University of Virginia Library

SIONS ELEGIES. Wept BY IEREMIE THE PROPHET

TO THE TRVE THEANTHROPOS, Iesus Christ, THE Saviovr OF THE WORLD: His Servant implores his favourable assistance.

Thou Alpha and Omega, before whom,
Things past & present, & things yet to come,
Are all alike; O prosper my designes,
And let thy spirit inrich my feeble lines;
Revive my passion; let mine eye behold
Those sorrowes present, which were wept of old:
Strike sad my Soule, and give my Pen, the Art
To move; and Me, an understanding heart.
O, let the Accent of each word, make knowne,
I mixe the Teares of Sion, with mine owne:
Preserve all such, as beare true hearts to Sion.
We are thy Lambes, O, be thou still our Lion.

Threnodia. I.

Eleg. 1.

Ah griefe of Times! Ah, sable times of Griefe,
Whose torments find a voice, but no reliefe!
Are these the buildings? These the tower and state,
That all th'amazed Earth stood wondring at?
Is this that Citie, whose eternall Glory,
Could find no period, for her endlesse storie?
And is she come to this? Her Buildings raz'd,
Her Towers burnt? Her Glory thus defac'd?
O sudden Change! O world of Alterations!
She, she that was the Prince, the Queen of Nations
See, how she lyes, of strength, of all, bereiv'd,
Now paying Tribute, which she once receiv'd.

Eleg. 2.

Behold! her eyes, those glorious eyes, that were
Like two faire Suns, in one celestiall Sphære,
Whose radiant beames did, once, reflect so bright,
Are now eclipsed, and have lost their light,
And seeme like Ilands, about which appeares
A troubled Ocean, with a Tide of Teares;
Her servant Cities (that were once at hand,
And bow'd their servile necks to her command,)
Stand all aloofe, as strangers to her mone,
And give her leave to spend her teares alone,
Her neighbours flatter, with a false reliefe,
And with a kisse, betray her to her griefe.

Eleg. 3.

Compast around with Seas of briny teares,
Iudah laments, distraught with double feares;
Even as the fearfull Partridge, to excuse her
From the fierce Gos-hawk, that too close pursues her,
Falls in a Covert, and her selfe doth cover
From her unequall Foe, that sits above her:
Meane while the treason of her quick Retrivers,
Discovers novell dangers, and delivers
Her to a second feare, whose double fright
Findes safety nor in staying, nor in flight;
Even so is Iudah vext, with change of woes,
Betwixt her home-bred, and her forreine Foes.

Eleg. 4.

Did not these sacred Cawsies, that are leading
To Sion, late seeme pav'd, with often treading?
Now secret Dens, for lurking Theeves to meet,
Vnprest, unlesse with sacrilegious feet;
Sion the Temple of the highest God,
Stands desolate, her holy steps untrod;
Her Altars are defac'd, her Virgin fires
Surcease, & with a stinke, her snuff expires;
Her Priests have chang'd their Hymns to sighs and cries,
Her Virgins weepe forth Rivers from their eyes:
O Sion, thou that wert the Childe of mirth,
Art now the scorne, and By-word of the Earth?

Eleg. 5.

Encreas'd in power, and high Chevisance
Of armes, thy Tyrant foemen doe advance
Their crafty crests; He, he that was thy father,
And crownd thee once with blessings, now doth gather
His troops to work thy end; him, who advanc't thee
To be Earths Queen, thy sins have bent against thee
Strange spectacle of Griefe! Thy tender frie,
Whom childhood taught no language, but their cry
T'expresse their infant griefe, these, wretched these
By force of childish teares, could not appease
The ruthlesse sword, which deafe to all their cries,
Did drive them Captives from their mothers eies.

Eleg. 6.

Faire Virgin Sion, where (ah) where are those
Pure cheekes, wherein the Lilly, and the Rose
So much contended lately for the place,
Till both compounded in thy glorious face?
How hast thou blear'd those sun-bright eies of thine
Those beames, the royall Magazens of divine
And sacred Majesty, from whose pure light,
The purblind worldlings did receive their sight,
Thy fearfull Princes, leave their fencelesse towers,
And flie like Harts, before their swift pursuers;
Like light-foot Harts they flie, not knowing where,
Prickt on with Famine, and distracted Feare.

Eleg. 7.

Gall'd with her griefe, Jerusalem recalls
To minde her lost delights, her Festivalls,
Her peacefull freedome, and full joyes, in vaine
Wishing, what Earth cannot restore againe;
Succour she sought, and begg'd, but none was there
To give the Almes of one poore trickling teare;
The scornefull lips of her amazed Foes,
Deride the griefe, of her disastrous woes;
They laugh, and lay more ample torments on her,
Disdaine to looke, and yet they gaze upon her,
Abuse her Altars, hate her Offerings,
Prophane her Sabbaths, and her holy Things.

Eleg. 8.

Hadst thou (Ierusalem) O, had thy heart
Beene loyall to his love, whose once thou wert,
O, had the beames of thy unvailed eye
Continu'd pure; hadst thou beene nice, to try
New pleasures, thus thy Glory ne're had wasted,
Thy Walls, till now, like thy Reproch, had lasted.
Thy Lovers, whose false beauties did entice thee,
Have seene thee naked, and doe now despise thee;
Drunke with thy wanton pleasures, they are fled,
And scorne the bountie of thy loathed bed;
Lest to thy guilt (the servant of thy sin)
Thou sham'st to show, what once, thou gloriedst in?

Eleg. 9.

Ierusalem is all infected over
With Leprosie, whose filth, no shade can cover,
Puft up with pride, unmindfull of her end,
See how she lyes, devoid of helpe, or friend.
Great Lord of Lords (whose mercy far transcéds
Thy sacred Iustice) whose full Hand attends
The cries of empty Ravens, bow downe thine eares
To wretched Sion, Sion drownd in teares;
Thy hand did plant her, (Lord) she is thy vine,
Confound her foes: they are her foes, and thine:
Shew wonted favour to thy holy hill.
Rebuild her walls, and love thy Sion still.

Eleg. 10.

Knees, falslie bent to Dagon, now defile
Her wasted Temple rudely they dispoile
Th'abused Altars, and no hand releeves;
Her house of prayer is turn'd a den of theeves;
Her costly Robes, her sacred treasure stands,
A willing prey to sacrilegious hands,
Her Priests are slaine, & in a lukewarme flood
Through every channel runs the Levites blood;
The hallowed Temple of the highest God,
Whose purer foot-steps were not to be trod
With unprepared feet, before her eye,
Is turn'd a Grove, for base Idolatrie.

Eleg. 11.

Lingring with Death and Famine, Iudah groanes,
And to the ayre, breathes forth her ayrie moanes,
Her fainting eyes waxe dim, her cheekes grow pale,
Her wandring steps despaire to speed, and faile,
She faints, and through her trembling lips, halfe dead,
She whispers oft the holy name of bread:
Great God, let thy offended wrath surcease,
Behold thy servants, send thy servants peace,
Behold thy vassals, groveling on the dust;
Be mercifull (deare God) as well as just;
'Tis thou, 'tis thou alone, that sent this griefe,
'Tis thou, 'tis thou alone, can send reliefe.

