Satire 3 Kind pity chokes my spleen; brave scorn forbids Those tears to issue which swell my eyelids; I must not laugh, nor weep sins and be wise; Can railing, then, cure these worn maladies? Is not our mistress, fair Religion, As worthy of all our souls' devotion As virtue was in the first blinded age? Are not heaven's joys as valiant to assuage Lusts, as earth's honour was to them? Alas, As we do them in means, shall they surpass Us in the end? and shall thy father's spirit Meet blind philosophers in heaven, whose merit Of strict life may be imputed faith, and hear Thee, whom he taught so easy ways and near To follow, damn'd? Oh, if thou dar'st, fear this; This fear great courage and high valour is. Dar'st thou aid mutinous Dutch, and dar'st thou lay Thee in ships' wooden sepulchres, a prey To leaders' rage, to storms, to shot, to dearth? Dar'st thou dive seas, and dungeons of the earth? Hast thou courageous fire to thaw the ice Of frozen North discoveries? and thrice Colder than salamanders, like divine Children in th' oven, fires of Spain and the Line, Whose countries limbecs to our bodies be, Canst thou for gain bear? and must every he Which cries not, "Goddess," to thy mistress, draw Or eat thy poisonous words? Courage of straw! O desperate coward, wilt thou seem bold, and To thy foes and his, who made thee to stand Sentinel in his world's garrison, thus yield, And for forbidden wars leave th' appointed field? Know thy foes: the foul devil, whom thou Strivest to please, for hate, not love, would allow Thee fain his whole realm to be quit; and as The world's all parts wither away and pass, So the world's self, thy other lov'd foe, is In her decrepit wane, and thou loving this, Dost love a wither'd and worn strumpet; last, Flesh (itself's death) and joys which flesh can taste, Thou lovest, and thy fair goodly soul, which doth Give this flesh power to taste joy, thou dost loathe. Seek true religion. O where? Mirreus, Thinking her unhous'd here, and fled from us, Seeks her at Rome; there, because he doth know That she was there a thousand years ago, He loves her rags so, as we here obey The statecloth where the prince sate yesterday. Crantz to such brave loves will not be enthrall'd, But loves her only, who at Geneva is call'd Religion, plain, simple, sullen, young, Contemptuous, yet unhandsome; as among Lecherous humours, there is one that judges No wenches wholesome, but coarse country drudges. Graius stays still at home here, and because Some preachers, vile ambitious bawds, and laws, Still new like fashions, bid him think that she Which dwells with us is only perfect, he Embraceth her whom his godfathers will Tender to him, being tender, as wards still Take such wives as their guardians offer, or Pay values. Careless Phrygius doth abhor All, because all cannot be good, as one Knowing some women whores, dares marry none. Graccus loves all as one, and thinks that so As women do in divers countries go In divers habits, yet are still one kind, So doth, so is Religion; and this blind- ness too much light breeds; but unmoved, thou Of force must one, and forc'd, but one allow, And the right; ask thy father which is she, Let him ask his; though truth and falsehood be Near twins, yet truth a little elder is; Be busy to seek her; believe me this, He's not of none, nor worst, that seeks the best. To adore, or scorn an image, or protest, May all be bad; doubt wisely; in strange way To stand inquiring right, is not to stray; To sleep, or run wrong, is. On a huge hill, Cragged and steep, Truth stands, and he that will Reach her, about must and about must go, And what the hill's suddenness resists, win so. Yet strive so that before age, death's twilight, Thy soul rest, for none can work in that night. To will implies delay, therefore now do; Hard deeds, the body's pains; hard knowledge too The mind's endeavours reach, and mysteries Are like the sun, dazzling, yet plain to all eyes. Keep the truth which thou hast found; men do not stand In so ill case, that God hath with his hand Sign'd kings' blank charters to kill whom they hate; Nor are they vicars, but hangmen to fate. Fool and wretch, wilt thou let thy soul be tied To man's laws, by which she shall not be tried At the last day? Oh, will it then boot thee To say a Philip, or a Gregory, A Harry, or a Martin, taught thee this? Is not this excuse for mere contraries Equally strong? Cannot both sides say so? That thou mayest rightly obey power, her bounds know; Those past, her nature and name is chang'd; to be Then humble to her is idolatry. As streams are, power is; those blest flowers that dwell At the rough stream's calm head, thrive and do well, But having left their roots, and themselves given To the stream's tyrannous rage, alas, are driven Through mills, and rocks, and woods, and at last, almost Consum'd in going, in the sea are lost. So perish souls, which more choose men's unjust Power from God claim'd, than God himself to trust.

