my mind,  
Why thus I seem to invocate the wind:  
To answer such, 'tis not because I see  
Men, like the wind, or more inconstant be:  
But rather that, what errors here are shown,  
The blame of them may thus be all mine own.  
For 'tis unfit that Infants, mis-begot,  
Should Fathered be by such as faulted not.   

But if my gentle Patron can inspire,  
Then here imagine my intent is higher,  
For than she may such heavenly favours show  
As earthly Patrons have not to bestow.  
But if these fully answer not the question,  
Then this I did to imitate the fashion.    

To the Courteous Reader.  

REad friends and welcome, you I do request:  
Here's nothing ill, to such as ill detest.  
Your stomaches do not surfeit with your meat,  
And therefore will not cast up what you eat.   

Here you may take a taste, though not be filled,  
Of such plain diet as my store doth yield:  
Mere simples, or mere simple, if you will:  
But you, I know, will censure not so ill:  
And therefore to your taste, and stomach both,  
I do present these dishes coming forth.    

To the Captious Reader.  

What, shall I bid thee read, and welcome? no,  
It never was intended so by me:  
I have no reason to invite my foe:  
I made this for my Friend, and not for thee.   

But, if, grim Momus, it comes so to pass  
That thou shalt read this, and deride it then,  
Or flout, or scoff, what need I care? alas,  
'tis but the use thou giv'st to other men:  
Nay, 'tis thy Language, and for it, I hark;  
Curs can afford no fairer speech than bark.    

Passion and Discretion in Youth and Age.  

WHen that arch light, which makes things made appear, (near,  
Dame nature's Nurse, bright Phoebus doth draw  
And from our Climate, this times guider, Sol  
Calls winter back to the Autarticke Pole:  
Then doth our late frost-bitten regions smile,  
Our piercing air, cold winds and, fruitless soil,  
All suffer change, yea cheerished by the Sun  
All things beneath rejoice in what is done.   

The earth puts on its rich, and sweet attire,  
Sweet to the sense, and rich to the desire.  
Fish in the waters do both scip and float:  
Birds in the air tune a melodious note;  
Beasts on the earth, yea Nature seems to sing  
By signs of joy to welcome in the spring.   

Now shall these creatures in subjection penned,  
Declare such signs and tokens of content,  
These senseless creatures glory in this measure,  
And in their youth, the spring time take such pleasure?  
And shall not I, who hitherto lay hid,  
Like Nature's power, in winter time, as dead?  
In this my spring time have a cheerful voice,  
Now in my youth be merry and rejoice?   

Now, in my veins, my late cool blood runs warm:  
My former feeble joints are now grown firm:  
My vital spirits are revivied within:  
My outward parts to answer them begin:  
Yea all my powers are quick; my cheeks are glowing:  
Where Nature setteth its perfection showing.   

Now shall not I, I say, rejoice? sure yes;  
Contentment cannot be denied in this:  
Both sense, and reason leaves it without blame:  
All creatures living do approve the same.  
Then shall I so degenerate from kind,  
Or swarve from sense, and reason in my mind?  
Against all reason, liberty, and truth  
As to refuse the sweet contents of youth?  
No sure, I feel no such desire as this,  
I will not thus deprive myself of bliss.   

Smile than I will upon mine own desires,  
And yield to what my tender heart requires:  
Let lose my thoughts, unbound my appetite,  
And feed my fancy upon each delight.   

Nature hath now set beauty in my face,  
And with proportion done my body grace:  
Rich gems each of them and of virtue rare,  
But found united are without compare.  
Beauty, its very name doth yield delight;  
It's matchless nature soars a greater height:  
Yea reacheth to the heavens, from whence it came:  
And is on earth the mirror of the same.   

Then having this most admirable part,  
How highly may I value my desert?  
What deep contentment may I therein take?  
And with what favours meet with for its sake?  
For, although I had nothing else to move,  
This would persuade, 'tis seated so above,  
Yea Conquer when it list, for where the trial  
Is made by beauty, who can make denial?   

Again now Noble Fortitude of mind,  
With strength of body to my courage joined,  
May make me truly glory in the same;  
And labour to Eternalise my name,  
By valiant enterprises for my Prince:  
Or deeds of valour in mine own defence.  
Besides, now learning, knowledge, art, or wit  
Are for my apt, and tender years most fit:  
These be aspiring faculties of praise,  
These be the pride, and glory of our days.   

What greater pleasure can my heart request?  
Here may I lift myself above the rest,  
And smiling, wonder at the vulgar sort,  
Whose ignorance doth make my wisdom sport.  
Here may I search the secrets of Nature,  
And thence, to make mine own content the greater,  
Behold each hidden mystery that lurks  
In the profundity of Nature's works:  
Nay, which is higher, thus I may define,  
Things above Nature, heavenly and divine.   

But had I not these matchless gifts of mind;  
Nor yet my parts mere bodily, refined.  
Yet, having but the gifts of fortune lent me,  
But store of wealth, but worldly riches plenty,  
What need I care? wealth is the only thing  
Which, unto most, doth most contentment bring.   

Strength, wit, and beauty, learning; art, and such,  
Are in their natures to be valued much;  
And, of the truly wise, are so respected:  
Yet, without wealth, we find them oft neglected,  
If not contemned. Strength is counted vain:  
Beauty deceitful: wit affords no gain:  
Art's little useful: Learning's less regarded:  
Thus things most good, becomes most ill rewarded,  
And all because the Authors hand doth place them,  
Where wealth affords not countenance to grace them.   

Oh precious riches, whatsoe'er men say,  
Wealth is the chiefest earthly god bears sway:  
Concludes most cases, of the wise approved,  
Of most desired, and is best beloved.  
All this is true, and yet, for my part, know  
I take no care to gain such riches though:  
My sublime thoughts fly higher, and have wings  
Which carry my desires above such things:  
And in my heart I count such doters vain  
As for such trifles do molest their brain,  
As earthly riches: which are gained with care,  
And, being gotten are possessed in fear.   

The sad employments of such fretting cares  
Are much unfitting for my tender years;  
And quite against my nature, which, I find,  
Is unto sweeter liberty inclined.   

My Parents they their youthful time have spent,  
And in their youth, took part of youths content:  
But now grown stayed, and wanton thoughts suppressed,  
More weighty studies do become them best:  
Let them take care for getting gain; not I:  
Their saving wisdom must my want supply.  
The elder for the younger doth provide,  
As by a Law in Nature strictly tied:  
Especial the Parent for the Child.  
It is the care of creatures bruit and wild  
To feed and foster up their young: but then  
Much more the care of reasonable men.   

And afterward if I a Parent be,  
I'll do for mine, as Parents do for me.  
I'll then be careful of these outward things:  
And slip no means that show of profit brings:  
But count it duty, as it is indeed,  
To make provision for my tender seed.   

The mean time Parents will, I hope, be won  
To give me lenave to do as they have done,  
To seek to fit myself unto the time,  
And, like to all things, flourish in my prime,  
Now in my youth be youthfully inclined,  
With youthful pleasures satisfy my mind,  
And take those freedoms due unto my state;  
Youth justly pleads its liberties are great.   

Which, if my Parents labour to restrain,  
Injustice will appear therein so plain  
That Parents shall be pleased to give way;  
Or I excused, if I do not obey.   

Discretion.  

BUt stay, mad Passion, whether dost thou run?  
Fond and mistaken sense, what hast thou done▪  
By what illusions hast thou shown thy skill,  
To make my reason subject to my will?  
Thy motives and thy Rhetoric are such,  
As may persuade, and do persuade too much:  
But soothing Passion, whatsoe'er is past,  
I now resolve to answer thee at last.   

All things created do observe their time,  
And do by nature flourish in their prime:  
From whence thou labourst to infer for truth,  
That I by nature should rejoice in youth.  
All which, in part, I do acknowledge true,  
And Nature seems to challenge it as due,  
And therefore may not be denied by me,  
In aught where sense with reason doth agree.   

But if my nature would bear all the sway,  
And make my reason to my sense obey,  
I do in reason no such justice see,  
To let my reason so subjected be.  
Besides, I do my youthful nature find,  
So much unto the world's delights inclined,  
That my estate, in this respect, requires  
The greatest care to bridle my desires.   

Then restless Passion, keep thyself retired,  
I with thy Fury need not be inspired,  
Nor will I, if I can the same prevent,  
I trust, without thee, to reap best content.   

Come then, Oh! come then, be advised by reason,  
Mine own dear self, this is the only season.  
The fruitful earth doth afterward make known  
What seed was in it in the Spring time sown.  
The stock, with what 'tis grafted in the Spring,  
Such fruit doth forth for ever after bring.  
And with what scent the vessel first is filled,  
The savour of it is not soon expelled.   

Such is thy apt and youthful nature; know,  
What now is sown in thee is like to grow:  
What habit now is got will prove the strongest:  
What custom now is learned, will last the longest.  
And therefore it doth now concern thee, sure,  
To have most care to keep thyself secure,  
To seek content where reason doth admit,  
To settle thy desires in what is fit,  
That thou hereafter mayst not cry, in vain,  
I learned what now I would unlearne again.   

Thou then, myself, whose safety is mine own,  
And favour mine, that unto thee is shown,  
As thou hast a respect unto Discretion,  
I do advise thee to be ware of Passion,  
And labour to discover those deceits,  
Whose gall lies hidden in most pleasant baits:  
Yea though most near and dear unto thee, seated  
In thine own bosom, let them be defeated.   

If thine own heart, which is to the most dear,  
Would fall in love with any creature here,  
Before thou dar'st to render thy consent,  
Thou must take heed there be no danger in't.   

Or if that any more inferior part  
Of body, or of mind, would plead desert,  
As if they were some excellence allowed;  
Which vainly might induce thee to be proud:  
Here it behoves thee to have special care,  
To arm thyself against this inbred snare,  
This bosom brat, which will not be excluded;  
That by thyself, thou beest not selfe-deluded selfe-deluded.  
It (as in Youth it often comes to pass)  
Thy wanton eye, views beauty in thy glass,  
Whose beams, reflecting, would thy thoughts inflame  
With any admiration of the same,  
Trust not thine eye, nor yet thy glass too far,  
They both deceitful, both uncertain are.   

But say thy beauty be the same indeed  
That it appears, yea though it doth exceed,  
Yet weigh the honey of it with the gall,  
And thou shalt see the vantage of it small.   

It gains much savour, and is most alluring:  
'tis true, but favour gained by its procuring,  
Is sometimes such as yields a present friend,  
But seldom chaste, and constant to the end:  
For look as beauty fades and wears away,  
So doth such friendship vanish and decay.   

It tis alluring, 'tis indeed, but how?  
To that which modest virtue doth allow?  
Sure no, the nature of it doth entice,  
In human faces, rather unto vice.   

Again, 'tis beauty that doth bear the praise,  
And oft doth unto much preferment raise.  
Indeed 'tis so; upon the sudden oft  
It from the dunghill, doth draw up a loft.  
But what this Sunshine doth exhale, like rain,  
Falls, for the most part, in a cloud again.   

And for the praise and virtue on't, suspicion  
So often brings the truth of it in question,  
That all the comfort which doth in it lie,  
As it appears, is but to feed the eye,  
Whiles it doth glister, whiles it doth endure,  
Which every little shadow doth obscure.   

But if thou wouldst give beauty an excuse,  
Then of thy beauty strive to make this use  
That as thy Youthful face is fair, as clear  
Thy virtues may unto the world appear,  
That so thy face, this outward grace assigned,  
May show the inward beauties of thy mind.   

Or hast thou strength, and in thy bosom glowing  
A resolution of thy courage showing?  
This is in youth so far from being blamed,  
That it deserveth rather to be famed,  
Provided still that reason be thy guide  
In thy attempts to have thy manhood tried.   

What lively youth with noble courage fraught?  
To Martial feats and Descipling well taught?  
It doth deserve the highest commendation,  
It is the pride, and safety of a Nation:  
Nay, which is more, where Mars is thus obeyed,  
It makes the very enemy afraid.   

All this may be admitted, this I grant:  
But all this gives thee no such cause to vaunt,  
Mine own frail flesh, yea frail and weak indeed,  
As to presume, or boast on such a reed,  
On such a tottering, such a feeble stay,  
And which remains so subject to decay,  
That the most silly creature can be thought  
May in a moment bring thy strength to nought.   

Or art endued with any other part,  
Which would induce to boast of thy desert?  
As wit, as knowledge, learning, Art, or such,  
These are indeed, to be esteemed much:  
Yea these same powers and faculties of mind,  
I do confess are of the highest kind,  
And do deserve the highest commendation:  
Yet these remain so subject unto passion,  
That these, in many, do become most vain,  
Where power is wanting passion to restrain:   

And so much lifts up their conceits therein  
That they almost forget that they are men.  
This, mine own self, too often comes to pass,  
Men are deluded, looking in this glass:  
Then let not this, which should be all thy stay,  
From thine own self thus steal thyself away.  
But rather as, the further thou dost learn,  
The further still thou dost thy wants discern;  
So from the sight of what thou hast not gained,  
All pride of what thou hast may be restrained.   

Or hast thou wealth, which makes the greatest boast,  
And is the only thing desired of most;  
And that full oft whose radiant golden rays  
Makes Youth appear so glorious in our days.  
Hast thou, I say, this world's deluding grace?  
Which hath almost thirst virtue out of place:  
Yet let it of no such dominion be,  
No such effect, mine own dear heart, in thee.   

What though thou hast the means, which is thy gold,  
To make thee to be wanton, vain, and bold?  
Yet Nature in thy face sits so demure,  
That modesty becomes thee better sure.   

What though thou peradventure, mayst despence,  
Thy state's so great, with any small offence?  
Yet do not so offend, though not for fear,  
Yet for the love thou dost to virtue bear:  
For virtue in thy breast now seen to bloom  
Will foretell friuts of fame in time to come.   

Yea what although thy wealth were of that worth  
That it could yield thee all delights on earth?  
Yet wisdom would advise thee to take heed,  
For moderations sake, not to exceed:  
For to be moderate will grace thee more,  
In this thy youth, than all thy earthly store:  
And in thy pleasures yield thee that content  
Which gross excess could never taste of in't.   

Besides excess in any thing's unfit,  
Though, otherwise, men do the thing admit:  
Then what mayst thou expect shall be thy gain,  
If thou exceedst in any thing is vain?  
As, for the most part, all the pleasures here  
Are, as abused, hows'ever they appear:  
How much so ever they men's tastes delight,  
How beautiful so ever to men's sight,  
Or what content so ever they pretend,  
They are both vain, and failing in the end.   

This is most true; though youth may answer no;  
But ask old age and it will say 'tis so,  
Well grounded age, whose horry head is fraught  
With much experience many years have taught.   

And therefore surely mine own self, 'tis meet,  
Though youthful pleasures for a time be sweet,  
That thou dost always labour to foresee,  
What may the issue of thy pleasures be.  
That when the pleasures of thy youth be past,  
Repentance brings not sorrow at the last,  
And makes thee in thy age confess this truth,  
Most idle are the fond delights of youth.    

Passion.  

BUt must I be thus heedful, thus precise?  
Thus in my youth set age before my eyes?  
And through that pale-faced object thus be brought?  
To spend my youthful days in careful thought?  
As if my years no pleasure were allowed,  
Or that my Fate were shadowed by a cloud,  
From whence my fortunes most obscure became,  
And I borne only to bewail the same.   

Is this my woeful bondage? surely no,  
I may take greater liberty than so;  
Youth may be youthful, 'tis in reason fit,  
Both Law and Nature doth give way to it:  
Then wherefore should I thus myself debar  
Those youthful pleasures thus admitted are?  
Be Metamorphized thus, in youth turn old,  
In heat of Nature, dry, and dull, and cold?   

Besides example the contrary teacheth,  
And through the world the practice of it preacheth:  
Youth doth enjoy delights in greatest measure,  
And is besides most capable of pleasure:  
And through the fitness of its nature known,  
Delights in youth are to a custom grown;  
Which custom is become the only praise  
Of youthful years, in these our wanton days.   

And therefore he that keeps himself retired,  
And shuns those merriments of youth desired,  
The world accounts him but a homebred scrub,  
One crept out of Diogenes his tub:  
Or one whose ingenuity is small,  
His wit as little, breeding none at all;  
And thereupon doth hold him in such scorn  
As if that he were such a Monster borne  
As were to nursing nature a disgrace,  
And to the world a blemish in his place.   

This is the censure which the world doth give  
Of youth which most disconsolately live,  
As, knowing their defects, to hide the same,  
They keep themselves from company for shame.   

Now were it wisdom in me do you think,  
Whiles I may safely float a loft, to sink?  
Whiles I may swim in pleasure and in joy,  
To drown myself in sorrow and annoy?  
No, doubtless, this were vain in me indeed,  
To take such thought in youth were more than need:  
To vex myself I need not go about,  
For sorrows will come fast enough without,  
I in my way shall meet with grief and woe,  
Although I seek not for them as I go.   

Besides 'tis certain, if I live till age,  
I then must change my tire upon the stage,  
And act the part of sorrow, in despite  
Of all my former pleasure and delight.   

