The grand Tryal :: :: University of Virginia Library

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

Clarke, William (fl. 1684-1688)

II.

III.

II.

IV.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

XIV.

XV.

III.

XVI.

XVII.

XVIII.

XIX.

Cap. XIX.

XX.

XXI.

XXII.

XXIII.

XXIV.

XXV.

XXVI.

XXVII.

XXVIII.

XXIX.

XXX.

XXXI.

IV.

XXXII.

XXXIII.

XXXIV.

XXXV.

XXXVI.

XXXVII.

XXXVIII.

XXXIX.

XL.

XLI.

XLII.

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Cap. XIX.

1. But Iob answered, and said.

Thus Bildad spake, thus in a flowing strain
This learn'd Orator briskly did maintain
The good old Cause: though those, who spake before
Had on the Subject said as much, and more
Then he could add with all his Eloquence,
Only the words were Bildad, but the sense
Was still the same, with that which Eliphaz
And Zophar had discours'd upon the case.
When he had then this New-old-lecture read
Job, with more calmness, answered him, and said.

2. How long will you vex my soul, and torment me with words?

Why so, my friends, I see you still intend
To vex my Soul: ah! shall there be no end
Of your Discourses? will you ne'r give o're,
But still your old Position more, and more
Pursue with all the reason you can make,
As if your Reputation lay at Stake,
To prove that I were one that merited
These Ills I suffer, and were punished
Most justly for my sins: in this Design
You seem all by your reas'ning to Combine.
This doth appear to be the utmost scope,
Of your Discourse, by which at length you hope
To force me to confess, what, to this hour,
I have deny'd; if it were in your power.
But I'le perswad you, all that you can speak
Will not procure it, I am not so weak
As yet, that by the force of Eloquence,
I should be charm'd out of my Innocence.
No, no, my friends, for all that you can say,
I will not by Confession betray
My Conscience, and acknowledge what unless
I should bely it, I cannot confess.
Though I confess some men in my condition
Ere they'd endure such frequent Repetition
Of Injuries, would acknowledge any thing,
T'avoid the torture of your reasoning.

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3. You have now ten times reproached me, and are not ashamed. you are impudent toward me.

Ten times you have reproach'd me to my face,
Yet not asham'd, you still pursue the chace.
Indeed your malice now is evident,
For, in your talk, you're become impudent.
I now perceive what all this while has been
Your aim, I understand now what you mean.
I see your only purpose is to try
How a poor Soul involv'd in misery
Is able to endure, besides the pain
In which he lyes, the rude insults of men.

4. And though I had indeed erred mine error remaineth with me.

Unkindly done! if this be your intent,
Not to condole with me, but to torment
My Soul with arguing, whilst my present state
Requires smooth language, and not rough debate.
Thus by discourse, obliging me to speak,
In answer to you, when I am so weak,
As I can hardly move my lips: when all
My Teeth do gingle, when my Chops do fall,
And my slow words are meerly guttural.
If for this end you three be hither come,
Indeed you had as good a stay'd at home.
For I conceive this kind of disputing,
Can to afflicted men no comfort bring.
No, no more, then if one should see his friend
Fall'n in a pit, and should be so unkind,
As 'stead of helping of him out, to tell him,
'Tis for his sins this accident befell him.
So when you see me in this desolate
Condition, in this lamentable state,
'Stead of upholding my decaying spirits,
You always tell me, thus each Mortal merits
To be afflicted, who hath done offence
To his Creator: whose own Conscience
Tells him he's guilty, yet pleads innocence.
But what says all this to the case in hand?
Pray now, my good friends, let me understand,
In these my sins where your concern doth ly?
For my escapes, whether must you, or I
Make answer pray'? sure I conceive that none
Must make account for those, but I alone.
Then what are you concern'd? if I have err'd,
The worse is mine: and if I hav prefer'd
My pleasures to that duty, which I owe
To my so kind Creator, sure I know,
He'll none of you for these in judgement call,
But I alone must make account for all.
Nay further, my dear friends, should I allow
That I have sinn'd, yet sure to none of you
I ever gave offence: my sins at least,
Were acted in the closet of my breast,
My converse was to outward view upright,
My sins were perceptible by the sight
Of God alone: and so such Godly men
As you are, of no scandal can complain,

