S. AUGUST. Soliloq. Cap. 33.

There was a great dark cloud of vanity before mine eyes, so that I could not see the Sun of Justice, and the Light of Truth: I, being the son of darkness, was involved in darkness, because I knew not thy light: I was blind, and loved my blindness, and did walk from darkness to darkness: but, Lord, thou art my God, who hast led me from darkness, and the shadow of death; hast called me into this glorious light, and behold, I see.

EPIG. 1.

My soul, cheer up; what if the night be long, Heav'n finds an ear, when sinners find a tongue; Thy tears are morning show'rs: Heav'n bids me say, When Peter's cock begins to crow, 'tis day.

H.

PSALM Ixix. 5.

O Lord, thou knowest my foolishness, and my sins are not hid from thee.

S

EE'ST thou this fulsome ideot? in what measure
He seems transported with the antic pleasure

Of childish baubles? Canst thou but admire

The empty fulness of his vain désire?

Canst thou conceive such poor delights as these
Can fill th' insatiate soul of man, or please
The fond aspect of his deluded eye?
Reader, such very fools art thou and I :
False puffs of honour; the deceitful streams
Of wealth; the idle, vain, and empty dreams
Of pleasure, are our trafic, and ensnare
Our souls, the threefold subject of our care;
We toil for trash, we barter solid joys
For airy trifles, sell our heav'n for toys;
We catch at barley-grains, whilst pearls stand by
Despis'd; such very fools art thou and I.

Aimd'st thou at honour? does not th' ideot shake it
In his left hand? fond man, step forth, and take it :
Or would'st thou wealth? see now the fool presents thee
With a full basket, if such wealth contents thee:
Wouldst thou take pleasure? If the fool unstride
His prancing stallion, thou mayst up and ride :
Fond man, such is the pleasure, wealth, and honour
The earth affords such fools as doat upon her:
Such is the game whereat earth's ideots fly;
Such ideots, ah! such fools art thou and I.

Had rebel man's fool-hardiness extended

No farther than himself, and there had ended,
It had been just; but thus enrag'd to fly
Upon th' eternal eyes of Majesty,

And drag the Son of Glory from the breast
Of his indulgent Father; to arrest

His great and sacred person; in disgrace
To spit and spawl upon his sun-bright face;
To taunt him with base terms, and, being bound,
To scourge his soft, his trembling sides; to wound
His head with thorns; his heart with human fears;
His hands with nails, and his pale flank with spears ;
And then to paddle in the purer stream
Of his spilt blood, is more than most extreme;
Great builder of mankind, canst thou propound
All this to thy bright eyes, and not confound
Thy handy-work? O! canst thou chuse but see,
That mad'st the eye? can aught be hid from thee?
Thou seest our persons, Lord, and not our guilt;
Thou seest not what thou may'st, but what thou wilt:
The hand that form'd us is inforc'd to be

A screen set up betwixt thy work and thee:
Look, look upon that hand, and thou shalt spy
An open wound, a thor'ghfare for thine eye;
Or if that wound be clos'd, that passage be
Deny'd between thy gracious eye and me,
Yet view the scar; that scar will countermand
Thy wrath O read my fortune in thy hand.

S. CHRYS.

S. CHRYS. Hom. iv. Joan.

Fools seem to bound in wealth, when they want all things; they seem to enjoy happiness, when indeed they are only most miserable: neither do they understand that they are deluded by their fancy; till they be delivered from their folly.

S. GREG, in Mor.

By fo much the more are we inwardly foolish, by how much we strive to seem outwardly wise.

EPIG. 2.

Rebellious fool, what has thy folly done?
Controul'd thy God, and crucifi'd his Son!

How sweetly has the Lord of Life deceiv'd thee!

'Thou shedd'st his blood, and that shed blood has sav'd

[thee.

PSALM

III.

PSALM VI. 2.

Have mercy, Lord, upon me, for I am weak; O Lord heal me, for my bones are vexed.

Soul.

SOUL.

A

JESUS.

H! Son of David, help. Jes. What sinful cry Implores the Son of David: Soul. It is I. Jes. Who art thou? Soul. Oh! a deeply-wounded That's heavy laden, and would fain have rest.

[breast Jes. I have no scraps, and dogs must not be fed, Like houshold children, with the children's bread. Soul. True, Lord; yet tolerate a hungry whelp To lick their crumbs: O Son of David help.

Jes. Poor soul, what ail'st thou ? Soul. O I burn, I

I cannot rest; I know not where to fly,

To find some ease; I turn my blubber'd face
From man to man, I roll from place to place,
T'avoid my tortures, to obtain relief,

[fry,

But still am dogg'd and haunted with my grief:
My midnight torments call the sluggish light,
And, when the morning's come, they woo the night.
Soul. Quench, quench my flames, and 'swage those
[scorching fires.

Jes. Canst thou believe my hand can cure thy grief?
Soul. Lord, I believe; Lord, help my unbelief.
Jes. Hold forth thine arm, and let my fingers try
Thy pulse where, chiefly, doth thy torment lie?
Soul. From head to foot; it reigns in ev'ry part,
But plays the self-law'd tyrant in my
heart.

:

Jos.