Satire 2 Sir; though (I thanke God for it) I do hate Perfectly all this towne, yet there's one state In all ill things so excellently best, That hate, towards them, breeds pitty towards the rest. Though Poetry indeed be such a sinne As I thinke that brings dearths, and Spaniards in, Though like the Pestilence and old fashion'd love, Ridlingly it catch men; and doth remove Never, till it be sterv'd out; yet their state Is poore, disarm'd, like Papists, not worth hate. One,(like a wretch, which at Barre judg'd as dead, Yet prompts him which stands next, and cannot reade, And saves his life)gives ideot actors meanes (Starving himselfe)to live by'his labor'd sceanes; As in some Organ, Puppits dance above And bellows pant below, which them do move. One would move Love by rimes; but witchcrafts charms Bring not now their old feares, nor their old harmes: Rammes, and slings now are seely battery, Pistolets are the best Artillerie. And they who write to Lords, rewards to get, Are they not like singers at doores for meat? And they who write, because all write, have still That excuse for writing, and for writing ill. But hee is worst, who (beggarly) doth chaw Others wits fruits, and in his ravenous maw Rankly digested, doth those things out-spue, As his owne things; 'and they are his owne, 'tis true, For if one eate my meate, though it be knowne The meate was mine, th'excrement is his owne. But these do mee no harme, nor they which use To out-doe Dildoes, and out-usure Jewes; To'out-drinke the sea, to'out-sweare the Letanie; Who with sinnes all kindes as familiar bee As Confessors; and for whose sinfull sake Schoolemen new tenements in hell must make: Whose strange sinnes, Canonists could hardly tell In which Commandements large receit they dwell. But these punish themselves; the insolence Of Coscus onely breeds my just offence, Whom time (which rots all, and makes botches poxe, And plodding on, must make a calfe an oxe) Hath made a Lawyer, which was (alas) of late But a scarce Poet; jollier of this state, Then are new benefic'd ministers, he throwes Like nets, or lime-twigs, wheresoere he goes, His title'of Barrister, on every wench, And wooes in language of the Pleas, and Bench: 'A motion, Lady.' 'Speake Coscus.' 'I'have beene In love, ever since tricesimo' of the Queene, Continuall claimes I'have made, injunctions got To stay my rivals suit, that hee should not Proceed.' 'Spare mee.' 'In Hillary terme I went, You said, If I returne next size in Lent, I should be in remitter of your grace; In th'interim my letters should take place Of affidavits--': words, words, which would teare The tender labyrinth of a soft maids eare, More, more, then ten Sclavonians scolding, more Then when winds in our ruin'd Abbeyes rore. When sicke with Poetrie,'and possest with muse Thou wast, and mad, I hop'd; but men which chuse Law practise for meere gaine, bold soule, repute Worse then imbrothel'd strumpets prostitute. Now like an owlelike watchman, hee must walke His hand still at a bill, now he must talke Idly, like prisoners, which whole months will sweare That onely suretiship hath brought them there, And to'every suitor lye in every thing, Like a Kings favorite, yea like a King; Like a wedge in a blocke, wring to the barre, Bearing like Asses, and more shameless farre Then carted whores, lye, to the grave Judge; for *******y'abounds not in Kings titles, nor Symonie'and Sodomy in Churchmens lives, As these things do in him; by these he thrives. Shortly ('as the sea) hee'will compasse all our land; From Scots, to Wight; from Mount, to Dover strand. And spying heires melting with luxurie, Satan will not joy at their sinnes, as hee. For as a thrifty wench scrapes kitching-stuffe, And barrelling the droppings, and the snuffe, Of wasting candles, which in thirty yeare (Relique-like kept) perchance buyes wedding geare; Peecemeale he gets lands, and spends as much time Wringing each Acre, as men pulling prime. In parchments then, large as his fields, hee drawes Assurances, bigge, as gloss'd civill lawes, So huge, that men (in our times forwardnesse) Are Fathers of the Church for writing lesse. These hee writes not; nor for these written payes, Therefore spares no length; as in those first dayes When Luther was profest, he did desire Short Pater nosters, saying as a Fryer Each day his beads, but having left those lawes, Addes to Christs prayer, the Power and glory clause. But when he sells or changes land, he'impaires His writings, and (unwatch'd) leaves out, ses heires, As slily'as any Commenter goes by Hard words, or sense; or in Divinity As controverters, in vouch'd texts, leave out Shrewd words, which might against them cleare the doubt. Where are those spred woods which cloth'd heretofore Those bought lands? not built, not burnt within dore. Where's th'old landlords troops, and almes? In great hals Carthusian fasts, and fulsome Bachanalls Equally'I hate; meanes blesse; in rich mens homes I bid kill some beasts, but no Hecatombs, None starve, none surfet so; But (Oh) we'allow Good workes as good, but out of fashion now, Like old rich wardrops; but my words none drawes Within the vast reach of th'huge statute lawes.

