. Quarles' emblems, divine and moral: together with hieroglyphics of the life of man . hine idle vowsAt Morpheus fhrine ? Is this a time to fteep 1hy brains in waftefiil {lumbers ? up, and roufeThy leaden fpirit: Is this a time to fleep ? Adjourn thy fanguine dreams, awake, arife. Call in thy thoughts ; and let them all advife,Hadft thou as many heads as thou haft wounded eyes. , look, what horrid furies do await Thy flattring flumbers ! If thy drowfy head But chance to nod, thou fallit into a bedOf fulphrous flames, whofe torments want a date. Fond boy, be wife : let not thy thoughts he
. Quarles' emblems, divine and moral: together with hieroglyphics of the life of man . hine idle vowsAt Morpheus fhrine ? Is this a time to fteep 1hy brains in waftefiil {lumbers ? up, and roufeThy leaden fpirit: Is this a time to fleep ? Adjourn thy fanguine dreams, awake, arife. Call in thy thoughts ; and let them all advife,Hadft thou as many heads as thou haft wounded eyes. , look, what horrid furies do await Thy flattring flumbers ! If thy drowfy head But chance to nod, thou fallit into a bedOf fulphrous flames, whofe torments want a date. Fond boy, be wife : let not thy thoughts he fedWith Phrygian wifdom ; fools are wife too late : Beware betimes ; and let thy reafon fever [never; Thofe gates which pafTion closd ; wake now orFor if thou nodll, thou fallft; and, falling, fallft for [ever. 3- Mark, how the ready hands of death prepare :His bow is bent, and he hath notchd his dart;He aims, he level* at thy flumbVing heart ; The wound is porting; O be wife, , has the voice of danger loft the art To raife the fpirit of negledled care t Well B I ^/,iAr. Xatet Hofiis, et Otia ducis :Tkf J^oe lies- rltsr in wait/ ttncl coftst t/ivif /cce/7ThvStfiticm /trre. and thu^ jrrure/v .plcep / Book I. EMBLEMS. 23 Well, fleepthy fill, and take thy foft repofes; But know, withal, fvveet tailes have four clofes; And he repents in thorns, that fleeps in beds of rofes. Yet, fluggard, wake, and gull thy foul no moreWith earths falfe pleafure, and the worlds delight,Whofe fruit is fair, and pleafing to the fight, But four in rafte, falfe as the putrid core:Thy flaring glafs is gems at her half light. She makes thee fceming rich, but truly poor:She boafts a kernel, and beftows a ftiell;Performs an inch of her fair-promisd ell: Her words proteft a heav*n ^ her works produce an [hell. O thou, the fountain of whofe better partIs earthd and gravelld up with vain defire:That daily wallowft in the fledily mire And bafe pollution of a luftful heart. That feelft no pafllon, b
Size: 1452px × 1721px
Photo credit: © Reading Room 2020 / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookauthorquarlesfrancis159, bookcentury1800, booksubjectemblems