Eleg. 12.

My tongu's in labour with her painefull birth,
That finds no passage; Lord, how strange a dearth
Of words, concomitates a world of woes!
I neither can conceale, nor yet disclose:
You weary Pilgrimes, you whom change of Climes
Have tought you change of Fortunes, and of Times,
Stay, stay your feeble steps, and cast your eyes
On me, the Abstract of all miseries.
Say (Pilgrimes) say, if e're your eyes beheld
More truer Iliades; more unparalleld,
And matelesse evils, which my offended God
Reulcerates, with his enraged Rod.

Eleg. 13.

No humane power could no envious Art
Of mortall man, could thus subject my heart,
My glowing heart, to these imperious fires:
No earthly sorrow, but at length expires;
But these my Tyrant-torments doe extend
To infinites, nor having ease, nor end;
Loe, I the Pris'ner of the highest God,
Inthralled to the vengeance of his Rod,
Lie bound in fetters, that I cannot flie,
Nor yet endure his deadly stroakes, nor die:
My joyes are turn'd to sorrows, backt with feares,
And I (poore I) lie pickled up in teares.

Eleg. 14.

O! how unsufferable is the waight
Of sinne! How miserable is their state,
The silence of whose secret sinne conceales
The smart, till Iustice to Revenge appeales!
How ponderous are my crimes, whose ample scroul
Weighs downe the pillars of my broken Soule!
Their sowre, masqu'd with sweetnes, overswai'd me
And with their smiling kisses, they betrai'd me,
Betraid me to my Foes, and what is worse,
Betraid me to my selfe, and heavens curse,
Betraid my soule to an eternall griefe,
Devoid of hope, for e're to finde reliefe.

Eleg. 15.

Perplext with change of woes, where ere I turne
My fainting eyes, they finde fresh cause to mourne
My griefes move like the Planets, which appeare
Chang'd from their places, cōstant to their sphære
Behold, the earth-confounding arme of Heaven,
Hath cow'd my valiant Captaines, and hath driven
Their scattered forces up and downe the street,
Like worried sheepe afraid of all they meet;
My younger men, the seede of propagation,
Exile hath driven from my divided Nation;
My tender Virgins have not scap'd their rage,
Which neither had respect to youth, nor age.

Eleg. 16.

Qvicke change of torments! equall to those crimes,
Which past unthought-of, in my prosp'rous times
From hence proceed my griefes, (ah me) from hence
My Spring-tyde sorrowes have their influence;
For these, my soule dissolves, my eyes lament,
Spending those teares, whose store wil ne're be spēt;
For these, my fainting spirits droope, and melt
In anguish, such as never Mortall felt;
Within the selfe-same flames, I freeze, and frie,
I roare for helpe, and yet no helpe is nigh;
My sons are lost, whose fortunes would relieve me,
And onely such triumph, that hourely grieve me.

Eleg 17.

Rent from the glory of her lost renowne,
Sion laments; Her lips (her lips o'reflowne
With floods of teares) she prompteth how to breake
New languages, instructs her tongue to speake
Elegious Dialects; She lowly bends
Her dusty knees upon the earth, extends
Her brawnlesse armes to them, whose ruthlesse eyes
Are red, with laughing at her miseries;
Naked she lies, deform'd, and circumvented,
With troopes of feares, unpitied, unlamented,
A loathsome draine for filth, despis'd, forlorne;
The scorne of Nations, and the childe of scorne.

Eleg. 18.

Sowre wages issue from the sweets of sin,
Heavens hand is just, this trecherous heart hath bin
The author of my woes: 'Tis I alone;
My sorrowes reap, what my foule sins have sowne;
Often they cry'de to heaven, e're heaven reply'd,
And vengeance ne're had come, had they ne'r cride;
All you that passe, vouchsafe your gracious eares,
To heare these cries; your eyes, to view these tears;
They are no heat-drops of an angry heart,
Or childish passions of an idle smart,
But they are Rivers, springing from an eye,
Whose streams, no joy can stop, no griefe draw drie.

Eleg. 19.

Tvrne where I list, new cause of woe presents
My poore distracted soule with new laments;
Where shall I turne? shall I implore my friends?
Ah, summer friendship, with the Summer ends;
In vaine to them my groanes, in vaine my teares,
For harvest friends can finde no winter eares;
Or shall I call my sacred Priests for aid?
Alas! my pined Priests are all betraid
To Death, and Famine; in the streets they cryed
For bread, & whilst they sought for bread, they died
Vengeance could never strike so hard a blow,
As when she sends an unlamented woe.

Eleg. 20.

Vouchsafe (great God) to turne thy tender eyes
On me poore wretch: Oh, let my midnight cries
(That never cease, if never stopt with teares)
Procure audience from thy gracious eares;
Behold thy creature, made by change of griefe,
The barest wretch, that ever beg'd reliefe;
See, see, my soule is tortur'd on thy rack
My bowels tremble, and my heart-strings crack;
Abroad, the sword with open ruine frights me;
At home, the secret hand of Famine smites me;
Strange fires of griefe! How is my soule opprest,
That findes abroad, no peace, at home, no rest!

Eleg. 21.

Where, where art thou, O sacred Lambe of peace,
That promis'd to the heavie laden, ease?
Thee, thee alone, my often bended knee
Invokes, that haue no other helpe, but thee;
My foes (amazed at my hoarse complaining)
Scoffe at my oft repeated cries, disdaining
To lend their prosp'rous hand, they hisse and smile,
Taking a pleasure to behold my spoile:
Their hands delight to bruize my broken reeds,
And still persist, to prick that heart that bleeds;
But there's a Day (if Prophets can divine)
Shal scourge their sins, as they have scourged mine.

Eleg. 22.

You noysome weeds, that lift your crests so high,
When better plants, for want of moysture die?
Thinke you to flourish ever? and (unspide)
To shoot the flowers of your fruitlesse pride?
If plants be cropt, because their fruits are small,
Thinke you to thrive, that beare no fruit at all?
Looke downe (great God) & from their places teare
These weeds, that suck the juice, shold make us bear
Vndew'd with showers, let them see no Sun,
But feel those frosts, that thy poor plāts have done.
O clense thy Garden, that the world may know
Wee are the seeds, that thy right hand did sow.

Threnodia II.

Eleg. 1.

Alas! my torments, my distracted feares
Have no commerce, with reasonable teares:
How hath Heavens absence darkned the renowne
Of Sions glory! with one angry frowne.
How hath th'Almighty clouded those bright beams
And chang'd her beauties streamers, into streames!
Sion, the glory of whose refulgent Fame
Gave earnest of an everlasting name,
Is now become an indigested Masse,
And ruine is, where that brave glory was:
How hath heaven strucke her earth-admired name
From th'height of honour, to the depth of shame;

Eleg. 2.

