m MR "Hi mbm HB raiimi ®m H m 11 II ^ w ° * %^ O0 \ A V cv r \ \V r> /- ^jN# s. ,0' ^ v c- ^7 A>>' ^llpsill UHf L==^^'-'#^^Sh« fhi ^W^fe S^^mSwL 4^mX- %m m iJ^' : - ^8s^pt§2|5^311 SSm^ w IS QUARLES' EMBLEMS ILLUSTRATED BY CHARLES BENNETT AND W. HARRY ROGERS. LONDON: JAMES NISBET AND CO. BERNERS STREET. MDCCCLXI. fK 3Ui \ THE ILLUSTRATIONS ENGRAVED BY JOSEPH SWAIN AND EDMUND EVANS. TO MY MUCH HONOURED, AND NO LESS TRULY BELOVED FRIEND, EDWARD BENLOWES, ESQ. My dear Friend, ttOU have put the Theorbo into my hand, and I have A played : you gave the musician the first encourage- ment ; the music returneth to you for patronage. Had it been a light air, no doubt but it had taken the most, and among them the worst ; but being a grave strain, my hopes are, that it will please the best, and among them you. Toyish airs please trivial ears ; they kiss the fancy, and betray it. They cry, Hail, first ; and after, Crucify : Let daws delight to immerd themselves in dung, whilst eagles scorn so poor a game as flies. Sir, you have art and candour; let the one judge, let the other excuse. Your most affectionate Friend, FRA. QUARLES. To the Reader, A N Emblem is but a silent parable : Let not the tender eye check, to see the allusion to our blessed Saviour figured in these types. In holy Scripture he is sometimes called a Sower ; sometimes a Fisher ; sometimes a Physican : And why not presented so as well to the eye as to the ear % Before the knowledge of letters, God was known by hieroglyphics. And indeed what are the Heavens, the earth, nay, every creature, but Hieroglyphics and Emblems of his glory ? I have no more to say ; I wish thee as much pleasure in the reading, as I had in writing. Farewell, Reader. FRANCIS QUARLES. T> Y fathers back'd, by holy writ led on : Thou show'st the way to Heav'n by Helicon : The Muses' font is consecrate by thee, And Poesy baptized Divinity : Bless'd soul, that here embark'st : thou fail'st apace, 'Tis hard to say, mov'd more by wit or grace, Each muse so plies her oar : But O the sail Is fill'd from Heav'n with a diviner gale : When poets prove divines, why should not I Approve in verse this divine poetry ? Let this suffice to license thee the press : I must no more ; nor could the truth say less. Sic approbavit. RIC. LOVE, Procan. Cant Tot F lores QUARLES, quot Paradisus habet Lectori bene male-volo. Qui legit ex Horto hoc Flores, qui carpit, titerque Jure potest Violas dicere, jure Rosas : Non e Pamasso VIOL AM, festive RGSETO Carpit Apollo, magis quae sit amcena, ROSAM. Quot Versus VIOLAS legis ; & quern verba locutum Credis, verba dedit : Nam dedit We ROSAS. Utque'Zs^v'non dicam haec VIOLAS suavissima ; TuU Ipse facis VIOLAS, Livide, si violas. Nam velut e VIOLIS sibi fugit Aranea virus : Vertis at in succos Hasque ROSAS que tuos. Quas violas Musas, VIOLAS puto ; quasque recusas Dente tuo rosas, has, reor, esse ROSAS. Sic rosas, facis esse ROSAS, dum Zoile, rodis : Sic facies has VIOLAS, Livide, dum violas. EDW. BENLOWES. Brent-Hall, 1634. BOOK THE FIRST ROUSE thee, my soul ; and drain thee from the dregs Of vulgar thoughts ; screw up the heighten'd pegs Of thy sublime Theorbo four notes high'r, And high'r yet, that so the shrill-mouth'd quire Of swift- wing'd seraphims may come and join, And make the concert more than half divine. Invoke no muse ; let Heav'n be thine Apollo ; And let his sacred influences hallow Thy high-bred strains. Let his full beams inspire Thy ravish'd brains with more heroic fire : Snatch thee a quill from the spread eagle's wing, And, like the morning lark, mount up and sing : Cast off these dangling plummets, that so clog Thy lab'ring heart, which gropes in this dark fog Of dungeon earth ; let flesh and blood forbear To stop thy flight, till this base world appear B 2 The Invocation. A thin blue landscape : let thy pinions soar So high a pitch, that men may seem no more Than pismires, crawling on the mole-hill earth, Thine ear untroubled with their frantic mirth ; Let not the frailty of thy flesh disturb Thy new-concluded peace ; let reason curb Thy hot-mouth'd passion; and let Heav'n's fire season The fresh conceits of thy corrected reason. Disdain to warm thee at lust's smoky fires, Scorn, scorn to feed on thy old bloat desires : Come, come, my soul, hoist up thy higher sails, The wind blows fair ; shall we still creep like snails, That glide their ways with their own native slimes ? No, we must fly like eagles, and our rhymes Must mount to Heav'n, and reach the Olympic ear ; Our Heav'n-blown fire must seek no other sphere. Thou, great Theanthropos, that giv'st and ground'st Thy gifts in dust, and from our dunghill crown'st Reflecting honour, taking by retail What thou hast giv'n in gross, from lapsed, frail, And sinful man : that drink'st full draughts, wherein Thy children's lep'rous fingers, scurf'd with sin, Have paddled ; cleanse, O cleanse my crafty soul From secret crimes, and let my thoughts control My thoughts : O teach me stoutly to deny Myself, that I may be no longer I : Enrich my fancy, clarify my thoughts, Refine my dross ; O wink at human faults ; The Invocation. 5 And through the slender conduit of my quill Convey thy current, whose clear streams may fill The hearts of men with love, their tongues with praise : Crown me with glory, take, who list, the bays. Every man is tempted, when he is drawn away by his own lust, and enticed. — J AMES I. 14. Serpent, ffibe* Serp. Not eat ? not taste ? not touch ? not cast an eye Upon the fruit of this fair tree ? and why ? Why eat'st thou not what Heav'n ordain'd for food ? Or canst thou think that bad which Heav'n call'd good ? Why was it made, if not to be enjoy'd ? Neglect of favours makes a favour void : Blessings unus'd, pervert into a waste As well as surfeits : woman, do but taste : See how the laden boughs make silent suit To be enjoy'd : look how their bending fruit Meet thee half-way : observe but how they crouch To kiss thy hand ; coy woman, do but touch : Mark what a pure vermillion blush has dyed Their swelling cheeks, and how for shame they hide Their palsy heads, to see themselves stand by Neglected : woman, do but cast an eye. What bounteous Heav'n ordain'd for use, refuse not ; Come, pull and eat ; y' abuse the thing ye use not. Qtiarles Emblems. Eve. Wisest of beasts, our great Creator did Reserve this tree, and this alone forbid ; The rest are freely ours, which doubtless are As pleasing to the taste ; to the eye as fair : But touching this, his strict commands are such 'Tis death to taste, no less than death to touch. Serp. Pish ; death's a fable ; did not Heav'n inspire Your equal elements with living fire, Blown from the spring of life ? Is not that breath Immortal ? come ; ye are as free from death As he that made you. Can the flames expire Which he has kindled ; can ye quench his fire ? Did not the great Creator's voice proclaim Whate'er he made, from the blue spangled frame To the poor leaf that trembles, very good ? Bless'd he not both the feeder and the food ? Tell, tell me then, what danger can accrue From such bless'd food, to such half gods as you ? Curb needless fears, and let no fond conceit Abuse your freedom ; woman, take and eat. Eve. 'Tis true, we are immortal ; death is yet Unborn, and, till rebellion make it death, Undue ; I know the fruit is good, until Presumptuous disobedience make it ill. The lips that open to this fruit's a portal To let in death, and make immortal mortal. Serp. You cannot die ; come, woman, taste and fear not. Eve. Shall Eve transgress \ I dare not, O, I dare not. Serp. Afraid ? why draw'st thou back thy tim'rous arm? Harm only falls on such as fear a harm. Heav'n knows and fears the virtue of this tree : 'Twill make you perfect gods as well as he. Quarles Emblems. 