University of Virginia Library

A DIALOGUE Between the Soul and Satan.

Sat.
Soul, th'art well met.

Sou.
'Tis true, for I am well.

Sat.
Say, wither art thou going?

So.
Not to Hel.

Sat.
Pish, talk no more of that, but tel me whither
Thou go'st; come, prethee let's go both together.

Sou.
A pretty motion; when I want a guide
Ile send for thee, till then thou art deny'd
To be my Usher.

Sat.
Prethee tell me why
Thou art so obstinate, as to deny
So free a courtesie as I have shewn;
Mischance oft falls to them that walk alone:
Be not so much averse as to neglect
This opportunity; I can protect
Thy feet from sliding; dangers still attend
Those that despise the favors of a friend.

Sou.
A friend! how canst thou prove that title?

Sat.
How?
As thus; because I'm willing to allow
The best assistance of my ready arm
To guide, nay and protect thee from all harm;
Therefore a friend.

So.
What you pretend to shew
Is but external; he that can bestow
Internal friendship on a Soul distress'd
Is a true friend; no matter for the rest.
If Heav'n will guide my Soul I shall not stray,
Or fear the evils of a dangerous way:
But as for you, I needs must borrow leave
To say, your friendship's only to deceive;
Confusion paths your ways, and if I run
By your advise, I needs must be undon.
God bids me fly from sin if I refuse
Obedience to his will, I shall abuse
His just commands; then will my sorrows cry,
When Mercy stops, Judgment begins to fly.

Sat.
Desist (fond Soul) and labour to divorce
Thy lips from this too fabulous discourse;
Guild not thy words with vanity, perswade
These thoughts (which are erronious) to evade
Thy serious mind; advise, and thou shalt see
My ways are best, be principl'd by me:
Let not the swing of passion strike thee down,
But follow me, 'tis I must give a Crown
To thy deserts, 'tis I that can advance
Thy down-cast Soul above the reach of chance;
'Tis I (mistaken Soul) 'tis I alone
That must conduct thee to the sublime throne
Of true Salvation; 'tis my hand must bring
Thy trembling Soul before th'all-judging King
Of Heaven and Earth; it is my power can fill
Thy heart with joy; believe me, and I will.
Trust not the babling languages of those
That seem thy friends, but are thy greatest foes;
They're great to thy destruction, they'l connive
And fawn, nay almost bury thee alive;
They'l talk of Heav'n and Hell, they tell thee stories
Of endless, boundless, unconceived glories;
They'l tell thee of Eternity, and woo
Thy Soul out of thy ears, if thou'lt bestow
Thy pains to hear them; they'l infuse, and brew
Their own designs, and tell thee all is true
That they declare; they'l tell thee that they're sent
As Messengers from Heav'ns high Parliament.
Believe me Soul, 'tis I that can display
The Gospels Colours better far then they;
There's nothing in that volume so obstruce,
But I can winde and twist it to my use:
And there is nothing in this world can be
Stil'd worth a work, but can be done by me:
I can do all, it lies within my power
To make thee Poor or rich in half an hour:
I can command whole Legions to attend
Upon my honour: Say, what nobler friend
Canst thou imbrace; I'le be a friend to all
That will give audience to my faithful call;
I'le make them swell with riches, they shall have
As much, nay if not more, then they can crave:
Am I not rare, and rich, and high, and great,
Incomprehensible? Is not my seat
The throne of happiness? Yet cannot I
Invite thee to my sweet eternity?
Come gentle Soul into my twining arms,
I'le hug thee, I'le delight thee with my charms,
I'le shew thee all my Joys, nothing shall lie
Hid from the view of thy all-gazing eye:
Happy, beyond expression.

Sou.
Satan, stay
The Progress of thy tongue, and give me way,
That I may vent my thoughts, for you have spoke
At large already; and is this the stroke
Which you intend shall wound me? Be assur'd,
The blows but small, and well may be endur'd.

