THE VANITIE OF THE VVORLD.
The Abnegation.
ARGUMENT. What's potent Opulencie? What's remiss
Voluptuousness? World, what's All This,
To That the Soul's created for, Eternal Blisse?

Various are Poets Flames; Some, Eclogues write,
Others describe a horrid Fight,
Some Lyrick Strains, and some the Epick do delight:

But, here my sharpned Muse shall entertain
The Scourges of Satyrick Vein,
To lash the World, in which such Store of Vices reign.

No Grandee Patron court I, nor entice
Love--glances from enchanting Eyes,
Nor Blandishments from lisping Wantons vocall Spice.

No such trite Theams our fired Genius fit,
Of which so many Pens have writ:
Prudential Souls affect sound Reason, not sleight Wit.

Blest Talents which the Gospels Pearl do buy:
Frail Hopes that on the World rely,
Where None are sav'd by Faith, but by Infidelitie.

The way to gain more Ground, is to retreat;
Our Flight will be our Foes Defeat;
Minds conqu'ring great Delights, triumph in Joyes more great:

Pull me not, World; nor can, nor will I stay;
Jugler, I know what thou canst say:
Thy magick Spells charm easie Sense but to betray.

Wits toil to please Thee, Sables yield their Skins;
The Silk--worm to thy Ward--robe spins;
Rocks send their Gems, Seas Pearls, to purvey for thy Sins.

Thou brightnest Cupboards with throng'd massy Plate;
Heap'st Ermin'd Mantles of Estate;
Shew'st rich caparison'd champing Coursers at thy Gate.

Thou cull'st of Natures Spoil from Air, Earth, Seas,
The wing'd, hoof'd, finnie Droves, to please
Gluttons, who make themselves Spittles of each Disease.

And shall, like Dives, a sad Reckning pay;
Feasts hastned on his Fun'ral Day;
Death brought the Voider, and the Devil took away.

Tell me no more, Th' art sweet, as spicie Air;
Or, as the blooming Virgin, fair;
And canst with jovial Mirth resuscitate from Care.

Boast not of Rubie--Lips, and Diamond--Eyes,
Rose--Cheeks, and Lilie--Fronts, made Prize,
With dimpled Chins, the Trap--pits where a Fondling lies.

Deaths Serjeant soon thy courted Helens must
Attach, whose Eyes, now Orbs of Lust,
The Worms shall feed on, till they crumble into Dust.

Boast, World, who unto Revels dost decoy
Thy Fav'rites, that they'r bath'd in Joy;
Disdaining Saints, who pretious Time in Pray'r employ:

Who, where they come, with purer Rayes of Light,
Dazle thy bat--ey'd Legions quite,
Rage, Impudence, and Ignorance, the Imps of Night.

Fool, thy Attractives, in no Limits pent,
Indulge to Surfets, not Content,
And, but illude the Minde, not give It Ornament.

Gild o're thy bitter Pills with guilefull Arts;
Sweet Potions brew for frolick Hearts:
When most thou smil'st, thou actest most perfidious Parts.

With Thee dwells fawning Craft, and glozing Hate,
Th' Allurements of Imperious State,
Which, Barks, like Calms, invite unto a Shipwrackt Fate.

Guile, rule the World, that doth in Madness roul:
Great Things the Better oft controul,
Where Pride is coacht, Fraud shopt, & Taverns drown the Soul.

Follie in ruffling Storms with Frenzie meets,
Ebbing, and flowing ore the Streets
O'th' care--fill'd pompous Citie, which exiles true Sweets.

O fretting Broyls in populous Bussle pent,
Where still more Noise than Sense they vent,
And, now as much to Gold, as, late to Battles bent!

World, reason if thou canst. Thy Sports leave Stings;
Thy Scenes, like Thee, prove empty Things;
Thou glorious seem'st in Paint, from whence all Falshood springs.

So, Rainbow Colours on Doves Necks have shone
In Hiew so divers, yet so one,
That Fools have thought them all, the Wiser knew them none.

I'l countercharm thy Spells, that Souls, e're thee,
May trust wilde Irish Seas; Who flee
Distrest to thy Relief, Thou say'st; What's that to me?

