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 |
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 | Fons Lachrymarum |  |
TO THE Illustrious Prince CHARLES, Prince of WALES.
TO My dear Friend the AUTHOR.
The Son begins to rise, the Father's set:Heav'n took away one light, and pleas'd to let
Another rise. Quarles, thy Light's divine,
And it shall teach, Darkness it self, to shine.
Each word revives thy Fathers name, his art
Is well imprinted in thy noble heart.
I've read thy pleasing lines, wherein I find
The rare Endeavors of a modest mind.
Proceed as well as thou hast well begun,
That we may see the Father by the Son.
R. L.
TO My much esteemed Friend the AUTHOR, On his Book intitled Fons Lachrymarum.
Thou prov'st Prophetick in thy doleful MuseWhilst it the Prophets mournful tears renew
Yet e're thy tears be spent, may England stand
In her first glory, rais'd by Charls his hand.
Then may each drop (to add unto her grace)
Turn solid pearl, and beautifie her face:
There, whilest in native brightness fix'd they be
Their radiant lustre shall reflect on thee.
Rich. Quiney.
1
Englands Complaint.
Experience tells us those that are in pain,
Need neither Act nor Ord'nance to complain:
Griefs have their priviledg, whose passions break
All Laws, and Losers claim a power to speak.
If passion be too rude (Reader) excuse;
Grief knows no manners, sorrow needs no Muse.
But stay my hasty quill, forbear, I know
Thou art too young, too tender yet to go
Without a guide, a guide that may direct
Thy staggering feet; A guide that may protect
Thy Infant years. Do not too much endeavour;
Need neither Act nor Ord'nance to complain:
Griefs have their priviledg, whose passions break
All Laws, and Losers claim a power to speak.
If passion be too rude (Reader) excuse;
Grief knows no manners, sorrow needs no Muse.
But stay my hasty quill, forbear, I know
Thou art too young, too tender yet to go
Without a guide, a guide that may direct
Thy staggering feet; A guide that may protect
Thy Infant years. Do not too much endeavour;
A fall, at first, will make thee lame for ever.
Invoke the Nine, and if they do deny
To give thee ayd, complain to Mercury
Tell him, thou art a babe, and dost desire
To warm thy genius by the Muses fire.
Where are Apollo's off-springs? are they ty'd
In sorrows chains, e're since Mecænas dy'd?
Or are their Helleconian waters spent?
Or do they stay t'expect a Complement?
I wonder what they mean, to be thus slow,
In former times they'd run, they'l now scarce go:
My heedless Muse, dost thou not understand
Th'are all distracted and dispers'd the Land?
Only Melpomene, who now appears
Like Niobie, a monument of tears.
Knowst thou not this (rash Muse) then how canst thou
Implore a help from them that know not how
To help themselves? Nay Pegasus is made
A poor Dragoon; his friends are all betraide:
Though all distracted, and thus routed be,
Yet, helpless Muse, there's Heav'n to succor thee:
Then hear me Heaven, Oh hear me, now I sue,
Th'art my Apollo, be Mecænas too;
And great Conductor of my soul, inspire
My frozen heart with thy celestial fire:
Light thou my Candle, Oh then I shall see,
By thy own Light, how to discover thee;
Inflame my frozen senses with thy Spirit,
That I may learn to live, and live t'inherit
The glory of thy Kingdom, and to rest
Where joys are greater then can be exprest;
And so go on, but stay rash quill, and know
What 'tis to be ingag'd, before you go
Too far; Be careful these bad times, unless
Your rash adventure want a good success:
Be wary what you do; these are no times
To please fond fancies with lascivious Rhymes.
Be circumspect; Let every word you write
Be Truth, and then let every word invite
A tear; each tear, a sigh; that every Eye,
That reads, may melt into an Elegy.
And curs'd be that dull eye, that will not lend
A tear, or two, to see poor England spend
Weeks, months, & years, in sighs, in sobs, in groans,
In tears, in pray'rs, and wil't not move the stones?
Vollies of tears, discharged from her eyes,
Shake Heaven and Earth, and penetrate the skies
With sad complaints; heav'n mourns at her conditiō
And weeps down showrs of tears at her Petition:
Then rouze, ye Britains, from your flattering sleep,
Hear Englands groans, thus she begins to weep;
Invoke the Nine, and if they do deny
To give thee ayd, complain to Mercury
Tell him, thou art a babe, and dost desire
To warm thy genius by the Muses fire.
Where are Apollo's off-springs? are they ty'd
In sorrows chains, e're since Mecænas dy'd?
Or are their Helleconian waters spent?
Or do they stay t'expect a Complement?
I wonder what they mean, to be thus slow,
In former times they'd run, they'l now scarce go:
2
Th'are all distracted and dispers'd the Land?
Only Melpomene, who now appears
Like Niobie, a monument of tears.
Knowst thou not this (rash Muse) then how canst thou
Implore a help from them that know not how
To help themselves? Nay Pegasus is made
A poor Dragoon; his friends are all betraide:
Though all distracted, and thus routed be,
Yet, helpless Muse, there's Heav'n to succor thee:
Then hear me Heaven, Oh hear me, now I sue,
Th'art my Apollo, be Mecænas too;
And great Conductor of my soul, inspire
My frozen heart with thy celestial fire:
Light thou my Candle, Oh then I shall see,
By thy own Light, how to discover thee;
Inflame my frozen senses with thy Spirit,
That I may learn to live, and live t'inherit
The glory of thy Kingdom, and to rest
Where joys are greater then can be exprest;
And so go on, but stay rash quill, and know
What 'tis to be ingag'd, before you go
Too far; Be careful these bad times, unless
Your rash adventure want a good success:
Be wary what you do; these are no times
To please fond fancies with lascivious Rhymes.
Be circumspect; Let every word you write
Be Truth, and then let every word invite
A tear; each tear, a sigh; that every Eye,
That reads, may melt into an Elegy.
3
A tear, or two, to see poor England spend
Weeks, months, & years, in sighs, in sobs, in groans,
In tears, in pray'rs, and wil't not move the stones?
Vollies of tears, discharged from her eyes,
Shake Heaven and Earth, and penetrate the skies
With sad complaints; heav'n mourns at her conditiō
And weeps down showrs of tears at her Petition:
Then rouze, ye Britains, from your flattering sleep,
Hear Englands groans, thus she begins to weep;
No Peace, no ease no pleasure; is all gone,
Pursu'd with envy and rebellion?
Whither, oh whither, are my glories sent;
Banisht my brest by Act of Parliament?
Vertue is fled, and scar'd into a trance
By the ill shape of Bugbear ignorance.
What mists are these that thus eclipse the light
Of splendent truth? From whence proceeds this night
Of darkning Errors? how am I beguil'd
Of all my joys? Nay, how am I defil'd
With leprous humors? Oh how grief transports
My frightned sense! what envy's this resorts
Unto my swelling brest? Is there no mean,
No pleasing Musick to divide my scean?
Were I an Atlas, I could not sustain
This Firmament of grief: who can refrain
From falling, that's so much opprest as I
With such a burthen of Malignity?
Where shall I run, to whom shall I address
My burthened self, or how shall I express
My uncontrouled sorrows, or relate
Th'unhappy discord of my factious State?
Where shall I fly? Is there no Ark above
To hide me from these waves? Is there no Dove
To bring me tydings that the Land is clear,
And that the hills of Peace do re-appear?
But must I perish? shall the waves of pride
Dash me in pieces? still a flowing tyde,
Still flow, and never ebb! Is there no bliss?
Wonder sad soul! Oh what an Ocean's this!
Ambitious winds, why rage ye more and more,
And make the seas thus envy at the shore?
Is there no Peter can pray Heaven to please
To check the winds, and quallifie the seas?
Am I the worst of all? Is my condition
So bad, that there is no Petition
Can have an audience? Ah my conscience saith,
I've Peters fears, but yet want Peters faith:
Pursu'd with envy and rebellion?
Whither, oh whither, are my glories sent;
Banisht my brest by Act of Parliament?
Vertue is fled, and scar'd into a trance
By the ill shape of Bugbear ignorance.
What mists are these that thus eclipse the light
Of splendent truth? From whence proceeds this night
Of darkning Errors? how am I beguil'd
Of all my joys? Nay, how am I defil'd
With leprous humors? Oh how grief transports
My frightned sense! what envy's this resorts
Unto my swelling brest? Is there no mean,
No pleasing Musick to divide my scean?
Were I an Atlas, I could not sustain
This Firmament of grief: who can refrain
From falling, that's so much opprest as I
With such a burthen of Malignity?
Where shall I run, to whom shall I address
My burthened self, or how shall I express
4
Th'unhappy discord of my factious State?
Where shall I fly? Is there no Ark above
To hide me from these waves? Is there no Dove
To bring me tydings that the Land is clear,
And that the hills of Peace do re-appear?
But must I perish? shall the waves of pride
Dash me in pieces? still a flowing tyde,
Still flow, and never ebb! Is there no bliss?
Wonder sad soul! Oh what an Ocean's this!
Ambitious winds, why rage ye more and more,
And make the seas thus envy at the shore?
Is there no Peter can pray Heaven to please
To check the winds, and quallifie the seas?
Am I the worst of all? Is my condition
So bad, that there is no Petition
Can have an audience? Ah my conscience saith,
I've Peters fears, but yet want Peters faith:
Here let us stop a little, and advise
With flesh and blood; Can greater wants arise,
To damage souls, then faith, whose want procures
All these extreams, which my poor heart endures?
Oh, no, there cannot: he that wants the hand
Of soul-supporting faith, forgets to stand:
This is my want, and till I find relief,
I'le lie and tumble in the shades of grief,
And glut the ayr with sighs; my hideous cries
Shall roar like thunder in the troubled skies:
Oh that my eyes were Oceans, that I may
Drown all my sorrows in one stormy day;
Or would pleas'd Heaven, enable me to strain,
To gulp up seas, and weep them out again,
Then should my briny streams gush forth so fast,
That every tear should strive to be the last;
So the swift current of my swelling eyes
Should overflow my heap'd up miseries:
With flesh and blood; Can greater wants arise,
To damage souls, then faith, whose want procures
All these extreams, which my poor heart endures?
Oh, no, there cannot: he that wants the hand
Of soul-supporting faith, forgets to stand:
This is my want, and till I find relief,
I'le lie and tumble in the shades of grief,
And glut the ayr with sighs; my hideous cries
Shall roar like thunder in the troubled skies:
Oh that my eyes were Oceans, that I may
Drown all my sorrows in one stormy day;
5
To gulp up seas, and weep them out again,
Then should my briny streams gush forth so fast,
That every tear should strive to be the last;
So the swift current of my swelling eyes
Should overflow my heap'd up miseries:
I have offended Heaven, and now I see
My sins are walls betwixt my God and me,
Which stop the passage of my fervent prayers,
That there is no prevailing but by tears,
To batter down the wall that thus prevents
My cries, my vows, and hinders my intents
To Heav'n, that Heaven can send me no relief,
Nor take me from this labyrinth of grief:
My sins are walls betwixt my God and me,
Which stop the passage of my fervent prayers,
That there is no prevailing but by tears,
To batter down the wall that thus prevents
My cries, my vows, and hinders my intents
To Heav'n, that Heaven can send me no relief,
Nor take me from this labyrinth of grief:
Gone are my golden, my forgotten days,
When every bird could whistle forth my praise:
When every bird could whistle forth my praise:
Gone are those days, when this consuming earth
Was stuffd with pleasure, & perfum'd with mirth:
Though all be gone, yet will I strive t'endure;
He that hath made the wound, can make the cure:
For now I'm wounded, and my wounds do smart
Beyond my Patience; and my tender heart,
Swell'd up with sorrow, doth predestinate
What wo must happen to my bleeding State;
My head, my head's tormented; and my eyes
Are dim, with gazing after vanities:
My members swell, like Oceans, and from thence
Proceeds so great, so large a confluence
Of noisom humors, and they run so thick
That they surcharge, and make my stomack sick:
I'ave purg'd already, and that will not do,
I fear, I fear, that I must vomit too:
I doubt 'tis too much Action that hath bred
These ill diseases that disturb my head:
Oh I am sick to death, my bowels yern!
I freez, I freez, and whilest I freez, I burn;
I burn, I melt, my soul is parch'd within,
(How hot's the furnace of tormenting sin?)
And Ah! how soon is feebled nature lam'd
With joynt-contracting cold; If not inflam'd
By Heavens enlivening fire! how hot's my blood
To what is bad, and Ah, how cold to good!
Oh grief! how two extreams perplex one heart,
So link'd together, that they cannot part!
Thus am I tost, and doubtfully opprest
Beneath the burthen of a dubious brest:
Nothing but Wars, and tumults do arise;
Thrice happy I, had I known how to prize
My happiness; Alas I ne're did know
The good of peace, til Heav'n was pleasd to show:
War makes me know, what joy it was before
To live in Peace and plenty, now the more.
I wish, I want, and now I know by this,
This want of Peace; what a combining bliss
It was to live united, and to praise
That God of Peace, that blest my peaceful days
With large increase; Oh misery to think
Loaded with too much pleasure how I sink.
I that was wont to boast my heaps of treasure
Now swim in sorrow, and now sink in pleasure:
I that the world did envy, now am brought
To be not worth the env'ing, worse then nought,
Revil'd by all; see how the hand of Fate
Hath pleas'd to make me thus unfortunate;
What shall I do? what physick can procure
A little ease? I cannot long endure.
Where are my grave Divines to give advice
To a relapsing soul? are they grown nice
Of late? Are their conspiring hearts agreed
T'absent themselves in this my time of need?
What do they mean? Oh whither are they fled?
Sure, sure, they're silenc'd all, or else all dead:
Do they not see me falling? do they stand
Amaz'd, not daring to afford a hand
To help me up? me thinks I hear them cry
That they are falling too, as well as I:
Where is Religion that was wont to be
The Governor of Peace, the branched tree
That ever flourish'd? see, now every Clown
Being authoriz'd presumes to cut her down.
Will they still strive with swords, with guns, with clubs
To pickle my Religion up in tubs?
Have they no Reason, hath their greedy zeal
Swallow'd up all their Senses at one meal?
Have they agreed that Piety and Reason
Shall be condemn'd, and voted into Treason?
Or hath their hell-bred thoughts found out a way
To turn our Sion to a Golgotha?
Hath the Tartarian counseller invented
Such thriving plots which cannot be prevented?
Leave of base Acts, Mechanicks, and begin
To deal uprightly and reform within;
Bury your aged crimes, and then go call
Your stragling senses to the Funeral:
Adjourn your thoughts, which now are quite contrary
To Peace, and think a peace is necessary.
Honor your higher Powers, and do not mock,
And vilifie them as your laughing stock.
Was stuffd with pleasure, & perfum'd with mirth:
Though all be gone, yet will I strive t'endure;
He that hath made the wound, can make the cure:
For now I'm wounded, and my wounds do smart
Beyond my Patience; and my tender heart,
Swell'd up with sorrow, doth predestinate
What wo must happen to my bleeding State;
My head, my head's tormented; and my eyes
Are dim, with gazing after vanities:
My members swell, like Oceans, and from thence
Proceeds so great, so large a confluence
Of noisom humors, and they run so thick
That they surcharge, and make my stomack sick:
6
I fear, I fear, that I must vomit too:
I doubt 'tis too much Action that hath bred
These ill diseases that disturb my head:
Oh I am sick to death, my bowels yern!
I freez, I freez, and whilest I freez, I burn;
I burn, I melt, my soul is parch'd within,
(How hot's the furnace of tormenting sin?)
And Ah! how soon is feebled nature lam'd
With joynt-contracting cold; If not inflam'd
By Heavens enlivening fire! how hot's my blood
To what is bad, and Ah, how cold to good!
Oh grief! how two extreams perplex one heart,
So link'd together, that they cannot part!
Thus am I tost, and doubtfully opprest
Beneath the burthen of a dubious brest:
Nothing but Wars, and tumults do arise;
Thrice happy I, had I known how to prize
My happiness; Alas I ne're did know
The good of peace, til Heav'n was pleasd to show:
War makes me know, what joy it was before
To live in Peace and plenty, now the more.
I wish, I want, and now I know by this,
This want of Peace; what a combining bliss
It was to live united, and to praise
That God of Peace, that blest my peaceful days
With large increase; Oh misery to think
Loaded with too much pleasure how I sink.
I that was wont to boast my heaps of treasure
Now swim in sorrow, and now sink in pleasure:
7
To be not worth the env'ing, worse then nought,
Revil'd by all; see how the hand of Fate
Hath pleas'd to make me thus unfortunate;
What shall I do? what physick can procure
A little ease? I cannot long endure.
Where are my grave Divines to give advice
To a relapsing soul? are they grown nice
Of late? Are their conspiring hearts agreed
T'absent themselves in this my time of need?
What do they mean? Oh whither are they fled?
Sure, sure, they're silenc'd all, or else all dead:
Do they not see me falling? do they stand
Amaz'd, not daring to afford a hand
To help me up? me thinks I hear them cry
That they are falling too, as well as I:
Where is Religion that was wont to be
The Governor of Peace, the branched tree
That ever flourish'd? see, now every Clown
Being authoriz'd presumes to cut her down.
Will they still strive with swords, with guns, with clubs
To pickle my Religion up in tubs?
Have they no Reason, hath their greedy zeal
Swallow'd up all their Senses at one meal?
Have they agreed that Piety and Reason
Shall be condemn'd, and voted into Treason?
Or hath their hell-bred thoughts found out a way
To turn our Sion to a Golgotha?
Hath the Tartarian counseller invented
Such thriving plots which cannot be prevented?
8
To deal uprightly and reform within;
Bury your aged crimes, and then go call
Your stragling senses to the Funeral:
Adjourn your thoughts, which now are quite contrary
To Peace, and think a peace is necessary.
Honor your higher Powers, and do not mock,
And vilifie them as your laughing stock.
There are a brain-sick multitude, a rabble
Of all Religions that do dayly squabble
About vain shades, and let the substance pass,
Hating good manners as they hate the Mass:
'Tis such as these which thus my woes advance,
Whose very souls are starv'd with ignorance:
'Tis such as these who daily strive to smother
The truth with flattring zeal, & call him brother,
Nay, holy brother, though his faith be small,
If he can rail, and reverently baul
Against grave Bishops, and their pious King,
Oh this is holy, nay a zealous thing:
And those are holy that can pray by chance
According to the Spirits influence,
And teach their prick-ear'd brethren to deny
The Common Prayer, but know no reason why;
And those whose great humility can be
Content to make a Pulpit in a tree,
Or in some Barn, there by the Spirit pray
Five or six hours, not caring what they say:
Or if a Black-smith, or a Tinker can
Hammer out Treason, he's a zealous man.
Or if a learned Cobler will be sure
To stitch it close, oh he's a Christian pure!
Oh these are holy, yea, and learned Teachers,
These are Divines, and only these are Preachers:
They'l cry all learned Prelats out of season,
They must not preach, for fear they should speak reasō.
Oh these are they, whose ruder tongues can cry.
Advance Mechanicks, down with Majesty:
These, these, are they, whose dūghil thoughts could never
Attain perfection, but they still endeavor
To banish wisdom, that at last they may
Make all the world as ignorant as they.
See how they'ave turn'd my joy to griping sadnes,
Plenty to want, and peace to downright madnes;
Vertue to vice, and chastity to vainness,
Learning to scorn, Religion to prophaness,
Flattry to zeal, and non-sense unto Reason,
Honor to shame, and Loyalty to Treason,
Pity to murther, truth to feigned lyes,
Prayers to curses, plundring to a prize:
Thus, thus, they gripe my soul, and go about
To change my shape, and turn my inside, out.
Unhumane Actions, Ah who can behold
Such Tyrannies, and not his blood grow cold!
Break, break, ye flood-gates of my brim-filld eyes,
And let my tears have passage to surprize
This fort of sorrow, and tumultuous cares,
And drench the mountains in a sea of tears.
Of all Religions that do dayly squabble
About vain shades, and let the substance pass,
Hating good manners as they hate the Mass:
'Tis such as these which thus my woes advance,
Whose very souls are starv'd with ignorance:
'Tis such as these who daily strive to smother
The truth with flattring zeal, & call him brother,
Nay, holy brother, though his faith be small,
If he can rail, and reverently baul
Against grave Bishops, and their pious King,
Oh this is holy, nay a zealous thing:
And those are holy that can pray by chance
According to the Spirits influence,
And teach their prick-ear'd brethren to deny
The Common Prayer, but know no reason why;
And those whose great humility can be
Content to make a Pulpit in a tree,
Or in some Barn, there by the Spirit pray
Five or six hours, not caring what they say:
Or if a Black-smith, or a Tinker can
Hammer out Treason, he's a zealous man.
9
To stitch it close, oh he's a Christian pure!
Oh these are holy, yea, and learned Teachers,
These are Divines, and only these are Preachers:
They'l cry all learned Prelats out of season,
They must not preach, for fear they should speak reasō.
Oh these are they, whose ruder tongues can cry.
Advance Mechanicks, down with Majesty:
These, these, are they, whose dūghil thoughts could never
Attain perfection, but they still endeavor
To banish wisdom, that at last they may
Make all the world as ignorant as they.
See how they'ave turn'd my joy to griping sadnes,
Plenty to want, and peace to downright madnes;
Vertue to vice, and chastity to vainness,
Learning to scorn, Religion to prophaness,
Flattry to zeal, and non-sense unto Reason,
Honor to shame, and Loyalty to Treason,
Pity to murther, truth to feigned lyes,
Prayers to curses, plundring to a prize:
Thus, thus, they gripe my soul, and go about
To change my shape, and turn my inside, out.
Unhumane Actions, Ah who can behold
Such Tyrannies, and not his blood grow cold!
Break, break, ye flood-gates of my brim-filld eyes,
And let my tears have passage to surprize
This fort of sorrow, and tumultuous cares,
And drench the mountains in a sea of tears.
Forbear, ye lowring skies; there is no need
Ye should disburse a showre: I have agreed
With sorrow, and his powers, still to remain
Clouded with grief, and fill the earth with rain;
Oh horrid, dismal, Heav'n-provoking times,
Surpassing Sodoms; nay Gomorrah's crimes
Were ne're so bad; Oh Hel-invented fate,
Worse then the worst that I can nominate.
Are these my people, for whose sakes I lie
Involv'd with torments, wrap't in Tyranny?
Are these my Sons, whose sorrows now I weep?
Are these my children, that are lul'd asleep?
See how secure they rest, and never fear
Approaching woe; mine eyes, can ye forbear.
To vent ten thousand tears? oh never let
Your lids conceal you til y'ave paid the debt
Ye owe to sorrow, for those sins which thirst
For greater plenty, then can be disburst:
Oh sigh, sad soul, until thy heart be sore,
Then sigh, because thou canst not sigh no more.
Oh that my voice, like thunderclaps could tear,
And split the portals of each deafned ear.
That so my cries, might ravish every brain,
And fil'd with horror, make them deaf again.
And this I wish, because my Sons are all
So deaf, they will not hear me when I call:
Did they not flourish in a peaceful state,
Injoying store of all things, till of late,
They grew thus factious? and have I not been,
In former times, the worlds admired Queen?
Have not all Nations formerly been proud
To do me service? have they not allow'd
A due respect unto me every where,
And honored me, if not for love, for fear?
And must I now by your, your, means incur,
As many plagues, as mischief can infer?
Must I now pine away, that have been strong?
Must I now stoop, that have stood up so long?
Must I be now subordinate to those
That never dar'd subscribe themselves my foes?
Must I be now divided, that was never
Divided yet? Must I be lost for ever?
Must I be now consumed and thrown down?
And must they scoff me now, that dar'd not frown
In former times? Must I be now confounded?
Must I be now revil'd, and cal'd a Roundhead?
Must I be now nick-nam'd? Must frighted fame
Sound a Retreat, and scorn to own my name?
Must I be now dispers'd? Must my own hand
Destroy the bounty of my fruitful Land?
Oh grief-transcending thought, shall Englands glory
Be thus abstracted, and thus made a story
To after ages? Would not this perplex
A soul, that never knew, what 'twas to vex?
What grief can equalize my grief? What pain
Can be equivalent? would any gain
Eperience? If they would, may they incline
themselves to this experienc'd grief of mine:
Ah grief of days: what marble eye can read
Of such extreams as mine, and never bleed?
'Twould dull the sharpest brain to meditate
Upon my grief; nay, make them desperate.
Had Nero liv'd in this tempestuous age,
He might have blusht to see his boiling rage,
Out-vied by yours; nay, Chorah and his crew
Never pursu'd their Moses, as ye do,
With such untutor'd violence; 'tis strange,
Oh whither will your headlong fury range?
Advise by times, and know there is a God
That overlooks you: Know, that Moses Rod
May turn a greedy Serpent, and devour,
As well the greater, as the smaller power.
Go, go ye sad contrivers of these times,
Consult with sorrow: Think on all those crimes
Ye have committed; and then think what you
Have done, and after what ye have to do.
Advise with care, for your condition's such,
Y'ave much to do, because y'ave done too much.
Too much; Alas too much in my sad state
Is done already; and I fear too late
For remedy: And secret danger lies
In dull delay: 'tis wisdom to advise
Betimes; for true and timely care prevents
Untimely ruin, hindring the intents
Of studied malice; industry prepares
A balm for that which negligence impairs.
Those that by dreaming sloth, sustain a loss,
Obtain least pitty, and the greatest cross.
Consider what a grief 'twill be to see
The sad destruction of this Monarchie
Wrought by your slothful negligence, when all
My lofty structures, by your hands must fall:
Nay, worse then this, when famine shall devour
What fire, and sword hath left; when every hour
The Bells shall toul, with such a feeble sound,
As if that they themselves, a want had found.
Will it not melt a stone to hear the cries
Of hungry children, and the sad replies
Of their dejected friends? who can forbear
To think on this, and never shed a tear?
How children cry for bread, and fain would rest,
Seeking protections in their mothers brest.
Alas poor Orphans, how are they beguil'd,
When the sad mother's forc'd to eat the child
For want of food, & make their blood their drink!
Oh what a wounding sorrow 'tis to think
How all will be destroyd, both young and old,
How warm blood will be mingled with the cold!
How you will roar and cry for want of bread,
Some on the ground, some dying, and some dead;
Some gnaw their flesh, and some fight who shall eat
Each other; Oh uncomfortable meat.
And then the ravening Wolves seek up and down
To find a prey, in every starved town,
Shall eat deaths reliques; having spent that store,
Shall ransack up and down, and howl for more.
All beasts and fouls, shall then amazed stand,
To see the Sea is turn'd into a Land:
The Land into a Sea, a Red Sea, where
Nothing but bones, insteed of fishes are.
Where nothing's heard, but cries, and shrieks, and groans,
Where nothing's seen, except consuming bones.
