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. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| III. | PART. 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 |  |
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,
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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.
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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,
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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
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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.
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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,
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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.
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'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,
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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,
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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?
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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,
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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,
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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
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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
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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.
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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
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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
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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.
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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
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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
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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,
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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.
| The grand Tryal | |