Tranquillity and Peace this Fear does give:
Hell gapes for those that do without it live.

It is a Beam, which he on Man lets fall,

Of Light; by which he made and governs all.
'Tis God alone fhou'd not offended be:
But we please others, as more great than he.
For a good Caufe, the Sufferings of Man
May well be born: 'Tis more than Angels can.
Man, fince his Fall, in no mean Station refts,
Above the Angels, or below the Beasts.
He with true Joy their Hearts does only fill,
That Thirst and Hunger to perform his Will.
Others, tho' rich, fhall in this World be vext;
And fadly live, in Terror of the next.

The World's great Conqu'ror wou'd his Point purfue;
And wept, because he cou'd not find a New:

Which had he done, yet ftill he wou'd have cry'd,
To make him work, until a Third he spy'd.
Ambition, Avarice will nothing owe

To Heav'n it felf, unless it make them grow.
Tho' richly fed, Man's Care does ftill exceed :
Has but one Mouth, yet wou'd a thousand feed.
In Wealth and Honour, by fuch Men poffeft,
If they increase not, there is found no Rest.
All their Delight is while their Wish comes in;
Sad when it stops, as there had nothing been:
'Tis ftrange, Men fhou'd neglect their present Store,
And take no Joy, but in purfaring more:

No,

No, tho' arriv'd at all the World can aim,
This is the Mark and Glory of our Frame:
A Soul capacious of the Deity,

Nothing, but he that made, can fatisfy.
A thousand Worlds, if we with him compare,
Less than so many Drops of Water are.
Men take no Pleasure, but in new Designs:
And what they hope for, what they have, outshines.
Our Sheep and Oxen seem no more to crave;
With full Content feeding on what they have,
Vex not themselves for an Increase of Store:
But think to-morrow we fhall give them more;
What we from Day to Day receive from Heav'n,
They do from us expect it shou'd be giv❜n :
We made them not, yet they on us rely,
More than vain Men upon the Deity:

More Beasts than they, that will not understand,
That we are fed from his immediate Hand.
Man, that in him has Being, moves and lives,
What can he have, or use, but what he gives?
So that no Bread can Nourishment afford,
Or useful be, without his facred Word.

CANTO II.

Arth praifes Conquerors for fhedding Blood:

Heav'n those that love their Foes, and do 'em good.

It

It is terreftrial Honour, to be crown'd

For ftrowing Men, like Rushes, on the Ground:
True Glory 'tis to rise above them all,
Without th' Advantage taken by their Fall.
He that in Fight diminishes Mankind,
Does no Addition to his Stature find:
But he that does a noble Nature show,
Obliging others, still does higher grow;
For Virtue practis'd fuch an Habit gives,
That among Men he like an Angel lives:
Humbly he doth, and without Envy, dwell,
Lov'd and admir'd by those he does excel.
Fools Anger fhew, which Politicians hide:
Bleft with this Fear, Men let it not abide.
The humble Man, when he receives a Wrong,
Refers Revenge to whom it doth belong :
Nor fees he Reason, why he fhou'd engage,
Or vex his Spirit for another's Rage.
Plac'd on a Rock, vain Men he pities, tost
On raging Waves, and in the Tempest lost.
The rolling Planets, and the glorious Sun,
Still keep that Order which they firft begun;
They their first Leffon constantly repeat,
Which their Creator, as a Law, did fet;
Above, below, exactly all obey:

But wretched Men have found another Way.
Knowledge of Good and Evil, as at first,
That vain Perswasion keeps them till accurst.

The

The Sacred Word refafing as a Guide,
Slaves they become to Luxury and Pride.
As Clocks, remaining in the skilful Hand
Of fome great Mafter, at the Figure stand;
But when abroad, neglected they do go,

At random ftrike, and the falfe Hour do fhow:
So from our Maker wandering, we stray,

Like Birds, that know not to their Nefts the way.
In him we dwelt before our Exile here;
And may, returning, find Contentment there:
True Joy may find, Perfection of Delight;
Behold his Face, and fhun eternal Night.

Silence, my Mufe! make not these Jewels cheap,
Exposing to the World too large an Heap.
Of all we read, the facred Writ is best;
Where great Truths are in fewest Words exprest.

Wrestling with Death, thefe Lines I did indite,
No other Theme cou'd give my Soul Delight.
✪ that my Youth had thus imploy'd my Pen!
Or that I now cou'd write as well as then!
But 'tis of Grace, if Sickness, Age and Pain
Are felt as Throws, when we are born again :
Timely they come to wean us from this Earth;
As Pangs that wait upon a Second Birth.

Mr. W A L

Mr. WALLER's SPEECH to the House of Commons.

I

April 22. 1640.

Mr. SPEAKER,

Will ufe no Preface, as they do who prepare Men for fomething in which they have a particular Interest: I will only propofe what I conceive fit for the Houfe to confider; and fhall be no more concerned in the Event, than they that fhall hear me.

Two Things I obferve in his Majefty's Demands.
First, The Supply.

Secondly, Our speedy Difpatch thereof.

Touching the Firft: His Majefty's Occafions for Money are but too evident. For, to fay nothing, how we are neglected abroad, and diftracted at home; the Calling of this Parliament, and our Sitting here (an Effect which no light Caufe cou'd in thefe Times have produced) is enough to make any reasonable Man believe, That the Exchequer abounds not fo much in Money, as the State does in Occafions to use it. And I hope we fhall all appear willing to difprove those who have thought to diffwade his Ma jefty from this way of Parliaments, as uncertain; and to let Him fee, it is as ready, and more fafe, for the Advancement of His Affairs, than any New, or pretended Old, Way whatsoever.

For the speedy Difpatch required, which was the Se cond thing, not only his Majefty, but Res ipfa loquitur;

the