King Solomon's recantations being an extract out of the famous works of the learned Francis Quarles ... : with an essay, to prove the immortality of the soul, by way of symetry, or connexion.

King Solomon's RECANTATIONS, &c.

OH! 'tis much better not to Thirst at all. Than Thirst in vain, or quench thy Thir••t with Gall. ••hose profit can accrue to Man, what gains ••an Crown his Actions, or reward his Pains: ••••nless he trample on the Asp, and tread 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the young Lyon, and the old Dragon's head: Or else the Clouds of Sorrow may multiply, ••••d hide from thee the Crystal of the gloomy Sky. ••••oad not thy Shoulders by the Sin of unwise desire, ••hat all thy bedrid Passions may quite expire. ••••earch for, and find such Words which have the might, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 intermingle profit with sweet delight; Than shalt thou have hopeful worth to Crown thy last ••ith Peace and Honor; yea such rare Sons thou hast, ••••nce Frolick, Midnight, Madness, is quite expir'd; and thou requite Thy wild attention with Heavenly delight: Thy courage indeavouring to deserve the name Of heroick Martyr, by giving thy Body to the Flame. This will give true Life, so sweet, to every one That takes pleasure in the Worlds redeeming Son, From Earths pleasures, by striving to refrain, Knowing those short-liv'd flattering pleasures vain:

Therefore rejoycing greatly in true Spiritual ways, By Heavenly contentment, chearing youthful Days. Banishing false-eyed Mirth, let it be truly disposest Of those lewd Firs, that are apt to inflame thy Brea•••• For Earths best injoyments are short, and vain; But for a season rejoycing, but cannot remain, For feeble Strength, her ruins, smite thee, And grinds thy clod to dust, tho not afrights thee. One Generation gives another way, But Earth abides in one perpetual stay: The Prince of Light put on his Morning Crown; But in the Evening lays his Glory down; Where leaving Earth, to take a short repose, He soon returns, and rises where he rose. His Wisdoms choice affections own, His Churches good, much dearer then his Throne. For us subduing, beneath the spangled Sky, What ever might hurt us. That in Wisdom we may decry All Evils, and seek all Hevenly sweet felicity: Yet injoying such pleasures, that Earth could len•• that I Might find Earths Mirth and Beauty but vanity. My thoughts yet pondering all that hath been done Betwixt the solid Center, and the glorious Son: And yet no knowledge can reduce the state Of crooked Nature, to a perfect straight. For some Mens Ignorance, which surmounts The learned Language of Arithmeticks accounts. Oh! then thought I, how are the vain desires Flesh and Blood Baffled in their mistaken things, called good: Yet travel seeks them, yea unwearied Hearts Makes them the objects, both of Arms and Arts: Yet many certan obvious Evils attend Our Ways, to our uncertain Journies end. We tire the Night in thought, the Day in toil, Sparing neither sweet nor lucubrated Oyl.

••o seek the things we cannot find, or found; ••e cannot hold; or held, we cannot ground ••o firm, as to resist the various swings ••f fickle Fortune, or the frowns of Kings; That if his Royal Power please to commit ••••is Pastorial Staff, to such as are more fit ••o Eat and Drink, Kill, or recommend his Flocks ••o such dumb Dogs, of whom ne'r Wof nor Fox ••••ill stand in awe; or shew their fears by flight, Not having Tongues to bark, nor Teeth to bite: Yet, by the way, advise Obedience; then Always he sure to please, rather God than Men. ••f the Embers of his rage should chance to lye Rak'd up, or furnace from his angry Eye; Quit not thy Duty, 'tis thy part to asswage, ••y due Obedience, the jealous flames of consuming rage. Curse not the King, nor them that bears the Sword; No, not in Thought, tho Thought express no Word: ••or secret report shall vent such hidious things, To punish those who oppose the legal Authority of Kings: For all that attempt thus to act, casts a shame Upon the beauty of an honor'd Name. Ah, then, my Soul, take heed to keep thy Heart At thy right Hand; where, there she will impart Continual secrets, and direct thy ways ••n secret Ethicks, sweetning out thy Days With season'd Knowledge; Wisdom past the reach Of dangerous error; and instruct and teach Thy Heart-wise silence, Wisdom, when to beak Thy clos'd Lips, and judgement how to speak, ••uch wise Mens Words are gracious where they go; But foolish Language doth themselves o're-throw: Folly brings in the Prologue, with his Song, Whose Epilogue is rage, and open wrong. Yea the tedious actions of every Fool doth try, The solid patience of the weary standers by;

