A spiritual spicerie containing sundrie sweet tractates of devotion and piety. By Ri. Brathwait, Esq.

His Labours.

MEMORIALL VIII.

MY breeding was such, as it never acquainted mee with any Hand-labour. Neither was my constitution so strong as to endure it: nor my disposition so low as to brooke it. Free-bred were my Studies: so as, Lap∣wing-like, with shell on head, I begun to write, before my yeares could well make mee

an Author. But hence my teares! The Subjects I made choyce of, were of Love; to close with my fancie, which was verie light. I was proud in bearing the title of a Wri∣ter; which, I must confesse, together with the instancie of such as either truly ap∣plauded mee, or deluded mee, made mee ambitious after the name of an Author. And what were those light Poems I then penned; but such as are now pensive Odes to my dolorous soule, grieving to peruse what my youth so dearely loved? O how familiar was I with Parnassus, Helicon, Hippo∣crene, and all the Muses! Meane time, I seldome or never thought of that hea∣venly

Olympus, which crowns all vertuous Labours with true happinesse. It was the saying of an holy Fa∣ther;

Those studies which I once loved, now con∣demne mee; those which I sometimes praised, now disparage mee.

Far more cause have I to say, how, Those Labours which I once fancied, now afflict mee: those which sometimes de∣lighted mee, now perplex mee. I am many times in company, where I heare some of my youthfull verses repeated: and though I doe neither owne them, nor praise them: yet must I in another place answer for them, if hee, on whom I de∣pend, shall not in these teares

which I shed, drowne the memory of them. For alas! how many chaste eares have I offended; how many light eares have I corrupted with those unhappie workes which I have published? What wan∣ton measures have I writ for the nonc't, to move a light Curtezan to hugge my con∣ceit; and next her Venus and Adonis, or some other im∣modest toy, to lodge mee in her bosome? Light stuffe, to be entertained in so flourish∣ing a state! O how the re∣remembrance of these doe grieve me! When that Ta∣lent, which might have beene employed to Gods glory; became a Forge of lightnesse and vanity! O how much better had it beene for mee

to bury it, than to use it to his dishonour, who gave me it! Was this the triall of wits, to make choice of no other Theame, than what corrupts best wits? Was Learning made to no other end, than to make lines, so ma∣ny lures; to take a mod••st eye; or worke on an easie minde; or to lead a poore deluded Soule to Hell? Was wit gi∣ven to be exercised in wan∣tonnesse; or to prostitute it selfe, only to please it selfe, with lightnesse? Unhappie Wit, that is so employed! Ill-goven'd Learning, that is so bestowed •• We cry out of the Devill (and good cause have we to doe so) for temp∣ting our Grandam Eve, and deceiving her with his sub∣tiltie;

tell mee then, what age, sex or degree may not justly cry out of such as mee, who have tempted our Grandams children so often with our ribaldry? Well might that devout Father call Poetry, the Devils Wine; to make men and women drunke with their pro∣phanenesse; abuse them with their lightnesse: But woe is mee! it was not all kindes of Poetry that he con∣demned. For what sweet and heavenly wits have been employed in Poesie? What devout teares have their di∣vine workes begot? What holy motions, heavenly fan∣cies have these bred? Poesie then is a divine influence; and the choice of the Sub∣ject

makes the difference. This I speake not in defence of my selfe, but in defence of it which I have so much abu∣sed. For many sweet Poems have I read, which could not chuse but beget in an at∣tentive Reader many good thoughts: and whose In∣ventions, whether they were couched in prose or verse, de∣serrved of all cleare judge∣ments, their applause; and these live to posterity; be∣cause they enlivened vertue: & set up such a Light upon the Altar of devotion, as shal never go out. But these I fol∣lowed not. Let my teares therefore be many; because the fruits which others rea∣ped by my Labours, were but few. Neither was I onely

vers'd in these. For being put on by my Superiours, at whose dispose I was, I ad∣dressed my pen to Labours Historicall, Morall and Di∣vine. Neither was I in these lesse blame-worthy: for even Those, wherein I should on∣ly have aym'd at Gods glo∣ry, had ever in them some sprinklings of vaine-glory: Nay, what was more; (for enough I cannot speake to my owne shame;) Those Cardinall vertues whereof I treated; and which to the imitation of others I com∣mended; found ever the worst example in my selfe. Which could not chuse but redound to my great disho∣nour; to see mee the least observer of that, which I

commended to another. Likewise, those Theologicall vertues, which in those my Diviner Workes, I so highly honoured; with those se∣ven Beatitudes, the practice whereof I so much pressed; where found they my imita∣tion in them, to confirme my admiration of them? Now tell mee, was this all that might bee required of mee? Was it sufficient for mee to commend to others, what I meant not to amend in my selfe? Was this the duty of an Author? Whe∣ther bee our lives to bee showne in our pens, or our pens in our lives? Truth is, for one Active man, we have ••en Contemplative. Amongst which, none ever professed

more, and expressed lesse, than my selfe. I could some∣times say, and confirme it with a vow; That I could ne∣ver dictate with tongue, nor relate with pen, what I con∣ceived not first in heart. But none could finde this in me, that did reade me; or by con∣versing with me, found mee. So as, withdrawing my selfe a little aside from ••he world, and considering my owne fearfull estate, whom even ripenesse of time, cals out of the world: I goe on many times in this Appeale to my selfe.

Looke, I pray thee, looke, a little on thy selfe: and let no strange eye see thee, nor eare heare thee, nor tongue judge thee but thy selfe. What hast

thou writ; or of what hast thou writ? Of love; of Love! but didst thou not corrupt that style, and make it Lust? Yes; hea∣vens know, thou didst. A∣gaine, didst thou chuse a better subject? how didst thou handle it? wel enough in thy line; but too too ill in thy Life.

O then, let it be thy Labour, in this thy small remainder, to begge forgivenesse of Him, whom thou didst so much disho∣nour: and if ever there bee spent by thee more Lampe-light on those Studies, let Him onely have the praise, who rewards ••••ery faith∣full Labourer in the Evening, and gives to his Labour suc∣cesse.

Notes

• Aug. Med. 4.