Page [unnumbered]
A DIALOGUE Between Satan and a Young Man. OR, Satan's Temptations to Delay Repentance Answered.
WHat Haste! Young Man, why up so soon i'th Morn?
〈◊〉〈◊〉 Work is great, and, to do it I'm Sworn.
〈◊〉〈◊〉 too soon, ly down, and take thy Rest.
〈◊〉〈◊〉 Work is weighty, and I must not Jest.
••••••'ve Time enough, be grave, Fifty Years hence:
••••ough? When Life's a Span! Is that good Sense?
••••••e Nice Preacher hath rais'd those needless Fears
••ithout such Fears, I'm sure to die with Tears.
〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••ou'll believe such Stuff, 'twill make you Mad;
〈◊〉〈◊〉 choose such Madness, I am sure's not bad.
••••••d you not better spend your days in Joys?
••••s Joy I'd have, therefore I scorn such Toys.
••ho lives in Joy that takes this uncouth Course?
••••ars have their Pleasures, and short Joys are worse.
••hat need you fear? your God hath Mercy store.
〈◊〉〈◊〉 blessed Love! then I'll hate Sin the more.
〈…〉〈…〉 need you must do thus, put off that Sorrow.
••od saith to Day, I dare not say to Morrow.
••••'er lose thy Youth, nor quench that pleasant Fire.
〈◊〉〈◊〉 that be Loss, such Losses I desire.
••••me, come, fond Youth, Is no Man wise but you?
••isdom's but rare, those that be wise are few.
•• Year or Two's not much, come Tarry, Tarry.
••••ay's not good, by that most Men miscarry.
〈…〉〈…〉 now in Pleasure, what wilt lose thy Flower?
••••en Time is past, I can't recal an Hour.
Look out i'th' World, who live at such a Rate?
The World is Mad, and will be wise too late.
You may reach Home, tho' you set out at Noon.
The Morning's best, Who e'er was good too soon?
Age best becomes such Thoughts, let Youth have play.
Venture who will thus, I will live to day.
When Sickness comes, then think such thoughts as these
Then I can think of nothing else but ease.
One Prayer serv'd the Dying Thief at last.
'Tis dang'rous ventring all on one poor Cast.
Who saw the Game you hunt, 'tis a false Scent.
I'll hunt on still, I'm sure I sha'nt repent.
What hazard all on such slight Terms as this?
The World is Trash to this, Give me this Bliss.
Then take what follows, you'll become a Scorn,
That Scorn's my Joy, and 'twill my Head adorn.
I'll Dogg thee still with Fears, I'll vex thy Mind.
Lord, hear his Threats, I would not have him kind.
Go on, Rash Youth, before thy Death, thou't fall
Who told thee so? To Christ for Help I'll call.
I am resolv'd, and in this Mind I'll stand,
Which, that I may, thy Help, Oh Christ, command.
Lord, here's my Heart, 'tis thine, take it to guard,
Give it thy Grace, and then thy Gift reward.
Lord, I am thine, and for thee I was born,
Lord, I am thine, and to thee I am sworn.
Awake, my Soul, what meanst thou still to stay,
God calls, Christ woe's, make haste, make haste away▪