University of Virginia Library

Threnodia. I.

Eleg. 1.

Ah griefe of Times! Ah, sable times of Griefe,
Whose torments find a voice, but no reliefe!
Are these the buildings? These the tower and state,
That all th'amazed Earth stood wondring at?
Is this that Citie, whose eternall Glory,
Could find no period, for her endlesse storie?
And is she come to this? Her Buildings raz'd,
Her Towers burnt? Her Glory thus defac'd?
O sudden Change! O world of Alterations!
She, she that was the Prince, the Queen of Nations
See, how she lyes, of strength, of all, bereiv'd,
Now paying Tribute, which she once receiv'd.

Eleg. 2.

Behold! her eyes, those glorious eyes, that were
Like two faire Suns, in one celestiall Sphære,
Whose radiant beames did, once, reflect so bright,
Are now eclipsed, and have lost their light,
And seeme like Ilands, about which appeares
A troubled Ocean, with a Tide of Teares;
Her servant Cities (that were once at hand,
And bow'd their servile necks to her command,)
Stand all aloofe, as strangers to her mone,
And give her leave to spend her teares alone,
Her neighbours flatter, with a false reliefe,
And with a kisse, betray her to her griefe.

Eleg. 3.

Compast around with Seas of briny teares,
Iudah laments, distraught with double feares;
Even as the fearfull Partridge, to excuse her
From the fierce Gos-hawk, that too close pursues her,
Falls in a Covert, and her selfe doth cover
From her unequall Foe, that sits above her:
Meane while the treason of her quick Retrivers,
Discovers novell dangers, and delivers
Her to a second feare, whose double fright
Findes safety nor in staying, nor in flight;
Even so is Iudah vext, with change of woes,
Betwixt her home-bred, and her forreine Foes.

Eleg. 4.

Did not these sacred Cawsies, that are leading
To Sion, late seeme pav'd, with often treading?
Now secret Dens, for lurking Theeves to meet,
Vnprest, unlesse with sacrilegious feet;
Sion the Temple of the highest God,
Stands desolate, her holy steps untrod;
Her Altars are defac'd, her Virgin fires
Surcease, & with a stinke, her snuff expires;
Her Priests have chang'd their Hymns to sighs and cries,
Her Virgins weepe forth Rivers from their eyes:
O Sion, thou that wert the Childe of mirth,
Art now the scorne, and By-word of the Earth?

Eleg. 5.

Encreas'd in power, and high Chevisance
Of armes, thy Tyrant foemen doe advance
Their crafty crests; He, he that was thy father,
And crownd thee once with blessings, now doth gather
His troops to work thy end; him, who advanc't thee
To be Earths Queen, thy sins have bent against thee
Strange spectacle of Griefe! Thy tender frie,
Whom childhood taught no language, but their cry
T'expresse their infant griefe, these, wretched these
By force of childish teares, could not appease
The ruthlesse sword, which deafe to all their cries,
Did drive them Captives from their mothers eies.

Eleg. 6.

Faire Virgin Sion, where (ah) where are those
Pure cheekes, wherein the Lilly, and the Rose
So much contended lately for the place,
Till both compounded in thy glorious face?
How hast thou blear'd those sun-bright eies of thine
Those beames, the royall Magazens of divine
And sacred Majesty, from whose pure light,
The purblind worldlings did receive their sight,
Thy fearfull Princes, leave their fencelesse towers,
And flie like Harts, before their swift pursuers;
Like light-foot Harts they flie, not knowing where,
Prickt on with Famine, and distracted Feare.

Eleg. 7.

Gall'd with her griefe, Jerusalem recalls
To minde her lost delights, her Festivalls,
Her peacefull freedome, and full joyes, in vaine
Wishing, what Earth cannot restore againe;
Succour she sought, and begg'd, but none was there
To give the Almes of one poore trickling teare;
The scornefull lips of her amazed Foes,
Deride the griefe, of her disastrous woes;
They laugh, and lay more ample torments on her,
Disdaine to looke, and yet they gaze upon her,
Abuse her Altars, hate her Offerings,
Prophane her Sabbaths, and her holy Things.

Eleg. 8.

