Nocturnall lucubrations: or Meditations divine and morall Whereunto are added epigrams and epitaphs: written by Rob: Chamberlain of Exeter Colledge in Oxford.
         Chamberlain, Robert, b. 1607.
      
       
         
           1638
        
      
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             Nocturnall lucubrations: or Meditations divine and morall Whereunto are added epigrams and epitaphs: written by Rob: Chamberlain of Exeter Colledge in Oxford.
             Chamberlain, Robert, b. 1607.
          
           [8], 89, [29] p.
           
             Printed by M[iles] F[lesher] for Daniel Frere, at the signe of the Red Bull in Little-Brittaine,
             London :
             1638.
          
           
             Printer's name from STC.
             "Epigrams and epitaphs", in verse, has separate divisional title page and is unpaginated; register is continuous.
             With a final imprimatur leaf.
             Variant: title page lacks "of Exeter Colledge in Oxford".
             Reproduction of the original in the British Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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           Nocturnall
           Lucubrations
           :
           OR
           MEDITATIONS
           DIVINE
           and
           MORALL
           .
        
         
           
             Whereunto
             are
             added
          
           EPIGRAMS
           AND
           EPITAPHS
           :
           
             WRITTEN
             BY
          
           ROB
           :
           CHAMBERLAIN
           .
        
         
           
             In
             mundo
             spes
             nulla
             boni
             ,
             spes
             nulla
             salutis
             :
          
           
             Sola
             salus
             servire
             Deo
             ,
             sunt
             caetera
             fraudes
             .
          
        
         
           LONDON
           ,
           Printed
           by
           
             M.
             F.
          
           for
           
             Daniel
             Frere
          
           ,
           at
           the
           signe
           of
           the
           Red
           Bull
           in
           Little-Brittaine
           .
           1638.
           
        
      
       
         
         
         
           TO
           THE
           WORSHIPFULL
           ,
           And
           his
           honored
           Master
           ,
           PETER
           BALLE
           Esquire
           ,
           Sollicitor
           generall
           to
           the
           Queenes
           Majestie
           .
        
         
           
             SIR
             ,
          
        
         
           THE
           envious
           condition
           of
           these
           carping
           times
           (
           like
           a
           frost
           
           in
           the
           Spring
           )
           so
           nips
           Invention
           in
           the
           bud
           ,
           that
           for
           the
           most
           part
           she
           dies
           like
           a
           blasted
           Plant
           ,
           and
           never
           lives
           to
           see
           her
           proper
           fruit
           .
           Many
           are
           the
           Volumes
           of
           Historie
           ,
           Antiquities
           ,
           and
           other
           Peeces
           of
           learning
           your
           Worship
           hath
           volved
           and
           revolved
           ,
           
           and
           yet
           I
           think
           scarce
           ever
           saw
           the
           person
           or
           worke
           hath
           not
           one
           time
           or
           other
           had
           the
           long
           lash
           of
           censure
           .
           
             Dic
             quibus
             in
             terris
             ,
             &
             eris
             mihi
             magnus
             Apollo
             .
          
           Faine
           would
           I
           know
           where
           the
           man
           lives
           ,
           on
           whose
           works
           or
           repute
           are
           not
           to
           be
           
           seene
           some
           stripes
           of
           detraction
           .
           May
           your
           Worship
           therefore
           be
           pleased
           to
           spread
           the
           wings
           of
           your
           protection
           over
           these
           poore
           thoughts
           ,
           whereby
           they
           may
           be
           sheltred
           from
           the
           criticall
           crew
           of
           Zoilus
           ,
           which
           will
           be
           not
           onely
           an
           inexpressible
           
           obligation
           ,
           but
           a
           great
           encouragement
           to
        
         
           
             Your
             humble
             servant
             ,
             ROB
             :
             CHAMBERLAIN
             .
          
        
      
    
     
       
         
         
         
           Nocturnall
           Lucubrations
           :
           OR
           MEDITATIONS
           Divine
           and
           Morall
           .
        
         
           LEARNING
           is
           like
           Scanderbegs
           Sword
           ,
           either
           good
           or
           bad
           according
           to
           him
           that
           hath
           it
           :
           an
           excellent
           weapon
           if
           well
           used
           ,
           otherwise
           
           like
           a
           sharp
           razor
           in
           the
           hand
           of
           a
           child
           .
        
         
           Where
           impossibilities
           are
           apparent
           ,
           it
           is
           indiscretion
           to
           nourish
           hopes
           .
        
         
           The
           gentle
           hand
           of
           Patience
           in
           the
           strongest
           streames
           of
           Adversitie
           ,
           makes
           our
           afflictions
           sweet
           and
           easie
           .
           
             Gloriosius
             est
             injuriam
             tacendo
             fugere
             ,
             quàm
             respondendo
             superare
             .
          
        
         
         
           Patience
           out-faceth
           the
           lowring
           front
           of
           the
           most
           dismall
           fate
           .
        
         
           To
           insult
           over
           misery
           is
           the
           undoubted
           character
           of
           barbarous
           inhumanity
           .
        
         
           To
           incurre
           Gods
           displeasure
           for
           mans
           favour
           ,
           is
           for
           a
           man
           to
           kill
           himselfe
           to
           avoid
           a
           hurt
           .
        
         
           Roaring
           oblations
           with
           sighing
           tears
           fetcht
           
           from
           a
           faithfull
           spring
           ,
           are
           onely
           able
           to
           penetrate
           the
           everlasting
           gates
           .
        
         
           Good
           rewards
           in
           the
           end
           ,
           never
           faile
           to
           crown
           the
           end
           of
           a
           well
           prosecuted
           good
           .
        
         
           Though
           the
           waies
           of
           vertue
           seeme
           rough
           and
           craggie
           ,
           yet
           they
           reach
           to
           heaven
           ,
           and
           in
           the
           end
           invest
           humanity
           in
           the
           bright
           robes
           of
           immortality
           .
           
             Tendit
             in
             ardua
             virtus
          
           .
        
         
         
           Humility
           is
           a
           grace
           it selfe
           ,
           and
           a
           spotlesse
           vessel
           to
           entertain
           all
           other
           graces
           .
        
         
           As
           the
           ball
           rebounds
           according
           to
           the
           force
           wherewith
           it
           was
           throwne
           ;
           so
           the
           more
           violent
           the
           afflictions
           of
           a
           good
           man
           are
           ,
           the
           higher
           mount
           his
           thoughts
           .
        
         
           A
           good
           conscience
           seats
           the
           mind
           in
           a
           rich
           throne
           of
           endlesse
           quiet
           ;
           
           but
           horror
           waits
           upon
           the
           clogging
           burden
           of
           a
           guilty
           soule
           .
        
         
           Face
           commendation
           sets
           a
           foole
           in
           the
           chaire
           of
           ostentation
           ;
           but
           dies
           the
           cheek
           of
           wisdome
           a
           scarlet
           blush
           .
        
         
           The
           richest
           treasure
           mortall
           times
           afford
           ,
           is
           the
           spotlesse
           garment
           of
           an
           untainted
           reputation
           .
           
             Quando
             actùm
             est
             de
             nomine
             ,
             actum
             est
             de
             homine
             .
          
        
         
         
           Nature
           hath
           too
           slow
           a
           foot
           ,
           closely
           to
           follow
           the
           heeles
           of
           Religion
           ;
           and
           t
           is
           too
           hard
           a
           task
           for
           dull
           flesh
           clogg'd
           with
           corruption
           ,
           to
           wing
           with
           the
           high
           flying
           quill
           of
           the
           heavenly
           soule
           .
        
         
           Sorrow
           for
           ills
           past
           brings
           back
           mans
           frailty
           to
           its
           first
           innocence
           .
        
         
           Majestie
           is
           like
           Lightning
           ,
           it
           never
           hurts
           but
           where
           it
           finds
           resistance
           .
        
         
         
           Man
           is
           a
           Ship
           laden
           with
           riches
           ,
           the
           world
           's
           the
           sea
           ,
           heaven
           the
           intended
           haven
           :
           hell
           sends
           out
           his
           Pirats
           to
           rob
           him
           ,
           sometimes
           indevours
           to
           run
           him
           upon
           the
           rocks
           of
           his
           ruine
           ,
           but
           yet
           heavens
           eye
           guards
           him
           :
           His
           soule
           is
           the
           Pilot
           ,
           which
           through
           various
           seas
           of
           time
           and
           fortune
           ,
           brings
           him
           to
           the
           long
           desired
           Port
           of
           his
           endlesse
           quiet
           .
        
         
           I
           have
           read
           of
           the
           Hart
           ,
           
           in
           the
           time
           of
           his
           liberty
           and
           jollity
           ,
           of
           all
           creatures
           will
           not
           come
           neare
           a
           man
           ;
           but
           when
           hee
           is
           hunted
           by
           the
           dogs
           ,
           he
           will
           fly
           for
           succour
           to
           the
           next
           man
           he
           meets
           :
           So
           it
           is
           with
           man
           ;
           Prosperity
           cannot
           ingender
           so
           high
           a
           timpanie
           of
           pride
           ,
           but
           miserie
           can
           abate
           it
           .
        
         
           Halcyon
           dayes
           make
           a
           man
           forget
           both
           God
           and
           himselfe
           :
           but
           afflictions
           make
           us
           runne
           to
           
           seeke
           GOD
           early
           .
        
         
           To
           master
           a
           mans
           self
           is
           more
           than
           to
           conquer
           a
           world
           ;
           for
           he
           that
           conquered
           the
           world
           ,
           could
           not
           master
           himselfe
           .
        
         
           The
           malitious
           thirst
           of
           revenge
           out
           of
           a
           flinty
           cowardize
           strikes
           the
           hot
           fire
           of
           manlike
           unmanly
           valour
           .
        
         
           The
           falling
           of
           a
           house
           
           is
           more
           perillous
           than
           the
           rising
           of
           a
           flood
           .
           Evils
           foreseene
           are
           halfe
           cured
           ;
           but
           mishap
           comming
           with
           the
           sudden
           thunderclap
           of
           inexpectation
           ,
           scares
           the
           mindes
           faculties
           ,
           from
           all
           consideration
           of
           wise
           prevention
           .
        
         
           Learning
           is
           the
           onely
           precious
           jewell
           of
           immortality
           ;
           it
           well
           becomes
           the
           outward
           frame
           ,
           and
           with
           immortall
           
           glory
           decks
           and
           adornes
           the
           never
           dying
           part
           .
           
             Non
             habet
             inimicum
             praeter
             ignorantem
          
           .
        
         
           The
           most
           transcendent
           offenders
           transgresse
           not
           so
           much
           against
           the
           rules
           of
           humanity
           ,
           as
           doe
           the
           black
           monsters
           of
           prodigious
           ingratitude
           .
        
         
           Happy
           ,
           thrice
           happy
           were
           mans
           condition
           ,
           could
           hee
           but
           ransome
           home
           the
           lamentable
           
           losse
           of
           that
           pristin
           command
           over
           his
           intemperate
           passions
           .
        