'tis thus dear self, what answer dost thou make?  
I now, or never must my pleasure take:  
Resolve me therefore, make the meaning plain,  
Shall I abandon all delights as vain?  
Shall I no more be raveshed with delight  
In courting beauty dressed in red, and white?  
Must I forsake all recreations past,  
My hawks, my hounds, my music, and the rest?  
And, which is most, unto the pleasant crew  
Of my companions must I say adive?  
eat all the sweet society of men,  
Hannting with beasts, some solitary den:  
And, like a careful object of despair,  
In stead of scarlet, clod myself in hair?   

What sayst thou? tell me, must I? mine own heart,  
Become thus changed thus altered in each part?  
Me thinks I feel thee troubled in my breast,  
As if these motions did disturb thy rest;  
And hear thee sounding in my listening ear,  
What need I thus consume myself with care,  
And lose all pleasure and content of mind  
By curbing my affections in this kind?  
Old winter may be sare, and weeping seen,  
But let the Spring delightful be and green:  
So grey heads may from gravity have grace;  
But pleasant smiles adorn a youthful face.   

What though in age, if I attain to it,  
I must be grave, I must be merry yet?  
There is a time for mourning, and for laughter,  
Mirth now befits, and mourning best hereafter.   

Nor need I, living, as men dying may,  
Farewell to all the world's contentments say,  
No this were cruel, wonderful amiss,  
To put my life to such a death as this.  
And therefore let not these conceits disquiet thee,  
Mine own dear heart, I will not thus affright thee,  
Not thus with night conclude thy day at noon,  
Alas, not yet, 'tis yet by odds to soon:  
No, thou shalt have dominion in me still,  
My freedom's greatest when thou hast thy will.   

And you those pleasures, which are my delight,  
I will not cut off our acquaintance quite,  
Nor of your comforts make too much delay,  
But take my pleasure in you whiles I may.   

Nor shall you my companions be forsaken,  
With whom I have so often pleasure taken,  
I will not so your company refrain,  
But that we may be merry once again:  
For though some earthworm, which hath neither brain,  
Nor part of man, accounts our meetings vain,  
Yet, for the most part, all men that have spirit,  
Or are of any breeding, wit, or merit,  
Do often our society frequent,  
And therein take much pleasure and content.   

And is not this a fitting practice then  
Which is in such great estimate with men?  
Yes, out of question, my Companions dear,  
There is no greater comfort for us here,  
No race more pleasant underneath the Sun  
Then this for youth, especially, to run.    

Discretion in Youth.  

Frail flesh what meanest thou, why art in this passion?  
How art become deluded in this fashion?  
But wherefore should I question in this kind  
When 'tis thy nature to be thus inclined?  
Yea, mine own flesh, I know thy nature's such  
As doth delight in wanton pleasure much:  
Thy fond affections now are in their pride,  
And sense most striving to be satisfied.   

Besides, the world's example I confess,  
Is in this kind predominate no less:  
Which forces in rebellion joined, what Daw  
Is sound of force to keep such foes in awe?  
What Conquest more unlikely to be had?  
What combat more disconsolate and sad?  
Then striving to such ememies subvert  
As are most near and dear unto the heart?   

And thou dear self, whom I would not delude,  
To gain a kingdom, though the way were showed:  
Whats'ever in thee nature would excuse;  
Or custom would occasion thee to use,  
I tell thee, if thou wilt not go aside,  
Then must not sense, but reason be thy guide:  
And reason will direct thee in thy way,  
And call thee back when sense would go astray:  
And clossely whisper, Nature got a stain,  
And ever since became corrupt and vain.   

That howsoever nature's face be clear,  
And may be thought the same it doth appear:  
Yet nature inwardly is much defiled,  
Proved an imperfect, or abortive child,  
Or to speak truly, if we so may constur,  
Is from a perfect creature turned a monster;  
Ever producing those effects in men  
Which once by nature never could have been.  
And therefore if thou dost sit still or idle  
Thou dost let sense or nature have the bridle,  
No doubt but they will carry thee with force,  
Will hurry thy affections out of course,  
And proffer thee a thousand pleasures; such,  
Like Sodom's fruit, as vanish with a touch;  
Or being tasted, like the Bee, doth bring,  
After the honey, a tormenting sting.   

These are the bitter, sweet contentments, found  
Which, for the most part, Nature doth propound,  
To such as do affect it best of all,  
Sweet to the taste, but in the stomach gall.   

See then, dear self, what Nature is indeed,  
That of thy nature so thou mayst take heed:  
It once was pure, but now 'tis nothing such;  
It hath some honey, but more gall by much.   

Now if thou hast the wisdom, as 'tis meet,  
To leave the bitter, and receive the sweet,  
To taste the honey, and the sting avoid;  
To take those pleasures which may be enjoyed,  
And leave the other which forbidden be,  
Then happy art thou in a high degree.   

But, mine own heart, this is a work of wonder,  
The sweet and sour are hard to put asunder,  
There must much force and violence be shown  
To part those have so long together grown:  
Thy nature will be what it hath been still,  
Unless thou dost rebellion in it kill,  
And conquer those affections in thy mind,  
To which by nature thou art most inclined,  
And so thyself within thyself subdue,  
Which is as hard as making of thee new.   

Oh victory of victories the bliss!  
All conquests else are nothing unto this:  
To win a City, overcome in field,  
Force armies of thy enemies to yield,  
To subdue Nations, gain a triple Crown,  
Yea win the world and all the world's renown,  
Alas 'tis small, 'tis vain, 'tis fading, tush,  
'tis, in respect of this, not worth a rush.   

This may seem harsh unto thee, I confess,  
Now in thy Youth, as 'tis indeed no less:  
Now when in Nature thou shouldst most delight,  
Thus against nature to contend and fight:   

But this must now thy combat be and care,  
If thou hereafter will't the Garland wear,  
If thou wilt be a valiant Champion held,  
Thou now must make these enemies to yield,  
Now in thy strength these foes of thine subdue,  
Which will more courage in thy weakness show:  
Then arm thyself, resolve to see it done  
Now in thy youth, 'tis not a whit too soon.   

What though the world account this wisdom vain?  
And its young foundlings hold it in disdain,  
Because it tendeth only to debar  
The world those joys its chief contentments are?  
Yet thou must know the world doth err in this,  
And sense is subject to conceive amiss,  
And therefore thou must not thyself refer  
Unto their censure if thou wilt not err.   

The world's fond minions may deride thy ways,  
What though they do? their scandal is thy praise,  
And unto good and wise men will declare  
Thy sober carriage, and thy Christian care,  
Who, rather that thou wouldst pass bounds or measure,  
Wouldst thus expose thyself to their displeasure.   

Besides, how so'ver senseless youths conclude  
To love that best which doth them most delude,  
To prize those pleasures at the highest rate  
Which soon both consumes them, end their state:  
Yet, for the most part, such as flourish most,  
And of their folly makes the greatest boast,  
(So long as nature gives their body's force,  
And Fortune means to follow on their course)  
These, finding in them natures force decaying,  
Or Fortune failing, or, at least, delaying,  
These men, of all, become most held in scorn,  
As men deboyst, or out of fashion worn:  
Men point at them, and in derision hiss,  
Is all their state, and pleasure come to this?  
These are the fruits good-fellowship affords:  
With other bitter and disdainful words.   

See then dear self, the issue of excess,  
That in thyself thou mayst the same express,  
That thou hereafter beest not forced to grant,  
Most vainly did I wast, what now I want:  
Unhappy man, I counted counsel vain,  
But now my pride's requited with disdain:  
My dearest friends did sorrow for my part,  
But now myself do justly feel the smart:  
Thus, mine own heart, it often comes about,  
With headstrong youth it falls thus hardly out.   

Then, though the idle censure of our days,  
To youth most wanton gives the greatest praise,  
Yet sith thou see'st their pleasures are but vain,  
Whiles men enjoy them whiles they do remain:  
Which out of question, cannot long be had,  
But quickly vanish, and their end is bad:  
What needst thou at thine own condition grudge?  
Or think their vain felicity too much?   

Their pleasures are but shadows of delight,  
Their day but a forerunner of their night,  
Their sun shine doth but signify a storm,  
Their soundest joy but a deceiving charm.  
Then let not these deluding shows betray thee,  
Nor yet the censure of the world dismay thee:  
The proffers of the one are not to trust;  
The scandal of the other is unjust:  
And therefore, surely, neither of them fit  
To be thy guide, though they may teach thee wit.   

Come then, dear self, forsake these shadows mere,  
And let some substance give direction here,  
Let Reason now give answer in thy Youth;  
That is, indeed, an Oracle of Truth:  
That will not wrong thy tender years for gain:  
Nor count thy care of moderation vain:  
But rather tell thee it adorns thee best,  
Thou canst not in a richer tire be dressed:  
Nor for thy Young and tender age more meet:  
For moderation is a virtue sweet,  
Wherein doth fully lie confined and penned  
All the rich treasures of allowed content.  
But that which doth in any kind exceed  
Is, doubtless vain, because 'tis more than need.    

Passion.  

GOod and wise counsel, 'tis, indeed, and fit  
For men of age and gravity: but yet  
For me, which am but in my Youth, and weak,  
How can I do, what others can but speak?  
Thus of my freedom to become debarred,  
Which is a task for older men too hard.  
Severest Stoics, Passion most refraining,  
Cato and Plato, pleasures most restraining,  
These in their youth were youthful, though, grown old  
These, out of envy, must have youth controlled.  
And should I seek (as very few have done)  
To Canonize myself a Saint so soon,  
I should be fitter, as it doth appear,  
By ten degrees, to live in heaven, than here.   

Here men are men, and must be so inclined,  
Or else they do degenerate from kind:  
And, if I mean to build upon this frame,  
I must conform myself unto the same:  
I must not sadly sit alone and sleep,  
When other Youth do pleasant revels keep.   

Besides, now Nature doth most sweetly move,  
With most delight, to be beloved, and love;  
Affection now is powerful in my breast,  
It sets before me undetermined rest;  
Shows me a creature in whose face doth shine  
Most rare perfections, moral, and Divine:  
And will not leave me till I give consent  
To gain this object of such deep content.   

And shall I go about to quench this flame,  
To dash these fortunes ere I taste the same?  
And lose this Price, this infinite of treasure,  
By being sad, which might be gained by pleasure?   

Or shall I be so ignorantly wise,  
My love, with shows of hatred to disguise?  
And what I most desire, think best to gain  
By foolish feigned tokens of disdain:  
And thereupon, as with despair possessed,  
Refuse all means that proffer my request:  
As if my fortunes warranted the same,  
But I refuse, as one deboyst, for shame?  
Or when that I with merriment should woo,  
Shall I then sigh, and say what shall I do?  
And, when the opportunity is gone,  
Then bind myself to sadly live alone:  
And do my penance for my oversight  
In some dejected silly habit dyte:  
As, if that shows of misery thus great,  
Might move my love to pity my estate:  
Were this a subtle policy in me?  
Were this a practice fit for my degree?  
No, surely no, this were but a conceit,  
These have no substance these are of no weight;  
Such cold weak motions are not like to move  
Within the ardent glowing breast of love.   

But, if I would enjoy my love as won,  
Which in my youth is fittest to be done:  
I must take all occasions that conduce  
Unto that happy, heart contenting, use;  
And prosecute the same without delay,  
In spite of greatest danger in the way.   

I must be free and generous of mind,  
I must be unto youths delights inclined,  
I must be ever jovell with the rest,  
I must be in a complete habit dressed,  
And fit myself to fed my love's desire,  
Not only in my talk, but my attire;  
For whatsoever's inwardly, ye know,  
It is the outside that doth make the show.   

And as affection by the eye is bred,  
So, for the most part, by the eye 'tis fed;  
From whence its flames are ever the more clear,  
The fairer that its object doth appear:  
For this is certain love hath most delight  
On fairest flowers to feed its appetite.  
Then farewell all severity, as cruel,  
Which in my heat of love would quench this fuel,  
And through preciseness, keep me so confined,  
To lose my love, the treasure of my mind.   

I see, and smile to see, my love begin  
To smile on me: may I not smile therein?  
Come then dear love this kindness pleads desert,  
This courtesy encourageth my heart,  
Yea though thou shouldst no other passage open,  
This should alone give maintenance to hope.   

Henceforth I vow my service to thee then;  
And, whatsoever formerly hath been,  
To do thee a pleasure now shall be my care,  
Thy livery for colours I shall wear;  
And look what fashion shall content thee best  
That will I always wear above the rest.   

If my proportion answer not thy will,  
My Tailor shall amend it by his skill:  
Or if that cannot thy displeasure scape,  
Then Protus like, I'll seek to change my shape,  
And be created, or be formed a new,  
If not in substance, yet at least in show;  
Yea, so my love may take delight in me,  
I care not what it cost, nor what I be.   

Some fools may count this my affection vain,  
But I must hold their malice in disdain:  
My dearest friends may work upon my mind,  
In hope to make it otherwise inclined;  
Yea urge, and threat the greatest punishment,  
Yea seek with tears to alter my intent:  
Yet all their water cannot quench this fire,  
But rather serves to kindle more desire,  
For true affection yields so fierce a flame,  
Resistance proves but bellows to the same.    

Discretion.  

OH gross rebellion! how dost thou break out?  
What fearful treach'ry dost thou go about?  
What heinous and intolerable treason  
Against thy Prince and lawful Sovereign reason?   

Dear self, what art thou subject to such error?  
To give most honour to the most inferior?  
To let those parts mere sensitive bear sway,  
Which should to reasons just commands obey.   

Thy reason is deluded by thy sense,  
And so thy judgement proves corrupted thence,  
Which makes thee to think best of that condition  
Which is most pleasing to thy disposition.   

Thus far mere beasts and savage creatures go,  
They are as stayed, and moderate as so:  
They, which of reason wholly are denied,  
And have but only appetite for guide.   

But thou must pass the savage creatures guise,  
Because endued with reasons faculties;  
Or else the beast, without these powers of mind,  
May be preferred before thee in his kind.   

Yea, mine own heart, which dost by reason scan,  
Thou must by reason show thyself a man,  
And always unto reason yield subjection  
Both in thy understanding, and affection.   

Besides, thy youth is subject to obey  
Affection, which in youth will run astray,  
And therefore thou must use the greatest aid  
Now in thy Youth to keep affection stayed.   

But here I do not go about to prove  
That thou in Youth shouldst disallow of love,  
So it be lawful, but the thing admit,  
As in thy Youth most absolutely fit:  
For love in Youth united, proves most pure,  
And is, again, most likely to endure:  
Besides, it serves to settle the desire,  
Which otherwise Youth could not so retire.   

What then? dear self, why this must be thy care  
Not so much when to place thy love, as where;  
Not so much swayed by sensual delight,  
To rule thy reason by thy appetite.   

Thou seest affection fetters like a chain,  
It placed, is hard to be displaced again,  
And, like the seal which leaves the print behind,  
It makes a deep impression in the mind.   

And therefore, doubtless, it behoves thee much  
That in thy Youth thy providence be such,  
That thou hereafter dost not find this true,  
I had my will, but wilfulness I rue:  
Yea, be resolved, mine own tender heart,  
Youth which are wilful often feel this smart.   

And therefore be, dear self, herein discerning,  
Let others sad experience give thee warning:  
Be well advised, stay thy affections, ponder,  
And, for a while, let reason keep them under.   

What, art thou to confirm a league in love?  
Which, once confirmed, must not then remove,  
But, like those laws unchangeable, abides  
Till death, the parties joined thus, divides:  
Art thou to do this weighty thing, indeed?  
Sure it requires the dilligentest heed,  
The deepest meditation, and the best,  
Because the chiefest thing of all the rest:  
For if thy choice be bad, thy joys are done,  
If otherwise, they are but then begun:  
For in thy choice consisteth peace, or strife,  
In it remains the issues of thy life:  
For that whereto thou now thyself dost bind,  
That is the portion thou must look to find.  
'tis so, dear self, then ere this knot be tied,  
Consider well, let counsel be thy guide;  
Such can instruct thee, best directions frame  
As have had just experience of the same.   

But above all these, thou must have respect  
Unto the way thy Parents do direct,  
For their consent, and blessing in this thing  
Doth, with their own, God's blessing also bring:  
And where the Parents fit consent is missing,  
There, for the most part, God affords no blessing.  
This is a rule in general most fit,  
And thou in duty must acknowledge it.   

But yet there are some Parents in this kind,  
Which are so much unto the earth inclined,  
That, if their children will not have their blame,  
They must, like them, be married to the same;  
For earth, and earthly things is all their aim.  
Those are the only heritage they claim:  
Without the least regard of what is fit,  
Either in virtue, breeding, shape, or wit.   

Now such as these, which only do belay  
To, basely, mould their children up in clay,  
And think them then in heaven, when they, poor souls  
In earth possessed, lie scrambling, like moules.  
Such men as these must not be too unkind  
Although their children bear a better mind.   

Nor are their children to be blamed, although  
They, stead of duty, do their wisdom show,  
And rather follow reason for their guide,  
Than duty, which would lead them thus aside:  
This freedom may in modesty be used,  
And, upon such necessity excused.   

