The Citizens Flight With their Recall; To which is added Englands Tears and Englands Comforts: By John Quarles |
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He prayed and the Plague ceased.
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 | The Citizens Flight |  |
He prayed and the Plague ceased.
Prayer and the Plague are two most pow'rful things,
Being both derived from the King of Kings;
The Plague is sent to punish us, but prayer
Extenuates our grief; and crowns our care
With quick deliverance; for he that sent
His Plague, must give us mercy to repent:
He heal'd those waters which in former times
Receiv'd infection from the peoples Crimes;
Prayer is that Balm of Giliad which makes sound
A heart that bleeds it self into a wound,
A wounded heart heav'n never can despise,
Wounds are best cleans'd with waters from our eyes;
Being both derived from the King of Kings;
The Plague is sent to punish us, but prayer
Extenuates our grief; and crowns our care
With quick deliverance; for he that sent
His Plague, must give us mercy to repent:
He heal'd those waters which in former times
Receiv'd infection from the peoples Crimes;
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A heart that bleeds it self into a wound,
A wounded heart heav'n never can despise,
Wounds are best cleans'd with waters from our eyes;
Heark Reader, heark, what now my Muse resounds
We may want streams, but never shall want wounds;
Heaven bottles up our tears; let us deny
Our selves, and then those bottles needs must fly;
Fly till th'ave made more then Ducalians flood
(Who swims in mercy, cannot drownd in blood)
Let's but remember the reward of Vice,
The very dust being turned into Lice;
The croking Plague of Frogs may make us know,
No sin can be exempted from a woe:
And since we have out-sinn'd that former age
We well may now expect a double rage;
Since multiplyed crimes so much encrease,
'Tis Errour not to bid adue to Peace.
We may want streams, but never shall want wounds;
Heaven bottles up our tears; let us deny
Our selves, and then those bottles needs must fly;
Fly till th'ave made more then Ducalians flood
(Who swims in mercy, cannot drownd in blood)
Let's but remember the reward of Vice,
The very dust being turned into Lice;
The croking Plague of Frogs may make us know,
No sin can be exempted from a woe:
And since we have out-sinn'd that former age
We well may now expect a double rage;
Since multiplyed crimes so much encrease,
'Tis Errour not to bid adue to Peace.
'Tis fit oh Lord that we should know that Air
Which is infected must be clear'd by prayer,
If not, we must expect most fatal times;
For Judgments are still incident to crimes,
If we transgress, Lord, can we think that thou
Canst look upon us with a candid brow;
Needs must we think our sorrow will encrease,
When we unto our selves will speak no peace.
Oh Lord, how more then desp'rate fools are we
That by our sins make open vvar vvith thee,
What's our Artillery vvorth? our best defence
Must be thy grace, and our ovvn innocence;
Oh give us grace, (since sorrovv makes us flee,)
To flutter from our selves, and rest in thee;
But thou art angry, Lord, how shall we dare
To come to thee that hast no cause to spare
Such obstinate offenders: Lord, how oft
Have we abus'd thy mercies; nay, and scoft
At petty judgments; they that will not own
The lest of mercies, must resolve to groan
Under the greatest Judgment, when our sins
Has made us ripe, thy Judgment then begins
To shake the tree; which makes us rudely fall
And bruise each other to our Funeral.
But, Lord, if we can make it but our care
First to repent, it will be thine, to spare.
Which is infected must be clear'd by prayer,
If not, we must expect most fatal times;
For Judgments are still incident to crimes,
If we transgress, Lord, can we think that thou
Canst look upon us with a candid brow;
Needs must we think our sorrow will encrease,
When we unto our selves will speak no peace.
Oh Lord, how more then desp'rate fools are we
That by our sins make open vvar vvith thee,
What's our Artillery vvorth? our best defence
Must be thy grace, and our ovvn innocence;
Oh give us grace, (since sorrovv makes us flee,)
To flutter from our selves, and rest in thee;
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To come to thee that hast no cause to spare
Such obstinate offenders: Lord, how oft
Have we abus'd thy mercies; nay, and scoft
At petty judgments; they that will not own
The lest of mercies, must resolve to groan
Under the greatest Judgment, when our sins
Has made us ripe, thy Judgment then begins
To shake the tree; which makes us rudely fall
And bruise each other to our Funeral.
But, Lord, if we can make it but our care
First to repent, it will be thine, to spare.
