AVTOMACHIA, OR The SELF-CONFLICT of a Christian.
TO THE MOST NOBLE, vertuous, and learned Lady, the Lady MARY NEVIL, One of the Daughters of the right Honourable the Earle of DORCET, Lord High. Treasurer of England.
(videlicet)
MARIA NEVILA.
ALIA MINERVA.
MAdame, your loue to learning and the learned,
(In such an Age, so full of Art's neglect)
Right worthily to your rare Selfe hath earned
The loue of learning and the learned sect;
Whereby, your Name already is eterned
In MEMORIE's faire TEMPLE hie erect:
And there, deuoutly at your VERTV's Shrine,
J humbly Offer this poore MITE of mine.
Too small a Present to so great a GRACE,
And too vnworthy of your Worthinesse:
Saue that the Matter so exceeds the Masse,
That oft (perhaps) a Greater may be lesse:
For, you may see, within this little Glasse,
The LITTLE-WORLD's Great-Little-Mindednesse.
Man's strife with Man: our Flesh & Spirit in Duel:
Couragious-Cowards, too Self-kindely-cruel.
Vouchsafe t' accept then this small New-yeres-Gift,
With th' humble Vowes of a dis-Astred Muse,
That lauishly hath sow'n her seeds of Thrift
So high and drie that yet no Fruit ensues;
Els need she not haue made so hard a Shift,
Nor this Small Gift so greatly to excuse:
But, sith (as yet) she cannot what she would,
Madame, accept her Zeale, and what she could.
Most deuoted
to your Honorable Vertues,
J. S.
to your Honorable Vertues,
J. S.
AVTOMACHIA, OR The SELF-CONFLICT of a Christian.
VErtue I loue, I leane to Vice: I blame
This wicked World, yet I embrace the same.
I clime to Heauen, I cleaue to Earth: I both
Too-loue my Selfe, and yet my Selfe I loath:
Peacelesse, I Peace pursue: In Ciuill Warre,
With, and against my Selfe, I ioine, I iarre:
I burne, I freeze: I fall downe, I stand fast:
Well-ill I fare: I glory, though disgrac't:
I die a-liue: I triumph put to flight:
I feed on Cares: In Teares I take delight:
My siaue (base-braue) I serue: I roame at large
In Libertie, yet lie in Gaolers charge:
I strike, and stroake my selfe: I kyndly keen
Work mine own woe, rub my gal, rouz my spleen:
Oft in my sleepe, to see rare dreames, I dreame;
Waking, mine eye doth scarse discern a beame:
My minde's strange Megrim whirling to and fro,
Now thrusts me hither, thither then doth throw:
In diuers Factions I my Selfe diuide;
And all I trie, and flie to euery side:
What I but now desir'd, I now disdaine:
What late I weigh'd not, now I wish againe:
To-day, to-morrow; This, that; Now, anon:
All, nothing craue I (euer neuer-one).
Dull Combatant, vnready for the field,
Too-tardie take I after wounds my shield:
Still hurri'd head-long to vnlawfull things,
Down-dragging Vice me downward easly dings:
But sacred Vertue climes so hard and hie,
That hardly can I her steepe steps descrie.
Both Right and Wrong with me indifferent are:
My Lust is Law: what I desire, I dare:
(Is there so foule a Fault, so fond a Fact,
Which Follie asking, Furie dares not act?).
But Art-lesse-hart-lesse in Religion's cause
(To doo her Lessons, and defend her Lawes)
The all-proofe armor of my GOD I lose,
Flie from my Charge, and yeeld it to his foes.
Guiltie of sinne, sinn's punishment I shunne,
But not the guilt, before th' offence be done:
For, how could shunning of a sinne, ensew
To be occasion of another new?
Oft and againe at the same stone I trip
(As if I learn'd by falling, not to slip).
Aliue I perish and my Selfe vndoo,
Mine eyes (self-wise) witting and willing too.
Sicke, to my Selfe I run for my reliefe,
So, sicker of my Physicke than my griefe:
For, while I seeke my swelting Thirst to swage,
Another Thirst more ragingly doth rage:
While, burnt to death, to coole me I desire,
With flames my flames, with sulphur quēch I fire:
While that I striue my wauing Waues to stop,
More wauingly, they waue aboue my top:
Thus am I cur'd, this is my common ease,
My medcine still worse than my worst disease.
My sores with sores, my wounds wt wounds I heale,
While, to my Selfe my Selfe I still conceale.
O what leud Leagues! what Truces make I still
With Sin, and Sathan, and my wanton Will!
What slight Occasions do I take to sin!
What sillic Traines am I entrapped in!
