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. |
| XVII. | Cap. 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. XVII.
My Lungs are wasted, and I find my breath
Is corrupt, and has now the scent of Death.
The current of my Life is now run out,
And, when on all hands I do look about,
I find there's no way how I can escape
The Grave, for every spot of Earth doth gape
For this poor Carrion; and I wish it were
Fairly interr'd, and not i'th' open air
Expos'd, to be the Food, and daily Fare,
Of Beasts, and Birds of prey.—
Is corrupt, and has now the scent of Death.
The current of my Life is now run out,
And, when on all hands I do look about,
I find there's no way how I can escape
The Grave, for every spot of Earth doth gape
For this poor Carrion; and I wish it were
Fairly interr'd, and not i'th' open air
Expos'd, to be the Food, and daily Fare,
Of Beasts, and Birds of prey.—
I drop into the Grave,—I breath with pain,
And nothing of a man doth now remain,
But some small reason, and a voice, that's shrunk
Into the accent of a hollow Trunk.
Yet in this sad condition fain would I
Expect the good hour, wherein I must dye.
I'd fain resign my breath, and trindle hence,
With satisfaction, that my innocence,
Though question'd here, is to my Maker known,
And I must make account to him alone.
Fain would I in the Grave ly down, and rest
My wearied Bones: where I might find at least
After so many pains, and sorrows, ease,
But these men will not let me dy in peace.
For, stead of comfort, in this exigent,
With bitter words, they do my Soul torment.
Were any of those men now in my case,
How would they take it pray? if in their face,
While they were dying, one should them upbraid,
And call them Hypocrites?—I am afraid
For all their fair pretended patience,
Were they but conscious of their innocence,
And in such sad distress, as I am now,
Their warm Religion, and their Morals too,
In such a case, would have enough ado.
To curb just Indignation, which, no doubt,
As well, as mine, would suddainly burst out.
Sure they'd complain, and tax th'Upbraiders too
Of Barbarous, unkind Usage, as I now
Do them for their harsh dealing thus with one,
Whose Innocence even to themselves is known.
For no so Sauvage Nation ever yet
Allowed that dying men at such a rate
Should be insulted, but most courteouslie
Have still indulg'd to such the Libertie
To use their own Devotions, and die,
Yet this to me my unkind Friends deny.
And nothing of a man doth now remain,
But some small reason, and a voice, that's shrunk
Into the accent of a hollow Trunk.
Yet in this sad condition fain would I
Expect the good hour, wherein I must dye.
I'd fain resign my breath, and trindle hence,
With satisfaction, that my innocence,
Though question'd here, is to my Maker known,
And I must make account to him alone.
Fain would I in the Grave ly down, and rest
My wearied Bones: where I might find at least
After so many pains, and sorrows, ease,
But these men will not let me dy in peace.
For, stead of comfort, in this exigent,
122
Were any of those men now in my case,
How would they take it pray? if in their face,
While they were dying, one should them upbraid,
And call them Hypocrites?—I am afraid
For all their fair pretended patience,
Were they but conscious of their innocence,
And in such sad distress, as I am now,
Their warm Religion, and their Morals too,
In such a case, would have enough ado.
To curb just Indignation, which, no doubt,
As well, as mine, would suddainly burst out.
Sure they'd complain, and tax th'Upbraiders too
Of Barbarous, unkind Usage, as I now
Do them for their harsh dealing thus with one,
Whose Innocence even to themselves is known.
For no so Sauvage Nation ever yet
Allowed that dying men at such a rate
Should be insulted, but most courteouslie
Have still indulg'd to such the Libertie
To use their own Devotions, and die,
Yet this to me my unkind Friends deny.
Since things are so, with these I'le no more speak,
But to th'Almighty I'le my speech direct,
I must a little with my God debate,
With my Good God I must the question state:
For I perceive, (let me say what I can)
My case cannot be understood by man.
I will debate with God then. Say, Good Lord,
Wilt thou to me this liberty afford?
Wilt thou with me join issue in the case?
And let us argue frreely, face to face,
As one doth with another here below,
And plead th'affair in open Court, if so,
Be pleas'd to put in surety for that end:
Now who'll bail God, as one would do his Friend?
But to th'Almighty I'le my speech direct,
I must a little with my God debate,
With my Good God I must the question state:
For I perceive, (let me say what I can)
My case cannot be understood by man.
I will debate with God then. Say, Good Lord,
Wilt thou to me this liberty afford?
Wilt thou with me join issue in the case?
And let us argue frreely, face to face,
As one doth with another here below,
And plead th'affair in open Court, if so,
Be pleas'd to put in surety for that end:
Now who'll bail God, as one would do his Friend?
Go to then,—since I must debate my case
With God, who understands it, not with these,
Who neither understands it, nor will be,
(By all that I can speak) inform'd by me.
First then, my God (let these say what they will)
I lay it as a solid Principle,
That, though when sins of wicked men do cry
To Heavens for justice, on whom by, and by
Thou send'st thy numerous Plagues in troops abroad,
And put'st those wretches under thy blackrod:
Yet those are not the only men, whom thou
Appoint't'st for sorrow, but to just men too
Sad tokens are of thy displeasure sent,
By way of Trial, not of Punishment.
For I denie not but Afflictions are
The just rewards of sin, nor will I dare
T'aver the contrair: Yet, O Lord, I know
Oft times thou dost afflict thy own, that so
Thou mayst by humbling of 'em, let them see
How much all Mankind should depend on thee,
Who all things hast created, and can'st send
Judgments, or Mercies, where thou dost intend.
