Divine poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Not farre from Azza, in a fruitfull Valley
Close by a brooke, whose silver streams did dalley
With the smooth bosome of the wanton sands,
Whose winding current parts the neighbring lands,
And often washes the beloved sides
Of her delightfull bankes, with gentle tydes;
There dwelt a Beauty, in whose Sunne-bright eye,
Love sate inthron'd; and full of Majestie,
Sent forth such glorious eye-surprizing rayes,
That she was thought the wonder of her dayes:
Her name was called Delila, the faire;
Thither did amorous Samson oft repaire,
And with the piercing flame of her bright eye,
He toy'd so long; that like a wanton flye
He burnt his lustfull wings, and so became
the slavish prisner to that conquering flame:

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She askt, and had: There's nothing was too high
For her, to beg; or Samson to denie:
Who now, but Delila? What name can raise
And crowne his drooping thoughts, but Delila's?
All time's mispent, each houre is cast away,
That's not imploy'd upon his Delila:
Gifts must be given to Delila: No cost,
If sweetest Delila but smile, is lost:
No ioy can please; no happinesse can crowne
His best desires, if Delila but frowne:
No good can blesse his amorous heart, but this,
Hee's Delila's, and Delila is his:
Now, when the louder breath of fame had blowne
Her newes-proclaiming Trumpet, & made knowne
This Lovers passion, to the joyfull eares
Of the cow'd Philistines; their nimble feares
Advis'd their better hopes, not to neglect
So faire advantage, which may bring t'effect
Their best desires, and right their wasted Land
Of all her wrongs, by a securer hand:
With that, some few of the Philistian Lords
Repaire to Delila; with baited words
They tempt the frailty of the simple maid,
And, having sworne her to their counsell, said:

Faire Delila; Thou canst not chuse but know
The miseries of our land: whose ruines show
The danger, whereinto not we, but all,
If thou deny thy helpefull hand, must fall:
Those fruitfull fields, that offer'd, but of late,
Their plenteous favours to our prosperous state;
See, how they lie a ruinous heape, and void
Of all their plenty; wasted, and destroyde:
Our common foe hath sported with our lives:
Hath slaine our children, and destroy'd our wives:

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Alas, our poore distressed land doth grone
Vnder that mischiefe that his hands have done;
Widowes implore thee, and poore Orphans tongues
Call to faire Delila, to right their wrongs:
It lies in thee, to help; Thy helpefull hand
May haue the Glory to revenge thy land;
For which our thankefull Nation shall allow
Not onely honour, but reward; and thou,
From every hand that's present here, shalt gaine
Aboue a thousand Sicles for thy paine:
To whom, faire Delila, whom reward had tied
To satisfie her owne desires, replied;
My Lords;
My humble service I acknowledge due,
Fist, to my native country; next, to you:
If Heaven, and Fortune, have enricht my hand,
With so much power, to relieve our Land,
When ere your honours please to call me to it,
Beleeve it Delila shall die, or doe it:
Say then (my Lords) wherein my power may doe
This willing Service to my land, or you.
Thou knowest, (say they) No forces can wishstand
The mighty strength of cursed Samsons hand;
He ruines Armies, and does overthrow
Our greatest Bands, nay, kingdomes at a blow;
The limits of his, more then manly, powers
Are not confin'd, nor is his Arme like ours:
His strength is more then man; his conquering Arme
Hath, sure, th'assistance of some potent charme;
Which, nothing but the glory of thine eyes,
(Wherein a farre more strong enchantment lies;)
Can overthrow: He's prisoner to thine eye,
Nor canst thou aske, what Samson can deny:
The sweetnesse of thy language hath the Art,

