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Fons Lachrymarum

or a fountain of tears: From whence doth flow Englands Complaint, Jeremiahs Lamentations paraphras'd with Divine Meditations and an elegy Upon that Son of Valor Sir Charles Lucas. Written by John Quarles

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 I. 
Chap. I.
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Chap. I.

Contents.

The miserable estate of Jerusalem by reason of her sins, 12 She complaineth of her grief, 13 and confesseth Gods judgments to be righteous.

How doth the City, that was blest of late

1


With store of people, now lament her state?
How like a poor distressed widow she
Deplores her sorrows, that was wont to be
Great among Nations? greater far then any;
How tributary is she now to many?

30

2

She drowns her blushing cheeks with midnight tear

And from her lovers can obtain no pray'rs:
Her friends arm'd all with treachery, arise
And shew themselves her publick enemies:

3

Spurr'd with affliction Judah's forc'd to fly,

And throw her self into Captivity;
Because of sense-consuming servitude
She dwells amongst the Heathen multitude:
Her Foes o're-took her when she was distrest;
Well might she wish for, but could take no rest.

4

Sion is with redoubled grief surpriz'd,

Because her feasts by none are solemniz'd:
Her Gates are fill'd with desolation, and
Her Virgins tortur'd with afflictions hand:
Her Priests with sighs, heart-breaking sighs, express
Their grief: Ah Sion's fill'd with bitterness!

5

Her chiefest people are her chiefest foes;

Just Heav'n with these innumerable woes
Plagues her transgressions; and the enemy
Drives her dear Children to Captivity.

6

And that rare beauty, which adorn'd and grac'd

Sions dear daughter, is of late defac'd:
Her Princes sly, and ransack all about,
Like hungry Harts, to find a pasture out:
They all are fled, and flying can procure
No strength t'oppose the merciless pursuer.

7

But when Jerusalem was thus confin'd

T'afflictions lawless bounds, she call'd to mind
Her by-past pleasures, and those days which she
Had spent in time-devouring Jollitie.

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For now her crying sins are grown so great

8


That Heav'n hath thrown her from his mercies seat:
All those that lov'd her, yea and highly priz'd her,
Seeing her shameful nakedness, despis'd her:
She sighs & turns her back, as though she'd borrow
A private breath t'express a publike sorrow:
For being fill'd with wickedness, Her end

9


She never thought of; neither had she friend
To comfort her: Oh Lord my God, behold
My great afflictions: Ah my foe grows bold,
And magnifies himself: His streach'd-out hand

10


Hath spoild the pleasures of my fruitful Land:
The very Heathen, whom thou didst deny
Thy Congregation, do contemn, defie
Thy just commands; and with unseemly paces
Inforce an entrance to thy holy places.
Her bread-desiring people, fill'd with grief,

11


Give their chief treasures for a small relief:
Behold, O Lord, consider my distress,
For I am vile, and fill'd with wickedness.
Oh stop your hasty feet, ye that pass by,

12


And look upon my new-bred misery;
Sum up the totals of all grief, then borrow
A million more; 'Tis nothing to that sorrow
Which I support, wherewith the angry power
Hath pleas'd t'afflict me in His wrathful hour:
For he, from his all-ruling throne hath sent

13


Into my bones a fiery Government:
Yea, and his ever-active hand hath set,
T'insnare my feet, a Heav'n-contrived net:

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And I am desolate, and fainting lie;
Being turn'd from him, am turn'd to misery.

14

Fast to my servile neck He hath bound on

The wreathed yoke of my transgression;
Impair'd my strength, and by His just command
I'm thrown into my persecutors hands,
Where I, remorsless I, must still remain,
Voyd of all hope to be inlarg'd again.

15

His unresisted strength hath broke the bones,

And made a footstool of my Mighty Ones:
A great Assembly He hath call'd that may
Punish my young men that will not obey;
And Judahs fairest Virgin Daughter's trod
As in a winepress by th'Almighty God.

16

And oh these sorrows, oh these miseries

Stir up a tempest in my clouded eyes!
Mine eyes, mine eyes, run o're, I dayly spend
More tears then any brain can apprehend:
My foes prevail, my children all are led
Into Captivity, my hopes are fled.

17

Sion spreads forth her feeble arms t'express

She seeks for comfort, but is comfortless.
The Lord of hostes commands that Jacobs eyes
Shall round about him see his enemies;
And poor despis'd, distrest Jerusalem
Is as a menstruous woman amongst them.

18

My God is just, yet I, rebellious I,

Transgrest against his glorious Majesty:
Oh hear my people, let your ears but borrow
A minutes time, from Time, to hear my sorrow!