And yet, when thou dost Good Men persecute,
Thou dost not mark them, as (without dispute)
Men who deserv'd such usage at thy hand;
No certainly, for none who understand
The method, which thy Divine Providence
Doth use with men, and what's the difference
Betwixt a Trial, and a Punishment,
Will make up such an unkind Argument,
As these out of my sad afflictions do;
But notwithstanding all my plagues, allow
I am not yet so guilty, as those men
By very Strength of Rhetorick, would fain
Perswade me to believe: whilst they assert
As a firm Axiom, and by rules of art
Argue it boldly,—that no man can be
Afflicted by the hand of God, but he
Whose sins are horrid, and abominable:
A strange opinion! an intolerable,
And impudent assertion, such as none,
Who have regard to their own Souls would own.
With God, who understands it, not with these,
Who neither understands it, nor will be,
(By all that I can speak) inform'd by me.
First then, my God (let these say what they will)
I lay it as a solid Principle,
That, though when sins of wicked men do cry
To Heavens for justice, on whom by, and by
Thou send'st thy numerous Plagues in troops abroad,
And put'st those wretches under thy blackrod:
Yet those are not the only men, whom thou
Appoint't'st for sorrow, but to just men too
Sad tokens are of thy displeasure sent,
By way of Trial, not of Punishment.
For I denie not but Afflictions are
The just rewards of sin, nor will I dare
T'aver the contrair: Yet, O Lord, I know
Oft times thou dost afflict thy own, that so
123
How much all Mankind should depend on thee,
Who all things hast created, and can'st send
Judgments, or Mercies, where thou dost intend.
And yet, when thou dost Good Men persecute,
Thou dost not mark them, as (without dispute)
Men who deserv'd such usage at thy hand;
No certainly, for none who understand
The method, which thy Divine Providence
Doth use with men, and what's the difference
Betwixt a Trial, and a Punishment,
Will make up such an unkind Argument,
As these out of my sad afflictions do;
But notwithstanding all my plagues, allow
I am not yet so guilty, as those men
By very Strength of Rhetorick, would fain
Perswade me to believe: whilst they assert
As a firm Axiom, and by rules of art
Argue it boldly,—that no man can be
Afflicted by the hand of God, but he
Whose sins are horrid, and abominable:
A strange opinion! an intolerable,
And impudent assertion, such as none,
Who have regard to their own Souls would own.
What!—thus to circumscribe th'Almighty God!
As if he should not use his angry rod
On any but his open enimies,
In meer revenge, and not his own chastise,
To keep them in their duty:—this indeed
Is Doctrine no way to be suffered.
Poor inconsiderat Fools! they'l not allow
That priviledge to God, which Mortals do
Freely enjoy, without impediment,
For, should one now retort their argument
Upon themselves, and seriously check
Those knowing persons, when they do correct,
With loving stripes, those of their Family,
Whom they do most esteem: then by, and by
They'd tell us what they do is not revenge,
Hatred, or Wrath, but Love: and yet 'tis strange
They should assert that God afflicteth none
But those he hates—
Thus I perceive then, Lord, th'hast hid from these
The true, and genuine meaning of my case.
As if he should not use his angry rod
On any but his open enimies,
In meer revenge, and not his own chastise,
To keep them in their duty:—this indeed
Is Doctrine no way to be suffered.
Poor inconsiderat Fools! they'l not allow
That priviledge to God, which Mortals do
Freely enjoy, without impediment,
For, should one now retort their argument
Upon themselves, and seriously check
Those knowing persons, when they do correct,
With loving stripes, those of their Family,
Whom they do most esteem: then by, and by
They'd tell us what they do is not revenge,
Hatred, or Wrath, but Love: and yet 'tis strange
They should assert that God afflicteth none
But those he hates—
Thus I perceive then, Lord, th'hast hid from these
The true, and genuine meaning of my case.
But, Lord: I know all comes alike to all,
And thou, in Wisdom, lets thy Judgments fall
On just, and sinful men promiscuously,
And wilt not show the world a reason why
Thou thus dost act: that so both good, and bad
May know thy Mighty Hand, and be afraid
T'incur the hazard of thy hot displeasure,
When thou demonstrates to 'em, with what measure,
Thou fadom'st all mens actions: for, as thou,
Where wrath is merited, wilt not allow
The party punish'd should plead innocent,
And say thou'rt cruel in his punishment,
So, when thou sendst afflictons on the just,
And godly men, who in thy mercy trust,
Thou'lt not permit that any should conclude,
From thence, that such men must be understood
Guilty of all, that's evil: for, if so
The blessed Saints in Heaven might undergo
The censure of the most ungodly men
That ever liv'd on Earth; since it is plain,
None ever such afflictions endur'd,
As those, and yet to say their sins procur'd
All that they suffered, and that all they felt,
Whilst in the land of misery they dwelt.
Was but the product of their faults: and that
Their judgements hardly were proportionat
To their foul Crimes, were inallowable,
Since thou, O Lord, hast made them capable
Of thy eternal favour. Nay this were
To prove Religion were no more but Air,
That none were pious, that no man did call
Upon Gods Name aright, no—none at all:
But that all those goodly Inhabitants
Of Heaven known to us by the name of Saints
Were the meer dregs o'th' World.—
Since in this Earth, they knew no other state
Of life, then what we do commiserat,
Even though deserv'd in any, whom we see
In sad affliction, (though none pity me.)
And thou, in Wisdom, lets thy Judgments fall
On just, and sinful men promiscuously,
And wilt not show the world a reason why
Thou thus dost act: that so both good, and bad
May know thy Mighty Hand, and be afraid
T'incur the hazard of thy hot displeasure,
When thou demonstrates to 'em, with what measure,
Thou fadom'st all mens actions: for, as thou,
Where wrath is merited, wilt not allow
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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.
