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Divine poems

Containing The History of Ionah. Ester. Iob. Sampson. Sions Sonets. Elegies. Written and newly augmented, by Fra: Quarles

Quarles, Francis (1592-1644)

[section]

[dedication]

THE PROPOSITION of this first Worke.

The Introduction.

TO THE MOST HIGH, HIS HVMBLE Servant IMPLORES HIS FAVOVRABLE Assistance.

A FEAST FOR WORMES.

THE GENERALL VSE OF this History.

A Hymne to God.

ELEVEN PIOVS Meditations.

PENTELOGIA.

Hadassa.

IOB MILITANT

THE HISTORIE OF SAMSON: By Fra. Quarles.

SIONS SONETS. Sung By Solomon the King; And Periphras'd

SIONS ELEGIES. Wept BY IEREMIE THE PROPHET

FUNERALL ELEGIES

His Epitaph.

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TO THE SACRED Maiestie of King CHARLES.

THE PROPOSITION of this first Worke.

[_]

Square brackets denote editorial insertions or emendations.

Tis not the Record of great Hectors glory,
Whose matchlesse Valour makes the World a Story;
Nor yet the swelling of that Romans name,
That onely Came, and Look'd, and Overcame;
Nor One, nor All, of those brave Worthies nine,
(Whose Might was great, and Acts almost divine,
That live'd like Gods, but dy'd like Men, and gone)
Shall give my Pen a Taske to treat upon:
I sing the praises of the King of Kings.
Out of whose mouth a two-edg'd Smiter springs,
Whose Words are Mystery, whose Works are Wonder,
Whose Eyes are Lightning, and whose Voice is Thunder,
Who like a Curtaine spreads the Heavens out,
Spangled with Starres, in Glory round about:
'Tis He that cleft the furious waves in twaine,
Making a High-way passage through the Maine,
'Tis He, that turn'd the waters into Blood,
And smote the Rocky stone, and caus'd a Flood;
'Tis He, that's justly armed in his Ire,
Behinde with Plagues, before with flaming Fire,
More bright than mid-day Phœbus, are his Eyes,
And whosoever sees his Visage, dyes.

J sing the Praises of Great Iudahs Lyon,
The fragrant Flowre of Iesse, the Lambe of Sion,
Whose Head is whiter than the driven Snow,
Whose visage doth like flames of Fier glow:
His Loynes begirt with golden Belt, his Eyne
Like Titan, ridinst in his Southerne Shine,
His Feet like burning Brasse, and as the noise
Of surgie Neptunes roaring in his Voice,

This is that Paschall Lambe whose dearest Blood
Js soveraigne Drinke, whose Flesh is saving Food:
His precious Blood, the Worthies of the Earth
Did drinke, which (though but borne of mortall birth)
Return'd them Deities: For who drinkes This,
Shall be receiv'd into Eternall Blisse;
Himselfe's the Gift, which He himselfe did give,
His Stripes heale us, and by His Death we live;
He acting God and Man, in double Nature,
Did reconcile Mankinde, and Mans Creator.
I, hecre's a Taske indeed; If Mortalls could
Not make a Verse, yet Rockes and Mountaines would:
The Hills shall dance, the Sunne shall stop his Course,
Hearing the subiect of this high Discourse:
The Horse, and Gryphin, shall together sleepe,
The Wolfe shall fawne upon the silly Sheepe,
The crafty Serpent, and the fearfull Hart,
Shall joyne in Consort, and each beare a part,
And leape for Ioy; when my Vrania sings,
She sings the praises of the King of Kings.

The Introduction.

That Ancient Kingdome, that old Assur swayd,
Shew'd two great Cities: Ah! but both decayd,
Both mighty Great, but of unequall growth;
Both great in People, and in Building, both;
But ah! What hold is there of earthly good?
Now Grasse growes there, where these brave Cities stood.

The name of one, great Babylon was hight,
Through which the rich Euphrates takes her flight
From high Armenia to the ruddy Seas,
And stores the Land with rich Commodities.

The other Ninus, Nineveh the Great,
So huge a Fabricke, and well-chosen Seat
Don Phœbus fiery Steeds (with Maines becurl'd,
That circundates in twice twelve houres the world)
Ne're saw the like: By great King Ninus hand,
'Twas rais'd and builded, in th'Assyrians Land.
On one hand, Lycus washt her fruitfull sides,
On t'other, Tygris with her hasty Iides.
Begirt she was with walles of wondrous might,
Creeping twice fifty foot in measur'd height.
Vpon their bredth (if ought we may rely
On the report of Sage Antiquity,)
Three Chariots fairely might themselves display,
And ranke together in a Battell ray:
The Circuit that her mighty Bulke imbraces
Containes the mere of sixty thousand paces:
Within her well-fenc'd walls you might discover
Five hundred stately Towers, thrice told over;
Whereof the highest draweth up the eye,
As well the low'st, an hundred Cubits hie,

All rich in those things, which to state belong,
For beauty brave, and for munition strong:
Duly, and daily this great Worke was tended
With ten thousand Workmen; begun and ended
In eight yeares space: How beautifull! how faire
Thy Buildings! And how foule thy Vices are!

Thou Land of Assur, double then thy pride,
And let thy Wells of Ioy be never dry'd,
Thou hast a Palace, that's renown'd so much,
The like was never, is, nor will be such.

Thou Land of Assur, treble then thy Woe,
And let thy Teares (doe as thy Cups) o'reflow;
For this thy Palace of so great renowne,
Shall be destroy'd, and sackt, and batter'd downe.

But cheere up, Niniveh, thine inbred might
Hath meanes enough to quell thy Foemans spite:
Thy Bulwarkes are like Mountaines, and thy Wall
Disdaines to stoope to thundring Ordnance call:
Thy watchfull Towers mounted round about,
Keepe thee in safety, and thy Foe-men, out:
I, But thy Bulwarkes aid cannot withstand
The direfull stroake of the Almighties hand;
Thy Wafer-walls at dread Jehovahs blast
Shall quake, and quiver, and shall downe be cast.
Thy watchfull Towers shall asleepe be found,
And nod their drowsie heads downe to the ground:
Thy Bulwarks are not Uengeance-proofe; thy Wall,
When Iustice brandisheth her Sword, must fall:
Thy lofty Towers shall be dumbe, and yeeld
To high Revenge; Revenge must win the field;
Vengeance cryes loud from heaven, she cannot stay
Her Fury, but (impatient of delay)
Hath brimm'd her Vialls full of deadly Bane:
Thy Palace shall be burnt, thy People slaine;

Thy Heart is hard as Flint, and swolne with pride,
Thy murth'rous Hands with guitlesse blood are dy'd;
Thy silly Babes doe starve for want of Food:
Whose tender Mothers thou hast drencht in Blood:
Women with childe, lye in the streets about,
Whose Braines thy savage hands have dashed out:
Distressed Widowes weepe, (but weepe in vaine)
For their deare Husbands, whom thy hands have slaine:
By one mans Force, another man's devour'd,
Thy Wives are ravisht, and thy Maids deflowr'd;
Where Iustice should, there Tort & Bribes are plac't:
Thy' Altars defil'd, and holy things defac't:
Thy Lips have tasted of proud Babels Cup,
What thou hast left, thy Children have drunke up:
Thy bloody sinnes, thine Abels guiltlesse blood,
Cryes up to heaven for Vengeance, cryes aloud;
Thy sinnes are seire, and ready for the fire,
Heere rouze, (my Muse) and for a space, respire.

TO THE MOST HIGH, HIS HVMBLE Servant IMPLORES HIS FAVOVRABLE Assistance.

O all sufficient God, great Lord of Light,
Without whose gracious ayd, & constant sprite,
No labours prosper, (howsoe're begun)
But flye like Mists before the morning Sun:
O raise my thoughts, and cleare my Apprehension,
Infuse thy Spirit into my weake invention:
Reflect thy Beames upon my feeble Eyes,
Shew me the Mirrour of thy Mysteries;
My Art-lesse Hand, my humble Heart inspire,
Inflame my frozen tongue with holy fire:
Ravish my stupid Senses with thy Glory;
Sweeten my Lips with sacred Oratory:
And (thou O First and Last) assist my Quill,
That first and last, I may performe thy will:
My sole intent's to blazon forth thy Praise;
My ruder Pen expects no crowne of Bayes.
Suffice it then, Thine Altar I have kist:
Crowne me with Glory; Take the Bayes that list.

A FEAST FOR WORMES.

Sect. 1.

The Argvment.

The word of God to Ionah came,
Commanded Ionah to proclame
The vengeance of his Majestie,
Against the sinnes of Ninivie.

Th'Eternall Word of God, whose high Decree
Admits no change, and cannot frustrate be,
Came downe to Jonah, from the heavens above,
Came downe to Jonah, heavens anointed Dove;
Jonah, the flowre of old Amittai's youth,
Jonah, the Prophet, Sonne, and Heire to Truth,
The blessed Type of him, that ransom'd us,
That Word came to him, and bespake him thus:

“Arise; trusse up thy loynes, make all things meet,
“And put thy Sandals on thy hasty feet,
“Gird up thy reynes, and take thy staffe in hand,
“Make no delay, but goe, where I command;
“Me pleases not to send thee (Ionah) downe,
“To sweet Gath-Hepher, thy deare native Towne,
“Whose tender paps, with plenty overflow;
“Nor yet unto thy brethren shalt thou goe,

“Amongst the Hebrewes, where thy spredden fame
“Fore-runnes the welcome of thine honor'd name.
“No, I'le not send thee thither: Vp, arise,
“And goe to Niniveh, where no Allies,
“Nor consanguinity preserves thy blood;
“To Niniveh, where strangers are withstood:
“To Niniveh, a City farre remov'd
“From thine acquaintance, where th'art not belov'd
“J send thee to Mount Sinay, not Mount Sion,
“Not to a gentle Lambe, but to a Lion:
“Nor yet to Lydia, but to bloody Pashur,
“Not to the Land of Canaan, but of Ashur,
“Whose language will be riddles to thine eares,
“And thine againe will be as strange to theirs;
“J say, to Niniveh, the worlds great Hall,
“The Monarchs seat, high Court Imperiall.

“But terrible Mount Sinay will affright thee,
“And Pashurs heavy hand is bent to smite thee:
“The Lions rore, the people's strong and stout,
“The Bulwarkes stand a front to keepe thee out.
“Great Ashur minaces with whip in hand,
“To entertaine thee (welcome) to his land.

“What then? Arise, be gone; stay not to thinke:
“Bad is the cloth, that will in wetting shrinke.
“What then, if cruell Pashur heape on stroakes?
“Or Sinay blast thee with her sulph'rous smokes?
“Or Ashur whip thee? Or the Lions rent thee?
“Pish, on with courage; I, the Lord have sent thee:
“Away, away, lay by thy foolish pity,
“And goe to Niniveh, that mighty City:
“Cry loud against it, let thy dreadfull voice
“Make all the City eccho with the noise:
“Not like a Dove, but like a Dragon goe,
“Pronounce my judgement, and denounce my Woe:

“Make not thy bed a fonntaine full of teares,
“To weepe in secret for her sinnes. Thine eares
“Shall heare such things, will make thine eyes run over,
“Thine eyes shall smart with what they shall discover:
“Spend not in private, those thy zealous drops,
“But hew, and backe; spare neither trunke nor lops:
“Make heaven, and earth rebound, when thou discharges,
“Plead not (like Paul) but roare (like Boanarges:)
“Nor let the beauty of the buildings bleare thee,
“Let not the terrors of the Rampiers feare thee;
“Let no man bribe thy fist, (I well advise thee)
“Nor foule meanes force thee, nor let faire entice thee:
“Ramme up thine eares: Thy heart of stone shall be;
“Be deafe to them, as they are deafe to me:
“Goe, cry against it. If they aske thee why?
“Say, heavens great Lord commanded thee to cry:
“My Altars cease to smoke; their holy fires
“Are quencht, and where praiers should, their sin aspires;
“The fatnesse of their fornication fryes
“On coales of raging lust, and upward flies,
“And makes me seek: I heare the mournefull grones
“And heavy sighes of such, whose aking bones
“Th'oppressor grindes: Alas, their griefes implore me,
“Their pray'rs, prefer'd with teares, plead lowd before me:
“Behold, my sonnes, they have opprest, and kill'd,
“And bath'd their hands within the blood they spill'd:
“The steame of guiltlesse blood makes suit unto me,
“The voice of many bloods is mounted to me;

“The vile prophaner of my sacred Names,
“He teares my titles, and my honour maimes,
“Makes Rhet'rick of an oath, sweares and for sweares,
“Recks not my Mercy, nor my Iudgement feares:
“They eate, they drinke, they sleepe, they tire the night
“In wanton dalliance, and uncleane delight.

“Heavens winged Herald Ionas, up and goe
“To mighty Niniveh, Denounce my woe.
“Advance thy voice, and when thou hast advanc't it,
“Spare Shrub, nor Cedar, but cry out against it:
“Hold out thy Trumpet, and with louder breath,
“Proclame my sudden comming, and their death.

The Authors Apology.

It was my morning Muse; A Muse whose spirit
Transcends (I feare) the fortunes of her merit;
Too bold a Muse, whose fethers (yet in blood)
She never bath'd in the Pyrenean Flood;
A Muse unbreath'd, unlikely to attaine
An easie honour, by so stout a Traine;
Expect no lofty Hagard, that shall flye
A lessning pitch, to the deceived eye;
If in her Downy Soreage, she but ruffe
So strong a Dove, may it be thought enough;
Beare with her; Time and Fortune may requite
Your patient sufferance, with a fairer flight.

The generall Application.

To thee (Malfido) now I turne my Quill;
That God is still that God, and will be still.
The painfull Pastors take up Ionah's roome:
And thou the Ninivite, to whom they come.

Medit. 1.

How great's the love of God unto his creature?
Or is his Wisedome, or his Mercy greater?

I know not whether: O th'exceeding love
Of highest God! that from his Throne above
Will send the brightnesse of his grace to those
That grope in darknesse, and his grace oppose:
He helpes, provides, inspires, and freely gives,
As pleas'd to see us ravell out our lives;
He gives us from the heape, He measures not,
Nor deales (like Manna) each his stinted lot,
But daily sends the Doctors of his Spouse,
(With such like oyle as from the Widowes cruse
Did issue forth) in fulnesse, without wasting,
Where plenty still was had, yet plenty lasting.
I, there is care in heaven, and heavenly sprights,
That guides the world, and guards poore mortall wights,
There is; else were the miserable state
Of Man, more wretched and unfortunate
Than salvage beasts: But O th'abounding love
Of highest God! whose Angels from above
Dismount the Towre of Blisse, flye to and fro,
Assisting wretched Man, their deadly foe.
What thing is Man, that Gods regard is such?
Or why should heaven love rechlesse Man so much?

Why? what are men? but quickned lumps of earth?
A Feast for Wormes; a bubble full of mirth;
A Looking glasse for griefe; A flash; A minute;
A painted Toombe, with putrifaction in it;
A mappe of Death; A burthen of a song;
A winters Dust; A worme of five foot long:
Begot in sinne; In darknesse nourisht; Borne
In sorrow; Naked; Shiftlesse, and forlorne:
His first voice (heard) is crying for reliefe;
Alas! He comes into a world of griefe:
His Age is sinfull; and his Youth is vaine;
His Life's a punishment; His Death's paine;

His Life's a houre of Ioy; a world of Sorrow;
His death's a winters night, that findes no morrow:
Mans Life's an Hower-glasse, which being run,
Concludes that houre of joy, and so is done.
Jonah must goe; nor is this charge confinde
To Jonah, but to all the world enjoyn'd;
You Magistrates, arise, and take delight
In dealing Iustice, and maintaining Right;
There lyes your Niniveh: Merchants arise,
And mingle conscience with your Merchandise:
Lawyers arise, make not your righteous Lawes,
A tricke for gaine; Let Iustice rule the cause:
Tradesmen arise, and plye your thriving shops,
With truer hands, and eate your meate with drops:
Paul to thy Tents, and Peter to thy Net,
And all must goe that course, which God hath set.

Great God awake us, in these drowsie times,
Lest vengeance finde us, sleeping in our Crymes,
Encrease succession in thy Prophets liew,
For loe, thy Harvest's great, and workmen few.

Sect. 2.

The Argvment.

But Ionah toward Tharsis went,
A Tempest doth his course prevent:
The Mariners are sore opprest,
While Ionah sleepes and takes his rest.
Bvt Ionah thus bethought: The City's great,
And mighty Ashur stands with deadly threat;

Their hearts are hardued, that they cannot heare:
Will greene wood burne, when so unapt's the seire?
Strange is the charge: Shall I goe to a place
Vnknowne and forraigne? Aye me! hard's the case,
That righteous Isr'el must be thus neglected,
When Miscreants and Gentiles are respected:
How might I hope my words shall there succeed,
Which thrive not with the flockes I daily feed?
I know my God is gentle, and enclinde,
To tender mercy, apt to change his minde
Vpon the least repentance: Then shall I
Be deem'd as false, and shame my Prophecie.
O heavy burthen, of a doubtfull mind!
Where shall I goe, or which way shall I wind?
My heart like Ianus, looketh to and fro;
My Credit bids me, Stay; my God bids, Goe:
If Goe; my labour's lost, my shame's at hand:
If stay, Lord! I transgresse my Lords command:
If goe; from bad estate, to worse, I fall.
If stay, I slide from bad, to worst of all.
My God bids goe, my credit bids me stay:
My guilty feare bids fly another way.

So Jonah straight arose, himselfe bedight
With fit acoutrements, for hasty flight:
In stead of staffe, he tooke a Shipmans weed;
In stead of going, loc, he flyes with speed.

Like as a Hawke (that overmatcht with might)
Doing sad penance for th'unequall fight,
(Answ'ring the Falkners second shout) does flee
From fist; turnes tayle to foule, and takes a tree:
So Ionah baulks the place where he was sent
(To Nineveh) and downe to Iaffa went:

He sought, enquired, and at last, he found
A welcome Ship, that was to Tharsis bound,
Where he may flye the presence of the Lord:
He makes no stay, but straightway goes aboord,
His hasty purse for bargaine findes no leisure,
(Where sinn delights, there's no account of treasure)
Nor did he know nor aske, how much his Fare:
He gave: They tooke: all parties pleased are:
(How thriftlesse of our cost, and paines, are we,
Great God of heaven and earth, to fly from thee!)
Now have the sailors drunke their parting cup,
They goe aboord; The Sailes are hoisting up;
The Anchor's wayd; the keele begins t'obey
Her gentle Rudder; leaves her quiet Key,
Divides the streames, and without winde or oare,
She easly glides along the moving shore:
Her swelling Canvace gives her nimbler motion,
Sh'outstrips the Tide, and hies her to the Ocean:
Forth to the deepe she launches, and outbraves
The prouder billowes, rides upon the waves;
She plies that course, her Compas hath enjoind her,
And soone hath lest the lessned land behind her;
By this, the breath of heaven began to cease;
Calme were the Seas; the waves were all at peace;
The flagging mainsaile flapt against her yard,
The uselesse Compasse, and the idle Card
Were both neglected: Vpon every side
The gamesome Porpisce tumbled on the Tide.
Like as a Mastisfe, when restrain'd a while,
Is made more furious, and more apt for spoile,
Or when the breath of man, being bard the course,
At length breakes forth, with a farre greater force,
Even so the milder breath of heaven, at last,
Lets flye more fierce, and blowes a stronger blast:

All on a sudden darkned was the Sky
With gloomy clouds; heavens more refulgent eye
Was all obscur'd: The aire grew damp and cold,
And strong mouth'd Boreas could no longer hold:
Eolus lets loose his uncontrouled breath,
Whose language threatens nothing under death:
The Rudder failes; The ship's at random driven;
The eye no object ownes, but Sea and Heaven:
The Welkin stormes, and rages more and more,
The raine powres down; the heavens begin to rore
As they would split the massie Globe in sunder,
From those that live above, to those live under;
The Pilot's frighted; knowes not what to doe,
His Art's amaz'd, in such a maze of woe;
Faces grow sad: Prayers and complaints are rife;
Each one's become an Orator for life:
The Windes above, the waters underneath,
Ioyne in rebellion, and conspire death.

The Seamens courage now begins to quaile;
Some ply the plump, whilst others strike the saile,
Their hands are busie, while their hearts despaire,
Their feares and dangers move their lips to praier:
They praid, but winds did snatch their words away,
And lets their pray'rs not go to whom they pray:
But still they pray, but still the wind and weather
Do turn both ship & prai'rs they know not whether:
Their gods were deafe, their danger waxed greater;
They cast their wares out, and yet ne're the better:
But all this while was Ionah drown'd in sleepe,
And in the lower decke was buried deepe.

Medita. 2.

Bvt stay: this was a strange and uncouth word:
Did Ionah flye the presence of the Lord?
What mister word is that? He that repleats
The mighty Vniverse, whose lofty seat's
Th'imperiall Heaven, whose footstoole is the face
Of massie Earth? Can he from any place
Be barr'd? or yet by any meanes, excluded,
That is in all things? (and yet not included)
Could Ionah finde a resting any where
So void, or secret, that God was not there?
I stand amaz'd, and frighted at this word:
Did Ionah flye the presence of the Lord?
Mount up to Heaven, and there thou shalt discover
The exc'lent glory of his kingly power:
Bestride the earth beneath (with weary pace)
And there he beares the Olive branch of Grace:
Dive downe into th'extreme Abisse of Hell,
And there in Iustice doth th'Almighty dwell.
What secret Cloister could there then afford
A screene 'twixt faithlesse Ionah, and his Lord?

Ionah was charg'd, to take a charge in hand;
But Ionah turn'd his backe on Gods command;
Shooke off his yoke, and wilfully neglected,
And what was strictly charg'd, he quite rejected:
And so he fled the power of his Word;
And so he fled the presence of his Lord.

Good God! how poore a thing is wretched man?
So fraile, that let him strive the best he can,
With every little blast hee's overdon:
If mighty Cedars of great Lebanon,
Cannot the danger of the Axe withstand,
Lord! how shall we, that are but bushes, stand:

How fond, corrupt, how senselesse is mankinde?
How faining deafe is he? How wilfull blinde?
He stops his eares, and sinnes: he shuts his eyes,
And (blindfold) in the lap of danger flyes:
He sinnes, despaires; and then to stint his griefe,
He chuses death, to baulke the God of life.

Poore wretched sinner, travell where thou wilt,
Thy travell shall be burthen'd with thy guilt:
Climb tops of hils, that prospects may delight thee,
There wil thy sins (like wolves & bears) afright thee,
Fly to the vallies, that those frights may shun thee,
And there, like Mountains, they will fall upon thee:
Or to the raging Seas, (with Ionah) goe;
There will thy sinnes like stormy Neptune flow.
Poore shiftlesse Man! what shall become of thee?
Wher'ere thou fly'st, thy griping sinne will flee.

But all this while, the ship where Ionah sleepes,
Is tost and torne, and batter'd on the Deeps,
And well-nigh split upon the threatning Rocke,
With many a boistrous brush, and churly knocke:
God helpe all desp'rate voyagers, and keepe
All such as feele thy wonders on the deepe.

Sect. 3.

The Argvment.

The Pilot thumps on Ionah's brest,
And rowzeth Ionah from his rest:
They all cast Lotts, (being sore afrighted)
The sacred Lott on Ionah lighted.

The amazed Pilot finding no successe,
(But that the storme grew rather more than lesse,

For all their toilsome paines, and needlesse praiers,
Despairing both of life, and goods) repaires
To Ionahs drowsie Cabbin; mainly cals;
Cals Ionah, Ionah; and yet lowder yawles;
Yet Ionah sleepes; and gives a shrug, or two,
And snores, (as greedy sleepers use to doe.)
The wofull Pylot jogs him, (but in vaine.)
(Perchance he dreames an idle word, or twaine;)
At length he tugs and puls his heavy coarse,
And thunders on his brest, with all his force:
But (after many yawnes) he did awake him,
And (being both affrighted) thus bespake him:

“Arise, O Sleeper; O arise and see,
“There's not a twiny thred'twixt death, and thee:
“This darkesome place (thou measur'st) is thy grave,
“And sudden Death rides proud on yonder wave;
“Arise, O sleeper, O arise, and pray;
“Perhaps thy God will heare, and not say, Nay:
“Repaire the losse of these our ill spent houres,
“Perchance thy God's more powerfull than ours;
“Heavens hand may cease, and have compassion on us,
“And turne away this mischiefe it hath done us.

The sturdy Saylors (weary of their paine)
Finding their bootlosse labour lost, and vaine,
Forbare their toilesome task and wrought no more,
Expecting Death, for which they lookt before;
They call a parley, and consult together,
They count their sinnes, (accusing one another)
That for his sinne, or his, this ill was wrought:
In fine, they all proove guilty of the fault:
But yet the question was not ended so:
One sayes, 'Twas thine offence; but he sayes, No,
But 'twas for thy sake, that accuses me;
Rusht forth a third (the worser of the three)

And swore it was another, which (he hearing)
Deny'd it slat, and said, 'Twas thine for swearing:
In came a fift, accusing all; (replying
But little else) they all chid him for lying;
One said it was, another said 'twas not:
So all agreed, to stint the strife by Lott:
Then all was whist, and all to prayer went;
(For such a bus'nesse a fit complement)
The Lott was cast; t'pleas'd God by Lots to tell,
The Lott was cast; the Lott on Ionah fell,

Medita. 3.

O sacred subject of a Meditation!
Thy Workes (O Lord) are full of Admiration,
Thy judgements all are just, severe, and sure,
They quite cut off or else by lancing, cure
The festring sore of a rebellious heart,
Lest soule infection taint th'immortall part.
How deepe a Lethargy doth this disease
Bring to the slumbring soule, through carelesse ease!
Which once being wak't, (as from a golden dreame)
Lookes up, and sees her griefes the more extreme.
How seeming sweet's the quiet sleepe of sin?
Which when a wretched man's once nuzzled in,
How soundly sleepes he, without feare, or wit?
No sooner doe his armes infolded knit
A drowzy knot upon his carelesse brest,
But there he snorts, and snores in endlesse rest;
His eyes are closed fast, and deafe his eares,
And (like Endymion) sleepes himselfe in yeares;
His sense-bound heart relents not at the voice
Of gentle warning, neither does the noise

Of strong reproofe awake his sleeping eare,
Nor louder threatnings thunder makes him heare;
So deafe's the sinners eare, so numb'd his sense,
That sinne's no corrosive, breeds no offence;
For custome brings delight, deludes the heart,
Beguiles the sense, and takes away the smart.

But stay; Did one of Gods elected number,
(Whose eies should never sleep, nor eie lids slūber)
So much forget himselfe? Did Ionah sleepe,
That should be watchfull, and the Tower keepe?
Did Ionah (the selected mouth of God)
In stead of roaring judgements, does he nod?
Did Ionah sleepe so sound? Could he sleepe then,
When (with the sudden sight of Death) the men
(So many men) with yelling shrikes, and cryes,
Made very heaven report? Were Ionah's eyes
Still clos'd, and he, not of his life bereaven?

Hard must he wink that shuts his eies from heavē.
O righteous Isr'el, where, O where art thou?
Where is thy Lampe? thy zealous Shepheard now?
Alas! the rav'nous Wolves will worr' thy Sheepe;
Thy Shepheard's carelesse, and is falne asleepe;
Thy wandring flockes are frighted from their fold,
Their Shepherd's gone, and Foxes are too bold:
They, they whose smooth-fac'd words become the altar,
Their works dissent, & first begin to faulter;
And they that should be watchlights in the Temple
Are snuffes, and want the oyle of good example;
The chosen Watch-men that the tow'r should keep
Ate waxen heavy-ey'd, and falne asleepe.

Lord if thy watchmen wink too much, awake thē,
Although they slumber, do not quite forsake them;
The flesh is weake, say not (if dulnesse seize
Their heavy eyes) sleep henceforth: take your ease:

And we poore weaklings, when we sleepe in sin,
Knocke at our drowzy hearts; and never lin,
Till thou awake our sin-congealed eyes;
Lest (drown'd in sleepe) we sinke and never rise.

Sect 4.

The Argvment.

They question Ionah whence he came,
His Country, and his peoples Name.
He makes reply: They mone their woe,
And aske his counsell what to doe.

As when a Thiefe's appr'hended on suspect,
And charg'd for some supposed malefact,
A rude concourse of people, straight accrewes,
Whose itching eares even smart to know the newes;
The guilty pris'ner (to himselfe betraid)
He stands dejected, trembling and afraid:
So Ionah stood the Sailers all among,
Inclosed round amid the ruder throng.
As in a Summers evening you shall heare
In Hives of Bees (if you lay close your eare)
Confused buzzing, and seditious noise,
Such was the murmure of the Saylers voice.

“What was thy sinfull act, that causes this,
“(Sayes one) wherein hast thou so done amisse?
“Tell us, What is thine Art (another sayes)
“That thou professest? Speake man, Whences awayes,
“From what Confines cam'st thou? (A third replyes)
“What is thy Country? And of what allies?
“What, art thou borne a Iew? or Gentile? whether?
“(Ere he could lend an answer unto either)

“A fourth demands; Where hath thy breeding beene?
All what they askt, they all askt o're agen:
In fine, their eares (impatient of delay)
Becalm'd their tongues to hear what he could say.

So Ionas (humbly rearing up his eyes)
Breaking his long-kept silence, thus replyes:
“I am an Hebrew, sonne of Abraham,
“From whom my Land did first derive her name,
“Within the Land of Iury was I borne,
“My name is Ionah, retchelesse and forlorne:
“I am a Prophet: ah! but woe is me,
“For from before the face of God I flee;
“From whence (through disobedience) I am driven:
“I feare Iehovah, the great God of Heaven:
“J feare the Lord of Hosts, whose glorious hand
“Did make this stormy Sea, and massie Land.

So said, their eares with double ravishment,
Still hung upon his melting lips, attent,
Whose dreadful words their harts so neer impierc't,
That from themselves, themselves were quite divers't:
As in a sowltry Summers eveningtide,
(When lustfull Phœbus re-salutes his Bride,
And Philomela 'gins her caroling)
A Herd of Deere are browzing in a Spring,
With eger appetite, misdeeming nought,
Nor in so deepe a silence fearing ought:
A sudden cracke, or some unthought-of sound,
Or bounce of Fowlers Peece, or yelpe of Hound,
Disturbs their quiet peace wth strange amaze
Where (senslesse halfe) through feare, they stand at gaze
So stand the Sea-men, (as with Ghosts affrighted,)
Entraunc'd with what this man of God recited:
Their tyred limbes doe now waxe faint, and lither,
Their harts did yern, their knees did smite together:

Congealed blood usurpt their trembling hearts,
And left a faintnesse in their feeble parts:
Who (trembling out distracting language,) thus:

“Why hast thou brought this mischiefe upon us?
“What humour led thee to a place unknowne,
“To seeke forraigne Land, and leave thine owne?

“What faith hadst thou, by leaving thine abode,
“To thinke to flye the presence of thy God?
“Why hast thou not obey'd (but thus transgrest)
“The voyce of God, whom thou acknowledgest?
“Art thou a Prophet, and dost thou amisse?
“What is the cause? and why hast thou done this?

“What shall we do? The tempest lends no eare
“To fruitlesse chat, nor doe the billowes heare,
“Or marke our language: Waves are not attent:
“Our goods they float, our needlesse paines are spent,
“Our Barke's not weather proofe: no Fort's so stout,
“To keepe continuall siege and battry out.
“The Lot accuses thee, thy words condemne thee,
“The waves (thy deaths men) strive to overwhelme thee:
“What she we doe? Thou Prophet, speake, we pray thee:
“Thou fear'dst the Lord; Alas! we may not slay thee:
“Or shall we save thee? No, for thou dost flye
“The face of God, and so deserv'st to dye:
“Thou Prophet, speake, what shall be done to thee,
“That angry Seas may calme, and quiet be?

Medita. 4.

Give leave a little to adjoyne your text,
And ease my soule, my soule with doubts perplext.
Can he be said to feare the Lord, that flyes him?
Can word confesse him, when as deed denies him?

My sacred Muse hath rounded in mine eare,
And read the mystery of a twofold feare:
The first, a servile feare, for judgements sake;
And thus hells Fire-brands doe feare and quake:
Thus Adam fear'd, and fled behinde a tree:
And thus did bloody Cain feare and flee.

Vnlike to this there is a second kinde
Of feare, extracted from a zealous minde,
Full fraught with love, and with a conscience clear
From base respects: It is a filiall feare;
A feare whose ground would just remaine, & level;
Were neither Heaven, nor Hel, nor God, nor devil.
Such was the feare that Princely David had;
And thus our wretched Ionah fear'd, and fled:
He fled asham'd, because his sinnes were such;
He fled asham'd, because his feare was much.
He fear'd Iehovah, other fear'd he none:
Him he acknowledg'd; him hee fear'd alone:
Vnlike to those who (being blinde with errour)
Frame many gods, and multiply their terrour.
Th'Egyptians, god Apis did implore.
God Assas the Chaldeans did adore:
Babel to the Devouring Dragon seekes;
Th'Arabian, Astaroth; Iuno, the Greekes;
The name of Belus, the Assyrians hallow,
The Troians, Vesta; Corinth, wise Apollo;
Th'Arginians sacrifice unto the Sunne;
To light-foot Mercury bowes Macedon;
To god Volunus, Lovers bend their knee:
To Pavor, they that faint and fearefull bee:
Who pray for health, and strength, to Murcia those,
And to Victoria, those that feare to lose:
To Muta, they that feare a womans tongue:
To great Lucina, women great with young:

To Esculapius, they that live opprest:
And such to Quies, that defier rest.

O blinded ignorance of antique times,
How blent with errour, and how stuft with crimes
Your Temples were! And how adulterate!
How clogg'd with needlesse gods! How obstinate!
How void of reason, order, how confuse!
How full of dangerous and foule abuse!
How sandy were the grounds, and how unstable!
How many Deities! yet how unable!

Implore these gods, that list to howle and barke,
They bow to Dagon, Dagon to the Arke:
But hee to whom the seale of mercy's given,
Adores Iehovah, the Great God of Heaven:
Vpon the mention of whose sacred Name,
Meeke Lambs grow fierce, & the fierce Lions tame:
Bright Sol shall stop, & heaven shal turn his course:
Mountains shall dance, and Neptune slake his force:
The Seas shall part, the fire want his flame,
Vpon the mention of Iehovah's Name:
A Name that makes the roofe of Heaven to shake,
The frame of Earth to quiver, Hell to quake:
A Name, to which all Angels blow their Trumps:
A Name, puts frolicke man into his dumps,
(Though ne're so blythe) A Name of high renown:
It mounts the meeke, and beats the loftie downe;
A Name, divides the marrow in the bone;
A Name, which out of hard, and flintie stone
Extracteth hearts of flesh, and makes relent.
Those hearts that never knew what mercy ment,

O Lord! how great's thy Name in all the Land:
How mighty are the wonders of thy hand?
How is thy glory plac't above the heaven?
To tender mouthes of Sucklings thou hast given

Coercive pow'r, and boldnesse to reproove,
When elder men doe what them not behoove.
O Lord,! how great's the power of thine hand?
O God! how great's thy Name in all the Land!

Sect. 5.

The Argvment.

The Prophet doth his fault discover,
Perswades the men to cast him over:
They row, and toyle, but doe no good,
They pray to be excus'd from blood.
So Ionah fram'd this speech to their demand,
“Not that I seeke to traverse the command
“Of my deare Lord, and out of minde perverse,
“T'avoid the Ninivites, doe I amerce
“My selfe: Nor that I ever heard you threat,
“(Unlesse I went to Niniveh (the great)
“And doe the message sent her from the Lord)
“That you would kill, or cast me over-boord,
“Doe, I doe this; 'Tis my deserved fine:
“You all are guiltlesse, and the fault is mine:
“Tis J, 'tu I alone, 'tis I am he:
“The tempest comes from heaven, the cause from me;
“You shall not lose a haire for this my sin,
“Nor perish for the fault that mine hath bin;
“Lo, I the man am here: Lo, I am be,
“The root of all; End your revenge on me;
“J fled th'Eternall God; O, let me then
“(Because I fled my God) so flie from men:
“Redeeme your lives with mine; Ah, why should I,
“Not guiltlesse, live; and you not guilty, die?

“I am the man, for whom these billowes dance,
“My death shall purchase your deliverance;
“Feare not to cease your feares; but throw me in;
“Alas! my soule is burthen'd with my sin,
“And God is just, and bent to his Decree,
“Which certaine is, and cannot alter'd be;
“I am proclaim'd a Traitor to the King
“Of heaven an earth: The windes with speedy wing
“Acquaint the Seas: The Seas mount up on high,
“And cannot rest, untill the Traytor die;
“Oh, cast me in, and let my life be ended;
“Let Death make Justice mends, which Life offended;
“Oh, let the swelling waters me enbalme;
“So shall the Waves be still, and Sea be calme.
So said, th'amazed Mariners grew sad,
New Love abstracted, what old Feare did adde;
Love called Pity: Feare call'd vengeance in;
Love view'd the Sinner; Feare beheld the Sin;
Love cry'd out, Hold; for better sav'd than spil'd;
But Feare cry'd, Kill; O better kill, than kill'd:
Thus plung'd with Passions they distracted were
Betwixt the hopes, and doubts of Love and Feare;
Some cry'd out, Savé: if this foule deed we doe,
Vengeance that haunted him, will haunt us too:
Others cry'd, No; May rather death befall
To one (that hath deserv'd to dye) then all:
Save him (sayes one) Oh save the man that thus
His dearest blood hath profer'd to save us;
No, (sayes another) vengeance must have blood,
And vengeance strikes most hard, when most withstood.
In fine (say all:) Then let the Prophet die,
And we shall live; For Prophets cannot lye.
Loth to be guilty of their owne, yet loth
To haste poore Ionahs death, with hope, that both

Th'approching evils might be at once prevented,
With prayers and paines reutter'd, reattented,
They try'd new wayes, despairing of the old,
Love quickens courage, makes the spirits bold;
They strove, in vaine, by toile to win the shore,
And wrought more hard than er'e they did before:
But now, both hands and hearts begin to quaile,
(For bodies wanting rest, must faint and faile;)
The Seas are angry, and the waves arise,
Appeas'd with nothing but a Sacrifice;
Gods vengeance stormeth like the raging Seas,
Which nought but Ionah (dying) can appease:
Fond is that labour, which attempts to free,
What Heaven hath bound by a divine decree:
Ionah must die, Heaven hath decreed it so,
Jonah must die, or else they all die too;
Jonah must die, that from his Lord did flie;
The Lott determines, Ionah then must die;
His guilty word confirmes the sacred Lott,
Ionah must die then, if they perish not.
“If Iustice then appoint (since he must die,
“Said they) us Actors of his Tragedy,
“(We beg not (Lord) a warrant to offend)
“O pardon blood-shed, that we must intend;
“Though not our hands, yet shall our hearts be cleare;
“Then let not stainlesse consciences beare
“The pond'rous burden of a Murders guilt,
“Or pay the price of blood that must be spilt;
“For loe, (deare Lord) it is thine owne decree,
“And we sad ministers of Iustice be.

Meditat. 5.

Bvt stay a while; this thing would first be known:
Can Ionah give himselfe, and not his owne?
That part to God, and to his Countrey this
Pertaines, so that a slender third is his;
Why then should Ionah doe a double wrong,
To deale himselfe away, that did belong
The least unto himselfe? or how could hee
Teach this, (Thou shalt not kill) if Ionah be
His lifes owne Butcher? What, was this a deed
That with the Calling he profest, agreed?
The purblinde age (whose workes (almost divine)
Did meerely with the oyle of Nature shine,
That knew no written Law, nor Grace, nor God,
To whip their conscience with a steely rod,)
How much did they abhorre so foule a fact?
When (led by Natures glimpse) they made an act,
Selfe-murderers should be deny'd to have
The charitable honour of a Grave:
Can such doe so, when Ionah does amisse?
What, Ionas, Isr'els Teacher! and doe this?

The Law of Charity doth all forbid,
In this thing to doe that which Ionah did;
Moreo're, in charity, 'tis thy behest,
Of dying men to thinke, and speake the best;
The mighty Samson did as much as this;
And who dare say, that Samson did amisse,
If heavens high Spirit whisper'd in his eare
Expresse command to doe't? No wavering feare
Drew backe the righteous Abram's armed hand
From Isaacks death, secur'd by heavens command.

Sure is the knot that true Religion tyes,
And Love that's rightly grounded, never dyes;

It seemes a paradoxe beyond beliefe,
That men in trouble should prolong reliefe;
That Pagans (to withstand a Strangers Fate)
Should be neglective of his owne estate.

Where is this love become in later age?
Alas! 'tis gone in endlesse pilgrimage
From hence, and never to returne (I doubt)
'Till revolution wheele those times about:
Chill brests have starv'd her here, and she is driven
Away; and with Astræa fled to heaven.
Poore Charity, that naked Babe is gone,
Her honey's spent, and all her store is done;
Her winglesse Bees can finde out ne're a bloome,
And crooked Ate doth usurpe her roome:
Nepenthe's dry, and Love can get no drinke,
And curs'd Ardenne flowes above the brinke.
Brave Mariners, the world your names shal hallow,
Admiring that in you, that none dare follow;
Your friendship's rare, and your conversion strāge,
From Paganisme to zeale? A sudden change!
Those men doe now the God of heaven implore,
That bow'd to Puppets, but an houre before;
Their zeale is fervent, (though but new begun)
Before their egge-shels were done off, they runne:
And when bright Phœbus in a Summer tide,
(New risen from the bosome of his Bride)
Enveloped with misty fogges, at length
Breakes forth, displaies the mist, with Southerne strength;
Even so these Mariners (of peerlesse mirrour)
Their faith b'ing veil'd within the mist of errour,
At length their zeale chac'd ignorance away,
They left their Puppets, and began to pray.

Lord how unlimited are thy confines,
That still pursu'st man in his good designes!

Thy mercy's like the dew of Hermon hill,
Or like the Oyntment, dropping downward still
From Aarons head, to beard; from beard to foote:
So doe thy mercies drench us round about:
Thy love is boundlesse; Thou art apt and free,
To turne to Man, when Man returnes to thee.

Sect. 6.

The Argvment.

They cast the Prophet over boord:
The storme alay'd: They feare the Lord;
A mighty Fish him quick devoures,
Where he remained many houres.

Even as a member, whose corrupted sore
Infests, and rankles, eating more and more,
Threatning the bodies losse (if not prevented)
The wise chirurgion (all faire meanes attented)
Cuts off, and with advised skil doth choose,
To lose a part, then all the body lose;
Even so the feeble Sailors (that addresse
Their idle armes, where heaven denyes successe)
Forbeare their thrivelesse labours, and devise
To roote that Evill, from whence their harms arise:
Treason is in their thoughts, and in their eares
Danger revives the old, and addes new feares;
Their hearts grow fierce, and every soule applies
T'abandon mercy from his tender eyes:
They cease t'attempt what heaven so long withstood,
And bent to kill, their thoughts are all on blood:
They whisper oft, each word is Deaths Alarme;
They hoyst him up; Each lends a busie arme,

And with united powers they entombe
His out-cast body in Thetis angry wombe:
Whereat grim Neptune wip't his somy mouth,
Held his tridented Mace upon the South;
The windes were whist, the billows danc't no more,
The storme allay'd, the heavens left off to rore,
The waves (obedient to their pilgrimage)
Gave ready passage, and surceast their rage,
The skie grew cleare, and now the welcome light
Begins to put the gloomy clouds to flight:
Thus all on sudden was the Sea tranquill,
The Heav'ns were quiet, and the Waves were still,
As when a friendly Creditor (to get
A long forborne, and much concerning debt)
Still plies his willing debter with entreats,
Importunes daily, daily thumps, and beates
The batter'd Portals of his tyred eares,
Bedeasing him with what he knowes, and heares;
The weary debter, to avoid the sight
He loathes, shifts here, and there, and ev'ry night
Seekes out Protection of another bed,
Yet ne'rethelesse (pursu'd and followed)
His eares are still laid at with lowder volley
Of harder Dialect; He melancholy,
Sits downe, and sighs, and after long foreslowing,
(T'avoid his presence) payes him what is owing;
The thankfull Creditor is now appeas'd,
Takes leave, and goes away content, and pleas'd.
Even so these angry waves, with restlesse rage,
Accosted Ionas in his pilgrimage,
And thundred Iudgement in his fearefull eare,
Presenting Hubbubs to his guilty feare:
The waves rose discontent, the Surges beat,
And every moments death, the billowes threat,

The weather-beaten Ship did every minuit
Await destruction, while hee was in it:
But when his (long expected) corps they threw
Into the deepe, (a debt, through trespasse, due)
The Sea grew kinde, and all her frownes abated,
Her face was smooth to all that navigated.
'Twas sinfull Ionah made her storme and rage,
'Twas sinfull Ionah did her storme asswage.

With that the Mariners astonisht were,
And fear'd Iehovah with a mighty feare,
Offring up Sacrifice with one accord,
And vowing solemne vowes unto the Lord.
But he whose word can make the earth's foundatiō
Tremble, and with his Word can make cessation,
Whose wrath doth moūt the waves, & toss the Seas,
And make thē calme & smooth, whē e're he please:
This God, (whose mercy runs on endlesse wheele,
And puls (like Iacob) Iustice by the heele)
Prepar'd a Fish, prepar'd a mighty Whale,
Whose belly was both prison-house, and baile,
For retchlesse Ionah. As the two leaf'd doore
Opens, to welcome home the fruitfull store,
Wherewith the harvest quits the Plowmans hope,
Even so the great Leviathan set ope
His beame-like Iawes, (prepar'd for such a boone)
And at a morsell, swallow'd Jonah downe,
'Till dewy-check't Aurora's purple dye
Thrice dappell'd had the ruddy morning skie,
And thrice had spred the Curtaines of the morne,
To let in Titan, when the day was borne,
Ionah was Tenant to this living Grave,
Embowel'd deepe in this stupendious Cave.

Meditat. 6.

Lo, Death is now, as alwaies it hath bin,
The just procured stipend of our sinne:
Sinne is a golden Causie, and a Road
Garnisht with joyes, whose pathes are even & broad
But leads at length to death, and endlesse griefe,
To torments, and to paines without reliefe.
Iustice feares none, but maketh all afraid,
And then fals hardest, when tis most delaid,
But thou reply'st, thy sinnes are daily great,
Yet thou sittst uncontrold upon thy seat;
Thy wheat doth flourish, and thy barnes do thrive,
Thy sheepe encrease, thy sonnes are all alive,
And thou art buxom, and hast nothing scant,
Finding no want of any thing, but want,
Whil'st others, whom the squint-ey'd world counts holy,
Sit sadly drooping in a melancholy,
With brow dejected, and downe-hanging head,
Or take of almes, or poorely begge their bread:
But young man, know there is a Day of doome,
The Feast is good, untill the reck'ning come.
The time runnes fastest, where is least regard,
The stone thats long in falling, falleth hard;
There is a dying day, (thou prosp'rous foole)
When all thy laughter shall be turn'd to Doole,
Thy roabes to tort'ring plagues, & fel tormenting
Thy whoops of Ioy, to howles of sad lamenting:
Thy tongue shall yell, and yawle, and never stop,
And wish a world, to give for one poore drop,
To flatter thine intolerable paine;
The wealth of Pluto could not then obtaine

A minutes freedome from that hellish rout,
Whose fire burnes, and never goeth out:
Nor house, nor land, not measur'd heaps of wealth,
Can render to a dying man, his health:
Our life on earth is like a thred of flax,
That all may touch, and being toucht, it craks.

As when an Archer shooteth for his sport,
Sometimes his shaft is gone, sometimes 'tis short,
Somtimes o'th'left hād, wide, sometimes o'th right
At last, (through often tryall) hits the White;
So death sometimes with her uncertaine Rover,
Hits our Superiours (and so shoots over)
Sometimes for change, shee strikes the meaner sort,
Strikes our Inferiours (and then comes short)
Sometimes upon the left hand wide shee goes,
And so (still wounding some) shee strikes our foes;
And sometimes wide upon the right hand bends,
There with Imperiall shafts, she strikes our friends;
At length (through often triall) hits the White,
And so strikes us into Eternall night.

Death is a Kalender compos'd by Fate,
Concerning all men, never out of Date:
Her dayes Dominicall, are writ in blood;
She shewes more bad daies, than she sheweth good:
She tels when dayes, & monthes, & termes expire,
Meas'ring the lives of mortals by her squire.

Death is a Pursivant, with Eagles wings,
That knocks at poore mens door, & gates of Kings.
Worldling, beware betime; death sculks behind thee
And as she leaves thee, so will Iudgement find thee.

Sect. 7.

The Argvment.

Within the bowels of the Fish,
Ionah laments in great anguish;
God heard his pray'r, at whose command,
The fish disgorg'd him on the Land.

Then Ionah turn'd his face to heav'n, and pray'd
Within the bowels of the Whale, and said,
“J cry'd out of my balefull misery
“Vnto my God, and he hath heard my cry;
“From out the paunch of hell J made a noyse,
“And thou hast answer'd me, and heard my voyce:
“Into the Deeps and bottome thou hast throwne me,
“Thy Surges, and thy Waves have past upon me.

“Then Lord (said I) from thy refulgent sight
“I am expell'd, I am forsaken quite,
“Nay'thelesse while these my wretched eyes remaine,
“Vnto thy Temple will J looke againe.

“The boystrous Waters compast me about,
“My body threats to let her pris'ner out,
“The boundlesse depth enclosd me, (almost dead)
“The weeds are wrapt about my fainting head,
“I liv'd on earth rejected at thine hand,
“And a perpetuall pris'ner in the Land;
“Yet thou wilt cause my life t'ascend at length,
“From out this pit, O Lord, my God, my Strength.
“When as my soule was over-whelm'd and faint,
“I had recourse to thee, did thee acquaint
“With the condition of my woefull case,
“My cry same to thee, in thine holy Place.

“Whose to Vanities themselves betake,
“Renounce thy mercies, and thy love forsake:
“To thee I'le sacrifice in endlesse dayes,
“With voyce of thankes, and ever-sounding praise:
“I'le pay my vowes; for all the world records
“With one consent, Salvation is the Lords.

But he (whose word's a deed, whose breath's a law;
Whose just command implies a dreadfull awe,
Whose Word prepar'd a Whale upon the Deepe,
To tend, and wait for Ionah's fall, and keepe
His out-cast body safe, and soule secure)
This very God (whose mercy must endure,
When heaven, & earth, when sea, & all things faile)
Disclos'd his purpose, and bespake the Whale,
To redeliver Ionah to his hand;
Whereat the Whale disgorg'd him on the land.

Medita. 7.

I well record, a holy Father sayes,
He teaches to deny, that faintly prayes:
The suit surceases, when desire failes,
But whoso prayes with fervency, prevailes;
For Prayr's the key that opes th'eternall gate,
And findes admittance, whether earl' or late;
It forces audience, it unlockes the eare
Of heavens great God (though deafe) it makes him heare.

Vpon a time Babel (the worlds faire Queene
Made drunk with choller, and enrag'd with spleen)
Through fell disdaine, derraigned war 'gainst them
That tender homage to Jerusalem:
A maiden-fight it was, yet they were strong
As men of Warre; The Battaile lasted long,

Much blood was shed, an spilt on either side,
That all the ground with purple gore was dyde:
In fine, a Souldier of Ierusalem:
Charissa hight, (the Almner of the Realme)
Chill'd with an ague, and unapt to fight,
Into Iustitia's Castle too her flight,
Whereat great Babels Queene commanded all,
To lay their siege against the Castle wall;
But poore Tymissa (not with warr acquainted)
Fearing Charissa's death, fell downe, and fainted;
Dauntlesse Prudentia rear'd her from the ground,
Where she lay (pale and senselesse) in a swound,
She rub'd her temples, and at length awaking
She gave her water, of Fidissa's making,
And said, Cheare up, (deare sister) though our foe
Hath tane us Captives, thus besieg'd with woe,
We have a King puissant, and of might,
Will see us take no wrong, and doe us right,
If we possesse him with our sad complaint,
Cheare up, wee'l send to him, and him acquaint.
Tymissa (new awak'd from swound) replies,
Our Castle is begirt with enemies,
And troops of armed men besiege our walls,
Then suer Death, or worse than death befalls
To her, (who ere she be) that stirs a foote,
Or rashly dares attempt to venture out,
Alas! what hope have wee to finde reliefe,
And want the meanes that may divulge our griefe?
Within that place a jolly Matron dwell'd,
Whose lookes were fixt and sad; her left hand held
A paire of equall ballances; her right
A two-edg'd sword; her eyes were quicke & bright,
Not apt to squint, but nimble to discerne;
Her visage lovely was, yet bold and sterne;

Her name Iustitia; to her they make
Their moane; who, well advis'd, them thus bespake:

Faire Maidens, more beloved then the light,
True the suffrance of your wofull plight,
But pitty's fond alone, recures no griefe,
But fruitlesse fals, unlesse it yeeld reliefe.
Cheare up, I have a Messenger in store,
Whose speed is much, but faithfull trust is more,
Whose nimble wings shall cleave the flitting skies,
And scorne the terrour of your enemies,
Oratio hight, well knowne unto your King,
Your message she shall doe, and tydings bring,
Provided that Fidissa travaile with her,
And so (on Christs name) let them goe together.
With that Fidissa having ta'ne her errant,
And good Oratio with Iustitia's Warrant,
In silence of the midnight tooke her flight,
Arriving at the Court that very night;
But they were both as flames of fier hot,
For they did fly as swift, as Cannon shot,
But they (lest sudden cold should do them harme)
Together clung, and kept each other warme:
But now, the kingly gates were sparr'd, and lockt,
They call'd, but none made answer thē they knockt
Together joyning both their force in one,
They knockt againe; Yet answer there was none;
But they that never learn'd to take deniall,
With importunity made further triall;
The King heard well, although he lift not speake,
Till they with strokes the gate did wel-nie breake:
In fine, the brazen gates flew open wide;
Oratio moov'd her suit; The King replide,
Oratio was a faire, and welcome guest;
So heard her suit, so granted her request.

Fraile man, observe; In thee the practice lies,
Let sacred Meditation moralize:
Let Pray'r bee fervent, and thy Faith intire,
And heaven, at last, will grant thee thy desire.

Sect. 8.

The Argvment.

The second time was Ionah sent
To Niniveh: now Ionah went:
Against her crying sinnes he cry'd,
And her destruction prophesi'd.

Once more the voyce of heavens high-Cōmander,
(Like horrid claps of heav'ns-dividing thunder
Or like the fall of waters breach (the noise
Bring heard farre distant off) such was the voyce),
Came downe from heav'n to Ionah, new-borne-Mā,
To re-baptized Ionah, and thus began;
Am I a God? Or art thou ought but Dust?
More than a man? Or are my Lawes unjust?
Am I a God, and shall I not command?
Art thou a man, and dur'st my Lawes withstand?
Shall I (the motion of whose breath shall make
Both earth, and Sea, and Hell, and Heaven quake)
By thee (fond man) shall I be thus neglected;
And thy presumption scape uncorrected?
Thy faith hath sav'd thee (Ionah:) Sin no more,
Lest worse things happen after, than before;
Arise; let all th'assembled pow'rs agree
To doe th'Embassage I impose on thee;
Trifle no more; and, to avoid my sight,
Thinke not to baulke me with a second flight.

Arise, and goe to Niniveh (the great)
Where broods of Gentiles have ta'ne up their seat,
The great Queene regent mother of the Land,
That multiplies in people like the sand;
Away, with wings of time, (J'le not essoyne thee)
Denounce these fiery Iudgements, I enjoyne thee.

Like as a youngling that to schoole is sent,
(Scarce weaned from his mothers blandishment
Where he was cockerd with a stroking hand)
With stubborne heart denyes the just command.
His, Tutor wils: But being once corrected,
His home-bred stomack's curb'd, or quite ejected:
His crooked nature's chang'd, and mollifi'd,
And humbly seekes, what stoutly he deny'd;
So Jonah's stout, perverse, and stubborne heart,
Was hardned once, but when it felt the smart
Of heav'ns avenging wrath, it straight dissolv'd,
And what it once avoyded, now resolv'd,
T'effect with speed, and with a carefull hand
Fully replenish'd with his Lords Command,
To Niniveh he flyeth like a Roe,
Each step the other strives to overgoe;
And as an Arrow to the marke does flie,
So (bent to flight) flies he to Niniveh.

Now Niniveh a might Citie was,
Which all the Cities of the world did passe,
A Citie which o're all the rest aspires
Like midnight Phœbe 'mongst the lesser fires;
A Citie, which (although to men was given)
Better beseem'd the Majestie of Heaven:
A City Great to God, whose ample wall,
Who undertakes to mete with paces, shall
Bring Phœbus thrice to bed, ere it be done,
(Although with dawning Hesperus begun.

When Ionas hath approacht the City gate,
He made no stay to rest, nor yet to bait,
No supple oyle his fainting head anoints,
Stayes not to bathe his weather-beaten joynts,
Nor smooth'd his countenance, nor slick' his skin,
Nor craved he the Hostage of an Inne,
To ease his aking bones (with travell sore)
But went as speedy, as he fled before;
The Cities greatnesse made him not refuse,
To be the trump of that unwelcome newes
His tongue was great with; But (like thūders noise)
His mouth flew ope, and out there rusht a voyce.

When dewy-cheek't Aurora shall display
Her golden locks, and summon up the day
Twice twenty times, and rest her drowzy head
Twice twenty nights, in aged Tithons bed,
Then Niniveh this place of high renowne,
Shall be destroy'd, and sackt, and batterd downe.

He sate not downe to take deliberation,
What maner people were they, or what Nation,
Or Gent', or Salvage; nor did he enquier
What place were most convenient for a Cryer,
Nor like a sweet-lipt Orator did steare,
Or tune his language to the peoples eare,
But bold, and rough, yet full of Majesty,
Lift up his trumpet, and began to cry,

When forty times Don Phœbus shall fulfill
His Iournall course upon th'Olympian Hill,
Then Niniveh (the Worlds great wonder) shall
Startle the Worlds foundation with her fall.

The dismall Prophet stands not to admire,
The Cities pompe, or peoples quaint attire,
Nor yet (with fond affection) doth pity
Th'approaching downfall of so brave a City,

But dauntlesse he his dreadfull voice extends,
Respectlesse, whom this bolder cry offends,

When forty daies shall be expir'd, and run,
And that poore Inch of time drawne out and done,
Then Niniveh (the Worlds Imperiall throne)
Sall not be left a stone, upon a stone.

Meditat. 8.

Bvt stay; Is God like one of us? Can he
When he hath said it, alter his Decree?
Can he that is the God of Truth, dispence
With what he vow'd? or offer violence
Vpon his sacred Iustice? Can his minde
Revolt at all? or vary like the winde?
How comes this alteration then that He
Thus limiting th'effect of his Decree
Vpon the expiring date of forty daies,
He then performes it not? But still delaies
His plagues denounc't, & Iudgement stil forbeares,
And stead of forty dayes gives many yeares?
Yet forty dayes, and Niniveh shall perish?
Yet forty yeares, and Niniveh doth flourish:
A change in man's infirme, in God 'tis strange;
In God, to change his Will, and will a Change,
Are divers things: When he repents from ill,
He wils a change; he changes not his Will;
The subject's chang'd, which secret was to us,
But not the mind, that did dispose it thus;
Denounced Iudgement God doth oft prevent,
But neither changes counsell, nor intent:
The voyce of heaven doth seldome threat perdition
But with expresse, on an imply'd condition,

So that, if Niniveh returne from ill,
God turnes his hand, he doth not turne his Will.

The stint of Niniveh was forty dayes,
To change the Byas of her crooked wayes:
To some the time is large, To others, small;
To some 'tis many yeares; And not at all
To others; Some an houre have, and some
Have scarce a minute of their time to come:
Thy span of life (Malfido) is thy space,
To call for mercy, and to cry for grace.

Lord! what is man, but like a worme that crawles
Open to danger every foote that fals?
Death creepes (unheard) and steals abroad (unseen)
Her darts are sudden, and her arrowes keene,
Vncertaine when, but certaine she will strike,
Respecting King and Begger both alike;
The stroke is deadly, come it soone, or late,
Which once being strucke, repenting's out of date;
Death is a minute, full of sudden sorrow:
“Then live to day, as thou maist die to morrow.

Sect. 9.

The Argvment.

The Ninivites beleeve the word,
Their hearts returne unto the Lord;
In him they put their onely trust:
They mourne in Sackcloth, and in dust.

So said; the Ninivites beleev'd the Word,
Beleeved Jonas, and beleev'd the Lord;
They made no pause, nor jested at the newes,
Nor slighted it, because it was a Iew's

Denouncement: No, nor did their gazing eyes
(As taken captive with such novelties)
Admire the strangers garb, so quaint to theirs,
No idle chat possest their itching eares,
The whil'st he spake: nor were their tongues on fier
To raile upon, or interrupt the Cryer,
Nor did they question whether true the message,
Or false the Prophet were, that broght th'embassage
But they gave faith to what he said; relented,
And (changing their mis-wandred wayes) reptented;
Before the searching Ayre could coole his word,
Their hearts returned, and beleev'd the Lord;
And they, whose dainty lips were cloy'd while ere
With cates, and viands, with wanton cheare,
Doe now enjoyne their palats not to tast
The offall bread, (for they proclaim'd a Fast)
And they, whose looser bodies once did lye
Wrapt up in Robes, and Silkes of Princely Dye,
Loe now, in stead of Robes, in rags they mourne,
And all their Silkes doe into Sack-cloth turne,
They read themselves sad Lectures on the ground,
Learning to want, as well as to abound;
The Prince was not exempted, nor the Peere,
Nor yet the richest, nor the poorest there;
The old man was not freed, (whose hoary age
Had ev'n almost outworne his Pilgrimage;)
Nor yet the yong, whose Glasse (but new begun)
By course of Nature had an age to runne:

For when that fatall Word came to the King,
(Convay'd with speed upon the nimble wing
Of flitting Fame) he straight dismounts his Throne,
Forsakes his Chaire of State he sate upon,
Disrob'd his body, and his head discrown'd
In dust and ashes grov'ling on the ground,

And when he rear'd his trembling corps againe,
(His haire all filthy with the dust he laie in)
He clad in pensive Sackcloth, did depose
Himselfe from State Imperiall, and chose
To live a Vassall, or a baser thing,
Then to usurpe the Scepter of a King:
(Respectlesse of his pompe) he quite forgate
He was a Monarch mindlesse of his State,
He neither sought to rule, or be obay'd,
Nor with the sword, nor with the Scepter sway'd.

Meditat. 9.

Is fasting then the thing that God requires?
Can fasting expiate, or slake those fires
That sinne hath blowne to such a mighty flame?
Can sackcloth cloth a fault? or hide a shame?
Can ashes, clense thy blot? or purge thy'offence?
Or doe thy hands make heaven a recompence,
By strowing dust upon thy bryny face?
Are these the trickes to purchase heavenly grace?
No, though thou pine thy selfe with willing want;
Or face looke thinne, or Carkas ne're so gaunt,
Although thou worser weeds then sackcloth weare:
Or naked goe, or sleepe in shirts of haire,
Or though thou chuse an ash-tub for thy bed,
Or make a daily dunghill on thy head,
Thy labour is not poys'd with equall gaines,
For thou hast nought but labour for thy paines:
Such holy madnesse God rejects, and loathes,
That sinkes no deeper, than the skin, or cloathes:
'Tis not thine eyes which (taught to weepe by art)
Looke red with teares, (not guilty of thy hart)

'Tis not the holding of thy hands so hye,
Nor yet the purer squinting of thine eye;
'Tis not your mimick mouths, your antick faces,
Your Scripture phrases, or affected Graces,
Nor prodigall up-banding of thine eyes,
Whose gashfull bals doe seeme to pelt the skyes;
'Tis not the strict reforming of your haire
So close, that all the neighbour skull is bare;
'Tis not the drooping of thy head so low,
Nor yet the lowring of thy sullen brow,
Nor wolvish howling that disturbs the aire,
Nor repetitions or your tedious prayer;
No, no, 'tis none of this, that God regards;
Such sort of fooles their owne applause rewards,
Such puppet-plaies, to heaven are strange, & quaint,
Their service is unsweet, and foully taint,
Their words fall fruitlesse from their idle braine;
But true repentance runnes in other straine;
Where sad contrition harbours, there the heart
Is truly'acquainted with the secret smart
Of past offences, hates the bosome sin
The most, which most the soule tooke pleasure in;
No crime unsifted, no sinne unpresented
Can lurke unseene; and seene, none unlamented;
The troubled soule's amaz'd with dire aspects
Of lesser sinnes committed, and detects
The wounded Conscience; it cryes amaine
For mercy, mercy, cryes, and cryes againe;
It sadly grieves, and soberly laments,
It yernes for grace, reformes, returnes, repents;
I, this is incense, whose accepted savour
Mounts up the heavenly Throne, & findeth favour:
I, this is it, whose valour never failes,
With God it stoutly wrestles, and prevailes:

I; this is it, that pearces heaven above,
Never returning home (like Noah's Dove)
But brings an Olive leafe, or some encrease,
That workes Salvation, and Eternall Peace.

Sect. 10.

The Argvment.

The Prince and people fasts, and prayes;
God heard, accepted, lik'd their wayes:
Upon their timely true repentance,
God rever'st, and chang'd his sentence.

Then suddenly, with holy zeale inflam'd,
He caus'd a generall Act to be proclaim'd,
By sage advice, and counsell of his Peeres;

“Let neither man, or child, of youth, or yeares,
“From greatest in the Citie, to the least,
“Nor Herd, nor pining Flocke, nor hungry beast,
“Nor any thing that draweth ayre, or breath,
“On forfeiture of life, or present death,
“Presume to taste of nourishment, or food,
“Or move their hungry lips to chew the cud;
“From out their eyes let Springs of water burst,
“With teares (or nothing) let thē slake their thirst:
“Moreo're, let every man (what e're he be)
“Of higher quality, or low degree,
“D'off all they weare (excepting but the same
“That nature craves, & that which covers shame)
“Their nakednesse with sackcloth let them hide,
“And mue the vest'ments of their silken pride;
“And let the brave cariering Horse of Warre,
“(Whose rich Caparisons, and Trappings are
“The glorious Wardrobe of a Victors show)
“Let him disrobe, and put on sackcloth too;

“The Oxe (ordain'd for yoke) the Asse (for load)
“The Horse (as well for race, as for the roade)
“The burthren-bearing Camell (strong and great)
“The fruitfull Kine, and every kinde of Neate,
“Let all put sackcloth on, and spare no voyce,
“But cry aloud to heaven, with mighty noise;
“Let all men turne the bias of their wayes,
“And change their fiercer hands to force of praise:
“For who can tell, if God (whose angry face
“Hath long bin waining from us) will embrace
“This slender pittance of our best indeavour?
“Who knowes, if God will his intent persever?
“Or who can tell, if he (whose tender love
“Transcends his sharper Iustice) will remove
“And change his high decree, & turn his sentence
“Vpon a timely, and unfain'd repentance?
“And who can tell, if heaven will change the lot,
“That we, and ours may live, and perish not?

So God perceiv'd their workes, & saw their waies,
Approv'd the faith, that in their workes did blaze,
Approv'd their works, approv'd their workes the rather
because their faith & works wēt both together:
He saw their faith, because their faith abounded;
He saw their works, because on faith they grounded
He saw their faith, their workes, and so relented,
H'approv'd their works, their faith & so repented;
Repented of the plagues they apprehended;
Repented of the evill, that he intended:
So God the vengeance of his hand withdrew,
He tooke no forfeiture although 'twere due;
The evill, that once hee meant, he now forgot,
Cancell'd the forfeit bond, and did it not.

Medita. 10.

See, into what an ebbe of low estate
The soule that seekes to be regenerate,
Must first descend; before the ball rebound,
It must be throwne with force against the ground;
The seed increases not in fruitfull cares,
Nor can she reare the goodly stalke she beares,
Vnlesse bestrow'd upon a mould of earth,
And made more glorious by a second birth:
So man, before his wisedome can bring forth
The brave exploits of truly noble worth,
Or hope the granting of his sinnes remission,
He must be humbl'd first in sad contrition.
The plant (through want of skill, or by neglect)
If it be planted from the Sunnes reflect,
Or lacke the dew of seasonable showres,
Decayes, and beareth neither fruit, nor flowres:
So wretched Man, if his repentance hath
No quickning Sun-shine of a liuely Faith,
Or not bedew'd with showres of timely teares,
Or workes of mercy (wherein Faith appeares)
His prayers and deeds, and all his forced groanes,
Are like the howles of dogs, and works of Drones,
The wise Chirurgeon, first (by letting blood)
Weakens his Patient, ere he does him good;
Before the Soule can a true comfort finde,
The body must be prostrate, and the minde
Truly repentive, and contrite within.
And loathe the fawning of a bosome sin.

But Lord! Can Man deserve? Or can his best
Doe Iustice equall right, which he transgrest?

When Dust and Ashes mortally offends,
Can Dust and Ashes make eternall mends?
Is Heaven unjust? Must not the recompence
Be full equivalent to the offence?
What mends by mortall Man can then be given
To the offended Majesty of Heaven?

O Mercy! Mercy! on thee my Soule relyes,
On thee we build our Faith, we bend our eyes;
Thou fill'st my empty strain, thou fill'st my tongue;
Thou art the subject of my Swan-like song;
Like pinion'd pris'ners at the dying tree,
Our lingring hopes attend and wait on thee;
(Arrain'd at Iustice barre) prevent our doome;
To thee with joyfull hearts wee cheerly come;
Thou art our Clergy; Thou that dearest Booke,
Wherein our fainting eyes desire to looke;
In thee, we trust to read (what will release us)
In bloody Characters, that name of Iesvs.

What shall we then returne the God of heaven?
Where nothing is (Lord) nothing can be given;
Our soules, our bodies, strength, and all our pow'rs,
(Alas!) were all too little, were they ours:
Or shall wee burne (untill our life expires)
An endlesse Sacrifice in Holy fires?

My Sacrifice shall bee my Heart intire,
My Christ the Altar, and my Zeale the Fire.

Sect 11.

The Argvment.

The Prophet discontented prays;
To God, that he would end his dayes;
God blames his wrath so unreprest,
Reproves his unadvis'd request.

Bvt this displeasing was in Ionah's eyes,
His heart grew hot, his blood began to rise,
His eyes did sparkle, and his teeth strucke fire,
His veines did boyle, his heart was full ire:
At last brake forth into a strange request.
These words he pray'd, and mumbl'd out the rest;

Was not, O was not this my thought (O Lord)
Before J fled? Nay was not this my word,
The very word, my jealous language vented,
When this mis-hap might well have beene prevented?
Was there, O was there not a just suspect,
My preaching would procure this effect?
For Lord, I knew of old, thy tender love;
I knew the pow'r, thou gav'st my tongue, would move
Their Adamantine hearts; I knew 'twould thaw
Their frozen spirits and breed relenting awe;
I knew (great God) upon their true repentance,
That thou determin'dst to reverse thy sentence;
For well I knew, thou wert a gracious God,
Of long forbearance, slow to use the Rod;
I knew, the power of thy Mercies bent
The strength of all thy other workes outwent;
I knew thy tender kindnesse, and how loath
Thou wert to punish, and how slow to wrath;

Turning thy Judgements, and thy plagues preventing,
Thy minde reversing, and of ev'll repenting:
Therefore (O therefore) upon this perswasion,
I fled to Tarshish, there to make evasion,
To save thy credit (Lord) to save mine owne:
For when this blast of zeale is over-blowne,
And sackcloth left, and they surcease to mourne,
When they (like dogs) shall to their vomit turne,
They'll vilipend thy Sacred Word, and scoffe it,
Saying, was that a God, or this a Prophet?
They'll scorne thy judgements, and thy threats despise,
And call thy Prophets, Messengers of lyes.

Now therefore (Lord) bow downe attentive eare,
(For ah my burthen's more than flish can beare)
Make speed (O Lord) and banish all delayes,
T'extinguish now the Taper of my dayes:
Let not the minutes of my time extend,
But let my wretched houres finde an end;
Let not my fainting spirits longer stay
Jn thu fraile mansion of distempered clay:
The threds but weake, my life depends upon,
O, cut that thred, and let my life be done;
My brest stands faire, strike then, and strike againe,
For nought but dying can asswage my paine:
O may I rather dye, than live in shame;
Better it is to leave, and yeeld the game,
Than toyle for what, at length, must needs be lost,
O, kill me, for my heart is sore imbost:
This latter boone unto thy servant give;
For better 'tis for me, to dye than live.

So wretched Ionah: But Iehovah thus;
What boot's it so to storme outragious:
Becomes it thus my servants heart to swell:
Can anger helpe thee, Ionah? dost thou well?

Medita. 12.

How poore a thing is mā! How vain's his mind!
How strāge, how base! & wav'ring like the wind
How uncouth are his wayes! how full of danger!
How to himselfe, is hee himselfe a stranger!
His heart's corrupt, and all his thoughts are vaine,
His actions sinfull, and his words prophane,
His will's deprav'd, his senses are beguil'd,
His reason's darke, his members all defil'd,
His hasty feet are swift and prone to ill,
His guilty hands are ever bent to kill.
His tongue's a spunge of venome, (or of worse)
Her practice is to sweare, his skill to curse;
His eyes are fire-bals of lustfull fire,
And outward helps to inward foule desire,
His body is a well erected station,
But full of folly and corrupted passion:
Fond love; and raging lust; and foolish feares;
Griefes overwhelmed with immoderate teares;
Excessive joy; prodigious desire,
Vnholy anger, red and hot as fire;
These daily clog the soule, that's fast in prison,
From whose encrease this lucklesse brood is risen,
Respectlesse pride, and lustfull idlenesse,
Base ribbauld talke, and loathsome drunkennesse,
Faithlesse Despaire, and vaine Curiosity;
Both false, yet double-tongu'd Hypocrisie;
Soft flattery, and haughty-ey'd Ambition;
Heart-gnawing Hatred, and squint-ey'd Suspition,
Selfe-eating Envy, envious Detraction,
Hopelesse distrust, and too-too sad Dejection;
Revengefull Malice, hellish Blasphemy,
Idolatry, and light Inconstancy;

Daring Presumption, wry-mouth'd Derisson,
Damned Apostasie, Fond superstition,

What heedfull watch? Ah what continuall ward?
How great respect, and howerly regard,
Stands man in hand to have; when such a brood
Of furious hel-hounds seeke to suck his blood?
Day, night, and hower, they rebell and wrastle,
And never cease, till they subdue the Castle.

