FRANCIS QUARLES QUOTES II

Yet, sluggard, wake, and gull thy soul no more

With earth's false pleasures, and the world's delight,

Whose fruit is fair and pleasing to the sight,

But sour in taste, false as the putrid core:

Thy flaring glass is gems at her half light;

She makes thee seeming rich, but truly poor:

She boasts a kernel, and bestows a shell;

Performs an inch of her fair-promis'd ell:

Her words protest a heav'n; her works produce a hell.

What ails the fool to laugh? Does something please

His vain conceit? Or is 't a mere disease?

Fool, giggle on, and waste thy wanton breath;

Thy morning laughter breeds an ev'ning death.

Nor fire, nor rocks, can stop our furious minds,

Nor waves, nor winds.

Will't ne'er be morning? Will that promis'd light

Ne'er break, and clear those clouds of night?

Sweet Phosphor, bring the day,

Whose conqu'ring ray

May chase these fogs.

The busy mint

Of our laborious thoughts is ever going,

And coining new desires; desires not knowing

Where next to pitch; but, like the boundless ocean,

Gain, and gain ground, and grow more strong by motion.

False world, thou ly'st: thou canst not lend

The least delight:

Thy favours cannot gain a friend,

They are so slight.

Let those have night, that slily love t' immure

Their cloister'd crimes, and sin secure;

Let those have night, that blush to let men know

The baseness they ne'er blush to do;

Let those have night, that love to have a nap,

And loll in ignorance's lap;

Let those, whose eyes, like owls, abhor the light,

Let those have night.

Take heed thou trust not the deceitful lap

Of wanton Dalilah; the world's a trap.

The worldly wisdom of the foolish man

Is like a sieve, that does alone retain

The grosser substance of the worthless bran:

But thou, my soul, let thy brave thoughts disdain

So coarse a purchase: O be thou a fan

To purge the chaff, and keep the winnow'd grain:

Make clean thy thoughts, and dress thy mixt desires:

Thou art Heav'n's tasker, and thy God requires

The purest of thy flow'r, as well as of thy fires.

What well-advised ear regards

What earth can say?

Thy words are gold, but thy rewards

Are painted clay.