Divine poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

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.

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

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

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

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Meditat. 10.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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