OH SM'

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Who is OH SM'?

People are so constituted that everybody would rather undertake what they see others do, whether they have an aptitude for it or not. ..

  • Phone Number *** - **** 2508
  • E-Mailsilverbird949***@******.***
  • Birthday02 August 1948
  • Education -
  • Address Futeneiland No: 2508
  • CityPuttershoek
  • CountryNetherlands

OH SM' Online Statistics

OH SM' have a 181 following and 38 followers. OH SM''s world rankings is 446346. This page is based on OH SM''s online data & informations. You can find information birth date, place of residence, phone number, address and social media accounts on OH SM''s page.

181Followers
38Following
446346Popularity
110Scores

About OH SM'

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Worldlings we court not, envy not, nor fear;
May Friends to Vertue lend their Ear:
While Sinners split on shelves, Saints to
Heav'ns Harbour steer.

Earthlings! What's Heap of Wealth?
What's Honours Height?
What's Pleasures May? can toyes so slight
Blesse Heav'n--descended Soules with Lifes eternall Light?

Riches from most men, swift as Eagles, fly;
Honours on popular breath rely;
Pleasure's a flash; -- And All combind, but Vanity.

Why dot'st thou, WORLD, on these? we will not stay:
Juggler, We know thy tempting Way;
Which is, by Charms to mock our Sense, and then betray.

Art toyles to serve thee; Sables yield their Skinnes;
The Silk--Worm for thy Ward--robe spinnes;
The Rock with Jemmes, the Sea with Pearles, embosse thy Sinnes;

To bribe thy Palate, Lust draynes Earth, Air, Seas;
Whence Finny, Wing'd, hoof'd Droves must please
The Ghitton, made thereby a Spittle of each Disease.

False World, Asps poyson equals not thy Gall,
Imbittering Soules to Hell. Thus all
Thy Darlings thou delud'st with thy enchanting Call.

I wonder not unbridled fools run on;
Since all their Heav'n's on earth alone;
Which, though thou seem'st to give, as soon as giv'n, 't is gone.

Kisse, and betray, then Nero's Rage out--dare;
He, whom thou hugg'st, snould most beware:
I shall un--mask thy Guiles, and thy fond Gulls un--snare.

Thy Smile is but a trap, thy frown a bubble,
Thy Praise a squib, thy beauty stubble;
Who know thee best, have found a Theater of Trouble:

Where Men and Devils meet; and Sense, compact
With Fraud, gild every vicious fact:
Where we must Evil hear, or suffer it, or act.

Thy Friends are thieves of Time; The chat they vent
(Light Ayres please toyish eares) is spent
On trash, which Mindes seduce with cheating blandishment.

Thy gifted Sythemen have Religion mown,
Which, in their Meeting--barnes, is grown
From Best to All (like Corinths Schism) from All, to none.

Thy Shop vents brayded Ware of apish fashion;
Thy Gauds (Wealth, Sport, Pride) breed Vexation;
Like Hoboyes, on Earths Stage, oft ushering in -- Damnation.

Ah, while, like Larks, fools with vain feathers play,
Pleas'd with Sinnes glasse, are snatcht away,
In midst of their Excesse, to Hells tormenting Bay!

World, thou soul--wracking Ocean! Flatteries blow
Thee up, thou blue with Spite dost grow,
Brinish with Lust, like the Red--sea, with Bloud dost flow.

And, like the Basilisks prodigious eyes,
Thy first sight kills, but thy self dyes
First seen: Quick--sighted Faith thy Darts prevents, and spies.

Had'st been lesse cruel, thou had'st been lesse kind;
Thy Gall, prov'd Medicine, heales my Mind:
Thus Hell may help to Heav'n, the Fiend a Soul befriend.

The age--bow'd Earth groans under Sinners weight!
Justice, opprest, to Heav'n takes flight,
Vengeance her place supplies, which with keen Edge will smite.

False World! is Hell the Legacy to thy Friend?
Crawl with thy trifles to the Fiend:
We scorn thy Pack. -- thIs year May bVrnIng CLose thy enD.

Midas, to th' Barre; thou void of Grace, yet stor'd
With Gold, thy minted God, ador'd:
Thou, and thine Idol, perish in thy wretched Hord.

