Divine poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

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;

342

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,

343

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?

344

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.