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 |
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| I. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| II. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. | Cap. XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| III. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| IV. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| V. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
 | The grand Tryal |  |
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,
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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.
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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,
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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,
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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,
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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.
| The grand Tryal | |