That froth of envy, bubble of base pride,
Who for one's cause a nation would ore-throw,
His whole in hazard, or he would abide
The triviall want of an externall show;
Yet had what he for others did provide,
A rare example of vaine height brought low;
Who of the man whom he did most disdaine,
The bridle led, most abject of the traine.

When sometime match'd by emulating strife,
Black calumnie (swolne hate and envie's childe)
Damnes him with others (false records are rife)
By whom Apelles was from men exil'd,
Who (animating colours) colour'd life,
Till (by their eyes) men joy'd to be beguil'd:
Whil'st drawn by him an admirable peece,
It (as a treasure) was engross'd in Greece.

No vice below fraughts Pluto with more spoils
Than avarice, which nothing can controule;
(The heart with cares, the body tyr'd with toils)
Whil'st it (a tyrant) doth oppresse the soule,
And all the buds of rising vertue foils,
Too grosly base, and miserably foule;
Then it can never scape a generall hate,
Which one to found would ruine every state.

Not onely wretches all the world would wrong,
But even themselves defraud of what is due;
From all their treasures travell'd for so long,
Which they but owe, not use, not owe, but view,
Them fortune oft, death still to part is strong,
Who of all sinners have most cause to rue: [gaine,
They lose themselves that doubtfull heires may
The pleasures want of sinne, have but the paine.

By misery to finde his folly mov'd,

When fortune's dreames were vanish'd all away,
That Lydian king who Solon's speech approv'd,
Did clearly tell how greatnesse did betray,
And highly loath'd what he too much had lov'd;
Thoughts which for treasures, no, for trifles stray:
What even when pleasant he did then disdaine,
O how he hates it now when cause of paine!

That Roman who but such did rich esteeme,
As furnish might an hoast, yet want not feare,
When his sonne's head (whose hopes so great did
seeme)

With horrour crown'd a bragging Parthian's speare,
Then all his wealth could not himselfe redeeme,
Kill'd oft ere dead, barbarians scoffes to beare;
Thus he who long below so rich did dwell,
Rob'd fortune, fame, and life, went poore to Hell.

She whose base mind they whom it pleas'd did scorne,
(Vile avarice so poison'd had her heart) [borne,
Whilst charg'd with all which foes left armes had
Did nothing get, yet they too much impart,
The words were kept, but not the sence was sworne,
The which, (though their deceit) was her desart;
But though that monstrous weight bruis'd all her
A greater now doth crush her all at once. [bones,

Of him whose touch made gold, when rich at will,
That ancient tale each miser's state hath showne,
Who steale from others, rob themselves poore still,
As borne to envy wealth, though even their owne;
Gold did his chests, but not his stomack fill,
Starv'd by abundance, by his wish ore-throwne;
VOL. V.

Yet, whilst thy pride all law and reason foiles,
The entrailes, yea, their marrow dost extort,
Bath'd by their sweat, annointed with their toiles,
Dost urge more then they owe, or can support,
Deare is thy state when purchas'd by such spoiles;
Though theft be much detasted at this time,
Oppression then shall prove the greater crime.

He who inferiours thus to ruine brings,
Who neither may resist nor dare complaine,
Though lawes approve, and custome cloke such
things,

His course at last doth all unmask'd remaine;
Who late were lords, and kept a court like kings,
Of them whome once they rul'd no vantage gaine;
No bragges, nor bribes, no care nor friendship aides.
The judge in wrath with frownes their faults up-
braids.

Though lofty tyrants first much mischiefe breed,
Their ravenous course whilst nothing can appease,
Yet others are who on their fall doe feed,
Whom so to humble it the Lord doth please,
Whose summes for interest principalls exceed,
A cosening favour, ruining with ease;
But Christ at last a iubilee doth sound,
His free from bands, who did them bind, are bound.

