DIDACTIC AND MORAL PIECES.
ILL-bufi'd Man! why should'st thou take fuch care
To lengthen out thy life's fhort Kalendar?
When ev'ry spectacle thou look'st upon
Prefents and acts thy execution.
Each drooping feafon and each flower doth cry,
"Fool! as I fade and wither, thou must dy."
The beating of thy pulse (when thou art well)
Is just the tolling of thy paffing bell :
Night is thy hearfe, whofe fable canopie
Covers alike deceased day and thee.
And all those weeping dewes which nightly fall,
Are but the tears fhed for thy funerall.
Dr. King's Poems, p. 138.
HE lopped tree in time may grow againe,
Moft naked plants renew both fruite and flower:
The forriest wight may find release of paine,
The dryeft foyle fucke in fome moyftning fhower,
Times goe by turnes, and chaunces change by course,
From foule to faire: from better hap to worie.
The fea of Fortune doth not ever flow,
Shee drawes her favours to the lowest ebbe;
Her tides have equall times to come and goe,
Her loome doth weave the fine and courfest webbe.
No joy fo great, but runneth to an end:
No hap fo hard, but may in fine amend.
Not alwaies fall of leafe, nor ever fpring,
No endleffe night, nor yet eternall day :
The faddeft birds a feafon find to fing,
The roughest ftorme a calme may foon allay.
Thus with fucceeding turnes God tempereth all
That man may hope to rife, yet feare to fall.
A chaunce may winne that by mischaunce was lost,
That net that holds no great, takes little fish;
In fome things all, in all things none are croft,
Fewe all they need, but none have all they wish:
Unmeddled joyes here to no man befall:
Who least, hath some, who moft, hath never all.
THE SEARCH AFTER FELICITY.
HE wifeft men, that Nature e're could boast,
For fecret knowledge of her power, were loft,
Confounded, and in deepe amazement stood,
In the discovery of the Chiefeft Good:
Keenly they hunted, beat in every bracke,
Forwards they went, on either hand, and backe
Return'd they counter; but their deep-mouth'd art
(Though often challeng'd fent) yet ne're could start
In all th' enclosures of Philosophy,
That game, from fquat, they terme, Felicity:
They jangle, and their maxims difagree,
As many men, fo many mindes there be.
One digs to Pluto's throne, thinks there to finde
Her Grace, rak't up in gold: another's minde
Mounts to the Courts of Kings, with plumes of honor
And feather'd hopes, hopes there to feize upon her;
A third, unlockes the painted gates of Pleasure,
And ranfacks there, to find this peerleffe treasure,
A fourth, more fage, more wifely melancholy,
Perfwades himselfe, her Deity's too holy
Ba
For common hands to touch, he rather chufes,
To make a long dayes journey to the Mufes :
To Athens (gown'd) he goes, and from that Schoole
Returnes unfped, a more inftructed foole.
Where lyes the then? or lyes she any where ?
Honours are bought and fold, fhe refts not there,
Much leffe in Pleasures hath she her abiding,
For they are shar'd to Beasts, and ever sliding;
Nor yet in Vertue, Vertue's often poore;
And (crufh't with fortune) begs from doore to door,
Nor is the fainted in the fhrine of Wealth;
That, makes men flaves, is unfecur'd from stealth;
Conclude we then, Felicity confists
Not in exteriour fortunes, but her lifts
Are boundleffe, and her large extenfion
Out-runnes the pafe of humane apprehenfion;
Fortunes are feldome meafur'd by defert,
The fairer face, hath oft the fouler heart;
Sacred Felicity doth ne'er extend
Beyond itselfe; in it, all wishes end:
The swelling of an outward fortune can
Create a profp'rous, not a happy man;
A peacefull Confcience is the true Content,
And Wealth is but her golden ornament.
Job Militant,
13 Med. by F. Quarles Edit 1630. Lond.
WHERE wards are weak, and foes encountring strong,
Where mightier do affault then doe defend,
The feebler part puts up enforced wrong,
And filent fees that fpeech could not amend;
Yet higher powers must thinke, though they repine,
When funne is fet, the little ftarres will fhine.
While pike do range, the filly tench doth flie,
And crouch in privie creekes, with smaller fish:
Yet pikes are caught when little fifh goe by,
Thele fleete aflote, while those doe fill the dish;
There is a time even for the wormes to creepe,
And fucke the deaw while all their foes doe fleepe.
The marline cannot ever foare on high,
Nor greedie grey-hound ftill pursue the chace,
The tender larke will finde a time to flie,
And fearfull hare to runne a quiet race.
He that high growth on cedars did bestow,
Gaye alfo lowly mufhrumps leave to growe,
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