HERBERT. THE COLLAR. I struck the board, and cry'd, 'No more; What, sha'l I ever sigh and pine? My lines and life are free; free as the road, Shall I be still in suit? Have I no harvest but a thorn To let me blood, and not restore What I have lost with cordial fruit? Sure there was wine Before my sighs did dry it; there was corn Is the year only lost to me? Have I no bays to crown it, No flowers, no garlands gay? all blasted, Not so, my heart; but there is fruit, Recover all thy sigh-blown age On double pleasures; leave thy cold dispute Which petty thoughts have made; and made to thee And be thy law, While thou didst wink and wouldst not see. I will abroad Call in thy death's-head there, tie up thy fears; He that forbears To suit and serve his need Deserves his load.' But as I rav'd, and grew more fierce and wild Methought I heard one calling, 'Child'; AARON. Holiness on the head, Light and perfections on the breast, Profaneness in my head, Defects and darkness in my breast, A noise of passions ringing me for dead Only another head I have, another heart and breast, Christ is my only head, My alone-only heart and breast, So holy in my head, Perfect and light in my dear breast, My doctrine tun'd by Christ, Who is not dead, Come, people; Aaron's drest. THE QUIP. The merry World did on a day First Beauty crept into a rose, Which when I pluckt not, 'Sir,' said she, Then Money came, and chinking still, Then came brave Glory puffing by Then came quick Wit and Conversation, MISERY. Lord, let the angels praise Thy name: Man is a foolish thing, a foolish thing; Folly and sin play all his game; His house still burns, and yet he still doth sing Man cannot serve Thee: let him go And serve the swine-there, there is his delight: He doth not like this virtue, no; Give him his dirt to wallow in all night: These preachers make His head to shoot and ache. Indeed, at first Man was a treasure, A box of jewels, shop of rarities, A ring whose posy was 'My pleasure'; He was a garden in a Paradise ; Glory and grace Did crown his heart and face. But sin hath fool'd him; now he is My God, I mean myself. LOVE. Thou art too hard for me in Love; There is no dealing with Thee in that Art, Sometimes, when as I wash, I say, Thy ancient baptism, which when I was foul I took a time when Thou didst sleep, Let me but once the conquest have Thou dost no more than doth the grave; THE PULLEY. When God at first made man, So strength first made a way; Then beauty flow'd, then wisdom, honour, pleasure; When almost all was out, God made a stay, Perceiving that alone, of all his treasure, Rest in the bottom lay. For if I should (said he) Bestow this jewel also on my creature, Yet let him keep the rest, But keep them with repining restlessness: |