A WHIPPE FOR WORLDLINGS OR THE CENTRE OF CONTENT
Vt Paūsūs Viperam
Su P
[...]s Vanitatem
To the Reader.
MY modest lines thy milder censure craves,
They kicke not at authoritie, outbraves
No poore deiected soul, faine would they tell,
That greatnes, goodnes, should together dwell,
The rich, in spirit poore, the poore should be
Rich in all graces, with humilitie.
That Monarches, Iudges, Magistrates, yea all
The Civill as Ecclesiasticall,
Should so discharge their places in love, feare,
As shortly to receive their loane else where;
That those of lowe degree themselves demeane,
As may their blest profession best beseeme,
Giving all men their due, below, above,
So shall they die in peace, who liv'd in love;
That neither wise in wisedome, strong in might,
Rich in his riches glorie; but as right
Give God the praise, so vse those giftes him lent
As a good steward, Gods blest instrument;
That the afflicted, those with tempests toss'd,
Vncomforted, give not themselves for lost,
Although their drinke be teares commix'd with gall,
He that did wound, can heale, can kill, recall
To life, affliction touchstone like doth trie
The reines, the hart; as fire doth purifie
The Gold, so they the Saints; though now they mourne,
Their sweet release to greater ioy shall turne.
Right precious in his sight are all Gods Saints,
At rest, forgets not God, distress'd, not faints,
Living, vnto the Lord they live, and die
In him, to live with him eternally.
Good, gentle, peacefull Reader, I present
This masse thus dress'd vnto thee; my intent
Is good, if here be ought that's for thy vse
If thou find profite by it, no abuse,
Receive it from thy freind in love, and say
Th'art promis'd, if God will, an higher lay.
Thine STEPHEN TAYLOR.
Ad Avarum O sorem huiusce libelli & rosorem.
FAsciculum
[...] Florum (Diodore) paravit
Dic mihi, quid sentis? non probo. Sentis inest.
Dic, vbi te pungit? digitos. Mentiris inepte.
Non digitos pungit, pungit at hic animum.
Tu curas depone tuas, quae sunt magè sentes,
Et rosa tunc redolens, quod modò sentis, erit.
Authori Amico obtulit Mich: Edmonds.
A WHIPPE FOR WORLDLINGS OR THE CENTRE OF CONTENT.
WHy should the boundles ill-disposed mind
Of brittle man, vnconstant as the vvind,
VVith svvelling pride, disdainefull arrogance,
Seeke to himself the vvorlds sole governance?
Alas, so small a part vvould him suffice,
(If glorie vaine blent not his Reasons eyes)
That he should find that vvho possesseth least
Ha's most content, vvhich is that God-like Feast;
That onely
Summum bonum here belovve,
That myrrour cleare through vvhich vve most things knovve;
That glasse of glorie, by vvhose helpe vve see
Those secret mysteries of divinitie,
That richest Ievvell, vvhich the Gods impart
To those that them adore vvith simple heart;
VVhose povvers; blessednes, no tongue can tell
Saue that vvhich dipp'd hath bene in th'living vvell.
VVhy are vvee puffed vp? or rather vvhy
(Knovving our vveakenes our deepe miserie,)
VVith humbled soul, heart thankefull, chearfull grace,
Do'nt vve his mercies bountifull embrace?
No, no, our natures are so prone to ill,
That little good vve knovve; if knovve, not vvill.
Much like the daughters of the vvatry leach
By vvisedomes Magazine describ'd, vvhich reach
Out their vvide throates after the bloodie prize,
The more insatiate they gulpe, the more their cries
Are, give, give; Such is our vvretched state,
Fretting our souls vvith cares intemperate,
VVith restles thoughts, & carkings pining seeke
VVe Mammons pois'ned treasures, vvhich to keepe
Our minds are charg'd vvith doubts, & bloudles feares,
Our spirits all consumes, exciccates, seares.
