| |
| MEN 1 are iniurious that report of death | |
| To be the highest of extremities; | |
| When as we die what loose we else but breath? | |
| And many numbers of our miseries, | |
| When this life setts, as better doth arise: | 5 |
| And when to death a holy cause is giuen, | |
| Death is the gate by which we enter heauen. | |
| |
| Within our life these sorrowes we containe, | |
| Vncertaine daies, yet full of certaine griefe, | |
| In number few, but infinite in paine; | 10 |
| O’re chargde with wants, but naked of reliefe, | |
| In ruling it our euill partes are chiefe: | |
| And though our time be not cut short by death, | |
| Olde age will creepe to stop uncertaine breath. | |
| |
| Yet to the much affliction of the minde | 15 |
| This of the body is a scant compare, | |
| Wherein so many and so much I find, | |
| As would astonne my spirits to declare; | |
| Triall can onely tell us what they are: | |
| For we whom custom hath with griefe acquainted | 20 |
| By vs her sad proportion best is painted. | |
| |
| The griefe of mind is that intestine warre | |
| That stirres sedition in the state of man; | |
| Where when our passions once commanding are, | |
| Our peacefull dayes are desperate, for than | 25 |
| The stirres more hote than when it first began; | |
| For heady passion’s like an vntamed beast, | |
| That riots most when we desire it least. | |
| |
| This violence exceedes his vertuous meane, | |
| Like swelling tides that ouerrunne their shore, | 30 |
| Leauing the lawfull current of their streame, | |
| And breake their bankes that bounded them before: | |
| Yet griefe in his great violence is more: | |
| For if that reason bound not griefe with lawes, | |
| In our destruction griefe will be the cause. | 35 |
| |
| Griefe should be borne with much indifference, | |
| Not much regarded, yet regardlesse neuer; | |
| Not much affected, yet we must haue sense | |
| To feele our griefe and apprehend it euer; | |
| Yet let the grieued ever thus indever | 40 |
| To make his burthen easeful as hee may, | |
| And so his griefe with ease is borne away. | |
| |
| So much of griefe we onely doe sustaine, | |
| As in our choice ourselues do apprehend; | |
| Griefe may present it selfe, but not constraine | 45 |
| That we imbrace what it doth recommend. | |
| Beare it but lightly then; for to that end | |
| Is patience giuen, by whose resolued might | |
| The heauiest loade of griefe is made but light. | |
| |
| This is the most of happinesse we haue, | 50 |
| That with our patience we support our cares; | |
| Nor we our selues, but God this vertue gaue, | |
| Which our vnworthie life right well declares; | |
| To loose my life is for to loose my cares: | |
| Then what is death that I should feare to die? | 55 |
| Death is the death of all my miserie. | |
| |
| What then is that which doth beget desire | |
| In humane flesh to linger our long daies? | |
| Is it because to honor men aspire, | |
| Or for their name in beautie hath a praise? | 60 |
| Or is’t their greedy auarice them staies? | |
| Honour, beautie, nor desire of golde, | |
| Cannot the certaine of their death withhold. | |
| |
| Honour is nothing but a very name, | |
| Often confer’d to men of little merite; | 65 |
| In euery place as common is as fame, | |
| Commonly giuen to euery common spirite; | |
| So little worth as anie one may weare it: | |
| Then why should that be thought of estimation | |
| That giues to base deseruings high creation? | 70 |
| |
| The name and place of honour may be giuen, | |
| As please the prince in fauour to dispose; | |
| But true deriued honor is from heauen, | |
| And often liues in meane estate with those | |
| That to the courts of princes neuer goes. | 75 |
| How vainly prowd are such as would get fame, | |
| Yet get no more of honor but the name! * * * * * * | |
| He that from enuious eie and full resort | |
| Liues priuate, with a little state content, | |
| Little desires the honour of the court, | 80 |
| Where emulation stirres a discontent; | |
| Men shoote at him that is most eminent, | |
| And whom the prince with hiest grace doth crown, | |
| Enuy brings many hands to pull him downe. | |
| |
| See here the glorie of mortallitie, | 85 |
| Which we with infinite of care pursue, | |
| Painefull to get, but lost at libertie; | |
| Fatall to many, fortunate to few, | |
| Whereto so many miseries insue | |
| As fills our time with cares: then why should I | 90 |
| For this respect of honour feare to die? | |