Oh had you but the power to apprehend
These sad destructive dangers, how they tend
Daily towards us, with all the power that they
Can make, as if they'd rout us in one day:
Dull sons of men, have ye forgot to rise,
And draw the Curtains of your slumbring eyes?
Methinks this hot Alarum should affright
Your souls for ever from your fond delight!
What do ye mean? ye cannot chuse but hear
Heav'ns thundering Judgments rattling in your ear
What have ye sworn Allegiance to the Prince
Of utter darkness? Will no words convince
Your Stubborn souls? Has a perpetuall vow
Been lately past, betwixt Hells Prince and you?
Why do ye thus delight to overthrow
Your selves, and lose a Kingdom at one blow?
Oh where are my grave Rulers to correct
These their enormous humours, that infect
The world with Errors? To what fatall place
Are all my Senators retired?
Ye should disburse a showre: I have agreed
10
Clouded with grief, and fill the earth with rain;
Oh horrid, dismal, Heav'n-provoking times,
Surpassing Sodoms; nay Gomorrah's crimes
Were ne're so bad; Oh Hel-invented fate,
Worse then the worst that I can nominate.
Are these my people, for whose sakes I lie
Involv'd with torments, wrap't in Tyranny?
Are these my Sons, whose sorrows now I weep?
Are these my children, that are lul'd asleep?
See how secure they rest, and never fear
Approaching woe; mine eyes, can ye forbear.
To vent ten thousand tears? oh never let
Your lids conceal you til y'ave paid the debt
Ye owe to sorrow, for those sins which thirst
For greater plenty, then can be disburst:
Oh sigh, sad soul, until thy heart be sore,
Then sigh, because thou canst not sigh no more.
Oh that my voice, like thunderclaps could tear,
And split the portals of each deafned ear.
That so my cries, might ravish every brain,
And fil'd with horror, make them deaf again.
And this I wish, because my Sons are all
So deaf, they will not hear me when I call:
Did they not flourish in a peaceful state,
Injoying store of all things, till of late,
They grew thus factious? and have I not been,
In former times, the worlds admired Queen?
Have not all Nations formerly been proud
To do me service? have they not allow'd
11
And honored me, if not for love, for fear?
And must I now by your, your, means incur,
As many plagues, as mischief can infer?
Must I now pine away, that have been strong?
Must I now stoop, that have stood up so long?
Must I be now subordinate to those
That never dar'd subscribe themselves my foes?
Must I be now divided, that was never
Divided yet? Must I be lost for ever?
Must I be now consumed and thrown down?
And must they scoff me now, that dar'd not frown
In former times? Must I be now confounded?
Must I be now revil'd, and cal'd a Roundhead?
Must I be now nick-nam'd? Must frighted fame
Sound a Retreat, and scorn to own my name?
Must I be now dispers'd? Must my own hand
Destroy the bounty of my fruitful Land?
Oh grief-transcending thought, shall Englands glory
Be thus abstracted, and thus made a story
To after ages? Would not this perplex
A soul, that never knew, what 'twas to vex?
What grief can equalize my grief? What pain
Can be equivalent? would any gain
Eperience? If they would, may they incline
themselves to this experienc'd grief of mine:
Ah grief of days: what marble eye can read
Of such extreams as mine, and never bleed?
'Twould dull the sharpest brain to meditate
Upon my grief; nay, make them desperate.
12
He might have blusht to see his boiling rage,
Out-vied by yours; nay, Chorah and his crew
Never pursu'd their Moses, as ye do,
With such untutor'd violence; 'tis strange,
Oh whither will your headlong fury range?
Advise by times, and know there is a God
That overlooks you: Know, that Moses Rod
May turn a greedy Serpent, and devour,
As well the greater, as the smaller power.
Go, go ye sad contrivers of these times,
Consult with sorrow: Think on all those crimes
Ye have committed; and then think what you
Have done, and after what ye have to do.
Advise with care, for your condition's such,
Y'ave much to do, because y'ave done too much.
Too much; Alas too much in my sad state
Is done already; and I fear too late
For remedy: And secret danger lies
In dull delay: 'tis wisdom to advise
Betimes; for true and timely care prevents
Untimely ruin, hindring the intents
Of studied malice; industry prepares
A balm for that which negligence impairs.
Those that by dreaming sloth, sustain a loss,
Obtain least pitty, and the greatest cross.
Consider what a grief 'twill be to see
The sad destruction of this Monarchie
Wrought by your slothful negligence, when all
My lofty structures, by your hands must fall:
13
What fire, and sword hath left; when every hour
The Bells shall toul, with such a feeble sound,
As if that they themselves, a want had found.
Will it not melt a stone to hear the cries
Of hungry children, and the sad replies
Of their dejected friends? who can forbear
To think on this, and never shed a tear?
How children cry for bread, and fain would rest,
Seeking protections in their mothers brest.
Alas poor Orphans, how are they beguil'd,
When the sad mother's forc'd to eat the child
For want of food, & make their blood their drink!
Oh what a wounding sorrow 'tis to think
How all will be destroyd, both young and old,
How warm blood will be mingled with the cold!
How you will roar and cry for want of bread,
Some on the ground, some dying, and some dead;
Some gnaw their flesh, and some fight who shall eat
Each other; Oh uncomfortable meat.
And then the ravening Wolves seek up and down
To find a prey, in every starved town,
Shall eat deaths reliques; having spent that store,
Shall ransack up and down, and howl for more.
All beasts and fouls, shall then amazed stand,
To see the Sea is turn'd into a Land:
The Land into a Sea, a Red Sea, where
Nothing but bones, insteed of fishes are.
Where nothing's heard, but cries, and shrieks, and groans,
Where nothing's seen, except consuming bones.
14
These sad destructive dangers, how they tend
Daily towards us, with all the power that they
Can make, as if they'd rout us in one day:
Dull sons of men, have ye forgot to rise,
And draw the Curtains of your slumbring eyes?
Methinks this hot Alarum should affright
Your souls for ever from your fond delight!
What do ye mean? ye cannot chuse but hear
Heav'ns thundering Judgments rattling in your ear
What have ye sworn Allegiance to the Prince
Of utter darkness? Will no words convince
Your Stubborn souls? Has a perpetuall vow
Been lately past, betwixt Hells Prince and you?
Why do ye thus delight to overthrow
Your selves, and lose a Kingdom at one blow?
Oh where are my grave Rulers to correct
These their enormous humours, that infect
The world with Errors? To what fatall place
Are all my Senators retired?
You my Triennial Powers; come and dispose
Your ears to my discourse; and Ile disclose
My grief to you, whose Judgments can prescribe
A timely remedy without a bribe.
Then hark!
Your ears to my discourse; and Ile disclose
My grief to you, whose Judgments can prescribe
A timely remedy without a bribe.
Then hark!
The climing power of my disease is grown
To such a height, that I can hardly own
A minutes rest; my body politick
You apprehend (I know) is very sick:
Then let the depth of understanding move
The depth of pitty, that ye may remove
These growing inconveniences, that moan
For your assistance: Can a Kingdom groan,
And not be heard? Can a disease remain
Within my body, and not I complain
Of what I suffer? That were Tyrannie
Not to be paraleld. O pitty me,
And let the fervour of my language turn
Your thoughts to tears, to quench those flames that burn
My wasting intrals: Let your hearts relent
With meditating on my discontent:
Open your willing ears, and hear me call;
Oh do not fall aslumbring whilst I fall:
Oh hear me soon, that now complain too late:
Let my complaints make you compassionate;
Dissolve into a Sea of tears. Involve
Your selves with sackcloth. Let your minds revolve
Upon your native soil; resolve to spend
Your greatest skils, to consummate the end
Of my distractions; and let mercy joyn
With justice; so shall endless love combine
Your souls: That like Ezekiels wheels ye may
Run one within another, and not stray:
But like Isaiahs Seraphims, may cry,
O holy, holy, holy God on high.
To such a height, that I can hardly own
A minutes rest; my body politick
You apprehend (I know) is very sick:
15
The depth of pitty, that ye may remove
These growing inconveniences, that moan
For your assistance: Can a Kingdom groan,
And not be heard? Can a disease remain
Within my body, and not I complain
Of what I suffer? That were Tyrannie
Not to be paraleld. O pitty me,
And let the fervour of my language turn
Your thoughts to tears, to quench those flames that burn
My wasting intrals: Let your hearts relent
With meditating on my discontent:
Open your willing ears, and hear me call;
Oh do not fall aslumbring whilst I fall:
Oh hear me soon, that now complain too late:
Let my complaints make you compassionate;
Dissolve into a Sea of tears. Involve
Your selves with sackcloth. Let your minds revolve
Upon your native soil; resolve to spend
Your greatest skils, to consummate the end
Of my distractions; and let mercy joyn
With justice; so shall endless love combine
Your souls: That like Ezekiels wheels ye may
Run one within another, and not stray:
But like Isaiahs Seraphims, may cry,
O holy, holy, holy God on high.
But stay? nor can I end, my griefs must fly
A little further; Mountains that are high
Must be discovered: Molehills often times
Lie out of sight, like undiscovered crimes.
A publike sorrow oftentimes admits
A cure from them, whose more concreted wits
Do daily study with more active arts
More publique mischief with more private heart
Doth not the fawning Crocodile obtain
By publique sorrow her more private gain?
Doth not the crafty Lapwing cry the least,
When she is nearest to her close-made nest?
Are there not those in this conniving age,
Whose outward meekness is but inward rage?
Are there not those in these contentious times,
That live by nothing, but their private crimes?
Oh, grief to speak it: Are there not a sort
Of wilful people, that can make a sport
At others ruins, whose pretended zeal
Hath bred much mischief in this Common-weal?
Are there not those that would pretend to be
Reformers, yet deform a Monarchie?
Are there not those, whose upstart honors crave
Perpetual durance, only to enslave
The Sons of honor? Thus they play the thief,
And joy in nothing, but in others grief.
Are there not those, who in one breath can cry
Against a Lyar, yet can forge a lye
For their advantage, and abjure the Laws?
Lyes are no lyes, if they advance their Cause.
Are there not those that persecute the Arts,
And yet retain Monopolizing hearts?
Are there not those that dayly take delight
To twist themselves into anothers right?
Do not all these, which I have nam'd, pretend
To do all this, to a religious end?
And ah Religion! how art thou betray'd
By those, whose worthless industry have layd
Thine honor in the dust; nay, and have thrown
Dirt in their faces, that shall dare to own
Thy very name? these are a sort of people
That love no Church, because they hate the steeple:
I dare affirm, that Proteus ne're could be
So much transform'd, as they have transform'd thee:
Nor can I yet conclude; I must deplore
My greater sorrows, yet a little more:
Let no man take exceptions, for I speak
Unto my self; sorrow must find a leak.
I cannot hold; and oh that I were able
To make my feeble tongue infatigable,
That by my full expressions, I may prove
How much the Serpent over-rules the Dove.
A little further; Mountains that are high
Must be discovered: Molehills often times
Lie out of sight, like undiscovered crimes.
16
A cure from them, whose more concreted wits
Do daily study with more active arts
More publique mischief with more private heart
Doth not the fawning Crocodile obtain
By publique sorrow her more private gain?
Doth not the crafty Lapwing cry the least,
When she is nearest to her close-made nest?
Are there not those in this conniving age,
Whose outward meekness is but inward rage?
Are there not those in these contentious times,
That live by nothing, but their private crimes?
Oh, grief to speak it: Are there not a sort
Of wilful people, that can make a sport
At others ruins, whose pretended zeal
Hath bred much mischief in this Common-weal?
Are there not those that would pretend to be
Reformers, yet deform a Monarchie?
Are there not those, whose upstart honors crave
Perpetual durance, only to enslave
The Sons of honor? Thus they play the thief,
And joy in nothing, but in others grief.
Are there not those, who in one breath can cry
Against a Lyar, yet can forge a lye
For their advantage, and abjure the Laws?
Lyes are no lyes, if they advance their Cause.
Are there not those that persecute the Arts,
And yet retain Monopolizing hearts?
Are there not those that dayly take delight
To twist themselves into anothers right?
17
To do all this, to a religious end?
And ah Religion! how art thou betray'd
By those, whose worthless industry have layd
Thine honor in the dust; nay, and have thrown
Dirt in their faces, that shall dare to own
Thy very name? these are a sort of people
That love no Church, because they hate the steeple:
I dare affirm, that Proteus ne're could be
So much transform'd, as they have transform'd thee:
Nor can I yet conclude; I must deplore
My greater sorrows, yet a little more:
Let no man take exceptions, for I speak
Unto my self; sorrow must find a leak.
I cannot hold; and oh that I were able
To make my feeble tongue infatigable,
That by my full expressions, I may prove
How much the Serpent over-rules the Dove.
There was a time (not long since) when my fits
Had found an expiation, if those wits
(Which prov'd too serpentine) had not delayd
Their too-soon violated vows, and playd
A double game: I even blush to name
What odds they had, and how they lost the game.
The world (though sad) is not so melancholly,
But that it smiles at, and records that folly:
The breach of vows cracks honor, and the loss
Of opportunity, deserves a cross
In honors book; and he that shall neglect
A publike good, shall find a bad respect
In private hearts, and ruine must attend
A publique Actor, for a private end.
Are there not those hate Rome, and yet make room
For Cataline, and labour to entomb
His vile prescriptions in their Romish thoughts,
And yet excuse themselves, and him, from faults?
Do I not see them how they run his paths
With headlong force, and prosecute his Laws?
Do I not see their Agents, how they strive
To ruine others, and to keep alive
Themselves, that liv'd not, till this greedy age
Rak'd them from dunghils, to adorn the Stage
Of Hell-bred Tyranny? Do I not see
How much they'r honor'd for their Tyrannie?
Had found an expiation, if those wits
(Which prov'd too serpentine) had not delayd
Their too-soon violated vows, and playd
A double game: I even blush to name
What odds they had, and how they lost the game.
The world (though sad) is not so melancholly,
But that it smiles at, and records that folly:
The breach of vows cracks honor, and the loss
Of opportunity, deserves a cross
In honors book; and he that shall neglect
A publike good, shall find a bad respect
18
A publique Actor, for a private end.
Are there not those hate Rome, and yet make room
For Cataline, and labour to entomb
His vile prescriptions in their Romish thoughts,
And yet excuse themselves, and him, from faults?
Do I not see them how they run his paths
With headlong force, and prosecute his Laws?
Do I not see their Agents, how they strive
To ruine others, and to keep alive
Themselves, that liv'd not, till this greedy age
Rak'd them from dunghils, to adorn the Stage
Of Hell-bred Tyranny? Do I not see
How much they'r honor'd for their Tyrannie?
The Salamander, when hee's crown'd with fire,
Is in his Kingdom, if his Crown expire,
His life concludes: Tell me what then remains,
Except the reliques of consuming flames.
Is in his Kingdom, if his Crown expire,
His life concludes: Tell me what then remains,
Except the reliques of consuming flames.
Even so the Salamanders of these daies,
(Whose hearts are made of flames) at last will blaze,
And smother into ashes: Thus declin'd,
What can they leave (except a stink) behind?
Each thing must live within it's element;
Discretion tells us, fishes must content
themselves with water; and all things must live
Content, with that which Heav'n was pleas'd to give.
'Tis only man that surfeits with desire:
The earth, the ayr, the water quickning fire:
And all was made for man, and man man was made
Of all these things: Oh let it not be sayd,
That fire predominates, and breeds contest
Within my bowels, and destroys the rest.
Oh strive, now your unruly flames arise,
To quench your hearts with water from your eyes:
Strive not with Cataline, that lavish creature,
To stop great mischiefs, by enacting greater:
(Whose hearts are made of flames) at last will blaze,
And smother into ashes: Thus declin'd,
What can they leave (except a stink) behind?
Each thing must live within it's element;
Discretion tells us, fishes must content
themselves with water; and all things must live
Content, with that which Heav'n was pleas'd to give.
'Tis only man that surfeits with desire:
The earth, the ayr, the water quickning fire:
And all was made for man, and man man was made
Of all these things: Oh let it not be sayd,
19
Within my bowels, and destroys the rest.
Oh strive, now your unruly flames arise,
To quench your hearts with water from your eyes:
Strive not with Cataline, that lavish creature,
To stop great mischiefs, by enacting greater:
But tell me now, how can your thoughts reflect
Upon a Peace, when as ye dis-respect
The principle? 'tis an uncertain way
To gain a Peace by arms; for every day
Will breed new tumults, which will in conclusion
Inviron you with Armies of confusion:
Peace cannot swim in blood, blood cannot stand
Like pools of water in a peaceful Land.
Delight not thus in contraries; forsake
Your former ways, let not your hearts partake
Of blood, and ruine; Heav'n will never own
A blood-bedab'led soul: 'Tis not unknown
How ye have belch'd out oaths, & vow'd to bring
Peace to your Country, honor to your King:
Now wher's your Countries peace? now wher's the glory
Your King was promis'd? Oh nefandous story!
Can peace and strife cohabitate? Can fame
And glory be imprison'd? 'Tis your shame,
Not his dishonor, that ye perpetrate
Such horrid acts: I tremble to relate
What I have suffer'd: Is't not you that have
Exploded all my comforts? You that crave
(Like greedy Cormorants) still more and more,
Pretending charity, yet starve the poor?
Was it not you, whose active hands provided
To pull down Crosses, that have thus divided
My yielding people? Can ye now pull down
These Crosses ye have builded? You that crown
Your hearts with malice, will you always stand
In opposition? Will you still command
In spight of fortune? Will ye always be
Majestique too, in spight of Majestie?
I may affirm, that never Nation had
So good a King, whose Subjects are so bad.
Do ye not see how Heav'n hath pleas'd to smile
Upon his soul, and bless him all this while
With long-continued patience? It is he
Whose life, hath given life to Pietie.
He is a second Job, whose patience can
Outvie the base indignities of man:
Go ransake Europe, see if you can find
A more composed Prince, whose noble mind
Can entertain a grief, and never vent
(But turn) his passion into blest content;
Whole volumns of his griefs may be exprest;
And since I dare not speak, Ile weep the rest:
Upon a Peace, when as ye dis-respect
The principle? 'tis an uncertain way
To gain a Peace by arms; for every day
Will breed new tumults, which will in conclusion
Inviron you with Armies of confusion:
Peace cannot swim in blood, blood cannot stand
Like pools of water in a peaceful Land.
Delight not thus in contraries; forsake
Your former ways, let not your hearts partake
Of blood, and ruine; Heav'n will never own
A blood-bedab'led soul: 'Tis not unknown
How ye have belch'd out oaths, & vow'd to bring
Peace to your Country, honor to your King:
Now wher's your Countries peace? now wher's the glory
Your King was promis'd? Oh nefandous story!
Can peace and strife cohabitate? Can fame
And glory be imprison'd? 'Tis your shame,
Not his dishonor, that ye perpetrate
Such horrid acts: I tremble to relate
What I have suffer'd: Is't not you that have
Exploded all my comforts? You that crave
(Like greedy Cormorants) still more and more,
Pretending charity, yet starve the poor?
20
To pull down Crosses, that have thus divided
My yielding people? Can ye now pull down
These Crosses ye have builded? You that crown
Your hearts with malice, will you always stand
In opposition? Will you still command
In spight of fortune? Will ye always be
Majestique too, in spight of Majestie?
I may affirm, that never Nation had
So good a King, whose Subjects are so bad.
Do ye not see how Heav'n hath pleas'd to smile
Upon his soul, and bless him all this while
With long-continued patience? It is he
Whose life, hath given life to Pietie.
He is a second Job, whose patience can
Outvie the base indignities of man:
Go ransake Europe, see if you can find
A more composed Prince, whose noble mind
Can entertain a grief, and never vent
(But turn) his passion into blest content;
Whole volumns of his griefs may be exprest;
And since I dare not speak, Ile weep the rest:
Oh stop my tears, or else my eyes will flow
Into a deluge; for my sorrows know
No mean at all; extreams of tears must fall
For such extreams of grief: Attend me all,
Whose hearts are not too flinty; Ile declare
Your Soveraigns suffering, with your Soveraigns care
How many widowed nights has his sad heart
Worn out with sorrow, having none t impart
His thoughts unto, except he please to spend
His language on the ears of such a friend
As Human was; whose unrestrained power
Punisht his own offence in half an hour.
Judg you, whose hearts have vow'd a double life,
What are th'endearments of a tender wife.
Judg you (what 'tis) whom bounteous Heav'n hath blest,
With numerous off-springs, to be dispossest
Of those encreasing comforts, which discry
No real joy, but in their parents eye.
And if th'enjoyment of these blessings yield
Such large content, needs must the want unshield
The soul of comfort: Oh unhappy fate!
Who'd be a father at so dear a rate?
A wife, unhappy, happy word; a wife
Happy oft-times to an unhappy life:
A wife, that word importeth joys
Unparaleld; that very word destroys
Armies of grief, and oftentimes it brings
A heav'nly sorrow to the hearts of Kings;
And curs'd be they, heav'n gives me leave to speak,
That shall presume to seperate, or break
Conjugal bands; How many in this Land
Lie subject to this curse? how many stand
Amaz'd, almost distracted, that have been
Actors? Heav'n bless my King, protect my Queen;
How many false aspersions have you cast
Upon their heads? Did ye not strive to blast
Their spotless honors? What was spoke of late,
I hate to think, much more to nominate:
Admit it had been truth, then had ye not
Prov'd much un ust, to leave so large a blot
Within this Kingdom: Thus you can discry
Inferior molehills, but let mountains lie.
Into a deluge; for my sorrows know
No mean at all; extreams of tears must fall
For such extreams of grief: Attend me all,
Whose hearts are not too flinty; Ile declare
Your Soveraigns suffering, with your Soveraigns care
How many widowed nights has his sad heart
Worn out with sorrow, having none t impart
21
His language on the ears of such a friend
As Human was; whose unrestrained power
Punisht his own offence in half an hour.
Judg you, whose hearts have vow'd a double life,
What are th'endearments of a tender wife.
Judg you (what 'tis) whom bounteous Heav'n hath blest,
With numerous off-springs, to be dispossest
Of those encreasing comforts, which discry
No real joy, but in their parents eye.
And if th'enjoyment of these blessings yield
Such large content, needs must the want unshield
The soul of comfort: Oh unhappy fate!
Who'd be a father at so dear a rate?
A wife, unhappy, happy word; a wife
Happy oft-times to an unhappy life:
A wife, that word importeth joys
Unparaleld; that very word destroys
Armies of grief, and oftentimes it brings
A heav'nly sorrow to the hearts of Kings;
And curs'd be they, heav'n gives me leave to speak,
That shall presume to seperate, or break
Conjugal bands; How many in this Land
Lie subject to this curse? how many stand
Amaz'd, almost distracted, that have been
Actors? Heav'n bless my King, protect my Queen;
How many false aspersions have you cast
Upon their heads? Did ye not strive to blast
Their spotless honors? What was spoke of late,
I hate to think, much more to nominate:
22
Prov'd much un ust, to leave so large a blot
Within this Kingdom: Thus you can discry
Inferior molehills, but let mountains lie.
But tell me then, is this the only way
To make a glorious King? Heaven grant he may
Want such obnoxious honor, till he crave
Honor from you, to whom he honors gave:
Consider well, and ye will find it true,
'Twas heav'n that made him glorious, & not you:
'Twas he that fill'd his soul with true renown,
And crown'd his Cross as you have crost his crown.
Heav'n breaks no Covenants, he never fails,
He never unvotes what he votes, or rails
Against his enemies, but grieves to see
Their souls run headlong to their destinie.
Abused Peace perverts into a Curse:
What can be better, or what may be worse
Then Peace, whose presence (like the Sun) displays
Its golden ensignes; whose refulgent rays
Adorns the earth, and fills the gazing eye
With glorious light, and peaceful Majesty?
To make a glorious King? Heaven grant he may
Want such obnoxious honor, till he crave
Honor from you, to whom he honors gave:
Consider well, and ye will find it true,
'Twas heav'n that made him glorious, & not you:
'Twas he that fill'd his soul with true renown,
And crown'd his Cross as you have crost his crown.
Heav'n breaks no Covenants, he never fails,
He never unvotes what he votes, or rails
Against his enemies, but grieves to see
Their souls run headlong to their destinie.
Abused Peace perverts into a Curse:
What can be better, or what may be worse
Then Peace, whose presence (like the Sun) displays
Its golden ensignes; whose refulgent rays
Adorns the earth, and fills the gazing eye
With glorious light, and peaceful Majesty?
But when rude Boreas summons all his pow'r,
And argues with the Seas; In half an hour
You may behold a change: they which before
Were wrapt in silence, now begin to rore
Into a fury; contradictions bring
Endless disputes: Shall Boreas be a King,
And rule th'unruly waves? (when surges meet,
How rudely do they part, how rudely greet!)
Whilest peaceful Zephyrus must be deny'd
To breathe upon the floods? Can storms abide
For ever? No: rash Boreas must at last
Submit to Zephyrus; whose milder blast
Proclaims a sudden Peace, and strives to grace
The simp'ring Ocean with a smoother face:
And argues with the Seas; In half an hour
You may behold a change: they which before
Were wrapt in silence, now begin to rore
Into a fury; contradictions bring
Endless disputes: Shall Boreas be a King,
And rule th'unruly waves? (when surges meet,
How rudely do they part, how rudely greet!)
23
To breathe upon the floods? Can storms abide
For ever? No: rash Boreas must at last
Submit to Zephyrus; whose milder blast
Proclaims a sudden Peace, and strives to grace
The simp'ring Ocean with a smoother face:
But whither am I hurried? slack my sails,
I fly beyond my Port; I find the gales
Of grief are too robustuous, and I doubt!
I cannot anchor here, but tack about.
I fly beyond my Port; I find the gales
Of grief are too robustuous, and I doubt!
I cannot anchor here, but tack about.
Seven years are now compleated since my grief
Had its initiation, yet relief
Stands at a distance; Peace is in a doubt
Whether to come within, or stay without.
Your rash proceedings, and your great disgraces
Make Peace even blush to look you in the faces:
Oh miserable men that live to know
Such times, such a reduplicating wo!
Is there no art remains? Is there no way
To set you right, that thus have gone astray?
Is there no faithful Lot to pray for Peace,
And stop the cause, that so th'effect may cease?
Is there no Jonah dare proclaim, and cry
Unto the sons of men, Destruction's nigh?
But are they all asleep, now sorrows swarm?
(Oh how can they repose in such a storm!)
