And fuch an union made 'twixt words and things,
That ev'ry name a nature with it brings.
Words do involve the greatest mysterys :
By them the few into his Cabal pries.
The chymick fays, in ftones, in herbs, in words,
Nature for ev'ry thing a cure affords :
Nay, fome have found the glorious stars to be
But letters, fet in an orthography,
The fate of kings and empires to foretell;
With all things elfe below, could we them fpell.
That grand diftinction between man and brute,
We may to language chiefly attribute.
The lion roars, the elephant doth bray;
The bull doth bellow, and the horse doth neigh;
Man fpeaks: 'Tis only man can words create,
And cut the air to founds articulate
By nature's fpecial charter. Nay, speech can
Make a fhrewd difcrepance 'twixt man and man
It doth the gentleman from clown discover;
And from a fool the grave philofopher:
As Solon faid to one in judgment weak,
I thought thee wife until I heard the speak.
For words in man bear the most critick part;
We speak by nature; but fpeak well by art.
And as good bells we judge of by the found,
So a wife man by words well plac'd is found:
Therefore it may be call'd no vain pretence,
When 'mongst the reft the tongue would be a sense.
The tongue's the rudder which man's fancy guides,
Whilft on this world's tempeftuous fea he rides.
Words are the life of knowledge; they fet free,
And bring forth truth by way of midwifty:
The activ'ft creatures of the teeming brain,
The judges who the inward man arraign :
Reafon's chief engine and artillery
To batter error, and make falfhood fly:
The cannons of the mind, who fometimes bounce
Nothing but war, then peace again pronounce.
The Rabbins fay, fuch is the ftrengh of words,
That they make deeper wounds than fpears or fwords.
Horell.
Words have wings, and, as foon as (their cage) the
Mouth is open'd, out they fly, and mount beyond
Our reach and paft recovery; like light'ning,
They can't be ftopt, but break their paffage through
The fmalleft crannys, and penetrate
Sometimes the thickeft walls; their nature's as
Expanfive as the light like fun-beans they
Are darted many miles from their first fource.
WORLD.
How weary, ftale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the ufes of this world?
Fie on't! oh fie! 'tis an unweeded garden,
That grows to feed; things rank, and grofs in nature,
Poffefs it meerly.
This world's a city full of ftraying streets,
And death's the market-place where each one meets.
Skakefpear, Beaumont and Fletcher's Two noble Kinfmen.
Lo, how the ftormy world doth worldlings tofs,
"Twixt fandy pleasures, and a rocky will! Whilft them that court it moft, it most doth cross, To vice indulgent, vertue's step-dame still.
E. of Sterline's Crafus.
Who to the full, thy vilenefs, world, e'er told!
What is in thee, that's not extremely ill?
A loathfome fhop, where poifon's only fold,
Whose very entrance instantly doth kill:
Nothing in thee but villany doth dwell,
And all thy ways lead head long into hell,
Drayton's Legend of Pierce Gaveflon.
This world is like a mint, we are no fooner
Caft into the fire, taken out again,
Hammer'd, ftamp'd, and made current, but
Prefently we are chang'd.
Dekker and Webster's Weftward Ho
As mankind, fo is the world's whole frame
Quite out of joint, almoft created lame:
For before God had made up all the reft,
Corruption enter'd, and deprav'd the best:
It feiz'd the angels, and then firft of all
The world did in her cradle take a fall,
And turn'd her brains; and took a general maim,
Wronging each joint of th' univerfal frame:
The noblest part, man, felt it firft; and then,
Both beafts and plants, curft in the curfe of man;
So did the world from the first hour decay,
That evening was beginning of the day;
And now the fprings and fummers, which we fee,
Like fons of women after fifty be:
And new philofophy calls all in doubt,
The element of fire is quite put out;
'The fun is loft, and th'earth, and no man's wit
Can well direct him where to look for it.
Princes for arms, and counfellors for brains,
Lawyers for tongues, divines for hearts, and more,
The rich for ftomachs, and for backs the poor;
The officers for hands, merchants for feet,
By which remote and diftant countries meet.
They fay the world is like a byafs-bowl,
And it runs all on the rich mens fides: others
Say, 'tis like a tennis ball, and fortune
Keeps fuch a racket with it, as it toffes
It into time's hazard, and that devours all.
This world's the chaos of confufion :
No world at all, but mafs of open wrongs,
Wherein a man, as in a map may fee
The high road way from woe to mifery.
1. What other is the world than a ball,
Which we run after with hoop and with hollo,
He that doth catch it, is fure of a fall,
His heels tript up by him that doth follow! 2. Do not women play too?
3. They are too light, quickly down.
1. O yes, they are the belt gamefters of all;
For though they often lie on the ground,
Not one amongst a hundred will fall,
But under her coats the ball will be found.
Shirley's Bird in a Cage. No marvel, thou great monarch didit complain, And weep, there were no other worlds to gain: Thy griefs and thy complaints were not amifs; Hea's grief enough, that finds no world but this.
Thus having travers'd the fond world in brief,
The luft of th' eyes, the flesh, and pride of life;
Unbiafs'd and impartially we fee,
Tis lighter in the fcale, than vanity.
What then remains? But that we ftill should strive
Not to be born to die, but dye to live.
Well hath the great creator of the world
Fram'd it in that exact and perfect form,
That by itself unmoveable might ftand,
Supported only by his providence.
Well hath his pow'rful wifdom ordered
The in nature difagreeing elements,
That all affecting their peculiar place,
Maintain the confervation of the whole.
Well hath he taught the fwelling ocean
To know his bounds, left in luxurious pride
He fhould infult upon the conquer'd land.
Well hath he plac'd thofe torches in the heav'ns
To give light to our elfe all darkned eyes:
The christal windows thorough which our foul
Looking upon the world's most beauteous face,.
Is bleft with fight and knowledge of his works.
Well hath he all things done: for how, alas!
Could any strength or wit of feeble man
Sustained have that greater univerfe
Too weak an Atlas for one commonwealth?
How could he make the earth, the water, air,
And fire, in peace their duties to obferve,
Or bridle up the headftrong ocean,
That cannot rule the wits and tongues of men,
And keep them in? It were impoffible
To give light to the world, with all his art
And skill, that cannot well illuminate
One darkned understanding.
In this grand wheel, the world, we're fpokes made all;
But that it may ftill keep its round,
Some mount while others fall.
Who looks upon this world, and not beyond it,
To the abodes it leads to, must believe it
The bloody flaughter-houfe of fome ill pow'r,
Rather than the contrivance of a good one.
Ev'ry thing here breeds mifery to man;
The fea breeds ftorms to fink him: If he flies
To fhore for aid, the fhore breeds rocks to tear him:
The earth breeds briars to rend him, trees to hang him;
Those things that feem his friends, are falfe to him:
The air that gives him breath, gives him infection;
Meat takes his health away, and drink his reason.
His reafon is fo great a plague to him,
He never is fo pleas'd as when he's robb'd on't
By drink or madness.
Grown's ambitious Statefman.
Oh curfed troubled world!
Where nothing without forrow can be had,
And 'tis not easy to be good or bad!
For horrour attends evil, forrow good,
Vice plagues the mind, and vertue flesh and blood.
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