Then robbers, theeves, oppressours, usurers there,
One sort at least the Lord farre more doth hate,
His temple spoiling, who himselfe not spare,
Take what zeale gave, the fat of offerings eate,
What was allow'd the Levites for their share,
Prophanely us'd to found a private state:
They must thinke God lesse then the Devill to be,
Who thousands kill'd to keepe his altars free.

Bb

light,

With him darke dungeons they deserve of right.

He thundring vaunts, who did his pride proclaime, And bright with brasse, like Rhodes' great statue shin'd,

With launce more grosse then any weaver's beame,
The masse most monstrous of the gyant's kinde,
Whil'st braving God, by seeking Israel's shame,
He first amaz'd, then fill'd with feare each minde:
An oxe in strength, and death, lesse in the last,
A small stone fell'd him which a boy did cast.

That moving mount of earth with others dread,
Who (trusting their owne strength) did God despise;
That king of Bashan (from his iron bed)
Who to oppugne God's people did arise;
Some who, like wolves, with flesh of men were fed,
As he whose eye Vlysses did surprise: [restraines,
Though huge, they quake, whil'st feare their pride
And with their strength, proportion'd are their paines.
With those who rail'd on God with horrour nam'd,
Stands Rabsache, whose breath the ayre defil'd,
And one who answer'd was when he exclaim'd,
Tell of the carpenter what doth the childe,
That he for him a fatall coffin fram'd,
Whom death soone seizing from the world exil'd:
Such did pursue, where nothing could be wonne,
Like foolish dogges that barke against the Sunne.

There Christ must make that barbarous king afraid,
From whose fierce rage for him, babes were not free,
That with just scorne, the great Augustus laid,
It better was his sow then sonne to be:
One durst God's praise usurpe, till quite dismaid,
Hisflattering troupes a judgment rare did see, [sum'd,
Whil'st him who, swolne with pride, so much pre-
A loathsome death by meanes most vile consum'd.

The man most mark'd amidst this damned traine,
Whose foule defection numbers did annoy,
Is he from schooles who Christians did restraine,
By ignorance the truth bent to destroy;
With him (well match'd) his master doth remaine,
Who fondly did too deepe a wit imploy:
Vile Porphyry, how wretched is thy state,
Who bought thy learning at too deare a rate?

Yet even then these, whose falles were marked most,
A number now are farre more guilty found,
These but themselves, they many thousands lost;
These seene were shunn'd, they seeming friends did
wound,

And where made captaines, did betray the host,
Not forward march'd, did but the trumpet sound:
Such teachers false, high indignation move,
Who, plac'd for lampes, did rockes of ruine prove.

They (whil'st their faith for worldly causes faints)
Who were made shepheards, do undoe their sheep,
Religion's casks, church dregges, dissembled saints,
Where trusted watch-men who fall first asleep;
O with what palenesse feare their faces paints,
For loosing them whom they were bound to keep!
Such pastors now stand for all those dismaid,
By their example, or neglect, who strai'd.
He (even as spurning at a wall of brasse)
Who (though God's priest) his people would misguid,
Where bound to blesse, who there to curse did passe,
Seem'd to consult, yet God to tempt but tri'd,
Who forc'd (when left) him to obey his asse,
Then it more grosse which first the angel spi'd;
Deare proves his counsell when their plaints begin,
Whom he by beauty did betray to sinne.

With Balaam now this age a troupe doth match, Who (flattering Sirens) some with pleasure charme, Whil'st they like tradesmen do their take dispatch,

Since neither hot, nor cold, spu'd forth luke-warme, Whose scandalous life choaks what their words do

hatch;

What profit precepts, whil'st examples harme ? "Of tainted fountains all do flie the streames: As bright the Sunne, most pure are all his beames.

What great perfection can theologues reach,
Who learne their science as an art to gaine,
And, farre from practice, onely strive to preach?
Such wanting salt would season soules in vaine,
In actions earthly, spirituall but in speech,
Who buy promotions, sell Heaven's goods againe :
Their money curs'd, detasted may they dye,
Who, what none value can, would basely buy.

