The grand Tryal or, Poetical Exercitations upon the book of Job. Wherein, Suitable to each Text of that sacred Book, a modest Explanation, and Continuation of the several Discourses contained in it, is attempted by William Clark |
 |
 |
 | The grand Tryal |  |
The grand Tryal:
OR, Poetical Exercitations UPON THE BOOK of JOB.
Nam momentanea est ira ejus, vita vero in beneplacito ejus, ad vesperam
accedat fletus licet, sub auroram tamen redit lætitia,
Psal. 30. ver. 5.
TO JAMES EARL OF PERTH, Lord Drummond, and Stobhall, LORD HIGH CHANCELLOR Of the KINGDOM of SCOTLAND.
1
I. [[PART I.]]
CAP. I.
1. There was a man in the land of Uz, whose name was Iob, and that man was perfect and upright, and one that feared God, and eschewed evil.
From Egypt did his captive People bring:
Where th'Heirs of promise, in a sad estate,
As Criminals, by Sentence relegate,
For many years, did, with much sweat and toyl,
Earn a poor Living in a forraign soyl.
Before the Law of God was published,
Before his Standard was on Earth display'd;
Before his Church did visible appear,
And he had only Chapels here and there,
In that vast Canton of Arabia, known
By th'name of Desart, where with Sands o'reflow'n
Whole Regions in a constant deluge ly,
Unfit for humane use, where Husbandry,
Planting, Inclosing, and such Policy
Is hardly known; only amongst the Rocks
Th'Inhabitants do ramble with their Flocks
For pasturage, and like their Beasts, with ease,
And simple food themselves entirely please.
Or else through sandy Valleys, where the Sun
Is almost by his own reflex out-done,
They travel with their Camels, as they are
Employ'd by Merchants, to transport their Ware
From Mart, to Mart, in all the Countreys round,
Where Industry, and Trading doth abound.
Unless perhaps on some small Rivers side,
(Which in that Country too is rarely 'spy'd)
Some fertile Acres fit for Husbandry,
Mix'd with a slender marle a squandring ly;
And there some Castles, Houses, Cottages,
2
Make a small Landskip, and perhaps afford
A Dwelling for some great Arabian Lord.
But generally the Country is so bare
Of Policy, as a Geographer
For a large hire, would hardly undertake
A travelling survey of that Land to make.
Hence are those Idle, Vagrant, Sun-burnt-creatures,
Of cunning, fiery, and malicious Natures:
Hot as their Soil; and by their looks confess
Within their breasts a no less barrenness
Of Piety, and Virtue, then their grounds
To th'eye express: besides they know no bounds
In villany, but live most barbarously
By rapine more, then lawful industry.
In this same High-land-country 'mongst those men,
Who all things good, and sacred did profane,
Whom length of time, and commerce to this day
Have not yet civiliz'd.
In this so barren Land a man did dwell,
Whose name was Job, a man, who did excell
Most of that Age in Piety, a man,
Upon whose heart in lively colours drawn
The picture of true Virtue did appear,
A man, who did his God devoutly fear;
A just, and upright man, who fully knew
The Art of moderation (known to few)
A man, whom all the Vices of his Age
Could not from true Religion disengage,
A man obedient to his Makers Will,
Practising good things, and eviting ill.
Who all things good, and sacred did profane,
Whom length of time, and commerce to this day
Have not yet civiliz'd.
In this so barren Land a man did dwell,
Whose name was Job, a man, who did excell
Most of that Age in Piety, a man,
Upon whose heart in lively colours drawn
The picture of true Virtue did appear,
A man, who did his God devoutly fear;
A just, and upright man, who fully knew
The Art of moderation (known to few)
A man, whom all the Vices of his Age
Could not from true Religion disengage,
A man obedient to his Makers Will,
Practising good things, and eviting ill.
The Land in which he liv'd is called here
The Land of Uz, though, as it doth appear
From Sacred Writ, one of the Race of Sem,
Who, (as it stands Recorded) bore that name
Of old did with a colony repair
To th'lesser Syria, where now the fair
Damasco stands, whence all that Tract of Ground
Was call'd the Land of Uz. 'Tis also found
That one of that same Name of Esaus Race
So call'd his Dwelling in another place:
From hence a part, at least, of Idumæa
Scituate in Arabia Petræa
Is call'd the Land of Uz. But that, which here
Is nam'd, by observation doth appear
T'have been that Land, which one of Nahors Race
Bearing the same Name, for his Dwelling place
Of old did choose; and is a part of that
Arabia call'd Deserta, scituate,
As by our modern Maps, we dayly see,
Betwixt the twice, and the thrice tenth degree
Of Northern Latitude: Bord'ring on the West
With the Red Sea, the Persian Gulf on th'East,
Arabia Fælix on the South, Judæa
Upon the North, with part of Idumæa;
Hence our Geographers do plainly tell
This is the Country, where once Job did dwell.
The Land of Uz, though, as it doth appear
From Sacred Writ, one of the Race of Sem,
Who, (as it stands Recorded) bore that name
Of old did with a colony repair
To th'lesser Syria, where now the fair
Damasco stands, whence all that Tract of Ground
Was call'd the Land of Uz. 'Tis also found
That one of that same Name of Esaus Race
So call'd his Dwelling in another place:
From hence a part, at least, of Idumæa
Scituate in Arabia Petræa
Is call'd the Land of Uz. But that, which here
Is nam'd, by observation doth appear
T'have been that Land, which one of Nahors Race
Bearing the same Name, for his Dwelling place
Of old did choose; and is a part of that
Arabia call'd Deserta, scituate,
As by our modern Maps, we dayly see,
Betwixt the twice, and the thrice tenth degree
Of Northern Latitude: Bord'ring on the West
With the Red Sea, the Persian Gulf on th'East,
Arabia Fælix on the South, Judæa
3
Hence our Geographers do plainly tell
This is the Country, where once Job did dwell.
As for his Family 'tis thought he was
Descended of a branch of Abrams race,
By one of his three Sons with Ketura,
Who, some think, planted in Arabia:
Others affirm, with more authority,
He was a branch of Nahors Family:
How e're it was, his Actions do express
He was a man of honourable Race.
Descended of a branch of Abrams race,
By one of his three Sons with Ketura,
Who, some think, planted in Arabia:
Others affirm, with more authority,
He was a branch of Nahors Family:
How e're it was, his Actions do express
He was a man of honourable Race.
This man was with a goodly Issue bless't
(Which of all Earthly blessings, is the best)
Seven Sons, three Daughters, all of comely Features,
Complaisant Humors, and obedient Natures
Did call him Father, nor was all around
The Neighbour-hood, a fairer Issue found,
Then that of Jobs: for as they did encrease
In Years, so in true Piety, and Grace
They made a large advance; and prudently
Studied true Virtue, and Frugality.
(Which of all Earthly blessings, is the best)
Seven Sons, three Daughters, all of comely Features,
Complaisant Humors, and obedient Natures
Did call him Father, nor was all around
The Neighbour-hood, a fairer Issue found,
Then that of Jobs: for as they did encrease
In Years, so in true Piety, and Grace
They made a large advance; and prudently
Studied true Virtue, and Frugality.
But lest this fair, and hopeful Progeny,
This numerous, and growing Family
Might have prov'd chargeable, as now a days
We see it frequent: God did also raise
This man in Wealth; his Labours he so bless't
That every Year his Revenue encreas't:
For his projections he so surely laid,
As of their Success he was not afraid;
But made his Grounds afford by Pains, and Art
What Nature had deny'd: nay every part
Of his Possessions clearly did express
Their Masters virtue, care, and painfulness.
His Revenue consisted, as appears,
In what was only us'd in former Years,
Corn, Sheep, and Cattel, for the Hills did keep
To him a Stock of some seven thousand Sheep,
From which each Year to him there did accrew
No small proportion of his Revenue.
He had a Stock too of three thousand Camels,
That fed upon his Grounds, both Males, and Females;
Most of which useful Beasts he did let out
For hire to all the Merchants without doubt,
Who traded through that Country, and did bear
From place to place the rich and costly Ware
Of Persia, Egypt, and Arabia
The Happy, Palestine, and Syria:
Because those Beasts can only tolerate
The Sand, the Drought, the Hunger, and the Heat
Which travelling in that Country doth require
And thence for such, a good, and constant hire
Is still afforded.
He had five hundred Yokes of Oxen too,
Which (if we reckon four Yoke to a Plow,
The most we in those Northern Countreys use)
Doth make a labouring of a hundred Plowes,
And five and twenty, so we make account
His Labouring did his Pasturage surmount.
For thirty Acres being the labouring
Of every Plow, we make a reckoning
More then three thousand Acres he possess'd
Of fruitful grounds, and may be also guess'd
To have been one of the few Valleys there,
Watred with Rivers, and Manur'd with care.
He had five hundred Shee-asses to boot,
Which he for lesser burdens did let out
To Labourers, and Merchants all about,
Who had occasion for them.
Now, as he was a man of fair Estate;
(For by our modern reckoning, we may rate
This man, by what's in short related here
T'have had of Rent ten thousand pounds a Year).
So to his Birth, and outward Quality
Was added Power, and Authority:
A man he was, no doubt, of Reputation,
In great esteem 'mongst those of his own Nation,
Chief President, at least, as we may guess
Of th'Courts of Justice in those Provinces,
Which lay contiguous with his dwelling place.
This numerous, and growing Family
Might have prov'd chargeable, as now a days
We see it frequent: God did also raise
This man in Wealth; his Labours he so bless't
That every Year his Revenue encreas't:
For his projections he so surely laid,
As of their Success he was not afraid;
But made his Grounds afford by Pains, and Art
What Nature had deny'd: nay every part
Of his Possessions clearly did express
Their Masters virtue, care, and painfulness.
His Revenue consisted, as appears,
In what was only us'd in former Years,
Corn, Sheep, and Cattel, for the Hills did keep
To him a Stock of some seven thousand Sheep,
From which each Year to him there did accrew
No small proportion of his Revenue.
He had a Stock too of three thousand Camels,
That fed upon his Grounds, both Males, and Females;
Most of which useful Beasts he did let out
For hire to all the Merchants without doubt,
Who traded through that Country, and did bear
From place to place the rich and costly Ware
Of Persia, Egypt, and Arabia
The Happy, Palestine, and Syria:
Because those Beasts can only tolerate
The Sand, the Drought, the Hunger, and the Heat
Which travelling in that Country doth require
And thence for such, a good, and constant hire
Is still afforded.
He had five hundred Yokes of Oxen too,
Which (if we reckon four Yoke to a Plow,
4
Doth make a labouring of a hundred Plowes,
And five and twenty, so we make account
His Labouring did his Pasturage surmount.
For thirty Acres being the labouring
Of every Plow, we make a reckoning
More then three thousand Acres he possess'd
Of fruitful grounds, and may be also guess'd
To have been one of the few Valleys there,
Watred with Rivers, and Manur'd with care.
He had five hundred Shee-asses to boot,
Which he for lesser burdens did let out
To Labourers, and Merchants all about,
Who had occasion for them.
Now, as he was a man of fair Estate;
(For by our modern reckoning, we may rate
This man, by what's in short related here
T'have had of Rent ten thousand pounds a Year).
So to his Birth, and outward Quality
Was added Power, and Authority:
A man he was, no doubt, of Reputation,
In great esteem 'mongst those of his own Nation,
Chief President, at least, as we may guess
Of th'Courts of Justice in those Provinces,
Which lay contiguous with his dwelling place.
But all this Wealth, this Power, and Quality
Had serv'd for nothing, had his Family
Been dis-unite: nor had he car'd for these,
Unless he had enjoy'd Domestick Peace.
This he had too, and that in so great measure,
As far exceeded all his Wealth and Treasure.
For his seven Sons (who, we suppose had now
Attain'd mans age, and that he did allow
T'each of'em distinct Farms off his Estate)
Did mutually each others kindly treat.
In Peace, and Plenty they their hours did waste,
And call'd their Sisters, when they mean't to Feast.
Had serv'd for nothing, had his Family
Been dis-unite: nor had he car'd for these,
Unless he had enjoy'd Domestick Peace.
This he had too, and that in so great measure,
As far exceeded all his Wealth and Treasure.
For his seven Sons (who, we suppose had now
Attain'd mans age, and that he did allow
T'each of'em distinct Farms off his Estate)
Did mutually each others kindly treat.
In Peace, and Plenty they their hours did waste,
And call'd their Sisters, when they mean't to Feast.
But Job considering, in such jollity,
How many strong temptations do ly,
For sinful lewdness, scarce to be evited,
By such, whose Blood, and Brains by Wine are heated;
He would next morning early stir, and pray
That God would pardon sins o'th' by-past day
Committed by his Children. For, sayes he,
I do suspect (how ere the matter be)
There's something sinful in the case, since Feasting
Is still at least accompany'd with Jesting.
Thus, with himself in private reasoning,
Hee'd for each Child make a Burnt-offering;
And, whilst their Feasting lasted, every day,
Job for his Childrens sins would Fast and Pray.
In short, if Jobs Felicity we rate
By Birth, and Knowledge, Honour, and Estate,
A goodly Issue bless't with unity
Amongst themselves, unspotted Piety,
Sincerity in all his Dealings, Grace,
Frugality, and Virtue, we may trace
All Histories, with which the World doth swell,
And 'mongst them all not find his parallel.
For sure this worthy Gentleman appears
T'have been a Patern, for some hundred years,
To all about him: and we here may see
How God thinks fit his Memory should be
To this same day preserv'd; that we may thence
Precisely understand, at what expence
Of true Devotion we should live, and know
When with Afflictions God doth bring us low,
As this same Good man was, how to endure
With Patience the hottest Calenture
Of Sorrows fever: and may likewise see
What silly Expectations those be
On which we feed in our Prosperity,
As if we fancy'd Perpetuity
Of our Enjoyments here: and that our God
Lov'd us so well, he'd never use his Rod;
But with soft Hand would clap our Heads, and lay
Our Pillows every Night, and every Day
Afford us every thing we can project
For our poor Fastings, and our Prayers sake.
No, no that Man, who ere he be, that thus
With fond Delusions doth his Soul abuse,
Doth shreudly erre: for in this Precedent
We may perceive how clear, and evident
The contrair doth appear, and calculate
From thence the folly of a great Estate.
How many strong temptations do ly,
For sinful lewdness, scarce to be evited,
By such, whose Blood, and Brains by Wine are heated;
He would next morning early stir, and pray
That God would pardon sins o'th' by-past day
Committed by his Children. For, sayes he,
I do suspect (how ere the matter be)
There's something sinful in the case, since Feasting
Is still at least accompany'd with Jesting.
Thus, with himself in private reasoning,
Hee'd for each Child make a Burnt-offering;
And, whilst their Feasting lasted, every day,
Job for his Childrens sins would Fast and Pray.
In short, if Jobs Felicity we rate
By Birth, and Knowledge, Honour, and Estate,
A goodly Issue bless't with unity
5
Sincerity in all his Dealings, Grace,
Frugality, and Virtue, we may trace
All Histories, with which the World doth swell,
And 'mongst them all not find his parallel.
For sure this worthy Gentleman appears
T'have been a Patern, for some hundred years,
To all about him: and we here may see
How God thinks fit his Memory should be
To this same day preserv'd; that we may thence
Precisely understand, at what expence
Of true Devotion we should live, and know
When with Afflictions God doth bring us low,
As this same Good man was, how to endure
With Patience the hottest Calenture
Of Sorrows fever: and may likewise see
What silly Expectations those be
On which we feed in our Prosperity,
As if we fancy'd Perpetuity
Of our Enjoyments here: and that our God
Lov'd us so well, he'd never use his Rod;
But with soft Hand would clap our Heads, and lay
Our Pillows every Night, and every Day
Afford us every thing we can project
For our poor Fastings, and our Prayers sake.
No, no that Man, who ere he be, that thus
With fond Delusions doth his Soul abuse,
Doth shreudly erre: for in this Precedent
We may perceive how clear, and evident
The contrair doth appear, and calculate
From thence the folly of a great Estate.
For now, as longest Day must have its Night,
And Darkness must at length succeed to Light:
As greatest Calms do Storms prognosticate,
So greatest Joyes do Sorrowes antidate:
And this Good-man, whom in Serenity,
Under the Zenith of Prosperity,
Wee've lately seen, must now himself prepare
To show his Virtue in another Sphere.
And Darkness must at length succeed to Light:
As greatest Calms do Storms prognosticate,
So greatest Joyes do Sorrowes antidate:
And this Good-man, whom in Serenity,
Under the Zenith of Prosperity,
Wee've lately seen, must now himself prepare
To show his Virtue in another Sphere.
For at a General Sessions of Heaven,
Held at that time, when Liberty was given
To all, that in that Court do make abode
To see the Face of the Almighty God
When Heavens Great Monarch in Majestick State,
Environ'd with his Troops of Angels Sate:
He too, who once was of that Corporation,
As Eminent, as any of that Station;
Until, with foolish Pride he did so swell,
Because he thought he was not us'd so well
As his great Services requir'd, and so
He with some others would a Plotting go
Against his Prince, and think to model too
(As all our discontented States-men do)
The Government of Heavens: but instantly
His Plot was opened, and he, by and by
With all his Friends about him poorly fell
From thence, by Deportation, to Hell.
This wretched Head of Rebels too appear'd
Amongst the Just; demanding to be heard
In some shrewd Accusation patly lay'd
Against some Champions of the praying Trade.
At least that he might shortly understand
Upon what Service God would him command
He there as Serjeant of the Court did waite
To receive Orders at the Utter-Gate.
Held at that time, when Liberty was given
To all, that in that Court do make abode
To see the Face of the Almighty God
When Heavens Great Monarch in Majestick State,
Environ'd with his Troops of Angels Sate:
He too, who once was of that Corporation,
As Eminent, as any of that Station;
Until, with foolish Pride he did so swell,
Because he thought he was not us'd so well
As his great Services requir'd, and so
He with some others would a Plotting go
Against his Prince, and think to model too
(As all our discontented States-men do)
The Government of Heavens: but instantly
6
With all his Friends about him poorly fell
From thence, by Deportation, to Hell.
This wretched Head of Rebels too appear'd
Amongst the Just; demanding to be heard
In some shrewd Accusation patly lay'd
Against some Champions of the praying Trade.
At least that he might shortly understand
Upon what Service God would him command
He there as Serjeant of the Court did waite
To receive Orders at the Utter-Gate.
But, as when Damnster doth in Court appear,
The Condemnation of some Man we fear:
So this Old Rebel did prognosticate
The Alteration of some Persons State,
By his officious presence.
This thing appearing then well known by name
Of Satan, God did ask him, whence he came?
(Not but that all his Wandrings he did know,
With all his Plots, and Projects here below:
But that from his own Mouth he might express
His villanous Toilling, and Unwearyedness
In doing evil, and that since he fell
From Heaven, he every hour doth merit Hell.)
Satan makes answer, I have been abroad
Compassing all this Earth of thine, Great God.
There I have walk'd at randome, to and fro,
And view'd the State of all things here below.
I've seen how thou dost constantly suppress
Me, and my Subjects, by thy watchfulness,
On all our Motions; as if all to thee
Belong'd by Right, and nothing else to me,
But thy displeasure; yet I'le not resign
My claim for all that; nay I still design,
Where ever thou a Colony shall plant
I and my Friends shall all their Meetings haunt,
And make that Church at best but Militant.
For, since I'm not allow'd the Priviledge
Of my Creation, but with bitter rage,
Am to this day secluded from my Right,
Why should not I with all the Force and Might,
That I, and my poor banish'd Friends can raise,
By constant In-roads still disturb the Peace,
Of those, whose constant Prayers do combine
To ruine further yet both me, and mine.
As if already I were not undone,
By thy Displeasure, these forsooth must run
A sharper Scent, and by their Prayers baull,
For my Destruction yet for good, and all.
Nay know, Heavens King (for so I must confess
Thou art indeed) that I am not the less
A Prince on Earth, and will endeavour still
To keep that Right, do with me what you will.
Yes, I'll mentain now what I do possess,
And still will make it my great business
T'enlarge the Limits of my Empire here:
Since in thy Heavens I dare no more appear
As formerly: allow me then Great God
To wander sometimes here, and there abroad
To view my Interest: though yet after all,
I am thy Servant, and obey thy call.
The Condemnation of some Man we fear:
So this Old Rebel did prognosticate
The Alteration of some Persons State,
By his officious presence.
This thing appearing then well known by name
Of Satan, God did ask him, whence he came?
(Not but that all his Wandrings he did know,
With all his Plots, and Projects here below:
But that from his own Mouth he might express
His villanous Toilling, and Unwearyedness
In doing evil, and that since he fell
From Heaven, he every hour doth merit Hell.)
Satan makes answer, I have been abroad
Compassing all this Earth of thine, Great God.
There I have walk'd at randome, to and fro,
And view'd the State of all things here below.
I've seen how thou dost constantly suppress
Me, and my Subjects, by thy watchfulness,
On all our Motions; as if all to thee
Belong'd by Right, and nothing else to me,
But thy displeasure; yet I'le not resign
My claim for all that; nay I still design,
Where ever thou a Colony shall plant
I and my Friends shall all their Meetings haunt,
And make that Church at best but Militant.
For, since I'm not allow'd the Priviledge
Of my Creation, but with bitter rage,
Am to this day secluded from my Right,
Why should not I with all the Force and Might,
That I, and my poor banish'd Friends can raise,
By constant In-roads still disturb the Peace,
Of those, whose constant Prayers do combine
To ruine further yet both me, and mine.
As if already I were not undone,
By thy Displeasure, these forsooth must run
A sharper Scent, and by their Prayers baull,
For my Destruction yet for good, and all.
Nay know, Heavens King (for so I must confess
Thou art indeed) that I am not the less
A Prince on Earth, and will endeavour still
To keep that Right, do with me what you will.
Yes, I'll mentain now what I do possess,
7
T'enlarge the Limits of my Empire here:
Since in thy Heavens I dare no more appear
As formerly: allow me then Great God
To wander sometimes here, and there abroad
To view my Interest: though yet after all,
I am thy Servant, and obey thy call.
Then sayes the Lord, since thou goest every where
A-wandring, since thou couldst not chuse, but hear
Of my great Servant Job: sure thou dost know
How of all Mortals that live there below,
He's the most just; scarce to be equalled
On Earth: him sure thou hast considered
As one of thy chief Enemies, for he
Is a most Loyal Subject still to me.
A Man most Honest, Pious and Upright,
Just, shunning Evil, doing, at my sight,
What I Judge candid good, and equitable,
And for his Heavenly Interest profitable:
One, who by Standart of true Piety
Doth measure all his Actions constantly.
What say'st of him? Is he not such, now say
For all thy Art, can'st fall upon a way,
To make that Man break his Allegiance
To me? can'st thou thy Interest advance
With him, or tempt him to do any thing
That may i'th' least displease his God and King?
A-wandring, since thou couldst not chuse, but hear
Of my great Servant Job: sure thou dost know
How of all Mortals that live there below,
He's the most just; scarce to be equalled
On Earth: him sure thou hast considered
As one of thy chief Enemies, for he
Is a most Loyal Subject still to me.
A Man most Honest, Pious and Upright,
Just, shunning Evil, doing, at my sight,
What I Judge candid good, and equitable,
And for his Heavenly Interest profitable:
One, who by Standart of true Piety
Doth measure all his Actions constantly.
What say'st of him? Is he not such, now say
For all thy Art, can'st fall upon a way,
To make that Man break his Allegiance
To me? can'st thou thy Interest advance
With him, or tempt him to do any thing
That may i'th' least displease his God and King?
Yes, says the Divel, thy Servant Job I know
And have considered too: why be it so
That he is such: as truth I cann't deny
He is; I've view'd his constant Piety.
And great Devotion, and I thank him too
That does, what he is so well hyr'd to do.
Can any man do less, to whom th'hast given
Possession of all Blessings under Heaven:
So well mentain'd he doth but what he ought
To do, then pray doth Job serve thee for nought?
And have considered too: why be it so
That he is such: as truth I cann't deny
He is; I've view'd his constant Piety.
And great Devotion, and I thank him too
That does, what he is so well hyr'd to do.
Can any man do less, to whom th'hast given
Possession of all Blessings under Heaven:
So well mentain'd he doth but what he ought
To do, then pray doth Job serve thee for nought?
Pray now, Great Lord, who would not at this rate
Become thy Servant? yea, who would not state
Himself thy faithful Slave, thus to be us'd
Thus kindly, to have nothing thus refus'd
May contribute for his Convenience here,
As in the case of this Man doth appear.
Why would'st such Favour but to me allow,
As this too happy Man enjoyeth now,
I would become thy Faithful Servant too.
But I, and my poor Friends for ever barr'd,
From thy Cœlestial Favour, and declar'd
Incapable of ever being restor'd
To former Favour, cannot, Mighty Lord,
Expect, upon these terms, to become such,
As those, whose Predecessors err'd as much,
As ever we did: for I know thou hast
A kindness for the Race of Man shall last.
To th'worlds end: and yet those Creatures shall
But prove ungrate to thee, Lord, after all.
For this same Race of Man, this Progeny
Of my old Fellow-Sinner, certainly,
After thou hast them with all Kindness blest,
Will be but Shrubs of the old Root at best.
And as their Fathers did, not long ago,
Provoke thee to a drowning of 'em; so
The Children still their Fathers Steps will trace,
And be to thee the same still, in the case.
Become thy Servant? yea, who would not state
Himself thy faithful Slave, thus to be us'd
Thus kindly, to have nothing thus refus'd
May contribute for his Convenience here,
As in the case of this Man doth appear.
Why would'st such Favour but to me allow,
As this too happy Man enjoyeth now,
I would become thy Faithful Servant too.
But I, and my poor Friends for ever barr'd,
From thy Cœlestial Favour, and declar'd
Incapable of ever being restor'd
To former Favour, cannot, Mighty Lord,
Expect, upon these terms, to become such,
As those, whose Predecessors err'd as much,
As ever we did: for I know thou hast
A kindness for the Race of Man shall last.
8
But prove ungrate to thee, Lord, after all.
For this same Race of Man, this Progeny
Of my old Fellow-Sinner, certainly,
After thou hast them with all Kindness blest,
Will be but Shrubs of the old Root at best.
And as their Fathers did, not long ago,
Provoke thee to a drowning of 'em; so
The Children still their Fathers Steps will trace,
And be to thee the same still, in the case.
Now then this Job, on whom thou hast bestow'd,
What to few Men on Earth thou hast allow'd:
Whom, as with hedge, thou hast environed,
And guarded all he hath on every side;
Whom thou hast rais'd in Wealth and Dignity,
And made him Head of a Great Family:
Pray what can he do less, than Fast, and Pray,
Kneel down, and make an Offring every day
To thee his Patron: and endeavour too
To shun all evil, as a many do,
For fear of me, and not for love of thee,
Because before their Eyes they daily see
How inexorable I am to all
Those Men of Earth, whom thou dost Sinners call;
If in my hands thou once deliver them,
Whereas, if they but call upon thy Name,
With a few Sighs, and Tears, thou instantly
Remit'st them all their Sins, and by and by
Th'effect of all thy Heavenly Clemency,
Upon the matter, proves indeed no more,
Then crossing th'old, upon another score,
To sin afresh, for all those breathing things
Abuse thy Mercy.
Nay they will make a fashion too, when ble'st
As this Man is, and that their Souls have rest
From dunning Pinches, Miseries, and Pains,
(Which are some other Mens Quotidians,)
To use Devotion, and perhaps express,
In a set Prayer, some small Thankfulness,
For these thy Favours, but they alwayes run
Upon that Strain, that, as thou hast begun,
So thou'd continue alwayes to extend
That Peace, and Plenty to them to the end.
For if once interrupted, then we see
What Frettings, and bold Abjurations be
Amongst those formerly fine Supplicants
Now crying out of Miseries, and Wants.
What to few Men on Earth thou hast allow'd:
Whom, as with hedge, thou hast environed,
And guarded all he hath on every side;
Whom thou hast rais'd in Wealth and Dignity,
And made him Head of a Great Family:
Pray what can he do less, than Fast, and Pray,
Kneel down, and make an Offring every day
To thee his Patron: and endeavour too
To shun all evil, as a many do,
For fear of me, and not for love of thee,
Because before their Eyes they daily see
How inexorable I am to all
Those Men of Earth, whom thou dost Sinners call;
If in my hands thou once deliver them,
Whereas, if they but call upon thy Name,
With a few Sighs, and Tears, thou instantly
Remit'st them all their Sins, and by and by
Th'effect of all thy Heavenly Clemency,
Upon the matter, proves indeed no more,
Then crossing th'old, upon another score,
To sin afresh, for all those breathing things
Abuse thy Mercy.
Nay they will make a fashion too, when ble'st
As this Man is, and that their Souls have rest
From dunning Pinches, Miseries, and Pains,
(Which are some other Mens Quotidians,)
To use Devotion, and perhaps express,
In a set Prayer, some small Thankfulness,
For these thy Favours, but they alwayes run
Upon that Strain, that, as thou hast begun,
So thou'd continue alwayes to extend
That Peace, and Plenty to them to the end.
For if once interrupted, then we see
What Frettings, and bold Abjurations be
Amongst those formerly fine Supplicants
Now crying out of Miseries, and Wants.
Stretch therefore out thine Hand, and seize upon
All that Job has, and thou shalt see anon
This unkind dealing will reverse the case,
And heel Blaspheme thee, to thy very Face.
Yes, heel Blaspheme thee, and forget that thou
Didst good things to him, formerly allow:
He'l tell thee plainly th'hast disordered
All his concerns, and fully ruined
His expectations: so that after this
He'l tell thee boldly thus, and thus it is
To serve a God, who takes no care at all
For such as on his Name do dayly call.
All that Job has, and thou shalt see anon
This unkind dealing will reverse the case,
And heel Blaspheme thee, to thy very Face.
Yes, heel Blaspheme thee, and forget that thou
Didst good things to him, formerly allow:
He'l tell thee plainly th'hast disordered
9
His expectations: so that after this
He'l tell thee boldly thus, and thus it is
To serve a God, who takes no care at all
For such as on his Name do dayly call.
Then said the Lord, well, Satan, thou shalt find
My Servant Job is of another kind,
Then falling Adams ordinary Race,
As thou shall't soon perceive upon the Case.
And to demonstrate this thou mayest go try him,
Seize upon all his Substance then, do by him,
As thou thinks't fit: only I do Command
Upon his Person stretch not out thy Hand,
But all his Goods are thine. No sooner sai'd
Then the false Slave of this Commission glad,
Runs out on Execution, and Commands
His Men to Mischief soon, and cries all hands.
My Servant Job is of another kind,
Then falling Adams ordinary Race,
As thou shall't soon perceive upon the Case.
And to demonstrate this thou mayest go try him,
Seize upon all his Substance then, do by him,
As thou thinks't fit: only I do Command
Upon his Person stretch not out thy Hand,
But all his Goods are thine. No sooner sai'd
Then the false Slave of this Commission glad,
Runs out on Execution, and Commands
His Men to Mischief soon, and cries all hands.
Now here Jobs Woes, and Miseries Commence,
His future Troubles take their Rise from hence:
For soon the Devil had drawn his Troops together,
And they all ready to march quickly whether
He should command them: he did only now
Wait for an opportunity to doe
What he intended.
So when the Children were a Banqueting
I'th' Eldests House, suspecting no such thing,
The Devil perceiving their security,
Resolves to catch this opportunity
Of plundering all: with his wilde Arabs hastes,
And in the first place drives off all his Beasts.
His future Troubles take their Rise from hence:
For soon the Devil had drawn his Troops together,
And they all ready to march quickly whether
He should command them: he did only now
Wait for an opportunity to doe
What he intended.
So when the Children were a Banqueting
I'th' Eldests House, suspecting no such thing,
The Devil perceiving their security,
Resolves to catch this opportunity
Of plundering all: with his wilde Arabs hastes,
And in the first place drives off all his Beasts.
Job on a sudden has the dismal News,
How whilst his Oxen Laboured in the Plowes,
The Cattel calmly footing in the Traces,
And all the Asses feeding in their places.
How whilst his Oxen Laboured in the Plowes,
The Cattel calmly footing in the Traces,
And all the Asses feeding in their places.
The Theeving Rogues did violently fall
Upon the Beasts in Ploughs, and plundered all,
In all his Servants Bowels sheath'd the Sword,
Burn't all the Barns, and Houses, in a word,
Sayes Currior, who these fatal News did bring,
I've only 'scapt, thus to relate the thing.
Upon the Beasts in Ploughs, and plundered all,
In all his Servants Bowels sheath'd the Sword,
Burn't all the Barns, and Houses, in a word,
Sayes Currior, who these fatal News did bring,
I've only 'scapt, thus to relate the thing.
Scarce had he told the Tale, when comes another
To give account of News as bad as 'tother:
The Fire of God, sayes he, from Heaven did fall,
And in an instant quite consumed all
thy numerous Flocks of fine Wool-bearing Sheep,
With all the Servants, who these Flocks did keep,
Thus are thy Store-rooms fully desolate,
Only I 'scap'd the Tidings to relate.
To give account of News as bad as 'tother:
The Fire of God, sayes he, from Heaven did fall,
And in an instant quite consumed all
thy numerous Flocks of fine Wool-bearing Sheep,
With all the Servants, who these Flocks did keep,
Thus are thy Store-rooms fully desolate,
Only I 'scap'd the Tidings to relate.
Whilst he yet spoke another comes to tell
How the Chaldeans in three parties fell
Upon the Camels, made them all their prey,
Kill'd all the Herdsmen, carried all away,
Of whom, saies he, I only did escape
To be the Relator of so great Mis-hap.
How the Chaldeans in three parties fell
Upon the Camels, made them all their prey,
Kill'd all the Herdsmen, carried all away,
Of whom, saies he, I only did escape
To be the Relator of so great Mis-hap.
10
I'th' neck of this another comes, who showes,
(In one great Blow, to sum up all his Woes)
How, whilst his Children freely did carrouse,
And drunk Wine in their eldest Brothers House,
Eate merrily, convers'd, and made good chear,
Enjoying one another without fear.
(In one great Blow, to sum up all his Woes)
How, whilst his Children freely did carrouse,
And drunk Wine in their eldest Brothers House,
Eate merrily, convers'd, and made good chear,
Enjoying one another without fear.
There came, says he, so far as I could guesse,
Out from the fields beyond the Wilderness,
A violent, and sudden Hurrycane,
The like of which I think yet never Man
Has seen, and with such fury patly fell
On th'house, where, Sir, your eldest Son did dwell,
And where at that time all your others were,
With your three Daughters met, to make good chear,
That in an instant one might see the walls
Clap closs together, down the Roof-tree falls,
Stones, Rafters, Boards, Dust, in a trice fall down,
And with the ground the House was levelled soon.
Where all your Children smothered in a heap,
I left, and by great mercy did escape,
To tell thee what I with my eyes did see,
And what, with Teares, I now relate to thee.
Out from the fields beyond the Wilderness,
A violent, and sudden Hurrycane,
The like of which I think yet never Man
Has seen, and with such fury patly fell
On th'house, where, Sir, your eldest Son did dwell,
And where at that time all your others were,
With your three Daughters met, to make good chear,
That in an instant one might see the walls
Clap closs together, down the Roof-tree falls,
Stones, Rafters, Boards, Dust, in a trice fall down,
And with the ground the House was levelled soon.
Where all your Children smothered in a heap,
I left, and by great mercy did escape,
To tell thee what I with my eyes did see,
And what, with Teares, I now relate to thee.
Plung'd in deep grief, with sorrows overcome,
Job hearing these sad news did sit as dumb,
With Eyes dejected low, and Arms a Cross,
As if he mean't not to survive his Loss;
But sudden Dissolution did desire,
Hoping he might in some kind sigh expire.
Speechless he sate, and seem'd not to complain,
But having paus'd a while, at length, with pain
He rose, and to his grief was forc'd t'allow
The same Compliance other Mortals do.
For though he knew his miseries alone
Did come from God, yet being more than Stone,
Hearing these sad News, he could not forbear,
At least upon the last to drop a Tear,
And write in mournful ink from grief swoln Eyes,
Upon his Face his Childrens Elegies.
The unexpected loss of his Estate
He doth not value (though indeed 'twas great)
But O his loving Issue! O the loss
Of his dear Children doth him sadly cross:
This in some passion makes him tear his hair,
Unrip his breast, and to the open air,
In some disorder lay his bosome bare.
At length o're come with this sad Exigent,
He formally all his apparrel Rent,
With careless Razor shav'd his Head around,
Fell down, and groveling prostrate on the ground.
Job hearing these sad news did sit as dumb,
With Eyes dejected low, and Arms a Cross,
As if he mean't not to survive his Loss;
But sudden Dissolution did desire,
Hoping he might in some kind sigh expire.
Speechless he sate, and seem'd not to complain,
But having paus'd a while, at length, with pain
He rose, and to his grief was forc'd t'allow
The same Compliance other Mortals do.
For though he knew his miseries alone
Did come from God, yet being more than Stone,
Hearing these sad News, he could not forbear,
At least upon the last to drop a Tear,
And write in mournful ink from grief swoln Eyes,
Upon his Face his Childrens Elegies.
The unexpected loss of his Estate
He doth not value (though indeed 'twas great)
But O his loving Issue! O the loss
Of his dear Children doth him sadly cross:
This in some passion makes him tear his hair,
Unrip his breast, and to the open air,
In some disorder lay his bosome bare.
At length o're come with this sad Exigent,
He formally all his apparrel Rent,
With careless Razor shav'd his Head around,
Fell down, and groveling prostrate on the ground.
Lord, says he, naked from the Womb I came,
And to Earths Womb I must return the same.
What I acquir'd, was but thy pure Donation,
And all the Right that I had was Possession:
Then why should I Complaint of Losses make,
Since God, who freely gives may freely take.
This Morning I was rich in Wealth, and Fame,
Now in the Evening I a Beggar am:
Plundred of all;—Estate, and issue too,
Why sure I shall be no more envy'd now.
Now I'm undone, now absolutely poor,
As those, who beg their Bread from Door to Door.
Then what do Wealth and Honours signify
When, as it were by turning of a dye,
All I possest is now entirely lost:
Then what is he, who doth of Riches boast!
Riches!—the very Dregs of the Creation,
A naughty thing, that never came in fashion,
Until true Virtue become Poor and Old,
What She before did give, was basely sold,
As yet it is, for Money:—Riches!—O
The Bane of Mankind; from whose Spring do flow
Torrents of Falshoods, Jealousies, and Feares!
Riches a lean, dry Nurse of Anxious Cares!
A Food, on which we feed with great delyte,
Yet ne'r allays our ravenous appetite.
Mans Life-race running in a crooked Line,
A dash, which spoil'd the' original design
Of his Integrity; a thing, which all,
Who hugg it here, themselves do even call
Th'abstract of Madness, when Eternity
Appears at hand, and they begin to dye.
For O what help can Riches then afford
To their deluded Owners? in a word
No Man of Judgment should of Riches boast,
For, when (as mine) they are entirely lost,
Then they appear to have been very Dreams,
Which none but he, who softly sleeps, esteems.
And to Earths Womb I must return the same.
What I acquir'd, was but thy pure Donation,
And all the Right that I had was Possession:
Then why should I Complaint of Losses make,
11
This Morning I was rich in Wealth, and Fame,
Now in the Evening I a Beggar am:
Plundred of all;—Estate, and issue too,
Why sure I shall be no more envy'd now.
Now I'm undone, now absolutely poor,
As those, who beg their Bread from Door to Door.
Then what do Wealth and Honours signify
When, as it were by turning of a dye,
All I possest is now entirely lost:
Then what is he, who doth of Riches boast!
Riches!—the very Dregs of the Creation,
A naughty thing, that never came in fashion,
Until true Virtue become Poor and Old,
What She before did give, was basely sold,
As yet it is, for Money:—Riches!—O
The Bane of Mankind; from whose Spring do flow
Torrents of Falshoods, Jealousies, and Feares!
Riches a lean, dry Nurse of Anxious Cares!
A Food, on which we feed with great delyte,
Yet ne'r allays our ravenous appetite.
Mans Life-race running in a crooked Line,
A dash, which spoil'd the' original design
Of his Integrity; a thing, which all,
Who hugg it here, themselves do even call
Th'abstract of Madness, when Eternity
Appears at hand, and they begin to dye.
For O what help can Riches then afford
To their deluded Owners? in a word
No Man of Judgment should of Riches boast,
For, when (as mine) they are entirely lost,
Then they appear to have been very Dreams,
Which none but he, who softly sleeps, esteems.
And then, there's Honour too, that taudry thing,
Of which poor Mortals make such reckoning:
Why I had that, as much as I desir'd
And to no higher Honours I aspir'd:
But now—all's lost—Riches, and Honours too
Have all abandon'd their old Master now.
Then what is this same Idol, of which most
Of its proud Owners insolently boast?
What is it pray!—a meer Device of Men
T'abuse the World, and shiftingly maintain
The Reputation of a Bankrupt Race,
Which long ago was forfeit in the Case
Of the first cadet; when Fraternal Tyes
Could not obstruct Friends being Enemies
For a small triffle: though the World was then
But Tripartite, and those unhappy Men
Had Elbow-room enough; yet was its State
First troubled under that Triumvirate.
And then our Native Honour, Truth, and Faith
Expired with the first expiring Breath.
Of which poor Mortals make such reckoning:
Why I had that, as much as I desir'd
And to no higher Honours I aspir'd:
But now—all's lost—Riches, and Honours too
Have all abandon'd their old Master now.
Then what is this same Idol, of which most
Of its proud Owners insolently boast?
What is it pray!—a meer Device of Men
T'abuse the World, and shiftingly maintain
The Reputation of a Bankrupt Race,
Which long ago was forfeit in the Case
Of the first cadet; when Fraternal Tyes
Could not obstruct Friends being Enemies
For a small triffle: though the World was then
But Tripartite, and those unhappy Men
Had Elbow-room enough; yet was its State
First troubled under that Triumvirate.
And then our Native Honour, Truth, and Faith
Expired with the first expiring Breath.
12
Since then true Honours lost, why should we cheat
Our Reason with its silly counterfeit!
And fancy Titles, Names, and Dignities
Can make the fallen Race of Mankind rise
In Virtues Orb? Why should we proudly boast
We have a thing our Predecessours lost!
For to this day (let us say what we can)
There's neither Honour, Faith, nor Truth in Man.
Why since the substance then is gone, alace
Why should vain man its empty shadow chace!
Its empty shadow,—yes—its meer reflex,
Which only, when it shines, a figure makes.
Though, as an Evening shadow to the Eye
Extends it self beyond the Symmetry
Of what it follows; so this flattering thing
By poor deluded Mortals Reckoning
Appears t'exceed the true Original,
Whilest really it is nothing at all,
And disappears with that same swiftness too,
As when the Sun sets, all your shadows do.
Or if it something be, at best I take it,
To be but what each Fools conceit doth make it,
For, as we see how. Hobby-horses please
Some Children, rattles others; even so these,
Who court this honour, are some pleas'd with that
Which only is acquir'd by toile, and sweat;
And venture boldly, without fear, or shame,
Only t'attain a military fame,
On Fire, and Sword, others themselves do please
With what they can attain to with more ease,
And less expence, so cunningly practise
Mean snaking shifts, and horrid villanies,
By which, at length, they climb to Dignities.
But as we see how those same very Boyes;
When come to years, call those things childish toyes,
Which then they hugg'd; so, when a man attains
To Grace, and Knowledge; Lord how he disdains
Those painted Baubles, which he formerly
Esteem'd, and thinks them now all vanity.
Our Reason with its silly counterfeit!
And fancy Titles, Names, and Dignities
Can make the fallen Race of Mankind rise
In Virtues Orb? Why should we proudly boast
We have a thing our Predecessours lost!
For to this day (let us say what we can)
There's neither Honour, Faith, nor Truth in Man.
Why since the substance then is gone, alace
Why should vain man its empty shadow chace!
Its empty shadow,—yes—its meer reflex,
Which only, when it shines, a figure makes.
Though, as an Evening shadow to the Eye
Extends it self beyond the Symmetry
Of what it follows; so this flattering thing
By poor deluded Mortals Reckoning
Appears t'exceed the true Original,
Whilest really it is nothing at all,
And disappears with that same swiftness too,
As when the Sun sets, all your shadows do.
Or if it something be, at best I take it,
To be but what each Fools conceit doth make it,
For, as we see how. Hobby-horses please
Some Children, rattles others; even so these,
Who court this honour, are some pleas'd with that
Which only is acquir'd by toile, and sweat;
And venture boldly, without fear, or shame,
Only t'attain a military fame,
On Fire, and Sword, others themselves do please
With what they can attain to with more ease,
And less expence, so cunningly practise
Mean snaking shifts, and horrid villanies,
By which, at length, they climb to Dignities.
But as we see how those same very Boyes;
When come to years, call those things childish toyes,
Which then they hugg'd; so, when a man attains
To Grace, and Knowledge; Lord how he disdains
Those painted Baubles, which he formerly
Esteem'd, and thinks them now all vanity.
And yet both Riches, and great Honours too
To some, as blessings God doth still allow,
When seasoned with Grace.
But nor my Honours, nor my Riches pleas'd
My mind so much, nor was I so much eas'd
In any thing, as that my Family
Seem'd to perpetuat my poor Memory
And thar I lost, i'th twinkling of an Eye.
To some, as blessings God doth still allow,
When seasoned with Grace.
But nor my Honours, nor my Riches pleas'd
My mind so much, nor was I so much eas'd
In any thing, as that my Family
Seem'd to perpetuat my poor Memory
And thar I lost, i'th twinkling of an Eye.
Lord what a folly then it is for men
To Trust in things so perishing, and vain
As Children are: a peice of Sophistry,
By which we'd fain out-wit Mortality,
But to no purpose, for do what we will,
Death is before hand, with our projects still.
Things, which to wish we pronely are inclin'd
Though in them we but seldom comfort find.
Nay, but that God after the first Creation,
Enjoyn'd the useful toile of Generation,
No wise man would such methods prosecute,
To bring himself in trouble, and dispute,
With those of his own Loines, and be in fears
Of his, own Children, as they come to years.
Issue! an Art, by which we would create
Our selves anew, and so perpetuat
Our Names on Earth: nay at a huge expence
We purchase too this inconvenience.
Whilst truth our Names and Memories are known
Better by Characters, in Brass, or Stone,
When both our Race, and our Estates are gone.
To Trust in things so perishing, and vain
As Children are: a peice of Sophistry,
By which we'd fain out-wit Mortality,
But to no purpose, for do what we will,
Death is before hand, with our projects still.
Things, which to wish we pronely are inclin'd
13
Nay, but that God after the first Creation,
Enjoyn'd the useful toile of Generation,
No wise man would such methods prosecute,
To bring himself in trouble, and dispute,
With those of his own Loines, and be in fears
Of his, own Children, as they come to years.
Issue! an Art, by which we would create
Our selves anew, and so perpetuat
Our Names on Earth: nay at a huge expence
We purchase too this inconvenience.
Whilst truth our Names and Memories are known
Better by Characters, in Brass, or Stone,
When both our Race, and our Estates are gone.
Riches and Honours then I did possess
As Blessings, and enjoyed domestick peace:
But above all my God was pleas'd t'allow
Something of true Grace to my Spirit too,
That I might use them right, so that of late,
In Birth, in Parts, in Honour, and Estate,
If breathing man can have Felicity,
On this side Time; why such a man was I.
—But now, that thou art pleas'd, Lord, to divest
Me of what but this morning I possest,
Assist me now, now let that Grace appear
Which thou allow'd'st me, give me strength to bear
My Losses so, as all men may confess
Who see me in this miserable case
That thou hast not depriv'd me yet of Grace.
As Blessings, and enjoyed domestick peace:
But above all my God was pleas'd t'allow
Something of true Grace to my Spirit too,
That I might use them right, so that of late,
In Birth, in Parts, in Honour, and Estate,
If breathing man can have Felicity,
On this side Time; why such a man was I.
—But now, that thou art pleas'd, Lord, to divest
Me of what but this morning I possest,
Assist me now, now let that Grace appear
Which thou allow'd'st me, give me strength to bear
My Losses so, as all men may confess
Who see me in this miserable case
That thou hast not depriv'd me yet of Grace.
Lord then what shall I say; thou giv'st, thou tak'st,
Thou raises, thou throws down again, thou mak'st,
And thou unmak'st.—O let thy glorious Name
Sound in the Trumpet of eternal Fame.
For all thy Actings are both just and fair,
And well thou know'st what Criminals men are,
And what they do deserve; O make me then,
Highest of late, but lowest now of men,
O mak me with a serene patience,
Endure what thou art pleased to dispense.
Thou raises, thou throws down again, thou mak'st,
And thou unmak'st.—O let thy glorious Name
Sound in the Trumpet of eternal Fame.
For all thy Actings are both just and fair,
And well thou know'st what Criminals men are,
And what they do deserve; O make me then,
Highest of late, but lowest now of men,
O mak me with a serene patience,
Endure what thou art pleased to dispense.
Thus though we see Jobs Grief was answerable
To his Condition, which was lamentable,
Yet in his greatest paroxism of woe
He did not sin, nor treat his Maker so,
As if he would accuse him foolishly
For th'only author of his Misery.
Then happy he, who can his loss sustain
With patience, and not of God complain:
For when Afflictions Storms from Heavens do fall
We ought to suffer, and not cry at all:
Because we know that God affliction sends,
Upon a many, whom he least intends
T'extirpate in his anger; for we shall
See this good mans afflictions after all,
Converted to a fair, and pleasant Scæne,
Of Wealth and Honours, and a most serene
Aspect of Favour, when our God doth show
To Job his Face ex Postliminio.
To his Condition, which was lamentable,
Yet in his greatest paroxism of woe
He did not sin, nor treat his Maker so,
As if he would accuse him foolishly
For th'only author of his Misery.
Then happy he, who can his loss sustain
With patience, and not of God complain:
For when Afflictions Storms from Heavens do fall
We ought to suffer, and not cry at all:
Because we know that God affliction sends,
Upon a many, whom he least intends
T'extirpate in his anger; for we shall
See this good mans afflictions after all,
Converted to a fair, and pleasant Scæne,
14
Aspect of Favour, when our God doth show
To Job his Face ex Postliminio.
Cap. II.
1. And on a day the children of God came and stood before the Lord, & Satan came also among them, & stood before the Lord.
Who ever in your lives Affliction knew;
Sum up your Sorrows, reckon all your Woes
And all your wreaking Miseries unclose,
Your Crosses, and your Losses all declare,
See who with Jobs afflictions can compare;
Or with his Patience.
For now his Issue, Wealth, and Honours gone,
His Body must be sadly rack'd anon,
And put to horrid torture, as if what
He yet had lost were not proportionate
To th'merits of so great a Criminal,
He must endure the question after all.
See here then God again in Judgment set,
Environed with Majesty, and State,
Before whom numerous Angels do appear,
As if for jury they impannelled were:
He, who by Virtue of his late permission,
Had to a most deplorable condition
Reduc'd this pious man, appears there too,
To see if there was more mischief to do.
Environed with Majesty, and State,
Before whom numerous Angels do appear,
As if for jury they impannelled were:
He, who by Virtue of his late permission,
Had to a most deplorable condition
Reduc'd this pious man, appears there too,
To see if there was more mischief to do.
Satan, from whence, says God, from compassing
The Earth, and there securely travelling
In every corner, doing all I can,
Says he, to dissappoint the Hopes of Man.
I've done what thou allowd, says he, and now
I ask if thou hast any more to do
For me on earth? is there another there,
Whom thou thinkst just, and upright, let me hear,
Is there a man for whom thou hast esteem
Under the Heavens? pray let me know his name:
And, by thy good permission, I shall try
The utmost Force of his Integrity:
I'le soon reduce him to the same estate,
As I have done thy other man of late,
And then thou'lt see that all those upright men
Are but thy Servants for their privat gain,
The Earth, and there securely travelling
In every corner, doing all I can,
Says he, to dissappoint the Hopes of Man.
I've done what thou allowd, says he, and now
I ask if thou hast any more to do
For me on earth? is there another there,
Whom thou thinkst just, and upright, let me hear,
Is there a man for whom thou hast esteem
Under the Heavens? pray let me know his name:
And, by thy good permission, I shall try
The utmost Force of his Integrity:
I'le soon reduce him to the same estate,
As I have done thy other man of late,
And then thou'lt see that all those upright men
Are but thy Servants for their privat gain,
Not so, says Heavens King, for yet I see
My faithful Servant Job doth honour me.
The Man, whom thou so falsly didst accuse,
As though he, like a Hireling would refuse
To serve me, were his wages taken from him,
See now thy malice cannot overcome him.
Th'hast cut off all his Family, and tane
His means from him, yet he doth not complain.
He, thou didst move me, without cause t'oppress,
See he continues firm in uprightness.
My faithful Servant Job doth honour me.
The Man, whom thou so falsly didst accuse,
15
To serve me, were his wages taken from him,
See now thy malice cannot overcome him.
Th'hast cut off all his Family, and tane
His means from him, yet he doth not complain.
He, thou didst move me, without cause t'oppress,
See he continues firm in uprightness.
True, says the Enemy of Man, 'tis true,
(To give thy faithful Servant Job his due)
He bears his Losses yet, with that Submission,
As I expected none in his condition
Could well ha' done; for by this time I thought
The Bitter Potion would a shreudly wrought.
But yet when I consider these mean Creatures,
Whom thou call'st men, I do observe their Natures
To be above all things most prone to live,
For Skin for Skin, all they possess they'll give
For one hours breath: so yet thy Servant Job,
Because, as of his goods, I cannot robb
Him of his life, truly he doth dispense
With loss of these, since the convenience
Of breathing is allow'd him still; I know
The man is in great misery, and wo.
His Losses do oppress his Spirits sore,
Yet as a Ship-wrack'd-man, when got a-shore,
Glad to have 'scap'd with life, doth soon forget
His losses, and though wearyed, faint, and wet
To the next Village hee'll a begging go.
(For men will rather beg than dye we know)
So Job, though stripp'd of all, yet still in health,
Already has forgot his former wealth:
So glad hee's yet alive, he has forgot
The loss of Children, Honours, Fame, what not!
He with Contentment begs and eats his bread,
And only sighs for those are lately dead:
Nay now he with some ease doth spend his years,
Because hee's free of all his former cares.
(To give thy faithful Servant Job his due)
He bears his Losses yet, with that Submission,
As I expected none in his condition
Could well ha' done; for by this time I thought
The Bitter Potion would a shreudly wrought.
But yet when I consider these mean Creatures,
Whom thou call'st men, I do observe their Natures
To be above all things most prone to live,
For Skin for Skin, all they possess they'll give
For one hours breath: so yet thy Servant Job,
Because, as of his goods, I cannot robb
Him of his life, truly he doth dispense
With loss of these, since the convenience
Of breathing is allow'd him still; I know
The man is in great misery, and wo.
His Losses do oppress his Spirits sore,
Yet as a Ship-wrack'd-man, when got a-shore,
Glad to have 'scap'd with life, doth soon forget
His losses, and though wearyed, faint, and wet
To the next Village hee'll a begging go.
(For men will rather beg than dye we know)
So Job, though stripp'd of all, yet still in health,
Already has forgot his former wealth:
So glad hee's yet alive, he has forgot
The loss of Children, Honours, Fame, what not!
He with Contentment begs and eats his bread,
And only sighs for those are lately dead:
Nay now he with some ease doth spend his years,
Because hee's free of all his former cares.
But prethee now, great God, stretch out thy Hand,
And touch his Body, let me but demand
This favour of the once for all, and then
I'le make this Job of all the Race of Men
The most impatient, then thou'st quickly see
What is his true Opinion of thee:
For with his paines I'le alter soon the case,
And make him curse thee to thy very face.
And touch his Body, let me but demand
This favour of the once for all, and then
I'le make this Job of all the Race of Men
The most impatient, then thou'st quickly see
What is his true Opinion of thee:
For with his paines I'le alter soon the case,
And make him curse thee to thy very face.
Then says the Lord his Person's in thy hand,
But save his Life I strictly do command:
And thou shalt surely see all thy designs
Soon disappointed by his countermines
Of Piety, and Patience.
But save his Life I strictly do command:
And thou shalt surely see all thy designs
Soon disappointed by his countermines
Of Piety, and Patience.
Out flies the Devil, and instantly doth fall
On Job by Execution Personal:
He baits his Body with a thousand sores,
And makes an humour issue from its pores
So pestilentious, hot, and purulent,
So foul, so loathsome, and so virulent,
As soon his Body doth appear all o're
To be but one continued scabby sore.
On Job by Execution Personal:
He baits his Body with a thousand sores,
And makes an humour issue from its pores
16
So foul, so loathsome, and so virulent,
As soon his Body doth appear all o're
To be but one continued scabby sore.
Merciful Heavens! What a sad sight is here!
Pouldred with Ulcers Job doth now appear,
All Comforts, and Subsistence from him taken,
His Body with a scorching Feaver shaken
Of loathsome sores:—what shall this poor man doe,
Thus cruciat in Mind, and Body too!
Why patiently he sits on Dung, and Ashes,
Not bursting out in angry fits, and flashes
As in like case a many sure would doe,
But, with a peice of broken pitcher now
He scrapes the putrid matter from his sores,
And silently his sad Estate deplores.
Pouldred with Ulcers Job doth now appear,
All Comforts, and Subsistence from him taken,
His Body with a scorching Feaver shaken
Of loathsome sores:—what shall this poor man doe,
Thus cruciat in Mind, and Body too!
Why patiently he sits on Dung, and Ashes,
Not bursting out in angry fits, and flashes
As in like case a many sure would doe,
But, with a peice of broken pitcher now
He scrapes the putrid matter from his sores,
And silently his sad Estate deplores.
But all th'efforts of cruel Poverty
With Heavenly thoughts, and smiles of Piety,
One of undaunted spirit will make sweet,
Though he can neither have to drink, nor eat.
Diseases of the Body often too
Afford such thoughts, as Health will scarce allow
Our Entertainment: for when free of pains,
And in the ouzy channels of our Veins
Our Blood flows smoothly, then we think on pleasures,
On Honours, and in hoording foolish Treasures;
And on these things we rest, like silly fops,
Feeding our Minds with vain fantastick hopes.
But when Diseases on our Bodies seize,
And in our Veins our Blood begins to freeze:
When th'motion of our Pulse seems at a stand,
Scarce to be felt hy the Physicians hand:
When with excessive pains our Bones do ake,
And all the Pillars of our Bodies shake:
With pious thoughts then we our selves soulage,
And by such lenitives abate the rage
Of our Distemper: whilst we seem to be
In love with sickness: and would not be free
From pain, that we may still have fair occasions
To raise the value of our meditations.
Yes sore Diseases, loss of all thats dear,
An upright man will patiently bear,
No outward sorrow can his Mind depress,
Providing he enjoy domestick peace.
But O when one with sore Afflictions vex't
In Mind, and Body grievously perplex't,
Endures debates at home, additional
To all these Plagues, sure this is worst of all.
(For O how wretched must be that Mans Life,
That's poor, and sick, and has a scolding Wife)
This was the posture, this the present state
Of this good Man, who did enjoy of late
All happiness on Earth: and here alace
To consummat the strangeness of his case
He losses, after all, domestick peace.
For now his Wife, who should in that sad state,
With all the suggred words appropriate
To that kind Sex, have mitigate his grief,
And from her very Eyes have smil'd relief
To her afflicted Husband, in this case,
(The true design of Wedlock) she alace,
Enrag'd with grief, extravagantly sad,
And for her losses furiously mad,
Stead of allaying of her Husbands woe,
Seems to augment it.
Her losse she so impatiently bears,
So like a Woman, such a flood of Tears
Falls from the well-stor'd Sources of her Eyes,
Which, with her passion constantly do rise:
Her Breasts she so doth beat, so tears her Hair,
And by her gestures now doth so declare
Her discontent, whilst all this while she sits
By him on Dung-hill: That at length her Wits
Appear to be disordred: for she now
Upbraids her Husband, and demands him how
He so could bear his losses.—Well, she says,
And must we now in our declining days,
We, who have liv'd in plenty formerly,
Become content with want and penury?
Must we yet live? O must we thus survive
The loss of all, that's dear to those alive—
Yet live—live—only that we may endure,
Such miseries as never Mortals sure
Before this time did feell!—yet live to see
The Vulgar gazing both on thee, and me
As horrid spectacles of Heavenly wrath!
—Yet live—that we may only wish for Death!
Yet live!—to swim in oceans of Tears!
And whine away a few unhappy years!
Why this is madness!—madness!—yes—to me
It appears madness in th'extream degree,
With Heavenly thoughts, and smiles of Piety,
One of undaunted spirit will make sweet,
Though he can neither have to drink, nor eat.
Diseases of the Body often too
Afford such thoughts, as Health will scarce allow
Our Entertainment: for when free of pains,
And in the ouzy channels of our Veins
Our Blood flows smoothly, then we think on pleasures,
On Honours, and in hoording foolish Treasures;
And on these things we rest, like silly fops,
Feeding our Minds with vain fantastick hopes.
But when Diseases on our Bodies seize,
And in our Veins our Blood begins to freeze:
When th'motion of our Pulse seems at a stand,
Scarce to be felt hy the Physicians hand:
When with excessive pains our Bones do ake,
And all the Pillars of our Bodies shake:
With pious thoughts then we our selves soulage,
And by such lenitives abate the rage
Of our Distemper: whilst we seem to be
In love with sickness: and would not be free
From pain, that we may still have fair occasions
To raise the value of our meditations.
Yes sore Diseases, loss of all thats dear,
An upright man will patiently bear,
No outward sorrow can his Mind depress,
Providing he enjoy domestick peace.
But O when one with sore Afflictions vex't
In Mind, and Body grievously perplex't,
Endures debates at home, additional
To all these Plagues, sure this is worst of all.
(For O how wretched must be that Mans Life,
That's poor, and sick, and has a scolding Wife)
This was the posture, this the present state
Of this good Man, who did enjoy of late
All happiness on Earth: and here alace
To consummat the strangeness of his case
He losses, after all, domestick peace.
17
With all the suggred words appropriate
To that kind Sex, have mitigate his grief,
And from her very Eyes have smil'd relief
To her afflicted Husband, in this case,
(The true design of Wedlock) she alace,
Enrag'd with grief, extravagantly sad,
And for her losses furiously mad,
Stead of allaying of her Husbands woe,
Seems to augment it.
Her losse she so impatiently bears,
So like a Woman, such a flood of Tears
Falls from the well-stor'd Sources of her Eyes,
Which, with her passion constantly do rise:
Her Breasts she so doth beat, so tears her Hair,
And by her gestures now doth so declare
Her discontent, whilst all this while she sits
By him on Dung-hill: That at length her Wits
Appear to be disordred: for she now
Upbraids her Husband, and demands him how
He so could bear his losses.—Well, she says,
And must we now in our declining days,
We, who have liv'd in plenty formerly,
Become content with want and penury?
Must we yet live? O must we thus survive
The loss of all, that's dear to those alive—
Yet live—live—only that we may endure,
Such miseries as never Mortals sure
Before this time did feell!—yet live to see
The Vulgar gazing both on thee, and me
As horrid spectacles of Heavenly wrath!
—Yet live—that we may only wish for Death!
Yet live!—to swim in oceans of Tears!
And whine away a few unhappy years!
Why this is madness!—madness!—yes—to me
It appears madness in th'extream degree,
Why Husband then, she says, since all's now lost,
How mean it looks in thee, dear friend, to boast
Of a fantastick, sullen patience,
A Virtue, which no man of common sense
Of Wit, or Honour ever yet esteem'd,
A passive dulness, hardly to be nam'd
But with some indignation!—patience!
Why here's a thing indeed—must thou dispense
With loss of all, only t'obtain the name
Of patient, i'th' Records of future Fame!
And this forsooth thou must call uprightness,
Why here's a stubborn humour I confess:
A thing unworthy of a man of Wit
A poor contented humour, only fit
For luteous Spirits!—still to bear respect
To Heavens great Prince, who doth thy crys neglect,
Who laughs at all thy pitiful addresses,
In these sad times, and openly professes
Himself thy enemy; nor will he hear
Thy most refined, importuning Prayer.
Yet still thou'lt trouble Heavens, and spend thy time
In this unpleasant, and ill-sounding Chyme
I'th' ears of our great God, from such as thee,
Whom he, who is not blind may plainly see,
He doth abhor: yet thou wilt still proceed,
And call to Heaven still, as if indeed
Thy bare Devotion could afford us Bread.
How mean it looks in thee, dear friend, to boast
Of a fantastick, sullen patience,
A Virtue, which no man of common sense
Of Wit, or Honour ever yet esteem'd,
A passive dulness, hardly to be nam'd
But with some indignation!—patience!
Why here's a thing indeed—must thou dispense
With loss of all, only t'obtain the name
Of patient, i'th' Records of future Fame!
And this forsooth thou must call uprightness,
Why here's a stubborn humour I confess:
A thing unworthy of a man of Wit
A poor contented humour, only fit
For luteous Spirits!—still to bear respect
To Heavens great Prince, who doth thy crys neglect,
Who laughs at all thy pitiful addresses,
18
Himself thy enemy; nor will he hear
Thy most refined, importuning Prayer.
Yet still thou'lt trouble Heavens, and spend thy time
In this unpleasant, and ill-sounding Chyme
I'th' ears of our great God, from such as thee,
Whom he, who is not blind may plainly see,
He doth abhor: yet thou wilt still proceed,
And call to Heaven still, as if indeed
Thy bare Devotion could afford us Bread.
Then, to conclude, says she, let me advise
Him, whom I dearly love, to be more wise,
Then thus persisting in his uprightness,
To loss himself by his own wilfulness.
Dye rather then, she says, if thou'd be free,
From the sad pressures which now torture thee;
Do, yes, do something that deserveth death,
By Law, and unto Justice yeeld thy Breath.
For rather than thou should on Dung-hill ly,
A Spectacle to every one goes by,
I'de have thee fairly curse thy God, and dye.
Him, whom I dearly love, to be more wise,
Then thus persisting in his uprightness,
To loss himself by his own wilfulness.
Dye rather then, she says, if thou'd be free,
From the sad pressures which now torture thee;
Do, yes, do something that deserveth death,
By Law, and unto Justice yeeld thy Breath.
For rather than thou should on Dung-hill ly,
A Spectacle to every one goes by,
I'de have thee fairly curse thy God, and dye.
O the sad pangs of an afflicted life!
That one should hear such language from his wife.
Such language, as would make this man despair,
But that he has a better Comforter,
Who bids him hope: to this shreud Harangue then,
He thus makes answer.
Thou talkst like foolish Girle, says he, why Woman,
God in his mercy is oblig'd to no Man:
For all the kindness he did ere extend
To man, or will do to the worlds end
Is not th'effect of merits, but indeed
From his own goodness solely doth proceed.
'Tis true, dear Wife, he favoured us of late
With a fair Issue, and a great Estate,
But pray' dost think, because he did allow
Such Favours to us then, that he should now
Indulge us with his former bounty too.
Shall we our selves no better understand
Than to be taking good things from his hand,
Like Children, with a canine Appetite,
And hang upon his table with delite,
And Complaisance, while he affords us food,
As if he were oblig'd to do us good
Perpetually, and not also take
Ill from him kindly for his Justice sake.
That one should hear such language from his wife.
Such language, as would make this man despair,
But that he has a better Comforter,
Who bids him hope: to this shreud Harangue then,
He thus makes answer.
Thou talkst like foolish Girle, says he, why Woman,
God in his mercy is oblig'd to no Man:
For all the kindness he did ere extend
To man, or will do to the worlds end
Is not th'effect of merits, but indeed
From his own goodness solely doth proceed.
'Tis true, dear Wife, he favoured us of late
With a fair Issue, and a great Estate,
But pray' dost think, because he did allow
Such Favours to us then, that he should now
Indulge us with his former bounty too.
Shall we our selves no better understand
Than to be taking good things from his hand,
Like Children, with a canine Appetite,
And hang upon his table with delite,
And Complaisance, while he affords us food,
As if he were oblig'd to do us good
Perpetually, and not also take
Ill from him kindly for his Justice sake.
Then, trust me, Woman, what our God has done
In our concerns is very just, and none
But fools will of his Actions complain,
Since he who gives may freely take again.
For shame let us then, who Prosperity
Have seen, now God has sent Adversity,
Bear all our Griefs, and Losses patiently.
In our concerns is very just, and none
But fools will of his Actions complain,
Since he who gives may freely take again.
For shame let us then, who Prosperity
Have seen, now God has sent Adversity,
Bear all our Griefs, and Losses patiently.
19
By this officious Fame had published
The news of Jobs Afflictions and spread,
Strange stories of his losses every where,
Which when three worthy Gentlemen did hear,
His Blood-relations, (but what yet was more
His Friends) they did most heartily deplore
His sad condition from their very soul,
And so would make a Journey to condole
With him in his affliction, for this end,
They Messengers did to each others send,
Appointed where their meeting place should be,
From whence they in a body might go see
Their now distressed Friend, whom formerly
They had beheld in great Prosperity.
Their Names were Eliphaz the Temanite,
Bildad the Shuhite, Zophar the Naamathite;
Men of great wit and parts, and certainly
In their own Countries of great quality.
The news of Jobs Afflictions and spread,
Strange stories of his losses every where,
Which when three worthy Gentlemen did hear,
His Blood-relations, (but what yet was more
His Friends) they did most heartily deplore
His sad condition from their very soul,
And so would make a Journey to condole
With him in his affliction, for this end,
They Messengers did to each others send,
Appointed where their meeting place should be,
From whence they in a body might go see
Their now distressed Friend, whom formerly
They had beheld in great Prosperity.
Their Names were Eliphaz the Temanite,
Bildad the Shuhite, Zophar the Naamathite;
Men of great wit and parts, and certainly
In their own Countries of great quality.
Now we must think that Job was all alone,
For by this time his Wife was surely gone,
To shift i'th' Country for convenience,
Not able to subsist on patience,
But had (good Lady) now determined
Not to return to what she once did wed
For good and evil, for her Jointure now
Was gone, and all the Expectation too
Of her afflicted Husbands Restauration,
Which made her soon abandon him in passion.
For by this time his Wife was surely gone,
To shift i'th' Country for convenience,
Not able to subsist on patience,
But had (good Lady) now determined
Not to return to what she once did wed
For good and evil, for her Jointure now
Was gone, and all the Expectation too
Of her afflicted Husbands Restauration,
Which made her soon abandon him in passion.
When then his friends did to the place draw nigh,
Where the afflicted man did pensive ly;
When first they see his face they were afraid,
And thought their guide had possibly betray'd
Them by some trick, and stead of their old friend,
Had brought them there to see some Ghost, or Fiend.
But when anon they did perceive 'twas he,
'Twas he indeed, whom they did mean to see,
How sadly then they mourn'd! how sore they weep't,
Rent all their Cloaths, and on their heads they heap't
Great quantity of dust, as is the fashion
In those parts to express their Lamentation.
Then down beside him on the ground they sat,
Where seeing how his grief was dumbly great,
In Complaisance they also silence keep't.
Seven Days, and Nights, and only sigh'd, and weep't.
But when they spoke, the comfort they did bring
Was little better, than his female thing
Afforded lately: for we soon shall see
Those wise men with their Patient disagree;
And fly in passion, whil'st they constantly
Maintain a point, which Job doth still deny.
That man lives not on earth, who never errs,
Good men may sometimes be bad Comforters.
Where the afflicted man did pensive ly;
When first they see his face they were afraid,
And thought their guide had possibly betray'd
Them by some trick, and stead of their old friend,
Had brought them there to see some Ghost, or Fiend.
But when anon they did perceive 'twas he,
'Twas he indeed, whom they did mean to see,
How sadly then they mourn'd! how sore they weep't,
Rent all their Cloaths, and on their heads they heap't
Great quantity of dust, as is the fashion
In those parts to express their Lamentation.
Then down beside him on the ground they sat,
Where seeing how his grief was dumbly great,
In Complaisance they also silence keep't.
Seven Days, and Nights, and only sigh'd, and weep't.
But when they spoke, the comfort they did bring
Was little better, than his female thing
Afforded lately: for we soon shall see
Those wise men with their Patient disagree;
And fly in passion, whil'st they constantly
Maintain a point, which Job doth still deny.
That man lives not on earth, who never errs,
Good men may sometimes be bad Comforters.
20
Cap. III.
But when much time they had in silence spent,
At length Jobs Tunn'd up Sorrow must have vent
Else he will burst—
His Heart with strong fermenting Grief opprest,
Can now maintain its Post within his Breast
No longer, over-power'd with numerous woes,
Who now began it's passages to close,
With th'Rubbish of his Body, which was now
Prop't up, and kep't in joynts with much adoe.
For all th'assistance Sighs and Groans could make,
In pumping up his Sorrows seem'd to weak,
Against such swelling Griefs; though he appears
T'have voyded much in cataracts of Tears,
Which all this while had issued from his Eyes;
Yet if not rescu'd quickly by supplies
Of cleansing words, and passionate expressions,
(Which most alleviate Grief at such occasions)
Hee's gone.—
At length Jobs Tunn'd up Sorrow must have vent
Else he will burst—
His Heart with strong fermenting Grief opprest,
Can now maintain its Post within his Breast
No longer, over-power'd with numerous woes,
Who now began it's passages to close,
With th'Rubbish of his Body, which was now
Prop't up, and kep't in joynts with much adoe.
For all th'assistance Sighs and Groans could make,
In pumping up his Sorrows seem'd to weak,
Against such swelling Griefs; though he appears
T'have voyded much in cataracts of Tears,
Which all this while had issued from his Eyes;
Yet if not rescu'd quickly by supplies
Of cleansing words, and passionate expressions,
(Which most alleviate Grief at such occasions)
Hee's gone.—
When then he saw that he was forc'd to speak,
Before his Heart should all in peices break.
He thus began.—Curs'd be the day, says he,
That to the World brought such a Wretch as me,
O thrice accurs'd be that unlucky day,
On which the Sun in complementing Ray,
Made its first visit, and with smile did see,
In Infant posture such a thing as me.
Before his Heart should all in peices break.
He thus began.—Curs'd be the day, says he,
That to the World brought such a Wretch as me,
O thrice accurs'd be that unlucky day,
On which the Sun in complementing Ray,
Made its first visit, and with smile did see,
In Infant posture such a thing as me.
Pregnant with grief then he begun to cry
I'th' extream labour of his Agony,—
Let the day perish wherein I was born,
And ne're be nam'd hereafter but with scorn.
Let the night, says he, in which it was said
A Man-child is Conceiv'd by overspread
With a perpetual Cloud of darkness, spite
Of Fire and Tapers, Lamps and Candle-light.
I'th' extream labour of his Agony,—
Let the day perish wherein I was born,
And ne're be nam'd hereafter but with scorn.
Let the night, says he, in which it was said
A Man-child is Conceiv'd by overspread
With a perpetual Cloud of darkness, spite
Of Fire and Tapers, Lamps and Candle-light.
In darkness let my Birth-day have its shrine,
Let Heavens great Light no more upon it shine,
Let Providence of that day take no care,
Let it be dash'd out of the Calendar.
Let Heavens great Light no more upon it shine,
Let Providence of that day take no care,
Let it be dash'd out of the Calendar.
Let it be wrapp'd up in a horrid Wreath,
Of its own colours, let the shade of Death
Mantle that fatal day, let sable cloud,
Its Noon-tide glory in sad darkness shroud.
Let Astrologues, when they the Year survey,
Mark that with Rubrick, as a dismal day.
Of its own colours, let the shade of Death
Mantle that fatal day, let sable cloud,
Its Noon-tide glory in sad darkness shroud.
Let Astrologues, when they the Year survey,
Mark that with Rubrick, as a dismal day.
Let everlasting darkness damn that night,
Which was by too officious Candle light
Assisted, when any Mother did cry out,
And for my sake did in great labour shout.
O that same dismal night! that night! that night!
O that unhappy night! which with despite
I'le ever name.
O that accursed night, let it be known,
To prying Devils, and wandring Ghosts alone.
Nay let it never so much honour bear,
As t'usher in the meanest day o'th' year.
Let other nights with it no Commerce keep:
In it let never mortal Creature sleep:
Let all the other months o'th' year abhor
This cursed night, and ne're allow it more
The former freedom of their Corporations,
Nor ever name it in their Computations.
Which was by too officious Candle light
Assisted, when any Mother did cry out,
21
O that same dismal night! that night! that night!
O that unhappy night! which with despite
I'le ever name.
O that accursed night, let it be known,
To prying Devils, and wandring Ghosts alone.
Nay let it never so much honour bear,
As t'usher in the meanest day o'th' year.
Let other nights with it no Commerce keep:
In it let never mortal Creature sleep:
Let all the other months o'th' year abhor
This cursed night, and ne're allow it more
The former freedom of their Corporations,
Nor ever name it in their Computations.
O that abominable night! that dire,
And cruel poynt of time! let never Fire
Shine in that night! O let it never be
From falling Stars, and stinking Vapours free.
Let such as do intend in Jollity
To spend some hours in cheerful Company
Abhor that fatal Season, and delay
Their merry meetings to the break of day.
And cruel poynt of time! let never Fire
Shine in that night! O let it never be
From falling Stars, and stinking Vapours free.
Let such as do intend in Jollity
To spend some hours in cheerful Company
Abhor that fatal Season, and delay
Their merry meetings to the break of day.
Let all, who in extream necessity,
Abhor the hour of their Nativity
Here bring their Curses, and with great despite,
Throw thousand Maledictions on that night.—
—O that thrice damned night!—let all conclude
That night,—that only must be understood
T'have truly been the night in all the year,
In which their dreadful woes did first appear.
Abhor the hour of their Nativity
Here bring their Curses, and with great despite,
Throw thousand Maledictions on that night.—
—O that thrice damned night!—let all conclude
That night,—that only must be understood
T'have truly been the night in all the year,
In which their dreadful woes did first appear.
That fatal night,—that night,—that woful night,
O let it never be adorn'd with Light.
The Stars, which in its twilight do appear
Let them a sullen Russet Livery wear,
Whilst those of all the other nights shine clear.
O let the hopes of that unpitied night
Be disappointed, whilst Heavens Glorious Light
Disdains its fulsome Vapours to dispel,
But leaves it, as he found it, black as Hell.
O let it never be adorn'd with Light.
The Stars, which in its twilight do appear
Let them a sullen Russet Livery wear,
Whilst those of all the other nights shine clear.
O let the hopes of that unpitied night
Be disappointed, whilst Heavens Glorious Light
Disdains its fulsome Vapours to dispel,
But leaves it, as he found it, black as Hell.
Because it Seal'd not up my Mothers Womb,
That in that Cell I might ha' found my Tomb,
That so I ne're a living Soul had been,
And those poor Eyes had ne're such sorrow seen.
That in that Cell I might ha' found my Tomb,
That so I ne're a living Soul had been,
And those poor Eyes had ne're such sorrow seen.
Ah why was I not stiffled in the Birth!
Why did my unkind Mother bring me Forth!
Why was I not in Gobbets cut for shame,
That such a Monster from the Belly came!
Why did my unkind Mother bring me Forth!
Why was I not in Gobbets cut for shame,
That such a Monster from the Belly came!
But O, since my poor Mother was constrain'd
To cast me out, what further then remain'd,
But that those Women, who were present there,
Had laid my Body in the open Air.
Would, when she was of me Delivered,
The Mid-wife then had knock'd me in the Head.
Would she had on the Pavement let me fall:
Or, with main force, had dash't me 'gainst the wall.
O would she—would she had done any thing,
Might ha' preveen'd my present suffering.
Nay, since we think that some of those can guess,
From th'Infants forehead of its future case,
Could she not have discovered in my face
My present state!—could she not plainly see
What a sad creature I in time should be!
Yes—sure she did:—O then why did she not
In kindness to me cut my tender Throat!
Alas how the good woman was to blame,
That did not kill me, to prevent my shame!
O why did women on their unkind knees
Lay me, as soon as born!—O why did these
Linnens, and Swadling cloaths for me provide,
Whilst had they left me naked, I had dy'd.
Why did the Breasts in feeding Liquor flow,
And offer suck to such an Embryo!
To cast me out, what further then remain'd,
But that those Women, who were present there,
Had laid my Body in the open Air.
Would, when she was of me Delivered,
The Mid-wife then had knock'd me in the Head.
Would she had on the Pavement let me fall:
22
O would she—would she had done any thing,
Might ha' preveen'd my present suffering.
Nay, since we think that some of those can guess,
From th'Infants forehead of its future case,
Could she not have discovered in my face
My present state!—could she not plainly see
What a sad creature I in time should be!
Yes—sure she did:—O then why did she not
In kindness to me cut my tender Throat!
Alas how the good woman was to blame,
That did not kill me, to prevent my shame!
O why did women on their unkind knees
Lay me, as soon as born!—O why did these
Linnens, and Swadling cloaths for me provide,
Whilst had they left me naked, I had dy'd.
Why did the Breasts in feeding Liquor flow,
And offer suck to such an Embryo!
For, but for these unhappy Courtesies.
Those most unseasonable Civilities,
Now in earths bosome I had lay'n at rest
And not been with those, akeing woes opprest.
Those most unseasonable Civilities,
Now in earths bosome I had lay'n at rest
And not been with those, akeing woes opprest.
I might ha' sleep't with Kings and Counsellors,
Who, in their lives erected costly Tow'rs,
And Pyramids, in Desarts, to proclame
By such wild Trophies, how they courted fame.
Who, in their lives erected costly Tow'rs,
And Pyramids, in Desarts, to proclame
By such wild Trophies, how they courted fame.
With Princes that had Silver heap'd in store,
And keep'd their Chests brimful with precious Ore,
The grand Horse-leeches of the Universe,
Th'earths high, and most Illustrious Scavengers.
Who, with what Nature gave them, not content,
Do rack her Bowels for her Excrement.
And keep'd their Chests brimful with precious Ore,
The grand Horse-leeches of the Universe,
Th'earths high, and most Illustrious Scavengers.
Who, with what Nature gave them, not content,
Do rack her Bowels for her Excrement.
Why as untimely Birth was I not hid,
And with some kindly toillet covered!
Or as a still-born Child, who sees no light,
Wrapt in the dusky Blankets of the night!
And with some kindly toillet covered!
Or as a still-born Child, who sees no light,
Wrapt in the dusky Blankets of the night!
But O that all things should ha' contribute
Thus to destroy me! since, without dispute,
Had I then dy'd, my happiness had been
As great this very day as is my pain.
For I had now secure from trouble sleep't,
And in the silent grave my quarter keep't.
I—in the grave—the grave to be envy'd,
And wish'd beyond all Palaces beside.
'Tis there, 'tis there, 'tis there where only all
The groaning world themselves can happy call.
There both those who opprest, and were opprest
On earth, enjoy uninterrupted rest.
There all are Friends: there all our Picques and Jarrs,
Our Plots, our Forraign, and our Civil Wars
Ly buryed with us; I, we all appear
To be so many dormant Brethren there.
Thus to destroy me! since, without dispute,
Had I then dy'd, my happiness had been
As great this very day as is my pain.
For I had now secure from trouble sleep't,
And in the silent grave my quarter keep't.
I—in the grave—the grave to be envy'd,
And wish'd beyond all Palaces beside.
'Tis there, 'tis there, 'tis there where only all
The groaning world themselves can happy call.
There both those who opprest, and were opprest
On earth, enjoy uninterrupted rest.
There all are Friends: there all our Picques and Jarrs,
Our Plots, our Forraign, and our Civil Wars
Ly buryed with us; I, we all appear
To be so many dormant Brethren there.
The boistrous Tyrant, who in life did rage,
To whom no sleep could give an hours Soulage;
Who betwixt King, and Pris'ner spent his years,
Amidst a thousand jealousies and fears:
In deaths cold arms when he encircled lyes,
Hee's free from all his Royal Miseries.
The valiant Warriour, who, in life, enjoy'd
But little rest, and was most part employ'd
In action, ready still to march, or fight,
And knew no difference betwixt day, and night:
Free from Allarm of Trumpets, under ground
He sweetly sleeps, until last Trumpet sound.
To whom no sleep could give an hours Soulage;
23
Amidst a thousand jealousies and fears:
In deaths cold arms when he encircled lyes,
Hee's free from all his Royal Miseries.
The valiant Warriour, who, in life, enjoy'd
But little rest, and was most part employ'd
In action, ready still to march, or fight,
And knew no difference betwixt day, and night:
Free from Allarm of Trumpets, under ground
He sweetly sleeps, until last Trumpet sound.
Poor Prisoners, who were in life distrest,
And by their cruel Creditors opprest,
In grave together comfortably rest.
No Usurer against them doth declare
In Court, no Action lies against them there.
Free from the gingling noise of Chaines, and Keyes,
And weekly threatnings, for their weekly Fees,
In Deaths low Rooms the Wretches sleep with ease.
And by their cruel Creditors opprest,
In grave together comfortably rest.
No Usurer against them doth declare
In Court, no Action lies against them there.
Free from the gingling noise of Chaines, and Keyes,
And weekly threatnings, for their weekly Fees,
In Deaths low Rooms the Wretches sleep with ease.
There, there both poor, and rich, both low and high
Princes, and Peasants undistinguish'd lye.
Those, who in life imagin'd, they excell'd
All others, and with vain Opinion swell'd
Of their own parts, do in the grave appear
But even as those, whom they call Dunces here.
Princes, and Peasants undistinguish'd lye.
Those, who in life imagin'd, they excell'd
All others, and with vain Opinion swell'd
Of their own parts, do in the grave appear
But even as those, whom they call Dunces here.
The Servant there is from his Master free,
No former quarrels make them disagree.
The slave, who all his life-time made no gain,
But what he earn'd betwixt the whip and chain,
Who oft his freedom would, with tears, demand,
And long'd to be turn'd by his Masters hand,
But still deny'd, in grave that blessing hath,
And only owes his liberty to death.
No former quarrels make them disagree.
The slave, who all his life-time made no gain,
But what he earn'd betwixt the whip and chain,
Who oft his freedom would, with tears, demand,
And long'd to be turn'd by his Masters hand,
But still deny'd, in grave that blessing hath,
And only owes his liberty to death.
O Death!—who can thy Excellence declare!
What state of life can we with thine compare!
In life we waste a few unhappy years,
In a continued Labarinth of tears,
'Twixt envy, and compassion here we breath,
Preferring worst estate of life to death.
For O this notion of life, this bare,
And mean conception of a breathing here,
Doth in our wanton ears so sweetly sound,
That we abhorre the thoughts of under-ground.
Fools! who'd be rather toss'd 'twixt wind and wave,
Than sleep on Bed of Roses in the grave!
Whilst all bedaub'd with sweat in noon-tide-light,
Does not the wearied Labourer long for night?
That free from toyl, he may enjoy, at best,
But the poor Favour of a few hours rest.
Though quickly rouz'd, before the Sun appear,
With morning-blush upon our Hemisphere.
Hee's forc'd again to toil.—
Then O how much, then o how much should those,
Who in this sleep of life find no repose,
Wish for the sleep of death, in which they may,
Beyond the fear of interrupting day,
Though thunder round this lower world should roar,
Sleep undisturb'd, while Heavens shall be no more.
What state of life can we with thine compare!
In life we waste a few unhappy years,
In a continued Labarinth of tears,
'Twixt envy, and compassion here we breath,
Preferring worst estate of life to death.
For O this notion of life, this bare,
And mean conception of a breathing here,
Doth in our wanton ears so sweetly sound,
That we abhorre the thoughts of under-ground.
Fools! who'd be rather toss'd 'twixt wind and wave,
Than sleep on Bed of Roses in the grave!
Whilst all bedaub'd with sweat in noon-tide-light,
Does not the wearied Labourer long for night?
That free from toyl, he may enjoy, at best,
But the poor Favour of a few hours rest.
Though quickly rouz'd, before the Sun appear,
With morning-blush upon our Hemisphere.
Hee's forc'd again to toil.—
Then O how much, then o how much should those,
Who in this sleep of life find no repose,
Wish for the sleep of death, in which they may,
24
Though thunder round this lower world should roar,
Sleep undisturb'd, while Heavens shall be no more.
Then why should one be thus compell'd to live,
That fain would dye? Why should th'Almighty give
A Lease of Life to one, who seriously
Hates it so much that he doth long to dy!
For what is life to one, that's destitute
Of all the favours it can contribute?
What man is he on earth that can be able,
When of what even doth make it tolerable
This life is spoil'd, ah who is he, who then
For love of life would suffer so much pain
As I endure.—
That fain would dye? Why should th'Almighty give
A Lease of Life to one, who seriously
Hates it so much that he doth long to dy!
For what is life to one, that's destitute
Of all the favours it can contribute?
What man is he on earth that can be able,
When of what even doth make it tolerable
This life is spoil'd, ah who is he, who then
For love of life would suffer so much pain
As I endure.—
Then why should one desire to live, who lyes
Environ'd with a thousand miseries?
A wretched man,—a man, who hardly knows
What life is now.—only he doth suppose,
By th'figure of his present suffering,
This life must be some very naughty thing.
Environ'd with a thousand miseries?
A wretched man,—a man, who hardly knows
What life is now.—only he doth suppose,
By th'figure of his present suffering,
This life must be some very naughty thing.
Some naughty thing!—yes sure it must be such,
As wise men never can despise too much:
A thing it is esteem'd by none, but Fools
A thing, which Boyes are even taught at Schools
To undervalue: nay each man doth boast
Himself the bravest, who contemns it most.
The Cob-web-product of a toiling breath
Never compleat, while finished by Death.
A silly toy, which, as we come to years,
Still to us more ridiculous appears.
'Tis true this lise bestowes all empty pleasures
On men on earth, it gives them Honours, Treasures,
Revenge, and Success, yes these Life doth give,
For which these Aery Fools desire to live.
As those who dream to sleep, but after all;
When they on serious Contemplation fall:
When their own minds do tell them all is vain,
Which they thought here was Permanent,—O then
O then how they abhor this Life, and fain
Would be out of its Intrigue: yes at length,
When they perceive how all their wit, and strength
Is baffled by some pitiful disease,
Which on their bodies then begins to seise:
Lord how they're vext, and penitently think
Of Life, as men next morning after drink;
When the sad pleasures of their Cups now make
Their Stomachs sick, their Heads with horrour ake:
I then, as these their Cups, so these abhor
Their Lives, and swear they'll never love them more.
But wearied of the Inconvenience
Which Life affords, with great Impatience,
O how they long to be a trudging hence,
With groans they hast the Journey of their breath,
And never rest till they arrive at Death.
As wise men never can despise too much:
A thing it is esteem'd by none, but Fools
A thing, which Boyes are even taught at Schools
To undervalue: nay each man doth boast
Himself the bravest, who contemns it most.
The Cob-web-product of a toiling breath
Never compleat, while finished by Death.
A silly toy, which, as we come to years,
Still to us more ridiculous appears.
'Tis true this lise bestowes all empty pleasures
On men on earth, it gives them Honours, Treasures,
Revenge, and Success, yes these Life doth give,
For which these Aery Fools desire to live.
As those who dream to sleep, but after all;
When they on serious Contemplation fall:
When their own minds do tell them all is vain,
Which they thought here was Permanent,—O then
O then how they abhor this Life, and fain
Would be out of its Intrigue: yes at length,
When they perceive how all their wit, and strength
Is baffled by some pitiful disease,
Which on their bodies then begins to seise:
Lord how they're vext, and penitently think
Of Life, as men next morning after drink;
When the sad pleasures of their Cups now make
Their Stomachs sick, their Heads with horrour ake:
I then, as these their Cups, so these abhor
Their Lives, and swear they'll never love them more.
But wearied of the Inconvenience
Which Life affords, with great Impatience,
O how they long to be a trudging hence,
With groans they hast the Journey of their breath,
And never rest till they arrive at Death.
25
Should any then extravagantly sad,
As I am now, be yet alace so mad,
As wish to live!—no sure, or if he do,
That man deserves no pity—
For a poor living man, with grief oppress't,
I—horrid grief,—should have in mind no rest,
Whilst clogg'd with Fetters of a lingring Breath,
But, in his Torments, force resisting Death;
Yes, and in Joyes mad excesse, fondly rave,
When he's so happy, as to find his Grave.
As I am now, be yet alace so mad,
As wish to live!—no sure, or if he do,
That man deserves no pity—
For a poor living man, with grief oppress't,
I—horrid grief,—should have in mind no rest,
Whilst clogg'd with Fetters of a lingring Breath,
But, in his Torments, force resisting Death;
Yes, and in Joyes mad excesse, fondly rave,
When he's so happy, as to find his Grave.
Then why is Life upon a man bestow'd,
That would of Death be insolently proud!
Of Death—I and esteem that favour more,
Then all the Blessings he enjoy'd before.
—O then, kind Death, now let me see thy Face:
O wilt thou me in thy cold Arms embrace:
Make haste—make haste, for I'me with Life opprest,
If thou hast any love for me, make haste,
Haste,—haste,—for Heaven sake—haste—
For why is Life upon a man bestow'd,
To whom his God no Comfort hath allow'd!
Why should I be condemn'd to Live, when all
What in this World I could Pleasure call
Is gone:—when Felons are allow'd to Dye,
After the Fisque has stripp't them,—why should I
Not yet,—not yet convict of any Crime,
Bear the sad threatnings of insulting Time!
—Insulting Time! that doth my Case proclaim,
Whilst gentle Death would cover all my shame.
That would of Death be insolently proud!
Of Death—I and esteem that favour more,
Then all the Blessings he enjoy'd before.
—O then, kind Death, now let me see thy Face:
O wilt thou me in thy cold Arms embrace:
Make haste—make haste, for I'me with Life opprest,
If thou hast any love for me, make haste,
Haste,—haste,—for Heaven sake—haste—
For why is Life upon a man bestow'd,
To whom his God no Comfort hath allow'd!
Why should I be condemn'd to Live, when all
What in this World I could Pleasure call
Is gone:—when Felons are allow'd to Dye,
After the Fisque has stripp't them,—why should I
Not yet,—not yet convict of any Crime,
Bear the sad threatnings of insulting Time!
—Insulting Time! that doth my Case proclaim,
Whilst gentle Death would cover all my shame.
Then let me dye,—yes dye—and never more
The benefit of a poor Life implore:
—Of a poor Life, a Life so poor and mean,
A Life so larded with sad grief, and pain,
As if his mortal foe a man would curse,
All his invention could not wish him worse,
Then I am now,—then I am—I—sad I
Who, that I may be sadder, must not dye.
—Lord how my Sighs—with force ingeminate
Pump up whole floods of Tears, which, when I eat,
Are now the only Sawces to my Meat.
For, from my Eyes, these, as from Water-spout
Like Rain: swoln Torrents, issue always out.
The benefit of a poor Life implore:
—Of a poor Life, a Life so poor and mean,
A Life so larded with sad grief, and pain,
As if his mortal foe a man would curse,
All his invention could not wish him worse,
Then I am now,—then I am—I—sad I
Who, that I may be sadder, must not dye.
—Lord how my Sighs—with force ingeminate
Pump up whole floods of Tears, which, when I eat,
Are now the only Sawces to my Meat.
For, from my Eyes, these, as from Water-spout
Like Rain: swoln Torrents, issue always out.
Then let me dye,—O let me quickly dye
As others do, and not so cruelly
Be forc'd thus to survive my Losse, and see
Under the Heavens no sinful man, like me.
No sinful man,—no none of all that Race
So much opprest as I am—none alace
Of Heavens foes suffering so much as I,
Who liv'd by th'Laws, and Rules of Piety:
As I, who always studied to shun
Those Courses, which a many Mortals run:
As I, who always shunn'd to give occasion
To my (indeed kind God) of provocation:
But now I plainly see my former Zeal
And Piety could not with him prevail
T'avert this blow—no—no—my clouds of Prayers
Are now dissolv'd in deluges of Tears:
And I must suffer now what never man
Endur'd before me, since the world began.
As others do, and not so cruelly
Be forc'd thus to survive my Losse, and see
Under the Heavens no sinful man, like me.
No sinful man,—no none of all that Race
So much opprest as I am—none alace
Of Heavens foes suffering so much as I,
Who liv'd by th'Laws, and Rules of Piety:
As I, who always studied to shun
Those Courses, which a many Mortals run:
As I, who always shunn'd to give occasion
To my (indeed kind God) of provocation:
26
And Piety could not with him prevail
T'avert this blow—no—no—my clouds of Prayers
Are now dissolv'd in deluges of Tears:
And I must suffer now what never man
Endur'd before me, since the world began.
Indeed in th'affluence of my former bless,
I still would fear this sad Catastasis:
And these same thoughts did so my Spirit seize,
As, in the night time my o're wearied eyes
Had little sleep: for I could ne're endure
In all my prosp'rous time, to live secure,
As some, who on their earthly Blessings rest,
Which makes me so uneasily digest
My present troubles.—O then let me dye
For since alace my Zeal and Piety,
My Prayers, my Tears, my daily Offerings
Could not prevent my present Sufferings:
How should I think they can me extricate
Out of this sad, and miserable state.
I still would fear this sad Catastasis:
And these same thoughts did so my Spirit seize,
As, in the night time my o're wearied eyes
Had little sleep: for I could ne're endure
In all my prosp'rous time, to live secure,
As some, who on their earthly Blessings rest,
Which makes me so uneasily digest
My present troubles.—O then let me dye
For since alace my Zeal and Piety,
My Prayers, my Tears, my daily Offerings
Could not prevent my present Sufferings:
How should I think they can me extricate
Out of this sad, and miserable state.
Then let me dye—O let me dye again—
I beg it, Lord—let me be out of pain
At any rate—let not thy dreadful wrath
Deprive me of the benefit of death;
As it has done of all things here below,
No—my good God—permit it not, for so
I shall in horrour live, and possibly,
After long sufferings, in despair shall dye.
I beg it, Lord—let me be out of pain
At any rate—let not thy dreadful wrath
Deprive me of the benefit of death;
As it has done of all things here below,
No—my good God—permit it not, for so
I shall in horrour live, and possibly,
After long sufferings, in despair shall dye.
O let me dye then—for thy mercies sake,
Lord let me dye—and force me not to take
Those resolutions, which some other men
Would take, if in such misery, and pain.
—Burst then, poor heart—O split—burst speedily,
That I may have the happiness to dye.
—To dye, and then I know my Makers wrath
For all this, will be by my single death
Quickly appeas'd, and in the grave I shall
Rest sweetly free of troubles, after all.
Lord let me dye—and force me not to take
Those resolutions, which some other men
Would take, if in such misery, and pain.
—Burst then, poor heart—O split—burst speedily,
That I may have the happiness to dye.
—To dye, and then I know my Makers wrath
For all this, will be by my single death
Quickly appeas'd, and in the grave I shall
Rest sweetly free of troubles, after all.
O death, what mortal can thy worth esteem!
Who's he can thy intrinsick value name!
All states of life are daily to be sold,
But thou death art not, to be had for gold:
Though th'world of life but one great mercat be,
Yet all's bought up, and there's none left for me,
But that, which even mad men would abhor:
Then why should I this life keep any more.
—This life—this hellish life—O now, kind death
Ease me of this, and take my parting Breath.
Who's he can thy intrinsick value name!
All states of life are daily to be sold,
But thou death art not, to be had for gold:
Though th'world of life but one great mercat be,
Yet all's bought up, and there's none left for me,
But that, which even mad men would abhor:
Then why should I this life keep any more.
—This life—this hellish life—O now, kind death
Ease me of this, and take my parting Breath.
Then burst, sad heart—what cannot all my Art
Be able yet to burst one broken heart!
—Yes sure—burst quickly—let me quickly dye,
And in this ugly Dunghill, where I lye
Let me be buryed—but, my Friends, take heed
My Body with much earth be covered.
Under a heap of stones, lest Labouring Men
Digging this Dung hill in the Season; when
They dung their grounds, should find my Carcass here,
For if uncovered 't will infect the Air.
Be able yet to burst one broken heart!
—Yes sure—burst quickly—let me quickly dye,
And in this ugly Dunghill, where I lye
Let me be buryed—but, my Friends, take heed
My Body with much earth be covered.
27
Digging this Dung hill in the Season; when
They dung their grounds, should find my Carcass here,
For if uncovered 't will infect the Air.
II. PART II.
Cap. IV.
Job
having thus attempted to express
That inward grief, which did his Soul oppress,
One of his three Friends, Eliphaz, by name,
Did him thus tartly for his passion blame.
That inward grief, which did his Soul oppress,
One of his three Friends, Eliphaz, by name,
Did him thus tartly for his passion blame.
Should we, says he, with thee expostulate,
And, on the matter, enter in debate;
We see the heat of thy impatience
Is such, as our discourse may give offence.
Yet though thou should'st be vext, and curse us all,
As thou hast done thy birth-day, nothing shall
Make us forget our duty (for reprove
The errors of a man we so much love;
We must indeed) then pray who can forbear
To answer thee, when such discourse we hear
Of thy great zeal, and piety of late,
Thy grace thy virtue, and I know not what,
By which thou'd make us think forsooth, that he
Who cannot act unjustly, punish'd thee
Without a fault preceeding—very fair,
Pray, who with patience can such language hear?
Should in our hearing one of God complain
Unjustly and from answering we abstain?
And, on the matter, enter in debate;
We see the heat of thy impatience
Is such, as our discourse may give offence.
Yet though thou should'st be vext, and curse us all,
As thou hast done thy birth-day, nothing shall
Make us forget our duty (for reprove
The errors of a man we so much love;
We must indeed) then pray who can forbear
To answer thee, when such discourse we hear
Of thy great zeal, and piety of late,
Thy grace thy virtue, and I know not what,
By which thou'd make us think forsooth, that he
Who cannot act unjustly, punish'd thee
Without a fault preceeding—very fair,
Pray, who with patience can such language hear?
Should in our hearing one of God complain
Unjustly and from answering we abstain?
No, no, my friend, we came not here indeed,
To hear thee in thy Passions exceed
The rage of mad-men, or allow thee so
To cry, and overact a man of woe.
For shame—how mean a thing it is to see
Thy mind thus discompos'd, that such as thee
Whose eminent prudence, virtue, piety
And long experience o'th' worlds vanity,
We thought had taught thee to know better things,
That such as thee, in foolish murmurings
Should bluster thus.—
To hear thee in thy Passions exceed
The rage of mad-men, or allow thee so
To cry, and overact a man of woe.
For shame—how mean a thing it is to see
Thy mind thus discompos'd, that such as thee
Whose eminent prudence, virtue, piety
And long experience o'th' worlds vanity,
We thought had taught thee to know better things,
That such as thee, in foolish murmurings
Should bluster thus.—
Thou who didst others in affliction teach
How to behave, would to them patience preach,
And how with crosses they should be content,
Thy self to become thus impatient!
Thou, who in troubles others hast restor'd,
Canst thou no comfort to thy self afford?
How to behave, would to them patience preach,
And how with crosses they should be content,
Thy self to become thus impatient!
Thou, who in troubles others hast restor'd,
Canst thou no comfort to thy self afford?
28
Others thou'd check, when in Adversity,
As thou dost now, they'd passionately cry,
And curse their Birth-day, as thou now hast done;
Afflictions at length are come upon
Thy self, and thou art griev'd, it toucheth thee
I'th' quick, and thou art all in flames, we see.
As thou dost now, they'd passionately cry,
And curse their Birth-day, as thou now hast done;
Afflictions at length are come upon
Thy self, and thou art griev'd, it toucheth thee
I'th' quick, and thou art all in flames, we see.
Where's now thy fear of God? thy confidence
In him? thy Uprightness? thy Patience?
Where are those Virtues now?—what—are they fled,
At such time, as thou most of them hast need?
In him? thy Uprightness? thy Patience?
Where are those Virtues now?—what—are they fled,
At such time, as thou most of them hast need?
Why should'st, my friend, like mad-man then cry out,
In view of all thy Neighbours round about?
And set out thy condition, with such Art,
As if, without cause, thou afflicted wer't?
Have not thy sins call'd for thy punishment?
Prethee forbear then this thy vain Complaint,
Who ever perish'd being Innocent?
Pray, call to mind how thou hast liv'd before,
As other sinners, and complain no more.
Revise the Annals of thy former time,
And thou wilt surely find the hidden Crime,
For which we all of us perceive indeed
Thou now art most severely punished.
In view of all thy Neighbours round about?
And set out thy condition, with such Art,
As if, without cause, thou afflicted wer't?
Have not thy sins call'd for thy punishment?
Prethee forbear then this thy vain Complaint,
Who ever perish'd being Innocent?
Pray, call to mind how thou hast liv'd before,
As other sinners, and complain no more.
Revise the Annals of thy former time,
And thou wilt surely find the hidden Crime,
For which we all of us perceive indeed
Thou now art most severely punished.
Consider this pray, and without debate,
Thou'lt not so with thy God expostulate.
He acts according to most upright Laws,
And punishes no man, without a Cause.
But I've observ'd that Antecedent sin,
(How slow soever) still doth usher in
Punishment to it self proportionate,
Which still attends the sinner, soon, or late.
So, in his Judgement on his sins may read,
And see the Cause, from whence his woes proceed.
For I have often seen that such as Plow
Your heathy Ground, and corrupt Seed do Sow,
For all their Labours, when their Harvest came,
They'd Reap no other, but the very same.
Thou'lt not so with thy God expostulate.
He acts according to most upright Laws,
And punishes no man, without a Cause.
But I've observ'd that Antecedent sin,
(How slow soever) still doth usher in
Punishment to it self proportionate,
Which still attends the sinner, soon, or late.
So, in his Judgement on his sins may read,
And see the Cause, from whence his woes proceed.
For I have often seen that such as Plow
Your heathy Ground, and corrupt Seed do Sow,
For all their Labours, when their Harvest came,
They'd Reap no other, but the very same.
Vain men! who, cause not punish'd instantly,
Mistake forbearance for indemnity:
At least they think, when Judgements God designs,
He'l be so kind, as by some outward Signs,
To give them Warning, and proclaim the War,
By th'Herauldry of some Portentuous Star.
In prævious threatnings he'l the work begin,
And not surprize them napping in their sin:
So, ere th'arryval of their punishment,
They may have some small leasure to repent,
By which perhaps they may these ills prevent.
Poor fools, who grossely do themselves abuse
With such wild notions, as if God should use
What methods they prescrib'd, and give them time
First to Commit, then mourn for every Crime.
But let's suppose that God Almighty now
To Sinning men such warnings should allow
In that case, pray what would these wretches do?
Would they repent? I doubt they would not:—nay
I think they'd rather crave a longer day;
That they might mourn, with more convenience,
And so perhaps some hours, ere they go hence,
They'd drop a Tear, or two, and openly
Confess, what they no longer dare deny,
So fraught with hopes, and sins, they'd shrewdly dy.
Mistake forbearance for indemnity:
At least they think, when Judgements God designs,
He'l be so kind, as by some outward Signs,
To give them Warning, and proclaim the War,
By th'Herauldry of some Portentuous Star.
In prævious threatnings he'l the work begin,
And not surprize them napping in their sin:
So, ere th'arryval of their punishment,
They may have some small leasure to repent,
By which perhaps they may these ills prevent.
Poor fools, who grossely do themselves abuse
With such wild notions, as if God should use
What methods they prescrib'd, and give them time
First to Commit, then mourn for every Crime.
But let's suppose that God Almighty now
To Sinning men such warnings should allow
In that case, pray what would these wretches do?
29
I think they'd rather crave a longer day;
That they might mourn, with more convenience,
And so perhaps some hours, ere they go hence,
They'd drop a Tear, or two, and openly
Confess, what they no longer dare deny,
So fraught with hopes, and sins, they'd shrewdly dy.
Thus then we see to warn, and to surprize
Is all one thing, for no man, while he dies
Thinks on Repentance, and it may be then
With a few puling words, opprest with pain,
He'l say he's truly griev'd to think upon
His former Actings, and begin annon
To settle his affaires; and possibly
Emit some pious groans before he dye.
Vain, hoping sinner! on what grounds should he
Thus make account? when we may dayly see
How when a many swell with boystrous Pride,
And undervalue all Mankind beside,
Death, or Destruction suddainly appears,
And pulls them out o'th' world by the Ears.
Is all one thing, for no man, while he dies
Thinks on Repentance, and it may be then
With a few puling words, opprest with pain,
He'l say he's truly griev'd to think upon
His former Actings, and begin annon
To settle his affaires; and possibly
Emit some pious groans before he dye.
Vain, hoping sinner! on what grounds should he
Thus make account? when we may dayly see
How when a many swell with boystrous Pride,
And undervalue all Mankind beside,
Death, or Destruction suddainly appears,
And pulls them out o'th' world by the Ears.
For instance see some proud imperious thing,
Amongst its Neighbours keep such Revelling,
As Lyons, and their Broods in Forrests do
Amongst their Fellow-bruits: for mark but how,
By the same Law, as those do bear away
What e're they find, proclaiming it their prey,
So the oppressing wretch, under pretence
Of Law, and Justice, by plain violence,
Seizes on all his Neighbours Lands around,
And then with Law-suits doth them so confound,
They'r glad at length for Aikers to compound,
And be his Tennents. Yet for all his Pride,
When in Oppressions triumph he doth Ride,
God strikes this lofty Tyrant on the Face,
And layes him ith' Dust, with all his cursed Race.
Amongst its Neighbours keep such Revelling,
As Lyons, and their Broods in Forrests do
Amongst their Fellow-bruits: for mark but how,
By the same Law, as those do bear away
What e're they find, proclaiming it their prey,
So the oppressing wretch, under pretence
Of Law, and Justice, by plain violence,
Seizes on all his Neighbours Lands around,
And then with Law-suits doth them so confound,
They'r glad at length for Aikers to compound,
And be his Tennents. Yet for all his Pride,
When in Oppressions triumph he doth Ride,
God strikes this lofty Tyrant on the Face,
And layes him ith' Dust, with all his cursed Race.
As dead he lyes, and no man doth bemoan him,
From every corner Pleas break out upon him:
All those, whose means by force he did retain,
Are soon restored to their own again.
Then this poor Lyon starves, for lack of food,
None pity him, although he roar aloud,
And all his Whelps are scattered here, and there
To rake the Dung-hill, for their dayly fare.
From every corner Pleas break out upon him:
All those, whose means by force he did retain,
Are soon restored to their own again.
Then this poor Lyon starves, for lack of food,
None pity him, although he roar aloud,
And all his Whelps are scattered here, and there
To rake the Dung-hill, for their dayly fare.
But now, my friend, that thou may'st not suppose
Those words to be my own, I must unclose
The Secrets of my Heart, and plainly tell
What God, of late, did to my Soul reveal.
Those words to be my own, I must unclose
The Secrets of my Heart, and plainly tell
What God, of late, did to my Soul reveal.
About the time, when Mortals wearied,
With anxious Thoughts, do tumble in their Bed,
And one small nap after another catch,
As if they did not mean to sleep, but watch.
With anxious Thoughts, do tumble in their Bed,
And one small nap after another catch,
As if they did not mean to sleep, but watch.
30
Fear came upon me, terrours did assemble,
Before me, which made all my joynts to tremble;
My nerves grew stiff, my heart did shrewdly beat,
And I all o're lay daubling in cold sweat.
Before me, which made all my joynts to tremble;
My nerves grew stiff, my heart did shrewdly beat,
And I all o're lay daubling in cold sweat.
The winds did rage and bluster in my sight,
Which made my haires for fear, to stand upright,
And all my flesh to quiver, nay my bones
Keep'd such a ratling, as a bag of stones
Beat by an Artists hand, do what I please,
I could not shun the grinding of my knees.
Which made my haires for fear, to stand upright,
And all my flesh to quiver, nay my bones
Keep'd such a ratling, as a bag of stones
Beat by an Artists hand, do what I please,
I could not shun the grinding of my knees.
Then see I one, whose face I did not know
Before my eyes appear'd a glorious show,
Which goodly sight did soon my fear allay,
And horrid night to me became as day.
So, when these thundring feares composed were,
In serene silence I a voice did hear
Which thus exprest it self.—
Before my eyes appear'd a glorious show,
Which goodly sight did soon my fear allay,
And horrid night to me became as day.
So, when these thundring feares composed were,
In serene silence I a voice did hear
Which thus exprest it self.—
Upon the earth, what mortal man is he,
Can be more just then God; who e're he be
That in his own eyes thinks himself more pure
Then is his maker, he mistakes it sure.
Can be more just then God; who e're he be
That in his own eyes thinks himself more pure
Then is his maker, he mistakes it sure.
For, when his very Angels he did check
And them for folly soundly did correct:
When for his pride, one mighty Angel fell
From highest Heavens to th'lowest pit of Hell,
When in those heavenly creatures he did find
No constancy according to his mind:
And them for folly soundly did correct:
When for his pride, one mighty Angel fell
From highest Heavens to th'lowest pit of Hell,
When in those heavenly creatures he did find
No constancy according to his mind:
Can sinful man, that mean, and silly tool,
Who lives in Huts of clay be such a fool,
As think he can perfection attain.
To which, who ere Aspyres does toyle in vain.
He, who from dust derives his Pedegree,
Compos'd of dust, who dwells in dust, shall he
Pretend to that perfection in his pride,
Which to his Angels God has even deny'd.
Poor dying wretch! shall he, with those compare,
Who dwell in heavens, and immortal are.
Who lives in Huts of clay be such a fool,
As think he can perfection attain.
To which, who ere Aspyres does toyle in vain.
He, who from dust derives his Pedegree,
Compos'd of dust, who dwells in dust, shall he
Pretend to that perfection in his pride,
Which to his Angels God has even deny'd.
Poor dying wretch! shall he, with those compare,
Who dwell in heavens, and immortal are.
Ah don't we see how vain man perisheth,
And every day augments the rolls of death:
He's alwayes on his march, his Passing-bell
From morn, to night doth, every minute, knell.
Yet no man doth consider seriously
The importance of this mortality.
And every day augments the rolls of death:
He's alwayes on his march, his Passing-bell
From morn, to night doth, every minute, knell.
Yet no man doth consider seriously
The importance of this mortality.
Do not their honours, with them, fly away?
And stoop to wasting time, as well, as they,
Who did enjoy them? I their dignity
Crumbles to dust, and when the wretches dye,
They drown ith' Ocean of Eternity.
Yet no man doth regard this, none so wise,
As, after all this, once to cast his eyes
Upon this subject, which so much concerns
All men to know; yet never mortal learns
The art of dying, though each hour we hear
Sad lectures of it sounded in our eare;
And every moment doth such meanes afford,
As may instruct us, while deaths raging sword
To none giues quarter, but doth every day,
Sweep us, and all our hopefull things away.
For, as they live, alace how many dye,
Pregnant examples o'th' worlds vanity.
And stoop to wasting time, as well, as they,
Who did enjoy them? I their dignity
Crumbles to dust, and when the wretches dye,
They drown ith' Ocean of Eternity.
Yet no man doth regard this, none so wise,
As, after all this, once to cast his eyes
Upon this subject, which so much concerns
All men to know; yet never mortal learns
The art of dying, though each hour we hear
Sad lectures of it sounded in our eare;
31
As may instruct us, while deaths raging sword
To none giues quarter, but doth every day,
Sweep us, and all our hopefull things away.
For, as they live, alace how many dye,
Pregnant examples o'th' worlds vanity.
Cap. V.
Consider then, and ponder well, I pray
These my discourses, marke me what I say:
Thy plagues I see, indeed, are very great
Yet is thy grief no less intemperate.
Others have been, and as thou art, now are,
For thy condition is not singular.
Many belov'd of God, whil'st here below,
Have suffered more, then thou didst ere yet know,
In mind, and body have endur'd much pain,
Yet none of them, as thou didst, did complaine.
And where are all the Saints, who now enjoy
Eternal rest? how did they here employ
Their time, when plagues so thick upon them fell,
Their lives became the Portraiture of Hell;
Why none of them did raile, as thou dost now,
But calmely would before their maker bow,
And gently all their blows receive. none ere
Of those did in their humours thus appear,
As thou dost now.
These my discourses, marke me what I say:
Thy plagues I see, indeed, are very great
Yet is thy grief no less intemperate.
Others have been, and as thou art, now are,
For thy condition is not singular.
Many belov'd of God, whil'st here below,
Have suffered more, then thou didst ere yet know,
In mind, and body have endur'd much pain,
Yet none of them, as thou didst, did complaine.
And where are all the Saints, who now enjoy
Eternal rest? how did they here employ
Their time, when plagues so thick upon them fell,
Their lives became the Portraiture of Hell;
Why none of them did raile, as thou dost now,
But calmely would before their maker bow,
And gently all their blows receive. none ere
Of those did in their humours thus appear,
As thou dost now.
For, when a man doth in affliction lye,
What bootest him, like a child, to weep, and cry?
Such houlings, and repinings sure are vaine,
And 'stead of easing, do encrease the pain.
But I've observ'd when any man of wealth
Is once depriv'd of riches, or of health:
Although before heed seem to represent
In all his actings something of a Saint.
Yet then he cryes, then he repines amain,
Then he complaines of poverty, and pain:
O then he railes upon that providence,
Which was, in former times, his sole defence.
For now—all sorrow, wrath, and desperation
He thinks on nothing less then restauration,
Whereas before he thought he was so sure,
His wealth to generations would endure.
What bootest him, like a child, to weep, and cry?
Such houlings, and repinings sure are vaine,
And 'stead of easing, do encrease the pain.
But I've observ'd when any man of wealth
Is once depriv'd of riches, or of health:
Although before heed seem to represent
In all his actings something of a Saint.
Yet then he cryes, then he repines amain,
Then he complaines of poverty, and pain:
O then he railes upon that providence,
Which was, in former times, his sole defence.
For now—all sorrow, wrath, and desperation
He thinks on nothing less then restauration,
Whereas before he thought he was so sure,
His wealth to generations would endure.
Well I have seen some Gallant in his pride
Insulsly laugh at all the world beside,
Fix'd, and firme-rooted, as he did suppose,
And proof against the batterie of his foes,
When, on a suddain providence would frowne,
And this same fool would tumble headlong down,
With all his sins about him, in a tryce,
Kill'd by the fall from glories precipice.
Insulsly laugh at all the world beside,
Fix'd, and firme-rooted, as he did suppose,
And proof against the batterie of his foes,
When, on a suddain providence would frowne,
And this same fool would tumble headlong down,
32
Kill'd by the fall from glories precipice.
Then would I say this man deservedly
Doth fall, and with him all his family,
Is levelled with dust, because he did
In such vain, transitory things confide.
For by fair justice he shall be destroy'd,
And all his unjust purchases made voide,
Then, after he has justly forfeit all,
He, without pity shall most justly fall.
Doth fall, and with him all his family,
Is levelled with dust, because he did
In such vain, transitory things confide.
For by fair justice he shall be destroy'd,
And all his unjust purchases made voide,
Then, after he has justly forfeit all,
He, without pity shall most justly fall.
Those, who are hungry shall eat up his grain,
And reap the profit of his nine Months pain:
Nay they shall sweep his grounds, and fields so clean
As his poor children shall find nought to glean.
The thirsty travellers, who for rain doth gape,
Shall drink up all the substance of his grape.
And reap the profit of his nine Months pain:
Nay they shall sweep his grounds, and fields so clean
As his poor children shall find nought to glean.
The thirsty travellers, who for rain doth gape,
Shall drink up all the substance of his grape.
For thou must know afflictions do not come
By accident, as is suppos'd by some,
On any man, nor do Heavens noble laws
Allow that any one without a cause
Should suffer punishment,—no not at all,
There's no such thing, as that you fortune call:
'Tis a meer notion, a device of men
To palliate their sins, and entertain,
A proud opinion of their innocence,
And lay the blame of all on Providence,
Which they call fortune, and conclude from thence
When any are afflicted at the rate,
As thou art now, that they're unfortunate,
Unlucky, and I know not what—alace
Why should we with such fopperies, as these,
Abuse our selves, when certainly we know,
Who know there is a God, things are not so:
But that our God doth formally arraigne
For every sin convict, and punish men.
Then know—
By accident, as is suppos'd by some,
On any man, nor do Heavens noble laws
Allow that any one without a cause
Should suffer punishment,—no not at all,
There's no such thing, as that you fortune call:
'Tis a meer notion, a device of men
To palliate their sins, and entertain,
A proud opinion of their innocence,
And lay the blame of all on Providence,
Which they call fortune, and conclude from thence
When any are afflicted at the rate,
As thou art now, that they're unfortunate,
Unlucky, and I know not what—alace
Why should we with such fopperies, as these,
Abuse our selves, when certainly we know,
Who know there is a God, things are not so:
But that our God doth formally arraigne
For every sin convict, and punish men.
Then know—
That no affliction comes by accident,
But that all Judgements to our doors are sent
By rule of Heavens Court where information,
Is made, and prov'd, preceeding condemnation.
Besides as sparks, by nature upwards fly,
So man to sorrows born doth live and dye;
In a continued sweat of toyle, and care,
With dregs of anger, for his daily fare.
Tortures of mind, and body all at once
Do suck the marrow from his very bones:
Nor can he pleasure to himself project,
Or joy, and comfort, in this earth expect.
But that all Judgements to our doors are sent
By rule of Heavens Court where information,
Is made, and prov'd, preceeding condemnation.
Besides as sparks, by nature upwards fly,
So man to sorrows born doth live and dye;
In a continued sweat of toyle, and care,
With dregs of anger, for his daily fare.
Tortures of mind, and body all at once
Do suck the marrow from his very bones:
Nor can he pleasure to himself project,
Or joy, and comfort, in this earth expect.
Were I then in thy lamentable case,
I'd not repine, but humblie make address,
To my good God, from him I would demand
A patient mind, and learn to understand
From whence such floods of evils do proceed,
And in my sorrows I my sins would read.
I'd not repine, but humblie make address,
To my good God, from him I would demand
A patient mind, and learn to understand
From whence such floods of evils do proceed,
And in my sorrows I my sins would read.
33
To him alone my self I would apply,
To whom the world belongs, who sits on High,
To whom all Creatures in subjection are,
Whose Jurisdiction doth exceed by far
All Powers on Earth; who things unsearchable
Performes, of which we are not capable
To give a Judgement, things beyond our reach,
Things, which to act no humane Art can Teach.
To whom the world belongs, who sits on High,
To whom all Creatures in subjection are,
Whose Jurisdiction doth exceed by far
All Powers on Earth; who things unsearchable
Performes, of which we are not capable
To give a Judgement, things beyond our reach,
Things, which to act no humane Art can Teach.
'Tis he, who makes the Rain from Clouds to fall,
By which the Earth made pregnant, yeelds us all
Our Hearts can wish, affords us dayly Bread,
Drink, Cloaths, and Med'cine, and what else we need
For Maintnance of that Fabrick, which he fram'd,
To Lodge the Soul, and it the Body nam'd.
—The Body,—O a thing most excellent!
For whose Subsistence, we should even torment
Our Souls: a very precious thing indeed,
That on the Labours of the Soul should feed!
The Body! a meer piece of useful Dust
Demis'd, for some time, to the Soul, in Trust,
Though for its use, the too kind Soul, at best,
Payes a severe, and dreadful Interest:
Whilst to afford it pleasure, legally
It forfaults its own true Felicity.
By which the Earth made pregnant, yeelds us all
Our Hearts can wish, affords us dayly Bread,
Drink, Cloaths, and Med'cine, and what else we need
For Maintnance of that Fabrick, which he fram'd,
To Lodge the Soul, and it the Body nam'd.
—The Body,—O a thing most excellent!
For whose Subsistence, we should even torment
Our Souls: a very precious thing indeed,
That on the Labours of the Soul should feed!
The Body! a meer piece of useful Dust
Demis'd, for some time, to the Soul, in Trust,
Though for its use, the too kind Soul, at best,
Payes a severe, and dreadful Interest:
Whilst to afford it pleasure, legally
It forfaults its own true Felicity.
What is't we hugg then? what do we esteem?
A dying thing, which scarce deserves a name!
A thing, so long as Soul doth it inspire,
Moves for a time, like Puppet on a Wyre;
That gone, it moves, it prats, it squeeks no more,
But a dull piece of Clay, as't was before,
Breathless, and Sapless on the Ground it lies,
Yet, in its Fall, its Maker glorifies,
As well, as in its Frame; because from thence,
We learn what Honour, and Obedience
We owe to him, who this fair Fabrick raises,
And by a Breath destroyes it when he pleases.
Besides, who'd not in Duty be exact,
When still before his Eyes he sees the Rack,
The Axe, the Gibbet, and in Mind doth feel
Sad apprehensions of the dreadful Wheel?
Is not our case the same? do we not see
How many thousand, Shapes of Death there be
Dayly presented to our view to show,
That after all, all to the Grave must go.
A dying thing, which scarce deserves a name!
A thing, so long as Soul doth it inspire,
Moves for a time, like Puppet on a Wyre;
That gone, it moves, it prats, it squeeks no more,
But a dull piece of Clay, as't was before,
Breathless, and Sapless on the Ground it lies,
Yet, in its Fall, its Maker glorifies,
As well, as in its Frame; because from thence,
We learn what Honour, and Obedience
We owe to him, who this fair Fabrick raises,
And by a Breath destroyes it when he pleases.
Besides, who'd not in Duty be exact,
When still before his Eyes he sees the Rack,
The Axe, the Gibbet, and in Mind doth feel
Sad apprehensions of the dreadful Wheel?
Is not our case the same? do we not see
How many thousand, Shapes of Death there be
Dayly presented to our view to show,
That after all, all to the Grave must go.
From this fair Topick, let us argue then.
He is our God, and we poor sinful men,
Therefore since to him we owe Life, and Breath,
We should live well, that, when invading Death
Approaches, he may find us on our Guard,
Not by his gastly looks to be out-dar'd.
For though he seize the Body, yet on high
The Soul shall live to perpetuity.
He is our God, and we poor sinful men,
Therefore since to him we owe Life, and Breath,
We should live well, that, when invading Death
Approaches, he may find us on our Guard,
Not by his gastly looks to be out-dar'd.
For though he seize the Body, yet on high
The Soul shall live to perpetuity.
'Tis he, the mighty God, 'tis he alone,
Who in the Heavens has set up his Throne,
From whence he orders all things, and doth raise
This man to honours, and that man debase;
That to th'afflicted he may comfort give,
And make those, whom the world abhorreth live.
Who in the Heavens has set up his Throne,
34
This man to honours, and that man debase;
That to th'afflicted he may comfort give,
And make those, whom the world abhorreth live.
The subtile plottings of our knowing men
He disappoints, and makes their projects vain:
He laughs at all their consults, and despises—
Both them, and all their silly state devises.
So that what e're those Crocodiles project,
Their Machinations never take effect.
He disappoints, and makes their projects vain:
He laughs at all their consults, and despises—
Both them, and all their silly state devises.
So that what e're those Crocodiles project,
Their Machinations never take effect.
He spoiles their counsels, and makes all their wit
Like salt, whose savour's lost, down-right unfit
For any thing, save at a round of Ale,
To be the subject of some Country tale.
For the Worlds wisdom in Gods eyes is folly
Their Art but th'product of dull Melancholly.
Like salt, whose savour's lost, down-right unfit
For any thing, save at a round of Ale,
To be the subject of some Country tale.
For the Worlds wisdom in Gods eyes is folly
Their Art but th'product of dull Melancholly.
Their reasoning is notional, and vain
Erring in things even evident, and plain:
Things manifest, things clear, as noon-tide-light,
To them are dark, as to one in the night
Who nothing sees, gropes, but no rode can find,
And stands confounded betwixt raine, and wind,
Whil'st at each justling shrub his joints do tremble.
Thinking the Night-thieves, round him do assemble.
Erring in things even evident, and plain:
Things manifest, things clear, as noon-tide-light,
To them are dark, as to one in the night
Who nothing sees, gropes, but no rode can find,
And stands confounded betwixt raine, and wind,
Whil'st at each justling shrub his joints do tremble.
Thinking the Night-thieves, round him do assemble.
Lord what is all we brag of then for what
Keep we such toyl on earth?—is't only that
We may be thought more wise, than others are
And be esteemed wits, 'tis very fair:
A rare designe indeed, well worth our pain,
When after all we learn, or can retain
All our fine wisdom in Gods eyes is vain.
Keep we such toyl on earth?—is't only that
We may be thought more wise, than others are
And be esteemed wits, 'tis very fair:
A rare designe indeed, well worth our pain,
When after all we learn, or can retain
All our fine wisdom in Gods eyes is vain.
For when our Politicians counsel take
How they the just, and pious man may break,
Partly by law, partly by violence,
Th'Almighty soon appears in his defence:
He rescues him from all their calumnies
Their false Inditements, and the Batteries
Of their foul mouths, and powerfully withstands
The rude attaques of their all-seizing-hands,
That grasp at person, chattels, fame, and lands.
How they the just, and pious man may break,
Partly by law, partly by violence,
Th'Almighty soon appears in his defence:
He rescues him from all their calumnies
Their false Inditements, and the Batteries
Of their foul mouths, and powerfully withstands
The rude attaques of their all-seizing-hands,
That grasp at person, chattels, fame, and lands.
Thus from the snare the just man doth escape
And saves his meanes, for which those fools did gape,
As all had been even ready now to fall
Into their hands: whilst the unjust Cabal
Now disappointed of their former hope,
Are forc'd at length, their ravenous mouth to stop,
And all with shame confounded, to confesse
Gods justice, and their own vile foolishness.
Our God alone the just mans cause maintaines,
And with strong Bitt, and seasonable Reins,
He curbs the fury of th'oppressing beast,
Who, to enrich himself, would lay all waste.
Who formally denies that Laws were made
For such as him, to check his roving trade:
But boldly claimes all that his armes can take
And, in his Wars doth no distinction make
Betwixt his Allies, and his open foes,
But treates them all at the same rate, God knows,
Our God shall sure attaque this foolish thing,
Whil'st all his friends do yet his triumphs sing,
And 'midst his pleasures, make unwelcome death
Rob him of both his Lawrels, and his breath.
And saves his meanes, for which those fools did gape,
As all had been even ready now to fall
Into their hands: whilst the unjust Cabal
Now disappointed of their former hope,
Are forc'd at length, their ravenous mouth to stop,
And all with shame confounded, to confesse
Gods justice, and their own vile foolishness.
Our God alone the just mans cause maintaines,
And with strong Bitt, and seasonable Reins,
He curbs the fury of th'oppressing beast,
Who, to enrich himself, would lay all waste.
Who formally denies that Laws were made
For such as him, to check his roving trade:
35
And, in his Wars doth no distinction make
Betwixt his Allies, and his open foes,
But treates them all at the same rate, God knows,
Our God shall sure attaque this foolish thing,
Whil'st all his friends do yet his triumphs sing,
And 'midst his pleasures, make unwelcome death
Rob him of both his Lawrels, and his breath.
Then since the case is thus, let's be content
With whatsoever plague, or punishment
Our God inflicts upon us, for, be sure,
To such as us his kindness doth endure.
O happy is that man, whom God corrects,
And for his leud, and sinful courses checks!
Thrice happy he, whom, when his sin abounds,
And makes him proud, God in his mercy wounds,
And brings him low, that on his former state,
In bed of sorrow he may meditate
Counting what time he hath in folly spent,
And, in return, how his sad punishment
Makes all his ballance. Let's then understand
Our selves, and patiently th'Almighties hand
Endure, and in our minds rest satisfy'd,
That for our good, we're with afflictions try'd.
With whatsoever plague, or punishment
Our God inflicts upon us, for, be sure,
To such as us his kindness doth endure.
O happy is that man, whom God corrects,
And for his leud, and sinful courses checks!
Thrice happy he, whom, when his sin abounds,
And makes him proud, God in his mercy wounds,
And brings him low, that on his former state,
In bed of sorrow he may meditate
Counting what time he hath in folly spent,
And, in return, how his sad punishment
Makes all his ballance. Let's then understand
Our selves, and patiently th'Almighties hand
Endure, and in our minds rest satisfy'd,
That for our good, we're with afflictions try'd.
For as he gives the wound, with the same hand
He binds it up: he never wants a band,
A Salve, a Plaster ready, in such cases,
Which he applyes to all th'affected places.
He wounds, he cures, makes sick, and doth restore
Men to their health; what can we ask for more?
He binds it up: he never wants a band,
A Salve, a Plaster ready, in such cases,
Which he applyes to all th'affected places.
He wounds, he cures, makes sick, and doth restore
Men to their health; what can we ask for more?
Though troubles upon troubles, woes, on woes
Should tumble on us, as the Ocean flows:
And the rude tempests of adversity
Should drive us on the rocks of poverty;
Where sure to suffer Shipwrack, we despair
Of all relief, then will our God take care
To rescue us, that so we may perceive
'Tis he alone, who doth his people save,
Let's praise him then, pray to him, and obey
His word, and we shall no more salvage pay,
Should tumble on us, as the Ocean flows:
And the rude tempests of adversity
Should drive us on the rocks of poverty;
Where sure to suffer Shipwrack, we despair
Of all relief, then will our God take care
To rescue us, that so we may perceive
'Tis he alone, who doth his people save,
Let's praise him then, pray to him, and obey
His word, and we shall no more salvage pay,
When by oppression all our meanes are seiz'd
And we, and all our familyes are sqees'd
Within the Compasse of a hazle nut,
For our Provisions, and our bread is cut,
Like Sugar-tablets, in small lozanges,
T'allay the hunger, which doth sore oppress
Our little ones, and makes them often cry,
With teares, for crums of bread, or else they dye:
Of which when each so hunger-starv'd, and pain'd
In graines, and scruples has its dividend,
These scrambling morsels rather doe incite
Then quash the fury of their appetite.
Whilst thus, I say, we hunger-sick shall lye
Under Deaths Talons, and upbraidingly
Our Enemies shall laugh out all around,
Whilst we, and ours do tear the very Ground,
For Foots, and Vermine, or what ever may
Detain the poor life but one single day;
Then shall our God appear, and furnish store
Of Bread for us, and all our Infants, more
Then we could even ha' wish'd, and let us see
Th'unjust for want of Food may dye, but he
Who trusts in God shall ne're want sustenance,
For I've been Young, in Age I now advance,
Yet all my time I never could observe
One man that fear'd our God for hunger starve.
Nor could I ever see the just mans Seed
Like those o'th wickeds offspring, begging Bread.
And we, and all our familyes are sqees'd
Within the Compasse of a hazle nut,
For our Provisions, and our bread is cut,
Like Sugar-tablets, in small lozanges,
T'allay the hunger, which doth sore oppress
Our little ones, and makes them often cry,
With teares, for crums of bread, or else they dye:
Of which when each so hunger-starv'd, and pain'd
In graines, and scruples has its dividend,
These scrambling morsels rather doe incite
Then quash the fury of their appetite.
Whilst thus, I say, we hunger-sick shall lye
Under Deaths Talons, and upbraidingly
36
Whilst we, and ours do tear the very Ground,
For Foots, and Vermine, or what ever may
Detain the poor life but one single day;
Then shall our God appear, and furnish store
Of Bread for us, and all our Infants, more
Then we could even ha' wish'd, and let us see
Th'unjust for want of Food may dye, but he
Who trusts in God shall ne're want sustenance,
For I've been Young, in Age I now advance,
Yet all my time I never could observe
One man that fear'd our God for hunger starve.
Nor could I ever see the just mans Seed
Like those o'th wickeds offspring, begging Bread.
Nay when the men of War shall roar around us,
And with their threatning Oaths shall so confound us,
As we shall not know whether we should flye
To save our Lives, and Goods—
When the enraged Sword shall hew down all,
And Old, and Young do by its fury fall;
Then shall the Lord make Angels us Environ
To Guard us from the blows o'th' dreadful Iron
So, whilst behind, on both sides, and before
The hungry steal, our Neighbours shall devour
To us, and ours, God shall be Tutelar,
And save us from all miseries of War.
And with their threatning Oaths shall so confound us,
As we shall not know whether we should flye
To save our Lives, and Goods—
When the enraged Sword shall hew down all,
And Old, and Young do by its fury fall;
Then shall the Lord make Angels us Environ
To Guard us from the blows o'th' dreadful Iron
So, whilst behind, on both sides, and before
The hungry steal, our Neighbours shall devour
To us, and ours, God shall be Tutelar,
And save us from all miseries of War.
Nay further, when another Sword doth rage
And with us doth more cunningly engage;
The Sword o'th' Tongue then that of Steel, more feirce,
(For this the Body, that the Soul doth peirce)
A killing Sword, and yet invisible;
A Sword, whose wound is inperceptible,
By outward Signs: like Thunder, wounds the Heart,
The Body still untouch'd in any part.
A Sword that kills us always unprepar'd
For fight, whose blows the bravest cannot ward.
A Sword, that whet with Malice, day, and night
Is still in Edge, yet ne're within the sight
Of him it wounds, the subtlest of all ills,
Like {Basilisk}, unseen, it sees, and kills.
Amuseless Sword in open fields, and tame,
But in dark Rooms makes havock of our Fame.
The Champions, who this famous Sword do use
Are the 'meer Dross of Nature, the Refuse
Of Mankind, who by secret Calumnies,
Foul Characters, false Oaths, and serious lyes,
Vain Apprehensions, Jealousies, and Fears,
Endeavour to set all the World by th'Ears.
Whilst the false decoyes hugg themselves to see
The wish'd effects of their vile Treachery.
Poor Caterpillars!—who 'cause no man can
Find out their Wakes, escape th'revenge of man,
Yet God has Spyes on those malicious fools,
Ferrets them out of all their lurking Holes,
Though here they scorn the Ear, the Sight, the Scent,
Yet God will bring such out to Punishment,
Those ugly crawling Toads, with malice swell'd
Shall be at length destroy'd in open field;
To show how God abhors the very Race
Of Back-biters, as they still shun the Face
Of those they injure, and will vindicate
The just from their aspersions soon, or late.
From this same Sword, which others doth devour,
Thou shalt be free, and fear its Edge no more,
Than those, who in Proof-armour do not feel
The furious Gashes of the Murdring Steel.
And with us doth more cunningly engage;
The Sword o'th' Tongue then that of Steel, more feirce,
(For this the Body, that the Soul doth peirce)
A killing Sword, and yet invisible;
A Sword, whose wound is inperceptible,
By outward Signs: like Thunder, wounds the Heart,
The Body still untouch'd in any part.
A Sword that kills us always unprepar'd
For fight, whose blows the bravest cannot ward.
A Sword, that whet with Malice, day, and night
Is still in Edge, yet ne're within the sight
Of him it wounds, the subtlest of all ills,
Like {Basilisk}, unseen, it sees, and kills.
Amuseless Sword in open fields, and tame,
But in dark Rooms makes havock of our Fame.
The Champions, who this famous Sword do use
Are the 'meer Dross of Nature, the Refuse
Of Mankind, who by secret Calumnies,
Foul Characters, false Oaths, and serious lyes,
Vain Apprehensions, Jealousies, and Fears,
Endeavour to set all the World by th'Ears.
Whilst the false decoyes hugg themselves to see
The wish'd effects of their vile Treachery.
Poor Caterpillars!—who 'cause no man can
Find out their Wakes, escape th'revenge of man,
Yet God has Spyes on those malicious fools,
Ferrets them out of all their lurking Holes,
37
Yet God will bring such out to Punishment,
Those ugly crawling Toads, with malice swell'd
Shall be at length destroy'd in open field;
To show how God abhors the very Race
Of Back-biters, as they still shun the Face
Of those they injure, and will vindicate
The just from their aspersions soon, or late.
From this same Sword, which others doth devour,
Thou shalt be free, and fear its Edge no more,
Than those, who in Proof-armour do not feel
The furious Gashes of the Murdring Steel.
But when both War, and Famine do appear,
And Food shall be intolerably dear:
When wicked men shall howl, and make a noise,
For lack of Bread, thou freely shalt rejoyce,
And be of want of Meat no more afraid
Than those, who have their Stores in Garners laid.
And Food shall be intolerably dear:
When wicked men shall howl, and make a noise,
For lack of Bread, thou freely shalt rejoyce,
And be of want of Meat no more afraid
Than those, who have their Stores in Garners laid.
The very stones o'th' field shall seem to be
At such time, in firm allyance with thee,
And in their several stations shall produce
Something, that to thy welfare may conduce:
Each Beast its throat shall offer to the Knife,
With emulation; to support thy Life.
At such time, in firm allyance with thee,
And in their several stations shall produce
Something, that to thy welfare may conduce:
Each Beast its throat shall offer to the Knife,
With emulation; to support thy Life.
In fine shalt be so happy, thou shalt know
No want of any Blessing here below,
Firm peace within thy walls, thy family
Shall live with thee in perfect amity:
All thy Relations shall thee kindly own,
And to undo thy Fame shall joyn with none.
As some, who on small Piques, and petty Jars
Do lay foundations of fierce, lasting Wars;
Against their nighest Friends, and Blood-Relations
And will not hearken to accommodations:
Whose wretched malice doth admit no change,
But with a most implacable revenge,
Pursue their foolish quarrels, never cease
From Railing, and have in their Minds no Peace.
No Wars like those 'mongst Friends, no Piques so hot,
As those in the same Family begot:
When Blood it self in several streams divides,
And checks its common Course, by Counter-tides,
Of Envy, Malice, Pride, Revenge, and Hate,
O how much to be pitied is the State
Of that accurs'd unhappy Family,
Where such sad Piques have broke its Unity.
No want of any Blessing here below,
Firm peace within thy walls, thy family
Shall live with thee in perfect amity:
All thy Relations shall thee kindly own,
And to undo thy Fame shall joyn with none.
As some, who on small Piques, and petty Jars
Do lay foundations of fierce, lasting Wars;
Against their nighest Friends, and Blood-Relations
And will not hearken to accommodations:
Whose wretched malice doth admit no change,
But with a most implacable revenge,
Pursue their foolish quarrels, never cease
From Railing, and have in their Minds no Peace.
No Wars like those 'mongst Friends, no Piques so hot,
As those in the same Family begot:
When Blood it self in several streams divides,
And checks its common Course, by Counter-tides,
Of Envy, Malice, Pride, Revenge, and Hate,
O how much to be pitied is the State
Of that accurs'd unhappy Family,
Where such sad Piques have broke its Unity.
Thou shalt be ignorant of all such, and scarce
Think there are such things as domestick Jars,
Thy Blood shall in a peaceful Channel flow,
And all its Course no other Banks shall know,
Than those of Love, and Friendship, all thy Life
Shall have no Quarrels, and perceive no Strife.
Think there are such things as domestick Jars,
Thy Blood shall in a peaceful Channel flow,
And all its Course no other Banks shall know,
Than those of Love, and Friendship, all thy Life
Shall have no Quarrels, and perceive no Strife.
38
Shalt see thy loving issue multiply
Into a fair, and numerous Family;
Whose large extent should one intend to trace,
Might as well reckon every pile of Grass
That grows ith' field, or calculate the motion
Of waves, and billows in the foaming Ocean.
Into a fair, and numerous Family;
Whose large extent should one intend to trace,
Might as well reckon every pile of Grass
That grows ith' field, or calculate the motion
Of waves, and billows in the foaming Ocean.
Full fraught with years, at length thou shalt descend
Into the pleasant grave, and put an end
To those enjoyments of thy mortal state,
As those, who with their Feasting satiate
Lye down to sleep, or as the Corn is brought
Into the Barn, when it by time is wrought
To full perfection: or as Fruits do fall
From Trees when over-ripe: so truly shall
Thy exit with felicity be crown'd,
And thou shalt sleep most sweetly under ground.
Into the pleasant grave, and put an end
To those enjoyments of thy mortal state,
As those, who with their Feasting satiate
Lye down to sleep, or as the Corn is brought
Into the Barn, when it by time is wrought
To full perfection: or as Fruits do fall
From Trees when over-ripe: so truly shall
Thy exit with felicity be crown'd,
And thou shalt sleep most sweetly under ground.
Thus, friend, we have enquir'd, and thus have found,
Nor is our Doctrine without solid ground.
Thus then it is, if we be understood,
For what we speak is only for thy good.
Nor is our Doctrine without solid ground.
Thus then it is, if we be understood,
For what we speak is only for thy good.
Cap. VI.
As prisoner at bar for crimes arraign'd,
Hears his Inditement read, and is constrain'd
To hold his peace, in such an exigent,
Although he knows he's truly innocent,
Of what he is accus'd, but after all
He pleads not guilty, and begins to fall
To his defence: so with attentive ear,
Job all this while this reasoning did hear,
Not interrupting, till at length his friend
Of his so learn'd discourse had made an end:
Then, as his sorrows would permit, he speaks,
And argues thus.
Hears his Inditement read, and is constrain'd
To hold his peace, in such an exigent,
Although he knows he's truly innocent,
Of what he is accus'd, but after all
He pleads not guilty, and begins to fall
To his defence: so with attentive ear,
Job all this while this reasoning did hear,
Not interrupting, till at length his friend
Of his so learn'd discourse had made an end:
Then, as his sorrows would permit, he speaks,
And argues thus.
O, says he, that my ponderous griefs were weigh'd
And all my miseries were in ballance laid.
Poys'd by a steddy, and impartial hand,
Then, my good friend, you soon would understand
What is my case, what my disease, and pain,
And how much reason I have to complain.
And all my miseries were in ballance laid.
Poys'd by a steddy, and impartial hand,
Then, my good friend, you soon would understand
What is my case, what my disease, and pain,
And how much reason I have to complain.
It would be found most unsupportable,
The sands with it were not comparable.
No pain so great, no grief so heavy sure,
As this, which I poor mortal do endure.
I cann't express it, I want eloquence,
And cannot with that grace make my defence,
As you accuse me, grief will not allow
Me the same liberty of speech, as you
Do use in your discourse: your figured words,
And pretty Tropes, which like so many Swords,
Cut out a passage for your arguments,
And make a Lane for your unjust Complaints,
T'oppress my Spirit, do your wit express,
But what do all such Flowers of Art as these
To one, in my condition signify,
Who am already dead with misery?
The sands with it were not comparable.
No pain so great, no grief so heavy sure,
As this, which I poor mortal do endure.
I cann't express it, I want eloquence,
And cannot with that grace make my defence,
As you accuse me, grief will not allow
Me the same liberty of speech, as you
Do use in your discourse: your figured words,
39
Cut out a passage for your arguments,
And make a Lane for your unjust Complaints,
T'oppress my Spirit, do your wit express,
But what do all such Flowers of Art as these
To one, in my condition signify,
Who am already dead with misery?
Why do you then accuse so dull a thing,
That doth not understand your Reasoning?
A silly Creature, that makes no defence,
But only strives t'express its innocence,
By pious Sighs; you had as good forbear
Your Rhetorick, and with me drop a Tear,
In kind complyance with my killing grief,
To which your pointed words bring no relief,
You see my case, beyond expression, sad
Then why d'ye affliction to affliction add?
That doth not understand your Reasoning?
A silly Creature, that makes no defence,
But only strives t'express its innocence,
By pious Sighs; you had as good forbear
Your Rhetorick, and with me drop a Tear,
In kind complyance with my killing grief,
To which your pointed words bring no relief,
You see my case, beyond expression, sad
Then why d'ye affliction to affliction add?
See how th'Almighties Arrows in my Heart
Are fix'd, beyond all remedy of Art.
Th'envenom'd Shafts have suck'd my Moysture dry,
And caus'd the Wounds they made, to putrify,
Spreading a foul contagion every where,
Yea even my very Soul they do not spare.
Besides I feed a flame within my Breast,
By which my pain is every hour encreas't,
A flame that burns with heat, and violence,
Beyond belief:—a flame of Conscience,
A flame that makes us waste our days in fear,
For who a wounded Conscience can bear?
A wounded Conscienc!—ah a dreadful thing!
What Art can this express: whence shall I bring
Similitudes to point it out! O whence
Shall I bring homeward so much Eloquence,
As to express a wounded Conscience!
A Sting of Conscience!—O a horrid thing!
Not the most virulent and sharpest Sting
Doth hurt the Body, as this doth the Mind,
No, no this Sting is of another kind,
Then all your Stings on Earth, no poysoned Dart,
Composed by the subtilest Rules of Art,
Makes such a wound, as doth a Conscience
When God allowes it once a perfect Sense
Of its own Strength: then, then it wounds indeed,
And makes the Heart of hardest Mettal bleed.
What tempered Steel can make a wound so deep,
As doth a Conscience rouz'd out of its sleep,
By Divine Power, it Rages, Stares, and Foames,
Like one out of his Wits, that haunts the Tombs,
It Stings, it Bites, it Pierces, Cuts, and Stricks
Practising all the Feats of Lunaticks:
For when of sin we have a lively sense,
No Torment with a frighted Conscience
Can be compar'd.
Yet this, this Torment I endure, alace,
There's none can pity one in such a case,
But he that hath the like affliction known,
And so can guess my Torment by his own.
Are fix'd, beyond all remedy of Art.
Th'envenom'd Shafts have suck'd my Moysture dry,
And caus'd the Wounds they made, to putrify,
Spreading a foul contagion every where,
Yea even my very Soul they do not spare.
Besides I feed a flame within my Breast,
By which my pain is every hour encreas't,
A flame that burns with heat, and violence,
Beyond belief:—a flame of Conscience,
A flame that makes us waste our days in fear,
For who a wounded Conscience can bear?
A wounded Conscienc!—ah a dreadful thing!
What Art can this express: whence shall I bring
Similitudes to point it out! O whence
Shall I bring homeward so much Eloquence,
As to express a wounded Conscience!
A Sting of Conscience!—O a horrid thing!
Not the most virulent and sharpest Sting
Doth hurt the Body, as this doth the Mind,
No, no this Sting is of another kind,
Then all your Stings on Earth, no poysoned Dart,
Composed by the subtilest Rules of Art,
Makes such a wound, as doth a Conscience
When God allowes it once a perfect Sense
Of its own Strength: then, then it wounds indeed,
And makes the Heart of hardest Mettal bleed.
What tempered Steel can make a wound so deep,
As doth a Conscience rouz'd out of its sleep,
By Divine Power, it Rages, Stares, and Foames,
Like one out of his Wits, that haunts the Tombs,
It Stings, it Bites, it Pierces, Cuts, and Stricks
Practising all the Feats of Lunaticks:
For when of sin we have a lively sense,
No Torment with a frighted Conscience
Can be compar'd.
Yet this, this Torment I endure, alace,
25
But he that hath the like affliction known,
And so can guess my Torment by his own.
Why do you then condemn my just Complaint
As if it did exceed my Punishment?
Why so severe, to vex a poor forlorn
Unhappy wretch, as ever yet was born?
A thing, Of which my Countrey is ashamd,
And thinks not fit that I should ere be nam'd,
Hereafter, but as Malefactors are,
Who suffer for their Crimes, with shame, and fear.
Indeed you try me by too Bloody Laws,
When you affirm I cry without a cause.
Pray does the wild Ass bray, and make a noise,
When it has Grass for Pasture, at its choice?
Does the Ox Low, when Fodder lyes before it,
Or cease from Lowing, whilst it doth implore it.
As if it did exceed my Punishment?
Why so severe, to vex a poor forlorn
Unhappy wretch, as ever yet was born?
A thing, Of which my Countrey is ashamd,
And thinks not fit that I should ere be nam'd,
Hereafter, but as Malefactors are,
Who suffer for their Crimes, with shame, and fear.
Indeed you try me by too Bloody Laws,
When you affirm I cry without a cause.
Pray does the wild Ass bray, and make a noise,
When it has Grass for Pasture, at its choice?
Does the Ox Low, when Fodder lyes before it,
Or cease from Lowing, whilst it doth implore it.
D'ye think I'm proud of suffering? God knows
I take no pleasure to express my woes.
I had as lieve be silent, but that you
Force me to speak, because you won't allow
Me to sigh out my Breath, and hid my Face
Amongst those: sh[illeg.]s, whilst I hold my peace.
Can any man take pleasure in his pain?
Or by stupendious Poverty make gain?
No sure, no more then you'l with pleasure eat,
White of an Egg, or such unsavoury Meat,
Without some Salt; such my affliction is,
And needs no help of this periphrasis,
T'express its nature: such my Sorrows are,
With which no Earthly Torments can compare.
I take no pleasure to express my woes.
I had as lieve be silent, but that you
Force me to speak, because you won't allow
Me to sigh out my Breath, and hid my Face
Amongst those: sh[illeg.]s, whilst I hold my peace.
Can any man take pleasure in his pain?
Or by stupendious Poverty make gain?
No sure, no more then you'l with pleasure eat,
White of an Egg, or such unsavoury Meat,
Without some Salt; such my affliction is,
And needs no help of this periphrasis,
T'express its nature: such my Sorrows are,
With which no Earthly Torments can compare.
For what my Soul did formerly abhor,
Is now my Meat, what I disdain'd before
To touch is now to me familiar,
And (O sad change!) my only dayly Fare.
Is now my Meat, what I disdain'd before
To touch is now to me familiar,
And (O sad change!) my only dayly Fare.
O then that God would grant me my request,
And what I long for would vouchafe at least:
O that with my strong wishes he'd comply,
And kindly suffer me at length to dye!
And what I long for would vouchafe at least:
O that with my strong wishes he'd comply,
And kindly suffer me at length to dye!
To dye!—O that's the thing, which I desire.
Yea, in this very moment to expire,
Would God but stretch his arm of Providence,
And cut me off, that so I might go hence,
And be no more: would he but condescend
To what I ask, and there should be an end
Of all my earthly pain, and misery,
O then that God would suffer me to dye.
Yea, in this very moment to expire,
Would God but stretch his arm of Providence,
And cut me off, that so I might go hence,
And be no more: would he but condescend
To what I ask, and there should be an end
Of all my earthly pain, and misery,
O then that God would suffer me to dye.
Then should I yet have comfort, then some rest
My Soul might find, and I be free at least
From these huge pains:—O that he would allow me
The favour, without sparing, to undo me.
Though I'm in sorrow, yet let him not spare
To give the blow, lest I perhaps despare:
For hitherto I never have deny'd
Gods Holy Word, or i'th' least signify'd,
In all my Torments any diffidence
Of his just, kind, o're-ruling Providence.
My Soul might find, and I be free at least
From these huge pains:—O that he would allow me
The favour, without sparing, to undo me.
Though I'm in sorrow, yet let him not spare
To give the blow, lest I perhaps despare:
For hitherto I never have deny'd
41
In all my Torments any diffidence
Of his just, kind, o're-ruling Providence.
Alace what strength have I thus to endure,
The force of Heaven, which never Mortal sure
Was able to support.—
Ah then, why should I live, or to what end
Should I prolong my Life thus to attend
A lingring Death, which I might have at hand,
But that my Conscience doth me countermand.
The force of Heaven, which never Mortal sure
Was able to support.—
Ah then, why should I live, or to what end
Should I prolong my Life thus to attend
A lingring Death, which I might have at hand,
But that my Conscience doth me countermand.
Alace what strength have I,—what strength have I
T'endure these Torments,—what congruity
Is now betwixt my Person, and my Pain.
Of which I must be suffered to complain:
Am I compos'd of Stone, or Brass, that I
Should suffer all these Tortures, and not dye?
T'endure these Torments,—what congruity
Is now betwixt my Person, and my Pain.
Of which I must be suffered to complain:
Am I compos'd of Stone, or Brass, that I
Should suffer all these Tortures, and not dye?
Have not I call'd for help, but could find none
And now my Substance, and my Strength is gone;
My Nerves are stiff, my Blood to Phlegm is shrunk,
My Eyes in Wells of brinish Tears are sunk;
My tottering Body Wyre-strung, Bone by Bone
Makes but the figure of a Skeleton.
And now my Substance, and my Strength is gone;
My Nerves are stiff, my Blood to Phlegm is shrunk,
My Eyes in Wells of brinish Tears are sunk;
My tottering Body Wyre-strung, Bone by Bone
Makes but the figure of a Skeleton.
Ah is there no man that will pity have
Upon a Carrion dropping in its Grave;
He that's in sorrow still is understood,
To find some Comfort from his Neighbour-hood,
But I find none,—
But 'tis no wonder men their friends forsake,
When now a days, their Faith to God they break.
Upon a Carrion dropping in its Grave;
He that's in sorrow still is understood,
To find some Comfort from his Neighbour-hood,
But I find none,—
But 'tis no wonder men their friends forsake,
When now a days, their Faith to God they break.
Take it from me, who by experience know
False friends too well, to whose base tricks I owe
No small proportion of my present grief,
From such, in time of want, there's no relief—
To be expected, more than from a Brook,
Where if for Waters you in Summer look,
'Tis dry, in Winter frozen, but when Rain
Falls in abundance, and we're in no pain
For Water, then it overflows its Banks,
Offering its Service, without Hire, or Thanks.
So when we're Rich, such friends will flock about us,
They cannot Live, Eat, Drink, or Sleep without us,
They cringe, they bow, they saun, and us present
With foolish smiles, and aery complement:
Protesting friendship at so high a rate,
As none would think they did equivocat.
But draw the Courtain, and let Poverty
Appear, with its Companion Misery,
Within our Walls, then all those Wasps are gone,
And as their friends they will us no more own.
Than who'd not rather sleep in faithful Dust,
Than Live, and in such friends o'th' fashion trust?
False friends too well, to whose base tricks I owe
No small proportion of my present grief,
From such, in time of want, there's no relief—
To be expected, more than from a Brook,
Where if for Waters you in Summer look,
'Tis dry, in Winter frozen, but when Rain
Falls in abundance, and we're in no pain
For Water, then it overflows its Banks,
Offering its Service, without Hire, or Thanks.
So when we're Rich, such friends will flock about us,
They cannot Live, Eat, Drink, or Sleep without us,
They cringe, they bow, they saun, and us present
With foolish smiles, and aery complement:
Protesting friendship at so high a rate,
As none would think they did equivocat.
But draw the Courtain, and let Poverty
Appear, with its Companion Misery,
Within our Walls, then all those Wasps are gone,
And as their friends they will us no more own.
Than who'd not rather sleep in faithful Dust,
Than Live, and in such friends o'th' fashion trust?
Friends did I call them,—no I do mistake,
Such are not friends, who do their friend forsake
In Misery, for at such time alone,
As by a Test, true friendship should be known.
But such have Hearts as hard, and black, as Ice,
They'r of no value, no esteem, no price.
Rugged, unpolish'd, cold, as is the snow,
Instinct of Nature sure they do not know.
Such are not friends, who do their friend forsake
In Misery, for at such time alone,
42
But such have Hearts as hard, and black, as Ice,
They'r of no value, no esteem, no price.
Rugged, unpolish'd, cold, as is the snow,
Instinct of Nature sure they do not know.
Friends for a Sun-shine of Prosperity,
O worthy friends! but when the troubled Skye,
Portends a Storm, and Clouds begin to reel,
Then those Fair-weather-friends bid us farewel.
O worthy friends! but when the troubled Skye,
Portends a Storm, and Clouds begin to reel,
Then those Fair-weather-friends bid us farewel.
Friends for well furnish'd Tables, Friends for Food,
Friends of the Pantry, Friends for nothing good,
Save that such Friends as these might serve for foyles,
To set true frindship off: like Scabs, and Boyls,
They drop away, when th'humour is run dry
Which fed them, and until Prosperity
Return, like Crans, they to warm Countreys flye.
Friends of the Pantry, Friends for nothing good,
Save that such Friends as these might serve for foyles,
To set true frindship off: like Scabs, and Boyls,
They drop away, when th'humour is run dry
Which fed them, and until Prosperity
Return, like Crans, they to warm Countreys flye.
For as a Traveller in th'Arabian Sands,
Thinks to find Water, where a thousand hands
At constant work will find their Labour vain
In digging for it, where the Sun doth drain,
The innate Moisture, and by scorching Beams,
Choaks up the Veins of Rivers, Springs, and Streams.
Thinks to find Water, where a thousand hands
At constant work will find their Labour vain
In digging for it, where the Sun doth drain,
The innate Moisture, and by scorching Beams,
Choaks up the Veins of Rivers, Springs, and Streams.
But can find nothing save sterility,
So those, who on such barren Friends rely,
When they stand most in need of them shall find
Like those dry Sands, they fly before the Wind,
And make no help to such in their distress,
But rather by their Malice do encrease
Their friends affliction.
So those, who on such barren Friends rely,
When they stand most in need of them shall find
Like those dry Sands, they fly before the Wind,
And make no help to such in their distress,
But rather by their Malice do encrease
Their friends affliction.
Why, my good friends, such friends I think you are,
And I may safely you with such compare,
My case you see, my miseries you know,
And none of you are strangers to my woe
You see my dreadful Plagues, and are afraid,
Such Judgements may upon your selves be laid,
Yet, stead of Comfort, which I justly might
From you expected, in this doleful plight,
Your bitter words my Torments do augment.
Your tart Reproofs encrease my punishment.
And I may safely you with such compare,
My case you see, my miseries you know,
And none of you are strangers to my woe
You see my dreadful Plagues, and are afraid,
Such Judgements may upon your selves be laid,
Yet, stead of Comfort, which I justly might
From you expected, in this doleful plight,
Your bitter words my Torments do augment.
Your tart Reproofs encrease my punishment.
Ah what's your quarrel 'gainst a dying wretch?
Why do you thus insult? I do beseech
The favour of you, that you'll let me know
If I have injur'd any of you, or no?
Have I been grievous t'any of you, my Friends?
Have I demanded any of your Means?
Or have I proudly claim'd of your Supply?
Or vext you with my Bill of Charity?
Why then should I be so severely us'd
By any of you? have I e're refus'd
To serve your interest, and your reputation?
Before my late, and total Desolation?
Why do you thus insult? I do beseech
The favour of you, that you'll let me know
If I have injur'd any of you, or no?
Have I been grievous t'any of you, my Friends?
Have I demanded any of your Means?
Or have I proudly claim'd of your Supply?
Or vext you with my Bill of Charity?
Why then should I be so severely us'd
By any of you? have I e're refus'd
To serve your interest, and your reputation?
Before my late, and total Desolation?
Did ever I of you, my friends, demand
That you would free me from my En'mies hand?
Did, I when Captive, any of you pray,
That of your Bounty you'd my Ransome pay?
That you would free me from my En'mies hand?
Did, I when Captive, any of you pray,
43
Pray teach me then, my friends, and let me know
Where lyes my Error in the case, and so
Being convinc'd, I shall from answering cease,
And, as a Mute, hereafter hold my peace.
Where lyes my Error in the case, and so
Being convinc'd, I shall from answering cease,
And, as a Mute, hereafter hold my peace.
But whilst you thus accuse me, I must still
Assert my Innocence, say what you will
To th'contrair: for my upright Conscience
Doth plead my Cause, and prompt me with Defence,
'Gainst all the Pleas you do against me move,
Then, wherein justly can you me reprove?
Assert my Innocence, say what you will
To th'contrair: for my upright Conscience
Doth plead my Cause, and prompt me with Defence,
'Gainst all the Pleas you do against me move,
Then, wherein justly can you me reprove?
Won't you permit a man in misery,
His troubled Mind so much to lenify,
As by some sad expressions to declare,
What the vexations of his Spirit are?
D'ye think but men, in my condemn'd estate,
May have at least some liberty to prate?
See you not how my pain my speech doth force,
And none should stop a dying mans Discourse.
His troubled Mind so much to lenify,
As by some sad expressions to declare,
What the vexations of his Spirit are?
D'ye think but men, in my condemn'd estate,
May have at least some liberty to prate?
See you not how my pain my speech doth force,
And none should stop a dying mans Discourse.
But you on those in sorrow vent your wrath,
And to your half-dead Friend you threaten Death,
Your unkind words, like Grins, and Snares you lay,
By which your Friend you shrewdly may betray.
And to your half-dead Friend you threaten Death,
Your unkind words, like Grins, and Snares you lay,
By which your Friend you shrewdly may betray.
Now therefore pray at length, impartially
Look on me, and consider whether I
Have reason thus t'expresse my grief, or no,
When I endure what none of you can know:
Assure your selves then I take no delight.
Thus to complain, I am no Hypocrite,
As you pretend, my sorrows are no less
Then I esteem them, nay could I expresse
My inward griefs, they'r more in number sure,
Then mortal man did ever yet endure.
Look on me, and consider whether I
Have reason thus t'expresse my grief, or no,
When I endure what none of you can know:
Assure your selves then I take no delight.
Thus to complain, I am no Hypocrite,
As you pretend, my sorrows are no less
Then I esteem them, nay could I expresse
My inward griefs, they'r more in number sure,
Then mortal man did ever yet endure.
Forbear then, pray,—at my desire, forbear,
From such Discourse, so rigid, so severe,
As wound my Heart more than my Sorrows do,
With all my Plagues, and Torments, pray allow
My grief some vent, or (as my present case is)
Should I be silent, I should burst to pieces.
Have patience but a while, and you shall see,
There's no so great iniquity in me,
As you alleage: when my survey is made,
And with my woes, my words in Scales are laid.
From such Discourse, so rigid, so severe,
As wound my Heart more than my Sorrows do,
With all my Plagues, and Torments, pray allow
My grief some vent, or (as my present case is)
Should I be silent, I should burst to pieces.
Have patience but a while, and you shall see,
There's no so great iniquity in me,
As you alleage: when my survey is made,
And with my woes, my words in Scales are laid.
Cap. VII.
1. Is there not an appointed time for man upon earth? and are not his days, as the days of an hireling?
A breathing Bauble—now pray let us see
What is this man,—of what should he be proud?
What more than t'other Creatures is allow'd
44
This painted Glow-worm, this Cameleon,
That casts it self in every Form, and Shape,
And fain would something of its Maker Ape.
Is there not to this glorious Creature set
A certain time? his days are limitate,
As are those of a Hireling, his abode
Upon this Earth has its own period;
Beyond which no man of the greatest strength,
Can pass—vain man must dye—vain man at length
Must drop into his Grave, and there become
The very Dross, the Caput mortuum
Of Lifes projection, fitted for no use,
Yet is this all his labour doth produce.
Although he fancies to himself he may,
Exceed the reputation of Clay
In high conceits, and even seems to hold
Within his Clutch whole Magazines of Gold,
Like one, who in a Dream great Booties takes,
But finds himself deceiv'd, when he awakes.
On what alace then should this silly Tool
Value it self!—this Hypocondriack fooll,
For what should he himself so much esteem,
When all his Life is but a very Dream.
Have you not seen a Labourer all the day,
Long for the happy night, wherein he may
Refresh his wearied Bones, and think the Sun
Spite of him, with too slow a pace doth run.
And with impatience doth his Task attend,
Longing to have his Labours at an end.
Long for the happy night, wherein he may
Refresh his wearied Bones, and think the Sun
Spite of him, with too slow a pace doth run.
And with impatience doth his Task attend,
Longing to have his Labours at an end.
This is my very case, for so have I
Toil'd all the day long of my vanity,
And long'd extreemly for th'approach of night,
In which I pleas'd my self to think I might
Enjoy some Rest; but here the difference lay
'Twixt the Labourer, and me, the night, and day
To me were both alike; no rest I found
In either, at no rate I could compound
With sleep for one hour of its company,
But on my Bed, I'd sick, and tossing lye,
With Eyes unclos'd, and Spirit much perplex't,
Fainting with grief, in Mind, and Body vex't.
So runs my Time, so do my Years advance,
I' have indeed had for Inheritance,
Long dayes of pain, and months of vanity,
Which makes my Life a Scene of misery.
Toil'd all the day long of my vanity,
And long'd extreemly for th'approach of night,
In which I pleas'd my self to think I might
Enjoy some Rest; but here the difference lay
'Twixt the Labourer, and me, the night, and day
To me were both alike; no rest I found
In either, at no rate I could compound
With sleep for one hour of its company,
But on my Bed, I'd sick, and tossing lye,
With Eyes unclos'd, and Spirit much perplex't,
Fainting with grief, in Mind, and Body vex't.
So runs my Time, so do my Years advance,
I' have indeed had for Inheritance,
Long dayes of pain, and months of vanity,
Which makes my Life a Scene of misery.
So soon as I my self compose to Rest,
Thinking to cach some slender Nap at least,
Before I shut up my o'rewearied Eyes,
Now I lye down, but when shall I arise
I say, how shall I pass the tedious night?
When shall I see again the morning light?
The night I do by Moments Calculate,
And with impatience for the Morning wait
With tossing too, and fro upon my Bed,
My Body is sore pain'd, and wearied.
Thinking to cach some slender Nap at least,
Before I shut up my o'rewearied Eyes,
Now I lye down, but when shall I arise
I say, how shall I pass the tedious night?
When shall I see again the morning light?
The night I do by Moments Calculate,
And with impatience for the Morning wait
45
My Body is sore pain'd, and wearied.
My Body tortur'd with a strange Disease,
Whose fury no soft Ointments can appease:
What art to such as I am can bring ease?
My Flesh with Vermine is all overspread,
See how with Dust, and Mud I'm covered.
My Skin to pieces is all rent, and torn,
Was ever man to such sad Judgements born?
My Pains, and Torments are all visible,
With Ulcers I am become horrible.
Whose fury no soft Ointments can appease:
What art to such as I am can bring ease?
My Flesh with Vermine is all overspread,
See how with Dust, and Mud I'm covered.
My Skin to pieces is all rent, and torn,
Was ever man to such sad Judgements born?
My Pains, and Torments are all visible,
With Ulcers I am become horrible.
My days do pass with more celerity,
Than Weavers Shuttle through the Web doth fly.
Amidst a thousand Sorrows, Cares, and Fears,
I spend some inconsiderable Years.
They flye, they flye, nothing in Earth, or Air,
In swiftness, can with humane years compare,
Out all sight they flye, they flye amaine,
Never intending to return again.
Time turns its Hour-glass, and ore'turns us all,
No Mortal Creature can its Time recal.
Than Weavers Shuttle through the Web doth fly.
Amidst a thousand Sorrows, Cares, and Fears,
I spend some inconsiderable Years.
They flye, they flye, nothing in Earth, or Air,
In swiftness, can with humane years compare,
Out all sight they flye, they flye amaine,
Never intending to return again.
Time turns its Hour-glass, and ore'turns us all,
No Mortal Creature can its Time recal.
Consider then, good Lord, what thing I am,
And how I must return from whence I came,
In a few days: my Life is but a blast,
And like a puff of Wind, is quicklie past.
Then shall my Eyes, with darkness black, as night,
Be sealed up, and to my earthly sight,
Nothing that's pleasant shall again appear,
For what to me most precious was and dear,
I have alreadie lost, and now remains,
What to preserve, is hardlie worth my pains.
For why, alace, should such a one as I
Desire to live in pain, and misery,
Of which I cann't be free, unless I dye.
And how I must return from whence I came,
In a few days: my Life is but a blast,
And like a puff of Wind, is quicklie past.
Then shall my Eyes, with darkness black, as night,
Be sealed up, and to my earthly sight,
Nothing that's pleasant shall again appear,
For what to me most precious was and dear,
I have alreadie lost, and now remains,
What to preserve, is hardlie worth my pains.
For why, alace, should such a one as I
Desire to live in pain, and misery,
Of which I cann't be free, unless I dye.
In a short time (for which I do implore)
Th'Eye that hath seen me, shall see me no more.
Thy Eyes, O Lord, are on me, and annon
Shal't strike me dead, and so I shall be gone.
I shall no longer in this state remain,
For Death shall put an end to all my pain.
Th'Eye that hath seen me, shall see me no more.
Thy Eyes, O Lord, are on me, and annon
Shal't strike me dead, and so I shall be gone.
I shall no longer in this state remain,
For Death shall put an end to all my pain.
As Clouds do quickly vanish into Air,
And in full Bodies do no more appear,
So he that once goes down to silent Grave,
To Life again shall no more access have.
And in full Bodies do no more appear,
So he that once goes down to silent Grave,
To Life again shall no more access have.
Shall not return unto his dwelling place,
For even his Servants, who ador'd his Face,
To whom, on Life, his presence was most dear,
If after Death, to them he shall appear;
His gastlie looks will make them quicklie run,
Nor can these very underlings be won,
With their old Friend, and Master to converse,
By all the Rhetorick of the Universe.
Though all such apparitions as these,
Are but meer phantasms, and delude our Eyes.
With empty Shadows of composed Air,
But the True Body never doth appear:
That rests in Grave, and shall not rise before,
The Fabrick of this Earth shall be no more.
For even his Servants, who ador'd his Face,
To whom, on Life, his presence was most dear,
If after Death, to them he shall appear;
His gastlie looks will make them quicklie run,
Nor can these very underlings be won,
With their old Friend, and Master to converse,
By all the Rhetorick of the Universe.
Though all such apparitions as these,
Are but meer phantasms, and delude our Eyes.
46
But the True Body never doth appear:
That rests in Grave, and shall not rise before,
The Fabrick of this Earth shall be no more.
Then since no other lenitive can be found,
T'allay my grief, ere I go under ground,
But only words, by which I may express,
Those inward ills, that do my Soul oppress,
I will not spare my mouth, but openly
Unto my ever-living God I'le cry.
I'le speak, as one in Spirit sore perplex't,
As one with Plagues, and Torments shrewdly vex't.
I'le speake, I'le speak, I will not hold my Tongue,
But roar out my oppressions all day long.
T'allay my grief, ere I go under ground,
But only words, by which I may express,
Those inward ills, that do my Soul oppress,
I will not spare my mouth, but openly
Unto my ever-living God I'le cry.
I'le speak, as one in Spirit sore perplex't,
As one with Plagues, and Torments shrewdly vex't.
I'le speake, I'le speak, I will not hold my Tongue,
But roar out my oppressions all day long.
Lord, I'le say, what am I! an Ocean!
A Whale, or any thing that's more than man!
That to destroy me thou shouldst take such pains,
Whilst to undo all that of me remains,
Were but a small Task for a Gnat, a Flee,
A Wasp, a Hornet, or a humble Bee:
Why shouldst then be at so much pains, good Lord,
To kill a thing, which of its own accord,
Will quickly dye, a thing, that by thy Wrath,
As yet deny'd the liberty of Death,
Doth only some small sparks of Life retain,
And like a Dying Creature, breaths with pain.
One entire Ulcer, a meer lump of Boyls,
A heap of Sores, one loaden with the Spoiles,
Of all Diseases; one so fully spent
In Body and in Mind so discontent,
No pleasure, which the World affords, can hire
My Soul to Live: pray let me now expire;
Or else I fear, that through impatience
Of my afflictions, I may give offence.
A Whale, or any thing that's more than man!
That to destroy me thou shouldst take such pains,
Whilst to undo all that of me remains,
Were but a small Task for a Gnat, a Flee,
A Wasp, a Hornet, or a humble Bee:
Why shouldst then be at so much pains, good Lord,
To kill a thing, which of its own accord,
Will quickly dye, a thing, that by thy Wrath,
As yet deny'd the liberty of Death,
Doth only some small sparks of Life retain,
And like a Dying Creature, breaths with pain.
One entire Ulcer, a meer lump of Boyls,
A heap of Sores, one loaden with the Spoiles,
Of all Diseases; one so fully spent
In Body and in Mind so discontent,
No pleasure, which the World affords, can hire
My Soul to Live: pray let me now expire;
Or else I fear, that through impatience
Of my afflictions, I may give offence.
For when I say my Couch shall me relieve,
And in my Bed I shall some comfort have,
When I imagine I may find some ease,
In sleep to dull the edge of my Disease.
When I suppose I may find Consolation,
I'th' pleasure of a few hours Meditation:
And whilst on Pillow I my Head do lay,
To sleep away the sorrows of the day,
And in my Bed I shall some comfort have,
When I imagine I may find some ease,
In sleep to dull the edge of my Disease.
When I suppose I may find Consolation,
I'th' pleasure of a few hours Meditation:
And whilst on Pillow I my Head do lay,
To sleep away the sorrows of the day,
Then dost thou put my Soul all in a fright,
With fearful Dreams, and Visions of the night.
In a cold sweat I lye, my Flesh, and Bones,
My Joints, and Sinews tremble all at once.
Strugling with pain, upon my Bed I rowl,
Whilst horrid Objects do night-mare my Soul,
And to my troubled fancie represent,
What neither Tongue can speak, or hard can paint.
Hells Terrors plainlie are to me reveal'd,
Whilst with amusing sleep my Eyes are seal'd;
On which reflecting when I do awake;
Fear damps my Soul, and makes my Body shake.
With fearful Dreams, and Visions of the night.
In a cold sweat I lye, my Flesh, and Bones,
My Joints, and Sinews tremble all at once.
Strugling with pain, upon my Bed I rowl,
Whilst horrid Objects do night-mare my Soul,
And to my troubled fancie represent,
What neither Tongue can speak, or hard can paint.
Hells Terrors plainlie are to me reveal'd,
Whilst with amusing sleep my Eyes are seal'd;
On which reflecting when I do awake;
Fear damps my Soul, and makes my Body shake.
47
Hence Drowning, Smothering, Strangling of the Breath,
Or any of the numerous kinds of Death
My Soul to Life prefers; my generous Soul
Abhorrs to live in such a lurking hole,
As is this body; such a vile Hog-sty,
A Brutish Soul would even disdain to ly
Within its Walls: a Cottage so unclean,
So Cob web-furnish'd, so obscure, and mean,
As none but one of Life that's wearyed
In such a villanous Cave would lay his bed.
