Garden — Meditation 4

FInding in my walk a Posey, of once sweet and fragrant, but now dry and withered flowers, which I supposed to be thrown away by one that had formerly worn it: Thus said I, does the unfaithful world use its friends, when providence has blasted and withered them; while they are rich and honourable, they will put them into their bosoms, as the Owner of this Posey did, while it was fresh and fragrant; and as easily throw them away, as useless and worthless things, when thus they come to be withered. Such usage as this Petronius long since complained of.

Cum fortuna manet vultum servatis amici,

Cum cecedit turpi vertitis or a fuga. (i. e.)

Are they in honour? then we smile like friends,

And with their fortunes all our friendship ends.

But this loose and deceitful friendship stinks so odiously in the very nostrils of nature, that a Heathen Poet severily taxes, and condemns it as most unworthy of a man.

Turpe sequi casum, & fortunae cedere, amicum

Et nisi sit foelix esse negare suum. (i. e.)

'Tis base to change with fortune, and deny

A faithful friend, because in poverty.

And is this indeed the friendship of the world? Does it [•]hus use them whom once it honoured? Then Lord! let me never seek its friendship. O, let me esteem the smiles and honours of men less, and your love and favour more. Your love is indeed unchangeable, being pure, free, and built upon nothing that is mutable; you never servest your friends as the world does its darlings.