9 Stretch forth thy hand, and let thy fondness never Fear death : do, pull, and eat, and live for ever. Eve. 'Tis but an apple ; and it is as good . To do as to desire. Fruit's made for food : I'll pull, and taste, and tempt my Adam too To know the secrets of this dainty. Serp. Do. S. Chrys. sup. Matth. He forced him not : he touched him not : only said, Cast thyself dozvn ; that we may know, that whosoever obeyeth the devil, casteth himself down : for the devil may suggest, compel he cannot. S. Bern, in Ser. It is the devil's part to suggest : ours, not to consent. As oft as we resist him, so often we overcome him : as often as we overcome him, so often we bring joy to the angels, and glory to God ; who opposeth us, that we may contend ; and assisteth us, that we may conquer. Epig. 1. Unlucky parliament ! wherein, at last, Both houses are agreed, and firmly past An act of death confirm'd by higher pow'rs ; O had it had but such success as ours ! Then when lust hath conceived, it bringeth forth sin ; and sin, when it is finished, bringeth forth death. — James i. 15. Lament, lament ; look, look, what thou hast done : Lament the world's, lament thine own estate : Look, look, by doing, how thou art undone ; Lament thy fall, lament thy change of state : Thy faith is broken, and thy freedom gone, See, see too soon, what thou lament'st too late, O thou that wert so many men, nay, all Abridg'd in one, how has thy desp'rate fall Destroy'd thy unborn seed, destroy'd thyself withal ! Uxorious Adam, whom thy Maker made Equal to angels that excel in pow'r, What hast thou done 1 O why hast thou obey'd Thine own destruction ? like a new-cropt flowV, How does the glory of thy beauty fade ! How are thy fortunes blasted in an hour ! How art thou cow'd that hast the pow'r to quell The spite of new fall'n angels, baffle hell, And vie with those that stood, and vanquish those that fell. Quarles Emblems. See how the world (whose chaste and pregnant womb Of late conceiv'd, and brought forth nothing ill) Is now degenerated, and become A base adult'ress, whose false births do fill The earth with monsters, monsters that do roam And rage about, and make a trade to kill : Now glutt'ny paunches ; lust begins to spawn ; Wrath takes revenge, and avarice a pawn ; Pale envy pines, pride swells, and sloth begins to yawn. The air that whisper'd now begins to roar ; And blust'ring Boreas blows the boiling tide ; The white-mouth'd water now usurps the shore, And scorns the pow'r of her tridental guide ; The fire now burns, that did but warm before, And rules her ruler with resistless pride : Fire, water, earth, and air, that first were made To be subdu'd, see how they now invade ; They rule whom once they serv'd, command where once obey'd. Behold, that nakedness, that late bewray'd Thy glory, now's become thy shame, thy wonder ; Behold, those trees whose various fruits were made For food, now turn'd a shade to shroud thee under ; Behold, that voice (which thou hast disobey'd) That late was music, now affrights like thunder. Poor man ! are not thy joints grown faint with shaking To view th' effect of thy bold undertaking, That in one hour didst mar what Mcav'n six days was making. Quarles Emblems. i 3 S. AUGUST, lib. 1. de Lib. Arbit. It is a most just punishment, that man should lose that freedom, which man could not use, yet had power to keep, if he would ; and that he who had knowledge to do what was right, and did not, should be deprived of the knowledge of what was right ; and that he who would not do righteously, when he had the power, should lose the power to do it, when he had the will. HUGO de Anima. They are justly punished that abuse lawful things, but they are most justly punished, that use unlawful things : thus Lucifer fell from heaven : thus Adam lost his paradise. Epig. 2. See how these fruitful kernels, being cast Upon the earth, how thick they spring ! how fast ! A full ear'd crop and thriving, rank and proud ! Prepost'rous man first sow'd, and then he plough'd. -X-5^ Even in laughter the heart is sorrowful ; and the end of that mirth is heaviness. — Prov. xiv. 13. ALAS ! fond child, How are thy thoughts beguil'd To hope for honey from a nest of wasps ? Thou may'st as well Go seek for ease in hell, Or sprightly nectar from the mouth of asps. The world's a hive, From whence thou canst derive No good, but what thy soul's vexation brings : But case thou meet Some petty-petty sweet, Each drop is guarded with a thousand stings. Why dost thou make These murm'ring troops forsake The safe protection of their waxen homes ? 1 6 Quarks Emblems. Their hive contains No sweet that's worth thy pains ; There's nothing here, alas ! but empty combs. For trash and toys, And grief-engend'ring joys, What torment seems too sharp for flesh and blood ; What bitter pills, Compos'd of real ills, Men swallow down to purchase one false good ! The dainties here, Are least what they appear ; Though sweet in hopes, yet in fruition sour : The fruit that's yellow, Is found not always mellow ; The fairest tulip's not the sweetest flow'r. Fond youth, give o'er, And vex thy soul no more In seeking what were better far unfound ; Alas ! thy gains Are only present pains To gather scorpions for a future wound. What's earth or in it, That longer than a minute, Can lend a free delight that can endure % O who would droil, Or delve in such a soil, Where gain's uncertain, and the pain is sure? QuaHes Emblems. S. August. Sweetness in temporal matters is deceitful : It is a labour and a perpetual fear ; it is a dangerous pleasure, whose beginning is without Providence, and whose end is not with- out repentance. Hugo. Luxury is an enticing pleasure, a bastard mirth, which hath honey in her mouth, gall in her heart, and a sting in her tail. Epig. 3. What, Cupid, are thy shafts already made ? And seeking honey to set up thy trade, True emblem of thy sweets ! thy bees do bring Honey in their mouths, but in their tails a sting. To be laid in the balance, it is altogether lighter than vanity. — PSALM LXII. 9. PUT in another weight : 'tis yet too light : And yet, fond Cupid, put another in ; And yet another : still there's under weight : Put in another hundred : put again ; Add world to world ; then heap a thousand more To that \ then, to renew thy wasted store, Take up more worlds on trust, to draw thy balance low'r. Put in the flesh, with all her loads of pleasure ; Put in great Mammon's endless inventory ; Put in the pond'rous acts of mighty Caesar : Put in the greater weight of Sweden's glory ; Add Scipio's gauntlet ; put in Plato's gown : Put Circe's charms, put in the triple crown. Thy balance will not draw ; thy balance will not down. c 2 20 Quarles' Emblems. LORD ! what a world is this, which day and night, Men seek with so much toil, with so much trouble ? Which, weigh'd in equal scales, is found so light, So poorly overbalanc'd with a bubble ! Good God ! that frantic mortals should destroy Their higher hopes, and place their idle joy Upon such airy trash, upon so light a toy ! Thou bold impostor, how hast thou befool'd The tribe of man with counterfeit desire ! How has the breath of thy false bellows cool'd Heav'n's freeborn flame, and kindled bastard fire ! How hast thou vented dross instead of treasure, And cheated men with thy false weights and measure, Proclaiming bad for good ; and gilding death with pleasure ! The world's a crafty strumpet, most affecting And closely following those that most reject her ; But seeming careless, nicely disrespecting And coyly flying those that most affect her ; If thou be free, she's strange ; if strange, she's free ; Flee, and she follows ; follow, and she'll flee ; Than she there's none more coy, there's none more fond than she. O what a crocodilian world is this, Compos'd of treach'ries, and insnaring wiles ! She clothes destruction in a formal kiss, And lodges death in her deceitful smiles ; She hugs the soul she hates ) and there does prove The veriest tyrant, where she vows to love ; And is a serpent most, when most she seems a dove. Quarles Emblems. 