Emblemes by Francis Quarles.

1. PETER 5. 8.

Be sober, be vigilant, because your adversary the devil as a roring Lion walketh about seeking whom he may devoure.

1

WHy dest thou suffer lustfull sloth to creep, Dull Cyprian lad, into thy wanton browes? Is this a time to pay thine idle vowes At Morpheus shrine? Is this a time to sleep Thy brains in wastfull slumbers? up and rouze Thy leaden spirits: Is this a time to sleep Adjourn thy sanguine dreams: Awake, arise, Call in thy thoughts; and let them all advise, Hadst thou as many Heads as thou hast wounded eyes.

2

Look, look, what horrid furies do await Thy slatt'ring slumbers! If thy drowzie head But chance to nod, thou fall'st into a bed Of sulph'rous flames, whose torments want a date. Fo•…•…d boy, be wise; let not thy thoughts be fed With Phrygian wisdome; fools are wise too late: Beware betimes, and let thy reason sever Those gates which passion clos'd; wake now, or never: For if thou nodd'st thou fall'st: and falling fall'st for ever.

3

Mark, how the ready hands of death prepare: His bow is bent, and he has notch'd his dart; He aims, he levels at thy slumb'ring heart: The wound is posting, O be wise, beware. What? has the voyce of danger lost the art To raise the spirit of neglected care? Well, sleep thy fill, and take thy soft reposes; But know withall, sweet tasts have sowre closes; And he repents in thorns, that sleeps in beds of roses.

4

Yet sluggard, wake, and gull thy soul no more, With earths false pleasure, and the worlds delight, Whose fruit is fair, and pleasing to the sight, But sowre in tast, false at the putrid core: Thy flaring glasse is gems at her halflight: She makes thee seeming rich, but truly poore: She boasts a kernell, and bestowes a shell; Performs an inch of her fair promis'd ell: Her words protest a Heav'n; her works produce a hell.

5

O thou the fountain of whose better part Is earth'd, and gravell'd up with vain desire: That dayly wallow'st in the fleshly mire And base pollution of a lustfull heart, That feel'st no passion but in wanton fire, And own'st no torment but from Cupids dart; Behold thy Type: Thou sitst upon this ball Of earth, secure, while death that flings at all, Stands arm'd to strike thee down, where flames attend thy fall.

S. BERN.

Securitie is no where; It is neither in Heaven, nor in Para∣dise, much lesse in the world: In Heaven the Angels sell from the divine presence; in Paradise, Adam sell from his place of pleasure; in the world, Judas sell from the School of our Saviour

HUGO.

I eat secure, I drink secure, I sleep secure, even as though I had past the day of death, avoided the day of judgement, and escaped the torments of hell-fire: I play and laugh, as though I were already triumphing in the kingdome of Heaven.

EPIG. 7.

Get up, my soul; Redeem thy slavish eyes, From drowzy bondage: O beware; Be wise: Thy fo's before thee; thou must sight or flie: Life lies most open in a closed eye.