         
           Man
           is
           the
           Embleme
           of
           miserie
           ,
           the
           subject
           of
           sorrow
           ,
           and
           the
           object
           of
           pitty
           ;
           and
           so
           will
           be
           so
           long
           as
           hee
           wanders
           up
           and
           downe
           in
           the
           gloomie
           fenn
           of
           this
           weeping
           wildernesse
           .
           
             〈◊〉
             〈◊〉
             〈◊〉
             〈◊〉
             〈◊〉
          
           .
        
         
           Successe
           seldome
           fails
           
           to
           crowne
           the
           enterprise
           according
           to
           the
           integrity
           of
           the
           cause
           .
        
         
           All
           men
           wear
           not
           one
           habit
           of
           the
           minde
           ,
           nor
           are
           all
           dispositiōs
           cloth'd
           alike
           with
           natures
           habiliments
           .
        
         
           Posterity
           may
           well
           be
           called
           the
           eternity
           of
           life
           :
           he
           may
           be
           said
           never
           to
           die
           ,
           whose
           name
           the
           eternall
           providence
           never
           fails
           to
           underprop
           with
           
           the
           lasting
           pillars
           of
           a
           numerous
           issue
           .
        
         
           There
           is
           not
           halfe
           so
           much
           danger
           in
           the
           desperate
           sword
           of
           a
           known
           foe
           ,
           as
           in
           the
           smooth
           insinuations
           of
           a
           pretended
           friend
           .
        
         
           Unwise
           is
           that
           man
           that
           will
           be
           either
           dejected
           or
           exalted
           with
           the
           frownes
           or
           smiles
           of
           various
           fortune
           .
        
         
         
           Mortalls
           must
           subscribe
           to
           whatsoever
           is
           writ
           in
           the
           adamantine
           tables
           of
           the
           eternall
           providence
           .
           
             Quic
             quid
             patimur
             venit
             ab
             alto
             .
             Seneca
             :
          
        
         
           The
           greatest
           canker
           that
           can
           be
           to
           love
           ,
           is
           the
           bosome
           nursing
           of
           a
           concealed
           grudge
           .
        
         
           Reason
           at
           first
           produceth
           opinion
           ;
           but
           afterwards
           an
           ill
           received
           opinion
           may
           seduce
           the
           very
           
           soule
           of
           reason
           .
        
         
           Strange
           is
           the
           nature
           of
           an
           ill
           opinion
           :
           it
           stands
           fast
           when
           it
           is
           once
           set
           ,
           though
           grounded
           upon
           nothing
           .
           Miraculous
           is
           that
           water
           that
           scowres
           away
           the
           seeming
           dirt
           from
           the
           object
           of
           an
           ill
           conceit
           .
        
         
           Let
           thy
           desires
           have
           the
           length
           and
           breadth
           of
           reason
           ,
           &
           at
           length
           thou
           shalt
           have
           the
           breadth
           of
           thy
           desires
           .
        
         
         
           That
           man
           is
           commonly
           of
           a
           good
           nature
           ,
           whose
           tongue
           is
           the
           true
           Herald
           to
           his
           thoughts
           .
        
         
           A
           prejudicate
           opinion
           makes
           the
           judgement
           looke
           asquint
           ,
           and
           the
           most
           injurious
           informer
           is
           an
           ill
           conceit
           ,
           because
           it
           is
           ever
           ready
           to
           blemish
           the
           beauty
           of
           the
           best
           intended
           action
           .
        
         
           In
           the
           clearest
           sunshine
           of
           faire
           prosperity
           ,
           we
           are
           
           subject
           to
           the
           boystrous
           stormes
           of
           gloomie
           adversity
           .
        
         
           He
           that
           alwayes
           observes
           the
           censuring
           murmur
           of
           idle
           people
           ,
           shall
           never
           let
           the
           suspected
           blush
           depart
           from
           his
           cheeke
           .
        
         
           A
           malevolent
           mind
           is
           like
           a
           boystrous
           sea
           tumbling
           in
           the
           swelling
           billowes
           of
           indignation
           ,
           till
           dire
           revenge
           sets
           it
           in
           a
           
           conceited
           liberty
           ,
           and
           never
           till
           then
           is
           it
           lockt
           in
           the
           griping
           gins
           of
           soule
           tormenting
           captivity
           .
        
         
           Devilish
           is
           that
           disposition
           ,
           which
           to
           wait
           an
           opportunity
           of
           revenge
           ,
           will
           seeme
           ,
           to
           rake
           up
           its
           malice
           in
           the
           cinders
           of
           oblivion
           ;
           but
           when
           the
           time
           serves
           will
           not
           stick
           to
           give
           fire
           to
           the
           whole
           heap
           of
           its
           hell-bred
           mischiefe
           .
        
         
         
           It
           is
           a
           prodigious
           thing
           to
           see
           a
           devilish
           disposition
           put
           on
           a
           godly
           face
           ,
           and
           loathed
           basenesse
           cloath'd
           with
           a
           scarfe
           of
           unstained
           purity
           .
        
         
           The
           Suns
           eye
           never
           saw
           the
           man
           that
           lived
           not
           under
           the
           controuling
           hand
           of
           Fate
           .
        
         
           Many
           gaze
           on
           the
           glorious
           out-side
           of
           a
           Princes
           diadem
           ,
           but
           few
           consider
           the
           tempestuous
           affaires
           
           that
           doe
           environ
           it
           .
        
         
           Hope
           of
           remedy
           ,
           and
           continuance
           of
           griefe
           ,
           should
           be
           both
           of
           one
           length
           :
           when
           hope
           of
           remedy
           is
           past
           ,
           grief
           should
           make
           an
           end
           .
        
         
           Too
           much
           to
           lament
           a
           misery
           ,
           is
           the
           next
           way
           to
           draw
           on
           a
           remedilesse
           mischiefe
           .
        
         
           Bootlesse
           griefe
           hurts
           a
           mans
           selfe
           :
           but
           patience
           
           makes
           a
           jest
           of
           an
           injury
           .
        
         
           Hee
           that
           is
           indebted
           to
           Grief
           ,
           let
           him
           borrow
           of
           Patience
           ,
           and
           he
           shall
           soone
           be
           out
           of
           debt
           .
        
         
           Patience
           rides
           it
           out
           in
           the
           most
           boysterous
           stormes
           of
           adversity
           ,
           and
           is
           armour
           of
           proofe
           against
           the
           thick
           flying
           bullets
           of
           the
           most
           malicious
           assaults
           .
        
         
           Where
           the
           scale
           of
           
           sensuality
           waighs
           down
           that
           of
           reason
           ,
           the
           basenes
           of
           our
           nature
           conducts
           us
           to
           most
           preposterous
           conclusions
           .
        
         
           It
           is
           a
           madnesse
           to
           be
           much
           affected
           with
           vanity
           :
           for
           though
           in
           youth
           we
           neither
           doe
           nor
           will
           consider
           it
           ,
           yet
           in
           the
           end
           the
           winter
           of
           age
           comes
           ,
           and
           with
           the
           besome
           of
           time
           sweeps
           away
           the
           summer
           of
           our
           youthfull
           follies
           .
        
         
           
           
             Quicquid
             Sol
             oriens
             ,
             quicquid
             &
             occidens
             ,
          
           
             Novit
             ,
             caeruleis
             Oceanus
             fretis
             ,
          
           
             Quicquid
             vel
             veniens
             ,
             vel
             fugiens
             lavat
             ,
          
           
             Aetas
             Pegaseo
             corripiet
             gradu
             .
          
           
             Senec.
             in
             Troade
             .
          
        
         
           Opinion
           is
           the
           soveraigne
           mistresse
           ,
           or
           rather
           the
           sole
           Midwife
           of
           either
           good
           or
           bad
           effects
           .
        
         
           It
           is
           not
           fit
           for
           an●
           man
           though
           never
           so
           miserable
           
           to
           despair
           of
           his
           own
           future
           good
           hap
           :
           for
           many
           are
           the
           events
           that
           lie
           in
           the
           teeming
           wombe
           of
           Time.
           
        
         
           Ill
           words
           bewray
           foule
           thoughts
           :
           but
           sweet
           behaviour
           is
           the
           index
           of
           a
           vertuous
           mind
           .
           
             Praecipitis
             linguae
             comes
             est
             poenitentia
          
           .
        
         
           Labour
           in
           good
           things
           is
           sweet
           in
           the
           issue
           ;
           but
           
           pleasure
           in
           evill
           things
           turns
           to
           a
           torment
           .
        
         
           Faire
           words
           without
           good
           deeds
           to
           a
           man
           in
           misery
           ,
           are
           like
           a
           saddle
           of
           gold
           clapt
           upon
           the
           back
           of
           a
           gall'd
           horse
           .
        
         
           A
           foolish
           man
           in
           wealth
           and
           authority
           ,
           is
           like
           a
           weake
           timberd
           house
           with
           too
           pondrous
           a
           roofe
           .
        
         
           Heaven
           without
           earth
           
           is
           perfect
           but
           earth
           without
           heaven
           is
           but
           the
           porch
           of
           hell
           .
        
         
           There
           are
           no
           riches
           like
           to
           the
           sweetnesse
           of
           content
           ,
           nor
           no
           poverty
           comparable
           to
           the
           want
           of
           patience
           .
        
         
           I
           have
           read
           of
           the
           Hart
           ,
           that
           he
           weeps
           every
           yeare
           for
           the
           shedding
           of
           his
           head
           ,
           though
           the
           loosing
           of
           the
           old
           be
           the
           way
           to
           make
           roome
           for
           a
           better
           :
        
         
         
           So
           is
           it
           with
           worldlings
           ,
           they
           weep
           to
           part
           with
           any
           thing
           here
           ,
           though
           it
           be
           for
           never
           so
           great
           a
           treasure
           hereafter
           :
           though
           no
           lesse
           a
           matter
           than
           the
           eternall
           joyes
           of
           heaven
           crown
           the
           end
           of
           faith
           and
           good
           works
           ,
           yet
           that
           ,
           
             i
             ,
             vende
             totum
             quod
             habes
             ,
             &
             redde
             pauperibus
             ,
          
           is
           such
           a
           
             durus
             sermo
          
           ,
           that
           it
           makes
           them
           block
           up
           their
           eares
           against
           the
           wisest
           Charmer
           .
        
