Fons Lachrymarum or a fountain of tears: From whence doth flow Englands Complaint, Jeremiahs Lamentations paraphras'd with Divine Meditations and an elegy Upon that Son of Valor Sir Charles Lucas. Written by John Quarles |
 |
 |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
Chap. IV.
|
| V. |
|
|
 |
Chap. IV.
Fons Lachrymarum |  |
52
Chap. IV.
Contents.
1 Sion bewaileth her pitiful estate: 13 She confesseth her sins. 21 Edom is threatned. 22 Sion is comforted.
The purest changed, that was wont to shine!
The stones that pav'd the Sanct'ary are thrown
Into the streets, for beasts to trample on.
The sons of Sion, which I could compare
To finest gold, behold, see now they are
Esteem'd as earthen pitchers, which the hands
Of the industrious Potter still commands.
The ill-shap'd monsters, which the Ocean owns
As proper guests, nourish their little ones:
But ah, my Daughters are grown pitiless,
Like Ostriches within the wilderness.
The wordless tongues of thirfty children cleave
To their unliquid mouths; they never leave
Their integrating cries: Poor hearts in vain
They cry for food, but can no food obtain.
And they that fed upon delicious sweets,
Are desolate in the unquiet streets:
53
Embrace a dunghil as their happiness.
For ah, my peoples Daughter suffers more
For her great sins, then Sodom did before.
Her beautified Nazarites could show
A purer white than milk, whiter then snow;
Their bodies than the rubies were more red,
With shining Saphire were they polished.
But now their changed visages excel
The coal in blackness; they that knew them well,
Now know them not: their flesh adheres & sticks
Unto their bones, they are like with'red sticks.
Those that are ravisht of their fading breath
By the encountring sword, enjoy a death
Transcending theirs, whose lingring souls are pinde
For want of food: Ah famine's never kinde!
The woful women boyl their young, they have
Turn'd their own fruitful bellies to a grave.
The Lord hath now accomplished his ire,
Pour'd out his streaming anger, caus'd a fire
To flame in Sion, which devour'd and layd
Those buildings waste, which their own hands had made.
The wisest Kings, nor the worlds copious nations
Did ever think to see these great invasions
Of th'unbridled foe, whose head-long courses
Divides her gates with their divided forces.
The Priests & Prophets crimeless blood have shed;
Their sins drew down this mischief on their head.
Like those they wander, whose benighted eyes
Attract no light from the all-lighting skies:
54
Can touch their clothes; they are with blood o're flown.
The people cried, depart, what do ye mean?
Depart, depart, touch not, it is unclean:
The Heathen, as they fled together, cry'd,
With us they shall not sojourn, nor abide.
Gods anger hath divided them; he never
Will love them more, but cast them off for ever:
They disrespected Priests, and they forgot
The gravest Elders, whom they pitied not.
But as for us, our help-beguiled eyes
Fail'd us as yet, no comfort would arise
To us; we watch'd for Nations, but their pow'r
Could not protect us from so great a showre.
They hunt our steps, our oft-extended feet
Cannot divide their paces in the street:
Our end is neer, and our days total sum
Is now fulfill'd, for now our end is come.
Our persecuters, our tormentors are
Swifter then Eagles that enforce the ayr:
Upon the mountains they pursu'd us; They,
To trap our feet, in ambushcado lay.
Those pits, which they for ruine have appointed,
Inclos'd our souls delight, the Lords anointed;
Under whose shadow we shall live, we said,
Amongst the Heathens; thus are we dismay'd.
Oh Edoms daughter! now stretch out thy voyce,
Be glad; and for a time in Uz rejoyce:
This cup shall pass along to thee, thou shalt
Be drunk and naked, 'cause thou didst revolt.
55
No more will lead thee to captivitie:
But Edom, oh lament, lift up thine eyes,
For Heav'n will visit thy iniquities.
Meditatio in Capitulum.
Distracted
Sion, having spent her days
In supine negligence, stands in a maze,
Not knowing what to do: her wonted joys
Yeeld torment, not contentment, seeming toys,
And childish trifles, which perplex her more,
Then thousand pleasures pleasur'd her before.