Sat.
What, mov'd to passion! Is thy mind disturb'd
With foul mistrust? pray let those thoughts be curbd:
What, dost thou think I am perfidious? Fie;
'Tis folly to condemn before you try.
Alas, alas! what Profit can accrue
To me by wronging such a Soul as you?
What I express is onely for your good,
But what is more (then grave advice) withstood?
I doubt these weak, these empty thoughts presage
A tempest, guarded with a storm of rage:
Well then, storm on, and when thy storm is spent,
Sit down and meditate, and then repent.

Sou.
Repent, Oh happy word! although exprest
By a foul mouth; those that repent are blest.
How dare thy hellish lips usurp a word
Fill'd with divinity, but will afford
No rest, no comfort, to thy horrid Soul?
Begone, begone; and if thou canst condole
Thy selfe, thou art (if Logick prove but true)
Curst in the Major, and the Minor too.
Bless me, O Heav'n: What blust'ring stormy weather
Drove such a vile prodigious Monster hither?
Touch-stone of baseness, dost thou come to prove
Whether I'm gold, or dross? thou mayst remove
Thy forward hopes, because I hope to be
Metal at last for Heav'n, and not for thee.
Begone, fallacious wretch, I cannot brook
Thy golden baits, I have descry'd thy hook:
Father of lyes, thy policy is built
Upon the sands, and plaster'd o're with guilt:
Thy tongue foretels a storm; if so, be sure
Thy sand-built policy shall not endure:
Flattery's the life of baseness, and that art
Is well imprinted in thy subtile heart:
Dost thou believe that I can entertain
Belief from thee? Or dost thou think to raign
Within my brest? No, no; thy cloudy powers
Are at the best but falsifying showers:
Be satisfi'd, I cannot give the least
Of credit to thee, nor I dare not feast
My thoughts with such uncertainties; I know
Thy dyet must and will corrupt to woe.
Thou bidst me not condemn! before I make
Some tryal of thy trust; If I should take
Such green advise, I quickly should undo
My wretched selfe; and in condemning yo
What profit could I have; or what reliefe
Could I expect to mitigate my grief,
My accusations would be blown as dust
Before the wind; I'le neither try, nor trust.

Sat.
Nor try, nor trust? Art thou resolv'd to cross
My real motions? Do, and see whose loss
Will prove most weighty; if I lose the heat
Of thy weak love, my loss will not be great;
But if I should withdraw my love from thee,
How like a map of well-drawn misery
Wouldst thou appear? Be wise, corect thy thoughts;
Neglected favors prove the greatest faults.
Take my instructions, for 'tis I must bring
Content unto thee; 'tis a glorious thing
To be immortal: prethee Soul decline
Thy former ways; say, shall I call thee mine?
Mine; mine thou art; I'le load thee with renown;
Let me but conquer, thou shalt wear the crown.

Sou.
'Tis not your empty words shall make my brest
Stoop to the flatt'ry of thy vain request;
Though I have ears to hear, I have a mind
That will not shake at the hard breathing wind
Of your discourse; what you pretend for reason
Is nothing but the froth of private treason:
'Tis not your multiloquious tongue can turn
The Bias of my Soul, or make me spurn
At holy Writs; 'tis not your fond conceit
Of being good, shall make me to retreat
From Heav'ns Commands; 'tis not your promis'd joys
Can make me cheerfull: or your painted toys
Can lure me to your fist; 'tis not the dart
Of your vain love can penetrate my heart;
'Tis not your seeming clemency can make
My Soul to love you, for your Pities sake;
'Tis not your always-open gates that shall
Intice my steps to your large Guilded Hall;
'Tis not your selfe-appearance shall invite
My well-composed thoughts to your delight;
'Tis not your greatness that shall make me yield
To your desires; Religion is my sheild:
Ile neither fear nor love your rash evasions,
Nor give attendance to your smooth perswasions:
'Tis difficult to serve two Masters well;
Who strays from Heav'n must needs approach to Hell.
I am advis'd to shun the broad-path'd ways
That lead to ruine; what the Scripture says
I must believe; 'Tis dangerous to fly
Without the wings of true divinity:
The Scriptures are my way, my light, my guide,
And they that go without them needs must slide:
The paths are strait in which I ought to run
The course of grace, untill my days are done;
And they that change a virtue for a vice,
Deserve no fruit from Heav'ns blest Paradise.

