Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, WISHES, by JOSEPH BEAUMONT



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WISHES, by            
First Line: Now I have mind & leisure
Last Line: Thy will being grown almightie.
Subject(s): Materialism; Temptation; Wishes; Worship


NOW I have Mind & leisure
To trip a chearly Measure;
DESIRE, come freely hither,
And tell Me plainly, whither
Thy Wishes come not thronging,
And make Thee big wth longing.
Dos't hanker after Pleasures,
The Bellys lazie Treasures,
Which there will rot before Thee,
And with Corruption store Thee,
Providing quicker breeding
For Wormes & fatter feeding?
Such belly Amunition
Maintaines but ye Physitian,
And howsoe'r it pleases,
Cheats Thee into diseases.
Doe Gold & Silver woo Thee?
Abundance will undoe Thee.
The Metall's sad; be warie,
How much thou striv'st to carry:
ENOUGH is vaster Treasure,
Then Wealth, yt knows no measure,
Which Dropsie-like, may kill thee,
And split, but never fill thee.
To Honours gaudy splendor
Couldst thou thy selfe surrender,
And court ye glittering graces
Of high commanding Places?
Where flattering Eyes devotions
Will wait on all thy motions,
And foulest vices garnish
With Virtue's forced Varnish;
Where Envie's disaffections
Will blast thy fairest actions,
And in ten thousand Places
Will undermine thy paces,
Painting in thy confusion
A falling stars conclusion.
Doe Wedlock's Looks invite Thee
In chast Sweets to delight Thee?
But what if thou dost marry
Millions of Cares, & carry
Thy single Freedomes Treasure
Into a Chaine for Pleasure,
Of which sole Death can ease Thee;
A Friend, which scarce will please Thee?
What, does thy Study lure thee
Within it to immure thee?
And stow up thy Provision
Of learned Ammunition?
Alas vaine Project, Plunder
Has broke that Plot in sunder:
Cambridge, thy genuine Mother,
Is force'd to be no other
But step-dame, & reject thee,
Though once she did elect Thee.
Tis well, God doth not fashion
By Man's, his Reprobation.
Tis well, thy new & Noble
Society doth double
Thy Comfort: gallant Spirits
(Men of abused Merits)
With Thee are Reprobated:
Seing then Thou art estated
In this brave Losse, no matter,
This FELLOWSHIP'S ye better.
Wouldst, if thou couldst come by it,
Thy Living hold in quiet,
And by its Profits, treasure
Up fuell for thy Pleasure?
Fondling, how thou mistakest
Thy happiness, & makest
Thy gaine thy Losse! Th' ast gained
Not to be spent & pained
With Mystik Cares: Most mighty
Hero's who knew ye weighty
Burden of Soules, have faster
Fled from ye Name of Pastor
Then unfledge Brats now hasten
Upon this charge to fasten:
Well now I see that Wishing,
Is but halfe way to Missing;
E'n wish no more: I'l tell thee
A certaine course to fill thee
With all, thy Heart can covet;
Choose but Gods Will & love it,
So shall thou be assured
Thy Wish will be procured;
For no Crosse then can spight Thee
Thy Will being grown Almightie.





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