Rouze slumbring souls, and lift your heads above
The decks of negligence; The God of Love
Will be too angry, if you sleep too long:
Advance your thoughts, and let your pray'rs be strong
For me, who am thus weak, and must decay,
Except this grief-encreasing Remora
Be wip'd away; Oh may I not offend
The Auditor of Heav'n, if I shall spend
Some words to this effect; I must confess
Dear God, I am corrupted, I address
My self to thee; Oh let thy healing hand
Prescribe a Balsam for this bleeding Land:
I have been too progressive, grant I may
Be retrograded to my former way:
Spoil not the path because I step'd aside,
Correct my feet, and let the path abide.
What though the path be something rough and small
Better's a rough path then no path at all;
For now I ramble up and down, and see
No certainty, except of miserie.
Is it discretion to pull down a fair
Cathedral Church because one spider's there?
Is is discretion to condemn the Sun
Because the Dial's false? the times must run
Their revolutions; set the Dial right,
Then you'l not want a truth till Sol wants light.
Had its initiation, yet relief
Stands at a distance; Peace is in a doubt
Whether to come within, or stay without.
Your rash proceedings, and your great disgraces
Make Peace even blush to look you in the faces:
Oh miserable men that live to know
Such times, such a reduplicating wo!
Is there no art remains? Is there no way
To set you right, that thus have gone astray?
Is there no faithful Lot to pray for Peace,
And stop the cause, that so th'effect may cease?
Is there no Jonah dare proclaim, and cry
Unto the sons of men, Destruction's nigh?
But are they all asleep, now sorrows swarm?
(Oh how can they repose in such a storm!)
Rouze slumbring souls, and lift your heads above
The decks of negligence; The God of Love
Will be too angry, if you sleep too long:
Advance your thoughts, and let your pray'rs be strong
24
Except this grief-encreasing Remora
Be wip'd away; Oh may I not offend
The Auditor of Heav'n, if I shall spend
Some words to this effect; I must confess
Dear God, I am corrupted, I address
My self to thee; Oh let thy healing hand
Prescribe a Balsam for this bleeding Land:
I have been too progressive, grant I may
Be retrograded to my former way:
Spoil not the path because I step'd aside,
Correct my feet, and let the path abide.
What though the path be something rough and small
Better's a rough path then no path at all;
For now I ramble up and down, and see
No certainty, except of miserie.
Is it discretion to pull down a fair
Cathedral Church because one spider's there?
Is is discretion to condemn the Sun
Because the Dial's false? the times must run
Their revolutions; set the Dial right,
Then you'l not want a truth till Sol wants light.
Let all things move within their orbs; suppose
Th'inferior lights should labor to depose
The Prince of light, and drive him from his throne,
And by an usurpation make't their own:
What strange aspects would this produce t'affright
Supine Astronomers, to see that light,
Which was at distance, now approach so neer,
And blaze in an improper Hæmisphere:
Consider then, would not the Stars let fall
Too great an influence, the Sun too small,
On humane bodies? Oh may they remain
In their own Region, then would Sol again
Enjoy his just prerogatives, and feed
The world with such a lustre, as I need:
Peace is the light I want, could I obtain
But Peace, how soon should I survive again!
Peace is the best Physitian; I require
Nothing but Peace to quench my hot desire.
Th'inferior lights should labor to depose
The Prince of light, and drive him from his throne,
And by an usurpation make't their own:
What strange aspects would this produce t'affright
Supine Astronomers, to see that light,
Which was at distance, now approach so neer,
And blaze in an improper Hæmisphere:
25
Too great an influence, the Sun too small,
On humane bodies? Oh may they remain
In their own Region, then would Sol again
Enjoy his just prerogatives, and feed
The world with such a lustre, as I need:
Peace is the light I want, could I obtain
But Peace, how soon should I survive again!
Peace is the best Physitian; I require
Nothing but Peace to quench my hot desire.
A good Physitian will be sure to see,
E're he prescribes, where lies the maladie;
Then he I begin to study, and to try
What may be best; whether Phlebotomy
Be good, and if it be, opens a vein,
And so restores his Patients ease again:
Thus, thus, grand authors of my woes should you
Have done at first, if ye had been but true
To me; but when at first my griefs you saw
Ye thought it good to purge me with your Law:
And having purg'd me, ye began to see
How weak I was; and what a low degree
Y'ad brought me to, and then ye fell at strife,
By killing me, how to preserve my life.
You brought strange Doctors to me, whose advice
I'm sure was purchas'd by too high a price:
They bid me lift my arms up to my head,
And stir my Body; for diseases bred
For want of exercise: they bid me play
A game or two at Irish every day.
I took th'advice, then I begun to find
A sudden alteration, and my mind
Was so transported, that me thoughts the ground
Began to dance, and I my self turn'd round:
I fell into a traunce, with this presumption,
And ever since I've liv'd in a Consumption.
Let this example all the world assure,
An English Grief will have no Scottish Cure.
And so farewel, if these be your conditions,
Henceforth you may prove—But not Physitians
E're he prescribes, where lies the maladie;
Then he I begin to study, and to try
What may be best; whether Phlebotomy
Be good, and if it be, opens a vein,
And so restores his Patients ease again:
Thus, thus, grand authors of my woes should you
Have done at first, if ye had been but true
To me; but when at first my griefs you saw
Ye thought it good to purge me with your Law:
And having purg'd me, ye began to see
How weak I was; and what a low degree
Y'ad brought me to, and then ye fell at strife,
By killing me, how to preserve my life.
You brought strange Doctors to me, whose advice
I'm sure was purchas'd by too high a price:
They bid me lift my arms up to my head,
And stir my Body; for diseases bred
For want of exercise: they bid me play
A game or two at Irish every day.
26
A sudden alteration, and my mind
Was so transported, that me thoughts the ground
Began to dance, and I my self turn'd round:
I fell into a traunce, with this presumption,
And ever since I've liv'd in a Consumption.
Let this example all the world assure,
An English Grief will have no Scottish Cure.
And so farewel, if these be your conditions,
Henceforth you may prove—But not Physitians
Englands Petition to Heaven.
Ah
me! Ah me! can nothing but Ah me
Fly from my barren heart (dear God) to thee?
Ah me! and why will not that word import
Ten thousand pray'rs, that so I may resort
Unto thy ears by Troops? then would I run
Division on ah me, till time were done.
Fly from my barren heart (dear God) to thee?
Ah me! and why will not that word import
Ten thousand pray'rs, that so I may resort
Unto thy ears by Troops? then would I run
Division on ah me, till time were done.
Weak as I am, distracted, and defil'd,
I prostitute my self, not as a child
Of Sin, but as a Parent that has had
A numerous off-spring; Now my heart is sad,
Oh grant that my unfained grief may grow
Upon a real graft, that I may show
The fruit of perfect sorrow, and declare
How great my sins, how great thy mercies are:
Storm thou my sins, and force them to retreat,
And make my craving brest thy mercies seat:
Strike thou my flinty soul, that my desires
May, from a spark, encrease to flames; Thy fires
Must thaw my Icy Soul, or else I shall
Remain for ever a congealed Gall:
I am compos'd of steel, and cannot bow,
Except thy dear instructions teach me how:
Attract me by the loadstone of thy grace,
That through thy mercies I may see thy face;
And having view'd it, I may never more
Return to what I Idoliz'd before;
I have a Lydia's heart, in mercy please
To open it, thy mercies are the keyes:
Ravish my Soul, that I may fall in love
With thee, my God, with thee; that art a Dove
Of innocency: Let my raptures mount
As high as Heav'n, that there I may recount
Thy never failing love, and sing thy praise
VVith Davids heart, until the last of days:
Tune thou my stupid soul, and then it shall
Be truly sweet, and heav'nly musical:
Convert my swords to sighs, that I may fight
With my own crimes, and hate to take delight
To lacerate my self; Oh tye the hands
Of fury! make me stoop to thy commands.
Convert my tydes of blood to streams of tears;
My lyes to truths, my horrid oaths to pray'rs:
Make me to apprehend how thou hast wept
Of late for me, whilest I securely slept.
Let not thy tears destroy me, but let me
Dissolve to tears (dear God) and weep to thee:
Is it the heat of my offences makes
The Heav'ns to melt, (O Heav'n some pity take!)
Or has thy great discretion thought it good
To send these showres to wash away that blood
Which I have lost; I know thy purer eyes
Cannot endure a bloody sacrifice.
Oh stop thy bottle, pity my sad times,
And grant to me more tears or fewer crimes!
Be pleas'd to view me with a gracious eye,
And let the lustre of thy Majesty
Reflect upon me, let thy glorious light
Create a day of mercy, that the night
Of sin may be expell'd; Oh hear my pray'rs
Usher'd unto thee with a tyde of tears!
To me, Oh let thy mercies be exprest,
And fill the concave of a sinful brest;
Sinful, ah sinful, more then I am able
With language to express, intolerable:
Behold my festred soul, whose wounds proceed
From sin, and being drest with sin, they bleed;
They bleed (dear Heav'n) they bleed, oh what a flood
A flood they make! & I am bath'd in blood:
Oh stop this current that does still begin,
Or I shall'd own a Kingdom in my sin!
Oh look upon me, and in mercy please
To send me salve to palliate my disease!
Begin to hear (O GOD) begin to send,
That so my sorrows may begin to end.
I prostitute my self, not as a child
Of Sin, but as a Parent that has had
A numerous off-spring; Now my heart is sad,
Oh grant that my unfained grief may grow
Upon a real graft, that I may show
The fruit of perfect sorrow, and declare
How great my sins, how great thy mercies are:
Storm thou my sins, and force them to retreat,
And make my craving brest thy mercies seat:
27
May, from a spark, encrease to flames; Thy fires
Must thaw my Icy Soul, or else I shall
Remain for ever a congealed Gall:
I am compos'd of steel, and cannot bow,
Except thy dear instructions teach me how:
Attract me by the loadstone of thy grace,
That through thy mercies I may see thy face;
And having view'd it, I may never more
Return to what I Idoliz'd before;
I have a Lydia's heart, in mercy please
To open it, thy mercies are the keyes:
Ravish my Soul, that I may fall in love
With thee, my God, with thee; that art a Dove
Of innocency: Let my raptures mount
As high as Heav'n, that there I may recount
Thy never failing love, and sing thy praise
VVith Davids heart, until the last of days:
Tune thou my stupid soul, and then it shall
Be truly sweet, and heav'nly musical:
Convert my swords to sighs, that I may fight
With my own crimes, and hate to take delight
To lacerate my self; Oh tye the hands
Of fury! make me stoop to thy commands.
Convert my tydes of blood to streams of tears;
My lyes to truths, my horrid oaths to pray'rs:
Make me to apprehend how thou hast wept
Of late for me, whilest I securely slept.
Let not thy tears destroy me, but let me
Dissolve to tears (dear God) and weep to thee:
28
The Heav'ns to melt, (O Heav'n some pity take!)
Or has thy great discretion thought it good
To send these showres to wash away that blood
Which I have lost; I know thy purer eyes
Cannot endure a bloody sacrifice.
Oh stop thy bottle, pity my sad times,
And grant to me more tears or fewer crimes!
Be pleas'd to view me with a gracious eye,
And let the lustre of thy Majesty
Reflect upon me, let thy glorious light
Create a day of mercy, that the night
Of sin may be expell'd; Oh hear my pray'rs
Usher'd unto thee with a tyde of tears!
To me, Oh let thy mercies be exprest,
And fill the concave of a sinful brest;
Sinful, ah sinful, more then I am able
With language to express, intolerable:
Behold my festred soul, whose wounds proceed
From sin, and being drest with sin, they bleed;
They bleed (dear Heav'n) they bleed, oh what a flood
A flood they make! & I am bath'd in blood:
Oh stop this current that does still begin,
Or I shall'd own a Kingdom in my sin!
Oh look upon me, and in mercy please
To send me salve to palliate my disease!
Begin to hear (O GOD) begin to send,
That so my sorrows may begin to end.
29
THE LAMENTATIONS OF JEREMIAH.
Chap. I.
Contents.
The miserable estate of Jerusalem by reason of her sins, 12 She complaineth of her grief, 13 and confesseth Gods judgments to be righteous.
How doth the City, that was blest of late
With store of people, now lament her state?
How like a poor distressed widow she
Deplores her sorrows, that was wont to be
Great among Nations? greater far then any;
How tributary is she now to many?
She drowns her blushing cheeks with midnight tear
And from her lovers can obtain no pray'rs:
Her friends arm'd all with treachery, arise
And shew themselves her publick enemies:
Spurr'd with affliction Judah's forc'd to fly,
And throw her self into Captivity;
Because of sense-consuming servitude
She dwells amongst the Heathen multitude:
Her Foes o're-took her when she was distrest;
Well might she wish for, but could take no rest.
Sion is with redoubled grief surpriz'd,
Because her feasts by none are solemniz'd:
Her Gates are fill'd with desolation, and
Her Virgins tortur'd with afflictions hand:
Her Priests with sighs, heart-breaking sighs, express
Their grief: Ah Sion's fill'd with bitterness!
Her chiefest people are her chiefest foes;
Just Heav'n with these innumerable woes
Plagues her transgressions; and the enemy
Drives her dear Children to Captivity.
And that rare beauty, which adorn'd and grac'd
Sions dear daughter, is of late defac'd:
Her Princes sly, and ransack all about,
Like hungry Harts, to find a pasture out:
They all are fled, and flying can procure
No strength t'oppose the merciless pursuer.
But when Jerusalem was thus confin'd
T'afflictions lawless bounds, she call'd to mind
Her by-past pleasures, and those days which she
Had spent in time-devouring Jollitie.
For now her crying sins are grown so great
That Heav'n hath thrown her from his mercies seat:
All those that lov'd her, yea and highly priz'd her,
Seeing her shameful nakedness, despis'd her:
She sighs & turns her back, as though she'd borrow
A private breath t'express a publike sorrow:
For being fill'd with wickedness, Her end
She never thought of; neither had she friend
To comfort her: Oh Lord my God, behold
My great afflictions: Ah my foe grows bold,
And magnifies himself: His streach'd-out hand
Hath spoild the pleasures of my fruitful Land:
The very Heathen, whom thou didst deny
Thy Congregation, do contemn, defie
Thy just commands; and with unseemly paces
Inforce an entrance to thy holy places.
Her bread-desiring people, fill'd with grief,
Give their chief treasures for a small relief:
Behold, O Lord, consider my distress,
For I am vile, and fill'd with wickedness.
With store of people, now lament her state?
How like a poor distressed widow she
Deplores her sorrows, that was wont to be
Great among Nations? greater far then any;
How tributary is she now to many?
30
And from her lovers can obtain no pray'rs:
Her friends arm'd all with treachery, arise
And shew themselves her publick enemies:
Spurr'd with affliction Judah's forc'd to fly,
And throw her self into Captivity;
Because of sense-consuming servitude
She dwells amongst the Heathen multitude:
Her Foes o're-took her when she was distrest;
Well might she wish for, but could take no rest.
Sion is with redoubled grief surpriz'd,
Because her feasts by none are solemniz'd:
Her Gates are fill'd with desolation, and
Her Virgins tortur'd with afflictions hand:
Her Priests with sighs, heart-breaking sighs, express
Their grief: Ah Sion's fill'd with bitterness!
Her chiefest people are her chiefest foes;
Just Heav'n with these innumerable woes
Plagues her transgressions; and the enemy
Drives her dear Children to Captivity.
And that rare beauty, which adorn'd and grac'd
Sions dear daughter, is of late defac'd:
Her Princes sly, and ransack all about,
Like hungry Harts, to find a pasture out:
They all are fled, and flying can procure
No strength t'oppose the merciless pursuer.
But when Jerusalem was thus confin'd
T'afflictions lawless bounds, she call'd to mind
Her by-past pleasures, and those days which she
Had spent in time-devouring Jollitie.
31
That Heav'n hath thrown her from his mercies seat:
All those that lov'd her, yea and highly priz'd her,
Seeing her shameful nakedness, despis'd her:
She sighs & turns her back, as though she'd borrow
A private breath t'express a publike sorrow:
For being fill'd with wickedness, Her end
She never thought of; neither had she friend
To comfort her: Oh Lord my God, behold
My great afflictions: Ah my foe grows bold,
And magnifies himself: His streach'd-out hand
Hath spoild the pleasures of my fruitful Land:
The very Heathen, whom thou didst deny
Thy Congregation, do contemn, defie
Thy just commands; and with unseemly paces
Inforce an entrance to thy holy places.
Her bread-desiring people, fill'd with grief,
Give their chief treasures for a small relief:
Behold, O Lord, consider my distress,
For I am vile, and fill'd with wickedness.
Oh stop your hasty feet, ye that pass by,
And look upon my new-bred misery;
Sum up the totals of all grief, then borrow
A million more; 'Tis nothing to that sorrow
Which I support, wherewith the angry power
Hath pleas'd t'afflict me in His wrathful hour:
For he, from his all-ruling throne hath sent
Into my bones a fiery Government:
Yea, and his ever-active hand hath set,
T'insnare my feet, a Heav'n-contrived net:
And I am desolate, and fainting lie;
Being turn'd from him, am turn'd to misery.
Fast to my servile neck He hath bound on
The wreathed yoke of my transgression;
Impair'd my strength, and by His just command
I'm thrown into my persecutors hands,
Where I, remorsless I, must still remain,
Voyd of all hope to be inlarg'd again.
His unresisted strength hath broke the bones,
And made a footstool of my Mighty Ones:
A great Assembly He hath call'd that may
Punish my young men that will not obey;
And Judahs fairest Virgin Daughter's trod
As in a winepress by th'Almighty God.
And oh these sorrows, oh these miseries
Stir up a tempest in my clouded eyes!
Mine eyes, mine eyes, run o're, I dayly spend
More tears then any brain can apprehend:
My foes prevail, my children all are led
Into Captivity, my hopes are fled.
Sion spreads forth her feeble arms t'express
She seeks for comfort, but is comfortless.
The Lord of hostes commands that Jacobs eyes
Shall round about him see his enemies;
And poor despis'd, distrest Jerusalem
Is as a menstruous woman amongst them.
And look upon my new-bred misery;
Sum up the totals of all grief, then borrow
A million more; 'Tis nothing to that sorrow
Which I support, wherewith the angry power
Hath pleas'd t'afflict me in His wrathful hour:
For he, from his all-ruling throne hath sent
Into my bones a fiery Government:
Yea, and his ever-active hand hath set,
T'insnare my feet, a Heav'n-contrived net:
32
Being turn'd from him, am turn'd to misery.
Fast to my servile neck He hath bound on
The wreathed yoke of my transgression;
Impair'd my strength, and by His just command
I'm thrown into my persecutors hands,
Where I, remorsless I, must still remain,
Voyd of all hope to be inlarg'd again.
His unresisted strength hath broke the bones,
And made a footstool of my Mighty Ones:
A great Assembly He hath call'd that may
Punish my young men that will not obey;
And Judahs fairest Virgin Daughter's trod
As in a winepress by th'Almighty God.
And oh these sorrows, oh these miseries
Stir up a tempest in my clouded eyes!
Mine eyes, mine eyes, run o're, I dayly spend
More tears then any brain can apprehend:
My foes prevail, my children all are led
Into Captivity, my hopes are fled.
Sion spreads forth her feeble arms t'express
She seeks for comfort, but is comfortless.
The Lord of hostes commands that Jacobs eyes
Shall round about him see his enemies;
And poor despis'd, distrest Jerusalem
Is as a menstruous woman amongst them.
My God is just, yet I, rebellious I,
Transgrest against his glorious Majesty:
Oh hear my people, let your ears but borrow
A minutes time, from Time, to hear my sorrow!
My Virgins and my young men all are fled
Into Captivity; my Priests are dead:
My Friends refuse to hear me when I call;
For want of food my hungry Elders fall.
O Lord, behold, see how I am opprest,
My heart thumps at the portals of my brest:
Oh, I have sinned, and my sins indite me;
Abroad the Sword, at home grim Death affrights me.
My friends have heard my groaning, and my grief
Is known to them, But I know no relief:
My foes with clamorous voyces fill the earth,
And make my grief the subject of their mirth:
But Heav'n hath nam'd a day when these my foes
Shall be Co-partners in my mock'd at woes.
O God, let not their faults be hid from thee,
But deal with them as thou hast dealt with me:
My heart is faint, my strugling sighs are many,
My griefs too great to be exprest by any.
Transgrest against his glorious Majesty:
Oh hear my people, let your ears but borrow
A minutes time, from Time, to hear my sorrow!
33
Into Captivity; my Priests are dead:
My Friends refuse to hear me when I call;
For want of food my hungry Elders fall.
O Lord, behold, see how I am opprest,
My heart thumps at the portals of my brest:
Oh, I have sinned, and my sins indite me;
Abroad the Sword, at home grim Death affrights me.
My friends have heard my groaning, and my grief
Is known to them, But I know no relief:
My foes with clamorous voyces fill the earth,
And make my grief the subject of their mirth:
But Heav'n hath nam'd a day when these my foes
Shall be Co-partners in my mock'd at woes.
O God, let not their faults be hid from thee,
But deal with them as thou hast dealt with me:
My heart is faint, my strugling sighs are many,
My griefs too great to be exprest by any.
Meditatio in Capitulum.
If thou wouldst know, my Soul, what harms attendA sinners progress to his journeys end:
Here, here, thou mayst, if with impartial eyes
Thou wilt observe th'unsatiate miseries
Of poor Jerusalem, whose tedious groans,
Whose sighs, and sobs, & tears, the world bemoans.
34
Sin was the Author of her self-will'd Wo.
'Twas sweet first, but sowre in th'event,
That little word assumes a large extent:
Where Sin predominates, there we may find
The inconvenience of a troubl'd mind:
For when the mind's perplex'd, then we begin
Either to fall to, or to fall from Sin:
For like the restless sea she's active still,
And always agitating good or ill;
If well imploy'd, she builds a wall about
The Soul, to keep approaching dangers out:
But if she spends her thriftless hours in Evil,
She makes a banquet to invite the Devil,
Who with his subtle and misguiding force
Will re-invite her to a second course.
And then let Christians judg how much disquiet
That Soul sustains that loves the Devils diet.
Ah then my Soul, if thou desir'st to be
Exempted from the lot of miserie,
Make Heav'n thy refuge; there thou mayst be sure
To find contentment and repose secure:
Thou needst not fear, there is no poys'nous thing
Can wound that Soul that truly loves his King:
Nor all the malice mortals can invent,
Shall add to thee one mite of discontent:
There is no sorrow, no calamity
T'oppress thy thoughts; No wry-look'd enemy
T'upbraid thy actions: then my Soul advise
How much it profits to be heav'nly wise.
Exempted from the lot of miserie,
Make Heav'n thy refuge; there thou mayst be sure
To find contentment and repose secure:
Thou needst not fear, there is no poys'nous thing
Can wound that Soul that truly loves his King:
Nor all the malice mortals can invent,
Shall add to thee one mite of discontent:
There is no sorrow, no calamity
T'oppress thy thoughts; No wry-look'd enemy
T'upbraid thy actions: then my Soul advise
How much it profits to be heav'nly wise.
35
Ah had Jerusalem, whose grief no pen
Can e're engrave into the hearts of men,
Been wisely wary, she had never known
Those late reap'd sorrows, which her sins had sown:
Had she but search'd her bosom, and contriv'd
Her actions well, her glory had surviv'd:
Had she with Davids tears in time repented,
Those uncorrected sins her heart lamented,
She had not felt those judgments which did wait
Upon the ruines of her falling State:
But whilest her eyes were muffl'd and deluded,
Folly came in where Reason was excluded.
Needs must that Kingdom unto ruine run,
Where Folly sets and rises with the Sun.
Like as the body that's oppress'd with grief
Can neither hope for, nor obtain relief,
Till the disease be known, there's none can tell
The rage of sickness that was always well:
Even so Jerusalem, because that she
Judg'd not the Reason of her Miserie
Till she was past recovery, could never
Have health restor'd her, but was sick for ever.
Alas! alas! that Kingdom needs must fall,
That has a grief so Epidemical.
Had she but like the Ninevites in time
Stop'd those distemp'ring humors, wch did climbe
Above her strength, her grief had quickly ended,
And heav'n revok'd those judgments he intended.
Med'cines are vain things when apply'd too late,
And through delay a grief grows desperate:
He that is Sin-sick is in bad condition,
Except Heav'n please to be his Souls Physitian:
And if God once deny his Patient bliss,
Whose must the fault be, when the fault's not his?
Can e're engrave into the hearts of men,
Been wisely wary, she had never known
Those late reap'd sorrows, which her sins had sown:
Had she but search'd her bosom, and contriv'd
Her actions well, her glory had surviv'd:
Had she with Davids tears in time repented,
Those uncorrected sins her heart lamented,
She had not felt those judgments which did wait
Upon the ruines of her falling State:
But whilest her eyes were muffl'd and deluded,
Folly came in where Reason was excluded.
Needs must that Kingdom unto ruine run,
Where Folly sets and rises with the Sun.
Like as the body that's oppress'd with grief
Can neither hope for, nor obtain relief,
Till the disease be known, there's none can tell
The rage of sickness that was always well:
Even so Jerusalem, because that she
Judg'd not the Reason of her Miserie
Till she was past recovery, could never
Have health restor'd her, but was sick for ever.
Alas! alas! that Kingdom needs must fall,
That has a grief so Epidemical.
Had she but like the Ninevites in time
Stop'd those distemp'ring humors, wch did climbe
Above her strength, her grief had quickly ended,
And heav'n revok'd those judgments he intended.
Med'cines are vain things when apply'd too late,
And through delay a grief grows desperate:
36
Except Heav'n please to be his Souls Physitian:
And if God once deny his Patient bliss,
Whose must the fault be, when the fault's not his?
Alas! alas! 'tis but in vain for any
To strive to cure one grief, that had so many
As sad Jerusalem had; her plagues were more
Then all the world could reckon up before:
She had a Monop'ly, she need not borrow,
She was the Hierogliphick of all sorrow.
Yet if in time she'd made repentant moan,
Heav'n could have cur'd them all as well as one.
There is no Sin, let it be great or small,
But Heav'n can find a balsam for them all.
My Soul, thou art my Monarch, therefore I
May boldly look into thy Monarchy:
First, praise thou Heav'n, then learn to be content
With what he sends thee; let thy government
Be still Monarchical, and fenc'd about
With fervent prayers, to keep Sedition out.
Let watch and ward be kept, lest Traytor Sin
Betray thee; Let not Faction come within
Thy lists: And still be careful to surprize
Rebellious thoughts as soon as they arise:
For if they once appear within thy borders,
They'l breed confusion, and confus'd disorders.
Learn to be wisely politick, and be
Ready to let Religion counsel thee.
Let Reason be thy guide, and let thy Laws
Be truly executed; Let thy Cause
Be just and real: then my Soul, be sure
To let thy fundamental Laws endure,
Till he that sits on the refulgent Throne
Shall take thee hence, and keep thee for his own.