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Proceeding from my carriage: pray then why
Should you upbraid me thus continually
With sins, which were you put to prove, I fear
For all your art you could not make appear
That I were guilty of 'em? why should you
Who are wise men, such liberty allow
To your hot passions? why should you exclaim
Against a poor afflicted man? for shame
Forbear this bitter railing, pray forbear
And if you be Comforters, let me hear
Some words of comfort, pray now let me see
If you be such, as you pretend to be.

5. If indeed you will magnify your selves against me, & plead against my reproach.

But if in railing you will still proceed,
And think you do perform a noble deed,
In whipping one with words already spent
With sad afflictions, whilst you would torment
A dying creature, I will teach you how
To mannage this trade better than you do.
I'le furnish you with store of arguments,
Better than those, which your poor wits invents:
And let you see, where your advantage lies,
Which yet indeed, for all that your're so wise
You have not hit, I'll teach how t'upbraid,
And how to say more then you yet have said,
Though after all 'tis but a scurvy trade.

6. Know now that God has overthrown me, and has compassed me with his net.

I'd have you then, my friends, to understand,
That by the Power of an Almighty hand,
I'm totally undone, I'm overthrown,
And all my glory turned up side down.
I am entangled in afflictions net,
With wounding sorrows I am round beset:
And still the more I struggle to get out,
I stick the faster, when I look about
For help from man: I easily perceive,
That of all my acquaintance none do grieve,
To see their old friend in this woful case,
But all upbraid me to my very face.

7. Behold I cry out of wrong, but I am not heard, I cry aloud but there is no judgement.

I cry out of Oppression, Rapine, Force,
Plain Depredation, or what else is worse,
Yet from Heav'ns Court there's yet no answer made,
I call, but there's no justice to be had.
All do abhor me, all do do say 'tis just,
That I should have my dwelling in the Dust;
Because in wealth I many did exceed,
And had in store all things that Mortals need:
From whence as't were a Crime, they do infer,
'Tis just that such as I should now be here.
For those who me in peace, and wealth did know,
Are out of envy glad to see me low.

8. He hath fenced up my way that I cannot pass, and he hath set darkness in my paths.

This is my lot, this is my present state,
This is the woful, and disconsolat
Condition of my life: I now appear
Like a distress'd night-wandering Traveller,
Who sometimes falls on stones, sometimes doth rush
Amongst the prickles of some silent bush:

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Sometimes in Quag-mires falls, from whence got out
With arms at length out stretch'd, he grops about
I'th' horrid darkness of the night, and fain
Would follow out his way, but all in vain;
For the poor soul no sooner extricats
Himself from troubles, then in other straits
He quickly falls: now on some precipice
He finds himself advanc'd, then in a trice
He casts about him, and not many paces
From thence, the Trunk of some old tree embraces,
Anon from some steep Rock he tumbles down,
And finds himself amongst the Brambles soon
Engag'd with Wild goats: thence with toil, and pain
He wrestles out: and by, and by again
Falls in some Quag-mire to the Knees, and thence
He makes a passage with some violence,
And falls anon into some Ditch, at length
O're toil'd with wandring, and now wanting strength
To wrestle any more with Shrubs, and Bushes,
Ditches, and Quick-setts, Quag-mires, Pools, Bull-rushes;
Willows, and Elms, which ever, and anon
He doth encounter: fairly he sits down
On the cold ground, and there in pain, and fear,
Resolves to watch it out, while day appear
Even such am I, such is my dismal case,
My way is closely fenc'd, all passages
Block'd up on every side, and every road
Stopp'd, as with trees a cross, by th'mighty God,
So that I cannot pass.—
Inward, and outward so my troubles now,
Do multiply, I know not what to do
As waves upon each others back do ride,
In a full body at a growing Tide,
And with such fury fall upon the Shore
As if they would the very earth devour:
And as one breaks, another doth succeed
With the same force, and in that others steed,
Another, and so wave on wave doth break
So after one sad cross, I still expect
Another, and another on the back
Of that, and so untill all go to wrack.
I cannot see how these rude waves will cease,
But that my woes each moment will encrease
Untill I be destroy'd: I cannot see
What th'issues of these miseries may be.
Or where my sorrows raging course will stop
Only upon a slender plank of hope
I still do sit, expecting, after all,
The pride of these insulting waves may fall,
A calm may come, and I may get ashore
And live in plenty as I did before.

