University of Virginia Library

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.