Divine poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

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

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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:

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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,

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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;

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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.

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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.