Self-Conflict or, The powerful Motions between the Flesh & Spirit. Represented In the Person and upon the occasion of Joseph, when By Potiphar's Wife He was enticed to Adultery. A Divine Poem, Written originally in Low-Dutch, by Jacob Catts ... and from thence Translated |
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 | Self-Conflict |  |
JOSEPH.
Of pious peace indeed, much might be said,
But shall conspiracy with sin be made
The peace injoyn'd? Can darkness dwell with light?
Or peacefully the Heat with Cold unite?
The living will not with the dead intwine;
Nor love the sound with the diseas'd to joyn.
The spriteful stripling will not be content
The flower of his affections should be spent
Upon a loathsome Carcass, voyd of Soul,
Whence crawling vermine in thick knots do rowl.
And yet who with his vices is at peace,
Worser enormities commits than these.
Who will indure him in his house alive,
That of her honour would his wife deprive?
None sure will suffer in his tender breast
Venemous serpents peacefully to rest.
With him, you know, the Law is not content
To be at peace, whose mind's to Murder bent.
Chast women should at every season be
In feuds with Lust, and its temptations flee.
Peace is preserv'd, not broke thereby, whose end
To lasting rest within the mind doth tend.
The world the plyant love, say you, but hate
Those whom you call morose, and does debate
With them by adverse Fortune evermore,
Till they by tears their misery deplore.
But who are here these tractable you mean?
And who then those morose? the worlds esteem
Here will not stand, which must once judged be
By him, who then her Enemies will free
From their imputed guilt, condemn then those
Who yielded to the Laws she did impose.
Perswasions drest in moving eloquence
For sinful ends, do therefore oft incense
Chast minds from hearing, and so them engage
To fly from that which doth their death presage.
For this give not reproachful names to these;
'Twill but the more discover your disease,
More odious far than those vile terms you vent
Against them, who to you are innocent.
Indeed in this respect we should give way,
When good perswasions move us to obey:
Here the untractable do merit shame;
And justice for their punishment does claim.
If to Gods word you order your requests,
We are agreed; farewel then our contests:
But if injustice you require, our peace
In that would but our misery increase.
Like the fond Ape, who with a strict embrace,
From her beloved brat doth life express:
Or like the fonder Mother, who a knife
Gives to her babe, with which it ends its life.
The Gardner prunes his spreading Vine, we know,
Nor barren branches doth permit to grow:
This is not strange; for which of us don't see,
That so the bearing may more fruitful be?
The festring wound is by the Surgeons cut,
Unto more strong and painful dolors put;
And yet it is notorious by this same
Proceeding, that a cure is all his aim.
Sharp corrosiving plaisters, that are made
For dangerous sores, pain when thereon they're laid;
But when they are apply'd upon that part
That's sound, 'tis not at all perceiv'd they smart.
My words, though harsh, if you cannot digest,
Your self's the cause, you're with sore plagues possest.
The Spirits balm, which works in you that pain,
Had you the will, would yield you greatest gain.
SEPHYRA.
How woful is that state which ever toyls
In midst of fierce contentions, cruel broyls!
How miserable's he who in his mind
A mutiny against himself must find!
Justly this Spirit doth our plaints provoke,
So insupportable that makes our yoak;
That presseth our assent above the skie,
Though we are made of earth, and cannot flie.
The mightiest Realms do certainly decay,
If in its bowels civil discords sway.
Cities nor Families can longer stand,
When deadly fewds within usurp command.
How should the heart within mans narrow breast
Find place in such a compass to digest
All those fierce broyls, upheld with mutual hate,
Frays, quarrels, fights, which must admit no date?
For what is man but gliding smoak, a vapour,
A fleeting shade, a self-consuming Taper,
An empty air, a wind, a brittle thing,
And what else frail we can for likeness bring.
If with this Vessel thou'lt be thus severe,
Needs must the bands of life asunder tear.
As like a Mine, press'd with embowel'd fire,
Gives way, unable to contain its ire.
Wherefore should man so his endeavours bend
Against himself, and with himself contend?
Maintain within his Soul continual wars,
So being with himself at restless jars?
Mankind from women did, thou know'st, proceed,
Whose Mother was obtained with that speed,
When wooing words and fruit did her allure,
Against that force unable to indure.
