Selected quad for the lemma: death_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A65778
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M. Whitebread's contemplations during his confinement in Newgate
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Whitbread, Thomas, 1618-1679.
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1679
(1679)
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Wing W1815; ESTC R39757
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4,100
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1
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able To raise wonder in the very stones And Pray good Sir stop a little hold your hand After this fair recitall after all You have or can say touching this you call A stately Noble Structure is' t not still A heap of Stones and Morter by the skill Of cunning Workman cimented together T'enhance the grand design ' gainst Wind and Weather For there are those who will not stick to say A close thatch'd Roof and Wall well dawb'd with clay Your first design and chief end will fulfill As well and as compleatly as all the still Which crafty Artist doth employ intending T' enrich himself by your vain needlesse spending Leaving't in doubt too where the Italian curse Shall fall upon your head or empty purse To Death DEath th' art wellcome For though thou art a Thief instead of Robbing I expect relief From thy kind hand 't is long since I have found Thou steal'st upon me and dost still get ground So that I see there 's little hopes by flight T' avoid thy pursuit And although I might There is so little comfort in the way I still must keep that I had rather stay Expecting thy last stroke than thus remain In such a dying Life where such a train Of miseries such cares wants griefs succeed The one the other dayly that 't were need To have a heart of Brass and Breast of steel To bear the cruel brunt And now the Wheel Is set a running 't will scarce stop its course 'Till it has hurri'd all from bad to worse So 't is and so 't will be But pray good Death Le ts make a friendly truce before my breath Has quite forsaken me I find I have A little work to do for which I crave Some short forbearance It cannot be long My cares my years now coming in full throng Upon my drooping Soul And first of all Provision should be made against the call Of the Almighty for a strick account Of thoughts words actions which must needs amount To a vast summe O what a fearfull charge Will then be brought against me not at large But where each minute thing each circumstance Shall be produc'd and what e're may enhance Sinns direfull malice Mercy then no more Shall act her part but justice on the score Of things irrevocably done and past Shall give the Sentence and we then our last And endless doom receive Now this is that I crave some respit for For though 't be what I have long labour'd in striving to frame My Conscience so that it might without blame Appear before his eyes who searches all The close Recesses of mans Heart yet shall I gladly once more make a strict review Of what is past and in my Soul renew That just Resentment which at other times I seem t' have entertain'd against my crimes Detesting them and willing that my blood Joyn'd and in union with that precious flood Which from my Saviours sacred wounds did flow May wash my sinful Soul and cleanse it so That when before my great Judge I appear Well manag'd Confidence may vanquish fear This is what I do project But pray stay Take not my first word For perchance I may Repent me and on second better thought Resolve forbearance may be too dear bought For as there 's nothing I so much detest As sin a thousand fears would me invest Least so unhappy I again should be As to offend my great good God I see The dangers are innumerable The Nets Are spred on every side and he that gets Well off from some or most is not secure Some crafty Syren him may yet allure And cast upon some desp'rat Shelve or Rock Which to avoid may ask a greater stock Of strength and foresight than my weakness dares Presume upon Hence day and night such fears And frights my trembling Soul must needs oppress That life cannot be held a Happiness Then wellcome Death by thee I hope t' obtain A better Being and secure remain From Sinn that greatest foulest blackest Devil The subt'lest Foe the only dreadful evil Which can a generous Soul befall The case Thus then resolved is that though the face Of Death hath something harsh in 't yet the harms Life still expos'd to and the killing charmes Of Sinn so numerous are that to eschew Such endless Hazards 't is best to renew Our first Address and chuse without Reply Rather to dye to live than live to dye London Printed in the Year 1679. By a Copy of his own Writing