125
These are my principles, good Lord, from whence,
(With thy good leave) I would by consequence
Infer that I'm unjustly tax't by these,
Who call themselves my friends: who proudly raise
Themselves against me, and do argue still,
My numerous sins alone (say what I will)
Have brought upon me all that I endure,
And therefore hold me guilty. and impure.
(With thy good leave) I would by consequence
Infer that I'm unjustly tax't by these,
Who call themselves my friends: who proudly raise
Themselves against me, and do argue still,
My numerous sins alone (say what I will)
Have brought upon me all that I endure,
And therefore hold me guilty. and impure.
Thou, seest then, Lord, how these my case mistake,
Then why should they themselves my Judges make?
Who in their Censures are so partial,
And to their own opinions wedded all,
Me thinks themselves they rather should decline,
Then, by joynt council, cunningly combine,
Under pretence of friendship to encrease
My troubles, by such arguments, as these.
Should they be Judges? they who openly
Do value men by their prosperity:
And look on those, who in afflictions waves
Do swim with pain, as men do look on slaves
Coupled in chains.—
Such flattery our God will not permit
To go unpunish'd, but when he thinks fit,
Upon those flatterers he'll such judgements send,
As in a few dayes space may make an end,
Not only of their persons, but of all,
What these proud fools a memory do call.
Shall all their worldly pageantry deface,
And, in his anger, root out all their Race.
Then why should they themselves my Judges make?
Who in their Censures are so partial,
And to their own opinions wedded all,
Me thinks themselves they rather should decline,
Then, by joynt council, cunningly combine,
Under pretence of friendship to encrease
My troubles, by such arguments, as these.
Should they be Judges? they who openly
Do value men by their prosperity:
And look on those, who in afflictions waves
Do swim with pain, as men do look on slaves
Coupled in chains.—
Such flattery our God will not permit
To go unpunish'd, but when he thinks fit,
Upon those flatterers he'll such judgements send,
As in a few dayes space may make an end,
Not only of their persons, but of all,
What these proud fools a memory do call.
Shall all their worldly pageantry deface,
And, in his anger, root out all their Race.
Now I remember, whilst my sun did shine
In its full Orb, and all things did combine
To make me happy, as a man might be
In this vain world, then would I daily see
My friends, in crouds, within my walls appear
Protesting nothing to them was so dear,
As was my interest, and with cast-up-eyes,
Perswading me that they would sacrifice
Their Means, their Lives, and should occasion call,
To do me service, they would venture all
That men call dear:—I'm become poor of late,
By th'hand of God, I'm become desolat,
With sorrows, on all hands, environed,
And all my noon-tide friends are vanished.
My life is chang'd, and all my friends are gone.
And, in distresse I'm visited by none,
But three, whose visits, I may say have been
The worst affliction I have ever seen.
(For truly I esteem those Visitants
No Comforters, but subtile Disputants)
Men, who retain no pity in their hearts,
But would on this occasion, show their parts
On me, in this deplorable estate,
Not meaning to condole, but to debate.
Would they had spar'd their unkind kindnesse too
And left me here as well as others do,
Then had I been more easy, than I'm now.
For all my other friends, those Parasites,
Those Cuckows of my life, those Hypocrites,
That gull the World with a fair pretence
Of Love, and Friendship are all marched hence.
Nay would their venimous malice rested there.
And, as they've quit me, so they would forbear
The mention of my name; and when they meet
At their Festivals, would they would forget
That ever such a thing was born, as I am,
Would that some other Subject might supply 'm
With new Discourse, and I had Liberty
At least, in dark oblivion here to die.
In its full Orb, and all things did combine
To make me happy, as a man might be
In this vain world, then would I daily see
My friends, in crouds, within my walls appear
Protesting nothing to them was so dear,
As was my interest, and with cast-up-eyes,
Perswading me that they would sacrifice
Their Means, their Lives, and should occasion call,
To do me service, they would venture all
That men call dear:—I'm become poor of late,
By th'hand of God, I'm become desolat,
With sorrows, on all hands, environed,
And all my noon-tide friends are vanished.
My life is chang'd, and all my friends are gone.
And, in distresse I'm visited by none,
But three, whose visits, I may say have been
The worst affliction I have ever seen.
(For truly I esteem those Visitants
No Comforters, but subtile Disputants)
Men, who retain no pity in their hearts,
But would on this occasion, show their parts
On me, in this deplorable estate,
Not meaning to condole, but to debate.
126
And left me here as well as others do,
Then had I been more easy, than I'm now.
For all my other friends, those Parasites,
Those Cuckows of my life, those Hypocrites,
That gull the World with a fair pretence
Of Love, and Friendship are all marched hence.
Nay would their venimous malice rested there.
And, as they've quit me, so they would forbear
The mention of my name; and when they meet
At their Festivals, would they would forget
That ever such a thing was born, as I am,
Would that some other Subject might supply 'm
With new Discourse, and I had Liberty
At least, in dark oblivion here to die.
But O I'm now become the Table-talk
Of all my friends, nay all men, when they walk
In Streets, or Fields, of my afflictions prate,
And speak, with pleasure, of my sad estate.
I'm now the rabbles talk at Wakes and Faires,
My present sorrows sounding in their Ears,
Like a melodious Consort, and (God knows)
Hearing of my calamities, and Woes,
Those Clowns are no less pleas'd, than when they hear
The noise of Tabret, Fife, or Dulcimer.
Nay so my foes have now their malice spread,
As those, who never knew me, never had
Acquaintance of me, when they hear my name
So much bespattered by a foul-mouth'd fame,
Admire what curs'd, and wicked thing I am.
Of all my friends, nay all men, when they walk
In Streets, or Fields, of my afflictions prate,
And speak, with pleasure, of my sad estate.
