Poems by Robert Gomersall

A Levite in his journey goes
To wicked Gibeah for repose,
VVhich is deny'd, but having found
Another lodging then the ground,
(Such is th'unkindnesse of their sinne)
They make a prison of his Inne.
From whence he shall not issue free,
But by his wifes Adultery,
So when from thence to hast he minds,
Her dead before the doore he finds,
VVhen to expresse their crime, and make
The villaines at their owne guilt quake,
Into twelve pieces he divides
The body that was once his Brides,
Now Gibeah is besieg'd, and though
They twice have giv'n the overthrow
Unto their betters, yet at length
They finde Vice hath no lasting strength:
For now their town's as hot as their Desire,
And as they burnt in Lust, so that in fire.

To my learned and highly esteemed Friend, Mr. Robert Gomersall.

Had such a Labour in this jugling age
Sought after Greatnesse for its patronage,
Not after Goodnesse, I had then beene free
To love thy worke, though not to fancy thee;
But thou hast wonne me: since I see thy booke
Aymes at a judging eye, no smiling looke.
Greatnesse doth well to shelter errours, thou
Not having any, fear'st no frowning brow,
But wisely crav'st a view of his, that can
Not onely praise, but censure of a man.
Thou needst not doubt severer eyes, if he
Adde but applause unto thy Poety.
His workes such monuments of fame doe raise,
That none will Censure if he once but Praise.
Commend I would, but what? here's nothing knowne
Can be call'd thine, when each hath claim'd his owne.
Jove-bred-Minerva challengeth the wit.
Mercury flyes and sweares he languag'd it.
Thy Artes the Muses claime; the History
Savours of nothing but Divinity,
Transcrib'd from Gods records; then nothing's thine
(But griefe for th'Levites sinne) since th'use is mine.
But now deare friend, though this sufficient be
To raise up Trophees, and eternize thee:
Give leave to him that loves thee to desire
To serve thee friendlike, though in meane attire.

The glittering starre that darts a glorious light
Were lost if not commended by the night?
So stands it with thy verse; I writing set
Their beauty off, as Christall is by Iett.
Nor doth it trouble me; since that my end
Is not to be a Poet, but a friend.
And yet perhaps these looser lines of mine
May prove eternall; cause they usher thine.

Midd. Temp.

C. L. I. C.

Epitaphium Concubinæ.

Englished thus.

Who suffer'd Gibeahs Lust, and her Lords knife,
Whom not one Suitor would have had to wife;
By many Suitors perishing, here lyes,
A not-one Coarse, and many sacrifice.
O who would trust in formes, that houres impaire,
Vertue's true shape, and onely Goodnesse fayre.

Psal. 92

I will bee glad and rejoyce in thee, yea my Songs will I make of thy name, O thou most High.

Father of Lights, whose praises to rehearse
Would pose the boldnesse of the ablest verse;
Who art so far above what we can say,
That what we leave is greatest: shew the way
To my weake Muse, that being full of thee
She judge Devotion the best Poesie,
Teach her to shunne those ordinary wayes,
Wherein the greater sort seeke shamefull praise
By witty sinne, which ill affections stirres,
Whose pennes at leastwise are Adulterers.
O teach me Modesty: let it not be
My care to keepe my verse from harshnes free
And not from lightnesse; let me censure thus,
That what is Bad, that too is Barbarous.
Then shall my soule warm'd with thy sacred fire,
Advance her thoughts, and without Pride aspire,
Then shall I shew the glory of my King,
Then shall I hate the faults which now I Sing,

THE LEVITES Revenge.

Canto. I.

The Argument.

The Levites Love, her flight, his stay
In hope to bring his Runne-away:
Gibeahs harsh usage, with the free,
Vnlookt for old mans courtesie:
Their base attempt, her wretched fate;
This song to Time doth consecrate.

VVhilst Israels government was yet but rude,
And Multitudes did sway the Multitude,
Whilst all the Nation were so many Kings,
Or else but one great Anarchy: Fame sings
That there a Levite was (Levites may erre)
Who had a Concubine, and doubted her.

Durst Lust and Iealousie so high aspire
To one that onely knew the Altars fire?
Must he feele other Flames? to wanton eyes
Must ev'n the Priest be made a sacrifice?
Or hath he offerd incense so long time
For Judah's fault, that he hath gain'd their crime?

Appeas'd for sinnes to learne them? in times past
Whilst yet the ancient innocence did last,
Levi could kill a Ravisher, but now
Levies base off-spring does not disavow
To be a Ravisher. Perhaps to show
His Grandsires bloody rashnesse, who would so
Punish that crime, which some years past might be
His owne, at least in his Posterity.

For so 'twas now: the Levite loves, and more,
Suspects at last, whom he did first adore:
For Fame speakes hardly of her: but poore man
Fame speaks no more thē thou should thinke: for can
One that hath broke with honesty, be true
To him that made her breake? or else are you
The onely Tempter? does there no blood boyle
Besides the Levites? can they onely toyle
In sinnes, that preach against them? if they can,
Yet such as she are made for every man.
What none can challenge his, is due to all,
Lust should not imitate a Nuptiall.

She now suspects her Levites jealousie,
And hasts home to her fathers house: ô why
To goe or come againe couldst thou dispense,
And bring not backe againe, what thou broughtst thence?
Was then a Father to be visited
When thou wert made a Mother? what hope bred
That madnesse in thee, that unto a mild
Father, thou shouldst be welcome for a child?
But unto whom wouldst thou have welcome beene?
A Father? 'tis the nature of thy sinne:
To make them doubtfull: they that live like thee,
Asham'd of nothing but of modesty,
Banish themselves from all, but their deare sinne;
And lose at once their vertue, and their kinne.

But when the Levite saw that she was gone,
That she was lost, whom he so doted on,
Reason almost forsooke him too, to prove
Anger can blind a man as well as love:
It may be Israel was holy then
And sacrifices for the guilty men
Came slowly in, this might increase his griefe,
And be an accessory, if not chiefe:
This might confirme him in his angry sinne,
Rob'd of his profit and his concubine.

But hee'l not lose her: wilt thou seeke her then
That does fly thee? that to an host of men
Hath giv'n thy due? as if she meant to try
Which were the most unvanquisht luxury
Of Priest or people: whom if thou shouldst finde,
Thou hast not yet recovered her lost mind,
That wanders still, and wilt thou fetch her thence
To try, or else to teach thee Patience?
Can she teach any vertue? can there be
Ought learnt from her besides immodesty?
All that this journey can effect, that thou
Can'st promise to thy selfe, if thou speed'st now,
Is, that shee'l lose the bashfulnesse she had,
And onely prove more confidently bad.

You now may thinke him neere his journeyes end,
Where long before his thoughts had met his friend,
Scorning his bodies sluggish company,
And now both are arriv'd, where to his eye
She first appear'd, for whom alone, I find,
He thank'd the heav'n that did not make him blind,
For which he should have thank'd them: he had been
Then nor a Lover, nor a Priest: no sinne
Had crept in with the light, nor ever made
In that good Darknesse, an unhallowed shade

But who had seene him when he first descry'd
Who 'twas that met him, how he slipt beside
The wearied beast, and with full speed did run
As if he meant to tempt temptation;
He would have judg'd that women strongest were,
And men object the weakenesse which they are.
Thus when he should wisely have understood,
And thank'd the kinder heav'ns, who made him good
Against his will almost, having remov'd
That which did hinder him from being belov'd
Of God, and goodnesse, not unlike the Fish
Which seemes to be desirous of the dish,
(As if for his delivery he did waite,
And therefore were ambitious of the baite:)
Into a knowne snare, he does gladly run,
And foolishly pursues, what he should shun.

And is not this, Ide know, the readiest way
To make God thinke, we mocke him when we pray?
When we pretend desire, that we may be,
As from the Fault, so the Temptation free:
Whilst (as we had not knowne what we had said,
Or hop'd, that God observ'd not how we prai'd)
Lest that we should receive our hurt from farre,
We both the Tempted, and the Tempters are,
And thus the holyest name we take in vaine,
Praying as never meaning to obtaine.

And now her father comes, who after words
As kind and elegant as that place affords,
Intreats her pardon: but alas, good Age,
Who shall intreat thy pardon, or asswage
The Levites passion now? who does averre,
That he alone does sinne, who taxes her:
With this he smiles on her, and yet does feare
Lest she should thinke that this a Pardon were,

Or reconcilement: without much adoe,
You might perswade him now he came to wooe,
And not to fetch her backe; but by the hast
Of carrying her from thence, fearing the wast
Of the least minute, she might well descry,
What ere his words, his deeds spoke Iealousie.
Hardly he condiscends to one nights stay
Though 'twere with her: but how he spent the day,
How his desires were speedier then the Sunne,
(Whom then he thought to creep, and not to runne)
Twere tedious to relate, though the old man
With all the Art, and all the Cheare he can,
Detaines him three daies longer, which appeare
As long as fancy can extend a yeare.
Minutes are Ages with him, and he deemes
He hath out-lingred grave Methusalems
Nine hundred yeare by such a stay, and feares
That she may once more shunne him for his yeares.
Sure such accounts the wise Egyptians made
Who added wings to Time, as if he had
Mov'd on too slowly, or as if they meant
To take his fore-top from him, with intent
To make him bald before too, whose records
Had very neere as many yeares as words.
Making full forty thousand ere the fall,
And pu'ny Adam of no age at all.

The fifth day dawnes, but ere the rising Sunne
Had shew'd the victory which he had wonne
Of cloudy night, before the sleepy Cocke
Had prov'd himselfe to be the Country Clocke
Shewing the mornings houre, when now we might
Have spoke no falshood had we call'd it Night;
Our Levite for his journey does prepare,
And his are drest, ere Phoebus horses are:

To whom the Father comes, and gently chides
His earely sonne-in-law, who, forst, abides
Till after noone with him, and then he goes
Not from the house so fast, as to his woes,
Sure the old man did prophecy the harme,
Which would insue, when he did seeke to charme
Our Levite to a longer stay: but O
Tis double misery beforehand to know
We shall be miserable! then why hath man
That curst ability, that well he can
Prognosticate mishapps, when they are neere?
And all his knowledge teaches but to feare.

Which yet our Levite hath not learnt, who rides
Doubting no danger: now the worlds eye glides
To his west Inne, when Jebus he espies,
Whom he counts his, because Gods enemies.
Hearken ye Gallants that will crosse the seas,
And are industrious for a new disease,
If you will needs be gadding, and despise
For forraine toyes, our home-bred rarities,
Take this example with you, if you goe
Travell not from Religion: why, although
You never touch at Rome, or else perchance
You scarce see Spaine, and gleane but part of France,
You may be weary, thinke your travell great,
And spare at once your conscience, and your sweat;
You see our Levite though the night draw neere,
His love be weary, and no towne appeare
Where she may rest herselfe, although the way
Were troublesome enough eu'n in the day,
Yet he resolves gladly to undergoe
More miseries then Night and danger know,
Ere he will venture there to make his stay
From whence the Idols had drove God away:

O farre unworthy of thy future Fate
By this best Action! miserable state
Of too great vertue ill-imploy'd! to be
Punish't, when he did shunne Iniquitie,
As he did Jebus. How he spurs, how rates
His tardy beast! how his owne slacknesse hates?
Which forc't him by his travelling so late
If not to stay, yet to deliberate.

Within the Center of the Earth there stands
Neere to the fiery streames, and ashy sands,
A dreadfull palace, of such uncouth frame,
Each part so shap't as if twere built to shame
All Architecture, that if one did see
The vastnesse of it, and deformity,
He would not make the least demurre to tell
That 'twas a lodging for the Prince of Hell.
What ere does beautifie a house, here wants,
The walls are blacke as the Inhabitants,
Made out of Iett, into such figures fram'd
That Nature dare not owne them, nor be blam'd
With so much Monster: we in doubt may call,
Whether the trimming, or materiall,
Had the more horror. No birds here are heard,
But such whose harsher accents would have feard
The most resolv'd: they punish in their rimes,
And all their ditty does consist of crimes.
They sly Præcisian that could gull the eye
Of the most sharpe, by close hypocrisie,
Whose mischiefes onely he that did, could tell,
Who, we may thinke might ev'n have cheated Hell
With such dissembling, sees his vices bare,
Naked, and foule, as when they acted were:
One layes oppression to his charge, another
His sisters incest, murther of his brother,

They shew his zeale was onely to contend,
And all his reformation not to mend
But to confound the State, that his knit brow
(Which lookt so sterne as it would disallow
The most indifferent act, and like of none
But such as did pretend perfection)
Was but an easie Vizor, such as Rage
Can give it selfe, and must receive from Age.
That he did onely know externall Grace,
And all his holinesse was in his face.
Is goodnes in a wrinkle? can we finde
That what does cloud the face, does clense the mind?
To me it is a tricke of rarest art
That hollow browes should have the soundest heart.

These are the sounds, but then the smells are worse,
Enough to make that Harmony no Curse.
Vnder the walls there runnes a brimstone flood
The top of flames, the bottome was of mud:
Of such grosse vapour, that to smell was Death,
Prisons are sweet, compar'd unto that breath.
And to maintaine the fire and stench at once,
The fewell is prepar'd of usurers bones,
Loose Madams lockes, the fethers of their Fanne,
With the foule inside of a Puritan.
In this sweet place as sweet a Prince doth dwell,
The chiefe of fiends, the Emperor of Hell
Grand Lucifer, whom if I should relate
In the worst figure that the eye doth hate:
I should but faintly his foule selfe expresse,
Nor reach unto his unpattern'd uglinesse,
Death keepes the entrance, a tall sturdy groome
Who emptying all places fills no roome,
But like the fond Idolater of pelfe,
Denyes men, what he cannot have himselfe:

Here does this shade send challenges to all,
Who would have entrance first to try a fall,
They try, and they are throwne; ther's none so great
But yeelds to him, who knew but one defeat
And that long after, but his prime was now,
His bones some marrow had, some grace his brow.
No plagues as yet, no famines had beene knowne,
The sword was thrifty, making few to groane
Vnder his edge. Death yet had lusty thighes,
Nor spent himselfe with too much exercise.