2 i Thrice happy he, whose nobler thoughts despise To make an object of so easy gains ; Thrice happy he, who scorns so poor a prize Should be the crown of his heroic pains : Thrice happy he, who ne'er was born to try Her frowns or smiles : or being born, did lie In his sad nurse's arms an hour or two, and die. S. August, lib. Confess. O you that dote upon this world, for what victory do ye fight ? Your hopes can be crowned with no greater reward than the world can give ; and what is the world, but a brittle thing full of dangers, wherein we travel from lesser to greater perils % O let all her vain, light, momentary glory perish with herself, and let us be conversant with more eternal things. Alas ! this world is miserable ; life is short, and death is sure. Epig. 4. My soul, what's lighter than a feather? Wind. Than wind \ The fire. And what, than fire ? The mind. What's lighter than the mind? A thought. Than thought ? This bubble world. What, than this bubble ? Nought. /^i The fashion of this world passeth away, — I Cor. VII. 41 Gone are those golden days wherein Pale conscience started not at ugly sin : When good old Saturn's peaceful throne Was unusurped by his beardless son : When jealous Ops ne'er fear'd th' abuse Of her chaste bed, or breach of nuptial truce : When just Astrea pois'd her scales In mortal hearts, whose absence earth bewails : When froth-born Venus and her brat, With all that spurious brood young Jove begat, In horrid shapes were yet unknown ; Those halcyon days, that golden age is gone. There was no client then to wait The leisure of his long-tail'd advocate ; The talion law was in request, And Chanc'ry Courts were kept in every breast Abused statutes had no tenters, And men could deal secure without indentures : 24 Quarles Emblems. There was no peeping hole to clear The wittal's eye from his incarnate fear : There were no lustful cinders then To broil the carbonado'd hearts of men : The rosy cheeks did then proclaim A shame of guilt, but not a guilt of shame : There was no whining soul to start At Cupid's twang, or curse his flaming dart : The boy had then but callow wings, And fell Erennys' scorpions had no stings : The better-acted world did move Upon the fixed poles of truth and love. Love essenc'd in the hearts of men ! Then reason rul'd, there was no passion then ; Till lust and rage began to enter, Love the circumf rence was, and love the centre Until the wanton days of Jove, The simple world was all compos'd of love ; But Jove grew fleshly, false, unjust ; Inferior beauty fill'd his veins with lust : And cucquean Juno's fury hurl'd Fierce balls of rape into th' incestuous world : Astrea fled, and love return'd From earth, earth boil'd with lust, with rage it burn'd, And ever since the world hath been Kept going with the scourge of lust and spleen. S. Ambrose. Lust is a sharp spur to vice, which always putteth the affections into a false gallop. Quarles Emblems. 25 Hugo. Lust is an immoderate wantonness of the flesh, a sweet poison, a cruel pestilence ; a pernicious poison, which weakeneth the body of man, and effeminateth the strength of an heroic mind. S. August. Envy is the hatred of another's felicity : in respect of superiors, because they are not equal to them ; in respect of inferiors, lest he should be equal to them ; in respect of equals, because they are equal to them. Through envy proceeded the fall of the world, and death of Christ. Epig. 5. What, Cupid, must the world be lash'd so soon ? But made at morning, and be whipt at noon ? Tis like the wag, that plays with Venus' doves, The more 'tis lash'd, the more perverse it proves. £ ^ All is vanity and vexation of spirit. — ECCLES. II. 17. How is the anxious soul of man befool'd In his desire, That thinks an hectic fever may be cool'd In flames of fire ? Or hopes to rake full heaps of burnish'd gold From nasty mire ? A whining lover may as well request A scornful breast To melt in gentle tears, as woo the world for rest. Let wit, and all her study'd plots effect The best they can ; Let smiling fortune prosper and perfect What wit began ; Let earth advise with both, and so project A happy man ; Let wit or fawning fortune vie their best ; He may be blest With all the earth can give ; but earth can give no rest. 28 Quarks Emblems. Whose gold is double with a careful hand, His cares are double ; The pleasure, honour, wealth of sea and land Bring but a trouble ; The world itself, and all the world's command, Is but a bubble. The strong desires of man's insatiate breast May stand possest Of all that earth can give ; but earth can give no rest. The world's a seeming paradise, but her own And man's tormentor; Appearing fix'd, yet but a rolling stone Without a tenter ; It is a vast circumference, where none Can find a centre. Of more than earth, can earth make none possest ; And he that least Regards this restless world, shall in this world find rest. True rest consists not in the oft revying Of worldly dross ; Earth's miry purchase is not worth the buying; Her gain is loss ; Her rest but giddy toil, if not relying Upon her cross. How worldlings droil for trouble ! that fond breast That is possess'd Of earth without a cross, has earth without a rest. Quarles Emblems. 29 Cass, in Ps. The cross is the invincible sanctuary of the humble, the dejection of the proud, the victory of Christ, the destruction of the devil, the confirmation of the faithful, the death of the unbeliever, the life of the just. Damascen. The cross of Christ is the key of paradise ; the weak man's staff ; the convert's convoy ; the upright man's perfec- tion ; the soul and body's health ; the prevention of all evil, and the procurer of all good. EPIG. 6. Worldlings, whose whimp'ring folly holds the losses Of honour, pleasure, health, and wealth such crosses, Look here, and tell me what your arms engross, When the best end of what he hugs's a cross ? 31-— -^ ^ Be sober, be vigilant ; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking ivhom he may devour. — I PETER V. 8. Why dost thou suffer lustful sloth to creep, Dull Cyprian lad, into thy wanton brows ; Is this a time to pay thine idle vows At Morpheus' shrine ? Is this a time to steep Thy brains in wasteful slumbers ? up, and rouse Thy leaden spirit : is this a time to sleep ? Adjourn thy sanguine dreams, awake, arise, Call in thy thoughts, and let them all advise, Hadst thou as many heads as thou hast wounded eyes. Look, look, what horrid furies do await Thy flatt'ring slumbers ! If thy drowsy head But chance to nod, thou fall'st into a bed Of sulph'rous flames, whose torments want a date. Fond boy, be wise, let not thy thoughts be fed With Phrygian wisdom ; fools are wise too late : Beware betimes, and let thy reason sever Those gates which passion clos'd ; wake now or never ; For if thou nod'st thou fall'st; and, falling, fall'st for ever. 32 Quarks' Emblems. Mark, how the ready hands of death prepare : His bow is bent, and he hath notch'd his dart ; He aims, he levels at thy slumb'ring heart : The wound is posting, O be wise, beware. What, has the voice of danger lost the art To raise the spirit of neglected care % Well, sleep thy fill, and take thy soft reposes ; But know, withal, sweet tastes have sour closes ; And he repents in thorns, that sleeps in beds of roses. Yet, sluggard, wake, and gull thy soul no more With earth's false pleasures, and the world's delight, Whose fruit is fair and pleasing to the sight, But sour in taste, false as the