Multum in parvo: or, Some useful sayings, in verse and prose: collected by a lover of virtue and goodness in whomsoever.

On Man's Mortality.

LIKE as the Damask Rose you see, Or like the Blossom on the Tree, Or like the dainty Flower in May, Or like the Morning to the Day, Or like the Sun, or like the Shade, Or like the Gourd which Jonas had. Even such is Man whose Thred is Spun, Drawn out and cut, and so is done. The Rose withers, the Blossom blasteth, The Flower fades, the Morning hasteth, The Sun sets, the Shadow flies, The Gourd consumes, and Man he dies.

Like to the Grass that's newly sprung, Or like a Tale that's new begun, Or like the Bird that's here to day, Or like the Pearly dew of May, Or like an Hour, or like a Span, Or like the Singing of a Swan. Even such is Man who lives by Breath, Is here, now there, in Life and Death: The Grass withers, the Tale is ended, The Bird is flown, the Dew's ascended, The Hour is short, the Span not long, The Swan's near Death, Man's life is done.

Like to the Bubble in the Brook, Or in a Glass much like a look, Or like the Shuttle in Weavers hand, Or like the Writing on the Sand,

Or like a Thought, or like a Dream, Or like the gliding of the Stream: Even such is Man who lives by Breath, Is here, now there, in Life and Death. The Bubble's out, the Look's forgot, The Shuttle's flung, the Writing's blot, The Thought is past, the Dream is gone, The Water glides, Man's Life is done.

Like to an Arrow from the Bow, Or like swift course of Watery flow, Or like the time 'twixt Flood and Ebb, Or like the Spider's tender Webb, Or like a Race, or like a Goal, Or like the dealing of a Dole: Even such is Man, whose brittle State Is alwaies subject unto Fate. The Arrow's shot, the Flood soon spent, The Time no Time, the Webb's soon rent, The Race soon run, the Goal soon won, The Dole soon dealt, Man's life is done.

Like to the Lightning from the Skie, Or like the Post that quick doth hie, Or like a Quaver in short Song, Or like a Journy three daies long, Or like the Pear, or like the Plum, Or like the Snow when Summer's come: Even such is Man who heaps up sorrow, Lives but this day, and dies to morrow. The Lightning's past, the Post must go, The Song is short, the Journy's so,

The Pear doth rot, the Plumb doth fall, The Snow dissolves, and so must all.

It is appointed for all men once to die; and after that the Judgment.

Memor esto brevis aevi: Be thou mindful of thy short Life.

FArewel, poor World, I must be gon, Thou art no home, no rest for me: I'le take my Staff, and travel on, 'Till I a better World may see.

Now we desire a better Country, that is an Heaven∣ly, for we look for another City which hath Founda∣tions, whose Builder and Maker is GOD.

HElp me my GOD, O let me find That noble Fortitude of mind, Not to be shak'd with every puff of Wind! With every puff of Wind let me Be driven nearer unto THEE; Else, Holy GOD, How can I happy be? How can I happy be indeed, 'Till joyned to that Holy Seed, That makes man happy when he has most need? Need, LORD, thou knows I have of THEE To kill the Root of Sin in me, LORD, let the Root of Sin consumed be: Consumed be, destroyed quite, That Spotless I may in THY sight Appear, and THOU in me mai'st take delight.