 | Divine poems
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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.
| Divine poems
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