         
         
           The
           Hart
           likewise
           when
           he
           sees
           himself
           taken
           by
           the
           hounds
           ,
           or
           other
           devise
           ,
           will
           shed
           teares
           ,
           thinking
           thereby
           to
           intenerate
           the
           hearts
           of
           the
           hunters
           ,
           and
           move
           them
           to
           pitty
           ,
           or
           else
           because
           he
           sees
           himselfe
           irrecoverably
           catcht
           :
        
         
           So
           every
           true
           penitent
           ,
           whens
           hee
           sees
           himselfe
           overtaken
           by
           the
           wiles
           of
           Satan
           ,
           should
           never
           stop
           his
           tears
           ,
           till
           he
           sees
           
           his
           owne
           blessed
           recoverie
           out
           of
           the
           clawes
           of
           the
           devill
           :
           for
           he
           that
           is
           on
           high
           ,
           keeps
           our
           tears
           in
           his
           bottle
           ,
           and
           though
           his
           tender
           mercy
           will
           not
           presse
           upon
           a
           broken
           heart
           ,
           yet
           he
           is
           alwayes
           pleased
           to
           see
           a
           sorrowfull
           soule
           baptize
           himself
           in
           the
           trickling
           drops
           of
           repentant
           dew
           .
        
         
           He
           that
           consults
           with
           his
           body
           for
           the
           saving
           of
           his
           soule
           ,
           shall
           never
           
           bring
           it
           to
           heaven
           .
           If
           we
           hope
           to
           reape
           in
           joy
           ,
           we
           must
           sow
           in
           teares
           .
        
         
           He
           that
           stands
           up
           against
           the
           vices
           of
           great
           Ones
           ,
           had
           need
           to
           be
           treble
           guarded
           with
           Law
           ,
           Friends
           ,
           and
           Authority
           .
        
         
           The
           longer
           we
           live
           ,
           the
           more
           misery
           we
           endure
           :
           life
           is
           like
           a
           span
           forc'd
           frō
           a
           gouty
           hand
           ,
           the
           more
           the
           hand
           is
           extented
           ,
           the
           more
           paine
           it
           suffers
           .
        
         
         
           Supposed
           goodnesse
           ,
           by
           the
           blab
           of
           time
           ,
           will
           have
           her
           close
           basenesse
           set
           upon
           the
           scaffold
           of
           publique
           shame
           .
        
         
           The
           fierce
           flash
           of
           too
           violent
           fire
           ,
           soon
           burns
           out
           it selfe
           .
        
         
           The
           old
           proverb
           saith
           ,
           Faire
           and
           softly
           goes
           far
           :
           but
           he
           that
           spurs
           too
           fast
           ,
           tires
           betimes
           .
        
         
           It
           is
           a
           wise
           mans
           part
           
           in
           a
           case
           of
           extremity
           ,
           with
           patience
           to
           swallow
           down
           the
           bitter
           potion
           of
           indignity
           .
        
         
           Harsh
           reproof
           is
           like
           a
           violent
           storme
           ,
           soone
           washt
           down
           the
           channell
           :
           but
           friendly
           admonitions
           ,
           like
           a
           small
           showre
           ,
           pierce
           deep
           ,
           and
           bring
           forth
           better
           reformation
           .
        
         
           A
           wise
           man
           will
           digest
           with
           patience
           the
           
           sad
           tidings
           of
           calamity
           ,
           when
           a
           foole
           by
           grumbling
           at
           a
           crosse
           ,
           hurts
           himselfe
           .
        
         
           Life
           is
           a
           continuall
           march
           towards
           the
           grave
           ,
           and
           a
           dangerous
           sailing
           towards
           death
           through
           the
           bellowing
           waves
           of
           a
           troublesome
           world
           .
        
         
           
             Labitur
             omnis
             homo
             ,
             momento
             extinguimur
             uno
             ,
          
           
             Namque
             oleo
             lampas
             deficiente
             perit
             .
          
        
         
           Within
           the
           very
           crown
           
           that
           adornes
           the
           sacred
           temples
           of
           a
           King
           ,
           death
           hath
           his
           lurking
           den
           .
        
         
           
             Pallida
             mors
             aequo
             pulsat
             pede
          
           
             Pauperum
             tabernas
             ,
             regumque
             turres
             .
          
           
             Horat.
             
          
        
         
           A
           willing
           mind
           is
           able
           to
           steer
           a
           man
           against
           the
           streame
           of
           the
           strongest
           impediments
           .
        
         
           Neither
           the
           shot
           of
           Accidēt
           ,
           nor
           dart
           of
           Chance
           ,
           penetrates
           the
           impregnable
           
           walls
           of
           a
           resolved
           Patience
           .
        
         
           Love
           ,
           when
           his
           links
           are
           once
           crackt
           ,
           turns
           to
           the
           so
           wrest
           and
           most
           dismall
           Hate
           .
        
         
           Sordid
           manners
           in
           a
           comely
           feature
           are
           like
           black
           clouds
           in
           a
           faire
           sky
           .
           Outward
           perfection
           without
           inward
           goodnesse
           ,
           sets
           but
           the
           blacker
           die
           upon
           the
           minds
           deformity
           .
        
         
         
           If
           the
           hand
           of
           Omnipotency
           should
           please
           to
           try
           us
           with
           all
           manner
           of
           affliction
           ,
           to
           lock
           us
           in
           the
           griping
           gins
           of
           misery
           ,
           to
           steep
           us
           in
           the
           dregs
           of
           poverty
           ,
           to
           rain
           down
           shame
           and
           defamation
           on
           our
           heads
           ;
           we
           are
           to
           fly
           onely
           in
           this
           depth
           of
           extremity
           ,
           to
           the
           safe
           sanctuarie
           of
           faith
           &
           a
           good
           conscience
           ,
           which
           turne
           the
           bitter
           waters
           of
           affliction
           into
           the
           sweet
           Nectar
           of
           never
           dying
           comfort
           .
        
         
         
           Goodness
           with
           a
           smiling
           patience
           shakes
           off
           the
           dust
           that
           is
           throwne
           in
           the
           face
           of
           her
           despised
           fortune
           .
        
         
           Teares
           and
           smiles
           are
           not
           alwaies
           the
           badges
           of
           grief
           and
           patience
           .
        
         
           There
           is
           no
           anger
           or
           sorow
           like
           to
           that
           which
           boyls
           with
           a
           constrained
           silence
           .
        
         
           Thoughts
           tending
           to
           
           ambition
           ,
           are
           alwayes
           wont
           to
           plot
           unlikely
           wonders
           .
        
         
           It
           is
           the
           easiest
           thing
           in
           the
           world
           to
           be
           invective
           ;
           and
           amongst
           all
           sorts
           of
           men
           ,
           none
           are
           so
           quick
           at
           censuring
           as
           the
           ignorant
           :
           hee
           will
           still
           give
           the
           first
           lash
           ,
           whilst
           himself
           is
           at
           the
           best
           but
           a
           lump
           of
           ignorance
           ,
           a
           pretender
           to
           learning
           ,
           &
           his
           head
           stuft
           full
           of
           nothing
           but
           titles
           of
           books
           :
           
           for
           if
           hee
           be
           questioned
           beyond
           the
           Epistle
           Dedicatory
           ,
           he
           is
           presently
           like
           an
           Aegyptian
           valley
           in
           the
           latter
           end
           of
           Iune
           .
        
         
           From
           an
           immaculate
           Fountaine
           (
           by
           reason
           of
           an
           ill
           passage
           )
           may
           proceed
           unwholesome
           and
           corrupt
           water
           .
        
         
           A
           Tradesman
           had
           need
           to
           be
           a
           good
           husband
           ;
           for
           it
           is
           somewhat
           a
           difficult
           task
           in
           these
           
           times
           ,
           for
           a
           man
           with
           his
           nailes
           or
           bare
           hands
           to
           teare
           himselfe
           a
           passage
           through
           the
           flinty
           waies
           of
           this
           hard
           world
           .
        
         
           I
           commend
           a
           man
           that
           will
           draw
           like
           a
           horse
           ,
           but
           not
           him
           that
           wil
           carry
           every
           thing
           that
           is
           put
           upon
           him
           like
           an
           asse
           .
        
         
           Sacred
           learning
           is
           Wisdomes
           prudent
           Queene
           ;
           studied
           arts
           are
           degrees
           unto
           some
           wished
           ends
           ,
           
           and
           steps
           whereby
           wee
           ascend
           the
           high
           top
           of
           our
           hopes
           and
           thoughts
           .
        
         
           An
           ill
           beginning
           is
           commonly
           the
           prodigious
           sign
           of
           a
           dismall
           end
           .
        
         
           Anger
           makes
           the
           tongue
           bewray
           the
           most
           secret
           thoughts
           .
        
         
           The
           top
           of
           honour
           is
           a
           narrow
           plot
           of
           ground
           ,
           where
           if
           a
           man
           tread
           but
           one
           carelesse
           step
           ,
           downe
           
           he
           tumbles
           into
           the
           jaws
           of
           ruine
           .
        
         
           The
           darkest
           clouds
           of
           misery
           or
           affliction
           ,
           cannot
           over-shadow
           the
           bright
           shining
           luster
           of
           a
           cleare
           conscience
           .
        
         
           The
           onely
           way
           to
           wash
           off
           the
           guilt
           from
           a
           spotted
           conscience
           ,
           is
           to
           lay
           open
           her
           bosome-crimes
           to
           the
           worlds
           broad
           eye
           .
        
         
         
           Ill
           newes
           flyes
           with
           Eagles
           wings
           ,
           but
           leaden
           waights
           are
           wont
           to
           clog
           the
           heeles
           of
           gladsome
           tidings
           .
        
         
           Inconsiderate
           desires
           rashly
           fulfill'd
           ,
           are
           able
           to
           set
           the
           world
           in
           an
           unquenchable
           combustion
           .
        
         
           He
           that
           wanders
           too
           farre
           into
           the
           wildernesse
           of
           this
           world
           ,
           cannot
           when
           hee
           please
           creep
           
           back
           to
           the
           lodge
           of
           safety
           .
        
         
           It
           is
           not
           in
           the
           power
           of
           man
           when
           he
           please
           to
           tread
           the
           happy
           steps
           of
           heavenly
           repentance
           .
        
         
           He
           that
           desires
           a
           good
           ,
           and
           suspects
           his
           right
           to
           it
           ,
           is
           bold
           and
           turbulent
           in
           the
           pursuit
           ,
           whilst
           the
           man
           that
           's
           conscious
           to
           himselfe
           of
           good
           ,
           rests
           happily
           content
           till
           time
           crowne
           with
           the
           guerdon
           
           of
           a
           patient
           expectation
           .
        
         
           Time
           ,
           Patience
           ,
           and
           Industry
           ,
           are
           the
           three
           grand
           Masters
           of
           the
           world
           :
           they
           bring
           a
           man
           to
           the
           end
           of
           his
           desires
           ,
           when
           a
           turbulent
           murmur
           oftentimes
           jerks
           him
           out
           of
           the
           way
           to
           his
           proposed
           ends
           .
        
         
           The
           best
           complement
           is
           but
           a
           kind
           of
           a
           hansome
           foolerie
           ;
           &
           crooching
           
           feats
           are
           so
           far
           from
           testifying
           the
           hearts
           inward
           loyalty
           ,
           that
           they
           carry
           in
           their
           front
           the
           lineaments
           of
           flattery
           .
        
