Miscellaneous works of George Wither :: :: University of Virginia Library

Another Meditation, (or Ballad as the World perhaps, will call it) composed by the same Prisoner since his Commitment to Newgate.

I

My Soul, since we are left alone,
In our Confinement here,
Where we disturbed are of none,
To God, come, draw we near.
For, part of his three dreadful WOES,
Are now, so carrying on,
That, if to him, we cling not close
We may be quite undone.

II

Our selves, let us examine so,
That though our foes condemn,
We may, for what we did misdo,
Make now our Peace with him;
Lest, when the world hath fully try'd,
How, here we may be vext,
We, greater miseries must abide
Where, she will throw us next.

III

SIN, to full ripeness, is not come,
nor malice, to her heights;
And, we e're they receive their Doom
May look for more despights.

These, which we have endured yet,
Have been sustain'd with ease;
But, GOD, it may be will permit
Much harder things then these.

IV

'Tis but the Suburbs unto Hell,
whereto, we now are sent;
And (for the future) none can tell
What, hereto us is meant.
To better men, worse things befall
Then seem to be our Meed;
And, our Afflictions are but small,
To those, which may succeed.

V

We have not that dark Dungeon seen
Wherein, is endless Night;
Nor in those, Lowsie lodgings been
Which ev'ry sence affright;
We feel not that, which many lack;
Nor Bolts, nor Gives we wear,
Fit things for Belly and for Back,
As yet, supplyed are.

VI

With sickness, we are not opprest,
In body, or in mind;
No outward cares disturb our rest
No Inward fears we find.
For, all the suff'rings wherewith we
As yet, afflicted seem
Are onely such as grievous be,
In other mens esteem.

VII

But, should I, (being old and poor)
Diseased grow within,
With Aches, have my Limbes made sore,
Or, with an Ulcer'd skin
Be turn'd into the Common Jail
To lie upon the ground,
And, all those outward helpes quite fail
Which I have lately found.

VIII

Should this befall us, where might then
Our hope and courage be?
This, happens oft to Righteous men,
And, this, may fall on me.
What, but complaints and mournful cryes
Would then, be in this place;
Harts aking, or still weeping eyes,
Scorns, and despaire of Grace?

IX

These will be then the best Reliefs,
That, Flesh and Blood can see,
To cure or Mitigate their Griefs
Where such Desertious be.
Yet, be of nought (my Soul) afraid,
For, by his Angels, then,
Shall GOD's Assistance be convaid
When thou art left of men.

X

They came unto the Rich mans door
At which the Lazar dy'd,

And, him to rest Eternal bore
To whom, he Crums deny'd;
And when Elias had of bread
The meanes deprived quite,
He by the Ravenous Fowls was Fed
At Morning, and at night.

XI

Their GOD is mine; and if in him,
My Trust, I still repose,
He, will to me, be as to Them,
To save me from my Foes.
Or, if of that depriv'd I am
which fed me to this day,
I know he will supply the same
As well, another day.

XII

The Earth is his, with her increase,
And wasted were her store,
He hath within a Richer place,
Enough, to send me more;
And, till it comes; That which doth starve,
Discomfort and destroy;
My life (whilst useful) shall preserve,
And more increase my Joy.

XIII

The Plagues, which others to Despair,
And to Blaspheming move,
Shall stir me up, to Praise, and Prayer,
And fill my heart with Love.
Yea, that which on the Kings of Earth
Will dreadful horrors bring,

Shall make me with Triumphant Mirth,
A HALLELUJAH Sing.

XIV

The Purging Fire, which them doth burn,
Who, therein Raving, lye,
Thy Drosse (my Soul) to Gold shall turn,
Thy Silver, Purifie.
And, when thy Fiery-tryal's past,
No loss will come to thee,
If thy works Fixt on CHRIST, thou hast,
Though built of Straw they be.

XV

Resolves, which I had not before,
These Musings do beget;
And though, her Furnace seven times more,
The World, henceforth shall heat,
My Soul, return thou to thy Rest;
For, GOD, hath me assur'd,
That, were I ten times more opprest,
It should be well endur'd.

XVI

How blessed is that Heav'nly Place,
Where thou, Oh CHRIST, dost dwell!
If thou canst bring such Joy and Peace,
Into this Earthly Hell?
He, with whom, thou still present art,
What ere on him is laid,
If, thee he loves withall his heart,
Needs, no where be afraid.

Mewgate, Sept. 3. 1661.