Where is that foole Philosophie, That bedlam Reason, and that beast dull sence; Great God! when I consider thee Omnipotent, Æternall, and imens? Unmov'd thou didst behold the pride Of th' Angels, when they to defection fell? And without passion didst provide To punish treason, rackes and death in hell. Thy Word created this great All, Ith' lower part whereof we wage such warres: The upper bright and sphæricall By purer bodies tenanted, the starres. And though sixe dayes it thee did please To build this frame, the seventh for rest assigne; Yet was it not thy paine or ease, But to teach man the quantities of Time. This world so mighty and so faire, So 'bove the reach of all dimension: If to thee God we should compare, Is not the slenderst atome to the Sun. What then am I poore nothing man! That elevate my voyce and speake of thee? Since no imagination can Distinguish part of thy immensitie? What am I who dare call thee God! And raise my fancie to discourse thy power? To whom dust is the period, Who am not sure to farme this very houre? For how know I the latest sand In my fraile glasse of life, doth not now fall? And while I thus astonisht stand I but prepare for my own funerall? Death doth with man no order keepe: It reckons not by the expence of yeares, But makes the Queene and beggar weepe, And nere distinguishes betweene their teares. He who the victory doth gaine Falls as he him pursues, who from him flyes, And is by too good fortune slaine. The Lover in his amorous courtship dyes. The states-man suddenly expires While he for others ruine doth prepare: And the gay Lady while sh' admires Her pride, and curles in wanton nets her haire. No state of man is fortified 'Gainst the assault of th' universall doome: But who th' Almightie feare, deride Pale death, and meete with triumph in the tombe. _Quonian ego in flagella paratus sum._ DAVID. Fix me on some bleake precipice, Where I ten thousand yeares may stand: Made now a statute of ice, Then by the summer scorcht and tan'd! Place me alone in some fraile boate 'Mid th' horrors of an angry Sea: Where I while time shall move, may floate Despairing either land or day! Or under earth my youth confine To th' night and silence of a cell: Where Scorpions may my limbes entwine. O God! So thou forgive me hell. Æternitie! when I think thee, (Which never any end must have, Nor knew'st beginning) and fore-see Hell is design'd for sinne a grave. My frighted flesh trembles to dust, My blood ebbes fearefully away: Both guilty that they did to lust, And vanity, my youth betray.