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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Englands Complaint.
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 | Fons Lachrymarum |  |
1
Englands Complaint.
Experience tells us those that are in pain,
Need neither Act nor Ord'nance to complain:
Griefs have their priviledg, whose passions break
All Laws, and Losers claim a power to speak.
If passion be too rude (Reader) excuse;
Grief knows no manners, sorrow needs no Muse.
But stay my hasty quill, forbear, I know
Thou art too young, too tender yet to go
Without a guide, a guide that may direct
Thy staggering feet; A guide that may protect
Thy Infant years. Do not too much endeavour;
Need neither Act nor Ord'nance to complain:
Griefs have their priviledg, whose passions break
All Laws, and Losers claim a power to speak.
If passion be too rude (Reader) excuse;
Grief knows no manners, sorrow needs no Muse.
But stay my hasty quill, forbear, I know
Thou art too young, too tender yet to go
Without a guide, a guide that may direct
Thy staggering feet; A guide that may protect
Thy Infant years. Do not too much endeavour;
A fall, at first, will make thee lame for ever.
Invoke the Nine, and if they do deny
To give thee ayd, complain to Mercury
Tell him, thou art a babe, and dost desire
To warm thy genius by the Muses fire.
Where are Apollo's off-springs? are they ty'd
In sorrows chains, e're since Mecænas dy'd?
Or are their Helleconian waters spent?
Or do they stay t'expect a Complement?
I wonder what they mean, to be thus slow,
In former times they'd run, they'l now scarce go:
My heedless Muse, dost thou not understand
Th'are all distracted and dispers'd the Land?
Only Melpomene, who now appears
Like Niobie, a monument of tears.
Knowst thou not this (rash Muse) then how canst thou
Implore a help from them that know not how
To help themselves? Nay Pegasus is made
A poor Dragoon; his friends are all betraide:
Though all distracted, and thus routed be,
Yet, helpless Muse, there's Heav'n to succor thee:
Then hear me Heaven, Oh hear me, now I sue,
Th'art my Apollo, be Mecænas too;
And great Conductor of my soul, inspire
My frozen heart with thy celestial fire:
Light thou my Candle, Oh then I shall see,
By thy own Light, how to discover thee;
Inflame my frozen senses with thy Spirit,
That I may learn to live, and live t'inherit
The glory of thy Kingdom, and to rest
Where joys are greater then can be exprest;
And so go on, but stay rash quill, and know
What 'tis to be ingag'd, before you go
Too far; Be careful these bad times, unless
Your rash adventure want a good success:
Be wary what you do; these are no times
To please fond fancies with lascivious Rhymes.
Be circumspect; Let every word you write
Be Truth, and then let every word invite
A tear; each tear, a sigh; that every Eye,
That reads, may melt into an Elegy.
And curs'd be that dull eye, that will not lend
A tear, or two, to see poor England spend
Weeks, months, & years, in sighs, in sobs, in groans,
In tears, in pray'rs, and wil't not move the stones?
Vollies of tears, discharged from her eyes,
Shake Heaven and Earth, and penetrate the skies
With sad complaints; heav'n mourns at her conditiō
And weeps down showrs of tears at her Petition:
Then rouze, ye Britains, from your flattering sleep,
Hear Englands groans, thus she begins to weep;
Invoke the Nine, and if they do deny
To give thee ayd, complain to Mercury
Tell him, thou art a babe, and dost desire
To warm thy genius by the Muses fire.
Where are Apollo's off-springs? are they ty'd
In sorrows chains, e're since Mecænas dy'd?
Or are their Helleconian waters spent?
Or do they stay t'expect a Complement?
I wonder what they mean, to be thus slow,
In former times they'd run, they'l now scarce go:
2
Th'are all distracted and dispers'd the Land?
Only Melpomene, who now appears
Like Niobie, a monument of tears.
Knowst thou not this (rash Muse) then how canst thou
Implore a help from them that know not how
To help themselves? Nay Pegasus is made
A poor Dragoon; his friends are all betraide:
Though all distracted, and thus routed be,
Yet, helpless Muse, there's Heav'n to succor thee:
Then hear me Heaven, Oh hear me, now I sue,
Th'art my Apollo, be Mecænas too;
And great Conductor of my soul, inspire
My frozen heart with thy celestial fire:
Light thou my Candle, Oh then I shall see,
By thy own Light, how to discover thee;
Inflame my frozen senses with thy Spirit,
That I may learn to live, and live t'inherit
The glory of thy Kingdom, and to rest
Where joys are greater then can be exprest;
And so go on, but stay rash quill, and know
What 'tis to be ingag'd, before you go
Too far; Be careful these bad times, unless
Your rash adventure want a good success:
Be wary what you do; these are no times
To please fond fancies with lascivious Rhymes.
Be circumspect; Let every word you write
Be Truth, and then let every word invite
A tear; each tear, a sigh; that every Eye,
That reads, may melt into an Elegy.
3
A tear, or two, to see poor England spend
Weeks, months, & years, in sighs, in sobs, in groans,
In tears, in pray'rs, and wil't not move the stones?
Vollies of tears, discharged from her eyes,
Shake Heaven and Earth, and penetrate the skies
With sad complaints; heav'n mourns at her conditiō
And weeps down showrs of tears at her Petition:
Then rouze, ye Britains, from your flattering sleep,
Hear Englands groans, thus she begins to weep;
No Peace, no ease no pleasure; is all gone,
Pursu'd with envy and rebellion?
Whither, oh whither, are my glories sent;
Banisht my brest by Act of Parliament?
Vertue is fled, and scar'd into a trance
By the ill shape of Bugbear ignorance.
What mists are these that thus eclipse the light
Of splendent truth? From whence proceeds this night
Of darkning Errors? how am I beguil'd
Of all my joys? Nay, how am I defil'd
With leprous humors? Oh how grief transports
My frightned sense! what envy's this resorts
Unto my swelling brest? Is there no mean,
No pleasing Musick to divide my scean?
Were I an Atlas, I could not sustain
This Firmament of grief: who can refrain
From falling, that's so much opprest as I
With such a burthen of Malignity?
Where shall I run, to whom shall I address
My burthened self, or how shall I express
My uncontrouled sorrows, or relate
Th'unhappy discord of my factious State?
Where shall I fly? Is there no Ark above
To hide me from these waves? Is there no Dove
To bring me tydings that the Land is clear,
And that the hills of Peace do re-appear?
But must I perish? shall the waves of pride
Dash me in pieces? still a flowing tyde,
Still flow, and never ebb! Is there no bliss?
Wonder sad soul! Oh what an Ocean's this!
Ambitious winds, why rage ye more and more,
And make the seas thus envy at the shore?
Is there no Peter can pray Heaven to please
To check the winds, and quallifie the seas?
Am I the worst of all? Is my condition
So bad, that there is no Petition
Can have an audience? Ah my conscience saith,
I've Peters fears, but yet want Peters faith:
Pursu'd with envy and rebellion?
Whither, oh whither, are my glories sent;
Banisht my brest by Act of Parliament?
Vertue is fled, and scar'd into a trance
By the ill shape of Bugbear ignorance.
What mists are these that thus eclipse the light
Of splendent truth? From whence proceeds this night
Of darkning Errors? how am I beguil'd
Of all my joys? Nay, how am I defil'd
With leprous humors? Oh how grief transports
My frightned sense! what envy's this resorts
Unto my swelling brest? Is there no mean,
No pleasing Musick to divide my scean?
Were I an Atlas, I could not sustain
This Firmament of grief: who can refrain
From falling, that's so much opprest as I
With such a burthen of Malignity?
Where shall I run, to whom shall I address
My burthened self, or how shall I express
4
Th'unhappy discord of my factious State?
Where shall I fly? Is there no Ark above
To hide me from these waves? Is there no Dove
To bring me tydings that the Land is clear,
And that the hills of Peace do re-appear?
But must I perish? shall the waves of pride
Dash me in pieces? still a flowing tyde,
Still flow, and never ebb! Is there no bliss?
Wonder sad soul! Oh what an Ocean's this!
Ambitious winds, why rage ye more and more,
And make the seas thus envy at the shore?
Is there no Peter can pray Heaven to please
To check the winds, and quallifie the seas?