         
           As
           it
           is
           a
           sorrowfull
           thing
           when
           a
           mans
           means
           is
           too
           low
           for
           his
           parts
           ,
           so
           is
           it
           a
           preposterous
           sight
           to
           see
           a
           man
           whose
           mind
           is
           too
           big
           for
           his
           fortune
           .
        
         
           There
           is
           not
           a
           more
           lamentable
           spectacle
           than
           
           to
           see
           a
           man
           of
           parts
           in
           misery
           ,
           especially
           if
           the
           fault
           be
           not
           in
           himselfe
           :
           The
           worst
           sight
           in
           the
           world
           is
           a
           rich
           Dunce
           and
           a
           poore
           Schooller
           .
        
         
           The
           more
           actions
           of
           depth
           are
           preconsidered
           ,
           the
           worse
           sometimes
           they
           are
           performed
           .
        
         
           The
           spurs
           of
           necessity
           are
           almost
           able
           to
           put
           a
           nimble
           spirit
           into
           the
           
           senslesse
           body
           of
           a
           dead
           stock
           .
        
         
           It
           is
           Love
           that
           makes
           the
           Eternall
           Mercy
           to
           beare
           so
           much
           the
           foule
           crimes
           of
           transgressing
           humanity
           .
        
         
           Sea
           ,
           nor
           land
           ,
           nor
           gates
           of
           brasse
           ,
           are
           able
           to
           withstand
           the
           indefatigable
           hand
           of
           a
           willing
           mind
           .
        
         
           So
           violent
           is
           the
           beastly
           
           passion
           of
           inordinate
           lust
           ,
           that
           it
           subjects
           a
           man
           to
           base
           thoughts
           ,
           perturbs
           his
           Spirit
           ,
           and
           never
           leaves
           him
           till
           it
           hurrie
           him
           headlong
           into
           the
           chambers
           of
           death
           .
        
         
           Patience
           is
           the
           best
           Midwife
           to
           a
           disastrous
           misfortune
           .
        
         
           Beauty
           is
           but
           a
           vaine
           thing
           ,
           though
           nere
           so
           rich
           :
           for
           in
           the
           fairest
           woman
           it
           is
           but
           skin
           
           deep
           :
           under
           the
           skin
           there
           is
           no
           more
           than
           ordinary
           .
        
         
           If
           a
           man
           be
           not
           so
           happy
           as
           he
           desires
           ,
           let
           this
           be
           his
           comfort
           ,
           that
           he
           is
           not
           so
           wretched
           as
           he
           deserves
           .
        
         
           The
           only
           reason
           why
           some
           men
           have
           not
           what
           they
           desire
           ,
           is
           because
           their
           desires
           are
           not
           grounded
           upon
           reason
           .
        
         
         
           It
           is
           better
           to
           be
           well
           deserving
           without
           praise
           ,
           than
           to
           live
           by
           the
           aire
           of
           undeserved
           commendation
           .
        
         
           Happy
           is
           man
           that
           his
           time
           is
           but
           short
           ,
           because
           it
           is
           miserable
           .
        
         
           Happy
           are
           those
           miseries
           that
           terminate
           in
           joy
           ,
           happy
           those
           joyes
           that
           know
           no
           end
           ,
           and
           happy
           is
           his
           joyfull
           end
           
           whose
           dissolution
           is
           eternall
           joy
           .
        
         
           As
           he
           that
           climbes
           is
           in
           danger
           of
           falling
           ,
           so
           is
           he
           that
           lies
           on
           the
           ground
           subject
           to
           be
           trampled
           on
           by
           every
           peasant
           :
           hee
           is
           in
           the
           happiest
           condition
           ,
           that
           moves
           in
           the
           middle
           region
           of
           the
           world
           ,
           considering
           that
           as
           want
           is
           a
           misery
           ,
           abundance
           is
           but
           a
           trouble
           .
           
             Medio
             tutissimus
             ibis
             .
             Ovid.
             Meta.
             
          
        
         
         
           As
           Contemplation
           altogether
           without
           Action
           is
           idlenesse
           ,
           so
           constant
           Action
           altogether
           without
           Contemplation
           is
           too
           bestiall
           .
        
         
           Wise
           is
           that
           man
           that
           steres
           an
           even
           course
           betwixt
           the
           Scylla
           &
           Charibdis
           of
           this
           world
           ,
           prodigality
           and
           covetousnesse
           ;
           that
           on
           the
           one
           side
           will
           not
           lavishly
           consume
           Gods
           blessings
           ,
           nor
           on
           the
           other
           side
           embrace
           
           covetousnesse
           ,
           knowing
           that
           riches
           at
           the
           best
           are
           but
           necessary
           impediments
           .
        
         
           As
           the
           smart
           of
           the
           wound
           is
           recompenced
           by
           the
           cure
           of
           the
           body
           ,
           so
           the
           punishment
           of
           the
           body
           is
           sweetned
           by
           the
           health
           of
           the
           soule
           .
        
         
           He
           that
           hath
           a
           friend
           ,
           and
           sees
           him
           out
           of
           the
           way
           ,
           and
           labours
           not
           by
           timely
           counsell
           to
           call
           
           back
           his
           wandring
           steps
           ,
           renders
           himself
           unworthy
           of
           so
           rare
           a
           blessing
           .
        
         
           He
           that
           snufs
           at
           friendly
           reprehension
           ,
           and
           can
           better
           relish
           the
           oyle
           of
           flattery
           ,
           makes
           himselfe
           the
           pittiful
           abstract
           of
           too
           late
           repenting
           folly
           .
        
         
           Not
           to
           speake
           what
           a
           man
           knowes
           ,
           is
           sometimes
           discretion
           ;
           but
           to
           speak
           ,
           and
           not
           to
           know
           ,
           is
           alwayes
           folly
           ,
           sometimes
           
           dishonesty
           .
           
             Audi
             ,
             vide
             ,
             tace
             ,
             si
             tu
             vis
             vivere
             pace
             .
          
        
         
           As
           it
           is
           more
           honour
           to
           teach
           thā
           to
           be
           taught
           ,
           so
           it
           is
           lesse
           shame
           to
           learn
           than
           to
           be
           ignorant
           .
        
         
           We
           should
           all
           follow
           the
           world
           ,
           as
           a
           Serving-man
           followeth
           his
           Master
           and
           a
           stranger
           ;
           whilst
           they
           goe
           together
           ,
           he
           followes
           them
           both
           ;
           but
           when
           the
           stranger
           leaves
           
           his
           Master
           ,
           he
           leaves
           the
           stranger
           ,
           and
           followeth
           his
           Master
           :
           So
           should
           we
           follow
           the
           world
           :
           as
           long
           as
           the
           world
           goes
           with
           God
           ,
           wee
           should
           follow
           them
           both
           ;
           but
           when
           the
           world
           leaves
           God
           ,
           we
           should
           leave
           the
           world
           ,
           and
           with
           prepared
           hearts
           follow
           our
           Master
           God.
           
        
         
           
             Disce
             mori
             ,
             nec
             te
             ludat
             spes
             vana
             salutis
             ,
          
           
             Nam
             nescis
             statuant
             quem
             tibi
             fata
             diem
             .
          
        
         
         
           As
           there
           is
           a
           misery
           in
           want
           ,
           so
           there
           is
           a
           danger
           in
           excesse
           :
           a
           man
           may
           as
           soon
           die
           of
           a
           surfet
           ,
           as
           of
           hunger
           .
        
         
           It
           is
           good
           for
           a
           man
           to
           have
           praise
           when
           he
           deserves
           it
           ;
           but
           it
           is
           better
           to
           deserve
           praise
           when
           hee
           hath
           it
           .
        
         
           Honour
           is
           like
           a
           Palace
           with
           a
           low
           door
           ,
           into
           the
           which
           no
           man
           can
           enter
           but
           he
           must
           first
           stoop
           .
        
         
         
           The
           staffe
           of
           mans
           comfort
           is
           Hope
           ;
           which
           once
           broke
           ,
           bids
           a
           finall
           farewell
           to
           the
           most
           sweetned
           cogitations
           .
        
         
           The
           most
           lasting
           comfort
           is
           this
           sweet
           companion
           Hope
           ;
           which
           once
           departed
           ,
           makes
           poore
           man
           either
           desperately
           to
           plunge
           himselfe
           into
           the
           gulfe
           of
           horror
           and
           despaire
           ,
           or
           with
           sighing
           tears
           to
           spend
           the
           remainder
           of
           his
           pilgrimage
           in
           
           the
           mournfull
           valley
           of
           discontent
           .
        
         
           God
           hath
           an
           infinite
           number
           both
           of
           sacred
           and
           secret
           wayes
           as
           well
           to
           punish
           as
           to
           pardon
           .
        
         
           As
           the
           eye
           of
           Gods
           providence
           protects
           the
           just
           ,
           so
           the
           bright
           raies
           of
           his
           divinity
           pierce
           the
           darke
           and
           secret
           caverns
           of
           the
           most
           hellish
           intendments
           .
           Our
           breasts
           &
           actions
           are
           as
           transparent
           
           to
           his
           eye
           ,
           as
           his
           Decrees
           are
           invisible
           to
           ours
           .
        
         
           Though
           a
           plot
           of
           malice
           be
           never
           so
           cunningly
           contrived
           ,
           a
           twinkling
           of
           Gods
           eye
           is
           able
           both
           to
           detect
           and
           punish
           it
           .
        
         
           He
           that
           sailes
           by
           the
           star
           of
           Vertue
           ,
           shall
           in
           time
           land
           himselfe
           upon
           the
           shore
           of
           Honour
           .
        
         
           Affections
           founded
           on
           Vertue
           ,
           have
           happy
           ends
           ;
           
           but
           built
           on
           lust
           and
           vice
           ,
           begin
           pleasantly
           ,
           but
           terminate
           in
           misery
           .
        
         
           It
           is
           a
           base
           thing
           to
           erect
           Trophees
           of
           Honor
           to
           our selves
           upon
           the
           ruines
           of
           anothers
           reputation
           .
        
         
           High
           time
           it
           is
           to
           flee
           vanity
           ,
           whē
           the
           drum
           of
           age
           beats
           a
           quick
           march
           towards
           the
           silent
           grave
           .
        
         
           It
           is
           for
           the
           most
           part
           but
           lost
           labour
           to
           bend
           a
           
           mans
           force
           against
           the
           streame
           of
           anothers
           affections
           .
        
         
           Justice
           is
           the
           soule
           of
           a
           Common-wealth
           :
           for
           as
           a
           Body
           without
           a
           Soule
           soone
           stinks
           ,
           and
           is
           noisome
           ;
           so
           a
           Common-wealth
           without
           Iustice
           ,
           quickly
           turns
           to
           a
           lump
           of
           corruption
           .
        
