Divine poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

He breakes their bands; And with a bone
A thousand Philistians he slue:
Hee thirsted; fainted; made his moane
To Heaven: He drinkes, his spirits renew.

Thus when the glad Philistians had obtain'd
The summe of all their hopes, they entertain'd
The welcome pris'ner with a greater noise
Of triumph than the greatnesse of their joyes
Required: Some, with sudden death would greet
The new come Guest; whilst others, more discreet,
With lingring paines, and tortures more exact,
Would force him to discover, in the Fact,
Who his Abettors were: others gainsaid
That course, for feare a rescue may be made;
Come cry, 'Tis fittest that th'Offender bleed
There where his cursed hands had done the deed:

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Others cryed, No, where Fortune hath consign'd him,
Wee'le kill him: Best; to kill him, where we finde him:
Thus variously they spent their doubtfull breath,
At last they all agreed on sudden death;
There's no contention now, but onely who
Shall strike the first, or give the speeding blow:
Have ye beheld a single thred of flax,
Touch'd by the fire, how the fire crackes
With ease, and parts the slender twine in sunder,
Even so, as the first arme began to thunder
Vpon the Prisners life, he burst the bands
From his strong wrists, & freed his loosned hands;
He stoop'd; from off the bloud-expecting grasse,
He snatcht the crooked jaw-bone of an Asse;
Wherewith, his fury dealt such downe-right blowes
So oft redoubled, that it overthrowes
Man after man; And being ring'd about
With the distracted, and amazed rout
Of rude Philistians, turn'd his body round,
And in a circle dings them to the ground:
Each blow had proofe; for, where the jaw-bone mist,
The furious Champion wounded with his fist:
Betwixt them both, his fury did uncase
A thousand soules, which in that fatall place,
Had left their ruin'd carkeises, to feast
The flesh-devouring fowle, and rav'nous beast:
With that, the Conquerour, that now had fed
And surfeited his eye upon the dead
His hand had slaine, sate downe; and having flung
His purple weapon by, triumpht, and sung;

Samson rejoyce: Be fill'd with mirth;
Let all Iudea know,
And tell the Princes of the earth
How strong an arme hast thou:

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How has thy dead enricht the land
And purpled ore the grasse,
That hadst no weapon in thy hand,
But the jaw-bone of an Asse!
How does thy strength and high renowne
The glory of men surpasse!
Thine arme has strucke a thousand downe,
With the jaw-bone of an Asse:
Let Samsons glorious name endure,
Till Time shall render One,
Whose greater glory shall obscure
The glory thou hast wone.

His song being ended, rising from the place
Whereon he lay, he turn'd his ruthlesse face
Vpon those heapes his direfull hand had made,
And op'ning of his thirsty lips, he said:

Great God of conquest, thou by whose command
The heart received courage, and this hand
Strength, to revenge thy quarrels, and fulfill
The secret motion of thy sacred will;
What, shall thy Champion perish now with thirst?
Thou knowst, I have done nothing, but what first
Was warranted by thy command: 'Twas thou
That gave my spirit boldnesse, and my brow
A resolution: 'Tis mine arme did doe
No more, than what thou didst enjoyne me to:
And shall I die for thirst? O thou that sav'd
Me from the Lyons rage, that would have rav'd
Vpon my life: by whom J have subdu'd
Thy cursed enemies, and have imbru'd
My heaven-commanded hands, in a spring-tyde
Of guilty bloud; Lord, shall J be denyde
A draught of cooling water to allay
The tyranny of my thirst? J, that this day

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Have labourd in thy Vineyard; rooted out
So many weeds, whose lofty crests did sprout
Above thy trodden Vines; what, shall I dye
For want of water, thou the fountaine by?
I know that thou wert here, for had'st thou not
Supplyde my hand with strength, I ne're had got
So strange a vict'rie: Hath thy servant taken
Thy worke in hand, and is he now forsaken?
Hast thou not promis'd that my strengthned hand
Shall scourge thy Foe-men, and secure thy Land
From slavish bondage? will that arme of thine
Make me their slave, whom thou hast promist mine?
Bow downe thy eare, and heare my needfull crye;
O, quench my thirst, great God, or else I dye:
With that the jaw, wherewith his arme had laid
So many sleeping in the dust, obeyde
The voice of God, and cast a tooth, from whence
A sudden spring arose, whose confluence
Of chrystall waters, plenteously disburst
Their precious streames; and so allaid his thurst.

Meditat. 18.

The jaw bone of an Asse? how poore a thing
God makes his powerfull Instrument to bring

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Some honour to his name, and to advance
His greater glory! came this bone, by chance,
To Samsons hand? Or could the Army goe
No further? but must needs expect a foe
Iust where his weapon of destruction lay?
Was there no fitter place, for them to stay,
But even just there? How small a thing 't had bin
(If they had beene so provident) to winne
The day with ease? Had they but taken thence
That cursed bone, what colour of defence
Had Samson found? Or how could he withstood
The necessary danger of his bloud?

Where Heav'n doth please to ruine, humane wit
Must faile, and deeper policie must submit:
There, wisdome must be fool'd, & strength of braine
Must worke against it selfe, or worke in vaine:
The tracke that seemes most likely, often leads
To death; and where securitie most pleads,
There, dangers, in their fairest shapes, appeare,
And give us not so great a helpe, as feare:
The things we least suspect are often they,
That most affect our ruine, and betray:
Who would have thought, the silly Asses bone,
Not worth the spurning, should have overthrowne
So stout a band? Heav'n oftentimes thinkes best,
To overcome the greatest with the least:
He gaines most glory in things, that are most slight,
And winnes in honour, what they want in might:
Who would have thought that Samsons deadly thurst
Should have bin quencht with waters, that did burst
And flow from that dry bone? who would not thinke
The thirstie Conquerour, for want of drinke,
Should first have died? what mad man could presume
So dry a tooth should yeeld so great a Rheume?

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God does not worke like man; nor is he tyed
To outward meanes: His pleasure is his guide,
Not Reason: He, that is the God of nature,
Can worke against it: He that is Creator
Of all things, can dispose them, to attend
His will, forgetting their created end:
Hee whose Almighty power did supply
This bone with water, made the red Sea dry:

Great God of nature, 'Tis as great an ease
For thee to alter nature, if thou please,
As to create it; Let that hand of thine
Shew forth thy powre, and please to alter mine:
My sinnes are open, but my sorrow's hid;
I cannot drench my couch, as David did;
My braines are marble, and my heart is stone:
O strike mine eyes, as thou didst strike that bone.