A paraphrase on the Book of Job As likewise on the Songs of Moses, Deborah, David: On Four Select Psalms: Some Chapters of Isaiah, and the Third Chapter of Habakkuk. By Sir Richard Blackmore |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
Chap. XVI.
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| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
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Chap. XVI.
A paraphrase on the Book of Job |  |
Chap. XVI.
Then Job reply'd, Oft has my suff'ring Ear,
Such vain Discourses been compell'd to hear.
You, cruel Comforters! enrage my Woe,
You neither Skill, nor yet Compassion show.
With tedious Repetitions you abound,
Keep your old Track, and argue in a Round.
But will your empty Speeches never end,
Disarm'd and vanquish'd, will you still contend?
What has embolden'd thee O Eliphaz,
Still to reply, tho' never to my Case?
Were my Afflictions yours, with how much ease
Could I such Language find, such Words as these?
Uncharitably Pious I could grow,
Like pointed Arrows sharp Reproaches throw,
And with as good a Grace deride your Woe.
But my Compassion would my Lips restrain
From galling Words, that might increase your Pain.
I to support you would extend my Arms,
And sooth your Anguish with the softest Charms.
My tender Accents should your Fate condole,
And balmy Language ease your tortur'd Soul.
Why should not you with equal Zeal engage
Your utmost Skill, my Anguish to asswage?
Such vain Discourses been compell'd to hear.
You, cruel Comforters! enrage my Woe,
You neither Skill, nor yet Compassion show.
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Keep your old Track, and argue in a Round.
But will your empty Speeches never end,
Disarm'd and vanquish'd, will you still contend?
What has embolden'd thee O Eliphaz,
Still to reply, tho' never to my Case?
Were my Afflictions yours, with how much ease
Could I such Language find, such Words as these?
Uncharitably Pious I could grow,
Like pointed Arrows sharp Reproaches throw,
And with as good a Grace deride your Woe.
But my Compassion would my Lips restrain
From galling Words, that might increase your Pain.
I to support you would extend my Arms,
And sooth your Anguish with the softest Charms.
My tender Accents should your Fate condole,
And balmy Language ease your tortur'd Soul.
Why should not you with equal Zeal engage
Your utmost Skill, my Anguish to asswage?
How sad a Fate is mine, if I complain
To God or Man, I make my Moan in vain.
If by forbearing I expect Relief,
And stop the stream of my complaining Grief,
Its Flood increases when forbid to flow,
And the rough Waves more formidable grow.
In higher Seas collected Sorrows roll,
And whelm their Deluge o'er my sinking Soul.
Opprest beneath the pond'rous load I lye,
Weary of living, yet deny'd to dye.
My Sons, my Servants, and my Substance gone,
I am deserted, desolate, undone.
Tho' you produce my Sores and wrinkled Skin
As Witnesses of some enormous Sin,
Yet they can only testify the weight
Of those vast Woes, which my Complaints create.
To God or Man, I make my Moan in vain.
If by forbearing I expect Relief,
And stop the stream of my complaining Grief,
Its Flood increases when forbid to flow,
And the rough Waves more formidable grow.
In higher Seas collected Sorrows roll,
And whelm their Deluge o'er my sinking Soul.
Opprest beneath the pond'rous load I lye,
Weary of living, yet deny'd to dye.
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I am deserted, desolate, undone.
Tho' you produce my Sores and wrinkled Skin
As Witnesses of some enormous Sin,
Yet they can only testify the weight
Of those vast Woes, which my Complaints create.
God, as a fierce, relentless Foe appears,
And in his Fury me in pieces tears.
He grinds his raging Teeth, and from his Eyes
A Flame against me keen, as Light'ning flies.
My Friends elated with prodigious Pride,
Stand gaping on me, and my Grief deride.
From distant parts they come, not to asswage
My Anguish, but my Suff'rings to enrage.
God has expos'd me likewise to the Bands
Of fierce invaders from the neighb'ring Lands,
And giv'n me up a Prey to impious hands.
My Dwelling flourish'd, and I liv'd at ease,
With Plenty blest, and the soft Joys of Peace;
When God denounc'd his unexpected War,
And with his Darts did me asunder tare.
Me in his griping Arms th' Almighty took,
And with such mighty force my body shook,
That all my Members were in pieces broke.
