The Minor Poems of Joseph Beaumont :: :: University of Virginia Library

This Morning five & thirty years
Which op'd mine Eyes, did broach my tears:
When, though I wept I knew not why,
Each tear distilld a Prophecy;
Liquid & clear were they,
But these in darknes lay,
Where, like all others, they this Maxime held,
Not to be understood untill fullfilld.

2

For what Diviners piercing Ey,
Though help'd with those of heavn, in my
Then-newborn-soule could read, That She
Would foulest of all Monsters be:
And, by mad venturing in
The desperate Trade of Sin,
Gain so much Loss, that these poor Eyes of mine
Should need aforehand to acquaint with Brine?

3

Say, treacherous Heart, say with what reason
Thou darest still abhorr that Treason
Whose uncontrolld Contagion reigns
In miserable Britains veins?

386

Has it yet tutord Thee
Into thy Loyaltie?
Or has this new-past Year had power to bring
Thee to Allegiance to thy heavnly King?

4

Where are those Promises which thy
Sad-seeming Tongue did heap so high!
Ask these Twelve Months yf ever Thou
Didst keep with God thy Word or Vow.
Why start'st Thou now away?
Say, shameless Trayter, say,
Could'st Thou indure thy Slave should break his Word
So oft with Thee, as Thou hast with thy God?

5

Yet this Allmighty Lord of thine
Still reins his long-due Vengance in:
His Love with longer Time He baits,
And strangely thus thy Leisure waits:
Thy Death He doth command
At distance yet to stand;
And by this other Year he tempteth Thee
Into the arms of sweet Eternitie.

6

And can the Flesh, the World, or He
Who vaunts him self its Prince to be,
Bid fairer for thee, or invite
With richer arguments thy sight?
Feel then, & weigh, & see
What thus inamours thee:
Alas thy Prize beguiles thy touch, & all
Thy Bliss, to empty Vanity doth fall.

387

7

Fool! wilt thou mock thy God? oh know
The longer He doth draw his Bow,
He shoots the surer, & his Arrow
Feirce Speed ev'n from Delay doth borrow.
He at this Seige in vain
Long long enough hath layn:
Compell Him not to storm thee now, 'cause He
Woo's thy Surrender with such Suavitie.

8

O do but yeild, & thine shall be
The truer happier Victorie:
Yeild, yeild, & win a Kingdom; even
The Realm of Joy of Life of Heavn.
To what can thy Desire
More happily aspire,
Than unto that, which not to reach, will be
Calamities profound extremitie!

9

Nor canst Thou plead, That all thy Bliss
A great way off suspended is,
And totaly eclipsed by
Lying in dark Futurity:
What was that Heavn which thou
Alone desirdst below?
Is it not now into thy bosome thrown,
Makeing most happy Thee double thine own?

10

How wert Thou torn the other Year
Upon the rack of Hope & Fear!
How did thy Tears dropp through thy Quill
And so into thy Verses steal;
Whilst every Line prov'd true
To their Inks mourning hue;
And every Syllable sigh'd Sorrows tone,
Each Word did weep, & every Rime did grone!

388

11

But now that Night of thy Dismay
Is broke up into Comforts Day:
The Harvest of thy panting Hope
Is ripe & reap'd & gatherd up:
Thy dear Ambition now
Wears on its crowned brow
That most invaluable Jewell which
Can robb both Indies of the name of RICH.

12

And what, what wouldst thou more than so,
Thee into Virtues Schole to woo!
View but the beauties of that Gemm
By the pure light of its own beam:
Read read, & study there,
And then confess yf e'r
Thy bookish eyes in any leaves such sweet
And lively fruits of pious Worth did meet.

13

What though Ascensions lofty pitch
Surmounted thy unworthy reach!
Yet may'st thou in a lower sphear
Due motion keep, & bright appear.
Move then, oh Move, & Shine,
Whilst yet thy Time is thine:
Take heed thine idle self thou dost not cheat,
By plotting then to Rise, when thou must sett.

14

Rise, rise my Soule, & sleep no more
In sluggish sin, as heertofore.
All Heavn stands ope, & willt thou miss
A mark so full & fair as this?
Fear not its height, allthough
Thou crawlst a Worm below:
'Twill meet thy reaching Arms, & draw thee up,
Unless thy Bliss thou willfully dost stopp.