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. |
| XII. |
| XIII. | Cap. 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. 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,
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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,
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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
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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,
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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
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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
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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.
| The grand Tryal | |