Devovt Rhapsodies In Which, Is Treated, of the Excellencie of Divine Scriptvres ... By J: A: Rivers [i.e. John Abbot] |
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Sermo Nonus.
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 | Devovt Rhapsodies |  |
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Sermo Nonus.
To the right Honourable, Edward, Earle of Dorset, Richard, Lord Buckhurst his Son, and my truly honoured Friend, Doctor Samuel Turner.
The Argument.
Man labouring like the Spider, when al's done,T is but a simple Cobweb he hath spun.
The Epirot will with his Armies rome
Abroad, to gaine what he injoyes at home.
Well may we learne of the industrious Ant,
To gather treasures 'gainst the time of want.
Such is that dreadfull day when all soules shall
In publike audience, give account of all
Their life. The good mounting in heaven shall dwell,
The bad descend downe to th' Abysse of Hell.
How does the Spider toile, and when al's done
Tis but a silly cobweb shee hath spun:
Worth nothing, of no durance, every blast
Can break it, with a dish of water cast,
It falls; or Joane when shee makes cleane the roome
Sweeps downe the Cobweb, and with her long broome,
The Spider kils; from heavens embroydered hall,
The Angels see (who with one act view all
Thats done on earth, (so doe the Devils too,
And crave such acts as to their nature due.)
Fond men with the laborious Spider toile
By day and night are troubled, keep a coile,
To purchase Lands, and Titles, and all done,
'Tis but a silly Cobweb they have spun.
Your goods, your lands, your glorious titles be,
Expos'd to Fortunes mutability.
The Senates anger, or a Kings displeasure,
Commands your liberty, life, honours, treasure.
How many Princes, mounted even to th' top
Of Fortunes wheele, have falne? and without hope
Ever to rise; who but the other day,
Ore many Nations had Monarchicke sway?
How many wealthy men, even in our times,
Either for reall or supposed Crimes,
Have been dispoil'd of all? and know no more
Of their vast treasures, but that heretofore,
They had aboundance: And 'tis no releife,
To have been happy, but a greater griefe.
So rich men onely dreame of goods and lands,
And waking graspe just nothing in their hands.
A sicknesse soiles the choisest beauties grace,
Time leaves his surrowes in the smoothest face.
Tis but a silly cobweb shee hath spun:
Worth nothing, of no durance, every blast
Can break it, with a dish of water cast,
It falls; or Joane when shee makes cleane the roome
Sweeps downe the Cobweb, and with her long broome,
The Spider kils; from heavens embroydered hall,
The Angels see (who with one act view all
71
And crave such acts as to their nature due.)
Fond men with the laborious Spider toile
By day and night are troubled, keep a coile,
To purchase Lands, and Titles, and all done,
'Tis but a silly Cobweb they have spun.
Your goods, your lands, your glorious titles be,
Expos'd to Fortunes mutability.
The Senates anger, or a Kings displeasure,
Commands your liberty, life, honours, treasure.
How many Princes, mounted even to th' top
Of Fortunes wheele, have falne? and without hope
Ever to rise; who but the other day,
Ore many Nations had Monarchicke sway?
How many wealthy men, even in our times,
Either for reall or supposed Crimes,
Have been dispoil'd of all? and know no more
Of their vast treasures, but that heretofore,
They had aboundance: And 'tis no releife,
To have been happy, but a greater griefe.
So rich men onely dreame of goods and lands,
And waking graspe just nothing in their hands.
A sicknesse soiles the choisest beauties grace,
Time leaves his surrowes in the smoothest face.
Wast not a frensie in the Epyrot
To boast when his Victorious sword had got,
Great Rome and Italie; he would waft ore,
And land his forces on the Lybick shore.
Africk subdu'd, hee'd conquer France and Spaine,
Then Asia, and the Easterne Regions gaine.
The sage Philosopher demanding leave,
Thus does the haughty Pyrrhus undeceive.
‘What title have you to invade these lands?
