Thoughts Upon The Four Last Things Death; Judgment; Heaven; and Hell. A Poem In Four Parts. The Second Edition. To which are added, The I, CIV, and CXXXVII Psalms Paraphras'd [by Joseph Trapp] |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
Part IV. HELL.
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 | Thoughts Upon The Four Last Things |  |
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IV. Part IV. HELL.
The ARGUMENT.
The amazing Dread, and Terror of the Subject. The Madness of the Infidels, who say God cannot, or will not punish. That monstrous Notion expos'd; and their senseless Reasonings answer'd. The Place of Hell uncertain. Whether in Chaos, and the extramundane Space. Or in the Bowels of the Earth. Or in the Sun. This last enlarg'd upon. Tho' we know not Where it is, we know What it is; viz. perfect Misery. Fire must make the Sensible Part of it. The inconceivable Horrours and Misery both of the Place, and State, described at large. An Objection obviated, That all This is Fancy, and Poetick Fiction. The Eternity of the Torments. Arguments, on both sides. Supposing them not Eternal; they may be dreadful beyond Imagination. However, (since we cannot demonstrate the Contrary) 'tis safer to think them Eternal, than feel them to be so. Who shall be in Hell. In general; all impenitent Sinners. More particularly; Adulterers, and Fornicators. Covetous Persons. Wicked Clergymen; both Priests, and Prelates. Wicked Ministers of State. Wicked Kings, Queens, and Sovereign Princes. Traytors: Corrupt Betrayers, and Sellers of their Country, on the one hand; Factious, Seditious, false Patriots on the other. Those who debauch'd the World by their wicked Writings of any Kind. Evil-speakers, and Censorious Persons: Under which Head, an Objection is obviated with relation to the Author's Severity against Vice, and, vicious Men as Such. Objection, That all This is Priestcraft, &c. This answer'd. Infidelity set in all imaginable Lights; and shewn to be perfect Madness in every one of them.
Tremble, ye Guilty! Tremble, ev'n the Good!
Almighty Vengeance!—Chills it not the Blood?
Can ev'n the Blest Hell's horrid Gulph behold,
Torrents of Fire in boiling Billows roll'd;
And not shrink back with Terror and Affright;
And, tho' secure, not shudder at the Sight?
A Misery complete, unmix'd, and pure,
What Fancy can conceive? what Thoughts endure?
Almighty Vengeance!—Chills it not the Blood?
Can ev'n the Blest Hell's horrid Gulph behold,
Torrents of Fire in boiling Billows roll'd;
And not shrink back with Terror and Affright;
And, tho' secure, not shudder at the Sight?
A Misery complete, unmix'd, and pure,
What Fancy can conceive? what Thoughts endure?
“What Thoughts indeed? the Infidel replys;
“God must not, will not, cannot punish Vice,
“When all the Ends of Discipline are past;
“In the next World his Anger will not last.
“'Twould argue Weakness, Passion impotent,
“Rage, Cruelty, and Malice, to torment
“(Merely for Torment's sake) with penal Pain
“His wretched Creatures: Are their Plagues his Gain?
“When from their Punishment, however due,
“No Profit, or Advantage can accrue
“To Others, or Themselves; Can God impose
“That Punishment? and triumph in their Woes?
“Can Shrieks, cast upwards from Hell's Depth of Fires,
“Mix grateful Musick with th'Angelick Lyres?
“God is all Good; In Him, as Good, we trust.”
But is He not, too, Holy, Wise, and Just?
Think'st thou, has God one Attribute alone?
Can Mercy, ev'n tho' infinite, be thrown
On Objects which are capable of None?
Must Wisdom, Holiness, Truth, Justice, fail
In God; that Goodness only may prevail?
And can'st thou prove, that Punishment can tend,
Hereafter, to no salutary End?
That all Examples Then their force shall lose,
And Pains, and Terrors be no more of Use?
Or grant, thou could'st; yet in the Scheme of Things,
Reason, and Nature, is the King of Kings
The only Potentate, who cannot take
On Rebels Vengeance due, for his Own sake?
Is it for Him, for Him alone too much
To punish Crimes against Himself, as such?
T'assert his scorn'd, his violated Laws,
And vindicate his Glory's injur'd Cause?
Where is his Greatness, Majesty, and Awe;
If Man be with Impunity his Foe?
Under Pretext, in impious vain Dispute,
Of honouring his One mild Attribute;
Thou mak'st Him despicable, a God of small,
Or no Account; that is, no God at all.
In thy Mock-Robe the Deity thus dress'd,
Appears a perfect Ridicule, and Jest:
The Deist quite unmask'd; the Atheist stands confess'd.
“God must not, will not, cannot punish Vice,
“When all the Ends of Discipline are past;
“In the next World his Anger will not last.
“'Twould argue Weakness, Passion impotent,
“Rage, Cruelty, and Malice, to torment
“(Merely for Torment's sake) with penal Pain
“His wretched Creatures: Are their Plagues his Gain?
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“No Profit, or Advantage can accrue
“To Others, or Themselves; Can God impose
“That Punishment? and triumph in their Woes?
“Can Shrieks, cast upwards from Hell's Depth of Fires,
“Mix grateful Musick with th'Angelick Lyres?
“God is all Good; In Him, as Good, we trust.”
But is He not, too, Holy, Wise, and Just?
Think'st thou, has God one Attribute alone?
Can Mercy, ev'n tho' infinite, be thrown
On Objects which are capable of None?
Must Wisdom, Holiness, Truth, Justice, fail
In God; that Goodness only may prevail?
And can'st thou prove, that Punishment can tend,
Hereafter, to no salutary End?
That all Examples Then their force shall lose,
And Pains, and Terrors be no more of Use?
Or grant, thou could'st; yet in the Scheme of Things,
Reason, and Nature, is the King of Kings
The only Potentate, who cannot take
On Rebels Vengeance due, for his Own sake?
Is it for Him, for Him alone too much
To punish Crimes against Himself, as such?
T'assert his scorn'd, his violated Laws,
And vindicate his Glory's injur'd Cause?
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If Man be with Impunity his Foe?
Under Pretext, in impious vain Dispute,
Of honouring his One mild Attribute;
Thou mak'st Him despicable, a God of small,
Or no Account; that is, no God at all.
In thy Mock-Robe the Deity thus dress'd,
Appears a perfect Ridicule, and Jest:
The Deist quite unmask'd; the Atheist stands confess'd.
Thus far the Views of human Reason reach:
But more express the sacred Pages teach.