Hadst thou (Ierusalem) O, had thy heart
Beene loyall to his love, whose once thou wert,
O, had the beames of thy unvailed eye
Continu'd pure; hadst thou beene nice, to try
New pleasures, thus thy Glory ne're had wasted,
Thy Walls, till now, like thy Reproch, had lasted.
Thy Lovers, whose false beauties did entice thee,
Have seene thee naked, and doe now despise thee;
Drunke with thy wanton pleasures, they are fled,
And scorne the bountie of thy loathed bed;
Lest to thy guilt (the servant of thy sin)
Thou sham'st to show, what once, thou gloriedst in?

Eleg. 9.

Ierusalem is all infected over
With Leprosie, whose filth, no shade can cover,
Puft up with pride, unmindfull of her end,
See how she lyes, devoid of helpe, or friend.
Great Lord of Lords (whose mercy far transcéds
Thy sacred Iustice) whose full Hand attends
The cries of empty Ravens, bow downe thine eares
To wretched Sion, Sion drownd in teares;
Thy hand did plant her, (Lord) she is thy vine,
Confound her foes: they are her foes, and thine:
Shew wonted favour to thy holy hill.
Rebuild her walls, and love thy Sion still.

Eleg. 10.

Knees, falslie bent to Dagon, now defile
Her wasted Temple rudely they dispoile
Th'abused Altars, and no hand releeves;
Her house of prayer is turn'd a den of theeves;
Her costly Robes, her sacred treasure stands,
A willing prey to sacrilegious hands,
Her Priests are slaine, & in a lukewarme flood
Through every channel runs the Levites blood;
The hallowed Temple of the highest God,
Whose purer foot-steps were not to be trod
With unprepared feet, before her eye,
Is turn'd a Grove, for base Idolatrie.

Eleg. 11.

Lingring with Death and Famine, Iudah groanes,
And to the ayre, breathes forth her ayrie moanes,
Her fainting eyes waxe dim, her cheekes grow pale,
Her wandring steps despaire to speed, and faile,
She faints, and through her trembling lips, halfe dead,
She whispers oft the holy name of bread:
Great God, let thy offended wrath surcease,
Behold thy servants, send thy servants peace,
Behold thy vassals, groveling on the dust;
Be mercifull (deare God) as well as just;
'Tis thou, 'tis thou alone, that sent this griefe,
'Tis thou, 'tis thou alone, can send reliefe.

Eleg. 12.

My tongu's in labour with her painefull birth,
That finds no passage; Lord, how strange a dearth
Of words, concomitates a world of woes!
I neither can conceale, nor yet disclose:
You weary Pilgrimes, you whom change of Climes
Have tought you change of Fortunes, and of Times,
Stay, stay your feeble steps, and cast your eyes
On me, the Abstract of all miseries.
Say (Pilgrimes) say, if e're your eyes beheld
More truer Iliades; more unparalleld,
And matelesse evils, which my offended God
Reulcerates, with his enraged Rod.

Eleg. 13.

No humane power could no envious Art
Of mortall man, could thus subject my heart,
My glowing heart, to these imperious fires:
No earthly sorrow, but at length expires;
But these my Tyrant-torments doe extend
To infinites, nor having ease, nor end;
Loe, I the Pris'ner of the highest God,
Inthralled to the vengeance of his Rod,
Lie bound in fetters, that I cannot flie,
Nor yet endure his deadly stroakes, nor die:
My joyes are turn'd to sorrows, backt with feares,
And I (poore I) lie pickled up in teares.

Eleg. 14.

O! how unsufferable is the waight
Of sinne! How miserable is their state,
The silence of whose secret sinne conceales
The smart, till Iustice to Revenge appeales!
How ponderous are my crimes, whose ample scroul
Weighs downe the pillars of my broken Soule!
Their sowre, masqu'd with sweetnes, overswai'd me
And with their smiling kisses, they betrai'd me,
Betraid me to my Foes, and what is worse,
Betraid me to my selfe, and heavens curse,
Betraid my soule to an eternall griefe,
Devoid of hope, for e're to finde reliefe.

Eleg. 15.

Perplext with change of woes, where ere I turne
My fainting eyes, they finde fresh cause to mourne
My griefes move like the Planets, which appeare
Chang'd from their places, cōstant to their sphære
Behold, the earth-confounding arme of Heaven,
Hath cow'd my valiant Captaines, and hath driven
Their scattered forces up and downe the street,
Like worried sheepe afraid of all they meet;
My younger men, the seede of propagation,
Exile hath driven from my divided Nation;
My tender Virgins have not scap'd their rage,
Which neither had respect to youth, nor age.