But, my dear self, make thou not this a snare,  
Upon this freedom, cast not off all care;  
But to thy parents willingly incline,  
So far as reason doth with duty join.   

But above all things aimed at in thy choice,  
Let virtue please thee, make thee most rejoice,  
For virtue herein must be valued higher,  
Than either Parents, or thine own desire.   

Parents are to be reverenced, as due;  
Riches may be respected too, 'tis true:  
Good breeding's to be honoured in election:  
And beauty seemeth to command affection.  
Yet beauty, riches, breeding, or good birth,  
All, without virtue, are but little worth.  
And though these outward things cannot be had,  
If virtue may, the choice cannot be bad.   

Besides, if in thy choice thou hast the grace  
To aim at virtue in the chiefest place,  
Then needst thou use no apish imitation  
In thy attire, by following the fashion:  
Devising fond to new form each part:  
As if thy skill exceed Nature's art.   

No, these are fruitless, and accounted vain  
Within that breast where virtue doth remain;  
And rather serves thy weakness to discover,  
Then any way delight a virtuous Lover.   

To be thus fond or vain in this condition,  
Doth but engender, or beget suspicion,  
Because immodesty in the attire  
Doth note immoderation in desire,  
Imports a want of wit, and doth impart  
A shrewd presumption of a wanton heart:  
That all such fondness, or as vain expense,  
Are lost, where virtue hath its residence;  
For virtue stoups to no such baits as they,  
But soars a pitch is far above such prey.  
Like as the precious Diamond, which but  
By Diamond, or nothing, can be cut.  
So love, in virtue's breast, will take no print  
But only that which virtue doth indent.  
That virtue is the only way to woo,  
And eke to win, where virtue hath to do.   

Let virtue then be first thine own, and sure  
Thou shalt prevail, where vertuen doth endure:  
For like to like, most willingly incline;  
And virtues met, most readily do join:  
Which joined, what tongue is able to express  
The joy such virtuous bosoms do possess:   

No change can turn their honey into gall,  
Because that vertuen makes good use of all;  
Resembling much, though in a lower kind,  
The heavenly highest marriage of the mind.    

Passion.  

What strange harsh strictness is here urged still?  
As if that Love could be confined at will:  
My love is settled, where I hope to find  
Those virtues which are pleasing to my mind.   

Shall Parents then, whose sight is not so clear  
To see the Truth before it doth appear,  
Condemn my choice, as wonderful to blame,  
Before they know the trial of the same?  
Dear friends, I know you wish me not amiss:  
But you may err as well as I in this.  
In this my choice may blessings hidden lie,  
Which deepest insight cannot yet descry.  
And that same choice which you account the best,  
May prove, perhaps, the worst of all the rest:  
For, whatsoever the appearance showeth,  
It 'tis the trial manifests the truth.   

Besides, what reason can that choice admit  
Where love doth want, though otherwise most fit?  
For my part nothing ever shall me move  
To join in marriage, where I cannot love.   

Dear Parents than remain content I pray,  
And unto this my choice in love give way,  
Let not supposed dangers make you dread,  
I trust your fears are greater than they need,   

But why do I thus vainly spend my wind  
To invocate my parents in this kind?  
When as I see, they will not give consent,  
But are against me obstinately bend.   

Is this their love to answer my request?  
Or else their care to keep my body chaste?  
Must I my deep affection fixed remove,  
Or lose my portion, with my Parent's love?  
Unhappy creature, cruel is my fate,  
Most comfortless, most desperate my state:  
What sorrows are sufficient to declare  
The destiny that falls unto my share?   

But what will sorrow ease me of this woe?  
Or be a means to change my fortunes? no,  
To add, unto my sad condition, grief  
Can not in any kind afford relief,  
But rather serves to aggravate the smart,  
Which hath already seized upon my heart.  
Then farewell care and sorrow in this case:  
I will seek merry company for ease,  
I will unto some Tavern now repair,  
And seek for ease of Melancholy there:  
For there no doubt, I shall occasion find  
To drive these cares and sorrowes-from my mind:  
Yea take some merry humour on me, rather  
Than fond prove dejected altogether.   The Humorist. 
Come then, well met, mine one Companion, stay,  
Thy company will drive all dumps away:  
My humour's crossed; but come, that seat is thine,  
By this good rogue mine Host: here's excellent wine.  His Companion. 
Believe me sir, I cannot stay, for haste  
Doth call me hence; and yet at your request,  
I'll taste your wine, because it gives delight.  Hu. 
Well, do, and tell me if it be not right.  Co. 
I marry sir, believe me this is he,  
You have some judgement now indeed, I see.  Hu. 
I saith 'tis good, but pry thee sit thee still,  
And taste it well, and tell me then thy skill:  
Here's to thee once again, and by this bowl,  
Unto a friend of thine, a dainty soul:  
And this same swad mine Host shall pledged I swear.  Co. 
Why come sir then, protest I do not care,  
I'll stay a while: and here's this cup of wine  
To you mine Host, and to a friend of mine,  The Host. 
To me good sir? I thank you for your love,  
And I shall pledge you ere I do remove.  
And yet you Gallants, shall I tell you plain?  
This sack, did so intoxicate my brain  
The other night, it made its sinews crack:  
And yet some say it doth assist the back.  
But I can fetch what shall its fury choke;  
I have a pipe of the most precious smoke  
All Europe yields: And sir, my service now  
In this same cup I represent to you.  Hu. 
To me, thou monster and true Cerberus breed,  
Why here's a dainty damned rogue indeed:  
Well thouart a beagle for the chase, no doubt,  
And, were I at a loss, couldst find it out.  
Now hark, I prithee, 'twere a pretty jest,  
To fox this whoreson horny-headed beast,  
And call my Hostess; for I see the elf  
Could gladly make a cookcold of himself.  Co. 
Good faith it seems he cared not for a strain,  
Provided with a pox, it brought in gain:  
But hang't, me thought as I this Hosts viewed,  
She looked as if she had been lately stewed.  Hu. 
Oh out upon her hackney whore, damnation,  
Her breath is fit to breed the Visitation,  
I'll see her damned ere I. But now I think,  
By happy fortune on't, before I drink,  
I'll drink a health, and with my truest heart,  
Even from the very middle of this quart,  
Unto a friend a favourite of mine,  
So sweet a creature, beautiful, divine.  
No woman living with more virtues graced,  
So courteous, kind, so constant, and too chaste:  
And, by this light sir, prithee let me cravethee,  
Thou shalt receive this honoured health, He have thee:  
Here's to thee, with my cap upon the ground:  
Ah, this same licker keeps my inwards sound:  
Come drawer quick, come empty this same quart.  
And, Dick, some smoke, come forth thou knave, where art?  Ho. 
Here sir, oh pardon, I was busied much;  
But here's a pipe this Land hath little such.  Hu. 
This Land, thou prat'st, thou mightst have gone to Rome  
And fetch't it since; but Dick let's taste it come.  
Ah, dicke my villain, this is of the prime,  
I'll take thy word, my boy, another time.  Co. 
Believe me sir, this smoke is not to lack,  Hu. 
No faith, 'tis good, but here's thy pint of sack,  
By Phoebus' light, thou shalt not say me no,  
Come prithee take't and pledge this health, why so:  
This cookcold, cosset, I should say, my dick  
Shall have it too: 'tis well sir, drawer quick,  
Another quart, this smoke requires some licker:  
Here dicke, here's that will make thy brains the quicker,  
'tis all thine own, yea every drop I swear.  Ho. 
Who I sir? no, beseech you now forbear,  
What will you make me lose my wits indeed?  Hu. 
Fool, lose thy wits? 'tis true, thou hast much need  
To stand at this, when ten times this a day  
Is but thy diet; come turned of, I say,  
Protest thou shalt, whatsoever thou dost reply.  Ho. 
Protest I cannot sir: and yet I'll try.  Hu. 
See here, I pray, this Porpus could not drink,  
And yet had this same pint been three, I think,  
His throat would hardly have been satisfied:  
But drawer quick, we'll have these wants supplied.  
But sirrah change this cup, I'll no more take  
Such bowls as these, they make my brains to ache.  Co. 
Sir, you and I are herein well agreed,  
For I am weary of these bowls indeed:  
But if it please you, and you mean to stay,  
Let's rest a while, or spend some time in play.  Hu. 
Content, mine Host hast thou a pair of dice?  
To try a chance in friendship is no vice:  
And yet I have no mind unto these bones,  
They did so anger, and delude me once.  Co. 
Good faith, sir, now I think upon the same,  
The other day, by chance, I saw a game  
Upon the cards, which did delight me more  
Than any game I ever saw before,  
It was, me thought, so pretty a conceit:  
But what you please, the matter's of no weight.  Hu. 
At cards, or dice, I never purchased gain,  
But cards are counted basest of the twain:  
And therefore whither I do win, or lose  
I make the dice the instruments I choose,  Ho. 
Here sir, here's dice; and yet I should be loath,  
But that I know your patient natures both.  Co. 
Come, fear not man, there shall no anger be,  
'tis not these dice shall make us disagree:  
And yet me thinks they prettily begin;  
But, tush, 'tis not for both at once to win.  Ho. 
Good faith, sir, I commend your resolution,  
The dice, no doubt, will make you restitution:  
I see 'tis not for love of gain you play,  
But rather so to drive the time away.  Co. 
Mine Host 'tis true, for my part, I protest,  
That let the dice run which way they think best.  Hu. 
Fore heavens, I think, 'tis I must take the care  
To stay the dice, unless they ran more square:  
Besides, you scramble up the dice so fast,  
You will not give me leave to see my cast:  
I think you need not shadow what is thrown,  
My chance is not so lucky when 'tis known:  
Well, sure the dice are false, or else in chanted,  
Or, I that throw them by some witch am haunted;  
Or else they could not prove so much accursed,  
That every chance should prove thus at the worst.  Ho. 
Have patience, Master, rest content a while;  
The dice will turn, and frowning fortune smile:  
Expect the best, and let your anger fall,  
The end, I trust, will make a means for all.  Hu. 
The end? thou ass, hast thou so little wit  
To think these dealings, or these dice are fit?  
I'll burn them if they do no better run,  
And then for swear such gamesters, and have done.  Co. 
Such gamesters, sir, such words as those I scorn,  
I wronged you not an ace I may be sworn;  
And herein if you do suppose I lie,  
'tis you that do the wrong, sir, and not I:  
I thought you had been temperate before,  
But since you say so much I'll play no more.  Hu. 
What, have you got my money in this way,  
And now will offer not to hold me play?  Co. 
Fore heavens I care not, use your greatest skill,  
You shall not make me play against my will.  Ho. 
In wrath, what mean you Gentlemen I pray?  
Such old acquaintance and fall out at play?  
You shall not Gallants, come be patient now;  
I'll spend my quart of Sack to see you throw:  
Run Drawer, Masters it doth vex my heart  
That friends from my house should in anger part:  
Here Noble sir, this quart I do present  
Upon condition you shall be content.  Hu. 
Come Richard come, thy thetoricke is such,  
To yield to thee, who living can think much?  
Well sir, when you and I shall meet again;  
You'll give me leave to try my fortunes then?  Co. 
Sir, heavens forbid that I should say you nay,  
Or seek to do you any wrong at play.  Hu. 
So then, here sir: but, ere we do begin,  
Whose love shall we commemorate herein?  
Protest a special friends of thine and mine,  
That Ladies which would have us stay and dine:  
And sir, you'll pledge this health I dare be bold.  Co. 
I'll try my brains, if that my guts will hold,  
But that I'll pledge that heavenly creature sure,  
What punishment soever I endure.  Hu. 
Ah, how this Nectar vivifies my heart,  
And adds fresh courage unto every part.  
Now what man underneath the Coops of Heaven  
Will answer me upon occasion given?  
Mars, here I stand, who dares except at this?  
But sir, before my heart, you do amiss,  
You did not drink so much as I, I see.  Co. 
Sir, but I did though; you mistaken be.  Hu. 
Who, I mistaken? by the devil no:  
Come take your due, you shall not gull me so.  Co. 
I did you right, and I'll not be your gull.  Hu. 
'tis false, protest, you did not drink't so full.  Co. 
Protest 'tis false, whatsoever you do reply.  Hu. 
Why then, it seems, you will be sworn I lie?  
What lie? thou slave, give me the lie? away.  Co. 
What you will stab, yes stab y'had best; but stay  Ho. 
Oh, heavens my masters, what d'ye mean? in spite?  
Beseech you be content, what friends & fight?  
Regard your reputations more, forbear,  
I'll part you, come, you shall not fight I swear.  Hu. 
Who, thou? thou ass, thou slave, away stand by;  
I'll be revenged, a slave, give me the lie?  
'Sdeath, is he gone? what art thou such an ass,  
Or such a knave to let the cheater pass?  
If that I live I'll be revenged by hell:  
The mean time this shall teach me wit: farewell.  Ho. 
What, are you angry, and will so begun?  
You have small reason for the same, or none.  
But there's a reckoning left for you to pay,  
Before you part, or else your horse shall stay;  
I mean not to be thus abused, my friend,  
And lose my reckoning by you in the end:  
I took you to be better ruled: and so  
I do intend to make you ere you go.   

Discretion.  

SEe here, dear self, yea I beseech thee see  
What the hard haps of wilful children be;  
Who will not parents wholesome rules obey,  
How justly heavens do suffer them to stray,  
And leave them to the force of disposition  
Who did refuse most gentle admonition:  
As if affection's laws were better far  
Than either reasons rules, or duties are.   

But mine own heart, thou must not thus conclude,  
Such grounds are false, and propositions rude:  
For duties fruit is blessedness ensuing:  
But disobedience foretelleth death, or ruin;  
Ruin, indeed, the worst we can relate,  
As of all goodness, body, and estate:  
As doth appear by the precedent part,  
Where buitish Passion is described by art.   

Whose rude description such abuse declares  
As is offensive to all modest ears:  
Such impudence, as I, dear self, indeed,  
Both shake to write, and am ashamed to read.   

And therefore never should have been indented,  
To foul my pen; nor yet by me invented,  
But that, dear self, my only purpose here  
In making of these Passions thus appear,  
Is thereby to detain thee from the same,  
Which, thus fore-seen, thou mayst forbear for shame.   

Lest, failing in these Passions thus made known,  
Thine own hand writing be against thee shown:  
Which would be shame as great as the abuse,  
And serve to leave thee without all excuse.  
In which respect, the chastest ear, I hope,  
Will both excuse my purpose, and my scope.   

Know then, dear self, thou dost thyself expose  
Both to the sight, and censure of thy foes:  
Thou therefore now must be exceeding wary  
That in this nature thou dost not miscarry:  
For if thou dost, the eyes of other men,  
Will be thy cruel overseers then.   

But hast thou but that measure of Discretion  
So wisely to unmask this drunken Passion,  
As to discern it as it is indeed,  
With sober eyes, sevillity and heed,  
It will appear so odious in thy sight,  
So most inhuman, such a monster right,  
That even the very shape of it, I trust,  
Will make thee to abhor it as unjust:  
To loath and shun it as thou dost the devil;  
Because, like him, 'tis absolutely evil.   

Besides, dear self, the ruin, shame and care,  
Which are the fruits that drunkenness doth bear;  
May justly move thee to detest the thing  
Which in conclusion, doth confusion bring.   

First, it confounds the Legacy of fate,  
Consumes and undoes men in their estate;  
Moves them to venture their possessions large,  
And drink down all remembrance of the charge:  
Then hazard all their moveables to sink,  
Or suffer Shipwreck in a Sea of drink:  
And heedless creatures, when thus run ashore,  
Remain deboyst, dejected men, and poor.   

Next it consumes the credit and good name,  
Brings a reproach full scandal on the same.  
Disgraceth birth, good breeding, learning, wit;  
Or whatsoever otherwise is fit.   

Besides, as 'tis an enemy to wealth,  
So, in the body it decays the health,  
Confounds the senses, and corrupts the breath,  
Brings foul diseases, and untimely death.   

But lastly, that which most deludes the heart,  
It doth confound the understanding part,  
Benumbs the powers and faculties of mind,  
Which, in this strange infatuated kind,  
Remain as dead; and man becomes a beast,  
Or worse, or in a worse estate at least.   

God, of all creatures, hath made man the best;  
Man makes himself the worst of all the rest.  
God hath given man abilities Divine:  
Man doth become more senseless than the swine:  
God in the forming man hath perfect been:  
Man will undo what God hath done therein.  
For what is man, thus stupefied in brain,  
But a mere lump of senseless Earth again?  
Dear self, observe this issues from excess,  
These are th'effects of savage drunkenness.   

But here I go not any way about  
To bring thy sober liberty in doubt,  
All friendly meetings and society  
With such as have a care of piety,  
But hold it fit, and of it do approve  
As a great means to breed good will and love:  
And sure it may (though by abuse attended)  
In its own nature, justly be commended.   

But here lies that which doth undo us still,  
That which, dear self, converts our good to ill;  
God in his mercy having deigned to give us  
Innumerable good things to relieve us;  
We out of weakness, either quite refuse them,  
Or in the using of them quite abuse them:  
Which most preposterous custom to suppress,  
Let love and friendship be without excess.    