Nor more than she can we, her issue, chuse
To fall at words, such charms do they infuse:
What comes from Cats, is prone to flesh of Mice.
Our selves both love we cannot and despise,
Or our desires. Who can his natures frame
Forsake, or cross the dictates of the same?
We're of frail crudities, in lust begun,
Crudled as Cream, as Cheese together run,
Born in the Womb, fed with the breasts white flood,
Rockt with soft songs; in short, we're flesh and blood.
How will this nothing his desires assail,
Or with success against himself prevail,
Whose cruel victory does but portend
His miserable ruine in the end?
JOSEPH.
Though you disguise your lust in reasons dress,
Against it my dislike yet I'll express;
Though against me your utmost you engage,
Yet I'll oppose but with a juster rage.
Blest he, who in this quarrel doth persist,
With sin its cursed dictates to resist;
Happy that mind which evermore doth fight
With its own lusts, and contradicts their might.
There is a blest contest, a holy war,
An upright enmity, a gainful jar;
Again, there is a peace, a rest, a joy,
Which doth our Souls of all its peace destroy.
'Tis not our loss that lusts a war maintain
Within our Souls, and put our flesh to pain:
Our sins to see doth not proceed from sin.
To feel sins evil doth from good begin.
Though this seems strange, and wounds you to the Soul,
Yet it is true, our lusts we must controul.
That evil which our certain death will prove,
We by its death should surely first remove.
Our most beloved lusts, our dearest pleasures,
Our carnal comforts, all our earthly Treasures,
We in our hearts must not endure to dwell,
Or else their fierce allurements there repel.
The most occult recesses of our mind,
That whereunto our nature is inclin'd,
Our frame, our constitution, we in chains
Must bind, as Rebels, and afflict with pains.
For by the Fall so hapless man declin'd,
That all was spoylt within his heedless mind:
And since so totally did sin deprave
His Off-spring, that 'tis onely sin they crave.
Would it were with me as I'd wish to be,
Both from this world, and from my self I'd flee;
Such treacherous Companions do I find
Remaining in my bones, and in my mind.
Why hug we thus this world and worldly things,
Which no content, but sour vexation brings!
How is it that our Heaven-born Souls so prone
Are unto Earth, and not to God alone!
They that for Heaven intend, of Heaven must speak,
Heaven-wards must look, and through Heavens gates must break;
And they by constant labour must outdo
The restless malice of the Tempter too.
But why thus heap I words, where words are vain?
Briefly, Heavens road not easie is, or plain.
A thorny way, and through a thorny gate
It is that leads unto that blissful state.
Our hearts, I know, are full of crook'd desires,
In our best duties much of sin suspires;
Yet comfort we unspeakable may find,
That are his Children, for our troubled mind.
'Tis beyond doubt the blessed Prince of peace
Shall come, and make our expectations cease:
His day I saw already in my mind,
And press'd his lips with salutation kind.
Long since I have beheld, as from afar,
A strange far-blazing glory, a bright star,
Boding great light, prepar'd for Zeb'luns day,
To visit those who in deep darkness lay.
Behold the wonder which on earth is done,
A Maid conceives, and doth bring forth a Son;
A Child, a wondrous Child, Heav'n us doth grant,
Emanuel call'd, Prince o'th' new-Covenant.
He was a man of grief, by's own neglected,
Despis'd, abus'd, defamed, mockt, rejected.
Patiently he upon his own self brought
Our shame, for sins which we had onely wrought.
His Soul God fill'd with plagues, his Limbs were rent
With wounds, he by himself our punishment
Sustain'd, and we are by his stripes, his pain,
To God aton'd, and wholly heal'd again.
In unknown paths we wander'd from our way,
As scatter'd sheep without their shepherd stray,
But by the blessing of his Spirits guide,
Thenceforth a better way he doth provide.
As like a Lamb he's to the slaughter brought,
There as dumb sheep, when by the shearers caught,
He opens not his mouth, himself prepares
For greatest plagues, and all with patience bears.
For our cause he to our Tribunal went,
There sentence took, and thence to death was sent;
Whom when they first with bitter scoffs revil'd,
They from the living to the dead exil'd.
But when his blood he shall for offering give,
His seed shall rise, and through him ever live:
For by his sufferings as our debt he paid;
So shall the Fathers wrath then quite be laid.
Well, cheer up then, my Soul, nor now give way
To thy corruptions, or their laws obey.