What Soul so poor and mean exceeding but
The small Dimensions of a Hazel nut
Would stoop so low, as condescend to dwell
In such an ugly, smelling nasty Cell,
As is this body, which I do call mine,
So thin, the Sun doth clearly through it shine,
Is this a Lodging for a Thing Divine?
A tottering Fabrick, which the rotten Bones
Not able to support, down all at once
Will quickly fall: is this a dwelling place
For any thing come of a Heavenly Race?
No, no, fly hence my Soul, fly hence, make haste
Why dost not fly? for such a Noble Guest
There's here no room, no fit Accomodation,
This body can afford no Habitation,
For such as thee, Dear Soul.—
O let me dy then, let me dy, good Lord,
O let me dy, Death surely will afford
Such comfort, as I here expect in vain.
Why should I live then in such grievous pain?
And as a mark to all sad torments stand
When pitying Death doth offer help at hand.
Or any of the numerous kinds of Death
My Soul to Life prefers; my generous Soul
Abhorrs to live in such a lurking hole,
As is this body; such a vile Hog-sty,
A Brutish Soul would even disdain to ly
Within its Walls: a Cottage so unclean,
So Cob web-furnish'd, so obscure, and mean,
As none but one of Life that's wearyed
In such a villanous Cave would lay his bed.
What Soul so poor and mean exceeding but
The small Dimensions of a Hazel nut
Would stoop so low, as condescend to dwell
In such an ugly, smelling nasty Cell,
As is this body, which I do call mine,
So thin, the Sun doth clearly through it shine,
Is this a Lodging for a Thing Divine?
A tottering Fabrick, which the rotten Bones
Not able to support, down all at once
Will quickly fall: is this a dwelling place
For any thing come of a Heavenly Race?
No, no, fly hence my Soul, fly hence, make haste
Why dost not fly? for such a Noble Guest
There's here no room, no fit Accomodation,
This body can afford no Habitation,
For such as thee, Dear Soul.—
O let me dy then, let me dy, good Lord,
O let me dy, Death surely will afford
Such comfort, as I here expect in vain.
Why should I live then in such grievous pain?
And as a mark to all sad torments stand
When pitying Death doth offer help at hand.
In this condition, I do do life abhorr,
I hate it, and shall never love it more.
What should I for a few hours breathing give?
For 'tis impossible I can longer live.
O spare me then for some small time at least
That these o're wearyed bones may have some rest,
And in this life I may find ease, before
I take my Journey hence, and be no more:
E're I be wrapp'd up in Eternity,
For all my days are but meer vanity.
I hate it, and shall never love it more.
What should I for a few hours breathing give?
For 'tis impossible I can longer live.
O spare me then for some small time at least
That these o're wearyed bones may have some rest,
And in this life I may find ease, before
I take my Journey hence, and be no more:
E're I be wrapp'd up in Eternity,
For all my days are but meer vanity.
Then what is Man that thou shouldst look upon him?
This wretched thing, that thou shouldst so much own him.
Thou dost thy heart too much upon him set,
Which makes the silly Toad it self forget,
Valuing it self so much on thy esteem
As it hath purchas'd to its self a name,
Beyond the other Creatures of thy hand:
Whereas if it, it self did understand,
'Tis but as dust, that 'fore the Wind doth fly,
A passing thought, th'abstract of vanity.
Since thou canst then, Lord, by one word destroy
This Creature, why shouldst so much time employ
In Torturing of it thus, once, and again,
And not by one blow put me out of pain.
One blow of favour, Lord, I do implore,
Kill me, and then I shall complain no more.
This wretched thing, that thou shouldst so much own him.
Thou dost thy heart too much upon him set,
Which makes the silly Toad it self forget,
Valuing it self so much on thy esteem
As it hath purchas'd to its self a name,
Beyond the other Creatures of thy hand:
Whereas if it, it self did understand,
'Tis but as dust, that 'fore the Wind doth fly,
A passing thought, th'abstract of vanity.
Since thou canst then, Lord, by one word destroy
This Creature, why shouldst so much time employ
48
And not by one blow put me out of pain.
One blow of favour, Lord, I do implore,
Kill me, and then I shall complain no more.
But still I cannot fancy, why shouldst thou,
Before whom all in Heavens, and Earth do bow,
Have this same Creature Man in such esteem
This flying Shade, this passage of a Dream,
A thing so mean, not worth thy Observation,
Why should'st allow it so much Reputation?
That thou the great Creator every day
Shouldst of this pismire make so strict survey.
Before whom all in Heavens, and Earth do bow,
Have this same Creature Man in such esteem
This flying Shade, this passage of a Dream,
A thing so mean, not worth thy Observation,
Why should'st allow it so much Reputation?
That thou the great Creator every day
Shouldst of this pismire make so strict survey.
How long, Lord, shall I in these Torments lye!
Ah is there no end of my Misery!
Some respite, Lord, I beg, I do request,
Some breathing time, even so long time at least,
Free from these pains, as I may swallow down
My Spittle: Oh, good God, let me alone
But for a Moment, that I may but try
Thy goodness once, again, before I Dye.
Ah is there no end of my Misery!
Some respite, Lord, I beg, I do request,
Some breathing time, even so long time at least,
Free from these pains, as I may swallow down
My Spittle: Oh, good God, let me alone
But for a Moment, that I may but try
Thy goodness once, again, before I Dye.
Lord I have sinn'd, 'tis true, I do confess
My Error, and my black unrighteousness.
What shall I do! how shall I answer find
To thee, the great preserver of Mankind!
As worst of sinners, Lord, thou dost me treat,
For as my Sins, so are my Judgements great.
Th'hast set me gainst thee, as a Mark, or Butt,
At which thy pointed Arrows thou dost shoot,
With Torments hast me so o'reloadened,
That long ago of Life I'm wearied.
My Error, and my black unrighteousness.
What shall I do! how shall I answer find
To thee, the great preserver of Mankind!
As worst of sinners, Lord, thou dost me treat,
For as my Sins, so are my Judgements great.
Th'hast set me gainst thee, as a Mark, or Butt,
At which thy pointed Arrows thou dost shoot,
With Torments hast me so o'reloadened,
That long ago of Life I'm wearied.
Why should thy wrath continually burn,
'Gainst a poor sinner! O let Grace return,
Pardon my sins: wash from iniquity
The Soul thou gavst me, Lord, before I dye.
Let me of Mercy hear the joyful sound,
For in an instant I shall not be found.
I dye, I dye, my Passing Bell doth Toul,
Have Mercy, Lord, have Mercy on my Soul.
'Gainst a poor sinner! O let Grace return,
Pardon my sins: wash from iniquity
The Soul thou gavst me, Lord, before I dye.
Let me of Mercy hear the joyful sound,
For in an instant I shall not be found.
I dye, I dye, my Passing Bell doth Toul,
Have Mercy, Lord, have Mercy on my Soul.
Cap. VIII.
Thus have we seen how Job with grief opprest,
By night and day, has in his Mind no rest.
In this sad case, with great impatience,
Appears to quarrel even Providence.
For those his Friends, of whom he did expect
Some Comfort, rather sharplie did him check,
For th'Errors of his Life, and openly
Reprov'd him for his gross Hypocrisie:
We've seen with how much Art and Eloquence,
One of his friends has given evidence
Against him, now another undertakes,
Th'argument, and thus he answer makes.
By night and day, has in his Mind no rest.
In this sad case, with great impatience,
Appears to quarrel even Providence.
For those his Friends, of whom he did expect
Some Comfort, rather sharplie did him check,
For th'Errors of his Life, and openly
Reprov'd him for his gross Hypocrisie:
We've seen with how much Art and Eloquence,
49
Against him, now another undertakes,
Th'argument, and thus he answer makes.
How long, sayes he, friend, wilt thou thus exclaim
Against that justice, which the Heavens did frame,
To what do all thy imprecations tend?
What means this clamour? shall there be no end
Of this thy idle talking? shall we be
Oblig'd to hear, what none, but such as thee
Would stammer out? what one in sober case
Would be asham'd to speak: such words as these,
Which thou in foolish passion hast us'd
Against our God: would hardly be excus'd,
Out of a mad-mans mouth: but when they flow
From such as thee, friend, whom we all do know
To be of more than ordinary Sense,
We must condemn, thy gross impatience.
Against that justice, which the Heavens did frame,
To what do all thy imprecations tend?
What means this clamour? shall there be no end
Of this thy idle talking? shall we be
Oblig'd to hear, what none, but such as thee
Would stammer out? what one in sober case
Would be asham'd to speak: such words as these,
Which thou in foolish passion hast us'd
Against our God: would hardly be excus'd,
Out of a mad-mans mouth: but when they flow
From such as thee, friend, whom we all do know
To be of more than ordinary Sense,
We must condemn, thy gross impatience.
Dost' think that God, whose great and mighty Name,
All things Created, dayly do proclaim,
Can in his judgements err, can any thing
Invert the firm Decrees of Heavens King?
He who himself is Justice, can he do
What is unjust? dost think that he'l allow
Vain man t'imagine that he can dispense
With what injustice is, in any Sense?
Dost think he can be Brib'd, as dayly here
Our Judges are, either by Hope, or Fear,
With all th'efforts of humane Art, and Skill
T'alter th'Eternal Purpose of his Will.
All things Created, dayly do proclaim,
Can in his judgements err, can any thing
Invert the firm Decrees of Heavens King?
He who himself is Justice, can he do
What is unjust? dost think that he'l allow
Vain man t'imagine that he can dispense
With what injustice is, in any Sense?
Dost think he can be Brib'd, as dayly here
Our Judges are, either by Hope, or Fear,
With all th'efforts of humane Art, and Skill
T'alter th'Eternal Purpose of his Will.
Why if thy Children did their God offend,
And for their sins, were brought t'untimely end:
Why dost'regrate the loss so bitterly,
Of those who for their Crimes deserv'd to dye?
No sure thou shouldst not such thy Children call,
But rather take example by their Fall;
T'abstain from sin, and not provoke the Wrath
Of him, who in his Hand has Life, and Death.
And for their sins, were brought t'untimely end:
Why dost'regrate the loss so bitterly,
Of those who for their Crimes deserv'd to dye?
No sure thou shouldst not such thy Children call,
But rather take example by their Fall;
T'abstain from sin, and not provoke the Wrath
Of him, who in his Hand has Life, and Death.
Yet if thou'lt call on God, and earnestlie
Implore assistance from his Majesty,
If with a heart, and hands uplifted thou,
Humbly before thy great Creator bow.
Implore assistance from his Majesty,
If with a heart, and hands uplifted thou,
Humbly before thy great Creator bow.
If with a cordial true sincerity,
Thou to thy Maker dost thy self apply;
Then will he hear thy Pray'r and after all,
What now thou dost most grievous Torments call,
He'l re-establish thee, and make thee see,
How much, for all thy Plagues, he valueth thee.
He'l blesse thy dwelling House with Righteousness,
And crown thy Life with Honour, Wealth, and Peace.
Thou to thy Maker dost thy self apply;
Then will he hear thy Pray'r and after all,
What now thou dost most grievous Torments call,
He'l re-establish thee, and make thee see,
How much, for all thy Plagues, he valueth thee.
He'l blesse thy dwelling House with Righteousness,
And crown thy Life with Honour, Wealth, and Peace.
Nay tho thou now dost in affliction lye,
Complaining of thy Pains, and Agony.
Although thy present Case seems to declare,
No Remedy is left thee, but despare.
Yet shall thy latter end with joyes be bless't
And thou of great abundance be possest.
Complaining of thy Pains, and Agony.
Although thy present Case seems to declare,
No Remedy is left thee, but despare.
Yet shall thy latter end with joyes be bless't
50
Now if thou wilt not credit what we say,
Go too, enquire, search all Records I pray,
Dig in the bowels of Antiquity,
Where Times immense spare-treasury doth ly.
Where our Creators Glorious Works of old,
Are to be read in Characters of Gold.
There shalt thou see, what mercies God hath shown
To those he loves: how much he for his own
At all times hath appear'd: enquire now pray,
For, truth is, we are but of Yesterday.
Go too, enquire, search all Records I pray,
Dig in the bowels of Antiquity,
Where Times immense spare-treasury doth ly.
Where our Creators Glorious Works of old,
Are to be read in Characters of Gold.
There shalt thou see, what mercies God hath shown
To those he loves: how much he for his own
At all times hath appear'd: enquire now pray,
For, truth is, we are but of Yesterday.
Just drop't into the World, meer Novices,
Have no deep thoughts, and can at best but guess,
Men of no reach, nor is there time allow'd,
For us to learn on earth, although we wou'd.
For, as a shadow, so our years do pass,
Our Days by time are eaten up like Grass.
Have no deep thoughts, and can at best but guess,
Men of no reach, nor is there time allow'd,
For us to learn on earth, although we wou'd.
For, as a shadow, so our years do pass,
Our Days by time are eaten up like Grass.
But O let Venerable Antiquity
Inform thee plainly how the case doth ly,
Ask Councel of dead Wise Men, in a word
Let what those Fathers left upon Record
Teach thee, let their Authority prevail,
For what we speak, perhaps thou think'st a Tale.
Inform thee plainly how the case doth ly,
Ask Councel of dead Wise Men, in a word
Let what those Fathers left upon Record
Teach thee, let their Authority prevail,
For what we speak, perhaps thou think'st a Tale.
Inform thy self then, and thou'lt surely find.
We are thy real Friends, and are more kind
Than thou imagin'st, for we do not mean
To flatter thee: but hearing thee complain
Of thy sad usage, as if thou wert one
Void of all sin, and it could not be known
What mov'd our God so sore to punish thee,
We tell thee, we the reason plainly see.
Sins usher Judgments, as the Flames do heat,
And as when Serpents Mouth, and Tail doth meet,
It makes a Circle, so the sin goes round,
Then meeting with the Judgment doth confound
It self with th'substance of that pois'nous thing,
And so the Sin, and Plague make up one Ring:
In which Ingraven we may plainly read
The cause, from whence the judgment doth proceed.
For Sin and Judgment are so link'd together
As he who sees the one may see the other.
Let's argue then, my Friend, I do desire,
Can a Rush grow up, where there is no Mire?
Can Grass, unless by water moistened
Grow up, and with fair Coverlet o're spread
Both Hills, and Valleys: as is daily seen,
We are thy real Friends, and are more kind
Than thou imagin'st, for we do not mean
To flatter thee: but hearing thee complain
Of thy sad usage, as if thou wert one
Void of all sin, and it could not be known
What mov'd our God so sore to punish thee,
We tell thee, we the reason plainly see.
Sins usher Judgments, as the Flames do heat,
And as when Serpents Mouth, and Tail doth meet,
It makes a Circle, so the sin goes round,
Then meeting with the Judgment doth confound
It self with th'substance of that pois'nous thing,
And so the Sin, and Plague make up one Ring:
In which Ingraven we may plainly read
The cause, from whence the judgment doth proceed.
For Sin and Judgment are so link'd together
As he who sees the one may see the other.
Let's argue then, my Friend, I do desire,
Can a Rush grow up, where there is no Mire?
Can Grass, unless by water moistened
Grow up, and with fair Coverlet o're spread
Both Hills, and Valleys: as is daily seen,
The Grass which withers, whilst is yet green
It doth require no toil to cut it down,
For it doth fade, before it can be mown.
Before all other Herbs it withereth,
For all its Beauty quickly perisheth.
It doth require no toil to cut it down,
For it doth fade, before it can be mown.
Before all other Herbs it withereth,
For all its Beauty quickly perisheth.
Such is the case of those, who do forget
Their God, and on vain things their minds do set.
Of whom, I look upon the Hypocrite
A creature, who it self a Saint doth write,
Pretending to a singular Purity,
And gulls the World, with show of Piety;
To be the chief: this wretch I do esteem
The worst of men, not meriting the Name,
Even of a Moral Man, so base a Creature,
So supercilious, of so false a Nature,
As no man can his word, or promise trust,
An abject sinner, nothing fram'd of Dust
God hates so much: and therefore let him Treat
His Conscience, as he will; and basely cheat
The credulous World, with a Formality,
God will not suffer such Hypocrisie
To flourish long: but in a moments space
This painted Flower shall wither, like the Grass;
For God shall soon, for all his lofty top,
Dash him to thousand pieces with his hope.
Their God, and on vain things their minds do set.
Of whom, I look upon the Hypocrite
51
Pretending to a singular Purity,
And gulls the World, with show of Piety;
To be the chief: this wretch I do esteem
The worst of men, not meriting the Name,
Even of a Moral Man, so base a Creature,
So supercilious, of so false a Nature,
As no man can his word, or promise trust,
An abject sinner, nothing fram'd of Dust
God hates so much: and therefore let him Treat
His Conscience, as he will; and basely cheat
The credulous World, with a Formality,
God will not suffer such Hypocrisie
To flourish long: but in a moments space
This painted Flower shall wither, like the Grass;
For God shall soon, for all his lofty top,
Dash him to thousand pieces with his hope.
He'l disappoint his hateful confidence,
And cut him off for all his formal sense,
Those earthly things, in which he put his trust,
Shall in an instant be transform'd to dust:
Of no more value, than a Spiders house,
To every besome so obnoxious,
As what appears most neatly wrought to day,
To morrow is most nearly sweep't away.
And cut him off for all his formal sense,
Those earthly things, in which he put his trust,
Shall in an instant be transform'd to dust:
Of no more value, than a Spiders house,
To every besome so obnoxious,
As what appears most neatly wrought to day,
To morrow is most nearly sweep't away.
Shall soon perceive the flattering vanity,
Of such as think t'erect a family
On villany, and fraud (for desolation,
Is only built on such a weak foundation)
His out-side piety shall no more prevail,
For all those cunning Tricks, and Arts shall fail
By which he did the World abuse; his name
Shall not be mention'd, but with scorn, and shame.
Let him do what he can to magnify
The reputation of his Family.
Let him hoord up his Means in Chests of Iron,
And round the same with Grats of Brass environ:
Let him grasp close the things he loves so well,
And 'mongst his quickly purchas'd Treasures dwell:
Watching them, with great trouble night, and day,
Yet shall those darling Riches fly away.
Of such as think t'erect a family
On villany, and fraud (for desolation,
Is only built on such a weak foundation)
His out-side piety shall no more prevail,
For all those cunning Tricks, and Arts shall fail
By which he did the World abuse; his name
Shall not be mention'd, but with scorn, and shame.
Let him do what he can to magnify
The reputation of his Family.
Let him hoord up his Means in Chests of Iron,
And round the same with Grats of Brass environ:
Let him grasp close the things he loves so well,
And 'mongst his quickly purchas'd Treasures dwell:
Watching them, with great trouble night, and day,
Yet shall those darling Riches fly away.
But, as in view o'th' Sun a tender Tree
Still verdant flourisheth, although it be
Transplanted from one place t'another, yet
It growes apace, and nothing doth abate
Of its most pleasant shape, and former strength,
Till it become a lofty pine at length.
Still verdant flourisheth, although it be
Transplanted from one place t'another, yet
It growes apace, and nothing doth abate
Of its most pleasant shape, and former strength,
Till it become a lofty pine at length.
Although its Roots in Earth do scattered lye,
Like Mettals in the Veins, so as no eye
Can trace them, some about the Fountain wrap't,
Some close to th'Arbours, and the stone-house clap't,
Like Mettals in the Veins, so as no eye
Can trace them, some about the Fountain wrap't,
Some close to th'Arbours, and the stone-house clap't,
Yet pluck it up, and to another Ground
Transplant it, as no vestige can be found
Of its first seat, so that no eye can know
Whether a Tree did e're grow there, or no.
Transplant it, as no vestige can be found
Of its first seat, so that no eye can know
52
T'will soon shoot up amain, and flourish more,
In that new soile, than ere it did before.
Even so the Godly, though it be their case,
To be transplanted here from place to place:
Toss'd with afflictions, and with sorrows vex't,
With grief overwhelm'd, with poverty perplex't,
Yet shall they laugh at length, whilst others mourn,
And all their woes shall to their profit turn.
In that new soile, than ere it did before.
Even so the Godly, though it be their case,
To be transplanted here from place to place:
Toss'd with afflictions, and with sorrows vex't,
With grief overwhelm'd, with poverty perplex't,
Yet shall they laugh at length, whilst others mourn,
And all their woes shall to their profit turn.
For God an upright man will not neglect,
Nor will he th'injust in his wayes protect;
He will not thee, friend, in this state desert,
But after all will truly take thy part;
Nor will he th'injust in his wayes protect;
He will not thee, friend, in this state desert,
But after all will truly take thy part;
Nor will he leave thee, till he has restor'd,
All he has taken from thee, in a word,
He'll fill thy Lips with joy, and make thee glad
At length, indeed, more than thou now art sad.
All he has taken from thee, in a word,
He'll fill thy Lips with joy, and make thee glad
At length, indeed, more than thou now art sad.
Then such as thee contemn'd in poverty,
When they perceive thee in prosperity,
Shall be asham'd of what they did before,
And shall thy friendship by all means implore.
But if thou in thy stubborn ways persist,
And think it lawful to do what thou list;
Then shall thy sorrows, 'stead of growing less,
Be more, and thy afflictions shall encrease.
When they perceive thee in prosperity,
Shall be asham'd of what they did before,
And shall thy friendship by all means implore.
But if thou in thy stubborn ways persist,
And think it lawful to do what thou list;
Then shall thy sorrows, 'stead of growing less,
Be more, and thy afflictions shall encrease.
Cap. IX.
During these learn'd digressions of Wit;
Job all the while most pensively did sit.
For as to one condemn'd, before he dye
The Judge from Bench doth use himself t'apply
In exhortations, laying out his Crime.
Resumes his Case, and whilst it is yet time,
Conjures him to Repentance, so, while these
Did open thus Jobs Case, he held his peace;
At length perceiving he had no defence,
'Gainst their Insults, but his own Innocence.
Thus mildly answers.
Job all the while most pensively did sit.
For as to one condemn'd, before he dye
The Judge from Bench doth use himself t'apply
In exhortations, laying out his Crime.
Resumes his Case, and whilst it is yet time,
Conjures him to Repentance, so, while these
Did open thus Jobs Case, he held his peace;
At length perceiving he had no defence,
'Gainst their Insults, but his own Innocence.
Thus mildly answers.
Why, my dear friends, you tell me God is just,
And in him only I should put my Trust.
To me this is no new thing, for I know,
And always was convinc'd that it was so.
Gods justice, I confess, is admirable,
Impartial, Pure, beyond what I am able,
By all the parts allow'd me, to express;
Gods Justice is most powerful, I confess.
Compar'd with which, all that we can acclaim
Of Righteousness, doth not deserve the name
Of moral vertue; for should we be try'd,
By Law of God, who can be justify'd?
In Courts of Men, we use to lay Defence,
Against the Bill, the Jury, th'Evidence,
Refuse the Words o'th' Law, and plead the Sense:
But in Gods Court no such Procedure is,
His Laws are clear, need no Paraphrasis,
The Bill is so well founded, it is found
Without Removal from the Court: 'tis own'd
By all as true: it needs must be confess't,
Who can deny't? when from our very Breast,
Both Evidence are brought, and Jury too,
What Court such fair Procedure can allow?
And in him only I should put my Trust.
To me this is no new thing, for I know,
And always was convinc'd that it was so.
Gods justice, I confess, is admirable,
Impartial, Pure, beyond what I am able,
By all the parts allow'd me, to express;
Gods Justice is most powerful, I confess.
Compar'd with which, all that we can acclaim
Of Righteousness, doth not deserve the name
Of moral vertue; for should we be try'd,
53
In Courts of Men, we use to lay Defence,
Against the Bill, the Jury, th'Evidence,
Refuse the Words o'th' Law, and plead the Sense:
But in Gods Court no such Procedure is,
His Laws are clear, need no Paraphrasis,
The Bill is so well founded, it is found
Without Removal from the Court: 'tis own'd
By all as true: it needs must be confess't,
Who can deny't? when from our very Breast,
Both Evidence are brought, and Jury too,
What Court such fair Procedure can allow?
When God Arraigns us Mortals, who's the'man
Dare, plead not guilty? who is he, that can
Make answer to his Charge? hold up his Face,
And with his Maker dares dispute the Case?
T'one of a thousand Questions he'l demand,
When at the Barr of our Great Judge we stand,
Who's he can frame an answer? or deny
His Errors, or himself can justify,
I'th' smallest point? who can his Charge refuse
His Vices palliat, or his sins excuse?
Dare, plead not guilty? who is he, that can
Make answer to his Charge? hold up his Face,
And with his Maker dares dispute the Case?
T'one of a thousand Questions he'l demand,
When at the Barr of our Great Judge we stand,
Who's he can frame an answer? or deny
His Errors, or himself can justify,
I'th' smallest point? who can his Charge refuse
His Vices palliat, or his sins excuse?
Who can express the glorious qualities
Of our Great God? he's admirably wise:
In boundless force, and power most formidable,
And in all things, that's good, incomparable.
Who ever yet did with his God contend,
And boasted of his success in the end?
Of our Great God? he's admirably wise:
In boundless force, and power most formidable,
And in all things, that's good, incomparable.
Who ever yet did with his God contend,
And boasted of his success in the end?
The highest Mountains, which to humane eyes
Appear to be contiguous with the Skyes,
Whose proud Imperial tops themselves do shroud
I'th' tiara of a continual Cloud:
He pulls up by the roots with little care,
And like so many Peebles, here, and there,
He throws them from his hand, with wondrous ease,
Some in the Pools, and Lakes, some in the Seas:
Some in the Isles, the Main-land, and the Shore,
And Hills are now, where Valleys were before:
Nor do those stubborn Mountains feel his Blows,
When in his anger, he them overthrows.
Appear to be contiguous with the Skyes,
Whose proud Imperial tops themselves do shroud
I'th' tiara of a continual Cloud:
He pulls up by the roots with little care,
And like so many Peebles, here, and there,
He throws them from his hand, with wondrous ease,
Some in the Pools, and Lakes, some in the Seas:
Some in the Isles, the Main-land, and the Shore,
And Hills are now, where Valleys were before:
Nor do those stubborn Mountains feel his Blows,
When in his anger, he them overthrows.
This Center of the Universe, which all
Admire so much, and with good reason call
Earths glorious Fabrick, which for certain Term,
Our God to Mankind has Let out in Farm.
This Earth adorn'd with so much bravery,
And with such fair, and rich variety
Enammeled: as no Art can imitate;
For atomes whereof we so much debate:
Buzzing about this Globe, like Bees in Hive,
Where who each other shall out-toile, we strive,
Whilst mean time one poor lease for life is all
We here on Earth our Property can call.
Nay happy, could it so long time endure,
That each man could his Turff for Life ensure:
But ah where on those precious Clods retains,
To death, and leaves the fruit of all his pains
To those he loves, ten thousand, ere they dy,
Are strip'd of all, and in sad Poverty,
Consume their hopeless years, and so do I.
This Glob of Earth he tosses too and fro,
As one doth Ball with Racket, high, or low,
As he thinks good, he makes its surface quake,
Its body twirle, and all its Pillars shake.
Admire so much, and with good reason call
Earths glorious Fabrick, which for certain Term,
Our God to Mankind has Let out in Farm.
This Earth adorn'd with so much bravery,
And with such fair, and rich variety
Enammeled: as no Art can imitate;
For atomes whereof we so much debate:
Buzzing about this Globe, like Bees in Hive,
Where who each other shall out-toile, we strive,
Whilst mean time one poor lease for life is all
We here on Earth our Property can call.
Nay happy, could it so long time endure,
That each man could his Turff for Life ensure:
54
To death, and leaves the fruit of all his pains
To those he loves, ten thousand, ere they dy,
Are strip'd of all, and in sad Poverty,
Consume their hopeless years, and so do I.
This Glob of Earth he tosses too and fro,
As one doth Ball with Racket, high, or low,
As he thinks good, he makes its surface quake,
Its body twirle, and all its Pillars shake.
The Sun, who, like a Conqueror every day
His Glory doth triumphantly display:
Whose splendid Beams afford such radiant light
As scattereth all the vapours of the night.
With such bright Lustre doth this Glob surround,
As its fair influence every where is found.
Who in his Motion doth observe such Grace,
No force, or Art will make him change his pace;
But 'round th'Horizon makes such pretty tours,
In his Diurnal, and his Annual Course,
Check'd by no snare, obstructed by no fear,
With great exactness measuring out the year;
As one would soon conclude, without dispute
This Creature were a Monarch absolute.
Our God prohibits this same Sun to rise,
And couching like a Spanniel, closs he lies
Below the foot of our Almighty God,
Nor for the World, dares he peep abroad,
Until licens'd, by the same Divine Power,
Which him confin'd, and which from hour to hour
He doth expect: whilst we poor Mortals ly
Plung'd in a horrid, deep Obscurity:
Where in our nasty holes, like Toads we craul,
And grope, like Blind-men 'bout this earthen Ball,
Until by warrand in our Hemisphere
This most Illustrious Prince doth re-appear.
His Glory doth triumphantly display:
Whose splendid Beams afford such radiant light
As scattereth all the vapours of the night.
With such bright Lustre doth this Glob surround,
As its fair influence every where is found.
Who in his Motion doth observe such Grace,
No force, or Art will make him change his pace;
But 'round th'Horizon makes such pretty tours,
In his Diurnal, and his Annual Course,
Check'd by no snare, obstructed by no fear,
With great exactness measuring out the year;
As one would soon conclude, without dispute
This Creature were a Monarch absolute.
Our God prohibits this same Sun to rise,
And couching like a Spanniel, closs he lies
Below the foot of our Almighty God,
Nor for the World, dares he peep abroad,
Until licens'd, by the same Divine Power,
Which him confin'd, and which from hour to hour
He doth expect: whilst we poor Mortals ly
Plung'd in a horrid, deep Obscurity:
Where in our nasty holes, like Toads we craul,
And grope, like Blind-men 'bout this earthen Ball,
Until by warrand in our Hemisphere
This most Illustrious Prince doth re-appear.
Poor toiling Spiders, inconsiderat things,
Who call themselves here Emperours and Kings!
Whose great ambition is to imitate
This Splendid Creature in his Pomp and State:
Dreaming themselves in a most happy case,
When by the World esteemed of his race:
Who cause themselves be pictur'd, with their heads
Environ'd with his Rayes: that he who reads
Their aery Motto's, may perceive how much,
These Fools affect to be imagin'd such,
As is that Creature in his Noon-tide glory;
And in that pride transmit themselves to story.
Ah how I pity those poor crowned toyes,
Who fool themselves, to pleasure Girles, and Boyes:
The Spring-tide of whose Souls no higher rises,
Than to abuse us with such State Devices.
When this same glorious, bright Original,
The mean Apprentice-copies whereof all
Those Buzzards do at most aspire to be
Esteem'd, who is not blind, may plainly see
Is but a Vassal to th'Almighty Lord,
Answers his call, and watches by his Word.
Who call themselves here Emperours and Kings!
Whose great ambition is to imitate
This Splendid Creature in his Pomp and State:
Dreaming themselves in a most happy case,
When by the World esteemed of his race:
Who cause themselves be pictur'd, with their heads
Environ'd with his Rayes: that he who reads
Their aery Motto's, may perceive how much,
These Fools affect to be imagin'd such,
As is that Creature in his Noon-tide glory;
And in that pride transmit themselves to story.
Ah how I pity those poor crowned toyes,
Who fool themselves, to pleasure Girles, and Boyes:
The Spring-tide of whose Souls no higher rises,
Than to abuse us with such State Devices.
When this same glorious, bright Original,
The mean Apprentice-copies whereof all
Those Buzzards do at most aspire to be
55
Is but a Vassal to th'Almighty Lord,
Answers his call, and watches by his Word.
Those lights, which in their Rowes so eminent
Make such a Figure in the Firmament:
And with such beauty in their Orbs appear,
As one would think the Heavens pellucid were:
Those pleasant Stars, who with their sparkling light
Allay the Horrour of a Winters Night.
Who teach th'almost despairing Mariner,
In blustring Storms, how he his Course may steer:
And when his Sea-card, and his Compass fails,
Instructs him how to tack and ply his Sails.
These troops of pointed Lights, Heavens numerous Eyes
In Packs, and Bundles the Almighty tyes:
Then with his Signet doth those Bundles seal,
As one doth Wares, and merchandize for sale:
So that their twinkling light appears no more,
And darkness reigns, where Lamps did shine before.
Make such a Figure in the Firmament:
And with such beauty in their Orbs appear,
As one would think the Heavens pellucid were:
Those pleasant Stars, who with their sparkling light
Allay the Horrour of a Winters Night.
Who teach th'almost despairing Mariner,
In blustring Storms, how he his Course may steer:
And when his Sea-card, and his Compass fails,
Instructs him how to tack and ply his Sails.
These troops of pointed Lights, Heavens numerous Eyes
In Packs, and Bundles the Almighty tyes:
Then with his Signet doth those Bundles seal,
As one doth Wares, and merchandize for sale:
So that their twinkling light appears no more,
And darkness reigns, where Lamps did shine before.
The Canopy of Heavens he stretches out,
And makes those Orbs, like Whirle-winds, roul about
This fixed Mass of Earth: 'tis he alone
Directs their Motions, and makes every one
Of those great Engins in their circles move,
Some quick, some in a course more slow, above
What human art can imitate, 'tis he,
Who walketh on the surface of the Sea:
Where stoutest Ships like drunken men do reel,
And forc'd by strength of waves, turn up their Keel.
On those proud billows doth our Mighty God
Walk unconcern'd, as on a beaten road.
And makes those Orbs, like Whirle-winds, roul about
This fixed Mass of Earth: 'tis he alone
Directs their Motions, and makes every one
Of those great Engins in their circles move,
Some quick, some in a course more slow, above
What human art can imitate, 'tis he,
Who walketh on the surface of the Sea:
Where stoutest Ships like drunken men do reel,
And forc'd by strength of waves, turn up their Keel.
On those proud billows doth our Mighty God
Walk unconcern'd, as on a beaten road.
The Stars in several bodies he doth frame,
To each of which he gives a proper name:
Such as Arcturus, Orion, Pleiades,
And quarters them through all the Provinces
Of his vast Empire; where those bodies ly,
Each settled in its own Locality,
The standing Forces of Heavens Monarchy.
To each of which he gives a proper name:
Such as Arcturus, Orion, Pleiades,
And quarters them through all the Provinces
Of his vast Empire; where those bodies ly,
Each settled in its own Locality,
The standing Forces of Heavens Monarchy.
Great things he acts; O things most admirable!
Beyond our reach, things most innumerable!
Things, which no human Language can express,
Though every Language doth the same confess.
Beyond our reach, things most innumerable!
Things, which no human Language can express,
Though every Language doth the same confess.
Why even those works, which daily to our eyes
In course are obvious, our Capacities
By many thousand Stages do transcend,
Nor can our groping reason comprehend
The meanest of his actings, or espy
This Mighty Monarch. when he passeth by,
And makes his splendid Progress through the Sky.
Nor can our eyes perceive his Royal Seat,
Though, every day he shows himself in State.
In course are obvious, our Capacities
By many thousand Stages do transcend,
Nor can our groping reason comprehend
The meanest of his actings, or espy
This Mighty Monarch. when he passeth by,
And makes his splendid Progress through the Sky.
Nor can our eyes perceive his Royal Seat,
Though, every day he shows himself in State.
When this great King would Justice execute,
What man dares his Authority dispute?
Who's he that dares Declinator alledge,
Against his Court, or offer to repledge
The highest Prince, whom he intends to try?
Or save his Life, whom he commands to dye?
When he our Goods, and Substance doth distrain,
Who can compel him to restore again
What he hath taken? who's that Mortal, pray,
Dares offer to resist his Power? or say
He does unjustly? or in Court dares bring
A quo warranto, 'gainst this mighty King!
What man dares his Authority dispute?
Who's he that dares Declinator alledge,
56
The highest Prince, whom he intends to try?
Or save his Life, whom he commands to dye?
When he our Goods, and Substance doth distrain,
Who can compel him to restore again
What he hath taken? who's that Mortal, pray,
Dares offer to resist his Power? or say
He does unjustly? or in Court dares bring
A quo warranto, 'gainst this mighty King!
No, all's in vain, no force of Eloquence,
No Laws, no proofs, can clear the Innocence
Of him, whom God condemns; no surely he,
Unhappy Creature, (who so e're he be)
After his reasoning, praying, after all,
A victim to the Divine wrath must fall.
Nay, you, my friends, for all your wit and parts,
Which doth afford you talk, though in your hearts,
You think not what you speak, even you must dye,
When God pronounces Sentence, from on high,
Against you, nor will all your Art can say
In Rhet'ricks sweetest flowers procure delay
For one small moment: no, his Sentence must
Be execute, and you return to Dust.
No Laws, no proofs, can clear the Innocence
Of him, whom God condemns; no surely he,
Unhappy Creature, (who so e're he be)
After his reasoning, praying, after all,
A victim to the Divine wrath must fall.
Nay, you, my friends, for all your wit and parts,
Which doth afford you talk, though in your hearts,
You think not what you speak, even you must dye,
When God pronounces Sentence, from on high,
Against you, nor will all your Art can say
In Rhet'ricks sweetest flowers procure delay
For one small moment: no, his Sentence must
Be execute, and you return to Dust.
Since you then even with all your Eloquence,
'Gainst his Procedure can make no defence:
Ah how can I a wretch so despicable,
Void of all Reason, Wit, and Parts, be able
To make him answer? where shall such as I
Find sugred words t'obtain indemnity?
'Gainst his Procedure can make no defence:
Ah how can I a wretch so despicable,
Void of all Reason, Wit, and Parts, be able
To make him answer? where shall such as I
Find sugred words t'obtain indemnity?
Nay though perswaded of my innocence,
Yet 'gainst his Justice I'de make no defence.
All he layes to my Charge, I would confess,
And then to his sole Mercy make address.
I would not plead, but say I firmly knew,
All my Inditement to be simply true:
And then exibit, with great veneration,
Before my Judge my humble supplication,
Wherein I'de ask, that he by me would do,
As he thought fit; but if he pleas'd t'allow
Some breathing time, that I might yet implore,
(Before I trindle hence, and be no more)
His pardon for my sins, I'de only say,
This favour would oblige me still to pray.
For should I in this manner supplicat,
I'de hope that God would me commiserat.
'Tis but what he can grant me out of hand,
Though more than I deserve, or dare demand.
Fools, with their Maker, do expostulat,
And think by words themselves to liberat,
But pious men, who better things do know,
Upon Gods Mercy still themselves do throw.
For when th'Almighty doth in Judgement sit,
All that are knowing will to him submit.
He, who to search the Records is inclin'd,
Of that high Court of Justice, soon will find
No formal pleadings there, no exculpations,
But only prayers, and humble supplications.
These are the most prevailing arguments
With the great Judge o'th' World, the glorious Saints,
When them for Crimes th'Almighty would accuse,
In all their tryals, ne're did other use.
Yet 'gainst his Justice I'de make no defence.
All he layes to my Charge, I would confess,
And then to his sole Mercy make address.
I would not plead, but say I firmly knew,
All my Inditement to be simply true:
And then exibit, with great veneration,
Before my Judge my humble supplication,
Wherein I'de ask, that he by me would do,
As he thought fit; but if he pleas'd t'allow
Some breathing time, that I might yet implore,
(Before I trindle hence, and be no more)
His pardon for my sins, I'de only say,
This favour would oblige me still to pray.
For should I in this manner supplicat,
I'de hope that God would me commiserat.
'Tis but what he can grant me out of hand,
Though more than I deserve, or dare demand.
Fools, with their Maker, do expostulat,
And think by words themselves to liberat,
But pious men, who better things do know,
Upon Gods Mercy still themselves do throw.
For when th'Almighty doth in Judgement sit,
All that are knowing will to him submit.
He, who to search the Records is inclin'd,
57
No formal pleadings there, no exculpations,
But only prayers, and humble supplications.
These are the most prevailing arguments
With the great Judge o'th' World, the glorious Saints,
When them for Crimes th'Almighty would accuse,
In all their tryals, ne're did other use.
Now, though I know that God doth hear the cry
Of those, who from the pit of misery
Do make address to him, and that our Lord
In his good time to such will help afford:
Yet in my present pain, and agony
I do believe, with some difficulty,
That God will hear my prayer, or if he do,
That he to me such favour will allow
As he to others grants: since only I
Condemned to perpetual misery,
Can hope for no relief, then pray excuse
These hot expressions, which you hear me use,
For I'me undone with grief: my case is sad,
And still oppression makes a wise man mad.
Of those, who from the pit of misery
Do make address to him, and that our Lord
In his good time to such will help afford:
Yet in my present pain, and agony
I do believe, with some difficulty,
That God will hear my prayer, or if he do,
That he to me such favour will allow
As he to others grants: since only I
Condemned to perpetual misery,
Can hope for no relief, then pray excuse
These hot expressions, which you hear me use,
For I'me undone with grief: my case is sad,
And still oppression makes a wise man mad.
Like a strong tempest, God his wrath lets out,
Which will at length destroy me, without doubt.
The torrent of his anger swells so high,
And rushes on my Soul so furiously,
As all the art of humane patience
Cannot resist its force, and violence.
I'm wounded by the order of his Laws,
Most justly, though as yet I know no cause.
My plagues, and torments sensibly I feel,
And know the measure of my woes full well,
But such my dulness is, I cannot yet
Perceive those ugly sins, which did beget
Those monstruous Evils; of which I complain,
And call for reparation, but in vain.
Which will at length destroy me, without doubt.
The torrent of his anger swells so high,
And rushes on my Soul so furiously,
As all the art of humane patience
Cannot resist its force, and violence.
I'm wounded by the order of his Laws,
Most justly, though as yet I know no cause.
My plagues, and torments sensibly I feel,
And know the measure of my woes full well,
But such my dulness is, I cannot yet
Perceive those ugly sins, which did beget
Those monstruous Evils; of which I complain,
And call for reparation, but in vain.
For I'm so harrass'd by that Heavenly wrath,
As I can find no time to take my breath.
Continued sorrows do my Soul oppress,
My Heart is brim-full of sad bitterness.
As I can find no time to take my breath.
Continued sorrows do my Soul oppress,
My Heart is brim-full of sad bitterness.
But what doth yet encreass my misery,
To th'utmost, is the vast disparity,
'Twixt him, who doth these ills inflict, and me,
He's great, and I as mean, as mean can be.
And, if we speak of strength, why th'Lord of Hosts,
Is strength it self in abstract, he who boasts,
Of any strength, valour, or gallantry.
Compar'd with God is but a butter-fly
Compar'd with Eagle, or a silly Ant,
In scales with a huge, big-bon'd Elephant.
Talk we of Judgement: who shall make address
For me? and bring me in to plead my case?
When I appear before his Majesty,
What shall I say? how shall I justifie?
My actings in this Earth? how shall I frame
Excuse for what to mention is my shame?
To th'utmost, is the vast disparity,
'Twixt him, who doth these ills inflict, and me,
He's great, and I as mean, as mean can be.
And, if we speak of strength, why th'Lord of Hosts,
Is strength it self in abstract, he who boasts,
Of any strength, valour, or gallantry.
Compar'd with God is but a butter-fly
Compar'd with Eagle, or a silly Ant,
In scales with a huge, big-bon'd Elephant.
Talk we of Judgement: who shall make address
For me? and bring me in to plead my case?
When I appear before his Majesty,
What shall I say? how shall I justifie?
58
Excuse for what to mention is my shame?
For if with God I'd enter in debate,
And justifie my self at any rate:
If I desert, or innocence would plead,
Then words which from my own mouth do proceed,
Would prove me guilty: and if I but name
My uprightness: his Justice will proclaim
My misdemeanors, and make evident,
How I in courting sin my time have spent.
And justifie my self at any rate:
If I desert, or innocence would plead,
Then words which from my own mouth do proceed,
Would prove me guilty: and if I but name
My uprightness: his Justice will proclaim
My misdemeanors, and make evident,
How I in courting sin my time have spent.
Nay though I were upright, yet would I not
Desire to live: my Soul hath quite forgot
Its former kindness to that piece of clay
It lov'd so much before, and every day,
Longs to be from its consort separate;
Whom it doth now with so much reason hate.
Desire to live: my Soul hath quite forgot
Its former kindness to that piece of clay
It lov'd so much before, and every day,
Longs to be from its consort separate;
Whom it doth now with so much reason hate.
Yet here's my comfort, that I understand,
My God will punish, with impartial hand,
Both just, and unjust, and will evidence,
That 'twixt them both he makes no difference:
Has no respect for persons, no regard
For one, or other; but gives out award
In every point, as he finds just and layes
Every mans Cause in equal ballances.
In unjust Causes he will none maintain,
So of Gods Justice no man should complain.
My God will punish, with impartial hand,
Both just, and unjust, and will evidence,
That 'twixt them both he makes no difference:
Has no respect for persons, no regard
For one, or other; but gives out award
In every point, as he finds just and layes
Every mans Cause in equal ballances.
In unjust Causes he will none maintain,
So of Gods Justice no man should complain.
If in his wrath God should the wicked slay,
And root them out, what could those wretches say,
Against Gods Justice, when their Conscience,
Assures them he has done them no offence.
Because Gods Judgements do their sins pursue,
And punishment t'offenders is as due,
As Wages to the Labourer: for each sin
First acts its part, then Judgement does begin,
Where it leaves of: and so pursues the Chace,
Until the breathless sinner end his Race.
This is his Justice, but his Mercie sure,
Eternal, to all ages doth endure.
Must not our God be full of Clemency,
When on the wicked even unwillingly
He executes his Justice: punishment
Is long delay'd, and vengeance seldom sent
'Gainst any but the stiff impenitent.
Who at his Judgement, doth repine, and cry,
Out upon Gods too great severity;
Sure that unhappy Creature doth mistake
Gods Bounty, and his own Condition make
Worse than it was intended: for we know
In Mercy God is quick, in anger slow:
A God of Mercy he himself doth write,
And so in sinners death takes no delite:
Far lesse than should the just, and innocent
Think God takes pleasure in their punishment.
And root them out, what could those wretches say,
Against Gods Justice, when their Conscience,
Assures them he has done them no offence.
Because Gods Judgements do their sins pursue,
And punishment t'offenders is as due,
As Wages to the Labourer: for each sin
First acts its part, then Judgement does begin,
Where it leaves of: and so pursues the Chace,
Until the breathless sinner end his Race.
This is his Justice, but his Mercie sure,
Eternal, to all ages doth endure.
Must not our God be full of Clemency,
When on the wicked even unwillingly
He executes his Justice: punishment
Is long delay'd, and vengeance seldom sent
'Gainst any but the stiff impenitent.
Who at his Judgement, doth repine, and cry,
Out upon Gods too great severity;
Sure that unhappy Creature doth mistake
Gods Bounty, and his own Condition make
Worse than it was intended: for we know
In Mercy God is quick, in anger slow:
A God of Mercy he himself doth write,
And so in sinners death takes no delite:
Far lesse than should the just, and innocent
Think God takes pleasure in their punishment.
59
Nor ought we to repine, when we reflect
How God the wicked Lords o'th' earth doth make:
How he puts Pastures, Vineyards, Houses, Lands,
Power Jurisdiction, Honours in their hands;
By which puff'd up a wanton life they lead,
Whilst godly men do toil for daily bread.
Nor how the Judges of the earth abuse
Their Sacred Function, and their Power do use,
T'oppress the Just: whose eyes with avarice
Are sealed up: who boldly set a price
On Justice: and employ their utmost Art
To sell the same, as in a publick Mart.
Who by their Friends use to negotiat
For Quotes of Pleas: and closely stipulat
For so much at the Issue of the cause:
T'attain which point, they cruciat the Laws;
And make them serve their ends so forcibly.
As all the world may see their Bribery.
If we consider how God doth permit
Those men to live on earth, as they think fit,
Because they're none of his, and have no share
I'th' land of Promise: whilst the upright are
In sad afflictions toss'd, and seem to be
O're whelmed by a most impetuous Sea
Of miseries: wee'l find these walk i'th' Road
Of black Damnation; of such Creatures God
Doth take no care: but lets them all run wild,
Like Herds of Asses, in the open field.
But his own Children he doth exercise
In a continual tract of miseries.
That being keep'd in such strict Discipline,
In a full body they may mount the Line,
I'th' daily Seige of Heaven, and in the end
Possess the same; only to be attain'd
By Sighs and Tears: whilst wicked men do run,
Without all order, and so are undone,
Amidst their pleasures, for they do compell
Their Souls instead of Heaven to march to Hell.
How God the wicked Lords o'th' earth doth make:
How he puts Pastures, Vineyards, Houses, Lands,
Power Jurisdiction, Honours in their hands;
By which puff'd up a wanton life they lead,
Whilst godly men do toil for daily bread.
Nor how the Judges of the earth abuse
Their Sacred Function, and their Power do use,
T'oppress the Just: whose eyes with avarice
Are sealed up: who boldly set a price
On Justice: and employ their utmost Art
To sell the same, as in a publick Mart.
Who by their Friends use to negotiat
For Quotes of Pleas: and closely stipulat
For so much at the Issue of the cause:
T'attain which point, they cruciat the Laws;
And make them serve their ends so forcibly.
As all the world may see their Bribery.
If we consider how God doth permit
Those men to live on earth, as they think fit,
Because they're none of his, and have no share
I'th' land of Promise: whilst the upright are
In sad afflictions toss'd, and seem to be
O're whelmed by a most impetuous Sea
Of miseries: wee'l find these walk i'th' Road
Of black Damnation; of such Creatures God
Doth take no care: but lets them all run wild,
Like Herds of Asses, in the open field.
But his own Children he doth exercise
In a continual tract of miseries.
That being keep'd in such strict Discipline,
In a full body they may mount the Line,
I'th' daily Seige of Heaven, and in the end
Possess the same; only to be attain'd
By Sighs and Tears: whilst wicked men do run,
Without all order, and so are undone,
Amidst their pleasures, for they do compell
Their Souls instead of Heaven to march to Hell.
Now were it lawful to repine, did God
Allow to any that do feel the Rod,
To say that his condition were sad
Sure never any Mortal Creature had
More cause than I poor wretch have to complain,
Who've lost my years, and spent my days in vain.
Swifter than Post my days their course have run,
That I might be more speedily undone.
My days are gone, my time is vanished,
My hours are fled, my life is finished.
My wretched life, a Scene of woes has been,
Under the Sun I have small pleasure seen.
Whilst others of obscure, and mean estate,
To Wealth, and Honours have been elevate:
Their modest parts, buoyd up by Friends and Fame,
Purchassing quickly to those Fools a Name:
Which impudently they would attribute
To their abilities, I destitute
Of every thing that's good, do silently
Spin out my days in grief, and penury.
And as the south wind, with a gentle breese,
Breaths on the verdant Plain, and skims the Seas;
With little noise, so I my days have spent,
My view o'th' world was meerly transient.
Allow to any that do feel the Rod,
To say that his condition were sad
Sure never any Mortal Creature had
More cause than I poor wretch have to complain,
Who've lost my years, and spent my days in vain.
Swifter than Post my days their course have run,
That I might be more speedily undone.
My days are gone, my time is vanished,
My hours are fled, my life is finished.
My wretched life, a Scene of woes has been,
Under the Sun I have small pleasure seen.
Whilst others of obscure, and mean estate,
To Wealth, and Honours have been elevate:
Their modest parts, buoyd up by Friends and Fame,
Purchassing quickly to those Fools a Name:
60
To their abilities, I destitute
Of every thing that's good, do silently
Spin out my days in grief, and penury.
And as the south wind, with a gentle breese,
Breaths on the verdant Plain, and skims the Seas;
With little noise, so I my days have spent,
My view o'th' world was meerly transient.
Have you not seen a Vessel under sail,
Swoln with a stiff, but favourable gale,
Post through the stubborn Seas, and make a Line,
Upon its surface, in a foaming brine?
Or with what wonderful celerity,
The ravenous Eagle to her prey doth flye?
So have my days run out, so have my years
Plough'd through a sea of foaming brinish tears.
Swoln with a stiff, but favourable gale,
Post through the stubborn Seas, and make a Line,
Upon its surface, in a foaming brine?
Or with what wonderful celerity,
The ravenous Eagle to her prey doth flye?
So have my days run out, so have my years
Plough'd through a sea of foaming brinish tears.
Now should I say I will complain no more,
But here my exclamations give o're.
Here to my querullous Notes I'le put a stop,
And from this minute I'le begin to hope.
But here my exclamations give o're.
Here to my querullous Notes I'le put a stop,
And from this minute I'le begin to hope.
Then all my sorrows, all my woes, and fears,
Would suddainly appear about my ears,
With ghastly looks they'd stare me in the face,
And in their silence publish my disgrace.
Because (however I my self do vent)
I know God will not hold me innocent.
Would suddainly appear about my ears,
With ghastly looks they'd stare me in the face,
And in their silence publish my disgrace.
Because (however I my self do vent)
I know God will not hold me innocent.
If horrid sins then do my Soul distain,
Why do I thus excuse my self in vain?
If to my Maker I have given offence,
Why should I all this while plead Innocence?
Why do I thus excuse my self in vain?
If to my Maker I have given offence,
Why should I all this while plead Innocence?
No sure, if things be so, all I can say
Is to no purpose: only I betray
My weakness in endeavouring to maintain
My just demeanour, where my guilt is plain.
Is to no purpose: only I betray
My weakness in endeavouring to maintain
My just demeanour, where my guilt is plain.
For certainly, however I pretend
To Piety, and Grace, yet in the end,
The great Heart-searcher will make evident,
That to this minute I my days have spent
In wickedness, and sin, in villany
Not to be nam'd, in stead of purity.
And thou, O Lord, in just conceived rage,
will Sentence such a Scandal of his age
To utmost torment, that the world may see,
How much thou hatest such a one as me,
Whilst all the Fig-leav'd arguments I use
To palliate my sins, and make excuse
For my false dealings, and unrighteousness,
'Stead of concealing, shall my guilt express.
For God Almighty's not a man as I am,
That I should set my face to't, and defye him.
When he to Justice doth himself betake,
That I before my God should answer make.
Ah what am I a moulded piece of Dust,
Consigned to a few years breath in trust?
A walking ghost! a meer night wanderer,
Like th'empty figment of some Conjurer.
That such as I forsooth, should undertake
Harangues befor the King of Heavens to make,
And argue for my self, whilst tacitely
My Conscience tells me I deserve to dye.
To Piety, and Grace, yet in the end,
The great Heart-searcher will make evident,
That to this minute I my days have spent
In wickedness, and sin, in villany
Not to be nam'd, in stead of purity.
And thou, O Lord, in just conceived rage,
will Sentence such a Scandal of his age
To utmost torment, that the world may see,
How much thou hatest such a one as me,
Whilst all the Fig-leav'd arguments I use
To palliate my sins, and make excuse
For my false dealings, and unrighteousness,
'Stead of concealing, shall my guilt express.
For God Almighty's not a man as I am,
That I should set my face to't, and defye him.
When he to Justice doth himself betake,
That I before my God should answer make.
Ah what am I a moulded piece of Dust,
Consigned to a few years breath in trust?
61
Like th'empty figment of some Conjurer.
That such as I forsooth, should undertake
Harangues befor the King of Heavens to make,
And argue for my self, whilst tacitely
My Conscience tells me I deserve to dye.
Nor, should I offer to expostulate,
And with my Maker enter in debate,
Is there an Umpire, to oblige us both,
And tye us by Subscription, and Oath,
To stand to his award: for who is he
Dares arbitrate betwixt my God, and me.
And with my Maker enter in debate,
Is there an Umpire, to oblige us both,
And tye us by Subscription, and Oath,
To stand to his award: for who is he
Dares arbitrate betwixt my God, and me.
But let him hold a little, and at least
For some small time, forbear, at my request,
To torture me: let him withdraw his Rod,
And let th'hot Pincers of an angry God
Piece-meal my Soul no more: O let his wrath
Be satisfied with a single death.
For some small time, forbear, at my request,
To torture me: let him withdraw his Rod,
And let th'hot Pincers of an angry God
Piece-meal my Soul no more: O let his wrath
Be satisfied with a single death.
Then would I boldly speak, and without fear,
Before him in my own defence appear:
Then would I argue with such Eloquence,
As in short time would clear my Innocence,
But 'cause at present, I am not in case
For speaking, I think fit to hold my peace.
Before him in my own defence appear:
Then would I argue with such Eloquence,
As in short time would clear my Innocence,
But 'cause at present, I am not in case
For speaking, I think fit to hold my peace.
Cap. X.
1. My soul is cut off, though I live I will leave my complaint on my self, and I will speak in the bitterness of my soul.
Yet am I coop'd up in the jaws of death.
My Soul is fled, my days of life are gone,
And this poor widow'd Body left alone,
To be the subject of some country fable,
As in its ruines only memorable.
This fashion'd piece of Earth, which formerly
One would ha' thought, would shift Mortality.
For many years: a Body which of late,
In health, and vigour, fully animate
With a most cheerful Soul, seem'd to imply,
As if at least some small felicity
Were to be found below the Heavens: this point
Of the Creation framed joint, by joint,
Into a reasonable shape, at last
By griefs consuming fury quite defac't,
Has now no figure, but doth every day
Like Wax before the Candle, melt away.
For, as a stranded Vessel, by no hands,
To be got off, and sticking on the Sands,
Obnoxious to the rage of every Tide,
Whilst each rude Wave beats ribs out of its side:
In its dimensions every day decreases,
62
And then what was a statelie Ship before,
In Planks and Boards is cast upon the Shore.
So this frail Body, which in health, and strength,
Look'd like a tall Ship, in its Course, at length,
Stranding upon the Shelves of foul diseases,
In its proportion every hour decreases.
And that it may be ruin'd with dispatch,
Each ulcerous Billow doth large Gobbets snatch
Out of that vigorous Body, which alace,
Is now in a most despicable case.
Hence what remains is that this shattered frame,
Void of all honour, beautie, shape, and name.
Should, like infected Goods by no man own'd,
In Skin and Bones be hurried under ground.
Then what is Life!—O let me but admire,
What idle expectation can hire
Insipid man upon this Earth to dwell,
And love that thing, which we call Life, so well!
Life—like the Mornings-dew upon the Grass,
Exhal'd e're Noon-tide; Life a simple lease,
At will, and pleasure of a homelie Farm
For us to toile in, where we're hardly warm,
In the possession of it, when anon,
Our Lease runs out, and we must all be gone.
Life but the parcels of a few years breath,
Summ'd up at last i'th' capital of death,
Times wast-book: health. and strengths extinguisher,
Heavens great derider: Hells remembrancer.
The old mans profit, and the young mans loss,
The rich mans Idol, and the poor mans cross:
Sins active Pander for some little space,
Then to Repentance a sad looking glass.
Pleasures mean vassal, times obedient slave,
And a most faithful servant to the Grave.
Death charges Time, Time charges Life, by Roll,
To make account of every living Soul:
The grand Collector, by just calculation,
Himself discharges of each Generation.
In deaths exchequer, then begins afresh,
T'exact the impost of all living flesh.
What idle expectation can hire
Insipid man upon this Earth to dwell,
And love that thing, which we call Life, so well!
Life—like the Mornings-dew upon the Grass,
Exhal'd e're Noon-tide; Life a simple lease,
At will, and pleasure of a homelie Farm
For us to toile in, where we're hardly warm,
In the possession of it, when anon,
Our Lease runs out, and we must all be gone.
Life but the parcels of a few years breath,
Summ'd up at last i'th' capital of death,
Times wast-book: health. and strengths extinguisher,
Heavens great derider: Hells remembrancer.
The old mans profit, and the young mans loss,
The rich mans Idol, and the poor mans cross:
Sins active Pander for some little space,
Then to Repentance a sad looking glass.
Pleasures mean vassal, times obedient slave,
And a most faithful servant to the Grave.
Death charges Time, Time charges Life, by Roll,
To make account of every living Soul:
The grand Collector, by just calculation,
Himself discharges of each Generation.
In deaths exchequer, then begins afresh,
T'exact the impost of all living flesh.
This is that we call Life, this is the thing,
Of which poor Mortals make such reckoning,
As if the sum of all their happiness,
Lay in their breathing for some little space.
Alace that men of reason thus should lye
Sick of an universal phrenesie:
And not rouz'd up at length perceive, for shame,
What is this Life, which they so much esteem.
This Life,—a thing so burdensome to me,
As how I hate it you do clearly see.
Of which poor Mortals make such reckoning,
As if the sum of all their happiness,
Lay in their breathing for some little space.
Alace that men of reason thus should lye
Sick of an universal phrenesie:
And not rouz'd up at length perceive, for shame,
What is this Life, which they so much esteem.
This Life,—a thing so burdensome to me,
As how I hate it you do clearly see.
May I not then oppress't with Life repine.
Since there's no Life comparable to mine?
The dregs of Life, that do with me remain,
Are but the meer fomenters of my pain:
For who extended night and day, on rack
Would not, with all his heart Death welcome make?
O let me then to God make my address;
O let me to himself my woes express:
He is a God of mercy, and will hear
Th'oppress't, and have regard to every tear
That drops from pious eyes.—
A sore complaint then on my self I'l make,
And in the anguish of my Soul I'l speak.
Since there's no Life comparable to mine?
The dregs of Life, that do with me remain,
63
For who extended night and day, on rack
Would not, with all his heart Death welcome make?
O let me then to God make my address;
O let me to himself my woes express:
He is a God of mercy, and will hear
Th'oppress't, and have regard to every tear
That drops from pious eyes.—
A sore complaint then on my self I'l make,
And in the anguish of my Soul I'l speak.
I'l say to God, condemn me not; and why
Wilt thou contend with such a thing as I,
An Eagle take the pains to kill a flee!
Contend with me,!—a thing not to be nam'd,
A thing, of which even Nature is asham'd,
A piece of Earth, that serving for no use,
Is thrown out on the Dung-hill as refuse,
The dross of human frailty, the abstract
Of all, that's mouldy, low, decay'd, and crack't.
A thing now grating at the gates of death,
Retarded only by a gasping breath;
A thing so mean as is not worth thy wrath.
Wilt thou contend with such a thing as I,
An Eagle take the pains to kill a flee!
Contend with me,!—a thing not to be nam'd,
A thing, of which even Nature is asham'd,
A piece of Earth, that serving for no use,
Is thrown out on the Dung-hill as refuse,
The dross of human frailty, the abstract
Of all, that's mouldy, low, decay'd, and crack't.
A thing now grating at the gates of death,
Retarded only by a gasping breath;
A thing so mean as is not worth thy wrath.
Then why, good Lord, dost thou take so much pleasure,
T'oppress so mean a thing, beyond all measure?
What doth this to thy Glory contribute?
How doth such usage with thy Justice sute?
Alace I know not how the matter stands,
But thus t'undo the labour of thy hands,
Thus to destroy a Creaure thou didst frame,
And once didst think it worthy of a name:
Nay, as thy Creature, thou was't pleas'd to own,
Thus to reject it, with a sullen frown,
Me thinks is strange.—What may the Atheists say,
When thy own servants are oppress't this way?
Why they will surely, in their scoffing mode,
Blaspheme the ever glorious Name of God.
See here, they'l say, a man, who seriously
Apply'd his mind to th'art of piety,
Who his great God, above all things ador'd;
A most devoted Servant to his Lord.
One, who not pleas'd with what his neighbours us'd,
Despised their Religion, and refus'd
T'acknowledge any of their Deities,
But, in a zealous phrensy, did devise,
A Deitie to himself peculiar,
Out of an humour to be singular.
See now, they'l say, see how his God doth treat him,
See how his Lord, he so much lov'd, doth hate him.
How he doth whip him:—how he takes delite
To vex a man, who us'd himself to write
A most obedient Servant to his God,
See how he beats him with a heavie Rod.
Let him complain, weep, pray, do what he can,
Let him cry out, yet still this pious man
Finds none to comfort, pity, or deplore him,
And for his God, 'has no compassion for him,
But, on the contrair, doth appear t'abhor him.
Sure this will be their language; thus alace,
Those impious wretches will themselves express,
Yes this will be their Table-task, I fear,,
O then forbear, for thy own sake, forbear
Thus to torment me, lest in plaguing me,
These men conclude that all who honour thee
Will be thus us'd—O do not gratify
Those bold professours of impiety,
In my so sad, and grievous punishment,
But please, good Lord, to let thy wrath relent,
And from those cruel torments, set me free,
That such, as do contemn thy Laws, may see
How merciful a God thou art, how just,
How kind to such, as in thee place their trust.
T'oppress so mean a thing, beyond all measure?
What doth this to thy Glory contribute?
How doth such usage with thy Justice sute?
Alace I know not how the matter stands,
But thus t'undo the labour of thy hands,
Thus to destroy a Creaure thou didst frame,
And once didst think it worthy of a name:
Nay, as thy Creature, thou was't pleas'd to own,
Thus to reject it, with a sullen frown,
Me thinks is strange.—What may the Atheists say,
When thy own servants are oppress't this way?
Why they will surely, in their scoffing mode,
Blaspheme the ever glorious Name of God.
See here, they'l say, a man, who seriously
Apply'd his mind to th'art of piety,
Who his great God, above all things ador'd;
A most devoted Servant to his Lord.
One, who not pleas'd with what his neighbours us'd,
Despised their Religion, and refus'd
T'acknowledge any of their Deities,
But, in a zealous phrensy, did devise,
A Deitie to himself peculiar,
Out of an humour to be singular.
See now, they'l say, see how his God doth treat him,
See how his Lord, he so much lov'd, doth hate him.
How he doth whip him:—how he takes delite
To vex a man, who us'd himself to write
A most obedient Servant to his God,
See how he beats him with a heavie Rod.
Let him complain, weep, pray, do what he can,
Let him cry out, yet still this pious man
64
And for his God, 'has no compassion for him,
But, on the contrair, doth appear t'abhor him.
Sure this will be their language; thus alace,
Those impious wretches will themselves express,
Yes this will be their Table-task, I fear,,
O then forbear, for thy own sake, forbear
Thus to torment me, lest in plaguing me,
These men conclude that all who honour thee
Will be thus us'd—O do not gratify
Those bold professours of impiety,
In my so sad, and grievous punishment,
But please, good Lord, to let thy wrath relent,
And from those cruel torments, set me free,
That such, as do contemn thy Laws, may see
How merciful a God thou art, how just,
How kind to such, as in thee place their trust.
But why should I presume thus to express,
What thou well know'st, and I at best but guess.
Thou, who didst all things frame, dost all things know
Those hateful sinners will blaspheme thee so,
If thou continue thus to torture me,
Thus I suspect, but thou dost plainly see
Thy eyes, O Lord, are not of humane fashion.
Obnoxious in the least, to fascination:
No, no, my God, I know thy piercing eye
Doth, at one glance, the whole Creation spy,
Its Horizon being sole ubiquity,
What thou well know'st, and I at best but guess.
Thou, who didst all things frame, dost all things know
Those hateful sinners will blaspheme thee so,
If thou continue thus to torture me,
Thus I suspect, but thou dost plainly see
Thy eyes, O Lord, are not of humane fashion.
Obnoxious in the least, to fascination:
No, no, my God, I know thy piercing eye
Doth, at one glance, the whole Creation spy,
Its Horizon being sole ubiquity,
Nor are thy days, O Lord, like those of man,
So that we might thy time by numbers scane,
No, Lord, thy days surpass our admiration,
And scorn th'endeavours of our Computation,
For who will undertake to calculat
That time, which by no time is limitat?
That immense time, whose vast extent doth lye
'Twixt the two Tropicks of Eternity,
Whose hours, and minutes are innumerable,
As is its durance unimaginable;
I know, good Lord, no time can comprehend
What no Beginning had, and had no End.
So that we might thy time by numbers scane,
No, Lord, thy days surpass our admiration,
And scorn th'endeavours of our Computation,
For who will undertake to calculat
That time, which by no time is limitat?
That immense time, whose vast extent doth lye
'Twixt the two Tropicks of Eternity,
Whose hours, and minutes are innumerable,
As is its durance unimaginable;
I know, good Lord, no time can comprehend
What no Beginning had, and had no End.
Now, since 'tis so, then let me understand,
What is the reason (if I dare demand)
Why thou a God so high, and excellent,
Dost take such pleasure in my punishment?
Why thou shouldst give such out-let to thy wrath,
As to pursue thy servant to the death?
Why thou shouldst make such formal inquisition
After my sins, and call for exhibition
Of all my hidden thoughts: as if thou meant,
By such harsh dealing, to make evident
Thy hatred to thy Creature, and proclaim
To all the World, what I conceal, for shame:
Thy torturing me thus doth plainly speak,
The language of a hot, inveterat picque.
From thee such usage is not ordinar,
For thou'rt not subject as we Mortals are,
To passion, and revenge: then let me know
what have I done, that thou shouldst bait me so,
What have I to thy anger contribute,
That, with such hatred, thou shouldst prosecute
The reliques of a man, the vanity
Of Life, the ruins of Mortalitie?
What is the reason (if I dare demand)
Why thou a God so high, and excellent,
Dost take such pleasure in my punishment?
Why thou shouldst give such out-let to thy wrath,
As to pursue thy servant to the death?
Why thou shouldst make such formal inquisition
After my sins, and call for exhibition
Of all my hidden thoughts: as if thou meant,
By such harsh dealing, to make evident
Thy hatred to thy Creature, and proclaim
To all the World, what I conceal, for shame:
Thy torturing me thus doth plainly speak,
The language of a hot, inveterat picque.
65
For thou'rt not subject as we Mortals are,
To passion, and revenge: then let me know
what have I done, that thou shouldst bait me so,
What have I to thy anger contribute,
That, with such hatred, thou shouldst prosecute
The reliques of a man, the vanity
Of Life, the ruins of Mortalitie?
Ah Lord, however I have sinn'd before,
Yet now thou seest I can do so no more:
For thou dost keep me in an Iron Cage,
In which I wast the gleanings of my age.
In sad reflections on my by past times,
Calling to mind a thousand horrid Crimes
I have committed, for which constantly
I beg for mercy from thy Majesty.
But now, although I would, I cann't do ill,
My Soul thou so with bitterness dost fill;
No power of sinning doth with me remain,
Unless thou judge it sinful to complain:
And, if complaints be sinful, then alace,
No humane language can my sins expresse.
I am indeed most guilty of that sin,
For, in this moment, I do but begin
My sore complaint. Nay though I cry in vain,
And though I to no purpose do complain,
Yet can I not forbear to give some vent
To that huge grief, which doth my Soul torment.
Yet now thou seest I can do so no more:
For thou dost keep me in an Iron Cage,
In which I wast the gleanings of my age.
In sad reflections on my by past times,
Calling to mind a thousand horrid Crimes
I have committed, for which constantly
I beg for mercy from thy Majesty.
But now, although I would, I cann't do ill,
My Soul thou so with bitterness dost fill;
No power of sinning doth with me remain,
Unless thou judge it sinful to complain:
And, if complaints be sinful, then alace,
No humane language can my sins expresse.
I am indeed most guilty of that sin,
For, in this moment, I do but begin
My sore complaint. Nay though I cry in vain,
And though I to no purpose do complain,
Yet can I not forbear to give some vent
To that huge grief, which doth my Soul torment.
Ah, Lord, didst thou not frame me? didst not thou
To me, at Birth, a humane shape allow?
Didst thou not mould, and fashion me around?
Of many simples didst not me compound?
And wilt thou now this goodly frame destroy.
In whose Composing thou didst Art employ?
Wilt thou this thing, by second operation,
Reduce to th'state of primitive Creation,
And end thy Labours, in annihilation?
To me, at Birth, a humane shape allow?
Didst thou not mould, and fashion me around?
Of many simples didst not me compound?
And wilt thou now this goodly frame destroy.
In whose Composing thou didst Art employ?
Wilt thou this thing, by second operation,
Reduce to th'state of primitive Creation,
And end thy Labours, in annihilation?
Remember, Lord, how thou of clay didst frame
This Figure, to which thou didst give the Name
Of Body—breath'd upon't, and made it live,
Then to't a certain lease of Life didst give:
Thou taught it how to think, to speak, and act,
And entered with this Creature in Contract,
By which thou didst engage it to maintain,
And wilt thou now unravel all again?
This Figure, to which thou didst give the Name
Of Body—breath'd upon't, and made it live,
Then to't a certain lease of Life didst give:
Thou taught it how to think, to speak, and act,
And entered with this Creature in Contract,
By which thou didst engage it to maintain,
And wilt thou now unravel all again?
Didst thou not pour me out, like Milk, and lay
My first foundation in a drop of Whay?
Which in warm Vessels kindly entertain'd,
For some small time, a liquid thing remain'd,
Then from the serous matter separate,
In a moist ball it did coagulate,
of such a form, as on the Cruds would squeeze,
Into the globous figure of a Cheese.
My first foundation in a drop of Whay?
Which in warm Vessels kindly entertain'd,
For some small time, a liquid thing remain'd,
Then from the serous matter separate,
In a moist ball it did coagulate,
of such a form, as on the Cruds would squeeze,
Into the globous figure of a Cheese.
66
Then didst thou, by an Art inimitable.
Translate me from a simple vegetable,
Into a well-compacted sensitive,
And, from that hour, appointedst me to live.
With Bones, and Sinews then thou didst me knit,
And wrapp'd me in a Damask Coverlet,
Of Nerves, and Muscles; and (though yet a Brute)
Thou cloathedst me in a most goodly Sate
Of Ivory Skin: a Suite accommodate
For every Season, every Rank, and State:
Translate me from a simple vegetable,
Into a well-compacted sensitive,
And, from that hour, appointedst me to live.
With Bones, and Sinews then thou didst me knit,
And wrapp'd me in a Damask Coverlet,
Of Nerves, and Muscles; and (though yet a Brute)
Thou cloathedst me in a most goodly Sate
Of Ivory Skin: a Suite accommodate
For every Season, every Rank, and State:
When thou had thus apparell'd me, and I
Now entered junior of Mortality;
Then I begun to rouze, and stir apace,
And with my Sense my Hunger did increase,
I call'd for Food, which thou didst soon prepare,
And furnish'd me, (though a close prisoner
In the dark Womb) yet didst thou every day,
By secret Canals, to my mouth convey
Fresh Victuals, in good ease: then after all,
Was't please t'infuse the spirits animal,
And I became a creature rational.
Now entered junior of Mortality;
Then I begun to rouze, and stir apace,
And with my Sense my Hunger did increase,
I call'd for Food, which thou didst soon prepare,
And furnish'd me, (though a close prisoner
In the dark Womb) yet didst thou every day,
By secret Canals, to my mouth convey
Fresh Victuals, in good ease: then after all,
Was't please t'infuse the spirits animal,
And I became a creature rational.
Thus having past my course of Generation,
Each hour, I waited for a fair occasion,
To launch out in the Worlds great Ocean,
And enter my Apprentisage to Man.
After nine Months imprisonment, at length
Having obtain'd some tolerable strength,
At a Spring-tide of humours, I set out
Of th'Harbour of the Womb, with such a shout,
With such a dreadful Peal of Groans, with such
Hard tugging, sweating, wrestling, and so much
Sad labour, toile, and crying out (for all,
Who see me launching still more hands did call)
As I begun of passage to despair,
And hadst not thou, my God, of me tane care,
For all my strength, I ne're had pass'd the Bar.
Each hour, I waited for a fair occasion,
To launch out in the Worlds great Ocean,
And enter my Apprentisage to Man.
After nine Months imprisonment, at length
Having obtain'd some tolerable strength,
At a Spring-tide of humours, I set out
Of th'Harbour of the Womb, with such a shout,
With such a dreadful Peal of Groans, with such
Hard tugging, sweating, wrestling, and so much
Sad labour, toile, and crying out (for all,
Who see me launching still more hands did call)
As I begun of passage to despair,
And hadst not thou, my God, of me tane care,
For all my strength, I ne're had pass'd the Bar.
But after all this labour, toile, and sweat,
By which I was almost exanimate,
After, with main force, I had wrestled out,
And now amaz'd, begun to stare about,
And view this New found-world, which to that hour
I ne're had heard of, nor e're seen before:
Then thou, by instinct, mad'st me weep amain,
('Cause all I view'd, was transient, and vain,)
And wish that I were in the Womb again.
By which I was almost exanimate,
After, with main force, I had wrestled out,
And now amaz'd, begun to stare about,
And view this New found-world, which to that hour
I ne're had heard of, nor e're seen before:
Then thou, by instinct, mad'st me weep amain,
('Cause all I view'd, was transient, and vain,)
And wish that I were in the Womb again.
Yet, since thou hadst ordain'd that I should live,
Thou, in thy wisdom, didst think fit to give,
Reason and Knowledge to me, whereby I
Might learn to live, by learning first to dye.
Thou didst preserve me by thy Providence,
Thy Grace was to my Soul a strong defence,
'Gainst all temptations: thy Paternal care
Did for my Body daily Food prepare.
To thee alone, Lord, (th'hast oblig'd me so)
My Birth, my Being, all that's good I owe
Thou, in thy wisdom, didst think fit to give,
Reason and Knowledge to me, whereby I
Might learn to live, by learning first to dye.
Thou didst preserve me by thy Providence,
Thy Grace was to my Soul a strong defence,
'Gainst all temptations: thy Paternal care
Did for my Body daily Food prepare.
To thee alone, Lord, (th'hast oblig'd me so)
67
But what needs further, Lord, I do confess
I owe more to thee, then I can express:
For reckoning all my Life-time o're, and o're,
I find I'm in thy debt still more, and more,
So that at length I'm broke upon the score.
For who so guilty of ingratitude,
What man so void of reason, who so rude,
Whoso unthinking, as when he begins
To reckon up thy mercies, and his sins,
But will acknowledge he's oblig'd to thee,
(Though punish'd, tortur'd, and oppress'd like me)
When he considers how thou formerly
Hast guarded him, since his Nativity,
From what had else befaln him, hadst not thou,
Both own'd him kindly, and supply'd him too,
With all things for his life convenient,
Since the first hour he to the world was sent.
And then, if any man perhaps intend,
Some small proportion of his time to spend,
I'th' ferious, and useful contemplation
Of the so much to be admir'd Creation:
And view the order of thy Providence,
How to each living Soul thou dost dispense
Thy Justice, and thy mercy, instantly
He'd find his Reason in an extasie;
Whilst linking second causes, in a chain,
By thumbing of 'em, he'd attempt, in vain
To fathom, what no Art can comprehend.
And then at length he'd find there is no end
In searching of such things, and so give o're
His inquisition, and will dive no more
In that abyss, but end his contemplation
In a profound, and humble admiration:
Acknowledging that, save to thee alone,
Those Mysteries can not at all be known.
I owe more to thee, then I can express:
For reckoning all my Life-time o're, and o're,
I find I'm in thy debt still more, and more,
So that at length I'm broke upon the score.
For who so guilty of ingratitude,
What man so void of reason, who so rude,
Whoso unthinking, as when he begins
To reckon up thy mercies, and his sins,
But will acknowledge he's oblig'd to thee,
(Though punish'd, tortur'd, and oppress'd like me)
When he considers how thou formerly
Hast guarded him, since his Nativity,
From what had else befaln him, hadst not thou,
Both own'd him kindly, and supply'd him too,
With all things for his life convenient,
Since the first hour he to the world was sent.
And then, if any man perhaps intend,
Some small proportion of his time to spend,
I'th' ferious, and useful contemplation
Of the so much to be admir'd Creation:
And view the order of thy Providence,
How to each living Soul thou dost dispense
Thy Justice, and thy mercy, instantly
He'd find his Reason in an extasie;
Whilst linking second causes, in a chain,
By thumbing of 'em, he'd attempt, in vain
To fathom, what no Art can comprehend.
And then at length he'd find there is no end
In searching of such things, and so give o're
His inquisition, and will dive no more
In that abyss, but end his contemplation
In a profound, and humble admiration:
Acknowledging that, save to thee alone,
Those Mysteries can not at all be known.
Thou, Lord, hast all things made, dost all things spy?
Nothing can be concealed from thy Eye:
For what man labours, by his foolish art,
To lock up in the Cabin of his Heart,
And thinks a secret, to thee, Lord, is known,
As well, as what to publicque view is shown.
If I have sinn'd then, thou wilt instantly
Look, with a most sever, enquiring Eye
Upon my Errors, and wilt not acquit
Me from the Censure that is just, and fit,
To be on man inflicted, in such cases,
But wilt, most justly, as my sin encreases,
Add to my punishment, and possibly
Entail wy woes on my Posterity.
Nothing can be concealed from thy Eye:
For what man labours, by his foolish art,
To lock up in the Cabin of his Heart,
And thinks a secret, to thee, Lord, is known,
As well, as what to publicque view is shown.
If I have sinn'd then, thou wilt instantly
Look, with a most sever, enquiring Eye
Upon my Errors, and wilt not acquit
Me from the Censure that is just, and fit,
To be on man inflicted, in such cases,
But wilt, most justly, as my sin encreases,
Add to my punishment, and possibly
Entail wy woes on my Posterity.
Why then, if I have sinn'd, I am undone,
And merit to be pitied by none,
Because I knew thy Justice would not spare
For all excuses, such as guilty are:
Hence if I've sinn'd, my Doom I plainly read:
If not, I will not yet lift up my head,
Or say 'th'least that I am innocent,
Because I fear a furder punishment
But still imagine that I guilty am,
And, in thy presence, hide my face, for shame,
I'l live in great humility, and fear,
For no man in thy sight, can just appear.
And merit to be pitied by none,
68
For all excuses, such as guilty are:
Hence if I've sinn'd, my Doom I plainly read:
If not, I will not yet lift up my head,
Or say 'th'least that I am innocent,
Because I fear a furder punishment
But still imagine that I guilty am,
And, in thy presence, hide my face, for shame,
I'l live in great humility, and fear,
For no man in thy sight, can just appear.
But how soe're o the matter be, good Lord,
Proceed thou to destroy me, in a word,
Let loose the Reins of thy consuming Wrath,
And never leave me, whilst the Gates of Death
Fly open to receive me: Let thy Rage,
By close pursute, abridge my lingring age.
Never give o're, but rouze me every day,
With the same view, as Lyons hunt their Prey:
Break me to pieces, do, and so express,
Thy self admir'd in my unworthiness.
Proceed thou to destroy me, in a word,
Let loose the Reins of thy consuming Wrath,
And never leave me, whilst the Gates of Death
Fly open to receive me: Let thy Rage,
By close pursute, abridge my lingring age.
Never give o're, but rouze me every day,
With the same view, as Lyons hunt their Prey:
Break me to pieces, do, and so express,
Thy self admir'd in my unworthiness.
For, rather than in such sad torments lye,
'Twere better far I instantly should dye.
Let me then quickly be undone, let all
Thy heavie plagues at once upon me fall;
And not by Piece-meal, every day augment
The several species of my punishment,
And thus each hour thy dreadful Chace renue,
As if thou didst take pleasure to pursue
My wearied Soul.—
Armies of sorrows up 'against me draw,
With all the numerous rude Militia
Of foul diseases, which my Body seize,
Whilst I am to such Cannibals, as these
A daily prey, my sores do still encrease,
And in my Spirit I can have no peace.
'Twere better far I instantly should dye.
Let me then quickly be undone, let all
Thy heavie plagues at once upon me fall;
And not by Piece-meal, every day augment
The several species of my punishment,
And thus each hour thy dreadful Chace renue,
As if thou didst take pleasure to pursue
My wearied Soul.—
Armies of sorrows up 'against me draw,
With all the numerous rude Militia
Of foul diseases, which my Body seize,
Whilst I am to such Cannibals, as these
A daily prey, my sores do still encrease,
And in my Spirit I can have no peace.
Then O why didst thou bring me from the Womb?
Why did I from my Native Cottage come?
Where I no sorrow knew, no trouble felt,
But most secure in peace, and plenty dwelt.
Was it for this that to the World I came!
For this—that ever I was born—for shame!
For this—that e're my Mother should ha' known
The pangs of Child-birth, nay one single groan,
In bringing forh a Creature destinate,
For grief, and sorrow; one, whom God doth hate;
'Gainst whom he doth his angry Sword unsheath,
And every day doth wound him in his Wrath.
But ne're will bless him with the blow of Death.
Would I had perish'd in the Womb, at least
Would I a still-born Embryo, at best
Had dropp'd into the World, and instantly
Had been Box'd up, and Buried, so no eye
Had seen me this side of Mortalitie.
Why did I from my Native Cottage come?
Where I no sorrow knew, no trouble felt,
But most secure in peace, and plenty dwelt.
Was it for this that to the World I came!
For this—that ever I was born—for shame!
For this—that e're my Mother should ha' known
The pangs of Child-birth, nay one single groan,
In bringing forh a Creature destinate,
For grief, and sorrow; one, whom God doth hate;
'Gainst whom he doth his angry Sword unsheath,
And every day doth wound him in his Wrath.
But ne're will bless him with the blow of Death.
Would I had perish'd in the Womb, at least
Would I a still-born Embryo, at best
Had dropp'd into the World, and instantly
Had been Box'd up, and Buried, so no eye
Had seen me this side of Mortalitie.
69
Would I had been, as though I ne're had been,
Without existence, never heard, or seen:
Would Providence for me had never car'd,
Would my fond Parents had their labour spar'd,
And I a thing without all form, and shape,
Had been conceal'd in Natures modest Lap:
When from the Womb soft hands did me receive,
Would I had fairly slipt into the Grave.
Without existence, never heard, or seen:
Would Providence for me had never car'd,
Would my fond Parents had their labour spar'd,
And I a thing without all form, and shape,
Had been conceal'd in Natures modest Lap:
When from the Womb soft hands did me receive,
Would I had fairly slipt into the Grave.
But since I am condemn'd,—O since I must,
In a few days, incorporat with Dust:
Since thou, O Lord, wilt call for what is thine;
And I to Worms this Body must resign:
Some little respite, for thy Mercy sake
Allow me, that I may some comfort take.
In a few days, incorporat with Dust:
Since thou, O Lord, wilt call for what is thine;
And I to Worms this Body must resign:
Some little respite, for thy Mercy sake
Allow me, that I may some comfort take.
Before I to the Land of darkness go,
A dismal Land, which never Light did know,
Whence I shall not return, a dreadful Land,
Where pale-fac'd horrour doth in chief command:
Where Worms with Death in council sit, and call
For an account of every Funeral:
Where empty Sculls in heaps are gathered,
And with dry Bones the Land is overspread.
A dismal Land, which never Light did know,
Whence I shall not return, a dreadful Land,
Where pale-fac'd horrour doth in chief command:
Where Worms with Death in council sit, and call
For an account of every Funeral:
Where empty Sculls in heaps are gathered,
And with dry Bones the Land is overspread.
A Land so very dark, no art can trace,
Its true dimensions, or by Map express
Its Scituation, a most barbarous Land,
Whose Laws, and Language none can understand:
A Land of mourning, where no joy is known,
But Mirth, and Sorrow there are both as one.
Its true dimensions, or by Map express
Its Scituation, a most barbarous Land,
Whose Laws, and Language none can understand:
A Land of mourning, where no joy is known,
But Mirth, and Sorrow there are both as one.
Cap. XI.
Thus
Job had spoke, thus had himself express't,
Whilst his poor troubled Soul could find no rest:
For 'stead of sleeping, he did still complain,
Keep't waking by the torture of his pain:
But (which is worse) when he had made an end
Of speaking, and, it may be, did intend
To take a Nap; then some of those, who keep't
Him company, and (as we fancy) sleep't
By turns, would fall a speaking, and with heat,
Engage him in a most unkind debate.
Thus when he now had spoke, thus instantly,
Zophar his friend made him this tart reply.
Whilst his poor troubled Soul could find no rest:
For 'stead of sleeping, he did still complain,
Keep't waking by the torture of his pain:
But (which is worse) when he had made an end
Of speaking, and, it may be, did intend
To take a Nap; then some of those, who keep't
Him company, and (as we fancy) sleep't
By turns, would fall a speaking, and with heat,
Engage him in a most unkind debate.
Thus when he now had spoke, thus instantly,
Zophar his friend made him this tart reply.
Who can with patience, thy vain humour bear.
Or, says he, so much idle talking hear?
From whence this torrent of discourse? from whence
This foolish bragging of thy innocence?
From whence this clamour? whence this sad complaining,
Whence all this crying out? what is the meaning
Of all these blustring words? whence all this noise?
Dos't think, my friend, thou hast to do with Boy's?
Dos't think us fools? dost think us Novices?
Dos't think we do not understand thy case?
Pray 'to what purpose shouldst complain so sore?
Dos't think we never see such things before?
Then what dost mean by such a multitude
Of puling words? dost think we will conclude,
From all these fine expressions thou art just,
And so believe thou'rt innocent, on trust.
Or, says he, so much idle talking hear?
From whence this torrent of discourse? from whence
This foolish bragging of thy innocence?
From whence this clamour? whence this sad complaining,
70
Of all these blustring words? whence all this noise?
Dos't think, my friend, thou hast to do with Boy's?
Dos't think us fools? dost think us Novices?
Dos't think we do not understand thy case?
Pray 'to what purpose shouldst complain so sore?
Dos't think we never see such things before?
Then what dost mean by such a multitude
Of puling words? dost think we will conclude,
From all these fine expressions thou art just,
And so believe thou'rt innocent, on trust.
Should men, with silence, hear thy precious lyes?
Or when thou dost make faces, shut their eyes?
As if, forsooth, 'twere sinful to behold
Such a sad Object.—
Dost think but we all, with compassion see
Thy case, although we cann't comply with thee,
In all thy doleful, foolish exclamations.
Nor second thee, in thy expostulations,
Thou, who so often hast thy Neighbours blam'd
For such vain talk, shouldst thou not be asham'd
To prate so idly?—
Or when thou dost make faces, shut their eyes?
As if, forsooth, 'twere sinful to behold
Such a sad Object.—
Dost think but we all, with compassion see
Thy case, although we cann't comply with thee,
In all thy doleful, foolish exclamations.
Nor second thee, in thy expostulations,
Thou, who so often hast thy Neighbours blam'd
For such vain talk, shouldst thou not be asham'd
To prate so idly?—
Shouldst thou not be asham'd thus to assert
Thy uprightness, when he who knows the heart,
Doth laugh at thee, pray' with what impudence
Dost thou upbraid us, with thy innocence?
Thinkst thou that we believe that all is true
Which now thou speaks't?—no, if thou hadst thy due,
And all thy words, were well considered,
'Stead of being pitied, shoulds't be punished.
Thou blameless in thy Life! thou innocent!
Thou one, of whom no man can make complaint!
Thou in the sight of God, upright, and clear!
Bless us!—what foolish arrogance is here!
Was ever wise man in discourse so weak!
Did ever man, so like a mad man speak!
Was e're such talking heard? wouldst thou lay claim
To what no Mortal can attain?—for shame,
Forbear such words, forbear this canting strain,
And of thy Maker do no more complain,
For all thy exclamations are in vain.
Thy uprightness, when he who knows the heart,
Doth laugh at thee, pray' with what impudence
Dost thou upbraid us, with thy innocence?
Thinkst thou that we believe that all is true
Which now thou speaks't?—no, if thou hadst thy due,
And all thy words, were well considered,
'Stead of being pitied, shoulds't be punished.
Thou blameless in thy Life! thou innocent!
Thou one, of whom no man can make complaint!
Thou in the sight of God, upright, and clear!
Bless us!—what foolish arrogance is here!
Was ever wise man in discourse so weak!
Did ever man, so like a mad man speak!
Was e're such talking heard? wouldst thou lay claim
To what no Mortal can attain?—for shame,
Forbear such words, forbear this canting strain,
And of thy Maker do no more complain,
For all thy exclamations are in vain.
But since we cann't prevail with thee, and since
I see we are not able to convince
The of thy Errors: O that he would speak,
Who fram'd the Tongue, that for his Justice sake,
(Since what we argue, is but lame, and faint)
Himself would please to take up th'argument:
And lay thy sins before thee all a row,
That so we might, by demonstration, show
How much thou'rt in the wrong, and let thee see
In short, how like, for all the world, to thee
The fool doth prate, who when in humour cross't,
And overpower'd with judgements, thinks all's lost.
I see we are not able to convince
The of thy Errors: O that he would speak,
Who fram'd the Tongue, that for his Justice sake,
(Since what we argue, is but lame, and faint)
Himself would please to take up th'argument:
And lay thy sins before thee all a row,
That so we might, by demonstration, show
How much thou'rt in the wrong, and let thee see
In short, how like, for all the world, to thee
The fool doth prate, who when in humour cross't,
And overpower'd with judgements, thinks all's lost.
71
O that our God himself would take in hand
To answer thee, and make thee understand
Wisdom's true value, which if thou didst know,
Thou wouldst not through impatience bluster so,
As now thou dost, nor clamour at this rate,
For were thy punishment proportionat
With thy foul sins, as thou hast merited,
Thou shouldst indeed be doubly punished;
Know therefore that because of thy offence
God hath forgot thee, and will not from hence
Acknowledge thee, as he has done before,
And, in his presence shall't appear no more.
To answer thee, and make thee understand
Wisdom's true value, which if thou didst know,
Thou wouldst not through impatience bluster so,
As now thou dost, nor clamour at this rate,
For were thy punishment proportionat
With thy foul sins, as thou hast merited,
Thou shouldst indeed be doubly punished;
Know therefore that because of thy offence
God hath forgot thee, and will not from hence
Acknowledge thee, as he has done before,
And, in his presence shall't appear no more.
But say now thou, who dost to Wit lay claim,
And thy own Knowledge dost so much esteem:
Thou, who thy friends, and neighbours fools do'st call,
And think'st thou knowest much more than we do all,
Vexing us with a pitiful relation,
Of all thy former Life, and Conversation:
With Tales of thy pretended patience,
And formal Stories of thy Innocence.
Cans't thou, my friend, conclude, with all thy art,
What trulie God is? cans't thou, for thy heart,
Reduce thy Maker to his proper kind?
Or thy Creator in perfection find?
Say, canst thou do this? wilt thou take in hand,
To answer me the question I'l demand?
And thy own Knowledge dost so much esteem:
Thou, who thy friends, and neighbours fools do'st call,
And think'st thou knowest much more than we do all,
Vexing us with a pitiful relation,
Of all thy former Life, and Conversation:
With Tales of thy pretended patience,
And formal Stories of thy Innocence.
Cans't thou, my friend, conclude, with all thy art,
What trulie God is? cans't thou, for thy heart,
Reduce thy Maker to his proper kind?
Or thy Creator in perfection find?
Say, canst thou do this? wilt thou take in hand,
To answer me the question I'l demand?
In the first place then, I desire to know
How high the Heavens are? say now canst thou show
What bounds that spacious Vault doth comprehend?
How far it doth from East to West extend?
On what foundations the proud Pillars stand,
Which that vast arch support? what mighty hand
Did found them? in each of 'em how much space
Doth lye betwixt the Chapter, and the Base?
No 'tis in vain, thou mayst thy labour spare,
Such things beyond thy scantling knowledge are.
For, as Heavens are immeasurably high,
So the Foundations of those Pillars lye
Deeper then Hell itself: thou canst not reach
Their true dimensions, which no art can teach,
Nor can the same by Theorems express,
For all your Artists do but faintly guess
What really and truly these things are.
For O how mean, and low they do appear
Demonstrat in a Map, a Globe, or Sphere,
By our vain plodding Charlatans of Art,
Who cannot comprehend the smallest part
Of the Creation, and yet soar so high,
As nought below th'Empyrean Canopy,
Can satisfie their curiosity.
How high the Heavens are? say now canst thou show
What bounds that spacious Vault doth comprehend?
How far it doth from East to West extend?
On what foundations the proud Pillars stand,
Which that vast arch support? what mighty hand
Did found them? in each of 'em how much space
Doth lye betwixt the Chapter, and the Base?
No 'tis in vain, thou mayst thy labour spare,
Such things beyond thy scantling knowledge are.
For, as Heavens are immeasurably high,
So the Foundations of those Pillars lye
Deeper then Hell itself: thou canst not reach
Their true dimensions, which no art can teach,
Nor can the same by Theorems express,
For all your Artists do but faintly guess
What really and truly these things are.
For O how mean, and low they do appear
Demonstrat in a Map, a Globe, or Sphere,
By our vain plodding Charlatans of Art,
Who cannot comprehend the smallest part
Of the Creation, and yet soar so high,
As nought below th'Empyrean Canopy,
Can satisfie their curiosity.
Nay even those, who pretend by art to know
The measure of the Heavens, and boldly show
Their Longitude by Lines imaginary,
Even those same fools in their opinions vary,
And cann't agree what bounds they should allow
For that capacious Fabrick: far less thou,
Void of all art, canst make us understand
How far that Powerful, All-creating Hand,
The wings of Heaven beyond the Earth has spread,
How much, in breadth they do the Seas exceed.
The measure of the Heavens, and boldly show
Their Longitude by Lines imaginary,
72
And cann't agree what bounds they should allow
For that capacious Fabrick: far less thou,
Void of all art, canst make us understand
How far that Powerful, All-creating Hand,
The wings of Heaven beyond the Earth has spread,
How much, in breadth they do the Seas exceed.
Yet, if our God at any time intend
To pull down all this Pile, and make an end
Of what, with admiration, we behold,
And so esteem, its worth cannot be told?
If God intend to cut the Heavens assunder,
And blast the universal Globe with Thunder,
Pray who can stop him? who can turn him back?
Or to desist from his intentions make?
To pull down all this Pile, and make an end
Of what, with admiration, we behold,
And so esteem, its worth cannot be told?
If God intend to cut the Heavens assunder,
And blast the universal Globe with Thunder,
Pray who can stop him? who can turn him back?
Or to desist from his intentions make?
If once he thus intend, he'l surely do it,
And see what any Mortal dares say to it.
For O he knows vain men, he knows us all
Full well, and what we Wit, and Parts do call,
He names meer folly, and can clearly show
The wisest man on Earth doth nothing know.
He knows our private Cabin-thoughts full well,
In vain from him our sins we do conceal,
He knows them all: no winged thought can flye
From Pole to Pole so soon, but instantly
Our God discovers from whose Breast it came,
And, in that instant, can its owner name.
He sits in all the Councils of the Heart,
And, undiscovered, laughs at all our Art,
By which we mannage every close design,
So covertly, as those, who dig a Mine,
Unseen by any, yet he plainly sees
What we intend by all such thoughts as these.
And see what any Mortal dares say to it.
For O he knows vain men, he knows us all
Full well, and what we Wit, and Parts do call,
He names meer folly, and can clearly show
The wisest man on Earth doth nothing know.
He knows our private Cabin-thoughts full well,
In vain from him our sins we do conceal,
He knows them all: no winged thought can flye
From Pole to Pole so soon, but instantly
Our God discovers from whose Breast it came,
And, in that instant, can its owner name.
He sits in all the Councils of the Heart,
And, undiscovered, laughs at all our Art,
By which we mannage every close design,
So covertly, as those, who dig a Mine,
Unseen by any, yet he plainly sees
What we intend by all such thoughts as these.
Yet would vain man fain be esteemed wise,
And think each one injures him, who denys
To him, that goodlie Epithet, although
This self conceited fool doth nothing know:
Stupid, insipid, ignorant, and dull,
Rude, as a Boobie, of a thick, hard scull
Is this same man at best, a very brute,
And, while refin'd by art, without dispute,
Like a wild Asses Colt; so dull a Creature
As he appears no more oblig'd to Nature,
Then rugged Flints, untill by Artists hand
Polish'd, and cut.—
And think each one injures him, who denys
To him, that goodlie Epithet, although
This self conceited fool doth nothing know:
Stupid, insipid, ignorant, and dull,
Rude, as a Boobie, of a thick, hard scull
Is this same man at best, a very brute,
And, while refin'd by art, without dispute,
Like a wild Asses Colt; so dull a Creature
As he appears no more oblig'd to Nature,
Then rugged Flints, untill by Artists hand
Polish'd, and cut.—
But after all, though mankind in his eyes
Be of no value, yet he still will prize
Religious thoughts, and quickly understand
True sighs, and pious motions of the hand.
Be of no value, yet he still will prize
Religious thoughts, and quickly understand
True sighs, and pious motions of the hand.
If evil from thy heart thou'lt banish far,
And against sin declare a formal War;
If thou, in thy own house, as Judge wilt sit,
Acting, in all things what is just, and fit,
Suff'ring no Crime within thy walls to sleep,
But, in a most assiduous method, keep
Strict watch upon thy actions, and practise
Good things, and use Religious exercise.
When thou art private with thy Family,
As an instructer in true Piety.
And against sin declare a formal War;
If thou, in thy own house, as Judge wilt sit,
Acting, in all things what is just, and fit,
Suff'ring no Crime within thy walls to sleep,
73
Strict watch upon thy actions, and practise
Good things, and use Religious exercise.
When thou art private with thy Family,
As an instructer in true Piety.
Then shalt thou glory in thy Innocence.
And, in thy well Reformed Conscience,
Enjoy a sweet, serene tranquility,
Beyond the reach of Malice, and envy.
Then, without stain thou shalt hold up thy face,
In brisque defyance of the Worlds disgrace,
In resolutions fix'd thou shalt appear,
Above all the impressions of fear.
And, in thy well Reformed Conscience,
Enjoy a sweet, serene tranquility,
Beyond the reach of Malice, and envy.
Then, without stain thou shalt hold up thy face,
In brisque defyance of the Worlds disgrace,
In resolutions fix'd thou shalt appear,
Above all the impressions of fear.
Shalt end thy days in calm prosperity,
Forgetting all thy former misery:
And shalt remember on thy woes, at last,
As men remember dreams when they are past.
Or, as when water streams passe quickly by,
They'r no more notic'd by the Travellers eye:
So shall thy troubles be at length, forgot,
Obliterat, extinguish'd, dash'd, what not?
Forgetting all thy former misery:
And shalt remember on thy woes, at last,
As men remember dreams when they are past.
Or, as when water streams passe quickly by,
They'r no more notic'd by the Travellers eye:
So shall thy troubles be at length, forgot,
Obliterat, extinguish'd, dash'd, what not?
Then shal't th'appear more flourishing, and gay,
Than doth the Sun at Noon-tide of the day:
Or, as he from his Morning Couch doth rise,
And with his sweet Carnation-blushes, dies
The Mountain-tops, so then thou shalt appear,
And, like him, shine most beautiful, and clear.
Than doth the Sun at Noon-tide of the day:
Or, as he from his Morning Couch doth rise,
And with his sweet Carnation-blushes, dies
The Mountain-tops, so then thou shalt appear,
And, like him, shine most beautiful, and clear.
Founded in hope, thou shalt, with confidence,
Boldly rely upon thy Innocence:
Enjoy the good things of' the Earth, in store,
And shalt know want, and penury no more.
Thou shalt, with safety, Furrow up the Ground,
And, where Earths hidden Treasures can be found,
Securely dig, and reap those goodly things,
Which here beget us Emperours, and Kings,
Nay thou shalt with thy Riches have more peace,
And sleep more soundly, than the best of these.
Boldly rely upon thy Innocence:
Enjoy the good things of' the Earth, in store,
And shalt know want, and penury no more.
Thou shalt, with safety, Furrow up the Ground,
And, where Earths hidden Treasures can be found,
Securely dig, and reap those goodly things,
Which here beget us Emperours, and Kings,
Nay thou shalt with thy Riches have more peace,
And sleep more soundly, than the best of these.
For in profound tranquility of mind,
Thou shalt great ease, and satisfaction find:
With soft, domestict peace thou shalt be blest,
No rude allarum shall disturb thy rest.
Thy proud Relations shall not thee despise,
But, maugre all their envy, thou stalt rise
In wealth, and reputation, and encrease
In all the goodly perquisits of peace.
For, stead of cursing, with uplifted hands,
They shall present thee with their mean demands,
And, with sad groanings, and submission plead
The favour of some petty Loaves of bread,
T'allay the Famine, and compesce the cryes
Of their decaying, half-starv'd Families.
Thou shalt great ease, and satisfaction find:
With soft, domestict peace thou shalt be blest,
No rude allarum shall disturb thy rest.
Thy proud Relations shall not thee despise,
But, maugre all their envy, thou stalt rise
In wealth, and reputation, and encrease
In all the goodly perquisits of peace.
For, stead of cursing, with uplifted hands,
They shall present thee with their mean demands,
And, with sad groanings, and submission plead
The favour of some petty Loaves of bread,
T'allay the Famine, and compesce the cryes
Of their decaying, half-starv'd Families.
But such as in their sins do persevere,
And with high lifted hands do boldly Err:
Such, as on wrath, and malice are intent,
And have no Inclination to repent
God shall destroy: all their fair hopes shall fail,
Nor shall their Death-bed-tears with him prevail.
He with great justice, shall reject their Suit,
And, when they are accus'd, they shall be mute.
Sorrow of mind, anxiety, and care,
Black Horrour, sad Remembrance, and Despair,
Shall be with those poor men familiar.
And with high lifted hands do boldly Err:
Such, as on wrath, and malice are intent,
74
God shall destroy: all their fair hopes shall fail,
Nor shall their Death-bed-tears with him prevail.
He with great justice, shall reject their Suit,
And, when they are accus'd, they shall be mute.
Sorrow of mind, anxiety, and care,
Black Horrour, sad Remembrance, and Despair,
Shall be with those poor men familiar.
Cap. XII.
With pious silence Job had all this time
Heard Zophar shreudly aggravat his crime:
Made to his talk no interruption,
As many, in his case, would sure ha' done,
But, so soon as his friend an end had made,
To his discourse he only answered.
Heard Zophar shreudly aggravat his crime:
Made to his talk no interruption,
As many, in his case, would sure ha' done,
But, so soon as his friend an end had made,
To his discourse he only answered.
Indeed, my friends, I see you are so wise
'Tis to be fear'd, with you all Wisdom dies.
You feel no pains, and torments, as I do,
And therefore think all my Expressions now
Are but like School-boyes whinings, when chastis'd
For their own good: for such indeed you're pleas'd
T'esteem my carriage.
You who have never yet affliction known,
On whose soft faces no rude wind has blown:
Have ne'r known sorrow, or the use of tears,
But smilingly enjoy'd your peaceful years;
'Tis easy for you, in such words as these
T'accuse th'afflicted of what crimes you please.
'Tis to be fear'd, with you all Wisdom dies.
You feel no pains, and torments, as I do,
And therefore think all my Expressions now
Are but like School-boyes whinings, when chastis'd
For their own good: for such indeed you're pleas'd
T'esteem my carriage.
You who have never yet affliction known,
On whose soft faces no rude wind has blown:
Have ne'r known sorrow, or the use of tears,
But smilingly enjoy'd your peaceful years;
'Tis easy for you, in such words as these
T'accuse th'afflicted of what crimes you please.
Then after all this Torrent of Discourse,
Sure you imagine that by very force
Of reason, you've oblig'd me to confess
That I'm now punish'd for my wickedness.
You think you have my case so opened,
In arguments not to be answered,
And so ensnar'd me by your Art, and Skill,
As I a Fool, a Mad-man, what you will,
Must as a man found guilty hold my peace,
And hear my Sentence read upon my knees.
But seriously, my friends, I'd have you know
You're much deceiv'd, if you imagine so:
I know no difference betwixt you, and me
In any thing, but what you all do see,
My sad affliction.
I'm scandalously poor, I must confess,
But I was never tax'd with foolishness:
For follow your discourse, and you shall find,
Although I cannot so express my mind,
As you do in your Flowres of Eloquence,
Yet truly I lack neither Wit, nor Sense,
Memory, Judgment, or what Parts you call,
And understand as much, as you do all.
Sure you imagine that by very force
Of reason, you've oblig'd me to confess
That I'm now punish'd for my wickedness.
You think you have my case so opened,
In arguments not to be answered,
And so ensnar'd me by your Art, and Skill,
As I a Fool, a Mad-man, what you will,
Must as a man found guilty hold my peace,
And hear my Sentence read upon my knees.
But seriously, my friends, I'd have you know
You're much deceiv'd, if you imagine so:
I know no difference betwixt you, and me
In any thing, but what you all do see,
My sad affliction.
I'm scandalously poor, I must confess,
But I was never tax'd with foolishness:
For follow your discourse, and you shall find,
Although I cannot so express my mind,
As you do in your Flowres of Eloquence,
75
Memory, Judgment, or what Parts you call,
And understand as much, as you do all.
Whence this insulting then? pray to what end
Do all your vain Expostulations tend?
Whence all these Accusations? alace
D'ye mean to mock me in my very face?
Because God, in his mercy, grants you all,
Your hearts desire, aud hears you, when you call,
Therefore a man afflicted, and opprest
Must be the subject of your unkind jest.
You think perhaps that God doth favour none,
Or has respect, but for your selves alone;
Because you're rich, because you never yet
Have known the pangs of a distress'd Estate.
Hence, (though upright, and just) the poor with you
Have no esteem; to such you don't allow
The Character of simple Innocence,
But laugh at all such, with great Insolence.
Do all your vain Expostulations tend?
Whence all these Accusations? alace
D'ye mean to mock me in my very face?
Because God, in his mercy, grants you all,
Your hearts desire, aud hears you, when you call,
Therefore a man afflicted, and opprest
Must be the subject of your unkind jest.
You think perhaps that God doth favour none,
Or has respect, but for your selves alone;
Because you're rich, because you never yet
Have known the pangs of a distress'd Estate.
Hence, (though upright, and just) the poor with you
Have no esteem; to such you don't allow
The Character of simple Innocence,
But laugh at all such, with great Insolence.
For O how meanly you Rich Men do prize
The Poor, though Pious, Virteous, Learn'd, and Wise
Yes you on Riches only set your hearts,
And weigh men by their Mony, not their Parts.
Hence I've observ'd, my friends, that such as you
Do undervalue, and (I know not how)
As on a Lamp, or Link extinguished,
On all, that are not rich, you proudly tread.
The Poor, though Pious, Virteous, Learn'd, and Wise
Yes you on Riches only set your hearts,
And weigh men by their Mony, not their Parts.
Hence I've observ'd, my friends, that such as you
Do undervalue, and (I know not how)
As on a Lamp, or Link extinguished,
On all, that are not rich, you proudly tread.
But what needs more:—tis so, and still will be,
For wicked persons do encrease we see,
And men of unjust Principles do rise
In Wealth, and Power, erecting Families
Upon the Ruines of the Just, and those
Who understand no Piety (God knows)
Do live in safety: with his bounteous hand,
God doth enrich them, and they fill the land.
Why this to me is no strange thing, I knew
How God did rule the World as well as you.
For wicked persons do encrease we see,
And men of unjust Principles do rise
In Wealth, and Power, erecting Families
Upon the Ruines of the Just, and those
Who understand no Piety (God knows)
Do live in safety: with his bounteous hand,
God doth enrich them, and they fill the land.
Why this to me is no strange thing, I knew
How God did rule the World as well as you.
Nay who's so stupid, who so void of sense
As doth not understand how Providence
Earths Governor, chief Minister of state
To our Great God, doth all things regulate
Below the Sun, allowing t'every Creature
Its Shape, its Substance, Virtue, Food, and Nature.
For ask the Beasts that toil for daily fare,
On Earth, and those, who in the open Air
Keep constant Commerce, and they'll plainly tell
What you have lately preach'd to me, as well
As any of you all; they'll fully show
How much all Creatures to their Maker owe.
As doth not understand how Providence
Earths Governor, chief Minister of state
To our Great God, doth all things regulate
Below the Sun, allowing t'every Creature
Its Shape, its Substance, Virtue, Food, and Nature.
For ask the Beasts that toil for daily fare,
On Earth, and those, who in the open Air
Keep constant Commerce, and they'll plainly tell
What you have lately preach'd to me, as well
As any of you all; they'll fully show
How much all Creatures to their Maker owe.
Or speak to th'Earth, and it will soon proclaim
The Power of God, and his most Glorious Name,
Nay very insects, things so despicable
As some o'th' learned hold it questionable
Whether they be of primitive Creation,
Or meerly by equivocque Generation,
Begot on putrid matter by the Sun,
When through the hot Signs he his course doth run.
Or speak to the Fishes, who do every day,
Amidst the rude waves, unconcern'dly play,
All these will clearly speak how deep a sense,
They have o'th' gracious power of Providence.
The Power of God, and his most Glorious Name,
Nay very insects, things so despicable
As some o'th' learned hold it questionable
76
Or meerly by equivocque Generation,
Begot on putrid matter by the Sun,
When through the hot Signs he his course doth run.
Or speak to the Fishes, who do every day,
Amidst the rude waves, unconcern'dly play,
All these will clearly speak how deep a sense,
They have o'th' gracious power of Providence.
Then to what purpose all your talk? pray why
Should you obtrude your mean Philosophy
Upon your friend? alace I'd have you know
Your wisdom's common to all here below.
Why so dogmatick, when you only preach,
What the Creation every hour doth teach?
Must we esteem you wise, because that you
Know as much as the Brutal Creatures do?
Or shall we think that you deserve esteem,
Because you can descantupon a Theme,
Well known to all men? for who's ignorant
Of what you speak? though you do proudly vaunt,
You are the only knowing men, alace,
How much do I commiserate your case.
For ah, who knows not how Gods mighty hand
Hath all things fram'd in Heavens, Air, Sea, and Land.
Should you obtrude your mean Philosophy
Upon your friend? alace I'd have you know
Your wisdom's common to all here below.
Why so dogmatick, when you only preach,
What the Creation every hour doth teach?
Must we esteem you wise, because that you
Know as much as the Brutal Creatures do?
Or shall we think that you deserve esteem,
Because you can descantupon a Theme,
Well known to all men? for who's ignorant
Of what you speak? though you do proudly vaunt,
You are the only knowing men, alace,
How much do I commiserate your case.
For ah, who knows not how Gods mighty hand
Hath all things fram'd in Heavens, Air, Sea, and Land.
That mighty hand, that hand, which doth contain
The precious Soul of every living man:
That hand, which grasps at once both Life, and Death,
That hand, which stops, and lets out every Breath:
That mighty hand we know hath formed all,
Without the help of what you wisdom call.
That powerful hand, that right hand, which alone
Acts by true wisdom, is most surely known,
Beyond what all your wisdom can rehearse,
To be the Author of the Universe.
The precious Soul of every living man:
That hand, which grasps at once both Life, and Death,
That hand, which stops, and lets out every Breath:
That mighty hand we know hath formed all,
Without the help of what you wisdom call.
That powerful hand, that right hand, which alone
Acts by true wisdom, is most surely known,
Beyond what all your wisdom can rehearse,
To be the Author of the Universe.
For lets observe but, who did frame the Ear,
And for what use: why it will soon appear
If once we speak: for then articulate,
And distinct words entring that narrow Gate;
Through the Ears winding Turnpikes progress make,
And are conducted to the Intellect,
In decent order, have quick audience,
And from the council of the common Sense,
As quick returns: for words are instantly
Dispatch'd in answer: twinkling of an eye,
Th'ears of both speakers do these words convey.
T'each others judgements i'th' same form, and way.
Let us observe then, how this useful sense,
By special licence from high providence,
Enjoys its place, and faculty, nor are
Those many towrs, and windings in the ear,
There to no purpose, since experience
Demonstrats every day their excellence.
For, as we see in Princes Pallaces,
How all the avenues, and passages
Are strictly guarded, to oppose the rude
Tumultuous entries of the Multitude:
Whilst civil persons, who have business,
Pass through the Guards, and dayly make address
To th'Princes ear: so all the Guards o'th' brain
To civil courteous words do make a Lane,
Which passing forward to the Intellect,
Are there receiv'd with kindness, and respect.
But, if in throngs, and with a hideous shout,
They chance to make approach, to keep such out,
The Drum o'th' Ear doth quickly beat to Arms,
Yet by the frequent use of such allarms,
Those Guards are oft-times overcome, and thence
Men lose the use of that most useful sense.
That useful sense, to which indeed we owe,
The greatest part of what we learn, or know,
So that were't even but in that curious sense,
We may admire the work of Providence.
Observe the Mouth too, how it tastes the Meat,
To try if it be wholesome, sowr, or sweet,
Ere to the Stomach, whether it doth tend,
It can have access, that it may defend,
The Body from all Food, that's destructive,
To health, and make its charge securely live.
Now from such topicks, though there were no moe,
Who may not soon, th'Almighties Glory know?
Forbear then all your arguing, pray forbear
And let's no more of your vain Lectures hear
Upon this subject, since no art can show
The full extent of what we only know,
From such external signs, for what indeed
The Power of God is, whence all things proceed,
Which here we see: how things are regulate
In Heavens, and Earth: how he did Fabricate
This vast stupendious Globe, which still the more
We view, the more the Framer we adore
Is what exceeds our reach.
And for what use: why it will soon appear
If once we speak: for then articulate,
And distinct words entring that narrow Gate;
Through the Ears winding Turnpikes progress make,
And are conducted to the Intellect,
In decent order, have quick audience,
And from the council of the common Sense,
As quick returns: for words are instantly
Dispatch'd in answer: twinkling of an eye,
Th'ears of both speakers do these words convey.
T'each others judgements i'th' same form, and way.
Let us observe then, how this useful sense,
By special licence from high providence,
Enjoys its place, and faculty, nor are
Those many towrs, and windings in the ear,
There to no purpose, since experience
Demonstrats every day their excellence.
For, as we see in Princes Pallaces,
How all the avenues, and passages
77
Tumultuous entries of the Multitude:
Whilst civil persons, who have business,
Pass through the Guards, and dayly make address
To th'Princes ear: so all the Guards o'th' brain
To civil courteous words do make a Lane,
Which passing forward to the Intellect,
Are there receiv'd with kindness, and respect.
But, if in throngs, and with a hideous shout,
They chance to make approach, to keep such out,
The Drum o'th' Ear doth quickly beat to Arms,
Yet by the frequent use of such allarms,
Those Guards are oft-times overcome, and thence
Men lose the use of that most useful sense.
That useful sense, to which indeed we owe,
The greatest part of what we learn, or know,
So that were't even but in that curious sense,
We may admire the work of Providence.
Observe the Mouth too, how it tastes the Meat,
To try if it be wholesome, sowr, or sweet,
Ere to the Stomach, whether it doth tend,
It can have access, that it may defend,
The Body from all Food, that's destructive,
To health, and make its charge securely live.
Now from such topicks, though there were no moe,
Who may not soon, th'Almighties Glory know?
Forbear then all your arguing, pray forbear
And let's no more of your vain Lectures hear
Upon this subject, since no art can show
The full extent of what we only know,
From such external signs, for what indeed
The Power of God is, whence all things proceed,
Which here we see: how things are regulate
In Heavens, and Earth: how he did Fabricate
This vast stupendious Globe, which still the more
We view, the more the Framer we adore
Is what exceeds our reach.
'Tis true indeed, (and I do not deny)
But even on this side of Mortality,
There is a wisdom, which one may attain
By serious thoughts, and labour of the Brain,
There is a thing I know, which in some sense
May be thought wisdom, call'd experience,
Which 'mongst ag'd persons keeps its Residence.
Seldom in other company we see
This grave Instructer, whom I take to be
A thing made up of many passages
Of foolish Life, by which it seems to guess
At future Events, and would wisely cast
By th'vanity of things already past,
The issues of new Counsels, but alace,
When we perceive how still new passages
Occur, which we have never known before,
Then we admire, and can presage no more.
And then, when we reflect what vast Expence
Acquaintance with this same Experience
Doth cost us daily, and how, ere we can
Improve to its full height the wit of man,
The life of man runs out: who'd not assert
That all the knowledge, all the wit, the art,
And all the cunning; which we can attain
Below the Heavens is absolutely vain.
Vain, and inconstant, frail, and perishing
A very inconsiderable thing,
Not worth our pains to know: for don't we see
'Mongst all alive on earth how few there be
Can teach us, which obliges us to crave
Instructions from the Records of the Grave,
Their sayings we esteem, their Works we read,
And borrow all our Knowledge from the Dead.
But even on this side of Mortality,
There is a wisdom, which one may attain
By serious thoughts, and labour of the Brain,
There is a thing I know, which in some sense
May be thought wisdom, call'd experience,
Which 'mongst ag'd persons keeps its Residence.
Seldom in other company we see
This grave Instructer, whom I take to be
A thing made up of many passages
Of foolish Life, by which it seems to guess
At future Events, and would wisely cast
By th'vanity of things already past,
The issues of new Counsels, but alace,
When we perceive how still new passages
Occur, which we have never known before,
Then we admire, and can presage no more.
78
Acquaintance with this same Experience
Doth cost us daily, and how, ere we can
Improve to its full height the wit of man,
The life of man runs out: who'd not assert
That all the knowledge, all the wit, the art,
And all the cunning; which we can attain
Below the Heavens is absolutely vain.
Vain, and inconstant, frail, and perishing
A very inconsiderable thing,
Not worth our pains to know: for don't we see
'Mongst all alive on earth how few there be
Can teach us, which obliges us to crave
Instructions from the Records of the Grave,
Their sayings we esteem, their Works we read,
And borrow all our Knowledge from the Dead.
But O how mean, how poor, and despicable
This Wisdom looks! how like a very bable!
A thing of no esteem, compar'd with that,
Which did this Glorious Universe creat!
That,—that's true Wisdom! that—O that indeed
Doth all your Human Wisdom far exceed.
For with our God, Wisdom, and Strength doth dwell,
In understanding he doth all excel.
No more than of that thing you Wisdom call,
Here's Wisdom that gives silence to you all.
A Divine Wisdom, which no art can teach!
A perfect Wisdom, far above our reach!
A Wisdom infinit! incomparable!
Vastly profound! simply inimitable,
By us poor Mortals! O the Excellence
Of this eternal pure intelligence!
This uncreated Wisdom! this so fair,
Unspotted Knowledge! this so singular
And precious Wisdom! this so eminent
And glorious Prescience, which did all invent
This solid Understanding! this so clear,
And pointed Wisdom, which should only bear
The name of Wisdom! this doth plainly show
We have no Wisdom, we do nothing know:
But all the Wisdom we can here attain,
Is (without question) evident, and plain
(Though on it we bestow a goodly name)
But like the sparks, that issue from the flame.
Or as we see in a contracted Ray
O'th' Sun how Atoms wantonly do play,
Which were but dust, while by that glorious Beam
Rais'd from the Dung-hill: then to men they seem
To be some things of moment, and become
The subject of grave arguing to some
More curious Brains; as they're of admiration
To duller judgments; and of meditation
To pious Breasts: yet let the Sun recall
His Animating Ray, and after all
Those things appear but transient, and vain,
And soon incorporat with the dust again.
Just so all Humane Knowledge animat
By wisdom from above we estimat
For some small time, so long as so inspir'd,
But when the Divine Rayes are once retir'd,
Then we perceive what we did late esteem
Was but a Shadow, or an empty Dream.
This Wisdom looks! how like a very bable!
A thing of no esteem, compar'd with that,
Which did this Glorious Universe creat!
That,—that's true Wisdom! that—O that indeed
Doth all your Human Wisdom far exceed.
For with our God, Wisdom, and Strength doth dwell,
In understanding he doth all excel.
No more than of that thing you Wisdom call,
Here's Wisdom that gives silence to you all.
A Divine Wisdom, which no art can teach!
A perfect Wisdom, far above our reach!
A Wisdom infinit! incomparable!
Vastly profound! simply inimitable,
By us poor Mortals! O the Excellence
Of this eternal pure intelligence!
This uncreated Wisdom! this so fair,
Unspotted Knowledge! this so singular
And precious Wisdom! this so eminent
And glorious Prescience, which did all invent
This solid Understanding! this so clear,
And pointed Wisdom, which should only bear
The name of Wisdom! this doth plainly show
We have no Wisdom, we do nothing know:
But all the Wisdom we can here attain,
Is (without question) evident, and plain
(Though on it we bestow a goodly name)
But like the sparks, that issue from the flame.
Or as we see in a contracted Ray
O'th' Sun how Atoms wantonly do play,
Which were but dust, while by that glorious Beam
Rais'd from the Dung-hill: then to men they seem
To be some things of moment, and become
The subject of grave arguing to some
More curious Brains; as they're of admiration
To duller judgments; and of meditation
To pious Breasts: yet let the Sun recall
His Animating Ray, and after all
79
And soon incorporat with the dust again.
Just so all Humane Knowledge animat
By wisdom from above we estimat
For some small time, so long as so inspir'd,
But when the Divine Rayes are once retir'd,
Then we perceive what we did late esteem
Was but a Shadow, or an empty Dream.
O the great Power of God! who can express
His admirable Strength! we must confess
'Tis he alone that rules, 'tis he alone
That orders all, accountable to none.
'Tis he that builds, 'tis only he erects
Kingdoms and States; 'tis he alone protects
These in their beeing; he alone beats down
Those powerful Corporations, assoon
As he thinks fit: he overturns them all;
At his command to Anarchy they fall.
Those glistering things, which we adore by names
Of Scepters, Robes, Swords, Balls, and Diadems,
He breaks to pieces with his mighty hand,
To let the' admiring world understand
'Tis he alone, by whom all Princes reign;
And fall; and whom he once beats down, in vain
Mortals endeavour to restore again.
Or if they do, he renders their designs
Unsuccessful, and quickly countermines
Their secret Plots: but when they have done all
That men can do, if on his Name they call,
Then he will hear, and by his Power alone
Restore Exiled Princes to the Throne.
When he imprisons men, (who e're they be)
No Friendship, Force, or Law can set them free.
His admirable Strength! we must confess
'Tis he alone that rules, 'tis he alone
That orders all, accountable to none.
'Tis he that builds, 'tis only he erects
Kingdoms and States; 'tis he alone protects
These in their beeing; he alone beats down
Those powerful Corporations, assoon
As he thinks fit: he overturns them all;
At his command to Anarchy they fall.
Those glistering things, which we adore by names
Of Scepters, Robes, Swords, Balls, and Diadems,
He breaks to pieces with his mighty hand,
To let the' admiring world understand
'Tis he alone, by whom all Princes reign;
And fall; and whom he once beats down, in vain
Mortals endeavour to restore again.
Or if they do, he renders their designs
Unsuccessful, and quickly countermines
Their secret Plots: but when they have done all
That men can do, if on his Name they call,
Then he will hear, and by his Power alone
Restore Exiled Princes to the Throne.
When he imprisons men, (who e're they be)
No Friendship, Force, or Law can set them free.
When he seals up the Clouds, then by, and by
The Floods and Rivers of the Earth run dry.
The parched Ground no moisture doth retain,
But every thirsty Clod doth gape for Rain.
And all the beasts o'th' field with drowth opprest,
Hang out their tongues, and can enjoy no rest.
But when he sends them out, they furnish all
Men, Beasts, Birds, Insects, Creatures great and small
With Liquor in abundance: and o'rflow
Earths surface quite if he will have it so.
The Floods and Rivers of the Earth run dry.
The parched Ground no moisture doth retain,
But every thirsty Clod doth gape for Rain.
And all the beasts o'th' field with drowth opprest,
Hang out their tongues, and can enjoy no rest.
But when he sends them out, they furnish all
Men, Beasts, Birds, Insects, Creatures great and small
With Liquor in abundance: and o'rflow
Earths surface quite if he will have it so.
With him is Strength, and Wisdom, no thing can,
Without his licence, be perform'd by man.
Nay Sin it self, tho man to it make sute,
Without permission, dares not contribute
To its own beeing: he who means to make
Unlawful gain, dares not yet undertake
Without Gods special tolerance to do it,
Who will permit it, though he don't allow it.
Without his licence, be perform'd by man.
Nay Sin it self, tho man to it make sute,
Without permission, dares not contribute
To its own beeing: he who means to make
Unlawful gain, dares not yet undertake
Without Gods special tolerance to do it,
Who will permit it, though he don't allow it.
'Tis he, who turns the Counsels of the Wise
To down right folly: he who vilifies
Their closs Projectings, and doth laugh at all
What these Intrigues, and Cabin councils call.
'Tis he makes Dotards on the Benches sit,
And Beardless fools, when ever he thinks fit,
To plague a sinful Nation: 'tis he
That raises men of base, and low degree
To be our Rulers: he takes Princes down,
And brings th'unweildie Distaff to the Crown:
That he a sinning Nation may vex,
With all the passions of that humorous Sex.
He cuts of aged Princes; he alone
Sets Fools, and sucking Infants on the Throne:
And for the faults of an unrulie Land,
Makes many Princes stead of one, command.
To down right folly: he who vilifies
Their closs Projectings, and doth laugh at all
80
'Tis he makes Dotards on the Benches sit,
And Beardless fools, when ever he thinks fit,
To plague a sinful Nation: 'tis he
That raises men of base, and low degree
To be our Rulers: he takes Princes down,
And brings th'unweildie Distaff to the Crown:
That he a sinning Nation may vex,
With all the passions of that humorous Sex.
He cuts of aged Princes; he alone
Sets Fools, and sucking Infants on the Throne:
And for the faults of an unrulie Land,
Makes many Princes stead of one, command.
He snatches Scepters from the greatest Kings,
Pulls off their Robes, and makes those crowned things
Fetter'd, and pinion'd, beg their dayly Meat,
With fear, and trembling at the Conquerours feet.
Pulls off their Robes, and makes those crowned things
Fetter'd, and pinion'd, beg their dayly Meat,
With fear, and trembling at the Conquerours feet.
Whole Nations in a herd he drives away,
And of their Princes makes a lawful Prey.
The high and mighty he doth overthrow
Annuls their Powers, and makes the proudest low.
And of their Princes makes a lawful Prey.
The high and mighty he doth overthrow
Annuls their Powers, and makes the proudest low.
He makes the faithful Counsellours speech to fail,
And what they talk, sound, like an idle tale.
He makes their mouths to furnish Evidence,
Sufficient to condemn their Eloquence.
He makes the ag'd, and prudent stammer out
Their minds like fools; and make the audience doubt;
Although they see their Senators i'th' face,
If these be they, or mad men in their place.
And what they talk, sound, like an idle tale.
He makes their mouths to furnish Evidence,
Sufficient to condemn their Eloquence.
He makes the ag'd, and prudent stammer out
Their minds like fools; and make the audience doubt;
Although they see their Senators i'th' face,
If these be they, or mad men in their place.
Your Soveraign Princes, who to day appear
In wealth and honour, void of any fear
Of being overturn'd, and dayly fleece
Their poor o're toiling Subjects as they please,
To morrow he contemptible doth make 'em,
And makes all these they thought their friends, forsake 'em.
In wealth and honour, void of any fear
Of being overturn'd, and dayly fleece
Their poor o're toiling Subjects as they please,
To morrow he contemptible doth make 'em,
And makes all these they thought their friends, forsake 'em.
Deep subterraneous Caverns, where the Beams
O'th' Sun ne're pierc'd; dark places, void of names;
Unseen, unheard of, never known before,
Replete with noisome vapours to that hour,
And killing Damps, foul Kennels, black as Hell;
He clears, their darkness he doth soon dispel:
At his command those Fogs do flye away,
And these dark holes, like Noon-tide of the day
Appears, so clear, and so transparent bright,
As if they always had been full of Light.
O'th' Sun ne're pierc'd; dark places, void of names;
Unseen, unheard of, never known before,
Replete with noisome vapours to that hour,
And killing Damps, foul Kennels, black as Hell;
He clears, their darkness he doth soon dispel:
At his command those Fogs do flye away,
And these dark holes, like Noon-tide of the day
Appears, so clear, and so transparent bright,
As if they always had been full of Light.
That Nation which our God intends to bless,
He makes to flourish in all happiness.
He makes the people in prosperity
And wealth to live, and daily multiply.
Under his own vine, ignorant of fear,
Makes each man with his Neighbour keep good chear,
Furnishes to 'em all the best of Meat,
Which under their own Fig-tree they do Eat.
Proof of all Writs, these people do not care
For th'heavy clutch o'th' pinching Usurer.
The dismal News of an approaching term,
Which frights the most of men does not allarm
That happy Nation. who in plenty live,
And spend as freely, as their God doth give
They know no Contributions, Raps, or Force,
Quart'rings, or transient March of Foot, and Horse,
No they are free of all these Curses, far
From all the sad calamities of War.
Whilst other Nations howl, they live at ease,
Enjoying all the Benefits of Peace.
But when a long continued peace has bred
Foul luxury; and all the Land's o'respread
With unclean Acts, and scenick wantonness,
Then farewell all their former joys, and peace.
Their loud-tongu'd sins no sooner make a noise
In Gods Ears, but he instantly destroys
That foolish people, whom he so much bless't,
And throws them out, like Chaff, he doth detest
Their very memory; makes them soon a prey
To Barbarous Nations, who drive all away
They find within that peoples Land, before 'em;
Nor will afford them food, though they implore 'em;
With cryes, and tears, would burst the very stones,
Yet these unmov'd with all their sighs, and groans,
'Stead of all answer to these sad demands,
Shall poinard those poor wretches, wash their hands
In their hearts-blood; cut off their heads, and show
Them on their spear points, not consented so
Ravish their Virgins, and unrip their Wives,
Brain all their Children, and with bloody Knives,
On their dead Corps their cruelty repeat,
And throw large Collops to their Dogs to eat.
Without regard to either sex, or age,
These men shall glut their Military rage.
Burn all their Houses, Towns, and Villages,
Waste all, and leave no memory of peace.
But after all, he will his ear afford
To some small remnant, who have scapt the Sword:
When in their Chains, and fetters they do cry
To Heavens for mercy, then he instantly
Will hear their pray'rs, release them from their pain,
And soon restore them to their own again.
He makes to flourish in all happiness.
He makes the people in prosperity
And wealth to live, and daily multiply.
Under his own vine, ignorant of fear,
Makes each man with his Neighbour keep good chear,
Furnishes to 'em all the best of Meat,
Which under their own Fig-tree they do Eat.
Proof of all Writs, these people do not care
81
The dismal News of an approaching term,
Which frights the most of men does not allarm
That happy Nation. who in plenty live,
And spend as freely, as their God doth give
They know no Contributions, Raps, or Force,
Quart'rings, or transient March of Foot, and Horse,
No they are free of all these Curses, far
From all the sad calamities of War.
Whilst other Nations howl, they live at ease,
Enjoying all the Benefits of Peace.
But when a long continued peace has bred
Foul luxury; and all the Land's o'respread
With unclean Acts, and scenick wantonness,
Then farewell all their former joys, and peace.
Their loud-tongu'd sins no sooner make a noise
In Gods Ears, but he instantly destroys
That foolish people, whom he so much bless't,
And throws them out, like Chaff, he doth detest
Their very memory; makes them soon a prey
To Barbarous Nations, who drive all away
They find within that peoples Land, before 'em;
Nor will afford them food, though they implore 'em;
With cryes, and tears, would burst the very stones,
Yet these unmov'd with all their sighs, and groans,
'Stead of all answer to these sad demands,
Shall poinard those poor wretches, wash their hands
In their hearts-blood; cut off their heads, and show
Them on their spear points, not consented so
Ravish their Virgins, and unrip their Wives,
Brain all their Children, and with bloody Knives,
On their dead Corps their cruelty repeat,
And throw large Collops to their Dogs to eat.
Without regard to either sex, or age,
These men shall glut their Military rage.
Burn all their Houses, Towns, and Villages,
Waste all, and leave no memory of peace.
But after all, he will his ear afford
To some small remnant, who have scapt the Sword:
When in their Chains, and fetters they do cry
To Heavens for mercy, then he instantly
Will hear their pray'rs, release them from their pain,
And soon restore them to their own again.
When he intends a final desolation,
And means, in anger, to destroy a Nation;
Let them give out Commissions of array,
And raise well modell'd Armies under Pay:
With great allowance, and large hire engage
The most accomplish'd Captains of their age
To be their Generals: give them full Command,
Put all their Force, and Treasure In their hand.
Who may Encamp these Troops in every part,
By all the Rules of Military Art:
Decamp, March, Counter-march, and make a halt,
Lay ambushes, besiege, and make assault;
Do all that brave, and skilful Chiftans dare,
By the exactest Discipline of War.
Assur'd of Victory, yet after all,
A Pannick Fear shall on these Captains fall:
Their Blood shall cool, their Courage shall decay,
And they shall be the first shall run away,
When action comes: their Troops shall be defeat,
And stand in fear of every one they meet.
Their broken Squadrons squandring in their way,
Through all the Countrey shall become a prey
To Boyes and Peasants: Hills, and Dales to boot
Shall not secure them from the hot pursuit.
Three of'm in a body shan't remain
Most of'm being captivat, or slain
Without all hopes of Rallying again.
And means, in anger, to destroy a Nation;
Let them give out Commissions of array,
And raise well modell'd Armies under Pay:
With great allowance, and large hire engage
The most accomplish'd Captains of their age
To be their Generals: give them full Command,
Put all their Force, and Treasure In their hand.
Who may Encamp these Troops in every part,
By all the Rules of Military Art:
Decamp, March, Counter-march, and make a halt,
82
Do all that brave, and skilful Chiftans dare,
By the exactest Discipline of War.
Assur'd of Victory, yet after all,
A Pannick Fear shall on these Captains fall:
Their Blood shall cool, their Courage shall decay,
And they shall be the first shall run away,
When action comes: their Troops shall be defeat,
And stand in fear of every one they meet.
Their broken Squadrons squandring in their way,
Through all the Countrey shall become a prey
To Boyes and Peasants: Hills, and Dales to boot
Shall not secure them from the hot pursuit.
Three of'm in a body shan't remain
Most of'm being captivat, or slain
Without all hopes of Rallying again.
But as men in the dark do feel, and grope,
So shall those scattered Forces without hope,
Benumm'd with fear, in lamentable case,
Whilst the feirce Conquerors closs pursue the Chase,
Through Ditches, Pools, and Quag-mires, here and there
Woods, Mountains, Corn-fields, Pastures, every where,
Run to preserve their Lifes, but all in vain,
Staggering, like so many Drunken Men.
So shall those scattered Forces without hope,
Benumm'd with fear, in lamentable case,
Whilst the feirce Conquerors closs pursue the Chase,
Through Ditches, Pools, and Quag-mires, here and there
Woods, Mountains, Corn-fields, Pastures, every where,
Run to preserve their Lifes, but all in vain,
Staggering, like so many Drunken Men.
Cap. XIII.
All this mine ears have heard, mine eyes have seen,
And to my knowledge, some such things have been
In my own time: I have observ'd with care,
What Changes, Turns, and Revolutions are
In all Conditions of this Life, I know
There's nothing fix'd and solid here below.
And to my knowledge, some such things have been
In my own time: I have observ'd with care,
What Changes, Turns, and Revolutions are
In all Conditions of this Life, I know
There's nothing fix'd and solid here below.
All this I know, my friends, to show you how
I'm not inferiour to the best of you.
And were't not for the present wo, and pain
I do endure, I think I could explain
My self, in manner as methodical,
And as good Words, as any of you all.
I'm not inferiour to the best of you.
And were't not for the present wo, and pain
I do endure, I think I could explain
My self, in manner as methodical,
And as good Words, as any of you all.
But I intend my Language to direct
Onlie to God; only to God I'le speak.
With the Almighty I'le expostulate,
I do desire to enter in debate
With him alone: for though I understand
What has befall'n me is by Gods command;
And his pure Justice, because while such time,
As God has found, and try'd, and prov'd the crime,
Of him he means to punish: he will never
Send out his Vengeance, for what suit soever
Our Enemies make to him; in a word,
In Justice only he doth draw the Sword,
Against poor sinners, yet I fain would know
For what black crimes I am tormented so.
Onlie to God; only to God I'le speak.
With the Almighty I'le expostulate,
I do desire to enter in debate
With him alone: for though I understand
What has befall'n me is by Gods command;
And his pure Justice, because while such time,
As God has found, and try'd, and prov'd the crime,
Of him he means to punish: he will never
Send out his Vengeance, for what suit soever
Our Enemies make to him; in a word,
83
Against poor sinners, yet I fain would know
For what black crimes I am tormented so.
I know from God I may such answer have,
As may hereafter all your labour save.
I know he will me fully satisfy,
And tell me plainly where the cause doth lye,
Of my disease: and so proceed to cure,
By Principles, and Medicines more sure,
Then what you can afford: I may expect
From him true comfort, but what you direct
Is but like Oyl pour'd on the Flames: alace,
You talk, but do not understand my case.
Only you boldly vent some foolish lies,
Which to condemn your friend, you do devise,
But you're Physitians of no worth, or price.
As may hereafter all your labour save.
I know he will me fully satisfy,
And tell me plainly where the cause doth lye,
Of my disease: and so proceed to cure,
By Principles, and Medicines more sure,
Then what you can afford: I may expect
From him true comfort, but what you direct
Is but like Oyl pour'd on the Flames: alace,
You talk, but do not understand my case.
Only you boldly vent some foolish lies,
Which to condemn your friend, you do devise,
But you're Physitians of no worth, or price.
Indeed, my friends, I am asham'd to hear
Such idle talking: and I cann't forbear
At length to tell you in plain terms, that you
Might truly to your selves great kindness doe;
If you would hold your peace; and speak no more,
Of my concerns, and what you've spoke before
I shall excuse: then once, my friends, again,
I must beseech you free me of the pain
Of your discourse, and to your selves allow,
By holding of your peace some favour too:
For foolish talkers all men do despise,
But such, when silent, are esteemed wise.
Such idle talking: and I cann't forbear
At length to tell you in plain terms, that you
Might truly to your selves great kindness doe;
If you would hold your peace; and speak no more,
Of my concerns, and what you've spoke before
I shall excuse: then once, my friends, again,
I must beseech you free me of the pain
Of your discourse, and to your selves allow,
By holding of your peace some favour too:
For foolish talkers all men do despise,
But such, when silent, are esteemed wise.
This granted, I desire the liberty
To argue with you for some time, that I
May show you in your reas'ning, where you err,
And so convince you that what you aver
Is not agreeable with Piety,
And tell you where the fallacy doth ly.
For here's your error now, upon pretence,
That you forsooth appear in Gods defence,
You talk at random, your disord'red zeal
Over your wit, and reason doth prevail.
I thought in you some comfort to have found,
But 'stead of that, your bitter speeches wound
My poor afflicted Soul, for you still beat
Upon one string, and frequently repeat,
That God doth send afflictions on noné,
But those, whose sins do merit them alone,
From whence subsuming I have merited,
You do conclude I'm justly punished.
This is your constant doctrine, this is all
The argument, on which, by turns you fall,
Though truth it is but what Logicians call
A begging of the question: for I
Your major proposition still deny:
And for your minor that I'm such a man,
As you assert, endeavour what you can
To make it out, I still deny that too,
So that I only make this answer now,
Of what you charge me I am innocent,
And therefore merit no such punishment,
As I endure.—
To argue with you for some time, that I
May show you in your reas'ning, where you err,
And so convince you that what you aver
Is not agreeable with Piety,
And tell you where the fallacy doth ly.
For here's your error now, upon pretence,
That you forsooth appear in Gods defence,
You talk at random, your disord'red zeal
Over your wit, and reason doth prevail.
I thought in you some comfort to have found,
But 'stead of that, your bitter speeches wound
My poor afflicted Soul, for you still beat
Upon one string, and frequently repeat,
That God doth send afflictions on noné,
But those, whose sins do merit them alone,
From whence subsuming I have merited,
You do conclude I'm justly punished.
This is your constant doctrine, this is all
The argument, on which, by turns you fall,
Though truth it is but what Logicians call
A begging of the question: for I
Your major proposition still deny:
And for your minor that I'm such a man,
As you assert, endeavour what you can
To make it out, I still deny that too,
84
Of what you charge me I am innocent,
And therefore merit no such punishment,
As I endure.—
Whence all this noise, my friends, then? to what end
This tumult of Discourse? if you intend
Still to oppose, why I must still Defend.
Or if you do intend to personate
Your glorious Maker, and for him debate,
Then will I make no answer; I'l not speak,
Nor Harangues in Gods vindication make,
As you have done: for why, my friends, would you
Have me to bluster out my folly too,
And treat th'Almighty with such liberty,
Only forsooth to bear you company?
This tumult of Discourse? if you intend
Still to oppose, why I must still Defend.
Or if you do intend to personate
Your glorious Maker, and for him debate,
Then will I make no answer; I'l not speak,
Nor Harangues in Gods vindication make,
As you have done: for why, my friends, would you
Have me to bluster out my folly too,
And treat th'Almighty with such liberty,
Only forsooth to bear you company?
Indeed your carriage is unwarrantable,
Your proud demeanour is intolerable.
I know my God will no such thing allow,
That such presumptous Orators, as you
Should undertake his Interest to plead,
'Gainst any here on Earth, he has no need
Of your assistance: nor will he demand
Advice of you: pray' therefore understand
Your pregnant folly, and, in common sense,
Reflect upon your impious insolence.
You undertake to plead for God? will you,
(As for their Clients some crack'd Lawyers do)
Give to your passions foolish liberty,
And, with great art, set out a specious lye,
To gain your point. This method some indeed
Do use for men. but if for God you plead,
You must be solid, sure and circumspect,
In everything you counsel, act, or speak.
Your proud demeanour is intolerable.
I know my God will no such thing allow,
That such presumptous Orators, as you
Should undertake his Interest to plead,
'Gainst any here on Earth, he has no need
Of your assistance: nor will he demand
Advice of you: pray' therefore understand
Your pregnant folly, and, in common sense,
Reflect upon your impious insolence.
You undertake to plead for God? will you,
(As for their Clients some crack'd Lawyers do)
Give to your passions foolish liberty,
And, with great art, set out a specious lye,
To gain your point. This method some indeed
Do use for men. but if for God you plead,
You must be solid, sure and circumspect,
In everything you counsel, act, or speak.
Observe then pray, our God will not permit
Such pleadings for him, for when he thinks fit
To show the Justice of his actings, when
He would convince the stolid race of men
Of their gross sins, and openly detect
Their hidden faults, then he himself will speak.
Such pleadings for him, for when he thinks fit
To show the Justice of his actings, when
He would convince the stolid race of men
Of their gross sins, and openly detect
Their hidden faults, then he himself will speak.
Yes he will speak, and strongly plead his cause
By quoting his own equitable Laws.
He'l speak, he'l speak, and show what difference
Is betwixt his, and humane Eloquence.
The King of Heavens will speak, and show you how
His cause is mangled by such things, as you.
Our God himself will make it evident
You cannot mannage such an argument.
And when he speaks, why at his very Breath,
His Orators will look as pale, as Death:
In great disorder, betwixt shame, and fear,
When they see God in his own cause appear:
That mighty God, for whom, in pur-blind Zeal,
They thought they had both plead, and preached well,
Whilst mean time, all their Eloquence, at best
Did only serve some Paltry interest,
Which they'd glaze over with the Name of God,
As if his Glory were their period.
Though in their hearts, those men, who preach too much
Upon that Subject, are not alwayes such
As they pretend: howe're they would deceive
The credulous vulgar, and make all believe,
That what they spoke were upright, and sincere,
Whilst really, their Eloquence, I fear,
Is but like that at Bar, even so infus'd,
As by their Clients they are kindly us'd:
But when God speaks, a suddain fear shall fall
Upon those Preachers, and confound them all.
By quoting his own equitable Laws.
He'l speak, he'l speak, and show what difference
Is betwixt his, and humane Eloquence.
The King of Heavens will speak, and show you how
His cause is mangled by such things, as you.
Our God himself will make it evident
You cannot mannage such an argument.
And when he speaks, why at his very Breath,
His Orators will look as pale, as Death:
In great disorder, betwixt shame, and fear,
When they see God in his own cause appear:
That mighty God, for whom, in pur-blind Zeal,
They thought they had both plead, and preached well,
Whilst mean time, all their Eloquence, at best
85
Which they'd glaze over with the Name of God,
As if his Glory were their period.
Though in their hearts, those men, who preach too much
Upon that Subject, are not alwayes such
As they pretend: howe're they would deceive
The credulous vulgar, and make all believe,
That what they spoke were upright, and sincere,
Whilst really, their Eloquence, I fear,
Is but like that at Bar, even so infus'd,
As by their Clients they are kindly us'd:
But when God speaks, a suddain fear shall fall
Upon those Preachers, and confound them all.
For when he speaks, he'l tell you in your face,
You have provock'd him, and abus'd his Grace.
He gave you Parts, 'tis true, and Eloquence,
But never mean't that you, in his defence,
Should use those Gifts, or offer to debate.
For him, unless you were commissionat
By special warrant from himself, for those
Who, in Enthusiastick fits, suppose
Men of all stations, and degrees may preach,
And silly women, if they please, may teach;
Those, who, like you, all others do despise,
And thinks there's no man holy in their eyes,
But such, as are of their opinion, say
They're only perfect, walk in Gods own way;
Sure these men grossly err, for God doth own,
No such presumption, and it is well known,
God in all ages doth such men select,
As he thinks fit should by commission speak,
For him to th'people: and will sure destroy
Those preaching fools, whom he doth not employ.
Then you, my friends, must know, that having spoke
For him, without commission, you have broke
His divine Statutes, and, in Heavens Court
Incurr'd a premunire: to be short,
For this your great presumption, your name
Shall be extinguish'd, and your race, for shame,
Shall shun mens converse: this at length, shall be
The profit of such actings, this the fee
Of those officiously who undertake,
Without commission, for their God to speak.
You have provock'd him, and abus'd his Grace.
He gave you Parts, 'tis true, and Eloquence,
But never mean't that you, in his defence,
Should use those Gifts, or offer to debate.
For him, unless you were commissionat
By special warrant from himself, for those
Who, in Enthusiastick fits, suppose
Men of all stations, and degrees may preach,
And silly women, if they please, may teach;
Those, who, like you, all others do despise,
And thinks there's no man holy in their eyes,
But such, as are of their opinion, say
They're only perfect, walk in Gods own way;
Sure these men grossly err, for God doth own,
No such presumption, and it is well known,
God in all ages doth such men select,
As he thinks fit should by commission speak,
For him to th'people: and will sure destroy
Those preaching fools, whom he doth not employ.
Then you, my friends, must know, that having spoke
For him, without commission, you have broke
His divine Statutes, and, in Heavens Court
Incurr'd a premunire: to be short,
For this your great presumption, your name
Shall be extinguish'd, and your race, for shame,
Shall shun mens converse: this at length, shall be
The profit of such actings, this the fee
Of those officiously who undertake,
Without commission, for their God to speak.
Then pray now from your foolish arguing cease;
And, while I speak, be pleas'd to hold your peace,
Forbear your talk for some time, and be still,
For I intend to speak, (come on't what will.)
Come on't what will, I'l speak, I'l boldly speak,
And to my Maker my discourse direct.
And, while I speak, be pleas'd to hold your peace,
Forbear your talk for some time, and be still,
For I intend to speak, (come on't what will.)
Come on't what will, I'l speak, I'l boldly speak,
And to my Maker my discourse direct.
I'l say, Lord, why am I thus punished?
Thus cudgell'd, stead of being comforted?
Thus sharply tax'd by three comforting men,
As if, without a cause, I did complain.
Good Lord, that I should be reprov'd by those,
Who, if they felt the tenth part of my woes,
Would instantlie cry out, and make a noise,
Using such faint expressions, as Boys,
When whipp'd at Schools: such, as if they did feel
What I endure, would stagger, foam, and reel,
Like mad men, such, as if they knew the care:
And grief I know, would instantlie despair.
Yet such, forsooth must censure me, good Lord,
That those my friends, who comfort should afford
To me in this condition, when they see
What are my plagues, and what my torments be,
By signs so manifest, so plain, and clear,
As when, for pain, my very flesh I tear,
When all o'r grown with Ulcers, all o'r run
With putrid sores, contemptible, undone,
I here on Dunghill sit, and fain would crie
To thee, my God, if I had libertie,
And were not interrupted by those men,
Who by me sit: thou know'st, O Lord, how fain
In private, I'd pour out my very Soul,
If those men, who've come hither to condole
My sad condition, as they do pretend,
Did not obstruct me: how I fain would spend
The small remainder of my troubled days
In picus sighs, and setting out thy praise,
By what I have observ'd, and heard, by fame,
From others, since first to this world I came:
How fain I'd pray, how fain my sins bemoan,
If those tormenters would let me alone.
It seems indeed, Lord, thou design'st to make
My case extreamlie sad; for this I take
As not the least part of my punishment,
That thou to me such comforters hath sent.
Thus cudgell'd, stead of being comforted?
Thus sharply tax'd by three comforting men,
As if, without a cause, I did complain.
Good Lord, that I should be reprov'd by those,
86
Would instantlie cry out, and make a noise,
Using such faint expressions, as Boys,
When whipp'd at Schools: such, as if they did feel
What I endure, would stagger, foam, and reel,
Like mad men, such, as if they knew the care:
And grief I know, would instantlie despair.
Yet such, forsooth must censure me, good Lord,
That those my friends, who comfort should afford
To me in this condition, when they see
What are my plagues, and what my torments be,
By signs so manifest, so plain, and clear,
As when, for pain, my very flesh I tear,
When all o'r grown with Ulcers, all o'r run
With putrid sores, contemptible, undone,
I here on Dunghill sit, and fain would crie
To thee, my God, if I had libertie,
And were not interrupted by those men,
Who by me sit: thou know'st, O Lord, how fain
In private, I'd pour out my very Soul,
If those men, who've come hither to condole
My sad condition, as they do pretend,
Did not obstruct me: how I fain would spend
The small remainder of my troubled days
In picus sighs, and setting out thy praise,
By what I have observ'd, and heard, by fame,
From others, since first to this world I came:
How fain I'd pray, how fain my sins bemoan,
If those tormenters would let me alone.
It seems indeed, Lord, thou design'st to make
My case extreamlie sad; for this I take
As not the least part of my punishment,
That thou to me such comforters hath sent.
Yet, Lord, I'l still apply to thee, I know
There is no other comfort here below:
Compassion, pitie, mercie there is none,
But what proceeds from thee good God, alone.
I'l therefore trust in thee,—in thee, good Lord,
I'l onlie trust,—I'l hope, and—in a word.
Do with me what thou wilt, let even thy wrath
Be satisfi'd with no less than my death:
Yes, kill me, Lord, cut me to pieces, do
As thou thinks't fit, yet here I firmlie vow,
This heart, this poor oppressed heart shall never
Deviat from it's love to thee, what ever
Come of my person:—nay even when I die,
In my last gasping breath, I'l formallie
Express my love to thee: in thee I'l trust
My gracious Maker; for, as thou art just,
So thou art merciful: besides, good Lord,
I know thou only comfort can'st afford
To men afflicted: let me then be freed
Of my officious friends, who boldlie plead
Against me, 'stead of comforting, for I
Esteem my greatest woe their company:
I do indeed, for I had rather choose
Be plagu'd by thee, then comforted by those.
There is no other comfort here below:
Compassion, pitie, mercie there is none,
But what proceeds from thee good God, alone.
I'l therefore trust in thee,—in thee, good Lord,
I'l onlie trust,—I'l hope, and—in a word.
Do with me what thou wilt, let even thy wrath
Be satisfi'd with no less than my death:
Yes, kill me, Lord, cut me to pieces, do
As thou thinks't fit, yet here I firmlie vow,
This heart, this poor oppressed heart shall never
Deviat from it's love to thee, what ever
Come of my person:—nay even when I die,
In my last gasping breath, I'l formallie
Express my love to thee: in thee I'l trust
My gracious Maker; for, as thou art just,
So thou art merciful: besides, good Lord,
I know thou only comfort can'st afford
To men afflicted: let me then be freed
Of my officious friends, who boldlie plead
Against me, 'stead of comforting, for I
87
I do indeed, for I had rather choose
Be plagu'd by thee, then comforted by those.
Now, Lord, to them though I will not confess
My sinful errors, yet my wickedness,
Before thee, I acknowledge, as the cause
Of all my woes: Lord, I have broke thy Laws,
And merit no less censure in thy sight,
Than instantly to be destroy'd down-right.
My sinful errors, yet my wickedness,
Before thee, I acknowledge, as the cause
Of all my woes: Lord, I have broke thy Laws,
And merit no less censure in thy sight,
Than instantly to be destroy'd down-right.
But after all, I know, O Lord, that thou
Wilt use me better than these talkers do.
Thou'lt be more kind, and whilst I am in pain,
For some small time, allow me to complain,
And then restore me to my strength again.
For after all this trial, thou shalt clear
My innocence, and make, at length, appear
That I in sin have taken no delite,
And show these men—I am no hypocrite.
Wilt use me better than these talkers do.
Thou'lt be more kind, and whilst I am in pain,
For some small time, allow me to complain,
And then restore me to my strength again.
For after all this trial, thou shalt clear
My innocence, and make, at length, appear
That I in sin have taken no delite,
And show these men—I am no hypocrite.
Now then, my friends, observe, be pleas'd to hear
What I discourse, For seriouslie I fear,
In all your talk of late, you have abus'd,
Your selves more than the man you have accus'd.
What I discourse, For seriouslie I fear,
In all your talk of late, you have abus'd,
Your selves more than the man you have accus'd.
For you have said, because of my offence,
That I'm by God rejected, and from thence,
You did affirm I might expect no more
To see his face, as I had done before.
Ay me!—a sentence cruel, and severe!
A doom, in which great malice doth appear!
Now pray, my friends, by what authoritie
Act you these things? who gave you libertie
To give out Judgment thus? for to this hour
I never heard that any of you had power
From our Great God to excommunicat
The poorest Wretch on Earth.—
I therefore hope I quicklie shall be able
To make appear how most unwarrantable
Your sentence is, for this I surelie know;
As God excels in acts of justice, so
In acts of mercy he doth so abound
As no man needs despair: he's always found
Of such as seek him, and I know he'l be
As merciful, as formerlie to me.
But were it so, my friends, as you have said,
That I'm of God rejected, then indeed,
Indeed, in that case, I should soon despair,
And be o'th' same opinion as you are
Nor should you from my mouth hereafter hear
Words of assurance, words of confidence
By which I do alleviat my sense
Of present sufferings: for I firmly know
I know my God hath not determin'd so,
As you alledge: I know he is more just
Than to reject a man, that puts his trust
In him alone, a man, who never yet,
In all his sad, and suffering estate,
From his first Principles has deviat.
For I do still believe that God has sent,
Upon me now this heavy punishment,
Only to try my faith, that men might know,
Whether I be a hypocrite, or no:
For were I such, in this my horrid case,
I'd be so far from trusting in his Grace,
As I'd abjure him to his very face,
But O I know, I know my God will never
Exclude me from his mercies act, however
He's pleas'd to vex me now: I know indeed
He will not to an outlawry proceed,
Against a man, who's willing to appear,
And answer all:—no, no I do not fear,
I fear not that he has rejected me,
As you pretend, for, by what I can see,
Should I just now before my God be try'd,
I doubt not but I would be justify'd.
That I'm by God rejected, and from thence,
You did affirm I might expect no more
To see his face, as I had done before.
Ay me!—a sentence cruel, and severe!
A doom, in which great malice doth appear!
Now pray, my friends, by what authoritie
Act you these things? who gave you libertie
To give out Judgment thus? for to this hour
I never heard that any of you had power
From our Great God to excommunicat
The poorest Wretch on Earth.—
I therefore hope I quicklie shall be able
To make appear how most unwarrantable
Your sentence is, for this I surelie know;
As God excels in acts of justice, so
In acts of mercy he doth so abound
As no man needs despair: he's always found
Of such as seek him, and I know he'l be
As merciful, as formerlie to me.
But were it so, my friends, as you have said,
That I'm of God rejected, then indeed,
Indeed, in that case, I should soon despair,
And be o'th' same opinion as you are
Nor should you from my mouth hereafter hear
Words of assurance, words of confidence
By which I do alleviat my sense
Of present sufferings: for I firmly know
I know my God hath not determin'd so,
As you alledge: I know he is more just
Than to reject a man, that puts his trust
88
In all his sad, and suffering estate,
From his first Principles has deviat.
For I do still believe that God has sent,
Upon me now this heavy punishment,
Only to try my faith, that men might know,
Whether I be a hypocrite, or no:
For were I such, in this my horrid case,
I'd be so far from trusting in his Grace,
As I'd abjure him to his very face,
But O I know, I know my God will never
Exclude me from his mercies act, however
He's pleas'd to vex me now: I know indeed
He will not to an outlawry proceed,
Against a man, who's willing to appear,
And answer all:—no, no I do not fear,
I fear not that he has rejected me,
As you pretend, for, by what I can see,
Should I just now before my God be try'd,
I doubt not but I would be justify'd.
Then who's the man, pray that with me will plead,
And prove that for my sins I'm punished?
Pray let me know the man, that so I may
Debate the case a little with him, pray
Let him appear; this favour, friends, allow,
That I may know with whom I have to do.
Pray let me know, and I will instantly
Argue my case, with all sobriety,
For, if I once should hold my peace, I dye.
And prove that for my sins I'm punished?
Pray let me know the man, that so I may
Debate the case a little with him, pray
Let him appear; this favour, friends, allow,
That I may know with whom I have to do.
Pray let me know, and I will instantly
Argue my case, with all sobriety,
For, if I once should hold my peace, I dye.
Will no man plead? will no man undertake
The argument? then my address I'le make
To God alone: two things I will implore
Of his large bounty, and demand no more.
Two things preliminary, Lord I must
Request of thee, which! as thou'rt good, and just
I know thou wilt allow, that so I may
With freedom speak all that I have to say
In my defence.
The argument? then my address I'le make
To God alone: two things I will implore
Of his large bounty, and demand no more.
Two things preliminary, Lord I must
Request of thee, which! as thou'rt good, and just
I know thou wilt allow, that so I may
With freedom speak all that I have to say
In my defence.
First then, some small time, Lord, forbear thy wrath,
That I may have some leasure, but to breath:
That I may have but a few hours soulage,
And not be quite consumed in thy rage.
Next, O my gracious God, let not thy hot
And wasting anger fright my soul, let not
Thy lifted hand so terrible appear,
Nor damp my Spirit, with a killing fear.
That I may have some leasure, but to breath:
That I may have but a few hours soulage,
And not be quite consumed in thy rage.
Next, O my gracious God, let not thy hot
And wasting anger fright my soul, let not
Thy lifted hand so terrible appear,
Nor damp my Spirit, with a killing fear.
Then what thou pleasest of me to demand,
I'l answer, so far as I understand,
Or, if thou think it fit, that I should speak
I shall, Lord, and in favour, I'l expect
Thou'lt answer me.—
For, if I be allow'd this liberty,
With boldness, then, good Lord; I will reply,
To all the questions thou to me shalt state,
And with my God take pleasure to debate.
I'l answer, so far as I understand,
Or, if thou think it fit, that I should speak
I shall, Lord, and in favour, I'l expect
Thou'lt answer me.—
For, if I be allow'd this liberty,
With boldness, then, good Lord; I will reply,
To all the questions thou to me shalt state,
89
If I must speak then,—I demand, good Lord,
How many are my sins!—pray in a word,
How many are they!—tell me—am I able
To calculat them!—are they numerable!
What are my sins, Lord, of what quality?
How black, how uglie, of how deep a dye.
Why, Lord, it seems, that since the world began,
Of all the sins practis'd by mortal man,
Sure mine must be the foulest, mine must be
Most venomous sins of the first degree,
For—
Whilst others sins, with modesty have call'd
For Judgements, it appears that mine have baul'd,
And, with great clamour, furious zeal, and heat,
Have ask'd as due, rather than supplicat,
For Divine vengeance, and with open voice,
At Heavens Gates made a tumultuous noise,
As idle Beggars for their Alms do crie,
And so, by clamorous importunitie,
Extorted from a mild, and gentle God,
Th'unwilling usage of an angry Rod.
My sins have, in a Cluster, cri'd aloud
For punishment, no mercie has withstood,
The rude attaques of their impetuous sute,
But suffered them to gain, without dispute,
Th'Almighties Ear: who has accordinglie
Sent Judgements out, in such varietie,
And has me so severelie punished,
As all my Neighbours never suffered
So many ills at once, as I do now,
Besides what I may lay account for too,
Ere all be done, for I perceive the wrath
Of God encreases everie hour, Whilst death
Keeps at a distance, and appears to smile
Unkindly at my torments all this while.
Nay (which is worst of all) men, on pretence
Of comforting me, with great violence,
Oppress my little spirits that remain,
And, with their bitter words augment my pain.
How many are my sins!—pray in a word,
How many are they!—tell me—am I able
To calculat them!—are they numerable!
What are my sins, Lord, of what quality?
How black, how uglie, of how deep a dye.
Why, Lord, it seems, that since the world began,
Of all the sins practis'd by mortal man,
Sure mine must be the foulest, mine must be
Most venomous sins of the first degree,
For—
Whilst others sins, with modesty have call'd
For Judgements, it appears that mine have baul'd,
And, with great clamour, furious zeal, and heat,
Have ask'd as due, rather than supplicat,
For Divine vengeance, and with open voice,
At Heavens Gates made a tumultuous noise,
As idle Beggars for their Alms do crie,
And so, by clamorous importunitie,
Extorted from a mild, and gentle God,
Th'unwilling usage of an angry Rod.
My sins have, in a Cluster, cri'd aloud
For punishment, no mercie has withstood,
The rude attaques of their impetuous sute,
But suffered them to gain, without dispute,
Th'Almighties Ear: who has accordinglie
Sent Judgements out, in such varietie,
And has me so severelie punished,
As all my Neighbours never suffered
So many ills at once, as I do now,
Besides what I may lay account for too,
Ere all be done, for I perceive the wrath
Of God encreases everie hour, Whilst death
Keeps at a distance, and appears to smile
Unkindly at my torments all this while.
Nay (which is worst of all) men, on pretence
Of comforting me, with great violence,
Oppress my little spirits that remain,
And, with their bitter words augment my pain.
What are my sins then, Lord, ah let me know,
What have I done, Lord, to be punish'd so!
What have I done! what sins have I practis'd,
What horrid Treason have I e're devis'd
Against Heavens King? what are my faults, good Lord,
Again I beg thee, tell me in a word,
That so I may perceive the reason why
I'm punish'd with so much severity.
What have I done, Lord, to be punish'd so!
What have I done! what sins have I practis'd,
What horrid Treason have I e're devis'd
Against Heavens King? what are my faults, good Lord,
Again I beg thee, tell me in a word,
That so I may perceive the reason why
I'm punish'd with so much severity.
Now pardon, Lord, my great presumption,
In these demands, let my condition
Plead some excuse: let me some pity find:
Some pity, Lord, to ease my troubled mind.
Have pity then, have pity on my case,
And for thy Names sake, do not hide thy face,
Because in that I all my comfort place.
Why then, good Lord, do'st thou to me deny
Thy countenance? I am no enemy
To thee, my God, but one, I dare avow,
(As far as humane frailty will allow)
Loves thee with all his Soul, and still shall do.
In these demands, let my condition
Plead some excuse: let me some pity find:
Some pity, Lord, to ease my troubled mind.
Have pity then, have pity on my case,
And for thy Names sake, do not hide thy face,
Because in that I all my comfort place.
90
Thy countenance? I am no enemy
To thee, my God, but one, I dare avow,
(As far as humane frailty will allow)
Loves thee with all his Soul, and still shall do.
Why then am I thus punish'd? why oppress't
With grief? Why doth my Soul enjoy no rest?
Why is a Creature,—a poor dying Creature,
Debarr'd from dying by the course of Nature?
Why to suck in again a parting Breath
Is it compell'd, only t'endure thy Wrath?
To break a Leaf, that's driven to and fro,
I humbly think it is a thing below
The Majesty of God!—why such am I?
Or like the Stuble, withered, and dry,
When lightly it before the Wind doth fly.
With grief? Why doth my Soul enjoy no rest?
Why is a Creature,—a poor dying Creature,
Debarr'd from dying by the course of Nature?
Why to suck in again a parting Breath
Is it compell'd, only t'endure thy Wrath?
To break a Leaf, that's driven to and fro,
I humbly think it is a thing below
The Majesty of God!—why such am I?
Or like the Stuble, withered, and dry,
When lightly it before the Wind doth fly.
Then why in such sad torment? Why so vex't
In Soul, and Body? Why so sore perplex't
In Spirit? Why so bitter Judgements sent
Each moment, to recruit my punishment?
Such Judgements make me now, Lord, call to mind
Those sins, which wasting time had cast behind
Its Shoulder;—sins, which I thought thou had'st not
Recorded:—sins, which I had quite forgot.
But now the Errors of my wanton years
Appear afresh:—hence all these sighs, and tears:
Hence these sad words, which issue from my mouth,
Since for the sins of my disorderd youth,
I'm punished thus:—why, Lord, I must confess,
Those whiffling errors do deserve no less
Than I now suffer: yet I still must cry
For mercy from my God, or else I dye.
In Soul, and Body? Why so sore perplex't
In Spirit? Why so bitter Judgements sent
Each moment, to recruit my punishment?
Such Judgements make me now, Lord, call to mind
Those sins, which wasting time had cast behind
Its Shoulder;—sins, which I thought thou had'st not
Recorded:—sins, which I had quite forgot.
But now the Errors of my wanton years
Appear afresh:—hence all these sighs, and tears:
Hence these sad words, which issue from my mouth,
Since for the sins of my disorderd youth,
I'm punished thus:—why, Lord, I must confess,
Those whiffling errors do deserve no less
Than I now suffer: yet I still must cry
For mercy from my God, or else I dye.
For mercy, Lord, I must thee still implore,
I'l call to Heavens (for I can do no more)
For mercy still:—this liberty, at least,
I hope thou'lt not deny:—this small request
To a poor dying man:—allow me pray,
Allow me, Lord, that what I have to say
In a few dying words, I may expresse,
And then do what thy Majesty shall please,
With me thy prisoner, thy wretched slave,
One (save to be the stopple of a Grave)
That serves for nothing:—do then what thou wilt,
Dispatch me, Lord, or if my horrid guilt,
Require that I should live some longer time,
Why let it be so, let my horrid Crime.
(If possible, it e're can be content)
Be glutted with my horrid punishment.
For I am thy close prisoner, good Lord,
No power on Earth can me relief afford:
Escape I cannot—no—my feet are bound,
My hands ty'd up, all naked on the ground,
More than half-dead, o'r grown with sores I lye,
Am I not punish'd yet sufficiently!
Not yet!—not yet!—O may it not suffice
That I am wrap'd in such calamities,
As hardly any one has suffered,
But I must yet be further punished?
Shall there be no end of my Miserie!
May not I now have libertie to die?
I'l call to Heavens (for I can do no more)
For mercy still:—this liberty, at least,
I hope thou'lt not deny:—this small request
To a poor dying man:—allow me pray,
Allow me, Lord, that what I have to say
In a few dying words, I may expresse,
And then do what thy Majesty shall please,
With me thy prisoner, thy wretched slave,
One (save to be the stopple of a Grave)
That serves for nothing:—do then what thou wilt,
Dispatch me, Lord, or if my horrid guilt,
Require that I should live some longer time,
Why let it be so, let my horrid Crime.
(If possible, it e're can be content)
Be glutted with my horrid punishment.
For I am thy close prisoner, good Lord,
No power on Earth can me relief afford:
Escape I cannot—no—my feet are bound,
My hands ty'd up, all naked on the ground,
More than half-dead, o'r grown with sores I lye,
Am I not punish'd yet sufficiently!
91
That I am wrap'd in such calamities,
As hardly any one has suffered,
But I must yet be further punished?
Shall there be no end of my Miserie!
May not I now have libertie to die?
For thou hast fill'd my bodie with such pain,
As in me there doth no more life remain,
Than what doth serve to make me sensible
Of what I suffer:—O most terrible
Consuming Wrath!—now let me die good Lord,
—I can endure no more:—pray now afford
This favour to a man in dying case,
That, like Moth-eaten Garment, rots apace.
Then since I cannot live, O let me die,
Since Life it self is but Mortality,
For mortal man, at best, I do conceive
To be a thing, that, like a Floating-wave,
Swells in the Cradle, breaks upon the Grave.
As in me there doth no more life remain,
Than what doth serve to make me sensible
Of what I suffer:—O most terrible
Consuming Wrath!—now let me die good Lord,
—I can endure no more:—pray now afford
This favour to a man in dying case,
That, like Moth-eaten Garment, rots apace.
Then since I cannot live, O let me die,
Since Life it self is but Mortality,
For mortal man, at best, I do conceive
To be a thing, that, like a Floating-wave,
Swells in the Cradle, breaks upon the Grave.
Cap. XIV.
Man of a Woman born in cares, and teares,
Enjoyes a few, but miserable Years.
He sucks in sorrow, with his infant Breath,
And, in his husk, he bears the seeds of death.
In his short life he nothing doth perceive,
But Seas of troubls, Wave succeeding Wave.
He knows no pleasure, nor contentment he,
Nor is he ever from some passion free.
Yet must this wretch be born.—
Though it were better for him certainly
He were not born, than thus be born to dye.
'Twere better for him he lay buried,
With all his hopes about him, covered
With the thin notion of an entity,
Under the arch of possibility,
Then that he should exist.—
But O he must be born, he must appear
On Earths wide, and capacious Theater,
To act, with mighty pomp, and vanity,
His part o'th' fable of mortality,
Though 'twere but fool o'th' play.—
Enjoyes a few, but miserable Years.
He sucks in sorrow, with his infant Breath,
And, in his husk, he bears the seeds of death.
In his short life he nothing doth perceive,
But Seas of troubls, Wave succeeding Wave.
He knows no pleasure, nor contentment he,
Nor is he ever from some passion free.
Yet must this wretch be born.—
Though it were better for him certainly
He were not born, than thus be born to dye.
'Twere better for him he lay buried,
With all his hopes about him, covered
With the thin notion of an entity,
Under the arch of possibility,
Then that he should exist.—
But O he must be born, he must appear
On Earths wide, and capacious Theater,
To act, with mighty pomp, and vanity,
His part o'th' fable of mortality,
Though 'twere but fool o'th' play.—
For whilst i'th' womb he safely lyes immur'd
Free of all woe, of aliment secur'd
By others labour, yet he thinks he's there,
At best, but a well treated Prisoner.
Hence in the belly languishlng he lyes,
And fain would make escape, to feed his eyes,
On things abroad, and fully satiate
His Virgin-longing, with—he knows not what.—
At length impatient of this kind restraint,
He'l be no longer in this Cloyster pent,
But with his fellow-mortals he'l b'acquaint,
At any rate, what e're the event be,
And in this humour, justles out to see
This foolish world.—
This world, of which he fancies some such things,
As Beggars, when they dream they're mightie kings:
And yet no sooner into it he peeps,
Then instantly the changeling cryes, and weeps;
Appearing in some inward perturbation,
As disappointed of his expectation:
In it he wastes his time in fear, and pain,
And oft of being born he doth complain,
Yet when he goes out of it, weeps again.
As if unwilling, after all, to part,
(Sad as it is) from what his soul, and heart
Doth truly love, which that he might possess,
He could dispense with all its painfulness.
Free of all woe, of aliment secur'd
By others labour, yet he thinks he's there,
At best, but a well treated Prisoner.
Hence in the belly languishlng he lyes,
And fain would make escape, to feed his eyes,
On things abroad, and fully satiate
92
At length impatient of this kind restraint,
He'l be no longer in this Cloyster pent,
But with his fellow-mortals he'l b'acquaint,
At any rate, what e're the event be,
And in this humour, justles out to see
This foolish world.—
This world, of which he fancies some such things,
As Beggars, when they dream they're mightie kings:
And yet no sooner into it he peeps,
Then instantly the changeling cryes, and weeps;
Appearing in some inward perturbation,
As disappointed of his expectation:
In it he wastes his time in fear, and pain,
And oft of being born he doth complain,
Yet when he goes out of it, weeps again.
As if unwilling, after all, to part,
(Sad as it is) from what his soul, and heart
Doth truly love, which that he might possess,
He could dispense with all its painfulness.
Inconstant Creature!—whom no state can please,
To whom nor life, nor death can purchase ease;
Whose humorous fancy nought can satisfy:
Who knows not whether he should live, or dye!
Yet is this man, of so much worth, and fame,
Whom all the Creatures have in great esteem.
This, this is he, who is so vainly proud
Of the three souls, which God has him allow'd,
Whilst those, who do his actions strictly view,
Hardly believe that he has more than two:
For of the third he takes so little care,
As one would say his reason lay not there:
So that of all endu'd with growth, and sense,
He least deserves that heavenlie influence.
To whom nor life, nor death can purchase ease;
Whose humorous fancy nought can satisfy:
Who knows not whether he should live, or dye!
Yet is this man, of so much worth, and fame,
Whom all the Creatures have in great esteem.
This, this is he, who is so vainly proud
Of the three souls, which God has him allow'd,
Whilst those, who do his actions strictly view,
Hardly believe that he has more than two:
For of the third he takes so little care,
As one would say his reason lay not there:
So that of all endu'd with growth, and sense,
He least deserves that heavenlie influence.
This, this is man, who doth no sooner come
A native, naked Beggar, from the womb,
Then assoon Food, and Rayment God provides
For him, with every other thing besides,
Of which he stands in need:—ordering all
The other Creatures to attend his call.
