Here follow two of unknown authorship, belonging apparently to the same period. THAT EACH THING IS HURT OF ITSELF. Why fearest thou the outward foe, When thou thyself thy harm dost feed? Of grief or hurt, of pain or woe, Within each thing is sown the seed. So fine was never yet the cloth, No smith so hard his iron did beat, But th' one consuméd was with moth, Th' other with canker all to-freate. _fretted away._ The knotty oak and wainscot old Within doth eat the silly worm;[53] Even so a mind in envy rolled Always within it self doth burn. Thus every thing that nature wrought, Within itself his hurt doth bear! No outward harm need to be sought, Where enemies be within so near. Lest this poem should appear to any one hardly religious enough for the purpose of this book, I would remark that it reminds me of what our Lord says about the true source of defilement: it is what is bred in the man that denies him. Our Lord himself taught a divine morality, which is as it were the body of love, and is as different from mere morality as«the living body is from the dead. TOTUS MUNDUS IN MALIGNO POSITUS. The whole world lieth in the Evil One. Complain we may; much is amiss; Hope is nigh gone to have redress; These days are ill, nothing sure is; Kind heart is wrapt in heaviness. The stern is broke, the sail is rent, _helm or rudder--the The ship is given to wind and wave; [thing to steer with._ All help is gone, the rock present, That will be lost, what man can save? _that which will be lost._ When power lacks care and forceth not, _careth._ When care is feeble and may not, _is not able._ When might is slothful and will not, Weeds may grow where good herbs cannot. Wily is witty, brainsick is wise; _wiliness is counted Truth is folly, and might is right; [prudence._ Words are reason, and reason is lies; The bad is good, darkness is light. Order is broke in things of weight: Measure and mean who doth nor flee? _who does not avoid Two things prevail, money and sleight; [moderation?_ To seem is better than to be. Folly and falsehood prate apace; Truth under bushel is fain to creep; Flattery is treble, pride sings the bass, The mean, the best part, scant doth peep. With floods and storms thus be we tost: Awake, good Lord, to thee we cry; Our ship is almost sunk and lost; Thy mercy help our misery. Man's strength is weak; man's wit is dull; Man's reason is blind these things t'amend: Thy hand, O Lord, of might is full-- Awake betimes, and help us send. In thee we trust, and in no wight; Save us, as chickens under the hen; Our crookedness thou canst make right-- Glory to thee for aye. Amen.