Beautie, nor strength of building could entice,
Or force revenge from her just enterprise;
Mercy hath stopt her eares, and Iustice hath
Powr'd out full vialls of her kindled wrath;
Impatient of delay, she hath strucke downe
The pride of Sion, kickt off Iuda's Crowne;
Her streets unpeopled, and disperst her powres,
And with the ground hath levell'd her high towres;
Her priests are slaine, her captiv'd Princes are
Vnransom'd pris'ners; Slaves her men of warre;
Nothing remaines of all her wonted glory,
But sad memorialls of her tragicke story.

Eleg. 3.

Confused horror, and confounding shame,
Have blur'd the beauty, and renowned name
Of righteous Israel; Israels fruitfull land,
Entail'd by Heaven, with the usurping hand
Of uncontroled Gentiles, is laid waste,
And with the spoile of ruine is defac't;
The angry mouth of Iustice blowes the fires
Of hasty vengeance, whose quicke flame aspires,
With fury to that place, which heaven did sever,
For Iacob and his holy seed for ever;
No part, no secret angle of the Land,
Which beares no marke of heavens enraged hand.

Eleg. 4.

Darts, thrild from heavē, transfix my bleeding heart
And fill my soule with everlasting smart,
Whose festring wound, no fortune can recure;
Th'Almighty strikes but seldome, but strikes sure;
His finowy arme hath drawne his steely bow,
And sent his forked shafts to overthrow
My pined Princes, and to ruinate
The weakened Pillars, of my wounded State;
His hand hath scourg'd my deare delights, acquited
My soule, of all, wherein my soule delighted;
I am the mirrour of unmasked sin,
To see her (dearely purchas'd) pleasures in.

Eleg. 5.

Even as the Pilot, whose sharpe Keele divides
Th'encountring waves of the Cicilian Tides,
Tost on the lists of death, striving to scape
The danger of deepe mouth'd Charybdis rape,
Rebuts on Scylla, with a forc'd careere,
And wrecks upon a lesse suspected feare;
Even so poore I, contriving to withstand
My Foemans, fall into th'Almighties hand;
So I, the childe of ruine, to avoid
Lesse dangers, by a greater am destroy'd:
How necessary, Ah! How sharp's his end,
That neither hath his God, nor man, to friend!

Eleg. 6

Forgotten Sion hangs her drooping head,
Vpon her fainting brest; Her soule is fed
With endlesse griefe, whose torments had depriv'd her
Long since, of life, had not new paines reviv'd her:
Sion is like a Garden, whose defence
Being broke, is left to the rude violence
Of wastefull Swine, full of neglected waste;
Nor having flowre for smell, nor herbe for taste;
Heaven takes no pleasure in her holy Feasts,
Her idle Sabbaths, or burnt fat of beasts;
Both State and Temple are despoil'd, and fleec't
Of all their beauty; without Prince, or Priest.

Eleg. 7.

Glory, that once did Heavens bright Temple fill,
Is now departed from that sacred Hill;
See, how the emptie Altar stands disguis'd,
Abus'd by Gentiles, and by heaven despis'd;
That place, wherein the holy One hath taken
So sweet delight, lies loathed, and forsaken;
That sacred place, wherein the precious Name
Of great Iehovah was preserv'd, the same
Is turn'd a Den for Theeves; an open stage
For vice to act on; a defiled Cage
Of uncleane birds; a house of priviledge
For sin, and uncontrolled sacriledge.

Eleg. 8.

Heaven hath decreed; his angry brest doth boile,
His time's expired, and he's arm'd to spoile;
His secret Will adjourn'd the righteous doome
Of threatned Sion, and her time is come;
His hand is arm'd with thunder, from his eyes
A flame more quicke than sulphrous Etna, flyes;
Sion must fall: That hand which hath begun,
Can never rest, till the full worke be done.
Her walls are sunke, her Towres are overthrowne,
Heaven will not leave a stone upon a stone;
Hence, hence the flouds of roaring Iudah rise,
Hence Sion fills the Cisternes of her eyes.

Eleg. 9.

Ioy is departed from the holy Gates
Of deare Ierusalem, and peace retraits
From wasted Sion; her high walls, that were
An armed proofe against the brunt of feare,
Are shrunke for shame, if not withdrawne, for pity,
To see the ruine of so brave a City;
Her Kings, and out-law'd Princes live constraind
Hourely to heare the name of Heaven profan'd;
Manners and Lawes, the life of government
Are sent into eternall banishment;
Her Prophets cease to preach; they vow, unheard:
They howle to heaven, but heaven gives no regard.

Eleg. 10.

King, Priest, and People, all alike are clad
In weeds of Sack-cloth, taken from the sad
Wardrobe of sorrow, prostrate on the earth,
They close their lips, their lips estrang'd to mirth:
Silent they sit, for dearth of speech affords
A sharper Accent, for true griefe, than words:
The Father wants a Son, the Son a Mother;
The Bride, her Groom: the brother wāts a brother;
Some, Famine: Exile some: and some the sword
Hath slaine: All want, when Sion wants her Lord:
How art thou all in all! There's nothing scant
(Great God) with thee, without thee, all things want.

Eleg. 11.

Launch forth my soule, into a sea of teares,
Whose ballanc'd bulke, no other Pilot steares,
Then raging sorrow, whose uncertaine hand,
Wanting her Compasse, strikes on every sand;
Driven with a storme of sighes, she seekes the Haven
Of rest, but like to Noahs wandring Raven,
She scowres the Maine: and, as a Sea-lost Rover,
She roames, but can no land of peace discover:
Mine eyes are faint with teares, teares have no end,
The more are spent, the more remaine to spend:
What Marble (ah) what Adamantine eye,
Can looke on Sions ruine, and not cry?

Eleg. 12.

My tongue? the tongues of Angels, are too faint
T'expresse the causes of my just complaint;
See, how the pale-fac'd sucklings roare for food,
And from their milkles mothers brests, draw blood:
Children surcease their serious toyes, and plead
With trickling teares, Ah mothers, give us bread:
Such goodly Barnes, and not one graine of corne?
Why did the sword escape's? Why were we borne
To be devour'd and pin'd with famine? save us:
With quicke reliefe, or take the lives, you gave us:
They cryde for bread, that scarce had breath to cry,
And wanting meanes to live, found meanes to dye.

Eleg. 13.

Never, ah! never yet, did vengeance brand
A State, with deeper ruine, than thy Land;
Deare Sion how could mischiefe beene more keene,
Or strucke thy glory with a sharper spleene?
Whereto (Ierusalem) to what shall I
Compare this thy unequall'd misery?
Turne backe to ages past; Search deepe Records:
Theirs are, thine cannot be exprest in words:
Would, would to God, my lives cheape price might be
Esteem'd of value, but to ransome thee;
Would I could cure thy griefe; but who is able
To heale that wound, that is immedicable?

Eleg. 14.