How slight a thing is man? how fraile and brittle?
How seeming great is he? How truly little?
Within the bosome of his holiest works,
Some hidden Embers of old Adam lurkes,
Which oftentimes in men of purest wayes,
Burst out in flame, and for a season blaze

Lord, teach our hearts, and give our soules directions,
Subdue our passions, curb our stout affections,
Nip thou the bud, before the bloome begins:
Lord, shield thy servants from presumptuous sins.

Sect. 12.

The Argvment.

A Booth for shelter Ionah made;
God sent a Gourd for better shade;
But by the next approching light,
God sent a Worme consum'd it quite.

So Ionah (sore opprest, and heavie-hearted)
From out the Cities circuit straight departed,
Departed to the Easterne borders of it,
Where sicke with anguish sate this sullen Prophet;
He built a Booth, and in the Booth he sate,
(Vntill some few dayes had expir'd their date

With over-tedious pace) where he might see,
What would betide to threatned Nineveh.

A trunke that wanteth sap, is soone decay'd;
The slender Booth of boughes and branches made,
Soone yeelding to the Sun's consuming Ray,
Crumbled to dust, and early dry'd away:
Whereat, the great Iehovah spake the word,
And over Ionah's head there sprang a Gourd,
Whose roots were fixt within the quickning earth,
Which gave it nourishment, as well as birth;
God raised up a Gourd, a Gourd should last,
Let winde, or scorching Sun, or blow or blast:

As coales of fier rak'd in embers lye
Obscure, and undiscerned by the eye;
But being stirr'd, regaine a glimm'ring light,
Revive, and glow, burning afresh and bright;
So Ionah' gan to cheere through this reliefe,
And joyfull was, devoyded all his griefe;
He joy'd to see that God had not forgot
His drooping servant, and forsooke him not;
He joy'd, in hope the Gourds strange wonder will
Perswade the people, hee's a Prophet still;
The fresh aspect did much refresh his sight;
The herball savour gave his sense delight;
Thus Ionah much delighted in his Gourd,
Enjoy'd the pleasures that it did affoord.

But, Lord! what earthly thing can long remaine?
How momentany are they! and how vaine!
How vaine is earth, that man's delighted in it!
Her pleasures rise, and vanish in a minit:
How fleeting are the joyes, we finde below,
Whose tides (uncertaine) oftner ebbe than flow!
For see! this Gourd (that was so faire, and sound)
Is quite consum'd, and eaten to the ground;

No sooner Titan had up-heav'd his head,
From off the pillow of his Saffron bed,
But heav'n prepar'd a silly, silly worme,
(Perchance brought thither by an Eastern storme)
The worme that must obey, and well knew how,
Consum'd the Gourd, nor left it root, nor bough;
Consum'd it straight within a minutes space,
Left nought, but (sleeping) Ionas in the place.

Medit. 12.

The pleasures of the world, (which soon abate)
Are lively Emblemes of our owne estate,
Which (like a Banquet at a Fun'rall show)
But sweeten griefe, and serve to flatter woe.

Pleasure is fleeting still, and makes no stay,
It lends a smile or twaine, and steales away:

Man's life is fickle, full of winged haste,
It mockes the sense with joy and soone does waste:

Pleasure does crown thy youth, & luls thy wants;
But (sullen age approaching) straight avaunts:

Man's life is joy, and sorrow seekes to banish,
It doth lament and mourne in age, and vanish.

The time of pleasure's like the life of Man;
Both joyfull, both contained in a span;
Both highly priz'd, and both on sudden lost,
When most we trust them, they deceive us most;
What fit of madnesse makes us love them thus?
We leave our lives, and pleasure leaveth us:
Why, what is pleasure? But a golden dreame,
Which (waking) makes our wāts the more extreme?
And what is Life? A bubble full of care,
Which (prickt by death) straight empties into ayre:

The flowers (clad in farre more rich aray,
Than e're was Salomon) doe soone decay;
What thing more sweet, or fairer then a flowre?
And yet it bloomes, and fades within an houre;
What greater pleasure then a rising Sun?
Yet is this pleasure every evening done:
But thou art heyre to Crœsus, and thy treasure
Being great, and endlesse, endlesse is thy pleasure;
But thou (thou Crœsus heyre) consider must,
Thy wealth, and thou, came from, and goes to dust;
Another's noble, and his name is great,
And takes his place vpon a lofty seat;
True 'tis, but yet his many wants are such,
That better 'twere he were not knowne so much.
Another binds his soule in Hymens knot,
His Spouse is chast, unblemisht with a spot,
But yet his comfort is bedasht, and done,
His grounds are stockt, and now he wants a sonne.

How fickle and unconstant's Mans estate!
Man fain would have, but then he knows not what;
And having, rightly knowes not how to prize it,
But like that foolish Dunghill-cock imployes it;
But who desires to live a life content,
Wherein his Cruze of joy shall ne're be spent,
With fierce pursuit, let him that good desire,
Whose date no change, no fortune can expire.
For that's not worth the craving, to obtaine
A happinesse, that must be lost againe;
Nor that, which most doe covet most, is best;
Best are the goods, mixt with contented rest;
Gasp not for honour, wish no blazing glory,
For these will perish in an ages story;
Nor yet for power; power may be carv'd
To fooles, as well as thee, that hast deserv'd.

Thirst not for Lands nor Money; with for none,
For wealth is neither lasting, nor our owne:
Riches are faire inticements to deceive us;
They flatter, while we live, and dying, leave us.

Sect. 13.

The Argvment.

Ionas desires to die, the Lord
Rebukes him, he maintaines his word,
His anger hee doth justifie,
God pleads the cause for Ninevie:

When ruddy Phœbus had with morning light
Subdu'd the East, & put the stars to flight,
Heav'ns hand prepar'd a fervent Easterne winde,
Whose drought together with the Sun combin'd,
The one as bellowes blowing t'others fire,
With strong united force, did both conspire
To make assault upon the fainting head
Of helplesse Ionah, that was well nye dead,
Who turning oft, and tossing to and fro,
(As they that are in torments use to doe)
And (restlesse) finding no successe of ease,
But rather that his tortures still encrease;
His secret passion to his soule betraid,
Craving no sweeter boone then death, and said,
O kill me (Lord) or loe, my heart will rive;
For better 'tis for me to dye than live.

So said, The Lord did interrupt his passion,
And said, How now, is this a seemely fashion?
Doth it become my servants heart to swell?
Can anger helpe thee? Ionah, dost thou well?

Js this a fit speech? or a well-plac'd word?
What, art thou angry (Ionah) for a Gourd?
What, if th'Arabians with their ruder traine,
Had kild thine Oxen, and thy Cattell slaine?
What if consuming fier (falne from heaven)
Had all thy servants of their lives bereaven,
And burnt thy sheepe? What, if by strong oppression
The Chaldees had usurp'd unjust possession
Vpon thy Camels? Or had Boreas blowne
His full-mouth'd blast, and cast thy houses downe,
And slaine thy sonnes amid their jollities?
Or hadst thou lest thy Vineyard full of trees?
Hadst thou beene ravisht of thine onely Sheepe,
That in thy tender bosome us'd to sleepe?
How would thine hasty spirit then bin stirr'd,
Jf thou art angry, Ionah, for a Gourd?
To which, thus Ionah vents his idle breath,
Lord, I doe well to vexe unto the death;
I blush not to acknowledge, and professe
Deserved rage, I'm angry, I confesse;
'Twould make a spirit that is thorow frozen,
To blaze like flaming Pitch, and fry like Rozen:
Why dost thou aske that thing that thou canst tell?
Thou know'st I'm angry', and it beseemes me well.

So said; the Lord to Ionah thus respake;
Doest thou bemoane, and such compassion take
Vpon a Gourd, whose seed thou didst not sow,
Nor mov'd thy busie hands to make it grow,
Whose beauty, small; and value was but slight,
Which sprang, as also perisht in a night?
Hadst thou (O dust and ashes) such a care,
Such in-bred pitty, a trifling plant to spare?
Hadst thou, (O hard and incompassionate,
To wish the razing of so brave a State)

Hadst thou (I say) compassion to bewaile
The extirpation of a Gourd so fraile?
And shall not I (that am the Lord of Lords)
Whose Fountain's never dry, but still affords
Sweet streames of mercy, with a fresh supply,
To those that thirst for grace: What shall not I,
(That am the God of mercy, and have sworne
To pardon sinners, when soc're they turne?
(I say) shall J disclaime my wonted pitty,
And bring to ruine such a goodly City,
Whose hearts (so truely penitent) implore me,
Who day and night powre forth their soules before me?
Shall I destroy the mighty Ninevie,
Whose people are like sands about the Sea?
'Mong which are sixe score thousand Babes (at least)
That hang upon their tender Mothers brest,
Whose pretty smiles could never yet descry
The deare affection of their mothers eye?
Shall I subvert, and bring to desolation
A City, (nay, more aptly term'd a Nation)
Whose walls boast lesse their beauty than their might?
Whose hearts are sorrowfull, and soules contrite?
Whose Infants are in number, so amounting?
And beasts, and cattell endlesse, without counting?
What, Ionah, shall a Gourd so move thy pity?
And shall not I spare such a goodly Citie?

Meditatio ultima.

My heart is full, my vent is too too straight;
My tongue's too trusty to my poore conceit,
My mind's in labour, and finds no redresse;
My heart conceives, my lips cannot expresse;

My organs suffer, through a maine defect;
Alas! I want a proper Dialect,
To blazon forth the tythe of what I muse;
The more I meditate, the more accrewes;
But lo, my faultring tongue must say no more,
Vnlesse she step where she hath trod before.
What? shall I then be silent? No, Ile speake
(Till tongue be tyred, and my lungs be weake)
Of dearest mercy, in as sweet a straine,
As it shall please my Muse to lend a vaine;
And when my voice shall stop within her source,
And speech shall faulter in this high Discourse,
My tyred tongue (unsham'd) shall thus extend,
Onely to name; Deare Mercy, and so end.

Oh high Imperiall King, heavens Architect!
Is Man a thing befitting thy respect?
Lord, thou art Wisedome, and thy wayes are holy,
But Man's polluted, full of filch, and folly;
Yet is he (Lord) the fabricke of thy hand,
And in his Soule he beares thy glorious Brand,
Howe're defaced with the rust of Sin,
Which hath abus'd thy stamp, and eaten in;
'Tis not the frailty' of Mans corrupted nature,
Makes thee asham'd t'acknowledge Man thy Creature;
But like a tender Father, here on earth,
(Whose Childe by nature, or abortive birth,
Doth want that sweet and favourable relish,
Wherewith, her creatures, Nature doth imbelish)
Respects him nerethelesse; even so thy Grace
(Great God) extends to Man; though sin deface
The glorious pourtraiture that man doth beare,
Whereby he loath'd and ugly doth appeare,
Yet thou, (within whose tender bowels are
Deepe gulfes of Mercy, sweet beyond compare)

Regard'st, and lov'st (with rev'rence be it said)
Nay seem'st to dote on Man; when he hath straid,
Lord, thou hast brought him to his Fold againe;
When he was lost, thou didst not then disdaine
To thinke upon a vagabond, and give
Thy dearest Sonne to dye, that he might live.
How poore a mite art thou content withall,
That Man may scape his downe-approching fall?
Though base we are, yet thou dost not abhorre us,
But (as our Story speaks) art pleading for us,
To save us harmelesse from our Foe-mans jawes;
Art thou turn'd Orator to plead our cause?

How are thy Mercies full of admiration!
How soveraigne! how sweet's their application!
Fatning the Soule with sweetnesse, and repayring
The rotten ruines of a Soule despairing.

Lo here (Malfido) is a Feast prepar'd;
Fall to with courage, and let nought be spar'd;
Tast freely of it, Here's no Misers Feast;
Eate what thou canst, and pocket-up the rest:
These precious Viands are Restoritie,
Eate then; and if the sweetnesse make thee drie,
Drinke large Carouses out of Mercies Cup,
The best lies in the bottome, Drinke all up:
These Cates are sweet Ambrosia to thy Soule,
And that which fills the brim of Mercies bowle,
Is dainty Nectar; Eate and drinke thy fill;
Spare not the one, nor yet the other spill;
Provide in time: Thy Banquet is begun,
Lay up in store against the Feast be done:
For loe, the time of banquetting is short,
And once being done, the world cannot restor't;
It is a feast of Mercy, and of Grace;
It is a Feast for all, or high, or base:

A feast for him that begs upon the way,
As well for him that does the Scepter sway;
A feast for him that howerly bemoanes
His dearest sins, with sighs, and teares and groanes;
A feast for him, whose gentle heart reformes;
A feast for Men; and so a Feast For Wormes.

Deare liefest Lord, that feast'st the World with grace,
Extend thy bounteous hand, thy glorious face:
Bid ioyfull welcome to thy hungry guest,
That we may praise the Master of the Feast;
And in thy mercy grant this boone to mee,
That I may dye to sinne, and live to thee.

FINIS.

S. Ambrose.

Misericordia est plenitudo omnium virtutum.

THE GENERALL VSE OF this History.

When as the ancient world did all imbark
Within the compass of good Noahs Arke,
Forth to the new-washt earth a Dove was sent,
Who in her mouth return'd an Olive plant,
Which in a silent language this related:
How that the waters were at length abated,
Those swelling waters, is the wrath of God,
And like the Dove, are Prophets sent abroad;
The Olive-leafe's a joyfull Type of peace,
A faithfull signe Gods vengeance doth decrease;

They salve the wounded heart, and make it whole,
They bring glad tydings to the drooping soule,
Proclaiming grace to them that thirst for Grace,
Mercy to those that Mercy will embrace.

Malfido, thou, in whose distrustfull brest
Despaire hath brought in sticks to build her nest,
Where she may safely lodge her lucklesse brood,
To feed upon thy heart, and sucke thy blood,
Beware betimes, lest custome and permission
Prescribe a title, and so claime possession.

Despairing man, whose burthen makes thee stoop
Vnder the terror of thy sinnes, and droop
Through dull despaire, whose too too sullen griefe
Makes heav'n unable to apply reliefe;
Whose eares are dull'd with noyse of whips and chaines;
And yels of damned soules, through tort'red pains,
Come here, and rouze thy selfe, unseele those eyes,
Which sad Despaire clos'd up; Arise, Arise,
And goe to Nineveh, the worlds great Palace,
Earths mighty wonder, and behold the Ballace,
And burthen of her bulke, is nought but sin,
Which (wilfull) she commits, and wallowes in;
Behold her Images, her fornications,
Her crying sinnes, her vile abominations;
Behold the guiltlesse blood that she did spill,
Like Spring-tides in the streets, and reeking still:
Behold her scorching lusts, and taint desier
Like sulph'rous Ætna, blaze, and blaze up higher;
She rapes, and rends, and theeves, & there is none
Can justly call the thing he hath, his owne;
That sacred Name of God, that Name of wonder,
In stead of worshipping, she teares in sunder;
She's not enthrall'd to this Sin, or another,
But like a Leper's all infected over;

Not onely sinfull, but in sinnes subjection,
Shee's not infected, but a meere infection.

No sooner had the Prophet (Heav'ns great Spy)
Begun an onset to his lowder Cry,
But she repented, sigh'd, and wept, and tore
Her curious hayre, and garments that she wore,
She sate in ashes, and with Sack-cloth clad her,
All drencht in brine, that griefe cannot be sadder;
She calls a Fast, proclames a prohibition
To man and beast; (sad tokens of contrition)

No sooner pray'd, but heard; No sooner groan'd,
But pittied; No sooner griev'd but moan'd;
Timely Repentance speedy grace procur'd,
The sore that's salvd in time, is eas'ly cur'd:
No sooner had her trickling teares ore-flowne
Her blubber'd cheeks, but heav'n was apt to mone
Her pensive heart, wip'd her suffused eyes,
And gently strok'd her cheekes, and bid her rise;
No faults were seene, as if no fault had bin,
Deare Mercy made a Quittance for her sin.

Malfido, rouze thy leaden spirit, bestirre thee;
Hold up thy drouzy head, here's comfort for thee
What if thy zeale be frozen hard? What then?
Thy Saviours blood will thaw that frost agen:
Thy pray'rs that should be fervent, hot as fier,
Proceed but coldly from a dull desier;
What then? Grieve inly, But do not dismay,
Who heares thy pray'rs, will give thee strength to pray:
Though left a while, thou art not quite giv'n ore,
Where Sinne abounds, there Grace aboundeth more:
This, this is all the good that I can doe thee,
To ease thy griefe, I here commend unto thee
A little booke, but a great Mystery,
A great delight, A little History;

A little branch slipt from a saving tree,
But bearing fruit as great, as great mought be;
A small abridgement of thy Lords great love;
A message sent from heaven by a Dove:
It is a heavenly Lecture, that relates
To Princes, Pastors, People, all Estates
Their sev'rall duties.

Peruse it well, and binde it to thy brest,
The rests the Cause of thy defect of rest:
But read it often, or else read it not:
Once read, is not observ'd, and soone forgot,
Nor is't enough to read, but understand,
Or else thy tongue, for want of wit's prophan'd,
Nor is't enough to purchase knowledge by it;
Salve heales no sore, unlesse the party' apply it;
Apply it then; which if thy flesh restraines,
Strive what thou canst, & pray for what remaines.

The particular Application.

Then thou, that art opprest with sad Despaire,
Here shalt thou see the strong effect of pray'r:
Then pray with faith, & (fervent) without ceasing
(Like Iacob) wrestle, till thou get a blessing.

Here shalt thou see the type of Christ thy Saviour;
Then let thy suits be through his name and favour.

Here shalt thou finde repentance and true griefe
Of sinners like thy selfe, and their beliefe;
Then suit thy griefe to theirs, and let thy soule
Cry mightily, untill her wounds be whole.

Here shalt thou see the meeknesse of thy God,
Who on Repentance turnes, and burnes the Rod;
Repents of what he purpos'd, and is sorry;
Here may ye heare him stoutly pleading for ye:

Then thus shall be thy meed, if thou repent,
In stead of plagues and direfull punishment,
Thou shalt find mercy, love, and Heav'ns applause,
And God of Heav'n (himselfe) will plead thy cause.

Here hast thou thē compil'd within this treasure;
First, the Almighties high and just displeasure
Against foule sinne, or such as sinfull be,
Or Prince, or poore, or high or low degree.

Here is descri'd the beaten Road to Faith:

Here maist thou see the force that Preaching hath

Here is describ'd in (briefe but) full expression,
The nature of a Convert, and his passion:
His sober Dyet, which is thin and spare;
His clothing, which is Sack-cloth; and his Prayre
Not faintly sent to heaven, nor sparingly,
But piercing, fervent, and a mighty cry:

Here maist thou see how Pray'r, & true repētance
Do strive with God, prevaile, and turn his sentence
From strokes to stroking, & from plagues infernall;
To boundlesse Mercies, and to life Eternall.

Till Zephyr lend my Barke a second Gale,
I slip mine Anchor, and I strike my saile.

FINIS.

O dulcis Salvator Mundi! ultima verba quæ tu dixisti in Cruce, sint ultima mea verba in Luce; & quando am plius effari non possum, exaudi tu cordis mei desiderium.

A Hymne to God.

Who gives me then an Adamantine quill?
A marble tablet? And a Davids skill?
To blazon forth the praise of my deare Lord
In deepe-grav'n Characters, upon record
To last, for times eternall processe, suer,
So long, as Sunne, and Moone, and Starres endure:
Had I as many mouthes, as Sands there are,
Had I a nimble tongue for every Starre,
And every word I speake, a Character,
And every minutes time ten Ages were,
To chaunt forth all thy prayse it no'te availe,
For tongues, & words, and time and all would faile:
Much lesse can I, poore Weakling, tune my tongue,
To take a taske befits an Angels song;
Sing what thou canst; when thou canst'sing no more
Weepe then as fast, that thou canst sing no more,
Beblurre thy booke with teares, and go thy wayes,
For every blurre will prove a booke of prayse.
Thine eye that viewes the moving Spheares above
Let it give praise to him that makes them move:
Thou riches hast; Thy hands that hold, & have them,
Let them give praise to him, that freely gave them:
Thine armes defend thee; then for recompence,
Let them praise him, that gave thee such defence:
Thy tongue was given to praise thy Lord, the Giver;
Then, let thy tongue praise highest God for ever:
Faith comes by hearing, & thy Faith will save thee;
Thē let thine ears prais him that hearing gave thee:
Thy heart is beg'd by him whose hands did make it,
My Sonne, Give me thy Heart; Lord, freely take it:
Eyes, bands, and armes, tongues, eares and hearts of men
Sing praise, and let the people say, Amen.

Tune you your Instruments, and let them vary,
Praise him upon them in his Sanctuary,
Praise him within the highest Firmament,
Which shewes his Power, and his Government;
Praise him for all his mighty Acts are knowne,
And suit thy praises to his high Renowne,
Praise him with Trump victorious, shrill, & sharpe,
With Psaltry lowd, and many-stringed Harpe,
With sounding Timbrell, and the warbling Flute,
With (Musicks full Interpreter) the Lute;
Praise him upon the Maiden Virginalls,
Vpon the Clerick Organs, and Cymballs,
Vpon the sweet Majestick Vyalls touch,
Double your joyes, and let your prayse be such;
Let all, in whom is life and breath, give praise
To heav'ns eternall God, in endlesse dayes;
Let every Soule, to whom a voyce is given,
Sing Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord of Heaven;
For loe, a Lambe is found, that undertooke
To break the seven-fold-Seale, & ope the Booke.

O let my life adde number to my dayes,
To shew thy glory, and to sing thy praise;
Let every minute in thy praise be spent,
Let every head be bare, and knee be bent
To thee (deare Lambe,)! Who ere thy praises hide,
Clos'd be his Lippes, and tongue for ever ty'de.

Hallelujah.

Gloria Deo in excelsis.

ELEVEN PIOVS Meditations.

1. [VVithin the holy Legend I discover]

VVithin the holy Legend I discover
Three speciall Attributes of God; his Power,
His Iustice, and his Mercy, All uncreated,
Eternall all, and all unseparated
From Gods pure Essence, and from thence proceeding;
All very God, All perfect, All exceeding:
And from that selfe-same text three names I gather
Of great Iehova; Lord, and God, and Father;
The first denotes him mounted on his Throne,
In Power, Majesty, Dominion;
The second shewes him on his kingly Bench,
Rewarding Evill with equall punishments;
The third describes him on his Mercy-seat,
Full great in Grace; and in his Mercy, great;

All three I worship, and before all three
My heart shall humbly prostrate, with my knee;
But in my private choice, I fancy rather,
Then call him Lord, or God, to call him Father.

2. [In hell no Life, in heaven no Death there is]

In hell no Life, in heaven no Death there is,
In earth both Life and Death, both Bale and Blis;
In Heaven's all Life, no end, nor new supplying;
In hell's all Death, and yet there is no dying;
Earth (like a partiall Ambidexter) doth
Prepare for Death, or Life, prepares for both;

Who lives to sinne, in Hell his portion's given,
Who dyes to sinne, shall after live in Heaven.

Though Earth my Nurse be, Heaven, bee thou my Father;
Ten thousand deaths let me endure rather
Within my Nurses armes, then One to Thee;
Earths honour with thy frownes is death to mee:
I live on Earth, as on a Stage of sorrow;
Lord, if thou pleasest, end the Play to morrow:
I live on Earth, as in a Dreame of pleasure,
Awake me when thou wilt, I wait thy leisure:
I live on Earth, but as of life bereaven,
My life's with thee, for (Lord) thou art in Heaven.

3. [Nothing that e'r was made was made for nothing]

Nothing that e'r was made was made for nothing
Beasts for thy food, their skins were for thy clothing.
Flowers for thy smell, and hearbs for Cure good
Trees for thy shade, Their Fruit for pleasing Food:
The showers fall upon the fruitfull ground,
Whose kindly Dew makes tender Grasse abound,
The Grasse springs forth for beasts to feed upon,
And Beasts are food for Man: but Man alone
Is made to serve his Lord in all his wayes,
And be the Trumpet of his Makers praise:

Let Heav'n be then to me obdure as brasse,
The Earth as iron, unapt for graine or grasse,
Then let my Flocks consume, and never steed mee,
Let pinching Famine want wherewith to feed mee,
When I forget to honour thee, (my Lord)
Thy glorious Attributes, thy Workes, thy Word.
O let the Trump of thine eternall Fame,
Teach us to answer, Hallow'd be thy Name.

4. [God built the World, and all that therein is]

God built the World, and all that therein is
He framed, yet how poere a part is his?
Quarter the Earth, and see, how small a rome
Is stiled with the name of Christendome;
The rest (through blinded ignorance) rebels,
O're-runne with Pagans, Turkes, and Infidels:
Nor yet is all this little quarter his,
For (though all know him) halfe know him amisse,
Professing Christ for lucre, (as they list)
And serve the triple Crowne of Antichrist;
Yet is this little handfull much made lesser,
There's many Libertines, for one Professour:
Nor doe Professours all professe aright,
'Mong whom there often lurks an Hypocrite.

O where, and what's thy Kingdome (blessed God)
Where is thy Scepter? where's thine iron Rod?
Reduce thy reck'nings to their totall summe,
O let thy Power, and thy kingdome come.

5. [Man in himselfe's a little World, Alone]

Man in himselfe's a little World, Alone,
His Soul's the Court, or high Imperiall throne
Wherein as Empresse sits the Vnderstanding
Gently directing, yet with awe Commanding:
Her Handmaid's will: Affections, Maids of Honour,
All following close, and duely waiting on her:
But Sin, that alwayes envi'd mans Condition,
Within this Kingdome raised up Division;

Withdrawne the Will, and brib'd the false Affection,
That This, no order hath; nor That Election;
The Will proves Traitor to the Vnderstanding;
Reason hath lost her power, and left commanding,
She's quite depos'd, and put to foule disgrace,
And Tyrant Passion now usurps her place.

Vouchsafe (Lord) in this little World of mine
To raigne, that I may raigne with Thee in thine:
And since my Will is quite of good bereaven,
Thy will be done in earth, as 'tis in Heaven.

6 [Who live to sin, are all but theeves to heavē]

Who live to sin, are all but theeves to heavē
And Earth; They steale frō God, & take ungivē,
Good men they rob, & such as live upright,
And (being bastards) share the freemans Right:
They're all as owners, in the owners stead,
And (like to Dogs) devoure the childrens bread;
They have, and Iacke, and want that they possesse,
Vnhappy most, in their most happinesse:
They are not goods, but riches, that they wast,
And not be'ng goods, to ev'ls they turne at last.

(Lord) what I have, let me enjoy in thee,
And thee in it, or else take it from mee;
My store or want, make thou, or fade, or flourish,
So shall my comforts neither change, nor perish;
That little I enjoy, (Lord) make it mine,
In making mee (that am a Sinner) thine;
'Tis thou or none, that shall supply my need,
Great God, Give us this day our daily bread.

7. [The quick conceited Schoole-men doe approve]

The quick conceited Schoole-men doe approve
A difference 'twixt Charity and Love:
Love is a vertue, whereby we explaine
Our selves to God, and God to us againe:
But Charitie's imparted to our Brother,
Whereby we trafficke, one man with another:
The first extends to God; The last belongs
To Man, in giving right, and bearing wrongs;
In number, they are twaine, In vertue one;
For one not truely being, t'other's none.

In loving God, if I neglect my Neighbour,
My love hath lost his proofe, and I my labour:
My Zeale, my Faith, my Hope, that never failes me,
(If Charity be wanting) nought a vailes me.

(Lord) in my Soule, a spirit of Love create me,
And I will love my Brother, if he hate me:
In nought but love, let me envy my betters;
And then, Forgive my debts, as I my detters.

8. [I finde a true resemblance in the growth]

I finde a true resemblance in the growth
Of Sin, and Man; Alike in breeding, both;
The Soul's the Mother, and the Devill, Syer;
Who lusting long in mutuall desier
Enjoy their Wils, and joyne in Copulation;
The Seed that fils her wombe, is foule Tentation;
The sinnes Conception, is the Soules consent;
And then it quickens, when it breeds content;

The birth of Sin is finisht in the action,
And Custome brings it to its full perfection.

O let my fruitlesse Soule be barren rather,
Then bring forth such a Child for such a Father:
Or if my Soule breed Sinne (not being wary)
Let not her wombe bring forth, or else miscarry;
She is thy Spouse (O Lord) doe thou advise her,
Keepe thou her chast, Let not the Fiend entice her:
Try thou my heart, Thy Trials bring Salvation.
But let me not be led into temptation.

9. [Fortune (that blinde supposed Goddesse) is]

Fortune (that blinde supposed Goddesse) is
Still rated at, if ought suceed amisse;
'Tis shee (the vaine abuse of Providence)
That beares the blame, whē others make th'offence;
When this mans barne finds not her wonted store,
Fortun's condemn'd, because she sent no more;
If this man dye, or that man live too long,
Fortun's accus'd, and she hath done the wrong;
Ah foolish Dolis and (like your Goddesse) blinde!
You make the fault, and call your Saint unkinde;
For when the cause of Ev'll begins in Man,
Th'effect ensues from whence the cause began;
Then know the reason of thy discontent,
Thy ev'll of Sinne, makes the Ev'll of punishment.

(Lord) hold me up, or spurre mee when I fall;
So shall my Ev'll bee just, or not at all:
Defend me from the World, the Flesh, the Devill,
And so thou shalt deliver me from Evill.

10. [The Priestly Skirts of A'rons holy coate]

The Priestly Skirts of A'rons holy coate
I kisse; and to my morning Muse devote:
Had never King, in any age, or Nation,
Such glorious Robes, set forth in such a fashion,
With Gold, and Gemmes, and Silks of Princely Dye,
And Stones befitting more than Majesty:
The Persian Sophies, and rich Shæba's Queene
Had n'er the like, nor e'r the like had seene;
Vpon the Skirts (in order as they fell)
First, a Pomegranat was, and then a Bell;
By each Pomegranat did a Bell appeare;
Many Pomegranats, many Bels there were;
Pomegranats nourish, Bels doe make a sound;
As blessings fall, Thanksgiving must rebound.

If thou wilt cloth my heart with A'rons tyer,
My tongue shall praise, as well as heart desier.
My tongue, and pen, shall dwell upon thy Story,
(Great God) for thine is Kingdome, Power, Glory.

11. [The Ancient Sophists, that were so precise]

The Ancient Sophists, that were so precise,
(and oftentimes (perchance) too curious nice)
Averre, that Nature hath bestow'd on Man,
Three perfect Soules: When this I truly scan,
Me thinks, their Learning swath'd in Errour, lyes;
They were not wise enough, and yet too wise;
Too curious wise, because they mention more
Then one; Not wise enough, because not foure;
Nature, not Grace, is Mistris of their Schooles;
Grace counts them wisest, that are veriest Fooles:

Three Soules in man? Grace doth a fourth allow,
The Soule of Faith: But this is Greeke to you:
'Tis Faith that makes man truly wise; 'Tis Faith
Makes him possesse that thing he never hath.

This Glorious Soule of Faith bestow on me,
(O Lord) or else take thou the other three:
Faith makes men lesse then Children, more then Men,
It makes the Soule cry Abba, and Amen.

The End.

PENTELOGIA.

Morstua, Mors Christi, Fraus Mundi, Gloria Cœli, Et Dolor Inferni, sunt meditanda tibi.

Thy death, the death of Christ, the worlds tētation; Heavens joy, hels torment, be thy meditation.

Mors tua 1.

Me thinkes, I see the nimble-aged Sire
Passe swiftly by, with feet unapt to tire,
Vpon his head an Hower-glasse he weares,
And in his wrinkled hand a Sythe he beares,
(Both Instruments, to take the lives from Men)
Th'one shewes with what, the other sheweth when.
Me thinkes I heare the dolefull Passing-bell,
Setting an onset on his louder knell;
(This moody musick of impartiall Death
Who dances after, dances out of breath.)
Me thinkes I see my dearest friends lament,
With sighs, and teares, and wofull dryriment,
My tender Wife, and Children standing by,
Dewing the Death-bed, whereupon I lie:
Me thinkes, I heare a voyce (in secret) say,
Thy glasse is runne, and thou must die to day.

Mors Christi. 2.

And am I here, and my Redeemer gone?
Can He be dead, and is not my life done?
Was he tormented in excesse of measure,
And doe I live yet? and yet live in pleasure?
Alas! could Sinners finde out ne're a one,
More fit than Thee, for them to spit upon?
Did thy cheekes entertaine a Traytors lips?
Was thy deare body scourg'd, and torne with whips?

So that the guiltlesse blood came trickling after?
And did thy fainting browes sweat blood and water?
Wert thou (Lord) hang'd upon the Cursed Tree?
O world of griefe! and was all this for me?

Burst forth, my teares, into a world of sorrow,
And let my nights of griefe finde ne're a morrow;
Since thou art dead (Lord) grant thy servant roome,
Within his heart, to build thy heart a Tombe.

Fraus Mundi. 3.

What is the World? a great exchange of ware,
Wherein all sorts, & sexes cheapning are,
The Flesh, the Devill sit, and cry, What lacke ye?
When most they fawn, they most intend to rack ye,
The wares, are cups of Joy, and beds of Pleasure,
Ther's goodly choice, down weight, & flowing measure;
A soul's the price, but they give time to pay,
Vpon the Death-bed, on the dying day.

Hard is the bargaine, and unjust the measure,
When as the price so much out-lasts the pleasure:
The joyes that are on earth, are counterfaits;
If ought be true, 'tis this, Th'are true deceits:
They flatter, fawne, and (like the Crocodile)
Kill where they laugh, and murther where they smile.
They daily dip within thy Dish, and cry,
Who hath betraid thee? Master, Is it I?

Gloria Cœli. 4.

VVhen I behold, and well advise upon
The Wisemans speech, There's nought beneath the Sun,
But vanity, my soule rebels within,
And lothes the dunghill prison she is in:
But when I looke to new Ierusalem,
Wherein's reserv'd my Crown, my Diadem,
O what a Heaven of blisse my Soule enjoyes,
On sudden rapt into that heaven of Ioyes!
Where ravisht (in the depth of meditation)
She well discernes, with eye of contemplation,
The glory' of God, in his Imperiall Seat,
Full strong in Might, in Majesty compleat,
Where troops of Powers, Vertues, Cherubims,
Angels, Archangels, Saints, and Seraphims,
Are chaunting prayses to their heavenly King,
Where Hallelujah they for ever sing.

Dolor Inferni. 5.

Let Poets please to torture Tantalus,
Let griping Vultures gnaw Prometheus,
And let poore Ixion turne his endlesse wheele,
Let Nemesis torment with whips of steele;
They far come short, t'expresse the paines of those
That rage in Hell, enwrapt in endlesse woes;
Where time no end, and plagues finde no exemption;
Where cryes admit no helpe, nor place redemption;

Where fier lacks no flame, the flame no heat,
To make their torments sharpe, and plagues compleat,
Where wretched Soules to tortures bound shall bee,
Serving a world of yeares, and not be Free;
Where nothing's heard but yells, and sudden cryes;
Where fier never flakes, nor Worme e're dyes:
But where this Hell is plac'd (my Muse) stop there;
Lord, shew me what it is, but never where.

Mors tua. 1.

Can he be faire, that withers at a blast?
Or he be strong, that ayery Breath can cast?
Can he be wise, that knowes not how to live?
Or hee be rich, that nothing hath to give?
Can he be young, that's feeble, weake, and wan?

So faire, strong, wise, so rich, so young is man:
So faire is Man, that Death (a parting Blast)
Blasts his faire flow'r, and makes him Earth at last;
So strong is Man, that with a gasping Breath
Hee totters, and bequethes his strength to Death;
So wise is Man, that if with Death he strive,
His wisedome cannot teach him how to live;
So rich is Man, that (all his Debts b'ing paid)
His wealth's the winding-sheet wherein he's laid:
So yong is Man, that (broke with care and sorrow)
He's old enough to day, to Dye to morrow:
Why brag'st thou thē, thou worm of five-foot long?
Th'art neither faire, nor strong, nor wise, nor rich, nor yong.

Mors Christi. 2.

I thurst ; and who shall quench this eager Thurst?
I grieve; and with my griefe my heart will burst;
I grieve, because I thurst without reliefe;
I thurst, because my Soule is burnt with griefe;
J thurst; and (dry'd with griefe) my heart will dye;
I grieve, and thurst the more, for Sorrow's dry:
The more I grieve, the more my thurst appeares:
Would God I had not griev'd out all my teares;
I thurst; and yet my griefes have made a Floud;
But teares are salt; I grieve, and thurst for blood;
I grieve for blood, for blood must send reliefe;
I thurst for blood, for blood must ease my griefe;
I thurst for sacred blood of a deare Lambe;
I grieve to thinke from whence that deare blood came;
'Twas shed for me, O let me drinke my fill,
Although my griefe remaine entier still:
O soveraigne pow'r of that Vermilian Spring,
Whose vertue, neither heart cōceives, nor tongue can sing.

Fraus Mundi. 3.

I love the World (as Clients love the Lawes)
To manage the uprightnesse of my Cause;
The World loves me, as Shepheards doe their flockes,
To rob, and spoile them of their fleecy lockes;
I love the World, and use it as mine Inne,
To bait, and rest my tyred carkeise in:

The World loves me: For what? To make her game;
For filthy sinne, she sels me timely shame;
She's like the Basiliske, by whose sharpe eyes
The living object, first discover'd, dyes;
Forth from her eyes empoysoned beames do burst
Dyes like a Basiliske, discerned first;
We live at jarres as froward Gamesters doe,
Still guarding, nor regarding others foe;
I love the World, to serve my turne, and leave her,
'Tis no deceit to coozen a Deceiver;
She'll not misse me; I, lesse the world shall misse,
To lose a world of griefe, t'enjoy a world of Blisse.

Gloria Cœli. 4.

Earth stands immov'd, and fixt; her situation
Admits no locall change, no alteration,
Heaven alway moves, renewing still his place,
And ever sees us with another Face;
Earth standeth fixt, yet there I live opprest;
Heaven alway mooves, yet there is all my rest:
Enlarge thy selfe, my Soule, with meditation,
Mount there, and there bespeake thy habitation;
Where joies are full, & pure, not mixt with mourning
All endlesse, and from which is no returning:
No theft, no cruell murther harbours there,
No hoary-headed-Care, no sudden Feare,
No pinching want, no (griping-fast) oppression,
Nor Death the stipend of our first transgression:
But dearest Friendship, Love, and lasting Pleasure,
Still there abides, without or stint, or measure;

Fulnesse of Riches, comfort sempeternall,
Excesse without a surfetting; And Life Eternall.

Dolor Inferni. 5.

The Trump shall blow, the dead (awak'd) shal rise,
And to the Clouds shall turn their wondring eies;
The heav'ns shal ope, the Bridegroom forth shal come,
To judge the World, and give the World her doome:
Joy to the Iust, to others endlesse smart;
To those the Voyce bids Come; to these, Depart;
Depart from Life, yet (dying) live for ever;
For ever dying be, and yet Dye never;
Depart like Dogs, with Devils take your lot;
Depart like Devils, for I know you not;
Like Dogs, like Devils goe, Goe howle and barke;
Depart in darknesse, for your deeds were darke;
Let roaring be your Musicke, and your Food
Be flesh of Vipers, and your drinke, their blood;
Let Fiends afflict you, with Reproach and Shame,
Depart, depart into Eternall Flame:
If Hell the Guerdon then of Sinners be,
(Lord give me Hell on earth, (Lord) give mee heav'n with thee.

------vv------vv------ Jam define Tibia versus.

FINIS.

Hadassa.

Conamur tenues, grandia; nec pudor,
Imbellisque Lyræ Musapotens vetat.
Horat. Ode 6.

THE INTRODVCTION.

When Zedechia (He whose haplesse hand
Once held the Scepter of Great Iudahs Land)
Went up the Palace of Proud Babylon,
(The Prince Serajah him attending on,)
A dreadfull Prophet, (from whose blasting breath
Came sudden death, and nothing else but death)
Into Serajah's peacefull hand betooke,
The sad Contents of a more dismall Booke:

Breake ope the leaves, those leaves so full of dread,
Read (sonne of thunder) said the Prophet, reade;
Say thus say freely thus, The Lord hath spoke it,
'Tis done, the world's unable to revoke it,
Woe, woe, and heavy woes ten thousand more
Betide great Babylon, that painted whore;
Thy buildings, and thy fensive Towers shall
Flame on a sudden, and to cinders fall,
None shall be left to waile thy griefe with Howles:
Thy streets shall peopl'd be with Bats and Owles:
None shall remaine to call thy places voyd,
None to possesse, nor ought to be enjoy'd;
Nought shall be left for thee to terme thine owne,
But helplesse ruines of a haplesse towne:

Said then the Prophet, When thy language hath
Empty'd thy Cheekes of this thy borrow'd Breath,
Close then the Booke, and binde a stone unto it,
That done, into the swift Euphrates throw it,
And let this following speech explane with all
The Hieroglyphicke of proud Babels fall.
Thus, thus shall Babel, Thus shall Babels glory,
Of her destruction leave a Tragick story:

Thus, thus shall Babell fall, and none relieve her,
Thus, thus shall Babel sinke, Thus sinke for ever.

And falne she is. Thus after-times made good
That sacred Prophesie, confirm'd in blood.
Great Royall Dreamer, where is now that thing
Thou so much vaunted'st of? where, O soveraigne King,
Is that great Babel, that was rais'd so high,
To shew the highnesse of thy Majesty?
Where is thy Royall off-spring to succeed
Thy Throne, and to preserve thy Princely seed
Till this time? Sleeping, how could'st thou foresee
That thing, which waking thou thoghtst ne'r would be?

And thou Belshazzar, (full of youthfull fire,
Vnlucky Grand-child to a lucklesse Syre)
On thee the sacred Oracles attended,
For with thy life, great Babels Kingdome ended:
What made thy Spirit tremble, and thy hayre
Bolt up? what made thee (fainting) gaspe for ayre?
A simple Word upon a painted Walk?
What's that to thee? If ought, what harme at all?
Could words affright thee? O preposterous wit,
To feare the writing, not the hand that writ!
The Hand that writ, it selfe (unseene) did shroud
Within the gloomy bosome of a Cloud;
The Hand that writ, was bent, (nor bent in vaine)
To part the Kingdome, and the King in twaine,
The Hand that writ, did write the sentence downe
And now stands armed to depose the Crowne;
The hand that writ, did threaten to translate
Thy Kingdome (Babel) to the Persian state:
Th'effect whereof did brooke no long delayes,
For when Belshazzar had spun out his dayes.
(Soone cut by that Avengers fatall knife,)
Proud Babels Empire ended with his life.

As when that rare Arabian Bird doth rest
Her bedrid carkase in her Spicy nest,
The quick-devouring fire of heaven consumes
The willing sacrifice in sweet perfumes,
From whose sad cinders (balm'd in fun'rall spices)
A second Phœnix (like the first) arises;
So from the Ruines of great Babels Seat;
The Medes and Persians Monarchy grew great:
For when Belshazzar, last of Babels Kings,
Yeelded to death, (the summe of mortall things)
Like earth-amazing thunder from above,
And lightning from the house of angry Iove,
Or like to billowes in th'Eubœan Seas,
Whose swelling, nought but shipwrack can appease,
So bravely came the fierce Darius on,
Marching with Cyrus into Babylon,
Two Armies Royall stoutly following,
The one was Medes, the other Persia's King:
As when the Harvester with bubling brow.
(Reaping the intrest of his painfull Plough,)
With crooked Sickle now a shock doth sheare,
A handfull here, and then a handfull there,
Not leaving, till he nought but stubble leave;
Here lies a new falne ranke, and there a sheave;
Even so the Persian Host it selfe bestur'd,
So fell great Babel by the Persian Sword,
Which warm with slaughter, & with blood imbru'd,
Ne'r sheath'd till wounded Babel fell subdu'd.

But see! These brave Ioynt-tenants that surviv'd
To see a little world of men unliv'd,
Must now be parted: Great Darius dyes,
And Cyrus shares alone the new-got prize;
He fights for Heaven, Heavens foe men he subdues:
He builds the Temple, he restores the Iewes,

By him was Zedechias force disjoynted,
Vnknowne to God he was, yet Gods Anointed;
But marke the malice of a wayward Fate;
He whom successe crown'd alwayes fortunate,
He that was strong t'atchieve, bold to attempt,
Wise to foresee, and wary to prevent,
Valiant in warre, successefull to obtaine,
Must now be slaine, and by a Woman slaine.

Accursed be thy sacrilegious hand;
That of her Patron tob'd the holy Land;
Curs'd be thy dying life, thy living death,
And curs'd be all things that proud Tomyris hath,

O worst that death can doe, to take a life,
Which (lost) leaves Kingdomes to a Tyrants knife:
For now, alas! degenerate Cambyses
(Whose hand was fill'd with blood, whose hart with vices)
Sits crowned King, to vexe the Persian state,
With heavy burdens, and with sore regrate.
O Cyrus, more unhappy in thy sonne,
Then in that stroke wherewith thy life was done!
Cambyses now fits King, now Tyrant (rather:)
(Vnlucky Sonne of a renowned Father)
Blood cries for Blood: Himselfe revenged hath
His bloody Tyranny with his owne death;
That cruell sword on his owne flesh doth feed,
Which made so many loyall Persians bleed,
Whose wofull choyce made an indiff'rent thing,
To leave their lives, or lose their Tyran King:
Cambyses dead, with him the latest drop
Of Cyrus blood was spilt, his death did stop
The infant source of his brave Syers worth,
Ere after-times could spend his rivers forth.

Tyrant Cambyses being dead and gone,
On the reversion of his empty Throne,

Mounts up a Magus with dissembled right,
Forging the name of him, whose greedy night
Too early did perpetuate her owne,
And silent death had snatcht away unknowne.
But when the tydings of his Royall cheat
Times loyall Trumpe had fam'd, th'usurped seat
Grew too-too hot, and longer could not beare
So proud a burthen on so proud a Chayre;
The Nobles sought their freedome to regaine,
Not resting till the Magi all were slaine;
And so renowned was that happy slaughter,
That it solemniz'd was for ever after;
So that what pen shall write the Persian story,
Shall treat that Triumph, & write that daies glory;
For to this time the Persians (as they say)
Observe a Feast, and keepe it holy-day;
Now Persia lacks a king, and now the State
Labours as much in want, as it of late
Did in abundance; Too great calmes doe harme
Sometimes as much the Sea-man, as a storme;
One while they thinke t'erect a Monarchy;
But that (corrupted) breeds a Tyranny,
And dead Cambyses, fresh before their eyes,
Afrights them with their new-scap'd miseries,
Some to the Nobles would commit the State,
In change of Rule, expecting change of fate;
Others cry'd, no; More Kings then one, incumber;
Better admit one Tyrant, than a number:
The rule of many doth disquiet bring;
One Monarch is enough, one Lord, one King:
One sayes, Let's rule our selves; let's all be Kings:
No, sayes another, that confusion brings;
Thus moderne danger bred a carefull trouble,
Double their care is, as their feare is double;

And doubtfull to resolve of what conclusion,
To barre confusion, thus they bred confusion;
At last (and well advis'd) they put their choyce
Vpon the verdict of a Iuries voyce;
Seven is a perfect number, then by seven,
Be Persia's Royall Crowne, and Scepter given;
Now Persia, doe thy plagues sor joyes commence;
God give thy Iurie sacred evidence:

Fearefull to chuse, and faithlesse in their choyce,
(Since weale or woe depended on their voyce,)
A few from many they extracted forth,
Whose even poys'd valour, and like equall worth
Had set a Non plus on their doubtfull tongues,
Vnweeting where the most reward belongs,
They this agreed, and thus (advis'd) bespake;

Since purblinde mortalls, of themselves, can make
No difference 'twixt good, and evill, nor know
A good from what is onely good in show,
But, with unconstant frailty, dath vary
From what is good, to what is cleane contrary;
And since it lyes not in the braine of man,
To make his drooping state more happy, than
His unprospitious stars allot, much lesse
To lend another, or a state successe,
Jn vaine you, therefore shall expect this thing,
That we should give you fortune, with a King:
Since you have made us meanes to propagate
The joyfull welfare of our beadlesse State,
(Bound by the tender service that we beare
Our native soyle, farre than our lives more deare,)
We sifted haue, and boulted from the Rest,
Whose worst admits no badnesse, and whose best
Cannot be bettered:
When Chaunticleere, (the Belman of the morne)

Shall summon twilight, with his bagle horne,
Let these brave Hero's, drest in warlike wise,
And richly mounted on their Palferies,
Attend our rising Sun-gods ruddy face,
Within the limits of our Royall place,
And he whose lusty Stallion first shall neigh,
To him be given the doubtfull Monarchy,
Thy choyce of Kings lies not in mortals breast,
This we; The Gods, and Fortune doe the rest.

So said, the people tickl'd with the motion,
Some tost their caps some fell to their devotion,
Some clap their joyfull hands, some shout, some sing,
And all at one cry'd out, A King, A King.

When Phœbus Harbinger had chac'd the night,
And tedious Phospher brought the breaking light,
Compleat in armes, and glorious in their traine,
Came these brave Heroes, prancing o're the plaine,
With mighty streamers came these blazing starres,
Portending Warres, (and nothing else but Warrs;
Into the royall Palace now they come:
There sounds the martiall Trump, here beats the Drum,
There stands a Steed, and champes his frothy steele
This stroaks the groūd, that scorns it with his heel;
One snorts, another puffs out angry wind;
This mounts, before; and that curvets, behind;

By this, the fomy Steeds of Phaeton
Puffe too, and spurne the Easterne Horizon:
Whereat the Nobles, prostrate to the ground,
Ador'd their God (their God was early found.)

Forthwith, from out the thickest of the crowd,
In depth of silence, there was heard the loud,
And lustfull language of Darius Horse,
Who in the dialect of his discourse,
Proclaim'd his rider King; whereat the rest

(Patient to beare what cannot be redrest)
Dismount their lofty steeds, and prostrate bring
Their humbled bodies to their happy King;
God save the King, they joyntly say; God blesse
Thy prosprous actions with a due successe;
The people clap their sweaty palmes, and shout,
The bonfires smoake, the bels ring round about,
The minstrels play, the Parrats learne to sing,
(Perchance as well as they) God save the King,
Assuerus now's invested in the throne,,
And Persia's rul'd by him, and him alone;
Prove happy Persia: Great Assuerus prove
As equall happy in thy peoples love.

Enough; And let this broken breviate
Suffice to shadow forth the downfall state
Of mighty Babel, and the conquest made
By the fierce Medes, & Persians conqu'ring blade;
Whose just succession we have traced downe,
Till great Assuerus weare the Persian Crowne;
Him have we sought, and having found him, rest;
To morrow goe we to his royall Feast.

FINIS

TO THE HIGHEST: His Humble Servant Implores his gracious ayde.

Thou great Directer of the Hearts of men,
From whence I propagate what e're is mine,
Still my disquiet thoughts, Direct my Pen
No more mine owne, if thou adopt it thine:
O be thy Spirit All in All to me,
That will implore no ayde, no Muse but thee:

Be thou the Load-starre to my wandring minde,
New rigg'd, and bound vpon a new Adventure:
O fill my Canvas with a prosp'rous winde;
Vnlock my Soule, and let thy Spirit enter:
So blesse my Talent with a fruitfull Lone,
That it, at least, may render two for one.

Unworthy I, to take so high a Taske;
Unworthy I, to crave so great a Boone,
Alas! unseason'd is my slender Caske,
My Winters day hath scarcely seene her Noone
But if the Childrens Bread must be deny'd,
Yet let me licke the Crummes that fall beside

THE HISTORIE Of Ester.

Sect. 1.

The Argvment.

The King Assuerus makes two Feasts,
Invites his great and meaner guests:
He makes a Statute to represse
The lothsome sin of Drunkennesse.

When great Assuerus (under whose Command
The worlds most part did in subjectiō stand,
Whose Kingdome was to East and West confin'd,
And stretcht from Ethiopia unto Ind',)
Whē this brave Monarch had with two yeers pow'r
Confirmd himselfe the Persian Emperour;
The peoples patience nilling to sustaine
The hard oppression of a third yeares raigne,
Softly began to grumble, sore to vexe,
Feeling such Tribute on their servile necks;
Which when the King (as he did quickly) heares,
(For Kings have tender, and the nimblest eares)
Partly to blow the coales of old affection,
Which now are dying through a forc'd subiection;
Partly to make his Princely might appeare,
To make them feare for love, or love for feare,
He made a Feast: He made a Royall Feast,
Fit for himselfe, had he himselfe beene Guest;

100

To which he calls the Princes of his Land,
Who (paying tribute) by his power stand;
To which he calls his servants of Estate,
His Captains, and his Rulers of the State,
That he may shew the glory of his store,
The like unseene by any Prince before;
That he may boast his Kingdomes beauty forth,
His servant Princes, and their Princely worth;
That he may shew the Type of Sov'raignty
Fulfill'd in th'honour of his Majesty:
He made a Feast, whose Date should not expire,
Vntill seven Moones had lost and gain'd their fire

When as this Royall tedious Feast was ended,
(For good more common 'tis, 'tis more cōmended)
For meaner sort he made a second Feast;
His Guests were from the greatest to the least
In Susa's place; Seven dayes they did resort
To Feast i'th' Palace Garden of the Court;
Where in the midst, the house of Bacchus stands
To entertaine when Bounty claps her hands;
The Tap'stry hangings, were of divers hue,
Pure white, and youthfull Greene, and joyful blue,
The maine supporting Pillars of the Place
Were perfect Marble of the purest race;
The Reds were rich right Princely to behold,
Of beaten Silver, and of burnish't Gold.
The pavement was discolour'd Porphyry,
And during Marble, colour'd diversly;
In lavish Cups of oft-refined gold,
Came Wine unwisht, drink what the people would
The Golden vessels did in number passe,
Great choyce of Cups, great choyce of wine was there
And since Abuse attends vpon Excesse,
Leading sweet Mirth to loathsome Drunkennesse

101

A temp'rate Law was made, that no man might
Inforce an undisposed Appetite:
So that a sober mind may use his pleasure,
And measure drinking, though not drinke by measure.

Medit. 1.

No man is borne unto himselfe alone;
Who lives unto himselfe, he lives to none:
The World's a body', each man a member is,
To adde some measure to the publike blisse;
Where much is giv'n, there much shall be requir'd,
Where little, lesse; for riches are but hyr'd;
Wisedome is sold for sweat; Pleasures for paine;
Who lives unto himselfe, he lives in vaine;
To be a Monarch is a glorious thing;
Who lives not full of Care, he lives no King;
The boundlesse glory of a King is such,
To sweeten Care, because his Care is much;
The Sun (whose radiant beames reflect so bright)
Comforts and warmes, as well as it gives light,
By whose example Phœbe (though more dim)
Does counterfeit his beames, and shines from him:
So mighty Kings are not ordain'd alone
To pearch in glory on the Princely Throne,
But to direct in Peace, command in Warre
Those Subjects, for whose sakes they onely are;
So loyall Subjects must adapt them to
Such vertuous actions as their Princes doe:
So shall his people, even as well as He,
Princes (though in a lesser volume) be.

So often as I fixe my serious eye
Vpon Assuerus Feast, me thinkes, I spye

102

The Temple dance, me thinkes my ravisht eare,
(Rapt with the secret musicke that I heare)
Attends the warble of an Angels tongue,
Resounding forth this sense-bereaving Song;
Vashti shall fall, and Ester rise,
Sion shall thrive, when Haman dyes.
Blest are the meetings, and the Banquets blest,
Where Angels caroll musicke to the Feast;

How doe our wretched times degenerate
From former ages! How intemperate
Hath lavish custome made our bedrid Age,
Acting obscœne Scenes on her drunken Stage!
Our times are guided by a lewder lot,
As if that world another world begot:
Their friendly feasts were fill'd with sweet sobriety
Ours, with uncleane delights, and base ebriety;
Theirs, the unvalued prise of Love intended;
Ours seeke the cause whereby our Love is ended;
How in so blind an Age could those men see!
And in a seeing Age, how blinde are we!

Sect. 2.

The Argvment.

The King sends for the Queene; the Queene
Denies to come; His hasty spleene
Inflames, unto the Persian Lawes
He leaves the censure of his cause.

To adde more honour to this royall Feast,
That Glory may with Glory be increast,
Vashti the Queene (the fairest Queene on earth)
She made a Feast, and put on jolly mirth,

103

To bid sweet welcome with her Princely cheere
To all her Guests; Her Guests all, women were.

By this, the Royall bounty of the King
Hath well-nigh spent the seven dayes banquetting.
Sixe ioviall dayes have run their howers out,
And now the seventh revolves the Weeke about,
Vpon which day, (the Queenes unlucky Day)
The King, with jollity intic'd away,
And gently having slipt the stricter reynes
Of Temperance, (that over-mirth restraines)
Rose up, commanded that without delay,
(Howe're the Persian custome doe gain-say
That men and married Wives shold feast together)
That faire Queene Vashti, be conducted thither,
For him to shew the sweetnes of her face,
And peerelesse beauty mixt with Princely Grace;
To wound their wanton hearts, and to surprize
The Princes with th'Artill'ry of her eyes.

But fairest Vashti, (in whose scornfull Eyes
More haughty pride, then heav'nly beauty lies)
With bold deniall of a flinty brest,
Answer'd the longing of the Kings request;
And (fill'd with scorne) return'd this message home
Queene Vashti cannot, Vashti will not come,
Whereat, as Boreas with his blustering,
(When sturdy Aries ushers in the Spring)
Here fells an aged Oke, there cleaues a Tree,
Now holds his full-mouth'd blast, now lets it flee,
So stormes the King; now pale, now fiery red,
His colour comes and goes, his angry head
He sternly shakes, spits his inraged spleene,
Now on the messenger, now on the Queene:
One while he deeply weighs the foule contempt,
And then his passion bids his wrath attempt

104

A quicke revenge; now creepe into his thought
Such things as aggravate the peevish fault;
The place, the persons present, and the time
Increase his wrath, increase his Ladies Crime.

But soone as Passion had restor'd the Reyne
To righteous Reason's goverment againe;
The King (unfit to judge his proper Cause)
Referr'd the triall to the Persian Lawes:
He call'd his learned Counsell, and display'd
The nature of his Grievance thus, and said:

By vertue of a Husband, and a King,
(To make compleat our Royall banquetting)
We gave command, we gave a strict command,
That by the office of our Eunuchs band,
Queene Vashti should in state attended be
Into the presence of our Majestie,
But in contempt she slacks our dread behest
Neglects performance of our deare Request,
And (through disdaine) disloyally deny'd,
Like a false subject, and a faithlesse bride:
Say then (my Lords) for you (being truely wise)
Have braines to judge, and judgements to advise;
Say, boldly (say) what doe the Lawes assigne?
What punishment? or what deserved Fine?
Assuerus bids, the mighty King commands;
Vashti denyes, the scornefull Queene withstands.

Medit. 2.

Evil manners breed good Lawes: & that's the best
That e're was made of bad: The Persian feast
(Finding the mischiefe that was growne so rife)
Admitted not with men a married wife.

105

How carefull were they in preserving that,
Which we so watchfull are to violate!
O Chastity the Flower of the soule,
How is thy perfect fairenesse turn'd to foule!
How are thy Blossomes blasted all to dust,
By sudden Lightning of untamed Lust!
How hast thou thus defil'd thy Iv'ry feet!
Thy sweetnesse that was once, how far from sweet!
Where are thy maiden-smiles, thy blushing cheeke?
Thy Lamb-like countenance, so faire, so meeke?
Where is that spotlesse Flower, that while-ere
Within thy lilly bosome thou didst weare?
Has wanton Cupid snatcht it? Hath his Dart
Sent courtly tokens to thy simple heart?
Where dost thou bide? the Country halfe disclaimes thee;
The City wonders when a body names thee.
Or have the rurall woods engrost thee there,
And thus fore-stall'd our empty markets here?
Sure th'art not, or kept where no man showes thee;
Or chang'd so much, scarce man or woman knowes thee.

Our Grandame Eve, before it was forbid,
Desired not the fruit, she after did:
Had not the Custome of those times ordain'd
That women from mens feasts should be restrain'd,
Perhaps (Assuerus) Vashti might have dyed
Vnsent for, and thy selfe beene undenyed:
Such are the the fruits of mirth's and wine's abuse,
Customes must crack, & love must breake his truce,
Conjugall bands must loose, and sullen Hate
Ensues the Feast, where Wine's immoderate.

More difficult it is, and greater skill
To beare a mischiefe, 'than prevent an ill:
Passion is naturall, but to bridle Passion,
Is more divine, and vertues operation:

106

To doe amisse, is Natures act; to erre,
Is but a wretched mortalls Character;
But to prevent the danger of the ill,
Is more then Man, surpassing humane skill:
Who playes a happy game with crafty slight,
Confirmes himselfe but fortunes Favorite;
But he that husbands well an ill-dealt game,
Deserves the credit of a Gamesters name;

Lord, if my Cards be bad, yet lend me skill
To play them wisely and make the best of ill.

Sect. 3.

The Argvment.

The learned Counsell plead the case;
The Queene degraded from her place?
Decrees are sent throughout the Land,
That Wives obey, and men command.

The righteous Counsel (having heard the cause)
Adviz'd a while, with respite of a pause,
Till Memucan (the first that silence brake)
Vnseal'd his serious lips, and thus bespake:

The Great Assuerus Sov'raigne Lord and King,
(To grace the period of his banquetting)
Hath sent for Vashti; Vashti would not come,
And now it rests in us to give the doome.
But left that too much rashnesse violate
The sacred Iustice of our happy state,
We first propound the height of her offence,
Next, the succeeding inconvenience,
Which through the circumstances does augment,
And so discend to th'equall punishment;

107

Th'offence propounded, now we must relate
Such circumstances that might aggravate,
And first the Place, (the Palace of the King,)
And next the Time, (the Time of Banquetting)
Lastly, the Persons, (Princes of the Land)
Which witnesse the contempt of the command;
The Place, the Persons present, and the Time,
Make foule the fault, make foule the Ladies crime;
Nor was her fault unto the King alone,
But to the Princes, and to every one,
For when this speech divulg'd about shall be,
Vashti the Queene withstood the Kings Decree,
Woemen (that soone can an advantage take
Of things, which for their private ends doe make)
Shall scorne their coward husbands, and despise
Their deare requests within their scornfull eyes,
And say, if we deny your bests, then blame not,
Assuerus sent for Vashti, but she came not;
By Vashties patterne others will be taught;
Thus her example's fouler then her fault:
Now therefore if it like our gracious King,
(Since he refers to us the censuring)
Let him proclaime (which untransgressed be)
His royall Edict, and his just Decree,
That Vashti come no more before his face,
But leave the titles of her Princely place:
Let firme divorce unloose the Nuptiall knot,
And let the name of Queene be quite forgot,
Let her estate and Princely dignity,
Her Royall Crowne, and seat assigned be
To one whose sacred Vertue shall attaine
As high perfection, as her bold disdaine;
So when this Royall Edict shall be fam'd,
And through the severall Provinces proclaim'd,

108

Disdainfull wives will learne, by Vashties fall,
To answer gently to their Husbands call.
Thus ended Memucan; the King was pleas'd;
(His blustring passion now at length appeas'd)
And soone apply'd himselfe to undertake,
To put in practice what his Counsell spake:

So, into every Province of the Land,
He sent his speedy Letters, with command,
That Husbands rule their wives, & beare the sway,
And by subjection teach their Wives t'obey.

Meditat. 3.

VVhen God with sacred breath did first inspire
The new-made earth with quick, & holy fire,
He (well advising, what a goodly creature
He builded had, so like himselfe in feature)
Forth-with concluded by his preservation
T'eternize that great worke of Mans creation;
Into a sleepe he cast this living clay,
Lockt up his sense with drouzy Morpheus key,
Opened his fruitfull flanke, and from his side,
He drew the substance of his helpfull Bride,
Flesh of his flesh, and bone made of his bone
He framed Woman, making two of one;
Thus broke in two, he did anew ordaine
That these same two should be made One againe:
Till singling Death this sacred knot undoe,
And part this new-made One, once more in two.

Since of a Rib first framed was a Wife,
Let Ribs be Hi'roglyphicks of their life:
Ribs coast the Heart, and guard it round about,
And like a trusty Watch keepe danger out;

109

So tender wives should loyally impart
Their watchfull care to fence their Spouses heart:
All members else from out their places rove,
But Ribs are firmely fixt, and seldome move:
Women (like Ribs) must keepe their wonted home,
And not (like Dinah that was ravisht) rome:
If Ribs be over-bent, or handled rough,
They breake, If let alone, they bend enough:
Women must (unconstrain'd) be plyant still,
And gently bending to their Husbands will,
The sacred Academy of mans life
Is holy wedlocke in a happy Wife.

It was a wise mans speech, Could never they
Know to command, that knew not first t'obey:
Where's then that high command? that ample fame
Your sexe, to glorifie for their honour'd name,
Your noble sexe in former dayes atchiev'd?
Whose sounding praise no after-times out-liv'd.
What brave exploits, what well deserving glory;
The subject of an everlasting story,
Their hands atchiev'd? they thrust their Scepters then
As well in Kingdomes, as in hearts of men;
And sweet obedience was the lowly staire,
Mounted their steps to that commanding chaire.

A Womans rule should be in such a fashion,
Onely to guide her houshold, and her passion:
And her obedience never's out of season,
So long as either Husband lasts, or Reason:
Ill thrives the haplesse Family, that showes
A Cocke that's silent, and a Hen that crowes.
I know not which live more unnaturall lives,
Obeying Husbands, or commanding Wives.

110

Sect. 4.

The Argvment.

Assuerus pleas'd; his servants motion
Propounded, gaine his approbation.
Esters descent, her Iewish race:
Her beauties, and her perfect grace.
When Time (that endeth all things) did asswage
The burning Fever of Assuerus rage,
And quiet satisfaction had assign'd
Delightfull lu'lips to his troubled minde,
He call'd his old remembrance to account
Of Vashti, and her Crimes that did amount
To th'summe of her divorcement: In his thought
He weigh'd the censure of her heedlesse fault:
His fawning servants willing to prevent him,
Lest too much thought should make his love repent him,
Said thus: (If it shall please our gracious Lord
To crowne with audience his servants word)
Let strict inquest, and carefull Inquisition
Jn all the Realme be made, and quicke provision
Throughout the Medes and Persians all along
For comely Virgins, beautifull and young,
Which (curiously selected) let them bring
Into the Royall Palace of the King;
And let the Eunuchs of the King take care
For Princely Robes, and Vesture, and prepare
Sweet Odors, choyce Perfumes, and all things meet,
To adde a greater sweetnesse to their sweet;
And she, whose perfect beames shall best delight,
And seeme most gracious in his Princely sight;

111

To her be given the conquest of her face,
And be enthron'd in scornfull Vashties place.
The project pleas'd the King, who straight requires
That strict performance second their desires:
Within the walls of Shusa dwelt there one,
By breeding and by birth a Iew, and knowne
By th'name of Mordecai, of mighty kin,
Descended from the Tribe of Benjamin,
(Whose necke was subject to the slavish yoke,
When Ieconiah was surpriz'd and tooke,
And caried captive into Babels Land,
With strength of mighty Neb'chadnezzars hand;)
Within his house abode a Virgin bright,
Whose name was Ester or Hadassa hight,
His brothers daughter, whom (her parents dead)
This Iew did foster, in her fathers stead;
She wanted none, though father she had none,
Her Vncles love assum'd her for his owne?
Bright beames of beauty streamed from her eye,
And in her cheeke sate maiden modesty;
Which peerelesse beauty lent so kind a rellish
To modest Vertue, that they did imbellish
Each others ex'lence, with a full assent,
In her to boast their perfect complement.

Medita. 4.

The strongest Atteries that knit and tye
The members of a mixed Monarchy,
Are learned Counsels, timely Consultations,
Rip'ned Advice, and sage Deliberations;
And if those Kingdomes be but ill be-blest,
Whose Rule's committed to a young mans brest:

112

Then such Estates are more unhappy farre,
Whose choicest Counsellors but Children are:
How many Kingdomes blest with high renowne,
(In all things happy else) have plac'd their crowne
Vpon the Temples of a childish head,
Vntill with ruine, King, or State be sped!
What Massacres (begun by factious jarres,
And ended by the spoile of civill warres)
Have made brave Monarchies unfortunate,
And raz'd the glory' of many' a mighty State?
How many hopefull Princes (ill advis'd
By young, & smooth-fac'd Counsell) have despis'd
The sacred Oracles of riper yeares,
Till deare Repentance wash the Land with teares?
Witnesse thou lucklesse, and succeeding Son
Of (Wisdomes Favourite) great Salomon;
How did thy rash, and beardlesse Counsell bring
Thy fortunes subject to a stranger King?
And laying burthens on thy peoples necke,
The weight hung sadly on thy bended backe.
Thou second Richard, (once our Britaine King,
Whose Syr's, and Grandsyr's fame the world did ring)
How was thy gentle nature led aside,
By greene advisements, which thy State did guide,
Vntill the title of thy Crowne did cracke,
And fortunes (as thy Fathers name) were blacke?

Now glorious Britaine, clap thy hands, and blesse
Thy sacred fortunes; for thy happinesse
(As doth thy Iland) does it selfe divide,
And sequester from all the world beside;
Blest are thy open Gates with joyfull peace,
Blest are thy fruitfull Barnes with sweet increase,
Blest in thy Counsell, whose industrious skill,
Is but to make thy fortunes happy still;

113

In all things blest, that to a State pertaine;
Thrice happy in my dreaded Soveraigne,
My sacred Sov'raigne, in whose onely brest,
A wise Assembl' of Privy Counsels rest,
Who conquers with his Princely heart as farre
By peace, as Alexander did by Warre,
And with his Olive branch more hearts did boord,
Than daring Cesar did, with Cesars sword:
Long maist thou hold within thy Royall hand,
The peacefull Scepter of our happy Land:

Great Iudah's Lyon, and the Flow'r of Iesse.
Preserve thy Lyons, and thy Flowers blesse.

Sect. 5.

The Argvment.

Faire Virgins brought to Hege's hand,
The custome of the Persian Land;
Esters neglect of rich attire,
To whet the wanton Kings desire.

And when the lustfull Kings Decree was read
In ev'ry eare, and Shire proclam'd, & spread,
Forthwith unto the Eunuch Hege's hand
The Bevy came, the pride of beauties band,
Armed with joy, and warring with their eyes,
To gaine the conquest of a princely prize;
But none in peerlesse beauty shin'd so bright,
As lovely Ester did in Hege's sight:
In loyall service he observed her;
He sent for costly Oyles, and fragrant Myrrh,
To fit her for the presence of the King:
Rich Tyres, and change of vesture did he bring;

114

Seven comely maids he gave to tend upon her,
To shew his service, and increase her honour:
But she was watchfull of her lips, and wise,
Disclosing not her kinred, or alyes:
For trusty Mardocheus tender care
Gave hopefull Ester Items to beware
To blaze her kin, or make her people knowne,
Lest for their sake, her hopes be overthrowne.
Before the Gates he to and fro did passe,
Wherein inclos'd the Courtly Ester was,
To understand how Ester did behave her,
And how she kept her in the Eunuchs favour.
Now when as Time had fitted ev'ry thing,
By course, these Virgins came before the King.

Such was the custome of the Persian soyle,
Sixe months the Virgins bath'd in Myrrh & Oyle,
Sixe months perfum'd in change of odours sweet,
That perfect lust, and great excesse may meet;
What costly Robes, rare Iewels, rich attire,
Or curious Fare, these Virgins did desire,
'Twas given, and freely granted, when they bring
Their bodies to be prostrate to the King:
Each Virgin keepes her turne, and all the night
They lewdly lavish in the Kings delight,
And soone as morning shall restore the day,
They in their bosomes beare blacke night away,
And (in their guilty breasts, as are their sinnes
Close prisoners) in the house of Concubines
Remaine, untill the satiate King shall please
To lend their pamper'd bodyes a release.

Now when the turne of Ester was at hand,
To satisfie the wanton Kings command,
Shee sought not (as the rest) with brave attire,
To lend a needlesse spurre t'unchast Desire,

115

Nor yet endeavours with a whorish Grace,
T'adulterate the beautie of her face:
Nothing she sought to make her glory braver,
But simply tooke what gentle Hege gave her:
Her sober visage daily wan her honour:
Each wandring eye inflam'd, that look'd upon her.

Meditat. 5.

When God had with his Al-producing Blast;
Blown up the bubble of the World, & plac't
In order that, which he had made in measure,
As well for necessary use, as pleasure:
Then out of earthy mould he fram'd a creature
Farre more Divine, and of more glorious feature
Than earst he made, indu'd with understanding,
With strength, victorious, & with awe commanding,
With Reason, Wit, repleate with Majesty,
With heavenly knowledge, and Capacity,
True embleme of his Maker: Him he made
The sov'raigne Lord of all; Him all obay'd;
Yeelding their lives (as tribute) to their King;
Both Fish, and Bird, and Beast, and every thing:
His body's rear'd upright, and in his eye,
Stand radient beames of awfull sov'raignty;
All Creatures else pore downward to the ground,
Man looks to heaven, and all his thoughts rebound
Vpon the Earth (where tydes of pleasures meete)
He treads, and daily tramples with his feete;
Which reade sweet Lectures to his wandring eyes,
And teach his lustfull heart to moralize:
Naked he liv'd, nak'd to the world he came;
For he had then nor fault to hide, nor shame:

116

His state was levell, and he had free will
To stand or fall, unforc't to good or ill;
Man had (such state he was created in)
Within his pow'r, a power not to sinne:
But Man was tempted, yeelded, sinn'd, and fell,
Abus'd his free-will, lost it, then befell
A worse succeeding state; who was created
Complete, is now become poore, blinde, and naked;
He's drawne with head-strong bias unto ill,
Bereft of active pow'r to will, or nill;
A bless'ed Saint's become a balefull Devill,
His free-will's onely stinted now to evill:
Pleasure's his Lord, and in his Ladies eyes
His Christall Temple of devotion lyes:
Pleasures the white, whereat he takes his levell,
Which (too much wronged with the name of evill)
With best of blessings takes her lofty seat,
Greatest of goods, and seeming best of great:
Whats good, (like Iron) rusts for want of use,
And what is bad is worsed with abuse;
Pleasure, whose apt, and right ordained end
Is but to sweeten labour, and attend
The frailty' of man is now preferr'd so hie,
To be his Lord, and beare the sov'raignty,
Ruling his slavish thoughts, ignoble actions,
And gaines the conquest of his best affections,
Sparing no cost to bolster up delight,
But force vaine pleasures to unwonted height:

Who addes excesse unto a lustfull heart,
Commits a costly sin, with greater Art.

117

Sect. 6.

The Argvment.