VVe plunge our selves into the lovvest deeps
VVith raving madnes, vvhere vs nothing meets
But moaning sorrovve, greife remediles,
Heart-burning hate, vvasting disquietnes,
Squint-ey'd suspect, foaming revenge, despight,
All-dreaded horrour, shaking pale-look'd affright,
Blood-stained treason, faithles disloyaltie,
Corrupted iustice, self eating Iealousie
Deceite, vvhose faire fil'd tongue is ever found
To his hart discord, sharpe, yet no true sound;
And after follovves him that monster vilde
VVith gastfull lookes, eyes hollovve, all defilde
About his chinne, his loathsome beard & brest
VVith filthy-colour'd stinking matter prest
Through his blacke irkesome teeth, that him to see,
VVould turne a stomacke strong; (call'd Periurie)
Then simonie, too vvelcome novv a ghest
To greatest Prelates, & the surest rest
(In these corrupted times) to those that be
Poorer in parts than purse, in Arts than fee,
But murder lurkes this vvhile, & vnespi'de
VVould gladly scape our sight, & steale aside;
His colour is too splendent, his path vvay
Too much is beaten, so that every day,
Nay every houre, vvhere e'r vve be, report
Dolefull is made of him in heavie sort.
Light-shunning shame vvith causes first and last
Make hast to follovve them before that past.
Then comes despaire, in vvhose distracted looke
VVell may you read her lesson vvithout booke,
VVith speaking gesture, most vnconstant gate,
VVith raving vvords still cryes out, (all too late,)
Voice heavie, hollovve, hoarce, vvith a resound
Much like an emptie caue farre vnder ground;
Faine vvould she vveepe, to give her self som ease,
But cannot vveepe, nor greife in least appease,
The fountaine's drie, her braine the spring is spent,
All moisture gone, nought left saue sad lament.
VVith leaden feet her numbred steps she treads
Sometimes vvhere Fortune, not vvhere Iudgment leads,
VVhen she augments her torments, tortures dire,
And adds light fuell to her flaming fire.
Novv bends her brovves against the sparkling skie,
And then cast dovvne groueling in dust doth lie,
Cursing the Fates, the Povvers aboue, and all
That either made her man, or man let fall.
And then againe as mildly doth she bless
The state of men, (than Angells not much less)
That flie in time Satans temptation,
And vvorke vvith feare their ovvne salvation!
But sodainely vpstarting from this Muse,
She flies as fast as if she vvings did vse;
Or as the speedie poste of heaven had lent
Her (for more hast) th'aire cutting instrument.
All bootes not thoe, she finds vvhere e'r she flie
Death, death eternall doth vvithin her lie:
The vulture, as on Tityus, so doth gnavve
Her vvastles bovvels, easeles pangs to dravve;
And vvith Ixion turned on a vvheele,
Rack'd as Typhaeus, vvhile each joynt doth feele
VVorse than Perillus paines, (that did invent
The brasen Bull his ovvne deaths instrument.)
Thus, vvretched earth vvormes, doe vve pull amaine
Our souls losse on vs for the slightest gaine,
Gaine did I call it? VVhen no tongue can tell,
Hovv great's the losse, vvhen heavens exchang'd for hell.
No matter vvhat the man is, so ha's vvealth,
Hovv qualify'd in mind, if riche in pelfe:
His Father dy'd but lately, left him store,
His Vncle's sicke, vvhose death shall bring much more;
Svveet daughter, give his first access some grace,
A pleasant smile from that thy lovely face,
No matter though his stiffe benummed joynts
Haue vs'd the flaile, more than those nicer points
Of gentile exercise; can he not dance?
Nor curbe the cornefed steed vvith couched lance
In hand? nor sing, nor court, nor play
On lute, or violl, or on that they say
Arion did repay the Dolphines loue?
VVhat then (my Doll) this must thy thoughts not moue,
These complete youths, vvhen they haue spent their 'states,
May goe and scrape in consort vvith their mates.
My pretty girle, thy mother vvell did knovve,
(O giue mee aqua vitae, else I goe
To meet her in Elysium, for her name
Makes sodaine cold to runne through every veine)
I say she knevv, good Creature, hovv that I,
Though ne'r instructed in such fopperie,
Could play my part, and frisking skippe about
The merrie Maypole, till I her cull'd out
From' mongst the route, those vvere the happy daies,
VVe vvere not then so nice, so coy; vvhat saies
My darling? hovv? gippe gossip, hoe
Are you so proud novv grovvne, vvell, you shall knovve
That I your Father am, ha's he no vvit?
He cannot speake, nor looke, nor goe, nor sit,
VVhat though he cannot vvrite nor read a letter?
Is not than all of these his meanes much better?
One casts her self away in best of age
Vpon a cree ping goate meerly for gage,
And daignes that rotten bulke to cull & kisse,
And smiling tells him he Adonis is.
