To the cold humble hermitage (Not tenanted but by discoloured age, Or youth enfeebled by long prayer And tame with fasts) th' Almighty doth repaire. But from the lofty gilded roofe Stain'd with some Pagan fiction, keepes a loofe. Nor the gay Landlord daignes to know Whose buildings are like Monsters but for show. Ambition! whither wilt thee climbe, Knowing thy art, the mockery of time? Which by examples tells the high Rich structures, they must as their owners dye: And while they stand, their tennants are Detraction, flattry, wantonnesse, and care, Pride, envie, arrogance, and doubt, Surfet, and ease still tortured by the gout. O rather may I patient dwell In th' injuries of an ill-cover'd cell! 'Gainst whose too weake defence the haile, The angry winds, and frequent showres prevaile. Where the swift measures of the day, Shall be distinguisht onely as I pray: And some starres solitary light Be the sole taper to the tedious night. The neighbo'ring fountaine (not accurst Like wine with madnesse) shall allay my thirst: And the wilde fruites of Nature give Dyet enough, to let me feele I feele, I live. You wantons! who impoverish Seas, And th' ayre dispeople, your proud taste to please! A greedy tyrant you obey Who varies still its tribute with the day. What interest doth all the vaine Cunning of surfet to your sences gaine? Since it obscure the Spirit must And bow the flesh to sleep disease or lust. While who forgetting rest and fare; Watcheth the fall and rising of each starre, Ponders how bright the orbes doe move, And thence how much more bright the heav'ns above Where on the heads of Cherubins Th' Almightie sits disdaining our bold sinnes: Who while on th' earth we groveling lye Dare in our pride of building tempt the skie. _Universum stratum ejus versasti in infirmitate ejus._ DAVID. My Soule! When thou and I Shall on our frighted death-bed lye; Each moment watching when pale death Shall snatch away our latest breath, And 'tweene two long joyn'd Lovers force An endlesse sad divorce: How wilt thou then? that art My rationall and nobler part, Distort thy thoughts? How wilt thou try To draw from weake Philosophie Some strength: and flatter thy poor state, 'Cause tis the common fate? How wilt thy spirits pant And tremble when they feele the want Of th' usuall organs; and that all The vitall powers begin to fall? When 'tis decreed, that thou must goe, Yet whither; who can know? How fond and idle then Will seeme the misteries of men? How like some dull ill-acted part The subtlest of proud humane art? How shallow ev'n the deepest sea, When thus we ebbe away?