Fawn, and betray, and Treasons self outdare,
T' o'rethrow by raising is thy Care,
But I'l ungull thy Minions, undisguize thy Ware.

Thy Gold's Drosse, glitt'ring Troubles are thy Bliss,
By Pomp thou cheat'st, thy All's amiss:
Thou art Sins Stage, the Devil prompts, Flesh Actor is.
Spectator--Sense applauds each witching Gin,
But, unto Reasons Eye within,
Thou seem'st Hells Broker, and the servile Pimp of Sin.

Thus Peaches do rough Stones in Velvet tire;
Thus rotten Sticks mock Starrie Fire;
Thus Quagmires with green Emeralds crown their cheating Mire.

So, Mermaids lovely seem in Beauties Guize,
With Voice, and Smiles, draw Ears, and Eyes,
But whom they win, they sink; those never more shall rise.

Thy Shop's but an Exchange of apish Fashion,
Thy Wealth, Sports, Honours are Vexation,
Thy Favors glistring Cares, sweet Surfets, woo'd Damnation.

Base Proverbs are thy Counsels to enthrall.
Each for himself, and God for All:
Young Saints (I dread to speak it) to old Devils fall.

Rain on thy Darlings Head a Danaen Shour,
Let him be drencht in Wealth, and Poure;
What then? Th' hast storm'd, & seiz'd on All in one short hour.

O, thou Prides restless Sea! swoln Fancies blow
Thee up, dost blew with Envie grow,
Brinish with Bloud, like the Red Sea, with Lust dost flow.

Remorceless Rage! thou in thy fift Acts Breath,
When Bloud does freeze to Ice of Death,
And Life's jail'd up for Natures Debt, where art? Beneath.

World, ev'n Thy Name a whirling Storm implies,
Where Men, in Generations rise,
Like Bubbles, dropsy'd Bladders of the rainie Skies.

Some strait sink down, whom Waters Sheet do's hide;
Some, floating up and down, abide;
The longest are so circumvolv'd, as Rest's deny'd.

So, have we rid out Storms, when Eol's Rave
Plough'd up the Ocean, whose each Wave
Might waken Death with Noise, and make its Paunch a Grave.

The sick Ship groan'd, fierce Windes her Tacklings rent;
The proud Sea scorn'd to be Shoar--pent;
VVe seem'd to knock at Hell, and bounce the Firmament.

Clouds then ungilt the Skies, when Lightnings Light
Flasht thousand glimmering Dayes t'our sight,
But Thunders Canons soon turn'd those flasht Dayes to Night.

Thus art thou, World, Lifes Storm, at Death Distress;
Starving's the Bottom of Excesse:
Thy Self a piteous Creature, how can'st me redress?

No: had'st lesse cruel been, th' hadst been less kinde;
Oyl's in thy Gall to heal my Minde:
Thus Hell may help to Heav'n, Satan a Soul befriend:

A good Cause with good Means some use, yet fare
But ill, when Others, of thy Care,
Whose Cause is bad, and Means ill us'd, successful are.

No Wonder Sins Career, uncheckt, runs on,
Since here Lifes Joy it hath alone,
Which, though thou bragg'st is giv'n, no sooner's giv'n, than gone.

Pomp, Pleasure, Pelf, idolatriz'd by Fools,
Dispute we now in Wisdoms Schools:
Ambitions quenchless Fire i'th' Spring of Judgment cools.

Pride bladders tymp'nous Hearts, till prickt by Fear,
Soon they subside by venting there:
Unsafe Ascents to Pow'r do watching Dangers rear.

Fearfull, and fear'd is Pomp; Ambition steep
Does Envie get, and Hatred keep;
High State wants Station; Honour--thirsting Minds can't sleep.

Summon Aspiro, with his Looms of State
To weave Prides Web, in spite of Fate;
Who, once got up, throwes down the Steps did elevate.

He hates Superiors, 'cause Superiors, and
Inferiors, lest they's Equals stand;
And on his Fellows squints, that are in joynt Command.

Th' Ambitious treach'rous are, and hoodwinkt quite;
Their giddy Heads have dazled Sight,
For, Jealousie clothes Truth in double Mists of Spite.