M. Whitebread‘s CONTEMPLATIONS During his Confinement in NEWGATE To a Soul in the Body POor Soul what mak'st thou here is this the place Thou wert design'd for sure the Noble Race Thou art descended from may well require Better accommodation and aspire To greater matters than immur'd to stay Under a mouldy roof of dirt and clay Where thy employment's like to be To hear to smell to touch to tast to see Things wholly succouring of flesh and blood And are with Beasts and Birds a common good Mean while thine own good parts are down'd and lost To serve the Humours of a peevish Host Nor shalt thou please him long with all thy care And diligence For e're thou art aware He 'le change into a thousand forms and shapes And put as many humours on as Apes Make mouths and mops now he 's for this now that Nor shalt thou eas'ly know what he 'le be at Next moment or next hour One day he 's well Another sick to death so sierce so fell That nothing can content him Nothings right He quarrels with the day rails at the Night As if they were the Authors of his ill And bound to come and go at his fond will There 's nothing now to do but weep and mourn As if he were a creature quite forelorn Destin'd without Reprive for Grave or Urn But possibly e're long the Tide may turn And he from discontented sick and sad May pleasant be Joviall and half mad 'T is as the humour flows now cold now hot Now moist now dry But still 't will be thy lot To wait upon him and in all his wild Exotick moods to tend him as a child Caressing soothing using all the skill A Nurse employs to keep her Baby still It moves my heart to pity when I see Thy understanding Will and Memory Parts fit to place thee on a Regal Throne Thus undervalu'd and thou scarce to own Thy great misfortune but seem'st to rejoyce As in a thing contriv'd by thy own choice But look to 't well for trust me time will come When he for all thy kindness and in room Of all thy service will serve thee a trick And leave thee nothing but his bones to pick From whence thou scarce shal't gather wherewithall To satisfy his debts which then will fall To thy lot to discharge as having bin His constant partner and his next of kin Nor shall he so escape For he must know That though he sculks in Grots and Caves as low As Earth's deep center 't will him not avail He must appear without mainprize or bail And answer to th' Action which will be A desp'rate bus'ness both for him and thee For as y' are jointly bound Body and Soul You both are answerable for the whole Rouze up thy self then and without delay Shew him his danger teach him to obey Thy just Commands Make use of spur and rain And if thou dost perceive that he again Would break loose from thee hold a stricter hand Rebuke perswade But quit not thy Command And above all remember thy descent Make him too capable of the intent Of his and thy great Maker to bestow Much nobler things and greater than this low And abject State of Life you now do lead Can promise Tell him he must learn to reade His better fortune in the Starry Globe Of Heaven where lie a rich and precious Robe Of Glory shall receive if he prove true To God and Conscience to himself and you Deal with him so that he oft casts an eye Up to that seat of Bliss where he 'le descry Things worthy of his hopes and find desire And love enflam'd with a celestial fire So that when e're he will or must return To treat again with Earth he le kick and spurn And what he lately did so much admire And dote upon and soon again retire To those great thoughts wherewith Heaven did him treat And oft with tears and amorous sighs repeat Base World vild Earth how I thee do despise When up to Heavens bright Sphere I cast mine eyes SOLITVDE Dear Solitude 't is thou I see alone Restor'st Men to their wits to thee we own Our selves deep debtors We had half forgot That we were men till 't was our happy lot To light on thee Now free from those fond toys That everlasting bustle endless noise The basy World engag'd us in we finde Wâ— had something else to do something to minde Imports us more than we as yet perchance Had Thought well on Our Life was not a trance A waking dream a spice of the disease On Brain-sick Lunaticks is wont to seize Flattering their fancies causing them to take Themselves for Kings Queens Princes and to make Their brags and boasts of strange and mighty matters Swearing they 're richly clad though all in tatters But rags are Robes with them Joyn'd stools a Throne Sticks Scepters are and scarce half caps a Crown Their wooden diâ—h pure Gold their bed of straw Embroider'd Velvet All they say's a Law Ay! this indeed is downright Bedlam mad 'T is very true and if perchance y 'had had The time and leasure Solitude affords Long since y 'had found the deeds if not the words Of most Mens Lives to speak them little less Than those now mention'd and their Happiness As little real with this onely difference That these in number those exceed and hence By vote 't is carry'd these are wise and those Fit guests for Bedlam though under the Rose These quite as Mad are in another kind As viewing but what passes you shall finde Mark their designs pretentions pursuits Aims At such mean things as only bear the Names Of reall goods but are no more the things They go for than the Players Acting Kings Are reall Soveraigns 'T is from fancy that Most things their value take From whence or what Is Gold that it so great esteem should have 'T is but a yellow Clay Yet Lord and slave To it must homage give and half adore And he that has thereof the greatest store Is held the greatest the best Man whereas He 's still but dust and Gold but diâ— as ' t was JEWELLS What Pibbles that Why don't you see or have It s Sun-bright beams dazel'd your sight then save Your pains and eyes and look else where But know To this a Prince his Liberty may owe. Sweet Sir your pardon but pray is it not A Pibble still or has it lately got Some strange Enchanting Virtue to cut glass Is that alone for which it famous was If that be all though it shine ne're so bright Y' are rul'd by fancy not by reasons Light BVILDINGS See yonder Noble Structure which e're while A Chaâ—s was now 't is a stately pile Where Greece where Rome where England all its Art Engag'd has besides kind Natures part Of choice materials Marble best Free-stone And things great and rich as you will own But that 's of all the least considerable The Art Contrivance Symmetry is