Am I the worst of all? Is my condition
So bad, that there is no Petition
Can have an audience? Ah my conscience saith,
I've Peters fears, but yet want Peters faith:
Here let us stop a little, and advise
With flesh and blood; Can greater wants arise,
To damage souls, then faith, whose want procures
All these extreams, which my poor heart endures?
Oh, no, there cannot: he that wants the hand
Of soul-supporting faith, forgets to stand:
This is my want, and till I find relief,
I'le lie and tumble in the shades of grief,
And glut the ayr with sighs; my hideous cries
Shall roar like thunder in the troubled skies:
Oh that my eyes were Oceans, that I may
Drown all my sorrows in one stormy day;
Or would pleas'd Heaven, enable me to strain,
To gulp up seas, and weep them out again,
Then should my briny streams gush forth so fast,
That every tear should strive to be the last;
So the swift current of my swelling eyes
Should overflow my heap'd up miseries:
With flesh and blood; Can greater wants arise,
To damage souls, then faith, whose want procures
All these extreams, which my poor heart endures?
Oh, no, there cannot: he that wants the hand
Of soul-supporting faith, forgets to stand:
This is my want, and till I find relief,
I'le lie and tumble in the shades of grief,
And glut the ayr with sighs; my hideous cries
Shall roar like thunder in the troubled skies:
Oh that my eyes were Oceans, that I may
Drown all my sorrows in one stormy day;
5
To gulp up seas, and weep them out again,
Then should my briny streams gush forth so fast,
That every tear should strive to be the last;
So the swift current of my swelling eyes
Should overflow my heap'd up miseries:
I have offended Heaven, and now I see
My sins are walls betwixt my God and me,
Which stop the passage of my fervent prayers,
That there is no prevailing but by tears,
To batter down the wall that thus prevents
My cries, my vows, and hinders my intents
To Heav'n, that Heaven can send me no relief,
Nor take me from this labyrinth of grief:
My sins are walls betwixt my God and me,
Which stop the passage of my fervent prayers,
That there is no prevailing but by tears,
To batter down the wall that thus prevents
My cries, my vows, and hinders my intents
To Heav'n, that Heaven can send me no relief,
Nor take me from this labyrinth of grief:
Gone are my golden, my forgotten days,
When every bird could whistle forth my praise:
When every bird could whistle forth my praise:
Gone are those days, when this consuming earth
Was stuffd with pleasure, & perfum'd with mirth:
Though all be gone, yet will I strive t'endure;
He that hath made the wound, can make the cure:
For now I'm wounded, and my wounds do smart
Beyond my Patience; and my tender heart,
Swell'd up with sorrow, doth predestinate
What wo must happen to my bleeding State;
My head, my head's tormented; and my eyes
Are dim, with gazing after vanities:
My members swell, like Oceans, and from thence
Proceeds so great, so large a confluence
Of noisom humors, and they run so thick
That they surcharge, and make my stomack sick:
I'ave purg'd already, and that will not do,
I fear, I fear, that I must vomit too:
I doubt 'tis too much Action that hath bred
These ill diseases that disturb my head:
Oh I am sick to death, my bowels yern!
I freez, I freez, and whilest I freez, I burn;
I burn, I melt, my soul is parch'd within,
(How hot's the furnace of tormenting sin?)
And Ah! how soon is feebled nature lam'd
With joynt-contracting cold; If not inflam'd
By Heavens enlivening fire! how hot's my blood
To what is bad, and Ah, how cold to good!
Oh grief! how two extreams perplex one heart,
So link'd together, that they cannot part!
Thus am I tost, and doubtfully opprest
Beneath the burthen of a dubious brest:
Nothing but Wars, and tumults do arise;
Thrice happy I, had I known how to prize
My happiness; Alas I ne're did know
The good of peace, til Heav'n was pleasd to show:
War makes me know, what joy it was before
To live in Peace and plenty, now the more.
I wish, I want, and now I know by this,
This want of Peace; what a combining bliss
It was to live united, and to praise
That God of Peace, that blest my peaceful days
With large increase; Oh misery to think
Loaded with too much pleasure how I sink.
I that was wont to boast my heaps of treasure
Now swim in sorrow, and now sink in pleasure:
I that the world did envy, now am brought
To be not worth the env'ing, worse then nought,
Revil'd by all; see how the hand of Fate
Hath pleas'd to make me thus unfortunate;
What shall I do? what physick can procure
A little ease? I cannot long endure.
Where are my grave Divines to give advice
To a relapsing soul? are they grown nice
Of late? Are their conspiring hearts agreed
T'absent themselves in this my time of need?
What do they mean? Oh whither are they fled?
Sure, sure, they're silenc'd all, or else all dead:
Do they not see me falling? do they stand
Amaz'd, not daring to afford a hand
To help me up? me thinks I hear them cry
That they are falling too, as well as I:
Where is Religion that was wont to be
The Governor of Peace, the branched tree
That ever flourish'd? see, now every Clown
Being authoriz'd presumes to cut her down.
Will they still strive with swords, with guns, with clubs
To pickle my Religion up in tubs?
Have they no Reason, hath their greedy zeal
Swallow'd up all their Senses at one meal?
Have they agreed that Piety and Reason
Shall be condemn'd, and voted into Treason?
Or hath their hell-bred thoughts found out a way
To turn our Sion to a Golgotha?
Hath the Tartarian counseller invented
Such thriving plots which cannot be prevented?
Leave of base Acts, Mechanicks, and begin
To deal uprightly and reform within;
Bury your aged crimes, and then go call
Your stragling senses to the Funeral:
Adjourn your thoughts, which now are quite contrary
To Peace, and think a peace is necessary.
Honor your higher Powers, and do not mock,
And vilifie them as your laughing stock.
Was stuffd with pleasure, & perfum'd with mirth:
Though all be gone, yet will I strive t'endure;
He that hath made the wound, can make the cure:
For now I'm wounded, and my wounds do smart
Beyond my Patience; and my tender heart,
Swell'd up with sorrow, doth predestinate
What wo must happen to my bleeding State;
My head, my head's tormented; and my eyes
Are dim, with gazing after vanities:
My members swell, like Oceans, and from thence
Proceeds so great, so large a confluence
Of noisom humors, and they run so thick
That they surcharge, and make my stomack sick:
6
I fear, I fear, that I must vomit too:
I doubt 'tis too much Action that hath bred
These ill diseases that disturb my head:
Oh I am sick to death, my bowels yern!
I freez, I freez, and whilest I freez, I burn;
I burn, I melt, my soul is parch'd within,
(How hot's the furnace of tormenting sin?)
And Ah! how soon is feebled nature lam'd
With joynt-contracting cold; If not inflam'd
By Heavens enlivening fire! how hot's my blood
To what is bad, and Ah, how cold to good!
Oh grief! how two extreams perplex one heart,
So link'd together, that they cannot part!
Thus am I tost, and doubtfully opprest
Beneath the burthen of a dubious brest:
Nothing but Wars, and tumults do arise;
Thrice happy I, had I known how to prize
My happiness; Alas I ne're did know
The good of peace, til Heav'n was pleasd to show:
War makes me know, what joy it was before
To live in Peace and plenty, now the more.
I wish, I want, and now I know by this,
This want of Peace; what a combining bliss
It was to live united, and to praise
That God of Peace, that blest my peaceful days
With large increase; Oh misery to think
Loaded with too much pleasure how I sink.
I that was wont to boast my heaps of treasure
Now swim in sorrow, and now sink in pleasure:
7
To be not worth the env'ing, worse then nought,
Revil'd by all; see how the hand of Fate
Hath pleas'd to make me thus unfortunate;
What shall I do? what physick can procure
A little ease? I cannot long endure.
Where are my grave Divines to give advice
To a relapsing soul? are they grown nice
Of late? Are their conspiring hearts agreed
T'absent themselves in this my time of need?
What do they mean? Oh whither are they fled?
Sure, sure, they're silenc'd all, or else all dead:
Do they not see me falling? do they stand
Amaz'd, not daring to afford a hand
To help me up? me thinks I hear them cry
That they are falling too, as well as I:
Where is Religion that was wont to be
The Governor of Peace, the branched tree
That ever flourish'd? see, now every Clown
Being authoriz'd presumes to cut her down.