9. He hath stript me of my glory, and the crown is taken from my head.

But now the hand of God upon me lies
Most heavily, my woes and miseries
Are not to be express'd: my prosp'rous state

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In which I was conspicuous of late,
Is now renvers'd, my Honours rent, and torn,
And I exposed to the rabbles scorn.

10. He hath destroyed me on every side, and I am gone, and mine hope he hath removed like a tree.

He who created me, he who employ'd
His Breath in framing me, has now destroy'd,
What formerly de did appoint to live,
And for that end did such allowance give
Out of Heav'ns treasure, as might well expresse,
Both his own glory, and the happinesse
Of him he lov'd. But now I am undone,
My expectation is quite overthrown.
And as when th'Earth doth in her bowels find,
Strong torments of a subterraneous wind;
She trembles, as in Ague fit, and then
To ease her self of that sad inward pain,
Like one in Child-birth, for sometime she roars,
Then quickly bursts asunder, and devours
Towns, Castles, Mountains, Houses, Villages,
And by the root pulls up the tallest Trees,
Though ne'r so firmly knit; though ne'r so sure
Fix'd in the Rocks, yet they cannot endure
That furious shock of Nature, but must all
In Earths dark Caverns, find their Burial.
So am I swallowed up alive, and none
Can help me now, for all my hopes are gone.

11. He hath also kindled his wrath against me, and he counteth me as one of his enemies.

Against me God his Ban has issued,
Proscrib'd me, set a price upon my head.
And now as for an Outlaw every where
Search is made for me, neither here, nor there
Am I secure; but still I am espy'd,
My God has hemm'd me in on every side.

12. His troops come together, and raise their way against me, and encamp round about my tabernacle.

And as a skilful wary General,
E're he to close Seige of a Town doth fall,
First with light Troops invests the place around,
Shut up all Passages, takes up his Ground,
As he thinks proper, then begins his Lines,
Raises his Batteries, labours in his Mines,
Makes his approaches, and doth never cease,
By night, or day, until he gain the Place.
So I am now besieg'd: his Troops invest
My fortresse on all quarters, and infest
Me with allarums, and with all the power
Of Heavens I am assaulted every hour.
Expecting no relief, I do perceive,
That all my hopes depend upon the Grave.

13. He hath put my brethren far from me, and mine acquaintance are verily estranged from me.

For all those Creatures, which we Kindred call,
My Brothers, Sisters, Nephews, Cousins, all
From whom I might expect relief, have now
Forsaken me: none of 'em will allow
Me one kind visit: but are pleas'd to hear
How I am tortur'd, and can scarce forbear
From smiling when they see me in this state?
All my acquaintance too, with whom of late
I kindly did converse, are now asham'd

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To hear their old, but poor acquaintance nam'd.

14. My kinsfolk have failed, and my familiar friends have forgotten me.

My kinsmen, ah! those men whom every hour,
I would oblige by what lay in my power.
Those men, to whom I have great favours show'n,
And studied more their interest then my own,
These horrid monsters of ingratitude,
Neither with virtue, nor Gods fear endu'd,
Those Vipers, whom I in my House have bred,
And many years have at my Table fed,
Else they had starv'd: these have abandon'd me,
These have insulted o'r me, now I see
What 'tis to become poor.