O Sion, had thy prosperous soule endur'd
Thy Prophets scourge, thy joyes had bin secur'd;
But thou (ah thou) hast lent thine itching eare
To such as claw'd, and onely such, wouldst heare;
Thy Prophets, 'nointed with unhallow'd oyle,
Rubd where they should have launcht, and did beguile
Thy abused faith, their fawning lips did cry
Peace, peace, alas, when there was no peace nigh;
They quilted silken curtaines for thy crimes,
Belyde thy God, and onely pleas'd the times:
Deare Sion, oh! hadst thou but had the skill
To stop thine eares, thou hadst beene Sion still.

Eleg. 15.

People, that travell through thy wasted Land,
Gaze on thy ruines, and amazed stand,
They shake their spleenfull heads, disdaine, deride
The sudden downefall of so faire a pride;
They clap their joyfull hands, & fill their tongues
With hisses, ballads, and with Lyrick songs;
Her torments give their empty lips new matter,
And with their scornfull fingers, point they at her;
Is this (say they) that place, whose wonted fame
Made troubled earth to tremble at her name?
Is this that State? are these those goodly Stations?
Is this that Mistris, and that Queene of Nations?

Eleg. 16.

Qvencht are the dying Embers of compassion,
For empty sorrow findes no lamentation:
When as thy Harvest flourisht with full eares,
Thy sleightest griefe brought in a tide of teares;
But now, alas! thy Crop consum'd, and gon,
Thou art but food, for beasts to trample on;
Thy servants glory in thy ruine, those
That were thy private friends, are publike foes;
Thus, thus (say they) we spit our rankrous spleene,
And gnash our teeth upon the worlds faire Queene;
Thrice welcome this (this long expected) day,
That crownes our conquest, with so sweet a prey.

Eleg. 17.

Rebellious Iudah! Could thy flattring crimes
Secure thee from the dangers of the times?
Or did thy summer Prophets ere foresay
These evills, or warn'd thee of a winters day?
Did not those sweet-lipt Oracles beguile
Thy wanton eares, with newes of Wine, and Oile?
But heaven is just: what his deepe counsell wild,
His prophets told, and Iustice hath fulfill'd:
He hath destroy'd; no secret place so voyd,
No Fort so sure, that Heaven hath not destroy'd:
Thou land of Iudah! How's thy sacred throne
Become a stage, for Heathen to trample on!

Eleg 18.

See, see, th'accursed Gentiles doe inherit
The Land of promise; where heavens Sacred Spirit
Built Temples for his everlasting Name,
There, there, th'usurping Pagans doe proclaime
Their idle Idols, unto whom they gave
That stolen honor which heavnes Lord should have
Winke Sion; O let not those eyes be stain'd
With heavens dishonour, see not heaven profan'd;
Close, close thine eyes, or if they needs must be
Open, like flood-gates, to let water flee,
Yet let the violence of their flowing streames
Obscure thine open eyes, and mask their beames.

Eleg. 19.

Trust not thy eye-lids, lest a flattering sleepe
Bribe them to rest, and they forget to weepe:
Powre out thy heart, thy heart dissolv'd in teares,
Weepe forth thy plaints, in the Almighties eares;
Oh, let thy cries, thy cries to heaven addrest,
Disturbe the silence of thy midnight rest;
Prefer the sad petitions of thy soule
To heaven, ne'er close thy lips till heaven condole
Confounded Sion, and her wounded weale;
That God that smit, oh, move that God to heale;
Oh, let thy tongue ne're cease to call, thine eye
To weepe, thy pensive heart ne're cease to cry.

Eleg. 20.

Vouchsafe, oh thou eternall Lord of pitty,
To looke on Sion, and thy dearest City,
Confus'd Ierusalem, for thy Davids sake,
And for that promise, which thy selfe did make
To halting Isr'el; loe, thy hand hath forc'd
Mothers (whom lawlesse Famine hath divorc'd
From deare affection) to devoure the bloomes,
And buds, that burgeond frō their painful wombs;
Thy sacred Priests and Prophets, that while-ere
Did hourely whisper in thy neighbouring eare,
Are falne before the sacrilegious sword,
Even where, even whilst they did unfold thy word,

Eleg. 21.

Wounded, and wasted, by th'eternall hand
Of heaven, I grovell on the ground; my land
Is turn'd a Golgotha; before mine eye,
Vnsepulchred my murthred people lye;
My dead lye rudely scattred on the stones,
My Cawsies all are pav'd with dead mens bones;
The fierce Destroyer doth alike forbeare
The maidens trembling, and the Matrons teare,
Th'imperiall sword spares neither Foole, nor Wise,
The old mans pleading, nor the Infants cries:
Vengeance is deafe, and blinde, and she respects
Nor Young, nor Old, nor Wise, nor Foole, nor Sex.

Eleg. 22.

Yeares heavie laden with their months, retire;
Months, gone their date of numbred daies, expire;
The daies, full houred, to their period tend;
And howers, chac'd with light-foot Minutes, end;
Yet my undated evills, no time will minish,
Though yeares & months, though daies and howers finis:
Feares flocke about me, as invited guests
Before the Portalls, at proclamed feasts;
Where heavē hath breathd, that man, that state must fall,
Heaven wants no thunder-bolts to strike withall:
I am the subject, of that angry Breath,
My sonnes are slaine, and I am mark'd for death.

Threnodia III.

Eleg. 1.

All you, whose unprepared lips did tast
The tedious Cup of sharp affliction, cast
Your wondring eyes on me, that have drunke up
Those dregs, whereof you onely kist the Cup:
I am the man, 'gainst whom th'Eternall hath
Discharg'd the lowder volley of his wrath;
I am the man, on whom the brow of night
Hath scowl'd, unworthy to behold the light;
I am the man, in whom th'Almighty showes
The dire example of unpattern'd woes;
I am the Pris'ner, ransome cannot free;
I am that man, and I am onely he.

Eleg. 2.

Bondage hath forc'd my servile necke to faile
Beneath her load; Afflictions nimble flayle
Hath thrasht my soule upon a floore of stones,
And quasht the marrow of my broken bones,
Th'assembled powres of Heaven enrag'd, are eager
To root me out: Heavens souldiers doe beleager
My worried soule, my soule unapt for fleeing,
That yeelds o'reburthen'd with her tedious being;
Th'Almighties hand hath clouded all my night,
And clad my soule with a perpetuall light,
A night of torments, and eternall sorrow,
Like that of Death, that never findes a morrow.

Eleg. 3.

Chain'd to the brazen pillars of my woes,
I strive in vaine. No mortall hand can loose
What heaven hath bound; my soule is walld about,
That hope can nor get in, nor feare get out;
When ere my wav'ring hopes to heaven addresse
The feeble voice of my extreame distresse,
He stops his tyred eares; without regard
Of Suit, or Suitor, leaves my prayers unheard.
Before my faint and stumbling feet he layes
Blockes, to disturbe my best advised wayes;
I seeke my peace, but seeke my peace in vaine;
For every way's a Trap; each path's a Traine.