Passion in Age.  

FOnd man what meant I? what was in my mind?  
When I was Youthful how was I inclined?  
I than was heedless, ignorant, and nice,  
And counted care of worldly gain a vice:  
Youths chief contentments, vain delights & pleasure  
Were all I sought for, they were then my treasure.  
I held them muck worms, and in much disdain,  
That did not value pleasure above gain:  
I felt no sorrow then for what I spent,  
Because it purchased that which gave content.   

But now I see my error in the same,  
How foolish I was, and how far to blame,  
How wanton pleasure did delude my mind,  
And wrought upon my weakness in this kind.   

How many opportunities most fit,  
Which both advice, and reason did admit,  
Of gain or profit did I then neglect,  
Without all care in any such respect?   

This was my folly, and is now my cross,  
Because I now have feeling of my loss,  
And vain expense: But were I young again  
I would, I think, not be so mad, or vain,  
I would not be so idle in expense  
To feed mere fancy or unbridled sense:  
Nor should the mirth where mad companions meet,  
Nor all the Sirens sugared charms as sweet,  
Nor whatsoever pleasure else as bad,  
Yield me delight, where gain might not be had.   

For gain is that which is to be regarded:  
Alas, how is the lavish fool rewarded?  
That takes most pains to waste away his state,  
That buys his pleasures at the dearest rate,  
And spends his means to purchase friends of those  
Which, when his means is spent, become his foes;  
And flout and jeer him in derision base,  
Behind his back, if not before his face:  
Besides the want this novice falls into,  
Which is the greatest misery or woe.   

This is the height of youthful vanities,  
Though, in my youth, I thought it otherwise:  
How was my tender reason then in thrall?  
But, what is past I cannot now recall.   

Well, let that pass; the time that is behind,  
I will, I hope, be of another mind,  
'tis time to make use of the time remains,  
Come then invention, let us beat our brains  
What stretching gainful stratagems are best?  
Direct me, for it is no time to rest;  
Nor must I stand at scruples in the way,  
Nor yet regard what idle people say.   

Come, I have money, that shall out to use,  
What though some count that practice an abuse?  
They are mistaken sure, or they be such  
As do, through want, forbear to do as much;  
For I account him more precise than fit  
That makes a doubt, of that which Laws admit;  
But let them herein doubt that will, for me,  
If I make any, all my doubt shall be,  
Lest my security should doubtful prove,  
I need in this no other scruple move.   

But to be sure, I know a piece of land  
Which will be sold, that's in a spend thrifts hand,  
If I had that in pawn I were secure,  
For that is such a pawn as will endure:  
How shall I take this novice in a snare?  
But, tush, my gold will tempt him there's no fear:  
For though he cannot prise it as he ought,  
Yet he, I know, to such a straight is brought  
That he must needs be bold with such as lend,  
And, at his need now, if I stand his friend,  
And seek to him, till I assured be  
His land is sure, he then shall seek to me.   

But this suffice not, I have money more,  
And every quarter will increase my store.  
Now some, I see, do mightily increase  
By making happy ventures on the Seas;  
Whose profit, I confess, I do approve,  
But yet their venture, that I do not love:  
I am not to my wealth soill inclined,  
To trust it to the mercy of the wind,  
I like not that. But rather all my drift  
(As that, some say, 's a special way of thrift)  
Is at some Manor, Lordship, or to buy  
Some office where much benefit doth lie;  
Now such a purchase were to some effect,  
Would both increase my wealth, and gain respect.   

But if I purpose such a thing, indeed,  
I must use great, and circumspectest heed  
To walk a sparing and a saving way  
That so I may provide for such a day.   

The mean time then, the money comes to me  
Shall, in the mean time, out engendering be:  
Such things, whats'ever, as I have to sell,  
I mean to keep, or put them off full well:  
Yea though my garner, or my barns be fired,  
With the increase my fruitful crops do yield,  
Before I'll sell it at an under rate,  
That way to make away with my estate;  
I'll thrash my corn, and hide it in the ground,  
(Whereas it shall not readily be sound)  
And buy the corn I spend, as a device  
To help to raise and aggravate the price,  
Ere I'll be bound to feed the stinking poor  
At such a reckoning with my precious store.   

Nor need I, for my corn, ere long, no doubt,  
Will bear a price, and then I'll bring it out  
When it is at the height, and, if they will,  
Then let the poor revile, or use their skill,  
'tis not the cry, nor curse of such a vain,  
Or foul mouthed crew shall make me slip my gain.   

Then next, because I'd hasten my intents,  
There is no shift but I must raise my Rents,  
And such as be my Tenants too, must bear  
Those rates and duties, they would make my share:  
What though their charge be great, and times be bad?  
The Rent I could on other men have had,  
And can have yet, and some thing else to drink,  
And therefore I do use them well, I think:  
And they have no just reason to complain:  
But if they do, 'tis labour but in vain,  
For though I take their money, as 'tis fit,  
I am not bound to maintain them for it.   

Besides, I now must spare a little more  
Of what I spent within my house before,  
Two meals a day must now suffice, and such  
As Nature doth require, and not too much.   

I do commend of Wheat, but now, instead,  
Both Rye, and Barley, they will make good Bread,  
Yea good enough for servants: and the poor,  
I trust my dog shall keep them from my door.   

I'll waste no money now to buy new clothes,  
New fashions they are things an old man loathes;  
My old clothes of antiquity can boast,  
And therefore sure to be respected most,   

And, for my body, I'll refuse no pains,  
But toil and labour all day long for gains,  
And when 'tis night, and others rest do take,  
I then will exercise my brain awake,  
And lie and sweetly ponder and devise  
Some gainful exercise against I rise,  
For me, and mine, that by this means I may  
Make benefit of both the night, and day.   

These meditations give me such content,  
I grudge my sleep that would the same prevent.  
Then what shall herein hinder my desire?  
I can imagine no contentment higher:  
And therefore this shall be my highest pitch,  
Only to toil, and study to be rich,  
And this I will endeavour to express:  
Though with my tongue, I do not it confess.   

But if I must, for tender Nature's sake,  
Some further use of Recreation make,  
My Liberary to my view presents  
The sweet fruition of most choice contents:  
There I have certain statute Books at hand,  
Where I may view the Tenours of my Land:  
There I have just Arethmatickes to count  
Unto what sums my usuries amount:  
And eke an Affamerides, which may  
Show me my other comings in each day.   

And there to pleasure me, I may behold  
My bonds, and bills, my silver, and my gold;  
Which Jewels if I should but feel, I think,  
It would refresh me more than meat and drink.    

Discretion in Age.  

Dear self, what art thou all inclined to earth?  
Is nothing else in thy account of worth?  
Or, at the leastwise, nothing else that may  
Here upon earth, be valued with this clay?   

Earth is, indeed, the matter of thy frame,  
And thou must sure, again unto the same;  
For things Created naturally run,  
Into those elements where they begun)  
This cannot be denied: that in this kind  
Thou mayst be something to the earth inclined.   

Yea nearness, and affinity is such,  
As seems by nature to require as much:  
And reason of affection doth admit.  
Where near alliance doth the same beget.   

Besides, a frugal providence in thee  
Doth both with reason and thy years agree:  
All ages, yea and all estates stand need  
To have this careful Providence and heed;  
As that whereon depends, as doth appear,  
Next under God, their only safety here.   

And such as do neglect this duty great,  
And idly spend their time, or their estate,  
They are to be condemned as unjust,  
And no fit Stewards to be put in trust,  
They are to those depend on them a curse,  
But are by odds unto themselves a worse:  
Good men account them base above the rest,  
And God, He doth them most of all detest:  
This is the issue, or the ill effect  
Which still attends this Prodigal neglect.  
Dear self, 'tis so; but let not this excuse,  
Let not this colour of a lawful use  
Of getting goods, or earthly treasure slight,  
Make that thy only practice, and delight,  
And to that gain become so much addicted  
That gain far greater shall become neglected.   

I tell thee wealth is very much, inclined  
Both to seduce and steal away the mind,  
And if thou dost but unto it incline,  
It will possess thee totally in fine,  
And in thy bosom bear such sway, that grace,  
And tender-hearted virtue must give place.   

Which Mammon in thee to this monster grown,  
Thou shalt remain no longer than thine own,  
But live a servile servitude and gross  
Under this Monster, Mammon, earthly dross.   

For as men do of fire, and water say,  
They are good servants when they do obey:  
But if they come to get the upper hand;  
Are cruel Masters where they do command.   

So goods, and care of worldly gain, confined  
Within those limits reason hath enjoined,  
Are very good: but if they do exceed,  
And yet the upper hand, for want of heed,  
They then will grow outrageous, and will play  
The Tyrant in thee, making thee obey:  
Torment thy mind, with endless care oppressed,  
And waste thy body, giving it no rest.   

For wealth, like wine in excellence exceeds,  
If thou canst take no more thereof then need,  
And will afford much comfort and delight,  
But take too much and 'twill confound thee quite,  
Or so besot thy understanding part,  
That it will make thee drunken at the heart.   

For as to add more water to the source,  
Doth make it run but with the greater force:  
Or as to put more fuel to the flame,  
Doth but increase or more enrage the same.   

So fond seeking to allay this fire,  
Or scorching thirst of gain in the desire,  
By adding wealth, to wealth possessed before,  
Doth but increase desire of wealth the more:  
For riches in them, naturally rising,  
Have only power attractive, not sufficing:  
That 'tis not all the wealth thou canst require,  
Can satisfy a covetous desire.   

Nay, know thou mayst in worldly wealth excel,  
As it is feigned of Tantalus in hell,  
Who, though in water stands up to the chin,  
And scorched with thirst, yet cannot drink therein.  
So thou, I say, in worldly wealth may'st swim,  
And yet not have the power to taste, like him,  
One drop of comfort in the same; nay know  
Thou mayst have riches to thy overthrow  
And mere destruction, when thy riches shall  
Become thy joy, thy master, God and all.   

This is, dear self, a certainty indeed,  
Men hungers still that do on riches feed,  
For feeding thus doth appetite beget,  
The more men feed the more they hunger yet,   

Then do not thou endeavour thus to fill  
So foul a monster as will hunger still,  
Or rather be the further to suffice,  
The more it swallows: No, be thou more wise,  
And show thy understanding by thy care,  
Or manly courage to avoid this snare,  
Which for a colour, or excuse pretends  
Thy safety on the use of it depends,   

Besides, dear self, where Avarice takes place,  
It is a deadly enemy to grace:  
It roots out virtue, and is much inclined  
To smother all good motions in the mind:  
It banisheth all pity from the door,  
And is a cruel foe unto the poor:  
It counteth men of charity unwise,  
And such as are religious, too precise,  
And all things underneath the Sun but vain,  
But only such as do afford some gain   

Yea, the presumption of this god is great,  
This Mammon seeketh to usurp the seat  
Of God himself, in that he doth aspire  
To take the chiefest place in man's desire.   

But mine own heart give God the chiefest place,  
For earthly Mammon is a monster base,  
And such as be the servants of that beast  
Their servitude is base above the rest.   

Besides, dear self, thy fading years are such  
As in this, Nature may persuade thee much;  
Thy Age doth plead by arguments full strong  
That thou must leave these earthly things ere long:   

Thou must forsake those Lands thou hast in hold,  
Thy stately buildings, and thy precious gold,  
And stripped of all ere long; thy biding have  
Amongst the dead within the silent grave.   

Thy powers of mind already do decay,  
And Nature begins to take its force away:  
Which being so, as so it is, dear self,  
Why shouldst thou be in love with earthly pelf?  
Which thou so soon art certain to forsake;  
And when 'tis gone, thy reckoning is to make,  
When thou for aid hast greatest use, then shall  
Thy flattering riches flee, and leave thee all.   

This is a truth most certainly concluded,  
Then be not with this fruitless wealth deluded:  
But seek those riches that will never rust,  
Nor ever fail thee, being put in trust;  
Let virtue be the treasure of thy mind,  
Be unto heaven and heavenly things inclined,  
For those are riches which will help at need,  
When as thou hast most use for help indeed,  
Those in the end will stand in thy defence,   

And in the mean time, ere thou dost go hence,  
Will yield thee joy and comfort in thy breast,  
And will besides, become thy wisdom best:  
For virtue will thy wisdom best express,  
And eke thy age it doth require no less,  
Thy years are such as justly do require  
Thou shouldst be heavenly now in thy desire,  
Contemning earth, and earthly things as vain,  
And such, with which thou canst not long remain,  
But must be severed: and the day ensues  
When thou shalt all such comforters refuse,  
As merely fruitless: when one little grain  
Of heavenly grace, or everlasting gain  
Will do more good, and yield thee more content  
Than all the World is able to present.   

Dear self, forsake this earth then in desire,  
Raise thy affections elevate them higher,  
And fix them where they need not thus remove,  
On the Eternal treasures are above:  
That so thy secret conscience may have rest,  
And comfort from those virtues in thy breast:  
And others, which shall see the same (as fit)  
Shall give much honour both to thee, and it:  
And, by thy sage, and good example moved,  
Thy virtues shall in them become beloved;  
And thou become a teacher, as, in truth,  
The aged should in virtue be to Youth.    

Passion.  

HEaven, and things Heavenly, it must be confessed,  
Are above all things infinitely best,  
And so I do account them in my mind;  
And so, I trust, I shall them one day find,  
When I shall stand in need of them at last,  
When all my earthly comforts shall be passed.   

But in the mean time whiles I have my stay  
Here upon earth, where earthly things bear sway,  
And in the world have got so much command  
That worldly wealth hath got the upper hand.  
What madness were it, might you think, in me  
If of this treasure I should careless be?  
Or count the same a thing of little worth,  
Which is the gain accounted of on earth:  
And only such as do enjoy the same  
Are counted men of estimate and fame.   

Alas, what were it for my credit here?  
Though I in gifts of Nature should appear  
Most perfect; adding unto Nature, Art,  
And learning, to illusterate each part?  
Yet were I poor and wanted Riches, tush,  
All my perfections were not worth a rush:  
Nor would within the world's account take place,  
My poverty would give them such disgrace.   

Nay, were I moved in another kind,  
With grace and virtue to adorn my mind,  
To be Religious, zealously affected,  
And unto heaven, and heavenly things addicted.  
Yet were I poor and wanted earthly gain,  
All my Religion would be counted vain,  
And I, with my endeavours, thus should pass  
Under the censure of dissembling ass,  
Or under titles of contempt as much,  
As idle, factious, ignorant, or such.   

But, otherwise, were I of birth most base;  
And of good breeding never knew the place,  
Were I deformed in body, same, or blind;  
And were as much defective in my mind,  
Had neither grace, humanity, nor wit,  
Nor any other faculty were fit:  
But were in speeches; and behaviour rude,  
And in my practice most deboyst and lewd;  
A foe to virtue, and to bosoms chaste  
A tempter sworn, or enemy professed;  
A monster, or as mere a drunken sot  
As ever Bacchus bred, or drunk a pot:  
And unto these did resolution add,  
To make all others that I could, as bad.   

Yet, notwithstanding all this shown, and more,  
Had I but wealth, but earthly riches store,  
The sweet possession of revenues great,  
Which might give honour unto my estate:  
The world it durst not tax me then with blame,  
But rather yield me reverence and fame,  
At least that reputation and respect  
Which worldly wealth, or nothing could effect:  
For greatest riches seek the highest place,  
Aspires to honour, and expels disgrace.   

Besides, example daily makes it clear,  
What freedom 'tis to be a rich man here,  
What privileges wait upon him still  
To feed his fancy, or suffice his will:  
What kind of earthly comfort can he crave,  
That may be had, which here he may not have?   

If honour be the thing he doth desire,  
'tis wealth, or nothing, that must raise him higher:  
For honour doth on worldly wealth depend,  
And as wealth riseth, honour doth ascend:  
Again, as wealth doth fall into decay,  
So, for the most part, honour falls away.   

If worldly pleasures satisfy him best,  
What pleasure can he in his heart request,  
The earth affords, his heart to satisfy,  
Which earthly treasure, gold cannot supply?   

For as the needle draws along the twine,  
So Gold hath earthly pleasures on a line,  
And, for the most part, that way gold doth draw,  
The world's contments follow, as in a we.   

Or if it be the maintenance of right  
When wrong is offered, that he doth delight:  
Or sweet revenge, to satisfy the mind,  
When injury is done in any kind.  
Why there is nothing of the like respect,  
With gold, in working any such effect.   

It makes the witness confident and bold  
To speak his mind, although he be controlled.  
It gives the Lawyer courage in his case,  
It makes him use most necessary pleas,  
And will to childish silence not be put  
So long as gold can keep his case on foot.   

Or, otherwise, (by tender pity moved  
To do that ancient duty, and approved)  
If that a man would Charity extend,  
Would be a help, or comfort to his friend:  
Would aid the simple, fatherless, or poor,  
And give, to such as wanted, of his store;  
Or had a purpose to be understood  
A Benefactor to the common good.   

Yet if he wanted means, unto his mind,  
And had not where withal to be thus kind;  
His purpose would be, to no purpose, lost,  
Because his will, thus by his want was crossed,  
And his good meanings die, with his devotion,  
For want of gold, to give them life and motion.   