putrid core : Thy flaring glass is gems at her half light ; She makes thee seeming rich, but truly poor : She boasts a kernel, and bestows a shell ; Performs an inch of her fair-promis'd ell : Her words protest a heav'n ; her works produce a hell. O thou, the fountain of whose better part, Is earth'd and gravel'd up with vain desire : That daily wallow'st in the fleshly mire And base pollution of a lustful heart, That feel'st no passion, but in wanton fise, And own'st no torment, but in Cupid's dart ; Behold thy type : thou sitt'st upon this ball Of earth, secure, while death that flings at all, Stands arm'd to strike thee down, where flames attend thy fall. Quarles Emblems, 33 S. Bern. Security is no where ; neither in heaven nor in paradise, much less in the world : In heaven the angels fell from the divine presence ; in paradise, Adam fell from his place of pleasure ; in the world, Judas fell from the school of our Saviour. Hugo. I eat secure, I drink secure, I sleep secure, even as though I had passed the day of death, avoided the day of judgment, and escaped the torments of hell-fire : I play and laugh, as though I were already triumphing in the kingdom of Heaven. Epig. 7. Get up, my soul ; redeem thy slavish eyes From drowsy bondage : O beware, be wise : Thy foe's before thee ; thou must fight, or fly : Life lies most open in a closed eye. Woe unto you that laugh nozv ! for ye shall mourn and weep. — Luke vi. 25. The world's a popular disease, that reigns Within the froward heart and frantic brains Of poor distemper'd mortals, oft arising From ill digestion, th' unequal poising Of ill-weigh'd elements, whose light directs Malignant humours to malign effects : One raves and labours with a boiling liver ; Rends hair by handfuls, cursing Cupid's quiver ; Another, with a bloody flux of oaths, Vows deep revenge : one doats ; the other loaths : One frisks and sings, and cries, A flagon more To drench dry cares, and make the welkin roar ; Another droops : the sun-shine makes him sad ; Heav'n cannot please : one's mopp'd : the other's mad One hugs his gold ; another lets it fly : He knowing not for whom ; nor t'other why. One spends his day in plots, his night in play ; Another sleeps and slugs both night and day : One laughs at this thing, t'other cries for that. D 2 36 Quarles Emblems. Wonder of wonders ! What we ought t' evite As our disease, we hug as our delight : Tis held a symptom of approaching danger, When disacquainted sense becomes a stranger, And takes no knowledge of an old disease ; But when a noisome grief begins to please The unresisting sense, it is a fear That death has parly'd, and compounded there : As when the dreadful Thund'rer's awful hand Pours forth a vial on the infected land, At first the affright'iied mortals quake and fear And ev'ry noise is thought the Thunderer : But when the frequent soul-departing bell Has pav'd their-^ars with her familiar knell, It is reputed but a nine-days' wonder, They neither fear the Thund'rer nor his thunder. So when the world (a worse disease) began To smart for sin, poor new-created man Could seek for shelter, and his gen'rous son Knew by his wages what his hands had done : But bold-faced mortals in our blushless times Can sing and smile, and make a sport of crimes, Transgress of custom, and rebel in ease, We false-joy'd fools can triumph in disease, And (as the careless pilgrim, being bit By the tarantula, begins a fit Of life-concluding laughter) waste our breath In lavish pleasure, till we laugh to death. HUGO de Anima. What profit is there in vain glory, momentary mirth, the world's power, the flesh's pleasure, full riches, noble descent, Quarles Emblems. 37 and great desires ? Where is their laughter ? Where is their mirth ? Where their insolence ? their arrogance 1 From how- much joy to how much sadness ! After how much mirth, how much misery ! From how great glory are they fallen, to how great torment ! What hath fallen to them, may befal thee, because thou art a man : Thou art of earth ; thou livest of earth ; thou shalt return to earth. Death expecteth thee every-where ! Be wise, therefore, and expect death every-where. Epig. 8. What ails the fool to laugh? Does something please His vain conceit? Or is't a mere disease? Fool, giggle on, and waste thy wanton breath ; Thy morning laughter breeds an ev'ning death. ;!^- The world passeth away, and all the lusts thereof. — i John il 17. Draw near, brave sparks, whose spirits scorn to light Your hollow tapers but at honour's flame ; You, whose heroic actions take delight To varnish over a new painted name ; Whose high-bred thoughts disdain to take their flight, But on th' Icarian wings of babbling fame ; Behold, how tottering are your high-built stories Of earth, whereon you trust the ground-work of your glories. And you, more brain-sick lovers, that can prize A wanton smile before eternal joys ; That know no heaven but in your mistress' eyes ; That feel no pleasure but what sense enjoys : That can, like crown-distemper'd fools despise True riches, and like babies whine for toys : Think ye the pageants of your hopes are able To stand secure on earth, when earth itself 's unstable? 40 Quarks Emblems. Come, dunghill worldlings, you that root like swine, And cast up golden trenches where you come : Whose only pleasure is to undermine, And view the secrets of your mother's womb : Come, bring your saint pouch'd in his leathern shrine, And summon all your griping angels home ; Behold the world, the bank of all your store, The world ye so admire, the world ye so adore. A feeble world, whose hot-mouth'd pleasures tire Before the race ; before the start, retreat ; A faithless world, whose false delights expire Before the term of half their promis'd date : A fickle world, not worth the least desire, Where ev'ry chance proclaims a change of state : A feeble, faithless, fickle world wherein Each motion proves a vice, and ev'ry act a sin. The beauty, that of late was in her flow'r, Is now a ruin, not to raise a lust : He that was lately drench'd in Danae's show'r, Is master now of neither good nor trust ; Whose honour late was manned with princely pow'r, His glory now lies buried in the dust ; O who would trust this world, or prize what's in it, That gives and takes, and chops and changes, ev'ry minute ? Nor length of days, nor solid strength of brain, Can find a place wherein to rest secure : The world is various, and the earth is vain ; There's nothing certain here, there's nothing sure : Quarles Emblems. 41 We trudge, we travel, but from pain to pain, And what's our only griefs our only cure : The world's a torment; he that would endeavour To find the way to rest, must seek the way to leave her. S. Greg, in Horn. Behold, the world is withered in itself, yet flourisheth in our hearts, every-where death, every-where grief, every-where desolation : On every side we are smitten ; on every side filled with bitterness, and yet, with the blind mind of carnal desire, we love her bitterness : It flieth and we follow it ; it falleth, yet we stick to it : And because we cannot enjoy it falling, we fall with it, and enjoy it fallen. Epig. 9. If Fortune fail, or envious Time but spurn, The world turns round, and with the world we turn : When Fortune sees, and lynx-ey'd Time is blind, I'll trust thy joys, O world ; till then, the wind. -fe-\ Ye are of your father the devil, and the lusts of your father ye will do. — JOHN VIII. 44. Here's your right ground : wag gently o'er this black : 'Tis a short cast; y' are quickly at the jack. Rub, rub an inch or two ; two crowns to one On this bowl's side ; blow wind, 'tis fairly thrown : The next bowl's worse that comes ; come, bowl away : Mammon, you know the ground, untutor'd play : Your last was gone, a yard