Sat.
Surcease those fond conceits, thou dost but spin
Thine own destructions, and connive at sin:
Urge not the Scriptures, for I dare maintain
My paths are best, and other ways are vain:
Thy Scripture-conscience will at last confound
Th'amazed thoughts, and give thy Soul a wound
That hates a cure, then shalt thou prove unblest,
Whilst others find the plainest road's the best.
Suppose thou wert (I speak it for thy sake)
Mov'd by occasions, forc'd to undertake
A long-way'd journey, woulst thou not enquire
The readiest way, but run into the mire?
If thou shouldst act a crime so fouly bad,
Folly would stile thee fool, and Wisdome mad.
Stray not into the wilderness of grief,
But come to me, take courage, and be brief
In thy designs; perswade thy selfe, that I
Am both thy light, thy way, and best supply
In time of need; I am thy prop, thy stay;
Therefore resolve, and trifle not away
Thy thriftless Soul, be not thy selfe-destroyer;
I'le be thy love, and thou my Loves enjoyer:
Know that my real brest contrives no end,
But what may merit so divine a friend
As thine own selfe: Folly and wisdom lies
Before thy face; be either fool, or wise:
Protract no time, but make a speedy choyce,
Thy welfare shall instruct me to rejoyce;
Observe my actions, pry into my parts,
Let's know each other by exchange of hearts;
I'le give thee mine, and for my love restore
Thine unto me; grant this, Ile ask no more.
Be free to give, as I am free to crave;
Th'adst better live my friend, than dye my slave:
For if thou shalt deny what I desire,
Ile make my bellows to advance the fire
Of thy distress, and sorrows shall corrode
Thy stubborn heart, and care shall make abode
Within thy breast; perpetuated grief
Shall find a voyce, but ramble from relief.
Ile gripe thee, till I make thee understand
The fiery language of my furious hand:
Sighings, and groaning, sobs, and tears, and cries,
Shall be thy sad Concomitants; thine eyes
Shall stare upon (well may I call them new
And horrid) lights, such lights as shall renew
Thy growing torments; every thing shall be
Thy fellow-slaves in servile miserie:
I'le yoke thee with distress, nay and I'le chain
Thy struggling Soul with everlasting pain:
I'le crow'd thee full of sorrows, and I'le double
Thy unconceived, uncontrouled trouble,
Whilst I, triumphing I, will sit aloft,
And be ador'd, and scoffe to see thee scofft:
Pity shall be a stranger to my brest;
My care shall be to make thy Soul unblest:
The tydes of woe shall overflow thy thoughts,
And be equivalent unto thy faults;
Be sure, that what extremity can be
Thought worth the using, shall be us'd on thee:
Now I have spoke, if thou wilt not repent
I'le cease to speake, and study to torment.

Sou.
How full of poyson's every word that flows
Out of thy mouth? What trust can I repose
In such a flatterer? I dare not try,
Or throw my selfe upon thy courtesie:
I know thou canst not answer my request;
There is no trust in a selfe-praising brest.
If I should dive into the deep abyss
Of thy black thoughts, what glory, or what bliss
Should I discern? Or if I should deliver
My heart to thee, thou'dst disrespect the giver;
Though at the first perhaps thou wouldst express
A seeming-unbeseeming thankfulness,
Yet at the last I know thou wouldst decline
Thy promis'd ways, and stile me to be thine.
Fair words find easie passage, they proceed
But from the tongue, th'event stil crowns the deed.
Three things denote a friend; first to conceal
A secret speech: the next is, to reveal
A private good; the last is, to advise
The safest way t'obtain an enterprise:
And he that can do this, as you pretend,
Deserves the title of a real friend:
But my Religion tutors me to say,
(Nay and affirm,) You neither can, nor may;
I'm sure it is (if reason dare prove true)
One thing to speak, another thing to do.
Your words are airy messengers, which fly
Into my ears, and there enroul a lye:
Many untruths have broke the common Goal
Of thy foul mouth; thou sayst thou canst prevail
To make me glorious, and thou canst encrease
My Joys, and crown me with eternal peace:
Thou sayst th'art good and great, & that thy paths
Lead to Salvation; thou declar'st thy Laws
To be most just: if all these things be true,
I needs must call the Scriptures false, or you:
Truth bids me tell thee boldly, when thou cry'st
Th'art great, and good, and rich, and rare, thou ly'st:
If thou art good and great, pray tell me why
Thou wilt behold so vile a wretch as I?
These things bespeak thee humble, unto which
Thou plead'st not guilty; and if thou art rich,
How can it be, that thou wilt condescend
To feed my wants, that am so poor a friend?
Strange is that charity, which seems to shine
From such a diabolick brest as thine.
If my beliefe could keep an equal pace
With thy swift tongue, how full of Faith & Grace
Should I appear? Such Faith as would devast
My wanton Soul, and make me weep as fast.
It is impossible to find a Sion
That has no Governor, except a Lyon.