I'm now the rabbles talk at Wakes and Faires,
My present sorrows sounding in their Ears,
Like a melodious Consort, and (God knows)
Hearing of my calamities, and Woes,
Those Clowns are no less pleas'd, than when they hear
The noise of Tabret, Fife, or Dulcimer.
Nay so my foes have now their malice spread,
As those, who never knew me, never had
Acquaintance of me, when they hear my name
So much bespattered by a foul-mouth'd fame,
Admire what curs'd, and wicked thing I am.
My eyes with weeping for this cause, are dim,
(My heart, with springs of grief swoln to the brim
Both Day, and Night affording new supplies
Of brinish liquors) for, as water rise,
By force of Pump: so from my bursting heart
By force of Sighs, without all help of art
Fresh Streams are suck'd up hourlie, issuing out
Through either eye, as through a Water-spout.
By this uninterrupting Flux, at length
With sorrows I perceive my former Strength
Is quite exhausted, and I now appear
Like a meer shadow, or a Damp of air.
(My heart, with springs of grief swoln to the brim
Both Day, and Night affording new supplies
Of brinish liquors) for, as water rise,
By force of Pump: so from my bursting heart
By force of Sighs, without all help of art
Fresh Streams are suck'd up hourlie, issuing out
Through either eye, as through a Water-spout.
By this uninterrupting Flux, at length
With sorrows I perceive my former Strength
Is quite exhausted, and I now appear
Like a meer shadow, or a Damp of air.
This, at first view, may all good men surprize,
To see a man plung'd in such miseries,
A man, who thinks at least God doth not hate
His Person, nor doth so excruciat
Him, as a Malefactor, though he knows
That all his sorrows, all his pains, and woes
Are but his Merits: these my sufferings
May possibly occasion murmurings
Amongst the best of men, when they perceive
My sad condition (which though some believe
To be the product of my sins, yet these
Know better things) and viewing of my case,
Upon their own Deportment, do reflect,
And, with themselves think what they may expect,
When such as I, who hopes all don't maintain,
That in Gods sight I am the worst of men,
Am so unkindlie us'd, but when they check
Their errors, and begin to recollect
Their minds, and fall to solid Contemplations,
Of the true Order of Gods Dispensations,
Then do they understand that God doth try
His own by so exact a scrutiny,
And, with such Judgments doth their lives infest,
As puts their patience to the utmost test:
Yet still he loves them, and will not permit
The Floods to rise higher than he thinks fit,
Because good men, men just and innocent
Do at his hands deserve no punishment.
But for the couz'ning Hypocrite, sad wrath
Shall rain upon him; he shall wish for Death,
But shall not find it, and his miseries
Shall be augmented by his unheard cries.
Because God knows those men the World do cheat
With a fair show of zeal, and shreudly treat
The just, and upright, whilst they would maintain
They were themselves the only pious men.
Then good men their afflictions shall forget,
When they see me, whom God doth truly hate,
So justly punish'd, men, who have provok't
By Villany, Fraud, and Oppression cloak't
With piety, one, that will not be mock't.
To see a man plung'd in such miseries,
A man, who thinks at least God doth not hate
His Person, nor doth so excruciat
Him, as a Malefactor, though he knows
That all his sorrows, all his pains, and woes
Are but his Merits: these my sufferings
May possibly occasion murmurings
Amongst the best of men, when they perceive
My sad condition (which though some believe
To be the product of my sins, yet these
Know better things) and viewing of my case,
127
And, with themselves think what they may expect,
When such as I, who hopes all don't maintain,
That in Gods sight I am the worst of men,
Am so unkindlie us'd, but when they check
Their errors, and begin to recollect
Their minds, and fall to solid Contemplations,
Of the true Order of Gods Dispensations,
Then do they understand that God doth try
His own by so exact a scrutiny,
And, with such Judgments doth their lives infest,
As puts their patience to the utmost test:
Yet still he loves them, and will not permit
The Floods to rise higher than he thinks fit,
Because good men, men just and innocent
Do at his hands deserve no punishment.
But for the couz'ning Hypocrite, sad wrath
Shall rain upon him; he shall wish for Death,
But shall not find it, and his miseries
Shall be augmented by his unheard cries.
Because God knows those men the World do cheat
With a fair show of zeal, and shreudly treat
The just, and upright, whilst they would maintain
They were themselves the only pious men.
Then good men their afflictions shall forget,
When they see me, whom God doth truly hate,
So justly punish'd, men, who have provok't
By Villany, Fraud, and Oppression cloak't
With piety, one, that will not be mock't.
Then shall the righteous men new Spirits take
When they consider how God doth correct
The good, but utterly destroys the bad,
And makes their case irreparably sad.
Then though in dreadful misery, and pain,
Yet shall they no more of their God complain,
Then will a Patient, who doth understand
His good Phisician will not set his hand
To any Order, or, for any bribe,
Be hired by his En'mies to prescribe
Such Medicines to him, but what he knows,
(At least he doth, by rules of art, suppose)
Are for his Health: so those Religious Men
In the most boiling Calenture of pain,
Shall not repine, but, with great constancy
Endure all the assaults of misery,
And still hold bravely out, untill at length,
God shall relieve them, and renew their strength.
When they consider how God doth correct
The good, but utterly destroys the bad,
And makes their case irreparably sad.
Then though in dreadful misery, and pain,
Yet shall they no more of their God complain,
Then will a Patient, who doth understand
His good Phisician will not set his hand
To any Order, or, for any bribe,
Be hired by his En'mies to prescribe
Such Medicines to him, but what he knows,
(At least he doth, by rules of art, suppose)
Are for his Health: so those Religious Men
In the most boiling Calenture of pain,
Shall not repine, but, with great constancy
Endure all the assaults of misery,
And still hold bravely out, untill at length,
God shall relieve them, and renew their strength.
And now, my friends, though I design'd no more
To argue with you, as I did before.