of strength well spar'd, Had touch'd the block ; your hand is still too hard. Brave pastime, readers, to consume that day, Which, without pastime, flies too swift away ! See how they labour ; as if day and night Were both too short to serve their loose delight : See how their curved bodies wreath, and screw Such antic shapes as Proteus never knew : One raps an oath, another deals a curse ; He never better bowl'd ; this never worse : One rubs his itchless elbow, shrugs and laughs, The other bends his beetle brows, and chafes : 44 Quarles Emblems. Sometimes they whoop, sometimes their Stygian cries Send their black Santo's to the blushing skies : Thus mingling humours in a mad confusion, They make bad premises, and worse conclusion : But where 's a palm that fortune's hand allows To bless the victors honourable brows ? Come, reader, come ; I '11 light thine eye the way To view the prize, the while the gamesters play : Close by the jack, behold, j ill Fortune stands To wave the game ; see in her partial hands The glorious garland's held in open show, To cheer the lads, and crown the conqu'ror's brow. The world's the jack ; the gamesters that contend, Are Cupid, Mammon : that judicious fiend, That gives the ground, is Satan : and the bowls Are sinful thoughts ; the prize, a crown for fools. Who breathes that bowls not ? What bold tongue can say Without a blush, he has not bowl'd to-day ? It is the trade of man, and ev'ry sinner Has play'd his rubbers : every soul's a winner. The vulgar proverb 's crost, he hardly can Be a good bowler and an honest man. Good God ! turn thou my Brazil thoughts anew ; New-sole my bowls, and make their bias true, I '11 cease to game, till fairer ground be giv'n ; Nor wish to win, until the mark be Heav'n. S. Bernard, Lib. de Confid. O you sons of Adam, you covetous generations, what have ye to do with earthly riches, which are neither true, nor yours ; gold and silver are real earth, red and white, which Quarles Emblems. 45 only the error of man makes, or rather reputes, precious : In short, if they be yours, carry them with you. S. HlERON. in Ep. O lust, thou infernal fire, whose fuel is gluttony ; whose flame is pride ; whose sparkles are wanton words ; whose smoke is infamy ; whose ashes are uncleanness ; whose end is hell. Epig. 10. Mammon, well follow'd ? Cupid, bravely led ; Both touchers ; equal fortune makes a dead ; No reed can measure where the conquest lies ; Take my advice ; compound and share the prize. Ye zvalked according to the course of this world, according to the prince of the air. — EPHES. II. 2. O WHITHER will this mad-brain world at last Be driven ? Where will her restless wheels arrive ? Why hurries on her ill-match' d pair so fast? O whither means her furious groom to drive ? What, will her rambling fits be never past ? For ever ranging ? Never once retrieve ? Will earth's perpetual progress ne'er expire ? Her team continuing in their fresh career : And yet they never rest, and yet they never tire. Sol's hot-mouth'd steeds, whose nostrils vomit flame, And brazen lungs belch forth quotidian fire, Their twelve hours' task perform'd, grow stiff and lame, And their immortal spirits faint and tire : At th' azure mountain's foot their labours claim The privilege of rest, where they retire To quench their burning fetlocks, and go steep Their flaming nostrils in the western deep, And 'fresh their tired souls with strength-restoring sleep. 48 Quarlcs Emblems. But these prodigious hackneys, basely got 'Twixt men and devils, made for race or flight, Can drag the idle world, expecting not The bed of rest, but travel with delight ; Who never weighing way nor weather, trot Through dust and dirt, and droil both night and day; Thus droil these fiends incarnate, whose free pains Are fed with dropsies and veneral blains. No need to use the whip ; but strength to rule the reins. Poor captive world ; How has thy lightness giv'n A just occasion to thy foes illusion ! O, how art thou betray'd, thus fairly driv'n In seeming triumph to thy own confusion ! How is thy empty universe bereav'n Of all true joys, by- one false joy's delusion ! So I have seen an unblown virgin fed With sugar d words so full, that she is led A fair attended bride to a false bankrupt's bed. Pull, gracious LORD ! Let not thine arm forsake The world, impounded in her own devices : Think of that pleasure that thou once didst take Amongst the lilies and sweet beds of spices. Hale strongly, thou whose hand has pow'r to slack The swift-foot fury of ten thousand vices : Let not thy dust-devouring dragon boast, His craft has won what Judah's lion lost ; Remember what is crav'd ; recount the price it cost. Quarles Emblems. 49 ISIDOR. Lib. i. de Summo Bono. By how much the nearer Satan perceiveth the world to an end, by so much the more fiercely he troubleth it with persecution ; that, knowing himself is to be damned, he may get company in his damnation. Cyprian, in Ep. Broad and spacious is the road to infernal life ; there are enticements and death-bringing pleasures. There the devil flattereth, that he may deceive ; smileth, that he may endamage ; allureth, that he may destroy. Epig. ii. Nay, soft and fair, good world ; post not too fast ; Thy journey's end requires not half this haste. Unless that arm thou so disdain'st, reprives thee, Alas ! thou needs must go, the devil drives thee. Ye may suck, but not be satisfied with the breast of her consolation. — ISAIAH LXVI. 1 1. What, never fill'd ? Be thy lips screwed so fast To th' earth's full breast ? for shame, for shame un- seize thee ; Thou tak'st a surfeit where thou should'st but taste, And mak'st too much not half enough to please thee. Ah, fool, forbear ; thou swallowest at one breath Both food and poison down ! thou draw'st both milk and death. The ub'rous breasts, when fairly drawn, repast The thriving infant with their milky flood, But being overstrain'd, return at last Unwholesome gulps composed of wind and blood. A mod'rate use does both repast and please ; Who strains beyond a mean, draws in and gulps disease. But, O that mean, whose good the least abuse Makes bad, is too, too hard to be directed ; 52 Quatles' Emblems. Can thorns bring grapes, or crabs a pleasing juice ? There's nothing wholesome where the whole's infected. Unseize thy lips : earth's milk's a ripened core, That drops from her disease, that matters from her sore. Think'st thou that paunch, that burlies out thy coat, Is thriving fat ; or flesh that seems so brawny ? Thy paunch is dropsied and thy cheeks are bloat ; Thy lips are white, and thy complexion tawny ; Thy skin's a bladder blown with wat'ry tumours ; Thy flesh a trembling bog, a quagmire full of humours. And thou, whose thriveless hands are ever straining Earth's fluent breasts into an empty sieve, That always hast, yet always art complaining, And whin'st for more than earth has pow'r to give ; Whose treasure flows and flees away as fast ; That ever hast, and hast, yet hast not what thou hast. Go choose a substance, fool, that will remain Within the limits of thy leaking measure ; Or else go seek an urn that will retain The liquid body of thy slipp'ry treasure ; Alas ! how poorly are thy labours crown'd ! Thy liquor's never sweet, nor yet thy vessel sound. What less than fool is man to prog and plot, And lavish out the cream of all his care, To gain poor seeming goods ; which, being got, Make firm possession but a thoroughfare ; Or, if they stay, they furrow thoughts the deeper ; And, being kept with care, they lose their careful keeper. Quarles' Emblems. 