‘'Tis not the number of acquirde commands
‘Makes Monarcks potent? rather such are weake,
‘Who in their Conquests lawes of justice breake.
To boast when his Victorious sword had got,
Great Rome and Italie; he would waft ore,
And land his forces on the Lybick shore.
Africk subdu'd, hee'd conquer France and Spaine,
Then Asia, and the Easterne Regions gaine.
The sage Philosopher demanding leave,
Thus does the haughty Pyrrhus undeceive.
‘What title have you to invade these lands?
‘'Tis not the number of acquirde commands
‘Makes Monarcks potent? rather such are weake,
‘Who in their Conquests lawes of justice breake.
Pyrrhus. ‘Doe not I lyneally claime my descent,
‘From great Achilles, who to Ilium went?
‘And Neoptolemus his warlike son,
‘Who sackt the Citie of Laomedon.
‘I tell thee Cineas thy friend Pyrrhus springs
‘From Alexander, and Molossian Kings.
‘Who like Joves thunder through the world did flie,
‘Imp'd with the plumes of nimble Victory
‘And of the East a speedy conquest made;
‘And had there been more worlds, my Kinsmans blade
‘Had all subdu'd. From great Æacides,
‘My mother, from renowned Hercules
‘My father drawes his stem; from both my blood,
‘And both excite me to be great and good.
‘Feare argues basenesse, Demi-gods and Kings,
‘Are borne t'attempt, and act Heroick things.
‘Have I degenerated? did not these hands
‘Defeat Demetrius, and his bay-crownd bands?
‘When I was young, whose valour but mine owne
‘Worth could restore me to my Fathers throne?
Here Cyneas smiles, and pitying much his Prince,
(Pardon first beg'd, thus speakes without offence.
‘Ist not a folly (Sir) to vaunt of blood?
‘When such are onely Noble, who are good.
‘And tis a signe of small inherent worth,
‘When kin and cloathes are urg'd to set us forth.
‘True worth and vertue not by deed of gift
‘Or birth descend, but we must make a shift
‘To purchase 'em. Such are more noble, who
‘(First) raise a house, then they who (last) undoe.
‘As valiant deeds, so kindred then are best,
‘When others, not our selves the same shall test.
‘Gaurus cures any sicknesse, if not nam'd,
‘Speake Gaurus, and his Energie is maim'd.
‘'Tis brave to do exployts worthy the Pen
‘Of Homer, and Herodotus, but then
‘Beware to be the trumpe of your owne praise,
‘Let Courts and Cottages your trophees blaze.
‘For noble vertue like some streame that's deepe,
‘A constant, but a silent course will keepe.
‘When shallow Riv'lets, which on Pibles glide,
‘Make louder noice then Seas at a full tide.
‘Alive we build no Monuments of Fame,
‘To our owne memory, but leave the same
‘To progenie: The father tels his son,
‘The worthy acts his Ancestors have done:
‘So we acquire addition to our glory,
‘When we being silent others speake our story.
‘From great Achilles, who to Ilium went?
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‘Who sackt the Citie of Laomedon.
‘I tell thee Cineas thy friend Pyrrhus springs
‘From Alexander, and Molossian Kings.
‘Who like Joves thunder through the world did flie,
‘Imp'd with the plumes of nimble Victory
‘And of the East a speedy conquest made;
‘And had there been more worlds, my Kinsmans blade
‘Had all subdu'd. From great Æacides,
‘My mother, from renowned Hercules
‘My father drawes his stem; from both my blood,
‘And both excite me to be great and good.
‘Feare argues basenesse, Demi-gods and Kings,
‘Are borne t'attempt, and act Heroick things.
‘Have I degenerated? did not these hands
‘Defeat Demetrius, and his bay-crownd bands?
‘When I was young, whose valour but mine owne
‘Worth could restore me to my Fathers throne?
Here Cyneas smiles, and pitying much his Prince,
(Pardon first beg'd, thus speakes without offence.
‘Ist not a folly (Sir) to vaunt of blood?