Will they still strive with swords, with guns, with clubs
To pickle my Religion up in tubs?
Have they no Reason, hath their greedy zeal
Swallow'd up all their Senses at one meal?
Have they agreed that Piety and Reason
Shall be condemn'd, and voted into Treason?
Or hath their hell-bred thoughts found out a way
To turn our Sion to a Golgotha?
Hath the Tartarian counseller invented
Such thriving plots which cannot be prevented?
8
To deal uprightly and reform within;
Bury your aged crimes, and then go call
Your stragling senses to the Funeral:
Adjourn your thoughts, which now are quite contrary
To Peace, and think a peace is necessary.
Honor your higher Powers, and do not mock,
And vilifie them as your laughing stock.
There are a brain-sick multitude, a rabble
Of all Religions that do dayly squabble
About vain shades, and let the substance pass,
Hating good manners as they hate the Mass:
'Tis such as these which thus my woes advance,
Whose very souls are starv'd with ignorance:
'Tis such as these who daily strive to smother
The truth with flattring zeal, & call him brother,
Nay, holy brother, though his faith be small,
If he can rail, and reverently baul
Against grave Bishops, and their pious King,
Oh this is holy, nay a zealous thing:
And those are holy that can pray by chance
According to the Spirits influence,
And teach their prick-ear'd brethren to deny
The Common Prayer, but know no reason why;
And those whose great humility can be
Content to make a Pulpit in a tree,
Or in some Barn, there by the Spirit pray
Five or six hours, not caring what they say:
Or if a Black-smith, or a Tinker can
Hammer out Treason, he's a zealous man.
Or if a learned Cobler will be sure
To stitch it close, oh he's a Christian pure!
Oh these are holy, yea, and learned Teachers,
These are Divines, and only these are Preachers:
They'l cry all learned Prelats out of season,
They must not preach, for fear they should speak reasō.
Oh these are they, whose ruder tongues can cry.
Advance Mechanicks, down with Majesty:
These, these, are they, whose dūghil thoughts could never
Attain perfection, but they still endeavor
To banish wisdom, that at last they may
Make all the world as ignorant as they.
See how they'ave turn'd my joy to griping sadnes,
Plenty to want, and peace to downright madnes;
Vertue to vice, and chastity to vainness,
Learning to scorn, Religion to prophaness,
Flattry to zeal, and non-sense unto Reason,
Honor to shame, and Loyalty to Treason,
Pity to murther, truth to feigned lyes,
Prayers to curses, plundring to a prize:
Thus, thus, they gripe my soul, and go about
To change my shape, and turn my inside, out.
Unhumane Actions, Ah who can behold
Such Tyrannies, and not his blood grow cold!
Break, break, ye flood-gates of my brim-filld eyes,
And let my tears have passage to surprize
This fort of sorrow, and tumultuous cares,
And drench the mountains in a sea of tears.
Of all Religions that do dayly squabble
About vain shades, and let the substance pass,
Hating good manners as they hate the Mass:
'Tis such as these which thus my woes advance,
Whose very souls are starv'd with ignorance:
'Tis such as these who daily strive to smother
The truth with flattring zeal, & call him brother,
Nay, holy brother, though his faith be small,
If he can rail, and reverently baul
Against grave Bishops, and their pious King,
Oh this is holy, nay a zealous thing:
And those are holy that can pray by chance
According to the Spirits influence,
And teach their prick-ear'd brethren to deny
The Common Prayer, but know no reason why;
And those whose great humility can be
Content to make a Pulpit in a tree,
Or in some Barn, there by the Spirit pray
Five or six hours, not caring what they say:
Or if a Black-smith, or a Tinker can
Hammer out Treason, he's a zealous man.
9
To stitch it close, oh he's a Christian pure!
Oh these are holy, yea, and learned Teachers,
These are Divines, and only these are Preachers:
They'l cry all learned Prelats out of season,
They must not preach, for fear they should speak reasō.
Oh these are they, whose ruder tongues can cry.
Advance Mechanicks, down with Majesty:
These, these, are they, whose dūghil thoughts could never
Attain perfection, but they still endeavor
To banish wisdom, that at last they may
Make all the world as ignorant as they.
See how they'ave turn'd my joy to griping sadnes,
Plenty to want, and peace to downright madnes;
Vertue to vice, and chastity to vainness,
Learning to scorn, Religion to prophaness,
Flattry to zeal, and non-sense unto Reason,
Honor to shame, and Loyalty to Treason,
Pity to murther, truth to feigned lyes,
Prayers to curses, plundring to a prize:
Thus, thus, they gripe my soul, and go about
To change my shape, and turn my inside, out.
Unhumane Actions, Ah who can behold
Such Tyrannies, and not his blood grow cold!
Break, break, ye flood-gates of my brim-filld eyes,
And let my tears have passage to surprize
This fort of sorrow, and tumultuous cares,
And drench the mountains in a sea of tears.
Forbear, ye lowring skies; there is no need
Ye should disburse a showre: I have agreed
With sorrow, and his powers, still to remain
Clouded with grief, and fill the earth with rain;
Oh horrid, dismal, Heav'n-provoking times,
Surpassing Sodoms; nay Gomorrah's crimes
Were ne're so bad; Oh Hel-invented fate,
Worse then the worst that I can nominate.
Are these my people, for whose sakes I lie
Involv'd with torments, wrap't in Tyranny?
Are these my Sons, whose sorrows now I weep?
Are these my children, that are lul'd asleep?
See how secure they rest, and never fear
Approaching woe; mine eyes, can ye forbear.
To vent ten thousand tears? oh never let
Your lids conceal you til y'ave paid the debt
Ye owe to sorrow, for those sins which thirst
For greater plenty, then can be disburst:
Oh sigh, sad soul, until thy heart be sore,
Then sigh, because thou canst not sigh no more.
Oh that my voice, like thunderclaps could tear,
And split the portals of each deafned ear.
That so my cries, might ravish every brain,
And fil'd with horror, make them deaf again.
And this I wish, because my Sons are all
So deaf, they will not hear me when I call:
Did they not flourish in a peaceful state,
Injoying store of all things, till of late,
They grew thus factious? and have I not been,
In former times, the worlds admired Queen?
Have not all Nations formerly been proud
To do me service? have they not allow'd
A due respect unto me every where,
And honored me, if not for love, for fear?
And must I now by your, your, means incur,
As many plagues, as mischief can infer?
Must I now pine away, that have been strong?
Must I now stoop, that have stood up so long?
Must I be now subordinate to those
That never dar'd subscribe themselves my foes?
Must I be now divided, that was never
Divided yet? Must I be lost for ever?
Must I be now consumed and thrown down?
And must they scoff me now, that dar'd not frown
In former times? Must I be now confounded?
Must I be now revil'd, and cal'd a Roundhead?
Must I be now nick-nam'd? Must frighted fame
Sound a Retreat, and scorn to own my name?
Must I be now dispers'd? Must my own hand
Destroy the bounty of my fruitful Land?
Oh grief-transcending thought, shall Englands glory
Be thus abstracted, and thus made a story
To after ages? Would not this perplex
A soul, that never knew, what 'twas to vex?
What grief can equalize my grief? What pain
Can be equivalent? would any gain
Eperience? If they would, may they incline
themselves to this experienc'd grief of mine:
Ah grief of days: what marble eye can read
Of such extreams as mine, and never bleed?
'Twould dull the sharpest brain to meditate
Upon my grief; nay, make them desperate.
Had Nero liv'd in this tempestuous age,
He might have blusht to see his boiling rage,
Out-vied by yours; nay, Chorah and his crew
Never pursu'd their Moses, as ye do,
With such untutor'd violence; 'tis strange,
Oh whither will your headlong fury range?
Advise by times, and know there is a God
That overlooks you: Know, that Moses Rod
May turn a greedy Serpent, and devour,
As well the greater, as the smaller power.
Go, go ye sad contrivers of these times,
Consult with sorrow: Think on all those crimes
Ye have committed; and then think what you
Have done, and after what ye have to do.
Advise with care, for your condition's such,
Y'ave much to do, because y'ave done too much.