Satire 1 Away thou fondling motley humorist, Leave mee, and in this standing wooden chest, Consorted with these few bookes, let me lye In prison, and here be coffin'd, when I dye; Here are Gods conduits, grave Divines; and here Natures Secretary, the Philosopher; And jolly Statesmen, which teach how to tie The sinewes of a cities mistique bodie; Here gathering Chroniclers, and by them stand Giddie fantastique Poets of each land. Shall I leave all this constant company, And follow headlong, wild uncertaine thee? First sweare by thy best love in earnest (If thou which lov'st all, canst love any best) Thou wilt not leave mee in the middle street Though some more spruce companion thou dost meet, Not though a Captaine do come in thy way Bright parcell gilt, with forty dead mens pay, Nor though a briske perfum'd piert Courtier Deigne with a nod, thy courtesie to answer, Nor come a velvet Justice with a long Great traine of blew coats, twelve, or fourteen strong, Wilt thou grin or fawne on him, or prepare A speech to court his beautious sonne and heire. For better or worse take mee, or leave mee: To take, and leave mee is adultery. Oh monstrous, superstitious puritan, Of refin'd manners, yet ceremoniall man, That when thou meet'st one, with enquiring eyes Dost search, and like a needy broker prize The silke, and gold he weares, and to that rate So high or low, dost raise thy formall hat: That wilt consort none, untill thou have knowne What lands hee hath in hope, or of his owne, As though all thy companions should make thee Jointures, and marry thy deare company. Why should'st thou (that dost not onely approve, But in ranke itchie lust, desire, and love The nakednesse and barenesse to enjoy, Of thy plumpe muddy whore, or prostitute boy) Hate vertue, though shee be naked, and bare? At birth, and death, our bodies naked are; And till our Soules be unapparrelled Of bodies, they from blisse are banished. Mans first blest state was naked, when by sinne Hee lost that, yet hee'was cloath'd but in beasts skin, And in this course attire, which I now weare, With God, and with the Muses I conferre. But since thou like a contrite penitent, Charitably warn'd of thy sinnes, dost repent These vanities, and giddinesses, loe I shut my chamber doore, and 'Come, lets goe.' But sooner may a cheape whore, that hath beene Worne by as many severall men in sinne, As are black feathers, or musk-colour hose, Name her childs right true father, 'mongst all those: Sooner may one guesse, who shall beare away Th'Infant of London, Heire to'an India: And sooner may a gulling weather-Spie By drawing forth heavens Scheame tell certainly What fashion'd hats, or ruffles, or suits next yeare Our subtile-witted antique youths will weare; Then thou, when thou depart'st from mee, canst show Whither, why, when, or with whom thou wouldst go. But how shall I be pardon'd my offence That thus have sinn'd against my conscience? Now we are in the street; He first of all Improvidently proud, creepes to the wall, And so imprison'd, and hem'd in by mee Sells for a little state his libertie; Yet though he cannot skip forth now to greet Every fine silken painted foole we meet, He them to him with amorous smiles allures, And grins, smacks, shrugs, and such an itch endures, As prentises, or schoole-boyes which doe know Of some gay sport abroad, yet dare not goe. And as fidlers stop low'st, at highest sound, So to the most brave, stoops hee nigh'st the ground. But to a grave man, he doth move no more Then the wise politique horse would heretofore, Or thou O Elephant or Ape wilt doe, When any names the King of Spaine to you. Now leaps he upright, joggs me,'and cryes, 'Do'you see Yonder well favour'd youth?' 'Which?' 'Oh, 'tis hee That dances so divinely.' 'Oh,' said I, 'Stand still, must you dance here for company?' Hee droopt, wee went, till one (which did excell Th'Indians, in drinking his Tobacco well) Met us; they talk'd; I whisper'd, 'Let us goe, 'T may be you smell him not, truely I doe.' He heares not mee, but, on the other side A many-colour'd Peacock having spide, Leaves him and mee; I for my lost sheep stay; He followes, overtakes, goes on the way, Saying, 'Him whom I last left, all repute For his device, in hansoming a sute, To judge of lace, pinke, panes, print, cut and plight, Of all the Court, to have the best conceit.' 'Our dull Comedians want him, let him goe; But Oh, God strengthen thee, why stoop'st thou so?' 'Why? he hath travail'd.' 'Long?' 'No, but to me' (Which understand none,) 'he doth seeme to be Perfect French, and Italian.' I reply'd, 'So is the Poxe.' He answer'd not, but spy'd More men of sort, of parts, and qualities; At last his Love he in a windowe spies, And like light dew exhal'd, he flings from mee Violently ravish'd to his lechery. Many were there, he could command no more; He quarrell'd, fought, bled; and turn'd out of dore Directly came to mee hanging the head, And constantly a while must keepe his bed.

