With very age? or hath that great pair-royal
Of adamantine sisters late made trial
Of some new trade? shall mortal hearts grow old
In sorrow? shall my weary arms infold,
And underprop my panting sides for ever?
Is there no charitable hand will sever
My well spun thread, that my imprison'd soul
May be deliver'd from this dull dark hole
Of dungeon flesh? O shall I, shall I never
Be ransom'd, but remain a slave for ever?
It is the lot of man but once to die,
But ere that death, how many deaths have I?
What human madness makes the world afraid
To entertain Heav'n's joys, because convey'd
By the hand of death? will nakedness refuse
Rich change of robes, because the man's not spruce
That brought them? or will poverty send back
Full bags of gold, because the bringer's black?
Life is a bubble, blown with whining breaths,
Fill'd with the torment of a thousand deaths;
Which being prick'd by death (while death de-
prives
One life) presents the soul a thousand lives:
O frantic mortal, how hath earth bewitch'd
Thy bedlam soul, which hath so fondly pitch'd
Upon her false delights! delights that cease
Before enjoyment finds a time to please:
Her fickle joys breed doubtful fears; her fears
Bring hopeful griefs; her griefs weep fearful tears;
Tears coin deceitful hopes; hopes careful doubt,
And surly passion justles passion out:
To-day we pamper with a full repast
Of lavish mirth, at night we weep as fast:
To-night we swim in wealth, and lend; to-morrow,
We sink in want, and find no friend to borrow.
In what a climate doth my soul reside?
Where pale-fac'd murder, the first born of pride,
Sets up her kingdom in the very smiles,
And plighted faiths of men like crocodiles:
And land, where each embroider'd satin word
Is lin❜d with fraud; where Mars his lawless sword
Exiles Astræa's balance; where that hand
Now slays his brother, that new-sow'd his land;
O that my days of bondage would expire
In this lewd soil! LORD, how my soul's on fire
To be dissolv'd, that I might once obtain
Those long'd-for joys, long'd for so oft in vain!
If, Moseslike, I may not live possest
Of this fair land, LORD, let me see't at least.
S. AUGUST. Soliloq. Cap. xii.
My life is a frail life; a corruptible life; a life, which the more it increaseth, the more it decreaseth; the farther it goeth, the nearer it cometh to death. A deceitful life, and like a shadow, full of the snares of death: now I rejoice, now I languish, now I flourish, now infirm, now I live, and straight I die; now I seem happy, always miserable; now I laugh, now I weep: thus all things are subject to mutability, that nothing continueth an hour in one estate: O joy above joy, exceeding all joy, without which there is no joy, when shall I enter into thee, that I may see my GOD that dwelleth in thee?
Art thou so weak? O canst thou not digest
An hour of travel for a night of rest?
Cheer up, my soul, call home thy sp'rits, and bear
One bad Good-friday, full-mouth'd Easter's near.
O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me from the body of this death?
BEHOLD thy darling, which thy lustful care Pampers, for which thy restless thoughts prepare Such early cares; for whom thy bubbling brow So often sweats, and bankrupt eyes do owe
Such midnight scores to nature, for whose sake
Base earth is sainted, the infernal lake
Unfear'd, the crown of glory poorly rated:
Thy GOD neglected, and thy brother hated;
Behold thy darling, whom thy soul affects
So dearly; whom thy fond indulgence decks
And puppets up in soft, in silken weeds;
Behold the darling, whom thy fondness feeds
With far fetch'd delicates, the dear-bought gains
Of ill spent time, the price of half my pains:
Behold thy darling, who, when clad by thee,
Derides thy nakedness; and when most free,
Proclaims her lover slave; and being fed.
Most full, then strikes the indulgent feeder dead.
What mean'st thou thus, my poor deluded soul,
To love so fondly? can the burning coal
Of thy affection last without the fuel
Of counter love? is thy compeer so cruel,
And thou so kind to love, unlov'd again?
Canst thou sow favours, and thus reap disdain?
Remember, O remember thou art born
Of royal blood; remember thou art sworn
A maid of honour in the court of Heav'n;
Remember what a costly price was giv'n
To ransom thee from slav'ry thou wert in:
And wilt thou now, my soul, turn slave again?
The Son and Heir to Heav'n's Tri-une JEHOVE
Would fain become a suitor for thy love,
And offers for thy dow'r his Father's throne,
To sit for seraphims to gaze upon;
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