There God 'gainst Sin incens'd with vengeful Ire,
With Terrors arm'd, a fierce consuming Fire,
Shines forth tremendous. True, He courts, and woes,
In melting Strains, his most rebellious Foes
To Penitence, and Happiness; declares,
Protests, and by Himself, as Living, swears,
He stands most ready Sinners to forgive;
Intreats, and begs them to repent, and live.
But on th'obdur'd, Plagues, Storms, and Tempest pours,
And Wrath, which to Eternity devours.
God cannot punish—So thou say'st—But still
That God Himself proclaims He can, and will.
As thus the strong Assertors disagree;
Must we, I ask, believe in God, or Thee?
But more express the sacred Pages teach.
There God 'gainst Sin incens'd with vengeful Ire,
With Terrors arm'd, a fierce consuming Fire,
Shines forth tremendous. True, He courts, and woes,
In melting Strains, his most rebellious Foes
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Protests, and by Himself, as Living, swears,
He stands most ready Sinners to forgive;
Intreats, and begs them to repent, and live.
But on th'obdur'd, Plagues, Storms, and Tempest pours,
And Wrath, which to Eternity devours.
God cannot punish—So thou say'st—But still
That God Himself proclaims He can, and will.
As thus the strong Assertors disagree;
Must we, I ask, believe in God, or Thee?
“But Oh! the Bible!—Book so much ador'd;
“Which, Priests, and dull Believers, call God's Word—
Why, is it Not so? Dost thou never read?
But only laugh, and shake thy empty Head?
Cavil thou may'st; but never canst refute
Those Facts, which prove it genuine past Dispute,
God's genuine Word—But 'tis not Now the Time
For That Debate: I pass it; till in Rhime
I on That Theme Thy Madness shall expose;
As I, and Others, oft have done in Prose.
“Which, Priests, and dull Believers, call God's Word—
Why, is it Not so? Dost thou never read?
But only laugh, and shake thy empty Head?
Cavil thou may'st; but never canst refute
Those Facts, which prove it genuine past Dispute,
God's genuine Word—But 'tis not Now the Time
For That Debate: I pass it; till in Rhime
I on That Theme Thy Madness shall expose;
As I, and Others, oft have done in Prose.
The Place allotted to this Scene of Woe
We know not; (may we never, feeling, know:)
Whether, beyond the Space immense, and vast
Of the World's Bounds, in Chaos wild, and wast:
Or whether, (so perhaps the Scheme is laid)
When the last Conflagration shall have prey'd
On this Terrestrial Globe, the fiery Tide
Shall in the Bowels of the Earth subside;
And, added to the Central Fire, There make
Hell's flaming Gulph, the molten Brimstone Lake.
Or whether in the Sun, to form whose Beams,
To Us, so distant, salutary Streams,
Millions of Ætnas, and Vesuvios blaze,
There scorching Fires, tho' Here live giving Rays,
The Damn'd shall to their Tartarus be doom'd;
Forever burning, ever unconsum'd.
So Some have thought; and thought they made it plain;
Nor is perhaps th'acute Conjecture vain.
However to our erring Fancy's Eye
That Orb appears above, aloft, on high;
In the World's Centre fix'd, 'tis most profound,
Lowest, to all the wide Circumf'rence round.
And Hell by All most low was ever deem'd:
O! may'st not Thou, howe'er to Thee have seem'd
These Things abstruse, when Life's short Race is run,
Cast down from Earth, descend into the Sun.
We know not; (may we never, feeling, know:)
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Of the World's Bounds, in Chaos wild, and wast:
Or whether, (so perhaps the Scheme is laid)
When the last Conflagration shall have prey'd
On this Terrestrial Globe, the fiery Tide
Shall in the Bowels of the Earth subside;
And, added to the Central Fire, There make
Hell's flaming Gulph, the molten Brimstone Lake.
Or whether in the Sun, to form whose Beams,
To Us, so distant, salutary Streams,
Millions of Ætnas, and Vesuvios blaze,
There scorching Fires, tho' Here live giving Rays,
The Damn'd shall to their Tartarus be doom'd;
Forever burning, ever unconsum'd.
So Some have thought; and thought they made it plain;
Nor is perhaps th'acute Conjecture vain.
However to our erring Fancy's Eye
That Orb appears above, aloft, on high;
In the World's Centre fix'd, 'tis most profound,
Lowest, to all the wide Circumf'rence round.
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O! may'st not Thou, howe'er to Thee have seem'd
These Things abstruse, when Life's short Race is run,
Cast down from Earth, descend into the Sun.
From th'Empyrean Heav'n, the blest Abode
Of Saints in Bliss, of Angels, and of God,
Most distant sure is Hell; and 'tis as clear,
Most distant from it is the Solar Sphere.
Of Saints in Bliss, of Angels, and of God,
Most distant sure is Hell; and 'tis as clear,
Most distant from it is the Solar Sphere.
But is not Hell all Darkness, thickest Night?
The Sun a glorious Orb of cheerful Light?
Yes, in It's Surface; as to Us It shines:
But Figure to thyself Its Caverns, Mines;
Its hollow Rocks, Its inmost gloomy Dens:
O! wert thou There, how chang'd would be the Scenes!
Ev'n Here we spy thro' Galileo's Glass
Black Spots, and smoaking Mountains o'er Its Face.
And as th'All-wise, Great God, with diff'rent Views,
By the same Means, Ends contrary pursues;
Perhaps the Sun, which Now with Light, and Heat
This Solar System cheers, may prove the Seat
Of Woe Hereafter; rage with sulph'rous Storms;
And torture Those, whom Now it kindly warms.
The Sun a glorious Orb of cheerful Light?
Yes, in It's Surface; as to Us It shines:
But Figure to thyself Its Caverns, Mines;
Its hollow Rocks, Its inmost gloomy Dens:
O! wert thou There, how chang'd would be the Scenes!
Ev'n Here we spy thro' Galileo's Glass
Black Spots, and smoaking Mountains o'er Its Face.
And as th'All-wise, Great God, with diff'rent Views,
By the same Means, Ends contrary pursues;
Perhaps the Sun, which Now with Light, and Heat
This Solar System cheers, may prove the Seat
Of Woe Hereafter; rage with sulph'rous Storms;
And torture Those, whom Now it kindly warms.
However, taught by Revelation clear,
We know What Hell is, tho' we know not Where.
In Heav'n as perfect endless Pleasures flow;
Hell is consummate, and eternal Woe.
Fire too must make the Sensible of Hell:
“With everlasting Burnings who can dwell?
