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. |
| XVI. | Cap. XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| IV. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| V. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
 | The grand Tryal |  |
Cap. 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,
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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,
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To notice such as I appear to be,
Or eye such a poor wretched soul as me.
With mouths wide open they upon me gape
As if they'd me devour, and seem to ape
The Hectors of the Ocean, when they chase
With open mouths before them through the seas
Shoals of small Fishes; and most bitterly
With Tongues, like Scorpions, they continually
Do whip my Soul: they whisper to each other
They go aside, and there consult together
How they may vex me further: they devise
With all their force, and art that in them lies
How to undo me, and bring evidence,
T'invalidat my Plea of Innocence.
As if they'd me devour, and seem to ape
The Hectors of the Ocean, when they chase
With open mouths before them through the seas
Shoals of small Fishes; and most bitterly
With Tongues, like Scorpions, they continually
Do whip my Soul: they whisper to each other
They go aside, and there consult together
How they may vex me further: they devise
With all their force, and art that in them lies
How to undo me, and bring evidence,
T'invalidat my Plea of Innocence.
Now it appears alace that God indeed
Has me rejected, and delivered
Me as a slave into the hands of those
Who are both his, and my declared foes.
Has me rejected, and delivered
Me as a slave into the hands of those
Who are both his, and my declared foes.
I was in Wealth, and Honour, and Esteem,
In great respect, of all who heard my name:
I knew what plentie was, I liv'd at ease;
And no cross-dealings did disturb my peace,
Now I am poor, now I am desolate,
And forfeit both of Honour, and Estate.
Now I am pinch'd, and in great Penury,
Now I am poor, and on the Dung-hill lie,
Like an old useless Jade expos'd to die.
The Wrath of God has shattered me to pieces,
And yet that wrath against me still encreases.
In great respect, of all who heard my name:
I knew what plentie was, I liv'd at ease;
And no cross-dealings did disturb my peace,
Now I am poor, now I am desolate,
And forfeit both of Honour, and Estate.
Now I am pinch'd, and in great Penury,
Now I am poor, and on the Dung-hill lie,
Like an old useless Jade expos'd to die.
The Wrath of God has shattered me to pieces,
And yet that wrath against me still encreases.
As Grim-fac'd Archers, Executioners
Of earthlie justice do themselves disperse
In quest of Malefactors; beat the Woods,
Willowes, and Reeds, that grow among the Floods,
Survey the Mountains, and the Champaign Ground,
And give not over, while their prey be found,
So have Gods Archers compass'd me around.
I'm now their Captive, by those I am led
Whether they list, pinion'd, and fettered.
They spare me not, their fury knows no bounds,
They've made me all a Masse of Blood, and Wounds.
Of earthlie justice do themselves disperse
In quest of Malefactors; beat the Woods,
Willowes, and Reeds, that grow among the Floods,
Survey the Mountains, and the Champaign Ground,
And give not over, while their prey be found,
So have Gods Archers compass'd me around.
I'm now their Captive, by those I am led
Whether they list, pinion'd, and fettered.
They spare me not, their fury knows no bounds,
They've made me all a Masse of Blood, and Wounds.
With heavy stroaks, and blows ingeminat,
I'm broke to pieces: I'm excoriat,
By Furrowing Stripes: such cruel usage sure
Never yet breathing Mortal did endure.
As a fierce Giant, with his monstrous Spear,
Banded, and pointed, beyond ordinar,
With violence, upon his foe doth run,
So by the strength of God I am undone.
I'm broke to pieces: I'm excoriat,
By Furrowing Stripes: such cruel usage sure
Never yet breathing Mortal did endure.
As a fierce Giant, with his monstrous Spear,
Banded, and pointed, beyond ordinar,
With violence, upon his foe doth run,
So by the strength of God I am undone.
For this cause I upon my Skin have sow'd
A doleful Sack-cloath, and my head have bow'd
Low to the ground; for this cause I lament,
For this cause I my cloaths have torn, and rent,
My head have shav'd, and in this sad Estate,
Each minut I my Threnody repeat.
A doleful Sack-cloath, and my head have bow'd
Low to the ground; for this cause I lament,
For this cause I my cloaths have torn, and rent,
My head have shav'd, and in this sad Estate,
120
My face with weeping is all withered,
Death o're my eyes its coverlet hath spread.