Ester's belov'd, wedded, crown'd;
A Treason Mordecai betrai'd;
The Traitors are pursu'd, and found,
And for that treason well appaid.

Now, now the time is come, faire Ester must
Expose her beauty to the Letchers lust;
Now, now must Ester stake her honour downe,
And hazzard Chastity to gaine a Crowne;
Gone, gone she is, attended to the Court,
And spends the evening in the Princes sport:
As when a Lady, (walking Flora's Bowre)
Picks here a Pincke, and there a Gilly-flowre,
Now plucks a Vi'let from her purple bed,
And then a Primerose, (the yeares maiden-head)
There, nips the Bryar; here, the Lovers Pauncy,
Shifting her dainty pleasures, with her Fancy,
This, on her arme; and that, she lifts to weare
Vpon the borders of her curious haire,
At length, a Rose-bud (passing all the rest)
She plucks, and bosomes in her Lilly brest:
So when Assuerus (tickled with delight)
Perceiv'd the beauties of those virgins bright,
He lik't them all, but when with strict revye,
He viewed Esters face, his wounded eye
Sparkl'd, whilst Cupid with his youthfull Dart,
Transfixt the Center of his feeble heart;
Ester is now his joy, and in her eyes,
The sweetest flower of his Garland lyes:

118

Who now but Ester? Ester crownes his blisse,
And hee's become her prisoner, that was his:
Ester obtaines the prize, her high desert
Like Di'mond's richly mounted in his heart;
Iô, now Jô Hymen sings; for shee
That crownes his joy, must likewise crowned bee:
The Crowne is set on Princely Esters head,
Ester sits Queene, in scornefull Uashties stead.

To consecrate this Day to more delights,
In due solemnizing the nuptiall rites,
In Esters name, Assuerus made a Feast,
Invited all his Princes, and releast,
The hard taxation, that his heavy hand
Laid on the subjects of his groning Land;
No rights were wanting to augment his joyes,
Great gifts confirm'd the bounty of his choyce:
Yet had not Esters lavish tongue descri'd
Her Iewish kin, or where she was aly'd;
For still the words of Mordecai did rest
Within the Cabbin of her Royall breast,
Who was as pliant (being now a Queene)
To sage advice, as ere before sh'ad beene.

It came to passe, as Mardochæus sate
Within the Portall of the Princes gate,
He over-heard two servants of the King,
Closely combin'd in hollow whispering:
(Like whistling Notus that foretels a raine)
To breathe out treason 'gainst their Soveraigne:
Which, soone as loyall Mardochæus heard,
Forthwith to Esters presence he repair'd;
Disclos'd to her, and to her care commended
The Traitors, and the treason they intended:
Whereat, the Queene (impatient of delay)
Betraid the Traitors, that would her betray,

119

And to the King unbosom'd all her heart,
And who her Newes-man was, and his desert.

Now all on hurly-burly was the Court,
All tongues were fill'd with wonder and report:
The watch was set, pursuit was made about,
To guard the King, and finde the Traitors out,
Who found, and guilty found, by speedy tryall,
(Where witnesse speaks, what boots a bare deniall)
Were both hang'd up upon the shamefull tree:
(To beare such fruit let trees ne're barren be:)
And what successe this happy Day afforded,
Was in the Persian Chronicles recorded.

Meditat. 6.

The hollow Concave of a humane brest
Is Gods Exchequer, and therein the best,
And summe of all his chiefest wealth consists,
Which he shuts up, and opens when he lists:
No power is of man: to love or hate,
Lyes not in mortals brest, or pow'r of Fate:
Mā wants the strength to sway his strong affections
What power is, is from Divine directions;
Which oft (unseene through dulnesse of the minde)
We nick name, Chance, because our selves are blind
And that's the cause, mans first beholding eye
Oft loves, or hates, and knowes no reason why.

'T was not the brightnesse of Rebecca's face,
Or servants skill that wan the virgins grace:
'T was not the wish, or wealth of Abraham,
Or Isacks fortune, or renowned name,
His comely personage, or his high desert,
Obtain'd the conquest of Rebecca's heart:

120

Old Abra'm wisht, in secret God directed;
'Twas Abra'm us'd the meanes; 'twas God effected:
Best marriages are made in heaven; In heaven,
The hearts are joyn'd; in earth the hands are given,
First God ordaines, then man confirmes the Love,
Proclaiming that on earth was done above.

'Twas not the sharpnesse of thy wandring eye,
(Great King Assuerus) to picke Majesty
From out the sadnesse of a Captives face;
'Twas not alone thy chusing, nor her grace;
Who mounts the meeke, and beates the lofty down,
Gave thee the heart to chuse, gave her the Crown:

Who blest thy fortunes with a second wife,
He blest thy fortunes with a second life;
That brest that entertain'd so sweet a Bride,
Stood faire to Treason, (by her meanes descride;)
With double fortunes, wer't thou doubly blest,
To finde so faire, and scape so foule a guest.

Thou aged father of our yeares and houres,
(For thou as well discoverst, as devoures)
Search still the entrails of thy just Records,
Wherein are entred the diurnall words
And deeds of mortall men; Bring (thou) to light
All trech'rous projects, mann'd by craft, or might;
With Towr's of Brasse, their faithful heart's imbosse
That beare the Christian colours of the Crosse.

And Thou Preserver of all mortall things,
Within whose hands are plac'd the hearts of Kings;
By whom all Kingdomes stand, and Princes raigne
Preserve thy Charles, and my dear Soveraigne;
Let Traitors plots, like wandring Atomes, fly,
And on their heads pay ten-fold usury;
His bosome tuter, and his safety tender:
O be thou his, as hee's thy Faiths Defender:

121

That thou in him, and hee in thee may rest,
And we of both may live and die possest.

Sect 7.

The Argvment.

The line of Haman, and his race;
His fortunes in the Princes grace:
His rage to Mordecai exprest,
Not bowing to him, as the rest.

Vpon a time, to Persias Royall Court,
A forraigne Stranger used to resort,
He was the issue of a royall breed,
The off-cast off-spring of the cursed seed
Of Amelck, from him descended right,
That sold his birth-right for his Appetite:
Haman his name; His fortunes did improve,
Increast by favour of the Princes love:
Full great he grew, preferd to high command,
And plac'd before the Princes of the Land:
And since that honour, and due reverence
Belong where Princes give preeminence;
The King commands the servants of his State,
To suit respect to Hamans high estate,
And doe him honour, fitting his degree,
With vailed bonnet; and low bended knee:
They all observ'd; but aged Mordecai
(Whose stubborne joynts neglected to obey
The seed which Heaven with infamy had branded)
Stoutly refused what the King commanded;
Which when the servants of the King had seene,
Their fell disdaine mixtwith an envious spleene,

122

Inflam'd; They question'd how he durst withstand
The just performance of the Kings Command:
Daily they checkt him for his high disdaine,
And hee their checks did daily entertaine
With silent slight behaviour, which did prove
As full of care, as their rebukes of love.

Since then their hearts (not able to abide
A longer sufferance of his peevish pride)
(Whose scorching fires, passion did augment,)
Must either breake, or finde a speedy vent:
To Haman they th'unwelcome newes related,
And what they said, their malice aggravated.
Envie did ope her Snake-devouring Iawes,
Foam'd frothy blood, and bent her unked Pawes
Her hollow eyes did cast out sudden flame,
And pale as ashes look't this angry Dame,
And thus bespake! Art thou that man of might,
That Impe of Glory? Times great Favorite?
Hath thy deserved worth restor'd againe
The blemisht honour of thy Princely straine?
Art thou that Wonder, which the Persian State
Stands gazing at so much, and poynting at?
Filling all wondring eyes with Admiration,
And every loyall heart with Adoration?
Art thou that mighty He? How haps it then
That wretched Mordecai, the worst of men,
A captive slave, a superstitious Iew,
Slights thee, and robs thee of thy righfull due?
Nor was his sault disguis'd with Ignorance,
(The unfee'd Advocate of sinne) or Chance,
But backt with Arrogance and soule Despite:
Rise up, and doe thy suffring honour right.

Vp (like his deepe Revenge) rose Haman then,
And like a sleeping Lion from his Den,

123

Rouz'd his relentlesse Rage; But when his eye
Confirm'd the newes Report did testifie,
His Reason straight was heav'd from off his henge,
And Fury rounded in his eare, Revenge,
And (like a rash Adviser) thus began:

There's nothing (Haman) is more deare to man,
And cooles his boyling veines with sweeter pleasure,
Than quicke revenge; for to revenge by leisure,
Is but like feeding, when the stomacke's past,
Pleasing nor eager appetite, nor taste:
Yet when delay returnes Revenge the greater,
Like poynant sauce, it makes the meate the sweeter:
It fits not th'honour of thy personage,
Nor stands it with thy Greatnesse, to ingage
Thy noble thoughts, to make Revenge so poore,
To be reveng'd on one alone: thy sore
Needs many plaisters: make thy honour good,
Not with a drop, but with a world of blood:
Borrow the Sythe of Time, and let thy Passion
Mowe downe thy Iewish Foe, with all his Nation.

Medita. 7.

Fights God for cursed Amalek? That hand
That once did curse, doth now the curse withstand:
Is God unjust? Is Iustice fled from heaven;
Or are the righteous Ballances uneven?
Is this that Iust Iehova's sacred Word,
Firmely inroll'd within the Lawes Record,
Ile fight with Amalek, destroy his Nation,
And from remembrance blurre his Generation?
What, shall his curse to Amalek be void?
And with those plagues shall Isr'el be destroyd:

124

Ah, sooner shall the sprightfull flames of fire
Descend and moysten; and dull earth, aspire,
And with her drinesse quench faire Titans heate,
Then shall thy words, and just Decrees retreat:
The Day, (as wery of his burden) tyres;
The Yeare (full laden with her months) expires:
The heav'ns (growne great with age) must soon decay,
The pondrous earth in time shall passe away;
But yet thy sacred words shall alway flourish,
Though daies, & years, & heavē, & earth do perish:

How perkes proud Haman then? What prosp'rous fate
Exalts his Pagan head? How fortunate
Hath favour crown'd his times? Hath God decreed
No other Curse upon that cursed seed?

The mortall eye of man can but perceive
Things present; when his heart cannot conceive,
Hee's either by his outward senses guided,
Or, like a Quere, leaves it undecided:
The fleshly eye that lends a feeble sight,
Failes in extent, and hath no further might
Than to attaine the object: and there ends
His office; and of what it apprehends,
Acquaints the understanding, which conceives,
And descants on that thing the sight perceives,
Or good, or bad; unable to project
The just occasion, or the true effect:
Man sees like man, and can but comprehend,
Things as they present are, not as they end;
God sees a Kings heart in a shepheards brest,
And in a mighty King, he sees a Beast:
'Tis not the spring tyde of an high estate
Creates a man (though seeming) Fortunate:
The blaze of Honour, Fortunes sweet excesse,
Doe undeserve the name of Happinesse:

125

The frownes of indisposed Fortune makes
Man poore, but not unhappy. He that takes
Her checks with patience, leaves the name of poor,
And lets in Fortune at a backer doore.

Lord, let my fortunes be or rich, or poore:
If small, the lesse account; if great, the more.

Sect. 8.

The Argvment.

Vnto the King proud Haman sues,
For the destruction of the Iewes:
The King consents, and in his name
Decrees were sent t'effect the same.
Now when the year had turn'd his course about
And fully worne his weary howers out,
And left his circling travell to his heire,
That now sets onset to th'ensuing yeare,
Proud Haman (pain'd with travell in the birth,
Till after-time could bring his mischiefe forth)
Casts Lots, from month to month, from day to day,
To picke the choycest time, when Fortune may,
Be most propitious to his damned plot;
Till on the last month fell th'unwilling Lot:
So Haman guided by his Idoll Fate,
(Cloaking with publike good his private Hate)
In plaintiffe tearmes, where Reason forg'd a rellish
Vnto the King, his speech did thus imbellish:
Vpon the limits of this happy Nation,
There flotes a skumme, an off-cast Generation,
Disperst, despis'd, and noysome to the Land,
And Refractory to the Lawes, to thy Command.

126

Not stooping to thy Power, but despising
All Government, but of their owne devising,
Which stirs the glowing embers of division,
The hatefull mother of a States perdition,
The which (not soone redrest by Reformation)
Will ruine breed to thee, and to thy Nation,
Begetting Rebels, and seditious broyles,
And fill thy peacefull Land, with bloody spoyles:
Now therefore, if it please my gracious Lord,
To right this grievance with his Princely sword,
That Death, and equall Iustice may o'rewhelme
The secret Ruiners of thy sacred Realme,
Vnto the Royall Treasure of the King,
Ten thousand silver Talents will I bring.
Then gave the King, from off his heedlesse hand
His Ring to Haman, with that Ring command,
And said: Thy proffer'd wealth possesse,
Yet be thy just Petition ne'rthelesse
Entirely granted. Loe, before thy face
Thy vassals lye, with all their rebel race;
Thine be the people, and the power thine,
T'allot these Rebels their deserved Fine.
Forthwith the Scribes were summon'd to appeare,
Decrees were written, sent to every Shire;
To all Lieutenants, Captaines of the Band,
And all the Provinces throughout the Land,
Stil'd in the name and person of the King,
And made authentick with his Royall Ring;
By speedy Post men were the Letters sent;
And this the summe is of their sad content:

Assvervs Rex.

Let ev'ry Province in the Persian Land,
(Vpon the Day prefixt) prepare his hand,
To make the Channels flow with Rebels blood,

127

And from the earth to roote the Jewish brood:
And let the softnesse of no partiall heart,
Through melting pitie, love, or false desert,
Spare either young or old, or man, or woman,
But like their faults, so let their plagues be common.
Decreed, and signed by our Princely Grace,
And given at Sushan, from our Royall Place.

So Haman fill'd with joy (his fortunes blest
With faire successe of his so foule request)
Laid care aside to sleepe, and with the King,
Consum'd the time in jolly banquetting:
Meane while the Iewes, (the poore afflicted Iewes
Perplext, and startl'd with the new-bred newes)
With drooping heads, and selfe-imbracing armes,
Wept forth the Dirge of their ensuing harmes.

Medita. 8.

Of all diseases in a publike weale,
No one more dangerous, and hard to heale,
(Except a tyrant King) then when great might
Is trusted to the hands, that take delight
To bathe, and paddle in the blood of those,
Whon jealousies, and not just cause oppose:
For when as haughty power is conjoynd
Vnto the will of a distemper'd mind,
What ere it can, it will, and what it will,
It in itselfe, hath power to fulfill:
What mischiefe then can linger, unattemted?
What base attempts can happen, unprevented?
Statutes must breake, good Lawes must go to wrack
And (like a Bow that's overbent) must cracke:
Iustice (the life of Law) becomes so furious,
That (over-doing right) it proves injurious:

128

Mercy (the Steare of Iustice) flyes the City,
And falsly must be term'd a foolish Pity,
Meane while the gracious Princes tender brest
(Gently possest with nothing but the best
Of the disguis'd dissembler) is abus'd
And made the cloke, where with his fault's excus'd:
The radient beames that warme, & shine so bright,
Comfort this lower world with heat and light,
But drawne, and recollected in a glasse,
They burne, and their appointed limits passe:
Even so the power from the Princes hand,
Directs the subject with a sweet command,
But to perverse fantasticks if confer'd,
Whom wealth, or blinded Fortune hath prefer'd,
It spurres on wrong, and makes the right retire,
And sets the grumbling Common-wealth on fire:
Their foule intent, the Common good pretends,
And with that good they maske their private ends,
Their glorie's dimme, and cannot b'understood,
Vnlesse it shine in pride, or swimme in blood:
Their will's a Law, their mischiefe Policy,
Their frownes are Death, their power Tyranny:
Ill thrives the State that harbours such a man,
That can, what e're he wills; wills what he can.

May my ungarnisht quill presume so much,
To glorifie it selfe, and give a touch
Vpon the Iland of my Soveraigne Lord?
What language shall I use, what new-found word,
T'abridge the mighty volume of of his worth,
And keepe me blamelesse, from th'untimely birth
Of (false reputed) flattery? He lends
No cursed Haman pow'r, to worke his Ends
Vpon our ruine, but transferres his grace
On just desert, which in the ugly face

129

Of foule detraction, (untouch't) can dare,
And smile, till black-mouth'd Envy blush, and tare
Her Snaky fleece. Thus, thus in happy peace
He rules, to make our happinesse increase,
Directs with love, commands with Princely awe,
And in his brest he beares a living Law:

Defend us thou, and heavens thee defend,
And let proud Haman have proud Hamans end.

Sect. 3.

The Argvment.

The Iewes and Mordecai lament,
And waile the height of their distresses:
But Mordecai the Queene possesses,
With cruell Hamans foule intent.

Now when as Faire (the daughter of the earth
Newly dis-burthen'd of her plumed birth)
From off her Turrets did her wings display,
And pearcht in the sad cares of Mordecai,
He rent his garments, wearing in their stead
Distressed sack-cloth: on his fainting head
He strowed Dust, and from his showring eyes
Ran floods of sorrow, and with bitter cryes
His griefe saluted heaven; his groanes did borrow
No Art to draw the true pourtraict of sorrow:
Nor yet within his troubled brest alone,
(Too small a stage for griefe to trample on)
Did Tyrant sorrow act her lively Sceane,
But did inlarge (such griefe admits no meane)
The lawlesse limits of her Theater
Ith' hearts of all the Iewish Nation, where

130

(With no dissembled Action) she exprest
The lively Passion of a pensive brest.
Forthwith he posteth to the Palace gate,
T'acquaint Queene Ester with his sad estate,
But found no entrance: for the Persian Court
Gave welcome to delights, and youthly sport,
To jolly mirth, and such delightfull things:
Soft rayment best befits the Courts of Kings:
There lyes no welcome for a whining face,
A mourning habit suits no Princely Place:
Which when the Maids, and Eunuchs or the Queen
(Vnable of themselves to helpe) had seene,
Their Royall Mistresse straight they did acquaint
With the dumb-shew of her sad Cousins plaint;
Whereat (till now a stranger to the cause)
Perplext, and forced by the tender Lawes
Of deare affection, her gentle heart
Did sympathize with his conceived smart:
She sent him change of rayment to put on,
To vaile his griefe; But he received none:
Then (sore dismai'd, impatient to forbeare
The knowledge of the thing she fear'd to heare)
She sent her servant to him, to importune,
What sudden Chance, or what disast'rous fortune
Had caus'd this strange and ill-apparell'd griefe,
That she (if in her lyes) may send reliefe:
To whom his sorrowes made this sad Relation,
And this, the tenor of his Declaration:

Hamans (that cursed Hamans) haughty pride
(Because my knee deservedly denyde
To make an Idoll of his greatnesse) hath
Incenst the fury of his jealous wrath,
And profer'd lavish bribes to buy the blood
Of me, and all the faithfull Iewish brood:

131

Let, here the copy, granted by the King,
Stil'd in his name, confirmed with his King,
By vertue of the which, into his hands,
Curst Haman hath ingrost our lives, our lands:
Goe tell the Queene, it refresh in her powers
To helpe; the case is hers as well as Ours:
Goe tell my cousin Queene, it is her charge,
To use the meanes, whereby she may inlarge
Her aged kinsmans life, and all her Nation;
Preferring to the King her supplication.

Meditat. 9.

Who hopes t'attain the sweet Elysian Layes,
To reap the harvest of his wel-spent daies,
Must passe the joy lesse streames of Acaron,
The scorching waves of burning Phlegeton,
And sable billowes of the Stygian Lake:
Thus sweet with sowre, each mortall must partake.
What joyfull Harvester did ere obtaine
The sweet fruition of his hopefull gaine,
Vntill his hardy labours first had past
The Summers heat, and stormy Winters blast?
A sable night returnes a shining morrow;
And dayes of joy ensue sad nights of sorrow:
The way to blisse lyes not on beds of Downe,
And he that had no Crosse, deserves no Crowne:
There's but one Heav'n, one place of perfect ease,
In man it lies, to take it where he please,
Above, or here below; And few men doe
Injoy the one; and tast the other too;
Sweating, and constant labour wins the Goale
Of Rest; Afflictions clarifie the soule,

132

And like hard Masters, give more hard directions,
Tut'ring the nonage of uncurb'd affections:
Wisedome (the Antidote of sad despayre)
Makes sharpe Afflictions seeme not as they are,
Through patient sufferance, and doth apprehend,
Not as they seeming are, but as they end:
To beare Affliction with a bended brow,
Or stubborne heart, is but to disallow
The speedy meanes to health; salve heales no sore,
If mis-apply'd, but makes the griefe the more:
Who sends Affliction, sends an end; and He
Best knows what's best for him, what's best for me:
'Tis not for me to carve me where I like;
Him pleases when he lift to stroke or strike:
Ile neither wish, nor yet avoid Tentation,
But still expect it, and make preparation:
If he thinke best, my Faith shall not be tryde,
(Lord) keep me spotless from presumptuous pride:
If otherwise; with tryall, give me care,
By thankfull patience, to prevent Despaire;
Fit me to beare what e're thou shalt assigne;
I kisse the Rod, because the Rod is thine.

How-ere, let me not boast, nor yet repine,
With tryall, or without (Lord) make me thine.

133

Sect. 10.

The Argvment.

Her ayd implor'd, the Queene refuses
To helpe them, and her selfe excuses:
But (urg'd by Mordecai) consents
To die, or crosse their foes intents.

Now when the servant had returrn'd the words
Of wretched Mordecai, like pointed swords
They neere impierc't Queene Esters tender heart,
That well could pity, but no helpe impart;
Ballac'd with griefe, and with the burthen foyld,
(Like Ordnance over-charg'd) she thus recoyl'd:

Goe, Hatach, tell my wretched kinsman thus,
The case concernes not you alone, but us:
We are the subject of proud Hamans hate,
As well as you; our life is pointed at
As well as yours, or as the meanest Iew,
Nor can I helpe my selfe, nor them, nor you:
You know the Custome of the Persian State,
No King may breake, no subject violate:
How may I then presume to make accesse
Before th'offended King? or rudely presse
(Vncall'd) into his presence? How can I
Expect my suit, and have deserv'd to dye?
May my desiers hope to find successe,
When to effect them, I the Law transgresse?
These thirty dayes uncall'd for have J bin
Vnto my Lord; How dare I now goe in?
Goe, Hatach, and returne this heavy newes
And shew the truth of my vnforc'd excuse.

134

Whereof when Mordecai was full possest,
His troubled Soule he boldly thus exprest:

Goe, tell the fearfull Queene; too great's her feare,
Too small her zeale; her life she rates too deare:
How poore's th'adventure, to ingage thy blood,
To save thy peoples life, and Churches good?
To what advantage canst thou more expose
Thy life than this? Th'ast but a life to lose;
Thinke not, thy Greatnesse can excuse our death,
Or save thy life, thy life is but a breath
As well as ours, (Great Queene) thou hop'st in vaine,
In saving of a life, a life to gaine:
Who knowes if God on purpose did intend
Thy high preferment for this happy end?
If at this needfull time thou spare to speake,
Our speedy helpe shall (like the morning) breake
From heaven, together with thy woes; and be
That succours us, shall heape his plagues on thee.

Which when Queen Ester had right well perus'd,
And on each wounding word had sadly mus'd,
Startled with zeale, not daring to deny,
She rouz'd her faith, and sent this meeke reply:

Since heaven it is endowes each enterprize
With good successe, and onely in us lies
To plant, and water; let us first obtaine
Heavens high assistance, lest the worke be vaine:
Let all the Iewes in Susa summon'd be,
And keepe a solemne three dayes Fast, and we,
With all our servants, and our maiden traine,
Shall fast as long, and from our thoughts abstaine:
Then to the King (uncall'd) will I repaire,
(Howe'r my boldnesse shall his Lawes contraire,)
And brauely welcome Death before mine eye,
And scorne her power: If I dye, I dye.

135

Meditat. 10.

As in the winged Common-wealth of Bees,
(Whose carefull Summer-providence foresees
Th'approching fruitlesse Winter, which denies
The crowne of labour) some with laden thighs
Take charge to beare their waxy burthens home;
Others receive the welcome load; and some
Dispose the waxe; others, the plot contrive;
Some build the curious Comb, some guard the Hive
Like armed Centinels; others distreine
The purer honey from the waxe; some traine,
And discipline the young, while others drive
The sluggish Drones from their deserved Hive:
Thus in this Common-wealth (untaught by Art)
Each winged Burger acts his busie part;
So man (whose first creation did intend,
And chiefly pointed at no other end,
Then (as a faithfull Steward) to receive
The Fine and quit-rent of the lives we live)
Must suit his deare indeavour to his might;
Each one must lift, to make the burthen light,
Proving the power, that his gifts afford,
To raise the best advantage for his Lord,
Whose substitute he is, and for whose sake
We live and breath; each his account must make,
Or more, or lesse; and he whose power lacks
The meanes to gather honey, must bring waxe:
Five Talents double five; two render foure;
Wher's little, little's crav'd, where much, there's more:
Kings by their Royall priviledge may do,
What unbefits a mind to search into,

136

But by the force of their prerogatives,
They cannot free the custome of their lives:
The silly Widow (from whose wrinkled browes
Faint drops distill, through labour that she owes
Her needy life, must make her Audite too,
As well as Kings, and mighty Monarks doe:
The world's a Stage, each mortall Acts thereon,
As well the King that glitters on the throne,
As needy beggers: Heav'n Spectator is,
And markers who acteth well, and who amisse.

What part befits me best, I cannot tell:
It matters not how meane, so acted well.

Sect. 11.

The Argvment.

Unto the King Queene Ester goes,
He unexpected favour showes,
Demands her suit, she doth request
The King and Haman to a Feast.

When as Queen Esters solemne 3. daies Fast
Had feasted heaven with a sweet repast,
Her lowly bended body she unbow'd,
And (like faire Titan breaking from a cloud)
She rose, and with her Royall Robe she clad
Her livelesse limmes, and with a face as sad
As griefe could paint, (wanting no Art to borrow
A needlesse helpe to counterfeit a sorrow,)
Softly she did direct her feeble pace
Vnto the inner Court, where for a space,
She boldly stood before the Royall Throne,
Like one that would, but durst not make her mone:

137

Which when her princely husband did behold,
His heart relented, (Fortune helpes the bold)
And to expresse a welcome unexpected,
Forth to the Queene his Scepter he directed;
Whom (now imboldned to approch secur'd)
In gracious termes, he gently thus conjur'd:
What is't Queene Ester would? What sad request
Hangs on her lips, dwells in her doubtfull brest?
Say, say, (my lifes preserver) what's the thing,
That lyes in the performance of a King,
Shall be deny'd? Faire Queene, what e're is mine
Vnto the moity of my Kingdome's thine:

So Ester thus: If in thy Princely eyes
Thy loyall Servant hath obtain'd the prize
Of undeserved favor, let the King
And Haman grace my this dayes-banquetting,
To crowne the dainties of his handmaids Feast,
Humbly devoted to so great a Guest.

The motion pleas'd, and fairly well succeeded:
(To willing minds, no twice intreaty needed)
They came; but in Queene Esters troubled face,
(Robd of the sweetnesse of her wonted grace)
The King read discontent; her face divin'd
The greatnesse of some further suit behind.

Say, say, (thou bounteous harvest of my joyes)
(Said then the King) what dumpish griefe annoyes
Thy troubled soule? Speake, Lady, what's the thing
Thy heart desires? By th'onour of a King,
My Kingdomes halfe, requested, I'le divide
To faire Queene Ester, to my fairest Bride.

Lo then the tenour of my deare request,
(Repli'd the Queene,) unto a second Feast,
Thy humble Suitor doth presume to bid
The King, and Haman, as before she did:

138

Now therefore if it please my gracious Lord,
To daigne his Royall presence, and afford
The peerlesse treasure of his Princely Grace,
To dry the sorrowes of his Handmaids face,
Then to my Kingly, and thrice-welcome Guest
His servant shall unbosome her Request.

Medita. 11.

He that invites his Maker to a Feast,
(Advising well the greatnesse of his Guest)
Must purge his dining chamber from infections,
And sweepe the Cobwebs of his lewd affections,
And then provide such Cates, as most delight
His Palate, and best please his Appetite:
And such are holy workes and pious deeds,
These are the dainties whereon heaven feeds:
Faith plaies the Cook, seasons, directs, and guides;
So man findes meate, so God the Cooke provides:
His drinke are teares, sprung from a midnight cry,
Heaven sips out Nectar from a sinners eye;
The dining chamber is the soule opprest;
God keepes his revells in a Sinners brest:
The musicke that attends the Feast, are grones,
Deep-sounding sighes, and loud lamenting mones:
Heav'n heares no sweeter musick, than complaints;
The Fasts of sinners, are the Feasts of Saints,
To which heav'n dains to stoop, & heav'ns hie King
Descends, whilst all the quire of Angels sing,
And with such sense-bereaving Sonets fill
The hearts of wretched men, that my rude quill
(Dazeld with too much light) it selfe addressing
To blaze them forth, obscures thē in th'expressing:

139

Thrice happy man, and thrice-thrice happy Feast,
Grac'd with the presence of so great a Guest;
To him are freely giv'n the privy keyes
Of heav'n and earth, to open when he please,
And locke when e're he list; In him it lyes
To ope the showring flood-gates of the skies,
Or shut them at his pleasure; in his hand
The Host of heaven is put; if he command,
The Sunne (not daring to withstand) obeyes,
Out-runnes his equall howres, flies back, or stayes,
To him theres nought uneasie to atchieve;
Heele rouze the graves, and make the dead alive.

Lord, I'me unfit t'invite thee to my home,
My Cates are all too coorse, too meane my Roome:

Yet come and welcome: by thy pow'r Divine,
Thy Grace may turne my Water into Wine.

Sect. 12.

The Argvment.

Good Mordecai's unreverence
Great Hamans haughty pride offends:
H'acquaints his wife with the offence;
The counsell of his wife and friends.

That day went Haman forth; for his swolne brest
Was fill'd with joyes, and heart was full possest
Of all the height Ambition could require,
To satisfie her prodigall Desire.

But when he passed through the Palace Gate,
(His eye-sore) aged Mardocheus sate,
With head unbar'd, and stubborne knee unbear,
Vnapt to fawne, with slavish blandishment:

140

Which when great Human saw, his boyling brest
(So great disdaine unable to digest)
Ran o're; his blood grew hot, and new desires
Incenst, and kindled his avenging fires:
Surcharg'd with griefe, and sick with male-content
Through his distemper'd passion, home he went;
Where (to asswage the swelling of his sorrow
With words, the poorest helps distress can borrow)
His wife, and friends he summon'd to partake
His cause of discontent, and thus bespake:

See, see, how Fortune with a lib'rall hand,
Hath with the best, and sweetest of the Land,
Crown'd my desiers, and hath timely blowne
My budded hopes, whose ripenesse hath out-growne
The limits, and the height of expectation,
Scarce to be had, but in a Contemplation:

See, see, how Fortune (to inlarge his breath,
And make me living in despight of Death)
Hath multiply'd my loynes, that after-Fame
May in my flocke preserve my blood, my Name.

To make my honour with my fortunes euen,
Behold, my gracious Lord the King hath given
And trusted to my hand the sword of Pow'r;
Or life, or death lies where I laugh or lowre:
Who stands more gracious in my Princes eye?
How frownes the King, if Haman be not by?

Ester the Queene hath made the King her Guest,
And (wisely weighing how to grace the Feast
With most advantage) hath (in policy)
Jnvited me: And no man else but I
(Onely a fit Companion for a King)
May taste the secrets of the banquetting.

Yet what availes my wealth, my place, my might?
How can I relish them? with what delight?

141

What pleasure it in dainties, if the taste
Be in it selfe distemper'd? Better fast:
In many sweets, one sowre offends the pallate,
One loathsome weed annoyes the choycest Sallat:
What are my riches, what my honourd Place?
What are my Children? or my Princes Grace,
So long as cursed Mordecai survives?
Whose very breath infects, whose life deprives
My life of blisse, and visage sternely strikes
Worse venome to mine eyes then Basiliskes.

When Haman then had launc'd his ripned griefe,
In bloody termes, they thus apply'd reliefe:

Erect a Gibbet, fifty Cubits hie,
Then urge the King (what will the King deny
When Haman sues?) that slavish Mordecai
Be hang'd thereon; his blood will soone allay
The heat of thine; his cursed death shall fame
The highnesse of thy power, and his shame;
So when thy suit shall find a faire event,
Goe banquet with the King, and live content.

The Councell pleas'd: The Gibbet fairly stands,
Soone done, as said: Revenge finds nimble hands.

Meditat. 12

Some Ev'ls I must approve, al Goods, I dare not,
Some are, & seem not good; some seem & are not:
In choosing goods my heart will make the choyce,
My flattring eye shall have no casting voyce;
No outward sense may choose an inward blisse,
For seeming Happinesse least happy is:
The eye (the chiefest Cinque-port of the Heart)
Keepes open doores, and playes the Traytors part,

142

Lets painted pleasures in, to bribe th'Affections,
Which masks foule faces under false complexions;
It hath no pow'r to judge, nor can it see
Things as they are, but as they seeme to be.

There's but one happinesse, one perfect blisse;
But how obtain'd, or where, or what it is,
The world of nature ne're could apprehend,
Grounding their labours on no other end
Than bare opinion, diversly affecting
Some one thing, some another, still projecting
Prodigious fancies, till their learned Schooles
Lent so much knowledge as to make them fooles:
One builds his blisse upon the blaze of glory:
Can perfect happinesse be transitory?
In strength, another summes Felicity:
What horse is not more happy farre than he?
Some pile their happinesse on heapes of wealth:
Which (sicke) they'd loath, if gold could purchase health:
Some, in the use of beautie place their end;
Some, in th'enjoyment of a Courtly friend:
Like wasted Lampes, such happinesses smother;
Age puffeth out the one; and wants, the other.
The happinesse, whose worth deserves the name
Of chiefe, with such a fier doth inflame
The brests of mortalls, that heav'n thinkes it fit
That men should rather thinke than taste of it;
All earthly joyes some other aime intend,
This, for it selfe's desir'd, no other end:
Those, (if enjoy'd) are crost with discontent,
If not in the pursuit, in the event:
This (truly good) admits no contrarietie,
Without defect, or yet a loath'd saciety.

The least is more than my desert can claime,
(Thankfull for both) at this alone I aime.

143

Sect. 13.

The Argvment.

The King askes Haman, what respects
Befits the man that he affects;
And with that honour doth appay
The good deserts of Mordecai.

Now when as Morpheus (Serjeant of the night)
Had laid his mace upon the dawning light,
And with his lustlesse limbes had closly spred
The sable Curtaines of his drouzy Bed,
The King slept not, but (indispos'd to rest)
Disguised thoughts within his troubled brest
Kept midnight Revells.
Wherefore (to recollect his randome thought)
He gave command the Chronicles be brought,
And read before him; where, with good attention,
He mark'd how Mordecai (with faire prevention)
Of a foule treason 'gainst his blood intended)
His life, and state had loyally defended;
Whereat the King (impatient to repay
Such faithfull service with the least delay)
Gently demands what thankfull recompence,
What worship or deserved reverence,
Equivalent to such great service, hath
Iustly repaid this loyall Liege-mans faith?
They answer'd, None: Now Haman (fully bent
To give the vessell of his poison, vent)
Stood ready charg'd with full Revenge, prepar'd
To beg his life, whom highly to reward
The King intends: Say (Haman) quoth the King,
What worship, or what honourable thing

144

Best fits the person, whom the King shall place
Within the bounty of his highest Grace?

So Haman thus bethought, Whom more than J
Deserves the Sun-shine of my Princes eye?
Whom seekes the King to honour more than me?
From Hamans mouth, shall Haman honour'd be?
Speake freely then, And let thy tongue proclaime
An honour suting to thy worth, thy name:
So Haman thus: This honour, this respect
Be done to him the King shall most affect,
In Robes Jmperiall be his body drest,
And bravely mounted on that very Beast
The King bestrides; then be the Crowne of State
Plac'd on his lofty browes; let Princes waite
Vpon his Stirrop, and in triumph leade
This Impe of Honour, in Assuerus flead;
And to expresse the glory of his name.
Like Heralds, let the Princes thus proclame;
“This peerlesse honour, and these Princely rites
“Be done to him in whom the King delights.
Said then the King, (O sudden change of Fate)
Within the Portall of our Palace Gate
There sits a Iew whose name is Mordecai,
Be he the man; Let no perverse delay
Protract; But what thy lavish tongue hath said,
Doe thou to him: So Haman sore dismaid;
His tongue (ty'd to his Roofe) made no reply,
But (neither daring answer, nor deny)
Perforce obey'd, and so his Page became,
Whose life he sought to have bereav'd with shame;
The Rites solemniz'd, Mordecai return'd
Vnto the Gate; Haman went home and mourn'd,
(His visage muffled in a mournfull vale)
And told his wife this melancholy Tale;

145

Whereat amaz'd, and startled at the newes,
Despairing, thus she spake: If from the Iewes
This Mordecai derive his happy line,
His be the palme of victory, not thine;
The highest heavens have still conspir'd to blesse
That faithfull seed, and with a faire successe
Have crown'd their just designes: If Mordecai
Descend from thence, thy hopes shall soone decay,
And melt like waxe before the mid-day Sun.
So said, her broken speech not fully done,
Haman was hasted to Queene Esters Feast;
To mirth and joy, an indisposed Guest.

Medita. 13.

There's nothing under heaven more glorifies
The name of King, or in a subjects eyes
Winnes more observance, or true loyalty,
Than sacred Iustice, shared equally:
No greater glory can belong to Might,
Than to defend the feeble in their right;
To helpe the helplesse and their wrongs redresse;
To curbe the haughty-hearted, and suppresse
The proud; requiting ev'ry speciall deed
With punishment, or honourable meed:
Herein Kings aptly may deserve the name
Of gods, enshrined in an earthly frame;
Nor can they any way approach more nye
The full perfection of a Deity,
Than by true Iustice, imitating heaven
In nothing more, than in the poizing eaven
Their righteous ballance: Iustice is not blinde,
As Poets feigne; but, with a sight refin'd,

146

Her Lyncian eyes are clear'd, and shine as bright
As doe their errours, that denie her sight;
The soule of Iustice resteth in her eye,
Her contemplation's chiefly to descry
True worth, from painted showes; and loyalty,
From false, and deepe-dissembled trechery;
A noble Statesman, from a Parasite;
And good, from what is meerely good in sight:
Such hidden things her piercing eye can see:
If Iustice then be blinde, how blinde are we!

Right fondly have the Poets pleas'd to say,
From earth the faire Astræa's fled away,
And in the shining Baudrike takes her seat,
To make the number of the Signes compleat:

For why? Astræa doth repose and rest
Within the Zodiake of my Sov'raignes brest,
And from the Cradle of his infancy
Hath train'd his Royall heart with industry,
In depth of righteous lore, and sacred thewes
Of Iustice Schoole; that this my Haggard Muse
Cannot containe the freenesse of her spright,
But make a Mounty at so faire a flight,
(Perchance) though (like a bastard Eagle daz'd
With too great light) she winke, and fall amaz'd:

Heav'n make my heart more thankfull, in confessing
So high a blisse, than skilfull, in expressing.

147

Sect. 14.

The Argvment.

The Quene brings Hamans accusation;
The King's displeas'd, and growes in passion:
Proud Hamans trechery descry'd;
The shamefull end of shamelesse pride.

Forthwith to satisfie the Queenes request,
The King and Haman came unto her Feast,
Whereat the King (what then can hap amisse?)
Became her suitor, that was humbly his,
And fairely thus intreating, this bespake:

What is't Queene Ester would? and for her sake,
What is't the King would not? preferre thy suit,
Faire Queene: Those that despaire, let them be mute;
Cleare up those clouded beames (my fairest Bride)
My Kingdomes halfe (requested) I'le divide.

Whereat the Queene, halfe hoping, halfe afraid,
Disclos'd her trembling lips, and thus she said:

If in the bounty of thy Princely Grace,
Thy sad Petitioner may finde a place
To shrowd her most unutterable griefe,
Which (if not there) may hope for no reliefe;
Jf in the treasure of thy gracious eyes,
(Where mercy and relenting pity lies)
Thy hand-maid hath found favour; let my Lord
Grant me my life (my life so much abhord,
To doe him service) and my peoples life,
Which now lye open to a Tyrants knife:
Our lives are sold, 'tis I, tis guiltlesse I,
Thy loyall Spouse, thy Queene and hers must dye:

148

The spotlesse blood of me, thy faithfull Bride,
Must swage the swelling of a Tyrants pride:
Had we beene sold for drudges, to attend
The busie Spindle; or for slaves, to spend
Our weary howers, to deserve our bread,
So as the gaine stood but my Lord in stead,
I had beene silent, and ne're spent my breath:
But neither he that seekes it, nor my death,
Can to himselfe the least advantage bring,
(Except revenge) nor to my Lord the King.

Like to a Lyon rouzed from his rest,
Rag'd then the King; and thus his rage exprest:

Who is the man that dares attempt this thing?
Where is the Traitor? What? am J a King?
May not our subjects serve, but must our Queene
Be made the subject of a villaines spleene?
Is not Queene Ester bosom'd in our heart?
What Traitor then dares be so bold, to part
Our heart and us? Who dares attempt this thing?
Can Ester then be slaine, and not the King?
Reply'd the Queene, The man that hath done this,
That cursed Haman, wicked Haman is.

Like as a Felon shakes before the Bench,
Whose troubled silence proves the Evidence,
So Haman trembled when Queene Ester spake,
Nor answer, nor excuse his guilt could make:

The King, no longer able to digest
So foule a trechery, forsooke the Feast,
Walk'd in the Garden, where consuming rage
Boil'd in his heart, with fire (unapt t'asswage.)
So Haman pleading guilty to the fault,
Besought his life of her, whose life he sought.
When as the King had walk'd a little space,
(So rage and choller often shift their place)

149

In he return'd, where Haman fallen flat
Was on the bed whereon Queene Ester sate;
Whereat the King new cause of rage debates,
(Apt to suppose the worst, of whom he hates)
New passion addes new fuell to his fire,
And faines a cause, to make it blaze the higher:
Is't not enough for him to seeke her death,
(Said hee) but with a Letchers tainted breath,
Will be inforce my Queene before my face?
And make his Brothell in our Royall Place?

So said, they veiled Hamans face, as he
Vnfit were to be seene, or yet to see:
Then said an Eunuch sadly standing by
In Hamans Garden, fifty Cubits high,
There stands a Gibbet, built but yesterday,
Made for thy loyall servant Mordecai,
Whose faithfull lips thy life from danger freed,
And merit leads him to a fairer meed.

Said then the King, It seemeth just and good,
To shed his blood, that thirsted after blood;
Who plants the tree, deserves the fruit; 'tis fit
That he that bought the purchase, hansell it:
Hang Haman there; It is his proper good;
So let the Horseleach burst himselfe with blood:
They straight obeyd: Lo here the end of Pride:
Now rests the King appeas'd, and satisfi'd.

Meditat. 14.

Cheere up, and caroll forth your silver ditie,
(Heavens winged quiristers) and fil your City
(The new Ierusalem) with jolly mirth:
The Church hath peace in heaven, hath peace on earth:

150

Spread forth your golden pinions, and cleave
The flitting skies; dismount, and quite bereave
Our stupid senses with your heavenly mirth,
For loe, there's peace in heav'n, there's peace on earth:
Let Hallelujah fill your warbling tongues,
And let the ayre, compos'd of saintly songs,
Breathe such celestiall Sonnets in our eares;
That whosoe're this heav'nly musicke heares,
May stand amaz'd, & (ravisht at the mirth)
Chāt forth, there's peace in heav'n, there's peace on earth;
Let mountaines clap their joyfull, joyfull hands,
And let the lesser hils trace o're the lands
In equall measure; and resounding woods
Bow downe your heads, and kisse your neighb'ring floods:
Let peace and love exalt your key of mirth;
For now there's peace in heav'n, there's peace on earth:
You holy Temples of the highest King.
Triumph with joy; Your sacred Anthemes sing;
Chant forth your Hymns, & heav'nly roundelaies,
And touch your Organs on their louder keyes:
For Haman's dead, that dāted al your myrth,
And now there's peace in heav'n, there's peace on earth:
Proud Haman's dead, whose life disturb'd thy rest,
Who sought to cut, and seare thy Lilly brest;
The rav'nous Fox, that did annoyance bring
Vnto the Vineyard,'s taken in a Spring.

Seem'd not thy Spouse unkind, to hear thee weep
And not redresse thee? Seem'd he not asleepe?
No, (Sion) no, he heard thy bitter pray'r,
But let thee weepe, for weeping makes thee faire.
The morning Sun reflects, and shines most bright,
When Pilgrims grope in darknesse all the night:
The Church must conquer, e're she gets the prize,
But there's no conquest, where's no enemies:

151

The day is thine; In triumph make thy mirth,
For now there's peace in heav'n, there's peace on earth:
What man's so dull, or in his brains undone,
To say, (because he sees not) There's no Sun?
Weake is the faith, upon a sudden griefe,
That sayes, (because not now) There's no reliefe:
God's bound to helpe, but loves to see men sue:
Though datelesse, yet the bond's not present due.

Like to the sorrowes of our child-bed wives,
Is the sad pilgrimage of humane lives:

But when by throes God sends a joyfull birth,
Then find we peace in heav'n, & peace on earth.

Sect. 15.

The Argvment.

Vpon the Queene and Mordecai
Dead Hamans wealth and dignity
The King bestowes: to their discretion
Referres the Iewes decreed oppression.

That very day, the King did freely adde
More bounty to his gift: What Haman had
Borrow'd of smiling Fortune, he repaid
To Esters hand, and to her use convaid:
And Mordecai found favour with the King;
Vpon his hand he put his Royall Ring,
Whose Princely pow'r proud Haman did abuse,
In late betraying of the guiltlesse Iewes;
For now had Ester to the King descry'd
Her Iewish kin, how neere she was ally'd
To Mardocheus, whom (her father dead)
His love did foster in her fathers' stead.

152

Once more the Queene prefers an earnest suit,
Her humble body lowly prostitute
Before his Royall feet, her cheekes o'reflowne
With marish teares, and thus her plain'full mone,
Commix't with bitter singults, she exprest:

If in the Cabin of thy Princely brest
Thy loyall servant (undeserv'd) hath found
A place wherein her wishes might be crown'd
With faire successe; If in thy gracious sight
J pleasing, or my cause seeme just, and right,
Be speedy letters written, to reverse
Those bloody Writs which Haman did disperse
Throughout thy Provinces, whose sad content
Was the subversion of my innocent
And faithfull people; Helpe, (my gracious Lord)
The time's prefixt, wherein th'impartiall Sword
Must make this massacre, the day's at hand,
Unlesse thy speedy Grace send countermand:
How can I brooke within my tender brest,
To breake the bonds of Natures high behest,
And see my people (for whose sake J breath)
Like stalled Oxen, bought and sould for death?
How can I see such mischiefe? how can I
Survive, to see my kin, and people dye?
Said then the King; Lo cursed Haman hath
The execution of our highest wrath,
The equall hire of his malicious pride;
His welth to thee I gave; (my fairest Bride)
His honour (better plac'd) I have bestow'd
On him, to whom my borrow'd life hath ow'd
Her five yeares breath, the trusty Mordecai,
Our loyall kinsman: Let his hand pourtray
Our pleasure, as best liketh him, and thee;
Let him set downe, and be it our Decree,

153

Let him confirme it with our Royall Ring,
And we shall signe it with the name of King:
For none may alter, or reverse the same
That's seal'd and written in our Princely name.

Medita. 15.

To breathe, 's a necessary gift of nature,
Whereby we may discerne a living Creature
From plants, or stones: 'Tis but a meere degree
From Vegetation; and this, hath shee
Like equally shar'd out to brutish beasts
With man, who lesse observes her due behests
(Sometimes) than they; and oft, by accident,
Doe lesse improve the gift in the event:
But man, whose organs are more fairely drest,
To entertaine a farre more noble Guest,
Hath, through the excellence of his Creation,
A Soule Divine; Divine by inspiration;
Divine through likenesse to that pow'r Divine,
That made and plac'd her in her fleshly shrine;
From hence we challenge lifes prerogative;
Beasts onely breath; 'Tis man alone doth live;
One end of mans Creation, was Societie,
Mutuall Communion, and friendly Piety:
The man that lives unto himselfe alone,
Subsists and breaths, but lives not; Never one
Deserv'd the moity of himselfe, for hee
That's borne, may challenge but one part of three;
Triparted thus; his Country clames the best;
The next his Parents; and himselfe the least.
He husbands best his life, that freely gives
It for the publike good; he rightly lives,

154

That nobly dyes: 'tis greatest mastery,
Not to be fond to live, nor feare to dye
On just occasion; He that (in case) despises
Life, earnes it best; but he that over-prizes
His dearest blood, when honour bids him die,
Steales but a life, and lives by Robbery.

O sweet Redeemer of the world, whose death
Deserv'd a world of lives! Had Thy deare breath
Be one deare to Thee; Oh had'st Thou but deny'd
Thy precious Blood, the world for e'r had dy'd:

O spoile my life, when I desire to save it,
By keeping it from Thee, that freely gave it.

Sect. 16.

The Argvment.

Letters are sent by Mordecai,
That all the Iewes, upon the day
Appointed for their death, withstand
The fury of their foe-mens hand.

Forthwith the scribes were summon'd to appear;
To ev'ry Province, and to ev'ry Shire
Letters they wrote (as Mordecai directed)
To all the Iewes, (the Iewes so much dejected)
To all Liev-tenants, Captains of the Band,
To all the States, and Princes of the Land,
According to the phrase, and divers fashion
Of Dialect, and speech of ev'ry Nation;
All which was stiled in the name of King,
Sign'd with his hand, seal'd with his Royall Ring;
Loe here the tenour of the Kings Commission;

Whereas of late, (at Hamans urg'd petition,)

155

Decrees were sent, and spred throughout the Land,
To spoile the Iewes, and with impartiall hand,
(Vpon a day prefixt) to kill and slay;
We likewise grant upon that very day,
Full power to the Jewes, to make defence,
And quit their lives, and for a Recompence,
To take the spoiles of those they shall suppresse,
Shewing like mercy to the mercilesse.
By posts, as swift as Time, was this Decree
Commanded forth; As fast as Day they flee,
Spurr'd on, and hast'ned with the Kings Command
Which straight was noys'd, & publisht through the Land
As warning to the Iewes, to make provision
To entertaine so great an opposition.

So Mordecai (disburthned of his griefe,
Which now found hopefull tokens of reliefe)
Departs the presence of the King, addrest
In royall Robes, and on his lofty Crest
He bore a Crowne of Gold, his body spred
With Lawne, and Purple deepely coloured:
Fill'd were the Iewes with triumphs, & with noise,
(The common Heralds to proclaime true joyes:)
Like as a prisner muffled at the tree,
Whose life's remov'd from death scarce one degree
His last pray'r said, and hearts confession made,
(His eyes possessing deaths eternall shade)
At last unlook'd for comes a slow Reprieve,
And makes him (even as dead) once more alive:
Amaz'd, he rends deaths muffler from his eyes,
And (over-joy'd) knowes not he lives, or dyes;
So joy'd the Iewes, whose lives, this new Decree
Had quit from death and danger, and set free
Their gasping soules, and (like a blazing light)
Disperst the darknesse of the approaching night;

156

So joy'd the Iewes: and with their solemne Feasts
They chas'd dull sorrow from their pensive brests:
Meane while the people (startled at the newes)
Some griev'd, some envi'd, some (for feare) turn'd Iewes.

Meditat. 16.

Among the noble Greekes, it was no shame
To lose a Sword; It but deserv'd the name
Of warres disastrous fortune; but to yeeld
The right and safe possession of the Shield,
Was foule reproach, and manlesse cowardize,
Farre worse than death to him that scorn'd to prize
His life before his Honour; Honour's wonne
Most in a just defence; Defence is gone,
The Shield once lost, the wounded Theban cry'd,
How fares my Shield? which safe, he smil'd, & dy'd:
True honour bides at home, and takes delight
In keeping, not in gaining of a Right;
Scornes usurpation, nor seekes she blood,
And thirsts to make her name not great, as good:
God gives a Right to man; To man, defence
To guard it giv'n; but when a false pretence
Shall ground her title on a greater Might,
What doth he else but warre with heav'n, and fight
With Providence? God sets the Princely Crowne
On heads of Kings, Who then may take it downe?
No juster quarrell, or more noble Fight,
Than to maintaine, where God hath giv'n a Right;
There's no despaire of Conquest in that warre,
Where God's the Leader; Policy's no barre
To his designes; no Power can withstand
His high exploits; within whose mighty Hand

157

Are all the corners of the earth; the hills
His fensive bulwarks are, which when he wills,
His lesser breath can bandy up and downe,
And crush the world, and with a winke, can drowne
The spacious Vniverse in suds of Clay;
Where heav'n is Leader, heav'n must win the day:
God reapes his honour hence; That combat's safe,
Where hee's a Combatant, and ventures halfe:
Right's not impair'd with weaknesse, but prevailes
In spight of strength, whē strength & power failes:
Fraile is the trust repos'd on Troops of Horse;
Truth in a handfull, findes a greater force.

Lord maile my heart with faith, and be my shield,
And if a world confront me I'le not yeeld.

Sect. 17.

The Argvment.

The bloody Massacre: The Iewes
Prevaile: their fatall sword subdues
A world of men, and in that fray,
Hamans ten cursed sonnes they slay.
Now when as Time had rip'ned the Decree,
(Whose Winter fruit unshaken from the tree
Full ready was to fall) and brought that Day,
Wherein pretended mischiefe was to play
Her tragicke Sceane upon the Iewish Stage,
And spit the venome of her bloody rage
Vpon the face of that dispersed Nation,
And in a minute breathe their desolation;
Vpon that day (as patients in the fight)
Their scatter'd force the Iewes did reunite,

158

And to a head their straggling strength reduc'd,
And with their fatall hand (their hand disus'd
To bathe in blood) they made so long recoyle,
That with a purple streame, the thirsty soyle
O'rflowd: & on the pavement (drown'd with blood)
Where never was before, they rais'd a flood:
There lies a headlesse body, there a limme
Newly dis-joynted from the trunke of him
That there lies groaning; here, a gasping head
Cropt frō his neighbors shoulders; there, halfe dead
Full heapes of bodies, whereof some curse Fate,
Others blaspheme the name of Heav'n, and rate
Their undisposed Starres; with bitter cries,
One pities his poore widow-wife, and dies;
Another bannes the night his sonnes were borne,
That he must dye, and they must live forlorne;
Here (all besmeard in blood congeald) there lyes
A throng of carcases, whose livelesse eyes
Are clos'd with dust, & death: there, lies the Syre
Whose death the greedy heire did long desire;
And here the sonne, whose hopes were all the pleasure
His aged father had, and his lifes treasure:
Thus fell their foes, some dying, and some dead,
And onely they that scap'd the slaughter, fled;
But with such strange amazement were affrighted,
(As if themselves in their owne deaths delighted)
That each his force against his friend addrest,
And sheath'd his sword within his neighbours brest;
For all the Rulers (being sore afraid
Of Mardocheus name) with strength, and ayde
Supply'd the Iewes: For Mardecheus name
Grew great with honour, and his honour'd Fame
Was blaz'd through ev'ry Province of the Land,
And spred as farre, as did the Kings Command:

159

In favour he increast; and ev'ry how'r
Did adde a greater greatnesse to his pow'r:
Thus did the Iewes triumph in victory,
And on that day themselves were doom'd to dye,
They slew th'appointed actors of their death,
And on their heads they wore that noble wreath,
That crownes a Victor with a Victors prize;
So fled their foes, so dyde their enemies:
And on that day at Susan were imbru'd
In blood, five hundred men whom they subdu'd;
The cursed fruit of the accursed Tree
That impious Decad, Hamans progeny,
Vpon that fatall day, they overthrew,
But tooke no spoile, nor substance, where they slew.

Medit. 17.

I lately mus'd; and musing stood amaz'd,
My heart was bound, my sight was overdaz'd
To view a miracle: could Pharo fall
Before the face of Isr'el? Could her small
And ill-appointed handfull then prevaile,
When Pharo's men of warre, and Charr'ots faile?
These stood like Gyants; those like Pigmy brats:
These soar'd like Eagles; those like swarms of gnats:
On foote these marcht; those rod on troops of horse
These never better arm'd; they, never worse;
Strong backt with vengeāce & revenge were they;
These, with despaire, themselves, thēselves betray;
They close pursu'd; these (fearefull) fled the field;
How could they chuse, but win? or these, but yeeld?
Sure 'tis, nor man, nor horse, nor sword availes,
When Isr'el conquers, and great Pharo failes:

160

Poore Isr'el had no man of warre, but One;
And Pharo having all the rest, had none;
Heav'n fought for Isr'el, weakned Pharo's heart,
Who had no Counter-god to take his part:
What meant that cloudy Pillar, that by day
Did usher Isr'el in an unknowne way?
What meant that fi'ry Pillar, that by night
Appear'd to Isr'el, and gave Isr'el light?
'Twas not the secret power of Moses Rod,
That charm'd the Seas in twaine; 'twas Moses God
That fought for Isr'el, and made Pharo fall;
Well thrives the Fray where God's the Generall:
'Tis neither strength, nor undermining sleight
Prevailes, where heav'ns ingaged in the fight.

Me lift not ramble into antique dayes,
To manne his theame, lest while Vlysses strayes,
His heart forget his home Penelope:
Our prosp'rous Brittaine makes sufficient Plea
To prove her blisse, and heav'ns protecting power,
Which had she mist, her glory in an hower
Had falne to Cinders, and had past away
Like smoke before the winde; Which happy Day,
Let none but base-bred Rebels ever faile
To consecrate; and let this Age entaile
Vpon succeeding times Eternity,
Heav'ns highest love, in that dayes memory.

161

Sect. 18.

The Argvment.

The sonnes of Haman (that were slaine)
Are all hang'd up: The Iewes obtaine
Freedome to fight the morrow after;
They put three hundred more to slaughter.

When as the fame of that dayes bloody newes
Came to the King, he said; Behold, the Iewes
Have wonne the day, and in their just defence,
Have made their wrong, a rightfull recompence;
Five hundred men in Susan they have staine,
And that remainder of proud Hamans straine,
Their hands have rooted out; Queene Ester, say,
What further suit (wherein Assuerus may
Expresse the bounty of his Royall hand)
Rests in thy bosome: What is thy demand?

Said then the Queene: If in thy Princely sight
My boone be pleasing, or thou take delight
To grant thy servants suit, Let that Commission
(Which gave the Iewes this happy dayes permission
To save their lives) to morrow stand in force,
For their behalfes that onely make recourse
To God, and thee, and let that cursed brood
(The sonnes of Haman, that in guilty blood
Lye all ingoar'd, unfit to taint a Grave)
Be hang'd on Gibbets, and (like co-heires) have
Like equall shares of that deserved shame,
Their wretched father purchas'd in his name:

The King was pleas'd, and the Decree was giv'n
From Susan, where betwixt the earth and Heaven,

162

(Most undeserving to be own'd by either)
These cursed ten (like twins) were borne together.

When Titan (ready for his journall chase)
Had rouz'd his dewy locks, and Rosie face
Inricht with morning beauty, up arose
The Iewes in Susan, and their bloody blowes
So roughly dealt, that in that dismall day
A lease of hundreds fell, but on the prey
No hand was laid: so, sweet and jolly rest
The Iewes enjoy'd, and with a solemne Feast,
(Like joyfull Victors dispossest of sorrow)
They consecrated the ensuing morrow;
And in the Provinces throughout the Land,
Before their mighty and victorious hand,
Fell more than seventy thousand, but the prey
They seiz'd not; and in mem'ry of that day,
They solemnized their victorious Guests,
With gifts, and triumphs, and with holy Feasts.

Medit. 18.

The Doctrine of the Schoole of Grace dissents
From Natures (more uncertaine) rudiments,
And are as much contrayr, and opposite
As Yea, and Nay, or blacke, and purest white:
For nature teaches, first to understand,
And then beleeve; but Grace doth first command
Man to beleeve, and then to comprehend;
Faith is of things unknowne, and must intend,
And soare above conceit; What we conceive,
We stand possest of, and already have:
But faith beholds such things, as yet we have not,
Which eye sees not, eare heares not, heart conceives not.

163

Hereon, as on her ground-worke, our salvation
Erects her pillars; From this firme foundation,
Our soules mount up the new Ierusalem,
To take possession of her Diademe;
God loves no sophistry; Who argues least
In graces Schoole, concludes, and argues best;
A womans Logicke passes there; For 'tis
Good proofe to say, 'Tis so, because it is;
Had Abraham adviz'd with flesh and blood,
Bad had his faith beene, though his reasons good:
If God bid doe, for man to urge a Why?
Is, but in better language, a deny:
The fleshly ballances of our conceits
Have neither equall poysure, nor just weights.
To weigh, without impeachment, Gods designe;
There's no proportion betwixt things Divine,
And mortall: Lively faith may not depend,
Either upon th'occasion, or the end.

The glorious Suns reflected beames suffice
To lend a luster to the feeblest eyes,
But if the Eye too covetous of the light,
Boldly out-face the Sun, (whose beames so bright
And undispers'd, are too-too much refin'd
For view) is it not justly strucken blind?
I dare not taske stout Samson for his death;
Nor wandring Ionah, that bequeath'd his breath
To raging Seas, when God commanded so;
Nor thee (great Queene) whose lips did overflow
With streames of blood; nor thee (O cruell kind)
To quench the fier of a womans mind,
With flowing rivers of thy subjects blood;
From bad beginnings, God creates a good,
And happy end: What I cannot conceive,
Lord, let my soule admier, and beleeve.

164

Sect. 19.

The Argvment.

The Feast of Purim consecrated:
Th'occasion why 'twas celebrated;
Letters were writ by Mordecai,
To keepe the mem'ry of that Day.

So Mardocheus throughout all the Land
Dispers'd his Letters, with a strickt command
To celebrate these two dayes memory
With Feasts, and gifts, and yeerely jollity,
That after ages may record that day,
And keepe it from the rust of time, that they
Which shall succeed, may ground their holy mirth
Vpon the joyes, those happy dayes brought forth,
Which chang'd their sadnes, and black nights of sorrow,
Into the brightnesse of a gladsome morrow;
Whereto the Iews (to whom these letters came)
Gave due observance, and did soone proclame
Their sacred Festivalls, in memory
Of that dayes joy, and joyfull victory:
And since the Lots, (that Haman did abuse,
To know the dismall day, which to the Iewes
Might fall most fatall, and, to his intent,
Least unpropitious) were in th'event
Crost with a higher Fate, than blinded Chance,
To worke his ruine, their deliverance:
They therefore in remembrance of the Lot
(Whose hop'd-for sad event succeeded not)
The solemne feasts of Purim did invest,
And by the name of Purim call'd their Feast;

165

Which to observe with sacred Complement,
And ceremoniall rites, their soules indent,
And firmly' inroll the happy memory
Ith' hearts of their succeeding Progeny,
That time (the enemy of mortall things)
May not with hov'ring of his nimble wings,
Beat downe the deare memoriall of that time,
But keepe it flowring in perpetuall prime.

Now, lest this shining day in times progresse
Perchance be clouded with forgetfulnesse,
Or lest the gauled Persians should debate
The bloody slaughter, and re-ulcerate
In after-dayes, their former misery,
And blurre the glory of this dayes memory,
The Queene and Mordecai sent Letters out
Into the Land, dispersed round about
To re-confirme, and fully ratifie
This feast of Purim, to eternity;
That it to after-ages may appeare,
When sinners bend their hearts, heav'n bowes his eare.

Medit. 19.

And are the Lawes of God defective then?
Or was the Paper scant, or dull the Pen
That wrote those sacred lines? Could imperfection
Lurk closly there, where heav'n hath giv'n direction
How comes it then new feasts are celebrated,
Vnmention'd in the Law, and uncreated
By him that made the Law compleat, and just,
Not to be chang'd as brain-sicke mortalls lust?
Is not heavens deepest curse with death to boot,
Denounc'd to him that takes from, or ads too't?

166

True 'tis; the Law of God's the rule and squire,
Whereby to limit Mans uncurb'd desire,
And with a gentle hand doth justly paize
The ballances of his unbevell'd wayes,

True 'tis accurs'd, and thrice accurs'd be he
That shall detract, or change such Lawes, as be
Directive for his Worship, or concerne
His holy Service, these we strictly learne
Within our constant brest to keepe inshrin'd,
These in all seasons, and for all times binde:
But Lawes (although Divine) that doe respect
The publike rest, and properly direct,
As Statutes politike, doe make relation
To times and persons, places, and occasion:
The brazen Serpent, which, by Gods command,
Was builded up, was by the Prophets hand
Beat downe againe, as impious, and impure,
When it became an Idoll, not a Cure.

A morall Law needs no more warranty,
Then lawfull givers, and conveniency,
(Not crossing the Divine:) It lies in Kings,
To act, and to inhibit all such things
As in his Princely wisedome shall seeme best,
And most vantagious to the publike rest,
And what before was an indifferent thing,
His law makes good or bad: A lawfull King
Is Gods Liev-tenant; in his sacred eare
God whispers oft, and keepes his presence there.

To breake a lawfull Princes just Command,
Is brokage of a sinne, at second hand.

167

Sect. 20.

The Argvment.

Assuerus Acts upon Record:
The just mans vertue, and reward.
And Assuerus stretcht his heavy hand,
Laying a Tribute both on Sea, and Land;
What else he did, what Trophies of his fame,
He left for time to glorifie his Name,
With what renowne and grace, he did appay,
The faithfull heart of loyall Mordecai;
Are they not kept in endlesse memory,
Recorded in the Persian History?
For Mordecai possest the second seat
In all the Kingdome, and his name is great;
Of God and man his vertues were approv'd,
Of God and man, much honour'd and belov'd;
Seeking his peoples good, and sweet prosperity,
And speaking joyfull peace to his posterity.

Meditat. 20.

Thus thrives the man, thus prosper his endevors
That builds on faith, & in that faith persevers:

It is no losse, to lose; no gaine, to get,
If he that loses all, shall win the Set:
God helpes the weakest, takes the losers chayre,
And setting on the King, doth soone repayre

168

His losse with vengeance; Hee's not alway best
That takes the highest place, nor he the least
That sits beneath: for outward fortunes can
Expresse (how great, but) not how good's the man;
Whom God will raise, he humbles first a while;
And where he raises, oft he meanes to spoyle.

It matters not (Lord) what my fortunes be,
May they but lead or whip me home to thee.

Here the Canonicall History of Queene Ester ends.

169

IOB MILITANT

------ Dijs, piet as mea,
Et Musa, cordi est. ------
Horat. car. lib. 1. ode 17.

171

The Proposition of the Worke.

Wouldst thou discover in a curious Map,
That Iland, which fond worldlings call Mishap,
Surrounded with a sea of briny tears,
The rockie dangers, and the boggie Feares,
The stormes of Trouble, the afflicted Nation,
The heavy soyle, the lowly scituation?
On wretched Iob then spend thy weeping eye,
And see the colour painted curiously.

Wouldst thou behold a Tragick Sceane of sorrow,
Whose wofull Plot the Author did not borrow
From sad invention? The sable Stage,
The lively Actors with their equipage?
The Musicke made of Sighs, the Songs of Cries,
The sad Spectators with their watry Eyes?
Behold all this, comprized here in one;
Expect the Plaudit, when the Play is done.

Or wouldst thou see a well built Pinace tost
Vpon the swelling Ocean, split (almost)
Now on a churlish Rocke; now, fiercely striving
With labouring Winds; now, desperately driving
Vpon the boyling Sands, her storme-rent Flags,

172

Her Main-mast broke, her Canvas torne to rags,
Her Treasure lost, her men with lightning slaine,
And left a wrecke to the relentlesse Maine?
This, this and more, unto your moistned Eyes,
Our patient Iob shall lively moralize.

Wouldst thou behold unparalleld distresse,
Which minds cannot out-think, nor tongs express
Full to the life, the Anvill, whereupon
Mischiefe doth worke her master-piece, for none
To imitate; the dire Anatomy
Of (curiously-dissected) Misery;
The face of Sorrow, in her sternest lookes,
The rufull Arg'ment of all Tragicke bookes?
In briefe, Would tender eyes, endure to see
(Summ'd up) the greatest sorrowes, that can be?
Behold they then, poore Iob afflicted here,
And each Beholder spend (at least) his Teare.

173

TO THE GREAT Tetragrammaton, LORD PARAMOVNT OF Heaven AND Earth: His Humble Servant dedicates himselfe, and implores the Enfranchising of his Muse.

1

Great God th'indebted praises of thy glory,
If Man shold smother, or his Muse wax faint
To number forth; the stones wold make complaint,
And write a never-ending Story,
And, not without iust reason, say,
Mens hearts are more obdure than they.

2

Dismount from Heaven (O thou diviner Power)
Handsell my slender Pipe, breath (thou) upon it,
That it may run an everlasting Sonnet,
Which envious Time may not devoure:
Oh, let it sing to After-dayes
(When I am Dust) thy louder Praise.

174

3

Direct the footsteps of my sober Muse
To tread thy glorious path: For be it knowne,
She only seeks thy Glory, not her owne,
Nor rouzed for a second use;
If otherwise, O! may she never
Sing more, but be strucke dumbe for ever.

175

IOB MILITANT

Sect. 1.

The Argvment.

Iobs Lineage, and Integrity,
His Issue, Wealth, Prosperity,
His childrens holy Feast: His wise
Forecast, and zealous Sacrifice.

Not far from Casius, in whose bounteous womb,
Great Pompeys dust lies crowned with his tomb,
Westward, betwixt Arabia and Iudæa,
Is situate a Country, called Idumæa,
There dwelt a man (brought from his Lineage,
That for his belly, swopt his Heritage,)
His name was Iob, a man of upright Will,
Iust, fearing Heaven, eschewing what was Ill,
On whom his God had heapd in highest measure,
The bounteous Riches of his boundlesse Treasure,
As well of Fortune, as of Grace, and Spirit,
Goods for his Children, Children to inherit;
As did his Name, his wealth did dayly wexe,
His Seed did germinate in either Sexe
A hopefull Issue, whose descent might keepe
His righteous Race on foot; seven thousand sheepe
Did pay their Summer-tribute, and did adde
Their Winter blessings to his Fold: He had

176

Three thousand Camels, able for their load,
Five hundred Asses, furnisht for the road,
As many yoake of Oxen, to maintaine
His houshold, for he had a mighty Traine;
Nor was there any in the East, the which
In Vertue was so rare, in Wealth so rich.

Vpon a time, his Children (to improve
The sweet affection of their mutuall love)
Made solemne Feasts; each feasted in his turne,
(For there's a time to mirth, as well as mourne)
And who, by course, was Master of the Feast,
Vnto his home invited all the rest.

Even as a Hen (whose tender brood forsake
The downy closet of her Wings, and take
Each its affected way) markes how they feed,
This, on that Crum; and that, on t'other Seed;
Moves, as they move; and stayes, when as they stay,
And seemes delighted in their infant-play:
Yet (fearing danger) with a busie eye,
Lookes here and there, if ought she can espy,
Which unawares might snatch a booty from her,
Eyes all that passe, and watches every commer.
Even so th'affection of this tender Syre,
(B'ing made more fervent, with the selfe-same fire
Of dearest love, which flamed in their brests,
Preserved (as by fuell) in those Feasts)
Was ravisht in the height of joyes, to see
His happy Childrens ten-fold unity:
As was his joy, such was his holy feare,
Lest he, that plants his Engines every where,
Baited with golden Sinnes, and re-insnares
The soule of Man, turning his Wheat to Tares,
Should season Error with the taste of Truth,
And tempt the frailty of their tender youth.

177

No sooner therefore had the dappled skie
Opened the Twilight of her waking eye,
And in her breaking Light, had promis'd day,
But up he rose, his holy hands did lay
Vpon the sacred Altar (one by one)
An early Sacrifice for every Sonne:
For who can tell, (said he?) my Sonnes (perchance)
Have slipt some sinne; which neither Ignorance
Pleaded, nor want of heed, nor youth can cure.

Sin steales, unseene, when men sleep most secure:

Meditat. 1.

Want is the badge of poverty: Then he
That wanteth most, is the most poore, say we.
The wretch, that hunger drives from door to door,
Aiming at present Almes, desires no more.
The toiling Swaine, that hath with pleasing trouble
Cockt a small fortune, would that fortune double,
Which dearly bought with slav'ry, then (alas)
Hee would be deem'd a Man, that's well to passe:
Which got, his mind's now tickled with an itch.
But to deserve that glorious stile of Rich.
That done, h'enjoyes the crowne of all his labour,
Could he but once out-nose his right-hand-neighbour
Lives he at quiet now? Now, he begins
To wish that Vs'ry were the least of sinnes:
But great, or small, he tries, and sweet's the trouble
And for its sake, he wishes all things double,
Thus wishing still, his wishes never cease,
But as his Wealth, his Wishes still encrease.

Wishes proceed from want: The richest then,
Most wishing, want most, and are poorest men:

178

If he be poore, that wanteth much, how poore
Is he, that hath too much, and yet wants more?
Thrice happy he, to whom the bounty of heaven,
Sufficient, with a sparing hand, hath given:
'Tis Grace, not Gold, makes great; sever but which,
The Rich man is but poore, the Poore man rich.
The fairest Crop, of either Grasse, or Graine,
Is not for use, undew'd with timely raine.
The wealth of Crœsus, were it to be given,
Were not thank-worthy, if unblest by Heaven.

Even as faire Phæbe, in Diameter,
(Earth interpos'd betwixt the Sunne and her)
Suffers Eclips, and is disrobed quite
(During the time) of all her borrowed Light;
So Riches, which fond Mortals so embrace,
If not enlightned with the Beames of Grace,
B'ing interposed with too grosse a Care,
They lye obscured; and no riches are.

My stint of Wealth lyes not in my expressing,
With Iacobs Store (Lord) give me Iacobs Blessing;
Or if, at night, thou grant me Lazars Boone,
Let Dives Dogs licks all my sores at noone.
Lord, pare my wealth, by my Capacity,
Lest I, with it, or it suit not with mee.
This humbly doe I sue for, at thy hand,
Enough, and not too much, for my command.
Lord, what thou lend'st, shall serve but in the place
Of reckoning Counters, to summe up thy Grace.

179

Sect. 2.

The Argvment.

Satan appeares, and then professes
Himselfe mans Enemy, confesses
Gods love to Iob, malignes his Faith,
Gaines power over all he hath.

