Divine poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

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)

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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.