ECCLESIASTES.

CHAPTER I.

I, SOLOMON, David's son, King of Jerusalem, Chosen by God to teach the Jews, and in his laws to lead them,

Confess, under the sun that everything is vain;

The world is false; man he is frail, and all his pleasures pain.

Alas! what stable fruit may Adam's children find

In that they seek by sweat of brows and travail of their mind!

We, that live on the earth, draw toward our decay; Our children fill our place a while, and then they vade1

away.

Such changes maketh earth, and doth remove for none, But serves us for a place to play our tragedies upon. When that the restless sun westward his course hath

run,

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Towards the east he hastes as fast, to rise where he begun. When hoary Boreas hath blown his frozen blast,

Then Zephyrus, with his gentle breath, dissolves the ice as fast.

Floods that drink up small brooks, and swell by rage of

rain,

Discharge in seas, which them repulse, and swallow straight again.

These worldly pleasures, Lord! so swift they run their

race,

That scarce our eyes may them discern, they bide so little space.

1 'Vade:' go, or pass, from vado.

What hath been, but is now? the like hereafter shall : What new device grounded so sure, that dreadeth not

the fall?

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What may be called new, but such things in times past As Time buried, and doth revive, and Time again shall waste?

Things past, right worthy fame, have now no bruit at all; Even so shall die such things as now the simple wonders call.

I, that in David's seat sit crowned, and rejoice,

That with my sceptre rule the Jews, and teach them with my voice,

Have searched long to know all things under the sun, To see how in this mortal life a surety might be won. This kindled will to know; strange things for to desire God hath graff'd in our greedy breasts a torment for our hire.

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The end of each travail forthwith I sought to know;
I found them vain, mixed with gall, and burthen'd with

much woe.

Defaults of nature's work no man's hand may restore, Which be in number like the sands upon the salt flood's shore.

Then, vaunting in my wit, I 'gan call to my mind. What rules of wisdom I had taught, that elders could not find.

And, as by contraries to try most things we use,

Men's follies, and their errors eke I 'gan them all peruse, Thereby with more delight to knowledge for to climb : But this I found an endless work of pain, and loss of time;

For he to wisdom's school that doth apply his mind, The further that he wades therein, the greater doubts

shall find;

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And such as enterprise to put new things in ure,

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Of some that shall scorn their device, may well themselves

assure.

CHAPTER II.

FROM pensive fancies then I 'gan my heart revoke, And gave me to such sporting plays as laughter might provoke;

agree.

But even such vain delights, when they most blinded me,
Always, methought, with smiling grace a king did ill
Then sought I how to please my belly with much wine,
To feed me fat with costly feasts of rare delights, and

fine;

And other pleasures eke to purchase me, with rest:
In so great choice to find the thing that might content

me best.

But, Lord! what care of mind, what sudden storms of ire, What broken sleeps endured I, to compass my desire. 10 To build me houses fair then set I all my cure: 1

By princely acts thus strove I still to make my fame endure.

Delicious gardens eke I made to please my sight,

And graff'd therein all kinds of fruits that might my mouth delight.

Conduits, by lively springs from their old course I drew, For to refresh the fruitful trees that in my gardens

grew.

Of cattle great increase I bred in little space;

Bondmen I bought; I gave them wives, and served me with their race.

Great heaps of shining gold by sparing 'gan I save; 19 With things of price so furnished as fits a prince to have.

16 'Cure:' care.

To hear fair women sing sometime I did rejoice,

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Ravished with their pleasant tunes, and sweetness of their

voice.

Lemans I had, so fair and of so lively hue,

That whoso gazed in their face might well their beauty

rue.

Never erst sat there king so rich in David's seat;

Yet still, methought, for so small gain the travail was too great.

From my desirous eyes I hid no pleasant sight,

Nor from my heart no kind of mirth that might give them delight;

Which was the only fruit I reap'd of all my pain,

To feed my eyes, and to rejoice my heart with all my

gain.

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But when I made my count, with how great care of mind And heart's unrest, that I had sought so wasteful fruit

to find,

Then was I stricken straight with that abused fire,
To glory in that goodly wit that compass'd my desire.
But fresh before mine eyes grace did my faults renew:
What gentle callings I had fled my ruin to pursue;
What raging pleasures past, peril and hard escape;
What fancies in my head had wrought the liquor of the

grape.

The error then I saw, that their frail hearts doth move, Which strive in vain for to compare with Him that sits

above:

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In whose most perfect works such craft appeareth plain, That to the least of them, there may no mortal hand

attain.

And like as lightsome day doth shine above the night, So dark to me did folly seem, and wisdom's beams as

bright,

Whose eyes did seem so clear motes to discern and find : But will had closed folly's eyes, which groped like the

blind.

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Yet death and time consume all wit and worldly fame ; And look! what end that folly hath, and wisdom hath

the same.

Then said I thus: 'Oh Lord! may not thy wisdom cure The wilful wrongs and hard conflicts that folly doth endure ?'

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To sharp my wit so fine then why took I this pain? Now find I well this noble search may eke be called

vain.

As slander's loathsome bruit sounds folly's just reward,
Is put to silence all betime, and brought in small regard :
Even so doth time devour the noble blast of fame,

Which should resound their glories great, that do deserve

the same.

Thus present changes chase away the wonders past,

Ne is the wise man's fatal thread yet longer spun to last.
Then in this wretched vale our life I loathed plain,
When I beheld our fruitless pains to compass pleasures

vain.

My travail this avail hath me producèd, lo !

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An heir unknown shall reap the fruit that I in seed did

SOW;

But whereunto the Lord his nature shall incline

Who can foreknow, into whose hands I must my goods resign?

But, Lord, how pleasant sweet then seem'd the idle life, That never charged was with care, nor burthened with

strife,

And vile the greedy trade of them that toil so sore,
To leave to such their travails' fruit that never sweat

therefore.