Here there stand numbers, which exceed all sums
(For they refuse none here, who ever comes)
The murtherer first, and without much adoe,
Sometime he will admit the murtherd too.
Then the incontinent, but if that he
Be knowne by Incest or Adultery
His seat is chiefe: nor have they a low place,
Who with an open and alluring face,
Delude their trusting friends, till they have wonn
Their deeper projects, which they built upon.
The rest of lower crimes, whom we may call,
Downe-right offenders, such as after all
Their time of trespasse, have not gain'd the skill,
And onely know the taint, not art of Ill:
Have no distinguisht roomes, but venture in
As headlong to their paines, as to their sinne,

But now some other enter; for a charge
Past from the Prince of shadowes, to inlarge
Th'imprison'd Crimes, that they might all conferre
(Such is his will) with their Lord Lucifer.

What noyse there was? what striving at the doore?
This would be first, and that would goe before:
Pride claimes precedency, and cryes who ere
Ventures to make a step before her there

Is impudently foolish, that the place
Is hers by due, and onely theirs by grace,
When she would yeeld it: unlesse first they would
Bring more convincing reasons then she could:
For who should to the Prince of Hell first goe
To visit him, but she that made him so?
And who had made him so, shee'd know, but she,
When with his God he claim'd Æquality?
Peace, wrath exclaimes, and with so deepe an oath
As all those fiends, with Hell to boot, were loath
To heare another such he vowes no more
To beare the bravings of that scarlet whore,
Hee'l first a Rebell, first a Vertue be,
And no more Wrath, but Magnanimity.
She smil'd, and bid him be so, but whilst they
Were hot in this contention, Envy lay
Gnawing her breasts: faine would she have bin higher
Had but her spirit equall'd her desire.
But since she cannot be reveng'd of them,
She useth an unheard of stratagem,
Teares her owne haires, and her gimme face beslimes
Thus punishing her selfe for others crimes.
By this time Idlensse comes in the reare,
As proud, thoug not as active, as they were;
He scarce would take the paines to speake, but loth
To lose his dignity by too much Sloth,
He gives them these few words, Why strive you so
About the place which all to me doe owe?
Doe notye know, I am the raigning Crime,
Most generall, and most lofty of the time?
I make the Lawyer silent, though he see
His clyent full; I am beyond a Fee:
When Lawes doe not I make the Preacher dumbe
Ev'n when the Tyger, or the Wolfe doe come:

But above all, I in the Court doe grow,
Beggers are proud, but Emperors are slow.
Drunkennesse could not answere, but does thinke
Twas fit that Idlenesse should yeeld to drinke:
And reeling to encounter him, does fall
Iust in the entrance, and excludes them all.
Now is the skirmish hotter then before,
Now Pride begins to scratch, and Wrath to roare;
Drunkennesse lies unmov'd, and Sloths intent
Is to sit still, and to expect th'event.
But in this civill broyle, at last comes Craft
Of whom no Painter ere could take a draft,
He had such change of shapes, who when he saw
These tumbling warriours, and that no awe,
No feare of Lucifer could reach them peace,
Hee'l try his skill to make these broyles to cease,
Fie Pride, sayes he, What? give your selfe the fall?
And Wrath are you no more discreet withall
Then quarrell with a woman? Come agree,
If not for feare of Hell, for love of me.
But out alas, you doe too well agree,
When Wrath is Proud, and Pride will Wrathfull be.
Goe hand in hand (thus friendly Craft decides)
Onely the upper hand let that be Prides.

They enter the great hall, where they doe see
The Hellish Monarch in his Majesty,
Where having made obeysance, he beginnes,
Thus to breake silence and upbraid the sinnes.

The reason why I call'd you (not to dwell
On an unnecessay præamble)
Is to informe you, that we finde of late
You have not beene officious to the State:
Tis true, yon bring me daily what's mine owne,
And plentifully reape what I have sowne.

In the grosse Heathen you doe hourely cause
Vices, which never were forbid by Lawes,
Because ne'r thought of? but what's this to me,
Whether that Lust or infidelity
Fill Hell with those, nay and oppresse it too,
Which must come thither, whatsoere they do?
You doe like those, who in the other life
Buy their owne lands, and wooe againe their wife.
A goodly act, and wherein's danger store,
You give me that, which was mine owne before.
Whilst Judah all this while hath me withstood,
And dares, when I forbid them, to be good.
They honor Parents with a zealous strife,
And with their goodnesse doe prolong their life.
In them no malice nor no rancor lies,
Nor shed they blood, but for a sacrifice:
Adultery's scarce heard of in a life,
And they'are men onely unto their owne wife.
In such a lou'd community they live,
None need to steale, all are so apt to give.
While you suppose that highly yon deserve
If you can say that you have made them swerve
From goodnesse that ne'r had it: well y'aue done
If that Semiramis once doate upon
Her wondring issue, and begin to swell
With such a birth, that would pose us to tell
How she should call it; and what she did beare
If it her daughter, or her granchild were,
You have discharged your office, if you make
Some bloody Nations their owne issue take
And offer unto me; or if you draw
Some to the practice of that wicked Law
That after fifty they their parents kill,
And not that onely, but suppose that ill

To be their duty. O fond thought! and thence
Doe estimate their childs obedience.
Hence truant Crimes, avant, no more appeare
In my dread presence, no more let me heare
Those petty actions, if you doe not straight
Revenge my wrongs, and ease me of this waight,
Which thus oppresseth me, if Israel still
Shall dare to crosse what I shall call my will;
By Hell Ile doe—but what? I say no more,
If you are wise, prevent, if not, deplore.
This said he star'd so fiercely that they fear'd
He would performe much more then they had heard,
Nor know they wel how they their tongues should use,
Whether 'twere best to promise or excuse.

At last Lust rises, and becalmes him thus,
Why doe you loose your wrath, great Prince, on us?
Vs your sworne vassals? who nor thinke nor doe
But what your will is their command unto.
What though w'ave spent our paines not the right way?
Yet they were paines, nor can an enemie say
But we were active Furies, and have done
What lesser fiends durst not have thought upon.
And yet (if that I may have leave to tell
From your dread grace) precifer Israel
Hath not escap'd us wholy, nor hath bin
More noted for their Law, then for their Sinne.
Was that a Vertue too, when being led
By Gods owne hand, and fill'd with Angels bread,
They did, (I joy to caus't, but blush to tell,)
They did repine ev'n at that miracle.
Fasting and full they murmure, nor are lesse
Angry with Manna then with Emptinesse.
I could speake more, and truely: but in summe,
To prove my past acts by my act to come;

If by your gracious leave, I have the fate
To have a joynt commission with Debate,
Ile make a fire within their blood to burne,
Shall their proud Cities into ashes turne:
And they shall know how foolishly they erre,
Who are not willing slayes to Lucifer.

Lucifer nods, and Lust does swiftly runne
With his unlimited Commission:
Which with what Art, what mischiefe he did use,
Is now the griefe and bus'nesse of my Muse.

But now she must to our sad Levite hast
Whom we left trav'lling, when the day was past.
The sunne sets over Gibeah; when that he
Drawes neerer thither ward, but then to see
The blush of Heav'n, with what a red it shin'd,
(As if the Sun his office had resign'd
Vnto those clouds) to all that understood,
It would have shew'd that it did figure blood,

And now our Levite is arriv'd, but finds
The walls more courteous then the peoples minds:
For these had gates which let him in, but they
Were mercilesse, and rougher then the way:
Men that had onely studied to oppresse,
Whose mindes were shut against the harbourlesse:
And yet he sees large houses, some so high
As if they learn't acquaintance with the sky,
What ever pleas'd their fathers now growes stale,
Their buildings to the hills exalt the vale:
And such thicke Palaces the mountaines fill,
As if the quarry grew without the hill,
Some are of that circumference you'd guesse,
They had beene built for him, who had no lesse
Then the whole world his Family. But when
Our Levite was inquisitive, what men

Fill'd up that Princely dwelling; and if there
Might be found hope of rest for them that were
But two more then the Family; they tell
That two are the whole Family, 'twas well,
And stately too (as state is at this day)
So might they live at home, and yet away,

O the great folly of Magnificence!
Houses are little Cities, and from thence
Cities are lesser worlds, that man may have
Roome enough here that cannot fill a grave.
He must have Halls, and Parlors, and beside
Chambers invented, but not nam'd by pride:
And all this for one man, as if he sought
To have a severall lodging for each thought,
But none for any stranger: this truth seemes
Too certaine to our Levite, who esteemes
That pris'ners are in better state then he;
Nay, ev'n the pris'ners of mortality,
Such as are fast immur'd within the grave
Who though they want a life, a lodging have.

Inhumane wretches! have you then forgot
That you were sometime strangers? Were you not
In Egypt once? where the Propheticke land
Did justly scourge your basenesse before hand,
Knowing you would be barbarous, and so
Made you to feele the harshnesse which you show.
O cruelly forgetfull! that indure
To act, or else out doe the Epicure,
Whilest he feeds on the Ayre, that thinke it meet
To lye in Downe, while he lies in the street!

An old man thought not thus, but to his house
Intreats the strangers: 'tis malicious
To lay the imputation upon Age
That it is covetous (as if the sage

Haires of the Ancient were therefore white
To signifie their silver Appetite.)
Peace you blasphemers, see an aged man
Covetous onely of a Guest, who can
Repay him nothing, but his Prayer, and be
Indebted once more for his Piety;
But if my Muse have any power o'r time
And sinne hath more mortality then rime,
Old man thou shalt be ever old, and have
No entertainment in the silent grave
For this thy entertainment: here a while
Let me admire how that a towne so vile,
Which we would thinke with strangers had decreed
To shut out Vertue too, should rarely breed
Such a strange Vertue? quietly we heare
Of courtesies in Rome; of kindnesse there
Where Greece is nam'd, who counted it a sinne
Not to have made each noble house an Inne
For worthy strangers: but when one shall fall
In commendation of the Canniball,
Shall say that they, who on their guests doe gnaw
And entertaine their strangers in their maw,
Are hospitably minded, that ev'n there
May be a mouth which is no Sepulcher:
We stand agast, as if we did conspire
Not to beleeve the good we did desire.
Whence sprung this Singularity? whence came
This worth which so deserves and conquers Fame?
Our Vertues are not borne with us, and they
Which will innoble man till times last day
Live after them they make to live, what we
Call goodnesse, is the gift of Company,
Our study not out Nature, and could these
Teach any other thing besides disease

In manners? it is fit then we confesse
Mercy is learn't amongst the mercilesse,
And rather then a Levite shall want rest
Avarice selfe shall entertaine a Guest.

But now the Levite hath forgot that he
Had left the hard streets hospitality;
He finds such kindnesse, that he does suppose
Courtesie wore no other haires then those,
To grieve the honest world, who now might feare.
That she was hasting to her sepulcher.
Into an anticke roome he leads him first,
Where one would guesse that Abraham had beene nurst
Or a more ancient Patriarch, the walls
Compos'd of that which from a wett shooe falls
In weeping winter, which a man would thinke
Their age had now dry'd up into one Chinke
Yet such a roome one comfort does afford,
It was not built to ruine its sad Lord.
For who will begge a Cottage? who would make
A guilty wretch, that he his rags might take?
To that whence nothing comes is no regard:
None would be vicious too but for reward.
No, let them feare who dwell in arched vaults,
Who in much roome doe seeke to hide their faults.
Where hundred columnes rise to mate the skie,
And mocke their Lords with false Divinity.
Envie is proud, nor strikes at what is low,
And they shall onely feele who scorne her blow:
She on no base advantage will insist,
Nor strive with any but that can resist.

Now is the table spred, and now the meat
Be'ing set, each takes him his appointed seat:
No courtship here is shew'd, no carving grace,
The entertainment (homely as the place

Spoke onely hearty, and that plaine intent
Which greater entertainers complement.
So Abraham feasted heav'nly guests, as when
He made the Angels eat the bread of men:
So on the like guests, hospitable Lot
Bestow'd the diet which they wanted not;
In this ours differs, nay in this exceeds,
That he bestowes his kindnesse where it needs.

One would have thought so, when he heard the noise,
Of confus'd multitudes, men mixt with boyes,
All ages in the cry, as if they meant
That now the Babes should not be innocent:
Bees doe not murmure so, and angry hounds
In their full rage send forth but easy sounds,
Compar'd to this: their inland Sea stood still,
Wondring to heare him selfe out roar'd, and till
This time, that noise hath such a silence bred,
That ever since it hath beene styl'd the Dead.
Now they besiege the house, and one would feare
That their loud tongues so many engines were
To batter it: downe with the Gate, cryes one,
Another laughes at that, and with a stone
Threatens to force a Gate, and deepely swore
To give them entrance, all the House was Doore,
But then another that would needs be wise,
And counted chiefe in this great enterprise,
Exhorts them to a Parley: Why, my friends,
Make you such hast, sayes he, to lose your ends?
Have you indented with the stones you throw
To misse the Levit? Doe you thinke no blow
Can fasten on him, or d'ye meane to prove
If that the stones are rivalls in your Love?
Stones and not men! with that the hands were still,
But all the noise, the Hubbub, with an ill

Consent, cries for the Levite, whom they faine
Would onely know, and so returne againe.