Oh gold most precious! what can more be said?  
If virtue thus depends upon thy aid,  
And can not fly, unless thou giv'st it wings,  
But lies, and dies, as well as other things.   

The greatest Monarch never so much swayed  
As to become of all the world obeyed;  
Nor fairest creature, most alluring made,  
Like thee, could ever all the world persuade.  
But thou dost sway a Sceptre in thy hand,  
Which doth the world's whole Monarchy command:  
And, like the Sun, such rays do from thee flow  
As do attract the love of all below.   

Who is so great, or stately to disdain  
To be a suitor for thy precious gain?  
Or who so wise, so holy, or upright  
As truly scorns to yield unto thy might?   

The Noblest and the bravest Spirit quails  
When thy sweet genius, or familiar sails.  
And eke, again, the most deboyst that lives  
Revives his Soul when thou assistance gives.   

Come then dear gold, my hearts content and stay;  
Who will not, if thou dost command, obey?  
Thy powers are so attractive I should feel  
Some motion of them, though my heart were steel,  
As 'tis full hard; but yet not such a flint,  
But that it hath some feeling of thee in't:  
And, if thy greatness might not it disdain,  
I would be more familiar with thee fain:   

For I account thy pleasures far above  
All youthful beauty, or delights of love,  
Or any thing, if any thing abides,  
Of more contentment, in the world besides.    

Discretion.  

But stay, dear self, what art thou all in gold?  
These are extremes; some moderation hold:  
Gold is a stately habit, I confess,  
And is accounted in the world no less.   

But gold, it may be, is not thy attire,  
But gold is in thy bosom thy desire;  
And so, it bearing sway within thy breast,  
Thou art by it, not it by thee possessed.  
And thou become a servant, and enthral  
To that should do thee service most of all:  
Which is, indeed, that misery of mind  
Wherein, men miserable, are most blind.   

But, mine own heart, be thou discerning here,  
And make it known thy understanding's clear,  
And is not dazzled by those golden rays,  
Which do eclipse the brightness of our days.   

I do acknowledge earthly goods a blessing,  
And be they wanting, many things are missing:  
Yet where they are, and do exceed, 'tis plain,  
They are as bad, or dangerous again.   

For where these earthly riches do exceed  
The measure that a sober man doth need,  
They there leave off their nature of content,  
And take the nature of a punishment,  
And, with the endless care of boundless pelf,  
Torments the mind as much as hell itself.   

This is most true, although we sometimes see  
Men seem at ease, that thus tormented be:  
Who like the Salamander in the fire,  
Delight to live thus tortured in desire.   

Besides, although we manifestly find  
Things earthly, pleasing to an earthly mind.  
Yet virtue, that which maketh truly rich,  
That we see, always flies a higher pitch.  
As Heaven, the seat of happiness, we know,  
Is furthest distant from earth's centre low;  
So, doubtless, heaven, and things that heavenly be  
Can worst with earth, and earthly things agree:  
The spacious space between them put is such  
As serves alone to signify as much.   

That too much riches do appear a curse:  
Again, too little is accounted worse:  
These are extremes, and can not be the best,  
Because extremes they can afford no rest.   

What then, dear self? why certainly between  
These two extremes, there still abides a mean,  
Which golden means is of a higher rate  
Then, almost, all men value the estate.   

For what true comfort can there be attained,  
Which with a sweet contentment is not gained?  
Again, what true content can be devised,  
That is not also, in the mean comprised,  
Sure double happy is he that achieves  
The sweet conjunction of these relatives,  
Which meeting are so readily inclined  
To make such heavenly harmony in mind:   

What note more sweet than from the mean ariseth?  
What strain's more full than that which still sufficeth?  
The mean all true contentment doth present;  
And who more happy than the man content?   

Sweet compitancy, how rare do we find  
Thee to the man of a contented mind?  
What rest, what peace, what joy dost thou allow him,  
And with what matchless comfort dost endow him?   

Keep'st him secure and safe in all respects,  
Preservest him from all turbulent effects:  
And full sufficiency dost give him, which  
Is ten times better than to have too much.   

The man a loft, may boast upon the same;  
The man renowned may glory in his fame:  
The man ambitious may seek to climb higher:  
The man envious, to have his desire:  
The rich man may his insultations make,  
And soothe himself for his abundance sake.   

Yet neither high, nor low, nor rich, nor poor,  
Nor any other state on earth hath more  
True rest, true peace, true comfort and content,  
Or sound and solid satisfaction in't,  
Then this contains, than this affords to such  
As rightly do embrace it; nor so much.   

Dear self, then herein set thy heart at rest,  
The mean is it where virtue doth consist;  
That if thou hast sufficience in store,  
'tis madness then to vex thyself for more;  
When adding more to that thou dost possess  
Will make thy comfort, in them both, the less,  
Or rather, in this nature to speak right,  
Will take away the comfort of them quite.   

Besides the toil, the study, and the fear  
In storing up these needless fruits of care,  
Is such, as may in reason well suffice  
To make a Creature rational more wise.   

And for the vulgar credit or applause  
Whereof these worldly riches are the cause,  
If duly weighed and pondered as it ought,  
It will appear not half the thing 'tis thought.   

For what is all the honour, or the praise  
Bestowed on greedy rich men now adays?  
But only outward reverence; and such  
As the bestowers inwardly do grudge,  
Because they know 'tis undeserved: though fear  
Doth make them thus some reverence declare.   

Nay, he that is most earnest to obtain  
These earthly goods, the greediest of gain,  
The fame he aims at, turns into disgrace,  
And his endeavours are accounted base,  
And men do brand him, in the stead of fame,  
With most reproach full titles for the same;  
As cruel, earthworm, Usurper: And more,  
He always is accursed of the poor,  
Who, in their hunger, do for vengeance call  
For him: and such as he that eat up all.   

Besides, the earth he eateth up so fast,  
It threats again to eat up him at last:  
And, in the mean time, earnestly doth groan  
That he should have so much of it alone,  
And do no good with it: which the Creator  
Ordained should be a necessary creature.   

And therefore it, to be revenged, ere long  
Will witness bear how he hath done it wrong:  
When as the Judge, who doth in truth delight,  
Will hear the case, and do the creature right.   

Dear self 'tis so, then set not thou thy love  
On such a friend, as if thou dost, will prove  
Thy greatest foe, and for thy kindness shown,  
Unkindly plead to have thee overthrown.   

But if thou must, as needs thou must indeed,  
Make use of earth, or earthly wealth at need,  
Then labour to employ it in that kind,  
Which by the Author of it was enjoined,  
In doing good, extending of thy store  
To pious uses, and unto the poor;  
And then, unto thy comfort, in the end  
Thy wealth, in earnest, will become thy friend  
And witness for thee, when thy case is tried  
How justly by thee, it hath been employed.   

This is, dear self, the only sweet of all,  
That may in wealth extracted be from gall;  
For worldly riches are a sugared bait  
Wherein lies poison hidden by deceit.   

Then be thou heedful mine own tender heart,  
And in this nature show thou hast some art,  
Who, like a skilful Alchemist and tried,  
Canst hear the silver, from the dross divide.   

Observe that rule, which hath been long forgot,  
To use thy wealth, as if thou used it not:  
That so, if such an accident should be  
As, ere thou diest, should part thy wealth, and thee,  
Thou mayst with patients, free from discontent,  
Restore the Owner what he freely lent:  
Or, at the least, when death, at last shall strike,  
Thou mayst, with joy, do willingly the like.    

Passion.  

MIne own dear heart, why tak'st thou not thy rest?  
Why art thou thus disquieted in my breast?  
As if I prized this world at such a rate  
That I were careless of my future state:   

No, fear it not, it is not so, I trust,  
For I desire the portion of the Just,  
And have a hope, as well as a desire,  
As, to rise here, to rise hereafter higher.   

And, to that end, I am in hope 'tis known,  
My good endeavours to the world are shown;  
My purse is still as ready as my mind  
To be a helpful worker in this kind,  
My part is always called for as the chief,  
When Charity is calling for relief:  
And, whatsoever idle spend goods prate,  
I am much helpful to uphold the state.   

Thus, whiles I live, I do my wealth employ,  
And have a resolution, when I die  
To be a further friend unto the poor,  
They then may bless me as they did before:  
And, if I thought he would these things report,  
I then would well requite a Preacher for't.   

The mean time it must first be understood,  
I must have wherewithal to do this good;  
And therefore things thus needful, I am tied  
In reason and in Conscience to provide.   

Besides, it is my duty, and I find,  
A duty too that strictly is enjoined,  
That here I should be provident and wise,  
And use all lawful means I can devise  
That such as do upon my aid rely  
May feel no want of what I should supply.   

But further yet I find within my breast  
A Law by odds more powerful than the rest,  
Which is the Law of Nature in my mind,  
Which doth by Nature move me to be kind,  
And careful that my children, which I grant  
Are near and dear unto me, may not want.   

If Lightnings meteors threat to scorch the skies,  
Strait, as enraged, distempered Thunder cries:  
Or any other near united twain,  
If one fares ill, the other doth complain.   

Mine own dear children, whom I tender much,  
'tis fit that my affection should be such:  
What heart would not dissolve to see you miss?  
What tender bowels would not burst at this?  
Sweet Babes, who, like to Birds before they fly,  
For food do only to the Old ones cry;  
Me thinks I hear you pitifully call  
Father, be careful of your Children small,  
And as your substance did us substance give,  
So of your substance, Father, let us live:  
We are your offspring, issued from your loins,  
What nearness more respective care enjoins?  
Let pity move you to respect your own,  
Compassion, fitly, first at home is shown:  
We wholly yet upon your hand are stayed,  
We only do rely upon your aid.  
If you have not a Fatherly respect,  
If you, dear Father, do our caseneglect,  
What kindness, or what comfort may we then  
Expect to find from any other men?   

Dear Father, let affection then bear sway,  
Prevent your children's ruin and decay,  
And as our tears you do in pity tender,  
Be, as you are our Father, our defender,  
That so the tender seed that you have sown  
May be preserved, and flourish when 'tis grown.   

These are the voices which me thinks, I hear,  
Unto which voices who can but give ear?  
What Father living can refrain from tears,  
That thus his Children sad complaining hairs?  
But, doubtless, double cruel is that swine  
Which gives his child this reason to repine.   

For my part, as it is my duty, so  
It shall be my endeavour thereunto,  
Whiles with my children here I have my stay,  
To do my children all the good I may.   

The working Pysmire and the labouring Bee,  
As if they did ensuing wants foresee,  
Do aptly teach us, in the time we may,  
To get in store against another day;  
Lest we, or those that we are bound to feed,  
Should stand in want, in time of greatest-need.   

Yea, as 'tis said, all Creatures teach the same,  
Both Birds, and Beasts; then were it not a shame  
If I; who should have reason for my guide,  
Should not with prudence for mine own provide?   

Besides, I seeing earthly wealth is such  
That nought else, earthly, is esteemed so much;  
And men, without it, are accounted base,  
What other gifts soever do them grace:  
If I have any true desire to see  
My tender children here respected be:  
Or when I shall surcease to be, and leave them,  
Would have the world respect and honour give them.  
It doth behoove me, whiles I here remain,  
To heedful be, and slip no means of gain,  
But use my best endeavour, in this kind,  
To leave them credit, that I leave behind.   

That so when I shall cease, or fall asleep,  
My wealth, which then I shall no longer keep,  
May grace my issue which shall then survive,  
That so my credit may be kept alive  
In my posterity, in that my seed  
Shall live and flourish, when I shall be dead.   

When otherwise, if I shall waste my store,  
And, through my folly, leave my issue poor,  
They shall be sure to feel the irksome want  
That doth attend the state where things are scant,  
With the disdain, reproachful titles, shame,  
And miseries that wait upon the same.   

Besides, my children shall have cause to curse  
Their fate, if not their Father, which is worse:  
Their fate for frowning, but their Father, I,  
Not for mere frowning, but for cruelty;  
Who, when I ought, and might have purchased here,  
Hard heart, was careless of my children dear.   

Thus, if I be not provident, 'tis plain,  
Both I, and mine, whiles here I do remain,  
Must far the worse: and when I must away,  
And in my grave be moulded up in clay:  
Where, one would think, I might remain in peace:  
Yet with me there the world will not surcease,  
But call my follies up, to my disgrace,  
Appearing in the poorness of my race,  
Who, through my want of diligence and heed,  
Shall taste of want, and miserable need.   

Oh cruelty! what creature hath thus done?  
'tis pity Father ever should have Son,  
That shall thus far unnatural be known,  
As not to make provision for his own.   

Then who is so unnatural, so blind,  
So void of care, or reason in his mind?  
As to contemn the providence of such  
As for their children lay up treasure much.   

Sure none that are of any substance will,  
None that have wit will so condemn their skill,  
None that have Fatherly affection can,  
None that retain the nature of a man.   

If Fathers here should fail, and were not moved,  
Through tender care of children dear loved,  
To take much pains, and have a prudent heed  
To lay up store, for times that shall succeed;  
Their hot affections would herein abate,  
And care of things to come would out of date:  
And so, by setting providence a stay,  
The world would quickly ruin and decay.   

But God, out of his goodness and his care,  
His infinite of wisdom to declare:  
Hath in each heart imprinted, as Creator,  
A care of the preserving kind by nature.   

Which tender care of offsprings future good,  
Hath been a means the world so long hath stood:  
And when this care shall cease, the world, 'tis plain;  
Shall run to a confused heap again.   

I might enlarge this further, to make clear  
The case in question, but it doth appear  
So plain and evident unto the wise,  
That, what is shown already may suffice.   

Then what shall stay, or hinder my intent?  
As if it justly might the same prevent.  
This is the treasure: whatsoev'r men fain  
Of mental, or imaginary gain.   

That is to be commended, I confess;  
And, such as do enjoy it, are no less.  
But this is that same providence, which here  
Affords the profit that is held most dear:  
Yea, 'tis so useful that, it seems, the frame  
Of all the world depends upon the same.   

Then this shall be my study, and my art,  
That of this building I may bear a part:  
That, if hereafter, any man shall look,  
He may perceive what prudent care I took:  
And such as shall succeed me, may be bold  
To take the part, which thus I did uphold.   

Sweet comfort, doubtless, and to be admired:  
Who will not with these profits be inspired?  
They do possess me in so deep a kind,  
And have indeed, so ravished my mind,  
That, if to speak the truth I may not blush,  
I count all profits, else, not worth a rush.    

Discretion in Age.  

IF homebred, or domestic foes be such  
As cause more dread than foreign foes by much:  
Then much more may the inbred foe be thought  
Most hard to be into subjection brought:  
Because the nearness of a foe, we find,  
Doth add advantage to a cruel mind,   

Dear self, consider, this is just thy state,  
Within thy bosom there is this debate;  
This most irreconcilliable jar:  
There Passion, and Discretion are at war:  
There Nature seeks its freedom to defend:  
There reason with affection doth contend:  
Or rather there, to pen the title right,  
Proud flesh doth with the humble spirit fight.   

Mine own dear heart, than arm thyself thou must,  
These fatal foes of thine are not to trust,  
Their force is great, their malice is not small,  
Their arguments most dangerous of all:  
And when by force thou wilt not be subdued,  
They then will fawn and flatter to delude:  
And if all this can not agreement draw;  
They then will plead their quarrel good by Law:  
That if thou stand it not, to withstand them fast,  
They will prevail and make thee yield at last.   

But mine own heart, be thou advised here  
To shun those dangers, which thou seest so clear,  
And let the knowledge of the same suffice,  
To make thee loath the bait they would disguise.   

Here Passion is impatient to seduce,  
Under the shadow of a lawful use  
Of worldly wealth, and pleads by reasons strong  
That it, in reason, doth to men belong  
To be most wise and provident for gain,  
As that wherein such safety doth remain  
That they without it cannot well subsist,  
And as they wish their children should be blest,  
Or would have happiness betid them,  
They must this means of happiness provide them.   

In deed, dear self, this argument, in show,  
Is of much force, and in some kind is true,  
The Father is most strictly tied, I grant,  
To have a care his children may not want:  
And children, when they come to go, I yield,  
May walk the better, by this stay up-held,  
And by the portion that their parents give,  
May be the more encouraged, whiles they live,  
To store up for their issue too: and so  
To do to theirs, as they were done unto.   

All this seems equal, excellent, and fit,  
And that which truth, and reason both admit:  
That if there were no more to say but this,  
This, doubtless, were the only way to bliss.   

But mine own heart, the sting remains behind;  
This is the honey that deludes the mind:  
Men door upon the sweet that riches bring,  
But never once suspect they have a sting:  
A sting lies hid, by honey overcast,  
Which will be felt, when honey fails at last,  
And make men know, as 'tis well known, that stings  
Do still lie hidden under golden wings.   

Dear self 'tis so, then let it be thy care  
To shun the danger that is in the snare:  
Do thou no further unto wealth incline  
Then may be for the good of thee, and thine,   

But if thou hast a fatherly desire,  
(As fit, and that which reason doth require)  
To store up riches for thy tender seed,  
Which may relieve and help them at their need:  
Then in providing thou must be more wise  
Than to wove webs, as Spiders do, for flies,  
Which are so frail and subject to decay,  
That the mere wind doth blow the same away.   