Yet, after all, when he's accommodat
By Providence, at such a princelie rate,
The wretch becomes to him the most ungrate
Of any thing, that lives.—
For, as we know Beggars can bear no wealth,
So, now endu'd with riches, health, and strength,
In these external things he puts his trust,
And quite forgets, who rais'd him from the dust.
A native, naked Beggar, from the womb,
Then assoon Food, and Rayment God provides
For him, with every other thing besides,
Of which he stands in need:—ordering all
The other Creatures to attend his call.
Yet, after all, when he's accommodat
By Providence, at such a princelie rate,
The wretch becomes to him the most ungrate
Of any thing, that lives.—
For, as we know Beggars can bear no wealth,
So, now endu'd with riches, health, and strength,
In these external things he puts his trust,
And quite forgets, who rais'd him from the dust.
This is that formal piece of dullest clay,
That moulded, and unmoulded every day.
A thing from Heavens only with breath inspir'd,
That he, who gave this breath might be admir'd,
And not the thing, that breaths: yet on this breath
The Grashoper himself so valueth;
As he, with lofty pride, and arrogance,
Above his fellow-creatures doth advance,
And thinks the world his sole inheritance.
Whilst many Brutes (as we may daily see)
Both longer time, and with more peace, than he,
Possesse the same: for he poor soul—alace,
Can scarce enjoy, but for one half hours space,
The full possession of what life, and breath
Affords him, when an enemy call'd Death,
Doth turn him out of all, and then annon,
Ere he can view it well, he must be gone.
That moulded, and unmoulded every day.
A thing from Heavens only with breath inspir'd,
That he, who gave this breath might be admir'd,
And not the thing, that breaths: yet on this breath
The Grashoper himself so valueth;
93
Above his fellow-creatures doth advance,
And thinks the world his sole inheritance.
Whilst many Brutes (as we may daily see)
Both longer time, and with more peace, than he,
Possesse the same: for he poor soul—alace,
Can scarce enjoy, but for one half hours space,
The full possession of what life, and breath
Affords him, when an enemy call'd Death,
Doth turn him out of all, and then annon,
Ere he can view it well, he must be gone.
This is the Source, from which, by progresse springs,
The Stream of all our Emperours, and Kings,
Those men, who with an armed foppery,
Blow up the pipes of vain Chronology:
Those men, who, when in their carreer withstood,
Will make the world swim around in blood,
Only to purchase to themselves a name,
And never think to have their fill of fame,
Whilst mean time, (ah poor souls! how Iregrate
There as ridiculous, as illustrious state!)
With all their glorious power they but appear
To us like squibs, that squandring here and there,
Put the admiring rabble in a fear,
Who know not what they are, but men of sense
Are not afraid of of their impertinence;
For in an instant, as with crackling noise,
Affording only sport to wanton Boyes,
These fly in smoak, so these men in a tryce,
After they've damp'd us with their cruelties,
Afford us sport in their own Tragedies.
The Stream of all our Emperours, and Kings,
Those men, who with an armed foppery,
Blow up the pipes of vain Chronology:
Those men, who, when in their carreer withstood,
Will make the world swim around in blood,
Only to purchase to themselves a name,
And never think to have their fill of fame,
Whilst mean time, (ah poor souls! how Iregrate
There as ridiculous, as illustrious state!)
With all their glorious power they but appear
To us like squibs, that squandring here and there,
Put the admiring rabble in a fear,
Who know not what they are, but men of sense
Are not afraid of of their impertinence;
For in an instant, as with crackling noise,
Affording only sport to wanton Boyes,
These fly in smoak, so these men in a tryce,
After they've damp'd us with their cruelties,
Afford us sport in their own Tragedies.
This then is Man who rambles every where,
To catch a name, who doth no labour spare
T'attain his point: running, he cares not whether,
Killing, and spoiling, mixing all together,
In his hot fury: sparing no expence,
To show the world his great magnificence:
Whilst really, he's but like one of those,
Who, at our Fairs, do set up publick Shows;
And with his Drums, and Trumpets makes a noise,
In Streets, and Lanes, assembling all the Boyes,
And Girles about the Town but by and by,
His Licence now run out, he silently
Packs up his Trinkets, and by break of day,
Out of the Town he meanly sneaks away.
So man, on Earth, for a small term of years,
Makes no small noise, and then he disappears.
To catch a name, who doth no labour spare
T'attain his point: running, he cares not whether,
Killing, and spoiling, mixing all together,
In his hot fury: sparing no expence,
To show the world his great magnificence:
Whilst really, he's but like one of those,
Who, at our Fairs, do set up publick Shows;
And with his Drums, and Trumpets makes a noise,
In Streets, and Lanes, assembling all the Boyes,
And Girles about the Town but by and by,
His Licence now run out, he silently
Packs up his Trinkets, and by break of day,
Out of the Town he meanly sneaks away.
So man, on Earth, for a small term of years,
Makes no small noise, and then he disappears.
Have you not seen a silly Butter-flee
Attacque the flaming light, and wantonly
Hover about it, for some little space,
Until its wings begin to burn apace;
And then the helpless Creature, in a tryce,
Sticks to the Candle, spurns a while, and dyes.
So on this dangerous Earth.—
Stuck full of all the species of death
Th'adventuring mortal arm'd with single breath,
Boldlie appears.—what next?—why in he flies,
Buzzes a while about the world, and dies.
Attacque the flaming light, and wantonly
Hover about it, for some little space,
Until its wings begin to burn apace;
And then the helpless Creature, in a tryce,
Sticks to the Candle, spurns a while, and dyes.
So on this dangerous Earth.—
94
Th'adventuring mortal arm'd with single breath,
Boldlie appears.—what next?—why in he flies,
Buzzes a while about the world, and dies.
Is this the thing then we call Man! alace
This the Heir-Male of the first mortals race!
This Man of Woman born, whose foolish years
Are wasted in a tract of cares, and tears!
If this be he, that proud and, lofty creature,
Who calls himself the Master-peece of Nature,
Why sure he seems to me so mean a thing,
As he is hardly worth our mentioning.
This the Heir-Male of the first mortals race!
This Man of Woman born, whose foolish years
Are wasted in a tract of cares, and tears!
If this be he, that proud and, lofty creature,
Who calls himself the Master-peece of Nature,
Why sure he seems to me so mean a thing,
As he is hardly worth our mentioning.
Strange then kind Females should be at such pain,
In bringing to the world a thing so mean!
A thing, which valued by just Estimation,
Is scarcely worth the pains of Procreation
In bringing to the world a thing so mean!
A thing, which valued by just Estimation,
Is scarcely worth the pains of Procreation
Yet, after all, (say of him, what we can,)
This empty thing is all we have for Man.
Yes in this very piece of miniature,
So long indeed, as Heavens, and Earth endure,
We see the Image, Glory, Wit, and Power,
Of him, who fram'd him; so that, to this hour,
In this same Man, with no small admiration,
We read th'Abridgment of the whole creation.
This is the Lord of Earth:—yes this is he,
Who holds o'th' King of Heaven, in capite,
This goodly Mannor, and that as appears,
In Mort main too, to him, and all his Heirs,
For payment only of some Tears and Pray'rs.
I this same fair and fruitful Seigniory
Was once indeed his settled Property,
For ever in his Person to endure,
Full, and in peace, before the forfeiture.
This empty thing is all we have for Man.
Yes in this very piece of miniature,
So long indeed, as Heavens, and Earth endure,
We see the Image, Glory, Wit, and Power,
Of him, who fram'd him; so that, to this hour,
In this same Man, with no small admiration,
We read th'Abridgment of the whole creation.
This is the Lord of Earth:—yes this is he,
Who holds o'th' King of Heaven, in capite,
This goodly Mannor, and that as appears,
In Mort main too, to him, and all his Heirs,
For payment only of some Tears and Pray'rs.
I this same fair and fruitful Seigniory
Was once indeed his settled Property,
For ever in his Person to endure,
Full, and in peace, before the forfeiture.
But, O thou man, to whom in Paradise,
This fair Appanage God did first demise,
Man not of Woman born, thou poorly sold,
(What was not to be purchassed for Gold)
Both thine, alace, and our felicity,
For a mean toy; and for thy fault, we dye.
Ah! hadst not thou, with dull indifference,
Exchang'd thy opulent state of Innocence,
For this poor mortal state, which we possess,
What Art could have express'd man's happiness?
He could for ever have retain'd his breath,
And bid defyance to the force of death;
He had, with great convenience, eat his Bread,
And call'd himself the Lord of Earth indeed.
But now, that in continued miseries,
He lives a while, then miserably dies,
He owes to thee: and for thy curious Crime,
He and his Race are eaten up by time,
As Oxen eat up Grass.—
This fair Appanage God did first demise,
Man not of Woman born, thou poorly sold,
(What was not to be purchassed for Gold)
Both thine, alace, and our felicity,
For a mean toy; and for thy fault, we dye.
Ah! hadst not thou, with dull indifference,
Exchang'd thy opulent state of Innocence,
For this poor mortal state, which we possess,
What Art could have express'd man's happiness?
He could for ever have retain'd his breath,
And bid defyance to the force of death;
He had, with great convenience, eat his Bread,
And call'd himself the Lord of Earth indeed.
But now, that in continued miseries,
He lives a while, then miserably dies,
He owes to thee: and for thy curious Crime,
He and his Race are eaten up by time,
As Oxen eat up Grass.—
Then what are all these things we pleasures call,
Wealth, Honours, Issue, Fame!—What are they all?
When man must dye!—when he must formally
Abandon all these pleasant things, and dye!
Yes dye, and as into the world he came,
Naked, and poor, go out of it the same.
Wealth, Honours, Issue, Fame!—What are they all?
95
Abandon all these pleasant things, and dye!
Yes dye, and as into the world he came,
Naked, and poor, go out of it the same.
For, as a flower its beauty doth display,
And suddainly doth moulder, and decay:
So man in gay, and verdant youth appears,
Most glorious in the Summer of his years;
Void of all sorrow, and anxiety,
Spread like a Garden-flower: but by, and by,
When he is cross'd with thoughts, and businesse,
His Tulip-colours disappear apace.
And, as a shadow, when the Sun is gone,
Appears no more, but vanisheth annon,
So all his beauty vanisheth, and now
Wrinkles succeed it, and, with much ado,
His face is known to those, who formerly
Knew him i'th' days of adolescency.
At length Time fairly turns his Glass; and now
The Fable's done, and there's no more to do
But that—
Wrapp'd up in Home-spun Winding-sheet (O brave!
The Lord of Earth be thrown into his Grave.
And suddainly doth moulder, and decay:
So man in gay, and verdant youth appears,
Most glorious in the Summer of his years;
Void of all sorrow, and anxiety,
Spread like a Garden-flower: but by, and by,
When he is cross'd with thoughts, and businesse,
His Tulip-colours disappear apace.
And, as a shadow, when the Sun is gone,
Appears no more, but vanisheth annon,
So all his beauty vanisheth, and now
Wrinkles succeed it, and, with much ado,
His face is known to those, who formerly
Knew him i'th' days of adolescency.
At length Time fairly turns his Glass; and now
The Fable's done, and there's no more to do
But that—
Wrapp'd up in Home-spun Winding-sheet (O brave!
The Lord of Earth be thrown into his Grave.
Almighty God! what fluctuating thing
Is this same Man! how frail, and perishing!
How subject to himself! how much a slave
To passion, from the Belly to the Grave!
Nay such a piece of meer formality,
(Though Mantled with a glorious vanity
Of Wit, Birth, Riches, Learning, Honours, all,
Which he doth his appurtenances call)
That even himself, when, with impartial eye,
In Reasons Looking glass, he doth survey
His worldly state, perceives that all he can
Pretend, at most to, is—to be a Man.
A man of woes, and sorrows, cires and fears,
A poor retainer to some painful years.
A short-lif'd man, who rarely doth attain
To th'age of sixty, and doth still complain
Either of pains of Body, or of Mind,
So long as within bounds of Life confin'd.
So that, if th'hadst not let him understand,
He's chief of all the Labours of thy Hand;
He'd think himself, in this same contemplation,
The very meanest part of the Creation.
Is this same Man! how frail, and perishing!
How subject to himself! how much a slave
To passion, from the Belly to the Grave!
Nay such a piece of meer formality,
(Though Mantled with a glorious vanity
Of Wit, Birth, Riches, Learning, Honours, all,
Which he doth his appurtenances call)
That even himself, when, with impartial eye,
In Reasons Looking glass, he doth survey
His worldly state, perceives that all he can
Pretend, at most to, is—to be a Man.
A man of woes, and sorrows, cires and fears,
A poor retainer to some painful years.
A short-lif'd man, who rarely doth attain
To th'age of sixty, and doth still complain
Either of pains of Body, or of Mind,
So long as within bounds of Life confin'd.
So that, if th'hadst not let him understand,
He's chief of all the Labours of thy Hand;
He'd think himself, in this same contemplation,
The very meanest part of the Creation.
Yet dost thou, Lord, thou high, and Heavenly King,
Take special notice of this foolish thing:
Thou look'st upon him, with a careful eye,
And tak'st the pains, for his security,
T'enclose him, with a wall of Providence,
And keeps't a constant Watch, for his Defence,
Both day, and night: so that the power of Hell
Cannot against him with their Plots, prevail,
Whilst guarded thus, and so well fortified
By his Creators Art on every side.
Yes, and of late too, I was one of those,
Whom thou, with a strong Rampart did'st enclose:
But now thou hast deserted me, and I
Unfenc'd lye open to the Enemy.
Now my accusers, in great throngs, do bring
Their several Charges before thee, my King:
Before thee I as Criminal appear
At Bar, and am environed with fear:
Now thou dost try me: now thou dost intend
To bring me quickly to a shameful end.
Take special notice of this foolish thing:
Thou look'st upon him, with a careful eye,
And tak'st the pains, for his security,
T'enclose him, with a wall of Providence,
And keeps't a constant Watch, for his Defence,
Both day, and night: so that the power of Hell
Cannot against him with their Plots, prevail,
Whilst guarded thus, and so well fortified
96
Yes, and of late too, I was one of those,
Whom thou, with a strong Rampart did'st enclose:
But now thou hast deserted me, and I
Unfenc'd lye open to the Enemy.
Now my accusers, in great throngs, do bring
Their several Charges before thee, my King:
Before thee I as Criminal appear
At Bar, and am environed with fear:
Now thou dost try me: now thou dost intend
To bring me quickly to a shameful end.
Lord, what am I!—a wretched dying thing,
Not worth thy wrath, not worth thy noticing:
Why try'st' me then, with such severity,
And of my actings maks't such scrutiny,
As if, of all men, I had most transgress'd
Thy Divine Laws: thou hear'st I have confess'd
I am a sinner:—dost thou. Lord, expect
That mortal man can other answer make,
When thou dost charge him with impiety,
Then I do now:—I do not, Lord, deny
That all the Judgements I do now endure
Were merit long ago: for I am sure
That man was never born, since Adams Fall,
That can affirm he never sinn'd at all.
What then wouldst' have me say?—I do confess
I am all sin, I am all guiltinesse:
Can any thing that's good from me proceed?
No sure, then judge me, for I cannot plead
Not guilty: I'm unclean, and who can bring
That which is clean, out of an unclean thing?
Not worth thy wrath, not worth thy noticing:
Why try'st' me then, with such severity,
And of my actings maks't such scrutiny,
As if, of all men, I had most transgress'd
Thy Divine Laws: thou hear'st I have confess'd
I am a sinner:—dost thou. Lord, expect
That mortal man can other answer make,
When thou dost charge him with impiety,
Then I do now:—I do not, Lord, deny
That all the Judgements I do now endure
Were merit long ago: for I am sure
That man was never born, since Adams Fall,
That can affirm he never sinn'd at all.
What then wouldst' have me say?—I do confess
I am all sin, I am all guiltinesse:
Can any thing that's good from me proceed?
No sure, then judge me, for I cannot plead
Not guilty: I'm unclean, and who can bring
That which is clean, out of an unclean thing?
Then, since it is so, since I cann't deny
I have abounded in iniquity:
Since I'm found guilty, and condemn'd, why then,
I ask but what is granted amongst men,
On such occasions, to a Criminal,
Who freely at the Bar confesses all
Of what he hears himself accus'd, and so
Himself on mercy of the Court doth throw.
Then what I beg, great Judge, what I demand
Is not to live (because I understand,
As I, am sadly circumstantiat now,
Death will oblige me more, than Life can do.)
But only, since I have confess'd my Crime,
I may be but reprived for some time:
That I may have some leasure to repent,
And not, at least, out of the World be sent,
With all my sins about me.—
I have abounded in iniquity:
Since I'm found guilty, and condemn'd, why then,
I ask but what is granted amongst men,
On such occasions, to a Criminal,
Who freely at the Bar confesses all
Of what he hears himself accus'd, and so
Himself on mercy of the Court doth throw.
Then what I beg, great Judge, what I demand
Is not to live (because I understand,
As I, am sadly circumstantiat now,
Death will oblige me more, than Life can do.)
But only, since I have confess'd my Crime,
I may be but reprived for some time:
That I may have some leasure to repent,
And not, at least, out of the World be sent,
With all my sins about me.—
Remember, Lord, how man is in his prime,
But a poor Gleaner of a scattered time:
A calculator of some triffling years:
An Almanack of sorrows, woes, and tears.
Are not his days and months determined?
His bounds design'd, which he cannot exceed?
But a poor Gleaner of a scattered time:
A calculator of some triffling years:
An Almanack of sorrows, woes, and tears.
Are not his days and months determined?
His bounds design'd, which he cannot exceed?
97
Let then his bitter persecution cease,
That, for some time this Creature may have peace:
That he, at least, may be allow'd to live,
Until the time appointed shall arrive
When he must die:—the day, wherein he must
Quite this vain world, and return to Dust.
For, as a Hireling labourer doth attend
The hour, which to his Work may put an end,
That he may have his Wages, and some rest
From his hard labour: so, with cares oppress't,
Poor Man for his appointed time doth wait
Wherein his foolish labours soon, or late
May have an end; that so the wearied slave
May quietly lye down, and sleep in Grave.
That, for some time this Creature may have peace:
That he, at least, may be allow'd to live,
Until the time appointed shall arrive
When he must die:—the day, wherein he must
Quite this vain world, and return to Dust.
For, as a Hireling labourer doth attend
The hour, which to his Work may put an end,
That he may have his Wages, and some rest
From his hard labour: so, with cares oppress't,
Poor Man for his appointed time doth wait
Wherein his foolish labours soon, or late
May have an end; that so the wearied slave
May quietly lye down, and sleep in Grave.
That he may sleep in Grave, and be no more
A slave to sorrow, as he was before,
Though he should there, without all hopes remain,
Of ever seeing his dear World again,
His darling World, which he so much esteem'd;
Of which scarce more than Embryo, he dream'd:
But, when in Grave, he thinks no more upon
His World, for all these notions then are gone.
Those thoughts do with the Carrion buried lye,
And for his Soul, 'tis all Eternity.
A slave to sorrow, as he was before,
Though he should there, without all hopes remain,
Of ever seeing his dear World again,
His darling World, which he so much esteem'd;
Of which scarce more than Embryo, he dream'd:
But, when in Grave, he thinks no more upon
His World, for all these notions then are gone.
Those thoughts do with the Carrion buried lye,
And for his Soul, 'tis all Eternity.
Thus then, alace!—ah thus we plainly see
Man's in a worse condition than a Tree:
For of a Tree cut down there's still some hope
It yet may sprout, and spread its lofty top;
Man's in a worse condition than a Tree:
For of a Tree cut down there's still some hope
It yet may sprout, and spread its lofty top;
Although its scattered roots now old, and dry,
Sapless, and barren, under Ground may dye:
And what of Trunk remains may every day,
In Dust, and Pouder moulder and decay.
Sapless, and barren, under Ground may dye:
And what of Trunk remains may every day,
In Dust, and Pouder moulder and decay.
Yet sucking moisture from some Rivolet,
Whose frugal Streams doth scarce its Channel wet,
It quickly will revive, and bud again,
And, in short time, spread out its Boughs amain,
As formerly, and so arrive, at length
Unto its wonted comliness, and strength,
Whose frugal Streams doth scarce its Channel wet,
It quickly will revive, and bud again,
And, in short time, spread out its Boughs amain,
As formerly, and so arrive, at length
Unto its wonted comliness, and strength,
But ah poor man upon his Sick-bed lyes,
Sighs out his Breath, and like a Candle dyes
Drown'd in its Socket, without hopes, alace!
Of ever living in his former case,
Without all hopes, not sprouting like a Tree,
Only falls sick, and dyes—and where is he?
Sighs out his Breath, and like a Candle dyes
Drown'd in its Socket, without hopes, alace!
Of ever living in his former case,
Without all hopes, not sprouting like a Tree,
Only falls sick, and dyes—and where is he?
Ah where is he!—he who did once appear,
And thought of nothing less than death, while here:
Where is he now?—where is this rambler gone?
What's become of him?—pray' what has he done?
What has Earths darling done, that he should dye,
And slip out of the World so shamefully?
Why Man is gone: he's now no more:—he's dead,
He's now in deep oblivion burried:
There's no more of him.—For as Floods, and Seas
Are dryed up, when Waters from them pass
To other Channels: so man vanisheth,
And is an empty nothing after death.
And thought of nothing less than death, while here:
Where is he now?—where is this rambler gone?
What's become of him?—pray' what has he done?
What has Earths darling done, that he should dye,
And slip out of the World so shamefully?
Why Man is gone: he's now no more:—he's dead,
He's now in deep oblivion burried:
There's no more of him.—For as Floods, and Seas
Are dryed up, when Waters from them pass
98
And is an empty nothing after death.
A nothing!—nay—hold here, I must correct
My error, and in this my passion check.
For, though to outward view, and reasoning,
Man in his Grave appears to be a thing
Useless, trod under foot, esteem'd by none
But hurryed in supine oblivion:
Yet this same Trunk, which under ground doth lie
Wants not its hope of Immortality,
For, after many years it may revive,
Shake off its Circumambient Dust, and live
More firm, and solid than it did before,
In a continued peace, and die no more.
Yes, as the waters from the Ocean flow
Through Subterraneous Passages, that so
They in Earths Bowels may be purifi'd,
And free of former saltness, gently slide
Through clifts of rocks, and unknown passages
Into some thirsty Channel, and encrease
Its dwindling Streams, then by degrees amain
Return to their own Ocean again.
So from the Sea of Life man softlie flowes
Into the Grave, where he doth onlie loss
His former saltnesse, and aciditie,
And there in closs Repositure doth lie,
While he be fitted for Eternity.
'Tis true he sleeps, and shall not rise before
Th'appointed time that Heavens shall be no more:
But when that time shall come, that blessed time,
No new-blowen Rose, no Lilly in its prime
Shall smell so fragrant, and appear so fair,
So livelie, so in beautie singular,
So fresh, so gay, so bright, so purifi'd,
As this same man, who we suppos'd had die'd,
Shrunk into dust, and in cold earth engross't,
This man, whom we had given o're for lost;
When that bless'd time arrives, shall re-appear
More pure, and act in a most glorious Sphere,
Than ere the Scenick Creature could do here.
My error, and in this my passion check.
For, though to outward view, and reasoning,
Man in his Grave appears to be a thing
Useless, trod under foot, esteem'd by none
But hurryed in supine oblivion:
Yet this same Trunk, which under ground doth lie
Wants not its hope of Immortality,
For, after many years it may revive,
Shake off its Circumambient Dust, and live
More firm, and solid than it did before,
In a continued peace, and die no more.
Yes, as the waters from the Ocean flow
Through Subterraneous Passages, that so
They in Earths Bowels may be purifi'd,
And free of former saltness, gently slide
Through clifts of rocks, and unknown passages
Into some thirsty Channel, and encrease
Its dwindling Streams, then by degrees amain
Return to their own Ocean again.
So from the Sea of Life man softlie flowes
Into the Grave, where he doth onlie loss
His former saltnesse, and aciditie,
And there in closs Repositure doth lie,
While he be fitted for Eternity.
'Tis true he sleeps, and shall not rise before
Th'appointed time that Heavens shall be no more:
But when that time shall come, that blessed time,
No new-blowen Rose, no Lilly in its prime
Shall smell so fragrant, and appear so fair,
So livelie, so in beautie singular,
So fresh, so gay, so bright, so purifi'd,
As this same man, who we suppos'd had die'd,
Shrunk into dust, and in cold earth engross't,
This man, whom we had given o're for lost;
When that bless'd time arrives, shall re-appear
More pure, and act in a most glorious Sphere,
Than ere the Scenick Creature could do here.
Thrice happy those then, who in grave do rest,
Whom no sad crosses of this life infest!
How much I envy their Felicity!
How fain would I enjoy their company.
Lord, then that thou wouldst hide me in this grave!
Good Lord, that such a wretch as I might have
The benefit of that closs Sanctuary,
In which I might, but for a season, tarry,
Until thy wrath were past, thy anger gone,
And those had storms of Judgments overblown:
Then, of thy goodnesse, please to let me know
How long I must those Torments undergo:
How long my sufferings must endure, and then
Remember me, in mercy, once again.
O let me find thy kindnesse, once before
I drop out of this World, and be no more.
Whom no sad crosses of this life infest!
How much I envy their Felicity!
How fain would I enjoy their company.
Lord, then that thou wouldst hide me in this grave!
Good Lord, that such a wretch as I might have
The benefit of that closs Sanctuary,
In which I might, but for a season, tarry,
Until thy wrath were past, thy anger gone,
And those had storms of Judgments overblown:
Then, of thy goodnesse, please to let me know
How long I must those Torments undergo:
How long my sufferings must endure, and then
Remember me, in mercy, once again.
99
I drop out of this World, and be no more.
But O I see my torments do encreasse,
And, whilst I live, shall enjoy no peace.
I therefore wish to dye, as those oppress't
With toile, and labour, wish to be at rest.
Now, if a man once in this Gulf of Death
Be drown'd, pray shall he re-assume his Breath?
Shall he revive?—yes,—yes—he shall indeed,
And never more again be buried.
I'l therefore wait, I'l therefore patiently
Attend th'arrival of Eternity.
At least I'l wait, until the hour shall come
That must restore me; which although to some
It be a question, it to me is none,
For, with assurance, I relye upon
My Makers goodnesse, and believe that God
Will to my sufferings set a period.
And, whilst I live, shall enjoy no peace.
I therefore wish to dye, as those oppress't
With toile, and labour, wish to be at rest.
Now, if a man once in this Gulf of Death
Be drown'd, pray shall he re-assume his Breath?
Shall he revive?—yes,—yes—he shall indeed,
And never more again be buried.
I'l therefore wait, I'l therefore patiently
Attend th'arrival of Eternity.
At least I'l wait, until the hour shall come
That must restore me; which although to some
It be a question, it to me is none,
For, with assurance, I relye upon
My Makers goodnesse, and believe that God
Will to my sufferings set a period.
Then shall my God me once again embrace,
And to me every hour extend his Grace.
Then shall I Make addresse to him, in prayer,
And shall no sooner speak, then he shall hear,
'Shall answer every thing I can demand,
And make me, with great pleasure, understand
The language of the Saints.—
And to me every hour extend his Grace.
Then shall I Make addresse to him, in prayer,
And shall no sooner speak, then he shall hear,
'Shall answer every thing I can demand,
And make me, with great pleasure, understand
The language of the Saints.—
But now, alace, Lord, thou dost calculat.
My very thoughts: thou dost enumerat
My errors, one by one; and by, and by,
In order they appear before thy eye,
There's no concealing of the smallest sin,
(Though in the breast yet) when thou dost begin
To reckon with us; neither hope, nor fear,
Can shelter them from eyes so sharp, and clear,
But streightways all above board must appear
My very thoughts: thou dost enumerat
My errors, one by one; and by, and by,
In order they appear before thy eye,
There's no concealing of the smallest sin,
(Though in the breast yet) when thou dost begin
To reckon with us; neither hope, nor fear,
Can shelter them from eyes so sharp, and clear,
But streightways all above board must appear
When thou dost call. Then all must be reveal'd,
And, on the square be summ'd, ty'd up, and seal'd,
Like Money in a Bag, that thou mayst know,
What each mans judgements to his sins do owe.
Nay, with so strict a survey not content,
Thy anger doth my wickednesse augment.
For even my moral sins are mustered
Before thee, strictly view'd, and numbered,
And I alace, am shrewdly punished
For sins, which in some others virtues are,
And, in the Worlds eyes, lawful do appear.
And, on the square be summ'd, ty'd up, and seal'd,
Like Money in a Bag, that thou mayst know,
What each mans judgements to his sins do owe.
Nay, with so strict a survey not content,
Thy anger doth my wickednesse augment.
For even my moral sins are mustered
Before thee, strictly view'd, and numbered,
And I alace, am shrewdly punished
For sins, which in some others virtues are,
And, in the Worlds eyes, lawful do appear.
Then must I thus be punished, good Lord?
Thus—without pity?—wilt thou not afford
But some small respite to my wearied Soul,
That I may have some leasure to condole
My sad disasters:—Lord have pity then
On me the most disconsolat of men.
Some respite I beseech, some interval,
Some breathing time, though it were ne'r so small!
So many judgements, for one poor mans share!
Sure, Lord, such dealing is not ordinar.
Who can endure thy anger? at this rate,
'Twould tear the very Rocks out of their Seat,
'Twould make the proudest Mountains tumble down,
And crumble into thousand pieces soon.
Thus—without pity?—wilt thou not afford
But some small respite to my wearied Soul,
That I may have some leasure to condole
My sad disasters:—Lord have pity then
On me the most disconsolat of men.
Some respite I beseech, some interval,
Some breathing time, though it were ne'r so small!
So many judgements, for one poor mans share!
100
Who can endure thy anger? at this rate,
'Twould tear the very Rocks out of their Seat,
'Twould make the proudest Mountains tumble down,
And crumble into thousand pieces soon.
Such wrath would make the wounded Ocean roar,
And spread its Billows far beyond its Shore.
'Twould cause a Deluge in the Earth:—such wrath
Would kill all Cratures, that on it do breath.
For, as the Waters hardest stones do break,
When through the grounds a rapid course they take,
So, by thy anger Man is broke to pieces,
Pounded to dust: and as thy wrath encreases,
So all his hopes decay, and in a tryce.
Poor pensive Man whines out his life, and dyes.
And spread its Billows far beyond its Shore.
'Twould cause a Deluge in the Earth:—such wrath
Would kill all Cratures, that on it do breath.
For, as the Waters hardest stones do break,
When through the grounds a rapid course they take,
So, by thy anger Man is broke to pieces,
Pounded to dust: and as thy wrath encreases,
So all his hopes decay, and in a tryce.
Poor pensive Man whines out his life, and dyes.
Unhappy Man!—alace his hopes still fail,
And 'gainst him, Lord, thou alwayes dost prevail.
Thy hand doth reach him, when he least doth dream,
Of danger, then, with infamy, and shame,
He steals out of the World, he slips away,
Like the Night-vapours, at approach of day.
And, as a Thief, whom huy, and cry doth chace,
Lest he be catch'd, disfigures all his face,
So, with sad grinnings, Man to Grave doth pass,
And 'gainst him, Lord, thou alwayes dost prevail.
Thy hand doth reach him, when he least doth dream,
Of danger, then, with infamy, and shame,
He steals out of the World, he slips away,
Like the Night-vapours, at approach of day.
And, as a Thief, whom huy, and cry doth chace,
Lest he be catch'd, disfigures all his face,
So, with sad grinnings, Man to Grave doth pass,
He dyes,—he dyes,—he's buried annon,
And with him all his Troops of hopes are gone.
His Sons survive him, but he knows not how
Those men demean themselves, nor what they do:
To what profession they they themselves betake,
What Figure in this Life those Fools do make:
What part they act: what state they represent,
I'th' Theatre of the World: whether content
With the sweet Blessings of a privat Life,
Or, if involv'd in a continual strife,
In tedious Pleas, in Fraud, and Perjury,
To raise a thing men call a Family.
No,—he knows not what men his Sons shall be,
Preferr'd to honours, or of low degree.
And with him all his Troops of hopes are gone.
His Sons survive him, but he knows not how
Those men demean themselves, nor what they do:
To what profession they they themselves betake,
What Figure in this Life those Fools do make:
What part they act: what state they represent,
I'th' Theatre of the World: whether content
With the sweet Blessings of a privat Life,
Or, if involv'd in a continual strife,
In tedious Pleas, in Fraud, and Perjury,
To raise a thing men call a Family.
No,—he knows not what men his Sons shall be,
Preferr'd to honours, or of low degree.
Though here, with great anxiety, and care,
He eats his own Flesh, for his dayly Fare.
In flames of grief his very Heart doth burn,
And, whilst his Soul is in him, it doth mourn,
When he but thinks, in what condition
His Family shall be, when he is gone.
Whilst, with a Femal curiosity,
He endeavours to learn, before he dye,
What shall be th'state of his Posterity.
He'd fain ascertain his ill-purchas'd wealth
Upon his brats, what he has got, by Stealth,
By Fraud, by Rapine, Lying, and Debate,
Upon his Race he'd fain perpetuat.
Entails, in strictest form he causes draw,
As if he would to Providence give Law:
As if he'd regulat the Winds, and show
Out of what Point they constantly should blow:
Or fetter up the raging Ocean,
And make it alwayes calm:—so foolish man,
By strong Entails, in form of Covenant,
Stuff'd up with threatning clauses irritant,
With substitutions, and—I know not what—
(All legal fetters,) fain would captivat
Some little spot of Earth, and there enstate
His Family, with that perfection,
That Providence on Earth allows to none.
He eats his own Flesh, for his dayly Fare.
In flames of grief his very Heart doth burn,
And, whilst his Soul is in him, it doth mourn,
When he but thinks, in what condition
His Family shall be, when he is gone.
Whilst, with a Femal curiosity,
He endeavours to learn, before he dye,
What shall be th'state of his Posterity.
He'd fain ascertain his ill-purchas'd wealth
Upon his brats, what he has got, by Stealth,
By Fraud, by Rapine, Lying, and Debate,
Upon his Race he'd fain perpetuat.
Entails, in strictest form he causes draw,
As if he would to Providence give Law:
101
Out of what Point they constantly should blow:
Or fetter up the raging Ocean,
And make it alwayes calm:—so foolish man,
By strong Entails, in form of Covenant,
Stuff'd up with threatning clauses irritant,
With substitutions, and—I know not what—
(All legal fetters,) fain would captivat
Some little spot of Earth, and there enstate
His Family, with that perfection,
That Providence on Earth allows to none.
Thus vainly toyls this Mole, but after all,
When Death for him doth peremptorly call,
He leaves these thoughts, and so he leaves his Race,
To save, or spend, and live, even as they please.
When Death for him doth peremptorly call,
He leaves these thoughts, and so he leaves his Race,
To save, or spend, and live, even as they please.
Cap. XV.
How delicat! how admirably good!
How learn'd! how pious! (if well understood,)
How grave! how solid! how elaborat
Was Jobs discourse!—what Mortal in his state,
Oppress'd with sorrow could himself expresse,
So firmly, and with so much steadinesse,
Of Mind, as this afflicted man has done,
Yet after all.—
His friend, as formerly, must him reprove,
(Whether from envy this proceeds, or love,
May be a question) and accordingly
Eliphaz, all this while who patiently
Had heard him speak, at length resolves once more,
To argue with him, as he did before.
And thus, in terms severe, and violent,
Takes up his Brother Zophars argument.
How learn'd! how pious! (if well understood,)
How grave! how solid! how elaborat
Was Jobs discourse!—what Mortal in his state,
Oppress'd with sorrow could himself expresse,
So firmly, and with so much steadinesse,
Of Mind, as this afflicted man has done,
Yet after all.—
His friend, as formerly, must him reprove,
(Whether from envy this proceeds, or love,
May be a question) and accordingly
Eliphaz, all this while who patiently
Had heard him speak, at length resolves once more,
To argue with him, as he did before.
And thus, in terms severe, and violent,
Takes up his Brother Zophars argument.
And should a wise man thus expresse his mind,
In words, says he, inconstant, as the wind?
Words of no value, foolish idle words,
Such, as a discomposed mind affords.
Words so extrinsick to the case in hand,
As, truth, I think thou dost not understand
What thou dost speak: words so extravagant,
So course, so dull, so insignificant,
Such whining words. so childish, and so mean,
So far below a man, so poor, and lean,
As one, that were not in his judgement weak,
I'm confident would be asham'd to speak.
Unequal words: words scarce articulat;
Words, Like a Turtles chattering, at this rate
Parrots, and Magpyes might be taught to prat.
In words, says he, inconstant, as the wind?
Words of no value, foolish idle words,
Such, as a discomposed mind affords.
Words so extrinsick to the case in hand,
As, truth, I think thou dost not understand
What thou dost speak: words so extravagant,
So course, so dull, so insignificant,
Such whining words. so childish, and so mean,
So far below a man, so poor, and lean,
As one, that were not in his judgement weak,
I'm confident would be asham'd to speak.
Unequal words: words scarce articulat;
Words, Like a Turtles chattering, at this rate
Parrots, and Magpyes might be taught to prat.
102
Then should a wise man use such words, as these?
Or, with such Language, his sick fancy please?
Language, by which thou dost thy cause abuse.
Language, which none, but Lunaticks would use:
Provoking words, discourse not tolerable,
And as thy case is, quite unprofitable:
Yet, in such gibbrish, thou must vent thy mind,
But, from my heart, I'd wish thou'd be more kind
To thy poor self, and not excruciate,
With sad complaints, and cryings, at this rate,
Thy troubled Soul. I's't not enough that thou
Shouldst chide thy Friends?—but thus thy Maker too
T'upbraid forsooth, and that so bitterly,
As if our God could do an injury
To thee, my friend, or any of us all:
Then why shouldst thou exclaim? why shouldst thou baul?
When God in justice doth inflict what he
Judges has ever been deserv'd by thee.
Or, with such Language, his sick fancy please?
Language, by which thou dost thy cause abuse.
Language, which none, but Lunaticks would use:
Provoking words, discourse not tolerable,
And as thy case is, quite unprofitable:
Yet, in such gibbrish, thou must vent thy mind,
But, from my heart, I'd wish thou'd be more kind
To thy poor self, and not excruciate,
With sad complaints, and cryings, at this rate,
Thy troubled Soul. I's't not enough that thou
Shouldst chide thy Friends?—but thus thy Maker too
T'upbraid forsooth, and that so bitterly,
As if our God could do an injury
To thee, my friend, or any of us all:
Then why shouldst thou exclaim? why shouldst thou baul?
When God in justice doth inflict what he
Judges has ever been deserv'd by thee.
Indeed, my friend, I'm sorry to perceive
Thy sad condition, and I truely grieve,
To hear thee cry, and rave incessantly
In this thy feaver of impiety.
Why now, alace, my friend, thou dost appear
Designedlie t'have shaken off all fear
Of God Almighty: thou who us'd to pray,
And pour thy Soul out, both by night, and day,
Before thy Maker: now, alace, I fear
Th'hast totally fogot the use of prayer:
And seem'st to be, by thy unruly passions,
In desuetude of pious meditations.
Thy sad condition, and I truely grieve,
To hear thee cry, and rave incessantly
In this thy feaver of impiety.
Why now, alace, my friend, thou dost appear
Designedlie t'have shaken off all fear
Of God Almighty: thou who us'd to pray,
And pour thy Soul out, both by night, and day,
Before thy Maker: now, alace, I fear
Th'hast totally fogot the use of prayer:
And seem'st to be, by thy unruly passions,
In desuetude of pious meditations.
Else how should such Expressions, as these
Proceed out of thy mouth? such passages
Of simple folly, as no wise mans ear
Can so much idle talk with patience hear.
For thruth' thou talkst, like one, who wantonly
Makes Table-jests of Grace, and Piety,
Who laughs at God, and all that he hath made,
Blasphems his holy name, and makes a trade
To treat en ridicule, all Providence,
Arguing boldly all things come by chance.
Proceed out of thy mouth? such passages
Of simple folly, as no wise mans ear
Can so much idle talk with patience hear.
For thruth' thou talkst, like one, who wantonly
Makes Table-jests of Grace, and Piety,
Who laughs at God, and all that he hath made,
Blasphems his holy name, and makes a trade
To treat en ridicule, all Providence,
Arguing boldly all things come by chance.
Sure thou deserv'st extreamly to be blam'd,
That, in the eyes of God art not asham'd
To talk, like one of those, whose hearts are seal'd,
To whom our God at no time has reveal'd
His Divine Grace: but lets them foolishly
Run out the Course of their Impiety.
And never stop, till some Disease do quell
Their hot Carrier, and then the thoughts of Hell
The apprehensions of tormenting Devils
With the sad prospect of all kind of Evils
May some Remorse from those poor Souls procure,
But these good thoughts no longer do endure,
Than their Disease for, let its force abate,
And then return they to their former state.
Like one of those, thou talkst, alace, my friend,
When wilt' to those expressions put an end?
For thus thy mouth condemns thee, and not I,
Thy conscious lips against the testify.
Thou talks't, thou talks't, and like a foolish wretch,
Wouldst fain discourse of things above thy reach,
And seem'st to question, in thy frantick sense,
The soveraign power of Divine Providence.
Thou talkst with God, as wouldst with one of us,
—Why thus oppress'd? why am I punish'd thus?
Sayst thou, why are my steps thus calculat?
And all my errors so enumerat?
As if forsooth, he who commands on high,
Should find himself oblig'd to satisfy
Thy rude demands: as if forsooth that he
Should stoop so low, as answer such as thee,
In all thy School-boyes questions, and assign
A reason for his actings.
Dost think that he, who did us all Create,
And with his own Breath did us animate,
From whence this reason (of which were so proud)
Flows in a channel, can be understood
To act by other rules, than only those
Of undisturbed reason? dost suppose
That he, who governs all by upright Laws,
Would punish such as the, without a cause?
Prethee, my friend, then let me understand
Why so presumptuous as to demand
A reason, why thou art thus punished?
Dost think such language can be suffered?
A reason from the God of reason! sure
No pious ears such pratting can endure:
Dost' think he'll give account to every fool,
On whom he uses justice, by what rule
He doth proceed: no sure, he will not do it,
The Majesty of his Laws will not allow it.
But if thou wilt from men a reason know,
'Tis only this, our God will have it so,
That he may keep aspiring spirits low.
That, in the eyes of God art not asham'd
To talk, like one of those, whose hearts are seal'd,
To whom our God at no time has reveal'd
His Divine Grace: but lets them foolishly
Run out the Course of their Impiety.
And never stop, till some Disease do quell
Their hot Carrier, and then the thoughts of Hell
The apprehensions of tormenting Devils
With the sad prospect of all kind of Evils
May some Remorse from those poor Souls procure,
But these good thoughts no longer do endure,
Than their Disease for, let its force abate,
And then return they to their former state.
103
When wilt' to those expressions put an end?
For thus thy mouth condemns thee, and not I,
Thy conscious lips against the testify.
Thou talks't, thou talks't, and like a foolish wretch,
Wouldst fain discourse of things above thy reach,
And seem'st to question, in thy frantick sense,
The soveraign power of Divine Providence.
Thou talkst with God, as wouldst with one of us,
—Why thus oppress'd? why am I punish'd thus?
Sayst thou, why are my steps thus calculat?
And all my errors so enumerat?
As if forsooth, he who commands on high,
Should find himself oblig'd to satisfy
Thy rude demands: as if forsooth that he
Should stoop so low, as answer such as thee,
In all thy School-boyes questions, and assign
A reason for his actings.
Dost think that he, who did us all Create,
And with his own Breath did us animate,
From whence this reason (of which were so proud)
Flows in a channel, can be understood
To act by other rules, than only those
Of undisturbed reason? dost suppose
That he, who governs all by upright Laws,
Would punish such as the, without a cause?
Prethee, my friend, then let me understand
Why so presumptuous as to demand
A reason, why thou art thus punished?
Dost think such language can be suffered?
A reason from the God of reason! sure
No pious ears such pratting can endure:
Dost' think he'll give account to every fool,
On whom he uses justice, by what rule
He doth proceed: no sure, he will not do it,
The Majesty of his Laws will not allow it.
But if thou wilt from men a reason know,
'Tis only this, our God will have it so,
That he may keep aspiring spirits low.
This is the reason, prethee rest content
With this then, and no more thy self torment
With asking questions, why thus punished?
Why thus afflicted? why thus buffetted?
We've heard too much of such unwarrantable,
And shrewd discourse, discourse unsufferable:
Forbear then pray, for all those sad complaints
Are to no purpose, but weak arguments
Of innocence, and rather do imply
A heart replenish'd with impiety,
Which now thou labour'st to conceal, in vain,
And so bewrayst thy Conscience by thy pain.
Whence all this arguing then? this violence
On reason, to maintain thy innocence!
What need of all this reasoning, what need
Of words, if thou be innocent indeed!
For innocence still for it self will plead.
Then, by thy favour, friend, I must demand
What, in a word wouldst have us understand
By all those brisque expressions? dost conceive,
Thy hollow talking will make us believe
That what thou, in thy passion dost expresse
Must be receiv'd as learned sentences,
And so admir'd, in future ages look,
Like the dark Riddles in some ancient Book?
Art thou of men most aged, grave, and wise?
Hadst thou a Beeing, ere the Hills did rise?
With this then, and no more thy self torment
With asking questions, why thus punished?
Why thus afflicted? why thus buffetted?
We've heard too much of such unwarrantable,
And shrewd discourse, discourse unsufferable:
Forbear then pray, for all those sad complaints
Are to no purpose, but weak arguments
Of innocence, and rather do imply
A heart replenish'd with impiety,
Which now thou labour'st to conceal, in vain,
And so bewrayst thy Conscience by thy pain.
Whence all this arguing then? this violence
On reason, to maintain thy innocence!
104
Of words, if thou be innocent indeed!
For innocence still for it self will plead.
Then, by thy favour, friend, I must demand
What, in a word wouldst have us understand
By all those brisque expressions? dost conceive,
Thy hollow talking will make us believe
That what thou, in thy passion dost expresse
Must be receiv'd as learned sentences,
And so admir'd, in future ages look,
Like the dark Riddles in some ancient Book?
Art thou of men most aged, grave, and wise?
Hadst thou a Beeing, ere the Hills did rise?
Art thou of Council to th'Almighty Lord,
Who fram'd and ordred all things by his word?
Dost thou advise him? dost thou influence
His Spirit in his Works of Providence?
Art thou the only wise man now alive?
Hast thou attain'd what all in vain do scrive
To purchase,—wisdom in perfection? can
Thy Parts advance thee 'bove the reach of man?
Who fram'd and ordred all things by his word?
Dost thou advise him? dost thou influence
His Spirit in his Works of Providence?
Art thou the only wise man now alive?
Hast thou attain'd what all in vain do scrive
To purchase,—wisdom in perfection? can
Thy Parts advance thee 'bove the reach of man?
Prethee, lets hear now what thou furder knowst
Than we do? of what learning canst thou boast,
Unknown to us? what Arts, or Sciences,
For all thy blustring words, dost thou professe
To understand, of which we're ignorant?
Then what's this knowledge, of which thou dost vaunt?
This extraordinar wisdom? prethee show
What are the things thou knowest, we do not know.
Than we do? of what learning canst thou boast,
Unknown to us? what Arts, or Sciences,
For all thy blustring words, dost thou professe
To understand, of which we're ignorant?
Then what's this knowledge, of which thou dost vaunt?
This extraordinar wisdom? prethee show
What are the things thou knowest, we do not know.
With us are men both ancient, and sage,
Men, that do far exceed thy Fathers age.
Men learn'd, and knowing, men of lives upright,
Men truly sober, men, whose piercing sight
None can escape; men, who distinctly know
The causes, whence all things in course do flow.
For every triffle can assign a reason,
And show that all things have their proper season,
In which they shut up, flourish, and decay,
And, with submissive reverence, obey
The orders of the first, and mightie Cause,
To whose perpetual Edicts, Rules, and Laws,
All other causes do subjection own,
And can do nothing by themselves alone,
In short, there's nothing to those men unknown.
Men, that do far exceed thy Fathers age.
Men learn'd, and knowing, men of lives upright,
Men truly sober, men, whose piercing sight
None can escape; men, who distinctly know
The causes, whence all things in course do flow.
For every triffle can assign a reason,
And show that all things have their proper season,
In which they shut up, flourish, and decay,
And, with submissive reverence, obey
The orders of the first, and mightie Cause,
To whose perpetual Edicts, Rules, and Laws,
All other causes do subjection own,
And can do nothing by themselves alone,
In short, there's nothing to those men unknown.
Yet thou, forsooth, dost undervalue such,
As all men do, who think they know too much.
Thy self-conceited pride will not permit
Thee to believe that any has more wit
Then thou hast; hence thou dost all men despise,
And we're but very dunces in thy eyes,
But be assur'd 'tis no small thing, my friend,
That God to thee should consolation send
By such as us, men, who exactly know
Thy weaknesse, and most readily can show
The cause of thy disease, and plainly tell
The proper remedy: men, who wish thee well,
Who pity thee, but on no terms will ly,
Who know all Arts but that of flattery:
And therefore what we speak, thou mayst believe
Is for thy good: for, though we truly grieve,
To see thee in such sad calamity,
Yet, of a truth, we cannot justify
Those rash expressions, which we hear thee use,
But as thy friends, we fain would dis-abuse
Thy wavering mind; and make thee fully know
What, in affliction Man to God doth owe.
As all men do, who think they know too much.
Thy self-conceited pride will not permit
Thee to believe that any has more wit
Then thou hast; hence thou dost all men despise,
And we're but very dunces in thy eyes,
But be assur'd 'tis no small thing, my friend,
That God to thee should consolation send
By such as us, men, who exactly know
Thy weaknesse, and most readily can show
105
The proper remedy: men, who wish thee well,
Who pity thee, but on no terms will ly,
Who know all Arts but that of flattery:
And therefore what we speak, thou mayst believe
Is for thy good: for, though we truly grieve,
To see thee in such sad calamity,
Yet, of a truth, we cannot justify
Those rash expressions, which we hear thee use,
But as thy friends, we fain would dis-abuse
Thy wavering mind; and make thee fully know
What, in affliction Man to God doth owe.
'Tis not that one should thus complain, or that
He with his Maker should expostulat,
As thou hast done, or by his looks expresse,
What inward sorrow doth his mind oppresse,
Or, with such self-conceited impudence,
Upbraid th'Almighty with his innocence.
He with his Maker should expostulat,
As thou hast done, or by his looks expresse,
What inward sorrow doth his mind oppresse,
Or, with such self-conceited impudence,
Upbraid th'Almighty with his innocence.
Or, in his language thus prevaricat,
And with th'All-knowing-God at random prat,
As if with his familiars he did speak,
And in his passion, show himself so weak,
As to repine. and bitterly exclaim
Against Gods Justice, and so rashly blame,
That ne're too much to be admired God,
Who, though in anger he doth use the Rod;
Yet, in that anger, mercy doth abound,
As in afflictions it is always found
By those, to whom our God allows the grace
Of its right use, for still in such a case,
As from most bitter Herbs, and acid Plants,
Men use t'extract wholsome Medicaments;
So from afflictions Limbeck gently flows
True Piety.—
And with th'All-knowing-God at random prat,
As if with his familiars he did speak,
And in his passion, show himself so weak,
As to repine. and bitterly exclaim
Against Gods Justice, and so rashly blame,
That ne're too much to be admired God,
Who, though in anger he doth use the Rod;
Yet, in that anger, mercy doth abound,
As in afflictions it is always found
By those, to whom our God allows the grace
Of its right use, for still in such a case,
As from most bitter Herbs, and acid Plants,
Men use t'extract wholsome Medicaments;
So from afflictions Limbeck gently flows
True Piety.—
O then, my friend, for thy own sake forbear
Those rankling words: pray let me no more hear
Such dangerous Thunder-claps of fiery passion,
By which thou tempst thy Maker, in that fashion,
As 'tis a wonder he has all this time
Heard thee with patience: for a smaller Crime,
Many have by his justice been destroy'd,
But thou, my friend, hast all this while enjoy'd
Thy Breath, at least: and if thou understood,
How much our converse serves to do thee good:
Thou art so far from those extremities
Of misery, which from afflictions rise,
That I should rather think, in sober sense,
Thou might'st with all those triffling ills dispense,
Assisted by such comforters;—indeed
Thou merits't further to be punished,
If in these mad expressions thou proceed.
Those rankling words: pray let me no more hear
Such dangerous Thunder-claps of fiery passion,
By which thou tempst thy Maker, in that fashion,
As 'tis a wonder he has all this time
Heard thee with patience: for a smaller Crime,
Many have by his justice been destroy'd,
But thou, my friend, hast all this while enjoy'd
Thy Breath, at least: and if thou understood,
How much our converse serves to do thee good:
Thou art so far from those extremities
Of misery, which from afflictions rise,
That I should rather think, in sober sense,
Thou might'st with all those triffling ills dispense,
Assisted by such comforters;—indeed
Thou merits't further to be punished,
If in these mad expressions thou proceed.
Thou just! thou clean from sin! thou innocent!
What sober person thus himself would vent?
Can any man be clean? can man be just?
Can any thing, that has its rise from dust,
Be without blemish? can a silly creature,
That sucks Corruption from the Mothers Nature,
A creature black, with sin Original,
Before it well its self a man can call:
One, whose defect doth with its life begin,
And in the Womb becomes acquaint with sin;
Can he be clean? can such a one, as he,
For all the World be esteemed free
From all, that's evil?
Man of a Woman born, can he be clean?
Pray what by such expressions dost thou mean?
Can any thing, that's good from one proceed,
Who so much mischief to the World doth breed?
Who plagues us all with sin; that cursed root,
Which, in its season, yields no other fruit,
But sin alone, which we do soon disperss
Through all the corners of the Universe
A fruit, in which men drive a constant trade,
And toil as much, as for their daily bread,
To purchase this dear fruit; at any rate,
In this all mortals do negotiate.
But, after all this Traffique, when at last
Man, on his Death-bed doth begin to cast
Th'accounts of this same dismal trade, alace
How doth he look! when all the passages
Of his past life before him doth appear,
And he, poor soul, already dead with fear,
Sees, by account what profit he has made
Through all the course of this unlucky trade:
—Sin upon Sin, Loss upon Loss! he cries
Shuts up his Books, curses this trade, and dies.
What sober person thus himself would vent?
Can any man be clean? can man be just?
106
Be without blemish? can a silly creature,
That sucks Corruption from the Mothers Nature,
A creature black, with sin Original,
Before it well its self a man can call:
One, whose defect doth with its life begin,
And in the Womb becomes acquaint with sin;
Can he be clean? can such a one, as he,
For all the World be esteemed free
From all, that's evil?
Man of a Woman born, can he be clean?
Pray what by such expressions dost thou mean?
Can any thing, that's good from one proceed,
Who so much mischief to the World doth breed?
Who plagues us all with sin; that cursed root,
Which, in its season, yields no other fruit,
But sin alone, which we do soon disperss
Through all the corners of the Universe
A fruit, in which men drive a constant trade,
And toil as much, as for their daily bread,
To purchase this dear fruit; at any rate,
In this all mortals do negotiate.
But, after all this Traffique, when at last
Man, on his Death-bed doth begin to cast
Th'accounts of this same dismal trade, alace
How doth he look! when all the passages
Of his past life before him doth appear,
And he, poor soul, already dead with fear,
Sees, by account what profit he has made
Through all the course of this unlucky trade:
—Sin upon Sin, Loss upon Loss! he cries
Shuts up his Books, curses this trade, and dies.
Yet is this all, that Woman doth produce,
Beseech thee, then, my friend, do not abuse
Thy self with fancies, as if any thing
That's good, from such a tainted root, can spring.
Beseech thee, then, my friend, do not abuse
Thy self with fancies, as if any thing
That's good, from such a tainted root, can spring.
No, no—wee're all unclean: wee're sinful all,
No man on earth himself can upright call.
What!—while the very Saints, while travelling here,
Bedaub'd with sin did in his sight appear,
Nay even the Heavens themselves are in his eye
Grossely unclean, full of Deformity.
No man on earth himself can upright call.
What!—while the very Saints, while travelling here,
Bedaub'd with sin did in his sight appear,
Nay even the Heavens themselves are in his eye
Grossely unclean, full of Deformity.
Will man pretend that he is clean? will he,
Who's sin, in the superlative degree:
Who in provocking God takes such delite,
As in his food, and sins, with appetite:
Who greedily sucks in iniquity,
Shall he pretend i'th' least to purity?
Who's sin, in the superlative degree:
Who in provocking God takes such delite,
As in his food, and sins, with appetite:
Who greedily sucks in iniquity,
Shall he pretend i'th' least to purity?
No sure:—thou err'st, my friend, but, if thou'lt hear
What's for thy good. I freely will declare
What I have seen, and in my time have learn'd,
What with great pains, and labour I have earn'd.
What's for thy good. I freely will declare
What I have seen, and in my time have learn'd,
What with great pains, and labour I have earn'd.
I'le tell thee things, which prudent men of old
Have by their Reverend Ancestors been told.
What these did not think fit to be conceal'd,
But for their childrens benefit reveal'd,
Who by learn'd Sayings, and wise Apothegms
In History have Eterniz'd their Names.
107
What these did not think fit to be conceal'd,
But for their childrens benefit reveal'd,
Who by learn'd Sayings, and wise Apothegms
In History have Eterniz'd their Names.
Who by their Prudence did so moderate
And mannage that, which God had allocate
To them for their inheritance so well,
With such Discretion, and did so excell
I'th' art of Government, mentaining peace
With all their Neighbours, living in such case
Amongst themselves, as none durst undertake
T'invade them, or atempt i'th' least to break
Their firm confederacy, which of old
They had so founded, as nor Steel, nor Gold
Could cut that Knot: nor could the smiling tricks
Of States-men countermine their Politicks.
In short they did possess, and govern all,
As if their Land had been Allodial,
As if it had belong'd to them alone,
And, (save o'th' King of Heavens,) they held of none.
And mannage that, which God had allocate
To them for their inheritance so well,
With such Discretion, and did so excell
I'th' art of Government, mentaining peace
With all their Neighbours, living in such case
Amongst themselves, as none durst undertake
T'invade them, or atempt i'th' least to break
Their firm confederacy, which of old
They had so founded, as nor Steel, nor Gold
Could cut that Knot: nor could the smiling tricks
Of States-men countermine their Politicks.
In short they did possess, and govern all,
As if their Land had been Allodial,
As if it had belong'd to them alone,
And, (save o'th' King of Heavens,) they held of none.
Those men have told us that the wicked are
Most miserable, in continual fear.
In pains, like those of Child-birth, still they lie
Exclaiming, in the extream agonie
Of a sad troubled conscience, which alace
Allowes them ease, scarce a small moments space.
The cruel man is never void of fear,
But fancies Death attends him every where.
For, when he calls to mind by what Oppressions
He has enlarg'd his Titles, and Possessions:
How many he has ruin'd, and undone,
And eat up all their means, since he begun
To set up for himself; how cunningly
'Has turn'd out many a goodly family,
And sent them all a begging: he from thence
Infallibly concludes.—
All hate him, curse him, do his name abhorr,
And, as they ask their alms from door to door
They tell by whose oppression they are poor.
Most miserable, in continual fear.
In pains, like those of Child-birth, still they lie
Exclaiming, in the extream agonie
Of a sad troubled conscience, which alace
Allowes them ease, scarce a small moments space.
The cruel man is never void of fear,
But fancies Death attends him every where.
For, when he calls to mind by what Oppressions
He has enlarg'd his Titles, and Possessions:
How many he has ruin'd, and undone,
And eat up all their means, since he begun
To set up for himself; how cunningly
'Has turn'd out many a goodly family,
And sent them all a begging: he from thence
Infallibly concludes.—
All hate him, curse him, do his name abhorr,
And, as they ask their alms from door to door
They tell by whose oppression they are poor.
Then when he thus reflects, and calls to mind
How hateful he's become to all mankind:
The unjust Tyrant doth not think it strange
That all the world should meditate revenge
Against their common Enemy: a man
Proscrib'd, and out-law'd by the publick Ban
Of all just pious men, who in their prayers,
With fervent zeal, and floods of bitter tears,
Accuse them to their God, and constantly
For Justice,—Justice—in Heavens Court do cry,
Against him,—then he stares, and looks about,
And even his own Domesticks he doth doubt
Upon his life have some design, and those
Who break his bread, are now become his foes.
How hateful he's become to all mankind:
The unjust Tyrant doth not think it strange
That all the world should meditate revenge
Against their common Enemy: a man
Proscrib'd, and out-law'd by the publick Ban
Of all just pious men, who in their prayers,
With fervent zeal, and floods of bitter tears,
Accuse them to their God, and constantly
For Justice,—Justice—in Heavens Court do cry,
Against him,—then he stares, and looks about,
And even his own Domesticks he doth doubt
Upon his life have some design, and those
Who break his bread, are now become his foes.
108
With horrour thunder-struck, with care oppress't,
This miserable soul can have no rest.
Before his eyes strange visions appear,
His mind is sore belaboured, his ear
Is still infested with a noise of fear.
A dreadful noise, like that of Passing-bell,
Which doth his nigh-approaching death foretell;
In which he's not deceiv'd, for by, and by,
(Even in the solstice of prosperity)
Down from the Mountains falls some injur'd Lord,
Who, and his hungry crew, with fire and sword,
This mighty mans Dominions invade,
And wasting all before them make a Trade
Of pillaging, appearing every where,
Like lightning, sometimes here, and sometimes there,
So through his territories nimbly fly,
Seizing his Towns, and Castles speedily:
Advancing still, in a vindictive rage,
Until in Battel with him they engage,
Defeat his Forces, put them all to flight,
Then to his glory he bids long-good-night.
This miserable soul can have no rest.
Before his eyes strange visions appear,
His mind is sore belaboured, his ear
Is still infested with a noise of fear.
A dreadful noise, like that of Passing-bell,
Which doth his nigh-approaching death foretell;
In which he's not deceiv'd, for by, and by,
(Even in the solstice of prosperity)
Down from the Mountains falls some injur'd Lord,
Who, and his hungry crew, with fire and sword,
This mighty mans Dominions invade,
And wasting all before them make a Trade
Of pillaging, appearing every where,
Like lightning, sometimes here, and sometimes there,
So through his territories nimbly fly,
Seizing his Towns, and Castles speedily:
Advancing still, in a vindictive rage,
Until in Battel with him they engage,
Defeat his Forces, put them all to flight,
Then to his glory he bids long-good-night.
Thus ends the whip, and terrour of his age,
For to him so his mind did still presage,
I'th' noon-tide of his blesse: he durst not hope,
Or fancy any other horoscope
Then a most wretch'd and miserable end,
Which makes him in perpetual horrour spend
The best of all his time, enjoyes no ease,
But is disturb'd in mind, for still he sees
The raging Sword before him, and he fears
His Enemies are still about his ears.
For to him so his mind did still presage,
I'th' noon-tide of his blesse: he durst not hope,
Or fancy any other horoscope
Then a most wretch'd and miserable end,
Which makes him in perpetual horrour spend
The best of all his time, enjoyes no ease,
But is disturb'd in mind, for still he sees
The raging Sword before him, and he fears
His Enemies are still about his ears.
At length, when misery doth come indeed,
Like one, that wanders to, and fro for bread,
So doth this great man ramble every where,
And makes what shifts he can for daily fare.
Carelesse of Honour, outward Pomp, and State,
And costly Dyet, now content of what
Nature affords: a simple Peasants Food
To him is pleasant, and he finds it good.
He eats, he sleeps, no more he doth demand,
Because he knows his death is nigh at hand.
Like one, that wanders to, and fro for bread,
So doth this great man ramble every where,
And makes what shifts he can for daily fare.
Carelesse of Honour, outward Pomp, and State,
And costly Dyet, now content of what
Nature affords: a simple Peasants Food
To him is pleasant, and he finds it good.
He eats, he sleeps, no more he doth demand,
Because he knows his death is nigh at hand.
Anxiety, affliction, grief, and care,
Which stir up good mens hopes, make them despair,
Despair down-right, in fiery rage exclaim
'Gainst what the precious fool doth Fortune name,
And, in his humours, openly blaspheme.
Transported, drunk with fury, he cryes out,
In fits, and like a mad man runs about
The Towns, and Countrey-fields, vents all his passions
In angry wrath, and horrid execrations.
'Gainst him at length despair doth so prevail,
He becomes faint, and all his spirits fail:
Curs'd be the Stars, that rul'd my Birth, he crys,
With a strong sigh, thrusts out his Soul, and dyes.
Which stir up good mens hopes, make them despair,
Despair down-right, in fiery rage exclaim
'Gainst what the precious fool doth Fortune name,
And, in his humours, openly blaspheme.
Transported, drunk with fury, he cryes out,
In fits, and like a mad man runs about
The Towns, and Countrey-fields, vents all his passions
In angry wrath, and horrid execrations.
'Gainst him at length despair doth so prevail,
He becomes faint, and all his spirits fail:
Curs'd be the Stars, that rul'd my Birth, he crys,
With a strong sigh, thrusts out his Soul, and dyes.
109
O thus let all Oppressors end! thus all
The enemies of God Almighty fall!
Let thus such men, who in prosperity
Lift up their faces, and their God defy:
Who laugh, with pleasure at Omnipotence,
And make a formal jest of Providence:
Who, in their actings, do their God deride,
And spit against the Heavens in their pride:
Let them all perish thus; O let them dye,
Without compassion, in great misery.
The enemies of God Almighty fall!
Let thus such men, who in prosperity
Lift up their faces, and their God defy:
Who laugh, with pleasure at Omnipotence,
And make a formal jest of Providence:
Who, in their actings, do their God deride,
And spit against the Heavens in their pride:
Let them all perish thus; O let them dye,
Without compassion, in great misery.
For, though vain man may to the World pretend,
He's proof of judgements, can himself defend
Against th'assaults of Heaven, and proudly boasts,
In Power he's equal with the Lord of Hosts,
Our God doth smile, and for some time permits
This fool to Revel in his frantick Fits:
But, when he's blown up to the hight of pride.
And undervalues all the World beside,
Then will he fall upon him, overthrow
All his defences, bring this Champion low,
And make th'insulting Rebel understand
The difference 'twixt an Almighty-hand,
And that of Flesh: his choisest Coat of Mail
Shall not resist his thrusts, God shall prevail
'Gainst all his strength, that men may learn to know,
What great submission to their God they owe,
He's proof of judgements, can himself defend
Against th'assaults of Heaven, and proudly boasts,
In Power he's equal with the Lord of Hosts,
Our God doth smile, and for some time permits
This fool to Revel in his frantick Fits:
But, when he's blown up to the hight of pride.
And undervalues all the World beside,
Then will he fall upon him, overthrow
All his defences, bring this Champion low,
And make th'insulting Rebel understand
The difference 'twixt an Almighty-hand,
And that of Flesh: his choisest Coat of Mail
Shall not resist his thrusts, God shall prevail
'Gainst all his strength, that men may learn to know,
What great submission to their God they owe,
And not imagine, in prosperity,
Because in wealth, and honour they are high,
They can the strength of our great God defy.
For, whilst in plenty we our years do waste,
Void of all sorrow, with no care oppress't,
But in our Myrtle Groves deliciously
We feed, and sleep in deep security:
Whilst hopeful Children do about us stand,
Like Guards o'th' Body, and on every hand
Our Friends, Dependants, Servants, in a row,
By their attendance do their kindnesse show,
As well as their submission, and we fear
No enemy, but all things do appear,
As tributary to our happinesse,
And we all Earthly blessings do possesse,
Then, then alace, we do become such fools,
As to forget that God Almighty rules
This lower World, and think our selves so sure
In our Possessions; as we can endure
Heav'ns wrath, and not be mov'd.—
Because in wealth, and honour they are high,
They can the strength of our great God defy.
For, whilst in plenty we our years do waste,
Void of all sorrow, with no care oppress't,
But in our Myrtle Groves deliciously
We feed, and sleep in deep security:
Whilst hopeful Children do about us stand,
Like Guards o'th' Body, and on every hand
Our Friends, Dependants, Servants, in a row,
By their attendance do their kindnesse show,
As well as their submission, and we fear
No enemy, but all things do appear,
As tributary to our happinesse,
And we all Earthly blessings do possesse,
Then, then alace, we do become such fools,
As to forget that God Almighty rules
This lower World, and think our selves so sure
In our Possessions; as we can endure
Heav'ns wrath, and not be mov'd.—
But let us once but tumble in distresse,
Then we're at length obliged to confesse
That God is all in all, that he alone,
Rules all from Spade, and Shovel to the Throne.
And though those impious fools, who here despise
The Power of God, and think themselves so wise,
As they can purchase Lands in soveraignity,
And independant of Gods Majesty,
The Princes be on Earth: may vainly dream
They're fully blessed, yet in his esteem
They are accurs'd; condemn'd, and destinate
For Wrath, and Torment, dire Revenge, and Hate.
Let them, to purchase to themselves a name
Erect stupendious Monuments of fame.
Repair wast houses, Cities desolate
Rebuild, and their design to found a seat
For them, and there accurs'd Posterity
'Spite of that Mighty God, that lives on high:
Then we're at length obliged to confesse
That God is all in all, that he alone,
Rules all from Spade, and Shovel to the Throne.
And though those impious fools, who here despise
The Power of God, and think themselves so wise,
As they can purchase Lands in soveraignity,
And independant of Gods Majesty,
110
They're fully blessed, yet in his esteem
They are accurs'd; condemn'd, and destinate
For Wrath, and Torment, dire Revenge, and Hate.
Let them, to purchase to themselves a name
Erect stupendious Monuments of fame.
Repair wast houses, Cities desolate
Rebuild, and their design to found a seat
For them, and there accurs'd Posterity
'Spite of that Mighty God, that lives on high:
Nay let them languish in the Golden-itch,
And by all means endeavour to be rich;
Yet shall their toil, and labour be in vain
Nor shall they have more profit for their pain
Than daily bread: nay that ere all be done
Shall be deficient too, and they anon
As in a Glass their folly shall behold,
And see on what they have bestow'd their Gold.
Those high flow'n Projects, which their aery minds
Did entertain; those fancies of all kinds
Which did their heads possess shall now be broke,
And all their notions vanish into smoak.
Their buildings none shall ever see compleat,
For all their substance shall evaporat
Before the Roofs ar set on; and these fair
And sumptuous Fabrick, to the open air
Shall be expos'd; they never shall grow old
For their Materials shall be bought and sold
To pay the Workmens Wages: and if ought
(The naked walls perhaps) remain unbought,
Why these shall be a simple Volary
Where ill-presaging Owls by nights do cry
Rooks, and Jack-dawes by day do make a noise,
And he who rais'd the Building, scarce enjoys
A covered corner in that spacious Nest,
Where he with his poor Family may rest.
And by all means endeavour to be rich;
Yet shall their toil, and labour be in vain
Nor shall they have more profit for their pain
Than daily bread: nay that ere all be done
Shall be deficient too, and they anon
As in a Glass their folly shall behold,
And see on what they have bestow'd their Gold.
Those high flow'n Projects, which their aery minds
Did entertain; those fancies of all kinds
Which did their heads possess shall now be broke,
And all their notions vanish into smoak.
Their buildings none shall ever see compleat,
For all their substance shall evaporat
Before the Roofs ar set on; and these fair
And sumptuous Fabrick, to the open air
Shall be expos'd; they never shall grow old
For their Materials shall be bought and sold
To pay the Workmens Wages: and if ought
(The naked walls perhaps) remain unbought,
Why these shall be a simple Volary
Where ill-presaging Owls by nights do cry
Rooks, and Jack-dawes by day do make a noise,
And he who rais'd the Building, scarce enjoys
A covered corner in that spacious Nest,
Where he with his poor Family may rest.
Where he with his poor Family may dwell,
And with sad groans, and numerous sighings tell
The story of his former life, and show
The vanity of all things here below.
Where he may teach his Children to take care,
By his example never to out-dare
Th'Almighty God: or think that any thing
Can here be bless'd to us when Heavens King
Has vow'd the contrair: or imagine that
We can be happy here at any rate,
Unless God favour us: then, with a groan,
Shut up his story, and retire alone
To some dark hole, where he intends to lie,
And pass his days in sad obscurity,
Until the time arrive that he should die.
But ere he die, he shall spread flowers, and leaves,
Temper'd with tears on all his childrens graves.
His branches thus lop't off, the Saples Trunk
With'red, and dry, in grief, and sorrow sunk,
At length shall burst, and in a flood of Tears
O're wheml'd, shall end the Legend of his years.
And with sad groans, and numerous sighings tell
The story of his former life, and show
The vanity of all things here below.
Where he may teach his Children to take care,
By his example never to out-dare
Th'Almighty God: or think that any thing
Can here be bless'd to us when Heavens King
Has vow'd the contrair: or imagine that
We can be happy here at any rate,
Unless God favour us: then, with a groan,
Shut up his story, and retire alone
To some dark hole, where he intends to lie,
And pass his days in sad obscurity,
Until the time arrive that he should die.
But ere he die, he shall spread flowers, and leaves,
Temper'd with tears on all his childrens graves.
His branches thus lop't off, the Saples Trunk
111
At length shall burst, and in a flood of Tears
O're wheml'd, shall end the Legend of his years.
Thus shall he die, whom, while his sun did shine,
And every thing appeared to combine
To raise his happinesse, and make him glad,
No power of Eloquence could ere perswade
That all his glory, all his gallantry
Was but meer air, and glittering vanity.
Therefore, since he such speeches would not hear,
Nor to grave admonitions give ear
By which good men endeavoured to teach
What thoughts were proper for him, and did preach
Faith, and Repentance to him every day,
But not reguarding what they all did say,
Would still continue in his high conceit,
Laugh at those serious Councellors, and treat
Their grave advices, as ridiculous,
And meer cunn'd Lessons, serving for no use,
But to keep fools and children, every where,
By such Predictions, in continual fear.
Therefore his end shall be all Vanity;
And he th'example of inconstancy
In Human Glory, laugh'd to scorn by all,
Poor, wretched, and unpitied shall fall.
And every thing appeared to combine
To raise his happinesse, and make him glad,
No power of Eloquence could ere perswade
That all his glory, all his gallantry
Was but meer air, and glittering vanity.
Therefore, since he such speeches would not hear,
Nor to grave admonitions give ear
By which good men endeavoured to teach
What thoughts were proper for him, and did preach
Faith, and Repentance to him every day,
But not reguarding what they all did say,
Would still continue in his high conceit,
Laugh at those serious Councellors, and treat
Their grave advices, as ridiculous,
And meer cunn'd Lessons, serving for no use,
But to keep fools and children, every where,
By such Predictions, in continual fear.
Therefore his end shall be all Vanity;
And he th'example of inconstancy
In Human Glory, laugh'd to scorn by all,
Poor, wretched, and unpitied shall fall.
Poor, and bereav'd of issue he shall die,
And of him there shall be no Memory,
Only his name like Beacon shall appear
In History, to warn all men to stear
Another course than he, who wilfully
Did Ship-wrack on this Rock of Vanity.
And of him there shall be no Memory,
Only his name like Beacon shall appear
In History, to warn all men to stear
Another course than he, who wilfully
Did Ship-wrack on this Rock of Vanity.
For as sower Grapes unpleasant to the taste,
Not worth the eating, but Hogs-food, at best,
Men use to spitt out: as the Olive tree
Doth cast her Flower; so he, who ere he be,
Who thus doth live, who thus consumes his time
Shall by our God be cast off in his Prime.
Not worth the eating, but Hogs-food, at best,
Men use to spitt out: as the Olive tree
Doth cast her Flower; so he, who ere he be,
Who thus doth live, who thus consumes his time
Shall by our God be cast off in his Prime.
For all the Race of those poor Souls, who hate
Their Great Creator shall be desolate.
Such as by Poling, Cheats, and Bribery
Have from the Dung-hill rais'd a family,
And become Men of Substance, by oppressions
Shall all at length from their unjust Possessions
Be by the God of justice totally
Ejected, and their masqued Villany
Shall to the World be publish'd that from thence
All men may learn to place their confidence
In God alone; and not believe that all
The Wit of Mankind can prevent their Fall
When God intends it, who did all creat
Of nothing, and can all annihilat.
Their Great Creator shall be desolate.
Such as by Poling, Cheats, and Bribery
Have from the Dung-hill rais'd a family,
And become Men of Substance, by oppressions
Shall all at length from their unjust Possessions
Be by the God of justice totally
Ejected, and their masqued Villany
Shall to the World be publish'd that from thence
All men may learn to place their confidence
In God alone; and not believe that all
The Wit of Mankind can prevent their Fall
When God intends it, who did all creat
Of nothing, and can all annihilat.
For such men pregnant with all kind of ill,
Let them Hood-wink their conscience, as they will,
After great labour and perplexity,
Are all delivered of meer vanity.
Of all their stale devices here's the end,
what ere they plot doth to their ruin tend.
Let them Hood-wink their conscience, as they will,
After great labour and perplexity,
112
Of all their stale devices here's the end,
what ere they plot doth to their ruin tend.
III. PART. III.
Cap. XVI.
Th' afflicted man, whom all this while we must
Suppose on Dung-hill, parch'd with blowing dust,
His Body all with grievous sores o're spread,
With Blood, and Ulcerous runnings pargetted.
(Such as would make a man in health forbear
To sit by such a Carrion, through fear
He might b'infected) putrify'd, unclean,
Shrunk into bones, all withered, and lean.
with Boiles, and Scabs, so loathsome, and so foul,
So noisesome to inhabit, as his soul
Can scarce have Lodging, yet the loving thing,
For all his Sores, for all his suffering,
Will not forsake him, and for all that's past,
Resolves by shifts to hold it out to th'last.
For as when Floods in Winter suddainly,
Break into lower Rooms, men use to fly
Up to their Garrets, to preserve their Lives:
So to his head his soul doth fly, and strives,
Whilst all below with sores are overflown,
And there's no room undrown'd, but that alone,
There to reside, though in a doubtful case,
Until the Waters violence decrease
Amidst these storms there it resolves to dwell,
And fortifie that goodly Cittadel,
Which if by strength of Art it can hold out,
Against those numerous foes, it doth not doubt,
But though it gives the Body now as lost,
As but a breathing Skeleton at most;
Yet after all these woes, by art and pain,
It may be soon recovered again.
Job then, all soul, with reason yet supply'd,
Doth think himself still so well fortify'd;
As he'l not yeeld: such courage this affords,
As all these furious batteries of words,
Us'd by his friends against his innocence,
Cannot prevail, but still to his defence
He means to stand: and though he's now so weak,
So fully spent, as he can hardly speak,
Yet answers, though he rather seems to squeak.
Suppose on Dung-hill, parch'd with blowing dust,
His Body all with grievous sores o're spread,
With Blood, and Ulcerous runnings pargetted.
(Such as would make a man in health forbear
To sit by such a Carrion, through fear
He might b'infected) putrify'd, unclean,
Shrunk into bones, all withered, and lean.
with Boiles, and Scabs, so loathsome, and so foul,
So noisesome to inhabit, as his soul
Can scarce have Lodging, yet the loving thing,
For all his Sores, for all his suffering,
Will not forsake him, and for all that's past,
Resolves by shifts to hold it out to th'last.
For as when Floods in Winter suddainly,
Break into lower Rooms, men use to fly
Up to their Garrets, to preserve their Lives:
So to his head his soul doth fly, and strives,
Whilst all below with sores are overflown,
And there's no room undrown'd, but that alone,
There to reside, though in a doubtful case,
Until the Waters violence decrease
Amidst these storms there it resolves to dwell,
And fortifie that goodly Cittadel,
Which if by strength of Art it can hold out,
Against those numerous foes, it doth not doubt,
But though it gives the Body now as lost,
As but a breathing Skeleton at most;
Yet after all these woes, by art and pain,
It may be soon recovered again.
Job then, all soul, with reason yet supply'd,
Doth think himself still so well fortify'd;
As he'l not yeeld: such courage this affords,
As all these furious batteries of words,
Us'd by his friends against his innocence,
Cannot prevail, but still to his defence
He means to stand: and though he's now so weak,
So fully spent, as he can hardly speak,
Yet answers, though he rather seems to squeak.
Job then I say, we must imagine now,
To this so learn'd discourse has much adoe
To make an answer: for we must suppose
This Eliphaz to be as one of those,
Who to a Castle by long Siege become
At length esteem'd untenable by some;
With Forts on every side environed,
And to meer rubbish almost battered;
Is peremptorly with last summons sent,
And Job, as speaking from the battlement.
To this so learn'd discourse has much adoe
113
This Eliphaz to be as one of those,
Who to a Castle by long Siege become
At length esteem'd untenable by some;
With Forts on every side environed,
And to meer rubbish almost battered;
Is peremptorly with last summons sent,
And Job, as speaking from the battlement.
Alace, my friends, said he, what comfort brings,
This long discourse, I've often heard such things
As you have spoke: and I perceive you trace
All the same steps, and from one common place
Draw all your arguments: and still repeat,
(As if in speech you were confederat)
Each one anothers words, so palpably,
As though almost here without sense I lye;
Yet seriously I am asham'd to hear
Men of your parts: men who to all appear
Of a deep reach, with so much toil and pain
Speak the same lesson o're, and o're again.
If this be that, which comforting you call,
Most miserable comforters you're all.
This long discourse, I've often heard such things
As you have spoke: and I perceive you trace
All the same steps, and from one common place
Draw all your arguments: and still repeat,
(As if in speech you were confederat)
Each one anothers words, so palpably,
As though almost here without sense I lye;
Yet seriously I am asham'd to hear
Men of your parts: men who to all appear
Of a deep reach, with so much toil and pain
Speak the same lesson o're, and o're again.
If this be that, which comforting you call,
Most miserable comforters you're all.
Still to repeat this harangue o're and o're,
And tell me nought, but what I knew before,
Is very hard, pray what d'ye take me for?
D'ye think for all the torments, sores, and pains
Which I endure, but that there still remains,
Some small reserve of reason not yet spent,
By which I may withstand your argument.
Yet for some time, I am not yet o'recome
So much with sorrow, as I should be dumb,
Hearing of such discourse: my conscience
Doth still assure me of my innocence;
And therefore I must let you know that I
Do still all your insulting words defy.
My God, in whose Name, you so much accuse
Your miserable friend, knows you abuse
His Majesty, whilst you would seem to be
Of council to him, as if all you three
Were blamelesse, without sin, beyond the reach
Of Laws, and only I a sinful wretch.
Shall there be no end of such aery prating?
And what makes thee, friend, in expostulating
So violent, so bitter, so severe,
In words so piquant, as you'd hardly bear
From one another, yet must I sustain
All these reproachful words, and not complain.
This 'tis to be aflicted: this to lye
Under the mercy of sad penury.
This to be poor, this to be miserable,
When words by me before intolerable,
Words, which incensing Choller in my breast,
In the same heat I had return'd at least,
I'm now compell'd with patience to digest.
And tell me nought, but what I knew before,
Is very hard, pray what d'ye take me for?
D'ye think for all the torments, sores, and pains
Which I endure, but that there still remains,
Some small reserve of reason not yet spent,
By which I may withstand your argument.
Yet for some time, I am not yet o'recome
So much with sorrow, as I should be dumb,
Hearing of such discourse: my conscience
Doth still assure me of my innocence;
And therefore I must let you know that I
Do still all your insulting words defy.
My God, in whose Name, you so much accuse
Your miserable friend, knows you abuse
His Majesty, whilst you would seem to be
Of council to him, as if all you three
Were blamelesse, without sin, beyond the reach
Of Laws, and only I a sinful wretch.
Shall there be no end of such aery prating?
And what makes thee, friend, in expostulating
So violent, so bitter, so severe,
In words so piquant, as you'd hardly bear
From one another, yet must I sustain
All these reproachful words, and not complain.
This 'tis to be aflicted: this to lye
Under the mercy of sad penury.
This to be poor, this to be miserable,
When words by me before intolerable,
Words, which incensing Choller in my breast,
In the same heat I had return'd at least,
I'm now compell'd with patience to digest.
114
D'ye think but I could speak as well as you,
And use the same unkind expressions too,
Nay more severe, and pique you to the bones,
Were we in equal terms, but for the nonce,
All you can say with patience I must bear,
For now it seems I am condemn'd to hear
All you can speak. But would that any of you
Felt but the twentieth part of what I do,
Would that but for a week, a day, an hour,
You had some feeling of what I endure,
That for my satisfaction I might see
In such a case what might your carriage be,
Should I but rate you thus as you do me.
In such a case I would indeed assert,
Though you set up for Saints, yet in your heart
You were all sinners, men who take delite
To counterfeit the puling hypocrite.
Men, who deserv'd what ever you endur'd,
And therefore plead that you might be assur'd
God had rejected you: as all of you
Affirm he has done me; and argue too
'Gainst your impatience in your agony,
And by harsh words augment your misery.
I could insult, I could your woes deride;
And jestingly passe by, and shake my head,
When I might see you thus on Dung-hill sit,
As I do now, and puzle all your wit,
(Though in the eyes o'th' world pretended saints)
To make an answer to my arguments.
And use the same unkind expressions too,
Nay more severe, and pique you to the bones,
Were we in equal terms, but for the nonce,
All you can say with patience I must bear,
For now it seems I am condemn'd to hear
All you can speak. But would that any of you
Felt but the twentieth part of what I do,
Would that but for a week, a day, an hour,
You had some feeling of what I endure,
That for my satisfaction I might see
In such a case what might your carriage be,
Should I but rate you thus as you do me.
In such a case I would indeed assert,
Though you set up for Saints, yet in your heart
You were all sinners, men who take delite
To counterfeit the puling hypocrite.
Men, who deserv'd what ever you endur'd,
And therefore plead that you might be assur'd
God had rejected you: as all of you
Affirm he has done me; and argue too
'Gainst your impatience in your agony,
And by harsh words augment your misery.
I could insult, I could your woes deride;
And jestingly passe by, and shake my head,
When I might see you thus on Dung-hill sit,
As I do now, and puzle all your wit,
(Though in the eyes o'th' world pretended saints)
To make an answer to my arguments.
All this I could perform, were I inclin'd
On such occasions to be so unkind
To you, as you are all of you to me,
And try your patience to that same degree
As you do mine; I could indeed expresse
My thoughts of, you with as much bitternesse
As you do now of me.
But God forbid, were your estate so sad,
I should affliction to affliction add.
Or convocat my wits, and rack my brain,
For shrewd inventions, to augment your pain,
And smartly tax you when you did complain.
No, no, but on the contrair, from my soul,
I would your sad affliction condole.
I'd cherish you with soft, and cordial words,
Such as true friendship, at such times, affords:
I'd tell you that afflictions are sent
From Heaven upon us with no ill intent;
But all our woes, if rightly understood,
Do rain upon us only for our good.
I'd tell you too, that Wheat the best of Grain,
Doth in Earths surface almost dead remain,
All the long Winter buried in Snow,
Yet maugre all those Storms it still doth grow.
And in the Summer, when the Sun draws nigh,
Makes an appearance with more bravery,
More Weight, and Substance than all other Graines,
Which in Green Liveries do adorn the Plains;
Though none of those in shivering cold were sown,
As was the Wheat; or had such pinching known,
As this same precious feeding Grain had done.
I'd tell you how the finest Gold is found,
Not in the Valleys, and the fruitful Ground,
But amongst barren Rocks, and Desart places,
Where nothing fit for Humane Food increases.
I'd tell you also where the Coral grows,
Which every Mortal doth esteem, who knows
Its use and value: not in open Plains
Amongst the pleasant Shrubs, and useful Grains,
Not in inclosed Grounds, on every side
With Paltsades of Quickset fortify'd;
Not in fair Gardens, closly Wall'd a-round,
Parks, Orchards, Forrests, Woods, or some such ground,
Where other Plants do flourish and increase,
No this doth grow i'th' bottom of the Seas.
This fair ingrain'd Vermilion Plant doth grow,
Where huge Sea-monsters ramble to and fro,
Devouring every thing which they can eat:
And were this Corral for these fishes meat,
Man never would possess it. There it grows
Where horrid darkness all things overflowes.
In a most barren ground, an useless land,
Made up of pickled rocks, and furrowed sand.
Yet there it grows, and there its virtue saves,
Amidst the boistrous seas, and sullen waves.
And though indeed, whilst in that dismal place,
Its form, and beauty are in no good case,
Buried in Sea-weeds, tender, pale, and soft,
Yet when by divers art 'tis brought aloft,
Anon it becomes hard, of Scarlet-hue
Both profitable, and pleasant to the view.
So in affliction virtue doth encrease
Though buried in the bottom of the Seas
Of Woes, and Sorrows: for it still retains
Its true intrinsick value, and remains
Amidst these rude insulting Waves intire,
As a true Diamond doth amidst the Fire.
Thus, thus, my friends, were you as I am now,
With such smooth Language I would comfort you,
And with such sug'red words, and pleasant trops,
Allay your sorrows, and refresh your hopes.
With healing words I would compesce the rage
Of your afflictions, and your grief asswage.
On such occasions to be so unkind
To you, as you are all of you to me,
And try your patience to that same degree
As you do mine; I could indeed expresse
My thoughts of, you with as much bitternesse
As you do now of me.
But God forbid, were your estate so sad,
I should affliction to affliction add.
Or convocat my wits, and rack my brain,
For shrewd inventions, to augment your pain,
And smartly tax you when you did complain.
No, no, but on the contrair, from my soul,
I would your sad affliction condole.
I'd cherish you with soft, and cordial words,
Such as true friendship, at such times, affords:
I'd tell you that afflictions are sent
From Heaven upon us with no ill intent;
But all our woes, if rightly understood,
Do rain upon us only for our good.
I'd tell you too, that Wheat the best of Grain,
Doth in Earths surface almost dead remain,
All the long Winter buried in Snow,
Yet maugre all those Storms it still doth grow.
115
Makes an appearance with more bravery,
More Weight, and Substance than all other Graines,
Which in Green Liveries do adorn the Plains;
Though none of those in shivering cold were sown,
As was the Wheat; or had such pinching known,
As this same precious feeding Grain had done.
I'd tell you how the finest Gold is found,
Not in the Valleys, and the fruitful Ground,
But amongst barren Rocks, and Desart places,
Where nothing fit for Humane Food increases.
I'd tell you also where the Coral grows,
Which every Mortal doth esteem, who knows
Its use and value: not in open Plains
Amongst the pleasant Shrubs, and useful Grains,
Not in inclosed Grounds, on every side
With Paltsades of Quickset fortify'd;
Not in fair Gardens, closly Wall'd a-round,
Parks, Orchards, Forrests, Woods, or some such ground,
Where other Plants do flourish and increase,
No this doth grow i'th' bottom of the Seas.
This fair ingrain'd Vermilion Plant doth grow,
Where huge Sea-monsters ramble to and fro,
Devouring every thing which they can eat:
And were this Corral for these fishes meat,
Man never would possess it. There it grows
Where horrid darkness all things overflowes.
In a most barren ground, an useless land,
Made up of pickled rocks, and furrowed sand.
Yet there it grows, and there its virtue saves,
Amidst the boistrous seas, and sullen waves.
And though indeed, whilst in that dismal place,
Its form, and beauty are in no good case,
Buried in Sea-weeds, tender, pale, and soft,
Yet when by divers art 'tis brought aloft,
Anon it becomes hard, of Scarlet-hue
Both profitable, and pleasant to the view.
So in affliction virtue doth encrease
Though buried in the bottom of the Seas
Of Woes, and Sorrows: for it still retains
Its true intrinsick value, and remains
Amidst these rude insulting Waves intire,
As a true Diamond doth amidst the Fire.
Thus, thus, my friends, were you as I am now,
With such smooth Language I would comfort you,
And with such sug'red words, and pleasant trops,
Allay your sorrows, and refresh your hopes.
With healing words I would compesce the rage
Of your afflictions, and your grief asswage.
But O you'l say, since I can thus express
My self, so smoothly in anothers case,
Since I to others can such comfort speak,
Why to my self do I not comfort take?
Why here it is now, thus 'tis to be vex't
With sore affliction, thus to be perplex't
In mind, and body: here's the difference
Betwixt a bare Opinion, and Sense.
These are your thoughts now, and you do suppose
Your wretched Friend to be as one of those
Who can give others good advice, and show
Where they may find true comfort in their wo.
Can others teach, when with sad losses cross'd
And 'mongst the billows of affliction toss'd:
How they should inconvenience avoid,
And not be with their miseries annoy'd:
What Sail they should in such a Tempest bear
Whot solid Course, in prudence, they should steer
To save their lives, and souls: but change the case,
And let such men themselves be in distress.
Let but afflictions waves upon them break,
And to themselves they can no council take,
But tye up th'helm, and let all go to wrack.
This you imagine, 'cause you have no sense
Of those sad pains, which I do feel, and thence
Conclude that when you hear me thus complain
I am the most unduiiful of men,
Who knowing better things do willfully
Against my knowledge sin, and foolishly
Behave my self in misery like those
Who nothing understand. Thus you suppose
Thus you conclude, and so by consequence
Return me guilty of impatience.
But pray, my friends, observe, I said indeed,
Thus I could do, thus, were you in my stead,
And I, as ye are, from afflictions freed.
But, O there's great, and vast disparity
Betwixt the thought, and sense of misery!
As much as is betwixt a real thing,
And that in fancy, or a suffering
True blowes of Death, and those upon a Stage:
Or twixt a real tempest, where the rage
Of cruel waves some hundreds doth devour,
Where dying men with hideous cries out-roar
The boistrous noise, which wind, and seas afford,
And such a thing in Picture: in a word
Unlesse you felt those sorrows reallie
Which I do feel, and your prosperitie
Were to affliction turn'd: unless your sense
Were with such things acquaint, no inference
From suppositions; no Imagination
Of what they are, by Picture, or Relation,
No Map of such, though ne'r so plain, and fair
Can make you understand, what sorrows are.
All those Ideas, wichh your brain doth frame,
When you with pleasure of affliction dream:
Are but weak notions, mean conceptions,
And best of 'em but faint Comparisons,
By which you cannot know what I endure,
Or learn what true affliction is, no sure,
Unlesse, as you see mine, your case be this,
You cannot fancy what affliction is.
But I do know, alace I know too well
What only you conceive, but I do feel.
I am the man have seen, and can declare
By sad experience what afflictions are.
I am the man that have affliction seen
In its true colours, and have sadly been
Oppress'd with grief I am the man that knows
Beyond all others, true, and real woes.
Those wasting sighs, in which insensibly,
The Soul out of its Earthly Cage doth fly:
Those heavy groans, which Life can hardly bear,
To me, are become so familiar,
As when a few another man would kill,
I can emit a thousand, when I will,
And yet not dye. Those hateful passages
Of humane Life, which make our woes encreasse,
Fraud, and oppression, hard for any man
T'endure, are become my quotidian.
Tears from my eyes incessantly do flow,
As when in Summer heaps of melted Snow
Falls from the Mountains, with such violence,
As I have almost lost my optick sense,
Yet still I live: my Body is o're grown,
With putred sores, my Spirit overflown,
With seas of grief, yet am I not undone.
What shall I do then, shall I live, or dye,
Sleep, or awake, on this, or that side lye?
Even what I will, 'tis all one in the case,
For no invention can procure me ease,
Speaking, and silence is to me one thing,
For neither of 'em can me comfort bring.
My self, so smoothly in anothers case,
Since I to others can such comfort speak,
Why to my self do I not comfort take?
Why here it is now, thus 'tis to be vex't
116
In mind, and body: here's the difference
Betwixt a bare Opinion, and Sense.
These are your thoughts now, and you do suppose
Your wretched Friend to be as one of those
Who can give others good advice, and show
Where they may find true comfort in their wo.
Can others teach, when with sad losses cross'd
And 'mongst the billows of affliction toss'd:
How they should inconvenience avoid,
And not be with their miseries annoy'd:
What Sail they should in such a Tempest bear
Whot solid Course, in prudence, they should steer
To save their lives, and souls: but change the case,
And let such men themselves be in distress.
Let but afflictions waves upon them break,
And to themselves they can no council take,
But tye up th'helm, and let all go to wrack.
This you imagine, 'cause you have no sense
Of those sad pains, which I do feel, and thence
Conclude that when you hear me thus complain
I am the most unduiiful of men,
Who knowing better things do willfully
Against my knowledge sin, and foolishly
Behave my self in misery like those
Who nothing understand. Thus you suppose
Thus you conclude, and so by consequence
Return me guilty of impatience.
But pray, my friends, observe, I said indeed,
Thus I could do, thus, were you in my stead,
And I, as ye are, from afflictions freed.
But, O there's great, and vast disparity
Betwixt the thought, and sense of misery!
As much as is betwixt a real thing,
And that in fancy, or a suffering
True blowes of Death, and those upon a Stage:
Or twixt a real tempest, where the rage
Of cruel waves some hundreds doth devour,
Where dying men with hideous cries out-roar
The boistrous noise, which wind, and seas afford,
And such a thing in Picture: in a word
Unlesse you felt those sorrows reallie
Which I do feel, and your prosperitie
Were to affliction turn'd: unless your sense
Were with such things acquaint, no inference
From suppositions; no Imagination
Of what they are, by Picture, or Relation,
No Map of such, though ne'r so plain, and fair
Can make you understand, what sorrows are.
All those Ideas, wichh your brain doth frame,
When you with pleasure of affliction dream:
Are but weak notions, mean conceptions,
And best of 'em but faint Comparisons,
By which you cannot know what I endure,
117
Unlesse, as you see mine, your case be this,
You cannot fancy what affliction is.
But I do know, alace I know too well
What only you conceive, but I do feel.
I am the man have seen, and can declare
By sad experience what afflictions are.
I am the man that have affliction seen
In its true colours, and have sadly been
Oppress'd with grief I am the man that knows
Beyond all others, true, and real woes.
Those wasting sighs, in which insensibly,
The Soul out of its Earthly Cage doth fly:
Those heavy groans, which Life can hardly bear,
To me, are become so familiar,
As when a few another man would kill,
I can emit a thousand, when I will,
And yet not dye. Those hateful passages
Of humane Life, which make our woes encreasse,
Fraud, and oppression, hard for any man
T'endure, are become my quotidian.
Tears from my eyes incessantly do flow,
As when in Summer heaps of melted Snow
Falls from the Mountains, with such violence,
As I have almost lost my optick sense,
Yet still I live: my Body is o're grown,
With putred sores, my Spirit overflown,
With seas of grief, yet am I not undone.
What shall I do then, shall I live, or dye,
Sleep, or awake, on this, or that side lye?
Even what I will, 'tis all one in the case,
For no invention can procure me ease,
Speaking, and silence is to me one thing,
For neither of 'em can me comfort bring.
Comfort, alace, a thing so strange to me,
I cannot fancy what it is; nor see
From whence it should proceed: I scarce can dream
Of such a thing, I hardly know its name.
Now pray where is this comfort to be had?
Is it in commerce? do men make a trade
In venting of it? is it to be sold?
Can it be had for Money, or for Gold?
If so, then you, my friends, may comfort buy,
You may acquire it by your Means, not I,
Who stripp'd of all, here a poor Beggarly.
Poor, and diseas'd, o're burdened with wrath,
Depress'd with sorrow, wearied to the death,
With heavy loads of grief.—I faint,—I faint;
My spirits now I hope are fully spent.
O let me dy, since God has dissipat
The hopes of both my Family, and Estate.
Since thou hast scattered both my Means, and Race,
And brought me in contempt, and sad disgrace,
With all my friends; who will not own me more,
Nor converse with me as they did before,
Because the hand of God hath made me poor.
Since thou hast made me odious to all,
And none do pity, or lament my fall:
But even, my friends, men, who I thought had known
My temper, and at such time would ha' shown
Their kindness to me in my sad distresse,
By their proud words afford me nothing lesse.
Nay those whom blood to me had rendred dear,
Insult upon my woes, and now appear
More fierce, more cruel, more in Rancour di'd,
Than all my prating Enimies beside.
Then let me die! at length, Lord, let me die,
That I may here shut up the History,
Of a most miserable Life, and close
In my last Groan, the Fable of my woes.
I cannot fancy what it is; nor see
From whence it should proceed: I scarce can dream
Of such a thing, I hardly know its name.
Now pray where is this comfort to be had?
Is it in commerce? do men make a trade
In venting of it? is it to be sold?
Can it be had for Money, or for Gold?
If so, then you, my friends, may comfort buy,
You may acquire it by your Means, not I,
Who stripp'd of all, here a poor Beggarly.
Poor, and diseas'd, o're burdened with wrath,
Depress'd with sorrow, wearied to the death,
With heavy loads of grief.—I faint,—I faint;
My spirits now I hope are fully spent.
O let me dy, since God has dissipat
The hopes of both my Family, and Estate.
Since thou hast scattered both my Means, and Race,
And brought me in contempt, and sad disgrace,
118
Nor converse with me as they did before,
Because the hand of God hath made me poor.
Since thou hast made me odious to all,
And none do pity, or lament my fall:
But even, my friends, men, who I thought had known
My temper, and at such time would ha' shown
Their kindness to me in my sad distresse,
By their proud words afford me nothing lesse.
Nay those whom blood to me had rendred dear,
Insult upon my woes, and now appear
More fierce, more cruel, more in Rancour di'd,
Than all my prating Enimies beside.
Then let me die! at length, Lord, let me die,
That I may here shut up the History,
Of a most miserable Life, and close
In my last Groan, the Fable of my woes.
For why, Lord, should I any longer see
The light of Heaven, who am condemn'd by thee!
No, with my Mantle wrapp'd about my head,
Let me be to the place of dying led;
Where I may quicklie find what I desire,
And in the twinkling of an eye expire.
Expire? O happie word! to ease my pain,
Let me but once repeat that word again:
Expire!—alace I fear that favour yet
Will not be granted. I must longer wait
For that last blow: and in this panting breath
Still live, yet feel the horrid pains of Death.
A thing that should not live, yet cannot die;
Lord what a goodly spectacle am I!
Poor, Lean, Diseas'd, Sun-dry'd, and Withered,
My Face with Wrinkles deeply furrowed,
All these do shew it is not fit that I
Should live, and yet I'm not allow'd to die.
The light of Heaven, who am condemn'd by thee!
No, with my Mantle wrapp'd about my head,
Let me be to the place of dying led;
Where I may quicklie find what I desire,
And in the twinkling of an eye expire.
Expire? O happie word! to ease my pain,
Let me but once repeat that word again:
Expire!—alace I fear that favour yet
Will not be granted. I must longer wait
For that last blow: and in this panting breath
Still live, yet feel the horrid pains of Death.
A thing that should not live, yet cannot die;
Lord what a goodly spectacle am I!
Poor, Lean, Diseas'd, Sun-dry'd, and Withered,
My Face with Wrinkles deeply furrowed,
All these do shew it is not fit that I
Should live, and yet I'm not allow'd to die.
Was ever man in such a dismal case?
Was ever mortal tortured thus? alace
I'm torn to pieces, by the Divine Wrath,
And yet deny'd the Liberty of Death.
I'm become odious in Gods sight, he hates
The verie thoughts of me, he meanlie rates
All my Pretensions: nay he frowns upon me,
Denies his presence, will hear no more on me.
As a notorious Traitor I am us'd,
The priviledge of council is refus'd,
To me, and which is worse, oblig'd down right
To answer my Inditement, without sight.
And 'cause th'Almighty doth me thus despise,
My Enemies in wrath against me rise,
They rise against me with great Violence,
And with sharp words assault my innocence.
With grinding teeth, and eyes all in a flame,
They stare about them, when they hear my name,
With such disdain they do upon me smile,
As if forsooth it were not worth their while
To notice such as I appear to be,
Or eye such a poor wretched soul as me.
Was ever mortal tortured thus? alace
I'm torn to pieces, by the Divine Wrath,
And yet deny'd the Liberty of Death.
I'm become odious in Gods sight, he hates
The verie thoughts of me, he meanlie rates
All my Pretensions: nay he frowns upon me,
Denies his presence, will hear no more on me.
As a notorious Traitor I am us'd,
The priviledge of council is refus'd,
To me, and which is worse, oblig'd down right
To answer my Inditement, without sight.
And 'cause th'Almighty doth me thus despise,
My Enemies in wrath against me rise,
They rise against me with great Violence,
And with sharp words assault my innocence.
With grinding teeth, and eyes all in a flame,
They stare about them, when they hear my name,
With such disdain they do upon me smile,
119
To notice such as I appear to be,
Or eye such a poor wretched soul as me.
With mouths wide open they upon me gape
As if they'd me devour, and seem to ape
The Hectors of the Ocean, when they chase
With open mouths before them through the seas
Shoals of small Fishes; and most bitterly
With Tongues, like Scorpions, they continually
Do whip my Soul: they whisper to each other
They go aside, and there consult together
How they may vex me further: they devise
With all their force, and art that in them lies
How to undo me, and bring evidence,
T'invalidat my Plea of Innocence.
As if they'd me devour, and seem to ape
The Hectors of the Ocean, when they chase
With open mouths before them through the seas
Shoals of small Fishes; and most bitterly
With Tongues, like Scorpions, they continually
Do whip my Soul: they whisper to each other
They go aside, and there consult together
How they may vex me further: they devise
With all their force, and art that in them lies
How to undo me, and bring evidence,
T'invalidat my Plea of Innocence.
Now it appears alace that God indeed
Has me rejected, and delivered
Me as a slave into the hands of those
Who are both his, and my declared foes.
Has me rejected, and delivered
Me as a slave into the hands of those
Who are both his, and my declared foes.
I was in Wealth, and Honour, and Esteem,
In great respect, of all who heard my name:
I knew what plentie was, I liv'd at ease;
And no cross-dealings did disturb my peace,
Now I am poor, now I am desolate,
And forfeit both of Honour, and Estate.
Now I am pinch'd, and in great Penury,
Now I am poor, and on the Dung-hill lie,
Like an old useless Jade expos'd to die.
The Wrath of God has shattered me to pieces,
And yet that wrath against me still encreases.
In great respect, of all who heard my name:
I knew what plentie was, I liv'd at ease;
And no cross-dealings did disturb my peace,
Now I am poor, now I am desolate,
And forfeit both of Honour, and Estate.
Now I am pinch'd, and in great Penury,
Now I am poor, and on the Dung-hill lie,
Like an old useless Jade expos'd to die.
The Wrath of God has shattered me to pieces,
And yet that wrath against me still encreases.
As Grim-fac'd Archers, Executioners
Of earthlie justice do themselves disperse
In quest of Malefactors; beat the Woods,
Willowes, and Reeds, that grow among the Floods,
Survey the Mountains, and the Champaign Ground,
And give not over, while their prey be found,
So have Gods Archers compass'd me around.
I'm now their Captive, by those I am led
Whether they list, pinion'd, and fettered.
They spare me not, their fury knows no bounds,
They've made me all a Masse of Blood, and Wounds.
Of earthlie justice do themselves disperse
In quest of Malefactors; beat the Woods,
Willowes, and Reeds, that grow among the Floods,
Survey the Mountains, and the Champaign Ground,
And give not over, while their prey be found,
So have Gods Archers compass'd me around.
I'm now their Captive, by those I am led
Whether they list, pinion'd, and fettered.
They spare me not, their fury knows no bounds,
They've made me all a Masse of Blood, and Wounds.
With heavy stroaks, and blows ingeminat,
I'm broke to pieces: I'm excoriat,
By Furrowing Stripes: such cruel usage sure
Never yet breathing Mortal did endure.
As a fierce Giant, with his monstrous Spear,
Banded, and pointed, beyond ordinar,
With violence, upon his foe doth run,
So by the strength of God I am undone.
I'm broke to pieces: I'm excoriat,
By Furrowing Stripes: such cruel usage sure
Never yet breathing Mortal did endure.
As a fierce Giant, with his monstrous Spear,
Banded, and pointed, beyond ordinar,
With violence, upon his foe doth run,
So by the strength of God I am undone.
For this cause I upon my Skin have sow'd
A doleful Sack-cloath, and my head have bow'd
Low to the ground; for this cause I lament,
For this cause I my cloaths have torn, and rent,
My head have shav'd, and in this sad Estate,
Each minut I my Threnody repeat.
A doleful Sack-cloath, and my head have bow'd
Low to the ground; for this cause I lament,
For this cause I my cloaths have torn, and rent,
My head have shav'd, and in this sad Estate,
120
My face with weeping is all withered,
Death o're my eyes its coverlet hath spread.
The pretty guardians, which did formerly
Protect my wearied eyes from injury,
Now weak, and sore, with watching overspent.
And by uninterrupted weeping faint,
Have quite their stations, and take no more care
Of their poor charge, but now quite uselesse are.
Death o're my eyes its coverlet hath spread.
The pretty guardians, which did formerly
Protect my wearied eyes from injury,
Now weak, and sore, with watching overspent.
And by uninterrupted weeping faint,
Have quite their stations, and take no more care
Of their poor charge, but now quite uselesse are.
O let me once again then but demand
Of my great God, that I may understand
From him what is the cause of all my woe;
Just King of Heavens!—why am I punish'd so.
I am not conscious of such horrid guilt,
As may deserve this: do then, what thou wilt;
Cut me to pieces, let my flesh be thrown
To Dogs for food; my bones dispers'd, and sow'n
Upon the highwayes, that each Passenger,
Who travels on the Road, may, without care,
Trample upon them; yet I still must cry
O my good God, with thy good liberty,
I bear a heart, that doth entirely love
Its great Creator: and each hour doth prove
By fervent prayer, with what alacrity
It doth perform all works of piety;
And is not guilty of hypocrisie.
Of my great God, that I may understand
From him what is the cause of all my woe;
Just King of Heavens!—why am I punish'd so.
I am not conscious of such horrid guilt,
As may deserve this: do then, what thou wilt;
Cut me to pieces, let my flesh be thrown
To Dogs for food; my bones dispers'd, and sow'n
Upon the highwayes, that each Passenger,
Who travels on the Road, may, without care,
Trample upon them; yet I still must cry
O my good God, with thy good liberty,
I bear a heart, that doth entirely love
Its great Creator: and each hour doth prove
By fervent prayer, with what alacrity
It doth perform all works of piety;
And is not guilty of hypocrisie.
O Earth! to Mortals common Source, and Grave!
Who kindly dost all breathlesss dust receive,
If I be such, as men would have me be,
Let my foul blood no shelter find from thee,
But let my Corps expos'd upon the place,
Be to Spectators shown with open face,
That, if I dy so great a Criminal,
As men would have me, I may by all
Voted unworthy of a burial.
Who kindly dost all breathlesss dust receive,
If I be such, as men would have me be,
Let my foul blood no shelter find from thee,
But let my Corps expos'd upon the place,
Be to Spectators shown with open face,
That, if I dy so great a Criminal,
As men would have me, I may by all
Voted unworthy of a burial.
Why be it so then, let me be condemn'd
By man on Earth, let me be thus esteem'd
A lying Rogue, a Hypocrite, a Cheat,
Of Principles false, and adulterat;
Yet the great Judge o'th' World doth know my cause,
And well I hope by tryal of his Laws,
To be acquit, my witnesse is on high,
My Records in the Heavens securely ly:
By those, one day, I hope to make appear,
How from those Crimes I'm innocent, and clear.
By man on Earth, let me be thus esteem'd
A lying Rogue, a Hypocrite, a Cheat,
Of Principles false, and adulterat;
Yet the great Judge o'th' World doth know my cause,
And well I hope by tryal of his Laws,
To be acquit, my witnesse is on high,
My Records in the Heavens securely ly:
By those, one day, I hope to make appear,
How from those Crimes I'm innocent, and clear.
Then to my unkind friends, who on pretence
Of consolation, vent their eloquence,
Against the most unpitied of men,
Accusing me (poor wretch) once, and again,
Present I shall no other answer make,
Then that my God I hope at length will speak,
And from his mouth resolve undoubtedly,
Which of us have most erred, they, or I:
Whilst I my self no other way defend,
But by those tears, which from my eyes descend,
By which to God my cause I recommend.
Of consolation, vent their eloquence,
Against the most unpitied of men,
Accusing me (poor wretch) once, and again,
Present I shall no other answer make,
Then that my God I hope at length will speak,
And from his mouth resolve undoubtedly,
Which of us have most erred, they, or I:
Whilst I my self no other way defend,
But by those tears, which from my eyes descend,
By which to God my cause I recommend.
121
Yet, would to God that one in my estate,
As with his Neighbour, freely might debate
With his Creator: then would I demand
For what sad misdemeanours doth the hand
Of God thus ly upon me? why alace
Am I in such a lamentable case?
As with his Neighbour, freely might debate
With his Creator: then would I demand
For what sad misdemeanours doth the hand
Of God thus ly upon me? why alace
Am I in such a lamentable case?
Is it because the season of my years,
Proper for such afflictions appears:
And that the strength, and vigour of my age,
Seems able with such tortures to engage.
Why be it so:—yet after all—alace,
Me thinks my God should now extend some grace,
And not for ever show an angry face.
Yea sure, me thinks he should some pity have,
Now when I am even stepping to my Grave.
For oh!—
My time appointed quickly shall run out,
My years shall vanish soon, and then I doubt,
Some friend will kindly drop a tear, and mourn
For one, who goes, whence he shall not return.
Proper for such afflictions appears:
And that the strength, and vigour of my age,
Seems able with such tortures to engage.
Why be it so:—yet after all—alace,
Me thinks my God should now extend some grace,
And not for ever show an angry face.
Yea sure, me thinks he should some pity have,
Now when I am even stepping to my Grave.
For oh!—
My time appointed quickly shall run out,
My years shall vanish soon, and then I doubt,
Some friend will kindly drop a tear, and mourn
For one, who goes, whence he shall not return.
Cap. XVII.
My Lungs are wasted, and I find my breath
Is corrupt, and has now the scent of Death.
The current of my Life is now run out,
And, when on all hands I do look about,
I find there's no way how I can escape
The Grave, for every spot of Earth doth gape
For this poor Carrion; and I wish it were
Fairly interr'd, and not i'th' open air
Expos'd, to be the Food, and daily Fare,
Of Beasts, and Birds of prey.—
Is corrupt, and has now the scent of Death.
The current of my Life is now run out,
And, when on all hands I do look about,
I find there's no way how I can escape
The Grave, for every spot of Earth doth gape
For this poor Carrion; and I wish it were
Fairly interr'd, and not i'th' open air
Expos'd, to be the Food, and daily Fare,
Of Beasts, and Birds of prey.—
I drop into the Grave,—I breath with pain,
And nothing of a man doth now remain,
But some small reason, and a voice, that's shrunk
Into the accent of a hollow Trunk.
Yet in this sad condition fain would I
Expect the good hour, wherein I must dye.
I'd fain resign my breath, and trindle hence,
With satisfaction, that my innocence,
Though question'd here, is to my Maker known,
And I must make account to him alone.
Fain would I in the Grave ly down, and rest
My wearied Bones: where I might find at least
After so many pains, and sorrows, ease,
But these men will not let me dy in peace.
For, stead of comfort, in this exigent,
With bitter words, they do my Soul torment.
Were any of those men now in my case,
How would they take it pray? if in their face,
While they were dying, one should them upbraid,
And call them Hypocrites?—I am afraid
For all their fair pretended patience,
Were they but conscious of their innocence,
And in such sad distress, as I am now,
Their warm Religion, and their Morals too,
In such a case, would have enough ado.
To curb just Indignation, which, no doubt,
As well, as mine, would suddainly burst out.
Sure they'd complain, and tax th'Upbraiders too
Of Barbarous, unkind Usage, as I now
Do them for their harsh dealing thus with one,
Whose Innocence even to themselves is known.
For no so Sauvage Nation ever yet
Allowed that dying men at such a rate
Should be insulted, but most courteouslie
Have still indulg'd to such the Libertie
To use their own Devotions, and die,
Yet this to me my unkind Friends deny.
And nothing of a man doth now remain,
But some small reason, and a voice, that's shrunk
Into the accent of a hollow Trunk.
Yet in this sad condition fain would I
Expect the good hour, wherein I must dye.
I'd fain resign my breath, and trindle hence,
With satisfaction, that my innocence,
Though question'd here, is to my Maker known,
And I must make account to him alone.
Fain would I in the Grave ly down, and rest
My wearied Bones: where I might find at least
After so many pains, and sorrows, ease,
But these men will not let me dy in peace.
For, stead of comfort, in this exigent,
122
Were any of those men now in my case,
How would they take it pray? if in their face,
While they were dying, one should them upbraid,
And call them Hypocrites?—I am afraid
For all their fair pretended patience,
Were they but conscious of their innocence,
And in such sad distress, as I am now,
Their warm Religion, and their Morals too,
In such a case, would have enough ado.
To curb just Indignation, which, no doubt,
As well, as mine, would suddainly burst out.
Sure they'd complain, and tax th'Upbraiders too
Of Barbarous, unkind Usage, as I now
Do them for their harsh dealing thus with one,
Whose Innocence even to themselves is known.
For no so Sauvage Nation ever yet
Allowed that dying men at such a rate
Should be insulted, but most courteouslie
Have still indulg'd to such the Libertie
To use their own Devotions, and die,
Yet this to me my unkind Friends deny.
Since things are so, with these I'le no more speak,
But to th'Almighty I'le my speech direct,
I must a little with my God debate,
With my Good God I must the question state:
For I perceive, (let me say what I can)
My case cannot be understood by man.
I will debate with God then. Say, Good Lord,
Wilt thou to me this liberty afford?
Wilt thou with me join issue in the case?
And let us argue frreely, face to face,
As one doth with another here below,
And plead th'affair in open Court, if so,
Be pleas'd to put in surety for that end:
Now who'll bail God, as one would do his Friend?
But to th'Almighty I'le my speech direct,
I must a little with my God debate,
With my Good God I must the question state:
For I perceive, (let me say what I can)
My case cannot be understood by man.
I will debate with God then. Say, Good Lord,
Wilt thou to me this liberty afford?
Wilt thou with me join issue in the case?
And let us argue frreely, face to face,
As one doth with another here below,
And plead th'affair in open Court, if so,
Be pleas'd to put in surety for that end:
Now who'll bail God, as one would do his Friend?
Go to then,—since I must debate my case
With God, who understands it, not with these,
Who neither understands it, nor will be,
(By all that I can speak) inform'd by me.
First then, my God (let these say what they will)
I lay it as a solid Principle,
That, though when sins of wicked men do cry
To Heavens for justice, on whom by, and by
Thou send'st thy numerous Plagues in troops abroad,
And put'st those wretches under thy blackrod:
Yet those are not the only men, whom thou
Appoint't'st for sorrow, but to just men too
Sad tokens are of thy displeasure sent,
By way of Trial, not of Punishment.
For I denie not but Afflictions are
The just rewards of sin, nor will I dare
T'aver the contrair: Yet, O Lord, I know
Oft times thou dost afflict thy own, that so
Thou mayst by humbling of 'em, let them see
How much all Mankind should depend on thee,
Who all things hast created, and can'st send
Judgments, or Mercies, where thou dost intend.
And yet, when thou dost Good Men persecute,
Thou dost not mark them, as (without dispute)
Men who deserv'd such usage at thy hand;
No certainly, for none who understand
The method, which thy Divine Providence
Doth use with men, and what's the difference
Betwixt a Trial, and a Punishment,
Will make up such an unkind Argument,
As these out of my sad afflictions do;
But notwithstanding all my plagues, allow
I am not yet so guilty, as those men
By very Strength of Rhetorick, would fain
Perswade me to believe: whilst they assert
As a firm Axiom, and by rules of art
Argue it boldly,—that no man can be
Afflicted by the hand of God, but he
Whose sins are horrid, and abominable:
A strange opinion! an intolerable,
And impudent assertion, such as none,
Who have regard to their own Souls would own.
With God, who understands it, not with these,
Who neither understands it, nor will be,
(By all that I can speak) inform'd by me.
First then, my God (let these say what they will)
I lay it as a solid Principle,
That, though when sins of wicked men do cry
To Heavens for justice, on whom by, and by
Thou send'st thy numerous Plagues in troops abroad,
And put'st those wretches under thy blackrod:
Yet those are not the only men, whom thou
Appoint't'st for sorrow, but to just men too
Sad tokens are of thy displeasure sent,
By way of Trial, not of Punishment.
For I denie not but Afflictions are
The just rewards of sin, nor will I dare
T'aver the contrair: Yet, O Lord, I know
Oft times thou dost afflict thy own, that so
123
How much all Mankind should depend on thee,
Who all things hast created, and can'st send
Judgments, or Mercies, where thou dost intend.
And yet, when thou dost Good Men persecute,
Thou dost not mark them, as (without dispute)
Men who deserv'd such usage at thy hand;
No certainly, for none who understand
The method, which thy Divine Providence
Doth use with men, and what's the difference
Betwixt a Trial, and a Punishment,
Will make up such an unkind Argument,
As these out of my sad afflictions do;
But notwithstanding all my plagues, allow
I am not yet so guilty, as those men
By very Strength of Rhetorick, would fain
Perswade me to believe: whilst they assert
As a firm Axiom, and by rules of art
Argue it boldly,—that no man can be
Afflicted by the hand of God, but he
Whose sins are horrid, and abominable:
A strange opinion! an intolerable,
And impudent assertion, such as none,
Who have regard to their own Souls would own.
What!—thus to circumscribe th'Almighty God!
As if he should not use his angry rod
On any but his open enimies,
In meer revenge, and not his own chastise,
To keep them in their duty:—this indeed
Is Doctrine no way to be suffered.
Poor inconsiderat Fools! they'l not allow
That priviledge to God, which Mortals do
Freely enjoy, without impediment,
For, should one now retort their argument
Upon themselves, and seriously check
Those knowing persons, when they do correct,
With loving stripes, those of their Family,
Whom they do most esteem: then by, and by
They'd tell us what they do is not revenge,
Hatred, or Wrath, but Love: and yet 'tis strange
They should assert that God afflicteth none
But those he hates—
Thus I perceive then, Lord, th'hast hid from these
The true, and genuine meaning of my case.
As if he should not use his angry rod
On any but his open enimies,
In meer revenge, and not his own chastise,
To keep them in their duty:—this indeed
Is Doctrine no way to be suffered.
Poor inconsiderat Fools! they'l not allow
That priviledge to God, which Mortals do
Freely enjoy, without impediment,
For, should one now retort their argument
Upon themselves, and seriously check
Those knowing persons, when they do correct,
With loving stripes, those of their Family,
Whom they do most esteem: then by, and by
They'd tell us what they do is not revenge,
Hatred, or Wrath, but Love: and yet 'tis strange
They should assert that God afflicteth none
But those he hates—
Thus I perceive then, Lord, th'hast hid from these
The true, and genuine meaning of my case.
But, Lord: I know all comes alike to all,
And thou, in Wisdom, lets thy Judgments fall
On just, and sinful men promiscuously,
And wilt not show the world a reason why
Thou thus dost act: that so both good, and bad
May know thy Mighty Hand, and be afraid
T'incur the hazard of thy hot displeasure,
When thou demonstrates to 'em, with what measure,
Thou fadom'st all mens actions: for, as thou,
Where wrath is merited, wilt not allow
The party punish'd should plead innocent,
And say thou'rt cruel in his punishment,
So, when thou sendst afflictons on the just,
And godly men, who in thy mercy trust,
Thou'lt not permit that any should conclude,
From thence, that such men must be understood
Guilty of all, that's evil: for, if so
The blessed Saints in Heaven might undergo
The censure of the most ungodly men
That ever liv'd on Earth; since it is plain,
None ever such afflictions endur'd,
As those, and yet to say their sins procur'd
All that they suffered, and that all they felt,
Whilst in the land of misery they dwelt.
Was but the product of their faults: and that
Their judgements hardly were proportionat
To their foul Crimes, were inallowable,
Since thou, O Lord, hast made them capable
Of thy eternal favour. Nay this were
To prove Religion were no more but Air,
That none were pious, that no man did call
Upon Gods Name aright, no—none at all:
But that all those goodly Inhabitants
Of Heaven known to us by the name of Saints
Were the meer dregs o'th' World.—
Since in this Earth, they knew no other state
Of life, then what we do commiserat,
Even though deserv'd in any, whom we see
In sad affliction, (though none pity me.)
And thou, in Wisdom, lets thy Judgments fall
On just, and sinful men promiscuously,
And wilt not show the world a reason why
Thou thus dost act: that so both good, and bad
May know thy Mighty Hand, and be afraid
T'incur the hazard of thy hot displeasure,
When thou demonstrates to 'em, with what measure,
Thou fadom'st all mens actions: for, as thou,
Where wrath is merited, wilt not allow
124
And say thou'rt cruel in his punishment,
So, when thou sendst afflictons on the just,
And godly men, who in thy mercy trust,
Thou'lt not permit that any should conclude,
From thence, that such men must be understood
Guilty of all, that's evil: for, if so
The blessed Saints in Heaven might undergo
The censure of the most ungodly men
That ever liv'd on Earth; since it is plain,
None ever such afflictions endur'd,
As those, and yet to say their sins procur'd
All that they suffered, and that all they felt,
Whilst in the land of misery they dwelt.
Was but the product of their faults: and that
Their judgements hardly were proportionat
To their foul Crimes, were inallowable,
Since thou, O Lord, hast made them capable
Of thy eternal favour. Nay this were
To prove Religion were no more but Air,
That none were pious, that no man did call
Upon Gods Name aright, no—none at all:
But that all those goodly Inhabitants
Of Heaven known to us by the name of Saints
Were the meer dregs o'th' World.—
Since in this Earth, they knew no other state
Of life, then what we do commiserat,
Even though deserv'd in any, whom we see
In sad affliction, (though none pity me.)
I do concclude then, 'twere a consequence
Of dangerous import, if we should from thence
Infer that because that good men do endure
Afflictions in this life, that therefore sure
Such men are impious, vile, and execrable,
For shame, let none be so uncharitable,
As to maintain this error.—
For I'm perswaded, Lord, that one may be
Under great troubles, and yet lov'd by thee.
Of dangerous import, if we should from thence
Infer that because that good men do endure
Afflictions in this life, that therefore sure
Such men are impious, vile, and execrable,
For shame, let none be so uncharitable,
As to maintain this error.—
For I'm perswaded, Lord, that one may be
Under great troubles, and yet lov'd by thee.
Next, Lord, I hold it as a rule, that all,
By thy just Statutes are not Criminal,
Who black with sorrow, and o're come with pain,
Of their afflictions modestly complain:
If joint with such complaints they prayers send
To Heavens, and from their hearts do recommend
To thy kind mercy the consideration
Of their estate, and mildly plead compassion.
By thy just Statutes are not Criminal,
Who black with sorrow, and o're come with pain,
Of their afflictions modestly complain:
If joint with such complaints they prayers send
To Heavens, and from their hearts do recommend
To thy kind mercy the consideration
Of their estate, and mildly plead compassion.
Lastly I am perswaded, after all,
That though sad woes, like sheets of Snow should fall
From Heavens upon a man, who puts his trust
In his Creator; yet, like blowing dust,
These clouds of woes shall vanish into air,
And their succeeding life shall look more fair,
Then that in sorrow gloomy did appear.
That though sad woes, like sheets of Snow should fall
From Heavens upon a man, who puts his trust
In his Creator; yet, like blowing dust,
These clouds of woes shall vanish into air,
And their succeeding life shall look more fair,
Then that in sorrow gloomy did appear.
125
These are my principles, good Lord, from whence,
(With thy good leave) I would by consequence
Infer that I'm unjustly tax't by these,
Who call themselves my friends: who proudly raise
Themselves against me, and do argue still,
My numerous sins alone (say what I will)
Have brought upon me all that I endure,
And therefore hold me guilty. and impure.
(With thy good leave) I would by consequence
Infer that I'm unjustly tax't by these,
Who call themselves my friends: who proudly raise
Themselves against me, and do argue still,
My numerous sins alone (say what I will)
Have brought upon me all that I endure,
And therefore hold me guilty. and impure.
Thou, seest then, Lord, how these my case mistake,
Then why should they themselves my Judges make?
Who in their Censures are so partial,
And to their own opinions wedded all,
Me thinks themselves they rather should decline,
Then, by joynt council, cunningly combine,
Under pretence of friendship to encrease
My troubles, by such arguments, as these.
Should they be Judges? they who openly
Do value men by their prosperity:
And look on those, who in afflictions waves
Do swim with pain, as men do look on slaves
Coupled in chains.—
Such flattery our God will not permit
To go unpunish'd, but when he thinks fit,
Upon those flatterers he'll such judgements send,
As in a few dayes space may make an end,
Not only of their persons, but of all,
What these proud fools a memory do call.
Shall all their worldly pageantry deface,
And, in his anger, root out all their Race.
Then why should they themselves my Judges make?
Who in their Censures are so partial,
And to their own opinions wedded all,
Me thinks themselves they rather should decline,
Then, by joynt council, cunningly combine,
Under pretence of friendship to encrease
My troubles, by such arguments, as these.
Should they be Judges? they who openly
Do value men by their prosperity:
And look on those, who in afflictions waves
Do swim with pain, as men do look on slaves
Coupled in chains.—
Such flattery our God will not permit
To go unpunish'd, but when he thinks fit,
Upon those flatterers he'll such judgements send,
As in a few dayes space may make an end,
Not only of their persons, but of all,
What these proud fools a memory do call.
Shall all their worldly pageantry deface,
And, in his anger, root out all their Race.
Now I remember, whilst my sun did shine
In its full Orb, and all things did combine
To make me happy, as a man might be
In this vain world, then would I daily see
My friends, in crouds, within my walls appear
Protesting nothing to them was so dear,
As was my interest, and with cast-up-eyes,
Perswading me that they would sacrifice
Their Means, their Lives, and should occasion call,
To do me service, they would venture all
That men call dear:—I'm become poor of late,
By th'hand of God, I'm become desolat,
With sorrows, on all hands, environed,
And all my noon-tide friends are vanished.
My life is chang'd, and all my friends are gone.
And, in distresse I'm visited by none,
But three, whose visits, I may say have been
The worst affliction I have ever seen.
(For truly I esteem those Visitants
No Comforters, but subtile Disputants)
Men, who retain no pity in their hearts,
But would on this occasion, show their parts
On me, in this deplorable estate,
Not meaning to condole, but to debate.
Would they had spar'd their unkind kindnesse too
And left me here as well as others do,
Then had I been more easy, than I'm now.
For all my other friends, those Parasites,
Those Cuckows of my life, those Hypocrites,
That gull the World with a fair pretence
Of Love, and Friendship are all marched hence.
Nay would their venimous malice rested there.
And, as they've quit me, so they would forbear
The mention of my name; and when they meet
At their Festivals, would they would forget
That ever such a thing was born, as I am,
Would that some other Subject might supply 'm
With new Discourse, and I had Liberty
At least, in dark oblivion here to die.
In its full Orb, and all things did combine
To make me happy, as a man might be
In this vain world, then would I daily see
My friends, in crouds, within my walls appear
Protesting nothing to them was so dear,
As was my interest, and with cast-up-eyes,
Perswading me that they would sacrifice
Their Means, their Lives, and should occasion call,
To do me service, they would venture all
That men call dear:—I'm become poor of late,
By th'hand of God, I'm become desolat,
With sorrows, on all hands, environed,
And all my noon-tide friends are vanished.
My life is chang'd, and all my friends are gone.
And, in distresse I'm visited by none,
But three, whose visits, I may say have been
The worst affliction I have ever seen.
(For truly I esteem those Visitants
No Comforters, but subtile Disputants)
Men, who retain no pity in their hearts,
But would on this occasion, show their parts
On me, in this deplorable estate,
Not meaning to condole, but to debate.
126
And left me here as well as others do,
Then had I been more easy, than I'm now.
For all my other friends, those Parasites,
Those Cuckows of my life, those Hypocrites,
That gull the World with a fair pretence
Of Love, and Friendship are all marched hence.
Nay would their venimous malice rested there.
And, as they've quit me, so they would forbear
The mention of my name; and when they meet
At their Festivals, would they would forget
That ever such a thing was born, as I am,
Would that some other Subject might supply 'm
With new Discourse, and I had Liberty
At least, in dark oblivion here to die.
But O I'm now become the Table-talk
Of all my friends, nay all men, when they walk
In Streets, or Fields, of my afflictions prate,
And speak, with pleasure, of my sad estate.
I'm now the rabbles talk at Wakes and Faires,
My present sorrows sounding in their Ears,
Like a melodious Consort, and (God knows)
Hearing of my calamities, and Woes,
Those Clowns are no less pleas'd, than when they hear
The noise of Tabret, Fife, or Dulcimer.
Nay so my foes have now their malice spread,
As those, who never knew me, never had
Acquaintance of me, when they hear my name
So much bespattered by a foul-mouth'd fame,
Admire what curs'd, and wicked thing I am.
Of all my friends, nay all men, when they walk
In Streets, or Fields, of my afflictions prate,
And speak, with pleasure, of my sad estate.
I'm now the rabbles talk at Wakes and Faires,
My present sorrows sounding in their Ears,
Like a melodious Consort, and (God knows)
Hearing of my calamities, and Woes,
Those Clowns are no less pleas'd, than when they hear
The noise of Tabret, Fife, or Dulcimer.
Nay so my foes have now their malice spread,
As those, who never knew me, never had
Acquaintance of me, when they hear my name
So much bespattered by a foul-mouth'd fame,
Admire what curs'd, and wicked thing I am.
My eyes with weeping for this cause, are dim,
(My heart, with springs of grief swoln to the brim
Both Day, and Night affording new supplies
Of brinish liquors) for, as water rise,
By force of Pump: so from my bursting heart
By force of Sighs, without all help of art
Fresh Streams are suck'd up hourlie, issuing out
Through either eye, as through a Water-spout.
By this uninterrupting Flux, at length
With sorrows I perceive my former Strength
Is quite exhausted, and I now appear
Like a meer shadow, or a Damp of air.
(My heart, with springs of grief swoln to the brim
Both Day, and Night affording new supplies
Of brinish liquors) for, as water rise,
By force of Pump: so from my bursting heart
By force of Sighs, without all help of art
Fresh Streams are suck'd up hourlie, issuing out
Through either eye, as through a Water-spout.
By this uninterrupting Flux, at length
With sorrows I perceive my former Strength
Is quite exhausted, and I now appear
Like a meer shadow, or a Damp of air.
This, at first view, may all good men surprize,
To see a man plung'd in such miseries,
A man, who thinks at least God doth not hate
His Person, nor doth so excruciat
Him, as a Malefactor, though he knows
That all his sorrows, all his pains, and woes
Are but his Merits: these my sufferings
May possibly occasion murmurings
Amongst the best of men, when they perceive
My sad condition (which though some believe
To be the product of my sins, yet these
Know better things) and viewing of my case,
Upon their own Deportment, do reflect,
And, with themselves think what they may expect,
When such as I, who hopes all don't maintain,
That in Gods sight I am the worst of men,
Am so unkindlie us'd, but when they check
Their errors, and begin to recollect
Their minds, and fall to solid Contemplations,
Of the true Order of Gods Dispensations,
Then do they understand that God doth try
His own by so exact a scrutiny,
And, with such Judgments doth their lives infest,
As puts their patience to the utmost test:
Yet still he loves them, and will not permit
The Floods to rise higher than he thinks fit,
Because good men, men just and innocent
Do at his hands deserve no punishment.
But for the couz'ning Hypocrite, sad wrath
Shall rain upon him; he shall wish for Death,
But shall not find it, and his miseries
Shall be augmented by his unheard cries.
Because God knows those men the World do cheat
With a fair show of zeal, and shreudly treat
The just, and upright, whilst they would maintain
They were themselves the only pious men.
Then good men their afflictions shall forget,
When they see me, whom God doth truly hate,
So justly punish'd, men, who have provok't
By Villany, Fraud, and Oppression cloak't
With piety, one, that will not be mock't.
To see a man plung'd in such miseries,
A man, who thinks at least God doth not hate
His Person, nor doth so excruciat
Him, as a Malefactor, though he knows
That all his sorrows, all his pains, and woes
Are but his Merits: these my sufferings
May possibly occasion murmurings
Amongst the best of men, when they perceive
My sad condition (which though some believe
To be the product of my sins, yet these
Know better things) and viewing of my case,
127
And, with themselves think what they may expect,
When such as I, who hopes all don't maintain,
That in Gods sight I am the worst of men,
Am so unkindlie us'd, but when they check
Their errors, and begin to recollect
Their minds, and fall to solid Contemplations,
Of the true Order of Gods Dispensations,
Then do they understand that God doth try
His own by so exact a scrutiny,
And, with such Judgments doth their lives infest,
As puts their patience to the utmost test:
Yet still he loves them, and will not permit
The Floods to rise higher than he thinks fit,
Because good men, men just and innocent
Do at his hands deserve no punishment.
But for the couz'ning Hypocrite, sad wrath
Shall rain upon him; he shall wish for Death,
But shall not find it, and his miseries
Shall be augmented by his unheard cries.
Because God knows those men the World do cheat
With a fair show of zeal, and shreudly treat
The just, and upright, whilst they would maintain
They were themselves the only pious men.
Then good men their afflictions shall forget,
When they see me, whom God doth truly hate,
So justly punish'd, men, who have provok't
By Villany, Fraud, and Oppression cloak't
With piety, one, that will not be mock't.
Then shall the righteous men new Spirits take
When they consider how God doth correct
The good, but utterly destroys the bad,
And makes their case irreparably sad.
Then though in dreadful misery, and pain,
Yet shall they no more of their God complain,
Then will a Patient, who doth understand
His good Phisician will not set his hand
To any Order, or, for any bribe,
Be hired by his En'mies to prescribe
Such Medicines to him, but what he knows,
(At least he doth, by rules of art, suppose)
Are for his Health: so those Religious Men
In the most boiling Calenture of pain,
Shall not repine, but, with great constancy
Endure all the assaults of misery,
And still hold bravely out, untill at length,
God shall relieve them, and renew their strength.
When they consider how God doth correct
The good, but utterly destroys the bad,
And makes their case irreparably sad.
Then though in dreadful misery, and pain,
Yet shall they no more of their God complain,
Then will a Patient, who doth understand
His good Phisician will not set his hand
To any Order, or, for any bribe,
Be hired by his En'mies to prescribe
Such Medicines to him, but what he knows,
(At least he doth, by rules of art, suppose)
Are for his Health: so those Religious Men
In the most boiling Calenture of pain,
Shall not repine, but, with great constancy
Endure all the assaults of misery,
And still hold bravely out, untill at length,
God shall relieve them, and renew their strength.
And now, my friends, though I design'd no more
To argue with you, as I did before.
Yet on this subject I cannot forbear
But once again must in all calmness here
Complain of you, who so mistake my case,
And, 'cause afflicted, tell me in my face,
I'm a curs'd Person, a vile Reprobat,
One, whom his Maker doth abhor, and hate:
When you your selves, for shame will not deny,
But that th'Almighty, when he means to try
The faith of those he loves, will exercise
Such with unheard of woes, and miseries;
That when such fiery tryal they endure
With patience, they may become more pure
Then formerly, and (as your selves aver)
After such sufferings, in Gods sight appear
More just, and righteous, then they were before,
Like Gold refin'd in Furnace o're, and o're.
To argue with you, as I did before.
Yet on this subject I cannot forbear
But once again must in all calmness here
Complain of you, who so mistake my case,
And, 'cause afflicted, tell me in my face,
I'm a curs'd Person, a vile Reprobat,
128
When you your selves, for shame will not deny,
But that th'Almighty, when he means to try
The faith of those he loves, will exercise
Such with unheard of woes, and miseries;
That when such fiery tryal they endure
With patience, they may become more pure
Then formerly, and (as your selves aver)
After such sufferings, in Gods sight appear
More just, and righteous, then they were before,
Like Gold refin'd in Furnace o're, and o're.
But, since you've taken up an argument,
To prove that no man can be innocent.
Who is afflicted, but that only those,
Whose sins do cry for judgements suffer woes:
You do resolve, although your reasons were
Ill founded, and of no more weight then air,
Yet still your reputation to maintain,
By a continued reasoning, and vain
Expressing of your Parts, albeit you know
You are i'th' wrong, yet you will have it so;
Because you are wisemen, and cannot err,
Whereas, my friends, by what doth yet appear,
(I know not what you wit, and prudence call)
But, truth, I find none wise amongst you all.
To prove that no man can be innocent.
Who is afflicted, but that only those,
Whose sins do cry for judgements suffer woes:
You do resolve, although your reasons were
Ill founded, and of no more weight then air,
Yet still your reputation to maintain,
By a continued reasoning, and vain
Expressing of your Parts, albeit you know
You are i'th' wrong, yet you will have it so;
Because you are wisemen, and cannot err,
Whereas, my friends, by what doth yet appear,
(I know not what you wit, and prudence call)
But, truth, I find none wise amongst you all.
But O I will no more expostulat
With men, who love to entertain debate,
On every triffle, and in foolish pride,
Think they know more, than all mankind beside.
No—such men are too wise for me, and I
Now am not for debates:—I dy,—I dy,
My days are spent, all my designs are quash'd,
My poor endeavours are to pieces dash'd.
With men, who love to entertain debate,
On every triffle, and in foolish pride,
Think they know more, than all mankind beside.
No—such men are too wise for me, and I
Now am not for debates:—I dy,—I dy,
My days are spent, all my designs are quash'd,
My poor endeavours are to pieces dash'd.
My thoughts are now so with afflictions clouded,
My judgement with the vail of woes so shrowded,
As now my sad confusion I see,
When things most clear are dubious to me.
Then why should I my time in arguing wast?
My small time, that remains? my days are past,
Then why should I desire to live, when those,
From whom, in this sad state, I did suppose
I might find comfort, by their tart discourse,
Have rendred my condition ten times worse,
Then when they found me:—O had not these men
Come hither, sure I had been out of pain,
Before this time, for, in my solitude,
I had been stiffled by the multitude
Of wasting sighs, and groans:—sure I had dy'd,
And been so happy too, as none had spy'd
My face, when dying, none had interpos'd
Themselves 'twixt me, and death, no hand had clos'd
My glaring eyes: none had officiously
Impeded me, when I design'd to dy.
But in some silent hour, unseen, unknown,
Unheard, uninterrupted, all alone,
As one, that falls asleep I had expir'd,
And gently from the Worlds view retir'd.
—How sweetly had I dy'd, how quietly
Had I been shiffled in eternity,
Betwixt the utmost gasp of parting breath,
And the chill blowing of approaching death.
My wearied soul, ere now, from whence it came,
In the vehicle of a pleasant dream,
Had been transported: and my Body laid
In the cold Ground had its last tribute pay'd.
My judgement with the vail of woes so shrowded,
As now my sad confusion I see,
When things most clear are dubious to me.
Then why should I my time in arguing wast?
My small time, that remains? my days are past,
Then why should I desire to live, when those,
From whom, in this sad state, I did suppose
I might find comfort, by their tart discourse,
Have rendred my condition ten times worse,
Then when they found me:—O had not these men
Come hither, sure I had been out of pain,
Before this time, for, in my solitude,
I had been stiffled by the multitude
Of wasting sighs, and groans:—sure I had dy'd,
And been so happy too, as none had spy'd
My face, when dying, none had interpos'd
Themselves 'twixt me, and death, no hand had clos'd
My glaring eyes: none had officiously
Impeded me, when I design'd to dy.
But in some silent hour, unseen, unknown,
129
As one, that falls asleep I had expir'd,
And gently from the Worlds view retir'd.
—How sweetly had I dy'd, how quietly
Had I been shiffled in eternity,
Betwixt the utmost gasp of parting breath,
And the chill blowing of approaching death.
My wearied soul, ere now, from whence it came,
In the vehicle of a pleasant dream,
Had been transported: and my Body laid
In the cold Ground had its last tribute pay'd.
For, though I with some reason hope, that I
May see my sun return before I dy.
And though I fancy to my self that yet,
The time may come, in which I may forget
All these afflictions, which I now sustain,
And no more of consuming want complain.
The time may come, in which my Body may
In its own sphere its former strength display;
And this poor soul, which now with heavy groans,
And floods of tears, its miseries bemoans,
May from the Dung-hill yet be elevate,
And so restored to its former state.
May see my sun return before I dy.
And though I fancy to my self that yet,
The time may come, in which I may forget
All these afflictions, which I now sustain,
And no more of consuming want complain.
The time may come, in which my Body may
In its own sphere its former strength display;
And this poor soul, which now with heavy groans,
And floods of tears, its miseries bemoans,
May from the Dung-hill yet be elevate,
And so restored to its former state.
Yet to what purpose all these hopes! alace
To what end serve those fair appearances!
Those aery expectations, which uphold
The drooping spirits, of both young, and old.
Those pleasing notions, by which we deceive
Our lingring hours, and make our selves believe
We may, when vapours of the night are gone,
Yet view our sun in its full horizon.
That smiling prospect of our future blisse,
Which for some time, allays our grievances.
That painted idol, in whose downy lap,
Our wearied sorrows sometime take a nap:
For what do all those serve, when after all,
Death at our doors doth peremptorly call,
—To Grave,—to Grave—make haste.—my hour draws on,
Dispatch—dispatch—up—I most wait on none,
Bestir your selves,—'tis high time to be gone.
To what end serve those fair appearances!
Those aery expectations, which uphold
The drooping spirits, of both young, and old.
Those pleasing notions, by which we deceive
Our lingring hours, and make our selves believe
We may, when vapours of the night are gone,
Yet view our sun in its full horizon.
That smiling prospect of our future blisse,
Which for some time, allays our grievances.
That painted idol, in whose downy lap,
Our wearied sorrows sometime take a nap:
For what do all those serve, when after all,
Death at our doors doth peremptorly call,
—To Grave,—to Grave—make haste.—my hour draws on,
Dispatch—dispatch—up—I most wait on none,
Bestir your selves,—'tis high time to be gone.
Then where are all our hopes! where all our joys,
And pleasures which did here make so much noise!
When that sad Summons in our ears doth sound,
Ah where is then our Life-guard to be found?
Those Champions of the World! I doubt they are,
By that time bravely vanish'd into Air.
And pleasures which did here make so much noise!
When that sad Summons in our ears doth sound,
Ah where is then our Life-guard to be found?
Those Champions of the World! I doubt they are,
By that time bravely vanish'd into Air.
Away all foolish hopes, then, for I know,
I know this Body to the Grave must go,
And after all those mournful passages,
I know the Grave must be my dwelling place.
Where in close darknesse, and long night I must
Attend, until my Soul return in Dust.
I know this Body to the Grave must go,
And after all those mournful passages,
I know the Grave must be my dwelling place.
Where in close darknesse, and long night I must
Attend, until my Soul return in Dust.
And when I there have fix'd my habitation,
I shall take pleasure in the contemplation
Of that dark subterraneous Soil, and strive
To learn more there, than when I was alive
On earth: there I shall quicklie know what all
Which here we honour, Riches, Beauty call,
Strength, Learning, Judgment, Worldlie Policy,
With all the Product of Mortality,
Do in those dismal Regions signify.
There, there I fear I soon shall learn to know
There is no difference betwixt High, and Low:
Betwixt the Rich, and Poor, the Strong, and Weak,
But there all of 'em the same figure make.
I shall perceive that all those qualities,
Which we esteem in life, afford no price
Amongst th'inhabitants of these Provinces,
Who barter nothing, but for Species
Of simple bodies void of cost, or art
Do only trade, and, in return, impart
Dire Putrifaction, pestilentious Vapours,
Thick, rotten air, that would extinguish Tapers,
Black Sculls, dry Bones, with Matter purulent,
O goodly Trade!—O Wares most excellent!
Yet these are th'only Product of the Grave,
These, these are all, which, in return we have
For bodies of the goodliest Form, and Shape,
For stately Bodies, which no art can ape.
How many healthful bodies, in their prime,
Are hurried hourly hence, by pruning time,
To Deaths Plantations: where that of a King,
And that of a poor Clown is all one thing.
That in its youth, and that with age consum'd,
That wrapp'd up in its rags, and that perfum'd
With Aromatick Odours. Nay, although
To coasts of grave those latter will not go,
But elsewhere trade, and brag much of their gain,
How free from Putrifaction they remain
By trading to deep Caverns, under ground,
Where putrifying moisture is not found:
Where by the help of Powders, Spices, Oyles,
With other rich Ingredients (the Spoiles
Of some fair Provinces) they do endeavour,
To keep their figure under ground, for ever,
Yet at long run, their trading doth amount
To the same Profit, to the same account,
As do all others: for, in sober sense,
I can indeed perceive no difference,
Betwixt a Body, that enbalm'd doth ly,
In a Lead Coffin, wrapp'd up decently,
In costly Wax-cloathes, Bowell'd, and perfum'd,
And that, which with a tabid ill consum'd,
Putrid, and withered under ground doth rest
In a poor Wooden Coffin: for, at best,
Both are but food for Vermine: only this,
(As those, who live in open Villages,
Are by th'Invaders sooner over-run,
Brought in Subjection, plundred, and undone
Than those in Garisons) doth sooner feed
Those hungry insects, than that wrapp'd in Lead.
But even that too to wasting time, at length
Is forc'd to yeeld, for all its formal Strength,
And the poor Carion which it self did trust
To those firm Walls becomes at length all Dust.
As well as that, which in the open Grave
Was sooner eat up: seing all things have
Their own duration, and their period
Set by th'appointment of th'Almighty God.
I shall take pleasure in the contemplation
130
To learn more there, than when I was alive
On earth: there I shall quicklie know what all
Which here we honour, Riches, Beauty call,
Strength, Learning, Judgment, Worldlie Policy,
With all the Product of Mortality,
Do in those dismal Regions signify.
There, there I fear I soon shall learn to know
There is no difference betwixt High, and Low:
Betwixt the Rich, and Poor, the Strong, and Weak,
But there all of 'em the same figure make.
I shall perceive that all those qualities,
Which we esteem in life, afford no price
Amongst th'inhabitants of these Provinces,
Who barter nothing, but for Species
Of simple bodies void of cost, or art
Do only trade, and, in return, impart
Dire Putrifaction, pestilentious Vapours,
Thick, rotten air, that would extinguish Tapers,
Black Sculls, dry Bones, with Matter purulent,
O goodly Trade!—O Wares most excellent!
Yet these are th'only Product of the Grave,
These, these are all, which, in return we have
For bodies of the goodliest Form, and Shape,
For stately Bodies, which no art can ape.
How many healthful bodies, in their prime,
Are hurried hourly hence, by pruning time,
To Deaths Plantations: where that of a King,
And that of a poor Clown is all one thing.
That in its youth, and that with age consum'd,
That wrapp'd up in its rags, and that perfum'd
With Aromatick Odours. Nay, although
To coasts of grave those latter will not go,
But elsewhere trade, and brag much of their gain,
How free from Putrifaction they remain
By trading to deep Caverns, under ground,
Where putrifying moisture is not found:
Where by the help of Powders, Spices, Oyles,
With other rich Ingredients (the Spoiles
Of some fair Provinces) they do endeavour,
To keep their figure under ground, for ever,
Yet at long run, their trading doth amount
To the same Profit, to the same account,
As do all others: for, in sober sense,
I can indeed perceive no difference,
Betwixt a Body, that enbalm'd doth ly,
In a Lead Coffin, wrapp'd up decently,
In costly Wax-cloathes, Bowell'd, and perfum'd,
And that, which with a tabid ill consum'd,
Putrid, and withered under ground doth rest
In a poor Wooden Coffin: for, at best,
Both are but food for Vermine: only this,
(As those, who live in open Villages,
Are by th'Invaders sooner over-run,
131
Than those in Garisons) doth sooner feed
Those hungry insects, than that wrapp'd in Lead.
But even that too to wasting time, at length
Is forc'd to yeeld, for all its formal Strength,
And the poor Carion which it self did trust
To those firm Walls becomes at length all Dust.
As well as that, which in the open Grave
Was sooner eat up: seing all things have
Their own duration, and their period
Set by th'appointment of th'Almighty God.
Now even those under ground, preserv'd, and dry'd
Do become black, and almost petrifi'd,
As we may daily see, without all shapes,
Flat, and deform'd, not so like Men, as Apes,
Nay, in a short time, even to powder too
Their flesh doth crumble.
Whilst their rich Coffines studded every where
With Characters of Gold, do still appear
Sound, and untouch'd, which we should not admire,
If we consider that in Shell entire
A rotten Kirnel oftentimes is found,
So these, by long retention under ground,
Not with such dwellings in their lifetimes us'd,
Though well prepar'd, yet are at length reduc'd
By a contagious, subterraneous air,
To that Condition, in which they appear.
Do become black, and almost petrifi'd,
As we may daily see, without all shapes,
Flat, and deform'd, not so like Men, as Apes,
Nay, in a short time, even to powder too
Their flesh doth crumble.
Whilst their rich Coffines studded every where
With Characters of Gold, do still appear
Sound, and untouch'd, which we should not admire,
If we consider that in Shell entire
A rotten Kirnel oftentimes is found,
So these, by long retention under ground,
Not with such dwellings in their lifetimes us'd,
Though well prepar'd, yet are at length reduc'd
By a contagious, subterraneous air,
To that Condition, in which they appear.
Then O for all this wit, for all this art
How do those bodies to the world impart
As perfect Emblems of lifes vanity,
As any records of Mortality
Afford.—For don't see these withered things,
Those musty reliques of our glorious Kings,
Who, in their lives, with art, and vast expence,
T'express their Grandeur, and magnificence,
Caus'd dig deep Caverns out of solid Rocks,
In which their bodies, as in Marble box,
Might from the rage of insects sleep secure,
And firm to all Eternity endure.
Pray don't we see how those same Corps are made
Through much o'th' world the subject of a trade?
O this vain World! how ridiculous
To see a Princes Body serve the use
Of each Plebeian!—
To see those things, for all their foolish hopes,
Exposed in Apothecaries Shops,
As well as other Drugs, to publick Sale,
And, in small parcels vented by retail!
Alace how mean, and how much differing
From the first project of a Mighty King!
But the great King of Heavens will have it so,
That to proud Mankind he their pride may show,
For as from dust they sprung, again they must
By course of nature, all return to dust.
How do those bodies to the world impart
As perfect Emblems of lifes vanity,
As any records of Mortality
Afford.—For don't see these withered things,
Those musty reliques of our glorious Kings,
Who, in their lives, with art, and vast expence,
T'express their Grandeur, and magnificence,
Caus'd dig deep Caverns out of solid Rocks,
In which their bodies, as in Marble box,
Might from the rage of insects sleep secure,
And firm to all Eternity endure.
Pray don't we see how those same Corps are made
Through much o'th' world the subject of a trade?
O this vain World! how ridiculous
To see a Princes Body serve the use
Of each Plebeian!—
To see those things, for all their foolish hopes,
Exposed in Apothecaries Shops,
As well as other Drugs, to publick Sale,
And, in small parcels vented by retail!
Alace how mean, and how much differing
From the first project of a Mighty King!
But the great King of Heavens will have it so,
That to proud Mankind he their pride may show,
For as from dust they sprung, again they must
By course of nature, all return to dust.
132
'Tis Dust alone, for which those Countreys deal,
The only traffique of that Common-weall;
All things imported these to Dust convert,
And, soon, or late, by a laborious Art,
Expose that Dust to publick view again,
To show corruption only their doth reign.
That Governs all, whilst no eye can perceive
The cunning Manufacture of the Grave.
Let bodies swim in oyl, and carefully
Preserv'd in Glasses, boast Eternity.
Let them be swallowed down, let them be kep't
In Fishes bellies, or confus'dly heap't,
One bove another, in some nasty hole,
Or in small atomes reach from pole to pole,
Or squandred in the bottom of the Seas,
Yet certainly, at length, all by degrees,
Must become Dust, which when I shall perceive,
With men on Earth, I'll no more commerce have,
But keep firm correspondence with the grave,
Corruption I will my Father call,
The Worms my Mother, Brethren, Sisters all.
The only traffique of that Common-weall;
All things imported these to Dust convert,
And, soon, or late, by a laborious Art,
Expose that Dust to publick view again,
To show corruption only their doth reign.
That Governs all, whilst no eye can perceive
The cunning Manufacture of the Grave.
Let bodies swim in oyl, and carefully
Preserv'd in Glasses, boast Eternity.
Let them be swallowed down, let them be kep't
In Fishes bellies, or confus'dly heap't,
One bove another, in some nasty hole,
Or in small atomes reach from pole to pole,
Or squandred in the bottom of the Seas,
Yet certainly, at length, all by degrees,
Must become Dust, which when I shall perceive,
With men on Earth, I'll no more commerce have,
But keep firm correspondence with the grave,
Corruption I will my Father call,
The Worms my Mother, Brethren, Sisters all.
Then where are all my hopes? what look I for
On this side time? why should I labour more,
T'uphold my spirit, in vain expectation,
Of future blisse, and worldy restauration?
When after all I clearly may perceive
There is no hope for me, but in the Grave.
In that dark dwelling I must only rest,
And in Deaths silent shades must only taste,
That, which, on Earth, I never can attain,
That ease, which I from Life expect in vain.
Then farewell all my hopes;—I'll hope no more,
But here all expectations give o're.
Let others hope to see their misery
Turn to a Sun-shine of prosperity.
Let others hope to see their sorrows crown'd
With a fair issue, and themselves abound
In wealth, and peace, my hope is under ground,
Thither,—O thither only will I go,
And in those Regions finish all my woe.
Let others then hope still, when I am gone,
Let others live, I am for death alone.
On this side time? why should I labour more,
T'uphold my spirit, in vain expectation,
Of future blisse, and worldy restauration?
When after all I clearly may perceive
There is no hope for me, but in the Grave.
In that dark dwelling I must only rest,
And in Deaths silent shades must only taste,
That, which, on Earth, I never can attain,
That ease, which I from Life expect in vain.
Then farewell all my hopes;—I'll hope no more,
But here all expectations give o're.
Let others hope to see their misery
Turn to a Sun-shine of prosperity.
Let others hope to see their sorrows crown'd
With a fair issue, and themselves abound
In wealth, and peace, my hope is under ground,
Thither,—O thither only will I go,
And in those Regions finish all my woe.
Let others then hope still, when I am gone,
Let others live, I am for death alone.
All Earthly hopes are vain, and perishing,
The course of life is a meer changeling.
There's nothing here, that we can lasting call,
The joyes of Mankind are meer cous'nage all.
Wit, Honours, Riches, Courage, Titles, Fame,
Are but the hiccups of the Worlds esteem
In which vain man buoy'd up doth proudly swim.
But when the black clouds of adversity
Begin to gather, and the angry Sky
Threatens a storm, then one may plainly see
What timorous, insipid things those be,
Which we so much admire, for, in a tryce,
Those men, with all their glorious qualities,
At first approach of woes begin to shrink,
And then (their Bladders-bursting) down-right sink.
Down to the bottom of the Pit they fall,
Where, in a moment, they are hudled all,
In one great masse of Dust, no difference
'Twixt a poor Beggar and a splendid Prince
There to be seen, but all in heapes do ly
In the large Garner of Mortality,
As all were but one Grain; and there's an end
Of all we speak, act, fancy, or intend.
All the proud Boasters of the World at length,
For all their Riches, Honour, Wit, and Strength,
In which they plac'd their confidence, and trust,
Assemble all together in the Dust.
The course of life is a meer changeling.
There's nothing here, that we can lasting call,
The joyes of Mankind are meer cous'nage all.
Wit, Honours, Riches, Courage, Titles, Fame,
Are but the hiccups of the Worlds esteem
In which vain man buoy'd up doth proudly swim.
But when the black clouds of adversity
Begin to gather, and the angry Sky
Threatens a storm, then one may plainly see
What timorous, insipid things those be,
Which we so much admire, for, in a tryce,
133
At first approach of woes begin to shrink,
And then (their Bladders-bursting) down-right sink.
Down to the bottom of the Pit they fall,
Where, in a moment, they are hudled all,
In one great masse of Dust, no difference
'Twixt a poor Beggar and a splendid Prince
There to be seen, but all in heapes do ly
In the large Garner of Mortality,
As all were but one Grain; and there's an end
Of all we speak, act, fancy, or intend.
All the proud Boasters of the World at length,
For all their Riches, Honour, Wit, and Strength,
In which they plac'd their confidence, and trust,
Assemble all together in the Dust.
O then, let no man put his confidence
In earthlie blessings, nor permit his sense
To have command, where reason should preside,
But let it, with Religion for its guide,
Order his march of life so prudently,
As he may still look to Mortality,
As the last stage of humane vanity.
In earthlie blessings, nor permit his sense
To have command, where reason should preside,
But let it, with Religion for its guide,
Order his march of life so prudently,
As he may still look to Mortality,
As the last stage of humane vanity.
Cap. XVIII.
Thus having long discours'd, and become faint,
With speaking much, Job would have been content,
T'have had some respite for a while, but that
His friends had still resolved to debate
Upon the subject, and still mean't t'evince,
That he was only punish'd for his sins.
Then Zophar now, and learned Eliphaz
Supposing they had argued the case
So fully, as that no more could be said,
Thinking it needlesse any more to plead;
Bildad, a man, who had not spoke much yet,
But listned most o'th' time to their debate,
Resolves now with his friend to argue too,
And try what his brisque Rhetorick can do.
With speaking much, Job would have been content,
T'have had some respite for a while, but that
His friends had still resolved to debate
Upon the subject, and still mean't t'evince,
That he was only punish'd for his sins.
Then Zophar now, and learned Eliphaz
Supposing they had argued the case
So fully, as that no more could be said,
Thinking it needlesse any more to plead;
Bildad, a man, who had not spoke much yet,
But listned most o'th' time to their debate,
Resolves now with his friend to argue too,
And try what his brisque Rhetorick can do.
When, says he, will thy flamming passions cool,
When wilt thou cease to act the angry fool?
Why so enrag'd? why with such bitternesse,
Against thy friends dost thou thy self expresse?
What have we done, that thou shouldst thus accuse
Thy best of friends? in this thou dost abuse
Our gentle nature: I would then advise
Thee in thy language to become more wise,
And not upbraid us thus, as if thou thought
We were all Ideots, Dunces, men of nought.
Thou treat'st us with expressions of scorn,
Words of contempt, words hardly to be born
By men of worth, and ingenuity,
Men, who do live by rules of piety,
As well, as ever thou didst hitherto,
And, in the fear of God, exceed thee now.
When wilt thou cease to act the angry fool?
Why so enrag'd? why with such bitternesse,
Against thy friends dost thou thy self expresse?
What have we done, that thou shouldst thus accuse
Thy best of friends? in this thou dost abuse
Our gentle nature: I would then advise
Thee in thy language to become more wise,
And not upbraid us thus, as if thou thought
We were all Ideots, Dunces, men of nought.
Thou treat'st us with expressions of scorn,
134
By men of worth, and ingenuity,
Men, who do live by rules of piety,
As well, as ever thou didst hitherto,
And, in the fear of God, exceed thee now.
For thou dost rave, and somtimes wilt direct
Thy speech to God, in such a Dialect,
In such expostulating words, as though,
For all the torture thou dost undergo,
Thou'd challenge him as Author: him, who sends
Judgments, where he thinks fit, what he intends
None can oppose: him, who on high doth sit,
And judges all the World as he thinks fit.
Yet with this God, forsooth, thou darst debate,
And with thy Maker thus expostulat,
And that in words too so impertinent,
As none that fear'd that Majesty would vent,
Words so imperious, words so arrogant,
Words so unusual, and extravagant,
Words so approaching open Blasphemy
That wee're affraid to bear thee company.
Thy speech to God, in such a Dialect,
In such expostulating words, as though,
For all the torture thou dost undergo,
Thou'd challenge him as Author: him, who sends
Judgments, where he thinks fit, what he intends
None can oppose: him, who on high doth sit,
And judges all the World as he thinks fit.
Yet with this God, forsooth, thou darst debate,
And with thy Maker thus expostulat,
And that in words too so impertinent,
As none that fear'd that Majesty would vent,
Words so imperious, words so arrogant,
Words so unusual, and extravagant,
Words so approaching open Blasphemy
That wee're affraid to bear thee company.
Thou talks't with God, as if thou didst not know
'Tis he, that made the Heavens, thou blustrest so,
As if thou talk'd with men, and dost so shake
In fits of passion, in discourse so weak,
As one should say—I know not what I speak.
Consider well now pray, if thou wouldst dare
Address in language so familiar,
Thy self to any Prince on earth, as now
Thou dost to th'King of Kings; Consider too
How much already thou hast rouz'd his wrath,
And make him not pursue thee to the Death.
'Tis he, that made the Heavens, thou blustrest so,
As if thou talk'd with men, and dost so shake
In fits of passion, in discourse so weak,
As one should say—I know not what I speak.
Consider well now pray, if thou wouldst dare
Address in language so familiar,
Thy self to any Prince on earth, as now
Thou dost to th'King of Kings; Consider too
How much already thou hast rouz'd his wrath,
And make him not pursue thee to the Death.
Thus dost thou speak to God, and then anon,
Like one in frantick Fits, thou fall'st upon
Thy honest Friends, men, who do pity thee,
And are indeed much troubled thus to see
One whom they always lov'd, one they esteem'd,
One, whom they never, (but with honour) nam'd:
One, whose afflictions from their very soul,
They're now come hither meerly to condole,
In such disorder. But proceed, my friend,
Only let's know, when thou wilt put an end
To thy Discourse: pray let us understand,
(For all the ills we merit at thy hand)
Only when thou hast done; we ask no more,
But teach us when thy speech thou wilt give ore,
When thou'lt an end of all this language make,
That we may know when it is time to speak.
Like one in frantick Fits, thou fall'st upon
Thy honest Friends, men, who do pity thee,
And are indeed much troubled thus to see
One whom they always lov'd, one they esteem'd,
One, whom they never, (but with honour) nam'd:
One, whose afflictions from their very soul,
They're now come hither meerly to condole,
In such disorder. But proceed, my friend,
Only let's know, when thou wilt put an end
To thy Discourse: pray let us understand,
(For all the ills we merit at thy hand)
Only when thou hast done; we ask no more,
But teach us when thy speech thou wilt give ore,
When thou'lt an end of all this language make,
That we may know when it is time to speak.
Pray what dost mean, my friend, that thou shouldst treat,
Men of our Reputation at this rate?
Pray' what dost take us for? dost think but we
Can all express our minds as well as thee,
Were we inclin'd, with as much foolish heat
Thy rude expressions to retaliat?
Compar'd with thee forsooth, it seems we're all
But very beasts, or what thou'rt pleas'd to call,
In thy sharp passion, men esteem'd by none
To be such bruites, but by thy self alone.
We're all forsooth but Boobies in thy eyes:
How long is't, friend, since thou became so wise?
Sure it must be of late, for formerly,
When thou didst flourish in prosperity,
We knew thee, at the best, but even such,
As we're our selves: but now thou talk'st as much,
As though thy Wit were more than natural,
And thou of late knew more than we do all.
Pray let us know from whence this Wisdom then
Proceeds, in which beyond all other men
Thou dost excell: pray let us know, my friend,
By what unheard of means, thou hast attain'd
To so much Wisdom in so short a space,
For, since we see thee, in thy prosp'rous case,
Not many months are past, and truely then
We thought thee no more wise then other men.
Then cannot I conjecture whence indeed,
This so transcendent wisdom doth proceed;
Nor from what source it has its derivation,
Unless it flow frim suddain inspiration.
Men of our Reputation at this rate?
Pray' what dost take us for? dost think but we
Can all express our minds as well as thee,
Were we inclin'd, with as much foolish heat
Thy rude expressions to retaliat?
135
But very beasts, or what thou'rt pleas'd to call,
In thy sharp passion, men esteem'd by none
To be such bruites, but by thy self alone.
We're all forsooth but Boobies in thy eyes:
How long is't, friend, since thou became so wise?
Sure it must be of late, for formerly,
When thou didst flourish in prosperity,
We knew thee, at the best, but even such,
As we're our selves: but now thou talk'st as much,
As though thy Wit were more than natural,
And thou of late knew more than we do all.
Pray let us know from whence this Wisdom then
Proceeds, in which beyond all other men
Thou dost excell: pray let us know, my friend,
By what unheard of means, thou hast attain'd
To so much Wisdom in so short a space,
For, since we see thee, in thy prosp'rous case,
Not many months are past, and truely then
We thought thee no more wise then other men.
Then cannot I conjecture whence indeed,
This so transcendent wisdom doth proceed;
Nor from what source it has its derivation,
Unless it flow frim suddain inspiration.
But seriously, my friend, when I reflect
On what I've heard, what I did not expect
From such a man as Job: and when I see
How most unjustly we're accus'd by thee,
As men come hither, without all intent
Of comforting, but meerly to torment
Thy soul, with bitter words: and multiply
Thy sorrows by our unkind company;
Whilst, with debates we make thy pains encrease,
When, God knows, we endeavour nothing lesse.
On what I've heard, what I did not expect
From such a man as Job: and when I see
How most unjustly we're accus'd by thee,
As men come hither, without all intent
Of comforting, but meerly to torment
Thy soul, with bitter words: and multiply
Thy sorrows by our unkind company;
Whilst, with debates we make thy pains encrease,
When, God knows, we endeavour nothing lesse.
When thus, I say, in sadnesse, I reflect
On the rash words, which I have heard thee speak,
As, if thou were't in pure vindictive rage,
Resolv'd for lewd, and horrid crimes to stage,
Not only us, who are but silly men,
Such as thy self, but even to arraign
The Government of Heavens: as if that God
Did upon thee unjustly use his Rod:
On thee, a creature just, and innocent;
Who never yet knew what transgression mean't,
And, on that ground, thou dost conclude that he
Must be unjust, who thus tormenteth thee.
On the rash words, which I have heard thee speak,
As, if thou were't in pure vindictive rage,
Resolv'd for lewd, and horrid crimes to stage,
Not only us, who are but silly men,
Such as thy self, but even to arraign
The Government of Heavens: as if that God
Did upon thee unjustly use his Rod:
On thee, a creature just, and innocent;
Who never yet knew what transgression mean't,
And, on that ground, thou dost conclude that he
Must be unjust, who thus tormenteth thee.
When I reflect on this, and seriously
Observe thy carriage in this misery,
I think thou art so far from being more
Prudent, and knowing then thou wert before,
That thou art down-right mad.—
For who, but one that's rap't out of his wits,
Whose mind is troubled by invading fits,
Would make so great a noise? thus cry, and howl,
And in his anger tear his very Soul,
As thou dost now thy self in wrath expresse,
As though thou were't first Martyr in the case.
How from my Soul do I commiserat
A man in such a sad distracted state:
Why dost thou think but other men as well
As thou, my friend, the same afflictions feel?
Thy case indeed is no ways singular,
Nor are thy sufferings extraordinar:
Then why, my friend, art thou become so vain,
To think thou shouldst not feel, what other men
As good, as thee, do dayly undergo,
And make not half this noise of it, if so,
I do, with sorrow look upon thy state,
And think indeed it is more desperate
Then that of those shut up in Hospitals,
For most of these have lucid intervals,
But thou hast none; their fury may be tam'd,
By strength of Medicine, and they reclaim'd
By time to their own wits: thine doth encrease,
And seems to be a madness in excess.
Thy fury seizes on thee more, and more,
Beyond the approved cure of Hallebore.
For thou dost think that God, to favour thee,
Should alter his established decree,
And even be pleas'd, on thy account, to change
The so well ordred course of Nature:—strange
That any mortal man endu'd with reason,
Should dar to hatch within his breast such treason
Against Heavens King! dost think that God will make
The lofty Rocks within their Sockets shake,
Or mash the Frame of Nature, for thy sake?
Dost think he'll make the Earth turn desolate,
To complement thee in thy sad estate?
Or make Men, Beasts, Birds, Fishes in the Sea,
Endure the same afflictions with thee?
That the whole Universe, from Pole, to Pole,
Might, with one voice thy miseries condole.
Observe thy carriage in this misery,
I think thou art so far from being more
Prudent, and knowing then thou wert before,
That thou art down-right mad.—
For who, but one that's rap't out of his wits,
Whose mind is troubled by invading fits,
Would make so great a noise? thus cry, and howl,
136
As thou dost now thy self in wrath expresse,
As though thou were't first Martyr in the case.
How from my Soul do I commiserat
A man in such a sad distracted state:
Why dost thou think but other men as well
As thou, my friend, the same afflictions feel?
Thy case indeed is no ways singular,
Nor are thy sufferings extraordinar:
Then why, my friend, art thou become so vain,
To think thou shouldst not feel, what other men
As good, as thee, do dayly undergo,
And make not half this noise of it, if so,
I do, with sorrow look upon thy state,
And think indeed it is more desperate
Then that of those shut up in Hospitals,
For most of these have lucid intervals,
But thou hast none; their fury may be tam'd,
By strength of Medicine, and they reclaim'd
By time to their own wits: thine doth encrease,
And seems to be a madness in excess.
Thy fury seizes on thee more, and more,
Beyond the approved cure of Hallebore.
For thou dost think that God, to favour thee,
Should alter his established decree,
And even be pleas'd, on thy account, to change
The so well ordred course of Nature:—strange
That any mortal man endu'd with reason,
Should dar to hatch within his breast such treason
Against Heavens King! dost think that God will make
The lofty Rocks within their Sockets shake,
Or mash the Frame of Nature, for thy sake?
Dost think he'll make the Earth turn desolate,
To complement thee in thy sad estate?
Or make Men, Beasts, Birds, Fishes in the Sea,
Endure the same afflictions with thee?
That the whole Universe, from Pole, to Pole,
Might, with one voice thy miseries condole.
Alace, my friend, thou rav'st, thou rav'st indeed,
If thou foment such fancies: pray take heed
What thou dost think, at least what thou dost speak,
For thy expressions show thy judgement weak.
And (which is yet a sign more evident
Of thy distemper, and an argument
Of thy disordred mind) with confidence,
Because we seem to doubt thy innocence,
Thou calls't us fools, and dunces, which implyes
As much as thou think'st thou art hugely wise.
Whilst all wise men conclude, without debate,
That every man wise in his own conceit,
Is but a fool: of which alace I see,
A too true demonstration in thee.
If thou foment such fancies: pray take heed
What thou dost think, at least what thou dost speak,
For thy expressions show thy judgement weak.
And (which is yet a sign more evident
Of thy distemper, and an argument
Of thy disordred mind) with confidence,
Because we seem to doubt thy innocence,
Thou calls't us fools, and dunces, which implyes
As much as thou think'st thou art hugely wise.
Whilst all wise men conclude, without debate,
That every man wise in his own conceit,
Is but a fool: of which alace I see,
A too true demonstration in thee.
And therefore, with more reason, I'd request,
Then thou hast us, thou would not speak at least,
For, in this troubled state, I'd thee advise
To hold thy peace, and we shall think thee wise,
At least, as we have heard, with patience
All thy discourse, and taken no offence
At thy injurious words, so thou wouldst hear
What I intend to speak, which, though I fear
Will quadrat too much with thy case, yet I
With all discretion, shall forbear t'apply,
But only shall endeavour to expresse,
In a few words, my judgement on the case.
Then thou hast us, thou would not speak at least,
137
To hold thy peace, and we shall think thee wise,
At least, as we have heard, with patience
All thy discourse, and taken no offence
At thy injurious words, so thou wouldst hear
What I intend to speak, which, though I fear
Will quadrat too much with thy case, yet I
With all discretion, shall forbear t'apply,
But only shall endeavour to expresse,
In a few words, my judgement on the case.
I see, my friend then (though thou still dost plead,
Not guilty) yet a man may plainly read,
In thy afflictions what's the cause of all
Thy miseries; which I do freely call
Thy crying sins; thy unjust dealings:—hence
Those woes, from these thy sufferings commence.
Thy judgements clearly do thy sins expresse
To all of us, though thou wilt not confesse:
But cunningly wouldst still plead innocent,
And truly there's no greater argument
Of guilt, then still denying, when impeach'd:
But, for all thy defences, God has reach'd
Thee in his justice, and has punish'd thee
For thy foul sins, in manner, as we see.
Not guilty) yet a man may plainly read,
In thy afflictions what's the cause of all
Thy miseries; which I do freely call
Thy crying sins; thy unjust dealings:—hence
Those woes, from these thy sufferings commence.
Thy judgements clearly do thy sins expresse
To all of us, though thou wilt not confesse:
But cunningly wouldst still plead innocent,
And truly there's no greater argument
Of guilt, then still denying, when impeach'd:
But, for all thy defences, God has reach'd
Thee in his justice, and has punish'd thee
For thy foul sins, in manner, as we see.
Now, as in wrath our God is formidable,
So all his orders are inviolable:
He lets the wicked man in villany
Proceed and flourish, undisturbedly,
For a long time, until he doth attain
To the full Zenith of his joyes, and then
He draws the Reins, and doth his pride compesce,
In the bright noon-tide of his happinesse:
So from his earthly glory in a tryce,
He tumbles down, as from a precipice.
So all his orders are inviolable:
He lets the wicked man in villany
Proceed and flourish, undisturbedly,
For a long time, until he doth attain
To the full Zenith of his joyes, and then
He draws the Reins, and doth his pride compesce,
In the bright noon-tide of his happinesse:
So from his earthly glory in a tryce,
He tumbles down, as from a precipice.