“Tormenting Tophet is ordain'd long since;
“Ev'n for the King, the Potentate, the Prince,
“It is prepar'd: 'Tis roomy, vast, and wide,
“With Store of Fuel plenteously supply'd:
“The Breath of God makes the full Furnace boil;
“And, like a Stream of Brimstone, fires the Pile.
We know What Hell is, tho' we know not Where.
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Hell is consummate, and eternal Woe.
Fire too must make the Sensible of Hell:
“With everlasting Burnings who can dwell?
“Tormenting Tophet is ordain'd long since;
“Ev'n for the King, the Potentate, the Prince,
“It is prepar'd: 'Tis roomy, vast, and wide,
“With Store of Fuel plenteously supply'd:
“The Breath of God makes the full Furnace boil;
“And, like a Stream of Brimstone, fires the Pile.
Doom'd to live Death, and never to expire,
“In Floods, and Whirlwinds of tempestuous Fire
The Damn'd shall groan: Fire of all Kinds, and Forms;
In Rain, in Hail, in Hurricanes, and Storms;
Liquid, and solid, livid, red, and pale;
A flaming Mountain here, and there a flaming Vale.
The liquid Fire make Seas; the solid, Shores;
Arch'd-o'er with Flames the horrid Concave roars.
All Hell is Fire—Above, Beside, Below,
Fires or in hard metallick Substance glow,
Or spout in Cataracts, or in Rivers flow.
In bubbling Eddies rolls the fiery Tide,
And sulph'rous Surges on each other ride.
The hollow, winding Vaults, and Dens, and Caves
Bellow, like Furnaces, with flaming Waves.
Pillars of Flame in spiral Volumes rise,
Like fiery Snakes, and lick th'infernal Skies.
Sulphur, th'eternal Fuel, unconsum'd,
Vomits redounding Smoke, thick, unillum'd:
For all That Mass of Fire projects no Light,
But Darkness visible, and glaring Night;
Which to the Eye serves only to reveal
Sad Scenes of Woe, and add Affright to Hell:
Pale Fantoms, hideous Spectres, Shapes which scare
The Damn'd themselves, and terrify Despair;
“Gorgons, and Harpyes, and Chimæras dire,
And Swarms of twisted Serpents, hissing Fire.
There Sin, now strip'd of all her borrow'd Charms,
Which lur'd deluded Wretches to her Arms,
Of Bulk immense, immeasurably tall,
So high, and vast, as to be seen by All,
Thro' the unbounded Space, Herself uprears,
And spred in full Deformity appears.
Her close Attendant Death, and by Her made
Immortal, Now a Substance not a Shade,
By Her supply'd, thick Darts around her flings,
Keen with God's Wrath, and shoots unnumber'd Stings;
More ugly than ten thousand Furies scowls;
And Plagues infixes in the guilty Souls.
Horrour, throughout, and perfect Mis'ry reigns;
An endless, sad Variety of Pains;
Clatt'ring of Iron, and the Clank of Chains:
The Clang of lashing Whips; shrill Shrieks, and Groans,
Loud ceaseless Howlings, Crys, and piercing Moans;
Damnation, Death, in ev'ry dreadful Form,
The gnawing Conscience, never-dying Worm;
The inextinguishable Fire: No Gleam
Of cheerful Light; No sweet, refreshing Beam
Of Joy, or Hope: Despair, Despair, Despair,
Is still the Sound that breaks the dusky Air.
Forever! Never! Never be releas'd?
O No! 'Tis Torment never to be eas'd.
All Evil There; no Good: Death lives, Life dies:
“Deliver us, good Lord”—In Tears, and Sighs,
Here rather Pardon let us strive to gain,
Than There, when Seas of Tears will stream in vain.
“In Floods, and Whirlwinds of tempestuous Fire
The Damn'd shall groan: Fire of all Kinds, and Forms;
In Rain, in Hail, in Hurricanes, and Storms;
Liquid, and solid, livid, red, and pale;
A flaming Mountain here, and there a flaming Vale.
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Arch'd-o'er with Flames the horrid Concave roars.
All Hell is Fire—Above, Beside, Below,
Fires or in hard metallick Substance glow,
Or spout in Cataracts, or in Rivers flow.
In bubbling Eddies rolls the fiery Tide,
And sulph'rous Surges on each other ride.
The hollow, winding Vaults, and Dens, and Caves
Bellow, like Furnaces, with flaming Waves.
Pillars of Flame in spiral Volumes rise,
Like fiery Snakes, and lick th'infernal Skies.
Sulphur, th'eternal Fuel, unconsum'd,
Vomits redounding Smoke, thick, unillum'd:
For all That Mass of Fire projects no Light,
But Darkness visible, and glaring Night;
Which to the Eye serves only to reveal
Sad Scenes of Woe, and add Affright to Hell:
Pale Fantoms, hideous Spectres, Shapes which scare
The Damn'd themselves, and terrify Despair;
“Gorgons, and Harpyes, and Chimæras dire,
And Swarms of twisted Serpents, hissing Fire.
There Sin, now strip'd of all her borrow'd Charms,
Which lur'd deluded Wretches to her Arms,
Of Bulk immense, immeasurably tall,
So high, and vast, as to be seen by All,
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And spred in full Deformity appears.
Her close Attendant Death, and by Her made
Immortal, Now a Substance not a Shade,
By Her supply'd, thick Darts around her flings,
Keen with God's Wrath, and shoots unnumber'd Stings;
More ugly than ten thousand Furies scowls;
And Plagues infixes in the guilty Souls.
Horrour, throughout, and perfect Mis'ry reigns;
An endless, sad Variety of Pains;
Clatt'ring of Iron, and the Clank of Chains:
The Clang of lashing Whips; shrill Shrieks, and Groans,
Loud ceaseless Howlings, Crys, and piercing Moans;
Damnation, Death, in ev'ry dreadful Form,
The gnawing Conscience, never-dying Worm;
The inextinguishable Fire: No Gleam
Of cheerful Light; No sweet, refreshing Beam
Of Joy, or Hope: Despair, Despair, Despair,
Is still the Sound that breaks the dusky Air.
Forever! Never! Never be releas'd?
O No! 'Tis Torment never to be eas'd.
All Evil There; no Good: Death lives, Life dies:
“Deliver us, good Lord”—In Tears, and Sighs,
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Than There, when Seas of Tears will stream in vain.
Sometimes, as if such Groans could soften Hell,
They throw to Heav'n, with hideous, frantick Yell,
Expostulating Crys—They cannot Pray—
“Is there then left of Hope no glimm'ring Ray?