To strive to cure one grief, that had so many
As sad Jerusalem had; her plagues were more
Then all the world could reckon up before:
She had a Monop'ly, she need not borrow,
She was the Hierogliphick of all sorrow.
Yet if in time she'd made repentant moan,
Heav'n could have cur'd them all as well as one.
There is no Sin, let it be great or small,
But Heav'n can find a balsam for them all.
My Soul, thou art my Monarch, therefore I
May boldly look into thy Monarchy:
First, praise thou Heav'n, then learn to be content
With what he sends thee; let thy government
Be still Monarchical, and fenc'd about
With fervent prayers, to keep Sedition out.
Let watch and ward be kept, lest Traytor Sin
Betray thee; Let not Faction come within
Thy lists: And still be careful to surprize
Rebellious thoughts as soon as they arise:
For if they once appear within thy borders,
They'l breed confusion, and confus'd disorders.
Learn to be wisely politick, and be
Ready to let Religion counsel thee.
Let Reason be thy guide, and let thy Laws
Be truly executed; Let thy Cause
37
To let thy fundamental Laws endure,
Till he that sits on the refulgent Throne
Shall take thee hence, and keep thee for his own.
Chap. II.
Contents.
1 Jeremiah lamenteth, the misery of Jerusalem. 20 He complaineth thereof to God.
Behold!
Heav'ns Metropolitan hath spread
His gloomy clouds of anger on the head
Of sad Jerusalem: He hath destroy'd
Those bounteous treasures Israel injoy'd;
And from his mem'ry hath his footstool thrown,
VVhen he with floods of anger was o'reflown.
And Jacobs habitations he unfram'd,
And wrathfully consum'd them: Thus inflam'd
The strongest castles Judahs Daughter had,
He tumbled down, and made her people sad:
And he, to shew what his grand power could do,
Defil'd the Kingdom and the Princes too.
His two-edged passion hath cut off the horn
And Chief of Israel, made him a scorn
To his deriding Foes, and also stayd,
Yea and withdrawn his right hand from his ayd.
His fury like an all-consuming flame
Burn'd against Jacob, and devour'd his name.
His wrestless arm hath bent his yeelding bow;
He stood resolved like a dauntless foe:
And in the Tabernacle he hath slew
The eyes delight, like fire his anger flew.
He threw down Israels strongest situations,
And fill'd Jerusalem with lamentations.
And like a fruitless garden hath layd voyd
Th'infected Tabernacle, and destroy'd
Th'assemblies structures; and an angry wind
Hath blown their Feasts and Sabbaths from his mind;
Both Kings & Priests in anger he forgot,
And look'd on them as if he saw them not.
His holy places, and his Altar he
Abhor'd: and gave unto the Enemie
Her fairest palaces: their ill-tun'd voyces,
As on a feast day, fill'd the Church with noises.
His hand stretch'd forth a line, when he intended
To ruine Sion that so much offended:
He hath resolv'd destruction; therefore all
The rampart languish'd with the gliding wall.
He hath destroy'd, and batter'd down her grates
The gaping Earth imbowell'd all her Gates:
Her King and Princes dwell with Gentiles; and
Her Laws are banish'd from her lawless Land:
Her Prophets gaze about; the frowning skies
Do represent no vision to their eyes.
Her mournful Elders on the ground repose,
And silently consent unto their woes:
They cloth'd themselves with sackcloth, and they crown'd
Their heads with dust, they borrowed from the ground:
No joys were pleasing to the eys of them
That were the Virgins of Jerusalem.
My bowels yern, my tear-distilling eyes
Are sore with gazing on the miseries
Of frail Jerusalem: Alas the feet
Of her dear sucklings stagger in the street!
And like the wounded in the City send
Their sighs for food, unto their dearest friend:
And whilst they slumbred on their mothers brest,
They pour'd their souls into eternal rest.
What shall I witness for thee, Oh thou gem,
Thou pining Daughter of Jerusalem?
To what shall I compare thee? What can be
Oh Sions Daughter, equal unto thee?
Let all the world recure thee, if they can:
For Ah, thy breach is like the Ocean!
Alas, thy purblind Prophets all have been
Hoodwink'd with folly, & vain things have seen:
But ne'er discover'd thine iniquity,
Which was the cause of thy captivity.
Their mis-informed senses were content
To see false Reasons for thy Banishment.
All that past by, and saw thee thus decaying,
Clapt their rude hands, yea hist at thee, thus saying;
Is this the City that the worldlings call
Beauties perfection? This the joy of all?
Thy foes revile thee, and as they pass by
They gnash their teeth against thee; thus they cry
This is the day we look'd for, now we know
She is destroy'd, we see her overthrow.
That which the King of Heav'n devised, now
He hath enacted and fulfill'd his vow:
He hath thrown down without remorse, O see,
Thy adversaries triumph over thee.
This hath th'Almighty done for them, at length
He made thē strong, yea & advanc'd their strength
They mov'd the Lord with their uncessant cries;
O wall of Sions daughter, let thine eyes
Run down like rivers, give thy self no sleep;
Forget to smile, and practice how to weep.
Arise, and in the silent night bemoan
Thy grief; O cry unto th'Almighty one:
In the beginning of the watch implore
Thy growing sorrows; make a flood before
Th'Eternals face: O crave that he would please
To send thy young, faint, hungry children ease.
His gloomy clouds of anger on the head
Of sad Jerusalem: He hath destroy'd
Those bounteous treasures Israel injoy'd;
And from his mem'ry hath his footstool thrown,
VVhen he with floods of anger was o'reflown.
And Jacobs habitations he unfram'd,
And wrathfully consum'd them: Thus inflam'd
The strongest castles Judahs Daughter had,
He tumbled down, and made her people sad:
And he, to shew what his grand power could do,
Defil'd the Kingdom and the Princes too.
His two-edged passion hath cut off the horn
And Chief of Israel, made him a scorn
38
Yea and withdrawn his right hand from his ayd.
His fury like an all-consuming flame
Burn'd against Jacob, and devour'd his name.
His wrestless arm hath bent his yeelding bow;
He stood resolved like a dauntless foe:
And in the Tabernacle he hath slew
The eyes delight, like fire his anger flew.
He threw down Israels strongest situations,
And fill'd Jerusalem with lamentations.
And like a fruitless garden hath layd voyd
Th'infected Tabernacle, and destroy'd
Th'assemblies structures; and an angry wind
Hath blown their Feasts and Sabbaths from his mind;
Both Kings & Priests in anger he forgot,
And look'd on them as if he saw them not.
His holy places, and his Altar he
Abhor'd: and gave unto the Enemie
Her fairest palaces: their ill-tun'd voyces,
As on a feast day, fill'd the Church with noises.
His hand stretch'd forth a line, when he intended
To ruine Sion that so much offended:
He hath resolv'd destruction; therefore all
The rampart languish'd with the gliding wall.
He hath destroy'd, and batter'd down her grates
The gaping Earth imbowell'd all her Gates:
Her King and Princes dwell with Gentiles; and
Her Laws are banish'd from her lawless Land:
Her Prophets gaze about; the frowning skies
Do represent no vision to their eyes.
39
And silently consent unto their woes:
They cloth'd themselves with sackcloth, and they crown'd
Their heads with dust, they borrowed from the ground:
No joys were pleasing to the eys of them
That were the Virgins of Jerusalem.
My bowels yern, my tear-distilling eyes
Are sore with gazing on the miseries
Of frail Jerusalem: Alas the feet
Of her dear sucklings stagger in the street!
And like the wounded in the City send
Their sighs for food, unto their dearest friend:
And whilst they slumbred on their mothers brest,
They pour'd their souls into eternal rest.
What shall I witness for thee, Oh thou gem,
Thou pining Daughter of Jerusalem?
To what shall I compare thee? What can be
Oh Sions Daughter, equal unto thee?
Let all the world recure thee, if they can:
For Ah, thy breach is like the Ocean!
Alas, thy purblind Prophets all have been
Hoodwink'd with folly, & vain things have seen:
But ne'er discover'd thine iniquity,
Which was the cause of thy captivity.
Their mis-informed senses were content
To see false Reasons for thy Banishment.
All that past by, and saw thee thus decaying,
Clapt their rude hands, yea hist at thee, thus saying;
Is this the City that the worldlings call
Beauties perfection? This the joy of all?
40
They gnash their teeth against thee; thus they cry
This is the day we look'd for, now we know
She is destroy'd, we see her overthrow.
That which the King of Heav'n devised, now
He hath enacted and fulfill'd his vow:
He hath thrown down without remorse, O see,
Thy adversaries triumph over thee.
This hath th'Almighty done for them, at length
He made thē strong, yea & advanc'd their strength
They mov'd the Lord with their uncessant cries;
O wall of Sions daughter, let thine eyes
Run down like rivers, give thy self no sleep;
Forget to smile, and practice how to weep.
Arise, and in the silent night bemoan
Thy grief; O cry unto th'Almighty one:
In the beginning of the watch implore
Thy growing sorrows; make a flood before
Th'Eternals face: O crave that he would please
To send thy young, faint, hungry children ease.
Consider Lord to whom thou'st done this great,
This unrepented ill: Shall women eat
Their span-long Children? Shall thy slain Priests lie
Tomb'd with thy Prophet in thy Sanct'ary?
The young and old have shar'd in equal harms,
They lie and tumble in each others arms:
Upon the flinty streets my virgins fall,
With my young men; the sword disliv'd them all:
Thus in thine anger hast thou struck them dead,
Thus hast thou kill'd, and never pittied.
As in a solemn day my terrors round
About thou'st called, so that none was found
In the Lords day of anger to remain:
Those that I swadled and brought up, in vain
I brought them up; the enemy infum'd
Envy'd this off-spring, and their days consum'd.
This unrepented ill: Shall women eat
Their span-long Children? Shall thy slain Priests lie
Tomb'd with thy Prophet in thy Sanct'ary?
The young and old have shar'd in equal harms,
They lie and tumble in each others arms:
Upon the flinty streets my virgins fall,
With my young men; the sword disliv'd them all:
Thus in thine anger hast thou struck them dead,
Thus hast thou kill'd, and never pittied.
41
About thou'st called, so that none was found
In the Lords day of anger to remain:
Those that I swadled and brought up, in vain
I brought them up; the enemy infum'd
Envy'd this off-spring, and their days consum'd.
Meditatio in Capitulum.
See , see, my Soul, what Heav'n hath done! O seeWhat 'tis t'offend a pow'rful Majestie!
Go, go, and quickly tell the sons of men
What 'tis to rouze a Lion from his Den:
Bid them keep peace and quietness in Sion;
Bid them turn Lambs, or Heav'n will turn a Lion.
Bid them take notice, she that was the stem
Of honor, now is poor Jerusalem.
Alas! Alas! experience made her know
Griefs abstract, and the quintescence of wo.
And ah my Soul! who knows the course of sorrow?
There 'tis to day, it may be here to morrow.
Then have a care, let thy well tutor'd grief
Know rather how to purchase a relief,
Than plagues and torments; Let thy sober will
Be sway'd by reason: let thy reason still
Lead thee to meditation: then begin
To search thy self, and cypher up thy sin.
42
Thy grief, and where th'imperious humors lie
And having found them out, let no delay
Damage thy Soul, but quickly haste away;
And from the bottom of thy heart confess
Thy greatest sins; so Heav'n may make them less.
O kiss the Son; for if his anger be,
Yea but a little kindled; blest is he
Whose groping Soul his seal'd up mercies found,
And cast his anchor in so firm a ground.
Heav'n smiles on them whose oft-repeated pray'r
Expands their sins, & makes their God their care
But when revolting negligence shall call
Confounding ruine from th'imperial hall
Of Heav'ns high-seated Palace, and invite
A dreadful vengeance, to eclipse the light
Of a resplendent happiness; and double
The lab'ring Soul with interposing trouble:
Ah, then our pleasures shall be turn'd to toys,
And sudden grief shall expiate our joys!
And like Jerusalem, confus'd shall we
Wander and languish in obscuritie:
Then, then, our down-cast spirits shall lament,
And moan their just-deserved punishment:
Then shall our Peace be drawn unto an end,
Then shall we look for, but shall find no friend
Then shall our sad Embassadors prepare,
And mount to Heav'n, but find no audience there.
Then shall our blubber'd eyes in vain let slide
Innumerable tears: then shall the Tide
43
And dash against our sin-polluted shore:
Then shall we run, and in our running meet
Th'obvious sword in the blood-streaming street:
Then shall our hasty trembling feet retire
To our sad houses; there shall Death require
Th'arrears of sorrow: Lingring Famine shall
Like to a lean-cheek'd fury grasp us all:
And from our strouting veins shal squeez a flood,
A luke-warm deluge of diffused blood.
Then shall our children with their midnight cries
Lament for food; Then shall their mothers eyes
Bedew their bosoms with the falling showres
Of dribling tears: Then shall their loathed hours
Haste to an end; And having thus exprest
Their woes, shall creep into Eternal rest.
Then shall the early melancholly Bells
Sound mournful peals for their sad last farewels.
Ah now my Soul! Can any griefs out-vie
Such griefs as these? Can any heart deny
The justness of these Judgments? If they do,
May they feel Sodoms and Gomorrahs too.
Heav'n cannot be unjust; No, no, 'tis we
Provoking sinners are unjust, not he.
Shall we offend, and shall we every day
Hale down his judgments on our backs, then lay
The burthen of our faults on him, and cry,
Like Traytor Judas, Master is it I?
No, no, we must not; but let every one
Unbosom all his actions, and make known
44
Plead himself guiltless, he's a happy man.
Find out but ten good men, and for their sake
Heav'n will deduct a thousand plagues, and shake
Ten thousand more from his incensed brest,
And for their sakes will give ten thousand rest.
Sodom can witness Heav'n brookes no denyal,
He had sav'd all, had ten been found but loyal.
Oh blind and foolish is that City, when
Ten thousand doubled cannot number ten.
Chap. III.
Contents.
1 The faithful bewail their calamities: 22 by the mercies of God they nourish their hopes 37 They acknowledg Gods justice. 55 They pray for deliverance, 64 and vengeance {on} their enemies.
'Tis I have seen affliction by the rod,
Th'impetuous anger of the wrathful God.
He with a pitchy darkness mask'd my sight,
And hath not cloth'd me with the robes of light.
He turn'd his hand against me all the day,
He broke my bones, and made my flesh decay.
His lab'ring fury hath built up a wall
Against me, and surrounded me with gall.
In dungeon places he me set, like those
Which in their graves have had a long repose.
And he hath made my toilsom chains to be
Heavy; He hedg'd me from my libertie.
And when I shout and cry, he will not hear,
But makes my pray'r a stranger to his ear.
He hath inclosed me with stones that stay
My hasty steps, he hath incurv'd my way.
And as a lurking Bear, observes my paces,
Or as a Lion in the secret places.
He turn'd me from my ways, disturb'd my state,
Pull'd me in pieces, made me desolate.
He bent his Bow, and made my trembling heart
The aim'd-at object of his fatal dart.
He caus'd his quivered guests t'inforce my veins,
And take a large possession in my reins.
{He} was my people's laughing stock, their song
Was tuned to my mischief all day long.
He fill'd me full of bitterness and woe,
And made me drunk with nauseous wormwood too.
He brake my teeth with gravel stones, and he
With heaps of ashes hath involved me.
Banish'd my Soul from Peace, prosperity
Is quite relapsed from my memory.
I said my strength, my very hope is even
Wasted and perish'd from the Lord of Heav'n.
Ponder my woes and my afflictions all,
Remember both the honey and the gall
These things do still in my remembrance rest,
And ah, my Soul is humbled in my brest!
This I recal to my swift-roving mind,
Therefore I hope, and hoping, hope to find.
Th'impetuous anger of the wrathful God.
He with a pitchy darkness mask'd my sight,
And hath not cloth'd me with the robes of light.
He turn'd his hand against me all the day,
He broke my bones, and made my flesh decay.
45
Against me, and surrounded me with gall.
In dungeon places he me set, like those
Which in their graves have had a long repose.
And he hath made my toilsom chains to be
Heavy; He hedg'd me from my libertie.
And when I shout and cry, he will not hear,
But makes my pray'r a stranger to his ear.
He hath inclosed me with stones that stay
My hasty steps, he hath incurv'd my way.
And as a lurking Bear, observes my paces,
Or as a Lion in the secret places.
He turn'd me from my ways, disturb'd my state,
Pull'd me in pieces, made me desolate.
He bent his Bow, and made my trembling heart
The aim'd-at object of his fatal dart.
He caus'd his quivered guests t'inforce my veins,
And take a large possession in my reins.
{He} was my people's laughing stock, their song
Was tuned to my mischief all day long.
He fill'd me full of bitterness and woe,
And made me drunk with nauseous wormwood too.
He brake my teeth with gravel stones, and he
With heaps of ashes hath involved me.
Banish'd my Soul from Peace, prosperity
Is quite relapsed from my memory.
I said my strength, my very hope is even
Wasted and perish'd from the Lord of Heav'n.
Ponder my woes and my afflictions all,
Remember both the honey and the gall
46
And ah, my Soul is humbled in my brest!
This I recal to my swift-roving mind,
Therefore I hope, and hoping, hope to find.
It is the mercy of the Lord we sail
So safe; for his compassions never fail.
They're every morning new, thy faithfulness
Is great, and greater then I can express.
The Lord's my portion, saith my Soul; and I
Will therefore hope unto Eternity.
And that just Soul, which dayly shall attend
Upon the Lord, shall never want a friend.
'Tis good that man should hope and wait upon
Th'Almighties pleasure and salvation.
'Tis good for man to exercise the truth,
And bear the yoke of his offending youth:
He sits alone, and silently makes known,
He bears no other burthen than his own.
His humbled mouth salutes the dusty ground,
As if some hopes of mercy may be found.
He's fill'd with shame, he willingly invites
T'a second stroke the hand of him that smites.
For they that strive and really endeavor,
God will not leave, nor cast them off for ever.
He will have pity, though he sends a grief;
In multitudes of mercy lies relief.
He doth not punish, nor augment the smart
Of sinners children with a willing heart.
His feet take no delight to crush to death
Th'offending pris'ners of th'inferior earth.
To turn away mans right, (his heart abhors)
Before the face of their superiors.
And to subvert a man in his just cause,
The Lord approveth not, 'tis not his Laws.
So safe; for his compassions never fail.
They're every morning new, thy faithfulness
Is great, and greater then I can express.
The Lord's my portion, saith my Soul; and I
Will therefore hope unto Eternity.
And that just Soul, which dayly shall attend
Upon the Lord, shall never want a friend.
'Tis good that man should hope and wait upon
Th'Almighties pleasure and salvation.
'Tis good for man to exercise the truth,
And bear the yoke of his offending youth:
He sits alone, and silently makes known,
He bears no other burthen than his own.
His humbled mouth salutes the dusty ground,
As if some hopes of mercy may be found.
He's fill'd with shame, he willingly invites
T'a second stroke the hand of him that smites.
For they that strive and really endeavor,
God will not leave, nor cast them off for ever.
He will have pity, though he sends a grief;
In multitudes of mercy lies relief.
He doth not punish, nor augment the smart
Of sinners children with a willing heart.
His feet take no delight to crush to death
Th'offending pris'ners of th'inferior earth.
47
Before the face of their superiors.
And to subvert a man in his just cause,
The Lord approveth not, 'tis not his Laws.
And who is he whose spend-thrift tongue dare say,
This thing shall come to pass, when Heav'n says nay?
Out of the mouth of him that's God indeed
There doth not evil, but known good proceed.
Why doth a living man with grumbling thoughts
Complain as one that's punish'd for his faults?
Let's search, let's try our ways, let's turn again
To God, and he will turn away our pain.
And let our hands b'extended with our souls
To Heav'ns Star-chamber, where our God controuls.
We have rebelliously transgrest, and thou,
Thou hast not pard'ned with a cheerful brow.
Thine anger hath o'reshadowed us, thou hast
Slain without pity, we thy anger taste.
Th'ast vail'd thy self with clouds, which will not let
Our pray'rs pass thorough to discharge our debt.
And as th'off-scouring thou O Lord hast made us
Amongst those factious people that betray'd us.
Our greedy enemies have op'ned wide
Their mouths against us, and our pains deride.
Fear, like a snare, incloses us about,
And desolation will not keep without.
Mine eyes run down like hasty floods of water,
For the destruction of my peoples Daughter.
Mine eyes are full, and tears do stream upon
My cheeks without an intermission:
Till Heav'n look'd down on my enriver'd face
And view'd my weeping from his holy place.
Mine eyes affect my pining heart with pity,
Because of all the Daughters of my City.
And causless (like a frighted bird that flies)
I still am chased by my enemies.
They have destroy'd me in the dungeon, nay
They cast a stone upon me where I lay.
Th'imperious waves mounted above my head,
And then I cry'd, Alas, Alas, I'm dead.
This thing shall come to pass, when Heav'n says nay?
Out of the mouth of him that's God indeed
There doth not evil, but known good proceed.
Why doth a living man with grumbling thoughts
Complain as one that's punish'd for his faults?
Let's search, let's try our ways, let's turn again
To God, and he will turn away our pain.
And let our hands b'extended with our souls
To Heav'ns Star-chamber, where our God controuls.
We have rebelliously transgrest, and thou,
Thou hast not pard'ned with a cheerful brow.
Thine anger hath o'reshadowed us, thou hast
Slain without pity, we thy anger taste.
Th'ast vail'd thy self with clouds, which will not let
Our pray'rs pass thorough to discharge our debt.
And as th'off-scouring thou O Lord hast made us
Amongst those factious people that betray'd us.
Our greedy enemies have op'ned wide
Their mouths against us, and our pains deride.
Fear, like a snare, incloses us about,
And desolation will not keep without.
Mine eyes run down like hasty floods of water,
For the destruction of my peoples Daughter.
Mine eyes are full, and tears do stream upon
My cheeks without an intermission:
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And view'd my weeping from his holy place.
Mine eyes affect my pining heart with pity,
Because of all the Daughters of my City.
And causless (like a frighted bird that flies)
I still am chased by my enemies.
They have destroy'd me in the dungeon, nay
They cast a stone upon me where I lay.
Th'imperious waves mounted above my head,
And then I cry'd, Alas, Alas, I'm dead.
I call'd upon thy name (O Lord;) my voyce
Out of the dungeon made a dreadful noise.
Th'ast heard my cries, Oh let thy ears not lie
Hid from the breathing of my doleful cry.
And in that day when I on thee did call,
Thou cam'st, and bid me never fear at all.
And when my soul (O Lord) was fill'd with strife
Thou didst both plead my cause, and save my life.
And thou hast plainly seen my wrong'd estate;
Judg thou my cause, be thou my advocate.
For thou hast seen their vengeance, thou dost see
Their deep imaginations against me.
Thou their reproach hast heard, and apprehended
What against me their busie thoughts intended.
Thou know'st the very lips of them that rose
Against me, and the malice of my foes.
Behold their sitting and their rising, I
Am all their musick, and their melody.
Out of the dungeon made a dreadful noise.
Th'ast heard my cries, Oh let thy ears not lie
Hid from the breathing of my doleful cry.
And in that day when I on thee did call,
Thou cam'st, and bid me never fear at all.
And when my soul (O Lord) was fill'd with strife
Thou didst both plead my cause, and save my life.
And thou hast plainly seen my wrong'd estate;
Judg thou my cause, be thou my advocate.
For thou hast seen their vengeance, thou dost see
Their deep imaginations against me.
Thou their reproach hast heard, and apprehended
What against me their busie thoughts intended.
Thou know'st the very lips of them that rose
Against me, and the malice of my foes.
Behold their sitting and their rising, I
Am all their musick, and their melody.
Render to them a recompence, O God,
And let them feel thy handy-work, thy rod.
Oh give them grief of heart; Oh let them burst
With dregs of sorrow, let them be accurst.
And let thy angry persecuting hand
Destroy, confound, and sweep them from the land.
And let them feel thy handy-work, thy rod.
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With dregs of sorrow, let them be accurst.
And let thy angry persecuting hand
Destroy, confound, and sweep them from the land.
Meditatio in Capitulum.
Come , come, my Soul, do not obnubilateThy self with smoaky pleasures, nor create
More vain delights to please thy toyish mind:
Be serious now; let pleasures be confin'd.
Th'Almighty's angry, and his angry Breath
Expresses nothing but resolved Death.
His wrath is kindled, and his furious hand
Threatens a ruine to a sinful Land.
His bow is bent; behold he stands prepar'd,
'Tis he, 'tis he, that will not be out-dar'd:
And should his roving messenger impart
A secret sorrow to thy private heart;
What then? Can all the balsams may be found
Recure so great, so terrible a wound?
No, no: Oh then let thy discerning eye
Be truly watchful; for discovery
Oft-times prevents a mischief: he's a stranger
To Heav'ns high Court, that thinks t'out-brave a danger
Behold (my soul) thou art inviron'd round
With troops of adversaries; heark, they sound
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And make thy sorrows but their laughing stock
Dost thou not hear them, how they shout and cry
As though they'd cleave th'unseparable sky?
Oh be not deaf: rouze up thy self, advance
Thy backward thoughts, sleep not in ignorance
Provoke not Heav'n too much: Oh do not still
Urge more and more his most unwilling will.
Observe but how unpleasantly his arm
Draws up his bow, as one that's loath to harm.
Me thinks I hear him say, Oh can ye tell!
Why will ye dye, ye house of Israel?
Me thinks I hear his never-ending breath
Breathe a disdain against a sinners death.
Me thinks I hear his grieved spirit say,
Ye that are weary, come, oh come away,
And lay your burthens on my back, and I
Will hear them all; I'le bear them willingly.
Why will ye dye? why will ye shut your eyes,
And thus run head-long after vanities?
Open your Adder ears, come and rejoyce
With me and mine; let my harmonious voyce
Invite you: Ah, what pleasures can accrew,
From shadows, to such substances as you?
Cast off the works of darkness; let true light
Expel those mists: Oh come when I invite.
What do ye mean? Oh, tell me, tell me why
Ye love to tumble in impurity?
Ah now my Soul! let admiration prove
That Heav'n's compos'd of nothing but of Love;
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(Rather then Mercy) claim a thousand darts.
Call home thy wandring thoughts, & let them all
(Like servants) be obedient to thy Call.
Examine them; the very best will show,
Thy best deserts are but an overthrow.
Review thy actions; see if they can yeeld
One grain of comfort: see if they can shield
Thy threatned state: The more men strive to smother
Their sins, the more one sin begets another.
Then fly, dull soul, to Heav'ns high Court, & there
Melt, melt, into an everlasting tear.
Attone thy God, let not thy tongue deny
The truth to him, when he shall ask thee, why,
Why hast thou done this wickedness! Confess,
'Tis thou hast sin'd, 'tis he that must depress
That head-increasing Hydra: Then shalt thou
Behold with what a voluntary brow
He'l entertain thee, and those joys impart
To thee, which wait upon a contrite heart.
