Its flowers but hide the asp, Thy revels to destroy:
Who trusts a harlot's smile, And by her wiles is led, Plays with a sword the while, Hung dropping o'er his head.
Dost doubt my warning song?
Then doubt the sun gives light, Doubt truth to teach thee wrong, And wrong alone as right;And live as lives the knave, Intrigue's deceiving guest, Be tyrant, or be slave, As suits thy ends the best.
Or pause amid thy toils, For visions won and lost, And count the fancied spoils, If e'er they quit the cost;And if they still possess Thy mind, as worthy things, Pick straws with Bedlam Bess, And call them diamond rings.
Thy folly's past advice, Thy heart's already won, Thy fall's above all price, So go, and be undone;For all who thus prefer The seeming great for small, Shall make wine vinegar, And sweetest honey gall.
Wouldst heed the truths I sing, To profit wherewithal, Clip folly's wanton wing, And keep her within call:
I've little else to give, What thou canst easy try, The lesson how to live, Is but to learn to die.
Poem: THE LIFE AND AGE OF MAN.
[FROM one of Thackeray's Catalogues, preserved in the British Museum, it appears that THE LIFE AND AGE OF MAN was one of the productions printed by him at the 'Angel in Duck Lane, London.'
Thackeray's imprint is found attached to broadsides published between 1672 and 1688, and he probably commenced printing soon after the accession of Charles II. The present reprint, the correctness of which is very questionable, is taken from a modern broadside, the editor not having been fortunate enough to meet with any earlier edition. This old poem is said to have been a great favourite with the father of Robert Burns.]
IN prime of years, when I was young, I took delight in youthful ways, Not knowing then what did belong Unto the pleasures of those days.
At seven years old I was a child, And subject then to be beguiled.
At two times seven I went to learn What discipline is taught at school:
When good from ill I could discern, I thought myself no more a fool:
My parents were contriving than, How I might live when I were man.
At three times seven I waxed wild, When manhood led me to be bold;I thought myself no more a child, My own conceit it so me told:
Then did I venture far and near, To buy delight at price full dear.
At four times seven I take a wife, And leave off all my wanton ways, Thinking thereby perhaps to thrive, And save myself from sad disgrace.
So farewell my companions all, For other business doth me call.
At five times seven I must hard strive, What I could gain by mighty skill;But still against the stream I drive, And bowl up stones against the hill;The more I laboured might and main, The more I strove against the stream.
At six times seven all covetise Began to harbour in my breast;My mind still then contriving was How I might gain this worldly wealth;To purchase lands and live on them, So make my children mighty men.
At seven times seven all worldly thought Began to harbour in my brain;Then did I drink a heavy draught Of water of experience plain;There none so ready was as I, To purchase bargains, sell, or buy.
At eight times seven I waxed old, And took myself unto my rest, Neighbours then sought my counsel bold, And I was held in great request;But age did so abate my strength, That I was forced to yield at length.
At nine times seven take my leave Of former vain delights must I;It then full sorely did me grieve -
I fetched many a heavy sigh;
To rise up early, and sit up late, My former life, I loathe and hate.
At ten times seven my glass is run, And I poor silly man must die;I looked up, and saw the sun Had overcome the crystal sky.
So now I must this world forsake, Another man my place must take.
Now you may see, as in a glass, The whole estate of mortal men;How they from seven to seven do pass, Until they are threescore and ten;And when their glass is fully run, They must leave off as they begun.
Poem: THE YOUNG MAN'S WISH.
[FROM an old copy, without printer's name; probably one from the Aldermary Church-yard press. Poems in triplets were very popular during the reign of Charles I., and are frequently to be met with during the Interregnum, and the reign of Charles II.]
IF I could but attain my wish, I'd have each day one wholesome dish, Of plain meat, or fowl, or fish.
A glass of port, with good old beer, In winter time a fire burnt clear, Tobacco, pipes, an easy chair.
In some clean town a snug retreat, A little garden 'fore my gate, With thousand pounds a year estate.
After my house expense was clear, Whatever I could have to spare, The neighbouring poor should freely share.
To keep content and peace through life, I'd have a prudent cleanly wife, Stranger to noise, and eke to strife.
Then I, when blest with such estate, With such a house, and such a mate, Would envy not the worldly great.
Let them for noisy honours try, Let them seek worldly praise, while IUnnoticed would live and die.
But since dame Fortune's not thought fit To place me in affluence, yet I'll be content with what I get.
He's happiest far whose humble mind, Is unto Providence resigned, And thinketh fortune always kind.
Then I will strive to bound my wish, And take, instead of fowl and fish, Whate'er is thrown into my dish.
Instead of wealth and fortune great, Garden and house and loving mate, I'll rest content in servile state.
I'll from each folly strive to fly, Each virtue to attain I'll try, And live as I would wish to die.
Poem: THE MIDNIGHT MESSENGER; OR, A SUDDEN CALL FROM AN EARTHLYGLORY TO THE COLD GRAVE.
In a Dialogue between Death and a Rich Man; who, in the midst of all his Wealth, received the tidings of his Last Day, to his unspeakable and sorrowful Lamentation.
To the tune of AIM NOT TOO HIGH, &c.
[THE following poem, and the two that immediately follow, belong to a class of publications which have always been peculiar favourites with the peasantry, in whose cottages they may be frequently seen, neatly framed and glazed, and suspended from the white-washed walls. They belong to the school of Quarles, and can be traced to the time when that writer was in the height of his popularity.