15. They that dwel in my house, and my maids count me for a stranger, I am an alien in their sight.

Nay my Domestick servants, who did sleep
Under my Roof, who did my Substance keep,
And all those Creatures, who did eat my bread
Those men do look upon me now as dead.
Those, whom I with my money purchased;
Who in my Fields, and Vineyards laboured,
And all those numerous maids, who formerly
Did earn their bread within my Family:
When they perceive me in so sad a case,
Are now afraid to look upon my face.
They do not know me, I cannot perswade them,
That I'm the person, formerly, who fed them:
No they will not believe that I am he,
Whom but of late in plenty they did see,
Whom they did honour, whom they did esteem,
Whom they respected, at whose very name
Those slaves would tremble, but in their conceit,
They look upon me as some counterfeit.

16. I called my servant, and he gave me no answer, I intreated him with my mouth.

Of late I to a Servant call'd for aid,
Not by command, but as one would perswade
A stranger, but the man no answer made.
I call'd another, but he would not hear,
A third, a fourth, but no man would appear
To do me service; all a distance kep't,
And through the Hedges at their Master peep't,
As those, who were afraid of Pestilence
To be infected, all my Eloquence,
My pray'rs, my sighs, my tears, in any sort,
Could not from these one single word extort.

17. My breath is strange to my wife, though I intreated her for the childrens sake of my own body

But O sad judgement! which is worst of all,
I from my very Wife for help did call:
From her, whom many years I entertain'd,
Not as my slave, but as my bosom friend;
In whose embraces lay depositat
The greatest treasure of my prosprous state:
From her, from my own Wife, from this same Creature,
I call'd for help by all the tyes of Nature:
By all the dearest pledges of our love
I did conjure her, but nothing would move
This unkind Woman, who has now forgot
She is my Consort, and remembers not
Our former love, but in my present state,
Unhappily is become so ungrate,

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She'l not come nigh me, as she did before,
And ne'r desires to see me any more.
She hates me, she abhorrs me, she denies
My converss, I am loathsome in her eyes.
She tells me now my breath is become strange,
But what alace makes her affection change
So suddenlie? 'tis not my ulcerous case,
Nor all the furrows in my withered face,
Nor yet the Scent of my infectious Breath,
As she pretends, by which approaching Death
Is clearlie presag'd, for she tells anon
She cannot converse with a Carion.
No—no these reasons have no weight at all,
Fig-leav'd excuses; meer pretences all,
'Tis none of these: 'tis only poverty
Occasions this Desertion;—for why
As any man in wealth decays, or grows,
So a bad wifes affection ebbs, or flowes.

18. Yea young children despised me, I arose, and they spake against me.

Yea little boyes, who seeing me before,
Would veil their Caps, respect me now no more
Than one who begs his bread from door to door.
They point at me, they laugh, do what they list,
And though I check them, yet they still persist,
Insulting o're me in my miserie,
They tell each other there poor Job doth lie.
No wonder, when the parents me despise
I should be hateful in the childrens eyes,

19. All my inward friends abhorred me, and they whom I loved are turned against me.

My dearest friends too, men, whom for my heart
I did entirelie love, have now ta'n part
With all my other enemies: even those.
In whom I trusted are become my foes,
My greatest foes, yet each of them contends,
(How e're I take it) they are all my friends.

