 | Sion in distress |  |
SION.
Sion's Friend.
Sion.
Sion's Friend.
Sion, Thy sad and bitter Lamentation
Does move my very Soul unto Compassion:
But say, what Cause does aggravate your Fears,
And thus provokes to further Cries and Tears?
Sion.
What dismal Vapour (in so black a form)
Is this, that seems to Harbinger a Storm?
What pitchy Cloud invades our Starry Sky,
To stop the Beamings of the Worlds Great Eye?
What spreading Sables of Egyptian Night,
Would rob the Earth of its Illustrious Light?
What interposing Fog obscures our Sun?
What dire Eclipse benights our Horizon?
Is England's Great and Royal Bridegroom fled?
Is its Aurora newly gone to bed?
That scatter'd Clouds make such prodigious haste,
Combine in one, and re-unite so fast.
Clouds that so lately dissipated were,
Do now conspire to make a Darker Air!
I mourn unpity'd, groan without Relief!
No bounds nor measures terminate my grief!
The Sluces of mine Eyes are too too narrow
To vent the Streams of my increasing Sorrow.
Ebbs follow swelling Floods, and Vernal Days
Adorn the Fields that Winter disarrays:
All States and Things have their alternate ranges,
As Providence the Scene of Action changes.
All Revolutions, hurries to and fro,
At length some Rest and Settlement do know.
But helpless I, have often look'd about,
To find some Ease, or Soul-Refreshment out;
Yet can I see no prospect of Relief,
But swift Additions multiply my grief.
As Pilgrims wander in their deep distress
Amongst the wild rapacious Savages,
In pathless Desarts, where the midnight howls
Of hungry Wolves, mixt with the screech of Owls,
And Ravens dismal croaks, salute the Ears
Of poor erratick trembling Passengers:
So I'm surrounded, so the Beasts of Prey
Conspire to take my Life and Name away.
My glowing Soul does melt, my Spirits faint
For want of vent; I'm pregnant with complaint.
No Age nor Generation but has known
Some part of this my just and grievous moan.
But now I'm far more dangerously charg'd;
By Bolder Foes my sorrows are enlarg'd:
A hellish Tribe from black Avernus flew,
That, Bloodhound-like, me and my Lambs pursue.
Lord JESUS come! O let my Cries invoke
Thy sacred Presence to divert the stroke.
Are all my Friends withdrawn? what is there none
Steps in to ease me of my grievous moan?
Is this, that seems to Harbinger a Storm?
What pitchy Cloud invades our Starry Sky,
To stop the Beamings of the Worlds Great Eye?
What spreading Sables of Egyptian Night,
Would rob the Earth of its Illustrious Light?
What interposing Fog obscures our Sun?
What dire Eclipse benights our Horizon?
Is England's Great and Royal Bridegroom fled?
Is its Aurora newly gone to bed?
That scatter'd Clouds make such prodigious haste,
Combine in one, and re-unite so fast.
Clouds that so lately dissipated were,
Do now conspire to make a Darker Air!
2
No bounds nor measures terminate my grief!
The Sluces of mine Eyes are too too narrow
To vent the Streams of my increasing Sorrow.
Ebbs follow swelling Floods, and Vernal Days
Adorn the Fields that Winter disarrays:
All States and Things have their alternate ranges,
As Providence the Scene of Action changes.
All Revolutions, hurries to and fro,
At length some Rest and Settlement do know.
But helpless I, have often look'd about,
To find some Ease, or Soul-Refreshment out;
Yet can I see no prospect of Relief,
But swift Additions multiply my grief.
As Pilgrims wander in their deep distress
Amongst the wild rapacious Savages,
In pathless Desarts, where the midnight howls
Of hungry Wolves, mixt with the screech of Owls,
And Ravens dismal croaks, salute the Ears
Of poor erratick trembling Passengers:
So I'm surrounded, so the Beasts of Prey
Conspire to take my Life and Name away.
My glowing Soul does melt, my Spirits faint
For want of vent; I'm pregnant with complaint.
No Age nor Generation but has known
Some part of this my just and grievous moan.