His radiant lustre shall be no more seen,
But his great name, as though he ne'er had been,
Shall be raz'd out of the Records of Fame,
And none shall know he was, or whence he came;
Nay, those who knew him in prosperity,
Shall now abhor his very memory.
But his great name, as though he ne'er had been,
Shall be raz'd out of the Records of Fame,
And none shall know he was, or whence he came;
Nay, those who knew him in prosperity,
Shall now abhor his very memory.
His wealth, and power, in which he did confide,
Shall fail him: all his arts and tricks beside,
By which he us'd to couzen other men,
Shall be most quaintly disappointed then.
His council shall be overturned all,
And by his own devices he shall fall.
Shall fail him: all his arts and tricks beside,
By which he us'd to couzen other men,
Shall be most quaintly disappointed then.
His council shall be overturned all,
And by his own devices he shall fall.
The course of life he in this Earth doth steer,
Shall be like Ships 'mongst shelves, in constant fear,
With dreadful thoughts he shall be overlaid,
Of his own shadow he shall be afraid.
Shall be like Ships 'mongst shelves, in constant fear,
With dreadful thoughts he shall be overlaid,
Of his own shadow he shall be afraid.
Sad apprehensions shall upon him seize,
And, in his spirits, he shall find no ease.
For, when he means by pleasures, to divert
His sorrows, and alleviate his heart
By serene thoughts, his conscience by, and by
Shall lay before him his impiety:
Which shall him also in his sleep affright,
And steal upon him, like a Thief, by night.
And, in his spirits, he shall find no ease.
For, when he means by pleasures, to divert
His sorrows, and alleviate his heart
138
Shall lay before him his impiety:
Which shall him also in his sleep affright,
And steal upon him, like a Thief, by night.
Shall apprehend that plots are every where
Laid for his life, and that men do prepare
Actions, Indytements, Jurors, evidence
Against him, and his frighted conscience
Makes him believe that men do ly in wait
To catch him, and that every man doth hate
Both him, and all his execrable race,
And that he's the discourse of every place.
Laid for his life, and that men do prepare
Actions, Indytements, Jurors, evidence
Against him, and his frighted conscience
Makes him believe that men do ly in wait
To catch him, and that every man doth hate
Both him, and all his execrable race,
And that he's the discourse of every place.
When on his pillow he shall lay his head,
Thinking by sleep from terrors to be freed,
Then shall fresh terrors, like a rapid stream
Break in upon his fancy, in a dream.
Then shall he start out of his sleep, and call
For Sword, for Helmet, Corslet, Shield,—for all.
Then sleep again, but, in a tryce awake,
And nimbly to his feet himself betake:
So sleep, and wake, and wake, and sleep, by fits,
All the long night, like one out of his wits.
Thinking by sleep from terrors to be freed,
Then shall fresh terrors, like a rapid stream
Break in upon his fancy, in a dream.
Then shall he start out of his sleep, and call
For Sword, for Helmet, Corslet, Shield,—for all.
Then sleep again, but, in a tryce awake,
And nimbly to his feet himself betake:
So sleep, and wake, and wake, and sleep, by fits,
All the long night, like one out of his wits.
His Creditors on all his Means shall seize,
Turn out his Family, bring him by degrees
To such a sad, penurious exigent,
As he, and his shall have no aliment.
Turn out his Family, bring him by degrees
To such a sad, penurious exigent,
As he, and his shall have no aliment.
Then wasting sorrow, want of sleep, and food,
With all things, that to nature are allow'd,
Shall in his Loines, his Body, and his Head,
A complication of diseases breed:
By which the hateful wretch shall every day,
In some dark corner, rot, and pine away.
With all things, that to nature are allow'd,
Shall in his Loines, his Body, and his Head,
A complication of diseases breed:
By which the hateful wretch shall every day,
In some dark corner, rot, and pine away.
Then all his hopes, by which he formerly,
In th'hottest fits of his adversity,
Would cheer his drooping spirits, and recall
His almost parting soul, then shall they all
Abandon him, and he shall then appear
Upon all hands environed with fear.
Like a poor Malefactor, who has tane
His leave of all his friends, and with some pain
Mounted the Ladder? when he looks about,
Of deaths approach he makes no longer doubt,
Concluding 'cause attended now by none,
But th'horrid Executioner alone,
Sure he must dy,—for all his hopes are gone.
In th'hottest fits of his adversity,
Would cheer his drooping spirits, and recall
His almost parting soul, then shall they all
Abandon him, and he shall then appear
Upon all hands environed with fear.
Like a poor Malefactor, who has tane
His leave of all his friends, and with some pain
Mounted the Ladder? when he looks about,
Of deaths approach he makes no longer doubt,
Concluding 'cause attended now by none,
But th'horrid Executioner alone,
Sure he must dy,—for all his hopes are gone.
Fear, while he lives, shall dwell within those walls,
Which his indeed he most unjustly calls;
Because by fraud, and rapine purchased,
In his own Chamber fear shall make its bed,
Fear with him shall at Table dayly feed.
Until at length, for all his art, and pain,
By which he would his purchases retain:
An unseen Moth shall enter his Estate,
Which in short time most sensibly shall eat
The fruit of all his labours: then, when all
His miseries do seem apace to fall
Upon him, he begins to stir, and fain
Would weather out his troubles, but in vain,
For soon he sees (let him do what he can)
It quite surmounts the art, and wit of man,
To save those ill-got Means, which every day,
Like gangren'd Members, sensibly decay.
Which his indeed he most unjustly calls;
Because by fraud, and rapine purchased,
In his own Chamber fear shall make its bed,
Fear with him shall at Table dayly feed.
Until at length, for all his art, and pain,
By which he would his purchases retain:
An unseen Moth shall enter his Estate,
Which in short time most sensibly shall eat
139
His miseries do seem apace to fall
Upon him, he begins to stir, and fain
Would weather out his troubles, but in vain,
For soon he sees (let him do what he can)
It quite surmounts the art, and wit of man,
To save those ill-got Means, which every day,
Like gangren'd Members, sensibly decay.
Then all his joynts do quiver, when annon
He by his Books perceives that all is gone.
All's gone: all's lost, all his so vast Estate
Like hidden smoak, is now evaporat:
His Lands, his Means, all his effects are now
Consum'd to ashes, and he knows not how.
Thus shall he perish, 'spite of all his wit,
And thus at length upon the Dung-hill sit,
Asking a farthing of each one goes by,
A sad example of humane vanity.
He by his Books perceives that all is gone.
All's gone: all's lost, all his so vast Estate
Like hidden smoak, is now evaporat:
His Lands, his Means, all his effects are now
Consum'd to ashes, and he knows not how.
Thus shall he perish, 'spite of all his wit,
And thus at length upon the Dung-hill sit,
Asking a farthing of each one goes by,
A sad example of humane vanity.
But that's not all, for, lest some spurious brat,
Sprung from his Loynes might yet repullulat.
And, in his life, revive the memory
Of such a man, th'Almighty by, and by,
Doth, at on blow, his Family destroy,
And leaves this Creature neither Girle, or Boy:
The World of his whole Issue he doth cleanse,
And utterly consumes him, root, and branch.
Sprung from his Loynes might yet repullulat.
And, in his life, revive the memory
Of such a man, th'Almighty by, and by,
Doth, at on blow, his Family destroy,
And leaves this Creature neither Girle, or Boy:
The World of his whole Issue he doth cleanse,
And utterly consumes him, root, and branch.
His memory on no record shall stand,
But if thereafter any shall demand,
(Who may be curious in such things, as these)
When they perceive some scattered vestiges,
Of stately buildings—who did this erect?
The neighbours shall no other answer make,
Save, that they know not, nor did ever hear,
That any great man did inhabit there.
His memory all Writers shall disclaim,
And, in discourses, he shall have no name.
But if thereafter any shall demand,
(Who may be curious in such things, as these)
When they perceive some scattered vestiges,
Of stately buildings—who did this erect?
The neighbours shall no other answer make,
Save, that they know not, nor did ever hear,
That any great man did inhabit there.
His memory all Writers shall disclaim,
And, in discourses, he shall have no name.
His name shall wholly be obliterat,
And, with oblivion be consolidat:
It shall be chac'd out of the World, for shame
That e'r men should a' known so vile a name,
And never man shall after of it dream.
And, with oblivion be consolidat:
It shall be chac'd out of the World, for shame
That e'r men should a' known so vile a name,
And never man shall after of it dream.
His memory shall be condemn'd, and none,
Brother, or Sister,, Daughter, Grand-child, Son,
Nephew, or Niece shall him survive, to show
If ever such a man did live, or no.
For none shall represent him, none shall dar
Own Blood with him, or call himself his Heir.
But even those wretches, who by Law might claim
His Honours, shall b'oblig'd to change their name.
Brother, or Sister,, Daughter, Grand-child, Son,
Nephew, or Niece shall him survive, to show
If ever such a man did live, or no.
For none shall represent him, none shall dar
Own Blood with him, or call himself his Heir.
But even those wretches, who by Law might claim
His Honours, shall b'oblig'd to change their name.
Posterity shall, with amazement, hear
His fall, and shall be Thunder-struck, with fear,
Nay the most grave, and stayd amongst them all
Shall tremble, when perhaps to mind they call,
That such a thing once in the World did live,
Which to its maker such offence did give.
His fall, and shall be Thunder-struck, with fear,
Nay the most grave, and stayd amongst them all
Shall tremble, when perhaps to mind they call,
That such a thing once in the World did live,
140
Sure these the Exits of the wicked are,,
In which Gods Justice doth it self declare:
These are the goodly Dwellings, in which all,
Who on their Riches, not on God do call.
Do here, on earth, reside: there all their Treasures
Are hoorded up, there all their worldly Pleasures:
This is the Dwelling, this the firm abode
Of those unhappy men, who fear not God.
In which Gods Justice doth it self declare:
These are the goodly Dwellings, in which all,
Who on their Riches, not on God do call.
Do here, on earth, reside: there all their Treasures
Are hoorded up, there all their worldly Pleasures:
This is the Dwelling, this the firm abode
Of those unhappy men, who fear not God.
Cap. XIX.
Thus
Bildad spake, thus in a flowing strain
This learn'd Orator briskly did maintain
The good old Cause: though those, who spake before
Had on the Subject said as much, and more
Then he could add with all his Eloquence,
Only the words were Bildad, but the sense
Was still the same, with that which Eliphaz
And Zophar had discours'd upon the case.
When he had then this New-old-lecture read
Job, with more calmness, answered him, and said.
This learn'd Orator briskly did maintain
The good old Cause: though those, who spake before
Had on the Subject said as much, and more
Then he could add with all his Eloquence,
Only the words were Bildad, but the sense
Was still the same, with that which Eliphaz
And Zophar had discours'd upon the case.
When he had then this New-old-lecture read
Job, with more calmness, answered him, and said.
Why so, my friends, I see you still intend
To vex my Soul: ah! shall there be no end
Of your Discourses? will you ne'r give o're,
But still your old Position more, and more
Pursue with all the reason you can make,
As if your Reputation lay at Stake,
To prove that I were one that merited
These Ills I suffer, and were punished
Most justly for my sins: in this Design
You seem all by your reas'ning to Combine.
This doth appear to be the utmost scope,
Of your Discourse, by which at length you hope
To force me to confess, what, to this hour,
I have deny'd; if it were in your power.
But I'le perswad you, all that you can speak
Will not procure it, I am not so weak
As yet, that by the force of Eloquence,
I should be charm'd out of my Innocence.
No, no, my friends, for all that you can say,
I will not by Confession betray
My Conscience, and acknowledge what unless
I should bely it, I cannot confess.
Though I confess some men in my condition
Ere they'd endure such frequent Repetition
Of Injuries, would acknowledge any thing,
T'avoid the torture of your reasoning.
To vex my Soul: ah! shall there be no end
Of your Discourses? will you ne'r give o're,
But still your old Position more, and more
Pursue with all the reason you can make,
As if your Reputation lay at Stake,
To prove that I were one that merited
These Ills I suffer, and were punished
Most justly for my sins: in this Design
You seem all by your reas'ning to Combine.
This doth appear to be the utmost scope,
Of your Discourse, by which at length you hope
To force me to confess, what, to this hour,
I have deny'd; if it were in your power.
But I'le perswad you, all that you can speak
Will not procure it, I am not so weak
As yet, that by the force of Eloquence,
I should be charm'd out of my Innocence.
No, no, my friends, for all that you can say,
I will not by Confession betray
My Conscience, and acknowledge what unless
I should bely it, I cannot confess.
Though I confess some men in my condition
Ere they'd endure such frequent Repetition
Of Injuries, would acknowledge any thing,
T'avoid the torture of your reasoning.
141
Ten times you have reproach'd me to my face,
Yet not asham'd, you still pursue the chace.
Indeed your malice now is evident,
For, in your talk, you're become impudent.
I now perceive what all this while has been
Your aim, I understand now what you mean.
I see your only purpose is to try
How a poor Soul involv'd in misery
Is able to endure, besides the pain
In which he lyes, the rude insults of men.
Yet not asham'd, you still pursue the chace.
Indeed your malice now is evident,
For, in your talk, you're become impudent.
I now perceive what all this while has been
Your aim, I understand now what you mean.
I see your only purpose is to try
How a poor Soul involv'd in misery
Is able to endure, besides the pain
In which he lyes, the rude insults of men.
Unkindly done! if this be your intent,
Not to condole with me, but to torment
My Soul with arguing, whilst my present state
Requires smooth language, and not rough debate.
Thus by discourse, obliging me to speak,
In answer to you, when I am so weak,
As I can hardly move my lips: when all
My Teeth do gingle, when my Chops do fall,
And my slow words are meerly guttural.
If for this end you three be hither come,
Indeed you had as good a stay'd at home.
For I conceive this kind of disputing,
Can to afflicted men no comfort bring.
No, no more, then if one should see his friend
Fall'n in a pit, and should be so unkind,
As 'stead of helping of him out, to tell him,
'Tis for his sins this accident befell him.
So when you see me in this desolate
Condition, in this lamentable state,
'Stead of upholding my decaying spirits,
You always tell me, thus each Mortal merits
To be afflicted, who hath done offence
To his Creator: whose own Conscience
Tells him he's guilty, yet pleads innocence.
But what says all this to the case in hand?
Pray now, my good friends, let me understand,
In these my sins where your concern doth ly?
For my escapes, whether must you, or I
Make answer pray'? sure I conceive that none
Must make account for those, but I alone.
Then what are you concern'd? if I have err'd,
The worse is mine: and if I hav prefer'd
My pleasures to that duty, which I owe
To my so kind Creator, sure I know,
He'll none of you for these in judgement call,
But I alone must make account for all.
Nay further, my dear friends, should I allow
That I have sinn'd, yet sure to none of you
I ever gave offence: my sins at least,
Were acted in the closet of my breast,
My converse was to outward view upright,
My sins were perceptible by the sight
Of God alone: and so such Godly men
As you are, of no scandal can complain,
Proceeding from my carriage: pray then why
Should you upbraid me thus continually
With sins, which were you put to prove, I fear
For all your art you could not make appear
That I were guilty of 'em? why should you
Who are wise men, such liberty allow
To your hot passions? why should you exclaim
Against a poor afflicted man? for shame
Forbear this bitter railing, pray forbear
And if you be Comforters, let me hear
Some words of comfort, pray now let me see
If you be such, as you pretend to be.
Not to condole with me, but to torment
My Soul with arguing, whilst my present state
Requires smooth language, and not rough debate.
Thus by discourse, obliging me to speak,
In answer to you, when I am so weak,
As I can hardly move my lips: when all
My Teeth do gingle, when my Chops do fall,
And my slow words are meerly guttural.
If for this end you three be hither come,
Indeed you had as good a stay'd at home.
For I conceive this kind of disputing,
Can to afflicted men no comfort bring.
No, no more, then if one should see his friend
Fall'n in a pit, and should be so unkind,
As 'stead of helping of him out, to tell him,
'Tis for his sins this accident befell him.
So when you see me in this desolate
Condition, in this lamentable state,
'Stead of upholding my decaying spirits,
You always tell me, thus each Mortal merits
To be afflicted, who hath done offence
To his Creator: whose own Conscience
Tells him he's guilty, yet pleads innocence.
But what says all this to the case in hand?
Pray now, my good friends, let me understand,
In these my sins where your concern doth ly?
For my escapes, whether must you, or I
Make answer pray'? sure I conceive that none
Must make account for those, but I alone.
Then what are you concern'd? if I have err'd,
The worse is mine: and if I hav prefer'd
My pleasures to that duty, which I owe
To my so kind Creator, sure I know,
He'll none of you for these in judgement call,
But I alone must make account for all.
Nay further, my dear friends, should I allow
That I have sinn'd, yet sure to none of you
I ever gave offence: my sins at least,
Were acted in the closet of my breast,
My converse was to outward view upright,
My sins were perceptible by the sight
Of God alone: and so such Godly men
As you are, of no scandal can complain,
142
Should you upbraid me thus continually
With sins, which were you put to prove, I fear
For all your art you could not make appear
That I were guilty of 'em? why should you
Who are wise men, such liberty allow
To your hot passions? why should you exclaim
Against a poor afflicted man? for shame
Forbear this bitter railing, pray forbear
And if you be Comforters, let me hear
Some words of comfort, pray now let me see
If you be such, as you pretend to be.
But if in railing you will still proceed,
And think you do perform a noble deed,
In whipping one with words already spent
With sad afflictions, whilst you would torment
A dying creature, I will teach you how
To mannage this trade better than you do.
I'le furnish you with store of arguments,
Better than those, which your poor wits invents:
And let you see, where your advantage lies,
Which yet indeed, for all that your're so wise
You have not hit, I'll teach how t'upbraid,
And how to say more then you yet have said,
Though after all 'tis but a scurvy trade.
And think you do perform a noble deed,
In whipping one with words already spent
With sad afflictions, whilst you would torment
A dying creature, I will teach you how
To mannage this trade better than you do.
I'le furnish you with store of arguments,
Better than those, which your poor wits invents:
And let you see, where your advantage lies,
Which yet indeed, for all that your're so wise
You have not hit, I'll teach how t'upbraid,
And how to say more then you yet have said,
Though after all 'tis but a scurvy trade.
I'd have you then, my friends, to understand,
That by the Power of an Almighty hand,
I'm totally undone, I'm overthrown,
And all my glory turned up side down.
I am entangled in afflictions net,
With wounding sorrows I am round beset:
And still the more I struggle to get out,
I stick the faster, when I look about
For help from man: I easily perceive,
That of all my acquaintance none do grieve,
To see their old friend in this woful case,
But all upbraid me to my very face.
That by the Power of an Almighty hand,
I'm totally undone, I'm overthrown,
And all my glory turned up side down.
I am entangled in afflictions net,
With wounding sorrows I am round beset:
And still the more I struggle to get out,
I stick the faster, when I look about
For help from man: I easily perceive,
That of all my acquaintance none do grieve,
To see their old friend in this woful case,
But all upbraid me to my very face.
I cry out of Oppression, Rapine, Force,
Plain Depredation, or what else is worse,
Yet from Heav'ns Court there's yet no answer made,
I call, but there's no justice to be had.
All do abhor me, all do do say 'tis just,
That I should have my dwelling in the Dust;
Because in wealth I many did exceed,
And had in store all things that Mortals need:
From whence as't were a Crime, they do infer,
'Tis just that such as I should now be here.
For those who me in peace, and wealth did know,
Are out of envy glad to see me low.
Plain Depredation, or what else is worse,
Yet from Heav'ns Court there's yet no answer made,
I call, but there's no justice to be had.
All do abhor me, all do do say 'tis just,
That I should have my dwelling in the Dust;
Because in wealth I many did exceed,
And had in store all things that Mortals need:
From whence as't were a Crime, they do infer,
'Tis just that such as I should now be here.
For those who me in peace, and wealth did know,
Are out of envy glad to see me low.
This is my lot, this is my present state,
This is the woful, and disconsolat
Condition of my life: I now appear
Like a distress'd night-wandering Traveller,
Who sometimes falls on stones, sometimes doth rush
Amongst the prickles of some silent bush:
Sometimes in Quag-mires falls, from whence got out
With arms at length out stretch'd, he grops about
I'th' horrid darkness of the night, and fain
Would follow out his way, but all in vain;
For the poor soul no sooner extricats
Himself from troubles, then in other straits
He quickly falls: now on some precipice
He finds himself advanc'd, then in a trice
He casts about him, and not many paces
From thence, the Trunk of some old tree embraces,
Anon from some steep Rock he tumbles down,
And finds himself amongst the Brambles soon
Engag'd with Wild goats: thence with toil, and pain
He wrestles out: and by, and by again
Falls in some Quag-mire to the Knees, and thence
He makes a passage with some violence,
And falls anon into some Ditch, at length
O're toil'd with wandring, and now wanting strength
To wrestle any more with Shrubs, and Bushes,
Ditches, and Quick-setts, Quag-mires, Pools, Bull-rushes;
Willows, and Elms, which ever, and anon
He doth encounter: fairly he sits down
On the cold ground, and there in pain, and fear,
Resolves to watch it out, while day appear
Even such am I, such is my dismal case,
My way is closely fenc'd, all passages
Block'd up on every side, and every road
Stopp'd, as with trees a cross, by th'mighty God,
So that I cannot pass.—
Inward, and outward so my troubles now,
Do multiply, I know not what to do
As waves upon each others back do ride,
In a full body at a growing Tide,
And with such fury fall upon the Shore
As if they would the very earth devour:
And as one breaks, another doth succeed
With the same force, and in that others steed,
Another, and so wave on wave doth break
So after one sad cross, I still expect
Another, and another on the back
Of that, and so untill all go to wrack.
I cannot see how these rude waves will cease,
But that my woes each moment will encrease
Untill I be destroy'd: I cannot see
What th'issues of these miseries may be.
Or where my sorrows raging course will stop
Only upon a slender plank of hope
I still do sit, expecting, after all,
The pride of these insulting waves may fall,
A calm may come, and I may get ashore
And live in plenty as I did before.
This is the woful, and disconsolat
Condition of my life: I now appear
Like a distress'd night-wandering Traveller,
Who sometimes falls on stones, sometimes doth rush
Amongst the prickles of some silent bush:
143
With arms at length out stretch'd, he grops about
I'th' horrid darkness of the night, and fain
Would follow out his way, but all in vain;
For the poor soul no sooner extricats
Himself from troubles, then in other straits
He quickly falls: now on some precipice
He finds himself advanc'd, then in a trice
He casts about him, and not many paces
From thence, the Trunk of some old tree embraces,
Anon from some steep Rock he tumbles down,
And finds himself amongst the Brambles soon
Engag'd with Wild goats: thence with toil, and pain
He wrestles out: and by, and by again
Falls in some Quag-mire to the Knees, and thence
He makes a passage with some violence,
And falls anon into some Ditch, at length
O're toil'd with wandring, and now wanting strength
To wrestle any more with Shrubs, and Bushes,
Ditches, and Quick-setts, Quag-mires, Pools, Bull-rushes;
Willows, and Elms, which ever, and anon
He doth encounter: fairly he sits down
On the cold ground, and there in pain, and fear,
Resolves to watch it out, while day appear
Even such am I, such is my dismal case,
My way is closely fenc'd, all passages
Block'd up on every side, and every road
Stopp'd, as with trees a cross, by th'mighty God,
So that I cannot pass.—
Inward, and outward so my troubles now,
Do multiply, I know not what to do
As waves upon each others back do ride,
In a full body at a growing Tide,
And with such fury fall upon the Shore
As if they would the very earth devour:
And as one breaks, another doth succeed
With the same force, and in that others steed,
Another, and so wave on wave doth break
So after one sad cross, I still expect
Another, and another on the back
Of that, and so untill all go to wrack.
I cannot see how these rude waves will cease,
But that my woes each moment will encrease
Untill I be destroy'd: I cannot see
What th'issues of these miseries may be.
Or where my sorrows raging course will stop
Only upon a slender plank of hope
I still do sit, expecting, after all,
The pride of these insulting waves may fall,
A calm may come, and I may get ashore
And live in plenty as I did before.
But now the hand of God upon me lies
Most heavily, my woes and miseries
Are not to be express'd: my prosp'rous state
In which I was conspicuous of late,
Is now renvers'd, my Honours rent, and torn,
And I exposed to the rabbles scorn.
Most heavily, my woes and miseries
Are not to be express'd: my prosp'rous state
144
Is now renvers'd, my Honours rent, and torn,
And I exposed to the rabbles scorn.
He who created me, he who employ'd
His Breath in framing me, has now destroy'd,
What formerly de did appoint to live,
And for that end did such allowance give
Out of Heav'ns treasure, as might well expresse,
Both his own glory, and the happinesse
Of him he lov'd. But now I am undone,
My expectation is quite overthrown.
And as when th'Earth doth in her bowels find,
Strong torments of a subterraneous wind;
She trembles, as in Ague fit, and then
To ease her self of that sad inward pain,
Like one in Child-birth, for sometime she roars,
Then quickly bursts asunder, and devours
Towns, Castles, Mountains, Houses, Villages,
And by the root pulls up the tallest Trees,
Though ne'r so firmly knit; though ne'r so sure
Fix'd in the Rocks, yet they cannot endure
That furious shock of Nature, but must all
In Earths dark Caverns, find their Burial.
So am I swallowed up alive, and none
Can help me now, for all my hopes are gone.
His Breath in framing me, has now destroy'd,
What formerly de did appoint to live,
And for that end did such allowance give
Out of Heav'ns treasure, as might well expresse,
Both his own glory, and the happinesse
Of him he lov'd. But now I am undone,
My expectation is quite overthrown.
And as when th'Earth doth in her bowels find,
Strong torments of a subterraneous wind;
She trembles, as in Ague fit, and then
To ease her self of that sad inward pain,
Like one in Child-birth, for sometime she roars,
Then quickly bursts asunder, and devours
Towns, Castles, Mountains, Houses, Villages,
And by the root pulls up the tallest Trees,
Though ne'r so firmly knit; though ne'r so sure
Fix'd in the Rocks, yet they cannot endure
That furious shock of Nature, but must all
In Earths dark Caverns, find their Burial.
So am I swallowed up alive, and none
Can help me now, for all my hopes are gone.
Against me God his Ban has issued,
Proscrib'd me, set a price upon my head.
And now as for an Outlaw every where
Search is made for me, neither here, nor there
Am I secure; but still I am espy'd,
My God has hemm'd me in on every side.
Proscrib'd me, set a price upon my head.
And now as for an Outlaw every where
Search is made for me, neither here, nor there
Am I secure; but still I am espy'd,
My God has hemm'd me in on every side.
And as a skilful wary General,
E're he to close Seige of a Town doth fall,
First with light Troops invests the place around,
Shut up all Passages, takes up his Ground,
As he thinks proper, then begins his Lines,
Raises his Batteries, labours in his Mines,
Makes his approaches, and doth never cease,
By night, or day, until he gain the Place.
So I am now besieg'd: his Troops invest
My fortresse on all quarters, and infest
Me with allarums, and with all the power
Of Heavens I am assaulted every hour.
Expecting no relief, I do perceive,
That all my hopes depend upon the Grave.
E're he to close Seige of a Town doth fall,
First with light Troops invests the place around,
Shut up all Passages, takes up his Ground,
As he thinks proper, then begins his Lines,
Raises his Batteries, labours in his Mines,
Makes his approaches, and doth never cease,
By night, or day, until he gain the Place.
So I am now besieg'd: his Troops invest
My fortresse on all quarters, and infest
Me with allarums, and with all the power
Of Heavens I am assaulted every hour.
Expecting no relief, I do perceive,
That all my hopes depend upon the Grave.
For all those Creatures, which we Kindred call,
My Brothers, Sisters, Nephews, Cousins, all
From whom I might expect relief, have now
Forsaken me: none of 'em will allow
Me one kind visit: but are pleas'd to hear
How I am tortur'd, and can scarce forbear
From smiling when they see me in this state?
All my acquaintance too, with whom of late
I kindly did converse, are now asham'd
To hear their old, but poor acquaintance nam'd.
My Brothers, Sisters, Nephews, Cousins, all
From whom I might expect relief, have now
Forsaken me: none of 'em will allow
Me one kind visit: but are pleas'd to hear
How I am tortur'd, and can scarce forbear
From smiling when they see me in this state?
All my acquaintance too, with whom of late
I kindly did converse, are now asham'd
145
My kinsmen, ah! those men whom every hour,
I would oblige by what lay in my power.
Those men, to whom I have great favours show'n,
And studied more their interest then my own,
These horrid monsters of ingratitude,
Neither with virtue, nor Gods fear endu'd,
Those Vipers, whom I in my House have bred,
And many years have at my Table fed,
Else they had starv'd: these have abandon'd me,
These have insulted o'r me, now I see
What 'tis to become poor.
I would oblige by what lay in my power.
Those men, to whom I have great favours show'n,
And studied more their interest then my own,
These horrid monsters of ingratitude,
Neither with virtue, nor Gods fear endu'd,
Those Vipers, whom I in my House have bred,
And many years have at my Table fed,
Else they had starv'd: these have abandon'd me,
These have insulted o'r me, now I see
What 'tis to become poor.
Nay my Domestick servants, who did sleep
Under my Roof, who did my Substance keep,
And all those Creatures, who did eat my bread
Those men do look upon me now as dead.
Those, whom I with my money purchased;
Who in my Fields, and Vineyards laboured,
And all those numerous maids, who formerly
Did earn their bread within my Family:
When they perceive me in so sad a case,
Are now afraid to look upon my face.
They do not know me, I cannot perswade them,
That I'm the person, formerly, who fed them:
No they will not believe that I am he,
Whom but of late in plenty they did see,
Whom they did honour, whom they did esteem,
Whom they respected, at whose very name
Those slaves would tremble, but in their conceit,
They look upon me as some counterfeit.
Under my Roof, who did my Substance keep,
And all those Creatures, who did eat my bread
Those men do look upon me now as dead.
Those, whom I with my money purchased;
Who in my Fields, and Vineyards laboured,
And all those numerous maids, who formerly
Did earn their bread within my Family:
When they perceive me in so sad a case,
Are now afraid to look upon my face.
They do not know me, I cannot perswade them,
That I'm the person, formerly, who fed them:
No they will not believe that I am he,
Whom but of late in plenty they did see,
Whom they did honour, whom they did esteem,
Whom they respected, at whose very name
Those slaves would tremble, but in their conceit,
They look upon me as some counterfeit.
Of late I to a Servant call'd for aid,
Not by command, but as one would perswade
A stranger, but the man no answer made.
I call'd another, but he would not hear,
A third, a fourth, but no man would appear
To do me service; all a distance kep't,
And through the Hedges at their Master peep't,
As those, who were afraid of Pestilence
To be infected, all my Eloquence,
My pray'rs, my sighs, my tears, in any sort,
Could not from these one single word extort.
Not by command, but as one would perswade
A stranger, but the man no answer made.
I call'd another, but he would not hear,
A third, a fourth, but no man would appear
To do me service; all a distance kep't,
And through the Hedges at their Master peep't,
As those, who were afraid of Pestilence
To be infected, all my Eloquence,
My pray'rs, my sighs, my tears, in any sort,
Could not from these one single word extort.
But O sad judgement! which is worst of all,
I from my very Wife for help did call:
From her, whom many years I entertain'd,
Not as my slave, but as my bosom friend;
In whose embraces lay depositat
The greatest treasure of my prosprous state:
From her, from my own Wife, from this same Creature,
I call'd for help by all the tyes of Nature:
By all the dearest pledges of our love
I did conjure her, but nothing would move
This unkind Woman, who has now forgot
She is my Consort, and remembers not
Our former love, but in my present state,
Unhappily is become so ungrate,
She'l not come nigh me, as she did before,
And ne'r desires to see me any more.
She hates me, she abhorrs me, she denies
My converss, I am loathsome in her eyes.
She tells me now my breath is become strange,
But what alace makes her affection change
So suddenlie? 'tis not my ulcerous case,
Nor all the furrows in my withered face,
Nor yet the Scent of my infectious Breath,
As she pretends, by which approaching Death
Is clearlie presag'd, for she tells anon
She cannot converse with a Carion.
No—no these reasons have no weight at all,
Fig-leav'd excuses; meer pretences all,
'Tis none of these: 'tis only poverty
Occasions this Desertion;—for why
As any man in wealth decays, or grows,
So a bad wifes affection ebbs, or flowes.
I from my very Wife for help did call:
From her, whom many years I entertain'd,
Not as my slave, but as my bosom friend;
In whose embraces lay depositat
The greatest treasure of my prosprous state:
From her, from my own Wife, from this same Creature,
I call'd for help by all the tyes of Nature:
By all the dearest pledges of our love
I did conjure her, but nothing would move
This unkind Woman, who has now forgot
She is my Consort, and remembers not
Our former love, but in my present state,
Unhappily is become so ungrate,
146
And ne'r desires to see me any more.
She hates me, she abhorrs me, she denies
My converss, I am loathsome in her eyes.
She tells me now my breath is become strange,
But what alace makes her affection change
So suddenlie? 'tis not my ulcerous case,
Nor all the furrows in my withered face,
Nor yet the Scent of my infectious Breath,
As she pretends, by which approaching Death
Is clearlie presag'd, for she tells anon
She cannot converse with a Carion.
No—no these reasons have no weight at all,
Fig-leav'd excuses; meer pretences all,
'Tis none of these: 'tis only poverty
Occasions this Desertion;—for why
As any man in wealth decays, or grows,
So a bad wifes affection ebbs, or flowes.
Yea little boyes, who seeing me before,
Would veil their Caps, respect me now no more
Than one who begs his bread from door to door.
They point at me, they laugh, do what they list,
And though I check them, yet they still persist,
Insulting o're me in my miserie,
They tell each other there poor Job doth lie.
No wonder, when the parents me despise
I should be hateful in the childrens eyes,
Would veil their Caps, respect me now no more
Than one who begs his bread from door to door.
They point at me, they laugh, do what they list,
And though I check them, yet they still persist,
Insulting o're me in my miserie,
They tell each other there poor Job doth lie.
No wonder, when the parents me despise
I should be hateful in the childrens eyes,
My dearest friends too, men, whom for my heart
I did entirelie love, have now ta'n part
With all my other enemies: even those.
In whom I trusted are become my foes,
My greatest foes, yet each of them contends,
(How e're I take it) they are all my friends.
I did entirelie love, have now ta'n part
With all my other enemies: even those.
In whom I trusted are become my foes,
My greatest foes, yet each of them contends,
(How e're I take it) they are all my friends.
And now that I this Historie may close,
And in one passage sum up all my woes:
See where with sores all covered I sit,
Plaistered with Scabs, and Boiles, for nothing fit,
But at some tree Root to be buried,
As Carrions are, and there like dung, to feed
The sucking Vegetable: O did I
Enjoy my health, and strength, as formerlie
How would I undervalue all my losses,
Of Means, and Children, with my other crosses:
How bravely would I bear it out, how fair
Would the Effigies of my life appear,
For all that's past: did I enjoy my health
That would be to me Children, Honour, Wealth,
Furnish'd with Health I'd make the Devil give o're,
And be asham'd to vex me any more.
But O my sorrows! O the grievous pain
Which I endure! no part doth now remain
Of all my body from these Ulcers free
No part untouch'd, (as everie one may see)
Onlie my mouth, not yet by these invaded
Nor by these numerous Boils yet barricaded
Servs for a passage to my loadened heart,
By which it may its grief to th'world impart,
But not blasphem, as some men would a' done
In my condition.—
No no, let God do with me what he will,
My heart and mouth shall be abstemious still,
From all such inclination to evil,
And such bad instigations, of the Devil,
For (come what will on't) I had rather lie
In this sad case of life perpetuallie,
Before I should once curse my God, and die.
And in one passage sum up all my woes:
See where with sores all covered I sit,
Plaistered with Scabs, and Boiles, for nothing fit,
But at some tree Root to be buried,
As Carrions are, and there like dung, to feed
The sucking Vegetable: O did I
Enjoy my health, and strength, as formerlie
How would I undervalue all my losses,
Of Means, and Children, with my other crosses:
How bravely would I bear it out, how fair
Would the Effigies of my life appear,
For all that's past: did I enjoy my health
That would be to me Children, Honour, Wealth,
Furnish'd with Health I'd make the Devil give o're,
And be asham'd to vex me any more.
But O my sorrows! O the grievous pain
Which I endure! no part doth now remain
Of all my body from these Ulcers free
No part untouch'd, (as everie one may see)
Onlie my mouth, not yet by these invaded
147
Servs for a passage to my loadened heart,
By which it may its grief to th'world impart,
But not blasphem, as some men would a' done
In my condition.—
No no, let God do with me what he will,
My heart and mouth shall be abstemious still,
From all such inclination to evil,
And such bad instigations, of the Devil,
For (come what will on't) I had rather lie
In this sad case of life perpetuallie,
Before I should once curse my God, and die.
Have pity then, for Heav'ns sake, all my friends,
Have pity on me, let your angry minds
Be now appeas'd, let all your Choller cease,
When you perceive me in this woful case.
You see how God has punish'd, me you see
How all the plagues of Hell have seiz'd on me.
How God has set me as a mark, for all
The sorrows of this world, both great, and small,
To level at: O may not this appease
Your wrath against me, when such ills, as these
Do triumph o're me, when I'm led in chains
Attended by a thousand woes, and paines,
O may not this suffice; have pity then
Have pity on me; friends, as you are men,
Let all your hearts be moved with compassion,
When you behold me tortur'd in this fashion,
Have pity then, have pity now upon me.
O ye my friends! for th'hand of God is on me.
Have pity on me, let your angry minds
Be now appeas'd, let all your Choller cease,
When you perceive me in this woful case.
You see how God has punish'd, me you see
How all the plagues of Hell have seiz'd on me.
How God has set me as a mark, for all
The sorrows of this world, both great, and small,
To level at: O may not this appease
Your wrath against me, when such ills, as these
Do triumph o're me, when I'm led in chains
Attended by a thousand woes, and paines,
O may not this suffice; have pity then
Have pity on me; friends, as you are men,
Let all your hearts be moved with compassion,
When you behold me tortur'd in this fashion,
Have pity then, have pity now upon me.
O ye my friends! for th'hand of God is on me.
The hand of God doth heavy on me ly,
I am involv'd in such perplexity
In such sad Circumstances, such distress,
No humane art, or language can express.
Yet still your persecution doth proceed
'Gainst me, the Oyl of malice still doth feed
Your burning wrath, you never do give o're
But still oppress my Spirit more, and more
With bitter words: is't not enough you see
My body thus piece-meal'd, but you must be,
(While you pretend my losses to condole)
The cruel Executioners of my soul.
Is't not enough you see my body pin'd,
But you must likewise thus distract my mind?
Ah will your tedious arguing never cease?
Would as for seven daies, you did hold your peace.
When first you hither came: so to this hour
You ne'r had spoke: alace how lean, and poor
All your Discourse is on my present state
Expressing not so much your wit, as hate,
Still varieing, still mistaking of my case,
Still anvilling on one poor common place;
As if't were meritorious to assert,
Though pious in my words, yet in my heart
I am a rotten Hypocrite: indeed
If you intend in railing to proceed,
In my opinion truly it were fit,
You should at least those threed-bare tropicks quite,
You should your former Batteries neglect,
And on new grounds new arguments erect:
And, truth, I think by what I've spoke of late,
I've furnish'd you with matter adequat,
To more then any of you hath spoke as yet.
Proceed, my friends, then, do your worst, let all
Your wits joint forces brisquely on me fall,
All your insults I shall with patience
Endure, and with my miseries dispence,
When I reflect on my own innocence.
I am involv'd in such perplexity
In such sad Circumstances, such distress,
No humane art, or language can express.
Yet still your persecution doth proceed
'Gainst me, the Oyl of malice still doth feed
Your burning wrath, you never do give o're
But still oppress my Spirit more, and more
With bitter words: is't not enough you see
My body thus piece-meal'd, but you must be,
(While you pretend my losses to condole)
The cruel Executioners of my soul.
Is't not enough you see my body pin'd,
But you must likewise thus distract my mind?
Ah will your tedious arguing never cease?
Would as for seven daies, you did hold your peace.
When first you hither came: so to this hour
You ne'r had spoke: alace how lean, and poor
All your Discourse is on my present state
Expressing not so much your wit, as hate,
Still varieing, still mistaking of my case,
Still anvilling on one poor common place;
As if't were meritorious to assert,
Though pious in my words, yet in my heart
148
If you intend in railing to proceed,
In my opinion truly it were fit,
You should at least those threed-bare tropicks quite,
You should your former Batteries neglect,
And on new grounds new arguments erect:
And, truth, I think by what I've spoke of late,
I've furnish'd you with matter adequat,
To more then any of you hath spoke as yet.
Proceed, my friends, then, do your worst, let all
Your wits joint forces brisquely on me fall,
All your insults I shall with patience
Endure, and with my miseries dispence,
When I reflect on my own innocence.
My innocence I ever will assert,
For not your logick, not your wit, and art,
Shall wheadle me into acknowledgement
Of your so oft repeated argument.
No, no, I never will confesse, what you
To have conceded, keep so much adoe,
No, I'm so far from being asham'd of what
I've spoke, since we did mannage this debate,
That I could wish my words were registrat.
I care not who hereafter do revise
The memoires of my woes, and miseries.
I am indifferent who hereafter read
My Plea, and see how I have answered
Your pointed arguments, I care not who
In after ages do peruse what now
I speak: although the words that from my mouth,
Do issue, are not so polite, so smooth,
So fine, so quaint, so fraught with Eloquence,
As yours are, yet I do presume the sense
Imports as much, as if you had abus'd
Your Parts, and most injuriously accus'd
A man, who 'spite of all your argument,
And pungent talk; will still plead innocent.
O that my words were keep't upon record!
O that my God such favour would afford,
That what I speak in this my agony,
Might be transmitted to Posterity:
In such a fair, and lasting character,
As all our Edicts, Laws, and Statutes are.
For not your logick, not your wit, and art,
Shall wheadle me into acknowledgement
Of your so oft repeated argument.
No, no, I never will confesse, what you
To have conceded, keep so much adoe,
No, I'm so far from being asham'd of what
I've spoke, since we did mannage this debate,
That I could wish my words were registrat.
I care not who hereafter do revise
The memoires of my woes, and miseries.
I am indifferent who hereafter read
My Plea, and see how I have answered
Your pointed arguments, I care not who
In after ages do peruse what now
I speak: although the words that from my mouth,
Do issue, are not so polite, so smooth,
So fine, so quaint, so fraught with Eloquence,
As yours are, yet I do presume the sense
Imports as much, as if you had abus'd
Your Parts, and most injuriously accus'd
A man, who 'spite of all your argument,
And pungent talk; will still plead innocent.
O that my words were keep't upon record!
O that my God such favour would afford,
That what I speak in this my agony,
Might be transmitted to Posterity:
In such a fair, and lasting character,
As all our Edicts, Laws, and Statutes are.
Would they were graven with an Iron pen,
In Lead. or Brass, that all the race of men
Might still remember on this conference,
And see how firm I've stood to the defence
Of my, as yet, unspotted innocence.
In Lead. or Brass, that all the race of men
Might still remember on this conference,
And see how firm I've stood to the defence
Of my, as yet, unspotted innocence.
Nor would I have you think, my friends, that I
Value my self on my integrity.
Or boldly plead my innocence, because
I fall not under reach of humane Laws.
Or that I did on Earth no tryal fear,
Because my Padlock't-sins did not appear,
By evidence expos'd to publick view,
But cunningly were all conceal'd from you.
No, God forbid that e'r I should assert
My innocence i'th' least, if in my heart
By strictest search I found on record that,
Which my assertion might invalidat,
No, no, such practises I do detest,
I keep a constant Jury in my breast,
By which I'm hourly try'd, no allegation,
No fain'd excuse, no specious information,
No falshood, no corrupted evidence,
In that impartial Court of Conscience,
Will ever be receiv'd, at any rate,
From this same Court I have certificat
Of my pure innocence.
For I'm perswaded my Redeemer lives,
I firmly do believe 'tis he that gives
Assurance to all those, whom he doth love,
That he will interceed for them above.
I know in him I have some interest,
And upon that security I rest.
I know he will at last on Earth appear,
And make the sinful World quake for fear
Of his approach, when like a mighty king,
He shall i'th' Clouds appear, and in a ring
Oh Heav'ns great Host stand circled all around,
Issue his Edicts, and by Trumpet sound
Command both dead, and living to appear
In Judgement, where each mortal thing may hear
His just Procedure: there he will indite
Him, whom you call the cunning Hypocrite,
As well as th'open sinner, him he will
Find guilty, and condemn for all his skill;
If I be such then, as you'd have me be,
In that great day, my friends, you'll clearly see,
What shall become of me.
Value my self on my integrity.
Or boldly plead my innocence, because
I fall not under reach of humane Laws.
Or that I did on Earth no tryal fear,
Because my Padlock't-sins did not appear,
149
But cunningly were all conceal'd from you.
No, God forbid that e'r I should assert
My innocence i'th' least, if in my heart
By strictest search I found on record that,
Which my assertion might invalidat,
No, no, such practises I do detest,
I keep a constant Jury in my breast,
By which I'm hourly try'd, no allegation,
No fain'd excuse, no specious information,
No falshood, no corrupted evidence,
In that impartial Court of Conscience,
Will ever be receiv'd, at any rate,
From this same Court I have certificat
Of my pure innocence.
For I'm perswaded my Redeemer lives,
I firmly do believe 'tis he that gives
Assurance to all those, whom he doth love,
That he will interceed for them above.
I know in him I have some interest,
And upon that security I rest.
I know he will at last on Earth appear,
And make the sinful World quake for fear
Of his approach, when like a mighty king,
He shall i'th' Clouds appear, and in a ring
Oh Heav'ns great Host stand circled all around,
Issue his Edicts, and by Trumpet sound
Command both dead, and living to appear
In Judgement, where each mortal thing may hear
His just Procedure: there he will indite
Him, whom you call the cunning Hypocrite,
As well as th'open sinner, him he will
Find guilty, and condemn for all his skill;
If I be such then, as you'd have me be,
In that great day, my friends, you'll clearly see,
What shall become of me.
For after this my Body Worms have eat,
And with their substance 'tis incorporat:
After my Bones are squandred in the Ground,
And of my Flesh no vestige can be found:
My Scull, my Arms, and Thigh-bones, thrown aloft,
By th'Shovel of the Grave-maker as oft,
As for new Guests, new Rooms he doth provide,
And in the Earth my Corps are putrifi'd:
After my Dust about the Grave is roll'd,
Yet in the Flesh I shall my God behold,
And with their substance 'tis incorporat:
After my Bones are squandred in the Ground,
And of my Flesh no vestige can be found:
My Scull, my Arms, and Thigh-bones, thrown aloft,
By th'Shovel of the Grave-maker as oft,
As for new Guests, new Rooms he doth provide,
And in the Earth my Corps are putrifi'd:
After my Dust about the Grave is roll'd,
Yet in the Flesh I shall my God behold,
Yes with these eyes, these individual eyes,
With which, I now behold these glorious Skies;
I then shall see, that glorious Architect,
Who for his glory, did the Heavens Erect.
For though some think our Bodies made of Clay,
Which crumble in the Grave, on rising day,
Shall not stand up; but some of thinnest Air
Compos'd shall in their place that day appear.
Yet I'm convinc'd that this numerical,
This Earthly Body, this organical
Composure which we here a Body name,
Shall on that day appear the very same.
Only as Earth when vitrify'd, is still
But Earth, though richly polish'd by the skill
Of knowing Artists: so this peice of Clay
Shall be refin'd, and at appearance day,
Shall with such beauty, grace, and glory shine,
As God thinks proper for the grand design
Of its perpetual true Felicity,
Which join'd with Soul, in heavenly harmony,
It shall enjoy: impassible of all
Those thwarting ills, which here we troubles call.
Then in this Body, with those very eyes
I shall perceive him, with none else, but these
I shall behold my Saviour: I believe
Firmly, that in the Flesh I shall perceive
My bless'd Redeemer: though my very Reins
Are shrunk within my Back, and all my Veins
Choak'd up with stagnant, and corrupted Blood,
Are now like Ditches full of Dirt, and Mud.
Although my moisture is all spent and gone,
And I am nothing now but skin, and bone:
Though I all humane shape, and form have lost,
And in the eyes of all more like a Ghost,
Then like a living man I do appear,
And no man will come nigh me now, for fear
Of my contagious breath: yet after all,
This bodie, this same individual
And putrid bodie shall again revive,
And I again, as formerly shall live,
And my Redeemer with those verie eyes,
I clearlie shall behold, when from the skies
He shall descend to judge the Quick, and Dead,
And with those verie eyes I then shall read
The Journals of his Actings: then I shall
Before my Heavenlie Judge convince you all
I am no Hipocrite; as you assert,
But innocent, and upright in my heart.
With which, I now behold these glorious Skies;
I then shall see, that glorious Architect,
Who for his glory, did the Heavens Erect.
For though some think our Bodies made of Clay,
Which crumble in the Grave, on rising day,
Shall not stand up; but some of thinnest Air
Compos'd shall in their place that day appear.
150
This Earthly Body, this organical
Composure which we here a Body name,
Shall on that day appear the very same.
Only as Earth when vitrify'd, is still
But Earth, though richly polish'd by the skill
Of knowing Artists: so this peice of Clay
Shall be refin'd, and at appearance day,
Shall with such beauty, grace, and glory shine,
As God thinks proper for the grand design
Of its perpetual true Felicity,
Which join'd with Soul, in heavenly harmony,
It shall enjoy: impassible of all
Those thwarting ills, which here we troubles call.
Then in this Body, with those very eyes
I shall perceive him, with none else, but these
I shall behold my Saviour: I believe
Firmly, that in the Flesh I shall perceive
My bless'd Redeemer: though my very Reins
Are shrunk within my Back, and all my Veins
Choak'd up with stagnant, and corrupted Blood,
Are now like Ditches full of Dirt, and Mud.
Although my moisture is all spent and gone,
And I am nothing now but skin, and bone:
Though I all humane shape, and form have lost,
And in the eyes of all more like a Ghost,
Then like a living man I do appear,
And no man will come nigh me now, for fear
Of my contagious breath: yet after all,
This bodie, this same individual
And putrid bodie shall again revive,
And I again, as formerly shall live,
And my Redeemer with those verie eyes,
I clearlie shall behold, when from the skies
He shall descend to judge the Quick, and Dead,
And with those verie eyes I then shall read
The Journals of his Actings: then I shall
Before my Heavenlie Judge convince you all
I am no Hipocrite; as you assert,
But innocent, and upright in my heart.
Then O, my friends, why do you persecute
A poor man thus? why do ye contribute
All your endeavours, why is all your wit
Employ'd to prove that I am Hypocrite?
Ah why so cruel, why so inhumane
As still to doubt me, still to entertain
Bad thoughts of me: although you clearlie see
(What e're my faults, and outward failings be,)
Yet God to me some kindness doth impart,
And his true Grace is rooted in my heart.
Then, if for my sake you will not forbear
By strength of argument to make appear
That I am guilty: be at least so kind
To your own selves: as though you in your mind
Suppose I am such, yet to hold your peace,
And not so smartlie tell me in my face
That I am of the number of those men,
Whom God doth hate: when you perceive how plain
And evident appears from what I speak,
(Although my body be consum'd, and weak)
Yet is my living Soul inspir'd with faith,
With which supported, never while I breath
Shall you evince by all your wit, and art
That I'm an Out-side saint, but in my heart
A rotten Sinner: truth you should be blam'd
For this Discourse, indeed I am asham'd
To see wise men so over-reach'd with passion,
In words out run their reason in this fashion-
A poor man thus? why do ye contribute
All your endeavours, why is all your wit
Employ'd to prove that I am Hypocrite?
Ah why so cruel, why so inhumane
As still to doubt me, still to entertain
Bad thoughts of me: although you clearlie see
(What e're my faults, and outward failings be,)
Yet God to me some kindness doth impart,
And his true Grace is rooted in my heart.
Then, if for my sake you will not forbear
By strength of argument to make appear
That I am guilty: be at least so kind
To your own selves: as though you in your mind
Suppose I am such, yet to hold your peace,
151
That I am of the number of those men,
Whom God doth hate: when you perceive how plain
And evident appears from what I speak,
(Although my body be consum'd, and weak)
Yet is my living Soul inspir'd with faith,
With which supported, never while I breath
Shall you evince by all your wit, and art
That I'm an Out-side saint, but in my heart
A rotten Sinner: truth you should be blam'd
For this Discourse, indeed I am asham'd
To see wise men so over-reach'd with passion,
In words out run their reason in this fashion-
Now to conclude, my friends, I would advise
You all hereafter to become more wise,
Than of your parts to be so proud, and vain,
As thus t'insult on poor afflicted men.
As thus to stretch your argument so far,
Thus to conclude that none afflicted are,
But those who've sinn'd, a Principle indeed
Of dangerous import: pray my friends take heed,
How ye give Judgment i'th' afflicteds case,
How ye pronounce them guilty: for alace
Why should you thus presume, why should you dare
T'affirm what God himself doth not declare:
For he has never yet declar'd that all,
Those men who in afflictions Quag-mire fall
Are meerlie sinners: or that sorrows are
Still signs of Gods Displeasure, pray be'ware
How you affirm this: for you may incense
Gods wrath by such your sawcy Eloquence:
And what you all so often do repeat,
Shall be the wretch'd and miserable state
O'th' wicked in this world; if you persist
In these opinions, argue, as you list,
I fear shall be your own: for you provock
Your God to wrath, and openly do mock
His Providence, and inwardly displease
Your Maker by such Arguments as these:
But when your prosp'rous daies are vanished,
And in your Judgments you your sins do read,
When your high pride is level'd with the dust,
Then you will clearly see that God is just.
Pray then forbear, for Heav'ns sake pray forbear
This foolish arguing: let me no more hear
Those vain Debates, but if you do intend
To comfort me, beseech you put an end
To this Discourse, and plainly let me know
Whether you be my real friends or no.
For, if you be, seeing how I abhorr,
This trifling talk, you'l argue so no more,
And if you be not, pray you then begone,
And leave me here rather to die alone,
Than a sad life in such a converse lead,
As all my other sorrows doth exceed.
You all hereafter to become more wise,
Than of your parts to be so proud, and vain,
As thus t'insult on poor afflicted men.
As thus to stretch your argument so far,
Thus to conclude that none afflicted are,
But those who've sinn'd, a Principle indeed
Of dangerous import: pray my friends take heed,
How ye give Judgment i'th' afflicteds case,
How ye pronounce them guilty: for alace
Why should you thus presume, why should you dare
T'affirm what God himself doth not declare:
For he has never yet declar'd that all,
Those men who in afflictions Quag-mire fall
Are meerlie sinners: or that sorrows are
Still signs of Gods Displeasure, pray be'ware
How you affirm this: for you may incense
Gods wrath by such your sawcy Eloquence:
And what you all so often do repeat,
Shall be the wretch'd and miserable state
O'th' wicked in this world; if you persist
In these opinions, argue, as you list,
I fear shall be your own: for you provock
Your God to wrath, and openly do mock
His Providence, and inwardly displease
Your Maker by such Arguments as these:
But when your prosp'rous daies are vanished,
And in your Judgments you your sins do read,
When your high pride is level'd with the dust,
Then you will clearly see that God is just.
Pray then forbear, for Heav'ns sake pray forbear
This foolish arguing: let me no more hear
Those vain Debates, but if you do intend
To comfort me, beseech you put an end
To this Discourse, and plainly let me know
Whether you be my real friends or no.
For, if you be, seeing how I abhorr,
This trifling talk, you'l argue so no more,
And if you be not, pray you then begone,
And leave me here rather to die alone,
Than a sad life in such a converse lead,
As all my other sorrows doth exceed.
152
Cap. XX.
As one at Bar is to be pitied,
Who having well and eloquently plead
His innocence, and made the same appear
By evidence, as Sun at noon-tide, clear:
Yet after all, let him do what he can,
This friendlesse Creature, this unhappy man
Must be condemn'd: he must to Gibbit go,
Because the partial Judge will have it so.
This is this good-mans case: for all this time,
As one Arraign'd for an atrocious Crime,
He has by force of reason laboured
To purge himself, and for that end has made
Ample confession of his Faith, yet all
These reasons cannot with his friends prevail,
They still esteem him guilty, and maintain
(However of injustice he complain)
That he had grossely in his life provok't
His God to wrath, though cunningly he cloak't
His murdred sins, with such a specious vail
Of Piety, and World-deceiving zeal,
He closely kep't those murmuring faults conceal'd,
From sight of men, yet now they were reveal'd.
For God at length had heard their shameful cry,
And by his punishment did testify,
How much he did abhor hypocrisie.
Let us observe then here with how great heat,
Zophar the words doth faithfully repeat,
Which Eliphaz himself, and Bildad too
Had spoke already, yet this wise man now,
In his old strain will lisp them out once more,
As if they never had been spoke before.
Who having well and eloquently plead
His innocence, and made the same appear
By evidence, as Sun at noon-tide, clear:
Yet after all, let him do what he can,
This friendlesse Creature, this unhappy man
Must be condemn'd: he must to Gibbit go,
Because the partial Judge will have it so.
This is this good-mans case: for all this time,
As one Arraign'd for an atrocious Crime,
He has by force of reason laboured
To purge himself, and for that end has made
Ample confession of his Faith, yet all
These reasons cannot with his friends prevail,
They still esteem him guilty, and maintain
(However of injustice he complain)
That he had grossely in his life provok't
His God to wrath, though cunningly he cloak't
His murdred sins, with such a specious vail
Of Piety, and World-deceiving zeal,
He closely kep't those murmuring faults conceal'd,
From sight of men, yet now they were reveal'd.
For God at length had heard their shameful cry,
And by his punishment did testify,
How much he did abhor hypocrisie.
Let us observe then here with how great heat,
Zophar the words doth faithfully repeat,
Which Eliphaz himself, and Bildad too
Had spoke already, yet this wise man now,
In his old strain will lisp them out once more,
As if they never had been spoke before.
When first, says he, fame to our ears did bring
The dismal news of thy sad suffering,
When of thy many losses we did hear,
No men could be more troubled then we were:
We did thy griefs as heavilie bemoan,
As if thy losses had been all our own:
Nor could we in our troubled minds have peace,
When men inform'd us of thy woful case,
Until we see thy self, and so forsook
All that was dear to us, and undertook
A tedious journey to this place, that so
We might perform, what every man doth owe
To real friendship: that we might condole
Thy sufferings, and from our very soul
Lament with thee, as one, for whom we still
Bore great respect (think of us what thou will)
Therefore with more then ordinary speed;
We hasted hither, not that we might feed
Our eyes with such a woful spectacle,
As now alace we do behold, or fill
The appetites of envy, and revenge,
With observations on so sad a change.
No we come hither only to declare,
That as thy friends we mean't to bear a share
In thy afflictions, and so thou didst see,
Seven days we sat in complaisance with thee,
With Garments rent, and ashes on our Head,
Not speaking word more then we had been dead.
We beat our breasts, we bow'd, we sigh'd, and weep't,
And with thy sorrows a true cadence kep't.
We had resolv'd on silence.
But when we heard thee with great violence,
Exclaim against the works of Providence:
When we did hear thee bitterly arraign
The Justice of our God once, and again;
When with great fury thou didst execr at
The hour, that gave thee Birth, and with such heat
Pursue thy foolish wishes; as if he,
Who out of meanest Dust Created thee,
Who By his powerful Breath did make thee live,
Who did to thee, wealth, honours, issue give,
Were still oblig'd to keep thee in that state,
And had no freedom to eradicate
Thee, and thy race, as well, as other men,
Who surely, (were it lawful to complain)
Could in as sad, and mournful tone declare,
How they did once live, and what now they are.
When we did hear thee, with such impudence,
At all occasions plead thy innocence,
As if our God had been unjust, indeed
We might ha' fear'd to ha' been punished
As well as thou, if we had held our peace,
And not maintain'd his Justice in the case.
For who I pray could such discourses hear,
And after all from answering forbear?
On this account we've spoke, and spoke again,
And for the love we bear to thee, would fain
Reclaim thee from thy errors, but alace
I fear 'tis all in vain: we do expresse
Our selves, as men, that really do fear
Their God, in all our words, and do appear
To be thy friends, but hitherto we see
There's no convincing such a man, as thee.
For it appears that thou art obstinate
In error, and with all thy soul dost hate
To be reformed: esteeming none thy friend,
Who in discourse will be so free, and kind,
As tell thee of thy faults, and let thee see,
How many men have been as well as thee
Oppress'd in spirit, and in body too,
And yet have never kep't so much adoe,
As thou hast done in all their sufferings,
Nor us'd so many sinful murmurings
Against their Maker: not to speak of us,
Thy friends, whom thou dost openly abuse.
For I've observ'd, friend, that when Eliphaz
Did learn'dly speak, thou told him, in his face,
He did not understand so much as thou
Did know of Gods great works: when Bildad too
Express'd his mind in golden Eloquence,
And truly spoke, with as much deference
To thy condition, as men did of late,
When thou didst triumph in thy prosprous state,
Thou said his tale had formerly been told,
And, so on what he spoke, thou laid no hold,
For he knew nothing, but to rail, and scold.
As for my self, however I did speak,
Thou told me all my arguments were weak.
For my part therefore, seing 'twas in vain
To speak, I was resolved to abstain
From further talking, but that now I see
Thou'rt pleas'd of late forsooth to challenge me,
As one who has injur'd thee, hence I find
My self oblig'd again to speak my mind.
My thoughts are numerous, and my brimful heart
Will burst, if I the same do not impart,
In words, for which those numerous thoughts do call,
And therefore I'm constrain'd to utter all
I think with freedom, and I must make haste
To speak too, for this speech shall be the last
That I shall use to thee: hear me and then
Thou shalt have no more reason to complain
Of my discourse; let thy two other friends,
(As they most learn'dly can expresse their minds)
Continue to expostulate with thee,
Thou shalt hear no more arguing from me.
The dismal news of thy sad suffering,
When of thy many losses we did hear,
No men could be more troubled then we were:
We did thy griefs as heavilie bemoan,
As if thy losses had been all our own:
Nor could we in our troubled minds have peace,
When men inform'd us of thy woful case,
Until we see thy self, and so forsook
All that was dear to us, and undertook
A tedious journey to this place, that so
We might perform, what every man doth owe
To real friendship: that we might condole
Thy sufferings, and from our very soul
Lament with thee, as one, for whom we still
Bore great respect (think of us what thou will)
153
We hasted hither, not that we might feed
Our eyes with such a woful spectacle,
As now alace we do behold, or fill
The appetites of envy, and revenge,
With observations on so sad a change.
No we come hither only to declare,
That as thy friends we mean't to bear a share
In thy afflictions, and so thou didst see,
Seven days we sat in complaisance with thee,
With Garments rent, and ashes on our Head,
Not speaking word more then we had been dead.
We beat our breasts, we bow'd, we sigh'd, and weep't,
And with thy sorrows a true cadence kep't.
We had resolv'd on silence.
But when we heard thee with great violence,
Exclaim against the works of Providence:
When we did hear thee bitterly arraign
The Justice of our God once, and again;
When with great fury thou didst execr at
The hour, that gave thee Birth, and with such heat
Pursue thy foolish wishes; as if he,
Who out of meanest Dust Created thee,
Who By his powerful Breath did make thee live,
Who did to thee, wealth, honours, issue give,
Were still oblig'd to keep thee in that state,
And had no freedom to eradicate
Thee, and thy race, as well, as other men,
Who surely, (were it lawful to complain)
Could in as sad, and mournful tone declare,
How they did once live, and what now they are.
When we did hear thee, with such impudence,
At all occasions plead thy innocence,
As if our God had been unjust, indeed
We might ha' fear'd to ha' been punished
As well as thou, if we had held our peace,
And not maintain'd his Justice in the case.
For who I pray could such discourses hear,
And after all from answering forbear?
On this account we've spoke, and spoke again,
And for the love we bear to thee, would fain
Reclaim thee from thy errors, but alace
I fear 'tis all in vain: we do expresse
Our selves, as men, that really do fear
Their God, in all our words, and do appear
To be thy friends, but hitherto we see
There's no convincing such a man, as thee.
For it appears that thou art obstinate
In error, and with all thy soul dost hate
To be reformed: esteeming none thy friend,
Who in discourse will be so free, and kind,
As tell thee of thy faults, and let thee see,
How many men have been as well as thee
Oppress'd in spirit, and in body too,
154
As thou hast done in all their sufferings,
Nor us'd so many sinful murmurings
Against their Maker: not to speak of us,
Thy friends, whom thou dost openly abuse.
For I've observ'd, friend, that when Eliphaz
Did learn'dly speak, thou told him, in his face,
He did not understand so much as thou
Did know of Gods great works: when Bildad too
Express'd his mind in golden Eloquence,
And truly spoke, with as much deference
To thy condition, as men did of late,
When thou didst triumph in thy prosprous state,
Thou said his tale had formerly been told,
And, so on what he spoke, thou laid no hold,
For he knew nothing, but to rail, and scold.
As for my self, however I did speak,
Thou told me all my arguments were weak.
For my part therefore, seing 'twas in vain
To speak, I was resolved to abstain
From further talking, but that now I see
Thou'rt pleas'd of late forsooth to challenge me,
As one who has injur'd thee, hence I find
My self oblig'd again to speak my mind.
My thoughts are numerous, and my brimful heart
Will burst, if I the same do not impart,
In words, for which those numerous thoughts do call,
And therefore I'm constrain'd to utter all
I think with freedom, and I must make haste
To speak too, for this speech shall be the last
That I shall use to thee: hear me and then
Thou shalt have no more reason to complain
Of my discourse; let thy two other friends,
(As they most learn'dly can expresse their minds)
Continue to expostulate with thee,
Thou shalt hear no more arguing from me.
Allow me then, my friend, to vindicat
My self from those aspersions of late
Thou'rt pleas'd to throw upon me: for I'm touch'd,
To hear my self so frequently reproach'd,
Even in my face: what man will be so us'd,
And hold his peace, I must then be excus'd,
If I make answer to thy late Oration,
Reflecting so much on my reputation.
Why then, my friend, were I as much a slave
To passion, as alace I do perceive
Thou art: should I give vent to wrath as thou
Hast all this time done, without more adoe,
I'd fall a railing on thee, all my words
Should be like pointed knives, or shearing swords,
My Tongue I'd with such acrimony whet,
Stare with my Eyes, and in such order set
My Teeth against thee, and with clutched Fist,
(Whilst in my burning fury I persist)
To menace thee so thunder out my wrath
As should make thee, I doubt wish more for Death
Than yet th'hast done: I'd so belabour thee
With whips of speech as thou shouldst quicklie see
Thy foolish error in provoking me.
I would so threaten terror, and revenge
As I suppose, would make thy colours change
For all thy courage: I'd so tartly speak,
As would make all thy joints and sinews quake.
But God forbid that I should be so mad,
As to practise such an unlawful trade:
That I should to my passion give such vent,
Of which hereafter I'd no doubt repent:
No, my good friend, indeed thou dost mistake
If thou believe that yet I am so weak:
No, thou shalt hear me, with great calmness speak.
For since thou hast reproach'd me to my face,
I cannot sure in honour, hold my peace,
But must make answer to what thou hast said,
Though after all indeed I am afraid
I'le have not better success than before,
Only since I intend to speak no more,
Hear me but for some time with patience,
And then descant upon thy innocence,
Even as thou wilt; for seriouslie I shall
In a few mild Expressions, sum up all
What I intend to speak: so I have done
And then if thou think'st fit, I shall be gone.
My self from those aspersions of late
Thou'rt pleas'd to throw upon me: for I'm touch'd,
To hear my self so frequently reproach'd,
Even in my face: what man will be so us'd,
And hold his peace, I must then be excus'd,
If I make answer to thy late Oration,
Reflecting so much on my reputation.
Why then, my friend, were I as much a slave
To passion, as alace I do perceive
Thou art: should I give vent to wrath as thou
Hast all this time done, without more adoe,
I'd fall a railing on thee, all my words
Should be like pointed knives, or shearing swords,
My Tongue I'd with such acrimony whet,
Stare with my Eyes, and in such order set
My Teeth against thee, and with clutched Fist,
(Whilst in my burning fury I persist)
155
As should make thee, I doubt wish more for Death
Than yet th'hast done: I'd so belabour thee
With whips of speech as thou shouldst quicklie see
Thy foolish error in provoking me.
I would so threaten terror, and revenge
As I suppose, would make thy colours change
For all thy courage: I'd so tartly speak,
As would make all thy joints and sinews quake.
But God forbid that I should be so mad,
As to practise such an unlawful trade:
That I should to my passion give such vent,
Of which hereafter I'd no doubt repent:
No, my good friend, indeed thou dost mistake
If thou believe that yet I am so weak:
No, thou shalt hear me, with great calmness speak.
For since thou hast reproach'd me to my face,
I cannot sure in honour, hold my peace,
But must make answer to what thou hast said,
Though after all indeed I am afraid
I'le have not better success than before,
Only since I intend to speak no more,
Hear me but for some time with patience,
And then descant upon thy innocence,
Even as thou wilt; for seriouslie I shall
In a few mild Expressions, sum up all
What I intend to speak: so I have done
And then if thou think'st fit, I shall be gone.
I doubt not, friend, but thou art fully read
In Naturals, and hast much laboured
To know the real true Origination,
Of all the glorious work of the Creation.
I also know by reading History,
Thou hast great knowledge of antiquity;
Whence I conclude sure thou dost understand,
How that, since with a high and mighty hand,
The King of Heavens did first the Earth Create,
And in its full possession enstate
That ungrate thing call'd Man.—
In Naturals, and hast much laboured
To know the real true Origination,
Of all the glorious work of the Creation.
I also know by reading History,
Thou hast great knowledge of antiquity;
Whence I conclude sure thou dost understand,
How that, since with a high and mighty hand,
The King of Heavens did first the Earth Create,
And in its full possession enstate
That ungrate thing call'd Man.—
Since that time sure, thou can'st not chuse but know
How God Almighty brings the wicked low.
For that accursed man, who doth despise
His great Creator, though in wealth he rise
Above his neighbours, and in honours sphere,
A Star o'th' greatest magnitude appear.
Though like a tall Oak, he doth overtop,
The lower shrubs o'th' World, and in his hope,
Devours whole Kingdoms, Cities, Common-weals,
States, Empires, Districts, or what ever else,
May bring him profit, honour, and delite,
And answer his voracious appetite;
Although he triumphs in the spoiles of those,
Whose riches only make great men their foes,
And seizes on all that unhappy ground,
(Belong to whom it will) where can be found
That Idol of the World, which men call Gold:
To purchase which, that Creature will make bold,
To swim through seas of blood, and venture all,
For what wars, Nerves, and Sinews he doth call.
Yet are his triumphs all but empty shows
And all his bloody purchases (God knows)
Of which that Heavens-contemning fool doth boast
Are scarce well setled, when they're wholly lost.
His joys do only for a moment last,
And when his glorious days are overpast,
And troubles to his former joys succeed,
What miserable life shall that man lead?
Each moment haunted by the memory,
Of his few years spent in prosperity,
Which galls him more then he had never seen
Those whiffling days; nor in his life had been
Above the rank of those, who meanly beg,
Along the high ways, and will make a leg,
For a poor farthing, for its own'd by all
That he, who for his pride of old did fall
From that great share of heavenly happinesse,
Which, whilst he fear'd his God, he did possesse,
Is now more tortur'd by the memory,
Of his so poorly lost felicity,
Then he had ne'r those higher Regions known,
Or seen the splendour of the heavenly Throne,
But had been still in horrid darknesse bred,
And from his first Creation Billeted,
I'th' Bowels of the Earth, where, for his pride,
He's now condemn'd for ever to reside.
How God Almighty brings the wicked low.
For that accursed man, who doth despise
His great Creator, though in wealth he rise
Above his neighbours, and in honours sphere,
A Star o'th' greatest magnitude appear.
Though like a tall Oak, he doth overtop,
The lower shrubs o'th' World, and in his hope,
Devours whole Kingdoms, Cities, Common-weals,
States, Empires, Districts, or what ever else,
May bring him profit, honour, and delite,
And answer his voracious appetite;
Although he triumphs in the spoiles of those,
Whose riches only make great men their foes,
And seizes on all that unhappy ground,
156
That Idol of the World, which men call Gold:
To purchase which, that Creature will make bold,
To swim through seas of blood, and venture all,
For what wars, Nerves, and Sinews he doth call.
Yet are his triumphs all but empty shows
And all his bloody purchases (God knows)
Of which that Heavens-contemning fool doth boast
Are scarce well setled, when they're wholly lost.
His joys do only for a moment last,
And when his glorious days are overpast,
And troubles to his former joys succeed,
What miserable life shall that man lead?
Each moment haunted by the memory,
Of his few years spent in prosperity,
Which galls him more then he had never seen
Those whiffling days; nor in his life had been
Above the rank of those, who meanly beg,
Along the high ways, and will make a leg,
For a poor farthing, for its own'd by all
That he, who for his pride of old did fall
From that great share of heavenly happinesse,
Which, whilst he fear'd his God, he did possesse,
Is now more tortur'd by the memory,
Of his so poorly lost felicity,
Then he had ne'r those higher Regions known,
Or seen the splendour of the heavenly Throne,
But had been still in horrid darknesse bred,
And from his first Creation Billeted,
I'th' Bowels of the Earth, where, for his pride,
He's now condemn'd for ever to reside.
That man I say, then who doth God despise,
Although in wealth, and honour he Should rise
Above all others, and in hight of pride,
Should undervalue all the world beside,
Although in wealth, and honour he Should rise
Above all others, and in hight of pride,
Should undervalue all the world beside,
Yet shall that man so high and excellent,
Be look'd upon but as the Excrement
Of mankind: all his splendid acts shall dy
His Fame in dark oblivion shall ly,
Fetter'd, and speechlesse, to Eternity.
Those who have seen his flatt'rers to him bow,
Shall then demand, where is this gallant now?
Be look'd upon but as the Excrement
Of mankind: all his splendid acts shall dy
His Fame in dark oblivion shall ly,
Fetter'd, and speechlesse, to Eternity.
Those who have seen his flatt'rers to him bow,
Shall then demand, where is this gallant now?
For he shall quickly vanish, like a dream,
No Antiquary shall find out his name.
That Meteor shall soon passe out of sight,
As doth an Ignis fatuus in the night.
No Antiquary shall find out his name.
That Meteor shall soon passe out of sight,
As doth an Ignis fatuus in the night.
The eye which see him with the morning rise,
Shall not perceive him, when the evening skies
Approach the Earth: those glorious Palaces,
In which he thought he fully did possesse
All that he could desire, shall then appear
As dreadful monuments, serving to declare
What once he was, that from these topicks all,
May well conclude the greatnesse of his fall,
Shall not perceive him, when the evening skies
Approach the Earth: those glorious Palaces,
In which he thought he fully did possesse
All that he could desire, shall then appear
As dreadful monuments, serving to declare
What once he was, that from these topicks all,
May well conclude the greatnesse of his fall,
157
Now after he is fall'n, pray let us see,
What will the state of this poor Creature be?
It shall be low, it shall be poor indeed,
His Children shall from Beggars beg their Bread,
And from their Fathers Slaves compassion plead.
What will the state of this poor Creature be?
It shall be low, it shall be poor indeed,
His Children shall from Beggars beg their Bread,
And from their Fathers Slaves compassion plead.
Then for his Person (pity him who will)
He soon becomes a horrid spectacle,
His Flesh is larded with his youthful sins,
And in his vigrous years, old age begins
To seize upon him, dreadful fits o'th' Stone,
Reliques of Pox, and pains of Gout annon,
Begin their work, and take down piece, by piece,
That goodly Fabrick, which in former days
Seem'd to enjoy a lease of many years:
But now this stately Body soon appears.
Like an old tottering weather-beaten house,
With windows crack'd, and walls so ruinous,
As they can scarce support the falling roof,
So that the boldest Artist stands aloof,
And e'r he to repair it doth begin,
He props't without, and standarts it within,
Yet 'spite of those supporters, after all,
This aged building to the ground doth fall.
So this poor wretch now paralytick grown,
With tottering head, and joynts all overflow'n,
With Goutish humours, teeth all hanging loose
Within their sockets,: a distilling Nose,
Eyes full of brackish liquor: shoulders stooping,
Under-lip in a constant spittle drooping:
Lungs with a sharp, and wasting cough oppress't,
Which doth bereave him of his nightly rest,
Pump'd up the Wind-pipes, with a raging froath,
In lobs, and parcels issuing from his mouth.
His Skin with Boils, and Ulcers diaper'd,
(Of his lascivious sports the sad reward)
His Stomach uselesse, and his Bowels weary
With th'torture of a constant disentery.
His legs now rotting to the Bones apace,
In a consuming Eresypelas:
Som' doz'n issues, in his Shoulders, Arms,
And Neck appearing, like so many Charms,
And spels upon his Body: all his Veins
Choak'd with a slymy pituite, his Reins
Buried in sand, which squandring every where,
Along the Channels of each ureter,
Mix'd with some rugged peebles, doth so stop
Those Conduits in their Course, that drop, by drop,
The damm'd up Urine issues with such pain,
As he would rather wish he could retain
It in his Body, then thus let it go,
With such infernal agony, although
Barr'd in its Current, it should upwards rise,
And force a passage at his very Eyes,
Mouth, Nose, or Ears, rather then tolerat,
His Vessels to be so excoriat
With those sharp stones, as from that narrow spout,
Moe drops of blood than Urine issue out.
With hands by drunken excesse in his youth,
So trembling, that they scarce can to his mouth
Convey his food: such swellings in his feet,
As, when in cut out Shooes he walks in Street,
Amongst the busie croud he dars not go,
Lest some perhaps might tread upon his toe.
But with great leasure by shop-doors doth crawl,
Contemn'd, abhorr'd, and pointed at by all;
Where on he dwindles in great wrath, and chaff,
To see how now even Boyes do at him laugh,
Supported by the buttresse of a staff.
He soon becomes a horrid spectacle,
His Flesh is larded with his youthful sins,
And in his vigrous years, old age begins
To seize upon him, dreadful fits o'th' Stone,
Reliques of Pox, and pains of Gout annon,
Begin their work, and take down piece, by piece,
That goodly Fabrick, which in former days
Seem'd to enjoy a lease of many years:
But now this stately Body soon appears.
Like an old tottering weather-beaten house,
With windows crack'd, and walls so ruinous,
As they can scarce support the falling roof,
So that the boldest Artist stands aloof,
And e'r he to repair it doth begin,
He props't without, and standarts it within,
Yet 'spite of those supporters, after all,
This aged building to the ground doth fall.
So this poor wretch now paralytick grown,
With tottering head, and joynts all overflow'n,
With Goutish humours, teeth all hanging loose
Within their sockets,: a distilling Nose,
Eyes full of brackish liquor: shoulders stooping,
Under-lip in a constant spittle drooping:
Lungs with a sharp, and wasting cough oppress't,
Which doth bereave him of his nightly rest,
Pump'd up the Wind-pipes, with a raging froath,
In lobs, and parcels issuing from his mouth.
His Skin with Boils, and Ulcers diaper'd,
(Of his lascivious sports the sad reward)
His Stomach uselesse, and his Bowels weary
With th'torture of a constant disentery.
His legs now rotting to the Bones apace,
In a consuming Eresypelas:
Som' doz'n issues, in his Shoulders, Arms,
And Neck appearing, like so many Charms,
And spels upon his Body: all his Veins
Choak'd with a slymy pituite, his Reins
Buried in sand, which squandring every where,
Along the Channels of each ureter,
Mix'd with some rugged peebles, doth so stop
Those Conduits in their Course, that drop, by drop,
The damm'd up Urine issues with such pain,
As he would rather wish he could retain
It in his Body, then thus let it go,
With such infernal agony, although
Barr'd in its Current, it should upwards rise,
And force a passage at his very Eyes,
Mouth, Nose, or Ears, rather then tolerat,
158
With those sharp stones, as from that narrow spout,
Moe drops of blood than Urine issue out.
With hands by drunken excesse in his youth,
So trembling, that they scarce can to his mouth
Convey his food: such swellings in his feet,
As, when in cut out Shooes he walks in Street,
Amongst the busie croud he dars not go,
Lest some perhaps might tread upon his toe.
But with great leasure by shop-doors doth crawl,
Contemn'd, abhorr'd, and pointed at by all;
Where on he dwindles in great wrath, and chaff,
To see how now even Boyes do at him laugh,
Supported by the buttresse of a staff.
This man, I say, in such a tottering state,
Of Means, as well as Health evacuat,
Prop'd up by art may for some time subsist,
But let him use what Medicines, he list,
His ruinous mouldy Carcasse, after all,
Shall split, and in the Grave, in pieces fall,
And with it all those sad effects of Lust,
And other pleasures shall ly down in Dust,
These only he shall carry with him hence,
As dismal vouchers, and sad evidence,
Of days ill spent, these with this man shall dy,
These with him, under the cold Turf shall ly.
Of Means, as well as Health evacuat,
Prop'd up by art may for some time subsist,
But let him use what Medicines, he list,
His ruinous mouldy Carcasse, after all,
Shall split, and in the Grave, in pieces fall,
And with it all those sad effects of Lust,
And other pleasures shall ly down in Dust,
These only he shall carry with him hence,
As dismal vouchers, and sad evidence,
Of days ill spent, these with this man shall dy,
These with him, under the cold Turf shall ly.
Here, here's the end of him, who takes delite
In acts of sin, whose curious appetite,
Feeds upou sin, dress'd up with sauce of youth,
Which makes it taste like Hony in the mouth,
In acts of sin, whose curious appetite,
Feeds upou sin, dress'd up with sauce of youth,
Which makes it taste like Hony in the mouth,
Of him who takes such pleasure in his vice,
As he esteems himself in Paradise,
When tumbling 'mongst the downs of soft delite,
In the embraces of some catamite,
Or some rank Whore: of the lewd man, who swears,
There's nothing to his eye so fair appears,
As those fine pleasures, which perpetually,
The preaching-fools, with violence decry,
Who hugs sin in his bosome, clings about it,
Who cannot eat, drink, wake, or sleep without it.
As he esteems himself in Paradise,
When tumbling 'mongst the downs of soft delite,
In the embraces of some catamite,
Or some rank Whore: of the lewd man, who swears,
There's nothing to his eye so fair appears,
As those fine pleasures, which perpetually,
The preaching-fools, with violence decry,
Who hugs sin in his bosome, clings about it,
Who cannot eat, drink, wake, or sleep without it.
O thus shall end the man, who in his youth,
As one keeps Sugar-tablet in his mouth,
And cause 'tis sweet, he will not let it o'r,
Until it melt, but sucks it more, and more,
With great delite: so sweetly sucks the juice
Of sin, as if it were his only choise.
For as a poisoned morsel to the taste,
By art is rendred pleasant, but at last,
When in the Stomach it begins to boile,
And throws up noisome fumes like scalding Oyl,
Not Rhubarb, gall of Asps, or Hemlock root,
Can be more bitter: so beyond all doubt
Sin, when the pleasure of its act is gone,
And mans hot blood begins to cool anon.
Becomes so bitter, so severely tart,
As makes the poor deluded sinners heart,
Sink in a sea of griefs, and meanly faint,
At thoughts of sin: but O how few repent,
At these sad doings! O how few abstain,
For all that sorrow, all that grief, and pain,
From shrewd repeating of those sins again.
As one keeps Sugar-tablet in his mouth,
And cause 'tis sweet, he will not let it o'r,
Until it melt, but sucks it more, and more,
With great delite: so sweetly sucks the juice
Of sin, as if it were his only choise.
For as a poisoned morsel to the taste,
By art is rendred pleasant, but at last,
When in the Stomach it begins to boile,
And throws up noisome fumes like scalding Oyl,
Not Rhubarb, gall of Asps, or Hemlock root,
Can be more bitter: so beyond all doubt
Sin, when the pleasure of its act is gone,
159
Becomes so bitter, so severely tart,
As makes the poor deluded sinners heart,
Sink in a sea of griefs, and meanly faint,
At thoughts of sin: but O how few repent,
At these sad doings! O how few abstain,
For all that sorrow, all that grief, and pain,
From shrewd repeating of those sins again.
With the same pleasure he who swallows down,
Great quantity of worldly means, assoon
As he has got according to his mind,
His bargain's clos'd, the writings seal'd, and sign'd,
The Evidents, and Keys Delivered,
His Title fix't, his Right ascertained,
Both of his Purchase, and his Warrandice,
And with his own convenience pay'd the price.
So that he cannot fancy for his heart,
Where lyes th'encumbrance on which Lawyers art
Can found Eviction.—
Then God, in anger, on this fool doth look,
And as one angles Fishes, by a Hook,
So neatly busk'd, and covered with a Fly,
As in the Water to a vulgar eye,
It appears real: so when wealth entices,
This cunning worldling, by his own devices,
He's quickly catch'd, and hook'd, all he has got,
His Houses, Mannours, Treasures, and what not,
Are quickly taken from him, and amain
He vomits all he swallowed, up again.
Great quantity of worldly means, assoon
As he has got according to his mind,
His bargain's clos'd, the writings seal'd, and sign'd,
The Evidents, and Keys Delivered,
His Title fix't, his Right ascertained,
Both of his Purchase, and his Warrandice,
And with his own convenience pay'd the price.
So that he cannot fancy for his heart,
Where lyes th'encumbrance on which Lawyers art
Can found Eviction.—
Then God, in anger, on this fool doth look,
And as one angles Fishes, by a Hook,
So neatly busk'd, and covered with a Fly,
As in the Water to a vulgar eye,
It appears real: so when wealth entices,
This cunning worldling, by his own devices,
He's quickly catch'd, and hook'd, all he has got,
His Houses, Mannours, Treasures, and what not,
Are quickly taken from him, and amain
He vomits all he swallowed, up again.
Like one that sucks the poison of an Asp,
Or Vipers Tongue, who to his utmost gasp,
Continues in a constant vomiting,
So shall this Creature, once so flourishing:
By loss succeeding loss continually,
See himself strip't of all before he dy.
Or Vipers Tongue, who to his utmost gasp,
Continues in a constant vomiting,
So shall this Creature, once so flourishing:
By loss succeeding loss continually,
See himself strip't of all before he dy.
Those great contentments which he did project
In all his actings, which he did expect,
As the reward of all his toile and pain,
Whilst he would fancy in his idle brain,
How in the affluence of all earthly pleasure,
He'd spend his years, at his own ease and leasure,
He never shall enjoy, nor shall he see,
Or understand what those contentments be.
In all his actings, which he did expect,
As the reward of all his toile and pain,
Whilst he would fancy in his idle brain,
How in the affluence of all earthly pleasure,
He'd spend his years, at his own ease and leasure,
He never shall enjoy, nor shall he see,
Or understand what those contentments be.
No, he shall ever see those happy days,
Which in his great transactions, he always
Projected to himself; for though some men,
Their sinful acquests for some time retain,
Yet others for a moment scarce enjoy
Those things, in purchase whereof they imploy
Much precious time; so this unhappy man,
Shall see his Lands, and Means (do what he can)
Ere he by sherking methods, and oppression,
Has got the same well in his own possession,
Quickly restor'd, and all he had of late,
In a few minuts wholly dissipat.
Nor must he think his substance to divide,
And that Gods justice will be satisfy'd
With restitution of his sinful gain,
Whilst what he fairly had, he may retain,
No, he must no such fancy entertain.
For as a few prohibit Merchandize,
In time of War, will make a Loadning Prize,
To boot, with Ship, in which these goods are found,
If to the Ports of Enemies 'tis bound;
So all his wealth, without distinction fall,
Under the Mene-tekel on his wall,
And for oppression he must forfeit all.
Which in his great transactions, he always
Projected to himself; for though some men,
Their sinful acquests for some time retain,
Yet others for a moment scarce enjoy
Those things, in purchase whereof they imploy
Much precious time; so this unhappy man,
Shall see his Lands, and Means (do what he can)
Ere he by sherking methods, and oppression,
Has got the same well in his own possession,
160
In a few minuts wholly dissipat.
Nor must he think his substance to divide,
And that Gods justice will be satisfy'd
With restitution of his sinful gain,
Whilst what he fairly had, he may retain,
No, he must no such fancy entertain.
For as a few prohibit Merchandize,
In time of War, will make a Loadning Prize,
To boot, with Ship, in which these goods are found,
If to the Ports of Enemies 'tis bound;
So all his wealth, without distinction fall,
Under the Mene-tekel on his wall,
And for oppression he must forfeit all.
For to enrich himself, has ruin'd many,
Where his advantage lay, not sparing any.
Without all Law, he did oppresse the poor,
Distrain'd their goods, and turn'd them to the door,
Half naked, with their Families to feed,
In charity, and when they begg'd their bread
From him, he'd bid those wretches quick be gone,
Or he'd cause lay them in the Stocks anon,
Because this avaricious man, God wot,
Has seiz'd on houses which he builded not.
Where his advantage lay, not sparing any.
Without all Law, he did oppresse the poor,
Distrain'd their goods, and turn'd them to the door,
Half naked, with their Families to feed,
In charity, and when they begg'd their bread
From him, he'd bid those wretches quick be gone,
Or he'd cause lay them in the Stocks anon,
Because this avaricious man, God wot,
Has seiz'd on houses which he builded not.
Therefore this man shall in his mind possesse
No real peace, nor solid quietnesse,
Because so oft he hath the poor oppress't,
In his rouz'd conscience he shall have no rest,
He sees his numerous losses antedate,
His death: his substance all dilapidate.
Before his eyes; nor can he so much save,
As may defray his charges to the Grave,
In decent order of a Funeral,
But dyes deserted, and abhorr'd by all.
No real peace, nor solid quietnesse,
Because so oft he hath the poor oppress't,
In his rouz'd conscience he shall have no rest,
He sees his numerous losses antedate,
His death: his substance all dilapidate.
Before his eyes; nor can he so much save,
As may defray his charges to the Grave,
In decent order of a Funeral,
But dyes deserted, and abhorr'd by all.
None of his kindred shall his death bemoan,
Or take up Inventar when he is gone,
Of his effects, no man for his Estate
Shall sue, no kinsmen 'mongst themselves debate
Who shall succeed him: none crave sequestration
Of Writs, or put in for administration:
No, no, for all his former wealth and store,
Now he is gone, he shall be found so poor,
Shall neither have Heir, nor Executor.
Or take up Inventar when he is gone,
Of his effects, no man for his Estate
Shall sue, no kinsmen 'mongst themselves debate
Who shall succeed him: none crave sequestration
Of Writs, or put in for administration:
No, no, for all his former wealth and store,
Now he is gone, he shall be found so poor,
Shall neither have Heir, nor Executor.
And when d'ye think shall this oppressor fall?
Even in the hight and affluence of all
Worldly delites, and pleasure, in the prime
Of his enjoyments, in the pruning time,
Of all his projects, when his life appears,
Entituled to many happy years.
When he doth triumph in his high-swoln paunch,
Then shall he be destroyed, root and branch:
Then shall his fellow-sinners fall upon him,
Kill him, and so there shall be no more on him.
Even in the hight and affluence of all
Worldly delites, and pleasure, in the prime
Of his enjoyments, in the pruning time,
Of all his projects, when his life appears,
Entituled to many happy years.
When he doth triumph in his high-swoln paunch,
Then shall he be destroyed, root and branch:
Then shall his fellow-sinners fall upon him,
Kill him, and so there shall be no more on him.
161
Have you not seen what pleasure, and delite,
A young man of a lusty appetite,
Expresses at the sight of luscious meats,
Falls to them greedily; but no sooner eats
A few small morsels, then incontinent
He changes colours, and begins to faint,
Finding the poison in its operation,
Abridge his hours beyond imagination:
Then in a feaver violent and hot,
Unconquerable by any antidote;
Studded with spots, and pois'nous signs, he lyes
For a small time, sighs out his life and dyes.
So when this man expects he may enjoy,
What he has purchas'd, then will God destroy
Him utterly, and send him, with his hopes,
To ly in dust amongst those silly fops,
Who the same thoughts in life did entertain,
But now too late, perceive they're all but vain.
A young man of a lusty appetite,
Expresses at the sight of luscious meats,
Falls to them greedily; but no sooner eats
A few small morsels, then incontinent
He changes colours, and begins to faint,
Finding the poison in its operation,
Abridge his hours beyond imagination:
Then in a feaver violent and hot,
Unconquerable by any antidote;
Studded with spots, and pois'nous signs, he lyes
For a small time, sighs out his life and dyes.
So when this man expects he may enjoy,
What he has purchas'd, then will God destroy
Him utterly, and send him, with his hopes,
To ly in dust amongst those silly fops,
Who the same thoughts in life did entertain,
But now too late, perceive they're all but vain.
Nay though he may by policy prevent
Th'effects of an unlucky accident,
And by his cunning art stave of another,
Yet after he has scap'd both one, and 'tother,
A third shall reach him which he least of all
Suspects, and make him quickly headlong fall
Down from the turret of his happinesse,
And in a few hours do his businesse.
As he who from the raging sword doth fly,
When come to handy blows, is by and by,
By Arrow from a Crosse-bow in his flight,
Wounded, or with a Bullet shot down-right.
Th'effects of an unlucky accident,
And by his cunning art stave of another,
Yet after he has scap'd both one, and 'tother,
A third shall reach him which he least of all
Suspects, and make him quickly headlong fall
Down from the turret of his happinesse,
And in a few hours do his businesse.
As he who from the raging sword doth fly,
When come to handy blows, is by and by,
By Arrow from a Crosse-bow in his flight,
Wounded, or with a Bullet shot down-right.
And as when one pursues his enemy,
With shot as thick as hail, whilst he doth fly,
And beats him down, so when with furious speed,
He gallops up, and finds him not yet dead,
He draws his Arrow from the deadly wound,
Whilst the poor soul doth gasp upon the ground,
And whilst he breaths, from stricking never ceases,
Till with his sword has hew'd him all to pieces.
So in his anger, God will still persist,
And ne're from beating of this man desist,
With vengeance, upon vengeance, till he grind him
To powder, so that those who think to find him,
Dead in some ditch, and when his Corps are found,
Would be at charge to hide it under ground,
Shall make search for his Body here, and there,
But they may as well ramble in the Air,
A hunting of the wild Boar, Fox, or Hare.
Let them search, as they will, yet without doubt,
For all their Art, shall never find him out.
With shot as thick as hail, whilst he doth fly,
And beats him down, so when with furious speed,
He gallops up, and finds him not yet dead,
He draws his Arrow from the deadly wound,
Whilst the poor soul doth gasp upon the ground,
And whilst he breaths, from stricking never ceases,
Till with his sword has hew'd him all to pieces.
So in his anger, God will still persist,
And ne're from beating of this man desist,
With vengeance, upon vengeance, till he grind him
To powder, so that those who think to find him,
Dead in some ditch, and when his Corps are found,
Would be at charge to hide it under ground,
Shall make search for his Body here, and there,
But they may as well ramble in the Air,
A hunting of the wild Boar, Fox, or Hare.
Let them search, as they will, yet without doubt,
For all their Art, shall never find him out.
Nor will our God, when he doth once begin,
To plague this wicked person for his sin,
In his proceedings so much favour show,
To this same man, as at one single blow
To cut him off: no, he must not expect
That God will him at once to pieces break,
No, no, 'tis not his custom so to deal,
With such vile Malefactors, but piece meal,
He'll take him down, as thou perhaps hast seen,
In thy own time, how some rich man has been,
Whilst flourishing in Wealth, not instantly,
But by degrees, reduc'd to poverty.
For first some tache upon his reputation,
Is fix'd, which puts his credit out of fashion,
Then all those men, who deal with him suspect,
There may be something in't, and least he break,
With all their Goods, and many in his hands,
Where his effects do ly, each one demands,
And he's secure, can first extend his Lands.
Then for his person, he dars not abide,
Th'assaults of law, but is constrain'd to hide
Himself in some dark corner, out of sight,
And cast up his Accounts by Candle-light.
Or if in obscure nights he steals abroad,
Thinking to find a way, by some By-road,
To his own dwelling, he retires assoon
To his sad kennel, as he sees the Moon
Peep through the Clouds, at length the Catch-poles eye,
Doth find him out, and he is by and by
Clapt up in Jayl: the news no sooner spread,
But all of his Imprisonment are glad,
And on him soon a many Actions laid.
Thus now in Firmance, his effects all seiz'd,
Opprest with sorrow, crazy, and diseas'd:
His desolate, and starving Family,
With open mouth, for Aliment do cry:
But he has nothing left, to purchase bread,
And cannot now upon his credit, feed
Those hungry things, but for one single day,
So that they're forc'd to shift another way,
Truss up their little Furniture, and so
All hand in hand fairly a begging go.
The news of this so shrewdly doth torment
Th'imprison'd man, that now (his spirits spent)
With his last breath, he payes his Creditors,
And makes the Worms his sole Executors.
Ev'n so this grand Oppressour, whilst his Sun
Doth clearly shine, is by degrees undone,
And all his friends and followers every where,
When this man falls, shall in his Judgement share.
To plague this wicked person for his sin,
In his proceedings so much favour show,
To this same man, as at one single blow
To cut him off: no, he must not expect
162
No, no, 'tis not his custom so to deal,
With such vile Malefactors, but piece meal,
He'll take him down, as thou perhaps hast seen,
In thy own time, how some rich man has been,
Whilst flourishing in Wealth, not instantly,
But by degrees, reduc'd to poverty.
For first some tache upon his reputation,
Is fix'd, which puts his credit out of fashion,
Then all those men, who deal with him suspect,
There may be something in't, and least he break,
With all their Goods, and many in his hands,
Where his effects do ly, each one demands,
And he's secure, can first extend his Lands.
Then for his person, he dars not abide,
Th'assaults of law, but is constrain'd to hide
Himself in some dark corner, out of sight,
And cast up his Accounts by Candle-light.
Or if in obscure nights he steals abroad,
Thinking to find a way, by some By-road,
To his own dwelling, he retires assoon
To his sad kennel, as he sees the Moon
Peep through the Clouds, at length the Catch-poles eye,
Doth find him out, and he is by and by
Clapt up in Jayl: the news no sooner spread,
But all of his Imprisonment are glad,
And on him soon a many Actions laid.
Thus now in Firmance, his effects all seiz'd,
Opprest with sorrow, crazy, and diseas'd:
His desolate, and starving Family,
With open mouth, for Aliment do cry:
But he has nothing left, to purchase bread,
And cannot now upon his credit, feed
Those hungry things, but for one single day,
So that they're forc'd to shift another way,
Truss up their little Furniture, and so
All hand in hand fairly a begging go.
The news of this so shrewdly doth torment
Th'imprison'd man, that now (his spirits spent)
With his last breath, he payes his Creditors,
And makes the Worms his sole Executors.
Ev'n so this grand Oppressour, whilst his Sun
Doth clearly shine, is by degrees undone,
And all his friends and followers every where,
When this man falls, shall in his Judgement share.
Nor need his Judges be at so much pains,
As 'gainst this man to search for evidence.
For Heav'ns themselves (though all men silent were)
Shall his bad actings openly declare;
And when this sinner, with up-lifted hand,
Arraign'd, for hundred Crimes, at Bar shall stand:
The Earth in Judgement too shall then appear,
And make out all his Crimes, so full and clear,
As of his guilt that Court shall no more doubt,
But 'gainst him sentence speedilie give out.
Then shall the Witness first of all, lay hands
On this poor soul, and as the Law commands,
Beat him to Death: that all the world may see,
With what impartial measures such as he
Are judg'd, and punish'd.—
As 'gainst this man to search for evidence.
For Heav'ns themselves (though all men silent were)
Shall his bad actings openly declare;
And when this sinner, with up-lifted hand,
Arraign'd, for hundred Crimes, at Bar shall stand:
The Earth in Judgement too shall then appear,
And make out all his Crimes, so full and clear,
As of his guilt that Court shall no more doubt,
163
Then shall the Witness first of all, lay hands
On this poor soul, and as the Law commands,
Beat him to Death: that all the world may see,
With what impartial measures such as he
Are judg'd, and punish'd.—
Thus shall this tall, and famous sinner die
Himself: and for his poor posteritie,
They shall themselves like Rivolets disperse,
Some here, some there, through all the universe.
Poor pedling Miscreants, in great straits, and wants,
A scattered rabble, the Inhabitants
Of all the World; a sad Societie
Of hateful Slaves, without all propertie,
Without all order, Laws and Government,
Pillag'd by all, and yet dare not resent:
Nor shall this so late numerous Family,
Amongst them all erect one Colony,
That may preserve this great mans Memory.
And for his Goods and Chattels, in the day
Of Gods hot Wrath, they shall all melt away
Himself: and for his poor posteritie,
They shall themselves like Rivolets disperse,
Some here, some there, through all the universe.
Poor pedling Miscreants, in great straits, and wants,
A scattered rabble, the Inhabitants
Of all the World; a sad Societie
Of hateful Slaves, without all propertie,
Without all order, Laws and Government,
Pillag'd by all, and yet dare not resent:
Nor shall this so late numerous Family,
Amongst them all erect one Colony,
That may preserve this great mans Memory.
And for his Goods and Chattels, in the day
Of Gods hot Wrath, they shall all melt away
Thus all bad men shall perish, thus they shall,
Who do contemn their great Creator, fall.
Presumptous Persons God doth punish so,
These judgments everie one shall undergo,
Who with bold language doth his God upbraid,
And is not of his flamming Wrath afraid:
When he sees others punish'd, but persists
In Sin, thinks, speaks, and acteth what he lists.
Who do contemn their great Creator, fall.
Presumptous Persons God doth punish so,
These judgments everie one shall undergo,
Who with bold language doth his God upbraid,
And is not of his flamming Wrath afraid:
When he sees others punish'd, but persists
In Sin, thinks, speaks, and acteth what he lists.
Cap. XXI.
After this storm of words was overblown
And Zophar, now his utmost skill had shown
In talking, and as one, who had design'd
To speak no more, had fullie spoke his mind.
Without all passion, with a Spirit stay'd
To all this Lecture, which his friend had read,
Thus only Job in calmness answered.
And Zophar, now his utmost skill had shown
In talking, and as one, who had design'd
To speak no more, had fullie spoke his mind.
Without all passion, with a Spirit stay'd
To all this Lecture, which his friend had read,
Thus only Job in calmness answered.
I do not doubt, my freinds, but when by fame
Inform'd of my distress, you hither came,
When hearing of my lamentable state,
(Which has occasion'd so much noise of late
Both far and wide) you thought it worth your pains.
with your own eyes, to visit what remains
Of your old friend.—
When you were pleas'd I say, to be so kind,
I make no doubt, but that you then design'd,
In Sympathetick bowels of compassion,
T'afford me truly all the consolation,
Lay in your power: I make no doubt indeed,
But when you see me first your heart did bleed,
I do believe that you were stupifi'd
When me first, on the Dung-hill you descry'd,
As your kind silence fully testifi'd.
Nay furder, when you spoke, I think you meant
To give me no occasion of complaint,
As since y'have done, but that you did intend,
Some words of consolation for your friend,
I am perswaded you are honest men,
Just, fearing God, and such as entertain
No wicked thoughts, but openly detest,
That man, who is a sinner in his breast,
Though in his words, and looks, he'd fain deceive
The World, and make the neighbour-hood believe
He's truly pious: and that you do hate
The man, whose conscience is adulterat.
I know, my friends, what hitherto ye've said,
Was out of love, and I would fain perswade
My self to think, that all this eloquence
Is not made use of, to give me offence.
Yet after all, my friends, I would request,
You would take notice, for some time at least,
To what I speak, hear me but patiently,
Whilst I expresse my thoughts, and seriously,
I'll take't more kindly in my present state,
Then any thing y' ave spoke, or done as yet.
This will to me more consolation bring,
Then all your talk, and nauseous arguing.
Inform'd of my distress, you hither came,
When hearing of my lamentable state,
(Which has occasion'd so much noise of late
Both far and wide) you thought it worth your pains.
with your own eyes, to visit what remains
Of your old friend.—
When you were pleas'd I say, to be so kind,
I make no doubt, but that you then design'd,
In Sympathetick bowels of compassion,
T'afford me truly all the consolation,
164
But when you see me first your heart did bleed,
I do believe that you were stupifi'd
When me first, on the Dung-hill you descry'd,
As your kind silence fully testifi'd.
Nay furder, when you spoke, I think you meant
To give me no occasion of complaint,
As since y'have done, but that you did intend,
Some words of consolation for your friend,
I am perswaded you are honest men,
Just, fearing God, and such as entertain
No wicked thoughts, but openly detest,
That man, who is a sinner in his breast,
Though in his words, and looks, he'd fain deceive
The World, and make the neighbour-hood believe
He's truly pious: and that you do hate
The man, whose conscience is adulterat.
I know, my friends, what hitherto ye've said,
Was out of love, and I would fain perswade
My self to think, that all this eloquence
Is not made use of, to give me offence.
Yet after all, my friends, I would request,
You would take notice, for some time at least,
To what I speak, hear me but patiently,
Whilst I expresse my thoughts, and seriously,
I'll take't more kindly in my present state,
Then any thing y' ave spoke, or done as yet.
This will to me more consolation bring,
Then all your talk, and nauseous arguing.
Allow me, as you love me, then to speak,
But some small time, for truth I am so weak,
I cannot make long harangues, and indeed
I may complain, but am not fit to plead,
With such as you: what therefore I intend,
To speak, shall very quickly have an end.
My words shall be but few, and when I've done,
You may proceed, as formerly, mock on.
But some small time, for truth I am so weak,
I cannot make long harangues, and indeed
I may complain, but am not fit to plead,
With such as you: what therefore I intend,
To speak, shall very quickly have an end.
My words shall be but few, and when I've done,
You may proceed, as formerly, mock on.
Pray mark, my friends, then I make no complaint
To mortal man: for 'tis most evident,
That my complaint is made to God alone,
To thee all-hearing God, I do bemoan,
My present state: my judgements do not flow,
As you may see, from any hand below;
No they do from a higher hand proceed,
And in them I the wrath of God do read,
From him they do proceed immediatly,
He's th'only author of my misery:
My plagues, alace, are extraordinary,
Not such as usually inflicted are
On other men: no they are such as none,
Have ever yet endur'd but I alone:
No wonder then that I cannot contain
My passion, but do heavily complain.
Nay let us even suppose, my plagues did flow,
From th'hand of man, I pray, my friends, if so,
Why may not I as other men be vex't?
Is it so strange to see a man perplex't
With misery complain, as I do now?
Pray, my good friends, what would you have me do?
Won't you allow me, where I find a pain,
As all men do, a little to complain?
My constitution is but ordinar,
And I'm but Flesh and Blood, as others are.
May not I then exhibit my complaint
To my Creator? since he is content
To hear me, since he doth to me allow
That liberty, I cannot have from you.
And O, amidst my woes, and miseries,
My griefs, my terrors, and anxieties,
With all the pains, that do my soul oppresse,
How happy am I, that I can addresse
My self to God: indeed it were not good
For me, if this grand boon were not allow'd,
For were I to addresse my self to men,
I fear my prayers should be us'd in vain,
And I'd have yet more reason to complain.
To mortal man: for 'tis most evident,
That my complaint is made to God alone,
To thee all-hearing God, I do bemoan,
My present state: my judgements do not flow,
As you may see, from any hand below;
No they do from a higher hand proceed,
And in them I the wrath of God do read,
From him they do proceed immediatly,
He's th'only author of my misery:
My plagues, alace, are extraordinary,
Not such as usually inflicted are
On other men: no they are such as none,
Have ever yet endur'd but I alone:
No wonder then that I cannot contain
My passion, but do heavily complain.
Nay let us even suppose, my plagues did flow,
165
Why may not I as other men be vex't?
Is it so strange to see a man perplex't
With misery complain, as I do now?
Pray, my good friends, what would you have me do?
Won't you allow me, where I find a pain,
As all men do, a little to complain?
My constitution is but ordinar,
And I'm but Flesh and Blood, as others are.
May not I then exhibit my complaint
To my Creator? since he is content
To hear me, since he doth to me allow
That liberty, I cannot have from you.
And O, amidst my woes, and miseries,
My griefs, my terrors, and anxieties,
With all the pains, that do my soul oppresse,
How happy am I, that I can addresse
My self to God: indeed it were not good
For me, if this grand boon were not allow'd,
For were I to addresse my self to men,
I fear my prayers should be us'd in vain,
And I'd have yet more reason to complain.
Mark what I say then, mark, and be afraid,
And let your hands upon your mouths be laid.
Mark me, I pray, observe my sad estate,
And then I hope you will no more debate
Upon the subject, with such violence,
But will confesse with me, that Providence
Sends plague on men, with great indifference.
Remark me, pray, observe how God, in me,
Points out so clear, that all the world may see,
What mean esteem he has of mortal race;
View me, I pray, look but upon my face,
And there behold a sad Epitome
Of Heavens displeasure.—
O were there no more worth your noticing,
Then this alone, 'tis such a dismal thing,
As if you take it in consideration,
Affords a subject of sad contemplation;
Such as might make you all asham'd to speak,
As you have done, and I'm convinc'd would check
The heat of your discourse, give ear then pray,
As you would be inform'd to what I say.
And let your hands upon your mouths be laid.
Mark me, I pray, observe my sad estate,
And then I hope you will no more debate
Upon the subject, with such violence,
But will confesse with me, that Providence
Sends plague on men, with great indifference.
Remark me, pray, observe how God, in me,
Points out so clear, that all the world may see,
What mean esteem he has of mortal race;
View me, I pray, look but upon my face,
And there behold a sad Epitome
Of Heavens displeasure.—
O were there no more worth your noticing,
Then this alone, 'tis such a dismal thing,
As if you take it in consideration,
Affords a subject of sad contemplation;
Such as might make you all asham'd to speak,
As you have done, and I'm convinc'd would check
The heat of your discourse, give ear then pray,
As you would be inform'd to what I say.
For when I think upon my former state,
How in the World I flourished of late,
How all my wishes did attain their aim,
And I no sooner could a blessing name,
But assoon God would send it to my door,
And blesse me so till I could ask no more.
And now how wretch'd, how poor and miserable,
In yours, and all mens eyes, how despicable,
And quite undone, I here on Dung-hill ly,
Th'hyperbole of pain, and misery.
When I amidst my groans, and lamentations,
Reflect upon the various, Dispensations
Of our great God, and weigh them seriouslie
I quake, I sweat, I tremble, by, and by,
I shake all over, I am dampt with fear,
Like one out of his wits I do appear:
Infernal horror on my Soul doth seize,
And I become all stupid by degrees,
When I consider on this sad occasion,
What unexpected fearful alteration
I've seen of late: Oh I am all confounded,
My Soul with fear and terror is surrounded.
When I consider how th'Almighty raises
This, or that man, and throws down whom he pleases.
Without regard to all these mean Defences,
Which mortals use, these pitiful Pretences,
Of Piety, and Virtues by which some
Would plead forsooth Exemption from his Doom,
Whilst he with great indifference on all
Sends out his plagues, then I a-trembling fall;
Then I perceive that what you all assert,
And labour to evince with so much art.
Concluding firmly God doth punish none,
Nor sends afflictions, but on those alone,
Whose Sins do call for Judgments, and from thence
By an unquestionable consequence,
Infer that I am such: then, then I see
(What ever errors you would fix on me)
That your Position is both false, and vain,
Below such men as you are to maintain.
Since then my friends, by sad experience;
I know what you, who never yet had sense,
Of such afflictions cannot understand,
Me thinks I may with reason now demand
Your firm atention to what I shall speak,
Upon the subject, which you may expect
Shall be sincere: for who can so express
The Justice of th'Almighty in the case,
As he who feels it; as the man, God knows,
Who's tasted both Prosperitie and Woes?
How in the World I flourished of late,
How all my wishes did attain their aim,
And I no sooner could a blessing name,
But assoon God would send it to my door,
And blesse me so till I could ask no more.
And now how wretch'd, how poor and miserable,
In yours, and all mens eyes, how despicable,
And quite undone, I here on Dung-hill ly,
Th'hyperbole of pain, and misery.
When I amidst my groans, and lamentations,
166
Of our great God, and weigh them seriouslie
I quake, I sweat, I tremble, by, and by,
I shake all over, I am dampt with fear,
Like one out of his wits I do appear:
Infernal horror on my Soul doth seize,
And I become all stupid by degrees,
When I consider on this sad occasion,
What unexpected fearful alteration
I've seen of late: Oh I am all confounded,
My Soul with fear and terror is surrounded.
When I consider how th'Almighty raises
This, or that man, and throws down whom he pleases.
Without regard to all these mean Defences,
Which mortals use, these pitiful Pretences,
Of Piety, and Virtues by which some
Would plead forsooth Exemption from his Doom,
Whilst he with great indifference on all
Sends out his plagues, then I a-trembling fall;
Then I perceive that what you all assert,
And labour to evince with so much art.
Concluding firmly God doth punish none,
Nor sends afflictions, but on those alone,
Whose Sins do call for Judgments, and from thence
By an unquestionable consequence,
Infer that I am such: then, then I see
(What ever errors you would fix on me)
That your Position is both false, and vain,
Below such men as you are to maintain.
Since then my friends, by sad experience;
I know what you, who never yet had sense,
Of such afflictions cannot understand,
Me thinks I may with reason now demand
Your firm atention to what I shall speak,
Upon the subject, which you may expect
Shall be sincere: for who can so express
The Justice of th'Almighty in the case,
As he who feels it; as the man, God knows,
Who's tasted both Prosperitie and Woes?
If it be true then, what you all assert
That sin is only punish'd, for my part,
I'de gladlie know why Heavens King doth give
Blessings to those, who merit not to live?
Why doth the race of sin the earth possess?
Why thus in Issue, Honor, Wealth encrease?
Do we not dailie see how sinful men
Do in their several stations attain
To all that in this life can be desir'd
Wish'd or projected?—
Nor doth the Tide of prosprous daies encrease
To its full height, but for a season last,
No, as their sins, so do their blessings grow;
The current of Gods mercies still doth flow
In those mens lives, whatever they demand,
To feed the sense is granted out of hand:
In a most smooth, uninterrupted stream,
Of earthly blessings, like a pleasant dream,
They're gently wafted without Wind, or Wave,
Into the spacious Ocean of the Grave,
That sin is only punish'd, for my part,
I'de gladlie know why Heavens King doth give
Blessings to those, who merit not to live?
Why doth the race of sin the earth possess?
Why thus in Issue, Honor, Wealth encrease?
Do we not dailie see how sinful men
Do in their several stations attain
To all that in this life can be desir'd
Wish'd or projected?—
Nor doth the Tide of prosprous daies encrease
To its full height, but for a season last,
No, as their sins, so do their blessings grow;
The current of Gods mercies still doth flow
In those mens lives, whatever they demand,
167
In a most smooth, uninterrupted stream,
Of earthly blessings, like a pleasant dream,
They're gently wafted without Wind, or Wave,
Into the spacious Ocean of the Grave,
Thus live and dy they, but this is not all,
For were these blessings meerly personal,
And perish'd with themselves, we might suppose,
That their poor issue, who their eyes did close,
Shut up with these, all their felicity,
And became heirs to utmost misery.
No, no, these outward blessings, are so far,
From dying with themselves, as they appear,
Entail'd upon their Family, and Race,
And settled so on their appanages,
As if inherent in the several fees.
Nay (which is more) those men whom you do call,
The worst of sinners, do perceive this all,
In their own time they see their Families
Flourish like verdant plants, before their eyes;
They see the hopes of numerous Generations,
And view the rise of many famous Nations;
In their fair Off-spring: they perceive their seed,
In peace, and plenty, fully established.
Their Childrens Children, grow up in their sight,
As Heirs apparent to their Fathers Right.
In fine, those wretches see their memory,
Run on the lines of perpetuity.
For were these blessings meerly personal,
And perish'd with themselves, we might suppose,
That their poor issue, who their eyes did close,
Shut up with these, all their felicity,
And became heirs to utmost misery.
No, no, these outward blessings, are so far,
From dying with themselves, as they appear,
Entail'd upon their Family, and Race,
And settled so on their appanages,
As if inherent in the several fees.
Nay (which is more) those men whom you do call,
The worst of sinners, do perceive this all,
In their own time they see their Families
Flourish like verdant plants, before their eyes;
They see the hopes of numerous Generations,
And view the rise of many famous Nations;
In their fair Off-spring: they perceive their seed,
In peace, and plenty, fully established.
Their Childrens Children, grow up in their sight,
As Heirs apparent to their Fathers Right.
In fine, those wretches see their memory,
Run on the lines of perpetuity.
These sinful men, within doors live at ease,
Free from all jars, bless'd with domestick peace,
They know no discords, no, nor quarrels they,
No, picques, or humours, ly a-crosse their way,
But all the day, they plentifully feed,
With pleasant converse, and at night to bed
They drill, encircled, in each others arms;
Free from all passions, clamours, fears, allarums.
Free from all jars, bless'd with domestick peace,
They know no discords, no, nor quarrels they,
No, picques, or humours, ly a-crosse their way,
But all the day, they plentifully feed,
With pleasant converse, and at night to bed
They drill, encircled, in each others arms;
Free from all passions, clamours, fears, allarums.
And as in plenty within doors they dwell,
So with these men, all without doors goes well;
Their Cattle thrive, their Grounds are well manur'd,
Their beasts are from ill accidents secur'd,
Their Revenues are punctually pay'd,
Their Acts of Court-leet faithfully obey'd;
Their Tennents too, do live in wealth and peace,
Enjoying each an undisturbed lease
For many years, and richly cultivat,
Each one his parcel, of his Lords Estate;
In short, these men, are fully bless'd in all
They can desire, their Vassals at a call
Attend their motions: every one contends,
Who most shall serve them, and be most their friends.
So with these men, all without doors goes well;
Their Cattle thrive, their Grounds are well manur'd,
Their beasts are from ill accidents secur'd,
Their Revenues are punctually pay'd,
Their Acts of Court-leet faithfully obey'd;
Their Tennents too, do live in wealth and peace,
Enjoying each an undisturbed lease
For many years, and richly cultivat,
Each one his parcel, of his Lords Estate;
In short, these men, are fully bless'd in all
They can desire, their Vassals at a call
Attend their motions: every one contends,
Who most shall serve them, and be most their friends.
Around the neighbouring fields, their wings they spread,
And all the Campaign soil is overlaid,
With numerous Branches of their Families,
Which soon dilate themselves in Colonies.
And People, Countreys, far remote from these,
Which first their Predecessors did possesse,
Amongst themselves they make firm allyance,
And when they meet, they revel, sport, and dance;
They Correspond in mutual harmony,
And spend their time in mirth and jollity.
And all the Campaign soil is overlaid,
With numerous Branches of their Families,
Which soon dilate themselves in Colonies.
168
Which first their Predecessors did possesse,
Amongst themselves they make firm allyance,
And when they meet, they revel, sport, and dance;
They Correspond in mutual harmony,
And spend their time in mirth and jollity.
For when they meet at their grand Festivals,
They eat, and drink, and then with Masques, and Balls,
They entertain themselves, the Harp, and Lute,
The Viol, Organ, Timbrel contribute,
T'encrease their jovialty, and all their care
Is only for their sports, and daily fare.
They eat, and drink, and then with Masques, and Balls,
They entertain themselves, the Harp, and Lute,
The Viol, Organ, Timbrel contribute,
T'encrease their jovialty, and all their care
Is only for their sports, and daily fare.
In peace, and plenty, with great affluence,
Of worldy blessings, and convenience,
Of every thing that humane life requires,
They waste their days, and when their lease expires,
And sullen death commands them to remove,
And quite those fields, which with their souls they love,
Then do not these men dy, as others do
In pain and torment:—
But as soft slumber on the eyes doth creep,
And gently moves, when men would fall asleep.
Or as a Candle burning nigh the end,
Its light in twinkling by degrees doth spend,
So in the Grave, those men do gently roul,
Not troubled with the progress of the soul,
Not anxious whither it should take its course,
After this life, for better, or for worse,
They care not whether, all is one to them,
For they think Soul and Body are the same,
And as they liv'd together, so they dy,
Returning both to dust by sympathy:
They think re-union not imaginable,
And hold the Resurrection but a fable.
Thence void of apprehensions, after death,
With great indifference, they shut up their breath.
Of worldy blessings, and convenience,
Of every thing that humane life requires,
They waste their days, and when their lease expires,
And sullen death commands them to remove,
And quite those fields, which with their souls they love,
Then do not these men dy, as others do
In pain and torment:—
But as soft slumber on the eyes doth creep,
And gently moves, when men would fall asleep.
Or as a Candle burning nigh the end,
Its light in twinkling by degrees doth spend,
So in the Grave, those men do gently roul,
Not troubled with the progress of the soul,
Not anxious whither it should take its course,
After this life, for better, or for worse,
They care not whether, all is one to them,
For they think Soul and Body are the same,
And as they liv'd together, so they dy,
Returning both to dust by sympathy:
They think re-union not imaginable,
And hold the Resurrection but a fable.
Thence void of apprehensions, after death,
With great indifference, they shut up their breath.
Nor are these men, to whom God is so kind,
O'th' better sort, more polish'd and refin'd,
Then common sinners are: no they are such,
As hugg their sins, and honour vice so much,
In foulest shape, with so high veneration,
They're not asham'd to make it their profession:
Such as our God so little do esteem,
They think his glory but a sounding name:
Such as affirm the works of Providence,
The checks, and dictats of a Conscience,
To be but stale devices forg'd by those
Envious men, whom Fortune doth oppose:
Men who enrag'd because they can't possesse,
That which themselves acknowledge happinesse,
Pick'd to see others, in a better state,
Then they themselves invent, they know not what,
To crosse their joyes, and fain by art would move
The World to credit, what they cannot prove,
For when outwitted by Philosophy,
They run to th'refuge of a mystery.
Yet God is even kind to such as these;
Who think so of him, and speak, what they please,
Who boldly laugh at Death, Heavens, Hell, and all,
In principles so Atheistical,
As they to God dar impiously say,
Prethee begone, disturb us not we pray:
Let us alone, torment us pray no more,
With admonitions which our souls abhor:
Forbear thy curses, and dire menaces,
Vex us no more, but let us live in peace,
And when we dy, thou mayest dispose of us,
Even as thou wilt; but whilst we live, we'll thus
Employ our time in mirth and jollity,
And take our hazard of Eternity.
For who, say they, shall ever us perswade,
Or make believe that thou a soul hast made,
A something, which doth after death exist,
A thing which preachers call even what they list,
That such a thing of thy own essence part,
Infus'd into us by thy special art,
Should after separation be condemn'd
To endlesse torments, and by thee esteem'd
As useless dross, because the thing did take
Pleasure in that, which thou thy self did make,
Why this, we are perswaded were to hate
Thy self, and so thy self excruciat,
For others errors: this is somewhat strange,
And in our thoughts, a very poor revenge,
Give orders, pray then, to thy preaching men,
Who in this World spend much talk in vain.
To spare their lungs, for they shall ne'r perswade
Any of us, that thou a soul hast made,
A subtile Idea, a thing Divine,
Limbeck'd to th'hight, sublimat sopra fine,
To be destroyed eternally:
No let us live, say they, even as we please,
On Earth, let us enjoy our mirth and ease,
Not all thy art our pleasures shall controle,
Nor shall the silly notion of a soul,
Ever be able in the least to check
What we resolve, by what we may expect.
O'th' better sort, more polish'd and refin'd,
Then common sinners are: no they are such,
As hugg their sins, and honour vice so much,
In foulest shape, with so high veneration,
They're not asham'd to make it their profession:
Such as our God so little do esteem,
They think his glory but a sounding name:
Such as affirm the works of Providence,
The checks, and dictats of a Conscience,
To be but stale devices forg'd by those
Envious men, whom Fortune doth oppose:
Men who enrag'd because they can't possesse,
That which themselves acknowledge happinesse,
Pick'd to see others, in a better state,
Then they themselves invent, they know not what,
To crosse their joyes, and fain by art would move
The World to credit, what they cannot prove,
169
They run to th'refuge of a mystery.
Yet God is even kind to such as these;
Who think so of him, and speak, what they please,
Who boldly laugh at Death, Heavens, Hell, and all,
In principles so Atheistical,
As they to God dar impiously say,
Prethee begone, disturb us not we pray:
Let us alone, torment us pray no more,
With admonitions which our souls abhor:
Forbear thy curses, and dire menaces,
Vex us no more, but let us live in peace,
And when we dy, thou mayest dispose of us,
Even as thou wilt; but whilst we live, we'll thus
Employ our time in mirth and jollity,
And take our hazard of Eternity.
For who, say they, shall ever us perswade,
Or make believe that thou a soul hast made,
A something, which doth after death exist,
A thing which preachers call even what they list,
That such a thing of thy own essence part,
Infus'd into us by thy special art,
Should after separation be condemn'd
To endlesse torments, and by thee esteem'd
As useless dross, because the thing did take
Pleasure in that, which thou thy self did make,
Why this, we are perswaded were to hate
Thy self, and so thy self excruciat,
For others errors: this is somewhat strange,
And in our thoughts, a very poor revenge,
Give orders, pray then, to thy preaching men,
Who in this World spend much talk in vain.
To spare their lungs, for they shall ne'r perswade
Any of us, that thou a soul hast made,
A subtile Idea, a thing Divine,
Limbeck'd to th'hight, sublimat sopra fine,
To be destroyed eternally:
No let us live, say they, even as we please,
On Earth, let us enjoy our mirth and ease,
Not all thy art our pleasures shall controle,
Nor shall the silly notion of a soul,
Ever be able in the least to check
What we resolve, by what we may expect.
Pray who's this God, say they, let's understand
Who's this Almighty Lord, at whose command
We all must live, and dy? pray let us know
Who is this Prince, to whom all here below
Must pay such homage? who's this Heavenly King,
To whom all Mortals on their knees must bring
Their praying tribute, twice a day at least,
And once a week give audience to some Priest,
Who calls himself this Kings Ambassador,
Whilst he repeats his Message o'r and o'r,
In such a saucy, and incensing strain,
As those who hear him hardlie can abstain
From choller, when he is so bold to say,
All men shall be chastis'd, who do not pray
To this Great God:—
For what end should we pray who stand in need
Of nothing from him, those whose dailie bread
Comes from his Table, those who do possess
No part of earthlie Joy and happiness,
As we do all: those whom unluckie fate
Has plung'd into a miserable state,
Those men may lie a begging at Heavens Gate.
But, as for us, who live in afluence,
Who spend our time in great convenience,
Why should we pray? what can he give us more,
Than we enjoy, nay whom should we adore?
Shall we adore an unknown Prince, who shrouds
Himself behind the Curtains of the Clouds?
And treats the Sons of Men with such Disgrace,
As he disdains to let us see his face.
The Sun, and Moon, we know, and dailie see,
But for this God of Heaven, pray who is he?
Or if such adoration, we allow him,
What profit shall we make by praying to him?
Have any fortunes by this praying made?
Are anie wealthie by this idle trade?
Do not we see, how those, who dailie call
On this same God are miserable all?
Poor, and Deform'd, Contemptible, and Mean,
By want of food, most scandalouslie lean:
Praying, and sleeping by a formal Rule,
Treated by all the world in Ridicule.
Why then should we to him our selves applie,
Who live in Wealth, since onlie Povertie
Is the return of Prayer? shall we request
That we may become such? no let us wast
Our Years in mirth, and not our selves betray
To miserie, but chase all cares away,
By frolick sports, whilst Fools and Beggars pray.
Who's this Almighty Lord, at whose command
We all must live, and dy? pray let us know
Who is this Prince, to whom all here below
Must pay such homage? who's this Heavenly King,
To whom all Mortals on their knees must bring
Their praying tribute, twice a day at least,
And once a week give audience to some Priest,
Who calls himself this Kings Ambassador,
Whilst he repeats his Message o'r and o'r,
In such a saucy, and incensing strain,
170
From choller, when he is so bold to say,
All men shall be chastis'd, who do not pray
To this Great God:—
For what end should we pray who stand in need
Of nothing from him, those whose dailie bread
Comes from his Table, those who do possess
No part of earthlie Joy and happiness,
As we do all: those whom unluckie fate
Has plung'd into a miserable state,
Those men may lie a begging at Heavens Gate.
But, as for us, who live in afluence,
Who spend our time in great convenience,
Why should we pray? what can he give us more,
Than we enjoy, nay whom should we adore?
Shall we adore an unknown Prince, who shrouds
Himself behind the Curtains of the Clouds?
And treats the Sons of Men with such Disgrace,
As he disdains to let us see his face.
The Sun, and Moon, we know, and dailie see,
But for this God of Heaven, pray who is he?
Or if such adoration, we allow him,
What profit shall we make by praying to him?
Have any fortunes by this praying made?
Are anie wealthie by this idle trade?
Do not we see, how those, who dailie call
On this same God are miserable all?
Poor, and Deform'd, Contemptible, and Mean,
By want of food, most scandalouslie lean:
Praying, and sleeping by a formal Rule,
Treated by all the world in Ridicule.
Why then should we to him our selves applie,
Who live in Wealth, since onlie Povertie
Is the return of Prayer? shall we request
That we may become such? no let us wast
Our Years in mirth, and not our selves betray
To miserie, but chase all cares away,
By frolick sports, whilst Fools and Beggars pray.
Yet such, even such the God of Heavens doth bless,
Such cursed things in Honour, Wealth, and Peace,
Do flourish here on earth, those wretched men
Have in their lives no reason to complain:
They know no judgments, nor afflictions they,
Whilst those, who from their tender Years do pray,
And in Devotion earlie exercise
Their spirits, are involv'd in miseries,
For shame forbear, my friends, then to assert
That punishments are meerlie by desert
Inflicted, when the contrair doth appear,
By what I've said so evident, and clear:
Nor would I, my dear friends, you should mistake
My meaning, or suppose by what I speak,
Whilst I express how happy those men are,
That I envie them, or i'th' least appear
To harbour any thoughts of discontent,
Whilst those mens plentie, with my punishment,
And wretched state of life, I do compare,
Or that I would be happy as they are.
No, God forbid, that I should entertain
Such impious thoughts, or any way complain
Of Gods good Dispensations:—
No, I'm so far from that, as seriouslie
I think, what those men call Prosperitie,
Doth not deserve the name of happiness,
But is at best, but like a gentle breeze,
Which blowes before a Storm: I do believe
What those poor Souls, do sillilie conceive.
To be the true supream Felicity
Is on the matter, down-right Misery.
O let those mens prosperity to me
Be never known: let these eyes never see
Plenty on earth, as I have seen before,
Let my kind Maker never me restore,
To anie thing which men call happiness,
Rather than I should be as one of those.
Such cursed things in Honour, Wealth, and Peace,
Do flourish here on earth, those wretched men
Have in their lives no reason to complain:
They know no judgments, nor afflictions they,
Whilst those, who from their tender Years do pray,
And in Devotion earlie exercise
Their spirits, are involv'd in miseries,
For shame forbear, my friends, then to assert
That punishments are meerlie by desert
Inflicted, when the contrair doth appear,
By what I've said so evident, and clear:
Nor would I, my dear friends, you should mistake
My meaning, or suppose by what I speak,
Whilst I express how happy those men are,
That I envie them, or i'th' least appear
171
Whilst those mens plentie, with my punishment,
And wretched state of life, I do compare,
Or that I would be happy as they are.
No, God forbid, that I should entertain
Such impious thoughts, or any way complain
Of Gods good Dispensations:—
No, I'm so far from that, as seriouslie
I think, what those men call Prosperitie,
Doth not deserve the name of happiness,
But is at best, but like a gentle breeze,
Which blowes before a Storm: I do believe
What those poor Souls, do sillilie conceive.
To be the true supream Felicity
Is on the matter, down-right Misery.
O let those mens prosperity to me
Be never known: let these eyes never see
Plenty on earth, as I have seen before,
Let my kind Maker never me restore,
To anie thing which men call happiness,
Rather than I should be as one of those.
And now my friends, as I have thus express'd
How much the wicked in this life are bless'd,
So I would have yow know that what I say,
I do not as a firm position lay:
Nor do I think it proper on my part,
That I should so tenaciouslie assert
That all such prosper, as you stifflie plead,
That such by him, are onlie punished.
No, my good friends, I am not to maintain
A point, whereof the contrair is so plain;
I'm not so much in love with vain debate,
Nor am so wedded to my own conceit,
As you appear to be, that I should call
What I have said, so purelie general,
As it of no exception can admit,
No, I do not pretend to so much wit,
As to maintain, with Reasons full extent,
The truth of such a foolish Argument.
For I do onlie say that some, not all
Of those same men, whom you do wicked call,
Are bless'd on earth: because I understand
As well as you, that on the other hand,
Many of them do in this life sustain
The Wrath of God; and undergo much Pain,
Much Hatred, much Contempt, and Povertie,
Whilst here on earth; and suffer Miserie,
In its extream Degree: I know that some
Unhappie men are whollie overcome
With Plagues, and Sorrows, and before they die,
Reap the reward of their impietie:
Though such as in this earth are punished,
And by afflictions terrors visited,
Are not so numerous, if we do compare
Their list with those on Earth, who blessed are.
How oft, pray, do we see such sinful men,
Expos'd to Gods displeasure? one of ten
Perhaps are so: 'tis true, when God doth fall
Upon those villanous men, root, branch, and all,
He doth destroy, their glory quickly dyes,
As doth the spark from flame that upward flyes,
Or as the light of Candle, when its head
Is turned down, is soon extinguished,
Its splendid lustre instantly is spent,
Evaporating in a noisome scent.
How much the wicked in this life are bless'd,
So I would have yow know that what I say,
I do not as a firm position lay:
Nor do I think it proper on my part,
That I should so tenaciouslie assert
That all such prosper, as you stifflie plead,
That such by him, are onlie punished.
No, my good friends, I am not to maintain
A point, whereof the contrair is so plain;
I'm not so much in love with vain debate,
Nor am so wedded to my own conceit,
As you appear to be, that I should call
What I have said, so purelie general,
As it of no exception can admit,
No, I do not pretend to so much wit,
As to maintain, with Reasons full extent,
The truth of such a foolish Argument.
For I do onlie say that some, not all
Of those same men, whom you do wicked call,
Are bless'd on earth: because I understand
As well as you, that on the other hand,
Many of them do in this life sustain
The Wrath of God; and undergo much Pain,
Much Hatred, much Contempt, and Povertie,
Whilst here on earth; and suffer Miserie,
In its extream Degree: I know that some
Unhappie men are whollie overcome
With Plagues, and Sorrows, and before they die,
Reap the reward of their impietie:
Though such as in this earth are punished,
And by afflictions terrors visited,
Are not so numerous, if we do compare
172
How oft, pray, do we see such sinful men,
Expos'd to Gods displeasure? one of ten
Perhaps are so: 'tis true, when God doth fall
Upon those villanous men, root, branch, and all,
He doth destroy, their glory quickly dyes,
As doth the spark from flame that upward flyes,
Or as the light of Candle, when its head
Is turned down, is soon extinguished,
Its splendid lustre instantly is spent,
Evaporating in a noisome scent.
As Chaff, or Stuble, driven 'fore the Wind,
Scattered along the Fields we daily find,
Such, when God is incens'd shall be the state
Of those poor men, they shall be dissipat
Upon the face of Earth, their Families
Shall go to ruine, and their Memories
Shall with themselves expire, their former glory,
Shall not be entred in the Page of Story.
Scattered along the Fields we daily find,
Such, when God is incens'd shall be the state
Of those poor men, they shall be dissipat
Upon the face of Earth, their Families
Shall go to ruine, and their Memories
Shall with themselves expire, their former glory,
Shall not be entred in the Page of Story.
Nay, that they may be further punished,
Their misery shall not be limited
To their own persons, for before their eyes,
They shall perceive horrid calamities,
Invading of their so late happy Race,
Destroy their pleasures, and disturb their peace.
Shall see their dearest Children beg their Bread,
And with sad roots, their hungry Stomachs feed.
Shall see them scattered every where abroad,
Sitting half-naked in each common Road,
With lift up hands most lamentably cry,
For Alms, from every one that passeth by.
Their misery shall not be limited
To their own persons, for before their eyes,
They shall perceive horrid calamities,
Invading of their so late happy Race,
Destroy their pleasures, and disturb their peace.
Shall see their dearest Children beg their Bread,
And with sad roots, their hungry Stomachs feed.
Shall see them scattered every where abroad,
Sitting half-naked in each common Road,
With lift up hands most lamentably cry,
For Alms, from every one that passeth by.
All this they shall perceive, and quickly know,
When God for any man designs a blow,
Though he's long-suffering, and slow to wrath,
And takes no pleasure in a sinners death:
Yet when his Choller once begins to rise,
Judgements like Lightnings issue from hit Eyes,
Upon these wretches, which with sudden flash,
Them and their issue all to pieces dash:
For when Heavens Monarch doth in wrath appear,
His Judgements are so heavy and severe,
No Mortal Shoulders can his loadnings bear.
When God for any man designs a blow,
Though he's long-suffering, and slow to wrath,
And takes no pleasure in a sinners death:
Yet when his Choller once begins to rise,
Judgements like Lightnings issue from hit Eyes,
Upon these wretches, which with sudden flash,
Them and their issue all to pieces dash:
For when Heavens Monarch doth in wrath appear,
His Judgements are so heavy and severe,
No Mortal Shoulders can his loadnings bear.
And where they'd cheer their spirits formerly,
With expectation, that their memory
Might be preserv'd, and men may clearly read
Their glorious names ingrav'd, when they were dead,
I'th' several Fore-heads of their fruitful Race,
Which might proclaim their worth from place to place.
Alace what pleasure now can these men have?
When all their Race is swallowed by the Grave
In their own time? when all their pleasure dyes,
And all their memories are before their eyes,
By th'very hand of God obliterat,
So that no vestige of their former state
Doth now remain: and they are in their prime,
(E're they're well entred in the books of Time,)
Shiffled out of the World, and quickly sent
To their so oft derided punishment.
With expectation, that their memory
Might be preserv'd, and men may clearly read
Their glorious names ingrav'd, when they were dead,
I'th' several Fore-heads of their fruitful Race,
Which might proclaim their worth from place to place.
Alace what pleasure now can these men have?
When all their Race is swallowed by the Grave
In their own time? when all their pleasure dyes,
And all their memories are before their eyes,
By th'very hand of God obliterat,
So that no vestige of their former state
173
(E're they're well entred in the books of Time,)
Shiffled out of the World, and quickly sent
To their so oft derided punishment.
Since then, my friends, our God is pleas'd to blesse
Some sinful wretches, letting them possesse
All pleasures here on Earth, and makes them dye
As they had liv'd, in soft tranquillity,
Whilst others of 'em are so sore oppress't
By plagues on Earth, as they can have no rest,
But wearied of their lives, incessantly
Cry our for help from death, until they dy.
Who's he dares say that none are punished
But sinful men? that God has limited
His Judgements only to such men as these,
Whilst all the truly godly live in peace?
What man is he will undertake to teach
God what he ought to do? or vainly preach
Upon a text so far above his reach?
So then, my friends, I hope you will allow,
Th'Almighty God knowes better things then you,
And is not to be taught at any rate,
How he his Judgements should proportionat,
With this, or t'other subject, as you dream,
And in your crazy judgements do esteem.
No, no, my friends, as God doth fully know,
So he doth fully judge both high, and low.
Even as he pleaseth: nor can humane wit
Prescribe to God methods so just and fit,
As he doth use, in all his dispensations
Upon the sons of men.—
Yet must we not imagine, or suppose,
That he who all men most exactly knows,
Who all things fram'd, who all things did create,
Who judges men, of every rank and state,
With a true knowledge, and deliberatly,
That he should let his plagues at random fly,
On this or t'other, as it were by chance,
No, none are punish'd but by ordinance,
And firm decree of Heaven, in which doth shine,
The glory of his Majesty Divine.
Some sinful wretches, letting them possesse
All pleasures here on Earth, and makes them dye
As they had liv'd, in soft tranquillity,
Whilst others of 'em are so sore oppress't
By plagues on Earth, as they can have no rest,
But wearied of their lives, incessantly
Cry our for help from death, until they dy.
Who's he dares say that none are punished
But sinful men? that God has limited
His Judgements only to such men as these,
Whilst all the truly godly live in peace?
What man is he will undertake to teach
God what he ought to do? or vainly preach
Upon a text so far above his reach?
So then, my friends, I hope you will allow,
Th'Almighty God knowes better things then you,
And is not to be taught at any rate,
How he his Judgements should proportionat,
With this, or t'other subject, as you dream,
And in your crazy judgements do esteem.
No, no, my friends, as God doth fully know,
So he doth fully judge both high, and low.
Even as he pleaseth: nor can humane wit
Prescribe to God methods so just and fit,
As he doth use, in all his dispensations
Upon the sons of men.—
Yet must we not imagine, or suppose,
That he who all men most exactly knows,
Who all things fram'd, who all things did create,
Who judges men, of every rank and state,
With a true knowledge, and deliberatly,
That he should let his plagues at random fly,
On this or t'other, as it were by chance,
No, none are punish'd but by ordinance,
And firm decree of Heaven, in which doth shine,
The glory of his Majesty Divine.
For though indeed we cannot understand
The Almighties ways, when we perceive his hand
Sometimes on this, sometimes on t'other fall,
As if he did observe no rule at all,
In governing o'th' World; yet if we do,
In sad sobriety, observe but how
He lets some live in wealth and happinesse,
Whilst others, in great sorrow, and distresse,
Consume their days: how some in peace do dye
Larded with riches, to whom penury
Was never known; whose calm and quiet years,
Void of all cares, anxieties, and fears,
In a course so serene, so smooth, and slow,
As streams do gentlie through the Meadows flow,
Slide softlie to the grave, as one should think
Those men knew nothing, but to eat and drink.
The Almighties ways, when we perceive his hand
Sometimes on this, sometimes on t'other fall,
As if he did observe no rule at all,
In governing o'th' World; yet if we do,
In sad sobriety, observe but how
He lets some live in wealth and happinesse,
Whilst others, in great sorrow, and distresse,
Consume their days: how some in peace do dye
Larded with riches, to whom penury
Was never known; whose calm and quiet years,
Void of all cares, anxieties, and fears,
In a course so serene, so smooth, and slow,
174
Slide softlie to the grave, as one should think
Those men knew nothing, but to eat and drink.
How with such plentie those same men are blest,
As scarce by Humane Art can be exprest;
Their bodies healthful, strong and vigorous,
As tempered Steel, nothing obnoxious
To th'force of anie violent disease,
But as they liv'd, so go to death with ease,
Their breasts with milk, their bones with marrow fall
In earthlie pleasures become soft and dull.
As scarce by Humane Art can be exprest;
Their bodies healthful, strong and vigorous,
As tempered Steel, nothing obnoxious
To th'force of anie violent disease,
But as they liv'd, so go to death with ease,
Their breasts with milk, their bones with marrow fall
In earthlie pleasures become soft and dull.
Whilst others of those men our God permits
To live, and die, in such tormenting fits,
Of Poverty, Fear, and Anxiety,
With all the species of Adversity.
As all their lives, they have no other fare
But tears, and do not know what pleasures are:
In tears they sleep, in tears they do awake,
Their hearts with sorrow alwaies seem to break,
Oppress't with tears, and sighs, they eat and drink,
Nor can their minds on anie pleasure think,
But in the bitter anguish of their Soul,
Conjure all living Creatures to condole
Their sad disasters, fretting constantlie
At others blessings, and so cursing die.
To live, and die, in such tormenting fits,
Of Poverty, Fear, and Anxiety,
With all the species of Adversity.
As all their lives, they have no other fare
But tears, and do not know what pleasures are:
In tears they sleep, in tears they do awake,
Their hearts with sorrow alwaies seem to break,
Oppress't with tears, and sighs, they eat and drink,
Nor can their minds on anie pleasure think,
But in the bitter anguish of their Soul,
Conjure all living Creatures to condole
Their sad disasters, fretting constantlie
At others blessings, and so cursing die.
Should we, I say, in serious meditations,
Observe the course of Gods great Dispensations,
And carfully remark how all things go
With wicked men, we certainly would know
That all Gods Wayes to our instruction tend,
For if of both these we behold the end,
Why all are huddled in the dust together;
Where home bred-worms have no regard to either;
Nor make distinction betwixt anie there,
But look on all flesh as their ordinar,
What ever price men put upon it; hence
On rich and poor, with great indifference,
As on their daily Commons, they do feed,
Considering no more, but that such are dead.
So that, as in the grave we cannot know
Whether those men were punished or no,
Whilst here on life, with peace and plentie blest,
Or whether ne're, while now, enjoying rest.
Even so, my friends, we cannot understand
The various motions of Gods mighty hand;
Nor give a reason, why this wicked man,
Not that is punish'd, more than anie can
Assign a reason, why God did creat
Mans body, in such vigour, form, and state,
Only to become silly insects meat.
Observe the course of Gods great Dispensations,
And carfully remark how all things go
With wicked men, we certainly would know
That all Gods Wayes to our instruction tend,
For if of both these we behold the end,
Why all are huddled in the dust together;
Where home bred-worms have no regard to either;
Nor make distinction betwixt anie there,
But look on all flesh as their ordinar,
What ever price men put upon it; hence
On rich and poor, with great indifference,
As on their daily Commons, they do feed,
Considering no more, but that such are dead.
So that, as in the grave we cannot know
Whether those men were punished or no,
Whilst here on life, with peace and plentie blest,
Or whether ne're, while now, enjoying rest.
Even so, my friends, we cannot understand
The various motions of Gods mighty hand;
Nor give a reason, why this wicked man,
Not that is punish'd, more than anie can
Assign a reason, why God did creat
Mans body, in such vigour, form, and state,
Only to become silly insects meat.
And now, my friends, that I have argued
So fullie on the case, and laboured
To state the question betwixt you, and me
So clearlie, 'tis because I plainlie see
All your Discourse, since first you hither came,
(Though modestlie you do forbear to name
The persons, whom you mean) is reallie
Design'd for me, and my poor familie;
For I perceive by all your Rhetorick,
(Whose nauseous Tropes would make one trulie sick,
Who's in good Health,) that all you do intend
Is not to comfort, but condemn your friend.
So fullie on the case, and laboured
To state the question betwixt you, and me
So clearlie, 'tis because I plainlie see
175
(Though modestlie you do forbear to name
The persons, whom you mean) is reallie
Design'd for me, and my poor familie;
For I perceive by all your Rhetorick,
(Whose nauseous Tropes would make one trulie sick,
Who's in good Health,) that all you do intend
Is not to comfort, but condemn your friend.
For, though you'd with the fashion of the times,
Conceal the persons, but reprove the crimes;
Yet, when you tell me ever, and anonn,
In your proud way, that God afflicteth none
But sinful men, and argue thence so much
Since I'm afflicted, I must sure be such.
I then perceive that I am all the butt
Of your Discourse.—
Why you had as good speak it plainlie out,
And not with so much cunning, go about
To palliate your thoughts; for when you say
Where's now this Prince? where is his dwelling, pray?
Where's he, who swelling with felicitie,
Was latelie the head of a great familie?
Where's he, who keep'd his Neighbours all in aw,
And would to warring Nations give Law?
He who so late, with Glorie and Renown,
Dwelt in this place, pray whither is he gone?
When thus, I say you speak, I clearlie do
Perceive your meaning, how that all of you
Conclude, that 'cause the Hand of God doth lie
Heavie upon me, so undoubtedlie
I must by all that know me be repute
The worst of sinners, and without dispute
A person hated by Almightie God,
Because so beaten by his angrie rod.
Conceal the persons, but reprove the crimes;
Yet, when you tell me ever, and anonn,
In your proud way, that God afflicteth none
But sinful men, and argue thence so much
Since I'm afflicted, I must sure be such.
I then perceive that I am all the butt
Of your Discourse.—
Why you had as good speak it plainlie out,
And not with so much cunning, go about
To palliate your thoughts; for when you say
Where's now this Prince? where is his dwelling, pray?
Where's he, who swelling with felicitie,
Was latelie the head of a great familie?
Where's he, who keep'd his Neighbours all in aw,
And would to warring Nations give Law?
He who so late, with Glorie and Renown,
Dwelt in this place, pray whither is he gone?
When thus, I say you speak, I clearlie do
Perceive your meaning, how that all of you
Conclude, that 'cause the Hand of God doth lie
Heavie upon me, so undoubtedlie
I must by all that know me be repute
The worst of sinners, and without dispute
A person hated by Almightie God,
Because so beaten by his angrie rod.
Why this is strange that you will still maintain
This false Position, pray what do you mean?
Would you by this express your wit, and show
The world, that whether this be true or no,
Yet 'tis enough that you will have it so.
In this if I should hate your Arrogance,
Or have compassion on your Ignorance,
I hardlie know: onlie I'le freelie say
If you but ask the Traveller by the way,
Hee'l tell you that the things, which you assert,
In such as you show neither Wit, nor Art,
For 'tis a thing so generallie known,
That to this hour it is deni'd by none,
But you, my friends, that Gods true love, or hate
Is not at all to be commensurate
By blessings or afflictions, since we see
How manie famous passages there be
Extant ith' world to show how God doth bless
Both just, and wicked, as all do confess,
That as of pious lives no argument
From blessings can be drawn, so punishment
Infers not always guilt.—
Be pleas'd my friends, then to enquire I say,
Even at the silly Traveller by the way;
He'll tell you plainly that he understands,
When travelling through our neighbouring Hills, and Sands,
Where numerous Tombs of sinful men are plac'd,
Not by consuming Time as yet defac'd,
Rang'd at some distance by the high-way side,
Serving him as so many Poles to guide
Him him in his Road; how underneath these stones,
The hateful Carrions, and accursed Bones
Of sinful wreches do securely rest,
Whilst good men here with sorrows are opprest.
This false Position, pray what do you mean?
Would you by this express your wit, and show
The world, that whether this be true or no,
Yet 'tis enough that you will have it so.
In this if I should hate your Arrogance,
Or have compassion on your Ignorance,
I hardlie know: onlie I'le freelie say
If you but ask the Traveller by the way,
Hee'l tell you that the things, which you assert,
In such as you show neither Wit, nor Art,
For 'tis a thing so generallie known,
That to this hour it is deni'd by none,
But you, my friends, that Gods true love, or hate
Is not at all to be commensurate
By blessings or afflictions, since we see
How manie famous passages there be
Extant ith' world to show how God doth bless
Both just, and wicked, as all do confess,
176
From blessings can be drawn, so punishment
Infers not always guilt.—
Be pleas'd my friends, then to enquire I say,
Even at the silly Traveller by the way;
He'll tell you plainly that he understands,
When travelling through our neighbouring Hills, and Sands,
Where numerous Tombs of sinful men are plac'd,
Not by consuming Time as yet defac'd,
Rang'd at some distance by the high-way side,
Serving him as so many Poles to guide
Him him in his Road; how underneath these stones,
The hateful Carrions, and accursed Bones
Of sinful wreches do securely rest,
Whilst good men here with sorrows are opprest.
He'll tell you plainly that he thinks those men,
Though here on life, they fully did attain
To all the pleasures, which they could project,
And dy'd in peace, yet can they not expect
To rest for ever, for in Cells of Death,
They're only keep'd, unto the day of wrath.
Unto the day when all the World around,
Th'Almighty King of Heavens by Trumpet sound,
Shall summon every Mortal to appear,
At Bar of Justice, where each one may hear
The history of his life in publick read,
And then accordingly be punished,
For all his sins; then, then, those wretched men
Shall be condemned to perpetual pain;
And stead of Graves, wherein their Bones do dwell,
They shall be quartered in the Pit of Hell.
Though here on life, they fully did attain
To all the pleasures, which they could project,
And dy'd in peace, yet can they not expect
To rest for ever, for in Cells of Death,
They're only keep'd, unto the day of wrath.
Unto the day when all the World around,
Th'Almighty King of Heavens by Trumpet sound,
Shall summon every Mortal to appear,
At Bar of Justice, where each one may hear
The history of his life in publick read,
And then accordingly be punished,
For all his sins; then, then, those wretched men
Shall be condemned to perpetual pain;
And stead of Graves, wherein their Bones do dwell,
They shall be quartered in the Pit of Hell.
Now then, that I may to a period
Draw my discourse, we see how th'mighty God
Thinks fit, not only in his Providence,
To let some wicked livers travel hence,
As they desire, but even those hateful men,
Who so by force of laws their sins maintain,
As none dare of their injuries complain:
Even those he suffers to depart in peace,
And lets their sinful Bodies rest at ease.
Draw my discourse, we see how th'mighty God
Thinks fit, not only in his Providence,
To let some wicked livers travel hence,
As they desire, but even those hateful men,
Who so by force of laws their sins maintain,
As none dare of their injuries complain:
Even those he suffers to depart in peace,
And lets their sinful Bodies rest at ease.
He lets them under stately Tomb-stones ly,
Admir'd by every one that passeth by.
Their Statues too in Brasse, or Marble wrought,
With great expence, and toil, from far are brought,
And plac'd upon those glorious Monuments,
To serve to all that view, as arguments
Of their fine Grandour, all their Honours too,
Are fix't about them, to demonstrat how
They liv'd in Earth, and all do serve t'expresse
Their worldly splendor, pomp, and happinesse.
Admir'd by every one that passeth by.
Their Statues too in Brasse, or Marble wrought,
With great expence, and toil, from far are brought,
And plac'd upon those glorious Monuments,
To serve to all that view, as arguments
Of their fine Grandour, all their Honours too,
Are fix't about them, to demonstrat how
They liv'd in Earth, and all do serve t'expresse
Their worldly splendor, pomp, and happinesse.
Here in Earths bowels they shall sweetly rest,
And as in life, so in their death be bless't,
The slimy clods shall then become their beds,
Where, as on pillows, they shall lay their heads,
To the same place all mankind shall repair
As were before them, many thousands there.
And as in life, so in their death be bless't,
The slimy clods shall then become their beds,
Where, as on pillows, they shall lay their heads,
177
As were before them, many thousands there.
Since then, I say, we see how providence
Doth not at all times favour innocence:
But that our God is oftimes pleas'd to bless
Even the professors of gross wickedness:
Why would you undertake to comfort me
By such discourse, in which I plainly see
The strength of all your arguments doth lie
That cause afflicted of impiety
I'me guilty, which I constantly deny.
Doth not at all times favour innocence:
But that our God is oftimes pleas'd to bless
Even the professors of gross wickedness:
Why would you undertake to comfort me
By such discourse, in which I plainly see
The strength of all your arguments doth lie
That cause afflicted of impiety
I'me guilty, which I constantly deny.
Cap. XXII.
Now one might think after so long debate
With so much counter-arguing, and such heat
Upon the subject, where those Learned men
With all their Art endeavoured to maintain,
That all the Plagues, and woes which God had sent
Upon their friend, were but due punishment
For his foul sins, because they firmly laid
This for a maxime, that none suffered
At th'hand of God, but wicked men alone,
And that by such distinctions they were known
From upright men, and so would fain perswade
Th'afflicted man, that he had merited
All he did undergo; and with what art
On th'other hand he laboured to assert
His innocence, and without heat, or passion,
Did prove by many a lively demonstration,
That where mens antecedent sins did call
For punishment, on earth, yet after all
Heavens gracious Monarch freely did permit
Those men to live, and dy, as they thought fit.
Whilst pious men were often visited
With sad afflictions, and overlaid
With plagues, and torments: and that some of those
Whom they call'd sinful, suffered many woes,
Even in this life; from whence he did conclude
What they affirm'd, must not be understood
To be a general rule, which did admit
Of no exception; and that all their wit
Was mis-imploy'd on such an argument,
And that they'd surely fail of their intent,
If by the threatning of their Eloquence,
They thought to fright him from his Innocence;
One might ha'thought, I say, those learned men
Would now no longer labour to maintain
A thing not only so ofttimes deny'd,
But prov'd so learn'dly to be false beside;
Yet will they not their arguing give o're,
But still assert, as stiffly, as before,
Their former Doctrine: for to all was said
The Temanite this stubborn answer made.
With so much counter-arguing, and such heat
Upon the subject, where those Learned men
With all their Art endeavoured to maintain,
That all the Plagues, and woes which God had sent
Upon their friend, were but due punishment
For his foul sins, because they firmly laid
This for a maxime, that none suffered
At th'hand of God, but wicked men alone,
And that by such distinctions they were known
From upright men, and so would fain perswade
Th'afflicted man, that he had merited
All he did undergo; and with what art
On th'other hand he laboured to assert
His innocence, and without heat, or passion,
Did prove by many a lively demonstration,
That where mens antecedent sins did call
For punishment, on earth, yet after all
Heavens gracious Monarch freely did permit
Those men to live, and dy, as they thought fit.
Whilst pious men were often visited
With sad afflictions, and overlaid
With plagues, and torments: and that some of those
Whom they call'd sinful, suffered many woes,
Even in this life; from whence he did conclude
What they affirm'd, must not be understood
To be a general rule, which did admit
Of no exception; and that all their wit
Was mis-imploy'd on such an argument,
And that they'd surely fail of their intent,
If by the threatning of their Eloquence,
They thought to fright him from his Innocence;
One might ha'thought, I say, those learned men
Would now no longer labour to maintain
A thing not only so ofttimes deny'd,
But prov'd so learn'dly to be false beside;
178
But still assert, as stiffly, as before,
Their former Doctrine: for to all was said
The Temanite this stubborn answer made.
Why, friend; sayes he, I have, with patience,
Heard thee descant upon thy Innocence:
I've heard thee talk much like those quibbling fools,
Who for the reputation of their Schools,
Will upon any subject frame debate,
And even deny what is homologat
By all the knowing World: [illeg.] will assert
Falshoid it self, t'express their prurient art:
And argue pro, or con, on what you will,
(As Juglers shift their Balls, to show their skill:)
Nay they'll not stick to prove by argument,
That the Sun shines not in the Firmament;
And by their pestilentious parts are able
To make all things created disputable.
So thou, to show thy wit, art not asham'd
T'affirm such things as ought not to be nam'd.
Thou tell'st us thou art pure, and innocent,
And why should the Almighty thus torment
One in the reputation of a Saint?
I see indeed thou fain wouldst us perswade
'Tis not for sin that thou art punished:
No, not at all, for thou insistest much
That thou art just, and always hast been such,
Even in the hight of thy prosperity,
And still abhoredst all impiety:
And being yet such (in thine own conceit
At least) why thy Creator doth think fit
T'afflict a man, pure, just, and innocent,
Only to try a new experiment,
That he may know how good men will behave
Under his Rod, not that men should conceive
That all afflictions are th'reward of Sin,
No, by no means; for if they should begin
To entertain such thoughts, they might conclude,
The very Saints cannot be understood
To have been just, since none ere suffered,
In all the world more sorrows than they did:
And then demandst us, if God punish none,
As we affirm, but sinful men alone:
Why do these wretches, who in sin abound
Flourish on Earth, why are so many found
Guilty of Sin, and yet not punished?
Why, here's a contradiction indeed,
Sayst thou, a Riddle, which I cannot read.
This is thy Doctrine, in this error thou
Endeavourest to maintain, with much adoe,
Thy innocence; but, trust me, 'tis in vain
For we perceive how evident, and plain
Thy misdemeanours are,—
For even in this, that thou so frequently
Valuest thy self upon thy Piety,
And boastest so much of thy righteousness,
Thou sin'st, though there were no more in the case:
For I do lay it as a principle,
Beyond all question most infallible,
That let a man be never so devout,
Zealous, and just in heart, it booteth not:
For this to God no profit doth afford,
It yields him no advantage, in a word,
All we can do, all that our hearts are able
To muster out, is no wayes profitable
To our great God: for let us fast and pray,
Let us give alms, and labour every day
By all the lawful means, which mortals use
To make their Court with Heav'n, we but abuse
Our judgements, if by these we do suppose
To merit favour of him, for God knows,
When we have labour'd and done all we can,
To serve our Maker, be perform'd by man;
Yet one with reason may us freely call
Unprofitable servants after all.
For 'tis not so with God, as 'tis with men,
Where one by parts, and prudence may attain
To profit, and enrich his mind with all
The Revenues of what we knowledge call.
Or feast his Soul with Heavenly Contemplations,
And frequently imploy in Meditations
His heart with pleasure, and so happily
Improve the noble art of Piety.
No, no, all these God values not a whit
Of all our works he maks no benefit.
Heard thee descant upon thy Innocence:
I've heard thee talk much like those quibbling fools,
Who for the reputation of their Schools,
Will upon any subject frame debate,
And even deny what is homologat
By all the knowing World: [illeg.] will assert
Falshoid it self, t'express their prurient art:
And argue pro, or con, on what you will,
(As Juglers shift their Balls, to show their skill:)
Nay they'll not stick to prove by argument,
That the Sun shines not in the Firmament;
And by their pestilentious parts are able
To make all things created disputable.
So thou, to show thy wit, art not asham'd
T'affirm such things as ought not to be nam'd.
Thou tell'st us thou art pure, and innocent,
And why should the Almighty thus torment
One in the reputation of a Saint?
I see indeed thou fain wouldst us perswade
'Tis not for sin that thou art punished:
No, not at all, for thou insistest much
That thou art just, and always hast been such,
Even in the hight of thy prosperity,
And still abhoredst all impiety:
And being yet such (in thine own conceit
At least) why thy Creator doth think fit
T'afflict a man, pure, just, and innocent,
Only to try a new experiment,
That he may know how good men will behave
Under his Rod, not that men should conceive
That all afflictions are th'reward of Sin,
No, by no means; for if they should begin
To entertain such thoughts, they might conclude,
The very Saints cannot be understood
To have been just, since none ere suffered,
In all the world more sorrows than they did:
And then demandst us, if God punish none,
As we affirm, but sinful men alone:
Why do these wretches, who in sin abound
Flourish on Earth, why are so many found
Guilty of Sin, and yet not punished?
Why, here's a contradiction indeed,
Sayst thou, a Riddle, which I cannot read.
This is thy Doctrine, in this error thou
Endeavourest to maintain, with much adoe,
Thy innocence; but, trust me, 'tis in vain
For we perceive how evident, and plain
Thy misdemeanours are,—
For even in this, that thou so frequently
179
And boastest so much of thy righteousness,
Thou sin'st, though there were no more in the case:
For I do lay it as a principle,
Beyond all question most infallible,
That let a man be never so devout,
Zealous, and just in heart, it booteth not:
For this to God no profit doth afford,
It yields him no advantage, in a word,
All we can do, all that our hearts are able
To muster out, is no wayes profitable
To our great God: for let us fast and pray,
Let us give alms, and labour every day
By all the lawful means, which mortals use
To make their Court with Heav'n, we but abuse
Our judgements, if by these we do suppose
To merit favour of him, for God knows,
When we have labour'd and done all we can,
To serve our Maker, be perform'd by man;
Yet one with reason may us freely call
Unprofitable servants after all.
For 'tis not so with God, as 'tis with men,
Where one by parts, and prudence may attain
To profit, and enrich his mind with all
The Revenues of what we knowledge call.
Or feast his Soul with Heavenly Contemplations,
And frequently imploy in Meditations
His heart with pleasure, and so happily
Improve the noble art of Piety.
No, no, all these God values not a whit
Of all our works he maks no benefit.
Then what avails it for a man to boast
Of what God doth not value? what at most
Yields but some profit to himself, and so
I must with calmness tell thee, that although
Thou wert ev'n such, as thou pretendst to be
Just, Upright, Zealous, and from Errors free,
(As we conceive thou art not:) yet alace
Thus to brag of it as a great trespass.
Of what God doth not value? what at most
Yields but some profit to himself, and so
I must with calmness tell thee, that although
Thou wert ev'n such, as thou pretendst to be
Just, Upright, Zealous, and from Errors free,
(As we conceive thou art not:) yet alace
Thus to brag of it as a great trespass.
Next then, my friend, as he who sits on hie
Reaps no advantage by thy Piety.
So on the other hand, I'd have thee know,
He fears no hurt from thee, nor doth he show
Himself offended at thy righteousness,
As in thy passion thou dost oft express;
No, no, mistake it not, for certainly
God quarrels no man for integrity,
Nor doth he think it is his interest,
That such an one as thou should be supprest,
Lest if perhaps thou shouldst become too wise
His Majesty might suffer prejudice
By thy practising with his enemies.
For as th'Almighty doth not apprehend
Thy merits to be such, as do transcend
The power of his reward;—
So fears he not thou wilt become so great,
But that by his eternal rules of State,
(Though thou shouldst to the Highest pitch attain
In power with him, can be acquir'd by men)
Yet he with ease can take thee down again.
Reaps no advantage by thy Piety.
So on the other hand, I'd have thee know,
He fears no hurt from thee, nor doth he show
Himself offended at thy righteousness,
As in thy passion thou dost oft express;
No, no, mistake it not, for certainly
God quarrels no man for integrity,
Nor doth he think it is his interest,
That such an one as thou should be supprest,
Lest if perhaps thou shouldst become too wise
His Majesty might suffer prejudice
By thy practising with his enemies.
For as th'Almighty doth not apprehend
Thy merits to be such, as do transcend
180
So fears he not thou wilt become so great,
But that by his eternal rules of State,
(Though thou shouldst to the Highest pitch attain
In power with him, can be acquir'd by men)
Yet he with ease can take thee down again.
Since then for what is good, we plainly see
The God of Justice doth not punish thee,
Nor any man, because his upright Laws
Ordain that no man should without a cause
Be punished, why sure we must conclude,
These thy afflictions must be understood
Either to be thy punishment for sin,
Or else for nothing;
And how absurd it were for one t'assert
I'th' least the verity of the latter part
Of this alternative, I freely leave it
To th'judgement of good men, but I conceive it
To be an error of so deep a dye,
As falls within the verge of blasphemy.
The God of Justice doth not punish thee,
Nor any man, because his upright Laws
Ordain that no man should without a cause
Be punished, why sure we must conclude,
These thy afflictions must be understood
Either to be thy punishment for sin,
Or else for nothing;
And how absurd it were for one t'assert
I'th' least the verity of the latter part
Of this alternative, I freely leave it
To th'judgement of good men, but I conceive it
To be an error of so deep a dye,
As falls within the verge of blasphemy.
And now, dear Friend, at length I must be free,
And tell thee out what are my thoughts of thee:
Since thou wert pleas'd to say, that all this time
We spar'd thy person, and reprov'd thy Crime;
'Tis true indeed, in pity of thy case,
We did forbear to tell thee in thy face,
Thou wer't the unjust man, whom we did mean,
But since thou put'st me to't, I shall be plain,
For thus I argue. He whose wickedness
Caus'd many cry to Heaven for redress:
He who was not asham'd to make profession
Of that foul sin, which men do call Oppression:
That man, I say, 'tis plain and evident,
Deserves from God severest punishment:
This I have still esteemed from my youth,
A proposition of eternal truth.
But so it is, thou in thy life hast been,
(As is but too well known) the worst of men;
In sin thou didst thy Neighbours all exceed,
And therefore thou art justly punished.
And tell thee out what are my thoughts of thee:
Since thou wert pleas'd to say, that all this time
We spar'd thy person, and reprov'd thy Crime;
'Tis true indeed, in pity of thy case,
We did forbear to tell thee in thy face,
Thou wer't the unjust man, whom we did mean,
But since thou put'st me to't, I shall be plain,
For thus I argue. He whose wickedness
Caus'd many cry to Heaven for redress:
He who was not asham'd to make profession
Of that foul sin, which men do call Oppression:
That man, I say, 'tis plain and evident,
Deserves from God severest punishment:
This I have still esteemed from my youth,
A proposition of eternal truth.
But so it is, thou in thy life hast been,
(As is but too well known) the worst of men;
In sin thou didst thy Neighbours all exceed,
And therefore thou art justly punished.
But here, because I know thou wilt deny
What I subsume, I'le prove it instantly;
Here is my charge then, stand to thy defence,
For thus I do impeach thy innocence.
Who's he of us that cannot say his ears
Have been infested now these many years
With th'horrid noise of thy lewd practices,
Whilst thou without distinction didst oppress
Each living Soul, that came within thy reach,
And seiz'd on all, as far as thou couldst stretch
Thy grasping Talons: may as we have heard
Thy avarice so palpably appear'd,
And thy foul dealings were so understood
By all the people of thy Neighbourhood,
As no men durst with thee negotiat,
Save those who better understood to cheat.
Then thou didst, and we hear they were but few
Besides thy self, my friend, who so well knew
The art of Couz'ning: nay besides we hear
Thy crueltie was such, thou wouldst not spare
Thy nearest Kins-men, but, at all occasions,
Wouldst justle them out of their just Possessions.
When having lent them money in their need,
Upon a Mortgage, by some Counter-deed,
After true payment of the Principal,
Just, Interest, Expences, Costs, and all,
Under the Title of some scurvy lease,
After Redemption, thou wouldst still possess:
And, lest thy Title should be quarrelled,
Thou'd quicklie purchase in some Latent-deed
Which carry'd the reversion, and then
Th'extinguish'd Mortgage openlie retain.
Nay more, thou didst not onlie strangers use,
After this fashion, but wouldst even abuse
Thy very Brother, if necessitie
Oblig'd him to demand from thee supplie.
For thou wert rigid, cruel, and severe;
In all thy dealings as most rich men are,
And for thy Soul alace thou took'st no care.
Interest allow'd by Law would not content
Thy covetous mind, but even cent per cent
Thou'd take from some, and Pledges to the boot
Worth thrice the money; which thou didst lend out.
Then, lest the Statutes might thy dealings reach,
And thee for bloody usury impeach:
Thou'd licitat the Goods, and for the fashion,
Cause a led Jury put a Valuation
Upon them, far below the sum thou lent,
And then wouldst sell them to the full extent.
Nay, which is strange, as we're inform'd, the poor,
Who daily begg'd their alms from door to door.
Thou sometimes with provisions wouldst supplie,
And make the gleanings of thy Usurie,
In publick pass for acts of Charitie.
But how pray didst thou order thy affair
With those poor Souls? say now, didst thou forbear
To take a Pledge from such, for what thou lent
Nay, my good friend, 'twas never thy intent.
For e're thou'd wanted all, thou even wouldst seize
On their poor rags, and make such things as these
Yield thee some profit.—
Whilst overcome with cold and penurie,
Those naked creatures in the streets would die.
In fine, both rich and poor thou us'd to rob,
For no such famous Usurer as Job
Did in these Countries live: this was thy Trade,
By this a great Estate th'hadst latelie made,
And for this now on Dung hill thou art laid.
What I subsume, I'le prove it instantly;
Here is my charge then, stand to thy defence,
For thus I do impeach thy innocence.
Who's he of us that cannot say his ears
Have been infested now these many years
With th'horrid noise of thy lewd practices,
Whilst thou without distinction didst oppress
Each living Soul, that came within thy reach,
And seiz'd on all, as far as thou couldst stretch
Thy grasping Talons: may as we have heard
Thy avarice so palpably appear'd,
And thy foul dealings were so understood
By all the people of thy Neighbourhood,
181
Save those who better understood to cheat.
Then thou didst, and we hear they were but few
Besides thy self, my friend, who so well knew
The art of Couz'ning: nay besides we hear
Thy crueltie was such, thou wouldst not spare
Thy nearest Kins-men, but, at all occasions,
Wouldst justle them out of their just Possessions.
When having lent them money in their need,
Upon a Mortgage, by some Counter-deed,
After true payment of the Principal,
Just, Interest, Expences, Costs, and all,
Under the Title of some scurvy lease,
After Redemption, thou wouldst still possess:
And, lest thy Title should be quarrelled,
Thou'd quicklie purchase in some Latent-deed
Which carry'd the reversion, and then
Th'extinguish'd Mortgage openlie retain.
Nay more, thou didst not onlie strangers use,
After this fashion, but wouldst even abuse
Thy very Brother, if necessitie
Oblig'd him to demand from thee supplie.
For thou wert rigid, cruel, and severe;
In all thy dealings as most rich men are,
And for thy Soul alace thou took'st no care.
Interest allow'd by Law would not content
Thy covetous mind, but even cent per cent
Thou'd take from some, and Pledges to the boot
Worth thrice the money; which thou didst lend out.
Then, lest the Statutes might thy dealings reach,
And thee for bloody usury impeach:
Thou'd licitat the Goods, and for the fashion,
Cause a led Jury put a Valuation
Upon them, far below the sum thou lent,
And then wouldst sell them to the full extent.
Nay, which is strange, as we're inform'd, the poor,
Who daily begg'd their alms from door to door.
Thou sometimes with provisions wouldst supplie,
And make the gleanings of thy Usurie,
In publick pass for acts of Charitie.
But how pray didst thou order thy affair
With those poor Souls? say now, didst thou forbear
To take a Pledge from such, for what thou lent
Nay, my good friend, 'twas never thy intent.
For e're thou'd wanted all, thou even wouldst seize
On their poor rags, and make such things as these
Yield thee some profit.—
Whilst overcome with cold and penurie,
Those naked creatures in the streets would die.
In fine, both rich and poor thou us'd to rob,
For no such famous Usurer as Job
Did in these Countries live: this was thy Trade,
By this a great Estate th'hadst latelie made,
And for this now on Dung hill thou art laid.
182
Then as thou did in avarice abound,
So in thy petrifyed heart was found
No room at all for love, and charity,
For thou the thirsty never would supply
With one cold cup of water, or in need;
Afford the hungry one poor loaf of bread,
So in thy petrifyed heart was found
No room at all for love, and charity,
For thou the thirsty never would supply
With one cold cup of water, or in need;
Afford the hungry one poor loaf of bread,
But, O, in these days, there was no complaining
On such as thee: as there was no regaining
Of what thou took'st, thou then didst rule the land,
And hadst both power, and statutes in thy hand,
Men knew no other laws, but thy command.
And though thou wouldst unmercifully treat
The poor, yet thou wouldst fawn upon the great,
And rich men of the land, and countenance
Them in their law-suits, that thou might'st advance
The interest of thy self and family,
And raise thy brats by open bribery.
On such as thee: as there was no regaining
Of what thou took'st, thou then didst rule the land,
And hadst both power, and statutes in thy hand,
Men knew no other laws, but thy command.
And though thou wouldst unmercifully treat
The poor, yet thou wouldst fawn upon the great,
And rich men of the land, and countenance
Them in their law-suits, that thou might'st advance
The interest of thy self and family,
And raise thy brats by open bribery.
Lastly (which is the greatest of oppressions)
When some poor widows would at general Sessions,
Implore for justice, where thou didst preside,
Protesting they did starve for want of bread;
And therefore beg'd their suits might come to tryal,
To this thy answer was a flat denyal;
Either, because some great men were concern'd,
In these same actions, or that thou hadst learn'd,
It was the interest of some puny friend,
Those peoples tryals should not have an end,
The orphans too when thou in Judgement sat,
And acted, as a bribing Magistrat,
Did starve for want of sustenance, and cry'd
Aloud, when dying, Justice was deny'd.
When some poor widows would at general Sessions,
Implore for justice, where thou didst preside,
Protesting they did starve for want of bread;
And therefore beg'd their suits might come to tryal,
To this thy answer was a flat denyal;
Either, because some great men were concern'd,
In these same actions, or that thou hadst learn'd,
It was the interest of some puny friend,
Those peoples tryals should not have an end,
The orphans too when thou in Judgement sat,
And acted, as a bribing Magistrat,
Did starve for want of sustenance, and cry'd
Aloud, when dying, Justice was deny'd.
Hence 'tis that woes environ thee around,
And sudden fears thy spirits do confound.
Hence 'tis that thou art levell'd with the Dust,
'Cause whilst thou wert a Judge, thou wast unjust.
And sudden fears thy spirits do confound.
Hence 'tis that thou art levell'd with the Dust,
'Cause whilst thou wert a Judge, thou wast unjust.
Hence 'tis, that thou art every way undone,
And with a flood of sorrows over-run:
Hence 'tis that spoil'd of goods, health, family,
In an abysse of troubles thou dost ly.
And with a flood of sorrows over-run:
Hence 'tis that spoil'd of goods, health, family,
In an abysse of troubles thou dost ly.
But, O, whilst thy proud honours did endure,
Thou thought'st thou were from punishment secure,
For God, saidst thou, who lives above the skie,
And has his habitation more high,
Then that of fixed stars, can never know
What we do act, who live so far below
The pavement of his Heavenly Residence:
Will he be at the pains to view from hence,
The base and silly actions of men?
No 'tis below him sure to entertain
Such worldly thoughts; sure he has no regard,
To our mean actings, but as we're debarr'd
From seeing of him, so his Majesty
Employ'd in thoughts more elevate, and high,
Disdains to keep intelligence with such,
Whose practises he doth not value much.
Thou thought'st thou were from punishment secure,
For God, saidst thou, who lives above the skie,
And has his habitation more high,
Then that of fixed stars, can never know
What we do act, who live so far below
The pavement of his Heavenly Residence:
Will he be at the pains to view from hence,
The base and silly actions of men?
