Jacobs ladder, or, The devout souls ascention to Heaven, in prayers, thanksgivings, and praises in four parts ... : with graces and thanksgivings : illustrated with sculptures / by Jo. Hall.

A Farewel to the World by the Ho∣nourable Sir H. W.

FArewel ye gilded follies; pleasing trou∣bles, Farewel ye honoured rags, ye glorious bubbles.

Fames but a hollow Eccho, gold pure clay, Honour the darling but of one short day, Beauty, the eyes idol, but a damask'd skin, State but a golden prison to live in, And torture free-born minds; imbroyde∣red trains, Meerly but pagents for proud swelingveins And blood ally'd to greatness is alone; Inherited not purchas'd, not our own. Fame, honour, beauty, state, train, blood and birth, Are but the fading blossoms of the earth.

2.

I would be great, but that the Sun doth stil Level his rays against the rising hill; I would be high, but see the proudest oak, Most subject to the rending thunderstroke I would be rich, but see men too unkind, Dig in the bowels of the richest mine; I would be wise, but that I often see The fox suspected, whilst the ass goes free, I would be fair, but see the fair & proud, Like the bright Sun oft setting in a cloud. I would be poor, but see the humble grass Still trampled on by each unworthy Ass, Rich hated, wise suspected, scorn'd if poor, Great fear'd, fair tempted, high still en∣vyed more. I have wisht all, but now I wish for neither Great, high, rich, wise, nor fair, poor, Ile be rather▪

3.

Would the world now adopt me for her heir, Would beauties Queen entitle me the fair, Fame speak me fortunes minion, could Ivy Angels with India, with a speaking eye Command bare heads, bow'd knees, strike Justice dumb, As well as blind & lame, or give a tongue To stones by epitaphs, be call'd great master, In the loose rimes of every Poetaster. Could I be more than any man that lives, Great, fair, rich, wise, in all superlatives; Yet I more freely would these gifts resign Than ever fortune would have made them mine. And hold one minute of this holy leasure, Beyond the riches of this empty pleasure.

4.

Welcome pure thoughts, welcome ye silent groves, These guests, these courts my Soul most dearly loves. Now the wing'd people of the sky shall sing My cheerful anthems to the glad somspring A pray'r book now shall be my looking-glass, In which I will adore sweet vertues face, Here dwell no hateful looks, no palace cares, No broken vows dwell here, nor pale∣fac'd fears.

Then here Ile sit & sigh my hot-loves folly And learn to affect an holy melancholly. And if contentment be a stranger then, Ile nere look for it but in Heaven agen.