And could you see him in the street so long,
As farre from being hid, as this your wrong
Shall be from after-Ages, when he had
No cover, but the kinder heav'ns, (whose sad
Compassion hindred them from shedding teares,
Lest such a griefe should make th'unkindnes theirs)
Had you so full a view of him, and yet
Doe you desire to know him? No, forget
That ever there was such a one, and then
Posterity may thinke that you were men:
How will they wonder else, when they shall heare
You lov'd him in the house, whom you did feare
To bring into your house; that you were mad,
In the pursuit of that you might have had?
You ai'm'd another, a worse way, and just
His answere is, that calls your Knowledge, Lust,

But how, were they so long time innocent?
How was this Prodigy of Desire ev'n spent
Before it was exprest? here we may see
In impudence there was some Modesty:
They would not sinne at home, the worst abhor'd
To be a beast, where he should be a Lord.
And it seem'd better to the vilest breast
Not to receive, then to abuse a Guest.

Now the Old-man not fearing any harme
That might ensue, whether he hop'd the warme
Lust of their Youth, would by his Age be quelld,
And that those flames would to such winter yeeld:
Or whether he was then rather addrest
To offer up himselfe before his Guest
Vnto their Fury, forth he goes: they thought
That now they should obtaine what they had fought,

Whom thus he does bespeake; Have Patience
My friends, I come, not to intreat you hence,
But to fulfill your pleasure, onely change
The Sex; I have a daughter, and what's strange
In this hot towne, a Virgin: at your suite
I am content to make her prostitute,
So that my stranger may not injur'd be:
Nature shall yeeld to Hospitality.

O constant goodnesse! O best act, which can
Conclude the Vertue, older then the Man!
How I could lose my selfe in praysing thee,
Man not of Age, but of Æternity!
Who didst respect thy guest beyond thy blood,
And knewst the difference betwixt Fond, and Good.
Henceforth scorne all comparisons below,
Onely thy Maker, thy Superiour know:
Such was his Mercy that he did bestow
His onely Sonne a ransome for his Foe;
(This was a patterne fit for the most High)
Yet next this Mercy, was thy Charitie,
Thy Act in this is second to the best,
Thou wouldst not spare thy Daughter for thy Guest.

But they'l not be prescrib'd in their desire,
Who thinke, to alter, were to quench their fire:
They must the Levite or his Sister know,
(For Sister they interpret her) to show
Our sawcy Lay-men how they should expound
Their Preachers actions, not to be profound
To search their faults, but well and wisely too,
Doe what they speake, and not speake what they do,

This they exclaime, and this our Levite heares,
Who now hath spent his Reason, and his Feares.
Such a Confusion he is fallne into,
He knowes not what to shunne, nor what to doe.

So in rais'd Seas, when that the angry wind
Threatens destruction to that daring kind,
Who to a flying house themselves commit,
(Seeming at once to flye too from their wit.)
The well-stor'd passenger, (when he does find
That all this fury of the wave and wind
Is for his Treasure) now resolves to dye:
(Death is not so much fear'd as Poverty)
And now resolves that he will venture on
More losse, before that Resolution:
He does from this unto that purpose skip,
And now his minde more totters then his ship.
Till after all this tedious, foolish strife,
Which he shall save, his treasure, or his Life,
He shall save neither; and thus being loath
To hazard either, he does forfeit both

And now she shall be Passive. O Fates sport!
Hee'l now betray that should defend the Fort,
Such Revolution did you ever see?
Who earst was Iealous, will a Pander be.
O Life thou most desir'd, and wretched thing!
Thy love betrayd his love, from thee did spring
This Contradiction of crosse Faults, O why
Chose he not rather to doe well, and Dye?
Why did he so desire to shunne his Friend,
And call that Misery, which was an End?
The Dead doe feare no Ravisher, no Lust
Was ere so hot, to dote upon cold dust,
Were he once dead he should feare no crimes then,
Neither his owne, nor those of other men:
And could he wish a longer life: let those
Who doe not know (but by inflicting) woes,
Hugg that desire, but he who wisely waighs
What many miseries are in many dayes,

Let him not be so mad to wish his feares,
And onely prove his Dotage by his Yeares.

Never did Morning blush so much as that
Which next appear'd; when up our Levite gat,
And running nimbly to the doore, he sees
His love before the doore with her faire knees
Growne to the Earth, so close, that one would feare,
She tooke a measure of her Sepulcher,
With hands out stretch'd, as if, fearing to faile,
She meant to make a Sexton of her naile
To dig her grave: or else (for who can tell?)
Suspecting by her injuries an Hell
Not to be farre, where such sinnes had a birth,
She lay so close, to feele if it were Earth.
He wonders at the posture, nor knowes why
She had not chose to rest more easily.
And now he will be satisfy'd, but she
Had lost her tongue too, with her Chastity.
He thinkes she sleepes, and therefore louder cryes,
Why doe we dally here? Wake, and Arise.
But let him cry on, she hath heard her last,
Deafe to all sounds now, but the latest blast.
And art thou dead, he cryes? what dead? with that
You'd wonder which had beene alive, as flat
He lay, and speechlesse glad of the same death,
But that thicke sighes betray that he had breath:
Which onely serves his Anger: now he hyes
Home to mount Ephraim all his jelousies
Are dead with her, and now he meanes to make
Her common after death: each Tribe shall take
A peice of her; O the obdurate mind
That so could part, what God had so combin'd!
I faint in the relating it, {illeg.}well
What he durst act, dare undertake to tell.

Twelve made of one? O who would not be mad,
To thinke upon that madnesse? if she had
But such another griefe, with both opprest,
My Muse would the be dumbe, which now doth rest.

Canto. II.

The Argument.

The twelve peices of his wife
Cut out by the Levites knife,
To the field to doe him right,
Draw the angry Israelite.
Abrahams Prayer, Heav'ns decree,
Benjamins glad victory
Twice repeated, doe prolong
My story to a second song.

Svch crimes amongst the Israelites? I feare
Incredulous posterity will sweare
Mine was the fault, and when they muse hereon
They'l judge the Crime was in my Fiction,
When Vice exceeds a Probability
It gaines excuse, so that to sinne on high
Is politicke offence, for he that shall
Sinne so, is thought not to have sinn'd at all.
'Tis the corruption of the minds of men
To judge the worst of actions, but 'tis when
The fault is frequent, when the daily use
Gives it at once, the guilt, and the excuse:
But if a crime swell to the height of this,
Murder, or Incest, or if any is
Of fowler name; when man will man abuse,
We doe absolve more gladly then accuse,

Can it be possibly presum'd that they
To whom the God of Jacob shew'd the way,
Both of their feet and manners, who had seene
His frequent Miracles, nay who had beene
Part of the wonder too, so to have fell
As to commit a greater Miracle?
Sodom in Judah? now the Fable winnes
Credit, and is out-acted by true sinnes:
Report hath made Pygmalion to have lov'd
That which he made, who by his Art was mov'd
To palpable Idolatry, yet so
At least he lov'd a woman in the show:
Hee's fixt on his faire Image, so that one
Would wonder which had beene the truer stone.
Yet 'twas a Woman Image, so that I
Wonder at's lucke, more then his vanity,
A Painted Woman will cause love: I'me mov'd
More, how he did obtaine, then why he lov'd,
These doe affect what to obtaine is worst,
What in the very thinking is accurst:
In other loves the wife may barren prove,
In this the barrennesse is in the Love,
In other faults there have excuses beene,
This hath no other Motive then the Sinne.
And can this sinne be theirs? Yes know it can,
Man forsakes God, and then he doates on man.

But who did tutor them to this offence?
For, though we find it in each conscience
That we are naturally vicious,
That ther's no true good in the best of us,
That we pursue our ill, as drawne by Fate,
Yet 'tis example does specificate,
That teacheth us This sinne: 'tis mine owne Vice,
But that I am more lost in Avarice,

That I doe choose Adultery, or preferre
The lustfull man before the Murtherer,
I have from Præsident: and thus our ill
Comes from the Patterne too, as from the Will.

Egypt denyes to have an hand herein,
(Egypt the house of bondage, not of sinne.)
Their cruelty I heare, and which is odd,
I reade that their chiefe sinne, is their chiefe god.
They make their gardens heav'ns, and in each plant
They find a Deity: If that any want
Be in their fields, if thence they doe not gaine,
It is their gods they want, and not their graine,
Their superstition might issue hence.
The Calfe, on which they plac'd their confidence,
Which act this glory to them doth afford,
They make themselves the beast which they ador'd

Or did the Desart make them thus to stray,
And cause them lose their Manners with the Way?
Did those vast places, which wise Nature fram'd,
Wherein wild man should by his feare be tam'd,
His feare of wilder beasts, instruct these men,
That there are beasts which are not in the Denne;
And that when ever we neglect, or scanne
The Lords commands; the Monster is the Man?

No, these suspitions may suspected be,
As farre from Truth, as they from Honesty:
Egypt was free from this fault, and much lesse
Can we impose it on the Wildernesse.
They had no King: as well the fooles as wise
Did all what did seeme right in their owne Eyes.
And Sodomes crime seem'd right to some: to see
When every man will his owne Monarch be,
When all subjection is tane quite away,
And the same man does governe and obey;

How there is no obedience, nor rule,
How every man like to the Horse and Mule,
Which want the understanding of their bit,
And neither have their owne nor Riders wit,
Make a swift pace to Ruine. Giue me then
Leave to admire, and pitty those poore men,
Who thinke that Man should his owne Ruler be,
And exercise Home-principality:
Who in one speedy minute strangely doe
What Alexander but aspir'd unto,
Conquer all Kingdomes, which they affirme to be,
No better then a well-nam'd Tyranny.
Let me inquire of these, if they have read
Any such crimes where people had an head?
Let me inquire of men, as yet not wild,
Whether they thinke thēselves Lords of their child?
Whether their servants Masters? whether they
Suppose that God did not make some t'obey?
In Innocence there was Dominion,
And the first man was the first Lord: that one
King of the Creatures, whom for this none blames,
He prov'd his Soveraignty by their Names.
That he was his wives Soveraigne, in the Fall
He fell not from his Monarchy, when all
His Righteousnesse was vanish't, that remain'd,
And so a knowledge of this truth he gain'd,
(A truth he could not know had he still stood)
We can be longer Powerfull then Good.
Nay let us looke on Hell, and we shall see
That there's a Prince of that obscurity.
It is a torment such as Hell hath none,
To want that order in confusion:
That is the best; we may conclude from hence,
That is in Hell, and was in Innocence.

But I doe wonder at the fault so long
That I deferre the punishment: my song
Must to the Levite turne, or rather he
No more a Song, but a sad Elegy.

He having carv'd his Love, as you have heard,
And done that act, which Hell and Furies fear'd;
Sends a choice piece to every Tribe, to plead
Their injuries, and tell why she is dead:
Benjamin shall have one of them, lest he
Might dare commit a crime, he durst not see,

A severall messenger to each Tribe is sent:
But he that unto Princely Judah went,
Carying the head of the dismembred coarse,
With such a voice which sorrow had mad hoarse,
(Least he should rave too highly) thus beginnes!
Is there an Heav'n? and can there be such sinnes.
Stands the Earth still? me thinkes I hardly stand,
Feeling the Seas inconstancy on Land.
After this Act, why flowes the water more?
Why does't not staine, which alwaies clear'd before?
It is not Ayre we draw now, 'tis a breath
Sent to infect us from the Land of Death:
The Fire, whose office 'tis to warme and shine,
Growes blacke and downewards, as it did repine
To see the fact, and sheds a kinde of teares,
Quenching his heat, because he cannot theirs.
Can you behold these eyes without a teare?
Can you with patience longer thinke they were,
And are not the worlds wonder? yet I erre,
It is Revenge, and not a Teare fits her:
Let women weepe for women, then you shall
Shew you have sorrow'd heartily, if all
Doe sorrow which have injur'd her, and be
Examples, as of Crimes so Misery.

Gibeah 'twas (O'twas not Gibeah)
Credit me not, beleeve not what I say,
I scarce dare trust my selfe, and yet agen,
Gibeah 'twas that did this Fact: and then
He tells them all, what I before have wept;

Now Judah stormes, and as a River kept
From its owne course by Weares and Milles, if once
It force a passage, hurryes or'e the stones,
Sweepes all along with it, and so alone
Without stormes makes an Inundation:
Such was the peoples fury, they're so hot
That they will punish what we credit not,
And be as speedy as severe: but some
Who loath'd the bloudy accents of the Drumme,
Who thought no mischiefes of that foulnesse are,
But that they gaine excuse, compar'd with warre,
And warre with brethren; these, I say, of age
The chiefe amongst them, doe oppose their rage,
Exhort them to a temper: Stay, sayes one,
And be advis'd before you be undone.
Whence is this fury? why d'yee make such hast
To doe that act which you'l repent as fast?
Are any glad to fight? or can ought be
Mother of warre, beside Necessity?
Be not mistaken; brethren, take good heed,
It is not Physicke frequently to bleed.
He that for petty griefes incision makes
Cannot be cur'd so often as he akes.
Are then your sisters, daughters, wifes too chast?
Or are you sorry that as yet no wast
Deformes your richer grounds? or does it stirre
An anger in you, that the souldier
Mowes not your Fields? Poore men, do you lament
That still you are as safe as innocent?

We yet have Cities proudly situate,
We yet have people: be it not in fate
That your esteeme of both should be so cheape
To wish those carcasses and these an Heape.
Me thinkes our Iordan hath an happier pace,
And flowes with greater majesty and grace
In his owne naturall wave, then if the sword
Should higher colour to his streames afford;
Should paint and so deforme it: to mine eye
A River's better then a Prodigy.