No 'tis below him sure to entertain
Such worldly thoughts; sure he has no regard,
To our mean actings, but as we're debarr'd
From seeing of him, so his Majesty
Employ'd in thoughts more elevate, and high,
Disdains to keep intelligence with such,
183
Thick vapours, saidst thou, all our actions shroud
From him, can he perceive through darkest cloud
What we do here on Earth? pray can he see,
What daily passes betwixt thee, and me?
From him, can he perceive through darkest cloud
What we do here on Earth? pray can he see,
What daily passes betwixt thee, and me?
Can't be imagin'd that he doth perceive
What here we act? or shall a man believe,
That through so many Orbs as roul between
The Heavens and Earth, our actions can be seen?
No, no, wrapp'd up in coverlets of clouds,
He sees us no more, then in thickest woods,
We can perceive the Sun, he knows no more
How we do live, then men upon the shore,
Can tell us what the several motions be,
Of Fishes in the bottom of the Sea.
No, he knows neither what we act, or talk,
But undisturb'd in Heavens large Court doth walk.
What here we act? or shall a man believe,
That through so many Orbs as roul between
The Heavens and Earth, our actions can be seen?
No, no, wrapp'd up in coverlets of clouds,
He sees us no more, then in thickest woods,
We can perceive the Sun, he knows no more
How we do live, then men upon the shore,
Can tell us what the several motions be,
Of Fishes in the bottom of the Sea.
No, he knows neither what we act, or talk,
But undisturb'd in Heavens large Court doth walk.
Further, my friend, I tremble to repeat
What were thy thoughts of God, whilst thou were great,
For, as most men in grandeur vainly think,
That at their splendid errors God doth wink;
And on the rabble only judgements sends,
To keep the great-men of the Earth his friends;
So thou didst think, when thou didst live in state,
God thought it fit thou shouldst be alwayes great,
As being one so justly qualifi'd
For Government, as there were none beside,
In all the Countrey to supply thy place,
Wer't thou undone, and therefore if in peace,
His Majesty would govern all above,
He thought it not his interest to remove
From Government so great a Minister,
As thou wer't: hence, thou vainly didst infer,
That having left all to thy management,
Reward thou might, but never punishment
Expect from God.
O principles most Atheistical!
Opinions to be abhorr'd by all!
Dost think that God, who all things did create,
Who plac'd us all in every rank, and state,
That he, whose eye views all things, should not know
What all of us think, speak, or act, below
His Heavenly Throne? dost think the thickest cloud,
From him, who holds them in his hands, can shroud
Our actings here on Earth? dost think but he,
Whose eyes see clearly through the thickest Sea:
And through the body of the Earth can tell,
What all those things do act, who live in Hell;
Dost think but he with far more ease doth see
Through all those routing orbs, and clouds, what we
Act here on Earth? dost think that he'll permit
The sons of men to live, as they think fit:
Whilst as a meer spectator he looks on
Indifferent, and concerns himself with none?
No, sure thou thinkst not as thou speakst, for so
Thou mightst as well pretend thou didst not know
Whether there were a God in Heavens or no.
For to conclude with thee that Providence
Doth rule the World with such indifference,
As sometimes here it strikes, and sometimes there,
Sending out plagues, or blessings everie where,
As th'fatal Dye doth turn upon the square
As points out each mans Destiny, were even
To fancie a grand Lottery in Heaven:
Or think that God, who all men fullie knows,
Should by mistake, at anie time send blows
Where blessings should be sent: allow me then
To tell thee that none but the worst of men
Would vent such errors, in which thou appears
To be involved over head, and ears:
For thou thinkst not enough thus to denie
That providence doth rule with equitie
But dost thy error proudlie justifie.
Thou argu'st too by reason, as do all
Those, whom the knowing world do Athiests call;
But were there no more arguments to confute
Thee, and those prating Fellows, who dispute
The actions of their Maker, this alone
May teach you all, God will be fool'd by none,
That though those wretches firmlie do believe
There is no God, yet still they do conceive
There's some such thing, for in their mind they doubt
(Although they are asham'd to speak it out)
Whether what they believe be reallie true,
Or not, for (to give providence its due,)
They find all's ordered by some supream hand,
Though whose it is, they will not understand.
So, though in their opinions positive,
Yet by their doubtings we may well perceive
That they with contrare thoughts are still opprest,
And, maugre all their braving, cannot rest
On such opinions, but still apprehend
God out of Heav'ns will view them in the end,
And on their old-age heavy judgements send.
What were thy thoughts of God, whilst thou were great,
For, as most men in grandeur vainly think,
That at their splendid errors God doth wink;
And on the rabble only judgements sends,
To keep the great-men of the Earth his friends;
So thou didst think, when thou didst live in state,
God thought it fit thou shouldst be alwayes great,
As being one so justly qualifi'd
For Government, as there were none beside,
In all the Countrey to supply thy place,
Wer't thou undone, and therefore if in peace,
His Majesty would govern all above,
He thought it not his interest to remove
From Government so great a Minister,
As thou wer't: hence, thou vainly didst infer,
That having left all to thy management,
Reward thou might, but never punishment
Expect from God.
O principles most Atheistical!
Opinions to be abhorr'd by all!
Dost think that God, who all things did create,
Who plac'd us all in every rank, and state,
That he, whose eye views all things, should not know
What all of us think, speak, or act, below
His Heavenly Throne? dost think the thickest cloud,
From him, who holds them in his hands, can shroud
Our actings here on Earth? dost think but he,
Whose eyes see clearly through the thickest Sea:
And through the body of the Earth can tell,
What all those things do act, who live in Hell;
Dost think but he with far more ease doth see
Through all those routing orbs, and clouds, what we
Act here on Earth? dost think that he'll permit
The sons of men to live, as they think fit:
Whilst as a meer spectator he looks on
Indifferent, and concerns himself with none?
184
Thou mightst as well pretend thou didst not know
Whether there were a God in Heavens or no.
For to conclude with thee that Providence
Doth rule the World with such indifference,
As sometimes here it strikes, and sometimes there,
Sending out plagues, or blessings everie where,
As th'fatal Dye doth turn upon the square
As points out each mans Destiny, were even
To fancie a grand Lottery in Heaven:
Or think that God, who all men fullie knows,
Should by mistake, at anie time send blows
Where blessings should be sent: allow me then
To tell thee that none but the worst of men
Would vent such errors, in which thou appears
To be involved over head, and ears:
For thou thinkst not enough thus to denie
That providence doth rule with equitie
But dost thy error proudlie justifie.
Thou argu'st too by reason, as do all
Those, whom the knowing world do Athiests call;
But were there no more arguments to confute
Thee, and those prating Fellows, who dispute
The actions of their Maker, this alone
May teach you all, God will be fool'd by none,
That though those wretches firmlie do believe
There is no God, yet still they do conceive
There's some such thing, for in their mind they doubt
(Although they are asham'd to speak it out)
Whether what they believe be reallie true,
Or not, for (to give providence its due,)
They find all's ordered by some supream hand,
Though whose it is, they will not understand.
So, though in their opinions positive,
Yet by their doubtings we may well perceive
That they with contrare thoughts are still opprest,
And, maugre all their braving, cannot rest
On such opinions, but still apprehend
God out of Heav'ns will view them in the end,
And on their old-age heavy judgements send.
Take heed, I do beseech thee then, from hence,
My friend, how thou dost talk of Providence,
And ask no questions, pray, why wicked men
To great enjoyments in this life attain,
Whilst pious men are strictly punished:
As if here Providence did erre, take heed
And do not think such things, for if thou dost,
Assure thy self thou art for ever lost.
Then use no more that trivial defence
So oft repeated of thy innocence.
For we are all perswaded that our God,
Without just cause, doth never use the Rod.
Remark but th'History of former times,
Thou'lt see how men have suffered for crimes.
My friend, how thou dost talk of Providence,
And ask no questions, pray, why wicked men
To great enjoyments in this life attain,
Whilst pious men are strictly punished:
As if here Providence did erre, take heed
And do not think such things, for if thou dost,
Assure thy self thou art for ever lost.
Then use no more that trivial defence
So oft repeated of thy innocence.
For we are all perswaded that our God,
Without just cause, doth never use the Rod.
Remark but th'History of former times,
Thou'lt see how men have suffered for crimes.
185
Hast thou not heard, how men before the Flood
Behav'd themselves, as if they had withstood
The power of Providence, and would not bow
To the great Prince of princes, or allow
That homage to him, which the Creature owes
To its Creator, he did so dispose,
Those Clouds in which thou think'st he's wrapp'd a-round,
As in a few dayes all those men were drown'd.
Behav'd themselves, as if they had withstood
The power of Providence, and would not bow
To the great Prince of princes, or allow
That homage to him, which the Creature owes
To its Creator, he did so dispose,
Those Clouds in which thou think'st he's wrapp'd a-round,
As in a few dayes all those men were drown'd.
He who by power of his Almighty Hand,
Clear'd all the Marches betwixt Sea and Land,
And by the same power doth restrain the Floods
Above us in Borrachios of Clouds,
Was pleas'd then in his wrath t'unty them all,
Which caus'd a Deluge Epidemical.
That race of Creatures, which not long before
He had created, he did then abhore
Because they had his Government disclaim'd,
And all his reverend Orators contemn'd,
Whom he had sent, with open mouths to tell 'em
Of those sad things, which afterwards befel 'em:
But they with open mouthes, those men did mock,
And told them, that they knew not what they spoke.
Nay, when the Good-man, whom the Lord design'd
To be the great Restorer of Man-kind,
By special Direction did begin
In view of all, to build an Ark, wherein
The Seeds o'the World might be preserv'd entire,
Whilst all the rest did in the Flouds expire;
Those silly Fools did laugh at his intent,
And oft would ask what the old Fellow mean't,
So in their errors these men did proceed,
Still living, as they were accustomed,
In wanton pleasures, regulating still
Their Lives by order of their foolish will.
Hence when the Cataracts of Heaven did swell,
And Floods out of the Skies upon them fell,
They were catch'd napping in their Festivals,
And minding nothing but their Bacchanals,
Were in that universal Deluge drown'd,
With all their sins about 'em.
But O, the man who as they thought had rav'd,
Was in that Ark, which they derided, sav'd,
With all his Family, he safety found
Amidst those rowling Waves in which they drown'd
And the Good-Master of Heavens only Barque,
With all his Passengers did in his Ark
O'r'e-top the Flouds.—
Then on might see, when that Spring-tide was full,
The Stock of Mankind floating in a Hull:
The hopes o'th' world, the Origination
Of every future Kingdom, State and Nation,
Shut up below Decks, under Boards and Dails,
Without the help of Masts, Ropes, Oars, or Sails,
Rudder, or Compass, Steer they knew not whither,
Upon the Waters many days together;
And yet at length, as well as any now,
Who with great Art, and Skill, the Ocean plow,
Arrive at their wish'd Port of Ararat,
From whence they quickly did Disseminat
In fruitful Colonies, giving Birth to all,
Who now do scramble 'bout this Earthen-ball.
Clear'd all the Marches betwixt Sea and Land,
And by the same power doth restrain the Floods
Above us in Borrachios of Clouds,
Was pleas'd then in his wrath t'unty them all,
Which caus'd a Deluge Epidemical.
That race of Creatures, which not long before
He had created, he did then abhore
Because they had his Government disclaim'd,
And all his reverend Orators contemn'd,
Whom he had sent, with open mouths to tell 'em
Of those sad things, which afterwards befel 'em:
But they with open mouthes, those men did mock,
And told them, that they knew not what they spoke.
Nay, when the Good-man, whom the Lord design'd
To be the great Restorer of Man-kind,
By special Direction did begin
In view of all, to build an Ark, wherein
The Seeds o'the World might be preserv'd entire,
Whilst all the rest did in the Flouds expire;
Those silly Fools did laugh at his intent,
And oft would ask what the old Fellow mean't,
So in their errors these men did proceed,
Still living, as they were accustomed,
In wanton pleasures, regulating still
Their Lives by order of their foolish will.
Hence when the Cataracts of Heaven did swell,
And Floods out of the Skies upon them fell,
They were catch'd napping in their Festivals,
And minding nothing but their Bacchanals,
Were in that universal Deluge drown'd,
With all their sins about 'em.
But O, the man who as they thought had rav'd,
Was in that Ark, which they derided, sav'd,
With all his Family, he safety found
Amidst those rowling Waves in which they drown'd
And the Good-Master of Heavens only Barque,
With all his Passengers did in his Ark
O'r'e-top the Flouds.—
Then on might see, when that Spring-tide was full,
The Stock of Mankind floating in a Hull:
The hopes o'th' world, the Origination
Of every future Kingdom, State and Nation,
Shut up below Decks, under Boards and Dails,
Without the help of Masts, Ropes, Oars, or Sails,
Rudder, or Compass, Steer they knew not whither,
186
And yet at length, as well as any now,
Who with great Art, and Skill, the Ocean plow,
Arrive at their wish'd Port of Ararat,
From whence they quickly did Disseminat
In fruitful Colonies, giving Birth to all,
Who now do scramble 'bout this Earthen-ball.
Such wicked men, then did not dy in peace,
Nor did they step into their Graves with ease,
Who said to God, depart from us, good Lord,
What more than we enjoy can'st thou afford,
And generally were so insolent
In sin, as they disdained to repent,
As thou affirm'st, no they were visibly,
While living, punish'd for Impiety.
Nor did they step into their Graves with ease,
Who said to God, depart from us, good Lord,
What more than we enjoy can'st thou afford,
And generally were so insolent
In sin, as they disdained to repent,
As thou affirm'st, no they were visibly,
While living, punish'd for Impiety.
Yet after all, with thee I must confess,
'Tis strange to think how our good God did bless
Those sinful men, for many generations,
Making them, Fathers of illustrious Nations,
He bless'd them, and their Families with all
Those things on Earth, which men do blessings call;
But if such things be all such men expect,
If these be all that men on Earth project,
I don't envy them: I had rather be
Involv'd in sad afflictions with thee,
Than bless'd with such, Lord let me never think
That though long time thou at mens sins dost wink,
And mak'st them happy here, but after all,
Thou wilt them to accompt most strictly call;
And send a punishment proportionate
To each mans sins, and errors, soon, or late.
'Tis strange to think how our good God did bless
Those sinful men, for many generations,
Making them, Fathers of illustrious Nations,
He bless'd them, and their Families with all
Those things on Earth, which men do blessings call;
But if such things be all such men expect,
If these be all that men on Earth project,
I don't envy them: I had rather be
Involv'd in sad afflictions with thee,
Than bless'd with such, Lord let me never think
That though long time thou at mens sins dost wink,
And mak'st them happy here, but after all,
Thou wilt them to accompt most strictly call;
And send a punishment proportionate
To each mans sins, and errors, soon, or late.
And when these men are justly punished
All truly pious, honest men are glad,
They laugh at them now in their misery,
As they at them in their prosperity
Were wont to do.
When they remember how, in former times,
Those sinful men did glory in their Crimes,
And with what foolish insolence, and pride,
They undervalued men, and did deride
Even Providence it self, as if in all,
They had been so secure, they could not fall:
Now they observe with what a silly mine,
Those fellows, scarce desirous to be seen
Appear in publick, with dejected Eyes,
Because they know that all men do despise
Their persons, for their former insolence,
And look, as if by their own Conscience,
They were condemn'd already, whilst they see
Their sins before 'em: and how all agree,
That they at length have justly forfalted
Their former grandeur, and are punished
As they deserve, whilst those who formerly
Run to them Cap in hand, now slightingly
Without a salutation pass them by.
Indeed they do appear so despicable,
And in their dayly conference with the Rabble
Express so much fear, and solicitude,
As those who see them, firmly do conclude
Those men for all their grandeur, to have been
Men of no parts, but Spirits low and mean;
Nay such as knew them in their former state
With pain believe those men were ever great.
All truly pious, honest men are glad,
They laugh at them now in their misery,
As they at them in their prosperity
Were wont to do.
When they remember how, in former times,
Those sinful men did glory in their Crimes,
And with what foolish insolence, and pride,
They undervalued men, and did deride
Even Providence it self, as if in all,
They had been so secure, they could not fall:
Now they observe with what a silly mine,
Those fellows, scarce desirous to be seen
Appear in publick, with dejected Eyes,
Because they know that all men do despise
Their persons, for their former insolence,
And look, as if by their own Conscience,
They were condemn'd already, whilst they see
Their sins before 'em: and how all agree,
That they at length have justly forfalted
Their former grandeur, and are punished
As they deserve, whilst those who formerly
Run to them Cap in hand, now slightingly
187
Indeed they do appear so despicable,
And in their dayly conference with the Rabble
Express so much fear, and solicitude,
As those who see them, firmly do conclude
Those men for all their grandeur, to have been
Men of no parts, but Spirits low and mean;
Nay such as knew them in their former state
With pain believe those men were ever great.
Thus shall our God in vengeance overthrow
The wicked, but with th'just it is not so:
For we, who fear the Lord shall still be blest,
Not with contempt, or penury opprest,
But whilst the wicked toyl, we shall have rest.
Our substance shall be settled on our Heirs,
And when we're sick, we shall be free of cares
O'th' world, and without all anxiety,
Or fearful notions of uncertainty,
We shall lift up our hands, and calmly dye.
The wicked, but with th'just it is not so:
For we, who fear the Lord shall still be blest,
Not with contempt, or penury opprest,
But whilst the wicked toyl, we shall have rest.
Our substance shall be settled on our Heirs,
And when we're sick, we shall be free of cares
O'th' world, and without all anxiety,
Or fearful notions of uncertainty,
We shall lift up our hands, and calmly dye.
And thus, my Friend, that I have fully shown
How thou hast err'd, now in another tone,
I must chear up thy spirits, and declare
How thou may'st become happy, as we are.
'Tis only thus, make haste, and be acquaint
With our great God, and seriously repent
For all the sins, of which thou guilty art,
Do quickly from the bottom of thy Heart;
Conclude firm peace with God, make no delay,
But use thy time well, do, this very day,
As thou'd desire he would thy plagues remove,
And change his present hatred into love.
How thou hast err'd, now in another tone,
I must chear up thy spirits, and declare
How thou may'st become happy, as we are.
'Tis only thus, make haste, and be acquaint
With our great God, and seriously repent
For all the sins, of which thou guilty art,
Do quickly from the bottom of thy Heart;
Conclude firm peace with God, make no delay,
But use thy time well, do, this very day,
As thou'd desire he would thy plagues remove,
And change his present hatred into love.
No more complaining then, my friend, no more
Of these expressions we have heard before:
But be attentive, prethee, and give ear
To what our God commands thee, let his fear
Possess thy Soul, hear what he doth impart
From his own Mouth, and keep it in thy heart,
To be a soveraign cure at all occasions,
VVhen e're thou shalt encounter with Temptations.
Of these expressions we have heard before:
But be attentive, prethee, and give ear
To what our God commands thee, let his fear
Possess thy Soul, hear what he doth impart
From his own Mouth, and keep it in thy heart,
To be a soveraign cure at all occasions,
VVhen e're thou shalt encounter with Temptations.
Return, my Friend, to God, from whom thou hast
Most treacherously revolted, and at last,
Thou shalt be settled in thy former state,
And be more happy than thou wert of late:
Sin, and its dire effects thou shalt expel
Out of thy house and with contentment dwell,
Environ'd with thy numerous Family,
In Houses void of all Iniquity.
Most treacherously revolted, and at last,
Thou shalt be settled in thy former state,
And be more happy than thou wert of late:
Sin, and its dire effects thou shalt expel
Out of thy house and with contentment dwell,
Environ'd with thy numerous Family,
In Houses void of all Iniquity.
Like Dust in Shovels thou shalt heap thy Gold,
Large Granaries shall scarce thy Treasure hold,
And when thy Coffers are brime full with Ore,
So closely pack't as they can hold no more:
Large Granaries shall scarce thy Treasure hold,
And when thy Coffers are brime full with Ore,
So closely pack't as they can hold no more:
And when with Silver, all thy bags thou hast,
Shall be stuff'd full, seal'd, lock'd up, and made fast,
Then as thy Brokers find security,
According to thy mind, thou by and by
Shall us & all thy neighbouring friends, supply.
But (which is best of all) whilst others store
Runs out in riot, and appears no more,
Our God himself shall be they Thesaurer,
So that thou shalt not Thieves or Robbers fear,
Nor the wild humours of a rich mans Heir.
Shall be stuff'd full, seal'd, lock'd up, and made fast,
188
According to thy mind, thou by and by
Shall us & all thy neighbouring friends, supply.
But (which is best of all) whilst others store
Runs out in riot, and appears no more,
Our God himself shall be they Thesaurer,
So that thou shalt not Thieves or Robbers fear,
Nor the wild humours of a rich mans Heir.
For then in prayer thou shalt take delite,
And for Devotion still have appetite,
Fresh and renew'd, shall have more real pleasure
In God, than in thy Family and Treasure.
And for Devotion still have appetite,
Fresh and renew'd, shall have more real pleasure
In God, than in thy Family and Treasure.
Then Prayers shall become habitual
To thee, and thou on thy kind God shalt call,
With confidence, for he will surely hear
Those, who address with reverence and fear,
To his high Throne, and thou shalt quickly know
By the return of them, that it is so.
To thee, and thou on thy kind God shalt call,
With confidence, for he will surely hear
Those, who address with reverence and fear,
To his high Throne, and thou shalt quickly know
By the return of them, that it is so.
With God thou shalt become familiar
And shalt before him, at all times appear,
As one who doth possess much of his ear.
In all things he shall firmly by thee stand,
And bless what ever thou dost take in hand.
In all thy actings he shall thee direct,
And from temptations still thy soul protect.
And shalt before him, at all times appear,
As one who doth possess much of his ear.
In all things he shall firmly by thee stand,
And bless what ever thou dost take in hand.
In all thy actings he shall thee direct,
And from temptations still thy soul protect.
Whilst others grovelling in calamities
Shall tear the very Heav'ns with doleful crys:
Thou shalt know nothing of what these endure,
But live in great contentment, firm, and sure.
Nay those, who are in want, and misery,
To thee, as to Gods favourite, shall apply
To interceed for them, which thou shalt do,
Succeeding in thy intercession too.
Shall tear the very Heav'ns with doleful crys:
Thou shalt know nothing of what these endure,
But live in great contentment, firm, and sure.
Nay those, who are in want, and misery,
To thee, as to Gods favourite, shall apply
To interceed for them, which thou shalt do,
Succeeding in thy intercession too.
God will deliver for a just mans sake
Whole Towns, and Kingdoms that would go to wrake,
Wer't not that he did hear the pray'rs of such
Amongst these people, whom he values much,
Th'unspotted pureness of one just mans hand
Doth make attonement oft for all the land.
Whole Towns, and Kingdoms that would go to wrake,
Wer't not that he did hear the pray'rs of such
Amongst these people, whom he values much,
Th'unspotted pureness of one just mans hand
Doth make attonement oft for all the land.
189
Cap. XXIII.
When
the insulting Temanite had thus
Opened his charge, by which he did accuse
His friend, of gross Oppression, Bribery,
Uncharitable Dealings, Usury,
Nay Atheism it self, for which he said
God him at length had justlie punished:
And by so manie special instances,
Of Villanie, endeavoured to press
The truth of what he boldlie did assert,
By all the rules of eloquence, and art:
The poor afflicted soul, who all this while
Lay in great torment, and would sometimes smile,
To see his friend, who formerly had spar'd
To tax his person, now without regard
Ol old acquaintance, and the sacred tyes,
And rules of friendship, thus in choller rise:
And formallie accuse him of such crimes
As he, who knew him well in former times,
Could not esteem him guilty, were he call'd
To be upon his jury: and yet gall'd
To hear his friend, with so much impudence,
Endeavour to convel that innocenc,
On which himself he so much valued,
As sure of that, all that he suffered
He undervalu'd, though now faint, and weak,
Yet he no longer could forbear to speak.
But after h'had with sighs ingeminate,
Rememb'red sadlie on his former state,
As soon as heavie groans, which constantlie
Oppres'd his spirit, would to words give way,
To his Inditement with great modestie.
He thus put in his answer.
Opened his charge, by which he did accuse
His friend, of gross Oppression, Bribery,
Uncharitable Dealings, Usury,
Nay Atheism it self, for which he said
God him at length had justlie punished:
And by so manie special instances,
Of Villanie, endeavoured to press
The truth of what he boldlie did assert,
By all the rules of eloquence, and art:
The poor afflicted soul, who all this while
Lay in great torment, and would sometimes smile,
To see his friend, who formerly had spar'd
To tax his person, now without regard
Ol old acquaintance, and the sacred tyes,
And rules of friendship, thus in choller rise:
And formallie accuse him of such crimes
As he, who knew him well in former times,
Could not esteem him guilty, were he call'd
To be upon his jury: and yet gall'd
To hear his friend, with so much impudence,
Endeavour to convel that innocenc,
On which himself he so much valued,
As sure of that, all that he suffered
He undervalu'd, though now faint, and weak,
Yet he no longer could forbear to speak.
But after h'had with sighs ingeminate,
Rememb'red sadlie on his former state,
As soon as heavie groans, which constantlie
Oppres'd his spirit, would to words give way,
To his Inditement with great modestie.
He thus put in his answer.
My friends, says he, I see with how much art
You all endeavour to undo my heart:
And strive one after t'other, by your words,
To hew me down, as with so manie swords:
Unkindlie done!
For now indeed, at length I plainlie see,
All those reflections have been mean't for me,
Which you from the beginning have related,
Since first the question betwixt us was stated.
I see you use no more your fained Stories,
Your painted figures, and your Allegories,
But in plain terms, you formallie do charge
Me with those numerous crimes, of which, at large
In the third person, you have formerlie
Discours'd, but now you tell me openlie
I'm guiltie of them all.
But to all you have said, my sole defence,
I still do found upon my innocence.
Your bitter Charge I utterly deny,
I plead not guilty, and will justify
My self at all occasions, against all
Who of such villanies shall me guilty call.
D'ye think, my friends, but an ingenuous heart
Has much ado in earnest, for its part,
T'endure such language, as you're pleas'd to vent
'Gainst one, who knows himself most innocent,
Of all the Crimes you talk of, pray, consider,
Were it the case of any of you, whether
Would you with patience such rude language bear,
As from your mouths I am constrain'd to hear.
Alace, what man from passion can abstain,
Hearing himself thus tax'd once, and again;
Then why do you complain, that I complain;
Indeed my Soul is in more heavinesse,
Then I by my complaining can expresse.
The very torments that afflict my Bones,
Are more in weight, and number, then my groans.
You all endeavour to undo my heart:
And strive one after t'other, by your words,
To hew me down, as with so manie swords:
Unkindlie done!
For now indeed, at length I plainlie see,
All those reflections have been mean't for me,
Which you from the beginning have related,
Since first the question betwixt us was stated.
I see you use no more your fained Stories,
Your painted figures, and your Allegories,
But in plain terms, you formallie do charge
Me with those numerous crimes, of which, at large
In the third person, you have formerlie
Discours'd, but now you tell me openlie
I'm guiltie of them all.
190
I still do found upon my innocence.
Your bitter Charge I utterly deny,
I plead not guilty, and will justify
My self at all occasions, against all
Who of such villanies shall me guilty call.
D'ye think, my friends, but an ingenuous heart
Has much ado in earnest, for its part,
T'endure such language, as you're pleas'd to vent
'Gainst one, who knows himself most innocent,
Of all the Crimes you talk of, pray, consider,
Were it the case of any of you, whether
Would you with patience such rude language bear,
As from your mouths I am constrain'd to hear.
Alace, what man from passion can abstain,
Hearing himself thus tax'd once, and again;
Then why do you complain, that I complain;
Indeed my Soul is in more heavinesse,
Then I by my complaining can expresse.
The very torments that afflict my Bones,
Are more in weight, and number, then my groans.
You tell me, I should turn to God, alace,
I fain would do't, if I could see his face:
Would I could find him, would I could know where
He shows himself to men, I would repair
To him indeed, but since that cannot be
Allow'd me, since his face I cannot see:
Yet in regard I am condemn'd by you,
Who are my Parties, and my Judges too:
Knowing, that he both sees, and hears me well,
To him, as supream judge I do appeal.
I fain would do't, if I could see his face:
Would I could find him, would I could know where
He shows himself to men, I would repair
To him indeed, but since that cannot be
Allow'd me, since his face I cannot see:
Yet in regard I am condemn'd by you,
Who are my Parties, and my Judges too:
Knowing, that he both sees, and hears me well,
To him, as supream judge I do appeal.
But O again, I wish I were allow'd
Free accesse to him, there indeed I wou'd
So order my affair, and so deduce
My Case hefore my God, I would so use
That liberty, and with such moderation,
Plead my just cause, as I should find compassion
From him, I would so argue, and debate,
Upon the subject of my present state,
Before that Judge, as I am confident,
His Majesty would find me innocent.
Free accesse to him, there indeed I wou'd
So order my affair, and so deduce
My Case hefore my God, I would so use
That liberty, and with such moderation,
Plead my just cause, as I should find compassion
From him, I would so argue, and debate,
Upon the subject of my present state,
Before that Judge, as I am confident,
His Majesty would find me innocent.
Then would I hear, then would I understand,
What can be said upon the other hand,
Against my so well known integrity,
To which, with freedom I might make reply.
What can be said upon the other hand,
Against my so well known integrity,
To which, with freedom I might make reply.
O that to God then I might accesse have,
Let him but hear me, and no more I crave:
Let him but hear me, and before his Throne,
I shall so mannage my just cause alone,
Without the help of counsel, as I shall
Be able soon to overthrow them all,
That do accuse me: let me but appear
Before my Maker, and I do not fear
What man can say against me, for I know
He will not do, as Judges here below,
Who byass'd by some privat interest,
In Plaintiff, or Defendant, use to wrest
The Laws, to serve their turn, and sullenly,
With stern looks, and expressions terrify
The Prisoner at Bar: nor will he watch
My fearful words, to see if he can catch
Any advantage from them, or allow
Crosse questions, and such tricks, as those men do,
To make me guilty, and then state the case
To th'listning Jury with a double face.
No, my Creator would take no such way,
But hear me calmly what I had to say
In my defence, he would not terrify,
My panting soul with his authority:
But on the contrair, he would hear me plead,
Without once interrupting me, and stead
Of vexing me with questions, he'd afford
Arguments for my safety, in a word,
Should I appear before him, I am sure,
My tryal could for no long time endure:
For he would soon acquit me, and release
My Soul from pains, could I but see his face.
O blessed face! could I have liberty
To see it, I should be immediatly
Free from all censure, clamour, calumny.
Let him but hear me, and no more I crave:
Let him but hear me, and before his Throne,
I shall so mannage my just cause alone,
Without the help of counsel, as I shall
Be able soon to overthrow them all,
That do accuse me: let me but appear
Before my Maker, and I do not fear
What man can say against me, for I know
191
Who byass'd by some privat interest,
In Plaintiff, or Defendant, use to wrest
The Laws, to serve their turn, and sullenly,
With stern looks, and expressions terrify
The Prisoner at Bar: nor will he watch
My fearful words, to see if he can catch
Any advantage from them, or allow
Crosse questions, and such tricks, as those men do,
To make me guilty, and then state the case
To th'listning Jury with a double face.
No, my Creator would take no such way,
But hear me calmly what I had to say
In my defence, he would not terrify,
My panting soul with his authority:
But on the contrair, he would hear me plead,
Without once interrupting me, and stead
Of vexing me with questions, he'd afford
Arguments for my safety, in a word,
Should I appear before him, I am sure,
My tryal could for no long time endure:
For he would soon acquit me, and release
My Soul from pains, could I but see his face.
O blessed face! could I have liberty
To see it, I should be immediatly
Free from all censure, clamour, calumny.
There may a just man boldly plead his cause,
Not fearing danger from ambiguous Laws:
There he may speak with freedom, there he may
Unfold at large all that he has to say,
In his defence, what e'r he can pretend,
He may alledge, he may himself defend
Fully, for God will hear him to an end.
There, O there should I have the happinesse
To be once try'd, how should my righteousnesse
In view of all be clearly vindicat
From these asperssions, which some men, of late
Have laboured to fix upon me, then,
They should perceive their malice was in vain,
For being once acquit, I shall for ever
Be absolutely free from tryal, never
To be again for any fault, or crime
Brought to the Bar; nay, after posting Time
Has run its course out, and the day shall come,
Which shall appear most terrible to some
Whose names are in the Rolls then to be try'd,
I shall be found already justify'd.
Not fearing danger from ambiguous Laws:
There he may speak with freedom, there he may
Unfold at large all that he has to say,
In his defence, what e'r he can pretend,
He may alledge, he may himself defend
Fully, for God will hear him to an end.
There, O there should I have the happinesse
To be once try'd, how should my righteousnesse
In view of all be clearly vindicat
From these asperssions, which some men, of late
Have laboured to fix upon me, then,
They should perceive their malice was in vain,
For being once acquit, I shall for ever
Be absolutely free from tryal, never
To be again for any fault, or crime
Brought to the Bar; nay, after posting Time
Has run its course out, and the day shall come,
Which shall appear most terrible to some
Whose names are in the Rolls then to be try'd,
I shall be found already justify'd.
But, O, my Soul, why shouldst thou thus complain,
Thou canst not see him: why should thou in vain
Crave accesse to a God invisible,
Infinite, and incomprehensible?
A mighty God, who no where doth appear,
And yet is truly present every where.
A God, whose saving wings do thee surround,
Who walks with thee, and yet cannot be found,
By all thy Art: why should thou thus in vain
Make search for him, whom no place can contain?
Forward, or backward, whither shall I go
To find my God, why, truth, I do not know,
For 'tis all one to me, what course I steer,
Since he's to be be discovered no where.
Thou canst not see him: why should thou in vain
Crave accesse to a God invisible,
Infinite, and incomprehensible?
A mighty God, who no where doth appear,
And yet is truly present every where.
A God, whose saving wings do thee surround,
192
By all thy Art: why should thou thus in vain
Make search for him, whom no place can contain?
Forward, or backward, whither shall I go
To find my God, why, truth, I do not know,
For 'tis all one to me, what course I steer,
Since he's to be be discovered no where.
For should I fancy that Heavens King doth stand,
As some conceive, the North on his left hand;
Where he doth wonders, where he dayly shows
His glory, and his Cab'net doth unclose,
In which his greatest rarities he keeps,
Beyond the Arctick Circle, in the deeps,
Where, Whales, like floating Castles, do appear,
The terror of the Ocean, and declare
Their great Creators power, where Nations dwell,
Who do our southern people far excel;
In strength and courage; or if I in search
Of him should to the Pole Antarctick march,
Where he in glory is no lesse renown'd,
Why after all, he is not to be found.
As some conceive, the North on his left hand;
Where he doth wonders, where he dayly shows
His glory, and his Cab'net doth unclose,
In which his greatest rarities he keeps,
Beyond the Arctick Circle, in the deeps,
Where, Whales, like floating Castles, do appear,
The terror of the Ocean, and declare
Their great Creators power, where Nations dwell,
Who do our southern people far excel;
In strength and courage; or if I in search
Of him should to the Pole Antarctick march,
Where he in glory is no lesse renown'd,
Why after all, he is not to be found.
But what needs more, since he will not allow me
Accesse, yet foolish men shall not undo me,
By their false accusations, for I still
Deny my Charge, enforce it, as you will.
And here before my God I do protest,
Who knows the hidden thoughts within my breast,
That all my lifetime I have tane delight
In calling on his Name, both day, and night:
How I have liv'd, he knows, and hithertoo
Behav'd my self, and with what fervour now
I pray unto him, in my woful case,
Though he denys to let me see his face:
Though I his favour now have forfaulted,
And fom his presence sadly banished,
As an example of his wrath I lye
Here upon Dung-hill, yet he knows that I
Have still endeavoured since my infancy
To honour him, and in whatever station,
To order still aright my conversation.
So that I fully do my self perswade,
When of my vertue he has tryal made;
When in Afflictions Furnace, o'r, and o'r,
I'm melted down, yet ever as before,
In substance, weight, and price I shall be found
The same, and in my Conscience pure, and sound:
And after all my sufferings I am bold
To think, I shall be taken out like Gold.
Accesse, yet foolish men shall not undo me,
By their false accusations, for I still
Deny my Charge, enforce it, as you will.
And here before my God I do protest,
Who knows the hidden thoughts within my breast,
That all my lifetime I have tane delight
In calling on his Name, both day, and night:
How I have liv'd, he knows, and hithertoo
Behav'd my self, and with what fervour now
I pray unto him, in my woful case,
Though he denys to let me see his face:
Though I his favour now have forfaulted,
And fom his presence sadly banished,
As an example of his wrath I lye
Here upon Dung-hill, yet he knows that I
Have still endeavoured since my infancy
To honour him, and in whatever station,
To order still aright my conversation.
So that I fully do my self perswade,
When of my vertue he has tryal made;
When in Afflictions Furnace, o'r, and o'r,
I'm melted down, yet ever as before,
In substance, weight, and price I shall be found
The same, and in my Conscience pure, and sound:
And after all my sufferings I am bold
To think, I shall be taken out like Gold.
Indeed, Ive sometimes had the happinesse,
To know what did belong to righteousnesse;
I have devoutly all Gods Lawes obey'd,
And in my conversation have not stray'd
From his Commands, I have not deviate
From the true road, although it seems of late
You have perceiv'd, my friends, that I have err'd,
And firmlie do believe what you have heard
Through all the Countrie from my enemies:
Which, trust me, are but lies, and calumnies.
To know what did belong to righteousnesse;
I have devoutly all Gods Lawes obey'd,
And in my conversation have not stray'd
From his Commands, I have not deviate
193
You have perceiv'd, my friends, that I have err'd,
And firmlie do believe what you have heard
Through all the Countrie from my enemies:
Which, trust me, are but lies, and calumnies.
Alace, my friends, I'd fain have you believe
Of all my torments there is none doth grieve
My Soul so much: as that you should arraign
Me for such horrid Crimes, and still maintain
These to be true, which I do still deny,
Why this is even the height of Cruelty.
For still before my God I do protest
I don't remember ever in the least
That I from his Commandements have err'd,
What e're to th'contrair is by you averr'd.
His Words I have esteem'd, and understood
The same to be more necessar than food.
Of all my torments there is none doth grieve
My Soul so much: as that you should arraign
Me for such horrid Crimes, and still maintain
These to be true, which I do still deny,
Why this is even the height of Cruelty.
For still before my God I do protest
I don't remember ever in the least
That I from his Commandements have err'd,
What e're to th'contrair is by you averr'd.
His Words I have esteem'd, and understood
The same to be more necessar than food.
But all that I can speak, protest, or plead
Is to no purpose, for God taks no heed
To my Discourse: his mind is still the same.
For he's resolv'd that in afflictions flame,
I shall continue, he's inexorable
To all my crys.—
Then since it must be so, I'le not contend
With God, but suffer all, and here's an end.
For God does what he lists, he's abbsolute
O're all his Creatures, and who dares dispute
What he commands: then let him harrass me
Even as he will, why not, his acts are free.
Is to no purpose, for God taks no heed
To my Discourse: his mind is still the same.
For he's resolv'd that in afflictions flame,
I shall continue, he's inexorable
To all my crys.—
Then since it must be so, I'le not contend
With God, but suffer all, and here's an end.
For God does what he lists, he's abbsolute
O're all his Creatures, and who dares dispute
What he commands: then let him harrass me
Even as he will, why not, his acts are free.
For what he from my Birth had ordered
I should endure, that I have suffered,
And am to suffer yet upon that score
What h'as appointed for me, and no more.
And now I think on't, my afflictions are
By Gods Determination ordinar
For other men t'endure, as well as me,
As in our converse we may dailie see,
So that these being his common practices,
With men on earth, my hopes are still the less,
That e're he from afflicting me will cease.
I should endure, that I have suffered,
And am to suffer yet upon that score
What h'as appointed for me, and no more.
And now I think on't, my afflictions are
By Gods Determination ordinar
For other men t'endure, as well as me,
As in our converse we may dailie see,
So that these being his common practices,
With men on earth, my hopes are still the less,
That e're he from afflicting me will cease.
In thoughts of this with grief I'm overlaid,
I die with weeping, for I am afraid
My sad afflictions shall continue still,
Let me both do, and say even what I will.
I die with weeping, for I am afraid
My sad afflictions shall continue still,
Let me both do, and say even what I will.
For I perceive God is too strong for me,
And in my sad afflictions I see
His Mightie Hand has made me soft, and tame,
So that to fear I much obnoxious am.
And in my sad afflictions I see
His Mightie Hand has made me soft, and tame,
So that to fear I much obnoxious am.
I fear, I fear my troubles shall endure
Longer than you do all expect, for sure
Had he not ordered from Eternity
That I should in afflictions Furnace ly,
Until I were consum'd, 'had cut my daies,
That I might ne're have seen such woes as these.
Longer than you do all expect, for sure
Had he not ordered from Eternity
That I should in afflictions Furnace ly,
Until I were consum'd, 'had cut my daies,
That I might ne're have seen such woes as these.
194
Cap. XXIV.
Job
having thus in words of modest passion,
Deny'd his Charge, and put in protestation
Of his unspotted zeal, and innocence
In all his actings, as his chief defence.
Now he makes answer to the second part
Of this sams Charge, in which his friends assert,
That God Almighty had prefix'd set times,
For hearing, trying, and punishing of Crimes,
As Judges in their Circuits use to set
Days for each County, where the Shrievs must wait
Upon the Court, and give up Rolls of all
Delinquents in their Precincts, at a call,
What are their misdemeanors, where they lie,
If under Bail, or in safe custodie,
And so proceed to Jayl-deliverie.
For this, as all the rest of their positions,
Without exceptions, limits, or conditions,
They hold to be infallible, and presse
The truth of it by many instances.
To this Job here doth calmly answer make,
Endeavouring to show them their mistake.
Deny'd his Charge, and put in protestation
Of his unspotted zeal, and innocence
In all his actings, as his chief defence.
Now he makes answer to the second part
Of this sams Charge, in which his friends assert,
That God Almighty had prefix'd set times,
For hearing, trying, and punishing of Crimes,
As Judges in their Circuits use to set
Days for each County, where the Shrievs must wait
Upon the Court, and give up Rolls of all
Delinquents in their Precincts, at a call,
What are their misdemeanors, where they lie,
If under Bail, or in safe custodie,
And so proceed to Jayl-deliverie.
For this, as all the rest of their positions,
Without exceptions, limits, or conditions,
They hold to be infallible, and presse
The truth of it by many instances.
To this Job here doth calmly answer make,
Endeavouring to show them their mistake.
How comes't, says he, since God has set such times
Here upon Earth, for punishing of Crimes;
And since his Dyets are so peremptor,
As you affirm, that at a certain hour,
This, or that man, his tryal may expect,
How comes't these methods of which you do speak,
Were never known before to such as fear
His holy Name? 'tis strange they should not hear.
Who daily do frequent his Courts, till now
Of his procedure? strange, he'll not allow
That they should know such things as well as you.
For my part, I of knowledge am not proud,
But with such Parts as God has me endu'd,
I've us'd my time, and have in general,
Observ'd as much as any of you all:
Yet am I still a stranger to what you
Of God affirm, and never heard while now,
That he had fix'd his grand Court Criminall
On Earth, where he doth use to summon all
Delinquents, at such Dyets to appear,
On tryal to receive their Sentence here.
'Tis true, I have observ'd some instances
Of this procedure, and I must confesse,
God sometimes is so kind, as he will show,
Before he doth the wicked overthrow,
Some signs of his displeasure, as he did
To those before the Flood.—
And then because his Prophets they contemn,
He will such Wretches suddenlie condemn
To punishment on this side time: I know
It is his custom often to do so:
Nor would I have you think, my friends, that I
His universal prescience denie;
Or question his eternal purposes
Of punishing all kinds of wickedness,
Even in this life, in some men, but that all
Under the compass of that Statute fall,
And suffer here on Earth, I do denie,
For on the contrair I do formallie,
As I have often done before, contend
That God on all men doth not Judgments send
Who do deserve them here, and visiblie
Doth punish all, who of impietie
Shall be convict, reserving no mans trial
Till after death.—
But that he suffers many such in ease
To pass their days, doing even what they please,
And after all shut up their eyes in peace.
Here upon Earth, for punishing of Crimes;
And since his Dyets are so peremptor,
As you affirm, that at a certain hour,
This, or that man, his tryal may expect,
How comes't these methods of which you do speak,
Were never known before to such as fear
His holy Name? 'tis strange they should not hear.
Who daily do frequent his Courts, till now
Of his procedure? strange, he'll not allow
That they should know such things as well as you.
For my part, I of knowledge am not proud,
But with such Parts as God has me endu'd,
I've us'd my time, and have in general,
Observ'd as much as any of you all:
Yet am I still a stranger to what you
Of God affirm, and never heard while now,
That he had fix'd his grand Court Criminall
On Earth, where he doth use to summon all
Delinquents, at such Dyets to appear,
On tryal to receive their Sentence here.
'Tis true, I have observ'd some instances
Of this procedure, and I must confesse,
God sometimes is so kind, as he will show,
Before he doth the wicked overthrow,
Some signs of his displeasure, as he did
To those before the Flood.—
195
He will such Wretches suddenlie condemn
To punishment on this side time: I know
It is his custom often to do so:
Nor would I have you think, my friends, that I
His universal prescience denie;
Or question his eternal purposes
Of punishing all kinds of wickedness,
Even in this life, in some men, but that all
Under the compass of that Statute fall,
And suffer here on Earth, I do denie,
For on the contrair I do formallie,
As I have often done before, contend
That God on all men doth not Judgments send
Who do deserve them here, and visiblie
Doth punish all, who of impietie
Shall be convict, reserving no mans trial
Till after death.—
But that he suffers many such in ease
To pass their days, doing even what they please,
And after all shut up their eyes in peace.
To prove the truth of this, I shall adduce
In the first place, a crime too much in use
Amongst us now a days, a loud-tongu'd crime,
Which may be term'd Iniquity in its prime,
The grand sin of Oppression, a sin
Which makes my hair stand, when I do begin
To speak of it, a sin so black, and foul,
As all good men abhor it with their soul.
A sin so black, as I can hardlie find
Words to express its nature to my mind.
A sin so vile, that, if what you have said
Were true, would never scape unpunished,
On this side time: and yet we dailie see
How many such from punishments go free,
Whilst here in life: which that in terms of Art
I may demonstrate as I do assert;
I shall, with your good liberty and peace,
Deduce this sin in all it species;
And show you plainlie how they all escape
Unpunish'd in this life.—
And first we see how some men openlie
Encroach upon their Neighbours propertie:
Others their Neighbours cattel drive away:
And keep them, as they were their lawful prey.
In the first place, a crime too much in use
Amongst us now a days, a loud-tongu'd crime,
Which may be term'd Iniquity in its prime,
The grand sin of Oppression, a sin
Which makes my hair stand, when I do begin
To speak of it, a sin so black, and foul,
As all good men abhor it with their soul.
A sin so black, as I can hardlie find
Words to express its nature to my mind.
A sin so vile, that, if what you have said
Were true, would never scape unpunished,
On this side time: and yet we dailie see
How many such from punishments go free,
Whilst here in life: which that in terms of Art
I may demonstrate as I do assert;
I shall, with your good liberty and peace,
Deduce this sin in all it species;
And show you plainlie how they all escape
Unpunish'd in this life.—
And first we see how some men openlie
Encroach upon their Neighbours propertie:
Others their Neighbours cattel drive away:
And keep them, as they were their lawful prey.
The Ass, which the poor Orphan now retains,
As th'onlie reliques of his Fathers Means;
Which driving dailie to some neighbouring Town
With Loads of Brushes, Faggots, Turf, or Broom,
To furnish those, who do such triffles need,
Makes a hard-shift to gain his dailie bread:
This very beast some of these cruel men
On some pretence or other do distrain:
The Ox, which the poor Widows ground should plow,
Pretending 'tis their pledge, they seize on too.
As th'onlie reliques of his Fathers Means;
Which driving dailie to some neighbouring Town
With Loads of Brushes, Faggots, Turf, or Broom,
To furnish those, who do such triffles need,
Makes a hard-shift to gain his dailie bread:
This very beast some of these cruel men
On some pretence or other do distrain:
196
Pretending 'tis their pledge, they seize on too.
Nay, which is yet more cruel, when they've seiz'd
On all they have, yet are their minds not pleas'd,
Until they have these Wretches in the tail,
And either under lock, or under bail.
Hence 'tis that men dare hardly keep the street,
For fear of such; but in dark corners meet:
Suspecting these same men upon pretence,
Of Debt, or Trespass, may perhaps commence
Some Suit against them, and in some mad fit,
Assoon as they perceive them, serve a Writ
Against their persons; in the ears of all
So dreadful are their names!
On all they have, yet are their minds not pleas'd,
Until they have these Wretches in the tail,
And either under lock, or under bail.
Hence 'tis that men dare hardly keep the street,
For fear of such; but in dark corners meet:
Suspecting these same men upon pretence,
Of Debt, or Trespass, may perhaps commence
Some Suit against them, and in some mad fit,
Assoon as they perceive them, serve a Writ
Against their persons; in the ears of all
So dreadful are their names!
But yet those men have always some pretence
Of Law, which they cast up for their defence,
But there be others of that Corporation,
Who openly avow this damn'd Profession.
Who fly at all, and plunder openly,
In view o'th Sun, without all modesty.
For don't we in our Neighbouring-mountains see
How many powerful Families there be,
That live by open pillaging of all,
And sometimes in amongst our Flocks do fall,
In numerous troops, (as all may see alace,
Not many days ago was my own case.)
They breed their Children, from their Infancy,
In all the active points of robbery:
And when they come to age, they send them out
To earn their Bread in all the Fields about,
By Petit-larcin, which, if cunninglie
They do perform; they mount them by and by
In every point, as their unlawful Trade
Requires, Bow, Arrows, Target, Shearing-blade,
Short-knife, and Poinyard, and then formallie
They send them out to open Robberie:
Where by the High-ways, sculking here, and there,
They seize upon th'unwary Passenger,
Of all his Mony, Goods, and Cloaths they pill him
And think th'oblige him, if they do not kill him.
But when they see the Travellers advance,
Before them, in well ordered Caravans;
They stand aloof, and suffer them to pass,
Not daring to look Merchants in the face,
When in such order, but keep off for fear,
And hover at a distance on the rear.
Whilst others of 'em on the flanks do watch,
With careful eyes, to see if they can catch
The Straglers, and if anie they do find
On tyred Jades unluckilie behind
The companie, upon them straight they fall,
And, without mercie, kill, and plunder all.
Nay, when the Sun declining in the West,
Invite the wearied Travellers to rest:
These wretches do not sleep, but still in arms,
Beat up their quarters, and give sad alarms
On every hand, and will be sure at length
To catch some prey, by policy, or strength.
'Strange, what a sinful life those rogues do lead,
They know not what it is to earn their Bread
By honest Callings, Means, or Trades, not they,
But wandring idly, only live on prey.
And yet in peace, and plenty they abound,
And hardly one amongst them all is found
To dye of famine: for they do increase
In number, and the very wilderness
Affords them a subsistence, and provides
All pleasures, which their hearts desire besides.
Except perhaps a few of 'em, who stray
Amongst our fields, and missing of their way,
By Providence i'th' hands of justice fall,
And dye, on Wheel, or Gibbet, and that's all:
But the main body of'em still subsist
Pillaging, killing, doing what they list,
Without controul, for many Generations,
Under the names of Families and Nations,
Contemning Laws, and making plain profession
Of that accursed species of oppression.
Of Law, which they cast up for their defence,
But there be others of that Corporation,
Who openly avow this damn'd Profession.
Who fly at all, and plunder openly,
In view o'th Sun, without all modesty.
For don't we in our Neighbouring-mountains see
How many powerful Families there be,
That live by open pillaging of all,
And sometimes in amongst our Flocks do fall,
In numerous troops, (as all may see alace,
Not many days ago was my own case.)
They breed their Children, from their Infancy,
In all the active points of robbery:
And when they come to age, they send them out
To earn their Bread in all the Fields about,
By Petit-larcin, which, if cunninglie
They do perform; they mount them by and by
In every point, as their unlawful Trade
Requires, Bow, Arrows, Target, Shearing-blade,
Short-knife, and Poinyard, and then formallie
They send them out to open Robberie:
Where by the High-ways, sculking here, and there,
They seize upon th'unwary Passenger,
Of all his Mony, Goods, and Cloaths they pill him
And think th'oblige him, if they do not kill him.
But when they see the Travellers advance,
Before them, in well ordered Caravans;
They stand aloof, and suffer them to pass,
Not daring to look Merchants in the face,
When in such order, but keep off for fear,
And hover at a distance on the rear.
Whilst others of 'em on the flanks do watch,
With careful eyes, to see if they can catch
The Straglers, and if anie they do find
On tyred Jades unluckilie behind
The companie, upon them straight they fall,
And, without mercie, kill, and plunder all.
Nay, when the Sun declining in the West,
Invite the wearied Travellers to rest:
197
Beat up their quarters, and give sad alarms
On every hand, and will be sure at length
To catch some prey, by policy, or strength.
'Strange, what a sinful life those rogues do lead,
They know not what it is to earn their Bread
By honest Callings, Means, or Trades, not they,
But wandring idly, only live on prey.
And yet in peace, and plenty they abound,
And hardly one amongst them all is found
To dye of famine: for they do increase
In number, and the very wilderness
Affords them a subsistence, and provides
All pleasures, which their hearts desire besides.
Except perhaps a few of 'em, who stray
Amongst our fields, and missing of their way,
By Providence i'th' hands of justice fall,
And dye, on Wheel, or Gibbet, and that's all:
But the main body of'em still subsist
Pillaging, killing, doing what they list,
Without controul, for many Generations,
Under the names of Families and Nations,
Contemning Laws, and making plain profession
Of that accursed species of oppression.
What honest men do sow, those thieves do reap,
And 'mongst themselves such correspondence keep,
As when the Vintage season doth draw nigh,
Whole troops of'em do meet, and suddenlie
On the Wine-labourers with great fury fall,
Wound, drive away, kill, and make prize of all,
Without distinction, whether friends or foes
Be owners of'em, for these men (God knows)
Have no regard at all to any man,
But from both good, and bad, take what they can;
And then draw off to th'mountains with their prey,
Divide the spoil, in their accustom'd way,
Disband their troops, and suddenly retire
Each to his lurking hole, where sword, and fire
Can hardly find them out.
Nay some there be of those wild Mountaineers,
VVho having for a tract of many years,
Vex'd those i'th' valleys with sad Robbery,
Our predecessors were compell'd to buy
Their peace, and ease, from them at any rate,
Acknowledging those Thieves, as a free state,
By payment of a Tribute annual,
Not without reason, call'd by some black-mail:
VVhich, if precisely we neglect to pay,
Then do these men in troops without delay,
Fall down amongst us, and drive all away.
Under our windows they our Corns do seize,
Riffle our Stables, and do what they please.
Then they return in order, whence they came
VVith all our goods, and openly proclaim
Them as their lawful prey: the Countrey then,
Rise, and with hue and cry, pursue those men,
Thinking to overtake them, but in vain.
For in small bodies, they march speedily,
And to the Mountains soon, like Lightning, fly.
Then do we send up Deputies, to treate
For restitution, but they come to late,
For all those men are quickly dissipate.
And 'mongst themselves such correspondence keep,
As when the Vintage season doth draw nigh,
Whole troops of'em do meet, and suddenlie
On the Wine-labourers with great fury fall,
Wound, drive away, kill, and make prize of all,
Without distinction, whether friends or foes
Be owners of'em, for these men (God knows)
Have no regard at all to any man,
But from both good, and bad, take what they can;
And then draw off to th'mountains with their prey,
Divide the spoil, in their accustom'd way,
Disband their troops, and suddenly retire
Each to his lurking hole, where sword, and fire
Can hardly find them out.
Nay some there be of those wild Mountaineers,
VVho having for a tract of many years,
Vex'd those i'th' valleys with sad Robbery,
Our predecessors were compell'd to buy
Their peace, and ease, from them at any rate,
Acknowledging those Thieves, as a free state,
By payment of a Tribute annual,
Not without reason, call'd by some black-mail:
VVhich, if precisely we neglect to pay,
Then do these men in troops without delay,
Fall down amongst us, and drive all away.
Under our windows they our Corns do seize,
Riffle our Stables, and do what they please.
Then they return in order, whence they came
VVith all our goods, and openly proclaim
198
Rise, and with hue and cry, pursue those men,
Thinking to overtake them, but in vain.
For in small bodies, they march speedily,
And to the Mountains soon, like Lightning, fly.
Then do we send up Deputies, to treate
For restitution, but they come to late,
For all those men are quickly dissipate.
Some there be also of that thieving race,
VVho in their robbing are so merciless,
As having stripp'd men of their Goods and Purses,
Yet not contented with so easie purchase,
They strip them all of their apparrel too,
And will not out of Charity allow
So much as may protect them from the cold,
But make them wander without house, or hold,
Along the Mountains, whilst they naked go,
Benumm'd with cold, above the knees in Snow.
VVho in their robbing are so merciless,
As having stripp'd men of their Goods and Purses,
Yet not contented with so easie purchase,
They strip them all of their apparrel too,
And will not out of Charity allow
So much as may protect them from the cold,
But make them wander without house, or hold,
Along the Mountains, whilst they naked go,
Benumm'd with cold, above the knees in Snow.
All wet, and weary, those poor Souls do crawl
Amongst the hanging Rocks, and after all,
They think they're happy, if they find some Cave,
VVhere for some time they may their bodies save
From down-right-perishing in cold, or rather
Avoid the present fury of the VVeather.
Then having rested, in great fear, and pain,
Betake them quickly to their Feet again;
And night, and Day, through hills and deserts roam,
Until half-buried, they at length get home.
Amongst the hanging Rocks, and after all,
They think they're happy, if they find some Cave,
VVhere for some time they may their bodies save
From down-right-perishing in cold, or rather
Avoid the present fury of the VVeather.
Then having rested, in great fear, and pain,
Betake them quickly to their Feet again;
And night, and Day, through hills and deserts roam,
Until half-buried, they at length get home.
Nay very Infants from the breasts they pluck,
And will not let their Mothers give them Suck,
To the full time, unless they give a pledge,
T'assure them of them, when they come to age.
These in great numbers they do yearly sell
For slaves, or otherwayes, by force compel
The miserable Parents to redeem them
At whatsoever ransom they esteem them.
And will not let their Mothers give them Suck,
To the full time, unless they give a pledge,
T'assure them of them, when they come to age.
These in great numbers they do yearly sell
For slaves, or otherwayes, by force compel
The miserable Parents to redeem them
At whatsoever ransom they esteem them.
All men they rob, all families they spoil,
And what the poor ones do with daily toil
Amongst the reapers glean, they take away,
Making the sheaves of th'hunger-starv'd their prey.
And what the poor ones do with daily toil
Amongst the reapers glean, they take away,
Making the sheaves of th'hunger-starv'd their prey.
Nay though our Peasants for security,
From these shrewd thieves, within doors silently,
Tread out their Wines, and with great care and toyl,
Do in some hidden corner make their Oyl:
Yet maugre all the shifts they can devise,
Those cruel men before their very eyes,
Take all away, and cunningly do cheat
Those anxious souls of both their Drink, and Meat:
So that for want of sustenance they dye,
And in the fields their bodies scattered lye:
As food for Crows, unburied here, and there,
And, with contagious scent, infect the aire:
VVhich quickly doth engender Pestilence,
That in its rage making no difference
Betwixt the rich, and poor, doth sweep away
Some thousands at a Muster every day:
Where both the guilty, and the innocent,
In the same Coffin, to the Grave are sent,
On shoulders of poor Slaves, and Pioneers,
Whilst not a man of all their friends appears
At the Graves-mouth in mourning, to condole
The Dead, or say a requiem to their Soul:
So that a man may well infer from thence,
Oppression is some cause of Pestilence.
From these shrewd thieves, within doors silently,
Tread out their Wines, and with great care and toyl,
Do in some hidden corner make their Oyl:
Yet maugre all the shifts they can devise,
Those cruel men before their very eyes,
Take all away, and cunningly do cheat
Those anxious souls of both their Drink, and Meat:
So that for want of sustenance they dye,
And in the fields their bodies scattered lye:
As food for Crows, unburied here, and there,
And, with contagious scent, infect the aire:
VVhich quickly doth engender Pestilence,
That in its rage making no difference
199
Some thousands at a Muster every day:
Where both the guilty, and the innocent,
In the same Coffin, to the Grave are sent,
On shoulders of poor Slaves, and Pioneers,
Whilst not a man of all their friends appears
At the Graves-mouth in mourning, to condole
The Dead, or say a requiem to their Soul:
So that a man may well infer from thence,
Oppression is some cause of Pestilence.
And yet though Heavens are hourly battered
With cryes of many thousands ruined
By such Oppressours: though the Towns exclaim,
And all the Countys bitterly do blame
The Magistrate, who should by force restrain
The frequent in-rodes of those barbarous men:
Though Ghosts of all the Murthered round about,
With a loud voice, for vengeance do cry out,
Yet God appears to slight, this joint address,
And still permits those Varlets to oppress.
With cryes of many thousands ruined
By such Oppressours: though the Towns exclaim,
And all the Countys bitterly do blame
The Magistrate, who should by force restrain
The frequent in-rodes of those barbarous men:
Though Ghosts of all the Murthered round about,
With a loud voice, for vengeance do cry out,
Yet God appears to slight, this joint address,
And still permits those Varlets to oppress.
And now that I have spoke sufficiently
Of those, whose trade is sin, who openly
Practise it, and esteem it no disgrace
To be descended of a thieving race.
Now I shall show you how on th'other part,
Some men do sin as much, but with great art
Endeavour closely to conceal the same,
Not for its guilt, but to avoid its shame.
There be indeed some, who commit offence
Against the light of their own Conscience,
And therefore, as asham'd of what they do,
Because they dare not openly avow
Their sinful actings, they abhore the light,
And wrapp'd up in the mantle of the night,
Practise the works of darkness with delight.
Yet those, most part escape the censure too,
Which you affirm to wicked men is due,
And flourish in this life.—
Of these I shall give you some instances,
For if I should endeavour to express
The several kinds of such, who do offend,
I fear that my discourse should have no end.
Of those, whose trade is sin, who openly
Practise it, and esteem it no disgrace
To be descended of a thieving race.
Now I shall show you how on th'other part,
Some men do sin as much, but with great art
Endeavour closely to conceal the same,
Not for its guilt, but to avoid its shame.
There be indeed some, who commit offence
Against the light of their own Conscience,
And therefore, as asham'd of what they do,
Because they dare not openly avow
Their sinful actings, they abhore the light,
And wrapp'd up in the mantle of the night,
Practise the works of darkness with delight.
Yet those, most part escape the censure too,
Which you affirm to wicked men is due,
And flourish in this life.—
Of these I shall give you some instances,
For if I should endeavour to express
The several kinds of such, who do offend,
I fear that my discourse should have no end.
I'le not then reckon all, but satisfie
My self with Murder and Adultery;
Two loud-tongu'd sins, as to the world are known,
And which are able of themselves alone,
To bring down Judgements, which might overthrow
Whole Kingdomes, States, and Nations at a blow.
Two sins, that in a constant Threnody,
Do call for vengeance, whilst most bitterly
They do accuse their actors, and in crouds,
Make for themselves a way through thickest Clouds,
Each day from hence, not resting while they be
Familiar in the Court of Heavens, and see
The very face of God, yet after all,
Although for justice every hour they call,
God will not hear them, for great reasons known
To his Eternal Majesty alone.
For let's observe but how the Murderers,
Before the Sun with morning blush appears,
On th'utmost confines of our Horizon:
Are ready, arm'd, and to their work are gone,
Enter some Countrey-dwellings silently.
And cut the throats of all the Family;
Then riffle every Room, take all away,
And get them home before it is yet day.
My self with Murder and Adultery;
Two loud-tongu'd sins, as to the world are known,
And which are able of themselves alone,
To bring down Judgements, which might overthrow
Whole Kingdomes, States, and Nations at a blow.
Two sins, that in a constant Threnody,
Do call for vengeance, whilst most bitterly
They do accuse their actors, and in crouds,
Make for themselves a way through thickest Clouds,
Each day from hence, not resting while they be
Familiar in the Court of Heavens, and see
200
Although for justice every hour they call,
God will not hear them, for great reasons known
To his Eternal Majesty alone.
For let's observe but how the Murderers,
Before the Sun with morning blush appears,
On th'utmost confines of our Horizon:
Are ready, arm'd, and to their work are gone,
Enter some Countrey-dwellings silently.
And cut the throats of all the Family;
Then riffle every Room, take all away,
And get them home before it is yet day.
Th'Adulterer too knowing the proper time,
In which he may with safety act his Crime;
Longs for the twilight, when he poorly may
To his poor pleasures, his poor Soul betray:
For whilst he sick with last nights surfeit sleeps
Till noon-tide, then attires himself, and keeps
Within Doors at his Book, and violin,
To put himself in humour for his sin;
The closs dissembling night draws on apace,
Then doth he with great art disguise his Face,
As all who go a rambling.—
Wrappp'd in long-cloak he sneaks along the streets,
Unknown, as he conceives to all he meets:
To th'evening-walks, he doth direct his march,
Where he, with great anxiety doth search,
In every Grove, and arbour o're, and o're,
Until he find out his beloved Whore;
Whom when he finds, in a most lustful passion,
He hurries to the place of assignation.
In which he may with safety act his Crime;
Longs for the twilight, when he poorly may
To his poor pleasures, his poor Soul betray:
For whilst he sick with last nights surfeit sleeps
Till noon-tide, then attires himself, and keeps
Within Doors at his Book, and violin,
To put himself in humour for his sin;
The closs dissembling night draws on apace,
Then doth he with great art disguise his Face,
As all who go a rambling.—
Wrappp'd in long-cloak he sneaks along the streets,
Unknown, as he conceives to all he meets:
To th'evening-walks, he doth direct his march,
Where he, with great anxiety doth search,
In every Grove, and arbour o're, and o're,
Until he find out his beloved Whore;
Whom when he finds, in a most lustful passion,
He hurries to the place of assignation.
Sometimes in publick, on design he walks,
And seemingly unconcern'd, converses, talks,
With one, or other, whilst still privatly
Upon some Window he doth cast an Eye,
Where some bewithching face he doth espy.
Then on the door he sets a private mark,
That he may find the place out in the dark;
Thence to his Pandress quicklie drives, and there
What he has now discovered doth declare,
A beauty, O most excellent, and rare.
Th'old sinner views her Books, with care to see
Who this same so much cry'd up Whore can be:
At length by his account she seems to guess,
And tells him she will do his business,
And cunningly appoints both time, and place,
Where these do meet, and at their ease, and leasure
Until the morning, glut themselves with pleasure.
And seemingly unconcern'd, converses, talks,
With one, or other, whilst still privatly
Upon some Window he doth cast an Eye,
Where some bewithching face he doth espy.
Then on the door he sets a private mark,
That he may find the place out in the dark;
Thence to his Pandress quicklie drives, and there
What he has now discovered doth declare,
A beauty, O most excellent, and rare.
Th'old sinner views her Books, with care to see
Who this same so much cry'd up Whore can be:
At length by his account she seems to guess,
And tells him she will do his business,
And cunningly appoints both time, and place,
Where these do meet, and at their ease, and leasure
Until the morning, glut themselves with pleasure.
But O the morning! O the rising Sun!
When that appears, this man is quite undone.
Upon his nights atchievments he reflects,
And finds himself assaulted by the checks
Of an enraged Conscience, and appears
As one distracted betwixt lusts, and fears,
Leaps from his Bed, attires himself anon,
Calls for a Bill, and fain he would begone;
Whilst th'Whore yet sleeps, because he apprehends,
If he should tarry longer, by some friends,
Who early stir about their businesse,
He may be seen from that unlawful place
Come out, and so these men may soon proclaim
Through all the City both his sin, and shame.
On th'other hand he judges he may stay
Within doors, with more safety, while the day
Be spent, and in the evening steal away.
In these reflections, and sad apprehensions,
Each moment he doth alter his intentions;
His resolutions waver to, and fro,
He knows not whether he should stay, or go.
Cold fear invades his Nerves, his Blood doth frieze,
His Joints do tremble, and Deaths terrors sieze
Upon his Soul, for in this pannick fear,
He thinks he sees the Husband every where,
Whom he has injur'd, with Stiletto arm'd
Ready t'assault his Person:—
He thinks he hears him swear in every place,
He shall be soon reveng'd of his disgrace.
At length 'twixt hope and fear, he issues out,
Down next blind-lane he slips, and veers about
By many durty windings here and there,
Until to the next fields he doth repair,
Where he doth walk, as if he took the Air:
But by and by, he to the Woods doth fly,
For now he doth suspect the Hue, and Cry
Is out against him: thus he doth declare,
How for his sin he punishment doth fear,
Resolving from such actions to forbear
In all time coming.—
But when his Lust begins again to to flow,
Forgetting wholly all his former woe,
To the same place, like mad-man, he returns,
And in those unclean flames, again he burns.
When that appears, this man is quite undone.
Upon his nights atchievments he reflects,
And finds himself assaulted by the checks
Of an enraged Conscience, and appears
201
Leaps from his Bed, attires himself anon,
Calls for a Bill, and fain he would begone;
Whilst th'Whore yet sleeps, because he apprehends,
If he should tarry longer, by some friends,
Who early stir about their businesse,
He may be seen from that unlawful place
Come out, and so these men may soon proclaim
Through all the City both his sin, and shame.
On th'other hand he judges he may stay
Within doors, with more safety, while the day
Be spent, and in the evening steal away.
In these reflections, and sad apprehensions,
Each moment he doth alter his intentions;
His resolutions waver to, and fro,
He knows not whether he should stay, or go.
Cold fear invades his Nerves, his Blood doth frieze,
His Joints do tremble, and Deaths terrors sieze
Upon his Soul, for in this pannick fear,
He thinks he sees the Husband every where,
Whom he has injur'd, with Stiletto arm'd
Ready t'assault his Person:—
He thinks he hears him swear in every place,
He shall be soon reveng'd of his disgrace.
At length 'twixt hope and fear, he issues out,
Down next blind-lane he slips, and veers about
By many durty windings here and there,
Until to the next fields he doth repair,
Where he doth walk, as if he took the Air:
But by and by, he to the Woods doth fly,
For now he doth suspect the Hue, and Cry
Is out against him: thus he doth declare,
How for his sin he punishment doth fear,
Resolving from such actions to forbear
In all time coming.—
But when his Lust begins again to to flow,
Forgetting wholly all his former woe,
To the same place, like mad-man, he returns,
And in those unclean flames, again he burns.
There's one Crime more, of which I do expect
You will permit me yet, my friends, to speak,
A Crime well known by th'name of piracy,
Which is on Sea an open robbery:
I have already spoke of that on Land,
And now 'tis fitting you should understand,
How that on Sea is no lesse openly
Practis'd, as from those men, who live hard by
The Coasts of the Red-sea, we daily hear,
Where in great Fleets those Picaroons appear.
They're men who having try'd all Trades on Land,
And finding nothing, which they took in hand
Succeeded to their wish: in hopes of gain,
At length they became down-right High-way-men.
Then out-law'd, and by justice every where
Pursu'd, they found there was no living there,
And so at last to Sea-towns they repair.
Where buying some small Pinnace, with a few
Hatchets, and Swords, and mustering a crew
Of Rake-hells, like themselves, to Sea they go,
And plunder all they meet, both friend, and foe.
They spoil all Trade, they make the Merchants groan,
And to all States, and Nations bemoan
Their daily losses, by such men as these,
Who 'gainst all justice do infest the Seas.
They seldom come on Land, or if they do,
'Tis in some Creek, where for a day or two,
They do refresh themselves, and with great pain,
Carine their Barks, and so to Sea again.
At length, when by this vill'nous roaving trade,
Those Sea-opprssours have great Booty made,
To some small Island, where they are not known
They steer, and there themselves they boldly own
To be the Subjects of some mighty State,
Where they as Merchands do Negotiat
With th'Islanders, and riotously spend,
What by their privateering they had gain'd.
These in their little Wherryes skim the Seas,
And ramble on the Ocean with ease,
Killing, and Robbing, doing what they please.
Who, though each moment they have fair occasions,
T'enrich their Souls with pious Meditations,
Viewing Gods wonders in the deep:—
Yet do they still their sinful Trade practise,
And both the Laws of God, and man despise:
Though floating shrewdly betwixt Winds, and Waves,
And not four inches distant from their Graves.
You will permit me yet, my friends, to speak,
A Crime well known by th'name of piracy,
Which is on Sea an open robbery:
I have already spoke of that on Land,
And now 'tis fitting you should understand,
How that on Sea is no lesse openly
Practis'd, as from those men, who live hard by
The Coasts of the Red-sea, we daily hear,
Where in great Fleets those Picaroons appear.
They're men who having try'd all Trades on Land,
And finding nothing, which they took in hand
Succeeded to their wish: in hopes of gain,
At length they became down-right High-way-men.
202
Pursu'd, they found there was no living there,
And so at last to Sea-towns they repair.
Where buying some small Pinnace, with a few
Hatchets, and Swords, and mustering a crew
Of Rake-hells, like themselves, to Sea they go,
And plunder all they meet, both friend, and foe.
They spoil all Trade, they make the Merchants groan,
And to all States, and Nations bemoan
Their daily losses, by such men as these,
Who 'gainst all justice do infest the Seas.
They seldom come on Land, or if they do,
'Tis in some Creek, where for a day or two,
They do refresh themselves, and with great pain,
Carine their Barks, and so to Sea again.
At length, when by this vill'nous roaving trade,
Those Sea-opprssours have great Booty made,
To some small Island, where they are not known
They steer, and there themselves they boldly own
To be the Subjects of some mighty State,
Where they as Merchands do Negotiat
With th'Islanders, and riotously spend,
What by their privateering they had gain'd.
These in their little Wherryes skim the Seas,
And ramble on the Ocean with ease,
Killing, and Robbing, doing what they please.
Who, though each moment they have fair occasions,
T'enrich their Souls with pious Meditations,
Viewing Gods wonders in the deep:—
Yet do they still their sinful Trade practise,
And both the Laws of God, and man despise:
Though floating shrewdly betwixt Winds, and Waves,
And not four inches distant from their Graves.
Thus then we see, my friends, how at all times,
Men take delite to act most horrid Crimes,
In a continued tract of villany,
Pray let us see now how these men do dye.
Why not bereav'd of Life, by Rope, or Sword,
Not drown'd, not cut in pieces, in a word,
After they have grown old in sin, and known
No other trade, but that of Hell alone,
As in some places, Snow doth still appear,
Until the Summer Solstice of the year,
And undissolv'd in heaps it self doth show,
Until by heat it doth in waters flow:
So these grown old in sin, and now no more
Able to act it, as they did before,
Do softly dwindle to the Grave, and there
Lye down, and rest, without all fear, or care.
Men take delite to act most horrid Crimes,
In a continued tract of villany,
Pray let us see now how these men do dye.
Why not bereav'd of Life, by Rope, or Sword,
Not drown'd, not cut in pieces, in a word,
After they have grown old in sin, and known
No other trade, but that of Hell alone,
As in some places, Snow doth still appear,
Until the Summer Solstice of the year,
And undissolv'd in heaps it self doth show,
Until by heat it doth in waters flow:
So these grown old in sin, and now no more
Able to act it, as they did before,
Do softly dwindle to the Grave, and there
Lye down, and rest, without all fear, or care.
Nay with such calmnesse, and tranquility,
As if they mean't to sleep, they softly dye,
And with so little violence, or pain,
As even their very Mothers do abstain
From weeping at their death, and making noise
Above their Corps, but rather do rejoice,
To see their Children in th'extremity,
Of age, wealth, honours, and discretion dye.
The worms upon their Corps do sweetly feed,
And they in Grave do find as soft a bed,
As do the bodies of those pious-men,
Of whom no man had reason to complain.
Nay, though those men with sin so foul, and black,
May well be nam'd villany in th'abstract,
Yet in their Death, there's nothing singular,
Nor do they die in horrour and dispair,
But like an aged Trunk, fall'n to decay,
Insensibly they moulder quite away.
As if they mean't to sleep, they softly dye,
And with so little violence, or pain,
As even their very Mothers do abstain
From weeping at their death, and making noise
203
To see their Children in th'extremity,
Of age, wealth, honours, and discretion dye.
The worms upon their Corps do sweetly feed,
And they in Grave do find as soft a bed,
As do the bodies of those pious-men,
Of whom no man had reason to complain.
Nay, though those men with sin so foul, and black,
May well be nam'd villany in th'abstract,
Yet in their Death, there's nothing singular,
Nor do they die in horrour and dispair,
But like an aged Trunk, fall'n to decay,
Insensibly they moulder quite away.
Now here, my friends, I thought t'have given o're,
And of oppression to have spoke no more,
But that I think on't, there's a species,
Of those unhappy men, who do oppress,
Of whom I have not spoke as yet: there are
Some, who for neither rich, nor poor do care:
But bolster'd up with vain authority,
Against all persons they promiscuously
Do vent their rage: men full of picquant-wrath
Who threaten still Destruction, and Death
To all, who give them but the least offence,
And to th'afflicted, with great violence
They add affliction.
They take great pleasure, tartly to upbraid,
All those, on whom the hand of God is laid.
The barren woman, who in doleful tone,
In private doth her barrenness bemoan,
They call an useless wretch, a barren fool,
A dry She-ass, a pitiful Night-owl.
The widow too, whose lamentable state,
All truely pious men compassionate,
Those men, with all their force, and art oppress,
And makes her Life a Scene of bitterness.
And of oppression to have spoke no more,
But that I think on't, there's a species,
Of those unhappy men, who do oppress,
Of whom I have not spoke as yet: there are
Some, who for neither rich, nor poor do care:
But bolster'd up with vain authority,
Against all persons they promiscuously
Do vent their rage: men full of picquant-wrath
Who threaten still Destruction, and Death
To all, who give them but the least offence,
And to th'afflicted, with great violence
They add affliction.
They take great pleasure, tartly to upbraid,
All those, on whom the hand of God is laid.
The barren woman, who in doleful tone,
In private doth her barrenness bemoan,
They call an useless wretch, a barren fool,
A dry She-ass, a pitiful Night-owl.
The widow too, whose lamentable state,
All truely pious men compassionate,
Those men, with all their force, and art oppress,
And makes her Life a Scene of bitterness.
Nay, on the wealthy too, their hand they stretch
And fleece them all, as far, as they can reach,
By heavy Fines, give way to Informations
Against them, and encourage accusations
On slender grounds, which with great art they draw
Out of the very Excrements of Law:
T'attain the lives and means of those they hate,
And satiat their Revenge at any rate.
Their dire Revenge, which no man can endure,
For who is he can of his life be sure,
If once those men by their intelligence,
Can find against them any evidence,
Then must they dy for all their innocence.
And fleece them all, as far, as they can reach,
By heavy Fines, give way to Informations
Against them, and encourage accusations
On slender grounds, which with great art they draw
Out of the very Excrements of Law:
T'attain the lives and means of those they hate,
And satiat their Revenge at any rate.
Their dire Revenge, which no man can endure,
For who is he can of his life be sure,
If once those men by their intelligence,
Can find against them any evidence,
Then must they dy for all their innocence.
Yet these, these are the men, who do possess
The good things of the earth: these men in peace
Do spend their time, whilst good and righteous men
Of want of bread, do every day complain,
But after all, though these men sillily
Suppose they sin, with great security,
And think God doth not eye them, nor remark
At least their hidden actings in the dark,
Yet he doth eye them, and will surely bring
Those men to an account, and reckoning,
For all these villanous deeds, and make them know,
That though he be a God to anger slow,
Yet when inflam'd with a just indignation,
He'll of his anger make clear demonstration,
And cut off all their race by extirpation.
The good things of the earth: these men in peace
Do spend their time, whilst good and righteous men
Of want of bread, do every day complain,
But after all, though these men sillily
204
And think God doth not eye them, nor remark
At least their hidden actings in the dark,
Yet he doth eye them, and will surely bring
Those men to an account, and reckoning,
For all these villanous deeds, and make them know,
That though he be a God to anger slow,
Yet when inflam'd with a just indignation,
He'll of his anger make clear demonstration,
And cut off all their race by extirpation.
For wicked men, though in the worlds eyes
They seem to swell, and in great foamings rise,
Blown up by winds of pride, to th'hight of all,
That which poor mortals happiness do call.
Yet are their honours, titles, dignities,
But meer delusions, vain uncertainties;
Things of no value, triffles, emptie shows,
And but of short duration, God knows:
For in a few years time we shall perceive
Them, and their honours shut up in the Grave:
And their successors prodigally fall
A wasting, spending, and consuming all,
What those poor Caterpillers had with pain
Amass'd together in their lives, and then
There shall be no more memory of those men.
They seem to swell, and in great foamings rise,
Blown up by winds of pride, to th'hight of all,
That which poor mortals happiness do call.
Yet are their honours, titles, dignities,
But meer delusions, vain uncertainties;
Things of no value, triffles, emptie shows,
And but of short duration, God knows:
For in a few years time we shall perceive
Them, and their honours shut up in the Grave:
And their successors prodigally fall
A wasting, spending, and consuming all,
What those poor Caterpillers had with pain
Amass'd together in their lives, and then
There shall be no more memory of those men.
Now to conclude then, if what I have said,
Shall not be able fully, to perswade
Your minds, my friends, that what I speak is true,
Come let me hear, I pray now which of you
Will undertake the question to decide,
And make appear that I have err'd, or ly'd.
Shall not be able fully, to perswade
Your minds, my friends, that what I speak is true,
Come let me hear, I pray now which of you
Will undertake the question to decide,
And make appear that I have err'd, or ly'd.
Cap. XXV.
Bildad
it seems did undertake to do it,
And in a short discourse, he thus spoke to it.
And in a short discourse, he thus spoke to it.
Why is it so? says he, that thou must still
Hold such opinions, argue what we will
To th'contrair? what has all that we have said
Of our good wishes, no impression made
In thy poor Soul? are all our labours vain?
And shall we still have reason to complain,
That after all what we can do, or speak,
VVe are as yet not able to correct
The fury of thy hot impatience,
But still thou tel'st us of thy innocence?
Ah! wilt thou never be convinc'd? wilt thou
Still wildly rave, what ever we can do
To bring thee to thy wits? art'not asham'd.
To speak thus of thy Maker, who has fram'd
Both thee, and us of very simple Dust,
That yet for all this thou wilt still be just,
What ere he say to th'contrair, why my friend,
Is't fit thou with thy Maker shouldst contend?
With him, who all perfection doth transcend?
With him is fear, dominion, power, and state,
Honour, and glory: pray who can debate
With our Almighty God: with God on high,
Under whose feet we Mortals grovelling ly?
Wilt thou contend with him whom all obey
Whom no command or power dare gain-say?
A God unlimited, and absolute
In all his actings, and wilt thou dispute
With such a one?
Hold such opinions, argue what we will
To th'contrair? what has all that we have said
Of our good wishes, no impression made
In thy poor Soul? are all our labours vain?
And shall we still have reason to complain,
That after all what we can do, or speak,
VVe are as yet not able to correct
The fury of thy hot impatience,
But still thou tel'st us of thy innocence?
Ah! wilt thou never be convinc'd? wilt thou
Still wildly rave, what ever we can do
To bring thee to thy wits? art'not asham'd.
205
Both thee, and us of very simple Dust,
That yet for all this thou wilt still be just,
What ere he say to th'contrair, why my friend,
Is't fit thou with thy Maker shouldst contend?
With him, who all perfection doth transcend?
With him is fear, dominion, power, and state,
Honour, and glory: pray who can debate
With our Almighty God: with God on high,
Under whose feet we Mortals grovelling ly?
Wilt thou contend with him whom all obey
Whom no command or power dare gain-say?
A God unlimited, and absolute
In all his actings, and wilt thou dispute
With such a one?
His mighty armies are innumerable,
By which, at all occasions he is able
To make all men from Wars, and Tumults cease,
And keep the whole Creation in peace:
He makes his Sun on every Creature shine,
Without distinction, who then should repine,
Or say that he is partial? when his care
For all his Creatures equal doth appear.
By which, at all occasions he is able
To make all men from Wars, and Tumults cease,
And keep the whole Creation in peace:
He makes his Sun on every Creature shine,
Without distinction, who then should repine,
Or say that he is partial? when his care
For all his Creatures equal doth appear.
O then, since God is absolute, and high,
Unlimited, in power, and soveraignty,
All-seeing, wise, impartially just,
And best of men is but a mass of dust:
Who's he that in his presence dares assert
That he is clean, and upright in his heart?
Who's he dares undertake to justifie
Himself before his Maker, or denie
That he is sinful, and by consequence
Deserves to be chastis'd for his offence?
Who's he of Woman born that can be clean?
Was ever yet that Mortal heard, or seen
That came into the World without Sin,
Since our first Parents did of old begin
To lay the first foundation of offence,
Entailing firmly on their race, from thence
A sad inheritance of sin, a black,
And uglie spot, in a continued tract
Of Generation from the dismal time
That these (till then unknown) durst act a crime.
Unlimited, in power, and soveraignty,
All-seeing, wise, impartially just,
And best of men is but a mass of dust:
Who's he that in his presence dares assert
That he is clean, and upright in his heart?
Who's he dares undertake to justifie
Himself before his Maker, or denie
That he is sinful, and by consequence
Deserves to be chastis'd for his offence?
Who's he of Woman born that can be clean?
Was ever yet that Mortal heard, or seen
That came into the World without Sin,
Since our first Parents did of old begin
To lay the first foundation of offence,
Entailing firmly on their race, from thence
A sad inheritance of sin, a black,
And uglie spot, in a continued tract
Of Generation from the dismal time
That these (till then unknown) durst act a crime.
Then how darst thou affirm that thou art pure
I'th' sight of God? dost think we can endure
To hear a man so impudentlie speak
Of what but even to think deserves a check?
Pray but behold the Moon: observe, I pray
How now at Nights it doth its beams display
In imitation of the light of day.
View but the Stars too, and observe how these
Shine, like bright Tapers in Kings Pallaces,
And though not great, yet yield an useful light
T'allay the horror of the tedious night.
Now one should think those glorious Heavenlie Creatures,
By their own Constitutions, and Natures
Were pure and clean: but 'tis a great mistake,
For those, what ever figure they do make
Of bright unspotted glorie, in which sure
They mankind do exceed, and are more pure
Than anie of us all, yet in his eyes
Those glorious Creatures with Impurities
Are overspread, and in his sight appear
Unclean, and Daple-spotted every where.
I'th' sight of God? dost think we can endure
To hear a man so impudentlie speak
Of what but even to think deserves a check?
Pray but behold the Moon: observe, I pray
How now at Nights it doth its beams display
In imitation of the light of day.
View but the Stars too, and observe how these
Shine, like bright Tapers in Kings Pallaces,
And though not great, yet yield an useful light
T'allay the horror of the tedious night.
206
By their own Constitutions, and Natures
Were pure and clean: but 'tis a great mistake,
For those, what ever figure they do make
Of bright unspotted glorie, in which sure
They mankind do exceed, and are more pure
Than anie of us all, yet in his eyes
Those glorious Creatures with Impurities
Are overspread, and in his sight appear
Unclean, and Daple-spotted every where.
Then how much more unclean, foul, and deform,
Is man before him? man a verie Worm,
A Moth, an Aunt, a Spider, anie thing
That may be thought not worth the valuing.
Man a meer Frog, a thing both mean, and base
A sillie Worm, both he, and all his race.
Is man before him? man a verie Worm,
A Moth, an Aunt, a Spider, anie thing
That may be thought not worth the valuing.
Man a meer Frog, a thing both mean, and base
A sillie Worm, both he, and all his race.
Cap. XXVI.
To hear such language without some offence,
Requir'd in Job a solid patience.
Who though he's now nigh spent, and hardlie able
To speak, yet hearing how his friend did table
The same Discourse, which had so oft before
Been argued on both sides, o're and o're:
With some disdain, and seeming Indignation,
He thus put in his answer.
Requir'd in Job a solid patience.
Who though he's now nigh spent, and hardlie able
To speak, yet hearing how his friend did table
The same Discourse, which had so oft before
Been argued on both sides, o're and o're:
With some disdain, and seeming Indignation,
He thus put in his answer.
Pray now, good friend, if I without offence
To your so oft displayed eloquence
May ask the question, pray now let me see
What comfort brings all this Discourse to me?
What comfort, pray my friend? is this the way,
Are these the methods, these the means, now pray,
By which you would afford me some solace,
In this my sad, and lamentable case?
No sure, for what by your Discourse appears,
Your onlie aim is to augment my feares:
For you still tell me that my God is great,
Absolute, Boundless, and Unlimitat,
And how compar'd with him, wee're all but dust,
And so conclude none can be pure, and just
In sight of our great God.
Is this to comfort pray? is this t'allay
The Feaver of my Soul? is this, I say,
The way to comfort one in sad distress,
By Baiting of him, with such words, as these?
Words stuff'd with terror: words of dreadful sense,
And to th'afflicted of sad consequence:
Words that with comfort so repugnant are,
As they'd provoke one rather to despair.
Words of severest rigor; words of death,
Words, that would shake a verie solid faith:
Is this the comfort you intend? alace,
This all the pity you have on my case
To fright me with such passages as these?
For when you tell me that my sins do merit
All I endure, you do so crush my spirit,
You do so damp my wearied soul with fear,
As I am almost readie to despair:
And were't not that my God in mercie yet
Sustain'd my spirit; I would soon forget
My dutie to him, and undoubtedlie,
As my impatient Wise did formerlie
Advise me, I should curse his Name, and die.
But O my Soul, do thou his Glorious Name,
In gratitude, to everie age proclaim:
His Name, who thee so graciouslie supports,
When men against thee make such strong efforts.
To your so oft displayed eloquence
May ask the question, pray now let me see
What comfort brings all this Discourse to me?
What comfort, pray my friend? is this the way,
Are these the methods, these the means, now pray,
By which you would afford me some solace,
In this my sad, and lamentable case?
No sure, for what by your Discourse appears,
Your onlie aim is to augment my feares:
For you still tell me that my God is great,
Absolute, Boundless, and Unlimitat,
And how compar'd with him, wee're all but dust,
And so conclude none can be pure, and just
In sight of our great God.
Is this to comfort pray? is this t'allay
The Feaver of my Soul? is this, I say,
The way to comfort one in sad distress,
By Baiting of him, with such words, as these?
Words stuff'd with terror: words of dreadful sense,
And to th'afflicted of sad consequence:
Words that with comfort so repugnant are,
As they'd provoke one rather to despair.
207
Words, that would shake a verie solid faith:
Is this the comfort you intend? alace,
This all the pity you have on my case
To fright me with such passages as these?
For when you tell me that my sins do merit
All I endure, you do so crush my spirit,
You do so damp my wearied soul with fear,
As I am almost readie to despair:
And were't not that my God in mercie yet
Sustain'd my spirit; I would soon forget
My dutie to him, and undoubtedlie,
As my impatient Wise did formerlie
Advise me, I should curse his Name, and die.
But O my Soul, do thou his Glorious Name,
In gratitude, to everie age proclaim:
His Name, who thee so graciouslie supports,
When men against thee make such strong efforts.
Pray then, my dear friend, if I may demand,
Without offence: let me but understand,
What dost thou by this short Discourse intend,
What wouldst infer from thence? pray to what end
Dost thou with so much art delineat
The Power of God, and so expatiat
Upon his works, as if thou thought'st that I
Did anie of his Atributes denie?
Are these the methods, by which you intend
T'instruct your shallow, and unthinking friend?
You say I've err'd, why truth it may be so,
But by what you have spoke, I do not know
As yet in what: For I, as well as you,
Afirm that God to no man doth allow
Such puritie, as he may arroagate
Th'inheritance of an immortal state,
T'himself from thence: I do with you agree,
That God is great and just, and as for me,
I'me but a Worm indeed, a verie Gnat,
A Fly, a Wasp, a thing, I know not what,
So mean, so low, and of so small esteem,
As baseness is it self, compar'd with him.
I do agree with you that sinful men,
On this side time, are often overtane
With punishment; nor do I yet denie
But God doth his Displeasure signifie,
By previous signs, to such, ere he doth fall,
Upon them in his Wrath, for good and all.
But that he sends afflictions on none,
But those whose sins do merit Hell alone.
I still denie, and in that Confidence,
To all your bold, and cruel Eloquence,
I still oppose my Faith, and Innocence.
On these, and on Gods mercie I relie,
And if you think I argue foolishlie,
Convince me, pray, by other arguments
Then I have heard as yet.
But thus to treat me, thus to aggravate
My woes: to comfort me at such a rate,
By adding to my sorrows, is, indeed,
A comforting, of which I have not read:
'Tis such a method, as I think that none
Did ever yet practise, but you alone.
I do confess, indeed, my grief is such,
As may have prompted me to speak too much
Upon the Subject; and I don't denie,
But in my sore, and bitter agonie,
Some words might fall, I cannot justifie.
But when you see me in this dire estate,
With griefs and sorrows so exasperate,
And plagu'd with such sad exercise of mind,
I did expect you would a'been so kind,
As to afford me counsel, and advice;
That such a fool as I, by men so wise
As you are, might b'instructed in the case,
But stead of that, you tell me in my face,
I'm lost, undone, and may in justice fear
Moe pains, and torments, then I yet do bear;
Such comforting did ever Mortal hear!
Without offence: let me but understand,
What dost thou by this short Discourse intend,
What wouldst infer from thence? pray to what end
Dost thou with so much art delineat
The Power of God, and so expatiat
Upon his works, as if thou thought'st that I
Did anie of his Atributes denie?
Are these the methods, by which you intend
T'instruct your shallow, and unthinking friend?
You say I've err'd, why truth it may be so,
But by what you have spoke, I do not know
As yet in what: For I, as well as you,
Afirm that God to no man doth allow
Such puritie, as he may arroagate
Th'inheritance of an immortal state,
T'himself from thence: I do with you agree,
That God is great and just, and as for me,
I'me but a Worm indeed, a verie Gnat,
A Fly, a Wasp, a thing, I know not what,
So mean, so low, and of so small esteem,
As baseness is it self, compar'd with him.
I do agree with you that sinful men,
On this side time, are often overtane
With punishment; nor do I yet denie
But God doth his Displeasure signifie,
By previous signs, to such, ere he doth fall,
Upon them in his Wrath, for good and all.
But that he sends afflictions on none,
But those whose sins do merit Hell alone.
I still denie, and in that Confidence,
To all your bold, and cruel Eloquence,
I still oppose my Faith, and Innocence.
On these, and on Gods mercie I relie,
And if you think I argue foolishlie,
Convince me, pray, by other arguments
Then I have heard as yet.
208
My woes: to comfort me at such a rate,
By adding to my sorrows, is, indeed,
A comforting, of which I have not read:
'Tis such a method, as I think that none
Did ever yet practise, but you alone.
I do confess, indeed, my grief is such,
As may have prompted me to speak too much
Upon the Subject; and I don't denie,
But in my sore, and bitter agonie,
Some words might fall, I cannot justifie.
But when you see me in this dire estate,
With griefs and sorrows so exasperate,
And plagu'd with such sad exercise of mind,
I did expect you would a'been so kind,
As to afford me counsel, and advice;
That such a fool as I, by men so wise
As you are, might b'instructed in the case,
But stead of that, you tell me in my face,
I'm lost, undone, and may in justice fear
Moe pains, and torments, then I yet do bear;
Such comforting did ever Mortal hear!
What spirit moves thee thus, my friend, to speak?
Dost thou imagine I am yet so weak,
But that I understand as well as thou,
What is Gods greatness, and his justice too?
What spirit then doth move thee thus to speak?
Dost thou intend to comfort or correct
Thy poor afflicted friend? do, let me know,
Whether thou means't to comfort me, or no?
For what thou speaks't doth nothing contribute
T'uphold my swouning spirits, or recruit
My so much wasted strength: I cannot see
What comfort all thy speeches yield to me.
For with such zeal, and fervour thus to press
Once, and again, what all men do confess:
Gods power, and greatness thus still to repeat
Were to suppose that we did now debate
The truth of these things, and that I deny'd,
What you so eagerly affirm; beside
If any man should chance to hear us now
Upon this Subject, and observ'd but how
Thou, and my other friends, with all the Art,
That Learning can afford, do still assert
What I deny: hee'd presently conclude
That you are pious men, and I a leud
Ungodly person, whereas you all know,
And are convinc'd your selves, things are not so.
Pray then forbear this way of comforting,
By such reiterated arguing,
And telling of me things I don't deny:
For what doth all this talking signifie
T'a poor afflicted man? and if you please
Pray use such words as may afford some ease
To one in a deplorable estate,
And let me hear no more of your debate:
For what you speak, if I do understand,
Doth not concern the question in hand.
Dost thou imagine I am yet so weak,
But that I understand as well as thou,
What is Gods greatness, and his justice too?
What spirit then doth move thee thus to speak?
Dost thou intend to comfort or correct
Thy poor afflicted friend? do, let me know,
Whether thou means't to comfort me, or no?
For what thou speaks't doth nothing contribute
T'uphold my swouning spirits, or recruit
My so much wasted strength: I cannot see
What comfort all thy speeches yield to me.
For with such zeal, and fervour thus to press
Once, and again, what all men do confess:
Gods power, and greatness thus still to repeat
Were to suppose that we did now debate
The truth of these things, and that I deny'd,
What you so eagerly affirm; beside
If any man should chance to hear us now
Upon this Subject, and observ'd but how
Thou, and my other friends, with all the Art,
That Learning can afford, do still assert
What I deny: hee'd presently conclude
That you are pious men, and I a leud
Ungodly person, whereas you all know,
And are convinc'd your selves, things are not so.
Pray then forbear this way of comforting,
By such reiterated arguing,
And telling of me things I don't deny:
For what doth all this talking signifie
T'a poor afflicted man? and if you please
Pray use such words as may afford some ease
209
And let me hear no more of your debate:
For what you speak, if I do understand,
Doth not concern the question in hand.
But here, my friends, that you may no more Preach
Upon this Theme, as if you meant to teach
One that is dull, and ignorant, I'le show
How I Gods Greatness, and his Justice know
As well as any of you all, and how
I can descant upon his wonders too.
Allow me then his Greatness to express,
As you have done, by as few instances.
First then, that my discourse may method keep,
Let us observe his wonders in the deep;
Let's there begin, and see how providence
So vast, so pow'rful, so profound, immense,
Active, and quick at all occurrences,
Doth reach ev'n to the bottom of the Seas.
There he doth rule, as well as on the Land,
There all the Creatures, which his mighty hand
Hath fram'd, submit themselves to his command.
Those Monsters of the Ocean, who afright
Th'admiring Sea-man, with their very sight:
Those dreadful Creatures of such various frames,
As we do hardly yet know all their names:
Those numerous Giants of the deep, who scoure
The Ocean with an Arbitrary power,
Swallowing their fellow-creatures with such ease,
As if they claim'd dominion of the Seas.
Who, when they mean to sport themselves, will make
Th'unbroken Waves with their strong motion shake,
Like troubled Waters, and anon, to show
Their force, whole Tuns of Water up they throw
From their prodigious Snouts, as if they'd dare
By force of Water to subdue the Air.
Those huge portentuous Creatures, though they seem
In their own Sphere to be of some esteem,
To have some pow'r, dominion, and command,
Yet are they govern'd by his mighty hand,
And do submit their necks, with deference
To his great Lord-Lieutenent Providence:
Who, when he sees those Creatures wantonly
Sporting along the Ocean, by and by
With single nod commands them to be gone,
Then like so many Slaves they trembling run
To the Seas bottom, where they groveling ly,
Until from him they have the liberty
To swim aloft; and there they roam about
At every prey, till their Verloof run out.
Dead things he also orders in the Seas,
Such as Pearls, Amber, Coral, Ambergrease,
And Sperma-cete, which for humane use,
He makes them as a yearly Rent, produce.
Upon this Theme, as if you meant to teach
One that is dull, and ignorant, I'le show
How I Gods Greatness, and his Justice know
As well as any of you all, and how
I can descant upon his wonders too.
Allow me then his Greatness to express,
As you have done, by as few instances.
First then, that my discourse may method keep,
Let us observe his wonders in the deep;
Let's there begin, and see how providence
So vast, so pow'rful, so profound, immense,
Active, and quick at all occurrences,
Doth reach ev'n to the bottom of the Seas.
There he doth rule, as well as on the Land,
There all the Creatures, which his mighty hand
Hath fram'd, submit themselves to his command.
Those Monsters of the Ocean, who afright
Th'admiring Sea-man, with their very sight:
Those dreadful Creatures of such various frames,
As we do hardly yet know all their names:
Those numerous Giants of the deep, who scoure
The Ocean with an Arbitrary power,
Swallowing their fellow-creatures with such ease,
As if they claim'd dominion of the Seas.
Who, when they mean to sport themselves, will make
Th'unbroken Waves with their strong motion shake,
Like troubled Waters, and anon, to show
Their force, whole Tuns of Water up they throw
From their prodigious Snouts, as if they'd dare
By force of Water to subdue the Air.
Those huge portentuous Creatures, though they seem
In their own Sphere to be of some esteem,
To have some pow'r, dominion, and command,
Yet are they govern'd by his mighty hand,
And do submit their necks, with deference
To his great Lord-Lieutenent Providence:
Who, when he sees those Creatures wantonly
Sporting along the Ocean, by and by
With single nod commands them to be gone,
Then like so many Slaves they trembling run
To the Seas bottom, where they groveling ly,
Until from him they have the liberty
To swim aloft; and there they roam about
At every prey, till their Verloof run out.
Dead things he also orders in the Seas,
Such as Pearls, Amber, Coral, Ambergrease,
And Sperma-cete, which for humane use,
He makes them as a yearly Rent, produce.
210
Now as he rules i'th' bottom of the Seas,
So in the earth he orders all with ease.
He views its darkest Caverns, and descryes
What is impervious to all humane eyes.
The Grave before him opens up her Womb,
His eyes doth pierce the clossest Marble Tomb.
No place affords a shelter from his wrath,
Not all the winding Labyrinths of death;
Not Hell it self, in whose closs Vaults do ly
The burning Tares of poor Mortality;
Where damned Souls eternally bemoan
Their idle progress here on earth, whilest none
Can make them help, and to no purpose groan.
Where grining Fiends by his permission rule,
And treat our glorious World in ridicule,
Making the highest 'mongst the lowest ly,
Where all are Cudgell'd to conformity.
Yet of this Dungeon he doth keep the Keys,
And every moment doth survey with ease
The actions, postures, tears of all in Hell,
And the sad living knows exactly well
Of all those Souls, who nigh Earths Center dwell.
So in the earth he orders all with ease.
He views its darkest Caverns, and descryes
What is impervious to all humane eyes.
The Grave before him opens up her Womb,
His eyes doth pierce the clossest Marble Tomb.
No place affords a shelter from his wrath,
Not all the winding Labyrinths of death;
Not Hell it self, in whose closs Vaults do ly
The burning Tares of poor Mortality;
Where damned Souls eternally bemoan
Their idle progress here on earth, whilest none
Can make them help, and to no purpose groan.
Where grining Fiends by his permission rule,
And treat our glorious World in ridicule,
Making the highest 'mongst the lowest ly,
Where all are Cudgell'd to conformity.
Yet of this Dungeon he doth keep the Keys,
And every moment doth survey with ease
The actions, postures, tears of all in Hell,
And the sad living knows exactly well
Of all those Souls, who nigh Earths Center dwell.
With curious Art he doth expose to th'eye
That large and glorious Azure Canopy,
Which round this Earthen Glob, he doth expand,
Whilst in its Center, with a mighty hand
He makes this Glob so spacious and fair
Unfix'd, unprop'd, unfounded any where,
Hang, like a Water-bubble in the Air.
Here then let admiration fix its eyes,
And high-flown Art, its Artless self despise,
When it considers, how beyond all Art,
And contrair to what reason doth impart,
A solid Body, which should downwards tend,
By Nature, and is apt still to descend,
Should in this posture Pendulous remain,
And by its own weight, its own weight sustain.
To see gross Earth, and heavy Water mix't,
Stand so unmoving, so secure, so fix't,
Amidst the Light, thin Element of Air,
That unresisting Element, that rare
And tender'st Cob-web of the whole Creation,
Is that, which doth exceed all admiration.
When ev'n its Wing'd-Inhabitants, how e're
They at some distance to us do appear
To stand sometime i'th' Air: yet coming nigh
We see they do not stand, but softly fly,
For sure, without some motion, they could ne're
Subsist, but a few minuts in the Air.
To see a Mass with gravity deprest
On such a Downy Pillow sweetly rest,
And yet that Pillow firm, and solid still,
On which it rests appear: say what you will,
Is that which doth all reason far transcend,
And if to know it more we do intend,
Of idle searching there shall be no end.
That large and glorious Azure Canopy,
Which round this Earthen Glob, he doth expand,
Whilst in its Center, with a mighty hand
He makes this Glob so spacious and fair
Unfix'd, unprop'd, unfounded any where,
Hang, like a Water-bubble in the Air.
Here then let admiration fix its eyes,
And high-flown Art, its Artless self despise,
When it considers, how beyond all Art,
And contrair to what reason doth impart,
A solid Body, which should downwards tend,
By Nature, and is apt still to descend,
Should in this posture Pendulous remain,
And by its own weight, its own weight sustain.
To see gross Earth, and heavy Water mix't,
Stand so unmoving, so secure, so fix't,
Amidst the Light, thin Element of Air,
That unresisting Element, that rare
And tender'st Cob-web of the whole Creation,
Is that, which doth exceed all admiration.
When ev'n its Wing'd-Inhabitants, how e're
They at some distance to us do appear
To stand sometime i'th' Air: yet coming nigh
We see they do not stand, but softly fly,
For sure, without some motion, they could ne're
Subsist, but a few minuts in the Air.
To see a Mass with gravity deprest
On such a Downy Pillow sweetly rest,
And yet that Pillow firm, and solid still,
On which it rests appear: say what you will,
211
And if to know it more we do intend,
Of idle searching there shall be no end.
Now let us from the Earth a while remove
Our eyes, and see what order's kep't above.
Let's make a progresse through this spacious Air,
And view what curiosities are there
Remarkable; i'th' first place let us see,
What glomerating Bodies these may be,
Who nimbly tumble all along the Air,
And no small figure make in their own Sphere.
Those glorious embroideries of the Skys,
Whose various colours feast the curious eyes.
Those Clouds, which do above our heads appear,
What are they, 'pray? for what use are they there?
What service do they make? why, we must know,
That even in those, God doth his wonders show.
For as we see in Gardens, how the care
And cautious foresight of the Gardiner,
Large quantities of waters doth retain
In Cisterns, to supply the want of Rain,
Whereby his Plants he moistens now and then.
So though the Earth is moistned with the Seas,
Who wash it on all hands, and by degrees,
Through all its Bowels squirt themselves, and so
At length in Springs, and Rivers gently flow
For that same end; yet he takes further care
Of this great Garden, as great Gardiner:
And lest those Springs at any time run dry,
And so the Earth grow sterile, by and by,
Whole Oceans he pumps up to the Sky.
By a great engine called Exhalation,
And in those airy Clouds to admiration,
Those waters, he doth firm, and sure retain,
And only sifts them gently out in rain,
As through the Cribrous snout of Water-pot,
The Gardner softly wets his Garden Plot:
So he from thence this Earth doth irrigate;
For should one Cloud but burst, without debate
A Deluge would ensue. But O, the care
Of Providence, that in those Bags of Air;
Those Hankerchiefs of condens'd vapours, those
So spongious Tankards he should keep so close,
Such quantities of Waters Tunn'd, and Pal'd,
As sure, as if in Bottles, Cork'd, and Seal'd;
When one would think (by rules of Art to speak)
Those shoulders for such burdens were too weak;
And that the weight o'th' waters they contain,
Might make those vaporous Bottles burst in twain.
Our eyes, and see what order's kep't above.
Let's make a progresse through this spacious Air,
And view what curiosities are there
Remarkable; i'th' first place let us see,
What glomerating Bodies these may be,
Who nimbly tumble all along the Air,
And no small figure make in their own Sphere.
Those glorious embroideries of the Skys,
Whose various colours feast the curious eyes.
Those Clouds, which do above our heads appear,
What are they, 'pray? for what use are they there?
What service do they make? why, we must know,
That even in those, God doth his wonders show.
For as we see in Gardens, how the care
And cautious foresight of the Gardiner,
Large quantities of waters doth retain
In Cisterns, to supply the want of Rain,
Whereby his Plants he moistens now and then.
So though the Earth is moistned with the Seas,
Who wash it on all hands, and by degrees,
Through all its Bowels squirt themselves, and so
At length in Springs, and Rivers gently flow
For that same end; yet he takes further care
Of this great Garden, as great Gardiner:
And lest those Springs at any time run dry,
And so the Earth grow sterile, by and by,
Whole Oceans he pumps up to the Sky.
By a great engine called Exhalation,
And in those airy Clouds to admiration,
Those waters, he doth firm, and sure retain,
And only sifts them gently out in rain,
As through the Cribrous snout of Water-pot,
The Gardner softly wets his Garden Plot:
So he from thence this Earth doth irrigate;
For should one Cloud but burst, without debate
A Deluge would ensue. But O, the care
Of Providence, that in those Bags of Air;
Those Hankerchiefs of condens'd vapours, those
So spongious Tankards he should keep so close,
Such quantities of Waters Tunn'd, and Pal'd,
As sure, as if in Bottles, Cork'd, and Seal'd;
When one would think (by rules of Art to speak)
Those shoulders for such burdens were too weak;
And that the weight o'th' waters they contain,
Might make those vaporous Bottles burst in twain.
Thus then we see those Clouds created were,
To serve the useful Water-works i'th' Air.
For in these, Liquor stor'd in Magazine,
Is kep't in Cask entire, upon design,
Not to be drawn off, but when he'd supply
The drouthy Earth, what time it becomes dry.
And yet those brim-full Clouds sometime appear,
So settled, and almost transparent clear:
As if no waters in their belly were.
And then we seem to view the Heavenly Throne,
In its full glory; but when God anon,
Intends this glory from our eyes to shrowd,
'Tis but to interpose a sable Cloud:
A sable Cloud, which he can quickly make
Out of the clearest: as if one should shake
A Christal Bottle, in which, for some space,
Liquor preserv'd appears clear as the Glasse;
Because by time its Dregs being separate
From th'spirits; in the bottom take their seat,
But once being shak'd, what formerly was clear,
Now muddy, thick, and troubled doth appear.
So a few Clouds, shak'd by his mighty hand,
In a thick Curtain soon themselves expand,
Which he lets fall betwixt us and the light,
And what was clear before, is dark as night:
Yet by obscuring of his glory so,
At seasons, he doth make its value grow;
And causes us poor Mortals earnestly,
Long for his re-appearance in the Sky:
As those for day, who under th'Pole do ly.
To serve the useful Water-works i'th' Air.
For in these, Liquor stor'd in Magazine,
Is kep't in Cask entire, upon design,
Not to be drawn off, but when he'd supply
212
And yet those brim-full Clouds sometime appear,
So settled, and almost transparent clear:
As if no waters in their belly were.
And then we seem to view the Heavenly Throne,
In its full glory; but when God anon,
Intends this glory from our eyes to shrowd,
'Tis but to interpose a sable Cloud:
A sable Cloud, which he can quickly make
Out of the clearest: as if one should shake
A Christal Bottle, in which, for some space,
Liquor preserv'd appears clear as the Glasse;
Because by time its Dregs being separate
From th'spirits; in the bottom take their seat,
But once being shak'd, what formerly was clear,
Now muddy, thick, and troubled doth appear.
So a few Clouds, shak'd by his mighty hand,
In a thick Curtain soon themselves expand,
Which he lets fall betwixt us and the light,
And what was clear before, is dark as night:
Yet by obscuring of his glory so,
At seasons, he doth make its value grow;
And causes us poor Mortals earnestly,
Long for his re-appearance in the Sky:
As those for day, who under th'Pole do ly.
Now since so many Pales with Water full
Do hang above our heads; what simple, dull,
Insipid Creatures must we Mortals be,
That don't the love of our Creator see?
In all his Dispensations, for if e'r
His loving care of mankind did appear
In any thing: in this 'tis evident,
That he thus bridles that wild Element
Of Water, which would otherwise o'rflow
Us all, but that he binds its fury so,
As neither those, who 'bout the Earth doth roar,
And, were it in their power, would soon devour
The Land, and be by Shores hemm'd in no more.
Nor yet for all their daily threatnings dar
Those Waters, which hang over us i'th' air,
Upon this Earth in bodies rudely fall,
But are restrain'd by him, who governs all:
And still shall be by that high power restrain'd,
Untill all what we see shall have an end.
Do hang above our heads; what simple, dull,
Insipid Creatures must we Mortals be,
That don't the love of our Creator see?
In all his Dispensations, for if e'r
His loving care of mankind did appear
In any thing: in this 'tis evident,
That he thus bridles that wild Element
Of Water, which would otherwise o'rflow
Us all, but that he binds its fury so,
As neither those, who 'bout the Earth doth roar,
And, were it in their power, would soon devour
The Land, and be by Shores hemm'd in no more.
Nor yet for all their daily threatnings dar
Those Waters, which hang over us i'th' air,
Upon this Earth in bodies rudely fall,
But are restrain'd by him, who governs all:
And still shall be by that high power restrain'd,
Untill all what we see shall have an end.
How kind a God! how much to him we owe,
Who for our Beeing such concern doth show!
How should we love him! how should we forbear
T'incense that God, to whom we are so dear!
O, how should we to rouze his choller fear!
For, if this God do once appear in wrath,
Hell in his eyes, and in his looks is Death:
With one stern aspect, he will quickly make
Heavens most entire, and strongest pillars shake.
At his reproof the Mountains cleave assunder
By Earthquakes, and the Air is rent by Thunder,
At his command, Fire out in lightning flyes,
And there's a great commotion in the Skyes:
All things created do a trembling fall,
The sudden fear is epidemical,
And we expect a period of all.
Who for our Beeing such concern doth show!
How should we love him! how should we forbear
T'incense that God, to whom we are so dear!
O, how should we to rouze his choller fear!
For, if this God do once appear in wrath,
Hell in his eyes, and in his looks is Death:
With one stern aspect, he will quickly make
Heavens most entire, and strongest pillars shake.
At his reproof the Mountains cleave assunder
213
At his command, Fire out in lightning flyes,
And there's a great commotion in the Skyes:
All things created do a trembling fall,
The sudden fear is epidemical,
And we expect a period of all.
And yet amidst this anger still his care,
And love for man doth eminent appear.
For though he sometimes makes the Ocean swell,
To that extent, as if it would compell
The Heavens to give it way to quarter all
Its furious billows on this Earthen Ball.
When with high-winds blown up beyond spring-tide,
It swaggers with intolerable pride,
Making whole heaps of Froath on high to rise,
As if it boldlie mean't t'assault the Skyes:
Yet in an instant, he can, when he will,
Make this rude Monster silent, and tranquil;
And make it soon return for all its pride,
To th'progress of an ordinary tyde.
And love for man doth eminent appear.
For though he sometimes makes the Ocean swell,
To that extent, as if it would compell
The Heavens to give it way to quarter all
Its furious billows on this Earthen Ball.
When with high-winds blown up beyond spring-tide,
It swaggers with intolerable pride,
Making whole heaps of Froath on high to rise,
As if it boldlie mean't t'assault the Skyes:
Yet in an instant, he can, when he will,
Make this rude Monster silent, and tranquil;
And make it soon return for all its pride,
To th'progress of an ordinary tyde.
And last of all, since Earth, Sea, Hell, and Air,
We've view'd, lets to Heavens-pallace now repair.
That he hath garnish'd in such curious sort,
And beautified so his Empyrean-Court,
As no eye can behold, no tongue set forth,
No Art esteem, or calculate its worth.
For what created Opticks can perceive
That which the mind doth even with pain believe!
What mortal eye can view the precious things,
That in the pallace of the King of kings
Are to be seen!
When even in some Kings-pallace here below,
Pearls, Rubies, Diamonds make such glorious show,
With Silks, and Silver, Walls and Floors orelaid,
Cupboards with Gold, and Chrystal vessels spread:
Pictures and Statues to such value wrought,
As only by great Monarchs can be bought,
Make such a strange appearance, as the eyes
Are dazled with the sight, and do surpize
Th'uncurious, home-bred, unexpecting mind,
When they present it Idea's of that kind.
Nay those who've seen those glorious passages,
When they relate such goodlie sights, as these,
They're not believ'd, and every one who hears
Their Stories, think them lying Travellers.
Then O if these so glorious do appear,
Which if with Heavens rich pallace we compare,
Are but as Cottages; what must that be,
Which none but with the eye of Faith can see!
Yes, with the piercing eye of Faith alone,
Must we discover the cœlestial Throne,
Which when we see, our minds shall then abhore
All other sights, and wish to see no more.
The Sun, and Moon, who in their Orbs appear
Most necessarie for his Glorie here;
Are there of no more use, than Candles be,
After the Day is broke, for then wee see
These little Raies, which sparkled in the night,
Are fullie swallowed in the greater light.
So where God in his Majestie doth shine,
These most resplendent Beames, those Raies Divine
Do so much light afford, as there's no need
Of Sun, and Moon: this light it self doth spread
So brightlie, and so fullie over all
That other Lights we may but Tapers call.
We've view'd, lets to Heavens-pallace now repair.
That he hath garnish'd in such curious sort,
And beautified so his Empyrean-Court,
As no eye can behold, no tongue set forth,
No Art esteem, or calculate its worth.
For what created Opticks can perceive
That which the mind doth even with pain believe!
What mortal eye can view the precious things,
That in the pallace of the King of kings
Are to be seen!
When even in some Kings-pallace here below,
Pearls, Rubies, Diamonds make such glorious show,
With Silks, and Silver, Walls and Floors orelaid,
Cupboards with Gold, and Chrystal vessels spread:
Pictures and Statues to such value wrought,
As only by great Monarchs can be bought,
Make such a strange appearance, as the eyes
Are dazled with the sight, and do surpize
Th'uncurious, home-bred, unexpecting mind,
When they present it Idea's of that kind.
Nay those who've seen those glorious passages,
When they relate such goodlie sights, as these,
They're not believ'd, and every one who hears
Their Stories, think them lying Travellers.
Then O if these so glorious do appear,
Which if with Heavens rich pallace we compare,
Are but as Cottages; what must that be,
Which none but with the eye of Faith can see!
Yes, with the piercing eye of Faith alone,
Must we discover the cœlestial Throne,
Which when we see, our minds shall then abhore
All other sights, and wish to see no more.
The Sun, and Moon, who in their Orbs appear
214
Are there of no more use, than Candles be,
After the Day is broke, for then wee see
These little Raies, which sparkled in the night,
Are fullie swallowed in the greater light.
So where God in his Majestie doth shine,
These most resplendent Beames, those Raies Divine
Do so much light afford, as there's no need
Of Sun, and Moon: this light it self doth spread
So brightlie, and so fullie over all
That other Lights we may but Tapers call.
But hear, my friends, pray, even admire with me
Heavens outward Fabrick, which we dailie see,
Let us with admiration cast our eyes
Upon those verie Heavens, and view the skies,
How Glorious, how Beautiful, and Fair,
When Sun at Noon-tide shines, they do appear.
When nothing in our Horizon we view,
But a Sun Radient in a Field of Blew:
Which, like a spacious Arch, appears to th'eye,
Whilst we, as sitting under Canopie
Do eat in state: anone, when he inclines
To rest, and takes good-night, in Oblique-lines,
How sweetlie on the Mountain tops he shines!
Whilst round his squinting beames the skies appear,
In such bright various Colours here, and there,
So curiouslie damask'd at that rate,
As Artists yet, but faintlie imitat
That evening Picture, and at length confess
No Pencil can such glorious showes express;
Whilst, most part of that Field which now we view
Is shadowed Scarlet, which before was Blew.
At length, when after all, the Sun is gone,
And Darkness doth invade our Horizon:
Then of what colour is this Canopie?
How do the Heav'ns appear then to the eye?
Why then we see the Moon, and Stars do yield
A comelie Figure in a Russet Field:
Under which spacious covering we sleep,
Till from the Seas the Sun again doth peep:
And then, what Russet was before, we view
Now of a mixt Pearl, Orient, Gray, and Blew.
Then if these outward Heavens themselves display
In changes of attire four times a day,
And with such rare, and goodlie Variation,
Affords us so much cause of admiration:
Ah! how much more should we admire, if we
The Inner-court of the third Heavens could see
The Heavens of Heavens, where in Magnificence
The Great Creator keeps his Residence!
How should we be surpriz'd, if we could see,
What glorious sights in these Apartments be.
Where he who fram'd all things doth fit in state,
When we so much admire the utter Gate.
Heavens outward Fabrick, which we dailie see,
Let us with admiration cast our eyes
Upon those verie Heavens, and view the skies,
How Glorious, how Beautiful, and Fair,
When Sun at Noon-tide shines, they do appear.
When nothing in our Horizon we view,
But a Sun Radient in a Field of Blew:
Which, like a spacious Arch, appears to th'eye,
Whilst we, as sitting under Canopie
Do eat in state: anone, when he inclines
To rest, and takes good-night, in Oblique-lines,
How sweetlie on the Mountain tops he shines!
Whilst round his squinting beames the skies appear,
In such bright various Colours here, and there,
So curiouslie damask'd at that rate,
As Artists yet, but faintlie imitat
That evening Picture, and at length confess
No Pencil can such glorious showes express;
Whilst, most part of that Field which now we view
Is shadowed Scarlet, which before was Blew.
At length, when after all, the Sun is gone,
And Darkness doth invade our Horizon:
Then of what colour is this Canopie?
How do the Heav'ns appear then to the eye?
Why then we see the Moon, and Stars do yield
A comelie Figure in a Russet Field:
Under which spacious covering we sleep,
Till from the Seas the Sun again doth peep:
And then, what Russet was before, we view
Now of a mixt Pearl, Orient, Gray, and Blew.
Then if these outward Heavens themselves display
In changes of attire four times a day,
And with such rare, and goodlie Variation,
Affords us so much cause of admiration:
Ah! how much more should we admire, if we
The Inner-court of the third Heavens could see
The Heavens of Heavens, where in Magnificence
The Great Creator keeps his Residence!
How should we be surpriz'd, if we could see,
What glorious sights in these Apartments be.
Where he who fram'd all things doth fit in state,
When we so much admire the utter Gate.
215
Now as those curious Heavens his Hands did frame
Which everie hour his Greatness do proclaim,
So, as a Limner, when to show his skill,
He makes his Pensil draw what shapes he will;
The Great Creator to express his art,
That from the highest to the lowest part,
This Universe might be replenished
With these so various works his hands had made:
The Insects too, which on the Earth do crawl,
He fram'd, to show his Glorie shines in all,
What we can see, or fathom in our mind,
And writes his name on things of everie kind.
Which everie hour his Greatness do proclaim,
So, as a Limner, when to show his skill,
He makes his Pensil draw what shapes he will;
The Great Creator to express his art,
That from the highest to the lowest part,
This Universe might be replenished
With these so various works his hands had made:
The Insects too, which on the Earth do crawl,
He fram'd, to show his Glorie shines in all,
What we can see, or fathom in our mind,
And writes his name on things of everie kind.
Then, to conclude, since those few passages
Do so much of his Glorious Pow'r express:
Since what with our dull eyes of flesh we see,
Which may by Computation hardlie be
The hundred thousand part of that great whole
Of which the Great Creator is the soul:
Affords such grounds of serious contemplation,
How should it far exceed all admiration!
Were I, my friends, but able to relate
His Glorie in its true, and real state,
But ah, there's no man able to do that.
And thus, I hope, I have demonstrate now,
I understand these things as well as you.
Let these suffice then, let these things, my friends,
Of which I've spoke, fullie possess your minds.
Debate no more, I pray, but let us all
Upon this subject to admiring fall,
That Great Creator, at whose verie name
We mortals should our faces vail for shame,
And prostrat on the ground in ashes ly,
When we consider that great Deity:
That chief, and supream Beeing, that so vast
Extent of Power, that glorious first, and last:
Compar'd with whom man is a cheaper thing,
Then is a Beggar ballanc'd with a King,
Ten thousand times. Then O let these suffice
And let us no more in contention rise
Concerning things we cannot comprehend,
Which all our art, and reason do transcend,
In painting out of which there is no end.
Do so much of his Glorious Pow'r express:
Since what with our dull eyes of flesh we see,
Which may by Computation hardlie be
The hundred thousand part of that great whole
Of which the Great Creator is the soul:
Affords such grounds of serious contemplation,
How should it far exceed all admiration!
Were I, my friends, but able to relate
His Glorie in its true, and real state,
But ah, there's no man able to do that.
And thus, I hope, I have demonstrate now,
I understand these things as well as you.
Let these suffice then, let these things, my friends,
Of which I've spoke, fullie possess your minds.
Debate no more, I pray, but let us all
Upon this subject to admiring fall,
That Great Creator, at whose verie name
We mortals should our faces vail for shame,
And prostrat on the ground in ashes ly,
When we consider that great Deity:
That chief, and supream Beeing, that so vast
Extent of Power, that glorious first, and last:
Compar'd with whom man is a cheaper thing,
Then is a Beggar ballanc'd with a King,
Ten thousand times. Then O let these suffice
And let us no more in contention rise
Concerning things we cannot comprehend,
Which all our art, and reason do transcend,
In painting out of which there is no end.
Cap. XXVII.
Thus having reply'd to what Bildad said,
Expecting some should have an answer made,
Job paus'd a while: but then perceiving how
Those learned men had all concluded now
That he was so perversly obstinate
As not to be reclaim'd at any rate,
And therefore seeing what they spoke before
Prevail'd so little, mean't to speak no more:
Lest he might seem t'approve what they decreed,
He still in his defence did thus proceed.
Expecting some should have an answer made,
Job paus'd a while: but then perceiving how
Those learned men had all concluded now
That he was so perversly obstinate
216
And therefore seeing what they spoke before
Prevail'd so little, mean't to speak no more:
Lest he might seem t'approve what they decreed,
He still in his defence did thus proceed.
Why now, my friends, says he, at length I see
You think't lost labour to dispute with me:
You think all you have spoke has been in vain,
And so from speaking more you'll now abstain:
Why you do well, indeed I'me glad 'tis so,
But should I hold my peace, I firmly know
You would undoubtedlie conclude from thence
That I pass'd from my plea of innocence;
Therefore I still must speak in my defence.
As the Lord lives then, as our mighty God
Eternal in the Heavens keeps his abode,
As he has heard and seen all that has past
Amongst us, and will judgment give at last
Against those of us who have err'd: I here
Before you all most solemnlie do swear,
I'me wholly innocent of all these crimes,
Of which you've me accus'd so many times.
I know not why my Maker thus has vex't
My soul with troubles: why I'me thus perplex't
With griefs, and Sorrows, which I ne're did merit,
At his so gracious hands: or why my spirit
Should thus be crush'd with misery and woe,
Of no crimes yet convict, I do not know.
For I protest, my friends, I firmly still
Assert (let God do with me what he will)
I know no cause for my sad punishment:
For to this hour I'me wholly innocent
Of what th'injurious world lay to my charge,
And which in your discourse you have at large,
To my own hearing told.
You think't lost labour to dispute with me:
You think all you have spoke has been in vain,
And so from speaking more you'll now abstain:
Why you do well, indeed I'me glad 'tis so,
But should I hold my peace, I firmly know
You would undoubtedlie conclude from thence
That I pass'd from my plea of innocence;
Therefore I still must speak in my defence.
As the Lord lives then, as our mighty God
Eternal in the Heavens keeps his abode,
As he has heard and seen all that has past
Amongst us, and will judgment give at last
Against those of us who have err'd: I here
Before you all most solemnlie do swear,
I'me wholly innocent of all these crimes,
Of which you've me accus'd so many times.
I know not why my Maker thus has vex't
My soul with troubles: why I'me thus perplex't
With griefs, and Sorrows, which I ne're did merit,
At his so gracious hands: or why my spirit
Should thus be crush'd with misery and woe,
Of no crimes yet convict, I do not know.
For I protest, my friends, I firmly still
Assert (let God do with me what he will)
I know no cause for my sad punishment:
For to this hour I'me wholly innocent
Of what th'injurious world lay to my charge,
And which in your discourse you have at large,
To my own hearing told.
Nay whilest Gods spirit moves within my breast
And whilst I breath I solemnlie protest:
And whilst I breath I solemnlie protest:
No trouble, no affliction, no oppression,
No pain, no woe, no torment, no occasion
Shall move me in my sorrow to express,
What may be even supposed wickedness.
For whilst I breath, I never do intend
To speak those words, which may my God offend.
No pain, no woe, no torment, no occasion
Shall move me in my sorrow to express,
What may be even supposed wickedness.
For whilst I breath, I never do intend
To speak those words, which may my God offend.
And though, since so much woe, and miserie
Has seiz'd upon me, I might possiblie
Vent some hot words, and have perhaps express't
My self but as a simple man at best.
Yet God forbid that I should ratifie
What you have said, or my integritie
Prejudge i'th' least, no never while I die.
What you have spoke, my friends, is all in vain,
For I will still my innocence maintain.
Has seiz'd upon me, I might possiblie
Vent some hot words, and have perhaps express't
My self but as a simple man at best.
Yet God forbid that I should ratifie
What you have said, or my integritie
Prejudge i'th' least, no never while I die.
What you have spoke, my friends, is all in vain,
For I will still my innocence maintain.
To my uprightness I do still adhere,
Whatever to the contrair you aver:
I'le not bely my Conscience for all
That you have said, or can say, should you baul
Never so much, and bitterly exclaim
Against your poor afflicted friend, and blame
My fervent zeal to own my righteousness,
As a meer humour, as a stubbornness,
And positive opinion in the case.
For while I breath, my heart shall ne're upbraid
My tongue with lying; as it had betray'd
That heart, that upright, and ingenuous heart,
That heart o'th' first mould, void of Craft, and Art;
With any, ne're so small acknowledgment
Of what its altogether innocent.
Whatever to the contrair you aver:
I'le not bely my Conscience for all
217
Never so much, and bitterly exclaim
Against your poor afflicted friend, and blame
My fervent zeal to own my righteousness,
As a meer humour, as a stubbornness,
And positive opinion in the case.
For while I breath, my heart shall ne're upbraid
My tongue with lying; as it had betray'd
That heart, that upright, and ingenuous heart,
That heart o'th' first mould, void of Craft, and Art;
With any, ne're so small acknowledgment
Of what its altogether innocent.
Most innocent, for I again protest,
I do not know that thought within my breast
That for injustice can be quarrelled,
For did I think that one were harboured
Of that kind here, I'de quickly tear it out,
And for that thought abhor my self to boot.
No, no, my friends, I utterly detest
The very thoughts of sin; nor, in the least
Will I allow my heart to entertain
Such guests as those, of which you do complain.
For of all men, I truly do esteem
Those Godless livers you so often name,
(However in this world they daily thrive,)
To be the most unhappy men alive.
No greater judgments would I imprecate,
On any, whom my very soul doth hate,
Then that they live, and die in those mens state.
I do not know that thought within my breast
That for injustice can be quarrelled,
For did I think that one were harboured
Of that kind here, I'de quickly tear it out,
And for that thought abhor my self to boot.
No, no, my friends, I utterly detest
The very thoughts of sin; nor, in the least
Will I allow my heart to entertain
Such guests as those, of which you do complain.
For of all men, I truly do esteem
Those Godless livers you so often name,
(However in this world they daily thrive,)
To be the most unhappy men alive.
No greater judgments would I imprecate,
On any, whom my very soul doth hate,
Then that they live, and die in those mens state.
I therefore do beseech you now, my friends,
In charity to alter here your minds,
And not believe that I am on of those,
Whom you call Hypocrites, th'Almighty knows
I am not such; nor would you ere conclude
That I were such, if you but understood
The difference betwixt a Hypocrite
And one that's pious, and in heart upright.
For, but observe now, here's the difference,
The Hypocrite, whilst in great affluence,
Of worldly blessings he consumes his time,
And his felicity is in its prime.
Then he rejoyces, is above all hope,
'Cause all his wishes have attain'd their scope:
Then in Gods goodness he is confident,
Speaks piously, and passes for a Saint.
Yet he will tell you—
He'll tell you, when his Gold in heaps doth ly,
That all these Riches are but vanity,
Things of no moment, only stamped Dust,
And therefore no wise man should put his trust,
Or place his confidence at any rate,
In such a mean return of humane sweat:
That product of the toyl of many years,
That ballance of so numerous cares, and fears,
As all the profit, after just account,
Those Riches do afford, do scarce amount
To so much, as may countervail the loss,
Which we sustain in purchasing such Dross.
Whilst he himself doth place such confidence
In this same Dross, that he concludes from thence
His happiness, as Riches do encrease,
And how much Land, and Cash he doth possess,
'Has as much Faith exactly, and no more,
And all his Hope he measures by his Store.
For he himself in this so valueth,
As he doth laugh at all the Powers of Death.
Nor can the weeklie Sermons he doth hear:
To which he most attentive doth appear:
Delivered with much zeal, and force of art,
Find any passage into this mans heart.
For, notwithstanding all that men can say,
And all the Burials, which he everie day
Under his Windows sees, that plainlie teach
More Death, than all the art of man can preach.
Yet this rich Worldling never can believe
That oft repeated Fable of the Grave:
But in his mind rejects, and privatlie
Derides the Storie of Mortalitie.
For, while in health, he minds his business,
And has no leisure for such thoughts as these.
But change the Scene a little, homewards bear
The Plot, and let approaching Death appear:
Let this bold Sinner be imprisoned
Within the narrow compass of a Bed,
Lay the poor Carrion on his back, and then
He is the most disconsolate of men.
His troubled Conscience nothing can appease,
When now before his eyes that thing he sees,
Of which he oft had heard, that gastly thing,
Of which before he made small reckoning:
Appear at his Bed-side with confidence,
And peremptorily charge him to go hence.
Then all Confusion, Horrour, and Despair,
He quites all hope, and onlie now doth fear:
He fears, he fears, he trembles all apace,
When he considers on his future case:
Thinks all the Wealth, that he has purchased
Is very Dross, and nothing now indeed
But stamped Dust, whilst, when his Chests are full,
Death his reluctant Soul begins to pull
Out of his Body:—
But on the contrair, one upright, and just
Is full of hope, and in his God doth trust,
When that sad hour arrives: in confidence
Of future bliss, he for his journy hence,
Prepares himself, with great alacrity,
Welcomes his stroak, and smilinglie doth dy.
Or if perhaps in miserie he fall,
And by Heavens Wrath he is bereft of all
As I am now: his Spirits never drop,
But firmly rooted in a solid hope,
On God, as on his anchor he relies,
And all the roaring Waves of Hell defies.
In charity to alter here your minds,
And not believe that I am on of those,
Whom you call Hypocrites, th'Almighty knows
I am not such; nor would you ere conclude
That I were such, if you but understood
The difference betwixt a Hypocrite
And one that's pious, and in heart upright.
For, but observe now, here's the difference,
The Hypocrite, whilst in great affluence,
Of worldly blessings he consumes his time,
And his felicity is in its prime.
Then he rejoyces, is above all hope,
'Cause all his wishes have attain'd their scope:
Then in Gods goodness he is confident,
Speaks piously, and passes for a Saint.
Yet he will tell you—
He'll tell you, when his Gold in heaps doth ly,
That all these Riches are but vanity,
Things of no moment, only stamped Dust,
And therefore no wise man should put his trust,
Or place his confidence at any rate,
In such a mean return of humane sweat:
That product of the toyl of many years,
That ballance of so numerous cares, and fears,
218
Those Riches do afford, do scarce amount
To so much, as may countervail the loss,
Which we sustain in purchasing such Dross.
Whilst he himself doth place such confidence
In this same Dross, that he concludes from thence
His happiness, as Riches do encrease,
And how much Land, and Cash he doth possess,
'Has as much Faith exactly, and no more,
And all his Hope he measures by his Store.
For he himself in this so valueth,
As he doth laugh at all the Powers of Death.
Nor can the weeklie Sermons he doth hear:
To which he most attentive doth appear:
Delivered with much zeal, and force of art,
Find any passage into this mans heart.
For, notwithstanding all that men can say,
And all the Burials, which he everie day
Under his Windows sees, that plainlie teach
More Death, than all the art of man can preach.
Yet this rich Worldling never can believe
That oft repeated Fable of the Grave:
But in his mind rejects, and privatlie
Derides the Storie of Mortalitie.
For, while in health, he minds his business,
And has no leisure for such thoughts as these.
But change the Scene a little, homewards bear
The Plot, and let approaching Death appear:
Let this bold Sinner be imprisoned
Within the narrow compass of a Bed,
Lay the poor Carrion on his back, and then
He is the most disconsolate of men.
His troubled Conscience nothing can appease,
When now before his eyes that thing he sees,
Of which he oft had heard, that gastly thing,
Of which before he made small reckoning:
Appear at his Bed-side with confidence,
And peremptorily charge him to go hence.
Then all Confusion, Horrour, and Despair,
He quites all hope, and onlie now doth fear:
He fears, he fears, he trembles all apace,
When he considers on his future case:
Thinks all the Wealth, that he has purchased
Is very Dross, and nothing now indeed
But stamped Dust, whilst, when his Chests are full,
Death his reluctant Soul begins to pull
Out of his Body:—
But on the contrair, one upright, and just
Is full of hope, and in his God doth trust,
When that sad hour arrives: in confidence
Of future bliss, he for his journy hence,
Prepares himself, with great alacrity,
Welcomes his stroak, and smilinglie doth dy.
Or if perhaps in miserie he fall,
And by Heavens Wrath he is bereft of all
219
But firmly rooted in a solid hope,
On God, as on his anchor he relies,
And all the roaring Waves of Hell defies.
Next do you think, that when this wretched man
In trouble lyes, let him say what he can,
That God will hear him, let him sigh, and groan,
Let him his by-past actions bemoan:
Let him his sins so cunninglie lament,
As one would think him truly penitent:
No, after all, such crying is in vain;
For he from God no audience can obtain.
For well God knows, he understands full well,
Not love to him, but trouble doth compel
This man to pray, and were he out of pain,
He'd soon return to his old wayes again:
And therefore our Creator stops his ear
To such a subtile, and time-serving prayer,
But he that trusts in God, no sooner prays,
Then God doth hear him, and his soul doth raise
Out of the Quag-mire of adversity,
As soon as he to Heavens for help doth cry.
In trouble lyes, let him say what he can,
That God will hear him, let him sigh, and groan,
Let him his by-past actions bemoan:
Let him his sins so cunninglie lament,
As one would think him truly penitent:
No, after all, such crying is in vain;
For he from God no audience can obtain.
For well God knows, he understands full well,
Not love to him, but trouble doth compel
This man to pray, and were he out of pain,
He'd soon return to his old wayes again:
And therefore our Creator stops his ear
To such a subtile, and time-serving prayer,
But he that trusts in God, no sooner prays,
Then God doth hear him, and his soul doth raise
Out of the Quag-mire of adversity,
As soon as he to Heavens for help doth cry.
Again, when this man into sickness falls,
Then, not while then, upon Gods name he calls:
Then sighs, and prayes, because he feels some pain,
And of his sins doth bitterly complain,
But 'cause with pain, not with delight he prays,
His new patch'd up Devotion soon decayes;
When Heavens afford no answer, but delayes.
For how d'ye think a man not formerly
Accustom'd to the works of piety,
Who ne'r before upon Gods name did call,
'Till now he's forc'd to do't for good, and all:
Can, when in trouble, bring his earthly mind,
That never to Devotion was inclin'd,
In love with prayer, a thing it never knew,
Before that time, whose name to it is new.
Especially, when no return is made
As he expects, but that he's still delay'd;
Whilst God his Supplication will not hear,
Though every hour he's at expence of prayer.
Why truly after he some time has spent,
In proving of this new Experiment,
Which men call prayer: and perceiving still
His pains encrease, let him pray what he will,
He gives it over, and will pray no more,
But even continues as he did before
In worldly thoughts, and when approaching Death
Begins to stop the passage of his Breath.
Then he doth pass a vote of None-address
'Gainst Heavens, and falls to earthly business.
Calls for his Books, his Bonds, and Evidents,
His Leases, and judicial Instruments;
Makes Notes of 'em, and quickly sums up all,
Both Land, and Money to a capital.
Is anxious to settle his Affairs,
That he may leave no trouble to his Heirs:
Pays what he owes, will die in debt to none,
And clears accounts with all, but God alone.
Which when h'has done, he thinks to find some rest,
Or, after all, to die in peace, at least.
But O! he's disappointed, for now all
His friends, and kindred do about him craul,
As Crows about a dying Beast, and claim
Some portion of his substance, each of 'em
They buzz about him, with such outward show
Of kindness, and torment his spirit so
With their expecting looks, as he can find
No way to ease his now distracted mind,
Until he satisfie them all, and then
He thinks his spirit may be eas'd of pain.
So makes his Will, and names some Legacie
For each of'em, then thinking he may die
In peace, and ease, he bids them all begone,
Since they have got their asking, but anon
Physicians, Lawyers, Scriveners appear
And each of them too do pretend a share
In that rich Booty.—
These for their labour during his Disease,
Expecting more then ordinary Fees:
These others for the pains, which they have ta'ne
In his Affairs pretend to no small gain:
Hence wearied of his Life, and seeing now
With Riches he can have no more to do,
He signs, and seals whatever these advise
And piece-meals in a thousand Legacies,
His once beloved Dross: then after all
Is gone, he faintly doth for Preachers call:
'Tells them that he has given all away,
And therefore thinks it now high time to pray.
But scarce these good men do begin to speak,
When the poor Worm becomes so faint and weak,
As he is ready to expire, and then
He has no time to hear those pious men:
Only when thoy desire, out of his store,
He may appoint some small thing for the Poor:
He tells them all's now gone, 'has nothing left,
No Means, no Cash, he's now of all bereft:
Then in the view of all, with staring eyes,
Sad grinnings, bitter words, and horrid crys,
He sees his soul depart, and cursing dies.
Thus lives, and dies the wretched Hypocrite,
Who never in devotion took delite:
But O the man, on whom our gracious God
Has Grace bestow'd, walks in another road.
For he acquainted in Prosperity
With daily Prayer at least, when Misery
Doth seize upon him, never doth give or'e
But still the more it doth increase, the more
He prays, and take delight at all occasions,
To rouze his Soul with pious contemplations.
'Tis true indeed, in excess of his pain,
A piousman may possibly complain
Th'Almighty doth not hear him, when he prays,
And flights his cryes, but O! what then he sayes,
Is but the Language of his fearful sense,
For in his heart, he still with confidence
Believes that God doth hear him, when he cries,
And in the midst of all his miseries,
Perswades himself that God will after all
Those flying Parties of his wrath recall,
And yet restore him to his former state,
And free him from his troubles, soon, or late.
Then, not while then, upon Gods name he calls:
Then sighs, and prayes, because he feels some pain,
And of his sins doth bitterly complain,
But 'cause with pain, not with delight he prays,
His new patch'd up Devotion soon decayes;
When Heavens afford no answer, but delayes.
For how d'ye think a man not formerly
Accustom'd to the works of piety,
Who ne'r before upon Gods name did call,
'Till now he's forc'd to do't for good, and all:
Can, when in trouble, bring his earthly mind,
That never to Devotion was inclin'd,
In love with prayer, a thing it never knew,
Before that time, whose name to it is new.
Especially, when no return is made
As he expects, but that he's still delay'd;
Whilst God his Supplication will not hear,
Though every hour he's at expence of prayer.
Why truly after he some time has spent,
In proving of this new Experiment,
Which men call prayer: and perceiving still
His pains encrease, let him pray what he will,
He gives it over, and will pray no more,
But even continues as he did before
In worldly thoughts, and when approaching Death
Begins to stop the passage of his Breath.
Then he doth pass a vote of None-address
'Gainst Heavens, and falls to earthly business.
Calls for his Books, his Bonds, and Evidents,
His Leases, and judicial Instruments;
Makes Notes of 'em, and quickly sums up all,
220
Is anxious to settle his Affairs,
That he may leave no trouble to his Heirs:
Pays what he owes, will die in debt to none,
And clears accounts with all, but God alone.
Which when h'has done, he thinks to find some rest,
Or, after all, to die in peace, at least.
But O! he's disappointed, for now all
His friends, and kindred do about him craul,
As Crows about a dying Beast, and claim
Some portion of his substance, each of 'em
They buzz about him, with such outward show
Of kindness, and torment his spirit so
With their expecting looks, as he can find
No way to ease his now distracted mind,
Until he satisfie them all, and then
He thinks his spirit may be eas'd of pain.
So makes his Will, and names some Legacie
For each of'em, then thinking he may die
In peace, and ease, he bids them all begone,
Since they have got their asking, but anon
Physicians, Lawyers, Scriveners appear
And each of them too do pretend a share
In that rich Booty.—
These for their labour during his Disease,
Expecting more then ordinary Fees:
These others for the pains, which they have ta'ne
In his Affairs pretend to no small gain:
Hence wearied of his Life, and seeing now
With Riches he can have no more to do,
He signs, and seals whatever these advise
And piece-meals in a thousand Legacies,
His once beloved Dross: then after all
Is gone, he faintly doth for Preachers call:
'Tells them that he has given all away,
And therefore thinks it now high time to pray.
But scarce these good men do begin to speak,
When the poor Worm becomes so faint and weak,
As he is ready to expire, and then
He has no time to hear those pious men:
Only when thoy desire, out of his store,
He may appoint some small thing for the Poor:
He tells them all's now gone, 'has nothing left,
No Means, no Cash, he's now of all bereft:
Then in the view of all, with staring eyes,
Sad grinnings, bitter words, and horrid crys,
He sees his soul depart, and cursing dies.
Thus lives, and dies the wretched Hypocrite,
Who never in devotion took delite:
But O the man, on whom our gracious God
Has Grace bestow'd, walks in another road.
For he acquainted in Prosperity
With daily Prayer at least, when Misery
Doth seize upon him, never doth give or'e
221
He prays, and take delight at all occasions,
To rouze his Soul with pious contemplations.
'Tis true indeed, in excess of his pain,
A piousman may possibly complain
Th'Almighty doth not hear him, when he prays,
And flights his cryes, but O! what then he sayes,
Is but the Language of his fearful sense,
For in his heart, he still with confidence
Believes that God doth hear him, when he cries,
And in the midst of all his miseries,
Perswades himself that God will after all
Those flying Parties of his wrath recall,
And yet restore him to his former state,
And free him from his troubles, soon, or late.
Hence then, my friends, I'd have you understand,
(That I may now apply to th'case in hand
What I have spoke) I am no Hypocrite,
But one indeed, who truly takes delite
In Prayer, and what e're my sorrows be,
Yet still have hopes, as you may plainly see,
In all my carriage, since you hither came,
However you're unkindly pleas'd to blame
My reasonable, though I must confess,
Too oft complainings in my sad distress.
But now, since you allow me time to speak,
I'le teach you, as my God shall me direct,
What is the truth, and wherein you have err'd,
Whilst in your arguing you have still preferr'd
Your own opinions, to what all of you
Cannot but know is evidently true.
(That I may now apply to th'case in hand
What I have spoke) I am no Hypocrite,
But one indeed, who truly takes delite
In Prayer, and what e're my sorrows be,
Yet still have hopes, as you may plainly see,
In all my carriage, since you hither came,
However you're unkindly pleas'd to blame
My reasonable, though I must confess,
Too oft complainings in my sad distress.
But now, since you allow me time to speak,
I'le teach you, as my God shall me direct,
What is the truth, and wherein you have err'd,
Whilst in your arguing you have still preferr'd
Your own opinions, to what all of you
Cannot but know is evidently true.
I'le tell you nothing, but what you have seen
With your own eyes, although you do maintain
Opinions flatly opposite, I'le show
No more but what observing men do know.
I'le tell you of the various dispensations
Of the Almighty upon all occasions,
Which of his power are no smal demonstrations.
For sure Gods actings are must wonderful
In all our eyes, and there is none so dull,
But may perceive his providence is such,
As all of us cannot admire too much.
His government o'th' world is so sublime,
As those poor souls, who know no more of him,
Then by effects, and do not understand,
As we do, how his high and mighty hand
All things below doth solely regulate,
Yet do admire him, by the name of Fate.
With your own eyes, although you do maintain
Opinions flatly opposite, I'le show
No more but what observing men do know.
I'le tell you of the various dispensations
Of the Almighty upon all occasions,
Which of his power are no smal demonstrations.
For sure Gods actings are must wonderful
In all our eyes, and there is none so dull,
But may perceive his providence is such,
As all of us cannot admire too much.
His government o'th' world is so sublime,
As those poor souls, who know no more of him,
Then by effects, and do not understand,
As we do, how his high and mighty hand
All things below doth solely regulate,
Yet do admire him, by the name of Fate.
Since then, my friends, as I do understand
That all along the Question in hand
Has been amongst us, whether God doth prove
Infallibly his anger, and his love
By blows, and blessings: which, though formerly
We've agitate to the extremity
Of reasoning: yet that you all may see,
How in the Question we may soon agree,
If passion, and private interest,
For your own wit did not possess your breast;
I'le show you (to give your discourse its due)
What you have spoke, is in some cases true,
For all this while I never did deny,
But that our God his wrath doth testify
Against bad men, by judgements visible,
And that sometimes they are infallible,
And open signs of his displeasure, when
He has a mind to plague the worst of men
With sad afflictions.—
Yet I acknowledge in his providence,
Oft-times indeed he makes a difference
Betwixt the just, and unjust man, and shows,
By the ones blessings, and he others woes,
Whom he doth love, and whom he truly hates,
By demonstrations in their different states.
The portion of the wicked, I confess,
Is in my apprehension, nothing less,
Then what their foul and loud-tongu'd sins do merit,
And all bad livers justly should inherit.
That all along the Question in hand
Has been amongst us, whether God doth prove
Infallibly his anger, and his love
By blows, and blessings: which, though formerly
We've agitate to the extremity
222
How in the Question we may soon agree,
If passion, and private interest,
For your own wit did not possess your breast;
I'le show you (to give your discourse its due)
What you have spoke, is in some cases true,
For all this while I never did deny,
But that our God his wrath doth testify
Against bad men, by judgements visible,
And that sometimes they are infallible,
And open signs of his displeasure, when
He has a mind to plague the worst of men
With sad afflictions.—
Yet I acknowledge in his providence,
Oft-times indeed he makes a difference
Betwixt the just, and unjust man, and shows,
By the ones blessings, and he others woes,
Whom he doth love, and whom he truly hates,
By demonstrations in their different states.
The portion of the wicked, I confess,
Is in my apprehension, nothing less,
Then what their foul and loud-tongu'd sins do merit,
And all bad livers justly should inherit.
For, let's observe now, though God for a while
Upon the wicked man doth seem to smile;
And all the blessings, which his very heart
Can wish, he freely to him doth impart.
Though he permits his Race to multiply,
In figure of a numerous Family,
Yet they by Sword, and Famine all shall dye.
Upon the wicked man doth seem to smile;
And all the blessings, which his very heart
Can wish, he freely to him doth impart.
Though he permits his Race to multiply,
In figure of a numerous Family,
Yet they by Sword, and Famine all shall dye.
Nay such of 'em as shall escape both these,
Shall in great want, and misery end their dayes,
In some dark corner they shall meet with death,
VVho privatly shall rob them of their breath;
And then their Corps expos'd to publick view,
To see if any own them, but by few
Known, or regarded, without Pomp and State,
At length by warrand from the Magistrate,
In publick Bear, to th'grave are carried
By Pioneers, and simply buried,
VVithout all Ceremonious Obsequies,
Or sumptuous noise of Mercenary cries:
Nay, their own Widows shall so much abhore
Their loathsome Corps, that they shall not deplore
Their Husbands Funerals, or Mourning wear
At such a sad occasion, but appear
VVell satisfi'd that such bad men are gone,
And shall not think it lawful to bemoan
The Fate of such vile wretches, who deserv'd
No milder death, then to be stobb'd, or starv'd.
Shall in great want, and misery end their dayes,
In some dark corner they shall meet with death,
VVho privatly shall rob them of their breath;
And then their Corps expos'd to publick view,
To see if any own them, but by few
Known, or regarded, without Pomp and State,
At length by warrand from the Magistrate,
In publick Bear, to th'grave are carried
By Pioneers, and simply buried,
VVithout all Ceremonious Obsequies,
Or sumptuous noise of Mercenary cries:
Nay, their own Widows shall so much abhore
Their loathsome Corps, that they shall not deplore
Their Husbands Funerals, or Mourning wear
At such a sad occasion, but appear
VVell satisfi'd that such bad men are gone,
And shall not think it lawful to bemoan
The Fate of such vile wretches, who deserv'd
No milder death, then to be stobb'd, or starv'd.
Now, as we see, hee's punish'd in his race,
Ev'n so he shall be in no better case
As to his means, for let him silver heap,
Like very dust, let him in Prison keep
Whole Tuns of Gold: and in his Wardrobe lay
Rich changes of apparrel every day:
By which vain signs, he may his wealth expresse,
And fancy to himself some happinesse,
In these enjoyments, whilst he seems to fear
No prospect of a revolution here.
Ev'n so he shall be in no better case
As to his means, for let him silver heap,
Like very dust, let him in Prison keep
223
Rich changes of apparrel every day:
By which vain signs, he may his wealth expresse,
And fancy to himself some happinesse,
In these enjoyments, whilst he seems to fear
No prospect of a revolution here.
Why let him do so, let him purchase Lands,
Draw all the Countreys Cash into his hands,
Build stately Houses, furnish them with all
What Merchants can import, and proudly call
His Summer-dwelling this, his Winter that,
These Rooms for Service, these for Pomp and State;
And for his pleasure, and convenience.
Enclose whole Mannors within Wall, and Fence,
Raze Office-houses, Chappels, Villages,
Hew down great Rocks, cut Woods, drain Marishes,
And all the Hands, Horse, Carts o'th' Countrey use,
For beautifying of his Avenues.
Let him in rich, and costly Garb appear,
And flatter every season of the year,
With changes of apparrel: let him do
What ever he thinks fit: let him allow
All kinds of pleasure to himself, and play
In idle fancies all his time away.
Yet of all these things he has but the trust,
He's only a provisor for the just,
For when God thinks it time.
By just decree, he'll re-assume that all,
Which this poor man his property doth call:
And let it fall to those, by pure donation,
From whom this man, by cunning, and oppression,
Had wrested all this opulent Estate,
And in his person fully terminate
The expectation of his memory,
Whilst his unpitied, starving Family,
Shall on the Streets, and High-ways beg their bread,
Or else in Prison, on the Basket feed.
Draw all the Countreys Cash into his hands,
Build stately Houses, furnish them with all
What Merchants can import, and proudly call
His Summer-dwelling this, his Winter that,
These Rooms for Service, these for Pomp and State;
And for his pleasure, and convenience.
Enclose whole Mannors within Wall, and Fence,
Raze Office-houses, Chappels, Villages,
Hew down great Rocks, cut Woods, drain Marishes,
And all the Hands, Horse, Carts o'th' Countrey use,
For beautifying of his Avenues.
Let him in rich, and costly Garb appear,
And flatter every season of the year,
With changes of apparrel: let him do
What ever he thinks fit: let him allow
All kinds of pleasure to himself, and play
In idle fancies all his time away.
Yet of all these things he has but the trust,
He's only a provisor for the just,
For when God thinks it time.
By just decree, he'll re-assume that all,
Which this poor man his property doth call:
And let it fall to those, by pure donation,
From whom this man, by cunning, and oppression,
Had wrested all this opulent Estate,
And in his person fully terminate
The expectation of his memory,
Whilst his unpitied, starving Family,
Shall on the Streets, and High-ways beg their bread,
Or else in Prison, on the Basket feed.
For as that silly Insect, call'd a Moth,
Takes up its Lodging in the finest Cloath,
With a full resolution there to dwell,
But the poor Worm is hardly settled well
In its new quarter, when the cleansing Brush
Doth sweep it out, and all its Projects crush.
Or, if it scape the Brush, and longer there
'Tis suffered to remain: why, all its care
Is to secure its house: yet every day
It wasts some part of its own house away.
For gnawing through the cloath in every fold,
It eats it self both out of house, and hold.
Or, as we see, how Pedlers do at Fairs,
Set up their Booths, where they expose their Wares
For a few days, and when the time is gone
Allow'd for Sale, they quickly take them down.
Even so this vain possessing-fool, who dreams
On nothing, but uninterrupted streams
Of pleasures here on Earth, perpetually
Drunk with the notion of a memory,
Which he with care endeavours to erect
In Lands, and Houses, whilst he doth expect
No stop to his design: Deaths cleansing Brush
Sweeps him away, not valuing a rush
His long possession: or, if at the best,
He lives yet longer, why he doth but waste
What he enjoys, and eats out all at last,
For when his Merchant-time on Earth is gone,
His Pedling-booth shall soon be taken down.
Takes up its Lodging in the finest Cloath,
With a full resolution there to dwell,
But the poor Worm is hardly settled well
In its new quarter, when the cleansing Brush
Doth sweep it out, and all its Projects crush.
Or, if it scape the Brush, and longer there
'Tis suffered to remain: why, all its care
Is to secure its house: yet every day
It wasts some part of its own house away.
For gnawing through the cloath in every fold,
It eats it self both out of house, and hold.
Or, as we see, how Pedlers do at Fairs,
Set up their Booths, where they expose their Wares
For a few days, and when the time is gone
Allow'd for Sale, they quickly take them down.
Even so this vain possessing-fool, who dreams
224
Of pleasures here on Earth, perpetually
Drunk with the notion of a memory,
Which he with care endeavours to erect
In Lands, and Houses, whilst he doth expect
No stop to his design: Deaths cleansing Brush
Sweeps him away, not valuing a rush
His long possession: or, if at the best,
He lives yet longer, why he doth but waste
What he enjoys, and eats out all at last,
For when his Merchant-time on Earth is gone,
His Pedling-booth shall soon be taken down.
And, as we see, when one lyes down to sleep,
Whilst slumber on his eyes doth gently creep,
How, on a suddain, from the spongious brain
Thin pituite, upon his Lungs doth rain,
With such impetuous force, as, e're his eyes
Are fully opened, in this sad surprize,
Chock'd with increasing Phlegm, he quickly dyes.
So a rich fool, when he himself doth please
With his enjoyments, lives at his own ease.
And 'mongst his Coffers, in his Closet sits,
With head on arm, a racking of his wits,
By what sure methods, he may regulat
The several intrigues of his vast Estate:
And in his anxious mind doth seem to doubt,
With many a groan, whether he shall give out
That useless Coine which in his Trunks doth ly,
On Lands, or on some firm Security.
When the poor soul of nothing lesse doth dream,
Death siezes on him, like a suddain flame,
'Mongst Flax, or Hemp, and in a moments space,
Doth all his projects utterly deface.
Whilst slumber on his eyes doth gently creep,
How, on a suddain, from the spongious brain
Thin pituite, upon his Lungs doth rain,
With such impetuous force, as, e're his eyes
Are fully opened, in this sad surprize,
Chock'd with increasing Phlegm, he quickly dyes.
So a rich fool, when he himself doth please
With his enjoyments, lives at his own ease.
And 'mongst his Coffers, in his Closet sits,
With head on arm, a racking of his wits,
By what sure methods, he may regulat
The several intrigues of his vast Estate:
And in his anxious mind doth seem to doubt,
With many a groan, whether he shall give out
That useless Coine which in his Trunks doth ly,
On Lands, or on some firm Security.
When the poor soul of nothing lesse doth dream,
Death siezes on him, like a suddain flame,
'Mongst Flax, or Hemp, and in a moments space,
Doth all his projects utterly deface.
For though our God permits this fool to live
Even as he pleases, and doth freely give
All that he can demand, yet after all,
When this rich Mole, he to account doth call
How he has liv'd, how he his time hath us'd,
How he that wealth has shamefully abus'd,
Which God did give him: how he has employ'd
Those peaceful years, which he so long enjoy'd.
How he has us'd those Parts, and Qualities,
With which he was endu'd, whilst all mens eyes
Were fix'd upon him, and from so much wit
Expected some fine things, yet he thought fit
To make no use of such, but like a Clown,
To waste his time, in scrambling up, and down,
Amongst his Tennents, scraping all together
Against next Term, and never did consider
How Death approach'd, who'd squander in a trice,
All he had heap'd up by his avarice.
How he was now become the very jest,
And scandal of his age: and was at best,
For all his riches, all his toil, and care,
Esteem'd but a penurious Usurer.
When then, I say, this man's examined,
And all his silly actions canvassed:
God doth not punish him by halfs, or show
Some signs of wrath, e're he inflict a blow:
No, at one single thrust, he doth him maul,
And payes him home severely once for all.
For whilst before, he liv'd in wealth, and ease,
Enjoying of himself, like Mouse in Cheese,
The blow from Heavens is given, and anon,
E're he knows whence it comes, the man is gone.
Even as he pleases, and doth freely give
All that he can demand, yet after all,
When this rich Mole, he to account doth call
How he has liv'd, how he his time hath us'd,
How he that wealth has shamefully abus'd,
Which God did give him: how he has employ'd
Those peaceful years, which he so long enjoy'd.
How he has us'd those Parts, and Qualities,
With which he was endu'd, whilst all mens eyes
Were fix'd upon him, and from so much wit
Expected some fine things, yet he thought fit
To make no use of such, but like a Clown,
To waste his time, in scrambling up, and down,
Amongst his Tennents, scraping all together
Against next Term, and never did consider
How Death approach'd, who'd squander in a trice,
All he had heap'd up by his avarice.
How he was now become the very jest,
And scandal of his age: and was at best,
For all his riches, all his toil, and care,
225
When then, I say, this man's examined,
And all his silly actions canvassed:
God doth not punish him by halfs, or show
Some signs of wrath, e're he inflict a blow:
No, at one single thrust, he doth him maul,
And payes him home severely once for all.
For whilst before, he liv'd in wealth, and ease,
Enjoying of himself, like Mouse in Cheese,
The blow from Heavens is given, and anon,
E're he knows whence it comes, the man is gone.
What shall I say then? how shall I expresse
The violence, the force, the suddainnesse
Of this mans fall? why? even as Rivers swell'd
With rains, will be no more by Banks with-held,
But in the silence of the night, when all
Are fast asleep, break down their Dikes, and fall
On Neighbouring Villages, and suddainly
Transport some thousands to Eternity,
Before they can awake, by force of streams,
Without once interrupting of their dreams,
But in a rapid torrent bear away
All to the Ocean, e're it is yet day.
The violence, the force, the suddainnesse
Of this mans fall? why? even as Rivers swell'd
With rains, will be no more by Banks with-held,
But in the silence of the night, when all
Are fast asleep, break down their Dikes, and fall
On Neighbouring Villages, and suddainly
Transport some thousands to Eternity,
Before they can awake, by force of streams,
Without once interrupting of their dreams,
But in a rapid torrent bear away
All to the Ocean, e're it is yet day.
Or as the East-wind from the Persian Shore
Upon our Coasts doth suddenly flee o're,
And with such fury doth our fields invade,
As Trees, and Houses, on the ground are laid,
I'th' twinkling of an eye, and men are toss't
On Land, as if at Sea, and many lost
In most impetuous storms, of blowing-sand,
Which Eastern-winds do raise within this land.
So suddain shall this rich-mans down-fall be,
Thunder-struck from above, e're he can see
The hand that gives the blow: he's hurryed
With fury hence, and quickly buried
In his own ruins, whilst no man can tell
How, or by what means, this tall Cedar fell.
Upon our Coasts doth suddenly flee o're,
And with such fury doth our fields invade,
As Trees, and Houses, on the ground are laid,
I'th' twinkling of an eye, and men are toss't
On Land, as if at Sea, and many lost
In most impetuous storms, of blowing-sand,
Which Eastern-winds do raise within this land.
So suddain shall this rich-mans down-fall be,
Thunder-struck from above, e're he can see
The hand that gives the blow: he's hurryed
With fury hence, and quickly buried
In his own ruins, whilst no man can tell
How, or by what means, this tall Cedar fell.
For, O, the blow, the blow from God alone,
From his high hand, resistible by none,
Truly proceeds: from his Almighty hand,
Which holds the Truncheon of supream command,
O're all created things: from that alone
Judgements, as stones out of a sling, are thrown
Upon this sinning man; sorrows in heaps
Are cast upon him, whilst th'Almighty keeps
Himself at distance from him: and denys
To hear his Prayer, when he sadly crys.
No, God in Wrath shall so pursue this man,
As let him run, let him do what he can
T'escape his blow, yet all shall be in vain,
For he by judgements shall be overtane,
Where e're he goes: let him run any where,
And in great horrour ramble here, and there,
On Sea, on Land, and often change his Clyme,
Yet still his judgement doth attend his Crime.
Gods heavy wrath pursues him constantly,
And finds him out, where ever he doth fly.
For still the more, he thinks to fly, the more,
His wrath pursues him, and doth ne're give o're,
Untill it lay this Rebel in the Dust,
And beat him all to pieces.—
For none, but such as he, who does not know
The good, and just inflicter of his blow,
Who with Heavens King is wholly unacquaint,
Will strive to fly, at such an exigent,
From his all-reaching-hand: but rather ly
Flat on their face, when him in wrath they spy;
And by degrees endeavour still to creep
Nigh to his Foot-stool; for he doth not keep
His wrath 'gainst such, as in adversity
Do thither run, as to a Sanctuary,
But plagues those only, who from him doth fly.
Hence all good men, when they perceive the Rod,
Endeavour quickly to draw nigh to God,
Knowing 'tis only as a warning sent,
That they his further anger may prevent,
By application, to the Throne of Grace,
To which the humble freely may address,
At all times, and occasions, and so,
By fervent prayer, they escape the blow.
From his high hand, resistible by none,
Truly proceeds: from his Almighty hand,
Which holds the Truncheon of supream command,
O're all created things: from that alone
Judgements, as stones out of a sling, are thrown
Upon this sinning man; sorrows in heaps
Are cast upon him, whilst th'Almighty keeps
Himself at distance from him: and denys
To hear his Prayer, when he sadly crys.
No, God in Wrath shall so pursue this man,
As let him run, let him do what he can
T'escape his blow, yet all shall be in vain,
For he by judgements shall be overtane,
Where e're he goes: let him run any where,
And in great horrour ramble here, and there,
On Sea, on Land, and often change his Clyme,
226
Gods heavy wrath pursues him constantly,
And finds him out, where ever he doth fly.
For still the more, he thinks to fly, the more,
His wrath pursues him, and doth ne're give o're,
Untill it lay this Rebel in the Dust,
And beat him all to pieces.—
For none, but such as he, who does not know
The good, and just inflicter of his blow,
Who with Heavens King is wholly unacquaint,
Will strive to fly, at such an exigent,
From his all-reaching-hand: but rather ly
Flat on their face, when him in wrath they spy;
And by degrees endeavour still to creep
Nigh to his Foot-stool; for he doth not keep
His wrath 'gainst such, as in adversity
Do thither run, as to a Sanctuary,
But plagues those only, who from him doth fly.
Hence all good men, when they perceive the Rod,
Endeavour quickly to draw nigh to God,
Knowing 'tis only as a warning sent,
That they his further anger may prevent,
By application, to the Throne of Grace,
To which the humble freely may address,
At all times, and occasions, and so,
By fervent prayer, they escape the blow.
And when the day shall come, that God thinks fit,
'Gainst this great man to issue out his writ:
When he intends this Gyant to destroy,
His neighbours all around shall shout for joy:
And at his down-fall openly proclaime,
How much they did abhor his hateful name,
Whose sins did so far antedate his shame.
'Gainst this great man to issue out his writ:
When he intends this Gyant to destroy,
His neighbours all around shall shout for joy:
And at his down-fall openly proclaime,
How much they did abhor his hateful name,
Whose sins did so far antedate his shame.
Cap. XXVIII.
Thus then you see, how friendly I allow
What you assert, but I must tell you now,
That after all, 'tis my opinion still,
(Reason to th'contrair, as much as you will)
That though th'Almighty on the wicked sends
Those ills, I have related, yet, my friends,
We must not thence conclude at any rate,
That in his actings God is limitat,
To punish only such as plagues do merit,
For I do hold that as he is a Spirit,
Infinit, and incomprehensible,
So all his actings are unsearchable.
And therefore, of a truth, I see not well,
How we can longer on this subject dwell,
And dive into the knowledge of such things,
As far exceed all humane reasonings:
Or strive to comprehend, without offence,
The various windings of his Providence.
'Tis true, the wit of man, may safely pry
In things on Earth, and with security,
Unriddle all the mystick passages,
Which in the Book of Nature, do expresse
His Power, and Glory, and which he thought fit
T'abscond, that he might try his Creatures wit,
In finding of them out, 'tis true indeed,
A man with satisfaction may read
The works of God: as by his mighty hand,
Has writ them in the Caverns of the Land,
And bottom of the Seas: yea, we suppose,
One may all Natures Cabinet unclose,
By force of art: and happily find out
Each privat shuttle, whilst he looks about
For things conceal'd, nay, there he safely may
By his own art, discover every day
The greatnesse of his God: especially
When in Earths bowels, with an Artists eye
In search of Mines, and Minerals he doth pry.
Yes, in all these, 'tis lawful for a man
To try his wit, and labour what he can
To trace those By-roads of obscurity,
Which lead to th'Caverns, where Earths Treasures ly.
For our great God not only doth allow
Such curious searchings, but assists him too
In his endeavours, so as he doth find,
Besides great wealth, a mean t'enrich his mind,
By knowledge of those Mines, which certainly,
Fully compenses all his industry.
Whils't he admires to see in every Mine,
How much the glory of his God doth shine,
And, as he works, discovers more, and more,
His worth, and sees his power in every Ore.
What you assert, but I must tell you now,
That after all, 'tis my opinion still,
(Reason to th'contrair, as much as you will)
That though th'Almighty on the wicked sends
Those ills, I have related, yet, my friends,
We must not thence conclude at any rate,
That in his actings God is limitat,
To punish only such as plagues do merit,
For I do hold that as he is a Spirit,
Infinit, and incomprehensible,
So all his actings are unsearchable.
And therefore, of a truth, I see not well,
How we can longer on this subject dwell,
227
As far exceed all humane reasonings:
Or strive to comprehend, without offence,
The various windings of his Providence.
'Tis true, the wit of man, may safely pry
In things on Earth, and with security,
Unriddle all the mystick passages,
Which in the Book of Nature, do expresse
His Power, and Glory, and which he thought fit
T'abscond, that he might try his Creatures wit,
In finding of them out, 'tis true indeed,
A man with satisfaction may read
The works of God: as by his mighty hand,
Has writ them in the Caverns of the Land,
And bottom of the Seas: yea, we suppose,
One may all Natures Cabinet unclose,
By force of art: and happily find out
Each privat shuttle, whilst he looks about
For things conceal'd, nay, there he safely may
By his own art, discover every day
The greatnesse of his God: especially
When in Earths bowels, with an Artists eye
In search of Mines, and Minerals he doth pry.
Yes, in all these, 'tis lawful for a man
To try his wit, and labour what he can
To trace those By-roads of obscurity,
Which lead to th'Caverns, where Earths Treasures ly.
For our great God not only doth allow
Such curious searchings, but assists him too
In his endeavours, so as he doth find,
Besides great wealth, a mean t'enrich his mind,
By knowledge of those Mines, which certainly,
Fully compenses all his industry.
Whils't he admires to see in every Mine,
How much the glory of his God doth shine,
And, as he works, discovers more, and more,
His worth, and sees his power in every Ore.
For who'd not take delite to understand,
How in Earths womb that high and mighty hand
Which all things fram'd, has fram'd those Mettals too,
About which Artists keep so much ado.
Whilst some do think that in the first Creation,
All Stones, and Mettals, in the very fashion,
As now we see them, did exist compleat,
'Gainst which opinion, others do debate,
That they're not of Original Creation,
But are produc'd by daily Generation,
'Twixt sulphur, as they think, and Mercury,
Which in Earths hidden Veins do scattered ly:
Of which, that Male, and this, they Female call,
From whose congression, every Mineral
They say doth spring, and to conceal the same,
That fœtid spirit, this dry-water name.
Yet, though from this Congression they hold
All other Mettals flow, they say that Gold,
As a most perfect, pure, and solid Creature,
VVithout all mixtion, is produc'd by Nature,
Others again, who make it their profession,
To know such things, say from the same congression,
Gold doth proceed: for if the mixture be
In just proportions, and they both agree
In quantity, then by a temperat,
And soft Decoction, with a moderat heat,
I'th' bowels of clean earth, and there condens'd
VVith Moisture Radical, earth wash'd and cleans'd
From all corruption, they at length become
A fusile thing, and this is held by some
To be pure Gold; next when that mixture fails,
And Sulphure over Mercury prevails,
Then Silver is produc'd, which they esteem
As baser, and Gold's younger Brother name.
Then, when the substance of these is impure,
And they're not mix'd with æquilibrature,
Nor in earths bowels duely tempered,
They do become Tinn, Iron, Copper, Lead.
Against this too, there's others do debate,
And say all Minerals are procreat
From th'mixture of thin Earth, with whitest Water,
Which they affirm to be the only matter
Whence Mettals do proceed, and that 'tis so,
They prove, 'cause Mettals do like Water flow,
By strength of Fire: from whence they do assert,
As all things are reduc'd, by Rules of Art,
To their first Principles, so when we see
Those Mettals flow, their Matter sure must be
Some liquid thing: for so they say 'tis plain,
VVhen they by cold are soon condens'd again
As waters are. Others again assert,
And labour to make out, by Rules of Art,
That out of Earth, and VVater mix'd, adust,
And in Earth's Oven, bak'd into a Crust:
Springs Vitriol, which doth all Mettals breed,
From which, as their first Matter, they proceed.
Because all Mettals, when dissolv'd, appear
Like Vitriol: besides they say, 'tis clear,
That Oyl from Vitriol Sublimat is drawn,
By which all Mettals are reduc'd again
To their first Matter. Others there be yet,
VVho on this Subject eagerly debate,
That from earths intrails a dry breath ascends,
VVhich mix't with watry vapours upward tends,
And, as it meets with earth accomodate,
And by its matter become Sublimate,
Condens'd by cold, this, or that Mettal flows,
And it Gold, Silver, Lead, Iron, Copper grows.
And last of all, there's others that debate
That Mettals are all truly procreat
'Twixt th'elements, which do give both to all,
And those we name Bodies Celestial.
But whatsoever be their generation,
Sure 'tis a matter worth our admiration,
To think Earths bowels doth such things prepare
As frets us all to know what things they are.
Mystical creatures whose origination
In vain we search; and trace their procreation,
But by uncertain rules; for after all
We must acknowledge every Mineral
Is fram'd by th'hand of God; and seriously,
After all Arts, profound subtility,
What we suppose, their birth must be confess't
Are but sublime conjectures at the best.
How in Earths womb that high and mighty hand
Which all things fram'd, has fram'd those Mettals too,
About which Artists keep so much ado.
Whilst some do think that in the first Creation,
All Stones, and Mettals, in the very fashion,
As now we see them, did exist compleat,
'Gainst which opinion, others do debate,
That they're not of Original Creation,
But are produc'd by daily Generation,
'Twixt sulphur, as they think, and Mercury,
Which in Earths hidden Veins do scattered ly:
Of which, that Male, and this, they Female call,
From whose congression, every Mineral
They say doth spring, and to conceal the same,
That fœtid spirit, this dry-water name.
Yet, though from this Congression they hold
228
As a most perfect, pure, and solid Creature,
VVithout all mixtion, is produc'd by Nature,
Others again, who make it their profession,
To know such things, say from the same congression,
Gold doth proceed: for if the mixture be
In just proportions, and they both agree
In quantity, then by a temperat,
And soft Decoction, with a moderat heat,
I'th' bowels of clean earth, and there condens'd
VVith Moisture Radical, earth wash'd and cleans'd
From all corruption, they at length become
A fusile thing, and this is held by some
To be pure Gold; next when that mixture fails,
And Sulphure over Mercury prevails,
Then Silver is produc'd, which they esteem
As baser, and Gold's younger Brother name.
Then, when the substance of these is impure,
And they're not mix'd with æquilibrature,
Nor in earths bowels duely tempered,
They do become Tinn, Iron, Copper, Lead.
Against this too, there's others do debate,
And say all Minerals are procreat
From th'mixture of thin Earth, with whitest Water,
Which they affirm to be the only matter
Whence Mettals do proceed, and that 'tis so,
They prove, 'cause Mettals do like Water flow,
By strength of Fire: from whence they do assert,
As all things are reduc'd, by Rules of Art,
To their first Principles, so when we see
Those Mettals flow, their Matter sure must be
Some liquid thing: for so they say 'tis plain,
VVhen they by cold are soon condens'd again
As waters are. Others again assert,
And labour to make out, by Rules of Art,
That out of Earth, and VVater mix'd, adust,
And in Earth's Oven, bak'd into a Crust:
Springs Vitriol, which doth all Mettals breed,
From which, as their first Matter, they proceed.