“Can Nothing, Nothing for our Crimes attone?
“Great God, is Mercy infinite Thus shown?
“Can Nothing ever wash away our Guilt?
“Was it for This Thy precious Blood was spilt?
“That Millions, who have oft invok'd Thy Name,
“Should, Years unnumber'd, welter in This Flame?
“Made we Ourselves? Did Our Invention weave
“Life's slender Web, and teach the Heart to heave?
“And didst Thou call from Nothing's darksom Womb
“Thy wretched Creatures to This dreadful Doom?
“Unmake us; 'Tis far better not to Be,
“Than to be curst with boundless Misery.
“Vain Thoughts! Ourselves, Ourselves alone have made
“This Wretchedness: We cannot Thee upbraid.
“Good only issu'd from Thy plastick Will;
“Creatures the sole Creators are of Ill:
“Evil, and Nothing else they could create—
“Then to Your selves alone impute your Fate,
Ye Reprobate—Ev'n Here, in Hell's deep Pit,
“Our righteous Judge, tho' Damn'd, we must acquit:
“We only to our Lusts ourselves enslav'd;
“He would have sav'd us—would we have been sav'd.
But as the boiling Seas, in which they howl,
By counter Gusts, now This, now That way, roll;
So fluctuates in their Breasts the refluent Tide
Of Passions: God e'erwhile they justify'd:
Dire Execrations next succeed; They fling
Tartarean Rage tow'rds Heav'n, against Heav'n's King;
Against the Highest fiercely they blaspheme:
But then again their own mad Choice condemn;
Much they curse God, but curse Themselves much more:
In Consort the sulphureous Torrents roar.
Meanwhile, as if but light were all These Pains,
Legions of Devils, bound, Themselves, in Chains,
Tormented, and Tormenters, o'er them shake
Thongs, and fork'd Iron, in the burning Lake;
Belching infernal Flames, and wreath'd with Spires
Of curling Serpents, rouse the Brimstone-Fires;
With Whips of fiery Scorpions scourge their Slaves,
And in their Faces dash the livid Waves:
Slaves to the Dev'l, and Sin; who rather chose,
Vassals of Hell, to suffer endless Woes;
Than to enjoy, in Heav'n's high, blest Abode,
The glorious Freedom of the Sons of God.
They throw to Heav'n, with hideous, frantick Yell,
Expostulating Crys—They cannot Pray—
“Is there then left of Hope no glimm'ring Ray?
“Can Nothing, Nothing for our Crimes attone?
“Great God, is Mercy infinite Thus shown?
“Can Nothing ever wash away our Guilt?
“Was it for This Thy precious Blood was spilt?
“That Millions, who have oft invok'd Thy Name,
“Should, Years unnumber'd, welter in This Flame?
“Made we Ourselves? Did Our Invention weave
“Life's slender Web, and teach the Heart to heave?
“And didst Thou call from Nothing's darksom Womb
“Thy wretched Creatures to This dreadful Doom?
“Unmake us; 'Tis far better not to Be,
“Than to be curst with boundless Misery.
“Vain Thoughts! Ourselves, Ourselves alone have made
“This Wretchedness: We cannot Thee upbraid.
“Good only issu'd from Thy plastick Will;
“Creatures the sole Creators are of Ill:
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“Then to Your selves alone impute your Fate,
Ye Reprobate—Ev'n Here, in Hell's deep Pit,
“Our righteous Judge, tho' Damn'd, we must acquit:
“We only to our Lusts ourselves enslav'd;
“He would have sav'd us—would we have been sav'd.
But as the boiling Seas, in which they howl,
By counter Gusts, now This, now That way, roll;
So fluctuates in their Breasts the refluent Tide
Of Passions: God e'erwhile they justify'd:
Dire Execrations next succeed; They fling
Tartarean Rage tow'rds Heav'n, against Heav'n's King;
Against the Highest fiercely they blaspheme:
But then again their own mad Choice condemn;
Much they curse God, but curse Themselves much more:
In Consort the sulphureous Torrents roar.
Meanwhile, as if but light were all These Pains,
Legions of Devils, bound, Themselves, in Chains,
Tormented, and Tormenters, o'er them shake
Thongs, and fork'd Iron, in the burning Lake;
Belching infernal Flames, and wreath'd with Spires
Of curling Serpents, rouse the Brimstone-Fires;
With Whips of fiery Scorpions scourge their Slaves,
And in their Faces dash the livid Waves:
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Vassals of Hell, to suffer endless Woes;
Than to enjoy, in Heav'n's high, blest Abode,
The glorious Freedom of the Sons of God.
In those dark Depths, and Flames (still Torment new)
Heav'n's Joys, at distance infinite, They view;
From That abhorr'd, unfathomable Abyss,
Look up, and ken th'exulting Saints in Bliss.
Chiefly the Rich, the Mighty, and the Proud,
Earth's Tyrants Once, will gnash, and rage aloud;
When Those, whom Here, as Dung upon the Soil,
Ev'n than the Dogs, that lick'd their Sores, more vile,
They scorn'd, on whom with haughty Air they frown'd,
They see aloft, with brightest Glory crown'd.
“Groaning for Anguish, Envy, and Despair,
How will they bite their Flesh, and rend their Hair!
“Lo! These are They, whom We, in Life's Debauch,
“A Bye-word held, a Proverb of Reproach:
“We Fools, immers'd in Luxury, and Vice;
“Esteem'd Them Mad, who were the only Wise;
“Madness their Life, we said, their End is Shame.
“How do They There deride Our boasted Fame?
“How are They, erst so Poor, Despis'd, Distress'd
“Number'd among God's Children! Saints most blest!
“What Profit have we from our Pride? Or What
“Has Wealth immense, with all our Vaunting, bought?
“Damnation. Joyless Purchase! Sunk thus low,
“At least, tho' doom'd to everlasting Woe,
“Screen'd from That hateful Prospect let us dwell:
“To be Heav'n-Damn'd is the worst Plague of Hell.
Heav'n's Joys, at distance infinite, They view;
From That abhorr'd, unfathomable Abyss,
Look up, and ken th'exulting Saints in Bliss.
Chiefly the Rich, the Mighty, and the Proud,
Earth's Tyrants Once, will gnash, and rage aloud;
When Those, whom Here, as Dung upon the Soil,
Ev'n than the Dogs, that lick'd their Sores, more vile,
They scorn'd, on whom with haughty Air they frown'd,
They see aloft, with brightest Glory crown'd.
“Groaning for Anguish, Envy, and Despair,
How will they bite their Flesh, and rend their Hair!