Vpon a time, when heavēs sweet quire of Saints
(Whose everlasting Hallelujah chaunts
The highest praise of their celestiall King)
Before their Lord did the presentment bring
Of th'execution of his sacred Will,
Commited to their function to fulfill:
Satan came too (that Satan, which betraid
The soule of man, to Deaths eternall shade,
Satan came too) and in the midst he stands,
Like to a Vulture 'mongst a herd of Swans.
Said, then, th'Eternall; From what quarter now
Hath businesse brough thee? (Satan) whence com'st thou?

The Lord of Heaven (said th'Infernall) since
Thou hast intitled me the Worlds great Prince,
I have beene practising mine old profession,
And come from compassing my large Possession,
Tempting thy sonnes, and (like a roaring Lion)
Seeking my prey, disturbe the peace of Sion;
I come from sowing Tares among thy Wheat;
To him, that shall dissemble Peters seat,
I have beene plotting, how to prompt the death
Of Christian Princes, and the bribed breath

180

Of cheapned Iustice, hath my fire inflam'd
With spirit of boldnesse, for a while, unsham'd.
J come from planting strife, and sterne debate,
'Twixt private man and man, 'twixt State and State,
Subverting Truth with all the power I can,
Accusing Man to God, and God to Man:
I daily sow fresh Schismes among thy Saints;
I buffet them, and laugh at their complaints;
The Earth is my Dominion, Hell's my Home,
I round the World, and so from thence I come.

Said then th'Eternall: True, thou hast not fail'd
Of what thou say'st; thy spirit hath prevail'd
To vexe my little Flocke; Thou hast beene bold
To make them stray, a little, from their Fold.
But say; Jn all thy hard Adventures, hath
Thine eye observed Iob my Servants faith?
Hath open force, or secret fraud beset
His Bulwarkes, so impregnable, as yet?
And hast thou (without envy) et beheld,
How that the World his second cannot yeeld?
Hast thou not found, that he's of upright will,
Iust, fearing God, eschewing what is ill?

True Lord, (reply'd the Fiend) thy Champion hath
A strong and fervent (yet a crafty) Faith,
A forced love needs no such great applause,
He loves but ill, that loves not for a cause.
Hast thou not heap'd his Garners with excesse?
Inricht his Pastures? Doth not he possesse
All that he hath, or can demand from Thee?
His Coffers fill'd, his Land stock'd plenteously?
Hath not thy love surrounded him about,
And hedg'd him in, to fence my practice out?
But small's the triall of a Faith, in this,
If thou support him, tis thy strength, not his.

181

Can then my power, that stands by thy permission,
Encounter, where Thou mak'st an Opposition?
Stretch forth thy Hand, and smite but what he hath,
And prove thou then the temper of his Faith;
Cease cock'ring his fond humour, veile thy Grace,
No doubt, but he'll blaspheme thee to thy face.

Loe, (said th'Eternall) to thy cursed hand,
I here commit his mighty Stocke, his Land,
His hopefull Jssue, and Wealth, though nere so much;
Himselfe, alone, thou shalt forbeare to touch.

Medita. 2.

Satan beg'd once, and found his pray'rs reward:
We often beg, yet oft returne, unheard.
If granting be th'effect of love, then we
Conclude our selves, to be lesse lov'd than hee:
True, Satan beg'd, and beg'd his shame, no lesse;
'Twas granted; shall we envie his successe?
We beg, and our request's (perchance) not granted;
God knew, perhaps, it were worse had than wanted.

Can God and Belial both joyne in one will;
The one to aske, the other to fulfill?

Sooner shall Stygian darknesse blend with light,
The Frost with Fier, sooner day with Night.
True, God and Satan will'd the selfe-same Will,
But God intended Good; and Satan, Ill:
That Will produc'd a severall conclusion;
He aim'd at Mans, and God at his confusion.
He that drew Light from out the depth of Shade,
And made of Nothing, whatsoe're he made,
Gan out of seeming Evill, bring good Events;
God worketh Good, though by ill Instruments.

182

As in a Clocke, one motion doth convay
And carry divers wheeles a severall way:
Yet altogether, by the great wheeles force,
Direct the hand unto his proper course:
Even so, that sacred Will, although it use
Meanes seeming contrary, yet all conduce
To one effect, and in a free consent,
They bring to passe heavens high decreed intent.
Takes God delight in humane weaknesse, then?
What glory reapes he from afflicted men?
The Spirit gone, can Flesh and Blood indure?
God burnes his Gold, to make his Gold more pure.

Even as a Nurse, whose childes imperfect pace
Can hardly leade his foote from place to place,
Leaves her fond kissing, sets him downe, to goe,
Nor does uphold him, for a step or two:
But when she findes that he begins to fall,
She holds him up, and kisses him withall:
So God from man sometimes withdrawes his hand
A while, to teach his Infant faith to stand;
But when he sees his feeble strength begin,
To faile, he gently takes him up againe.

Lord, I'm a childe; so guide my paces, than,
That I may learne to walke an upright man:
So shield my Faith, that I may never doubt thee,
For I shall fall, if e're I walke without thee.

183

Sect. 3.

The Argvment.

The frighted Messengers tell Iob
His foure-fold losse: He rends his Robe,
Submits him to his Makers trust,
Whom he concludeth to be just.

Vpon that very day, when all the rest
Were frollicke at their elder Brothers feast,
A breathlesse man, prickt on with winged feare,
With staring eyes distracted here and there,
(Like kindled Exhalations in the Aire
At midnight glowing) his stiffe-bolting haire,
(Not much unlike the pennes of Porcupines)
Crossing his armes, and making wofull signes,
Purboyl'd in sweat, shaking his fearfull head,
That often lookt behinde him, as he fled,
He ran to Iob, still ne'rethelesse afraid,
His broken blast breath'd forth these words, & said:

Alas, (deare Lord) the whiles thy servants ply'd
Thy painfull Plough, and whilest, on every side
Thy Asses fed about us, as we wrought,
There sallyed forth on us (suspecting nought
Nor ought intending, but our cheerfull paine)
A rout of rude Sabæans, with their Traine
Armed with death, and deafe to all our Cries,
Which, with strong Hand, did in an houre suprize
All that thou hadst, and whilest we strove, in vaine)
To guard them, their impartiall hands have slaine

184

Thy faithfull Servants, with their thirsty Sword;
I onely scap't, to bring this wofull word.

No sooner had he clos'd his lips, but see!
Another comes, as much agast as he:
A flash of fire (said he) new falne from heaven,
Hath all thy servants of their lives bereaven,
And burnt thy Sheepe; I, I alone am he
Thats left unslaine, to bring the newes to thee.
This Tale not fully told, a third ensues,
Whose lips in labour with more heavy Newes,
Brake thus; The forces of a triple Band,
Brought from the fierce Caldæans, with strong hād
Hath seiz'd thy Camels, murther'd with the sword
Thy servants all, but me, that brings thee word.

Before the aire had cool'd his hasty breath,
Rusht in a fourth, with visage pale as Death:
The while (said he) thy children all were sharing
Mirth, at a feast of thy first Sonnes preparing,
Arose a Winde, whose errand had more hast,
Than happy speed, which with a full-mouth blast
Hath smote the house, which hath thy children rest
Of all their lives, and thou art childlesse left;
Thy children all are slaine, all slaine together,
I onely scap't to bring the tidings hither.

So said, Behold the man, whose wealth did flow
Like to a Spring-tide, one bare houre agoe,
With the unpattern'd height of fortunes blest,
Above the greatest Dweller in the East;
He that was Syre of many sonnes but now,
Lord of much people, and while-e're could show
Such Herds of Cattell, He, whose fleecy stocke
Of Sheepe could boast seven thousand, in a flocke,
See how he lies, of all his wealth dispoil'd,
He now hath neither Servant, Sheepe, nor Childe

185

Like a poore man, arose the patient Iob,
(Stun'd with the newes) and rent his purple Robe,
Shaved the haire from off his wofull head,
And prostrate on the floore he worshipped:

Naked, ah! Poore and naked did I come
Forth from the closet of my mothers wombe;
And shall returne (alas) the very same
To th'earth as poore, and naked as I came:
God gives, and takes, and why should He not have
A priviledge, to take those things he gave?
We men mistake our Tenure oft, for He
Lends us at will, what we miscall as Free;
He reassumes his owne, takes but the same
He lent a while. Thrice blessed be his Name.
In all this passage, Iob, in heart, nor Tongue,
Thought God unjust, or charg'd his hand with wrong.

Medita. 3.

The proudest pitch of that victorious spirit
Was but to win the World, whereby t'inherit
The ayrie purchase of a transitory
And glozing Title of an ages Glory;
Would'st thou by conquest win more fame thā He?
Subdue thy selfe; thy selfe's a world to thee:
Earth's but a Ball, that Heaven hath quilted o're
With wealth and Honour, banded on the floore
Of fickle Fortunes false and slippery Court,
Sent for a Toy, to make us Children sport,
Mans satiate spirits, with fresh delights supplying,
To still the Fondlings of the world, from crying,

186

And he, whose merit mounts to such a Ioy,
Gaines but the Honour of a mighty Toy.

But would'st thou conquer, have thy conquest crown'd
By hands of Seraphins, trimph'd with the sound
Of heavens loud Trumpet, warbled by the shrill
Celestiall quire, recorded with a quill,
Pluckt from the Pinion of an Angels wing,
Confirm'd with joy, by heavens Eternall King?
Conquer thy selfe, thy rebell thoughts repell,
And chase those false affections that rebell.
Hath Heaven dispoil'd what his full hand had givē thee?
Nipt thy succeeding Blossomes? or bereaven thee
Of thy deare latest hope, thy bosome Friend?
Doth sad Despaire deny these griefes an end?
Despair's a whispring Rebell, that within thee,
Bribes all thy Field, and sets thy selfe agin thee:
Make keene thy Faith, and with thy force let flee,
If thou not conquer him, hee'll conquer thee:
Advance thy Shield of Patience to thy head,
And whē griefe strikes, twill strike the striker dead:
The patient man, in sorrow spies reliefe,
And by the taile, he couples Ioy with Griefe.

In adverse fortunes be thou strong and stout,
And bravely win thy selfe, Heaven holds not out
His Bow, for ever bent. The disposition
Of noblest spirits, doth, by opposition
Exasperate the more: A gloomy night
Whets on the morning, to returne more bright;
A blade well tri'd, deserves a treble price,
And Vertu's purest, most oppos'd by Vice:
Brave mindes, opprest, should (in despight of Fate)
Looke greatest, (like the Sunne) in lowest state.

But ah! shal God thus strive with flesh and blood?
Receives he Glory from, or reapes he Good

187

In mortals Ruine, that he leaves man so
To be or'ewhelm'd by his unequall Foe?

May not a Potter, that from out the ground,
Hath fram'd a Vessell, search if it be sound?
Or if by forbushing, he take more paine
To make it fairer, shall the Pot complaine?
Mortall, thou art but Clay: Then shall not he,
That fram'd thee for his service, season thee?
Man, close thy lips; Be thou no undertaker
Of Gods designes, Dispute not with thy Maker.

Lord, 'tis against thy nature to doe ill;
Then give me power to beare, and worke thy Will;
Thou know'st what's best, make thou thine owne conclusion
Be glorifi'd, although in my confusion.

Sect. 4.

The Argvment.

Satan the second time appeares,
Before th'Eternall, boldy dares
Maligne Iob tryed Faith afresh,
And gaines th'afflicting of his Flesh.

Once more, when heavēs harmonious queristers
Appear'd before his Throne, (whose Ministers
They are, of his concealed will) to render
Their strict account of Iustice, and to tender
Th'accepted Sacrifice of highest praise,
(Warbled in Sonnets and celestiall Layes)
Satan came too, bold, as a hungry Fox,
Or ravinous Wolfe amid the tender Flockes,

188

Satan, (said then th'Eternall) from whence now
Hath thy imployments driven thee? whence com'st thou?
Satan replies: Great God of heavē & earth,
I come from tempting, and from making mirth:
To heare thy dearest children whine, and roare:
In briefe, I come, from whence I came before.
Said then th'Eternall, Hast thou not beheld
My servants Faith, how, like a seven-fold shield,
It hath defended his integrity
Against thy fiery Darts? Hath not thine Eye,
(Thine envious eye) perceiv'd how purely just
He stands, and perfect, worthy of the trust
I lent into his hand, persisting still
Iust, fearing God, eschewing what is ill?
'Twas not the losse of his so faire of a Flock,
Nor sudden rape of such a mighty Stock;
'Twas neither losse of Servants, nor his Sonnes
Vntimely slaughter, (acted all at once)
Could make him quaile, or warpe so true a Faith,
Or staine so pure a Love; say (Satan) hath
Thy hand (so deepely counterfeiting mine)
Made him mistrust his God, or once repine?
Can there in all the earth, say, can there be
A man so Perfect, and so Iust, as He?
Replyes the Tempter, Lord, an outward losse
Hopes for repaire, it's but a common crosse:
I know thy servant's wise, a wise forecast,
Grieves for things present, not for things are past;
Perchance the tumour of his sullen heart,
Brookes losse of all, since he hath lost a part;
My selfe have Servants, who can make true boast,
They gave away as much, as he hath lost:
Others (which learning made so wisely mad)
Refuse such Fortunes, as he never had;

189

A Faith's not try'd by this uncertaine Tuch,
Others, that never knew thee, did as much:
Lend mee thy Power then, that I might once
But Sacrifice his Flesh, afflict his Bones,
And pierce his Hide, but for a moments space,
Thy Darling then would curse thee to thy Face:

To which, th'Eternall thus: His body's thine,
To plague thy fill, withall I doe confine
Thy power to her lists: Afflict and teare
His flesh at pleasure: But his life forbeare.

Meditat. 4.

Both Goods, and body too; Lord, who can stand?
Expect not Iobs uprightnesse, at my hand,
Without Iobs aid; The temper of my Passion,
(Vntam'd by thee) can brooke no Iobs Temptation,
For I am weake, and fraile, and what I can
Most boast of, proves me but a sinfull man;
Things that I should avoid, I doe; and what
I am in joyn'd to doe, that doe I not.
My Flesh is weake, too strong in this, alone,
It rules my spirit, that should be rul'd by none
But thee; my spirit's faint, and hath beene never
Free from the fits of sins quotidian Fever.
My pow'rs are all corrupt, corrupt my Will,
Marble to good, and Waxe to what is ill;
Eclipsed is my reason, and my Wit;
By interposing Earth 'twixt Heaven, and it:
My mem'ri's like a Scarce of Lawne (alas)
It keepes things grosse, and lets the purer passe.

190

What have I then to boast, What Title can
I challenge more than this, A sinfull man?
Yet doe I sometimes feele a warme desire,
Raise my low Thoughs, and dull affections higher
Where, like a soule entranc't, my spirit flies,
Makes leagues with Angels, and brings Deities
Halfe way to heaven, shakes hands with Seraphims
And boldly mingles wings with Cherubims,
Frem whence, I looke askauns adowne the earth,
Pity my selfe, and loath my place of birth:
But while I thus my lower state deplore,
I wake, and prove the wretch I was before.

Even as the Needle, that directs the howre,
(Toucht with the Loadstone) by the secret power
Of hidden Nature, points upon the Pole;
Even so the wav'ring powers of my soule,
Toucht by the vertue of thy Spirit, flee
From what is Earth, and point alone to Thee.
When I have faith, to hold thee by the Hand,
I walke securely, and me thinkes I stand
More firme than Atlas; But when I forsake
The safe protection of thine Arme, I quake
Like wind-shakt Reeds, and have no strength at all,
But (as a Vine, the Prop cut downe) I fall.
Yet wretched I, when as thy Iustice lends
Thy glorious Presence from me) straight am friends
With Flesh and blood, forget thy Grace, flye frō it,
And, like a Dog, returne unto my vomit;
The fawning world to pleasure then invites
My wandring eyes; The flesh presents delights
Vnto my yeelding heart, which thinke those pleasures,
Are onely bus'nes now, and rarest treasures,
Content can glory in, whilst I, secure,
Stoope to the painted plumes of Satans Lure:

191

Thus I captiv'd, and drunke with pleasures Wine,
Like to a mad-man, thinke no state like mine,

What have I then to boast, what title can
I challenge more than this, A sinfull man?
I feele my griefe enough, nor can I be
Redrest by any, but (Great God) by thee.
Too great thou art to come within my Roofe,
Say but the word, Be whole, and 'tis enough;
Till then, my tongue shall never cease, mine Eyes
We're cloze, my lowly bended knees ne're rise;
Till then my soule shall ne're want early sobs,
My cheekes no teares, my Pensive brest no throbs,
My hart shall lack no zeale, nor tongue expressing,
I'le strive like Jacob till I get my Blessing:

Say then, Be cleane, I'le never stop till then,
Heaven ne'r shall rest, till Heaven shal say, Amen

Sect. 5.

The Argvment.

Iob, smote with Vlcers, groveling lyes,
Plung'd in a Gulfe of Miseries,
His Wife to blasphemy doth tempt him,
His three Friends visit, and lament him.

Like as a Truant-Scholler (whose delay
Is worse than whipping, having leave to play)
Lakes haste to bee inlarged from the Iayle
Of his neglected Schoole, turnes speedy tayle
Upon his tedious booke (so ill befriended)
Before his Masters Ite be full ended:

192

So thanklesse Satan, full of winged haste,
Thinking all time, not spent in Mischiefe, waste,
Departs with speed, lesse patient to forbeare
The patient Iob, then patient Job to beare.

Forth from the furnace of his Nostrell, flies
A sulpherous vapour, (which by the envious eyes,
Of this soule Fiend inflam'd) possest the faire
And sweet complexion of th'Abused Ayre,
With Pestilence, and (having power so farre)
Tooke the advantage of his worser Starre,
Smote him with Vlcers (such as once befell
Th'Egyptian Wizzards) Vlcers hot and fell,
Which like a searching Tetter uncorrected,
Left no part of his body unaffected,
From head to foote, no empty place was found
That could b'afflicted with another wound:
So noysome was the nature of his griefe,
That (left by friends, and wife, that should be chiefe.
Assister) he (poore he) alone remain'd,
Groveling in Ashes, being (himselfe) constrain'd,
With pot-sheards to scrape off those rip'ned cores,
(Which dogs disdain'd to licke) from out his sores,

Which when his wife beheld, adust, and keene,
Her passion waxt, made strong with scorn & spleen;
Like as the Winds, imprison'd in the earth,
And barr'd the passage to their naturall birth,
Grow fierce; and nilling to be longer pent,
Break in an Earthquake, shake the world, and vent;
So brake shee forth, so forth her fury brake,
Till now, pent in with shame, and thus she spake.

Fond Saint, thine Innocence findes timely speed,
A foolish Saint receives a Saintly meed;
Is this the just mans recompence? Or hath
Heaven no requitall for thy painfull Faith,

193

Other then this? What, haue thy zealous Qualmes,
Abstemious Fastings, and thy hopefull Almes,
Thy private groanes, and often bended knees,
No other end, no other thankes, but these?
Fond man submit thee to a kinder fate,
Cease to be righteous at so deare a rate:
'Tis Heaven, not Fortune that thy weale debarres;
Curse Heaven then, and not thy wayward flarres:
'Tis God that plagues thee, God not knowing why;
Curse then that God, revenge thy wrongs and dye.

Iob then reply'd: God loves where he chastiz'd,
Thou speakest like a foole, and ill adviz'd;
Laugh we to licke the sweet, and shall we lowre,
If he be pleas'd to send a little sowre?
Am J so weake, one blast or two, should chill me;
I'le trust my Maker, though my Maker kill me.

When these sad tidings fill'd those itching eares
Of Earths black babling daughter (she that heares
And vents alike, both Truth and Forgeries,
And utters, often, cheaper then she buyes)
She spred the pinions of her nimble wings,
Advanc't her Trumpet, and away she springs,
And fils the whispering Ayre which soone possest
The spacious borders of th'enquiring East,
Vpon the summon of such solemne Newes,
Whose truth, malignant Fame could not abuse,
His wofull friends came to him, to the end,
To comfort, and bewaile their wretched friend.
But when they came farre off they did not know,
Whether it were the selfe same friend or no,
(Brim-fill'd with briny woe) they wept and tore
(T'express their grief) the garments that they wore
Seven dayes and nights they sate upon the ground,
But spake not, for his sorrowes did abound.

194

Medit. 5.

Say, is not Satan justly stiled than,
A Tempter, and an enemy to Man?
What could he more? His wish would not extend
To death, lest his assaults, with death should end:
Then what he did, what could he further doe?
His Hand hath seiz'd both goods and body too.
The hopefull Issue of a holy straine,
In such a dearth of holinesse, is slaine.
What hath the Lazar left him, but his griefe,
And (what might best been spar'd) his foolish wife?
Cold mischief bin more hard (though more in kind)
To nip the flowers, and leave the weeds behind

Woman was made a Helper by Creation,
A Helper, not alone for Propagation,
Or fond Delight, but sweet Society,
Which Man (alone) should want, and to supply
Comforts to him for whom her Sex was made,
That each may ioy in eithers needfull ayde:
But fairest Angels, had the foulest fall;
And best things (once abus'd) prove worst of all,
Else had not Satan beene so foule a Fiend,
Else had not Woman prov'd so false a Friend.

Ev'n as the treachrous Fowler, to entice
His silly winged Prey, doth first devise
To make a Bird his stale, at whose false call,
Others may chance into the selfe-same thrall:
Even so, that crafty snarer of Mankind,
Finding mans righteous Palate not enclin'd
To taste the sweetnesse of his gilded baites,
Makes a collaterall Sute, and slily waites

195

Vpon the weakenesse of some bosome friend,
From whose enticement, he expects his end.

Ah righteous Iob, what crosse was left unknowne?
What griefe may be describ'd, but was thine owne?

Is this a just mans case? What doth befall
To one man, may as well betide to all.

The worst I'le looke for, that I can project,
If better come, 'tis more then I expect;
If otherwise, I'm arm'd with Preparation;
No sorrow's sudden to an expectation.

Lord, to thy Wisedome I submit my Will,
I will be thankfull, send me good or ill;
If good, my present State will passe the sweeter;
If ill, my Crowne of glory shall be greater.

Sect. 6.

The Argvment.

Orewhelm'd with griefe, Iob breaketh forth
Jnto impatience: Bans his birth,
Professes, that his heart did doubt
And feare, what since hath fallen out.
Worn bare with griefe, the patient Iob betrai'd
His seven-daies silence, curst his day, & said:
O that my Day of birth had never bin,
Nor yet the Night, which I was brought forth in!
Be it not numbred for a Day, let Light
Not make a difference 'twixt it and Night;
Let gloomy Shades (then Death more sable) passe
Vpon it, to declare how fatall 'twas:

196

Let Clouds ore-cast it, and as hatefull make it,
As lifes to him, whom Tortures bid, forsake it:
From her next day, let that blacke Night be cut,
Nor in the reckning of the Months, be put:
Let Desolation fill it, all night long,
In it, be never heard a Bridall song:
Let all sad Mourners that doe curse the light,
When light's drawne in begin to curse this night:
Her evening Twilight, let foule darknesse staine;
And may her midnight expect light in vaine;
Nor let her infant Day (but newly borne)
Suffer't to see the Eye-lids of the morne,
Because my Mothers Wombe it would not cloze,
Which gave me passage to endure these Woes:
Why dyed I not in my Conception, rather?
Or why was not my Birth, and death together?
Why did the Midwife take me on her knees?
Why did I sucke, to feele such griefes as these?
Then had this body never beene opprest,
J had injoy'd th'eternall sleepe of rest;
With Kings, and mighty Monarchs, that lie crown'd
With stately Monuments, poore I had found
A place of Rest, had borne as great a sway,
Had beene as happy, and as rich as they:
Why was not I as an abortive birth,
That ne're had knowne the horrors of the earth?
The silent Grave is quiet from the feare
Of Tyrants: Tyrants are appeased there:
The grinded Prisner heares not (there) the noyse,
Nor harder threatnings of th'Oppressors voyce:
Both rich and poore are equal'd in the Grave,
Servants no Lords, and Lords no Servants have:
What needs there light to him thats comfortlesse?
Or life to such as languish in distresse,

197

And long for death, which, if it come by leysure,
They ransack for it, as a hidden treasure?
What needs there Life to him, that cannot have
A Boone, more gracious, then a quiet Grave?
Or else to him, whom God hath wall'd about,
That would, but cannot finde a passage out?
When J but taste, my sighes returne my food,
The flowing of my teares have rais'd a flood;
When my estate was prosperous, I did feare,
Lest, by some heedlesse slip, or want of care,
I might be brought to Misery, and (alas!)
What I did then so feare is come to passe:
But though secure, my soule did never slumber,
Yet doe my Woes exceed both Waight, and Number.

Meditat. 6.

So poore a thing is Man. No Flesh and blood
Deserves the stile of Absolutely Good:
The righteous man sins oft; whose power's such,
To sin the least, sins (at the least) too much:
The man, whose Faith disdain'd his Isaacks life,
Dissembled once, a Sister, for a Wife:
The righteous Lot, being drunk, did make (at once)
His Daughters both halfe sisters to their sonnes:
The royall Favorite of heaven, stood
Not guiltlesse of Adultery and Blood,
And he, whose hands did build the Temple, doth
Bow downe his lustfull knees to Ashtaroth
The sinfull Woman was accus'd, but none
Was found, that could begin to fling a stone:

198

From mudled Springs, can Christall water come?
In some things, all men sin; in all things, some.

Even as the soyle, (which Aprils gentle showers
Have fild with sweetnesse, and inricht with flowers)
Reares up her suckling plants, still shooting forth
The tender blossomes of her timely Birth,
But, if deny'd the beames of cheerly May,
They hang their withered heads, and fade away:
So man, assisted by th'Almighties Hand,
His Faith doth flourish, and securely stand,
But left a while, forsooke (as in a shade)
It languishes, and nipt with sin doth fade:
No Gold is pure from Drosse, though oft refin'd;
The strongest Cedar's shaken with the wind;
The fairest Rose hath no prerogative,
Against the fretting Canker-worme; The Hive
No honey yeelds unblended with the wax,
The finest Linnen hath both soyle and bracks:
The best of men have sins; None lives secure,
In Nature nothing's perfect, nothing pure.

Lord, since I needs must sin, yet grant that I
Forge no advantage by infirmity:
Since that my Vesture cannot want a staine,
Assist me, lest the tincture be in Graine.

To thee (my great Redeemer) doe I flye,
It is thy Death alone, can change my Dye;
Teares, mingled with the Blood, can scower so,
That Scarlet sinnes shall turne as white as Snow.

199

Sect. 7.

The Argvment.

Rash Eliphaz reproves, and rates,
And falsly censures Iob; Relates
His Vision; shewes him the event
Of wicked men: Bids him repent.

Then Eliphas, his pounded tongue repliev'd,
And said, shold I contēd, thou wold'st be grievd;
Yet what man can refraine, but he must breake
His angry silence, having heard thee speake?
O sudden change! many hast thou directed,
And strengthned those, whose minds have bin dejected;
Thy sacred Thewes, and sweet Instructions, did
Helpe those were falling, rais'd up such as slid:
But now it is thy case, thy soule is vext,
And canst not help thy selfe, thy selfe perplext;
Thou lov'st thy God but basely for thy profit,
Fear'st him in further expectation of it;
Iudge then: Did Record ever round thine eare,
That God forsooke the heart that was sincere?
But often have we seene, that such as plow
Lewdnesse, and mischiefe, reape the same they sow:
So have proud Tyrants from their thrones bin cast,
With all their off-spring, by th'Almighties Blast;
And they whose hands have bin imbrew'd in blood,
Have with their Issue dyed, for want of Food:

A Vision lately appear'd before my sight,
In depth of darknesse, and the dead of night,
Vnwonted feare usurpt me round about,
My trembling bones were sore, from head to foot:

200

Forthwith, a Spirit glanc'd before mine eyes,
My browes did sweat, my moistned haire did rise,
The face I knew not, but a while it staid,
And in the depth of silence, thus it said,

Is man more just, more pure then his Creator?
Amongst his Angels, (more upright by nature
Then man) he hath found Weaknesse; how much more
Shall he expect in him, that's walled ore
With mortall flesh and blood, founded, and floor'd
With Dust, and with the Wormes to be devour'd?
They rise securely with the Morning Sunne,
And (unregarded) dye ere Day be done;
Their glory passes with them as a breath,
They die (like Fooles) before they think of death.

Rage then, and see who will approve thy rage,
What Saint will give thy railing Patronage?
Anger destroyes the Foole, and he that hath
A wrathfull heart, is slaine with his owne wrath;
Yet have I seene, that Fooles have oft beene able
To boast with Babel, but have falne with Babel:
Their sons despairing, roare without reliefe
In open ruine, on the Rocks of Griefe:
Their harvest (though but small) the hungry eate,
And robbers seize their wealth, thogh ne'r so great:
But wretched man, were thy Condition mine,
I'de not despaire as thou dost, nor repine,
But offer up the broken Sacrifice
Of a sad soule, before his angry eyes,
Whose workes are Miracles of admiration,
He mounts the meeke, amidst their Desolation,
Confounds the worldly wise, that (blindfold) they
Grope all in darknesse, at the noone of day:
But guards the humble from reproach of wrong,
And stops the current of the crafty Tongue.

201

Thrice happy is the man his hands correct:
Beware lest Fury force thee to reject
Th'Almighties Tryall; He that made thy wound
In Iustice, can in Mercy make it sound:
Feare not though multiply'd afflictions shall
Besiege thee; He, at length, will rid them all;
In Famine he shall feed, in Warre defend thee,
Shield thee from slander, & in griefes attend thee,
The Beasts shall strike with thee eternall Peace,
The Stones shall not disturbe thy fields Encrease;
Thy House shall thrive, replenisht with Content,
Which, thou shalt rule, in prosp'rous Government,
The number of thy Of-spring shall abound,
Like Summers Grasse upon a fruitfull Ground,
Like timely Corne well ripened in her Eares,
Thou shalt depart thy life, strucke full of yeeres:
All this, Experience tells: Then (Iob) advise,
Thou hast taught many, now thy selfe be wise.

Meditat. 7.

The perfect Modell of true Friendship's this:
A rare affection of the soule, which is
Begun with ripened judgement, doth persever
With simple Wisedome, & concludes with Never.

'Tis pure in substance, as refined Gold,
That buyeth all things, but is never sold:
It is a Coyne, and most men walke without it;
True Love's the Stamp, Iehovah's writ about it;
It rusts unus'd, but using makes it brighter,
'Gainst Heav'n high treason 'tis, to make it lighter.

202

'Tis a Gold Chain, links soule and soule together
In perfect Vnity, tyes God to either.

Affliction is the touch, whereby we prove,
Whether't be Gold, or gilt with fained Love.

The wisest Moralist, that ever div'd
Into the depth of Natures bowels, striv'd
With th'Augur of Experience, to bore
Mens hearts so farre, till he had found the Ore
Of Friendship, but, despairing of his end,
My friends (said he) there is no perfect Friend.

Friendship's like Musicke, two strings tun'd alike,
Will both stirre, though but onely one you strike.

It is the quintessence of all perfection
Extracted into one: A sweet connexion
Of all the Vertues Morall and Divine,
Abstracted into one. It is a Mine,
Whose nature is not rich, unlesse in making
The state of others wealthy by partaking:

It bloomes and blossomes both in Sun and shade,
Doth (like the Bay in winter) never fade:
It loveth all, and yet suspecteth none,
Is provident, yet seeketh not her owne:
'Tis rare it selfe, yet maketh all things common,
And is judicious, yet it judgeth no man.

The noble Theban, being asked which
Of three (propounded) he suppos'd most rich
In vertues sacred treasure, thus reply'd:
Till they be dead, that doubt cannot be tryde.

It is no wisemans part to weigh a Friend,
Without the glosse and goodnesse of his End:
For Life, without the death considered, can
Afford but halfe a Story of the Man.

'Tis not my friends affliction, that shall make
Me either Wonder, Censure, or Forsake:

203

Iudgement belongs to Fooles; enough that I
Find he's afflicted, not enquier, why:
It is the hand of Heaven, that selfe-same sorrow
Grieves him to day, may make me grone to morrow

Heaven be my comfort; In my highest griefe,
I will not trust to Mans, but Thy reliefe.

Sect. 8.

The Argvment.

Iob counts his sorrowes, and from thence
Excuses his impatience;
Describes the shortnesse of Mans Time,
And makes confession of his Crime.

Bvt wretched Iob sigh't forth these words, & said,
Ah me! that my Impatience were weigh'd
With all my Sorrowes, by an equall hand,
They would be found more pondrous then the sand
That lies upon the new-forsaken shore:
My griefes want utterance, & haue stopt their dore:
And wōder not heav'ns shafts have struck me dead,
And God hath heapt all mischiefes on my head:
Will Asses bray, when they have grasse to eate?
Or lowes the Oxe, when as hee wants no meat?
Can palates finde a relish in distast?
Or can the whites of Egges well please the tast?
My vexed soule is dayly fed with such
Corruptions, as my hands disdaine to touch.
Alas! that Heav'n would heare my hearts request,
And strike me dead, that I may find some rest:

204

What hopes have I, to see my end of griefe,
And to what end should I prolong my life?
Why should not I wish Death? My strength (alas)
Is it like Marble, or my flesh like Brasse?
What power have I to mitigate my paine?
If e're I had, that power now is vaine;
My friends are like the Rivers, that are dry
In heat of Summer, when necessity
Requireth water; They amazed stand
To see my griefe, but lend no helping hand.
Friends; beg I succour from you? Craved I
Your Goods, to ransome my Captivity?
Shew me my faults, and wherein I did wrong
My Patience, and I will hold my tongue;
The force of reasonable words may moove,
But what can Rage or Lunacie reproove?
Rebuke you (then) my words to have it thought
My speech is franticke, with my griefe distraught?
You take a pleasure in your friends distresse,
That is more wretched than the fatherlesse:
Behold these sores: Be judg'd by your owne eyes,
If these be counterfeited miseries;
Ballance my words, and you shall finde me free
From these foule crimes wherewith ye branded me
And that my speech was not distain'd with sin,
Onely the language sorrow treated in.

Is not mans day prefixt, which, when expir'd,
Sleepes he not quiet as a servant hir'd?
A servants labour doth, at length, surcease,
His Day of travell findes a Night of peace;
But (wretched) I with woes am still oprest,
My mid-day torments see no Even of Rest;
My nights (ordain'd for sleep) are fill'd with griefe,
I looke (in vaine) for the next dayes reliefe:

205

With dust and wormes my flesh is hid, my sorrowes
Have plow'd my skin, and filth lyes in her furrows:
My dayes of ioy are in a moment gone,
And (hopelesse of returning) spent and done:
Remember (Lord) my life is but a puffe,
I but a man, that's misery enough;
And when pale death hath once seald up my sight,
I ne're shall see the pleasures of the light,
The eye of Man shall not discover me,
No, nor thine (Lord) for I shall cease to be;
When mortalls dye, they passe (like clouds before
The Sun) and backe returne they never more;
T'his earthly house he ne're shall come agin,
And then shall be, as if he ne're had bin:
Therfore my tongue shal speak while it hath breath
Prompted with griefe, and with the pangs of death:
Am I not weake and faint? what needst thou stretch
Thy direfull hand upon so poore a wretch?
When as I thinke that night shall stop the streames
Of my distress, thou frightst me then with dreams;
So that my soule doth rather choose to dye,
Than be involved in such misery;
My life's a burthen, and will end: O grieve
No longer him, that would no longer live.
Ah! what is Man, that thou should'st raise him so
High at the first, then sinke him downe so low?
What's man? thy glory's great enough without him:
Why dost thou (thus) disturb thy mind about him?
Lord, I have sinn'd (Great Helper of Mankind)
I am but Dust and Ashes, I have sinn'd:
Against thee (as a marke) why hast thou fixt me?
How have I trespast, that thou thus afflict'st mo?
Why, rather, didst thou not remoue my sin,
And salve the sorrowes that I raved in?

206

For thou hast heapt such vengeance on my head;
That when thou seekst me thou wilt find me dead.

Meditat. 8.

Th'Egyptians, amidst their sollemne Feasts,
Vsed to welcome, and present their Guests
With the sad sight of Mans Anatomy,
Serv'd in with this loud Motto, All must dye.
Fooles often goe about, when as they may
Take better vantage of a neerer way.
Looke well into your bosomes; doe not flatter
Your knowne infirmities: Behold, what matter
Your flesh was made of: Man, cast back thine eye
Vpon the weaknesse of thine Infancye;
See how thy lips hang on thy mothers Brest,
Bawling for helpe, more helplesse then a Beast,

Liv'st thou to childhood? then, behold, what toies
Doe mocke the sense, how shallow are thy joyes.
Com'st thou to downy yeares? see, how deceits
Gull thee with golden fruit, and with false baits
Slily beguile the prime of thy affection.
Art thou attain'd at length to full perfection
Of ripened yeares? Ambition hath now sent
Thee on her frothy errand, Discontent
Payes thee thy wages. Doe thy grizly haires
Begin to cast account of many cares
Vpon thy head? The sacred lust of gold
Now fits thy spirit, for fleshly lust, too cold,
Makes thee a slave to thine owne base desire,
Which melts and hardens, at the selfe-same Fire.

207

Art thou decrepit? Then thy very breath
Is grievous to thee, and each griefe's a death:
Looke where thou list, thy life is but a span,
Thou art but dust, and, to conclude, A Man.

Thy life's a Warfare, thou a Souldier art,
Satan's thy Foe-man, and a faithfull Heart
Thy two-edg'd Weapon, Patience thy Shield,
Heaven is thy Chiefetain, and the world thy Field.

To be afraid to dye, or wish for death,
Are words and passions of despairing breath:
Who doth the first, the day doth faintly yeeld,
And who the second, basely flies the field.

Mans not a lawfull Stearsman of his dayes,
His bootlesse wish, nor hastens, nor delayes:
We are Gods hired Workmen, he discharges
Some, late at night, and (when he list) inlarges
Others at noone, and in the morning some:
None may relieve himselfe, till he bid, Come:
If we receive for one halfe day, as much
As they that toyle till evening, shall we grutch?

Our life's a Road, in death our Iourney ends,
We goe on Gods Embassage, some he sends
Gall'd with the trotting of hard Misery,
And others, pacing on Prosperity:
Some lagge, whilest others gallop on, before;
All goe an end, some faster, and some slower.

Lead me that pase (great God) that thou think'st best,
And I will follow with a dauntlesse brest:
Which (ne'rethelesse) if I refuse to doe,
I shall be wicked, and yet follow to.
Assist me in my Combat with the flesh,
Relieve my fainting powers, and refresh
My feeble spirit: I will not wish to be
Cast from the world; Lord, cast the world from me.

167

Sect. 9.

The Argvment.

Bildad, mans either state expresses,
Gods Mercy and Iustice Iob confesses;
He pleads his cause, and begs reliefe,
Foild with the burthen of his griefe.

So Bildads silence (great with tongue) did breake,
And, like a heartlesse Comforter did speake:
How long wilt thou persist to breathe thy minde
In words that vanish as a storme of winde;
Will God forsake the innocent, or will
His Iustice smite thee, undeserving ill?
Though righteous death thy sinfull sons hath rent
From thy sad bosome, yet if thou repent,
And wash thy wayes with undissembled teares,
Tuning thy troubles to th'Almighties eares,
The mercy of his eyes shall shine upon thee:
And shoure the sweetnesse of his blessings on thee:
And though a while thou plunge in misery,
At length heel crowne thee with prosperity:
Run backe, and learne of sage Antiquity,
What our late births, to present times, deny,
See how, and what (in the worlds downy age)
Befell our Fathers in their Pilgrimage;
If Rushes have no mire, and Grasse no raine,
They cease to flourish, droop their heads, & waine:
So fades the man, whose heart is not upright,
So perisheth the double Hypocrite;

209

His hopes are like the Spiders web, to day
That's flourishing, to morrow swept away:
But he that's just is like the flowring tree,
Rooted by Chrystall Springs, that cannot be
Scorcht by the noone of day, nor stird from thence,
Where, firmely fixt, it hath a residence;
Heaven never failes the soule that is upright,
Nor offers arme to the base Hypocrite:
The one, he blesses with eternall joyes,
The other, his avenging hand destroyes.

I yeeld it for a truth, (sad Job reply'd)
Compar'd with God, can man be justifi'd?
If man should give account what he hath done,
Not of a thousand can he answer one:
His hand's all-Power, and his heart all pure,
Against this God, what man can stand secure?
He shakes the Mountaines, and the Sun he barres
From circling his due course, shuts up the Starres,
He spreades the Heavens, and rideth on the Flood,
His workes may be admir'd, not understood:
No eye can see, no heart can apprehend him:
Lists he to spoile? what's he can reprehend him?
His Will's his Law. The smoothest pleader hath
No power in his lips, to slake his Wrath,
Much lesse can I pleade faire immunity,
Which could my guiltlesse tongue attaine, yet I
Would kisse the Footstep of his Iudgement-seat:
Should he receive my cry, my griefe's so great,
It would perswade me, that he heard it not,
For he hath torne me with the five-fold knot
Of his sharpe Scourge, his plagues successive are,
That I can finde no ground, but of Despaire.
If my bold lips should dare to justifie
My selfe, my lips would give my lips the lye.

210

God owes his mercy, nor to good, nor bad;
The wicked oft he spares, and oft does adde
Griefe to the just mans griefe, woes after woes;
We must not judge man, as his Market goes.
But might my prayers obtaine this boone, that God
Would cease those sorrowes, and remove that Rod,
Which moves my patience; I would take upon me,
T'implead before him, your rash judgement on me,
Because my tender Conscience doth perswade mee,
I'me not so bad, as your bad Words have made me.

My life is tedious, my distresse shall breake
Into her proper Voyce, my griefes shall speake;
(Iust Iudge of Earth) condemne me not, before
Thou please to make me understand wherefore
Agrees it with thy Iustice, thus to be
Kinde to the wicked, and so harsh to Me?
Seest thou with fleshly eyes? or doe they glance
By favour? Are they clos'd with Ignorance?
Liv'st thou the life of man? Dost thou desire
A space of time to search, or to enquire
My sinne? No, in the twinkling of an eye
Thou seest my heart, seest my Immunity
From those foule crimes, wherewith my friends at pleasure
Taxe me, yet thou afflict'st me, in this Measure:
Thy hands have form'd, and fram'd me, what I am,
When thou hast made, wilt thou destroy the same?
Remember, I am built of Clay, and must
Returne againe (without thy helpe) to Dust.
Thou didst create, preserve me, hast indu'd
My life with gracious blessings oft renew'd
Thy precious favours on me: How wert thou,
Once, so benigne, and so cruell now?
Thou hunt'st me like a Prey, my plagues encrease,
Succeed each other, and they never cease.

211

Why was I borne? Or why did not my Tombe
Receive me (weeping) from my mothers wombe?
I have not long to live; Lord grant that I
May see some comfort, that am soone to dye.

Meditat. 9.

He that's the truest Master of his owne,
Is never lesse alone, than when alone;
His watchfull eyes are plac't within his heart;
His skill, is how to know himselfe: his Art,
How to command the pride of his Affections,
With sacred Reason: how to give directions
Vnto his wandring Will; His conscience checks his
More looser thoughts; His louder sins, she vexes
With frights, and feares, within her owne precincts,
She rambles with her Whips of wire, ne're winkes
At smallest faults, like as a tender Mother
(How e're she loves her darling) will not smother
His childish fault, But shee (her selfe) will rather
Correct, than trust him to his angry Father:
Even so, the tender Conscience of the wise,
Checks her beloved soule, and doth chastise,
And Iudge the crime it selfe, lest it should stand
As lyable to a severer hand.

Fond soule beware, who e're thou art, that spies
Anothers fault, that thou thine owne chastise,
Lest, like a foolish man, thou judge another,
In those selfe-crimes, which in your brest you smother.

Who undertakes to dreine his brothers eye
Of noisome Humours, first, must clarifie

212

His owne, lest when his brothers blemish is
Remov'd, he spie a fouler Blame in his.

It is beyond th'extent of Mans Commission,
To judge of Man: The secret disposition
Of Sacred Providence is lockt, and seal'd
From mans conceit, and not to be reveal'd,
Vntill that Lambe breake ope the Seale and come,
With life and death, to give the world her doome.

The ground-worke of our faith must not relie
On bare Events; Peace and Prosperity
Are goodly favours, but no proper Marke,
Wherewith God brands his Sheepe: No outward barke
Secures the body to be sound within.
The Rich man liv'd in Scarlet, dyed in Sinne.
Behold th'afflicted man; affliction moves
Compassion; but no confusion proves.
A gloomy Day brings oft a glorious Even:
The Poore man dy'd with sores, and lives in heavē.
To good and bad, both fortunes Heaven doth share
That both, an after-change, may hope, and feare.

I'le hope the best, (Lord) leave the rest to thee,
Lest while I judge another, thou judge me;
It's one mans worke to have a serious sight
Of his owne sinnes, and judge himselfe aright.

213

Sect. 10.

The Argvment.

Zophar blames Iob; Iob equall makes
His wisdome unto theirs: He takes
In hand to pleade with God; and then
Describes the fraile estate of men.

Then Zophar from deepe silence, did awake,
His words, with louder language, and bespake:
Shall Pratlers bee unanswe'rd, or shall such
Be counted just, that speake, for babbling much?
Shal thy words stop our mouths, he that hath blamd
And scoft at others, shall he die unsham'd?
Our eares have heard thee, when thou hast excus'd
Thy selfe of evill, and thy God accus'd:
But if thy God should pleade with thee at large,
Thou'dst reape the sorrows of a double charge.
Canst thou, by deepe inquiry, understand
The hidden Iustice of th'Almighties hand?
Heavens large dimensions cannot cōprehend him;
What e're hee doe, what's he can reprehend him?
What refuge hast thou then, but to present
A heart, inricht with the sad compliment
Of a true convert, on thy bended knee,
Before thy God, t'attone thy God and thee?
Then doubt not, but hee'll reare thee from thy sorrow,
Disperse thy Clouds, and like a shining Morrow,
Make cleare the Sun-beames of Prosperity,
And rest thy soule in sweet Security.

214

But he, whose heart obdur'd in sinne, persists,
His hopes shall vanish, as the morning Mists.

But Job, even as a Ball against the ground
Banded with violence, did thus rebound:

You are the onely wisemen, in your brests
The hidden Magazen of true Wisdome rests,
Yet (though astund with sorrowes) doe I know
A little, and (perchance) as much as you;
I'm scorned of my Friends, whose prosprous state
Surmises me (that have expir'd the date
Of earths faire Fortunes) to be cast away
From heavens regard, think none belov'd, but they;
I am despised, like a Torch, that's spent,
Whiles that the wicked blazes in his Tent:
What have your wisdoms taught me, more thā that
Which birds & beasts (could they but speak) would chat?
Digests the Stomack, e're the Pallat tastes?
O weigh my Words, before you judge my case.
But you referre me to our Fathers dayes,
To be instructed in their wiser Layes.
True, length of dayes brings Wisdome; but, I say,
I have a wiser teacheth me, than they:
For I am taught, and tutor'd by that Hand,
Whose unresisted power doth command
The limits of the Earth, whose VVisdome schooles
And traines the simple, makes the learned fooles:
His hand doth raise the poore, deposes Kings;
On him, both Order, and the change of things
Depend, he searches, and brings forth the light
From out the shadowes, and the depth of night.

All this, mine owne Experience hath found true,
And in all this, I know as much as you.
But you averre, If I should plead with God,
That he would double his severer Rod.

215

Your tongue belies his Iustice, you apply
Amisse, your Med'cine, to my Malady;
In silence, you would seeme more wise, lesse weake;
You having spoke, now lend me leave to speake.
Will you doe wrong, to doe Gods Iustice right?
Are you his Counsell? Need you helpe to fight
His quarrels? Or expect you his applause,
Thus (brib'd with selfe-conceit) to plead his cause?
Iudgement's your Fee, when as you take in hand
Heavens cause, to plead it, and not Heav'n cōmand.
If that the foulnesse of your censures could
Not fright you, yet, me thinks, his greatness should,
Whose Iustice you make Patron of your lies;
Your slender Maximes, and false Forgeries
Are substanc't like the dust that flyes besides me;
Peace then, and I will speake, what e're betides me:
My soule is on the rack, my tears have drown'd me,
Yet will I trust my God, though God confound me;
He, He's my Towre of strength; No hypocrite
Stands, unconfounded, in his glorious sight:
Ballance my words; I know my case would quit
Me from your censures, should I argue it.
Who takes the Plaintifes pleading? Come, for I
Must plead my right, or else perforce must die.
With thee (great Lord of Heaven) I dare dispute,
If thou wilt grant me this my double Suit;
First, that thou slake these sorrows that surroūd me;
Then, that thy burning Face doe not confound me;
Which granted, then take thou thy choyce, let me
Propound the question, or, else answer Thee.
Why dost thou thus pursue me, like thy Foe?
For what great sinne dost thou afflict me so?
Break'st thou a withred Lease, thy Iustice doth
Summe up the reckonings of my sinfull youth:

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Thou keep'st me pris'ner, bound in fetters fast,
And, like a thred-bare garment doe I wast.

Man borne of Woman, hath but a short while
To live, his dayes are fleet, and full of toyle;
Hee's like a Flower shooting forth and dying,
His life is as a Shadow, swiftly flying.
Ah! b'ing so poore a thing; what needst thou minde him?
The number of his dayes thou hast confin'd him;
Then adde not plagues unto his Griefe, O give
Him peace, that hath so small a time to live:
Tree's that are fell'd, may sprout again, man never;
His dayes are numbred, and he dyes for ever;
He's like a Mist, exhaled by the Sunne,
His dayes once done, they are for ever done.
O that thy Hand would hide me close, and cover
Me in the Grave, till all thy Wrath were over!
My desperate sorrows hope for no reliefe,
Yet will I waite my Change. My day of griefe
Will be exchang'd for an Eternall day
Of joy: But now, thou dost not spare to lay
Full heapes of vengeance on my broken soule,
And writ'st my sinnes upon an ample scrowle;
As Mountaines (being shaken) fall, and Rocks
(Though firm) are worn, & rent with many knocks:
So strongest men are batterd with thy strength,
Loose ground, returning to the Ground at length:
So mortals die, and (being dead) ne're minde
The fairest fortunes that they leave behinde.
While man is man (untill that death bereave him
Of his last breath) his griefes shal never leave him.

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Meditat. 10.

Doth Hist'ry then, and sage Chronologie,
(The Index, pointing to Antiquity,)
So firmly grounded on deepe Iudgement, guarded,
And kept by so much Miracle, rewarded
With so great glory, serve, but as slight Fables,
To edge the dulnesse of mens wanton Tables,
And claw their itching eares? Or doe they, rather
Like a concise Abridgement, serve to gather
Mans high Adventures, and his transitory
Atchievements to expresse his Makers glory?
Acts, that have blown the lowdest Trumpe of Fame
Are all, but humours, purchas't in His name.

Is he, that (yesterday) went forth, to bring
His Fathers Asses home, (to day) crown'd King?

Did hee, that now on his brave Palace stood,
Boasting his Babels beauty, chew the cud
An hower after? Have not Babes beene crown'd,
And mighty Monarchs beaten to the ground?
Man undertakes, heaven breathes successe upon it;
What good, what evill is done, but heavē hath done it?

The Man to whom the world was not asham'd
To yeeld her Colours, he that was proclam'd
A God in humane shape, whose dreadfull voyce
Did strike men dead like Thunder, at the noyse;
Was rent away, from his Imperiall Throne,
Before his flowre of youth was fully blowne,
His race was rooted out, his Issue slaine,
And left his Empire to another straine.

Who that did e're behold the ancient Rome,
Would rashly, given her glory such a doome,

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Or thought her subject to such alterations,
That was the Mistresse, and the Queen of Nations?

Egypt, that in her wals, had once engrost
More Wisdome, than the world besides, hath lost
Her senses now: Her wisest men of State,
Are turn'd, like Puppets, to be pointed at:
If Romes great power, and Egypts wisdome can
Not ayde themselves how poore a thing is Man?
God plaies with Kingdomes, as with Tennis-balls,
Fells some that rise, and raises some that fals:
Nor policy can prevent, nor secret Fate,
Where Heaven hath pleas'd to blow upon a State.
If States be not secure, nor Kingdomes, than
How helpelesse (Ah!) how poore a thing is Man!
Man's like a flower, the while he hath to last,
Hee's nipt with frost, and shooke with every blast,
Hee's borne in sorrow, and brought up in teares,
He lives a while in sinne, and dyes in feares.

Lord, I'le not boast, what e're thou give unto me,
Lest e're my brag be done, thou take it from me.
No man may boast but of his owne, I can
Then boast of nothing, for I am a Man.

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Sect. 11.

The Argvment.

Rash Eliphaz doth aggravate
The sinnes of Iob, malign's his flate,
Whom Iob reproving, justifies
Himselfe, bewailes his miseries.

Doth vaine repining (Eliphaz replies)
Or words, like wind, beseeme the man that's wise
Ah sure, thy faithlesse heart rejects the feare
Of heaven, dost not acquaint thy lips with pray'r:
Thy words accuse thy heart of Impudence,
Thy tongue (not I) brings in the Evidence:
Art thou the first of men? Doe Mysteries
Vnfold to thee? Art thou the onely wise?
Wherein hath Wisdome beene more good to you
Then us? What know you, that we never knew?
Reverence, not Censure, fits a young mans eyes,
We are your Ancients, and should be as wise;
Is't not enough, your Arrogance derides
Our counsels, but must scorne thy God besides?
Angels (if God inquier) strictly must
Not pleade Perfection: then can man be just?

It is a truth receiv'd, these aged eyes
Have seen't; and is confirmed by the wise,
That still the wicked man is vold of rest,
Is alwayes fearefull; falls when he feares least,
In trouble he despaires, and is dejected,
He begs his bread, his death comes unexpected,

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In his adversity, his griefes shall gaule him,
And, like a raging Tyrant, shall inthrall him,
He shall advance against his God, in vaine,
For Heaven shall crush & beate him downe againe;
What if his Garners thrive, and goods increase?
They shall not prosper, nor he live in peace,
Eternall horrour shall begirt him round,
And vengeance shall both him and his confound,
Amidst his joyes, despaire shall stop his breath,
His sons shall perish, with untimely death;
The double soule shall die, and in the hollow
Of all false hearts, false hearts thēselves shall swallow.

Then answered Iob, All this, before I knew,
They want no griefe, that finde such friends as you?
Ah, cease your words, the fruits of ill spent houres!
If heaven should please to make my fortunes yours,
I would not scoffe you, nor with taunts torment ye,
My lips should comfort, and these eyes lament ye:
What shall I doe, speake not, my griefes oppresse
My soule, or speake (alas) they'r ne're the lesse;
Lord I am wasted, and my pangs have spent me,
My skin is wrinkled, for thy hand hath rent me,
Mine enemies have smit me in disdaine,
Laught at my torments, jested at my paine:
I swell'd in wealth, but (now) alas, am poore
And (feld with woe) lye groveling on the floore,
In dust and sackcloth I lament my sorrowes,
Thy Hand hath trencht my cheekes with water furrowes,
Nor can I comprehend the cause, that this
My smart should be so grievous as it is:
Oh earth! if then an Hypocrite I be,
Cover my cryes, as I doe cover thee,
And witnesse Heaven, that these my Vowes be true
(Ah friends!) I spend my teares to Heav'n, not you.

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My time's but short, (alas!) would then that I
Might try my cause with God before I dye.

Since then I languish, and not farre from dead,
Let me a while with my Accusers plead
(Before the Iudge of heaven and earth) my right:
Have they not wrong'd, and vext me day & night?
Who first, layes downe his Gage, to meet me? Say,
I doubt not (Heaven being Iudge) to win the day:
You'll say perchance, wee'll recompell your word,
E're simple truth should unawares afford
Your discontent; No, no, forbeare, for I
Hate lesse your Censures, then your flattery;
I am become a By-word, and a Tabor,
To set the tongues, and eares of men, in labour,
Mine eyes are dimme, my body's but a shade,
Good men that see my case, will be afraid,
But not confounded; They will hold their way,
And in a bad, they'll hope a better day;
Recant your errours, for I cannot see
One man that's truly wise among you Three;
My dayes are gone, my thoughts are mis-possest,
The silent night, that heaven ordain'd for rest,
My day of travell is, but I shall have
E're long, long peace, within my welcome grave;
My neerest kinred are the wormes, the earth
My mother, for she gave me first my birth;
Where are my hopes then? where that future joy,
Which you fals-prophecy'd I should enjoy?
Both hopes, and I alike, shall travell thither,
Where, clos'd in dust, we shall remaine together.

222

Meditat. 11.

The Morall Poets, (nor unaptly) faine,
That by lame Vulcans help, the pregnant brain
Of soveraigne Iove, brought forth, and at that birth,
Was borne Minerva, Lady of the earth.

O strange Divinity! but sung by rote;
Sweete is the tune, but in a wider note.

The Morall sayes, All Wisedome that is given
To hood-wink't mortals, first proceeds from heavē
Truth's errour, Wisedom's but wise insolence,
And light's but darknesse, not deriv'd from thence;
Wisedom's a straine, transcends Morality,
No Vertu's absent, Wisedome being by.
Vertue, by constant practice, is acquir'd,
This (this by sweat unpurchas't) is inspir'd:
The master-piece of knowledge, is to know
But what is good, from what is good in show,
And there it rests: Wisedome proceeds, and chuses
The seeming evill, th'apparent good refuses;
Knowledge descries alone; Wisedome applies,
That makes some fooles; this, maketh none but wise:
The curious hand of knowledge doth but picke
Bare simples, wisdome pounds them, for the sicke;
In my afflictions knowledge apprehends,
Who is the Author, what the Cause, and Ends,
It findes that Patience is my sad reliefe,
And that the hand that caus'd, can cure my griefe:
To rest contented here, is but to bring
Cloudes without raine, and heat without a Spring:
What hope arises hence? The Devils doe
The very same: They know, and tremble too;

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But sacred Wisdome doth apply that good,
Which simple knowledge barely understood:
Wisedome concludes, and in conclusion, proves,
That wheresoever God corrects, he loves:
Wisedome digests, what knowledge did but tast,
That deales in futures; this, in things are past:
Wisdome's the Card of knowledge, which, without
That Guide, at random's wreck't on every doubt:
Knowledge, when wisdome is too weak to guide her
Is like a head-strong horse, that throwes the rider;
Which made that great Philosopher avow,
He knew so much, that he did nothing know.

Lord, give me Wisedome to direct my wayes,
I beg nor riches, nor yet length of dayes:
O grant thy servant Wisedome, and with it,
I shall receive such knowledge as will fit
To serve my turne: I wish not Phœbus waine,
Without his skill to drive it, lest I gaine
Too deare an Honour: Lord, I will not stay,
To picke more Manna, then will serve to day.

224

Sect. 12.

The Argvment.

Bildad, the whil'st he makes a show
To strike the wicked, gives the blow
To Iob: Iobs misery, and faith;
Zophar makes good what Bildad saith.

Said Bildad then, When will yee bring to end
The speeches whereabout ye so contend?
Waigh eithers words, lest ignorant confusion
Debarre them of their purposed conclusion:
We came to comfort, fits it then that wee
Be thought as beasts, or fooles accounted bee?
But thou, Iob, (like a madman) would'st thou force
God, to desist his order, and set course
Of Iustice? shall the wicked, for thy sake
(That would'st not taste of evill) in good partake?
No, no, his Lampe shall blaze, and dye, his strength
Shall faile, and shall confound it selfe, at length
He shall be hampred with close hidden snares,
And dog'd, where e're he starts, with troops of fears;
Hunger shall bite, destruction shall attend him,
His skin shall rot, the worst of deaths shal end him:
His feare, shall bee a thousand linkt together,
His branch above, his roote beneath shall wither,
His name shall sleepe in dust, in dust decay,
Odious to all, by all men chas't away,
No Son shall keepe alive his House, his Name,
And none shall thrive, that can alliance clame,

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The after-age shall stand amaz'd, to heare
His fall, and they that see't, shall shake for feare:
Thus stands the state of him that doth amisse,
And (Iob) what other is thy case, then this?

But Job reply'd, how long, (as with sharp swords)
Will ye torment me, with your pointed words?
How often have your biting tongues defam'd
My simple Innocence, and yet unsham'd?
Had I deserv'd these plagues, yet let my griefe
Expresse it selfe, though it find no reliefe;
But if you needs must weare your tongues upon me
Know, 'Tis the hand of God hath overthrowne me;
I roare, unheard; his hand will not release me;
The more I grieve, the more my griefs oppress me,
He hath despoyl'd my joyes, and goes about
(My branches being lopt) to stroy the Root;
His plagues, like souldiers trench within my bones
My friends, my kinred flye me all at once,
My neighbors, my familiars have forgone me,
My houshold stares, with strangers eyes, upon me:
I call my servant, but his lips are dumbe,
I humbly begg his helpe, but hee'l not come:
My own wife loaths my breath though I did make
My solemne suit, for our dead childrens sake:
The poor, whose wants I have supply'd, despise me,
And he that liv'd within my brest, denyes me:
My bones are hide-bound, there cannot be found
One piece of skin, (vnlesse my gums) that's sound.
Alas! complaints are barren shadowes, to
Expresse, or cure the substance of my woe.
Have pity, (oh my friends) have pitty on me,
'Tis your Gods hand and mine, that lyes upon me,
Vexe me no more. O let your anger be
(If I have wrong'd you) calm'd with what yee see;

226

O! that my speeches were ingraven, then,
In Marble Tablets, with an yron Pen:
For sure I am, that my Redeemer lives,
And though pale death consume my flesh, and gives
My Carkas to the wormes yet am I sure,
Clad with this self-same flesh (but made more pure)
I shall behold His glory; These sad eyes
Shall see his Face, how-e're my body lyes
Mouldred in dust; These fleshly eyes, that doe
Behold these Sores, shall see my Maker too.
Vnequall hearers of unequall griefe,
Y'are all ingag'd to the selfe-same beliefe;
Know there's a Iudge, whose voyce will be as free,
To judge your words, as you have judged me.

Said Zophar then, I purpos'd to refraine
From speaking, but thou mov'st me backe againe:
For having heard thy haughty spirit breake
Such hasty termes, my spirit bids me speake:

Hath not the change of Ages, and of Climes,
Taught us, as we shall our succeeding times,
How vain's the triumph, and how short the blaze,
Wherein the wicked sweeten out their dayes?
Though for a while his Palmes of glory flourish,
Yet, in conclusion they grow sere, and perish:
His life is like a Dreame, that passes o're,
The eye that saw him, ne're shall see him more:
The Sonne shall flattter, whom the Syre opprest,
And (poore) he shall returne, what he did wrest;
He shall be bayted with the sinnes, that have
So smil'd upon his Child-hood, to his Grave;
His plenty (purchas't by oppression) shall
Be honey, tasted but digested, Gall;
It shall not blesse him with prolonged stay,
But evilly come, it soone shall passe away;

227

The Man, whose griping hath the poore opprest,
Shall neither thrive in state, nor yet find rest
In soule, nought of his fulnesse shall remaine,
His greedy Heire shall long expect in vaine;
Soak't with extorted plenty, others shall
Squeeze him, and leave him dispossest of all;
And when his joyes doe in their height abound,
Vengeance shall strike him groaning, to the ground
If Swords forbeare to wound him, Arrowes shall,
Returning forth, anoynted with his Gall;
No shade shall hide him, and an unblowne Fyer
Shall burne both him and his. Heav'n, like a Cryer
Shal blaze his shame, and Earth shall stand his foe,
His wandring Children shall no dwelling know;
Behold the mans estate, whom God denyes,
Behold thine owne, pourtraicted to thine Eyes.

Meditat. 12.

Can mercy come from bloody Cain? Or hath
His angry Brow a smile? or can his wrath
Be quencht with ought, but righteous Abels blood?
Can guilty Pris'ners hope for any good
From the severer Iudge, whose dismall breath
Dooms them to die, breaths nothing else but death
Ah righteous Iudge! wherein hath Man to trust?
Man hath offended, and thy Lawes are just;
Thou frownest like a Iudge, but I had rather,
That thou would'st smile upon me like a Father,
What if thy Esau be austere and rough?
Thou hast a Iacob that is smooth enough:

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Thy Iacobs tender Kid brings forth a blessing,
While Esaus tedious Ven'zon is a dressing.
Thy face hath smiles, as well as frownes, by turnes;
Thy fier giveth light as well as burnes?
What if the Serpent stung old Adam dead:
Young Adam lives, to breake that Serpents head?
Iustice hath struck me with a bleeding wound,
But Mercy poures in Oyle, to make it sound.
The milk-white Lamb confounds the roaring Lion,
Blasted by Sinah, I am heal'd by Sion:
The Law finds guilty, and Death Iudgement gives,
But sure I am, that my Redeemer lives.

How wretched was mans case, in those dark dayes
When Law was only read? Which Law dismayes
And, taking vantage, through the breach of it,
The Letter kills, and can no way admit
Release by pardon; for by Law we dye.
Why then hop'd man, without a reason Why?
Although there was no Sun, their Morning eyes
Saw by the Twilight, that the Sun would rise.
The Law was like a mistie Looking-Glasse,
Wherein the shadow of a Saviour was,
Treats in a darker straine by Types and Signes,
And what should passe in after-dayes, divines.
The Gospell sayes, that he is come and dead,
And thus the Riddle of the Law is read.
Gospell is Law, the Myst'ry being seal'd;
And Law is Gospell, being once reveal'd.

Experience tells us when as birth denyes
To man (through Natures oversight) his eyes,
Nature (whose curious workes are never vaine)
Supplyes them, in the power of his Braine:
So they, whose eyes were barr'd that glorious sight
Of the Messiah's day, receiv'd more Light,

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(Inspired by the breath of Heaven) then they,
That heard the tydings of that happy day.

The man, that with a sharpe contracted eye,
Lookes in a cleere Perspective-Glasse, doth spie
Objects remote, which to the sense appeare
(Through help of the Perspective) seeming neere.
So they that liv'd within the Lawes Dominion,
Did heare farre off, a bruit and buzz'd Opinion,
A Saviour one day should be borne; but he
That had a Perspective of Faith, might see
That long-expected day of joy as cleere,
As if the triumph had beene then kept there.
Lord, so direct me in thy perfect Way,
That I may looke, and smile upon that Day:
O! bathe me in his blood, spunge every staine,
That I may boldly sue my Counter-paine:
O! make me glorious in the doome he gives,
For sure I am, that my Redeemer lives.

Sect. 31.

The Argvment.

Earths happinesse is not Heavens brand:
A rash recounting of Iob's crimes:
Iob trusts him to th'Almighties hand:
God ties his Iudgements, not to Times.

Then Iob replyde: O, let your patience prove,
You came (not to afflict me but) in Love.
O! beare with me, and heare me speake at leysure,
My speech once ended, mock, & scoffe your pleasure

230

Myst'ries I treat, not Toyes; If then I range
A thought beyond my selfe, it is not strange;
Behold my case, and stand amaz'd, forbeare me:
Be still, and in your deeper silence heare me.
Search you the hearts of men (my Friends) or can
You judge the Inward, by the Outward Man?
How haps the wicked then, so sound in health,
So ripe in yeeres, so prosperous in wealth?
They multiply, their house is fill'd with Peace,
They passe unplagu'd, their fruitfull flocks increase
Their children thrive in joyfull melody,
Prosperous they live, and peacefully they dye;
Renounce us (God) say they (if God there be.)
What need we knowledge of thy Word or Thee?
What is th'Almighty, that we should adore him?
What hoots our prayer, or us to fall before him?

'Tis not by chance, their vaine Prosperity
Crownes them with store, or Heav'n; not knowing why:
But you affirme, That in conclusion they
Shall fall; But not so sudden, as you say:
But can ye limit forth the space, confine
How long, or when their lamps shal cease to shine?
Will any of you undertake to teach
Your Maker, things so farre above your reach?
The bad man lives in plenty, dyes in peace:
The good, as doe his houres, his griefes increase;
Yet both the good and bad alike shall haue,
Though lives much differing, yet one cōmon grave
I know your mining thoughts; You will demand,
Where is the wickeds power? And where stand
Their lofty buildings? Are they to be seene?
Enquire of wandring Pilgrims that have beene
Experienc'd in the Roade; and they I relate
The Princely greatnesse of their Towr's and State:

231

Live any more secure then they? Or who
Dare once reprove them, for the deeds thy doe?
He lives in power, and in peace he dyes,
Attended in his pompeous Obsequies.
How vaine are then the comforts of your breath,
That censure goodnesse, or by Life or Death?

Said Eliphaz; What then remaines? Thy tongue
Hath quit thy selfe, accus'd thy God of wrong.
Gaines he by mans uprightnesse? Can man adde
To his perfection, what he never had?
Fears he the strength of Man? doth he torment him
Lest that his untam'd power should prevent him?
What need I wast this breath? Recall thy senses,
And take the Inventory of thy' offences:
Thou tookst the poore mans Pawne, nor hast thou fed
Thy needy Brother, with thy prosp'rous Bread;
Thy hands perverted Iustice, and have spoyl'd
The hopelesse Widow, with her helplesse child.
Hence spring thy sorrowes (Iob) 'Tis Iustice, then
Thou shouldst-bee plagu'd, that thus plagu'd other men;
Is heaven just? Can heavens just Creator
Let passe (unpunisht) Sinnes of so high nature?
Hath not experience taught, that for a while,
The Wicked may exalt their Crests, and smile,
Blowne up with Insolence: But in conclusion
They fall, and good men laught at their confusion?
Iob, adde not sinne to sinne, cease to beguile
Thy selfe, thinking to quench thy fire with Oyle;
Returne thee to thy God, confesse thy crimes;
Returne, and he will crowne thy after times
With former Blessings, and thy Riches shall
Be as the Sand: for God is all in all;
His face shall welcome thee, and smile upon thee,
And cease that mischief his just hād hath done thee,

232

He shall be pleased with thy holy Fires,
And grant the issue of thy best Desires.

Iob answer'd then: Although my soule be faint,
And griefes weigh down the scale of my complaint,
Yet would I plead my cause (which you defam'd)
Before my Maker, and would plead, unsham'd;
Could I but find him, I would take upon me,
To quite the censures you have passed on me,
His Iustice hath no limits, is extended
Beyond conceit, by man vnapprehended,
Let Heaven be Vmpire, and make Arbitration,
Betwixt my guiltlesse heart, and your taxation,
My Embrion thoughts and words are all inroll'd,
Pure will he find them, as refined Gold;
His steps I followed, and uprightly stood,
His Lawes have been my guide, his words my food;
Hath he but once decreed? (alas!) there's none
Can barre: for what he wills, must needs be done;
His Will's a Law: If he have doom'd that I
Shall still be plagu'd, 'tis bootlesse to reply.
Hence comes it, that my sore afflicted spright
Trembles, and stands confounded at his sight;
His hand hath strucke my spirits in a maze,
For I can neither end my Griefes nor dayes.

Why should not times in all things be forbid,
When to the just, their time of sorrow's hid?
Some move their Land marks, rob their neighbour flocks;
Others in gage receive the widowes oxe,
Some grind the poore, while others seeke the prey;
They reape their Harvest, beare their graine away;
Men presse their Oyle, & they distraine their store,
And rend the Gleanings from the hungry poore.
The City roares, the blood which they have spent,
Cryes (unreveng'd) for equall punishment;

233

Early they murther, and rob late at night,
They trade in Darknesse, for they hate the Light,
They sin (unpunisht) thriving, uncontrold,
And what by force they got, by force they hold.
O friends! repeale your words, your speeches bring
No lawfull issue, prove not any thing:
Your deeper wisedomes argue in (effect)
That God doth, or not know, or else neglect:
Conclude with me, or prove my words untrue,
I must be found the lyar, or else you.

Meditat. 13.

The wisest men that Nature ere could boast,
For secret knowledge of her power, were lost,
Confounded, and in deepe amazement stood,
In the discovery of the Chiefest Good:
Keenly they hunted, beat in every bracke,
Forwards they went, on either hand, and backe
Return'd they counter; but their deep-mouth'd art,
(Thogh often challeng'd sent, yet) ne're could start
In all th'Enclosures of Philosophy,
That Game, from squat, they terme, Felicity:
They jangle; and their Maximes disagree,
As many men, so many mindes there be.

One digs to Pluto's Throne, thinks there to finde
Her Grace, rak't up in Gold: anothers mind
Mounts to the Courts of Kings, with plumes of honor,
And feather'd hopes, hopes there to seize upon her;
A third, unlocks the painted Gate of Pleasure,
And ransacks there, to finde this peerlesse Treasure.

234

A fourth, more sage, more wisely melancholy,
Perswades himselfe, her Deity's too holy
For common hands to touch, he rather chuses,
To make a long dayes journey to the Muses:
To Athens (gown'd) he goes, and from that Schoole
Returnes unsped, a more instructed foole.

Where lyes she then? Or lyes she any where?
Honours are bought and sold, she rests not there,
Much lesse in Pleasures hath she her abiding,
For they are shar'd to Beasts, and ever sliding;
Nor yet in Vertue, Vertue's often poore,
And (crusht with fortune) begs from doore to door,
Nor is she sainted in the Shrine of wealth;
That, makes men slaves, is unsecur'd from stealth;
Conclude we then, Felicity consists
Not in exteriour Fortunes, but her lists
Are boundlesse, and her large extension
Out-runnes the pace of humane apprehension;
Fortunes are seldome measur'd by desert,
The fairer face hath oft the fouler heart;
Sacred Felicity doth ne're extend
Beyond it selfe: In it all wishes end:
The swelling of an outward Fortune can
Create a prosp'rous, not a happy man;
A peacefull Conscience is the true Content,
And Wealth is but her golden Ornament.

I care not so my Kernell relish well,
How slender be the substance of my shell;
My heart b'ing vertuous, let my face be wan,

I am to God, I onely seeme to man.

235

Sect. 14.

The Argvment.

Bildad showes mans impurity;
Iob setteth forth th'Almighties power,
Pleads still his owne integrity:
Gods Wisedome no man can discover.

Said Bildad then, With whom dost thou contest,
But with thy Maker, that lives ever blest?
His pow'r is infinite, mans light is dimme;
And knowledge darknesse not deriv'd from him?
Say then, who can be just before him? No man
Can challenge Purity, that's borne of Woman.
The greater Torch of heaven in his sight,
Shall be asham'd, and lose his purer light;
Much lesse can man, that is but living Dust,
And but a sairer Worme, be pure and just.

Whereat Iob thus: Doth heav'ns high judgement stand
To be supported by thy weaker hand?
Wants he thy helpe? To whom dost thou extend
These these thy lavish lips, and to what end?
No, Hee's Almighty, and his Power doth give
Each thing his Being, and by him they live:
To him is nothing darke, his soveraigne hands
Whirle round the restless Orbs, his pow'r cōmands
The even pois'd Earth; The water-pots of heaven
He empties at his pleasure, and hath given
Appointed lists, to keepe the Waters under;
The trembling skies he strikes amaz'd, with thūder:

236

These, these the Trophies of his Power be,
Where is there e're a such a God as He?