Though thou by nature wast in lust conceiv'd,
Yet from this Fall thou art by grace up heav'd.
God gives his Spirit which with might assails
Our lusts, and with sure victory prevails.
Which sanctifies the feeble Soul withal,
That else would down to each temptation fall.
Of pious peace indeed, much might be said,
But shall conspiracy with sin be made
The peace injoyn'd? Can darkness dwell with light?
Or peacefully the Heat with Cold unite?
The living will not with the dead intwine;
Nor love the sound with the diseas'd to joyn.
83
The flower of his affections should be spent
Upon a loathsome Carcass, voyd of Soul,
Whence crawling vermine in thick knots do rowl.
And yet who with his vices is at peace,
Worser enormities commits than these.
Who will indure him in his house alive,
That of her honour would his wife deprive?
None sure will suffer in his tender breast
Venemous serpents peacefully to rest.
With him, you know, the Law is not content
To be at peace, whose mind's to Murder bent.
Chast women should at every season be
In feuds with Lust, and its temptations flee.
Peace is preserv'd, not broke thereby, whose end
To lasting rest within the mind doth tend.
The world the plyant love, say you, but hate
Those whom you call morose, and does debate
With them by adverse Fortune evermore,
Till they by tears their misery deplore.
But who are here these tractable you mean?
And who then those morose? the worlds esteem
Here will not stand, which must once judged be
By him, who then her Enemies will free
From their imputed guilt, condemn then those
Who yielded to the Laws she did impose.
Perswasions drest in moving eloquence
For sinful ends, do therefore oft incense
Chast minds from hearing, and so them engage
To fly from that which doth their death presage.
For this give not reproachful names to these;
'Twill but the more discover your disease,
More odious far than those vile terms you vent
Against them, who to you are innocent.
84
When good perswasions move us to obey:
Here the untractable do merit shame;
And justice for their punishment does claim.
If to Gods word you order your requests,
We are agreed; farewel then our contests:
But if injustice you require, our peace
In that would but our misery increase.
Like the fond Ape, who with a strict embrace,
From her beloved brat doth life express:
Or like the fonder Mother, who a knife
Gives to her babe, with which it ends its life.
The Gardner prunes his spreading Vine, we know,
Nor barren branches doth permit to grow:
This is not strange; for which of us don't see,
That so the bearing may more fruitful be?
The festring wound is by the Surgeons cut,
Unto more strong and painful dolors put;
And yet it is notorious by this same
Proceeding, that a cure is all his aim.
Sharp corrosiving plaisters, that are made
For dangerous sores, pain when thereon they're laid;
But when they are apply'd upon that part
That's sound, 'tis not at all perceiv'd they smart.
My words, though harsh, if you cannot digest,
Your self's the cause, you're with sore plagues possest.
The Spirits balm, which works in you that pain,
Had you the will, would yield you greatest gain.
85
How woful is that state which ever toyls
In midst of fierce contentions, cruel broyls!
How miserable's he who in his mind
A mutiny against himself must find!
Justly this Spirit doth our plaints provoke,
So insupportable that makes our yoak;
That presseth our assent above the skie,
Though we are made of earth, and cannot flie.
The mightiest Realms do certainly decay,
If in its bowels civil discords sway.
Cities nor Families can longer stand,
When deadly fewds within usurp command.
How should the heart within mans narrow breast
Find place in such a compass to digest
All those fierce broyls, upheld with mutual hate,
Frays, quarrels, fights, which must admit no date?
For what is man but gliding smoak, a vapour,
A fleeting shade, a self-consuming Taper,
An empty air, a wind, a brittle thing,
And what else frail we can for likeness bring.
If with this Vessel thou'lt be thus severe,
Needs must the bands of life asunder tear.
As like a Mine, press'd with embowel'd fire,
Gives way, unable to contain its ire.
Wherefore should man so his endeavours bend
Against himself, and with himself contend?
Maintain within his Soul continual wars,
So being with himself at restless jars?
Mankind from women did, thou know'st, proceed,
Whose Mother was obtained with that speed,
86
Against that force unable to indure.
Nor more than she can we, her issue, chuse
To fall at words, such charms do they infuse:
What comes from Cats, is prone to flesh of Mice.
Our selves both love we cannot and despise,
Or our desires. Who can his natures frame
Forsake, or cross the dictates of the same?