Eleg. 4.

Disturbed Lyons are appeas'd with blood,
And ravenous Beares are milde, not wanting food,
But heaven (ah heaven!) will not implored be:
Lyons, and Beares are not so fierce as Hee:
His direfull vengeance (which no meane confines)
Hath crost the thriving of my best designes;
His hand hath spoild me, that erewhile advanc't me
Brought in my foes, possest my friends against me;
His Bow is bent, his forked Rovers flie
Like darted haile-stones from the darkned skie,
Shot from a hand that cannot erre, they be
Transfixed in no other marke, but me.

Eleg. 5.

Exil'd from Heaven, I wander to and fro,
And seeke for streames, as Stags new stricken doe,
And like a wandring Hart I flee the Hounds,
With Arrowes deeply fixed in my wounds;
My deadly Hunters with a winged pace,
Pricke forwards, and pursue their weary chace,
They whoope, they hollow me, deride, & flout me,
That flee from death, yet carrie death about me:
Excesse of torments hath my soule deceiv'd
Of all her joyes, of all her powres bereiv'd.
O curious griefe, that hast my soule brim-fill'd
With thousand deaths, and yet my soule not kill'd!

Eleg. 6.

Follow'd with troopes of feares, I flie in vaine,
For change of places breeds new change of paine;
The base condition of my low estate,
My exalted Foes disdaine, and wonder at:
Turne where I list (these) these my wretched eyes,
They finde no objects, but new miseries;
My soule, accustom'd to so long encrease
Of paines, forgets that she had ever peace;
Thus, thus perplext, thus with my griefes distracted
What shall I do? Heavens powers are compacted
To worke my 'eternall ruine; To what friend
Shal I make mone, when heaven conspires my end?

Eleg. 7.

Great GOD! what helpe (ah me) what hope is left
To him, that of thy prescence is bereft?
Absented from thy favour, what remaines,
But sense, and sad remembrance of my paines?
Yet hath affliction op'ned my dull eare,
And taught me, what in weale I ne're could heare;
Her scourge hath tutor'd me with sharpe corrections
And swag'd the swelling of my proud affections;
Till now I slumbred in a prosp'rous dreame,
From whēce awak'd, my griefes are more extreame;
Hopes newly quickned, have my soule assur'd,
That griefes discover'd, are one halfe recur'd.

Eleg. 8.

Had not the milder hand of mercy broke
The furious violence of that fatall stroke
Offended Iustice strucke, we had beene quite
Lost in the shadowes of eternall night;
Thy mercy Lord, is like the morning Sunne,
Whose beames undoe, what sable night hath done;
Or like a streame, the current of whose course,
Restrain'd a while, runs with a swifter force;
Oh, let me swelter in those sacred beames,
And after bathe me in these silver streames;
To thee alone, my sorrowes shall appeale;
Hath earth a wound, too hard for heaven to heale?

Eleg. 9.

In thee (deare Lord) my pensive soule respires,
Thou art the fulnesse of my choice desires;
Thou art that sacred Spring,, whose waters burst
In streames to him, that seekes with holy thirst;
Thrice happy man, thrice happy thirst to bring
The fainting soule to so, so sweet a spring;
Thrice happy he, whose well resolved brest
Expects no other aide, no other rest;
Thrice happie he, whose downie age had bin
Reclaim'd by scourges, from the prime of sin,
And early season'd with the taste of Truth,
Remembers his Creator in his youth.

Eleg. 10.

Knowledge concomitates Heavens painefull rod,
Teaches the soule to know her selfe, her GOD,
Vnseiles the eye of Faith, presents a morrow
Of joy, within the sablest night of sorrow,
Th'afflicted soule abounds in barest need,
Sucks purest honie from the foulest weed,
Detests that good, which pamp'red reason likes,
Welcomes the stroke, kisses the hand that strikes;
In roughest Tides his well-prepared brest,
Vntoucht with danger, findes a haven of rest;
Hath all in all, when most of all bereaven;
In earth, a hell, in hell he findes a Heaven.

Eleg 11.

Labour perfected, with the evening ends,
The lampe of heaven (his course fulfill'd) descends
Can workes of nature seeke, and finde a rest;
And shall the torments of a troubled brest,
Impos'd by Natures all-commanding GOD,
Ne're know an end, ne're finde a period?
Deare soule despaire not, whet thy dull beliefe
With hope; heavens mercy will o'recome thy griefe
From thee, not him, proceeds thy punishment,
Hee's slow to wrath, and speedy to relent;
Thou burnst like gold, consumest not like fuell;
O, wrong not Heaven, to thinke that Heaven is cruell.

Eleg. 12.

Mountaines shall move, the Sun his circling course
Shall stop; Tridented Neptune shall divorce
Th'embracing floods from their beloved Iles,
Ere heaven forgets his servant, and recoyles
From his eternall vow: Those, those that bruise
His broken reeds, or secretly abuse
The doubtfull Title of a rightfull Cause,
Or with false bribes adulterat the Lawes,
That should be chaste, these, these, th'Almightie hath
Branded for subjects of a future wrath;
Oh, may the just man know, th'Eternall hastens
His plagues for trialls; loves the child he chastens.

Eleg. 13.

No mortall power, nor supernall might,
Not Lucifer, nor no infernall spright,
Nor all together joyn'd in one commission,
Can thinke or act, without divine permission;
Man wils, Heaven breathes successe, or not, upon it;
What good, what evill befals, but heaven hath done it?
Vpon his right hand, Health and Honors stand,
And flaming Scourges on the other hand:
Since then the States of good or evill depend
Vpon his will, (fond mortall) thou attend
Vpon his Wisdome; Why should living Dust
Complaine on Heaven, because that Heaven is just?

Eleg. 14.

O let the ballance of our even pois'd hearts
Weigh our afflictions with our just deserts,
And ease our heavie scale; Double the graines
We take from sinne, Heaven taketh from our pains;
Oh, let thy lowly-bended eyes not feare
Th'Almighties frownes, nor husband one poore teare;
Be prodigall in sighes, and let thy tongue,
Thy tongue estrang'd to heaven, cry all night long;
My soule thou leav'st, what thy Creator did
Will thee to doe, hast done what he forbid;
This, this hath made so great a strangenesse bee
(If not divorce) betwixt thy GOD, and thee.

Eleg. 15.

Prepar'd to vengeance, and resolv'd to spoile,
Thy hand (just GOD) hath taken in thy toile
Our wounded soules; That arme which hath forgot
His wonted mercy, kills and spareth not;
Our crimes have set a barre betwixt thy Grace
And us: thou hast eclipst thy glorious face,
Hast stopt thy gracious eare, lest prayers enforce
Thy tender Heart to pity and remorse:
See, see great GOD, what thy deare hand hath done;
We lie like drosse, when all the gold is gone,
Contemn'd, despis'd, and like to Atomes, flye
Before the Sunne, the scorne of every eye.