But I desire, deere Countrymen, to know,
Whose is the blood that we must lavish so?
Perhaps the Philistins ambition
Would to our Shiloh bring their Ascalon,
And these you would encounter: or't may be
Egypt still envying that you are free
Intends a second bondage: or perchance
Your daily conquer'd Enemies advance
Their often flying ensignes, those at hand
Possessors and destroyers of the Land;
Whom God reserving for our future Pride,
Left to our eyes as thornes, prickes to our side.
No none of these, but all your swords intend,
I grieve to speak't, the ruine of a friend:
And all the sonnes of Israel doe presse
That Israel may have a sonne the lesse.
Joseph I've read suffer'd his brothers hate,
(Joseph of neere acquaintance unto fate
The mouth of Destiny,) they would kill him first
But after sell him, to try which was worst:
And yet no reason for this spleene appeares,
But that his glory was beyond his years.
To hate the yonger still is too much sinne,
And after Joseph to spoile Benjamin.

Hath twelve no mystery? doe ye ascribe
Meerely to Chance, that there is no odd Tribe?
Trust me my brethren, they doe injure God,
Who say that he delights in what is odd:
I thinke 'tis parity best pleaseth heav'n;
And what is most just, loves what is most ev'n.

Doe I excuse them then to please the time,
And onely make an error of a Crime?
Am I sinnes Advocate? farre he't from me
To thinke so ill of Warre as Sodomy:
For Sodomy I tearme it, Iustice calls
That, fact; which never into action falls,
If it hath past the license of the will:
And their intent reacht to that height of ill;
But whose intent? O pardon me, there be
Benjamites spotlesse of that Infamy.
Shall these be ioyn'd in punishment? a sinne
You'd warre against, O doe not then beginne
To act a greater, as if you would see
Whether Injustice æquall'd Luxury?
This madnesse was from Gibeah, 'tis true,
Yet some doe more distast the crime, then you
Even in that City: heare then my advice,
And God shall prosper what you enterprize.
Exhort them to doe justice, if that then
They still be partiall to these guilty men,
Their guilt is greatest, let them perish all
And equall their offences with their fall.

Thicke acclamations breake off his discourse,
Theyle heare no more because they like't: Remorse
Ceizeth each conscience, they already hate
The civill warre, which they so wisht of late.

Embassadors by generall voice are sent:
But Benjamin conceits that to repent

Were the worse sinne, and that who ere will doe
A wicked act, he ought defend it too.

But are not we true Benjamites in this,
And aggravate what ere we doe amisse
By a new act? as if the second deed
Excus'd the former, if it did exceed.
Did we not thus, an end were come to warre;
Did we not thus, no more should private jarre
Molest our peace; Kings might put up their swords,
And every quarrell might conclude in words:
One conference would root out all debate
And they might then most love, who now most hate,
The most sworne foes: for shew me, where is he
Would seeke Revenge without an injury?
A wrong receiv'd, or thought one? then no need
But to deny, or to excuse the deed,
Why is Defence? O what doe they intend
Who justifie those acts, which they should mend!
O Pride! O folly! O extreme disease!
O Fact, which he condemnes who practises!
Who in his soule confesseth he offends.
And yet doubles his guilt when he not ends.

Great crimes find greater patrons: impudence
Followes each fault, to make us thinke that sense
Hath fled us with our Vertue, and that men
By such an hardnesse were turn'd stones agen.
So wifes of Entertainment (who doe know
More then one Husband) in the publicke: shew
As vertuous as the best whilst undescry'd,
Whilst they have this good left, that they will hide
And veile o're their offences: but if once
Either their husbands just suspicions,
Or their security betray their fact,
No more doe blush to answere, then to act,

As if 'twere meritorious, and so, did
Appeare no sinne no longer then 'twas hid.

Why should the bad be bold? why should there be
Audaciousnesse joyn'd to impiety?
Whence is this daring? Sinne was child to Night,
How dares he then approach and blast the light?
How dares he stand th'examining, and try
If men can find out his deformity?
I have the reason, we are flatterers all,
And to our selves the most; if any fall
Into grosse errors, still he thinkes hee's free,
And Pride supplies the place of honesty.
He thinkes tis good to have a vertuous name,
And cares not for the goodnesse, but the fame.

Which makes the Benjamites reply: we admire
(To say no more) at your so strange desire.
And at the craft on't most, that you pretend
Love and advice, when you subjection send:
Are we so stupid, and so senslesse growne
As to be thought not fit to rule our owne?
Benjamin was the youngest we confesse
Of Jacobs sonnes, and yet a sonne, no lesse
Then Levi, or proud Judah: he that gave
Life to each Tribe, intended none a slave,
Nor shall you make us. But youle say that you
Out of a generall love to goodnesse sue
For justice 'gainst her Enemies, Tis poore
If what we would we cannot cover o're
With specious pretences: tis an ill
Physitians part so to betray his pill,
That children may perceive its want of dresse,
And chuse disease before seene bitternesse;
But let me tell you, who so ere do's deale,
In the affaires of a strange common-weale,

Is tyrannous or mad: he would be knowne
Either anothers Lord, or's not his owne.

Yet what is't your grave Masters doe advise
Our sleepy Councell of? whose duller Eyes
See onely open vices: we have heard
The Levite and his Concubine, we feard
You'd have us punish him: then you relate
That comming unto Gibeah some thing late,
And willing to depart the earlier thence,
He found his Chast one dead: O dire offence!
She had the punishment she deserv'd, and just
It was, that who had liv'd should dye by Lust.

And yet for feare Levits in time to come
Might want such easie favourites, and some
Would leaue their courteous trade, if there be found
No cure, no remedy for such a wound:
We are content to be severe: but then
We doe expect, you name those guilty men.
Our's the more hard and thanklesse taske I trow,
For we will punish those whom you but show.

These mockes doe whet the Isra'elites so farre,
Nothing remaines now but a civill warre:
When all the Tribes have unto Mispah ran,
With such consent you'd thinke they were one man.

If warre had ever reason, or if men
Had ere authority to kill others, then
Certainely these, in so divine a cause,
Twas not the peoples quarrell, but the Lawes.
Here no ambition, no untam'd desire
Of Principality, of growing higher,
Put on these Armes, nor was it fault enough
That Benjamin was rich, to raise these rough
Spirits of Mars, nor is't a true surmise
That private wrongs did cause these Enemies:

These fight the battel of the Lord, herein
Iustice on the one side fights, on th'other Sinne:
So that in height of blood, heat of the warres,
They rather Iudges are, then Souldiers.
The Israelites if they now spare, are shent,
The more they kill, the more they're innocent.
Our Age makes us againe these actions see,
An Age of warre, though not of victory.
For 'tis not victory to winne the Field,
Vnlesse we make our Enemies to yeeld
More to our Iustice, then our Force, and so
As well instruct as overcome our Foe
Call you that Conquest, or a Theft of State,
When in a Stranger region of late,
The Eagle built his nest, having expell'd
(Vpon a meere pretence that he rebell'd)
The former Ayry, for no other cause,
But that his bill was strong, and sharpe his clawes.
To see the malice, and the power of hate,
That made ev'n the Elector Reprobate.
When Cæsar did not sticke, nor blush to doe
What they detested, who advis'd him too,
When that all lawes their ancient force might loose,
He made a Choyce of him that was to Choose.

Now all occasions can perswade to fight,
When Power is misinterpreted for Right.
There is a Lust of killing men so great,
Rivers of blood can scarce asswage the heat
Our lives are cheaper then the lives of beasts,
Then those whose very being is for feasts;
Who have no use but for the throat: hard plight!
Anger not kills them, but our appetite
If we have eaten once, we spare: and then
If we are full are kind: but to kill men

We have a lasting appetite, shedding blood,
Our famine is increas'd ev'n by our food:
Such Erisichthons are we; they that have
Vnlimited desires, Death and the Grave
But shadow this affection, and to it
Compar'd, the Horse-leach wants an Appetite:
It may be weighing mans high faculties
(Which make him claime a kinred with the skies)
Wee seeme to doubt of his mortality
And onely strive to know if he can die.

Nor doe we care on what pretence (lest ought
Should make our crime the lesse) no reason's sought
To mitigate our fault, and we are thus
So farre from good, we scarce are cautelous.

But 'tis a sore will fester, if you touch,
Away my Muse, sometimes a truth's too much
For Honour, or for safety: he alone
Prospers who flatters. But if any one
Shall aske a colour, a pretence for this
How such a multitude, such a swarme is
Assembled of the Israelites (for then
There met at once foure hundred thousand men
Against their brother Benjamin,) whilst yet
They had not dispossest the Canaanite,
(There was a mixture not a Conquest made)
How durst they then so foolishly invade
Their brethrens Countrey, when they left their owne
Subject to imminent destruction?

Or when was this invasion made? To me
The Number hath a more Facility
For credit, then the Time; doe we not finde,
That Israel wanting Iudges was assignde
To bondage, as to Anarchy? they groane
Vnder a forraigne yoake, wanting their owne.

Carries it any likelyhood; or can
It sincke into the fancy of a man,
That when they were opprest, they should oppresse?
As full of folly as of savagenesse:
This were to perfect Eglons victory,
And act what Jabin but desir'd should be.
And yet it might be, Joshua being dead,
Then was the time, the people lack'd an head:
Who taking no care for posterity,
Twas the worst act of Joshua to dye.
Moses deputed him, and if that he
Had left another Governor, it might be
Our Levite had beene chast, and Benjamin
Beene noted for his vertue; not his sinne.
Then were those multitudes no miracle,
And Canaan so oft beat by Israel,
In likelihood would rest quiet, and expect
If these would doe what they could not effect.
Besides, their dwellings in the Valleys be
So that their seat teaches humilitie:
And then to climbe the mountaines was such paine
As that the labour did exceed the gaine.

And thus you see, that they may fight, but ere
Their enemies Countries by them wasted were,
They to the Oracle repaire, to know
If victory shall grace them, or their Foe.

Yet pardon me, I erre, they are so strong
As that they would imagine it a wrong
Done to their valor, if we should suppose,
That they intreated conquest of their foes;
No, being sure of victory, they aske
Which of the Tribes shall undertake the taske
Of the first onset, and the Tribes refus'd,
Envy at Judahs choyce, as if abus'd,

And injur'd they esteem'd themselves, that they
Should lose the dangerous honour of the day.

Such was their pride, such thoughts their Numbers bred;
Numbers, whose feare might strike the Enemy, dead:
Whose hands deserv'd a fiercer Enemy,
And matter of an higher victory.
With these they think, they might to Memphis passe,
And make the Egyptians know, what bondage was.
VVith these they thought with ease to force a VVay
(Though nature did oppose) to India.
And in a sawcy victory out-runne,
The primitive uprising of the Sunne.

How large are our desires? and yet how few
Events are answerable? So the dew
VVhich early on the top of mountaines stood
(Meaning at least to imitate a flood)
VVhen once the Sunne appeares, appeares no more,
And leaves that parch'd, which was too moist before.

That we are never wholy good! that still
Mixt with our Vertue, is some spice of ill!
The Israelites are Iust, but they are Proud,
As if a lesser fault might be allowd
For punishing the greater; yet I'de know
VVhilst yet they might suffer an overthrow,
VVhy they rejoyce as if th'ad wonne! or why
They have a Pride ere they have Certainty?
Their numbers are incredible, 'tis true,
Yet multitudes have beene orecome by few:
Their army is compleat, 'tis right, but then
VVe know it is an army but of men.
Of future carkasses, so quickly some
They have no time to thinke of death to come:
To whom no starre a certainty does give,
That they at least to the next Field should live.

Foure hundred thousand carkasses; enough
To give the beasts a surfet, and allow
Fertility which Nature had deny'd
Vnto those Lands: So that their height of pride,
Of hope, of glory, and of all their toyle
Is to inrich the Land which they would spoile.

So thought the Benjamites, who though they saw
That Pow'r too was against them with the Law,
Yet resolutely they intend to die,
And such despaire gives them the victory.
They are not Cowards, yet, though they are bad,
They slay more numbers then wee'l thinke they had.

Whence comes this Courage to the Desperate?
The bad me thinkes should be effeminate,
And as the Bees (the subject or the King)
Having abus'd it once, doe loose their sting:
And to inforce a Stoick unto laughter,
Being once too fierce, they are alwaies sluggish after
Converted unto Droanes, so it seemes fit
(And not so much heavens Iustice, as its wit)
That who hath lost his Vertue once, should straight
Lose courage too, opprest with his owne weight.

The Israelites though amaz'd at this defeat,
Yet gather head, and to their Campe retreate;
There might you see Sorrow and Anger joyn'd,
Nor doe they grieve so much as they repin'd.
Here fathers weepe their onely sonnes, and there
Brothers for as deare losses dropp a teare,
Accompany'd with threatnings, they are mad
Till they bestow the sorrow which they had.

Once more to Shiloh they repaire, to heare
If God at last will aide them, and for feare
That it was pride did frustrate their first sute,
They're now as humble, as then resolute:

In stead of fighting they now weepe a day,
Sighes they doe thinke and teares can make a way
Where swords are uselesse, they'l gaine victory
No longer by their hand, but by their Eye,

Great and just God, sayes one, we doe confesse
That all this heavy anger is farre lesse
Then our deservings: should'st thou fully weigh
Our sinnes enormity, 'tis not a day
Losse to the Foe, can expiate: did we feele
What ere we saw in Ægypt, did the steele
Peirce deeper in our bowells, should the skes
Shed those hot showers in which Gomorrah fryes,
We could not taxe the Iustice of our King,
But after all, owe still a suffering.
Yet thou hast ancient mercies, we've beene told
Of all thy courtesies, which were of old
Shew'd to our Fathers; O vouchsafe them still,
And make us heires of those: we have done ill,
Prodigiously ill, there's no offence
Which we are guiltlesse of, each conscience
Accuseth, and amazeth us: yet now
Our flinty hearts to a repentance bow:
Yet now at last vouchsafe thy favour to us,
And as thy rod hath scourg'd, let mercy wooe us;
We dare not looke for victory: O no,
Give us at leastwise a more vertuous Foe.
Thy wrath is just, great God, and 'tis our sute
Onely just men thy wrath may execute.
We beg not for our lives, they are thy loane
Which when thou wilt receive, yet as thine owne.
Let not their swords bereave us of our breath,
And we shall find a benefit in death.