Yet on this subject I cannot forbear
But once again must in all calmness here
Complain of you, who so mistake my case,
And, 'cause afflicted, tell me in my face,
I'm a curs'd Person, a vile Reprobat,
One, whom his Maker doth abhor, and hate:
When you your selves, for shame will not deny,
But that th'Almighty, when he means to try
The faith of those he loves, will exercise
Such with unheard of woes, and miseries;
That when such fiery tryal they endure
With patience, they may become more pure
Then formerly, and (as your selves aver)
After such sufferings, in Gods sight appear
More just, and righteous, then they were before,
Like Gold refin'd in Furnace o're, and o're.
To argue with you, as I did before.
Yet on this subject I cannot forbear
But once again must in all calmness here
Complain of you, who so mistake my case,
And, 'cause afflicted, tell me in my face,
I'm a curs'd Person, a vile Reprobat,
128
When you your selves, for shame will not deny,
But that th'Almighty, when he means to try
The faith of those he loves, will exercise
Such with unheard of woes, and miseries;
That when such fiery tryal they endure
With patience, they may become more pure
Then formerly, and (as your selves aver)
After such sufferings, in Gods sight appear
More just, and righteous, then they were before,
Like Gold refin'd in Furnace o're, and o're.
But, since you've taken up an argument,
To prove that no man can be innocent.
Who is afflicted, but that only those,
Whose sins do cry for judgements suffer woes:
You do resolve, although your reasons were
Ill founded, and of no more weight then air,
Yet still your reputation to maintain,
By a continued reasoning, and vain
Expressing of your Parts, albeit you know
You are i'th' wrong, yet you will have it so;
Because you are wisemen, and cannot err,
Whereas, my friends, by what doth yet appear,
(I know not what you wit, and prudence call)
But, truth, I find none wise amongst you all.
To prove that no man can be innocent.
Who is afflicted, but that only those,
Whose sins do cry for judgements suffer woes:
You do resolve, although your reasons were
Ill founded, and of no more weight then air,
Yet still your reputation to maintain,
By a continued reasoning, and vain
Expressing of your Parts, albeit you know
You are i'th' wrong, yet you will have it so;
Because you are wisemen, and cannot err,
Whereas, my friends, by what doth yet appear,
(I know not what you wit, and prudence call)
But, truth, I find none wise amongst you all.
But O I will no more expostulat
With men, who love to entertain debate,
On every triffle, and in foolish pride,
Think they know more, than all mankind beside.
No—such men are too wise for me, and I
Now am not for debates:—I dy,—I dy,
My days are spent, all my designs are quash'd,
My poor endeavours are to pieces dash'd.
With men, who love to entertain debate,
On every triffle, and in foolish pride,
Think they know more, than all mankind beside.
No—such men are too wise for me, and I
Now am not for debates:—I dy,—I dy,
My days are spent, all my designs are quash'd,
My poor endeavours are to pieces dash'd.
My thoughts are now so with afflictions clouded,
My judgement with the vail of woes so shrowded,
As now my sad confusion I see,
When things most clear are dubious to me.
Then why should I my time in arguing wast?
My small time, that remains? my days are past,
Then why should I desire to live, when those,
From whom, in this sad state, I did suppose
I might find comfort, by their tart discourse,
Have rendred my condition ten times worse,
Then when they found me:—O had not these men
Come hither, sure I had been out of pain,
Before this time, for, in my solitude,
I had been stiffled by the multitude
Of wasting sighs, and groans:—sure I had dy'd,
And been so happy too, as none had spy'd
My face, when dying, none had interpos'd
Themselves 'twixt me, and death, no hand had clos'd
My glaring eyes: none had officiously
Impeded me, when I design'd to dy.
But in some silent hour, unseen, unknown,
Unheard, uninterrupted, all alone,
As one, that falls asleep I had expir'd,
And gently from the Worlds view retir'd.
—How sweetly had I dy'd, how quietly
Had I been shiffled in eternity,
Betwixt the utmost gasp of parting breath,
And the chill blowing of approaching death.
My wearied soul, ere now, from whence it came,
In the vehicle of a pleasant dream,
Had been transported: and my Body laid
In the cold Ground had its last tribute pay'd.
My judgement with the vail of woes so shrowded,
As now my sad confusion I see,
When things most clear are dubious to me.
Then why should I my time in arguing wast?
My small time, that remains? my days are past,
Then why should I desire to live, when those,
From whom, in this sad state, I did suppose
I might find comfort, by their tart discourse,
Have rendred my condition ten times worse,
Then when they found me:—O had not these men
Come hither, sure I had been out of pain,
Before this time, for, in my solitude,
I had been stiffled by the multitude
Of wasting sighs, and groans:—sure I had dy'd,
And been so happy too, as none had spy'd
My face, when dying, none had interpos'd
Themselves 'twixt me, and death, no hand had clos'd
My glaring eyes: none had officiously
Impeded me, when I design'd to dy.
But in some silent hour, unseen, unknown,
129
As one, that falls asleep I had expir'd,
And gently from the Worlds view retir'd.
—How sweetly had I dy'd, how quietly
Had I been shiffled in eternity,
Betwixt the utmost gasp of parting breath,
And the chill blowing of approaching death.
My wearied soul, ere now, from whence it came,
In the vehicle of a pleasant dream,
Had been transported: and my Body laid
In the cold Ground had its last tribute pay'd.
For, though I with some reason hope, that I
May see my sun return before I dy.
And though I fancy to my self that yet,
The time may come, in which I may forget
All these afflictions, which I now sustain,
And no more of consuming want complain.
The time may come, in which my Body may
In its own sphere its former strength display;
And this poor soul, which now with heavy groans,
And floods of tears, its miseries bemoans,
May from the Dung-hill yet be elevate,
And so restored to its former state.