‘When such are onely Noble, who are good.
‘And tis a signe of small inherent worth,
‘When kin and cloathes are urg'd to set us forth.
‘True worth and vertue not by deed of gift
‘Or birth descend, but we must make a shift
‘To purchase 'em. Such are more noble, who
‘(First) raise a house, then they who (last) undoe.
‘As valiant deeds, so kindred then are best,
‘When others, not our selves the same shall test.
‘Gaurus cures any sicknesse, if not nam'd,
‘Speake Gaurus, and his Energie is maim'd.
‘'Tis brave to do exployts worthy the Pen
‘Of Homer, and Herodotus, but then
‘Beware to be the trumpe of your owne praise,
‘Let Courts and Cottages your trophees blaze.
‘For noble vertue like some streame that's deepe,
‘A constant, but a silent course will keepe.
73
‘Make louder noice then Seas at a full tide.
‘Alive we build no Monuments of Fame,
‘To our owne memory, but leave the same
‘To progenie: The father tels his son,
‘The worthy acts his Ancestors have done:
‘So we acquire addition to our glory,
‘When we being silent others speake our story.
‘But tell me (Prince) when what yo' intend is done,
‘And we have conquer'd all, where th' humble Sun
‘Declines and where hee gloriously appeares:
‘How shall we spend the remnant of our yeares?
‘And we have conquer'd all, where th' humble Sun
‘Declines and where hee gloriously appeares:
‘How shall we spend the remnant of our yeares?
‘Pyrrhus to this replies, Then comming back
‘To our native Land, weele free from cares drink Sack,
‘Fare jovially, consume the dayes and nights,
‘In banquets, revellings, and fresh delights.
‘Wearied with sports, our choisest Captive Dames,
‘Shall set our bloods on fire, then quench our flames.
‘The ayre, the land, the Ocean shall conspire,
‘To furnish us with what we two desire.
‘To our native Land, weele free from cares drink Sack,
‘Fare jovially, consume the dayes and nights,
‘In banquets, revellings, and fresh delights.
‘Wearied with sports, our choisest Captive Dames,
‘Shall set our bloods on fire, then quench our flames.
‘The ayre, the land, the Ocean shall conspire,
‘To furnish us with what we two desire.
‘Why all this stir? why must we goe so far,
‘Expose our selves to th' hazard of a war?
‘Suffer the heat of dayes, the cold of nights?
‘Such Victories obtain'd enter new fights?
‘Suppose we conquer Rome, Africk, Spaine, France,
‘In Asia our victorious flags advance,
‘What have we got? lets cast up our account,
‘To how much does the totall summe amount?
‘That Pyrrhus and his Cineas comming back,
‘T' our native Land, may free from cares drink Sack,
‘Fare jovially, consume the dayes and nights,
‘In banquets, revellings, and fresh delights.
But cannot Pyrrhus and his Cineas doe
All this in Epire? why should we run through
So many dangers; wherefore fight and rome?
When we may have this happinesse at home.
‘Expose our selves to th' hazard of a war?
‘Suffer the heat of dayes, the cold of nights?
‘Such Victories obtain'd enter new fights?
‘Suppose we conquer Rome, Africk, Spaine, France,
‘In Asia our victorious flags advance,
‘What have we got? lets cast up our account,
‘To how much does the totall summe amount?
‘That Pyrrhus and his Cineas comming back,
‘T' our native Land, may free from cares drink Sack,
‘Fare jovially, consume the dayes and nights,
‘In banquets, revellings, and fresh delights.
But cannot Pyrrhus and his Cineas doe
All this in Epire? why should we run through
So many dangers; wherefore fight and rome?
When we may have this happinesse at home.
O foolish mortals, senslesse cares of men,
To leave what we injoy'd at home, and then
To seek't abroad, with losse of limbs, and lives,
Our daughters rapes, deflouring of our Wives.
Had we not peace? what have we got by wars?
