Solomons recantation, entituled Ecclesiastes, paraphrased.: With a soliloquie or meditation upon every chapter. / By Francis Quarles. Opus posthumum. Never before printed. With a short relation of his life and death.

SOLILOQUIE III.

COme now my Soule; thou hast with toylsome paines Outworn the day; and, with thy dear-bought gains,

Thou hast refresht thy spirits; and, at length, With lusty diet, hast redeem'd thy strength; Thou hast forgot thy labours; and thy Rest Hath crown'd Contentment in thy peacefull brest: Art thou now pleas'd? What can thy heart require, More then thou hast, to fill thy vast desire?

True; if my bubble life could get a Lease Of this small Rest, nay, if the present Peace Were but secur'd from this succeeding sorrow Long since design'd to the next neighb'ring morrow, It were some happinesse, and would present A large proportion of a short Content: But Change (the Moth of transitory things [Vers. 1] That's never worse then when the season brings A flash of Good) doth all things so unframe That earths content doth scarce deserve the name Of common happinesse; which like the winde, Varies, still meeting with a various minde.

Vnconstant earth! what can thy treasure show, That is not, like thy self, unconstant too? How full of Change! How full of Alteration! Nay, fixt in nothing but thy meer foundation. And like thy self, our naturall parent, wee Constant in nothing but in loving thee! [Vers. 4] One while we plunge in teares; and by and by, We rage in laughter, yet not knowing why: To day, the zeal of our affection's such [Vers. 8] We burn in love; tomorrow, hate as much: Sometimes, we fear not when our ev'lls appear; Sometimes, affrighted at no Cause of fear: One while we should and will not, will and should not; Nay, at the selfe-same moment, would and would not. [Vers. 4] Today we feast, and quaffe in frolique Bowles; To morrow fast, and pinch our guilty Soules:

Row, Musick; now a Knell salutes our ears; At noon we swim in wine; at night, in tears. Ore night our vowes are made; our joy concluded: To day the danger's past, and heav'n deluded: The last six Months our fortune swell'd with store, And now they break; was never Job so poor: [Verse 8] Time was, that peace enricht our joyfull Land; Time is, our martiall drum beats warre at hand.

Vnconstant earth! O, is it not enough Thy days are ev'll at best; and but a puffe At longest? At the fruitfullest but vain? But sad, at merryest; and at sweetest, pain? Is not all this enough? enough to make The miserable childe of man forsake The false protection of thy magick eye, Without th'addition of inconstancy? Is't not enough that we poor Farmers pay Quit-rent to Nature at the very day, And at our dying howre bequeath to thee Our whole subsistence for a Legacie? But thou must leave our frailties as a prey To time-born Change, that will permit no stay In one estate, nor give us leave to lye Sad Patients in a quiet misery!

O but my soule, why dost thou thus contend With thy Creators pleasure? Cease to spend This needlesse breath: Shall thy disorder'd will Confront his Providence? or call that ill, Which he thinks good? Tell me, my soule, shall hee, That gave thee being, be prescrib'd by thee? Hee made thee for his glory; not to spend Thy days in slavish labour; nor to end Thy painfull travell in the shades of death: But thou hast tainted that immortall breath,

Which qualifi'd thy life, and made thee free Of heav'n and earth, and a joynt Patentee With smooth-fac'd Cherubims; And too too proud Of thy short honor, warpt thy thoughts, and bow'd Thy straight desiers to unknowne delight, And wrapt thy glory in the clouds of night: Lost thy freewill to good, didst overthrow Thy perfect knowledge with desire to know; Bereft of wisdome labr'ing to be wise, [Vers. 19] Now peer'd with beasts, that only works and dyes. Both, borne to sorrow, breathe the selfe same breath; Live both alike, both dye the selfe same death: S••nce then, my soule, thy hopes may not aspire To what thou wouldst, suit thy supprest desire To what thou mayst: and let thy wisdome play Bad Cards with best advantage: what the day Brings in by Travell, let the frolique night [Vers. 22] Consume in Mirth, and spend in full Delight: Take thou to day, let others take to morrow; He earnes the Solace, that endures the sorrow.