Because all Mettals, when dissolv'd, appear
Like Vitriol: besides they say, 'tis clear,
That Oyl from Vitriol Sublimat is drawn,
By which all Mettals are reduc'd again
To their first Matter. Others there be yet,
VVho on this Subject eagerly debate,
That from earths intrails a dry breath ascends,
VVhich mix't with watry vapours upward tends,
And, as it meets with earth accomodate,
And by its matter become Sublimate,
Condens'd by cold, this, or that Mettal flows,
And it Gold, Silver, Lead, Iron, Copper grows.
And last of all, there's others that debate
That Mettals are all truly procreat
'Twixt th'elements, which do give both to all,
229
But whatsoever be their generation,
Sure 'tis a matter worth our admiration,
To think Earths bowels doth such things prepare
As frets us all to know what things they are.
Mystical creatures whose origination
In vain we search; and trace their procreation,
But by uncertain rules; for after all
We must acknowledge every Mineral
Is fram'd by th'hand of God; and seriously,
After all Arts, profound subtility,
What we suppose, their birth must be confess't
Are but sublime conjectures at the best.
Then to proceed to th'several species,
Of that so vagrant subterraneous race:
First let's observe what we in Silver see,
Which from Earths-center, branches like a Tree,
And its small roots so cunningly doth spread,
Some here, some there, on purpose scattered,
As though it fear'd to be discovered,
By th'Art of Miners, yet the Art of man
Finds out this Mineral do what it can
To hide it self in Natures most recluse,
And private Cells; and for a publick use
Brings it above Ground; where the silly Ore,
Which in Earths bowels signified no more
Then its own Sparr: and in no more esteem
Then Lead, or Copper, soon procures a name.
After it's washen, sifted, melted, cast
In massy Ingots, stamp'd, and coyn'd at last,
Above its fellow Minerals, and doth hold
In mens esteem the second place to Gold.
To Gold, why there too is a boasting Ore,
Though in its Veins it signifies no more
Then other Mettals, yellow Earth at best,
Meer coloured Dust, but once brought to the Test,
'Tis no more dust, 'tis no more simple Ore,
No more a heap of Sand, as't was before:
But now a most illustrious name it bears,
Beyond all Mettals, and indeed appears
To be the Worlds Idol.
Of that so vagrant subterraneous race:
First let's observe what we in Silver see,
Which from Earths-center, branches like a Tree,
And its small roots so cunningly doth spread,
Some here, some there, on purpose scattered,
As though it fear'd to be discovered,
By th'Art of Miners, yet the Art of man
Finds out this Mineral do what it can
To hide it self in Natures most recluse,
And private Cells; and for a publick use
Brings it above Ground; where the silly Ore,
Which in Earths bowels signified no more
Then its own Sparr: and in no more esteem
Then Lead, or Copper, soon procures a name.
After it's washen, sifted, melted, cast
In massy Ingots, stamp'd, and coyn'd at last,
Above its fellow Minerals, and doth hold
In mens esteem the second place to Gold.
To Gold, why there too is a boasting Ore,
Though in its Veins it signifies no more
Then other Mettals, yellow Earth at best,
Meer coloured Dust, but once brought to the Test,
'Tis no more dust, 'tis no more simple Ore,
No more a heap of Sand, as't was before:
But now a most illustrious name it bears,
Beyond all Mettals, and indeed appears
To be the Worlds Idol.
This, O this, Mettal! this dear Mineral!
This Earths Elixir! this fair all in all!
This princely Dust! what figures doth it make
Amongst poor Mortals! how oft doth it break
The bonds of Conscience, and Morality,
Th'interest of Blood, and common Honesty;
Makes wars and Tumults 'mongst the race of men,
And quickly reconciles them all again.
Tyes, and un-tyes, kills, wounds; and heals apace,
Leads men in favour, brings them in disgrace:
Sets up with this hand, and with that pulls down,
What 'ere it lists, from th'Budget to the Crown,
This is the Standart, which doth regulate
The actions of men; and sets a Rate,
On every Head, this puts a Valuation
On every Kingdom, State, and Corporation.
In short, this Gold makes such a mighty sound,
And keeps such Domineering, above ground,
As it gives Laws to all the World a-round.
For Gold, for Gold, alace all's bart'red now
For that proud Mettal; and with much adoe;
A few poor soules, who generouslie soare
Above the scent of that infecting Ore
Escape, which, were they catch'd, would soon be sold,
Amongst so many thousands too for Gold.
This Earths Elixir! this fair all in all!
This princely Dust! what figures doth it make
Amongst poor Mortals! how oft doth it break
The bonds of Conscience, and Morality,
Th'interest of Blood, and common Honesty;
Makes wars and Tumults 'mongst the race of men,
And quickly reconciles them all again.
Tyes, and un-tyes, kills, wounds; and heals apace,
Leads men in favour, brings them in disgrace:
Sets up with this hand, and with that pulls down,
What 'ere it lists, from th'Budget to the Crown,
This is the Standart, which doth regulate
230
On every Head, this puts a Valuation
On every Kingdom, State, and Corporation.
In short, this Gold makes such a mighty sound,
And keeps such Domineering, above ground,
As it gives Laws to all the World a-round.
For Gold, for Gold, alace all's bart'red now
For that proud Mettal; and with much adoe;
A few poor soules, who generouslie soare
Above the scent of that infecting Ore
Escape, which, were they catch'd, would soon be sold,
Amongst so many thousands too for Gold.
Yet that I may give this same Gold its due,
As't has its Vices, for its Virtues too
Are Eminent, which Artists do relate,
Who of the state of Minerals do treate.
'Tis prov'd by these, then in their Operations,
(Which surely are the best of Demonstrations)
That gold is such a Mettal, as the fire,
(In which all other Minerals expire,
At least much of their Weight and Substance lose
In every trial) though from Bellows nose,
Suppli'd with constant aid; yet after all
Can not subdue this solid Mineral;
Or make it quit the very smallest grain,
Of Weight, which in its Ore it did contain.
Next as a mark of its true purity,
We see it has this singular quality,
Above all other Mettals: that it never
Leaves any Tincture on the hand, however
It frequently be handled: then again
Sharp Juyces, which all other Mettals stain,
And by degrees corrodes: if Gold do ly
In such, it nothing of its quantity
Doth lose: nay, to the brim a Vessel fill
With Water, then but sink it in with skill,
A lump of Gold, yet th'water shall not spill,
Or in the least run over, by which sign
Artists find out, what Gold is purely fine.
For if but allay'd with the smallest Grain
Of other Mettals, 't will, run o're. Again
This Gold, though pure, and soft, yet 'tis not frail,
Nor can the Hammer in the least prevail
To break this Mettal: as 't would do a Stone,
In little pieces, no, for 't is well known,
By strength of hand, upon the Anvil beat,
In such thin Leaves it doth it self dilate,
As out of one Grain fifty Leaves, or moe
Have been beat out by th'hammer: whence we know
Of what pure Matter Gold consists. Again
This Mettal seems for ever to remain
In its perfection, for when eating Rust
Reduces other Minerals to Dust,
By length of wasting-time, on upright Gold,
What eats all other Mettals, takes no hold:
On Gold: no Rust, no Verdi-greese appears,
Though buried under ground a thousand years:
But after all, its Weight, and Quantitie,
Pure Substance, solid Grain, and Qualitie
Will be the same, as when at first prepar'd
By Artists hand. Then if we do regard
Its usefulnesse for Humane Life, no Mine
Produces such a Cordial Medicine,
As is this Gold: for being cold and dry,
It guards the heart by its Frigidity,
From all infecting Exhalations, hence
Princes not onlie for Magnificence,
But out of Cups of Gold for Health do drink,
As out of Wholesome Mettal, for some think
Gold for its drynesse powerfullie resists
All Putrid Humours.—
Then for Splenetick Vapors, Plates of Gold
Made often hot, i'th' fire, as often cool'd
In Earthen Vessels, full of purest Wine
Drunk up by such, whom that Disease doth pine,
Doth quicklie cure 'em: nay this Liquor too,
As most of our Physicians avow,
And some inform us by Experience,
Is a firm Antidote against Pestilence,
And these infected Cures. But what needs more,
'Twould take up too much time to reckon o're
Its numerous qualities: now let us see
What other Minerals in Earths Closet be,
As't has its Vices, for its Virtues too
Are Eminent, which Artists do relate,
Who of the state of Minerals do treate.
'Tis prov'd by these, then in their Operations,
(Which surely are the best of Demonstrations)
That gold is such a Mettal, as the fire,
(In which all other Minerals expire,
At least much of their Weight and Substance lose
In every trial) though from Bellows nose,
Suppli'd with constant aid; yet after all
Can not subdue this solid Mineral;
Or make it quit the very smallest grain,
Of Weight, which in its Ore it did contain.
Next as a mark of its true purity,
We see it has this singular quality,
Above all other Mettals: that it never
Leaves any Tincture on the hand, however
It frequently be handled: then again
Sharp Juyces, which all other Mettals stain,
And by degrees corrodes: if Gold do ly
In such, it nothing of its quantity
Doth lose: nay, to the brim a Vessel fill
With Water, then but sink it in with skill,
A lump of Gold, yet th'water shall not spill,
Or in the least run over, by which sign
Artists find out, what Gold is purely fine.
For if but allay'd with the smallest Grain
Of other Mettals, 't will, run o're. Again
This Gold, though pure, and soft, yet 'tis not frail,
Nor can the Hammer in the least prevail
To break this Mettal: as 't would do a Stone,
In little pieces, no, for 't is well known,
By strength of hand, upon the Anvil beat,
In such thin Leaves it doth it self dilate,
As out of one Grain fifty Leaves, or moe
Have been beat out by th'hammer: whence we know
Of what pure Matter Gold consists. Again
This Mettal seems for ever to remain
In its perfection, for when eating Rust
Reduces other Minerals to Dust,
By length of wasting-time, on upright Gold,
231
On Gold: no Rust, no Verdi-greese appears,
Though buried under ground a thousand years:
But after all, its Weight, and Quantitie,
Pure Substance, solid Grain, and Qualitie
Will be the same, as when at first prepar'd
By Artists hand. Then if we do regard
Its usefulnesse for Humane Life, no Mine
Produces such a Cordial Medicine,
As is this Gold: for being cold and dry,
It guards the heart by its Frigidity,
From all infecting Exhalations, hence
Princes not onlie for Magnificence,
But out of Cups of Gold for Health do drink,
As out of Wholesome Mettal, for some think
Gold for its drynesse powerfullie resists
All Putrid Humours.—
Then for Splenetick Vapors, Plates of Gold
Made often hot, i'th' fire, as often cool'd
In Earthen Vessels, full of purest Wine
Drunk up by such, whom that Disease doth pine,
Doth quicklie cure 'em: nay this Liquor too,
As most of our Physicians avow,
And some inform us by Experience,
Is a firm Antidote against Pestilence,
And these infected Cures. But what needs more,
'Twould take up too much time to reckon o're
Its numerous qualities: now let us see
What other Minerals in Earths Closet be,
Why there is Iron, a Mineral that's found
Not much below the Superfice o'th' ground,
By th'art of man, a rugged heavy stone,
Appearing of no value, but anon
Brought to the Mill, and Furnace, smelted, cast
In Barres: to th'fire, and Anvil brought at last,
Becomes so firm a Mettal, so entire,
And solid, as a man cannot desire
A thing more useful: for if he intend
In sweet Agriculture, his life to spend,
Without this Mettal he can nothing do,
He cannot cut down Woods, he cannot plough,
He cannot make the Earth that Grain afford,
Which feeds the stock of Mankind: in a word,
He who intends this honest life to lead,
Must by his Iron win his daily bread.
Or if in War he rather takes delight,
And hating Peace he doth incline to fight:
Why without this bold Mettal, in his hand,
Had as good stay at home, and plough the Land,
As go th'Camp: but with that furnished,
He soon gains reputation by the Blade.
Or if on th'other hand his inclination
Makes him in love, with Trade, and Navigation,
Without this Mettal, he's a fool that dares
To the uncertain Ocean trust his Wares.
By this the Boards are fix'd, which do compose
Th'adventuring thing, in which to Sea he goes.
By this, when Wind-swoln waves do proudly roar,
On every side, and threaten to devour
The trembling Oak, in which this man doth steer,
Even ready to expire for very fear,
When, in good earnest he doth now perceive
Th'insulting Billows offer him a Grave:
And views the Sealy Champions of the Seas,
Who wait on such occasions as these,
(As Birds of prey for Carrions at Land)
Assemble in great Troops on every hand,
To feed upon his flesh: by this I say
He doth procure a merciful delay
From gracious Providence.
On this to Hauser ty'd and then let drop
To the Seas bottom, under God, his hope
Alone depends; on this nail'd to the Ground
He safely rides, while Death doth him surround,
And Clouds of terror on all hands environ,
He owes his life to this small piece of Iron,
Which holds all sure: and when the Storm is gone,
With joy he weighs this useful thing anone;
Tyes it to his Ships-bow; then on his knees,
When he perceives a calmness in the Seas,
Thanks God for his delivery, and then
Hoises his Sails, and so to Sea again
Upon his lawful Trade.
Then if for Handy-crafts he do incline,
Without this Mettal, he who doth design
A Manufacture; labours but in vain;
For, without Iron, he never can obtain
What he intends; but by it easily
Can all the World with useful things supply.
Nay further, if perhaps a man inclines
To become rich by Minerals and Mines,
And th'other Ores, in Earths dark Kennels trace,
'Tis only Iron must do his business:
The Pick-ax, and the Shovel, without doubt,
Are th'only tools can find that treasure out.
In fine this Mettal, this same rugged stone;
Doth for so many uses serve, that none
O'th' other Mettals can with it compare,
And were this vulgar Mineral as rare
As Gold, and Silver, since so many call
For it to humane use; it would them all
Exceed in value, and be quickly able
T'attain the title of inestimable.
Not much below the Superfice o'th' ground,
By th'art of man, a rugged heavy stone,
Appearing of no value, but anon
Brought to the Mill, and Furnace, smelted, cast
In Barres: to th'fire, and Anvil brought at last,
Becomes so firm a Mettal, so entire,
And solid, as a man cannot desire
A thing more useful: for if he intend
In sweet Agriculture, his life to spend,
Without this Mettal he can nothing do,
He cannot cut down Woods, he cannot plough,
He cannot make the Earth that Grain afford,
Which feeds the stock of Mankind: in a word,
He who intends this honest life to lead,
Must by his Iron win his daily bread.
Or if in War he rather takes delight,
And hating Peace he doth incline to fight:
Why without this bold Mettal, in his hand,
Had as good stay at home, and plough the Land,
As go th'Camp: but with that furnished,
He soon gains reputation by the Blade.
Or if on th'other hand his inclination
Makes him in love, with Trade, and Navigation,
Without this Mettal, he's a fool that dares
232
By this the Boards are fix'd, which do compose
Th'adventuring thing, in which to Sea he goes.
By this, when Wind-swoln waves do proudly roar,
On every side, and threaten to devour
The trembling Oak, in which this man doth steer,
Even ready to expire for very fear,
When, in good earnest he doth now perceive
Th'insulting Billows offer him a Grave:
And views the Sealy Champions of the Seas,
Who wait on such occasions as these,
(As Birds of prey for Carrions at Land)
Assemble in great Troops on every hand,
To feed upon his flesh: by this I say
He doth procure a merciful delay
From gracious Providence.
On this to Hauser ty'd and then let drop
To the Seas bottom, under God, his hope
Alone depends; on this nail'd to the Ground
He safely rides, while Death doth him surround,
And Clouds of terror on all hands environ,
He owes his life to this small piece of Iron,
Which holds all sure: and when the Storm is gone,
With joy he weighs this useful thing anone;
Tyes it to his Ships-bow; then on his knees,
When he perceives a calmness in the Seas,
Thanks God for his delivery, and then
Hoises his Sails, and so to Sea again
Upon his lawful Trade.
Then if for Handy-crafts he do incline,
Without this Mettal, he who doth design
A Manufacture; labours but in vain;
For, without Iron, he never can obtain
What he intends; but by it easily
Can all the World with useful things supply.
Nay further, if perhaps a man inclines
To become rich by Minerals and Mines,
And th'other Ores, in Earths dark Kennels trace,
'Tis only Iron must do his business:
The Pick-ax, and the Shovel, without doubt,
Are th'only tools can find that treasure out.
In fine this Mettal, this same rugged stone;
Doth for so many uses serve, that none
O'th' other Mettals can with it compare,
And were this vulgar Mineral as rare
As Gold, and Silver, since so many call
For it to humane use; it would them all
Exceed in value, and be quickly able
T'attain the title of inestimable.
The wit of man doth find out Copper too
By Art, and Labour, and with much ado,
Brings it to'th' Furnace, where it smelts it down
By a strong well fomented fire, and soon
Casts it in Plates; by Artists hand, annon
This Ore mix'd with th'Calaminary Stone,
And smelted down together in a Mass,
Becomes that compound Mettal we call Brass.
An useful Mettal, durable and fair,
And save with Gold, and Silver may compare
VVith all the other Ores, which in its Veins
Scaturient here and there the earth contains.
By Art, and Labour, and with much ado,
Brings it to'th' Furnace, where it smelts it down
By a strong well fomented fire, and soon
Casts it in Plates; by Artists hand, annon
233
And smelted down together in a Mass,
Becomes that compound Mettal we call Brass.
An useful Mettal, durable and fair,
And save with Gold, and Silver may compare
VVith all the other Ores, which in its Veins
Scaturient here and there the earth contains.
Now in all these a man may lawfully
Improve his art, and by his Industry
Unrip Earths VVomb, and openly reveal
VVhat Nature in the dark would fain conceal.
Yes by this art, and labour every day
To his dear Ore he may cut out his way,
Through horrid darkness, which by Candle light
He clears, and lays all open to the sight,
VVhat prudent nature from earths serous part
Had separate, and without help of Art,
Attracted to its Meseraick Veins,
And scattered here and there in lobs and grains;
But yet so cunningly, that after all
VVhat man on earth can pain and labour call,
'Tis so conceal'd, for all his art, no doubt,
He has enough adoe to find it out.
Their humane art, and wicked labour too,
Finds out those Stones, to which we do allow
No small esteem; nay in that value hold,
As some are hardly to be bought for Gold.
Improve his art, and by his Industry
Unrip Earths VVomb, and openly reveal
VVhat Nature in the dark would fain conceal.
Yes by this art, and labour every day
To his dear Ore he may cut out his way,
Through horrid darkness, which by Candle light
He clears, and lays all open to the sight,
VVhat prudent nature from earths serous part
Had separate, and without help of Art,
Attracted to its Meseraick Veins,
And scattered here and there in lobs and grains;
But yet so cunningly, that after all
VVhat man on earth can pain and labour call,
'Tis so conceal'd, for all his art, no doubt,
He has enough adoe to find it out.
Their humane art, and wicked labour too,
Finds out those Stones, to which we do allow
No small esteem; nay in that value hold,
As some are hardly to be bought for Gold.
In search of these then, and his darling Ores,
He ventures forward, and the earth so bores
On every side, where he perceives the Vein
But half-inch-thick, as with much toil and pain,
He digs a-round it, as much scantling waste,
As may afford him lodging on his breast,
Upon which creeping, with his Tools and Sticks
The Ore out of its Veins in Grains he picks,
Which put in little Bags, throne to his Breast,
A-crosse, the other to his Back ty'd fast,
At least now fourty fathoms under ground,
Whilst horrid damps his Senses so confound,
As he is almost stifled: yet at last
He climbs above ground: thinks all danger past
When he perceives the Sun so brightly shine,
To which he was a stranger in the Mine.
Yet many who below ground dig for Ore,
Choak'd with bad vapours, see that light no more.
He ventures forward, and the earth so bores
On every side, where he perceives the Vein
But half-inch-thick, as with much toil and pain,
He digs a-round it, as much scantling waste,
As may afford him lodging on his breast,
Upon which creeping, with his Tools and Sticks
The Ore out of its Veins in Grains he picks,
Which put in little Bags, throne to his Breast,
A-crosse, the other to his Back ty'd fast,
At least now fourty fathoms under ground,
Whilst horrid damps his Senses so confound,
As he is almost stifled: yet at last
He climbs above ground: thinks all danger past
When he perceives the Sun so brightly shine,
To which he was a stranger in the Mine.
Yet many who below ground dig for Ore,
Choak'd with bad vapours, see that light no more.
Nor meet they only with Malignant Air,
Who to these Mineral-regions repair:
But also whilst they labour under ground,
By Waters which from hidden Springs arround
Rush in upon the Mines, they're almost drown'd.
Yet doth the wit of man, with much adoe,
At length o'recome this great obstruction too,
By carrying on of Levells, in which all
The Neighbouring Springs, as in a Cistern fall,
And in that Trough are secretly convey'd,
And emptied at some petty Rivers side;
Whose twinkling Streams do trindle in a Line,
Parallell with the Basis of the Mine.
Or if this Mine they work in, deeper lies,
Than any part o'th' Neighbouring Superfice,
Then, in this Canal, safely carried
To the Shafts bottom, they're delivered,
In numerous Buckets, which do there attend,
And are let down in hundreds for that end:
And by these brought aloft, are emptied
In the next Ditch; and thence securely spread
Amongst the Neighbouring Fields.
Or if they do not by these Levels drain,
And fit for work this profitable Vein;
Then by the strength of Pumps, they suck up all
Those Waters which infest the Mineral,
And render it so easie by degrees,
As they dig out their precious Ore, with ease:
Who to these Mineral-regions repair:
But also whilst they labour under ground,
By Waters which from hidden Springs arround
Rush in upon the Mines, they're almost drown'd.
Yet doth the wit of man, with much adoe,
At length o'recome this great obstruction too,
By carrying on of Levells, in which all
The Neighbouring Springs, as in a Cistern fall,
234
And emptied at some petty Rivers side;
Whose twinkling Streams do trindle in a Line,
Parallell with the Basis of the Mine.
Or if this Mine they work in, deeper lies,
Than any part o'th' Neighbouring Superfice,
Then, in this Canal, safely carried
To the Shafts bottom, they're delivered,
In numerous Buckets, which do there attend,
And are let down in hundreds for that end:
And by these brought aloft, are emptied
In the next Ditch; and thence securely spread
Amongst the Neighbouring Fields.
Or if they do not by these Levels drain,
And fit for work this profitable Vein;
Then by the strength of Pumps, they suck up all
Those Waters which infest the Mineral,
And render it so easie by degrees,
As they dig out their precious Ore, with ease:
Nor are they only with infecting Air,
And Waters, sorely vex't who labour there;
But with Fire too: for though earth's Superfice
Affords us Bread at a convenient price,
Of wholesome labour, and contentedly
Returns the product of our industry:
As willing to be Plow'd and Furrowed,
Yet if in labour further we proceed,
And with presuming-tools, dare undertake
T'unrip her Belly, and with pleasure rake
Her very Bowels, to find out those Ores,
There kept by Nature in concealed Stores.
Then she grows angry, then she convocats
All aid she can, from her Confederats,
Bad Air, foul Water, and consuming Fire,
Which with her every minute do conspire,
T'undoe the Miners hope.
For sometimes, when she meets with Sulphur Veins,
(Which allay almost every Mine contains)
Some Sparks, that from their Lamps, or Candles fall,
Kindle that combustible Mineral,
Which flaming quickly, with a noisome smoak,
Doth often times the half-breath'd Miner choak:
But in a trice by Humane Industry,
This flame is quench'd, and Miners by and by
Do freely dig, and follow out the Vein,
How e're their angry Mother Earth complain.
And Waters, sorely vex't who labour there;
But with Fire too: for though earth's Superfice
Affords us Bread at a convenient price,
Of wholesome labour, and contentedly
Returns the product of our industry:
As willing to be Plow'd and Furrowed,
Yet if in labour further we proceed,
And with presuming-tools, dare undertake
T'unrip her Belly, and with pleasure rake
Her very Bowels, to find out those Ores,
There kept by Nature in concealed Stores.
Then she grows angry, then she convocats
All aid she can, from her Confederats,
Bad Air, foul Water, and consuming Fire,
Which with her every minute do conspire,
T'undoe the Miners hope.
For sometimes, when she meets with Sulphur Veins,
(Which allay almost every Mine contains)
Some Sparks, that from their Lamps, or Candles fall,
Kindle that combustible Mineral,
Which flaming quickly, with a noisome smoak,
Doth often times the half-breath'd Miner choak:
But in a trice by Humane Industry,
This flame is quench'd, and Miners by and by
Do freely dig, and follow out the Vein,
How e're their angry Mother Earth complain.
Their Mother Earth, who angry to the heart,
To see her self Piece-meal'd, by Miners Art
Doth spare no labour, but endeavours still
T'obstruct their works, (let them dig as they will)
For when she sees that neither Water, Fire,
Nor Air can stop their covetous desire,
With Stones and Dust she stops the passages,
And all the Avenues embarrasses,
Which to the so much long'd for Vein do lead;
Yet in his journey he doth still proceed.
He breaks those Stones, and pounds them, sifts their dust,
In which to find some Saphires he doth trust.
Because such Stones are usually found
Wrap'd up amongst such baggage, under ground;
Or else to find there, some small scattered Grains
Of extravasat Gold, which it containes
Most usually, and of all his pains,
May pay the uncost. So then after all,
The art of man doth pierce this stony wall;
Beats down those rattling Barricades of dust,
And by main force himself doth further thrust,
Into Earths Inner-works, advances still,
Let the enraged thing do what it will,
T'obstruct his passage:) yet he still makes way,
Untill at length her hoord becomes his prey.
To see her self Piece-meal'd, by Miners Art
Doth spare no labour, but endeavours still
T'obstruct their works, (let them dig as they will)
For when she sees that neither Water, Fire,
Nor Air can stop their covetous desire,
With Stones and Dust she stops the passages,
And all the Avenues embarrasses,
235
Yet in his journey he doth still proceed.
He breaks those Stones, and pounds them, sifts their dust,
In which to find some Saphires he doth trust.
Because such Stones are usually found
Wrap'd up amongst such baggage, under ground;
Or else to find there, some small scattered Grains
Of extravasat Gold, which it containes
Most usually, and of all his pains,
May pay the uncost. So then after all,
The art of man doth pierce this stony wall;
Beats down those rattling Barricades of dust,
And by main force himself doth further thrust,
Into Earths Inner-works, advances still,
Let the enraged thing do what it will,
T'obstruct his passage:) yet he still makes way,
Untill at length her hoord becomes his prey.
A way indeed he makes unknown to all,
Save those alone who hunt for Mineral.
No Birds of prey, whose sharp and piercing eyes,
Discover every privat hole, where lyes
The lesser timorous Bird, and lurks for fear
Of those voracious Tyrants of the Air,
Do know this way.—
Nay, even the Vulture, who hath sharpest eyes,
Of any ravenous murderer that flyes,
And for his prey doth ramble high, and low,
Through every way, yet this way cannot know.
Save those alone who hunt for Mineral.
No Birds of prey, whose sharp and piercing eyes,
Discover every privat hole, where lyes
The lesser timorous Bird, and lurks for fear
Of those voracious Tyrants of the Air,
Do know this way.—
Nay, even the Vulture, who hath sharpest eyes,
Of any ravenous murderer that flyes,
And for his prey doth ramble high, and low,
Through every way, yet this way cannot know.
To th'Lyon too, who for his prey doth range,
Both far, and near, the Miners way is strange;
For in that way such various windings are,
As no By-roads above ground can compare,
With its Mæanders, nor can we conceive,
How squib-like here, and there, the digging slave
Doth squirt himself into each hidden pore,
To find the seat of this same lurking Ore:
Were but the Lyon entred in this way
And there let loose a hunting of his prey,
For all his wit, he'd surely go astray.
Both far, and near, the Miners way is strange;
For in that way such various windings are,
As no By-roads above ground can compare,
With its Mæanders, nor can we conceive,
How squib-like here, and there, the digging slave
Doth squirt himself into each hidden pore,
To find the seat of this same lurking Ore:
Were but the Lyon entred in this way
And there let loose a hunting of his prey,
For all his wit, he'd surely go astray.
Yet the same way is so exactly known,
To him who digs for Minerals alone;
As they know all the turns, and windings there,
As well as these, who walks i'th' open Air,
Know all the high ways, on which men repair.
Nor will he quite this way, but still go on,
For all that either Water, Fire, or Stone,
Bad Air, or Dust can do: nay, further when
He meets with Rocks, he spairs no toil, or pain,
But through their hearts, with Pick axe cuts his way,
Though in the space of a long Summers day,
Scarce can he so much pick out of the Rocks,
After a many sad, and ponderous stroaks,
As but one little Hamper can contain,
Nor in his way to his beloved vein,
Can he advance but one poor foot of ground,
But is with Time obliged to compound,
For half a foot per diem; yet at length
He breaks this Rampart too, by art, and strength.
To him who digs for Minerals alone;
As they know all the turns, and windings there,
As well as these, who walks i'th' open Air,
Know all the high ways, on which men repair.
Nor will he quite this way, but still go on,
For all that either Water, Fire, or Stone,
Bad Air, or Dust can do: nay, further when
He meets with Rocks, he spairs no toil, or pain,
But through their hearts, with Pick axe cuts his way,
Though in the space of a long Summers day,
Scarce can he so much pick out of the Rocks,
After a many sad, and ponderous stroaks,
As but one little Hamper can contain,
236
Can he advance but one poor foot of ground,
But is with Time obliged to compound,
For half a foot per diem; yet at length
He breaks this Rampart too, by art, and strength.
Then when the Earth perceives that nothing can
Withstand the restlesse endeavours of man.
That all her Fire-works, Water-works, and Air,
Stones, Rocks, and Flints, which posted every where,
Guard all the Passes, by which searching men
Can to her hidden Magazines attain;
Do serve for nothing, but that, maugre all,
She can do, he will have this Mineral:
She convocats at last her Arrierban,
Of evil Spirits, to confound this man:
These of a little bulk, but humane shape
Appear i'th' Vein, and sometimes seem to ape
The Miners labour, and indeed affright
The stoutest of those Diggers, with their sight,
At the first View, but seeing here, and there,
Those scattered Dæmons only sent to scar
His labour, he's at length familiar
VVith those poor harmlesse Devils, and nothing dreads
Those flying parties, but for all proceeds,
Upon his work, as if he did despise
The Earth, with this her last, and stale device.
For now he's Lord of his long look'd for Vein,
And his possession firmly will maintain,
'Gainst all her strength, and art, he's settled now
In that fair Province, which with much adoe,
And vast expence, has fairly purchased,
By length of time.—
And now the conquer'd, when she doth perceive,
All's lost, to save her life, becomes his slave:
At his command, she opens every where
Most patiently, and doth her Veins prepare
For th'Minors Launce, where e're he means to strick,
Tam'd by his Art, and of resistance sick.
Thus master of his wish, he first cuts out
The slender canals, through the Rocks about
The Mine, where he doth work, which may convey
The subterraneous waters quite away;
VVhich else would spoil his labour, and in these,
Sometimes his Ores too, he doth wash with ease,
VVhilst all Earths Treasure, every hour he sees.
Withstand the restlesse endeavours of man.
That all her Fire-works, Water-works, and Air,
Stones, Rocks, and Flints, which posted every where,
Guard all the Passes, by which searching men
Can to her hidden Magazines attain;
Do serve for nothing, but that, maugre all,
She can do, he will have this Mineral:
She convocats at last her Arrierban,
Of evil Spirits, to confound this man:
These of a little bulk, but humane shape
Appear i'th' Vein, and sometimes seem to ape
The Miners labour, and indeed affright
The stoutest of those Diggers, with their sight,
At the first View, but seeing here, and there,
Those scattered Dæmons only sent to scar
His labour, he's at length familiar
VVith those poor harmlesse Devils, and nothing dreads
Those flying parties, but for all proceeds,
Upon his work, as if he did despise
The Earth, with this her last, and stale device.
For now he's Lord of his long look'd for Vein,
And his possession firmly will maintain,
'Gainst all her strength, and art, he's settled now
In that fair Province, which with much adoe,
And vast expence, has fairly purchased,
By length of time.—
And now the conquer'd, when she doth perceive,
All's lost, to save her life, becomes his slave:
At his command, she opens every where
Most patiently, and doth her Veins prepare
For th'Minors Launce, where e're he means to strick,
Tam'd by his Art, and of resistance sick.
Thus master of his wish, he first cuts out
The slender canals, through the Rocks about
The Mine, where he doth work, which may convey
The subterraneous waters quite away;
VVhich else would spoil his labour, and in these,
Sometimes his Ores too, he doth wash with ease,
VVhilst all Earths Treasure, every hour he sees.
That done, and free from VVater, he goes on,
And from the Chinks of every Rock, and Stone,
VVhich seems to arch the Mine, with Iron Pinch,
He scrambles out his Ore.
Or if upon the sides of Rocks, the Veins
Of Mettals lye, with Hammer he takes pains
To beat it off, at last if none of these
Can bring it out, he doth his business,
By strength of Fire, and so by heat unlocks
These Treasures which ly hid in clifts of Rocks.
At length when he has found this precious Ore,
Before he doth proceed to work it more,
He of its finesse, and its purity,
Makes tryal in a little quantity,
When by excoction, finding it doth hold
With the true Standart, whether th'Ore be Gold,
Or it be Silver, Copper, Tinn, or Lead,
Then in his work, with joy he doth proceed.
First his rude Ore, as drawen out of the Vein,
Before the name of Mettal it obtain,
He in a close, and solid Mortar throws.
Which (quickly broken, by redoubled blows,
From Iron Pestles, which by Water-mills
Made turn by Canals from the Neighbouring Hills,
Are mov'd, to serve the purpose,) he takes out,
Then in some Pool, that's digg'd out there about,
For that same end, he carefully doth wash't,
Sifts it when dry, then pounds it, and at last,
He puts this Earth, now become fusible,
Within the belly of a Crucible,
Which in the Furnace, almost vitrifi'd,
Appears excandent upon every side,
Where quickly it dissolves, and Liquifyes,
Then in large Iron Spoons;—
He takes his Mettal out, and in a Mould,
He pours it, then his silver and his Gold
In little Barrs, and Ingots, soon are cast,
In Plates his Copper, Lead in Pigs at last,
All weigh'd, and stamp'd, entred, and registrate,
In Books, by these he reckons his Estate.
Then next, because he doth perceive one Vein,
Two different Mettals often do contain:
(For naturally with all Silver Ore,
And Copper, Grains of Gold, some lesse, some more,
Are alwayes mix'd, with Silver too some Lead,
And Iron with Copper i'th' same Vein do breed:
In Lead, and Iron, some Silver too is found,
As from the Veins he draws them under ground)
He quickly finds a way to separate,
The mixed Mettals, at an easie rate.
By Aqua Fortis Gold from Silver Ore,
To which i'th' Vein, 'twas marryed before,
Is soon divorc'd; and other Mettals are
By Allum and Nitre, separate with care.
And from the Chinks of every Rock, and Stone,
VVhich seems to arch the Mine, with Iron Pinch,
He scrambles out his Ore.
Or if upon the sides of Rocks, the Veins
Of Mettals lye, with Hammer he takes pains
To beat it off, at last if none of these
Can bring it out, he doth his business,
By strength of Fire, and so by heat unlocks
237
At length when he has found this precious Ore,
Before he doth proceed to work it more,
He of its finesse, and its purity,
Makes tryal in a little quantity,
When by excoction, finding it doth hold
With the true Standart, whether th'Ore be Gold,
Or it be Silver, Copper, Tinn, or Lead,
Then in his work, with joy he doth proceed.
First his rude Ore, as drawen out of the Vein,
Before the name of Mettal it obtain,
He in a close, and solid Mortar throws.
Which (quickly broken, by redoubled blows,
From Iron Pestles, which by Water-mills
Made turn by Canals from the Neighbouring Hills,
Are mov'd, to serve the purpose,) he takes out,
Then in some Pool, that's digg'd out there about,
For that same end, he carefully doth wash't,
Sifts it when dry, then pounds it, and at last,
He puts this Earth, now become fusible,
Within the belly of a Crucible,
Which in the Furnace, almost vitrifi'd,
Appears excandent upon every side,
Where quickly it dissolves, and Liquifyes,
Then in large Iron Spoons;—
He takes his Mettal out, and in a Mould,
He pours it, then his silver and his Gold
In little Barrs, and Ingots, soon are cast,
In Plates his Copper, Lead in Pigs at last,
All weigh'd, and stamp'd, entred, and registrate,
In Books, by these he reckons his Estate.
Then next, because he doth perceive one Vein,
Two different Mettals often do contain:
(For naturally with all Silver Ore,
And Copper, Grains of Gold, some lesse, some more,
Are alwayes mix'd, with Silver too some Lead,
And Iron with Copper i'th' same Vein do breed:
In Lead, and Iron, some Silver too is found,
As from the Veins he draws them under ground)
He quickly finds a way to separate,
The mixed Mettals, at an easie rate.
By Aqua Fortis Gold from Silver Ore,
To which i'th' Vein, 'twas marryed before,
Is soon divorc'd; and other Mettals are
By Allum and Nitre, separate with care.
But lastly, when he has all separat,
One would suppose he'd Nature imitat,
When mixing all those Mettals once again,
Some in the same proportion with the Vein,
Others in such proportions, great and small,
As for his ends are fit, which he doth call
Temperatures out of these mixtures too,
(He's so acquainted with all Mettals now)
He frames new Mettals: as when by his art,
To four of Gold, of silver a fifth part
He adds, he quickly a new Mettal frames,
Out of that Masse, which he Electrum names:
With many others, such as those we call
Bell-mettal, Soldure, Pot-mettal; and all,
That are not Mettals i'th' Original.
One would suppose he'd Nature imitat,
When mixing all those Mettals once again,
Some in the same proportion with the Vein,
Others in such proportions, great and small,
As for his ends are fit, which he doth call
Temperatures out of these mixtures too,
(He's so acquainted with all Mettals now)
He frames new Mettals: as when by his art,
238
He adds, he quickly a new Mettal frames,
Out of that Masse, which he Electrum names:
With many others, such as those we call
Bell-mettal, Soldure, Pot-mettal; and all,
That are not Mettals i'th' Original.
But what needs more, I think by what I've said,
Any impartial man I may perswade,
That God is great above what we can reach
By art, which even those Minerals do teach,
Suppose all th' Works of his Omnipotence,
Could not afford another evidence
Of his great Worth, and Glory:
Yet man may bring those hidden things to light,
Though one should think they to perpetual night
Were by his Divine Ordinance confin'd,
Yet he may bring them out, and please his mind,
As with the Search, before they can be found,
So with the enjoyment of 'em above ground.
Any impartial man I may perswade,
That God is great above what we can reach
By art, which even those Minerals do teach,
Suppose all th' Works of his Omnipotence,
Could not afford another evidence
Of his great Worth, and Glory:
Yet man may bring those hidden things to light,
Though one should think they to perpetual night
Were by his Divine Ordinance confin'd,
Yet he may bring them out, and please his mind,
As with the Search, before they can be found,
So with the enjoyment of 'em above ground.
But, O, should man employ his wit, and art
In searching after things, which for his heart
He cannot find; as if he'd run the Scent,
And trace the steps of Heavens Government,
Or study to find out the reason why,
This, or that good man, lives in misery,
Whilst sinners revel in prosperity.
Should he attempt by the same rules to know
The things above, as he doth these below,
Should he his Reason couple with his Sense,
And go a hunting after Providence,
And proudly think, when he has found it out,
From it he'll have intelligence no doubt,
Of all Gods Cabin-thoughts, and thence may know,
The reasons of his actings here below.
Should he thus use his wit, thus entertain
His mind, thus foolishly torment his brain,
In studying to find out his policy,
By which this universal Monarchy
Is govern'd, by which all Gods actings are
Amongst us, mortals, brought upon the square.
Why, this same study were not only vain,
Foolish, presumptous, full of uselesse pain,
But shrewdly sinful, and unlawful too,
For such high knowledge, God will not allow
To mortal race.—
Nor will he let them know at any rate,
What is not fit, should be communicat
To humane wit, because he wisely knows,
If we did know such hidden things, as those,
And what to each man were predestinat,
(Which must be sent upon him soon, or late)
'T would certainly cause so much pride, and fear,
As what betwixt presumption, and despair,
The world would split in two, and men should know
Too much to damn them all, if things were so.
In searching after things, which for his heart
He cannot find; as if he'd run the Scent,
And trace the steps of Heavens Government,
Or study to find out the reason why,
This, or that good man, lives in misery,
Whilst sinners revel in prosperity.
Should he attempt by the same rules to know
The things above, as he doth these below,
Should he his Reason couple with his Sense,
And go a hunting after Providence,
And proudly think, when he has found it out,
From it he'll have intelligence no doubt,
Of all Gods Cabin-thoughts, and thence may know,
The reasons of his actings here below.
Should he thus use his wit, thus entertain
His mind, thus foolishly torment his brain,
In studying to find out his policy,
By which this universal Monarchy
Is govern'd, by which all Gods actings are
Amongst us, mortals, brought upon the square.
Why, this same study were not only vain,
Foolish, presumptous, full of uselesse pain,
But shrewdly sinful, and unlawful too,
For such high knowledge, God will not allow
To mortal race.—
Nor will he let them know at any rate,
What is not fit, should be communicat
To humane wit, because he wisely knows,
If we did know such hidden things, as those,
And what to each man were predestinat,
(Which must be sent upon him soon, or late)
'T would certainly cause so much pride, and fear,
As what betwixt presumption, and despair,
The world would split in two, and men should know
239
To th'case, my friends, then why should you debate
On things above your reach! why should you state
The Question in the works of Providence,
To which, we cannot sure, without offence,
Prescribe those Rules, by which our actings here
Are rul'd, from whence it plainly doth appear
There is a Wisdome, which we cannot reach,
A Divine Knowledge, which no Art can teach,
A Wisdome to our God peculiar,
With which no Earthly Wisdome can compare.
A knowledge which to know our fond desire
On no account should foolishly aspire.
Then O where is this wisdome to be found,
This heavenly knowledge, which doth quite confound,
And with one simple dash oblit'rat all
That which we vainly understanding call.
Where is it pray! whence is it to be had!
On what Coast do we for this wisdome Trade!
This wisdome! O this wisdome! this divine
And God-like knowledge! from what secret Mine
Is it extracted! in what hidden Pore,
In Heav'ns, or Earth, doth this Seraphick Ore
Branch out its Veins! this wisdome mystical!
This Art of Arts! this supernatural
And un-born knowledge! whither shall we run
To find this wisdome! shall we with the Sun
Take Journey, and view all the World about
with searching eye, to find this wisdome out!
Or shall we, on the wings of contemplation,
Fly upward in some pious meditation,
In search of what on earth we cannot find,
And reach that thing by labour of the mind.
That hands cannot perform! a thing in vain
Our curious reason studies to attain!
A thing our Faith, which Reason doth transcend,
On this side time, can hardly comprehend.
On things above your reach! why should you state
The Question in the works of Providence,
To which, we cannot sure, without offence,
Prescribe those Rules, by which our actings here
Are rul'd, from whence it plainly doth appear
There is a Wisdome, which we cannot reach,
A Divine Knowledge, which no Art can teach,
A Wisdome to our God peculiar,
With which no Earthly Wisdome can compare.
A knowledge which to know our fond desire
On no account should foolishly aspire.
Then O where is this wisdome to be found,
This heavenly knowledge, which doth quite confound,
And with one simple dash oblit'rat all
That which we vainly understanding call.
Where is it pray! whence is it to be had!
On what Coast do we for this wisdome Trade!
This wisdome! O this wisdome! this divine
And God-like knowledge! from what secret Mine
Is it extracted! in what hidden Pore,
In Heav'ns, or Earth, doth this Seraphick Ore
Branch out its Veins! this wisdome mystical!
This Art of Arts! this supernatural
And un-born knowledge! whither shall we run
To find this wisdome! shall we with the Sun
Take Journey, and view all the World about
with searching eye, to find this wisdome out!
Or shall we, on the wings of contemplation,
Fly upward in some pious meditation,
In search of what on earth we cannot find,
And reach that thing by labour of the mind.
That hands cannot perform! a thing in vain
Our curious reason studies to attain!
A thing our Faith, which Reason doth transcend,
On this side time, can hardly comprehend.
For what it is no mortal man can know,
Or where 'tis to be found, 'tis hidden so
By him who all things fram'd: we cann't conceive
What thing it is, but only must believe,
This divine wisdome is not to be found
By Art of man: 'tis not a thing the ground,
The Seas, or Air afford: 'tis not a thing
To which we can attain by reasoning.
Or where 'tis to be found, 'tis hidden so
By him who all things fram'd: we cann't conceive
What thing it is, but only must believe,
This divine wisdome is not to be found
By Art of man: 'tis not a thing the ground,
The Seas, or Air afford: 'tis not a thing
To which we can attain by reasoning.
No, 'tis a thing, of which we neither know
Its beeing, nor its value: for although
We search, with Reasons Taper in our hand,
The darkest Creviss, both in Sea and Land,
To find it out, our toil is all in vain,
For to its knowledge we can ne're attain:
But after that, by strength of contemplation,
We think of it to learn some information,
We're forc'd at length to rest in admiration.
Its beeing, nor its value: for although
We search, with Reasons Taper in our hand,
The darkest Creviss, both in Sea and Land,
To find it out, our toil is all in vain,
For to its knowledge we can ne're attain:
But after that, by strength of contemplation,
We think of it to learn some information,
We're forc'd at length to rest in admiration.
240
In admiration! yes contentedly
We must admire, what all our industry,
Our wit, art, thinking, cannot comprehend,
A wisdome that all value doth transcend.
'Tis not in Commerce, 'tis inestimable,
'Tis not by Gold, or Silver purchasable.
We must admire, what all our industry,
Our wit, art, thinking, cannot comprehend,
A wisdome that all value doth transcend.
'Tis not in Commerce, 'tis inestimable,
'Tis not by Gold, or Silver purchasable.
No, no, this thing cannot be bought, or sold
At any rate: not Tunns of Ophir Gold,
Not Cargoes of that precious Mineral,
Not heaps of Stones, and Jewels, which by all
Are valued at the highest estimation,
Can for this knowledge make a valuation.
At any rate: not Tunns of Ophir Gold,
Not Cargoes of that precious Mineral,
Not heaps of Stones, and Jewels, which by all
Are valued at the highest estimation,
Can for this knowledge make a valuation.
Not finest Gold, nor Chrystal of the Rock,
O'th' purest hue, can make a bartring Stock
For such a rich Commodity, not all
What Merchants here inestimable call,
Can make provisions suitable to buy
Such an inestimable Commodity.
O'th' purest hue, can make a bartring Stock
For such a rich Commodity, not all
What Merchants here inestimable call,
Can make provisions suitable to buy
Such an inestimable Commodity.
Talk not of Coral, 'tis a mean Sea-weed,
Nor Pearl, which with us filly Oysters breed;
No, nor of Rubies, though their Crimson Dye
Appears most rich and glorious to the eye:
Nor of their beauty cut in Faucet tell,
For this high wisdome doth them all excell.
Nor Pearl, which with us filly Oysters breed;
No, nor of Rubies, though their Crimson Dye
Appears most rich and glorious to the eye:
Nor of their beauty cut in Faucet tell,
For this high wisdome doth them all excell.
Your Æthiopian Topaz bright and fair,
Highly esteem'd, because it is so rare,
With this in value never can compare
The finest Gold, which we poor Mortals hugg,
Compar'd with this is but a very Drugg.
Highly esteem'd, because it is so rare,
With this in value never can compare
The finest Gold, which we poor Mortals hugg,
Compar'd with this is but a very Drugg.
From whence this wisdome then! from whence, from whence
This sacred wit! this high intelligence,
Which doth all humane knowledge far exceed,
Whence doth it spring, in what place doth it breed!
This sacred wit! this high intelligence,
Which doth all humane knowledge far exceed,
Whence doth it spring, in what place doth it breed!
Where doth it breed, pray! where is't to be found,
In Fire or Air, above, or under ground!
What shall we do then, shall we yet enquire
What thing it is? or our invention tyre,
In finding out its place, which yet no eye,
Ev'n the most piercing ever did espy.
A thing which still the more we strive to know,
The less we in its knowledge forward go:
A thing, as not conspicuous to our eyes,
So far exceeding the abilities
Of our created Souls, to comprehend
A thing in search whereof there is no end.
In Fire or Air, above, or under ground!
What shall we do then, shall we yet enquire
What thing it is? or our invention tyre,
In finding out its place, which yet no eye,
Ev'n the most piercing ever did espy.
A thing which still the more we strive to know,
The less we in its knowledge forward go:
A thing, as not conspicuous to our eyes,
So far exceeding the abilities
Of our created Souls, to comprehend
A thing in search whereof there is no end.
'Tis true, we may, by long experience,
Attain some knowledge of its excellence:
We may indeed by daily observations
Upon Gods great, and various dispensations,
Attain some random-notions of the thing,
Especially, when by canvassing
Th'affairs o'th' world, and viewing carefully,
VVith serious eyes, the instability
Of humane state: we see what shines to day
Most brightly, and is gloriously gay,
To morrow is obscur'd: what now is high
Beat down annon, in lowest dust doth ly;
Thence in some measure, we may learn to know
What is this Wisdom.
For when we do observe, how Providence
'Mongst mortal things doth make no difference,
But sometimes here, and sometimes there lets fall
Blessings or Plagues, without regard at all
To this mans well improven Piety,
Or 't'others gross habitual villany;
Yes, when we see how all our art, and care,
In guarding of our Souls by daily prayer,
In thinking, speaking, doing what is good,
(Though of our claim to Heaven we are not proud)
Nay even our pure, and Dove-like innocence
Can not prevent a blow, when Providence
Thinks fit t'afflict us; and on th'other hand,
How wanton sinners do securely stand
Rooted in their Possessions; and appear
As safe from danger as they are from fear.
Then sure in some proportion, we may guess
What is this Wisdom by such acts as these.
Attain some knowledge of its excellence:
We may indeed by daily observations
Upon Gods great, and various dispensations,
Attain some random-notions of the thing,
Especially, when by canvassing
Th'affairs o'th' world, and viewing carefully,
VVith serious eyes, the instability
Of humane state: we see what shines to day
241
To morrow is obscur'd: what now is high
Beat down annon, in lowest dust doth ly;
Thence in some measure, we may learn to know
What is this Wisdom.
For when we do observe, how Providence
'Mongst mortal things doth make no difference,
But sometimes here, and sometimes there lets fall
Blessings or Plagues, without regard at all
To this mans well improven Piety,
Or 't'others gross habitual villany;
Yes, when we see how all our art, and care,
In guarding of our Souls by daily prayer,
In thinking, speaking, doing what is good,
(Though of our claim to Heaven we are not proud)
Nay even our pure, and Dove-like innocence
Can not prevent a blow, when Providence
Thinks fit t'afflict us; and on th'other hand,
How wanton sinners do securely stand
Rooted in their Possessions; and appear
As safe from danger as they are from fear.
Then sure in some proportion, we may guess
What is this Wisdom by such acts as these.
For God, with good intention, beats his own,
That he from thence may make their virtue known,
Which in the Sun-shine of Prosperity,
Even in the best of men, but soberly
Makes an appearance, like a Candles-light,
Which only shines i'th' dark or in the Night.
And for those others, who their God do hate,
And yet their Bread, in peace, and plenty eat.
Nay to our outward senses do appear
Not ordinarly to their Maker dear:
Why if wee look aright upon their case,
We'll find God only suffers such as these,
To live in plenty, 'cause he doth not care
What becomes of 'em, and doth only spare
Those slaughter-fed, Bread-eaters; for some space,
That they their little, short liv'd Happiness,
(All they desire) may peaceably possess.
But, of destruction certain, they at last,
When all their days of jollity are past
Perceive there is a Divine Wisdom too,
As well as Earthly, which they never knew
Till now, and find that by its ordinance,
Hell, and Damnation's their Inheritance.
That he from thence may make their virtue known,
Which in the Sun-shine of Prosperity,
Even in the best of men, but soberly
Makes an appearance, like a Candles-light,
Which only shines i'th' dark or in the Night.
And for those others, who their God do hate,
And yet their Bread, in peace, and plenty eat.
Nay to our outward senses do appear
Not ordinarly to their Maker dear:
Why if wee look aright upon their case,
We'll find God only suffers such as these,
To live in plenty, 'cause he doth not care
What becomes of 'em, and doth only spare
Those slaughter-fed, Bread-eaters; for some space,
That they their little, short liv'd Happiness,
(All they desire) may peaceably possess.
But, of destruction certain, they at last,
When all their days of jollity are past
Perceive there is a Divine Wisdom too,
As well as Earthly, which they never knew
Till now, and find that by its ordinance,
Hell, and Damnation's their Inheritance.
But O to our great God, to him alone
This Divine Wisdom is exactly known.
To him, to him, it is appropriat,
And no man with him can participat,
In that high Knowledge: for by that alone,
He gives directions from his lofty Throne
For th'Government o'th' World: for well he knows,
He knows exactly what we but suppose,
Or faintlie guess: although indeed we find
No little satisfaction to our mind,
When having in our recess, meditat,
By what strange means, what hidden Rules of state;
This World is govern'd, whilst by what we here
Observe in earthlie courts; these do appear
To counter-act all wise proceedings there.
When we, I say, with contemplations eyes,
Have view'd at random, what beyond the skies,
Is the procedure in the Government,
Of this vast Fabrick: and how evident
In it that Divine Wisdom doth appear,
Which is not to be learn'd or valued here,
Then finding how our curious Thoughts have reacht
Their ne plus ultra,—
From Heavens high Court we modestlie retire,
And with great pleasure do these things admire,
We cannot learn, since to our God alone
The Government o'th' world is only known.
This Divine Wisdom is exactly known.
To him, to him, it is appropriat,
And no man with him can participat,
In that high Knowledge: for by that alone,
He gives directions from his lofty Throne
For th'Government o'th' World: for well he knows,
He knows exactly what we but suppose,
242
No little satisfaction to our mind,
When having in our recess, meditat,
By what strange means, what hidden Rules of state;
This World is govern'd, whilst by what we here
Observe in earthlie courts; these do appear
To counter-act all wise proceedings there.
When we, I say, with contemplations eyes,
Have view'd at random, what beyond the skies,
Is the procedure in the Government,
Of this vast Fabrick: and how evident
In it that Divine Wisdom doth appear,
Which is not to be learn'd or valued here,
Then finding how our curious Thoughts have reacht
Their ne plus ultra,—
From Heavens high Court we modestlie retire,
And with great pleasure do these things admire,
We cannot learn, since to our God alone
The Government o'th' world is only known.
For who can manage this vast Government,
But he alone, who is Omniscient?
Who everie moment views, with searching eye,
All that lies under Heavens Canopie.
Who onlie knows, who onlie understands
How this great bodie, which his mightie hands
Have fram'd, and moulded must be governed,
Who by his wisdom has so ordered,
And all affaires dispos'd so prudentlie,
As far exceeds all Human Policie.
But he alone, who is Omniscient?
Who everie moment views, with searching eye,
All that lies under Heavens Canopie.
Who onlie knows, who onlie understands
How this great bodie, which his mightie hands
Have fram'd, and moulded must be governed,
Who by his wisdom has so ordered,
And all affaires dispos'd so prudentlie,
As far exceeds all Human Policie.
For not one puff of wind i'th' air doth blow,
Nor from the clouds do anie waters flow,
Without his special Tolerance, for when
Nor from the clouds do anie waters flow,
Without his special Tolerance, for when
By his Decree some quantitie of rain
Is on the earth let out, or when from high,
Out of his Cage swift Lightning is let flie:
Is on the earth let out, or when from high,
Out of his Cage swift Lightning is let flie:
When all these for their sudden march are clear,
Ere they dare move, before him they appear,
Where, with a serious, and perpending eye,
He takes review of them, and carefullie,
These fierce Invaders strength doth estimat,
And sees it onlie be proportionat,
For his Design, whether for Punishment,
A second Deluge lies in his intent,
Or that he means by lightning to destroy
Men, Beasts, and Fruits o'th' earth, and thence annoy
Some sinning Nations, whose lewd practices
Have call'd to Heavens for such returns as these,
That they may not be able to offend
The passive World, more than he doth intend.
From whence, my friends, 'tis plain, and evident,
That the eternal solid Government
Of all things which his mighty hands have made
Is by this Divine Wisdom managed.
Ere they dare move, before him they appear,
Where, with a serious, and perpending eye,
He takes review of them, and carefullie,
These fierce Invaders strength doth estimat,
And sees it onlie be proportionat,
For his Design, whether for Punishment,
A second Deluge lies in his intent,
Or that he means by lightning to destroy
Men, Beasts, and Fruits o'th' earth, and thence annoy
Some sinning Nations, whose lewd practices
Have call'd to Heavens for such returns as these,
That they may not be able to offend
The passive World, more than he doth intend.
From whence, my friends, 'tis plain, and evident,
That the eternal solid Government
Of all things which his mighty hands have made
Is by this Divine Wisdom managed.
243
Then to conclude, my friends, from henceforth pray
Let us forbear, let us forbear, I say,
To argue on the Rules of Providence,
For sure we cannot well, without offence,
Make enquiry in things, which certainlie
The King of Heavens, from all Eternitie,
Resolv'd should from his Creature be conceal'd
And to himself belong.—
No more debating then, but let us here
Content our selves with things that do appear
Obvious to our reason: and enquire
No further in Gods secrets, but admire
His Government o'th' world: for after all,
To know this thing we Divine Wisdom call
Is not our business; but if we would learn
To know what our Salvation doth concern.
Of all that Knowledge here's th'abreviat,
Let us fear God, all sinful courses hate,
Our Neighbours love, to each his right allow,
And in this world we have no more adoe.
This, this is all the Knowledge; this is that
We ought to study, without more debate,
For this alone, for this we should implore,
For who endeavours to know any more
Will find i'th' end he spends his time in vain,
In searching what he never can obtain,
But this by prayer may be purchased,
Whilst that to Mortals is prohibited.
Let us forbear, let us forbear, I say,
To argue on the Rules of Providence,
For sure we cannot well, without offence,
Make enquiry in things, which certainlie
The King of Heavens, from all Eternitie,
Resolv'd should from his Creature be conceal'd
And to himself belong.—
No more debating then, but let us here
Content our selves with things that do appear
Obvious to our reason: and enquire
No further in Gods secrets, but admire
His Government o'th' world: for after all,
To know this thing we Divine Wisdom call
Is not our business; but if we would learn
To know what our Salvation doth concern.
Of all that Knowledge here's th'abreviat,
Let us fear God, all sinful courses hate,
Our Neighbours love, to each his right allow,
And in this world we have no more adoe.
This, this is all the Knowledge; this is that
We ought to study, without more debate,
For this alone, for this we should implore,
For who endeavours to know any more
Will find i'th' end he spends his time in vain,
In searching what he never can obtain,
But this by prayer may be purchased,
Whilst that to Mortals is prohibited.
Cap. XXIX.
After by all the strength of argument,
Job had endeavoured to make evident
How much his friends did err, whilst they maintain'd
That God on no man did afflictions send,
But such, whose sins for punishment did call,
Which as a proposition general,
They did assert, whilst on the other hand.
This good man, by his reason did withstand,
What they did often press, with so much heat,
From whence resulted their so long debate,
Upon the Subject; and endeavoured too
To show that their Great Judge did not allow
Such curious questions to be canvassed,
As by what Laws, and Rules he governed
His Native Subjects, or what unknown fashion
He us'd in ordering of his own Creation,
Now he subsumes.—
That his own case was a strong evidence
O'th' truth of what he spoke, and that from thence
All knowing, and impartial men might see
How much his sad condition did agree
With that of many, whom their God did love,
Whilst here on Earth, and now enjoy'd above,
Eternal rest: so he, for all they spoke,
Did not believe, this sad, and fearful stroak,
Under which now he lay, was merited
By his preceeding sins, but only laid
Upon him, for a tryal, by his God,
Who in his Divine Wisdom us'd his Rod,
As oft on those of his own Family,
To keep them strictly in conformity
With what is good, and just: as upon those,
For punishment, who are his open foes:
And therefore thus proceeds, as formerly,
Maintaining still his own integrity,
And from that head, doth modestly regrate
The doleful figure of his present state.
Job had endeavoured to make evident
How much his friends did err, whilst they maintain'd
That God on no man did afflictions send,
But such, whose sins for punishment did call,
Which as a proposition general,
They did assert, whilst on the other hand.
This good man, by his reason did withstand,
What they did often press, with so much heat,
From whence resulted their so long debate,
Upon the Subject; and endeavoured too
To show that their Great Judge did not allow
Such curious questions to be canvassed,
As by what Laws, and Rules he governed
His Native Subjects, or what unknown fashion
He us'd in ordering of his own Creation,
Now he subsumes.—
That his own case was a strong evidence
O'th' truth of what he spoke, and that from thence
244
How much his sad condition did agree
With that of many, whom their God did love,
Whilst here on Earth, and now enjoy'd above,
Eternal rest: so he, for all they spoke,
Did not believe, this sad, and fearful stroak,
Under which now he lay, was merited
By his preceeding sins, but only laid
Upon him, for a tryal, by his God,
Who in his Divine Wisdom us'd his Rod,
As oft on those of his own Family,
To keep them strictly in conformity
With what is good, and just: as upon those,
For punishment, who are his open foes:
And therefore thus proceeds, as formerly,
Maintaining still his own integrity,
And from that head, doth modestly regrate
The doleful figure of his present state.
O that I were, says he, as I have been!
O those fair Halcyon-days that I have seen!
O those sweet times! O those delightful hours,
Which I have seen! which like the fragrant flowers,
That shine upon Earths surface in their prime,
With fairest showes did beautifie my time!
O that I were, as all my Neighbours know
I was indeed not many years agoe!
When my good God did think me worth his care,
When he would hear, and grant my daily Prayer:
When he'd preserve me by his Providence,
And guard me from each inconvenience,
Had else befall'n me; when he'd lovingly,
With all my wishes every hour comply.
O those fair Halcyon-days that I have seen!
O those sweet times! O those delightful hours,
Which I have seen! which like the fragrant flowers,
That shine upon Earths surface in their prime,
With fairest showes did beautifie my time!
O that I were, as all my Neighbours know
I was indeed not many years agoe!
When my good God did think me worth his care,
When he would hear, and grant my daily Prayer:
When he'd preserve me by his Providence,
And guard me from each inconvenience,
Had else befall'n me; when he'd lovingly,
With all my wishes every hour comply.
When in my Person he did take delight,
And with him I was no small Favourite:
When Gods great Mercies were so eminent,
As all, who knew me see how evident
His love was to me; when they cast such light
About me round, as Candles in the Night
Afford, so that if Troubles on me fell
At any time, they did not with me dwell,
As now they do, but meerly transient,
They scarce did hurt me, when their force was spent.
And with him I was no small Favourite:
When Gods great Mercies were so eminent,
As all, who knew me see how evident
His love was to me; when they cast such light
About me round, as Candles in the Night
Afford, so that if Troubles on me fell
At any time, they did not with me dwell,
As now they do, but meerly transient,
They scarce did hurt me, when their force was spent.
O that I were again, as I have been!
O those bless'd golden hours that I have seen!
O that I were, as I was formerly,
In the smooth current of Prosperity!
As I was in the days of verdant Youth,
When, like the gentle breezes from the South,
Which with such kindness breath upon the Fields,
As to their court-ship Nature quickly yields,
And all things, in their seasons, doth produce,
That any way doth sute with humane use;
So God did breath upon me in his love,
And rain such showers of blessings from above,
On me, and my poor house, that I from thence,
Might well perceive the large munificence,
Of my great Patron, who did every day
Hear my request, oftner then I could pray.
O those bless'd golden hours that I have seen!
O that I were, as I was formerly,
In the smooth current of Prosperity!
As I was in the days of verdant Youth,
When, like the gentle breezes from the South,
Which with such kindness breath upon the Fields,
As to their court-ship Nature quickly yields,
And all things, in their seasons, doth produce,
That any way doth sute with humane use;
So God did breath upon me in his love,
And rain such showers of blessings from above,
245
Might well perceive the large munificence,
Of my great Patron, who did every day
Hear my request, oftner then I could pray.
When the Almighty yet was pleas'd t'expresse,
For my concerns great love, and tendernesse:
When my dear Children liv'd, who now are dead,
When they, on whom base Vermine now do feed,
Like Olive-plants about me flourished.
When they for beauty, health, wit, vigour stood
Against the greatest of our neighbour-hood,
When fraught with hopes, of what each day did grow,
My total satisfaction here below,
Lay in those Childrens souls depositat,
And by their health, I reckon'd my Estate.
When in their converse, I did take such pleasure,
As oftentimes I'd steal some hours of leasure,
To enter with them in some conference,
That I their Wit, and Parts might know from thence.
When under my poor Roof some hundreds fed,
To whom I did afford their daily Bread;
Who by my orders, twice at least a day,
Assembled in my Chappel-room, to pray;
Whilst with uplifted hands, all on our knees,
We'd offer a sweet smelling sacrifice
Of prayer, and in our privat exercise,
Addresse our selves to him, who hears alone
All prayers: but now these happy days are gone.
Those happy days are gone, those hours are spent,
And darknesse now succeeds:—I faint, I faint,—
—Alace, I faint,—when I do call to mind,
And sadly think in former times how kind,
My great Creator at all times appear'd,
And all my prayers with attention heard;
But now I such devotion may spare,
For when I cry aloud, he will not hear:
He will not hear me, nor will he allow,
That I should bow the knee before him now.
For my concerns great love, and tendernesse:
When my dear Children liv'd, who now are dead,
When they, on whom base Vermine now do feed,
Like Olive-plants about me flourished.
When they for beauty, health, wit, vigour stood
Against the greatest of our neighbour-hood,
When fraught with hopes, of what each day did grow,
My total satisfaction here below,
Lay in those Childrens souls depositat,
And by their health, I reckon'd my Estate.
When in their converse, I did take such pleasure,
As oftentimes I'd steal some hours of leasure,
To enter with them in some conference,
That I their Wit, and Parts might know from thence.
When under my poor Roof some hundreds fed,
To whom I did afford their daily Bread;
Who by my orders, twice at least a day,
Assembled in my Chappel-room, to pray;
Whilst with uplifted hands, all on our knees,
We'd offer a sweet smelling sacrifice
Of prayer, and in our privat exercise,
Addresse our selves to him, who hears alone
All prayers: but now these happy days are gone.
Those happy days are gone, those hours are spent,
And darknesse now succeeds:—I faint, I faint,—
—Alace, I faint,—when I do call to mind,
And sadly think in former times how kind,
My great Creator at all times appear'd,
And all my prayers with attention heard;
But now I such devotion may spare,
For when I cry aloud, he will not hear:
He will not hear me, nor will he allow,
That I should bow the knee before him now.
O then that I could have once more again,
But even a Prospect of what I have seen
In former times! O, that I could once more,
But live a little, as I've done before:
When I had all things so accommodate,
And had so well improven my Estate,
As all the Hills around did Tribute pay,
In Honey, Milk, and Oyl; nay, every day
They did me so much of their Growth afford,
As three parts of my Rent I might ha' stor'd,
And with the fourth, supply'd my Famlly,
Through all the year well, and conveniently:
When all my Corn-fields yearly did produce,
Three times as much as serv'd my private use:
When all my Cattel pleasantly did feed
In their own Pastures, and did yearly breed,
With so great increase, as (my Stock intire)
I had all profit that I would desire.
But even a Prospect of what I have seen
In former times! O, that I could once more,
But live a little, as I've done before:
When I had all things so accommodate,
And had so well improven my Estate,
As all the Hills around did Tribute pay,
In Honey, Milk, and Oyl; nay, every day
They did me so much of their Growth afford,
As three parts of my Rent I might ha' stor'd,
And with the fourth, supply'd my Famlly,
Through all the year well, and conveniently:
When all my Corn-fields yearly did produce,
Three times as much as serv'd my private use:
When all my Cattel pleasantly did feed
In their own Pastures, and did yearly breed,
246
I had all profit that I would desire.
When with a great attendance, I would go,
To th'Court of Justice, and my self would show
Upon the Bench, where all would make address
To me, who in that Court had business:
And when some times with clamour I would meet,
Of shrewd oppression, in the open Street,
I'de stop, and hear both parties in their sute,
For a small time: then without more dispute,
When I had heard them both, and fully try'd
The truth of all, as I found just, decide.
To th'Court of Justice, and my self would show
Upon the Bench, where all would make address
To me, who in that Court had business:
And when some times with clamour I would meet,
Of shrewd oppression, in the open Street,
I'de stop, and hear both parties in their sute,
For a small time: then without more dispute,
When I had heard them both, and fully try'd
The truth of all, as I found just, decide.
At my approach, young men would by and by
Slip out o'th' way, scar'd by my gravity:
Old men, as I did pass, would, in a row,
Salute me, and their bodies humbly bow;
Nor would they one Punctilio neglect,
Of courtesie, in paying their respect.
Slip out o'th' way, scar'd by my gravity:
Old men, as I did pass, would, in a row,
Salute me, and their bodies humbly bow;
Nor would they one Punctilio neglect,
Of courtesie, in paying their respect.
The Lords o'th' Country, who at home, in State,
Did govern all, when I in Judgement sate,
Would with submission, in the Court appear,
And from debates amongst themselves forbear,
Whilst all their Counsel I would calmly hear.
And when I did give Judgement in the case,
They'd stop their mouths, and freely acquiesce
To what I did determine: none repin'd
At my procedure: none of them declin'd
My Jurisdiction: none of them complain'd,
But all obey'd, what I had once ordain'd.
Did govern all, when I in Judgement sate,
Would with submission, in the Court appear,
And from debates amongst themselves forbear,
Whilst all their Counsel I would calmly hear.
And when I did give Judgement in the case,
They'd stop their mouths, and freely acquiesce
To what I did determine: none repin'd
At my procedure: none of them declin'd
My Jurisdiction: none of them complain'd,
But all obey'd, what I had once ordain'd.
What I had once ordain'd did fully stand
For Law, my Sentence was a firm command:
The greatest of them all would silently,
Forthwith with my Decisions comply:
Such was my Justice: so by Rules of Law,
I gave decisions: that all stood in aw
To ask a further hearing, 'cause they knew
What I did order, needed no review.
In all the time of my authority,
(God knows, I speak this without vanity)
By his assistance, I did judge so well,
I ne're so much as heard of an appeal.
For Law, my Sentence was a firm command:
The greatest of them all would silently,
Forthwith with my Decisions comply:
Such was my Justice: so by Rules of Law,
I gave decisions: that all stood in aw
To ask a further hearing, 'cause they knew
What I did order, needed no review.
In all the time of my authority,
(God knows, I speak this without vanity)
By his assistance, I did judge so well,
I ne're so much as heard of an appeal.
For in my judging, I had no respect
To persons, nor did information take
From private mouths, to this mans prejudice,
Or t'other: nor did I the qualities
Of Plaintiff, or Defendant e're regard,
But freely my opinion still declar'd,
As by the Laws and Statutes of the place,
I found should be adjudg'd upon the case.
I never would encourage my relations,
And friends to ply me with sollicitations,
On any mans behalf, whose sute did ly
In Court before me: but would still deny
Access to all, that for their friend would speak,
Except in open Court: I ne're would take
A Bribe from any: neither would I hear,
Or look on such, as whisper in the ear,
And offer private compacts: nor allow
My servants to exact, as others do,
From Parties, who in Court had business,
That they to me might make these mens address.
Nor would I e're allow, at any rate,
That any of my Children should debate
In Court for any man; lest men might think
I might their Party favour; or might wink
At their contrivance, and adjudge the case,
T'advance their foul, and unjust purchases.
Nor would I ever suffer in the least
Defendants in their Pleas, should be opprest,
By powerful men, to whom it was thought fit
The Plaintiffs oft times should their Suits transmit.
No, for by rules of Court, I openly
Forbid such unjust dealings, and would try
Each Parties Title, e're I suffered
Either of them upon the fact to plead.
For as I all oppression did detest,
So on concussion, as none of the least
O'th' many species of that loud-tongu'd Crime,
I alwayes look'd thence if at any time,
Such cases did occur, I'de carefully
Restrain such active, cunning tyranny.
For this cause all men bless'd me, for this cause,
Of all who knew me I had great applause.
To persons, nor did information take
From private mouths, to this mans prejudice,
Or t'other: nor did I the qualities
Of Plaintiff, or Defendant e're regard,
But freely my opinion still declar'd,
As by the Laws and Statutes of the place,
I found should be adjudg'd upon the case.
I never would encourage my relations,
And friends to ply me with sollicitations,
On any mans behalf, whose sute did ly
In Court before me: but would still deny
Access to all, that for their friend would speak,
247
A Bribe from any: neither would I hear,
Or look on such, as whisper in the ear,
And offer private compacts: nor allow
My servants to exact, as others do,
From Parties, who in Court had business,
That they to me might make these mens address.
Nor would I e're allow, at any rate,
That any of my Children should debate
In Court for any man; lest men might think
I might their Party favour; or might wink
At their contrivance, and adjudge the case,
T'advance their foul, and unjust purchases.
Nor would I ever suffer in the least
Defendants in their Pleas, should be opprest,
By powerful men, to whom it was thought fit
The Plaintiffs oft times should their Suits transmit.
No, for by rules of Court, I openly
Forbid such unjust dealings, and would try
Each Parties Title, e're I suffered
Either of them upon the fact to plead.
For as I all oppression did detest,
So on concussion, as none of the least
O'th' many species of that loud-tongu'd Crime,
I alwayes look'd thence if at any time,
Such cases did occur, I'de carefully
Restrain such active, cunning tyranny.
For this cause all men bless'd me, for this cause,
Of all who knew me I had great applause.
Because the poor whose daily cryes did grieve
My very soul, I quickly did relieve
From sad oppressions, under which they groan'd,
And only by the rabble were bemoan'd.
The Orphan too, and him that destitute
Of counsel in the Court did move his suit,
I freely heard, and without much debate,
In their possessions I would re-instate.
My very soul, I quickly did relieve
From sad oppressions, under which they groan'd,
And only by the rabble were bemoan'd.
The Orphan too, and him that destitute
Of counsel in the Court did move his suit,
I freely heard, and without much debate,
In their possessions I would re-instate.
Those, who in Law-suits all their means had spent,
And at the Court-gates daily did present
Petitions on their knees for Aliment.
I'de frequently relieve, and in return
Procure their blessings; Widows, who did mourn,
And kep't a howling with their Girles, and Boyes,
Before I left the Court, I'de make rejoice.
And at the Court-gates daily did present
Petitions on their knees for Aliment.
I'de frequently relieve, and in return
Procure their blessings; Widows, who did mourn,
And kep't a howling with their Girles, and Boyes,
Before I left the Court, I'de make rejoice.
Nor did I act thus to procure the name
Of a just Judge, or by a running fame,
T'abuse the World; but meerly, I protest,
Out of a principle, which in my breast
I entertain'd, that taught me to deny
All fellowship with partiality.
For I in simple justice took delight,
And as no threatnings did my mind affright,
So was I not by Female-pity mov'd
To do injustice; nay, I ever lov'd
To hear both parties fully, how so e're
The ones pretensions often did appear
More favourable then the others were.
For, In my jugdement I'd not contribute
To th'verifying of either parties suit;
But by the rules of Justice, and in that
My self indeed I valu'd; for I sat,
Not as a friend to any, but to all,
A Judge most upright, and impartial.
As such indeed I did my self esteem,
More then if I had worn a Diadem.
Of a just Judge, or by a running fame,
T'abuse the World; but meerly, I protest,
Out of a principle, which in my breast
I entertain'd, that taught me to deny
All fellowship with partiality.
For I in simple justice took delight,
And as no threatnings did my mind affright,
So was I not by Female-pity mov'd
To do injustice; nay, I ever lov'd
248
The ones pretensions often did appear
More favourable then the others were.
For, In my jugdement I'd not contribute
To th'verifying of either parties suit;
But by the rules of Justice, and in that
My self indeed I valu'd; for I sat,
Not as a friend to any, but to all,
A Judge most upright, and impartial.
As such indeed I did my self esteem,
More then if I had worn a Diadem.
For such, as could not their own case relate,
In terms of Law, I would the question state,
And even their Counsel, where 'twas evident
In point of Law, they were deficient,
By my own knowledge I would oft supply,
And help their Pleadings, yet impartially.
Nay, where I see a Cause like to miscarry,
Through th'influence of a potent adversary,
Though just, and fair, I would indeed from thence,
Appear for th'Party, and in his defence,
Bestir my self, as wholly opposite
To all oppression, nay I took delite
To crush the projects of those powerful men,
And make their Congees, and attendance vain.
In terms of Law, I would the question state,
And even their Counsel, where 'twas evident
In point of Law, they were deficient,
By my own knowledge I would oft supply,
And help their Pleadings, yet impartially.
Nay, where I see a Cause like to miscarry,
Through th'influence of a potent adversary,
Though just, and fair, I would indeed from thence,
Appear for th'Party, and in his defence,
Bestir my self, as wholly opposite
To all oppression, nay I took delite
To crush the projects of those powerful men,
And make their Congees, and attendance vain.
I was indeed a father to the poor,
And always would protect them from that hour,
I see their Cause was just, and would withstand,
On their behalf, the greatest in the land.
For where by Lawyers wrangling, and debate,
Their Causes had been rendred intricate,
I'd call for th'Process, and with careful eye,
In privat every Article survey,
Not trusting to my Clerks, as others do,
But with my own eyes, I'd go fully through,
The several pieces, and next day report
My judgement on the case, in open Court.
And always would protect them from that hour,
I see their Cause was just, and would withstand,
On their behalf, the greatest in the land.
For where by Lawyers wrangling, and debate,
Their Causes had been rendred intricate,
I'd call for th'Process, and with careful eye,
In privat every Article survey,
Not trusting to my Clerks, as others do,
But with my own eyes, I'd go fully through,
The several pieces, and next day report
My judgement on the case, in open Court.
So that, when the oppressour judg'd his prey
Was now his own, and without more delay,
He'd seize on all the poor man did possesse,
Then on a suddain would I turn the chase,
And as a man out of a Lyons paws,
Would tear his spoile, so the poors dying Cause,
I'd rescue by the very strength of Laws.
Yea, not so only, but I would allow
Such costs to the prevailing Parties too,
And whip the fuillers with such dammages,
As they should not be able to oppresse,
As they had done; but thence forth should forbear,
In such foull, unjust actions, to appear.
Was now his own, and without more delay,
He'd seize on all the poor man did possesse,
Then on a suddain would I turn the chase,
And as a man out of a Lyons paws,
Would tear his spoile, so the poors dying Cause,
I'd rescue by the very strength of Laws.
Yea, not so only, but I would allow
Such costs to the prevailing Parties too,
And whip the fuillers with such dammages,
As they should not be able to oppresse,
As they had done; but thence forth should forbear,
In such foull, unjust actions, to appear.
Thus firmly rooted, thus established,
Thus flourishing, thus branching, I could read
In all those figures, and fair instances.
The History of my own happinesse.
Then said I, Lord, how hast thou bless'd me now,
In every thing, what have I more to do,
Then thus to live in Honour, Wealth, and Peace,
And when the motion of my Lungs shall cease,
Crown'd with the Lawrels of Felicity
To lay my self down, and in triumph die.
Thus flourishing, thus branching, I could read
In all those figures, and fair instances.
The History of my own happinesse.
249
In every thing, what have I more to do,
Then thus to live in Honour, Wealth, and Peace,
And when the motion of my Lungs shall cease,
Crown'd with the Lawrels of Felicity
To lay my self down, and in triumph die.
For my enjoyments daily did increase,
My joys were greater then I could express,
And there was no bounds to my happiness.
I liv'd in plenty, and in confidence,
Of Gods great favour, and a permanence
Of all his kindness: never did I dream
On what I now perceive, but did esteem
My self so fixt in my enjoyments here,
As not unlike a Tree I did appear,
That planted by a River with its roots,
Sock't in the Waters, always freshly sprouts,
And 'twixt the Water, and the Dew, which lyes
Each Night upon its branches, multiplyes
So in its growth, as one might judge from thence
This Tree might be of long continuance.
My joys were greater then I could express,
And there was no bounds to my happiness.
I liv'd in plenty, and in confidence,
Of Gods great favour, and a permanence
Of all his kindness: never did I dream
On what I now perceive, but did esteem
My self so fixt in my enjoyments here,
As not unlike a Tree I did appear,
That planted by a River with its roots,
Sock't in the Waters, always freshly sprouts,
And 'twixt the Water, and the Dew, which lyes
Each Night upon its branches, multiplyes
So in its growth, as one might judge from thence
This Tree might be of long continuance.
I thought my honour never should decay
For I might well perceive how every day
My reputation as a Judge increas'd,
And I all mens affections possess'd.
Yea, as I us'd to judge impartially,
So arm'd with Power, and Authority
All my Decrees I would see execute,
And my Commands obey'd without dispute.
For I might well perceive how every day
My reputation as a Judge increas'd,
And I all mens affections possess'd.
Yea, as I us'd to judge impartially,
So arm'd with Power, and Authority
All my Decrees I would see execute,
And my Commands obey'd without dispute.
Without dispute, for I remember well
In parts, and prudence I did so excell,
And did my Reputation so maintain,
In every point amongst my Countrey-men,
That whilst on any point of Law, or State
I chanc'd to speak, all with attention sat,
And with great patience heard me to an end,
Whilst what I counsell'd they would still commend.
In parts, and prudence I did so excell,
And did my Reputation so maintain,
In every point amongst my Countrey-men,
That whilst on any point of Law, or State
I chanc'd to speak, all with attention sat,
And with great patience heard me to an end,
Whilst what I counsell'd they would still commend.
Yes; though before I spoke they would debate
The points in hand, and argue with some heat,
No sooner I'de arise, then instantly
They'd shut up all their Mouths, and by, and by
Hush'd up in silence seriously give ear
To what I spoke: and greedily would hear
What my opinion was upon the case;
And after I had spoke they held their peace.
The points in hand, and argue with some heat,
No sooner I'de arise, then instantly
They'd shut up all their Mouths, and by, and by
Hush'd up in silence seriously give ear
To what I spoke: and greedily would hear
What my opinion was upon the case;
And after I had spoke they held their peace.
My words were to them as a casting vote,
For to what I held out, they reply'd not:
Because they always bore great deference
To my opinion, and with reverence
Would acquiesce to my determination
Of whatsoever was in agitation.
For to what I held out, they reply'd not:
Because they always bore great deference
To my opinion, and with reverence
Would acquiesce to my determination
Of whatsoever was in agitation.
Indeed, my friends, such was my reputation,
So was I lov'd and honour'd in my station:
Such was th'ambition of all knowing men
To be of my acquaintance.—
That if at any time I'de cast an eye,
On any of 'em somewhat courteously,
They'd from that verie moment calculate
Their happiness, and reckon their estate
By th'figures of my smiles: yet would not dare
For all that, to become familiar
With me at anie rate, but warilie
Would keep due distance: and not saucilie,
Encroach on my good humour, but forbear
All idle Divination, of my ear
From such Prognosticks: or suppose that I
Could ere be merrie out of Levitie.
So was I lov'd and honour'd in my station:
Such was th'ambition of all knowing men
250
That if at any time I'de cast an eye,
On any of 'em somewhat courteously,
They'd from that verie moment calculate
Their happiness, and reckon their estate
By th'figures of my smiles: yet would not dare
For all that, to become familiar
With me at anie rate, but warilie
Would keep due distance: and not saucilie,
Encroach on my good humour, but forbear
All idle Divination, of my ear
From such Prognosticks: or suppose that I
Could ere be merrie out of Levitie.
But what needs more! alace I do with teares,
Reflect on th'beautie of my former years;
When all at my Devotion were, when all
Obey'd my orders, as their General.
When in all their Assemblies still I sat
Amongst them as Lord Paramount, in state,
And ordered all affairs, yet would not I
At anie time use that Authority
But with Discretion, and would rather aid
All men with Counsel, than make them afraid
Of me, because I in my hand did bear
That, by which men procure both love, and fear.
In fine my Grandeur, and Authority
Differ'd but little from pure Soveraignty,
For as a Prince, I in these days did live,
And no man question'd my Prerogative.
Reflect on th'beautie of my former years;
When all at my Devotion were, when all
Obey'd my orders, as their General.
When in all their Assemblies still I sat
Amongst them as Lord Paramount, in state,
And ordered all affairs, yet would not I
At anie time use that Authority
But with Discretion, and would rather aid
All men with Counsel, than make them afraid
Of me, because I in my hand did bear
That, by which men procure both love, and fear.
In fine my Grandeur, and Authority
Differ'd but little from pure Soveraignty,
For as a Prince, I in these days did live,
And no man question'd my Prerogative.
251
Cap. XXX.
1. But now those that are younger than I have me in derision, whose fathers I would have disdained to have set with the dogs of my flocks
Of men, who liv'd in miserable case:
The brood of such, as were no more esteem'd
Than Slaves, with whom all good men were asham'd
To haunt, or converse.—
Poor Tag-rag-fellowes, men so low, and mean
As scarce such wretches now are to be seen,
The race of Scoundrels, sillie, needie rogues,
Whom I'de scarce trust with feeding of my dogs:
Because by hunger such might ha' been drawn,
To cheat more useful creatures of their brawn.
The race of such as in unbridled rage,
Of sin had spent the vigour of their age,
And in a most luxuriant idleness,
Had wasted their most profitable dayes:
Whence in declining years, poor, hunger-starv'd,
Feeble, and doating they for nothing serv'd:
So that such creatures, as those Wretches were
No man to service ever would prefer.
Of sin had spent the vigour of their age,
And in a most luxuriant idleness,
Had wasted their most profitable dayes:
Whence in declining years, poor, hunger-starv'd,
Feeble, and doating they for nothing serv'd:
So that such creatures, as those Wretches were
No man to service ever would prefer.
Hence living idle, and in horrid want
They'd in the day-light 'bout the Shambles haunt,
Begging the Draughts of Beasts, and so would cheat
The verie Butchers Mastives of their meat.
And in the night in some dark entrie creep,
Where on the Staires they would securelie sleep;
At length when th'careful Justice of the Place
Would give out orders to secure the Peace,
Then were we quit of all such Rogues as these.
For of their evil courses conscious,
And so afraid of a Grand Mittimus:
They'd truss up all their Rags, and silentlie,
Sneak out o'th' townes, and to the Desarts flie;
They'd in the day-light 'bout the Shambles haunt,
Begging the Draughts of Beasts, and so would cheat
The verie Butchers Mastives of their meat.
And in the night in some dark entrie creep,
Where on the Staires they would securelie sleep;
At length when th'careful Justice of the Place
Would give out orders to secure the Peace,
Then were we quit of all such Rogues as these.
For of their evil courses conscious,
And so afraid of a Grand Mittimus:
They'd truss up all their Rags, and silentlie,
Sneak out o'th' townes, and to the Desarts flie;
Where amongst Wild-beasts, wandring here, and there,
Many a poor shift for their dailie fare,
Those abject creatures made.—
Mallows, and such Salt-herbs, as none would eat.
But those that were nigh starv'd for want of meat,
Juniper Roots, Thistles, or any thing,
That might preserve them from meer perishing,
They'd cut up for their food, which, with delyte,
They'd eat, t'allay their clamorous appetite.
Many a poor shift for their dailie fare,
Those abject creatures made.—
Mallows, and such Salt-herbs, as none would eat.
But those that were nigh starv'd for want of meat,
Juniper Roots, Thistles, or any thing,
That might preserve them from meer perishing,
They'd cut up for their food, which, with delyte,
They'd eat, t'allay their clamorous appetite.
Nor dur'st those villains to the Towns repair
To purchase food, or ask it any where,
As licenc'd Beggers do, no not at all,
For if they did, the very Dogs would fall
Upon them, and the Countrey by and by
Would arm, and follow them, with Hue, and Cry.
To purchase food, or ask it any where,
As licenc'd Beggers do, no not at all,
For if they did, the very Dogs would fall
Upon them, and the Countrey by and by
252
Hence those poor Rascalls wholly banished
From Humane converse, all of 'em were glad
To dwell in Cliffs of Rocks, in hollow Caves,
Or any holes but differing from Graves,
As Pools from Quagmires, where they might sustain
A miserable life, and sleep with pain,
Whilst hungry Tygers howling in the Night,
These sculking Wretches in their Dreams would fright,
And Lyons roaring all the Fields around
In those mens ears would make a dreadful sound.
From Humane converse, all of 'em were glad
To dwell in Cliffs of Rocks, in hollow Caves,
Or any holes but differing from Graves,
As Pools from Quagmires, where they might sustain
A miserable life, and sleep with pain,
Whilst hungry Tygers howling in the Night,
These sculking Wretches in their Dreams would fright,
And Lyons roaring all the Fields around
In those mens ears would make a dreadful sound.
Nay of the wild beasts they were so affraid
As 'mongst the Bushes they like Asses bray'd
For fear, and hunger: and in clusters creep't
Amongst the Briars and Nettles, where they keep't
Their grand Assemblies, and their business,
Was only to consult, in such distress,
From whence they might have Food, else suddenly
They and their wretched Families should die.
As 'mongst the Bushes they like Asses bray'd
For fear, and hunger: and in clusters creep't
Amongst the Briars and Nettles, where they keep't
Their grand Assemblies, and their business,
Was only to consult, in such distress,
From whence they might have Food, else suddenly
They and their wretched Families should die.
O brave Republick! famous Corporation!
And what d'ye think too was their Generation?
Who were the Fathers of those beastly Men,
Of whose insulting Brats I now complain?
Why they were Fellows most obscurely base,
Meer Vagabonds rambling from place to place,
Void of all Virtue, Honour, Wit, and Grace.
Fellows, whom I my self have caused seize,
And put i'th' Stocks, because they broke the Peace:
Then let 'em go in hopes of reformation,
But finding after all their conversation
Was still the same, in Villany engross't,
I'de send them next time to the whipping Post:
At length oblig'd by their increasing Crimes,
I'de send such men by dozens oftentimes,
Fairly to th'Gibbet: men so despicable
As they were no less hated by the Rabble,
Then Wolves, and Foxes: men so villanous,
And in their lives so grossly vitious,
As all disdain'd to bear them company,
But from such men would as from Serpents fly.
And what d'ye think too was their Generation?
Who were the Fathers of those beastly Men,
Of whose insulting Brats I now complain?
Why they were Fellows most obscurely base,
Meer Vagabonds rambling from place to place,
Void of all Virtue, Honour, Wit, and Grace.
Fellows, whom I my self have caused seize,
And put i'th' Stocks, because they broke the Peace:
Then let 'em go in hopes of reformation,
But finding after all their conversation
Was still the same, in Villany engross't,
I'de send them next time to the whipping Post:
At length oblig'd by their increasing Crimes,
I'de send such men by dozens oftentimes,
Fairly to th'Gibbet: men so despicable
As they were no less hated by the Rabble,
Then Wolves, and Foxes: men so villanous,
And in their lives so grossly vitious,
As all disdain'd to bear them company,
But from such men would as from Serpents fly.
Such was indeed the Line, and Parentage
Of those vile men, those Scandals of their Age
Of whom those Scabs, who now do openly
In Ballads, Rhimes, and bitter Raillery,
Upbraid me to my face, are lineally
Descended:—
From whence alace it clearly doth appear,
Those wanton Youngsters, who so patly jeer,
And laugh at me now in my present case,
Are both of low Birth, and of cursed Race.
Yet do those sons of Earth, those upstart Knaves,
Who draw their line from men far worse then Slaves,
Those Mushrome-cracks, those men of yesterday,
Those make me now the subject of their play.
Those Rat-catchers, whom I'd scarce heretofore,
Allow to walk before my Parlour door,
Those base-born Mangrels, whom my Serving-men,
Thought not their equals, but with great disdain,
When at their Table, they'd presume to eat,
Would neither drink to them, nor carve their meat.
Yet those men now laugh at my misery,
And point at me: unhappy poverty!
There's nought from thee more heavily we take,
Then that, thou men ridiculous dost make.
Of those vile men, those Scandals of their Age
Of whom those Scabs, who now do openly
In Ballads, Rhimes, and bitter Raillery,
Upbraid me to my face, are lineally
Descended:—
From whence alace it clearly doth appear,
Those wanton Youngsters, who so patly jeer,
And laugh at me now in my present case,
Are both of low Birth, and of cursed Race.
Yet do those sons of Earth, those upstart Knaves,
Who draw their line from men far worse then Slaves,
Those Mushrome-cracks, those men of yesterday,
Those make me now the subject of their play.
253
Allow to walk before my Parlour door,
Those base-born Mangrels, whom my Serving-men,
Thought not their equals, but with great disdain,
When at their Table, they'd presume to eat,
Would neither drink to them, nor carve their meat.
Yet those men now laugh at my misery,
And point at me: unhappy poverty!
There's nought from thee more heavily we take,
Then that, thou men ridiculous dost make.
Ridiculous indeed, as ever man
Was made by men, since first the World began
Am I now made.—
And by young fools too, fellows light, and vain,
Shrewdly debauch'd, and openly prophane,
Who flock to see me in this doleful state,
As others do, and to expresse their hate,
Reproach me with foul words, aud bitterly
Insult o're me, in my calamity:
Put on me all affronts imaginable,
And use all means to make me despicable.
Was made by men, since first the World began
Am I now made.—
And by young fools too, fellows light, and vain,
Shrewdly debauch'd, and openly prophane,
Who flock to see me in this doleful state,
As others do, and to expresse their hate,
Reproach me with foul words, aud bitterly
Insult o're me, in my calamity:
Put on me all affronts imaginable,
And use all means to make me despicable.
But now I think on't, I should not admire,
To see the Race of Criminals conspire
Against me, in this miserable state,
Because, when formerly a Magistrate;
I did indeed correct their Fathers so,
As till this time those slaves durst never show
Their heads in publick; yes I did indeed,
And to this day I think those men may read
My justice plain, and clear before their eyes,
I'th' Histories of their several Families.
For formerly, when my Authority
Did flourish, these men living quietly,
And within bounds, durst never give offence
To any man, lest my intelligence
Might reach their actings, and by Law declare
These Rogues, all Out-laws, as their Fathers were.
To see the Race of Criminals conspire
Against me, in this miserable state,
Because, when formerly a Magistrate;
I did indeed correct their Fathers so,
As till this time those slaves durst never show
Their heads in publick; yes I did indeed,
And to this day I think those men may read
My justice plain, and clear before their eyes,
I'th' Histories of their several Families.
For formerly, when my Authority
Did flourish, these men living quietly,
And within bounds, durst never give offence
To any man, lest my intelligence
Might reach their actings, and by Law declare
These Rogues, all Out-laws, as their Fathers were.
But now, alace, that God himself hath broke
My power, and turn'd my Honour all to smoke:
Now that his heavy hand doth on me ly,
And I am overcharg'd with misery:
Even those mean things now from their Kennels crawl,
And bark at me with open mouths, nay, all
Who formerly did to my person bear
Great reverence, now openly appear
My greatest enemies, insultingly
Reflecting on my former Dignity,
Of which I'm now robb'd, as is ordinar,
In time of Troubles, Mutinies, and War,
When by the Rabble Prisons are broke ope,
And Malefactors arm'd, no House, or Shop,
Is sooner riffled, than those which belong,
To th'Magistrat, 'bout, which in Troops they throng,
Where all's pull'd down, and with difficulty,
To save their persons, they are forc'd to fly.
And leave all in this lamentable case
To th'fury of the hot-bruin'd populace.
My power, and turn'd my Honour all to smoke:
Now that his heavy hand doth on me ly,
And I am overcharg'd with misery:
Even those mean things now from their Kennels crawl,
And bark at me with open mouths, nay, all
Who formerly did to my person bear
Great reverence, now openly appear
My greatest enemies, insultingly
Reflecting on my former Dignity,
Of which I'm now robb'd, as is ordinar,
In time of Troubles, Mutinies, and War,
When by the Rabble Prisons are broke ope,
And Malefactors arm'd, no House, or Shop,
Is sooner riffled, than those which belong,
To th'Magistrat, 'bout, which in Troops they throng,
Where all's pull'd down, and with difficulty,
254
And leave all in this lamentable case
To th'fury of the hot-bruin'd populace.
So these same lewd, and insolent young men,
Whom formerly, by Law I did restrain,
Now by my fall from inquisition freed,
Uninterrupted, hourly do proceed,
By all the arts, and tricks, they can invent
To make my case most sad, whilst they torment
My soul, by frequent looking on my face,
And pointing out to all men my disgrace.
Whom formerly, by Law I did restrain,
Now by my fall from inquisition freed,
Uninterrupted, hourly do proceed,
By all the arts, and tricks, they can invent
To make my case most sad, whilst they torment
My soul, by frequent looking on my face,
And pointing out to all men my disgrace.
For where I would endure with patience,
My present sorrows, these mens insolence
Do cross my resolutions, and raise
My Spleen to some disorder, whilst they please
Themselves to see me in this sad estate,
(Which visits all ingenuous spirits hate)
And by false accusations, bitter tales,
Clamours, unjust reproaches, or what else
Those virulent vindictive fellows art,
Can in their Cups devise, or for their heart
Contrive to vex me, I am sore opprest,
And from their Spur-gall'd Jests can have no rest,
Nor need they great mens help to countenance
Th'abusive progress of their petulance,
For of themselves by their intolerable
Proud, wanton carriage, truly they are able
To do their business, with convenience,
As I have found by sad experience.
My present sorrows, these mens insolence
Do cross my resolutions, and raise
My Spleen to some disorder, whilst they please
Themselves to see me in this sad estate,
(Which visits all ingenuous spirits hate)
And by false accusations, bitter tales,
Clamours, unjust reproaches, or what else
Those virulent vindictive fellows art,
Can in their Cups devise, or for their heart
Contrive to vex me, I am sore opprest,
And from their Spur-gall'd Jests can have no rest,
Nor need they great mens help to countenance
Th'abusive progress of their petulance,
For of themselves by their intolerable
Proud, wanton carriage, truly they are able
To do their business, with convenience,
As I have found by sad experience.
For these licentious Youths have ta'ne delite
To gaze upon me here with great despite,
Whilst other clamorous Villains on pretence
Of wrongs sustain'd from me, with violence
Have rush'd on my possessions, and seiz'd
All my effects, disposing as they pleas'd
On what belong'd to me, whilst each of them
Parts of my means, as by reprysals, claim.
So that ev'n as a Town besieg'd I ly
Beset on all hands, by the enemy;
Who by continual Batteries have ply'd
Its Walls, and made at length a breach so wide,
That, as a Torrent, with great violence
Breaks through the strongest Banks, and Water-fence
O're-running all it meets, so at the breach
The Souldiers enter with a shout, and stretch
Their Front so wide, as they appear at least
Pell-mell to throng a hundred in a breast.
Even so at that great breach, which th'hand of God
Has made on me, as through a beaten road,
The dregs o'th' Countrey, men of low estate,
And scarcely in Apparel, till of late,
Have in this day of my calamity,
Rush'd in upon me, and maliciously
Seiz'd on my Goods, and Chattels, riffling all,
And left me nothing, which I now may call
My own, for even what my wild neighbours spar'd,
These men have plunder'd having no regard
To Conscience, Honour, Law, or Equity,
But take advantage of me, where I lye,
Floating in this huge gulf of misery.
And now those Donatars of my forfaulture
Those vile oppressours, those base villains, sure
Are now perswaded I am wholly gone,
Never to be restor'd, and all's their own.
To gaze upon me here with great despite,
Whilst other clamorous Villains on pretence
Of wrongs sustain'd from me, with violence
Have rush'd on my possessions, and seiz'd
All my effects, disposing as they pleas'd
On what belong'd to me, whilst each of them
Parts of my means, as by reprysals, claim.
So that ev'n as a Town besieg'd I ly
Beset on all hands, by the enemy;
Who by continual Batteries have ply'd
Its Walls, and made at length a breach so wide,
That, as a Torrent, with great violence
Breaks through the strongest Banks, and Water-fence
O're-running all it meets, so at the breach
The Souldiers enter with a shout, and stretch
Their Front so wide, as they appear at least
Pell-mell to throng a hundred in a breast.
Even so at that great breach, which th'hand of God
Has made on me, as through a beaten road,
The dregs o'th' Countrey, men of low estate,
And scarcely in Apparel, till of late,
Have in this day of my calamity,
Rush'd in upon me, and maliciously
Seiz'd on my Goods, and Chattels, riffling all,
255
My own, for even what my wild neighbours spar'd,
These men have plunder'd having no regard
To Conscience, Honour, Law, or Equity,
But take advantage of me, where I lye,
Floating in this huge gulf of misery.
And now those Donatars of my forfaulture
Those vile oppressours, those base villains, sure
Are now perswaded I am wholly gone,
Never to be restor'd, and all's their own.
'Tis true indeed, as far as man can see
I'me lost for ever, there's no hopes of me,
No hopes that ever I can be restor'd;
And so my case is much to be deplor'd.
Besides, alace, within my breast I find
Oppressions of a more destructive kind:
Terrours of Conscience, ah! strange terrours now
O'rewhelm my spirit:
For as a Cloud before the Wind doth roul,
So by sad thoughts my over-wearied soul
Is driven forward most impetuously,
And broke to pieces, as a Cloud doth fly,
When scattered into Air, such is my case,
And of my restauration, alace
There's no more hopes, I fear, I now may say
Then of a Cloud that vanisheth away.
I'me lost for ever, there's no hopes of me,
No hopes that ever I can be restor'd;
And so my case is much to be deplor'd.
Besides, alace, within my breast I find
Oppressions of a more destructive kind:
Terrours of Conscience, ah! strange terrours now
O'rewhelm my spirit:
For as a Cloud before the Wind doth roul,
So by sad thoughts my over-wearied soul
Is driven forward most impetuously,
And broke to pieces, as a Cloud doth fly,
When scattered into Air, such is my case,
And of my restauration, alace
There's no more hopes, I fear, I now may say
Then of a Cloud that vanisheth away.
What am I then, my friends, pray let me know
Whether I breath, whether I live, or no?
Am I a man yet? Do I yet retain
Some vestiges of reason? pray be plain.
Am I a Creature rational? or can
Such, as now see me, call me yet a man?
Is not my strength exhausted? are not all
My spirits wasted? how then shall I call
My self a living creature?—
—Is not my soul the source of life, and strength,
By heat of woes evaporate at length?
Yes, and the part that's left of me, appears
But like the Ship-wracks of an hundred years.
A very lump of dust, a lifeless thing,
A piece of earth not worth the valuing:
A Creature so deform'd, so overspread
With hideous sores, as one can hardly read
Its title in its fore-head, or perswade
Himself, that such a thing a man was made
—In this condition, in this sad estate—
You see, my friends, then, how my God of late
Has molt me in the Furnace of his wrath,
Dissolv'd me, and yet after all I breath.
Whether I breath, whether I live, or no?
Am I a man yet? Do I yet retain
Some vestiges of reason? pray be plain.
Am I a Creature rational? or can
Such, as now see me, call me yet a man?
Is not my strength exhausted? are not all
My spirits wasted? how then shall I call
My self a living creature?—
—Is not my soul the source of life, and strength,
By heat of woes evaporate at length?
Yes, and the part that's left of me, appears
But like the Ship-wracks of an hundred years.
A very lump of dust, a lifeless thing,
A piece of earth not worth the valuing:
A Creature so deform'd, so overspread
With hideous sores, as one can hardly read
Its title in its fore-head, or perswade
Himself, that such a thing a man was made
—In this condition, in this sad estate—
You see, my friends, then, how my God of late
Has molt me in the Furnace of his wrath,
Dissolv'd me, and yet after all I breath.
I only breath, I live to feel the pain,
Which in my bones, and sinews I sustain:—
Such horrid pain, as cannot be exprest,
Such pain, as does allow my soul no rest
For in the nighttime, in the hour, when all
Submit themselves to sleep, at Natures call;
Then,—then,—O then, my Bones so shrewdly ake,
As I'm compell'd by force of pain t'awake.
Which in my bones, and sinews I sustain:—
Such horrid pain, as cannot be exprest,
Such pain, as does allow my soul no rest
For in the nighttime, in the hour, when all
256
Then,—then,—O then, my Bones so shrewdly ake,
As I'm compell'd by force of pain t'awake.
Alace such is the strength of my disease,
As no invention can my pains appease;
For by the course of matter purulent,
Which issues from my Sores, and represent
The foul ingredients of a common Shore
My Garments are so stiff with bile, and gore,
That though, as formerly I now could say
I might change my Apparrel every day,
Yet would I by that shifting find no ease,
Nor would the torrent of my Ulcers cease,
But in their course run most impetuously
Upon my Cloaths, and never let them dry?
But make them so fast to my Body stick,—
Th'expression makes me both asham'd, and sick.—
As no invention can my pains appease;
For by the course of matter purulent,
Which issues from my Sores, and represent
The foul ingredients of a common Shore
My Garments are so stiff with bile, and gore,
That though, as formerly I now could say
I might change my Apparrel every day,
Yet would I by that shifting find no ease,
Nor would the torrent of my Ulcers cease,
But in their course run most impetuously
Upon my Cloaths, and never let them dry?
But make them so fast to my Body stick,—
Th'expression makes me both asham'd, and sick.—
And now, like Sow in puddle, I appear,
Wallowing in my own sores, and mired here,
As one in marish stranded, all o're run
With loathsome Ulcers totally undone,
With putrid scabs, which from my Skin do fall,
When dry, and make me look, as I were all
A heap of Dust, and Ashes, Boils, and Sores,
With all that's ugly—
Nay, I am now so low, so mean, and base,
No language my condition can expresse.
Wallowing in my own sores, and mired here,
As one in marish stranded, all o're run
With loathsome Ulcers totally undone,
With putrid scabs, which from my Skin do fall,
When dry, and make me look, as I were all
A heap of Dust, and Ashes, Boils, and Sores,
With all that's ugly—
Nay, I am now so low, so mean, and base,
No language my condition can expresse.
But, O, what's worst of all, and doth exceed
All torments, I as yet have suffered,
My great Creator, to whom I do pray,
And cry aloud, a hundred times a day,
Seems unconcern'd, no notice of me takes,
But 'fore my eyes his flaming Sword he shakes,
In token of his Wrath, and now appears
To second all my jealousies, and fears,
By this bad usage; Lord, how frequently,
As a poor Beggar at thy gates do I
Implore for thy own sake, some Charity.
How oft have I, good Lord, to thee complain'd,
But have as yet no grace from thee obtain'd?
Wilt thou not help me, Lord? wilt thou not hear
Me when I pray? ah, wilt thou not give ear
To my sad crys? good Lord, what shall I say?
—Shall I at all times to no purpose pray?
Wilt not concern thy self, O mighty Lord,
With my afflictions? wilt thou not afford
One gracious answer? wilt thou still stand by?
A meer spectator of my misery,
And make no help to me, but in this case,
Suffer me to expire in great disgrace?
All torments, I as yet have suffered,
My great Creator, to whom I do pray,
And cry aloud, a hundred times a day,
Seems unconcern'd, no notice of me takes,
But 'fore my eyes his flaming Sword he shakes,
In token of his Wrath, and now appears
To second all my jealousies, and fears,
By this bad usage; Lord, how frequently,
As a poor Beggar at thy gates do I
Implore for thy own sake, some Charity.
How oft have I, good Lord, to thee complain'd,
But have as yet no grace from thee obtain'd?
Wilt thou not help me, Lord? wilt thou not hear
Me when I pray? ah, wilt thou not give ear
To my sad crys? good Lord, what shall I say?
—Shall I at all times to no purpose pray?
Wilt not concern thy self, O mighty Lord,
With my afflictions? wilt thou not afford
One gracious answer? wilt thou still stand by?
A meer spectator of my misery,
And make no help to me, but in this case,
Suffer me to expire in great disgrace?
Alace, good Lord, I find thy wrath so hot,
That I had rather die upon the spot,
Then live in thy displeasure, for I now
Perceive there's nothing I can ever doe,
Can purchase so much as a short Cessation,
From Persecution; for thy indignation
Against me doth with cruelty increase,
And there's no means left to procure my peace.
That I had rather die upon the spot,
Then live in thy displeasure, for I now
Perceive there's nothing I can ever doe,
257
From Persecution; for thy indignation
Against me doth with cruelty increase,
And there's no means left to procure my peace.
For in Afflictions Ocean, I'me so toss't
'Twixt Wind, and Wave, beyond all sight of Coast,
Beyond all hopes of Calm: now rais'd aloft
Each Minut by the Surge, and then as oft
Amongst the gaping Waves precipitate,
As I'me no better then ingurgitate
In this Abyss of Troubles.—
—Now all this Tempest by thy mighty hand
Is rais'd against me, Lord, at thy command,
All these Infernal Woes assembled are,
By which I see, O Lord, thou dost appear
My open Enemy: and in thy wrath
Resolv'st even to pursue me to the death.
'Twixt Wind, and Wave, beyond all sight of Coast,
Beyond all hopes of Calm: now rais'd aloft
Each Minut by the Surge, and then as oft
Amongst the gaping Waves precipitate,
As I'me no better then ingurgitate
In this Abyss of Troubles.—
—Now all this Tempest by thy mighty hand
Is rais'd against me, Lord, at thy command,
All these Infernal Woes assembled are,
By which I see, O Lord, thou dost appear
My open Enemy: and in thy wrath
Resolv'st even to pursue me to the death.
I know thou dost, nay I am very sure
My Wounds are mortal past all hopes of cure,
And I must quickly die, good Lord, I know,
There is no remedy, but I must go,
To th'House appointed for all here below.
To the cold Grave, where huddled up do ly,
The mouldy Records of Mortality:
Where all the pride of Earth, its pomp, and glory
Are to be found in a large Repertory
Of Dust, and Ashes, thither Lord, I know,—
—Thither annon, O thither I must go,—
Where enter'd in Deaths Book, my life, I fear
Shall a more famous Precedent appear
Of Humane Frailty, and the vanity,
Of this poor World, then a whole Century
Before my time can show; whilst all in me
May a most evident example see
Both of thy Goodness, and thy sad displeasure,
Dispens'd in an extr'ordinary measure.
My Wounds are mortal past all hopes of cure,
And I must quickly die, good Lord, I know,
There is no remedy, but I must go,
To th'House appointed for all here below.
To the cold Grave, where huddled up do ly,
The mouldy Records of Mortality:
Where all the pride of Earth, its pomp, and glory
Are to be found in a large Repertory
Of Dust, and Ashes, thither Lord, I know,—
—Thither annon, O thither I must go,—
Where enter'd in Deaths Book, my life, I fear
Shall a more famous Precedent appear
Of Humane Frailty, and the vanity,
Of this poor World, then a whole Century
Before my time can show; whilst all in me
May a most evident example see
Both of thy Goodness, and thy sad displeasure,
Dispens'd in an extr'ordinary measure.
Yet here's my comfort, that when I descend
To Earth, my Troubles shall be at an end:
The War of my Afflictions shall cease,
And in the Grave at least I shall have peace:
For sure my God will not pursue me there,
Or make me in worse state then others are,
Who in that melancholly Cloyster dwell,
But will permit me there to rest, as well,
As all my Predecessors in that place,
And when I come that length, give o're the chase.
For whilst I live, I never do expect
T'have any rest, what ere I may suspect
Shall be my state of life, when life is gone
For on the matress of the Grave alone
I may have ease, but here I shall have none.
To Earth, my Troubles shall be at an end:
The War of my Afflictions shall cease,
And in the Grave at least I shall have peace:
For sure my God will not pursue me there,
Or make me in worse state then others are,
Who in that melancholly Cloyster dwell,
But will permit me there to rest, as well,
As all my Predecessors in that place,
And when I come that length, give o're the chase.
For whilst I live, I never do expect
T'have any rest, what ere I may suspect
Shall be my state of life, when life is gone
For on the matress of the Grave alone
I may have ease, but here I shall have none.
Strange! that with grief I should be thus oppress't!
Why had I ever lodg'd within my breast,
A heart of Flint, that never could comply
With others woes by rules of Sympathy:
Or had I been so cruelly severe,
As in my life I never would give ear
To th'crys of those, who did sad troubles feel,
And 'mongst the billows of Afflictions reel;
But unconcern'd at all their misery,
Had suffered them unpityed to die:
Then had I merit all those griefs, and woes,
I now endure: but on the contrare those,
Who were in trouble, I did pity so,
As oftentimes, tears from my eyes would flow,
When any I beheld in sad estate;
Though far from being tortur'd at this rate,
As I am; yet my kind, and tender soul
Would these mens troubles heartily condole.
Nay when I'de hear th'afflicted wretches groan,
I'de look on their condition, as my own:
Why had I ever lodg'd within my breast,
A heart of Flint, that never could comply
258
Or had I been so cruelly severe,
As in my life I never would give ear
To th'crys of those, who did sad troubles feel,
And 'mongst the billows of Afflictions reel;
But unconcern'd at all their misery,
Had suffered them unpityed to die:
Then had I merit all those griefs, and woes,
I now endure: but on the contrare those,
Who were in trouble, I did pity so,
As oftentimes, tears from my eyes would flow,
When any I beheld in sad estate;
Though far from being tortur'd at this rate,
As I am; yet my kind, and tender soul
Would these mens troubles heartily condole.
Nay when I'de hear th'afflicted wretches groan,
I'de look on their condition, as my own:
Yet ah, when I expected better things,
For this complyance; with sad Sufferings,
I only meet; all the reward alace,
Of all my sighs, and pious tenderness,
Is nothing but the utmost of distress:
Barbarous usage, Cruelty, Oppression,
Blows, Unkind dealings, Pains beyond expression,
Ingratitude, Horrour, and Poverty,
Are all the product of my Charity.
For this complyance; with sad Sufferings,
I only meet; all the reward alace,
Of all my sighs, and pious tenderness,
Is nothing but the utmost of distress:
Barbarous usage, Cruelty, Oppression,
Blows, Unkind dealings, Pains beyond expression,
Ingratitude, Horrour, and Poverty,
Are all the product of my Charity.
For even now whilst I speak, I find such pain,
As I'me not able longer to sustain
The weight of my Afflictions;—Oh I faint!
—I faint indeed, now all my strength is spent—
—Nay in my bowels only I do find
Such pain, as would distract a constant mind.
As I'me not able longer to sustain
The weight of my Afflictions;—Oh I faint!
—I faint indeed, now all my strength is spent—
—Nay in my bowels only I do find
Such pain, as would distract a constant mind.
For this cause I go mourning all the day,
And in dark Holes, and Corners take my way,
To Caverns, where the Sun beams are unknown
And find some comfort to be there alone;
Where I my woes with freedom may bemoan.
For when at any time I do appear
In publick, O how I'me asham'd to hear
My own sad exclamations: alace—
—Now every day I see my own disgrace:
And O, my friends, d'ye think but such as I,
Who but of late liv'd in Authority,
Amongst those people, do now think it sad,
To be thus gaz'd on, as if I were mad.
And in dark Holes, and Corners take my way,
To Caverns, where the Sun beams are unknown
And find some comfort to be there alone;
Where I my woes with freedom may bemoan.
For when at any time I do appear
In publick, O how I'me asham'd to hear
My own sad exclamations: alace—
—Now every day I see my own disgrace:
And O, my friends, d'ye think but such as I,
Who but of late liv'd in Authority,
Amongst those people, do now think it sad,
To be thus gaz'd on, as if I were mad.
To be thus gaz'd on, thus constrain'd, by pain,
To cry aloud, before these very men,
Who but of late did see me in this place,
In great respect, but now in sad disgrace
They see me here: for this cause do I fly
To Woods, and Desarts; where no Humane eye
May in the least perceive me: there I howl,
And sereigh, like Dragon, there the dismal Owl,
I in my nightly crying imitate,
And these, and I are now associat,
For we are all wild, sad, and desolate.
These are my brethren, these, and I are now
Well known t'each other: for with these I do
Converse all day long, and all night we keep
A doleful consort, whilst all others sleep.
To cry aloud, before these very men,
Who but of late did see me in this place,
In great respect, but now in sad disgrace
They see me here: for this cause do I fly
To Woods, and Desarts; where no Humane eye
May in the least perceive me: there I howl,
And sereigh, like Dragon, there the dismal Owl,
259
And these, and I are now associat,
For we are all wild, sad, and desolate.
These are my brethren, these, and I are now
Well known t'each other: for with these I do
Converse all day long, and all night we keep
A doleful consort, whilst all others sleep.
'Tis so indeed, for who but such as these
Would converse with a Creature in my case:
With me, a thing so fullie miserable,
As all that I can speak is hardly able,
To prove I'me living man; for who alace
Would think me such, by looking on my face.
Am not I black, deform'd, and withered,
And (save that I am not yet fully dead,)
From those below Ground nothing differing,
But suitable to them in every thing.
Would converse with a Creature in my case:
With me, a thing so fullie miserable,
As all that I can speak is hardly able,
To prove I'me living man; for who alace
Would think me such, by looking on my face.
Am not I black, deform'd, and withered,
And (save that I am not yet fully dead,)
From those below Ground nothing differing,
But suitable to them in every thing.
Hence all my mirth is gone, my former joys
Are now extinguish'd, and there is no noise
Of Musick in my House, as formerly
Was heard, i'th' days of my prosperity.
My Harp doth now in a dead Gamut sound,
And there's no other Musick to be found,
Within my Walls, but howling night, and day,
For all my smiling days are shrunk away.
Are now extinguish'd, and there is no noise
Of Musick in my House, as formerly
Was heard, i'th' days of my prosperity.
My Harp doth now in a dead Gamut sound,
And there's no other Musick to be found,
Within my Walls, but howling night, and day,
For all my smiling days are shrunk away.
Cap. XXXI.
And now, my friends you see, you plainly see,
What formerly you only heard of me:
You see a sad change of my former state,
You see me now on Dunghill, who of late
On the chief Bench most highly honoured sate.
This is my case then, here you see me ly
An evidence o'th' instability
Of Humane Grandeur, a sad precedent
Of Gods displeasure: hither I am sent
By his appointment, that the World may see
His love, and hate alternative in me.
One, whom his bountie formerlie did raise
And blest with a long tract of golden days,
Free of all Sorrow, Poverty, and Pain,
And now his wrath has taken down again.
Why this is all, my friends, 'tis all you see,
This is the sum of what you read in me.
Now therefore, as a man about to die,
Allow me, pray my friends, the libertie
In a few words to make a short relation
Of my short life, and show how in my station,
I laboured still to live without offence,
To God, and Man: so that when I am hence,
You may bear witness to the World what were
My dying words, and from this time forbear
To call me guilty of what all of you
Make it your work to fix upon me now.
Then hear me pray, for after this I shall
Use no more words—
What formerly you only heard of me:
You see a sad change of my former state,
You see me now on Dunghill, who of late
On the chief Bench most highly honoured sate.
This is my case then, here you see me ly
An evidence o'th' instability
Of Humane Grandeur, a sad precedent
Of Gods displeasure: hither I am sent
By his appointment, that the World may see
His love, and hate alternative in me.
One, whom his bountie formerlie did raise
And blest with a long tract of golden days,
Free of all Sorrow, Poverty, and Pain,
And now his wrath has taken down again.
Why this is all, my friends, 'tis all you see,
This is the sum of what you read in me.
Now therefore, as a man about to die,
Allow me, pray my friends, the libertie
In a few words to make a short relation
Of my short life, and show how in my station,
I laboured still to live without offence,
To God, and Man: so that when I am hence,
You may bear witness to the World what were
260
To call me guilty of what all of you
Make it your work to fix upon me now.
Then hear me pray, for after this I shall
Use no more words—
First then, my friends, I'de have you know that I
Have always studied since my Infancy
The Art of Continence: for in the least
An unclean thought never possess't my breast.
I always hated wanton Company,
And still dislik'd that Foolish Railery,
In which young men their time do poorly waste,
Making their sin the Subject of their Jest.
Nor did I ere desire to be acquaint
With those, whose eyes do make our blood ferment.
No, in such Intrigues, I would ne're engage,
Lest I might perish by Loves cousenage,
And like the foolish young men of our time,
To purchase pleasure, think no sin a crime.
For this cause, knowing that such Fooleries
Do steal in at the Wicket of the Eyes:
With these I quickly did confederate,
And in my Treaty, firmly stipulate,
They should not see a Maid at any rate.
They should not on that pleasant Object look,
Because the Bait did usher in the Hook:
But shun to see that curious piece of Nature,
Lest I were tempted with its lovely feature.
Have always studied since my Infancy
The Art of Continence: for in the least
An unclean thought never possess't my breast.
I always hated wanton Company,
And still dislik'd that Foolish Railery,
In which young men their time do poorly waste,
Making their sin the Subject of their Jest.
Nor did I ere desire to be acquaint
With those, whose eyes do make our blood ferment.
No, in such Intrigues, I would ne're engage,
Lest I might perish by Loves cousenage,
And like the foolish young men of our time,
To purchase pleasure, think no sin a crime.
For this cause, knowing that such Fooleries
Do steal in at the Wicket of the Eyes:
With these I quickly did confederate,
And in my Treaty, firmly stipulate,
They should not see a Maid at any rate.
They should not on that pleasant Object look,
Because the Bait did usher in the Hook:
But shun to see that curious piece of Nature,
Lest I were tempted with its lovely feature.
For with my self I still considered
This was a sin by Law prohibited;
A crying sin, and therefore to be fear'd
In Heavens Court it would be sooner heard
Then I my self, and make the Divine wrath
Pursue me, and my Familie to death.
I thought too with my self, should those, who claim
An Interest in Heaven be barr'd, with shame,
From Gods good presence by the hateful means
Of a poor nasty sin: hence I took pains,
So to secure my heart, that, at no time,
The thoughts of this abominable crime
Might slip into it: and for one short pleasure,
I came to forfault an eternal Treasure.
This was a sin by Law prohibited;
A crying sin, and therefore to be fear'd
In Heavens Court it would be sooner heard
Then I my self, and make the Divine wrath
Pursue me, and my Familie to death.
I thought too with my self, should those, who claim
An Interest in Heaven be barr'd, with shame,
From Gods good presence by the hateful means
Of a poor nasty sin: hence I took pains,
So to secure my heart, that, at no time,
The thoughts of this abominable crime
Might slip into it: and for one short pleasure,
I came to forfault an eternal Treasure.
Yes an eternal Store, a Happiness
No Humane Art, or Language can express,
For one poor Moments pleasure, Lord how sad
To think that any man should be so mad,
As for a triffle (think on't what he list)
Which rather in the Fancy doth subsist
Then in Fruition; he should wilfully
Quit all his interest in Eternity.
For sure those men, whom God doth wicked call,
In his good time shall be destroyed all:
Destroy'd, yes, and that by singular
And unknown methods, not as others are,
But by remarkable calamities,
Upon their Persons, and their Families
They shall be rooted out: and men shall know
That God is just.
No Humane Art, or Language can express,
For one poor Moments pleasure, Lord how sad
To think that any man should be so mad,
As for a triffle (think on't what he list)
Which rather in the Fancy doth subsist
Then in Fruition; he should wilfully
Quit all his interest in Eternity.
For sure those men, whom God doth wicked call,
In his good time shall be destroyed all:
Destroy'd, yes, and that by singular
And unknown methods, not as others are,
261
Upon their Persons, and their Families
They shall be rooted out: and men shall know
That God is just.
Besides I know that his all-seeing eye,
Was not to be deceiv'd by secrecy:
Nor could my sin so cunninglie be hatch't,
But in the very thought I should be catch't:
My heart should be exposed to his sight,
And all my hidden councils brought to light.
Was not to be deceiv'd by secrecy:
Nor could my sin so cunninglie be hatch't,
But in the very thought I should be catch't:
My heart should be exposed to his sight,
And all my hidden councils brought to light.
Now, as I liv'd in spotless continence,
So, further, to improve my innocence;
In all my dealings I was just, and square,
With every man, my actions were fair,
Sincere, ingenous, honest, regular.
So, further, to improve my innocence;
In all my dealings I was just, and square,
With every man, my actions were fair,
Sincere, ingenous, honest, regular.
For proof of which, I wish my God would try,
The value of my lifes integrity,
And all my actions as in ballance poize,
Then 'twould be fullie seen what was my choice.
The value of my lifes integrity,
And all my actions as in ballance poize,
Then 'twould be fullie seen what was my choice.
Yes 'twould be seen, and that so clearlie too,
As from that weighing, without more adoe,
The world might see how much I took delite
In God, and that I am no hypocrite.
For if I ever have endeavoured
To cozen mortal man, or studied
How to compel a man o're-grown with debt,
To let me have his Lands below the rate:
Or in my bargains such advantage tane,
As would ha' been, perhaps, by other men
On such occasions; where necessity
Oblig'd th'unwilling Borrower to comply
With th'avarice o'th' Lender, nay, if e're
I in a durty action did appear:
As from that weighing, without more adoe,
The world might see how much I took delite
In God, and that I am no hypocrite.
For if I ever have endeavoured
To cozen mortal man, or studied
How to compel a man o're-grown with debt,
To let me have his Lands below the rate:
Or in my bargains such advantage tane,
As would ha' been, perhaps, by other men
On such occasions; where necessity
Oblig'd th'unwilling Borrower to comply
With th'avarice o'th' Lender, nay, if e're
I in a durty action did appear:
Then of afflictions would I not complain,
Nor thus with sighs resent my present pain.
Nor would I think it strange at all to see
How others feed, on what was sown by me.
How others now my Lands, and Means possesse,
And worse then any Beggar, here, alace,
I who was Lord of all you see around,
Deform'd, and dying, grovel on the ground;
Nor How my goodly Family of late,
Now either is in grave, or dissipate,
Like Chaff before the Wind, and I alone
Survive these losses, only to bemoan
What cannot be recovered; and stead
Of living, only do envy the dead.
Nor thus with sighs resent my present pain.
Nor would I think it strange at all to see
How others feed, on what was sown by me.
How others now my Lands, and Means possesse,
And worse then any Beggar, here, alace,
I who was Lord of all you see around,
Deform'd, and dying, grovel on the ground;
Nor How my goodly Family of late,
Now either is in grave, or dissipate,
Like Chaff before the Wind, and I alone
Survive these losses, only to bemoan
What cannot be recovered; and stead
Of living, only do envy the dead.
No, I would not think all these judgements strange,
Nor, in that case would I deplore my change,
But O, such things I never would practise,
O no, I never would permit my eyes
To look upon an object, how so e're,
I'th' eyes o'world beautiful, and fair,
That might occasion sin: no, at no rate,
But all those things I did abominate.
I did abhor those hateful practices,
And at the names of Whores and Mistrisses,
I'de stop my ears: I never had design
Upon my Neighbours Wife, or Concubine.
For if at any time a Female eye
Hath rais'd and swol'n my passion so hie,
As I should venture on Adultery:
If I have been enticed by a Whore,
Or have set Spyes before my Neighbours Door,
T'observe the glances of his amorous Wife,
Or robb'd him of the pleasures of his life,
By close appointments, and dark assignations,
Where I have had my will at all occasions:
Nor, in that case would I deplore my change,
But O, such things I never would practise,
O no, I never would permit my eyes
To look upon an object, how so e're,
I'th' eyes o'world beautiful, and fair,
That might occasion sin: no, at no rate,
262
I did abhor those hateful practices,
And at the names of Whores and Mistrisses,
I'de stop my ears: I never had design
Upon my Neighbours Wife, or Concubine.
For if at any time a Female eye
Hath rais'd and swol'n my passion so hie,
As I should venture on Adultery:
If I have been enticed by a Whore,
Or have set Spyes before my Neighbours Door,
T'observe the glances of his amorous Wife,
Or robb'd him of the pleasures of his life,
By close appointments, and dark assignations,
Where I have had my will at all occasions:
Then were it just my Wife should be so us'd
As I my self had others Wives abus'd,
'Twere just that she her self should prostitute
For hire, without the trouble of a sute
To every Porter, Foot-man, Slave, or Groom,
And for all Comers keep an open open Room,
That all I've injured (in that humble state)
May their affronts on her retalliate.
As I my self had others Wives abus'd,
'Twere just that she her self should prostitute
For hire, without the trouble of a sute
To every Porter, Foot-man, Slave, or Groom,
And for all Comers keep an open open Room,
That all I've injured (in that humble state)
May their affronts on her retalliate.
Besides, I know this was a sin so foul,
And so provocking, as my very soul
Did still abhor it: I did still detest
This treacherous Crime, nor would I in the least
By any means into its Clutches fall;
Nor would I hearken to th'Adulteress call,
Though by the Laws it were not capital.
And so provocking, as my very soul
Did still abhor it: I did still detest
This treacherous Crime, nor would I in the least
By any means into its Clutches fall;
Nor would I hearken to th'Adulteress call,
Though by the Laws it were not capital.
A sin I alwayes thought in Heavens sight
So black and ugly, that it hates the light
No more than God hates it: a dreadful sin,
From whence his wrath doth usually begin
Against its Actors, and pursues the Chace
To th'utmost extirpation of their Race.
So black and ugly, that it hates the light
No more than God hates it: a dreadful sin,
From whence his wrath doth usually begin
Against its Actors, and pursues the Chace
To th'utmost extirpation of their Race.
This was my life, this was my conversation,
Thus without blemish in my reputation,
I alwayes liv'd, and never deviate
From Virtues narrow road: and, as with hate
I still rejected all incontinence.
So in the peace of a good Conscience,
I liv'd secure, whilst I administrate
Both in my publick, and my private state,
Justice to all men: for to th'meanest slave
Within my Walls, I'de the same way behave
In point of right, when they'd to me complain
Of any wrong, as to the greatest men
I'th' Countrey, in their sutes, and after all,
I thought it but my duty.—
Thus without blemish in my reputation,
I alwayes liv'd, and never deviate
From Virtues narrow road: and, as with hate
I still rejected all incontinence.
So in the peace of a good Conscience,
I liv'd secure, whilst I administrate
Both in my publick, and my private state,
Justice to all men: for to th'meanest slave
Within my Walls, I'de the same way behave
In point of right, when they'd to me complain
Of any wrong, as to the greatest men
I'th' Countrey, in their sutes, and after all,
I thought it but my duty.—
For in my mind I oft considered
That those poor slaves, though they by Law were made
My servile Subjects, yet both they and I
Were subject to that King who sits on high
That Supream Judge, who deals impartially
With all men.
So that if I during my eminence,
To any of these men had done offence;
Had I refus'd to hear their exclamations,
Or of their wrongs refus'd them reparations;
Had I abused that authority,
Which I had o're those wretches, what could I,
Pray what could I with reason have expected
Might be my doom? for if I had neglected
My duty to the meanest here below,
Or e're deny'd them justice, even so
When God in justice 'gainst me should proceed,
I might my sin then in my judgement read.
That those poor slaves, though they by Law were made
My servile Subjects, yet both they and I
Were subject to that King who sits on high
That Supream Judge, who deals impartially
With all men.
263
To any of these men had done offence;
Had I refus'd to hear their exclamations,
Or of their wrongs refus'd them reparations;
Had I abused that authority,
Which I had o're those wretches, what could I,
Pray what could I with reason have expected
Might be my doom? for if I had neglected
My duty to the meanest here below,
Or e're deny'd them justice, even so
When God in justice 'gainst me should proceed,
I might my sin then in my judgement read.
For with my self, my friends, I alwayes thought
That though those men I had with Money bought,
And so by Law had pow'r of life and death
Over them all, and might have in my wrath
Kill'd them, like beasts, yet these poor souls were men,
As well as I, and that a time was, when
Those now distinguished by Law, and I
Did undistinguish'd in the belly ly.
For in the womb what the Almighty frames
This only Man, and that he Woman names:
No more distinction there: no in that Cell
Without Precedence all as Brethren dwell;
There is no Master, there's no Servant there;
For in the sight of God all do appear
But as one Plastick matter, out of which
His mighty hand doth form both poor and rich.
He whom the world doth honourable name,
And he whom mean, and base, is there the same.
There's no such thing there, as we birth do call,
For there's but one birth in t'th' Original,
One common source, from whence we trindle all.
Though as we daily see how from one spring
Several petty Rivers issuing,
Swoln up by other Rivers in the stream,
Do purchase to themselves a lofty name.
So the poor aery notion of blood,
Though in the fountain barely understood
To be one species (what so e're esteem
Th'applause of men put on it in the stream)
As it in several Veins scaturiats,
Is valued by the Worlds Book of Rates.
Which slights the Fountain, but respects the Streams,
And this Blood base, and that Blood Noble names.
But in the Mass there is no difference,
No formal quality, no excellence.
Nor even in the stream can sharpest eye
Perceive a Physical disparity
'Twixt this, and t'other Blood, for all appear
Of the same colour all are equal there:
Yes, let a Princes, and a Peasants Veins
Be Launc'd together, there's no difference
Betwixt the two: for both of them to th'eye
Appear to be of a bright Scarlet dye.
Only as Iron, Copper, Lead, or Brasse,
Esteemed but base Mettals in the Masse.
Are soon, by Princes orders rais'd as high,
As Gold in value: and do signify
As much in Commerce, and in Bargains go,
At no lesse rate if they will have it so.
Even so a Princes favour, when it shines,
On this, or 'tother Blood, in direct Lines,
It raises soon the value of the thing,
And this, or 'tother Blood to hight doth bring.
Which were as mean as others in the spring.
That though those men I had with Money bought,
And so by Law had pow'r of life and death
Over them all, and might have in my wrath
Kill'd them, like beasts, yet these poor souls were men,
As well as I, and that a time was, when
Those now distinguished by Law, and I
Did undistinguish'd in the belly ly.
For in the womb what the Almighty frames
This only Man, and that he Woman names:
No more distinction there: no in that Cell
Without Precedence all as Brethren dwell;
There is no Master, there's no Servant there;
For in the sight of God all do appear
But as one Plastick matter, out of which
His mighty hand doth form both poor and rich.
He whom the world doth honourable name,
And he whom mean, and base, is there the same.
There's no such thing there, as we birth do call,
For there's but one birth in t'th' Original,
One common source, from whence we trindle all.
Though as we daily see how from one spring
Several petty Rivers issuing,
Swoln up by other Rivers in the stream,
Do purchase to themselves a lofty name.
So the poor aery notion of blood,
Though in the fountain barely understood
To be one species (what so e're esteem
Th'applause of men put on it in the stream)
As it in several Veins scaturiats,
Is valued by the Worlds Book of Rates.
Which slights the Fountain, but respects the Streams,
And this Blood base, and that Blood Noble names.
But in the Mass there is no difference,
No formal quality, no excellence.
Nor even in the stream can sharpest eye
Perceive a Physical disparity
'Twixt this, and t'other Blood, for all appear
Of the same colour all are equal there:
Yes, let a Princes, and a Peasants Veins
Be Launc'd together, there's no difference
Betwixt the two: for both of them to th'eye
264
Only as Iron, Copper, Lead, or Brasse,
Esteemed but base Mettals in the Masse.
Are soon, by Princes orders rais'd as high,
As Gold in value: and do signify
As much in Commerce, and in Bargains go,
At no lesse rate if they will have it so.
Even so a Princes favour, when it shines,
On this, or 'tother Blood, in direct Lines,
It raises soon the value of the thing,
And this, or 'tother Blood to hight doth bring.
Which were as mean as others in the spring.
Yet let me tell you, in a sober sense,
I truly think there is great difference
Betwixt that Blood stamp'd by a Prince, and that,
On which unspoted Virtue sets a rate,
The first, like vapours by the Sun exhal'd
From Lakes, and Ditches, justly may be call'd,
Which do not firmly in the Clouds remain,
But quickly either in Hail, Snow, or Rain,
Do from their stations tumble down again.
For as by Princes smiles, that Blood was rais'd,
So by their frowns, it is as soon debas'd.
Their anger taints that current in a tryce;
On which their favour lately set a price,
Which now diverted from its former course,
Appears as low, and cheap as in the source.
But that by virtue rais'd, we may compare
To Elemental waters, which do there
Dwell, with a firm design of remanence,
And are not easily to be pumped thence.
For that by virtue rais'd, cannot be stain'd,
So long as that its motion doth attend,
Which gave its Being: and though Princes wrath,
The owner of that Blood may bring to death,
Yet still it lives in his Posterity,
And runs i'th' Channel of a Memory,
For Virtue's only true Nobility.
I truly think there is great difference
Betwixt that Blood stamp'd by a Prince, and that,
On which unspoted Virtue sets a rate,
The first, like vapours by the Sun exhal'd
From Lakes, and Ditches, justly may be call'd,
Which do not firmly in the Clouds remain,
But quickly either in Hail, Snow, or Rain,
Do from their stations tumble down again.
For as by Princes smiles, that Blood was rais'd,
So by their frowns, it is as soon debas'd.
Their anger taints that current in a tryce;
On which their favour lately set a price,
Which now diverted from its former course,
Appears as low, and cheap as in the source.
But that by virtue rais'd, we may compare
To Elemental waters, which do there
Dwell, with a firm design of remanence,
And are not easily to be pumped thence.
For that by virtue rais'd, cannot be stain'd,
So long as that its motion doth attend,
Which gave its Being: and though Princes wrath,
The owner of that Blood may bring to death,
Yet still it lives in his Posterity,
And runs i'th' Channel of a Memory,
For Virtue's only true Nobility.
Then where's the man, that boasts of Noble Race?
Can he his Blood from other Fountain trace,
Then that o'th' Womb, in which the poorest slave,
Who has no foot of Earth besides his Grave,
Has as much interest, as he, and can
Derive his Line from th'ancient House of Man,
As well as those, who, with great vanity,
Can point the series of their Family.
O then, what fools must these be understood,
Who void of Virtue, only boast of Blood!
Who think their Birth affords them liberty,
Beyond the vulgar, in all villany,
And sin according to their quality.
Sure these must be the worst of men, sure these
Of humane blood must be the very lees:
Yet such there are, and such will always be,
Who by the fable of their Pedigree,
Make way through every sin, as if, what shame
Forbids the Vulgar, were allow'd to them.
And when they've made a way in luxury,
Their own Estates, then do they by, and by,
Practise new arts, and fall on several ways,
How they may live, and waste some foolish days,
Though they at last should beg from door, to door,
Yet whilst they can, they feed upon the poor.
Can he his Blood from other Fountain trace,
Then that o'th' Womb, in which the poorest slave,
Who has no foot of Earth besides his Grave,
Has as much interest, as he, and can
Derive his Line from th'ancient House of Man,
As well as those, who, with great vanity,
Can point the series of their Family.
O then, what fools must these be understood,
Who void of Virtue, only boast of Blood!
Who think their Birth affords them liberty,
Beyond the vulgar, in all villany,
And sin according to their quality.
Sure these must be the worst of men, sure these
Of humane blood must be the very lees:
Yet such there are, and such will always be,
265
Make way through every sin, as if, what shame
Forbids the Vulgar, were allow'd to them.
And when they've made a way in luxury,
Their own Estates, then do they by, and by,
Practise new arts, and fall on several ways,
How they may live, and waste some foolish days,
Though they at last should beg from door, to door,
Yet whilst they can, they feed upon the poor.
Why now should all these men of quality,
Consider, but sometime, as well as I,
Have always done, that as we all do flow
From the head fountain of the Womb, even so
When we in streams have squandred here, and there
Where, in the eyes o'th' world, we do appear,
One rais'd in value far above another,
And now disdain to give the name of Brother,
To such as are indeed as good as we,
In th'eyes of God: not dreaming we shall see
Those Monuments of our low Birth once more,
In the same rank with us, as we before
Have seen, why after all, alacc, we find,
We're all but Dust, all of one common kind.
For in our pride, when we have run our course,
As once we lay together in the source,
So Noble, Base, and Mean, all die as men,
And in the Grave we poorly meet again.
And then brave Blood! thou quaint device of men!
How wilt thou rank thy Lineages then!
Pray, what will be thy value, what thy rate,
When in the Grave we're all incorporate:
When in the cloysters of Mortality,
As in the Womb we undistinguish'd ly,
What's then the use of thy vain Heraldry
All poor, and low, all naked there appear,
And we know none of thy distinctions there.
Then why should I have done the least offence,
To any Creature, who in Natures sense,
Is of as good Extraction, and as dear,
Doth in Gods sight, as I my self appear.
Consider, but sometime, as well as I,
Have always done, that as we all do flow
From the head fountain of the Womb, even so
When we in streams have squandred here, and there
Where, in the eyes o'th' world, we do appear,
One rais'd in value far above another,
And now disdain to give the name of Brother,
To such as are indeed as good as we,
In th'eyes of God: not dreaming we shall see
Those Monuments of our low Birth once more,
In the same rank with us, as we before
Have seen, why after all, alacc, we find,
We're all but Dust, all of one common kind.
For in our pride, when we have run our course,
As once we lay together in the source,
So Noble, Base, and Mean, all die as men,
And in the Grave we poorly meet again.
And then brave Blood! thou quaint device of men!
How wilt thou rank thy Lineages then!
Pray, what will be thy value, what thy rate,
When in the Grave we're all incorporate:
When in the cloysters of Mortality,
As in the Womb we undistinguish'd ly,
What's then the use of thy vain Heraldry
All poor, and low, all naked there appear,
And we know none of thy distinctions there.
Then why should I have done the least offence,
To any Creature, who in Natures sense,
Is of as good Extraction, and as dear,
Doth in Gods sight, as I my self appear.
These were my thoughts, these were my meditations,
These were my reasons, which at all occasions,
Mov'd me for all men, to have Charity:
So that with no man I dealt cruelly.
But, on the contrair, when the poor mans cause
Was ruin'd by the rigour of the Laws;
(As oft it happens) their severity.
I'd temper with some grains of equity,
And do him all the favour I could do
With a safe Conscience: the poor widow too,
Whose Cause before me lay, I'd chearfully
Assist: and to period speedily
Conduct her suit.
These were my reasons, which at all occasions,
Mov'd me for all men, to have Charity:
So that with no man I dealt cruelly.
But, on the contrair, when the poor mans cause
Was ruin'd by the rigour of the Laws;
(As oft it happens) their severity.
I'd temper with some grains of equity,
And do him all the favour I could do
With a safe Conscience: the poor widow too,
Whose Cause before me lay, I'd chearfully
Assist: and to period speedily
Conduct her suit.
266
Nor was I less kind in my private state
To all in want, for I would never eat,
Nor with contentment, take my daily fare,
Unless some Orphans with me had a share.
To all in want, for I would never eat,
Nor with contentment, take my daily fare,
Unless some Orphans with me had a share.
For from my youth I had great tenderness
Both for the Widow, and the Fatherless:
To these, when some Relations had refus'd,
And others of 'em crav'd to be excus'd
From being Tutors, I'de in Charity,
Take on my self th'office of Tutory
Of these poor Creatures, though th'administration
I knew would yield me nothing but vexation,
And that,—
When with great pains, I had recovered
Their squandred means, and in some fashion made
Provisions for them, when they came to be
Of age (though truly strangers all to me)
Why after all my toil, I might conclude,
To meet with nothing but ingratitude
From these my Pupills, as is ordinar,
For most of honest men who Tutors are,
Yet knowing well that men in Charity
Each others wants are oblig'd to supply,
Though with their own loss, and in such a case,
Had I refus'd that Office to embrace,
VVhy those poor Orphans had become a prey
To every Petty-fogger, who'd betray
Their Pupills interest, and not care a whit,
To ruine them, for their own benefit,
That I might this prevent without regard
To th'trouble of it, or my bad reward,
I never would refuse at all occasions
To take upon me such administrations.
Both for the Widow, and the Fatherless:
To these, when some Relations had refus'd,
And others of 'em crav'd to be excus'd
From being Tutors, I'de in Charity,
Take on my self th'office of Tutory
Of these poor Creatures, though th'administration
I knew would yield me nothing but vexation,
And that,—
When with great pains, I had recovered
Their squandred means, and in some fashion made
Provisions for them, when they came to be
Of age (though truly strangers all to me)
Why after all my toil, I might conclude,
To meet with nothing but ingratitude
From these my Pupills, as is ordinar,
For most of honest men who Tutors are,
Yet knowing well that men in Charity
Each others wants are oblig'd to supply,
Though with their own loss, and in such a case,
Had I refus'd that Office to embrace,
VVhy those poor Orphans had become a prey
To every Petty-fogger, who'd betray
Their Pupills interest, and not care a whit,
To ruine them, for their own benefit,
That I might this prevent without regard
To th'trouble of it, or my bad reward,
I never would refuse at all occasions
To take upon me such administrations.
But not to these alone my charity
Extended, whose weak pupularity
Did render them obnoxious to the tricks
Of all contriving Guardian Empyricks:
But ev'n to those of age, whom poverty
Had hurried into want, and misery,
At all times I'de extend my charity.
I'de give them food, I'de give them raiment too,
And pensions out of my own stores allow
For their subsistence: so that I may say
VVith a safe Conscience,—
If ever mortal stood before my door,
VVhom th'only hand of God had rendred poor,
(For of such canting Rogues, as do oppress
The Countrey with a begging idleness,
I do not mean) but if e're he, I say,
VVho truly merit Alms, did go away,
VVhen begging at my door, without supply
Of both food and apparel, or did ly
VVithout my walls, in winters cold, and snow,
Naked, so far as ever I did know.
Extended, whose weak pupularity
Did render them obnoxious to the tricks
Of all contriving Guardian Empyricks:
But ev'n to those of age, whom poverty
Had hurried into want, and misery,
At all times I'de extend my charity.
I'de give them food, I'de give them raiment too,
And pensions out of my own stores allow
For their subsistence: so that I may say
VVith a safe Conscience,—
If ever mortal stood before my door,
VVhom th'only hand of God had rendred poor,
(For of such canting Rogues, as do oppress
The Countrey with a begging idleness,
I do not mean) but if e're he, I say,
VVho truly merit Alms, did go away,
VVhen begging at my door, without supply
Of both food and apparel, or did ly
VVithout my walls, in winters cold, and snow,
Naked, so far as ever I did know.
267
For on the contrare, I did with much care
Cloathing provide for those, who truly were
Objects of Charity, that every day
Those Creatures, for my well-being, would pray,
And when they on their Garments look't, would blesse
The man who kindly clad them with his Fleece.
Cloathing provide for those, who truly were
Objects of Charity, that every day
Those Creatures, for my well-being, would pray,
And when they on their Garments look't, would blesse
The man who kindly clad them with his Fleece.
If ever I took pleasure to oppresse,
Or, in the least injure the fatherlesse,
By unjust suits: though by my influence
Upon the Judges, I might have from thence
Expected what I pleas'd, and they had been
Well pleas'd to favour me, though they had seen
On my side flat injustice: yet would these
Jump o're the belly of the Laws, to please
So great a man as I was: no, my friends,
I scorn'd to use my power for such bad ends,
I did abhor such shifts, and did detest
Those sneaking Judges, who would dar to wrest
Justice, to favour any man, or bend
The bow of Law so high, to please a friend.
Or, in the least injure the fatherlesse,
By unjust suits: though by my influence
Upon the Judges, I might have from thence
Expected what I pleas'd, and they had been
Well pleas'd to favour me, though they had seen
On my side flat injustice: yet would these
Jump o're the belly of the Laws, to please
So great a man as I was: no, my friends,
I scorn'd to use my power for such bad ends,
I did abhor such shifts, and did detest
Those sneaking Judges, who would dar to wrest
Justice, to favour any man, or bend
The bow of Law so high, to please a friend.
If ever then, I say, I did practise
Such unjust courses, or did make a prize
Of any Orphan, as I might ha' done
In former times, had I been such an one,
As I've been represented, when my state
Was high, and powerful, thus I imprecate,
If I be guilty of such villany,
Then let this arm you see be instantly
Torn from my shoulder, let the flesh anon
In a foul Gangreen rot off from the bone.
Such unjust courses, or did make a prize
Of any Orphan, as I might ha' done
In former times, had I been such an one,
As I've been represented, when my state
Was high, and powerful, thus I imprecate,
If I be guilty of such villany,
Then let this arm you see be instantly
Torn from my shoulder, let the flesh anon
In a foul Gangreen rot off from the bone.
For why should I, who firmly did believe,
The eye of God did all mens ways perceive,
And that, that God, who surely hears the cry
Of all oppressed, will undoubtedly
In his good time, upon such wicked men,
Death, and Destruction, plentifully rain.
Why, my good friends, should I who stood in awe,
Of his great Power, ha' violate his Law:
No, no, I knew my Maker was too high
To be out-brav'd by such a one as I,
And therefore I such practises forbore,
Through fear of him: and truly did abhore
All unjust dealings, that I might comply
In all my actings with that Majesty,
Who is all justice, and pure equity.
The eye of God did all mens ways perceive,
And that, that God, who surely hears the cry
Of all oppressed, will undoubtedly
In his good time, upon such wicked men,
Death, and Destruction, plentifully rain.
Why, my good friends, should I who stood in awe,
Of his great Power, ha' violate his Law:
No, no, I knew my Maker was too high
To be out-brav'd by such a one as I,
And therefore I such practises forbore,
Through fear of him: and truly did abhore
All unjust dealings, that I might comply
In all my actings with that Majesty,
Who is all justice, and pure equity.
Again, because I did my self perswade,
Gold was the root of every thing that's bad;
And that the love of Riches did entice,
The best of men to be in love with vice;
(For he, whose Soul doth in his Coffers dwell,
With Bag, and Baggage, marches straight to Hell.)
For this cause, when in wealth I did abound,
And my huge riches made a mighty sound
Amongst my neighbours, I would never rate
My happinesse by th'bulk of my Estate.
No, no, I look'd on all I did enjoy
Not worth my thoughts, nor would I e're employ
The least part of my time in valuing
My self in that contentment Gold doth bring:
For, though as much as many I possess't,
Yet on that dust my spirit did not rest,
I never look'd on't as a sure defence
'Gainst misery, nor plac'd my confidence
In that weak Rampart, as if all my store,
(Although I had possess'd some ten times more)
Had e're been able to withstand one hour,
The Battery of Divine Wrath.
No, no, what's all, that we on Earth possesse,
Our Lands, our Stores, our Money, what, alace,
Do all these triffles signify when wrath
From Heaven assault us! or approaching Death
Hangs out his bloody Flag, and bids us soon
Yeeld up our Fortresse, or he'll throw it down.
O where are all our Stores, and Treasures then!
Where all our Wealth, which with much toile, and pain,
We'd had rear'd up, as a most sure defence
Against all troubles! where's that confidence,
Which in our count'nance did before appear,
Where's all our hope! where all our courage! where
Are all our mighty Allies, where is all
The valour of our boasting Mineral!
Oh, where is all its force when death appears,
And we're invested by an host of fears!
Nay, where are they, when Heavens King in wrath,
Against their master doth his Sword unsheath,
Why, these same peaceful Warriors assoon,
As they perceive the enemy take down
Their glorious Ensigns, pack up all anon,
And in a moment they are fled, and gone,
Leaving their hopelesse master all alone.
T'endure the Siege.
O brave Assistants! O stout Legionaries!
O hopes of men! O firm Auxiliaries!
Who make your owners foolishly believe
You can do wonders, when they do perceive,
What glorious show you make in time of peace,
But dar not look an enemy i'th' face.
Who then would trust to those same cowardly troops,
In time of trouble? who would place their hopes
In such a crew of aery painted things,
Which we call riches! Creatures that have wings;
And on the high boughs of prosperity
Do sweetly chirp, but when adversity
Begins to fire, away like smoke they fly.
In such vain things then would I never trust,
Nor valu'd them more then as useful dust,
By which we live with some convenience,
But in them ne're would place my confidence.
Gold was the root of every thing that's bad;
And that the love of Riches did entice,
The best of men to be in love with vice;
(For he, whose Soul doth in his Coffers dwell,
With Bag, and Baggage, marches straight to Hell.)
For this cause, when in wealth I did abound,
And my huge riches made a mighty sound
Amongst my neighbours, I would never rate
268
No, no, I look'd on all I did enjoy
Not worth my thoughts, nor would I e're employ
The least part of my time in valuing
My self in that contentment Gold doth bring:
For, though as much as many I possess't,
Yet on that dust my spirit did not rest,
I never look'd on't as a sure defence
'Gainst misery, nor plac'd my confidence
In that weak Rampart, as if all my store,
(Although I had possess'd some ten times more)
Had e're been able to withstand one hour,
The Battery of Divine Wrath.
No, no, what's all, that we on Earth possesse,
Our Lands, our Stores, our Money, what, alace,
Do all these triffles signify when wrath
From Heaven assault us! or approaching Death
Hangs out his bloody Flag, and bids us soon
Yeeld up our Fortresse, or he'll throw it down.
O where are all our Stores, and Treasures then!
Where all our Wealth, which with much toile, and pain,
We'd had rear'd up, as a most sure defence
Against all troubles! where's that confidence,
Which in our count'nance did before appear,
Where's all our hope! where all our courage! where
Are all our mighty Allies, where is all
The valour of our boasting Mineral!
Oh, where is all its force when death appears,
And we're invested by an host of fears!
Nay, where are they, when Heavens King in wrath,
Against their master doth his Sword unsheath,
Why, these same peaceful Warriors assoon,
As they perceive the enemy take down
Their glorious Ensigns, pack up all anon,
And in a moment they are fled, and gone,
Leaving their hopelesse master all alone.
T'endure the Siege.
O brave Assistants! O stout Legionaries!
O hopes of men! O firm Auxiliaries!
Who make your owners foolishly believe
You can do wonders, when they do perceive,
What glorious show you make in time of peace,
But dar not look an enemy i'th' face.
Who then would trust to those same cowardly troops,
In time of trouble? who would place their hopes
In such a crew of aery painted things,
Which we call riches! Creatures that have wings;
And on the high boughs of prosperity
Do sweetly chirp, but when adversity
Begins to fire, away like smoke they fly.
In such vain things then would I never trust,
Nor valu'd them more then as useful dust,
By which we live with some convenience,
But in them ne're would place my confidence.
269
Because I knew such emptie things as these,
Were only the Concomitants of Peace:
And when afflictions winds began to roar,
In rising Billows signify'd no more,
Then wicker anchors, hausers made of dust,
Or Ropes of Feathers, in which none would trust.
Therefore, my friends, I never valued
My self, upon what I had purchased:
I never thought I should be more esteem'd,
'Cause I was rich, or should be happy nam'd,
Because in plenty: or 'cause Means encreass't,
To be repute above my neighbours bless't;
Or, because wealthie, that I liv'd in ease:
No, I knew always better things, then these
I knew indeed, and to this hour I know,
There's nothing more ridiculous here below,
Nothing more silly, nothing more absurd,
Nothing more indiscreet: yea, in a word,
Nothing more wilfully irrational,
Amongst us mortals, then for men to call
This, or that Person Prudent, Knowing, Wise,
Only because he's rich, and to despise
Others, 'cause poor, and say they have no wit,
Because they have not reap'd such benefit
In their transactions, as those others have,
And so by each mans successe do conceive
He's wise, or foolish. Whereas commonlie,
The first are men of small sagacitie,
Dull, and Phlegmatick, and the latter are
Often in parts, and prudence singular.
For God has ordred, in his Providence,
It should be so, that men may learn from thence
Th'Art of contentment, whilst they seriously
Observe, with what discreet variety,
He doth bestow his Gifts, Knowledge to these,
Wealth to these others: and that none possess
All blessings upon Earth: for he whom Wealth
Doth crown with plenty, usually of health
Is destitute; whilst he whom poverty
Puts to sad pinches, with his Family,
Enjoys it fullie: he whom parts adorn
Is despicably poor, and laugh't to scorn,
By those whom Means have rendred boldly proud,
Whilst of rich fools the world doth talk aloud,
As th'only wise men. To some he allows
Wealth without issue, others he endows
With a fair Off-spring: but scarce competence
For feeding of 'em with convenience.
To others he gives both, but thinks not fit,
T'enrich them with a treasury of wit:
And all that God to us would signify,
By this remarkable variety
Of Dispensations is undoubtedly
This only.—
That since all blessings do from him alone
Proceed, and that 'tis in the power of none
To become masters of these qualities,
And be Rich, Fruitful, full of Health, and Wise,
Or to attain by toile, or strength of art,
That which he only freely doth impart,
To whom he will, that men may not be proud
Of what to them is by his Grace allow'd,
Nor boast of any prosperous condition,
Which cann't be say'd to be their acquisition.
Were only the Concomitants of Peace:
And when afflictions winds began to roar,
In rising Billows signify'd no more,
Then wicker anchors, hausers made of dust,
Or Ropes of Feathers, in which none would trust.
Therefore, my friends, I never valued
My self, upon what I had purchased:
I never thought I should be more esteem'd,
'Cause I was rich, or should be happy nam'd,
Because in plenty: or 'cause Means encreass't,
To be repute above my neighbours bless't;
Or, because wealthie, that I liv'd in ease:
No, I knew always better things, then these
I knew indeed, and to this hour I know,
There's nothing more ridiculous here below,
Nothing more silly, nothing more absurd,
Nothing more indiscreet: yea, in a word,
Nothing more wilfully irrational,
Amongst us mortals, then for men to call
This, or that Person Prudent, Knowing, Wise,
Only because he's rich, and to despise
Others, 'cause poor, and say they have no wit,
Because they have not reap'd such benefit
In their transactions, as those others have,
And so by each mans successe do conceive
He's wise, or foolish. Whereas commonlie,
The first are men of small sagacitie,
Dull, and Phlegmatick, and the latter are
Often in parts, and prudence singular.
For God has ordred, in his Providence,
It should be so, that men may learn from thence
Th'Art of contentment, whilst they seriously
Observe, with what discreet variety,
He doth bestow his Gifts, Knowledge to these,
Wealth to these others: and that none possess
All blessings upon Earth: for he whom Wealth
Doth crown with plenty, usually of health
Is destitute; whilst he whom poverty
Puts to sad pinches, with his Family,
Enjoys it fullie: he whom parts adorn
Is despicably poor, and laugh't to scorn,
By those whom Means have rendred boldly proud,
Whilst of rich fools the world doth talk aloud,
As th'only wise men. To some he allows
Wealth without issue, others he endows
With a fair Off-spring: but scarce competence
For feeding of 'em with convenience.
To others he gives both, but thinks not fit,
T'enrich them with a treasury of wit:
And all that God to us would signify,
By this remarkable variety
Of Dispensations is undoubtedly
This only.—
270
Proceed, and that 'tis in the power of none
To become masters of these qualities,
And be Rich, Fruitful, full of Health, and Wise,
Or to attain by toile, or strength of art,
That which he only freely doth impart,
To whom he will, that men may not be proud
Of what to them is by his Grace allow'd,
Nor boast of any prosperous condition,
Which cann't be say'd to be their acquisition.
Besides, if we'll but think how mean esteem
God has for Riches, we will quickly blame
That vulgar apprehension, which doth pitch,
Its silly slubbering fancy on the rich;
Who generally are but men of base,
Unworthy, and unhallowed Prineiples,
Men of mean spirits, and deceitful hearts,
Great Master of the most pernicious arts
Of couz'ning, and oppression: men of wealth,
Term'd by the world, because by cunning stealth
They've rais'd Estates: men they are seldom bred
In any Learning, scarce intituled
To moral virtue: men who take no pleasure
In any Science, but upon their treasure
Do fix their Souls: and yet dare do no more,
Then with devout eyes, gaze upon their Ore,
But thinks't a sin to touch that sacred score.
Hence those poor Silk-worms, with great toile, and pain,
Spin out their Bowels, to make orhers gain:
Not living, mean time, on the precious fruit
Of their own Labours (which without dispute,
Is none of theirs,) on Leaves they meanly feed.
And 'midst their riches are half-famished,
They're men, whose sordid labours have no end,
For when great store of riches they have gain'd,
They vex themselves no lesse in the tuition,
Of these sad toyes, then in their acquisition.
For there's a certain Idol, on which all
Those Sons of Earth do every moment call
An Idol by these had in great esteem,
Which in their phrase security they name,
This they with vows, this they with offerings load,
This is their patron, this their houshold god:
Yet that security they can never find,
For all their art, in which their troubled mind
Doth fully rest, for still some point doth lake,
Of this, or 'tother evident to make
A compleat Right, and sure establishment
Of what these men, have purchased, or lent.
So on they go in all the Chicanries,
Which their well hired Scriv'ners can devise
To make it out: though to make them secure,
Many an honest Fam'ly should endure
Great want, and hunger, for they seize on all
Their Debtors means, and constantly do baule
About the Courts of Justice, for supply
Of legal Forces; for security,
Of what they've seiz'd, whilst in a modest sense,
They call these rascally actings diligence.
God has for Riches, we will quickly blame
That vulgar apprehension, which doth pitch,
Its silly slubbering fancy on the rich;
Who generally are but men of base,
Unworthy, and unhallowed Prineiples,
Men of mean spirits, and deceitful hearts,
Great Master of the most pernicious arts
Of couz'ning, and oppression: men of wealth,
Term'd by the world, because by cunning stealth
They've rais'd Estates: men they are seldom bred
In any Learning, scarce intituled
To moral virtue: men who take no pleasure
In any Science, but upon their treasure
Do fix their Souls: and yet dare do no more,
Then with devout eyes, gaze upon their Ore,
But thinks't a sin to touch that sacred score.
Hence those poor Silk-worms, with great toile, and pain,
Spin out their Bowels, to make orhers gain:
Not living, mean time, on the precious fruit
Of their own Labours (which without dispute,
Is none of theirs,) on Leaves they meanly feed.
And 'midst their riches are half-famished,
They're men, whose sordid labours have no end,
For when great store of riches they have gain'd,
They vex themselves no lesse in the tuition,
Of these sad toyes, then in their acquisition.
For there's a certain Idol, on which all
Those Sons of Earth do every moment call
An Idol by these had in great esteem,
Which in their phrase security they name,
This they with vows, this they with offerings load,
This is their patron, this their houshold god:
Yet that security they can never find,
For all their art, in which their troubled mind
Doth fully rest, for still some point doth lake,
Of this, or 'tother evident to make
A compleat Right, and sure establishment
Of what these men, have purchased, or lent.
So on they go in all the Chicanries,
Which their well hired Scriv'ners can devise
To make it out: though to make them secure,
Many an honest Fam'ly should endure
Great want, and hunger, for they seize on all
271
About the Courts of Justice, for supply
Of legal Forces; for security,
Of what they've seiz'd, whilst in a modest sense,
They call these rascally actings diligence.
They're men, whose riches one would apprehend,
'Bove want had rais'd them, so as they might spend
Their days in peace, without all anxious cares,
Yet are they night-mar'd with continual fears,
That all their wealth may be before they dy,
Converted to a scene of poverty;
Or if their treasures they entire should save,
And never bid them farewell, till the Grave
Should shrowd them from their sight, yet still their fear
Encreases, and they anxious appear,
In all their looks, for still they fear at least,
Their idle Heirs may prodigally waste
In a few years, what they in many gain'd,
And that dear wealth luxuriously spend;
Which they had purchas'd with much sweat, and toile,
That wealth, they fear, shall now become the spoile
Of Whores, and Gamesters: hence most anxiously,
They waste their days, in great perplexity,
How they should mould, and order their affairs,
That they may from the rapine of their Heirs,
Preserve their Means. Besides, although they are
For most part without issue, yet their care
Is not a whit the lesse, then that of these
Whose gaping mouths; but not their Means encrease,
For then they're tortur'd with anxieties,
How their Estates they firmly may devise,
And answer all mens importunities,
Who do expect.—
At length when they have cruciat their brain,
In setling on't, and o're, and o're again,
Have form'd their Wills, vex'd with a thousand fears,
Not knowing whom to institute their Heirs:
Whilst all their friends, and languishing relations,
Do feed themselves with aery expectations,
And by their several interests do strive,
To be their Heirs, whilst they are yet alive;
Age, and diseases creeping on apace,
Makes them in haste resolve upon the case,
They make some deeds, and all to these transmit,
Who least expected: yet for all their wit,
It oft falls out, the deeds, which they cause draw
At such times informality of Law
Are defective: so that they're hardly cold,
When th'Tables being opened, some lay hold
On this, or 'tother clause: hence angry Pleas
Burst out on all hands, and each one doth seize
On what he can: suits are commenc'd, and all
The disappointed to their actions fall:
With heat, and clamour each of 'em pretends
His Title to it, and what Gold, and Friends
Can do is then essay'd: much time is spent,
In their loud pleadings, many an argument
Is shot on all hands: whilst they do debate,
Like fools, and children, with great noise, and heat,
For the possession of a fools Estate.
At last, when with such bauling wearied,
And by their actions much impov'rished,
All those, who are concern'd incline to treat,
And their expence begin to calculat,
They find that Lawyers, Proctors, Scriviners,
And Clerks, not they, have been the truest Heirs
Of the poor Mole: and that which now remains,
Scarce countervails their losse of time, and pains.
'Bove want had rais'd them, so as they might spend
Their days in peace, without all anxious cares,
Yet are they night-mar'd with continual fears,
That all their wealth may be before they dy,
Converted to a scene of poverty;
Or if their treasures they entire should save,
And never bid them farewell, till the Grave
Should shrowd them from their sight, yet still their fear
Encreases, and they anxious appear,
In all their looks, for still they fear at least,
Their idle Heirs may prodigally waste
In a few years, what they in many gain'd,
And that dear wealth luxuriously spend;
Which they had purchas'd with much sweat, and toile,
That wealth, they fear, shall now become the spoile
Of Whores, and Gamesters: hence most anxiously,
They waste their days, in great perplexity,
How they should mould, and order their affairs,
That they may from the rapine of their Heirs,
Preserve their Means. Besides, although they are
For most part without issue, yet their care
Is not a whit the lesse, then that of these
Whose gaping mouths; but not their Means encrease,
For then they're tortur'd with anxieties,
How their Estates they firmly may devise,
And answer all mens importunities,
Who do expect.—
At length when they have cruciat their brain,
In setling on't, and o're, and o're again,
Have form'd their Wills, vex'd with a thousand fears,
Not knowing whom to institute their Heirs:
Whilst all their friends, and languishing relations,
Do feed themselves with aery expectations,
And by their several interests do strive,
To be their Heirs, whilst they are yet alive;
Age, and diseases creeping on apace,
Makes them in haste resolve upon the case,
They make some deeds, and all to these transmit,
Who least expected: yet for all their wit,
It oft falls out, the deeds, which they cause draw
At such times informality of Law
Are defective: so that they're hardly cold,
When th'Tables being opened, some lay hold
On this, or 'tother clause: hence angry Pleas
Burst out on all hands, and each one doth seize
On what he can: suits are commenc'd, and all
The disappointed to their actions fall:
With heat, and clamour each of 'em pretends
272
Can do is then essay'd: much time is spent,
In their loud pleadings, many an argument
Is shot on all hands: whilst they do debate,
Like fools, and children, with great noise, and heat,
For the possession of a fools Estate.
At last, when with such bauling wearied,
And by their actions much impov'rished,
All those, who are concern'd incline to treat,
And their expence begin to calculat,
They find that Lawyers, Proctors, Scriviners,
And Clerks, not they, have been the truest Heirs
Of the poor Mole: and that which now remains,
Scarce countervails their losse of time, and pains.
These are your rich-men now, these are the men
Whom you call wise, of whom scarce one of ten,
As I've observ'd, do either live, or dy,
Like men of wit, and judgement, these are they
Whom th'world esteemed; though neither happy, wise,
Nor learn'd, nor moral; whilst they do despise
All that are owners of those qualities,
Because perhaps they're poor.—
Whom you call wise, of whom scarce one of ten,
As I've observ'd, do either live, or dy,
Like men of wit, and judgement, these are they
Whom th'world esteemed; though neither happy, wise,
Nor learn'd, nor moral; whilst they do despise
All that are owners of those qualities,
Because perhaps they're poor.—
O, partial world, that puts no other rate.
On men, but by the weight of their Estate!
Who from thy unjust scales record'st no more,
Then only this man's rich, and that man's poor.
Who naked virtue slights, and puts a price,
At all occasions, upon guilded vice:
Allowing nought for value, though men do
By daily commerce, in the weight allow
A fifth part lesse, to fine Wares in the pound,
Then to course Ware; but riches make a sound,
And proudly triumph all the world around.
Hence are their owners held in great esteem,
Though of small parts, whilst men the poor do name
But fools, and dunces,, though these do possess
Within their breasts, more solid happiness,
Then riches can afford, and generally
Are men of Virtue, Learning, Piety:
Men of true solid Knowledge, men of Wit,
Men, who do reap more lasting benefit,
I'th' product of one single contemplation,
Reduc'd thereafter into conversation,
By art and prudence in the application,
Then rich, laborious Spiders do possess
I'th' thoughts of all their Cobweb-purchases.
On men, but by the weight of their Estate!
Who from thy unjust scales record'st no more,
Then only this man's rich, and that man's poor.
Who naked virtue slights, and puts a price,
At all occasions, upon guilded vice:
Allowing nought for value, though men do
By daily commerce, in the weight allow
A fifth part lesse, to fine Wares in the pound,
Then to course Ware; but riches make a sound,
And proudly triumph all the world around.
Hence are their owners held in great esteem,
Though of small parts, whilst men the poor do name
But fools, and dunces,, though these do possess
Within their breasts, more solid happiness,
Then riches can afford, and generally
Are men of Virtue, Learning, Piety:
Men of true solid Knowledge, men of Wit,
Men, who do reap more lasting benefit,
I'th' product of one single contemplation,
Reduc'd thereafter into conversation,
By art and prudence in the application,
Then rich, laborious Spiders do possess
I'th' thoughts of all their Cobweb-purchases.
Yet all rich men, my friends, I do suppose
Are not of this kind: no, I mean of those
Only, who set their souls upon their dust,
And in their changeling riches put their trust.
For I know many, who great means possess,
Yet as the least part of their happiness,
They do esteem them; but as piously
They live, so with contentment, when they dy,
They leave their means to their posterity.
Nay such, as waste their profitable years,
Without a mixture of some worldly cares,
Pleasing themselves with things o'th' present tense,
And lay up nothing for convenience,
In their old age: nor labour t'entertain
Their Fam'lies by some sober, lawful gain;
If it be in their power; though men of parts,
Of Virtue, Knowledge, Literature, and Arts,
I hold for Fools, and Sinners: I confess
I never was in love, with Idleness,
In any man; nor do I think it just
Men should live idlie, and pretend they trust
In Providence; no, there's great difference,
'Twixt trusting in, and tempting Providence.
For, though, at first, th'Almightie did demise
To man this vast, and spacious superfice
O'th' Earth, to have, and hold it for his use;
That without manuring, it might produce
All that the state of Humane Life requir'd
Or th'int'rest of Society desir'd,
Yet was this noble Grant original
Quickly renvers'd, and cancell'd by the Fall;
For now perceiving that such affluence
Was inconsistent with mans innocence
After the forfaulture in Paradise,
On other terms, he did this Earth devise
To th'sons of men, that it should yield them nought,
But what with labour, and great toil they bought.
Hence 'tis if any man should think t'obtain
The good things of this Earth, without some pain,
For all his Virtue, Wit, and Literature,
'Tis just that by a second forfaulture,
His portion of this Earth he should amit,
And be condemn'd to live upon his Wit,
'Cause contrair to the tenour of his Grant,
He doth not labour to supply his want.
Are not of this kind: no, I mean of those
Only, who set their souls upon their dust,
And in their changeling riches put their trust.
For I know many, who great means possess,
Yet as the least part of their happiness,
They do esteem them; but as piously
They live, so with contentment, when they dy,
They leave their means to their posterity.
273
Without a mixture of some worldly cares,
Pleasing themselves with things o'th' present tense,
And lay up nothing for convenience,
In their old age: nor labour t'entertain
Their Fam'lies by some sober, lawful gain;
If it be in their power; though men of parts,
Of Virtue, Knowledge, Literature, and Arts,
I hold for Fools, and Sinners: I confess
I never was in love, with Idleness,
In any man; nor do I think it just
Men should live idlie, and pretend they trust
In Providence; no, there's great difference,
'Twixt trusting in, and tempting Providence.
For, though, at first, th'Almightie did demise
To man this vast, and spacious superfice
O'th' Earth, to have, and hold it for his use;
That without manuring, it might produce
All that the state of Humane Life requir'd
Or th'int'rest of Society desir'd,
Yet was this noble Grant original
Quickly renvers'd, and cancell'd by the Fall;
For now perceiving that such affluence
Was inconsistent with mans innocence
After the forfaulture in Paradise,
On other terms, he did this Earth devise
To th'sons of men, that it should yield them nought,
But what with labour, and great toil they bought.
Hence 'tis if any man should think t'obtain
The good things of this Earth, without some pain,
For all his Virtue, Wit, and Literature,
'Tis just that by a second forfaulture,
His portion of this Earth he should amit,
And be condemn'd to live upon his Wit,
'Cause contrair to the tenour of his Grant,
He doth not labour to supply his want.
As you have heard me then impartially
Discourse of that stupendious vanity,
Which we call Wealth: I hope you will believe
My friends, that I, when Rich, did not conceive
My self the happier 'cause I did possess
Those things, which only Fools call Happiness.
No, for if I could in Prosperity,
Have only brag'd of Riches, certainly
Then had I merit in all just mens eyes
T'ha' been thought neither happy, just, nor wise.
Discourse of that stupendious vanity,
Which we call Wealth: I hope you will believe
My friends, that I, when Rich, did not conceive
My self the happier 'cause I did possess
Those things, which only Fools call Happiness.
No, for if I could in Prosperity,
Have only brag'd of Riches, certainly
Then had I merit in all just mens eyes
T'ha' been thought neither happy, just, nor wise.
And now, my friends, since you have patiently
Heard an account of my Morality;
In the next place, I must request of you
To hear th'account of my Religion too:
That when I'me gone, you freely may declare
These passages of me, which now you hear,
And, as good men, your justice testifie,
At least in showing how you heard me die:
That th'unjust World at length may be asham'd
To have me without Reason so defam'd:
From such just men, as you, I do expect
No less; to you therefore I shall direct,
My full, but last Confession of Faith,
That, if not in my life, yet after death
Has stop'd my mouth, when you hear any speak,
Of your deceased friend, with disrespect,
You may assure them, I was no such man,
As I was represented: nay you can,
(If you believe what I now speak is true)
You can, I say that Argument pursue,
With so much Candor, Art, and Eloquence,
As you may soon perswade all men of sense
How much I've been abus'd, how much injur'd
By bloody Tongues, and they may be assur'd
That all the ill things they have heard of me,
When I've been censur'd in a high degree
By foul-mouth'd Tiplers, have been only Lies,
Unjust Reproaches, and base Calumnies.
Heard an account of my Morality;
In the next place, I must request of you
To hear th'account of my Religion too:
That when I'me gone, you freely may declare
These passages of me, which now you hear,
And, as good men, your justice testifie,
At least in showing how you heard me die:
274
To have me without Reason so defam'd:
From such just men, as you, I do expect
No less; to you therefore I shall direct,
My full, but last Confession of Faith,
That, if not in my life, yet after death
Has stop'd my mouth, when you hear any speak,
Of your deceased friend, with disrespect,
You may assure them, I was no such man,
As I was represented: nay you can,
(If you believe what I now speak is true)
You can, I say that Argument pursue,
With so much Candor, Art, and Eloquence,
As you may soon perswade all men of sense
How much I've been abus'd, how much injur'd
By bloody Tongues, and they may be assur'd
That all the ill things they have heard of me,
When I've been censur'd in a high degree
By foul-mouth'd Tiplers, have been only Lies,
Unjust Reproaches, and base Calumnies.
First then, my friends, I since my Infancie,
Firmly believ'd, that from Eternitie
There was one God, who all things did create,
One only God; whose Power doth regulate
The universal World in Soveraignty,
And doth by a Supream Authority
Give Laws to all: and save that God alone,
Man of a Woman born should worship none.
And therefore those, that did the Sun adore,
The Moon, or Stars, I truly did abhore.
Firmly believ'd, that from Eternitie
There was one God, who all things did create,
One only God; whose Power doth regulate
The universal World in Soveraignty,
And doth by a Supream Authority
Give Laws to all: and save that God alone,
Man of a Woman born should worship none.
And therefore those, that did the Sun adore,
The Moon, or Stars, I truly did abhore.
Nay, though those splendid Creatures I esteem'd
Beyond all others, which his hands had fram'd,
Yet were those glorious parts of the Creation
Only the subject of my admiration,
But not of my devotion: for indeed
As in a Picture, I in these would read
The immense Power of him, whose mighty hand
At first did mould them, by whose sole command
They did exist; and to this Hour obey
Their first directions: whilst the Sun by day,
The Moon, and Stars by night the World survey,
By his sole order, and acknowledge none
For their Superiour, but Heavens King alone.
Hence would I looke on them with admiration,
But at no time, with secret veneration,
Only as those at Court a leg will make
T'th' Princes Servants, for their Masters sake:
So when I'de see the Sun, at morning rise,
With great devotion, I would turn my eyes
To th'East, and with uplifted hands, confess
Gods greatness, and my own unworthiness,
T'approach the Throne of that bright Deity,
Who keep'd such servants in his Family,
As was that Creature, in one single beam
Darting more splendor, then all those we name
Kings here on Earth, with all their glorious shows,
Patch'd up in one can on the World impose.
