There none so ready was as I,
To purchase bargains, sell, or buy.
At eight times seven I waxèd old,
And took myself unto my rest,
Neighbours then sought my counsel bold,
And I was held in great request;
But age
did so abate my strength,
That I was forced to yield at length.
At nine times seven take my leave
Of former vain delights must I;
It then full sorely did me grieve—
I fetched many a heavy sigh;
To rise up early, and sit up late,
My former life, I loathe and hate.
At ten times seven my glass is run,
And I poor silly man must die;
I looked up, and saw the sun
Had overcome the crystal sky.
So now I must this world forsake,
Another man my place must take.
Now you may see, as in a glass,
The whole estate of mortal men;
How they from seven to seven do pass,
Until they are threescore and ten;
And when their glass is fully run,
They must leave off as they begun.
THE YOUNG MAN'S WISH.
[FROM an old copy, without printer's name; probably one from the Aldermary Church-yard press. Poems in triplets were very popular during the reign of Charles I., and are frequently to be met with during the Interregnum, and the reign of Charles II.] FI could but attain
I'd have each day one wholesome dish,
Of plain meat, or fowl, or fish.
A glass of port, with good old beer,
In winter time a fire burnt clear,
Tobacco, pipes, an easy chair.
In some clean town a snug retreat,
A little garden 'fore my gate,
With thousand pounds a year estate.
After my house expense was clear,
Whatever I could have to spare,
The neighbouring poor should freely share.
To keep content and peace through life,
I'd have a prudent cleanly wife,
Stranger to noise, and eke to strife.
Then I, when blest with such estate,
With such a house, and such a mate,
Would envy not the worldly great.
Let them for noisy honours try,
Let them seek worldly praise, while I
Unnoticed would live and die.
But since dame Fortune's not thought fit
To place me in affluence, yet
I'll be content with what I get.
He's happiest far whose humble mind,
Is unto Providence resigned,
And thinketh fortune always kind.
Then I will strive to bound my wish,
And take, instead of fowl and fish,
Whate'er is thrown into my dish.
Instead of wealth and fortune great,
Garden and house and loving mate,
I'll rest content in servile state.
I'll from each folly strive to fly,
Each virtue to attain I'll try,
And live as I would wish to die.
THE MIDNIGHT MESSENGER;
OR, A SUDDEN CALL FROM AN EARTHLY GLORY TO THE COLD
In a Dialogue between Death and a Rich Man; who, in the midst of all his Wealth, received the tidings of his Last Day, to his
unspeakable and sorrowful Lamentation.
To the tune of Aim not too high,* &c.
[THE following poem, and the two that immediately follow, belong to a class of publications which have always been peculiar favourites with the peasantry, in whose cottages they may be frequently seen, neatly framed and glazed, and suspended from the whitewashed walls. They belong to the school of Quarles, and can be traced to the time when that writer was in the height of his popularity. These religious dialogues are numerous, but the majority of them are very namby-pamby productions, and unworthy of a reprint. The modern editions preserve the old form of the broadside of the seventeenth century, and are adorned with rude woodcuts, probably copies of ruder originals
Strange, and uncouth; dire faces, figures dire,
Sharp-kneed, sharp-elbowed, and lean-ankled too,
With long and ghostly shanks, forms which once seen,
Can never be forgotten!'-WORDSWORTH's Excursion.]
HOU wealthy man of large possessions here,
Amounting to some thousand pounds a year,
Extorted by oppression from the poor,
The time is come that thou shalt be no more;
Thy house therefore in order set with speed,
And call to mind how you your life do lead.
Let true repentance be thy chiefest care,
And for another world now, now prepare.
For notwithstanding all your heaps of gold,
Your lands and lofty buildings manifold,
Take notice you must die this very day;
And therefore kiss your bags and come away.
* This is the same tune as Fortune my foe.-See Popular Music of the Olden Time, p. 162.
[He started straight and turned his head aside, Where seeing pale-faced Death, aloud he cried], Lean famished slave! why do you threaten so, Whence come you, pray, and whither must I go?
I come from ranging round the universe,
Through courts and kingdoms far and near I
pass,
Where rich and poor, distressèd, bond and free,
Fall soon or late a sacrifice to me.
From crowned kings to captives bound in chains
My power reaches, sir; the longest reigns
That ever were, I put a period to;
And now I'm come in fine to conquer you.
I can't nor won't believe that you, pale Death,
Were sent this day to stop my vital breath,
By reason I in perfect health remain,
Free from diseases, sorrow, grief, and pain;
No heavy heart, nor fainting fits have I,
And do you say that I am drawing nigh
The latter minute? sure it cannot be;
Depart, therefore, you are not sent for me!
Yes, yes, I am, for did you never know,
The tender grass and pleasant flowers that grow
Perhaps one minute, are the next cut down?
And so is man, though famed with high renown.
Have you not heard the doleful passing bell
Ring out for those that were alive and well
The other day, in health and pleasure too,
And had as little thoughts of death as you?
For let me tell you, when my warrant's sealed,
The sweetest beauty that the earth doth yield
At my approach shall turn as pale as lead;
"Tis I that lay them on their dying bed.
I kill with dropsy, phthisic, stone, and gout;
But when my raging fevers fly about,
I strike the man, perhaps, but over-night,
Who hardly lives to see the morning light;
I'm sent each hour, like to a nimble page,
To infant, hoary heads, and middle age;
Time after time I sweep the world quite through;
Then it's in vain to think I'll favour you.
Proud Death you see what awful sway I bear,
For when I frown none of my servants dare
Approach my presence, but in corners hide
Until I am appeased and pacified.
Nay, men of greater rank I keep in awe
Nor did I ever fear the force of law,
But ever did my enemies subdue,
And must I after all submit to you?
"Tis very true, for why thy daring soul,
Which never could endure the least control,
I'll thrust thee from this earthly tenement,
And thou shalt to another world be sent.
What! must I die and leave a vast estate,
Which, with my gold, I purchased but of late?
Besides what I had many years ago?—
What! must my wealth and I be parted so?
If you your darts and arrows must let fly,
Go search the jails, where mourning debtors lie;
Release them from their sorrow, grief, and woe,
For I am rich and therefore loth to go.
I'll search no jails, but the right mark I'll hit;
And though you are unwilling to submit,
Yet die you must, no other friend can do,—
Prepare yourself to go, I'm come for you.
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