And, taught with often proof,
A tempered calm I find
To be most solace to itself;
Best cure for angry mind!
Spare diet is my fare;
My clothes, more fit than fine! I know I feed and clothe a foe; That, pampered, would repine!
I envy not their hap,
Whom favour doth advance!
I take no pleasure in their pain,
That have less happy chance!
To rise by others' fall,
I deem a losing gain!
All states, with others' ruin built,
To ruin run amain!
No change of Fortune's calms
Can cast my comforts down!
When Fortune smiles, I smile to think How quickly she will frown!
And when, in froward mood,
She proves an angry foe,
Small gain I found to let her come;
Less loss to let her go!
LOSS IN DELAYS.
SHUN delays! They breed remorse!
Take thy time, while time doth serve thee!
Creeping snails have weakest force:
Fly their fault, lest thou repent thee!
Good is best when soonest wrought!
Ling'ring labours come to nought!
Hoist up sail, while gale doth last;
Tide and wind stay no man's pleasure!
Seek not time, when time is past;
Sober speed is wisdom's leisure!
After-wits are dearly bought;
Let thy fore-wit guide thy thought!
Time wears all his locks before;
Take thou hold upon his forehead!
When he flies, he turns no more;
And, behind, his scalp is naked!
Works adjourned have many stays!
Long demurs breed new delays!
Seek thy salve, while sore is green;
Festered wounds ask deeper lancing!
After-cures are seldom seen;
Often sought, scarce ever chancing!
Time and place give best advice!
Out of season, out of price!
Crush the serpent in the head!
Break ill eggs ere they be hatched!
Kill bad chickens in the tread;
Fligg, they hardly can be catched!
In the rising, stifle ill!
Lest it grow against thy will.
Drops do pierce the stubborn flint;
Not by force, but often falling!
Custom kills, with feeble dint;
More by use, than strength, prevailing!
Single sands have little weight;
Many make a drowning freight!
Tender twigs are bent with ease;
Agèd trees do break with bending!
Young desires make little press;
Growth doth make them past amending!
Happy man! that soon 'doth knock
Babel's babes against the rock'! 1
BEFORE my face the picture hangs,
That daily should put me in mind Of those cold names and bitter pangs That shortly I am like to find.
But yet, alas, full little I
Do think hereon, that I must die!
I often look upon a face
Most ugly, grisly, bare, and thin!
I often view the hollow place,
Where eyes and nose had sometime been!
I see the bones, across that lie;
Yet little think that I must die!
I read the label underneath,
That telleth me whereto I must!
I see the sentence eke that saith,
Remember, Man, that thou art dust!
But yet, alas, but se dɔm I
Do think, indeed, that I must die!
Continually at my bed's head
A hearse doth hang, which doth me tell That I, ere morning, may be dead; Though now I feel myself full well: But yet, alas, for all this I
Have little mind that I must die!
The gown which I do use to wear;
The knife wherewith I cut my meat;
And eke that old and ancient chair,
Which is my only usual seat:
All those do tell me I must die;
And yet my life amend not I!
My ancestors are turned to clay,
And many of my mates are gone;
My youngers daily drop away;
And can I think to 'scape alone?
No! No! I know that I must die;
And yet my life amend not I!
Not SOLOMON, for all his wit;
Nor SAMSON, though he were so strong;
No King, nor person, ever yet
Could 'scape; but death laid him along!
Wherefore I know that I must die;
And yet my life amend not I!
Though all the East did quake to hear
Of ALEXANDER's dreadful name;
And all the West did likewise fear
To hear of JULIUS CÆSAR'S fame:
Yet both, by death, in dust now lie;
Who, then, can 'scape, but he must die?
If none can 'scape Death's dreadful dart;
If rich and poor his beck obey;
If strong, if wise, if all, do smart ;
Then I to 'scape shall have no way!
O, grant me grace, O GOD! that I
My life may mend; sith I must die!
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