But undone families, but death, but scars,
(The tests of civill fights) with English gore
Wee are forc'd to purchase what we had before,
And might have still enjoy'd, had we not been
Selfe-authors of our mischiefs, and brought in,
All the destructive plagues that wait upon
A Common-weale rent by dissention.
A state before indifferently good,
Turn'd shambles, an Acheldama of blood,
And slaughtered corps; 'tis true, before w'had many
Religions with us, now we scarce have any.
And what must be deplor'd with gushing teares,
Weake hopes of better, but of worse strong feares.
To leave what we injoy'd at home, and then
74
Our daughters rapes, deflouring of our Wives.
Had we not peace? what have we got by wars?
But undone families, but death, but scars,
(The tests of civill fights) with English gore
Wee are forc'd to purchase what we had before,
And might have still enjoy'd, had we not been
Selfe-authors of our mischiefs, and brought in,
All the destructive plagues that wait upon
A Common-weale rent by dissention.
A state before indifferently good,
Turn'd shambles, an Acheldama of blood,
And slaughtered corps; 'tis true, before w'had many
Religions with us, now we scarce have any.
And what must be deplor'd with gushing teares,
Weake hopes of better, but of worse strong feares.
Yet now (with Pyrrhus) we have conqur'd all,
Lets bury strife in a just funerall.
As Christians ought, know the best end of blowes
Is clemencie, and to forgive our foes.
Such moderation Cajus Cæsar made
More lov'd and fam'd then his victorious blade.
That conquer'd Cæsars foes; but mercy takes
Cæsar, and of himselfe a conquerour makes.
They're Wolves and Beares, who on dead Bodies pray,
The Lyon scornes a prostrate foe to slay.
Ist not Gods chiefest atribute to show
Much mercie to transgressours? such who know
To pardon injuries resemble God,
Who more delights in favours then the Rod.
And in the midst of's fury does asswage,
With clemency the rigour of his rage.
So when his doome strikes our first parents dead,
The Womans seed shall bruise the Serpents head.
And when the world is swallowed up in waves,
Just Noah and his Family God saves,
To be a future Nursery of men,
And to make populous the world agen.
Shall sins against our selves be thought almost,
As great as sins against the Holy Ghost,
Ne're to be pardon'd? shall our children rue,
And childrens children (what they never knew)
Their Grandsires errors? If't erroneous be,
To serve, t'obey, to fight for Majesty.
Dare we presume we have a Deitie,
In us to cast on faults infinitie?
Are we not mortall men? and shall we beare
Immortall enmities? Will we not feare,
Like retributions at Gods hands? Can we
For sins against that supreame Majesty,
Done by us vermine, who to God compar'd
Are nothing, hope by th' same God to be heard,
When we forgivenesse aske for Talents ought,
Our selves forgiving not a petty fault?
Will nothing satisfie? but deaths, but bands,
But sequestrations of mens goods and lands,
Will we not feare? will we not stand in awe,
Of the like recompence? or Talions Law?
How did we handle Strafford? how grave Laud?
We made a rod for them; now the same rod,
Scourges our selves, as our owne Souldiers plead,
They trace our steps, who first this dance dar'st lead.
Lets bury strife in a just funerall.
As Christians ought, know the best end of blowes
Is clemencie, and to forgive our foes.
Such moderation Cajus Cæsar made
More lov'd and fam'd then his victorious blade.
That conquer'd Cæsars foes; but mercy takes
Cæsar, and of himselfe a conquerour makes.
They're Wolves and Beares, who on dead Bodies pray,
The Lyon scornes a prostrate foe to slay.
Ist not Gods chiefest atribute to show
Much mercie to transgressours? such who know
To pardon injuries resemble God,
Who more delights in favours then the Rod.
And in the midst of's fury does asswage,
With clemency the rigour of his rage.
So when his doome strikes our first parents dead,
The Womans seed shall bruise the Serpents head.
And when the world is swallowed up in waves,
Just Noah and his Family God saves,
To be a future Nursery of men,
And to make populous the world agen.
