Fond Youths, be wise! How sad it is to see
You carry'd thus away by Luxury;
And strive to lift your selves, with speed, to fight
Under Hell's Power? O 'tis a grievous Sight.
Why will you thus subject to Sins Commands,
As if your Leave of Life were in your Hands?
What, do you think Death will not come at all,
That you no more regard your fearfull Fall?
Or, do you think God will defer the Day,
That, by your Lusts, you thus are led astray?
You proud, lascivious Lads, that sport and spend;
Who know no Measure that regard no End:
For whose Luxurious Dyet and Array,
Do sell your Souls, and all you have away:
You little think your Bodies soon shall feed
The crawling Worms, which in the Dust do breed.
Dart down your Eyes, o pierce but two Yards deep
Into the Grave, where you, e'er long, must sleep:
Behold, the Corps, and Skulls of those young Men,
That once walk'd here, and must arise agen.
Come, cast an Eye, you Lads and Ladies Gay,
Upon the Loathsome Filth, the Worms and Clay.
Your Eyes that art so curious to behold
The Body deck'd in Ornaments of Gold:
That, like two Orient Crystals gave their Light,
To look on Vanity both Day and Night:
Cast one Look down: Oh here's for you a Sight
Behold, I pray, your ancient teming Mother,
For all the World's do's not know such another;
Whose royal, burden'd, honourable Womb,
So many Noble Heroes doth intomb:
Where all the famous Heroes do remain,
Who conquer'd many, but by Death were slain,
Whose glittering Swords Ambition kept from Rust:
Their Glory ended here; they're turn'd to Dust.
O ponder well! Alas, your Time is short;
When Death will put a period to your Sport.
But that's not all; I've worser News to tell;
Forsake your Sins, or else you'll go to Hell.
The Wages of Sin, is Eternal Death;
Unless you do experience a New Birth.
— Benjamin Keach, The Progress of SIN, OR THE TRAVELS OF Ungodliness