Eleg. 16.

Qvotidian fevers of reproach, and shame,
Have chill'd our Honor, and renowned Name;
We are become the by-word, and the scorne
Of Heaven and Earth; of heaven & earth forlorne;
Our captiv'd soules are compast round about,
Within, with troopes of feares; of foes, without;
Without, within, distrest; and, in conclusion,
We are the haplesse children of confusion;
Oh, how mine eyes, the rivers of mine eyes
O'reflow these barren lips, that can devise
No Dialect, that can expresse or borrow
Sufficient Metaphors, to shew my sorrow!

Eleg. 17.

Rivers of marish teares have over-flowne
My blubber'd cheeks my tongue can find no Tone
So sharpe as silence, to bewaile that woe,
Whose flowing Tides, an Ebbe could never know:
Weepe on (mine eyes) mine eyes shall never cease;
Speake on (my Tongue) forget to hold thy peace;
Cease not thy teares; close not thy lips so long,
Til heaven shal wipe thine eies, & heare thy tongue:
What heart of brasse, what Adamantine brest
Can know the torments of my soule, and rest?
What stupid braine, (ah me!) what marble eye
Can see these, these my ruines, and not cry?

Eleg 18.

So hath the Fowler, with his slye deceits,
Beguil'd the harmelesse bird; so with false baits,
The treach'rous Angler, strikes his nibbling prey;
Even so my Foes, my guiltlesse soule betray;
So have my fierce pursuers, with close wiles
Inthralled me, and gloried in my spoiles;
Where undermining plots could not prevaile,
There mischiefe did with strength of arme assaile;
Thus in afflictions troubled billowes tost,
I live; but tis a life worse had, than lost:
Thus, thus o'rewhelm'd, my secret soule doth cry,
I am destroy'd, and there's no helper nigh.

Eleg. 19.

Thou great Creator, whose diviner breath
Preserves thy Creature, joyst not in his death,
Looke downe from thy eternall Throne, that art
The onely Rocke of a despairing heart;
Looke downe from Heaven (O thou) whose tender care
Once heard the trickling of one single teare;
How art thou now estranged from his cry,
That sends forth Rivers from his fruitfull eye?
How often hast thou, with a gentle arme,
Rais'd me from death, and bid me feare no harme:
What strange disaster caus'd this sudden change,
How wert thou once so neare, and now so strange!

Eleg. 20.

Vanquisht by such, as thirsted for my life,
And brought my soule into a legall strife,
How oft hast thou (just GOD) maintain'd my cause
And crost the sentence of their bloudie lawes?
Be still my God, be still that GOD thou wert,
Looke on thy mercy, not on my desert;
Be thou my Iudge betwixt my foes and me;
The Advocate, betwixt my soule & Thee;
'Gainst thee (great Lord) their arme they have advanc'd,
And dealt that blow to thee, that thus hath glanc'd
Vpon my soule; smite those that have smit thee,
And for thy sake, discharge their spleene at me.

Eleg. 21.

What squint-ey'd scorne, what flout, what wrymouth'd scoffe
That sullen pride e're tooke acquaintance of,
Hath scap'd the furie of my Foemans tongue,
To doe my simple Innocencie wrong?
What day, what houre; nay, what shorter season,
Hath kept my soule secure, from the treason
Of their corrupted counsels, which dispensed
Dayes, nights and houres, to conspire my end?
My sorrowes are their songs, and as slight fables,
Fill up the silence of their wanton tables;
Looke downe (just God) & with thy powre divine
Behold my Foes; They be thy Foes, and mine.

Eleg. 22.

Yet sleeps thy vengeance? Can thy Iustice be
So slow to them, and yet to sharpe to me?
Dismount (just Iudge) from thy Tribunall Throne,
And pay thy Foemen, the deserved lone
Of their unjust designes; Make fierce thy hand,
And scourge thou thē, as they have scourg'd my lād
Breake thou their Adamantine hearts, & pound thē
To dust, and with thy finall curse confound them;
Let horror seize their soules; O may they bee
The scorne of Nations, that have scorned thee;
O, may they live distrest, and die bereaven
Of earth delights, and of the joyes of Heaven.

Threnodia. IIII.

Eleg. 1.

Alas! what alterations! Ah, how strange
Amazement flowes from such an uncouth change
Ambitious Ruine! could thy razing hand
Finde ne're a subject, but the Holy Land?
Thou sacrilegious Ruine, to attempt
The house of God! was not heavens house exempt
From thy accursed Rape? Ah me! Behold,
Sion, whose pavement of refulgent gold,
So lately did reflect, so bright, so pure,
How dimme, how drossie now, (ah!) how obscure!
Her sacred stones lie scatter'd in the street,
For stumbling blocks before the Levites feet.

Eleg. 2.

Behold her Princes, whose victorious browes
Fame oft had crowned, with her Laurell bowes,
See how they hide their shame-confounded crests,
And hang their heads upon their fainting brests,
Behold her Captaines, and brave men at armes,
Whose spirits fired at warres loud alarmes,
Like worried sheepe, how flee they from the noise
Of Drummes, and startle at the Trumpets voice!
They faint, and like amazed Lyons, show
Their fearefull heeles, if Chaunticleere but crow;
How are the pillars (Sion) of thy state
Transform'd to clay, and burnisht gold, so late!

Eleg. 3.

Can furious Dragons heare their helplesse broode
Cry out, and fill their hungry lips with food?
Hath Nature taught fierce Tygers to apply
The brest unto their younglings empty cry?
Have savage beasts time, place, and natures helps,
To feed and foster up their idle whelpes?
And shall the tender Babes of Sion cry,
And pine for food, and yet their mothers by?
Dragons, and Tygers, and all savage beasts
Can feed their young, but Sion hath no breasts:
Distressed Sion, more unhappie farre,
Than Dragons, savage Beasts, or Tygers are!

Eleg. 4.

Death thou pursuest, if from death thou flee,
Or if thou turnst thy flight, Death followes thee:
Thy staffe of life is broke; for want of bread,
Thy City pines, and halfe thy Land is dead;
The son t'his father weepes, makes fruitlesse moane
The father weepes upon his weeping sonne:
The brother cals upon his pined brother,
And both come crying to their hungry mother:
The empty Babe, in stead of milke, drawes downe
His Nurses teares, well mingled with his owne;
Nor chāge of place, nor time with help supplys thee
Abroad the Sword, famine at home destroyes thee.

Eleg. 5.

Excesse, and Surfet now have left thy coast,
The lavish Guest, now wants his greedie Host,
No wanton Cooke prepares his poynant meate,
To teach a saciate palate how to eate;
Now Pacchus pines and shakes his feeble knees,
And pamp'red Envie lookes as plumpe, as Hee's;
Discolour'd Ceres, that was once so faire,
Hath lost her beauty, sindg'd her golden haire;
Thy Princes mourne in rags, asham'd t'infold
Their leaden spirits in a case of gold;
From place to place thy Statesmen wandring are;
On every dung-hill lies a man of warre.

