The Works of Mr Abraham Cowley Consisting of Those which were formerly Printed: And Those which he Design'd for the Press, Now Published out of the Authors Original Copies ... The Text Edited by A. R. Waller |
 |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 | The Works of Mr Abraham Cowley |  |
351
[Curst be the Man (what do I wish? as though]
1
Curst be the Man (what do I wish? as thoughThe wretch already were not so;
But curst on let him be) who thinks it brave
And great, his Countrey to enslave.
Who seeks to overpoise alone
The Balance of a Nation;
Against the whole but naked State,
Who in his own light Scale makes up with Arms the weight.
2
Who of his Nation loves to be the first,Though at the rate of being worst.
Who would be rather a great Monster, than
A well-proportion'd Man.
The Son of Earth with hundred hands
Upon his three-pil'd Mountain stands,
Till Thunder strikes him from the sky;
The Son of Earth again in his Earths womb does lie.
352
3
What Bloud, Confusion, Ruine, to obtainA short and miserable Reign?
In what oblique and humble creeping wise
Does the mischievous Serpent rise?
But even his forked Tongue strikes dead,
When h'as rear'd up his wicked Head,
He murders with his mortal frown,
A Basilisk he grows if once he get a Crown.
4
But no Guards can oppose assaulting Ears,Or undermining Tears.
No more than doors, or close-drawn Curtains keep
The swarming Dreams out when we sleep.
That bloudy Conscience too of his
(For, oh, a Rebel Red-Coat 'tis)
Does here his early Hell begin,
He sees his Slaves without, his Tyrant feels within.
5
Let, Gracious God, let never more thine handLift up this rod against our Land.
A Tyrant is a Rod and Serpent too,
And brings worse Plagues than Egypt knew.
What Rivers stain'd with blood have been?
What Storm and Hail-shot have we seen?
What Sores deform'd the Ulcerous State?
What darkness to be felt has buried us of late?
6
How has it snatcht our Flocks and Herds away?And made even of our Sons a prey?
What croaking Sects and Vermin has it sent
The restless Nation to torment?
What greedy Troups, what armed power
Of Flies and Locusts to devour
The Land which every where they fill?
Nor flie they, Lord, away; no, they devour it still.
353
7
Come the eleventh Plague, rather than this should be;Come sink us rather in the Sea.
Come rather Pestilence and reap us down;
Come Gods sword rather than our own.
Let rather Roman come again,
Or Saxon, Norman, or the Dane,
In all the bonds we ever bore,
We griev'd, we sigh'd, we wept; we never blusht before.
8
If by our sins the Divine Justice beCall'd to this last extremity,
Let some denouncing Jonas first be sent,
To try if England can repent.
Methinks at least some Prodigy,
Some dreadful Comet from on high,
Should terribly forewarn the Earth,
As of good Princes Deaths, so of a Tyrants birth.
| The Works of Mr Abraham Cowley | |