But now I'm far more dangerously charg'd;
By Bolder Foes my sorrows are enlarg'd:
A hellish Tribe from black Avernus flew,
That, Bloodhound-like, me and my Lambs pursue.
3
Thy sacred Presence to divert the stroke.
Are all my Friends withdrawn? what is there none
Steps in to ease me of my grievous moan?
Sion's Friend.
What
doleful noise salutes my wondring Ear
What grief-expressing Note is that I hear
Methinks the Accent of this Dismal Cry,
Bespeaks some one in great extremity.
The shrilness of the mournful Voice bespeaks
A Womans loud and unregarded shrieks.
The more her deep and piercing sobs I heed,
The more my Heart in sympathy does bleed.
Ah! who can find her out? who can make known
The Author of this Heart-relenting Moan?
Doubtless, though Grief now seizes thus upon her
She is a Lady of high Birth and Honour;
Of Royal Stem, extracted from Above,
Nurs'd in the Chambers of the Fathers Love;
Espoused to a most Illustrious Prince,
Who over all has Just Preheminence,
Monarch of Monarchs—Sion! Is it Thou!
O mourn, my Soul! O let my Spirit bow!
Let all that love the Bridegroom sigh for grief;
For Sion weeps as one past all Relief.
But why, O Sion, since thou art belov'd
Of Heavens Supream, art thou so sadly mov'd?
Thy Arms expanded, thus implore the Skies?
Thy streaming Rivulets, flow from thine eies?
This makes me wonder. —
What grief-expressing Note is that I hear
Methinks the Accent of this Dismal Cry,
Bespeaks some one in great extremity.
The shrilness of the mournful Voice bespeaks
A Womans loud and unregarded shrieks.
The more her deep and piercing sobs I heed,
The more my Heart in sympathy does bleed.
Ah! who can find her out? who can make known
The Author of this Heart-relenting Moan?
Doubtless, though Grief now seizes thus upon her
She is a Lady of high Birth and Honour;
Of Royal Stem, extracted from Above,
Nurs'd in the Chambers of the Fathers Love;
Espoused to a most Illustrious Prince,
Who over all has Just Preheminence,
Monarch of Monarchs—Sion! Is it Thou!
O mourn, my Soul! O let my Spirit bow!
Let all that love the Bridegroom sigh for grief;
For Sion weeps as one past all Relief.
But why, O Sion, since thou art belov'd
Of Heavens Supream, art thou so sadly mov'd?
4
Thy streaming Rivulets, flow from thine eies?
This makes me wonder. —
Sion.
— My
forlorn Estate
Is poor, unpitty'd, mean and desolate;
I long have wander'd in the Wilderness
Involv'd in trouble, kept in sore Distress,
In Caves, absconding from the horrid Rage
Of Savage Beasts, until this later Age
I made Attempts to look a little Out,
The Monster spy'd me, and does search about;
The Roaring Bloud-Hounds, greedy on the scent,
To kill, or drive me back again, are bent.
No Interval of Peace, no Rest they give,
Pronounce me cursed, and not fit to live:
A Dragon fell, combined with the Beast
To gore my Sides, and spoil my Interest.
Th'old Lion, Lionness, and Lions Whelp,
With dreadful Jaws, the other Beasts do help.
Dogs, Bulls, and Foxes, Bears and Wolves agree
To rend, to tear, and make a spoil of me.
I that have been so delicately bred,
My Children at a Royal Table fed;
Am now expos'd to the Infernal Spite
Of such as do in Fire and Blood delight.
Plots hatch'd in Hell and Rome! that black design
To stab a Monarch; and to undermine
Our Ancient Laws, subvert Religion, and
Bow England's Neck to Antichrists command;
Were but Preludiums to that dismal Urn
(As martyr'd heaps in flaming Smithfield burn)
Design'd for Protestants, and all the Rest
Who hate Romes Idol, th'Image of the Beast.
I am the Mark the Monsters aim at: All
Their grand designs were to contrive my fall.
If Friends or others any Favours show,
They straight conspire to work their Overthrow.
Ah vile Conspiracy! Ah cursed PLOT!
So deeply laid! How canst thou be Forgot?
Hells grand Intreagues ne'er introduc'd a Brat
Into the World, so horrible as that.
