Schola cordis, or, The heart of it selfe, gone away from God brought back againe to him & instructed by him in 47 emblems.

ODE 2.

1.

Laid downe already? and so fast asleepe? Thy precious heart left loosly on thime hand, Which with all diligence thou shouldest keep, And guard against those enemies, that stand Ready prepar'd to plunge it in the deep Of all distresse? Rouze thee, and understand In time, what in the end thou must confesse, That misery at last and wretchednesse Is all the fruit that springs from slothfull idlenesse.

2.

Whilst thou list soaking in security, Thou drown'st thy selfe in sensuail delight, And wallow'st in debauched luxurie, Which when thou art awake and see'st, will fright Thine heart with horror. When thou shalt de•…•…cry

By the daylight the danger of the night, Then, then, if not too late, thou wilt confesse, That endlesse misery and wretchednesse Is all the fruit that springs from riotous excesse.

3.

Whilst thou dost pamper thy proud flesh, and thrust Into thy panch the prime of all thy store, Thou dost but gather fuell for that lust, Which boyling in thy liver runneth o're, And frieth in thy throbbing veines, which must Needs vent, or burst, when they can hold no more. But oh consider what thou shalt confesse At last, that misery and wretchednesse Is all the fruit that springs from lustfull wantonnesse.

4.

Whilst thou dost feed effeminate desires With spumy pleasures, whilst fruition The coals of lust fannes into flaming fires, And spurious delights thou doatest on, Thy mind through cold remisnesse ev'n expires, And all the active vigour of't is gone. Take heed in time, or else thou shalt confesse At last that misery and wretchednesse Is all the fruit that springs from carelesse-mindednesse.

5.

Whilst thy regardlesse sense-dissolved mind Lies by unbent, that should have been thy spring Of motion, all thy headstrong passions find Themselves let loose, and follow their own swing, Forgetfull of the great account behind, As though there never would be such a thing, But, when it comes indeed, thou wilt confesse That misery alone and wre•…•…hednesse Is all the fruit that springs from soule forgetfulnesse.

6.

Whilst thou remembrest not thy later end, Nor what a reck'ning one day thou must make, Putting no difference betwixt foe and friend, Thou suffer'st hellish Fiends thine heart to take, Who, all the while thou triflest, doe attend, Ready to bring it to the burning lake Of fire and brimstone: where thou shalt confesse That endlesse misery and wretchednesse Is all the fruit that springs from stupid heartlesnesse.