The Souls Petition to God.

Sat.
What impious tongue is that which dares defie
My power with so much boldnesse?

So.
Wretch, 'tis I;
'Tis I (infernall Traytor) that will spend
My strength to prove thou art a flatt'ring friend.

Sat.
Move me to anger, do, and thou shallt find
A courteous friend at last may prove unkinde:
Have I not woo'd thee almost night and day
To goe to Heaven?

Sou.
The quite contrary way.

Sat.
Have I not labour'd like a watchfull father
To nourish thee?

Sou.
Or like a Devill rather.

Sat.
Have I not alwayes taken great delight?

Soul.
To take away good gold, and give me light.

Sat.
How much nocturnall and diurnall care
Have I sustain'd for thee?

Sou.
True, t'insnare.

Sat.
Have I not been assiduous to await
Upon thy pleasure?

Sou.
and corrupt my state.

Sat.
Have I not proffer'd all that can be given
To a sick Soul?

Sou.
To drive my Soul from Heaven.

Sat.
Did I not promise to be true and just?

Sou.
Did I not say, I'de neither try nor trust?

Sat.
Did I not promise that I'de make thee wise?

Sou.
Did I not say thou wert compos'd of lyes?

Sat.
Did I not promise to encrease thy store?

Sou.
Did I not say such wealth would make me poor?

Sat.
Did I not promise to advance thy flame?

Sou.
Did I not say thy honours were thy shame?

Sat.
Did I not promise to uphold thy peace?

Sou.
Did I not say such warres would never cease?

Sat.
Did I not promise thee a Crown of life?

Sou.
Did I not say that Crown would Crown my strife?

Sat.
Did I not promise thee eternall glory?

Sou.
Did I not say that promise was a story?

Sat.
Did I not promise I would give thee all?

Sou.
Did I not say such promises were small?

Sat.
Did I not tell thee I was great and good?

Sou.
Did I not answer 'twas in shedding blood?

Sat.
Did I not tell thee that my wayes were best?

Sou.
Did I not answer that they were unblest?

Sat.
Did I not tell thee that thou shouldst have joy?

Sou.
Did I not answer such as would destroy?

Sat.
Did I not tell thee that I did lament?

Sou.
Did I not answer that I was content?

Sat.
Did I not tell thee what a friend I'd prove?

Sou.
Did I not answer that I could not love?

Sat.
Thus by fair terms I labour'd to obtain,

Sou.
Thus in foul terms I told thee 'twas in vain.

Sat.
Then I begin to threaten thee with grief,

Sou.
And then I fled to Heav'n, and found relief.

Sat.
I threatened to afflict thee with large pains,

Sou.
I told thee such afflictions were my gains.

Sat.
I told thee more than now I will expresse,

Sou.
My answers made thee wish I had spoke lesse.