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As great as sins against the Holy Ghost,
Ne're to be pardon'd? shall our children rue,
And childrens children (what they never knew)
Their Grandsires errors? If't erroneous be,
To serve, t'obey, to fight for Majesty.
Dare we presume we have a Deitie,
In us to cast on faults infinitie?
Are we not mortall men? and shall we beare
Immortall enmities? Will we not feare,
Like retributions at Gods hands? Can we
For sins against that supreame Majesty,
Done by us vermine, who to God compar'd
Are nothing, hope by th' same God to be heard,
When we forgivenesse aske for Talents ought,
Our selves forgiving not a petty fault?
Will nothing satisfie? but deaths, but bands,
But sequestrations of mens goods and lands,
Will we not feare? will we not stand in awe,
Of the like recompence? or Talions Law?
How did we handle Strafford? how grave Laud?
We made a rod for them; now the same rod,
Scourges our selves, as our owne Souldiers plead,
They trace our steps, who first this dance dar'st lead.
How doe the Angels smile to see poore Ants,
More wise than the worlds chiefe inhabitants;
They toyle, they labour, gather here and there,
To hoard up graine against the following yeare:
When they are sure by winters frosts and raines,
To be besieg'd, therefore take all this paines,
To fortifie their hold; but man that knowes,
Not whether in the Sabboth, or the snowes
Of winter, he shall take his flight; (both times,
Unfit to travell into distant climes)
Provides not for his journie, scarce demands,
What coine goes currant in remoter Lands.
Sound faith, firme hope, love, hospitality,
Patience in trouble, meeknesse, piety.
These when our soule does the fraile body leave,
Shall in eternall mansions it receive.
More wise than the worlds chiefe inhabitants;
They toyle, they labour, gather here and there,
To hoard up graine against the following yeare:
When they are sure by winters frosts and raines,
To be besieg'd, therefore take all this paines,
To fortifie their hold; but man that knowes,
Not whether in the Sabboth, or the snowes
Of winter, he shall take his flight; (both times,
Unfit to travell into distant climes)
Provides not for his journie, scarce demands,
What coine goes currant in remoter Lands.
Sound faith, firme hope, love, hospitality,
Patience in trouble, meeknesse, piety.
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Shall in eternall mansions it receive.
And when we all by th' Angels summond must
Be reunited to our wonted dust,
And Christ appeare in his majestick state
Of glory, in the vale of Josaphat;
Myriads of Angels waiting on their prince,
(All of the Judges verdict in suspence.)
These shall conduct you up to Christs right hand,
Where without dread securely you shall stand,
And see the Book of Consciences liad ope,
And all our actions done under the Cope
Of heaven made knowne, then heare the Judges votes,
Remunerating Sheepe condemning Goates.
Be reunited to our wonted dust,
And Christ appeare in his majestick state
Of glory, in the vale of Josaphat;
Myriads of Angels waiting on their prince,
(All of the Judges verdict in suspence.)
These shall conduct you up to Christs right hand,
Where without dread securely you shall stand,
And see the Book of Consciences liad ope,
And all our actions done under the Cope
Of heaven made knowne, then heare the Judges votes,
Remunerating Sheepe condemning Goates.
‘Ingratefull wretches why have you misus'd,
‘Those treasures I have given you, why abusde?
‘Your stewardship, not knowing, or not caring,
‘How I to thousand others have been sparing,
‘To you most bountifull? your labours blest,
‘Your sheep, your oxen, and your stocks increast;
‘Your eares of corne yielding a hundreth fold,
‘Your Ships returnd loaded with spice and gold.
‘And why all this? that your superfluous store,
‘Should finde out, pity, and relieve the poore.
‘Amongst the needy distribute your pelfe,
‘Whom I esteem'd my Brethren: more, my selfe.
‘Those treasures I have given you, why abusde?
‘Your stewardship, not knowing, or not caring,
‘How I to thousand others have been sparing,
‘To you most bountifull? your labours blest,
‘Your sheep, your oxen, and your stocks increast;
‘Your eares of corne yielding a hundreth fold,
‘Your Ships returnd loaded with spice and gold.
