Hugo de Anima. They are justly punished, that abuse lawful things; but they are most justly punished, that use unlawful things; thus Lucifer fell from heaven; thus Adam lost his paradise. EPIG. 2. See how these fruitful kernels, being cast Upon the earth, how thick they spring! how fast! III. PROV. xiv. 13. Even in laughter the heart is sorrowful, and the end of that mirth is heaviness. A' LAS! fond child, 1. How are thy thoughts beguil'd To hope for honey from a nest of wasps? Go seek for ease in hell, Or sprightly nectar from the mouths of asps. The world's a hive, 2 From whence thou derive No good, but what thy soul's vexation brings : Some petti-petti-sweet, Each drop is guarded with a thousand stings. Why dost thou make 3. These murm'ring troops forsake The safe protection of their waxen homes? Their hive contains No sweet that's worth thy pains; There's nothing here, alas! but empty combs. For 4. For trash and toys, And grief-engend'ring joys, What torment seems too sharp for flesh and blood! What bitter pills, Compos'd of real ills, Men swallow down, to purchase one false good! The dainties here, 5. Are least what they appear; Is found not always mellow; 6. Fond youth, give o'er, And vex thy soul no more In seeking what were better far unfound Alas! thy gains Are only present pains To gather scorpions for a future wound. 7. What's earth? or in it, That longer than a minute, Can lend a free delight that can endure > O who would droil,* Or delve in such a soil, ; Where gain's uncertain, and the pain is sure? S. AUGUST. Sweetness in temporal matters is deceitful: it is a la lour and a perpetual fear; it is a dangerous pleasure, whose beginning is without providence, and whose end is not without repentance. HUGO. Luxury is an enticing pleasure, a bastard mirth, which hath honey in her mouth, gall in her heart, and a sting in her tail. EPIG. 3. What, Cupid, are thy shafts already made? True emblem of thy sweets! Thy bees do bring IV. PSALM lxii. 29. To be laid in the balance, it is altogether lighter than vanity. 1. UT in another weight: 'tis yet too light: PUT And yet another still there's under-weight Put in another hundred: put again; Add world to world; then heap a thousand more Take up more worlds on trust, to draw thy balance low'r. 2. Put in the flesh, with all her loads of pleasure; 3. Lord! what a world is this, which day and night Good Good God! that frantic mortals should destroy Their higher hopes, and place their idle joy Upon such airy trash, upon so light a toy! 4. Thou bold impostor, how hast thou befool'd 5 The world's a crafty strumpet, most affecting And coyly flying those that most affect her: If thou be free, she's strange; if strange, she's free; Flee, and she follows; follow, and she'll flee: Than she there's none more coy, there's none more fond than she. 6. O what a crocodilian world is this, Compos'd of treach'ries, and insnaring wiles! She clothes destruction in a formal kiss, And lodges death in her destructive smiles ; She hugs the soul she hates; and there does prove The very'st tyrant where she vows to love; And is a serpent most, when most she seems a dove. 7. Thrice happy he, whose nobler thoughts despise Thrice happy he, who scorns so poor a prize Thrice happy he, that ne'er was born to try Her frowns or smiles: or, being born, did lie In his sad nurse's arms an hour or two, and die! S. AU S. AUGUST. lib. Confess. O you that dote upon this world, for what victory do ye fight? Your hopes can be crowned with no greater reward than the world can give; and what is the world, but a brittle thing full of dangers, wherein we travel from lesser to greater perils? O let all her vain, light, momentary glory, perish with herself, and let us be conversant with more eternal things. Alas! this world is miserable; life is short, and death is sure. EPIG. 4. My soul, what's lighter than a feather? Wind. Than wind? The fire. And what, than fire? The mind. What's lighter than the mind? A thought. Than The fashion of this world passeth away. ONE are those golden days, wherein Go Pale conscience started not at ugly sin When jealous Ops ne'er fear'd th' abuse In mortal hearts, whose absence earth bewails : The |