And now her alienated mind begins
To rumiuate upon her former sins:
Her studious thoughts recount what pretious time
She spent in folly; weighing every crime
In equal balance, poising them aright,
Finds them too heavy, and her self too light.
And like a frighted bird, her winged mind
Flies up and down, thinking some rest to find
In sorrows wilderness: But ah, who can
Find a lost jewel in the Ocean!
Now we may see how her embraced folly
Is quite dissolved into melancholly.
And those lascivious hours, which she hath spent,
Seems like grim Marshals giving punishment
To an offending wretch: As in a dream,
The fancy makes each object seem extream;
And why? because the judgment which should guide
Th'unruly fancy, sleeping's layd aside:
The senses once lock'd up, the fancy may
Not only claim a priviledg to play,
But to delude, and represent those things
To meanest Subjects, which belong to Kings;
Which makes the flatter'd Sences even dance,
And leap for joy, and striving to advance
Themselves, awake; and finding all's but vain,
Reason steps in, and makes them poor again.
In supine negligence, stands in a maze,
Not knowing what to do: her wonted joys
Yeeld torment, not contentment, seeming toys,
And childish trifles, which perplex her more,
Then thousand pleasures pleasur'd her before.
And now her alienated mind begins
To rumiuate upon her former sins:
Her studious thoughts recount what pretious time
She spent in folly; weighing every crime
In equal balance, poising them aright,
Finds them too heavy, and her self too light.
And like a frighted bird, her winged mind
Flies up and down, thinking some rest to find
In sorrows wilderness: But ah, who can
Find a lost jewel in the Ocean!
Now we may see how her embraced folly
Is quite dissolved into melancholly.
And those lascivious hours, which she hath spent,
Seems like grim Marshals giving punishment
56
The fancy makes each object seem extream;
And why? because the judgment which should guide
Th'unruly fancy, sleeping's layd aside:
The senses once lock'd up, the fancy may
Not only claim a priviledg to play,
But to delude, and represent those things
To meanest Subjects, which belong to Kings;
Which makes the flatter'd Sences even dance,
And leap for joy, and striving to advance
Themselves, awake; and finding all's but vain,
Reason steps in, and makes them poor again.
Even thus was poor Jerus'lem lull'd asleep
With fancy-pleasing pleasure, which did keep
A rendezvouz within her, lest that doubt
Should interpose, and put the fancy out
Of frame; And by a more diviner art
Should breed a Meditation in her heart.
For when the wak'ned Sences once have gain'd
The upper hand, the fancy is restrain'd,
And curb'd by judgment; Reason too survives
Again, and claims her own Prerogatives.
The apprehension with her new-got pow'r
Begins to taste and apprehend how sowre
Her sweets are grown: Ah then she cries! I see
I'm turn'd to nothing, being turn'd from thee,
My great Redeemer, I have quite exil'd
Thy mercies from my bosom, and revil'd
Thy just Commands, presuming oftentimes
To urge, with my reiterated crimes,
Thy long continued patience; and exprest
No grief at all from my obdurate brest.
My eyes were still laborious to discover
New vanities; and like a heedless lover,
Whose beauty-dazel'd eyes do only view
The Superficies, seeking not how true
The heart remaineth, but can fondly be
Content with beauties bare Epitomie.
And thus my rash advent'ring Soul went on,
(Pleasures admit no intermission
To them, whose hearts are envious to obtain
A present pleasure, but a future pain:)
And ah, how quickly's yeelding flesh and blood
Surpriz'd and conquer'd by a seeming good.
A Good that's good for nothing but t'invite
Fond souls to ruine, and o're-vail the light
Of real truth: and with enforc'd delusions
Makes them take pleasure in their own confusions.
Since then, my Soul, no pleasures can be found
In this base Center; let thy thoughts rebound
From this fastideous Orb; learn to advance
Thy self above the frowns, the reach of chance:
And let th'extent of thy ambition be
Only to purchase an Eternitie
Of happiness, which shall perpetuate,
And make thee glorious in a glorious state.
Divorce thy self from thy unsum'd-up faults,
Protract no time, but clarifie thy thoughts.
