A Friends advice, In an excellent Ditty, Concerning the variable Changes in this life.

To pleasant new Tune,

WHat if a day, or a moneth, or a year
crown thy delights,
With a thousand wisht contentings?
Cannot the chance of a night, or an hour
cross thy delights
with as many sad tormentings?
Fortune in her fairest birth
are but blossoms dying,
Wanton pleasures doting mirth,
are but shadows flying;
All our joyes are but toys.
idle thoughts deceiving,
None hath power of an hour,
in our lives bereaving.
What if a smile, or a beck, or a look,
féed thy fond thoughts
with many a swéet conceiving?
May not that smile, or that beck, or that look
tell thée as well
they are but vain deceiving?
Why should Beauty be so proud,
in things of no surmounting?
All her wealth is but a shrowd
of a rich accounting;
Then in this, repose no bliss,
which is so vain and idle,
Beauties Flowers, have th [...]ir hours▪
Time doth hold [...] B [...]
What if the World with allures of her wealth
raise thy degrée
to a place of high advancing?
May not the World by a check of that wealth
put thée again
to a low despised changing?
Whilst the Sun of wealth doth shine,
thou shalt have friends plenty,
But come want then they repine,
not one abides of twenty;
Wealth and Friends, holds and ends,
all your fortunes rise and fall,
Vp and down, rise and frown,
certain is no state at all.
What if a grief, or a strain, or a fit,
pinch thée with pain,
or the féeling pangs of sickness?
Doth not that gripe, or that strain, or that fit
shew thée the form
of thy own true perfect likeness?
Health is but a glimpse of joy,
subject to all changes.
Mirth is but a silly toy
with mishap estranges,
Tell me then silly Man,
why art thou so weak of wit,
As to be in jeopardy
when thou mayest in quiet sit▪

The second part

to the same Tune▪
THen if all this, have declar'd thine amiss
take it from me
as a gentle friendly warning;
If thou refuse, and good counsel abuse
thou mayst hereafter,
dearly buy thy learning;
All is hazard that we have,
there is nothing biding,
Days of pleasure are like streams,
through fair Meddows gliding,
Wealth or wo, Time doth go,
there is no returning,
Secret Fates, guides our States,
both in mirth and mourning,
Man's but a blast, or a smoak, or a cloud
that in a thought
or a moment he is dispersed:
Life's but a span, or a tale, or a word,
that in a trice,
on suddain is rehearsed,
Hopes are changed, & thy thoughts are crost
Will nor skill prevaileth
Though we laugh and live at ease,
change of thoughts assaileth,
Though a while, Fortune smile,
and her comforts frowneth,
Yet at length, fails her strength
and in fine she frowneth.
Thus are the joys of a year in an hour,
and of a moneth,
in a moment quite expired;
But in the night, with the word of a noyse,
crost in the day
of an ease our hearts desired;
Fairest Blossoms soonest fade,
withered, foul and rotten,
And through greatest joyes,
quickly are forgotten:
Seek not then (mortal men)
earthly fleeting pleasure,
But with pain, strive to gain
Heavenly lasting Treasure.
Earth to the World▪ as Man to the Earth,
hath but a point,
and a point is soon defaced,
Flesh to the Soul, as Flower to the Sun,
that in a storm
or a Tempest is disgraced;
Fortune may the body please
which is only carnal,
But it will the Soul disease,
that is still immortal,
Earthly joys, are but toys,
to the Souls election,
Worldly grace, doth deface,
Mans Divine perfection.
Fleshly delight to the Earth that is fleshly
may be the cause
of a thousand swéet contentings;
But the defaults of a fleshly desire
brings to the Soul
many thousand sad tormentings;
Be not proud presumptuous man,
sith thou art a point so base,
Of the least and lowest Element,
which hath least and lowest place,
Mark thy Fate, and thy State,
which is only Earth and Dust,
And as Grass, which alass
shortly surely perish must.
Let not the hopes of an Earthly desire
barr thee the joys,
of an earnest contentation,
Nor let not thy eye on the world be so fixt
to hinder thy heart▪
from unfeigned recantation;
Be not backward in that course
that may bring thy Soul delight,
Although another war may seem
farre more pleasant to thy sight;
Do not go, if he says do,
that knows the secrets of thy mind,
Follow this, thou shalt not miss,
an endless happiness to find.

London, Printed by E. C. for F. Coles. [...]. Vere. and J. Wright.

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