Eleg. 6.

Foule Sodome, and incestuous Gomorrow,
Had my destruction, but ne're my sorrow;
Vengeance had mercy there; Her hand did send
A sharpe beginning, but a sudden end;
Iustice was milde, and with her hastie flashes
They fell, and sweetly slept in peacefull Ashes;
They felt no rage of an insulting Foe,
Nor Famins piching furie, as I doe;
They had no sacred Temple to defile;
Or if they had, they would have helpt to spoile;
They dy'd but once, but I, poore wretched I,
Die many deaths, and yet have more to die.

Eleg. 7.

Gold from the Mint; Milke, from the uberous Cow,
Was ne're so pure in substance, nor in show,
As were my Nazarites, whose inward graces
Adorn'd the outward lustre of their faces;
Their faces robb'd the Lilly, and the Rose,
Of red and white; more faire, more sweet then those,
Their bodies were the magazines of perfection,
Their skins vnblemisht, were of pure complexion,
Through which, their Saphire-colour'd veines descride
The Azure beauty of their naked pride;
The flaming Carbuncle was not so bright,
Nor yet the rare discolour'd Chrysolite.

Eleg. 8.

How are my sacred Nazarites (that were
The blazing Planets of my glorious Sphære)
Obscur'd and darkned in Afflictions cloud?
Astonisht at their owne disguize, they shrowd
Their foule transformed shapes, in the dull shade
Of sullen darknesse; of themselves afraid;
See, how the brother gazes on the brother,
And both affrighted, start, and flie each other;
Blacke as their Fates, they cross the streets unkend,
The Sire, his Son; The friend disclaimes his frend;
They, they that were the flowers of my Land,
Like withered Weeds, and blasted Hemlocke stand.

Eleg 9.

Impetuous Famine, Sister to the Sword,
Left hand of Death, Childe of th'infernall Lord,
Thou Tort'rer of Mankind, that with one stroake,
Subject'st the world to thy imperious yoake:
What pleasure tak'st thou in the tedious breath
Of pined Mortals? or their lingring death?
The Sword, thy generous brother's not so cruell,
He kills but once, fights in a noble Duell:
But thou (malicious Furie) dost extend
Thy spleene to all, whose death can find no end;
Alas! my haplesse weale can want no woe,
That feeles the rage of Sword, and famine too.

Eleg. 10.

Kinde is that death, whose weapons do but kill,
But we are often slaine, yet dying still;
Our torments are too gentle, yet too rough,
They gripe too hard, because not hard enough;
My people teare their trembling flesh, for food,
And frō their ragged wounds, they suck forth blood
The father dies, and leaves his pined Coarse,
T'inrich his Heire, with meat; The hungry Nurse
Broyles her starv'd suckling on the hastie coales,
Devoures one halfe, and hides the rest in holes:
O Tyrant Famine! that compell'st the Mother,
To kill one hungry Childe, to feed another!

Eleg. 11.

Lament, O sad Jerusalem, lament;
O weepe, if all thy teares be yet unspent,
Weepe (wasted Iudah) let no drop be kept
Vnshed, let not one teare be left, unwept;
For angry heaven hath nothing left undone,
To bring thy ruines to perfection:
No curse, no plague the fierce Almighty hath
Kept backe, to summe the totall of his wrath;
Thy Citie burnes; thy Sion is dispoyld;
Thy Wives are ravisht, and thy Maides defil'd;
Famine at home; the Sword abroad destroyes thee;
Thou cry'st to heav'n, & heav'n his eare denies thee.

Eleg. 12.

May thy dull senses (O unhappy Nation,
Possest with nothing now, but desolation)
Collect their scatter'd forces, and behold
Thy novell fortunes, ballanc'd with the old;
Couldst thou, ô could thy prosp'rous heart cōceive,
That mortall powre, or art of State could reive
Thy'illustrious Empire of her sacred glory,
And make her ruines, the Threnodian story
Of these sad times, and ages yet to be?
Envie could pine, but never hope to see
Thy buildings crusht, and all that glory ended,
Which Man so fortifyde, and Heav'n defended.

Eleg. 13.

Ne're had the splendor of thy bright renowne
Beene thus extinguisht (Iudah;) Thy fast Crowne
Had ne're beene spurn'd from thy Imperiall brow,
Plenty had nurs'd thy soule, thy peacefull plough
Had fill'd thy fruitfull Quarters with encrease,
Hadst thou but knowne thy selfe, and loved peace;
But thou hast broke that sacred truce, concluded
Betwixt thy God, and thee; vainly deluded
Thy selfe with thine own strength, with deadly feud
Thy furious Priests and Prophets have pursude
The mourning Saints of Sion, and did slay
All such, as were more just, more pure, then they.

Eleg. 14.

O how the Priests of Sion, whose pure light
Should shine to such, as grope in Errors night,
And blaze like Lamps, before the darkned eye
Of Ignorance, to raise up those that lie
In dull despaire, and guide those feet that strey,
Ay me! How blinde, how darke, how dull are they!
Fierce rage, & fury drives them through the street,
And, like to mad men, stabbe at all they meet;
They weare the purple Livery of Death,
And live themselves, by drawing others breath;
Say (wasted Sion) could Revenge behold
So foule an acted Scene as this, and hold?

Eleg. 15.

Prophets, and sacred Priests, whose tongues whilere
Did often whisper in th'Eternalls eare,
Disclos'd his Oracles, found ready passage
Twixt God, and Man, to carry heavens Embassage,
Are now the subjects of deserved scorne,
Of God forsaken, and of man forlorne;
Accursed Gentiles are asham'd to know,
What Sions Priests are not asham'd to doe;
They see and blush, and blushing flee away,
Fearing to touch things, so defil'd as they;
They hate the filth of their abomination,
And chace them forth, from their new conquer'd nation.

Eleg. 16.

Qvite banisht from the joyes of earth, and smiles
Of heaven, and deeply buried in her spoiles,
Poore Iudah lies; unpitied, disrespected;
Exil'd the World; of God, of Man rejected;
Like blasted eares among the fruitfull wheat,
She roames disperst, and hath no certaine seat;
Her servile neck's subjected to the yoake
Of bondage, open to th'impartiall stroake
Of conquering Gentiles, whose afflicting hand
Smites every nooke of her disguised Land;
Of Youth respectlesse, nor regarding Yeeres,
Nor Sex, nor Tribe; like scourging Prince, & Peers.

Eleg. 17.

Rent, and deposed from Imperiall state,
By heavens high hand, on heaven we must await;
To him that struck, our sorrowes must appeale;
Where heaven hath smit no hand of man can heale;
In vaine, our wounds expected mans reliefe,
For disappointed hopes renew a griefe;
Ægypt opprest us in our fathers loynes,
What hope's in Ægypt? Nay, if Ægypt joynes
Her force with Iudah, our united powres
Could nere prevaile 'gainst such a foe as our's;
Ægypt, that once did feele heavens scourge, for grieving,
His flock, would now refinde it, for reliving.

