Devotionis Augustinianae flamma, or, Certaine devout, godly, and learned meditations written, by the excellently-accomplisht gentleman, William Austin, of Lincolnes-Inne, Esquire. The particulars whereof, the reader may finde in the page following;) set forth, after his decease, by his deare wife and executrix, Mrs. Anne Austin, as a surviving monument of some part of the great worth of her ever-honoured husband, who changed his life, Ian 16. 1633

THE AVTHORS EPICEDI∣VM, MADE BY HIMSELF, VPON HIMSELFE.

Iob 17. vers. 1. and 13. Sepulchrum, mihi solum super-est. Sepulchrum, Domus mea est.

SHall there be Nothing left me, but a Grave? Shall I (at last) no-other-Dwelling have? O! let not Flesh, and Blood take note of this! For, if She doe; 'twill poyson all-her-Blisse. Could Shee but meditate on such a Thing, Shee would have little-lust, to Laugh, or Sing: It is a Death to her, to thinke on Death, How Shee shall rot, and lose her loved-Breath. Yet, that great-Iew (that wisely could descrie What things were not, and what were Vanitie; What pleas'd the Soule; and what the Flesh did paine) Did never thinke the thought of this, was vaine.

Then let my Soule (though Flesh, and Blood repine) Ponder on that, shall make them both divine. But why (O foolish-flesh) shak'st thou at this? Shrink'st thou from That, which thy best-Physicke is? Thou art Earth-borne; From thence, thou did'st descend, And here (growne sicke by Sin) thou canst not mend; Till, toward thy Native-Countrey, thou repaire, And draw (by Meditation) that-cold-Aire.

Change but this Aire, and thinke upon thine End: Thy Sinne will lessen, and thy Soule will mend. For, as at Sea, (When Clouds-put-out the Stars; (Wars; When Winds from Heaven; and Waves, from Earth, make And mad-brain'd-Saylors, all the Decks 'ore-whelme) The Pilot (sadly sitting at the Helme) Better-directs the Ship, Where It should goe, Then all their wild-Endeavours can: Ev'n so, (tend) (When through the Worlds darke Stormes, to Heaven we One quiet-Pilot (sitting at the end) One thought of Death, our Course more-right doth guide, Then all the Vaine-works of our Life beside. (quaff, These Thoughts will make those (which our Soules-Blood- Like Horse-leeches) strow'd 'ore with dust, fall-off. If then, to thinke on Death, be good; Oh why Should any thinke, It is not good to die? That (of all things, that Mortals feare and shun) Doth hurt, or grieve Vs least, when it is done. This, is the Port; This, is Sinnes perfect-Cure: Till our Grave cover us, We ne're are sure. This-only last-remaines. Thither, let's hast, Since Flesh and Blood still-longs to know, what's last. It ever hath belong'd to Mortall-wights, That severall-heads take severall-delights. Some, have to Good; and Some, to Bad have will: But leaving that, which I delight in (Ill,) I joy in three; which few can discommend, And most, desire, next to a Constant Friend. And these, are they, that draw me most-along: A well-writ Booke; a Picture, and a Song. As for my Wealth, (in which some take delight) I got it not; Nor, doe I of It write. But, of those-Things, Indeavour brought me to, I some-what know, and some-what can I doe. And these I love; and they doe love to be With such, as love, and seeke their Company. But, will they stay with Me? Oh no. alas, They were belov'd long-time, before I was:

And when their Lovers dy'de, they thriv'd, and spread. Nor will they goe with Me, when I am dead. Some learned-Friend (perhaps) may, on my Herse Scatter some Lines; and strew the Cloth with Verse. Painting (perchance) may gild some Flag, or Banner, And sticke it on my Coffin, for mine Honor. Musicke may sing my Dirge: and tell all Eares) I lov'd that Art, which now their Senses heares. But, when 'tis done, and I no more can have, Nothing will tarry with me, but my Grave. And 'tis most-Iust: For, here I did receive them, I found them, (when I came) and here I leave them. But, will the Things I want, and others have Accompany their-Owners to the Grave? Will Beautie goe? Will Strength, in Death appeare? Will Honour, or proud-Riches tarry there? They All say, No. For, let grim-Death draw neare, Beautie lookes pale, and Strength doth faint for feare. There's little Wealth, or pride in naked-Bones; And Honour sits on Cushions; not Cold-Stones: Nay; aske our Friends, (that when We are in health would die for love of us (or, for our-Wealth) Marke what they set their hands to; view it well; [Your Friend, till death:] But once-dead; Fare-you-well. Nought then will tarry, but the Grave. For Note, How of a Man new dead, Men talke by-Rote. This, was his Wife (saies one:) That, was his Land: This, was his Friend: That, was his Building; and This, was his Wealth; That, was his chiefest Blisse; And Thus they talke a-while, of what was his. But, walke the Church-yard; and thou there shalt have Report (till Doomes-day) say; This, is his Grave. If Kings and Queenes (then) can no more procure; Nought, but my Grave, will tarry with me (sure): Why should I therefore strive, to get such-Things? Since what the World containes, no Suretie brings? Like Men, that claspe at Spirits, catch but Aire: So, while we here looke after Things seeme-faire,

And gripe at all the world, to serve our lust, It through our fingers slips, and leaves but dust. Yet still, the neerer Death we grow in yeares, This scraping-humour in us, more appeares, And drownes not, till We sinke. So must it be: For dying-Men will graspe at All they see, While they can see: When Sense failes, fare-well All; The world's too-heavy then; they let it fall. Though we are Borne, Clutch-fisted: When we die We spread our Palmes, and let the World slip by. And then, (when nothing else, will with us stay) We must our-selves remaine with Earth and Clay. Since all I want here, God gives; and I have; What can I more-expect now; but my Grave?

O cease my Flesh, for ought else to contest, Sepulchrum Mihisolum super-est.

FINIS.

VERSE 13. Sepulchrum Domus mea est.

HEre we must rest: and where-else should we rest? Is not a Mans owne-House (to sleepe-in) best? If this, be all our House; they are too-blame That brag of the great-Houses, whence they And ever-more their Speech, thus enter-lace, (came, I, and my Fathers House. Alas, alas, What is my-Fathers-House? and what am I? My Fathers House, is Earth, where I must lye: And I; a Worme; no Man: that fit no Roome, Till (like a Worme) I crawle into my Tombe: This, is my dwelling: This, is my truest-Home. A House of Clay, best fits a Guest of Lome! Nay, 'tis my House. For, I perceive, I have In all my life, ne're dwelt out of a Grave.

The Wombe was (first) my Grave: Whence since I rose, My Body (Grave-like) doth my Soule enclose. That Body (like a Corps, with Sheets ore-spred,) Dying each-Night, lyes Buried in my Bed: O're which, my spreading-Testers large-extent, Borne with Carv'd-Antiques, makes my Monument. And 'ore-my-head, (perchance) such-Things may stand When I am quite run-out in Dust, and Sand. My close-low-builded Chamber, to mine Eye, Showes like a little-Chappell: Where I lye. While at my Window, pretty Birds doe ring My knell; and, with their Notes, my Obiits sing. Thus, when the Daies vain-Toile, my Soule hath wearied, I, in my Body, Bed, and House, lye buried. Then have I little cause to feare my Tombe, When this (wherein I live) my Grave's become. Nay; We not only doe our-selves en-tombe, But make (for Others) Graves in our own-Wombe: Creatures of Sea, and Land, we in-us bury; And at their-Funerals, are Blithe and Merry: Who groane to serve us thus, and dye unwilling. How can we (then) live-long, that live by killing? Me-thinks, that We should neither eate, nor drinke, But straight to dig our Graves, we should bethinke. For, since by their-dead-Bodies we are fed, I wonder (all this while) we are not dead. It is an old-said-Saw, (yet in request) When Belly's full, then Bones would be at rest: Well have we fed the Flesh; and, from Sins Cup Have drunke Iniquitie (like Water) up: The Creatures we have eaten, flea'd and shorne, The Fruits from Earth, (to feed us) we have torne; Are We not-satisfied! O (sure) 'tis best, That (after All) we get us home to rest. And, no-where can the Flesh, true-Slumbers have, But in our truest-home, or homely-Grave. There we sleepe sound. There, let the Tempest rore, The Worlds proud vvaves shall dash on us no more.