The pretty guardians, which did formerly
Protect my wearied eyes from injury,
Now weak, and sore, with watching overspent.
And by uninterrupted weeping faint,
Have quite their stations, and take no more care
Of their poor charge, but now quite uselesse are.
Death o're my eyes its coverlet hath spread.
The pretty guardians, which did formerly
Protect my wearied eyes from injury,
Now weak, and sore, with watching overspent.
And by uninterrupted weeping faint,
Have quite their stations, and take no more care
Of their poor charge, but now quite uselesse are.
O let me once again then but demand
Of my great God, that I may understand
From him what is the cause of all my woe;
Just King of Heavens!—why am I punish'd so.
I am not conscious of such horrid guilt,
As may deserve this: do then, what thou wilt;
Cut me to pieces, let my flesh be thrown
To Dogs for food; my bones dispers'd, and sow'n
Upon the highwayes, that each Passenger,
Who travels on the Road, may, without care,
Trample upon them; yet I still must cry
O my good God, with thy good liberty,
I bear a heart, that doth entirely love
Its great Creator: and each hour doth prove
By fervent prayer, with what alacrity
It doth perform all works of piety;
And is not guilty of hypocrisie.
Of my great God, that I may understand
From him what is the cause of all my woe;
Just King of Heavens!—why am I punish'd so.
I am not conscious of such horrid guilt,
As may deserve this: do then, what thou wilt;
Cut me to pieces, let my flesh be thrown
To Dogs for food; my bones dispers'd, and sow'n
Upon the highwayes, that each Passenger,
Who travels on the Road, may, without care,
Trample upon them; yet I still must cry
O my good God, with thy good liberty,
I bear a heart, that doth entirely love
Its great Creator: and each hour doth prove
By fervent prayer, with what alacrity
It doth perform all works of piety;
And is not guilty of hypocrisie.
O Earth! to Mortals common Source, and Grave!
Who kindly dost all breathlesss dust receive,
If I be such, as men would have me be,
Let my foul blood no shelter find from thee,
But let my Corps expos'd upon the place,
Be to Spectators shown with open face,
That, if I dy so great a Criminal,
As men would have me, I may by all
Voted unworthy of a burial.
Who kindly dost all breathlesss dust receive,
If I be such, as men would have me be,
Let my foul blood no shelter find from thee,
But let my Corps expos'd upon the place,
Be to Spectators shown with open face,
That, if I dy so great a Criminal,
As men would have me, I may by all
Voted unworthy of a burial.
Why be it so then, let me be condemn'd
By man on Earth, let me be thus esteem'd
A lying Rogue, a Hypocrite, a Cheat,
Of Principles false, and adulterat;
Yet the great Judge o'th' World doth know my cause,
And well I hope by tryal of his Laws,
To be acquit, my witnesse is on high,
My Records in the Heavens securely ly:
By those, one day, I hope to make appear,
How from those Crimes I'm innocent, and clear.
By man on Earth, let me be thus esteem'd
A lying Rogue, a Hypocrite, a Cheat,
Of Principles false, and adulterat;
Yet the great Judge o'th' World doth know my cause,
And well I hope by tryal of his Laws,
To be acquit, my witnesse is on high,
My Records in the Heavens securely ly:
By those, one day, I hope to make appear,
How from those Crimes I'm innocent, and clear.
Then to my unkind friends, who on pretence
Of consolation, vent their eloquence,
Against the most unpitied of men,
Accusing me (poor wretch) once, and again,
Present I shall no other answer make,
Then that my God I hope at length will speak,
And from his mouth resolve undoubtedly,
Which of us have most erred, they, or I:
Whilst I my self no other way defend,
But by those tears, which from my eyes descend,
By which to God my cause I recommend.
Of consolation, vent their eloquence,
Against the most unpitied of men,
Accusing me (poor wretch) once, and again,
Present I shall no other answer make,
Then that my God I hope at length will speak,
And from his mouth resolve undoubtedly,
Which of us have most erred, they, or I:
Whilst I my self no other way defend,
But by those tears, which from my eyes descend,
By which to God my cause I recommend.
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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.
| The grand Tryal | |