53 S. Greg. Horn. iii. secund. Parte Ezech. If we give more to the flesh than we ought, we nourish an enemy ; if we give not to her necessity what we ought, we destroy a citizen : the flesh is to be satisfied so far as suffices to our good : whosoever alloweth so much to her as to make her proud, knoweth not how to be satisfied : to be satisfied is a great art ; lest, by the satiety of the flesh, we break forth into the iniquity of her folly. HUGO de Anima. The heart is a small thing, but desireth great matters. It is not sufficient for a kite's dinner, yet the whole world is not sufficient for it. Epig. 12. What makes thee, fool, so fat ? Fool, thee so bare ? Ye suck the self-same milk, the self-same air ; No mean betwixt all paunch, and skin and bone ? The mean's a virtue, and the world has none. Men love darkness rather than light, because then deeds are evil — John hi. 19. Lord, when we leave the world and come to thee, How dull, how slug are we ! How backward ! How prepost'rous is the motion Of our ungain devotion ! Our thoughts are millstones, and our souls are lead, And our desires are dead : Our vows are fairly promis'd, faintly paid ; Or broken, or not made : Our better work (if any good) attends Upon our private ends : In whose performance one poor worldly scoft Foils us, or beats us off. If thy sharp scourge find out some secret fault, We grumble or revolt ; And if thy gentle hand forbear, we stray, Or idly lose the way. Is the road fair, we loiter ; clogg'd with mire, We stick, or else retire : 56 Quarles Emblems. A lamb appears a lion ; and we fear, Each bush we see's a bear. When our dull souls direct our thoughts to thee, As slow as snails are we : But at the earth we dart our wing'd desire ; We burn, we burn like fire. Like as the am'rous needle joys to bend To her magnetic friend : Or as the greedy lover's eye-balls fly At his fair mistress' eye : So, so we cling to earth ; we fly and puff, Yet fly not fast enough. If pleasure beckon with her balmy hand, Her beck's a strong command : If honour calls us with her courtly breath, An hour's delay is death : If profit's golden finger'd charm enveigles, We clip more swift than eagles : Let Auster weep, or blust'ring Boreas roar Till eyes or lungs be sore : Let Neptune swell, until his dropsy sides Burst into broken tides : Nor threat'ning rocks, nor winds, nor waves, nor fire, Can curb our fierce desire : Nor fire, nor rocks, can stop our furious minds, Nor waves, nor winds : How fast and fearless do our footsteps flee ! The lightfoot roebuck's not so swift as we. S. August, sup. Psal. lxiv. Two several lovers built two several cities ; the love of God buildeth a Jerusalem ; the love of the world buildeth a Quarles Emblems. 57 Babylon : Let every one inquire of himself what he loveth, and he shall resolve himself, of whence he is a citizen. S. AUGUST. Lib. iii. Confess. All things are driven by their own weight, and tend to their own centre ; my weight is my love : by that I am driven whithersoever I am driven. Ibidem. LORD, he loveth thee the less, that loveth anything with thee, which he loveth not for thee. Epig. 13. LORD, scourge my ass, if she should make no haste, And curb my stag, if he should fly too fast : If he be over swift, or she prove idle, Let love impose a spur ; fear, him a bridle. 8B-— Lighten mine eyes, O Lord, lest L sleep the sleep of death. — Psalm xiii. 3. Will 't ne'er be morning ? Will that promis'd light Ne'er break, and clear those clouds of night ? Sweet Phosphor, bring the day, Whose conqu'ring ray May chase these fogs; sweet Phosphor, bring the day. How long ! How long shall these benighted eyes Languish in shades, like feeble flies Expecting spring ? How long shall darkness soil The face of earth, and thus beguile Our souls of sprightful action % When, when will day Begin to dawn, whose new-born ray May gild the weathercocks of our devotion, And give our unsoul'd souls new motion 1 Sweet Phosphor, bring the day ; The light will fray These horrid mists ; sweet Phosphor, bring the day. 60 Quarles Emblems. Let those have night, that slily love t' immure Their cloister'd crimes, and sin secure ; Let those have night, that blush to let men know The baseness they ne'er blush to do ; Let those have night that love to have a nap, And loll in ignorance's lap ; Let those, whose eyes, like owls, abhor the light, Let those have night, that love the night : Sweet Phosphor, bring the day ; How sad delay Afflicts dull hopes ! sweet Phosphor, bring the day. Alas ! my light in vain expecting eyes Can find no objects, but what rise From this poor mortal blaze, a dying spark Of Vulcan's forge, whose flames are dark, A dang'rous, dull blue-burning light, As melancholy as the night : Here's all the suns that glitter in the sphere Of earth : Ah me ! what comfort's here ! Sweet Phosphor, bring the day ; Haste, haste away Heav'n's loit'ring lamp ; sweet Phosphor, bring the day. Blow, Ignorance : O thou, whose idle knee Rocks earth into a lethargy, And with thy sooty fingers has benight The world's fair cheeks, blow, blow thy spite ; Since thou hast puft our greater taper ; do Puff on, and out the lesser too : If e'er that breath-exiled flame return, Thou hast not blown, as it will burn : Quarles' Emblems. 61 Sweet Phosphor, bring the day : Light will repay The wrongs of night ; sweet Phosphor, bring the day. S. AUGUST, in Joh. Ser. xix. GOD is all to thee : if thou be hungry, he is bread ; if thirsty, he is water ; if darkness, he is light ; if naked, he is a robe of immortality. ALANUS de Conq. Nat. God is a light that is never darkened ; an unwearied life that cannot die ; a fountain always flowing ; a garden of life ; a seminary of wisdom ; a radical beginning of all goodness. Epig. 14. My soul, if ignorance puff out this light, She'll do a favour that intends a spite : It seems dark abroad ; but take this light away, Thy windows will discover break of day. The devil is come tmto you, having great wrath, because he knoweth that he hath but a short time. — Rev. XII. 1 2. LORD, canst thou see and suffer ? Is thy hand Still bound to th' peace ? Shall earth's black monarch take A full possession of thy wasted land ? O, will thy slumb'ring vengeance never wake Till full ag'd law- resisting custom shake The pillars of thy right by false command ? Unlock thy clouds, great Thund'rer, and come down ; Behold whose temples wear thy sacred crown ; Redress, redress our wrongs ; revenge, revenge thy own. See how the bold usurper mounts the seat Of royal majesty ; how overstrowing Perils with pleasure, pointing ev'ry threat With bugbear death, by torments over-awing Thy frighted subjects ; or by favours drawing Their tempted hearts to his unjust retreat ; LORD, canst thou be so mild, and he so bold ? Or can thy flocks be thriving, when the fold Is govern'd by the fox ? LORD, canst thou see and hold ? 6 4 Quarles Emblems. That swift-wing'd advocate, that did commence Our welcome suits before the King of kings, That sweet ambassador, that hurries hence What airs th' harmonious soul or sighs or sings, See how she flutters with her idle wings ; Her wings are dipt, and eyes put out by sense ; Sense-conquering faith is now grown blind and cold, And basely craven'd, that in times of old Did conquer Heav'n itself, do what th' Almighty could. Behold, how double fraud does scourge and tear Astrsea's wounded sides, plough'd up, and rent With knotted cords, whose fury has no ear ; See how she stands a pris'ner to be sent A slave into eternal banishment, I know not whither, O, I know not where : Her patent must be cancel'd in disgrace ; And sweet-lip'd fraud, with her divided face, Must act Astrsea's part, must take Astrsea's place. Faith's pinion's dipt! and fair Astraea gone! Quick seeing Faith now blind, and Justice see : Has Justice now found wings ? And has Faith none ? What do we here % Who would not wish to be Dissolv'd from earth, and with Astraea flee From this blind dungeon to that sun-bright throne ? LORD, is thy sceptre lost, or laid aside ? Is hell broke loose, and all her fiends unty'd ? Lord, rise, and rouse, and rule, and crush their furious pride. Quarles' Emblems. 