University of Virginia Library

Threnodia. IIII.

Eleg. 1.

Alas! what alterations! Ah, how strange
Amazement flowes from such an uncouth change
Ambitious Ruine! could thy razing hand
Finde ne're a subject, but the Holy Land?
Thou sacrilegious Ruine, to attempt
The house of God! was not heavens house exempt
From thy accursed Rape? Ah me! Behold,
Sion, whose pavement of refulgent gold,
So lately did reflect, so bright, so pure,
How dimme, how drossie now, (ah!) how obscure!
Her sacred stones lie scatter'd in the street,
For stumbling blocks before the Levites feet.

Eleg. 2.

Behold her Princes, whose victorious browes
Fame oft had crowned, with her Laurell bowes,
See how they hide their shame-confounded crests,
And hang their heads upon their fainting brests,
Behold her Captaines, and brave men at armes,
Whose spirits fired at warres loud alarmes,
Like worried sheepe, how flee they from the noise
Of Drummes, and startle at the Trumpets voice!
They faint, and like amazed Lyons, show
Their fearefull heeles, if Chaunticleere but crow;
How are the pillars (Sion) of thy state
Transform'd to clay, and burnisht gold, so late!

Eleg. 3.

Can furious Dragons heare their helplesse broode
Cry out, and fill their hungry lips with food?
Hath Nature taught fierce Tygers to apply
The brest unto their younglings empty cry?
Have savage beasts time, place, and natures helps,
To feed and foster up their idle whelpes?
And shall the tender Babes of Sion cry,
And pine for food, and yet their mothers by?
Dragons, and Tygers, and all savage beasts
Can feed their young, but Sion hath no breasts:
Distressed Sion, more unhappie farre,
Than Dragons, savage Beasts, or Tygers are!

Eleg. 4.

Death thou pursuest, if from death thou flee,
Or if thou turnst thy flight, Death followes thee:
Thy staffe of life is broke; for want of bread,
Thy City pines, and halfe thy Land is dead;
The son t'his father weepes, makes fruitlesse moane
The father weepes upon his weeping sonne:
The brother cals upon his pined brother,
And both come crying to their hungry mother:
The empty Babe, in stead of milke, drawes downe
His Nurses teares, well mingled with his owne;
Nor chāge of place, nor time with help supplys thee
Abroad the Sword, famine at home destroyes thee.

Eleg. 5.

Excesse, and Surfet now have left thy coast,
The lavish Guest, now wants his greedie Host,
No wanton Cooke prepares his poynant meate,
To teach a saciate palate how to eate;
Now Pacchus pines and shakes his feeble knees,
And pamp'red Envie lookes as plumpe, as Hee's;
Discolour'd Ceres, that was once so faire,
Hath lost her beauty, sindg'd her golden haire;
Thy Princes mourne in rags, asham'd t'infold
Their leaden spirits in a case of gold;
From place to place thy Statesmen wandring are;
On every dung-hill lies a man of warre.

Eleg. 6.

Foule Sodome, and incestuous Gomorrow,
Had my destruction, but ne're my sorrow;
Vengeance had mercy there; Her hand did send
A sharpe beginning, but a sudden end;
Iustice was milde, and with her hastie flashes
They fell, and sweetly slept in peacefull Ashes;
They felt no rage of an insulting Foe,
Nor Famins piching furie, as I doe;
They had no sacred Temple to defile;
Or if they had, they would have helpt to spoile;
They dy'd but once, but I, poore wretched I,
Die many deaths, and yet have more to die.

Eleg. 7.

Gold from the Mint; Milke, from the uberous Cow,
Was ne're so pure in substance, nor in show,
As were my Nazarites, whose inward graces
Adorn'd the outward lustre of their faces;
Their faces robb'd the Lilly, and the Rose,
Of red and white; more faire, more sweet then those,
Their bodies were the magazines of perfection,
Their skins vnblemisht, were of pure complexion,
Through which, their Saphire-colour'd veines descride
The Azure beauty of their naked pride;
The flaming Carbuncle was not so bright,
Nor yet the rare discolour'd Chrysolite.

Eleg. 8.