Eleg. 18.

So, the quick-sented Beagles, in a view,
O're hill, and dale, the fleeing Chase pursue,
As swift-foot Death, and Ruine follow me,
That flees, afraid, yet knowes not where to flee:
Flee to the fields? There, with the sword I meet;
And, like a Watch, Death stands in every street;
No covert hides from death; no Shade, no Cells
So darke, wherein not Death and Horror dwells:
Our dayes are numbred, and our number's done,
The empty Houre-glasse of our glorie's run:
Our sins are summ'd, and so extreame's the score,
That heauen could not doe lesse, nor hell do more.

Eleg. 19.

To what a downfall are our fortunes come,
Subjected to the suffrance of a doome,
Whose lingring torments Hell could not conspire
More sharp! than which, hell needs no other fire:
How nimble are our Foemen to betray
Our soules? Eagles are not so swift as they:
Where shall we flee? Or where shall sorrow finde
A place for harbour? Ah, what prosp'rous winde
Will lend a gale, whose bounty ne're shall cease,
Till we be landed on the Ile of peace?
My foes more fierce than empty Lions are;
For hungry Lions, woo'd with teares, will spare.

Eleg. 20.

Vsurping Gentiles rudely have engrost
Into their hands those fortunes we have lost,
Devoure the fruits that purer hands did plant,
Are plump and pampred with that bread we want,
And (what is worse than death) a Tyrant treads
Vpon our Throne; Pagans adorne their heads
With our lost crowns; their powers have dis-jointed
The Members of our State, and Heavens Anointed
Their hands have crusht, & ravisht from his throne,
And made a Slave, for Slaves to tread upon;
Needs must that flock be scattred and accurst,
where wolves have dar'd to seize the Shepherd first.

Eleg. 21.

Waxe fat with laughing (Edom;) with glad eies
Behold the fulnesse of our miseries;
Triumph (thou Type of Antichrist) and feed
Thy soule with joy, to see thy brothers seed
Ruin'd, and rent, and rooted from the earth,
Make haste, and solace thee with early mirth;
But there's a time shall teach thee how to weepe
As many teares as I; thy lips, as deepe
Shall drinke in sorrowes Cup, as mine have done,
Till then, cheere up thy spirits, and laugh on:
Offended Iustice often strikes by turnes;
Edom, beware, for thy next neighbour burnes.

Eleg. 22.

Ye drooping sonnes of Sion, O, arise,
And shut the flood-gates of your flowing eyes,
Sur cease your sorrowes, and your joyes attend,
For heaven hath spoke it, and your griefes shal end;
Beleeve it Sion, seeke no curious signe,
And wait heav'ns pleasure, as heav'n waited thine;
And thou triumphing Edom, that dost lye
In beds of Roses, thou, whose prosp'rous eye
Did smile, to see the Gates of Sion fall,
Shalt be subjected to the selfe-same thrall;
Sion, that weepes, shalt smile; and Edoms eye,
That smiles so fast, as fast shall shortly cry.

The Prophet Ieremie his Prayer for the distressed people of Ierusalem, and Sion.

Great God, before whose all-discerning eye,
The secret corners of mans heart doe lye
As open as his actions, which no Clowd
Of secresie can shade; no shade can shrowd;
Behold the Teares, O, hearken to the Cryes
Of thy poore Sion; Wipe her weeping eyes,
Binde up her bleeding wounds, ô thou that art
The best Chirurgeon for a broken heart:
See how the barb'rous Gentiles have intruded
Into the Land of promise, and excluded
Those rightfull Owners, from their just possessions,
That wander now full laden with oppressions;
Our Fathers (ah) their savage hands have slaine,
Whose deaths our Widdow-mothers weepe in vaine;
Our Springs, whose Christall plenty once disburst
Their bounteous favours, to quench every thirst;
Our liberall Woods, whose palsie-shaken tops,
To every stranger, bow'd their yeelding lops,
Are sold to us, that have no price to pay,
But sweat and toyle, the sorrowes of the day:
Oppressors trample on our servile necks,
We never cease to groane, nor they to vexe;
Famine and Dearth, haue taught our hands t'extend
To Ashur, and our feeble knees to bend
To churlish Pharoe: Want of bread compells
Thy servants to begge Almes of Infidels;
Our wretched Fathers sinn'd, and yet they sleepe
In peace, and have left us their sonnes to weepe;
We, we extracted from their sinfull loynes,
Are guilty of their sinnes; Their Ossa joynes
To our high Pelion; Ah! their crimes doe stand
More firmly' entailed to us, than our Land:
We are the slaves of servants, and the scorne
Of slaves, of all forsaken, and forlorne;
Hunger hath forc'd us to acquire our food,
With deepest danger of our dearest blood;
Our skins are wrinckled, and the fruitlesse ploughs
Of want have fallow'd up our barren browes:
Within that Sion which thy hands did build,
Our Wives were ravisht, and our Maids defil'd:
Our savage Foe extends his barb'rous rage
To all, not sparing Sexe, nor Youth, nor Age:
They hang our Princes on the shamefull trees
Of death; respect no Persons, no Degrees:
Our Elders are despised, whose gray hayres
Are but the Index of their doting yeares;
Our flowring youth are forced to fulfill
Their painfull taskes in the laborious Mill;
Our children faint beneath their loads, and cry,
Opprest with burdens, under which they lie:
Sages are banisht fom Iudiciall Courts,
And youth takes no delight in youthfull sports:
Our joyes are gone, and promise no returning,
Our pleasure's turnd to paine, our mirth to mourning;
Our hand hath lost her sword; Our Head his Crowne;
Our Church her glory; our Weale her high renowne.
Lord, we have sinn'd, and these our sins have brought
This world of griefe; (O purchase dearely bought!)
From hence our sorrowes, and from hence our feares
Proceed; for this, our eyes are blinde with teares;
But that (aye that) which my poore heart doth count
Her sharpest torture, is thy sacred Mount,
Sacred Mount Sion; Sion, that divine
Seat of thy glory's raz'd; her tender Vine,
Laden with swelling Clusters, is destroy'd,
And Foxes now, what once thy Lambs enjoy'd.
But thou (O thou eternall God) whose Throne
Is permanent, whose glory's ever one,
Vnapt for Change, abiding still the same,
Though Earth consume, & Heaven dissolve her frame,
Why dost thou (ah!) why dost thou thus absent
Thy glorious face? Oh, wherefore hast thou rent
Thy Mercy from us? O! when wilt thou be
Atton'd to them, that have no trust but Thee.
Restore us (Lord) and let our soules possesse
Our wonted peace; O, let thy Hand redresse
Our wasted fortunes; Let thine Eye behold
Thy scattered Flock, and drive them to their Fold;
Canst thou reject that people, which thy Hand
Hath chose, and planted in the promis'd Land?
O thou (the Spring of mercy) wilt thou send
No case to our Afflictions, no end?