Again, when I this Creature could espy
Shining at Noon-tyde in his Majesty;
Then would my soul fly out in admiration,
Of him, who's Author of the whole Creation,
When such a member of it in its Sphere
So worthy admiration doth appear,
And through that glorious Prospect I'de descry
The beauty of the Divine Majesty.
As at great distance. When again at night
I'de see it from the World withdraw its light,
Then would I think, what's all our glory here,
When even th'illustrious Sun, which did appear
In stately splendor, but some hours ago,
Is now extinct, with all it pompous show.
Then, when I'de see the Moon, and Stars draw out,
Like the Night-watch, and walk the Round about
This spacious Globe; I'de think, O what must he,
Who entertains such Guards, what must he be!
What must he be, to whom those glorious things,
Perform such service! sure he's King of kings:
For there's no Prince on Earth, with all his power
That can command those Forces, for one hour
To stop their march: nay not the Sun by day,
Nor in the night will Moon, and Stars obey
Their Edicts, but proceed in their Carreer,
And on their duty still by turns appear,
As their instructions from their Master bear.
Beyond all others, which his hands had fram'd,
Yet were those glorious parts of the Creation
Only the subject of my admiration,
But not of my devotion: for indeed
As in a Picture, I in these would read
The immense Power of him, whose mighty hand
At first did mould them, by whose sole command
They did exist; and to this Hour obey
Their first directions: whilst the Sun by day,
The Moon, and Stars by night the World survey,
By his sole order, and acknowledge none
For their Superiour, but Heavens King alone.
Hence would I looke on them with admiration,
But at no time, with secret veneration,
Only as those at Court a leg will make
T'th' Princes Servants, for their Masters sake:
So when I'de see the Sun, at morning rise,
With great devotion, I would turn my eyes
To th'East, and with uplifted hands, confess
Gods greatness, and my own unworthiness,
T'approach the Throne of that bright Deity,
Who keep'd such servants in his Family,
As was that Creature, in one single beam
Darting more splendor, then all those we name
275
Patch'd up in one can on the World impose.
Again, when I this Creature could espy
Shining at Noon-tyde in his Majesty;
Then would my soul fly out in admiration,
Of him, who's Author of the whole Creation,
When such a member of it in its Sphere
So worthy admiration doth appear,
And through that glorious Prospect I'de descry
The beauty of the Divine Majesty.
As at great distance. When again at night
I'de see it from the World withdraw its light,
Then would I think, what's all our glory here,
When even th'illustrious Sun, which did appear
In stately splendor, but some hours ago,
Is now extinct, with all it pompous show.
Then, when I'de see the Moon, and Stars draw out,
Like the Night-watch, and walk the Round about
This spacious Globe; I'de think, O what must he,
Who entertains such Guards, what must he be!
What must he be, to whom those glorious things,
Perform such service! sure he's King of kings:
For there's no Prince on Earth, with all his power
That can command those Forces, for one hour
To stop their march: nay not the Sun by day,
Nor in the night will Moon, and Stars obey
Their Edicts, but proceed in their Carreer,
And on their duty still by turns appear,
As their instructions from their Master bear.
Thus, for respect to him, who these did frame,
Which, as so many Heralds do proclaim
His Glory far, and wide; at all occasions,
I'de honour them with pious Contemplations,
As Servants of that Heavenly Majesty,
Under whose feet all things created ly:
And by the splendor of such things, as these
I would the glory of their Maker guess;
As Artists, by Proportions Rules will show
The Bodies bulk, by measure of the Toe.
But, all my life-time, I would ne're allow
To any of 'em that honour, which is due
To God alone: though such Idolatry
Were not by Law repute Grand Fellony.
Which, as so many Heralds do proclaim
His Glory far, and wide; at all occasions,
I'de honour them with pious Contemplations,
As Servants of that Heavenly Majesty,
Under whose feet all things created ly:
And by the splendor of such things, as these
I would the glory of their Maker guess;
As Artists, by Proportions Rules will show
The Bodies bulk, by measure of the Toe.
But, all my life-time, I would ne're allow
To any of 'em that honour, which is due
To God alone: though such Idolatry
Were not by Law repute Grand Fellony.
Hence in this God alone I put my trust,
And 'cause he was impartially just:
When any one did me an injury,
To him alone I would my self apply.
I never was vindictive, never knew
That humour, which is but unknown to few,
That prompts men to revenge: I'de never strive
T'encroach upon his high Prerogative,
To whom alone Revenge doth appertain,
But would (shut up in patience) remain:
Until that God did think it proper time
For him to punish, and revenge the Crime.
And 'cause he was impartially just:
When any one did me an injury,
To him alone I would my self apply.
I never was vindictive, never knew
That humour, which is but unknown to few,
That prompts men to revenge: I'de never strive
T'encroach upon his high Prerogative,
To whom alone Revenge doth appertain,
But would (shut up in patience) remain:
Until that God did think it proper time
276
Yea though my cruel Enemies, God knows,
Would every day, when from their Bed they rose,
Bitterlie curse me, and my Family
Instead of Morning Prayer, yet would not I
Though these did hate me, as I hate the Devil,
To their unguarded souls wish any evil.
Would every day, when from their Bed they rose,
Bitterlie curse me, and my Family
Instead of Morning Prayer, yet would not I
Though these did hate me, as I hate the Devil,
To their unguarded souls wish any evil.
Nay though my followers, when they would perceive
How much I was injur'd: would trulie grieve
To see my usage, and at all occasions
Would own my Quarrel with dire imprecations,
And often wish it were to them allow'd
To take revenge, angrie they were withstood
By my commands: and often would repeat,
Would we had of those Villains flesh to eat,
Who have injur'd our Master, we would make
Those Slaves a bloody Victim for his sake.
Yet would I ne're consent, I'de ne're agree
That ever man should take revenge for me:
But on the contrair I would pardon those
Who wrong'd me, were they even my greatest Foes:
I never on revenge would meditate,
Nor thought my self oblig'd at any rate,
To quarrel those, who did me injuries,
Which rather then resent I would despise.
How much I was injur'd: would trulie grieve
To see my usage, and at all occasions
Would own my Quarrel with dire imprecations,
And often wish it were to them allow'd
To take revenge, angrie they were withstood
By my commands: and often would repeat,
Would we had of those Villains flesh to eat,
Who have injur'd our Master, we would make
Those Slaves a bloody Victim for his sake.
Yet would I ne're consent, I'de ne're agree
That ever man should take revenge for me:
But on the contrair I would pardon those
Who wrong'd me, were they even my greatest Foes:
I never on revenge would meditate,
Nor thought my self oblig'd at any rate,
To quarrel those, who did me injuries,
Which rather then resent I would despise.
But O I took delight in Charity,
By taking always opportunity
T'assist all Persons, whom I knew to be
In want, as oft as they apply'd to me.
The wearied Traveller, whose lean Purse did shrink
Below the credit of a cup of Drink;
Whose Visage, and Apparel look'd so thin,
He was a very Bug-bear to an Inn:
All destitute, or'edaub'd with Dust, and Sweat,
Readie to take up lodgings in the Street;
Into my House I'de always kindlie take,
And entertain him, for his Makers sake.
By taking always opportunity
T'assist all Persons, whom I knew to be
In want, as oft as they apply'd to me.
The wearied Traveller, whose lean Purse did shrink
Below the credit of a cup of Drink;
Whose Visage, and Apparel look'd so thin,
He was a very Bug-bear to an Inn:
All destitute, or'edaub'd with Dust, and Sweat,
Readie to take up lodgings in the Street;
Into my House I'de always kindlie take,
And entertain him, for his Makers sake.
Now though those Virtues did possess my breast,
And I all sinful courses did detest:
Yet, if at any time, I'de chance to fail,
And some strong sin against me did prevail
Then would I not my Conscience abuse,
By framing of some pitiful excuse:
As once poor Adam did t'extenuate
The error, which he could not palliate:
No no, such stale devices I abhor'd,
And therefore, when I fail'd, I'de in a word,
Upon my knees, with hands uplifted, cry,
Lord I have sin'd: Lord I have wilfully
Incurr'd thy anger at this sad occasion,
And so deserve to bear thy indignation.
For, trust me, such as freelie do confess
Their sins, and with an open heart address
Themselves to God, are always better heard,
Then those, whose cautious Mouths, as if affear'd
T'accuse their Hearts, do mincingly declare
What hardly they desire that God should hear.
And I all sinful courses did detest:
Yet, if at any time, I'de chance to fail,
And some strong sin against me did prevail
Then would I not my Conscience abuse,
By framing of some pitiful excuse:
As once poor Adam did t'extenuate
The error, which he could not palliate:
No no, such stale devices I abhor'd,
And therefore, when I fail'd, I'de in a word,
Upon my knees, with hands uplifted, cry,
Lord I have sin'd: Lord I have wilfully
Incurr'd thy anger at this sad occasion,
And so deserve to bear thy indignation.
For, trust me, such as freelie do confess
Their sins, and with an open heart address
Themselves to God, are always better heard,
277
T'accuse their Hearts, do mincingly declare
What hardly they desire that God should hear.
And here, my friends, I must again protest,
I don't remember ever in my breast,
Such sinful thoughts did entertainment find,
As those, to which too many are inclin'd.
For (trust me now) though I in Wealth, and Power
Did live for many years, yet to that hour
That God was pleas'd to visit me, I never
Would use that Power, on what account soever,
To th'prejudice of any man, although,
Had I inclin'd t'have us'd my Neighbours so,
As others did, I might have done with ease,
What ever might a rich mans humour please.
For I to others could ha' given Law
And made all in my District, stand in aw;
Yet I'de not injure the most despicable,
Nor do offence to th'meanest of the Rabble.
I don't remember ever in my breast,
Such sinful thoughts did entertainment find,
As those, to which too many are inclin'd.
For (trust me now) though I in Wealth, and Power
Did live for many years, yet to that hour
That God was pleas'd to visit me, I never
Would use that Power, on what account soever,
To th'prejudice of any man, although,
Had I inclin'd t'have us'd my Neighbours so,
As others did, I might have done with ease,
What ever might a rich mans humour please.
For I to others could ha' given Law
And made all in my District, stand in aw;
Yet I'de not injure the most despicable,
Nor do offence to th'meanest of the Rabble.
But what needs more! O now that God would hear
What I have spoke: O that he would declare,
From what I have express'd in my defence,
His just opinion of my Innocence.
O that my God would hear me, O that he
Who knows Hearts-secrets would declare me free,
From those Aspersions, Lies, and Calumnies
Thund'red against me, by my Enemies.
For O should he a hearing once allow,
I'de laugh at these, and all their Libels too.
Nay let them write a Volumn, if they will
Yes, let them rail, and article their fill:
Let them paint out my actings, as they please,
And break my reputation by degrees:
Let them me Rogue, let them me Villain call,
Let God but hear me, I'de contemn them all.
What I have spoke: O that he would declare,
From what I have express'd in my defence,
His just opinion of my Innocence.
O that my God would hear me, O that he
Who knows Hearts-secrets would declare me free,
From those Aspersions, Lies, and Calumnies
Thund'red against me, by my Enemies.
For O should he a hearing once allow,
I'de laugh at these, and all their Libels too.
Nay let them write a Volumn, if they will
Yes, let them rail, and article their fill:
Let them paint out my actings, as they please,
And break my reputation by degrees:
Let them me Rogue, let them me Villain call,
Let God but hear me, I'de contemn them all.
For all, what these invidious men could say
Against me, in their wrath, should in the day
That God should hear me, prove for my defence,
And, stead of sullying, clear my Innocence:
For then their malice should it self declare
And in its own true Colours should appear.
Against me, in their wrath, should in the day
That God should hear me, prove for my defence,
And, stead of sullying, clear my Innocence:
For then their malice should it self declare
And in its own true Colours should appear.
But to my Judge I freely could confess
My hidden sins: and for the sins, which these
Lay to my charge; I'de give such evidence
Before him of my injur'd Innocence,
As I should by him be acquit from thence.
O let him hear me then, let God but hear
My Case himself, and then I do not fear
What all the World can say: for I do still
Assert my Innocence, (take it as you will.)
My hidden sins: and for the sins, which these
Lay to my charge; I'de give such evidence
Before him of my injur'd Innocence,
As I should by him be acquit from thence.
O let him hear me then, let God but hear
My Case himself, and then I do not fear
What all the World can say: for I do still
Assert my Innocence, (take it as you will.)
And now, my friends, that I may put an end
To my Discourse, because I apprehend
You'r weary now of hearing, as indeed
I am of speaking: I shall therefore plead
No more upon the case: but once for all,
My great Creator I to witness call;
That what I have profess'd, dear friends, to you,
Is not at all devis'd, but simply true.
For all my life, I safely may assert,
Before that God, who fully knows my heart;
That, to my knowledge, truly I did never,
In what state, or capacity soever,
Do any unjust thing: for to this day,
(What e're men speak) I can with freedome say,
If any man, who serv'd me, can complain
That ever I his Wages did retain.
To my Discourse, because I apprehend
You'r weary now of hearing, as indeed
I am of speaking: I shall therefore plead
278
My great Creator I to witness call;
That what I have profess'd, dear friends, to you,
Is not at all devis'd, but simply true.
For all my life, I safely may assert,
Before that God, who fully knows my heart;
That, to my knowledge, truly I did never,
In what state, or capacity soever,
Do any unjust thing: for to this day,
(What e're men speak) I can with freedome say,
If any man, who serv'd me, can complain
That ever I his Wages did retain.
If of my ground the increase I have eat,
Without first paying for the toil, and sweat
Of those, who labour'd it, or in the least
Muzzled the mouths of either man or beast
Who did tread out my corns: or did refuse
At any time the labourers honest dues;
If ever I did strive to multiply
My Revennes by fraud and usury:
Without first paying for the toil, and sweat
Of those, who labour'd it, or in the least
Muzzled the mouths of either man or beast
Who did tread out my corns: or did refuse
At any time the labourers honest dues;
If ever I did strive to multiply
My Revennes by fraud and usury:
Then let those grounds (which I do yet expect
I may possess) be cursed for my sake:
Let Cockle, stead of Barley, stead of Wheat,
Let Thistles all my grounds emacerate.
I may possess) be cursed for my sake:
Let Cockle, stead of Barley, stead of Wheat,
Let Thistles all my grounds emacerate.
Now I have done, my friends, shall add no more,
But once again, as I have done before,
I do conjure you by the love you owe
To your own souls, my dearest friends, although
You have no love for me; that you'll declare
Hereafter to the world, what now you hear:
This favour I expect you'll not deny
T'allow, for all that's past, to th'memory
Of one shriev'd by your selves, but boldly show
Th'abused world, more then as yet they know.
And tell that Job, whom ev'n good men envy'd
Wicked men hated, and all now deride,
Of avarice, hypocrisie, and pride,
Did clear himself, and as he liv'd he dy'd.
But once again, as I have done before,
I do conjure you by the love you owe
To your own souls, my dearest friends, although
You have no love for me; that you'll declare
Hereafter to the world, what now you hear:
This favour I expect you'll not deny
T'allow, for all that's past, to th'memory
Of one shriev'd by your selves, but boldly show
Th'abused world, more then as yet they know.
And tell that Job, whom ev'n good men envy'd
Wicked men hated, and all now deride,
Of avarice, hypocrisie, and pride,
Did clear himself, and as he liv'd he dy'd.
IV. PART. IV.
Cap. XXXII.
And now the long debate is at an end,
For th'other three perceiving how their friend
Still unconvinc'd, himself did justify,
And would not pass from his integrity,
But that to every proof and evidence,
Which they adduc'd, to rouz his Conscience,
He still oppon'd his unstain'd innocence.
All over wearied, and perceiving now
'Twas but in vain t'have any more to do
With one, who was beyond their reasoning,
Hence now all silent.—
For th'other three perceiving how their friend
Still unconvinc'd, himself did justify,
And would not pass from his integrity,
279
Which they adduc'd, to rouz his Conscience,
He still oppon'd his unstain'd innocence.
All over wearied, and perceiving now
'Twas but in vain t'have any more to do
With one, who was beyond their reasoning,
Hence now all silent.—
As in some pleadings, you have, after all
Have spoke, observ'd th'Actorney-General
Resume the series of the whole debate,
And in good order recapitulate
Both Parties Arguments, and then declare
Wherein, in his opinion both do err,
And where agree with Law: so after these
And Job at large had argued the case:
One, who had sit by all the while, and heard
All that had past, but had not yet appear'd
In the debate, one Elihu by name,
A pious young man, of the house of Ram,
Descended, as is thought of Nahors race,
Residing not far distant from the place
Where Job did live: come hither to condole
As well, it seems, as th'others: this mans Soul
Enrag'd at what he heard both Parties speak,
Resolves at length to tell his mind, and check
Both of 'em for their errors: and first here
Begins with Job, because he did appear
To justifie himself, and usually
Would in his passion ask a reason why
He was afflicted thus, as if that he
Had known no sin, had been from errour free;
And God, whom he with fervency and zeal,
Had alwayes serv'd, now had not us'd him well:
But laid him low, and so by consequence
He was unjust in whipping innocence.
Have spoke, observ'd th'Actorney-General
Resume the series of the whole debate,
And in good order recapitulate
Both Parties Arguments, and then declare
Wherein, in his opinion both do err,
And where agree with Law: so after these
And Job at large had argued the case:
One, who had sit by all the while, and heard
All that had past, but had not yet appear'd
In the debate, one Elihu by name,
A pious young man, of the house of Ram,
Descended, as is thought of Nahors race,
Residing not far distant from the place
Where Job did live: come hither to condole
As well, it seems, as th'others: this mans Soul
Enrag'd at what he heard both Parties speak,
Resolves at length to tell his mind, and check
Both of 'em for their errors: and first here
Begins with Job, because he did appear
To justifie himself, and usually
Would in his passion ask a reason why
He was afflicted thus, as if that he
Had known no sin, had been from errour free;
And God, whom he with fervency and zeal,
Had alwayes serv'd, now had not us'd him well:
But laid him low, and so by consequence
He was unjust in whipping innocence.
Next at his three friends he was angry too,
'Cause they had all this while kept such adoe,
With long discourses, edg'd with eloquence,
And argu'd with great heat, and violence,
Against a man, whom God had visited
With sorrows, as if he had merited
Those evils, by his sins: yet after all,
They could not prove that he was Criminal
Of what they did accuse him; but indeed
Did rather for him, then against him plead.
Because with all their painted Allegories,
Their pitiful, and oft repeated Stories,
Of great mens down-falls; and the Tragical
Exits of those, whom th'world doth happy call:
They were so far from proving what they aim'd,
As he admir'd such men were not asham'd
To so small purpose to have argued,
When he observ'd to all that he had said,
Th'afflicted man had with such gravity,
Such polish'd reason, and solidity,
So wisely, and discreetly answered,
As they had not yet any progress made
In what they undertook, nor could they prove
That he was one found guilty from above.
Yet had all three concluded he was such
As those great men of whom they talk'd too much.
'Cause they had all this while kept such adoe,
With long discourses, edg'd with eloquence,
And argu'd with great heat, and violence,
Against a man, whom God had visited
With sorrows, as if he had merited
Those evils, by his sins: yet after all,
They could not prove that he was Criminal
Of what they did accuse him; but indeed
Did rather for him, then against him plead.
Because with all their painted Allegories,
Their pitiful, and oft repeated Stories,
Of great mens down-falls; and the Tragical
Exits of those, whom th'world doth happy call:
They were so far from proving what they aim'd,
As he admir'd such men were not asham'd
To so small purpose to have argued,
When he observ'd to all that he had said,
Th'afflicted man had with such gravity,
Such polish'd reason, and solidity,
280
As they had not yet any progress made
In what they undertook, nor could they prove
That he was one found guilty from above.
Yet had all three concluded he was such
As those great men of whom they talk'd too much.
Now this same Elihu, this knowing Youth
Sate silently not opening of his mouth,
During the whole Debate, and with attention,
Had heard them speak, what in his apprehension,
Might ha' been spar'd: yet would not undertake
To interrupt them, whilst they yet did speak,
In reverence to their Age, and that true sense
Of things afforded by experience,
With which he thought those men were richly stor'd,
And therefore, whilst they argu'd, not one word
Upon the Subject from his mouth did fall,
Though in his mind he kept record of all.
Sate silently not opening of his mouth,
During the whole Debate, and with attention,
Had heard them speak, what in his apprehension,
Might ha' been spar'd: yet would not undertake
To interrupt them, whilst they yet did speak,
In reverence to their Age, and that true sense
Of things afforded by experience,
With which he thought those men were richly stor'd,
And therefore, whilst they argu'd, not one word
Upon the Subject from his mouth did fall,
Though in his mind he kept record of all.
But now that Job his last Discourse had ended,
And he, with patience, had some time attended,
To see if any of 'em would answer make,
That not succeeding, as he did expect,
In indignation, he began to speak.
And he, with patience, had some time attended,
To see if any of 'em would answer make,
That not succeeding, as he did expect,
In indignation, he began to speak.
I'me young, says he, 'tis true, and you are old,
On which account I durst not be so bold,
Whilst you persisted in your reasoning,
To give you my opinion of the thing:
But now, that I perceive you at a Bay,
And it appears you have no more to say;
Not knowing further, as the Case doth stand,
How to pursue the Argument in hand:
And that Jobs Reason's strong, yours low, and weak
I think it is high time for me to speak.
On which account I durst not be so bold,
Whilst you persisted in your reasoning,
To give you my opinion of the thing:
But now, that I perceive you at a Bay,
And it appears you have no more to say;
Not knowing further, as the Case doth stand,
How to pursue the Argument in hand:
And that Jobs Reason's strong, yours low, and weak
I think it is high time for me to speak.
For, truth, I with the Vulgar, had esteem
For every Formal Fop, that bore the name
Of solid Judgment hudled up in years,
And had a great respect for Silver hairs.
For every Formal Fop, that bore the name
Of solid Judgment hudled up in years,
And had a great respect for Silver hairs.
But now I see, now I perceive at last,
(Reflecting seriously on what is past,)
The fallacy of this Vulgar Error, now
I clearly see, what 'tis to have to do
With men of reason; who, as well appears,
Are not to be out-brav'd by boasting years.
Now I perceive, what we Experience call
And aged Judgment, is meer cous'nage all.
For when 'tis brought to th'Test, and we expect
Our gray-hair'd Sires, like Oracles should speak,
And utter nothing, but grave Sentences;
In you, my friends, I've seen, I do profess
Nothing but a tenacious wilfulness.
For I've observ'd, with how much heat, and passion
You spoke, and us'd but little moderation
In your Discourse: which, if I may divine,
The Judgment, by the Tongue, is no good sign
Of reall wisdom: and I now conceive,
That we of younger years, are made believe,
Old men, to be the only men of sense,
Because enrich'd with long experience,
And that no man, while old can become wise,
Meerly by th'unperceived artifice
Of bare Tradition: as the idle tales
Of Fairies, and Hobgoblins, or what else
Good women, to affright their babes devise
Do passe for truths, though little more then lies.
(Reflecting seriously on what is past,)
The fallacy of this Vulgar Error, now
I clearly see, what 'tis to have to do
With men of reason; who, as well appears,
Are not to be out-brav'd by boasting years.
Now I perceive, what we Experience call
And aged Judgment, is meer cous'nage all.
For when 'tis brought to th'Test, and we expect
Our gray-hair'd Sires, like Oracles should speak,
And utter nothing, but grave Sentences;
In you, my friends, I've seen, I do profess
Nothing but a tenacious wilfulness.
For I've observ'd, with how much heat, and passion
You spoke, and us'd but little moderation
In your Discourse: which, if I may divine,
The Judgment, by the Tongue, is no good sign
281
That we of younger years, are made believe,
Old men, to be the only men of sense,
Because enrich'd with long experience,
And that no man, while old can become wise,
Meerly by th'unperceived artifice
Of bare Tradition: as the idle tales
Of Fairies, and Hobgoblins, or what else
Good women, to affright their babes devise
Do passe for truths, though little more then lies.
No, trust me, wisdom is not purchased
By length of days, nor can a man be said
To be an owner of that quality,
Which we call wisdom, or solidity,
Only because of his antiquity.
Alace, you are deceiv'd, if you think so,
For, by what I have learn'd, I tell you no.
I tell you no,—for I am confident,
There is a Spirit, which from Heaven is sent
Into our Breasts, by which we learn to know,
What all our toile, and labour here below
Cannot attain: for (to be plain with you)
I alwayes thought, but am confirmed now,
That wisdom is a spark of Divine flame,
A piercing glance of him whose hand did frame
The Universe: a most conspicuous sign
Of what we know, but cannot well define.
I think it one of those Cœlestial Rayes,
Which neither doth consist in years, nor days:
A thing that is not in a Sanguine air,
Or a brisque Mine, though one would think that there
Great Spirits lodg'd, nor in a serious eye,
Or sad deportment doth this wisdom lye.
Nor in a dull, and slow phlegmatick sense,
Which doth not yeeld the world much eloquence,
But by a forc'd frugality of speech,
Would make us think what is above its reach,
Were jealously shut up within its breast,
Whilst this wise thing, knows of all others least.
Nor in a sullen melancholy look,
Which seems to order all things by the Book:
And in all subtile Arts, and Sciences
Knows more, then it has language to expresse,
No, I think wit consists in none of these
'Tis neither in Earth, Water, Air, nor Fire,
But God alone, true wisdom doth inspire.
By length of days, nor can a man be said
To be an owner of that quality,
Which we call wisdom, or solidity,
Only because of his antiquity.
Alace, you are deceiv'd, if you think so,
For, by what I have learn'd, I tell you no.
I tell you no,—for I am confident,
There is a Spirit, which from Heaven is sent
Into our Breasts, by which we learn to know,
What all our toile, and labour here below
Cannot attain: for (to be plain with you)
I alwayes thought, but am confirmed now,
That wisdom is a spark of Divine flame,
A piercing glance of him whose hand did frame
The Universe: a most conspicuous sign
Of what we know, but cannot well define.
I think it one of those Cœlestial Rayes,
Which neither doth consist in years, nor days:
A thing that is not in a Sanguine air,
Or a brisque Mine, though one would think that there
Great Spirits lodg'd, nor in a serious eye,
Or sad deportment doth this wisdom lye.
Nor in a dull, and slow phlegmatick sense,
Which doth not yeeld the world much eloquence,
But by a forc'd frugality of speech,
Would make us think what is above its reach,
Were jealously shut up within its breast,
Whilst this wise thing, knows of all others least.
Nor in a sullen melancholy look,
Which seems to order all things by the Book:
And in all subtile Arts, and Sciences
Knows more, then it has language to expresse,
No, I think wit consists in none of these
'Tis neither in Earth, Water, Air, nor Fire,
But God alone, true wisdom doth inspire.
'Tis true, I know there is a rational,
And well prepared soul infus'd in all
The Race of Adam, by which they indeed
From other Creatures are distinguished:
And that this soul, which (being the same in all
The Sons of men,) we do a Spirit call:
May be by Art, and curious Industry
So much improv'd, and elevat so hye,
'Twill stoop to nothing, but Divinity:
Yet in that Spirit Wisdom doth not dwell,
For there's a Spirit, that doth yet excell
That Spirit; which we may call Divine Grace,
There, there true Wisdome hath its dwelling place,
There it resides, and in that Spirit, God,
For mans instruction keeps his firm abode.
Hence those that are not furnish'd with this Spirit,
Let them all Learning, Parts, and Wit inherit:
Let them with stretches of a large dimension,
Exceed the reach of humane apprehension,
In their high, subtile notions: let them raise
Themselves beyond the faculty of praise,
Yea, let all men them wise, and prudent call,
Without this Spirit, they're but dunces all.
And well prepared soul infus'd in all
The Race of Adam, by which they indeed
From other Creatures are distinguished:
And that this soul, which (being the same in all
The Sons of men,) we do a Spirit call:
282
So much improv'd, and elevat so hye,
'Twill stoop to nothing, but Divinity:
Yet in that Spirit Wisdom doth not dwell,
For there's a Spirit, that doth yet excell
That Spirit; which we may call Divine Grace,
There, there true Wisdome hath its dwelling place,
There it resides, and in that Spirit, God,
For mans instruction keeps his firm abode.
Hence those that are not furnish'd with this Spirit,
Let them all Learning, Parts, and Wit inherit:
Let them with stretches of a large dimension,
Exceed the reach of humane apprehension,
In their high, subtile notions: let them raise
Themselves beyond the faculty of praise,
Yea, let all men them wise, and prudent call,
Without this Spirit, they're but dunces all.
For don't we see how those, whom all esteem
Prudent, learn'd, wise, and Politicians name
The great eyes of the world: the knowing things
Whom we call States-men, by whose wisdome Kings
Are rul'd, who rule us all.—
When by their carnal wit, and policy,
Void of all grace, they labour foolishly,
To do great things; that thence they may attain
The reputation of contriving men,
When by their wit they make alliances
And break them too, to serve their purposes,
More then their Princes int'rest, for their zeal
Neither regards the Crown, nor Common-weal,
But their own ends, until the Princes eye
Begins to make some sharp discovery
Of their ill actings; then their wit appears,
Their great experience, and their length of years
To be meer folly, and they now too late
Do find that something not precogitate
Doth lack, which would ha'made their wits compleat
For now estranged from their Princes face,
They find their wisdome was not that of grace:
Prudent, learn'd, wise, and Politicians name
The great eyes of the world: the knowing things
Whom we call States-men, by whose wisdome Kings
Are rul'd, who rule us all.—
When by their carnal wit, and policy,
Void of all grace, they labour foolishly,
To do great things; that thence they may attain
The reputation of contriving men,
When by their wit they make alliances
And break them too, to serve their purposes,
More then their Princes int'rest, for their zeal
Neither regards the Crown, nor Common-weal,
But their own ends, until the Princes eye
Begins to make some sharp discovery
Of their ill actings; then their wit appears,
Their great experience, and their length of years
To be meer folly, and they now too late
Do find that something not precogitate
Doth lack, which would ha'made their wits compleat
For now estranged from their Princes face,
They find their wisdome was not that of grace:
And now the poor discarded man of wit,
In solitude most pensively doth sit,
Whilst with his former greatness he begins,
At once to call to mind his former sins:
And so concludes, for all his wit and art,
He was deceiv'd by a deceitful heart,
Which made him still believe that without grace,
His parts would fully do his business;
But now he sees he's but a very fool,
A child, and yet but entring to the School
Of real wisdome: and endeavours now
In the short time he has with much adoe
To know but even the Rudiments of that,
Which far transcends all guilded Rules of State.
In solitude most pensively doth sit,
Whilst with his former greatness he begins,
At once to call to mind his former sins:
And so concludes, for all his wit and art,
He was deceiv'd by a deceitful heart,
Which made him still believe that without grace,
His parts would fully do his business;
But now he sees he's but a very fool,
A child, and yet but entring to the School
Of real wisdome: and endeavours now
In the short time he has with much adoe
To know but even the Rudiments of that,
Which far transcends all guilded Rules of State.
283
Since wisdome then in years doth not consist,
Nor in high knowledge, (think you what you list)
For my part, I think one that has not yet
Attain'd to either, freely may debate
Upon a subject, where both young and old
Are equally concern'd: I must be bold
To tell you then, of what you three have said,
And what our friend has spoke, that I have made
My own weak observations, and am now
Ready to show you, what I do allow,
What not, in all you've spoke.—
Then after all your learned reasoning,
Be pleas'd to hear my judgement of the thing.
Nor in high knowledge, (think you what you list)
For my part, I think one that has not yet
Attain'd to either, freely may debate
Upon a subject, where both young and old
Are equally concern'd: I must be bold
To tell you then, of what you three have said,
And what our friend has spoke, that I have made
My own weak observations, and am now
Ready to show you, what I do allow,
What not, in all you've spoke.—
Then after all your learned reasoning,
Be pleas'd to hear my judgement of the thing.
Why then, my friends, during your long debate,
I have observ'd your words, whilst you did state
The Question in hand, and eagerly
With all your art maintain'd the verity
Of your assertions: yet me thought, indeed
That all the while you never answered
The Arguments, which Job in his defence
Often adduc'd, to prove his innocence:
So well, and fully, as you might ha' done;
But that—
'Stead of refuting of what he maintain'd,
You rather fortin'd him, and have gain'd
Nothing as I perceive by this debate,
But rather seem by him to be defeat.
I have observ'd your words, whilst you did state
The Question in hand, and eagerly
With all your art maintain'd the verity
Of your assertions: yet me thought, indeed
That all the while you never answered
The Arguments, which Job in his defence
Often adduc'd, to prove his innocence:
So well, and fully, as you might ha' done;
But that—
'Stead of refuting of what he maintain'd,
You rather fortin'd him, and have gain'd
Nothing as I perceive by this debate,
But rather seem by him to be defeat.
For when I had considered all you spoke,
I found your reasons were but empty smoake:
And all your Arguments to me appear'd
But aeryknacks; for yet I have not heard
Any of you, for all your pungent wit,
In your discourse judiciously hit
Upon the point: as truth you should a'done,
And you shall hear how I shall do anon.
I found your reasons were but empty smoake:
And all your Arguments to me appear'd
But aeryknacks; for yet I have not heard
Any of you, for all your pungent wit,
In your discourse judiciously hit
Upon the point: as truth you should a'done,
And you shall hear how I shall do anon.
Then do not think that you have overcome
Job with your reasons, and have made him dumb
By force of argument, for what you said
That God was just, and only punished
Such as deserv'd; which you did all maintain
To be a maxime, and once, and again
VVould urge it strongly, truth I take to be
A point debatable; because I see
No inconsistence 'twixt the equity
Of God th'afflicter, and th'integrity
Of him, who is afflicted; for I know
God keeps a many worthy persons low,
For their own good; whom we must not conceive
To be offenders, or with you believe
That none but such do suffer: at this rate
You've argu'd all this while, but I shall state
The matter otherwise, and plainly show
That though this man were innocent, yet so
To bluster in his triall, and complain
Of his hard usage, as if he'd arraign
The God of justice, for iniquity
Is such a fault as none can justify.
Job with your reasons, and have made him dumb
By force of argument, for what you said
That God was just, and only punished
Such as deserv'd; which you did all maintain
To be a maxime, and once, and again
VVould urge it strongly, truth I take to be
A point debatable; because I see
No inconsistence 'twixt the equity
Of God th'afflicter, and th'integrity
Of him, who is afflicted; for I know
God keeps a many worthy persons low,
For their own good; whom we must not conceive
To be offenders, or with you believe
That none but such do suffer: at this rate
You've argu'd all this while, but I shall state
The matter otherwise, and plainly show
That though this man were innocent, yet so
To bluster in his triall, and complain
284
The God of justice, for iniquity
Is such a fault as none can justify.
Now then, my friends, as I am not engag'd
In quarrel with this man; nor have I stag'd
My self his opposit: and with such heat,
As you have done, mannag'd a long debate,
With one in his sad circumstances, so
I will not use your reasons, for I know
My friends distemper, and I will endeavour
By other means, then yours, to cure his feaver.
In quarrel with this man; nor have I stag'd
My self his opposit: and with such heat,
As you have done, mannag'd a long debate,
With one in his sad circumstances, so
I will not use your reasons, for I know
My friends distemper, and I will endeavour
By other means, then yours, to cure his feaver.
Especially, because I now perceive
You're silent, I have reason to believe
The heat of your sharp arguing now is spent,
And you'll no more pursue your argument.
You're silent, I have reason to believe
The heat of your sharp arguing now is spent,
And you'll no more pursue your argument.
For I expected, that in such a case,
Your language with your reason would encrease,
But now I see you're mute, and hold your peace.
Your language with your reason would encrease,
But now I see you're mute, and hold your peace.
I therefore think, 'tis now high time for me
To speake my thoughts, and let you plainly see
Your error in the subject, and defend
At least, in some points, our distressed friend.
To speake my thoughts, and let you plainly see
Your error in the subject, and defend
At least, in some points, our distressed friend.
For when my Makers honour lies at stake,
If ever, I am now oblig'd to speake,
I'm now oblig'd to speake; because I find
The spirit within me bids me speake my mind.
If ever, I am now oblig'd to speake,
I'm now oblig'd to speake; because I find
The spirit within me bids me speake my mind.
For as new wine in Bottles doth ferment,
And quickly bursts, if it doth find no vent,
So, if I speake not, what the spirit now,
In a well ord'red zeal doth promp me too,
I doubt my mind with matter so replete,
Will force a passage, and expatiate
It self in some disorder, or at least,
My words will issue through my very breast.
And quickly bursts, if it doth find no vent,
So, if I speake not, what the spirit now,
In a well ord'red zeal doth promp me too,
I doubt my mind with matter so replete,
Will force a passage, and expatiate
It self in some disorder, or at least,
My words will issue through my very breast.
That therefore to my numerous thoughts I may,
What e're be th'event, make some speedy way,
And so refresh my spirits, I must speake,
Though possibly in such a dialect,
As will not please both parties, yet I must
Expresse my mind, and truth I shall be just
To all of you, and so far, as I can,
Avoide to give offence to any man.
What e're be th'event, make some speedy way,
And so refresh my spirits, I must speake,
Though possibly in such a dialect,
As will not please both parties, yet I must
Expresse my mind, and truth I shall be just
To all of you, and so far, as I can,
Avoide to give offence to any man.
But I must tell you that you may expect,
My mind I will impartially speak;
I'll flatter none of you, but will expresse
With freedom. what I think upon the case:
Without regard to this poor man, who lies
On Dung-hill now, and whom all men despise,
Or you, who think your selves extreamly wise.
My mind I will impartially speak;
I'll flatter none of you, but will expresse
With freedom. what I think upon the case:
Without regard to this poor man, who lies
On Dung-hill now, and whom all men despise,
Or you, who think your selves extreamly wise.
For I could never to this hour perswade
My self on any terms to learn the trade
Of flattering, especially where
The Cause of God's in hand, for there, O there,
Without regard to men, I must be free,
As all of my Profession should be.
Else, if I should at any time forbear
To speak, what God commands me, out of fear,
Of any Earthly Power, or meanly shrink
At threats of any, I might justly think,
I were unworthy of that Character
Which all that speak by inspiration bear.
My self on any terms to learn the trade
Of flattering, especially where
The Cause of God's in hand, for there, O there,
Without regard to men, I must be free,
285
Else, if I should at any time forbear
To speak, what God commands me, out of fear,
Of any Earthly Power, or meanly shrink
At threats of any, I might justly think,
I were unworthy of that Character
Which all that speak by inspiration bear.
Cap. XXXIII.
Wherefore I pray thee, Job, but hear me now,
And to what I design to speak, allow
But some attention, and I shall commend
Thy Patience, if thou hear me to an end.
And to what I design to speak, allow
But some attention, and I shall commend
Thy Patience, if thou hear me to an end.
For now, dear friend, that I intend to speak
Upon thy Case, I will indeed expect
Attentive silence, whilst impartially
I both demonstrate where thy Errors ly,
And where thou hast spoke right, for now I see
The whole weight of the Matter lyes on me.
Upon thy Case, I will indeed expect
Attentive silence, whilst impartially
I both demonstrate where thy Errors ly,
And where thou hast spoke right, for now I see
The whole weight of the Matter lyes on me.
I therefore plainly do intend to show
What I by certain information know:
Not what old Women feign, or old men dream,
Or what is scattered by injurious Fame
Through all the Neighbourhood, on this occasion,
But openly, without dissimulation,
I'le show thee, what my thoughts are of the thing,
On which I have heard so much reasoning.
What I by certain information know:
Not what old Women feign, or old men dream,
Or what is scattered by injurious Fame
Through all the Neighbourhood, on this occasion,
But openly, without dissimulation,
I'le show thee, what my thoughts are of the thing,
On which I have heard so much reasoning.
Now, though I am not far advanc'd in years,
And neither Head, nor Face, as yet appears
In the grave dye of a few withered Hairs.
Yet I'me a Man, a Creature rational,
And know as much, as any of you all,
For that good Spirit, which did me create,
Has taught me both to speak, and to debate,
On such occasions; and I do not know
Why that Almighty God, who first did blow
On this poor lump of Clay, might not have then
Inform'd me full as well, as other men,
With that high Knowledge, and made me advance
Beyond my years, in what, with Arrogance,
Our aged Men would to themselves enhaunce.
And neither Head, nor Face, as yet appears
In the grave dye of a few withered Hairs.
Yet I'me a Man, a Creature rational,
And know as much, as any of you all,
For that good Spirit, which did me create,
Has taught me both to speak, and to debate,
On such occasions; and I do not know
Why that Almighty God, who first did blow
On this poor lump of Clay, might not have then
Inform'd me full as well, as other men,
With that high Knowledge, and made me advance
Beyond my years, in what, with Arrogance,
Our aged Men would to themselves enhaunce.
Again, my friend, I'de have thee to give ear
To what I speak, because I am not here
To take advantage of thy misery,
And tell thee in thy face, so bitterly,
As these thy friends have done, that thou art lost,
Undone, adjudg'd to Wrath, thy Doom engross't;
And that bless'd Countenance, that Light divine,
Which on all those, whom God esteems doth shine,
Is as to thee eclips'd, and will no more
Refresh thy Soul, as it has done before.
No, in such terms I'le not my self express,
Nor use such harsh reflections, as these
Upon thy by-past life; which if, or no
'Twas such as they alledge, I do not know.
Nor will I check thee, when I hear thee speak
Of thy Integrity, or answer make
To what I charge thee, with firm Protestation,
Of thy unspotted Life, and Conversation.
No, thou shalt have free libertie for me
To answer for thy self, thou may'st be free,
In what thou hast to say in thy defence,
And openlie lay out thy Innocence,
With all the art thou canst: take courage then,
And be not overcome by what those men
Have spoke against thee: for I lay no hold
On their assertions; be thou therefore bold,
And speak out freely what in thy defence
Thou canst alledge, with all the eloquence,
God has afforded thee; be not afraid
Of mortal men, who usuallie upbraid
Their friends with sin, though neer so innocent,
When they perceive them in this exigent,
As thou art now, for if thou trulie be
Just, innocent, upright, from error free,
As thou seem'st to pretend, by all that's past,
Why shouldst thou not stand to it to the last.
To what I speak, because I am not here
To take advantage of thy misery,
And tell thee in thy face, so bitterly,
As these thy friends have done, that thou art lost,
Undone, adjudg'd to Wrath, thy Doom engross't;
And that bless'd Countenance, that Light divine,
286
Is as to thee eclips'd, and will no more
Refresh thy Soul, as it has done before.
No, in such terms I'le not my self express,
Nor use such harsh reflections, as these
Upon thy by-past life; which if, or no
'Twas such as they alledge, I do not know.
Nor will I check thee, when I hear thee speak
Of thy Integrity, or answer make
To what I charge thee, with firm Protestation,
Of thy unspotted Life, and Conversation.
No, thou shalt have free libertie for me
To answer for thy self, thou may'st be free,
In what thou hast to say in thy defence,
And openlie lay out thy Innocence,
With all the art thou canst: take courage then,
And be not overcome by what those men
Have spoke against thee: for I lay no hold
On their assertions; be thou therefore bold,
And speak out freely what in thy defence
Thou canst alledge, with all the eloquence,
God has afforded thee; be not afraid
Of mortal men, who usuallie upbraid
Their friends with sin, though neer so innocent,
When they perceive them in this exigent,
As thou art now, for if thou trulie be
Just, innocent, upright, from error free,
As thou seem'st to pretend, by all that's past,
Why shouldst thou not stand to it to the last.
Yes, why should'st not stand to it, for what thou
Hast all this while desir'd is granted now:
Thou didst desire that thou with God might'st plead,
Why do it now, for I am in his stead:
I have Commission from our Great Creator
To hear thee speak at large upon the matter:
Thou didst desire that he would hear thy case,
Why then, imagine I am in his place,
Appointed as his Auditor, say then,
Speak out thy mind, be not afraid of men:
For I, although I bear the character
Of the Almighties High Commissioner,
Yet I am but a man, as thou art, made
Of dust, and clay, be not thou then afraid
That I will crush thee, or increase thy woe,
By screwing up thy doleful sorrows, no,
I will not use such methods, but appear
As soft, as if I whisper'd in thy ear.
Hast all this while desir'd is granted now:
Thou didst desire that thou with God might'st plead,
Why do it now, for I am in his stead:
I have Commission from our Great Creator
To hear thee speak at large upon the matter:
Thou didst desire that he would hear thy case,
Why then, imagine I am in his place,
Appointed as his Auditor, say then,
Speak out thy mind, be not afraid of men:
For I, although I bear the character
Of the Almighties High Commissioner,
Yet I am but a man, as thou art, made
Of dust, and clay, be not thou then afraid
That I will crush thee, or increase thy woe,
By screwing up thy doleful sorrows, no,
I will not use such methods, but appear
As soft, as if I whisper'd in thy ear.
I will not use thee, as thy friends ha'done,
Nor shall my Language in their Channel run:
Such picquant words, as they have spoke, shall be
In my speech on the subject far from me.
Nor shall my Language in their Channel run:
Such picquant words, as they have spoke, shall be
In my speech on the subject far from me.
287
To tell thee freely then, I must complain
Of what I've heard thee speak once, and again:
I must reprove thee for some rash Expressions,
Which thou hast often used in thy Passions;
For, to my grief, my friend, I've heard thee speak,
What from a wise man I did not expect.
Of what I've heard thee speak once, and again:
I must reprove thee for some rash Expressions,
Which thou hast often used in thy Passions;
For, to my grief, my friend, I've heard thee speak,
What from a wise man I did not expect.
O, saidst thou, I am clean, and innocent,
Free of all sin, in Virtue eminent:
I know not what belongs to vice, not I,
Nor am acquainted with Iniquity.
Free of all sin, in Virtue eminent:
I know not what belongs to vice, not I,
Nor am acquainted with Iniquity.
Yet hath my great Creator punished
Me no less, then if I had merited
Such Judgments by my sins: his Wrath has seiz'd
Upon my very soul; and he is pleas'd,
'Stead of rewarding my Integrity,
To look upon me, as his Enemy:
'Has pick't a Quarrel with me, and of late
'Has sore oppress't me, for I know not what.
Me no less, then if I had merited
Such Judgments by my sins: his Wrath has seiz'd
Upon my very soul; and he is pleas'd,
'Stead of rewarding my Integrity,
To look upon me, as his Enemy:
'Has pick't a Quarrel with me, and of late
'Has sore oppress't me, for I know not what.
For, as a Malefactor I am us'd,
Arrested, clap't i'th' Stocks, Arraign'd, Accus'd,
Condemn'd, and Forfault, and yet all this time
He'll not let me so much as know my Crime.
Arrested, clap't i'th' Stocks, Arraign'd, Accus'd,
Condemn'd, and Forfault, and yet all this time
He'll not let me so much as know my Crime.
Why here, it is now, here, my friend, indeed
Thou grossly err'st: and if thou dost proceed
In such untam'd Expressions, as these,
Allow me, friend, to tell thee in thy face,
Wer't thou as upright, innocent, and just
As he, whom God did out of pregnant Dust
At first creat, before his foul Offence
Did stain the beauty of his Innocence:
Yet thus to talk, thus foolishly to prate,
Thus with thy Maker to expostulate,
As if he were thy Equal, is, my friend,
Such an escape, as no man can defend.
This is thy Crime, this is thy Fault indeed,
Thus guiltily thy Innocence to plead;
Thus in asserting thy Integrity
T'accuse Heavens Monarch of Iniquity,
Who is all Justice: Pray what dost thou mean,
Do'st think if thou be from all Error clean,
But he is far more clean; if thou be pure,
Upright, and just in all thy ways, why sure
He, who inspir'd thee, he who made thee live,
He, who to thee these Qualities did give
Must be more just, and upright, he must be
Far more then thou art, from all Error free.
Thou grossly err'st: and if thou dost proceed
In such untam'd Expressions, as these,
Allow me, friend, to tell thee in thy face,
Wer't thou as upright, innocent, and just
As he, whom God did out of pregnant Dust
At first creat, before his foul Offence
Did stain the beauty of his Innocence:
Yet thus to talk, thus foolishly to prate,
Thus with thy Maker to expostulate,
As if he were thy Equal, is, my friend,
Such an escape, as no man can defend.
This is thy Crime, this is thy Fault indeed,
Thus guiltily thy Innocence to plead;
Thus in asserting thy Integrity
T'accuse Heavens Monarch of Iniquity,
Who is all Justice: Pray what dost thou mean,
Do'st think if thou be from all Error clean,
But he is far more clean; if thou be pure,
Upright, and just in all thy ways, why sure
He, who inspir'd thee, he who made thee live,
He, who to thee these Qualities did give
Must be more just, and upright, he must be
Far more then thou art, from all Error free.
And as he's just, so he is likewise great,
For his Dominion is unlimitate:
He rules this spacious Universe alone,
And truely is accountable to none
For his procedure: why then would'st contend
With him, whose strength, and power doth far transcend
Thy weak Capacity: why would'st dispute
With him who is supream, and absolute
I'th' government o'th' World: with him, who sends
Blessings or Plagues on Enemies, or Friends,
As he thinks fit, and is not ty'd to give
To any curious Mortal that doth live,
A reason for his actings; no, not he;
And yet forsooth thou think'st he'll humour thee:
Thou thinks't he will thy longing satisfy,
And condescend t'assign a reason why
He thus doth plague thee: O yes, and do that,
In complaisance to thee, which he as yet
Has never done to any: prethee then
Forbear thy fretting, do no more complain;
But rest assur'd as well as other men,
That—
For any man, as thou dost to debate
With this great God, who all things did create,
Is such a piece of folly, as I may,
In truth, assert most freely, to this day
I have not heard the like: then once again,
My friend, I tell thee, do no more complain
As thou hast done, for if, with patience,
Thou cans't endure what God doth now dispense,
If thou canst suffer, what he doth ordain
At this time for thy Sentence; and abstain
From such Debatings, and Expostulations,
As only sinful men at such occasions
Do use, then by that single Argument
Thou'l't prove that thou art just, and innocent
More then by any I have heard, as yet
Manag'd by thee in all thy long Debate.
For his Dominion is unlimitate:
He rules this spacious Universe alone,
And truely is accountable to none
For his procedure: why then would'st contend
With him, whose strength, and power doth far transcend
Thy weak Capacity: why would'st dispute
With him who is supream, and absolute
288
Blessings or Plagues on Enemies, or Friends,
As he thinks fit, and is not ty'd to give
To any curious Mortal that doth live,
A reason for his actings; no, not he;
And yet forsooth thou think'st he'll humour thee:
Thou thinks't he will thy longing satisfy,
And condescend t'assign a reason why
He thus doth plague thee: O yes, and do that,
In complaisance to thee, which he as yet
Has never done to any: prethee then
Forbear thy fretting, do no more complain;
But rest assur'd as well as other men,
That—
For any man, as thou dost to debate
With this great God, who all things did create,
Is such a piece of folly, as I may,
In truth, assert most freely, to this day
I have not heard the like: then once again,
My friend, I tell thee, do no more complain
As thou hast done, for if, with patience,
Thou cans't endure what God doth now dispense,
If thou canst suffer, what he doth ordain
At this time for thy Sentence; and abstain
From such Debatings, and Expostulations,
As only sinful men at such occasions
Do use, then by that single Argument
Thou'l't prove that thou art just, and innocent
More then by any I have heard, as yet
Manag'd by thee in all thy long Debate.
But why all this complaining, why alace
Dost thou so much debate upon the Case,
As if God sent out Judgments here, and there,
Without so much as once declaring War,
But catching of his opportunities,
Did ruine honest Mortals by surprize.
Why here thou err'st too: here indeed, my friend,
Thou dost with God most foolishly contend:
For look you here now, why should we complain
That he doth deal surprizingly with men?
When every day he doth so openly
By th'out-crys of his sweating Ministry,
By Signs, Diseases, Visions, and even
By all the dreadful Heraldry of Heaven
Forwarn us of his Wrath to come, and yet
We understand not, till it be too late
This Universal Language, but complain
When Judgments come, that we are overtane
By meer surprize, and foolishly cry out
We had no warning, whilst in truth I doubt
We did not understand the Dialect,
Of him, who doth so often to us speak.
So that, my friend, thou should'st not thus exclaim
Against thy Maker, for thou art to blame,
Who didst not understand such revelations,
As usually preceed sad visitations.
For certainly, if thou wilt call to mind
Thy bypast life, I doubt not but thou'lt find
Th'hast had some warnings, were't but in a dream,
Of thy afflictions long before they came.
Dost thou so much debate upon the Case,
As if God sent out Judgments here, and there,
Without so much as once declaring War,
But catching of his opportunities,
Did ruine honest Mortals by surprize.
Why here thou err'st too: here indeed, my friend,
Thou dost with God most foolishly contend:
For look you here now, why should we complain
That he doth deal surprizingly with men?
When every day he doth so openly
By th'out-crys of his sweating Ministry,
By Signs, Diseases, Visions, and even
By all the dreadful Heraldry of Heaven
Forwarn us of his Wrath to come, and yet
We understand not, till it be too late
This Universal Language, but complain
When Judgments come, that we are overtane
By meer surprize, and foolishly cry out
We had no warning, whilst in truth I doubt
We did not understand the Dialect,
Of him, who doth so often to us speak.
So that, my friend, thou should'st not thus exclaim
Against thy Maker, for thou art to blame,
289
As usually preceed sad visitations.
For certainly, if thou wilt call to mind
Thy bypast life, I doubt not but thou'lt find
Th'hast had some warnings, were't but in a dream,
Of thy afflictions long before they came.
Yes, in a dream, for often-times I know,
God is accustom'd seriously to show
To men (what often they conceal for shame)
Their future state i'th' mirrour of a dream.
For when the active soul outwearied,
With toile o'th' day, at night is brought to bed
Of a sound sleep; then it begins to fly,
Then liberat from the bodies drudgery,
It soares aloft, and in another sphere
Begins to act: nay, then it doth appear,
To be, what we cannot imagine here.
For being then as fit for contemplation
Almost, as 'twill be after separation,
By vision intuitive it sees
The state of things to come, and by degrees
Becomes so subtile, and doth at that rate,
In contemplation then expatiate.
With such delight, as if it did not mean,
By natural Organs e're to act again:
But when some hours it has thus wandered,
And in that time God has discovered,
What for its profit he intends at large,
Then he commands it to its former charge.
God is accustom'd seriously to show
To men (what often they conceal for shame)
Their future state i'th' mirrour of a dream.
For when the active soul outwearied,
With toile o'th' day, at night is brought to bed
Of a sound sleep; then it begins to fly,
Then liberat from the bodies drudgery,
It soares aloft, and in another sphere
Begins to act: nay, then it doth appear,
To be, what we cannot imagine here.
For being then as fit for contemplation
Almost, as 'twill be after separation,
By vision intuitive it sees
The state of things to come, and by degrees
Becomes so subtile, and doth at that rate,
In contemplation then expatiate.
With such delight, as if it did not mean,
By natural Organs e're to act again:
But when some hours it has thus wandered,
And in that time God has discovered,
What for its profit he intends at large,
Then he commands it to its former charge.
Have you not sometimes seen a General,
His Officers to his Pavilion call,
Whilst all the Army do securely sleep,
Save a few Companies, who Guard do keep;
And there inform them what he would ha' done,
Give every one his Orders, and anon,
Command each to his Post: so let's suppose,
When in profoundest sleep, the eyes are close,
The Body, one would think, o're-come by death,
(Were't not that only it did softly breath.)
Th'Almighty then is pleas'd, as 'twere, to call
The soul unto him, and inform it all
What he intends to do with it, and then
Commands it to the sleeping Corps again:
Whether, when come the sad Noctambulant,
In a cold sweat, with fear, and rambling faint,
Rouzes the Body from its sleep, and then
Shows its instructions, and begins t'explain
What it has seen, and heard, and plainly shows
What Miseries, Calamities, and Woes,
They may expect God will to them dispense,
If not prevented by true penitence.
Then, as if God himself to them did speak,
When on these admonitions they reflect,
With fear, and horrour they begin to quake.
His Officers to his Pavilion call,
Whilst all the Army do securely sleep,
Save a few Companies, who Guard do keep;
And there inform them what he would ha' done,
Give every one his Orders, and anon,
Command each to his Post: so let's suppose,
When in profoundest sleep, the eyes are close,
The Body, one would think, o're-come by death,
(Were't not that only it did softly breath.)
Th'Almighty then is pleas'd, as 'twere, to call
The soul unto him, and inform it all
What he intends to do with it, and then
Commands it to the sleeping Corps again:
Whether, when come the sad Noctambulant,
In a cold sweat, with fear, and rambling faint,
Rouzes the Body from its sleep, and then
Shows its instructions, and begins t'explain
What it has seen, and heard, and plainly shows
What Miseries, Calamities, and Woes,
They may expect God will to them dispense,
If not prevented by true penitence.
Then, as if God himself to them did speak,
When on these admonitions they reflect,
With fear, and horrour they begin to quake.
290
For they consider that his sole intent
By these night-warnings, is but to prevent
Their total fall, and by such signs, as these,
Divert them from those foolish purposes,
Which in their hearts they proudly do intend
To prosecute, did he not kindly send
Such seasonable messages to show
What will be th'event, if they forward go,
In such mad projects, and by consequence
Make them to understand the difference
'Twixt humane power, and his Omnipotence.
By these night-warnings, is but to prevent
Their total fall, and by such signs, as these,
Divert them from those foolish purposes,
Which in their hearts they proudly do intend
To prosecute, did he not kindly send
Such seasonable messages to show
What will be th'event, if they forward go,
In such mad projects, and by consequence
Make them to understand the difference
'Twixt humane power, and his Omnipotence.
By Dreams and Visions then he doth allarme
Th'unwary race of man, and from all harm
Preserve both soul and body; which alace
Would fall into the dreadful ambushes
Of th'enemy o'th' world, wer't not that he
Who fram'd both soul and body, thus did free
Them both from danger, and did constantly
Mind their concerns, with a Paternal eye.
For else the murdered body soon would drop
Into the grave, the soul without all hope
Of pardon, in that deep abyss would fall,
Which God in justice has design'd for all
Whom he doth hate, and dolefully, in Chains,
Compare short pleasures, with eternal pains,
Thus then we see how much we should esteem
The ordinar Phænomenon of a dream,
And not contemn it, because usual,
As if a common accident to all
Occurring in their sleep, ane aëry thing,
Of which the wiser make no reckoning:
For sure those dreams, and visions contain
The mind of God, and are not shown in vain.
Th'unwary race of man, and from all harm
Preserve both soul and body; which alace
Would fall into the dreadful ambushes
Of th'enemy o'th' world, wer't not that he
Who fram'd both soul and body, thus did free
Them both from danger, and did constantly
Mind their concerns, with a Paternal eye.
For else the murdered body soon would drop
Into the grave, the soul without all hope
Of pardon, in that deep abyss would fall,
Which God in justice has design'd for all
Whom he doth hate, and dolefully, in Chains,
Compare short pleasures, with eternal pains,
Thus then we see how much we should esteem
The ordinar Phænomenon of a dream,
And not contemn it, because usual,
As if a common accident to all
Occurring in their sleep, ane aëry thing,
Of which the wiser make no reckoning:
For sure those dreams, and visions contain
The mind of God, and are not shown in vain.
Next, as by dreams, so by diseases too
The Spirit of God is pleased to allow
Kind warnings to us: for, if understood,
All sicknesses of body for our good,
Are sent upon us; so that did we know
What kindness by diseases God doth show
To our poor souls, we never would complain,
But think our selves most happy in our pain.
For let's observe now, don't we daily see
How man in health from all diseases free,
Consumes his precious years so wantonly,
As if he never did expect to die.
He so imploys his time in sinful pleasure,
As for devotion he can find no leasure:
But when diseases on his body seize,
And conquering death approaches by degrees:
When th'lungs all overflow'n with constant rain
Of Pituite, that falls down from the Brain,
Afford scarce room for breathing, when the Blood
Is in its Circulation withstood
By stagnant humours, when the Bones do ake,
And all the Pillars of the Body shake,
The Spirit of God is pleased to allow
Kind warnings to us: for, if understood,
All sicknesses of body for our good,
Are sent upon us; so that did we know
What kindness by diseases God doth show
To our poor souls, we never would complain,
But think our selves most happy in our pain.
For let's observe now, don't we daily see
How man in health from all diseases free,
Consumes his precious years so wantonly,
As if he never did expect to die.
He so imploys his time in sinful pleasure,
As for devotion he can find no leasure:
But when diseases on his body seize,
And conquering death approaches by degrees:
When th'lungs all overflow'n with constant rain
Of Pituite, that falls down from the Brain,
Afford scarce room for breathing, when the Blood
Is in its Circulation withstood
By stagnant humours, when the Bones do ake,
291
When for his food he has no appetite,
And in his Table he takes no delite.
But every dainty Dish doth nauseate,
On which, with pleasure he did feed of late.
And in his Table he takes no delite.
But every dainty Dish doth nauseate,
On which, with pleasure he did feed of late.
VVhen all his flesh, in health so plump and fair,
Now rotten, and consum'd, doth not appear
As formerly, but shrunk quite to the bone,
The bones, which were not seen before, anon
Stick out i'th' figure of a Skeleton.
Now rotten, and consum'd, doth not appear
As formerly, but shrunk quite to the bone,
The bones, which were not seen before, anon
Stick out i'th' figure of a Skeleton.
When in this sad condition on his bed
He lyes, and sees that all his hopes are fled,
And he must die: when all he can perceive
Is nothing but the avenue o'th' grave,
And with himself he now considereth
There's no avoiding of a certain death.
He lyes, and sees that all his hopes are fled,
And he must die: when all he can perceive
Is nothing but the avenue o'th' grave,
And with himself he now considereth
There's no avoiding of a certain death.
Then he begins with horrour to reflect
Upon his bypast actions, and take
Account of all his wandrings: then he falls
On thoughts of Heaven, and for Preachers calls:
For pious men, who in this sad occasion,
May by their words afford him consolation,
And teach him how he may attain salvation.
Then all his former wayes he doth abhorre,
Complains on sin, and can endure no more
To hear the voice of pleasure in his ears;
But buried now in sorrows, pains, and fears,
His only thought, his sole consideration
Is what shall become, after separation
Of his poor soul: how that in death shall fare,
For which, in life, he took so little care.
And if, perhaps (which is rare to be found)
A man of God appear, who can expound
The matter to him, and before his eyes
Draw out the Map of his iniquities,
Speak to his soul, and to his anxious heart.
The gracious language of the Heavens impart.
Upon his bypast actions, and take
Account of all his wandrings: then he falls
On thoughts of Heaven, and for Preachers calls:
For pious men, who in this sad occasion,
May by their words afford him consolation,
And teach him how he may attain salvation.
Then all his former wayes he doth abhorre,
Complains on sin, and can endure no more
To hear the voice of pleasure in his ears;
But buried now in sorrows, pains, and fears,
His only thought, his sole consideration
Is what shall become, after separation
Of his poor soul: how that in death shall fare,
For which, in life, he took so little care.
And if, perhaps (which is rare to be found)
A man of God appear, who can expound
The matter to him, and before his eyes
Draw out the Map of his iniquities,
Speak to his soul, and to his anxious heart.
The gracious language of the Heavens impart.
Then will this good man to his God address,
And say, have pity on this sinners case,
Father of mercy, for I'me confident
He of his sins doth seriously repent:
Restore him to his health, and let him see
How much, O Lord, he is oblig'd to thee;
Who, when thou couldst have ruin'd him with ease,
And made him perish in this sad disease,
Art pleas'd to let him live, that he may yet
Express thy glory in his mortal state.
To this petition God shall lovingly
Make answer well, this sinner shall not dye:
For I have found him in this exigent
Vext at his sins, and truly penitent:
Then let him live, for I his heart have try'd,
And for his errors he hath satisfy'd;
I'me reconcil'd, and freely to him give
Full liberty yet for some years to live.
And say, have pity on this sinners case,
Father of mercy, for I'me confident
He of his sins doth seriously repent:
Restore him to his health, and let him see
How much, O Lord, he is oblig'd to thee;
Who, when thou couldst have ruin'd him with ease,
And made him perish in this sad disease,
Art pleas'd to let him live, that he may yet
Express thy glory in his mortal state.
To this petition God shall lovingly
Make answer well, this sinner shall not dye:
For I have found him in this exigent
Vext at his sins, and truly penitent:
Then let him live, for I his heart have try'd,
And for his errors he hath satisfy'd;
I'me reconcil'd, and freely to him give
292
At this his sicknesse shall decrease apace,
His spirits shall return, and in his face,
The blossoms of new life shall then appear,
As when the Spring doth usher in the year:
His flesh shall be as soft, and delicate,
As it appear'd once in his infant state.
His spirits shall return, and in his face,
The blossoms of new life shall then appear,
As when the Spring doth usher in the year:
His flesh shall be as soft, and delicate,
As it appear'd once in his infant state.
But that's not all, for as to health restor'd,
So God to him most kindly shall afford
That sweet communion with himself, which all
Esteem so much, who on his Name do call:
And that bless'd comfort, which afflictions cloud,
So long time from this poor mans soul did shrowd,
Shall then more bright appear, and shine again,
As when the Sun triumphant after rain,
Unto the longing Earth himself displays,
And chears her up with warm refreshing rays:
Then he shall be above all calumny,
And shall rejoice in his integrity:
Shall pray to God, with successe, and no more
Sadly suspect, as he had done before,
That he, who dwells in Heaven did disdain
So much as t'hear him, when he did complain,
And all his tears, and prayers were in vain.
So God to him most kindly shall afford
That sweet communion with himself, which all
Esteem so much, who on his Name do call:
And that bless'd comfort, which afflictions cloud,
So long time from this poor mans soul did shrowd,
Shall then more bright appear, and shine again,
As when the Sun triumphant after rain,
Unto the longing Earth himself displays,
And chears her up with warm refreshing rays:
Then he shall be above all calumny,
And shall rejoice in his integrity:
Shall pray to God, with successe, and no more
Sadly suspect, as he had done before,
That he, who dwells in Heaven did disdain
So much as t'hear him, when he did complain,
And all his tears, and prayers were in vain.
For our good God in mercy infinite,
Be sure, my friend, doth take no small delite,
To save a sinner that is penitent,
When he perceives him heartily repent:
For often upon men he casts his eye,
Where if he in a corner doth espy
Some poor heart-bursting sinner on his knees,
Whose outrun eyes are now upon the lees,
Whose voice with crying to that note is shrunk,
As if he mutter'd through a hollow Trunk:
Who after many a sad, and killing groan,
Whose heat would almost melt a heart of stone,
In a few words, can only stammer out,
Lord, I have sinn'd,—and now what doth it boot?
What doth it boot, good Lord, what after all
My trade of sin, can I my profit call?
Ay me, good God, to what, by just account?
Doth th'provenue of all my sins amount?
What have I gain'd, alace, what have I gain'd?
To what have I by my dear sins attain'd?
How foolishly, good Lord, as now appears,
Have I consum'd my profitable years,
And spent the cream of all my youth, and strength,
In prosecution of what now at length,
Affords no profit to my soul, but brings
The thoughts of sad, and execrable things
Into my mind; which though I do deplore,
And, by thy grace, intend to act no more,
Yet the remembrance of my wanton years,
Present a prospect of perpetual fears
Before my eyes; and I still apprehend
That I shall justly suffer in the end
For all my sins, unless that thou in Grace
Wilt hear me, and have pity on my Case.
Be sure, my friend, doth take no small delite,
To save a sinner that is penitent,
When he perceives him heartily repent:
For often upon men he casts his eye,
Where if he in a corner doth espy
Some poor heart-bursting sinner on his knees,
Whose outrun eyes are now upon the lees,
Whose voice with crying to that note is shrunk,
As if he mutter'd through a hollow Trunk:
Who after many a sad, and killing groan,
Whose heat would almost melt a heart of stone,
In a few words, can only stammer out,
Lord, I have sinn'd,—and now what doth it boot?
What doth it boot, good Lord, what after all
My trade of sin, can I my profit call?
Ay me, good God, to what, by just account?
Doth th'provenue of all my sins amount?
What have I gain'd, alace, what have I gain'd?
To what have I by my dear sins attain'd?
How foolishly, good Lord, as now appears,
Have I consum'd my profitable years,
And spent the cream of all my youth, and strength,
In prosecution of what now at length,
Affords no profit to my soul, but brings
The thoughts of sad, and execrable things
Into my mind; which though I do deplore,
And, by thy grace, intend to act no more,
Yet the remembrance of my wanton years,
293
Before my eyes; and I still apprehend
That I shall justly suffer in the end
For all my sins, unless that thou in Grace
Wilt hear me, and have pity on my Case.
This poor convinced sinner God will hear,
And to him soon most gracious appear;
He will not let him perish, but will save
His soul from Hell, his body from the Grave.
And to him soon most gracious appear;
He will not let him perish, but will save
His soul from Hell, his body from the Grave.
Thus then by Dreams, by Visions, and Diseases,
And by his Preachers, whensoere he pleases,
He warns us of our danger, and commands
His killing Angels oft to hold their hands,
For a few years at least, that he may see
What the effects will of these Warnings be.
And by his Preachers, whensoere he pleases,
He warns us of our danger, and commands
His killing Angels oft to hold their hands,
For a few years at least, that he may see
What the effects will of these Warnings be.
For in mens ruine he no pleasure takes,
But even suspends his Justice for their sakes,
That they may have some leasure to repent,
And not be reeking in Offences sent
Like Devils, t'endure eternal punishment.
But of their foolish Errors undeceiv'd,
Spite of themselves they may at length be sav'd.
But even suspends his Justice for their sakes,
That they may have some leasure to repent,
And not be reeking in Offences sent
Like Devils, t'endure eternal punishment.
But of their foolish Errors undeceiv'd,
Spite of themselves they may at length be sav'd.
Then pray, my friend, remark what I have said
And to what I have yet to say take heed:
Observe me, pray, and to my words give ear
For it is fit thou with attention hear
What God has by Commission ordered me
To speak, dear friend, in reference to thee.
And to what I have yet to say take heed:
Observe me, pray, and to my words give ear
For it is fit thou with attention hear
What God has by Commission ordered me
To speak, dear friend, in reference to thee.
Yet if th'hast any thing to say, my friend,
In thy defence, I'le not be so unkind,
As to command thee silence, but allow
Thee liberty to speak, and argue too
Against what I have said, for my intent
I'th' series of my present Argument,
Is, (if I can) to prove thee Innocent.
In thy defence, I'le not be so unkind,
As to command thee silence, but allow
Thee liberty to speak, and argue too
Against what I have said, for my intent
I'th' series of my present Argument,
Is, (if I can) to prove thee Innocent.
If not, pray hold thy peace, be silent pray
And with attentive mind mark what I say,
Mark what I say, for by his Divine Grace,
Who ordered me to speak upon this Case,
I'le teach thee Wisdom, more then ever yet
Thou understood'st, although thou wert of late
Renown'd for Wit, and Literature, at least,
In Reputation rank'd amongst the best,
Of those sharp Wits, who live here in the East.
And with attentive mind mark what I say,
Mark what I say, for by his Divine Grace,
Who ordered me to speak upon this Case,
I'le teach thee Wisdom, more then ever yet
Thou understood'st, although thou wert of late
Renown'd for Wit, and Literature, at least,
In Reputation rank'd amongst the best,
Of those sharp Wits, who live here in the East.
Cap. XXXIV.
After some pause, as if he did expect
An answer, seeing Job no answer make
To what he said, he thus continued
To speak, and argue on the common Head.
An answer, seeing Job no answer make
To what he said, he thus continued
To speak, and argue on the common Head.
294
And now, says he, you see how I am sent,
By warrand from my God, to represent
His judgment of the Question in hand,
And therefore I must let you understand,
(As I'me commanded) with Authority,
Where you've done right, and where your Errors ly.
Shall then request you of my audience;
Whom I esteem men of great eminence,
For wit, and parts, to hear with patience,
What I am now to speak.—
By warrand from my God, to represent
His judgment of the Question in hand,
And therefore I must let you understand,
(As I'me commanded) with Authority,
Where you've done right, and where your Errors ly.
Shall then request you of my audience;
Whom I esteem men of great eminence,
For wit, and parts, to hear with patience,
What I am now to speak.—
For I am not to speak before a Rabble
O'th' Vulgar, but before those, who are able
To judge of my Discourse: before such men,
As on this Subject, can themselves explain
Better then I, and handle, with more wit,
The Question, if their Passion would permit.
O'th' Vulgar, but before those, who are able
To judge of my Discourse: before such men,
As on this Subject, can themselves explain
Better then I, and handle, with more wit,
The Question, if their Passion would permit.
Let's then impartially consider now,
Without all heat, what 'tis we have to do:
With moderation, let's the Question state,
And understand on what we're to debate:
For I am not ambitious in the least,
Nor do I entertain within my breast
Such a proud thought, as that I may be said
T'have had the better of you, no indeed,
I'me none of those, that argue for applause,
Or love to preach fot reputations cause,
Or in discoursing make it all my care,
To angle Ears, and become Popular,
By flourishes of studied Eloquence,
Or gain the name of learn'd, with great expence,
Of painted Language, as too many now,
Of my Profession are in use to do:
No, no, my friends, I hate such practices,
And only shall in a few passages,
Without all Art, a short Relation make,
Of what my God has ord'red me to speak.
Without all heat, what 'tis we have to do:
With moderation, let's the Question state,
And understand on what we're to debate:
For I am not ambitious in the least,
Nor do I entertain within my breast
Such a proud thought, as that I may be said
T'have had the better of you, no indeed,
I'me none of those, that argue for applause,
Or love to preach fot reputations cause,
Or in discoursing make it all my care,
To angle Ears, and become Popular,
By flourishes of studied Eloquence,
Or gain the name of learn'd, with great expence,
Of painted Language, as too many now,
Of my Profession are in use to do:
No, no, my friends, I hate such practices,
And only shall in a few passages,
Without all Art, a short Relation make,
Of what my God has ord'red me to speak.
To come to th'point then, as I've formerly
Show'n how th'Almighty, by his Ministry,
By Dreams, Diseases, Visions, and such means,
Is, in his Mercy, pleas'd to take much pains,
To show the sons of Men what he intends,
Before upon them he Afflictions sends,
That by the prospect of their Punishment,
He may perswade them timely to repent:
Especially, when thus before their eyes
He lays the scene of their Calamities,
By which you see, he deals not, by surprize
With any man; (from whence I do maintain,
That he who of his Judgments doth complain,
As if such Woes, without prediction were
Pour'd out upon him, doth extreamly err.)
So, in the next place, I intend to show,
That when our God is pleas'd to inflict a blow
On anie man, I think, in conscience,
Th'afflicted man should with great patience,
Endure it, as a thing which suddainlie
Has not befallen him, and not foolishlie
Cry out, as Job has done, O Lord, thou seest
I'me righteous, pure, and just, and yet opprest
By sad afflictions: I am innocent,
My uprightness is clear, and evident,
My life has still been spotless, and unblam'd,
Yet without hearing I am now condemn'd.
Show'n how th'Almighty, by his Ministry,
By Dreams, Diseases, Visions, and such means,
Is, in his Mercy, pleas'd to take much pains,
To show the sons of Men what he intends,
Before upon them he Afflictions sends,
That by the prospect of their Punishment,
He may perswade them timely to repent:
Especially, when thus before their eyes
He lays the scene of their Calamities,
By which you see, he deals not, by surprize
With any man; (from whence I do maintain,
That he who of his Judgments doth complain,
As if such Woes, without prediction were
Pour'd out upon him, doth extreamly err.)
So, in the next place, I intend to show,
That when our God is pleas'd to inflict a blow
295
Th'afflicted man should with great patience,
Endure it, as a thing which suddainlie
Has not befallen him, and not foolishlie
Cry out, as Job has done, O Lord, thou seest
I'me righteous, pure, and just, and yet opprest
By sad afflictions: I am innocent,
My uprightness is clear, and evident,
My life has still been spotless, and unblam'd,
Yet without hearing I am now condemn'd.
O, sayes he, why should I my my self belie,
Why should I pass from my integritie
For what has yet befall'n me, no indeed,
Though I'me condemn'd, though I am punished,
Yet will I not, for all that, guilty plead.
Why should I pass from my integritie
For what has yet befall'n me, no indeed,
Though I'me condemn'd, though I am punished,
Yet will I not, for all that, guilty plead.
Here lyes the matter then my friends, see here,
See here how much the best of men may err
Under sad Tryals; how much those may fail,
Over whose patience Sorrows do prevail.
For pray now, let me hear from such as you,
Who this wise man in dayes of plentie knew:
Who were intirelie with him then acquaint,
Before th'arrival of his punishment:
Tell me, my friends, did ever you expect,
So like a fool, to hear this wise man speak?
Did ever man talk so ridiculouslie,
As he doth now of his integritie?
Did ever man of Knowledge, Wit, and Sense
Insist so much upon his Innocence?
His Dove-like Innocence; his Uprightness,
His pious Candour, and his Righteousness:
When God, in Justice, has thought fit to send
Afflictions on him, as if he'd defend
Himself, by such weak Arguments, as these,
Against the righteous God of Righteousness.
And flatly say that such a man as he,
An upright man, a man from errors free,
A man, in all his Life, and Conversation,
So blameless, as he ne'r would give Occasion,
By any crime to so much Provocation
Of Divine Wrath: that such a man as he
Should feel the Wrath of God, to that degree,
As if he were the most flagitious,
Most openly profane, and vitious
Of all the race of Sinners, and repute
Of all that live on Earth most dissolute:
That such as he should thus be punished
Is a most strange Procedure, and indeed,
In his opinion, doth import no less,
Then if our God did favour Wickedness,
And most unjustly punish'd Righteousness,
See here how much the best of men may err
Under sad Tryals; how much those may fail,
Over whose patience Sorrows do prevail.
For pray now, let me hear from such as you,
Who this wise man in dayes of plentie knew:
Who were intirelie with him then acquaint,
Before th'arrival of his punishment:
Tell me, my friends, did ever you expect,
So like a fool, to hear this wise man speak?
Did ever man talk so ridiculouslie,
As he doth now of his integritie?
Did ever man of Knowledge, Wit, and Sense
Insist so much upon his Innocence?
His Dove-like Innocence; his Uprightness,
His pious Candour, and his Righteousness:
When God, in Justice, has thought fit to send
Afflictions on him, as if he'd defend
Himself, by such weak Arguments, as these,
Against the righteous God of Righteousness.
And flatly say that such a man as he,
An upright man, a man from errors free,
A man, in all his Life, and Conversation,
So blameless, as he ne'r would give Occasion,
By any crime to so much Provocation
Of Divine Wrath: that such a man as he
Should feel the Wrath of God, to that degree,
As if he were the most flagitious,
Most openly profane, and vitious
Of all the race of Sinners, and repute
Of all that live on Earth most dissolute:
That such as he should thus be punished
Is a most strange Procedure, and indeed,
In his opinion, doth import no less,
Then if our God did favour Wickedness,
And most unjustly punish'd Righteousness,
Yes, thus, or to this purpose he has spoke
Oftner then once, as if he seem'd to mock
Th'Almighty in his works of Providence,
And by his Logick, would infer from thence,
That he, who lives by rules of Piety,
Observes Gods Laws, and studies zealously
T'obtain his favour; and the sinful Wretch,
Who vainly thinks himself without his reach,
And therefore scorns to call upon his Name,
But takes his pleasure, without fear, or shame,
Are all one on the matter, and as well
The one, as th'other may his anger feel,
And suffer what he pleases to dispense,
This for his sin, that for his innocence,
By an unguarded cast of Providence.
Oftner then once, as if he seem'd to mock
296
And by his Logick, would infer from thence,
That he, who lives by rules of Piety,
Observes Gods Laws, and studies zealously
T'obtain his favour; and the sinful Wretch,
Who vainly thinks himself without his reach,
And therefore scorns to call upon his Name,
But takes his pleasure, without fear, or shame,
Are all one on the matter, and as well
The one, as th'other may his anger feel,
And suffer what he pleases to dispense,
This for his sin, that for his innocence,
By an unguarded cast of Providence.
Yes, to my knowledge, thus I heard him speak
Most frequently, although I would not check
His leud Discourse, 'cause you had undertane
By solid Reason to convince the man,
Of his Impiety, but when I see
You on the matter err'd as well, as he,
Then would I fain ha' spoke, but still did shun
To tell my thoughts on't, until you had done
But how can I from speaking now forbear
When I do such unruly Language hear?
When I do hear a man so sinfully,
Assert forsooth his own Integrity,
By blaming of his Maker, as if he,
To whom both this injurious man, and we,
And all the mortal Stock of Mankind owe
Our Life, and Beeing, did not fully know
Each individual of his own Creation,
And did observe the Life, and Conversation,
Of every man alive, and so from thence,
Could freely judge, with great convenience
Both of mens Guilt, and of their Innocence,
Could be unjust.
What man is he, who this great God doth fear,
That can without some indignation hear
Such scandalous Expressions? at this rate
Th'unwary man seems to homologate
The Principles of the most leud, profane,
Sensual livers, and the worst of men.
Most frequently, although I would not check
His leud Discourse, 'cause you had undertane
By solid Reason to convince the man,
Of his Impiety, but when I see
You on the matter err'd as well, as he,
Then would I fain ha' spoke, but still did shun
To tell my thoughts on't, until you had done
But how can I from speaking now forbear
When I do such unruly Language hear?
When I do hear a man so sinfully,
Assert forsooth his own Integrity,
By blaming of his Maker, as if he,
To whom both this injurious man, and we,
And all the mortal Stock of Mankind owe
Our Life, and Beeing, did not fully know
Each individual of his own Creation,
And did observe the Life, and Conversation,
Of every man alive, and so from thence,
Could freely judge, with great convenience
Both of mens Guilt, and of their Innocence,
Could be unjust.
What man is he, who this great God doth fear,
That can without some indignation hear
Such scandalous Expressions? at this rate
Th'unwary man seems to homologate
The Principles of the most leud, profane,
Sensual livers, and the worst of men.
For, when he talk'd so oft, how God did bless
Those, who contemn'd his Laws, and did oppress
His faithful Servants, and did so complain
Of his own sad Estate, once, and again,
And how that notwithstanding of his zeal,
And fear of God, he was not used well:
Who would ha' thought, but that he mean't from thence,
That seeing Piety could be no defence
Against Gods Wrath, it was not worth th'expence
Of so much time and labour, as some men
Bestow upon it, but was all in vain.
Those, who contemn'd his Laws, and did oppress
His faithful Servants, and did so complain
Of his own sad Estate, once, and again,
And how that notwithstanding of his zeal,
And fear of God, he was not used well:
Who would ha' thought, but that he mean't from thence,
That seeing Piety could be no defence
Against Gods Wrath, it was not worth th'expence
Of so much time and labour, as some men
Bestow upon it, but was all in vain.
297
Strange language truly! I beseech you then,
Who hear me now, as wise, and prudent men:
Did y'ever hear a godly man expresse
His mind, in such unlawful words, as these?
Did y'ever hear a man for wit repute,
Above his neighbours, so with God dispute?
O, how I pity, and would fain reclaim
This good man from his errors: though I blame
Him not, as you have done, for horrid crimes
Committed by him in his prosperous times;
For, truth, I think the man was always such,
As he doth now assert, but that so much
He now insists on his integrity,
As if that God had done him injury,
In thus afflicting of him, is indeed
Such an offence, as cann't be suffered.
For God forbid, that any of us here,
Or through the world, who our great God do fear,
Should even but by a random supposition,
Imagine him to be in that condition,
As that he's of injustice capable,
At any rate: no this were palpable,
And down-right blasphemy; pray God forbid,
That any man then should be so misled,
But even to rally in such words as these,
Were't but to show his wit, for I confesse,
Though I relate them, on this sad occasion,
Meerly upon design of refutation
Of his grosse errors, yet when I do speak,
In such prohibit words, my bones do shake.
Who hear me now, as wise, and prudent men:
Did y'ever hear a godly man expresse
His mind, in such unlawful words, as these?
Did y'ever hear a man for wit repute,
Above his neighbours, so with God dispute?
O, how I pity, and would fain reclaim
This good man from his errors: though I blame
Him not, as you have done, for horrid crimes
Committed by him in his prosperous times;
For, truth, I think the man was always such,
As he doth now assert, but that so much
He now insists on his integrity,
As if that God had done him injury,
In thus afflicting of him, is indeed
Such an offence, as cann't be suffered.
For God forbid, that any of us here,
Or through the world, who our great God do fear,
Should even but by a random supposition,
Imagine him to be in that condition,
As that he's of injustice capable,
At any rate: no this were palpable,
And down-right blasphemy; pray God forbid,
That any man then should be so misled,
But even to rally in such words as these,
Were't but to show his wit, for I confesse,
Though I relate them, on this sad occasion,
Meerly upon design of refutation
Of his grosse errors, yet when I do speak,
In such prohibit words, my bones do shake.
For God's so far from doing injury,
To any man, that he will gratefully,
Reward each mortal for his piety,
In his own time: for when the day shall come,
In which all sinners shall receive their Doom,
Then will his kindnesse unto those appear,
Who live by rules of piety, though here,
Such is their weakness, and impatience,
Consulting only with desponding sense,
They see not the design of Providence.
To any man, that he will gratefully,
Reward each mortal for his piety,
In his own time: for when the day shall come,
In which all sinners shall receive their Doom,
Then will his kindnesse unto those appear,
Who live by rules of piety, though here,
Such is their weakness, and impatience,
Consulting only with desponding sense,
They see not the design of Providence.
Nay, I do lay this for a principle,
And firmly hold, that 'tis not possible,
For the great God of justice, him, from whom,
Both in times past, and in all times to come,
All justice flowes, (let's fancy what we can)
To be injust i'th' least to any man.
And firmly hold, that 'tis not possible,
For the great God of justice, him, from whom,
Both in times past, and in all times to come,
All justice flowes, (let's fancy what we can)
To be injust i'th' least to any man.
Besides, how can we think that he, whose power
Did all things frame, and governs to this hour,
All he has made, so uncontrolably,
By rules of justice, and pure equity,
Can be unjust? then who is he so sick
In his own judgement, as dares contradict
What he, who is accountable to none,
In his eternal purpose will have done?
Did all things frame, and governs to this hour,
All he has made, so uncontrolably,
By rules of justice, and pure equity,
Can be unjust? then who is he so sick
In his own judgement, as dares contradict
What he, who is accountable to none,
298
For, mark me now, if he, who breath did give
To any man, by which he made him live,
Be pleas'd to reassume that breath again,
Which is his own, why should a man complain?
To any man, by which he made him live,
Be pleas'd to reassume that breath again,
Which is his own, why should a man complain?
Why should a man complain? a living man,
Who knows at best his life is but a span;
And in a little interval of breath,
He lives, but troubled still with thoughts of death:
For when his God thinks fit, that he should die,
Then must he quit this breath, and instantly
In the cold grave lye down, and be no more
A living mortal, as he was before.
All flesh shall perish, every creature must,
At his command be pounded into dust.
Then why of God should any man complain?
When he injures him not, or why in vain,
Should he upbraid him with his innocence,
When he's afflicted, as if providence
Were ty'd to th'rules of his convenience.
Who knows at best his life is but a span;
And in a little interval of breath,
He lives, but troubled still with thoughts of death:
For when his God thinks fit, that he should die,
Then must he quit this breath, and instantly
In the cold grave lye down, and be no more
A living mortal, as he was before.
All flesh shall perish, every creature must,
At his command be pounded into dust.
Then why of God should any man complain?
When he injures him not, or why in vain,
Should he upbraid him with his innocence,
When he's afflicted, as if providence
Were ty'd to th'rules of his convenience.
And now because, my friend, what I have said
Concerns thee most, I'de fain my self perswade
That thou dost with attention hear me speak,
And dost thy own use of my Doctrine make;
If thou hast understanding then, take heed
To my discourse, for thus I do proceed.
Concerns thee most, I'de fain my self perswade
That thou dost with attention hear me speak,
And dost thy own use of my Doctrine make;
If thou hast understanding then, take heed
To my discourse, for thus I do proceed.
You see then how I've urged all along,
That our just God to no man can do wrong:
Nor that he, in inflicting punishment,
On any man, though ne're so innocent,
Can be esteem'd unjust: since he can never
Do an ill thing, on what account soever.
For, were he such, how could he regulate
The Universe in every rank and state,
With so much justice, mercy, and compassion,
As no created thing can in that fashion
Govern some Petty Province, yet doth he
With great discretion govern all we see,
Although he here, and in Heav'ns, (knows not what
'Tis in dominion to be limitat.)
How in thy raving then dar'st thou express
Thy self in such unheard of terms, as these
Which I have tax'd? how darst thou thus exclaim
Against the justice of thy God? for shame,
For shame such exclamations forbear,
And let's no more of thy complaining hear.
That our just God to no man can do wrong:
Nor that he, in inflicting punishment,
On any man, though ne're so innocent,
Can be esteem'd unjust: since he can never
Do an ill thing, on what account soever.
For, were he such, how could he regulate
The Universe in every rank and state,
With so much justice, mercy, and compassion,
As no created thing can in that fashion
Govern some Petty Province, yet doth he
With great discretion govern all we see,
Although he here, and in Heav'ns, (knows not what
'Tis in dominion to be limitat.)
How in thy raving then dar'st thou express
Thy self in such unheard of terms, as these
Which I have tax'd? how darst thou thus exclaim
Against the justice of thy God? for shame,
For shame such exclamations forbear,
And let's no more of thy complaining hear.
For pray now, let me ask thee, is it fit
Dost think for any man of solid wit,
To tell an earthly Monarch in his face,
That he's unjust, or doth in any case
That which is sinful: would'st thou tell a King
Hee's such, as he deserved not to reign:
Would'st tell him flatly, that his Government
Were arbitrary and did represent
The seas, whose politicks, tyrannical,
Allows the great fish to eat up the small.
Would'st speak at this rate, prethee to a King,
A Potentate, or any ruling thing
That sits in State? I doubt thou wouldst not do
So foul a thing, especially thou
Who know'st all pow'rs on earth from God proceed
And upon him depend, as on their head:
By him Kings rule, and in their Royal seat,
Impartial Justice do administrat
To all their Subjects: countable to none
For any actings, but to God alone,
To God alone, whose mighty hands did frame
This Universe, and to it gave the name
Of earth,—
Which he has slyc'd in many Provinces,
And over them has plac'd those Deputies
Whom we call Princes, men of great esteem,
Since the great King of kings is pleas'd to them
To grant Commissions of Lieutenancy,
Each, in his own distinct Locality
In all the parts of earths vast Monarchy.
Hence all men are oblig'd in conscience,
To pay that due respect, and deference
To all in power, which God has ordered,
Especially to a Crowned head;
Whose individual power in Government,
Doth that of Heav'ns more highly represent,
Then any other Government as yet
Devis'd by men; for in that single state
He represents his God, who gave him power,
And who in his great wisdome to this hour
Maintains the state of Kings, and will defend
The Crown, and Scepter, to the worlds end.
His power is such, as none should countermand,
Or, when he strikes should bid him hold his hand:
Nay, though he act unjustly, yet should none
Accuse him for it, since to God alone
Hee's countable; and though he should commit
The worst of sins, I do not think it fit
Each Subject should reprove him, or because
Of his few pers'nal failings, slight his Laws:
Or enter into plots of discontent,
To alter, or subvert his Government:
Because he is not such, as they would have him,
Or with their clamorous tongues, and pens out-brave him.
No, not at all, for though a Prince may erre,
As other mortals, we should not inferre
From thence, that it is lawful to rebell
Against him, for as such bad thoughts from Hell
Are prompted to us, so we should forbear
T'have entercourse with any rebels there,
Whose work it is to raise rebellion here.
For though the Prince should erre, th'authority
Is still the same, which flowing certainly
From the Almighty, we should all obey,
And to our soveraign Kings all honour pay.
I ask thee then, would'st think it fit to use
Such language to a King, wouldst thou accuse
A Monarch in his face? I think indeed,
Thou would not so imprudently proceed,
With any such, but rather hold thy peace,
Then run the risque, whatever were thy case,
Of his displeasure: or, at least, I doubt,
Wouldst use smooth words, and be thought wise to boot.
Dost think for any man of solid wit,
To tell an earthly Monarch in his face,
That he's unjust, or doth in any case
That which is sinful: would'st thou tell a King
Hee's such, as he deserved not to reign:
Would'st tell him flatly, that his Government
Were arbitrary and did represent
299
Allows the great fish to eat up the small.
Would'st speak at this rate, prethee to a King,
A Potentate, or any ruling thing
That sits in State? I doubt thou wouldst not do
So foul a thing, especially thou
Who know'st all pow'rs on earth from God proceed
And upon him depend, as on their head:
By him Kings rule, and in their Royal seat,
Impartial Justice do administrat
To all their Subjects: countable to none
For any actings, but to God alone,
To God alone, whose mighty hands did frame
This Universe, and to it gave the name
Of earth,—
Which he has slyc'd in many Provinces,
And over them has plac'd those Deputies
Whom we call Princes, men of great esteem,
Since the great King of kings is pleas'd to them
To grant Commissions of Lieutenancy,
Each, in his own distinct Locality
In all the parts of earths vast Monarchy.
Hence all men are oblig'd in conscience,
To pay that due respect, and deference
To all in power, which God has ordered,
Especially to a Crowned head;
Whose individual power in Government,
Doth that of Heav'ns more highly represent,
Then any other Government as yet
Devis'd by men; for in that single state
He represents his God, who gave him power,
And who in his great wisdome to this hour
Maintains the state of Kings, and will defend
The Crown, and Scepter, to the worlds end.
His power is such, as none should countermand,
Or, when he strikes should bid him hold his hand:
Nay, though he act unjustly, yet should none
Accuse him for it, since to God alone
Hee's countable; and though he should commit
The worst of sins, I do not think it fit
Each Subject should reprove him, or because
Of his few pers'nal failings, slight his Laws:
Or enter into plots of discontent,
To alter, or subvert his Government:
Because he is not such, as they would have him,
Or with their clamorous tongues, and pens out-brave him.
No, not at all, for though a Prince may erre,
As other mortals, we should not inferre
From thence, that it is lawful to rebell
Against him, for as such bad thoughts from Hell
Are prompted to us, so we should forbear
T'have entercourse with any rebels there,
Whose work it is to raise rebellion here.
For though the Prince should erre, th'authority
300
From the Almighty, we should all obey,
And to our soveraign Kings all honour pay.
I ask thee then, would'st think it fit to use
Such language to a King, wouldst thou accuse
A Monarch in his face? I think indeed,
Thou would not so imprudently proceed,
With any such, but rather hold thy peace,
Then run the risque, whatever were thy case,
Of his displeasure: or, at least, I doubt,
Wouldst use smooth words, and be thought wise to boot.
If then to Kings on Earth thou wouldst not speak
In such rude language, why art thou so weak,
As in such jargon boldly to addresse
Thy self to th'King of Kings? I must confess,
This is a piece of that extravagance,
As I admire thou hast the countenance
To look up t'Heavens, when thou dost reflect,
How insolently thou didst lately speak
Of their great Monarch: one, before whose Throne
All Kings most bow, and with submission own
Him as their Patron, and their Soveraign too,
And think't their greatest honour so to doe.
One who has no regard for this, or 'tother,
Who e're he be, nor one before another
Esteems, as we do here, because he's great,
Wears costly Diadems, and sits in State;
For, they're but all his Creatures, and depend
Upon their God, how e're they may pretend
To soveraignity here; whilst they abuse
Their power, and with fine titles would amuse
Their fellow mortals; but 'tis all in vain,
For God alone, above all Kings doth reign:
He governs all that Nature comprehends,
And fully acts, what ever he intends.
Whilst Kings and Princes, with their swords in hand,
Before him ready, for performance stand,
Of all that he thinks proper to command,
Yet none of these can really be said,
Actively to concur, and furnish aid
To him in all his glorious operations;
The thoughts of which exceed our meditations,
More then if one should undertake to prove,
That wheels in Engines by themselves do move
Without a Spring: or that without all air
A man can live: which clearly doth declare
That all these Monarchs, whom we here adore,
Not mov'd by the first Mover, are no more,
With all the force they to the field can bring,
Then Wheels in Engines are without a Spring.
For, as so many puppits here below,
By th'hand of God they're hurried to, and fro,
While he is pleased to keep up the Show.
But when he doth withdraw his mighty hand,
They move no more.—
O, this great Monarch of the universe!
Who can his glorious Attributes rehearse!
Who can the power of this great Prince express!
Who can his glory even but faintly guess!
He who doth Kings, and Emperours create,
As he thinks fit, and orders every state
Below the Heavens, as he thinks pertinent,
Whether for blessing, or for punishment,
Who can describe him!—
For, if at any time he doth intend
To plague a Nation, thither he doth send
Some sullen Tyrant, fraught with Cruelty,
Pride, Anger, Avarice, and Impiety:
And where he means a blessing to a State,
Thither as quickly he doth delegate
Some sober, prudent Prince, of generous Parts,
A friend to peace, a favourer of Arts,
Where either in their stations do move,
As they receive directions from above.
In such rude language, why art thou so weak,
As in such jargon boldly to addresse
Thy self to th'King of Kings? I must confess,
This is a piece of that extravagance,
As I admire thou hast the countenance
To look up t'Heavens, when thou dost reflect,
How insolently thou didst lately speak
Of their great Monarch: one, before whose Throne
All Kings most bow, and with submission own
Him as their Patron, and their Soveraign too,
And think't their greatest honour so to doe.
One who has no regard for this, or 'tother,
Who e're he be, nor one before another
Esteems, as we do here, because he's great,
Wears costly Diadems, and sits in State;
For, they're but all his Creatures, and depend
Upon their God, how e're they may pretend
To soveraignity here; whilst they abuse
Their power, and with fine titles would amuse
Their fellow mortals; but 'tis all in vain,
For God alone, above all Kings doth reign:
He governs all that Nature comprehends,
And fully acts, what ever he intends.
Whilst Kings and Princes, with their swords in hand,
Before him ready, for performance stand,
Of all that he thinks proper to command,
Yet none of these can really be said,
Actively to concur, and furnish aid
To him in all his glorious operations;
The thoughts of which exceed our meditations,
More then if one should undertake to prove,
That wheels in Engines by themselves do move
Without a Spring: or that without all air
A man can live: which clearly doth declare
That all these Monarchs, whom we here adore,
Not mov'd by the first Mover, are no more,
With all the force they to the field can bring,
Then Wheels in Engines are without a Spring.
For, as so many puppits here below,
By th'hand of God they're hurried to, and fro,
While he is pleased to keep up the Show.
But when he doth withdraw his mighty hand,
They move no more.—
301
Who can his glorious Attributes rehearse!
Who can the power of this great Prince express!
Who can his glory even but faintly guess!
He who doth Kings, and Emperours create,
As he thinks fit, and orders every state
Below the Heavens, as he thinks pertinent,
Whether for blessing, or for punishment,
Who can describe him!—
For, if at any time he doth intend
To plague a Nation, thither he doth send
Some sullen Tyrant, fraught with Cruelty,
Pride, Anger, Avarice, and Impiety:
And where he means a blessing to a State,
Thither as quickly he doth delegate
Some sober, prudent Prince, of generous Parts,
A friend to peace, a favourer of Arts,
Where either in their stations do move,
As they receive directions from above.
Sure then, as he's undoubted Lord of all
This spacious World, so he's impartial,
In all his ways, he no man will despise,
'Cause poor; for rich, and poor are in his eyes,
Both the same thing: their virtues, and their crimes,
He doth reward, and punish at all times,
As either of 'em in their Orbs do rise,
Without distinction of their qualities.
This spacious World, so he's impartial,
In all his ways, he no man will despise,
'Cause poor; for rich, and poor are in his eyes,
Both the same thing: their virtues, and their crimes,
He doth reward, and punish at all times,
As either of 'em in their Orbs do rise,
Without distinction of their qualities.
For all those powerful Princes, who to day,
Appear in Robes most gloriously gay:
Who with their present state so proudly swell,
They laugh at the Romance of Heaven, and Hell:
To morrow you may see them poorly ly,
Like other parcels of Mortality,
Incorporat with Dust, for all must dy
When God commands, all must resign their breath,
Without exception, all must stoop to Death:
Nay, greatest men are often suddainly,
Conveyed hence i'th' twinkling of an eye:
By poyson, Dagger, or the blows of War,
To which great Monarchs most obnoxious are
They're snatch't out of the world, and in their fall,
Bring on their Subjects sometimes national,
And fiery judgements, whilst Competitors,
For their Succession muster all the force
They can to make their several titles good,
And all the People are involv'd in blood,
By their ambition, that the world may see,
There is no Monarch absolutely free,
But him, who is above all Monarchy,
By whom all Earthly Monarchs live, and dy.
Appear in Robes most gloriously gay:
Who with their present state so proudly swell,
They laugh at the Romance of Heaven, and Hell:
To morrow you may see them poorly ly,
Like other parcels of Mortality,
Incorporat with Dust, for all must dy
When God commands, all must resign their breath,
Without exception, all must stoop to Death:
Nay, greatest men are often suddainly,
Conveyed hence i'th' twinkling of an eye:
By poyson, Dagger, or the blows of War,
To which great Monarchs most obnoxious are
They're snatch't out of the world, and in their fall,
Bring on their Subjects sometimes national,
And fiery judgements, whilst Competitors,
For their Succession muster all the force
They can to make their several titles good,
And all the People are involv'd in blood,
By their ambition, that the world may see,
There is no Monarch absolutely free,
But him, who is above all Monarchy,
By whom all Earthly Monarchs live, and dy.
Why since it is so then, since Majesty
Only belongs to him, who sits on high,
Which on the Rock of Justice, firm, and sure
Establish'd, to all ages doth endure:
Should any breathing thing compos'd of dust,
Dare but to think, that God can be unjust!
Only belongs to him, who sits on high,
Which on the Rock of Justice, firm, and sure
Establish'd, to all ages doth endure:
302
Dare but to think, that God can be unjust!
Besides, my friend, I'de have thee understand
That as this Monarch by his mighty hand
All that we see has fram'd, and 'stablished,
And governs by the same, what he has made,
Above all powers, so his all-piercing eye
Views all our thoughts, and actions carefully;
For, trust me, as he is Omnipotent,
So, without doubt, he is Omniscient.
That as this Monarch by his mighty hand
All that we see has fram'd, and 'stablished,
And governs by the same, what he has made,
Above all powers, so his all-piercing eye
Views all our thoughts, and actions carefully;
For, trust me, as he is Omnipotent,
So, without doubt, he is Omniscient.
He all things sees, his all-discerning eye
Looks through the bowels of obscurity:
Not earths dark Caverns, where perpetual night
Doth cover all, can cover from his sight
The works of darkness, or i'th' least conceal
Those villanies, which he means to reveal,
No, let a sinner run from Pole to Pole,
From East, to West; not any lurking hole
Will the poor Creature find, where he may lye
Safely conceal'd from that all-searching eye.
How then should any foolish man suppose
That he, who all things sees, and all things knows,
Can be unjust? or that he should direct
Wilfully, or by error, and mistake,
That to be done, in any mortals case,
Which is unjust.—
Looks through the bowels of obscurity:
Not earths dark Caverns, where perpetual night
Doth cover all, can cover from his sight
The works of darkness, or i'th' least conceal
Those villanies, which he means to reveal,
No, let a sinner run from Pole to Pole,
From East, to West; not any lurking hole
Will the poor Creature find, where he may lye
Safely conceal'd from that all-searching eye.
How then should any foolish man suppose
That he, who all things sees, and all things knows,
Can be unjust? or that he should direct
Wilfully, or by error, and mistake,
That to be done, in any mortals case,
Which is unjust.—
No sure, for as he each mans sins doth know;
Though wrapp'd up in the clossest thoughts: even so,
He knows his strength, he knows what he can bear,
And thence, my friend, no living man should fear
That what sad woes his Maker has decreed
He should endure, will e're his strength exceed.
Though wrapp'd up in the clossest thoughts: even so,
He knows his strength, he knows what he can bear,
And thence, my friend, no living man should fear
That what sad woes his Maker has decreed
He should endure, will e're his strength exceed.
Since then our God is just, and equitable
In all his wayes; it is not tolerable
To hear a man complain, as thou hast done
Of him, that can do injury to none.
Nay further, though 'twere lawful to complain,
Yet all our exclamations are in vain:
For he, whose power is full, and absolute
Over all mankind, may without dispute,
Do what he lists: for don't we daily see
How even the greatest Monarchs are not free
From their afflictions: how the mighty men
VVho think their grandeur can his wrath sustain,
Are broke to pieces in their hight, and laid
As low as these, who were of them afraid.
Without all help, by his own strength alone
He pulls the greatest of 'em from his Throne,
And, with the same breath, ere the wretch be dead,
Sets up another Pageant in his stead.
In all his wayes; it is not tolerable
To hear a man complain, as thou hast done
Of him, that can do injury to none.
Nay further, though 'twere lawful to complain,
Yet all our exclamations are in vain:
For he, whose power is full, and absolute
Over all mankind, may without dispute,
Do what he lists: for don't we daily see
How even the greatest Monarchs are not free
From their afflictions: how the mighty men
VVho think their grandeur can his wrath sustain,
Are broke to pieces in their hight, and laid
As low as these, who were of them afraid.
Without all help, by his own strength alone
He pulls the greatest of 'em from his Throne,
And, with the same breath, ere the wretch be dead,
Sets up another Pageant in his stead.
For all their actings he doth carefully
Observe, and laughs at all their policy.
Their Cabin-Councils are to him reveal'd
(Although by them industriously conceal'd)
Yes, he knows all, and though he doth permit
These for a while to do, what they think fit;
Yet, when he thinks it time to punish them,
He takes them down, with much disgrace and shame:
All their designs he doth annihilate,
And cancells their memorials of State:
He sweeps them off the world, like dust, and makes
Their Subjects feel great judgements, for their sakes.
Observe, and laughs at all their policy.
Their Cabin-Councils are to him reveal'd
(Although by them industriously conceal'd)
303
These for a while to do, what they think fit;
Yet, when he thinks it time to punish them,
He takes them down, with much disgrace and shame:
All their designs he doth annihilate,
And cancells their memorials of State:
He sweeps them off the world, like dust, and makes
Their Subjects feel great judgements, for their sakes.
Nay, he doth strike them openly, that all
May learn, and take example by their fall;
What 'tis for men t'abuse that power, which he
Entrusts them with, and so may plainly see
That all upon that mighty God depend,
Whose absolute dominion knows no end.
May learn, and take example by their fall;
What 'tis for men t'abuse that power, which he
Entrusts them with, and so may plainly see
That all upon that mighty God depend,
Whose absolute dominion knows no end.
Because his just commands they did despise,
And did forget they were his Deputies:
Nor did remember of his kindnesses
Show'n to them, in the days of their distress:
Nor how he had appear'd in their defence,
And mercifully by his providence
Had sav'd them from the plots and treacheries
Oftner then once, of their great enemies;
Nor thank'd him for his kindnesses renew'd,
But stead of that, with great ingratitude,
Proudly rejected his authority,
And mean't to rule by their own Majesty.
And did forget they were his Deputies:
Nor did remember of his kindnesses
Show'n to them, in the days of their distress:
Nor how he had appear'd in their defence,
And mercifully by his providence
Had sav'd them from the plots and treacheries
Oftner then once, of their great enemies;
Nor thank'd him for his kindnesses renew'd,
But stead of that, with great ingratitude,
Proudly rejected his authority,
And mean't to rule by their own Majesty.
For, stead of ruling faithfully and well,
They to oppressing of their Subjects fell:
Whose cryes did mount to Heav'ns, when they complain'd,
And audience quickly from that King obtain'd,
Who rules all Kings below, and doth redress
All the afflictions, and just grievances,
Of those that are oppress'd; hence, by and by,
He makes those Kings as low, as they were high:
In view of all he doth those men debase,
And sets up others quickly in their place.
They to oppressing of their Subjects fell:
Whose cryes did mount to Heav'ns, when they complain'd,
And audience quickly from that King obtain'd,
Who rules all Kings below, and doth redress
All the afflictions, and just grievances,
Of those that are oppress'd; hence, by and by,
He makes those Kings as low, as they were high:
In view of all he doth those men debase,
And sets up others quickly in their place.
For what he doth intend, who can withstand?
Who can resist his high and mighty hand?
Who can obstruct his progress? tell me who
Can hinder what he has a mind to do?
Whether on single men his wrath doth fall,
Or that he means a Judgement National:
For if to any he gives quietness,
What fury can disturb that peoples peace?
Or if he means to punish them with war,
Who can resist him? who are they, that dare
Oppose their breasts to th'torrent of his rage,
Or, with the Armies of his wrath engage?
Who can resist his high and mighty hand?
Who can obstruct his progress? tell me who
Can hinder what he has a mind to do?
Whether on single men his wrath doth fall,
Or that he means a Judgement National:
For if to any he gives quietness,
What fury can disturb that peoples peace?
Or if he means to punish them with war,
Who can resist him? who are they, that dare
Oppose their breasts to th'torrent of his rage,
Or, with the Armies of his wrath engage?
When he intends to pull a Tyrant down,
And, in his anger reassume that Crown,
Which he did lend him, lest his people may,
By his example, learn to disobey
Their Supream Monarch, and be cunningly
Enamoured with his Apostacy;
What counsel, what device, what power below,
What leagues, what armies can prevent the blow?
And, in his anger reassume that Crown,
Which he did lend him, lest his people may,
By his example, learn to disobey
Their Supream Monarch, and be cunningly
Enamoured with his Apostacy;
304
What leagues, what armies can prevent the blow?
And now, my friend, by all that I have said,
I have no other aim, but to perswade
Both thee, and these who hear me, to forbear
Such language, as I am asham'd to hear
On this occasion; and in stead of crys,
Complaints, rash questions, and apologys,
To use another method, and expresse
Thy self in terms more moderat, then these
Which I have heard: For thus I think indeed,
At such a time as this, thou shouldst proceed
In thy expressions, and no otherwise,
If thou'lt be pleas'd to follow my advice.
I have no other aim, but to perswade
Both thee, and these who hear me, to forbear
Such language, as I am asham'd to hear
On this occasion; and in stead of crys,
Complaints, rash questions, and apologys,
To use another method, and expresse
Thy self in terms more moderat, then these
Which I have heard: For thus I think indeed,
At such a time as this, thou shouldst proceed
In thy expressions, and no otherwise,
If thou'lt be pleas'd to follow my advice.
Lord, I have sinn'd, and given provocation,
For which I have sustain'd thy indignation:
Pardon me, Lord, and teach me to abhore
My former ways, that I may sin no more.
For which I have sustain'd thy indignation:
Pardon me, Lord, and teach me to abhore
My former ways, that I may sin no more.
If all this while, Lord, I have not perceiv'd
My errors, but have foolishly believ'd
That I was free of sin, Lord, teach thou me,
And now, at length, be pleas'd to let me see,
In what, good Lord, I have offended thee,
And I'll do so no more.—
My errors, but have foolishly believ'd
That I was free of sin, Lord, teach thou me,
And now, at length, be pleas'd to let me see,
In what, good Lord, I have offended thee,
And I'll do so no more.—
Now, choose thee then, my friend, since things are so,
Whether thou'lt follow my advice, or no,
For pray consider seriously, my friend,
Is't fit that God according to thy mind
Should now dispose of thee: or rather do
What he thinks proper? which of these thinks't thou
Doth most agree with him, who certainly
Knows better what is fit, then thou, or I,
For any man t'endure: he does indeed,
And will in his own methods still proceed,
Whether thou wilt, or no: go to then, speak,
See what defence thou for thy self canst make:
If thou'lt not follow my advice, speak on,
And I shall hold my tongue while thou hast done:
Speak out thy mind, but pray remember now,
It is with God, not me, thou hast to doe:
For, if thou in the least canst make appear
That I have err'd, henceforth I shall forbear
To speak upon the subject, but give o're
All my discoursing here, and speak no more.
Whether thou'lt follow my advice, or no,
For pray consider seriously, my friend,
Is't fit that God according to thy mind
Should now dispose of thee: or rather do
What he thinks proper? which of these thinks't thou
Doth most agree with him, who certainly
Knows better what is fit, then thou, or I,
For any man t'endure: he does indeed,
And will in his own methods still proceed,
Whether thou wilt, or no: go to then, speak,
See what defence thou for thy self canst make:
If thou'lt not follow my advice, speak on,
And I shall hold my tongue while thou hast done:
Speak out thy mind, but pray remember now,
It is with God, not me, thou hast to doe:
For, if thou in the least canst make appear
That I have err'd, henceforth I shall forbear
To speak upon the subject, but give o're
All my discoursing here, and speak no more.
But only this, my friend, I'll boldly say,
That men of understanding, who to day
Have heard me speak, will fully testify,
That what I've said, is naked verity.
That men of understanding, who to day
Have heard me speak, will fully testify,
That what I've said, is naked verity.
And that what thou hast spoke, since thou began
T'open thy case, is much below a man
Of understanding, and doth savour so,
Of one that his Creator doth not know,
That I'm afraid, they'll think what thou hast said
In thy defence, rather appears to add
To thy offence, and so will find the Bill
Against thee, say, or argue what thou will.
T'open thy case, is much below a man
Of understanding, and doth savour so,
Of one that his Creator doth not know,
That I'm afraid, they'll think what thou hast said
In thy defence, rather appears to add
305
Against thee, say, or argue what thou will.
But after all, my friends, I think it yet
Proper to speak on this mans present state,
Because I think he's not yet humbled so
As I would have him:—
I'de therefore wish his tryal might endure
Yet for some longer time, until his cure
Were perfect, and I might perceive, my friend
Converted from his Errors in the end.
Proper to speak on this mans present state,
Because I think he's not yet humbled so
As I would have him:—
I'de therefore wish his tryal might endure
Yet for some longer time, until his cure
Were perfect, and I might perceive, my friend
Converted from his Errors in the end.
For by what yet I in his carriage see,
Without dissembling, truth, I must be free
To tell you all that I perceive no less
Then that his sins do, with his pains increase;
So that if I my speaking should give o're,
And to his passion make an open door,
I fear he will miscarry as before
'Has done in his Discourse, I'le therefore speak,
And to himself my speech I will direct.
Without dissembling, truth, I must be free
To tell you all that I perceive no less
Then that his sins do, with his pains increase;
So that if I my speaking should give o're,
And to his passion make an open door,
I fear he will miscarry as before
'Has done in his Discourse, I'le therefore speak,
And to himself my speech I will direct.
Cap. XXXV.
Upon the Question in hand intent
Thus then he prosecutes his Argument.
Dost think, says he, my friend, thou'rt in the right,
Or rather dost not sin against thy light,
When in thy raving thou art pleas'd to express
Thy thoughts so much of thy own Righteousness,
As if thou'd seem to argue all along,
That God both just, and good had done thee wrong?
Thus then he prosecutes his Argument.
Dost think, says he, my friend, thou'rt in the right,
Or rather dost not sin against thy light,
When in thy raving thou art pleas'd to express
Thy thoughts so much of thy own Righteousness,
As if thou'd seem to argue all along,
That God both just, and good had done thee wrong?
For thou hast said 'tis very strange to see
That God has no regard to such as thee,
Who hast observ'd his will, and piously
Demean'd thy self even from thy Infancy:
And therefore think'st Piety is a thing
Of no advantage, not worth studying:
But to be guilty, or be innocent,
Are in themselves but things indifferent.
That God has no regard to such as thee,
Who hast observ'd his will, and piously
Demean'd thy self even from thy Infancy:
And therefore think'st Piety is a thing
Of no advantage, not worth studying:
But to be guilty, or be innocent,
Are in themselves but things indifferent.
Well I shall answer quickly all these questions,
And easily refute those mean suggestions
Of a disordered spirit, and assert,
'Gainst thee, and all those Fools, who take thy part,
That thus for one (though just, and innocent,
Upon whom God has sent a punishment)
To argue that it is a vanity,
For any man to study Piety,
As thou hast done, since God alike regards
The just, and unjust, and so ill rewards
His faithful Servants, as thy case doth show,
That therefore to be guilty yea, or no
Is all one thing, since Judgements thus are sent
Both on the guilty, and the innocent
Is no less error, than if one should say
(As many do) come let us pass away
Our time in sin, and not so foolishly
Study the useless art of Piety,
As this good man has done, and after all,
Like him, in saddest of afflictions fall.
And easily refute those mean suggestions
Of a disordered spirit, and assert,
'Gainst thee, and all those Fools, who take thy part,
That thus for one (though just, and innocent,
Upon whom God has sent a punishment)
To argue that it is a vanity,
For any man to study Piety,
As thou hast done, since God alike regards
The just, and unjust, and so ill rewards
His faithful Servants, as thy case doth show,
That therefore to be guilty yea, or no
306
Both on the guilty, and the innocent
Is no less error, than if one should say
(As many do) come let us pass away
Our time in sin, and not so foolishly
Study the useless art of Piety,
As this good man has done, and after all,
Like him, in saddest of afflictions fall.
Are these thy thoughts then? has afflictions force
Driven thy Spirit to such weak Discourse?
Have sorrows so distracted thee, my friend,
That in such terms thou shouldst express thy mind?
Why if thou be with grief so overcome,
'Twere good, in my opinion, thou wert dumb,
That whatso'er thou thinkest, might at least
Be keep't within the kennel of thy breast,
And not break out in such rude eloquence,
As to all pious ears doth give offence.
For, if thou wouldst but for a moment check
The fury of thy passion, and direct
Thy eyes to Heaven, then wouldst thou plainly see
The difference betwixt thy God, and thee:
Then wouldst thou see how high and excellent,
(Besides what all on earth do represent,)
That Mighty God, whom we both love and fear,
Above all things created doth appear.
Driven thy Spirit to such weak Discourse?
Have sorrows so distracted thee, my friend,
That in such terms thou shouldst express thy mind?
Why if thou be with grief so overcome,
'Twere good, in my opinion, thou wert dumb,
That whatso'er thou thinkest, might at least
Be keep't within the kennel of thy breast,
And not break out in such rude eloquence,
As to all pious ears doth give offence.
For, if thou wouldst but for a moment check
The fury of thy passion, and direct
Thy eyes to Heaven, then wouldst thou plainly see
The difference betwixt thy God, and thee:
Then wouldst thou see how high and excellent,
(Besides what all on earth do represent,)
That Mighty God, whom we both love and fear,
Above all things created doth appear.
For but observe the clouds, see how they fly
Hither, and thither through the spacious sky,
And often do themselves conglomerate
In a thick body, which to dissipate
The Sun attempts in vain.—
For with a dark line of Circumvallation,
They so surround us, that with Consternation
We're oftentimes for many days together,
Lock'd up in Prison of bad soultry weather:
Whilst all the while the Sun his Chamber keeps,
But now, and then, that through the chinks he peeps,
For at Noon-tide he dares no more appear,
Than one at Change-time, who a Writ doth fear:
Yet after all themselves they rarifie
Into a pleasant, calm serenitie.
Who is't, do'st think, that makes these Vapours march,
In so good order through the spacious arch?
That makes these clouds condense, and then dilate,
Sure this no humane art can operate:
What need I tell thee, 'tis our God alone,
Who on these clouds doth sometimes place his Throne,
That Monarch, who eternally doth live,
To question whose Supream Prerogative,
Is a great madness, without all debate,
In any thing, that e're he did create.
Since then he is so high, and we so low,
As hardly we by Contemplation know
What these things are, which o're our heads do fly,
And make such pretty figures in the sky,
Since all the Wit, that God has to us given
Can hardly scann that Portcullice of Heaven:
Since we know no more, what the rambling means
I'th' air of all those glorious Machines,
And can the nature of these clouds express,
No better, than by art we faintly guess:
What must we think of him, pray what must he,
Who form'd these rowling clouds; what must he be?
What must he be, when even we do admire
The least part of his Glory? I desire
To know of thee, my friend, if ever thou
Didst so much spare time to thy self allow
As to contemplate even such things, as these,
For if thou hadst, thou never wouldst express
Thy self so foolishlie, as thou hast done
Of him, to whom both Clouds, Stars, Moon, and Sun
Are but mean Servants, and his Errands run.
Hither, and thither through the spacious sky,
And often do themselves conglomerate
In a thick body, which to dissipate
The Sun attempts in vain.—
For with a dark line of Circumvallation,
They so surround us, that with Consternation
We're oftentimes for many days together,
Lock'd up in Prison of bad soultry weather:
Whilst all the while the Sun his Chamber keeps,
But now, and then, that through the chinks he peeps,
For at Noon-tide he dares no more appear,
Than one at Change-time, who a Writ doth fear:
Yet after all themselves they rarifie
Into a pleasant, calm serenitie.
Who is't, do'st think, that makes these Vapours march,
In so good order through the spacious arch?
That makes these clouds condense, and then dilate,
Sure this no humane art can operate:
What need I tell thee, 'tis our God alone,
Who on these clouds doth sometimes place his Throne,
That Monarch, who eternally doth live,
To question whose Supream Prerogative,
Is a great madness, without all debate,
In any thing, that e're he did create.
Since then he is so high, and we so low,
As hardly we by Contemplation know
What these things are, which o're our heads do fly,
307
Since all the Wit, that God has to us given
Can hardly scann that Portcullice of Heaven:
Since we know no more, what the rambling means
I'th' air of all those glorious Machines,
And can the nature of these clouds express,
No better, than by art we faintly guess:
What must we think of him, pray what must he,
Who form'd these rowling clouds; what must he be?
What must he be, when even we do admire
The least part of his Glory? I desire
To know of thee, my friend, if ever thou
Didst so much spare time to thy self allow
As to contemplate even such things, as these,
For if thou hadst, thou never wouldst express
Thy self so foolishlie, as thou hast done
Of him, to whom both Clouds, Stars, Moon, and Sun
Are but mean Servants, and his Errands run.
Considering this, why shouldst so sillily
Value thy self on thy integrity?
Why brag'st thou so much of thy uprightness,
And keep'st such coyl about thy righteousness?
As if all thou couldst do, with all thy art,
(Though to him thou wouldst offer up thy heart)
Could add to that bright Glory in the least,
Of which already hee's so much possest.
Then if thou sin'st, thy self thou dost injure,
Not him, who is so glorious and pure,
As all the clouds of thine iniquity
Cannot offuscate his bright Majesty.
Value thy self on thy integrity?
Why brag'st thou so much of thy uprightness,
And keep'st such coyl about thy righteousness?
As if all thou couldst do, with all thy art,
(Though to him thou wouldst offer up thy heart)
Could add to that bright Glory in the least,
Of which already hee's so much possest.
Then if thou sin'st, thy self thou dost injure,
Not him, who is so glorious and pure,
As all the clouds of thine iniquity
Cannot offuscate his bright Majesty.
If righteous, what dost thou on him bestow?
What doth he to thee for thy virtue owe?
Is't not thy duty? pray now let me hear
How wouldst thou from a hired Servant bear
Such saucy Language, as if hee'd profess
He honour'd thee, and for his services
Expected of thee mutual kindnesses,
Because he had oblig'd thee? sure anone
Thou'd tell him all that he had said, or done
Was but his duty. Pray consider then
What are the actions of the best of men!
What are their virtues? what their services?
What all their vows? what their performances?
What all their prayers? what their pious tears?
What their goodworks! why truly it appears
(Though they should oft repeat them o're, and o're)
To be their duty only, and no more;
Like those, who for their services are paid,
For to his glory these can nothing add.
Or if thy sins should multiplied be,
What does he value either them, or thee?
What doth he to thee for thy virtue owe?
Is't not thy duty? pray now let me hear
How wouldst thou from a hired Servant bear
Such saucy Language, as if hee'd profess
He honour'd thee, and for his services
Expected of thee mutual kindnesses,
Because he had oblig'd thee? sure anone
Thou'd tell him all that he had said, or done
Was but his duty. Pray consider then
What are the actions of the best of men!
What are their virtues? what their services?
What all their vows? what their performances?
What all their prayers? what their pious tears?
What their goodworks! why truly it appears
(Though they should oft repeat them o're, and o're)
To be their duty only, and no more;
Like those, who for their services are paid,
For to his glory these can nothing add.
Or if thy sins should multiplied be,
What does he value either them, or thee?
'Tis true, by sin thou may'st perhaps devise
To such, as thou art, hurt, and prejudice;
And by well-doing too, thou may'st perchance
Thy Neighbours interest, or thy own advance.
But what's all this to God? thou can'st not stretch
Thy hand out upon him; nor canst thou reach
Him by thy actings, whether bad, or good,
For all thy ways are fully understood
By him: and, as thy sins he doth deride,
So, trust me friend, for all thy zealous pride,
Without thy concurse he'll be glorifi'd.
To such, as thou art, hurt, and prejudice;
And by well-doing too, thou may'st perchance
308
But what's all this to God? thou can'st not stretch
Thy hand out upon him; nor canst thou reach
Him by thy actings, whether bad, or good,
For all thy ways are fully understood
By him: and, as thy sins he doth deride,
So, trust me friend, for all thy zealous pride,
Without thy concurse he'll be glorifi'd.
I must confess 'tis usual, with men,
When under sad Oppressions, to complain:
'Tis usual to cry out, 'tis customary
For men at such occasions to miscarry,
(As thou of late hast done) in their expressions,
Because o'th' multitude of their Oppressions.
I know indeed, by Nature men are prone,
With bitter exclamations to bemoan
The sad Disasters, which they undergo
By reason of Oppression: I know
Oppression truely in its full carreer
Is hard for any mortal Man to bear,
Hence some think they may be allow'd to cry,
When under such a bitter Agony.
'Tis true indeed this is the usual way
Of many godly persons in the day
Of their affliction; this is that indeed
Which most of men do for their Errors plead.
When under sad Oppressions, to complain:
'Tis usual to cry out, 'tis customary
For men at such occasions to miscarry,
(As thou of late hast done) in their expressions,
Because o'th' multitude of their Oppressions.
I know indeed, by Nature men are prone,
With bitter exclamations to bemoan
The sad Disasters, which they undergo
By reason of Oppression: I know
Oppression truely in its full carreer
Is hard for any mortal Man to bear,
Hence some think they may be allow'd to cry,
When under such a bitter Agony.
'Tis true indeed this is the usual way
Of many godly persons in the day
Of their affliction; this is that indeed
Which most of men do for their Errors plead.
But this is not the method men should use
Under Oppression: hence I don't excuse
Those usual complaints, and exclamations,
In which men vent themselves, at such occasions.
For O, if they considered things aright,
They would not thus with their afflictions fight,
Nor vex at their oppressions, like Fools,
Or cry aloud, and weep, like Boys at Schools.
No, no, they should to God themselves address,
To him alone they should, in their distress,
Apply themselves, with zeal, and fervency,
For he can only send them remedy
In time of Troubles: he alone can give
True comfort to them, he can make them live,
When they're about to die: when help from men
Has fail'd, and for supply they look in vain
From th'arm of Flesh, he unexpectedly
Doth bring them out of all their Misery:
He makes them change their notes, and gladly sing
Amidst their greatest pain and suffering.
Under Oppression: hence I don't excuse
Those usual complaints, and exclamations,
In which men vent themselves, at such occasions.
For O, if they considered things aright,
They would not thus with their afflictions fight,
Nor vex at their oppressions, like Fools,
Or cry aloud, and weep, like Boys at Schools.
No, no, they should to God themselves address,
To him alone they should, in their distress,
Apply themselves, with zeal, and fervency,
For he can only send them remedy
In time of Troubles: he alone can give
True comfort to them, he can make them live,
When they're about to die: when help from men
Has fail'd, and for supply they look in vain
From th'arm of Flesh, he unexpectedly
Doth bring them out of all their Misery:
He makes them change their notes, and gladly sing
Amidst their greatest pain and suffering.
Nay we should even in gratitude apply
Our selves to God, in time of Misery;
Because he Reason on us has bestow'd,
And us with many Qualities endow'd,
Beyond all beasts o'th' Field, or birds o'th' Air,
None of which can i'th' least with Man compare:
And therefore we're oblig'd on all occasions
Of such sad Woes, to make our applications
To him alone, as we would wish to be,
In his good time from our afflictions free.
Our selves to God, in time of Misery;
Because he Reason on us has bestow'd,
And us with many Qualities endow'd,
Beyond all beasts o'th' Field, or birds o'th' Air,
None of which can i'th' least with Man compare:
And therefore we're oblig'd on all occasions
Of such sad Woes, to make our applications
309
In his good time from our afflictions free.
'Tis true, some men do in affliction cry
To God, and seem with fervour to apply
Themselves to him in prayer, but after all,
Th'Almighty doth not hear them, when they call:
Because they are not yet sufficiently
Humbled for their offences.
Besides, Faith of all prayer is the ground,
And without that, 'tis but an empty sound.
Such as do not by faith themselves address,
He will not hear: faith doth his ear possess,
Great Master of Requests, chief favourite
I'th' Court of Heaven, Protector of the right
Of all true Supplicants, this, this alone,
Makes all addresses to the Heavenly Throne.
To God, and seem with fervour to apply
Themselves to him in prayer, but after all,
Th'Almighty doth not hear them, when they call:
Because they are not yet sufficiently
Humbled for their offences.
Besides, Faith of all prayer is the ground,
And without that, 'tis but an empty sound.
Such as do not by faith themselves address,
He will not hear: faith doth his ear possess,
Great Master of Requests, chief favourite
I'th' Court of Heaven, Protector of the right
Of all true Supplicants, this, this alone,
Makes all addresses to the Heavenly Throne.
No formal, faithless prayer th'Almighty hears,
Nor doth he value mercenary tears.
No, though all these, whom we on Earth admire,
The glorious Chanters of the Heavenly Quire,
And all the Saints, and Martyrs with a shout,
Should usher in our prayers, and to boot
Good works, with all their meritorious sense
Should seem to make a Lane, by violence;
Yet without faith, all these attempts are vain,
For after all this courtly toile, and pain,
Such prayers will drop down in our mouths again.
Nor doth he value mercenary tears.
No, though all these, whom we on Earth admire,
The glorious Chanters of the Heavenly Quire,
And all the Saints, and Martyrs with a shout,
Should usher in our prayers, and to boot
Good works, with all their meritorious sense
Should seem to make a Lane, by violence;
Yet without faith, all these attempts are vain,
For after all this courtly toile, and pain,
Such prayers will drop down in our mouths again.
As then, my friend, I judge it is a crime
For men oppress't with grief, at any time,
(As thou dost) of their Maker to complain,
So I esteem it absolutely vain,
Because I do assert God is so high,
And we so low, as to his Majesty,
We Should our selves, in humble terms apply;
And not in proud, and rash expostulations
Bitter complaints, and tragical expressions
Of our distress'd conditions, as if none
Had suffered e're the like as we had done.
So I esteem it likewise labour lost,
Thus oft of thy integrity to boast,
As I have heard thee. Then, I yet do see,
Another fault, which I must taxe in thee,
And that is great despondency: indeed
In that thou dost most palpably exceed.
For I've observ'd in all thy frequent fits
Of passion, like one out of his wits,
Thou us'd in such expressions to rave,
“Why am I tortur'd thus, can I not have
“Accesse to God himself? can I not see
“That mighty Judge, who doth so punish me?
“To him I would with confidence addresse,
“To him I'de speak, to him lay out my case,
“And show how I am pure, and innocent,
“And so deserve not this great punishment.
“But O, where is he to be found? ah where
“Doth he reside? shall I search here, or there,
“North, South, East, West, why all is but in vain,
“For after all I never can obtain
“A sight of him: from whence I plainly see
“There's nothing left, but black despair for me.
“So that my soul of life is wearied,
“And would choose even strangling to be freed
“From its sad pains: O how I life abhorre,
“I hate it, and desire to live no more.
“O let me die then, for I know his wrath
“Will never cease, so long as I do breath.
“For 'tis in vain to think that ever I
“Can be on this side of mortality
“Restored to my late prosperity.
For men oppress't with grief, at any time,
(As thou dost) of their Maker to complain,
So I esteem it absolutely vain,
Because I do assert God is so high,
And we so low, as to his Majesty,
We Should our selves, in humble terms apply;
And not in proud, and rash expostulations
Bitter complaints, and tragical expressions
Of our distress'd conditions, as if none
Had suffered e're the like as we had done.
So I esteem it likewise labour lost,
Thus oft of thy integrity to boast,
As I have heard thee. Then, I yet do see,
Another fault, which I must taxe in thee,
And that is great despondency: indeed
In that thou dost most palpably exceed.
For I've observ'd in all thy frequent fits
Of passion, like one out of his wits,
Thou us'd in such expressions to rave,
“Why am I tortur'd thus, can I not have
“Accesse to God himself? can I not see
“That mighty Judge, who doth so punish me?
“To him I would with confidence addresse,
“To him I'de speak, to him lay out my case,
“And show how I am pure, and innocent,
“And so deserve not this great punishment.
310
“Doth he reside? shall I search here, or there,
“North, South, East, West, why all is but in vain,
“For after all I never can obtain
“A sight of him: from whence I plainly see
“There's nothing left, but black despair for me.
“So that my soul of life is wearied,
“And would choose even strangling to be freed
“From its sad pains: O how I life abhorre,
“I hate it, and desire to live no more.
“O let me die then, for I know his wrath
“Will never cease, so long as I do breath.
“For 'tis in vain to think that ever I
“Can be on this side of mortality
“Restored to my late prosperity.
Why truly, friend, 'tis no small provocation
For one to use such terms of desperation,
Under sad woes: 'tis true, men without hope
Will think upon a Dagger, or a Rope,
Not knowing God: but for those men who fear
This God, in saddest trials to despair,
Is a great sin, a fault intollerable,
A foul offence, a crime unpardonable.
For one to use such terms of desperation,
Under sad woes: 'tis true, men without hope
Will think upon a Dagger, or a Rope,
Not knowing God: but for those men who fear
This God, in saddest trials to despair,
Is a great sin, a fault intollerable,
A foul offence, a crime unpardonable.
What, to despair! to give all o're for lost,
When in the Ocean of afflictions toss't!
To let our spirits fail, and weakly faint,
Like Female souls, in such an exigent,
When we have most need to be confident!
To show some courage in prosperity,
And in the Battel of adversity,
When we have most use for it, to have none,
Is truly, what I cannot think upon,
Without disdain! to sink, when we should swim,
To lye flat on the ground, when we should climb
To th'mountain tops, so cowardly to shrink,
VVhen we should stand to't bravely: is I think
A quality which he, who valueth
Hath neither courage, prudence, grace, nor faith,
Thus to despair, alace how meanly base!
And unbecoming one of Abrams race,
Of Abraham, that supereminent
Undaunted, constant, and believing Saint;
VVho in his God such confidence did place,
As he could not despair in any case:
And for that reason was of all esteem'd
The father of the faithful.—
Shouldst thou despair then! one who art descended
O'th' house of faith, one who hath still depended
Upon the promise to thy Fathers made:
And as I see, dost yet thy self perswade
That thy Redeemer lives, whom no man hath
Seen ever yet, but with the eyes of faith:
What, one of so much faith thus to despair!
'Tis truly, friend, a thing not ordinar.
Yes, one of his integrity so fond,
Which should support his faith, thus to despond!
Like those, who conscious of some horrid crimes,
Spin out their days in melancholly Chimes!
—What to despair! let's hear no more for shame
Of this despair: I hate its very name.
—Despair! I know indeed some impious men,
Who thinking death will ease them of their pain,
Which here they suffer for their sins, and that
By it their crimes will be obliterat,
Like mad-men, at such time for death do baul,
Supposing the kind grave will cover all
Their lewd offences; but I hope, my friend,
Thou'rt none of those who think death puts an end
To all our pains, nay surely thou dost know,
And firmly dost believe things are not so.
For then the fiery trial, but begins,
And after death, we're punish'd for our sins,
More then in life: now we are but arraign'd
And may plead mercy; then we are constrain'd
T'endure those torments, which God has ordain'd
For unrepenting sinners, and must ly
Under his wrath to all eternity.
When in the Ocean of afflictions toss't!
To let our spirits fail, and weakly faint,
Like Female souls, in such an exigent,
When we have most need to be confident!
To show some courage in prosperity,
And in the Battel of adversity,
When we have most use for it, to have none,
Is truly, what I cannot think upon,
Without disdain! to sink, when we should swim,
To lye flat on the ground, when we should climb
To th'mountain tops, so cowardly to shrink,
VVhen we should stand to't bravely: is I think
A quality which he, who valueth
Hath neither courage, prudence, grace, nor faith,
Thus to despair, alace how meanly base!
And unbecoming one of Abrams race,
Of Abraham, that supereminent
Undaunted, constant, and believing Saint;
VVho in his God such confidence did place,
As he could not despair in any case:
And for that reason was of all esteem'd
The father of the faithful.—
Shouldst thou despair then! one who art descended
O'th' house of faith, one who hath still depended
Upon the promise to thy Fathers made:
And as I see, dost yet thy self perswade
That thy Redeemer lives, whom no man hath
Seen ever yet, but with the eyes of faith:
What, one of so much faith thus to despair!
'Tis truly, friend, a thing not ordinar.
311
Which should support his faith, thus to despond!
Like those, who conscious of some horrid crimes,
Spin out their days in melancholly Chimes!
—What to despair! let's hear no more for shame
Of this despair: I hate its very name.
—Despair! I know indeed some impious men,
Who thinking death will ease them of their pain,
Which here they suffer for their sins, and that
By it their crimes will be obliterat,
Like mad-men, at such time for death do baul,
Supposing the kind grave will cover all
Their lewd offences; but I hope, my friend,
Thou'rt none of those who think death puts an end
To all our pains, nay surely thou dost know,
And firmly dost believe things are not so.
For then the fiery trial, but begins,
And after death, we're punish'd for our sins,
More then in life: now we are but arraign'd
And may plead mercy; then we are constrain'd
T'endure those torments, which God has ordain'd
For unrepenting sinners, and must ly
Under his wrath to all eternity.
Rouz up thy self then, and despair no more,
But trust in God, for he will yet restore
Thee to thy former state, and let thee see
He doth retain more kindness yet for thee,
Then thou dost either merit, or expect:
Trust in him then, let faith thy heart direct
In this sad tryal, do no more despair,
For he's a loving God, and will take care
Of thee, and thy concerns, and after all
When he has try'd thee fully, he'll let fall
His wrath against thee; and in pure compassion,
Deliver thee out of this sad temptation?
He will restore thee to thy former state,
For all that thou hast seen, or suffered yet.
But trust in God, for he will yet restore
Thee to thy former state, and let thee see
He doth retain more kindness yet for thee,
Then thou dost either merit, or expect:
Trust in him then, let faith thy heart direct
In this sad tryal, do no more despair,
For he's a loving God, and will take care
Of thee, and thy concerns, and after all
When he has try'd thee fully, he'll let fall
His wrath against thee; and in pure compassion,
Deliver thee out of this sad temptation?
He will restore thee to thy former state,
For all that thou hast seen, or suffered yet.
And now, my friends, I must again to you
Address my self once more: you see then how
This good man is not so much punished
For former sins, as he is visited,
In wrath, for his despondency, and passion;
Though yet our God has us'd such moderation
In trying of him, as he has no cause
T'exclaim against the rigor of his Laws,
For yet he lives, and may yet live to see
Himself from all his present sorrows free.
Judge then if he has reason, constantly
Thus to complain, and foolishly to cry,
When he has suffered no extremity.
Address my self once more: you see then how
This good man is not so much punished
For former sins, as he is visited,
In wrath, for his despondency, and passion;
Though yet our God has us'd such moderation
In trying of him, as he has no cause
T'exclaim against the rigor of his Laws,
For yet he lives, and may yet live to see
Himself from all his present sorrows free.
Judge then if he has reason, constantly
Thus to complain, and foolishly to cry,
When he has suffered no extremity.
I therefore do conclude that Job has spoke
Such language in his pains, as might provoke
The wrath of God, and make him yet to pour
Worse judgements on him, then he to this hour
Has ever felt, and it were equity,
That he, with whom he has so tenderly
Dealt all this while, for his despondency
Should yet be further punish'd, but I hope
He'll have compassion on him now, and stop
The current of his Wrath; which for my part,
I wish he may do quickly from my heart:
Lest, if his torments be continued,
He may in his extravagance proceed:
And so his Heavenly Father irritate,
As he for ever may exheridate
This ungrate wretch, and never owne him more
To be his Child, as he has done before;
This winnowing tryal, and may do again,
Could he from his unjust complaints abstain.
Such language in his pains, as might provoke
The wrath of God, and make him yet to pour
Worse judgements on him, then he to this hour
312
That he, with whom he has so tenderly
Dealt all this while, for his despondency
Should yet be further punish'd, but I hope
He'll have compassion on him now, and stop
The current of his Wrath; which for my part,
I wish he may do quickly from my heart:
Lest, if his torments be continued,
He may in his extravagance proceed:
And so his Heavenly Father irritate,
As he for ever may exheridate
This ungrate wretch, and never owne him more
To be his Child, as he has done before;
This winnowing tryal, and may do again,
Could he from his unjust complaints abstain.
Cap. XXXVI.
Breathing a while, till he might recollect
His spirits, he begun again to speak,
As formerly, and with a judgment stayd
The zealous young man thus continued.
His spirits, he begun again to speak,
As formerly, and with a judgment stayd
The zealous young man thus continued.
Suffer me yet a little while, said he,
To speak, my friend, and I'll impart to thee
What further I have yet to plead, and say
On Gods behalf, suffer me now, I pray
To speak but yet a little, in defence
Of my great Master, that I may from thence
Inform thee of his Power, and Majesty,
And thy own dulnesse, and stupidity,
Who all this while hast boldly argued
'Gainst his procedure in thy case, and said
'Twas hard to send so great a punishment,
Upon a man so just, and innocent
As thou art: I shall therefore freely show,
How much thou to this mighty God dost owe,
Who hath been pleas'd, with so much patience,
To hear thee talk so on thy innocence,
And even attempt t'arraign his Providence;
Without inflicting yet some harder things,
Upon thee, for thy sinfull murmurings.
To speak, my friend, and I'll impart to thee
What further I have yet to plead, and say
On Gods behalf, suffer me now, I pray
To speak but yet a little, in defence
Of my great Master, that I may from thence
Inform thee of his Power, and Majesty,
And thy own dulnesse, and stupidity,
Who all this while hast boldly argued
'Gainst his procedure in thy case, and said
'Twas hard to send so great a punishment,
Upon a man so just, and innocent
As thou art: I shall therefore freely show,
How much thou to this mighty God dost owe,
Who hath been pleas'd, with so much patience,
To hear thee talk so on thy innocence,
And even attempt t'arraign his Providence;
Without inflicting yet some harder things,
Upon thee, for thy sinfull murmurings.
Allow me then to speak, for I intend
'Gainst all opponents stoutly to defend
The honour of my Maker; and maintain
Against all mortals, who of him complain,
That he's all justice, mercy, and compassion,
And uses in his wrath great moderation:
That he's all virtue, truth, and righteousness,
And more then I am able to express.
Allow me then to speak, allow me, pray,
And seriously advert to what I say
Upon the subject; for though my intent
Be to pursue my former argument,
And show the power of him, who sits on high,
Cloath'd with eternal Light, and Majesty:
Yet not from reasons topicks, but indeed,
From such as do all reason far exceed,
I mean to draw my mediums, and prove
That the first mover, by whom all things move,
Who no beginning had, and knows no end,
Is what our reason cannot comprehend.
I'll speak of him, as of that Deity,
Perceptible by th'spirit, not by th'eye.
Who's great beyond our reach, who's all in all,
Whose Character is supernatural.
'Gainst all opponents stoutly to defend
The honour of my Maker; and maintain
Against all mortals, who of him complain,
That he's all justice, mercy, and compassion,
And uses in his wrath great moderation:
That he's all virtue, truth, and righteousness,
And more then I am able to express.
Allow me then to speak, allow me, pray,
313
Upon the subject; for though my intent
Be to pursue my former argument,
And show the power of him, who sits on high,
Cloath'd with eternal Light, and Majesty:
Yet not from reasons topicks, but indeed,
From such as do all reason far exceed,
I mean to draw my mediums, and prove
That the first mover, by whom all things move,
Who no beginning had, and knows no end,
Is what our reason cannot comprehend.
I'll speak of him, as of that Deity,
Perceptible by th'spirit, not by th'eye.
Who's great beyond our reach, who's all in all,
Whose Character is supernatural.
Be pleas'd to hear me then, for seriously
I mean to speak, with great sincerity,
Upon the matter; I intend to speak
Nothing but truth, as God shall me direct.
In sober terms, I shall my self expresse,
In what concerns thy present wretchednesse,
For I do fully understand thy case.
I mean to speak, with great sincerity,
Upon the matter; I intend to speak
Nothing but truth, as God shall me direct.
In sober terms, I shall my self expresse,
In what concerns thy present wretchednesse,
For I do fully understand thy case.
First then, that I may speak in vindication,
Of my great Maker upon this occasion:
I'd have thee know that even the best of men
Do, but with great difficulty, obtain
Some random knowledge of the qualities
Of that great God, who dwells above the Skies.
The language of his ways we cannot read,
Whence all our grosse mistakes of him proceed:
Our ignorance of him makes us to erre
In our behaviour to him, whensoe're
He's pleas'd t'afflict us: and imagine that
He censures none, but those, whom he doth hate,
That he has no regard to innocence,
When such good men are punished, and thence
Reflecting on our own integrity,
We think he does us no small injury.
Advert then pray, and I will teach thee now,
By a most lively demonstration, how
Thou may'st hereafter know him perfectly,
And thence thy former errors, rectify.
Of my great Maker upon this occasion:
I'd have thee know that even the best of men
Do, but with great difficulty, obtain
Some random knowledge of the qualities
Of that great God, who dwells above the Skies.
The language of his ways we cannot read,
Whence all our grosse mistakes of him proceed:
Our ignorance of him makes us to erre
In our behaviour to him, whensoe're
He's pleas'd t'afflict us: and imagine that
He censures none, but those, whom he doth hate,
That he has no regard to innocence,
When such good men are punished, and thence
Reflecting on our own integrity,
We think he does us no small injury.
Advert then pray, and I will teach thee now,
By a most lively demonstration, how
Thou may'st hereafter know him perfectly,
And thence thy former errors, rectify.
Behold then, he is mighty, and exceeds
In power the reputation of his deeds:
He's high, and mighty, and doth far excell
All Kings, and Princes that on Earth do dwell:
In strength he's highly super-eminent,
His mighty arm doth shake the Firmament:
In wisdom, he so fully doth abound,
And is in every knowledge so profound,
That all our knowledge, all our art, and wit,
Is but meer folly, laid in scale, with it.
Yet as he's great, so he is good, and just,
And will do wrong to nothing made of dust.
Ready at all occasions he appears
To do men justice, and he gently hears
All their Petitions; he will not despise
The poor man in his suit: for in his eyes
Both rich, and poor are equal: every man
Who with uplifted hands, but faintly can
Say, Lord have mercy on me, he will hear,
And all may freely, without any fear,
To him approach; all may to him address
In person, and with ease lay out their case.
Access to him is easily obtain'd,
Without the introduction of a friend:
Without expence of waiting, and delay;
And being shifted still from day to day,
As men in Courts of mortal Kings are us'd,
And after all, either their suits refus'd,
Or laid aside; and when their means are gone,
Pitied by many, but supply'd by none,
T'endure the hateful name of hingers on.
No, all men may from him have audience,
What ever be their case, without expence
Of any thing but Prayer; and quickly find
Though he is great, yet he is just, and kind
To all that truly call upon his Name,
And, if we have not audience, we may blame
None but our selves: nay, though we should be mute,
If even our hearts but speak, he'll grant our sute.
In power the reputation of his deeds:
He's high, and mighty, and doth far excell
All Kings, and Princes that on Earth do dwell:
In strength he's highly super-eminent,
His mighty arm doth shake the Firmament:
In wisdom, he so fully doth abound,
And is in every knowledge so profound,
That all our knowledge, all our art, and wit,
Is but meer folly, laid in scale, with it.
314
And will do wrong to nothing made of dust.
Ready at all occasions he appears
To do men justice, and he gently hears
All their Petitions; he will not despise
The poor man in his suit: for in his eyes
Both rich, and poor are equal: every man
Who with uplifted hands, but faintly can
Say, Lord have mercy on me, he will hear,
And all may freely, without any fear,
To him approach; all may to him address
In person, and with ease lay out their case.
Access to him is easily obtain'd,
Without the introduction of a friend:
Without expence of waiting, and delay;
And being shifted still from day to day,
As men in Courts of mortal Kings are us'd,
And after all, either their suits refus'd,
Or laid aside; and when their means are gone,
Pitied by many, but supply'd by none,
T'endure the hateful name of hingers on.
No, all men may from him have audience,
What ever be their case, without expence
Of any thing but Prayer; and quickly find
Though he is great, yet he is just, and kind
To all that truly call upon his Name,
And, if we have not audience, we may blame
None but our selves: nay, though we should be mute,
If even our hearts but speak, he'll grant our sute.
Now, as he's great, and just, so he is kind
To all good men: for when he calls to mind,
How some bad persons void of conscience,
Triumphing in their formal violence,
Taking th'advantage of the times, and glad
To have occasion to oppress, have laid
Themselves to do all mischiefs to those men,
Who, when injur'd only to God complain.
Hence, though these godless men have done much wrong
To many, and yet God has let them long
Live at their ease unpunish'd; after all
Arm'd with pure Justice, he'll upon them fall;
Break them to pieces, seize what they possess,
And spoil them of their unjust purchasses:
In their estates he'll make a sudden change,
And all those poor mens injuries revenge,
Upon the Persons, and the Families
Of those, who did commit these injuries.
To all good men: for when he calls to mind,
How some bad persons void of conscience,
Triumphing in their formal violence,
Taking th'advantage of the times, and glad
To have occasion to oppress, have laid
Themselves to do all mischiefs to those men,
Who, when injur'd only to God complain.
Hence, though these godless men have done much wrong
To many, and yet God has let them long
Live at their ease unpunish'd; after all
Arm'd with pure Justice, he'll upon them fall;
Break them to pieces, seize what they possess,
And spoil them of their unjust purchasses:
In their estates he'll make a sudden change,
And all those poor mens injuries revenge,
Upon the Persons, and the Families
Of those, who did commit these injuries.
And, though he suffer those bad men to live
Long time, in plenty, and to them doth give
What e're their hearts can wish, yet all the time
He spares their persons, he doth mind their crime
He lets the righteous suffer misery,
And sad distress, but has a watchful eye
On all that do them wrong: and in the end,
All those good men, that upon him depend,
Not only he'll restore, to all which these
Oppressours did most inhumanely seize.
But will bring them in favour, and esteem
With those that wear the Sacred Diademe.
Whence they shall be enabled to protect
All pious men from the oppressing Sect.
Long time, in plenty, and to them doth give
What e're their hearts can wish, yet all the time
He spares their persons, he doth mind their crime
He lets the righteous suffer misery,
And sad distress, but has a watchful eye
315
All those good men, that upon him depend,
Not only he'll restore, to all which these
Oppressours did most inhumanely seize.
But will bring them in favour, and esteem
With those that wear the Sacred Diademe.
Whence they shall be enabled to protect
All pious men from the oppressing Sect.
Nay; though some time th'Almighty God permits
Such ravenous men, in their oppressing fits,
To do even what they list against his Saints,
As if he seem'd to slight their sad complaints,
Whilst in closs Prison, fettered, manacled,
Fast ty'd with cords, on bread and water fed:
Sleeping on boards, and benches at the best,
They in their wearied bones can have no rest;
Whilst thieves, and drunkards, Rogues and murderers,
Are now their only fellow-prisoners;
And lodg'd in the same room with them, whilst none
Dare pity them, or but emit a groan
On their behalf, without a strong suspition,
That they are favourers of their superstition.
Whilst choak'd with breathing of the croud, and stink
Of those, who void, and those, who smoak, and drink:
Where all the day is spent, as it were night
In a perpetual flame of Candle-light:
Whilst their sad ears are pestered constantly
With noise of horrid oaths, and ribaldry,
So that they find no opportunity
For their devotion; whilst arraign'd, condemn'd,
And the hour of their execution nam'd.
So that, by all appearance, there is none
Can think, with reason, but these men are gone:
He breaks their fetters; he doth soon unty
Their cords, and sets them all at liberty,
Who were perhaps next day design'd to dy.
Such ravenous men, in their oppressing fits,
To do even what they list against his Saints,
As if he seem'd to slight their sad complaints,
Whilst in closs Prison, fettered, manacled,
Fast ty'd with cords, on bread and water fed:
Sleeping on boards, and benches at the best,
They in their wearied bones can have no rest;
Whilst thieves, and drunkards, Rogues and murderers,
Are now their only fellow-prisoners;
And lodg'd in the same room with them, whilst none
Dare pity them, or but emit a groan
On their behalf, without a strong suspition,
That they are favourers of their superstition.
Whilst choak'd with breathing of the croud, and stink
Of those, who void, and those, who smoak, and drink:
Where all the day is spent, as it were night
In a perpetual flame of Candle-light:
Whilst their sad ears are pestered constantly
With noise of horrid oaths, and ribaldry,
So that they find no opportunity
For their devotion; whilst arraign'd, condemn'd,
And the hour of their execution nam'd.
So that, by all appearance, there is none
Can think, with reason, but these men are gone:
He breaks their fetters; he doth soon unty
Their cords, and sets them all at liberty,
Who were perhaps next day design'd to dy.
For by all these afflictions his intent
Is only, in great love, to represent
To these good men, how grosly they have err'd,
As well as others have done, and preferr'd
Their own conceits to what was right and just,
And have not in his mercy put their trust.
Is only, in great love, to represent
To these good men, how grosly they have err'd,
As well as others have done, and preferr'd
Their own conceits to what was right and just,
And have not in his mercy put their trust.
Hence he perswades them quickly to apply
Their minds to true, and solid piety,
With greater zeal, then they did formerly.
By these afflictions he doth them convince
Of all their failings, their escapes, and sins;
And makes them for the future live so well,
As they no more sad persecution feel.
Their minds to true, and solid piety,
With greater zeal, then they did formerly.
By these afflictions he doth them convince
Of all their failings, their escapes, and sins;
And makes them for the future live so well,
As they no more sad persecution feel.
For if such men do with unfeigned heart
Return to God; all blessings he'll impart
To them, their dayes in pleasure they shall spend,
Their years in honour, joy, and wealth shall end.
Return to God; all blessings he'll impart
To them, their dayes in pleasure they shall spend,
Their years in honour, joy, and wealth shall end.
316
But if they don't, but follow foolishly
The sinful methods of hypocrisy,
As many do, who yet would be esteem'd
Great saints, and are such by the vulgar nam'd:
Whilst in their hearts they think on nothing less,
But entertain all sort of wickedness,
Which they imagine, may promove i'th' least,
The smallest part of their own interest.
Then shall they fall like such, then shall they dy,
Like all the followers of hypocrisy.
The sinful methods of hypocrisy,
As many do, who yet would be esteem'd
Great saints, and are such by the vulgar nam'd:
Whilst in their hearts they think on nothing less,
But entertain all sort of wickedness,
Which they imagine, may promove i'th' least,
The smallest part of their own interest.
Then shall they fall like such, then shall they dy,
Like all the followers of hypocrisy.
Hypocrisy! and here's a sin indeed,
Which in Gods sight doth many sins exceed.
A complex sin, made up of many parts,
A catalogue of all pernicious Arts:
A close concealer of all villany,
A great debaucher of integrity:
A guilded sin, compos'd of all that's bad,
A crying sin in pious masquerade:
A couz'ning sin, a sin so intricat,
As all, save God, it easily doth cheat.
A sin so painted, siz'd, and varnished,
With pious Oyles, and so well shaddowed,
As it can hardly be discovered
To be a sin, by any mortal eye.
A sin, that seems t'abhor impiety,
And yet doth hug it; such a sin indeed,
In my opinion doth all sins exceed.
And sure I know, God, who doth falshood hate,
Above all others doth abominate
This cunning sin; and thence we often read
How this close sin God has discovered
By his great art. For as we dayly see,
How many counterfeited Coines there be,
By worst of villains stamp'd, and fashioned,
Where Silver is so cunningly allay'd
With courser Mettals, as they will endure
The Touch-stone, and the File, and seem so pure,
As one would think they of true fineness were;
Yet put them in a crucible, and there
By heat of Fire, the cheat will soon appear.
Which in Gods sight doth many sins exceed.
A complex sin, made up of many parts,
A catalogue of all pernicious Arts:
A close concealer of all villany,
A great debaucher of integrity:
A guilded sin, compos'd of all that's bad,
A crying sin in pious masquerade:
A couz'ning sin, a sin so intricat,
As all, save God, it easily doth cheat.
A sin so painted, siz'd, and varnished,
With pious Oyles, and so well shaddowed,
As it can hardly be discovered
To be a sin, by any mortal eye.
A sin, that seems t'abhor impiety,
And yet doth hug it; such a sin indeed,
In my opinion doth all sins exceed.
And sure I know, God, who doth falshood hate,
Above all others doth abominate
This cunning sin; and thence we often read
How this close sin God has discovered
By his great art. For as we dayly see,
How many counterfeited Coines there be,
By worst of villains stamp'd, and fashioned,
Where Silver is so cunningly allay'd
With courser Mettals, as they will endure
The Touch-stone, and the File, and seem so pure,
As one would think they of true fineness were;
Yet put them in a crucible, and there
By heat of Fire, the cheat will soon appear.
So when the Hypocrite doth pleasantly
Enjoy himself in great tranquility,
With such a specious, but adulterat show
Of piety, he gulls the people so,
As in his Fig-leav'd Coat, and zealous paint,
He passes current for an upright Saint.
But let him once be brought, as others are
To th'fiery tryal, then he doth appear
To be the person that he is indeed,
Then all his falshood is discovered;
His timerous spirit soon doth liquify,
His soul begins to shrink: he cann't apply
Himself to God, but passes stupidly
His time away, without all meditation,
Or thoughts of Heaven, as upon such occasion
All good men do:
But hardned in his sins, and knowing well
How much his former actions merit Hell:
He thinks that now 'tis hardly worth his pain
T'apply to God for mercy, or complain
To him, whom he has so much irritate;
But as contented with his present state,
Takes of his Masque, and acts now openly,
What he before perform'd more cautiously.
Enjoy himself in great tranquility,
With such a specious, but adulterat show
Of piety, he gulls the people so,
As in his Fig-leav'd Coat, and zealous paint,
He passes current for an upright Saint.
But let him once be brought, as others are
To th'fiery tryal, then he doth appear
To be the person that he is indeed,
Then all his falshood is discovered;
His timerous spirit soon doth liquify,
His soul begins to shrink: he cann't apply
Himself to God, but passes stupidly
His time away, without all meditation,
317
All good men do:
But hardned in his sins, and knowing well
How much his former actions merit Hell:
He thinks that now 'tis hardly worth his pain
T'apply to God for mercy, or complain
To him, whom he has so much irritate;
But as contented with his present state,
Takes of his Masque, and acts now openly,
What he before perform'd more cautiously.
Then he lets loose the reins of inclinations,
And runs like mad man into all temptations;
Then as in youthful veins, his blood doth rage,
And he must find out pleasures to asswage
The horrid torment of his melancholly;
And so expends some years in sin, and folly.
For that so rude, disordered fermentation,
O'th' mass of Blood, doth quickly give occasion
To sharp Diseases, which do warmly fall
Upon his body; and e're he can call
To God, for mercy, without more delay
Do hurry him, and all his sins away.
And runs like mad man into all temptations;
Then as in youthful veins, his blood doth rage,
And he must find out pleasures to asswage
The horrid torment of his melancholly;
And so expends some years in sin, and folly.
For that so rude, disordered fermentation,
O'th' mass of Blood, doth quickly give occasion
To sharp Diseases, which do warmly fall
Upon his body; and e're he can call
To God, for mercy, without more delay
Do hurry him, and all his sins away.
Thus then, my friend, we see Afflictions are
Most necessary, and we must prepare
Our selves for Tryals, and severe Temptations,
(As thou dost now endure) at all occasions:
Because by these, our God is us'd to try
The difference betwixt true Piety,
And base sophisticate Hypocrisy.
For, as the best of Grain is pestered
With the foul mixture of some specious Weed,
Which growing up in the same Field with it,
Doth the good Grain so slily counterfeit;
As while cut down, thresh'd out, and winnowed,
The false Grain cannot be discovered.
So in the Summer of Prosperity
When true Religion, and Hypocrisy
Appear to grow up in one Field together,
'Tis hard for Mortals to distinguish either;
But in the Harvest of Adversity,
When cut down, thresh'd, and winnowed, by, and by
We can distinguish what is bad, what's good,
And Hypocrites are quickly understood
In time of Trouble: then indeed, as Wheat
Is from the Chaff, by winnowing separate:
So Hypocrites are all discovered,
And from just, pious men distinguished.
Most necessary, and we must prepare
Our selves for Tryals, and severe Temptations,
(As thou dost now endure) at all occasions:
Because by these, our God is us'd to try
The difference betwixt true Piety,
And base sophisticate Hypocrisy.
For, as the best of Grain is pestered
With the foul mixture of some specious Weed,
Which growing up in the same Field with it,
Doth the good Grain so slily counterfeit;
As while cut down, thresh'd out, and winnowed,
The false Grain cannot be discovered.
So in the Summer of Prosperity
When true Religion, and Hypocrisy
Appear to grow up in one Field together,
'Tis hard for Mortals to distinguish either;
But in the Harvest of Adversity,
When cut down, thresh'd, and winnowed, by, and by
We can distinguish what is bad, what's good,
And Hypocrites are quickly understood
In time of Trouble: then indeed, as Wheat
Is from the Chaff, by winnowing separate:
So Hypocrites are all discovered,
And from just, pious men distinguished.
But those, my friend, who are in heart sincere,
Though their ingrain'd Afflictions appear
To be o'th' deepest dy, and do endure,
For a long time; yet God at length will sure
Deliver them out of them all, and show
That neither to themselves, nor friends they owe
Such great deliverance, but to him alone,
Who's their Redeemer; and forsaketh none
In their Afflictions, who upon him call,
But hears them, and at length doth grant them all
Their hearts can wish; and doth instruct them too
What for the future such good men should do
T'evite such Troubles.
Though their ingrain'd Afflictions appear
To be o'th' deepest dy, and do endure,
For a long time; yet God at length will sure
Deliver them out of them all, and show
That neither to themselves, nor friends they owe
Such great deliverance, but to him alone,
318
In their Afflictions, who upon him call,
But hears them, and at length doth grant them all
Their hearts can wish; and doth instruct them too
What for the future such good men should do
T'evite such Troubles.
Even so, my friend, if thou hadst put thy trust
In his great Name, and not ha'been unjust
In thy Complaints; he had reliev'd thee too,
Out of thy sad Afflictions, long ere now,
Before this time he had thee liberate
From these sad pains, and, without all debate,
Restor'd thee fully to thy former state.
In his great Name, and not ha'been unjust
In thy Complaints; he had reliev'd thee too,
Out of thy sad Afflictions, long ere now,
Before this time he had thee liberate
From these sad pains, and, without all debate,
Restor'd thee fully to thy former state.
But thou in thy Afflictions hast rav'd,
And hast so very foolishly behav'd,
Th'hast so provok'd him, as it would appear,
'Had left thee in a Labyrinth of fear,
And of thy restitution took no care.
And hast so very foolishly behav'd,
Th'hast so provok'd him, as it would appear,
'Had left thee in a Labyrinth of fear,
And of thy restitution took no care.
And now that I thy Case have opened,
And shown'n thee, why thou art so punished;
In the next place, I must give thee advice
Not to esteem thy self too just, and wise;
Nor think that God has done thee injury,
By plunging thee in so much misery,
When all th'hast suffered must be understood
T'have been intended meerly for thy good.
But, with great calmness, humbly meditate
On th'circumstances of thy present state:
Confess thy Errors, seriously implore
His pardon, and resolve to do no more,
As thou hast done: lest, in his burning wrath
He prosecute thee closely to thy death:
And then no offers of some thousand Prayers,
Largitions, Fastings, Pennances, and Tears
Can ransom thee, for thou must quickly die
Without Repentance, and for ever ly
In the dark Prison of Eternity.
And shown'n thee, why thou art so punished;
In the next place, I must give thee advice
Not to esteem thy self too just, and wise;
Nor think that God has done thee injury,
By plunging thee in so much misery,
When all th'hast suffered must be understood
T'have been intended meerly for thy good.
But, with great calmness, humbly meditate
On th'circumstances of thy present state:
Confess thy Errors, seriously implore
His pardon, and resolve to do no more,
As thou hast done: lest, in his burning wrath
He prosecute thee closely to thy death:
And then no offers of some thousand Prayers,
Largitions, Fastings, Pennances, and Tears
Can ransom thee, for thou must quickly die
Without Repentance, and for ever ly
In the dark Prison of Eternity.
Assure thy self, my friend, this is thy Case,
If thou repent not quickly, this alace
Will be thy final Sentence; this thy Doom,
Which thou must suffer in all time to come.
And of this Sentence no Reprival can
Be purchas'd by the Art, or Wit of Man:
Nor Gold, nor Friendship, nor all Artifices
Of Humane Labour: nor the close devices,
Of cunning Interceeders can delay
The Execution, but for half a day
Of this same Sentence: for be confident
With Gifts thou canst not bribe th'Omnipotent.
If thou repent not quickly, this alace
Will be thy final Sentence; this thy Doom,
Which thou must suffer in all time to come.
And of this Sentence no Reprival can
Be purchas'd by the Art, or Wit of Man:
Nor Gold, nor Friendship, nor all Artifices
Of Humane Labour: nor the close devices,
Of cunning Interceeders can delay
The Execution, but for half a day
Of this same Sentence: for be confident
With Gifts thou canst not bribe th'Omnipotent.
But O me thinks I hear thee say, if Death
Be all that I must suffer in his Wrath:
Why let him kill me, I am well content,
And shall esteem Death a kind Punishment:
For I am wearied of my Life, and know
I never shall have rest until I go
Down to the Grave. Why here, my friend, again
Is a gross error, and I must complain
Of thy so frequent wishing thou mightst die,
And in the Grave enjoy tranquillitie.
For though Death be a thing I must confess,
Which we ought all to meet with cheerfulness:
And every man, who doth th'Almighty fear
Should surely, at all times himself prepare
To welcome Death, yet thus before the time
Design'd by God, to wish it is, is a crime.
And is, as if one in a raging fit,
Should head-long throw himself into a Pit.
We must not wish for death, nor foolishly
When winds of troubles blow, desire to dye:
No, we must leave the rules of life and death
To God alone, and whilst he gives us breath,
We ought to live content with every state,
Which he is pleas'd for us to allocate,
From time to time, and when he thinks it fit
That we should die: why let us then submit
All our concerns, with patience to the blow,
And not down to the grave in anger go,
As if wee'd die whether he would or no.
Be all that I must suffer in his Wrath:
Why let him kill me, I am well content,
And shall esteem Death a kind Punishment:
For I am wearied of my Life, and know
319
Down to the Grave. Why here, my friend, again
Is a gross error, and I must complain
Of thy so frequent wishing thou mightst die,
And in the Grave enjoy tranquillitie.
For though Death be a thing I must confess,
Which we ought all to meet with cheerfulness:
And every man, who doth th'Almighty fear
Should surely, at all times himself prepare
To welcome Death, yet thus before the time
Design'd by God, to wish it is, is a crime.
And is, as if one in a raging fit,
Should head-long throw himself into a Pit.
We must not wish for death, nor foolishly
When winds of troubles blow, desire to dye:
No, we must leave the rules of life and death
To God alone, and whilst he gives us breath,
We ought to live content with every state,
Which he is pleas'd for us to allocate,
From time to time, and when he thinks it fit
That we should die: why let us then submit
All our concerns, with patience to the blow,
And not down to the grave in anger go,
As if wee'd die whether he would or no.
Take heed then pray, lest through impatience
Of thy afflictions thou give God offence.
For men should rather choose to undergo
Even the extremity of pain, and wo,
Then by complaining, in some sullen fit,
(As thou alace hast often done) commit
The least of sin. Nay if thou dost expect
That such complaints as these at length may break
The stream of thy afflictions, and so
Thou through the River of thy woes may'st go
With ease, and safety, and be thence reliev'd
From misery, trust me, thou art deceiv'd.
For, as young Children vex't with their disease
Of Itch, by scratching think to find some ease,
But after they have scratch'd their skin to pieces,
In stead of finding ease, their pain encreases.
So thou, my friend, by such complaints as these,
May'st well augment the force of thy disease,
But thou canst not allay it; trust me then,
'Tis a great folly for thee to complain.
Of thy afflictions thou give God offence.
For men should rather choose to undergo
Even the extremity of pain, and wo,
Then by complaining, in some sullen fit,
(As thou alace hast often done) commit
The least of sin. Nay if thou dost expect
That such complaints as these at length may break
The stream of thy afflictions, and so
Thou through the River of thy woes may'st go
With ease, and safety, and be thence reliev'd
From misery, trust me, thou art deceiv'd.
For, as young Children vex't with their disease
Of Itch, by scratching think to find some ease,
But after they have scratch'd their skin to pieces,
In stead of finding ease, their pain encreases.
So thou, my friend, by such complaints as these,
May'st well augment the force of thy disease,
But thou canst not allay it; trust me then,
'Tis a great folly for thee to complain.
For what's complaining else, but quarrelling
Of Gods procedure? What but murmuring
Against his justice? What but ignorance
Of what God is, and foolish arrogance,
Which thence proceeds? allow me then again,
Allow me, pray, a little to explain
The Power, Dominion, Wisdom, Majesty,
And Equity of him, who sits on high:
All which I do intend to evidence
Even from the common works of Providence;
That I may show thee all thy weaknesses,
For, hadst thou understood such things as these,
Which are so obvious, and at all occasions,
Afford us subject of high Contemplations:
Under thy Tryal thou hadst not behav'd
So sinfully, th'hadst not so madly rav'd
In thy expressions, nor, with so much spleen,
Quarrell'd thy Maker, over, and again.
Of Gods procedure? What but murmuring
Against his justice? What but ignorance
Of what God is, and foolish arrogance,
Which thence proceeds? allow me then again,
Allow me, pray, a little to explain
The Power, Dominion, Wisdom, Majesty,
And Equity of him, who sits on high:
All which I do intend to evidence
Even from the common works of Providence;
320
For, hadst thou understood such things as these,
Which are so obvious, and at all occasions,
Afford us subject of high Contemplations:
Under thy Tryal thou hadst not behav'd
So sinfully, th'hadst not so madly rav'd
In thy expressions, nor, with so much spleen,
Quarrell'd thy Maker, over, and again.
Know then, my friend, whatever be our state,
We must not quarrel God at any rate:
Or, if we do, we'll find our labour vain
And we had better suffer, then complain.
For as he is himself exalted far
Above all Powers, that e're created were:
So whom he pleases, he doth quickly raise,
And others he as quickly doth debase,
As he thinks fit: in all which he's so wise,
As he from none on Earth doth need advice.
We must not quarrel God at any rate:
Or, if we do, we'll find our labour vain
And we had better suffer, then complain.
For as he is himself exalted far
Above all Powers, that e're created were:
So whom he pleases, he doth quickly raise,
And others he as quickly doth debase,
As he thinks fit: in all which he's so wise,
As he from none on Earth doth need advice.
And as his Supream Power doth not allow
That any man should teach him what to do,
So we to what he does should all submit,
For he will do whatever he thinks fit.
That any man should teach him what to do,
So we to what he does should all submit,
For he will do whatever he thinks fit.
Remember then he is thy God, and know
How much the whole Creation doth show
His Power, and Glory: for by what we see
In all his works, we know that none but he
Doth rule the World, and by computation,
Of what we do admire in the Creation,
We may attempt to take his elevation.
How much the whole Creation doth show
His Power, and Glory: for by what we see
In all his works, we know that none but he
Doth rule the World, and by computation,
Of what we do admire in the Creation,
We may attempt to take his elevation.
For even from these common Phœnomena
Some little Maps we may with safety draw,
Of the vast Region of his Providence,
And through the very Microscope of sense
Perceive so much, as we may learn from thence
How great he is.—
Some little Maps we may with safety draw,
Of the vast Region of his Providence,
And through the very Microscope of sense
Perceive so much, as we may learn from thence
How great he is.—
Yet after all, the best of us I doubt,
Cannot with all his curious Wit, find out
His true Perfection, which no Mortal sure
Can further see, then in the Miniature
Of his external works: for he is great
Beyond what all our Art can calculate.
He govern'd all, before what now we see,
Appear'd to us: 'twas God, 'twas only he,
That rul'd all before Infant Time did fly
Out of the belly of Eternity:
To which (though we on Earth would fain restrain
Its rapide flight) it hastes, with speed again.
Before it in the World set up a Shop,
And sold that necessary Toy call'd Hope,
Which every day we buy at any rate,
The Pedling Churle is pleas'd to estimate,
Before this Time appear'd, e're it was known,
He ordered all things from his heavenly Throne,
And will so do, when Time is broke, and gone.
Cannot with all his curious Wit, find out
His true Perfection, which no Mortal sure
Can further see, then in the Miniature
Of his external works: for he is great
Beyond what all our Art can calculate.
He govern'd all, before what now we see,
Appear'd to us: 'twas God, 'twas only he,
That rul'd all before Infant Time did fly
Out of the belly of Eternity:
To which (though we on Earth would fain restrain
Its rapide flight) it hastes, with speed again.
Before it in the World set up a Shop,
And sold that necessary Toy call'd Hope,
Which every day we buy at any rate,
The Pedling Churle is pleas'd to estimate,
Before this Time appear'd, e're it was known,
He ordered all things from his heavenly Throne,
And will so do, when Time is broke, and gone.
321
Let none attempt then by Philosophy,
T'unriddle this great divine mystery
Of Providence: but rest content with what
May with their reason be proportionat:
For even the knowledge of those common things,
Which we by art can fathom, surely brings
No little satisfaction to our mind:
For as in Copper Ore we sometimes find
Some grains of Gold ly hidden in the Vein:
So, without doubt, Gods outward works contain
Some scattered grains of his Excellency,
Perceptible by a just, serious eye.
Though, after all, the knowledge we attain
By all these outward signs do not explain
What God is fully, no, that is indeed
A knowledge, which doth all our art exceed.
For God's a thing incomprehensible,
Infinit, boundless, and invisible,
And by no rules of art definible.
T'unriddle this great divine mystery
Of Providence: but rest content with what
May with their reason be proportionat:
For even the knowledge of those common things,
Which we by art can fathom, surely brings
No little satisfaction to our mind:
For as in Copper Ore we sometimes find
Some grains of Gold ly hidden in the Vein:
So, without doubt, Gods outward works contain
Some scattered grains of his Excellency,
Perceptible by a just, serious eye.
Though, after all, the knowledge we attain
By all these outward signs do not explain
What God is fully, no, that is indeed
A knowledge, which doth all our art exceed.
For God's a thing incomprehensible,
Infinit, boundless, and invisible,
And by no rules of art definible.
Then let us view the Heavens, and see what there,
Doth worth our admiration appear:
And first we may discern with little pain,
Even in that small phenomenon of rain,
No small appearance, no small demonstration,
O'th' God of Natures powerful operation,
In ord'ring on't: for he commands the Sun,
As in his dayly progress he doth run,
About the Earth, to suck up here, and there
What vapours moist, and unctuous do appear
Upon its surface which he gathereth
In several Clouds, and these distributeth
In all the quarters of the spacious Air,
Whilst out o'th' vapours he doth rain prepare.
That finish'd, and those clouds all mustered
Before him, ready, if so ordered,
With their whole force upon the Earth to fall,
And in a general Deluge drown us all.
As once they did loos'd by his mighty hand,
And would do yet, if he should so command:
He kindly doth their violence restrain,
And makes them only squirt themselves in rain.
Doth worth our admiration appear:
And first we may discern with little pain,
Even in that small phenomenon of rain,
No small appearance, no small demonstration,
O'th' God of Natures powerful operation,
In ord'ring on't: for he commands the Sun,
As in his dayly progress he doth run,
About the Earth, to suck up here, and there
What vapours moist, and unctuous do appear
Upon its surface which he gathereth
In several Clouds, and these distributeth
In all the quarters of the spacious Air,
Whilst out o'th' vapours he doth rain prepare.
That finish'd, and those clouds all mustered
Before him, ready, if so ordered,
With their whole force upon the Earth to fall,
And in a general Deluge drown us all.
As once they did loos'd by his mighty hand,
And would do yet, if he should so command:
He kindly doth their violence restrain,
And makes them only squirt themselves in rain.
So, that, as through a Seive, in little drops,
Those waters now do fall, and feed the hopes
O'th' Labourer, when he perceives his Grain
Spread out its ears, by th'influence of rain:
And every drop, which on the Earth doth fall,
In its due season prove spermatical.