VVhen as his toothles gummes, his restles cough
She hates in heart and privately does scoffe,
Is he not vvel at ease? O then she cries,
My dearest Lord, my all-delight, my joyes,
VVhere is your paine? tell mee vvhere lies your smart,
I need not aske, I feele it at my heart.
So doe vve Symphathize. O I could rend
The haire from of my head, but to vvhat end?
All vvill not help; good Sir, consider vvell
Be fore your death your poorer freinds that dvvell
In the next village, for they haue children small,
And little meanes (God knovves) to help vvithall,
For mee there'l be enough, I am but one,
And vvhen you die, vvith mee the vvorld is gone;
Or if, that care you doe impose on mee,
My loue to you in them the vvorld shall see.
Novv ha's she vvonne him, straight he does enfeoft
Her in his vvhole estate, and nothing's left
Vndone, but to enioy; yet him recover'd
In mind she cannot brooke, but undiscover'd,
Covers vvith vaile of false dy'd joy, & he,
Ravish'd thervvith, seemes novv in heaven to be,
But yet for her, this vvind no haver shakes,
For more content some other shifte she makes;
Fall backe, fall edge, man ha's no perfect povver;
If not as vvife, she'l haue it as a—.
Nor the endovvments rare of largest mind
In Ethicles, to vertues lore inclin'd,
Nor yet his personage, admired grace,
Nor honours due moue Lycia faire an ace;
VVith the same sauce too is Melissus seru'd,
Passius his dish delighted in ha's caru'd.
For he vvas rich, his father left him heire
Of all his goods, & basenes to an haire.
But those Heroicke spirits, right Noble brests,
True glories darlings, Pallas delighted ghests,
The Muses favourites, base earth disdaines,
And all those tempting trifles from her veines
Suck'd by her leane-chopd slaues, their eyes are bent
Vpon the mind, not these goods contingent;
Nor painted vveeds, bigge lookes, affected gate
Of Pluto's gorgeous sonnes infatuate
Their sounder judgments, but vvhere vertue cleare
Or any parts deserving shall appeare,
Though clad in ragges, & coverd vvith the scorne
Of fortunes butterflies, seeming forlorne,
Them they vvill honour, and respect much more
Than thousand Braggadocho's nam'd before.
Not meanes, but men; not state, but studies deepe,
Not pride, but fruitfull lore their favours keepe.
VVhat though the vpstart gallants of these times,
Mounted aloft by Parents damned crimes,
Spreading their tailes as Peacockes, thee deride
VVith obscure house, base blood on either side?
Forgetting vvhat their fathers vvere, and hovv
They purchas'd that of vvhich they vaunt so novv.
One by long suite, and some small feeling by
Vnto the favour'd of his Majestie,
In forraigne service, or last expedition,
Or else at home in one less-lou'd Commission,
Procur'd an office, vvhen he so vvell did licke
His fingers, that his sonnes doe find it sticke
Still by their ribbes. Another ha's suck'd drie
Three better gentlemen, that dvvelt him by,
Their charge vvas great, large debts they had to pay,
The times vvere hard, their tenants begg'd delay
In paiment of their rents, so they much strain'd,
Made use of this their neighbour, vvhen he gain'd
His hearts desire, then he himself does bless
Hugging his fortune, and vvish'd happiness.
VVith countenance compos'd, & long dravvne speech
(After excuse) his mony vvill not reach
Vnto so high a summe, he lets them knovve;
But glad vvould be, if that he could but shovve
In that or any service, his affection deare
VVhich he to them and theirs did ever beare.
vvell, they'l make shifte then vvith vvhat he can spare:
And one vpon his sonne bestovves a mare
In token of acceptance; S
r. forbeare,
Your bountie's vnderseru'd, he sha'nt I svveare.
vvell, I must rest your debtor; yet, S
r, I pray
That this your morgage may be seal'd to day,
For vve are mortall all, & knovve not vvhen
Our living souls shall leave their fleshie den.
His vvill obtain'd by reasons large alledg'd,
All deemes he as his ovvne, for surely vvedg'd
He finds himself in their estates, and plods
Novv hovv to set them that vvere freinds at odds.
He knovves that lavvyers loadstones are, they'l looke
VVhat fish there comes to net by hooke or crooke
To make their prize, than vvhich he seekes not more
(He payes not great that cannot lesser score,
Nor can he much that is not vvorld before.)
