Author: liza.blake

Mark but the little ant, how she doth run,
In what a busy motion she goes¹ on,
As if she ordered all the world’s affairs,
When ’tis but only one small straw she bears.
But when they find a fly, which on the ground lies² dead,   5
Lord,³ how they stir!⁴ So⁵ full is every head.⁶
Some with their feet and mouths draw it along,⁷
Others, their tails and shoulders thrust it on.⁸
And if a stranger ant comes on that way,
She helps them straight, ne’er asketh if she may,                   10
Nor stays to have⁹ rewards, but is well pleased;
Thus pays herself with her own pains, their ease.¹⁰
They live as the Lacedemonians did,
All is in¹¹ common; nothing is forbid.
No private feast, but altogether meet,                                       15
And wholesome food,¹² though plain, in public eat.¹³
They have no envy; all ambition’s down;
There is neither superior, nor¹⁴ clown.
No stately palaces¹⁵ for pride to dwell:¹⁶
Their house is common, called the ants’ hill.                           20
All help to build, and keep it in repair;
No ’special workmen, but all lab’rers¹⁷ are.
No markets keep,¹⁸ no meat have they¹⁹ to sell,
For what each eats,²⁰ all welcome are,²¹ and well.
No jealousy, each takes his neighbor’s wife                              25
Without offense, which never breedeth strife.
They²² fight no²³ duels, nor do give the lie;
Their greatest honor is to live, not die.
For they, to keep up²⁴ life, through dangers venture²⁵
To get provisions in against the winter.²⁶                                 30
But many lose their life, as chance doth fall.
None is perpetual; Death devours²⁷ all.

¹

The yellow-bearded² corn bows down each head,
Like gluttons when their stomach’s overfed.
Or like to³ those whose wealth makes⁴ heavy cares,
So doth the full-ripe corn hang⁵ down their ears.
For⁶ plenty makes oppression, gives small ease,                     5
And superfluity is a disease.
Yet all that Nature makes doth still aspire⁷
Forward to get, never doth back retire,⁸
Until the scythe⁹ of Death doth lay them low
Upon the Earth, from whence they first did¹⁰ grow.              10
Then who would hoard up wealth, and take such pains,
Since nothing but the Earth has¹¹ all the gains?
No riches are, but what i’th’mind is found;¹²
They are but¹³ poor, who seek them under ground.¹⁴
For Time, that feeds on life, makes all things fall,                  15
Is never satisfied, but¹⁵ eats up all.
Then let the minds of men in peace take¹⁶ rest,
And count a moderation still the best,
And grumble not, nor¹⁷ covet Nature’s store—
For those that are content can ne’er be poor—                       20
And¹⁸ bless the gods, submit to their decree,
Think all things best, what they are pleased shall¹⁹ be.
He that doth grumbl’at what he²⁰ cannot mend
Is one that takes a thing at the wrong end.

¹

Who knoweth, but that beasts,² as they do lie
In meadows low, or else on mountains high,³
May contemplations have upon⁴ the sun,
And how his daily, yearly circles run?⁵
Whether the sun about the Earth doth rove,                        5
Or else the Earth on⁶ its own poles doth move;⁷
And in the night, when twinkling stars they⁸ see,
Like man, imagine⁹ them all suns to be;
And may like man, stars,¹⁰ planets number well,
And could they speak, they might¹¹ their motions tell;      10
And how each planet in its orb doth¹² move;
’Gainst their astrology no man can¹³ prove.
For they may know the stars, and their aspects,
What influence they cast, and their effects.

¹

Who knows, but fish which in the sea do live²
Can a good reason of its saltness give,³
And how it ebbs and flows? Perchance they can
Show reasons more than ever⁴ yet could man.

Who knows, but birds which under th’azure skies¹
Do fly, know² whence the blustring winds do rise?³
May know what⁴ thunder is, which no man knows,
And what’s a blazing star,⁵ or where it goes,
Whether it be a chip, fall’n⁶ from the sun,                        5
And so goes out when⁷ aliment is done,
Or⁸ a sulphureous vapor drawn up high,
And when the sulphur’s spent the flame doth die,
Or whether’t⁹ be a jelly set on fire,
And wasting like a candle doth expire,                              10
Or whether’t¹⁰ be a star whole and¹¹ entire;
The birds, perhaps, might tell,¹² could we inquire.

