And at hir dew appointed houres,
Brings forth maist pleasant fruits & floures.
Quhat thing is fiercer nor the sea ?
Mair raging nor the awfull deepe?
Quhilk back retird at his decrie,
And dois her bounds and marchis keepe:
Syne at his charge apart stude by,
To make his hoste a passage dry.
Without the subtile aire but dout,
Nor plaint nor liuing thing may lest:
Therefore it cleaues the earth about,
And is in euerie place possest,
Then as his godlie wisdome wald,
Decernes the seasons hett and cald . . .
The brimstane and the burning fire,
Maist sudenely from heauen fell downe,
For to consume into this yre,
Baith Sodome, and Gomorrah towne :
Bot in the firie furnace he,
Preserued safe the children three.
The mightie winds blaws to and fra,
From euerie airth be day and night,
We heare them thudding by vs ga,
Yet not conceaues them by our sight:
Bot in a clap the Lord to please,
Their blasts they quietly appease
Quhat] what. Mair] more. Quhilk] which.
Like flocks of fowls the clouds aboue,
Furth flies and couers all the sky :
Againe they suddenly remoove,
We wat not where nor reason why:
Bot till obay his holy law,
They poure out rain, sharpe haile, and snaw
He made the sun a lampe of light,
A woll of heate to shine by day,
He made the moone to guide the night:
And set the starres in good array,
Orion, Pleiads, and the Vrse,
Obserues their dew prescriued course.
O Poets paganes impudent,
Quhy worship ye the planets seauen?
The glore of God be you is spent,
On Idols and the hoste of heauen,
Ye pride your pens mens eares to pleis
With fables and fictitious leis.
Your knowledge is bot ignorance,
Your cunning curiositie:
I finde your facund eloquence,
Repleete with fekles fantasie:
Ye neuer knew the lively rod,
Nor gospell of the sun of God.
He is aboue Mercurius
Aboue Neptunus on the sea,
The winds they knaw not Eolus:
Their is na Iupiter but he,
And all your Gods baith great and small,
Are of na force for he is all.
Bot sonnes of light ye knaw the 'trueth,
Extoll the Lord with heart and minde,
Remoue all stayes and sluggish sleuth,
Obey his voice for he is kinde :
That heauen and earth may witnes beare,
Ye loue that God which bought you deare.
Hynnes, or Sacred Songs, 1599.
1560(?)-1635(?)
OF MAN'S MORTALITIE
LIKE as the Damaske Rose you see,
Or like the blossome on the tree,
Or like the daintie flower of May,
Or like the morning to the day,
Or like the Sunne; or like the shade,
Or like the Gourd which Ionas had.
Euen such is man, whose thred is spun,
Drawne out, and cut, and so is done.
The Rose withers, the blossome blasteth,
The flower fades, the morning hasteth.
The Sun sets, the shadow flies,
The Gourd consumes, and man he dyes.
Like to the Grasse thats newly sprung,
Or like a tale thats new begun,
Or like the bird thats here to day,
Or like the pearléd dew of May,
Or like an houre, or like a span
Or like the singing of a Swan.
Euen such is man, who liues by breath,
Is here, now there, in life, and death :
The Grasse withers, the tale is ended,
The birde is flowne, the dew's ascended,
The houre is short, the span not long,
The Swan's neere death, man's life is done.
Like to the bubble in the brooke,
Or, in a Glasse, much like a looke:
Or like a shuttle in Weauers hand,
Or like the writing on the sand,
Or like a thought, or like a dreame,.
Or like the glyding of the streame :
Euen such is man, who liues by breath,
Is heere, now there, in life, and death.
The Bubble's cut, the looke's forgot,
The Shuttle's flung, the writing's blot:
The thought is past, the dreame is gone
The water glides, man's life is done.
Like to an Arrow from the Bow,
Or like swift course of watery flow,
Or like the time twixt flood and ebbe,
Or like the spiders tender webbe,
Or like a race, or like a Goale,
Or like the dealing of a dole.
Euen such is man, whose britle state
Is alwayes subiect unto fate:
The Arrowe's shot, the flood soone spent,
The time no time, the webbe soone rent :
The race soone run, the Goale soone wonne,
The dole soone dealt, man's life first done.
Like to the lightning from the skie,
Or like a Post that quicke doth hie,
Or like a quauer in short song,
Or like a Iourney three dayes long;
Or like the Snow when Summers' come,
Or like the Peare, or like the Plum:
Euen such is man, who heapes vp sorrow,
Liues but this day, and dyes to morrow.
The Lightning's past, the Post must goe,
The Song is short, the Iourneys' so,
The Peare doth rot, the Plum doth fall,
The Snow dissolues, and so must all.
FROM THE TRANSLATION OF THE ILIAD
i. Achilles goes forth to battle (BOOK XIX).
THE host set forth; and pour'd his steele waues, farre out of the fleete
And as from aire; the frostie Northwind blowes a cold thicke sleete,
That dazels eyes; flakes after flakes, incessantly descending :
So thicke helmes, curets, ashen darts, and round shields, neuer ending,
Flowd from the nauies hollow wombe: their splendors gaue heauens eye,
His beames againe; Earth laught to see, her face so like the skie.
curet or curets] an old form of cuirass.
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