Sat.
But now I see my real words can find
No rest within the center of thy mind;
For 'tis in vain to sow the seeds of life
In a dead heart that is manur'd with strife:
Ile therefore cease my importuning love,
I'le shew my Serpent, and keep close my Dove.
Do, doe thy worst, vile wretch, I'le make thee know
Griefes abstract, and the quintessence of woe;
I'le load thee with extremities, thy brest
Shall alwayes crave, but find no place of rest:
Had but my grave advise receiv'd a place
Within thy heart, thou hadst been fill'd with grace;
But now the inundations of thy trouble
Shall overflow thee, and I will redouble
My new contrived plagues; I'le make thee feel
My melting heart is now transform'd to steel:
Thy tongue shall (like a bolt of thunder) roul
And roar within thy mouth; thy sulphurous Soul
Shall flash forth lightening, and thy blood-red eyes
Shall blaze like Comets in the troubled Skies;
Thy teeth shall gnash, as if they scorn'd to be
Concomitants in so much misery:
Oh how I'le carbonado every part,
And fill thy body with increasing smart;
Thy Soul shall lure for death, but that shall hate
To pierce upon thee, and contemn thy state:
Life shall be still incroaching, but thy breath
Shall scorn that life, and hate it unto death;
Thy flesh shall drop forth brimstone, and thy bones
Shall court each other in their crackling tones;
Horror shall be thy watchman, curses shall
Possess thy tongue, one torment still shall call
Upon another; when thy voyce shall cry
But for a drop; Confusion shall reply,
No, no, thou shalt not; if a golden Myne
Could buy a drop, that drop should not be thine:
Then shalt thou say, if thou hadst been at first
Advis'd by me, thou hadst not been accurst:
Thus in this sad Dilemma shalt thou roar,
And crave my succour, but I'le not deplore
Thy woful state, because thou wert averse
To goodness, after folly comes a curse:
Then shalt thou know and find I will exile
All thoughts of pity, and I'le rather smile
Than grieve at thy distress; ah know, tis hard
To force an entrance where the gates are bar'd:
Fond Soul, be serious, let thy thought reflect
On my indulgency, and give respect
Unto my clemency; believe I will
Be good to thee, do but forsake thy ill;
Forsake, forsake that evill which will turn
To thy destruction; do not, do not burn
The precious fuel of thy chaste desires
In idle, wanton, all consuming fires
The post of Time is swift: and knows no stay;
Tis time to go when Reason calls away:
Protraction's dangerous; it is not good
To strive with that which scorns to be withstood.
Then do not thou procrastinate, but take
This opportunity, do but forsake
Thy former ways, and readily incline
Thy selfe to me, and I will make thee shine
With so much lustre, that all eyes shall gaze
Upon thy brightnes, and admire with praise:
Oh may my language teach thee to believe,
That so my torments may not make thee grieve
In utter darknesse, that thou mayst imbrace
Those glories, which adorn my peaceful place:
Repent, (dear Soul) repent what thou hast done,
Then call me father, and Ile love my son:
Thus having told thee all, I'le here desist;
Be thou more apt to yield than to resist.

Sou.
I find, I find you first inflict a wound
And then with balsom strive to make it sound:
You make me smile at first, but after groan;
One hand incloses bread, the other stone;
I fain would take the bread, but that I stand
In fear and danger of the stony hand:
Therefore, to shun all danger, I'le despise
Your fond advise, and practise to be wise:
If all should prove, that you have told me, true,
I know the best and worst that thou canst doe;
As for your threatnings, they shall not disturb
My peacefull thoughts, my faith shall be their curb:
Urge me no more, but let me rest in quiet,
Strong is that stomack can digest thy diet.

Sat.
And is it so? Will no perswasions work
Upon thy thoughts? Those pregnant crimes that lurk
Within thy brest, will, like to Scorpions, gnaw
Thy groaning heart; such sorrow knowes no Law;
But since thou wilt not be advis'd, expect
To find reward, as I have found neglect.
Ah, why fond wretch, why dost thou thus provide
Thy feeble self to strive against the tyde?
Alas, alas! why art thou lull'd asleep
In follies lap? Rouze up for shame, and weep
For thine infirmities; be not thus cross
To him that would preserve thee from a losse:
'Tis time to cast away the works of night
And cloath thee with the shining robes of light.

Sou.
If your strong Oratory had the skill
To make me yield to your unsatiate will,
It were enough; what more could you desire,
Than a bad period to your bad desire?
But stay (bold friend) I'le meditate and see
What fruit will spring from thine infernal tree.

