Divine poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

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

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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.