| |
| GOD 1 bends his bow, but shoots not: see it stands | |
| As if the stiffe string were in man’s owne hands; | |
| For God first plac’d it so, that man might know | |
| How prone to peace he is, to war how slow. | |
| That couenant which he made with Noah he keeps, | 5 |
| His mercy ever wakes, his justice sleeps; | |
| And though our sins a second deluge craves, | |
| Hee’l drench the world no more in those salt waves. | |
| “What hurt from heauen fals, first from the earth proceeds, | |
| “And man’s misfortunes springs from man’s misdeeds;” | 10 |
| Misdeeds that from ourselves, friends, country, come, | |
| And where they shall on all, light but on some. | |
| The snow, haile, raine, are by the sun’s pure beams | |
| Exhal’d from standing marshes, whose streames | |
| Infect the ayre with foggy mists, and then | 15 |
| Are bottled up in clouds for sinfull men; | |
| And for man’s good in season they distill, | |
| Or out of season, to amend his ill: | |
| The plagues we feele fall at the head and foot | |
| Are shafts against God our hands first upward shoot. | 20 |
| Presumptuous sins, in country and at court, | |
| Greatnesse and grace, and favour, do support. | |
| The pulpit flatters; justice sits and smiles, | |
| Making a gainefull skill of ling’ring wiles: | |
| “Who hath great friends lives free, and wanteth faults; | 25 |
| “But without friends the upright innocent haults.” | |
| Vice now provides us rayment, meate and drinke, | |
| So how t’ increas ’t, not how to curb ’t, we thinke. | |
| Old men waxe impudent, lascivious, wilde— | |
| That fits them best which scarce becomes a childe. | 30 |
| Young men are stubborne, disobedient, stout, | |
| And rule and teach, even from the swathing clout; | |
| They all things know, and can, but (what they ought) | |
| Themselves and vertue—these they never sought. | |
| Fashions from Spain, France, Germanie, and Rome, | 35 |
| And Turkie too, with their religions come; | |
| So they are suited fayre from top to toe, | |
| And each new suite in a new faith they goe. | |
| Matrons that are not dead nor yet alive, | |
| But betwixt both, in some part vegetive, | 40 |
| Crowne their smooth scalps with haire, which now makes brave | |
| A second mistris, ready for the grave. | |
| Young maids (that go for such) are mothers known, | |
| And such as should be none, are virgins showne. | |
| O Modesty, where dwel’st thou? Womanhood | 45 |
| Is scarce by our high English understood: | |
| Vice grows so common, that it is far more | |
| Opprobrious to be chaste than be a whore. | |
| All things are out of order; lawes are made | |
| Strong means not to defend, but to invade. | 50 |
| Then why should we limit the sea, or fire, | |
| Without their bounds, and not our owne desire? | |
| Southward, th’ Armado, and the fleetes of Spaine, | |
| (Oft beaten) 2 seeme to threaten us againe; | |
| And east and west 3 the seas would meet, we see, | 55 |
| But that (O wonder!) northward blest we bee. | |
| The want of water was the cause before | |
| Those huge-built hulkes could not approach our shore, | |
| Who came resolv’de of conquest, and did stand | |
| As if they meant to beare away our land. | 60 |
| Poor Ile, so small thou wert, and they so great, | |
| Too scant a sea for them that was thy seat; | |
| But had they staide till now, now might they ride | |
| On the swolne waves at ease in all their pride, | |
| And into every haven their bold ships stere, | 65 |
| As if no sands, barres, shallowes, had been there. | |
| We know, whens’ere they come, God can provide | |
| Such seas so high, so uncontrol’d a tide, | |
| Able, without their envie or their ayde, | |
| To bury us: for see how he hath layd | 70 |
| Our workes all levell—draines, dykes, sluces, banks, | |
| Fields, pastures, gardens, mannors, farmes, and franks; | |
| With man their owner, and what man doth feed, | |
| Are buried with a sea of teares indeed. | |