He will have pity, though he sends a grief:
In multitudes of mercy lies relief.
The God of Love did never take delight
To mantle sinners with the clouds of night.
He's an indulgent Father, and his care
Is infinite, as all his mercies are.
Compose thy numerous thoughts, my Soul, and run:
Oh tell that Father, thou wilt be his Son.
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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:
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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:
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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.
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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
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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,
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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
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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.
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Chap. V.
Remember, Lord, what's come upon us; see,Ponder the greatness of our infamie.
Strangers inherit that which is our due,
Our habitation's turn'd to aliens too.
For we are Orphanes, and all fatherless,
Our Mothers are as Widows in distress.
We buy our water, (O unhappy fate!)
And purchase fewel at too dear a rate.
Our necks are persecuted and unblest,
And still we labor, but obtain no rest.
Unto the Egyptians we our hand have spread,
Desiring to be satisfied with bread.
Our buried fathers sin'd in former times,
And we have born the burthen of their crimes.
Servants have rul'd us, and there's none that will
Deliver us, but let them rule us still.
VVith peril of our lives, we have obtain'd
Our bread, because the sword was unrestrain'd.
Our skins are black, like to an oven, and dry,
Because the Famine caus'd a Tyranny.
[illeg.]ion and Judahs daughters have been led
Away, and violently ravished.
Princes are hang'd up by the hands; the faces
Of Elders have no honor, but disgraces.
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Fainted beneath the burthen of their wood.
The Elders at their gates did not abide,
The young mens musick too is layd aside.
The joy is ceas'd which was our hearts relief,
Our active dancing's turn'd to passive grief.
The crown is fallen from our heads; and wo,
Wo be to us that have offended so.
Our hearts are faint, and our suffused eyes
Are dim, because of these calamities.
Because that Sions mountain's desolate,
The foxes walk thereon to recreate
Themselves: But thou O Lord shalt sit on high,
Upon thy throne, unto Eternity.
Wherefore dost thou forsake us, and demure
Thy self so long from us that seem secure?
Turn thou, and we are turn'd; Lord we implore,
Renew our days, as thou hast done before.
But thou hast quite rejected us, and thou
Beholdst thy servants with an angry brow.
Meditatio in Capitulum.
Complaining, what is that? will that relieve
Impris'ned souls, or teach the how to grieve?
Tell me, sad Soul, can greater wants converse
With flesh and blood? nay, what more lasting curse
Can be entail'd on man, then to complain
To such an ear as will not once retain
The least expression of a grief, but cry,
Let wo attend him to Eternity?
Oh dismal sentence! and if this be all,
'Twould grieve a man, that e're he griev'd at all,
To be thus harshly answer'd, and excluded
From hopes of mercy; Be not thus deluded
Despairing Soul.
Impris'ned souls, or teach the how to grieve?
Tell me, sad Soul, can greater wants converse
With flesh and blood? nay, what more lasting curse
Can be entail'd on man, then to complain
To such an ear as will not once retain
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Let wo attend him to Eternity?
Oh dismal sentence! and if this be all,
'Twould grieve a man, that e're he griev'd at all,
To be thus harshly answer'd, and excluded
From hopes of mercy; Be not thus deluded
Despairing Soul.
Jerusalem, 'tis true, she did complain;
And was that all? Oh no, her tongue did chain
A prayer to her petition, and her eyes
Were dayly trickling for her miseries.
Where is that man, that if he chance to be
Deprived of his goods by robberie,
Will sit complaining by himself, and try
No lawful means for a recovery
Of what he lost? should we not deem him mad,
To lose that good, which might be easily had,
If sought? This proverb calls it to my mind,
He that will spare to seek, must spare to find.
Even so, if Satan, whose depriving pow'r
Shall take a watch'd advantage, and devour
The Manna of our Souls, shall we then say,
'Tis gone, 'Tis gone, Satan has stoln't away?
And ah, can these, these naked words recal
A lost estate? Oh no, 'twill but inthral
Our happiness the more; and make our grief
The more extream, admitting no relief.
My Soul, if Satan e're shall make attempt
Vpon thy weakness, lab'ring to exempt
And win thee from thy self; go and make known
Thy cause to Heav'ns Judg-Advocate: bemoan
Thy self with tears; complain, confess, and pray:
God loves confession, but abhors delay.
Run, run unto him, that thou mayst prevent
The wrath and censure of his Parliament.
Go, go, for there thou shalt be sure to find
Abundance link'd together in one mind.
There is no faction, no divisions there,
But all are setl'd in one hemisphære
Of true opinion: There is none t'expect
A bribe; or else without a bribe neglect
To agitate thy business, or exact
Upon thy guiltless conscience, or enact
Their several humors: There is none to bring
Thy Soul in danger, 'cause th'ast lov'd thy King,
Thy heav'nly King, by whom thou shalt possess
A true and no excised happiness.
Oh endless joy! a joy that far transcends
The deepest thoughts; a joy that never ends.
Be ravish'd, Oh my Soul! and meditate
Upon Jerusalem: Let her sad state
Be as a caveat to thee; let her fall
Teach thee to stand: let her detested gall
Prove honey to thee; so mayst thou derive
Thy welfare from her sorrows, and survive
In everlasting bliss: Peace beyond measure
Shall crown thee with vicssiitude of pleasure.
Play well thy game, and so will Heav'n extend
His liberal grace, and bless thee in the End.
And was that all? Oh no, her tongue did chain
A prayer to her petition, and her eyes
Were dayly trickling for her miseries.
Where is that man, that if he chance to be
Deprived of his goods by robberie,
Will sit complaining by himself, and try
No lawful means for a recovery
Of what he lost? should we not deem him mad,
To lose that good, which might be easily had,
If sought? This proverb calls it to my mind,
He that will spare to seek, must spare to find.
Even so, if Satan, whose depriving pow'r
Shall take a watch'd advantage, and devour
The Manna of our Souls, shall we then say,
'Tis gone, 'Tis gone, Satan has stoln't away?
And ah, can these, these naked words recal
A lost estate? Oh no, 'twill but inthral
Our happiness the more; and make our grief
The more extream, admitting no relief.
My Soul, if Satan e're shall make attempt
Vpon thy weakness, lab'ring to exempt
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Thy cause to Heav'ns Judg-Advocate: bemoan
Thy self with tears; complain, confess, and pray:
God loves confession, but abhors delay.
Run, run unto him, that thou mayst prevent
The wrath and censure of his Parliament.
Go, go, for there thou shalt be sure to find
Abundance link'd together in one mind.
There is no faction, no divisions there,
But all are setl'd in one hemisphære
Of true opinion: There is none t'expect
A bribe; or else without a bribe neglect
To agitate thy business, or exact
Upon thy guiltless conscience, or enact
Their several humors: There is none to bring
Thy Soul in danger, 'cause th'ast lov'd thy King,
Thy heav'nly King, by whom thou shalt possess
A true and no excised happiness.
Oh endless joy! a joy that far transcends
The deepest thoughts; a joy that never ends.
Be ravish'd, Oh my Soul! and meditate
Upon Jerusalem: Let her sad state
Be as a caveat to thee; let her fall
Teach thee to stand: let her detested gall
Prove honey to thee; so mayst thou derive
Thy welfare from her sorrows, and survive
In everlasting bliss: Peace beyond measure
Shall crown thee with vicssiitude of pleasure.
Play well thy game, and so will Heav'n extend
His liberal grace, and bless thee in the End.
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DIVINE MEDITATIONS.
[Meditation we may fitly call]
Meditation
we may fitly call
The Souls arithmetitian, summing all
Our sins together; Nay, and every day
Cyphers them up, and teaches us to pray:
Then let us meditate, and strive to do
What our Arithmetitian leads us too.
The Souls arithmetitian, summing all
Our sins together; Nay, and every day
Cyphers them up, and teaches us to pray:
Then let us meditate, and strive to do
What our Arithmetitian leads us too.
He that will true examples learn to give;
First let him learn to dye, and then to live:
Prefer the surest first; for you and I
Vncertain are to live, but sure to dye.
First let him learn to dye, and then to live:
Prefer the surest first; for you and I
Vncertain are to live, but sure to dye.
Meditat. 1.
Delion is fallen upon Ossa's back,The more I cry for help, the more I lack.
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In the Charibdis of perplexity.
Escaping Scilla, Oh I thought I'd been
Past danger, but Charibdis was not seen.
Meditat. 2.
I'm now benighted, and obscur'd from light,My day of pleasure's turn'd into a night
Of clouded sorrow; Grief comes sailing on,
Steer'd by the hand of my rebellion.
Heav'n stop his passage, may he never rest
Within the harbor of my tender brest.
Meditat. 3.
What have I done? or what have I deserv'd,That I am thus imprison'd, and reserv'd
For death and sad destruction? Nay, but why,
Why do I ask, what I have done? To dye,
To dye, 'tis too too little, could a worse,
A worse succeed, I have deserv'd the Curse.
Meditat. 4.
I have displeased Heav'n, where shall I flyTo hide my self from his offended eye?
If rocks, or caves, could hide me from my sin,
There, there I'd go, and hide my self within
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The night of sin is gone, and now 'tis day.
Meditat. 5.
What if I storm'd heav'ns Paradise with prayers,And so besieg'd it with an host of tears?
What if I undermin'd, and layd a train
To blow it up with sighes? 'Twere but in vain:
To storm, besiege, all is but labor spent,
Except I could, as David did, Repent.
Meditat. 6.
Repent: Oh what a sound that word imports!Oh how it penetrates! How many sorts
Of Ecchoes answer it; Repent of all:
He that leaves one, repents of none at all:
He that will learn how to repent, and when;
First let him strive to be a David, then:
Meditat. 7.
And art thou still disquieted, my Soul?Trust thou in God; in God, that doth controul
Both heav'n and earth: 'tis he that must and shall
Be fear'd and honor'd, yea and lov'd withall.
Tis he can send Job's torments, and his woe;
'Tis we must pray to have his patience too.
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Meditat. 8.
Fain would I come before my angry God,But that my sinful years, still fear the Rod
Of his Correction, yet appear I must;
Sure, sure he's merciful, as well as just:
Cheer up dejected Soul, and thou shalt see
His mercy's greater, then thy sins can be.
Meditat. 9.
Can Heav'n forget himself, or can he sayThat thing o're night, he cannot do next day:
Can friends forget their children, or deny
Their dearest blood? or can a mountain fly?
Heav'n says, hee'l be a Father till the end:
Then he's a fool that doubts so true a friend.
Meditat. 10.
A friend indeed, but how can I expectTo purchase friendship, by my own neglect?
For ah, how often hath Heav'n pleas'd to say,
Ye that are heavy loaden, come away,
And I will give you ease: Alas but I
Thought sin no burthen, neither thought to dye.
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Meditat. 11.
But now I see the frailty of my mind;I thought I was imprison'd, when confin'd,
Only one hour to goodness; nay that hour
I thought a year, until I had the power
To free my self; when free'd, I had forgot
What goodness was, as though I'd heard it not.
Meditat. 12.
And should I strive to reckon up my sins,How can he make an end, that still begins?
The sands upon the Seas, nay and then hair
Upon my head, are Cyphers in compare
Of my excessive sins, yet Heav'n can call
Me, as he did the spend-thrift Prodigal.
Meditat. 13.
I know my sins are great, and do increaseWithin my Sion, and disturb my Peace:
Oh what am I (dear Heav'n) I am thy creature,
My sins are great, but yet thy mercy's greater.
Pardon (blest Heav'n,) forgive what I have done;
Thou art my Father, own me as thy Son.
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Meditat. 14.
It is a happiness to scorn the mirthOf this confused transitory earth:
And he who is ambitious to create
A happiness, must make the world his hate:
Then if self-love appear, we know for what;
We love our selves, in truly hating that.
Meditat. 15.
Life is the lifes preparative, and DeathThe deprivation of unconstant breath.
A well directed life shall always find
Society in Death; a glorious mind
Shall have a glorious, a celestial friend
To guard its glory to a glorious end.
Meditat. 16.
But can a mind, enammell'd with the gloryOf Heav'n, have end; or else is Death a story?
Death is the end of Life, and yet we see
Life is derived from Deaths soveraigntie.
'Tis quickly known, the Death of Sin must give
The pard'ned Soul a priviledg to live.
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Meditat. 17.
Heav'n is the seat of happiness, and HellThe place of fury, where the Furies dwell.
Then mount my Soul upon the spreading wings
Of lofty Faith; fly towards the King of Kings:
Whilest here thou shalt inhabit, learn to know,
That Heav'ns too high for them that fly too low.
Meditat. 18.
I am but sordid earth, that's dayly plough'dWith grief and care; and sorrows hourly croud
Into my weak dominions, and remain
Like greedy Tenants, thirsting after gain.
My eyes are always open to behold
New woes, for I am form'd in sorrows mould.
Meditat. 19.
I am a reeling Pinnace, and I sailFrom Port to Port; sometimes a humble gale
Salutes my spreading sails, and by and by
The waves, contemning my prosperity,
Spit in my face, being hurried by their tydes,
They seem to crawl into my sweating sides.
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Meditat. 20.
I am a clouded day, I promise rain;Sometimes I'm stormy, and then clear again;
Sometimes the Sun of Peace begins t'appear,
But cannot shine in sorrows Hemisphere:
Saddest of thoughts; needs must he be distrest
That finds unconstant weather in his brest.
Meditat. 21.
I am a vapor, having not the powerT'indure the fervour of one shining hour:
Vapors cannot withstand a mid-days heat;
Afflictions must be hot, where sins are great:
'Tis not unlike, a misty morning may
Oft times prove usher to a glorious day.
Meditat. 22.
I am a trembling reed, and every dayThe wind and I, are subject to a fray:
I'm bruis'd, and shall be broken, if some hand
Sustain me not I shall forget to stand:
But stay my Soul, and here Jehova speak,
I vow, the bruised reed I will not break.
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Meditat. 23.
I am but earth, corrupted with my deeds,Which are but like unprofitable weeds;
My soil is ranck, and barren, and it bears
No grain at all, no, not so much as tears:
Would'st thou increase (my Soul,) Ile teach thee how
Sow but the seeds of Faith, God speeds the plow.
Meditat. 24.
Despair not, when affliction ploughs the ground,Doubt not encreases, if the seed be found:
Heav'n loves a fruitful harvest, and his hand
Is always active to manure the Land;
He takes the chiefest care, the greatest pains,
He crowns the work, 'tis we that reap the gains.
Meditat. 25.
Man's like a house, whose outward beauty mayYield pleasure to the eye; If we survay
The inward rooms, there we may find enough
Of untrim'd natures sluttish houshold-stuff.
Would'st thou be fair within (O man,) and neat,
Turn but thy inside out, thou'lt be compleat.
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Meditat. 26.
Do greedy Ravens hunger? do they cryFor food? and are they fed? And must not I?
I beg, I crave, and yet am hungry still;
I pine, I starve, and Ravens have their fill.
I know (great God) I have offended thee,
Because thou feed'st the Ravens, and not me.
Meditat. 27.
Do Lillies flourish? do they still remainNeatly adorn'd? And yet they take no pain;
They neither spin nor card, they take no care,
And yet they're cloth'd, and I, poor I, go bare.
I know (great God) I have offended thee,
Because thou cloth'st the Lillies, and not me.
Meditat. 28.
Why am I thus tormented with the rodOf my afflictions? Hath my angry God
Forgot his creature? Shall I never have
A little ease, but be afflictions slave?
Forbear, my grumbling Soul, cheer up, and be
Mindful of him, and he'l remember thee.
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Meditat. 29.
And why does Heav'n afflict me, but becauseHe'l make me know my self, and learn his Laws.
Then why am I disquieted? If he
Intends my good, shall I prove enemie
Unto my self? My Soul, take care, be still,
Unless he turns that good into an ill.
Meditat. 30.
Then learn, my soul, when Heav'n afflicts, to know'Tis for thy sins he does it, and to show
The greatness of his mercy; and to make
Thee love affliction for the Afflictors sake.
Be wise and provident, and thou shalt see,
'Twas good for David, 'twill be good for thee.
Meditat. 31.
If thou wilt learn, my Soul, how to endure,With patience, thy afflictions, be thou sure,
That when the hand of angry Heav'n shall smite,
Thou dost not grumble like the Israelite.
Strive thou for patience, heav'n wil teach thee how
To bear affliction with a cheerful brow.
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Meditat. 32.
What though the waves of thy afflictions rise,And rage abundantly; lift up thy eyes,
And cry to Heav'n, let patience calm thy mind,
And know that purest gold must be refin'd,
And when affliction brings thee to the brink
Of death, remember Peter did not sink.
Meditat. 33.
When I consider, how I have offendedMy Souls dread Soveraign, and vili-pended
His gracious promises, I much admire
He casts me not into eternal fire:
But he in mercy makes me kiss his Rod,
Tells me, I am a Creature, he a God.
Meditat. 34.
Consider well, my Soul, why hast thou breath,Since that the wages of thy Sins are death?
Thou hast deserv'd ten thousand times to dye,
But that thy GOD, whose mercy doth deny
A Sinners death, reprieves thee for a time,
To make thee know the greatness of thy crime.
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Meditat. 35.
Oh meditate my Soul, what Heav'n hath doneFor thee, that art his most rebellious Son;
He hath prolong'd thy days, and striv'd to win
And draw thee from the loathsomness of sin:
Admired patience! Oh indulgent care!
Mercy of mercies! how can Heav'n forbear!
Meditat. 36.
Have I offended? and shall I despair?Oh no I dare not: Ah my Soul, forbear
To harbor such a wickedness; but know,
When thy sins ebb, Gods mercies overflow:
His mercy is an Ocean, and thy prayer
Is th'only wind can raise a tempest there.
Meditat. 37.
Then pray my Soul, and let thy prayers revealThy bosom sins; Oh think not to conceal
A crime from him, that is the God of truth,
And knows the sins of thy offending youth:
Ah know my Soul, the more thou striv'st to smother
Thy sins, the more one sin begets another.
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Meditat. 38.
Can Sin, the Souls consuming Viper, lie,And lurk secure, from Heav'ns all-seeing eye?
Oh no, 'tis vain to think so; though that we
Are muffl'd up with Sin, yet Heav'n can see.
Oh then confess my Soul, and thou shalt tread,
And trample on the Vipers poys'ny head.
Meditat. 39.
But can Confession in it self obtainAn absolute forgiveness? Can we gain
Heav'n by a sigh? Oh no, my Soul express
A perfect sorrow, when thou dost confess,
Then let resolved Constancy endure,
And thou, my Soul, shalt truly rest secure.
Meditat. 40.
Dost thou, my Soul, desire to be partakerOf those celestial joys where with thy Maker
Crowns those endeavoring souls, which study still
To be obedient to his sacred will?
Examine well the Scriptures, they will show
The ready way; then practise how to go.
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Meditat. 41.
Let thy innocuous Meditations beSerious and fervent: let integritie
Still wait upon them, which will still defend
And guard thy actions to a prosperous end.
Then shall thy labors have a peaceful rest;
Then dayly labor to be dayly blest.
Meditat. 42.
But have a care (my Soul) lest malice chanceTo interpose it self, and to advance
Above thy patience, and disturb that peace
Which might have blest thee with a large increase.
Oh have a care this be no fault of thine!
Remember who hath said, vengeance is mine.
Meditat. 43.
Dost thou desire, my Soul, that Heav'n should sayThy pardon's seal'd, and I will blot away
Thy numerous sins; nay, and I will no more
Remember them, as I have done before?
Then learn, my Soul, to know, whilest thou dost live,
He that will be forgiven, must forgive.
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Meditat. 44.
If thou wouldst go to Heav'n, my Soul, go on,(Not as the sluggard of wise Solomon,)
Be not so timerous as he, to say,
There is a Lyon lurking in the way:
Go on with courage, let the way delight thee,
Then shall the Lyon grumble, and not bite the{e}.
Meditat. 45.
The wise man saith, that sluggards shall be cloath'dWith rags, and all his actions shall be loath'd;
And he thats willing to obtain a prize,
Must be laborious, and have watchful eyes;
(My drowzy Soul.) make Heav'n thy prize, the strain
T'outrun thy sins and so thou shalt obtain.
Meditat. 46.
When on the ladder Jacob did discryThe Angels in his dream, he saw them fly
Upwards, and downwards, which was to express
How much they scorn'd, and hated Idleness:
Then learn my Soul, how to ascend apace
From sin, to the perfection of grace.
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Meditat. 47.
What was the reason Peter wept? Nay whyDid he go out and weep so bitterly?
Could he not weep within? Did he not dare
Before the wicked, to disburse a tear?
By this example, Peter makes it known
Who truly grieves, desires to grieve alone.
Meditat. 48.
Hast thou my Soul, with persecuting Paul,Envy'd the Church? Hast thou conspir'd her fall?
Why, then my Soul, writ thou despair? 'Tis true,
The crime is great, and GOD is gracious too.
A light may shine from Heav'n, and thou shalt be
With Paul, converted from thy Tyrannie.
Meditat. 49.
Hast thou with thrice-denying Peter, cry'd,I know him not, but stubbornly deny'd
The Lord of Life? what then? the Cock may crow,
God may look back upon thee, and bestow
His liberal blessings: Then my Soul deny
Thy sins, with Peter, and weep bitterly.
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Meditat. 50.
But was it not, my Soul, a sad disaster,That Peter should so soon deny his Master;
For whose dear fake he'd lose his life? Oh what
A sudden change is this! I know him not.
Nay more, as if he thought this would not do,
He binds it with an oath, forswears him too.
Meditat. 51.
What was the reason that the Lions, whenThey entertained Daniel in their Den,
Did rather fear, then hunger? Nay how can
Destroying Lions fawn upon a man?
My Soul, there was a Lamb that tam'd the Lion,
And made the Den prove Daniels safest Sion.
Meditat. 52.
Advise my Soul, and how could Daniel live,Impris'ned in the Den, and none to give
Him dayly food? How could he rest at quiet,
Without the enjoyment of some slender diet?
When Heav'n commands his Angels, they shal feed
A Soul; (my Soul) that Soul can never need.
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Meditat. 53.
'Twas Faith that guarded Daniel from the pawsOf dauntless Lions, whose imperious jaws
Were ty'd by Heav'ns appointment, so that they
Forgot their Tyranny, and learn'd to play.
(My Soul) with Daniel, t uly think upon
Thy God, and Faith shall be thy Champion.
Meditat. 54.
Did great Goliah fall? Could he not stand,That was so strong, against so weak a hand?
Could not his armor, nor his storming power
Maintain so mean a Combate half an hour?
Here, here (my Soul) observe, and thou shalt find
An armed body, but a naked mind.
Meditat. 55.
But how did stripling David dare to showHis childish face before so great a foe?
He had no armor on, nor sword to shield
His body, yet he fought, and won the field.
Here, here (my Soul) observe, and thou shalt find
A naked body, but an armed mind.
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Meditat. 56.
Be sure (my Soul) when e're thou shalt beginTo war with the Goliah of thy sin,
Take Davids armor, and thou shalt o'rethrow
Thy sin with a most advantageous blow.
Boast not too much, but with bold courage fight;
The pebble-stones of Faith fly always right.
Meditat. 57.
Faith is the arm of safety, which defendsThe Soul from all approaching harm, and lends
A sword to fight with Satan, who may venture
To make a thrust or two, but cannot enter.
Gain thou this arm of Faith (my Soul) and then
Thou mayst out-dare a Lion in his Den.
Meditat. 58.
Learn how to prize thy Faith (my Soul) and knowShe is thy only safety here below:
She is a trusty buckler to protect thee
From showres of evil, and to good direct thee.
Then rouze my Soul, and be not quite cast down,
Repentance brings in Faith, and Faith a Crown.
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Meditat. 59.
A Crown, that's only fitting to adornA Princes brow; and subjects that are born
To an inferior fortune, must content
Themselves with that, which fortune freely lent.
But ah my Soul! be wise and understand,
A heavenly Crown's not made by humane hand.
Meditat. 60.
A glorious Crown of glory shall attendAttentive hearts; my Soul, I recommend
This Crown to thee: consider but the price
It cost, and then remember Paradise.
Remember whose dear blood did trickle down,
Like tedious showres, to purchase thee this Crown.
Meditat. 61.
O boundless Love! would such a Lamb as heDye for such wolf-like sycophants as we?
His willing Soul did even joy t'express
This introduction to our happiness.
His blood gush'd out to wash us clean within:
He shed it for our sins, and yet we sin.
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Meditat. 62.
Rouze thee my Soul, and let thy Eagle-eyesBehold that Sun in whom thy safety lies:
Look well upon him, and thou shalt discover
A Lamb-like Patience, and a constant Lover.
Admire with how much Dove-like innocence
He suffer'd death for us that gave th'offence.
Meditat. 63.
Art thou not ravish'd yet, my Soul; then hear,And I will recommend unto thy ear
The willing passion of that Lamb, which cry'd
Eloi, Eloi, Eloi, and so dy'd.
And by the virtue of his dying deed,
Our blood was stop'd, when he began to bleed.
Meditat. 64.
Man, the unhappy off-spring of that man
Of Sin, at whose beginning we began
To fall from our first principles, and stray
From good to bad, digressing from the way
Of our assur'd Salvation, and exchange
A world of pleasure for a world of pains;
And by that Heav'n-forbidden taste reverst
The stroke of mercy, made us all accurst,
And hourly subject to his wrath, whose power
Created us, and made us little lower
Then Heav'n-bred Angels; till the sad inventions
Of Satans malice quickned the intentions
Of greedy Eve, whose hand soon recommended
That fruit, which by the Serpent was extended,
To her beguiled husband; whose neglect
Of Heav'ns Commands purchas'd a dull aspect
From his revengeful brow, which shin'd more bright
Then glorious Cynthia in her greatest light.
But ah, the cloud of Adams sin had made
A great eclipse: Poor Adam is betray'd
By his own folly, and condemn'd to crawl
Upon his belly, and gulp up the gall
Of his transgressions; Having thus offended,
He's thrown from Paradise, and vili-pended
By Heav'n: But all this while the Serpent sits
Ravish'd with laughter, tut'ring still his wits
To further mischief; having found success
In his first enterprize, doubts nothing less
Then what he hopes for, having thus o'rethrown
The first man Adam, thinks that all's his own;
But that our God, whose all-commanding power
Can mortifie, and quicken in one hour,
Was fill'd with pity, pitied man, whose state
He saw was miserably desperate;
Begun to view him with a gracious eye,
And invocates his sacred Trinity;
And thus proceeds—
Of Sin, at whose beginning we began
To fall from our first principles, and stray
From good to bad, digressing from the way
Of our assur'd Salvation, and exchange
A world of pleasure for a world of pains;
And by that Heav'n-forbidden taste reverst
The stroke of mercy, made us all accurst,
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Created us, and made us little lower
Then Heav'n-bred Angels; till the sad inventions
Of Satans malice quickned the intentions
Of greedy Eve, whose hand soon recommended
That fruit, which by the Serpent was extended,
To her beguiled husband; whose neglect
Of Heav'ns Commands purchas'd a dull aspect
From his revengeful brow, which shin'd more bright
Then glorious Cynthia in her greatest light.