May see my sun return before I dy.
And though I fancy to my self that yet,
The time may come, in which I may forget
All these afflictions, which I now sustain,
And no more of consuming want complain.
The time may come, in which my Body may
In its own sphere its former strength display;
And this poor soul, which now with heavy groans,
And floods of tears, its miseries bemoans,
May from the Dung-hill yet be elevate,
And so restored to its former state.
Yet to what purpose all these hopes! alace
To what end serve those fair appearances!
Those aery expectations, which uphold
The drooping spirits, of both young, and old.
Those pleasing notions, by which we deceive
Our lingring hours, and make our selves believe
We may, when vapours of the night are gone,
Yet view our sun in its full horizon.
That smiling prospect of our future blisse,
Which for some time, allays our grievances.
That painted idol, in whose downy lap,
Our wearied sorrows sometime take a nap:
For what do all those serve, when after all,
Death at our doors doth peremptorly call,
—To Grave,—to Grave—make haste.—my hour draws on,
Dispatch—dispatch—up—I most wait on none,
Bestir your selves,—'tis high time to be gone.
To what end serve those fair appearances!
Those aery expectations, which uphold
The drooping spirits, of both young, and old.
Those pleasing notions, by which we deceive
Our lingring hours, and make our selves believe
We may, when vapours of the night are gone,
Yet view our sun in its full horizon.
That smiling prospect of our future blisse,
Which for some time, allays our grievances.
That painted idol, in whose downy lap,
Our wearied sorrows sometime take a nap:
For what do all those serve, when after all,
Death at our doors doth peremptorly call,
—To Grave,—to Grave—make haste.—my hour draws on,
Dispatch—dispatch—up—I most wait on none,
Bestir your selves,—'tis high time to be gone.
Then where are all our hopes! where all our joys,
And pleasures which did here make so much noise!
When that sad Summons in our ears doth sound,
Ah where is then our Life-guard to be found?
Those Champions of the World! I doubt they are,
By that time bravely vanish'd into Air.
And pleasures which did here make so much noise!
When that sad Summons in our ears doth sound,
Ah where is then our Life-guard to be found?
Those Champions of the World! I doubt they are,
By that time bravely vanish'd into Air.
Away all foolish hopes, then, for I know,
I know this Body to the Grave must go,
And after all those mournful passages,
I know the Grave must be my dwelling place.
Where in close darknesse, and long night I must
Attend, until my Soul return in Dust.
I know this Body to the Grave must go,
And after all those mournful passages,
I know the Grave must be my dwelling place.
Where in close darknesse, and long night I must
Attend, until my Soul return in Dust.
And when I there have fix'd my habitation,
I shall take pleasure in the contemplation
Of that dark subterraneous Soil, and strive
To learn more there, than when I was alive
On earth: there I shall quicklie know what all
Which here we honour, Riches, Beauty call,
Strength, Learning, Judgment, Worldlie Policy,
With all the Product of Mortality,
Do in those dismal Regions signify.
There, there I fear I soon shall learn to know
There is no difference betwixt High, and Low:
Betwixt the Rich, and Poor, the Strong, and Weak,
But there all of 'em the same figure make.
I shall perceive that all those qualities,
Which we esteem in life, afford no price
Amongst th'inhabitants of these Provinces,
Who barter nothing, but for Species
Of simple bodies void of cost, or art
Do only trade, and, in return, impart
Dire Putrifaction, pestilentious Vapours,
Thick, rotten air, that would extinguish Tapers,
Black Sculls, dry Bones, with Matter purulent,
O goodly Trade!—O Wares most excellent!
Yet these are th'only Product of the Grave,
These, these are all, which, in return we have
For bodies of the goodliest Form, and Shape,
For stately Bodies, which no art can ape.
How many healthful bodies, in their prime,
Are hurried hourly hence, by pruning time,
To Deaths Plantations: where that of a King,
And that of a poor Clown is all one thing.
That in its youth, and that with age consum'd,
That wrapp'd up in its rags, and that perfum'd
With Aromatick Odours. Nay, although
To coasts of grave those latter will not go,
But elsewhere trade, and brag much of their gain,
How free from Putrifaction they remain
By trading to deep Caverns, under ground,
Where putrifying moisture is not found:
Where by the help of Powders, Spices, Oyles,
With other rich Ingredients (the Spoiles
Of some fair Provinces) they do endeavour,
To keep their figure under ground, for ever,
Yet at long run, their trading doth amount
To the same Profit, to the same account,
As do all others: for, in sober sense,
I can indeed perceive no difference,
Betwixt a Body, that enbalm'd doth ly,
In a Lead Coffin, wrapp'd up decently,
In costly Wax-cloathes, Bowell'd, and perfum'd,
And that, which with a tabid ill consum'd,
Putrid, and withered under ground doth rest
In a poor Wooden Coffin: for, at best,
Both are but food for Vermine: only this,
(As those, who live in open Villages,
Are by th'Invaders sooner over-run,
Brought in Subjection, plundred, and undone
Than those in Garisons) doth sooner feed
Those hungry insects, than that wrapp'd in Lead.
But even that too to wasting time, at length
Is forc'd to yeeld, for all its formal Strength,
And the poor Carion which it self did trust
To those firm Walls becomes at length all Dust.
As well as that, which in the open Grave
Was sooner eat up: seing all things have
Their own duration, and their period
Set by th'appointment of th'Almighty God.
I shall take pleasure in the contemplation
130
To learn more there, than when I was alive
On earth: there I shall quicklie know what all
Which here we honour, Riches, Beauty call,
Strength, Learning, Judgment, Worldlie Policy,
With all the Product of Mortality,
Do in those dismal Regions signify.