Thy heart is lockt up in thy shrined Chinck:
O, heavy Gold, bred near Hells brink!
Misgotten Elf, thou Heav'n--designed Soules dost sink!

Whose Gain is Godlinesse, -- The Scripture he
Perverts: -- Dayes him with Interest fee,
Who Incest still commits with his Coynes Progeny.

Thou hast too much, yet still thou whin'st for more;
Thou, wishing, want'st; art, wanting, poor:
Thou would'st ev'n plunder Hell for Cash to cramme thy Store.

While gripes of Famine mutiny within,
And tan, like hides, the shrivel'd skin
Of those thou hast decoy'd into thy tangling Ginne.

Whose skin, sear as the bark of saplesse wood,
Clings to their bones, for want of food;
Friendlesse, as are Sea--monsters thrown ashore by th' Flood.

Though Fasts be all their Physick, their Corps all
Their Earth, who for thy Pity call,
Yet art thou harder to them than their bed, the stall.

Penurious Churl, When shall I (sayes thine Heir)
Ransack thy Chests? so ease thy Care:
Purchase, instead of Ground, a Grave! -- Dye, Wretch, to spare!

Hath treach'rous Coin swell'd by thy Curse? -- Live still
Lay--Elder: Soon thy Crimes fulfill:
The heaviest Curse on this side Hell's to thrive in Ill.

How cursed Love of Money doth bewitch
The leprous Mind with pleasing Itch!
This Slave to his own Servant, ne're was poor, till rich!

Graves may be sooner cloy'd, than craving eyes:
Bribes blanch Gehazi till he dies.
Thou, Fool, Death shall this night thy Dunghill Soul suprize.

Nor would this City--Wolf lead Men to Snares,
Nor vex his Mind with carking Cares,
View'd he himself i'th' Mirrour which Despair prepares.

So wastefull, Usurer, as thy self, there's none;
Who part'st with three true Jemmes, for one
Brittle as glasse; --thy Fame, Rest, Soul for ever gone!

Who Nettles sow, shall Prickles reap; the train
To Hell is idolized Gain:
Unlesse thou Fiends can'st bribe, thou go'st to endlesse Pain!

His hide--bound--Conscience opens now. --I've run
On rocks (he howles) too late to shun!
Grace left, Wrath seiz'd me! Gold, my God, hath me undone!

Often to Hell in Dreames I headlong fall!
From Devils then I seem to crawl,
While Furies round about with whips my Soul appall!

Atheism our Root, for Boughs were Factions store,
Hypocrisie our Leaves gilt o're,
Wrath, Treachery, and Extortion, were the Fruit we bore!

Like profane Esau have we sold our blisse,
For shine of Pelf, that nothing is!
This desperates our Rage, we still blaspheme at This!

Thus cursed Gripers restlesse Tortures feel,
Whose hearts seem'd rocks, whose bowels steel.
I burn, (cryes Dives) for one drop, deny'd, I kneel!

Fire each where broyles me, Fire as black as Night!
Goblins mine Eyes, Eares Shrieks affright!
Sins Debt still paying, nere discharg'd, is Infinite!

Strow Flowers for Spend--thrift; Antemasks he might
Act before Apes, Spectators right:
Whose Dops, Shrugs, Puppet--playes, shew best by Candle--light.

Hot showes the Season by his dusty head;
With fancy'd ribbands round bespread;
Modish, and maddish, all untrust, as going to bed.

Ho! First brisk wine, next let a sparkling Dame
Fire our high Bloud, then quench our Flame!
Blest is the Son, whose Father's gone i'th' Devils Name.

Each pottle breeds a Ruby, Drawer, score 'um:
Cheeks dy'd in Claret, seem o'th' Quorum,
W'ven our Nose--Carbuncles, like Link--boyes, blaze before 'um.

Compleat thy funetall--Pyle; shouldst thou mark well
How down the Drunkards throat to Hell
Death smoothly glides; to swim so sadly would thee quell!

Spawns of Excesse, Dropsies and Surfets are;
From Tenants Sweat's thy Bill of Fare:
Each Glutton digs with's teeth his Grave, whose Maw's his Care.

He's sick, and staggers. Doctor, his Case state us;
His Cachexie results from Flatus
Hypochondrunkicus, ex Crapula Creatus.

