Sect. 16.
The Argvment.
He makes a slaughter; Doth remove
To Etans rocke, where to repay him
The wrongs that he had done, they move
The men of Iudah to betray him.
Thus when th'accurs'd Philistians had appaid
The Timnits sinne, with ruine: and betraid
Th'unjust Offenders to their fierce desire,
And burn'd their cursed Family with fire:
Samson, the greatnesse of whose debt deni'd
So short a payment; and whose wrongs yet cride
For further vengeance, to be further laid
Vpon the sinne-conniving Nation, said,
Vnjust Philistians, you that could behold
So capital a crime, and yet with-hold
This well deserved punishment so long;
Which made you partners in their sinne, my wrong;
Hadyee at first, when as the fault was young,
Before that Time had lent her clamorous tongue
So great a strength to call for so much bloud;
O, hid your earlie Justice but thought good
To strike in time; nay, had you then devis'd
Some easier punishment, it had suffic'd;
But now it comes too late; The sinne has cryed,
Till heaven hath heard, and mercy is denied:
Nay, had the sinne but spar'd to roare so loud,
A drop had serv'd, when now a Tide of bloud
Will hardly stop her mouth:
Had ye done this betimes! But now, this hand
Must plague your persons, and afflict your land:
Have ye beheld a youth-instructing Tutor,
(Whose wisdome's seldome seene, but in the future)
When well deserved punishment shall call
For the delinquent Boy; how, first of all,
He preaches fairely; then proceeds austerer
To the foule crime, whilst the suspitious hearer
Trembles at every word, untill at length,
His language being ceas'd, th'unwelcome strength
Of his rude arme, that often proves too rash,
Strikes home, and fetches bloud at every lash:
Even so stout Samson, whose more gentle tongue,
In easie tearmes, doth first declare tho wrong,
In justice did, then tells the evill effects
That mans connivence, and unjust neglects
Does often bring upon th'afflicted land;
But, at the last, upheaves his ruthlesse hand;
He hewes, he hacks, and furie being guide,
His unresisted power doth divide
From top to toe; his furious weapon cleft,
Where ere it strucke: It slue, and never left,
Vntill his flesh-destroying arme, at length,
Could finde no subject, where t'imploy his strength:
Here stands a head-strong Steed, whose fainting guider
Drops down; another drags his wounded rider:
Now here, now there his franticke arme would thunder
And at one stroake, cleaves horse & man in sunder,
In whose mixt bloud, his hands would oft embrue,
And where so ere they did but touch, they slew:
Here's no imployment for the Surgeons trade,
All wounds were mortall that his weapon made;
Theres none was left, but dying, or else dead,
And onely they, that scap'd his fury, fled;
The slaughter ended, the proud victor past
Through the afflicted land, untill at last,
He comes to Judah; where he pitcht his tent,
At the rocke Etan: There some time he spent;
He spent not much, till the Philistian band,
That found small comfort in their wasted land,
Came up to Judah and there pitch'd not farre
From Samsons tent; their hands were arm'd to warre:
With that the men of Judah, strucke with feare,
To see so great an Armie, straite drew neere,
To the sad Campe; who, after they had made
Some signes of a continued peace, they said;
What new designes have brought your royall band
Vpon the borders of our peacefull land?
What strange adventures? What disastrous weather
Drove you this way? What businesse brought you hether?
Let not my Lords be angry, or conceive
“ An evill against your Servants: What we have,
“ Is yours; The peacefull plentie of our land
“ And we, are yours, and at your owne command:
“ Why, to what purpose are you pleas'd to shew us
“ Your strength! Why bring you thus an Army to us?
“ Are not our yearly tributes justly paid?
Have we not kept our vowes? have we delaid
Our faithfull service, or denied to doe it,
When you have pleas'd to call your servants to it?
Have we, at any time, upon your triall,
Shrunke from our plighted faith, or prov'd disloyall?
If that proud Samson have abus'd your land,
'Tis not our faults; Alas, we had no hand
In his designes: We lent him no releefe;
No aid; No, we were partners in your griefe.
Where to the Philistines, whose hopes relyde
Vpon their faire assistance, thus replyde:
Feare not yee men of Iudah; Our intentions
Are not to wrong your peace: Your apprehensions
Are too toe-timerous; Our desires are bent
Against the common Foe, whose hands have spent
Our lavish bloud, and rob'd our wasted land
Of all her joyes: Tis he, our armed band
Expects, and followes: He is cloystred here,
Within your Quarters: Let your faiths appeare
Now in your loyall actions, and convay
The skulking Rebell to us, that we may
Revenge our bloud, which he hath wasted thus,
And doe to him, as he hath done to us.
Meditat. 16.
It was a sharpe revenge: But was it just?
Shall one man suffer for another? Must
The childrens teeth be set on edge, because
Their fathers ate the grapes? Are heavens lawes
So strict? whose lips did, with a promise, tell,
That no such law should passe in Israel:
Because the injurous Timnits treacherous hand
Commits the fault, must Samson scourge the land?
Sinne is a furious plague, and it infects
The next inhabitant, if he neglects
The meanes t'avoid it: Tis not because he sinnes
That thou art punisht: No, it then begins
T'infect thy soule; when, thou a stander by,
Reprov'st it not: or when thy carelesse eye
Slights it as nothing: If a sinne of mine
Grieve not thy wounded soule, it becomes thine.
Thinke yee that God commits the Sword of power
Into the hands of Magistrates, to scower
And keep it bright? Or onely to advance
His yet unknowne Authority? Perchance,
The glorious Hilt and Scabberd make a show
To serve his turne, have it a blade, or no,
He neither knowes, nor cares: Is this man fit
T'obtaine so great an honor, as to sit
As Gods Lievtenant, and to punish sinne?
Know leaden Magistrates, and know agin,
Your Sword was giv'n to draw, and to be dyde
In guilty blood, not to be layd aside
At the request of friends, or for base feare,
Lest when your honor's ended with the yeare,
Ye may be baffled: 'tis not enough that you
Finde bread be waight, or that the waights be true:
'Tis not enough, that every foule disorder
Must be refer'd to your more wise Recorder:
The charge is given to you: You must returne
A faire account, or else, the Land must mourne:
You keepe your swords too long a season in,
And God strikes us, because you strike not sinne:
Y'are too remisse, and want a Resolution:
Good Lawes lie dead for lack of execution:
An oath is growne so bold, that it will laugh
The easie Act, to scorne: Nay, we can quaffe
And reele with priviledge: and we can trample
Vpon our shame-shrunke cloakes, by your example:
You are too dull: too great offences passe
Vntoucht; God loves no service from the Asse;
Rouze up, O use the spurre, and spare the bridle,
God strikes, because your swords, and you are idle;
Grant Lord that every one may mend a fault;
And then our Magistrates may stand for nought.