There, there I fear I soon shall learn to know
There is no difference betwixt High, and Low:
Betwixt the Rich, and Poor, the Strong, and Weak,
But there all of 'em the same figure make.
I shall perceive that all those qualities,
Which we esteem in life, afford no price
Amongst th'inhabitants of these Provinces,
Who barter nothing, but for Species
Of simple bodies void of cost, or art
Do only trade, and, in return, impart
Dire Putrifaction, pestilentious Vapours,
Thick, rotten air, that would extinguish Tapers,
Black Sculls, dry Bones, with Matter purulent,
O goodly Trade!—O Wares most excellent!
Yet these are th'only Product of the Grave,
These, these are all, which, in return we have
For bodies of the goodliest Form, and Shape,
For stately Bodies, which no art can ape.
How many healthful bodies, in their prime,
Are hurried hourly hence, by pruning time,
To Deaths Plantations: where that of a King,
And that of a poor Clown is all one thing.
That in its youth, and that with age consum'd,
That wrapp'd up in its rags, and that perfum'd
With Aromatick Odours. Nay, although
To coasts of grave those latter will not go,
But elsewhere trade, and brag much of their gain,
How free from Putrifaction they remain
By trading to deep Caverns, under ground,
Where putrifying moisture is not found:
Where by the help of Powders, Spices, Oyles,
With other rich Ingredients (the Spoiles
Of some fair Provinces) they do endeavour,
To keep their figure under ground, for ever,
Yet at long run, their trading doth amount
To the same Profit, to the same account,
As do all others: for, in sober sense,
I can indeed perceive no difference,
Betwixt a Body, that enbalm'd doth ly,
In a Lead Coffin, wrapp'd up decently,
In costly Wax-cloathes, Bowell'd, and perfum'd,
And that, which with a tabid ill consum'd,
Putrid, and withered under ground doth rest
In a poor Wooden Coffin: for, at best,
Both are but food for Vermine: only this,
(As those, who live in open Villages,
Are by th'Invaders sooner over-run,
131
Than those in Garisons) doth sooner feed
Those hungry insects, than that wrapp'd in Lead.
But even that too to wasting time, at length
Is forc'd to yeeld, for all its formal Strength,
And the poor Carion which it self did trust
To those firm Walls becomes at length all Dust.
As well as that, which in the open Grave
Was sooner eat up: seing all things have
Their own duration, and their period
Set by th'appointment of th'Almighty God.
Now even those under ground, preserv'd, and dry'd
Do become black, and almost petrifi'd,
As we may daily see, without all shapes,
Flat, and deform'd, not so like Men, as Apes,
Nay, in a short time, even to powder too
Their flesh doth crumble.
Whilst their rich Coffines studded every where
With Characters of Gold, do still appear
Sound, and untouch'd, which we should not admire,
If we consider that in Shell entire
A rotten Kirnel oftentimes is found,
So these, by long retention under ground,
Not with such dwellings in their lifetimes us'd,
Though well prepar'd, yet are at length reduc'd
By a contagious, subterraneous air,
To that Condition, in which they appear.
Do become black, and almost petrifi'd,
As we may daily see, without all shapes,
Flat, and deform'd, not so like Men, as Apes,
Nay, in a short time, even to powder too
Their flesh doth crumble.
Whilst their rich Coffines studded every where
With Characters of Gold, do still appear
Sound, and untouch'd, which we should not admire,
If we consider that in Shell entire
A rotten Kirnel oftentimes is found,
So these, by long retention under ground,
Not with such dwellings in their lifetimes us'd,
Though well prepar'd, yet are at length reduc'd
By a contagious, subterraneous air,
To that Condition, in which they appear.
Then O for all this wit, for all this art
How do those bodies to the world impart
As perfect Emblems of lifes vanity,
As any records of Mortality
Afford.—For don't see these withered things,
Those musty reliques of our glorious Kings,
Who, in their lives, with art, and vast expence,
T'express their Grandeur, and magnificence,
Caus'd dig deep Caverns out of solid Rocks,
In which their bodies, as in Marble box,
Might from the rage of insects sleep secure,
And firm to all Eternity endure.
Pray don't we see how those same Corps are made
Through much o'th' world the subject of a trade?
O this vain World! how ridiculous
To see a Princes Body serve the use
Of each Plebeian!—
To see those things, for all their foolish hopes,
Exposed in Apothecaries Shops,
As well as other Drugs, to publick Sale,
And, in small parcels vented by retail!
Alace how mean, and how much differing
From the first project of a Mighty King!
But the great King of Heavens will have it so,
That to proud Mankind he their pride may show,
For as from dust they sprung, again they must
By course of nature, all return to dust.
How do those bodies to the world impart
As perfect Emblems of lifes vanity,
As any records of Mortality
Afford.—For don't see these withered things,
Those musty reliques of our glorious Kings,
Who, in their lives, with art, and vast expence,
T'express their Grandeur, and magnificence,
Caus'd dig deep Caverns out of solid Rocks,
In which their bodies, as in Marble box,
Might from the rage of insects sleep secure,
And firm to all Eternity endure.
Pray don't we see how those same Corps are made
Through much o'th' world the subject of a trade?
O this vain World! how ridiculous
To see a Princes Body serve the use
Of each Plebeian!—
To see those things, for all their foolish hopes,
Exposed in Apothecaries Shops,
As well as other Drugs, to publick Sale,
And, in small parcels vented by retail!
Alace how mean, and how much differing
From the first project of a Mighty King!
But the great King of Heavens will have it so,
That to proud Mankind he their pride may show,
For as from dust they sprung, again they must
By course of nature, all return to dust.
132
'Tis Dust alone, for which those Countreys deal,
The only traffique of that Common-weall;
All things imported these to Dust convert,
And, soon, or late, by a laborious Art,
Expose that Dust to publick view again,
To show corruption only their doth reign.