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To dive into the secrets of his heart;
Move Samson then: unbarre his bolted brest,
And let his deafned eares attaine no rest,
Vntill his eye-inchanted tongue replyes,
And tells thee, where his hidden power lyes:
Urge him to whisper in thy private eare,
And to repose his magicke mystr'y, there;
How, by what meanes, his strength may be betray'd
To bonds, and how his power may be allaid;
That we may right these wrongs, which his proud hand
Hath rudely offer'd to our ruinous land:
In this, thou shalt obtaine the reputation
To be the sole redeemer of thy Nation,
Whose wealth shall crowne thy loyalty with a meed
Due to the merits of so faire a deed:
Whereto, faire Delila (whose heart was tyed
To Samsons love, for her owne ends;) replied:

My honourable Lords: If my successe
In these your just imployments prove no lesse
Then my desiers, I should thinke my paines
Rewarded in the Action: Jf the raines
Of Samsons headstrong power were in my hands,
These lips should vow performance: Your commands
Should worke obedience, in the loyall brest
Of your true servant; who would never rest,
Till she had done the deed: But know, my Lords,
Jf the poore frailty of a womans words
May shake so great a power, and prevaile,
My best advis'd endeavours shall not faile
To be imploy'd: Ile make a sudden triall;
And quickly speed, or finde a foule deniall.

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Meditat. 20.

Insatiate Samson! Could not Azza smother
Thy flaming Lust; but must thou finde another?
Is th'old growne stale? And seekst thou for a new?
Alas, where Two's too many, Three's too few:
Mans soule is infinite, and never tires
In the extension of her owne desires:
The sprightly nature of his active minde
Aimes still at further; Will not be confinde
To th'poore dimensions of flesh and blood;
Something it still desiers: Covets good,
Would faine be happy, in the sweet enjoyment
Of what it prosecutes, with the imployment
Of best endeavours; but it cannot finde
So great a good, but something's still behind:
It first propounds, applauds, desires, endeavours;
At last enjoyes; but (like to men, in Feavours,
Who fancy alway those things that are worst)
The more it drinks, the more it is athirst:
The fruitfull earth (whose nature is the worse
For sin; with man partaker in the curse)
Aimes at perfection; and would faine bring forth
(As first it did) things of the greatest worth;
Her colder wombe endeavours (as of old)
To ripen all her Metals, unto Gold;
O, but that sin-procured curse hath chill'd
The heate of pregnant Nature, and hath filld
Her barren seed, with coldnesse, which does lurke
In her faint wombe, that her more perfect worke

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Is hindred; and, for want of heate, brings forth
Imperfect metals, of a baser worth:
Even so, the soule of Man, in her first state,
Receiv'd a power, and a will to that
Which was most pure, and good; but, since the losse
Of that faire freedome, onely trades in drosse;
Aimes shee at Wealth? alas, her proud desire
Strives for the best; but failing to mount higher
Than earth, her errour grapples, and takes hold
On that, which earth can onely give her, Gold:
Aimes she at Glory? Her ambition flies
As high a pitch, as her dull wings can rise;
But, failing in her strength, she leaves to strive,
And takes such Honour, as base earth can give:
Aimes she at Pleasure? her desires extend
To lasting joyes, whose pleasures have no end;
But, wanting wings, she grovels on the Dust,
And, there, she lights upon a carnall Lust:
Yet nerethelesse, th'aspring Soule desires
A perfect good; but, wanting those sweet fires,
Whose heate should perfect her unrip'ned will,
Cleaves to th'apparent Good, which Good is ill;
Whose sweet enjoyment, being farre unable
To give a satisfaction answerable
To her unbounded wishes, leaves a thirst
Of re-enjoyment, greater than the first.

Lord; When our fruitlesse fallowes are growne cold;
And out of heart, we can inrich the mould
With a new heate; wee can restore againe
Her weakned soile; and make it apt for graine;
And wilt thou suffer our faint soules; to lie
Thus unmanur'd, that is thy Husbandry?
They beare no other bulke, but idle weeds,
Alas, they have no heart, no heate; Thy seedes

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Are cast away, untill thou please t'enspire
New strength, & quench them with thy sacred fire:
Stirre thou my Fallowes, and enrich my mould,
And they shal bring thee' encrease, a hundred fold.