O Nature! Nature,¹ hearken to my cry,
Each minute wounded am, but² cannot die.
My children, which I from my womb did bear,
Do dig my sides, and all my bowels tear.
They³ plow deep furrows in my very face;                  5
From torment I have neither time nor place.
No other element is so abused,
Or⁴ by mankind so cruelly is used.
Man cannot reach the skies to plow and sow,
Nor can they set, or make⁵ the stars to grow.              10
But they are still as Nature first did⁶ plant,
Neither maturity nor growth they want.
They never die, nor do they yield their place
To younger stars, but still run their own race.
The sun doth never groan young suns to bear,           15
For he himself is his own son and heir.
He in the center sits just like a king;⁷
Round him the planets are as in a ring;⁸
The largest⁹ orbs over his head turn slow,
And underneath the swiftest planets go.                      20
Each several planet,¹⁰ several measures take,
And with their motions they¹¹ sweet music make.
Thus all the planets round about him move,
And he returns them light for their kind love.

A prosperous knave, that mischief¹ still doth plot,
Swells big with pride since he hath² power got,
Whose³ conscience, like a purse drawn open⁴ wide,
False hands do cast in bribes on every side.
And as his⁵ guts are stuffed with excrement,                  5
So is his head with thoughts of ill intent.
No pity shows to men oppressed⁶ with grief,
But yet is apt to pity much a thief.
He thinks them fools that wickedness do shun,
Esteems them wise that⁷ evil ways do run.                      10
The noble he doth scorn if⁸ they be poor;
The rich, though ne’er so base, he doth adore.
He always smiles as if he peace still meant,
When all the while his heart to evil’s⁹ bent,
A seeming friendship,¹⁰ large professions make,           15
Where he doth think advantages to take.
Thus doth a glossing knave the world abuse;
To work his end, the Devil his¹¹ friend will¹² choose.

I do hate¹ fools, for they my brains do crack,
And when they speak, my patience’s on the rack.
Their actions all from reason quite do run;
Their ends prove bad, ’cause ill they first begun.
They fly from wisdom, do her counsels fear,              5
As if some ruin near their heads there were.
They seek the shadow, let the substance go,
And what is good or best, they do not know.
Yet stiff in their opinions, stubborn, strong,²
Although you bray them, sayeth Solomon.³                 10
As spiders’ webs entangle little flies,⁴
So fools wrapped up in webs of errors lie;⁵
Then comes⁶ the spider, flies with poison fills;
So mischief, after errors, fools oft kills.

¹

A sad and solemn verse doth please the mind,
With chains of passions doth the spirits bind.
As pencilled pictures drawn present² the night,
Whose darker shadows give the eye delight,
Melancholy aspects invite³ the eye,                                           5
And always have⁴ a seeming majesty.
By its converting qualities, there grows
A perfect likeness, when itself it shows.
Then let the world in mourning sit, and weep,
Since only sadness we are apt to keep.                                     10
In light and toyish things we seek for change;
The mind grows weary, and about doth range.
What serious is, there constancy⁵ will dwell,
Which shows that sadness mirth doth far excel.
Why should men grieve when they think on their grave,⁶  15
Since they no settlement in mirth can have?⁷
The grave, though sad, in quiet still they keep;
Without disturbing dreams⁸ they lie asleep.
No rambling thoughts to⁹ vex their restless brains,
Nor labor hard to scorch and dry¹⁰ their veins,                     20
No care to search for that they cannot find,
Which is an appetite in¹¹ every mind.
Then wish, good man, to die in quiet peace,
Since death in misery is a release.

¹

Women and fools fear in the dark to be,
Lest they² the Devil in some shape should see.
As if, like silly owls, he takes³ delight
To sleep all day, and go⁴ abroad at Night,
To beat the pots and pans, candles⁵ blow out,                      5
And all the night to⁶ keep a revel-rout,
To⁷ make the sow to grunt, the pigs to squeak,
The dogs to bark, cats mew as if they speak.
Alas, poor Devil, whose power is⁸ small,
Only to make a cat or dog to bawl,                                          10
To make with pewter, tin, and brass⁹ a noise,
To stew with fearful sweat poor girls and boys.
Why should we fear him, since he doth no harm?
For we may bind him fast within a charm.
Then what a devil ails a woman old,                                      15
To play such tricks whereby her soul is sold?¹⁰
Can he destroy mankind, or new worlds make,
Or alter states for an old woman’s sake?
Or put daylight out,¹¹ or stop the sun,
Or make¹² the planets from their course to run?                 20
And yet methinks ’tis odd, and very strange,
That since the Devil¹³ cannot bodies change
He should have¹⁴ power over souls, to draw
Them from their God, and from his holy law,
Persuading conscience to do more ill,                                    25
Than the sweet grace of God to rule the will,
To cut off faith, by which our souls should climb
To make us leave our folly and our¹⁵ crime,
Destroying honesty, disgracing truth,
When he can¹⁶ neither make old age, nor youth.                30
He cannot add nor make¹⁷ a minute short,
Yet many souls he keeps¹⁸ from Heaven’s court.
It seems his power shall for ever last,
Because ’tis over souls¹⁹ which never waste.
And thus hath God the Devil power lent                               35
To punish man, unless he doth repent.