But ah, the cloud of Adams sin had made
A great eclipse: Poor Adam is betray'd
By his own folly, and condemn'd to crawl
Upon his belly, and gulp up the gall
Of his transgressions; Having thus offended,
He's thrown from Paradise, and vili-pended
By Heav'n: But all this while the Serpent sits
Ravish'd with laughter, tut'ring still his wits
To further mischief; having found success
In his first enterprize, doubts nothing less
Then what he hopes for, having thus o'rethrown
The first man Adam, thinks that all's his own;
But that our God, whose all-commanding power
Can mortifie, and quicken in one hour,
Was fill'd with pity, pitied man, whose state
He saw was miserably desperate;
Begun to view him with a gracious eye,
And invocates his sacred Trinity;
And thus proceeds—
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Have I made man? have I
Made wretched man, man made to glorifie
My name, and given to his thriftless hand
Preheminency both by Sea and Land?
And shall I not be honor'd? Am I not
A mindful God? And shall I be forgot
By slothful man? have I not gave him light
In spite of darkness, and shall he requite
My favors thus? Nay more, have I not fram'd
And stamp'd him with my Image, and proclaim'd
A lasting greatness to him? And shall they
Be thus obdurate now, that were but clay
Before I gave them breath? and shall that breath
Contemn, defie, and scorn me to the death?
Is this the honor which I did expect
From them? Is this the duty? this th'effect
Of all my labors? Speak my dearest Son,
What shall we do with man that hath undone
His wretched self? My fury burns to be
Reveng'd on man for his iniquitie.
Break forth my restless fury and devour
That loathed thing call'd man, give him no power
To call me Father, whil'st abused I
Will stop my ears, and scorn to hear him cry:
Begone, enact my pleasure.
Made wretched man, man made to glorifie
My name, and given to his thriftless hand
Preheminency both by Sea and Land?
And shall I not be honor'd? Am I not
A mindful God? And shall I be forgot
By slothful man? have I not gave him light
In spite of darkness, and shall he requite
My favors thus? Nay more, have I not fram'd
And stamp'd him with my Image, and proclaim'd
A lasting greatness to him? And shall they
Be thus obdurate now, that were but clay
Before I gave them breath? and shall that breath
Contemn, defie, and scorn me to the death?
Is this the honor which I did expect
From them? Is this the duty? this th'effect
Of all my labors? Speak my dearest Son,
What shall we do with man that hath undone
His wretched self? My fury burns to be
Reveng'd on man for his iniquitie.
Break forth my restless fury and devour
That loathed thing call'd man, give him no power
To call me Father, whil'st abused I
Will stop my ears, and scorn to hear him cry:
Begone, enact my pleasure.
The Son reply'd: Oh stop! Oh stay my dear,
My dearest Father! Let thy sacred ear
Stand open but one minute, that poor man
May strive to plead, and utter what he can
For his own self. Alas, my Son, I know
The more he strives to speak, the more he'l show
His guilt: And ah! what answer can he make
To angry I, that am resolv'd to take
Speedy revenge? the more he strives to clear
Himself, the more he'l make his guilt appear.
Begone my fury, run till thou art spent:
Away, away, and give my passion vent,
Vent it on man. My angry Father stay
A little longer, hear what I will say
In mans behalf: Oh, is not man thy creature?
His sins are not so great, but thou art greater
In mercy: Oh be merciful, and let
(If nothing will) my blood discharge the debt:
I'le freely give it, may this Blood of mine
Extinguish quite those angry flames of thine.
Oh be appeas'd, and give me leave to strive
Against the power of Satan, and deprive
Him of his man-deluding power: I'le charm
His rav'ning malice, and withhold his arm
From hurting man: Nay, and I'le undergo
As many sorrows, as the world can show,
For man thy image: Say the word, and I
Will go, nay run, for joy, that I must dye
For mans redemption. Dearest Son, then go,
Redeem relapsed man, that he may ow
An endless debt. But say, my Son, should he,
For whom thou dyest, revile, dishonor thee,
And trample in thy precious blood, and make
That blood prove poyson to him, that should take
The venome of his sins away? I'le strive,
The Holy Ghost reply'd, to make man thrive,
And grow in grace; I'le teach him to express
No fained, but a real thankfulness.
My dearest Father! Let thy sacred ear
Stand open but one minute, that poor man
May strive to plead, and utter what he can
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The more he strives to speak, the more he'l show
His guilt: And ah! what answer can he make
To angry I, that am resolv'd to take
Speedy revenge? the more he strives to clear
Himself, the more he'l make his guilt appear.
Begone my fury, run till thou art spent:
Away, away, and give my passion vent,
Vent it on man. My angry Father stay
A little longer, hear what I will say
In mans behalf: Oh, is not man thy creature?
His sins are not so great, but thou art greater
In mercy: Oh be merciful, and let
(If nothing will) my blood discharge the debt:
I'le freely give it, may this Blood of mine
Extinguish quite those angry flames of thine.
Oh be appeas'd, and give me leave to strive
Against the power of Satan, and deprive
Him of his man-deluding power: I'le charm
His rav'ning malice, and withhold his arm
From hurting man: Nay, and I'le undergo
As many sorrows, as the world can show,
For man thy image: Say the word, and I
Will go, nay run, for joy, that I must dye
For mans redemption. Dearest Son, then go,
Redeem relapsed man, that he may ow
An endless debt. But say, my Son, should he,
For whom thou dyest, revile, dishonor thee,
And trample in thy precious blood, and make
That blood prove poyson to him, that should take
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The Holy Ghost reply'd, to make man thrive,
And grow in grace; I'le teach him to express
No fained, but a real thankfulness.
O Soul-transporting Joy! O truest Love
Without a period! O innoxious Dove!
Could'st thou, thou Lamb of God, be thus content
To step from Heav'n, and take that punishment
Upon thy patient self, which appertain'd
To Heav'n-provoking man, man that was stain'd
And blur'd with Sin, whose spots could never be
Wash'd out (blest Lamb) by any but by thee?
Had'st thou not interpos'd, our souls had bin
Imbowel'd in the Ocean of our Sin:
And hadst thou not sustain'd us, we had fell,
And swelter'd in the restless flames of Hell.
Hadst thou not look'd upon our sad condition,
And pitied us, to see what expedition
We made to our own ruines, we had lost
The hopes of our Salvation, which cost
An unknown price: 'Twas not a swelling flood
Of heap'd up gold redeem'd us, but thy blood;
Thy precious blood, which flow'd like hasty tides,
In great abundance, from thy wounded sides.
Start from the bed of sin (my Soul) and run
To view the splendor of this glorious Sun:
See how he wrastles with the gloomy clouds
Of our transgressions; See how he unshrouds
Himself: Oh see what pains he undergoes,
To prove himself our friend, that were his foes.
Methinks I hear a throng of people cry,
Let Barabbas be freed let's crucifie
This Jewish King: let's lead him to his death,
'Tis pity he should draw a minutes breath.
Methinks I see how his weak hands are bound
With twisted cords: Methinks I see him crown'd
With sharpned thorns: Methinks I see them, how
They worship him with a dissembled Bow.
Methinks I see the gazing people run,
To see the glorious setting of this Sun.
Methinks I see his gentle feet divide
Their measur'd paces, to be crucify'd.
Methinks I see how his delightful face
Seems to receive an honor by disgrace.
Methinks I see how his Heav'n-fixed eyes
Do overlook his raging enemies.
Methinks I see his sphere-inviting brest
Willingly ready to receive the rest
Of their intended malice; How his palmes
(Like one that gives, and not receives an almes)
Are spread abroad, which truly verifies
With what a cheerful willingness he dyes.
Methinks I see how his connexed feet
Salute the Cross, as if they joy'd to meet
With so, so fast a friend: Methinks I see
With what a Heav'n-infus'd reluctancie
He entertains their blows, as if he found
A lively comfort in each deadly wound.
Methinks I see his bubbling veins, how they
Swell up a little, and then shrink away,
And hide themselves, as if they had exprest
(For the departure of so warm a guest)
A secret grief; Till conquering death exil'd
Life from the body of that Lamb, that Child,
That Son of God, in whom true joys recide;
Who lives by dying, and by living dy'd.
Without a period! O innoxious Dove!
Could'st thou, thou Lamb of God, be thus content
To step from Heav'n, and take that punishment
Upon thy patient self, which appertain'd
To Heav'n-provoking man, man that was stain'd
And blur'd with Sin, whose spots could never be
Wash'd out (blest Lamb) by any but by thee?
Had'st thou not interpos'd, our souls had bin
Imbowel'd in the Ocean of our Sin:
And hadst thou not sustain'd us, we had fell,
And swelter'd in the restless flames of Hell.
Hadst thou not look'd upon our sad condition,
And pitied us, to see what expedition
We made to our own ruines, we had lost
The hopes of our Salvation, which cost
An unknown price: 'Twas not a swelling flood
Of heap'd up gold redeem'd us, but thy blood;
Thy precious blood, which flow'd like hasty tides,
In great abundance, from thy wounded sides.
Start from the bed of sin (my Soul) and run
To view the splendor of this glorious Sun:
See how he wrastles with the gloomy clouds
Of our transgressions; See how he unshrouds
Himself: Oh see what pains he undergoes,
To prove himself our friend, that were his foes.
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Let Barabbas be freed let's crucifie
This Jewish King: let's lead him to his death,
'Tis pity he should draw a minutes breath.
Methinks I see how his weak hands are bound
With twisted cords: Methinks I see him crown'd
With sharpned thorns: Methinks I see them, how
They worship him with a dissembled Bow.
Methinks I see the gazing people run,
To see the glorious setting of this Sun.
Methinks I see his gentle feet divide
Their measur'd paces, to be crucify'd.
Methinks I see how his delightful face
Seems to receive an honor by disgrace.
Methinks I see how his Heav'n-fixed eyes
Do overlook his raging enemies.
Methinks I see his sphere-inviting brest
Willingly ready to receive the rest
Of their intended malice; How his palmes
(Like one that gives, and not receives an almes)
Are spread abroad, which truly verifies
With what a cheerful willingness he dyes.
Methinks I see how his connexed feet
Salute the Cross, as if they joy'd to meet
With so, so fast a friend: Methinks I see
With what a Heav'n-infus'd reluctancie
He entertains their blows, as if he found
A lively comfort in each deadly wound.
Methinks I see his bubbling veins, how they
Swell up a little, and then shrink away,
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(For the departure of so warm a guest)
A secret grief; Till conquering death exil'd
Life from the body of that Lamb, that Child,
That Son of God, in whom true joys recide;
Who lives by dying, and by living dy'd.
Quis miserior quàm qui suam nescit miseriam?
Do I not dayly see that nothing can
Be so unstable as the state of man?
Do I not see how fortune can correct
Misfortune; and as suddenly neglect
Poor helpless man? Somtimes his thoughts are crown'd
With golden joys, and sometimes kiss the ground:
Somtimes he's fill'd with laughter, somtimes weeps;
Sometimes he walks in state, & sometimes creeps.
A morning joy proves sometimes grief at night,
For fortunes dial goes not always right.
'Tis vain: 'tis vain: and ah that I could weep
My self into a deluge, and so steep
My cheeks in tears: Oh that I could imbark
My naked Soul, and swim like Noah's Ark
In that grand Ocean, which my flowing eyes
Have made, and over-look my miseries!
Distemp'red thoughts, why do ye thus torment
My yeelding Soul? why does my Soul relent?
Why am I thus afflicted? why doth sorrow
Take an advantage of my Soul, and borrow
Quotidian plagues, and study how to make
My heart its Theator? How shall I shake
These coupling fetters from my captiv'd heart?
How shall I bid adue to grief, and part?
Where shall I run, and labor to unsnare
My breasts inhabitant? Oh how, or where
Shall I retire my self! In what sad place
Shall I deplore my miserable case?
Could I but find a place where I might dwell,
And only see the Sun, I'd bid farewel
To all false pleasures.
Be so unstable as the state of man?
Do I not see how fortune can correct
Misfortune; and as suddenly neglect
Poor helpless man? Somtimes his thoughts are crown'd
With golden joys, and sometimes kiss the ground:
Somtimes he's fill'd with laughter, somtimes weeps;
Sometimes he walks in state, & sometimes creeps.
A morning joy proves sometimes grief at night,
For fortunes dial goes not always right.
'Tis vain: 'tis vain: and ah that I could weep
My self into a deluge, and so steep
My cheeks in tears: Oh that I could imbark
My naked Soul, and swim like Noah's Ark
In that grand Ocean, which my flowing eyes
Have made, and over-look my miseries!
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My yeelding Soul? why does my Soul relent?
Why am I thus afflicted? why doth sorrow
Take an advantage of my Soul, and borrow
Quotidian plagues, and study how to make
My heart its Theator? How shall I shake
These coupling fetters from my captiv'd heart?
How shall I bid adue to grief, and part?
Where shall I run, and labor to unsnare
My breasts inhabitant? Oh how, or where
Shall I retire my self! In what sad place
Shall I deplore my miserable case?
Could I but find a place where I might dwell,
And only see the Sun, I'd bid farewel
To all false pleasures.
For now my Soul still hovers to and fro
From place to place: sometimes it flies too low;
Sometimes, with more aspiring wings, it flies,
And envies at impossibilities:
Then back again, and with a seeming mirth
Surveys the center of this flattering earth.
And thus my Soul, being left in this sad being,
Agrees in nothing else but disagreeing:
My ways are pav'd with thorns, I take my diet
From sorrows table, furnish'd with disquiet:
I am the principle of grief, my eyes,
Like windows, open to all miseries:
My head's a fountain, and from thence doth flow
The headlong rivers of unbridled woe.
My sighs, like sudden storms, disturb my rest,
As if I had a Boreas in my brest.
Needs must I be molested in my dreams,
My heart's the receptacle of all streams:
Then blame me not, if sorrow makes me cry;
Sum all misfortune up, and that am I.
But stay my thoughts; post not away too fast:
Extreams are dangerous, and cannot last.
A sudden thought hath made me to confess,
I may be happy in unhappiness.
And what's a thought? 'tis but a sudden puff;
Yet many may confound, when one's enough.
Come let's repose, and make a little stay,
One Sun's sufficient to adorn a day.
Why should I wander in the darksom shades
Of my own errors, whilest a grief invades
My naked senses? 'Tis in vain to strive
Against the power of God, who can contrive
What pleases him: Why shall I then repine
At what he sends? Can wretched I confine
His will to mine? Oh no; He suffers well,
Whose suffrings tell him there's no other Hell,
But in this world: Who would not then endure
Terrestrial torments, that he may procure
Celestial pleasures? Sorrow brings no loss
To him whose patience can sustain a cross.
Hereafter I will labor to prevent
A little Sorrow by a great Content.
From place to place: sometimes it flies too low;
Sometimes, with more aspiring wings, it flies,
And envies at impossibilities:
Then back again, and with a seeming mirth
Surveys the center of this flattering earth.
And thus my Soul, being left in this sad being,
Agrees in nothing else but disagreeing:
My ways are pav'd with thorns, I take my diet
From sorrows table, furnish'd with disquiet:
I am the principle of grief, my eyes,
Like windows, open to all miseries:
My head's a fountain, and from thence doth flow
The headlong rivers of unbridled woe.
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As if I had a Boreas in my brest.
Needs must I be molested in my dreams,
My heart's the receptacle of all streams:
Then blame me not, if sorrow makes me cry;
Sum all misfortune up, and that am I.
But stay my thoughts; post not away too fast:
Extreams are dangerous, and cannot last.
A sudden thought hath made me to confess,
I may be happy in unhappiness.
And what's a thought? 'tis but a sudden puff;
Yet many may confound, when one's enough.
Come let's repose, and make a little stay,
One Sun's sufficient to adorn a day.
Why should I wander in the darksom shades
Of my own errors, whilest a grief invades
My naked senses? 'Tis in vain to strive
Against the power of God, who can contrive
What pleases him: Why shall I then repine
At what he sends? Can wretched I confine
His will to mine? Oh no; He suffers well,
Whose suffrings tell him there's no other Hell,
But in this world: Who would not then endure
Terrestrial torments, that he may procure
Celestial pleasures? Sorrow brings no loss
To him whose patience can sustain a cross.
Hereafter I will labor to prevent
A little Sorrow by a great Content.
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Surgit post nubila Phœbus.
When
gloomy clouds surround the lofty skie,
It is an argument a storm is nigh:
But when the Sun's eclipsed from our sight,
We must not judg an everlasting night
Will then ensue: 'Tis danger to distrust
A God that is so merciful, so just.
The greatest sin that Satan can declare
Against a guilty soul is sad despair:
What though the clouds of earth shall interpose
Betwixt a Soul and Heaven? the wind blows
Not always in one place; one happy hour
May breed a calm, and qualifie a showre.
It is an argument a storm is nigh:
But when the Sun's eclipsed from our sight,
We must not judg an everlasting night
Will then ensue: 'Tis danger to distrust
A God that is so merciful, so just.
The greatest sin that Satan can declare
Against a guilty soul is sad despair:
What though the clouds of earth shall interpose
Betwixt a Soul and Heaven? the wind blows
Not always in one place; one happy hour
May breed a calm, and qualifie a showre.
Some greedy Lawyers, when their Clyents stock
Is almost spent, rewards him with a mock:
The Counsellor of Heav'n gives more content
To a poor sinner, when his breath is spent:
Accepts the will, although his tongue be mute;
He seldom keeps him seven years in a suite:
He's free in mercy, and he takes delight
To end a suite, when sorrow makes it right:
God is not like to them that take a pride
In others griefs: when tears begin to slide,
His mercy falls; he cannot brook delay,
But meets a sinners language half the way.
His ears are always open to let in
A sinners prayers, when he lets out his sin.
What thogh I have transgrest? what tho my crimes
Appear like mountains? mountains oftentimes
Sink lower; nay and God can pardon all
As well as one: for be they great or small,
They all are sins: shrubs grow as well as trees,
Gods mercy will admit of no degrees.
He that distrusts his God shall always find
A clouded conscience, and a stormy mind.
Is almost spent, rewards him with a mock:
The Counsellor of Heav'n gives more content
To a poor sinner, when his breath is spent:
Accepts the will, although his tongue be mute;
He seldom keeps him seven years in a suite:
He's free in mercy, and he takes delight
To end a suite, when sorrow makes it right:
God is not like to them that take a pride
In others griefs: when tears begin to slide,
His mercy falls; he cannot brook delay,
But meets a sinners language half the way.
His ears are always open to let in
A sinners prayers, when he lets out his sin.
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Appear like mountains? mountains oftentimes
Sink lower; nay and God can pardon all
As well as one: for be they great or small,
They all are sins: shrubs grow as well as trees,
Gods mercy will admit of no degrees.
He that distrusts his God shall always find
A clouded conscience, and a stormy mind.
Seven days had run before God had attyr'd
The World with order, yet he was not tyr'd:
And shall we then expect to climbe so high
As Heav'n, in half an hour, or else deny
So blest a labor? No, perhaps to day
We keep the road, to morrow lose the way.
The World with order, yet he was not tyr'd:
And shall we then expect to climbe so high
As Heav'n, in half an hour, or else deny
So blest a labor? No, perhaps to day
We keep the road, to morrow lose the way.
Contenta vita est summa fælicitas.
What is this world? A looking-glass wherin
We see the body, nay the face of Sin.
What's Wealth, what's Honor? Transitory toys.
What's Mirth, what's Pleasure? Melancholy joys.
Honor is Envies object; Riches, they
Are but the subjects of a frowning day.
Beauty's a slave to time, and fond delight
Teaches the morning how to fool the night.
Were I a Midus, could my towers of wealth
Protect my person or preserve my health?
Were I a Cæsar, could my honors save
My crazy carkase from the gaping grave?
Were I as fair as Venus, could my beauty
Acquit me from that necessary duty
I ow to change? If so, I'd honor pleasure;
And hug my honor: and rejoyce in treasure.
If I had riches, they might make me fly
Upon the wings of prodigality.
If I had honor, that might make me dance
Ambition a Corranto, and advance
My self above my self: If beauty were
At my command, then might I chance t'insnare
The wantons of the world: nay, and intice
Virtue to change it self into a vice.
We see the body, nay the face of Sin.
What's Wealth, what's Honor? Transitory toys.
What's Mirth, what's Pleasure? Melancholy joys.
Honor is Envies object; Riches, they
Are but the subjects of a frowning day.
Beauty's a slave to time, and fond delight
Teaches the morning how to fool the night.
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Protect my person or preserve my health?
Were I a Cæsar, could my honors save
My crazy carkase from the gaping grave?
Were I as fair as Venus, could my beauty
Acquit me from that necessary duty
I ow to change? If so, I'd honor pleasure;
And hug my honor: and rejoyce in treasure.
If I had riches, they might make me fly
Upon the wings of prodigality.
If I had honor, that might make me dance
Ambition a Corranto, and advance
My self above my self: If beauty were
At my command, then might I chance t'insnare
The wantons of the world: nay, and intice
Virtue to change it self into a vice.
Now tell me Earth, where are those smooth delights
Thou often boasts of? are thy golden nights
Chang'd into leaden days? Oh tell me then!
Why dost thou so befool the sons of men?
Who, following thee, consume their precious time,
And are at last rewarded with a crime.
I Content, that well advised word imports
A crown of happiness: All joy resorts
Into the palace of a blest content,
And there resides.
Thou often boasts of? are thy golden nights
Chang'd into leaden days? Oh tell me then!
Why dost thou so befool the sons of men?
Who, following thee, consume their precious time,
And are at last rewarded with a crime.
I Content, that well advised word imports
A crown of happiness: All joy resorts
Into the palace of a blest content,
And there resides.
Content is golden ey'd, and can behold
A dunghil with as much respect as gold.
Content's a Jewel: but here lies the art,
Which way to hang it in a restless heart.
A dunghil with as much respect as gold.
Content's a Jewel: but here lies the art,
Which way to hang it in a restless heart.
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Much have I heard of that rich stone, which all
Are pleas'd t'entitle, Philosophical;
And fame reports, that many wits have try'd
T'obtain it, and before obtain'd it dy'd,
And loft their eager hopes; nay, what is worse,
Left a rich study, but a poorer purse.
And to conclude, experience made it known,
Had they not lost Content, they'd found the Stone.
Are pleas'd t'entitle, Philosophical;
And fame reports, that many wits have try'd
T'obtain it, and before obtain'd it dy'd,
And loft their eager hopes; nay, what is worse,
Left a rich study, but a poorer purse.
And to conclude, experience made it known,
Had they not lost Content, they'd found the Stone.
Pax una triumpha est.
Peace
is the life of happiness, and Strife
A living Death unto a dying Life:
Envy's the child of Strife, and pregnant Peace
Is an indulgent Mother, whose encrease
Adorns the earth: Peace is a Turtle Dove,
Compos'd of nothing but the purest Love.
What's martial triumph, but a little blaze
Which now aspires, and by and by decays?
What triumph is t, to see the shivered bones
Of breathless men, and hear th'impetuous groans
Of those whose feeble tongues invite a death
To dispossess them of their loathed breath?
Sad are th'effects of War, and yet this age
Esteems not Peace, but lets Contention rage
Into a madness: Oh unhappy State,
Where Strife's desir'd too soon, & Peace too late!
Soul-calming Peace, and heart-corroding Strife
Live here like Factors, both for death and life.
It is a sacred Jubile, to hear
Soft-breathing Peace, chanting in every ear
Rare strains of Heav'n-bred raptures, which express
Full Diapasons of our happiness:
But 'tis a dying life to see, that bliss
Should, by a hellish metamorphosis,
Be thus transhap'd to Strife: There's no prevention,
Abused Peace perverts into contention.
A living Death unto a dying Life:
Envy's the child of Strife, and pregnant Peace
Is an indulgent Mother, whose encrease
Adorns the earth: Peace is a Turtle Dove,
Compos'd of nothing but the purest Love.
What's martial triumph, but a little blaze
Which now aspires, and by and by decays?
What triumph is t, to see the shivered bones
Of breathless men, and hear th'impetuous groans
Of those whose feeble tongues invite a death
To dispossess them of their loathed breath?
Sad are th'effects of War, and yet this age
Esteems not Peace, but lets Contention rage
Into a madness: Oh unhappy State,
Where Strife's desir'd too soon, & Peace too late!
97
Live here like Factors, both for death and life.
It is a sacred Jubile, to hear
Soft-breathing Peace, chanting in every ear
Rare strains of Heav'n-bred raptures, which express
Full Diapasons of our happiness:
But 'tis a dying life to see, that bliss
Should, by a hellish metamorphosis,
Be thus transhap'd to Strife: There's no prevention,
Abused Peace perverts into contention.
And can the Diamond of Amitie,
If once dissevered in pieces, be
Compos'd again? Experience makes us find,
'Tis quickly broken, but not quickly joyn'd.
Oh Peace! Can we expect thy blest return,
If we, whose flaming envies dayly burn
Thy name within the Ætnas of our brests,
Do make thee subject to our vile detests?
'Tis often seen, Cantharides do dwell
Upon the fairest rose, whose pleasing smell
Delights the sense: It may be truly said,
Envy, that base Cantharides, hath laid
It self upon the Roses of our Peace,
And rob'd us of a liberal encrease.
Have not our eyes in former times beheld
The fuits of Peace? have not our Souls been fill'd
With heavenly pleasures, and our grasping hands
Gather'd the plenty of our peaceful Lands?
Did not the painful husbandman bestow
His labors with a cheerful brow, and sow
The often-furrowed earth? But now, ah now,
Intruding Mars molests the active plough!
And have we not by sad experience found,
Contentious Mars ploughs bodies, & not ground?
Oh miserable tillage! This will bring
A bloody Harvest, and as bad a Spring.
See smiling Bacchus, with his brim-fill'd bowls,
Would tempt us to carouze away our Souls.
Mars with a palled look proclaims an end
To all our pastimes: Sorrow knows no friend.
Mars thunders, Bacchus smiles, and Cupid cries,
Envy survives, Truth pines, and Friendship dyes.
Peace flies her Country, and with discontent
Bemoans our sorrows, and her banishment.
And thus we tumble in our own confusion,
A bad beginning finds a bad conclusion.
If once dissevered in pieces, be
Compos'd again? Experience makes us find,
'Tis quickly broken, but not quickly joyn'd.
