Comparison.

This little boy an emblem is of those Whose hearts are wholly at the world's dispose, The b.u.t.terfly doth represent to me, The world's best things at best but fading be.

All are but painted nothings and false joys, Like this poor b.u.t.terfly to these our boys.

His running through nettles, thorns, and briars, To gratify his boyish fond desires; His tumbling over mole-hills to attain His end, namely, his b.u.t.terfly to gain; Doth plainly show what hazards some men run.

To get what will be lost as soon as won.

Men seem in choice, than children far more wise, Because they run not after b.u.t.terflies; When yet, alas! for what are empty toys, They follow children, like to beardless boys.[32]

XXIII.

OF THE FLY AT THE CANDLE.

What ails this fly thus desperately to enter A combat with the candle? Will she venture To clash at light? Away, thou silly fly; Thus doing thou wilt burn thy wings and die.

But 'tis a folly her advice to give, She'll kill the candle, or she will not live.

Slap, says she, at it; then she makes retreat, So wheels about, and doth her blows repeat.

Nor doth the candle let her quite escape, But gives some little check unto the ape: Throws up her heels it doth, so down she falls, Where she lies sprawling, and for succour calls.

When she recovers, up she gets again, And at the candle comes with might and main, But now behold, the candle takes the fly, And holds her, till she doth by burning die.

Comparison.

This candle is an emblem of that light Our gospel gives in this our darksome night.

The fly a lively picture is of those That hate and do this gospel light oppose.

At last the gospel doth become their snare, Doth them with burning hands in pieces tear.[33]

XXIV.

ON THE RISING OF THE SUN.

Look, look, brave Sol doth peep up from beneath, Shows us his golden face, doth on us breathe; He also doth compa.s.s us round with glories, Whilst he ascends up to his highest stories.

Where he his banner over us displays, And gives us light to see our works and ways.

Nor are we now, as at the peep of light, To question, is it day, or is it night?

The night is gone, the shadows fled away, And we now most sure are that it is day.

Our eyes behold it, and our hearts believe it; Nor can the wit of man in this deceive it.

And thus it is when Jesus shows his face, And doth a.s.sure us of his love and grace.

XXV.

UPON THE PROMISING FRUITFULNESS OF A TREE.

A comely sight indeed it is to see A world of blossoms on an apple-tree: Yet far more comely would this tree appear, If all its dainty blooms young apples were.

But how much more might one upon it see, If all would hang there till they ripe should be.

But most of all in beauty 'twould abound, If then none worm-eaten should there be found.

But we, alas! do commonly behold Blooms fall apace, if mornings be but cold.

They too, which hang till they young apples are, By blasting winds and vermin take despair, Store that do hang, while almost ripe, we see By bl.u.s.t'ring winds are shaken from the tree, So that of many, only some there be, That grow till they come to maturity.

Comparison.

This tree a perfect emblem is of those Which G.o.d doth plant, which in his garden grows, Its blasted blooms are motions unto good, Which chill affections do nip in the bud.

Those little apples which yet blasted are, Show some good purposes, no good fruits bear.

Those spoiled by vermin are to let us see, How good attempts by bad thoughts ruin'd be.

Those which the wind blows down, while they are green, Show good works have by trials spoiled been.

Those that abide, while ripe upon the tree, Show, in a good man, some ripe fruit will be.

Behold then how abortive some fruits are, Which at the first most promising appear.

The frost, the wind, the worm, with time doth show, There flows, from much appearance, works but few.

XXVI.

UPON THE THIEF.

The thief, when he doth steal, thinks he doth gain; Yet then the greatest loss he doth sustain.

Come, thief, tell me thy gains, but do not falter.

When summ'd, what comes it to more than the halter?

Perhaps, thou'lt say, The halter I defy; So thou may'st say, yet by the halter die.

Thou'lt say, Then there's an end; no, pr'ythee, hold, He was no friend of thine that thee so told.

Hear thou the Word of G.o.d, that will thee tell, Without repentance thieves must go to h.e.l.l.

But should it be as thy false prophet says, Yet nought but loss doth come by thievish ways.

All honest men will flee thy company, Thou liv'st a rogue, and so a rogue will die.

Innocent boldness thou hast none at all, Thy inward thoughts do thee a villain call.

Sometimes when thou liest warmly on thy bed, Thou art like one unto the gallows led.

Fear, as a constable, breaks in upon thee, Thou art as if the town was up to stone thee.

If hogs do grunt, or silly rats do rustle, Thou art in consternation, think'st a bustle By men about the door, is made to take thee, And all because good conscience doth forsake thee.

Thy case is most deplorably so bad, Thou shunn'st to think on't, lest thou should'st be mad.

Thou art beset with mischiefs every way, The gallows groaneth for thee every day.

Wherefore, I pr'ythee, thief, thy theft forbear, Consult thy safety, pr'ythee, have a care.

If once thy head be got within the noose, 'Twill be too late a longer life to choose.

As to the penitent thou readest of, What's that to them who at repentance scoff.

Nor is that grace at thy command or power, That thou should'st put it off till the last hour.

I pr'ythee, thief, think on't, and turn betime; Few go to life who do the gallows climb.

XXVII.

OF THE CHILD WITH THE BIRD AT THE BUSH.

My little bird, how canst thou sit And sing amidst so many thorns?

Let me a hold upon thee get, My love with honour thee adorns.

Thou art at present little worth, Five farthings none will give for thee, But pr'ythee, little bird, come forth, Thou of more value art to me.

'Tis true it is sunshine to-day, To-morrow birds will have a storm; My pretty one come thou away, My bosom then shall keep thee warm.

Thou subject are to cold o'nights, When darkness is thy covering; At days thy danger's great by kites, How can'st thou then sit there and sing?

Thy food is scarce and scanty too, 'Tis worms and trash which thou dost eat; Thy present state I pity do, Come, I'll provide thee better meat.

I'll feed thee with white bread and milk, And sugar plums, if them thou crave.

I'll cover thee with finest silk, That from the cold I may thee save.

My father's palace shall be thine, Yea, in it thou shalt sit and sing; My little bird, if thou'lt be mine, The whole year round shall be thy spring.

I'll teach thee all the notes at court, Unthought-of music thou shalt play; And all that thither do resort, Shall praise thee for it every day.

I'll keep thee safe from cat and cur, No manner o' harm shall come to thee; Yea, I will be thy succourer, My bosom shall thy cabin be.

But lo, behold, the bird is gone; These charmings would not make her yield; The child's left at the bush alone, The bird flies yonder o'er the field.

Comparison.

This child of Christ an emblem is, The bird to sinners I compare, The thorns are like those sins of his Which do surround him everywhere.