University of Virginia Library

Englands Tears.

Stay passenger, and let thine eyes
Survey my ample miseries;
Stay, and give ear unto my story,
How I lost my former glory;
The mask of Judgment now does shroud
My visage with a sin-black cloud:
Sin hath got the upper hand,
And Judgment ruleth in my Land;
My raging sorrowes much encrease
And I have lost my wonted peace,
Nor do I know which way to bend
My course; or find a constant friend
I am infected from my Crown
Even to my sole, the angry frown
Of Heaven persues me; and torments
My heart with sullen discontents:
My Soule is sick, my Spirits fail
And I am, to my self, a Goal;
Imprison'd in my sins I lye
For want of good security.
He that was wont to set me free
Infringes now my libertie,
Oh rashness! how am I mistaken,
'Tis he indeed was first forsaken
That now forsakes; oh 'tis but just
To blow away presumptious dust;
Dust, so audacious, that it flys
Into the heedless makers eyes;
And to reward so great a Vice
He turns presumptuous dust, to Lice,
Oh tell me, tell me, what is worse
Then Egypts sin, and Egypts curse?
He whose mercy could not win,
Now justly scourges us for sin;
If sin will needs presume to rain
It must be crown'd with grief and pain;
Nor is it fit a King should be
Without attendants: Miserie
Is sins Life-guard, there's no relief
Except it be successive grief;
When Judgment sounds a charge, what arms
Can save us from those fierce alarms?
There is no running, Horse, and Foot
Must be prepared to stand to'it;
And when he sees his foes decline,
He gives the word; Vengeance is mine:
What weakness is it then to boast
Our selves against the Lord of Host;
I'st not a madness then to be
Souldiers without Artillerie?
For if our Ammunition fail,
We are quite routed and turn tail;
Nay, here lies the greatest spight,
W'are most in danger, when in flight,
And so we shall both see and feel
Judgment can wound us in the heel;
But if we will avoid a Rout
We then must wisely face about,
And so we may by mild degrees
Conquer Heaven upon our knees;
The Gun-shot of our hearty prayers,
Will make the Bull-works melt like tears:
We shall be Masters of the field
When true repentance make him yield;
Oh that plunder must be good
That is obtain'd with tears, not blood;
Wil't not be a happy chance
To take and keep his Ordinance;
Oh 'twill be good to fortifie
The Castles of our hearts, and try
The power of Sathan, who will run
If he but sees a Heavenly Gun;
Though he loves fire, he proclaims
How much he hates those heavenly flames;
The way t'void so bold a guest
Is to keep flames within our brest,
And then we need not fear nor fly,
We may be wounded, but not die;
Nay, every wound we have shall be
Th' assurance of our Victory:
And if we chance to bleed, oh then
Let's dress our wounds, and to't agen,
Let's neither face, nor wheel about,
Untill we give a perfect rout;
Then, then, we shall be sure to lie
Guarded with security.