Sunday Poem Extract

I need to weed my shelves again. The ephemeral stuff needs to go and that which is tested remain. There are many books that deserve but a short time on a kindle, and some to treasure. Herbert is a new discovery, and this is from a long poem, an extract.

My books are made from dead trees, my music is contained on large round vinyl disks, and my film and television selections slot nicely into the opening of this thingamabob called a “DVD player”.

Adam Piggott

For you should own the good stuff. In Analogue

The Church-porch. Perirrhanterium

In conversation boldnesse now bears sway.
But know, that nothing can so foolish be,
As empty boldnesse: therefore first assay
To stuffe thy minde with solid braverie;
Then march on gallant: get substantiall worth.
Boldnesse guilds finely, and will set it forth.

Be sweet to all. Is thy complexion sowre?
Then keep such companie; make them thy allay:
Get a sharp wife, a servant that will lowre.
A stumbler stumbles least in rugged way.
Command thy self in chief. He lifes warre knows,
Whom all his p•ssions follow, as he goes.

Catch not at quarrels. He that dares not speak
Plainly and home, is coward of the two.
Think not thy fame at ev’ry twitch will break:
By great deeds shew, that thou canst little do;
And do them not: that shall thy wisdome be;
And change thy temperance into braverie.

If that thy fame with ev’ry toy be pos’d,
‘Tis a thinne webbe, which poysonous fancies make▪
But the great souldiers honour was compos’d
Of thicker stuffe, which would endure a shake.
Wisdome picks friends; civilitie playes the rest.
A toy shunn’d cleanly passeth with the best.

Laugh not too much: the wittie man laughs least:
For wit is newes onely to ignorance.
Lesse at thine own things laugh; lest in the jest
Thy person share, and the conceit advance.
Make not thy sport, abuses: for the fly
That feeds on dung, is coloured thereby

The Temple, Geourge Herbert