65 Peter Rav. in Matth. The devil is the author of evil, the fountain of wicked- ness, the adversary of the truth, the corrupter of the world, man's perpetual enemy ; he planteth snares, diggeth ditches, spurreth bodies, he goadeth souls, he suggesteth thoughts, belcheth anger, exposeth virtues to hatred, maketh vices beloved, soweth error, nourisheth contention, disturbeth peace, and scattereth affliction. Macar. Let us suffer with those that suffer, and be crucified with those that are crucified, that we may be glorified with those that are glorified. Savanar. If there be no enemy, no fight ; if no fight, no victory if no victory, no crown. EPIG 15. My soul, sit thou a patient looker on ; Judge not the play before the play is done : Her plot has many changes : ev'ry day Speaks a .new scene : the last act crowns the play. BOOK THE SECOND F 2 You that ivalk in the light of your ozvnjlre, and in the sparks that ye have kindled, ye shall lie dozvn in sorrozv. — Isaiah l. 2. Do, silly Cupid, snuff and trim Thy false, thy feeble light, And make her self-consuming flames more bright ; Methinks she burns too dim. Is this that sprightly fire, Whose more than sacred beams inspire The ravish'd hearts of men, and so inflame desire ? See, boy, how thy unthrifty blaze Consumes, how fast she wanes ; She spends herself, and her, whose wealth maintains Her weak, her idle rays. Cannot thy lustful blast, Which gave it lustre, make it last ? What heart can long be pleas'd, where pleasure spends so fast? /O Quarks Emblems. Go, wanton, place thy pale-fac'd light Where never-breaking day- Intends to visit mortals, or display Thy sullen shades of night : Thy torch will burn more clear In night's un-Titan'd hemisphere ; Heaven's scornful flames and thine can never co-appear. In vain thy busy hands address Their labour to display Thy easy blaze within the verge of day ; The greater drowns the less ! If Heav'n's bright glory shine, Thy glimmering sparks must needs resign ; Puffout Heav'n's glory, then, or Heaven will work out thine. Go, Cupid's rammish pandar, go, Whose dull, whose low desire Can find sufficient warmth from nature's fire, Spend borrow'd breath, and blow, Blow wind made strong with spite ; When thou hast pufifd the greater light Thy lesser spark may shine, and warm the new-made night. Deluded mortals, tell me, when Your daring breath has blown Heav'n's taper out, and you have spent your own, What fire shall warm you then ? Ah, fools ! perpetual night Shall haunt your souls with Stygian fright, Where they shall boil in flames, but flames shall bring no light. Quarles Emblems. J I S. August. The sufficiency of my merit is to know that my merit is not sufficient. S. Greg. Mor. xxv. By how much the less man seeth himself, by so much the less he displeaseth himself; and by how much the more he seeth the light of grace, by so much the more he dis- daineth the light of nature. S. Greg. Mor. The light of the understanding, humility kindleth, and pride covereth. Epig. I. Thou blow'st Heav'n's fire, the whilst thou go'st about, Rebellious fool, in vain, to blow it out ; Thy folly adds confusion to thy death ; Heav'n's fire confounds, when fann'd with folly's breath. There is no end of all his labour; neither is his eye satisfied with riches. — ECCLES. IV. 8. O HOW our widen'd arms can over-stretch Their own dimensions ! How our hands can reach Beyond their distance ! How our yielding breast Can shrink to be more full and full possest Of this inferior orb ! How earth refin'd Can cling to sordid earth ! How kind to kind ! We gape, we grasp, we gripe, add store to store ; Enough requires too much ; too much craves more. We charge our souls so sore beyond their stint, That we recoil or burst : the busy mint Of our laborious thoughts is ever going, And coining new desires ; desires not knowing Where next to pitch ; but, like the boundless ocean, Gain, and gain ground, and grow more strong by motion. The pale-fac'd lady of the black-ey'd night First tips her horned brows with easy light, Whose curious train of spangled nymphs attire Her next night's glory with increasing fire ; 74 Quarles Emblems. Each ev'ning adds more lustre, and adorns The growing beauty of her. grasping horns : She sucks and draws her brother's golden store, Until her glutted orb can suck no more. E'en so the vulture of insatiate minds Still wants, and wanting seeks, and seeking finds New fuel to increase her rav'nous fire. The grave is sooner cloy'd than men's desire : We cross the seas, and midst her waves we burn, Transporting lives, perchance that ne'er return ; We sack, we ransack to the utmost sands Of native kingdoms, and of foreign lands ; We travel sea and soil, we pry, we prowl, We progress, and we prog from pole to pole ; We spend our mid-day sweat, our midnight oil, W T e tire the night in thought, the day in toil : We make art servile, and the trade gentile (Yet both corrupted with ingenious guile), To compass earth, and with her empty store To fill our arms, and grasp one handful more; Thus seeking rest, our labours never cease, But, as our years, our hot desires increase : Thus we, poor little worlds ! with blood and sweat, In vain attempt to comprehend the great ; • Thus, in our gain, become we gainful losers, And what's inclos'd, incloses the inclosers. Now, reader, close thy book, and then advise ; Be wisely worldly, be not worldly wise ; Let not thy nobler thoughts be always raking The world's base dunghill; vermin's took by taking Take heed thou trust not the deceitful lap Of wanton Dalilah ; the world 's a trap. Quarles Emblems. 75 Hugo de Anima. Tell me, where be those now, that so lately loved and hugged the world ? Nothing remaineth of them but dust and worms ; observe what those men were ; what those men are : They were like thee ; they did eat, drink, laugh, and led merry days ; and in a moment slipt into hell. Here, their flesh is food for worms ; there their souls are fuel for fire, till they shall be rejoined in an unhappy fellowship, and cast into eternal torments ; where they that were once com- panions in sin, can be hereafter partners in punishment. Epig. 2. Gripe, Cupid, and gripe still, unto that wind, That's pent before, find secret vent behind : And when thou'st done, hark here, I tell thee what, Before I'll trust thy armful, I'll trust that. He is cast into a net by his own feet, and walketh ttpon a snare. — JOB XVIII. 8. WHAT ! nets and quiver too ? what need there all These sly devices to betray poor men ? Die they not fast enough when thousands fall Before thy dart? what need these engines then ? Attend they not, and answer to thy call, Like nightly coveys, where they list and when ? What needs a stratagem where strength can sway ? Or what needs strength compel where none gainsay ? Or what needs stratagem or strength, where hearts obey ? Husband thy slights : it is but vain to waste Honey on those that will be catch'd with gall ; Thou canst not, ah ! thou canst not bid so fast As men obey : Thou art more slow to call Than they to come ; thou canst not make such haste To strike, as they, being struck, make haste to fall. Go save thy nets for that rebellious heart That scorns thy pow'r, and has obtain'd the art T' avoid thy flying shaft, to quench thy fiery dart. 7 8 Qnarles Emblems. Lost mortal ! how is thy destruction sure, Between two bawds, and both without remorse ! The one's a line, the other is a lure; This to entice thy soul ; that to enforce : Waylaid by both, how canst thou stand secure ? That draws ; this woos thee to th' eternal curse. O charming tyrant, how thou hast befool'd And slavd poor man, that would not, if he could, Avoid thy line, thy lure ; nay, could not, if he would. Alas ! thy sweet perfidious voice betrays His wanton ears with thy Sirenian baits : Thou wrap'st his eyes in mists, then boldly lays Thy Lethal gins before their crystal gates ; Thou lock'st up ev'ry sense with thy false keys, All willing pris'ners to thy close deceits : His ear most nimble, where it deaf should be ; His eye most blind, where most it ought to see ; And when his heart's most bound, then thinks himself most free. Thou grand impostor ! how hast thou obtain'd The wardship of the world ? Are all men turn'd Idiots and lunatics ? Are all retain'd Beneath thy servile bands ? Is none return'd To his forgotten self? Has none regain'd His senses? Are their senses all adjourn'd ? What, none dismiss'd thy court? Will no plump fee Bribe thy false fists to make a glad decree, T' unfool whom thou hast fool'd, and set thy pris'ners free. Qtiar/es Emblems. 