Sat.
What, must I stay (vile wretch) till you dispute
And prove the goodnesse of my pleasing fruit?
Must I be alwayes waiting on the train
Of your desires, and spend my time in vaine?
No, no, I will not; for it is unfit
I should attend, if you will not submit:
Th'incensed fury of my spirits burn
To be in action, I will not adjourn
A minute longer; goe, and hug thy vice,
Thou lov'st the bargain, but abhor'st the price:
Urge me no more, away, I have forgot
All thoughts of friendship, and I know thee not:
And here I leave thee to the lawlesse power
Of thine own passion; cursed be that hour
That brought thee forth; if all this will not do,
May all men curse thee, and I'le curse thee too.

Sou.
And can the spring of thy affections find
So soon an Autumn? Canst thou be unkind
With so much ease? And can your real brest
(As you so call't) be so soon dispossest
Of love and patience? Oh how bad and strange
Is the effect of such a sudden change!
'Tis disputable, for I know not whether
Anger, or policy, or both together,
Wharft thee to these extreams: well then pursue
Thine owne desires, and I will bid adue
To all thy follies; yet my heart begun
T'expand it selfe before the glim'ring Sun
Of thy perswasions; if thy sharp'ned rage
Had not so soon exploded me the stage,
I fear, I fear, I have before this hour
Been prostituted to thy tamelesse power:
Begone, begone; but stay, hark Satan, hark,
Go boast you shot, but fairly miss'd the mark.

Sat.
Why dost thou bid me goe? I'm sure you speak
(As I have done) in jest, thou wilt not break
The bonds of friendship; though thou hast exprest
Thy selfe in anger, yet thou art in jest:
Those good conceits that live in th'inner places
Of my close heart, tells me th'art fill'd with graces:
But there is none that can proclaim and cry
They're free from rage, no not so much as I:
When I am angry, then my heart is pleas'd,
Because I'm satisfy'd; my mind is eas'd
Of a most pressing load, which seems to tire
And waste me with a brest-consuming fire.
“A wise mans eare must alwayes entertain
“Things spoke in passion to be void and vaine:
“The tongue's a restlesse member, and oft-times
“Out-runs the wit, and then it flyes and climbs
Above all sense: “When Reason finds divorce,
“The tongue proves subject to a headlong course.
What I have spoke observe, and thou shalt find
Proceeded from my passion, not my minde:
The misconstruction of a word may make
The dearest friends to vary, and forsake
The plains of friendship, though their hearts are free
From the curst evills of Inconstancy:
Therefore mistake me not, nor doe not thou
Construe my words with an incensed brow:
Smile on me then, and cheerfully impart
The loving chidings of a friendly heart;
Then shalt thou see with what a willing arm
I will conduct and guide thee from all harm:
Believe me Soul, I am not come to scatter
Uncertain stories, but a reall matter;
What I hold forth unto thee, is the stem
Of a pure heart, thou art the onely Jem
Shall grow upon it; come, and let's combine,
I shall rejoyce to see thee prove divine.

Sou.
The Bias of thy Love runs now so strong,
That I much feare 'twill not continue long;
I finde, I finde thou hast the art to saile
With any winde; thou labour'st to prevail,
But 'tis in vain, for know, I'le trust thee not,
My zealous heart is fearfull of a plot:
I cannot be so foolish as to trust
Without assurance that thou wilt be just:
Wilt thou be true? Speak with a real breath.

Sat.
I will be just (believe me) unto death;
I will, I will; oh may I never be
True to my self, if I am false to thee.

Sou.
If thou art just and constant, tell me where
Thy seat is plac'd, aud who is Prince of th'air;
Be true in this, and thou shalt find that I,
According to thy answer, will reply.

Sat.

Sou.
Before I suffer my swift thoughts to slide
Into more questions, I'le be satisfy'd
In what is past: If so it be, you have
No local Being, how then will you save
Those Hosts of Souls which you intend shall be
Seal'd with the Signet of Eternitie?
Did you not tell me, that your peacefull Seat
Was rich, sublime, (and without measure) great?
If thus it be, as 'tis exprest by you,
'Tis more than strange that 'tis not local too:
Clear but this doubt, and thou shalt quickly find
Those duties that attend an honest mind
Flow from my brest, till then I'le rest in peace,
As you perform, so shall my love encrease.