My friends, these eares have heard your censures on me,
And heavēs sharp hād doth waigh so hard upon me;
So languishing in griefe, that no defence
Seemes to remaine, to shield my Innocence:
Yet while my soule a gaspe of breath affords
I'le not distrust my Maker, nor your words
Deserve, which heaven forfend, that ever I
Prove true, but I'le plead guiltlesse till I dye,
While I have breath, my pangs shal ne're perswade me
To wander, and revolt from Him that made me.
E're such thoughts spring from this confused brest,
Let death and tortures doe their worst, their best.
What gaines the Hypocrite, although the whole
Worlds wealth he purchase, with the prize on's soule?
Will heaven heare the voice of his disease?
Can he repent, and turne, when e're he please?
True, God doth sometime plague with open shame
The wicked, often blurres he forth his Name
From out the earth, his children shall be slaine,
And who survive shall beg their bread in vaine;
What if his gold be heapt, the good man shall
Possesse it, as true Master of it all;
Like Moths, their houses shall they build, in doubt
And danger, every houre to be cast out;
Besieg'd with want, their lips make fruitlesse mone
Yet (wanting succour) be reliev'd by none;
The worme of Conscience shall torment his brest,
And he shall rore, when others be at rest,
Gods hand shall scourge him, that he cannot flie,
And men shall laugh, and hisse, to heare him cry.

The purest metal's hid within the mould,
Without is gravell, but within is Gold;

237

Man digs, and in his toile he takes a pleasure,
He seekes, and findes within the turfe, the treasure;
He never rests unsped, but (underneath)
He mines, and progs, though in the fangs of death:
No secret, (how obscure soever) can
Earths bosome smother, that's unfuond by man;
But the Divine, and high Decrees of Heaven,
What minde can search into? No power's given
To mortall man, whereby he may attaine
The rare discovery of so high a straine:
Dive to the depth of darknesse, and the deepes
Renounce this Wisdome: The wide Ocean keepes
Her not inclos'd; 'Tis not the purest Gold
Can purchase it, or heapes of silver, told;
The Pearles, and peerlesse Treasures of the East,
Refined Gold, and Gemmes, are all, the least
Of nothings, if compar'd with it, as which,
Earths masse of treasure, (summ'd) is not so rich;
Where rests the wisedome then? If men enquire
Below, they finde her not; or if they (higher)
Soare with the Prince of Fowles, they stil despaire,
The more they seeke, the further off they are.

Ah friends! how more than men? how Eagle-eyd
Are you, to see, what to the world beside
Was darke? To you alone (in trust) was given
To search into the high Decrees of Heaven:
You read his Oracles, you understand
To riddle forth mans fortunes by his hand;
Your wisedomes have a priviledge to know
His secret Smiling from his angry Brow:
Let shame prevent your lips, recant, and give
To the Almighty his prerogative,
To him, the searching of mens hearts belong,
Mans judgement sinks no deeper than the tongue;

238

He overlookes the World, and in one space
Of time, his Eye is fixt on every place:
He waighes the Waters, ballances the Ayre,
What e're hath Being, did his hands prepare;
He wills that Mortalls be not over-wise,
Nor judge his Secrets with censorious eyes.

Medit. 14.

Tis Vertue to flye Vice: there's none more stout
Than he that ventures to picke vertue out
Betwixt a brace of Vices: Dangers stand,
Threatning his ruine upon either hand;
His Card must guide him, lest his Pinnace run
Vpon Charybdis, while it Seylla shun:
In moderation all Vertue lyes;
Tis greater folly to be over-wise,
Than rudely ignorant: The golden meane,
Is but to know enough; safer to leane
To Ignorance, than Curiosity,
For lightning blasts the Mountaines that are high:
The first of men, from hence deserv'd his fall,
He sought for secrets, and found death, withall:
Secrets are unfit objects for our eyes,
They blinde us in beholding: He that tryes
To handle water, the more hard he straines
And gripes his hand, the lesse his hand retaines:
The mind that's troubled with that pleasing itch
Of knowing Secrets, having flowne a pitch
Beyond it selfe, the higher it ascends,
And strives to know, the lesse it apprehends:

239

That secret Wiseman, is an open Foole,
Which takes a Counsell-chamber, for a Schoole.

The eye of Man desires no farther light,
Than to descry the object of his sight:
And rests contented with the Suns reflection,
But (lab'ring to behold his bright complexion)
If it presume t'out-face his glorious Light,
The beames bereave him, justly, of his sight:
Even so the mind should rest in what's reveal'd,
But over-curious, if in things conceald
She wades too farre, beyond her depth, unbounded,
Her knowledge will be lost, and she confounded,
Farre safer 'tis, of things unsure, to doubt,
Than undertake to riddle secrets out.
It was demanded once, What God did doe
Before the World he framed? Whereunto
Answer was made, He built a Hell for such,
As are too curious, and would know too much.

Who flyes with Icarus his feathers, shall
Have Icarus his fortunes and his fall.
A noble Prince, (whose bounteous hand was bent,
To recompence his servants faith, and vent
The earnest of his favors,) did not profer,
But wild him boldly to prevent his offer:
Thankfull, he thus replyed, Then grant vnto me,
This boone, With-hold thy Princely secrets from me.

That holy Man, in whose familiar eare
Heavn oft had thundred, might not come too near:
The Temple must have Curtaines; mortall hearts
Must rest content to see his Hinder-parts.

I care not (Lord) how farre thy Face be off,
If I but kisse thy Hand, I have enough.

240

Sect. 15.

The Argvment.

Iob wisheth his past happinesse,
Shewes his state present, doth confesse
That God's the Author of his griefe,
Relates the purenesse of his life.

Oh! that I were as happy as I was,
When Heavens bright favours shone upon my face,
And prsperd my affaires, inricht my joyes,
When all my sonnes could answer to my voyce;
Then did my store, and thriving flocks encrease,
Offended Iustice sought my hands, for peace;
Old men did honour, and the young did feare mee,
Princes kept silence (when I spake) to heare me;
I heard the poore, reliev'd the widowes cry,
Orphans I succour'd, was the blind mans eye,
The Cripples foote, my helplesse brothers drudge,
The poore mans Father, and th'oppressors Iudge;
I then supposed, that my dayes long Lease
Would passe in plenty, and expire in peace;
My Rootes were fixed, and my Branches sprung,
My Glory blaz'd, my Power grew daily strong;
I speaking, men stood mute, my speeches mov'd
All hearts to joy, by all men were approv'd:
My kindly words were welcome, as a latter
Raine, and were Oracles in a doubtfull matter.

O sudden change! I'm turn'd a laughing-stock
To boyes, and those that su'd to tend my flock,

241

And such, whose hūgry wāts have taught their hāds
To scrape the earth, and digge the barren lands
For hidden rootes, wherewith they might appease
Their Tyran 'stomacks, these, (even very these)
Flout at my sorrowes, and disdaining me,
Point with theire fingers, and cry, This is he:
My honour's foyl'd, my troubled spirit lies
Wide open to the worst of injuries;
Where ere I turne, my sorrow, new, appeares,
I'me vext abroad with flouts, at home with feares;
My soule is faint, and nights that should give ease
To tyred spirits, make my griefes encrease,
I loath my Carkeise, for my ripened sores
Have chang'd my garments colour with their cores.
But what is worst of worsts, (Lord) often I
Have cry'd to thee, a stranger to my cry,
Though perfect Clemency thy nature bee,
Though kinde to all, thou art unkinde to me.
I nere waxt pale, to see another thrive,
Nor e're did let my' afflicted brother strive
With teares, alone: but I (poore I) tormented,
Expect for succour, and am unlamented:
I mourne in silence, languish all alone,
As in a Desart, am reliev'd by none:
My sores have dy'd my skin with filth, still turning
My joyes to griefe, and all my mirth to mourning.

My Heart hath past Indentures with mine Eye,
Not to behold a Maid, for what should I
Expect from heaven but a deserv'd reward,
Earn'd by so foule a sinne? for death's prepar'd,
And flames of wrath are blowne for such: Doth He
Not know my actions, that so well knowes mee?
If I have lent my hand to slye deceit,
Or if my steps have not beene purely strait,

242

What I have sowne, then let a stranger eate,
And root my Plants untimely from their seate.
If I with Lust have e're distain'd my life,
Or beene defiled with anothers Wife,
In equall Iustice let my Wife be knowne
Of all, and let me reape as I have sowne:
For Lust, that burneth in a sinfull brest,
Till it hath burnt him too, shall never rest.
If e're my haste did treat my Servant ill,
Without desert, making my power my Will,
Then how should I before Gods Iudgement stand,
Since we were both created by one Hand?
If e're my power wrong'd the Poore mans cause,
Or to the Widow, lengthned out the Lawes:
If e're (alone) my lips did taste my bread,
Or shut my churlish doores, the poore unfed,
Or bent my hand to doe the Orphane wrong,
Or saw him naked, unapparell'd long;
In heapes of Gold, if e're I tooke delight,
Or gave Heavens worship to the heavenly Light,
Or e're was flattred by my secret Will;
Or joyed in my Adversaries Ill;
Let God accurse mee from his glorious Seat,
And make my plagues (if possible) more great,

Oh! That some equall hearer now were by,
To judge my righteous cause: Full sure am I,
I shall be quitted by th'Almighties hand.
What, therefore, if censorious tongues withstand
The judgement of my sober Conscience?
Compose they Ballads on me, yet from thence
My simple Innocence shall gaine renowne,
And on my head, I'le weare them, as my Crowne:
To the Almighties care will I reveale
My secret wayes; to him, alone, appeale:

243

If (to conclude) the Earth could finde a tongue,
T'impeach my guiltlesse hands of doing wrong:
If hidden Wages (earn'd with sweat) doe lye
Rak't in her furrowes, let her wombe deny
To blesse my Harvest, let her better Seeds
Be turn'd to Thistles, and the rest, to Weeds.

Medita. 15.

The man whose soule is undistain'd with Ill,
Pure from the check of a distempred Will,
Stands onely free from the distracts of Care,
And flies a pitch above the reach of Feare:
His bosome dares the threatning Bow-mans arme,
His wisedome sees, his Courage feares no harme;
His brest lyes open to the reeking Sword;
The darts of swarthy Maurus can affoord
Lesse dread, than danger to his well prepar'd
And setled minde, which (standing on her guard)
Bids Mischiefe doe the worst she can, or will,
For he that does no ill, deserves no ill.

Would any strive with Samson for renowne,
Whose brawny arme can strike most pillers downe?
Or try a fall with Angels, and prevaile?
Or with a Hymne unhinge the strongest Iayle?
Would any from a pris'ner prove a Prince?
Or with slow speech best Orators convince?
Preserve he then, unstained in his brest,
A milke white Conscience; let his soule be blest
With simple Innocence: This sevenfold shield
No dart shall pierce, no sword shall make it yeeld;

244

The sinewy Bow, and deadly headed Launce,
Shall breake in shivers and the splinters glaunce
Aside, returning backe, from whence they came,
And wound their hearts with an eternall shame.
The just and constant minde, that perseveres
Vnblemisht with false pleasures, never feares
The bended threatnings of a Tyrants brow,
Death neither can disturbe, nor change his Vow;
Well guarded with himselfe, he walkes along,
When, most alone, he stands a thousand strong.

Lives he in weale, and full Prosperity?
His wisedome tells him, that he lives to dye.

Is he afflicted? Sharpe afflictions give
Him hopes of Chang, and that hee dyes, to live.

Is he revil'd and scorn'd? He sits, and smiles,
Knowing him happy, whom the world reviles.
If Rich, he gives the Poore, and if he live
In poore estate, he findes rich friends to give:
He lives an Angel in a mortall forme;
And having past the brunt of many a storme,
At last ariveth at the Haven of Rest,
Where that just Iudge, that rambles in his brest,
Ioyning with Angels, with an Angels voyce,
Chaunts forth sweet Requiems of Eternall joyes.

245

Sect. 16.

The Argvment.

Elihu Iob reproves, reproves
His Friends alike; he pleades the case
With Iob in Gods behalfe, and moves
Him to recant, and call for Grace.

Thus Iob his ill-defended Cause adjournes,
And silence lends free liberty of turnes,
To his unjust Accusers, whose bad cause
Hath left them grounded in too large a pause,
Whereat Elihu (a young stander-by,)
Whose modest eares, upon their long reply
Did wait, his angry silence did awake,
And (craving pardon for his Youth) bespake.

Young Standers-by doe oftentimes see more
Than elder Gamesters: Y'are to blame all foure:
T'ones cause is bad, but with good proofs befriended,
The others just and good, but ill defended:
Though reason makes the man, Heaven makes him wise,
Wisdome in greatest Clerks not alway lyes:
Then let your silence give me leave to spend
My judgement, whilst your heedfull eares attend.
I have not heard, alone, but still expected
To heare what more your spleenes might have objected
Against your wofull Friend, but I have found
Your reasons built upon a sandy ground.
Flourish no Flags of Conquest: Vnderstand,
That he's afflicted by th'Almighties hand:

246

He hath not fail'd to crosse your accusations;
Yet I (though not with your foule exprobations)
Will crosse him too. I'me full, and I must speake,
Or like unvented vessels, I must breake;
And with my tongue, my heart will be reliev'd,
That swells, with what my patience hath conceiv'd:
Be none offended, for my lips shall tread
That ground (without respect) as Truth shall lead;
God hates a flattering language: then how can I
Vnliable to danger, flatter any?

Now, Job, to thee I speake, O, let my Errant
Be welcome to thine cares, for truth's my warrant
They are no slender trifles that I treat,
But things digested with the sacred heat
Of an inspired knowledge; 'Tis no rash
Discharge of wrath, nor wits conceited flash;
I'le speake, and heare thee speake as free, for I
Will take no vantage of thy Misery.

Thy tongue did challenge to maintaine thy case
With God, if he would veile his glorious face:
Be I the man (though clad with clay and dust,
And mortall like thy selfe) that takes the trust
To represent his Person: Thou dost terme
Thy selfe most just, and boldly dost affirme,
That Heaven afflicts thy soul without a reason.
Ah Iob! these very words (alone) are treason
Against th'Almighties will: Thou oughtest rather
Submit thy passion to him, as thy Father,
Than plead with him, as with thy Peere. Is he
Bound to reveale his secret Will to thee?
God speaketh oft to man, not understood,
Sometimes in dreames, at other times thinkes good
To thunder Iudgement in his drowzy eare;
Sometimes, with hard afflictions scourge, doth teare

247

His wounded soule, which may at length give ease
(Like sharper Physicke) to his foule Disease:
But if (like pleasing Iulips) he afford
The meeke Expounders of his sacred Word,
With sweet perswasions to recure his griefe,
How can his sorrowes wish more faire Reliefe?
Ah, then his body shall wax young and bright;
Heavens face that scorcht before, shall now delight,
His tongue with Triumph, shall confesse to men,
I was a Leper, but am cleare agen.
Thus, thus that Spring of Mercy oftentimes
Doth speak to man, that man may speak his crimes?
Consider, Iob; my words with judgement weigh;
Which done (if thou hast ought) then boldly say;
If otherwise, shame not to hold thy peace,
And let thy wisedome with my words encrease.

And you, you Wisemen that are silent here,
Vouchsafe to lend my lips your ripened eare,
Let's call a parly, and the cause decide;
For Iob pleads guiltlesse, and would faine be try'd;
Yet hath his boldnesse term'd himselfe upright,
And tax't th'Almighty for not doing right;
His Innocence with Heaven doth he plead,
And that unjustly he was punished:
O Purity by Impudence suborn'd!
He scorn'd his Maker, and is justly scorn'd:
Farre be it from the heart of man, that He
Who is all Iustice, yet unjust should be.
Each one shall reape the harvest he hath sowne,
His meed shall measure what his hands hath done?
Who is't can claim the Worlds great Soveraignty?
Who rais'd the Rafters of the Heavens, but He?
If God should breathe on man, or take away
The breath he gave him, what were man but Clay?

248

O, let thy heart, th'unbridled tongue conuince!
Say; Dare thy lips defame an earthly Prince?
How darst thou then maligne the King of Kings,
To whom great Princes are but poorest things?
He kicks down kingdoms, spurns th'emperial crown
And with his blast, puffes mighty Monarchs down.
'Tis vaine to strive with him, and if he strike,
Our part's to beare, not fondly to mislike,
(Misconstruing the nature of his drift)
But husband his corrections to our thrift.
If he afflict, our best is to implore
His Blessing with his Rod, and sin no more.
What if our torments passe the bounds of measure?
It unbefits our wils, to stint his pleasure,
Iudge then, and let th'impartiall world advise,
How farre (poore Job) thy judgement is from wise:
Nor are these speeches kindled with the fire
Of a distempred spleene, but with desire
T'inrich thy wisdome, lest thy fury tye
Presumption to thy rash infirmity.

Meditat. 16.

For mortals, to be borne, waxe old, and dye,
Lyes not in Will, but bare Necessity,
Common to beasts, which in the selfe degree,
Hold by the selfe-same Patient, even as we:
But to be wise is a diviner action
Of the discursive Soule, a pure abstraction
Of all her powers, united in the Will,
Ayming at Good, rejecting what is Ill:

249

It is an Influence of inspired breath,
Vnpurchased by birth, unlost by death,
Entail'd to no man, no, not free to all,
Yet gently answers to the eager cal
Of those, that with inflam'd affections seeke,
Respecting tender youth and age alike;
In depth of dayes, her spirit not alway lyes,
Yeeres make man Old, but heaven returnes him, Wise;
Youths Innocence, nor riper ages strength
Can challenge her as due; (Desired) length
Of dayes, produced to decrepit yeeres,
Fill'd with experience, and grizly hayres,
Can claime no right; th'Almighty ne're engages
His gifts to times, nor is he bound to Ages;
His quickning Spirit, to sucklings oft reveales,
What to their doting Grandsires he conceales,
The vertue of his breath can unbenumme
The frozen lips and strike the speaker dumme:
Who put that moving power into his tongue,
Whose lips did right the chast Susanna's wrong,
Vpon her wanton false Accusers death?
What secret fire inflam'd that fainting breath
That blasted Pharo? Or those ruder tongues,
That school'd the faithlesse Prophet for the wrongs
He did to sacred Iustice? matters not
How sleight the meane be in it selfe, or what
In our esteemes, so wisedome be the message;
Embassadours are worthied in th'Embassage:
God sowes his harvest to his best increase,
And glorifies himselfe how e're he please.

Lord, if thou wilt, (for what is hard to thee?)
I may a Factour for thy glory bee,
Then grant that (like a faithfull servant) I
May render backe thy stocke with Vsury.

250

Sect. 17.

The Argvment.

God reapes no gaine by mans best deeds
Mans misery from himselfe proceeds:
Gods Mercy and Iustice are unbounded;
In workes of Nature man is grounded.

Elihu , thus his pausing lips againe
Disclos'd, & said, (rash Job) dost thou maintaine
A rightfull cause, which in conclusion, must
Avow thee blamelesse, and thy God unjust?
Thy lawlesse words implying, that it can
Advantage none to live an upright man?
My tongue shall schoole thee, and thy friends, that would
(Perchance) refell thy reasons, if they could:
Behold thy glorious Makers greatnesse, see
The power of his hand; say then, can He
Be damag'd by thy sinne, or can He raise
Advantage, by the uprightnesse of thy wayes?

True, the afflicted languish oft in griefe,
And roare to heaven (unanswer'd) for reliefe,
Yet is not Heaven unjust, for their fond cry
Their sinne bewailes not, but their misery.
Cease then to make him guilty of thy crimes,
And waite his pleasure, that's not bound to times,
Nor heares vaine words. The sorrowes thou art in
Are sleight, or nothing, ballanc'd with thy sin:

251

Thy lips accuse thee, and thy foolish tongue,
To right thy selfe, hath done th'Almighty wrong.

Hold back thine answer, let thy flowing streame
Find passage, to surround my fruitfull Theame;
I'le raise my thoughts, to plead my Makers case,
And speake, as shall befit so high a place:
Behold th'Almighitie's meeke as well as strong,
Destroyes the wicked, rights the just mans wrong,
Mounts him to honour; If by chance he stray,
Instructs, and shewes him where he lost his way:
If he returne, his blessing shall encrease,
Crowning his joyes with plenty and sweet peace;
If not, th'intailed sword shall ne're depart
His stained house, but pierce his hardned heart;
Ah sinfull Iob! these plagues had never bin,
Had'st thou beene guiltlesse (as thou boasts) of sin:
But thy proud lips against their Maker plead,
And draw downe heapes of vengeance on thy head:
Looke to thy selfe, seek not to understand
The secret causes of th'Eternals hand;
Let wisdome make the best of misery,
Know who inflicts it, aske no reason why:
He will's beyond thy reach, and his Divine
And sacred knowledge farre surpasseth thine,
Ah! rather, praise him in his workes, that lye
(Wide open to the world) before thine eye;
His meaner Acts, our highest thoughts o'retops,
He pricks the clouds, stils down the raine by drops;
Who comprehends the lightning, or the thunder?
Who sees, who heares thē, unamaz'd with wonder?

My troubled heart chils in my quivering brest,
To relish these things, and is dispossest
Of all her powers: who ever heard the voyce
Of th'angry heavens, unfrighted at the noyse?

252

The beast by nature daz'd with sudden dread,
Seekes out for covert to secure his head:
If God command, the dusky clouds march forth
Into a Tempest; From the freezing North
He beckens Frost and Snow; and from the South
He bloweth Whirlewinds with his angry Mouth.
Presumptuous Job! if thou canst not aspire
So high, to comprehend these things, admire.
Know'st thou the progresse of the rambling clouds?
From mortal eyes, when gloomy darkness shrouds
The lamps of heaven? know'st thou the reason why?
Can'st thou unriddle heavens Philosophy?
Know'st thou th'unconstant nature of the weather?
Or whence so many Winds proceed, and whither
Wer't thou made privy, or a stander-by,
When God stretcht forth his spangled Canopy?
Submit thy selfe, and let these secrets teach,
How farre his Myst'ries doe surmount thy reach:
For Hee's Almighty, and his sacred will
Is just, nor renders an unearned ill:
His workes are objects for no soaring eyes,
But wheresoe're he lookes, he findes none wise.

Meditat. 17.

The World's an Index to Eternity,
And gives a glance of what our cleerer eye,
In time shall see at large; nothing's so slight,
Which in it nature sends not forth some light,
Or Memorandum of his Makers Glory:
No Dust so vile, but pens an ample story

253

Of the Almighties power, nor is there that,
Which gives not man just cause to wonder at.

Cast down thine eies, behold the pregnant earth,
(Her selfe but one) produceth at one birth
A world of divers natures: From a seed
Entirely one, things hot and cold proceed,
She suckles with one milke, things moist, and dry,
Yet in her wombe is no repugnancy.

Or shall thy reason ramble up so high,
To view the Court of wilde Astronomy?
Behold the Planets, round about thine eares,
Whirling like firebals in their restlesse Spheares,
Atone selfe-instant moving severall wayes,
Still measuring out our short, and shorter dayes.
Behold the parts whereon the World consists,
Are limited in their appointed lists,
Without rebellion unapt to vary,
Though being many, divers and contrary:
Looke where we list, above, beneath, or under,
Our eyes shall see to learne, and learne to wonder;
Their depth shall drown our judgements, and their height
Besides his wits, shal drive the prime cōceit:
Shall then our daring minds presume t'aspire
To heavens hid Myst'ries? shall our thoughts inquire
Into the depth of secrets, unconfounded,
When in the shoare of Nature they were drowned?

Fond man be wise, strive not above thy strength.
Tempt not thy Barke beyond her Cables length;
And, like Prometheus, filch no sacred fire,
Lest Eagles gripe thee: Let thy proud desire
Suit with thy fortunes; Curious mindes, that shall
Mount up with Phaeton, shall have Phaetons fall.
Vnbend thy bow betimes, lest thou repent
Too late, for it will breake, or else stand bent.

254

I'le work at home, ne'r crosse the scorching Line,
In unknowne lands, to seeke a hidden Mine:
Plaine Bullion pleaseth me, I not desire
Deare Ignots from th'Elixars techy fire;
I'le spend my paines (where best I may be bold)
To know my selfe, wherein I shall behold
The world abridg'd, and in that world my Maker,
Beyond which taske, I wish no Vndertaker.

Great God, by whom it is, what-e're is mine,
Make me thy Viceroy in this World of thine,
So cleare mine eyes, that I may comprehend
My slight beginning, and my sudden end.

Sect. 18.

The Argvment.

God questions Iob, and proves that man
Cannot attaine to things so high,
As divine secrets, since he can
Not reach to Natures; Iobs reply.

Forth from the bosome of a murm'ring Cloud,
Heavens great Iehovah did, at length unshroud
His Earths-amazing language (equally
Made terrible with Feare and Majesty)
(Challeng'd the Duell) he did undertake
His grumbling servant, and him thus bespake,

Who, who art thou, that thus dost pry in vaine,
Into my secrets, hoping to attaine,
With murmuring, to things conceal'd from man?
Say (poreblinde mortall) Who art thou that can

255

Thus cleare thy crimes, and dar'st (with vaine applause)
Make me defendant in thy sinfull cause?
Loe, here I am; Engrosse into thy hands
Thy soundest weapons: Answer my demands:
Say, where wert thou, when these my hāds did lay
The worlds foundation? canst thou tell me? Say,
Was earth not measur'd by this Arme of mine?
Whose hand did ayde me? was I help't by thine?
Where wert thou, when the Planets first did blaze,
And in their sphears sang forth their Makers praise?
Who is't that tames the raging of the Seas,
And swathes them up in mists, when e're he please?
Did'st thou divide the darknesse from the Light?
Or know'st thou whence Aurora takes her flight?
Didst ere enquire into the Seas Abysse,
Or mark'd the Earth of what a bulk she is?
Know'st thou the place whence Light or Darknesse springs
Can thy deepe age unfold these secret things?
Know'st thou the cause of Snow or haile, which are
My fierce Artill'ry in my time of warre?
Who is't that rends the gloomy Clouds in sunder,
Whose sudden rapture strikes forth fire & thunder?
Or who bedewes the earth with gentle showres,
Filling her pregnant soyle with fruits and flowres?
What father got the raine? from what chill wombe.
Did frosts, and hard-congealed Waters come?
Canst thou restraine faire Maja's course, or stint her;
Or sad Orion ushering in the Winter?
Will scorching Cancer at thy summons come?
Or Sun-burnt Autumne with he fruitfull wombe?
Know'st thou Heavens course above, or dost thou know
Those gentle influences here below?
Who was't inspir'd thy soule with understanding?
And gave thy spirit the spirit of apprehending?

256

Dost thou command the Cisternes of the Skie
To quench the thirsty soyle; or is it I?

Nay, let thy practice to the earth descend,
Prove there, how farre thy power doth extend;
From thy full hand will hungry Lions eate?
Feed'st thou the empty Ravens that cry for meate?
Sett'st thou the season, when the fearfull Hind
Brings forth her painfull birth? Hast thou assign'd
The Mountaine-Goate her Time? Or is it I?
Canst thou subject unto thy soveraigntie
The untam'd Vnicorne? Can thy hard hand
Force him to labour on thy fruitfull land?
Did'st thou inrich the Peacock with his Plume?
Or did that Steele-digesting Bird assume
His downy Flags from thee? Didst thou endow
The noble Stallion with his strength? Canst thou
Quaile his proud courage? See, his angry breath
Puffes nothing forth, but fears summ'd up in death,
Marke with what pride his horny hoofes doe tabor
The hard resounding Earth; with how great labour;
How little ground he spends: But at the noyse
And fierce Alar'm of the hoarse Trumpets voyce
He breaks the ranks amidst a thousand Speares
Pointed with death, undaunted at the feares
Of doubfull warre, he rushes like a Ranger,
Through every Troop, & scorns so brave a danger.
Doe lofty Haggards cleave the flitting Ayre,
With Plumes of thy devising? Then how dare
Thy ravenous lips thus, thus at randome runne
And countermaund what I the Lord have done?
Thinkst thou to learne (fond Mortall) thus, by diving
Into my secrets, or to gaine by striving?
Plead then: No doubt but thine will be the Day;
Speake (peevish Plaintiffe) if th'ast ought to say.

257

Job then replyde: (Great God, I am but Dust,
My heart is sinfull, and thy hands are just;
I am a Sinner (Lord,) my words are wind,
My thoughts are vaine, (Ah Father) I have sinn'd:
Shall dust reply? I spake too much before,
Ile close these lips, and never answer more.

Meditat. 18.

O glorious Light! A light unapprehended
By mortall eyes! O Glory, never ended,
Nor ere created, whence all Glory springs
In heavenly bodyes, and in earthly things!
O power Immense, derived from a Will
Most just and able to doe all, but ill!
O Essence pure, and full of Majesty!
Greatnesse (it selfe) and yet no quantity;
Goodnesse, and without quality; producing
All things from out of Nothing, and reducing
All things to nothing; past all comprehending
Both first and Last, and yet without an ending,
Or yet beginning; filling every Creature,
And not (it selfe) included; above Nature,
Yet not excluded; of it selfe subsisting,
And with it selfe all other things, assisting;
Divided, yet without division;
A perfect three, yet Three, entirely one;
Both One in Three, and Three in One, together;
Begetting, and begotten, and yet neither;
The Fountaine of all Arts, confounding Art;
Both all in All, and all in every part;

258

Still seeking Glory, and still wanting none;
Though just, yet reaping, where thou ne'r hast sown.

Great Majestie, since Thou art every where,
O, Why should I misdoubt thy Presence here?
I long have sought thee, but my ranging heart
Ne'r quests, and cannot see thee where thou art:
There's no Defect in thee, thy light hath shin'd,
Nor can be hid (great God) but I am blind.
O cleare mine eyes, and with thy holy fire
Inflame my brest, and edge my dull desire:
Wash me with Hysope, clense my stained thoughts,
Renew my spirit, blurre forth my secret faults;
Thou tak'st no pleasure in a Sinners death,
For thou art Life, thy Mercy's not beneath
Thy sacred Iustice: Give thy servant power
To seeke aright, and (having sought) discover
Thy glorious Presence; Let my blemisht Eye
See my Salvation yet before I die.
O, then my Dust, that's bowell'd in the ground,
Shall rise with Triumph at the welcome sound
Of my Redeemers earth-awaking Trumpe,
Vnfrighted at the noyse; no sullen Dumpe
Of selfe-confounding Conscience shall affright me,
For he's my Iudge, whose dying blood shal quite me.

259

Sect. 19.

The Argvment.

God speaks to Iob the second time:
Iob yeelds his sin, repents his crime:
God checks his friends, restores his health,
Gives him new issue, double wealth.

Once more the mouth of Heav'n rapt forth a voice,
The troubled Firmament was fill'd with noise,
The Rafters of the darkned Skie did shake,
For the Eternall thundred thus, and spake:

Collect thy scattered senses, and advise,
Rouze up (fond man) and answer my replies.

Wilt thou make Comments on my Text, & must
I be unrighteous, to conclude thee, just?
Shall my Decrees be licenced by thee?
What, canst thou thunder with a voyce like Me?
Put on thy Robes of Majestie; Be clad
With as bright glory (Iob) as can be had;
Make fierce thy frownes, and with an angry face
Confound the Proud, and his high thoughts abase,
Pound him to Dust: Doe this, and I will yeeld,
Thou art a God, and need'st no other sheild.

Behold, the Castle-bearing Elephant,
That wants no bulke, nor doth his greatnesse want
An equall strength. Behold his massie bones,
Like barres of Yron; like congealed stones,

260

His knottie sinewes are; Him have I made,
And given him naturall weapons for his ayde;
High mountaines beare his food, the shady boughes
His Covers are, Great Rivers are his Troughes,
Whose deepe Carouses would to standers-by,
Seeme at a watring to draw Iordan dry:
What skilfull huntsman can, with strength out-dare him?
Or with what engines can a man ensnare him?

Hast thou beheld the huge Leviathan,
That swarthy Tyrant of the Ocean? Can
Thy bearded hooke impierce his Gils, or make him
Thy landed Prisner? Can thy angles take him?
Will he make suit for favour from thy hands,
Or be enthralled to thy fierce commands?
Will he be handled as a bird? or may
Thy fingers bind him for thy childrens play?
Let men be wise, for in his lookes he hath
Displayed Banners of untimely death.
If Creatures be so dreadfull, how is he
More bold then wise, that dares encounter Me?
What hand of Man can hinder my designe?
Are not the Heavens, and all beneath them mine!
Dissect the greatnesse of so vast a Creature,
By view of severall parts summe up his feature:
Like Shields his scales are plac't, which neither art
Knowes how to sunder, nor yet force can part.
His belching rucks forth flames, his moving Eye
Shines like the glory of the morning skie;
His craggie sinewes are like wreaths of brasse,
And from his mouth, quicke flames of fier passe
As from an Oven, the temper of his heart
Is like a Nether-milstone, which no Dart
Can pierce, secured from the threatning Speare;
Affraid of none, he strikes the world with feare:

261

The Bow-mans brawny arme sends shafts in vaine,
They fall like stubble, or bound backe againe:
Stones are his pillow, and the Mud his Downe,
In earth none greater is, nor equall none,
Compar'd with him, all things he doth deride,
And well may challenge to be King of Pride.

So said, th'amazed Iob bent downe his eyes
Vpon the ground, and (sadly) thus replyes.
I know (great God) there's nothing hard to Thee,
Thy thoughts are pure, and too too deepe for me:
I am a foole, and my distempered wits,
Longer out-stray'd my Tongue, than well befits;
My knowledge slumbred, while my lips did chat,
And like a Foole, I spake I knew not what.
Lord, teach me Wisedome, lest my proud Desire,
Singe her bold feathers in thy Sacred fire;
Mine eare hath oft beene rounded with thy Story,
But now these very eyes have seene thy glory.
My sinfull words I not (alone) lament,
But in the horror of my soule repent;
Repent with Teares in sack-cloth, mourne in Dust;
I am a sinfull man, and Thou art just.

Thou Eliphaz that makst my sacred Word,
An Engine of Despaire (said then the Lord)
Behold full Vyolls of my wrath attends
On thee, and on thy two too-partiall Friends;
For you have judg'd amisse, and have abus'd
My Word to worke your ends, falsly accus'd
My righteous Servant: Of you all there's none
Hath spoke uprightly, as my Iob hath done.
Haste then (before my kindling fire begin
To flame) and each man offer for his sin,
A sacrifice, by Iob my servants hand,
And for his sake, your Offrings shall withstand

262

The wages of your sinnes; for what can I,
If Iob, my servant, make request, deny?

So straight they went, and (after speedy pardon
Desir'd and had) the righteous Iob (for guerdon
Of his so tedious Griefe) obtain'd the health
Of a sound body, and encrease of wealth;
So that the second Harvest of his store,
Was double that which he enjoy'd before.
Ere this was blazed in the Worlds wide Eares,
(The frozen brests of his familiars,
And cold Allyes, being now dissolv'd in Griefe,)
His backward friends came to him with reliefe,
To feed his wants, and with sad shouring eyes,
To moane his (yet supposed) Miseries:
Some brought him sheepe to blesse his empty Fold,
Some precious Earings, others, Rings of Gold.
God blest his loyns, frō whence there sprang again
The number of his children that were slaine,
Nor was there any in the Land so rare
In vertue as his daughters, or so faire.
Long after this he liv'd in peace, to see
His childrens children to the fourth degree,
Till at the lenth, cut short by Him that stayes
For none, he dy'd in peace, and full of Dayes.

Meditat. 19.

Evill's the defect of Good, and as a shade,
That's but the ruines of the light decay'd:
It hath no being, nor is understood,
But by the opposition of Good.
What then is man? whose purest thoughts are prest
For Satans warre, which from the tender brest,

263

With Infant silence, have consented to
Such sinfull Deeds, as (babes) they could not doe?
What then is man, but Nothing, being Evill,
His Lunatike affections doe unlevell,
What Heaven created by just Waight and measure;
In pleasures sinke, he takes a swinelike Pleasure;
His span of life, and beauties like a Flower,
Faire flourishing, and fading in an hower.
He breakes into the world with teares, and then
Departs with Griefe, not knowing how, nor when.
His life's a Bubble full of seeming Blisse,
The more it lengthens, the more short it is;
Begot in darknesse, he's brought forth, and cries
For succour, passes ore the stage, and dyes;
Yet, like a Moale, the earth he undermines,
Making the World, the Forge of his designes:
He plots, complots, foresees, prevents, directs,
Hee hopes, he feares, he doubts, pursues, effects;
Each hath his plot, each one his course doth bend,
Each hath his project, and each one his end.
Thus restlesse man doth still his soule molest
To finde out (that which hath no being) Rest;
Thus travels sinfull man in endlesse toyle;
Taking a pleasure in his owne turmoyle.
Fond man, first seeke to purchase that divine
And sacred prize, and all the world is thine:
Great Salomon made suit for Wisdome, and he found
Not (barely) Wisdome, but that Wisdome crown'd
With Diadems of wealth, and faire encrease
Of Princely Honour, with long dayes of Peace.

(With safe respect, and awfull reverence
To Myst'ries) Meditation doth commence
An earnest doubt: Was Iobs dispoiled Flock
Restored double: Was his former Stock

264

Renew'd with double vantage? Did heaven adde
To all his fortunes double what he had?
Yet those sweet Emblemes of his dearest love,
(His sonnes) whom death untimely did remove
From off the face of the unthankfull earth,
Why likewise sprang not they in double birth?

Bruit beasts that perish once, are lost for ever,
Their substance, and their All consumes together.
Once having given a farewell to the light.
They dye, and with them is perpetuall night:
But man, (unorgan'd by the hand of Death)
Dyes not, is but transplanted from beneath,
Into a fairer soyle, or as a stranger,
Brought home secure from the worlds pleasing danger:
Iobs flocks were lost, and therefore double given,
His Issue's equall shar'd 'twixt Earth and Heaven,
One halfe in heav'n are glorious in their doome,
Ingag'd as Pledges till the other come.
Great God! my Time's but short, and long my way,
My Heart hath lost her Path, and gone astray,
My spirit's faint and fraile, my soule's imbost,
If thou helpe not, I am for ever lost;
Though Dust and Ashes, yet I am thy Creature,
Howe're my sinnes are great, thy Mercie's greater:
Of nothing didst thou make me, and my sinne
Hath turn'd me back to nothing, once agin:
Create me a new heart, (great God) inspire
My cold affections with thy sacred fire:

Instruct my Will, and rectifie my Wayes,
O teach me (Lord) to number out my Dayes.

265

The Digestion of the whole History.

1 In Prosperity.

Thou, whose lank fortunes heav'n hath swel'd with store,
Make not thy selfe, by over-wishing, poore,
Husband that good, which else, abuse makes bad,
Abstracting, where thy base desire would adde:
Lines flowing from a Sophoclean quill,
Deserve no Plaudit, being acted ill.

2 In Adversity.

Hath heav'n withdrawn the talent he hath giv'n thee
Hath envious Death of all thy Sons bereaven thee?
Have foule Diseases foil'd thee on the floore?
He earnes no sweet, that never tasted sowre:
Thou art a Scholler; if thy Tutor doe
Pose thee too hard, he will instruct thee too.

3 In Tentation.

Art thou oppos'd to thine unequall Foe?
March bravely on; thy Gen'rall bids thee goe;
Thou art heav'ns Champion to maintain his right;
Who cals thee forth, wil give thee strength to fight.
God seekes, by conquest, thy renowne, for He
Will win enough: Fight thou, or Faint, or Flee.

4 In Slander.

If Winter fortunes nip thy Summer Friends,
And tip their tongues with Censure, that offends
Thy tender Name, despaire not, but be wise,
Know Heaven selecteth, whom the world denies:

266

Thou hast a milke-white Thisby that's within thee,
Will take thy part when all the world's agin thee.

5 In Re-advancement.

Art thou advanc'd to thy supreme desier?
Be still the same; Feare Lower, aime no higher:
Mans Play hath many Sceanes, but in the last,
Heaven knits up all, to sweeten all that's past:
Affliction is a Rod, to scourge us home,
An' a painfull earnest of a Heaven to come.

The end.

THE HISTORIE OF SAMSON: By Fra. Quarles.

[I sing th'illustrious, and renowned Story]

I sing th'illustrious, and renowned Story
Of mighty Samson; The eternall glory
Of his Heroicke acts: His life, His death:
Quicken my Muse with thy diviner breath,
Great God of Muses, that my prosp'rous Rimes
May live and last to everlasting times;
That they unborne may, in this sacred Story,
Admire thy goodnes, and advance thy glory.

267

THE HISTORIE OF SAMSON.

Sect. 1.

The Argvment.

A holy Angell doth salute
The wife of Manoah, and inlarge
Her barren wombe with promis'd fruit
Of both their loynes. The Angels charge.

Within the Tents of Zorah dwelt a man
Of Iacobs seed, and of the Tribe of Dan,
Knowne by the name of Manoah; to whom
Heaven had deny'd the treasure of the wombe;
His Wife was barren; And her prayers could not
Remove that great reproach, or clense that blot
Which on her fruitlesse name appear'd so foule,
Not to encrease the Tribe of Dan one soule:
Lōg had she, doubtles, stroven with heavē by prair's
Made strong with teares & sighs; hopes & despaires

268

No doubt had often tortur'd her desire
Vpon a Rack, compos'd of frost and fire:
But Heaven was pleas'd to turne his deafned eares
Against those prai'rs made strōg with sighs & tears:
She often pray'd; but pray'rs could not obtaine:
Alas; she pray'd, she wept, she sigh'd in vaine:
She pray'd, no doubt; but pray'rs could finde no roome;
They prov'd, alas, as barren as her wombe.

Vpon a time (when her unanswer'd pray'r
Had now given just occasion of despaire,
(Even when her bed-rid faith was grown so fraile,
That very Hope grew hartlesse to prevaile)
Appear'd an Angel to her; In his face,
Terrour and sweetnesse labour'd for the place:
Sometimes his Sunbright eies would shine so fierce
As if their pointed beames would even pierce
Her soule, and strike th'amaz'd beholder dead:
Sometimes, their glory would disperse, and spread
More easie flames; and, like the Starre, that stood
O're Bethlem, promise and portend some good:
Mixt was his bright aspect; as if his breath
Had equall errands both of life and death:
Glory and Mildnesse seemed to contend
In his faire eyes so long, till in the end,
In glorious mildnesse, and in milder glory,
He thus salutes her with this pleasing story.

Woman; Heaven greets thee well: Rise up, and feare not;
Forbeare thy faithlesse tremblings; I appeare not
Clad in the vestments of consuming fire;
Cheare up, I have no warrant to enquire
Into thy sinnes; I have no Vyals here,
Nor dreadfull Thunderbolts to make thee feare:
I have no plagues t'inflict; nor is my breath
Charg'd with destruction; or my hand with death.

269

No, no; cheare up, I come not to destroy;
J come to bring thee tidings of great joy:
Rowze up thy dull beliefe; for I appeare,
To exercise thy Faith, and not thy Feare:
The Guide, and great Creator of all things,
Chiefe Lord of Lords, and supreme King of Kings,
To whom an Host of men are but a swarme
Of murm'ring Gnats, whose high prevailing arme
Can crush ten thousand worlds, and at one blow
Can strike the earth to nothing, and ore-throw
The Lofts of Heaven; He that hath the Keyes
Of wombe;, to shut, and ope them when he please;
He that can all things, that he will, this day,
Is pleas'd to take thy long reproach away:
Behold; thy womb's inlarg'd; and thy desires
Shall finde successe: Before long time expires,
Thou shalt conceive: Ere twise five months be runne,
Be thou the joyfull mother of a sonne;
But see, thy wary palate doe forbeare
The juice of the bewitching Grape; Beware,
Lest thy defiers tempt thy lips to wine,
Which must be faithfull strangers to the Vine.
Strong drinke thou must not taste, and all such meate
The Law proclaimes uncleane, refraine to eate:
And when the fruit of thy restored wombe
Shall see the light, take heed no Rasor come
Vpon his fruitfull head; for from his birth,
Seene as the wombe entrusts him on the earth,
The child shall be a Nazarite, to God;
By whose appointment, be shall prove a Rod,
To scourge the proud Philistians; and recall
Poore suffring Israel from their slavish thrall.

270

Meditat. 2.

How impudent is Nature to account
Those acts her own, that doe so farre surmount
Her easie reach! How purblinde are those eyes
Of stupid mortals, that have power to rise
No higher then her lawes, who takes upon her
The worke, and robs the Author of his honour!
Seest thou the fruitfull Wombe? How every yeare
It moves thy Cradle; to thy slender cheare
Invites another Ghest, and makes thee Father
To a new Sonne, who now, perchance, hadst rather
Bring up the old, esteeming propagation
A thanklesse worke of Supererogation:
Perchance the formall Mid-wife seemes to thee
Lesse welcome now; than she was wont to bee:
Thou standst amaz'd to heare such needlesse Ioy,
And car'st as little for it, as the Boy
That's newly borne into the world; Nay worse,
Perchance, thou grumblest, counting it a curse
Vnto thy faint estate, which is not able
T'encrease the bounty of thy slender Table:
Poore miserable man what ere thou bee,
I suffer for thy crooked thoughts; not thee:
Thou tak'st thy children to be gifts of nature;
Their wit, their flowring beauty, comely stature,
Their perfect health; their dainty disposition,
Their vertues, and their easie acquisition
Of curious Arts, their strengths attain'd perfection
You attribute to that benigne complexion,

271

Wherewith your Goddesse Nature hath endow'd
Their well-disposed Organs; and are preud;
And here your Goddesse leaves you, to deplore,
That such admir'd perfections should be poore:
Advance thine eyes, no lesse then wilfull blinde,
And with thine eyes, advance thy drooping mindes
Correct thy thoughts; Let not thy wondring eye
Adore the servant, when the Master's by:
Looke on the God of Nature: From him come
These underprized blessings of the wombe:
He makes thee rich in childrē; whē his store
Crowns thee with wealth, why mak'st thou thy self poor?
He opes the womb: why then should'st thou repine?
They are his children, mortall, and not thine:
We are but Keepers; And the more he lends
To our tuition, he the more commends
Our faithfull trust; It is not every one
Deserves that honour, to command his Son;
She counts it as a fortune, that's allow'd
To nurse a Prince; (What nurse would not be proud
Of such a Fortune?) And shall we repine,
Great God, to foster any Babe of thine?
But 'tis the Charge we feare: our stock's but small;
If heaven, with Children, send us wherewithall
To stop their craving stomacks, then we care not;
Great God!
How hast thou crackt thy credit, that we dare
Trust thee for bread? How is't, we dare not venture
To keepe thy Babes, unlesse thou please to enter
In bond, for paiment? Art thou growne so poore,
To leave thy famisht Infants at our doore,
And not allow them food? Canst thou supply
The empty Ravens, and let thy children die?

Send me that stint, thy wisedome shall thinke fit,

272

Thy pleasure is my will; and I submit:
Make me deserve that honour thou hast lent
To my fraile trust, and I will rest content.

Sect. 2.

The Argvment.

The wife f Manoah attended
with fearfull Hope, and hopefull Feare,
The joyfull tydings recommended
to her amazed Husbands care.

Thus, when the great Embassadour of Heaven
Had done that sacred service, which was given,
And trusted to his faithfull charge, he spred
His ayre-dividing pinions, and fled:
But now, th'affrighted woman apprehends
The strangenesse of the Message; recommends
Both it, and him, that did it, to her feares;
The newes was welcome to her gratefull eares,
But what the newesman was did so encrease
Her doubts, that her strange hopes could finde no peace;
For when her hopes would build a Tower of joy,
O, then her feares would shake it, and destroy
The maine foundation; what her hopes in vaine
Did raise, her feares would ruinate againe:
One while, she thought; It was an Angel sent;
And then her feares would teach her to repent
That frighfull thought; but whē she deeply waigh'd
The joyfull message, then her thoughts obay'd
Her first conceit; Distracted, with confusion,
Sometimes she fear'd it was a false delusion,

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Suggested in her too beleeving eares;
Sometimes she doubts it was a Dreame, that beares
No waight but in a slumber; till at last,
Her feet, advised by her thoughts, made haste
Vnto her husband; in whose eares she brake
This minde-perplexing secret thus, and spake;
Sir,

As my discursive thoughts did lately muse
On those great blessings, wherewith heaven doth use
To crowne his children, here; among the rest,
Me thoughts no one could make a wife more blest,
And crowne her youth, her age with greater measure
Of true content, than the unprized treasure
Of her chaste wombe: but as my thoughts were bent
Upon this subject, being in our Tent,
And none but I, appear'd before mine eyes
A man of God: His habit, and his guise
Was such as holy Prophets use to weare,
But in his dreadfull lookes there did appeare
Something that made me tremble; Jn his eye
Mildnesse was mixt with awfull Majesty;
Strange was his language, and I could not chuse
But feare the man, although J lik'd his newes;

Woman (said he) Cheare up, and doe not feare;
I have no Vials, nor no Iudgements here;
My hand hath no Commission, to enquire
Into thy sinnes; nor am I clad in fire:
I come to bring thee tydings of such things,!
As have their warrant from the King of Kings;
Thou shalt conceive, and when thy time is come,
Thou shalt enjoy the blessings of thy wombe;
Before the space of twice five months be runne,
Thou shalt become the parent of a Sonne;
Till then, take heed, thou neither drinke, nor eate

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Wines, or strong drinke, or Law-forbidden meate,
For when this promis'd child shall see the light,
Thou shalt be mother to a Nazarite.

While thus he spake, I trembled: Horrid feare
Vsurpt my quivering heart; Onely mine eare
Was pleas'd to be the vessell of such newes,
Which Heaven make good; and give me strength to use
My better Faith: The holy Prophets name
I was affraid t'enquire, or whence he came.

Meditat. 2.

And dost thou not admier? Can such things
Obtain lesse priviledge, thā a Tale, that brings
The audience wonder, enter mixt with pleasure?
Is't a small thing, that Angels can finde leisure
To leave their blessed seates; where face to face,
They see their God, and quit that heavenly place,
The least conception of whose joy, and mirth,
Transcends th'united pleasures of the earth?
Must Angels leave their Thrones of glory thus,
To watch our foot-steps, and attend on us?
How good a God have we! whose eyes can winke,
For feare they should discover the base finke
Of our loath'd sinnes; How doth he stop his eare,
Lest, when they call for Iustice, he should heare?
How often, Ah, how often doth He send
His willing Angels, hourely to attend
Our steps; and, with his bounty, to supply
Our helplesse wants, at our false-hearted cry?

275

The bounteous Ocean, with a liberall hand,
Transports her laden treasure, to the land;
Inriches every Port, and makes each towne
Proud with that wealth, which now she cals her owne;
And what returne they for so great a gaine,
But sinckes and noysome Gutters, backe againe?
Even so (great God) thou sendst thy blessings in,
And we returne thee, Dunghils of our Sinne:
How are thy Angels hacknei'd up and downe
To visit man? How poorely doe we crowne
Their blessed labours? They with Ioy, dismount,
Laden with blessings, but returne th'account
Of Filth and Trash: They bring th'unvalued prize
Of Grace and promis'd Glory, while our eyes
Disdaine these heavenly Factours, and refuse
Their proferd wares; affecting, more, to chuse
A graine of pleasure than a Iemme of glory;
We finde no treasure, but in Transitory
And earth-bred Toies, while things immortal stand
Like Garments, to be sold at second hand:
Great God; Thou know'st, we are but flesh & blood;
Alas! we can interpret nothing, good,
But what is evill, deceitfull are our Ioyes;
We are but children, and we whine for Toyes:
Of things unknowne there can be no desire;
Quicken our hearts with the celestiall fire
Of thy discerning Spirit, and we shall know
Both what is good, and good desier too:

Vouchsafe to let thy blessed Angell come,
And bring the tidings, that the barren Wombe
Of our affections is inlarg'd; O when
That welcome newes shall be revealed, then,
Our soules shall soone conceive, & bring thee forth
The firstlings of a new, and holy birth.

276

Sect. 3.

The Argvment.

Manoah's wonder turnes to zeale;
his zeale, to pray'r: His pray'rs obtaine:
The Angel that did late reveale
the joyfull newes, returnes againe.

Now when th'amazed woman had commended
Her tongue to silence, and her tale was ended;
Perplexed Manoah, ravisht at the newes,
Within himselfe, he thus began to muse;
Strange is the message! And as strangely done!
Shall Manoah's loynes be fruitfull? Shall a Sonne
Blesse his last dayes? Or shall an Issue come
From the chill closet of a barren wombe?
Shall Manoah's wife give suck? and now, at last
Finde pleasure, when her prime of youth is past?
Shall her cold wombe be now, in age, restor'd?
And was't a man of God, that brought the word?
Or was't some false delusion, that possest
The weaknesse of a lonely womans brest?
Or was't an Angel, sent from heaven, to show
What Heaven hath will, as well as pow'r, to doe.
Till then thou must refraine to drinke, or eate,
Wines, and strong drink, and Law-forbidden meate?
Evill Angls rather would instruct to riot,
They use not to prescribe so strict a Dyet;
No, no, I make no further question of it,
'Twas some good Angel, or some holy Prophet.

277

Thus, having mus'd a while, he bow'd his face
Vpon the ground; and (prostrate in the place,
Where first he heard the welcome tydings) pray'd,
(His wonder now transform'd to zeale) and said:

Great God; that hast ingag'd thy selfe, by vow,
When e're thy little Israel begs, to bow
Thy gracious eare; O harken to the least
Of Israel's sonnes, and grant me my request:
By thee: J live, and breathe: Thou did'st become
My gracious God, both in, and from the wombe;
Thy precious favours I have still possest,
And have depended on thee, from the Brest:
My simple Infancy hath bin protected
By thee, my Child-hood taught, my youth corrected,
And sweetly chastned with thy gentle Rod;
J was no sooner, but thou wert my God:
All times declare thee good; this very houre
Can testifie the greatnesse of thy power,
And promptnesse of thy Mercy, which hast sent
This blessed Angel to us, to augment
The Catalogue of thy favours, and restore
Thy servants wombe, whose hopes had even given ore
T'expect an Issue: What thou hast begun,
Prosper, and perfect, till the worke be done:
Let not my Lord be angry, if I crave
Aboone, too great for me to beg, or have:
Let that blest Angel, that thou sent'st, of late,
Reblesse us with his presence, and relate
Thy will at large, and what must then be done,
When time shal bring to light this promis'd sonne.

About that time, when the declining Lampe
Trebles each shadow; when the evening dampe
Begins to moisten, and refresh the land,
The Wife of Manoah (under whose command

278

The weaned Lambes did feed) being lowly seated
Vpon a Shrubbe (where often she repeated
That pleasing newes, the subject of her thought)
Appear'd the Angell: he, that lately brought
Those blessed tidings to her: up she rose;
Her second feare had warrant to dispose
Her nimble foot-steps to unwonted haste;
She runnes with speed, (she cannot runne too fast)
At length, she findes her husband; In her eyes,
Were Ioy and Feare; whilst her lost breath denies
Her speech to him, her trembling hands make signs;
She puffes and pants; her breathlesse tongue disjoynes
Her broken words: Behold, behold, (said she)
The man of God, (if man of God he be)
Appear'd againe: These very eyes beheld
The man of God: I left him in our field.

279

Meditat. 3.

Heav'n is Gods Magazen; wherein, he hath
Stor'd up his Vials both of love, and wrath;
Iustice and Mercy, waite upon his Throne;
Favours and Thunderbolts attend upon
His sacred Will and Pleasure; Life and Death
Doe both receive their influence from his breath;
Iudgements attend his left; at his right hand
Blessings and everlasting Pleasures stand:
Heav'n is the Magazen; wherein, he puts
Both good and evill; Pray'r is the key, that shuts
And opens this great Treasure; Tis a key,
Whose wards are Faith, and Hope, and Charity.
Wouldst thou prevent a judgement, due to sinne?
Turne but the key, and thou maist locke it in:
Or wouldst thou have a Blessing fall upon thee?
Open the doore, and it will shower on thee.
Can Heav'n be false? or can th'Almighties tongue,
That is all very truth, doe truth that wrong,
Not to performe a vow? His lips have sworne,
Sworne by himselfe, that if a Sinner turne
To him, by pray'r; his pray'r shall not be lost
For want of eare; nor his desier, crost:
How is it then we often aske and have not:
We aske, and often misse, because we crave not
The things we should: his wisdome can foresee
Those blessings, better, that we want, than we.
Hast thou not heard a peevish Infant baule
To gaine possession of a knife? And shall

280

Th'indulgent nurse bee counted wisely kinde,
If she be mov'd to please his childish minde?
Is it not greater wisdome, to deny
The sharp-edg'd knife, and to present his eye
With a fine harmlesse Puppit? We require
Things, oft, unfit; and our too fond desire
Fastens on goods, that are but glorious ills,
Whilst Heav'ns high wisdome contradicts our wils,
With more advantage, for we oft receive
Things that are farre more fit, for us, to have:
Experience tels; we seeke, and cannot finde:
We seeke, and often want, because we binde
The Giver to our times: He knows we want
Patience; and, therefore he suspends his grant,
T'encrease our faith, that so we may depend
Vpon his hand; he loves to heare us spend
Our childish mouthes: Things easily obtain'd,
Are lowly priz'd; but what our prayers have gain'd
By teares, and groanes, that cannot be exprest,
Are farre more deare, and sweeter, when possest.

Great God! whose power hath so oft prevail'd
Against the strength of Princes, and hast quail'd
Their prouder stomaks; with thy breath, discrown'd
Their heads, & thrown their Scepters to the groūd,
Striking their swelling hearts with cold despaire,
How art thou conquer'd and o'recome by Pray'r!
Infuse that Spirit, Great God, into my heart,
And I will have a blessing ere we part.

281

Sect. 4.

The Argvment.

Manoah desires to know the fashion
And breeding of his promis'd sonne;
To whom the Angel makes relation
Of all things needfull to be done.

With that the Danite rose; and being guided
By his perplexed wife, they, both divided
Their heedlesse paces, till they had attain'd
The field, wherein the Man of God remain'd:
And, drawing neerer to his presence, stai'd
His weary steps, and, with obeysance, said:

Art thou the man, whose blessed lips foretold
Those joyfull tidings? Shall my tongue be bold,
Without the breach of manners to request
This boone, Art thou that Prophet, that possest
This barren woman, with a hope, that She
Shall beare a Sonne? He answer'd, J am He:
Said Manoah, then; Let not a word of thine
Be lost; let them continue to divine
Our future happinesse: let them be crown'd
With truth; and thou with honour, to be found
A holy Prophet: Let performance blesse
And speed thy speeches with a faire successe:
But tell me, Sir; when this great worke is done,
And time shall bring to light this promis'd Sonne,
What sacred Ceremonies shall we use?
What Rites? What way of bleeding shall we chuse

282

T'observe? What holy course of life shall be
Be trained in? What shall his Office be?
Whereat th'attentive Angel did divide
The portall of his lips, and thus replide.

The child, that from thy fruitfull loynes shall come
Shall be a holy Nazarite, from the wombe;
Take heed; that wombe, that shall inclose this Childe,
Jn no case be polluted or defilde
With Law-forbidden meates: Let her forbeare
To taste those things that are forbidden there.
The bunch-back Camell shall be no repast
For her; Her palate shall forbeare to taste
The burrow haunting Cony, and decline
The swift foote-Hare, and mire-delighting Swine;
The griping Goshauke; and the towring Eagle;
The party-coloured Pye must not inveigle
Her lips to move; the brood-devouring Kite;
The croaking Raven; th'Owle that hates the light;
The steele-digesting Bird; the lasie Snaile;
The Cuckow, ever telling of one tale;
The fish-consuming Osprey, and the Want,
That undermines; the greedy Cormorant;
Th'indulgent Pellican; the predictious Crow;
The chattring Storke, and ravenous Vulter too;
The thorn-backt Hedge hogge, and the prating lay;
The Lapwing, flying still the other way;
The lofty-flying Falkon, and the Mouse,
That findes no pleasure in a poore mans house;
The suck-egge Weasell, and the winding Swallow,
From these she shall abstaine,, and not unhallow
Her op'ned lips with their polluted flesh;
Strong drinke she must forbeare, and to refresh
Her lingring palate, with lust-breeding Wine;
The Grape, or what proceedeth from the Vine,

283

She must not taste, for feare she be defilde,
And so pollute her wombe-enclosed Childe:
When time shall make her mother of a Sonne,
Beware, no keen-edg'd Raisor come upon
His ballowed Crowne: the haire upon his head
Must not be cut: His bountious lockes must spred
On his broad shoulders: From his first drawne breath
The Childe shall be a Nazarite, to his death.

Meditat. 4.

What shallow judgment, or what easie braine
Can choose but laugh at those, that strive in vaine
To build a Tower, whose ambitious Spire
Should reach to heaven? what foole would not admire
To see their greater folly? who would raise
A Tower, to perpetuate the praise
And lasting Glory of their renowned Name,
What have they loft but Monuments of shame?
How poore and slender are the enterprises
Of man; that onely whispers and advises
With heedlesse flesh and blood, and never makes
His God, of counsell, where he undertakes!
How is our God and wee of late falne out!
We rather chuse to languish in our doubt,
Then be resolv'd by him; We rather use
The helpe of hell-bred wizzards, that abuse
The stile of wise men then to have recourse
To him that is the Fountaine and the sourse
Of all good Counsels, and from whom, proceeds
A living Spring, to water all our needs;

284

How willing are his Angels to descend
From off their throne of Glory, and attend
Vpon our wants! How oft returne they back
Mourning to heaven, as if they griev'd for lack
Of our imployment! O how prone are they
To be assistant to us, every way!
Have wee just cause to joy? They'll come and sing
About our beds: Does any judgement bring
Iust cause of griefe? they'll fall a grieving too;
Doe we triumph? their joyfull mouthes will blow
Their louder Trumpets, Or doe feares affect us?
They'l guard our heads from danger, & protect us:
Are we in prison, or in Persecution?
They'l fill our hearts with joy, and resolution:
Or doe we languish in our sickly beds?
They'l come & pitch their Tents about our heads;
See they a sinner penitent, and mourne
For his bewail'd offences, and returne?
They clap their hands, and joyne their warbling voyces,
They sing, and all the Quire of Heaven rejoyces.

What is in us poore Dust and Ashes, Lord,
That thou should'st looke upon us, and afford
Thy precious favours to us, and impart
Thy gracious Counsels? what is our desert,
But Death, and Horror? What can we more clame,
Then they, that now are scorching in that flame,
That hath nor moderation, rest, nor end?
How does thy mercy, above thought extend
To thē thou lov'st! Teach me (great God) to prize
Thy sacred Counsels: open my blinde eyes,
That I may see to walke the perfect way;
For as I am, Lord, I am apt to stray
And wander to the gulph of endlesse woe:
Teach me what must be done, and helpe to doe.

285

Sect. 5.

The Argvment.

Manoah desires to understand,
but is deny'd the Angels name:
He offers by the Angels hand:
the Angel vanishes in a flame.

So said, The sonne of Israel, (easly apt
To credit, what his soule desir'd, and rapt
With better hopes, which serv'd him as a guide
To his beliefe, o'rejoy'd) he thus replide;
Let not the man of God, whose Heavenly voyce
Hath blest mine eare, and made my soule rejoyce,
Beyond expression, now refuse to come
Within my Tent, and honour my poore home
With his desired presence; there to taste
His servants slender diet, and repast
Vpon his Rurall fare: These hands shall take
A tender Kidde from out the flockes, and make,
(Without long tarriance) some delighfull meate
Which may invite the man of God to eate:
Come, come (my Lord) and what defect of food
Shall be, thy servants welcome shall make good:
Whereto the Angel (who as yet had made
Himselfe unknowne) reanswer'd thus, and said.
Excuse me: Though thy hospitable love
Prevaile to make me stay, it cannot move
My thankfull lips to taste thy liberall cheare;
Let not thy bounty urge in vaine; Forbeare

286

To strive with whom thy welcome cannot leade
To eate thy Kid, or tast thy profer'd bread;
Convert thy bounty to a better end,
And let thy undefiled hands commend
A burnt oblation to the King of Kings;
'Tis he, deserves the thanks; his servant brings
But that bare message which his lips enjoyne;
His be the glory of the Act, not mine.
Said then the Israelite, Jf my desire
Be not too over-rash, but may conspire
With thy good pleasure, let thy servants eare
Be honourd with thy name; that whensoere
These blessed tidings (that possesse my heart
With firme beleefe) shall in due time impart
Their full perfection, and desir'd successe
To my expecting eye, my soule may blesse
The tongue that brought the message, and proclaime
An equall honour to his honour'd name.
To whom, the Angell (whose severer brow
Sent forth a frowne) made answere; Doe not thou
Trouble thy busie thoughts with things, that are
Above thy reach; Enquier not too farre;
My name is cloath'd in mists; 'Tis not my taske,
To make it knowne to thee; nor thine, to aske:
With that, the Danite tooke a tender Kid,
And said; my Lord, The Tribe of Dan's forbid
To burne an offering; Onely Levites may,
And holy Prophets, If thou please to lay
The sacrifice on yonder sacred Stone,
I'le fetch thee fire, for fier there is none,
Forbeare thy needlesse paines, the Angell said,
Heaven will supply that want; With that, he laid
The offering on; and, from the stone, there came
A sudden fire, whose high ascending flame

287

Burnt and consum'd th'accepted Sacrifice;
Now whilst th'amaz'd beholders wondring eyes
Were taken Captives with so strange a sight,
And whilst the new-wrought miracle did affright
Their trēbling harts, the Man of God (whose name
Must not b'inquired) vanisht in the flame,
And left them both unable to expound
Each others feares; both groveling on the ground.

Meditat. 5.

A thankfull heart hath earnd one favour twice;
But he that is ungratefull, wants no vice:
The beast, that onely lives the life of Sense,
Prone to his severall actions and propense
To what he does, without th'advice of will,
Guided by nature, (that does nothing ill)
In practicke Maximes, proves it a thing hatefull,
T'accept a Favonr, and to live ungratefull:
But man, whose more diviner soule hath gain'd
A higher step to reason: nay, attain'd
A higher step then that, the light of grace,
Comes short of them; and in that point, more base
Then they most prompt and perfect in that rude,
Vnnaturall, and high sinne, Ingratitude:
The Stall-fed Oxe, that is growne fat, will know
His carefull feeder, and acknowledge too:
The prouder Stallion, will at length espie,
His Masters bounty, in his Keepers eye:
The ayre-dividing Faulkon, will requite
Her Faulkners paines, with a well pleasing flight:

288

The generous Spaniell, loves his Masters eye,
And licks his fingers, though no meate be by;
But Man, ungratefull Man, that's borne, and bred
By Heavens immediate pow'r; maitain'd and fed
By his providing hand; observ'd, attended
By his indulgent grace; preserv'd, defended
By his prevailing arme; this Man, I say,
Is more ungratefull, more obdure than they:
By him, we live and move; from him, we have
What blessings he can give, or we can crave:
Food for our hunger; Dainties, for our pleasure;
Trades, for our buisnes; Pastimes, for our leasure;
In griefe, he is our Ioy; in want, our Wealth;
In bondage, Freedome; and in sicknesse, Health;
In peace, our Counsell; and in warre, our Leader;
At Sea, our Pilot; and, in Suites, our Pleader;
In paine, our Helpe; in Triumph, our Renowne;
In life, our Comfort; and in death our Crowne;
Yet Man, O most ungratefull Man, can ever
Enjoy the Gift, but never minde the Giver;
And like the Swine, though pamper'd with enough,
His eyes are never higher than the Trough:
We still receive: our hearts we seldome lift
To heaven; but drowne the giver in the Gift;
We taste the Skollops, and returne the Shels;
Our sweet Pomgranats want their silver Bells:
We take the Gift; the hand that did present it,
We oft reward; forget the Friend that sent it,
A blessing given to those, will not disburse
Some thanks, is little better then a curse.
Great giver of all blessings; thou that art
The Lord of Gifts; give me a gratefull heart:
O give me that, or keepe thy favours from me:
I wish no blessings, with a Vengeance to me.

289

Sect. 6.

The Argvment.

Affrighted Manoah and his Wife
Both prostrate on the naked earth:
Both rise: The man despaires of life;
The woman cheares him: Samsons birth.

When time, (whose progresse mod'rates and out weares
Th'extreamest passions of the highest fears)
By his benignant power, had re-inlarg'd
Their captive senses, and at length discharg'd
Their frighted thoughts, the trembling couple rose
From their unquiet, and disturb'd repose:
Have you beheld a Tempest, how the waves
(Whose unresisted Tyranny out-braves
And threats to grapple with the darkned Skies)
How like to moving Mountaines they arise
From their distempred Ocean, and assaile
Heav'ns Battlements; nay when the windes doe faile
To breathe another blast, with their owne motion,
They still are swelling, and disturbe the Ocean:
Even so the Danite and his trembling wife,
Their yet confused thoughts, are still at strife
In their perplexed brests, which entertain'd
Continued feares, too strong to be refrain'd:
Speechlesse they stood, till Manoah that brake
The silence first, disclos'd his lips and spake;

What strange aspect was this, that to our sight
Appear'd so terrible, and did affright

290

Our scattering thoughts? What did our eyes behold?
I feare our lavish tongues have bin too bold:
What speeches past betweene us? Can'st recall
The words we entertain'd the time withall?
It was no man; It was no flesh and blood;
Me thought, mine eares did single, while he stood,
And commun'd with me: At each word he spake,
Me thought, my heart recoil'd; his voyce did shake
My very Soule, but when as he became
So angry, and so dainty of his name,
O, how my wonder-smitten heart began
To faile! O, then I knew, it was no man:
No, no; It was the face of God: Our eyes
Have seene his face: (who ever saw't, but dies?)
We are but dead; Death dwells within his eye,
And we have seen't, and we shall surely die:
Where to the woman, (who did either hide,
Or else had overcome her feares) replide;

Despairing Man; take courage, and forbeare
These false predictions; there's no cause of feare:
Would Heaven accept our offerings, and receive
Our holy things; and, after that, bereive
His servants of their lives? Can he be thus
Pleas'd with our offerings, unappeas'd with us?
Hath he not promis'd that the time shall come,
Wherein the fruits of my restored wombe
Shall make thee father to a hopefull Sonne?
Can Heaven be false? Or can these things be done
When we are dead? No, no, his holy breath
Had spent in vaine, if they had meant our death:
Recall thy needlesse feares; Heaven cannot lye;
Although we saw his face, we shall not dye.
So said; they brake off their discourse, and went,
He, to the field; and she into her Tent:

291

Thrice forty dayes not full compleat, being come,
Within th'enclosure of her quickned wombe,
The Babe began to spring; and, with his motion,
Confirm'd the faith, and quickned the devotion
Of his beleeving parents, whose devout
And heaven-ascending Orizans, no doubt,
Were turn'd to thanks, and heart-rejoycing praise,
To holy Hymnes, and heavenly Roundelaies:
The childe growes sturdy; Every day gives strength
Vnto his wombe-fed limmes; till at the length
Th'apparent mother, having past the date
Of her accompt, does only now awaite
The happy houre, wherein she may obtaine
Her greatest pleasure, with her greatest paine.
When as the faire directresse of the night
Had thrice three times repar'd her wained light,
Her wombe no longer able to retaine
So great a guest, betraid her to her paine,
And for the toilsome worke, that she had done,
She found the wages of a new borne Sonne:
Samson, she call'd his name: the childe encreast,
And hourely suckt a blessing with the brest,
Daily his strength did double: He began
To grow in favour both with God and Man:
His well attended Infancy was blest
With sweetnesse; in his Childhood, he exprest
True seeds of honour; and his youth was crown'd
With high and brave adventures, which renown'd
His honour'd name, His courage was suppli'd
With mighty strength: His haughty spirit defide
And hoast of men: His power had the praise
'Bove all that were before, or since his dayes:
And to conclude, Heav'n never yet conjoyn'd
So strong a body, with so stout a minde.

292

Meditat. 6.

How pretious were those blessed dayes, wherein
Soules never startled at the name of Sin!
When as the voyce of death had never yet
A mouth to open, or to clame a debt!
When bashfull nakednesse forbare to call
For needlesse skins to cover shame withall;
When as the fruit-encreasing earth obay'd
The will of Man without the wound of spade,
Or helpe of Art! When he, that now remaines
A cursed Captive to infernall chaines,
Sate singing Anthems in the heavenly Quire,
Among his fellow Angels! When the Bryer,
The fruitlesse Bramble, the fast growing weed,
And downy Thistle had, as yet, no seed!
When labour was not knowne, and man did eate
The earths faire fruits, unearned with his sweate!
When wombs might have conceiv'd without the stain
Of sin, and brought forth children, without paine!
When Heaven could speak to mans unfrighted eare
Without the sense of Sin-begotten feare!
How golden were those dayes? How happy than
Was the condition and the State of man!
But Man obey'd not: And his proud desire
Cing'd her bold feathers in forbidden fire:
But Man transgrest; And now his freedome feeles
A sudden change: Sinne followes at his heeles:
The voice calls Adam: But poore Adam flees,
And trembling hides his face behind the trees:
The voice, whilere, that ravisht with delight
His joyfull eare, does now, alas, affright

293

His wounded conscience with amaze and wonder:
And what, of late, was musicke; now, is Thunder.
How have our sinnes abus'd us! and betrai'd
Our desperate soules! What strangenes have they made
Betwixt the great Creator, and the worke
Of his owne hands! How closely doe they lurke
To our distempred soules, and whisper feares
And doubts into our frighted hearts and eares!
Our eyes cannot behold that glorious face,
Which is all life, unruin'd in the place:
How is our nature chang'd? That very breath
Which gave us being, is become our death:
Great God! O, whither shall poore mortalls flie
For comfort? If they see thy face, they dye;
And if thy life-restoring count'nance give
Thy presence from us; then we cannot live:
How necessary is the ruine, than,
And misery of sin-beguiled Man!
On what foundation shall his hopes relie?
See wee thy face, or see it not, we dye:

O let thy Word (great God) instruct the youth
And frailty of our faith; Thy Word is truth:
And what our eyes want power to perceive,
O, let our hearts admier, and beleeve.

294

Sect. 7.

The Argvment.

Samson at Timnah falls in love
And fancies a Philistian maide:
He moves his parents: They reprove
His sinfull choyce: dislike, disswade.