         
           There
           are
           certaine
           Springs
           ,
           that
           when
           the
           Sun
           shineth
           hottest
           ,
           they
           
           are
           coldest
           :
           at
           midnight
           when
           the
           Sunne
           is
           gone
           ,
           they
           are
           then
           hottest
           :
        
         
           So
           it
           is
           with
           Man
           ,
           his
           zeal
           is
           coldest
           in
           the
           Sun-shine
           of
           prosperity
           ;
           but
           in
           the
           gloomie
           dayes
           of
           dark
           adversity
           ,
           begins
           to
           gather
           heat
           .
        
         
           It
           is
           said
           of
           the
           Sea
           Elephant
           ,
           that
           sometimes
           he
           will
           come
           ashore
           ,
           and
           sleep
           amongst
           the
           rocks
           ;
           where
           as
           soone
           as
           he
           is
           
           espyed
           ,
           the
           people
           surround
           him
           with
           nets
           &
           gins
           to
           take
           him
           ;
           which
           done
           ,
           they
           awake
           him
           ,
           who
           as
           soone
           as
           he
           is
           awake
           ,
           leaps
           with
           a
           violent
           rush
           ,
           thinking
           to
           leap
           again
           into
           the
           Sea
           ,
           but
           cannot
           .
        
         
           So
           it
           is
           with
           those
           ,
           who
           stragling
           out
           of
           the
           waies
           of
           piety
           ,
           oftentimes
           fall
           asleep
           in
           sinne
           ,
           which
           (
           when
           by
           death
           ,
           or
           sicknesse
           they
           are
           awakened
           )
           
           think
           presently
           to
           rush
           into
           heaven
           ,
           or
           upon
           the
           instant
           to
           leap
           into
           the
           paths
           of
           Repentance
           ,
           but
           then
           it
           is
           too
           late
           ;
           for
           they
           are
           oftentimes
           catcht
           as
           surely
           ,
           as
           suddenly
           ;
           like
           the
           foole
           in
           the
           Gospell
           ,
           that
           had
           laid
           up
           goods
           for
           many
           yeares
           .
        
         
           We
           should
           tast
           worldly
           pleasures
           running
           ▪
           like
           the
           Aegyptian
           dogs
           upon
           the
           banks
           of
           Nile
           ;
           for
           as
           they
           ,
           if
           they
           stand
           to
           drink
           
           long
           in
           a
           place
           ,
           are
           in
           danger
           of
           that
           Serpent
           the
           Crocodile
           ;
           so
           are
           those
           that
           stay
           to
           take
           full
           draughts
           of
           worldly
           pleasures
           ,
           in
           danger
           of
           that
           serpent
           the
           Devill
           .
        
         
           It
           is
           a
           bootlesse
           thing
           to
           indevour
           the
           reformation
           or
           conversion
           of
           a
           perverse
           man
           :
           there
           is
           no
           medling
           with
           him
           that
           loves
           to
           be
           transported
           with
           the
           streame
           of
           his
           owne
           opinions
           .
        
         
         
           Heaven
           is
           the
           admired
           instrument
           of
           the
           glorious
           God
           ;
           by
           the
           influence
           whereof
           he
           rules
           and
           governes
           the
           great
           masse
           of
           this
           corruptible
           world
           .
        
         
           It
           is
           said
           of
           those
           quagmires
           of
           honey
           ,
           which
           some
           say
           to
           be
           in
           Muscovia
           ,
           that
           there
           are
           gins
           &
           snares
           set
           about
           them
           ,
           by
           which
           the
           Beare
           (
           which
           out
           of
           a
           love
           to
           the
           hony
           frequenteth
           those
           places
           )
           is
           oftentimes
           catcht
           ,
           and
           
           thereby
           constrained
           to
           forfeit
           his
           life
           ,
           by
           pleasing
           the
           curiosity
           of
           his
           taste
           .
        
         
           Nocet
           empta
           dolore
           voluptas
        
         
           The
           sweetnesse
           of
           sin
           is
           the
           death
           of
           the
           soule
           .
           The
           pleasures
           of
           sin
           carry
           a
           faire
           shew
           ;
           but
           as
           the
           shadow
           of
           the
           richest
           colour
           ,
           yea
           of
           scarlet
           it selfe
           is
           alwaies
           black
           ;
           so
           be
           the
           colours
           of
           sin
           nere
           so
           glorious
           ,
           its
           shadow
           is
           black
           and
           hellish
           ;
           though
           in
           taste
           it
           be
           wondrous
           pleasant
           ,
           
           yet
           in
           digestion
           it
           is
           bitter
           as
           wormwood
           :
           the
           deadly
           Arsenicke
           of
           the
           soul
           ,
           and
           the
           bane
           of
           all
           our
           happinesse
           ,
           against
           which
           no
           Antidote
           prevailes
           ,
           but
           the
           precious
           bloud
           of
           the
           Immaculate
           Lamb
           Christ
           Iesus
           .
        
         
           It
           is
           not
           good
           to
           be
           alwayes
           busied
           in
           the
           toilsome
           shop
           of
           Action
           ;
           that
           man
           hath
           but
           an
           earthly
           soul
           ,
           which
           maugre
           the
           importunity
           of
           
           the
           greatest
           businesse
           ,
           wil
           not
           sometimes
           sequester
           himselfe
           into
           the
           withdrawing
           chamber
           of
           Meditation
           .
        
         
           Credulity
           is
           oftentimes
           the
           dreame
           of
           fooles
           ,
           the
           drunkards
           ape
           ,
           and
           the
           blind
           nurse
           of
           dangerous
           security
           .
        
         
           Bonaventure
           tels
           us
           ,
           that
           the
           damned
           shall
           weep
           more
           teares
           in
           hell
           ,
           than
           there
           is
           water
           in
           the
           sea
           ;
           
           because
           the
           water
           of
           the
           sea
           is
           finite
           ,
           but
           the
           teares
           shall
           be
           wept
           in
           hell
           are
           infinite
           ,
           never
           ceasing
           as
           long
           as
           God
           is
           God.
           
        
         
           Men
           are
           not
           rich
           or
           poore
           according
           to
           what
           they
           possesse
           ,
           but
           to
           what
           they
           desire
           ;
           the
           onely
           rich
           man
           is
           he
           that
           with
           content
           enjoys
           a
           competēcie
           .
        
         
           
             Mensa
             minuscula
          
           
             Pace
             referta
             ,
          
           
             Melior
             divitiis
          
           
             Lite
             repletis
             .
          
        
         
         
           Miserable
           is
           he
           that
           chooseth
           a
           wife
           either
           for
           by
           or
           base
           respects
           ;
           but
           happy
           is
           that
           mariage
           when
           the
           soule
           is
           matcht
           as
           well
           as
           the
           body
           .
        
         
           Wise
           is
           he
           that
           shapes
           his
           expēces
           by
           his
           means
           ,
           and
           cuts
           the
           wings
           of
           his
           desires
           in
           pleasure
           ,
           that
           they
           mount
           not
           above
           the
           flight
           of
           his
           fortunes
           .
        
         
           Nothing
           more
           unsatiable
           than
           mens
           desires
           ;
           
           he
           that
           is
           poor
           would
           be
           rich
           ,
           he
           that
           is
           rich
           would
           be
           a
           gentleman
           ,
           a
           gentleman
           would
           be
           a
           nobleman
           ,
           a
           noble
           man
           would
           be
           a
           King
           ,
           a
           King
           would
           be
           the
           Monarch
           of
           the
           world
           ,
           and
           he
           that
           was
           so
           ,
           wept
           ,
           because
           there
           was
           no
           more
           to
           conquer
           .
        
         
           Heu
           quòd
           mortali
           non
           unus
           sufficit
           orbis
           !
        
         
           It
           is
           not
           want
           makes
           men
           poore
           ,
           nor
           abundance
           renders
           them
           rich
           ;
           
           the
           rich
           man
           may
           say
           of
           himselfe
           ,
           as
           Narcissus
           said
           when
           he
           saw
           his
           owne
           beauty
           in
           the
           water
           ,
           which
           made
           him
           fall
           in
           love
           with
           himselfe
           ,
           
             
               Inopem
               me
               copia
               fecit
               ,
            
             
               Ovid.
               Meta.
               
            
             
               —
               quid
               gentibus
               auri
            
             
               Nunquam
               extincta
               sitis
               ?
            
          
        
         
           As
           there
           are
           no
           better
           rules
           than
           good
           examples
           ,
           so
           there
           is
           nothing
           more
           pernitiously
           dangerous
           than
           bad
           .
        
         
           
           Longum
           iter
           per
           praecepta
           ,
           breve
           per
           exemplum
           .
        
         
           It
           is
           good
           for
           a
           man
           to
           be
           industrious
           in
           his
           youth
           ,
           and
           to
           know
           that
           if
           by
           honest
           labour
           hee
           accomplish
           any
           good
           thing
           ,
           the
           labour
           is
           soon
           past
           ,
           but
           the
           good
           remaines
           to
           his
           comfort
           ;
           and
           if
           for
           his
           pleasure
           he
           doe
           any
           thing
           that
           is
           ill
           ,
           the
           pleasure
           is
           gone
           in
           a
           moment
           ,
           but
           the
           evill
           remaines
           to
           his
           torment
           ▪
        
         
           
           
             Impia
             sub
             dulci
             melle
             venena
             latent
             .
          
           
             Ovid.
             de
             Pont.
             
          
        
         
           The
           strongest
           argument
           of
           a
           wise
           man
           is
           to
           be
           a
           good
           husband
           of
           his
           time
           ;
           for
           amongst
           all
           the
           things
           that
           God
           created
           ,
           there
           is
           nothing
           more
           precious
        
         
           
             Tempora
             labuntur
             ,
             tacitisque
             senescimus
             annis
             ,
          
           
             Et
             fugiunt
             fraeno
             non
             remorante
             dies
             .
          
        
         
           Lent
           is
           a
           time
           of
           fasting
           ;
           
           but
           the
           soules
           great
           festivall
           :
           for
           the
           pampering
           of
           the
           body
           is
           the
           starving
           of
           the
           soule
           ;
           and
           when
           we
           macerate
           the
           body
           ,
           we
           make
           the
           soule
           a
           feast
           :
           if
           
             depressio
             carnis
          
           leade
           not
           the
           way
           ,
           
             elevatio
             mentis
          
           will
           never
           move
           .
        
         
           There
           is
           a
           creature
           ,
           saith
           Plinie
           ,
           in
           the
           North
           parts
           of
           Sweden
           called
           a
           Ierfe
           ,
           of
           so
           ravenous
           and
           devouring
           a
           nature
           ,
           that
           though
           his
           belly
           be
           nere
           
           so
           full
           ,
           he
           is
           not
           satisfied
           ;
           he
           will
           eate
           till
           by
           his
           fulnesse
           he
           is
           scarce
           able
           to
           goe
           ,
           and
           then
           run
           to
           the
           trees
           that
           grow
           neare
           together
           ,
           and
           there
           by
           forcing
           his
           body
           through
           ,
           disgorgeth
           himselfe
           ,
           purposely
           to
           repaire
           his
           stomack
           for
           a
           fresh
           prey
           :
           those
           that
           are
           minded
           to
           take
           him
           ,
           throw
           a
           carkas
           in
           his
           way
           ,
           and
           then
           observe
           the
           trees
           that
           he
           runs
           to
           when
           he
           is
           full
           ,
           when
           they
           once
           perceive
           him
           
           fast
           betwixt
           the
           trees
           ,
           they
           run
           to
           him
           ,
           and
           kill
           him
           .
        
