Classic Poem

Militia est vita hominis.

To Sir Hen Per .

Sir
 Were it your appetite of glory, (which
 In noblest times, did bravest soules bewitch
 To fall in love with danger,) that now drawes
 You to the fate of warre; it claimes applause:
 And every worthy hand would plucke a bough
 From the best spreading bay, to shade your brow.
 Since you unforc'd part from your Ladies bed
 Warme with the purest love, to lay your head
 Perhaps on some rude turfe, and sadly feele
 The nights cold dampes wrapt in a sheete of steele.
 You leave your well grown woods: and medows w ch
 Our Severne doth with fruitfull streames enrich.
 Your woods where we see such large heards of Deere
 Your meades whereon such goodly flockes appeare.
 You leave your Castle, safe both for defence
 And sweetely wanton with magnificence
 With all the cost and cunning beautified
 That addes to state, where nothing wants but pride.
 These charmes might have bin pow'rful to have staid
 Great mindes resolv'd for action, and betraid
 You to a glorious ease: since to the warre
 Men by desire of prey invited are,
 Whom either sinne or want makes desperate
 Or else disdaine of their owne narrow fate.
 But you nor hope of fame or a release
 Of the most sober government in peace,
 Did to the hazard of the armie bring:
 Onely a pure devotion to the King
 In whose just cause whoever fights, must be
 Triumphant: since even death is victory.
 And what is life, that we to wither it
 To a weake wrinckled age, should torture wit
 To finde out Natures secrets; what doth length
 Of time deserve, if we want heate and strength?
 When a brave quarrell doth to armes provoke
 Why should we feare to venter this thin smoke
 This emptie shadow, life? this which the wise
 As the fooles Idoll, soberly despise?
 Why should we not throw willingly away
 A game we cannot save, now that we may
 Gaine honour by the gift? since haply when
 We onely shall be statues of men
 And our owne monuments, Peace will deny
 Our wretched age so brave a cause to dye.
 But these are thoughts! And action tis doth give
 A soule to courage, and make vertue live:
 Which doth not dwell upon the valiant tongue
 Of bold Philosophie, but in the strong
 Vndaunted spirit, which encounters those
 Sad dangers, we to fancie scarce propose.
 Yet tis the true and highest fortitude
 To keepe our inward enemies subdued:
 Not to permit our passions over sway
 Our actions, nor our wanton flesh betray
 The soules chaste Empire: for however we
 To th' outward shew may gaine a victory
 And proudly triumph: if to conquour sinne
 We combate not, we are at warre within.
Militia est vita hominis.

To Sir Hen Per .

Sir
 Were it your appetite of glory, (which
 In noblest times, did bravest soules bewitch
 To fall in love with danger,) that now drawes
 You to the fate of warre; it claimes applause:
 And every worthy hand would plucke a bough
 From the best spreading bay, to shade your brow.
 Since you unforc'd part from your Ladies bed
 Warme with the purest love, to lay your head
 Perhaps on some rude turfe, and sadly feele
 The nights cold dampes wrapt in a sheete of steele.
 You leave your well grown woods: and medows w ch
 Our Severne doth with fruitfull streames enrich.
 Your woods where we see such large heards of Deere
 Your meades whereon such goodly flockes appeare.
 You leave your Castle, safe both for defence
 And sweetely wanton with magnificence
 With all the cost and cunning beautified
 That addes to state, where nothing wants but pride.
 These charmes might have bin pow'rful to have staid
 Great mindes resolv'd for action, and betraid
 You to a glorious ease: since to the warre
 Men by desire of prey invited are,
 Whom either sinne or want makes desperate
 Or else disdaine of their owne narrow fate.
 But you nor hope of fame or a release
 Of the most sober government in peace,
 Did to the hazard of the armie bring:
 Onely a pure devotion to the King
 In whose just cause whoever fights, must be
 Triumphant: since even death is victory.
 And what is life, that we to wither it
 To a weake wrinckled age, should torture wit
 To finde out Natures secrets; what doth length
 Of time deserve, if we want heate and strength?
 When a brave quarrell doth to armes provoke
 Why should we feare to venter this thin smoke
 This emptie shadow, life? this which the wise
 As the fooles Idoll, soberly despise?
 Why should we not throw willingly away
 A game we cannot save, now that we may
 Gaine honour by the gift? since haply when
 We onely shall be statues of men
 And our owne monuments, Peace will deny
 Our wretched age so brave a cause to dye.
 But these are thoughts! And action tis doth give
 A soule to courage, and make vertue live:
 Which doth not dwell upon the valiant tongue
 Of bold Philosophie, but in the strong
 Vndaunted spirit, which encounters those
 Sad dangers, we to fancie scarce propose.
 Yet tis the true and highest fortitude
 To keepe our inward enemies subdued:
 Not to permit our passions over sway
 Our actions, nor our wanton flesh betray
 The soules chaste Empire: for however we
 To th' outward shew may gaine a victory
 And proudly triumph: if to conquour sinne
 We combate not, we are at warre within.