live unhandsomely? trust not too far
Thy self to
waving seas: for what thy star,
Calculated by sure
event, must be,
Look in the glassy-epithete, and see.
Yet settle here your rest, and take your state,
And in calm halcyon's nest ev'n build your fate;
Prethee lye down securely, Frank, and keep
much no noyse the inconstant deep
As its inhabitants;
nay, stedfast stand,
As if discover'd were a
Fit for plantation here. Dream, dream
Lull'd in Dione's cradle; dream, untill
Horrour awake your sense, and you now find
a bubbled pastime for the wind;
And in loose Thetis
blankets torn and tost.
Frank, to undo thy self why
art at cost?
Nor be too confident, fix'd on the
For even that too borrows from the store
her rich neighbour, since now wisest know
to Galileo's judgement ow),
The palsie earth it self
is every jot
As frail, inconstant, waveing, as that
We lay upon the deep, that sometimes lies
Chang'd, you would think, with 's botoms properties;
But this eternal, strange Ixion's wheel
earth ne'er whirling leaves to reel,
Till all things
are inverted, till they are
Turn'd to that antick
confus'd state they were.
Who loves the golden
mean, doth safely want
A cobwebb'd cot and wrongs
He richly needs a pallace for to
Vipers and moths, that on their feeder feed;
The toy that we (too true) a mistress call,
looking-glass and feather weighs up all;
which larks would play with in the sun,
That mock him
in the night, when 's course is run.
To rear an
edifice by art so high,
That envy should not reach it
with her eye,
Nay, with a thought come neer it.
Wouldst thou know,
How such a structure should be
raisd, build low.
The blust'ring winds invisible
More often shakes the stubborn'st,
And in proud turrets we behold withal,
'Tis the imperial top declines to fall:
Heav'n's lightning strike the humble vales,
high-aspiring mounts batters and scales.
of proof defies all shocks of Fate,
Fears in the
best, hopes in worser state;
Heaven forbid that, as
of old, time ever
Flourish'd in spring so contrary,
That mighty breath, which blew foul Winter
Can eas'ly puffe it to a fairer weather.
Why dost despair then, Frank? Aeolus has
as well as Boreas.
'Tis a false sequel,
soloecisme 'gainst those
Precepts by fortune giv'n
us, to suppose
That, 'cause it is now ill, 't will
ere be so;
Apollo doth not always bend his bow;
But oft, uncrowned of his beams divine,
With his soft
harp awakes the sleeping Nine.
things magnanimous appear,
Greater in hope, howere
thy fate, then fear:
Draw all your sails in quickly,
though no storm
Threaten your ruine with a sad alarm;
For tell me how they differ, tell me, pray,
tempest and a too fair day?