Oh Peace! Can we expect thy blest return,
If we, whose flaming envies dayly burn
Thy name within the Ætnas of our brests,
Do make thee subject to our vile detests?
'Tis often seen, Cantharides do dwell
Upon the fairest rose, whose pleasing smell
Delights the sense: It may be truly said,
Envy, that base Cantharides, hath laid
It self upon the Roses of our Peace,
And rob'd us of a liberal encrease.
Have not our eyes in former times beheld
The fuits of Peace? have not our Souls been fill'd
With heavenly pleasures, and our grasping hands
Gather'd the plenty of our peaceful Lands?
Did not the painful husbandman bestow
His labors with a cheerful brow, and sow
98
Intruding Mars molests the active plough!
And have we not by sad experience found,
Contentious Mars ploughs bodies, & not ground?
Oh miserable tillage! This will bring
A bloody Harvest, and as bad a Spring.
See smiling Bacchus, with his brim-fill'd bowls,
Would tempt us to carouze away our Souls.
Mars with a palled look proclaims an end
To all our pastimes: Sorrow knows no friend.
Mars thunders, Bacchus smiles, and Cupid cries,
Envy survives, Truth pines, and Friendship dyes.
Peace flies her Country, and with discontent
Bemoans our sorrows, and her banishment.
And thus we tumble in our own confusion,
A bad beginning finds a bad conclusion.
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A DISCOURSE between the SOUL and WORLD.
Wo.How now sad Soul; from whence proceeds those clouds
Which still eclipse thy fancy thus, & shrouds
Thy splendent glory? what contentious Fate
Hath bred disturbance in thy quiet State?
Tell me, come tell me, that my studious care
May be imploy'd to serve thee: Why, or where
Art thou opprest? Come, never fear to tell
Thy grief to me, thou know'st I love thee well.
Sou.
Oh I am sick, canst thou be my Physitian?
Wo.
I can, sick Soul: Come tell me thy condition.
Sou.
Draw neerer then, for ah my spirits fail;
I'm sick because I know not what I ail.
Wo.
If thou art sick, and canst not find thy grief,
How canst thou be a suitor to relief?
Sou.
Were it a single sorrow that opprest
My wearied mind, 'twere easily exprest;
100
A troubled mind, how can that mind have vent?
Wo.
Come, leave these vain exordiums, let my ear
Be heir to thy discourse, I long to hear;
Conceal not that, which if reveal'd may bring
A remedy: Come, tell me what's the thing
That thus corrodes thy brest; 'tis I alone
Must give thy heart refreshment, or else none.
Sou.
Alas fond World! how justly may I stile
Thy help a hinderance, thy treasures vile!
What answer shall I now retort, that may
Expresly satisfie? I cannot say
What I desire; for when I strive to speak,
My passion grows too strong, my tongue too weak;
My numerous pains infatuate my wit.
Wo.
Pish, this is but a melancholly fit:
Clear up thy clouded thoughts, such fits as these
Are incident to all; learn to appease
Thy instigating passion, and advise
With me; I'le make thee well, I'le make thee wise:
My bounteous treasure shall increase thy store
With great abundance: Come, let's have no more
Of these thy petulant discourses, be
Prescrib'd by none (dear Soul) except by me;
I'le cure thy pain.
Soul.
Fond World forbear
To urge my resolution, or insnare
My yeelding spirits; let thy language be
Reserv'd for them that will be fool'd by thee:
Thy elevating joys, which did before
Inrich my vacant senses, make them poor:
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Concomitate poor miserable man,
Is to be happy.
World.
That's a paradox,
Is happiness a crime?
Sou.
Mistake me not rash fool, for my pretence
Is good, if not corrupted by the sence
You take it in? For tell me what canst thou
Insinuating wretch vouchsafe t'allow,
That will perpetuate? hast thou the power
T'assure a happiness for one half hour?
If so, I will obsequiously confine
My self to thy directions, and be thine.
Wo.
I tell thee Soul, thy fancy thus disturb'd
Will ruinate thy senses, if not curb'd.
Convince thy self, and be not thus averse
To Reason; after folly comes a curse.
Sou.
But what is this to my demands? I see,
Thou lov'st to hear thy self declare, not me.
Answer to my objections, then I'le rest,
A quiet Soul, in a resolved brest.
Wo.
Oh, that I were so blest to know the state
Of thy condition.
Soul.
Wilt thou still deviate,
And ramble from thy text?
Worl:
Believe't dear soul
There is no friend more strongly can condole
Thy weakness, then my self; I sympathize,
And truly grieve for thy infirmities:
Witness these falling tears; Oh, may't be known,
Sick Soul, I weep thy sorrows, not mine own:
Sorrow forbids my gentle lips to smile;
For ah I am:
Soul:
A woful crocodile:
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Worl:
For thy sake
I'le suffer thousand griefs, and undertake
Ten thousand more, that I at last may prove
How much I've merited thy truest love.
Sou.
What voyce is this that penetrates my ear?
What do I hear, or do I seem to hear?
Or is't a dream?
Wo.
No, no, (blest Soul) 'tis true,
'Tis I that suffer these extreams for you.
Sou.
Reserve thy tears: Alas! I did but try
Thy love, and now I find th'art constancy
It self: but tell me World, wilt thou content
My greedy mind with wealth? when that is spent
Will't give me more? and when that more is gone,
Wilt thou be sure to heap one bag upon
Another? Wilt thou make me to out-vie
The sons of men in prodigality?
Dost hear me World?
World.
I do, and I am sore
Opprest, because thou canst not ask yet more:
Honor, Wealth, Dignities, and all shall stand,
Like subjects proud, to kiss their Princes hand.
I'le hug thee in mine arms, and thou shalt sleep
In gold-surrounded beds: whil'st others weep
At fortunes gates, upon their bended knees,
Thou, thou, shalt sit and read sad Elegies
Imprinted on their meagre checks; I, I,
These are true symptomes of Eternitie.
Opprest, because thou canst not ask yet more:
Honor, Wealth, Dignities, and all shall stand,
Like subjects proud, to kiss their Princes hand.
I'le hug thee in mine arms, and thou shalt sleep
In gold-surrounded beds: whil'st others weep
At fortunes gates, upon their bended knees,
Thou, thou, shalt sit and read sad Elegies
Imprinted on their meagre checks; I, I,
These are true symptomes of Eternitie.
What, melancholly yet? cannot these charms
Induce thee to my soul-inviting arms?
Speak Soul, are these not joys? are these not pleasures
To be imbrac'd? speak; are not these rare treasures?
Induce thee to my soul-inviting arms?
Speak Soul, are these not joys? are these not pleasures
To be imbrac'd? speak; are not these rare treasures?
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Base World, th'art truly base; now I perceive
Thy lab'ring policy is to deceive.
What, didst thou think my heart begun to dote,
When I, to make a concord, chang'd my note?
Oh no, vile varlet: no, I did but try
Thy craft, by learning what thou wouldst reply
To my demands: Divinest language could
Move no reply, when baser language would:
But now thou nothing, made of nothing, know,
Th'ast lost a friend by me, and found a foe.
Here I declare my self, and do protest
Before just Heav'n, that whilest I live possest
Of vital breath, I will imploy my heart
T'oppose thy flatt'ring folly; for thou art
A perjur'd Traytor to the Souls divine,
And sacred Majesty, and wilt incline
Thy ears to nothing but to antick tricks,
And call'st divine thoughts, melancholly fits.
And so farewel, false traytor; now 'tis known,
The more we are thine, the less we are our own.
Wo.
And is this all?
Sou:
'Tis all.
Wor:
Then Soul, adue.
Sou.
Oh may I ne're prove false, till thou prov'st true.
104
A DISCOURSE between the SOUL and FAITH.
Sou.Faith , can thy hand protect me? can thy art
Prescribe a cordial for a fainting heart?
Hast thou the skill to settle my belief,
And arm my Soul against the darts of grief?
Fai.
I have the art, (sad Soul,) hadst thou the power
T'imbrace belief, to bring thee to the Bower,
The fragrant Bower of pleasure, which shall be
Perfum'd, and deckt with blest Eternitie.
Sou.
I do believe, and my belief torments
My mind with millions of sad discontents.
I do believe, what ever Heav'n devis'd,
Then judg, oh judg, how I am Tantaliz'd!
Fai.
Oh know (mistaking Soul) such faith we call,
By the sad name of diabolical.
Sou.
Oh strange, oh sad, oh miserable case!
Has faith rob'd Janus of his double face?
Doth not the sacred volumn end this strife,
And bids believe, and have eternal life?
Fai.
Th'eternal tenants of th'infernal lake,
Believe and tremble too, but can partake
105
Nothing, except th'enlargement of their pain.
Sou.
How comes it then to pass, if they beleeve,
They're not rewarded, but must always grieve
In utter darkness? Is their faith so strong
T'acknowledg God, & yet they know him wrong?
Fai.
They acknowledg God in Justice, but have run
Beyond his mercy, and despis'd his Son:
Their faith prevails but only to inthral
Their Souls, because 'tis not salvifical.
Sou.
But tell me Faith, how may I learn to know,
Whether thou art salvifical or no?
Fai.
Examine well thy self, then go and pry
Into the sacred Scriptures; let thine eye
Peruse with diligence, and let thy pray'rs
Sail towards the port of Heav'n in swelling tears,
Then thou wilt find, how dearly God will own
A Soul that sings a penitential tone.
Sou.
But when I strive and struggle to express
My self in pray'r, I find a dubiousness.
Fai.
It is a happiness oft-times, to doubt
A happiness:—
How oft did David (Gods delight) cry out,
My God, my glorious God, Oh why, oh why
Hast thou forsaken me, and dost deny
The spreading splendor which was wont to shine,
And glimmer on this doubtful Soul of mine?
Be serious, Soul, and let they thoughts reflect
On Gods indulgency, and thy neglect.
How often hath he with his dewy locks
Attended thee, and with redoubled knocks
Desir'd, nay beg'd an entrance, to impart
Love-sick expressions to thy wilful heart?
And ah, how willingly hath he delated
His dear affections to thee, and not hated
To call thee his own Image, nay his Dove?
(Oh streaming fountain of Eternal Love!)
How hath he lab'red with a watchful eye,
To woo thee to his blest eternity?
Sou.
My God, my glorious God, Oh why, oh why
Hast thou forsaken me, and dost deny
The spreading splendor which was wont to shine,
And glimmer on this doubtful Soul of mine?
Be serious, Soul, and let they thoughts reflect
On Gods indulgency, and thy neglect.
106
Attended thee, and with redoubled knocks
Desir'd, nay beg'd an entrance, to impart
Love-sick expressions to thy wilful heart?
And ah, how willingly hath he delated
His dear affections to thee, and not hated
To call thee his own Image, nay his Dove?
(Oh streaming fountain of Eternal Love!)
How hath he lab'red with a watchful eye,
To woo thee to his blest eternity?
But tell me then, if I am thus, thus dear
Unto my GOD; why will my GOD not hear
My morning sorrows, and my midnight moans,
And stop the revolutions of my groans,
But let my poor Astræa fly in vain
To his high Altar, and return again
Unanswer'd? ah, what over-awing rod
Smarts like the silence of an angry GOD!
Fai.
(Distemp'rd Soul) oh do not thou become
(Because thy GOD seems deaf unto thee) dumb;
Reverberate the portals of his ears
With thy complaints, and let thy vocal tears
Invite an audience; urge him by the force
Of his own language, Heav'n cannot divorse
Himself from his own words; oh, let him know
Thou hast his sacred promises to show
For what thou dost: Tell him that Heav'n and earth
Shall pass away, but the delightful birth
Of his pæthetical expressions shall
Be heirs unto Eternity; go call
107
To tell him to his face, thou hast layd hold
Upon his promises; tell him thou art
A Whole, a broken, and a contrite heart:
Tell him th'art heavy loaden, and opprest,
And crav'st the injoyment of a happy rest:
What though thy querelous desires at first
Seem to be frivolous, and slightly nurst?
Detract not thou, but be progressive still,
And not too retrograde, but let thy will
Attend his pleasure; is't not fit that he
Should be attended, that attended thee?
What if he still denies, thou art but payd
With that dull Coin which thine own sins have made?
Hath he not waited at the brazen Walls
Of thy regardless brest, us'd many calls,
Nay many thousands, and hath daily knock'd
And found the nurs'ry of thy ears still lock'd
And bar'd against him? 'twas enough to turn
Patience into an Extasy, and burn
The strongest Resolution, and incite
Vengeance to make an everlasting night.
Oh think on this (blest Soul) and be content,
Good actions seldom want a good event.
108
Another DISCOVRSE between The SOUL and FAITH.
Sou.I'm full, and yet seem empty; I have store
Of earths delectables, and yet I'm poor;
I have what e're my rav'nous thoughts require,
And yet I want in having my desire;
I eat delicious food, drink sparkling wine,
Injoy my self, and yet I am not mine;
I am the worlds delight, I am the child
Of pregnant fortune, yet I am revil'd:
And what external happiness can be
Thought worth imbracement, is imbrac'd by me.
Since all these Joys are heap'd upon my back,
I fain would know, what 'tis I seem to lack.
Fai.
Thy wants are soon exprest (dull Soul,) I know,
Who wants my helpful hand, wants power to go.
Oh what an easie matter 'tis, to find
A stuffd-up body, and an empty mind!
Grief rest within the Centre of that brest,
That knows not what is worst, nor what is best;
But still looks downwards on this dunghil earth,
That alienates the Soul, and breeds a dearth
109
And glorious Monarchy: who can define
Th'inchanting Raptures, and th'emperious Joys
Of sublimated Heav'n, that toyls for toys?
Thou sayst th'art full, yet empty; thou hast store
Of earths delectables, and yet art poor:
'Tis true th'art full; but tell me whence proceeds
That fulness, say, what charitable deeds
Hast thou perform'd; oh learn (frail Soul) t'express,
Too great a fulness breeds an emptiness.
Experience tells thee, there is nothing worse
Then slighted mercy, turn'd into a curse.
Thou sayst, th'injoyst what e're thy mind requires,
And yet thou want'st in having thy desires;
Thou eat'st, thou drink'st, and hast the worlds consent
To be her darling, yet art not content.
'Tis true, he wants, whose fulness wants desire
To want that fulness which his wants require.
What though the World accumulates increase;
There's no content, when Heav'n denies a Peace.
Sou.
If Heav'ns blest mouth proclaim'd, no peace should be
Unto the wicked: What's become of me,
Who always liv'd to sin, and sin'd to dye!
Oh miserable, miserable I!
Fai.
'Tis true, GOD will not suffer Peace t'arise
Unto the Wicked, yet that GOD denies
A Sinner death, and by a free consent
Promis'd a pardon, with this word, Repent:
'Tis a persisting Sinner must expect
A sad reward, for a perform'd neglect.
110
Then what must I expect, have I not run
(Even from the rising, to the setting Sun,)
In paths of negligence, and still persisted,
And rather back'd a sinner, then resisted
The power of sin? Oh how can I obtain,
Or thoughts, or hopes to be reclaim'd again?
Fai.
The mouth of Heav'n did never yet divide
His language thus; My Soul shall not abide
A penitent offender; no, his breath
Speaks better things, then the lamented Death
Of those, who though they have in former times
Been permanent in their unbosom'd crimes;
Yet when the sense of their transgression brings
Abundant sorrow, then Jehovah sings
Rare strains of mercy to their Souls, and powres
His endless mercy down in liberal showres.
Sou.
And is our GOD so merciful, so just
To lep'rous Souls? and shall not my Soul trust
In such a never-failing GOD? Shall I
Retort a no, when he proclaims an, I?
Oh no, Ile take what he shall give, and then
When Heav'n proclaims, my tongue shall say Amen.
For 'tis thy Christ, thy Love, thy Son must ease us.
Fai.
Follow me Soul, Ile lead thee to thy Iesus.
111
Penetrant Suspiria Cœlum.
Are
sighs so prevalent, that they can be
Admitted to the ears of Majestie?
Is Heav'n so weak, or sighs so strong, that they
Can make an on-set, and enforce their way
Unto the ears of GOD? Can sighs perswade
That Lamb to mercy, that our sins betray'd?
Can roaring Lyons meet, and can they part
Without a combate? Can a lep'rous heart
Meet GOD, and think t'out-brave him in his Sion?
(Our sins are Lyons, yet our God's a Lyon.)
Admitted to the ears of Majestie?
Is Heav'n so weak, or sighs so strong, that they
Can make an on-set, and enforce their way
Unto the ears of GOD? Can sighs perswade
That Lamb to mercy, that our sins betray'd?
Can roaring Lyons meet, and can they part
Without a combate? Can a lep'rous heart
Meet GOD, and think t'out-brave him in his Sion?
(Our sins are Lyons, yet our God's a Lyon.)
And what's a sigh? 'tis but a blast of wind
Blown from the Centre of a stormy mind:
And can the ayr of one poor sigh aspire
So high as Heav'n?—
Blown from the Centre of a stormy mind:
And can the ayr of one poor sigh aspire
So high as Heav'n?—
—Ah sighs can never tire
In such a progress; though they be but ayr,
Yet they condense within the sacred ear
Of nursing Majesty, who hears the sound
Of well-spent groans, & takes them at the bound.
Sighs are like morning Larks, sometimes they fly
And chatter praises to the blushing skie;
Then wearied with their flights, dart down amain,
Longing to repossess the earth again.
So sighs (the Souls best oratory,) fly
To the interpreter of groans, who'le not deny
To hear the hearts embassage, but delights
To see souls (wingd with sighs) to take such flights.
But when our hearts are loaded with the cares
Of this vile earth, and sigh themselves to tears,
Oh then he stops his ears, and makes them know
Their sighs are earthly, and they fly too low;
Nor can they reach the Suburbs of his ear,
Unless they mount into a higher sphere.
Then let thy well-directed sighs, my Soul,
Mount upwards still, that there they may condole
Thy ev'ning sorrow, and thy morning grief;
Then they'l (like Doves) return, and bring relief
Unto thy floating heart, and thou shalt find
The operations of a sigh; thy mind
Shall purge it self; thrice happy's thy condition,
Sighs are good physick, when Heav'n is Physitian.
In such a progress; though they be but ayr,
Yet they condense within the sacred ear
Of nursing Majesty, who hears the sound
Of well-spent groans, & takes them at the bound.
Sighs are like morning Larks, sometimes they fly
And chatter praises to the blushing skie;
Then wearied with their flights, dart down amain,
Longing to repossess the earth again.
So sighs (the Souls best oratory,) fly
To the interpreter of groans, who'le not deny
112
To see souls (wingd with sighs) to take such flights.
But when our hearts are loaded with the cares
Of this vile earth, and sigh themselves to tears,
Oh then he stops his ears, and makes them know
Their sighs are earthly, and they fly too low;
Nor can they reach the Suburbs of his ear,
Unless they mount into a higher sphere.
Then let thy well-directed sighs, my Soul,
Mount upwards still, that there they may condole
Thy ev'ning sorrow, and thy morning grief;
Then they'l (like Doves) return, and bring relief
Unto thy floating heart, and thou shalt find
The operations of a sigh; thy mind
Shall purge it self; thrice happy's thy condition,
Sighs are good physick, when Heav'n is Physitian.
Roganti dabitur.
Who would not be a Beggar, that may craveUpon such easie terms, but ask, and have?
Here's swelling bounty, and sure this must be
No humane, but a Divine charitie:
Here well instructed poverty may live,
He that gives power to ask, hath power to give
The greatest gift that ever yet was known,
Was freely given, being ask'd by none.
113
(Many give once, because they'l give no more.)
But he, who gave that gift, will not refrain,
(If wisely ask'd) to give us gifts again.
And if a heart-recorded gift we make
Of this; his giving, teaches us to take.
Be it ordain'd, that begging be an art,
Heaven loves a giving hand, a begging heart.
But let us rest a little; here's the task,
Heav'n knows to give, we know not how to ask.
Methinks I hear some multiloquious fool
Make this reply, what, must I go to school
And learn to beg? I'm skilful to require,
If Heav'n would suit his gifts to my desire.
Let fools delight in folly let them think
That men are blind, because they see them wink.
Others methinks reply; Have we not cry'd
To Heav'n for blessings and have been deny'd?
Have not our early voyces been extended
To Heav'n, and yet our labors vili-pended?
Is this th'effect of pray'r? are these the gains
That we were largely promis'd for our pains?
Go silly Souls, and do not thus contest
With him that knows what's worst, and what is best.
Ye know not what ye ask; your fond desires,
If granted to, may breed such flaming fires
Within your greedy brests, and so torment
Your hearts with millions of sad discontent:
Then may ye know that true discretion lies
As well in asking, as in giving-wise.
114
What's fit for their desires, and then they'l sow
Their pray'rs in such a soil as shall encrease
Their stock of Grace, and everlasting Peace.
Pulsanti aperietur.
Knock, and it shall be open'd; here's an artRequires the labors of a studious heart:
It is an easie action, some suppose,
Because it commonly consists of blows.
Here's a mysterious knock, 'tis not the hand
Of flesh and blood can knock, or tongue command
The gates to move; 'tis not Saint Peters keyes
Can turn the lock, except the Landlord please.
Heaven's a well-order'd family, whose gate
Opens not soon to them that knock too late:
But those, whose early labors shall implore
To have admittance at that sacred door,
Must well instruct their hearts, and have a care,
First learning how to knock, and after, where.
How happy's he, that really can say,
Go take thy rest (my Soul) th'ast knock'd to day.
He's happy, that can speak such words as these,
Open the door (my Soul) thou hast the keyes.
How happy's he, that by a faithful knock
Can make the yeelding Gates of Heav'n unlock?
115
Is mercy, That lets in and out the store.
Faith is the golden key, which gives us all
A speedy entrance to the spacious Hall:
But we must open (or else not come there)
The gate of Mercy with the key of Pray'r:
Go then, my Soul, into some private place,
Unlock thy heart, and when unlock'd, abase
Thy self before the Throne of Heav'n, and fly
Unto the Temple of Divinity.
Go knock thy heart out; if that will not do,
Say, Heaven's grown deaf, or else thy heart's not true.
Cast off the thred-bare garments of thy sin,
Thy pray'rs will melt the gates, and let thee in:
The Governor of Heav'n will not refuse
To give an audience to such welcome news;
Nor can he be ungrateful, or neglect
To crown thy labors with a true respect:
Then tune thy heart, and teach it to express
Full Diapasons of true thankfulness:
And grant (dear God) when my poor Soul shall knock,
That my unworthy key may fit thy lock.
116
AN ELEGIE Upon that Son of Valor Sir CHARLES LUCAS, Who was shot to Death by the Command of the Councel of War, before COLCHESTER.
To all those that love the memory of Sir Charles Lucas.
117
I cannot hold, the Laws of Nature break
The Laws of Reason, and my Cisterns leak.
Pardon my tears (oh Heaven) and let thy pow'r
Subdue my grief, and mitigate this showre:
Restore me to my self, and let my Quill
Weep for me: let it weep until it fill
Whole volumes with sad tears, tears that may flow
From age to age, that all the world may know
It weeps for him, whose never-dying name.
The Laws of Reason, and my Cisterns leak.
Pardon my tears (oh Heaven) and let thy pow'r
Subdue my grief, and mitigate this showre:
Restore me to my self, and let my Quill
Weep for me: let it weep until it fill
Whole volumes with sad tears, tears that may flow
From age to age, that all the world may know
It weeps for him, whose never-dying name.
Gives golden feathers to the wings of fame.
But is it requisite that I alone
Should storm so great a work as this, and none
Invok'd t'assist me? Sorrow hates delay;
Oh hear my hasty call, and come away,
Ye grief-supporting Muses, here is that
Will sublimate your senses; ask not what
It is, for fear, lest melancholly I,
Ravish'd with what I speak, should faint and dye.
Times full-mouth'd Herauld will exactly tell
How Death hath rambl'd from his misty Cell.
And with presumptuous violence hath shot
A Star, whose fall will never be forgot.
Then rouze your down-cast spirits, now, or never,
Shake off your slumbers, or repose for ever:
Lucas has conquer'd Death, he's gone to keep
An everlasting Sabbath, and to sleep
In Abrahams bosom: Ah, methinks this breath
Should re-invite you from the shades of Death
To weep his obsequies; but if there's none
Will be invok'd, my Muse shall walk alone
Into the Wilderness of grief, and there
Condole this loss, till sorrow wants a tear.
But is it requisite that I alone
Should storm so great a work as this, and none
Invok'd t'assist me? Sorrow hates delay;
Oh hear my hasty call, and come away,
Ye grief-supporting Muses, here is that
Will sublimate your senses; ask not what
It is, for fear, lest melancholly I,
Ravish'd with what I speak, should faint and dye.
Times full-mouth'd Herauld will exactly tell
How Death hath rambl'd from his misty Cell.
And with presumptuous violence hath shot
A Star, whose fall will never be forgot.
118
Shake off your slumbers, or repose for ever:
Lucas has conquer'd Death, he's gone to keep
An everlasting Sabbath, and to sleep
In Abrahams bosom: Ah, methinks this breath
Should re-invite you from the shades of Death
To weep his obsequies; but if there's none
Will be invok'd, my Muse shall walk alone
Into the Wilderness of grief, and there
Condole this loss, till sorrow wants a tear.
Have I betray'd my self? Am I o'retaken
With folly? Or has Reason quite forsaken
The kingdom of my mind? If he be blest,
How dare my tears thus interrupt his rest?
Oh Times! Oh Manners! Is the world grown mad?
Some I behold rejoycing; others sad
As grief can make them: Sure we have forgot
To sympathize, or else why weep we not,
Or smile together? Has Death got the power
To make us weep, and smile within an hour:
Smile they that please, mine eyes cannot forbear
For every smile of theirs, to shed a tear.
With folly? Or has Reason quite forsaken
The kingdom of my mind? If he be blest,
How dare my tears thus interrupt his rest?
Oh Times! Oh Manners! Is the world grown mad?
Some I behold rejoycing; others sad
As grief can make them: Sure we have forgot
To sympathize, or else why weep we not,
Or smile together? Has Death got the power
To make us weep, and smile within an hour:
Smile they that please, mine eyes cannot forbear
For every smile of theirs, to shed a tear.
Come real-hearted Mourners, and incline
Your ears to my sad story, and confine
Your selves to sorrow, sorrow that shall need
No definition, if your hearts can bleed.
Now, now, they shall, and may that barren eye
That will not weep, prove blind, or always dry:
And they that can, and will not now let fall
Some tears, have hard hearts, or no hearts at all.
Lucas (rare Soul) oh that my tongue might dwel
Upon thy name; 'twas thou that didst excel
The world in Martial Valor: he that can
Forget thy name, forgets to be a Man.
'Tis death to say th'art dead; Thou canst not dye:
If thou art dead, there's no Eternity.