We are at home, and safe, what ever comes; Let them fight-on, we shall not heare their Drums. Let those we doated-on, now love, or hate; It shall not grieve us, though they prove Ingrate. Yea; let them Praise, or Raile; we lye aloofe Out of their Reach: Our Sleepe is Cannon-proofe.

And, we but Sleepe. For, as we cloze our Eyes Each Night we goe to Bed, in hope to Rise: So, doe we dye. For, when the Trump doth blow, We shall as easily a-wake, we know. And, as we (after Sleepe) our Bodyes finde More-fresh in Strength, and cheerefully inclinde: So, (after death) our Flesh, (heere dead, and dryde) Shall Rise, Immortall, new, and purifide. If this be true: Why make we no-more hast? 'Tis time to Sleepe; Day failes, Night drawes-on fast: Let's get us home. For, as the Evening Sunne (Looking us in the face, when day is done) Makes us cast long our Shadowes: So (when Death Lookes in our face, through Age, and claimes our Breath) We cast his-Shadow long off, from our sight; Yet, may we thereby know, 'tis almost-Night. And, when we see Night come in frowning-Skies, What Man will not goe home, if he be wise? Heere let him come; This House is of such fashion, The Tenant ne're shall pay for Reparation. There shall the Dew, not wet him; Cold, not harme-him: There shall no Sunne, nor Weather over-warme-him. From thence hee'le finde (when thither he is gone) A private walke to heaven, for One-alone; Why doe we (then) not goe? Are Flesh and Blood The Hinderers, that Clog-us from this Good? Oh! rid thy selfe at home, and cast-off those: What Wise-man ever went to Bed in's Cloth's? Shall Wee (that know how after this lifes-end An Everlasting-one, for us doth tend) Grieve to lay-downe these Rags, for Earth to keepe, That Wee, a while may take a Nap of Sleepe?

Then were we •…•…orse then Children. For, but say That they (to marrow) shall drave holy-day; They'll straight to Bed; and put off all Apparrell. Then cease (〈◊〉〈◊〉 Flesh) with 〈◊〉〈◊〉 decree to quarrell. And with these words, reduce thy Thoughts, that Roame Hee, that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 first, shall 〈◊〉〈◊〉 first goe home. But when thy Flesh (hither) to sleepe repaires; Say (as when to thy Bed, thou go'st) thy Prayers. Since he most oft forgets himselfe, in Death, That thinkes not of his God, that gives him Breath. Invoke his Mercy, ere thy Rest thou take: For, as thou fal'st a sleepe, so thou shalt wake. Th•…•… House, of which we have (before) beene telling, Is but a Sleeping-Chamber; 〈◊〉〈◊〉, a Dwelling. For, when thou wak'st; this House, no more shall hold-thee, But that (whereof the Mess'd Apostle told thee) Saying; If this our Earthly house decay, Wee have a House, not made with hands of Clay, Bid in the Heavens eternall. Blest is hee Who•…•…ct hou, O Lord, admittest there to bee: Hee in thy Courts shall dwell: Thy Temples store Shall in thy House fill him for evermore. But stay, my Soule. Thou canst not (yet) come Thither; Thy Wings are clogd, and thou more strength must gather. Meane time (till from this Earth, thou get'st free scope) Even in thy Grave, thy Flesh shall Rest, in hope. So fare-well World. Heere in my House Ile Rest; Sep•…•…chrum enim-Domus mea est.

FINIS.

Notes

• Rom. 8. 20, 21, 22.
• Iob 15. 16.
• 1 Cor. 15. 52.
• 2 Cor. 5. 1.
• Psal. 65. 4.
• Psal: 16.