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EBBA 20649

Magdalene College - Pepys
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CONTENT AND RICH;
Or, the Glass of Vain Glory.
Being a SONG of the TIMES.
SHEWING
The Vanity of the World,
The Uncertainty of Riches,
The painfulness of Pleasure,
The advantage of a Private Life,
And the Crown of Contentment.
To the Tune of, State and Ambition.

PRomotion's a Trifle, a vanishing Vapour,
there's nothing that's permanent under the Sun,
Our days they consume, and end like a Taper,
that begins to Extinguish, as soon as begun:
[Va]in Glory and Riches, are both shaddows Flying,
[a]nd neither deserving our Labour, nor while,
[M]ans life (at the best) from his birth's but a dying,
I'le never believe it, though sometimes it smile.

[Tu]rn o're and read backward the sad revolutions,
[t]he Tempests, and turnings of Church and of State,
[?]ush here to tell ye the Kingdoms pollutions,
[a]nd how Charles was murthered at his own gate;

A Spark of Division, blows up with contention,
that flam'd with Sedition, and burn'd to good Cause,
Did turn to Rebellion, and (under pretention)
did quench out Religion, and smoak out the Laws.

Nor City, nor Country, are ever well pleased,
they'r still a Complaining, with nothing to say,
They grudge at their burthens, and long to be eased,
and still a new Strafford doth stand in the way:
The Royal Delights are but like a Bubble,
we nothing possess that is sure till the morrow:
A Sword and a Scepter are Tooles but of trouble,
a Crown of Gold is but the Cape-stone of sorrow;

The Nation's a Tennice-Court, rich men do revell
in all wordly pleasures, poor men are the Balls.
High spirits their wits, and their sences do level,
projecting their rising, and other mens falls;
First Whig comes, and boldly drives all that's before him,
but Tory (in ambush) he turneth the Chase,
And maketh Great Coesar (in his wrath) to abhor him,
then up flyes His Highness, and down falls His Grace.

The King's Proclamation was Hui Apprehend them,
the Nations sad union, and loss to prevent,
The fate of Misfortune I'me sure did attend them,
Tome, Russel, and Sidney were to their Graves sent:
Monmouth did come to a matchless disaster,
he lost the Kings favour, was turn'd out of place,
The Head-piece of England, the witty Forecaster,
the great Burgo-Master he dy'd with disgrace.

Then pride and promotion look back, and but tell me,
where reigneth the Glory of Great Alexander,
The Monarch of Terrours, and age will compell ye,
the fort of your Flesh in a Storm to surrender:
Then Princes, and States-men, let nothing deceive ye,
your airy exploits, and intentions lay by,
And let not contrivance of your rest here bereave ye,
Since God hath appointed that all men must dye

The Court's but a Contest, the State is divided,
the Church run to Scismes, the City doth cry,
The Country doth grumble, at things undecided,
and no man can tell ye the great reason why:
Then stay thy vain fancy, and be not concerned,
in factions, though honours great Star should appear,
'Till the b'ast be o're blown, and the Skie be discerned,
commotions be felled, and the Heavens look clear.

The frame of the World doth wear out of fashion,
the Sun Moon, and Stars will all loose their light,
And men will leave off to be subject to passion,
when once they are come where the'rs day without night
Then stay thy proud Spirit, both Time and Ambition,
are apt in turnings, to run thee ashoar,
Let private contentment here Crown thy condition,
and thou shalt have Kingdoms, when time is no more.

FINIS.

Printed for J. Clarke, W. Thackeray, T. Passinge[r.]

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