^^^ Nothing too special bro, except for the dazzling wordplay and subtle arguments...

Originally posted by Johnny B: ^Adeer ha ii misin dee, ma ina adeerkey ayaa tahay? Beryahanba wax reer Mugadishu ah oo genius ah lama arage, Juujaa ugu dabeyay. Laa ilaaha! Ma maanta ayaad juuje ku sheegtay genius?? Aleylehee, meel xun ayaad genius yaasha oo dhan uga dhacday maanta... But for real tho, I'm Muqdisho born and bred!

^^^ No el generale..in fact it's now official, no elections until further notice, i.e King Riyaale is now officially ruler for life up in Hargaysa! And the queen's orphans don't have a clue of what to do next. Shame!

^^^ Nah saaxiib, I'm from Muqdisho! Eyl pirates ayaa ka buuxa-- but thankfully not the kindah of pirates Abraar would feel very comfortable being around...

Originally posted by Abraar: The little vagrant is smart waryaa Che. He knows I don't have too many options and he is trying to either put me on a back peddle or run away. The fact is this topic is not for a moralistic debate. It is about a story and if Mr. Somalia belives it should not have been posted, that is his opinion and I respect it. Unlike him, I believe in difference of opinions and freedom of expression. There is no issue here, and certainly for him to hint I have anything to do with homosexuality is more vulgar than me posting the topic. If he knows anything about the religion, which I think he doesn't, as he spent most of his time imbibing Shakespeare's sonnets than fat Riyaadu saalixiin, He will know what he is saying is the worst crime: Dani. But what does he know? Sumun, bukmun, cumun! ^^^ Now you see Abraar, you have put me in a quandary here. Personally I find you pitiful. But you don't really deserve being lectured to by me, after-all you're an ancient fellow, but at the same time you ain't smart enough to realize, like Che has said, "cut your losses and call it a day"....but lets find out shall we?