He sets me as a mark on rising ground,
And his fierce Archers compass me around.
In Showers of singing Death their Arrows fly,
And in my tortur'd Entrails buried ly.
My Gall, so deep, so mortal is the Wound,
As well as Blood, flows out and stains the Ground.
Black throngs of Woes invade my frighted Soul,
As crowding Billows on each other roll.
Th' Almighty runs upon me in his rage,
As a fierce Gyant eager to engage.
Sackcloth I wear, of Ornaments despoil'd,
And in the Dust my Glory lies defil'd.
My Cheeks with Everlasting Weeping fade,
And on my Eye-lids hangs a dismal shade.
And in his Fury me in pieces tears.
He grinds his raging Teeth, and from his Eyes
A Flame against me keen, as Light'ning flies.
My Friends elated with prodigious Pride,
Stand gaping on me, and my Grief deride.
From distant parts they come, not to asswage
My Anguish, but my Suff'rings to enrage.
God has expos'd me likewise to the Bands
Of fierce invaders from the neighb'ring Lands,
And giv'n me up a Prey to impious hands.
My Dwelling flourish'd, and I liv'd at ease,
With Plenty blest, and the soft Joys of Peace;
When God denounc'd his unexpected War,
And with his Darts did me asunder tare.
Me in his griping Arms th' Almighty took,
And with such mighty force my body shook,
That all my Members were in pieces broke.
He sets me as a mark on rising ground,
And his fierce Archers compass me around.
In Showers of singing Death their Arrows fly,
And in my tortur'd Entrails buried ly.
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As well as Blood, flows out and stains the Ground.
Black throngs of Woes invade my frighted Soul,
As crowding Billows on each other roll.
Th' Almighty runs upon me in his rage,
As a fierce Gyant eager to engage.
Sackcloth I wear, of Ornaments despoil'd,
And in the Dust my Glory lies defil'd.
My Cheeks with Everlasting Weeping fade,
And on my Eye-lids hangs a dismal shade.
Yet no Injustice does in Job appear,
As you my Friends unkindly would infer,
Pure is my Prayer, my Heart within sincere.
If e'er a Man by my flagitious hand
Vext and Opprest, has perish'd from the Land,
Let not thy Womb, O Earth, his Blood conceal,
But to the Light my black Offence reveal;
That publique Shame and Pains may be my Fate,
Which on the heinous Malefactor wait.
Let God and Man their Bowels shut, when I
In deadly Torment for Compassion cry.
Conscience alone, my awful Judge within,
Does not acquit me of enormous Sin,
But God and all his sacred Angels, bear
Witness to this, and will my Justice clear.
From you my Friends, who my Distress deride,
I turn to Heav'n, let Heav'n my Cause decide.
If God his just Tribunal would ascend,
To hear how you accuse, and I defend;
If he, as Arbitrator, would preside,
And weigh the Reasons urg'd on either side;
From your Indictment he would me release,
And I, my Virtue clear'd, should dye in Peace.
And, O, that God would soon my Tryal hear,
And Judgment give before I disappear.
For when a few more fleeting days are past,
I in the Arms of Death shall lye embrac't.
As you my Friends unkindly would infer,
Pure is my Prayer, my Heart within sincere.
If e'er a Man by my flagitious hand
Vext and Opprest, has perish'd from the Land,
Let not thy Womb, O Earth, his Blood conceal,
But to the Light my black Offence reveal;
That publique Shame and Pains may be my Fate,
Which on the heinous Malefactor wait.
Let God and Man their Bowels shut, when I
In deadly Torment for Compassion cry.
Conscience alone, my awful Judge within,
Does not acquit me of enormous Sin,
But God and all his sacred Angels, bear
Witness to this, and will my Justice clear.
From you my Friends, who my Distress deride,
I turn to Heav'n, let Heav'n my Cause decide.
If God his just Tribunal would ascend,
To hear how you accuse, and I defend;
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And weigh the Reasons urg'd on either side;
From your Indictment he would me release,
And I, my Virtue clear'd, should dye in Peace.
And, O, that God would soon my Tryal hear,
And Judgment give before I disappear.
For when a few more fleeting days are past,
I in the Arms of Death shall lye embrac't.
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Chap. XVI.
A paraphrase on the Book of Job | |