         
           So
           it
           fares
           with
           those
           that
           never
           think
           of
           any
           thing
           but
           how
           to
           please
           their
           senses
           ,
           which
           the
           devill
           observing
           ,
           throws
           divers
           temptations
           before
           their
           eyes
           ,
           which
           they
           never
           suspecting
           are
           oftentimes
           confounded
           in
           the
           very
           act
           of
           sin
           .
        
         
           Of
           all
           other
           things
           necessity
           
           hath
           the
           largest
           patent
           :
           maugre
           the
           greatest
           commands
           ,
           necessity
           wil
           first
           be
           observed
           .
        
         
           To
           husband
           well
           a
           small
           talent
           is
           the
           onely
           way
           to
           mount
           a
           low
           fortune
           .
        
         
           To
           be
           too
           full
           of
           complement
           is
           ridiculous
           :
           to
           be
           altogether
           without
           it
           ,
           rusticity
           .
        
         
           Of
           all
           conditions
           the
           most
           lamentable
           is
           that
           
           of
           ignorance
           :
           an
           ignorant
           man
           is
           like
           one
           of
           those
           that
           live
           directly
           under
           the
           North
           or
           South
           Pole
           ,
           with
           whom
           it
           is
           alwaies
           night
           .
        
         
           The
           onely
           way
           to
           be
           rid
           of
           a
           domineering
           vice
           ,
           is
           to
           avoid
           all
           occasions
           thereto
           tending
           .
        
         
           Prosperity
           cast
           at
           the
           feet
           of
           the
           wicked
           ,
           is
           like
           a
           rich
           carpet
           cast
           over
           the
           mouth
           of
           a
           bottomlesse
           
           pit
           ,
           which
           allures
           the
           feet
           of
           the
           ungodly
           ,
           along
           the
           path
           of
           security
           ,
           into
           that
           bottomlesse
           tophet
           of
           eternall
           misery
           .
        
         
           A
           ruinous
           end
           attends
           a
           riotous
           life
           .
           Well
           were
           it
           for
           the
           drunkard
           ,
           as
           he
           hath
           liv'd
           like
           a
           beast
           ,
           if
           he
           could
           so
           die
           .
        
         
           If
           the
           world
           did
           but
           truely
           consider
           that
           there
           is
           a
           Tophet
           prepared
           for
           the
           wicked
           ,
           it
           would
           rather
           
           run
           mad
           through
           feare
           and
           despaire
           ,
           than
           thus
           wallow
           in
           dreadful
           security
           .
        
         
           The
           rich
           may
           offend
           more
           for
           want
           of
           charity
           ,
           than
           the
           poore
           in
           stealing
           things
           necessary
           .
        
         
           He
           that
           rectifies
           a
           crooked
           stick
           ,
           bends
           it
           the
           contrary
           way
           ;
           so
           must
           he
           that
           would
           reforme
           a
           vice
           ,
           learne
           to
           affect
           its
           meere
           contrary
           ,
           and
           in
           
           time
           hee
           shall
           see
           the
           springing
           blossomes
           of
           a
           happy
           reformation
           .
        
         
           It
           is
           dangerous
           in
           holy
           things
           to
           make
           Reason
           the
           touchstone
           :
           hee
           that
           disputeth
           too
           much
           with
           God
           about
           things
           not
           revealed
           ,
           all
           the
           honour
           he
           gets
           ,
           is
           but
           to
           goe
           to
           hell
           more
           learnedly
           than
           the
           rest
           .
           It
           is
           good
           to
           be
           
             pius
             pulsator
          
           ,
           for
           then
           the
           more
           importunate
           ,
           the
           more
           pleasing
           ;
           
           but
           a
           
             temerarius
             scrutator
          
           may
           be
           more
           bold
           than
           welcome
           .
        
         
           He
           that
           would
           hit
           the
           mark
           he
           aimes
           at
           ,
           must
           wink
           with
           one
           eye
           :
           Heaven
           is
           the
           mark
           ,
           he
           that
           would
           hit
           it
           ,
           must
           wink
           with
           the
           eye
           of
           Reason
           ,
           that
           hee
           may
           see
           better
           with
           that
           of
           Faith.
           
        
         
           Action
           is
           the
           crown
           of
           Vertue
           ,
           Perseverance
           the
           crown
           of
           Action
           ,
           Sufferance
           
           the
           crown
           of
           Perseverance
           ,
           a
           good
           cause
           the
           crown
           of
           Sufferance
           ,
           and
           a
           crown
           of
           Glory
           the
           crowne
           of
           a
           good
           cause
           .
           
             Esto
             fidelis
             usque
             ad
             mortem
             ,
             &
             dabo
             tibi
             coronam
             vitae
             .
          
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
      
       
         
           
           
           
             EPIGRAMS
             AND
             EPITAPHS
             
               Written
               by
            
             ROB
             :
             CHAMBERLAIN
             .
          
           
             
               Beatus
               ille
               ,
               qui
               procul
               negotiis
               ,
            
             
               Vt
               prisca
               gens
               mortalium
            
             
               Paterna
               rura
               bobus
               exercet
               suis
               ,
            
             
               Solutus
               omni
               foenore
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
           
             To
             his
             honored
             ,
             and
             dearely
             affected
             Master
             ,
             Mr
             WILLIAM
             BALLE
             ,
             Son
             and
             Heire
             to
             the
             Worshipfull
             PETER
             BALLE
             Esquire
             .
          
           
             
               SIR
               ,
            
          
           
             I
             Am
             the
             more
             emboldned
             to
             Present
             you
             with
             these
             fragments
             of
             Poetrie
             ,
             in
             regard
             you
             begin
             to
             be
             one
             of
             the
             little
             darlings
             of
             the
             Muses
             .
             It
             is
             not
             the
             least
             of
             my
             comforts
             to
             see
             from
             a
             sprig
             of
             my
             owne
             pruning
             ,
             such
             timely
             blossomes
             
             of
             Poetical
             ingenuity
             :
             somwhat
             rare
             it
             is
             to
             see
             Plants
             of
             wit
             agree
             with
             the
             hard
             coldnesse
             of
             our
             Climate
             ;
             for
             this
             
               aurum
               cuncta
               movens
            
             hath
             so
             stupified
             the
             times
             ,
             that
             Ignorance
             hath
             almost
             outfac'd
             Invention
             .
             Apuleius
             may
             wander
             up
             and
             down
             the
             Arcadian
             plains
             to
             find
             Parnassus
             or
             the
             Heliconian
             Well
             ,
             and
             meet
             none
             but
             the
             dull
             brood
             of
             Midas
             to
             direct
             him
             .
             Go
             on
             therefore
             hopefull
             Sir
             ,
             towards
             that
             sacred
             Spring
             ;
             you
             shall
             never
             want
             the
             prayers
             ,
             assistance
             ,
             and
             manuduction
             of
          
           
             
               Your
               humble
               servant
               ,
               Rob
               :
               Chamberlain
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             To
             his
             well
             beloved
             friend
             ,
             Mr
             ROBERT
             CHAMBERLAIN
             ,
             the
             Author
             ,
             in
             praise
             of
             his
             following
             Poems
             .
          
           
             THe
             wisest
             of
             Philosophers
             conclude
             ,
          
           
             Best
             Contemplations
             spring
             from
             solitude
             :
          
           
             And
             vvanting
             outward
             objects
             ,
             the
             minds
             eye
          
           
             Sees
             cleerest
             into
             every
             mysterie
             .
          
           
             Scipio's
             last
             life
             ,
             in
             's
             Villa
             spake
             him
             man
          
           
             More
             than
             his
             conquest
             of
             the
             Affrican
             .
          
           
             So
             are
             the
             seasons
             helpers
             unto
             Art
             ;
          
           
             And
             Time
             to
             industry
             applyes
             each
             part
             .
          
           
           
             These
             thou
             hast
             made
             the
             subjects
             of
             thy
             Layes
             ;
          
           
             And
             they
             for
             praising
             them
             ,
             returne
             thee
             praise
             .
          
           
             So
             that
             to
             praise
             agen
             would
             shew
             to
             be
          
           
             But
             repetition
             ,
             and
             Tautologie
             .
          
           
             And
             thine
             own
             works
             allow
             thee
             better
             note
          
           
             Than
             any
             friends
             suspected
             partiall
             vote
             .
          
           
             
               Thomas
               Nabbes
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             In
             praise
             of
             a
             Country
             life
             .
          
           
             THe
             winged
             fancies
             of
             the
             learned
             quill
             ,
          
           
             Tel
             of
             strange
             wonders
             ,
             sweet
             Parnassus
             hil
             ,
          
           
             ●astalia's
             Well
             ,
             the
             Heliconian
             Spring
             ,
          
           
             ●●ar-spangled
             valleyes
             where
             〈◊〉
             Muses
             sing
             .
          
           
             Admired
             things
             another
             Storie
             yeelds
             ,
          
           
             Of
             pleasant
             Tempe
             ,
             and
             th'
             Elysian
             fields
             ;
          
           
             Yet
             these
             are
             nothing
             to
             the
             sweet
             that
             dwells
          
           
             In
             low
             built
             cottages
             ,
             and
             country
             cells
             .
          
           
             What
             are
             the
             Scepters
             ,
             Thrones
             ,
             and
             Crowns
             of
             kings
             ,
          
           
             But
             gilded
             burdens
             ,
             and
             most
             fickle
             things
             ?
          
           
             What
             are
             great
             offices
             but
             cumbring
             troubles
          
           
             And
             what
             are
             honours
             but
             dissolving
             bubbles
          
           
             What
             though
             the
             gates
             of
             greatnes
             be
             frequented
          
           
             With
             chains
             of
             glittring
             gold
             ?
             he
             that
             's
             contented
          
           
             Lives
             in
             a
             thousand
             times
             a
             happier
             way
             ,
          
           
             Than
             he
             that
             's
             tended
             thus
             from
             day
             to
             day
             .
          