Since Rome the western cheated Monarchs rid,
A Rampant WHORE, the horned Beast bestrid.
Disgorging Plots, employing hellish Actors:
May all our Off-spring Execrate such Factors!
Is poor, unpitty'd, mean and desolate;
I long have wander'd in the Wilderness
Involv'd in trouble, kept in sore Distress,
In Caves, absconding from the horrid Rage
Of Savage Beasts, until this later Age
I made Attempts to look a little Out,
The Monster spy'd me, and does search about;
The Roaring Bloud-Hounds, greedy on the scent,
To kill, or drive me back again, are bent.
No Interval of Peace, no Rest they give,
Pronounce me cursed, and not fit to live:
A Dragon fell, combined with the Beast
To gore my Sides, and spoil my Interest.
Th'old Lion, Lionness, and Lions Whelp,
With dreadful Jaws, the other Beasts do help.
Dogs, Bulls, and Foxes, Bears and Wolves agree
To rend, to tear, and make a spoil of me.
I that have been so delicately bred,
My Children at a Royal Table fed;
Am now expos'd to the Infernal Spite
Of such as do in Fire and Blood delight.
Plots hatch'd in Hell and Rome! that black design
To stab a Monarch; and to undermine
5
Bow England's Neck to Antichrists command;
Were but Preludiums to that dismal Urn
(As martyr'd heaps in flaming Smithfield burn)
Design'd for Protestants, and all the Rest
Who hate Romes Idol, th'Image of the Beast.
I am the Mark the Monsters aim at: All
Their grand designs were to contrive my fall.
If Friends or others any Favours show,
They straight conspire to work their Overthrow.
Ah vile Conspiracy! Ah cursed PLOT!
So deeply laid! How canst thou be Forgot?
Hells grand Intreagues ne'er introduc'd a Brat
Into the World, so horrible as that.
Since Rome the western cheated Monarchs rid,
A Rampant WHORE, the horned Beast bestrid.
Disgorging Plots, employing hellish Actors:
May all our Off-spring Execrate such Factors!
Sion forlorn! How very few regard
Thy cries & tears, mens hearts are grown so hard!
In Restless Hurries, tost with every wind,
No Ease, no Peace, no Comfort can I find.
The horrid Aspect of these Monsters do
Affright my Children, some they worry too;
On Some they seiz, like greedy Beasts of prey,
And to their Dens the Sacrifice convey.
Renowned GODFREY! (whose immortal glory:
Martyr'd for me, shall ever live in Story)
Let every Loyal Eye that sees it there,
Yield to his Name the Tribute of a Tear.
Thy cries & tears, mens hearts are grown so hard!
In Restless Hurries, tost with every wind,
No Ease, no Peace, no Comfort can I find.
The horrid Aspect of these Monsters do
Affright my Children, some they worry too;
On Some they seiz, like greedy Beasts of prey,
And to their Dens the Sacrifice convey.
Renowned GODFREY! (whose immortal glory:
Martyr'd for me, shall ever live in Story)
Let every Loyal Eye that sees it there,
Yield to his Name the Tribute of a Tear.
6
Brave Soul! Thy Love and Loyalty do claim
That King and People should proclaim thy Name,
As England's Victim, ne'er to be forgot,
Fast'ning on Rome an everlasting Blot.
That King and People should proclaim thy Name,
As England's Victim, ne'er to be forgot,
Fast'ning on Rome an everlasting Blot.
The Great Jehovah, who is onely Wise,
Permits thy Fall as a sweet Sacrifice.
Thy Barb'rous Murder has made clearly out
That Plot which none but Infidels can doubt.
Those bloody Varlets, black Assassinates,
Curs'd Executioners of Rome's Debates,
Drunk with Infernal Cruelty, made Thee
A Specimen of England's Tragedy.
By Thee we learn what Courtesie to hope
From Romish Butchers, Vassals to the Pope.
Thou led'st the Van, first fell into the Trap,
From whence they say no Protestant shall 'scape.
Pure Innocence Trapann'd, amongst them came,
Without suspicion, (like a harmless Lamb)
Whilst they, like hungry Tygers, ready stood
T'embrue their Tallons in thy guiltless Blood.