His Eye must see, and wink; his Tongue must brave,
And flatter too; his Ear must have
Audience, yet carelesse be: Thus acts he King & Slave.

So, brightest Angel blackest Devil hides;
High'st Rise to lowest Downfall slides;
A Mathematick point thus East and West divides.

Bright Wisdom sends dark Policie to School,
Proves the Contriver but a Fool,
Who builds his Maxims on a Precipice, or Pool.

Great Ones, keep Realms from Want; They'l you from Hate:
Life's not so dear as Wealth; For, That
Holds single Bodies, This the Body of the State.

Who bad Desires conceive, they soon wax Great
With Mischief, then bring forth Deceit,
So, brood They Desolation, till it grows compleat.

Let such as sail 'gainst Virtues Winde, use Skill
To tack about; for, what's first Ill,
Grows worse by Use, and worst by Prosecution still.

Ev'n That to which Prides touring Project flies,
When graspt, soon by Fruition dies:
Great Fears, great Hopes, great Plots, great Men make Tragedies!

Achitophel and Absalon prov'd This,
Whose Brains of their Designs did misse;
Teaching deep Machavels; Fraud worst to th' Plotter is.

Fallacious They, and fallible have been,
Who made Religion cloak their Sin:
Mans greatest Good, or greatest Ill is from Within.

Those Policies that hunt for Shadowes so,
As let at last the Substance go,
Which ever lasts, make wretched End in endless Wo.

Had'st for thy Householdstuff the Spoil of Realms,
Could'st thou engross Cathaiahs Gems,
And more then triplicate Romes triple Diadems;

Could'st with thy Feet toss Empires into Air,
And sit i'th Universall Chair
Of State; were Pageants made for Thee the whole Worlds Mayor;

Yet those but Pageants were; Thou, Slave to Sense;
To him, not's own, all Things dispence
But Storms; Thou happier wast i'th' Preterperfect Tense.

Steward, give up th' Account, the Audit's neer
To reckon how, and when, and where;
Where much is lent, there's much requir'd: Dooms Day's severe.

Thus, proud Ambition is by Conscience peal'd;
Vapours sent up, a while conceal'd,
In thundring Storms pour down at length, when All's reveald.

Though Prides high Head doth brush the Stars, yet shall
Its Carkass like a Sulphur Ball,
Plunge into Flames Abyss. Pride concav'd Satans Hall.

The Mighti'st are but Worms; pale Cowards they
Abasht shall stand at that Great Day,
When Conscience, King of Terrors, shall their Crimes display.

Giants of Earth, Aviso's may you tell,
That though with envy'd State you swell,
Yet, soon within Corruptions Charnel--house you'l dwell.

Scepters are frail, as Reeds: who had no Bound,
Are claspt within six foot of Ground;
Whose Epitaphs next Age will be Oblivion found.

Such Yesterday, as would have been their Slave,
To day may tread upon their Grave,
That flats the Nose: Best Lectures dust--seel'd Pulpets have.

Who tost the Ball of Earth, in dark Vaults rest:
All what that Gen'rall once possest
Was but a Shirt in's Tomb, who vanquisht all the East.

Invading Cyrus in a Tub of Gore,
Might quaff his Fill, who evermore
Had thirsted Blood: Him timeless Fate midst Triumphs tore.

Weigh Things; Life's frail, Pomp vain; remember Paul,
(The way to rise will be to fall)
In's high Commission low, in's low, Conversion, tall.

Soul, w'udst aspire to th' High'st? clip Tumors Wing;
To th' Test of Heav'n thy Axioms bring:
Best Polit'ick David was. Who conquers Sin's the King.

Let raised Thoughts, Elijah--like, aspire
To be encharioted in Fire:
Faith, Love, Joy, Peace, the Wheels to Saints sublime Desire.

Avaro cite, as void of Grace, as stor'd
With Gold, the God his Soul ador'd;
Wealth twins with Fear: Why start'st? Unlock thy unsunn'd Hord:

I'l treble't by the Philosophick Stone;
This makes thee stare. Why, thus 'tis done,
To Passives Actives joyn in due Proportion.