Eleg. 16.

Qvicke change of torments! equall to those crimes,
Which past unthought-of, in my prosp'rous times
From hence proceed my griefes, (ah me) from hence
My Spring-tyde sorrowes have their influence;
For these, my soule dissolves, my eyes lament,
Spending those teares, whose store wil ne're be spēt;
For these, my fainting spirits droope, and melt
In anguish, such as never Mortall felt;
Within the selfe-same flames, I freeze, and frie,
I roare for helpe, and yet no helpe is nigh;
My sons are lost, whose fortunes would relieve me,
And onely such triumph, that hourely grieve me.

Eleg 17.

Rent from the glory of her lost renowne,
Sion laments; Her lips (her lips o'reflowne
With floods of teares) she prompteth how to breake
New languages, instructs her tongue to speake
Elegious Dialects; She lowly bends
Her dusty knees upon the earth, extends
Her brawnlesse armes to them, whose ruthlesse eyes
Are red, with laughing at her miseries;
Naked she lies, deform'd, and circumvented,
With troopes of feares, unpitied, unlamented,
A loathsome draine for filth, despis'd, forlorne;
The scorne of Nations, and the childe of scorne.

Eleg. 18.

Sowre wages issue from the sweets of sin,
Heavens hand is just, this trecherous heart hath bin
The author of my woes: 'Tis I alone;
My sorrowes reap, what my foule sins have sowne;
Often they cry'de to heaven, e're heaven reply'd,
And vengeance ne're had come, had they ne'r cride;
All you that passe, vouchsafe your gracious eares,
To heare these cries; your eyes, to view these tears;
They are no heat-drops of an angry heart,
Or childish passions of an idle smart,
But they are Rivers, springing from an eye,
Whose streams, no joy can stop, no griefe draw drie.

Eleg. 19.

Tvrne where I list, new cause of woe presents
My poore distracted soule with new laments;
Where shall I turne? shall I implore my friends?
Ah, summer friendship, with the Summer ends;
In vaine to them my groanes, in vaine my teares,
For harvest friends can finde no winter eares;
Or shall I call my sacred Priests for aid?
Alas! my pined Priests are all betraid
To Death, and Famine; in the streets they cryed
For bread, & whilst they sought for bread, they died
Vengeance could never strike so hard a blow,
As when she sends an unlamented woe.

Eleg. 20.

Vouchsafe (great God) to turne thy tender eyes
On me poore wretch: Oh, let my midnight cries
(That never cease, if never stopt with teares)
Procure audience from thy gracious eares;
Behold thy creature, made by change of griefe,
The barest wretch, that ever beg'd reliefe;
See, see, my soule is tortur'd on thy rack
My bowels tremble, and my heart-strings crack;
Abroad, the sword with open ruine frights me;
At home, the secret hand of Famine smites me;
Strange fires of griefe! How is my soule opprest,
That findes abroad, no peace, at home, no rest!

Eleg. 21.

Where, where art thou, O sacred Lambe of peace,
That promis'd to the heavie laden, ease?
Thee, thee alone, my often bended knee
Invokes, that haue no other helpe, but thee;
My foes (amazed at my hoarse complaining)
Scoffe at my oft repeated cries, disdaining
To lend their prosp'rous hand, they hisse and smile,
Taking a pleasure to behold my spoile:
Their hands delight to bruize my broken reeds,
And still persist, to prick that heart that bleeds;
But there's a Day (if Prophets can divine)
Shal scourge their sins, as they have scourged mine.

Eleg. 22.

You noysome weeds, that lift your crests so high,
When better plants, for want of moysture die?
Thinke you to flourish ever? and (unspide)
To shoot the flowers of your fruitlesse pride?
If plants be cropt, because their fruits are small,
Thinke you to thrive, that beare no fruit at all?
Looke downe (great God) & from their places teare
These weeds, that suck the juice, shold make us bear
Vndew'd with showers, let them see no Sun,
But feel those frosts, that thy poor plāts have done.
O clense thy Garden, that the world may know
Wee are the seeds, that thy right hand did sow.