Yet what a glory can it be to thee
That we are dead? and that the Heathen see

Thy anger on thy Children? that thy wrath
Instead of being left, is told in Gath,
And publisht in fierce Ascalon; spare us then
If not for us, yet for thy selfe; and when
Thou think'st of plaguing us, thy selfe exempt,
Since that our Ruine will breed thy contempt:
Let then thy mercy above justice shine;
If we are bad, consider we are thine.

Thus grumbled they a pray'r: and he that sees
Councells unhatchd, and what he will, decrees,
(Yet ever justly) does perceive that they
VVhat ere they faine, doe murmur, and not pray.

VVhich he decrees to punish: they would know
VVhether that once more they shall fight or no?
Once more he grants that they shall fight: and thus
They're not so craving, as he Courteous.
If they but aske him, he will not deny,
Fight's their desire, and then his answere's, I.
Had they but ask'd the victorie, as well,
He would have heard his troubled Israel:
He that deliver'd them from forraine armes,
And taught their weake hands to repaire their harms
VVith admirable victory, He I say
VVould have bestow'd the honor of the day
On them, had they desir'd it; they have knowne
How he hath warr'd for thē from heaven, & showne
Such miracles in their defence, they fright
Those whom they save, as when the wondring night
Thought herselfe banisht from the world (the Sunne
Standing unmov'd, forgetting how to runne,)
If they now lose the day, the fault is theirs,
God does no mercy want, they want right prayers.

But they suppose it too too fond to stand
Begging of that which is in their owne hand.

This they conceive were to mocke God, to crave
That to be giv'n which they already have,
A pow'r to use their armes: No, if once more
They may have field-roome, may but fight it o're,
Though Heav'n doe not fight for them, they suppose
They cannot lose, if Heav'n doe not oppose.
They thinke no chance can possibly bestow
The foile on them, the Lawrell on the foe.
What though they lost the praise of the first day,
And fought as though they came to runne-away:
Twas not for want of courage sure, but either
The foe had got advantage of the weather
Or else the wind had rais'd the dust so high
That they suppos'd fresh enemies to be nigh,
And fear'd to be environ'd round: what ere
Occasion'd their first overthrow, no feare,
No chance, shall cause another; and the slaves
That now triumph, shall find their trenches, graves.

Is this their Crime alone, or doe not all
Partake as of their fault, so of their fall?
Israel is not onely mad, there be
Some vices which we give posterity,
And this is one of them: O how vaine is man!
O how his Reason too is but a spanne,
And not his stature or his Age! we have long
Injur'd the beasts, and done them too much wrong,
By calling them Irrationall; could they speake,
Thus in rough language, they would fiercely breake
Their mind unto us: O you onely wise
To whom kind Nature hath imparted Eyes,
Leaving all other blind; pardon if we
Doe tell you where you have forgot to see,
Where we are clearer sighted: can you show
Where ever beasts did to that madnesse grow,

As to pronounce of that, which is to come,
Of that which onely seemes in Chances doome?
Yet thus you doe; and doing thus have showne;
Reason's your title, our Possession.
The Israelites had to their cost of late
Found confidence to be unfortunate;
(Their confidence in Numbers) and yet still
(Though now contain'd in smaller roome) they will
Forespeake their victory: why, because they see
That they are many yet; poore vanity!
When they were more, they were o'recome, yet dare
Conceive a Conquest when they fewer are;
Because still some are to be kill'd: as though
Successe to Multitudes did homage owe,
And multitudes impair'd: as if the way
To winne another were to lose one day.

But had we seene the City now! what joy
Raign'd in those streets, sufficient to destroy
Those whom it comforted (for pleasue too
Can find a way to death, and strangely doe
The worke of heavinesse and griefe) I say
Had we but seene the glory of that day:
The whooping, dancing, and the generall noyse
To which the sea and thunder are but toyes;
We should have thought it (so the sounds agree,)
No noise of Triumph, but Captivity.

At last they doe repose themselves, and one
Of highest judgement and discretion,
Instructs them thus: My dearest Countrymen,
Who ere intends his private ends, does pen
A speech unto the Eare, his study is
Which words soūd wel, & which are thought amisse,
He tryes all wayes, he layes all colours on
To cheat the Iudgement, sooth the Passion,

So that he hopes at last that it must hit
Either the subject, or the clothing it:
But I whose end is Publike good, intend
Nothing but that which caryes to that end:
Pardon me then if I am harsh, and round,
If that I am not Plausible, but found.
We wonne a victory last day, so great
We hardly dare beleeve we were not beate:
Our conquest easier was then our beleife;
And with great reason too: fortell, what chiefe,
What petty captaine is so vaine, so mad
As to ascribe to his conduct the glad
Event of last dayes hazard? to my sense
The Conqueror was onely Providence,
And we but instruments: then I'de advise
That as you have beene happy, you'd be wise:
That man does still in greatest glory stand,
Whose braine is better thought of then his hand;
And so I wish that yours should be: we know
That what is gain'd by Fortune is lost so,
She hath no constant Favorite; then now
Whilst yet our victory does meanes allow
To purchase peace at our owne rate, and thrive
By Covenant more then Battle: let us drive
All thought of warre farre from us, tis in vaine
To get that hardly, which we may obtaine
By easier meanes, and he does more then rave
Who hazards that which he may certaine have.
More was he speaking, when a thousand tongues
Made his be silent, one would thinke their lunges
To be unequall to that noyse, so fierce
Their clamor is, such sounds the heavens doe peirce.

So have I oft heard in our Theater
(When that a daintier passage wan the Eare)

A thousand tongues, a thousand hands rebound,
(As if the Plaudite were in the sound,
And most noise were most pleasing:) they expresse
Their liking so, as these their frowardnesse.

Who rave from noise to action, one stoopes downe,
To reach a stone, another fiercer clowne
Shakes a steel'd Iavelin at him, all the hands,
Against which Israel but weakely stands,
Ayme now at one; who dreadlesse, unimpair'd
In courage, neither wisht life, nor despair'd.
At last a serious Counceller stood up;
Much had he tasted of the liberall Cup,
And thankefully exprest it in his face,
To which a larger wound would be a grace
By hiding his rich pimples: This brave man
Raises himselfe, and with what speed he can
Stutters thus to them; Cease my noble boyes,
Quiet your threatnings now, and stint your noyse.
Tis a just anger you have showne, but yet
The time in which you shew it is unfit.
Now should we dance, my bloods, now should we sing,
And make the wondring firmament to ring
With joyfull acclamations; now brave spirits
To shew the most joy, is to shew most merits.
Sadnesse is onely Capitall: in fine,
Now should we shed no blood but of the vine.
For you Sir whom we doubly guilty see,
Of Treason first, and then Philosophy,
If these doe please, thus we pronounce: to shew
How little we doe feare you, or the Foe,
Wee'l send you first unto their campe, and then
Wee'l fetch you by our conquest home agen.
This is a mercy if well understood,
You shall injoy the fortune you thinke good.

Here his breath failes: when all the people cry
He hath spoke nobly, none this day shall dye.
And yet the Traitor shall not scape at last,
Whose execution is deferr'd, not past.

Twas neither peace, nor warre now, either side
Having sufficiently their forces try'd,
Take breath a while: O happy men, if still
This mind continue in them! If they kill
Their appetite of killing! if this rest
Can at the last informe them what is best!
To bury their slaine friends, both sides agree
Vnto a two dayes truce: Stupiditie
Not to be borne with! had they knowne the use
At first of that which they now call a truce,
This truce had beene unnecessary, then
They might have spar'd, whilst now they bury men.
And that they now may bury, they intreat
Respite a while from warre: thus all their heate
Is buried for the time: good heav'n to see
Th'Omnipotency of Necessity,
Whom all the nearest ties of Neighbourhood,
Religion, Language, nay of the same Blood
Could not containe from fight, but that they would
(To see if it were theirs) shed their owne blood,
These are intreated to a forme of peace,
Their fury for a day or two can cease,
Commanded by Necessity: they feare
Lest th'Ayre by so much carcasse poysoned were:
Lest to revenge the blood which they had shed,
They now might feele the valour of the dead,
Of strong corruptiō: these thoughts hold their mind
These thoughts a while inforce them to be kind
On both sides (for they doe not jarre in all)
Nature prevailes not, but a Funerall,

Nor doth this long prevaile, for when they had
Interr'd some carcasses, they yet are mad
Till they have made some more, till they have done
A second fault, as not content with one,
They see their Error, and commit it, thus
Who are not eminently vertuous,
Are easily entrapp'd in vices snares,
And want the poore excuse, that unawares
They were ingag'd; we greedily runne on
Offending with Deliberation.
And can you call this but Infirmity?
Nick-name a Vice? O call it Prodigy.
Call it—O what? What name can well expresse
The miracle of humane guiltinesse?
Could he pretend an ignorance at least
And be in Nature as in Fact a beast,
He were not worse then they, then he might be
Both from the Vse and fault of Reason free.

But what new horror ceizeth me? what fire
Raignes in my thoughts, & prompts me to rise higher
Hence you low soules, who groveling on the Earth
Basely deject your selves below your birth,
Sold to your senses: I intend to tell
What none can know but in whose breasts doe dwell
Cœlestiall fires, and unto whom 'tis given
To have a neerer intercourse with Heav'n.
Yet pardon you pure soules, whom no one dares
Eas'd of our flesh, to trouble with our cares:
Pardon I once more aske, if my weake pen
Fitting it selfe to ordinary men,
Attaine not to your height (to us unknowne)
And give you those words which you shame to owne.

The Lawgiver, who saw as in a glasse
All in the Word, what ever 'twas did passe

In these neer enmities, as farre as Man
Perfectly happy knowes a griefe, began
To feele Compassion: Have I then said he
Deliver'd Israel for this misery?
And did I free them from the Ægyptian
Onely to find them graves in Canaan?
I did foretell their Land shall overflow,
But never thought to be expounded so;
Never with bloud: I meant that they should have
More blessings then the covetous can crave,
The flowing Vdder, and the untir'd Bee,
An happy Deluge of Fertility.
O how would now proud Pharaoh rejoyce!
How he would have a joy beyond a voyce,
Beyond his tyranny, could he but know
What Israel does indure without a Foe!
Was it for this I did so oft repeat
Wonders before him, wonders of so great
Exuberance of powre, so highly done,
That they contemne all admiration?
How wert thou Nilus bloody'd into Red,
Thy waters as unknowne as is thy Head?
When all thy finny progeny did find
That to destroy now, which did breed their kind,
When by a nimble death they understand,
The River as discourteous as the Land?
Can I forget that when I did bestow
A liberty as heretofore to flow
Vnto thy now pale waters, there did passe
An issue stranger then his Colour was
From the too fertil river? Frogges are found
With such a multitude to hide the ground
That there's no grasse appeares, no corne is seene.
The spring does blush because he lookes not greene.

Their numbers and their noise equally harsh
Make Egypt not a Region but a Marsh.
What a small portion of my acts where these?
How scarcely to be counted passages
In my large story? Dust is chang'd to Lice
And now beginnes to creepe, which the most nice
And curious eye before could never find
To move at all, unlesse't were by the winde:
Which could not scatter those thicke clouds of Flyes
That would not let them, no, not see the skyes.
When I but threaten, all the cattle dye,
And Egypts Gods find a Mortality.
But lest the men should thinke that they were free
From the fault too, if the Calamity,
I taught their bodies with blacke goare to runne,
And imitate their soules corruption.
What was a Face, is now a pimple growne,
And in each part is plentifully sowne
A store of blaines, so ugly, that to me
It was a kind of Iudgement but to see.
And if this were but little, was't not I
That call'd those candy'd pellets from the sky,
Which in a moment overwhelming all
Did badly change their colour in their fall:
And by the murthering every one they found
Within their reach came red unto the ground?
When to repaire the numbers they had slaine
(Beasts of all sorts) the land is fill'd againe,
But tis with Locusts, such a swarme they see
Made for the shame of all their Husbandry,
That they could wish, so they were rid of these,
The former Murrein, ere this new increase.
But who can tell the following Prodigy?
Last day the Earth was hid, but now the sky

Chaos returnes, the Sunne hath lost his rayes
And Nights obscurity is turn'd to Dayes.
Who could a greater miracle afford?
God made the Light, I Darknesse by a Word,
Which had it lasted, had it ne'r beene spent,
They would have call'd it a kind punishment,
They had not seene then their first borne to dy,
To challenge death by their Nativity:
All this I did, but why? was it to see
My people suffer fuller misery?
To gaine the Country which they could not hold,
From which their owne armes ignorantly bold
Expell their owne selves: O let no man tell
That Israel did banish Israel.
My prayers forbid, nor let it ere be said
That Moses was unkind since he was dead,
That in the grave I left my goodnesse too;
And could not pity when not feele a woe.

Having said this, with all the speed he may
He seekes out holy Abraham, who that day,
By his deere Isaac seconded did sing
The ancient mercies of their heavenly King.
One tells how having now worne out a life,
And so being fitter for his Grave then Wife,
Nay then when she had liv'd unto those yeares,
To be accounted with the Grandmothers,
When Sara now was so unweildy growne,
Her legges could scarcely beare her selfe alone,
She beares another burthen, and does swell
Not with a child, but with a Miracle.
This said, he stops; and then againe goes on
No more with story, but Devotion.
O praise the Lord my soule, let me not find
My body was more fruitfull then my mind.

O let that teeme with thankefulnes, and be
Made sweetly pregnant by my memory.