Thou liv'st in spite of Death, yet I condole
Thy murther'd body; but I'm sure thy Soul
Lives above envy, where it shall be blest
In spite of those, whose wisdoms thought it best
To put a period to thy days, and bring
Joy to themselves, and sorrow to their King.
Discreetly done, and sure this Act must be
Recorded in the Rouls of Infamie,
That after Ages, when they do behold,
May blush, what noble Deeds were done of old.
Say Tyrants, say, was't not a shameful strife
To send a Death, after a promis'd Life:
If this be Mercy, Heav'n protect us all
From such a Mercy, so tyrannical.
If this be Justice, may such Justice have
A Hell to act in, or at lest a Cave.
What had he acted that could contradict
The Laws of Justice? Search, and be as strict
As policy can make you, all ye can
Impute, was this, he was a valiant man,
Who lov'd his King, and undertook to play
A noble Game, wherein his honor lay
At stake; what would you have a Gamester do?
Should he surrender up a game to you,
Without contending? such a high-bred shame,
Had left a blur within his spotless name?
Your ears to my sad story, and confine
Your selves to sorrow, sorrow that shall need
No definition, if your hearts can bleed.
Now, now, they shall, and may that barren eye
That will not weep, prove blind, or always dry:
And they that can, and will not now let fall
Some tears, have hard hearts, or no hearts at all.
119
Upon thy name; 'twas thou that didst excel
The world in Martial Valor: he that can
Forget thy name, forgets to be a Man.
'Tis death to say th'art dead; Thou canst not dye:
If thou art dead, there's no Eternity.
Thou liv'st in spite of Death, yet I condole
Thy murther'd body; but I'm sure thy Soul
Lives above envy, where it shall be blest
In spite of those, whose wisdoms thought it best
To put a period to thy days, and bring
Joy to themselves, and sorrow to their King.
Discreetly done, and sure this Act must be
Recorded in the Rouls of Infamie,
That after Ages, when they do behold,
May blush, what noble Deeds were done of old.
Say Tyrants, say, was't not a shameful strife
To send a Death, after a promis'd Life:
If this be Mercy, Heav'n protect us all
From such a Mercy, so tyrannical.
If this be Justice, may such Justice have
A Hell to act in, or at lest a Cave.
What had he acted that could contradict
The Laws of Justice? Search, and be as strict
As policy can make you, all ye can
Impute, was this, he was a valiant man,
Who lov'd his King, and undertook to play
A noble Game, wherein his honor lay
120
Should he surrender up a game to you,
Without contending? such a high-bred shame,
Had left a blur within his spotless name?
I tremble at my thoughts, I cannot hold,
My quill must run, ye can but term me bold,
As ye are tyrannous: In former times,
Boldness in truths were pardonable crimes.
How could ye chuse but tremble when ye nam'd
His death, whom honor, and the world had fam'd?
Such deeds as these we needs must discommend,
Y'ave murther'd your own honors, & our friend.
How could ye chuse but blush to see him stand
Undaunted at your tragical command?
How could ye chuse but fly, when he was fled,
T'mbrace his death, and dye when he was dead?
How could your will-obeying slaves let fly
A bullet at his brest, and they not dye?
Why dy'd they not, when as they went about
To make those holes, whereat his Soul flew out?
My quill must run, ye can but term me bold,
As ye are tyrannous: In former times,
Boldness in truths were pardonable crimes.
How could ye chuse but tremble when ye nam'd
His death, whom honor, and the world had fam'd?
Such deeds as these we needs must discommend,
Y'ave murther'd your own honors, & our friend.
How could ye chuse but blush to see him stand
Undaunted at your tragical command?
How could ye chuse but fly, when he was fled,
T'mbrace his death, and dye when he was dead?
How could your will-obeying slaves let fly
A bullet at his brest, and they not dye?
Why dy'd they not, when as they went about
To make those holes, whereat his Soul flew out?
Mars frown'd when he observ'd what ye had done,
And perpetrated on his dearest Son:
And thus declares; If any mortal shall
Dare to intitle, or presume to call
Such Rabshecha's his Sons, that they shall be
All voted Traytors to his Majesty:
The Muses, they complain, and are agreed
To vindicate his death, and ever feed
Upon his virtues, and will never more
Smile on your actions, but will still deplore
Their lost-love Lucas; and the earth shall ring
With Ecchoes of his praise, that lov'd his King.
And perpetrated on his dearest Son:
And thus declares; If any mortal shall
Dare to intitle, or presume to call
Such Rabshecha's his Sons, that they shall be
All voted Traytors to his Majesty:
The Muses, they complain, and are agreed
To vindicate his death, and ever feed
Upon his virtues, and will never more
Smile on your actions, but will still deplore
121
With Ecchoes of his praise, that lov'd his King.
Apollo weeps, and says, ye have forgot
To cherish vertue, or ye love it not:
And to the world he'l fully make it known
In his destruction, ye have overthrown
Your home-bred honors: Now my Muse retire
And gather breath; 'tis wisdom to enquire
Which way to take our progress; we must know
Whither to go, as well as how to go:
The paths of death are darksom, and we may
Plead an excuse, if we have gone astray:
Errors in grief are incident to all
That truly solemnize a funeral.
But stay my quill, 'tis not my task to crave
Excuses, but to treat upon a grave,
A grave within whose sullen bosom lies
A Jem, contemn'd by those that could not prize
So rare a piece, within whom was repos'd
Virtue, and honor, for he was compos'd
Of both: (kind Reader) know that Lucas had
A Magazin of worth; his Soul was clad
With robes of innocency, and his heart
So sworn to honor; that it could not start
From noble Exercises, though attended
With troops of dangers, dangers that portended
A thousand deaths: his wisdom could descry
Both life, and death, with a contented eye:
Life was his Jewel, yet he did not prize
That life at such a rate, as to despise
A noble Death; he labor'd to express
To both a very equal willingness.
He knew his life was lent him to maintain
The rights of Majesty, and to regain
Those just prerogatives, which do belong
To CHARLS, who patiently sustains the wrong.
His Soul was undivided, and could never
Ramble from Loyalty; his whole endeavor
Was to advance that Cause wherein he stood
Ingag'd, and dy'd it with his crimson blood.
To cherish vertue, or ye love it not:
And to the world he'l fully make it known
In his destruction, ye have overthrown
Your home-bred honors: Now my Muse retire
And gather breath; 'tis wisdom to enquire
Which way to take our progress; we must know
Whither to go, as well as how to go:
The paths of death are darksom, and we may
Plead an excuse, if we have gone astray:
Errors in grief are incident to all
That truly solemnize a funeral.
But stay my quill, 'tis not my task to crave
Excuses, but to treat upon a grave,
A grave within whose sullen bosom lies
A Jem, contemn'd by those that could not prize
So rare a piece, within whom was repos'd
Virtue, and honor, for he was compos'd
Of both: (kind Reader) know that Lucas had
A Magazin of worth; his Soul was clad
With robes of innocency, and his heart
So sworn to honor; that it could not start
From noble Exercises, though attended
With troops of dangers, dangers that portended
A thousand deaths: his wisdom could descry
Both life, and death, with a contented eye:
Life was his Jewel, yet he did not prize
That life at such a rate, as to despise
122
To both a very equal willingness.
He knew his life was lent him to maintain
The rights of Majesty, and to regain
Those just prerogatives, which do belong
To CHARLS, who patiently sustains the wrong.
His Soul was undivided, and could never
Ramble from Loyalty; his whole endeavor
Was to advance that Cause wherein he stood
Ingag'd, and dy'd it with his crimson blood.
Since thus he liv'd, since thus he dy'd, oh then
Let's imitate so good a life: and when
We hear the sad relation of his Death,
Let's learn to dye: Let them that live by breath
Examine his brave actions, and they'l find
He had a rare militia in his mind.
But stoutest Lions are at last o'rethrown
By Natures Laws; for Nature needs must own
Her principles: our earthen vessels must
At last dissolve, and turn themselves to dust.
Live we a thousand years, we do but run
In debt to Nature; and when those days are done,
We are but mortal, subject to decay,
And youth and age must go the self-same way.
Let's imitate so good a life: and when
We hear the sad relation of his Death,
Let's learn to dye: Let them that live by breath
Examine his brave actions, and they'l find
He had a rare militia in his mind.
But stoutest Lions are at last o'rethrown
By Natures Laws; for Nature needs must own
Her principles: our earthen vessels must
At last dissolve, and turn themselves to dust.
Live we a thousand years, we do but run
In debt to Nature; and when those days are done,
We are but mortal, subject to decay,
And youth and age must go the self-same way.
Reader, as often as report shall send
Unto thy ears the death of any friend,
Wonder not that he's dead, that's too much wrong,
But rather wonder that he liv'd so long:
For Life's but like a Candle, every wind
May puff it out, and leave a snuff behind.
Unto thy ears the death of any friend,
Wonder not that he's dead, that's too much wrong,
But rather wonder that he liv'd so long:
For Life's but like a Candle, every wind
May puff it out, and leave a snuff behind.
123
But whither runs my pen; Does sorrow mean
To make of this an everlasting scean?
Lucas made Sorrow lovely, Death a pleasure,
And Life a trifle, Misery a treasure:
And now let no audatious tongue deny
That he taught Death to live, and Life to dye.
To make of this an everlasting scean?
Lucas made Sorrow lovely, Death a pleasure,
And Life a trifle, Misery a treasure:
And now let no audatious tongue deny
That he taught Death to live, and Life to dye.
Now
gentle Soul, go take thy sweet repose
In Heav'ns eternal bed, where none but those,
Shall sleep, that in their life-times study'd how
To dye: there rest (dear Soul) I'le leave the now.
In Heav'ns eternal bed, where none but those,
Shall sleep, that in their life-times study'd how
To dye: there rest (dear Soul) I'le leave the now.
My heart begins to quake, that word has bred
A palsie in my hand, and grief has spred
A vail upon my Senses; and Confusion
Steps in, and leads me to a sad Conclusion.
Shall I begin, or end, I know whether;
Oh that I could begin, and end together!
Begin, what's that, but to renew a grief:
To end, what's that, but to implore relief.
What shall I do? when as I strive to end,
I still forget to do, what I intend.
When I begin, methinks I am content
Never to end: Distraction is th'event
Of Sorrow. (Reader) pardon this last error,
For I began with grief, and end with terror.
A palsie in my hand, and grief has spred
A vail upon my Senses; and Confusion
Steps in, and leads me to a sad Conclusion.
Shall I begin, or end, I know whether;
Oh that I could begin, and end together!
Begin, what's that, but to renew a grief:
To end, what's that, but to implore relief.
What shall I do? when as I strive to end,
I still forget to do, what I intend.
When I begin, methinks I am content
Never to end: Distraction is th'event
Of Sorrow. (Reader) pardon this last error,
For I began with grief, and end with terror.
124
AN EPITAPH.
Come gentle eyes and take a view,
Here rests a Jewel was as true
As Truth it self; see how he lies
Renown'd, and crown'd, a Sacrifice.
Lay your hands upon your hearts,
Each eye must weep before it parts.
Sigh, and sob; let each sigh call
Here rests a Jewel was as true
As Truth it self; see how he lies
Renown'd, and crown'd, a Sacrifice.
Lay your hands upon your hearts,
Each eye must weep before it parts.
Sigh, and sob; let each sigh call
Love to attend his Funeral.
Understand that this was he
Conquer'd Death, and Tyrannie:
And when your eyes begin to run,
Say ye'ave gaz'd upon a Sun.
Understand that this was he
Conquer'd Death, and Tyrannie:
And when your eyes begin to run,
Say ye'ave gaz'd upon a Sun.
125
AN ELEGIE Upon the Death of my dear Friend Mr. ROBERT REASON Who quitted this life the 13. NOVEMBEBER, 1646.
------ Sic voluêre Fata.
By J. Q.
Ah, whence proceed those swelling floods that rise
Like restles waves from my tempestuous eys?
The surges beat (provok'd by stormy passion)
My weather-beaten senses out of fashion.
But ah forbear, (distemp'ring grief) surcease
Those storms, which rage against the shore of peace.
Forbear superfluous blasts, be not too brief
To dash my Soul against the rocks of grief:
But stop a time (sad Genius) here's a stile
Invites a rest; Let's meditate a while:
Like restles waves from my tempestuous eys?
The surges beat (provok'd by stormy passion)
My weather-beaten senses out of fashion.
But ah forbear, (distemp'ring grief) surcease
Those storms, which rage against the shore of peace.
Forbear superfluous blasts, be not too brief
To dash my Soul against the rocks of grief:
But stop a time (sad Genius) here's a stile
Invites a rest; Let's meditate a while:
Can tears express a perfect grief? Or can
Excess of language re-inlarge a man
From Death, benumming shades? can blubbering eyes
Invite him back? can integrating cryes
Enforce a life, in spight of death? can all
The dolefull sighings in this world recall
Revolted breath? Oh no: 'Tis therefore vain
To think that tears, can call him back again
From Heav'ns immortalizing throne: Thus we
Fond men expand our own infirmitie;
And thus our spend-thrift eyes profusely flow
In lavish tears, for him, whose Soul we know
Is far more happy, then we can express:
(Why do we then lament his happiness?)
Then go (sad Genius) and advise all such
That grieve, to grieve, because they griev'd so much
For him, who Heav'n hath lately made a stranger
To grief, who rests above the reach of danger;
There let him rest in a most glorious sleep:
And if weak nature urgeth us to weep,
Let's weep, nay weep indeed, until our eyes,
Blinded with weeping, weep for new supplies
Let's weep for sin, let troops of sighs attend
Our hasty tides to their long journeys end.
Oh let's deplore our most unhappy state
Betimes, for fear least time-devouring fate
Blocks up the narrow passage of our breath,
And so surprize us with a sudden Death:
And ah, how soon the shadow-flying days
Of man consumes! how soon the troubled blaze
Of his frail life expires! and ah how soon
He finds a night, before he thinks 'tis noon:
And how the pleasures of this sordid earth
Shadow his senses, with a glimmering mirth!
And what's this world? 'tis but a glass, wherein
Nothing appears but Heav'n-confronting sin:
Alas, it's painted beauty represents
Nothing but folly, crown'd with discontents:
There's nothing here that truly may be stil'd
A happiness; here's nothing but's defil'd.
Alas, alas, in what a sad condition
Is dust-composed man! what expedition
He daily makes, to gain those things, which gain'd,
Gnaw him like vipers; thus are mortals stain'd
And blur'd with vanities; and thus they spend
Their winged hours, as if they could not end:
Fond earths-consuming trash hath so combin'd
Their hearts to worldly pleasures, that they mind
Nothing but profit, basely gain'd, which shall
Mount them up here, but after let them fall.
But where's that man, whose Soul contrives to be
Imparadis'd, and crown'd with dignitie?
With Halalujahs Angels, which controul
The Family of Heav'n, who still inroul
In their sublimer thoughts? how great, how just
Their maker is, before whose throne all must
Appear with spotless Souls, and fly from hence
With downy wings of Dove-like innocence!
Excess of language re-inlarge a man
126
Invite him back? can integrating cryes
Enforce a life, in spight of death? can all
The dolefull sighings in this world recall
Revolted breath? Oh no: 'Tis therefore vain
To think that tears, can call him back again
From Heav'ns immortalizing throne: Thus we
Fond men expand our own infirmitie;
And thus our spend-thrift eyes profusely flow
In lavish tears, for him, whose Soul we know
Is far more happy, then we can express:
(Why do we then lament his happiness?)
Then go (sad Genius) and advise all such
That grieve, to grieve, because they griev'd so much
For him, who Heav'n hath lately made a stranger
To grief, who rests above the reach of danger;
There let him rest in a most glorious sleep:
And if weak nature urgeth us to weep,
Let's weep, nay weep indeed, until our eyes,
Blinded with weeping, weep for new supplies
Let's weep for sin, let troops of sighs attend
Our hasty tides to their long journeys end.
Oh let's deplore our most unhappy state
Betimes, for fear least time-devouring fate
Blocks up the narrow passage of our breath,
And so surprize us with a sudden Death:
And ah, how soon the shadow-flying days
Of man consumes! how soon the troubled blaze
Of his frail life expires! and ah how soon
He finds a night, before he thinks 'tis noon:
127
Shadow his senses, with a glimmering mirth!
And what's this world? 'tis but a glass, wherein
Nothing appears but Heav'n-confronting sin:
Alas, it's painted beauty represents
Nothing but folly, crown'd with discontents:
There's nothing here that truly may be stil'd
A happiness; here's nothing but's defil'd.
Alas, alas, in what a sad condition
Is dust-composed man! what expedition
He daily makes, to gain those things, which gain'd,
Gnaw him like vipers; thus are mortals stain'd
And blur'd with vanities; and thus they spend
Their winged hours, as if they could not end:
Fond earths-consuming trash hath so combin'd
Their hearts to worldly pleasures, that they mind
Nothing but profit, basely gain'd, which shall
Mount them up here, but after let them fall.
But where's that man, whose Soul contrives to be
Imparadis'd, and crown'd with dignitie?
With Halalujahs Angels, which controul
The Family of Heav'n, who still inroul
In their sublimer thoughts? how great, how just
Their maker is, before whose throne all must
Appear with spotless Souls, and fly from hence
With downy wings of Dove-like innocence!
But stay my quill; have I thus soon forgot
My bosom friend, as if I lov'd him not?
No, no, though he be dead, he cannot dye;
Death cannot drive him from my memory,
Where he shall rest, till time shall recommend
My friend-bereaved Soul unto my friend;
For whilst he liv'd, my sympathizing heart
Was truly his, and truly bore a part
In what he suffer'd; Ah but now he's fled,
And left me here, to say, my friend is dead.
Poor soul! and why poor soul? rash tongue cal back
That fond abortive word; how can he lack,
That dayly feeds upon delicious dyet
In Heav'ns great store-house, and knows no disquiet
This was an Error that my hasty quil
Too rashly stept into, against my will:
I hope 'tis venial, reason may afford
A pardon for a grief-relapsed word.
When passion rules the fancy, men become
Vainly Pragmatick, or extreamly dumb:
But why rash death, why didst thou send thy dart
To take possession of his willing heart,
And gave no longer warning? was there none
Could please thy pallate, only him alone?
'Twas quickly ended, and as soon begun;
Believe me death, 'twas but unfriendly done.
But why do I (fond man) expostulate
With thee, that art an all-consuming fate?
Th'ast done a happy deed, I dare not blame
Thy power, because I know from whence it came
Shall I, because he was my friend, repine
At his departure? was he Heav'ns or mine?
I yield him Heav'ns, not mine; but yet I might
Claim him as finite, Heav'n as infinite.
He was but lent me for a time, that I
And others by his life might learn to die:
Whilst he enjoy'd the fulness of his breath,
His life was a preparative for death:
His whole delight, and study was, to pry
Into the bosom of Divinity;
From whence he suck'd such wholsom streams, that those
Which heard him, gave a plaudit to his close:
His daily practice was, how to fulfil
And prosecute his great Redeemers will:
Heav'n was his Meditation, and he gave
A reverent respect unto his grave:
Faith, Hope, and Charity did sweetly rest
Within the Counsel-chamber of his brest.
And in a word, the graces did agree
To make one happy Soul, and this was he:
As for his moral duties, they were such,
That should I strive, I could not speak too much:
His civill carriage towards all men might claim
A perfect right, to a beloved name:
His actions were so just, that they may tell,
He liv'd uprightly, and he dy'd as well:
His love, his sweet society might call
Ten thousand tears t'attend his funeral.
And to conclude, in him all men might find
A real heart, and a most noble mind;
But now he's gone, his winged Soul's aspir'd
To Heav'ns high palace, where he sits attir'd
With glorious immortality, and sings
Melodious Anthems to the King of Kings.
There, there his melting Soul, ravish'd to see
The Sun-bright throne of splendent Majestie,
Adores his wel-pleas'd maker, who makes know
He's pleased to crown, and keep him for his own
Oh there he rests free from the rubs of earth,
Hugging no shadow, but a real mirth:
Oh there's no grief, no sorrow found to vex
His peaceful Soul; no trouble to perplex,
Or blast his new-bred joys; there is no woe,
No care, no pain, no misery, no foe,
That dare presume to interrupt him; all
Must stand aloof, and not appear, nor shall
Incroaching bold-fac'd grief, nor pale-fac'd spight
Dare interpose t'eclipse one blaze of light.
Oh there methink I here him sweetly sing,
Grave, where's thy power, oh Death, where's [illeg.] sting
Methinks I here his warbling tongue declare,
How good his works, how great his wonders are
Methinks I see a great united Band
Of glitt'ring Angels, how prepar'd they stand
To welcom him: Methinks I hear them say,
March on blest Soul, thou need'st not doubt [illeg.] way
Oh glorious sight! In what triumphing state
They guard his Soul to Heav'ns refulgent gat
Where when he comes disrob'd of all his sin,
The gates fly open, and his Soul flies in.
Methinks my ravish'd ears are fil'd and blest
With such harmonious raptures, and possest
With such varieties, that even I
Were sin absolved, would resolve to die.
Methinks I hear within Heav'ns Ecchoing Grove
The quavering Angels chant, as if they strove
T'excel themselves: Methinks that every breath
Is a sweet Invitation unto death.
But oh what rare, or what profound invention,
Beatifi'd with a strong apprehension,
Can sound the depth of those delights, which he
Shall swim and bath in to Eternitie:
There rest dear Soul, having thus conquered fate,
Thy pleasures never shall expire their date.
There, there the Alpha of thy ioys shall never
Know an Omega, but be blest for ever
With Alpha and Omega, who shall crown
Thy throne-approaching Soul with true renown,
Whilst we confused mortals, here below
Gulp up the dregs of sorrow, and bestow
Curses instead of prayers upon each other,
And daily labor to confuse, and smother
Our serene happiness, and turn those ioys
Which Heav'n allow'd us, to neglected toys:
And thus our deviating Souls befool
Themselves, and practise in the common School
Of Errors: Thus erroniously we bend
Our flexive minds to folly, and commend
Non-sence for wisdom; Reason being dead,
Repose my Muse, discretion calls to bed.
My bosom friend, as if I lov'd him not?
No, no, though he be dead, he cannot dye;
Death cannot drive him from my memory,
128
My friend-bereaved Soul unto my friend;
For whilst he liv'd, my sympathizing heart
Was truly his, and truly bore a part
In what he suffer'd; Ah but now he's fled,
And left me here, to say, my friend is dead.
Poor soul! and why poor soul? rash tongue cal back
That fond abortive word; how can he lack,
That dayly feeds upon delicious dyet
In Heav'ns great store-house, and knows no disquiet
This was an Error that my hasty quil
Too rashly stept into, against my will:
I hope 'tis venial, reason may afford
A pardon for a grief-relapsed word.
When passion rules the fancy, men become
Vainly Pragmatick, or extreamly dumb:
But why rash death, why didst thou send thy dart
To take possession of his willing heart,
And gave no longer warning? was there none
Could please thy pallate, only him alone?
'Twas quickly ended, and as soon begun;
Believe me death, 'twas but unfriendly done.
But why do I (fond man) expostulate
With thee, that art an all-consuming fate?
Th'ast done a happy deed, I dare not blame
Thy power, because I know from whence it came
Shall I, because he was my friend, repine
At his departure? was he Heav'ns or mine?
I yield him Heav'ns, not mine; but yet I might
Claim him as finite, Heav'n as infinite.
129
And others by his life might learn to die:
Whilst he enjoy'd the fulness of his breath,
His life was a preparative for death:
His whole delight, and study was, to pry
Into the bosom of Divinity;
From whence he suck'd such wholsom streams, that those
Which heard him, gave a plaudit to his close:
His daily practice was, how to fulfil
And prosecute his great Redeemers will:
Heav'n was his Meditation, and he gave
A reverent respect unto his grave:
Faith, Hope, and Charity did sweetly rest
Within the Counsel-chamber of his brest.
And in a word, the graces did agree
To make one happy Soul, and this was he:
As for his moral duties, they were such,
That should I strive, I could not speak too much:
His civill carriage towards all men might claim
A perfect right, to a beloved name:
His actions were so just, that they may tell,
He liv'd uprightly, and he dy'd as well:
His love, his sweet society might call
Ten thousand tears t'attend his funeral.
And to conclude, in him all men might find
A real heart, and a most noble mind;
But now he's gone, his winged Soul's aspir'd
To Heav'ns high palace, where he sits attir'd
With glorious immortality, and sings
Melodious Anthems to the King of Kings.
130
The Sun-bright throne of splendent Majestie,
Adores his wel-pleas'd maker, who makes know
He's pleased to crown, and keep him for his own
Oh there he rests free from the rubs of earth,
Hugging no shadow, but a real mirth:
Oh there's no grief, no sorrow found to vex
His peaceful Soul; no trouble to perplex,
Or blast his new-bred joys; there is no woe,
No care, no pain, no misery, no foe,
That dare presume to interrupt him; all
Must stand aloof, and not appear, nor shall
Incroaching bold-fac'd grief, nor pale-fac'd spight
Dare interpose t'eclipse one blaze of light.
Oh there methink I here him sweetly sing,
Grave, where's thy power, oh Death, where's [illeg.] sting
Methinks I here his warbling tongue declare,
How good his works, how great his wonders are
Methinks I see a great united Band
Of glitt'ring Angels, how prepar'd they stand
To welcom him: Methinks I hear them say,
March on blest Soul, thou need'st not doubt [illeg.] way
Oh glorious sight! In what triumphing state
They guard his Soul to Heav'ns refulgent gat
Where when he comes disrob'd of all his sin,
The gates fly open, and his Soul flies in.
Methinks my ravish'd ears are fil'd and blest
With such harmonious raptures, and possest
With such varieties, that even I
Were sin absolved, would resolve to die.
131
The quavering Angels chant, as if they strove
T'excel themselves: Methinks that every breath
Is a sweet Invitation unto death.
But oh what rare, or what profound invention,
Beatifi'd with a strong apprehension,
Can sound the depth of those delights, which he
Shall swim and bath in to Eternitie:
There rest dear Soul, having thus conquered fate,
Thy pleasures never shall expire their date.
There, there the Alpha of thy ioys shall never
Know an Omega, but be blest for ever
With Alpha and Omega, who shall crown
Thy throne-approaching Soul with true renown,
Whilst we confused mortals, here below
Gulp up the dregs of sorrow, and bestow
Curses instead of prayers upon each other,
And daily labor to confuse, and smother
Our serene happiness, and turn those ioys
Which Heav'n allow'd us, to neglected toys:
And thus our deviating Souls befool
Themselves, and practise in the common School
Of Errors: Thus erroniously we bend
Our flexive minds to folly, and commend
Non-sence for wisdom; Reason being dead,
Repose my Muse, discretion calls to bed.
FINIS.
| Fons Lachrymarum | |