Too much; Alas too much in my sad state
Is done already; and I fear too late
For remedy: And secret danger lies
In dull delay: 'tis wisdom to advise
Betimes; for true and timely care prevents
Untimely ruin, hindring the intents
Of studied malice; industry prepares
A balm for that which negligence impairs.
Those that by dreaming sloth, sustain a loss,
Obtain least pitty, and the greatest cross.
Consider what a grief 'twill be to see
The sad destruction of this Monarchie
Wrought by your slothful negligence, when all
My lofty structures, by your hands must fall:
Nay, worse then this, when famine shall devour
What fire, and sword hath left; when every hour
The Bells shall toul, with such a feeble sound,
As if that they themselves, a want had found.
Will it not melt a stone to hear the cries
Of hungry children, and the sad replies
Of their dejected friends? who can forbear
To think on this, and never shed a tear?
How children cry for bread, and fain would rest,
Seeking protections in their mothers brest.
Alas poor Orphans, how are they beguil'd,
When the sad mother's forc'd to eat the child
For want of food, & make their blood their drink!
Oh what a wounding sorrow 'tis to think
How all will be destroyd, both young and old,
How warm blood will be mingled with the cold!
How you will roar and cry for want of bread,
Some on the ground, some dying, and some dead;
Some gnaw their flesh, and some fight who shall eat
Each other; Oh uncomfortable meat.
And then the ravening Wolves seek up and down
To find a prey, in every starved town,
Shall eat deaths reliques; having spent that store,
Shall ransack up and down, and howl for more.
All beasts and fouls, shall then amazed stand,
To see the Sea is turn'd into a Land:
The Land into a Sea, a Red Sea, where
Nothing but bones, insteed of fishes are.
Where nothing's heard, but cries, and shrieks, and groans,
Where nothing's seen, except consuming bones.
Oh had you but the power to apprehend
These sad destructive dangers, how they tend
Daily towards us, with all the power that they
Can make, as if they'd rout us in one day:
Dull sons of men, have ye forgot to rise,
And draw the Curtains of your slumbring eyes?
Methinks this hot Alarum should affright
Your souls for ever from your fond delight!
What do ye mean? ye cannot chuse but hear
Heav'ns thundering Judgments rattling in your ear
What have ye sworn Allegiance to the Prince
Of utter darkness? Will no words convince
Your Stubborn souls? Has a perpetuall vow
Been lately past, betwixt Hells Prince and you?
Why do ye thus delight to overthrow
Your selves, and lose a Kingdom at one blow?
Oh where are my grave Rulers to correct
These their enormous humours, that infect
The world with Errors? To what fatall place
Are all my Senators retired?
Ye should disburse a showre: I have agreed
10
Clouded with grief, and fill the earth with rain;
Oh horrid, dismal, Heav'n-provoking times,
Surpassing Sodoms; nay Gomorrah's crimes
Were ne're so bad; Oh Hel-invented fate,
Worse then the worst that I can nominate.
Are these my people, for whose sakes I lie
Involv'd with torments, wrap't in Tyranny?
Are these my Sons, whose sorrows now I weep?
Are these my children, that are lul'd asleep?
See how secure they rest, and never fear
Approaching woe; mine eyes, can ye forbear.
To vent ten thousand tears? oh never let
Your lids conceal you til y'ave paid the debt
Ye owe to sorrow, for those sins which thirst
For greater plenty, then can be disburst:
Oh sigh, sad soul, until thy heart be sore,
Then sigh, because thou canst not sigh no more.
Oh that my voice, like thunderclaps could tear,
And split the portals of each deafned ear.
That so my cries, might ravish every brain,
And fil'd with horror, make them deaf again.
And this I wish, because my Sons are all
So deaf, they will not hear me when I call:
Did they not flourish in a peaceful state,
Injoying store of all things, till of late,
They grew thus factious? and have I not been,
In former times, the worlds admired Queen?
Have not all Nations formerly been proud
To do me service? have they not allow'd
11
And honored me, if not for love, for fear?
And must I now by your, your, means incur,
As many plagues, as mischief can infer?
Must I now pine away, that have been strong?
Must I now stoop, that have stood up so long?
Must I be now subordinate to those
That never dar'd subscribe themselves my foes?
Must I be now divided, that was never
Divided yet? Must I be lost for ever?
Must I be now consumed and thrown down?
And must they scoff me now, that dar'd not frown
In former times? Must I be now confounded?
Must I be now revil'd, and cal'd a Roundhead?
Must I be now nick-nam'd? Must frighted fame
Sound a Retreat, and scorn to own my name?
Must I be now dispers'd? Must my own hand
Destroy the bounty of my fruitful Land?
Oh grief-transcending thought, shall Englands glory
Be thus abstracted, and thus made a story
To after ages? Would not this perplex
A soul, that never knew, what 'twas to vex?
What grief can equalize my grief? What pain
Can be equivalent? would any gain
Eperience? If they would, may they incline
themselves to this experienc'd grief of mine:
Ah grief of days: what marble eye can read
Of such extreams as mine, and never bleed?
'Twould dull the sharpest brain to meditate
Upon my grief; nay, make them desperate.
12
He might have blusht to see his boiling rage,
Out-vied by yours; nay, Chorah and his crew
Never pursu'd their Moses, as ye do,
With such untutor'd violence; 'tis strange,
Oh whither will your headlong fury range?
Advise by times, and know there is a God
That overlooks you: Know, that Moses Rod
May turn a greedy Serpent, and devour,
As well the greater, as the smaller power.
Go, go ye sad contrivers of these times,
Consult with sorrow: Think on all those crimes
Ye have committed; and then think what you
Have done, and after what ye have to do.
Advise with care, for your condition's such,
Y'ave much to do, because y'ave done too much.
Too much; Alas too much in my sad state
Is done already; and I fear too late
For remedy: And secret danger lies
In dull delay: 'tis wisdom to advise
Betimes; for true and timely care prevents
Untimely ruin, hindring the intents
Of studied malice; industry prepares
A balm for that which negligence impairs.
Those that by dreaming sloth, sustain a loss,
Obtain least pitty, and the greatest cross.
Consider what a grief 'twill be to see
The sad destruction of this Monarchie
Wrought by your slothful negligence, when all
My lofty structures, by your hands must fall:
13
What fire, and sword hath left; when every hour
The Bells shall toul, with such a feeble sound,
As if that they themselves, a want had found.
Will it not melt a stone to hear the cries
Of hungry children, and the sad replies
Of their dejected friends? who can forbear
To think on this, and never shed a tear?
How children cry for bread, and fain would rest,
Seeking protections in their mothers brest.
Alas poor Orphans, how are they beguil'd,
When the sad mother's forc'd to eat the child
For want of food, & make their blood their drink!
Oh what a wounding sorrow 'tis to think
How all will be destroyd, both young and old,
How warm blood will be mingled with the cold!
How you will roar and cry for want of bread,
Some on the ground, some dying, and some dead;
Some gnaw their flesh, and some fight who shall eat
Each other; Oh uncomfortable meat.
And then the ravening Wolves seek up and down
To find a prey, in every starved town,
Shall eat deaths reliques; having spent that store,
Shall ransack up and down, and howl for more.
All beasts and fouls, shall then amazed stand,
To see the Sea is turn'd into a Land:
The Land into a Sea, a Red Sea, where
Nothing but bones, insteed of fishes are.
Where nothing's heard, but cries, and shrieks, and groans,
Where nothing's seen, except consuming bones.
14
These sad destructive dangers, how they tend
Daily towards us, with all the power that they
Can make, as if they'd rout us in one day:
Dull sons of men, have ye forgot to rise,
And draw the Curtains of your slumbring eyes?
Methinks this hot Alarum should affright
Your souls for ever from your fond delight!
What do ye mean? ye cannot chuse but hear
Heav'ns thundering Judgments rattling in your ear
What have ye sworn Allegiance to the Prince
Of utter darkness? Will no words convince
Your Stubborn souls? Has a perpetuall vow
Been lately past, betwixt Hells Prince and you?
Why do ye thus delight to overthrow
Your selves, and lose a Kingdom at one blow?
