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Bee then thine owne home, and in thy selfe dwell Inne aniwhere, Continuance maketh Hell And seeinge the snaile, which every where doth rome Carying his owne howse still, still is at home; Follow (for hee is easie pacd,) this Snaile, Bee thyne owne Pallace, or the Worlds thy Iayle. And in the worlds Sea, doe not like Corke, sleepe Vppon the Waters face; nor in the Deepe Sinck like a Lead, with out A lyne; But as Fishes glide, leauinge no print, where they passe Nor makyng sound; so closely thy course goe; Lett men dispute, whether thou breath or noe. Only in this one thinge, bee no Galenist. To make Courtes hott ambitions wholesome, doe not take A Dreame of Countries dulnesse, doe not add Correctiues, but as Chymicks, purge the badd. But Sr. I aduise not yow, I rather doe Saie ore those lessons, which I learnd of yow Whome free from Germaine Schismes, and lightness Of France, And faire Italies faithlessnes, Having from these, suckt all they had of worth, And brought home that fayth which yow carried forth I throughly loue. But if my selfe I haue wone To knowe my rules, I haue, and yow haue After those reuerend Papers, whose Soule is Our Great, and good Kyngs loud hand, and feard Name By which to yow hee deriues mvch of his And (how hee may) makes yow all most the same. [CW: A Taper] |
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