‘And why all this? that your superfluous store,
‘Should finde out, pity, and relieve the poore.
‘Amongst the needy distribute your pelfe,
‘Whom I esteem'd my Brethren: more, my selfe.
‘But your boards furnish'd with choise Kates and Wines,
‘Distressed Lazarus at your threshold pines.
‘You strut in silks and purple, Lazarus begs
‘Your crums to satisfie his hunger, rags
‘To cloth his nakednesse, bind up his wounds,
‘But finds more mercifull then you, your Hounds.
‘You cruell men, what pleasure did you take?
‘When you could severall Goales and Prisons make
‘To torture poore offendors; as if God,
‘Had not for you as, well a scourging rod,
‘As them: did ever your superfluous store,
‘Comfort a prisoner, or relieve the poore?
‘How many starv'd in prisons thither sent,
‘Even for no crimes, at your commandement?
‘And being petition'd for poore men in clogs,
‘You cryde out, let 'em famish, hang 'em dogs.
‘Thus you your Christian brethren did abuse,
‘As if or they, or rather you were Jewes;
‘Put in authority, you so did beare,
‘With cruelty your state, as if you were,
‘Not as are other men, but Wolves or Fiends,
‘Still seeking blood for private splens, eand ends.
‘Deafe to laments of others, with false lies,
‘Detractions, slanders, feares, and jealousies,
‘Cozoning the world; making the multitude,
‘Your instruments in shedding guiltlesse blood.
‘So at the Priests command, the rabble cride
‘When I was judg'd, Let him be Crucifi'd.
‘When help'd you widowes, and the fatherlesse?
‘When gave you lodging to the harbourlesse?
‘Wretches pack hence to subterranean vaults,
‘Prepared for the Devils and their faults.
‘Distressed Lazarus at your threshold pines.
‘You strut in silks and purple, Lazarus begs
‘Your crums to satisfie his hunger, rags
‘To cloth his nakednesse, bind up his wounds,
‘But finds more mercifull then you, your Hounds.
‘You cruell men, what pleasure did you take?
‘When you could severall Goales and Prisons make
‘To torture poore offendors; as if God,
‘Had not for you as, well a scourging rod,
‘As them: did ever your superfluous store,
‘Comfort a prisoner, or relieve the poore?
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‘Even for no crimes, at your commandement?
‘And being petition'd for poore men in clogs,
‘You cryde out, let 'em famish, hang 'em dogs.
‘Thus you your Christian brethren did abuse,
‘As if or they, or rather you were Jewes;
‘Put in authority, you so did beare,
‘With cruelty your state, as if you were,
‘Not as are other men, but Wolves or Fiends,
‘Still seeking blood for private splens, eand ends.
‘Deafe to laments of others, with false lies,
‘Detractions, slanders, feares, and jealousies,
‘Cozoning the world; making the multitude,
‘Your instruments in shedding guiltlesse blood.
‘So at the Priests command, the rabble cride
‘When I was judg'd, Let him be Crucifi'd.
‘When help'd you widowes, and the fatherlesse?
‘When gave you lodging to the harbourlesse?
‘Wretches pack hence to subterranean vaults,
‘Prepared for the Devils and their faults.
This sentence given; with flashes, and with thunder,
The yauning earth shall forthwith rive a sunder,
And swallowing in her jawes, conveigh to Hell
The damn'd, who there eternally shall yell.
And waile in flames their most accursed state,
With Devils whom they here did imitate.
The yauning earth shall forthwith rive a sunder,
And swallowing in her jawes, conveigh to Hell
The damn'd, who there eternally shall yell.
And waile in flames their most accursed state,
With Devils whom they here did imitate.
Christ gently turning toward's the elect his face,
Speakes mildly, but with a Majestick grace.