Scarce Well, he swills what should the Needy store;
And grindes between his teeth the Poor,
Who beg dry crumnies, which they with Tears would moisten o're.

He a sharp Reck'ning shall, with Dives, pay;
Whose Feasts did hasten 'his Audit--day;
Death brought the Voider, and the Devil took away!

Enter his Courtesan, who fannes his Fire;
Her pratling Eyes teach loose Desire:
Fondlings to catch this art--fair Fly, like Trouts, aspire.

With Paint, false hair, and naked Breasts She jetts,
And Patches, (Lusts new Lime--twigs) sets;
Like Tickets on the Door, Her self (for Gold) She lets.

Her Basilisk--like Glances taint the Air
Of Virgin--Modesty, and snare
His tangling Thoughts in trammels of her ambush hair.

With her profusely he mispends his dayes
In Balls, and Dances, Treatments, Playes;
And in his Bosome this close--biting--Serpent layes.

Death; after Sicknesse, seize this Hellen must;
Whose radiant Eyes, now Orbs of Lust,
Shall sink, as falling Starres, which, jelly'd, turn to dust.

How wildly shewes corrupted Natures Face,
Till deck't by Reason, Learning, Grace?
Without which Politure the Noblest Stem is base!

Fooles rifle out Times Lottery: Who mispend
The Soules rich Joyes, alive descend;
And antedate with stings their never--ending End!

Thy Acts out--sin the Devil; Who's ne're soyl'd
With Gluttony or Lust, ne're foil'd
By Drink; nor in the Net of Slothfulnesse entoyl'd.

Therefore in Time beware; let not Sin--charms
Bewitch thee, till Wrath cryes to Arms.
Sins first Face smiles, her second frowns, her third Alarms.

How blind mad Sinners are when they transgresse!
All Woes are, than such Blindnesse, lesse!
That Wretch most wretched is who sleights his Wretchednesse!

When Death shall quench thy Flames, and Fiends thee seize,
In brimstone--Torrents, without Ease,
Thou'lt broyl mid'st blackest Fires, and roar mid'st burning Seas!

Usher Aspiro in with's Loomes of State,
To weave Frauds Web, and his own Fate;
Who, mounted up, throwes down the steps him rais'd of late,

His posture is ambiguous, his Pace
Is stately high, who thinks it Grace,
If he casts forth a word, and deigns but half a face:

Nor minds he what he speaks; For by false Light,
Like to his Faith, he thrives; Whose Sight,
Clouded with Jealousie, can never judge aright.

By dubious Answers he is wont to guesse
At Mens Dislikes; and feares no lesse
Feign'd Quips, than just Reproofs: Fear haunts him in each Dress.

Ambition prompts to Precipices steep,
Which Envy gets, and Hate doth keep;
His daily thoughts of climing break his nightly Sleep.

Could he with's foot spurn Empires into Air,
And sit i'th' Universall Chair
Of State; Were Pageants made for him, as the Worlds Maior;

Those fond Disguisements could not long him fence,
But Crosses still would vex his Sense,
And leave him blest but in the Preterperfect Tense.

Ev'n That at which Prides towring Project flies,
If gain'd obliquely, sinks, and dyes:
Earths Potentates! great Aims, Plots, Fears makes Tragedies.

Achitophel and Absalon prove This,
(Who of their Plots, not Plagues did misse)
To Matchiavels: That Ill worst to the Plotter is.

Pompey and Caesar so ambitious grow,
A Battel must be fought to show
Which of those Cocks o'th' Game o're Rome at last should crow.

The World, as Great--Cham, Turk, Mogul up--cryes,
Tuscans Great Duke, (all, no great prize)
Great Alexander;--The Nine Worthy--Ironies.

Ev'n Scepters reel like reeds: Who had no Bound,
Is bounded in six foot of ground;
Here lies the Great--Thou ly'st, here but his dust is found.

Who lately swell'd to be his Lordships slave,
May trample now upon his grave,
That levells All. Best Lectures dust--seel'd Pulpits have.

Where's now the Assyrian Lion? Persian Bear?
Greek Leopard? Romes spread--Eagle where?
Where now fam'd Troy, that did in old Time domineer?