How are my sacred Nazarites (that were
The blazing Planets of my glorious Sphære)
Obscur'd and darkned in Afflictions cloud?
Astonisht at their owne disguize, they shrowd
Their foule transformed shapes, in the dull shade
Of sullen darknesse; of themselves afraid;
See, how the brother gazes on the brother,
And both affrighted, start, and flie each other;
Blacke as their Fates, they cross the streets unkend,
The Sire, his Son; The friend disclaimes his frend;
They, they that were the flowers of my Land,
Like withered Weeds, and blasted Hemlocke stand.

Eleg 9.

Impetuous Famine, Sister to the Sword,
Left hand of Death, Childe of th'infernall Lord,
Thou Tort'rer of Mankind, that with one stroake,
Subject'st the world to thy imperious yoake:
What pleasure tak'st thou in the tedious breath
Of pined Mortals? or their lingring death?
The Sword, thy generous brother's not so cruell,
He kills but once, fights in a noble Duell:
But thou (malicious Furie) dost extend
Thy spleene to all, whose death can find no end;
Alas! my haplesse weale can want no woe,
That feeles the rage of Sword, and famine too.

Eleg. 10.

Kinde is that death, whose weapons do but kill,
But we are often slaine, yet dying still;
Our torments are too gentle, yet too rough,
They gripe too hard, because not hard enough;
My people teare their trembling flesh, for food,
And frō their ragged wounds, they suck forth blood
The father dies, and leaves his pined Coarse,
T'inrich his Heire, with meat; The hungry Nurse
Broyles her starv'd suckling on the hastie coales,
Devoures one halfe, and hides the rest in holes:
O Tyrant Famine! that compell'st the Mother,
To kill one hungry Childe, to feed another!

Eleg. 11.

Lament, O sad Jerusalem, lament;
O weepe, if all thy teares be yet unspent,
Weepe (wasted Iudah) let no drop be kept
Vnshed, let not one teare be left, unwept;
For angry heaven hath nothing left undone,
To bring thy ruines to perfection:
No curse, no plague the fierce Almighty hath
Kept backe, to summe the totall of his wrath;
Thy Citie burnes; thy Sion is dispoyld;
Thy Wives are ravisht, and thy Maides defil'd;
Famine at home; the Sword abroad destroyes thee;
Thou cry'st to heav'n, & heav'n his eare denies thee.

Eleg. 12.

May thy dull senses (O unhappy Nation,
Possest with nothing now, but desolation)
Collect their scatter'd forces, and behold
Thy novell fortunes, ballanc'd with the old;
Couldst thou, ô could thy prosp'rous heart cōceive,
That mortall powre, or art of State could reive
Thy'illustrious Empire of her sacred glory,
And make her ruines, the Threnodian story
Of these sad times, and ages yet to be?
Envie could pine, but never hope to see
Thy buildings crusht, and all that glory ended,
Which Man so fortifyde, and Heav'n defended.

Eleg. 13.

Ne're had the splendor of thy bright renowne
Beene thus extinguisht (Iudah;) Thy fast Crowne
Had ne're beene spurn'd from thy Imperiall brow,
Plenty had nurs'd thy soule, thy peacefull plough
Had fill'd thy fruitfull Quarters with encrease,
Hadst thou but knowne thy selfe, and loved peace;
But thou hast broke that sacred truce, concluded
Betwixt thy God, and thee; vainly deluded
Thy selfe with thine own strength, with deadly feud
Thy furious Priests and Prophets have pursude
The mourning Saints of Sion, and did slay
All such, as were more just, more pure, then they.

Eleg. 14.

O how the Priests of Sion, whose pure light
Should shine to such, as grope in Errors night,
And blaze like Lamps, before the darkned eye
Of Ignorance, to raise up those that lie
In dull despaire, and guide those feet that strey,
Ay me! How blinde, how darke, how dull are they!
Fierce rage, & fury drives them through the street,
And, like to mad men, stabbe at all they meet;
They weare the purple Livery of Death,
And live themselves, by drawing others breath;
Say (wasted Sion) could Revenge behold
So foule an acted Scene as this, and hold?

Eleg. 15.