There are some priests whom foolish pride made

rave,

(Like Isjs' asse whose burden was ador'd)
Who of their parts too great opinion have,
And more affect than reason can afford;
Where humblenesse her chiefe abode should have,
A haughty minde must justly be abhorr'd;
Vile avarice, and pride, from Heaven accurst,
In all are ill, but in a church-man worst.

Sinne sinfull still, and vice is vile in all,
But most abhorr'd by guides of soules when done,
Whose faults seeme ugly, though they be but small,
As stains in crystall, darknesse in the Moone;
They when they stumble make a number fall;
Where laws scarce urge, example leads us soone;
Woe to those shepheards who their flocks betray,
Whose trusted steps make all their followers stray.

Next comes a company then these more bad,
Who in some sort made eminent to be,
Did poyson draw, where others honey had,
Blinde by sinne's beams who could it selfe not see,
By curiousnesse grown grosse, by learning mad,
Where Adam rob'd the fruits, who rent the tree:
Confusion's slaves, whose course all union wrongs,
They part men's hearts, where Babel but the tongues.

Those soule's impostours, rocks of ruine borne,
Who what they fancied did too much esteeme,
And of religion held true grounds in scorne,
By strange opinions singular to seeme;
They who the church did teare, their hearts are torne,
Whose spirituall errours nothing could redeeme;
Then all those atheists who the light deny'd
Strai'd hereticks are more pernicious try'd.
Their vaine divisions have much mischiefe wrought,
Christ's coat still torne, for lots (yet question'd) set,
The figures literall, letters figures thought,
Whil'st forging reasons, they the sense forget,
And catching all within their compasse brought,
Like poysnous spiders fram'd in aiery net;
Yet that the world might spie their damned state,
Still jarr'd amongst themselves, did others hate.

None gives religion a more dangerous wound,
(Of which firme union is a certaine signe) [found,
Then schismatics, whose dreames would truth con-
And do divide what faith should fast combine,
When learned doctors do dispute the ground,
How can weake vulgars but from light decline?
Whil'st parts are question'd all the whole in doubt,
First heresie, then atheisme doth burst out.

Whil'st false conceptions do abuse the braine,
Oft monstrous broods have all the world appall'd,
Even when apostles did themselves explaine,
Some strangely strai'd, yet scorn'd to be recall'd,
Whil'st grosly subtle, learnedly prophane,
To sp'rituall bondage voluntarily thrall'd:
Instruction loath'd, they shamelesse in offence,
Of living authors did pervert the sense.

Ere from men's mindes the gospel's purenesse past,
That vaunting sect which holy Iohn did hate,
With drunkards sober, liv'd with wantons chast,
And bragg'd by strength temptations to abate,
Till falne by standing, them their strength did cast,
Whil'st stumbling blocks had fram'd for sinne a bait:
Then faults they fled farre greater did then staine,
Presumption devillish, weaknesse is humane.
From fountains pure what tainted streames did fall,
By which made drunke huge troups strange dreames
conceiv'd,

Nestorians, Arrians to grosse errours thrall,
The Montanists and Donatists deceiv'd;
The Manichæans, and Pelagians all,
With millions else who admirably rav'd :

And when they once abandon'd had the light,
Thought all the world was wrong, they onely right.

These viprous broods whose course no reason rain'd,
Did when first borne their mother's belly teare,
Bred by contention, and by bloud maintain'd,
Who rent the church, pretending it to reare,
Then, with themselves, all who would trust them
stain'd,

And them to Hell led headlong by the eare:
But who for patrons prais'd such once as saints,
They curse them now with multipli'd complaints.

Of all the gifts that garnish mortals here,
Though for perfection learning most imparts,
And to the deity draws her followers neare,
Scarce lesse then angels, more then men for parts,
Yet their accounts some scholars worst can cleare,
Who lodg'd their knowledge in corrupted hearts:
Whil'st lengthning life by memorable lines,
In spite of death extending bad designes.

