Divine Meditations upon Several Subjects Whereunto is annexed, God's Love, and Man's Unworthinesse. With Several Divine Ejaculations. Written by John Quarles |
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Gods Reply.
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 | Divine Meditations upon Several Subjects |  |
Gods Reply.
Thou bold-fac'd Orator, how dar'st thou come
Before me, or be otherwise then dumb?
Tell me, how dar'st thou interrupt my brest?
I hate to see thee, or hear thy Request.
Audacious wretch, what, has my Judgmentt made
Thy heart grow peremptory? Have I layd
Too small a burthen on thee? if I have,
I'le lay a greater, thou apostate slave:
I will not note thee, nor I will not hear
Thy words, which have usurp'd my deafned ear:
Love thee, for what? be't known, sad wretch, I scorn
To love a thing so base, so vile, forlorn;
And if I cannot love, how can it be,
That I can pity such a worm as thee?
I'le neither love, nor pity, for my heart
Is adamantine; thou shalt feel the smart
Of my displeasure: Go, my Soul disdains
To look upon thee; thou art fill'd with stains,
And smel'st too much of fruit to find respect,
Thou art the subject of my great neglect:
Thou art a barren soil, nothing will grow
Upon thy heart, except the seeds of woe.
Tell me, from what conceit dost thou derive
Thy working confidence, that thou dar'st drive
Thy language to my ears, and be so bold
T'approach my sight, and wilt not be controul'd?
Art thou resolv'd to make (what dost thou mean)
My ears thy stage, and every word a scean?
Sum up thy small, thy weak deserts, and see
What large respects thou hast deserv'd from me.
I plac'd thee in a garden, not to eat
The fruit forbidden, but to keep it neat:
Had not the violation of my Laws
Mov'd me to anger, thou hadst had no cause
T'ave felt the burthen of my weighty stroke,
Or live thus much subjected to the yoke
Of thine own sins; most shameful is that loss
That's crown'd with negligence, & great the cross
That's made with a self-hand; and they that clime
Above their strengths impropriate a crime
To their own Souls; Destruction is the end
Of all rebellion: Ruine knows no friend.
Before me, or be otherwise then dumb?
44
I hate to see thee, or hear thy Request.
Audacious wretch, what, has my Judgmentt made
Thy heart grow peremptory? Have I layd
Too small a burthen on thee? if I have,
I'le lay a greater, thou apostate slave:
I will not note thee, nor I will not hear
Thy words, which have usurp'd my deafned ear:
Love thee, for what? be't known, sad wretch, I scorn
To love a thing so base, so vile, forlorn;
And if I cannot love, how can it be,
That I can pity such a worm as thee?
I'le neither love, nor pity, for my heart
Is adamantine; thou shalt feel the smart
Of my displeasure: Go, my Soul disdains
To look upon thee; thou art fill'd with stains,
And smel'st too much of fruit to find respect,
Thou art the subject of my great neglect:
Thou art a barren soil, nothing will grow
Upon thy heart, except the seeds of woe.
Tell me, from what conceit dost thou derive
Thy working confidence, that thou dar'st drive
Thy language to my ears, and be so bold
T'approach my sight, and wilt not be controul'd?
Art thou resolv'd to make (what dost thou mean)
My ears thy stage, and every word a scean?
45
What large respects thou hast deserv'd from me.
I plac'd thee in a garden, not to eat
The fruit forbidden, but to keep it neat:
Had not the violation of my Laws
Mov'd me to anger, thou hadst had no cause
T'ave felt the burthen of my weighty stroke,
Or live thus much subjected to the yoke
Of thine own sins; most shameful is that loss
That's crown'd with negligence, & great the cross
That's made with a self-hand; and they that clime
Above their strengths impropriate a crime
To their own Souls; Destruction is the end
Of all rebellion: Ruine knows no friend.