Originally posted by Abraar: O! I now know who I am talking with! Mr. Somalia sounds very much familiar. He is a dangerous vagrant! He can not hide behind the veneer of nationalism or Muslinimo anymore. He is the Puntland guy who has been banned for his vulgar assaults on SOlers. It is clear he is making an effort to outgrow his bad habit of wandering with burush xaar leh, but his self- aggrandizemnet is unmistakeable. He is on his third life, having been a prophet in the books once as Dhulqarneyn, a greek philosopher later and here a whole country. Some might wonder why It matters who he is, but I think it matters to me as it shows me the futility of trying to be civil with him, and the need to transform myself (or rather to go down the ladder a bit) to teach him some lessons. ^^^ Ha ha ha... Be honest, how many PMs did you have to send to gather this highly classified but nevertheless false information? Yes folks... Just when you thought this gay promoting, disturbed and dysfunctional Abraar could sink no lower, he goes and start throwing about all sorts of baseless accusations which prove beyond doubt that he is truly the shame of SOL. A tepid, dreary, and very sad embarrassment indeed.

Originally posted by Johnny B: Waar waa bila sermon, ee waxad ku haysato Abraar noo sheeg. mise waxa uu ka hadlayo ayaa ku danqiyay? Sorry, my mediocre fellow, but while Abraar may or may not condone his friend's lifestyle, something I am not entirely qualified to judge, he has so far been suspect, bar none, for gloating at the fact that he has a khaniis friend. That is why I am still here when others with more sense would have long since been disgusted at his shallowness ad nauseum. So don't try to be smart here, dawg! Preaching to Abraar about the wrongness of this nonsensical topic he has posted here is like washing the bloody dishes. . . a chore that has to be done, but isn't worth paying someone else to do. Besides, Abraar is like a brother to me. :cool:

Originally posted by Abraar: When have you come here horta? The only real muslim in this site (apart from Nuur)is Kashafa, and he endorsed my muslinimo years back when we were both firing from the same corner at Yey's army! Just because he is now sending contributions to Xizbul-Islam to blow up few restaurants where some people are breaking their fasts doesn't mean he will not come back to substantiate my claim. I am not suspect in this regard! War away Kashafa?! Nice deflection amigo, but alas mujaahid KashMoni will not come to your aid: I won't give you anything; I've allowed you the opportunity to make a complete and utter fool out of yourself in your own thread; as I have always done with you. If you were an authority on "who real Muslims" are, then you wouldn't be in this predicament you find yourself in right now, as you try to wiggle you way out of this condrum you've created for yourself(i.e, the promotion of homosexuality on SOL)--which is Xaraam indeed. You're a bright lil' fellow aren't you?

Originally posted by Johnny B: Abraar = an agnostic in disguise? I just have to see where this ends. ^^^ Wannabe Agnostics: you gotta love them. They not only give you the opportunity to preach, but also generate an audience as the sermon is preached. Serve your purpose, Johnny B!

Originally posted by Abraar: bas! waryaa! I cannot babysit your sanctimonious and hypocratical tantrum-throwing at non-issue more than I did already. Are you offended on behalf of your likes ? If a Khaniis is mentioned, that is it. Why make a big fuss about it? The story shows how confused some souls can be!! LOL...talk about the kettle calling the pot black. Saaxiib, I am making a big fuss about this so-called "no-issue" nonsense, precisely because you think it's a "non-issue" and I believe that you, Mr Abraar, have a tendency to always wanna post threads that glorify anything and everything which is Xaraam in Islam. Now as Muslims, we are better than this, and you as a grown Muslim man should set a good example...