In fine, possession he ha's got & holds,
This is their glorie, this their heart embolds.
Another vvas Protector to a child,
His kinsman neare, of nature good and mild,
For love of vvhose great Fortunes he does send
To some part farre remote, his daies to spend,
Telling him travells much enrich the mind,
And the affections rude in order bind;
VVhen counsell he ha's got of Doctors graue,
VVho told him plainely, there's no hope to saue
His life, if thither he his course doe steare,
VVhich as his natures antype doth appeare.
If this tricke misse, his braine affords one more,
Prosper not that, he finds out yet a score;
For die he must, his thoughts can have no rest,
Till of those goods & lands he be possess'd.
Vnnam'd there rests one yet, vvho knevv full vvell
(For vvhich he hovvles novv 'mongst the feinds in hell)
To raise himself, and gaine a noted name,
By being Authour of his daughters shame:
She vvas a comely creature, in vvhose face
All men vvould say beautie sate link'd vvith grace;
Too svveet a girle, so base a Sire to have,
Better for her if th' vvombe had bene her grave.
He plaies the Pander, vvhat's her part you'l judge,
But this is to a Lord, that vvill not grudge
Nor stand to question his demands, but grant
VVhat he in fevvest vvords pretends to vvant.
May not these outsides then vvell boast of blood,
Of honour'd stocke, of house as old as Lud?
But let me leave such froathes, & shadovves vaine,
Leading my Muse to our digressed aime:
VVhat though these heape upon thee bitter scorne?
Thy vvorth shall aye appeare as brightest morne,
Or as that starre daies noted harbinger,
VVish'd comfort to the home-bent travailer.
A Pilgrimage thou knovv'st this life to be,
Pilgrimes should fast, not feast in jollitie.
If great thy burden, slovver is thy pace,
Hovv lesser laden, bettet is thy case:
The vvay is heavy, full of thornes & briars,
VVith doubt full vvindings many men that tires,
Hast thou vvher vvith fraile nature to suffice?
Thou ha'st enough; thou art in happie guise,
And little her contents, vvhy then should vve
Needles vvith such great vveights oppressed be?
Thou think'st thy share but small, thy lot too meane,
Thy part most matchles tragicke in the sceane,
Yet let not Passions raging tirannie
Robbe reason of her due regalitie,
Then shalt thou set the case is altred quite,
Thou art not miser, but an happie vvight.
Thou art not King, nor Keiser in degree,
Cares attend crovvnes, dire feares regalitie'.
Scarce can the charmes of Morpheus blacke constraine
Their vvearied sences to obay his raigne,
VVhen others sleepe in quiet, they opprest
VVith ferall perturbations find no rest.
If eate, or drinke, or ride, or sit, or lie,
In every place, and in all companie,
Both daie night and vvith restles thoughts & doubts
They cruciate their souls, yet nothing bootes.
Hovv many mightie Monarchs of the earth
Have liv'd in constant trouble from their birth?
Hovv ha's Dame Fortune toss'd them as a ball?
VVhen at the height of glorie then they fall.
Ag'd Priamus descended of high loue,
VVhome fiftie sonnes did father call, that stroue
VVith Greeces cheifest Champions, vvhat more greife
Rain'd forth his bleeding life vvithout releife
Iust at the Altar? VVhy should I stand to name
That greatest Caesar by the Senate slaine?
Or Cleopatra, Egipts queene, that di'd
By vvinding serpents poison'd stings, to glide
To her beloved Anthony, before
VVho tooke his journey to the stygian shore?
Or yet that craftie King (Iugurtha nam'd,
For policie, & feates of armes much fam'd)
Of Numidea great Commander; t'ane
By Marius, brought vn to Rome there slaine?
Or povverfull Bellisarius, vvhose highs deeds
Rome, yea and all the vvorld vvith vvonder feeds,
And yet constrained vvas through vvant to pray
For small releife to them that pass'd his vvay?
No Catalogue of this I seeke to make
Of greatest Peires that share in Fates did take;
This is no Chronicle, my taske's not such;
(Onely as fit) I give you but a touch.