Behold vast Sums unown'd! Thou hutch--cram'd Chink,
Art made as Nothing with a Wink,
Thou, bred from Hell, with Hell--deeds Souls to Hell dost sink.

Gold is the Fautress of all civil Jarres,
Treasons Reward, the Nerve of Wars,
Nurse of Prophaneness, suckling Rage that Kingdoms marres.

Thou potent Devil, how dost thou bewitch
The dreggy Soul, spott'st it with Itch!
This Slave to thee, his slave, was never poor, till rich.

Now chest th' all worshipt Ore with rev'rend Awe;
Sols Gold, and Luna's Silver draw
(Should Hell have these, 'twould plunder'd be) to sate thy Maw.

While Gripes of Famine mutiny within,
And tan, like Hides, the shrivel'd Skin
O'th' Poor, whose pining Want can not thy Pitty win:

Having their Gravestones underneath their Feet,
Breath out their Woes to All they meet,
While thou to them are flintier than their Bed, the Street.

Blinded with Tears, with crying hoarse, forlorn
They seem to be of All, but Scorn:
Death than Delay (Wants bloudless Wound) is easier born.

Thy Dropsie breeds Consumption in thine Heir;
Who thus t' himself;--I'l ease your Care,
Measure not Grounds, but your own Earth: Die now to spare.

What's rak'd by Wrong, and kept by Fear, when mine,
Shall spread, as I'm--Then brood the Shine,
Penurious Wretch, till thou by empty Fulnesse pine.

Thy Care's to lessen Cost; how slow thy Payes!
How quick Receipts! Lov'st Fasting--Dayes,
But 'tis to save; thus starv'st in Store, thee Plenty slayes.

When shall I rifle every Trunk and Shelf
Of this old muckie wretched Elf,
Who turns, as Chymists do, all that he scrapes, to Pelf?

O, sordid Phrenzie! Anxious Maze of Care!
O, gripple Covetize to spare,
And dream of Gold! The Misers Heav'n, the Indians Snare.

Oppression is the Bloud--shot in their Eyes;
Bribes blanch Gehesa till he dies:
Fool, read, this Night Death may thy dunghil Soul surprize.

Think not for whom thou dost thy Soul deceive,
And injur'd Nature so bereave;
But still thy knotty Brain with wedg--like Anguish cleave.

Struck blinde with Gold, brood on thy Rapines, till
Thou hatch up stinging Cares to th' fill:
The heaviest Curso on this side Hell's to thrive in Ill.

Go, venture for't with Sharks; haste, Miser old
To th' Hook, because the Bait is Gold:
Pawn thy Soul for't, as Judas did, when's Lord he sold.

Possessors are as Saul possest, who crosse
Heav'ns Law; Gain, got by Guile, proves Losse;
Getting begits more Itch; Lusts specious Ore is drosse.

Who sowe to Sin shall reap to Judgement; Train
To Hell is Idolized Gain.
Canst Death, or Vengeance bribe? If not, dread ceaseless Pain.

Why so fast poasted by thy strugling Cares,
And Self--slaying Fraud, with all their Snares?
Stay, view thy self; Destruction her crackt Glass prepares.

His pursie Conscience opens now. I've run
On Rocks (he houls) too late to shun,
Lost Use, and Principle! Gold, I'm by Thee undone!

If, to exhort be not too late, attend
The wholsom Counsel of a Friend,
Renounce thy Idol, and prevent thy wretched End.

Sound for Faiths Bottom with Hopes anch'ring Cord;
Repent, Restore, large Alms afford,
The dismall Fraught of sinking Sins cast over--board.

He who returns to 's Avarice left, his Sore
Growes desp'rate, Deadlier than before,
His Hopes of Heav'n much lesse, his Fears of Hell much more.

Oceani Monstrum natat infraenabile, Lingua;
Naves saepè pias haec Echeneis habet;
Cui paro Naumachiam, Freta conturbata pererrans,
Sit Remoq; meo, Lis, Remoraeque tuae.

--Spes rebus affixa fugacibus, uno
Frangitur Afflatu---