« ПредишнаНапред »
I lives another teaches new breats other feathersting of death.
hunt boite de vish on Shakes every chequer, and at pleasur
It lives another life, it breathes new breath,
It neither fears nor feels the sting of death.
Like as the idle vagrant, (having none,)
That bold adopts each house he views his ownl,
Makes every purse his chequer, and at pleasure,
Walks forth and taxes all the world like Cæsır;
At length, by virtue of a just command,
His sides are lent to a severer hand;
Whereon his pass, not fully understood,
Is taxed in a manuscript of blood ;
Thus passed from town to town, until he come,
A sore repentant to his native home:
E'en so the rambling heart, that idly royes
From crimes to sin, and uncontrolled, removes
From lust to lust, when wanton flesh invites,
From old worn pleasures, to new choice delights.
At length, corrected by the filial rod
Of his offended, and his gracious God,
And lashed from sins to sighs, and by degrees
From sighs to vows, from vows to bended knees ;
From bended knees, to a true pensive breast;
From thence to torments, not by tongues expresed,
Returns; and (from his sinful self exiled)
Finds a glad Father ; He, a welcome child :
Oh! then it lives! Oh! then it lives involved
In secret raptures; pants to be dissolved :
The royal offspring of a second birth,
Sets ope to heaven, and shuts the door to earth.
If lovesick Jove commanded clouds should hap
To rain such showers as quickened Danae's lap;
Or dogs (far kinder than their purple master)
Should lick his sores, he laughs nor weeps the faster.
If earth, heaven's rival, dart her idle ray,
To heaven 'tis wax, and to the world 'tis clay.
If earth present delights, it scorns to draw;
But like the jet unrubbed, disdains that straw:
No hope deceives it, and no doubt divides it,
No grief disturbs it, and no error guides it,
No good contemns it, and no virtue blames it,
No guilt condemns it, and no folly shames it,
No sloth besots it, and no lust enthrals it,
No scorn afflicts it, and no passion galls it ;
It is a carcanet' of immortal life,
An ark of peace, the lists of sacred strife,
A purer piece of endless transitory,
A shrine of grace, a little throne of glory,
A heaven-born offspring of a new-born birth,
An earthly heaven, an ounce of heavenly earth.
And what's a life ? a weary pilgrimage,
Whose glory in one day doth fill the stage
With childhood, manhood, and decrepit age.
And what's a life ? the flourishing array
Of the proud summer meadow, which to-day
Wears her green plush, and is to-morrow hay.
Read on this dial, how the shades devour
My shortlived winter's day; hour eats up hour;
Alas, the total's but from eight to four.
Behold these lilies, (which thy hands have made,
Fair copies of my life, and open laid
To view,) how soon they droop, how soon they fade!
Shade not that dial, night will blind too soon;
My non-aged day already points to noon;
How simple is my suit, how small my boon!
Nor do I beg this slender inch to wile
The time away, or safely to beguile
My thoughts with joy ; here's nothing but a smile.
"A necklace or collar of jewels.
Tucs I, the object of the world's disdain,
With pilgrim face surround the weary earth ;
I only relish what the world counts vain ;
Her mirth's my grief, her sullen grief my mirth ;
Her light my darkness, and her truth my error ;
Her freedom is my jail, and her delight my terror.
Fond earth! proportion not my seeming love
To my long stay ; let not thy thoughts deceive thee; Thou art my prison, and my home's above ;
My life's a preparation but to leave thee.
Like one that seeks a door, I walk about thee :
With thee I cannot live ; I cannot live without thee.
The world's a labyrinth, whose anfractuous ways
Are all composed of rubs and crooked meanders ; No resting here ; he's hurried back, that stays
Athought; and he that goes unguided, wanders: Her
way is dark, her path untrod, uneven, So hard's the way from earth, so hard's the way to heaven.
This gyring labyrinth is betrenched about,
On either hand, with streams of sulphurous fire,
Streams closely sliding, erring in and out,
But seeming pleasant to the fond deceiver ;
Where, if his footsteps trust their own invention,
He falls without redress, and sinks without dimension.
Where shall I seek a guide ? where shall I meet
Some lucky hand to lead my trembling paces ? What trusty lantern will direct
To 'scape the danger of these dangerous places ?
What hopes have I to pass without a guide ?
Where one gets safely through, a thousand fall beside.
An unrequested star did gently slide
Before the wise men to a greater light;