That crawling worm there see:

Ponder, how ugly, filthy, vile, it is.

When thou hast seen and loath'd it, know that this,

This base worm thou dost see,

Has quite devour'd thy parents-shall eat thee.

Honour, the world, and man,

What trifles are they! since most true it is
That this poor fly, this small spark, this
So much abhorr'd worm, can

Honour destroy-burn worlds-devour up man.

DIRIGE VIAS MEAS, DOMINE!

OPEN thyself, and then look in;
Consider what thou mightst have been,
And what thou art now made by sin.

Asham'd o' the state to which thou'rt brought,
Detest and grieve for each past fault;

Sigh, weep, and blush for each foul thought.

Fear, but despair not, and still love;
Look humbly up to God above,
And him thou'lt soon to pity move.

Resolve on that which prudence shows;
Perform what thou dost well propose;
And keep i' the way thou once hast chose.

Vice, and what looks like vicious, shun;
Let use make good acts easily done:
Have zeal, as when thou hadst first begun.

Hope strongly, yet be humble still;
Thy good is God's; what's thine, is ill:
Do thus, and thee affect he will.

Pray, when with others; when alone,
To scorn, or praise, be as a stone:
Forget thyself, and all, but ONE.

Remove what stands 'twixt God and thee:
Use not thy fancy, him to see:

One with his will make thy will be.

Look purely on God when thou dost well;
But not on heaven, much less on hell:
Thoul't get him thus in thee to dwell.

Useless our Master we do serve;
Our labours no reward deserve;
Yet happy who these rules observe.

EXPRIMETUR.

WHO, without horror, can that house behold (Though ne'er so fair) which is with tombstones

made;

Whose walls, fraught with inscriptions writ of old, Say still here underneath somebody's laid.

Though such translated church-yards shine with gold,

Yet they the builder's sacrilege upbraid;

And the wrong'd ghosts, there haunting uncontrol'd, Follow each one his monumental shade.

But they, that by the poor man's downfall rise,

Have sudden epitaphs carv'd on their chests;
As-Here the widow, here the orphan lies.
Who sees their wealth, their avarice detests;
Whilst the injur'd for revenge urge heaven with
cries,

And, through its guilt, the oppressor's mind ne'er

rests.

VICE BRUTALIZES.

WHAT use has he made of his soul

Who (still on vices bent)

Ne'er strove his passions to control;

But humouring them his life has spent
Pray tell me, if I can

Call such a very thing as that is, man ?
For since that just as sense has bid,
It do, or leave; it wrought, or ceas'd;
And would not hear when reason chid,
Or her commands regard the least;
It might have liv'd even as it did,
And yet have been a beast.

Had it a lion been, just so
It would roar out and fume;
Were it a peacock, it would go

Just thus, admiring its own plume;

Or if it were a goat,

Thus only on base pleasures it would dote.
More than this thing, the ravenous hog
Searches not, where his maw to fill;
Nor at a stranger's hound, the dog
O' the house more snarl or envy will,

Than this odd thing (though apt to cog)
Repine at others still.

The crow, that hoards up all she finds;
The ant, that still takes pains,

Do nothing more than he who minds
But how to fill his bag with gains.
The snail and sluggard be

Within alike, though in shape they disagree,
Call not that thing then, man; even as
Thou wouldst not injure, by the same,
Man who like God created was-

God who for man's sake man became :
But, since so much o' the beast it has,
Call it by its own name.