Troy's gone, yet Simois stayes. See Fates strange Play!
That which was fixt, is fled away;
And what was ever sliding, that doth onely stay!

Therefore, why gap'st thou thus for Shadowes? who
Neglected lets the Substance go,
Led by false hope, he makes sad End in endlesse Woe!

The Mighty mighty Torments shall endure,
If impious: Hell admits no Cure:
Ambition's never safe, though often too secure.

If Pride on Wing could reach the Starres; yet shall,
Like Lucifer, its Carkase fall:
Pride mounted Babels Tower, and arched Satans Hall.

In Center of the terrible Abysse,
Remotest from Supernall Blisse,
That haplesse, hopelesse, easelesse, endlesse Dungeon is!

Where Nought is heard, but Yelling! O, that I
Might once more live! or once more dye!
Cursing his Woes, he wooes GODS Curse Eternally!

Lord, Teach us so to number our dayes, that we may apply our hearts unto Wisedome.

Lust brings forth Sin; Sin Shame; Shame--cryes; Repent;
Repentance weeps; Teares Prayer do vent;
Prayer brings down Grace; Grace Faith; Faith Love; Love zeal up sent.

Who feares GOD, is, without Despondence, sad;
Timorous, without Despair; and glad,
Without wild freaks: Whereas the World's Knave, Fool, or Mad.

Part should the World what are in Man combin'd;
The Body melts to be refin'd;
Grace cheeres the Suffering, Glory crowns the conquering Mind.

Nor Chance, Change, Fraud, nor Force, the Just Man fright,
In greatest Pressures He stands right;
Ever the same, (While Sloth feels Want, Ambition Spight.)

From costly Bills of greedy Empyricks free;
From Plea of Ambidexters Fee;
From hypocritick Schism of Kirkish Tyranny.

He with Observance honours Vertues Friends;
And to their faithfull Counsell bends;
But not on empty formes of Worldly gauds depends.

In praysing GOD, above the Starres He climes;
And pitying Courts, with all their Crimes,
And Fawns, and Frownes, dares to be good in Worst of Times.

Joy, Little World, spite of the Greater, blest;
Scanted abroad, within dost feast,
Hast CHRIST Himself for Cates, The Holy GHOST for Guest.

Thou walk'st in Groves of Myrrh, with CHRIST thy Guide,
(The best of Friends that e're was tri'd)
By Thee in Vale of Teares spirituall Joy's descry'd.

Knew but the World what glorious Joyes still move
In Faiths bright Orb, 't would soar above
All Sense, and center in the Point of Heav'nly Love!

O, Loves high'st Height! Thou art the Wise mans Blisse!
T' enjoy Thee's Heav'n, Hell Thee to misse!
The Earth, yea, Heav'n hath its Beatitude from This!

No Christian Kings win by each others Losse;
What One gets by Retail, in Grosse
All lose; While still the Crescent gains upon the Crosse.

As Children fight for toyes; So Kings for clods:
Heav'ns Heir's more great, and rich by ods:
For All is His, and He is CHRISTS, and CHRIST is GODS.

No Bank on Earth such Summes of Wealth can lend,
As Saints, who on Heav'ns Grace depend;
GODS Word their Law, His SPIRIT their Guide, The LAMB their Friend.

But, what's vain Man? what his earth--crawling Race?
That GOD should such a shadow grace,
And him Eternally in GLORIES Region place?

No Surfets Maw--worm's there, no itch of Lust,
No Tympany of Pride, no rust
Of Envy, no Wraths spleen, nor Obdurations crust.

But, there, though Blisse exceeds, It never cloyes;
For, sweet Fruitions Feast employes
Still new Desire; Where none can count his least of Joyes!

The Soul there (throwing off her raggs of clay,
Laid in Earths Ward--robe, till last Day)
Ever triumphs in every Beatifick Ray.

There, each Saint doth an endlesse Kingdome own!
There each King hath a starry Crown!
Each Scepter there o're--powers the Worlds, and Devils frown!

None blest, but He who finds the JUDGE his Friend,
When the last Trump shall Summons send!
The End doth crown, the Work, may JESUS crown.

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OH SM''s Motto

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OH SM''s Fact

Intelligent people have more zinc and copper in their hair...

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