Thou little thought'st such an Infernal Snare
Had been thus laid to trap Thee unaware!
Permits thy Fall as a sweet Sacrifice.
Thy Barb'rous Murder has made clearly out
That Plot which none but Infidels can doubt.
Those bloody Varlets, black Assassinates,
Curs'd Executioners of Rome's Debates,
Drunk with Infernal Cruelty, made Thee
A Specimen of England's Tragedy.
By Thee we learn what Courtesie to hope
From Romish Butchers, Vassals to the Pope.
Thou led'st the Van, first fell into the Trap,
From whence they say no Protestant shall 'scape.
Pure Innocence Trapann'd, amongst them came,
Without suspicion, (like a harmless Lamb)
Whilst they, like hungry Tygers, ready stood
T'embrue their Tallons in thy guiltless Blood.
Thou little thought'st such an Infernal Snare
Had been thus laid to trap Thee unaware!
'Tis strange, say some, what Reason should engage
Them to make Thee the Object of their Rage?
The Cause was thus: The Babylonish Whore,
Big with a Bastard, long'd (as heretofore)
For Christian Blood; her Favourites made haste,
In her great need to help her to a Taste.
Of choicest Liquors this she calls the first,
To chear her sinking heart, and quench her thirst.
Fearing Miscarriage, when her Spirits faint,
She drinks the hearts Blood of some Martyr'd Saint
Then Horse-leech more insatiable, she cries,
Give, give me that, or nothing will suffice
My Craving Paunch; my pleasure must be done:
This Heretick was a Pragmatick One;
He knew my Secret Clubs, and would Reveal
My Tragick Plots: We must prevent his Zeal.
We'll Strangle Him, before He gives a glimpse
Of our Designs, or Countermines our Imps.
Them to make Thee the Object of their Rage?
The Cause was thus: The Babylonish Whore,
Big with a Bastard, long'd (as heretofore)
For Christian Blood; her Favourites made haste,
In her great need to help her to a Taste.
Of choicest Liquors this she calls the first,
To chear her sinking heart, and quench her thirst.
7
She drinks the hearts Blood of some Martyr'd Saint
Then Horse-leech more insatiable, she cries,
Give, give me that, or nothing will suffice
My Craving Paunch; my pleasure must be done:
This Heretick was a Pragmatick One;
He knew my Secret Clubs, and would Reveal
My Tragick Plots: We must prevent his Zeal.
We'll Strangle Him, before He gives a glimpse
Of our Designs, or Countermines our Imps.
Ah Brutish Whore! of Cannibals the worse;
This bloody Draught has brought an endless Curse
On thee: And lasting Calendars we see
Records this Instance of thy Cruelty.
This Loyal Knight ne'er injur'd you, but stood
Discharging Justice for his Countreys Good.
Will nought but Blood of Protestants give ease
Or quench your thirst? What mischievous Disease
Infects your Bowels? Must your Churches Food
Be flesh of Saints? Your mornings-draught, their blood
Fellonious Strumpet! Must you be so bold,
To steal by night into your Neighbours Fold?
Seiz on my Lambs? Thy Theft and Cruelty,
As well as Murder, shall revenged be.
This bloody Draught has brought an endless Curse
On thee: And lasting Calendars we see
Records this Instance of thy Cruelty.
This Loyal Knight ne'er injur'd you, but stood
Discharging Justice for his Countreys Good.
Will nought but Blood of Protestants give ease
Or quench your thirst? What mischievous Disease
Infects your Bowels? Must your Churches Food
Be flesh of Saints? Your mornings-draught, their blood
Fellonious Strumpet! Must you be so bold,
To steal by night into your Neighbours Fold?
Seiz on my Lambs? Thy Theft and Cruelty,
As well as Murder, shall revenged be.
But since He's gone, and Justice does pursue
With eager steps th'Assassinating Crew,
We'll acquiesce: For Heaven seems to call
For Tears Cessation at his Funeral:
Let Christians offer, through the Universe,
Whole Hecatombs upon his bleeding Herse.
And could their Tears increase into a Flood,
'Twere no excess—So much I prize his Blood.