Father, sayes Isaac, I have often heard
That we doe tell with Ioy what we have Feard,
And what in suffering terrifies our sense,
Does in relating please: what violence
Of blisse possesseth me when I compare
My dangers past with joyes that present are!
Methinkes I yet carry that fatall wood
(A burden which I hardly understood
Should carry me) me thinkes I still enquire
Where is the sacrifice, and where the fire?
How little did I thinke, or feare till then
That God commanded sacrifice of men!
How little could I guesse in any part
That God in such sort did desire the Heart?
Yet pardon Father, if you now must know,
Your silence seem'd more cruell then your blow:
Could I oppose my mind against your will,
Or wish him spar'd, whom you decreed to kill?
Wherefore was as all this circumstance? what need
But first to tell, and then to act the deed?
I never knew what disobedience meant.
And your distrust was my worst punishment,
I must confesse I was amaz'd, my blood
Congeal'd within me, and my faint haires stood
Yet not for feare of death (Death was my profit)
But for the manner and the Author of it.
Was this the heav'nly promise? and must I
So strangely borne, somewhat more strangely die?
What should I say now? or what should I doe?
That frustrate by my death Gods promise too.
Should I invoke Heav'ns ayde? alas, from thence
Came the injunction for this violence:

Should I implore my fathers helpe? why, he
Would sooner hearken unto heav'n then me.
And so he did: for when the trembling sword
As if he knew the temper of his Lord
Theatned a death, most fortunately then
He that did arme you did disarme agen;
Shewing your will was all he did require,
Commanding you to that you most desire,
To be againe a Father: O the power
And mercy of our God! who in an houre,
Who in a minute, can make all things well,
Can bring and then deliver out of Hell.

These were their Accents, when that Moses sayes,
It is an holy businesse to praise,
To magnifie our Lord, so to goe on
In the intent of our Creation.
To this all times, all reasons doe obey,
And we may praise as often as we pray.
But now let's change these tones, let us be mute
In all discourses now, but in a suite;
Let us at once conjoyne our prayers, and see
If our one God will hearken unto three.
Your issue, and my charge, whom I have led
Thorow those paths that never man did tread.
(As if they fear'd a scarcity of foes)
Doe their owne selves against themselves oppose,
And their destruction (unlesse we repaire
Sooner to ayde them) will prevent our pray'r.

It was a place above the Ayre, the Sky,
Whither Man cannot reach, not with his Eye,
Nay if th'exactnesse of the height be sought,
Whither Man cannot reach, not with his thought.
Beyond the place where haile, and raine doe growe,
Above the chill-white treasures of the snow;

To which compar'd the starry heav'n is fell
Vnto a neerer neighbourhood with Hell.
And when I shall of Gods abode intreat
It does become his prospect, not his seat.
To which compar'd, the Chrystall heav'n does meet
With Earth, to be a stoole unto his feet,
This was the Place (yet pardon 'twas not so,
Places are things which onely bodies know,
Our bounds of Ayre, from which the heav'ns are free
As from Corruption and Mortality)
But here it was His sacred throne did stand,
Who with a word created Sea and Land:
Who with a word was Maker of his Throne,
Who till he made it never wanted one.
Bring me the richest goldsmiths treasuries
(Those baites that doe allure our hearts and eyes)
The dusky Sapphire, the Pearle richly white,
The sparkling Diamond, yellow Chrysolite,
Or if there be a gemme Nature hath fram'd,
Of so high price that Art hath never nam'd,
Ransacke the Inga's tombes, where there doth lie
With their corrupted dust their treasury:
(Who to that pretty bounty doe attaine
That they bestow their gold on earth againe.)
Search me their graves, or if you fearfull be
Of treasure guarded by Mortality,
Rob all the mines fenc't with so many barres,
(Where Nature in the Earth hath fancy'd starres,
Whose luster lest our weaknesse cannot beare
Her kinder wisedome made her store up there)
Bring these unto the view, to an exact
Figure, which Phidias durst call his act:
Yet to this throne compar'd, it will appeare
So farre from shining, it will scarce looke cleare.

Here does the Ancient of dayes disclose
The glory of his Majesty to those
To whom he daignes his presence, who enjoy
At full, what would a weaker eye destroy:
Whose blisse shall never have a period,
Who therefore live because they see their God,
How could I ever linger, ever dwell
In this so blest Relation! O how well
Should I esteeme my selfe entranc'd; if I
By staying here should lose my History!
Here thousand thousands wait upon his call
Of humane servants, and Angelicall,
And such a multitude invest his throne
(Millions of Spirits waiting upon One,)
That it may be we should not say amisse,
Their Number stranger then their Nature is:
Here sound the Hallelujahs, here the Quire
Of Heav'n is high, and full as their desire:
No voice is here untun'd, they doe not find
A jarre, more in the sound, then in the mind.
Their power of singing growes on with their song;
And they can longer sing, because thus long;
Thus here themselves they fully strengthned see,
To a melodious eternitie.

Here Abraham presents himselfe; and sayes
O thou above the injury of Dayes;
Who making Times art subject unto none,
Who giv'st all knowledge, and art never knowne;
Who in my dayes of flesh didst gladly lend
An eare unto my suite, and wouldst not bend
Thy plagues against thine enemies, untill
I knew th'intent, and thou hadst askt my will,
The will of me poore mortall, nay farre worse
Of me a sinner then, the ancient curse

Stucke deeply in me, that I might have feard
My faults, and not my pray'r should have been heard:
Could I speake then, and am I silent now?
Did Sodom move, and cannot Israel bow?
O pardon me if I bewaile their state,
If I their Father prove their Advocate,
Didst not thou promise when I had giv'n ore
All hope of Father, when I wisht no more
Then a contented Grave, that then from me,
Should come so numerous a progeny:
That all the cleerer army of the sky
And the thicke sands which still unnumbred lye
Should come within account before my seed,
Which not my Sara, but thy truth should breed?
How oft I thought that promise did include
Their lasting too as well as multitude;
That their continuance should be as sure,
As long as either sands or starres indure.
If they have sinn'd, thou know'st they may repent
And be the better by a punishment,
Never by Ruine: O then use thy rod
Thinke that they are thy People, thou their God,
And if they are so, O then let not be
Any more strife, but who shall most serve thee,
If they are so, let Abraham once more
Receive those children which thou gav'st before.

Now they have left their heav'nly ecchoing,
Now all the Quire does wonder and not sing,
When from th'eternall Majesty are heard
Speeches, which all but the dread Speaker fear'd.

Am I as Man that I should change? or like
The sonne of man to threaten and not strike?
If I pronounce my wrath against a Land
Shall that continue, and my word not stand?

If I doe whet a sword, shall it be blunt,
And have no direr sharpnesse then t'was wont?
Benjamins crime h'as such an horror in't,
(Who have confirm'd their faces like a flint
Against all dye of modesty) that till
Their blood (which now their too hot veines doe fill)
Flow in their fields, till that their numbers be
Of as small note as is their Chastity,
It shall not be remitted: yet to show
That I can pay that which I doe not owe,
A remnant shall escape: but for the rest,
(Those other Tribes which boast they are the best.)
And yet to verifie their goodnesse lesse;
Speake, as if they were injur'd by successe,
So making the fault mine: who therefore have
Beene lib'rall benefactors to the grave
By their thicke deaths: untill that I doe see
A confirm'd truth of their humility,
They shall not see a victory: Ile make
Benjamin punish these, and after take
Vengeance on the Revengers, till they see
My mercy hath not spent mine Æquity.
This I pronounce, this is my constant will.

Now all the holy company doe fill
The heav'ns with shouts of praise, and loudly cry
All Honor, Glory, Power to the most High.

But now the Israelites once more have brought,
Their troopes into the field, once more have fought;
And whether 'twas the fault of them that led,
Or of the Soldier, once more they have fled:
And now because their battle was not long
I will not be more tedious in my Song.

Canto. III.

The Argument.

The Levites vision, Phineah's Prayer,
The Israelites late caus'd despaire
Now turn'd to courage, when by them
A new invented stratagem
Drawes the enemy from the walls,
Untill within their net he falls,
With the full righting of the wrong
Does both conclude, and crowne my Song.
When will Vice faile? whē shall we see th'event
Of wicked acts as bad as the Intent?
As yet the worst are prosperous, and worse,
The good as yet have never miss'd their curse:
Review the Levites wife, and you shall see
When she had forfeited her honesty,
Her father entertain'd her; but once more
When she was come to what she left before,
Her Lord and Vertue, when that all her strife
Shall be to gaine the name of a good wife,
Gibeah will not harbour her; O poore!
Gibeah were guiltlesse had it done no more:
But Gibeah will murder her; review
The Campe awhile, and that th'campe is true
Which was in her; Twice had that army try'd
The valour of their enemies, and twice dy'd
The fields with their best blood, so hardly crost
That they have fought no oftner then th'have lost:

And yet their cause was best: neither were they
The onely people which have lost the day,
Which they deserv'd to winne: search the records
Of every Age, and every Age affords
Examples of like strangenesse: who can tell
What the Assyrian did to Jsrael?
How in despite of all their lofty towers,
(Which hop'd a standing to the last of hours)
He made one houre their last: unlucky howre,
Where vice shew'd what't could do when it had power.
The sword did sport with lifes, nor were they such
Whose losse or preservation did not much
Pertaine unto the State: but the Kings sonnes
In the same time, the same Pavilions,
By the same tyrant are inforc'd to die,
And which exceeds all, in their father eye.
Poore Zedekiahs kingdomes first is gone
And then his heyre's, O harsh inversion
If he had lost them first, it might be thought
His kingdomes losse would not have mov'd him ought
He would have made the best of th'other crosse
Esteeming it an easing, not a losse.
As he might now to be depriv'd of sight
When he should covet the kind screene of Night,
Betweene his woes and him: if in his mind
He saw, it was a blessing to be blind:
That then he should be forc't to see no more
When he could not see what he saw before,
This Israel suffer'd, and this Ashur did,
And yet I dare affirme it was not hid
No not from Ashur ev'n in his owne doome
That they were better who were overcome,
Or if the goodnesse to his side he drawes,
'Tis that his sword was better, not his cause

I could goe on in presidents as true,
Actions betweene the Heathen and the Iew,
Betweene the Turke and Christian: but what need
To shew there is no birth without a seed?
No speech without a tongue? or if there be
More truths of such knowne perspicuity.
How doe they doate then, who would tye the Lord
To be so ayding to his childrens sword,
As that he ne're should use his owne, nor doe
Any one act, but what they wish him too?
Are they so good? or is his love so fond
As of a courtesie to make a bond?
Shall they indent with him? and say thus farre
Thou maist correct, but if thy judgements are
Of longer date, they are unjust? for shame
(All ye that glory in a purer Name,)
Hence those blasphemous thoughts, far hence remove,
Lest they deserve the plagues they would reprove.
Is it injustice to suppresse our pride,
To bring unto our eyes what we would hide,
Ev'n from our selves, our close deformities?
Or, may not God, to shew how he does prize
His servants labours, make them thus appeare,
As does the Sunne after a cloud, more cleare?
His judgement certainly wee'l say's too quicke,
Who'l prove one bad because he sees him sicke;
These judgements are diseases, and bestow'd
At pleasure, and not where they most are owd:
Yet due they are where ever they are found,
Since there are none so Catholikely sound,
But in a word, but in a thought have strayd,
Perhaps in those Afflictions, when th'ave wayd
Their deeds and suffrings, which they thinke to be
Of farre more rigor then Æquality.

Then courage noble Countrymen, nor feare,
Though you should want successe a while, to reare
Your names up to your ancestors, (who did
Those acts which now were better to be hid:
Lest that they should upbraid us) doe not feare
That Spaine is neerer the Almighties Eare
Then our devotions: he that could bestow
A victory after a second blow
Vpon the doubting Israelites, can still
Create our better hopes ev'n out of ill.
Or if he doe not, if he have decreed
That our just plague shall be their unjust deed:
That Israel shall be once more overcome,
And David flie away from Absalom:
Yet let this glad us in our chiefest woe,
Man may be good and yet unhappy too.
Now are they truly humbled, now although
No curious eye could guesse their overthrow
When he had seene their numbers, yet at length
They will rely upon another strength,
Or if to numbers they will trust agen,
'Tis to Gods numerous mercies, not their men.
He can deliver (they have seene) by few,
And they doe thinke it possible and true
That he can help by many too, they find
Without him all their actions full of wind,
Of emptinesse, and with him they not doubt
To be as well victorious as devout,
Now Pride hath left them, now they goodnesse yeeld,
Now have they lost their vices with the field.
Such holy lessons doe misfortunes teach,
Which make our once bad thoughts bravely to reach
At Heav'n and glory: if you marke it well
Whilst yet it was a populous Israel

It was a proud one too, but when that now
God lookes upon them with an angry brow,
When all their troopes halfe weary and halfe sicke,
Are growne to easier Arithmeticke,
Th'are truly penitent; hence we may see
The pow'r, the good pow'r of Adversitie,
W'are bad if we are happy, if it please
Heav'n to indow us with a little ease,
If riches doe increase, untill our store
Meet our desires, till we can wish no more,
If that our garners swell (untill they feare
Ruine from that with which they furnisht were)
We but abuse these benefits: our Peace
Brings forth but factions, if that strangers cease
To give us the affront; our selves will be
Both the defendant, and the Enemy.
Our riches are our snares, which being giv'n,
To man, to make a purchase of the heav'n,
We buy our ruine with them, the abuse
Is double, in the getting, and the use,
So that our summes unto such heaps are growne
When Avarice succeeds Oppression.
In briefe, our garners so well stuff'd, so cramm'd,
Detaine our Corne, as if that it were damn'd,
To everlasting prison, none appeares,
And thus we give dearth to the fruitfull yeares:
Being to such a proud rebellion growne,
Famine is not heav'ns judgement but our owne,
So wretched are we, so we skilfull grow
In crimes, the which the heathen doe not know.
We wrong God for his blessings, as if thus
We then were thankfull, if injurious.
Why should not mercy winne us? why should we
Be worse by that, whence we should betterd be?