We're of frail crudities, in lust begun,
Crudled as Cream, as Cheese together run,
Born in the Womb, fed with the breasts white flood,
Rockt with soft songs; in short, we're flesh and blood.
How will this nothing his desires assail,
Or with success against himself prevail,
Whose cruel victory does but portend
His miserable ruine in the end?
JOSEPH.
Though you disguise your lust in reasons dress,
Against it my dislike yet I'll express;
Though against me your utmost you engage,
Yet I'll oppose but with a juster rage.
Blest he, who in this quarrel doth persist,
With sin its cursed dictates to resist;
Happy that mind which evermore doth fight
With its own lusts, and contradicts their might.
There is a blest contest, a holy war,
An upright enmity, a gainful jar;
Again, there is a peace, a rest, a joy,
Which doth our Souls of all its peace destroy.
'Tis not our loss that lusts a war maintain
Within our Souls, and put our flesh to pain:
87
To feel sins evil doth from good begin.
Though this seems strange, and wounds you to the Soul,
Yet it is true, our lusts we must controul.
That evil which our certain death will prove,
We by its death should surely first remove.
Our most beloved lusts, our dearest pleasures,
Our carnal comforts, all our earthly Treasures,
We in our hearts must not endure to dwell,
Or else their fierce allurements there repel.
The most occult recesses of our mind,
That whereunto our nature is inclin'd,
Our frame, our constitution, we in chains
Must bind, as Rebels, and afflict with pains.
For by the Fall so hapless man declin'd,
That all was spoylt within his heedless mind:
And since so totally did sin deprave
His Off-spring, that 'tis onely sin they crave.
Would it were with me as I'd wish to be,
Both from this world, and from my self I'd flee;
Such treacherous Companions do I find
Remaining in my bones, and in my mind.
Why hug we thus this world and worldly things,
Which no content, but sour vexation brings!
How is it that our Heaven-born Souls so prone
Are unto Earth, and not to God alone!
They that for Heaven intend, of Heaven must speak,
Heaven-wards must look, and through Heavens gates must break;
And they by constant labour must outdo
The restless malice of the Tempter too.
But why thus heap I words, where words are vain?
Briefly, Heavens road not easie is, or plain.
A thorny way, and through a thorny gate
It is that leads unto that blissful state.
88
In our best duties much of sin suspires;
Yet comfort we unspeakable may find,
That are his Children, for our troubled mind.
'Tis beyond doubt the blessed Prince of peace
Shall come, and make our expectations cease:
His day I saw already in my mind,
And press'd his lips with salutation kind.
Long since I have beheld, as from afar,
A strange far-blazing glory, a bright star,
Boding great light, prepar'd for Zeb'luns day,
To visit those who in deep darkness lay.
Behold the wonder which on earth is done,
A Maid conceives, and doth bring forth a Son;
A Child, a wondrous Child, Heav'n us doth grant,
Emanuel call'd, Prince o'th' new-Covenant.
He was a man of grief, by's own neglected,
Despis'd, abus'd, defamed, mockt, rejected.
Patiently he upon his own self brought
Our shame, for sins which we had onely wrought.
His Soul God fill'd with plagues, his Limbs were rent
With wounds, he by himself our punishment
Sustain'd, and we are by his stripes, his pain,
To God aton'd, and wholly heal'd again.
In unknown paths we wander'd from our way,
As scatter'd sheep without their shepherd stray,
But by the blessing of his Spirits guide,
Thenceforth a better way he doth provide.
As like a Lamb he's to the slaughter brought,
There as dumb sheep, when by the shearers caught,
He opens not his mouth, himself prepares
For greatest plagues, and all with patience bears.
For our cause he to our Tribunal went,
There sentence took, and thence to death was sent;
89
They from the living to the dead exil'd.
But when his blood he shall for offering give,
His seed shall rise, and through him ever live:
For by his sufferings as our debt he paid;
So shall the Fathers wrath then quite be laid.
Well, cheer up then, my Soul, nor now give way
To thy corruptions, or their laws obey.
Though thou by nature wast in lust conceiv'd,
Yet from this Fall thou art by grace up heav'd.
God gives his Spirit which with might assails
Our lusts, and with sure victory prevails.
Which sanctifies the feeble Soul withal,
That else would down to each temptation fall.
| Self-Conflict | |