Farwel ye guilded follies, pleasing troubles, Farwel ye honour'd rags, ye glorious bubbles; Fame's but a hollow eccho, gold pure clay, Honour the darling but of one short day. Beauty (th'eyes idol) but a damask'd skin, State but a golden prison, to live in And torture free-born minds; imbroider'd trains Meerly but Pageants, for proud swelling vains, And blood ally'd to greatness is alone Inherited, not purchas'd, nor our own. Fame, honor, beauty, state, train, blood & birth, Are but the fading blossomes of the earth. I would be great, but that the Sun doth still, Level his rayes against the rising hill: I would be high, but see the proudest Oak Most subject to the rending Thunder-Stroke; I would be rich, but see men too unkind Dig in the bowels of the richest mind; I would be wise, but that I often see The Fox suspected whilst the Ass goes free; I would be fair, but see the fair and proud Like the bright Sun, oft setting in a cloud; I would be poor, but know the humble grass Still trampled on by each unworthy Asse: Rich, hated; wise, suspected; scorn'd, if poor; Great, fear'd; fair, tempted; high, stil envi'd more I have wish'd all, but now I wish for neither, Great, high, rich, wise, nor fair, poor I'l be rather. Would the world now adopt me for her heir, Would beauties Queen entitle me the Fair, Fame speak me fortunes Minion, could I vie Angels w'th India, w'th a speaking eye Command bare heads, bow'd knees, strike Justice dumb As wel as blind and lame, or give a tongue To stones, by Epitaphs, be call'd great Master, In the loose Rhimes of every Poetaster Could I be more then any man that lives, Great, fair, rich, wise in all Superlatives; Yet I more freely would these gifts resign, Then ever fortune would have made them mine And hold one minute of this holy leasure, Beyond the riches of this empty pleasure. Welcom pure thoughts, welcome ye silent groves, These guests, these Courts, my soul most dearly loves, Now the wing'd people of the Skie shall sing My chereful Anthems to the gladsome Spring; A Pray'r book now shall be my looking glasse, In which I will adore sweet vertues face. Here dwell no hateful locks, no Pallace cares, No broken vows dwell here, nor pale fac'd fears, Then here I'l sit and sigh my hot loves folly, And learn t'affect an holy melancholy. And if contentment be a stranger, then I'l nere look for it, but in heaven again.
Viat. Wel Master, these be Verses that be worthy to keep a room in every mans memory. I thank you for them, and I thank you for your many instructions, which I will not forget; your company and discourse have been so pleasant, that I may truly say, I have only lived, since I enjoyed you and them, and turned Angler. I am sorry to part with you here, here in this place where I first met you, but it must be so: I shall long for the ninth of May, for then we are to meet at Charls Brandons. This intermitted time wil seem to me (as it does to men in sorrow,) to pass slowly, but I wil hasten it as fast as I can by my wishes, and in the mean time the blessing of Saint Peters Master be with mine.
Pisc. And the like be upon my honest Scholer. And upon all that hate contentions, and love quietnesse, and vertue, and Angling.
FINIS
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