‘You blessed of my Father, come, pertake
‘That kingdome, and those joyes which for your sake,
‘When the foundation of the world was layd,
‘By God predestinated were and made;
‘For when my members beg'd from dore to dore,
‘You gently did support them with your store:
‘When hungry, fed 'em, thirsty, gave 'em drinke,
‘Nor were you frighted with the loathsome stinke
‘Of cut-throat Goales, but when they lay in gives
‘Your supreme charitie, preserv'd their lives;
‘When they were sick you ministred unto 'em,
‘When they were wounded, and the Priest not knew 'em,
‘Nor Levite, you like the true Samarite,
‘Taking compassion from your Horse did lite,
‘Bound up their wounds, and brought 'em to an Inne,
‘Which you had made an ample Magazin
‘Of Chirurgerie for the sick, and with much pity,
‘Erected Hospitals in every City.
‘And you who for profession of my word,
‘And Church, and faith, dreaded nor fire, nor sword;
‘Couragiously shedding your noble blood,
‘Have swum with Israel through a crimson flood.
‘You sowed my Gospels seed the whole world ore,
‘And rain'd on it your owne fructiferous gore,
‘To make it grow; and deem'd it your chiefe fame,
‘To suffer ignominy for my Name.
‘You wept when you went forth to sow this seed,
‘But now with joy you shall receive your meed:
‘Bringing along with you those soules to Heaven,
‘To whom you faith have and salvation given.
‘You learned Doctors dect with virdant bayes,
‘Shall issue forth as the fresh morne your raies.
‘You guided others in the way of right,
‘And now shall shine as stars ith' gloomy night.
This speech being ended with triumphant cries,
The judge, th' Angels, the Saints ascend the skies.
Speakes mildly, but with a Majestick grace.
‘You blessed of my Father, come, pertake
‘That kingdome, and those joyes which for your sake,
‘When the foundation of the world was layd,
‘By God predestinated were and made;
‘For when my members beg'd from dore to dore,
‘You gently did support them with your store:
‘When hungry, fed 'em, thirsty, gave 'em drinke,
‘Nor were you frighted with the loathsome stinke
‘Of cut-throat Goales, but when they lay in gives
‘Your supreme charitie, preserv'd their lives;
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‘When they were wounded, and the Priest not knew 'em,
‘Nor Levite, you like the true Samarite,
‘Taking compassion from your Horse did lite,
‘Bound up their wounds, and brought 'em to an Inne,
‘Which you had made an ample Magazin
‘Of Chirurgerie for the sick, and with much pity,
‘Erected Hospitals in every City.
‘And you who for profession of my word,
‘And Church, and faith, dreaded nor fire, nor sword;
‘Couragiously shedding your noble blood,
‘Have swum with Israel through a crimson flood.
‘You sowed my Gospels seed the whole world ore,
‘And rain'd on it your owne fructiferous gore,
‘To make it grow; and deem'd it your chiefe fame,
‘To suffer ignominy for my Name.
‘You wept when you went forth to sow this seed,
‘But now with joy you shall receive your meed:
‘Bringing along with you those soules to Heaven,
‘To whom you faith have and salvation given.
‘You learned Doctors dect with virdant bayes,
‘Shall issue forth as the fresh morne your raies.
‘You guided others in the way of right,
‘And now shall shine as stars ith' gloomy night.
This speech being ended with triumphant cries,
The judge, th' Angels, the Saints ascend the skies.
All Roman triumphs were but silly toyes,
Or rather gaudy feastings of Schoole-boyes.
Compar'd to this, where Christ the King of Kings,
With him his captives, yet all conquerors brings,
Into the eternall Citie. (All had bin,
Made slaves to death, and Hell, and both by sin;)
(They were enfranchiz'd by his precious blood,
On Golgoth shed, from this base servitude.
And fighting battailes of the God of hosts,
Subdu'd the world, the flesh, infernall Ghosts.)
For though the blessed Saints shall alwayes play,
(Their life being one continued Holie-day.)
Yet shall their first ascent more glorious be,
And solemniz'd with more festivitie.