Now when as strong limb'd Samson had dispos'd
His trifling thoughts to children, and disclos'd
His bud of child-hood, which being overgrowne,
And blossome of his youth so fully blowne,
That strength of nature now thought good to seeke
Her entertainment on his downy cheeke,
And with her manly bounty did begin
To uneffeminate his smoother chin,
He went to Timnah; whither, did resort
A great concourse of people, to disport
Themselves with pastime; or, perchance, to show
Some martiall Feats (as they were wont to doe)
Scaffolds were builded round about, whereon
The Crowne of eye-delighted lookers on
Were closely pil'd: As Samsons wandring eye
Was ranging up and downe, he did espye
A comely Virgin, beautifull and young,
Where she was seated midst the gazing throng:
The more he view'd, the more his eye desir'd
To view her face; and as it view'd, admir'd;
His heart, inflam'd; his thoughts were all on fire;

295

His passions all were turn'd into desire;
Such were his lookes, that she might well discry
A speaking lover in his sparkling eye:
Sometimes his reason bids his thoughts beware,
Lest he be catcht in a Philistian snare;
And then, his thwarting passion would reply
Feare not to be a prisoner to that eye:
Reason suggests; 'Tis vaine, to make a choyce,
Where parents have an over-ruling voyce:
Passion replies, That feare and filiall duty
Must serve affection, and subscribe to beauty:
Whilst Reason faintly mov'd him to neglect,
Prevailing passion urg'd his soule t'affect:
Passion concludes; Let her enjoy thy heart:
Reason concludes; But let thy tongue impart
Thy affection to thy parents, and discover
To them, thy thoughts: With that the wounded lover
(Whose quicke-divided paces had out runne
His lingring heart) like an observant sonne,
Repaires unto his parents; fully made
Relation of his troubled thoughts, and said,
Sir.
This day, at Timnah, to these wretched eyes,
Being taken captive with the novelties
Which entertain'd my pleased thoughts, appear'd
A fairer object; which, hath so endear'd
My very soule, (with sadnesse so distrest)
That this poore heart can finde no ease, no rest;
It was a Virgin; in whose Heavenly face,
Vnpattern'd Beauty, and diviner Grace
Were so conjoyn'd, as if they both conspir'd
Te make one Angell; when these eyes enquir'd
Into the excellence of her rare perfection,
They could not choose but like, and my affection

296

Is so inflamed with desire, that I
Am now become close prisoner to her eye;
Now if my sad Petition may but finde
A faire successe to ease my tortur'd minde;
And if your tender hearts be pleas'd to prove
As prone to pitty mine, as mine to love;
Let me, with joy, exchange my single life,
And be the husband of so faire a wise.
Whereto, th'amazed parents, (in whose eye
Distast and wonder percht) made this reply;

What strange desire, what vnadvis'd request
Hath broken loose from thy distracted brest?
What! are the Daughters of thy brethren growne
So poore in Worth, and Beauty? Is there none
To please that over-curious eye of thine,
But th'issue of a cursed Philistine?
Can thy miswandring eyes choose none, but her,
That is the child of an Idolater?
Correct thy thoughts, and let thy soule rejoyce
In lawfull beauty: Make a wiser choyce:

How well this counsell pleas'd the tyred eares
Of love-sicke Samson: O, let him that beares
A crost affection, judge: Let him discover
The wofull case of this afflicted lover:
What easie pencill cannot represent
His very lookes? How his sterne browes were bent?
His drooping head? his very port and guise?
His bloodlesse cheekes, and deadnesse of his eyes?
Till, at the length, his moving tongue betrai'd
His sullen lips to language, thus; and said: Sir,

Th'extreame affection of my heart does leade
My tongue, (that's quickned with my love) to plead
What, if her parents be not circumcis'd?
Her issue shall; and she, perchance, advis'd

297

To worship Israels God, and, to forget
Her fathers house; Alas, she is as yet,
Let young; her downy yeares are greene, and tender;
Shee's but a twigge, and time may easly bend her
T'embrace the truth: Our counsells {may} controule
Her sinfull breeding, and so save a soule:
“ Nay; who can tell, but Heaven did recommend
Her beauty to these eyes, for such an end?
O lose not that which Heaven is pleas'd to save,
Let Samson then obtaine, as well as crave:
You gave me being, then prolong my life
And make me husband to so faire a wife.
With that the parēts joyn'd their whispering heads;
Samson observes; and, in their parly, reads
Some Characters of hope; The mother smiles;
The father frownes; which, Samson reconciles
With hopefull fears; She smiles, & smiling crownes
His hopes; which, He deposes with his frownes:
The whispring ended; joyntly they displaid,
A halfe resolved countenance, and said,

Samson, suspend thy troubled minde a while,
Let not thy over-charged thoughts recoile:
Take heed of Shipwracke; Rocks are neare the Shore;
“ Wee'l see the Virgin, and resolve thee more.

298

Meditat. 6.

Love is a noble passion of the heart;
That, with it very essence doth impart
All needfull Circumstances, and effects
Vnto the chosen party it affects;
In absence, it enjoyes; and with an eye
Fill'd with celestiall fier, doth espye
Objects remote: It joyes, and smiles in griefe;
It sweetens poverty; It brings reliefe;
It gives the Feeble, strength; the Coward, spirit;
The sicke man, health; the underserving, merit;
It makes the proud man, humble; and the stout
It ouercomes; and treads him underfoot;
It makes the mighty man of warre to droope;
And him, to serve, that never, yet, could stoope;
It is a fire, whose Bellowes are the breath
Of heaven above, and kindled here beneath:
Tis not the power of a mans election
To loue; He loves not by his owne direction;
It is nor beauty, nor benigne aspect
That alwayes moves the Lover, to affect;
These are but means: Heavens pleasure is the cause:
Love is not bound to reason, and her Lawes
Are not subjected to th'imperious will
Of man: It lies not in his power to nill:
How is this Love abus'd! That's onely made
A snare for wealth, or to set up a trade;
T'enrich a great mans Table, or to pay
A desperate debt; or meerly to allay

299

A base and wanton lust; which done, no doubt,
The love is ended, and her fier out:
No; he that loves for pleasure, or for pelfe,
Loves truely, none; and, falsely, but himselfe:
The pleasure past, the wealth consum'd and gone,
Love hath no subject now to worke upon:
The props being falne, that did support the roofe,
Nothing but rubbish, and neglected Stuffe,
Like a wilde Chaos of Confusion, lies
Presenting uselesse ruines to our eyes:
The Oyle that does maintaine loves sacred fire,
Is vertue mixt with mutuall desire
Of sweet societie, begun and bred
I'th soule; nor ended in the mariage bed:
This is the dew of Hermon, that does fill
The soule with sweetnesse, watring Sions hill;
This is that holy fire, that burns and lasts,
Till quencht by death: The other are but blasts,
That faintly blaze like Oyle-forsaken snuffes
Which every breath of discontentment puffs
And quite extinguishes; and leaves us nothing
But an offensive subject of our loathing.

300

Sect. 8.

The Argvment.

He goes to Timnah: As he went,
he slew a Lyon, by the way;
He sues; obtaines the Maids consent:
and they appoint the mariage day.

When the next day had, with his morning light,
Redeem'd the East from the dark shades of night;
And, with his golden raies, had overspred
The neighb'ring Mountaines; from his loathed Bed,
Sick-thoughted Samson rose, whose watchfull eyes,
Morpheus that night had, with his leaden keyes;
Not power to close: his thoughts did so incumber
His restlesse soule, his eyes could never slumber;
Whose softer language, by degrees did wake
His fathers sleepe-bedeafned eares, and spake;

Sir; Let your early blessings light upon
The tender bosome of your prosprous Sonne,
And let the God of Israel repay
Those blessings, double, on your head, this day:
The long-since banisht shadowes make me bold
To let you know, the morning waxes old;
The Sunbeames are growne strong; their brighter hiew
Have broke the Mists, and dride the morning dewe;
The sweetnesse of the season does invite
Your steps to visit Timnah, and acquite
Your last nights promise:
With that the Danite and his wife arose,

301

Scarce yet resolv'd, at last they did dispose
Their doubtfull paces, to behold the prize
Of Samsons heart, and pleasure of his eyes;
They went, and when their travell had attain'd
Those fruitfull hills, whose clusters entertain'd
Their thirsty palats, with their swelling pride,
The musing lover being stept aside
To gaine the pleasure of a lonely thought,
Appear'd a full ag'd Lyon, who had sought
(But could not finde) his long desired prey;
Soone as his eye had given him hopes to pay
His debt to nature, and to mend that fault
His empty stomacke found, he made assault
Vpon th'unarmed Lovers brest, whose hand
Had neither staffe, nor weapon, to withstand
His greedy rage; but he whose mighty strength
Or sudden death must now appeare, at length,
Stretcht forth his brawny arme, (his arme supplide
With power from heaven) and did, with ease, divide
His body limme from limme, and did betray
His flesh to foules, that lately sought his prey:
This done; his quicke redoubled paces make
His stay amends; his nimble steps oretake
His leading parents; who by this, discover
The smoake of Timnah: Now the greedy Lover
Thinkes every step, a mile; and every pace
A measur'd League, untill he see that face,
And finde the treasure of his heart, that lies
In the faire Casket of his Mistresse Eyes;
But, all this while, close Samson made not knowne
Vnto his Parents, what his hands had done:
By this, the gate of Timnah entertaines
The welcome travellers: The parents paines
Are now rewarded with their sonnes best pleasure:

302

The Virgin comes; His eyes can finde no leisure,
To owne another object: O, the greeting
Th'impatient lovers had at their first meeting!
The Lover speakes; She answers; He replies;
She blushes; He demandeth; Shee denies;
He pleads affection; She doubts; He sues
For nuptiall love; She questions; He renewes
His earnest suite: Importunes; She relents;
He must have no deniall; She consents:
They passe their mutual loves: Their joyned hands
Are equall earnests of the nuptiall bands:
The parents are agreed; All parties pleas'd;
The day's set downe; the lovers hearts are eas'd,
Nothing displeases now, but the long stay
Betwixt th'appointment, and the mariage day.

303

Meditat. 8.

Tis too severe a censure: If the Sonne
Take him a wife; the mariage fairely done,
Without consent of parents, (who perchance
Had rais'd his higher price, knew where t'advance
His better'd fortunes to one hundred more)
He lives, a Fornicator; She, a Whore:
Too hard a censure! And it seemes to me,
The Parent's most delinquent of the three:
What; if the better minded Son doe aime
At worth? What, if rare vertues doe inflame
His rapt affection? What, if the condition
Of an admir'd, and dainty disposition
Hath won his soule? Whereas the covetous Father
Finds her Gold light, and recommends him, rather,
T'an old worne widow, whose more weighty purse
Is fil'd with gold, and with the Orphans curse;
The sweet exubrance of whose full mouth'd portion
Is but the cursed issue of extortion;
Whose worth, perchance, lies onely in her weight,
Or in the bosome of her great estate;
What, if the Sonne, (that does not care to buy
Abundance at so deare a rate) deny
The soule-detesting profer of his Father,
And in his better Iudgement chooses, rather,
To match with meaner Fortunes, and desert?
I thinke that Mary chose the better part.

What noble Families (that have out-growne
The best records) have quite bin overthrowne

304

By wilfull parents, that will either force
Their sonnes to match, or haunt them with a curse!
That can adapt their humours, to rejoyce,
And fancy all things, but their childrens choice!
Which makes them, often, timorous to reveale
The close desiers of their hearts, and steale
Such matches, as, perchance, their faire advice
Might, in the bud, have hindred in a trice;
Which done, and past, O, then their hasty spirit
Can thinke of nothing, under Disinherit;
He must be quite discarded, and exilde;
The furious father must renounce his childe;
Nor Pray'r nor Blessing must he have; bereiven
Of all; Nor must he live, nor die forgiven;
When as the Fathers rashnesse, oftentimes,
Was the first causer of the Childrens crimes.

Parents, be not too cruell: Children doe
Things, oft, too deepe for us t'enquire into:
What father would not storme, if his wilde Sonne
Should doe the deed, that Samson here had done?
Nor doe I make it an exemplar act;
Onely, let parents not be too exact
To curse their children, or to dispossesse
Them of their blessings, Heaven may chance to blesse:
Be not too strict: Faire language may recure
A fault of youth, whilst rougher words obdure.

305

Sect. 9.

The Argvment.

Samson goes downe to celebrate
his mariage and his nuptiall feast:
The Lyon, which he slew of late
hath honey in his putrid brest.

When as the long expected time was come,
Wherin these lingring Lovers should consumme
The promis'd mariage, & observe the rites,
Pertaining to those festivall delights,
Samson went downe to Timnah; there, t'enjoy
The sweet possession of his dearest joy;
But as he past those fruitfull Vineyards, where
His hands of late, acquit him of that feare
(Wherewith the fierce assaulting Lyon quail'd
His yet unpractis'd courage) and prevail'd
Vpon his life; as by that place he past,
He turn'd aside, and borrowed of his hast
A little time, wherein his eyes might view
The Carkas of the Lyon which he slew;
But when his wandring footsteps had drawne neer
The unlamented herse, his wondring eare
Perceiv'd a murm'ring noise, discerning not
From whence that strange confusion was, or what;
He staies his steps, and hearkens; still the voyce
Presents his eare, with a continued noyse;
At length, his gently moving feet apply
Their paces to the Carkas, where his eye

306

Discernes a Swarme of Bees, whose laden thighes
Repos'd their burthens, and the painfull prize
Of their sweet labour in the hollow Chest
Of the dead Lyon, whose unbowell'd brest
Became their plenteous storehouse, where, they laid
The blest encrease of their laborious Trade;
The fleshly Hive was fill'd with curious Combes,
Within whose dainty waxe-divided roomes,
Were shops of honey, whose delicious taste
Did sweetly recompence th'adjourned haste
Of lingring Samson, who does now repay
The time he borrow'd from his better way,
And with renewed speed, and pleasure, flies,
Where all his soule-delighting treasure lies;
He goes to Timnah, where his heart doth finde
A greater sweetnesse, than he left behinde;
His hasty hands invites her gladder eyes
To see, and lips to taste that obvious prize
His interrupted stay had lately tooke,
And as shee tasted, his fixt eyes would looke
Vpon her varnisht lips, and, there, discover
A sweeter sweetnesse to content a Lover:
And now the busie Virgins are preparing
Their costly Iewels, for the next dayes wearing;
Each lappe is fill'd with Flowers, to compose
The nuptiall Girland, for the Brides faire browes;
The cost-neglecting Cookes have now encreast
Their pastry dainties to adorne the feast;
Each willing hand is labring to provide
The needfull ornaments to deck the Bride.

But now, the crafty Philistins, for feare
Lest Samsons strength, (which startled every eare
With dread and wonder) under that pretence,
Should gaine the meanes, to offer violence;

307

And, through the shew of nuptiall devotion,
Should take advantages to breed commotion,
Or lest his popular power, by coaction
Or faire entreats, may gather to his faction
Some loose and discontented men of theirs,
And so betray them to supected feares;
They therefore to prevent ensuing harmes,
Gave strict command, that thirty men of armes,
Vnder the maske of Bridemen, should attend
Vntill the nuptiall ceremonies end.

Meditat. 9.

How high, unutterable, how profound,
(Whose depth the line of knowledge cannot found)
Are the deerces of the Eternall God!
How secret are his wayes, and how untrod
By mans conceipt, so deeply charg'd with doubt!
How are his Counsels past our finding out!
O, how unscrutable are his designes!
How deepe, and how unsearchable are the Mines
Of his abundant Wisdome! how obscure
Are his eternall Iudgements! and how sure!
Lists he to strike? the very Stones shall flie
From their unmov'd Foundations, and destroy:
Lists he to punish? Things that have no sense,
Shall vindicate his Quarrell, on th'Offence:
Lists he to send a plague? The winters heate
And summers damp, shall make his will compleate:
Lists he to send the Sword? Occasion brings
New Iealousies betwixt the hearts of Kings:

308

Wills he a famine? Heaven shall turne to brasse,
And earth to Iron, till it come to passe:
Both stocks, and stones, and plants, and beasts fulfil
The secret Counsell of his sacred will,
Man, onely wretched Man, is disagreeing
To doe that thing, for which he had his being:
Samson must downe to Timnah; in the way
Must meet a Lyon, whom his hands must slay;
The Lyons putrid Carkas must enclose
A swarme of Bees; and, from the Bees, arose
A Riddle; and that Riddle must be read,
And by the reading, Choller must be bred,
And that must bring to passe Gods just designes
Vpon the death of the false Philistines:
Behold the progresse, and the royall Gests
Of Heavens high vengeance; how it never rests,
Till, by appointed courses, it fulfill
The secret pleasure of his sacred will.

Great Savior of the world; Thou Lambe of Sion,
That hides our sinnes; That art the wounded Lyon:
O, in thy dying body, we have found
A world of hony; whence we may propound
Such sacred Riddles, as shall, underneath
Our feet, subdue the power of Hell and Death;
Such Mysteries; as none but he, that plough'd
With thy sweet Hayfer's able to uncloud;
Such sacred Mysteries, whose eternall praise
Shall make both Angels, and Archangels raise
Their louder voyces, and, in triumph, sing,
All Glory and Honour to our highest King,
And to the Lambe, that sits upon the throne;
Worthy of power and praise is he, alone,
Whose glory hath advanc'd our key of mirth;
Glory to God, on high; and peace, on Earth.

309

Sect. 10.

The Argvment.

The Bridegroome, at his nuptiall Feast,
to the Philistians, doth propound
A Riddle: which they all addrest
themselves, in counsell to expound.

Now, when the glory of the next dayes light
Had chas'd the shadowes of the tedious night,
Then coupling Hymen with his nuptiall bands,
And golden Fetters, had conjoyn'd their hands;
Then jolly welcome had to every Guest,
Expos'd the bounty of the mariage Feast,
Their now appeased stomacks did enlarge
Their captive tongues, with power to discharge
And quit their Table-duty, and disburse
Their store of enterchangeable discourse,
Th'ingenious Bridegroome turn'd his rolling eyes
Upon his guard of Bridemen, and applies
Espeech to them: And, whil'st that every man
Lent if his attentive eare, he thus began;

My tongue's in labour, and my thoughts abound;
I have a doubtfull Riddle, to propound;
Which if your joyned wisdomes can discover,
Before our seven dayes feasting be past over;
Then, thirty Sheets, and thirty new supplies
Of Raiment shall be your deserved prize:
But if the seven dayes feast shall be dissolv'd,
Before my darkned Riddle be resolv'd,

310

Ye shall be all engaged to resigne
The like to me, the vict'rie being mine:
So said; the Bridemen, whose exchanged eyes
Found secret hopes of conquest, thus replies:

Propound thy Riddle: Let thy tongue dispatch
Her cloudy errand: We accept the match:
With that, the hopefull Challenger convai'd
His Riddle to their hearkning eares, and said;

The Riddle.

Our food, in plenty, doth proceed
from him that us'd to eate;
And he, whose custome was to feed
does now afford us meate;
A thing that I did lately meet,
as I did passe along,
Afforded me a dainty sweet,
yet was both sharpe and strong:
The doubtful Riddle being thus propounded,
They muse; the more they mus'd, the more cōfounded:
One rounds his whispring neighbour in the eare,
Whose lab'ring lips deny him leave to heare:
Another, trusting rather to his owne
Conceit, sits musing, by himselfe, alone:
Here, two are closely whispring, till a third
Comes in, nor to the purpose speakes a word:
There, sits two more, and they cannot agree
How rich the clothes, how fine the Sheets must be
Yonder stands one that, musing, smiles; no doubt,
But he is neere it, if not found it out;
To whom another rudely rushes in,
And puts him quite beside his thought agin:

311

Here, three are Whispring, and a fourths intrusion
Spoiles all, and puts them all into confusion:
There sits another in a Chaire, so deepe
In thought, that he is nodding fast asleepe:
The more their busie fancie doe endever,
The more they erre; Now, farther off, than ever:
Thus when their wits, spur'd on with sharpe desire,
Had lost their breath, and now began to tire,
They ceas'd to tempt conceit beyond her strength;
And, weary of their thoughts, their thoughts at length
Present a new exploit: Craft must supply
Defects of wit; Their hopes must now rely
Vpon the frailty of the tender Bride;
She must be mov'd; Perswasions may attaine;
If not, then rougher language must constraine:
She must diclose the Riddle, and discover
The bosome secrets of her faithfull Lover.

402

Medita. 10.

There is a time, to laugh: A time, to turne
Our smiles to teares: There is a time to mourn:
There is a time for joy, and a time for griefe,
A time to want, and a time to finde reliefe,
A time to binde, and there's a time to breake,
A time for silence, and a time to speake,
A time to labour, and a time to rest,
A time to fast in, and a time to feast:
Things, that are lawfull, have their times, and use;
Created good; and, onely by abuse,
Made bad: Our sinfull usage does unfashion
What heaven hath made, and makes a new creatiō:
Ioy is a blessing: but too great excesse
Makes Ioy, a madnesse, and, does quite unblesse
So sweet a gift; And, what, by moderate use;
Crownes our desiers, banes them in th'abuse:
Wealth is a blessing; But too eager thurst
Of having more, makes what we have, accurst:
Rest is a blessing; But when Rest withstands
The healthfull labour of our helpfull hands,
It proves a curse; and staines our guilt, with crime,
Betraies our irrecoverable time:
To feast and to refresh our hearts with pleasure,
And fill our soules with th'overflowing measure
Of heavens blest bounty, cannot but commend
The precious favours of so sweet a friend;
But, when th'abundance of a liberall diet,
Meant for a blessing, is abus'd by Riot,

403

Th'abused blessing, leaves the gift, nay, worse,
It is transform'd, and turn'd into a curse:
Things that afford most pleasure, in the use,
Are ever found most harmfull in the abuse:
Vse them like Masters; and their tyrannous hand
Subjects thee, like a slave, to their command;
Vse them as Servants; and they will obey thee;
Take heed; they'l either blesse thee, or betray thee.

Could our Fore fathers but revive, and see
Their Childrens Feasts, as now a dayes they bee:
Their studied dishes, Their restoring stuffe,
To make their wanton bodies sinne enough;
Their stomack-whetting Sallats, to invite
Their wastfull palat to an appetite;
Their thirst-procuring dainties, to refine
Their wanton tasts, and make them strong, for wine;
Their costly viands, charg'd with rich perfume;
Their Viper-wines, to make old age presume
To feele new lust, and youthfull flames agin,
And serve another prentiship to sinne:
Their time-betraying Musicke; their base noise
Of odious Fidlers; with their smooth-fac'd boyes,
Whose tongues are perfect, if they can proclame
The Quintessence of basenesse without shame;
Their deepe-mouth'd curses, new invented oathes,
Their execrable Blasphemy, that loathes
A minde to thinke on; their obsceaner words,
Their drunken Quarrels, their unsheathed swords:
O how they'd blesse themselves, & blush, for shame,
In our behalfs, and hast from whence they came,
To kisse their graves, that hid them from the crimes
Of these accursed and prodigious times.

Great God; O, can thy patient eye behold
This height of sinne, and can thy vengeance hold?

314

Sect. 11.

The Argvment.

The Philistins cannot unsolve
the Riddle: They corrupt the Bride;
She wooes her Bridegroome to resolve
her doubt, but goes away denyde.

Now whē three daies had run their howers out,
And left no hope for wit-forsaken doubt
To be resolv'd, the desp'rate undertakers
Conjoyn'd their whispring heads; (being all partakers
And joynt-advisers in their new-laid plot)
The time's concluded: Have ye not forgot
How the old Tempter, when he first began
To worke th'unhappy overthrow of man,
Accosts the simple woman; and reflects
Vpon the frailty of her weaker Sex;
Even so these curs'd Philistians (being taught
And tutor'd by the selfe same spirit) wrought
The selfesame way; Their speedy steps are bent
To the faire Bride; Their haste could give no vent
To their coarcted thoughts; their language made
A little respite; and, at length, they said;

Fairest of Creatures: Let thy gentle heart
Receive the crowne, due to so faire desert;
We have a Suite, that must attend the leisure
Of thy best thoughts, and joy-restoring pleasure;
Our names, and credits linger at the stake
Of deepe dishonour: If thou undertake,

315

With pleasing language, to prevent the losse,
They must sustaine, and draw them from the drosse
Of their owne ruines, they shall meerely owe
Themselves unto the goodnesse, and shall know
No other Patron, and acknowledge none,
As their redeemer, but thy love alone:
We cannot reade the Riddle, whereunto
We have engag'd our goods, and credits too;
Entice thy jolly Bridgroome; to unfold
The hidden Myst'ry, (what can he withhold
From the rare beauty of so rare a brow?)
And when thou knowst it, let thy servants know:
What? dost thou frowne? And must our easie triall;
At first, reade Hierogly thickes of deniall?
And art thou silent too? Nay, we'l give ore
To tempt thy Bridall fondnesse any more:
Betray your lovely husbands secrets? No,
You'l first betray us, and our land: but know,
Proud Samsons wife, our faries shall make good
Our losse of wealth and honour, in thy bloud:
Where faire entreaties spend themselves in vaine,
There fur shall consume, or else constraine.
Know then, falsehearted Bride, if our request
Can finde no place within thy sullen brest,
Our hands shall vindicate our lost desire,
And burne thy fathers house, and thee with fire:
Thus having lodg'd their errand in her cares,
They left the roome; and her, unto her feares;
Who thus bethought; hard is the case, that I
Must or betray my husbands trust, or dye;
I haue a Wolfe by th'eares: I dare be bold,
Neither with safety, to let goe, nor hold:
What shall I doe? Their mindes if I fulfill not,
'Tis death; And to betray his trust, I will not:

316

Nay, should my lips demand, perchance, his breath
Will not resolve me,: Then, no way, but death:
The wager is not great; Rather the strife
Were ended in his losse, than in my life;
His life consists in mine, I fought amisse
Befall my life, it may indanger his:
Wagers must yeeld to life; I hold it best,
Of necessary evils, to chuse the least:
Why doubt I then? when Reason bids me doe;
Ile know the Riddle, and betray it too:
With that, she quits her chamber, with her cares,
And in her closset locks up all her feares,
And, with a speed untainted with delay,
She found that brest, wherein her owne heart lay;
Where resting for a while, at length, did take
A faire occasion to looke up, and spake:

Life of my soule, and loves perpetuall treasure,
Jf my desires be suiting to thy pleasure,
My lips would move a Suite; My doubtfull brest
Would faine preferre an undeny'd request:
Speake then (my joy): Let thy faire lips expound
That dainty Riddle, whose darke pleasure crown'd
Our first dayes feast; Enlighten my dull braine,
That, ever since, hath mus'd, and mu'sd in vaine;
Who, often smiling on his lovely Bride,
That longs to goe away resolv'd, reply'd;

Ioy of my heart, let not thy troubled brest
Take the denyall of thy small request,
As a defect of love: excuse my tongue
That must not grant thy suite without a wrong
To resolution, daring not discover
The hidden Myst'ry, till the time be over;
Cease to importune then, what cannot be;
My parents know it not, as well as thee:

317

In ought but this, thy Suite shall overcome me;
Excuse me then, and goe not angry from me.

Meditat. 11.

How apprehensive is the heart of Man
Of all, and onely those poore things that can
Lend him a minutes pleasure, and appay
His sweat but with the happinesse of a day!
How can he toyle for trifles, and take paine
For fading goods, that onely entertaine
His pleased thoughts with poore & painted showes,
Whose joy hath no more truth, than what it owes
To change! How are the objects of his musing
Worthlesse, and vaine, that perish in the using?
How reasonable are his poore desires,
The height of whose ambition, but aspires
To flitting shadowes, which can onely crowne
His labour, with that nothing, of their owne!
We feed on huskes, that might as well ataine
The fatted Calfe, by comming home againe:
And, like to Esau, while we are suppressing
Our present wants, neglect and lose the blessing:
How wise we are for things, whose pleasure cooles
Like breath; For everlasting joyes, what Fooles!
How witty, how ingeniously wise,
To save our credits, or to win a prize!
Wee plot; Our browes are studious. First we try
One way; If that succeed not, we apply
Our doubtfull mindes to attempt another course:
We take advice; consult; our tongues discourse

318

Of better wayes; and, what our failing braines,
Cannot effect with faire and fruitlesse paines;
There, crooked fraud must helpe, and flie deceit
Must lend a hand, which by the potent sleight
Of right-forsaking Bribry must betray
The prize into our hands, and win the day,
Which if it faile (it does but seldome faile)
Then open force, and fury must prevaile:
When strength of wit, and secret power of fraud
Grow dull, constraint must conquer, and applaud
With ill got vict'ry; which at length obtain'd,
Alas, how poore a trifle have we gain'd!
How are our soules distempered; to engrosse
Such fading pleasures! To ore-prize the drosse,
And under-rate the Gold! for painted Ioyes,
To sell the true, and heaven it selfe for Toyes!

Lord; clarifie mine eyes, that I may know
Things that are good, from what are good in show:
And give me wisedome, that my heart my learne
The diffrence of thy favours, and discerne
What's truely good, from what is good in part;
With Martha's trouble, give me Maries heart.

319

Sect. 12.

The Argvment.

The Bride she begs, and begs in vaine:
But like to a prevailing wooer,
She sues, and sues, and sues againe;
At last he reads the Riddle to her.

When the next morning had renew'd the day,
And th'early twilight now had chac'd away
The pride of night, and made her lay aside
Her spangled Robes, the discontented Bride
(Whose trobled thoghts were tyred with the night,
And broken slumbers long had wisht for light)
With a deepe sigh her sorrow did awake
Her drowsie Bridegroome, whom she thus bespake:
O, if thy love could share an equall part
In the sad griefes of my afflicted heart,
Thy closed eyes had never, in this sort,
Bin pleas'd with rest, and made thy night so short:
Perchance, if my dull eyes had slumbred too,
My dreames had done, what thou deny'd to doe:
Perchance, my Fancy would have bin so kinde,
T'unsolve the doubts of my perplexed minde,
Twas a small suite, that thy unluckie Bride
Must light upon: Too small to be denyde:
Can love so soone—? But ere her lips could spend
The following words, he said, suspend, suspend
Thy rash attempt, and let thy tongue dispense
With forc'd denyall: Let thy lips commence

320

Some greater Suite, and Samson shall make good
Thy faire defiers with his dearest blood:
Speake then, my love; thou shalt not wish, and want;
Thou canst not beg, what Samson cannot grant:
Onely, in this, excuse me: and refraine
To beg, what thou, perforce, must beg in vaine.

Inexorable Samson: Can the teares
From those faire eyes, not move thy deafned eares?
O can those drops, that trickle from those eyes
Vpon thy naked bosome, not surprize
Thy neighb'ring heart? and force it to obey?
O can thy heart not melt as well as they?
Thou little thinkst thy poore afflicted wife
Importunes thee, and woes thee for her life:
Her Suit's as great a Riddle to thine eares,
As thine, to hers; O, these distilling teares
Are silent pleaders, and her moistned breath
Would faine redeeme her, from the gates of death?
May not her teares prevaile; Alas, thy strife
Is but for wagers; Her's, poore Soule, for life.

Now when this day had yeelded up his right
To the succeeding Empresse of the night,
Whose soone-deposed raigne did reconvay
Her crowne and Scepter to the new borne day,
The restlesse Bride (feares cannot brooke denyall)
Renewes her suit, and attempts a further tryall;
Entreats; conjures; she leaves no way untride:
She will not, no, she must not be denyd:
But he (the portalls of whose marble heart
Was lockt and barr'd against the powerfull art
Of oft repeated teares,) stood deafe and dumbe;
He must not, no, he will not be ore-come.

321

Poore Bride! How is thy glory overcast!
How is the pleasure of the Nuptialls past,
When scarce begun! Alas, how poore a breath
Of joy, must puffe thee to untimely death!
The day's at hand, wherein thou must untie
The Riddles tangled Snarle, or else must dye:
Now, when that day was come wherein the feast
Was to expire; the Bride, (whose pensive brest
Grew sad to death) did once more undertake
Her too resolved Bridegroome thus, and spake:

Vpon these knees, that prostrate on the floore,
Art lowly bended, and shall ne're give ore
To move thy goodnesse, that shall never rise,
Untill my Suit finde favour in thine eyes,
Vpon these naked knees, I here present
My sad request: O let thy heart relent;
A Suitor sues, that never sued before;
And she begs now, that never will beg more:
Hast thou vow'd silence? O remember, how
Thou art engaged by a former vow;
Thy heart is mine; The secrets of thy heart
Are mine; Why art thou dainty to impart
Mine owne, to me? Then, give me leave to sue
For what, my right may challenge as her due;
Vnfold thy Riddle then, that J may know,
Thy love is more; then only love in show:

The Bridegroome, thus enchanted by his Bride,
Vnseal'd his long-kept silence, and replyde:
Thou sole, and great commandresse of my heart,
Thou hast prevail'd; my bosome shall impart
The summe of thy desiers, and discharge
The faithfull secrets of my soule, at large;

Know then, (my joy) Vpon that very day,
I, first, made knowne my'affection, on the way,

322

I met, and grappled with a sturdy Lyon,
Having nor staffe nor weapon, to relie on,
I was enforc'd to prove my naked strength;
Vnequall was the match, but at the length,
This brawny Arme receiving strength from him
That gave it life, I tore him limme from limme,
And left him dead: Now when the time was come,
Wherin our promis'd nuptialls were to summe,
And perfect all my joyes, as I was comming
That very way, a strange confused humming,
Not distant farre, possest my wondring eare,
Where guided by the noyse, there did appeare
A swarme of Bees, whose busie labours fill'd
The Carkasse of that Lyon which I kill'd,
With Combes of Honey, wherewithall I fed
My lips and thine: And now my Riddle's read.

323

Medita. 12.

The soule of man, before the taint of Nature,
Bore the faire Image of his great Creator;
His understanding had no cloud: His will
No crosse: That, knew no Error; This, no ill:
But man transgrest; And by his wofull fall,
Lost that faire Image, and that little all
Was left, was all corrupt; His understanding
Exchang'd her object; Reason left commanding;
His Memory was depraved, and his will
Can finde no other subject now; but Ill:
It grew distemperd, left the righteous reine
Of better Reason, and did entertaine,
The rule of Passion, under whose command,
It suffered Ship-wracke, upon every Sand:
Where it should march, it evermore retires;
And, what is most forbid, it most desires:
Love makes it see too much, and often, blinde;
Doubt makes it light, and waver like the winde:
Hate makes it fierce, and studious; Anger, mad;
Ioy makes it carelesse; Sorrow, dull and sad;
Hope makes it nimble, for a needlesse tryall;
Feare makes it too impatient of deniall.
Great Lord of humane soules; O thou, that art
The onely true refiner of the heart;
Whose hands created all things perfect good,
What canst thou now expect of flesh and blood?
How are our leprous Soules put out of fashion!
How are our Wills subjected to our passion!

324

How is thy glorious Image soil'd, defac'd,
And stain'd with sinne! How are our thoughts displac'd!
How wav'ring are our hopes, turn'd here and there
With every blast! How carnall is our feare!
Where needs no feare, we start at every shade,
But feare not, where we ought to be affraid.

Great God! If thou wilt please but to refine
Our hearts, and reconforme our wils, to thine,
Thou'lt take a pleasure in us, and poore we
Should finde as infinite delight in Thee;
Our doubts would cease, our fears would al romove,
And all our passions would turne Ioy, and Love;
Till then, expect for nothing that is good:
Remember, Lord, we are but Flesh and Blood.

325

Sect. 13.

The Argvment.

The Philistines, by her advice,
expound the Riddle: Samson kild
Thirty Philistians, in a trice;
forsakes his Bride: His Bed's defilde.

No sooner was the Brides attentive eares
Resolv'd, and pleas'd; but her impetuous fears
Cals in the Bridemen; and to them betraid,
The secret of the Riddle thus, and said:

You Sonnes of Thunder; Twas not the loud noise
Of your provoking threats, nor the soft voice
Of my prevailing feares, that thus addrest
My yeelding heart to grant your forc'd request;
Your language needed not have bin so rough
To speake too much, when lesse had bin enough:
Your speech at first was hony in mine eare;
At length, it prov'd a Lyon, and did teare
My wounded soule: It sought to force me to
What your entreaties wsre more apt to doe:
Know then (to keepe your lingring eares no longer
From what ye long to heare;) Ther's nothing stronger
Then a fierce Lyon: Nothing more can greet
Your pleased palats, with a greater sweet,
Then Hony: But more fully to expound,
In a dead Lyon, there was Hony found.

Now when the Sun was welking in the West,
Whose fall determines both the day, and Feast)

326

The hopefull Bridegroome (he whose smiling brow
Assur'd his hopes a speedy Conquest now)
Even thirsting for victorious Triumph, brake
The crafty silence of his lips, and spake:

The time is come whose latest hower ends
Our nuptiall Feast, and fairely recommends
The wreathe of Conquest to the victors brow:
Say, Is the Riddle read? Expound it now;
And, for your paines, these hands shall soone resigne
Your conquer'd prize: If not, The prize is mine:
With that, they join'd their whispring heads, and made
A Speaker; who in louder language, said;

Of all the sweets that ere were knowne,
Theres none so pleasing be,
As those rare dainties which doe crowne
The labour of the Bee:
Of all the creatures in the field;
That ever man set eye on,
There's none, whose power doth not yeeld
Vnto the stronger Lyon.

Where to th'offended Challenger, whose eye
Proclaim'd a quicke Revenge, made this reply:
No Hony's sweeter then a womans tongue;
And, when she list, Lyons are not so strong:
How thrice accurs'd are they, that doe fulfill
The lewd desiers of a womans will!
How more accurs'd is he, that doth impart
His bosome-secrets to a womans heart;
They plead like Angell, and, like Crocadiles,
Kill with their teares; They murther with their smiles:
How weake a thing is woman? Nay how weake
Is senslesse Man, that will be urg'd to breake
His counsells in her eare, that hath no power
To make secure a secret, for an hower!

327

No, Victors, no: Had not a womans minde
Bin faithlesse, and vnconstant, as the winde,
My Riddle had, till now, a Riddle bin;
You might have mus'd, and mist; and mus'd ag'n,
When the next day had heav'd his golden heat
From the soft pillow of his Sea-greene bed;
And, with his rising glory, had possest
The spatious borders of th'enlightened East,
Samson arose, and in a rage, went downe
(By heaven directed) to a neighbring towne:
His choller was inflam'd, and from his eye
The sudden flashes of his wrath did flye,
Palenesse was in his cheekes, and from his breath,
There flew the fierce Embassadours of death;
He heav'd his hand, and where it fell, it slew:
He spent, and still his forces would renew:
His quick-redoubled blowes fell thick as thunder:
And, whom he tooke alive, he tore in sunder:
His arme nere mist: And often, at a blow,
He made a Widow, and an Orphane too:
Here, it divides the Father from the child,
The husband from his Wife: there, it dispoild
The friend on's friend, the Sister of her brother:
And, oft, with one man, he would thrash another:
Where never was, he made a little flood,
And where there was no Kin, he joyn'd in blood,
Wherein, his ruthlesse hands he did imbrue:
Thrice ten, before he scarce could breath, he slue:
Their upper Garments, which he tooke away,
Were all the spoyles the Victor had, that day:
Wherewith, he quit the wagers that he lost,
Paying Philistians, with Philistians cost:
And thus, at length, with blood he did asswage,
But yet not quench the fier of his rage,

328

For now the thought of his disloyall wife,
In his sad soule, renew'd a second strife,
From whom, for feare his fury should recoile,
He thought most fit t'absent himselfe a while;
Vnto his fathers Tent, he now return'd;
Where, his divided passion rag'd, and mourn'd;
In part, he mourned; and, he rag'd, in part,
To see so faire a face; so false a heart:
But marke the mischiefe that his absence brings;
His bed's defiled, and the nuptiall strings
Are stretcht and crackt: A second love doth smother
The first; And she is wedded to another.

329

Meditat. 13.

Was this that wombe, the Angel did enlarge
From barrennesse? And gave so strict a charge?
Was this that wōbe, that must not be defil'd
With uncleane meates, lest it pollute the child?
Is this the Nazarite? May a Nazarite, then,
Embrue and paddle in the bloods of men?
Or may their vowes be so dispens'd withall,
That they, who scarce may see a funerall,
Whose holy foot-steps must beware to tread
Vpon, or touch the carkasse of the dead?
May these revēge their wrongs, by blood? may these
Have power to kill, & murther where they please?

Tis true: A holy Nazarite is forbid
To doe such things as this our Nazarite did:
He may not touch the bodies of the dead,
Without pollution; much lesse, may shed
The blood of man, or touch it, being spilt,
Without the danger of a double guilt:
But who art thou, than art an undertaker,
To question with, or plead against thy Maker?
May not that God, that gave thee thy creation,
Turne thee to nothing, by his dispensation?
He that hath made the Sabbath, and commands
It shall be kept with unpolluted hands;
Yet if he please to countermand agin,
Man may securely labour, and not sin;
A Nazarite is not allow'd to shed
The blood of man, or once to touch the dead;

330

But if the God of Nazarites, bids kill
He may; and be a holy Nazarite still:

But stay! Is God like Man? Or can he border
Vpon confusion, that's the God of order?
The Persian Lawes no time may contradict;
And are the Lawes of God lesse firme and strict?

An earthly Parent wills his child to stand
And waite; within a while he gives command
(Finding the weaknesse of his sonne opprest
With wearinesse) that he sit downe and rest;
Is God unconstant then, because he pleases
To alter, what he wild us, for our eases?
Know, likewise, O ungratefull flesh and blood,
God limits his owne glory, for our good:
He is the God of mercy, and he prizes
Thine Asses life above his Sacrifices;
His Sabbath is his glory, and thy rest;
Hee'l lose some honour, ere thou lose a Beast:

Great God of mercy; O, how apt are wee
To rob thee of thy due, that art so free
To give unaskt! Teach me, O God, to know
What portion I deserve, and tremble too.

331

[Sect. 14.]

[_]

Although the pagination is sequential, there is text missing from the beginning of this section.

[OMITTED]

That heare the newes) thus with himselfe besought;

It cannot be excus'd: It was a fault,
It was a foule one too; and, at first sight,
Too greate for love, or pardon to acquite:
O, had it beene a stranger, that betraid
Reposed secrets, I had onely laid
The blame upon my unadvised tongue;
Or had a common friend but done this wrong
To bosome trust, my patience might out warne it;
I could endur'd, I could have easily borne it;
But thus to be betraied by a wife,
The partner of my heart; to whom my life,
My very soule was not esteemed deare,
Is more than flesh, is more than bloud can beare:
But yet alas, She was but greene and young,
And had not gain'd the conquest of her tongue;
Vnseason'd vessells, oft will finde a leake
At first; but after held: She is but weake;
Nay, cannot yet write woman; which, at best,
Is a fraile thing: Alas young things will quest
At every turne; Indeed, to say the truth,
Her yeares could make it but a fault of youth:
Samson, returne; and let that fault be set
Vpon the score of youth: forgive, forget:
She is my wife: Her love hath power to hide
A fouler errour; Why should I diuide
My presence from her? There's no greater wrong
To love, than to be silent ever long:
Alas, poore soule! No doubt, her tender eye
Hath wept enough; perchance she knowes not why
“ I'm turn'd so great a stranger to her bed,
And boord: No doubt, her empty eyes have shed
A world of teares; perchance, her guiltlesse thought
Conceives my absence as a greater fault

234

Then that of late, her harmlesse errour did;
I'le goe and draw a reconciling Kid
From the faire flocke; My feet shall never rest,
Till J repose me in my Brides faire brest;
He went, but ere his speedy lips obtain'd
The merits of his haste, darknesse had stain'd
The cristall brow of day; and gloomy night
Had spoil'd and rifled heaven of all his light:
H' approacht the gates; but being entred in,
His carelesse welcome seem'd so cold and thin,
As if that silence meant, it should appeare,
He was no other, than a stranger there;
In every servants looke, he did espie
An easie Copie of their Masters eye;
He call'd his wife, but she was gone to rest;
Vnto her wonted chamber he addrest
His doubtfull steps; till by her father, staid,
Who taking him aside a little, said:
Sonne,

It was the late espousals that doe move
My tongue to use that title; not thy love:
'Tis true; there was a Marriage lately past
Betweene my childe and you; The knot was fast
And firmely tyed, not subject to the force
Of any power, but death, or else divorce:
For ought I saw, a mutuall desire
Kindled your likings, and an equall fire
Of strong affection, joyned both your hands
With the perpetuall knot of nuptiall bands;
Mutuall delight, and equall joyes attended
Your pleased hearts, untill the feast was ended;
But then I know no ground, (you know it best)
As if your loves were measur'd by the Feast,
The building fell, before the house did shake,

333

Loves fire was quencht, ere it began to slake;
All on a sudden were your ioyes disseis'd;
Forsooke your Bride, and went away displeas'd;
You left my child to the opprobrious tongues
Of open censure, whose malitious wrongs
(Maligning her faire merits) did defame
Her wounded honour, and unblemisht name;
I thought, thy love, which was so strong, of late,
Had on a sudden, turn'd to perfect hate:
At length, when as your longer absence did
Confirme my thoughts; and time had quite forbid
Our hopes t'expect a reaccesse of love,
Thinking some new affection did remove
Your heart, and that some second choice might smother
The first, I matcht your Bride unto another;
If we have done amisse, the fault must be
Imputed yours, and not to her, nor me;
But if your easie losse may be redeem'd
With her faire Sister (who; you know's esteem'd
More beautifull than she, and younger too)
She shall be firmely joyn'd by nuptiall vow,
And, by a present contract, shall become
Thy faithfull spouse, in her lost sisters roome:
With that poore Samson, like a man entranc'd,
And newly wakened, thus his voice advanc'd;

Presumptuus Philistine! That dost proceed
From the base loines of that accursed seed,
Branded for slaughter, and mark'd out for death;
And utter ruine; this my threatning breath
Shall blast thy nation; This revenging hand
Shall crush thy carkasse, and thy cursed land;
I'le give thy flesh to Ravens; and ravinous Swine
Shall take that rancke and tainted bloud of thine
For wash and swill, to quench their eager thirst,

334

Which they shall sucke, and guzzle till they burst;
I'le burne your standing Corne with flames of fire,
That none shall quench; I'le drag ye in the mire
Of your owne blouds, which shall ore-flow the land
And make your pasture barren as the sand;
This ruthlesse arme shall smite and never stay,
Vntill your land be turn'd a Golgotha;
And if my actions prove my words untrue,
Let Samson die, and be accurs'd, as you.

Medit. 14.

God is the God of peace: And if my brother
Strike me on one cheeke, must I turn the other?
God is the God of mercy; And his childe
Must be as he his, Mercifull and milde;
God is the God of Love: But sinner know,
His love abus'd, hee's God of vengeance too.
Is God the God of vengeance? And may none
Revenge his private wrongs, but he alone?
What meanes this franticke Nazarite to take
Gods office from his hand, and thus to make
His wrongs amends? Who warranted his breath
To threaten ruine, and to thunder death?

Curious Inquisitor; when God shall strike
By thy stout arme, thy arme may doe the like:
His Patent gives him power to create
A deputie; to whom he doth collate
Assistant power, in sufficient measure,
To exercise the office of his pleasure;
A lawfull Prince is Gods Lieutenant here:
As great a Maiesty as flesh can beare,
He is endued with all; In his bright eye

335

(Cloath'd in the flames of Majesty) doth lie
Both life and death; into his royall heart
Heaven doth inspire, and secretly impart
The treasure of his Lawes; Into his hand
He thrusts his sword of Iustice and Command:
He is Gods Champion; where his voice bids, kill,
He must not feare t'imbrew his hands, and spill,
Abundant bloud; Who gives him power to doe,
Will finde him guiltlesse, and assist him too:
O, but let flesh and bloud take heed, that none
Pretend Gods quarrell, to revenge his owne;
Malice and base Revenge must step aside,
When heavens uprighter Battels must be tride.

Where carnall glory, or ambitious thurst
Of simple conquest, or revenge, does burst
Vpon a neighbouring Kingdome; there to thrust
Into anothers Crowne, the warre's not just;
'Tis but a private quarrell; and bereft
Of lawfull grounds; 'Tis but a Princely theft:
But where the ground's Religion; to defend
Abused faith, let Princes, there, contend,
With dauntles courage: May their acts be glorious;
Let them goe, prosperous; and returne victorious:
What if the grounds be mixt? Feare not to goe;
Were not the grounds of Sampsons Combate so?
Goe then with double courage and renowne,
When God shall mixe thy quarrels with his owne:
'Tis a brave conflict; and a glorious Fray,
Where God and Princes shall divide the Prey.

336

Sect. 15.

The Argvment.

He burnes their standing corne; makes void
Their Land: The Philistines enquire
The cause of all their evill; destroy'd
The Timnite, and his house with fire.

As ragefull Samsons threatning language ceast,
His resolution of revenge increast;
Vengeance was in his thoughts, and his desire
Wanted no fuell to maintaine her fire:
Passion grew hot and furious, whose delay
Of execution, was but taking day
For greater payment: His revengefull heart
Boild in his brest; whilst Fury did impart
Her readie counsels, whose imperious breath,
Could whisper nothing, under bloud, and death:
Revenge was studious, quickned his conceit,
And screw'd her Engins to the very height:
At length, when time had rip'ned his desires,
And puffing rage had blowne his secret fires
To open flame, now ready for confusion,
He thus began t'attempt his first conclusion;

The patient Angler, first provides his baite,
Before his hopes can teach him to awaite
Th'enjoyment of his long expected prey;
Revengefull Samson, ere he can appay
His wrongs with timely vengeance, must intend
To gaine the Instruments, to worke his end;
He plants his Engines, hides his snares about,
Pitches his Toiles, findes new devices out,

337

To tangle wilie Foxes; In few dayes,
(That land had store) his studious hand betrayes
A leash of hundreds, which he thus imploye
As Agents in his rashfull enterprize;
With tough, and force-enduring thongs of Leth,
He joynes and couples taile, and taile together,
And every thong bound in a Brand of fire,
So made by Art, that motion would inspire
Continuall flames, and as the motion ceast,
The thriftie blaze would then retire and rest
In the close brand, untill a second strife
Gave it new motion; and that motion, life:
Soone as these coupled Messengers receiv'd
Their fiercy Errand, though they were bereiv'd
Of power to make great hast, they made good speed;
Their thoughts were diffring, though their tailes agreed:
T'one drags and draws to th'East; the other, West;
One fit, they runne, another while they rest;
T'one skulks and snarles, the t'other tugges and hales;
At length, both flee, with fire in their tailes,
And in the top and height of all their speed,
T'one stops before the other bee agreed;
The other pulls, and dragges his fellow backe,
Whilst both their tailes were tortur'd on the racke;
At last both weary of their warme Embassage,
Their better ease discride a fairer passage,
And time hath taught their wiser thoughts to joyne
More close, and travell in a straiter line:
Into the open Champion they divide
Their straggling paces (where the ploughmans pride
Found a faire object, in his rip'ned Corne;
Whereof, some part was reapt; some, stood unshorne)
Sometimes the fiery travellers would seeke
Protection beneath a swelling Reeke;

338

But soone that harbour grew too hot for stay,
Affording onely light, to runne away;
Sometimes, the full-ear'd standing wheat must cover
And hide their flames; and there the flames would hover
About their cares, and send them to enquire
A cooler place; but there the flaming fire
Would scorch their hides; & send thē sindg'd away;
Thus doubtfull where to goe, or where to stay,
They range about; flee forward, then retire;
Now here, now there, wher ere they come, they fire:
Nothing was left, that was not lost, and burn'd;
And now, that fruitfull land of Iewry's turn'd
A heape of Ashes; That faire land, while ere
Which fild all hearts with joy, and every eare
With newes of plenty, and of blest encrease,
(The ioyfull issue of a happy peace)
See, how it lies in her owne ruines, void
Of all her happinesse, disguis'd, destroyd:
With that the Philistines, whose sad reliefe
And comfort's deeply buried in their griefe,
Began to question (they did all partake
In th'irrecoverable losse) and spake,

What cursed brand of Hell? What more than Devill,
What envious Miscreant hath done this evill?
Whereto one sadly standing by, replide;

It was that cursed Samson (Whose faire Bride
Was lately ravisht from his absent brest
By her false father) who before the feast
Of nuptiall was a month expir'd, and done,
By second marriage, own'd another Sonne;
For which this Samson heav'd from off the henge
Of his lost reason, studied this revenge;
That Timnits falshood wrought this desolation;
Samson the Actor was, but he, th'occasion:

339

With that they all consulted to proceed
In height of Iustice, to revenge this deed;
Samson whose hand was the immediat cause
Of this foule act, is stronger than their lawes;
Him, they referre to time; For his proud hand
May bring a second ruine to their land;
The cursed Timnite, he that did divide
The lawfull Bridgroome from his lawfull Bride,
And mov'd the patience of so strong a foe,
To bring these evils, and worke their overthrow,
To him they haste; and with resolv'd desire
Of bloud, they burne his house, & him with fire.

Meditat. 15.

Dost thou not tremble? does thy troubled eare
Not tingle? nor thy spirits faint to heare
The voice of those, whose dying shriekes proclaime
Their tortures, that are broyling in the flame?
She, whose illustrious beautie did not know
Where to be matcht, but one poore houre agoe;
She, whose faire eyes were apt to make man erre
From his knowne faith, and turne Idolater;
She, whose faire cheeks, inricht with true complexion,
Seem'd Beauties store-house of her best perfection;
See how she lies, see how this beautie lies,
A foule offence, unto thy loathing eyes;
A fleshly Cinder, lying on the floore
Starke naked, had it not beene covered ore
With bashfull ruines, which were fallen downe
From the consumed roofe, and rudely throwne
On this halfe roasted earth. O; canst thou reade
Her double storie, and thy heart not bleed?

340

What art thou more than she? Tell me wherein
Art thou more priviledg'd? Or can thy sinne
Plead more t'excuse it? Art thou faire and young?
Why so was she: Were thy temptations strong?
Why so were hers: What canst thou plead, but she
Had power to plead the same, as well as thee?
Nor was't her death alone, could satisfie
Revenge; her father, and his house must die:
Vnpunisht crimes doe often bring them in,
That were no lesse than strangers to the sinne:
Ely must die; because his faire reproofe
Of too foule sinne, was not austere enough:
Was vengeance now appeas'd? Hath not the crime
Paid a sufficient Intrest for the time?
Remove thine eye to the Philistian fields
See what increase their fruitfull harvest yeelds:
There's nothing there, but a confused heape
Of ruinous Ashes: There's no corne to reape:
Behold the poyson of unpunisht sinne:
For which the very earth's accurst againe:
Famine must act her part; her griping hand,
For one mans sinne must punish all the land:
Is vengeance now appeas'd? Hath sinne given ore
To cry for plagues? Must vengeance yet have more?
O, now th'impartiall sword must come; and spill
The bloud of such, as famine could not kill:
The language of unpunisht sinne cryes loud,
It roares for Iustice, and it must have bloud:
Famine must follow, where the fire begun;
The sword must end, what both have left undone.

Iust God! our sinnes doe dare thee to thy face;
Our score is great, our Ephah fills apace;
The leaden cover threatens every minut,
To close the Ephah, and our sinnes within it.

341

Turne backe thine eye: Let not thine eye behold
Such vile pollutions: Let thy vengeance hold:
Looke on thy dying Sonne, there shalt thou spie
An object, that's more fitter for thine eye;
His sufferings (Lord) are farre above our finnes:
O, looke thou there; Ere Iustice once begins
T'unsheath her sword: O let one precious drop
Fall from that pierced side, and that will stop
The eares of vengeance, from that clamorous voice
Of our loud sinnes, which make so great a noise:
O, send that drop, before Revenge begins,
And that will crie farre louder than our sinnes.

Sect. 16.

The Argvment.

He makes a slaughter; Doth remove
To Etans rocke, where to repay him
The wrongs that he had done, they move
The men of Iudah to betray him.

Thus when th'accurs'd Philistians had appaid
The Timnits sinne, with ruine: and betraid
Th'unjust Offenders to their fierce desire,
And burn'd their cursed Family with fire:
Samson, the greatnesse of whose debt deni'd
So short a payment; and whose wrongs yet cride
For further vengeance, to be further laid
Vpon the sinne-conniving Nation, said,

Vnjust Philistians, you that could behold
So capital a crime, and yet with-hold
This well deserved punishment so long;
Which made you partners in their sinne, my wrong;

342

Hadyee at first, when as the fault was young,
Before that Time had lent her clamorous tongue
So great a strength to call for so much bloud;
O, hid your earlie Justice but thought good
To strike in time; nay, had you then devis'd
Some easier punishment, it had suffic'd;
But now it comes too late; The sinne has cryed,
Till heaven hath heard, and mercy is denied:
Nay, had the sinne but spar'd to roare so loud,
A drop had serv'd, when now a Tide of bloud
Will hardly stop her mouth:
Had ye done this betimes! But now, this hand
Must plague your persons, and afflict your land:

Have ye beheld a youth-instructing Tutor,
(Whose wisdome's seldome seene, but in the future)
When well deserved punishment shall call
For the delinquent Boy; how, first of all,
He preaches fairely; then proceeds austerer
To the foule crime, whilst the suspitious hearer
Trembles at every word, untill at length,
His language being ceas'd, th'unwelcome strength
Of his rude arme, that often proves too rash,
Strikes home, and fetches bloud at every lash:
Even so stout Samson, whose more gentle tongue,
In easie tearmes, doth first declare tho wrong,
In justice did, then tells the evill effects
That mans connivence, and unjust neglects
Does often bring upon th'afflicted land;
But, at the last, upheaves his ruthlesse hand;
He hewes, he hacks, and furie being guide,
His unresisted power doth divide
From top to toe; his furious weapon cleft,
Where ere it strucke: It slue, and never left,
Vntill his flesh-destroying arme, at length,

343

Could finde no subject, where t'imploy his strength:
Here stands a head-strong Steed, whose fainting guider
Drops down; another drags his wounded rider:
Now here, now there his franticke arme would thunder
And at one stroake, cleaves horse & man in sunder,
In whose mixt bloud, his hands would oft embrue,
And where so ere they did but touch, they slew:
Here's no imployment for the Surgeons trade,
All wounds were mortall that his weapon made;
Theres none was left, but dying, or else dead,
And onely they, that scap'd his fury, fled;
The slaughter ended, the proud victor past
Through the afflicted land, untill at last,
He comes to Judah; where he pitcht his tent,
At the rocke Etan: There some time he spent;
He spent not much, till the Philistian band,
That found small comfort in their wasted land,
Came up to Judah and there pitch'd not farre
From Samsons tent; their hands were arm'd to warre:
With that the men of Judah, strucke with feare,
To see so great an Armie, straite drew neere,
To the sad Campe; who, after they had made
Some signes of a continued peace, they said;

What new designes have brought your royall band
Vpon the borders of our peacefull land?
What strange adventures? What disastrous weather
Drove you this way? What businesse brought you hether?
Let not my Lords be angry, or conceive
“ An evill against your Servants: What we have,
“ Is yours; The peacefull plentie of our land
“ And we, are yours, and at your owne command:
“ Why, to what purpose are you pleas'd to shew us
“ Your strength! Why bring you thus an Army to us?
“ Are not our yearly tributes justly paid?

344

Have we not kept our vowes? have we delaid
Our faithfull service, or denied to doe it,
When you have pleas'd to call your servants to it?
Have we, at any time, upon your triall,
Shrunke from our plighted faith, or prov'd disloyall?
If that proud Samson have abus'd your land,
'Tis not our faults; Alas, we had no hand
In his designes: We lent him no releefe;
No aid; No, we were partners in your griefe.
Where to the Philistines, whose hopes relyde
Vpon their faire assistance, thus replyde:

Feare not yee men of Iudah; Our intentions
Are not to wrong your peace: Your apprehensions
Are too toe-timerous; Our desires are bent
Against the common Foe, whose hands have spent
Our lavish bloud, and rob'd our wasted land
Of all her joyes: Tis he, our armed band
Expects, and followes: He is cloystred here,
Within your Quarters: Let your faiths appeare
Now in your loyall actions, and convay
The skulking Rebell to us, that we may
Revenge our bloud, which he hath wasted thus,
And doe to him, as he hath done to us.

Meditat. 16.

It was a sharpe revenge: But was it just?
Shall one man suffer for another? Must
The childrens teeth be set on edge, because
Their fathers ate the grapes? Are heavens lawes
So strict? whose lips did, with a promise, tell,
That no such law should passe in Israel:
Because the injurous Timnits treacherous hand

345

Commits the fault, must Samson scourge the land?
Sinne is a furious plague, and it infects
The next inhabitant, if he neglects
The meanes t'avoid it: Tis not because he sinnes
That thou art punisht: No, it then begins
T'infect thy soule; when, thou a stander by,
Reprov'st it not: or when thy carelesse eye
Slights it as nothing: If a sinne of mine
Grieve not thy wounded soule, it becomes thine.
Thinke yee that God commits the Sword of power
Into the hands of Magistrates, to scower
And keep it bright? Or onely to advance
His yet unknowne Authority? Perchance,
The glorious Hilt and Scabberd make a show
To serve his turne, have it a blade, or no,
He neither knowes, nor cares: Is this man fit
T'obtaine so great an honor, as to sit
As Gods Lievtenant, and to punish sinne?
Know leaden Magistrates, and know agin,
Your Sword was giv'n to draw, and to be dyde
In guilty blood, not to be layd aside
At the request of friends, or for base feare,
Lest when your honor's ended with the yeare,
Ye may be baffled: 'tis not enough that you
Finde bread be waight, or that the waights be true:
'Tis not enough, that every foule disorder
Must be refer'd to your more wise Recorder:
The charge is given to you: You must returne
A faire account, or else, the Land must mourne:
You keepe your swords too long a season in,
And God strikes us, because you strike not sinne:
Y'are too remisse, and want a Resolution:
Good Lawes lie dead for lack of execution:
An oath is growne so bold, that it will laugh

346

The easie Act, to scorne: Nay, we can quaffe
And reele with priviledge: and we can trample
Vpon our shame-shrunke cloakes, by your example:
You are too dull: too great offences passe
Vntoucht; God loves no service from the Asse;
Rouze up, O use the spurre, and spare the bridle,
God strikes, because your swords, and you are idle;
Grant Lord that every one may mend a fault;
And then our Magistrates may stand for nought.

Sect. 17.

The Argvment.

The faithlesse men of Iudah went
To make him subject to their bands:
They bound him by his owne consent,
And brought him prisoner to their hands.

So said: The men of Iudah (whose base feare
Taught them to open an obedient eare
To their revengefull and unjust request)
Accept the treacherous motion, and addrest
Their slavish thoughts, to put in execution
The subject of their seruile resolution:
With that, three thousand of their ablest men
Are soone employ'd; To the fierce Lyons den
They come, (yet daring not approach too neare)
And sent this louder language to his eare;

Victorious Samson, whose renowned facts
Have made the world a Register of thy acts;
Great Army of men, the wonder of whose power
Gives thee the title of a walking Tower,

347

Why hast thou' thus betraid us to the hand
Of the accurs'd Philistines? Thou know'st our Land
Does owe it selfe to thee; There's none can clame
So great an interest in our hearts: Thy name,
Thy highly honour'd name, for ever, beares
A welcome Accent in our joyfull eares;
But now the times are dangerous, and a band
Of proud Philistians quarter in our land;
And for thy sake, the tyranie of their tongues
Hath newly threatned to revenge the wrongs
Vpon our peacefull lives: Their lips have vow'd
And sworne to salve their injuries with our bloud;
Their jealous fury hollowes in our eares,
They'l plague our Land, as thou hast plagued theirs:
If we refuse to doe their fierce command,
And bring not Samson prisoner to their hand;
Alas, thou know'st our servile necks must bow
To their imperious. Yoke; Alas, our vow
Of loyalty is past: If they bid, doe;
We must; or lose our lands, and our lifes too,
Were but our lifes in hazard, or if none
Should feele the smart of death, but we alone,
Wee'd turne thy Martyrs, rather than obey'm,
Wee'd die with Samson sooner than betray'm;
But we have wifes, and children, that would be
The subjects of their rage, as well as wee:
Wherefore submit thy person, and fulfill
What we desire so much against our will:
Alas our griefes in equall poisure lye;
Teeld, and thou dyest: yeeld not, and we must die:
Where to sad Samson, whose faire thoughts did guide
His lips to fairer language, thus replide;
Te men of Iudah, what distrustfull thought
Of single Samsons violence hath brought

348

So great a strength, as if you meant t'orethrow
Some mighty Monarch, or surprise a Foe!
Your easie errand might as well bin done
By two or three, or by the lips of one;
The meanest child of holy Israels seede
Might conquer'd Samson with a bruised reede:
Alas, the boldnesse of your welcome words
Need no protection of these staves and swords:
Brethren, the intention of my comming hither
Was not to wrong you, or deprive you, either
Of lives, or goods, or of your poorest due;
My selfe is cheaper to my selfe, than you;
My comming is on a more faire designe,
I come to crush your tyranous foes, and mine,
I come to free your countrey, and recall
Your servile souldiers from the slavish thrall
Of the proud Philistines; and with this hand,
To make you freemen in your promis'd Land;
But you are come to binde me, and betray
Your faithfull Champion to those bands, that lay
Perpetuall burdens on, which dayly vex
Your galled shoulders, and your servile neckes:
The wrongs these cursed Philistines have done
My simple innocence, have quite outrunne
My easie patience: If my arme may right
My too much injur'd sufferance, and requite
What they have done to me, it would appease
My raging thoughts, and give my tortures ease;
But ye are come to binde me: I submit;
I yeeld; And if my bondage will acquit
Your new borne feares, 'Tis well: But they that doe
Attempt to ruine me, will ransacke you:
First, you shall firmely' engage your plighted troth,
By the acceptance of a sacred oath,

349

That when I shall be pris'ner to your bands,
I may not suffer violence by your hands:
With that, they drawing nearer to him, laid
Their hands beneath his brawny thigh, and said,
Then let the God of Iacob cease to blesse
The tribe of Iudah, with a faire successe,
In ought they put their cursed band unto,
And raze their seed, Jf we attempt to doe
Bound Samson violence; And if this curse
Be not sufficient, heaven contrive a worse:
With that the willing prisoner joyn'd his hands,
To be subjected to their stronger bands:
With treble twisted cords, that never tried
The twitch of strength, their busie fingers tied
His sinewy wrists, which being often wound
About his beating pulse, they brought him bound
To the forefront of the Philistian band,
And left him captive in their cursed hand.

Meditat. 17.

O what a pearle is hidden in this field,
Whose orient luster, and perfections yeeld
So great a treasure, that the Easterne Kings,
With all the wealth, their colder Climate brings;
Nere saw the like: It is a pearle whose glory
Is the diviner subject of a story,
Pend by an Angels quill; not understood
By the too dull conceit of flesh and bloud!
Vnkinde Judeans, what have you presented
Before your eyes? O, what have you attented!

350

He that was borne on purpose, to release
His life for yours, to bring your Nation peace;
To turne your mournings into joyfull Songs;
To fight your Battells; to revenge your wrongs;
Even him, alas, your cursed hands have made
This day your prisoner; Him have you betraid
To death: O, he whose snowy arme had power
To crush you all to nothing, and to shower
Downe strokes like thunderbolts, whose blasting breath
Might in a moment, puft you all to death,
And made ye fall before his frowning Brow,
See how he goes away, betraid by you!

Thou great Redeemer of the world! whose bloud
Hath power to save more worlds, than Noahs floud
Destroyed bodies; thou, O thou that art
The Samson of our soules, How can the heart
Of man give thankes enough, that does not know
How much his death-redeemed soule does owe
To thy deare merits? We can apprehend
No more than flesh and bloud does recommend
To our confined thoughts: Alas, we can
Conceive thy love, but as the love of man:
We cannot tell the horror of that paine
Thou bought us from; nor can our hearts attaine
Those joyes that thou hast purchas'd in our name,
Nor yet the price thou paidst: our thoughts are lāe,
And craz'd; Alas, things mortall have no might,
No meanes to comprehend an Infinite:
We can behold thee cradled in a Manger
In a poore Stable: We can see the danger
The Tetrarch's fury made thee subject to;
We can conceive thy peverty; We know
Thy blessed hands (that might bin freed) were boūd,
We know, alas, thy bleeding browes were crown'd

351

With pricking thorne; Thy body torne with whips;
Thy palmes impeirc'd with ragged nailes; Thy lips
Saluted with a Traitors kisse; Thy browes
Sweating forth bloud: Thy oft repeated blowes;
Thy fastning to the crosse; Thy shamefull death;
These outward tortures all come underneath
Our dull conceits: But, what thy blessed soule
(That bore the burden of our guilt, and Scroule
Of all our sinnes, and horrid paines of Hell)
O, what that soule endur'd, what soule can tell!

Sect. 18.

The Argvment.

He breakes their bands; And with a bone
A thousand Philistians he slue:
Hee thirsted; fainted; made his moane
To Heaven: He drinkes, his spirits renew.

Thus when the glad Philistians had obtain'd
The summe of all their hopes, they entertain'd
The welcome pris'ner with a greater noise
Of triumph than the greatnesse of their joyes
Required: Some, with sudden death would greet
The new come Guest; whilst others, more discreet,
With lingring paines, and tortures more exact,
Would force him to discover, in the Fact,
Who his Abettors were: others gainsaid
That course, for feare a rescue may be made;
Come cry, 'Tis fittest that th'Offender bleed
There where his cursed hands had done the deed:

352

Others cryed, No, where Fortune hath consign'd him,
Wee'le kill him: Best; to kill him, where we finde him:
Thus variously they spent their doubtfull breath,
At last they all agreed on sudden death;
There's no contention now, but onely who
Shall strike the first, or give the speeding blow:
Have ye beheld a single thred of flax,
Touch'd by the fire, how the fire crackes
With ease, and parts the slender twine in sunder,
Even so, as the first arme began to thunder
Vpon the Prisners life, he burst the bands
From his strong wrists, & freed his loosned hands;
He stoop'd; from off the bloud-expecting grasse,
He snatcht the crooked jaw-bone of an Asse;
Wherewith, his fury dealt such downe-right blowes
So oft redoubled, that it overthrowes
Man after man; And being ring'd about
With the distracted, and amazed rout
Of rude Philistians, turn'd his body round,
And in a circle dings them to the ground:
Each blow had proofe; for, where the jaw-bone mist,
The furious Champion wounded with his fist:
Betwixt them both, his fury did uncase
A thousand soules, which in that fatall place,
Had left their ruin'd carkeises, to feast
The flesh-devouring fowle, and rav'nous beast:
With that, the Conquerour, that now had fed
And surfeited his eye upon the dead
His hand had slaine, sate downe; and having flung
His purple weapon by, triumpht, and sung;

Samson rejoyce: Be fill'd with mirth;
Let all Iudea know,
And tell the Princes of the earth
How strong an arme hast thou:

353

How has thy dead enricht the land
And purpled ore the grasse,
That hadst no weapon in thy hand,
But the jaw-bone of an Asse!
How does thy strength and high renowne
The glory of men surpasse!
Thine arme has strucke a thousand downe,
With the jaw-bone of an Asse:
Let Samsons glorious name endure,
Till Time shall render One,
Whose greater glory shall obscure
The glory thou hast wone.

His song being ended, rising from the place
Whereon he lay, he turn'd his ruthlesse face
Vpon those heapes his direfull hand had made,
And op'ning of his thirsty lips, he said:

Great God of conquest, thou by whose command
The heart received courage, and this hand
Strength, to revenge thy quarrels, and fulfill
The secret motion of thy sacred will;
What, shall thy Champion perish now with thirst?
Thou knowst, I have done nothing, but what first
Was warranted by thy command: 'Twas thou
That gave my spirit boldnesse, and my brow
A resolution: 'Tis mine arme did doe
No more, than what thou didst enjoyne me to:
And shall I die for thirst? O thou that sav'd
Me from the Lyons rage, that would have rav'd
Vpon my life: by whom J have subdu'd
Thy cursed enemies, and have imbru'd
My heaven-commanded hands, in a spring-tyde
Of guilty bloud; Lord, shall J be denyde
A draught of cooling water to allay
The tyranny of my thirst? J, that this day

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Have labourd in thy Vineyard; rooted out
So many weeds, whose lofty crests did sprout
Above thy trodden Vines; what, shall I dye
For want of water, thou the fountaine by?
I know that thou wert here, for had'st thou not
Supplyde my hand with strength, I ne're had got
So strange a vict'rie: Hath thy servant taken
Thy worke in hand, and is he now forsaken?
Hast thou not promis'd that my strengthned hand
Shall scourge thy Foe-men, and secure thy Land
From slavish bondage? will that arme of thine
Make me their slave, whom thou hast promist mine?
Bow downe thy eare, and heare my needfull crye;
O, quench my thirst, great God, or else I dye:
With that the jaw, wherewith his arme had laid
So many sleeping in the dust, obeyde
The voice of God, and cast a tooth, from whence
A sudden spring arose, whose confluence
Of chrystall waters, plenteously disburst
Their precious streames; and so allaid his thurst.

Meditat. 18.

The jaw bone of an Asse? how poore a thing
God makes his powerfull Instrument to bring

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Some honour to his name, and to advance
His greater glory! came this bone, by chance,
To Samsons hand? Or could the Army goe
No further? but must needs expect a foe
Iust where his weapon of destruction lay?
Was there no fitter place, for them to stay,
But even just there? How small a thing 't had bin
(If they had beene so provident) to winne
The day with ease? Had they but taken thence
That cursed bone, what colour of defence
Had Samson found? Or how could he withstood
The necessary danger of his bloud?

Where Heav'n doth please to ruine, humane wit
Must faile, and deeper policie must submit:
There, wisdome must be fool'd, & strength of braine
Must worke against it selfe, or worke in vaine:
The tracke that seemes most likely, often leads
To death; and where securitie most pleads,
There, dangers, in their fairest shapes, appeare,
And give us not so great a helpe, as feare:
The things we least suspect are often they,
That most affect our ruine, and betray:
Who would have thought, the silly Asses bone,
Not worth the spurning, should have overthrowne
So stout a band? Heav'n oftentimes thinkes best,
To overcome the greatest with the least:
He gaines most glory in things, that are most slight,
And winnes in honour, what they want in might:
Who would have thought that Samsons deadly thurst
Should have bin quencht with waters, that did burst
And flow from that dry bone? who would not thinke
The thirstie Conquerour, for want of drinke,
Should first have died? what mad man could presume
So dry a tooth should yeeld so great a Rheume?

356

God does not worke like man; nor is he tyed
To outward meanes: His pleasure is his guide,
Not Reason: He, that is the God of nature,
Can worke against it: He that is Creator
Of all things, can dispose them, to attend
His will, forgetting their created end:
Hee whose Almighty power did supply
This bone with water, made the red Sea dry:

Great God of nature, 'Tis as great an ease
For thee to alter nature, if thou please,
As to create it; Let that hand of thine
Shew forth thy powre, and please to alter mine:
My sinnes are open, but my sorrow's hid;
I cannot drench my couch, as David did;
My braines are marble, and my heart is stone:
O strike mine eyes, as thou didst strike that bone.