Oh where are my grave Rulers to correct
These their enormous humours, that infect
The world with Errors? To what fatall place
Are all my Senators retired?
You my Triennial Powers; come and dispose
Your ears to my discourse; and Ile disclose
My grief to you, whose Judgments can prescribe
A timely remedy without a bribe.
Then hark!
Your ears to my discourse; and Ile disclose
My grief to you, whose Judgments can prescribe
A timely remedy without a bribe.
Then hark!
The climing power of my disease is grown
To such a height, that I can hardly own
A minutes rest; my body politick
You apprehend (I know) is very sick:
Then let the depth of understanding move
The depth of pitty, that ye may remove
These growing inconveniences, that moan
For your assistance: Can a Kingdom groan,
And not be heard? Can a disease remain
Within my body, and not I complain
Of what I suffer? That were Tyrannie
Not to be paraleld. O pitty me,
And let the fervour of my language turn
Your thoughts to tears, to quench those flames that burn
My wasting intrals: Let your hearts relent
With meditating on my discontent:
Open your willing ears, and hear me call;
Oh do not fall aslumbring whilst I fall:
Oh hear me soon, that now complain too late:
Let my complaints make you compassionate;
Dissolve into a Sea of tears. Involve
Your selves with sackcloth. Let your minds revolve
Upon your native soil; resolve to spend
Your greatest skils, to consummate the end
Of my distractions; and let mercy joyn
With justice; so shall endless love combine
Your souls: That like Ezekiels wheels ye may
Run one within another, and not stray:
But like Isaiahs Seraphims, may cry,
O holy, holy, holy God on high.
To such a height, that I can hardly own
A minutes rest; my body politick
You apprehend (I know) is very sick:
15
The depth of pitty, that ye may remove
These growing inconveniences, that moan
For your assistance: Can a Kingdom groan,
And not be heard? Can a disease remain
Within my body, and not I complain
Of what I suffer? That were Tyrannie
Not to be paraleld. O pitty me,
And let the fervour of my language turn
Your thoughts to tears, to quench those flames that burn
My wasting intrals: Let your hearts relent
With meditating on my discontent:
Open your willing ears, and hear me call;
Oh do not fall aslumbring whilst I fall:
Oh hear me soon, that now complain too late:
Let my complaints make you compassionate;
Dissolve into a Sea of tears. Involve
Your selves with sackcloth. Let your minds revolve
Upon your native soil; resolve to spend
Your greatest skils, to consummate the end
Of my distractions; and let mercy joyn
With justice; so shall endless love combine
Your souls: That like Ezekiels wheels ye may
Run one within another, and not stray:
But like Isaiahs Seraphims, may cry,
O holy, holy, holy God on high.
But stay? nor can I end, my griefs must fly
A little further; Mountains that are high
Must be discovered: Molehills often times
Lie out of sight, like undiscovered crimes.
A publike sorrow oftentimes admits
A cure from them, whose more concreted wits
Do daily study with more active arts
More publique mischief with more private heart
Doth not the fawning Crocodile obtain
By publique sorrow her more private gain?
Doth not the crafty Lapwing cry the least,
When she is nearest to her close-made nest?
Are there not those in this conniving age,
Whose outward meekness is but inward rage?
Are there not those in these contentious times,
That live by nothing, but their private crimes?
Oh, grief to speak it: Are there not a sort
Of wilful people, that can make a sport
At others ruins, whose pretended zeal
Hath bred much mischief in this Common-weal?
Are there not those that would pretend to be
Reformers, yet deform a Monarchie?
Are there not those, whose upstart honors crave
Perpetual durance, only to enslave
The Sons of honor? Thus they play the thief,
And joy in nothing, but in others grief.
Are there not those, who in one breath can cry
Against a Lyar, yet can forge a lye
For their advantage, and abjure the Laws?
Lyes are no lyes, if they advance their Cause.
Are there not those that persecute the Arts,
And yet retain Monopolizing hearts?
Are there not those that dayly take delight
To twist themselves into anothers right?
Do not all these, which I have nam'd, pretend
To do all this, to a religious end?
And ah Religion! how art thou betray'd
By those, whose worthless industry have layd
Thine honor in the dust; nay, and have thrown
Dirt in their faces, that shall dare to own
Thy very name? these are a sort of people
That love no Church, because they hate the steeple:
I dare affirm, that Proteus ne're could be
So much transform'd, as they have transform'd thee:
Nor can I yet conclude; I must deplore
My greater sorrows, yet a little more:
Let no man take exceptions, for I speak
Unto my self; sorrow must find a leak.
I cannot hold; and oh that I were able
To make my feeble tongue infatigable,
That by my full expressions, I may prove
How much the Serpent over-rules the Dove.
A little further; Mountains that are high
Must be discovered: Molehills often times
Lie out of sight, like undiscovered crimes.
16
A cure from them, whose more concreted wits
Do daily study with more active arts
More publique mischief with more private heart
Doth not the fawning Crocodile obtain
By publique sorrow her more private gain?
Doth not the crafty Lapwing cry the least,
When she is nearest to her close-made nest?
Are there not those in this conniving age,
Whose outward meekness is but inward rage?
Are there not those in these contentious times,
That live by nothing, but their private crimes?
Oh, grief to speak it: Are there not a sort
Of wilful people, that can make a sport
At others ruins, whose pretended zeal
Hath bred much mischief in this Common-weal?
Are there not those that would pretend to be
Reformers, yet deform a Monarchie?
Are there not those, whose upstart honors crave
Perpetual durance, only to enslave
The Sons of honor? Thus they play the thief,
And joy in nothing, but in others grief.
Are there not those, who in one breath can cry
Against a Lyar, yet can forge a lye
For their advantage, and abjure the Laws?
Lyes are no lyes, if they advance their Cause.
Are there not those that persecute the Arts,
And yet retain Monopolizing hearts?
Are there not those that dayly take delight
To twist themselves into anothers right?
17
To do all this, to a religious end?
And ah Religion! how art thou betray'd
By those, whose worthless industry have layd
Thine honor in the dust; nay, and have thrown
Dirt in their faces, that shall dare to own
Thy very name? these are a sort of people
That love no Church, because they hate the steeple:
I dare affirm, that Proteus ne're could be
So much transform'd, as they have transform'd thee:
Nor can I yet conclude; I must deplore
My greater sorrows, yet a little more:
Let no man take exceptions, for I speak
Unto my self; sorrow must find a leak.
I cannot hold; and oh that I were able
To make my feeble tongue infatigable,
That by my full expressions, I may prove
How much the Serpent over-rules the Dove.
There was a time (not long since) when my fits
Had found an expiation, if those wits
(Which prov'd too serpentine) had not delayd
Their too-soon violated vows, and playd
A double game: I even blush to name
What odds they had, and how they lost the game.
The world (though sad) is not so melancholly,
But that it smiles at, and records that folly:
The breach of vows cracks honor, and the loss
Of opportunity, deserves a cross
In honors book; and he that shall neglect
A publike good, shall find a bad respect
In private hearts, and ruine must attend
A publique Actor, for a private end.
Are there not those hate Rome, and yet make room
For Cataline, and labour to entomb
His vile prescriptions in their Romish thoughts,
And yet excuse themselves, and him, from faults?
Do I not see them how they run his paths
With headlong force, and prosecute his Laws?
Do I not see their Agents, how they strive
To ruine others, and to keep alive
Themselves, that liv'd not, till this greedy age
Rak'd them from dunghils, to adorn the Stage
Of Hell-bred Tyranny? Do I not see
How much they'r honor'd for their Tyrannie?
Had found an expiation, if those wits
(Which prov'd too serpentine) had not delayd
Their too-soon violated vows, and playd
A double game: I even blush to name
What odds they had, and how they lost the game.
The world (though sad) is not so melancholly,
But that it smiles at, and records that folly:
The breach of vows cracks honor, and the loss
Of opportunity, deserves a cross
In honors book; and he that shall neglect
A publike good, shall find a bad respect
18
A publique Actor, for a private end.
Are there not those hate Rome, and yet make room
For Cataline, and labour to entomb
His vile prescriptions in their Romish thoughts,
And yet excuse themselves, and him, from faults?
Do I not see them how they run his paths
With headlong force, and prosecute his Laws?