“Lo! These are They, whom We, in Life's Debauch,
“A Bye-word held, a Proverb of Reproach:
“We Fools, immers'd in Luxury, and Vice;
“Esteem'd Them Mad, who were the only Wise;
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“How do They There deride Our boasted Fame?
“How are They, erst so Poor, Despis'd, Distress'd
“Number'd among God's Children! Saints most blest!
“What Profit have we from our Pride? Or What
“Has Wealth immense, with all our Vaunting, bought?
“Damnation. Joyless Purchase! Sunk thus low,
“At least, tho' doom'd to everlasting Woe,
“Screen'd from That hateful Prospect let us dwell:
“To be Heav'n-Damn'd is the worst Plague of Hell.
This Thou reply'st, is Fiction—Fancy's Paint—
It may be so—But is it not too faint?
Believe it, Sinner; Hell's tremendous Curse
Is what we have delineated—Or Worse;
'Tis perfect Mis'ry. What, tho' Poets feign
That Light'ning is compos'd of Wind, and Rain,
Of Cloud, and Flame; that 'tis God's Weapon, hurl'd
By his own red Right-hand, to awe the World,
To fill Mankind with Terror, and Amaze?
What, tho' fictitious be its forky Rays?
It's trifid Fire? All Nature sees, and feels,
That Lightning is; and where It strikes, It kills.
It may be so—But is it not too faint?
Believe it, Sinner; Hell's tremendous Curse
Is what we have delineated—Or Worse;
'Tis perfect Mis'ry. What, tho' Poets feign
That Light'ning is compos'd of Wind, and Rain,
Of Cloud, and Flame; that 'tis God's Weapon, hurl'd
By his own red Right-hand, to awe the World,
To fill Mankind with Terror, and Amaze?
What, tho' fictitious be its forky Rays?
It's trifid Fire? All Nature sees, and feels,
That Lightning is; and where It strikes, It kills.
“Eternal
Punishment, at least, annex'd
“To Short-liv'd Crimes, whate'er the sacred Text
“May seem to threaten, cannot be conceiv'd
“By Reason; nor on solid grounds believ'd.
“Is This God's Goodness infinite? Is This
“Ev'n common Justice? that in Hell's Abyss,
“For Sins of fifty Years, however foul,
“We should to everlasting Ages howl?
“The Word Forever, in God's Book elsewhere,
“Means not Eternity, and cannot Here.
If so; if This be true; Thyself assure,
Hell will not to Eternity endure:
God will most Just, and Merciful be found.
But art thou sure thy Argument is sound?
Murder, suppose, is a short transient Act:
But lasts the Guilt no longer than the Fact?
Yes; but Eternity—Why, if thy Soul,
By God immortal made, by Vice made foul,
Sin on forever; as it must, since Grace
In Thee uncapable can find no place:
Thou must (Eternal Reason makes it so)
Forever sinning, suffer endless Woe.
But God, belike, is bound t'annihilate
Those who must Else be wretched in That State.
Must he then change the Universal Frame
Of Nature, lest Thou suffer in That Flame?
Work gross Absurditys? untwist the Chain
Of Causes, and Effects; to end Thy Pain?
However; (for I grant, when Infinite
Employs our narrow Thoughts; 'tis Faith, not Sight:
Our Reason is perplex'd; Ev'n Heav'n, when join'd
To vast Eternity, confounds the Mind:)
Admit Hell's Torments shall at length be past;
Suppose, but for a thousand Ages last;
Say but for One—One Century—One Year—
Coud'st thou, ev'n Then, Almighty Vengeance bear?
Are all Sin's Pleasures in the Ballance laid
Equal to This? Oh! How are they outweigh'd!
Could'st thou, one Day, one Hour in burning Oil,
Or Sulphur, roaring in a Furnace, boil?
Nay try, thy strong unruly Lusts to tame,
Thy little Finger in a Candle's Flame
But for a Minute—Hold it fix'd, be sure—
What? shrink'st thou back?—Hell how canst thou endure?
Forever needs must mean some Length of Time;
Some Ages in appearance: 'Tis no Crime,
At least, to think it means Eternity:
No Crime, nor Indiscretion can This be—
Eternal Punishment to Sinners due
'Tis far more prudent to suppose, than rue;
And rather think, than feel it to be true.
“To Short-liv'd Crimes, whate'er the sacred Text
108
“By Reason; nor on solid grounds believ'd.
“Is This God's Goodness infinite? Is This
“Ev'n common Justice? that in Hell's Abyss,
“For Sins of fifty Years, however foul,
“We should to everlasting Ages howl?
“The Word Forever, in God's Book elsewhere,
“Means not Eternity, and cannot Here.
If so; if This be true; Thyself assure,
Hell will not to Eternity endure:
God will most Just, and Merciful be found.
But art thou sure thy Argument is sound?
Murder, suppose, is a short transient Act:
But lasts the Guilt no longer than the Fact?
Yes; but Eternity—Why, if thy Soul,
By God immortal made, by Vice made foul,
Sin on forever; as it must, since Grace
In Thee uncapable can find no place:
Thou must (Eternal Reason makes it so)
Forever sinning, suffer endless Woe.
But God, belike, is bound t'annihilate
Those who must Else be wretched in That State.
Must he then change the Universal Frame
Of Nature, lest Thou suffer in That Flame?
109
Of Causes, and Effects; to end Thy Pain?
However; (for I grant, when Infinite
Employs our narrow Thoughts; 'tis Faith, not Sight:
Our Reason is perplex'd; Ev'n Heav'n, when join'd
To vast Eternity, confounds the Mind:)
Admit Hell's Torments shall at length be past;
Suppose, but for a thousand Ages last;
Say but for One—One Century—One Year—
Coud'st thou, ev'n Then, Almighty Vengeance bear?
Are all Sin's Pleasures in the Ballance laid
Equal to This? Oh! How are they outweigh'd!
Could'st thou, one Day, one Hour in burning Oil,
Or Sulphur, roaring in a Furnace, boil?
Nay try, thy strong unruly Lusts to tame,
Thy little Finger in a Candle's Flame
But for a Minute—Hold it fix'd, be sure—
What? shrink'st thou back?—Hell how canst thou endure?
Forever needs must mean some Length of Time;
Some Ages in appearance: 'Tis no Crime,
At least, to think it means Eternity:
No Crime, nor Indiscretion can This be—
Eternal Punishment to Sinners due
'Tis far more prudent to suppose, than rue;
And rather think, than feel it to be true.