Oh Lord, we must submit unto thy powers,
Mercy is thy delight, and sin, is ours;
What shall we say, or do? all we can say
Is this; we'ave sinned, and we have no way
To shun thy Judgment; therefore vve must flee
First from our selves (oh Lord) and then to thee;
But what are vve the betrer if vve fly
From our ovvn selves unto an angry eye,
An eye that's so consuming, that one frovvn
Has more than povver enough to cast us dovvn;
Nay, cast us dovvn so lovv, that vve must be
In desperation of recovery:
But if vve pray to heaven, his hand has povver
To raise us in one minit of an hour;
And shall not then his glorious name be prais'd,
Oh let us think hovv Lazarus vvas rais'd:
Mercy is thy delight, and sin, is ours;
What shall we say, or do? all we can say
Is this; we'ave sinned, and we have no way
To shun thy Judgment; therefore vve must flee
First from our selves (oh Lord) and then to thee;
But what are vve the betrer if vve fly
From our ovvn selves unto an angry eye,
An eye that's so consuming, that one frovvn
Has more than povver enough to cast us dovvn;
Nay, cast us dovvn so lovv, that vve must be
In desperation of recovery:
But if vve pray to heaven, his hand has povver
To raise us in one minit of an hour;
And shall not then his glorious name be prais'd,
Oh let us think hovv Lazarus vvas rais'd:
Novv Reader, give me liberty to make
A small digression; my ovvn self must take
My self in hand, and to the vvorld express
My thanks to him vvho in despight of ill
Preserv'd me (as I hope) to do his vvill:
'Tvvas so that fortune lately brought me dovvn
So lovv that I vvas sunk, ready to drovvn;
But by a povverful arm he thought it good
In mercy, to preserve me from the flood:
And shall I then despair? no, let my Friends
Still gaze upon me, Job had no bad ends;
Though some rash words, Lord, let my sorrows be
Upon me, till in Faith I turn to thee;
Oh turn me, for indeed I am so weak
I cannot turn my self, nor can I speak
Till thou unty'st my tongue; which if by thee
Unty'd, my language shall be truly free:
The language of a sinner to his God
Pronounc'd in zeal impedes the powerful Rod
From lashing him, oh Lord, I truly know
Thy Rod is kindness rightly us'd, not woe;
Witness thy servant who (thrice happy) stood
Assured that affliction was his good;
And since 'twas so, oh give me grace to see
Being good for him, it must be good for me;
Affliction, like good Physick, must be sure,
To make us sick, before it makes a Cure;
Oh happy's, he that this grand truth can tell
He's truly sick indeed, in being well:
Affliction's no disgrace, 'tis but a sign
That all the graces joyntly do combine
T'administer the freeness of their will,
To part the grieved Patient and his ill;
And thus th' inclining graces gently strive
To keep th' impatient patient still alive,
That so he may with bounty give the Fee
Of humble thanks to him that set him free;
Suppose thou wert impris'ned with the Gout;
So tortur'd that thou couldst not go about
Thy necessary business; wouldst thou be
Ungrateful to that hand that set thee free?
Consider, wouldst thou? nay, consider well,
Think once again, and having thought, then tell,
Tell what thou thinkst; methinks I hear thee say
Heav'n bless that hand that took my grief away;
He heal'd me, shall not gratefull I, advance
My Thoughts, and sing forth my deliverance;
Oh give me Davids Harp, and Davids Heart
Then vvill I sing his praise in every part,
That so at last I gravely may express
Full Diapasons of my happiness;
And vvhen his mercies I have truely found
I'le run Division on a pleasant ground;
I'le tune my self to such a perfect strain
That every Note shall ravish every brain,
That vvere old Orpheus living he should say
His Musick vvas but discord to my laye:
Needs must that song be ravishing and true
When Heav'n makes th' Musick, and Musician too;
Oh let me be vvell sounded vvith desire,
And thou vvilt play most svveetly on thy Lyre;
Thy sacred fingers vvill touch every string
With such perfection, that vvhilst Angels sing
Man shall admire in Raptures, and proclaim
Perpetual Hallelujahs to thy Name.
A small digression; my ovvn self must take
My self in hand, and to the vvorld express
My thanks to him vvho in despight of ill
Preserv'd me (as I hope) to do his vvill:
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So lovv that I vvas sunk, ready to drovvn;
But by a povverful arm he thought it good
In mercy, to preserve me from the flood:
And shall I then despair? no, let my Friends
Still gaze upon me, Job had no bad ends;
Though some rash words, Lord, let my sorrows be
Upon me, till in Faith I turn to thee;
Oh turn me, for indeed I am so weak
I cannot turn my self, nor can I speak
Till thou unty'st my tongue; which if by thee
Unty'd, my language shall be truly free:
The language of a sinner to his God
Pronounc'd in zeal impedes the powerful Rod
From lashing him, oh Lord, I truly know
Thy Rod is kindness rightly us'd, not woe;
Witness thy servant who (thrice happy) stood
Assured that affliction was his good;
And since 'twas so, oh give me grace to see
Being good for him, it must be good for me;
Affliction, like good Physick, must be sure,
To make us sick, before it makes a Cure;
Oh happy's, he that this grand truth can tell
He's truly sick indeed, in being well:
Affliction's no disgrace, 'tis but a sign
That all the graces joyntly do combine
T'administer the freeness of their will,
To part the grieved Patient and his ill;
And thus th' inclining graces gently strive
To keep th' impatient patient still alive,
That so he may with bounty give the Fee
Of humble thanks to him that set him free;
32
So tortur'd that thou couldst not go about
Thy necessary business; wouldst thou be
Ungrateful to that hand that set thee free?
Consider, wouldst thou? nay, consider well,
Think once again, and having thought, then tell,
Tell what thou thinkst; methinks I hear thee say
Heav'n bless that hand that took my grief away;
He heal'd me, shall not gratefull I, advance
My Thoughts, and sing forth my deliverance;
Oh give me Davids Harp, and Davids Heart
Then vvill I sing his praise in every part,
That so at last I gravely may express
Full Diapasons of my happiness;
And vvhen his mercies I have truely found
I'le run Division on a pleasant ground;
I'le tune my self to such a perfect strain
That every Note shall ravish every brain,
That vvere old Orpheus living he should say
His Musick vvas but discord to my laye:
Needs must that song be ravishing and true
When Heav'n makes th' Musick, and Musician too;
Oh let me be vvell sounded vvith desire,
And thou vvilt play most svveetly on thy Lyre;
Thy sacred fingers vvill touch every string
With such perfection, that vvhilst Angels sing
Man shall admire in Raptures, and proclaim
Perpetual Hallelujahs to thy Name.
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