^^^ Lol ... Walaahi waa cajiib--Ngonge oo af soomaali igu soo bartay xagee ka gali doonaa? Awoowe macawistaadu haddey midabkeydu ay tahay pink...Sheikh Abraar ayaan kuu soo dirayaa. Asagaa wax yaalahaas oo kale ka helee

^^^ Saaxiib, my simplistic banter(a.k.a nacnac) in the politics section is hardly comparable to your gullible fascination with your khaniis friend. Seriously dude, do not try to compare the two!

^^^ Yasloonahaa yoomaddiin! Wa maa adraaka maa yoomadddin! Saaxiib, it's exactly your 'rebuke' that I call Xaaraan, let alone the topic of this thread. This is Ramadan and your time and my time should be spent on more productive religious endeavors-- not talking about khaniis xuna(however fascinated you are of him)!

Originally posted by -Serenity-: I think what should be (and probably wil be) deleted is your offensive post Mr. Somalia . If I wasnt fasting, I would say a few flowery expletives to describe your manners right about now.. What's so offensive about my post, lady?? Don't you agree this thread is Xaaraan?

Originally posted by Abraar: Mr. Somalia, sidaan uga helo ragga...! Subxaanallah!! Waryaa maxaad soo cabtay saaka? :confused:

This thread, xaaraan iyo xaaraan dhasheed weeyaan. Where are the so-called moderators when they are needed most??? We are Muslims and this is a Muslim site-- so such nonsense should not be tolerated. :mad: Ninkaan Abraar la magac baxay, war ninyahow isku xishood oo xaaraantaan aad lasoo shirtagtay kala-tag meesha! :mad:

^^^ These guys are simply taking the piss, now that the beta version of Mugging 2.0 has finally been released in Hargaysa and is now official.

^^^ LOL @ "The land should be given to the rightful winners, and losers should just accept that to conclude this misery" You are one crazy kid, AO--I'll give you that! Saaxiib, don't worry, there will not be a war, because I was speaking hypothetically. I see you are frustrated with the latest mugging by Riyaale becoming official and the elections getting postponed for the 4th time in a role--but you don't have to declare war on us, poor Garowe boys. Ha ha ha... LOL @ "We need a great wall of china"

V. MEDITATION. AS sickness is the greatest misery, so the greatest misery of sickness is solitude; when the infectiousness of the disease deters them who should assist from coming; even the physician dares scarce come. Solitude is a torment which is not threatened in hell itself. Mere vacuity, the first agent, God, the first instrument of God, nature, will not admit; nothing can be utterly empty, but so near a degree towards vacuity as solitude, to be but one, they love not. When I am dead, and my body might infect, they have a remedy, they may bury me; but when I am but sick, and might infect, they have no remedy but their absence, and my solitude. It is an excuse to them that are great, and pretend, and yet are loath to come; it is an inhibition to those who would truly come, because they may be made instruments, and pestiducts, to the infection of others, by their coming. And it is an outlawry, an excommunication upon the patient, and separates him from all offices, not only of civility but of working charity. A long sickness will weary friends at last, but a pestilential sickness averts them from the beginning. God himself would admit a figure of society, as there is a plurality of persons in God, though there be but one God; and all his external actions testify a love of society, and communion. In heaven there are orders of angels, and armies of martyrs, and in that house many mansions; in earth, families, cities, churches, colleges, all plural things; and lest either of these should not be company enough alone, there is an association of both, a communion of saints which makes the militant and triumphant church one parish; so that Christ was not out of his diocess when he was upon the earth, nor out of his temple when he was in our flesh. God, who saw that all that he made was good, came not so near seeing a defect in any of his works, as when he saw that it was not good for man to be alone, therefore he made him a helper; and one that should help him so as to increase the number, and give him her own, and more society. Angels, who do not propagate nor multiply, were made at first in an abundant number, and so were stars; but for the things of this world, their blessing was, Increase; for I think, I need not ask leave to think, that there is no phoenix; nothing singular, nothing alone. Men that inhere upon nature only, are so far from thinking that there is any thing singular in this world, as that they will scarce think that this world itself is singular, but that every planet, and every star, is another world like this; they find reason to conceive not only a plurality in every species in the world, but a plurality of worlds; so that the abhorrers of solitude are not solitary, for God, and Nature, and Reason concur against it. Now a man may counterfeit the plague in a vow, and mistake a disease for religion, by such a retiring and recluding of himself from all men as to do good to no man, to converse with no man. God hath two testaments, two wills; but this is a schedule, and not of his, a codicil, and not of his, not in the body of his testaments, but interlined and postscribed by others, that the way to the communion of saints should be by such a solitude as excludes all doing of good here. That is a disease of the mind, as the height of an infectious disease of the body is solitude, to be left alone: for this makes an infectious bed equal, nay, worse than a grave, that though in both I be equally alone, in my bed I know it, and feel it, and shall not in my grave: and this too, that in my bed my soul is still in an infectious body, and shall not in my grave be so.