110
The Wretches peopl'ing This Infernal World,
By God's just Wrath, and Vengeance Thither hurl'd,
Are all th'Impenitent; who dy'd in Vice,
Sin unatton'd; who more than Truth lov'd Lies;
The Indevout, th'Unmerciful, th'Unjust,
Those who indulg'd their Malice, Pride, or Lust.
With what Abhorrence shall th'Adult'rer meet
His foul Adult'ress There! O how they greet!
The Fornicator, and his Strumpet leud,
Who once Each other with such Rapture view'd,
No more their mutual Beauties Now admire;
Their Flames of Lust extinct in Flames of Fire.
Their Beauties, which reciprocally warm'd,
To most detested Ugliness transform'd
They There behold; Condemn'd (No more of Charms)
To loath'd Embraces in Each other's Arms:
Turning to Hate their Lust (They call'd it Love)
Furies, and Fiends they to Each other prove;
Plaguing, and Plagu'd: She curses Him, He Her,
(Themselves, belike, of Fault and Blame Both clear,)
That by Each Other's Guilt they meet Each other There.
By God's just Wrath, and Vengeance Thither hurl'd,
Are all th'Impenitent; who dy'd in Vice,
Sin unatton'd; who more than Truth lov'd Lies;
The Indevout, th'Unmerciful, th'Unjust,
Those who indulg'd their Malice, Pride, or Lust.
With what Abhorrence shall th'Adult'rer meet
His foul Adult'ress There! O how they greet!
The Fornicator, and his Strumpet leud,
Who once Each other with such Rapture view'd,
No more their mutual Beauties Now admire;
Their Flames of Lust extinct in Flames of Fire.
Their Beauties, which reciprocally warm'd,
To most detested Ugliness transform'd
They There behold; Condemn'd (No more of Charms)
To loath'd Embraces in Each other's Arms:
Turning to Hate their Lust (They call'd it Love)
Furies, and Fiends they to Each other prove;
Plaguing, and Plagu'd: She curses Him, He Her,
(Themselves, belike, of Fault and Blame Both clear,)
That by Each Other's Guilt they meet Each other There.
This, I say, is one instance among Others; by which it appears that Deism (as it is Now call'd) resolves at last into downright Atheism. Such a God as These Men have painted out to us is a most contemptible, ridiculous Being; that is, no God. For other Proofs that Deism, as it now stands, is mere Atheism; see Bp. Gastrell's (for it is His, tho' his Name is not to it) Dialogue between a Sceptick, and a Deist; Scripture Vindicated against Christianity as Old as the Creation, in many places.
Philosophers suppose that there is a vast Body of Fire in the Centre, i. e. the Middle, of the Earth.
Isai. xxxiii. 14. I am sensible that another Interpretation may be given of That Text. But that in one Sense it may mean Hell, is allow'd by Expositors. However; there are so many places in the New Testament which speak of Hell-Fire, that it would be needless to cite any.
Isai. xxx. 33. Here again Something else is meant besides Hell: But That is meant too; as Commentators agree.
In Wealthy Waves, shall have their Fill of Gold:
111
And down their Throats the liquid Mammon pours.
With These, the most abhor'd of human Race
Shall wicked Priests, and Prelates find their Place.
Prelates, and Priests, who partial preach'd God's Laws;
Flatter'd his Enemys, betray'd his Cause;
Or by their Lives and Actions disavow'd
Those Truths they zealous taught the list'ning Croud.
Prelates, who study'd for This World alone;
And Learning scorn'd, because Themselves had None.
Or Learning if they had; their Guilt was still
The greater, if 'twas us'd in doing Ill:
If, the Divine postpon'd, with more Regard
They Statesman, Lord, and Politician heard;
If, at a worthless, vicious Courtier's Nod,
They sacrific'd their Country, Church, and God.
For These the Curs'd, by Their Example damn'd,
With fierce Resentment, and Revenge inflam'd,
To sev'n-fold Rage th'infernal Fires shall blow,
And hoot th'Apostates thro' the Shades below.
Corrupt, rapacious Ministers of State
Shall There bewail their ill-got Wealth too late.
Suppose a weak, and wicked Tyrant's Tool,
Pander to Av'rice, Pride, and Lust of Rule;
Most prompt to act in Courts each bidden Part,
A vicious Head, and a more vicious Heart;
A Foe profess'd to Truth, and common Sense,
Lost to all Reason, steel'd with Impudence:
Who made his Country, weeping on the Ground,
The Scorn, and Jest of all the Nations round;
Beggar'd, enslav'd her; proud enjoy'd her Toils,
Laugh'd at Her Woes, and revel'd in Her Spoils;
Debauch'd her Sons with Vice; dispatch'd in Shoals
To Jayls their Bodys, and to Hell their Souls;
Exploded Vertue, Honesty, and Shame;
And taught that Villany alone was Fame:
By whose Example, Influence, and Command,
Hateful Corruption delug'd all the Land:
Who made the Publick Loss his Private Gain;
His Country's Evil Genius, Pest, and Bane;
Corrupted, and Corrupting—Where can dwell
(For such have been, as Time's long Annals tell)
So Heav'n-abhor'd a Monster, but in Hell?
Shall There bewail their ill-got Wealth too late.
112
Pander to Av'rice, Pride, and Lust of Rule;
Most prompt to act in Courts each bidden Part,
A vicious Head, and a more vicious Heart;
A Foe profess'd to Truth, and common Sense,
Lost to all Reason, steel'd with Impudence:
Who made his Country, weeping on the Ground,
The Scorn, and Jest of all the Nations round;
Beggar'd, enslav'd her; proud enjoy'd her Toils,
Laugh'd at Her Woes, and revel'd in Her Spoils;
Debauch'd her Sons with Vice; dispatch'd in Shoals
To Jayls their Bodys, and to Hell their Souls;
Exploded Vertue, Honesty, and Shame;
And taught that Villany alone was Fame:
By whose Example, Influence, and Command,
Hateful Corruption delug'd all the Land:
Who made the Publick Loss his Private Gain;
His Country's Evil Genius, Pest, and Bane;
Corrupted, and Corrupting—Where can dwell
(For such have been, as Time's long Annals tell)
So Heav'n-abhor'd a Monster, but in Hell?
113
If Thus the Tyrant-Minister shall fare;
What Portion shall his Tyrant-Master share?
Hell; in the same, or in a worse Degree;
If possible, more deeply damn'd than He.
