Divine poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

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,

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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

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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.

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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:

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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.

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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

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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.

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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.

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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

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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,

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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.

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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

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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.

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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.

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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:

216

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.

217

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,

218

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.

219

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,

220

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.

221

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;

223

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,

225

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:

228

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,

229

(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.