Do I not see their Agents, how they strive
To ruine others, and to keep alive
Themselves, that liv'd not, till this greedy age
Rak'd them from dunghils, to adorn the Stage
Of Hell-bred Tyranny? Do I not see
How much they'r honor'd for their Tyrannie?
The Salamander, when hee's crown'd with fire,
Is in his Kingdom, if his Crown expire,
His life concludes: Tell me what then remains,
Except the reliques of consuming flames.
Is in his Kingdom, if his Crown expire,
His life concludes: Tell me what then remains,
Except the reliques of consuming flames.
Even so the Salamanders of these daies,
(Whose hearts are made of flames) at last will blaze,
And smother into ashes: Thus declin'd,
What can they leave (except a stink) behind?
Each thing must live within it's element;
Discretion tells us, fishes must content
themselves with water; and all things must live
Content, with that which Heav'n was pleas'd to give.
'Tis only man that surfeits with desire:
The earth, the ayr, the water quickning fire:
And all was made for man, and man man was made
Of all these things: Oh let it not be sayd,
That fire predominates, and breeds contest
Within my bowels, and destroys the rest.
Oh strive, now your unruly flames arise,
To quench your hearts with water from your eyes:
Strive not with Cataline, that lavish creature,
To stop great mischiefs, by enacting greater:
(Whose hearts are made of flames) at last will blaze,
And smother into ashes: Thus declin'd,
What can they leave (except a stink) behind?
Each thing must live within it's element;
Discretion tells us, fishes must content
themselves with water; and all things must live
Content, with that which Heav'n was pleas'd to give.
'Tis only man that surfeits with desire:
The earth, the ayr, the water quickning fire:
And all was made for man, and man man was made
Of all these things: Oh let it not be sayd,
19
Within my bowels, and destroys the rest.
Oh strive, now your unruly flames arise,
To quench your hearts with water from your eyes:
Strive not with Cataline, that lavish creature,
To stop great mischiefs, by enacting greater:
But tell me now, how can your thoughts reflect
Upon a Peace, when as ye dis-respect
The principle? 'tis an uncertain way
To gain a Peace by arms; for every day
Will breed new tumults, which will in conclusion
Inviron you with Armies of confusion:
Peace cannot swim in blood, blood cannot stand
Like pools of water in a peaceful Land.
Delight not thus in contraries; forsake
Your former ways, let not your hearts partake
Of blood, and ruine; Heav'n will never own
A blood-bedab'led soul: 'Tis not unknown
How ye have belch'd out oaths, & vow'd to bring
Peace to your Country, honor to your King:
Now wher's your Countries peace? now wher's the glory
Your King was promis'd? Oh nefandous story!
Can peace and strife cohabitate? Can fame
And glory be imprison'd? 'Tis your shame,
Not his dishonor, that ye perpetrate
Such horrid acts: I tremble to relate
What I have suffer'd: Is't not you that have
Exploded all my comforts? You that crave
(Like greedy Cormorants) still more and more,
Pretending charity, yet starve the poor?
Was it not you, whose active hands provided
To pull down Crosses, that have thus divided
My yielding people? Can ye now pull down
These Crosses ye have builded? You that crown
Your hearts with malice, will you always stand
In opposition? Will you still command
In spight of fortune? Will ye always be
Majestique too, in spight of Majestie?
I may affirm, that never Nation had
So good a King, whose Subjects are so bad.
Do ye not see how Heav'n hath pleas'd to smile
Upon his soul, and bless him all this while
With long-continued patience? It is he
Whose life, hath given life to Pietie.
He is a second Job, whose patience can
Outvie the base indignities of man:
Go ransake Europe, see if you can find
A more composed Prince, whose noble mind
Can entertain a grief, and never vent
(But turn) his passion into blest content;
Whole volumns of his griefs may be exprest;
And since I dare not speak, Ile weep the rest:
Upon a Peace, when as ye dis-respect
The principle? 'tis an uncertain way
To gain a Peace by arms; for every day
Will breed new tumults, which will in conclusion
Inviron you with Armies of confusion:
Peace cannot swim in blood, blood cannot stand
Like pools of water in a peaceful Land.
Delight not thus in contraries; forsake
Your former ways, let not your hearts partake
Of blood, and ruine; Heav'n will never own
A blood-bedab'led soul: 'Tis not unknown
How ye have belch'd out oaths, & vow'd to bring
Peace to your Country, honor to your King:
Now wher's your Countries peace? now wher's the glory
Your King was promis'd? Oh nefandous story!
Can peace and strife cohabitate? Can fame
And glory be imprison'd? 'Tis your shame,
Not his dishonor, that ye perpetrate
Such horrid acts: I tremble to relate
What I have suffer'd: Is't not you that have
Exploded all my comforts? You that crave
(Like greedy Cormorants) still more and more,
Pretending charity, yet starve the poor?
20
To pull down Crosses, that have thus divided
My yielding people? Can ye now pull down
These Crosses ye have builded? You that crown
Your hearts with malice, will you always stand
In opposition? Will you still command
In spight of fortune? Will ye always be
Majestique too, in spight of Majestie?
I may affirm, that never Nation had
So good a King, whose Subjects are so bad.
Do ye not see how Heav'n hath pleas'd to smile
Upon his soul, and bless him all this while
With long-continued patience? It is he
Whose life, hath given life to Pietie.
He is a second Job, whose patience can
Outvie the base indignities of man:
Go ransake Europe, see if you can find
A more composed Prince, whose noble mind
Can entertain a grief, and never vent
(But turn) his passion into blest content;
Whole volumns of his griefs may be exprest;
And since I dare not speak, Ile weep the rest:
Oh stop my tears, or else my eyes will flow
Into a deluge; for my sorrows know
No mean at all; extreams of tears must fall
For such extreams of grief: Attend me all,
Whose hearts are not too flinty; Ile declare
Your Soveraigns suffering, with your Soveraigns care
How many widowed nights has his sad heart
Worn out with sorrow, having none t impart
His thoughts unto, except he please to spend
His language on the ears of such a friend
As Human was; whose unrestrained power
Punisht his own offence in half an hour.
Judg you, whose hearts have vow'd a double life,
What are th'endearments of a tender wife.
Judg you (what 'tis) whom bounteous Heav'n hath blest,
With numerous off-springs, to be dispossest
Of those encreasing comforts, which discry
No real joy, but in their parents eye.
And if th'enjoyment of these blessings yield
Such large content, needs must the want unshield
The soul of comfort: Oh unhappy fate!
Who'd be a father at so dear a rate?
A wife, unhappy, happy word; a wife
Happy oft-times to an unhappy life:
A wife, that word importeth joys
Unparaleld; that very word destroys
Armies of grief, and oftentimes it brings
A heav'nly sorrow to the hearts of Kings;
And curs'd be they, heav'n gives me leave to speak,
That shall presume to seperate, or break
Conjugal bands; How many in this Land
Lie subject to this curse? how many stand
Amaz'd, almost distracted, that have been
Actors? Heav'n bless my King, protect my Queen;
How many false aspersions have you cast
Upon their heads? Did ye not strive to blast
Their spotless honors? What was spoke of late,
I hate to think, much more to nominate:
Admit it had been truth, then had ye not
Prov'd much un ust, to leave so large a blot
Within this Kingdom: Thus you can discry
Inferior molehills, but let mountains lie.
Into a deluge; for my sorrows know
No mean at all; extreams of tears must fall
For such extreams of grief: Attend me all,
Whose hearts are not too flinty; Ile declare
Your Soveraigns suffering, with your Soveraigns care
How many widowed nights has his sad heart
Worn out with sorrow, having none t impart
21
His language on the ears of such a friend
As Human was; whose unrestrained power
Punisht his own offence in half an hour.
Judg you, whose hearts have vow'd a double life,
What are th'endearments of a tender wife.
Judg you (what 'tis) whom bounteous Heav'n hath blest,
With numerous off-springs, to be dispossest
Of those encreasing comforts, which discry
No real joy, but in their parents eye.
And if th'enjoyment of these blessings yield
Such large content, needs must the want unshield
The soul of comfort: Oh unhappy fate!
Who'd be a father at so dear a rate?