20. My bones cleaveth to my skin, and to my flesh, and I am escaped with the skin off my teeth.

And now that I this Historie may close,
And in one passage sum up all my woes:
See where with sores all covered I sit,
Plaistered with Scabs, and Boiles, for nothing fit,
But at some tree Root to be buried,
As Carrions are, and there like dung, to feed
The sucking Vegetable: O did I
Enjoy my health, and strength, as formerlie
How would I undervalue all my losses,
Of Means, and Children, with my other crosses:
How bravely would I bear it out, how fair
Would the Effigies of my life appear,
For all that's past: did I enjoy my health
That would be to me Children, Honour, Wealth,
Furnish'd with Health I'd make the Devil give o're,
And be asham'd to vex me any more.
But O my sorrows! O the grievous pain
Which I endure! no part doth now remain
Of all my body from these Ulcers free
No part untouch'd, (as everie one may see)
Onlie my mouth, not yet by these invaded

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Nor by these numerous Boils yet barricaded
Servs for a passage to my loadened heart,
By which it may its grief to th'world impart,
But not blasphem, as some men would a' done
In my condition.—
No no, let God do with me what he will,
My heart and mouth shall be abstemious still,
From all such inclination to evil,
And such bad instigations, of the Devil,
For (come what will on't) I had rather lie
In this sad case of life perpetuallie,
Before I should once curse my God, and die.

21. Have pity upon me, have pity upon me, O ye my friends, for the hand of God hath touch'd me.

Have pity then, for Heav'ns sake, all my friends,
Have pity on me, let your angry minds
Be now appeas'd, let all your Choller cease,
When you perceive me in this woful case.
You see how God has punish'd, me you see
How all the plagues of Hell have seiz'd on me.
How God has set me as a mark, for all
The sorrows of this world, both great, and small,
To level at: O may not this appease
Your wrath against me, when such ills, as these
Do triumph o're me, when I'm led in chains
Attended by a thousand woes, and paines,
O may not this suffice; have pity then
Have pity on me; friends, as you are men,
Let all your hearts be moved with compassion,
When you behold me tortur'd in this fashion,
Have pity then, have pity now upon me.
O ye my friends! for th'hand of God is on me.

22. Why do you persecute me as God, and are not satisfied with my flesh?

The hand of God doth heavy on me ly,
I am involv'd in such perplexity
In such sad Circumstances, such distress,
No humane art, or language can express.
Yet still your persecution doth proceed
'Gainst me, the Oyl of malice still doth feed
Your burning wrath, you never do give o're
But still oppress my Spirit more, and more
With bitter words: is't not enough you see
My body thus piece-meal'd, but you must be,
(While you pretend my losses to condole)
The cruel Executioners of my soul.
Is't not enough you see my body pin'd,
But you must likewise thus distract my mind?
Ah will your tedious arguing never cease?
Would as for seven daies, you did hold your peace.
When first you hither came: so to this hour
You ne'r had spoke: alace how lean, and poor
All your Discourse is on my present state
Expressing not so much your wit, as hate,
Still varieing, still mistaking of my case,
Still anvilling on one poor common place;
As if't were meritorious to assert,
Though pious in my words, yet in my heart

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I am a rotten Hypocrite: indeed
If you intend in railing to proceed,
In my opinion truly it were fit,
You should at least those threed-bare tropicks quite,
You should your former Batteries neglect,
And on new grounds new arguments erect:
And, truth, I think by what I've spoke of late,
I've furnish'd you with matter adequat,
To more then any of you hath spoke as yet.
Proceed, my friends, then, do your worst, let all
Your wits joint forces brisquely on me fall,
All your insults I shall with patience
Endure, and with my miseries dispence,
When I reflect on my own innocence.

23. O that my words were now written, O that they were printed in a book.

My innocence I ever will assert,
For not your logick, not your wit, and art,
Shall wheadle me into acknowledgement
Of your so oft repeated argument.
No, no, I never will confesse, what you
To have conceded, keep so much adoe,
No, I'm so far from being asham'd of what
I've spoke, since we did mannage this debate,
That I could wish my words were registrat.
I care not who hereafter do revise
The memoires of my woes, and miseries.
I am indifferent who hereafter read
My Plea, and see how I have answered
Your pointed arguments, I care not who
In after ages do peruse what now
I speak: although the words that from my mouth,
Do issue, are not so polite, so smooth,
So fine, so quaint, so fraught with Eloquence,
As yours are, yet I do presume the sense
Imports as much, as if you had abus'd
Your Parts, and most injuriously accus'd
A man, who 'spite of all your argument,
And pungent talk; will still plead innocent.
O that my words were keep't upon record!
O that my God such favour would afford,
That what I speak in this my agony,
Might be transmitted to Posterity:
In such a fair, and lasting character,
As all our Edicts, Laws, and Statutes are.