With eager steps th'Assassinating Crew,
We'll acquiesce: For Heaven seems to call
For Tears Cessation at his Funeral:
Let Christians offer, through the Universe,
Whole Hecatombs upon his bleeding Herse.
8
'Twere no excess—So much I prize his Blood.
But other grounds of Grief are in mine Eye,
Which cause my Sorrows to advance so high,
That my o'er-burthen'd Heart can scarce express
The nature of my Inward Heaviness.
Which cause my Sorrows to advance so high,
That my o'er-burthen'd Heart can scarce express
The nature of my Inward Heaviness.
Sion's Friend.
Sion, Thy sad and bitter Lamentation
Does move my very Soul unto Compassion:
But say, what Cause does aggravate your Fears,
And thus provokes to further Cries and Tears?
Sion.
If that my Head were Waters, and each Eye
A brim-full Fountain, I could drein 'em dry.
I'm steep'd in brackish Floods, nay almost drownd,
To see how Sin does ev'ry where abound.
Where e'er I am, I nought can see or hear,
But that which doth my Soul in pieces tear.
It breaks my heart that England thus should be
A Scene for Actors of Debauchery.
What perpetrations of the blackest Crimes
Appear not bare-fac'd in our present times?
Tho God (incens'd) has fearful Judgments sent,
To humble men, and move them to repent;
Yet they proceed in foul Impenitence,
And aggravate their horrid Insolence;
Seeming to bid Defiances to Heaven,
Scorning to take the dreadful Warnings given.
The sweeping Plague (that Messenger of Wrath)
In such as 'scap'd, small Reformation hath
Produc'd! Nor has the desolating Fire
(A perfect Token of Gods flaming Ire)
Remov'd the City's Pride; 'twas great before,
And now it seems to multiply much more.
Fantastick Garbs, and Antick Modes declare
How much from Pride their Souls reformed are:
Though want, though poverty, and loss of Trade,
Do many Men and Families invade;
Yet do they vaunt in pride and luxury,
As if they had vast Mines of Treasures by.
Some know not what to eat, nor how to go,
Yet on the Poor will no Compassion show:
(Whose unregarded Cries, unheeded Moans,
Whose unreliev'd Distress, unpity'd Groans,
Can scarce extort a Mite) such do not grudge
To purchase Hell at dearest Rates, and drudge
To please their brutish lusts, who void of measure
Consume Estates to wantonize in Pleasure,
Tumbling in Riot (as proud Dives sat)
Whilst Lazarus lies starving at the Gate.
A brim-full Fountain, I could drein 'em dry.
I'm steep'd in brackish Floods, nay almost drownd,
To see how Sin does ev'ry where abound.
Where e'er I am, I nought can see or hear,
But that which doth my Soul in pieces tear.
It breaks my heart that England thus should be
A Scene for Actors of Debauchery.
What perpetrations of the blackest Crimes
Appear not bare-fac'd in our present times?
Tho God (incens'd) has fearful Judgments sent,
To humble men, and move them to repent;
9
And aggravate their horrid Insolence;
Seeming to bid Defiances to Heaven,
Scorning to take the dreadful Warnings given.
The sweeping Plague (that Messenger of Wrath)
In such as 'scap'd, small Reformation hath
Produc'd! Nor has the desolating Fire
(A perfect Token of Gods flaming Ire)
Remov'd the City's Pride; 'twas great before,
And now it seems to multiply much more.
Fantastick Garbs, and Antick Modes declare
How much from Pride their Souls reformed are:
Though want, though poverty, and loss of Trade,
Do many Men and Families invade;
Yet do they vaunt in pride and luxury,
As if they had vast Mines of Treasures by.
Some know not what to eat, nor how to go,
Yet on the Poor will no Compassion show:
(Whose unregarded Cries, unheeded Moans,
Whose unreliev'd Distress, unpity'd Groans,
Can scarce extort a Mite) such do not grudge
To purchase Hell at dearest Rates, and drudge
To please their brutish lusts, who void of measure
Consume Estates to wantonize in Pleasure,
Tumbling in Riot (as proud Dives sat)
Whilst Lazarus lies starving at the Gate.
| Sion in distress | |