What idle cloaks for'crimes! What nets to hide
Notorious sinnes, already long descri'd!
I write in Ice, Windes witnes, sign'd with Showrs,
I will redeeme my foule Life's former howrs,
And soon the swindge of Custom (whirlwind like)
Rapting my passion (euer Fashion sicke)
Transports me to the contrary: alone,
Faint Guard of Goodnes; Arm-les Champion.
My morrall Taste doth nothing sweeter finde,
Than what is bitter to th'immortall minde.
Aegypt's fat Flesh-pots I am longing-for,
Th'eternall Manna I do euen abhor.
World's Monarch Mammon (Dropsie mystical)
Crown'd round-fac't Goddesse, coined Belial,
Midas Desire, the Miser's only Trust,
The sacred hunger of Pactolian dust,
Gold, Gold bewitches me, & frets accurst
My greedy throat with more than Dipsian Thirst.
My minde's a Gulfe, whose gaping nought can stuffe:
My hart a hell that neuer hath enough:
The more I haue, I craue, and lesse content:
In store most poore, in plentie indigent:
For, of these Cates how much-soe'r I cramme,
It doth not stop my mouth, but stretch the same.
Sweet Vsurie's incestuous Interest,
For Dallers, dolours hoordeth in my chest:
The World's-slaue Profit, & the Minds-slut Pleasure
(Insatiat both, both boundlesse, both past measure,
This, Cleopatra; That, Sardanapale)
For huge Annoyes, bring Toyes but short & small.
O Miracle! begot by Heau'n of Earth
(Of Minde diuine, of Body brute by birth)
O what a Monster am I to depaint!
Half-friend, half-fiend; half-sauage, half-a-saint.
Higher than my Fier doth my grosse Earth aspire:
My raging Flesh my restlesse Force doth tire:
And, drunk wt world's Must, & deep sunk in sleep,
My Spirit (the Spie that wary watch should keep)
Betraies alas (woe that I trust it so)
My Soule's deere kingdome to her deadly foe.
Through Care's Charybdis, and rough Gulfs of Griefe,
Star-lar-boord run I, sailing all my life
On merrie-sorrie Seas: my Winde, my Will;
My Ship, my Flesh; my Sense, my Pilot still.
As in a most seditious Common-Weale,
Within my brest I feele my best rebell:
Against their Prince my furious People rise:
Their awlesse Prince dares his owne Law despise.
Mine Eue's an Out-law, and my struggling Twins
Iacob and Esau neuer can be friends;
Such deadly feud, such discord, such despight
(Euer betweene Brethren) such continuall fight.
What's done in me, another doth, not I;
Yet, both (alas) my Guest and Enemie:
My minde vnkinde (suborned by my foe)
Indeed, within me, but not with me tho;
Neere, yet farre off: in fleshly lees besoil'd,
And with the World's contagious filth defil'd.
I am too narrow for mine owne Desires:
My Selfe denies me what my Selfe requires:
I feare and hope: carelesse, in Cares I languish:
Hungry, too full: dry-drinking, sugred-anguish:
Wearie of life, merrie in death: I sucke
Wine from the Pumice, Hony from the Rocke.
On thornes my grapes: on garlik growes my rose:
Frō crums my sums: frō flint my fountain flowes.
In showrs of teares mine houres of fears I mourn,
My looks to brooks, my beams to streams I turn:
Yet in this Torrent of my Torment rise
I sink annoies, and drink the ioies of life.
Dim Light, brim Night, Beames wauing cloudy-cleer:
Vnstable State, void Hope, vain Helpe, far-neer:
False-true Persuasion, Lawlesse Lawfulnesse:
Confused method; milde-wilde, Warlike Peace:
Disordered Order, Mournfull merriments:
Dark-day, wrong-way; dull, double-diligence:
Infamous Fame, know'n Error, skillesse Skill:
Mad Minde, rude Reason, an vnwilling Will:
A healthy plague, a wealthy want, poore treasure:
A pleasing Torment, a tormenting Pleasure:
An odious Loue, an ougly Beauty; base
Reproachfull Honour, a disgracefull Grace:
A fruitlesse Fruit, a drie dis-flowred Flower:
A feeble Force, a conquered Conquerour:
A sickly Health, dead Life, and restlesse Rest:
These are the Comforts of my Soule distrest.
O how I like! dislike! desire! disdaine!
Repell! repeale! loath! and delight againe!
O what! whom! whether! (neither flesh nor fish)
How weary of, the same againe I wish!
I will, I nill; I nill, I will: my Minde
Persuading This, my Lust to That inclin'd:
My loose Affection (Proteus-like) appeeres
In euery forme: at-once it frownes and fleeres,
Mine ill-good Will is vaine and variable:
My (Hydra) Flesh buds Heads innumerable:
My Minde's a Maze, a Labyrinth my Reason:
Mine Eye (false Spie) the doore to Fancie's treason.