Sect. 19.

The Argvment.

He lodgeth with a Harlot: Wait
Is laid, and guardes are pitcht about;
He beeres away the City gate
Vpon his shoulders, and goes out.

Thus when victorious Samson had unliv'd
This hoast of armed men; and had reviv'd
His fainting spirits, and refresht his tongue
With those sweet christal streames, that lately sprūg
From his neglected weapon, he arose
(Secured from the tyrannie of his Foes

357

By his Heaven-borrowed strength) & boldly came
To a Philistian City, knowne by th'name
Of Azza; where, as he was passing by,
The carelesse Champion cast his wandring eye
Vpon a face, whose beauty did invite
His wanton heart to wonder and delight:
Her curious haire was crisp'd: Her naked brest
Was white as Ivory, and fairely drest
With costly Iewells: In her glorious face,
Nature was hidden, and dissembled grace
Damaskt her rosie cheekes: Her eyes did sparke,
At every glance, like Diamonds in the darke;
Bold was her brow; whose frowne was but a foile
To glorifie her better-pleasing smile;
Her pace was carelesse, seeming to discover
The passions of a discontented Lover:
Sometime, her opned Casement gives her eye
A twinckling passage to the passer by;
And, when her fickle fancy had given ore
That place, she comes, and wantons at the doore;
There Samson view'd her, and his steps could finde
No further ground; but (guided by his minde)
Cast Anchor there: Have thy observing eyes
Ere mark'd the Spiders garbe, How close she lies
Within her curious webbe; And by and by,
How quicke she hastes to her intangled Flie;
And whispring poyson in her murmuring eares,
At last, she tugges her silent guest, and beares
His Hampred body to the inner roome
Of her obscure and solitary Home;
Even so this snaring beauty entertaines
Our eye-led Samson, tampred with the chaines
Of her imperious eyes; and he, that no man
Could conquer; now lies conquered by a woman:

358

Faire was his welcome, and as fairely exprest
By her delicious language, which profest
No lesse affection than so sweet a friend,
Could, with her best expressions, recommend:
Into her glorious chamber she directs
Her welcome guest, and with her faire respects
She entertaines him; with a bountious kisse,
She gives him earnest of a greater blisse;
And with a brazen countenance, she brake
The way to her unchaste desires, and spake;

Mirrour of mankinde, thou selected flowre
Of loves faire knot, welcome to Flora's bowre;
Cheare up my Love; and looke vpon these eyes,
Wherein my beauty, and thy picture lyes;
Come take me prisner, in thy folded armes;
And boldly strike up sprightly loves alarmes
Vpon these rubey lips, and let us trie
The sweets of love; Here's none but thee and I:
My beds are softest downe, and purest lawne
My sheets; my Vallents and my curtaines drawne
In gold and silkes of curious die: Behold,
My covrinsg are of Tap'stry, 'inricht with gold;
Come, come, and let us take our fill of pleasure;
My husbands absence lends me dainty leasure
To give thee welcome: Come, let's spend the night
In sweet enjoyment of unknowne delight.
Her words prevail'd: And being both undrest,
Together went to their defiled rest:
By this the newes of Samsons being there
Possest the City, and fill'd every eare:
His death is plotted; And advantage lends
New hopes of speed: An armed guard attends
At every gate, that when the breaking day
Shall send him forth, th'expecting forces may

359

Betray him to his sudden death; and so
Revenge their kingdomes ruines at a blow:
But lustfull Samson (whose distrustfull eares
Kept open house) was now possest with feares:
He heares a whisp'ring; and the trampling feet
Of people passing in the silent street;
He whom undaunted courage lately made
A glorious Conquerour, is now afraid;
His conscious heart is smitten with his sinne;
He cannot chuse but feare, and feare agin:
He feares; and now the terrible alarmes
Of sinne doe call him from th'unlawfull armes
And lips of his luxurious Concubine;
Bids him, arise from dalliance, and resigne
The usurpation of his luke-warme place
To some new sinner, whose lesse dangerous case
May lend more leisure to so soule a deed:
Samson, with greater and vnwonted speed
Leapes from his wanton bed; his feares doe presse
More haste to cloath; than lust did, to undresse:
He makes no tarryance; but with winged hast,
Bestrides the streets; and to the gates he past,
And through the armed troupes, he makes his way;
Beares gates, and barres, and pillers all away;
So scap'd the rage of the Philistian band,
That still must owe his ruine, to their land.

Medit. 19.

How weake, at strongest, is poore flesh & blood!
Samson, the greatnes of whose power withstood
A little world of armed men, with death,
Must now be foyled with a womans breath:

360

The mother, sometimes lets her infant fall,
To make it hold the surer by the wall:
God lets his servant often goe amisse,
That he may turne, and see how weake he is:
David that found an overflowing measure
Of heavens high favours, and as great a treasure
Of saving grace, and portion of the Spirit,
As flesh and bloud was able to inherit,
Must have a fall to exercise his feares,
And make him drowne his restics couch with tears:
Wise Salomon, within whose heart was planted
The fruitfull stockes of heavenly wisdome, wanted
Not that, whereby his weakenesse understood
The perfect vanity of flesh and bloud:
Whose hand seem'd prodigall of his Isaacs life,
He durst not trust Gods providence with his wife:
The righteous Lot had slidings: Holy Paul
He had his pricke; and Peter had his fall:
The sacred Bride, in whose faire face remaines
The greatest earthly beauty, hath her staines:
If man were perfect, land entirely good,
He were not man: he were not flesh and blood:
Or should he never fall, he would at length,
Not see his weakenesse, and presume in strength:
Ere children know the sharpnesse of the Edge,
They thinke, their fingers have a priveledge
Against a wound; but having felt the knife,
A bleeding finger, sometime saves a life:

Lord, we are children, & our sharpe-edg'd knives,
Together with our bloud, lets out our lives;
Alas, if we but draw them from the sheath,
They cut our fingers, and they bleed to death.

Thou great Chirurgion of a bleeding soule,
Whose soveraigne baulme, is able to make whole

361

The deepest wound, Thy sacred salve is sure;
We cannot bleed so fast, as thou canst cure:
Heale thou our wounds, that, having salv'd the sore
Our hearts may feare, and learne to sinne no more;
And let our hands be strangers to those knives,
That wound not fingers onely, but our lives.

Sect. 20.

The Argvment.

He falls in league with Delila:
The Nobles bribe her to discover
Her Samsons strength, and learne the way
To binde her arme-prevailing Lover.

Not farre from Azza, in a fruitfull Valley
Close by a brooke, whose silver streams did dalley
With the smooth bosome of the wanton sands,
Whose winding current parts the neighbring lands,
And often washes the beloved sides
Of her delightfull bankes, with gentle tydes;
There dwelt a Beauty, in whose Sunne-bright eye,
Love sate inthron'd; and full of Majestie,
Sent forth such glorious eye-surprizing rayes,
That she was thought the wonder of her dayes:
Her name was called Delila, the faire;
Thither did amorous Samson oft repaire,
And with the piercing flame of her bright eye,
He toy'd so long; that like a wanton flye
He burnt his lustfull wings, and so became
the slavish prisner to that conquering flame:

362

She askt, and had: There's nothing was too high
For her, to beg; or Samson to denie:
Who now, but Delila? What name can raise
And crowne his drooping thoughts, but Delila's?
All time's mispent, each houre is cast away,
That's not imploy'd upon his Delila:
Gifts must be given to Delila: No cost,
If sweetest Delila but smile, is lost:
No ioy can please; no happinesse can crowne
His best desires, if Delila but frowne:
No good can blesse his amorous heart, but this,
Hee's Delila's, and Delila is his:
Now, when the louder breath of fame had blowne
Her newes-proclaiming Trumpet, & made knowne
This Lovers passion, to the joyfull eares
Of the cow'd Philistines; their nimble feares
Advis'd their better hopes, not to neglect
So faire advantage, which may bring t'effect
Their best desires, and right their wasted Land
Of all her wrongs, by a securer hand:
With that, some few of the Philistian Lords
Repaire to Delila; with baited words
They tempt the frailty of the simple maid,
And, having sworne her to their counsell, said:

Faire Delila; Thou canst not chuse but know
The miseries of our land: whose ruines show
The danger, whereinto not we, but all,
If thou deny thy helpefull hand, must fall:
Those fruitfull fields, that offer'd, but of late,
Their plenteous favours to our prosperous state;
See, how they lie a ruinous heape, and void
Of all their plenty; wasted, and destroyde:
Our common foe hath sported with our lives:
Hath slaine our children, and destroy'd our wives:

363

Alas, our poore distressed land doth grone
Vnder that mischiefe that his hands have done;
Widowes implore thee, and poore Orphans tongues
Call to faire Delila, to right their wrongs:
It lies in thee, to help; Thy helpefull hand
May haue the Glory to revenge thy land;
For which our thankefull Nation shall allow
Not onely honour, but reward; and thou,
From every hand that's present here, shalt gaine
Aboue a thousand Sicles for thy paine:
To whom, faire Delila, whom reward had tied
To satisfie her owne desires, replied;
My Lords;
My humble service I acknowledge due,
Fist, to my native country; next, to you:
If Heaven, and Fortune, have enricht my hand,
With so much power, to relieve our Land,
When ere your honours please to call me to it,
Beleeve it Delila shall die, or doe it:
Say then (my Lords) wherein my power may doe
This willing Service to my land, or you.
Thou knowest, (say they) No forces can wishstand
The mighty strength of cursed Samsons hand;
He ruines Armies, and does overthrow
Our greatest Bands, nay, kingdomes at a blow;
The limits of his, more then manly, powers
Are not confin'd, nor is his Arme like ours:
His strength is more then man; his conquering Arme
Hath, sure, th'assistance of some potent charme;
Which, nothing but the glory of thine eyes,
(Wherein a farre more strong enchantment lies;)
Can overthrow: He's prisoner to thine eye,
Nor canst thou aske, what Samson can deny:
The sweetnesse of thy language hath the Art,

364

To dive into the secrets of his heart;
Move Samson then: unbarre his bolted brest,
And let his deafned eares attaine no rest,
Vntill his eye-inchanted tongue replyes,
And tells thee, where his hidden power lyes:
Urge him to whisper in thy private eare,
And to repose his magicke mystr'y, there;
How, by what meanes, his strength may be betray'd
To bonds, and how his power may be allaid;
That we may right these wrongs, which his proud hand
Hath rudely offer'd to our ruinous land:
In this, thou shalt obtaine the reputation
To be the sole redeemer of thy Nation,
Whose wealth shall crowne thy loyalty with a meed
Due to the merits of so faire a deed:
Whereto, faire Delila (whose heart was tyed
To Samsons love, for her owne ends;) replied:

My honourable Lords: If my successe
In these your just imployments prove no lesse
Then my desiers, I should thinke my paines
Rewarded in the Action: Jf the raines
Of Samsons headstrong power were in my hands,
These lips should vow performance: Your commands
Should worke obedience, in the loyall brest
Of your true servant; who would never rest,
Till she had done the deed: But know, my Lords,
Jf the poore frailty of a womans words
May shake so great a power, and prevaile,
My best advis'd endeavours shall not faile
To be imploy'd: Ile make a sudden triall;
And quickly speed, or finde a foule deniall.

365

Meditat. 20.

Insatiate Samson! Could not Azza smother
Thy flaming Lust; but must thou finde another?
Is th'old growne stale? And seekst thou for a new?
Alas, where Two's too many, Three's too few:
Mans soule is infinite, and never tires
In the extension of her owne desires:
The sprightly nature of his active minde
Aimes still at further; Will not be confinde
To th'poore dimensions of flesh and blood;
Something it still desiers: Covets good,
Would faine be happy, in the sweet enjoyment
Of what it prosecutes, with the imployment
Of best endeavours; but it cannot finde
So great a good, but something's still behind:
It first propounds, applauds, desires, endeavours;
At last enjoyes; but (like to men, in Feavours,
Who fancy alway those things that are worst)
The more it drinks, the more it is athirst:
The fruitfull earth (whose nature is the worse
For sin; with man partaker in the curse)
Aimes at perfection; and would faine bring forth
(As first it did) things of the greatest worth;
Her colder wombe endeavours (as of old)
To ripen all her Metals, unto Gold;
O, but that sin-procured curse hath chill'd
The heate of pregnant Nature, and hath filld
Her barren seed, with coldnesse, which does lurke
In her faint wombe, that her more perfect worke

366

Is hindred; and, for want of heate, brings forth
Imperfect metals, of a baser worth:
Even so, the soule of Man, in her first state,
Receiv'd a power, and a will to that
Which was most pure, and good; but, since the losse
Of that faire freedome, onely trades in drosse;
Aimes shee at Wealth? alas, her proud desire
Strives for the best; but failing to mount higher
Than earth, her errour grapples, and takes hold
On that, which earth can onely give her, Gold:
Aimes she at Glory? Her ambition flies
As high a pitch, as her dull wings can rise;
But, failing in her strength, she leaves to strive,
And takes such Honour, as base earth can give:
Aimes she at Pleasure? her desires extend
To lasting joyes, whose pleasures have no end;
But, wanting wings, she grovels on the Dust,
And, there, she lights upon a carnall Lust:
Yet nerethelesse, th'aspring Soule desires
A perfect good; but, wanting those sweet fires,
Whose heate should perfect her unrip'ned will,
Cleaves to th'apparent Good, which Good is ill;
Whose sweet enjoyment, being farre unable
To give a satisfaction answerable
To her unbounded wishes, leaves a thirst
Of re-enjoyment, greater than the first.

Lord; When our fruitlesse fallowes are growne cold;
And out of heart, we can inrich the mould
With a new heate; wee can restore againe
Her weakned soile; and make it apt for graine;
And wilt thou suffer our faint soules; to lie
Thus unmanur'd, that is thy Husbandry?
They beare no other bulke, but idle weeds,
Alas, they have no heart, no heate; Thy seedes

367

Are cast away, untill thou please t'enspire
New strength, & quench them with thy sacred fire:
Stirre thou my Fallowes, and enrich my mould,
And they shal bring thee' encrease, a hundred fold.

Sect. 21.

The Argvment.

False Delila accosts her Lover:
her lips endeavour to entice
His gentle nature to discover
his strength: Samson deceives her thrice.

Soone as occasion lent our Champions eare
To Delila, which could not chuse but heare,
If Delila but whisper'd; she, whose wiles
Were neatly baited with her simple smiles,
Accosted Samson; Her alluring hand
Sometimes would stroke his Temples; sometime span'd
His brawny arme, Sometimes, would gently gripe
His sinewy wrest; Another while, would wipe
His sweating browes; Her wanton fingers plai'd,
Sometimes, with his faire lockes; sometimes, would brai'd
His long dishevell'd hair; her eyes, one while
Would steale a glance upon his eyes, and smile;
And, thē, her crafty lips would speak; then, smother
Her broken speech; and, then, begin another:
At last, as if a sudden thought had brake
From the faire prison of her lips, she spake;

How poore a Grisle is this arme of mine!
Me thinkes, 'tis nothing, in respect of thine;
I'd rather feele the power of thy Love,
Than of thy hand; In that, my heart would prove

368

The stouter Champion, and would make thee yeeld,
And leave thee captive in the conquer'd field.
The strength of my affection passes thine,
As much as thy victorious arme does mine;
The greatest conquest, then, is due to me;
Thou conquer'st others, but I conquer thee:
But say, my love, is it some bidden charme,
Or does thy stocke of youth enrich thy arme
With so great power, that can overthrow,
And conquer mighty Kingdomes, at a blow?
What cause have I to joy! J need not feare
The greatest danger, now my Samson's here:
I feare no Rebels now; me thinks, thy power
Makes me a Princesse, and my house, a Tower:
But say, my Love, if Delila should finde thee,
Lost in a fleepe, could not her fingers binde thee?
Me thinkes they should: But I would scorne to make
So poore a Conquest: When th'art broad awake,
Teach me the tricke: Or if thou wilt deny me;
Know, that my owne invention shall supply me,
Without thy helpe: I'le use a womans charmes,
And binde thee fast, within these circled Armes:
To whom, the Champion, smiling, thus replied;

Take the greene Osyers that were never dried,
And bind thy Samsons wrists together, then,
He shall be fast, and weake as other men:
With that, the Philistines, that lay in waite
Within an eares command, commanded strait,
That Osyers should be brought: wherwith she tyed
Victorious Samsons joyned hands, and cryed;
Samson make haste; and let thy strength appeare:
Samson take heed; the Philistines are here:
He starts, and as the flaming fier cracks
The slender substance of th'untwisted flaxe,

369

He twitcht in sunder his divided bands,
And in a moment freed his fastned hands;
With that offended Delila bewrai'd
A frowne, halfe sweetned with a smile, and said;

Thinkst thou, thy Delila does goe about
T'entrappe thy life? Or, can my Samson doubt
To lodge a secret in the loyall brest
Of faithfull Delila, that findes no rest,
No happinesse, but in thy heart, alone,
Whose Joy I prize farre dearer then my owne?
Why then shouldst thou deceive me, and impart
So soule a falshood, to so true a heart?
Come, grant my suite, and let that faithlesse tongue
Make love amends which hath done love this wrong:
To whom dissembling Samson thus replied,
Take twisted ropes, whose strength was never tryed,
And tye these closed hands together; then,
J shall be fast, and weake as other men:
With that, she bound him close; and having made
The knot more suer, then her love's, she said;
Samson arise; and take thy strength vpon thee;
Samson make hast; the Philistines are on thee:
He straight arose, and as a striving hand
Would breake a Sisters thred, he crackt the band
That bound his arms, he crackt the bands in sunder;
But frowning Delila, whose heart did wonder
No lesse then vexe, being fill'd with discontent,
She said; False lover, If thy heart had meant,
What thy faire tongue had formerly profest,
Thou nere hadst kept thy secrets from my brest:
Wherein hath Delila bin found unjust,
Not to deserve the honour of thy trust?
Wherein, have I beene faithlesse or disloyall?
Or what request of thine, ere found denyall?

370

Had I but bin so wise, as to deny,
Samson might beg'd, and misi, as well as I:
But 'tis my fortune, still, to be most free
To those, as are the most reserv'd to me:
Be not ingratefull, Samson; If my brest
Were but as false, as thine is hard, J'd rest
To tempt thy silence, or to move my suite:
Speake then, but speake the truth; or else be mute.
To whom, fond Samson; If thy hands would tye
These locks to yonder Beame, they will discrie
My native weaknesse: and thy Samson, then,
Would be as poore in strength, as other men:
So said; her busie fingers soone obey'd;
His locks being platted to the beame, she said:
Samson bestirre thee; and let thy power appeare:
Samson take heed, the Philistines are here:
With that he quits the place (whereon he lay,
Fallne fast asleepe) and bore the Beame away.

Meditat. 21.

See, how the crafty Serpent, twists and windes
Into the brest of man! What paths he findes,
And crooked by wayes! With how sweet a baite
He hides the hooke of his inveterate hate!
What suger'd words, and eare-delighting Art
He uses, to supplant the yeelding heart
Of poore deceived man, who stands and trusts
Vpon the broken staffe of his false lusts!
He tempts; allures; suggests; and, in conclusion,
Makes Man the Pander to his owne confusion:

371

The fruit was faire and pleasing to the eyes,
Apt to breed knowledge, and to make them wise;
Must they not taste so faire a fruit, not touch?
Yes, doe: Twill make you Gods, and know as much
As he that made it: Thinke you, you can fall
Into deaths hands? Yee shall not dye at all:
Thus fell poore man: his knowledge proved such,
Better't had bin, he had not knowne so much:
Thus this old Serpent takes advantage still
On our desiers, and distemperd will:
Art thou growne Covetous? wouldst thou faine be rich?
He comes and strikes thy heart with the dry itch
Of having: Wealth wil rouze thy heartles friends;
Make thee a potent Master of thy Ends;
'Twill bring thee honour; make thy suites at Law
Prosper at will; and keepe thy Foes in awe:
Art thou Ambitious? He will kindle fire
In thy proud thoughts & make thy thoughts aspire;
Hee'l come and teach thy honour how to scorne
Thy old acquaintance, whom thou hast outworne:
Hee'l teach thee how to Lord it, and advance
Thy servants fortunes, with thy Countenance:
Wouldst thou enjoy the Pleasures of the flesh?
Hee'l bring thee wanton Ladies, to refresh
Thy drooping soule: He'l teach thine eyes to wander;
Instruct thee how to wooe; Hee'l be thy Pander:
Hee'l fill thy amorous soule with the sweet passion
Of powerfull Love: Hee'l give thee dispensation,
To sinne at pleasure; He will make thee Slave
To thy own thoughts: hee'l make thee beg & crave
To be a drudge: hee'l make thy treacherous breath
Destroy thee, and betray thee to thy death.

Lord; if our Father Adam could not stay
In his upright perfection, one poore day;

372

How can it be expected, we have power
To hold out Seige, one scruple of an hower:
Our Armes are bound with too unequall bands;
We cannot strive; We cannot loose our hands:

Great Nazarite, awake; and looke upon us:
Make haste to helpe; The Philistines are on us.

Sect. 22.

The Argvment.

She sues againe: Samson replies
The very truth: Her lips betray him:
They binde him; They put out his eyes,
And to the prison they convey him.

With that; the wanton, whose distrustfull eye,
Was fixt upon reward, made this reply;

Had the deniall of my poore request
Proceeded from th'inexorable brest
Of one, whose open hatred sought t'endanger
My haunted life; Or had it bin a stranger,
That wanted so much nature, to deny
The doing of a common curtesie;
Nay, had it bin a friend that had deceiv'd me,
An ordinary friend, It nere had griev'd me:
But thou, even thou my bosome friend, that art
The onely joy of my deceived heart;
Nay thou, whose bony-dropping lips so often
Did plead thy undissembled love, and soften
My deare affection, which could never yeeld
To easier termes; By thee, to be beguild?

373

How often hast thou mockt my slender suite
With forged falshood? Hadst thou but beene mute,
J nere had hop'd: But being fairely led
Towards my prompt desiers, which were fed
With my false hopes, and thy false-hearted tongue,
And then beguild? J hold it as a wrong:
How canst thou say thou lov'st me? How can I
Thinke but thou hat'st me, when thy lips deny
So poore a Suite? Alas, my fond desire
Had flak'd, had not deniall blowne the fire:
Grant then at last, and let thy open brest
Shew that thou lov'st me', and grant my faire request:
Speake, or speake not, thy Delila shall give ore
To urge; her lips shall never urge thee more:
To whom the yeelding Lover thus betrai'd
His heart, being tortur'd unto death, and said;

My deare, my Delila; I cannot stand
Against so sweet a pleader; Jn thy hand
There entrust, aud to thy brest impart
Thy Samsons life, and secrets of his heart;
I now then my Delila, that J was borne
A Nazarite; These locks were never shorne;
No Raisor, yet, came ere upon my crowne;
There lies my strength, with thē, my strength is gone:
Were they but shaven, my Delila; O, then,
Thy Samson should be weake as other men;

No sooner had he spoken, but he spred
His body on the floore, his drowzy head,
He pillow'd on her lap; untill, at last,
He fell into a sleepe; and, being fast,
She clipt his locks from off his carelesse head,
And beckning the Philistians, she said;
Samson awake; Take strength and courage on thee;
Samson arise; The Philistines are on thee:

374

Even as a Dove, whose wings are clipt, for flying,
Flutters her idle stumps; and still's relying
Vpon her wonted refuge, strives in vaine,
To quit her life from danger, and attaine
The freedome of her ayre-diuiding plumes;
She struggles often, and she oft presumes
To take the sanctuary of the open fields;
But, finding that her hopes are vaine, she yeelds;
Even so poore Samson (frighted at the sound,
That rows'd him from his rest) forsook the ground;
Perceiving the Philistians there at hand,
To take him pris'ner, he began to stand
Vpon his wonted Guard: His threatning breath
Brings forth the prologue to their following death:
He rowz'd himselfe; and, like a Lyon, shooke
His drowzy limmes; and with a cloudy looke,
(Fore-telling boystrous, and tempestuous weather)
Defi'd each one, defi'd them all together:
Now, when he came to grapple, he upheav'd
His mighty hand; but, now (alas, bereav'd
Of wonted power) that confounding arme,
(That could no lesse then murther) did no harme;)
Blow was exchang'd, for blow; & wound for wound;
He, that, of late, disdained to give ground,
Flies backe apace; who, lately, stain'd the field
With conquer'd blood, does now begin to yeeld;
He, that, of late, brake twisted Ropes in twaine,
Is bound with Packthred; He, that did disdaine
To feare the power of an Armed Band,
Can now walke prisoner in a single hand:
Thus have the trecherous Philistines betray'd
Poore captive Samson: Samson now obay'd:
Those glowing eyes, that whirled death about,
Where ere they view'd, their cursed hands put out
They led him pris'ner, and convai'd him downe

375

To strong-wall'd d'Azza (that Philistians, towne,
Those gates his shoulders lately bore away)
There, in the common Prison, did they lay
Distressed Samson, who obtain'd no meate,
But what he purchas'd with his painfull sweate;
For, every day, they urg'd him to fulfill
His twelve howres taske, at the laborious Mill;
And, when his wasted strength began to tyre,
They'd quicken his bare sides, with whips of Wire:
Fill'd was the towne with Ioy, and Triumph: All,
From the high-Prince, to th'Cobbler, on the stall,
Kept holy-day, whilest every voice became
Hoarse, as the Trumpe of newes-divulging fame;
All tongues were fill'd with shouts: And every eare
Was growne impatient of the whisperer;
So generall was their Triumph, their Applause,
That children shouted ere they knew a cause:
The better sort betooke them to their knees,
Dagon must worship'd be: Dagon, that frees
Both Sea, and Land, Dagon, that did subdue
Our common soe: Dagon must have his due:
Dagon must have his praise; must have his prize:
Dagon must have his holy Sacrifice:
Dagon has brought to our victorious hand
Proud Samson: Dagon has redeem'd our land:
We call to Dagon: and our Dagon heares;
Our groanes are come to holy Dagons eares;
To Dagon, all renowne and Glory be;
Where is there such another God as Hee?

376

Medita. 22.

How is our story chang'd? O, more then strange
Effects of so small time! O, sudden change;
Is this that holy Nazarite, for whom
Heaven shew'd a Miracle on the barren wombe?
Is this that holy Thing, against whose Birth
Angels must quit their thrones, and visit Earth?
Is this that blessed Infant, that began
To grow in favour so with God and man?
What, is this he, who (strengthn'd by heav'ns hand)
Was borne a Champion, to redeeme the Land?
Is this the man, whose courage did contest
With a fierce Lyon, grapling brest to brest;
And in a twinkling, tore him quite in sunder?
Is this that Conquerour, whose Arme did thunder
Vpon the men of Askalon, the power
Of whose bent fist, slew thirty in an hower?
Is this that daring Conquerour, whose hand
Thrasht the proud Philistines in their wasted land?
And was this He, that with the helpe of none,
Destroy'd a thousand with a silly Bone?
Or He, whose wrists, being bound together, did
Break Cords like flax, and double Ropes like thrid?
Is this the man whose hands unhing'd those Gates,
And bare them thence, with pillars, barrs & Grates?
And is he turn'd a Mill-horse now? and blinde?
Must this great Conquerour be forc'd to grinde
For bread and water? Must this Heroe spend
His latter times in drudgery? Must he end
His weary dayes in darknesse? Must his hyer,
Be knotted cords, and torturing whips of wyer?

377

There heavn withdraws, the creaturs power shakes?
That miserie's wanting there, where God forsakes?
Had Samson not abus'd his borrow'd power,
Samson had still, remain'd a Conquerour:
The Philistins did act his part; No doubt,
His eyes offended, and they pluck'd them out:
Heaven will be just: He punishes a sin,
Oft in the member, that he findes it in:
Then faithlesse Zacharias did become
Too curious, his lips were strucken dumbe:
Samson whose lustfull view did overprize
Vnlawfull beautie's punisht in his eyes;
Those flaming eyes seduc'd his wanton minde
To act a sinne; Those eyes are stricken blinde;
The beauty he invaded, did invade him,
And that faire tong, that blest him so, betraid him:
That strength, intemperate lust imploy'd so ill,
Is now a driving the laborious Mill;
Those naked sides, so pleas'd with lusts desire,
Are now, as naked, lasht with whips of wire:
Lord, shouldst thou punish every part in me
That does offend, what member would be free?
Each member acts his part; They never lin
Vntill they joyne, and make a Body' of sin:
Make sinne my burthen; Let it never please me;
And thou hast promis'd, when I come, to ease me.

378

Sect. 23.

The Argvment.

They make a feast. And then to crowne
Their mirth, blind Samson is brought thither:
He pulls the mighty Pillers downe;
The Building falls: All slaine together.

Thus when the vulgar Triumph (which does last
But seldome, longer then the newes) was past,
And Dagons holy Altars had surccast
To breath their idle fumes: they call'd a feast,
A common Feast; whose bounty did bewray
A common joy, to gratulate the day;
Whereto, the Princes, vnder whose command
Each province was, in their diuided land;
Whereto, the Lords, Leiutenants, and all those,
To whom the supreme Rulers did repose
An under-trust; whereto, the better sort
Of gentry, and of Commons did resort,
With mirth, and jolly triumph, to allay
Their sorrowes, and to solemnize the day;
Into the common Hall they come: The Hall
Was large and faire; Her arched roofe was all
Builded with massie stone, and over-lai'd
With pond'rous Lead; Two sturdy Pillers stai'd
Her mighty Rafters up; whereon, relied
The weighty burthen of her lofty pride.
When lusty dyet, and the frollicke cup
Had rouz'd and rais'd their quickned spirits up,

379

And brave triumphing Bacchus had displaid
His conquering colours, in their cheeks, they said;
Call Samson forth; He must not worke too day;
Tis a boone feast; Wee'l give him leave to play;
Does be grinde bravely? Does our Mill-horse sweat?
Let him lacke nothing; What he wants in meate,
Empty in lashes; He is strong and stout,
And, with his breathe and drive the Mill about:
It workes too hard, we stare: Goe downe and free him;
“Say, that his Mistresse, Delila would see him:
“The sight of him will take our howers short;
“Goe fetch him then to make our Honours sport:
“Bid him provide some Riddles; Let him bring
“Some song of Triumph: He that's blinde, may sing
“With better boldnesse: Bid him never doubt
“To please: What matter though his eyes be out?
“'Tis no dishonour, that be cannot see;
Tell him, the God of Love's as blinde, as hee:
With that they brought poore Samson to the Hall;
And as he past, he gropes to finde the wall;
His pace was slow, His feet were lifted high;
Each tongue would taunt him Every scornfull eye
Was filld with laughter; Some would cry aloud,
“He walkes in state: His Lordship is growne proud:
Some bid his honour, Haile, whilst others cast
Reproachfull termes upon him; as he past,
Some would salute him fairely, and embrace
His wounded sides, then spit upon his face:
Others would cry; For shame for beare t'abuse
The high and great redeemer of the Iewes:
Some gibe and flout him with their taunts & quips,
With that poore Samson, whose abundant griefe,
Not finding hopes of comfort or reliefe,

380

Resolv'd for patience: Turning round, he made
Some shift to feele his Keeper out, and said;

Good Sir, my painfull labour in the Mill
Hath made me bold (although against my will)
To crave some little rest; Jf you will please
To let the Pillour but afford some ease
To my worne limmes, your mercy should relieve
A soule that has no more but thanks, to give:
The keeper yeelded: (Now the Hall was filld
With Princes, and their People, that beheld
Abused Samson; whilst the Roofe retain'd
A leash of thousands more, whose eyes were chain'd
To this sad Object, with a full delight,
To see this flesh-and-blood-relenting sight;
With that the pris'ner turnd himselfe and pray'd
So soft, that none but heaven could heare, and said:

My God, my God: Although my sinnes doe cry
For greater vengeance, yet thy gratious eye
Js full of mercy; O, remember now
The gentle promise and that sacred vow
Thou mad'st to faithfull Abram, and his seed,
O, heare my wounded soule, that has lesse need
Of life, then mercy: Let thy tender eare
Make good thy plenteous promise now, and heare;
See, how thy cursed enemies prevaile
Above my strength; Behold, how poore and fraile
My native power is, and, wanting thee,
What is there, Oh, what is there (Lord) in me?
Nor is it I that suffer: My desert
May challenge greater vengeance, if thou wert
Extreme to punish: Lord, the wrong is thine;
The punishment is just, and onely mine:
I am thy Champion, Lord; It is not me

They strike at; Through my sides they thrust at thee:

381

Against thy Glory 'tis, their Malice lies;
“They aim'd at that when they put out these eyes:
“Alas, their blood-bedabl'd hands would flie
“On thee, wert thou but cloth'd in flesh, as I:
“Revenge thy wrongs, great God; O let thy hand
“Redeeme thy suffring honour, and this land:
“Lend me thy power; Renew my wasted strength,
“That I may fight thy battels; and at length,
“Rescue thy glory; that my hands may do
“That faithfull service they were borne unto:
“Lend me thy power, that J may restore
“Thy losse, and I will never urge thee more:
Thus having ended, both his armes he laid,
Upon the pillours of the Hall; and said;
Thus with the Philistines, I resigne my breath;

And let my God finde Glory in my death:
And having spoke, his yeelding body strain'd
Upon those Marble pillours, that sustain'd
The pondrous Roofe; They cracket; and, with their fall,
Downe fell the Battlements, and Roofe, and all;
And, with their ruines, slaughter'd at a blow,
The whole Assembly; They, that were below,
Receiv'd their sudden deaths from those that fell
From off the top; whilst none was left, to tell
The horrid shreekes that filld the spatious Hall,
Those ruines were impartiall, and slew all:
They fell; and, with an unexpected blow.
Gave every one his death, and buriall too:
Thus di'd our Samson; whose brave death has won
More honour, then his honourd life had done:
Thus di'd our Conquerour; whose latest breath
Was crown'd with Conquest, triumph'd over death:
Thus di'd our Sampson; whose last drop of blood
Redeem'd heavn's glory, and his Kingdome's good:

382

Thus di'd heavens Champion, and the earths bright Glory;
The heavenly subject of this sacred Story:
And thus th'impartiall hand of death that gathers
All to the Grave, repos'd him with his fathers;
Whose name shall flourish, and be still in prime,
In spight of ruine, or the teeth of Time;
Whose fame shal last, till heaven shal please to free
This Earth from Sinne, and Time shall cease to be.

Medita. 23.

Wages of sinne, is death. The day must come,
Wherin, the equall hand of death must sum
The severall Items of mans fading glory,
Into the easie totall of one Story:
The browes that sweat for Kingdomes and renown,
To glorifie their Temples with a Crowne;
At length, grow cold, and leave their honourd name
To flourish in th'uncertaine blast of Fame:
This is the heighth that glorious Mortalls can
Attaine; This is the highest pitch of Man:
The quilted Quarters of the Earths great Ball,
Whose unconfined limits were too small
For his extreame Ambition to deserve,
Six foote of length, and three of bredth must serve:
This is the highest pitch that Man can flie;
And after all his Triumph, he must die:

Lives he in Wealth? Does well deserved store
Limit his wish, that he can wish no more?
And does the fairest bounty of encrease
Crown him with plenty; and, his dayes with peace?
It is a right hand blessing; But supply
Of wealth cannot secure him; He must die:

383

Lives he in Pleasure? Does perpetuall mirth
Lend him a little Heaven upon his earth?
Meets he no sullen care, no sudden losse
To coole his joyes? Breathes hee without a crosse?
Wants he no pleasure, that his wanton eye
Can crave, or hope from fortune? He must dye:
Lives he in Honour? Hath his faire desart
Obtain'd the freedome of his Princes heart?
Or may his more familiar hands disburse
His liberall favors, from the royall purse?
Alas, his Honour cannot soare too high,
For palefac'd death to follow: He must dye:

Lives he a Conqu'rour? And doth heaven blesse
His heart with spirit, that spirit, with successe;
Successe, with Glory; Glory, with a name,
To live with the Eternitie of Fame?
The progresse of his lasting fame may vye
With time; But yet the Conquerour must dye:
Great, and good God: Thou Lord of life and deth;
In whom, the Creature hath his being, breath;
Teach me to underprize this life, and I
Shall finde my losse the easier, when I dye;
So raise my feeble thoughts, and dull desire,
That when these vaine and weary dayes expire,
I may discard my flesh with joy, and quit
My better part, of this false earth; and it
Of some more sinne; and, for this transitory
And tedious life, enjoy a life of Glory.

The end.

385

SIONS SONETS. Sung By Solomon the King; And Periphras'd

388

AN EPITHALME TO THE BRIDEGROOME.

Hosanna to the Highest. Ioy betide
The heavenly Bridegroome; and his holy Bride:
Let Heaven above be fill'd with songs,
Let Earth triumph below;
For ever silent be those tongues,
That can be silent now.
You Rocks, and Stones, I charge you all to breake
Your flinty silence, if men cease to speake.
You, that professe that sacred Art,
Or now, or never show it,
Plead not, your Muse is out of heart
Here's that creates a Poet.
Be ravisht Earth, to see this contract driven,
'Twixt sinfull Man, and reconciled Heaven.
Dismount you Quire of Angels; come,
With Men, your joyes divide;
Heaven never shew'd so sweet a Groome,
Nor Earth, so faire a Bride.

389

BRIDE.

Sonet. I.

1

O that the bounty of those lips divine,
Wold seale their favors, on these lips of mine,
That by those welcome kisses, I might see
The mutuall love, betwixt my Love and me,
For truer blisse, no worldly joy allowes,
Than sacred Kisses, from so sweet a Spouse,
With which, no earthly pleasures may compare,
Rich Wines are not so delicate as they'r.

2

Nor Myrrh, nor Cassia, nor the choice perfumes
Of unctious Narde, or Aromaticke fumes
Of hot Arabia, doe enrich the Aire
With more delicious sweetnesse, than the faire
Reports, that crowne the merits of thy Name,
With heavenly Lawrels of eternall fame;
Which makes the Virgins fix their eyes upon thee
And all that view thee, are enamour'd one thee.

390

3

O let the beauty of thy Sun-like face
Inflame my soule, and let thy glory chace
Disloyall thoughts: Let not the World allure
My chaste desires, from a Spouse so pure;
But when as time shall place me on thy Throne,
My feares shall cease, and interrupt by none,
I shall transcend the stile of Transitory,
And full of Glory, still be fill'd with glory.

4

Bvt you, my curious (and too nice) allyes,
That view my fortunes, with too narrow eyes,
You say my face is black, and foule; 'tis true;
I'm beauteous, to my Love, though black to you;
My censure stands not upon your esteeme,
He sees me as I am; you, as I seeme;
You see the Clouds, but he discernes the Skie;
Know, 'tis my mask that lookes so black, not I.

5

What if Afflictions doe dis-imbellish
My naturall glory, and deny the rellish
Of my adjourned beauty, yet disdaine not
Her, by whose necessary losse, you gaine not;
I was inforc'd to swelter in the Sun,

391

And keepe a strangers Vine, left mine alone;
Lest mine owne, and kept a strangers Vine;
The fault was mine, but was not onely mine.

6

O thou, whose love I prize above my life,
More worthy farre t'enjoy a fairer wife,
Tell me, to what cool shade dost thou resort?
Where graze thy Sheepe, where doe thy lambs disport
Free from the scorching of this sowltry weather?
O tell thy Love, and let thy Love come thither:
Say (gentle Shepheard) fits it thee, to cherish
Thy private Flocks, and let thy true Love perish?

Sensible graves.

Pure in heart.

The Kingdome of Heaven.

Through apparant infirmities.

Glorious in him.

Weaknesse of the flesh.

Afflictions.

Forced to Idolatrous superstitions.

By reason of my weaknesse.

Being seduced by false Prophets.

Persecutions.

By Jdolatry.

BRIDEGROOME.

Sonet. II.

1

Illustrious Bride, more radiant and more bright,
Then th'eye of Noon, thrice fairer then the light;
Thou dearest off-spring of my dying blood,
And treasure of my soule, why hast thou stood
Parching so long in those ambitious beames?
Come, come & coole thee in these silver streams!
Vnshade thy face, cast back those golden Locks,
And I will make thee Mistris of my Flocks.

392

2

O thou, the Center of my choyce desires,
In whom I rest, in whom my soule respires;
Thou art the flowre of beauty, and I prize thee
Above the world, how e're the world despise thee:
The blinde imagines all things black by kinde;
Thou art as beautifull, as they are blinde:
And as the fairest troopes of Pharoes steeds
Exceed the rest, so Thou the rest exceeds.

3

Thy cheek (the garden where fresh beauty plāts
Her choicest flowers) no adorning wants;
There wants no relish of diviner grace,
To summe compleatnesse, in so sweet a face;
Thy Neck, without a blemish, without blot,
Than pearl's more orient, cleare from stain or spot;
Thy Gemms and Iewels, full of curious art,
Imply the sacred treasures of thy heart.

4

The Sun-bright glory of thy resounding fame,
Addes glory, to the glory of thy Name;
The more's thy honor (Love) the more thou striv'st
To honour me; thou gainest what thou giv'st:
My Father (whom our Contract hath made thine)
Will give thee large endowments of divine,
And everlasting treasure; Thus by me
Thou shalt be rich, that am thus rich, in thee.

Through my merits and thy sanctification.

The Doctrine of the true Prophets.

Teacher of my Congregations.

Thy most visible parts.

Sanctification.

The riches of his holy Spirit.

393

BRIDE.

Sonet. III.

1

Oh, how my soule is ravisht with the joyes
That spring like fountains frō my tru-loves voice
How cordiall are his lips! How sweet his tongue!
Each word, he breathes, is a melodious song;
He absent (ah) how is my glory dim!
I have no beauty, not deriv'd from Him;
What e're I have, from Him alone, I have,
And he takes pleasure in those gifts he gave:

2

As fragrant Myrrh, within the bosome hid,
Sents more delicious, than (before) it did,
And yet receives no sweetnesse from that brest,
That proves the sweeter for so sweet a guest;
Even so the favour of my dearest Spouse,
Thus priz'd and placed in my heart, endowes
My ardent soule with sweetnesse, and inspires
With heavenly ravishment, my rapt desires.

3

Who ever smelt the breath of morning flowres,
New sweet'nd with the dash of twilight shoures,
Of pounded Amber, or the flowring Thyme,
Or purple violets, in their proudest prime,
Or swelling Clusters, from the Cypresse tree?
So sweet's my Love; I farre more sweet is He:
So faire, so sweet, that Heavens bright eye is dim,
And flowers have no sent, compar'd with Him.

394

BRIDEGROOME.

Sonet. IIII.

O thou, the joyes of my sufficed heart,
The more thou think'st me fair, the more thou art;
Looke in the Christall Mirrours of mine eyes,
And view thy beauty; there thy beauty lyes:
See there, th'unmated glory of thy Face,
Well mixt with Spirit, and divinest grace;
The eyes of Doves, are not so faire, as thine:
O, how those eyes, inflame these eyes of mine!

The holy Prophets.

BRIDE.

Sonet V.

1

Most radiant, and refulgent Lampe of light,
Whose midday beauty, yet ne're found a night,
'Tis thou, 'tis onely thou art faire; from Thee
Reflect those rayes, that have enlightned mee,
And as bright Cinthia's borrow'd beames doe shine
From Titan's glory, so doe I, from thine;
So dayly flourishes our fresh delight,
In dayly giving, and receiving light.

2

Nor does thy glory shine to me alone;
What place, wherein thy glory hath not shone
But O, how fragrant with rich odour, smells
That sacred House, where thou my true Love dwells?

395

Nor is it strange: How can those places bee
But fill'd with sweetnesse, if possest with thee!
My heart's a Heaven, for thou art in that heart,
Thy presence makes a Heaven, where e're thou art.

Thy holy Spirit.

In giving grace and receiving glory.

The Congregation of Saints.

BRIDEGROOME.

Sonet VI.

1

Thou soveraigne Lady of my select desires,
I, I am He, whom thy chaste soule admires:
The Rose, for smell, the Lily to the eye,
Is not so sweet, is not so faire as I:
My vailed beautie's not the glorious prize
Of common sight: within, my beautie lies,
Yet ne'rethelesse, my glory were but small,
It should want, to honour thee with all.

2

Nor doe I boast my excellence alone,
But thine (deare spouse) as whō, the world hath none
So true to faith, so pure in love, as whom
Lives not a Bride, so fits so chaste a Grome;
And as the fairest Lily doth exceede
The fruitlesse Bramble, or the foulest weede,
So farre (my love) dost thou exceed the rest,
In perfect beautie of a loyall brest.

Not in outward glorie.

In inward graces.

BRIDE.

Sonet VII.

1

Looke how the fruitfull tree (whose ladē bought
With swelling pride, crowne Autumnes smiling browes)

396

Surpasses idle shrubs, even so in worth,
My love transcends the worthies of the earth:
He was my shore, in shipwracke; and my shelter,
In stormes; my shade, when I began to swelter;
If hungry, he was Food; and if opprest
With wrongs, my Advocate; with toile, my rest.

2

I thirsted; and full charged to the brinke,
He gave me bowles of Nectar, for my drinke
And in his sides, he broacht me (for a signe
Of dearest love) a Sacramentall wine;
He freely gave; I freely dranke my fill;
The more I dranke, the more remained still:
Did never Souldier, to his Colours prove
More chaste, than I, to so entire a Love.

3

O how his beautie sets my soule on fire!
My spirits languish, with extreame desire;
Desires exceeding limits, are too lavish,
And wanting meanes to be effected, ravish;
Then let thy breath, like flaggons of strong wine
Releeve and comfort this poore heart of mine;
For I am sicke, till time (that doth delay
Our Marriage) bring our joyfull Marriage day.

397

4

Till then, O let my dearest Lord, by whom,
These pleasing paines of my sweet sorrowes come
Performe his vowes, and with his due resort,
Blesse me, to make the sullen time seeme short:
In his sweet presence, may I still be blest,
Debarr'd from whom, my soule can finde no rest;
O let all times be prosp'rous, and all places
Be witnesse to our undefil'd Embraces.

5

All you, whose seeming favours have profest
The true affection of a loyall brest,
I charge you all by the true love you beare
To friendship, or what else yee count most deare,
Disturbe ye not my Love, O doe not reive
Him of his joyes, that is so apt to grieve;
Dare not to breake his quiet slumbers, lest
You rouze a raging Lyon from his rest.

6

Harke, harke, I heare that thrice-celestial voice
Wherein my spirits, rapt with joyes, rejoyce;
A voyce, that tels me, my beloved's nie;
I know the Musicke, by the Majestie:
Behold he comes; 'Tis not my blemisht face
Can slacke the swiftnesse of his winged pace;
Behold he comes; His Trumpet doth proclaime,
He comes with speed; A truer love ne're came.

398

7

Behold the fleetnesse of his nimble feet:
The Roe-Bucke, & the Hart were ne're so fleet.
The word I spake, flew not so speedy from me,
As He, the treasure of my soule comes to me,
He stands behinde my wall, as if in doubt
Of welcome: Ah, this Wall debarres him out:
O, how injurious is this Wall of sin,
That barres my Lover out, and bolts me in!

The holy Scriptures.

Thy sweet promises.

Vexe not his spirit with your sinnes.

The imperfections of my present state.

The weakenesse of my flesh.

The BRIDE in the person of the BRIDEGROOME.

SONET VIII.

1

Harke, harke, me thinks I heare my true love say
Breake downe that envious bar & come away,
Arise (my dearest Spouse) and dispossesse
Thy soule of doubtfull feares, nor overpresse
Thy tender spirits, with the dull despaire
Of thy demerits: (Love) thou art as faire,
As Earth will suffer: Time will make thee clearer,
Come forth (my love) then whom, my life's not dearer.

2

Come forth (my joy,) what bold affront of fear
Can fright thy soule, & I, thy Champion here
'Tis I that call, 'tis I, thy Bridegroome, calls thee,
Betide it me, what ever evill befalls thee:
The winter of thy sharpe Afflictions gone:
Why fear'st thou cold, and art so neare the Sunne

399

I am thy Sunne, if thou be cold, draw nearer:
Come forth (my Love) then whō my life's not dearer

3

Come forth (my dear) the spring of joyes invite thee,
The flowers contend for beautie to delight thee
Their sweet ambition's onely, which might be
Most sweet, most faire, because most like to thee:
The Birds (sweet Heralds of so sweet a Spring)
Warble high notes, and Hymeneans sing:
All sing, with joy, t'enjoy so sweet a Hearer:
Come forth (my love) thē whō my life's not dearer.

4

The prosperous Vlne, which this deare hand did plant
Tenders due service to so sweet a Saint:
Her hidden Clusters swell with sacred pride,
To kisse the lips of so, so faire a Bride:
Of asqu'd in their leafes, they lurke, fearing to be
Discryde by any, till first seene by thee:
The clouds are past, the heavens cannot be clearer
Come forth (dear love) thē whō my lif's not dearer.

5

My Dove, whō daily dangers teach new shifts,
That like a Dove, dost haunt the secret clifts
Of solitary Rockes: How e're thou be
Reserv'd from others, be not strange to me,

400

Call me to rescue, and this brawnie Arme
Shall quell thy Foe, & fence thy soule, from harme;
Speake (Love,) Thy voice is sweet; what if thy face,
Be drencht with teares; each teare's a several grace.

6

All you that wish prosperity and peace,
To crowne our contract, with a long encrease
Of future joyes, O shield my simple Love
From those that seeke her ruine, and remov
The base Opposers of her best designes;
Destroy the Foxes, that destroy her Vines;
Her Vines are fruitfull, but her tender grapes
Are spoil'd by Foxes, clad in humane shapes.

The Elect.

Angels.

The Congregation of the faithfull.

To offer up the first fruits of obedience.

Persecutions.

The BRIDE in her owne person.

Sonet IX.

1

What greater joy can bless my soule, thē this
That my beloved's mine, and I am his!
Our soules are knit; the world cannot untwine
The joyfull union of his heart, and mine;
In him, I live; in him, my soule's possest
With heavenly solace, and eternall rest:
Heaven onely knowes the blisse, my soule enjoyes;
Fond earth's too dull, to apprehend such ioyes.

2

Thou sweet perfection of my full delights,
Till that bright Day, devoted to the rites
Of our solemniz'd Nuptialls, shall come,
Come live with me, & make this heart thy Home:

401

Disdaine me not: Although my face appeare
Deform'd and cloudie, yet my heart is cleare;
Wake haste: Let not the swift-foot Roe-bucke flee
The following Hounde so fast, as thou to me.

3

I thought my Love had taken up his rest,
Within the secret Cabin of my brest;
I thought the closed curtaines did immure
His gentle slumbers, but was too secure;
For (driven with love) to the false bed I stept
To view his slumbring beautie, as he slept,
But he was gone; yet plainely there was seene
The curious dint, where he had lately beene,

4

Impatient of his absence, thus bereaven
Of him, than whom, I had no other heaven,
I rav'd a while; not able to digest
So great a losse, to lose so faire a Guest:
I left no path untrac'd; no place nnsought;
No secret Cell unsearcht; no way unthought;
I ask'd the shade, but shadowes could not hide him;
I ask'd the World, but all the world deny'd him.

5

My jealous Love, distemp'red with distraction,
Made fierce with feare, unapt for satisfaction,
Aplyes fresh fuell, to my flaming fires,
With Eagles wings supplies my quicke desires

402

Vp to the walls I trampled, where I spide
The City watch, to whom with teares I cryde,
Ah gentle Watchmen, you aloft descry
What's darke to us; did not my love passe by?

6

At lēgth, whē dul despaire had gain'd the groūnd
Of tyred hopes, my faith fell in a swound;
But He, whose sympathising heart did finde
The tyrant passion of my troubled minde,
Forthwith appear'd: What Angels tongue can let
The world conceive our pleasures, when we met?
And till the joyes of our espoused hearts
Be made cōpleat, the world ne're more shall part's.

The day of Judgement.

By sanctification.

In my soule.

By strict examination.

Amongst the wisest worldlings.

The Ministers of the word.

At the resurrection.

BRIDEGROOME.

Sonet X.

1

Now rests my love: Till now, her tender brest
Wanting her joy, could finde no peace, no rest:
I charge you all by the true love you beare
To friendship, or what else you count most deare,
Disturbe her not, but let her sleepe her fill;
I charge you all upon your lifes, be still,
O may that labouring soule, that lives opprest
For me; in me, receive eternall rest.

2

What curious face is this? what mortall birth
Can shew a beauty, thus unstain'd with earth!

403

What glorious Angell wanders thus alone,
From earths foule dungeon, to my fathers throne!
It is my love; my love that hath denyde
The world, for me; It is my fairest Bride:
How fragrant is her breath! How heavenly faire
Her Angell face! Each glorifying the Aire.

Through sanctification by my merits

BRIDE.

Sonet XI.

1

O how I'm ravisht with eternall blisse!
Who e're thought heavē a joy cōpar'd to this?
How doe the pleasures of this glorious Face
Adde glory to the glory of this place!
See, how Kings Courts surmoūt poore Shepheards cells,
So this, the pride of Salomon excells;
Rich wreathes of glory crowne his royall Head,
And troopes of Angels waite upon his bed.

2

The Court of Princely Salomon was guarded
With able men at armes; their faith rewarded
With fading honours, subject to the fate
Of Fortune, and the jealous frownes of State;
But here th'harmonious quire of heaven attend,
Whose prize is glory, glory without end,
Vnmixt with doubtings, or degenerous feare;
A greater Prince, than Salomon is here!

3

The Bridall bed of Princely Salomon,
(Whose beautie amaz'd the greedie lookers on,

404

Which all the world admired to behold
Was but of Cedar; and her Sted of gold;
Her pillars silver, and her Canopie
Of silkes, but richly stain'd with purple die;
Her curtaines wrought in workes, workes rarely led
By th'needles art, such was the bridall bed.

4

Svch was the bridall bed, which Time, or Age
Durst never warrant from th'opprobrious rage
Of envious fate; Earths measure's but a minit;
Earth fades; all fades upon it; all within it;
O, but the glorie' of this diviner place,
No age can injure, nor yet Time deface;
Too bright an object, for weake eyes to bide,
Or tongues t'expresse: Who ever saw't but dyde?

5

Who e're beheld the royall Crowne, set on
The nuptiall browes of Princely Salomon?
His glorious pompe, whose honour did display
The noysed triumphs of his Marriage day?
A greater Prince, than Salomon is here,
The beauty of whose Nuptials, shall appeare
More glorious farre transcending his, as farre
As heavens bright lamp out-shines th'obscurest star

By heavenly contemplation.

BRIDEGROOME.

Sonet XII.

1

How orient is thy beauty! How divine!
How darke's the glory of the earth, to thine!
Thy vailed eyes out-shine heavens greater light,
Vnconquer'd by the shadie Cloud of night;

405

Thy curious Tresses dangle, all unbound
With unaffected order, to the ground:
How orient is thy beautie! how divine!
How darke's the glory of the earth to thine!

2

Thy Ivory Teeth in whitenesse doe out-goe
The downe of Swans, or winters driven snow
Whose even proportions lively represent
Th'harmonious Musicke of unite consent,
Whose perfect whitenesse, Time could never blot,
Nor age (the Canker of destruction) rot:
How orient is thy beauty! How divine!
How darke's the glory of the earth, to thine!

3

The rubie Portalls of thy ballanc'd words,
Send forth a welcome relish, which affords
A heaven of blisse, and makes the earth rejoyce,
To heare the Accent of thy heavenly voice;
The mayden blushes of thy Cheekes, proclaime
A shame of guilt, but not a guilt of shame:
How orient is thy beauty! How divine!
How darke's the glory of the earth, to thine!

4

Thy necke (unbeautifyde with borrowed grace)
Is whiter than the Lillies of thy face,
If whiter may; for beauty, and for powre,
'Tis like the glory of Davids princely Towre:

406

What vassall spirit could despaire, or faint,
Finding protection from so sure a Saint?
How orient is thy beauty! How divine!
How darke's the glory of the earth, to Thine!

5

The deare-bought fruit of that forbidden Tree,
Was not so dainty, as thy Apples be,
These curious Apples of thy snowy brests,
Wherein a Paradise of pleasure rests;
They breathe such life into the ravisht Eye,
That the inflam'd beholder cannot dye:
How orient is thy beautie! How divine!
How darke's the glory of the earth, to Thine!

6

My dearest Spouse, I'le hie me to my home,
And till that long-expected day shall come,
The light wherof, shall chase the night that shrouds
Thy vailed beauty, in these envious clouds;
Till then, I goe, and in my Throne, provide
A glorious welcome, for my fairest Bride;
Chapplets of conqu'ring Palme, & Lawrel boughs
Shall crowne thy Temples, and adorne thy browes.

7

Would beauty faine be flatter'd with a grace
She never had? May she behold thy face:
Envie would burst, had she no other taske,
Than to behold this face without a maske;

407

No spot, no veniall blemish could she finde,
To feed the famine of her ranc'rous minde;
Thou art the flowre of beauties Crowne, & they're
Much worse than foule, that thinke thee lesse than faire.

8

Feare not (my Love) for when those sacred bands
Of wedlock shall conjoyne our promis'd hands,
I'le come, and quit thee from this tedious place,
Where thou art forc'd to sojourne for a space;
No forrein Angle of the utmost Lands,
Nor seas Abysse shall hide thee from my hands;
No night shall shade thee from my curious eye,
I'le rouze the graves, although grim death stand by.

9

Illustrious beames shot from thy flaming eye,
Made fierce with zeale, and soveraigne Majestie
Have scorcht my soule, and like a fiery dart
Transfixt the Center of my wounded heart;
The Virgin swetnesse of thy heavenly grace
Hath made mine eyes glad pris'ners to thy face;
The beautie of thine eye-balls hath bereft
Me of my heart: O sweet, O sacred theft!

10

O thou, the deare Inflamer of mine eyes,
Life of my soule, and hearts eternall prize,

408

How delectable is thy love! How pure!
How apt to ravish, able to allure
A frozen soule, and with thy secret fire,
T'affect dull spirits with extreame desire.
How doe thy joyes (though in their greatest dearth)
Transcend the proudest pleasures of the earth!

11

Thy lips (my dearest spouse) are the ful treasures
Of sacred Poesie, whose heavenly measures
Ravish with joy the willing heart, that heares,
But strike a deafenesse in rebellious eares:
Thy words, like milke and Honie, doe requite
The season'd soule, with profit and delight:
Heavens higher Palace, and these lower places
Of dungeon-earth are sweetned with thy graces.

12

My Love is like a Garden, full of flowers,
Whose sunny banks, & choice of shady bowres
Give change of pleasures, pleasures wall'd about
With Armed Angels, to keepe Ruine out;
And from her brests ( enclosed from the ill
Of looser eyes) pure Chrystall drops distill,
The fruitfull sweetnesse of whose gentle showres
Inrich her flowrs with beautie', & banks with flowrs

409

13

My Love is like a Paradise beset
With rarest gifts, whose fruits (but tender yet)
The world ne're tasted, dainties farre more rare
Than Edens tempting Apple, and more faire:
Myrrhe, Alloes, Incense, and the Cypresse tree
Can boast no swetnesse, but is breath'd from thee;
Dainties, for taste, and flowers, for the smell
Spring all from thee, whose sweets, all sweets excell.

Through the gifts of my spirit.

The modestie and purity of thy judgement.

Ornaments of necessary Ceremonies.

Sincere Ministers.

Doctrine of thy holy Prophets.

Modest graces of the Spirit.

Magistrates.

The old and new Testaments.

The sanctified & zealous Reader.

The second death.

I will withdraw my bodily presence.

The day of judgement.

Infirmities of the flesh.

This vale of miserie.

Thine eye of Faith.

Divine Harmonie.

The two Testaments.

Riddles to prophane Readers.

Celestiall comforts.

BRIDE.

Sonet XIII.

1

O thou (my deare) whose sweets, all sweets excell
From whom my fruits receive their tast, their smell
How can my thriving plants refuse to grow
Thus quickned with so sweet a Sun as thou?
How can my flowers, which thy Ewers nourish
With showers of living waters, choose but flourish?
O thou, the spring, from whence these waters burst,
Did ever any taste thy streames, and thurst?

2

Am I a Garden? May my flowers bee
So highly honour'd to be smelt by thee;
Inspire them with thy sacred breath, and then
Receive from them, thy borrowed breath agen;
Frequent thy Garden, whose rare fruit invites
Thy welcome presence, to his choise Delights;

410

Taste where thou list, and take thy full repaste,
Here's that wil please thy smel, thine eye, thy taste.

The faithfull.

The Sunne of righteousness.

BRIDEGROOME.

Sonet XIIII.

Thou sacred Center of my soule, in whome
I rest, behold thy wisht-for Love is come;
Refresht with thy delights, I have repasted
Vpon thy pleasures; my full soule hath tasted
Thy rip'ned dainties, and hath freely beene
Pleas'd with those fruits, that are (as yet) but green
All you that love the honour of my Bride,
Come taste her Vineyards, and be deifi'de,

Obedience.

Strong workes of Faith.

The new fruits of the Spirit.

BRIDE.

Sonet XV.

1

It was a night, a night as darke, as foule,
As that blacke Errour, that entranc'd my Soule,
When as my best beloved came and knockt
At my dull gates, too too securely lockt;
Vnbolt (said he) these churlish doores (my Dove,)
Let not false slumbers bribe thee from thy love;
Heare him, that for thy gentle sake came hither,
Long injur'd by this nights ungentle weather.

411

2

I heard the voice, but the perfidious pleasure
Of my sweet slumbers, could not finde the leasure
To ope my drowsie dores; my Spirit could speake
Words faire enough; but ah, my flesh was weake,
And fond excuses taught me to betray
My sacred vowes to a secure delay:
Perfidious slumbers, how have you the might
To blinde true pleasures, with a false delight!

3

When as my Love, with oft repeated knocks
Could not availe, shaking his dewy locks,
Highly displeas'd, he could no longer bide
My slight neglect, but went away denyde;
No sooner gone, but my dull soule discern'd
Her drowzie error; my griev'd Spirit yearn'd
To finde him out; these seiled eyes that slept
So soundly, fast, awak'd, much faster wept.

4

Thus rais'd, and rouz'd from my deceitfull rest,
I op'd my doores, where my departed Guest
Had beene; I thrust the churlish Portals from me
That so deny'de my dearest Bridegroome to me;
But when I smelt of my returned hand,
My soule was rapt, my powers all did stand
Amazed at the sweetnesse they did finde,
Which my neglected Love had left behinde.

412

5

I op'd my doore, my Myrrhe-distilling doore,
But ah, my Guest was gone, had given me o're:
What curious pen, what Artist can define
A matelesse sorrow? Such, ah, such was mine;
Doubts, and despaire had of my life depriv'd me
Had not strong hope of his returne reviv'd me,
I sought, but he refused to appeare;
I call'd, but he would not be heard, nor heare.

6

Thus, with the tyranny of griefe distraught,
I rang'd a round, no place I left unsought,
No eare unask'd; The watch-men of the City
Wounded my soule, without remorse of pity
To virgin teares; They taught my feet to stray,
Whose steps were apt enough to lose their way;
With taunts & scornes they checkt me, and derided
And call'd me Whore, because I walkt unguided.

7

You hallowed Virgins, you, whose tender hearts
Ere felt th'impression of Loves secret darts,
I charge you all, by the deare faith you owe
To Virgin purenesse, and your vestall vowe,
Commend me to my Love, if ere you meet him,
O tell him, that his love-sick spouse doth greet him;
O let him know, I languish with desire
T'enjoy that heart, that sets this heart on fire.

Too much securitie.

My heart.

The pleasures of the Flesh.

Thy hard-hearted unkindenesse.

Repented.

The sweetnesse of his graces.

False teachers.

With their false doctrines.

Divine Love.

413

VIRGINS.

Sonet. XVI.

O thou the fairest flowre of mortall birth,
If such a beautie may be borne of earth,
Angell or Virgin, which? or both in one,
Angell by beauty, Virgin by thy moane,
Say, who is He that may deserve these teares,
These precious drops? Who is't can stop his eares
At these faire lips? Speake Lady, speake at large,
Who is't? For whom giv'st thou so strict a charge?

BRIDE.

Sonet XVII.

1

My Love is the perfection of delight,
Roses, and Doves are not so red, so white;
Vnpatern'd beautie summon'd every grace
To the composure of so sweet a face;
His body is a Heaven, for in his brest
The perfect Essence of a God doth rest;
The brighter eye of Heaven did never shine
Vpon another glorie, so divine.

2

His Head is farre more glorious, to behold,
Than fruitfull Ophyres oft refined gold,
Tis the rich Magazen of secret treasure,
Whence Graces spring in unconfined measure;
His curl'd and dagling Tresses doe proclame
A Nazarite, on whom ne're Razor came.

414

Whose Raven-blacke colour gives a curious relish
To that which beauty did so much imbellish.

3

Like to the eyes of Doves are his faire eyes,
Wherein sterne Iustice, mixt with mercy, lies;
His eyes are simple, yet Majesticall,
In motion nimble, and yet chaste withall,
Flaming like fier, and yet burne they not,
Vnblemisht, undistained with a spot,
Blazing with precious beames, and to behold,
Like two rich Diamonds in a frame of gold.

4

His cheeks are like two fruitfull beds ore-grown
With Aromaticke flowers newly blowne,
Whose odours, beauty, please the smell, the sight,
And doubling pleasures, double the delight:
His lips are like a chrystall spring, from whence
Flow sweetned streames of sacred Eloquence,
Whose drops into the eare distill'd, doe give
Life to the dead, true joyes to them that live.

5

His hāds are deckt with rings of gold; the rings
With costly Iewels, fitting none but Kings.

415

Which (of themselves though glorious, yet) receive
More glorie from those fingers, than they give;
His brests like Ivorie, circled round about
With veines, like Saphyres, winding in and out,
Whose beautie is (though darkened from the eye)
Full of divine, and secret Majestie.

6

His legs like purest Marble, strong and white,
Of curious shape, (though quicke) unapt for flight:
His Feet (as gold that's oft refined) are
Like his upright proceedings, pure and faire;
His Port is Princely, and his Stature tall,
And, like the Cedar, stout, yet sweet withall:
O, who would not repose his life, his blisse,
Vpon a Base so faire, so firme as this?

7

His mouth! but stay, what need my lips be lavish
In choice of words, when one alone wil ravish?
But shall, in briefe, my ruder tongue discover
The speaking Image of my absent Lover?
Then let the curious hand of Art refine
The race of Vertues morall, and divine,
From whence, by heaven let there extracted be
A perfect Quintessence; even such is He.

His Dietie.

His Humanitie.

His judgements and care of his Church.

The dicovery of him in his word.

His promises.

Those that die to sinne.

That live to righteousnesse.

His actins.

His secret counsells.

Inwardly glorious.

With purenesse.

His waies constant, firme, and pure.

His whole carriage.

416

VIRGINS.

Sonet XVIII.

Thrice fairer than the fairest, whose sad teares,
And smiling words, have charm'd our eyes, our eares;
Say, whither is this prize of beauty gone,
More faire than kinde, to let thee weepe alone?
Thy tempting lips have whet our dull desire,
And till we see him, we are all on fire:
Wee'll finde him out, if thou wilt be our guide:
The next way to the Bridegroome, is the Bride.

The Church is the way to Christ.

BRIDE.

Sonet XIX.

1

If errour lead not my dull thoughts amisse,
My Genius tells me, where my true Love is;
He's busie lab'ring on his flowry banks,
Inspiring sweetnesse, and receiving thanks,
Watring those plants, whose tender roots are dry,
And pruning such, whose Crests aspire too high,
Transplanting, grafting, reaping fruits from some,
And covering others, that are newly come.

2

What if the frailty of my feebler part,
Lockt up the Portalls of my drowsie heart?

417

He knowes, the weaknesse of the flesh incumbers
Th'unwilling spirit, with sense-bereaving slumbers,
My hopes assure me, in despight of this,
That my Beloved's mine, and I am his:
My hopes are firme (which time shall ne're remove)
That he is mine, by faith; I, his, by love.

Congregation of the faithfull.

Giving graces.

Receiving glory.

Despairing soules.

Not yet thorowly humbled.

Strengthning the weake in spirit.

BRIDEGROOME.

Sonet XX.

1

Thy timely griefe, (my teares-baptized Love)
Cōpels mine eares to heare; thy tears, to move;
Thy blubber'd beauty, to mine eye appeares
More bright than 'twas: Such is the strength of teares:
Beautie, & Terror, meeting in thine eye,
Have made thy face the Throne of Majestie,
Whose awfull beames, the proudest heart will move
To love for feare, untill it feare for love.

2

Represse those flames, that furnace from thine eye,
They ravish with too bright a Tyrannie;
Thy fires are too-too fierce: O turne them from me,
They pierce my soule, & with their rayes o'recome me.
Thy curious Tresses dangle, all unbound,
With unaffected order, to the ground:
How orient is thy beauty! How divine!
How darke's the glory of the earth to thine!

418

3

Thy Ivory Teeth in whitenesse doe out-goe
The downe of Swans, or Winters driven snowe,
Whose even proportions lively represent
Th'harmonious Musicke of unite consent;
Whose perfect whitenesse, Time could never blot,
Nor age (the envious Worme of Ruine) rot:
How orient is thy beauty! How divine!
How darke's the glory of the earth to thine!

4

Thy Temples, are the Temples of chaste love,
Where beauty sacrific'd her milke-white Dove,
Vpon whose Azure pathes, are alwaies found
The heaven-borne Graces dauncing in a round:
Thy maiden Blushes gently doe proclame
A shame of guilt, but not a guilt of shame:
How orient is thy beauty! How divine!
How darke's the glory of the earth to thine!

5

You, you brave spirits, whose imperiall hand
Enforces, what your lookes cannot command,
Bring forth your pamper'd Queenes, the lustfull prize
And curious wrecks of your imperious eyes;
Surround the Circle of the earth, and levie
The fairest Virgins in Loves fairest bevie;
Then take from each, to make one perfit grace,
Yet would my Love out-shine that borrow'd face.

419

6

I thou art she, corrivalld with no other,
Thou glorious Daughter of thy glorious Mother
The new Ierusalem, whose virgin birth
Shall deifie the Virgins of the earth:
The Virgins of the earth have seene thy beautie,
And stood amaz'd, and in a prostrate duty
Have sued to kisse thy hand, making thine eyes
Their Lamps to light them, til the Bridegroom rise.

7

Harke, how the virgins hallow'd with thy fire,
And wonder-smitten with thy beames, admire,
Who, who is this (say they) whose cheekes resemble
Aurora's blush, whose eye heavens lights dissemble?
Whose face is brighter than the silent Lampe
That lights the earth, to breathe her nightly damp;
Vpon whose brow sits dreadfull Majestie,
The frowne whereof commands a victorie.

8

Faire Bride, why was thy troubled soule dejected
When I was absent? was my faith suspected,
Which I so firmely plighted? Couldst thou thinke
My love could shake, or such a vow could shrinke?
I did but walke among my tender Plants,
To smell their odours, and supply their wants,
To see my Stockes, so lately grifted, sprout,
Or if my vines began to burgen out.

420

9

Though gone was I, my heart was in thy brest,
Although to thee (perchāce) an unknowne guest
'Twas that, that gaue such wings to thy desire,
T'enjoy thy love, and set thy soule on fire;
But my returne was quicke, and with a minde
More nimble (yet more constant) than the winde,
I came; and as the winged shaft doth flie
With undiscerned speed; even so did I.

10

Returne, (O then returne) thou child of Peace
To thy first joyes, O let thy teares surcease;
Returne thee to thy Love; let not the night
With flatt'ring slumbers, tempt thy true delight:
Returne thee to my bosome, let my brest
Be still thy Tent; Take there eternall rest;
Returne, O thou, in whose enchanted eye
Are darts enough, to make an army flye.

11

Faire Daughter of the highest King, how sweet
Are th'unaffected graces of thy Feet!
From every step, true Majestie doth spring,
Fitting the Daughter of so high a King:
Thy Wast is circled with a Virgin Zone,
Imbellisht round with many a precious Stone.

421

Therein thy curious Workeman did fulfill
The utmost glory of his diviner skill.

12

Thy Navell, where thy holy Embrion doth
Receive sweet nourishment, and heavenly growth
Is like a Chrystal spring, whose fresh supply
Of living waters, Sunne, nor Drought can dry:
Thy fruitfull Wombe is like a winnow'd heape
Of purest graine, which heavēs blest hand did reap,
With Lillies fenc'd: True Embleme of rare treasure
Whose graine denotes increase; whose Lillies pleasure.

13

Thy dainty Brests, are like faire twins, both swelling
In equall Majestie; in hue excelling
The new-falne snow upon th'untroden mountains,
From whence there flowes, as from exub'rous fountaines
Rivers of heavenly Nectar, to allay
The holy thirst of soules: Thrice happy they,
And more than thrice, whose blest affections bring
Their thirstie palats to so sweet a Spring.

14

Thy Necke doth represent an Ivory Tower,
In perfect purenesse, and united power,

422

Thine Eyes (like pooles at a frequented gate
For every commer, to draw water at)
Are common treasures, and like chrystall glasses,
Shwes each his lively visage, as he passes.
Thy Nose, the curious Organ of thy Sent,
Wants nothing more, for use, for ornament.

15

Thy Tyres of gold (inricht with glorious gems,
Rare Diamonds, and princely Diadems)
Adorne thy browes, and with their native worth
Aduance thy glory, and set thy beautie forth:
So perfect are thy Graces, so divine,
And full of heaven, are those faire lookes of thine,
That I'm inflamed with the double fire
Of thy full beauty, and my fierce desire.

16

O sacred Symmetrie! O rare connection
Of many perfects, to make one perfection!
O heauenly Musicke, where all parts doe meet
In one sweet straine, to make one perfect sweet!
O glorious members, whose each severall features
Divine, compose so, so divine a Creature!
Faire soule, as all thy parts united be
Entire, so summ'd are all my joyes in thee.

423

17

Thy curious Fabricke, and erected stature
Is like the generous Palme, whose lofty nature,
In spight of envious violence, will aspire,
When most supprest, the more it moūts the higher:
Thy lovely brests, (whose beautie reinvites
My oft remembrance to her oft delights)
Are like the swelling Clusters of the vine;
So full of sweetnesse are those brests of thine.

18

Art thou my Palme? My busie hand shal nourish
Thy fruitfull roots, & make thy brāches flourish:
Art thou my vine? My skilfull arme shall dresse
Thy dying plants; my living springs shall blesse
Thy infant Buds; my blasting breath shall quell
Presumptuous weeds, & make thy clusters swell:
And all that love thee, shall attaine the favour
To taste thy sweetnesse, and to smell thy savour.

