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Frank, wil't
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
With as
much no noyse the inconstant deep
As its inhabitants;
nay, stedfast stand,
As if discover'd were a
New-found-land,
Fit for plantation here. Dream, dream
still,
Lull'd in Dione's cradle; dream, untill
Horrour awake your sense, and you now find
Your self
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
shore:
For even that too borrows from the store
Of
her rich neighbour, since now wisest know
(And this
to Galileo's judgement ow),
The palsie earth it self
is every jot
As frail, inconstant, waveing, as that
blot
We lay upon the deep, that sometimes lies
Chang'd, you would think, with 's botoms properties;
But this eternal, strange Ixion's wheel
Of giddy
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
entail'd upon't;
He richly needs a pallace for to
breed
Vipers and moths, that on their feeder feed;
The toy that we (too true) a mistress call,
Whose
looking-glass and feather weighs up all;
And cloaths
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
rough stroak
More often shakes the stubborn'st,
prop'rest oak;
And in proud turrets we behold withal,
'Tis the imperial top declines to fall:
Nor does
Heav'n's lightning strike the humble vales,
But
high-aspiring mounts batters and scales.
A breast
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,
now never.
That mighty breath, which blew foul Winter
hither,
Can eas'ly puffe it to a fairer weather.
Why dost despair then, Frank? Aeolus has
A Zephyrus
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.
In strictest
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,
A cloudy
tempest and a too fair day?
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