Prophets, and sacred Priests, whose tongues whilere
Did often whisper in th'Eternalls eare,
Disclos'd his Oracles, found ready passage
Twixt God, and Man, to carry heavens Embassage,
Are now the subjects of deserved scorne,
Of God forsaken, and of man forlorne;
Accursed Gentiles are asham'd to know,
What Sions Priests are not asham'd to doe;
They see and blush, and blushing flee away,
Fearing to touch things, so defil'd as they;
They hate the filth of their abomination,
And chace them forth, from their new conquer'd nation.

Eleg. 16.

Qvite banisht from the joyes of earth, and smiles
Of heaven, and deeply buried in her spoiles,
Poore Iudah lies; unpitied, disrespected;
Exil'd the World; of God, of Man rejected;
Like blasted eares among the fruitfull wheat,
She roames disperst, and hath no certaine seat;
Her servile neck's subjected to the yoake
Of bondage, open to th'impartiall stroake
Of conquering Gentiles, whose afflicting hand
Smites every nooke of her disguised Land;
Of Youth respectlesse, nor regarding Yeeres,
Nor Sex, nor Tribe; like scourging Prince, & Peers.

Eleg. 17.

Rent, and deposed from Imperiall state,
By heavens high hand, on heaven we must await;
To him that struck, our sorrowes must appeale;
Where heaven hath smit no hand of man can heale;
In vaine, our wounds expected mans reliefe,
For disappointed hopes renew a griefe;
Ægypt opprest us in our fathers loynes,
What hope's in Ægypt? Nay, if Ægypt joynes
Her force with Iudah, our united powres
Could nere prevaile 'gainst such a foe as our's;
Ægypt, that once did feele heavens scourge, for grieving,
His flock, would now refinde it, for reliving.

Eleg. 18.

So, the quick-sented Beagles, in a view,
O're hill, and dale, the fleeing Chase pursue,
As swift-foot Death, and Ruine follow me,
That flees, afraid, yet knowes not where to flee:
Flee to the fields? There, with the sword I meet;
And, like a Watch, Death stands in every street;
No covert hides from death; no Shade, no Cells
So darke, wherein not Death and Horror dwells:
Our dayes are numbred, and our number's done,
The empty Houre-glasse of our glorie's run:
Our sins are summ'd, and so extreame's the score,
That heauen could not doe lesse, nor hell do more.

Eleg. 19.

To what a downfall are our fortunes come,
Subjected to the suffrance of a doome,
Whose lingring torments Hell could not conspire
More sharp! than which, hell needs no other fire:
How nimble are our Foemen to betray
Our soules? Eagles are not so swift as they:
Where shall we flee? Or where shall sorrow finde
A place for harbour? Ah, what prosp'rous winde
Will lend a gale, whose bounty ne're shall cease,
Till we be landed on the Ile of peace?
My foes more fierce than empty Lions are;
For hungry Lions, woo'd with teares, will spare.

Eleg. 20.

Vsurping Gentiles rudely have engrost
Into their hands those fortunes we have lost,
Devoure the fruits that purer hands did plant,
Are plump and pampred with that bread we want,
And (what is worse than death) a Tyrant treads
Vpon our Throne; Pagans adorne their heads
With our lost crowns; their powers have dis-jointed
The Members of our State, and Heavens Anointed
Their hands have crusht, & ravisht from his throne,
And made a Slave, for Slaves to tread upon;
Needs must that flock be scattred and accurst,
where wolves have dar'd to seize the Shepherd first.

Eleg. 21.

Waxe fat with laughing (Edom;) with glad eies
Behold the fulnesse of our miseries;
Triumph (thou Type of Antichrist) and feed
Thy soule with joy, to see thy brothers seed
Ruin'd, and rent, and rooted from the earth,
Make haste, and solace thee with early mirth;
But there's a time shall teach thee how to weepe
As many teares as I; thy lips, as deepe
Shall drinke in sorrowes Cup, as mine have done,
Till then, cheere up thy spirits, and laugh on:
Offended Iustice often strikes by turnes;
Edom, beware, for thy next neighbour burnes.

Eleg. 22.

Ye drooping sonnes of Sion, O, arise,
And shut the flood-gates of your flowing eyes,
Sur cease your sorrowes, and your joyes attend,
For heaven hath spoke it, and your griefes shal end;
Beleeve it Sion, seeke no curious signe,
And wait heav'ns pleasure, as heav'n waited thine;
And thou triumphing Edom, that dost lye
In beds of Roses, thou, whose prosp'rous eye
Did smile, to see the Gates of Sion fall,
Shalt be subjected to the selfe-same thrall;
Sion, that weepes, shalt smile; and Edoms eye,
That smiles so fast, as fast shall shortly cry.

