No More Learning

Nor makes it matter Nestor's years to tell,
If man lives long and if he live not well.
A multitude of days still heaped on,
Seldom brings order, but confusion.
Might I make choice, long life should be withstood;
Nor would I care how short it were, if good:
Which to effect, let ev'ry passing-bell
Possess my thoughts, "Next comes my doleful knell":
And when the night persuades me to my bed,
I'll think I'm going to be buried.
So shall the blankets which come over me
Present those turfs which once must cover me:
And with as firm behaviour I will meet
The sheet I sleep in as my winding-sheet.
When sleep shall bathe his body in mine eyes,
I will believe that then my body dies:
And if I chance to wake and rise thereon,
I'll have in mind my resurrection,
Which must produce me to that General Doom,
To which the peasant, so the prince, must come,
To hear the Judge give sentence on the throne,
Without the least hope of affection.
Tears, at that day, shall make but weak defence,
When hell and horror fright the conscience.
Let me, though late, yet at the last, begin
To shun the least temptation to a sin;
Though to be tempted be no sin, until
Man to th' alluring object gives his will.
Such let my life assure me, when my breath
Goes thieving from me, I am safe in death;
Which is the height of comfort: when I fall,
I rise triumphant in my funeral.

_Affection_, partiality.


231. CLOTHES FOR CONTINUANCE.

Those garments lasting evermore,
Are works of mercy to the poor,
Which neither tettar, time, or moth
Shall fray that silk or fret this cloth.

_Tettar_, scab.


232. TO GOD.
Come to me, God; but do not come
To me as to the General Doom
In power; or come Thou in that state
When Thou Thy laws did'st promulgate,
Whenas the mountain quaked for dread,
And sullen clouds bound up his head.
No; lay Thy stately terrors by
To talk with me familiarly;
For if Thy thunder-claps I hear,
I shall less swoon than die for fear.
Speak Thou of love and I'll reply
By way of Epithalamy,
Or sing of mercy and I'll suit
To it my viol and my lute;
Thus let Thy lips but love distil,
Then come, my God, and hap what will.

_Mountain_, orig. ed. _mountains_.


233. THE SOUL.

When once the soul has lost her way,
O then how restless does she stray!
And having not her God for light,
How does she err in endless night!


234. THE JUDGMENT-DAY.

In doing justice God shall then be known,
Who showing mercy here, few prized, or none.


235. SUFFERINGS.

We merit all we suffer, and by far
More stripes than God lays on the sufferer.