Command thy self, and thou shalt be reputed
A most deserving Victor: not confuted
By any, though their noble acts may claim
A true inheritance to a lasting Fame.
For he that gives himself an overthrow,
Conquers a Kingdom, and subdues a foe.
Then arm thy self, my Soul, and strive t'out-dare
Satans attempts; be studious to prepare
Thy self, and let thy adversary see
When he is strongest, th'art as strong as he.
Let not his vain delusions, interpose
'Twixt thee, and Heav'n: Oh do not thou expose
Thy self to wilful danger, but endeavor
T'accost his actions; but beleeve him never.
Thou seest how poor Jerusalem bewails
Her sad disasters; how she stoups, and fails
Beneath the burthen of her grief, and cries,
Oh boundless grief! Oh vainest vanities!
With fancy-pleasing pleasure, which did keep
A rendezvouz within her, lest that doubt
Should interpose, and put the fancy out
Of frame; And by a more diviner art
Should breed a Meditation in her heart.
For when the wak'ned Sences once have gain'd
The upper hand, the fancy is restrain'd,
And curb'd by judgment; Reason too survives
Again, and claims her own Prerogatives.
The apprehension with her new-got pow'r
Begins to taste and apprehend how sowre
Her sweets are grown: Ah then she cries! I see
I'm turn'd to nothing, being turn'd from thee,
My great Redeemer, I have quite exil'd
Thy mercies from my bosom, and revil'd
Thy just Commands, presuming oftentimes
To urge, with my reiterated crimes,
57
No grief at all from my obdurate brest.
My eyes were still laborious to discover
New vanities; and like a heedless lover,
Whose beauty-dazel'd eyes do only view
The Superficies, seeking not how true
The heart remaineth, but can fondly be
Content with beauties bare Epitomie.
And thus my rash advent'ring Soul went on,
(Pleasures admit no intermission
To them, whose hearts are envious to obtain
A present pleasure, but a future pain:)
And ah, how quickly's yeelding flesh and blood
Surpriz'd and conquer'd by a seeming good.
A Good that's good for nothing but t'invite
Fond souls to ruine, and o're-vail the light
Of real truth: and with enforc'd delusions
Makes them take pleasure in their own confusions.
Since then, my Soul, no pleasures can be found
In this base Center; let thy thoughts rebound
From this fastideous Orb; learn to advance
Thy self above the frowns, the reach of chance:
And let th'extent of thy ambition be
Only to purchase an Eternitie
Of happiness, which shall perpetuate,
And make thee glorious in a glorious state.
Divorce thy self from thy unsum'd-up faults,
Protract no time, but clarifie thy thoughts.
Command thy self, and thou shalt be reputed
A most deserving Victor: not confuted
58
A true inheritance to a lasting Fame.
For he that gives himself an overthrow,
Conquers a Kingdom, and subdues a foe.
Then arm thy self, my Soul, and strive t'out-dare
Satans attempts; be studious to prepare
Thy self, and let thy adversary see
When he is strongest, th'art as strong as he.
Let not his vain delusions, interpose
'Twixt thee, and Heav'n: Oh do not thou expose
Thy self to wilful danger, but endeavor
T'accost his actions; but beleeve him never.
Thou seest how poor Jerusalem bewails
Her sad disasters; how she stoups, and fails
Beneath the burthen of her grief, and cries,
Oh boundless grief! Oh vainest vanities!
Oh dream thou not of transitory things,
Which are unconstant, having secret wings
To fly away; and flying will confound
Thy better parts, and give thy Soul a wound.
Be wary then, and let thy thoughts concur
With Heav'ns commands, and so will he transfer
His Kingdom to thee, full of lasting treasure,
Where nothing's greater then the smallest pleasure.
Which are unconstant, having secret wings
To fly away; and flying will confound
Thy better parts, and give thy Soul a wound.
Be wary then, and let thy thoughts concur
With Heav'ns commands, and so will he transfer
His Kingdom to thee, full of lasting treasure,
Where nothing's greater then the smallest pleasure.
|
Chap. IV.
Fons Lachrymarum | |