A wife, unhappy, happy word; a wife
Happy oft-times to an unhappy life:
A wife, that word importeth joys
Unparaleld; that very word destroys
Armies of grief, and oftentimes it brings
A heav'nly sorrow to the hearts of Kings;
And curs'd be they, heav'n gives me leave to speak,
That shall presume to seperate, or break
Conjugal bands; How many in this Land
Lie subject to this curse? how many stand
Amaz'd, almost distracted, that have been
Actors? Heav'n bless my King, protect my Queen;
How many false aspersions have you cast
Upon their heads? Did ye not strive to blast
Their spotless honors? What was spoke of late,
I hate to think, much more to nominate:
22
Prov'd much un ust, to leave so large a blot
Within this Kingdom: Thus you can discry
Inferior molehills, but let mountains lie.
But tell me then, is this the only way
To make a glorious King? Heaven grant he may
Want such obnoxious honor, till he crave
Honor from you, to whom he honors gave:
Consider well, and ye will find it true,
'Twas heav'n that made him glorious, & not you:
'Twas he that fill'd his soul with true renown,
And crown'd his Cross as you have crost his crown.
Heav'n breaks no Covenants, he never fails,
He never unvotes what he votes, or rails
Against his enemies, but grieves to see
Their souls run headlong to their destinie.
Abused Peace perverts into a Curse:
What can be better, or what may be worse
Then Peace, whose presence (like the Sun) displays
Its golden ensignes; whose refulgent rays
Adorns the earth, and fills the gazing eye
With glorious light, and peaceful Majesty?
To make a glorious King? Heaven grant he may
Want such obnoxious honor, till he crave
Honor from you, to whom he honors gave:
Consider well, and ye will find it true,
'Twas heav'n that made him glorious, & not you:
'Twas he that fill'd his soul with true renown,
And crown'd his Cross as you have crost his crown.
Heav'n breaks no Covenants, he never fails,
He never unvotes what he votes, or rails
Against his enemies, but grieves to see
Their souls run headlong to their destinie.
Abused Peace perverts into a Curse:
What can be better, or what may be worse
Then Peace, whose presence (like the Sun) displays
Its golden ensignes; whose refulgent rays
Adorns the earth, and fills the gazing eye
With glorious light, and peaceful Majesty?
But when rude Boreas summons all his pow'r,
And argues with the Seas; In half an hour
You may behold a change: they which before
Were wrapt in silence, now begin to rore
Into a fury; contradictions bring
Endless disputes: Shall Boreas be a King,
And rule th'unruly waves? (when surges meet,
How rudely do they part, how rudely greet!)
Whilest peaceful Zephyrus must be deny'd
To breathe upon the floods? Can storms abide
For ever? No: rash Boreas must at last
Submit to Zephyrus; whose milder blast
Proclaims a sudden Peace, and strives to grace
The simp'ring Ocean with a smoother face:
And argues with the Seas; In half an hour
You may behold a change: they which before
Were wrapt in silence, now begin to rore
Into a fury; contradictions bring
Endless disputes: Shall Boreas be a King,
And rule th'unruly waves? (when surges meet,
How rudely do they part, how rudely greet!)
23
To breathe upon the floods? Can storms abide
For ever? No: rash Boreas must at last
Submit to Zephyrus; whose milder blast
Proclaims a sudden Peace, and strives to grace
The simp'ring Ocean with a smoother face:
But whither am I hurried? slack my sails,
I fly beyond my Port; I find the gales
Of grief are too robustuous, and I doubt!
I cannot anchor here, but tack about.
I fly beyond my Port; I find the gales
Of grief are too robustuous, and I doubt!
I cannot anchor here, but tack about.
Seven years are now compleated since my grief
Had its initiation, yet relief
Stands at a distance; Peace is in a doubt
Whether to come within, or stay without.
Your rash proceedings, and your great disgraces
Make Peace even blush to look you in the faces:
Oh miserable men that live to know
Such times, such a reduplicating wo!
Is there no art remains? Is there no way
To set you right, that thus have gone astray?
Is there no faithful Lot to pray for Peace,
And stop the cause, that so th'effect may cease?
Is there no Jonah dare proclaim, and cry
Unto the sons of men, Destruction's nigh?
But are they all asleep, now sorrows swarm?
(Oh how can they repose in such a storm!)
Rouze slumbring souls, and lift your heads above
The decks of negligence; The God of Love
Will be too angry, if you sleep too long:
Advance your thoughts, and let your pray'rs be strong
For me, who am thus weak, and must decay,
Except this grief-encreasing Remora
Be wip'd away; Oh may I not offend
The Auditor of Heav'n, if I shall spend
Some words to this effect; I must confess
Dear God, I am corrupted, I address
My self to thee; Oh let thy healing hand
Prescribe a Balsam for this bleeding Land:
I have been too progressive, grant I may
Be retrograded to my former way:
Spoil not the path because I step'd aside,
Correct my feet, and let the path abide.
What though the path be something rough and small
Better's a rough path then no path at all;
For now I ramble up and down, and see
No certainty, except of miserie.
Is it discretion to pull down a fair
Cathedral Church because one spider's there?
Is is discretion to condemn the Sun
Because the Dial's false? the times must run
Their revolutions; set the Dial right,
Then you'l not want a truth till Sol wants light.
Had its initiation, yet relief
Stands at a distance; Peace is in a doubt
Whether to come within, or stay without.
Your rash proceedings, and your great disgraces
Make Peace even blush to look you in the faces:
Oh miserable men that live to know
Such times, such a reduplicating wo!
Is there no art remains? Is there no way
To set you right, that thus have gone astray?
Is there no faithful Lot to pray for Peace,
And stop the cause, that so th'effect may cease?
Is there no Jonah dare proclaim, and cry
Unto the sons of men, Destruction's nigh?
But are they all asleep, now sorrows swarm?
(Oh how can they repose in such a storm!)
Rouze slumbring souls, and lift your heads above
The decks of negligence; The God of Love
Will be too angry, if you sleep too long:
Advance your thoughts, and let your pray'rs be strong
24
Except this grief-encreasing Remora
Be wip'd away; Oh may I not offend
The Auditor of Heav'n, if I shall spend
Some words to this effect; I must confess
Dear God, I am corrupted, I address
My self to thee; Oh let thy healing hand
Prescribe a Balsam for this bleeding Land:
I have been too progressive, grant I may
Be retrograded to my former way:
Spoil not the path because I step'd aside,
Correct my feet, and let the path abide.
What though the path be something rough and small
Better's a rough path then no path at all;
For now I ramble up and down, and see
No certainty, except of miserie.
Is it discretion to pull down a fair
Cathedral Church because one spider's there?
Is is discretion to condemn the Sun
Because the Dial's false? the times must run
Their revolutions; set the Dial right,
Then you'l not want a truth till Sol wants light.
Let all things move within their orbs; suppose
Th'inferior lights should labor to depose
The Prince of light, and drive him from his throne,
And by an usurpation make't their own:
What strange aspects would this produce t'affright
Supine Astronomers, to see that light,
Which was at distance, now approach so neer,
And blaze in an improper Hæmisphere:
Consider then, would not the Stars let fall
Too great an influence, the Sun too small,
On humane bodies? Oh may they remain
In their own Region, then would Sol again
Enjoy his just prerogatives, and feed
The world with such a lustre, as I need:
Peace is the light I want, could I obtain
But Peace, how soon should I survive again!
Peace is the best Physitian; I require
Nothing but Peace to quench my hot desire.
Th'inferior lights should labor to depose
The Prince of light, and drive him from his throne,
And by an usurpation make't their own:
What strange aspects would this produce t'affright
Supine Astronomers, to see that light,
Which was at distance, now approach so neer,
And blaze in an improper Hæmisphere:
25
Too great an influence, the Sun too small,
On humane bodies? Oh may they remain
In their own Region, then would Sol again
Enjoy his just prerogatives, and feed
The world with such a lustre, as I need:
Peace is the light I want, could I obtain
But Peace, how soon should I survive again!
Peace is the best Physitian; I require
Nothing but Peace to quench my hot desire.