Thou must be careful that thy store uplaid,  
Intended for thy tender children's aid,  
Be goods well gotten, honestly attained,  
Not by deceit, or means unlawful gained,  
But such as Truth may warrant will abide,  
When Justice calls the matter to be tried.   

For, otherwise, thy ill got wealth, intended  
To grace thy children, when thy grace is ended,  
It will be, like the Spider's web, as though  
It were mere nothing, when the wind doth blow;  
When God shall breathe upon it, in displeasure,  
To blast the fruit of such ill-gotten treasure.   

That, as 'twas gotten by deceit by thee,  
It to thy children may deceitful be;  
And, when they think it should become their stay,  
Then waste, or make it wings and fly away.   

Thus, for the most part, goods ill gotten waist,  
Though for an age they, peradventure, last,  
Which is not often: but that bides not long,  
(This is most certain) which is gained by wrong.   

Besides, 'tis plain and evidently seen  
That goods which have unjustly gotten been,  
As they were badly gotten, by as vain,  
Or sordid means they do consume again:  
For 'tis a Maxim, with a full consent,  
Goods badly gotten, will be badly spent:  
As if the father did the child constrain  
To spend in vice, what he in vice did gain;  
Which is a curse; though children judge amiss,  
The largest portion is the greatest bliss:  
And think them fools that think there is a curse  
That children may inherit from the purse,  
Or from the portion that their Parents give them,  
So it be large or great enough they leave them.  
Although experience teacheth, the conclusion:  
Of goods ill got, is ruin and confusion.   

Dear self, then do not thou thyself this wrong,  
Nor those that do unto thyself belong;  
Torment not thou thy body; and thy mind,  
To heap up store of riches in this kind.   

What idle madness is it, or as vain,  
To lie down late, and early rise again?  
To eat the bread of carefulness, and think  
The dregs of pleasure good enough to drink?  
And all to gain a little goods; which, got,  
'twere ten times better that thou hadst them not,  
But hadst been, to thy happiness, more wise  
Both for thyself, and for thy seed likewise;  
For thee, because thy gain will prove thy shame,  
For thine, because deluded by the same.   

Deluded? yea, most grossly too, deluded,  
It can not sure be otherwise concluded:  
For what can more deceitful be than this,  
A curse should be intended for a bliss:  
A child which on his portion doth rely,  
Should, when he hath it, be undone thereby.   

Undone, indeed, because it can not stay,  
But as 'twas got, in haste it must away;  
And when 'tis vanished out of sight and gone,  
How is that child deluded, that alone  
Relied thereon? is he not quite undone?  
Yes, certainly, most wretched is that Son,  
Whose hapless Father, or unhappy fate  
Provided for him such a failing state.   

Had not his Father (by delusion guided)  
Such a deluding state for him provided,  
He should not then have on that means relied,  
As only to that means of living tied)  
But should have in his tender years, as fit,  
Instructed been to exercise his wit,  
To gain such knowledge in some honest way,  
As might have yielded means another day:  
Some lawful Art, or Science, which are sure,  
When other portions vanish, to endure.   

When he that wholly is without such aid,  
Whose means, or patrimony is decayed  
(Whiles he on most inconstant fortune waits)  
Is urged to means unlawful, or to straits.   

Mine own dear self, this is a certain Truth,  
Which still hath been most incident to Youth.  
Then if thou wouldst not have thy name defiled;  
Or if thou hast respect unto thy Child:  
Then scrape not for him such uncertain gain,  
But rather teach him that which will remain:  
That so the portion that thou dost provide  
May, to thy credit, with thy child abide.   

What though the portion that thou giv'st be small?  
Yet, if it hath that blessing there withal  
That it was justly gained; and, when enjoyed  
As justly and as piously employed,  
It doubtless, shall be for their comfort more  
That shall enjoy thy riches or thy store,  
Then if it had been ten times more; and got  
By means unjust, which Truth admitteth not.   

Foundations sound, which, like the Rocks, lie low,  
Are better far to build upon, you know,  
Then hugest mountains, that are heaps of sand,  
Or hollow caves, where buildings cannot stand.   

Even so that well got substance which is sound,  
Although it lies but level with the ground,  
Is very little: Yet 'tis better sure  
To build upon, and longer will endure  
Then that estate which by deceit did rise,  
Although it threats to reach unto the Skies.   

But being windy, hover, and light,  
One blast from heaven doth overthrow it quite,  
And, by this ever sad event ensuing,  
Brings building, and the builder both to ruin.   

But if, dear self, thy seed, by thy intent,  
Should be the better for thee by descent,  
Then thou must labour to be here the same  
That may hereafter yield thee a good name.   

That so that precious jewel it may live  
When thou art dead; and to thy issue give  
That true bred worth, or credit; which, I know,  
The richest worldling hath not to bestow.   

If this, then, thou canst purchase up in store  
To leave behind thee, though thou leav'st no more,  
This is alone a patrimony great:  
The comfort of which portion or estate,  
With thy example, may provoke thy seed,  
When thou art hence departed, to take heed  
To be to their succeeding race so kind  
To leave them this inheritance behind.   

That, as it in them by descent took place,  
It may be still descending in their race:  
That so they to their issue may restore  
What from their parents they received before;  
Which is a debt, or rather duty laid  
On men by Conscience, should be duly paid.    

A Postscript.  

What shall I here conclude? Oh yes! 'tis time,  
Fond Hypocrites can not endure this rhyme,  
'tis idle, 'tis Fantastical they say,  
And altogether fruitless: what are they?  
Sure had my verse no more true meaning in't  
Then they have, it should never come in Print.   

But can men make no Music on the Vial,  
Because some make a noise confused in trial?  
Yes, hypocrites, though it, like you be hollow,  
Yet, strained by art, the notes are sweet that follow.   

So verse, or rather Poesy, if it meets  
With Art, is, like a Posy full of sweets:  
Though some like Apes, to imitate the same,  
Do spew out rhymes, distasteful, to their shame.   

BUt hark, what voice is this that answers mine?  
Me thinks I hear malicious envy groin,  
As if it were in malice with my quill,  
And tells me, that I boast upon my skill;  
When I of knowledge am as far to seek  
As he that knows not Grammar, is of Greek.   

Fond Hag take heed, I have not done thee wrong,  
By an usurping thy invenumed tongue:  
Nor borrowed Language, thereby to make known  
The skill of other men, and not mine own.  
Though it perhaps, doth often come to pass  
An English Fool, becomes a Latin Ass.   

But look what herein hath been my endeavour,  
'tis all mine own, how ignorant soever:  
And I perhaps, may reach a higher strain;  
Though here I cease, till I begin again.     

To his Most Noble and much Reverenced Friend, and Kinsman, Master JOHN STRUT.  
Sir,  
I Do so far presume of your favour as to shelter these ensuing Lines under the shadow of your Protection. I, indeed, acknowledge my boldness in thus intruding upon your worth, to defend my weakness.  
Notwithstanding, I am herein encouraged in part to presume of your Pardon. The slender subject here presented to your view, consists of two parts, Passion, and Discretion: The first part, which is Passion, that is absolutely mine own: an inheritance descending from most ancient Parentage. The other, which is Discretion, is yours by Possession; and due by Desert: in which I do but bring the shadow to your Sight, of that which you have the substance in yourself. In which respect it is but my duty to entitle you to that which is yours by due. In which kind also, not only that which ensues, but that which is precedent may beg your Patronage, as part of your Inheritage.  
I do confess I have imprinted the name of that noble Lady Temperance in the front of my Endeavours; but I know you will account it no disgrace to part with so worthy a partner; whose beauties, I am confident, do (if possibly they may do) As much delight your heart, as the alone Lady of your affections, doth your bosom: which can no way be imputed to wantonness, but to wisdom. For what can be of more validity to preserve the nuptial knot inviolate, than the sacred tye of virtuous Temperance?  
But, not any way to direct, but only to delight you, I have thus far encroached upon your leave. And in Fine, humbly petitioning for your favour, I rest Yours at Command, as bound.  
Edward Calver.   

To the Jmpartiall Reader.  
WHat, shall I here proceed? and seemed to cease?  
Resolve me Read, speak? or hold my peace?  
But thou art silent, or I out of hearing:  
Sure, till I know thy mind, I'd best be sparing.  
But if thy judgement justly shall reprove me,  
I shall recant; but Judge not things above thee.   

Passion, and Discretion.  
The Second Book.  

Passion in Wealth.  

HAving full tide why should I slack mine Oar?  
When winds, beside, stand prosperous for my shore,  
And, with a soft and gentle fruitful gale,  
(As waiting on my will) do fill my sail.   

If Heaven raines Manna in a plenteous measure  
Shall man refuse to taste the same with pleasure?  
When senseless earth in Summer time is proud  
To drink the showers of an inferior cloud.   

Then if Heavens bounteous hand fills full my cup,  
Shall I, in dread that I should drink it up,  
Not taste thereof, but childishly forbear  
The use of such a happiness for fear?   

No, no, I must not so forgetful prove,  
To slight a favour slacks the doners love:  
And oftentimes a gift bestowed in vain  
Provokes the giver to recalled again.   

Rouse then my faint sad misinformed heart,  
And take some pleasure, make use of thy part  
And let not thy neglecting favours shown  
Rob thee of both God's blessing, and thine own.  
Most prosperous, yea if not Divinest fate  
With earth's chief bliss hath dignified my state,  
Hath given me wealth, which is the only worth,  
Or only that accounted so on earth.   

Then rise my thoughts above the common pitch,  
And count it height of honour to be rich.  
Inspired with comfort, all your powers unite  
To hug my fortunes with most deep delight.   

What sublunary bliss can I have higher  
Than wealth; and so the world at my desire?  
For Wealth hath got the world at such a bay  
That wealth doth almost bear the greatest sway.   

What foe, that's mortal, have I cause to dread  
When I have such a friend as Wealth at need?  
What poyson-pointed weapon need I fear  
When I have such a coat of Male to wear?   

What black mouthed Envy, breathing in my face,  
Can blast my Reputation with disgrace?  
When I possess an Antidote so strong  
As can expel the poison of the tongue.   

What sable fortune can disturb my rest  
When I have such a comfort in my chest?  
Nay, it is such a Cordial as can  
Revive the most dejected heart of man.   

If I desire to satisfy my senses,  
I need not curb my Nature for expenses,  
For I have Wealth to satisfy it still;  
And having Wealth I need not want my will.   

Or, if there were no danger to climb high,  
Who hath more means of getting up than I?  
When, if I should but such a thing intend,  
I have the only Ladder to a●cend.  
Or, otherwise, should Fortune turn her wheel  
To turn me down; yea though the world should reel  
Or seem to stagger, yet my standing's such  
I fear no fall, nor changing fortune much.   

I fear grim faces as I fear the frown  
Of Mars his picture, in a Curtain, drawn  
Before his Venus, so her smiles to hide,  
When I have cords to draw that veil aside.   

What servile office, nav, what sordid act,  
If I had a delight in such a fact,  
Could I not get effected out of hand,  
And for my coin have agents at command;   

The thoughtful poor man thinks it doth him grace  
To do me honour when I come in place,  
And, if my coin commands him, to his force,  
To bear my burden, he becomes my horse.   

Both rich and poor are silent when I speak,  
The poor for fear, the rich for favours sake:  
And should I miss what man can not afford,  
The Elements themselves will store my board.   

What cates can I imagine for my taste?  
What guest can I delight in at my feast?  
What sense-contenting solace can I name,  
That I can want, if I desire the same?   

What is there made that is not made for me?  
When for my turn the Elements agree;  
And all the creatures in the same are sent  
By the Creator, to give me content.   

Yea, all are mine, Hawk, hounds & stately geldings,  
The sweetest music, the most sumptuous buildings,  
The chief applause, the richest robes that be,  
And fairest objects, all are made for me.  
Then is not my estate to be desired?  
Or I in my estate to be admired?  
My state affords what heavens on earth bestow,  
And I am in the only Heaven below.   

Again, if heavens (as though rebuked for keeping  
Themselves from tears) fall to excessive weeping;  
Or, otherwise, beneath the heavenly Tapers,  
The liquid clouds convert to dusty vapours:   

From whence the earth, whose fruitfulness depends  
Upon those blessings which from heaven descends,  
Proves fruitless, and a famine doth begin  
To seize the Land, I suffer not therein.   

Nay should the shrill, and dreadful Echoes fly  
From cost, to cost of fell Bellona's cry:  
Yea angry heavens, and earth should seem at strife,  
What need I care? it threatened not my life.   

If awful Caesar my assistance lacks,  
I can put arms upon some others backs.  
And though a famine may consume the poor,  
I need not fear a famine in my store.   

What lack I then, or what doth me oppress?  
I feel no want, nor wish my portion less;  
I have sufficient whiles I live, and when  
I die, have issue to enjoy it then.   

But were I childless, or my portion greater,  
I should have children, though not sons by nature,  
But by adoption, who would be full glad  
To become heirs unto so kind a dad.   

Rest then I may and reap what is mine own;  
Yea, crop the fruits which other men have sown:  
And thus on earth, imparadised in pelf,  
Most sweetly sing a Requiem to myself.   

Stay then my thoughts, 'tis vanity to range,  
My state is such that I desire no change:  
Let men distressed, or poor men strive in cares,  
Whose suits, and cries are tedious in mine ears.  
My state is here depending upon none,  
I can subsist within the same alone,  
I take men's favours not as kindness shown,  
But service due, and so receive mine own.   

Or, if I had a title to be tried,  
Or stood in need of any thing beside,  
Why I have such a loadstone in my fist  
As can attract even almost what I list.   

Cheer then my heart, and let no want be felt,  
Enlarge thyself, thou mayst have what thou wilt:  
But, being full already, take thy rest,  
Lest thou shouldst seem to strive for what thou hast.    

Discretion in Wealth.  

SOft, soft, fond Passion, sith the winds are fair,  
And waters seem to answer to desire,  
What need of striving? can that vessel sink  
Which wind, and water bears aloft d'ye think?   

But mine own heart mistake not thou thy state,  
Fond self, do not thyself infatuate,  
Thou may'st have tied, and wind to fill thy sail;  
But winds are turning, and the tide will fail.   

Then, if thou hast a purpose to stand sure,  
Build not on that which cannot long endure:  
Of wouldst thou any certain comfort find,  
Trust not such changing objects as the wind.   

For what is wealth but wind, or windy stuff?  
Got in a gale, and vanished with a puff;  
And he that hath the longest calm, at last  
Doth find his substance subject to a blast.   

What, to a blast? a creature without form?  
Yea to a weaker creature, to a worm,  
Nay to the moth, the canker, rust, and rot,  
And being gone it is as soon forgot.  
All this is certain, this is verified:  
Only thy substance is uncertain tried,  
And if uncertain, then deceitful gain,  
Which got, is lost, and lost, is got in vain.   

Deluded self, then how dares sense or Passion  
Tell thee thy state admits no alteration?  
But, having wealth, canst neither want, nor fall,  
When wealth itself doth waver most of all.   

But sense is savage, or a buite, at least,  
And Passion is the Fury of that beast;  
At first made good, but, by the fall made bad,  
Are now proved rebels, and are often mad.   

Then canst, dear self, be carried so aside,  
As to commit thyself to such a guide?  
Shall heavens bred reason, Queen of humane race,  
Unto her servile handmaid sense give place?   

Fie no, let brutish Passion be suppressed,  
Lest sense be only Sovereign in the beast:  
But in thy breast, who art a man by name,  
Let reason rule, to show thou art the same.   

If thou dost fear thy reason be too weak  
To plead thy case, when stubborn sense shall speak,  
Implore his aid, who binds thee to contend;  
He that enjoins the quarrel will defend.   

If Will be wanting, he can give desire,  
If strength be failing, he can force inspire,  
And if thy foes would force thee to give place,  
Instead of reason, he can give thee grace.   

Faint and fond heart, then why art thou afraid?  
If thou canst ask it, heavens can give thee aid:  
Then ask, yea rather beg it on thy knees,  
Then yield unto such enemies as these.   

Then let thy understanding part bear sway,  
Sense was not made to govern, but obey:  
Nor are those objects pleasing most to sense  
Most pleasing objects to intelligence.   

Sense would persuade thee only to delight,  
Or feed thy sensual savage appetite,  
And having wealth, which is the only store,  
To feed that Monster, thou shalt need no more.   

But couldst thou, setting partial sense apart,  
Consult with reason, by diviner art,  
Thou then shouldst see how thou hast been deluded,  
How sense hath into reason's seat intruded.   

Thou then shouldst see thy inauspitious state  
So long as sense doth reason captivate;  
And thence be forced to confess, with shame  
Thy service hath been bondage in the same.   

Thou then shouldst find that wealth's a fading dower.  
Raised in an age, and ruined in an hour;  
Affording trifles for propounded treasure,  
A taste for sweetness, and a drop for measure.  
Thou then shouldst prove that men's applause is vain  
A glory sprung from other men's disdain,  
And then confess that thou, and thy estate,  
And all things earthly, flowing, must abate.   