Those waters now do fall, and feed the hopes
O'th' Labourer, when he perceives his Grain
Spread out its ears, by th'influence of rain:
And every drop, which on the Earth doth fall,
In its due season prove spermatical.
But O, what art, what language can declare
The motions of these Clouds, whilst here, and there
In troops they ramble, and to us appear
T'observe no order; but so scattering
Themselves, as if they went a forraging,
Through all the spacious Sky, would make us stand
Amaz'd, if so we did not understand
Th'Almighty is their Captain General,
That he commands in chief, and gives out all
The orders for these motions, so that we
Even in those ramblings do his glory see.
For when by their great Master ordered,
I'th' twinkling of an eye, they'll over-spread
The face of Heav'ns, and make all darkness there,
Where late the Sun most brightly did appear.
There in Battalia for some time they stand,
Expecting further orders; when at hand
Another Body of hot Clouds he makes
Fall on that Host, which, with great sury breaks
That mighty Squadron, yet it doth not yeeld
At first, nor in disorder quit the Field,
For all the others fury, but doth make
A strong resistance to their fierce attaque:
Long time they fight, whilst we with fear and wonder,
Expect they'll tear the Universe assunder:
For Lightnings in small Parties furiously
Burst through the thickest Clouds, and in the Sky
Make a strange Figure, and not only there,
But ev'n on Earth their fury doth appear,
When now and then beasts, buildings, men, what not
Are burnt, and wounded by their randome shot.
Nay Fishes in the Sea, when they do hear
Such rumbling in the Firmament, do fear
A general Conflagration, and run
Down to the bottom of the Seas, to shun
The fury of those Combatants: but there
They hardly safety find, for every where
Those Warring Clouds do make a mighty sound,
And fright all both above, and under ground.
The motions of these Clouds, whilst here, and there
In troops they ramble, and to us appear
T'observe no order; but so scattering
Themselves, as if they went a forraging,
Through all the spacious Sky, would make us stand
Amaz'd, if so we did not understand
322
That he commands in chief, and gives out all
The orders for these motions, so that we
Even in those ramblings do his glory see.
For when by their great Master ordered,
I'th' twinkling of an eye, they'll over-spread
The face of Heav'ns, and make all darkness there,
Where late the Sun most brightly did appear.
There in Battalia for some time they stand,
Expecting further orders; when at hand
Another Body of hot Clouds he makes
Fall on that Host, which, with great sury breaks
That mighty Squadron, yet it doth not yeeld
At first, nor in disorder quit the Field,
For all the others fury, but doth make
A strong resistance to their fierce attaque:
Long time they fight, whilst we with fear and wonder,
Expect they'll tear the Universe assunder:
For Lightnings in small Parties furiously
Burst through the thickest Clouds, and in the Sky
Make a strange Figure, and not only there,
But ev'n on Earth their fury doth appear,
When now and then beasts, buildings, men, what not
Are burnt, and wounded by their randome shot.
Nay Fishes in the Sea, when they do hear
Such rumbling in the Firmament, do fear
A general Conflagration, and run
Down to the bottom of the Seas, to shun
The fury of those Combatants: but there
They hardly safety find, for every where
Those Warring Clouds do make a mighty sound,
And fright all both above, and under ground.
Yet after all, when we do still expect
Those Clouds of Water will in pieces break,
By this so strong collision; when we
Confounded quite, by what we hear and see,
Do think those Clouds will let their Liquor out,
Not as through Sieve, but as through Water-spout,
And in great horrour, and sad consternation,
Expect a full and general inundation;
Why then we see how gracious Providence
Doth order, that for our convenience,
Which we suspected had been ordered
For our destruction; and imagined
VVe were all lost.—
For when those Warriours have their fury spent,
And with their mutual force, each other rent:
The event of this Battel doth produce
No more, than what is proper for the use
Of every thing that lives: for by and by
Those Clouds do only drop, as formerly,
In showres of Rain; as they're accustomed,
By which the earth is kindly moistened;
Rewarding all the labourers toyl and sweat,
And by fair Harvest, doth afford us meat.
Those Clouds of Water will in pieces break,
By this so strong collision; when we
Confounded quite, by what we hear and see,
Do think those Clouds will let their Liquor out,
Not as through Sieve, but as through Water-spout,
And in great horrour, and sad consternation,
Expect a full and general inundation;
Why then we see how gracious Providence
Doth order, that for our convenience,
Which we suspected had been ordered
For our destruction; and imagined
VVe were all lost.—
For when those Warriours have their fury spent,
And with their mutual force, each other rent:
The event of this Battel doth produce
No more, than what is proper for the use
Of every thing that lives: for by and by
Those Clouds do only drop, as formerly,
In showres of Rain; as they're accustomed,
By which the earth is kindly moistened;
Rewarding all the labourers toyl and sweat,
323
Then if at any time to evidence
The vast extent o'th' power of Providence,
He should command the Sun to hide his face;
(Which so much of his glory doth express)
And gathering in his scattered rayes to shroud
Himself within the mantle of a cloud:
Why he's obey'd: and we, for many dayes,
Condole the absence of those glorious rayes:
Whilst Clouds, Foggs, Rain, are th'only things which now
We see about us, and with much ado
Deprived of that comfortable light
We faintly do distinguish day from night.
Yet must we not despair, but still expect
That when our God thinks fit, the Sun will take
That covering from his face, and by and by
Appear as bright, as he did formerly.
The vast extent o'th' power of Providence,
He should command the Sun to hide his face;
(Which so much of his glory doth express)
And gathering in his scattered rayes to shroud
Himself within the mantle of a cloud:
Why he's obey'd: and we, for many dayes,
Condole the absence of those glorious rayes:
Whilst Clouds, Foggs, Rain, are th'only things which now
We see about us, and with much ado
Deprived of that comfortable light
We faintly do distinguish day from night.
Yet must we not despair, but still expect
That when our God thinks fit, the Sun will take
That covering from his face, and by and by
Appear as bright, as he did formerly.
And now again I must with no small wonder,
Speak of this great Phœnomenon of Thunder,
This dreadful subject, this stupendious thing,
That only should attend so great a King,
And in its high, commanding Dialect,
The pomp and grandeur of its Master speak.
A thing, whose horrid noise doth so confound
The race of Creatures all the world around,
That those, that live on Earth, in Sea, and Air,
At noise of Thunder, tremble all for fear.
Speak of this great Phœnomenon of Thunder,
This dreadful subject, this stupendious thing,
That only should attend so great a King,
And in its high, commanding Dialect,
The pomp and grandeur of its Master speak.
A thing, whose horrid noise doth so confound
The race of Creatures all the world around,
That those, that live on Earth, in Sea, and Air,
At noise of Thunder, tremble all for fear.
Cap. XXXVII.
At this I also quake, my heart doth beat,
Frighted almost out of its proper seat:
For when on this great work of God I think,
The very name of Thunder makes me shrink.
Frighted almost out of its proper seat:
For when on this great work of God I think,
The very name of Thunder makes me shrink.
Heark how th'Almighty doth his speech direct
To us in this same thundring Dialect:
Heark—even at this time, whilst I yet do speak:
Heark—how the noise increases more and more,
Whilst all Heav'ns great Artilery do roar:
Heark how his words do sound from North to South,
In flames, and lightning issuing from his mouth.
To us in this same thundring Dialect:
Heark—even at this time, whilst I yet do speak:
Heark—how the noise increases more and more,
Whilst all Heav'ns great Artilery do roar:
Heark how his words do sound from North to South,
In flames, and lightning issuing from his mouth.
All under Heav'ns do hear them, and a[illeg.]m
The voice of God amidst those clouds of fire:
Not that this Thunder is of such extent,
As all that breath below the Firmament,
Hear it at once, as if 'twere general;
No, at one time he doth not speak to all;
But to what ever people he would speak,
Thither assoon he doth himself direct
In this same dreadful language, for he will
Be heard by all: yes, he will thunder still,
Until the deafest, and most hardned ear
Do all the words of that loud message hear.
The voice of God amidst those clouds of fire:
Not that this Thunder is of such extent,
As all that breath below the Firmament,
Hear it at once, as if 'twere general;
No, at one time he doth not speak to all;
But to what ever people he would speak,
Thither assoon he doth himself direct
In this same dreadful language, for he will
324
Until the deafest, and most hardned ear
Do all the words of that loud message hear.
For first, before we hear this dreadful voice,
Before our slower sense can hear the noise,
Which, when the mighty Prince of Princes speaks
Amidst that heap of ratling Clouds, he makes;
We see some Troops of Avant-Curiors fly
Hither, and thither, lightly through the Sky,
Known by the name of Lightnings, these appear
Only to show to mankind, as it were,
That the Almighty doth himself draw near.
Not, but that first, with reason we suppose
The watry Clouds, through whose Battalions those
Have made their way by force, are wholly broke,
Not able to sustain the furious shock
O'th' fiery Clouds, by which the noise is made,
But that by th'eye these are discovered,
Before the duller, counterwinding ear
The noise in its perfection can hear.
For the light lightning in an instant flyes
Through th'Air, and soon appears before our eyes;
Whilst th'heavier sound a slower march doth make,
And through the Azure by degrees doth break;
But in a little, after these appear;
Then a most sense-confounding voice we hear:
A voice of power, a voice of excellence,
A voice of glory, and preeminence
Above all voices: a stupendious noise,
A most majestick, and commanding voice.
Nay, after in the Thunder he doth speak,
Yet still these Lightnings light incursions make,
Even to our very Gates, yea furiously
In at our doors and windows they do fly.
As if, whilst the main body of this Thunder
Encamp'd aloft, t'augment our fear, and wonder,
These forragers were sent to kill, and plunder.
For these Pickeerers, firing here and there,
Do with their small Shot raise no little fear,
Killing, or making of such subtile wounds,
As even their sight the Surgeons skill confounds,
Whilst by a Thunder-bolt, the bones within
Are broke to pieces, and th'outward skin
Untouch'd: nay sometimes these adventurers will
Perform some other pranks, to show their skill
In shooting, even on things inanimate,
As if with sport they would us sometimes treat,
And to allay our fears, would play the wag,
Melting a sum of Money in a Bag,
This still ty'd, seal'd, and closs, or emptying
A Hogshead full of Wine; whilst no such thing
Doth to the Cooper, by the Cask appear,
That being still untouch'd, sound, and intire:
With many such too numerous to relate,
Both on things living, and inanimate,
As we may dayly see. Yet God will not
For all his Thunder, stay those murdering shot.
But still permits th'allarum'd world to feell
Some hurt from those small bombs, which makes them reel
Like mad men, and in their reiterat fits,
Run almost out of all their little wits.
Before our slower sense can hear the noise,
Which, when the mighty Prince of Princes speaks
Amidst that heap of ratling Clouds, he makes;
We see some Troops of Avant-Curiors fly
Hither, and thither, lightly through the Sky,
Known by the name of Lightnings, these appear
Only to show to mankind, as it were,
That the Almighty doth himself draw near.
Not, but that first, with reason we suppose
The watry Clouds, through whose Battalions those
Have made their way by force, are wholly broke,
Not able to sustain the furious shock
O'th' fiery Clouds, by which the noise is made,
But that by th'eye these are discovered,
Before the duller, counterwinding ear
The noise in its perfection can hear.
For the light lightning in an instant flyes
Through th'Air, and soon appears before our eyes;
Whilst th'heavier sound a slower march doth make,
And through the Azure by degrees doth break;
But in a little, after these appear;
Then a most sense-confounding voice we hear:
A voice of power, a voice of excellence,
A voice of glory, and preeminence
Above all voices: a stupendious noise,
A most majestick, and commanding voice.
Nay, after in the Thunder he doth speak,
Yet still these Lightnings light incursions make,
Even to our very Gates, yea furiously
In at our doors and windows they do fly.
As if, whilst the main body of this Thunder
Encamp'd aloft, t'augment our fear, and wonder,
These forragers were sent to kill, and plunder.
For these Pickeerers, firing here and there,
Do with their small Shot raise no little fear,
Killing, or making of such subtile wounds,
As even their sight the Surgeons skill confounds,
Whilst by a Thunder-bolt, the bones within
Are broke to pieces, and th'outward skin
Untouch'd: nay sometimes these adventurers will
Perform some other pranks, to show their skill
In shooting, even on things inanimate,
As if with sport they would us sometimes treat,
And to allay our fears, would play the wag,
Melting a sum of Money in a Bag,
This still ty'd, seal'd, and closs, or emptying
A Hogshead full of Wine; whilst no such thing
Doth to the Cooper, by the Cask appear,
That being still untouch'd, sound, and intire:
With many such too numerous to relate,
325
As we may dayly see. Yet God will not
For all his Thunder, stay those murdering shot.
But still permits th'allarum'd world to feell
Some hurt from those small bombs, which makes them reel
Like mad men, and in their reiterat fits,
Run almost out of all their little wits.
Thus, when our God doth speak, in fire, and thunder,
He seems to rent the very Heavens assunder,
As if he now to mankind, in his wrath,
Did nothing, but a full destruction breath:
As if he mean't t'unhinge the doors of Nature,
And let in death on every living creature.
Nay, so he speaks, as if he did intend
To bring this goodly Fabrick to an end.
Yet after all he's still so kind to men,
As he shuts up this terrible Campaign,
At last in a Cessation of rain.
He seems to rent the very Heavens assunder,
As if he now to mankind, in his wrath,
Did nothing, but a full destruction breath:
As if he mean't t'unhinge the doors of Nature,
And let in death on every living creature.
Nay, so he speaks, as if he did intend
To bring this goodly Fabrick to an end.
Yet after all he's still so kind to men,
As he shuts up this terrible Campaign,
At last in a Cessation of rain.
But what needs more, 'twere tedious to relate,
How many other things both high, and great,
Our God performs: things strange and marvellous,
Things neither known, nor understood by us:
Things, which our proud philosophy transcend,
Things, which our reason cannot comprehend.
Of such great things then I shall speak no more,
But only here, as I have said before,
By these great outward works, we may perceive
With how much reason, we do all believe,
That he, who made all these, must surely be
In greatnesse far beyond all that we see.
On lesse things now then my discourse shall run,
A word of snow, and frost, and I ha' done.
How many other things both high, and great,
Our God performs: things strange and marvellous,
Things neither known, nor understood by us:
Things, which our proud philosophy transcend,
Things, which our reason cannot comprehend.
Of such great things then I shall speak no more,
But only here, as I have said before,
By these great outward works, we may perceive
With how much reason, we do all believe,
That he, who made all these, must surely be
In greatnesse far beyond all that we see.
On lesse things now then my discourse shall run,
A word of snow, and frost, and I ha' done.
He, who did all create, doth all command,
Holds all the Keys of Nature in his hand,
Unlocks the doors of these great Magazines
Of rouling Clouds, where vapours of all kinds
Are keep'd in store.—
Whence as he judges it convenient,
Now this, now that upon the Earth is sent:
And but a word he uses, for annon,
As he doth speak, the businesse is done.
He says to Snow, go thou, and quickly fall
On Earth, and as soon we are pouldred all;
Woods, Mountains, Valleys, Houses, all below
Are wrapp'd up in a sheet of ivory snow,
Annon he calls for rain, both great, and small,
And bids now this, now that upon us fall,
All do obey him: all do quickly run,
Where ordered, and what he commands is done.
Holds all the Keys of Nature in his hand,
Unlocks the doors of these great Magazines
Of rouling Clouds, where vapours of all kinds
Are keep'd in store.—
Whence as he judges it convenient,
Now this, now that upon the Earth is sent:
And but a word he uses, for annon,
As he doth speak, the businesse is done.
He says to Snow, go thou, and quickly fall
On Earth, and as soon we are pouldred all;
Woods, Mountains, Valleys, Houses, all below
Are wrapp'd up in a sheet of ivory snow,
Annon he calls for rain, both great, and small,
And bids now this, now that upon us fall,
All do obey him: all do quickly run,
Where ordered, and what he commands is done.
For instantly down from the Clouds doth fall,
Such quantity of rain, as makes us all
Give o're our works i'th' field, and lay aside
Our labouring Tools, and within doors abide.
Such quantity of rain, as makes us all
Give o're our works i'th' field, and lay aside
Our labouring Tools, and within doors abide.
326
Then go the Beasts too to their several dens,
And there themselves do shelter, while it rains.
Not able to resist the storm, and there
The fiercest of them is a Prisoner:
Until the rain be over, and the sky
Again put on a bright serenity.
And there themselves do shelter, while it rains.
Not able to resist the storm, and there
The fiercest of them is a Prisoner:
Until the rain be over, and the sky
Again put on a bright serenity.
That rapid wind, which wrapp'd up in a cloud
Around us for some time doth roar aloud:
The whirle-wind, which on all hands blusters so,
As if it out of every Point did blow,
Doth, as I take it, from the Southern Pole,
Upon us, with a deal of fury roule.
As by the boistrous North-wind cold is thought
To be into our Southern Countreys brought.
Around us for some time doth roar aloud:
The whirle-wind, which on all hands blusters so,
As if it out of every Point did blow,
Doth, as I take it, from the Southern Pole,
Upon us, with a deal of fury roule.
As by the boistrous North-wind cold is thought
To be into our Southern Countreys brought.
For with that wind the hoary frost appears
With Ice-sickles dangling about his ears:
Upon our running Rivers he doth seize,
And spite of their swift current makes them freeze,
As also Lakes, Pools, Ditches, Marishes;
And where before we sail'd, now in a trice
We run in Sledges all along the Ice.
With Ice-sickles dangling about his ears:
Upon our running Rivers he doth seize,
And spite of their swift current makes them freeze,
As also Lakes, Pools, Ditches, Marishes;
And where before we sail'd, now in a trice
We run in Sledges all along the Ice.
He makes the Clouds, with constant drudgery,
(Like Slaves condemn'd to pump) incessantly
Fill all our Canals; and the earth supply,
With water at all times, as it doth need,
And in that service, they're so hurried
Hither, and thither posted, here, and there,
In this, or th'other place, nay every where,
As he thinks fit; that as 't were out of breath,
They halt, till with his hand he scattereth
Them all along the Sky, and makes them flow
In gentle rain, whether they will or no.
(Like Slaves condemn'd to pump) incessantly
Fill all our Canals; and the earth supply,
With water at all times, as it doth need,
And in that service, they're so hurried
Hither, and thither posted, here, and there,
In this, or th'other place, nay every where,
As he thinks fit; that as 't were out of breath,
They halt, till with his hand he scattereth
Them all along the Sky, and makes them flow
In gentle rain, whether they will or no.
For all those numerous vapour-chests, which we
Call clouds, and counter-tumbling daily see
Above our heads, by him are ordered,
Assembled, or in parties quartered
Even as he will: he makes them turn, and reel
I'th' Air, like the swift motion of a Wheel;
When he thinks fit: he makes them pour out rain
In any place o'th' earth he doth ordain.
Call clouds, and counter-tumbling daily see
Above our heads, by him are ordered,
Assembled, or in parties quartered
Even as he will: he makes them turn, and reel
I'th' Air, like the swift motion of a Wheel;
When he thinks fit: he makes them pour out rain
In any place o'th' earth he doth ordain.
Those Clouds on several errands he doth send,
Some judgements, others mercies do portend:
Each of 'em doth its own commission bear,
For good, or ill: and none of 'em appear,
Without a special warrand any where.
Some judgements, others mercies do portend:
Each of 'em doth its own commission bear,
For good, or ill: and none of 'em appear,
Without a special warrand any where.
And now observe, O Job, take heed I pray,
Compose thy self, advert to what I say,
Consider, pray, consider seriously
The works of God; and in sobriety
Remark the methods of his providence,
His power, his justice, and his excellence.
Compose thy self, advert to what I say,
Consider, pray, consider seriously
The works of God; and in sobriety
Remark the methods of his providence,
His power, his justice, and his excellence.
Dost understand those things? dost thou conceive
The meaning of those wonders? dost believe
That all those Clouds, do march, retire, disband,
Or war amongst themselves at his command.
The meaning of those wonders? dost believe
That all those Clouds, do march, retire, disband,
327
Dost understand their motions, here and there,
Or how by a just Ballance in the Air,
He makes them hang above us? dost thou know
On what they do depend? or canst thou show
By what art he doth raise those Clouds on high,
Beyond the reach of sight, and by and by,
Doth let them down so low, as one with pain,
Would think they could be hoised up agaèn.
Which certainly is a great demonstration
Of his vast knowledge, and with admiration
On such things we should look.—
Or how by a just Ballance in the Air,
He makes them hang above us? dost thou know
On what they do depend? or canst thou show
By what art he doth raise those Clouds on high,
Beyond the reach of sight, and by and by,
Doth let them down so low, as one with pain,
Would think they could be hoised up agaèn.
Which certainly is a great demonstration
Of his vast knowledge, and with admiration
On such things we should look.—
Dost understand, my friend, from whence the heat
Proceeds, which is so violently great,
As sometimes it can scarce be tollerat?
When gentle Breezes from the South do blow,
But when out of the North, it is not so.
Proceeds, which is so violently great,
As sometimes it can scarce be tollerat?
When gentle Breezes from the South do blow,
But when out of the North, it is not so.
Dost understand how he the Air has spread,
Like a fair Sheet of Lawn above thy head?
The thin, and fluid Air, oft broke to pieces
By justling Clouds, and violent impresses
Of Lightnings: and yet after all, this Air
Appears transparent, and so calmly fair,
As it in pleasant brightness, doth surpass
The beauty of the finest Chrystal Glass.
Like a fair Sheet of Lawn above thy head?
The thin, and fluid Air, oft broke to pieces
By justling Clouds, and violent impresses
Of Lightnings: and yet after all, this Air
Appears transparent, and so calmly fair,
As it in pleasant brightness, doth surpass
The beauty of the finest Chrystal Glass.
If then thou understandest all those things,
And wouldst thy self plead with the King of kings,
In person: pray be pleas'd to let us hear,
What thou wouldst say, if God should now appear
Upon his Throne? if he should show his face,
And bid thee freely speak upon thy case?
What couldst thou say? or if thou dar'st not speak
To him thy self, but dost perhaps expect
That we should be thy Proctors, tell us pray,
What we to God on thy behalf shall say?
For thou, it seems, great knowledge dost enhance,
Whilst we are buried in deep ignorance.
And wouldst thy self plead with the King of kings,
In person: pray be pleas'd to let us hear,
What thou wouldst say, if God should now appear
Upon his Throne? if he should show his face,
And bid thee freely speak upon thy case?
What couldst thou say? or if thou dar'st not speak
To him thy self, but dost perhaps expect
That we should be thy Proctors, tell us pray,
What we to God on thy behalf shall say?
For thou, it seems, great knowledge dost enhance,
Whilst we are buried in deep ignorance.
Then which of us thy friends wouldst have to speak
To this great God in thy defence, and make
Apology for thee: pray let us hear,
For, if thou dost desire I should appear
In thy behalf, I must demand excuse,
For, seriously, my friend, I do not use
To plead with God for any man, indeed
I do not think it lawful so to plead:
But if thou wilt that I should pray for thee
To that just God, who doth both hear, and see
What passes now amongst us, let me know
And I shall quickly do it, for if so,
I do but that good office, which I owe
To all men: I in Prayer dare address
At all times, and for all men, but to press
My God to give a reason, why he now
Doth punish thee: truth that I dare not do.
No, no, for to be free with thee; my friend,
There's no man here dares so expresse his mind,
As thou hast done? at least, I'me not the man
Dares undertake this; for I neither can
Nor dare, by publick Program, intimate
That I am with my Maker to debate:
For, if I did, I might expect a stroak
From him, whom, by so doing I'd provoke
To wrath against me, and for my offence,
That I by death should soon be hurried hence.
To this great God in thy defence, and make
Apology for thee: pray let us hear,
For, if thou dost desire I should appear
In thy behalf, I must demand excuse,
For, seriously, my friend, I do not use
To plead with God for any man, indeed
I do not think it lawful so to plead:
But if thou wilt that I should pray for thee
To that just God, who doth both hear, and see
What passes now amongst us, let me know
And I shall quickly do it, for if so,
I do but that good office, which I owe
To all men: I in Prayer dare address
At all times, and for all men, but to press
My God to give a reason, why he now
Doth punish thee: truth that I dare not do.
328
There's no man here dares so expresse his mind,
As thou hast done? at least, I'me not the man
Dares undertake this; for I neither can
Nor dare, by publick Program, intimate
That I am with my Maker to debate:
For, if I did, I might expect a stroak
From him, whom, by so doing I'd provoke
To wrath against me, and for my offence,
That I by death should soon be hurried hence.
But what needs further, let us cast our eyes,
But, at this instant, up into the Skyes:
Let us observe but how the troubled Air,
All overspread with Clouds doth now appear:
Who by their throng Eclipse the Heavens light,
And keep the glorious Sun out of our sight.
See how those Clouds from every quarter march,
In several bodies through the spacious Arch,
In dreadful squadrons strong, and numerous,
All hastning to the general Rendevous:
T'attend the King of Heavens, who, as I guesse,
By such great preparations, as these,
Intends himself in person to appear;—
Heark, how these Clouds do ramble:—dos't not hear
A noise of Thunder? dost not now espy
The Van-guard of his lightnings nimbly fly,
In rambling parties through the darkned Air?—
Yes sure, our God himself will now appear:
For, as by dust afar, we quickly know
Th'approach of mighty armies; even so
By such prognosticks, we may understand,
The Lord of Hosts is now himself at hand:
Unlesse the winds do clear that troubled state,
And all those foggy vapours dissipate.
But, at this instant, up into the Skyes:
Let us observe but how the troubled Air,
All overspread with Clouds doth now appear:
Who by their throng Eclipse the Heavens light,
And keep the glorious Sun out of our sight.
See how those Clouds from every quarter march,
In several bodies through the spacious Arch,
In dreadful squadrons strong, and numerous,
All hastning to the general Rendevous:
T'attend the King of Heavens, who, as I guesse,
By such great preparations, as these,
Intends himself in person to appear;—
Heark, how these Clouds do ramble:—dos't not hear
A noise of Thunder? dost not now espy
The Van-guard of his lightnings nimbly fly,
In rambling parties through the darkned Air?—
Yes sure, our God himself will now appear:
For, as by dust afar, we quickly know
Th'approach of mighty armies; even so
By such prognosticks, we may understand,
The Lord of Hosts is now himself at hand:
Unlesse the winds do clear that troubled state,
And all those foggy vapours dissipate.
For, if the Northern winds should blow apace,
'Twould scatter soon those sad appearances;
And by its cold, and cleansing blasts restore
Th'Air to the same state, as it was before.
'Twould scatter soon those sad appearances;
And by its cold, and cleansing blasts restore
Th'Air to the same state, as it was before.
But still I think th'Almighty God draws nigh,
Th'Almighty terrible in Majesty,
And that these great (though usual preparations)
Are but so many signs, and demonstrations
Of his approach.—Here then he comes,—he comes—
With such a noise, as millions of Drums,
Trumpets, and Symbals cannot parrallel:
Th'Almighty God, who doth in power excel,
All that we can imagine now draws near,
And he himself in judgement will appear:
Th'Almighty terrible in Majesty,
And that these great (though usual preparations)
Are but so many signs, and demonstrations
Of his approach.—Here then he comes,—he comes—
With such a noise, as millions of Drums,
Trumpets, and Symbals cannot parrallel:
Th'Almighty God, who doth in power excel,
All that we can imagine now draws near,
And he himself in judgement will appear:
That after all this tedious debate,
Mannag'd on all hands, with such zealous heat,
The supream Judge o'th' world may decide
The controversie: and show either side,
Where they have been i'th' right, where in the wrong,
And let thee see, my friend, how all along,
Upon the matter thou hast err'd, and now
What thou so oft desir'd, he will allow:
He'll hear thee now himself, he'll challenge thee
Now to debate, and thou shalt quickly see
What 'tis before th'Almighty God to plead,
Yes, now thou shalt perceive, thou shalt indeed,
What 'tis to speak with him, remember now,
'Tis not with us thy friends thou hast to do;
But 'tis with God, that will not be abus'd
By such wild reasoning, as thou hast us'd
With us: no, don't mistake, thou hast to do
With no less then the Judge of Judges now.
With thy Creator: one whom mortal Men
Cannot esteem too much: prepare thee then
To hear him; be attentive, when he speaks,
For hear how in the Thunder he directs
His speech to thee: I therefore shall forbear
Further to speak, since he doth now appear,
But what he speaks, shall with attention hear.
Mannag'd on all hands, with such zealous heat,
The supream Judge o'th' world may decide
The controversie: and show either side,
Where they have been i'th' right, where in the wrong,
And let thee see, my friend, how all along,
329
What thou so oft desir'd, he will allow:
He'll hear thee now himself, he'll challenge thee
Now to debate, and thou shalt quickly see
What 'tis before th'Almighty God to plead,
Yes, now thou shalt perceive, thou shalt indeed,
What 'tis to speak with him, remember now,
'Tis not with us thy friends thou hast to do;
But 'tis with God, that will not be abus'd
By such wild reasoning, as thou hast us'd
With us: no, don't mistake, thou hast to do
With no less then the Judge of Judges now.
With thy Creator: one whom mortal Men
Cannot esteem too much: prepare thee then
To hear him; be attentive, when he speaks,
For hear how in the Thunder he directs
His speech to thee: I therefore shall forbear
Further to speak, since he doth now appear,
But what he speaks, shall with attention hear.
V. PART. V.
Cap. XXXVIII.
The Storm increasing, and the Clouds appearing
Still to augment the Darkness, stead of clearing,
The Thunder roaring, and the Lightning flying
Before the face of God so terrifying,
As both th'afflicted man, his friends, and those,
Who then were present, firmly did suppose
This threatning Storm would suddenly renverse
The goodly Fabrick of the Universe:
At least they fancied those distracted Clouds
Would shake out quickly most prodigious Flouds
On th'Earth, and by a Deluge general,
As once before, again o'rewhelm them all.
Still to augment the Darkness, stead of clearing,
The Thunder roaring, and the Lightning flying
Before the face of God so terrifying,
As both th'afflicted man, his friends, and those,
Who then were present, firmly did suppose
This threatning Storm would suddenly renverse
The goodly Fabrick of the Universe:
At least they fancied those distracted Clouds
Would shake out quickly most prodigious Flouds
On th'Earth, and by a Deluge general,
As once before, again o'rewhelm them all.
In these sad apprehensions, damp'd with fear,
At length out of the Whirlwind, they could hear,
After the ceasing of that dreadful noise,
A soft, but most intelligible Voice:
A Voice so audible, a Voice so free,
A Voice, which all could hear, but none could see
The mighty Speaker.—
And now both Plaintiffs, and Defendant too
Undone with horrour, could, with much ado,
Retain their spirits, when they see indeed
That God himself to Justice would proceed,
Himself in Person, and determine what
Had been th'occasion of so much debate:
Whilst none of 'em would yield t'each other, none
Would be determin'd but by God alone.
He therefore, to make all their jarrings cease,
Doth thus at length give judgment on the Case.
At length out of the Whirlwind, they could hear,
After the ceasing of that dreadful noise,
A soft, but most intelligible Voice:
A Voice so audible, a Voice so free,
A Voice, which all could hear, but none could see
The mighty Speaker.—
And now both Plaintiffs, and Defendant too
Undone with horrour, could, with much ado,
Retain their spirits, when they see indeed
That God himself to Justice would proceed,
Himself in Person, and determine what
330
Whilst none of 'em would yield t'each other, none
Would be determin'd but by God alone.
He therefore, to make all their jarrings cease,
Doth thus at length give judgment on the Case.
Who's he, says God, presumes thus to debate,
On what I've ordred? who is he dares state
Himself my Party? who's the man?—who's he,
That offers to debate the Case with me?
Who, who's the man, that, with such insolence,
Dares canvass thus my acts of Providence?
Who's he, to whom I've given life, and breath,
Dares utter such rebellious words of Death?
Show me the man, you Slaves, amongst you all,
That dares what I design in question call?
Because forsooth, in kindness, I've bestow'd
A little Reason on you, you grow proud:
Why could not I, you Things profusely vain,
At first have made you Beasts as well as Men,
Nay cannot I reduce you all again
To your first Principles, and let you see
All your Subsistence doth depend on me?
Why then?—
Should such, as I from nothing did create,
Presume to be my Secretars of State?
Should such as you, whom I've distinguished
From other Creatures, offer to implead
That Power, which made you such? or when you meet
In your wise Consults, offer to debate
On my Proceedings? should such Wasps, as you
Dare but repine at any thing I do?
Should such as only by my favour live,
Presume to quarrel my Prerogative?
Can any humane Reason comprehend
What I have done, or what I do intend?
No—know, all of you, I'me your God, and King,
No more then of your foolish reasoning.
On what I've ordred? who is he dares state
Himself my Party? who's the man?—who's he,
That offers to debate the Case with me?
Who, who's the man, that, with such insolence,
Dares canvass thus my acts of Providence?
Who's he, to whom I've given life, and breath,
Dares utter such rebellious words of Death?
Show me the man, you Slaves, amongst you all,
That dares what I design in question call?
Because forsooth, in kindness, I've bestow'd
A little Reason on you, you grow proud:
Why could not I, you Things profusely vain,
At first have made you Beasts as well as Men,
Nay cannot I reduce you all again
To your first Principles, and let you see
All your Subsistence doth depend on me?
Why then?—
Should such, as I from nothing did create,
Presume to be my Secretars of State?
Should such as you, whom I've distinguished
From other Creatures, offer to implead
That Power, which made you such? or when you meet
In your wise Consults, offer to debate
On my Proceedings? should such Wasps, as you
Dare but repine at any thing I do?
Should such as only by my favour live,
Presume to quarrel my Prerogative?
Can any humane Reason comprehend
What I have done, or what I do intend?
No—know, all of you, I'me your God, and King,
No more then of your foolish reasoning.
Now as for thee, thou Job, whom I did raise,
And let thee see a deal of golden Days,
Who of all earthly blessings mad'st collection,
And liv'd most happy under my protection,
Enjoying all thou couldst project, yet now,
Thou ungrate man, thou must be prating too:
Thou must be medling with my Providence,
And asking Questions, with great impudence,
Why I permit this, or that man to live,
At their convenience, and all blessings give
To such, as do not merit at my hand,
Whilst others at my doors, unserved stand,
Whose Piety did merit better things?
And so proceeds in foolish murmurings
Against my Actings: nay thou dost proceed
To greater hights: and dost desire to plead
Thy Case with me, and that so freely too,
As one man with another man would do.
I've heard thee all this while, with patience,
Make formal Harrangues on thy innocence:
I've heard thee speak, and argue all along
Against me, as if I had done thee wrong.
Because I did think fit to change thy state,
Therefore in passion thou'd expostulate
With me for doing so: since then thou hast
So oft deni'd to plead with me, at last
Shalt have thy wish: and since thou wilt not be
Convinc'd by those, who have discours'd with thee
By my appointment, and will yeeld to none
In thy opinions, but to me alone—
—It shall be so:—I'le argue now the case
My self with thee, and show thee in thy face
How thou hast err'd, I'le let thee plainly see
I am not such as men take me to be,
But am, what neither thou, nor any thing
That breaths on earth from woman issuing
Can comprehend.—
Go too then Job, behave thee, like a man,
I'le ask the question, answer if thou can.
And let thee see a deal of golden Days,
Who of all earthly blessings mad'st collection,
And liv'd most happy under my protection,
Enjoying all thou couldst project, yet now,
Thou ungrate man, thou must be prating too:
Thou must be medling with my Providence,
And asking Questions, with great impudence,
Why I permit this, or that man to live,
At their convenience, and all blessings give
To such, as do not merit at my hand,
Whilst others at my doors, unserved stand,
Whose Piety did merit better things?
And so proceeds in foolish murmurings
Against my Actings: nay thou dost proceed
To greater hights: and dost desire to plead
Thy Case with me, and that so freely too,
331
I've heard thee all this while, with patience,
Make formal Harrangues on thy innocence:
I've heard thee speak, and argue all along
Against me, as if I had done thee wrong.
Because I did think fit to change thy state,
Therefore in passion thou'd expostulate
With me for doing so: since then thou hast
So oft deni'd to plead with me, at last
Shalt have thy wish: and since thou wilt not be
Convinc'd by those, who have discours'd with thee
By my appointment, and will yeeld to none
In thy opinions, but to me alone—
—It shall be so:—I'le argue now the case
My self with thee, and show thee in thy face
How thou hast err'd, I'le let thee plainly see
I am not such as men take me to be,
But am, what neither thou, nor any thing
That breaths on earth from woman issuing
Can comprehend.—
Go too then Job, behave thee, like a man,
I'le ask the question, answer if thou can.
Say then, poor mortal man, where wast thou—say
When I at first did Earths Foundations lay?
Where wast thou pray, hadst thou a beeing then?
Didst thou exist, wast thou created when
I did this Glorious Work at first commence,
And ordered all things so by Providence;
As I no sooner did this thing intend,
Than instantly the work was at an end.
When I at first did Earths Foundations lay?
Where wast thou pray, hadst thou a beeing then?
Didst thou exist, wast thou created when
I did this Glorious Work at first commence,
And ordered all things so by Providence;
As I no sooner did this thing intend,
Than instantly the work was at an end.
Who did the Model of this World design?
Who drew the Plan thereof? who stretcht the Line
From Pole, to Pole, on which as all may see,
It yet doth roul, as on an Axel-tree.
Who measur'd out at first the vast extent
Of this huge Glob? or by what instrument
Was all, that now the universe is nam'd,
At first into a perfect Circle fram'd?
Who drew the Plan thereof? who stretcht the Line
From Pole, to Pole, on which as all may see,
It yet doth roul, as on an Axel-tree.
Who measur'd out at first the vast extent
Of this huge Glob? or by what instrument
Was all, that now the universe is nam'd,
At first into a perfect Circle fram'd?
Upon what grounds are the Foundations laid
Of this great Fabrick, which my hands have made?
Canst thou, O man, by all thy art find out
On what this Glob of earth doth rest? I doubt
Thou never canst imagine how a thing
Of so much weight, i'th' open air can hing,
Without some Nail, on which by Chain or String,
Such a vast ponderous body should depend:
I know this doth thy reason quite transcend.
Dost know how every Atome doth support
Each other in that Mass in such a sort,
As no part upon any part doth rest,
Nor are light parts by heavy parts deprest,
But altogether solid, firm, and sure,
Ly in one lump, by Æquilibrature:
And for the Air, that subtile, fluid, thing,
Which 'bout this Orb, like a soft rind, doth cling,
And fills up every waste, hole pore, or chink,
That's in this Glob; what dost thou of it think,
Dost think that can so great a weight sustain,
That in its own sphere doth subsist with pain
Shattered each hour, by Thunder, Lightning, Rain,
No truely, it doth upon nothing rest,
So that all your opinions at the best
Of the supporters of this earthen Ball
Are but mere notions, and conjectures all.
Of this great Fabrick, which my hands have made?
Canst thou, O man, by all thy art find out
On what this Glob of earth doth rest? I doubt
Thou never canst imagine how a thing
Of so much weight, i'th' open air can hing,
Without some Nail, on which by Chain or String,
Such a vast ponderous body should depend:
I know this doth thy reason quite transcend.
Dost know how every Atome doth support
Each other in that Mass in such a sort,
As no part upon any part doth rest,
Nor are light parts by heavy parts deprest,
But altogether solid, firm, and sure,
Ly in one lump, by Æquilibrature:
And for the Air, that subtile, fluid, thing,
332
And fills up every waste, hole pore, or chink,
That's in this Glob; what dost thou of it think,
Dost think that can so great a weight sustain,
That in its own sphere doth subsist with pain
Shattered each hour, by Thunder, Lightning, Rain,
No truely, it doth upon nothing rest,
So that all your opinions at the best
Of the supporters of this earthen Ball
Are but mere notions, and conjectures all.
Then where wer't thou when I at first did lay
The Worlds Foundations, when the blushing Day
Did first appear, and all my numerous croud
Of Angels did for joy cry out aloud,
When they perceiv'd all I had done was good.
Where wast thou pray, when all that now thy Eye
Perceives distinct did in confusion ly.
The Worlds Foundations, when the blushing Day
Did first appear, and all my numerous croud
Of Angels did for joy cry out aloud,
When they perceiv'd all I had done was good.
Where wast thou pray, when all that now thy Eye
Perceives distinct did in confusion ly.
When the luxuriant Seas did issue out
Of Natures pregnant womb, and grasp'd about
The spongious Earth so close, as by the Flouds
Its face was covered, as 'tis now by Clouds:
When then in these the Earth lay sopp'd around,
And nothing like dry Land was to be found,
All being under Water.—
Who did their rage (else boundless) limitate,
And within doors, as 'twere incarcerate
Those furious Seas, which now with all their power
Cannot o'reflow Earths surface to this hour.
Of Natures pregnant womb, and grasp'd about
The spongious Earth so close, as by the Flouds
Its face was covered, as 'tis now by Clouds:
When then in these the Earth lay sopp'd around,
And nothing like dry Land was to be found,
All being under Water.—
Who did their rage (else boundless) limitate,
And within doors, as 'twere incarcerate
Those furious Seas, which now with all their power
Cannot o'reflow Earths surface to this hour.
Who was it then that first this Earth did drain,
And from the Land so separate the main,
As they should never be unite again?
Who was it pray? dost know? why it was I,
Thy God, and Maker: I did speedily
As with a swadling Band of darkest Clouds,
Ty up those Infant, and disordered Flouds.
Then in a distinct body I did frame
Those rouling Waves, and them a Sea did name.
I cast them off the Earth, and by and by
I did assign them a Locality,
In which they might thereafter domineer
And roar their fill, but never more appear
Upon the Earth, and overwhelm the Land
Without my warrand, and express command.
And from the Land so separate the main,
As they should never be unite again?
Who was it pray? dost know? why it was I,
Thy God, and Maker: I did speedily
As with a swadling Band of darkest Clouds,
Ty up those Infant, and disordered Flouds.
Then in a distinct body I did frame
Those rouling Waves, and them a Sea did name.
I cast them off the Earth, and by and by
I did assign them a Locality,
In which they might thereafter domineer
And roar their fill, but never more appear
Upon the Earth, and overwhelm the Land
Without my warrand, and express command.
Such bounds I for these Billows measured out
As I thought good, and fenc'd them round about,
With earthen Ramparts, such as might expell
Their fury, when they should begin to swell,
And make them tamely within bounds contain,
For all their lofty pride, and numerous train,
Assaulting oft these Ramparts, but in vain.
As I thought good, and fenc'd them round about,
With earthen Ramparts, such as might expell
Their fury, when they should begin to swell,
And make them tamely within bounds contain,
For all their lofty pride, and numerous train,
Assaulting oft these Ramparts, but in vain.
I said unto them—thus far shall you go:
No further, in High Spring-tydes shall you flow,
I charge you that you do encroach no more
Upon the Earth, this Line shall be your Shore.
No further, in High Spring-tydes shall you flow,
I charge you that you do encroach no more
Upon the Earth, this Line shall be your Shore.
333
Dost know what light is pray, or to what end
Both this, and darknesse, I on Earth did send?
Dost know the reasons, which made me conclude
At first upon this strange vicissitude
Of day and night? or why I overspread
The glorious face of Earth, which I have made
With clouds of darkness? so that what of late
Appear'd in a most beauteous pomp, and state,
Whilst light did shine, and feasted curious eyes,
With all the choice, and rich varieties.
That heart could wish, doth suddainly appear
An object, not of pleasure, but of fear?
When then the Sun is gone, when he is fled,
And darknesse doth the face of Earth o'respread:
Canst thou command him to return, with light,
T'allay the horrour of a Winters night?
Or canst thou hire him to diffuse his rays
Before his time? didst ever in thy days,
Attempt such a light wind-mill enterprise,
As to make day spring e're the morning rise.
Both this, and darknesse, I on Earth did send?
Dost know the reasons, which made me conclude
At first upon this strange vicissitude
Of day and night? or why I overspread
The glorious face of Earth, which I have made
With clouds of darkness? so that what of late
Appear'd in a most beauteous pomp, and state,
Whilst light did shine, and feasted curious eyes,
With all the choice, and rich varieties.
That heart could wish, doth suddainly appear
An object, not of pleasure, but of fear?
When then the Sun is gone, when he is fled,
And darknesse doth the face of Earth o'respread:
Canst thou command him to return, with light,
T'allay the horrour of a Winters night?
Or canst thou hire him to diffuse his rays
Before his time? didst ever in thy days,
Attempt such a light wind-mill enterprise,
As to make day spring e're the morning rise.
But when this Sun by my command appears
Upon Earths utmost confines, and still bears
Upward to his full Orb:—
Then doth your darknesse quickly steal away,
With all its allies, at the break of day,
For when the Sun out of his sleep awakes,
Those things like downs from coverlet he shakes,
Which do in darknesse trade: at sight o'th' Sun
Night-walkers, into holes, and corners run.
Upon Earths utmost confines, and still bears
Upward to his full Orb:—
Then doth your darknesse quickly steal away,
With all its allies, at the break of day,
For when the Sun out of his sleep awakes,
Those things like downs from coverlet he shakes,
Which do in darknesse trade: at sight o'th' Sun
Night-walkers, into holes, and corners run.
Whilst th'Earth, which by its absence void of light,
Shut up behind the curtains of the night,
Appear'd without all form; at break of day,
As upon washen, and well tempered Clay,
A new impression brightly doth appear,
Is in her morning dresse, most bright, and clear.
Shut up behind the curtains of the night,
Appear'd without all form; at break of day,
As upon washen, and well tempered Clay,
A new impression brightly doth appear,
Is in her morning dresse, most bright, and clear.
At break of day, the labourer breaks his rest,
And to the field, with every working beast,
He cheerfully doth march: nothing afraid,
Because pursuing of his lawful trade.
Whilst Drunkards, Gamesters, Whores, Adulterers,
Murderers, Lifters, Thieves, and Burglarers,
Who in the night-time do their businesse,
Assoon's the Sun begins to show his face,
Run all into their lurking holes annon,
And at the break of day they're broke, and gone.
And to the field, with every working beast,
He cheerfully doth march: nothing afraid,
Because pursuing of his lawful trade.
Whilst Drunkards, Gamesters, Whores, Adulterers,
Murderers, Lifters, Thieves, and Burglarers,
Who in the night-time do their businesse,
Assoon's the Sun begins to show his face,
Run all into their lurking holes annon,
And at the break of day they're broke, and gone.
Next, as to darknesse:—dost thou comprehend
What thing that is? or what I do intend
By this privation, what's the use of it?
What is its scope? for what end is it fit?
Sure thou who understand'st not what is light,
Which every day is obvious to thy sight,
Canst never understand obscurity,
A thing that's not perceptible by th'eye.
Didst ever into the Seas bottom dive?
Or canst thou yet, with all thy art contrive
A way to trace, and measure the extent
Of that dark Land? or know what Government
Is us'd by th'Planters of these Provinces,
Situate in the bottom of the Seas?
Dost know the Springs, and Conduits, that supply
With fresh recruits of Water constantly
The restless Ocean? pray now let me hear,
Dost know what things the weeping sources are;
Dost understand these things? or dost thou know
How from the Seas all Springs and Rivers flow.
What thing that is? or what I do intend
By this privation, what's the use of it?
What is its scope? for what end is it fit?
Sure thou who understand'st not what is light,
Which every day is obvious to thy sight,
Canst never understand obscurity,
A thing that's not perceptible by th'eye.
334
Or canst thou yet, with all thy art contrive
A way to trace, and measure the extent
Of that dark Land? or know what Government
Is us'd by th'Planters of these Provinces,
Situate in the bottom of the Seas?
Dost know the Springs, and Conduits, that supply
With fresh recruits of Water constantly
The restless Ocean? pray now let me hear,
Dost know what things the weeping sources are;
Dost understand these things? or dost thou know
How from the Seas all Springs and Rivers flow.
In all thy life-time hast thou ever seen
Deaths gates cast open? has thou never been
Conversant under ground? didst e're descry
That dreadful prospect of mortality,
Of those who scattered in earths bowels ly?
Did e're thy curiosity lead thee there?
No, at the gates sure thou hadst dy'd for fear.
Deaths gates cast open? has thou never been
Conversant under ground? didst e're descry
That dreadful prospect of mortality,
Of those who scattered in earths bowels ly?
Did e're thy curiosity lead thee there?
No, at the gates sure thou hadst dy'd for fear.
Dost know earth's true Diameter, canst tell
How far in breadth its Globous bulk doth swell?
Canst see both Poles at once by art, or can
Thy eye discover each Meridian?
How far in breadth its Globous bulk doth swell?
Canst see both Poles at once by art, or can
Thy eye discover each Meridian?
Go to then, canst thou point the place, from whence
Light doth proceed? dost know its residence?
Dost know the Cave where darkness doth reside,
And closly all the day it self doth hide?
Light doth proceed? dost know its residence?
Dost know the Cave where darkness doth reside,
And closly all the day it self doth hide?
That thou shouldst trace the way to its abode,
And through the windings of that dreadful road
Find a safe passage to its dwelling place,
And take the picture of its duskly face?
And through the windings of that dreadful road
Find a safe passage to its dwelling place,
And take the picture of its duskly face?
I think thou dost not know, nor canst declare
What things, O man! the light and darkness are
Because when I created night, and day,
Thou in the belly of first matter lay.
Th'hadst not a beeing then, thou wast not made,
When light, and darkness I distinguished.
Nor canst thou know more, by experience,
Then that both this, and that affect thy sense,
But what they are, from what hid cause they flow,
No art, no length of dayes, can make thee know.
What things, O man! the light and darkness are
Because when I created night, and day,
Thou in the belly of first matter lay.
Th'hadst not a beeing then, thou wast not made,
When light, and darkness I distinguished.
Nor canst thou know more, by experience,
Then that both this, and that affect thy sense,
But what they are, from what hid cause they flow,
No art, no length of dayes, can make thee know.
Hast thou observ'd, with a computing eye,
At any time, and viewed seriously
Th'innumerable stores of Snow, and Hail,
Which I do keep in Heav'ns great Arsenal?
At any time, and viewed seriously
Th'innumerable stores of Snow, and Hail,
Which I do keep in Heav'ns great Arsenal?
Hast view'd those inexhaustible provisions,
How they are stor'd in several divisions?
So that when I intend a war with those
Who on this earth do my decrees oppose:
Sometimes I use the one, sometimes the other,
As I think fit, and sometimes both together,
By force of both, or either, in a trice
I break the force of my proud enemies.
How they are stor'd in several divisions?
So that when I intend a war with those
Who on this earth do my decrees oppose:
Sometimes I use the one, sometimes the other,
As I think fit, and sometimes both together,
By force of both, or either, in a trice
I break the force of my proud enemies.
335
Dost understand how Lightnings separate
The Clouds of Wind: and quickly dissipate
The strongest Bodies of these vaporous foes,
Which do the fury of their course oppose?
Dost understand this thing, or dost thou know
Why wind doth sometimes from one quarter blow,
Sometimes out of another, East, or West,
South, North, Nore-west, South-west, or South-South-east.
The Clouds of Wind: and quickly dissipate
The strongest Bodies of these vaporous foes,
Which do the fury of their course oppose?
Dost understand this thing, or dost thou know
Why wind doth sometimes from one quarter blow,
Sometimes out of another, East, or West,
South, North, Nore-west, South-west, or South-South-east.
Who doth restrain the torrents of those flouds,
Which after Thunder break from broken Clouds,
In such abundant streams, without cessation,
As men do fear a total inundation.
Who makes deep Canals, into which convey'd
Those Waters, as in Levels, gently slide,
Both above ground, and under ground with ease,
Into the bottome of the spacious Seas?
Which after Thunder break from broken Clouds,
In such abundant streams, without cessation,
As men do fear a total inundation.
Who makes deep Canals, into which convey'd
Those Waters, as in Levels, gently slide,
Both above ground, and under ground with ease,
Into the bottome of the spacious Seas?
Who makes the Clouds above thy head retain
Great quantities of Waters, and, in rain,
As from a Sponge, thus shake them out again.
And that not only upon fertile ground,
But on the Deserts, where no man is found.
Great quantities of Waters, and, in rain,
As from a Sponge, thus shake them out again.
And that not only upon fertile ground,
But on the Deserts, where no man is found.
That in due season, they may pasture yield
To all the beasts, that feed upon the field:
And feed those creatures too, whose idleness
Makes them frequent the barren wilderness,
As also make the Vegetables sprout,
And in their Leaves, and Flowers, shoot fairly out
From the earths belly, where they buried were
Until the Mid-wife-Season of the year
By help of rain doth bring them forth, and spreads
Through all the fields the product of those Seeds.
To all the beasts, that feed upon the field:
And feed those creatures too, whose idleness
Makes them frequent the barren wilderness,
As also make the Vegetables sprout,
And in their Leaves, and Flowers, shoot fairly out
From the earths belly, where they buried were
Until the Mid-wife-Season of the year
By help of rain doth bring them forth, and spreads
Through all the fields the product of those Seeds.
Now, if thou think'st this rain is procreat
As other creatures are, who did beget
This useful thing? or who supposest thou
Did procreat the Christal drops of dew?
By which the Labourer rising from his bed,
Perceives his grounds all kindly watered.
And then, as if the Sun had only sent
Those little cordial drops, to complement
The widdowed earth, that doth his absence mourn,
And in sad veil, did long for his return,
With warming beams, he suddenly doth drain
The earth, and sucks up all those drops again.
As other creatures are, who did beget
This useful thing? or who supposest thou
Did procreat the Christal drops of dew?
By which the Labourer rising from his bed,
Perceives his grounds all kindly watered.
And then, as if the Sun had only sent
Those little cordial drops, to complement
The widdowed earth, that doth his absence mourn,
And in sad veil, did long for his return,
With warming beams, he suddenly doth drain
The earth, and sucks up all those drops again.
Dost know what Ice is? whence the same proceeds?
Who did beget it? in what womb it breeds.
'Tis worth thy knowledge (though thou knew no more)
To understand this costive Meteor.
Who did beget it? in what womb it breeds.
'Tis worth thy knowledge (though thou knew no more)
To understand this costive Meteor.
Dost see the Rivers, how they sweetly pass
In gentle streams through pleasant fields of grass,
Whilst Trees, and Shrubs, which in their Banks do grow,
By their reflex, do make a goodly show,
Upon the Waters, so transparent clear,
As through the Streams the very Skyes appear:
These same pellucid Rivers, in a trice
You may see covered with a crust of Ice:
And what was lately soft, appear annon
As hard, and solid, as if pav'd with stone:
Nay, even the Seas; who not long time before
Did break their curled Waves, upon the Shore,
And round the Earth triumph'd with so much pride,
Spreading their boistrous Billows, far, and wide:
As if the power of the restraining Ice,
(Which fetters in-land floods) they did despise:
These very Seas at length are forc'd to bow
To conquering Ice, and they are frozen too:
So that where tallest Ships did lately steer,
Now Sledges, Carts, and Waggons do appear:
Nay, as upon firm Land with all their force,
Whole armies in battalia, foot, and horse,
Securely march along the frozen Seas,
Fighting, retiring, scirmishing with ease.
Hast then observ'd this? can'st assign a reason,
Why waters are bound up so in their season?
Or to what end, I make the Rivers freeze,
And thus incrustate even the raging Seas?
In gentle streams through pleasant fields of grass,
Whilst Trees, and Shrubs, which in their Banks do grow,
By their reflex, do make a goodly show,
Upon the Waters, so transparent clear,
As through the Streams the very Skyes appear:
These same pellucid Rivers, in a trice
336
And what was lately soft, appear annon
As hard, and solid, as if pav'd with stone:
Nay, even the Seas; who not long time before
Did break their curled Waves, upon the Shore,
And round the Earth triumph'd with so much pride,
Spreading their boistrous Billows, far, and wide:
As if the power of the restraining Ice,
(Which fetters in-land floods) they did despise:
These very Seas at length are forc'd to bow
To conquering Ice, and they are frozen too:
So that where tallest Ships did lately steer,
Now Sledges, Carts, and Waggons do appear:
Nay, as upon firm Land with all their force,
Whole armies in battalia, foot, and horse,
Securely march along the frozen Seas,
Fighting, retiring, scirmishing with ease.
Hast then observ'd this? can'st assign a reason,
Why waters are bound up so in their season?
Or to what end, I make the Rivers freeze,
And thus incrustate even the raging Seas?
Indeed vain mortals, you do all pretend
By philosophick rules to comprehend
The nature of all Meteors, and know
By second causes, whence they all do flow:
As when such constellations do appear,
You guesse the several seasons of the year,
As this the Spring, that Summer, Harvest that
And this cold Winter doth insinuat:
'Cause their appearance is habitual,
And custom teaches you: but that is all
You understand: you know that such things are,
Because to you they frequently appear:
But who's the man can tell? who's he doth know
The reason why these Stars themselves do show
At such set times? art thou the man? can'st thou
With all thy curious art demonstrat how
The Stars were made? why some of them appear
In modell'd bodies, others here, and there
Are singly scattered in the Heavens? dost know
Why some are fix't, some ramble to, and fro
In their own Orbs, and why too some of these
Consume as many years, as others days
In running out their course? dost understand
The reason of these things? can'st thou command
These Stars? or make the meanest of 'em all
Forbear their course? or vanish at thy call?
Canst thou restrain the sweet influences,
And pleasant aspects of the Pleiades,
Who, when the Sun in Taurus doth appear,
Calmly, and gently usher in the year?
Or when the sullen, barbarous Orion
Attended by an host of storms, leads on
The dreadful Winter, which o're runs you all
And makes you with ingeminat groans recall
Your ever kind (but then far distant) Sun
To your assistance, else you're all undone
With killing cold.—
When this same Orion doth then appear
In wasting terrour to shut up the year;
And bury all in Snow, can'st thou restrain
His violence, and force him back again?
Can'st thou repell the fury of his Winds,
His Rains, his Hail, and Tempests of all kinds?
And make that ne're yet conquered Constellation
Draw off his Troops with fear, and consternation?
By philosophick rules to comprehend
The nature of all Meteors, and know
By second causes, whence they all do flow:
As when such constellations do appear,
You guesse the several seasons of the year,
As this the Spring, that Summer, Harvest that
And this cold Winter doth insinuat:
'Cause their appearance is habitual,
And custom teaches you: but that is all
You understand: you know that such things are,
Because to you they frequently appear:
But who's the man can tell? who's he doth know
The reason why these Stars themselves do show
At such set times? art thou the man? can'st thou
With all thy curious art demonstrat how
The Stars were made? why some of them appear
In modell'd bodies, others here, and there
Are singly scattered in the Heavens? dost know
Why some are fix't, some ramble to, and fro
In their own Orbs, and why too some of these
Consume as many years, as others days
In running out their course? dost understand
The reason of these things? can'st thou command
These Stars? or make the meanest of 'em all
Forbear their course? or vanish at thy call?
Canst thou restrain the sweet influences,
And pleasant aspects of the Pleiades,
Who, when the Sun in Taurus doth appear,
Calmly, and gently usher in the year?
Or when the sullen, barbarous Orion
Attended by an host of storms, leads on
The dreadful Winter, which o're runs you all
337
Your ever kind (but then far distant) Sun
To your assistance, else you're all undone
With killing cold.—
When this same Orion doth then appear
In wasting terrour to shut up the year;
And bury all in Snow, can'st thou restrain
His violence, and force him back again?
Can'st thou repell the fury of his Winds,
His Rains, his Hail, and Tempests of all kinds?
And make that ne're yet conquered Constellation
Draw off his Troops with fear, and consternation?
Can'st, in his season bring out Mazzaroth
That torrid Constellation of the South,
And make him in his Summer garb appear,
To celebrate the Solstice of the year?
Say—canst thou make this Constellation shine,
This Canis major which beyond the Line
Lyes quartered, and from its pleasant seat
Draws out but as a Summer guard, to wait
Upon the motion of the glorious Sun
What time he his three greatest heats doth run.
Can'st thou by Art a certain survey make
Of all the Chambers in the Zodiack,
That spacious Colledge, that magnificent
And stately Inns of Court; that eminent
And princely Fabrick of great excellence;
Where the Twelve Signs do keep their residence.
And though they hold their chief Demeurage there,
Yet in their several Circuits, appear
The twelve conspicuous Judges of the Year.
Each Month, by turns: attended by no less,
Then the bright Sun himself, with all his rays,
Who for the time keeps House, with each of them;
Then what can'st say to this? would thou reclaim
Against this order? or in spite, decry
This method? can'st thou by authority
Inhibite their procedure? and allow
No such Appartments but to one, or two
Of all the twelve?—
Or can'st thou make the Sun, per saltum, pass
Into the Rams head, from the Ballances?
And baulking the five Melancholly Signs,
(In which he rather looks a squint, then shines)
Make him continue his warm influence
In every corner of the Earth, and thence,
By that new, heretofore unknowen device,
Evite the trouble of the Winters Ice.
Canst make the Northern Stars live orderly,
And rule Arcturus, with his Family?
Who in the Harvest season doth appear,
Attended with his great, and little Bear,
And th'other Troops of the Septentrions,
Drawen out of all his Northern Garisons,
T'invest, as't were, the year, whilst Orion
With the main body follows quickly on?
That torrid Constellation of the South,
And make him in his Summer garb appear,
To celebrate the Solstice of the year?
Say—canst thou make this Constellation shine,
This Canis major which beyond the Line
Lyes quartered, and from its pleasant seat
Draws out but as a Summer guard, to wait
Upon the motion of the glorious Sun
What time he his three greatest heats doth run.
Can'st thou by Art a certain survey make
Of all the Chambers in the Zodiack,
That spacious Colledge, that magnificent
And stately Inns of Court; that eminent
And princely Fabrick of great excellence;
Where the Twelve Signs do keep their residence.
And though they hold their chief Demeurage there,
Yet in their several Circuits, appear
The twelve conspicuous Judges of the Year.
Each Month, by turns: attended by no less,
Then the bright Sun himself, with all his rays,
Who for the time keeps House, with each of them;
Then what can'st say to this? would thou reclaim
Against this order? or in spite, decry
This method? can'st thou by authority
Inhibite their procedure? and allow
No such Appartments but to one, or two
Of all the twelve?—
Or can'st thou make the Sun, per saltum, pass
Into the Rams head, from the Ballances?
And baulking the five Melancholly Signs,
(In which he rather looks a squint, then shines)
Make him continue his warm influence
In every corner of the Earth, and thence,
By that new, heretofore unknowen device,
Evite the trouble of the Winters Ice.
Canst make the Northern Stars live orderly,
And rule Arcturus, with his Family?
Who in the Harvest season doth appear,
Attended with his great, and little Bear,
And th'other Troops of the Septentrions,
Drawen out of all his Northern Garisons,
338
With the main body follows quickly on?
Canst make celestial bodies influence
Bodies sublunary? dost' know from whence
That rich, but hidden Virtue doth proceed,
Which 'mongst you mortals, strange effects doth breed?
Whilst some Diseases, others Health, afford:
Some fair, and some foul weather, in a word
Each constellation in its aspect bears
A consequence of either hopes, or feares.
But not a cause: for that to me alone
Belongs, which I communicate to none,
Whom I've created: for in sober sense,
These Stars have in themselves no influence
On any thing, but as determined
By second Causes, which are furnished
By my appointment, and the Subject Matter,
With which they meet.—
Yet, I know some of you (sad Creatures too)
Pretend by study to demonstrare how
All things are ordered in my Cabinet,
Ere they be brought to action, and relate,
By knowledge of these Stars, strange passages
Of my designs, long e're they came to pass:
Fools! whence have you so good intelligence
Of my intents, and purposes? from whence
Have you this knowledge? is it from the Stars?
D'ye think such mean things are my Counsellers?
That such as these forsooth should be acquaint
With the deep Intrigues of my Government?
Presumptuous Mortals! that you thus should dare
To think you know what my intentions are,
When your own Reason fully may convince
You of your folly: for if even a Prince,
Of my creation, that on Earth doth dwell,
And must make use of Council, can so well
Conceal his Secrets, as what he intends,
Is neither knowen to Enemies, nor Friends:
How think you then.—
That I, who use no Council in the least,
But that which doth reside within my breast,
Should of my Secrets take so little care,
As any thing in Heavens, Earth, Sea, or Air,
Nay even my Angels, who my Court attend
Should e're discover what I do intend,
But from my Mouth? yet from a silly Star,
With which you correspond, of Peace, and War
Intended Famine, Fire, or Pestilence,
You Mortals have all your intelligence:
Would not you of that States-man make a sport,
Who from the Lacqueys of a Princes Court,
Pretended he did draw intelligence,
Of all his Cabin-councils, and from thence
Would take his measures? pray what else are those,
With whom you correspond, do you suppose
That I make any other use of these,
But as of Grooms, to carry Messages?
Bodies sublunary? dost' know from whence
That rich, but hidden Virtue doth proceed,
Which 'mongst you mortals, strange effects doth breed?
Whilst some Diseases, others Health, afford:
Some fair, and some foul weather, in a word
Each constellation in its aspect bears
A consequence of either hopes, or feares.
But not a cause: for that to me alone
Belongs, which I communicate to none,
Whom I've created: for in sober sense,
These Stars have in themselves no influence
On any thing, but as determined
By second Causes, which are furnished
By my appointment, and the Subject Matter,
With which they meet.—
Yet, I know some of you (sad Creatures too)
Pretend by study to demonstrare how
All things are ordered in my Cabinet,
Ere they be brought to action, and relate,
By knowledge of these Stars, strange passages
Of my designs, long e're they came to pass:
Fools! whence have you so good intelligence
Of my intents, and purposes? from whence
Have you this knowledge? is it from the Stars?
D'ye think such mean things are my Counsellers?
That such as these forsooth should be acquaint
With the deep Intrigues of my Government?
Presumptuous Mortals! that you thus should dare
To think you know what my intentions are,
When your own Reason fully may convince
You of your folly: for if even a Prince,
Of my creation, that on Earth doth dwell,
And must make use of Council, can so well
Conceal his Secrets, as what he intends,
Is neither knowen to Enemies, nor Friends:
How think you then.—
That I, who use no Council in the least,
But that which doth reside within my breast,
Should of my Secrets take so little care,
As any thing in Heavens, Earth, Sea, or Air,
Nay even my Angels, who my Court attend
Should e're discover what I do intend,
But from my Mouth? yet from a silly Star,
With which you correspond, of Peace, and War
Intended Famine, Fire, or Pestilence,
You Mortals have all your intelligence:
Would not you of that States-man make a sport,
Who from the Lacqueys of a Princes Court,
Pretended he did draw intelligence,
Of all his Cabin-councils, and from thence
Would take his measures? pray what else are those,
339
That I make any other use of these,
But as of Grooms, to carry Messages?
Nor is it lawful for you to erect
Your Figures, on Nativities; and make
From thence Conclusions: or by Art to frame,
From the conjunctions of the Stars, a Scheme
O'th' life, and death of any private man,
That lives on Earth: a thing no mortal can,
With safety undertake: or if he do,
Know all of you that I do not allow
Such Practices: for hidden things are knowen
To me who am your Soveraign alone
But things reveal'd to you are only showen.
Your Figures, on Nativities; and make
From thence Conclusions: or by Art to frame,
From the conjunctions of the Stars, a Scheme
O'th' life, and death of any private man,
That lives on Earth: a thing no mortal can,
With safety undertake: or if he do,
Know all of you that I do not allow
Such Practices: for hidden things are knowen
To me who am your Soveraign alone
But things reveal'd to you are only showen.
The Knowledge then, in which I do permit
The wisest of you all to try your Wit,
Is to distinguish, as these Stars appear,
The several times, and seasons of the Year;
To know them all both fix'd, and wanderers,
And gaze upon them as Astronomers:
To know besides their influences so,
As when 'tis time to plant, and when to sow:
When to set sail, when to return again:
When to endure, when to cast off your pain:
How in the darkest night your course to steer,
At Sea or Land: when to hope, when to fear:
When to rejoyce, when sadly to lament,
Especially when flaming Stars are sent
As Heralds of my Wrath, when to repent.
All this I do allow, and you may pore
Upon this Knowledge, so far, but no more:
For none of all these Stars can in the least
Have influence on either man, or beast
As Causes; but they only do appear
As signs to show my actions every where.
The wisest of you all to try your Wit,
Is to distinguish, as these Stars appear,
The several times, and seasons of the Year;
To know them all both fix'd, and wanderers,
And gaze upon them as Astronomers:
To know besides their influences so,
As when 'tis time to plant, and when to sow:
When to set sail, when to return again:
When to endure, when to cast off your pain:
How in the darkest night your course to steer,
At Sea or Land: when to hope, when to fear:
When to rejoyce, when sadly to lament,
Especially when flaming Stars are sent
As Heralds of my Wrath, when to repent.
All this I do allow, and you may pore
Upon this Knowledge, so far, but no more:
For none of all these Stars can in the least
Have influence on either man, or beast
As Causes; but they only do appear
As signs to show my actions every where.
Can'st thou by keeping coyl, and noise below,
Perswade the Clouds to let their Vapours go
And water all thy Sun-burn'd Grounds with Rain,
When they at any time of Drought complain?
Perswade the Clouds to let their Vapours go
And water all thy Sun-burn'd Grounds with Rain,
When they at any time of Drought complain?
Can'st thou by single lifting of thy hand,
Make all the Troops of Lightning understand
Thy pleasure, and appear, at thy command.
All ready arm'd, in order instantly,
And hotly forward in thy service cry,
Lord we are here;—let's have thy orders now,
Pray what wouldst have thy Souldiers to do?
Give us the Word, and Sign, let's understand
Upon what Service thou would'st us command:
For here we're ready, as one man, to act,
Whatever thou would'st have us undertake.
Make all the Troops of Lightning understand
Thy pleasure, and appear, at thy command.
All ready arm'd, in order instantly,
And hotly forward in thy service cry,
Lord we are here;—let's have thy orders now,
Pray what wouldst have thy Souldiers to do?
Give us the Word, and Sign, let's understand
Upon what Service thou would'st us command:
For here we're ready, as one man, to act,
Whatever thou would'st have us undertake.
But all these things, and many moe, then thou
Or any man can fancy, I can do.
I can with ease oblige the whole Creation
T'obey my Orders, as I find occasion
I can make th'Universe, at my command
Return to its first Chaos, Sea, and Land
I can confound, and mix them so together,
As th'wit of man cannot distinguish either:
I can do more then all you can conceive:
I can do what you but with pain believe.
Nay so much too thou know'st, for frequently
I've heard thee in thy sharpest agony,
Express thy self, with zeal, and admiration,
Upon the copious Theme of the Creation.
I've heard thee too, with no small Eloquence,
Discourse upon my works of Providence.
I ask thee then who made thee understand,
Who made thee know, that by my mighty hand
All things in Heaven, and Earth were fashioned,
And to this hour are dayly ordered?
Who taught thee these things? who instructed thee,
Hadst thou this Wit from any else, but me?
Did not I lend thee Parts, and made thee know
How from my Power all things created flow?
How all your Wisdom, of which you do boast,
Is not your acquisition, but at most
A simple loan of my benevolence;
Which I to this, or that man do dispense
As I think good.—
By rules then of your own Philosophy,
If from me Wisdom flows, then certainly
I who, bestow it must be wiser far,
Then the accutest of you Mortals are,
Who all your Knowledge do derive from me,
Since that for which a thing is such, must be
More such it self: I do demand thee then
Thou most pretending to it, of all men,
Is't fit that any Mortal should be proud,
Of what in Loan I only have allow'd
To him, upon design that he should know
What he's himself, and then what he doth owe
To me, who made him such; but not to state
Himself my Party; or, like thee, debate
On my Proceedings, but that he should be
Content to know, that he knows all from me.
Or any man can fancy, I can do.
I can with ease oblige the whole Creation
T'obey my Orders, as I find occasion
340
Return to its first Chaos, Sea, and Land
I can confound, and mix them so together,
As th'wit of man cannot distinguish either:
I can do more then all you can conceive:
I can do what you but with pain believe.
Nay so much too thou know'st, for frequently
I've heard thee in thy sharpest agony,
Express thy self, with zeal, and admiration,
Upon the copious Theme of the Creation.
I've heard thee too, with no small Eloquence,
Discourse upon my works of Providence.
I ask thee then who made thee understand,
Who made thee know, that by my mighty hand
All things in Heaven, and Earth were fashioned,
And to this hour are dayly ordered?
Who taught thee these things? who instructed thee,
Hadst thou this Wit from any else, but me?
Did not I lend thee Parts, and made thee know
How from my Power all things created flow?
How all your Wisdom, of which you do boast,
Is not your acquisition, but at most
A simple loan of my benevolence;
Which I to this, or that man do dispense
As I think good.—
By rules then of your own Philosophy,
If from me Wisdom flows, then certainly
I who, bestow it must be wiser far,
Then the accutest of you Mortals are,
Who all your Knowledge do derive from me,
Since that for which a thing is such, must be
More such it self: I do demand thee then
Thou most pretending to it, of all men,
Is't fit that any Mortal should be proud,
Of what in Loan I only have allow'd
To him, upon design that he should know
What he's himself, and then what he doth owe
To me, who made him such; but not to state
Himself my Party; or, like thee, debate
On my Proceedings, but that he should be
Content to know, that he knows all from me.
For what is all your Wit? what all your Parts?
What all the subtile Sciences, and Arts,
Which you do study, and profess to know,
Nay, what is all that Wisdom here below
On which you men value your selves so much?
What is it? how d'ye rate it? is it such,
As by it you can even but calculate
The number of the Clouds? or estimate
The value of those Magazines of Rain
What quantity of Vapours they contain?
Under what Lock, and Key they're all secur'd?
How guarded, by what Policy ensur'd,
At all Adventures from the craft, and force
Of th'other fiery rambling meteors?
Can all your wit, at any time restrain,
The falling of the smallest drop of rain,
Out of those heavenly bottles, which you see,
That both are fill'd, and emptied by me.
What all the subtile Sciences, and Arts,
Which you do study, and profess to know,
Nay, what is all that Wisdom here below
On which you men value your selves so much?
What is it? how d'ye rate it? is it such,
As by it you can even but calculate
The number of the Clouds? or estimate
The value of those Magazines of Rain
What quantity of Vapours they contain?
Under what Lock, and Key they're all secur'd?
How guarded, by what Policy ensur'd,
At all Adventures from the craft, and force
341
Can all your wit, at any time restrain,
The falling of the smallest drop of rain,
Out of those heavenly bottles, which you see,
That both are fill'd, and emptied by me.
For when by drouth the Earth to flying dust
Appears converted, then I let out just
As I think fit, such quantities of rain,
As may reduce it to soft clay again.
Appears converted, then I let out just
As I think fit, such quantities of rain,
As may reduce it to soft clay again.
Thus much for Heavens; now let's to Earth repair,
And see what absolute power I have there,
For thou wilt say the Meteors o'th' Air
Are far above thee; and it is no wonder,
Though rain, and snow, hail, lightning, frost, and thunder,
Be things unknown to thee: I'll lead thee then
To objects that more obvious to men
In the same Earth, with you converse, which though
Thou see, and hear them daily, yet I'll show
For all thy wit, and art thou dost not know
The nature of them, I will show thee then,
That there are many things unknown to men,
Even in this Earth. Do then but cast thy eyes
Upon my Parks, my Ponds, and Volaries,
Thou'lt quickly see, that I have creatures there,
Which thou know'st hardly either what they are,
Or how they live.—
And see what absolute power I have there,
For thou wilt say the Meteors o'th' Air
Are far above thee; and it is no wonder,
Though rain, and snow, hail, lightning, frost, and thunder,
Be things unknown to thee: I'll lead thee then
To objects that more obvious to men
In the same Earth, with you converse, which though
Thou see, and hear them daily, yet I'll show
For all thy wit, and art thou dost not know
The nature of them, I will show thee then,
That there are many things unknown to men,
Even in this Earth. Do then but cast thy eyes
Upon my Parks, my Ponds, and Volaries,
Thou'lt quickly see, that I have creatures there,
Which thou know'st hardly either what they are,
Or how they live.—
First then, you have the Lyon such a creature,
As best of you do hardly know his nature:
A creature full of fury, full of wrath,
That to all other creatures threatens death,
If once withstood: but when to him they yeeld,
There's no more generous beast in all the field:
For his opposers he in pieces tears,
But such as do submit to him he spares.
Observe this Lyon then; he must be fed,
As well as thou, he must be nourished:
Who therefore taught him, pray' to find his prey,
And how to feed his young ones every day?
Knows then what shifts he uses for his food,
And makes provision for his tender brood?
In the wild Forrest, where there is no trade,
Where, for a price no meat is to be had?
As best of you do hardly know his nature:
A creature full of fury, full of wrath,
That to all other creatures threatens death,
If once withstood: but when to him they yeeld,
There's no more generous beast in all the field:
For his opposers he in pieces tears,
But such as do submit to him he spares.
Observe this Lyon then; he must be fed,
As well as thou, he must be nourished:
Who therefore taught him, pray' to find his prey,
And how to feed his young ones every day?
Knows then what shifts he uses for his food,
And makes provision for his tender brood?
In the wild Forrest, where there is no trade,
Where, for a price no meat is to be had?
Dost know how in their Dens they couchant ly
To catch th'unthinking beasts that passing by,
Do not their cunning ambuscade espy?
To catch th'unthinking beasts that passing by,
Do not their cunning ambuscade espy?
Next there's the Raven, such a creature too,
As lives by prey, as well as Lyons do:
Who doth provide its food? who entertains
This idle creature? who is at the pains
To feed its young ones, when the naughty dame,
Unkindly in the Nest abandons them?
When the raw-chicks do squeek, and crock aloud,
Half-starv'd for want of meat, who gives them food?
Who doth with Worms those shiftless creatures feed,
Which 'bout the nest, in Ravens dung do breed?
Dost understand who is it that supplyes
Those small forsaken things with Dew, and Flyes?
Or when as yet pin-feather'd they are thrust
By th'cruel Dame out of the Nest, and must
Make shifts (although not able yet to fly)
For their subsistence in the world, or dy,
Who hears them pray, when they for hunger cry,
And doth them, with an Aliment supply?
So that for all these hardships, they do grow
To a great age, and ramble to and fro,
Catching their preys, and live as well as these,
Who, from their birth, enjoy'd both food and ease.
As lives by prey, as well as Lyons do:
Who doth provide its food? who entertains
This idle creature? who is at the pains
To feed its young ones, when the naughty dame,
Unkindly in the Nest abandons them?
When the raw-chicks do squeek, and crock aloud,
Half-starv'd for want of meat, who gives them food?
342
Which 'bout the nest, in Ravens dung do breed?
Dost understand who is it that supplyes
Those small forsaken things with Dew, and Flyes?
Or when as yet pin-feather'd they are thrust
By th'cruel Dame out of the Nest, and must
Make shifts (although not able yet to fly)
For their subsistence in the world, or dy,
Who hears them pray, when they for hunger cry,
And doth them, with an Aliment supply?
So that for all these hardships, they do grow
To a great age, and ramble to and fro,
Catching their preys, and live as well as these,
Who, from their birth, enjoy'd both food and ease.
Cap. XXXIX.
1. Knowest thou the time when the wild goats of the rock bring forth? or canst thou mark when the hindes do calve?
That doth preserve the several species
Of all those Creatures? by what hidden means
Are they assisted, when they take their pains?
Dost know what art those artless Brutes do use
At such occasions? how they do produce
Their young ones? who's their Mid-wife? who takes care
Of them, in that estate? who doth prepare
All that is suitable? who makes provision
Of necessars for them, in that condition?
Who layes them up? who cures them of their sores?
Who is't, that them to perfect health restores?
As first, for instance, the wild Goat, who rambles
Amongst the Rocks, and on sharp Briars and Brambles
Doth often thrust her Belly, and her Brood,
Whilst in the Cliffs she searches for her food:
So that a man would think this same unwary,
And climbing Creature, surely would miscarry:
Who doth take care of her? when doth she bring
Her young ones forth, dost know her reckoning?
Or know'st thou when the Hinds do calve? what pain
These Creatures in their labour do sustain?
Canst tell how long those Beasts do pregnant go?
Or dost the time of their delivery know?
Or dost the time of their delivery know?
The time of their delivery indeed,
Of all the Creatures that on earth do feed,
Both rational, and brutal, there is none
Endures such torment, as these Hinds alone
Do in the birth:—
They bow their bodies over, and again,
In labour to alleviate their pain:
Nay, these weak Creatures too, to make them able
T'endure their pains, of a mean Vegetable
Make use, and by that natural Midwifery,
As well as those, who use much industry,
And help of knowing Surgeons to boot,
With horrid toil, they cast their sorrows out.
Of all the Creatures that on earth do feed,
Both rational, and brutal, there is none
Endures such torment, as these Hinds alone
Do in the birth:—
They bow their bodies over, and again,
In labour to alleviate their pain:
Nay, these weak Creatures too, to make them able
T'endure their pains, of a mean Vegetable
343
As well as those, who use much industry,
And help of knowing Surgeons to boot,
With horrid toil, they cast their sorrows out.
Yet the same young ones, though with so much pain
Brought to the world, do not long remain
With their kind Dames, but taught by nature, do
Run out, and make a shift for Victuals too,
For quickly they grow fat, and fed with store
Of Corn, and Grass, they see their Dames no more.
Brought to the world, do not long remain
With their kind Dames, but taught by nature, do
Run out, and make a shift for Victuals too,
For quickly they grow fat, and fed with store
Of Corn, and Grass, they see their Dames no more.
Then there's the wild Ass, an undocile creature,
So different from the tame Ass, that by nature,
It loves as much its rambling liberty,
As th'other stoops to servile drudgery.
Who taught this stupid Creature so to prize
Its liberty, and proudly to despise
Alluring mankind, who would fain entise
This thing to serve them, but 'tis all in vain,
For not by Dogs, nor Nets it will be tane.
So different from the tame Ass, that by nature,
It loves as much its rambling liberty,
As th'other stoops to servile drudgery.
Who taught this stupid Creature so to prize
Its liberty, and proudly to despise
Alluring mankind, who would fain entise
This thing to serve them, but 'tis all in vain,
For not by Dogs, nor Nets it will be tane.
But to evite the tyranny of man,
It strives as much as any creature can,
Against both hunger, parching heat, and snow,
And in the Wilderness will undergo
A thousand pinches, rather as be tam'd,
And a poor slave t' its fellow-mortals nam'd.
It strives as much as any creature can,
Against both hunger, parching heat, and snow,
And in the Wilderness will undergo
A thousand pinches, rather as be tam'd,
And a poor slave t' its fellow-mortals nam'd.
He laughs at all your Citizens, who dwell
In plenty at their ease, and faring well,
Laugh at all those in wants, he will not sell
His liberty for all those toyes, nor be
Subject to th'lashing of the Whip, not he,
For all the sure allowance he might have
Of food, were he, like other beasts, your slave.
In plenty at their ease, and faring well,
Laugh at all those in wants, he will not sell
His liberty for all those toyes, nor be
Subject to th'lashing of the Whip, not he,
For all the sure allowance he might have
Of food, were he, like other beasts, your slave.
But rather is content in Wilderness
To make a shift, and feed on acid grass,
Salt herbs, or any thing, that may sustain
Its life, then under bonds with man remain.
To make a shift, and feed on acid grass,
Salt herbs, or any thing, that may sustain
Its life, then under bonds with man remain.
Then there's the Unicorn (or if you will,
The wild Bull) pray hast thou attain'd such skill,
As but to catch it? and far less to tame
A creature of that strength, or but to dream,
Of bringing of that beast at any rate,
To serve thy use, who doth all bondage hate?
Or being catch'd, canst thou by feeding bribe
This wanton beast to tarry by thy Crib?
The wild Bull) pray hast thou attain'd such skill,
As but to catch it? and far less to tame
A creature of that strength, or but to dream,
Of bringing of that beast at any rate,
To serve thy use, who doth all bondage hate?
Or being catch'd, canst thou by feeding bribe
This wanton beast to tarry by thy Crib?
Canst this fierce Creature to thy labouring break,
And calmly lay the Yoke upon his neck?
Canst make him softly foot it 'fore the Plow,
And keep the furrows, as the Oxen do?
Or will he draw the Harrows orderly
After thee, when thou sowest? or decently
Turn at the furrows end, and follow thee
With the same pace, as men do daily see
The beasts of labour are accustomed,
And when unyok'd, with th'others tamely feed?
And calmly lay the Yoke upon his neck?
Canst make him softly foot it 'fore the Plow,
And keep the furrows, as the Oxen do?
Or will he draw the Harrows orderly
After thee, when thou sowest? or decently
Turn at the furrows end, and follow thee
With the same pace, as men do daily see
The beasts of labour are accustomed,
And when unyok'd, with th'others tamely feed?
344
Wilt thou be such a fool, because he's strong,
And able to endure much fatigue long,
As trust thy labouring to him? dost expect,
That he the yoke will suffer for thy sake?
And able to endure much fatigue long,
As trust thy labouring to him? dost expect,
That he the yoke will suffer for thy sake?
Wilt thou be so unmann'd, as in the least,
Be made believe that wild unruly beast,
Will in the Harvest yok'd in Cart, or wain,
From Field, to Barn-yard, carry home thy Grain
For if thou dost, who would not justly thee
Suspect to be a greater beast then he.
Yet all these beasts (though ne're so feirce, and wild,)
I can by single word make tame, and mild;
I can, with ease, make all such creatures bow,
And yok'd, or unyok'd, with submission too,
Serve me, what ere I have a mind to doe.
For thou must not think that I do in vain,
Those savage creatures in the fields maintain,
But that I have an use for each of them,
As well as men for creatures that are tame.
Be made believe that wild unruly beast,
Will in the Harvest yok'd in Cart, or wain,
From Field, to Barn-yard, carry home thy Grain
For if thou dost, who would not justly thee
Suspect to be a greater beast then he.
Yet all these beasts (though ne're so feirce, and wild,)
I can by single word make tame, and mild;
I can, with ease, make all such creatures bow,
And yok'd, or unyok'd, with submission too,
Serve me, what ere I have a mind to doe.
For thou must not think that I do in vain,
Those savage creatures in the fields maintain,
But that I have an use for each of them,
As well as men for creatures that are tame.
And now to show thee how much those do err,
In understanding who with me compare:
Or think they can by any Science reach,
The knowledge of what none but I can teach:
I'll question thee on things familiar,
Of home bred creatures, such as dayly are
About thy doors: and thence I'll plainly show,
Thou dost not even those creatures fully know.
As first who on the Peacock hath bestow'd,
Such a fair train? Who is it that allow'd
Such outward beauty to that screeching creature:
Who made his neck rise in such comely feature,
Adorn'd with such a changing set of Plums,
As proud of his apparrel, he presumes
To think himself a creature most compleat,
Were't not that sometimes he doth view, his feet,
Which black, and loathsome, and so differing
From his whole body, makes the lofty thing
Despise it self, and seems to let him know,
That there is nothing that's compleat below.
Or dost thou know from whence the Estrich had
These curious feathers in her wings, which made,
And sow'd in plums, adorn the proudest crest,
That dares appear, of either man, or beast.
And teach you too, that man for all his pride,
(In which he undervalues all beside.
That live on Earth) to make himself appear
More beautiful then other creatures are,
Is forc'd to borrow Plums out of the wing
Of a poor naughty Bird, and fairly bring
His fairest head-attire from such a creature.
As is the most insipid thing in nature.
In understanding who with me compare:
Or think they can by any Science reach,
The knowledge of what none but I can teach:
I'll question thee on things familiar,
Of home bred creatures, such as dayly are
About thy doors: and thence I'll plainly show,
Thou dost not even those creatures fully know.
As first who on the Peacock hath bestow'd,
Such a fair train? Who is it that allow'd
Such outward beauty to that screeching creature:
Who made his neck rise in such comely feature,
Adorn'd with such a changing set of Plums,
As proud of his apparrel, he presumes
To think himself a creature most compleat,
Were't not that sometimes he doth view, his feet,
Which black, and loathsome, and so differing
From his whole body, makes the lofty thing
Despise it self, and seems to let him know,
That there is nothing that's compleat below.
Or dost thou know from whence the Estrich had
These curious feathers in her wings, which made,
And sow'd in plums, adorn the proudest crest,
That dares appear, of either man, or beast.
And teach you too, that man for all his pride,
(In which he undervalues all beside.
That live on Earth) to make himself appear
More beautiful then other creatures are,
Is forc'd to borrow Plums out of the wing
Of a poor naughty Bird, and fairly bring
His fairest head-attire from such a creature.
As is the most insipid thing in nature.
A stupid creature, one that's memorable
For nothing, but its bulk: and hardly able
To rank it self for its sagacity,
Amongst the meanest of the birds that fly
A blockish creature, of so dull a sense,
As were't not meerly for my Providence,
Its species would be lost: for when sh'has laid
Her Eggs, and with light sand them overspread,
She simply thinks her businesse is done,
And without more ado, away she's gone,
Whilst to the wide world she her brood doth trust,
And carelessly doth leave them in the dust.
For nothing, but its bulk: and hardly able
To rank it self for its sagacity,
345
A blockish creature, of so dull a sense,
As were't not meerly for my Providence,
Its species would be lost: for when sh'has laid
Her Eggs, and with light sand them overspread,
She simply thinks her businesse is done,
And without more ado, away she's gone,
Whilst to the wide world she her brood doth trust,
And carelessly doth leave them in the dust.
Forgetting how these things obnoxious ly
To th'foot of every one that passeth by
The place, where she hath left them, nay at least,
(Though men may have discretion) yet the beast
O'th' Forrest, who doth not observe its paces,
With its hard hoof, might crush them all to pieces.
To th'foot of every one that passeth by
The place, where she hath left them, nay at least,
(Though men may have discretion) yet the beast
O'th' Forrest, who doth not observe its paces,
With its hard hoof, might crush them all to pieces.
Thus to her own brood she's unnatural,
And seems to have no thought for them at all,
But quite forsakes those poor adventurers,
And looks upon them, as they were not hers:
So that her labours, and her pains appear
T'have been in vain, when thus, without all fear
Of what may be the event, foolishly
She leaves her issue, and most barbarously,
Not only leaves them, but forgets them too,
A thing no creature, but her self would do.
And seems to have no thought for them at all,
But quite forsakes those poor adventurers,
And looks upon them, as they were not hers:
So that her labours, and her pains appear
T'have been in vain, when thus, without all fear
Of what may be the event, foolishly
She leaves her issue, and most barbarously,
Not only leaves them, but forgets them too,
A thing no creature, but her self would do.
And what's the reason, why this stolid creature
Acts contrare to the very rules of nature?
Why thus it is: because I thought not fit
At first t'allow her so much mother-wit,
As even to take a care of what's her own,
And as for understanding, she has none.
But what she wants of wit, and common sense,
I do supply it by my Providence:
For of those Eggs by her abandoned,
I do take care, and have so ordered,
That on the open sand where these do ly,
The Sun should th'unkind mothers place supply:
And by the heat of his warm, transient rays
Should hatch those Eggs, and save her species;
Which else by her extream, supine neglect.
Would totally decay, and go to wrack.
Acts contrare to the very rules of nature?
Why thus it is: because I thought not fit
At first t'allow her so much mother-wit,
As even to take a care of what's her own,
And as for understanding, she has none.
But what she wants of wit, and common sense,
I do supply it by my Providence:
For of those Eggs by her abandoned,
I do take care, and have so ordered,
That on the open sand where these do ly,
The Sun should th'unkind mothers place supply:
And by the heat of his warm, transient rays
Should hatch those Eggs, and save her species;
Which else by her extream, supine neglect.
Would totally decay, and go to wrack.
And yet as dull, and stolid as she is,
She may be thought sagacious in this,
That when pursu'd by th'Hunter, she on high
Doth lift her self, and though she cannot fly,
By reason of her heavy bulk, so well
As other birds, yet she appears to sail,
And fly, and run together, for with feet
And wings, she nimbly makes her way so fleet,
As none can overtake her, nay she knows
How to defend her self, when Hunters close
Approach her with their Poles, for then she throws
Behind her with her feet, to stop the chase,
Small stones, sand, dust, and gravel in the face,
Of those who do pursue her, and defyes
All their attaques, whilst thus she runs and flyes
To save her life, with so much art, and force,
As she despises both their Foot, and Horse.
She may be thought sagacious in this,
That when pursu'd by th'Hunter, she on high
Doth lift her self, and though she cannot fly,
By reason of her heavy bulk, so well
As other birds, yet she appears to sail,
And fly, and run together, for with feet
And wings, she nimbly makes her way so fleet,
As none can overtake her, nay she knows
How to defend her self, when Hunters close
Approach her with their Poles, for then she throws
Behind her with her feet, to stop the chase,
Small stones, sand, dust, and gravel in the face,
346
All their attaques, whilst thus she runs and flyes
To save her life, with so much art, and force,
As she despises both their Foot, and Horse.
The Horse, why there's a creature, that indeed
In wit, strength, courage, doth as much exceed
The most of Beasts, which on the earth do breed,
As th'Estrich doth in dulness: there's a creature
For th'use of man accommodate by nature,
A lofty thing, that on its Joynts doth rise,
Stands straight, lifts up his Crest, with flaming eyes:
Appears a creature full of generous pride,
With other so fair qualities beside.
As to serve mankind he is no less able,
Then to his fellow-brutes he's formidable.
Who gave him this same strength, who made him shake
His dangling Maine, and Perwig, his neck
With horrid curles, and friezlings, when in wrath
He seems to threaten nothing less then death?
Who gave him so much courage, that he fears
Nothing that moving on the earth appears?
But with such resolution in he flies
Amongst the thickest of his enemies,
As unconcern'd, as Thunder-bolt, which breaks
Even where it pleases, so he havock makes
Of all that do oppose him, for he soon.
By valour bears the proudest of'em down.
In wit, strength, courage, doth as much exceed
The most of Beasts, which on the earth do breed,
As th'Estrich doth in dulness: there's a creature
For th'use of man accommodate by nature,
A lofty thing, that on its Joynts doth rise,
Stands straight, lifts up his Crest, with flaming eyes:
Appears a creature full of generous pride,
With other so fair qualities beside.
As to serve mankind he is no less able,
Then to his fellow-brutes he's formidable.
Who gave him this same strength, who made him shake
His dangling Maine, and Perwig, his neck
With horrid curles, and friezlings, when in wrath
He seems to threaten nothing less then death?
Who gave him so much courage, that he fears
Nothing that moving on the earth appears?
But with such resolution in he flies
Amongst the thickest of his enemies,
As unconcern'd, as Thunder-bolt, which breaks
Even where it pleases, so he havock makes
Of all that do oppose him, for he soon.
By valour bears the proudest of'em down.
Canst thou then make this noble beast afraid,
And like a timorous Ass, hang down his head?
Canst stop his nostrils, when he fiercely neighs,
And with his voice doth seem to pierce the skyes?
And like a timorous Ass, hang down his head?
Canst stop his nostrils, when he fiercely neighs,
And with his voice doth seem to pierce the skyes?
His martial neighing makes the Hills resound,
When with his angry hoof, he tears the ground,
Erects his Crest, and chops upon his Bit,
VVith gnashing teeth, 'cause it will not permit
His fury to run out as he thinks fit.
His Bit, like Soap-ball, rouling in his mouth,
Makes him spit out much of his wrath in froath,
Whilst with a longing not to be exprest
By mortal man, this strong, couragious beast,
This most magnanimous, and fearless thing,
Longs to be at his sprightly skirmishing:
For joy he praunces, and courvetts, when he
Doth preparations for the Battel see:
When there are sudden hopes of death, and wounds,
And nothing in his ears, but terrour sounds.
When all the fields are covered far and nigh,
With thick Battallions of stout Infantry
And closs-rank'd-Squadrons of brave Cavalry:
O how he's tickled with that deathful sight,
As if in nothing more he took delight,
(For things, which you do black, and dreadful call,
He fancies the most pleasant things of all,
That life affords) he would not quit the sport
He there expects to have, in any sort,
For all the whissling pleasures of a Court.
No man for loves fruition has such charms,
As he to meet th'enraged man at arms.
When with his angry hoof, he tears the ground,
Erects his Crest, and chops upon his Bit,
VVith gnashing teeth, 'cause it will not permit
His fury to run out as he thinks fit.
His Bit, like Soap-ball, rouling in his mouth,
Makes him spit out much of his wrath in froath,
Whilst with a longing not to be exprest
By mortal man, this strong, couragious beast,
This most magnanimous, and fearless thing,
Longs to be at his sprightly skirmishing:
For joy he praunces, and courvetts, when he
Doth preparations for the Battel see:
When there are sudden hopes of death, and wounds,
And nothing in his ears, but terrour sounds.
When all the fields are covered far and nigh,
With thick Battallions of stout Infantry
And closs-rank'd-Squadrons of brave Cavalry:
O how he's tickled with that deathful sight,
As if in nothing more he took delight,
(For things, which you do black, and dreadful call,
He fancies the most pleasant things of all,
347
He there expects to have, in any sort,
For all the whissling pleasures of a Court.
No man for loves fruition has such charms,
As he to meet th'enraged man at arms.
Yes, all the charms, which do his breast possess,
He by his frequent neighings doth express,
And still expecting with impatience
When his beloved Battel should commence.
He chaffs and foams at mouth so furiously,
As even his Rider, with difficulty,
For all his strength, and skill, by force of Rein,
Can this now half-engaged Beast restrain.
When he perceives the glistering Sword appear,
And over Helmet brandish'd every where,
Make no small threatning Figure in the Air:
For to afright him, no device is able,
The Sword is to him but a very bauble.
He by his frequent neighings doth express,
And still expecting with impatience
When his beloved Battel should commence.
He chaffs and foams at mouth so furiously,
As even his Rider, with difficulty,
For all his strength, and skill, by force of Rein,
Can this now half-engaged Beast restrain.
When he perceives the glistering Sword appear,
And over Helmet brandish'd every where,
Make no small threatning Figure in the Air:
For to afright him, no device is able,
The Sword is to him but a very bauble.
The rattling Quiver stuck, with Arrows full,
The Spear, and Shield to him appear but dull,
And empty Symbols of approaching War;
For he fears nothing that a man can dare.
The Spear, and Shield to him appear but dull,
And empty Symbols of approaching War;
For he fears nothing that a man can dare.
But when he sees the Forces on each side
Draw up in order, and both far and wide
Extend their Front:—
O how he huggs himself, because he now
Expects some action without more adoe:
O how he paws, and with his foot doth wound,
In his hote rage, the unprovocking ground;
As if the harmless Turff, on which he stood,
Withstood his fury: how he neighs aloud,
And stretching out his head, once, and again,
In passion almost breaks the curbing Rein.
At sound of Trumpet, he's no more afraid,
Nor at the thundering noise of Drums dismaid,
Then if one whistled through a Flagelet,
Or on the bottom of a Barrel beat.
Draw up in order, and both far and wide
Extend their Front:—
O how he huggs himself, because he now
Expects some action without more adoe:
O how he paws, and with his foot doth wound,
In his hote rage, the unprovocking ground;
As if the harmless Turff, on which he stood,
Withstood his fury: how he neighs aloud,
And stretching out his head, once, and again,
In passion almost breaks the curbing Rein.
At sound of Trumpet, he's no more afraid,
Nor at the thundering noise of Drums dismaid,
Then if one whistled through a Flagelet,
Or on the bottom of a Barrel beat.
For this undaunted Beast doth so rejoyce
In the redoubling of that horrid noise,
Which Drums, and Trumpets do afford, and takes
Such pleasure in the noise the Army makes:
Whilst Officers on Horse-back, here and there
Traversing through the Ranks and Files, prepare
All things for action, and aloud command
What they think fit, with Truncheons in their hand:
That with his neighing he doth answer make,
And Ecchoes all the Language which they speak,
With such wild noise, as doth the Air confound;
But when the Trumpet doth in earnest sound
The signal to the fight—Sa—sa—he cryes,
Bears down his head, shoots lightning from his eyes,
And with top-gallop to the Battel dyes.
Have you not seen a Faulcon in his flight,
Chasing his prey, as in a Line, down-right,
When far above it in the open Sky,
With so great strength, and force upon it fly,
As to the ground it bears it by, and by.
So this brave beast, so soon as Trumpet sounds,
Contemning noise, and clamour, dangers, wounds,
Nay death it self, upon its enemies,
And on its prey, with mighty valour flys.
In the redoubling of that horrid noise,
Which Drums, and Trumpets do afford, and takes
Such pleasure in the noise the Army makes:
Whilst Officers on Horse-back, here and there
Traversing through the Ranks and Files, prepare
All things for action, and aloud command
What they think fit, with Truncheons in their hand:
That with his neighing he doth answer make,
And Ecchoes all the Language which they speak,
With such wild noise, as doth the Air confound;
But when the Trumpet doth in earnest sound
The signal to the fight—Sa—sa—he cryes,
Bears down his head, shoots lightning from his eyes,
And with top-gallop to the Battel dyes.
Have you not seen a Faulcon in his flight,
Chasing his prey, as in a Line, down-right,
348
With so great strength, and force upon it fly,
As to the ground it bears it by, and by.
So this brave beast, so soon as Trumpet sounds,
Contemning noise, and clamour, dangers, wounds,
Nay death it self, upon its enemies,
And on its prey, with mighty valour flys.
And now we speak of Hawks: why there is too,
A noble bird, which I have made to bow
For humane use, a roaving bird of prey,
Which in the air so swiftly cuts a way,
With stretch'd, slow-moving wings, as to the eye,
He seems like arrow from a bow to fly,
Who taught herso to fly then? pray was't thou
Her tutor? didst thou teach her? though 'tis true,
By art the meanest of you do attain
The knowledge how to tame, and how to train
This ravenous bird, and bring her to your lure,
And make her for your use her prey secure.
But what's all that? by nature she knows more,
Then you can teach her, and did know before
You catch'd her, how to catch her prey, and fly,
As well as you by all your industry
Can e're instruct her in the thing; although
You think you more then such poor creatures know,
Well then I'll ask thee:
When the wild Hawk doth her old feathers cast,
And fears en cuerpo, the cold northern blast
May do her harm: is't thou who did advise
That naked creature to become so wise,
As to avoid the winters cold, in time,
To make a progresse to a warmer clime,
Untill her feathers do grow up again?
Dost think she's taught so by the art of men?
A noble bird, which I have made to bow
For humane use, a roaving bird of prey,
Which in the air so swiftly cuts a way,
With stretch'd, slow-moving wings, as to the eye,
He seems like arrow from a bow to fly,
Who taught herso to fly then? pray was't thou
Her tutor? didst thou teach her? though 'tis true,
By art the meanest of you do attain
The knowledge how to tame, and how to train
This ravenous bird, and bring her to your lure,
And make her for your use her prey secure.
But what's all that? by nature she knows more,
Then you can teach her, and did know before
You catch'd her, how to catch her prey, and fly,
As well as you by all your industry
Can e're instruct her in the thing; although
You think you more then such poor creatures know,
Well then I'll ask thee:
When the wild Hawk doth her old feathers cast,
And fears en cuerpo, the cold northern blast
May do her harm: is't thou who did advise
That naked creature to become so wise,
As to avoid the winters cold, in time,
To make a progresse to a warmer clime,
Untill her feathers do grow up again?
Dost think she's taught so by the art of men?
Or doth the princely Eagle soar on high,
And to the tops of Rocks, and Mountains fly
At thy command? where she doth build her Nest,
And with her young ones doth securely rest?
And to the tops of Rocks, and Mountains fly
At thy command? where she doth build her Nest,
And with her young ones doth securely rest?
For safety she with pleasure doth dispense,
And 'mongst the Rocks she keeps her residence:
Whilst other birds do lodge in trees, and bushes,
In banks of rivers, marishes, bull-rushes,
Heaths, and corn-fields, house-tops, and some such places,
This bird inhabits, where no humane traces
Are to be found, and as the soveraign
Of all the winged nation, doth remain
In her strong castle, where secure she lyes,
Under the covert of a precipice.
And 'mongst the Rocks she keeps her residence:
Whilst other birds do lodge in trees, and bushes,
In banks of rivers, marishes, bull-rushes,
Heaths, and corn-fields, house-tops, and some such places,
This bird inhabits, where no humane traces
Are to be found, and as the soveraign
Of all the winged nation, doth remain
In her strong castle, where secure she lyes,
Under the covert of a precipice.
There she resides, in that strong cittadel,
She like a Lady paramount, doth dwell;
From whence the countrey all around she spyes,
And views afar: her sharp, and vigorous eyes,
Make a large Horizon: from thence, with ease,
As from a watch-tower, she at a distance sees
Th'inferiour Birds, who unconcern'dly fly,
And so securely ramble through the Sky,
As if indeed they fear'd no Enemy.
Then from her Fortress she flys out amain,
Falls in amongst them, and with little pain
Snatches so many of 'em, as at least
Upon those slaughtered Captives, she may feast
Both she, and her voracious Family,
For a long Summers-day conveniently.
She like a Lady paramount, doth dwell;
From whence the countrey all around she spyes,
And views afar: her sharp, and vigorous eyes,
Make a large Horizon: from thence, with ease,
As from a watch-tower, she at a distance sees
349
And so securely ramble through the Sky,
As if indeed they fear'd no Enemy.
Then from her Fortress she flys out amain,
Falls in amongst them, and with little pain
Snatches so many of 'em, as at least
Upon those slaughtered Captives, she may feast
Both she, and her voracious Family,
For a long Summers-day conveniently.
Her raw, and tender young ones for their food,
Are taught by her betimes to suck up blood:
For where the slain in clustered heapsido ly,
Thither the Eagle, with her brood doth fly.
Are taught by her betimes to suck up blood:
For where the slain in clustered heapsido ly,
Thither the Eagle, with her brood doth fly.
Cap. XL.
Thus the Almighty having fully showen
What was to the afflicted man unknowen;
(For all the wit, to which he laid pretence)
From what was said, he draws this inference.
What was to the afflicted man unknowen;
(For all the wit, to which he laid pretence)
From what was said, he draws this inference.
Then since, he says, I now do plainly see
These questions on the Creatures puzzle thee
To frame an answer to 'em: sure if I
Should ask what think'st of my Divinity,
And what a mighty one thou didst suppose
Thy God must be, who made both thee, and those
Of which I've question'd thee, thou'd far less know
What answer thou should'st make; why even so
When thou cry'st out thou art oppress'd with pain,
And of afflictions dost so oft complain:
Asking a reason why thou art thus vex't,
Why thus with woes, and miseries perplex't?
And gladly wouldst thy Case with me debate,
Thou dost not understand what thou dost prate.
For if thou dost not understand the Creature,
And cannot comprehend the works of Nature,
O how much less:—
Wilt understand the works of Providence,
Which both transcend thy Reason, and thy Sense?
These questions on the Creatures puzzle thee
To frame an answer to 'em: sure if I
Should ask what think'st of my Divinity,
And what a mighty one thou didst suppose
Thy God must be, who made both thee, and those
Of which I've question'd thee, thou'd far less know
What answer thou should'st make; why even so
When thou cry'st out thou art oppress'd with pain,
And of afflictions dost so oft complain:
Asking a reason why thou art thus vex't,
Why thus with woes, and miseries perplex't?
And gladly wouldst thy Case with me debate,
Thou dost not understand what thou dost prate.
For if thou dost not understand the Creature,
And cannot comprehend the works of Nature,
O how much less:—
Wilt understand the works of Providence,
Which both transcend thy Reason, and thy Sense?
Then be not curious any more to know
The reason why thou art afflicted so:
Because what state of life doth best agree,
And what is most convenient for thee
At any time, is only knowen to me.
Though you of Mortal Race imagine when
I let Afflictions out on pious men;
I seem to counteract what all of you
Firmly conclude to Piety is due:
So what I long since have premeditate;
And from Eternity predestinate,
For any of you, when it takes effect,
Because it is not such, as you expect,
Your ignorance makes you admire to see,
What knowingly is brought to pass by me.
Forbear hereafter then t'expostulate
Upon thy case, or offer to debate
With me, who gave thee life: know therefore thou,
Who seem'st to teach me what I ought to do,
That were it not I have some kindness yet
For thee, and will not totally forget
Thy former actions: I would let thee see
What it is truly to contend with me:
And show thee how, when with afflictions cross't
Others are humbled, thou appear'st to boast
Of thy great merits, and presumptuously
Dost think thou meet'st with incongruity,
In these my Dispensations: know then, know
I will not suffer thee to bluster so,
In thy mad humours, on my providence;
Or {confess} thus my actings, but from hence
I do command thee silence; speak not then
In thy late Gibbrish:—do no more complain
Of my proceedings—no—for if thou do it.
He that reproves his God, let him see to it.
The reason why thou art afflicted so:
Because what state of life doth best agree,
And what is most convenient for thee
At any time, is only knowen to me.
Though you of Mortal Race imagine when
I let Afflictions out on pious men;
I seem to counteract what all of you
Firmly conclude to Piety is due:
So what I long since have premeditate;
And from Eternity predestinate,
350
Because it is not such, as you expect,
Your ignorance makes you admire to see,
What knowingly is brought to pass by me.
Forbear hereafter then t'expostulate
Upon thy case, or offer to debate
With me, who gave thee life: know therefore thou,
Who seem'st to teach me what I ought to do,
That were it not I have some kindness yet
For thee, and will not totally forget
Thy former actions: I would let thee see
What it is truly to contend with me:
And show thee how, when with afflictions cross't
Others are humbled, thou appear'st to boast
Of thy great merits, and presumptuously
Dost think thou meet'st with incongruity,
In these my Dispensations: know then, know
I will not suffer thee to bluster so,
In thy mad humours, on my providence;
Or {confess} thus my actings, but from hence
I do command thee silence; speak not then
In thy late Gibbrish:—do no more complain
Of my proceedings—no—for if thou do it.
He that reproves his God, let him see to it.
And now the man, who formerly did speak
In a bold tone, and lofty dialect;
Who thought he so well understood his case,
As he could even debate it face to face,
With God himself: all overcome with fear,
Just like a man condemn'd, doth now appear:
With Joynts all trembling, Visage pale, and lean,
Eyes sunk so hollow, as if he had been
Within an hour to die.—
At the appearance of his Judge afraid,
Prostrate upon the ground, to all was said,
He only this short, humble answer made.
In a bold tone, and lofty dialect;
Who thought he so well understood his case,
As he could even debate it face to face,
With God himself: all overcome with fear,
Just like a man condemn'd, doth now appear:
With Joynts all trembling, Visage pale, and lean,
Eyes sunk so hollow, as if he had been
Within an hour to die.—
At the appearance of his Judge afraid,
Prostrate upon the ground, to all was said,
He only this short, humble answer made.
Why, Lord, sayes he, I freely do confess
I am all sin, I am all guiltiness:
I am all vileness, nay I am not able
By strength of words t'express how despicable
And mean a thing I am, what dost expect?
What answer, Lord, can such as I am make,
To all thy questions? what, good Lord, I pray
Can such a silly Worm as I am say
To all thou dost demand?—no I will lay
My hand upon my mouth: I will forbear
My former language, and with silence hear
What thou wilt speak, for now I clearly see
There's no more arguing in the case for me.
I am all sin, I am all guiltiness:
I am all vileness, nay I am not able
By strength of words t'express how despicable
And mean a thing I am, what dost expect?
What answer, Lord, can such as I am make,
To all thy questions? what, good Lord, I pray
Can such a silly Worm as I am say
To all thou dost demand?—no I will lay
My hand upon my mouth: I will forbear
My former language, and with silence hear
What thou wilt speak, for now I clearly see
There's no more arguing in the case for me.
Then, since what I have spoke has given offence
To thee, good Lord, I shall forbear from hence
To speak one word, as I have done before,
But here shut up my mouth, and speak no more.
To thee, good Lord, I shall forbear from hence
To speak one word, as I have done before,
But here shut up my mouth, and speak no more.
351
To this th'Almighty soon did answer make,
And out of Whirlwind, thus again did speak.
And out of Whirlwind, thus again did speak.
Well now I see thou art convinc'd that what
In thy wild ravings thou hast spoke of late
Deserves reproof; I see thou hast some sense
Of thy extravagant impatience;
But notwithstanding all that thou hast said
Has not such total satisfaction made
As I require: I'le therefore question thee
Again what are thy thoughts concerning me;
Go to then, and behave thee like a man
I will demand thee, answer if thou can.
In thy wild ravings thou hast spoke of late
Deserves reproof; I see thou hast some sense
Of thy extravagant impatience;
But notwithstanding all that thou hast said
Has not such total satisfaction made
As I require: I'le therefore question thee
Again what are thy thoughts concerning me;
Go to then, and behave thee like a man
I will demand thee, answer if thou can.
Thou sayst that thou art righteous, dost not know
Iniquity i'th' least:—why be it so:—
Then here the question lyes 'twixt me and thee,
Which of us two most righteous must be:
For either I in my proceedings must,
Or thou in thy complaining be unjust:
Ther is no medium, as the Case doth ly
And thinkst thou this the way to justify
Thy self, by quarrelling of my equity?
Consider well what thou hast done, reflect
Upon thy misdemeanors; recollect
Thy Reason, and examine how of late
Thou with thy Maker hast expostulate:
Then judge thy self, if for what thou hast said
Thou dost not merit to be punished.
Iniquity i'th' least:—why be it so:—
Then here the question lyes 'twixt me and thee,
Which of us two most righteous must be:
For either I in my proceedings must,
Or thou in thy complaining be unjust:
Ther is no medium, as the Case doth ly
And thinkst thou this the way to justify
Thy self, by quarrelling of my equity?
Consider well what thou hast done, reflect
Upon thy misdemeanors; recollect
Thy Reason, and examine how of late
Thou with thy Maker hast expostulate:
Then judge thy self, if for what thou hast said
Thou dost not merit to be punished.
For now I ask thee, canst thou in the least
Give room to such a motion in thy breast
That any thing like parity can be
But even suppos'd betwixt thy God, and thee?
That thou shouldst value thy own righteousness
At such a rate! and so thy self express,
As if t'afflict so good a man as thee,
Did savour of iniquity in me.
Well wherein then dost think th'equality
Can be conceiv'd 'twixt God and thee to ly?
Canst make huge Armies at thy call assemble,
And with uplifted hand make Nations tremble?
Canst make the Scouts of Lightnings fly abroad,
And manage Thunder, with a voice, like God?
Give room to such a motion in thy breast
That any thing like parity can be
But even suppos'd betwixt thy God, and thee?
That thou shouldst value thy own righteousness
At such a rate! and so thy self express,
As if t'afflict so good a man as thee,
Did savour of iniquity in me.
Well wherein then dost think th'equality
Can be conceiv'd 'twixt God and thee to ly?
Canst make huge Armies at thy call assemble,
And with uplifted hand make Nations tremble?
Canst make the Scouts of Lightnings fly abroad,
And manage Thunder, with a voice, like God?
Canst' thou appear in splendid majesty,
Equal in beauty, and excellency;
With me? can thou, poor dying man, display
Such glory, and thy self with light array,
More bright then th'Sun at Noon-tide of the day?
Equal in beauty, and excellency;
With me? can thou, poor dying man, display
Such glory, and thy self with light array,
More bright then th'Sun at Noon-tide of the day?
Canst thou send out the Serjeants of thy Wrath,
Bring in the proud, and prosecute to death
All those who dare presumptuously dream
They're such, as I can hardly humble them:
Canst thou, sad Creature, cover such with shame?
As I can do? canst in the view of all
With great contempt make such high-soarers fall
From top of all the hopes, which they conceive
Down to the very bottom of the Grave?
Bring in the proud, and prosecute to death
All those who dare presumptuously dream
They're such, as I can hardly humble them:
Canst thou, sad Creature, cover such with shame?
As I can do? canst in the view of all
With great contempt make such high-soarers fall
352
Down to the very bottom of the Grave?
Canst break the Projects long time hatch'd by such,
As are ambitious to command too much:
Who vex their Neighbours with unjust Pretences,
And will not hearken to their just Defences;
But with their Sword in hand, do boldly seize
On what they can, and do even what they please:
Whom Oaths, and Treaties can no longer tye,
Then with fresh Troops they can themselves supply.
Which done,—
A Quarrel suitable to their design
Is slily fabricate, and then the Mine
Doth quickly spring, and at the Trumpets sound,
The peaceful Nations are involv'd around
In Blood again; whilst the voracious things
Mounted aloft upon Ambitions wings,
With confidence at no less Prey do fly,
Then that of universal Monarchy.
Do'st thou then,—thou—, thou man of words, do'st know
The ways and methods, how to bring such low?
Canst' take them down? can'st their ambition crush,
And make those mighty Conquerours sadly blush
To see themselves out-done by such as they
Did look upon as conquer'd 't other cay?
And where their Armies us'd abroad to roam,
Canst' turn the chace, and give them work at home?
As are ambitious to command too much:
Who vex their Neighbours with unjust Pretences,
And will not hearken to their just Defences;
But with their Sword in hand, do boldly seize
On what they can, and do even what they please:
Whom Oaths, and Treaties can no longer tye,
Then with fresh Troops they can themselves supply.
Which done,—
A Quarrel suitable to their design
Is slily fabricate, and then the Mine
Doth quickly spring, and at the Trumpets sound,
The peaceful Nations are involv'd around
In Blood again; whilst the voracious things
Mounted aloft upon Ambitions wings,
With confidence at no less Prey do fly,
Then that of universal Monarchy.
Do'st thou then,—thou—, thou man of words, do'st know
The ways and methods, how to bring such low?
Canst' take them down? can'st their ambition crush,
And make those mighty Conquerours sadly blush
To see themselves out-done by such as they
Did look upon as conquer'd 't other cay?
And where their Armies us'd abroad to roam,
Canst' turn the chace, and give them work at home?
Canst' crumble all these men in dust together,
And send them, with their glory, who knows whither?
In some dark corner canst thou make them die,
Where they're attended by no weeping eye,
And not in publick, where the pitying Croud
Of curious Spectators can make proud
The dying Wretches, where they cann't declaim,
Or bribe the favour of a whiffling fame,
By a set speech:
Where none are present, where no standers by
Observe with what composed looks they die,
And so spoil Deaths beloved Pageantry?
And send them, with their glory, who knows whither?
In some dark corner canst thou make them die,
Where they're attended by no weeping eye,
And not in publick, where the pitying Croud
Of curious Spectators can make proud
The dying Wretches, where they cann't declaim,
Or bribe the favour of a whiffling fame,
By a set speech:
Where none are present, where no standers by
Observe with what composed looks they die,
And so spoil Deaths beloved Pageantry?
If all this thou canst do, then I'le confess
And willingly acknowledge thou'rt no less
In power then I am, and that thou canst save
By thy own strength thy body from the Grave.
But since thou art a man so mean, and weak,
As thou canst hardly speak what I can act:
And willingly acknowledge thou'rt no less
In power then I am, and that thou canst save
By thy own strength thy body from the Grave.
But since thou art a man so mean, and weak,
As thou canst hardly speak what I can act:
Then O, poor Mortal, how I pity thee
That proudly offerest to debate with me
Not knowing, as thou shouldst do, who I am,
Nor valuing the glory of my Name
At its true rate: for if thou didst but know
With whom thou hadst to do, thou hadst not so
Express'd thy self, as thou of late has done,
Like mad-man, in the view o'th' open Sun.
For thou must know that I who form'd both thee
And all what thou around dost hear, or see,
Must know how all things should be governed,
Better then any creature I have made.
Know then, that though on Earth there were no more
T'expresse my power, then those of which before
I've made relation: yet since they transcend
Thy knowledge, and thou cans't not comprehend
How, and for what use they at first were fram'd,
And why not men, as well as beasts were nam'd,
I'll show thee in two special instances,
The one on Land, the other on the Seas,
How much my creatures do my worth expresse.
That proudly offerest to debate with me
Not knowing, as thou shouldst do, who I am,
Nor valuing the glory of my Name
At its true rate: for if thou didst but know
With whom thou hadst to do, thou hadst not so
Express'd thy self, as thou of late has done,
Like mad-man, in the view o'th' open Sun.
For thou must know that I who form'd both thee
And all what thou around dost hear, or see,
353
Better then any creature I have made.
Know then, that though on Earth there were no more
T'expresse my power, then those of which before
I've made relation: yet since they transcend
Thy knowledge, and thou cans't not comprehend
How, and for what use they at first were fram'd,
And why not men, as well as beasts were nam'd,
I'll show thee in two special instances,
The one on Land, the other on the Seas,
How much my creatures do my worth expresse.
Observe then Behemoth a first-rate creature,
A beast indeed of a stupendious feature,
Which you may think is that which you do call
The Elephant:—well then, there's one for all,
Observe his body, how he doth exceed
In bulk all creatures that on Earth do feed.
This same huge Animal I did create:
This bulky thing these hands did fabricate:
And yet for all his bulk, and vast extent
Of bones, and sinews I made him content
With the poor Oxe, that labours in the plow,
To feed on grasse, and Hay, and glad so too.
A beast indeed of a stupendious feature,
Which you may think is that which you do call
The Elephant:—well then, there's one for all,
Observe his body, how he doth exceed
In bulk all creatures that on Earth do feed.
This same huge Animal I did create:
This bulky thing these hands did fabricate:
And yet for all his bulk, and vast extent
Of bones, and sinews I made him content
With the poor Oxe, that labours in the plow,
To feed on grasse, and Hay, and glad so too.
Observe then, Job, of how much strength, and force
This creature is, exceeding far the Horse,
And Lyon: for all creatures in the field,
To th'Elephant in force, and strength do yeeld.
His legs, like brazen pillars, do sustain
His close-built body, which with little pain
They bear from place to place, as he doth ramble,
Whilst all the other beasts in forrest tremble
At his appearance: no less honouring
That stately creature, then he were their king.
This creature is, exceeding far the Horse,
And Lyon: for all creatures in the field,
To th'Elephant in force, and strength do yeeld.
His legs, like brazen pillars, do sustain
His close-built body, which with little pain
They bear from place to place, as he doth ramble,
Whilst all the other beasts in forrest tremble
At his appearance: no less honouring
That stately creature, then he were their king.
When his proboscis in the Air he shakes,
With violence, he such a figure makes,
As if a tall, and lofty Cedar spread,
Its Trunk, with all its boughs above its head.
'Tis wonderful to think what strength doth ly
In this proboscis, what activity,
What art, what cunning, what dexterity.
When with it, as one with his hand would do,
He'll mannage Faulchion, Sword, and Dagger too?
When with it he on man, or beast will seize,
Lift them from ground, and throw 'em up with ease,
To th'Garrison o'th' Tower upon his back,
Where they are kill'd: the sinews, which do make
His Trunk so strong, are twisted so together,
As branches of a tree, and move it hither,
And thither, as it pleaseth wantonly,
Though big, and long, with great agility.
With violence, he such a figure makes,
As if a tall, and lofty Cedar spread,
Its Trunk, with all its boughs above its head.
'Tis wonderful to think what strength doth ly
In this proboscis, what activity,
What art, what cunning, what dexterity.
When with it, as one with his hand would do,
He'll mannage Faulchion, Sword, and Dagger too?
When with it he on man, or beast will seize,
Lift them from ground, and throw 'em up with ease,
To th'Garrison o'th' Tower upon his back,
Where they are kill'd: the sinews, which do make
His Trunk so strong, are twisted so together,
As branches of a tree, and move it hither,
And thither, as it pleaseth wantonly,
Though big, and long, with great agility.
Like staves of brass his great bones do appear,
His lesser bones like bars of Iron are.
His lesser bones like bars of Iron are.
Amongst the beasts he terrible appears,
His Trunk the Horse in battel only fears:
The Lion, when he sees him, shrinks apace,
The Tiger dares not look him in the face:
The Boar, the wild Bull, the Rhinoceros,
The Unicorn, and Panther are but dross
Beside pure mettal, when with him compar'd,
The Stag, the Bear, the Wolf, and Leopard
Are all afraid of him, and run for fear,
When, like a walking-Tower, he doth appear.
Yea, man himself no less amaz'd doth fly,
When he perceives this dreadful Beast draw nigh.
For when you men do in closs Battel stand,
And threatning Swords appear in every hand,
With many Bows, and Shields, and many Spears,
And pointed Launces, yet he shrewdly fears
Th'approach of this four-footed Warriour;
Whose blows and throwings he cannot endure.
Yet this same dreadful Beast, I can with ease
Beat down, like other creatures, when I please,
For though—
By reason of his bloods frigidity,
He sometimes lives a hundred years, yet I,
Who made him live, can make him sooner die.
His Trunk the Horse in battel only fears:
354
The Tiger dares not look him in the face:
The Boar, the wild Bull, the Rhinoceros,
The Unicorn, and Panther are but dross
Beside pure mettal, when with him compar'd,
The Stag, the Bear, the Wolf, and Leopard
Are all afraid of him, and run for fear,
When, like a walking-Tower, he doth appear.
Yea, man himself no less amaz'd doth fly,
When he perceives this dreadful Beast draw nigh.
For when you men do in closs Battel stand,
And threatning Swords appear in every hand,
With many Bows, and Shields, and many Spears,
And pointed Launces, yet he shrewdly fears
Th'approach of this four-footed Warriour;
Whose blows and throwings he cannot endure.
Yet this same dreadful Beast, I can with ease
Beat down, like other creatures, when I please,
For though—
By reason of his bloods frigidity,
He sometimes lives a hundred years, yet I,
Who made him live, can make him sooner die.
And now this Beast, as dreadful as he is,
Is tame, and gently peaceable in this,
That with the other Creatures, who do breed
Upon the Mountains, he on Grass doth feed;
As if they were his equals every day,
Whilst round him all the lesser Beasts do play,
Now fearless, not suspecting in the least
The killing wrath of this familiar Beast.
Is tame, and gently peaceable in this,
That with the other Creatures, who do breed
Upon the Mountains, he on Grass doth feed;
As if they were his equals every day,
Whilst round him all the lesser Beasts do play,
Now fearless, not suspecting in the least
The killing wrath of this familiar Beast.
Yet though by day he on the Hills doth feed,
When night approaches he doth make his bed
In warmer places, and delights to ly
Under the sweet, and spacious Canopy
Of some tall branching Oak: where this tall Beast
As in a Pallace doth securely rest:
Or under covert of Bull-rushes, Reeds,
Low-spreading Willows, or thick bushy Weeds,
That flourish about Fenns, and Marishes,
And there he lays him down, and sleeps with ease.
When night approaches he doth make his bed
In warmer places, and delights to ly
Under the sweet, and spacious Canopy
Of some tall branching Oak: where this tall Beast
As in a Pallace doth securely rest:
Or under covert of Bull-rushes, Reeds,
Low-spreading Willows, or thick bushy Weeds,
That flourish about Fenns, and Marishes,
And there he lays him down, and sleeps with ease.
Under the shadow of the Trees he lyes,
Couching upon his Belly, with his Thighs
And Legs laid under him, and doth not lean
Upon the Trunk o'th' Tree, as some do faign,
'Cause wanting Joynts, he could not rise again,
Should he ly down: no, but as other Beasts,
For all his bulk, he feeds, he moves, he rests.
Couching upon his Belly, with his Thighs
And Legs laid under him, and doth not lean
Upon the Trunk o'th' Tree, as some do faign,
'Cause wanting Joynts, he could not rise again,
Should he ly down: no, but as other Beasts,
For all his bulk, he feeds, he moves, he rests.
When to the River he for drink draws nigh,
Like other Beasts, he drinks not hastily,
As if the Huntsman, with his Hounds were by:
Nor stands he on the Bank, but boldly wades
Into the Channel, and securely treads
The onzy Bottom, whilst his bulk doth seem
To stop the very current of the stream.
For, ere he drink, he plunges for some time,
And with his feet doth raise, and mix the slime,
O'th' bottome with the current, till it be
So thick, and muddy, as he cannot see
His feet below him, for he doth not care
To drink the water, when 'tis pure, and clear,
As other beasts are us'd to do, but when
He has thus troubled all about him, then
He drinks securely at his ease, and leasure,
Void of all fear, with great delight, and pleasure.
Yes, Tuns of Water to appease his drouth,
He by his Trunk doth pump into his mouth.
Nay, should he chance by Jordans streams to graze
He'd drain that River in not many days.
Like other Beasts, he drinks not hastily,
As if the Huntsman, with his Hounds were by:
Nor stands he on the Bank, but boldly wades
Into the Channel, and securely treads
The onzy Bottom, whilst his bulk doth seem
To stop the very current of the stream.
For, ere he drink, he plunges for some time,
355
O'th' bottome with the current, till it be
So thick, and muddy, as he cannot see
His feet below him, for he doth not care
To drink the water, when 'tis pure, and clear,
As other beasts are us'd to do, but when
He has thus troubled all about him, then
He drinks securely at his ease, and leasure,
Void of all fear, with great delight, and pleasure.
Yes, Tuns of Water to appease his drouth,
He by his Trunk doth pump into his mouth.
Nay, should he chance by Jordans streams to graze
He'd drain that River in not many days.
For in his thirst he greedily doth seem,
As at one draught, hee'd swallow up the stream:
And then he drinks too, with such eagerness,
As though both Reeds and Bushes he doth press
For water, and what else doth him oppose,
He bores it through with his prodigious nose.
Now this same creature, though he doth excell
In strength, both thee, and all on earth that dwell;
Yet owes he all this strength to me alone,
Who gave it to him, and will stoop to none,
But me, for while he has my liberty,
He lives, when I recall it, instantly
For all his strength, he mustly down, and dy.
As at one draught, hee'd swallow up the stream:
And then he drinks too, with such eagerness,
As though both Reeds and Bushes he doth press
For water, and what else doth him oppose,
He bores it through with his prodigious nose.
Now this same creature, though he doth excell
In strength, both thee, and all on earth that dwell;
Yet owes he all this strength to me alone,
Who gave it to him, and will stoop to none,
But me, for while he has my liberty,
He lives, when I recall it, instantly
For all his strength, he mustly down, and dy.
Cap. XLI.
Thus having shown thee how I do command
All things that have their beeing on the land:
Now I'le inform thee of my pow'r at Sea,
And show thee what vast Creatures too there be
Within that District, which though they appear
To thee, and others, to be Soveraign there;
And by their bulks, to those, who Plow the Seas
Would something like unlimit power express,
Yet they are but my Vassals, and are even
Subject to th'Admirality of Heaven,
As well as all the smallest Fishes are,
That swiming in the Ocean appear.
To give you then for all, one notable,
And famous instance, as most suitable
To my intent: I'd have thee seriously
Observe (but with a meditating eye)
The Princely Leviathan, such a creature,
As shall hereafter furnish no small matter
Of dispute in your solemn Homilies,
What this same Leviathan signifies.
But whatsoe're it be, it is a thing
Of such a force, beyond all reasoning,
As all the force of man cannot subdue,
And where it swimes is yet but known to few.
Canst draw this Leviathan then, with ease
By simple hook, or line out of the Seas,
Like other Fishes? hale him on the Land,
By force of rops, and kill him on the sand?
All things that have their beeing on the land:
Now I'le inform thee of my pow'r at Sea,
And show thee what vast Creatures too there be
Within that District, which though they appear
To thee, and others, to be Soveraign there;
And by their bulks, to those, who Plow the Seas
Would something like unlimit power express,
Yet they are but my Vassals, and are even
Subject to th'Admirality of Heaven,
As well as all the smallest Fishes are,
That swiming in the Ocean appear.
To give you then for all, one notable,
And famous instance, as most suitable
To my intent: I'd have thee seriously
Observe (but with a meditating eye)
The Princely Leviathan, such a creature,
As shall hereafter furnish no small matter
Of dispute in your solemn Homilies,
What this same Leviathan signifies.
But whatsoe're it be, it is a thing
Of such a force, beyond all reasoning,
356
And where it swimes is yet but known to few.
Canst draw this Leviathan then, with ease
By simple hook, or line out of the Seas,
Like other Fishes? hale him on the Land,
By force of rops, and kill him on the sand?
Canst thou with angle catch this Fish? canst thou,
When catch'd, as men with lesser Fishes do,
String him upon a hook, a thorn, or cleck,
And bear him lightly home upon thy back?
When catch'd, as men with lesser Fishes do,
String him upon a hook, a thorn, or cleck,
And bear him lightly home upon thy back?
Dost think, if thou should catch him, that he'll cry,
To thee for quarter, and degeneratly
Offer to be thy slave, as th'Elephant,
To thee for quarter, and degeneratly
Offer to be thy slave, as th'Elephant,
And all the other beasts will covenant
To save their lives? or will he offer thee,
As others do, a ransom to be free?
Dost think he'll supplicat, and speak thee fair,
That thou forsooth in pity shouldst him spare,
And not with Hatchet cut him down to pieces,
And of his bulk make havock, as thou pleases?
To save their lives? or will he offer thee,
As others do, a ransom to be free?
Dost think he'll supplicat, and speak thee fair,
That thou forsooth in pity shouldst him spare,
And not with Hatchet cut him down to pieces,
And of his bulk make havock, as thou pleases?
Canst tame him so by art, as thou canst make
Thy boys in playing with him pleasure take,
As they with other beasts are us'd to do,
And birds of several species? canst thou,
As with a pretty linnet, with him dandle?
And make him gentle for thy girles to handle?
Thy boys in playing with him pleasure take,
As they with other beasts are us'd to do,
And birds of several species? canst thou,
As with a pretty linnet, with him dandle?
And make him gentle for thy girles to handle?
Upon him shalt thou, and thy partners feast,
And of his fat, and oily bulk make waste?
Gobbets of him to friends, as tokens send,
And to each merchant give his dividend?
And of his fat, and oily bulk make waste?
Gobbets of him to friends, as tokens send,
And to each merchant give his dividend?
Dar'st thou with barbed Irons boldly fall
Upon this Fish, as men do on a Whale,
And when his body is stuck full of these,
Let him at ropes-end tumble in the Seas;
Till overcome with pain, he forcibly
Doth rush his belly on the shore, and dy?
Upon this Fish, as men do on a Whale,
And when his body is stuck full of these,
Let him at ropes-end tumble in the Seas;
Till overcome with pain, he forcibly
Doth rush his belly on the shore, and dy?
Do—lay thy hands upon him, then thou'lt see
By sad experience, he is not to be
So tamely catch'd: thou'lt see what he can do,
What cunning art he will practise, and how
To save his life, he'll all his force assemble,
And make the very stoutest of you tremble.
By sad experience, he is not to be
So tamely catch'd: thou'lt see what he can do,
What cunning art he will practise, and how
To save his life, he'll all his force assemble,
And make the very stoutest of you tremble.
Then, as thou wouldst desire to live, forbear
T'assault this war-like thing with hook or spear:
That man who thinks to catch him, is not wise,
For he can kill one with his very eyes.
T'assault this war-like thing with hook or spear:
That man who thinks to catch him, is not wise,
For he can kill one with his very eyes.
Since then there's none of you, who dares attacque
This mortal creature, which my hands did make:
Since no man dares contend with him: who's he
That lives on Earth, and dares contend with me?
This mortal creature, which my hands did make:
Since no man dares contend with him: who's he
That lives on Earth, and dares contend with me?
Who's he amongst you all, that dares contend
With me? who's he of you, that dares pretend
By any merit t'have oblig'd me so,
That I should to him any kindness show?
Fools that you are! doth even the best of you,
By all your tears, good works, and fastings too,
Or any thing that man on Earth can doe
Suppose you can of Heaven a purchase make,
Or of your God, in gratitude expect,
Not as a favour, but as a reward,
What I have from Eternity prepar'd,
For such of you as I intend to blesse,
After this life, with so much happinesse.
A happinesse to which no man can claim,
And those are fools, that confidently dream,
They by their art of living can attain,
What all, without my aid, attempt in vain.
Nor am I oblig'd in this Earth to show
Kindnesse to any of you, or bestow
A foot of ground upon the best of you,
For any good, you by your selves can do,
No all you do possesse: all you design,
Your property on Earth is simply mine:
And what you think your own inheritance,
Is only yours by my pure tollerance.
I do to this man a large portion give,
To th'other hardly whereupon to live,
I do allow: from this man I do take
What I have given, and I do quickly make
The other rich, for all that you can see
Under the tract of Heavens, belongs to me,
So that,—
If what I give, I do assume again,
Who's he, that of me justly can complain?
When only I dispose of what's my own,
As I think fit, as being bound to none
For any favour and what all of you,
In your own triffling matters daily do.
With me? who's he of you, that dares pretend
By any merit t'have oblig'd me so,
That I should to him any kindness show?
357
By all your tears, good works, and fastings too,
Or any thing that man on Earth can doe
Suppose you can of Heaven a purchase make,
Or of your God, in gratitude expect,
Not as a favour, but as a reward,
What I have from Eternity prepar'd,
For such of you as I intend to blesse,
After this life, with so much happinesse.
A happinesse to which no man can claim,
And those are fools, that confidently dream,
They by their art of living can attain,
What all, without my aid, attempt in vain.
Nor am I oblig'd in this Earth to show
Kindnesse to any of you, or bestow
A foot of ground upon the best of you,
For any good, you by your selves can do,
No all you do possesse: all you design,
Your property on Earth is simply mine:
And what you think your own inheritance,
Is only yours by my pure tollerance.
I do to this man a large portion give,
To th'other hardly whereupon to live,
I do allow: from this man I do take
What I have given, and I do quickly make
The other rich, for all that you can see
Under the tract of Heavens, belongs to me,
So that,—
If what I give, I do assume again,
Who's he, that of me justly can complain?
When only I dispose of what's my own,
As I think fit, as being bound to none
For any favour and what all of you,
In your own triffling matters daily do.
And now that I may further evidence,
Besides the bulk, the worth, and excellence
Of this great Leviathan: I wil show,
What of this creature yet thou dost not know.
Besides the bulk, the worth, and excellence
Of this great Leviathan: I wil show,
What of this creature yet thou dost not know.
Who's he so bold, as dares cut off his sin?
Sieze on his body, flea him of his skin?
Make a rude bit reverberat his tooth?
Or make a double bridle rule his mouth?
Sieze on his body, flea him of his skin?
Make a rude bit reverberat his tooth?
Or make a double bridle rule his mouth?
He, who by main force, can his lips unfold,
And underprop his jaws, may there behold,
How like a Princes Court his mouth doth show,
Where teeth, like Halbardiers, stand all arow
To guard the tongue, which there doth ly in state,
And under th'arched palate keeps its seat.
And underprop his jaws, may there behold,
How like a Princes Court his mouth doth show,
Where teeth, like Halbardiers, stand all arow
To guard the tongue, which there doth ly in state,
And under th'arched palate keeps its seat.
Like a strong shield of proof his scales appear
So that he doth not any mortal fear,
Covered with these, but doth in them confide,
And shows in these a great part of his pride.
So that he doth not any mortal fear,
Covered with these, but doth in them confide,
And shows in these a great part of his pride.
For they together are indented so,
As 'twixt their junctures no sharp air can blow.
As 'twixt their junctures no sharp air can blow.
358
They stick together so conglutinate
By nature, as no art can separate
Those clinging scales, which altogether make
A figure, as if he upon his back
Did wear a Coat of Steel, of Brass, or Iron,
And tempered Mettals did him all environ.
By nature, as no art can separate
Those clinging scales, which altogether make
A figure, as if he upon his back
Did wear a Coat of Steel, of Brass, or Iron,
And tempered Mettals did him all environ.
But when at any time he doth appear
Above the Water, what a horrid fear
Spreads he upon the Seas, both far and near.
For, when from Top-mast, Mariners descry
This floating Mountain, they do by and by
Steer to the weather-hand, to shun his wake,
With all the Sail, they for their lives can make,
Because, as if he neez'd, he often throws
Such quantity of Waters from his nose,
Above the Water, what a horrid fear
Spreads he upon the Seas, both far and near.
For, when from Top-mast, Mariners descry
This floating Mountain, they do by and by
Steer to the weather-hand, to shun his wake,
With all the Sail, they for their lives can make,
Because, as if he neez'd, he often throws
Such quantity of Waters from his nose,
Up in the Air, which by the Suns reflex
Appear at distance, like a flame convex:
As no Ships dare approach him, out of fear,
He'd overwhelm them, if they should draw near.
For from his mouth,—
The broken waters flee, like sparks of fire,
Which causes the Sea-faring-man admire
What Creature this must be, that with such ease
Can raise a tempest in the calmest Seas.
Appear at distance, like a flame convex:
As no Ships dare approach him, out of fear,
He'd overwhelm them, if they should draw near.
For from his mouth,—
The broken waters flee, like sparks of fire,
Which causes the Sea-faring-man admire
What Creature this must be, that with such ease
Can raise a tempest in the calmest Seas.
Smoak from his Nostrils issues out so hot,
As from a Cauldron, or a boyling Pot,
When he doth belch out no small quantity,
Of thick, and fulsome vapours in the sky.
As from a Cauldron, or a boyling Pot,
When he doth belch out no small quantity,
Of thick, and fulsome vapours in the sky.
Yes, for he's able by his breath to blow
Fire out of Coals, and out of darkness show
A flaming light: for from his mouth, by turns,
As at first kindling, when a Coal-fire burns,
Now sulph'rous smoak, then flames do issue out,
And fill with terrour all the Seas about.
Fire out of Coals, and out of darkness show
A flaming light: for from his mouth, by turns,
As at first kindling, when a Coal-fire burns,
Now sulph'rous smoak, then flames do issue out,
And fill with terrour all the Seas about.
In his thick neck such strength and vigour lyes,
As all the force of Iron he defyes:
For all the power of man he doth not care,
And laughs at things which other creatures fear.
As all the force of Iron he defyes:
For all the power of man he doth not care,
And laughs at things which other creatures fear.
The fibres of his flesh are joyn'd together
So firmly, that none can distinguish either:
So solidly compacted, and comprest
Each within other, as nor Fish, nor Beast
Can show the like, so strongly grain'd, and fresh,
As it doth rather look like Oak, then Flesh.
So firmly, that none can distinguish either:
So solidly compacted, and comprest
Each within other, as nor Fish, nor Beast
Can show the like, so strongly grain'd, and fresh,
As it doth rather look like Oak, then Flesh.
Now as for strength, he's wonderfully made,
So he in courage all things doth exceed
That ever life enjoy'd: he knows no fear,
But doth a heart of resolution bear:
A heart so firm, and so unmoveable
By any threats, as 'tis incapable
Of that weak passion, with which others are
Infected, so well known by name of fear.
So he in courage all things doth exceed
That ever life enjoy'd: he knows no fear,
But doth a heart of resolution bear:
A heart so firm, and so unmoveable
By any threats, as 'tis incapable
Of that weak passion, with which others are
Infected, so well known by name of fear.
For he's so far from being capable
Of fear himself, that he's intolerable
In his insults, and able too to raise
Such terrour 'mongst th'inhabitants o'th' Seas,
As by one look he can make all, that's there
Yea, even the swiming Oak, to sweat for fear,
And shrewdly damps the stoutest Mariner.
For all a-board a Ship, when from the Deck
They see the Waters at great distance break:
By which, as by an usual Sign, they guess,
The Leviathan tumbles in the Seas,
As if their death approach'd, do quickly fall
Upon their knees, and to Devotion all
Apply themselves, because they sadly think
He'll by his Water-spout their Vessels sink.
Of fear himself, that he's intolerable
In his insults, and able too to raise
359
As by one look he can make all, that's there
Yea, even the swiming Oak, to sweat for fear,
And shrewdly damps the stoutest Mariner.
For all a-board a Ship, when from the Deck
They see the Waters at great distance break:
By which, as by an usual Sign, they guess,
The Leviathan tumbles in the Seas,
As if their death approach'd, do quickly fall
Upon their knees, and to Devotion all
Apply themselves, because they sadly think
He'll by his Water-spout their Vessels sink.
Or if there's any of the Crew so bold,
As thinks upon this creature to lay hold,
By force of Arms they do attempt in vain,
For this undaunted thing will not be tane
At any rate: the Sword, Dart, Javelin,
Do but make such a noise upon his skin,
As one with Steel would strike upon a Bell,
And, 'stead of piercing, make it only knell.
But where he doth assault, there's no defence
Against his blows, with so great violence
He rushes on, as he doth soon prevail
Against your cuirass, or through Coat of Mail.
As thinks upon this creature to lay hold,
By force of Arms they do attempt in vain,
For this undaunted thing will not be tane
At any rate: the Sword, Dart, Javelin,
Do but make such a noise upon his skin,
As one with Steel would strike upon a Bell,
And, 'stead of piercing, make it only knell.
But where he doth assault, there's no defence
Against his blows, with so great violence
He rushes on, as he doth soon prevail
Against your cuirass, or through Coat of Mail.
Iron, as Chaff, and Straw he doth contemn,
And Brass, as rotten Wood he doth esteem.
And Brass, as rotten Wood he doth esteem.
The force of Arrows cannot make him fly,
Though th'Archer on him his best skill should try:
No Engine can prejudge him, life, or limb,
Stones from the Sling are but Boyes-play to him.
Though th'Archer on him his best skill should try:
No Engine can prejudge him, life, or limb,
Stones from the Sling are but Boyes-play to him.
Your pointed Darts, which men do at him throw,
And think, by force, and art to catch him so,
He doth no more, then Straws, or Rushes fear,
And laughs aloud at shaking of your Spear.
And think, by force, and art to catch him so,
He doth no more, then Straws, or Rushes fear,
And laughs aloud at shaking of your Spear.
Then for his Lodgings, where do you suppose
This creature makes his bed? not in the Ouze,
As other Fishes, or in muds or mires,
Not he, for he no softer quilt desires
Then sharpest Rocks in bottom of the Seas,
Where, as on Bed of Douns he sleeps with ease.
This creature makes his bed? not in the Ouze,
As other Fishes, or in muds or mires,
Not he, for he no softer quilt desires
Then sharpest Rocks in bottom of the Seas,
Where, as on Bed of Douns he sleeps with ease.
When he doth swim, his motion is so strong,
That one would think the Ocean all along,
Where he doth move, by the great scum of Oyl,
Appears about him, really did boyl.
That one would think the Ocean all along,
Where he doth move, by the great scum of Oyl,
Appears about him, really did boyl.
Yes, where he moves, he leaves a foaming line
Behind him, on the surface of the Brine,
Which doth, like flames, at a great distance shine.
The Waves are with its froath so pouldered,
As one would think the deep a hoary head.
Behind him, on the surface of the Brine,
Which doth, like flames, at a great distance shine.
The Waves are with its froath so pouldered,
As one would think the deep a hoary head.
In fine, he doth in strength so much excell,
The spacious earth has not his parallell.
At his approach, the trembling Seas make way,
And with profound submission obey
His transient orders: furnish him with all
What he for his convenience doth call;
Where e're he marches, and allow for meat,
What of their subjects he thinks best to eat.
The spacious earth has not his parallell.
At his approach, the trembling Seas make way,
And with profound submission obey
His transient orders: furnish him with all
360
Where e're he marches, and allow for meat,
What of their subjects he thinks best to eat.
All other creatures, with disdainful eye
He views: no creature in conceit so high,
Inhabits under Heavens Canopy.
For all that in the Ocean do swim,
Daily, and hourly tribute pay to him:
They pay whatever they're by him assess't,
And dare not whisper that they are oppress't:
For if upon their grievances they fall,
And of their laws, and priviledges bawl,
He'll at one break-fast, soon devour them all.
Never let crowned head with him dispute,
No King on Earth can be so absolute.
He views: no creature in conceit so high,
Inhabits under Heavens Canopy.
For all that in the Ocean do swim,
Daily, and hourly tribute pay to him:
They pay whatever they're by him assess't,
And dare not whisper that they are oppress't:
For if upon their grievances they fall,
And of their laws, and priviledges bawl,
He'll at one break-fast, soon devour them all.
Never let crowned head with him dispute,
No King on Earth can be so absolute.
Cap. XLII.
Thus the Almighty having opened
His Cabinet of Nature, and display'd
His glory by the works of his Creation,
And of them all made wholesome application,
To th'present state of this afflicted man,
Then Job, with great submission, began
To answer, and thus openly confesse
Gods wisdom, and his own great foolishnesse.
His Cabinet of Nature, and display'd
His glory by the works of his Creation,
And of them all made wholesome application,
To th'present state of this afflicted man,
Then Job, with great submission, began
To answer, and thus openly confesse
Gods wisdom, and his own great foolishnesse.
Now, says he, Lord, I fully do believe,
Now, as the light, I clearly do perceive,
That thou,—thou art that God Omnipotent,
Who has his Throne above the Firmament.
Now I'm convinc'd that never hithertoo
I fully understood, as I do now
How great thou art: although I fancyed
I knew thee so well, that I did not need
Further instruction; but now thou hast shown,
That I before this time have nothing known,
Of what I ought most to have studied,
And now, my God, I do confesse indeed,
That in my great impatience, all this time,
I've fouly err'd; I do confess my crime.
Lord, I knew nothing, but I now do know
That thou art he, to whom all things below
Do owe their Being: that thy eye doth see
Better then we our selves, what ever we
Do act, or speak: that every secret thought
Lodg'd in our breasts, before thy Bar is brought,
There try'd, convict, condemned, or acquit,
As thou our Soveraign Judge think'st just, and fit:
I know that all things are to thee reveal'd,
And nothing from thy eye can be conceal'd.
Now, as the light, I clearly do perceive,
That thou,—thou art that God Omnipotent,
Who has his Throne above the Firmament.
Now I'm convinc'd that never hithertoo
I fully understood, as I do now
How great thou art: although I fancyed
I knew thee so well, that I did not need
Further instruction; but now thou hast shown,
That I before this time have nothing known,
Of what I ought most to have studied,
And now, my God, I do confesse indeed,
That in my great impatience, all this time,
I've fouly err'd; I do confess my crime.
Lord, I knew nothing, but I now do know
That thou art he, to whom all things below
Do owe their Being: that thy eye doth see
Better then we our selves, what ever we
Do act, or speak: that every secret thought
Lodg'd in our breasts, before thy Bar is brought,
There try'd, convict, condemned, or acquit,
As thou our Soveraign Judge think'st just, and fit:
I know that all things are to thee reveal'd,
And nothing from thy eye can be conceal'd.
361
And where's the man now?—where is that so wise
And knowing thing, that in his own vain eyes
Appear'd in much esteem, and thought he knew
His Maker fully,—ah—where is he now?
I am the man, Lord, I am he, alace,
That did my thoughts, in passion, express
Of thee below thy worth: I am the man,
That of all mortals, since the world began,
At thy just hands doth most deserve indeed
For his miscarriage to be punished.
Nor can I from my passion draw excuse
For my great errors, for that were to use
One crime, to palliat another:—no,
I can make no excuse, because I know
To be in passion was it self a crime,
And so I have supported all this time
One error with an other: I am he
Then that hath doubly sinn'd:—Lord do by me
As thou thinks just: I no more deprecate
Thy wrath, but in my present sad estate
Am still content to live, and patiently
Endure it to the last extremity,
Without repining; since thou hast decreed,
And by thy Providence so ordered,
That I should be afflicted for my sins,
I shall imagine that my woe begins,
Even from this instant, and without all passion,
From this hour forward bear thy indignation.
And knowing thing, that in his own vain eyes
Appear'd in much esteem, and thought he knew
His Maker fully,—ah—where is he now?
I am the man, Lord, I am he, alace,
That did my thoughts, in passion, express
Of thee below thy worth: I am the man,
That of all mortals, since the world began,
At thy just hands doth most deserve indeed
For his miscarriage to be punished.
Nor can I from my passion draw excuse
For my great errors, for that were to use
One crime, to palliat another:—no,
I can make no excuse, because I know
To be in passion was it self a crime,
And so I have supported all this time
One error with an other: I am he
Then that hath doubly sinn'd:—Lord do by me
As thou thinks just: I no more deprecate
Thy wrath, but in my present sad estate
Am still content to live, and patiently
Endure it to the last extremity,
Without repining; since thou hast decreed,
And by thy Providence so ordered,
That I should be afflicted for my sins,
I shall imagine that my woe begins,
Even from this instant, and without all passion,
From this hour forward bear thy indignation.
Only I do demand the liberty
To ask some questions of thy Majesty;
Not to debate, (for now I plainly see
What 'tis for frail man to contend with thee)
I ask then, since I am convinced now
Of my late errors, Lord, what shall I do
To make attonement, for my great offence;
What course of living shall I take from hence,
That into so great inconvenience,
I may not be by passion led again,
But may some favour at thy hands obtain.
To ask some questions of thy Majesty;
Not to debate, (for now I plainly see
What 'tis for frail man to contend with thee)
I ask then, since I am convinced now
Of my late errors, Lord, what shall I do
To make attonement, for my great offence;
What course of living shall I take from hence,
That into so great inconvenience,
I may not be by passion led again,
But may some favour at thy hands obtain.
Before this I have only heard by fame
Of thy great actings, and thy mighty name:
But now, Lord, with my eyes, I thee behold:
These eyes have seen thee: now I may be bold,
Since I have heard thee speak upon my case,
To say that I have seen thee face to face.
Of thy great actings, and thy mighty name:
But now, Lord, with my eyes, I thee behold:
These eyes have seen thee: now I may be bold,
Since I have heard thee speak upon my case,
To say that I have seen thee face to face.
My self I therefore utterly abhore,
And on my Parts I will presume no more:
I'll think I have known nothing all this while,
And at my own unknowing-knowledge smile:
I'll think I now know more then e're I did,
Since thou, in kindness, hast discovered,
How little I in former times have known,
Of what I should have studied alone.
I thought indeed my knowledge had been such,
And by experience I had learn'd so much,
As I, in excess, not defect, might err,
But now, alace, it fully doth appear
That I knew nothing in regard of what
From thy own mouth, I've been inform'd of late.
Now I'm convinc'd that I have sinn'd: from hence
I'le no more vainly plead my innocence,
But for my failings piously lament,
And of my errours from my heart repent.
And on my Parts I will presume no more:
I'll think I have known nothing all this while,
And at my own unknowing-knowledge smile:
I'll think I now know more then e're I did,
Since thou, in kindness, hast discovered,
How little I in former times have known,
Of what I should have studied alone.
I thought indeed my knowledge had been such,
362
As I, in excess, not defect, might err,
But now, alace, it fully doth appear
That I knew nothing in regard of what
From thy own mouth, I've been inform'd of late.
Now I'm convinc'd that I have sinn'd: from hence
I'le no more vainly plead my innocence,
But for my failings piously lament,
And of my errours from my heart repent.
Job thus accus'd, convict, and censured,
For his impatience: God doth next proceed
To show his three Friends, wherein they had err'd,
Whilst they had stifly all along averr'd
That Job was sinful, because punished,
And so augmented, not diminished
The good mans sorrow, which they should ha' done,
Had they been his true friends: but they alone,
Appear to have accus'd him, and in stead
Of comforting him, to have truly plead
He was a man of so much wickedness,
As for his sins, he had deserv'd no less
Than what he suffer'd: and with so much heat,
Upon that subject, did with him debate,
As if they meant to make him desperate.
Now after all, the Supream Judge thinks fit
To show them likewise, how upon their wit,
Indeed themselves they valued too much,
And out of humour more to be thought such,
Then for his glory, they had argued
Against their friend on that mistaken head.
Thus then to th'wise and learned Eliphaz
Th'Almighty sharply did himself address.
I do perceive, sayes he, thou'rt one of those,
That do mistake my actings, and suppose
That my proceedings must be regulate
By Humane Reason, and accommodate
To your capacity: for you have said
That in affliction one may plainly read
His sin, and my displeasure, and that none
But sinful, and flagitious men alone
Do in affliction tumble, and from thence,
(As you thought, wisely) with much eloquence
Inferr'd that Job, whom I long time have known
To be upright, and still for such do own:
Because afflicted, of necessity,
Must be a man of great impiety.
For his impatience: God doth next proceed
To show his three Friends, wherein they had err'd,
Whilst they had stifly all along averr'd
That Job was sinful, because punished,
And so augmented, not diminished
The good mans sorrow, which they should ha' done,
Had they been his true friends: but they alone,
Appear to have accus'd him, and in stead
Of comforting him, to have truly plead
He was a man of so much wickedness,
As for his sins, he had deserv'd no less
Than what he suffer'd: and with so much heat,
Upon that subject, did with him debate,
As if they meant to make him desperate.
Now after all, the Supream Judge thinks fit
To show them likewise, how upon their wit,
Indeed themselves they valued too much,
And out of humour more to be thought such,
Then for his glory, they had argued
Against their friend on that mistaken head.
Thus then to th'wise and learned Eliphaz
Th'Almighty sharply did himself address.
I do perceive, sayes he, thou'rt one of those,
That do mistake my actings, and suppose
That my proceedings must be regulate
By Humane Reason, and accommodate
To your capacity: for you have said
That in affliction one may plainly read
His sin, and my displeasure, and that none
But sinful, and flagitious men alone
Do in affliction tumble, and from thence,
(As you thought, wisely) with much eloquence
Inferr'd that Job, whom I long time have known
To be upright, and still for such do own:
Because afflicted, of necessity,
Must be a man of great impiety.
Who taught you thus to speak? who taught you so
To argue, as if you did fully know
The method of my Government, and were
Of Council with me? who taught you t'inferr
Such positive conclusions, as these
From any unaffording premisses,
Of my proceedings? who gave you commission
To speak thus to a man in Jobs condition:
As if a man, whom I had visit, you
Would in afflicting language visit too.
Know then I'm angry with thee, and thy friends,
Because you have so rashly spoke your minds
Of my proceedings, in the present case
Of my good Servant Job.—
For you have not talk'd of my Providence,
With that entire respect, and deference,
As did become you: nor have you at best,
In any of your reasonings express't
Your selves like men of zeal, and piety,
As Job has done, but rather foolishly
Maintain'd your own opinions right, or wrong
Against the suffering person all along.
Nay, you pretended too, you plead for me,
Whilst neither to the other two, nor thee,
I ever gave commission so to do;
And therefore you have all three err'd; but now
That I intend to set my Servant free
From his afflictions, and let all men see,
That what this man has suffered, was meant
For tryal only, not for punishment,
And make of him a famous President,
In all time coming, of my Providence,
And an example of great patience;
I'll censure you no more, but for the time
Let it suffice that I have touch'd your crime.
To argue, as if you did fully know
The method of my Government, and were
Of Council with me? who taught you t'inferr
Such positive conclusions, as these
From any unaffording premisses,
Of my proceedings? who gave you commission
To speak thus to a man in Jobs condition:
As if a man, whom I had visit, you
363
Know then I'm angry with thee, and thy friends,
Because you have so rashly spoke your minds
Of my proceedings, in the present case
Of my good Servant Job.—
For you have not talk'd of my Providence,
With that entire respect, and deference,
As did become you: nor have you at best,
In any of your reasonings express't
Your selves like men of zeal, and piety,
As Job has done, but rather foolishly
Maintain'd your own opinions right, or wrong
Against the suffering person all along.
Nay, you pretended too, you plead for me,
Whilst neither to the other two, nor thee,
I ever gave commission so to do;
And therefore you have all three err'd; but now
That I intend to set my Servant free
From his afflictions, and let all men see,
That what this man has suffered, was meant
For tryal only, not for punishment,
And make of him a famous President,
In all time coming, of my Providence,
And an example of great patience;
I'll censure you no more, but for the time
Let it suffice that I have touch'd your crime.
8. Therefore take unto you now seven bullocks, and seven rams, and go to my servant Iob, and offer up for your selves a burnt-offering, and my servant Iob shall pray for you; for him I will accept, lest I deal with you after your folly, in that ye have not spoken of me the things which are right, like my servant Iob.
Attonement for your faults, go therefore take,
Seven Bullocks, and seven Rams, and offer these
As a burnt offering for your trespasses.
Go—do what I command, for you have err'd,
And your own knowledge to my words preferr'd.
But for your sins make a burnt-offering now,
And so my servant Job shall pray for you.
Him, because truly pious, I will hear,
On your behalf, and for his sake forbear
To punish you: although what you have said,
Since you begun to speak, has merited
Much of my wrath: but go—do so no more,
And I will pardon what you've done before.
Prostrat upon the ground lay Eliphaz,
With his two friends, asham'd to show his face,
While God did speak, because convinc'd at length
That they had laboured, with the utmost strength
Of argument to broach a Heresie,
Which had descended to Posterity,
As a firm truth, and been receiv'd of all
As a position fully general,
That all Gods actings were determined
By those of men, and that none suffered
But for their sins: if God had not declar'd
By his just Sentence, that these men had err'd.
Without replying then to what was laid
By God Almighty to their charge, they pray'd
Their injur'd friend for them to interceed:
With his two friends, asham'd to show his face,
While God did speak, because convinc'd at length
That they had laboured, with the utmost strength
Of argument to broach a Heresie,
Which had descended to Posterity,
As a firm truth, and been receiv'd of all
As a position fully general,
That all Gods actings were determined
By those of men, and that none suffered
But for their sins: if God had not declar'd
By his just Sentence, that these men had err'd.
Without replying then to what was laid
By God Almighty to their charge, they pray'd
Their injur'd friend for them to interceed:
364
Now, all obedience they did quickly bring,
As God had ordered, their sin-offering;
And with great zeal, did make attonement
For their unsound, presumptuous argument.
Whilst Elihu, who, as appears, has been
A learn'd young-man, pious, upright, and clean
I'th' eyes of God, and had by inspiration,
From his great Maker, spoke on this occasion,
Is not reprov'd, and therefore we may guess,
He joyn'd his prayer with Job in this address
For these three men; which prayer God did hear,
And gently for their sake, was pleas'd to spare
Those who had err'd. Thus God determined
The case of Job: thus he at length decreed,
For the afflicted man against his friends,
And thus in mercy the grand Tryal ends.
As God had ordered, their sin-offering;
And with great zeal, did make attonement
For their unsound, presumptuous argument.
Whilst Elihu, who, as appears, has been
A learn'd young-man, pious, upright, and clean
I'th' eyes of God, and had by inspiration,
From his great Maker, spoke on this occasion,
Is not reprov'd, and therefore we may guess,
He joyn'd his prayer with Job in this address
For these three men; which prayer God did hear,
And gently for their sake, was pleas'd to spare
Those who had err'd. Thus God determined
The case of Job: thus he at length decreed,
For the afflicted man against his friends,
And thus in mercy the grand Tryal ends.
For now, as when the Sun imprisoned
Long time amongst thick clouds, begins to spread
His rays abroad, and shine as formerly,
The proud, insulting vapours by, and by
Dissolve themselves into a subtile air,
And now the Sun triumphant doth appear
In his full splendour, darting every where
His warming beams, and makes the Skys again,
After the storm, look pleasant, and serene.
So now th'Almighty having fully try'd
The worth of Job, and being satisfy'd
Of his deportment in his misery,
Dispels the clouds of his adversity,
And puts an end to Jobs captivity.
Restores him quickly to his former state,
And makes him happier, then he was of late.
For he of earthly means doth give him more,
By the one half, then he possess'd before.
Long time amongst thick clouds, begins to spread
His rays abroad, and shine as formerly,
The proud, insulting vapours by, and by
Dissolve themselves into a subtile air,
And now the Sun triumphant doth appear
In his full splendour, darting every where
His warming beams, and makes the Skys again,
After the storm, look pleasant, and serene.
So now th'Almighty having fully try'd
The worth of Job, and being satisfy'd
Of his deportment in his misery,
Dispels the clouds of his adversity,
And puts an end to Jobs captivity.
Restores him quickly to his former state,
And makes him happier, then he was of late.
For he of earthly means doth give him more,
By the one half, then he possess'd before.
11. Then came there unto him, all his brethren, and all his sisters, and all they that had been of his acquaintance before, and did eat bread with him in his house, and they bemoaned him, and comforted him over all the evil that the Lord had broght upon him; every man gave him a piece of money, and every one an ear-ring of gold.
We must suppose that Job return'd annon
To his own house, and in tranquility,
Bless't with firm health, and wealth, as formerly,
He liv'd, whilst all his scattered family,
Did by degrees return: that every where
He view'd his grounds; and daily did repair,
What by injurious times had been destroy'd,
And here, and there, his serving-men employ'd
In Ditching, Fencing, Planting, Labouring,
In Pits, and Quarries, Plowing, Harrowing,
Pasturing, Draining, and each other thing
That might recover the sad desolation
Of his affairs, by th'horrible vastation
Made there of late:
Not only by th'incursions of those,
Who liv'd on spoil, but even of such, God knows
Of his own friends, and unkind countrey-men,
Who thinking Job would ne're return again;
Upon his whole Estate had fairly seiz'd,
365
All his Effects: thinking them now their own
By Right, since all his Race were dead, and gone,
And he a Beggar, countenanc'd by none.
At least they thought, if e're it should fall out
He should return again, beyond all doubt,
His Spirits would be so with Sorrows spent,
That he'd surrender for an Aliment,
During his life, all what they did possess,
And not adventure upon tedious Pleas
For the recovery of it, but in peace,
Desire to end the residue of his years,
And then they would be as it were his Heirs.
Therefore we may not without ground suppose
That seing God resolv'd to put a close
To all Jobs Woes, and Sorrows, and restore
This man ex postliminio, what before
His late Affliction to him did pertain
Was soon by him recovered again
From these Intruders, by a short complaint,
Exhibite to those in the Government,
Whose hearts now God had mov'd; unseal'd their eyes,
And let them see, what wrongs, and injuries
His Servant had even by their Laws sustain'd
Whilst poor, and friendless, under Bonds restrain'd,
Absent, and sick, not able to defend
His legal Title, and just Interest,
He was by formal chicanery oppress't.
And therefore now to make full expiation
For their Intrusions, and their malversation,
In countenancing such illegal deeds,
The Court on his Petition, proceeds
To a full restitution, and declares
All other Titles (save Job and his Heirs)
To that Estate to be now null, and void
Renvers'd, rescinded, cancell'd, and destroy'd.
Orders him full Possession again,
And finds in Law that those intruding men
Were violent Possessors, and ordain
These to make Compt, and Payment of what Rent
They had uplifted, during his Restraint,
As violently seiz'd, and fin'd beside
Those men in Costs, and Charges to be paid
To th'injur'd Party, for what Damnages
He had sustain'd:—
For so much some think humbly may be guess't
Without offence, from what is here express't,
That seing God himself did Job restore
To twice as much as he possess'd before;
Why might he not by way of Justice so
Have ordred things, as that he might bestow
Upon his faithful Servant the Estates
Of these, whom for their wickedness he hates.
Since that we know God is accustomed,
366
Against the race of Sin, to overthrow
Them totally, and graciously bestow
Their Means on good men, in retalliation
Of what they suffer'd by these mens oppression.
And though the Gift the Damnage should exceed
By two parts more, yet that doth nothing plead
Against Gods Justice, since their sins do call
Aloud for extirpation general
Of them and all their Race: if then he may
By Justice take their whole Estates away
From them, and theirs, why may he not dispose
What is his own undoubtedly, to those
Who merit at his hands much better things,
As is the custom among earthly Kings
To gratify their Subjects Loyalty,
By Spoil, and Plunder of the Enemy.
But howsoe're it was, Jobs restauration
Is, truth, a most conspicuous demonstration
O'th' justice, greatness, goodness, equity,
And gratitude of him, who sits on high:
For if we ponder all his circumstances,
How in Prosperity he now advances;
And how, his Clouds of woes now dissipate,
His last is better then his first estate:
We'll find that God has only laid him low,
That when restor'd he might the better know
The real sweetness of Prosperity,
By his reflections on his Misery.
For those, who all their life-time live at ease,
And know no trouble, suffer no disease,
But waste their time in dull felicity,
Because they do not know it's contrary,
They do not know it self: since 'tis confess't
By all the knowing World that Contrares plac't
Beside each other make each other knowen,
Better then when considered alone.
For if a man shall first some Aloes taste
And then some Sugar: why he finds the last
Is sweeter far, when he reflects upon
The bitterness o'th' first, then if alone
He had the latter tasted: even so
When Job reflects how miserably low,
And scandalously poor he was of late
Which by reflection on his former state
Was much augmented; so he now esteems
His present happiness the more, yet seems
With so much moderation to bear
His restauration, as if yet he were
Upon the Dung-hill, and betwixt the two
Extremities of both Conditions, now
He lives like one, that his Condition knew.
Not elevat, when all his Kinred come
With joyful voice to bid him welcome home
His worthy Kindred! O his kind Relations,
Who formerly had in his sad occasions
Deserted him, and spoke of him, with hate,
Now come, by dozens, to congratulate
His happy Restitution.
Those who did from him in Affliction fly
Are now his stout friends in Prosperity.
By turns they feast him, striving who shall treat
A man, to whom they would not give of late
One Loaf of Bread: but O his great Estate!
His Means, and Honours now such figure make
As all of them do covet to partake
The happiness of his society
And wait upon him, with alacrity.
With Jewels, and Gold ear-rings they present him,
And with broad Silver Medalls complement him.
All his acquaintance too make now addresses
To him, and trouble him with fresh caresses,
And salutations in Prosperity,
Who did not mind him in Calamity.
For now—
His Friends, Acquaintance, Kinsmen, in a word,
All that e're knew him, seeing him restor'd
Do croud about him, every one denyes,
At least make fashion of Apologies,
For their unkindness, whilst he was of late
In a most sad, and despicable state:
But Job considering that those, who forsook him
When in Affliction, if again it took him,
Would do the like, did with great moderation,
Receive th'addresses of that Corporation:
Because he knew such Wardrobe-friends, as these
Were not for Storms, but for Festival days.
For he's the only friend, who men doth owne
In trouble: other friendship there is none;
And friendship's ne're, but in Affliction knowen.
Is, truth, a most conspicuous demonstration
O'th' justice, greatness, goodness, equity,
And gratitude of him, who sits on high:
For if we ponder all his circumstances,
How in Prosperity he now advances;
And how, his Clouds of woes now dissipate,
His last is better then his first estate:
We'll find that God has only laid him low,
That when restor'd he might the better know
The real sweetness of Prosperity,
By his reflections on his Misery.
For those, who all their life-time live at ease,
And know no trouble, suffer no disease,
But waste their time in dull felicity,
Because they do not know it's contrary,
They do not know it self: since 'tis confess't
By all the knowing World that Contrares plac't
Beside each other make each other knowen,
Better then when considered alone.
For if a man shall first some Aloes taste
And then some Sugar: why he finds the last
Is sweeter far, when he reflects upon
The bitterness o'th' first, then if alone
He had the latter tasted: even so
When Job reflects how miserably low,
And scandalously poor he was of late
Which by reflection on his former state
Was much augmented; so he now esteems
His present happiness the more, yet seems
With so much moderation to bear
His restauration, as if yet he were
Upon the Dung-hill, and betwixt the two
Extremities of both Conditions, now
He lives like one, that his Condition knew.
Not elevat, when all his Kinred come
With joyful voice to bid him welcome home
367
Who formerly had in his sad occasions
Deserted him, and spoke of him, with hate,
Now come, by dozens, to congratulate
His happy Restitution.
Those who did from him in Affliction fly
Are now his stout friends in Prosperity.
By turns they feast him, striving who shall treat
A man, to whom they would not give of late
One Loaf of Bread: but O his great Estate!
His Means, and Honours now such figure make
As all of them do covet to partake
The happiness of his society
And wait upon him, with alacrity.
With Jewels, and Gold ear-rings they present him,
And with broad Silver Medalls complement him.
All his acquaintance too make now addresses
To him, and trouble him with fresh caresses,
And salutations in Prosperity,
Who did not mind him in Calamity.
For now—
His Friends, Acquaintance, Kinsmen, in a word,
All that e're knew him, seeing him restor'd
Do croud about him, every one denyes,
At least make fashion of Apologies,
For their unkindness, whilst he was of late
In a most sad, and despicable state:
But Job considering that those, who forsook him
When in Affliction, if again it took him,
Would do the like, did with great moderation,
Receive th'addresses of that Corporation:
Because he knew such Wardrobe-friends, as these
Were not for Storms, but for Festival days.
For he's the only friend, who men doth owne
In trouble: other friendship there is none;
And friendship's ne're, but in Affliction knowen.
Now after this so signal restauration,
Job us'd with so much grace, and moderation,
His new Prosperity, that God did bless
His labour daily, for he did increase
In Wealth, and Riches, and did now possess
Twice as much Means, and had a greater Store
By the one half, then that he had before.
Upon his Pasture Grounds he now did keep
A lusty Stock of fourteen thousand Sheep:
And so of Camels, Oxen, Shee-asses,
He now just twice the number did possess.
In Honours too, and Offices beside
No doubt he now was highly magnify'd:
So that the figure of his latter days
Appear'd more glorious then his former was.
Job us'd with so much grace, and moderation,
His new Prosperity, that God did bless
His labour daily, for he did increase
In Wealth, and Riches, and did now possess
Twice as much Means, and had a greater Store
By the one half, then that he had before.
Upon his Pasture Grounds he now did keep
A lusty Stock of fourteen thousand Sheep:
And so of Camels, Oxen, Shee-asses,
He now just twice the number did possess.
In Honours too, and Offices beside
No doubt he now was highly magnify'd:
So that the figure of his latter days
Appear'd more glorious then his former was.
But what do Wealth, and Honours signify
Without the prospect of Posterity?
And therefore that in all Job might be bless't
His hopeful Issue, with his Wealth increas't.
For now his Wife, who all this time had stray'd,
And had belike i'th' Country begg'd her Bread,
During her Husbands Misery; at last
Learning by publick Fame, what late had past
In his Affair, had to her former station
Return'd, and liv'd, in sweet association,
With her kind Husband: (for we do not read
That ever Job another Wife did wed)
By the same Wife then, as it here appears,
He had ten Children in his latter years:
Seven Males, three Females, and, as here related,
Never were Girls more beautiful created.
Without the prospect of Posterity?
And therefore that in all Job might be bless't
368
For now his Wife, who all this time had stray'd,
And had belike i'th' Country begg'd her Bread,
During her Husbands Misery; at last
Learning by publick Fame, what late had past
In his Affair, had to her former station
Return'd, and liv'd, in sweet association,
With her kind Husband: (for we do not read
That ever Job another Wife did wed)
By the same Wife then, as it here appears,
He had ten Children in his latter years:
Seven Males, three Females, and, as here related,
Never were Girls more beautiful created.
Then were Jobs Daughters, so compleatly fair,
So brisque, so smooth, so sweet, and debonnair,
So amiable, of such comely features,
As both their names, and faces with their natures
Did fully suit: the eldest femima
He nam'd, 'cause of complexion bright, as day.
The second Kezia, which doth signify
One of an odorifick quality,
As sweet as Cassia: the third was knowen
By th'name of Keren-happuch, as to none
So brisque, so smooth, so sweet, and debonnair,
So amiable, of such comely features,
As both their names, and faces with their natures
Did fully suit: the eldest femima
He nam'd, 'cause of complexion bright, as day.
The second Kezia, which doth signify
One of an odorifick quality,
As sweet as Cassia: the third was knowen
By th'name of Keren-happuch, as to none
Inferiour in beauty: these Co-heirs,
With their seven Brethren, as by the Text appears
Were institute, and without all debate,
By equal parts their Fathers great Estate
They did possess, living in unity
Amongst themselves, as if one Family:
Free of Law-Suits, each with their Dividend
Did live content: none of 'em did contend
For th'right of Primogeniture, or claim'd
More then their Father t'each of them had nam'd.
With their seven Brethren, as by the Text appears
Were institute, and without all debate,
By equal parts their Fathers great Estate
They did possess, living in unity
Amongst themselves, as if one Family:
Free of Law-Suits, each with their Dividend
Did live content: none of 'em did contend
For th'right of Primogeniture, or claim'd
More then their Father t'each of them had nam'd.
And now, to crown this good mans Happiness
Full sevenscore years in Honour, Wealth, and Peace,
Job after this did live, and fairly see
His Childrens Children to the fourth Degree.
Full sevenscore years in Honour, Wealth, and Peace,
Job after this did live, and fairly see
His Childrens Children to the fourth Degree.
At length, as all the Race of Mortals must
When Time is spent, return again to Dust:
So Job, whom God with both Estates had try'd,
Old, full of happy days, and blessings dy'd.
When Time is spent, return again to Dust:
So Job, whom God with both Estates had try'd,
Old, full of happy days, and blessings dy'd.
O so let all with Sorrows now oppress't
In thy good Time obtain Eternal Rest:
Let all afflicted trust in thee alone
Great God, besides thee comfort there is none.
Let no man in his Sufferings repine,
For both Lifes-Sorrows, and Delights are thine,
Which to each Mortal, Lord, thou dost dispense
As thou thinks't good; O let Jobs Patience
Be a grand Copy, which, in my sad state,
My anxious Soul may strive to imitate.
That pious thoughts each hour may lenifie
The Paroxisms of my Adversity.
In thy good Time obtain Eternal Rest:
Let all afflicted trust in thee alone
Great God, besides thee comfort there is none.
Let no man in his Sufferings repine,
For both Lifes-Sorrows, and Delights are thine,
Which to each Mortal, Lord, thou dost dispense
As thou thinks't good; O let Jobs Patience
Be a grand Copy, which, in my sad state,
My anxious Soul may strive to imitate.
That pious thoughts each hour may lenifie
The Paroxisms of my Adversity.
FINIS.
| The grand Tryal | |