The Prophet Ieremie his Prayer for the distressed people of Ierusalem, and Sion.

Great God, before whose all-discerning eye,
The secret corners of mans heart doe lye
As open as his actions, which no Clowd
Of secresie can shade; no shade can shrowd;
Behold the Teares, O, hearken to the Cryes
Of thy poore Sion; Wipe her weeping eyes,
Binde up her bleeding wounds, ô thou that art
The best Chirurgeon for a broken heart:
See how the barb'rous Gentiles have intruded
Into the Land of promise, and excluded
Those rightfull Owners, from their just possessions,
That wander now full laden with oppressions;
Our Fathers (ah) their savage hands have slaine,
Whose deaths our Widdow-mothers weepe in vaine;
Our Springs, whose Christall plenty once disburst
Their bounteous favours, to quench every thirst;
Our liberall Woods, whose palsie-shaken tops,
To every stranger, bow'd their yeelding lops,
Are sold to us, that have no price to pay,
But sweat and toyle, the sorrowes of the day:
Oppressors trample on our servile necks,
We never cease to groane, nor they to vexe;
Famine and Dearth, haue taught our hands t'extend
To Ashur, and our feeble knees to bend
To churlish Pharoe: Want of bread compells
Thy servants to begge Almes of Infidels;
Our wretched Fathers sinn'd, and yet they sleepe
In peace, and have left us their sonnes to weepe;
We, we extracted from their sinfull loynes,
Are guilty of their sinnes; Their Ossa joynes
To our high Pelion; Ah! their crimes doe stand
More firmly' entailed to us, than our Land:
We are the slaves of servants, and the scorne
Of slaves, of all forsaken, and forlorne;
Hunger hath forc'd us to acquire our food,
With deepest danger of our dearest blood;
Our skins are wrinckled, and the fruitlesse ploughs
Of want have fallow'd up our barren browes:
Within that Sion which thy hands did build,
Our Wives were ravisht, and our Maids defil'd:
Our savage Foe extends his barb'rous rage
To all, not sparing Sexe, nor Youth, nor Age:
They hang our Princes on the shamefull trees
Of death; respect no Persons, no Degrees:
Our Elders are despised, whose gray hayres
Are but the Index of their doting yeares;
Our flowring youth are forced to fulfill
Their painfull taskes in the laborious Mill;
Our children faint beneath their loads, and cry,
Opprest with burdens, under which they lie:
Sages are banisht fom Iudiciall Courts,
And youth takes no delight in youthfull sports:
Our joyes are gone, and promise no returning,
Our pleasure's turnd to paine, our mirth to mourning;
Our hand hath lost her sword; Our Head his Crowne;
Our Church her glory; our Weale her high renowne.
Lord, we have sinn'd, and these our sins have brought
This world of griefe; (O purchase dearely bought!)
From hence our sorrowes, and from hence our feares
Proceed; for this, our eyes are blinde with teares;
But that (aye that) which my poore heart doth count
Her sharpest torture, is thy sacred Mount,
Sacred Mount Sion; Sion, that divine
Seat of thy glory's raz'd; her tender Vine,
Laden with swelling Clusters, is destroy'd,
And Foxes now, what once thy Lambs enjoy'd.
But thou (O thou eternall God) whose Throne
Is permanent, whose glory's ever one,
Vnapt for Change, abiding still the same,
Though Earth consume, & Heaven dissolve her frame,
Why dost thou (ah!) why dost thou thus absent
Thy glorious face? Oh, wherefore hast thou rent
Thy Mercy from us? O! when wilt thou be
Atton'd to them, that have no trust but Thee.
Restore us (Lord) and let our soules possesse
Our wonted peace; O, let thy Hand redresse
Our wasted fortunes; Let thine Eye behold
Thy scattered Flock, and drive them to their Fold;
Canst thou reject that people, which thy Hand
Hath chose, and planted in the promis'd Land?
O thou (the Spring of mercy) wilt thou send
No case to our Afflictions, no end?