           
           
             Matters
             of
             State
             ,
             nor
             yet
             domestick
             jars
             ,
          
           
             Comets
             portending
             death
             ,
             nor
             blazing
             stars
          
           
             Trouble
             his
             thoughts
             ;
             hee
             'l
             not
             post
             hast
             run
          
           
             Through
             
               Lethe
               ,
               Styx
            
             ,
             and
             fiery
             Phlegiton
          
           
             For
             gold
             or
             silver
             :
             he
             will
             not
             affright
          
           
             His
             golden
             slumbers
             in
             the
             silent
             night
          
           
             For
             all
             the
             precious
             wealth
             ,
             or
             sumptuous
             pride
          
           
             That
             lies
             by
             
               Tiber
               ,
               Nile
            
             ,
             or
             Ganges
             side
             .
          
           
             Th'imbroidred
             meadovvs
             ,
             &
             the
             crawling
             stream
          
           
             Make
             soft
             and
             sweet
             his
             undisturbed
             dreams
             :
          
           
             He
             revels
             not
             by
             day
             ,
             nor
             in
             the
             nights
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             cares
             he
             much
             for
             Musicall
             delights
             ;
          
           
             And
             yet
             his
             humble
             roofe
             maintains
             a
             quire
          
           
             Of
             singing
             Crickets
             round
             about
             the
             fire
             .
          
           
             This
             harmlesse
             life
             he
             leads
             ,
             and
             I
             dare
             say
          
           
             Doth
             neither
             wish
             ,
             nor
             feare
             his
             dying
             day
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             On
             the
             VVorshipfull
             ,
             and
             worthy
             of
             all
             honour
             ,
             Mrs
             ANNE
             BALLE
             ,
             Wife
             of
             Peter
             Balle
             Esquire
             .
          
           
             IF
             worth
             can
             mortals
             to
             advancement
             bring
             ,
          
           
             If
             birth
             ,
             or
             beauty
             be
             a
             precious
             thing
             ,
          
           
             Meeknesse
             be
             great
             Honours
             Palace
             gate
             ,
          
           
             ●nd
             the
             fore-runner
             of
             some
             happy
             fate
             ,
          
           
             ●appy
             ,
             then
             happy
             thou
             ,
             that
             art
             the
             sweet
          
           
             ●nd
             little
             center
             where
             all
             these
             doe
             meet
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             In
             Dominum
             Gulielmum
             Ball
             filium
             &
             haeredem
             Petri
             Balle
             Armigeri
             .
          
           
             Graeci
             laudantur
             ,
             Musis
             laudatur
             Apollo
             ,
          
           
             Virgilii
             fama
             et
             scandit
             ad
             astra
             poli
             :
          
           
             Laude
             vigent
             multi
             ,
             sed
             jam
             puerilibus
             annis
          
           
             Ingenio
             supexas
             tu
             Gulielme
             senes
             .
          
           
             En
             mare
             tu
             terras
             ,
             urbes
             atque
             oppida
             fando
          
           
             Laurigerum
             nostro
             temporenomen
             habes
             .
          
           
             Magna
             canunt
             magni
             pueris
             incognita
             parvis
          
           
             Umbris
             quae
             mortis
             non
             adeunda
             nigris
             .
          
           
             Sed
             teneris
             doctrina
             tuis
             non
             convenit
             annis
             ,
          
           
             Bis
             puerique
             senes
             ,
             tu
             puer
             atque
             senex
             .
          
           
             Astra
             fuere
             tuo
             natu
             foelicia
             coeli
             ,
          
           
             Lauo
             quoque
             nunc
             foelix
             est
             adhibenda
             tibi
             .
          
           
             Laurum
             tolle
             ,
             latet
             quod
             pectore
             teque
             docebo
             ,
          
           
             Et
             dii
             dent
             studiis
             vela
             secunda
             tuis
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             The
             same
             in
             English
             .
          
           
             APollos
             skill
             ,
             the
             Grecian
             pen
             for
             wars
             ,
          
           
             And
             Virgils
             too
             ,
             transcēd
             the
             glittring
             stars
             :
          
           
             Praise
             makes
             men
             live
             ,
             but
             thou
             a
             child
             unfit
             ,
          
           
             Transcends
             the
             limits
             of
             an
             old
             mans
             wit.
          
           
             Both
             sea
             and
             land
             thou
             know'st
             ,
             &
             for
             thy
             praise
          
           
             Our
             times
             shall
             give
             thee
             thy
             deserved
             bayes
             .
          
           
             Great
             Poets
             sing
             great
             things
             that
             children
             know
             not
             ,
          
           
             Which
             to
             the
             places
             of
             oblivion
             go
             not
             .
          
           
             Thy
             learning
             fits
             not
             with
             thy
             tender
             mold
             ,
          
           
             Old
             men
             are
             children
             ,
             thou
             a
             child
             ,
             art
             old
             .
          
           
             The
             heavenly
             stars
             upon
             thy
             birth
             did
             shine
             ,
          
           
             To
             make
             thee
             happy
             ,
             now
             the
             praise
             is
             thine
             .
          
           
             Take
             up
             thy
             bayes
             ,
             I
             'le
             teach
             thee
             what
             's
             in
             me
             ,
          
           
             And
             may
             the
             Gods
             give
             prosp'rous
             fates
             to
             thee
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             In
             praise
             of
             Learning
             .
          
           
             HAppy
             ,
             thrice
             happy
             ,
             ô
             ye
             sisters
             still
             ,
          
           
             That
             love
             and
             live
             on
             sweet
             Parnassus
             hill
             ;
          
           
             Blest
             be
             your
             times
             and
             tunes
             ,
             that
             sit
             and
             sing
          
           
             On
             flowrie
             banks
             by
             Aganippes
             Spring
             .
          
           
             Blest
             be
             the
             shadie
             groves
             where
             those
             doe
             dwell
          
           
             Which
             doe
             frequent
             that
             Heliconian
             Well
             ,
          
           
             Where
             learning
             lives
             ,
             whereby
             when
             men
             expire
             ,
          
           
             They
             are
             made
             chanters
             in
             the
             heavenly
             quire
             .
          
           
             That
             sacred
             learning
             ,
             whose
             inspired
             notions
          
           
             Makes
             Mortalls
             know
             heavens
             high
             alternat
             motions
             :
          
           
             Trūpets
             their
             names
             unto
             the
             christal
             sky
          
           
             Though
             in
             the
             grave
             their
             bones
             consuming
             lie
             .
          
           
             Thrice
             happy
             those
             then
             ,
             to
             whō
             learning's
             given
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             lives
             on
             earth
             doe
             sympathize
             with
             heavē
             .
          
           
             Whose
             thoughts
             are
             still
             on
             high
             ,
             longing
             to
             see
          
           
           
             Heavens
             Tabernacles
             of
             Eternity
             ;
          
           
             Sleighting
             the
             world
             ,
             and
             spurning
             at
             its
             praise
             ,
          
           
             Which
             like
             Meander
             runs
             ten
             thousand
             waies
             .
          
           
             They
             (
             when
             pale
             death
             to
             dust
             their
             corps
             shall
             bring
             )
          
           
             With
             quires
             of
             Angels
             shal
             in
             heavē
             sing
             .
          
        
         
           
             To
             his
             honoured
             friend
             ,
             Mr
             Giles
             Balle
             Merchant
             .
          
           
             On
             the
             Spring
             .
          
           
             THe
             lofty
             Mountains
             standing
             on
             a
             row
             ,
          
           
             Which
             but
             of
             late
             were
             periwigd
             with
             snow
          
           
             D'off
             their
             old
             coats
             ,
             and
             now
             are
             daily
             seene
          
           
             To
             stand
             on
             tiptoes
             ,
             all
             in
             swaggering
             greene
             ▪
          
           
             Meadows
             and
             gardens
             are
             prankt
             up
             with
             buds
             ,
          
           
             And
             chirping
             birds
             now
             chant
             it
             in
             the
             woods
             .
          
           
           
             The
             warbling
             Swallow
             ,
             and
             the
             Larks
             do
             sing
             ,
          
           
             To
             welcome
             in
             the
             glorious
             verdant
             Spring
             .
          
        
         
           
             To
             his
             deare
             friend
             and
             cousin
             ,
             Mr
             Allan
             Penny
             ,
             Citizen
             of
             Exeter
             .
          
           
             On
             the
             Morning
             .
          
           
             THe
             morning
             golden
             horse
             rush
             forth
             amain
             ,
          
           
             Spending
             their
             breath
             ,
             suckt
             frō
             the
             Eastern
             plain
             ;
          
           
             And
             posting
             still
             with
             speed
             through
             gentle
             aire
             ,
          
           
             Hurle
             their
             perfumes
             from
             out
             the
             glittring
             chair
             .
          
           
             The
             Suns
             bright
             Steeds
             come
             running
             up
             again
          
           
             To
             Taurus
             top
             ,
             still
             glad
             to
             see
             the
             plain
          
           
             Of
             Indolstan
             :
             and
             now
             begins
             t'
             approach
          
           
             The
             winged
             Messenger
             of
             heaven
             ,
             in
             's
             Coach
          
           
           
             Of
             ruddy
             flames
             ;
             night-wandring
             stars
             have
             done
          
           
             Their
             stragling
             course
             ,
             and
             now
             the
             day
             's
             begun
             .
          
           
             Bright
             burning
             Luna
             drags
             her
             dazling
             taile
          
           
             Into
             the
             dungeon
             of
             a
             darksome
             vaile
             .
          
        
         
           
             To
             his
             deare
             friend
             and
             brother
             ,
             Mr
             Thomas
             Bowdon
             .
          
           
             On
             the
             Evening
             .
          
           
             RIse
             ,
             rise
             ,
             yee
             sootie
             horse
             from
             duskie
             dale
             ,
          
           
             And
             draw
             your
             Mistresse
             in
             a
             sable
             vaile
             :
          
           
             Who
             rides
             it
             out
             with
             her
             knot
             curled
             haire
             ,
          
           
             Like
             to
             an
             Aethiope
             in
             an
             Ebonie
             chaire
             :
          
           
             Whose
             dark
             unseemly
             face
             is
             wrapt
             in
             shrowds
             ,
          
           
             With
             Styx
             dy'd
             curtains
             of
             congealed
             clouds
             .
          
           
             Rise
             thou
             pale
             Queen
             of
             night
             ,
             prepare
             thy
             carres
             ,
          
           
             And
             climb
             you
             glittring
             glorious
             mount
             of
             stars
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             To
             his
             dearest
             brother
             ,
             Mr.
             William
             Holmes
             ,
             Citizen
             of
             Exeter
             .
          
           
             Deaths
             impartiality
             .
             Carmen
             Hexametrum
             .
          