Because their weakness knows not how to lay Their actions posture, in a civil way: Yea such rude folly stains their Fame, But fair repute for Wisdom lends a name. Therefore our steps will measure out the way, Our Garb, our Looks, our Language doth betray, Our Wisdom, or Follies read by all we meet, Our selves proclaiming our Follies in every Street. But 'tis a grief that grates beneath the Sun, That like events betides to every one. A like be false, to Good and Bad, Wise and Foo•• Yea both To him that Swears, and him that fears an Oath. Better to be a living Creatures, tho vild they plead, Then to be known a wealthy Wiseman that is dead: For they that live well, know that they shall die, Therefore take time; but the•• that lie Rak'd up in deaths cold Em••rs, they know not Or Good, or Ill, their names are quite forgot; No Friends they have to Love, nor Foes to Hate; They know no Virtue to spit Venom at; They sell no sweet for gains, nor do they buy Pleasures with pains, or tread beneath the Sky. But yet go thou rejoyce and Eat, let a full Bowl Cashire thy Cares, and chear thy frolick Soul, What Heaven hath lent thee with a liberal Hand, To serve and chear thy frailty up, command. Indulge thy weary Flesh with new supplies, And change of Garments of the purest die. Refresh thy limbs, annoy'd with sweat and toil; With costly Baths, thy Head with precious Oyl. What e'er thy Hand endeavours, that may gain Contentment, spair not either cost or pain, For there is no Hand to work, no Power to save, No Wisdom to contrive within the Grave. I find the swift not always win the prize; Nor strength of Arm the Battel; nor the Wise Grow rich in Fortune; nor the Men of skill In favour, all as Time and Fortune will:

••en knowing not their time, as Fishes are ••ar'd in the Net, Birds tangled in the snare. So be the Sons of Men surpriz'd with fears, When mischief falls upon them unawares: This Wisdom have I seen beneath the Sky, Which wisely weigh'd, deserves the Wiseman's Eye; ••ut when I set my busie Heart to know, ••isdom and Heavens strange workings here below. For Night and Day my studys did deny, Sleep to my Eye-lids, slumber to my Eye; Striving to note each action under Heaven, Endeavouring to observe and have given My Soul to God, in due Obedience; having Sought for true spiritual Wealth worth keeping. But the poor fruitless labours of deluded Man, Are vainly spent, being short as a span Or seeming pleasures, serves to requite, Long leagues of travel, for one drops delight Of airy froth; how are ye forc'd to borrow Strong gales of hope, to sail through Seas of Sorrow. Why do we thus afflict our labouring Souls With dregs of Wormwood, and carouse full Bowls Of boyling Anguish? to what hopeful end D••oyl we our craizy Bodies, and expend Our sorrow wasted Spirits, to acquire A good, not worth a breath of our desire. A good, whose fulsome sweetness, clogs and cloys The Soul, but never lasts nor satisfies. How poor an Object pleases, and how soon That pleasure finds an end; how quickly noon; How quickly Night, and what to Day we prize Above our Souls, to morrow we despise. Beneath a trifle, what in former times We own'd as Virtues, now we tax as Crimes. Tell me my Soul, What would'st thou buy? Go in and Cheapen; let thy curious Eye Make her choice: they will present thy view With numerous Joys; buy something that's new.

The Wiseman's Eyes are in his Head; they stand Like Watchmen in the Tower, to guard the Land. At length I cast my serious Eyes upon My painful Work, and what my Hands had done; And there I find my Hearts delight was all my gains, My pleasure was the portion of my pains. I gave my Eyes, what e're my Heart requir'd: I denied my Soul no Mirth, my Spirit desir'd All sorts of Musick, the Spirits delights had I To please my Spiritual Ear, was beauties to my Eyes Yet knowledge then affords my Soul no rest; My roving Thoughts tried Mirth, and was possest, Of all the pleasures Earth could lend, yet I Found Mirth and Pleasure all but Vanity: I laugh'd at laughter as a toyish antick, And counted all Earths pleasure no less than frantick Since Hearts that wisely, foolish do incline To costly fare, and frolick Cups of Wine. For in those pleasures I find but little solid good, To Crown the short liv'd Days of Flesh and Blood; Tho some build great magnifick Palaces, and fraim Vast buildings to the glory of their name; Planting Vineyards, whose plump clusters might Make them fruitful Orchards for their delight. Rejoycing their Souls with Earthly treasures, With curious Gardens to refresh their pleasures: Yet true Wisdom can discern but little real good, Mistaken Earth so much admiring stood! What profit hath my Wisdom, then thought I The height of Wisdom hath her Vanity. The foolish bauble and the learned bays, Are both forgotten; in succeding Days Impartial Death shall Cloath the dying Eyes, Both of the Ignorant and also of the Wise: Therefore I hated life, for, from the events Of humane actions, flows many discontents. Then slighted I, all that my Hand had done, In seeking happiness beneath the Sun:

For what I did, I cannot call my own; ••nothers Hand must reap what mine has sown; Who knows if my surviver is to be A Wiseman, or a Fool? However, 'tis he Must spend with ease, what I have earn'd with pain And Souls vexation; this is all so vain, For which my Soul thus fool'd with vain persuits Of blossom happiness that bears no Fruits. Some Men there be, whose elaborate gains The fruits of lawful cares and prudent pains Descend to those who know not pains nor art: This is a sore vanity, and afflicts the Heart; For what reward hath Man of all his droyl, His Evening trouble and his Morning toyl, His Hearts vexation and his griefs, that run Through all his labours underneath the Sun. 'I view'd the Chair of Judgment, where I saw 'Instead of righteousness, a perverted Law. 'I view'd the Courts of Equity, and spy'd 'Corruption there; and Justice wrap'd aside. 'Oh! then, (thought I) the of Judge Heaven shall do 'Right to the Wicked, and the Righteous too. Then puzzel'd in my Thoughts, I thus advis'd, Heaven suffers mortals to be exercis'd In their own miseries, that they may see They are yet not much more happy than the Bee; They substance of Flesh, tho not the same, Yet dust to dust, both must turn from whence they came. Which rightly way'd, it seems the better choice, For Man to suck his labours and rejoyce, Since flashly, troubles doth all things so unframe, That Earths Content doth scarce deserve the name: Considering this, what can we advise, Since we berefit of Wisdom, labouring to be Wise. Alas! is it not enough, that we poor Farmers pay Quit-rent to Nature, at the very Day:

And at our dying Hour bequeath to thee Our whole substance, for a Legacy: I mus'd again, and found when pains had crackt The harder shell to some heroick act. Pale envy strikes the kernel with taxation; Oh, this is vanity, and the Souls vexation! Thus pausing, Contemplation shew'd mine Eye A new prospect of humane vanity: When, the droyling Hand thinks nothing can supply The greedy wants of his insatiate Eye. He robs himself, not knows for whose relief, This is a vanity, and a wounding grief; Woe to the Man whom danger meets alone, For there's no Arm to help him but his own: But if some help put in a timely stroak, The Cord that's three-fold is not quickly broke. If eithers feeble Shoulders be betray'd To a sad burden, there's a mutual aid, To be a poor Wise Child, is judg'd a thing More honourable, than to be a vain King. My Soul, to what a strange disguis'd good, Art thou bewitch'd? oh, how hath Flesh and Blood Betray'd thee, to a happiness that brings No comfort, but from transitory things. Are not the shady Bowers of Death more sweet, Than the scorching Sunshine, where we Hourly meet Fresh evils, like a Temes, whose deluded breath Tickles our Fancies, till we laugh to Death? When thou hast bound thee to thy God by Vow, Defer not payment, but perform, it thou Discharge thy Bonds, for Heaven takes no delight In those that violate the Faith they plight; For better 'tis thy Vows were never made, Then having promis'd, payment never paid. Let not thy Lips insnare thee, plead not thou Before thy Angel, 'twas too rash a Vow. 'Tis not the Pills of treasur'd wealth sustain Thy drooping Spirits, this is all so vain.

Oft have I seen increasing riches grow To their great mad Owners overthrow: Vexing their Souls with Care, and then repay Unprosperous pains with grief and melts away; His wealth is fled, and when he shall transfer it Upon his Heir, there's nothing to Inherit. Look how he came into the World, the same He shall go out as naked as he came; Of what his labouring Heart have brought about, This dying Hand shall carry nothing out: This is a wounding grief that as he came, In every point, he shall return the same. What profit can his Souls afflictions find, That toils for Air, and travels for the Wind. This is an evil, that happiness now and then Beneath the Sun amongst the Kings of Men: Then eat and drink, and reap what pains have Got, to Crown thy Days which thy Creator gave; 'Tis all the portion some will have, Who study not for happiness in the Grave. But hark, my Soul, the Morning Bell invites Thy early paces to a new delight; Away, away, the Holy Saints Bell rings, Put on thy Robes and Oyl thy secret wings; Call home thy Heart, and bid thy Thoughts surcease, To be thy Thoughts, go bind them to the Peace: Take good Security, or if such fail Commit them to the All commanding Jayl; And thy cram'd Bags there to lie close and fast, Until thy Heavenly atoning Vows are past: Confine thy rambling pleasures to the trust Of vacant Hours, and let thy Wisdom thirst: Banish all Worldly passions, with their base born Sir From thy delectable Courts, that Wisdom may come in Leave all thy servil Fancies in the vail, Mount thou the secret Hill, and there bewail Thy dying Isaac, whose free gift may be A living Pledge 'twixt thy God and thee.