My rebell Sense (Self-soothing) still affects
What it should flie; what it should plie, neglects.
My flitting Hope with Passion-stormes is tost
But now to Heau'n, anon to Hell almost.
Concording Discord kils me, and againe
Discording Concord doth my life maintaine.
My Selfe at-once I both displease and please:
Without my Selfe my Selfe I faine would sease:
For, my too-much of Mee, mee much annoyes;
And my Selfe's Plentie my poore Selfe destroyes.
Who seeks mee in Mee in mee shall not finde
Mee as my Selfe: Hermaphrodite, in minde
I am at-once Male, Female, Neuter: yet
What e'r I am, I am not Mine (I weet):
I am not with my Selfe (as I conceiue)
Wretch that I am; my Selfe my Selfe deceiue:
Vnto my Selfe, my Selfe my Selfe betray:
I from my Selfe banish my Selfe away:
My Selfe agree not with my Selfe a iot:
Know not my Selfe; I haue my Selfe forgot:
Against my Selfe my Selfe moue iarres vniust:
I trust my Selfe, and I my Selfe distrust:
My Selfe I follow, and my Selfe I flie:
Besides my Selfe, and in my Selfe am I:
My Selfe am not my Selfe, another Same:
Vnlike my Selfe, and like my Selfe I am:
Selfe-fond, Selfe-furious: and thus, wayward Elfe,
I can not liue with nor without my Selfe.
A comfortable Exhortation to the Christian, in his Self-Conflict.
WHy, silly Man, sicke of exceeding Griefe,
What boots it thee, vncertaine of thy life,
Of thy Disease to make so much a-doo:
Thou coward Souldier, and vntoward too?
Away with Feare: and, Death of Death and Hell,
Meet armes with armes, & darts with darts repell:
So the first Onset in this doubtfull Fray,
Shall towards Heau'n make thee an easie way:
And open wide those Gates (so hardly wonne)
Where snowie-winged Victorie doth wunne.
Thou must be valiant, and with dauntlesse brest,
Rush through the thickest, run vpon the best
Of th'aduerse Hoast; and on their flight & foile,
Build noble Tropheis of triumphant spoile.
For, this world's Prince, dark Limbo's Potentate
Drists Earth's destruction; and with deadly hate
(Still strife-full) labours, and by all meanes seeks
To trouble all, and Heauen with Hell to mix.
Great War within there is, great War without,
With Flesh & Blood, and with the World about.
On this side, smiling Hope with smoothest brow
False-promiseth long Peace and Plentie too:
On that side, sallow Feare with fainting breath
Checks those proud thoughts, wt threats of war & death;
And, weary of it Selfe, it Selfe distrusts,
It Selfe destroyes, and to Confusion thrusts.
And ignorant of it Selfe's good (till triall)
In ielous rage it euen betraies the loyall.
Heer cloud-brow'd Sorow, whirl-wind-like it hies,
Th'amatted Minde to tosse and tyrannize.
There, dimpled Ioy nimbly enringeth round
Her gaudie Troops that stand vpon no ground;
Whose brittle glosse and glory, lasts and shines,
As stubble-fier, and dust before the windes.
What should I speake of all the snarefull Wiles,
And cunning colours of mysterious Guiles,
Wherwith death's Founder & our life's drad Foe
Improuident Man-kinde doth ouerthrow?
Yet, be couragious, yeeld not vnto Euill:
Resist beginnings, and desie the Deuill.
And for defence amid these fierce Alarmes,
Quicke buckle-on these aye-victorious Armes.
First, gird thy loines with Truth: thy bosom dresse
With the sure Brest-plate of pure Righteousnesse:
Put on thy head the Helmet of Saluation:
Vpon thy feet Shooes of the Preparation
Of the Glad-Newes of Peace: vpon thine arme
The Shield of Faith (shot-free from euery harme)
Hel's fiery darts repel thou with the same,
And through it's splendor quench their flame with flame.
Take in thy hand the bright two-edged Sword
Of God's soule-parting, marrow-piercing Word.
Thus compleat-arm'd from God's own Arcenall,
And neuer ceasing on his Name to call,
Thou questionlesse shalt quickly ouercome
The World, the Flesh, Sin, Death, & Hell, in sum.
And so (through CHRIST thy Captain & thy King)
Of Sin, thy Selfe, and Sathan triumphing,
Thou shalt (in fine) the happy crowne obtaine,
And in th'eternall promis'd Kingdome raigne.
FINIS.