IV. MEDITATION. IT is too little to call man a little world; except God, man is a diminutive to nothing. Man consists of more pieces, more parts, than the world; than the world doth, nay, than the world is. And if those pieces were extended, and stretched out in man as they are in the world, man would be the giant, and the world the dwarf; the world but the map, and the man the world. If all the veins in our bodies were extended to rivers, and all the sinews to veins of mines, and all the muscles that lie upon one another, to hills, and all the bones to quarries of stones, and all the other pieces to the proportion of those which correspond to them in the world, the air would be too little for this orb of man to move in, the firmament would be but enough for this star; for, as the whole world hath nothing, to which something in man doth not answer, so hath man many pieces of which the whole world hath no representation. Enlarge this meditation upon this great world, man, so far as to consider the immensity of the creatures this world produces; our creatures are our thoughts, creatures that are born giants; that reach from east to west, from earth to heaven; that do not only bestride all the sea and land, but span the sun and firmament at once; my thoughts reach all, comprehend all. Inexplicable mystery; I their creator am in a close prison, in a sick bed, any where, and any one of my creatures, my thoughts, is with the sun, and beyond the sun, overtakes the sun, and overgoes the sun in one pace, one step, everywhere. And then, as the other world produces serpents and vipers, malignant and venomous creatures, and worms and caterpillars, that endeavour to devour that world which produces them, and monsters compiled and complicated of divers parents and kinds; so this world, ourselves, produces all these in us, in producing diseases, and sicknesses of all those sorts: venomous and infectious diseases, feeding and consuming diseases, and manifold and entangled diseases made up of many several ones. And can the other world name so many venomous, so many consuming, so many monstrous creatures, as we can diseases of all these kinds? O miserable abundance, O beggarly riches! how much do we lack of having remedies for every disease, when as yet we have not names for them? But we have a Hercules against these giants, these monsters; that is, the physician; he musters up all the forces of the other world to succour this, all nature to relieve man. We have the physician, but we are not the physician. Here we shrink in our proportion, sink in our dignity, in respect of very mean creatures, who are physicians to themselves. The hart that is pursued and wounded, they say, knows an herb, which being eaten throws off the arrow: a strange kind of vomit. The dog that pursues it, though he be subject to sickness, even proverbially, knows his grass that recovers him. And it may be true, that the drugger is as near to man as to other creatures; it may be that obvious and present simples, easy to be had, would cure him; but the apothecary is not so near him, nor the physician so near him, as they two are to other creatures; man hath not that innate instinct, to apply those natural medicines to his present danger, as those inferior creatures have; he is not his own apothecary, his own physician, as they are. Call back therefore thy meditation again, and bring it down: what's become of man's great extent and proportion, when himself shrinks himself and consumes himself to a handful of dust; what's become of his soaring thoughts, his compassing thoughts, when himself brings himself to the ignorance, to the thoughtlessness, of the grave? His diseases are his own, but the physician is not; he hath them at home, but he must send for the physician.

