Was it by negligence or accident,
That in my sicknesse as my servant went
To warme my bed, some ashes she let fall?
Neither perhaps, but 'twas prophetical,
Foretelling that I must to ashes turn,
And shortly be inclosed in my urne.
And if that Providence hath so decreed,
Welcome i'th' name of God, let Death succeed
His elder brother, Sleep, and then give way
To life again, such as the saints enjoy.
Now on my grave I think, and yet not quake,
Since thence as from my bed I shal awake;
When I lie down in dust I doe not die,

I.

High was the crime, great was the fall,
And fatal was the daring blow,
When man with paradise and all,
Plung'd in a labyrinth of wo.

II.

Deep did the damning poison seize,
The num'rous throng of human race;
Beyond all help for their disease,
But by Jehovah's arm of grace.

III.

And when redeeming love comes down,
By the incarnate Son of GOD ;
How many disregard the crown,
While others think to spill his blood!

IV.

Where GOD his boundless grace has spread,

What a strange thing's this ague? which doth make
Me like an earthquake first with cold to shake;
Then like Mount Etna burn with fervent heat,
And by and by dissolve into a sweat?
Sure 'tis some Cacodaemon, by his art
Insinuating himselfe in every part;
Now in the head, then in the back it lies,
Sometimes i'th' stomack, sometimes in the thighs,
Now like a souldier whom nothing can fray,
He sets upon me boldly at mid-day;
Then like a thief steals on me late at night,
Or early e're the approach o' th' morning light.

I've 'scap'd, o-night, two terrible disasters,
My honour's indignation — and my master 's:
And heaven best knows, what hapless, hole can hide me,
If (to crown all my woes) YOUR help's deny'd me.

L ADIES ! — you see, how much expos'd our sex is:
Sleeping or waking — some sad chance perplexes.
Man's a more wily Snake , than mother Eve's was;
In his own shape — and others to — deceives us:
Hungry devourer! never tir'd, with snapping ; —
Shun him, with open eyes , he'll catch us napping .

Apples here in my basket,
You are symbols here in my basket:
Ancient a thousand years, now red again,
Terrible in my hands.
Fullness of women, ripe breasts of the earth,
Sting of denial, nurturing plenty,
Fragrance of love—
Treasure to be won more than gold you were,
O guarded apples in fearful gardens;
Desire far-off, far, far knowledge,
Ineffable knowledge,
Doomed, sweet, divinely snatched!

In this faint age, when British growth is missing ,
And dapper beaux want stilts to climb to kissing ;
Ill dares an author hope your pardon granted,
Who gives a man, more woman , than he wanted .
But I, to comfort him, have been declaring,
You can forgive all sins, you take your share in.
Let me look round—aye—'tis my firm persuasion ,
Your calls , that way, outgo your best occasion .

 Two wives! what then—suppose 'em two and twenty ,
Spendthrifts shou'd nev. frown , on other's plenty .
And pray, what right have you, to rail at changing,

Poor, once fam'd Lee , when he compos'd this Play,
Brainsick, and touch'd , on Bedlam's borders lay,
And 'twas no wonder — for, in sober sadness ,
Church Massacres wou'd scare even saints to madness.

O, Ladies! heaven forbid such serious frights!
Such strange dead doings — on your wedding nights!
Kill us, with kindness , let 'em — if they dare:
But downright dying — ah! — what bride could bear?

These are thy trophies, France! — no Briton dares,
With tame, cold murder , stain the cross he bears.

Why envi'st thou thy neighbour, can'st thou tel?
Is 't 'cause in wealth or worth he doth excel?
That will not make thee richer then thou art,
Nor him the poorer, but 'twill vex thy heart;
That will not make thee better nor him worse,
But blessing bring on him, on thee a curse.
Or why malignest thou thine enemy?
Is't 'cause he hath done thee some injury?
That will not mend the matter, but incense
Him to a second and more high offence,
Adding of wrong to wrong: O then be wise
And do him all the good thou can'st devise

Brother soldiers why cast down?
Never, boys, be melancholy:
You say our lives are not our own,
But therefore should we not be jolly?
This poor tenement, at best,
Depends on fickle chance: mean while,
Drink, laugh, and sing; and, for the rest,
We'll boldly brave each rude campaign;
Secure, if we return again,
Our pretty landlady shall smile.

II.

Look how the steel forceth with several knocks
Fire from the flint into the tinder box:
So do you smite each other, till you force
Gold from your own into the lawyer's purse.
O how like foes they brawle on either side
And yet like friends your money they divide,
Leaving you bare as an anatomy:
All that you get you may put in your eye,
And never see the worse; then take from me
This counsel freely, and without a fee;
Agree between yourselves, and make an end:
Do you to him, he to you condescend.
Thus whiles you both unto each other yield.