The snorting horse, the trumpet, drum, I like,
The glittering sword, the pistol, and the pike.
I cannot lie intrenched before a town,
Nor wait till good success our hopes doth crown.
I scorn the heavy corselet, musket-proof;
I fly to catch the bullet that's aloof.
Though thus in field, at home, to all most kind,
So affable that I can suit each mind,
I can insinuate into the breast,
And by my mirth can raise the heart depressed.
Sweet music wraps my brave, harmonious soul;
My high thoughts elevate beyond the pole;
My wit, my bounty, and my courtesy
Make all to place their future hopes on me.
This is my best; but youth is known, alas,
To be as wild as is the snuffing ass,
As vain as froth or vanity can be,
That who would see vain man may look on me:
My gifts abused, my education lost,
My woeful parents' longing hopes are crossed;
My wit evaporates in merriment;
My valor in some beastly quarrel's spent.
My lust doth hurry me to all that's ill.
I know no law nor reason but my will.—
Sometimes lay wait to take a wealthy purse,
Or stab the man in his own defence-that's worse.
Sometimes I cheat, unkind, a female heir
Of all at once, who, not so wise as fair,
Trusteth my loving looks and glozing tongue
Until her friends, treasure, honor, are gone.
Sometimes I sit carousing others' health
Until mine own be gone, my wit, and wealth;
From pipe to pot, from pot to words and blows,—
For he that loveth wine wanteth no woes,-
Whole nights with ruffians, roarers, fiddlers, spend.
To all obscenity mine ears I lend;
All counsel hate which tends to make me wise,
And dearest friends count for mine enemies.
If any care I take, 't is to be fine;
For sure my suits more than my virtues shine.
If time from lewd companions I can spare,
'T is spent to curl and pounce my new-bought hair. Some new Adonis I do strive to be;
Sardanapalus now survives in me.
Cards, dice, and oaths concomitant I love;
To plays, to masks, to taverns, still I move.
And in a word, if what I am you'd hear,
Seek out a British brutish cavalier:
Such wretch, such monster, am I; but yet more
I have no heart at all this to deplore;
Remembering not the dreadful day of doom,
Nor yet that heavy reckoning soon to come,
Though dangers do attend me every hour,
And ghastly death oft threats me with his power:
Sometimes by wounds in idle combats taken,
Sometimes with agues all my body shaken;
Sometimes by fevers all my moisture drinking,
My heart lies frying, and mine eyes are sinking.
Sometimes the quinsy, painful pleurisy,
With sad affrights of death doth menace me;
Sometimes the two-fold pox me sore bemars
With outward marks and inward loathsome scars;
Sometimes the frenzy strangely mads my brain,
That oft for it in bedlam I remain.
Too many my diseases to recite.
The wonder is I yet behold the light;
That yet my bed in darkness is not made,
And I in black oblivion's den now laid-
Of aches my bones are full, of woe my heart
Clapped in that prison never thence to start.
Thus I have said; and what I've been, you see.
Childhood and Youth are vain, yea, vanity.
Childhood and Youth, forgot, I've sometime seen,
And now am grown more staid who have been green.
What they have done, the same was done by me;
As was their praise or shame, so mine must be.
Now age is more, more good you may expect;
But more mine age, the more is my defect.
When my wild oats were sown, and ripe, and mown,
I then received an harvest of mine own.
My reason then bade judge how little hope
My empty seed should yield a better crop.
Then with both hands I grasped the world together,
Thus out of one extreme into another;
But yet laid hold on virtue seemingly —
Who climbs without hold, climbs dangerously.
Be my condition mean, I then take pains
My family to keep, but not for gains.
A father I, for children must provide;
But if none, then for kindred near allied.
If rich, I'm urgéd then to gather more
To bear a part in the world, and feed the poor.
If noble, then mine honor to maintain;
If not, riches nobility can gain.
For time, for place, likewise for each relation,
I wanted not my ready allegation.
Yet all my powers for self ends are not spent;
For hundreds bless me for my bounty lent
Whose backs I've clothed and bellies I have fed
With mine own fleece and with my household bread.
Yea, justice have I done; was I in place
To cheer the good, and wicked to deface.
The proud I crushed, the oppresséd I set free,
The liars curbed, but nourished verity.
Was I a pastor, I my flock did feed,
And gently led the lambs as they had need.
A captain I, with skill I trained my band,
And showed them how in face of foes to stand.
A soldier I, with speed I did obey
As readily as could my leader say.
Was I a laborer, I wrought all day
As cheerfully as e'er I took my pay.
Thus hath mine age in all sometimes done well;
Sometimes again mine age been worse than hell —
In meanness, greatness, riches, poverty,
Did toil, did broil, oppressed, did steal and lie.
Was I as poor as poverty could be,
Then baseness was companion unto me,
Such scum as hedges and highways do yield,
As neither sow, nor reap, nor plant, nor build.
If to agriculture I was ordained,
Great labors, sorrows, crosses, I sustained.
The early cock did summon but in vain
My wakeful thoughts up to my painful gain.
My weary beast rest from his toil can find;
But if I rest the more distressed my mind.
If happiness my sordidness hath found,
'T was in the crop of my manuréd ground,
My thriving cattle and my new milch cow,
My fleeced sheep, and fruitful farrowing sow.
To greater things I never did aspire;
My dunghill thoughts or hopes could reach no higher.
If to be rich or great it was my fate,
How was I broiled with envy and with hate!
Greater than was the greatest, was my desire,
And thirst for honor set my heart on fire;
And by ambition's sails I was so carried
That over flats, and sands, and rocks I hurried
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