He made the Angels thine, thy fellows all, Nay, even thy servants, when devotions call. Oh canst thou be so stupid then, so dim, To seek a saving influence, and lose him? Can Stars protect thee? or can poverty, Which is the light to Heaven, put out his eye? He is my star; in him all truth I find, All influence, all fate, and when my mind Is furnished with his fullnesse, my poor story Shall outlive all their Age, and all their glory. The hand of danger cannot fall amiss, When I know what, and in whose power it is. Nor want, the cause of man, shall make me groan; A holy hermit is a mind alone. can To work ourselves into a glorious man? Love's but an exhalation to best eyes The matter's spent, and then the fool's fire dyes? Were I in love, and could that bright star bring Increase to wealth, honor, and every thing: Were she as perfect good as we can aim, The first was so, and yet she lost the Game. My mistress then be knowledge and faire truth; So I enjoy all beauty and all youth, And though to Time her lights and laws she lends, She knows no Age that to corruption bends. Friends' promises may lead me to believe, But he that is his own friend knows to live. Affliction, when I know it, is but this, A deep alloy whereby man tougher is To bear the hammer; and the deeper still, |