           
             HIgh
             minded
             Pyrrhus
             ,
             brave
             Hector
             ,
             stout
             Agamemnon
             ,
          
           
             Hannibal
             ,
             and
             Scipio
             ,
             whom
             all
             the
             world
             did
             attend
             on
             ,
          
           
             That
             worthy
             Captain
             ,
             world
             conquering
             great
             Alexander
             ,
          
           
             That
             tender
             ,
             constant
             ,
             true
             hearted
             ,
             lovely
             Leander
             ,
          
           
             That
             cunning
             Painter
             ,
             that
             curious
             handed
             Apelles
             ,
          
           
             Mirmidons
             insatiate
             ,
             that
             kept
             the
             Tent
             of
             Achilles
             ,
          
           
             
               Alphonsus
               Aragon
            
             ,
             that
             great
             Mathematicall
             Artist
             ,
          
           
             That
             stately
             Queene
             of
             beauty
             ,
             that
             Lady
             Mars
             kist
             ,
          
           
             Wit
             ,
             wealth
             ,
             and
             beauty
             ,
             yea
             all
             these
             pomps
             that
             adorne
             us
             ,
          
           
             Must
             see
             black
             Phlegiton
             ,
             rough
             Styx
             ,
             and
             fatall
             Avera●s
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             To
             his
             kind
             and
             loving
             friend
             ,
             Mr
             Henry
             Prigg
             ,
             Citizen
             of
             Exeter
             .
          
           
             On
             the
             sweetnesse
             of
             Contentation
             .
          
           
             THe
             world
             still
             gazeth
             on
             the
             glittering
             shew
          
           
             Of
             Scepters
             ,
             Crowns
             ,
             and
             Diadems
             ,
             but
             few
          
           
             Consider
             truely
             the
             tempestuous
             cares
             ,
          
           
             And
             tumbling
             troubles
             of
             the
             State
             affaires
             .
          
           
             Honour
             's
             the
             spur
             that
             pricks
             th'
             ambitious
             mind
             ,
          
           
             And
             makes
             it
             puffe
             and
             swel
             with
             th'
             empty
             wind
          
           
             Of
             self
             conceit
             :
             But
             yet
             me
             thinks
             I
             see
          
           
             A
             state
             more
             full
             of
             sweet
             security
             .
          
           
             The
             russet
             Farmer
             ,
             more
             contentment
             yeelds
          
           
           
             Unto
             himselfe
             ,
             whilst
             toiling
             in
             his
             fields
             ,
          
           
             Beholds
             upon
             the
             pleasant
             fertile
             banks
             ,
          
           
             Wise
             Natures
             flowrie
             wonders
             in
             their
             ranks
             .
          
           
             And
             when
             the
             halfe
             part
             of
             the
             day
             is
             spent
             ,
          
           
             His
             wife
             her
             basket
             brings
             ,
             they
             with
             content
          
           
             Do
             both
             sit
             down
             by
             some
             sweet
             stragling
             Spring
          
           
             And
             make
             a
             Feast
             ,
             whilst
             'bout
             his
             table
             sing
          
           
             The
             chirping
             birds
             ;
             he
             when
             the
             day
             is
             past
             ,
          
           
             Home
             to
             his
             children
             ,
             and
             his
             wife
             makes
             haste
             :
          
           
             The
             children
             joy
             to
             see
             their
             father
             there
             ;
          
           
             The
             father
             joyes
             to
             see
             his
             children
             deare
             :
          
           
             Then
             they
             begin
             to
             him
             their
             pleasant
             prattle
             ,
          
           
             One
             shewes
             his
             pins
             ,
             another
             brings
             his
             rattle
             .
          
           
             With
             these
             contents
             the
             good
             man
             's
             over-joy'd
             ,
          
           
             When
             thus
             he
             sees
             his
             deare
             affections
             cloid
             ,
          
           
             Whil'st
             others
             toile
             for
             honour
             ,
             and
             in
             vaine
          
           
           
             Deny
             themselves
             those
             sweets
             they
             might
             obtain
             .
          
           
             O
             then
             thou
             great
             Commander
             of
             the
             skyes
             ,
          
           
             That
             dings
             downe
             pride
             ,
             and
             makes
             the
             poor
             man
             rise
             ,
          
           
             Let
             them
             that
             will
             dote
             on
             these
             gilded
             toyes
             ,
          
           
             Let
             me
             account
             it
             chiefest
             of
             my
             joyes
          
           
             T'
             enjoy
             a
             meane
             estate
             ,
             and
             nothing
             more
             ,
          
           
             If
             't
             be
             thy
             pleasure
             that
             I
             still
             be
             poore
             .
          
           
             Give
             me
             this
             sweet
             content
             ,
             that
             I
             may
             die
          
           
             A
             patient
             servant
             to
             thy
             Majestie
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             To
             his
             dearely
             affected
             friend
             ,
             Mr
             George
             Leach
             of
             Broadelist
             in
             Devon.
             
          
           
             On
             the
             vanity
             of
             Man.
             
          
           
             LIke
             to
             the
             Swan
             on
             sweet
             Meanders
             brink
             ,
          
           
             Like
             flowers
             that
             flourish
             in
             the
             morne
             ,
             and
             shrink
          
           
             Down
             with
             their
             heads
             ,
             when
             sable
             night
             appears
             ;
          
           
             Such
             is
             our
             frailty
             in
             this
             vale
             of
             teares
             .
          
           
             The
             gilded
             gallant
             ,
             and
             the
             tortur'd
             slave
          
           
             Cut
             down
             by
             death
             ,
             come
             tumbling
             to
             the
             grave
             .
          
           
             Not
             Europes
             riches
             ,
             nor
             an
             Ajax
             bold
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             men
             ,
             nor
             Angels
             ,
             nor
             our
             bags
             of
             gold
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             he
             that
             was
             the
             spacious
             worlds
             Cōmander
             ,
          
           
             Caesar
             ,
             Pompey
             ,
             
               nor
               an
            
             Alexander
             ,
          
           
           
             Nor
             can
             greene
             youth
             ,
             well
             ,
             wit
             ,
             or
             tender
             age
             ,
          
           
             The
             raging
             fury
             of
             thy
             Sword
             asswage
             .
          
           
             O
             then
             thou
             Star
             Commander
             ,
             dreadfull
             King
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             Fiat
             makes
             the
             trembling
             world
             to
             ring
             ,
          
           
             Teach
             us
             ,
             ô
             teach
             us
             so
             to
             know
             our
             dayes
             ,
          
           
             Thereby
             to
             rectifie
             our
             crooked
             waies
             ;
          
           
             That
             when
             with
             Angels
             ,
             and
             Archangels
             thou
          
           
             Shalt
             come
             to
             judge
             the
             world
             ,
             and
             make
             it
             bow
             ,
          
           
             We
             then
             may
             render
             up
             a
             good
             account
             ,
          
           
             And
             live
             with
             thee
             upon
             that
             starrie
             mount
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             In
             Hyemem
             .
          
           
             PApula
             canescunt
             ,
             tremebundi
             turbinis
             horror
          
           
             Fulminat
             ,
             heu
             Boreas
             nimbosa
             grandinatira
          
           
             Torva
             laboriferi
             fulgentia
             cornua
             quassi
          
           
             Tauri
             nix
             tegit
             ,
             pelagus
             vult
             tangere
             stellas
             ,
          
           
             Cerberus
             horrendo
             baculo
             nunc
             Tartara
             plangit
             ,
          
           
             Flammiferosque
             locos
             dicit
             spoliasse
             pruinam
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             On
             the
             death
             of
             Mr.
             Charles
             Fitz-Geffrays
             ,
             Minister
             of
             Gods
             Word
             .
          
           
             O
             Thou
             the
             saddest
             of
             the
             Sisters
             nine
             ,
          
           
             Adde
             to
             a
             sea
             of
             teares
             ,
             one
             teare
             of
             thine
             .
          
           
             Unhappy
             I
             ,
             that
             am
             constrain'd
             to
             sing
          
           
             His
             death
             ,
             whose
             life
             did
             make
             the
             world
             to
             ring
          
           
             With
             ecchoes
             of
             his
             praise
             .
             A
             true
             Divine
          
           
             In
             's
             life
             &
             doctrine
             ,
             which
             like
             Lamps
             did
             shine
          
           
             Till
             they
             were
             spent
             and
             done
             ,
             did
             never
             cease
          
           
             To
             guide
             our
             steps
             unto
             eternall
             peace
             .
          
           
             Thy
             habitation's
             now
             the
             starry
             mount
             ,
          
           
             Where
             thy
             great
             Maker
             makes
             of
             thee
             account
             .
          
           
             Farewell
             thou
             splendor
             of
             the
             spacious
             West
             ,
          
           
           
             Above
             th'
             Aetheriall
             clouds
             for
             ever
             blest
             :
          
           
             The
             losse
             of
             thee
             a
             watry
             mountaine
             reares
             ,
          
           
             With
             high
             spring-tide
             of
             our
             sad
             trickling
             teares
             .
          
        
         
           
             On
             Sack.
             
          
           
             O
             Thou
             so
             much
             admir'd
             by
             ev'ry
             soule
             ,
          
           
             That
             lives
             'twixt
             th'
             Artick
             &
             th'
             Antartick
             Pole
             ;
          
           
             Apollo's
             drink
             ,
             drawn
             from
             the
             Thespian
             spring
             ,
          
           
             Whereof
             the
             silver
             Swans
             before
             they
             sing
          
           
             Doe
             alwaies
             drink
             :
             though
             thy
             sweet
             simpring
             smiles
          
           
             Some
             mortall
             creatures
             of
             their
             coine
             beguiles
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             from
             black
             Limbo's
             gate
             thou
             bring'st
             mans
             soule
             ,
          
           
             And
             makes
             his
             spirits
             knock
             the
             highest
             Pole.
             
          
        
         
           
           
             On
             Tobacco
             .
          
           
             THou
             hell-bred
             lump
             of
             sin
             ,
             infernall
             drink
             ,
          
           
             Pernicious
             ,
             damn'd
             ,
             soule-fascinating
             stink
             ,
          
           
             Time's
             great
             consumer
             ,
             cursed
             child
             of
             hell
             ,
          
           
             Scum
             of
             perdition
             ,
             sprung
             from
             Pluto's
             cell
             :
          
           
             Thy
             barbarous
             nature
             likes
             no
             soile
             so
             well
             ,
          
           
             As
             where
             the
             Devill
             and
             his
             Pagans
             dwell
             .
          
           
             Bewitched
             then
             are
             those
             that
             stand-up
             for
             thee
             ,
          
           
             Till
             they
             have
             grace
             t'
             abandon
             and
             abhor
             thee
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             IN
             OBITVM
             HENRICI
             BLUETT
             Generosi
             .
          
           
             RVsticus
             in
             agro
             ,
          
           
             Opifex
             in
             pago
             :
          
           
             Omnes
             hoc
             mundo
          
           
             Nituntur
             in
             vano
             .
          
           
             Mercator
             in
             mare
             ,
          
           
             Vir
             officina
             ,
          
           
             Cum
             vult
             pulsare
          
           
             Mors
             ,
             quid
             medicina
             ?
          
           
             FINIS
             .
          
        
      
    
     
       
         
         
           Imprimantur
           hae
           Nocturnae
           Lucubrationes
           .
        
         
           
             SA
             :
             BAKER
             .
          
           
             Ex
             Aedibus
             Londin
             .
             
               Apr.
               2.
               1638.