Sat.
Ambiguous Soul, why dost thou thus connive
At thine own follies? Why dost thou deprive
Thy self of comfort, comforts that will heal
Th'exulcerous sores of thy distemper'd weal?
Why art thou thus inquisitive? the thing
That thou desir'st to know (if known) will bring
Small satisfaction to thy dubious brest;
He's wise enough that knowes he shall be blest:
If you enquire in such a doubtfull case,
You'l loose your rest in seeking out the place.
Surcease thy thoughts, and do not proudly knock
Thy self in pieces, now thou knowst the rock:
Pry not too far, let secret things alone,
My Zodiack has more signs than must be known:
'Tis not the Heav'n of Heav'ns that can contain
Me, the Creator, and my glorious train:
I am even what I please, and I will be
Even where I will.

So.
Where's that?

Sa.
What's that to thee?
The knowledg of my Seat does no way tend
To thy salvation, therefore cease to spend
Such fruitlesse thoughts, cast by this needlesse care,
Learn to know what I am, no matter where.

Sou.
I must confesse, it is not good to pry
In things that suit not the capacity;
But seeing 'twas your pleasure to expresse
So much of friendship, I made bold t'addresse
My self unto you; pardon then my crimes,
You know that wisest men may doubt sometimes:
Your weights are light, or else your courage fail's,
You have not strength enough to turn the scales
Of my affections, yet you had almost
Droven my ill man'd ship upon your Coast,
The winds of your perswasions rage and roar
Within my brest I cannot find a shoar
For my desires; I'm tost from wave to wave,
And am become a most distracted slave:
Those heavenly thoughts which formerly frequented
The closet of my brest are now prevented
By base bred fancies, fancies that arise
From a foule brain and makes me to despise
Almost my self; I know not what to do,
I dare not, oh I dare not yeild to you;
And yet I hardly can believe thou wilt
Burthen thy conscience with so foul a guilt
As to betray me, sure thou art more kind
Than to abuse a well-affected mind;
But yet I dare not trust a Soul pursuer,
Because thou kill'st when thou pretend'st to cure.
I reel I reel (if not sustain'd) I shall
Receive a sudden and a deadly fall;
What shall I do in this deplor'd condition?
I feare, I fear I've lost my best Physician:
Try Satan, try, and see what may be done
For a sick Soul, that foolishly has run
Beyond it self; oh see what thou canst do
To give me ease, and then I'le call thee true.

Sat.

Sou.

Sou.

Sat.
Will nothing move thee? wilt thou still mistrust?
If faire meanes will not move thee, foul meanes must,
What dost thou think, my arm is grown so short
It cannot reach thee? dost thou think to sport
With my commands? say, thou imperious mite
Who gave thee being, who created light,
Who made the Heav'ns, the earth, the sea, reply
Audacious wretch, speak, was it thee, or I?
Thou vain contender, dost thou think to gaine
By striving with me, any thing but paine,
Oh no, thou shalt not, for I'le still renue
Thy pinching sorrows, therefore bid adue
To all thy comforts, for thou shalt no more
Inioy those blessings thou inioyd'st before,
Oh how thy horrid tongue shall roar and cry
With Dives for a drop, but no supply
Shall dare t'appear; the more thou crav'st, the less
Thou shalt be heard, for nothing shall expresse
The least of pleasure to thy per-boyl'd heart,
Thy chiefest food shall be perpetuall smart.
Be well assured that thy eares, thy eyes
Shall hear, nor see, nought but extremities,
Begon, begon, my fury hates delay,
Hell, and damnation be thy lot, away.

