S. CHRYS. in Ep. ad Heb.

Contemn riches, and thou shalt be rich; contemn glory, and thou shalt be glorious; contemn injuries, and thou shalt be a conqueror; contemn rest, and thou shalt gain rest; contemn earth, and thou shalt find heaven.

HUGO Lib. de Vanit. Mundi.

The world is a vanity, which affordeth neither beauty to the amorous, nor reward to the laborious, nor encouragement to the industrious.

EPIG. 10.

This house is to be lett for life or years;

Her rent is sorrow, and her income tears;

Cupid, 't has long stood void; her bills make known, She must be dearly lett; or let alone.

XI.

MATTH. vii. 14.

Narrow is the way that leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.

REPOST'ROUS fool, thou troul'st* amiss;

PH

Thou err'st; that's not the way, 'tis this.

Thy hopes, instructed by thine eye,

Make thee appear more near than I ;
My floor is not so flat, so fine,

And has more obvious rubs than thine:
'Tis true, my way is hard and strait,
And leads me through a thorny gate,
Whose rankling pricks are sharp and fell;
The common way to heav'n's by hell.
'Tis true, thy path is short and fair,
And free from rubs: Ah! fool beware,
The safest road's not always ev'n;
The way to hell's a seeming heav'n.
Think'st thou the crown of glory's had
With idle ease, fond Cyprian lad ?
Think'st thou that mirth, and vain delights,
High feed, and shadow-short'ning nights,
Soft knees, full bags and beds of down,
Are proper prologues to a crown >
Or canst thou hope to come and view,
Like prosp'rous Cæsar, and subdue ?
The bond-slave usurer will trudge;
In spite of gouts, will turn a drudge,
.And serve his soul-condemning purse,
T' increase it with the widow's curse:

* Troul'st; i. e. roll a ball.

And

No tis not thus; thy Ball like thee will stray:

Attend in time and learn the better Way.

And shall the crown of glory stand
Not worth the waving of an hand ?
The fleshly wanton, to obtain
His minute lust, will count it gain
To lose his freedom, his estate,
Upon so dear, so sweet a rate:
Shall pleasures thus be priz'd, and must
Heav'n's palm be cheaper than a lust?
The true-bred spark, to hoise his name
Upon the waxen wings of fame,
Will fight undaunted in a flood

That's rais'd with brackish drops and blood:
And shall the promis'd crown of life
Be thought a toy, not worth a strife?
An easy good brings easy gains ;

But things of price are bought with pains.
The pleasing way is not the right:

He that would conquer heav'n, must fight.