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Ex otio Negotium

Or, Martiall his epigrams Translated. With Sundry Poems and Fancies, By R. Fletcher
  

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Math. chap. 11 ver. 28. Come unto me all yee that labour and are heavy laden &c.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

Math. chap. 11 ver. 28. Come unto me all yee that labour and are heavy laden &c.

Most great and glorious God! how sweet, how free
Is thy kinde invitation! but ay mee
The clogs of sin
So rein me in
And black shame mix'd with guilt restrains my will
From all designes but doing ill,
So that I tremble to approach thy throne,
And tread the Courts of the most Holy One.
But yet thy Call's so powerfully good,
So pressing, that 'tis death if once withstood.
Nor is it less
To tempt thy Holiness.

223

In this extream this streight what shall I doe?
I'de come, but bee accepted too:
But ô my loud-tongu'd sins so fill the ayre
They'le bar up heaven against my cry & prayer.
Yet wherfore should I doubt? 'Tis not the call
Of Cherubims, or ought Angelical;
Tis he, tis hee
That in that extasie
Of fear to sincking Peter reach'd his hand
And snatch'd him from yr grave to land;
Jehovah, he that tryes the reines, and sees
Our wounds and moanes, our deep infirmities.
Shall I then with poor Adam strive to hide
My nakedness with leavs? Or slip a fide?
O no, he spyes my way
By night as by noon day:
Darkness cannot exclude him, nor the shade
Of Hell from what his hands have made;
He knows our thoughts evē long before they were,
And when those lips bid come, can there be fear?
But ô 'tis said hee's a Consuming fire!
But ô 'tis sure he now layes by his ire:
He thunders out
With trumpets shout
No Judgment from mount Sinai: But a still
Soft voice of love and free good will.
He that appear'd then in a warlike dress,
Seeks now the stray sheep in the Wilderness.

224

Put off thy terrors then Great God, and I
Shall humbly prostrate at thy foot-stool lye;
And there bemoan
With many a groan
And bitter tear my sinful sins to thee,
To thee alone canst pardon mee.
O shut not up thy mercy in disdain,
Nor yet remember my old sins again!
Impute not my youth's guilt unto my charge?
But thou that offer'st Rest, set me at large
Even from this death,
And hell beneath
That gapes with open jaws to swallow all
That on thee doe neglect to call;
And hardned in their sins thy spirit grieve
By a contempt and wilful hate to live.
But ere thou cōm'st bless'd God to pass me by
First hide me from thy sin-abhorring eye,
That I may stand
Like Moses cover'd with thy hand
Close in the cilft of Christ's wounds, in ye dress
And garment of his Righteousnesse,
And on me through his satisfaction look,
That on his score my sad transgressions took.
Receive me then, but with that kinde regret
The good old man his prodigal childe met,
Who as't appears
Devided betwixt joy and tears
Ran and embrac'd, & kiss'd his drooping Son,
In all points now undone,

225

But that rich treasure of a Father's love
Which nere could be exhausted, nor remove.
Such bowels of compassion Lord put on!
Such pregnant yernings of affection!
Then hear my cry,
And heal my malady.
Though I have sinn'd yet Christ hath satisfied.
O Judg not, for 'tis he that dyed.
But hear the voice of his still streaming gore
Which calls to thee for mercy more & more.
Prevent not then thy Angels joy in mee
To see a sinner reconcil'd to thee!
Nor let thy love
So barren prove,
Or loose its end for which thou sent'st it here,
Even my salvation now so neer.
What pleasure in my bloud Lord cā there be?
Or will the chambers of death honour thee?
Thy call is not a summons to the Bar
Of Justice, but a throne where mercies are
Like flowing balm
To mitigate and calm
The tumult of a rageing conscience;
Whose pricking bitter ecchoing sense
Holds out a flag of death, whose motto runs
No hope, no peace, no such rebellious Sons.
But Lord thy sweeter promise is the ground
We lean & build upon; canst thou be found
Lesse than thy self?
A ship-destroying shelf?

226

No, though an Angel from thine Altar swear
My sins unpardonable are,
My crimes so great cannot forgiven bee,
Yet Lord I come, yet Lord I trust in thee.
O then accept my Heavy laden Soul
Crush'd with the burden of her sins, so soul
She dares not brook
Once up to look;
But drown'd in tears presumes to come on board,
And for this once to take thy word;
If I at last prove ship-wrack'd for my pain
I'le never venture soul more so again.