III. MEDITATION. WE attribute but one privilege and advantage to man's body above other moving creatures, that he is not, as others, grovelling, but of an erect, of an upright, form naturally built and disposed to the contemplation of heaven. Indeed it is a thankful form, and recompenses that soul, which gives it, with carrying that soul so many feet higher towards heaven. Other creatures look to the earth; and even that is no unfit object, no unfit contemplation for man, for thither he must come; but because man is not to stay there, as other creatures are, man in his natural form is carried to the contemplation of that place which is his home, heaven. This is man's prerogative; but what state hath he in this dignity? A fever can fillip him down, a fever can depose him; a fever can bring that head, which yesterday carried a crown of gold five feet towards a crown of glory, as low as his own foot to-day. When God came to breathe into man the breath of life, he found him flat upon the ground; when he comes to withdraw that breath from him again, he prepares him to it by laying him flat upon his bed. Scarce any prison so close that affords not the prisoner two or three steps. The anchorites that barked themselves up in hollow trees and immured themselves in hollow walls, that perverse man that barrelled himself in a tub, all could stand or sit, and enjoy some change of posture. A sick bed is a grave, and all that the patient says there is but a varying of his own epitaph. Every night's bed is a type of the grave; at night we tell our servants at what hour we will rise, here we cannot tell ourselves at what day, what week, what month. Here the head lies as low as the foot; the head of the people as low as they whom those feet trod upon; and that hand that signed pardons is too weak to beg his own, if he might have it for lifting up that hand. Strange fetters to the feet, strange manacles to the hands, when the feet and hands are bound so much the faster, by how much the cords are slacker; so much the less able to do their offices, by how much more the sinews and ligaments are the looser. In the grave I may speak through the stones, in the voice of my friends, and in the accents of those words which their love may afford my memory; here I am mine own ghost, and rather affright my beholders than instruct them; they conceive the worst of me now, and yet fear worse; they give me for dead now, and yet wonder how I do when they wake at midnight, and ask how I do to-morrow. Miserable, and (though common to all) inhuman posture, where I must practise my lying in the grave by lying still, and not practise my resurrection by rising any more.

II. MEDITATION. THE heavens are not the less constant, because they move continually, because they move continually one and the same way. The earth is not the more constant, because it lies still continually, because continually it changes and melts in all the parts thereof. Man, who is the noblest part of the earth, melts so away, as if he were a statue, not of earth, but of snow. We see his own envy melts him, he grows lean with that; he will say, another's beauty melts him; but he feels that a fever doth not melt him like snow, but pour him out like lead, like iron, like brass melted in a furnace; it doth not only melt him, but calcine him, reduce him to atoms, and to ashes; not to water, but to lime. And how quickly? Sooner than thou canst receive an answer, sooner than thou canst conceive the question; earth is the centre of my body, heaven is the centre of my soul; these two are the natural places of these two; but those go not to these two in an equal pace: my body falls down without pushing; my soul does not go up without pulling; ascension is my soul's pace and measure, but precipitation my body's. And even angels, whose home is heaven, and who are winged too, yet had a ladder to go to heaven by steps. The sun which goes so many miles in a minute, the stars of the firmament which go so very many more, go not so fast as my body to the earth. In the same instant that I feel the first attempt of the disease, I feel the victory; in the twinkling of an eye I can scarce see; instantly the taste is insipid and fatuous; instantly the appetite is dull and desireless; instantly the knees are sinking and strengthless; and in an instant, sleep, which is the picture, the copy of death, is taken away, that the original, death itself, may succeed, and that so I might have death to the life. It was part of Adam's punishment, In the sweat of thy brows thou shalt eat thy bread: it is multiplied to me, I have earned bread in the sweat of my brows, in the labour of my calling, and I have it; and I sweat again and again, from the brow to the sole of the foot, but I eat no bread, I taste no sustenance: miserable distribution of mankind, where one half lacks meat, and the other stomach!