A good Physitian will be sure to see,
E're he prescribes, where lies the maladie;
Then he I begin to study, and to try
What may be best; whether Phlebotomy
Be good, and if it be, opens a vein,
And so restores his Patients ease again:
Thus, thus, grand authors of my woes should you
Have done at first, if ye had been but true
To me; but when at first my griefs you saw
Ye thought it good to purge me with your Law:
And having purg'd me, ye began to see
How weak I was; and what a low degree
Y'ad brought me to, and then ye fell at strife,
By killing me, how to preserve my life.
You brought strange Doctors to me, whose advice
I'm sure was purchas'd by too high a price:
They bid me lift my arms up to my head,
And stir my Body; for diseases bred
For want of exercise: they bid me play
A game or two at Irish every day.
I took th'advice, then I begun to find
A sudden alteration, and my mind
Was so transported, that me thoughts the ground
Began to dance, and I my self turn'd round:
I fell into a traunce, with this presumption,
And ever since I've liv'd in a Consumption.
Let this example all the world assure,
An English Grief will have no Scottish Cure.
And so farewel, if these be your conditions,
Henceforth you may prove—But not Physitians
E're he prescribes, where lies the maladie;
Then he I begin to study, and to try
What may be best; whether Phlebotomy
Be good, and if it be, opens a vein,
And so restores his Patients ease again:
Thus, thus, grand authors of my woes should you
Have done at first, if ye had been but true
To me; but when at first my griefs you saw
Ye thought it good to purge me with your Law:
And having purg'd me, ye began to see
How weak I was; and what a low degree
Y'ad brought me to, and then ye fell at strife,
By killing me, how to preserve my life.
You brought strange Doctors to me, whose advice
I'm sure was purchas'd by too high a price:
They bid me lift my arms up to my head,
And stir my Body; for diseases bred
For want of exercise: they bid me play
A game or two at Irish every day.
26
A sudden alteration, and my mind
Was so transported, that me thoughts the ground
Began to dance, and I my self turn'd round:
I fell into a traunce, with this presumption,
And ever since I've liv'd in a Consumption.
Let this example all the world assure,
An English Grief will have no Scottish Cure.
And so farewel, if these be your conditions,
Henceforth you may prove—But not Physitians
Englands Petition to Heaven.
Ah
me! Ah me! can nothing but Ah me
Fly from my barren heart (dear God) to thee?
Ah me! and why will not that word import
Ten thousand pray'rs, that so I may resort
Unto thy ears by Troops? then would I run
Division on ah me, till time were done.
Fly from my barren heart (dear God) to thee?
Ah me! and why will not that word import
Ten thousand pray'rs, that so I may resort
Unto thy ears by Troops? then would I run
Division on ah me, till time were done.
Weak as I am, distracted, and defil'd,
I prostitute my self, not as a child
Of Sin, but as a Parent that has had
A numerous off-spring; Now my heart is sad,
Oh grant that my unfained grief may grow
Upon a real graft, that I may show
The fruit of perfect sorrow, and declare
How great my sins, how great thy mercies are:
Storm thou my sins, and force them to retreat,
And make my craving brest thy mercies seat:
Strike thou my flinty soul, that my desires
May, from a spark, encrease to flames; Thy fires
Must thaw my Icy Soul, or else I shall
Remain for ever a congealed Gall:
I am compos'd of steel, and cannot bow,
Except thy dear instructions teach me how:
Attract me by the loadstone of thy grace,
That through thy mercies I may see thy face;
And having view'd it, I may never more
Return to what I Idoliz'd before;
I have a Lydia's heart, in mercy please
To open it, thy mercies are the keyes:
Ravish my Soul, that I may fall in love
With thee, my God, with thee; that art a Dove
Of innocency: Let my raptures mount
As high as Heav'n, that there I may recount
Thy never failing love, and sing thy praise
VVith Davids heart, until the last of days:
Tune thou my stupid soul, and then it shall
Be truly sweet, and heav'nly musical:
Convert my swords to sighs, that I may fight
With my own crimes, and hate to take delight
To lacerate my self; Oh tye the hands
Of fury! make me stoop to thy commands.
Convert my tydes of blood to streams of tears;
My lyes to truths, my horrid oaths to pray'rs:
Make me to apprehend how thou hast wept
Of late for me, whilest I securely slept.
Let not thy tears destroy me, but let me
Dissolve to tears (dear God) and weep to thee:
Is it the heat of my offences makes
The Heav'ns to melt, (O Heav'n some pity take!)
Or has thy great discretion thought it good
To send these showres to wash away that blood
Which I have lost; I know thy purer eyes
Cannot endure a bloody sacrifice.
Oh stop thy bottle, pity my sad times,
And grant to me more tears or fewer crimes!
Be pleas'd to view me with a gracious eye,
And let the lustre of thy Majesty
Reflect upon me, let thy glorious light
Create a day of mercy, that the night
Of sin may be expell'd; Oh hear my pray'rs
Usher'd unto thee with a tyde of tears!
To me, Oh let thy mercies be exprest,
And fill the concave of a sinful brest;
Sinful, ah sinful, more then I am able
With language to express, intolerable:
Behold my festred soul, whose wounds proceed
From sin, and being drest with sin, they bleed;
They bleed (dear Heav'n) they bleed, oh what a flood
A flood they make! & I am bath'd in blood:
Oh stop this current that does still begin,
Or I shall'd own a Kingdom in my sin!
Oh look upon me, and in mercy please
To send me salve to palliate my disease!
Begin to hear (O GOD) begin to send,
That so my sorrows may begin to end.
I prostitute my self, not as a child
Of Sin, but as a Parent that has had
A numerous off-spring; Now my heart is sad,
Oh grant that my unfained grief may grow
Upon a real graft, that I may show
The fruit of perfect sorrow, and declare
How great my sins, how great thy mercies are:
Storm thou my sins, and force them to retreat,
And make my craving brest thy mercies seat:
27
May, from a spark, encrease to flames; Thy fires
Must thaw my Icy Soul, or else I shall
Remain for ever a congealed Gall:
I am compos'd of steel, and cannot bow,
Except thy dear instructions teach me how:
Attract me by the loadstone of thy grace,
That through thy mercies I may see thy face;
And having view'd it, I may never more
Return to what I Idoliz'd before;
I have a Lydia's heart, in mercy please
To open it, thy mercies are the keyes:
Ravish my Soul, that I may fall in love
With thee, my God, with thee; that art a Dove
Of innocency: Let my raptures mount
As high as Heav'n, that there I may recount
Thy never failing love, and sing thy praise
VVith Davids heart, until the last of days:
Tune thou my stupid soul, and then it shall
Be truly sweet, and heav'nly musical:
Convert my swords to sighs, that I may fight
With my own crimes, and hate to take delight
To lacerate my self; Oh tye the hands
Of fury! make me stoop to thy commands.
Convert my tydes of blood to streams of tears;
My lyes to truths, my horrid oaths to pray'rs:
Make me to apprehend how thou hast wept
Of late for me, whilest I securely slept.
Let not thy tears destroy me, but let me
Dissolve to tears (dear God) and weep to thee:
28
The Heav'ns to melt, (O Heav'n some pity take!)
Or has thy great discretion thought it good
To send these showres to wash away that blood
Which I have lost; I know thy purer eyes
Cannot endure a bloody sacrifice.
Oh stop thy bottle, pity my sad times,
And grant to me more tears or fewer crimes!
Be pleas'd to view me with a gracious eye,
And let the lustre of thy Majesty
Reflect upon me, let thy glorious light
Create a day of mercy, that the night
Of sin may be expell'd; Oh hear my pray'rs
Usher'd unto thee with a tyde of tears!
To me, Oh let thy mercies be exprest,
And fill the concave of a sinful brest;
Sinful, ah sinful, more then I am able
With language to express, intolerable:
Behold my festred soul, whose wounds proceed
From sin, and being drest with sin, they bleed;
They bleed (dear Heav'n) they bleed, oh what a flood
A flood they make! & I am bath'd in blood:
Oh stop this current that does still begin,
Or I shall'd own a Kingdom in my sin!
Oh look upon me, and in mercy please
To send me salve to palliate my disease!
Begin to hear (O GOD) begin to send,
That so my sorrows may begin to end.
| Fons Lachrymarum | |