Since then, my God, thou hast So brave a palace built; O dwell in it, 'Till then afford us so much wit, That, as the world serves us, we may serve thee, And both thy servants be. UNKINDNESS. LORD, make me tender to offend : Unto my friend's intent and end.- If any touch my friend, or his good name, His blasted fame From the least spot or thought of blame.-I could not use a friend as I use thee. My friend may spit upon my curious floor : And thou within them, starve at door.- When that my friend pretendeth to a place, But when thy grace Sues for my heart, I thee displace; Nor would I use a friend as I use thee. S Yet, can a friend, what thou hast done, fulfil ? Only to purchase my good will ;- LIFE. I MADE a posy, while the day ran by: But time did beckon to the flowers, and they My hand was next to them, and then my heart; Who did so sweetly death's sad taste convey, Yet sugaring the suspicion. Farewell, dear flowers; sweetly your time ye spent, Fit, while ye liv'd, for smell or ornament; And after death for cures. I follow straight, without complaints or grief; MORTIFICATION. How soon doth man decay !— When clothes are taken from a chest of sweets To swaddle infants, whose young breath Scarce knows the way: They are like little winding-sheets, Which do consign and send them unto death. When boys go first to bed, Sleep binds them fast; only their breath Successive nights, like rolling waves, Convey them quickly, who are bound for death. When youth is frank and free, And calls for music, while his veins do swell, All day exchanging mirth and breath In company; That music summons to the knell, Which shall befriend him at the house of death. When man grows staid and wise, Getting a house and home, where he may move Within the circle of his breath, Schooling his eyes; That dumb inclosure maketh love Unto the coffin, that attends his death. When age grows low and weak, Marking his grave, and thawing ev'ry year, Till all do melt, and drown his breath When he would speak; A chair or litter shows the bier, Which shall convey him to the house of death. Man, ere he is aware, Hath put together a solemnity, And dress'd his hearse, while he hath breath As yet to spare. Yet, Lord, instruct us so to die, That all these dyings may be life in death. MISERY. LORD, let the angels praise thy name. Man is a foolish thing-a foolish thing; Folly and sin play all his game. His house still burns; and yet he still doth sing, "Man is but glass, He knows it, fill the glass." How canst thou brook his foolishness? Not he; he knows where he can better be, Than to serve thee in fear. What strange pollutions doth he wed, And make his own, as if none knew but he! No man shall beat into his head, That thou within his curtains drawn canst see: The best of men, turn but thy hand And measure not their fall. They quarrel thee, and would give over Who would, to be thy foes. My God, man cannot praise thy name: Presume on thy perfection? As dirty hands foul all they touch, And those things most, which are most pure and fine; Or none thy portion is. Man cannot serve thee; let him go And serve the swine; there, there is his delight: He doth not like this virtue, no— Give him his dirt to wallow in all night: These preachers make His head to shoot and ache |