When to the Fields we walke to looke upon Some skilfull _Mark-man_; so much heede we not How many _Arrowes_ from his Bowe are gone, As we observe how nigh the _Marke_ he shot: And, justly we deride that Man who spends His _Time_ and _Shafts_, but never ayme doth take To hit the _White_; or foolishly pretends, The number of the Shots, doth _Archers_ make. So, _God_, who marketh our Endeavours, here, Doth not by _tale_, account of them receive; But, heedeth rather how _well meant_ they were, And, at his _Will_ how rightly aym’d we have. It is not mumbling over thrice a day A Set of _Ave Maries_, or of _Creeds_, Or many houres formally to _pray_; When from a dull _Devotion_ it proceedes: Nor is it, up and downe the Land to seeke To finde those well breath’d _Lecturers_, that can Preach thrice a _Sabbath_, and sixe times a weeke, Yet be as fresh, as when they first beganne: Nor, is it, such like things perform’d by _Number_ Which _God_ respects: Nor doth his _Wisdome_ crave Those many _Vanities_, wherewith some cumber Their _Bodies_, as if those their _Soules_ could save. For, not _Much-doing_, but _Well-doing_, that Which _God_ commands, the _Doer_, justifies. To pray without _Devotion_, is to _Prate_; And, _Hearing_ is but halfe our _Exercise_. We ought not, therefore, to regard, alone, How _often_, but how _Well_, the _Worke_ be done. _With =Patience=, I the =Storme= sustaine; For, =Sun-shine= still doth follow =Raine=._ [Illustration: DVRABO ILLVSTR. XXVI. _Book. 1._]