Of Sicknesse

The end of Sicknesse, Health or Death declare
The cause as happy, as the sequels are.
Vaine mortals, while they striue their sense to please
Endure a life worse then the worst disease:
When sports and ryots of the restlesse night,
Breede dayes as thicke possest with fenny light:
[word missing] oft haue these (compell'd by wholsome paine)
Return'd to sucke sweet Natures brest againe,
And then could in a narrow compasse find
Strength for the body, clearenesse in the mind?
And if Death come, it is not he, whose dart,
Vuhose scalpe and bones afflict the trembling heart:
(As if the Painters with new art would striue
For feare of Bugs, to keepe poore men aliue)
But one, who from thy mothers wombe hath been
Thy friend and strict companion, though vnseene,
To leade thee in the right appointed way,
And crowne thy labours at the conqu'ring day.
Vngratefull men, why doe you sicknesse loath,
Vuhich blessings giue in Heau'n, or Earth, or both?