Ah, of that troupe who can the torments dreame,
Of all Hell's hosts which with most horrour howls,
The scorne of knowledge, and the Muse's shame,
Who with vaine pleasures do empoyson soules,
And (reaching ruine) whil'st they toile for fame,
Do vomit volumes of contagious scrouls, [take)
Which bent for glory (though vaine thoughts they
Do but their sinnes, not them immortall make?

When dead to sinne, to ruine from the grave, Though hid in th' earth infecting still the ayre! What greater mischiefe could the Devill conceive, Then like himselfe make men? what authors rare? That they with life can wickedness not leave, Whil'st bounding in one place, ore all a snare, That course doth never end which they begin : Death but their dayes, scarce doomsday bounds their sinne.

Of each divine who thoughts to time commits,' (Whil'st cosening conscience)racking reason's bounds, With subtle logicke intricating wits, (Sophisticating truth) which faith confounds, Whose aguous fancies with infective fits, The world abus'd, abusing sacred grounds; Their writs which (wresting words) much mischiefe

wrought,

To damne the author are in judgment brought.

Of these brave spirits (neglecting vulgar dates)
The tongues of time, interpreting the dead,
Who entertaine intelligence 'twixt states
By registring all what was famous made,
Of them I heare too many curse their fates,
(When trusted guides) who others wrong did leade;
And partially a lye for truth gave forth,
To colour vice, or derogate from worth.

And therefore, Muse, thy purenesse do not spill,
(Though griefe do make thee passionate to prove)
Loath them to taxe whom thou do'st reverence still,
But passe not publicke wrongs for private love,
And whil'st such faults all minds with feare do fill,
This them who live to change their course may
move;

Ah,that Heaven's lampe might still direct our wayes, Whom starres should crowne, and not terrestrial

bayes.

Whil'st always drunke they from no fault were free,

Till last by beggery that they bounded be.

Though base, not pass'd even beggars here are rife,

Who with procur'd or counterfeited sores,
That they might live, did lose all use of life,
Not entring churches, begg'd but at the doores,
Urg'd charity, and yet were still at strife,
By hand who helps them, them in heart abhorrs:
The sinks of sinne, as poore in soules, as state.
Adultrers, theeves, blasphemers, and ingrate,

Now mustring pride, no pompe, nor power protects, Whil'st none so great as dares (when damn'd) reply,

Nor none so low whom this great Iudge neglects,
Life's strict accounts when come in wrath to try;
Contempt, nor reverence, worke no such effects:
Mysts, whence they rose returu'd, vaine vapours dye:
For state or birth, all duties due time frees,
(Save parting paines) no difference in degrees.

Not onely soules for deeds are damn'd to fire,
Whose witness'd wrongs were from all colours free,
But even intentions, wishes, and desire,
Which (though none else) yet God himselfe did see;
The heart advanc'd, what member can retire ?
The author it, the rest but actors be:
These bent for ill, whom casuall lets did bound,
Then some who acted are more guilty found.

Not onely now all these to paine must part,
Whom harmfull deeds well witness'd do accuse,
And who not seene (corrupted in the heart)
No, no, with them a number more must smart,
Were big with thoughts which Satan did infuse:
This judgment generall all to triall brings,
Who had more treasure then they daign'd to use:
Both for committed and omitted things.

These wealthie ones, whose steps the poore did trace,

Not help'd, not mark'd, not seene from such a height;
These who had power, and eminent in place,
Yet had no pitty when support they might;
These who had knowledge, and some seeds of grace,
Yet would with none communicate their light:
Woe, woe to them with whom God ventred most,
Whose talents hid (since not encreas'd) were lost.

They who by riches nought save pleasure sought,
And griev'd for nothing but when forc'd to dye,
To Heaven (poore soules) as hardly can be brought,
As cable-ropes come through a needle eye:
O what huge hosts even more than can be thought,
With shaking joints and chattering teeth I spie!
What fertile ages brought so many forth?
Yet most in number are the least in worth.