Blessings were ne're intended for our harme,
Nor should the snake have stung, when he was warme
Him that had warm'd him. O how base is man!
How foolish Irreligion has wanne
Vpon his reason too! Doe we not say
That hee's a beast, whom onely stripes can sway.
O what is man then! who ne're heares his Lord,
Till that the famine call him, or the sword.
Who (as he meant to tyre his patient God)
Yeelds not unto his favours, but his rod.
And can we yet intreat him to be kind,
To alter his, when wee'l not change our mind?
If we are heard, we will offend agen,
And all our pray'r does but intreat a Sinne.
Thus pray'd the Israelites, but if th'are heard
If he that made them scorn'd, will make them feard:
It is in chance, no, tis as sure as fate,
Having forgot their misery of late
They will rebell againe: like those good hearts
Who though they know the paines, the many smarts
Which fruitfulnesse is fruitfull with, still give
Death to themselves, to make their issue live:
And if they scape this death, they try againe,
And boldly venture for a second paine,
As if twere pleasure, or as if they meant
Rather to dye, then to be continent.
Thus have we seene a barren, sandy soyle
(Made onely for the husbandmans sad toyle
And not his profit) when the full heav'n powres
His moisture downe, easing himselfe by showres,
Drown'd with the drops, to make us understand
A figure of the Sea upon the Land;
When once those drops are spent, when that the sky
Smiles with his new restor'd serenitie,

Swifter then thought, before that we can say
This was the place, the water's gone away,
Theres a low Ebbe, againe we see the Land
Changing its moisture for its ancient sand.
Yet he that knowes this their infirmity,
At last will pitty it, and from on high,
(When now their thoughts of war they will adjourne
When there's no talke now, but of their returne)
Hee'l hinder it by victory: with that
(About the time that pitchy night had gat
The conquest of the day of which being proud
He wrapt himselfe within his thickest cloud,
Thinking perhaps his conquest to be voyd,
If any saw the triumphs he injoyd)
Vnto our Levite he a vision sends
Clad in her dearest shape, in whom he ends
All thoughts of Fancy: Whom when he had seene
(And quickly he had spy'd her) Fairest Queene
Of heav'n, he sayes, what is there here on earth
That could perswade thee to a second birth,
Thus to appeare agen? needs must thou know
(For ignorance belongs to us below
Excluded out of heav'n) that our sad state
Is for its goodnes prov'd unfortunate;
That Benjamin is conqueror, and that we
Could not revenge, but onely follow thee:
Nor was't one losse, one petty overthrow
Hath daunted us, but (as if fate would shew
All her choyce malice on us) we have try'd
How many wayes 'twas possible t'ave dy'd.
Beleeve it, heavenly one, no cowardise
(Which heretofore being base; is now tearmd wise)
Lost us the day, no providence; no zeale
Nor that (which can the maymes of actions heale)

Councell, and grave advice was wanting to us:
Only the heav'ns, which we had thought would wooe us
To prosecute thy vengeance, and from whence
We look'd for daies, like a good conscience
Shining and cleare, with cruelty unheard
Give vs an overthrow for a reward;
That we can onely (such our wretched fate)
Deplore the losse, which we should vindicate.
Is this your Iustice heav'ns? nay I would know
If it at least be wisedome, thus to show
Your wrath upon you followers? if there be
Such a desire in you to make us see
What powre you have, wherefore d'ye not use
That powre on those, who impiously abuse
Vs and your selves? O there are heathen still,
People that neither feare, nor know your will,
If you will ruine these, or any wise
But lessen, y'ave the fewer Enemies:
On these be powerfull; but if you doubt
Whether such nations may be singled out,
That sinne hath fled the world, then here begin,
For all the Heathen are in Benjamin.
Are we the onely faulty? or am I
Pickt out for eminent Iniquity?
All lights on me, twas I that rays'd these warres,
Twas I that this thicke people like to starres,
Have lessend into Number; I alone
Merit both peoples curses joynd in one,
Benjamin does detest me, and I guesse
Israels hatred is more close, not lesse.
What shall I doe, what course is to be tryde
When safe I cannot goe, nor safe abide?
No more sayes she, nor foolishly conclude
To give complaints in stead of gratitude

Wee'are heard my deare, and he at whose command
The earth will learne to move, the heav'n to stand
Fast as the Center, who brings downe to hell,
And out of deeper mercies (which to tell
Would pose thē that they blesse) brings backe againe,
Making the pleasure greater by the paine,)
Hath crown'd our wishes; O joyfully good!
Not to be had on earth, nor understood:
Heav'ns high superlative, for unto me
Revenge is better then Æternity.
Revenge upon Gods enemies: know my deare
(And know that thou must doe what thou shalt heare)
It is the will of heav'n, when once the skye
Is proud of the next mornings livery,
All Israel should meet, where what shall fall
Iust with our wishes, or exceed them all,
I must not now discover, yet thus much
I dare deliver (my affection's such)
A truth, that is confest as soone as heard,
That he who knew to plague, knowes to reward.
Our Levite wakes, but stretching out an arme
He feels no body, no, nor no place warme
To prove she had beene there, he thinkes 'tmay be
No vision, but a birth of Phantasie:
An issue of a troubled braine that fram'd
Formes to it selfe which Nature hath not nam'd:
Have I not slaine enough he sayes, but still
Is it my office and my curse to kill?
Twas but a dreame injoyn'd me to be bad,
A dreame, a vapour, and am I so mad
For nothing to be monstrous, and commit
A crime, that men shall feare to dreame of it!
But can I disobey what it hath pleas'd
Heav'n to command me? O how I am ceaz'd

With strange extremes! nor readily can tell
Whether this Revelation should dwell
Clos'd in my brest; or whether I goe on
As counting it a Revelation:
There may be guilty silence, if we feare
In the affaire of heaven to wound an eare
With threatning Rhetoricke; this will not be
Excus'd by a pretence of modesty:
Rather twill prove the judgement of just heav'n,
We shall receive the doome we should have giv'n,
Now all the people know what he hath heard,
Now they have all their forwardnesse declar'd
In sacrifice, when Phineas appeares,
One that had lived unto so many years;
He knew not how to count them, and that knew
The Desert wonders, and could prove them true
By his owne sight, that could the more ingage
Men to beleeve, not by his tongue, but age.
Nay I have heard some having duely waigh'd
How long in that high office he had stayd,
Conceive they may affirme without a checke,
Him of the order of Melchisedec;
And prove (as onely judgeing what they see)
Their Priesthoods, by their Priests eternity.
Who having enter'd, all the people bow'd:
(For 'twas not yet as perfect zeale allow'd
To be irreverent to their Priest, that name
Which now is prov'd a title but of shame,
Then was the badge of glory) he indeares
Himselfe, more by his office, then his yeares,
To those, who thinke thinke these two can ne'r agree,
To scorne the Priest, and serve the Deitie.

Before the Altar his weake knees he bends,
Which age before, but now devotion sends

Vnto the ground, where with a voice so low,
That he could onely heare it, who could know
What it would have before it spake, he thus
Whisper'd a prayer;

King of Heaven, of Earth, of Seas,
And of men exceeding these:
Thou that when thy people ranne
From the proud Ægyptian,
Leadst them through a liquid path
Safe, and scarce wet, when thy wrath
Wonderfully made them know,
Twas a Sea unto the foe.
Thou that when the heat, the sand
Of a barren thirsty land,
Made our tongues be so confin'd
To our roofes, they scarce repin'd,
But in secret, so that we
Onely fear'd a blasphemy.
Thou then by a powerfull knocke
Mad'st a Sea within a Rocke,
And gav'st Israel to know
For them drought should overflow:
Thou art still the same, and we
Stand in the same need of thee,
Pardon then if we presume
To an hope, and so assume
Courage to us, when we joyne
Our wants to that power of thine.
Yes our wants, for we can find
None of merit, w'ave declin'd
Ev'ry good way, and have still
Beene ambitious of ill,
So that when we are exact,
And have all our good deeds rackt

To the highest rate, ther's snone
Dares appeare before thy throne:
Onely this desert we see,
Continuance of adversity.
Nay such monsters have we bin,
Such proficients in each sinne,
That we durst not looke on heav'n,
Nor intreat to bee forgiv'n.
Hadst not thou vouchsaf'd to doe
What our wishes reacht not to:
Hadst not thou vouchsaf'd to be
Tutor to our Infancy:
And bestow'd when we were mute
Both our prayer and our sute.

O the Courteous
Respect heav'ns beares us! Scarcely had he done,
Scarce finisht his impos'd devotion,
When on the sudden ere you could have said
The Priest had sacrificd, or he had pray'd,
Through all the Campe a light was spread, to this
Compar'd, the Sunn but a darke body is:
And in respect of so divine a light
Our day is honor'd, if he be tearmd night,
Nor this alone, but that they there might see
And feare their God in his full Majesty,
Such voyces and such thunders fright tho Ayre,
That they suppose they want another prayer
To be assur'd from them; so they declar'd
They were afraid to heare, that they were heard.
Downe on the pavement every knee is fixt,
Some groveling on their faces, when betwixt
Astonishment and hope, whilst yet they doubt
What all this preface meanes, and whilst the rout

Fear'd judgements which they merited, they heare
A voice for which they wish a larger eare,
It was so sweetly mercifull: Once more
Goe up (it sayes) and though that heretofore
Y'ave had the worst: yet thus my sentence stands
Ile now deliver them into your hands.
Have you beheld how some condemn'd to dy,
When they were fitted for Æternity,
When life they did despise, and all below,
Receiv'd a pardon, when they fear'd the blow
That should unman them, have you seene them then
Almost forgetting that they were but men;
How to expresse their mind they want a word,
Ioy having done the office of the sword,
And made them speechlesse? then you may in part
Conceive the wonder of their joy; which Art
Confesseth it exceeds her power to show
At full, which onely they that have can know.

Thus brave Corvinus, then whom fame nere knew
Any that to an higher vertue grew,
When once it pleas'd Fortune to leave her frowne,
Made an exchange of Fetters for a Crowne,
Thus, not to seeke a forreigne president,
Our Henry, whom the Heav'ns courteously sent
To set a period to our Civill broyles,
To joyne both Roses: after many foyles,
Receiv'd and conquer'd, after he had seene
Himselfe an Exile, who a Prince had beene,
When banishment was envy'd him, when nought
Would please his Enemy, unlesse he bought
His death of him that harbour'd him; ev'n then,
To foole the projects of the cunning'st men,
This wither'd root begins afresh to spring,
And from a banisht coarse revives a King.

Thus (not to seeke out a stale president,
Mentioning mercies after they are spent,
And lost in story) Englands present Ioy
(Whom Fate can onely threaten, not annoy,)
How hath he try'd variety of griefe!
How beene in dangers, as in Rule our Chiefe;
That when there is a speech of suffering,
He is no lesse our Patterne, then our King.
The Seas spoke loud, yet if we rightly poyse,
There was more danger, where there was lesse noyse:
Yet was he freed from both, when in mans eye,
Successe had seem'd to smile on Trechery.
These are your wonders, Heav'n, and not so much
Favours, (although the Favour too be such,
That it does pose our gratitude, and so
Onely proclaimes that we are made to owe
Our proverty of merit) to be short,
Th'are not so much your Favours, as your Sport.
You in an instant rayse, whom we would sweare,
Nayl'd to the Earth, him that had left to feare
More then he suffer'd, that had beene so long
Acquainted with ill lucke, with such a throng
Of misadventures, that he does not know
VVhat it is to be free from them, and so
This courteous intermission he expounds
Rather a Change then Cure of his neer wounds:
You in an unthought Minute can depresse,
VVhom we beleeve in league with Happinesse.
And as upon the Stage we oft have seene,
Him act a Beggar, who a King hath beene:
For no default, but that the Poets art
Thought at that time he best would fit that part:
So in our serious Theaters, when you please
Kings are as varying persons as are these,

Onely in this their disadvantage lyes;
That they may fall, but cannot hope to rise.
They, whom the bands that make a kingdome strong;
Succession to the Crowne both right and long
From worthy Ancestors, obedience
At home, and lastly sure intelligence
Abroad hath fortifyed, those that suppos'd
True joy to be wholly in them inclos'd:
If you but please to frowne, in one short day
(When they not thinke their Enemies on their way)
Are conquer'd by them, and at last retaine
This comfort onely to allay their paine
That their misfortune (if the heavens decree)
May be the portion of their Enemy.
Why then doe trifling miseries so grate
Our minds, and make us more unfortunate
Then heav'n intended? if out of a summe
Of mony (not so rich as troublesome
By the large roome, it occupies,) some one
Willing to teach us moderation,
Nibble a little, how we fret! we rave!
How for our treasure we distraction have!
As if we did beleeve (to say no more)
Heav'n had the onely powre to make us poore.
Israel thought not thus, but does prepare
All things that for the action needfull are:
He thinkes now double diligence is due,
That he may be victorious, and God true.
On the Eastside of Gibeah there stood
An overgrowne and unfrequented wood,
The trees so thickly plac'd, that you would guesse,
(Had you beheld that horrid wildernesse:
How darkenesse all the Mastery had wonne,)
Twas made for the discredit of the Sunne;