Goe further yet, and see those Princes rare
That (Atlas like) the vvorld on Shoulders bare,
VVhose Divine vvisedome makes their neighbours quake
Those less in strength, vvhose very vvords doe make
Those that vvere mortall foes to lay dovvne armes,
And then (as Beacon) being fired them vvarnes
Vnto Bellona's Court, vvhich vvay he bends,
Observantly their resolution tends:
They humbly seeke his counsell farre & neare,
And as an Oracle his sentence feare;
Yet for all this he murmur'd at shall be
By the rude sencesuall sence lesse Com'naltie.
O those most blessed daies, that they haue seene
Caus'd by the vvarres vvith such a King or Queene
Still yelpe they out; or heare they nevvs of vvarres
Their note is chang'd, vvhat good is got by jarres?
Keepes he a Court magnificent? they crie
Such riot brings our land to beggerie.
Or is he frugall to encrease the store
The treasurie exhausted long before?
Then he's ignoble, then he seekes their shame,
He loues not honour, is no child of fame.
If yong, he spends his time in dalliance
VVith his faire Queene, neglecting governance.
If strucke in yeares, tush, then he's grovvne a sot,
Ne vvhat of state or rule knovves he a jot.
Or haue their crying sinnes vvith a strong hand
Pull'd from the Lord a judgement on the land?
VVhether by dearth, or vvarre, or faintnes chill,
A coldnes at the heart, a listles ill,
VVhich makes their lookes more setled, bloodles, sad,
Than if an ague strong them shaken had,
VVhich takes avvay all charitie and loue,
(That onely makes man like the Gods aboue)
All due respect, freindship, good neighbour hood,
Dries vp affection even in nearest blood,
VVhen vve can see vvithout relenting heart
Our brothers vvretched, vvofull, easeles smart,
VVhen vve vnmou'd as sencles blockes can see
Subject of pittie, depth of miserie:
VVhen traffique is block'd vp vvithin the land,
And mony (life of trade) in misers hand,
VVhen every one seekes to devoure each other,
(Like ravening vvolues) let him be freind or brother:
VVhen these, and such like plagues are felt so soare,
They looke not to the cause, but basely roare
Out bitter exclamations' gainst their King
For this their just deserved suffering.
Like as th' Ichneumon (little beast) does steale
Into the bellie of the Crocodile,
Beaking himself vpon the sunny shoare
Of fertile Nile, gorg'd till he can no more,
And there lies gnavving of his panch so vast,
Till he his life from monstrous corps ha's cast.
Or as that living Mountaine, natures vvonder,
That by his povverfull passage causes thunder
In the Atlanticke sea, cutting vvith strength
The foamie vvaues, and floods does cast in length
Many a furlong vvith resistles finnes,
VVhich Triton much amaz'd, from revellings
And Courtly entertainment makes to rise,
Sending about to every part his spies
For quicke advise, if any there should be,
That might in question call his soveraigntie,
Ansvvere is brought, the vvhale strength of disdanie;
By the small svvord fish late receiv'd his bane.
The loftie Pine is subject to the ire
Of raging loud-tongu'd Boreas, all on fire
To hasten vvrackfull mischeife, & the fall
Of him aspiring and the Cedar tall.
VVhen as the shrubbes, the lesser trees, that grovve
Under their shadovve, (shrovvded safely lovve)
Find no disturbance, but in peace doe liue
And kindly fruites in season due doe giue.
Is a slight Cottage blovvne vnto the ground?
VVe take no notice of so dead a sound;
But vvhen a tovvre, vvhose spire most eminent,
Threatning the Clouds by thunder bolt is rent,
Or cast to humble earth by kindled vvrath
Of all-commanding Iupiter, dismai'th,
And makes vvith fearfull cold their blood to freeze,
That dvvel vvithin the hearing, or that sees
Its roaring dovvnefal; so man of meane degree
Lives more at ease, and less in jeopardie.
Is not thy state so high? thy store so great?
Thy bagges so stuff'd vvith coine? nor yet thy seat
So pleasant or commodious? vvhat then?
VVilt thou repine? O no, but thinke on them,
On them most vvretched creatures, slaues to vvoe,
That never fortune knevv but as a foe;
VVho never savve an happie day or houre,
But alvvays liv'd a pris'ner in the tovvre
Of miserie; the chearfull lookes of joy
They seldome could discover; greife, annoy,
Sorrovve, laments, afflictions, heavines,
Teares, discontents, troubles, disquietnes,
VVhere e'r they goe, attendance strictly giues,
And follovves them precise as relatiues.