The Hierarchies of Angels will attend,
And entertaine obsequiously their friend,
And fellow-sharer Man, leading the way,
And as they mount, sing hymns, and sweetly play,
What a magnifique spectacle shal't be?
To behold every distinct Hierarchie,
March in array, as if they went to win
A battaile, or some Citadel take in.
These Squadrons marching: of hiacinthine clouds,
A stately Chariot made great Jesus shrowdes,
And such his grandeure is, his beautie such,
Angels of viewing him have nere too much.
For now the glory of his soule, (which he
Injoy'd even in this vaile of misery)
Reflecting on his comely face a light,
Shall make it then the Sun (at Noone) more bright,
The Angels gone before, the Saints shall follow,
And Epinician acclamations hollow.
Apostles, Martyrs, (their fronts crown'd with bayes,
Shall blithly chaunt their grand Commanders praise.
The Patriarcks, Prophets, Doctors, Maides conspire,
With choisest voyces to make up the Quire.
Roses at every passage, as they goe,
And Violets on Jesus head they throw:
As if the welkin now turn'd Aprill Spring,
Would pay the latest tribute to its King.
The Airie Regions eccho in the eares,
Of our Musicians, what th' harmonious Spheres
Sweetly deliver; melodie of Lutes,
Viols, Theorbos, Clarions, Trumpets, Flutes.
Or rather gaudy feastings of Schoole-boyes.
Compar'd to this, where Christ the King of Kings,
With him his captives, yet all conquerors brings,
Into the eternall Citie. (All had bin,
Made slaves to death, and Hell, and both by sin;)
(They were enfranchiz'd by his precious blood,
On Golgoth shed, from this base servitude.
And fighting battailes of the God of hosts,
Subdu'd the world, the flesh, infernall Ghosts.)
For though the blessed Saints shall alwayes play,
(Their life being one continued Holie-day.)
Yet shall their first ascent more glorious be,
79
The Hierarchies of Angels will attend,
And entertaine obsequiously their friend,
And fellow-sharer Man, leading the way,
And as they mount, sing hymns, and sweetly play,
What a magnifique spectacle shal't be?
To behold every distinct Hierarchie,
March in array, as if they went to win
A battaile, or some Citadel take in.
These Squadrons marching: of hiacinthine clouds,
A stately Chariot made great Jesus shrowdes,
And such his grandeure is, his beautie such,
Angels of viewing him have nere too much.
For now the glory of his soule, (which he
Injoy'd even in this vaile of misery)
Reflecting on his comely face a light,
Shall make it then the Sun (at Noone) more bright,
The Angels gone before, the Saints shall follow,
And Epinician acclamations hollow.
Apostles, Martyrs, (their fronts crown'd with bayes,
Shall blithly chaunt their grand Commanders praise.
The Patriarcks, Prophets, Doctors, Maides conspire,
With choisest voyces to make up the Quire.
Roses at every passage, as they goe,
And Violets on Jesus head they throw:
As if the welkin now turn'd Aprill Spring,
Would pay the latest tribute to its King.
The Airie Regions eccho in the eares,
Of our Musicians, what th' harmonious Spheres
Sweetly deliver; melodie of Lutes,
Viols, Theorbos, Clarions, Trumpets, Flutes.
This glorious sight so wondrously shall scare,
The Sun, the Moone, and every lesser Star,
That all the glittering Tapers, which cause day
And night, amaz'd perpetually shall stay
In the same Zenith; no more shoot their beames,
By winding motions of their Orbed Temes.
Hoping (although such hopes will be in vaine,)
They shall behold the selfe same show againe.
The Sun, the Moone, and every lesser Star,
That all the glittering Tapers, which cause day
And night, amaz'd perpetually shall stay
In the same Zenith; no more shoot their beames,
By winding motions of their Orbed Temes.
Hoping (although such hopes will be in vaine,)
They shall behold the selfe same show againe.
| Devovt Rhapsodies | |