Proud, avaricious, impious Kings, who Nought
But their own Pleasure, Wealth and Greatness sought;
Who like Destroyers, not Protectors, reign'd,
Their wretched Subjects pillag'd, fleec'd, and drain'd;
Who to be fear'd, and hated, studious strove,
And chose to rule by Terror, not by Love;
As if to One Heav'n such Distinction gave,
That a whole People should be born His Slave:
Who thought Themselves superior to all Laws;
Oppress'd God's Church, and disavow'd his Cause;
Promoted Ign'rance, Leudness, Cowardise,
Profaneness, Atheism, ev'ry Kind of Vice:
All These (and such portentous Plagues have been,
King, Emp'ror, Empress, Sov'reign Prince, and Queen)
Howe'er They once despis'd these serious Things,
Shall feel, in Hell, there is a King of Kings.
What Portion shall his Tyrant-Master share?
Hell; in the same, or in a worse Degree;
If possible, more deeply damn'd than He.
Proud, avaricious, impious Kings, who Nought
But their own Pleasure, Wealth and Greatness sought;
Who like Destroyers, not Protectors, reign'd,
Their wretched Subjects pillag'd, fleec'd, and drain'd;
Who to be fear'd, and hated, studious strove,
And chose to rule by Terror, not by Love;
As if to One Heav'n such Distinction gave,
That a whole People should be born His Slave:
Who thought Themselves superior to all Laws;
Oppress'd God's Church, and disavow'd his Cause;
Promoted Ign'rance, Leudness, Cowardise,
Profaneness, Atheism, ev'ry Kind of Vice:
All These (and such portentous Plagues have been,
King, Emp'ror, Empress, Sov'reign Prince, and Queen)
Howe'er They once despis'd these serious Things,
Shall feel, in Hell, there is a King of Kings.
Among his Damn'd great Maro places Those
Who, sway'd by Bribery, made, and unmade Laws:
Who, venal ev'n Themselves, for Sums of Gold
Impos'd a Tyrant, and their Country sold.
And can That Crime deserve a milder Doom
In Christian Senates, than in Pagan Rome?
Who, sway'd by Bribery, made, and unmade Laws:
Who, venal ev'n Themselves, for Sums of Gold
Impos'd a Tyrant, and their Country sold.
114
In Christian Senates, than in Pagan Rome?
To These, however diff'rent seemed their Guilt,
Must Those be added, who their Grandeur built
On Patriotism's usurp'd and injur'd Name;
Wise and good Princes labour'd to defame:
Always Seditious, Restless, Turbulent,
Factious, and without Reason Malecontent,
Mouth'd Tyranny, and Freedom, when no Fear
Of Tyranny, but from Themselves, was near;
Skill'd with the Sound of Liberty t'enslave,
And ruin Those they boasted they would save.
Must Those be added, who their Grandeur built
On Patriotism's usurp'd and injur'd Name;
Wise and good Princes labour'd to defame:
Always Seditious, Restless, Turbulent,
Factious, and without Reason Malecontent,
Mouth'd Tyranny, and Freedom, when no Fear
Of Tyranny, but from Themselves, was near;
Skill'd with the Sound of Liberty t'enslave,
And ruin Those they boasted they would save.
Loose, vicious Writers, who debauch'd Mankind,
And to Their own the Sins of Others join'd,
Shall There deplore the Triumphs of their Wit,
Of All they lewdly, or profanely writ;
Their Heresies, their Blasphemys, the Pride
Of having Truths most evident deny'd.
Those chiefly, who, God's Ministers ordain'd,
Traduc'd the Office which Themselves sustain'd;
(For such a Prodigy may be conceiv'd,
Since sure Experience makes the Fact believ'd;)
Who, to their utmost Pow'r, That Church destroy'd,
Whose wealthiest Posts and Honours They enjoy'd.
And to Their own the Sins of Others join'd,
Shall There deplore the Triumphs of their Wit,
Of All they lewdly, or profanely writ;
Their Heresies, their Blasphemys, the Pride
Of having Truths most evident deny'd.
Those chiefly, who, God's Ministers ordain'd,
Traduc'd the Office which Themselves sustain'd;
(For such a Prodigy may be conceiv'd,
Since sure Experience makes the Fact believ'd;)
Who, to their utmost Pow'r, That Church destroy'd,
Whose wealthiest Posts and Honours They enjoy'd.
115
But lest the Muse should seem, while keen on Vice,
Herself to flatter, as she That decrys;
The worst of Men she loves, and would reform,
Howe'er against their wicked Actions warm:
Would warn them to escape Hell's dreadful Doom,
And fly, repentant, from the Wrath to come.
Few shall, she sings, a Vengeance more severe,
Than th'Evil-speakers, and Censorious, bear;
Th'Incontinent of Tongue, and Pen; who take
Delight in Scandal, for mere Scandal's sake.
Nor only Those, who darken the fair Fame
Of the most Innocent, and blast their Name;
But Those who love to dwell on Crimes, tho' true,
And blazon Facts in the worst Point of View:
Who to all Faults quick-sighted, but their own,
Speak ill of Many; good, of Few, or None.
Such Tongues, which Now, with Inflammation dire,
Can the whole Course of Nature set on fire,
Tho' Nothing Here should their Malignance quell,
Shall There indeed be set on fire of Hell.
Herself to flatter, as she That decrys;
The worst of Men she loves, and would reform,
Howe'er against their wicked Actions warm:
Would warn them to escape Hell's dreadful Doom,
And fly, repentant, from the Wrath to come.
Few shall, she sings, a Vengeance more severe,
Than th'Evil-speakers, and Censorious, bear;
Th'Incontinent of Tongue, and Pen; who take
Delight in Scandal, for mere Scandal's sake.
Nor only Those, who darken the fair Fame
Of the most Innocent, and blast their Name;
But Those who love to dwell on Crimes, tho' true,
And blazon Facts in the worst Point of View:
Who to all Faults quick-sighted, but their own,
Speak ill of Many; good, of Few, or None.
Such Tongues, which Now, with Inflammation dire,
Can the whole Course of Nature set on fire,
Tho' Nothing Here should their Malignance quell,
Shall There indeed be set on fire of Hell.
116
But This, thou say'st, is Priestcraft all; th'Effect
Of Superstition, which wise Minds reject.
I ask thee, tho' perhaps obdur'd long since,
Whom Nought, I fear, but Hell, will e'er convince;
Is it, at least, not safer to suppose,
Than disbelieve, These dreadful threaten'd Woes?
Wise Minds will by These Terrors sure be mov'd;
Since, were they false, they cannot be disprov'd:
They may be true—And Oh! suppose they shou'd—
Does not ev'n That Suppose congeal thy Blood?