Many a vvearie steppe they faintly tread
VVithout the sust'nance of a peice of bread,
VVhen fierie Titan drives his scortching teame
Bet vvixt the glitt'ring Cup and Diademe.
Nor house, nor shelter haue they, to defend
Them selves from cruell blasts, & stormes vvhich rend
Strong Oakes vp by the roots; the pinching cold,
And biting frostes they must endure, vvhich old
Sterne vvrathfull vvinter casts vpon the earth,
By thee allay'd and qualify'd vvith mirth;
VVhen thou in bed of dovvne thy limbes doest stretch,
VVith peircing pangs their feeble breath they fetch,
Thou art encompass'd vvith thy freinds about,
VVith feeling vvords to ansvvere every doubt,
That quick'ning counsell, tempred vvith svveet voice,
VVill freely, in due season, in termes choice,
Administer to thy distracted mind,
Casting thy cares, feares, scruples, farre behind;
Thrice happie vvert thou, if thou didst but knovve
vvith vvhat great good thy Cup doth overflovve.
The Ape vnto the Mole complaint did make
Of his tailes vvant, (his ornament,) but take
Th'ansvvere, vnvvorthy creature, thou shouldst be
More thankfull, vvhen my blindnes thou do'st see.
If all the vvorld their greivances should bring
Of bodie, mind, and fortune, for to fling
In one place all together, vvouldst thou share
In their division equall? no, I feare.
vvith Eagles eyes, thou pry'st into thy vvants,
But seest not thine excess; vvhilest thousands vaunts
Of the bare hopes, they haue for to enjoy
Some part of that thou slightest, mak'st a toy,
A thing of nought; the grace & bounteous love
Of thy good God despising; do'nt remove,
O do'nt remove by thy repining cares
His svveet refreshinge favour, vvhich he beares
To thee not vvorthie of thy blest creation,
A man, a Christian, nor of preservation.
Hovv many at this instant lie inthrall'd,
Their vvasted leggs vvith massie irons gall'd,
That coursest bran for meate, & puddle drinke,
And yet therof are scanted, while they sinke
Vnder their vveightie burthens, taskes impos'd
By Pagans crueltie, strictly enclos'd
And pent in grisly Cells of bondage, slaues,
VVhilest nought they hope for, but their quiet graues?
How many in a moment are bereau'd
Of all they had, by sodanie fire conceiu'd
Through lightning, or neglect, or tyrannie
Of rogues, bad neighbours, common enemie?
The same vvhich vve enjoying least regard
VVe more affect depriued of: 't is hard
Iustly to valevv our felicitie,
But vvhen 't is clouded vvith some miserie.
No man can haue his vvill in all, but may
Restraine his vvishes from a fruitles stray.
If all should sleepe together, tell mee then
VVhat difference 'tvvixt Kings, Lords & common men?
The day of dissolution is at hand,
That general day, vvhen Gods vvheate shall be fand,
And brought into his garner; or to thee
Thy day of death approacheth speedily.
Then shall the teares be vviped from thine eyes.
Then shalt thou cleane forget thy bitter cries,
Then art thou free'd from all disasters, paines,
Then hast thou perfect cure for all thy maines.
Thou shalt no more be servile, but in love
Be made Co-heire vvith Christ of heaven above.
Cast from thee then, thou Punie, those vaine feares
VVhich shakes thy sounder faith, ignobly beares
Thy thoughts much lovver than the sordide ground,
And then againe does catch them at rebound.
If constant be thy troubles, vvithout doubt
Less violent, and time vvill vveare them out:
And as for those that are more violent
They be but flashes, seldome permanent.
Thou art not vveake in bodie; say thou be,
Thou art in Spirit as strong as strongest he.
Thou art not poore; but yet suppose it so,
In gods loue richer much than many moe.
Come, art thou crooked or deform'd? vvhat then?
Thou maist be right in heart tovvards God & men.
Thou bear'st no rule, enjoy'st no souveraigntie,
Thou rul'st thy lusts, that's cheife regalitie.
Say thou vvert maim'd, decrepite, vlcerous, blind,
Thy soul is sound, sees more than most vve find.
Hast thou no freinds? alas, he that can raise
Of stones posteritie to Abram, saies
That he vvill be a father to thee, freind,
And never vvill forsake thee to thy.
END.