19

Those Oracles that from thy lips proceed,
With sweet Evangels, shall delight and feed
Th'attentive eare, and like the Trumpets voyce
Amaze faint hearts, but make brave spirits rejoice:
Thy breath, whose Dialect is most divine,
Incends quicke flames, where ember'd sparkes but shine;
It strikes the Pleaders Rhet'ricke with derision,
And makes the dullest soule a Rhetorician.

The force of repentance.

Sincere Ministers.

Thy visible parts.

Modestie, and zeale.

The pure in heart.

My Spirit.

Securitie.

Worldly pleasures.

Thy wayes.

The girdle of truth.

The precious gifts of the Spirit

Whereby there is a receipt of spirituall Conceptions.

Increase of the faithfull.

The old and new Testament.

Magistrates.

Teachers.

Glorious in all parts.

The ceremonies of the church.

Despairing soules.

Young Converts.

Opposers of the truth.

424

BRIDE.

Sonet XXI.

1

My faith, not merits, hath assur'd thee, mine;
Thy Love, not my desert hath made me, thine:
Vnworthy I, whose drowsie soule rejected
Thy precious favours, and (secure) neglected
Thy glorious presence, how am I become
A Bride befitting so divine a Groome!
It is no merit, no desert of mine,
Thy love, thy love alone, hath made me thine.

2

Since then the bountie of thy deare election
Hath stil'd me thine, O let the sweet reflection
Of thy illustrious beames, my soule inspire,
And with thy spirit, inflame my hot desire;
Vnite our soules; O let thy Spirit rest
And make perpetuall home within my brest;
Instruct me so, that I may gaine the skill,
To suite my service to thy sacred will.

3

Come, come (my soules preserver) thou that art
Th'united joyes of my united heart,
Come, let us visit with the morning light,
Our prosperous Vines; with mutuall delight
Lt's view those grapes, whose clusters being prest
Shall make rich wines, to serve your Mariage feast,
That by the thriving plants it may appeare,
Our joyes perfecting Mariage draweth neere.

425

4

Behold, my new disclosed flowers present
Before thy gates, their tributary sent;
Reserve themselves for Garlands, that they may
Adorne the Bridegorme, on his Mariage day:
My Garden's full of Trees, and every Tree
Laden with fruit, which I devote to thee;
Eternall joyes betide that happy guest,
That tastes the dainties of the Bridegroomes feast.

5

O would to God mine eyes (these fainting eyes,
Whose eager appetite could ne're devise
A dearer object, might but once behold
My Love (as I am, clad in fleshly mold,
That each may corporally converse with other
As friend with friend; as sister with her brother,
O how mine eyes could welcome such a sight!
How would my soule dissolve with o're-delight!

6

Then should this hand conduct my fairest Spouse,
To taste a banquet at my mothers house;
Our fruitfull Garden should present thine eyes
With sweet delights; her trees should sacrifice
Their early fruits to thee; our tender Vine
Should cheare thy palate with her unprest wine;

426

Thy hand should teach my living Plants to thrive;
And such, as are a dying, to revive.

7

Then should my soule enjoy within this breast,
A holy Sabbath of eternall Rest;
Then should my cause that suffers through despight
Of errour, and rude Ignorance, have right;
Then should these streames, whose tydes so often
Be ebb'd away, from my suffused eyes;
Then should my spirits fill'd with heavenly mirth, rise,
Triumph o're Hell, and finde a heaven on earth.

8

All you that wish the bountifull encrease
Of dearest pleasures, and divinest peace,
I charge you all (if ought my charge may move
Your tender hearts) not to disturbe my Love;
Vexe not his gentle Spirit, nor bereave
Him of his joyes, that is so apt to grieve;
Dare not to breake his quiet slumbers, lest
You rouze a raging Lyon from his rest.

9

Who ever lov'd, that ever lov'd as I,
That for his sake renounce my selfe, deny
The worlds best joyes, and have the world forgone?
Who ever lov'd so deare, As I have done?

427

I sought my Love, and found him lowly laid
Beneath the tree of Love, in whose sweet shade
He rested; there his eye sent forth the fire,
That first enflam'd my amorous desire.

10

My dearest Spouse, O seale me on thy heart
So sure, that envious Earth may never part
Our joyned soules; let not the world remove
My chast desiers from so choyce a Love;
For, O, my love's not slight, her flames are serious
Was never death so powerfull, so imperious:
My jealous zeale is a consuming fire,
That burns my soule, through feare & fierce desire.

11

Fires may be quencht; and flames, though ne'r so great,
With many drops shal faint, and lose their heat:
But these quick fires of love, the more supprest,
The more they flame in my inflamed brest;
How darke is Honour! how obscure and dim
Is earths bright glory, but compar'd with him!
How foule is Beauty! what a toyle is Pleasure!
How poore is Wealth! how base a thing is treasure!

12

Have a Sister, which by thy divine
And bounteous Grace, our Marriage shall make thine;
She is mine owne, mine onely Sister, whom
My Mother bare the youngest of her wombe:

428

Shee's yet a childe, her beauty may improve,
Her brests are small, and yet too greene for love;
When time and yeares shall adde perfection to her,
Say (dearest Love) what honour wilt thou do her?

Congregation of the faithfull.

By affliction.

Young Convers.

Assemblies.

Faithfull.

Faith and goodworkes.

The universall Church.

Teares and sorrowes.

Not to vexe and grieve his holy Spirit.

In humility.

The Church of the Gentiles then uncalled.

Vncall'd to the truth.

BRIDEGROOME.

Sonet. XXII.

If she be faire, and with her beauty, prove
As chaste, as loyall to her virgin-Love,
As thou hast beene, then in that high degree
Ile honour her, as I have honour'd thee:
Be she as constant as her Vestall vow,
And true to her devoted faith, as thou,
Ile crowne her head, and fill her hand with power,
And give a Kingdome to her for a Dower.

BRIDE.

Sonet. XXIII.

VVhen time shall ripen these her greene desires,
And holy Love shal breathe her heav'nly fires
Into her Virgin brest, her heart shall be
As true to love, as I am true to thee:
O, when thy boundlesse bountie shall conjoyne
Her equall-glorious Majesty, with mine,
My ioyes are perfect, then, in sacred bands
Wedlocke shall couple our espoused hands.

429

BRIDEGROOME.

Sonet. XXIIII.

1

I am thy Gard'ner, Thou my fruitfull Vine,
Whose rip'ned clusters swell with richest Wine;
The Vines of Solomon were not so faire,
His Grapes were not so pretious, as thine are;
His Vines were subject to the vulgar will
Of hired hands, and mercinary skill;
Corrupted Carles were merry with his Vines,
And at a price return'd their barter'd wines.

2

Bvt mine's a Vineyard, which no ruder hand
Shall touch, subjected to my sole command;
My selfe with this laborious arme, will dresse it,
My presence with a busie eye shall blesse it;
O Princely Solomon, thy thriving Vine
Is not so faire, so bountifull as mine;
Thy greedy sharers claime an earned hire,
But mine's reseru'd, and to my selfe entire.

3

O thou, that dwellest where th'eternall fame
Of my renowne so glorifies my name,
Lustrious Bride, in whose celestiall tongue,
Are sacred Spels t'enchant the ruder throng;
O let thy lips, like a perpetuall story;
Divulge my graces, and declare my glory;

430

Direct those hearts, that errour leads astray,
Dissolve the Waxe, but make obdure the Clay.

In the great Congregation.

The penitent

The presumptuous

BRIDE.

Sonet XXV.

Most glorious Love, and honourable Lord,
My heart's the vowed servant of thy Word,
But I am weake, and as a tender Vine,
Shall fall, unpropt by that deare hand of thine:
Assist me therefore that I may fulfill
What thou commandst, and then command thy wil;
O leave thy Sacred Spirit in my brest,
As earnest of an everlasting Rest.

The end.

SIONS ELEGIES. Wept BY IEREMIE THE PROPHET

437

TO THE TRVE THEANTHROPOS, Iesus Christ, THE Saviovr OF THE WORLD: His Servant implores his favourable assistance.

Thou Alpha and Omega, before whom,
Things past & present, & things yet to come,
Are all alike; O prosper my designes,
And let thy spirit inrich my feeble lines;
Revive my passion; let mine eye behold
Those sorrowes present, which were wept of old:

438

Strike sad my Soule, and give my Pen, the Art
To move; and Me, an understanding heart.
O, let the Accent of each word, make knowne,
I mixe the Teares of Sion, with mine owne:
Preserve all such, as beare true hearts to Sion.
We are thy Lambes, O, be thou still our Lion.

439

Threnodia. I.

Eleg. 1.

Ah griefe of Times! Ah, sable times of Griefe,
Whose torments find a voice, but no reliefe!
Are these the buildings? These the tower and state,
That all th'amazed Earth stood wondring at?
Is this that Citie, whose eternall Glory,
Could find no period, for her endlesse storie?
And is she come to this? Her Buildings raz'd,
Her Towers burnt? Her Glory thus defac'd?
O sudden Change! O world of Alterations!
She, she that was the Prince, the Queen of Nations
See, how she lyes, of strength, of all, bereiv'd,
Now paying Tribute, which she once receiv'd.

Eleg. 2.

Behold! her eyes, those glorious eyes, that were
Like two faire Suns, in one celestiall Sphære,
Whose radiant beames did, once, reflect so bright,
Are now eclipsed, and have lost their light,

440

And seeme like Ilands, about which appeares
A troubled Ocean, with a Tide of Teares;
Her servant Cities (that were once at hand,
And bow'd their servile necks to her command,)
Stand all aloofe, as strangers to her mone,
And give her leave to spend her teares alone,
Her neighbours flatter, with a false reliefe,
And with a kisse, betray her to her griefe.

Eleg. 3.

Compast around with Seas of briny teares,
Iudah laments, distraught with double feares;
Even as the fearfull Partridge, to excuse her
From the fierce Gos-hawk, that too close pursues her,
Falls in a Covert, and her selfe doth cover
From her unequall Foe, that sits above her:
Meane while the treason of her quick Retrivers,
Discovers novell dangers, and delivers
Her to a second feare, whose double fright
Findes safety nor in staying, nor in flight;
Even so is Iudah vext, with change of woes,
Betwixt her home-bred, and her forreine Foes.

Eleg. 4.

Did not these sacred Cawsies, that are leading
To Sion, late seeme pav'd, with often treading?
Now secret Dens, for lurking Theeves to meet,
Vnprest, unlesse with sacrilegious feet;
Sion the Temple of the highest God,
Stands desolate, her holy steps untrod;

441

Her Altars are defac'd, her Virgin fires
Surcease, & with a stinke, her snuff expires;
Her Priests have chang'd their Hymns to sighs and cries,
Her Virgins weepe forth Rivers from their eyes:
O Sion, thou that wert the Childe of mirth,
Art now the scorne, and By-word of the Earth?

Eleg. 5.

Encreas'd in power, and high Chevisance
Of armes, thy Tyrant foemen doe advance
Their crafty crests; He, he that was thy father,
And crownd thee once with blessings, now doth gather
His troops to work thy end; him, who advanc't thee
To be Earths Queen, thy sins have bent against thee
Strange spectacle of Griefe! Thy tender frie,
Whom childhood taught no language, but their cry
T'expresse their infant griefe, these, wretched these
By force of childish teares, could not appease
The ruthlesse sword, which deafe to all their cries,
Did drive them Captives from their mothers eies.

Eleg. 6.

Faire Virgin Sion, where (ah) where are those
Pure cheekes, wherein the Lilly, and the Rose
So much contended lately for the place,
Till both compounded in thy glorious face?
How hast thou blear'd those sun-bright eies of thine
Those beames, the royall Magazens of divine
And sacred Majesty, from whose pure light,
The purblind worldlings did receive their sight,

442

Thy fearfull Princes, leave their fencelesse towers,
And flie like Harts, before their swift pursuers;
Like light-foot Harts they flie, not knowing where,
Prickt on with Famine, and distracted Feare.

Eleg. 7.

Gall'd with her griefe, Jerusalem recalls
To minde her lost delights, her Festivalls,
Her peacefull freedome, and full joyes, in vaine
Wishing, what Earth cannot restore againe;
Succour she sought, and begg'd, but none was there
To give the Almes of one poore trickling teare;
The scornefull lips of her amazed Foes,
Deride the griefe, of her disastrous woes;
They laugh, and lay more ample torments on her,
Disdaine to looke, and yet they gaze upon her,
Abuse her Altars, hate her Offerings,
Prophane her Sabbaths, and her holy Things.

Eleg. 8.

Hadst thou (Ierusalem) O, had thy heart
Beene loyall to his love, whose once thou wert,
O, had the beames of thy unvailed eye
Continu'd pure; hadst thou beene nice, to try
New pleasures, thus thy Glory ne're had wasted,
Thy Walls, till now, like thy Reproch, had lasted.
Thy Lovers, whose false beauties did entice thee,
Have seene thee naked, and doe now despise thee;
Drunke with thy wanton pleasures, they are fled,
And scorne the bountie of thy loathed bed;

443

Lest to thy guilt (the servant of thy sin)
Thou sham'st to show, what once, thou gloriedst in?

Eleg. 9.

Ierusalem is all infected over
With Leprosie, whose filth, no shade can cover,
Puft up with pride, unmindfull of her end,
See how she lyes, devoid of helpe, or friend.
Great Lord of Lords (whose mercy far transcéds
Thy sacred Iustice) whose full Hand attends
The cries of empty Ravens, bow downe thine eares
To wretched Sion, Sion drownd in teares;
Thy hand did plant her, (Lord) she is thy vine,
Confound her foes: they are her foes, and thine:
Shew wonted favour to thy holy hill.
Rebuild her walls, and love thy Sion still.

Eleg. 10.

Knees, falslie bent to Dagon, now defile
Her wasted Temple rudely they dispoile
Th'abused Altars, and no hand releeves;
Her house of prayer is turn'd a den of theeves;
Her costly Robes, her sacred treasure stands,
A willing prey to sacrilegious hands,
Her Priests are slaine, & in a lukewarme flood
Through every channel runs the Levites blood;
The hallowed Temple of the highest God,
Whose purer foot-steps were not to be trod
With unprepared feet, before her eye,
Is turn'd a Grove, for base Idolatrie.

444

Eleg. 11.

Lingring with Death and Famine, Iudah groanes,
And to the ayre, breathes forth her ayrie moanes,
Her fainting eyes waxe dim, her cheekes grow pale,
Her wandring steps despaire to speed, and faile,
She faints, and through her trembling lips, halfe dead,
She whispers oft the holy name of bread:
Great God, let thy offended wrath surcease,
Behold thy servants, send thy servants peace,
Behold thy vassals, groveling on the dust;
Be mercifull (deare God) as well as just;
'Tis thou, 'tis thou alone, that sent this griefe,
'Tis thou, 'tis thou alone, can send reliefe.

Eleg. 12.

My tongu's in labour with her painefull birth,
That finds no passage; Lord, how strange a dearth
Of words, concomitates a world of woes!
I neither can conceale, nor yet disclose:
You weary Pilgrimes, you whom change of Climes
Have tought you change of Fortunes, and of Times,
Stay, stay your feeble steps, and cast your eyes
On me, the Abstract of all miseries.
Say (Pilgrimes) say, if e're your eyes beheld
More truer Iliades; more unparalleld,
And matelesse evils, which my offended God
Reulcerates, with his enraged Rod.

445

Eleg. 13.

No humane power could no envious Art
Of mortall man, could thus subject my heart,
My glowing heart, to these imperious fires:
No earthly sorrow, but at length expires;
But these my Tyrant-torments doe extend
To infinites, nor having ease, nor end;
Loe, I the Pris'ner of the highest God,
Inthralled to the vengeance of his Rod,
Lie bound in fetters, that I cannot flie,
Nor yet endure his deadly stroakes, nor die:
My joyes are turn'd to sorrows, backt with feares,
And I (poore I) lie pickled up in teares.

Eleg. 14.

O! how unsufferable is the waight
Of sinne! How miserable is their state,
The silence of whose secret sinne conceales
The smart, till Iustice to Revenge appeales!
How ponderous are my crimes, whose ample scroul
Weighs downe the pillars of my broken Soule!
Their sowre, masqu'd with sweetnes, overswai'd me
And with their smiling kisses, they betrai'd me,
Betraid me to my Foes, and what is worse,
Betraid me to my selfe, and heavens curse,
Betraid my soule to an eternall griefe,
Devoid of hope, for e're to finde reliefe.

446

Eleg. 15.

Perplext with change of woes, where ere I turne
My fainting eyes, they finde fresh cause to mourne
My griefes move like the Planets, which appeare
Chang'd from their places, cōstant to their sphære
Behold, the earth-confounding arme of Heaven,
Hath cow'd my valiant Captaines, and hath driven
Their scattered forces up and downe the street,
Like worried sheepe afraid of all they meet;
My younger men, the seede of propagation,
Exile hath driven from my divided Nation;
My tender Virgins have not scap'd their rage,
Which neither had respect to youth, nor age.

Eleg. 16.

Qvicke change of torments! equall to those crimes,
Which past unthought-of, in my prosp'rous times
From hence proceed my griefes, (ah me) from hence
My Spring-tyde sorrowes have their influence;
For these, my soule dissolves, my eyes lament,
Spending those teares, whose store wil ne're be spēt;
For these, my fainting spirits droope, and melt
In anguish, such as never Mortall felt;
Within the selfe-same flames, I freeze, and frie,
I roare for helpe, and yet no helpe is nigh;
My sons are lost, whose fortunes would relieve me,
And onely such triumph, that hourely grieve me.

447

Eleg 17.

Rent from the glory of her lost renowne,
Sion laments; Her lips (her lips o'reflowne
With floods of teares) she prompteth how to breake
New languages, instructs her tongue to speake
Elegious Dialects; She lowly bends
Her dusty knees upon the earth, extends
Her brawnlesse armes to them, whose ruthlesse eyes
Are red, with laughing at her miseries;
Naked she lies, deform'd, and circumvented,
With troopes of feares, unpitied, unlamented,
A loathsome draine for filth, despis'd, forlorne;
The scorne of Nations, and the childe of scorne.

Eleg. 18.

Sowre wages issue from the sweets of sin,
Heavens hand is just, this trecherous heart hath bin
The author of my woes: 'Tis I alone;
My sorrowes reap, what my foule sins have sowne;
Often they cry'de to heaven, e're heaven reply'd,
And vengeance ne're had come, had they ne'r cride;
All you that passe, vouchsafe your gracious eares,
To heare these cries; your eyes, to view these tears;
They are no heat-drops of an angry heart,
Or childish passions of an idle smart,
But they are Rivers, springing from an eye,
Whose streams, no joy can stop, no griefe draw drie.

448

Eleg. 19.

Tvrne where I list, new cause of woe presents
My poore distracted soule with new laments;
Where shall I turne? shall I implore my friends?
Ah, summer friendship, with the Summer ends;
In vaine to them my groanes, in vaine my teares,
For harvest friends can finde no winter eares;
Or shall I call my sacred Priests for aid?
Alas! my pined Priests are all betraid
To Death, and Famine; in the streets they cryed
For bread, & whilst they sought for bread, they died
Vengeance could never strike so hard a blow,
As when she sends an unlamented woe.

Eleg. 20.

Vouchsafe (great God) to turne thy tender eyes
On me poore wretch: Oh, let my midnight cries
(That never cease, if never stopt with teares)
Procure audience from thy gracious eares;
Behold thy creature, made by change of griefe,
The barest wretch, that ever beg'd reliefe;
See, see, my soule is tortur'd on thy rack
My bowels tremble, and my heart-strings crack;
Abroad, the sword with open ruine frights me;
At home, the secret hand of Famine smites me;
Strange fires of griefe! How is my soule opprest,
That findes abroad, no peace, at home, no rest!

449

Eleg. 21.

Where, where art thou, O sacred Lambe of peace,
That promis'd to the heavie laden, ease?
Thee, thee alone, my often bended knee
Invokes, that haue no other helpe, but thee;
My foes (amazed at my hoarse complaining)
Scoffe at my oft repeated cries, disdaining
To lend their prosp'rous hand, they hisse and smile,
Taking a pleasure to behold my spoile:
Their hands delight to bruize my broken reeds,
And still persist, to prick that heart that bleeds;
But there's a Day (if Prophets can divine)
Shal scourge their sins, as they have scourged mine.

Eleg. 22.

You noysome weeds, that lift your crests so high,
When better plants, for want of moysture die?
Thinke you to flourish ever? and (unspide)
To shoot the flowers of your fruitlesse pride?
If plants be cropt, because their fruits are small,
Thinke you to thrive, that beare no fruit at all?
Looke downe (great God) & from their places teare
These weeds, that suck the juice, shold make us bear
Vndew'd with showers, let them see no Sun,
But feel those frosts, that thy poor plāts have done.
O clense thy Garden, that the world may know
Wee are the seeds, that thy right hand did sow.

450

Threnodia II.

Eleg. 1.

Alas! my torments, my distracted feares
Have no commerce, with reasonable teares:
How hath Heavens absence darkned the renowne
Of Sions glory! with one angry frowne.
How hath th'Almighty clouded those bright beams
And chang'd her beauties streamers, into streames!
Sion, the glory of whose refulgent Fame
Gave earnest of an everlasting name,
Is now become an indigested Masse,
And ruine is, where that brave glory was:
How hath heaven strucke her earth-admired name
From th'height of honour, to the depth of shame;

Eleg. 2.

Beautie, nor strength of building could entice,
Or force revenge from her just enterprise;
Mercy hath stopt her eares, and Iustice hath
Powr'd out full vialls of her kindled wrath;
Impatient of delay, she hath strucke downe
The pride of Sion, kickt off Iuda's Crowne;
Her streets unpeopled, and disperst her powres,
And with the ground hath levell'd her high towres;
Her priests are slaine, her captiv'd Princes are
Vnransom'd pris'ners; Slaves her men of warre;
Nothing remaines of all her wonted glory,
But sad memorialls of her tragicke story.

451

Eleg. 3.

Confused horror, and confounding shame,
Have blur'd the beauty, and renowned name
Of righteous Israel; Israels fruitfull land,
Entail'd by Heaven, with the usurping hand
Of uncontroled Gentiles, is laid waste,
And with the spoile of ruine is defac't;
The angry mouth of Iustice blowes the fires
Of hasty vengeance, whose quicke flame aspires,
With fury to that place, which heaven did sever,
For Iacob and his holy seed for ever;
No part, no secret angle of the Land,
Which beares no marke of heavens enraged hand.

Eleg. 4.

Darts, thrild from heavē, transfix my bleeding heart
And fill my soule with everlasting smart,
Whose festring wound, no fortune can recure;
Th'Almighty strikes but seldome, but strikes sure;
His finowy arme hath drawne his steely bow,
And sent his forked shafts to overthrow
My pined Princes, and to ruinate
The weakened Pillars, of my wounded State;
His hand hath scourg'd my deare delights, acquited
My soule, of all, wherein my soule delighted;
I am the mirrour of unmasked sin,
To see her (dearely purchas'd) pleasures in.

452

Eleg. 5.

Even as the Pilot, whose sharpe Keele divides
Th'encountring waves of the Cicilian Tides,
Tost on the lists of death, striving to scape
The danger of deepe mouth'd Charybdis rape,
Rebuts on Scylla, with a forc'd careere,
And wrecks upon a lesse suspected feare;
Even so poore I, contriving to withstand
My Foemans, fall into th'Almighties hand;
So I, the childe of ruine, to avoid
Lesse dangers, by a greater am destroy'd:
How necessary, Ah! How sharp's his end,
That neither hath his God, nor man, to friend!

Eleg. 6

Forgotten Sion hangs her drooping head,
Vpon her fainting brest; Her soule is fed
With endlesse griefe, whose torments had depriv'd her
Long since, of life, had not new paines reviv'd her:
Sion is like a Garden, whose defence
Being broke, is left to the rude violence
Of wastefull Swine, full of neglected waste;
Nor having flowre for smell, nor herbe for taste;
Heaven takes no pleasure in her holy Feasts,
Her idle Sabbaths, or burnt fat of beasts;
Both State and Temple are despoil'd, and fleec't
Of all their beauty; without Prince, or Priest.

453

Eleg. 7.

Glory, that once did Heavens bright Temple fill,
Is now departed from that sacred Hill;
See, how the emptie Altar stands disguis'd,
Abus'd by Gentiles, and by heaven despis'd;
That place, wherein the holy One hath taken
So sweet delight, lies loathed, and forsaken;
That sacred place, wherein the precious Name
Of great Iehovah was preserv'd, the same
Is turn'd a Den for Theeves; an open stage
For vice to act on; a defiled Cage
Of uncleane birds; a house of priviledge
For sin, and uncontrolled sacriledge.

Eleg. 8.

Heaven hath decreed; his angry brest doth boile,
His time's expired, and he's arm'd to spoile;
His secret Will adjourn'd the righteous doome
Of threatned Sion, and her time is come;
His hand is arm'd with thunder, from his eyes
A flame more quicke than sulphrous Etna, flyes;
Sion must fall: That hand which hath begun,
Can never rest, till the full worke be done.
Her walls are sunke, her Towres are overthrowne,
Heaven will not leave a stone upon a stone;
Hence, hence the flouds of roaring Iudah rise,
Hence Sion fills the Cisternes of her eyes.

454

Eleg. 9.

Ioy is departed from the holy Gates
Of deare Ierusalem, and peace retraits
From wasted Sion; her high walls, that were
An armed proofe against the brunt of feare,
Are shrunke for shame, if not withdrawne, for pity,
To see the ruine of so brave a City;
Her Kings, and out-law'd Princes live constraind
Hourely to heare the name of Heaven profan'd;
Manners and Lawes, the life of government
Are sent into eternall banishment;
Her Prophets cease to preach; they vow, unheard:
They howle to heaven, but heaven gives no regard.

Eleg. 10.

King, Priest, and People, all alike are clad
In weeds of Sack-cloth, taken from the sad
Wardrobe of sorrow, prostrate on the earth,
They close their lips, their lips estrang'd to mirth:
Silent they sit, for dearth of speech affords
A sharper Accent, for true griefe, than words:
The Father wants a Son, the Son a Mother;
The Bride, her Groom: the brother wāts a brother;
Some, Famine: Exile some: and some the sword
Hath slaine: All want, when Sion wants her Lord:
How art thou all in all! There's nothing scant
(Great God) with thee, without thee, all things want.

455

Eleg. 11.

Launch forth my soule, into a sea of teares,
Whose ballanc'd bulke, no other Pilot steares,
Then raging sorrow, whose uncertaine hand,
Wanting her Compasse, strikes on every sand;
Driven with a storme of sighes, she seekes the Haven
Of rest, but like to Noahs wandring Raven,
She scowres the Maine: and, as a Sea-lost Rover,
She roames, but can no land of peace discover:
Mine eyes are faint with teares, teares have no end,
The more are spent, the more remaine to spend:
What Marble (ah) what Adamantine eye,
Can looke on Sions ruine, and not cry?

Eleg. 12.

My tongue? the tongues of Angels, are too faint
T'expresse the causes of my just complaint;
See, how the pale-fac'd sucklings roare for food,
And from their milkles mothers brests, draw blood:
Children surcease their serious toyes, and plead
With trickling teares, Ah mothers, give us bread:
Such goodly Barnes, and not one graine of corne?
Why did the sword escape's? Why were we borne
To be devour'd and pin'd with famine? save us:
With quicke reliefe, or take the lives, you gave us:
They cryde for bread, that scarce had breath to cry,
And wanting meanes to live, found meanes to dye.

456

Eleg. 13.

Never, ah! never yet, did vengeance brand
A State, with deeper ruine, than thy Land;
Deare Sion how could mischiefe beene more keene,
Or strucke thy glory with a sharper spleene?
Whereto (Ierusalem) to what shall I
Compare this thy unequall'd misery?
Turne backe to ages past; Search deepe Records:
Theirs are, thine cannot be exprest in words:
Would, would to God, my lives cheape price might be
Esteem'd of value, but to ransome thee;
Would I could cure thy griefe; but who is able
To heale that wound, that is immedicable?

Eleg. 14.

O Sion, had thy prosperous soule endur'd
Thy Prophets scourge, thy joyes had bin secur'd;
But thou (ah thou) hast lent thine itching eare
To such as claw'd, and onely such, wouldst heare;
Thy Prophets, 'nointed with unhallow'd oyle,
Rubd where they should have launcht, and did beguile
Thy abused faith, their fawning lips did cry
Peace, peace, alas, when there was no peace nigh;
They quilted silken curtaines for thy crimes,
Belyde thy God, and onely pleas'd the times:
Deare Sion, oh! hadst thou but had the skill
To stop thine eares, thou hadst beene Sion still.

457

Eleg. 15.

People, that travell through thy wasted Land,
Gaze on thy ruines, and amazed stand,
They shake their spleenfull heads, disdaine, deride
The sudden downefall of so faire a pride;
They clap their joyfull hands, & fill their tongues
With hisses, ballads, and with Lyrick songs;
Her torments give their empty lips new matter,
And with their scornfull fingers, point they at her;
Is this (say they) that place, whose wonted fame
Made troubled earth to tremble at her name?
Is this that State? are these those goodly Stations?
Is this that Mistris, and that Queene of Nations?

Eleg. 16.

Qvencht are the dying Embers of compassion,
For empty sorrow findes no lamentation:
When as thy Harvest flourisht with full eares,
Thy sleightest griefe brought in a tide of teares;
But now, alas! thy Crop consum'd, and gon,
Thou art but food, for beasts to trample on;
Thy servants glory in thy ruine, those
That were thy private friends, are publike foes;
Thus, thus (say they) we spit our rankrous spleene,
And gnash our teeth upon the worlds faire Queene;
Thrice welcome this (this long expected) day,
That crownes our conquest, with so sweet a prey.

450

Eleg. 17.

Rebellious Iudah! Could thy flattring crimes
Secure thee from the dangers of the times?
Or did thy summer Prophets ere foresay
These evills, or warn'd thee of a winters day?
Did not those sweet-lipt Oracles beguile
Thy wanton eares, with newes of Wine, and Oile?
But heaven is just: what his deepe counsell wild,
His prophets told, and Iustice hath fulfill'd:
He hath destroy'd; no secret place so voyd,
No Fort so sure, that Heaven hath not destroy'd:
Thou land of Iudah! How's thy sacred throne
Become a stage, for Heathen to trample on!

Eleg 18.

See, see, th'accursed Gentiles doe inherit
The Land of promise; where heavens Sacred Spirit
Built Temples for his everlasting Name,
There, there, th'usurping Pagans doe proclaime
Their idle Idols, unto whom they gave
That stolen honor which heavnes Lord should have
Winke Sion; O let not those eyes be stain'd
With heavens dishonour, see not heaven profan'd;
Close, close thine eyes, or if they needs must be
Open, like flood-gates, to let water flee,
Yet let the violence of their flowing streames
Obscure thine open eyes, and mask their beames.

459

Eleg. 19.

Trust not thy eye-lids, lest a flattering sleepe
Bribe them to rest, and they forget to weepe:
Powre out thy heart, thy heart dissolv'd in teares,
Weepe forth thy plaints, in the Almighties eares;
Oh, let thy cries, thy cries to heaven addrest,
Disturbe the silence of thy midnight rest;
Prefer the sad petitions of thy soule
To heaven, ne'er close thy lips till heaven condole
Confounded Sion, and her wounded weale;
That God that smit, oh, move that God to heale;
Oh, let thy tongue ne're cease to call, thine eye
To weepe, thy pensive heart ne're cease to cry.

Eleg. 20.

Vouchsafe, oh thou eternall Lord of pitty,
To looke on Sion, and thy dearest City,
Confus'd Ierusalem, for thy Davids sake,
And for that promise, which thy selfe did make
To halting Isr'el; loe, thy hand hath forc'd
Mothers (whom lawlesse Famine hath divorc'd
From deare affection) to devoure the bloomes,
And buds, that burgeond frō their painful wombs;
Thy sacred Priests and Prophets, that while-ere
Did hourely whisper in thy neighbouring eare,
Are falne before the sacrilegious sword,
Even where, even whilst they did unfold thy word,

460

Eleg. 21.

Wounded, and wasted, by th'eternall hand
Of heaven, I grovell on the ground; my land
Is turn'd a Golgotha; before mine eye,
Vnsepulchred my murthred people lye;
My dead lye rudely scattred on the stones,
My Cawsies all are pav'd with dead mens bones;
The fierce Destroyer doth alike forbeare
The maidens trembling, and the Matrons teare,
Th'imperiall sword spares neither Foole, nor Wise,
The old mans pleading, nor the Infants cries:
Vengeance is deafe, and blinde, and she respects
Nor Young, nor Old, nor Wise, nor Foole, nor Sex.

Eleg. 22.

Yeares heavie laden with their months, retire;
Months, gone their date of numbred daies, expire;
The daies, full houred, to their period tend;
And howers, chac'd with light-foot Minutes, end;
Yet my undated evills, no time will minish,
Though yeares & months, though daies and howers finis:
Feares flocke about me, as invited guests
Before the Portalls, at proclamed feasts;
Where heavē hath breathd, that man, that state must fall,
Heaven wants no thunder-bolts to strike withall:
I am the subject, of that angry Breath,
My sonnes are slaine, and I am mark'd for death.

461

Threnodia III.

Eleg. 1.

All you, whose unprepared lips did tast
The tedious Cup of sharp affliction, cast
Your wondring eyes on me, that have drunke up
Those dregs, whereof you onely kist the Cup:
I am the man, 'gainst whom th'Eternall hath
Discharg'd the lowder volley of his wrath;
I am the man, on whom the brow of night
Hath scowl'd, unworthy to behold the light;
I am the man, in whom th'Almighty showes
The dire example of unpattern'd woes;
I am the Pris'ner, ransome cannot free;
I am that man, and I am onely he.

Eleg. 2.

Bondage hath forc'd my servile necke to faile
Beneath her load; Afflictions nimble flayle
Hath thrasht my soule upon a floore of stones,
And quasht the marrow of my broken bones,
Th'assembled powres of Heaven enrag'd, are eager
To root me out: Heavens souldiers doe beleager
My worried soule, my soule unapt for fleeing,
That yeelds o'reburthen'd with her tedious being;
Th'Almighties hand hath clouded all my night,
And clad my soule with a perpetuall light,
A night of torments, and eternall sorrow,
Like that of Death, that never findes a morrow.

462

Eleg. 3.

Chain'd to the brazen pillars of my woes,
I strive in vaine. No mortall hand can loose
What heaven hath bound; my soule is walld about,
That hope can nor get in, nor feare get out;
When ere my wav'ring hopes to heaven addresse
The feeble voice of my extreame distresse,
He stops his tyred eares; without regard
Of Suit, or Suitor, leaves my prayers unheard.
Before my faint and stumbling feet he layes
Blockes, to disturbe my best advised wayes;
I seeke my peace, but seeke my peace in vaine;
For every way's a Trap; each path's a Traine.

Eleg. 4.

Disturbed Lyons are appeas'd with blood,
And ravenous Beares are milde, not wanting food,
But heaven (ah heaven!) will not implored be:
Lyons, and Beares are not so fierce as Hee:
His direfull vengeance (which no meane confines)
Hath crost the thriving of my best designes;
His hand hath spoild me, that erewhile advanc't me
Brought in my foes, possest my friends against me;
His Bow is bent, his forked Rovers flie
Like darted haile-stones from the darkned skie,
Shot from a hand that cannot erre, they be
Transfixed in no other marke, but me.

463

Eleg. 5.

Exil'd from Heaven, I wander to and fro,
And seeke for streames, as Stags new stricken doe,
And like a wandring Hart I flee the Hounds,
With Arrowes deeply fixed in my wounds;
My deadly Hunters with a winged pace,
Pricke forwards, and pursue their weary chace,
They whoope, they hollow me, deride, & flout me,
That flee from death, yet carrie death about me:
Excesse of torments hath my soule deceiv'd
Of all her joyes, of all her powres bereiv'd.
O curious griefe, that hast my soule brim-fill'd
With thousand deaths, and yet my soule not kill'd!

Eleg. 6.

Follow'd with troopes of feares, I flie in vaine,
For change of places breeds new change of paine;
The base condition of my low estate,
My exalted Foes disdaine, and wonder at:
Turne where I list (these) these my wretched eyes,
They finde no objects, but new miseries;
My soule, accustom'd to so long encrease
Of paines, forgets that she had ever peace;
Thus, thus perplext, thus with my griefes distracted
What shall I do? Heavens powers are compacted
To worke my 'eternall ruine; To what friend
Shal I make mone, when heaven conspires my end?

464

Eleg. 7.

Great GOD! what helpe (ah me) what hope is left
To him, that of thy prescence is bereft?
Absented from thy favour, what remaines,
But sense, and sad remembrance of my paines?
Yet hath affliction op'ned my dull eare,
And taught me, what in weale I ne're could heare;
Her scourge hath tutor'd me with sharpe corrections
And swag'd the swelling of my proud affections;
Till now I slumbred in a prosp'rous dreame,
From whēce awak'd, my griefes are more extreame;
Hopes newly quickned, have my soule assur'd,
That griefes discover'd, are one halfe recur'd.

Eleg. 8.

Had not the milder hand of mercy broke
The furious violence of that fatall stroke
Offended Iustice strucke, we had beene quite
Lost in the shadowes of eternall night;
Thy mercy Lord, is like the morning Sunne,
Whose beames undoe, what sable night hath done;
Or like a streame, the current of whose course,
Restrain'd a while, runs with a swifter force;
Oh, let me swelter in those sacred beames,
And after bathe me in these silver streames;
To thee alone, my sorrowes shall appeale;
Hath earth a wound, too hard for heaven to heale?

465

Eleg. 9.

In thee (deare Lord) my pensive soule respires,
Thou art the fulnesse of my choice desires;
Thou art that sacred Spring,, whose waters burst
In streames to him, that seekes with holy thirst;
Thrice happy man, thrice happy thirst to bring
The fainting soule to so, so sweet a spring;
Thrice happy he, whose well resolved brest
Expects no other aide, no other rest;
Thrice happie he, whose downie age had bin
Reclaim'd by scourges, from the prime of sin,
And early season'd with the taste of Truth,
Remembers his Creator in his youth.

Eleg. 10.

Knowledge concomitates Heavens painefull rod,
Teaches the soule to know her selfe, her GOD,
Vnseiles the eye of Faith, presents a morrow
Of joy, within the sablest night of sorrow,
Th'afflicted soule abounds in barest need,
Sucks purest honie from the foulest weed,
Detests that good, which pamp'red reason likes,
Welcomes the stroke, kisses the hand that strikes;
In roughest Tides his well-prepared brest,
Vntoucht with danger, findes a haven of rest;
Hath all in all, when most of all bereaven;
In earth, a hell, in hell he findes a Heaven.

466

Eleg 11.

Labour perfected, with the evening ends,
The lampe of heaven (his course fulfill'd) descends
Can workes of nature seeke, and finde a rest;
And shall the torments of a troubled brest,
Impos'd by Natures all-commanding GOD,
Ne're know an end, ne're finde a period?
Deare soule despaire not, whet thy dull beliefe
With hope; heavens mercy will o'recome thy griefe
From thee, not him, proceeds thy punishment,
Hee's slow to wrath, and speedy to relent;
Thou burnst like gold, consumest not like fuell;
O, wrong not Heaven, to thinke that Heaven is cruell.

Eleg. 12.

Mountaines shall move, the Sun his circling course
Shall stop; Tridented Neptune shall divorce
Th'embracing floods from their beloved Iles,
Ere heaven forgets his servant, and recoyles
From his eternall vow: Those, those that bruise
His broken reeds, or secretly abuse
The doubtfull Title of a rightfull Cause,
Or with false bribes adulterat the Lawes,
That should be chaste, these, these, th'Almightie hath
Branded for subjects of a future wrath;
Oh, may the just man know, th'Eternall hastens
His plagues for trialls; loves the child he chastens.

467

Eleg. 13.

No mortall power, nor supernall might,
Not Lucifer, nor no infernall spright,
Nor all together joyn'd in one commission,
Can thinke or act, without divine permission;
Man wils, Heaven breathes successe, or not, upon it;
What good, what evill befals, but heaven hath done it?
Vpon his right hand, Health and Honors stand,
And flaming Scourges on the other hand:
Since then the States of good or evill depend
Vpon his will, (fond mortall) thou attend
Vpon his Wisdome; Why should living Dust
Complaine on Heaven, because that Heaven is just?

Eleg. 14.

O let the ballance of our even pois'd hearts
Weigh our afflictions with our just deserts,
And ease our heavie scale; Double the graines
We take from sinne, Heaven taketh from our pains;
Oh, let thy lowly-bended eyes not feare
Th'Almighties frownes, nor husband one poore teare;
Be prodigall in sighes, and let thy tongue,
Thy tongue estrang'd to heaven, cry all night long;
My soule thou leav'st, what thy Creator did
Will thee to doe, hast done what he forbid;
This, this hath made so great a strangenesse bee
(If not divorce) betwixt thy GOD, and thee.

468

Eleg. 15.

Prepar'd to vengeance, and resolv'd to spoile,
Thy hand (just GOD) hath taken in thy toile
Our wounded soules; That arme which hath forgot
His wonted mercy, kills and spareth not;
Our crimes have set a barre betwixt thy Grace
And us: thou hast eclipst thy glorious face,
Hast stopt thy gracious eare, lest prayers enforce
Thy tender Heart to pity and remorse:
See, see great GOD, what thy deare hand hath done;
We lie like drosse, when all the gold is gone,
Contemn'd, despis'd, and like to Atomes, flye
Before the Sunne, the scorne of every eye.

Eleg. 16.

Qvotidian fevers of reproach, and shame,
Have chill'd our Honor, and renowned Name;
We are become the by-word, and the scorne
Of Heaven and Earth; of heaven & earth forlorne;
Our captiv'd soules are compast round about,
Within, with troopes of feares; of foes, without;
Without, within, distrest; and, in conclusion,
We are the haplesse children of confusion;
Oh, how mine eyes, the rivers of mine eyes
O'reflow these barren lips, that can devise
No Dialect, that can expresse or borrow
Sufficient Metaphors, to shew my sorrow!

469

Eleg. 17.

Rivers of marish teares have over-flowne
My blubber'd cheeks my tongue can find no Tone
So sharpe as silence, to bewaile that woe,
Whose flowing Tides, an Ebbe could never know:
Weepe on (mine eyes) mine eyes shall never cease;
Speake on (my Tongue) forget to hold thy peace;
Cease not thy teares; close not thy lips so long,
Til heaven shal wipe thine eies, & heare thy tongue:
What heart of brasse, what Adamantine brest
Can know the torments of my soule, and rest?
What stupid braine, (ah me!) what marble eye
Can see these, these my ruines, and not cry?

Eleg 18.

So hath the Fowler, with his slye deceits,
Beguil'd the harmelesse bird; so with false baits,
The treach'rous Angler, strikes his nibbling prey;
Even so my Foes, my guiltlesse soule betray;
So have my fierce pursuers, with close wiles
Inthralled me, and gloried in my spoiles;
Where undermining plots could not prevaile,
There mischiefe did with strength of arme assaile;
Thus in afflictions troubled billowes tost,
I live; but tis a life worse had, than lost:
Thus, thus o'rewhelm'd, my secret soule doth cry,
I am destroy'd, and there's no helper nigh.

470

Eleg. 19.

Thou great Creator, whose diviner breath
Preserves thy Creature, joyst not in his death,
Looke downe from thy eternall Throne, that art
The onely Rocke of a despairing heart;
Looke downe from Heaven (O thou) whose tender care
Once heard the trickling of one single teare;
How art thou now estranged from his cry,
That sends forth Rivers from his fruitfull eye?
How often hast thou, with a gentle arme,
Rais'd me from death, and bid me feare no harme:
What strange disaster caus'd this sudden change,
How wert thou once so neare, and now so strange!

Eleg. 20.

Vanquisht by such, as thirsted for my life,
And brought my soule into a legall strife,
How oft hast thou (just GOD) maintain'd my cause
And crost the sentence of their bloudie lawes?
Be still my God, be still that GOD thou wert,
Looke on thy mercy, not on my desert;
Be thou my Iudge betwixt my foes and me;
The Advocate, betwixt my soule & Thee;
'Gainst thee (great Lord) their arme they have advanc'd,
And dealt that blow to thee, that thus hath glanc'd
Vpon my soule; smite those that have smit thee,
And for thy sake, discharge their spleene at me.

471

Eleg. 21.

What squint-ey'd scorne, what flout, what wrymouth'd scoffe
That sullen pride e're tooke acquaintance of,
Hath scap'd the furie of my Foemans tongue,
To doe my simple Innocencie wrong?
What day, what houre; nay, what shorter season,
Hath kept my soule secure, from the treason
Of their corrupted counsels, which dispensed
Dayes, nights and houres, to conspire my end?
My sorrowes are their songs, and as slight fables,
Fill up the silence of their wanton tables;
Looke downe (just God) & with thy powre divine
Behold my Foes; They be thy Foes, and mine.

Eleg. 22.

Yet sleeps thy vengeance? Can thy Iustice be
So slow to them, and yet to sharpe to me?
Dismount (just Iudge) from thy Tribunall Throne,
And pay thy Foemen, the deserved lone
Of their unjust designes; Make fierce thy hand,
And scourge thou thē, as they have scourg'd my lād
Breake thou their Adamantine hearts, & pound thē
To dust, and with thy finall curse confound them;
Let horror seize their soules; O may they bee
The scorne of Nations, that have scorned thee;
O, may they live distrest, and die bereaven
Of earth delights, and of the joyes of Heaven.

472

Threnodia. IIII.

Eleg. 1.

Alas! what alterations! Ah, how strange
Amazement flowes from such an uncouth change
Ambitious Ruine! could thy razing hand
Finde ne're a subject, but the Holy Land?
Thou sacrilegious Ruine, to attempt
The house of God! was not heavens house exempt
From thy accursed Rape? Ah me! Behold,
Sion, whose pavement of refulgent gold,
So lately did reflect, so bright, so pure,
How dimme, how drossie now, (ah!) how obscure!
Her sacred stones lie scatter'd in the street,
For stumbling blocks before the Levites feet.

Eleg. 2.

Behold her Princes, whose victorious browes
Fame oft had crowned, with her Laurell bowes,
See how they hide their shame-confounded crests,
And hang their heads upon their fainting brests,
Behold her Captaines, and brave men at armes,
Whose spirits fired at warres loud alarmes,
Like worried sheepe, how flee they from the noise
Of Drummes, and startle at the Trumpets voice!
They faint, and like amazed Lyons, show
Their fearefull heeles, if Chaunticleere but crow;
How are the pillars (Sion) of thy state
Transform'd to clay, and burnisht gold, so late!

473

Eleg. 3.

Can furious Dragons heare their helplesse broode
Cry out, and fill their hungry lips with food?
Hath Nature taught fierce Tygers to apply
The brest unto their younglings empty cry?
Have savage beasts time, place, and natures helps,
To feed and foster up their idle whelpes?
And shall the tender Babes of Sion cry,
And pine for food, and yet their mothers by?
Dragons, and Tygers, and all savage beasts
Can feed their young, but Sion hath no breasts:
Distressed Sion, more unhappie farre,
Than Dragons, savage Beasts, or Tygers are!

Eleg. 4.

Death thou pursuest, if from death thou flee,
Or if thou turnst thy flight, Death followes thee:
Thy staffe of life is broke; for want of bread,
Thy City pines, and halfe thy Land is dead;
The son t'his father weepes, makes fruitlesse moane
The father weepes upon his weeping sonne:
The brother cals upon his pined brother,
And both come crying to their hungry mother:
The empty Babe, in stead of milke, drawes downe
His Nurses teares, well mingled with his owne;
Nor chāge of place, nor time with help supplys thee
Abroad the Sword, famine at home destroyes thee.

474

Eleg. 5.

Excesse, and Surfet now have left thy coast,
The lavish Guest, now wants his greedie Host,
No wanton Cooke prepares his poynant meate,
To teach a saciate palate how to eate;
Now Pacchus pines and shakes his feeble knees,
And pamp'red Envie lookes as plumpe, as Hee's;
Discolour'd Ceres, that was once so faire,
Hath lost her beauty, sindg'd her golden haire;
Thy Princes mourne in rags, asham'd t'infold
Their leaden spirits in a case of gold;
From place to place thy Statesmen wandring are;
On every dung-hill lies a man of warre.

Eleg. 6.

Foule Sodome, and incestuous Gomorrow,
Had my destruction, but ne're my sorrow;
Vengeance had mercy there; Her hand did send
A sharpe beginning, but a sudden end;
Iustice was milde, and with her hastie flashes
They fell, and sweetly slept in peacefull Ashes;
They felt no rage of an insulting Foe,
Nor Famins piching furie, as I doe;
They had no sacred Temple to defile;
Or if they had, they would have helpt to spoile;
They dy'd but once, but I, poore wretched I,
Die many deaths, and yet have more to die.

475

Eleg. 7.

Gold from the Mint; Milke, from the uberous Cow,
Was ne're so pure in substance, nor in show,
As were my Nazarites, whose inward graces
Adorn'd the outward lustre of their faces;
Their faces robb'd the Lilly, and the Rose,
Of red and white; more faire, more sweet then those,
Their bodies were the magazines of perfection,
Their skins vnblemisht, were of pure complexion,
Through which, their Saphire-colour'd veines descride
The Azure beauty of their naked pride;
The flaming Carbuncle was not so bright,
Nor yet the rare discolour'd Chrysolite.

Eleg. 8.

How are my sacred Nazarites (that were
The blazing Planets of my glorious Sphære)
Obscur'd and darkned in Afflictions cloud?
Astonisht at their owne disguize, they shrowd
Their foule transformed shapes, in the dull shade
Of sullen darknesse; of themselves afraid;
See, how the brother gazes on the brother,
And both affrighted, start, and flie each other;
Blacke as their Fates, they cross the streets unkend,
The Sire, his Son; The friend disclaimes his frend;
They, they that were the flowers of my Land,
Like withered Weeds, and blasted Hemlocke stand.

476

Eleg 9.

Impetuous Famine, Sister to the Sword,
Left hand of Death, Childe of th'infernall Lord,
Thou Tort'rer of Mankind, that with one stroake,
Subject'st the world to thy imperious yoake:
What pleasure tak'st thou in the tedious breath
Of pined Mortals? or their lingring death?
The Sword, thy generous brother's not so cruell,
He kills but once, fights in a noble Duell:
But thou (malicious Furie) dost extend
Thy spleene to all, whose death can find no end;
Alas! my haplesse weale can want no woe,
That feeles the rage of Sword, and famine too.

Eleg. 10.

Kinde is that death, whose weapons do but kill,
But we are often slaine, yet dying still;
Our torments are too gentle, yet too rough,
They gripe too hard, because not hard enough;
My people teare their trembling flesh, for food,
And frō their ragged wounds, they suck forth blood
The father dies, and leaves his pined Coarse,
T'inrich his Heire, with meat; The hungry Nurse
Broyles her starv'd suckling on the hastie coales,
Devoures one halfe, and hides the rest in holes:
O Tyrant Famine! that compell'st the Mother,
To kill one hungry Childe, to feed another!

477

Eleg. 11.

Lament, O sad Jerusalem, lament;
O weepe, if all thy teares be yet unspent,
Weepe (wasted Iudah) let no drop be kept
Vnshed, let not one teare be left, unwept;
For angry heaven hath nothing left undone,
To bring thy ruines to perfection:
No curse, no plague the fierce Almighty hath
Kept backe, to summe the totall of his wrath;
Thy Citie burnes; thy Sion is dispoyld;
Thy Wives are ravisht, and thy Maides defil'd;
Famine at home; the Sword abroad destroyes thee;
Thou cry'st to heav'n, & heav'n his eare denies thee.

Eleg. 12.

May thy dull senses (O unhappy Nation,
Possest with nothing now, but desolation)
Collect their scatter'd forces, and behold
Thy novell fortunes, ballanc'd with the old;
Couldst thou, ô could thy prosp'rous heart cōceive,
That mortall powre, or art of State could reive
Thy'illustrious Empire of her sacred glory,
And make her ruines, the Threnodian story
Of these sad times, and ages yet to be?
Envie could pine, but never hope to see
Thy buildings crusht, and all that glory ended,
Which Man so fortifyde, and Heav'n defended.

478

Eleg. 13.

Ne're had the splendor of thy bright renowne
Beene thus extinguisht (Iudah;) Thy fast Crowne
Had ne're beene spurn'd from thy Imperiall brow,
Plenty had nurs'd thy soule, thy peacefull plough
Had fill'd thy fruitfull Quarters with encrease,
Hadst thou but knowne thy selfe, and loved peace;
But thou hast broke that sacred truce, concluded
Betwixt thy God, and thee; vainly deluded
Thy selfe with thine own strength, with deadly feud
Thy furious Priests and Prophets have pursude
The mourning Saints of Sion, and did slay
All such, as were more just, more pure, then they.

Eleg. 14.

O how the Priests of Sion, whose pure light
Should shine to such, as grope in Errors night,
And blaze like Lamps, before the darkned eye
Of Ignorance, to raise up those that lie
In dull despaire, and guide those feet that strey,
Ay me! How blinde, how darke, how dull are they!
Fierce rage, & fury drives them through the street,
And, like to mad men, stabbe at all they meet;
They weare the purple Livery of Death,
And live themselves, by drawing others breath;
Say (wasted Sion) could Revenge behold
So foule an acted Scene as this, and hold?

479

Eleg. 15.

Prophets, and sacred Priests, whose tongues whilere
Did often whisper in th'Eternalls eare,
Disclos'd his Oracles, found ready passage
Twixt God, and Man, to carry heavens Embassage,
Are now the subjects of deserved scorne,
Of God forsaken, and of man forlorne;
Accursed Gentiles are asham'd to know,
What Sions Priests are not asham'd to doe;
They see and blush, and blushing flee away,
Fearing to touch things, so defil'd as they;
They hate the filth of their abomination,
And chace them forth, from their new conquer'd nation.

Eleg. 16.

Qvite banisht from the joyes of earth, and smiles
Of heaven, and deeply buried in her spoiles,
Poore Iudah lies; unpitied, disrespected;
Exil'd the World; of God, of Man rejected;
Like blasted eares among the fruitfull wheat,
She roames disperst, and hath no certaine seat;
Her servile neck's subjected to the yoake
Of bondage, open to th'impartiall stroake
Of conquering Gentiles, whose afflicting hand
Smites every nooke of her disguised Land;
Of Youth respectlesse, nor regarding Yeeres,
Nor Sex, nor Tribe; like scourging Prince, & Peers.

480

Eleg. 17.

Rent, and deposed from Imperiall state,
By heavens high hand, on heaven we must await;
To him that struck, our sorrowes must appeale;
Where heaven hath smit no hand of man can heale;
In vaine, our wounds expected mans reliefe,
For disappointed hopes renew a griefe;
Ægypt opprest us in our fathers loynes,
What hope's in Ægypt? Nay, if Ægypt joynes
Her force with Iudah, our united powres
Could nere prevaile 'gainst such a foe as our's;
Ægypt, that once did feele heavens scourge, for grieving,
His flock, would now refinde it, for reliving.

Eleg. 18.

So, the quick-sented Beagles, in a view,
O're hill, and dale, the fleeing Chase pursue,
As swift-foot Death, and Ruine follow me,
That flees, afraid, yet knowes not where to flee:
Flee to the fields? There, with the sword I meet;
And, like a Watch, Death stands in every street;
No covert hides from death; no Shade, no Cells
So darke, wherein not Death and Horror dwells:
Our dayes are numbred, and our number's done,
The empty Houre-glasse of our glorie's run:
Our sins are summ'd, and so extreame's the score,
That heauen could not doe lesse, nor hell do more.

481

Eleg. 19.

To what a downfall are our fortunes come,
Subjected to the suffrance of a doome,
Whose lingring torments Hell could not conspire
More sharp! than which, hell needs no other fire:
How nimble are our Foemen to betray
Our soules? Eagles are not so swift as they:
Where shall we flee? Or where shall sorrow finde
A place for harbour? Ah, what prosp'rous winde
Will lend a gale, whose bounty ne're shall cease,
Till we be landed on the Ile of peace?
My foes more fierce than empty Lions are;
For hungry Lions, woo'd with teares, will spare.

Eleg. 20.

Vsurping Gentiles rudely have engrost
Into their hands those fortunes we have lost,
Devoure the fruits that purer hands did plant,
Are plump and pampred with that bread we want,
And (what is worse than death) a Tyrant treads
Vpon our Throne; Pagans adorne their heads
With our lost crowns; their powers have dis-jointed
The Members of our State, and Heavens Anointed
Their hands have crusht, & ravisht from his throne,
And made a Slave, for Slaves to tread upon;
Needs must that flock be scattred and accurst,
where wolves have dar'd to seize the Shepherd first.

482

Eleg. 21.

Waxe fat with laughing (Edom;) with glad eies
Behold the fulnesse of our miseries;
Triumph (thou Type of Antichrist) and feed
Thy soule with joy, to see thy brothers seed
Ruin'd, and rent, and rooted from the earth,
Make haste, and solace thee with early mirth;
But there's a time shall teach thee how to weepe
As many teares as I; thy lips, as deepe
Shall drinke in sorrowes Cup, as mine have done,
Till then, cheere up thy spirits, and laugh on:
Offended Iustice often strikes by turnes;
Edom, beware, for thy next neighbour burnes.

Eleg. 22.

Ye drooping sonnes of Sion, O, arise,
And shut the flood-gates of your flowing eyes,
Sur cease your sorrowes, and your joyes attend,
For heaven hath spoke it, and your griefes shal end;
Beleeve it Sion, seeke no curious signe,
And wait heav'ns pleasure, as heav'n waited thine;
And thou triumphing Edom, that dost lye
In beds of Roses, thou, whose prosp'rous eye
Did smile, to see the Gates of Sion fall,
Shalt be subjected to the selfe-same thrall;
Sion, that weepes, shalt smile; and Edoms eye,
That smiles so fast, as fast shall shortly cry.

483

The Prophet Ieremie his Prayer for the distressed people of Ierusalem, and Sion.

Great God, before whose all-discerning eye,
The secret corners of mans heart doe lye
As open as his actions, which no Clowd
Of secresie can shade; no shade can shrowd;
Behold the Teares, O, hearken to the Cryes
Of thy poore Sion; Wipe her weeping eyes,
Binde up her bleeding wounds, ô thou that art
The best Chirurgeon for a broken heart:
See how the barb'rous Gentiles have intruded
Into the Land of promise, and excluded
Those rightfull Owners, from their just possessions,
That wander now full laden with oppressions;
Our Fathers (ah) their savage hands have slaine,
Whose deaths our Widdow-mothers weepe in vaine;
Our Springs, whose Christall plenty once disburst
Their bounteous favours, to quench every thirst;
Our liberall Woods, whose palsie-shaken tops,
To every stranger, bow'd their yeelding lops,
Are sold to us, that have no price to pay,
But sweat and toyle, the sorrowes of the day:
Oppressors trample on our servile necks,
We never cease to groane, nor they to vexe;
Famine and Dearth, haue taught our hands t'extend
To Ashur, and our feeble knees to bend
To churlish Pharoe: Want of bread compells
Thy servants to begge Almes of Infidels;
Our wretched Fathers sinn'd, and yet they sleepe
In peace, and have left us their sonnes to weepe;

484

We, we extracted from their sinfull loynes,
Are guilty of their sinnes; Their Ossa joynes
To our high Pelion; Ah! their crimes doe stand
More firmly' entailed to us, than our Land:
We are the slaves of servants, and the scorne
Of slaves, of all forsaken, and forlorne;
Hunger hath forc'd us to acquire our food,
With deepest danger of our dearest blood;
Our skins are wrinckled, and the fruitlesse ploughs
Of want have fallow'd up our barren browes:
Within that Sion which thy hands did build,
Our Wives were ravisht, and our Maids defil'd:
Our savage Foe extends his barb'rous rage
To all, not sparing Sexe, nor Youth, nor Age:
They hang our Princes on the shamefull trees
Of death; respect no Persons, no Degrees:
Our Elders are despised, whose gray hayres
Are but the Index of their doting yeares;
Our flowring youth are forced to fulfill
Their painfull taskes in the laborious Mill;
Our children faint beneath their loads, and cry,
Opprest with burdens, under which they lie:
Sages are banisht fom Iudiciall Courts,
And youth takes no delight in youthfull sports:
Our joyes are gone, and promise no returning,
Our pleasure's turnd to paine, our mirth to mourning;
Our hand hath lost her sword; Our Head his Crowne;
Our Church her glory; our Weale her high renowne.
Lord, we have sinn'd, and these our sins have brought
This world of griefe; (O purchase dearely bought!)
From hence our sorrowes, and from hence our feares
Proceed; for this, our eyes are blinde with teares;
But that (aye that) which my poore heart doth count
Her sharpest torture, is thy sacred Mount,

485

Sacred Mount Sion; Sion, that divine
Seat of thy glory's raz'd; her tender Vine,
Laden with swelling Clusters, is destroy'd,
And Foxes now, what once thy Lambs enjoy'd.
But thou (O thou eternall God) whose Throne
Is permanent, whose glory's ever one,
Vnapt for Change, abiding still the same,
Though Earth consume, & Heaven dissolve her frame,
Why dost thou (ah!) why dost thou thus absent
Thy glorious face? Oh, wherefore hast thou rent
Thy Mercy from us? O! when wilt thou be
Atton'd to them, that have no trust but Thee.
Restore us (Lord) and let our soules possesse
Our wonted peace; O, let thy Hand redresse
Our wasted fortunes; Let thine Eye behold
Thy scattered Flock, and drive them to their Fold;
Canst thou reject that people, which thy Hand
Hath chose, and planted in the promis'd Land?
O thou (the Spring of mercy) wilt thou send
No case to our Afflictions, no end?

The end.

487

FUNERALL ELEGIES

Cum privilegio Amoris/Doloris.
Dignum laude virum Musa vetat mori.

491

Eleg. 1.

All you whose eies would learn to weepe, draw neere,
And heare, what none, without full teares, can hear;
Come marble eyes, as marble as your hearts,
I'le teach you how to weepe a teare in parts;
And you false eyes, that never yet, let fall
A teare in earnest, come, and now ye shall
Send forth salt fountaines of the truest griefe,
That ever sought to Language, for reliefe:
But you, you tender eyes, that cannot beare
An Elegie, wept forth, without a teare.
I warne you hence; or, at the most, passe by,
Lest while you stay, you soone dissolve, and dye.

Eleg. 2.

Bvt stay: (sad Genius) How doe griefes transport
Thy exil'd senses? Is there no resort
To forkt Parnassus sacred Mount? No word,
No thought of Helicon? No Muse implor'd?
I did invoke, but there was none reply'd;
The nine were silent, since Mccænas dy'd:
They have forsaken their old Spring: 'tis said,
They haunt a new one, which their tears have made:
Should I molest them with my losse? 'Tis knowne;
They finde enough to re-lament their owne:
I crave no ayde, no Deity to infuse
New matter: Ah: True sorrow needs no Muse.

492

Eleg. 3.

Call back (bright Phœbus) your sky-wandring steeds
Your day is tedious, and our sorrow needs
No Sun: When our sad soules have lost their light,
Why should our eyes not finde perpetuall night?
Goe to the nether world, and let your rayes
Shine there: Bestow on them our share of dayes;
But say not, Why: lest when report shall show
Such cause of griefe, they fall a grieving too,
And pray the absence of your restlesse wayne,
Which then must be return'd on us againe,
Deare Phœbus graunt my suit; if thou denie 't,
My teares shall blinde me, and so make a night.

Eleg. 4.

Death, art thou growne so nice? can nothing please
Thy curious palate, but such Cates as these?
Or hath thy ravenous stomach beene o'represt
With common diet at thy last great feast?
Or hast thou fed so neere that there is none
Now left but delicates to feed upon?
Or was this dish so tempting, that no power
Was left in thee, to stay another hower?
Or didst thou feed by chance, and not observ'd
What food it was, but tooke as Fortune carv'd?
'Tis done. Be it or Fortunes act or thine,
It fed the one, whose want made Millions pine.

493

Eleg. 5.

Envie now burst with joy, and let thine eyes
Strut forth with fatnesse: let thy collops rise
Pampred and plump: Feed full for many yeares
Vpon our losse: Be drunken with our teares:
For he is dead, whose soule did never cease
To crosse and violate your malitious peace:
He's dead; but in his death hath overthrowne
More vices, than his happy life had done:
In life he taught to dye; and he did give
In death, a great example how to live:
Though he be gone, his fame is left behinde:
Now leave thy laughing Envie, and be pin'd.

Eleg. 6.

Farewell those eyes, whose gentle smiles forsooke
No misery, taught Charity how to looke:
Farewell those cheerefull eyes, that did e'rewhile,
Teach succour'd misery how to blesse a smile:
Farewell those eyes whose mixt aspect, of late,
Did reconcile humility and state:
Farewell those eyes, that to their joyfull guest,
Proclaim'd their ordinary fare, a feast;
Farewell those eyes, the load-stars, late, whereby
The graces sail'd secure, from eye to eye:
Farewell deare eyes, bright Lamps; ô who can tell
Your glorious welcome, or our sad farewell!

494

Eleg. 7.

Goe glorious Saint! I knew 'twas not a shrine
Of flesh, could lodge so pure a soule as thine;
I saw it labour (in a holy scorne
Of living dust and ashes) to be sworne
A heavenly Quirifter: It sigh'd and groan'd
To be dissolv'd from mortall, and enthron'd
Among his fellow Angells, there to sing
Perpetuall Anthems to his heavenly King:
He was a stranger to his house of Clay;
Scarce own'd it, but that necessary stay
Miscall'd it his: And onely zeale did make
Him love the building for the builders sake.

Eleg. 8.

Had vertue, learning, the Diviner Arts,
Wit, judgement, wisdome, (or what other parts
That make perfection, and returne the minde
As great as Earth can suffer) beene confin'd
To earth, had they the Patent to abide
Secure from change, our Ailmer ne're had dy'de:
Fond earth, forbeare and let thy childish eyes
Ne're weep for him, thou ne're knew'st how to prize
Shed not a teare, blinde earth; for it appeares
Thou never lov'dst our Ailmer by thy teares:
Or if thy flouds must needs oreflow their brim,
Lament, lament thy blindenesse, and not him.

495

Eleg. 9.

I wondred not to heare so brave an end,
Because I knew, who made it, could contend
With death, and conquer, and in open chace
Would spit defiance in his conquered face;
And did: Dauntlesse he trod him underneath,
To shew the weaknesse of unarmed death:
Nay, had report, or niggard Fame denyde
His name, it had beene knowne 'twas Ailmer dyde.
It was no wonder, to heare rumor tell,
That he which dyde so oft, once dyde so well:
Great Lord of life, how hath thy dying breath
Made man, whō death had conquerd, cōquer death!

Eleg. 10.

Knowledge (the depth of whose unbounded maine
Hath bin the wreck of many a curious braine,
And from her (yet unreconciled) schooles
Hath fill'd us with so many learned fooles)
Hath tutor'd thee with rules that cannot erre,
And taught thee how to know thy selfe, and her;
Furnisht thy nimble soule, in height of measure,
With humane riches and divinest treasure,
From whence, as from a sacred spring, did flow
Fresh Oracles, to let the hearer know
A way to glory; and to let him see,
The way to glory, is to studie thee.

496

Eleg. 11.

Looke how the body of heavens greater light
Inriches each beholder with his bright
And glorious rayes, untill the envious West
Too greedy to enjoy so faire a guest,
Calls him to bed, where ravisht from our sight,
He leaves us to the solemne frownes of night;
Even so our Sun in his harmonious spheare
Enlightned every eye, rapt every eare,
Till in the earely sunset of his yeares
He dyde, and left us that survive, in teares;
And (like the Sun) in spight of death and fate,
He seemed greatest in his lowest state.

Eleg. 12.

Molest me not, full sighes and flowing teares,
You stormes & showres of nature: stop your eares,
Fond flesh and bloud, against the strong temptation
Of sullen griefe, and sense-bereaving passion:
Cease to lament; Let not thy slow pac'd numbers
Disturbe his rest, that so, so sweetly slumbers;
The child of virtue is asleepe, not dead;
He dies, alone, whom death hath conquered:
Why should we shed a teare for him? or why
Lament we, whom we rather should envie?
He lives; he lives a life, shall never tast
A change, so long as Crownes of glory last.

497

Eleg. 13.

No, no, he is not dead; The mouth of fame,
Honors shrill Herald, would preserve his name,
And make it live in spight of death and dust,
Were there no other heaven, no other trust.
He is not dead: The sacred Nine deny,
The soule that merits fame, should ever dye:
He lives; and when the latest breath of fame
Shall want her Trumpe, to glorifie a name,
He shall survive and these selfe closed eyes,
That now lie slumbring in the dust, shall rise,
And fill'd with endlesse glory, shall enjoy
The perfect vision of eternall joy.

Eleg. 14.

O but the dregs of flesh and bloud! How close
They grapple with my soule, and interpose
Her higher thoughts; which, yet but young of wing,
They cause to stoope and strike at every thing;
Passion presents before their weakned eye,
Iudgement and better reason standing by:
I must lament, Nature commands it so:
The more I strive with teares, the more they flow;
These eyes have just, nay double cause of mone,
They weepe the cōmon losse; they weep their own:
He sleepes indeed; then give me leave to weepe
Teares fully answerable to his sleepe.

498

Eleg. 15.

Pardon my teares, if they be too too free,
And if thou canst not weepe, I'le pardon thee,
Dull Stoick; If thou laugh to heare his death,
I'le weep, that thou wert borne to spend that breath
Thou dry-brain'd Portick, whose Ahenian brest,
(Transcending passion) never was opprest
With griefe; O had your flinty Sect but lost
So rare a prize, as we lament and boast,
Your hearts had crost your Tenet, and disburst
As many drops as we have done, or burst;
No marvell, that your marble braines could crosse
Her lawes, that never gave you such a losse.

Eleg. 16.

Qvicke-sould Pythagoras, O thou that wert
So many men, and didst so oft revert
From shades of death, (if we may trust to Fame)
With losse of nothing but thy buried name;
Hadst thou but liv'd in this our Ailmers time,
Thou wouldst have dyde once more, to live in him;
Or had our Ailmer in those daies of thine,
But dyde, and left so glorious, so divine
A soule as his, how would thy hasty brest
Have gasp'd to entertaine so faire a guest!
Which if obtained, had (no doubt) supplyde thee
With that immortall state thy Sire denyde thee.

499

Eleg. 17.

Rare soule, that now sits crowned in that Quire
Of endlesse joy, fill'd with cœlestiall fire;
Pardon my teares that in their passion would
Recall thee from thy Kingdome, if they could;
Pardon, O pardon my distracted zeale;
Which, if condemn'd by reason, must appeale
To thee, whose now lamented death, whose end
Confirm'd the deare affection of a friend;
Permit me then to offer at thy herse
These fruitles teares, which if they prove too fierce
O pardon, you, that know the price of friends;
For teares are just, that nature recommends.

Eleg. 18.

So may the faire aspect of pleased heaven
Conforme my noone of daies, & crowne their even;
So may the gladder smiles of earth present
My fortunes with the height of jocs, content;
As I lament, with unaffected breath,
Our losse (deare Ailmer) in thy happy death:
May the false teare, that's forc'd, or slides by Art,
That hath no warrant from the soule, the heart,
Or that exceeds not natures faint commission,
Or dares (unvented) come to composition;
O, may that teare in stricter judgement rise
Against those false, those faint, those flattring eyes.

500

Eleg. 19.

Thus to the world, and to the spacious eares
Of fame, I blazon my unboasted teares;
Thus to thy sacred dust, thy Vrne, thy Herse
I consecrate my sighes, my teares, my verse;
Thus to thy soule, thy name, thy just desert
I offer up my joy, my love, my heart;
That earth may know, and every care that heares,
True worth and griefe were parents to my teares:
That earth may know thy dust, thy Vrne, thy herse
Brought forth & bred my sighes, my teares, my verse;
And that thy soule, thy name, thy just desert,
Invites, incites my joy, my love, my heart.

Eleg. 20.

Vnconstant earth! why doe not mortalls cease
To build their hopes upon so short a lease?
Vncertaine lease, whose terme, but once begun,
Tells never when it ends, till it be done:
We dote upon thy smiles, not knowing why:
And whiles we but prepare to live, we dye:
We spring like flowers, for a daies delight,
At noone, we flourish, and we fade at night:
We toile for kingdomes, conquer Crownes, & then
We that were Gods but now, now lesse than men:
If wisdome, learning, knowledge cannot dwell
Secure from change, vaine bubble earth, farewell.

501

Eleg. 21.

Wouldst thou, when death had done deserve a story
Should staine the memory of great Pompeyes glory?
Conquer thy selfe; example be thy guide;
Dye just as our selfe-conquering Ailmer dyde,
Woldst thou subdue more kingdōes, gain mo crowns
Than that brave Hero Cæsar conquer'd townes?
Then conquer death; Example be thy guide:
Die just as our death-conquering Ailmer dyde:
But woldst thou win more worlds, than he had done
Kingdomes, that all the earth hath over-runne?
Then conquer heaven; example be thy guide;
Die just as our heaven-conquering Ailmer dyde.

Eleg. 22.

Yeares, fully laden with their months, attend
Th'expired times acquitance, and so end:
Months gone their dates of numbred daies require
Bright Cynthia's full discharge, and so expire;
Dayes deepely ag'd with houres, lose their light,
And having runne their stage, conclude with night:
And howers chac'd with light-foot minutes, flye,
Tending their labour to a new supply;
Yet Ailmers glory never shall diminish,
Though yeares and months, though daies & howers finish:
Yet Ailmers joyes for ever shall extend,
Though yeares, & months, though daies and howers end.

FINIS

Doloris nullus.

502

His Epitaph.

Aske you, why so many a teare
B ursts forth; I'le tell you in your eare:
C ompell me not to speake aloud,
D eath would then be too too proud;
E yes that cannot vye a teare,
F orbeare to aske, you may not heare:
G entle hearts, that overflow
H ave onely priviledge to know:
I n these sacred ashes, then,
K now (Reader) that a man of men
L yes covered: Fame and lasting glory
M ake deare mention of his story:
N ature when she gave him birth,
O p'd her treasure to the earth,
P ut forth the modell of true merit,
Q uickned with a higher spirit:
R are was his life; His latest breath
S aw, and scorn'd, and conquer'd death:
T hanklesse Reader, never more
V rge a why, when teares runne ore:
W hen you saw so high a Tyde,
Y ou might haue knowne, 'twas Ailmer dyde,