Then thou myself, whose Queen of sense is reason,  
Consent not to that rebel sense in Treason:  
And sith thou seest thy Treasure is but vain,  
Trust not too much to such uncertain gain.   

It proffers what it hath not to supply,  
It oft delights, but cannot satisfy,  
It makes men hope for what they cannot have,  
It may assist, but it can never save.   

For rest propounded, it affordeth trouble,  
For fame, or pleasure, shadows, or a bubble,  
For hoped for fullness, it doth empty leave,  
In greatest danger it doth most deceive.   

It feeds the senses, answers their desire,  
But that doth make those rebels to conspire;  
It fills the body, but it hath a wile  
To famish the neglected Soul the while.   

It hath some force to gain a little fame,  
But hath no power to get an honest name;  
It doth procure some blessings, if well used,  
But cares, and snares, and curses, if abused.  
Cares, to torment the body, and the mind,  
Snares, to entrap the silly soul made blind,  
A double curse, to ruinate thy store,  
Proceeding both from God, and from the poor.   

Dim-sighted Passion, or deceiving most,  
Is this the state whereon thou dost so boast?  
Are these thy streams of pleasure to be rich?  
Or these thy charms wherewith thou dost bewitch?   

Those, those are they, it is thy charm, indeed,  
That makes men so much trust unto a reed,  
And so mistake, to take, of blessings given,  
The shadow, for the substance, earth for Heaven.   

Sweet self, can reason thus be overthrown  
In any heart of man, yes, in thine own;  
The mould was no whit better to thy frame  
Then other men are made of, but the same.   

Then sith thy foes are great, thy force but small,  
Trust notthy strength too much, not sense at all:  
But much less, take thy riches for thy stay,  
Which vanish like a vapour, or betray.   

But, as thy wealth should be at thy command,  
Or, as a talon trusted in thy hand,  
Or as a trial how thou art affected,  
So use't, so rule't, so cover, or neglect it.   

'tis made thy servant make it then obey:  
'tis ruinous, where servants bear the sway:  
Besides, it 'tis too base a subject far  
To rule where reason and discretion are.   

'tis lent thee, as a Talon put in trust,  
Then make use of it, keep it from the rust;  
But spend not vainly, as thou must not hide it,  
For thou must answer how thou hast employed it.   

'tis given thee, as a trial, to see whether  
Thou wilt respect the gift, above the giver;  
Thou mayst receive it, but not as the Swine,  
Respect it too, but not to it Incline.  
Know then, in fine, thy wealth is like a fire,  
Where thou mayst warm, but not inflame desire;  
To use it wisely, it may serve thy turn,  
But if thou comest too near it, it will burn.   

Come not too near it then at any hand,  
Scorn to be marked with such a noted brand:  
'tis safer sure to labour hard to sweat,  
Then to be scorched in getting such a heat.    

Passion in Want.  

WHat, borne to beg? or borne to bear, at least,  
Still in the colour? why not then a beast?  
The beast can but beneath a burden lie,  
And sometimes want relief, and so do I.   

Or say the beast be subject to correction,  
Am I not underneath the same subjection?  
Yes, whosoever do offend or slip,  
And scape unlashed, I must have the whip.   

'tis my offence that only doth offend  
Or my offence that only is discerned:  
Or, at the least, 'tis my unhappy fate,  
When I offend, to meet the magistrate.   

Some men have friends, when they offend, to free them  
Some men offend as if that none did see them,  
And some offenders have the rod in awe:  
But I, 'tis only I must have the Law.   

Stern! and remorfelesse stubborn Law, as death,  
Am I the fittest object for thy wrath?  
Beseems it thee to seize upon me so,  
So small a prey, and let the greater go?  
If thou must needs be rigorous to wrong,  
Be cruel to offenders that are strong,  
To such as slight, or care not for thy frown,  
Make such men stoop I am already down.   

But wherefore should I invocate in vain?  
'tis fruitless sure to beg or to complain,  
My suits are such as do offend the ear,  
Complaints can then not mitigate my care.   

What helpless then? yea hopeless too, indeed,  
For I must suffer, 'tis by Law decreed,  
I must submit to each insulting check,  
The burden still must lie upon my neck.   

Arm than I must to suffer all enjoined me,  
Stoop down to take the burden up assigned me,  
And quietly put my neck into the yoke,  
The sentence past, I can not now revoke.   

Sun, rise not yet then, let me rest a while,  
For when thou risest, I must fall to toil;  
The day, which gives to other men delight  
That is my Mill to grind in till 'tis night.   

Sweet Sun, then, being risen, speed thy motion  
To cast thy seize into the Western Otion,  
That when thy beams are vanished in the West,  
The gentle night may call me home to rest.   

Long looked for darkness, come then ease my sorrow  
Let me put off my yoke until to morrow,  
Refresh me with thy comforts while I stay,  
I may have strength to labour when 'tis day.   

Thy rest-affording shadows are my shelter,  
The day is toilsome, and the Sun doth swelter;  
Then let thy shadows Canopy my bed,  
Thy shelter be a pillow for my head.   

But here, again, when I should reap this good,  
Should take my rest, my Children cry for food,  
And to me, with heart-cutting tears do say,  
Dear Father, we have had no bread to day.  
Then, moved with pity, what I have, I give them,  
Which cannot fill them, though it may relieve them;  
Which eaten, and they empty still, they cry  
Father some more, when I have no supply.   

With words I seek my children's cry to cease,  
Not having food to make them hold their peace,  
And with a sigh, as if my heart would burst,  
I promise food, but I must earn it first.   

Beasts, which are savage, seed their young with food:  
Birds, which are silly, satisfy their brood:  
But I, most sordid, hear my seed complain,  
And call, and crave, and cry for food in vain.   

Sweet babes, whose faces lively do express  
Their woeful Father's Image in distress,  
Why was I made an instrument to breed you,  
And not made able, being bred, to feed you?   

Dear children cease, your sobs increase my cares,  
You shall have bread, although my drink be tears;  
I'll bind my body, like a slave to serve,  
Before the issue of the same shall starve.   

But doting fortune, why art thou so blind?  
Or why art thou so partial, or unkind?  
Was I borne under that unlucky star  
Which only threatens famine, plague, or war?   

Are Destinies so powerful where they threat?  
Or so much partial in dividing state?  
Some must have much, some Mountanes to their share  
But for me nothing; not a moule-hill spare?   

Most gross injustice, or unequal sure,  
This is too much for patience to endure;  
Some feed on dainties, and I fed with dross,  
They take no pains, I labour like a horse.   

When other men are pampered, or do feast,  
I pine with hunger, or do want, at least,   

Their Fragments are too good for me; 'tis well  
If I can be partaker of the smell.  
Well Dives, take thy pleasure in thy store;  
I hope for crumbs, though baited from thy door;  
I must have copper, thou the coin, full bags,  
I empty baskets, thou the robes, I rags.   

Thou art exalted, I am counted base,  
Thou must have honour, I must have disgrace,  
Thou must be sought to, I must seek and crave,  
Thou must be master, I must be the slave.   

Thou hast the calm, and I the rugged guske,  
Thou hast the kernel, I have but the husk;  
Thy vice seems virtue, or is not respected;  
My Virtue, vice, or more than vice neglected.   

'tis bootless then in thee to be precise,  
And vain in me to labour to be wise;  
Thy grandest vice is nothing, in esteem,  
My greatest Virtues less than nothing seem.   

But can the world thus by the world be gulled?  
Or canst thou Dives, thus a sleep be lulled?  
Will thy dull ears, or more obdurate breast  
Not hear my cry, nor answer my request?   

Or dost thou laugh to hear my children mourn,  
And cry for bread, when thou hast all the corn?  
As if thou didst imagine by that way  
Both I, and mine, and all would be thy prey.   

Well, eat thy fill, and gorge thyself with more,  
And what thou eatest not, hoard it up in store:  
And, if poor Lazarus trembles at thy gate,  
Tell him the crumbs are gone, he comes too late.   

What shall I say? or shall I silent keep?  
Dives hath dined, and now he is a sleep.  
Then whether shall I travel for relief?  
What object is there that will ease my grief?   

If I look upwards to the azure skies,  
In hope that heavens would ease my miseries,  
There are those impropitious Planets reigning  
Which tied me to these sorrows by ordaining.  
If I look downwards, to that nether Orb,  
To earth for comfort, when the Heavens do curb,  
There I find nothing can my cares remove,  
But feel beneath, what was enjoined above.   

There, there I toil and labour like a bruit;  
I plough, and sow; but others reap the fruit;  
I dig for Oar, but seldom touch the money,  
I there am stung, but others suck the honey.   

Only the empty, and impartial air,  
That is mine freely, lest I should despair,  
I suck that life-preserving succour, which  
Is all the portion that can make me rich.   

Sweet air then, and least guilty of offences,  
Be thou my comfort, vivifie my senses,  
And, if all other Elements agree  
To bar we succour, let me live by thee.   

But I am vain, in hope to ease my cares,  
Thus to entreat a creature without ears:  
If ears be dease, than creatures which have none,  
Although I cry, must needs be like a stone.   

Then let me rest, 'tis folly to entreat,  
For I must labour, if I mean to eat,  
I may complain, or vex myself to dead,  
But I must grind, or I must have no bread.    


What all in Passion? overcome with mood?  
Despair of comfort? make a doubt of food?  
As if the door of all relief were locked,  
And all thy hungry expectations mocked.   

Is there no rest, no pity, peace, nor love  
For thee on earth, nor coming from above?  
So deeply moved, nothing but complain?  
Can not the hand which did create sustain:   

Dear self, surcease, recall thyself, forbear,  
The danger, sure, is lesser than the fear,  
Thy life is no such Tragedy of woe  
As thou conceivest, thou dost but think it so.   

'tis true, 'tis hard, I know, to humane nature  
To yield subjection to a fellow creature,  
That the same mould, same workmanship and all  
Should down unto the selfsame creature fall.   

But be content, 'tis not thy imperfection  
In form, or substance, binds thee to subjection,  
But only he that form all doth say  
Let some men rule, and othersome obey.   

Distempered, or more stubborn self, by much,  
Then yield subjection, stoup, and do not grudge;  
To man thus stooping, thou must understand  
Thou honour'st God, obeying his command:  
And so preservest thy Sovereign title still,  
Subject to nothing but thy Maker's will.   

Whose will thou wilt not, nay thou canst not shun,  
What he doth will must readily be done;  
Then sith his will should willingness beget,  
Obey his will that binds thee to submit.   

What though the man thou stoop'st unto be vain,  
Or one that doth requite thee with disdain?  
Or one that shuns thee as he walks the street,  
As if thou shouldst infect him when you meet.   

Or one that takes thee for a varmine, which  
Doth live upon the substance of the rich,  
And thereupon, in safeguard of his store,  
Doth keep a dog to keep thee from his door.   

Yet, if he hath a place above assigned,  
Thou must obey because 'tis so enjoined,  
Though he be bad, thou must thy good express,  
His vices must not make thy virtues less.   

Besides, if all men's portions here were great,  
If all men were made equal in estate,  
Why then there would no government be had,  
All would be Masters, all the world run mad.   

But God on some doth very much bestow,  
Again, he placeth other some as low,  
That from respect to each man's places due  
May both command, and servitude ensue.   

Dear self, then cease thy sorrows in this kind,  
Although thy body be suppressed; thy mind  
Is not subjected, but may fly a pitch  
Above the highest checking of the rich.   

Then if thy mind, the Image of thy soul,  
Be not subjected to the world's control,  
But freely towering on her unclipt wings,  
May take her pleasure on the better things,   

What cause hast thou then to complain of cords?  
When thy estate such liberty affords:   

The matchless freedoms of the mind are more  
Than all the treasure on the Indian shore.   

Fond self, then how canst thou complain of want?  
Canst in this fullness think thy portion scant?  
Oh! yes, sayest thou, these are but mental joys,  
Or, as some count, imaginary toys;   

These have no substance, these are but deceit,  
Or empty airy notions of no weight,  
These are no kernels, these are but a shell:  
And 'tis not words can empty stomaches fill.   

Or hast thou food, it must be of the worst,  
And, ere thou hast it, thou must earn it first,  
Thou must consume thy body into sweat  
Before thou canst refresh the same with meat.   

Which being fed, 'tis but (as fed in vain)  
To make it fit to be consumed again:  
Or as the Galley slave is with the Turk,  
Thou dost but eat to make thee strong to work.   

But mine own self, beware of sense bred harms,  
These are most subtle, most deluding charms:  
Thy Soul, I tell thee, is the better part,  
Though sense would have thee most prefer thy heart.   

Then having soule-insuing food, the best,  
Repine not: Nor despair thou of the rest,  
Thou and thy Children shall have food to eat,  
He that hath given you mouths, will give you meat.   

He hath a store house, where much fullness lies.  
Of his hid treasure, hiden from thine eyes:  
Nay, he can turn the very stones to bread:  
The silly Ravens that call on him are fed.   

Then trust on him, his Promise is his Deed,  
He will not fail thee, calling at thy need:  
Nor canst thou be more ready to declare  
Thy wants in calling, than he is to hear.   

What though the rich have all things at desire?  
Are fed with dainties, clad in rich attire,  
And take their pleasure? sith the truth informs  
They are but fed, or pampered for the worms:  
They which, perhaps, impatient of delay,  
Do call to their Creator for such prey.   

Then though their cates be rare, or do excel,  
If thou hast that suffice thee? 'tis as well:  
Their rarest dainties can but hunger stay,  
And so thy mean and plainest diet may.   

Or have they virtue to keep health in store?  
I dare presume, thy homely feed hath more:  
That all the odds is only in the taste,  
Which is but as a needless sauce in waste.  
And what although thy outward weed be plain,  
Or simple, such as some men do disdain,  
Yet by it if the cold may be defended?  
It doth the good for which it was intended.   

Then having that, thou hast to serve thy need:  
Forefathers were contented with a weed;  
And did as much excess hereof deride  
As now in the excess hereof is pride.   

Or why shouldst at thy working state repine?  
When 'tis the state that God doth all enjoin:  
When man would needs the fruit forbidden eat,  
God tied him strait to labour for his meat.   

Then work, it is the will of thy Creator.  
Besides, it makes thee eat, and sleep the better,  
It preserves health; subdues the rebel sense,  
And gives much scoop unto intelligence.   

Deceived self, repine not then at all,  
Thy poverty was purchased by thy fall;  
And he on whom was most of all bestown  
Deserves as poor a portion as thine own.   

And if that he which here possesseth most  
Disdains thee, or with insulations boast,  
Tell him the Fatal wheel doth turn amain,  
Which drew him up, to throw him down again.   

And in the end, when thou thy race hast run,  
And art to give account what thou hast done,  
The less thy portion, or thy part hath been  
The less, no doubt, will thy account be then;  
Which is a comfort, and will then appear  
A greater comfort than 'tis counted here.   

Then, in the mean time, why shouldst thou be sad?  
Because that men account thy fortunes bad:  
Thy treasures are the virtues of the mind,  
In which the world, or worldly men are blind.   

The poor man, pious, is to God as dear  
As men most wealthy, or advanced here:  
And though the poor suffers here a while,  
Those frowns ere long, will vanish with a smile.   

For howsoever, man may show despite,  
Both God, and Law do favour men upright:  
And he that hath all favours in his store,  
What fitter object for him than the poor.    

Passion in Honour.  

ARe men made Gods? or by the Gods made men?  
If Gods, why are we not ascending then?  
Why lie we chained or pudled in the mire?  
When either gods, or men we may aspire.   

Up then my thoughts, from earthly toys remove,  
Betake you to your wings, there's prize above;  
Rouse, rouse, me thinks I see an object fair,  
It seems a golden Eagle in the air;   

What ist? if it be not the very same?  
Oh, 'tis her bird, which we entitle fame:  
See how she doth descend, as on a string,  
As if she meant to set me on her wing.   

Then fly my thoughts, and meet her in the way,  
Glide swiftly through the air make no delay:  
Rare Phoenix, let me take thee on my fist  
That I may take my pleasure when I list.   

What, dost thou check, or seem to bend away?  
Stoop gentle Faulkon, thou shalt have the prey,  
I take thee for my pleasure, but to fly,  
I'll nurse thee as the apple of mine eye.  
Well, now I have my wish, I am secure,  
The bird I sought is stooped unto my lucre,  
That airy bird, the sweetest bird that sings,  
Or rather flies! O, bear me on thy wings.   

Let me enjoy the favours of thy love,  
Who dost come down to carry me above,  
That I may take those pleasures as I rise  
Which are most high; the lower I despise.   

The higher, the richer prey is to be won,  
Then let us mount, thou needst not fear the Sun;  
I fear no falling, thou thy strength hast felt,  
Thy wings, I trust, will neither scorch, nor melt.   

Thou heavens bred bird, then heave thy sails, I know  
Thy nature doth disdain to pray below:  
And I shall never have my full desire,  
Though I mount high, if there be game yet higher.   