Never did any raye pierce through those leaves,
And if at any time it light receives
Tis onely when the heavens doe misse their stroke,
And passing wicked men, murder an Oke.
So that the brightnesse that adornes the same
Serves not so much to'inlighten, as inflame,
Here never did the nimble Fairy tread,
Nor ever any of the Wood-nymphes bred
Within this grove, but it was singled out
For Pluto's regiment, for that bad rout
Of Hell-borne furies, there you might have seene
Alecto stretch'd at her full length betweene
Two fatall Yughs, where while her rest she takes,
She gives an intermission to her Snakes,
Who in a thousand curles there hissing lye,
And she sleepes sweeter by their harmony.
Here had the Canaanite in former times
(Whilest that Religion did consist in crimes)
Offer'd his sonnes in sacrifice, as though
He meant to pay backe heav'n all he did owe
Or did conceive, (that which he should despaire)
To be without sinne, when without an heire.
This horrid place till now had emptie stood,
But now the Israelites conclude it good
To plant an ambush there: for thus they plot
That when the skirmish shall be growing hot,
They will draw backe, to make the Benjamite
Conceive that stratagem to be a flight,
And leave the towne for the pursuit; when straight
Vpon a signe giv'n, they that lie in waite
Shall ceize upon the City, and so force
Their Enemy to such a desp'rate course,
That being pursu'd by those he put to flight,
He shall not know, whether to flie or fight,

Hearken ye silly ones that doe suppose
You ought not to beare Armes against your foes:
VVho having cast off ordinary sense,
Affirme that they doe warre with Providence,
VVho providently warre, that they distrust
The powre, or care of heav'n, who will be just
To their owne cause, which you will noyse to be
A spice of wiser Infidelity.
To these I need no other answer find:
Shall we be foolish because heav'n is kind?
And when your industry might doe as well,
VVill ye inforce God to a Miracle?
It is a truth I grant, which you pretend
That God hath destin'd all things to their end,
Which stands immoveable: nor is't in Fate
To alter what he will præordinate:
Yet never any did so farre proceed
In folly, to affirme that he decreed
Onely the end, that was in Gods intents,
Whilest we did sleepe, to blesse us with events
We dreame not of: Such fondnes cannot find
Any excuse (unlesse they were design'd
Inevitably to't:) for I would know
(If they suppose it possible to shew
Their mind in these affaires, or if they be
Not hindred from an answer by Decree)
Why they doe eate; and why they doe not hence
Conclude rebellion against Providence;
Why they doe cloath themselves; and why desire
When cold oppresseth them to choose a fire;
Have you forgot that for his holy ones,
God can at ease produce e'ne out of stones
As solid sustenance? or is it lost
In your fraile memory, that when Israel crost

The Desert out of Ægypt, forty yeares
Nor Taylors they imploy'd, nor Shoomakers?
Trust me if you your selves thinke your selves true,
Your care does vilify Gods care of you;
And every dish that to your board is brought
Vpbraides him to his face, as if you sought
To mend his purpose; and by this odd feat,
You doe blaspheme as often as you eate.
The Israelites are wiser farre, although
They have that unknowne happinesse, to know
Their victory aforehand, though they heare
This truth from him, from whom they cannot feare
Any deceit, (whose powerfull word alone
Makes that a truth which he resolves upon,)
Although they will allow his Act for chiefe,
Yet they will doe their part too: to be briefe,
Every soldier to himselfe sayes thus;
God will bestow the victory, but by us.
The night they spend in prayer, but whē the morne
Had dimm'd the pride of Cynthia's cleerest horne
By higher luster, being call'd away
Not by the Cocke, the Trumpetter of Day;
But by an earlier trumpet, then you might
By her unwilling, and yet hasting light,
Discerne, and seeing, almost rightly poyse
Whether were more, their number, or their noyse,
And unto which more feare was to be giv'n.
Who fill the Earth with Numbers, with noyse Heav'n.
Benjamin takes th'alarme, and having chose
One in whose faithfulnesse they might repose
A wary confidence; they quit the wall
And to the wider field issue out all,

Lest if they stay'd within, and did oppose
Rampiers and ditches onely to their foes,
They might have bragg'd, (as if that they had won)
Making a prison of their garrison.
Now both the Hoasts themselves so neere do find,
That it would aske more labour t'have declin'd
The field, then to have wonne it, yet they stay
Hoping that innocence is in delay,
If they are slowly guilty: now speares flye
Shiver'd in thousand fitters to the skye;
And whether it revenge or fortune were,
Every peece becomes a Murtherer.
And from their bodies frees a many soule,
Doing that broken, which they could not whole.
Could Xerxes here have sate upon an hill,
To see these warriors, he would not still
Fondly lament, nor lavish out a teare
Because they could not live an hundred yeare,
But melt into just passion away
Because they could not live out all that day.
Now might you have beheld the fiery horse
Proud of his owne, and of his Masters force.
Robb'd of his Master, whom you now might see
Running, as if twere after Liberty,
Or you'd conceive, had you but seene the race
That 'twas no more a battle, but a chase.
No stroke falls idle, nay they are so neere;
They need not strike at all: death is caus'd here
By their bad neighbourhood, the whole and sound
You might have seene here dead without a wound.
To save the guilt and labour of the sword,
Bodies to bodies their owne ends afford.
Now nothing but the dust is to be seene
Which like so many Emblems flyes betweene

They mingled armies, which in silence sayes,
They are no better then the motes they raise,
Thē those poore Atomes: but they think to shrowde
Their acts from sight of heav'n under that cloud,
And therefore doe their utmost: yet as though
Those hands were sluggish, or this fury slow,
The trumpets chid them to a lustier guilt,
And the loud drums proclaim'd, you have not spile
Blood enough yet: O what were they that found
Out first the use and malice of that sound?
Which makes us kill with greedinesse, and when
Tis the Corrupted Nature of most men
Hardly to yeeld unto the destitute,
These will not suffer us to heare their suite.
This drowns the groanes: but now both armies reele,
Now this gives backe some ground, now that doth feele
That it is prest too hardly. Thus the seas
When over it the angry winds doe please
To exercise their fury, doe not know
What course to take, nor whither they should flow:
This wave breakes that, and then another blast
Makes that the conqueror, which was conquerd last.
At length the Israelites give backe indeed,
And though in order, yet with such a speed,
Benjamin calls it Flight, all's ours they cry,
If we can runne we have the victory:
With that, what ever men the towne affords,
Skilfull to use their fingers or their swords,
For spoyle or for pursuite, issue out thence
With such a noyse, they give intelligence
That they have left it emptie: O the vaine
Attempts of foolish man! O deserv'd paine!
Th'are made the spoile, that they intend to make,
So wisely can just heav'ns their vengeance take

On bad attempts, so all our heate asswage,
And make our Ruine greater then our Rage.
It never entred into their proud thought,
They should receive the damage which they sought
To give unto their brethren: who having left
Their woody covert, and the friendly cleft,
Which entertain'd them, by a quicke surprize,
Take the unguarded towne: O who can prize
Those losses to the full? or who rehearse
Those misadventures in an equall verse?
They spare no age, but (cruell) take away
From the old men, the solitary day
They could expect to live: now Infants dye,
Ev'n those, who yet within their mothers lye,
Finding a Night before they see the Morne,
Being buri'd thus, before that they were borne,
For whom their murtherers no crime could choose,
But that they were, and had a life to loose,
Nor does the weaker sex escape the rage
Of these intruders, and as every Age,
So every Person suffers, onely here
May be the difference, (if that any were)
Either they're killd out-right, or which is worse,
They thinke their life to be the greater curse.
Here mothers see their daughters whom they bred
As Votaries unto their Maidenhead,
Vn-virgin'd in their sight, where having lost
That peerelesse jewell, which they valewd most,
They doe receive to vindicate their name
A death from them, from whom they had their shame.
Avarice followes Lust, now they have leisure
To ransacke all those Mineralls of treasure
Long peace and thrift had hoarded up, at last
As children when their Appetite is past

Spoyle what they cannot eate, and badly kind
Pamper their dogs with that they leave behind:
So these, as surfeiting with such a store,
(Which made them lose all teare of being poore)
What is not ready spoyle, give to the fire,
Whose conqu{illeg.}ring flames unto the heav'ns aspire,
As boasting of their service: through the towne,
Swifter then any thing that has renowne
For speedinesse, they runne, one houre does spoile
(Vnlucky houre) what was an Ages toyle,
Now cracke the houses, now the Temples fry,
Now the poore Citizens resolv'd to dye,
Doubt of what death: and know not which to try,
The fire, the downefalls, or the Enemy,
Had this misfortune hapned in the Night
(Though Nature had oppos'd) such a full light
Had made a day, and so againe had wonne
A Conquest of the towne, and of the Sunne.
Never did Sailor with such joy behold
Castor and Pollux when his ship was roll'd
Vpon the angry Ocean, (whose proud waves
Made the most haughty mindes freeze into slaves
With a base feare,) as Israel does view
Those flames, which he does feare not to be true
They are so great, and yet he hopes to see
These flames to light him to a victory.
Now all the face of things is chang'd anew,
Now those which earst seem'd vanquish'd, do pursue:
The Israelites confirming by their Fight,
That they could cause as well as act a Flight.
Bejamin growes amaz'd, and does not know
What he should doe, nor on what grounds to goe,
Which probably seeme safe: if he should flye
He runnes away unto the Enemy:

And shall he fight: alas! but he will find
It is impossible to fight behind,
Where he shall be assay'ld: yet he shifts ground,
And figures out his battle in a round.
And since he hath no hope to scape away,
Hee'l nobly sell, not give away the day.
They never fought till now, all the whole day
Before, was onely somewhat fiercer Play,
Murder in jest, but now they are so fierce
As if they would inforce their swords to pierce
Beyond the body; this a while, at length
Despaire does yeeld the victory to strength;
And Fortune (that the world henceforth might find
That they had injur'd her who call'd her blind)
Crownes the best side, and providently tryes
At once to prove their Conquest, and her Eyes.
The Parallell is easie; was't not thus,
When Heav'n was pleas'd to be as kind to us?
We felt the prickles first, but then our Nose
Suckt in the sweeter vertue of the Rose
We had successe, as it were chose, and pickt,
And, what we feard to suffer, did inflict.
When Brett and Burrowes (that I speake their due)
Reviv'd to France, Talbot and Montague.
(O too like Montague, that lost thy breath,
By the same fatall Engine of quicke death.)
When the choyce valour of each rancke; and fyle
Made up a double Sea within the Isle
Of blood and teares, O give us thankes, kind heav'n,
And adde a vertue to our Fortune giv'n.
But soft, I heare the wise man say, Commend
No man, nor action till you see the end.
Our night is not yet past, or if it be
Tis but the dawning, not the day we see,

And but a misty dawning, we must know
That yet we have not payd God what we owe
And that would worse then any Madnesse be
To have a joy ere a security,
Vnder the rodd to laugh: yet we conclude
Patience does please no lesse then gratitude;
And he that can orecome a losse, nor be
Too much cast downe for want of victory,
Is in some part victorious, and can say
Tis blest to be a conquerour any way.
That we may all acknowledg his desert,
Who nobly gain'd a conquest of the heart
Of them, whose bodies he had conquer'd first,
To whom he then discover'd, what he durst,
And after what his Nature was, when he
In the sad field had spent his Cruelty,
For when they offer'd to redeeme their dead,
Summes which another would have vanquished,
He freely yeelds unto the sutors breath,
And gives the Grave, as easily as the Death,
Whilst they doe give—O how I blush to tell,
A poisond knife, a poison that will dwell
And eate into their fame till earth be gone,
Till poyson have no more to worke upon.
Teach us our right to him, but then to yon
What shall we give? and yet what not leave due?
Then, O kind Heav'n, for this let me be pleader,
May we still sing your praise, who led our Leader,
And now I hast unto my songs conclusion;
Israels conquest, Benjamins confusion:
Of all that valiant number which but now
Made treble numbers to their valor bow:
Onely sixe hundred scape away, so few,
They were scarceable to commit anew

The Crime for which they suffer'd; had not Night
Became their Vmpire and forbad the Fight,
Those few had perisht too; then at the last
Let future Ages learne of Ages past
How vice rewards her servants! Let them be
Afraid at leastwise of the misery,
Who slight the sinne: why should a beauteous face
Make my soule foule? and an externall grace
Bereave me of my inward? O despaire!
Shall I be bad, because another's faire?
Hence that poore folly, rather let us winne
A conquest by the losse of Benjamin.
To know that those bely'd, and stolne delights
Are not of so long lasting as the Nights,
In which we did injoy them, how the Day
Takes both their darknesse, and our sweets away:
To understand that tardy heav'n is just,
That Ruine is the consequent of Lust.
And now O Father, once more I repaire
To thy great presence, O thou onely Faire,
(Who dwelling in the light that none comes neere,
Canst not be seene of us, because too cleer;
To whom created beauties if compar'd,
Ev'n such as have the wisest eyes ensnar'd,
Are nothing but Deformity at best,
Durt somewhat better colourd then the rest)
Instruct my youth, O teach that I may know,
What mischiefes lurke under a seemely show;
What a sweet danger woman is: O thou
To whom the knees that doe not love, doe bow,
Whom all obey, ev'n such as have no sense,
Who doe not know their owne obedience;
Whom all obey, ev'n such as doe goe on
In a perpetuall Rebellion,

The Spirits accurst: Grant me, that chastly wise
I enter into Covenant with mine eyes,
Never to looke on Woman, not to see
What would perswade my soule to forsake thee,
To make a God of flesh: But if that I
Forc'd by Temptation, or Necessity,
Must see my Ruine, yet thus much, O thou
Whō my soule loves, & would more, knew she how,
(For his deare sake and worth, in whom was found
Onely a place, no reason for a wound)
If I must have the sight, yet I require
I may at leastwise not have the desire,
If I must see, let it be to despise
So shall my heart be chast, if not mine eyes.

FINIS.

University of Virginia Library

THE LEVITES REVENGE:

Containing POETICAL Meditations, VPON the 19. and 20. Chapters of Jvdges

The explanation of the Frontispice.

To my learned and highly esteemed Friend, Mr. Robert Gomersall.

Epitaphium Concubinæ.

Englished thus.

Psal. 92

I will bee glad and rejoyce in thee, yea my Songs will I make of thy name, O thou most High.

THE LEVITES Revenge.

Canto. I.

The Argument.

Canto. II.

The Argument.

Canto. III.

The Argument.