Suppose I should invest and intertain
Your Soul with love, and call thee back again,
The tree is still the same, the fruit as sweet,
Thy appetite as great, and thou mayst meet
A Serpent too, whose oratorious skill
May soon entreat thee to enact his will:
He has a voyce to tempt, and thou an ear
Will re-assume the priviledg to hear:
He has a hand to give, and thou another
Freely to take: thus wouldst thou quickly smother
Thy new delights; therefore I will not trust
A heart that can be nothing but unjust.
Your Soul with love, and call thee back again,
The tree is still the same, the fruit as sweet,
Thy appetite as great, and thou mayst meet
A Serpent too, whose oratorious skill
May soon entreat thee to enact his will:
He has a voyce to tempt, and thou an ear
Will re-assume the priviledg to hear:
He has a hand to give, and thou another
Freely to take: thus wouldst thou quickly smother
Thy new delights; therefore I will not trust
A heart that can be nothing but unjust.
46
Thou great Mugul of baseness, cease to plead,
Thy tongue's a canker, and thy words are lead;
Thy sins have made thee not deserve the air
Thou entertain'st; hadst thou imploy'd thy care
To serve me, when I lov'd thee, thou hadst had
My heart-delighting joys to make thee glad;
But now expect no favour, for no art
Of thine shall ever captivate my heart.
Hie thee unto the shades of grief, bewail
Thy sequestrated happiness, no bail
Of thy procuring will I take to set
Thy Soul at liberty; I will not let
The vision of a comfort creep within
Thy rambling thoughts, thou art a slave to sin:
Hadst thou but lov'd or fear'd me at the first,
Th'adst been as happy, as th'art now accurst:
If now thou lov'st me, I shall quickly prove
It is for fear alone, and not for love.
Thy heart is steel'd with wickedness, thy faults
Are sparks enlivened by thy flinty thoughts.
Breathe out thy groans unto a sensless rock,
And let thy sighs (like hammers) beat and knock
Against her scragged sides, thou shalt as soon
Have her consent, as mine, to grant thy boon:
'Tis therefore vain to multiply thy words,
For ah, my brest, my hardened brest, affords
Thy Soul no pity: and the more thy cry
Attempts my ear, the less I will reply,
Alas! thy guilt-o're-burth'ned words renew
Fresh thoughts of rage, I cannot hear thee sue
Without impatiency; for ah the longer
Thou crav'st, thou mak'st my fury grow the stronger.
Avoid my presence, for I will no more
Give audience to thy voyce, then cease t'implore.
Thy tongue's a canker, and thy words are lead;
Thy sins have made thee not deserve the air
Thou entertain'st; hadst thou imploy'd thy care
To serve me, when I lov'd thee, thou hadst had
My heart-delighting joys to make thee glad;
But now expect no favour, for no art
Of thine shall ever captivate my heart.
Hie thee unto the shades of grief, bewail
Thy sequestrated happiness, no bail
Of thy procuring will I take to set
Thy Soul at liberty; I will not let
The vision of a comfort creep within
Thy rambling thoughts, thou art a slave to sin:
Hadst thou but lov'd or fear'd me at the first,
Th'adst been as happy, as th'art now accurst:
If now thou lov'st me, I shall quickly prove
It is for fear alone, and not for love.
Thy heart is steel'd with wickedness, thy faults
Are sparks enlivened by thy flinty thoughts.
Breathe out thy groans unto a sensless rock,
And let thy sighs (like hammers) beat and knock
Against her scragged sides, thou shalt as soon
Have her consent, as mine, to grant thy boon:
'Tis therefore vain to multiply thy words,
For ah, my brest, my hardened brest, affords
47
Attempts my ear, the less I will reply,
Alas! thy guilt-o're-burth'ned words renew
Fresh thoughts of rage, I cannot hear thee sue
Without impatiency; for ah the longer
Thou crav'st, thou mak'st my fury grow the stronger.
Avoid my presence, for I will no more
Give audience to thy voyce, then cease t'implore.
| Divine Meditations upon Several Subjects | |