Then raise me to the Regions of thy Dame,  
Or, if it may be, higher than the same:  
For, if I reach not to the highest top,  
I shall account my Otion but a drop.   

'tis true, good fortunes did on me attend  
Before I had a motion to ascend,  
I then had friends, and many favours granted,  
With much respect, and Gold I never wanted.   

Yea, large possessions; and was little penned  
Of any earthly object of content,  
But had on earth, what might be had, assigned,  
That might content a reasonable mind.   

And in these pleasures I took much repose,  
Yea, did conceive no higher joys than those:  
But, like the Bee, lay sucking on those flowers,  
Not looking up, from whence such honey showers.   

But, as men's minds are subject unto change,  
So did my thoughts, in time, begin to range,  
And, by some secret inspirations, moved,  
Which were no sooner motions, but approved:  
I glanced upwards, thereby, if I might,  
To view some higher object of delight.  
Where (with a heart-attracting sight) mine eyes  
Descried thee hover very near the skies,  
Wherewith inflamed, it moved me to desire  
Thou mightst come down, or I ascend up higher,  
That I might see thee to discern thee fuller,  
And view thy beauties in their proper colour.   

Then all the pleasures I enjoyed before  
Became as nothing if I had not more;  
I did disdain, or very much neglect  
All former favours, treasure, or respect,  
And only ravished with thyself on high,  
Contemning things below, I sought to fly.   

Heavens! what a dreadful hell had I in part?  
What Passions had possession in my heart?  
Sometimes in hope, and sometimes in despair,  
Like Icarus, to be soaring in the air.   

I slipped no means conducing to my ends,  
But was an humble suitor to my friends,  
My wits I did upon the Tainters strain,  
And made my purse as lavish as my brain.   

Now, by these helps, and others my devising,  
With much a do, I got some hopes of rising,  
Which hopes inframed, and helps so fed desire;  
That I at length, am got up thus much higher.   

But here I stand, from hence I cannot stir,  
My thoughts, and wits are here at a demur:  
I am as if imprisoned in my state,  
Which makes me loath, what I desired of late.   

I do confess when I at first did grow  
Unto that height, which now I count too low,  
I was contented, and my heart was glad,  
As one sufficed with the state I had.   

My thoughts, and senses were revived and merry,  
My spirits were refreshed as with sherry;  
And I became as one with comfort risen,  
Who had been long in thraldom, out of prison.  
The world did then admire me, as amazed,  
And at my birth of honour stood and gazed,  
And with much show of reverence and fame,  
To grace this birth, did celebrate the same.   

My entertainment was with such applause  
That I myself began to stand and pause,  
As if amazed at myself to see  
The honour done unto my new degree.   

But now, alas, my honour is but cold,  
My new degree is now accounted old:  
And men begin to question my desert  
Because there falls no motion to my part.   

No motion, no preferment seen at all,  
No rising, which is next unto a fall;  
His rising was with rumours of repute,  
Which praises are forgotten now, or mute.   

Thus, thus me thinks I hear the people prate,  
Which shows they either do disdain, or hate;  
Because I rise not as some others mount,  
The world doth call my worth unto account.   

Distempered people, destitute of shame,  
Can you both praise, and then dispraise the same?  
And wretched I, that men so vain, or sleeping  
Should have the Trumpet of my fame in keeping.   

Must my applause be subject to the rude  
Inconstant censure of the multitude?  
And only as their various gale shall blow  
My reputation here must ebb, or flow.   

What is it then to be exalted here  
To place of Honour? when it doth appear,  
It that he be not still ascending higher,  
But do sit still, our honour doth retire.   

Come then Invention, nimble motioned wit,  
What project now, what plot can you beget?  
Or what doth want, or what is in the way?  
I can command, and can that bear no sway?   

Oh! restless, joyless, have I means, and will  
To be ascending, and yet sit I still?  
Have I such force afforded to resist  
Obscurest clouds, and yet am in a mist?  
Forgetful Fortune, canst no favour show?  
It had been better I had kept below,  
Than to have been unto this state erected,  
And being up, to be therein neglected.   

Oh! give me motion, people may discover  
That I am rising, let them see me hover,  
That I may hear their Echoes in the air  
My praises sounding, or I do despair.   

But why am I thus Passionate in mind?  
Despairing, or distrusting in this kind?  
Though shadows late have turned my day to night,  
The Sun is rising now to give me light.  
Those higher Orbs, whose clouds dispersing gleams  
Are ever ready when we want their beams,  
Have, from their heavenly Ark, sent down a Dove  
To take me up, and carry me above,   

Thou heavenly Dove then, sith thou art come down  
To deck my head, Oh! let me have a crown:  
Or, if thou think'st that be too great a praise,  
At lest return not till I have some Bays.   

The floods are gone, the flowers, and leaves are green,  
Then let the same be by my Garland seen;  
That men may see the earth hath drunk those showers  
Which hung between me, and the higher powers.   

That so the people, which have long forgot me,  
Or with an eye respectless looked at me,  
May make me now the object of their praise,  
As one whom heavens hath a delight to raise.  
And you the sacred Muses of our age  
Delight to act my triumphs on the stage,  
And in such ample forms imprint my glory  
That many ages hence may read the story.   

And let my Arms, augmented, to my line  
Increase of Honour give. And when my shrine  
Shall once entomb my body, let my fame  
Perpetuated be upon the same.    

Discretion in Honour.  

WHat do I wake, or neither wake nor sleep?  
But dreams possess me with illusions deep:  
Poor silly earth, inspired with fancies proud,  
Imagines it may trample on a cloud.   

Deceiving, or deceived heart, at least,  
Canst thou be thus transported in my breast?  
Canst thou be thus aspiring, or presuming,  
Shall earthly worms, be airy forms assuming?   

Deceived self, how canst thou thus transported?  
Or whether are thy sober wits resorted?  
What art become so empty, light a thing  
That all thy mind is now to be on wing?   

Nothing but soaring in the air on high,  
Nothing will please thee if thou dost not fly,  
So far besotted with these airy things  
Thou dreamest of birds should set thee on their wings,  
Of golden Doves, of Eagles: to speak plain,  
Of Castles in the air, or in thy brain.   

And whence proceeds these troubles? only bred  
Of gross distempered Humours in thy head,  
Which growing to extremes, in this condition,  
Converts thy very soul into ambition.  
But mine own heart, and mine own head be stayed,  
Call home your thoughts, collect your wits now strayed.  
They in the air are hunting of a feather,  
And thou on earthly'st only gazing thither.   

Fool's play with Feathers, art not thou the same,  
To let thy thoughts run after such a game?  
Which though it seems to stoop to thee, in fine,  
May light upon another's head, not thine.   

And what is fame here? is it any other  
Than a mere painted, or a golden feather?  
Tossed in the empty air, to and fro  
By each inconstant vapour that doth blow.   

The people's acclamations, which we find  
Are just as light, and changing as the wind;  
Whereon relying, men may hoist up sail,  
But when a stress, or tempest comes they fail.  
But mine own self, be more thine own entire,  
Not tossed thus to, and fro, upon desire;  
Let not supposed happiness, though great,  
Move thee to loath a present happy state.   

What dost thou want? what canst thou wish, indeed  
Either to satisfy desire, or need?  
Which thou hast not already in such plenty  
As may, so long as thou art man, content thee?   

Possessions thou hast in possession many,  
Silver and Gold thou hast no want of any,  
Fullness of pleasure speed before thee lies,  
Titles of Honour too, that may suffice.   

And howsoever thy mistrustful heart,  
Proceeding from suspect of thy desert,  
May move thee to surmise the World neglects thee,  
Yet people peradventure, more respects thee  
Than thou hast eyes are open to observe,  
Yea more, it may be, than thou dost deserve.   

But say the people do begin to slight thee,  
And trumpets of thy fame, which did delight thee,  
Are now not sounded with so great applause  
As once thy Honour gave the World a cause.   

What then? shalt thou be thereupon enraged,  
And only curse the people, who, engaged  
To do thee Honour, do not make it known,  
As if there were no fault herein thine own?   

Sense blinded self, thy eyesight is not clear,  
Thou looks too far, for that which is too near,  
Thou blamest the people, when the fault is thine,  
Remove the cause, th'effect will then decline.   

Wouldst hear the Echoes of thy praise rebound  
Then let thy Virtues give that trumpet sound,  
For if the Echoes of thy praises cease  
It is because thy Virtues do decrease.   

Be Virtuous, and be famous in thy place,  
For Virtue is in Thrones the highest grace:  
High borne, high placed, befits a lofty story;  
But lasting fame, is only Virtue's glory.   

Dear self, then be not in that frantic mood,  
To labour here to be more great, then good:  
But, if that greatness needs must be thy prey,  
Let goodness go before to make the way.   

But wherefore hast thou such a mind to rise?  
When thou art such a pitch as may suffice:  
Is climbing without danger dost suppose?  
Whoever fell, but first of all he rose?   

Then who to rise would vex himself at all,  
When rising doth but presuppose a fall?  
Nor can he (though he dreams himself secure)  
That doth sit tottering on the top, sit sure.   

Besides, it is the envy of the times  
To aim at him that sits aloft, or climes:  
Ambitious spirits cannot brook superiors,  
Thou they themselves be many ways inferiors.   

Men still are doting on that fond surmising,  
That one man's falling, proves another's rising;  
That always men advanced high, are lying  
Within the boundless reach of much envying.   

Fond self, then do not struggle so with fate  
To change the better, for a greater state:  
Nor yet suppose 'tis greatness of the same,  
If goodness want, that can preserve thy fame.   

Nay, beest thou bad, 'twill mar thy greatness quite,  
For, though men dare not brand thee in thy sight,  
Yet in thy absence men will speak their mind;  
And show, although they wink, they are not blind.   

Besides, if bad, the higher in degree,  
By odds the greater will thy downfall be:  
And when thou shalt be down, nay, shalt be the dead;  
And in thy silent grave art buried.   

Although thou then mayst, peradventure, have  
A stately Tomb erected on thy grave,  
Most firmly fixed to preserve thy fame,  
With a fair Epitaph upon the same.  
Yet thou must not imagine this will serve  
Thy much defaced Honour to preserve,  
No, these can slender commendations raise,  
These are but silly monuments of praise.   

Indeed, perhaps, when such men shall it seen  
As are mere strangers to the Land, or thee,  
Thou mayst have some conceived Honour by them,  
Until report doth better certify them.   

But when that such shall therein hap to view thee  
As in thy life, and Conversation knew thee;  
If any Virtue be therein indented,  
Alas, will they say, this was but invented.   

And thus thy sumptuous Epitaph, or Tomb,  
Intended to thy Honour, shall become,  
Instead of Trophies written on thy shrine,  
A shame to thee, and scandal to thy line.   

Deluded self, then wouldst have Honour here?  
Then strive to be the same thou wouldst appear:  
For 'tis not place, nor, title, nor degree  
Can set thy greatness from men's censures free.   

Or wouldst thou have thy Honour to endure?  
To thee, and thine? let Virtue make it sure:  
For Virtue only writes with such a pen  
As doth indent beyond the Art of men.   

Take Virtue then to be thy only prize,  
For, without Virtue, men but fall, that rise:  
But, doubtless he whom Virtue doth advance,  
His state is little subject unto chance.   

Sweet Virtue! why do we no more admire?  
But careless we that do no more desire thee:  
'tis thou that only mak'st us wear the Bays,  
And we that only do neglect thy praise.   

If thou giv'st light to lowest shrubs of all,  
What lustre giv'st to Cedars that are tall?  
If thou giv'st grace to meanest men that live?  
What Glory dost thou to the mighty give?   

Dear self, then seek to climb no otherwise  
Then Virtue teacheth, if thou needs must rise:  
But, if thou wouldst be certain not to fall,  
The surest way is not to climb at all.    

Passion and Discretion.  

Passion.  

COme sweet delights, come let me taste you quicker  
Your Quintessence is Nectar, Courtly lickor:  
I taste your honey, and I taste again,  
Yet unsufficed, as if I drunk in vain:   

I drink, and drink thereon, and yet am dry:  
Oh! have you fullness that can make supply?  
Strange! ever sucking, and yet empty still?  
Come let me taste you fully, drink my fill.    

Discretion.  

Fond man, what meanest? dost hunger for delight?  
To feed on that which feedeth Appetite?  
Or wouldst thou drink those liquours, like the Seas,  
To quench thy thirst, which will thy thirst increase?   

There thou, indeed, mayst drink till thou dost burst,  
Or thou dost drown, but never quench thy thirst:  
Nor can that liquor satisfy at all,  
Though taste like honey, which converts to gall.    

Passion.  

Earth, earth, earth, earth, what is it void of sense?  
Why have I feeling then, who came from thence?  
I call to earth, for earth to ease my cares,  
But why have I a tongue, and earth no ears?   

Unhappy man, must I my case bemoan  
To move the earth, and earth becomes a stone?  
Let pity then for ever cease to be:  
Oh! give me earth, or let the earth take me.    

Discretion.  

All-earth, what ail'st thou? nothing but that mire  
Which thou wert made of, suits with thy desire?  
Is earth so sweet to taste on, or to smell?  
Be satisfied, thou shalt have earth thy fill.   

Thy gaping mouth, and unsufficed throat,  
With earth filled up, shall make thee change thy note,  
And, in revenge, the earth thou call'st so fast,  
To feed on here, shall eat up thee at last.    

Passion.  

You melting clouds, which mourn above my head,  
Let tears drop down, my dearest friend is dead:  
Remorseless death hath now untied that knot  
Most dead affection fastened, or begot.   

Departed Friend, dear was thy presence to me,  
Deep wounding death, what vengeance dost thou show me  
Dear friend, but must death sever's with his dart?  
Life, rather leave me too, 'tis death to part.    

Discretion.  

Lamenting creature, cease thy sobs, forbear  
Thy friends at rest, then why art thou in care?  
Death was but sent to free thy friend from strife,  
Then blame not death, nor rob thyself of life.   

Life is but lent, and so a debt, indeed,  
Which must be paid, before the debtor's freed,  
If freedom then by dying may be gained,  
Thy friend is freed, and thou thyself art chained.    

Passion.  

Fair? yea most fair, mistake not I the glass?  
Is there such beauty in a humane face?  
Or more than humane, very near Divine,  
If not mere heavenly, could it else so shine?   

Heaven's Masterpiece, or Nature's rarest art,  
Thy Sunlike beams attract my yielding heart:  
I gaze on thee, and gazing lose my sight,  
And yet the more I gaze, the more delight.    

Discretion.  

Vain Doter, dost, nay, dar'st thou pry so near?  
Thy sight so weak, this Sun so passing clear:  
Regard thy sight, look off a while: its power  
Will fail anon; it whither like a flower.   

Beauty be comes a bait; dost thou not know  
That Snakes do hide where fairest flowers do grow?  
The pith of grist, is in this bark of joy:  
Fair Helen caused the overthrow of Troy.    

Passion.  

Tush; I have brains, why stand I doubting still?  
My wits will serve to answer for my will:  
What need I tremble then, or stand in awe?  
When Logic will defend, why fear I law?   

Come then Invention let us beat our brains,  
Plot for our ends, and give desire the reins:  
Our secret Projects shall have good success,  
If otherwise, our wits shall find redress.    

Discretion.  

Proud Haman, or Achitophel, be wise.  
he's most a fool, most on his wit relies.  
Seest thou not how they sink, or run a shore  
That make their Wit their Boat, their Will their Oar   

Presume not then, man's Policy is light,  
Events are secret, hiden from his sight:  
He may the outside of things present find,  
But in things secret, or to come he's blind.    

Passion.  

Woe, woe, why came I forth my Mother's women be?  
Why was not that Sepulchre still my Tom be?  
There I had ease, and rest, but borne to strife,  
Cries did foretell the sorrows of my life:   

Sorrows, indeed, tormented with such pain  
Which to conceive, confounds conceit, as vain:  
Can Natures wants by Art have no supply?  
Oh! ease me, ease me, ease me or I die.    

Discretion.  

I moan thee much, but thou must be content,  
Thy case is all men's, coming by descent;  
Adam did eat, and surfeit; thou his son  
Art bound to suffer, still the sore doth run.   

Despair not though, but pacify thy mind,  
There is no sore, but hath a salve assigned:  
If in the body, Physic there doth good,  
If in the soul, than her Physicians blood.    

Passion.  

What, have I spent my time, and Parents cost,  
Ingaining Learning, and my labour lost?  
Is Learning now neglected? yes, become,  
It seems by me, not worthy of a Room:   

Or; if I be got in, I am so penned,  
The room I have doth give me no content:  
I know my worth, and what the world doth owe me;  
But purblind world, will neither pay, nor know me,    

Discretion.  

Have patience man, the world doth place admit,  
And Honour too, to men deserving it:  
Then rest content, thou shalt have what thou wouldst,  
Beest thou the same thou sayest; if not, why shouldst?   

Thou may'st have learning great, yet not allowed:  
Thou may'st have learning good, yet making proud:  
Thou may'st by learning show the Truth most full:  
Thou may'st by Learning most deceive and gull.  
If Learning then can put such shapes upon her,  
Let heavens give grace, that Learning may give honour.     
FINIS.