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My Virgins and my young men all are fled
Into Captivity; my Priests are dead:

19


My Friends refuse to hear me when I call;
For want of food my hungry Elders fall.
O Lord, behold, see how I am opprest,

20


My heart thumps at the portals of my brest:
Oh, I have sinned, and my sins indite me;
Abroad the Sword, at home grim Death affrights me.
My friends have heard my groaning, and my grief

21


Is known to them, But I know no relief:
My foes with clamorous voyces fill the earth,
And make my grief the subject of their mirth:
But Heav'n hath nam'd a day when these my foes
Shall be Co-partners in my mock'd at woes.
O God, let not their faults be hid from thee,

22


But deal with them as thou hast dealt with me:
My heart is faint, my strugling sighs are many,
My griefs too great to be exprest by any.

Meditatio in Capitulum.

If thou wouldst know, my Soul, what harms attend
A sinners progress to his journeys end:
Here, here, thou mayst, if with impartial eyes
Thou wilt observe th'unsatiate miseries
Of poor Jerusalem, whose tedious groans,
Whose sighs, and sobs, & tears, the world bemoans.

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Observe her heedless steps, and thou shalt know
Sin was the Author of her self-will'd Wo.
'Twas sweet first, but sowre in th'event,
That little word assumes a large extent:
Where Sin predominates, there we may find
The inconvenience of a troubl'd mind:
For when the mind's perplex'd, then we begin
Either to fall to, or to fall from Sin:
For like the restless sea she's active still,
And always agitating good or ill;
If well imploy'd, she builds a wall about
The Soul, to keep approaching dangers out:
But if she spends her thriftless hours in Evil,
She makes a banquet to invite the Devil,
Who with his subtle and misguiding force
Will re-invite her to a second course.
And then let Christians judg how much disquiet
That Soul sustains that loves the Devils diet.
Ah then my Soul, if thou desir'st to be
Exempted from the lot of miserie,
Make Heav'n thy refuge; there thou mayst be sure
To find contentment and repose secure:
Thou needst not fear, there is no poys'nous thing
Can wound that Soul that truly loves his King:
Nor all the malice mortals can invent,
Shall add to thee one mite of discontent:
There is no sorrow, no calamity
T'oppress thy thoughts; No wry-look'd enemy
T'upbraid thy actions: then my Soul advise
How much it profits to be heav'nly wise.

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Ah had Jerusalem, whose grief no pen
Can e're engrave into the hearts of men,
Been wisely wary, she had never known
Those late reap'd sorrows, which her sins had sown:
Had she but search'd her bosom, and contriv'd
Her actions well, her glory had surviv'd:
Had she with Davids tears in time repented,
Those uncorrected sins her heart lamented,
She had not felt those judgments which did wait
Upon the ruines of her falling State:
But whilest her eyes were muffl'd and deluded,
Folly came in where Reason was excluded.
Needs must that Kingdom unto ruine run,
Where Folly sets and rises with the Sun.
Like as the body that's oppress'd with grief
Can neither hope for, nor obtain relief,
Till the disease be known, there's none can tell
The rage of sickness that was always well:
Even so Jerusalem, because that she
Judg'd not the Reason of her Miserie
Till she was past recovery, could never
Have health restor'd her, but was sick for ever.
Alas! alas! that Kingdom needs must fall,
That has a grief so Epidemical.
Had she but like the Ninevites in time
Stop'd those distemp'ring humors, wch did climbe
Above her strength, her grief had quickly ended,
And heav'n revok'd those judgments he intended.
Med'cines are vain things when apply'd too late,
And through delay a grief grows desperate:

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He that is Sin-sick is in bad condition,
Except Heav'n please to be his Souls Physitian:
And if God once deny his Patient bliss,
Whose must the fault be, when the fault's not his?
Alas! alas! 'tis but in vain for any
To strive to cure one grief, that had so many
As sad Jerusalem had; her plagues were more
Then all the world could reckon up before:
She had a Monop'ly, she need not borrow,
She was the Hierogliphick of all sorrow.
Yet if in time she'd made repentant moan,
Heav'n could have cur'd them all as well as one.
There is no Sin, let it be great or small,
But Heav'n can find a balsam for them all.
My Soul, thou art my Monarch, therefore I
May boldly look into thy Monarchy:
First, praise thou Heav'n, then learn to be content
With what he sends thee; let thy government
Be still Monarchical, and fenc'd about
With fervent prayers, to keep Sedition out.
Let watch and ward be kept, lest Traytor Sin
Betray thee; Let not Faction come within
Thy lists: And still be careful to surprize
Rebellious thoughts as soon as they arise:
For if they once appear within thy borders,
They'l breed confusion, and confus'd disorders.
Learn to be wisely politick, and be
Ready to let Religion counsel thee.
Let Reason be thy guide, and let thy Laws
Be truly executed; Let thy Cause

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Be just and real: then my Soul, be sure
To let thy fundamental Laws endure,
Till he that sits on the refulgent Throne
Shall take thee hence, and keep thee for his own.