That Governs all, whilst no eye can perceive
The cunning Manufacture of the Grave.
Let bodies swim in oyl, and carefully
Preserv'd in Glasses, boast Eternity.
Let them be swallowed down, let them be kep't
In Fishes bellies, or confus'dly heap't,
One bove another, in some nasty hole,
Or in small atomes reach from pole to pole,
Or squandred in the bottom of the Seas,
Yet certainly, at length, all by degrees,
Must become Dust, which when I shall perceive,
With men on Earth, I'll no more commerce have,
But keep firm correspondence with the grave,
Corruption I will my Father call,
The Worms my Mother, Brethren, Sisters all.
The only traffique of that Common-weall;
All things imported these to Dust convert,
And, soon, or late, by a laborious Art,
Expose that Dust to publick view again,
To show corruption only their doth reign.
That Governs all, whilst no eye can perceive
The cunning Manufacture of the Grave.
Let bodies swim in oyl, and carefully
Preserv'd in Glasses, boast Eternity.
Let them be swallowed down, let them be kep't
In Fishes bellies, or confus'dly heap't,
One bove another, in some nasty hole,
Or in small atomes reach from pole to pole,
Or squandred in the bottom of the Seas,
Yet certainly, at length, all by degrees,
Must become Dust, which when I shall perceive,
With men on Earth, I'll no more commerce have,
But keep firm correspondence with the grave,
Corruption I will my Father call,
The Worms my Mother, Brethren, Sisters all.
Then where are all my hopes? what look I for
On this side time? why should I labour more,
T'uphold my spirit, in vain expectation,
Of future blisse, and worldy restauration?
When after all I clearly may perceive
There is no hope for me, but in the Grave.
In that dark dwelling I must only rest,
And in Deaths silent shades must only taste,
That, which, on Earth, I never can attain,
That ease, which I from Life expect in vain.
Then farewell all my hopes;—I'll hope no more,
But here all expectations give o're.
Let others hope to see their misery
Turn to a Sun-shine of prosperity.
Let others hope to see their sorrows crown'd
With a fair issue, and themselves abound
In wealth, and peace, my hope is under ground,
Thither,—O thither only will I go,
And in those Regions finish all my woe.
Let others then hope still, when I am gone,
Let others live, I am for death alone.
On this side time? why should I labour more,
T'uphold my spirit, in vain expectation,
Of future blisse, and worldy restauration?
When after all I clearly may perceive
There is no hope for me, but in the Grave.
In that dark dwelling I must only rest,
And in Deaths silent shades must only taste,
That, which, on Earth, I never can attain,
That ease, which I from Life expect in vain.
Then farewell all my hopes;—I'll hope no more,
But here all expectations give o're.
Let others hope to see their misery
Turn to a Sun-shine of prosperity.
Let others hope to see their sorrows crown'd
With a fair issue, and themselves abound
In wealth, and peace, my hope is under ground,
Thither,—O thither only will I go,
And in those Regions finish all my woe.
Let others then hope still, when I am gone,
Let others live, I am for death alone.
All Earthly hopes are vain, and perishing,
The course of life is a meer changeling.
There's nothing here, that we can lasting call,
The joyes of Mankind are meer cous'nage all.
Wit, Honours, Riches, Courage, Titles, Fame,
Are but the hiccups of the Worlds esteem
In which vain man buoy'd up doth proudly swim.
But when the black clouds of adversity
Begin to gather, and the angry Sky
Threatens a storm, then one may plainly see
What timorous, insipid things those be,
Which we so much admire, for, in a tryce,
Those men, with all their glorious qualities,
At first approach of woes begin to shrink,
And then (their Bladders-bursting) down-right sink.
Down to the bottom of the Pit they fall,
Where, in a moment, they are hudled all,
In one great masse of Dust, no difference
'Twixt a poor Beggar and a splendid Prince
There to be seen, but all in heapes do ly
In the large Garner of Mortality,
As all were but one Grain; and there's an end
Of all we speak, act, fancy, or intend.
All the proud Boasters of the World at length,
For all their Riches, Honour, Wit, and Strength,
In which they plac'd their confidence, and trust,
Assemble all together in the Dust.
The course of life is a meer changeling.
There's nothing here, that we can lasting call,
The joyes of Mankind are meer cous'nage all.
Wit, Honours, Riches, Courage, Titles, Fame,
Are but the hiccups of the Worlds esteem
In which vain man buoy'd up doth proudly swim.
But when the black clouds of adversity
Begin to gather, and the angry Sky
Threatens a storm, then one may plainly see
What timorous, insipid things those be,
Which we so much admire, for, in a tryce,
133
At first approach of woes begin to shrink,
And then (their Bladders-bursting) down-right sink.
Down to the bottom of the Pit they fall,
Where, in a moment, they are hudled all,
In one great masse of Dust, no difference
'Twixt a poor Beggar and a splendid Prince
There to be seen, but all in heapes do ly
In the large Garner of Mortality,
As all were but one Grain; and there's an end
Of all we speak, act, fancy, or intend.
All the proud Boasters of the World at length,
For all their Riches, Honour, Wit, and Strength,
In which they plac'd their confidence, and trust,
Assemble all together in the Dust.
O then, let no man put his confidence
In earthlie blessings, nor permit his sense
To have command, where reason should preside,
But let it, with Religion for its guide,
Order his march of life so prudently,
As he may still look to Mortality,
As the last stage of humane vanity.
In earthlie blessings, nor permit his sense
To have command, where reason should preside,
But let it, with Religion for its guide,
Order his march of life so prudently,
As he may still look to Mortality,
As the last stage of humane vanity.
| The grand Tryal | |