Sou.
Experience makes me understand thou art
A lively actor, of a deadly part,
I find the greatnesse of your swelling rage;
Your Prologue speaks 'twould be a bloudy stage
If you might act as King, but Heav'n prevent
The cursed plots of your accurst intent;
I fear thee not, because I know thy power
Is limitted, and thou canst not devoure
Without commission, therefore do thy worst,
And let thy envie swell untill it burst
And fall to nothing, my Creator gives
Me faith to say that my Redeemer lives,
And will protect me from the rage of those
That are my known and secret deadly Foes.
Thy thundring words shall not make me complying
For he's unwise that dyes for fear of dying;
Thus being guarded with the shield of grace
Ile spit defiance in thine impious face.
Thou art a Lyon, and thou seek'st for blood
How bad'ds that soul that dares to think thee good;
Urge me no more, cashiere thy fruitlesse trouble,
The more thou striv'st, the more Ile strive to double
My resolutions, for I dare not venture
To rest my heart on such a bloody center,
Oh no I dare not; he that shall let goe,
A certain friend, for a most certain foe,
Justly deserves, to have no other fame,
But what reproach can build upon his name;
Should I permit my rambling thoughts to glance
Upon thy love, the Plea of Ignorance
Could not be prevalent, because 'tis known
Unto the blest-united three in one
That I (by his assistance) have discry'd
Thy real flat'ry, and thy humble pride;
I dare affirm no greater pride can be
Then that that's acted with humility,
But here I'le stop and leave thee to inherit
Th'effects of a diabolique spirit.

Sat.
Accursed chatiffe, dost thou think to scape
The fury of my hand, or make a rape
Upon my goodnesse? no, the Sun and Moon
Shall stop their usuall progresses as soon
As I will change my mind; vengeance is mine
And I'le repay it, on that Soul of thine.
Begon, begon, expect thy sudden doom,
It is thy sins, give punishment a room:
Let everlasting Plagues, and horrour dwell
Within so fit a Soul; let black-mouth'd Hell
Remove his scituation, and so take
A still continuing Lease, oh let him make
A ten'ment of thee, dost thou think that I
Will hear thy Prayers? oh no I scorn thee, fye
Away, begon—

Sou.

Sat.
It is my goodnesse, and not thy desert
That breeds forbearance in my tender heart,
Alas, alas, what honour would acrue
To me in conquering such a thing as you,
I could within a moments time asswage,
(But that my clemency out-vies my rage)
Thy swelling fury, for I could discharge
Vollies of wrath, and easily inlarge
Thy restlesse torments, I could make thee run
(Like morning mists before the rising Sun)
Out of my presence, If I should but say
The word begon, alas thou couldst not stay,
But, ah, I cannot, for I hate to harme,
Love guides my strength, & that strength guides my arm.

So.
Even as the Sheepheard with bedewed locks
Watches the feeding of his harmlesse flocks
For fear the bold-fac'd Wolf should chance to peep
Into the coasts of his beloved sheep,
And like a lawlesse Tyrant, soon commence
(Against those Emblems, of pure innocence)
A bloody action, which would soon incite
The Sheepheards grief, to see so sad a sight,
So I th'eternall Sheepheard daily watch
My wel fed Lambs, for fear Hels wolf should catch
Or fright (not being fearfull to be bold)
My gentle flocks from their delightfull fold;
I am beloved, and mine own, will own
My sacred Name, my voyce is not unknown
Unto my Sheep, they alwayes will be all
Firmly obedient to my cheerfull call,
For which obedience they shall find reward
Nay such a one, as alwayes shall accord
To their desires, thrice happy shall they be
In truly calling, and in owning me
To be their Sheepheard, nothing can more please
M' indulgent soul, then such dear flocks as these,
I will preserve them, and no wolf shall dare
To seize upon them, or presume to teare
Their downy fleeces, nothing shall be nearer
Unto my heart, and nothing shall be dearer
In my affections, for I will affect
Even where, and when I finde a true respect.
What strange contusions hath thy language bred
Within my serious thoughts? how hast thou fed
My ears with flatteries, but it is in vaine;
Because my heart hath vow'd not to retaine
Thy fain'd expressions, nothing shall remove
My love from God, nor nothing make me love
Thy wretched self; then be content, and cease
To urge my mind, or interrupt my Peace.
Go, doe thy worst, And when that worst is done
Sit downe as wisely, as thou hast begun.

Sat.
Art thou resolv'd? Well then, let vengance light
Upon thy cursed head, begon, thou mite
(Nay lesse) of goodnesse, go, make haste t'inherit
Those plagues that wait upon so damn'd a spirit.

Sou.
May this be call'd a farewell, if it be,
The self same farewell must attend on thee;
I hate, nay, scorn to bid farewell to you,
Tis charity enough to bid, adieu.