Thus heav’n does his will disguise, To scourge our curiosities, When too inquisitive we grow Of what we are forbid to know. Fond humane nature that will try [p. 118.] To sound th’ Abiss of Destiny! Alas! what profit can arise From those forbidden scrutinies, When Oracles what they foretel In such Ænigma’s still conceal, That self indulging man still makes Of deepest truths most sad mistakes! Or could our frailty comprehend The reach those riddles do intend: What boots it us when we have done, To foresee ills we cannot shun? But ’tis in man a vain pretence, To know or prophesie events, Which only execute, and move, By a dependence from above. ’Tis all imposture to deceive The foolish and inquisitive, Since none foresee what shall befal, But providence that governs all. Reason wherewith kind Heav’n has blest His creature man above the rest, Will teach humanity to know All that it should aspire unto; And whatsoever fool relies On false deceiving prophesies, Striving by conduct to evade The harms they threaten, or perswade, Too frequently himself does run [p. 119.] Into the danger he would shun, And pulls upon himself the woe Fate meant he should much later know. By such delusions vertue strays Out of those honourable ways That lead unto that glorious end, To which the noble ever bend. Whereas if vertue were the guide, Mens minds would then be fortified With constancy, that would declare Against supineness, and despair. We should events with patience wait, And not despise, nor fear our Fate. [p. 120.] _WICKHAM WAKENED_, OR _The Quakers Madrigall In Rime Dogrell_. The Quaker and his Brats, Are born with their Hats, Which a point with two Taggs, Ty’s fast to their Craggs, Nor King nor Kesar, To such Knaves as these are, Do signifie more than a Tinker. His rudeness and pride So puffs up his hide That He’s drunk though he be no drinker. _Chorus._ _Now since Mayor and Justice_ _Are assured that thus ’tis_ _To abate their encrease and redundance_ _Let us send them to WICKHAM_ _For there’s one will kick ’um_ _Into much better manners by abundance._ Once the Clown at his entry [p. 121.] Kist his golls to the Gentry: When the Lady took upon her, ’Twas God save your Honor: But now Lord and Pesant, Do make but one messe on’t Then farewel distinction ’twixt Plowman and Knight. If the world be thus tost The old Proverb is crost, For Joan’s as good as my Lady in th’ Light. _Chorus._ _Now since Mayor and Justice, &c._