79 S. BERN, in Ser. In this world is much treachery, little truth ; here all things are traps ; here everything is beset with snares ; here souls are endangered, bodies are afflicted ; here all things are vanity and vexation of spirit. EPIG. 3. Nay, Cupid, pitch thy trammel where thou please, Thou canst not fail to take such fish as these. Thy thriving sport will ne'er be spent : no need To fear, when ev'ry cork's a world, thou 'It speed. ^ A '^r- i££ They shall be as the chaff that is driven with a whirl- wind out of the floor, and as the smoke out of the chimney. — HOSEA XIII. 3. Faint-hearted Stoics, you, whose marble eyes Contemn a wrinkle, and whose souls despise To follow nature's too affected fashion, Or travel in the regent walk of passion ; Whose rigid hearts disdain to shrink at fears, Or play at fast and loose, with smiles and tears ; Come, burst your spleens with laughter to behold A new-found vanity, which days of old Ne'er knew : a vanity that has beset The world, and made more slaves than Mahomet : That has condemn'd us to the servile yoke Of slavery, and made us slaves to smoke. But stay, why tax I thus our modern times, For new-born follies, and for new-born crimes ? Are we sole guilty, and the first age free ? No, they were smok'd and slav'd as well as we : What's sweet-lipt honour's blast, but smoke? What's treasure, G 82 Quarles Emblems. But very smoke ? And what more smoke than pleasure ? Alas ! they're all but shadows, fumes and blasts ; That vanishes, this fades, the other wastes. The restless merchant, he that loves to steep His brains in wealth, and lays his soul to sleep In bags of bullion, sees th' immortal crown, And fain would mount, but ingots' keep him down : He brags to-day, perchance, and begs to-morrow ; He lent but now, wants credit now to borrow ; Blow, winds, the treasure's gone, the merchant's broke ; A slave to silver's but a slave to smoke. Behold the glory-vying child of fame, That from deep wounds sucks such an honour'd name, That thinks no purchase worth the style of good, But what is sold for sweat ; and seal'd with blood ; That for a point, a blast of empty breath, Undaunted gazes in the face of death ; Whose dear-bought bubble, fill'd with vain renown, Breaks with a fillip, or a gen'ral's frown : His stroke-got honour staggers with a stroke ; A slave to honour is a slave to smoke. And that fond fool, who wastes his idle days In loose delights, and sports about the blaze Of Cupid's candle ; he that daily spies Twin babies in his mistress' Gemini's, Whereto his sad devotion does impart The sweet burnt-orT'ring of a bleeding heart ; See, how his wings are sing'd in Cyprian fire, Whose flames consume with youth, with age expire : The world's a bubble ; all the pleasures in it, Like morning vapours, vanish in a minute : Quarles Emblems. 83 The vapours vanish, and the bubble's broke ; A slave to pleasure is a slave to smoke. Now, Stoic, cease thy laughter, and repast Thy pickled cheeks with tears, and weep as fast. S. HlERON. That rich man is great, who thinketh not himself great because he is rich ; the proud man (who is the poor man) braggeth outwardly, but beggeth inwardly : he is blown up, but not full. Petr. Rav. Vexation and anguish accompany riches and honour; the pomp of the world, and the favour of the people, are but smoke, and a blast suddenly vanishing ; which if they commonly please, commonly bring repentance ; and, for a minute of joy, they bring an age of sorrow. Epig. 4. Cupid, thy diet's strange : it dulls, it rouses, It cools, it heats ; it binds, and then it looses : Dull-sprightly, cold-hot fool, if e'er it winds thee Into a looseness once, take heed, it binds thee. G a T c 5 ^ Wilt thou set thine eyes upon that which is not? for riches make themselves zvings ; they fly away as an eagle. — Prov. xxiii. 5. False world, thou ly'st : thou canst not lend The least delight : Thy favours cannot gain a friend, They are so slight : Thy morning pleasures make an end To please at night : Poor are the wants that thou supply'st : And yet thou vaunt'st, and yet thou vy'st With Heaven ; fond earth, thou boast'st ; false world, thou ly'st. Thy babbling tongue tells golden tales Of endless treasure : Thy bounty offers easy sales Of lasting pleasure ; Thou ask'st the conscience what she ails, And swear'st to ease her ; 86 Quarles 1 Emblems. There's none can want where thou supply'st, There's none can give where thou deny'st, Alas ! fond world, thou boast'st ; false world, thou ly'st. What well-advised ear regards What earth can say? Thy words are gold, but thy rewards Are painted clay : Thy cunning can but pack the cards, Thou canst not play : Thy game at weakest, still thou vy'st ; If seen, and then revy'd, deny'st : Thou art not what thou seem'st ; false world, thou ly'st. Thy tinsel bosom seems a mint Of new-coin'd treasure ; A paradise, that has no stint, No change, no measure ; A painted cask, but nothing in't, Nor wealth, nor pleasure : Vain earth ! that falsely thus comply'st With man ; vain man, that thou rely'st On earth : vain man, thou doat'st ; vain earth, thou ly'st. What mean dull souls in this high measure To haberdash In earth's base wares, whose greatest treasure Is dross and trash ; The height of whose enchanting pleasure Is but a flash ? Quarks' Emblems. 87 Are these the goods that thou supply'st Us mortals with? Are these the high'st? Can these bring cordial peace ? False world, thou ly'st. Pet. Bles. The world is deceitful ; her end is doubtful, her conclu- sion is horrible ; her judge is terrible ; and her punishment is intolerable. S. AUGUST. Lib. Confess. The vain-glory of this world is a deceitful sweetness, a fruitless labour, a perpetual fear, a dangerous honour : her beginning is without Providence, and her end not without repentance. Epig. 5. World, thou'rt a traitor ; thou hast stamp'd thy base And chymic metal with great Caesar's face, And with thy bastard bullion thou hast barter'd For wares of price ; how justly drawn and quarter'd. Let not him that is deceived trust in vanity ; for vanity shall be his recompence. — Job xv. 31. Believe her not, her glass diffuses False portraitures : thou canst espy No true reflection ; she abuses Her misinformed beholder's eye ; Her crystal's falsely steel'd ; it scatters Deceitful beams ; believe her not, she flatters. This flaring mirror represents No right proportion, view or feature : Her very looks are compliments ; They make thee fairer, goodlier, greater; The skilful gloss of her reflection But paints the context of thy coarse complexion. Were thy dimensions but a stride, Nay, wert thou statur'd but a span, Such as the long-bill'd troops defy'd, A very fragment of a man ! She'll make thee, Mimas, which you will, The jove-slain tyrant, or th' Ionic hill. 9