Hast thou not, anxious for thy final Fate,
At least, Suspicions of a future State?
Some sad Misgivings? No; Thou wilt reply:
I tell thee, That's not Error, but a Lye.
To All, to Humane Nature I appeal;
Ev'n to Thyself—The Thing's impossible.
In Vice, and Luxury however sunk,
Thou canst not, certainly, be always drunk:
Th'intruding Thoughts of Hell with sometimes pall
Thy Wine, and sometimes dash thy Cups with Gall.
But Oh! the sage, dry Atheist; He who thinks,
Deliberately reasons, rarely drinks;
(Whoredom, not Drinking, is the Vice He loves)
Who Human Understanding much improves;
Dispensing, while God's Threats he ridicules,
Sententious Nonsense to his Ring of Fools;
With Sneer, and Shrug explodes Religion's Dreams,
And over Coffee's sober Fume blasphemes:
Is not He happy? Yes, belike; Of Fear,
And Doubt His Philosophic Soul is clear:
He can demonstrate—Can demonstrate What?
That there's no Hell? that after Death is Nought?
Atheist, Begin thy Demonstration; say,
How prov'st Thou This? In Us is no Delay.
That such a State there is, We oft have shown
By solid Proofs: How prov'st Thou there is None?
Is it a Contradiction? If it be;
To shew That Contradiction, lies on Thee.
Meanwhile, I tell thee, Thou'rt a Wretch forlorn;
Thou know'st, Thou feel'st it: Publick Hate, and Scorn
Justly attend thee: While thou turn'st to Jest
Hell, and its Terrors, Hell is in thy Breast.
In thy wild, thoughtful Face, thy haggard Air,
We trace plain Marks of Anguish, and Despair.
Inly thou tremblest at the vengeful Rod
Of Him whom thou blasphem'st, the Mighty God:
That Thought confounds thy Atheistic Pride;
He fears Hell most, by whom it is deny'd.
Of Superstition, which wise Minds reject.
I ask thee, tho' perhaps obdur'd long since,
Whom Nought, I fear, but Hell, will e'er convince;
Is it, at least, not safer to suppose,
Than disbelieve, These dreadful threaten'd Woes?
Wise Minds will by These Terrors sure be mov'd;
Since, were they false, they cannot be disprov'd:
They may be true—And Oh! suppose they shou'd—
Does not ev'n That Suppose congeal thy Blood?
Hast thou not, anxious for thy final Fate,
At least, Suspicions of a future State?
Some sad Misgivings? No; Thou wilt reply:
I tell thee, That's not Error, but a Lye.
To All, to Humane Nature I appeal;
Ev'n to Thyself—The Thing's impossible.
In Vice, and Luxury however sunk,
Thou canst not, certainly, be always drunk:
Th'intruding Thoughts of Hell with sometimes pall
Thy Wine, and sometimes dash thy Cups with Gall.
But Oh! the sage, dry Atheist; He who thinks,
Deliberately reasons, rarely drinks;
(Whoredom, not Drinking, is the Vice He loves)
Who Human Understanding much improves;
117
Sententious Nonsense to his Ring of Fools;
With Sneer, and Shrug explodes Religion's Dreams,
And over Coffee's sober Fume blasphemes:
Is not He happy? Yes, belike; Of Fear,
And Doubt His Philosophic Soul is clear:
He can demonstrate—Can demonstrate What?
That there's no Hell? that after Death is Nought?
Atheist, Begin thy Demonstration; say,
How prov'st Thou This? In Us is no Delay.
That such a State there is, We oft have shown
By solid Proofs: How prov'st Thou there is None?
Is it a Contradiction? If it be;
To shew That Contradiction, lies on Thee.
Meanwhile, I tell thee, Thou'rt a Wretch forlorn;
Thou know'st, Thou feel'st it: Publick Hate, and Scorn
Justly attend thee: While thou turn'st to Jest
Hell, and its Terrors, Hell is in thy Breast.
In thy wild, thoughtful Face, thy haggard Air,
We trace plain Marks of Anguish, and Despair.
118
Of Him whom thou blasphem'st, the Mighty God:
That Thought confounds thy Atheistic Pride;
He fears Hell most, by whom it is deny'd.
If Hell be Not; We, who believe it Is,
Lose Nothing in the Next World, nor in This,
By That erroneous Faith; Nay more, we gain;
Since Vertue has more Pleasure Here, than Pain.
If neither Heav'n Above, nor Hell Beneath
Exist; no State, or Being after Death;
Thou can'st not laugh at Us: But if There Be;
How will Eternal Justice laugh at Thee?
Thou art undone forever. But if sure
That Vengeance be, and always shall endure;
As God's unerring Oracles proclaim:
Hear, Thou Freethinker of immortal Fame;
The Frenzy of a Lunatic in Chains,
Who baffles the Physician's Care, and Pains,
Whom Keepers in a darken'd Room confine,
Is sober Reason, if compar'd with Thine:
Thou Wit, of thy clear Thoughts so proud and glad,
Thou deep Philosopher, art more than Mad.
Thou art so; should we ev'n allow that Hell,
As 'tis most certain, were but possible.
Lose Nothing in the Next World, nor in This,
By That erroneous Faith; Nay more, we gain;
Since Vertue has more Pleasure Here, than Pain.
If neither Heav'n Above, nor Hell Beneath
Exist; no State, or Being after Death;
Thou can'st not laugh at Us: But if There Be;
How will Eternal Justice laugh at Thee?
Thou art undone forever. But if sure
That Vengeance be, and always shall endure;
As God's unerring Oracles proclaim:
Hear, Thou Freethinker of immortal Fame;
The Frenzy of a Lunatic in Chains,
Who baffles the Physician's Care, and Pains,
Whom Keepers in a darken'd Room confine,
Is sober Reason, if compar'd with Thine:
Thou Wit, of thy clear Thoughts so proud and glad,
Thou deep Philosopher, art more than Mad.
Thou art so; should we ev'n allow that Hell,
As 'tis most certain, were but possible.
119
Weigh well thy present, and thy future State;
Yet, yet Repent—perhaps 'tis not too late:
And to us All be such true Wisdom giv'n,
So to reflect on Hell, as to be bless'd in Heav'n.
Yet, yet Repent—perhaps 'tis not too late:
And to us All be such true Wisdom giv'n,
So to reflect on Hell, as to be bless'd in Heav'n.
Such as the Favourites of Those weak, and wicked Kings, Edward II. and Richard II. of England; and many Others, in all History.
| Thoughts Upon The Four Last Things | |