A BOOK FOR BOYS AND GIRLS.
Wherefore, good reader, that I save them may,
I now with them the very dotterel' play;
And since at gravity they make a tush,
My very beard I cast behind a bush;
And like a fool stand fing'ring of their toys,
And all to show them they are girls and boys.
Nor do I blush, although I think some may
Call me a baby, 'cause I with them play.
I do't to show them how each fingle-fangle
On which they doting are, their souls entangle,
As with a web, a trap, a gin, or snare;
And will destroy them, have they not a care.
Paul seemed to play the fool, that he might gain
Those that were fools indeed, if not in grain;
And did it by their things, that they might know
Their emptiness, and might be brought unto
What would them save from sin and vanity,
A noble act, and full of honesty.
Yet he nor I would like them be in vice,
While by their playthings I would them entice,
To mount their thoughts from what are childish
toys,
To heaven, for that's prepared for girls and boys.
Nor do I so confine myself to these,
As to shun graver things; I seek to please
Those more compos'd with better things than toys;
Though thus I would be catching girls and boys.
Wherefore, if men have now a mind to look,
Perhaps their
graver fancies be took
With what is here, though but in homely rhymes:
may
But he who pleases all must rise betimes.
Some, I persuade me, will be finding fault,
Concluding, here I trip, and there I halt:
No doubt some could those grovelling notions raise
By fine-spun terms, that challenge might the bays.
But should all men be forc'd to lay aside
Their brains that cannot regulate the tide
The name of a bird that mimics gestures.-(ED.)
2 Indelible, as when raw material is dyed before it is wove,
every grain receives the dye.-(Ed.)
By this or that man's fancy, we should have
The wise unto the fool become a slave.
What though my text seems mean, my morals be
Grave, as if fetch'd from a sublimer tree.
And if some better handle can a fly,
Than some a text, why should we then deny
Their making proof, or good experiment,
Of smallest things, great mischiefs to prevent?
Wise Solomon did fools to piss-ants' send,
To learn true wisdom, and their lives to mend.
Yea, God by swallows, cuckoos, and the ass,"
Shows they are fools who let that season pass,
Which he put in their hand, that to obtain
Which is both present and eternal gain.
I think the wiser sort my rhymes may slight,
But what care I, the foolish will delight
To read them, and the foolish God has chose,
And doth by foolish things their minds compose,
And settle upon that which is divine;
Great things, by little ones, are made to shine.
I could, were I so pleas'd, use higher strains:
And for applause on tenters stretch my brains.
But what needs that? the arrow, out of sight,
Does not the sleeper, nor the watchman fright;
To shoot too high doth but make children gaze,
'Tis that which hits the man doth him amaze.
And for the inconsiderableness
Of things, by which I do my mind express,
May I by them bring some good thing to pass,
As Samson, with the jawbone of an ass;
Or as brave Shamgar, with his ox's goad
(Both being things not manly, nor for war in mode),
I have my end, though I myself expose
To scorn; God will have glory in the close. J. B.
3 For this use of the word 'handle,' see Jer. ii. 8. They that handle the law.'-(ED.)
4 This word, with pismire and emmet, has become obsolete. 'Ant' is the term now universally used.-(ED.)
See Ps. lxxxiv. 3; Le. xi. 16; Nu. xx.
6 A machine used in the manufacture of cloth, on which it is stretched. (ED.)
A BOOK FOR BOYS AND GIRLS, &c.
DIVINE EMBLEMS, OR TEMPORAL THINGS SPIRITUALIZED, &c.
UPON THE BARREN FIG-TREE IN GOD'S VINEYARD.
WHAT, barren here! in this so good a soil?
The sight of this doth make God's heart recoil
From giving thee his blessing; barren tree,
Eear fruit, or else thine end will cursed be!
Art thou not planted by the water-side ?
Know'st not thy Lord by fruit is glorified?
The sentence is, Cut down the barren tree:
Bear fruit, or else thine end will cursed be.
Hast thou been digg'd about and dunged too,
Will neither patience nor yet dressing do?
The executioner is come, O tree,
Bear fruit, or else thine end will cursed be!
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