Take thou no Care, Heaven, will supply Their craving Thirst with Bottles from thy Eye; Better it is to be Funeral Guest, Then find the welcoms of a frolick Feast: For he that fears the Almighty shall Out-wear his evils, or find no evil at all. Wisdom affords more strength, more fortifies The undejected courage of the Wise: Yet is there none beneath the Crystial Skies So just in Actions, or in words so Wise, That doth always good, or hath not been Sometimes poluted with the stains of Sins. What God hath setled in a crooked State, No industry of Man can make it strait; Since then the Righteous Man's recompence is such; Be not too Wise, nor Righteous over much. Let not thy Flesh suggest thee, or advise Thee to be Wicked, or too Unwise. Why should thy too much Righteousness betray, Thy danger'd Life, and make thy Life a prey? At passions Language stop thy gentel Ear, Lest if thy Servant Curse thee, thou should'st hear: For oftentimes thy Heart will let thee see, That others have been likewise Curs'd by thee. This Wisdom, by my travel I attain'd, And in my Thoughts conceiv'd that I had gain'd. I gave my studious Heart to watch and pry Into the bosom of Philosophy. I laboured to give my self to fly the Art Of falshood, and the Madness of the Heart. For whom Heaven favours, shall decline Sins gates; But the Incorrigible shall be taken by her baits: But whether shall these, to what strange Religion fly To find Content, and baulk that hidious vanity, Which haunts this buble Earth, and makes thee still A slave to thy preverse infatuated Will. All this I have (by thee) observ'd, and given My Heart to not each action under Heaven.

There was a time when the oppressers Arm Oppress'd his Neighbour, to the oppressers harm, With floods of bitterness, since none of these, Nor, all can Crown our labours, nor appease Our raging Hearts. Oh! my deceiv'd Soul, Where wilt thou take thy Peace? who shall controul Our unbounded Thoughts, to sweeten out This span of frailty plung'd and orb'd about The threatning Firmements; but as a breath Darts down, and dashes at the doors of death. Since Waxen-wing'd Honour is not void Of danger, whether arm'd or injoy'd: Since Hearts rejoycing, profit have no fruit, But care both in fruition, and in persuit: Since laughter is but Madness, and high Diet Oft ruins our Health and breeds us great disquiet: Since humane Wisdom is but humane trouble, And double knowledge makes our sorrow double: Since what we have, but lights our wish to more, And in the height of plenty makes us poor; And what we have not too, to apt to crave, Even dispossess of what we have. A good repute is sweeter, far, Than breaths of Aromatick Oyntments are; And that sad Day wherein we drew our breath, Is not so happy as the Day of death: For here we are but quickly forgot; Blaze for a season, but continue not. Tho foolish flatteries entertain Our Souls with Joy, but all that Joy is vain; For if both Heaven and Earth should undertake, To extract the best from Mankind, and to make One perfect happy Man; and thou art he, Thy finite fortunes still would disagree. Man in whose frame the Great Three-One advis'd, And with a studious Hand Epitomiz'd The large Volumes, and perfect Story Of all his Works, the manuel of his 〈…〉〈…〉

With fear and wonder in whose sovereign Eye, He breath'd the flames of awful Majesty. Man a poor shiftless transitory thing, Born without Sword or Shield, not having wing To fly from threatning dangers, not to arm, Or graple with those numerous evils, that swarm About this new born frailty, wrapt aside From fair Obedience, to Rebellious Pride. How is that Power, that was bred and born The Earths Commander, now become the scorn Of Dunghil passions, Shipwrack'd with the gust Of every factious and inferiour Lust? How is the Sun-bright Honour of his name Eclpis'd? how is his Glory Cloath'd with shame? What means that great Creating Power, to frame This spacious Universe? Was not his name Glorious enough without a Witness? Why Did that corrected twilight of his Eye Unmuzle darkness, and with Morning light Redeem the Day, from new baptiz'd Night? There is an evil, which my observing Eye Hath taken notice of beneath the Skye: Man's wealth can't instruct him to withstand The augry stroak of the Almighties Hand; Since the increase of wealth procur'd by pain, Preserv'd with fears, with sorrow lost again, Increaseth grief in the possessors Breast; What vantage than have Man to be possess'd, Who knows what's good for Man in this dull balze Of life is swift, his shaddow flying Days: Or who can tell when his short Hour is run, The events of all his toyl beneath the Sun? The Worlds surviving Lamps do not affright The pleasing slumbers of his peaceful Night. There be no Ears, no Eyes, to hear, to see The living Soul, have not such rest as he, Who stands upright in Courts, with unshaken Mind; For the Test proves him, and he is found refin'd.

If thy superiour happen to incense His jealous wroth at thy suppos'd Offence; Do thou thy part, yield, for yielding slacks The raging flame great transgressions makes: He that shall dig a pit, that shall prepare A snare, shall be ensnar'd in his own snare. Happy is the Just and Holy, for who but he Can judge of things, or what their Natures be? For these are Heavens favorits, sent down from thence, Unfolding secret Mysteries in Heavenly Eloquence; Knowing there's a time, true Justice shall preceed On every purpose, upon every deed.