24. That they were graven with an iron pen in the lead, and in the rock for ever.

Would they were graven with an Iron pen,
In Lead. or Brass, that all the race of men
Might still remember on this conference,
And see how firm I've stood to the defence
Of my, as yet, unspotted innocence.

25. For I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth.

Nor would I have you think, my friends, that I
Value my self on my integrity.
Or boldly plead my innocence, because
I fall not under reach of humane Laws.
Or that I did on Earth no tryal fear,
Because my Padlock't-sins did not appear,

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By evidence expos'd to publick view,
But cunningly were all conceal'd from you.
No, God forbid that e'r I should assert
My innocence i'th' least, if in my heart
By strictest search I found on record that,
Which my assertion might invalidat,
No, no, such practises I do detest,
I keep a constant Jury in my breast,
By which I'm hourly try'd, no allegation,
No fain'd excuse, no specious information,
No falshood, no corrupted evidence,
In that impartial Court of Conscience,
Will ever be receiv'd, at any rate,
From this same Court I have certificat
Of my pure innocence.
For I'm perswaded my Redeemer lives,
I firmly do believe 'tis he that gives
Assurance to all those, whom he doth love,
That he will interceed for them above.
I know in him I have some interest,
And upon that security I rest.
I know he will at last on Earth appear,
And make the sinful World quake for fear
Of his approach, when like a mighty king,
He shall i'th' Clouds appear, and in a ring
Oh Heav'ns great Host stand circled all around,
Issue his Edicts, and by Trumpet sound
Command both dead, and living to appear
In Judgement, where each mortal thing may hear
His just Procedure: there he will indite
Him, whom you call the cunning Hypocrite,
As well as th'open sinner, him he will
Find guilty, and condemn for all his skill;
If I be such then, as you'd have me be,
In that great day, my friends, you'll clearly see,
What shall become of me.

29. And though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God.

For after this my Body Worms have eat,
And with their substance 'tis incorporat:
After my Bones are squandred in the Ground,
And of my Flesh no vestige can be found:
My Scull, my Arms, and Thigh-bones, thrown aloft,
By th'Shovel of the Grave-maker as oft,
As for new Guests, new Rooms he doth provide,
And in the Earth my Corps are putrifi'd:
After my Dust about the Grave is roll'd,
Yet in the Flesh I shall my God behold,

27. Whom I shall see for my self, and mine eyes shall behold, and not another, though my reins be consumed within me.

Yes with these eyes, these individual eyes,
With which, I now behold these glorious Skies;
I then shall see, that glorious Architect,
Who for his glory, did the Heavens Erect.
For though some think our Bodies made of Clay,
Which crumble in the Grave, on rising day,
Shall not stand up; but some of thinnest Air
Compos'd shall in their place that day appear.

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Yet I'm convinc'd that this numerical,
This Earthly Body, this organical
Composure which we here a Body name,
Shall on that day appear the very same.
Only as Earth when vitrify'd, is still
But Earth, though richly polish'd by the skill
Of knowing Artists: so this peice of Clay
Shall be refin'd, and at appearance day,
Shall with such beauty, grace, and glory shine,
As God thinks proper for the grand design
Of its perpetual true Felicity,
Which join'd with Soul, in heavenly harmony,
It shall enjoy: impassible of all
Those thwarting ills, which here we troubles call.
Then in this Body, with those very eyes
I shall perceive him, with none else, but these
I shall behold my Saviour: I believe
Firmly, that in the Flesh I shall perceive
My bless'd Redeemer: though my very Reins
Are shrunk within my Back, and all my Veins
Choak'd up with stagnant, and corrupted Blood,
Are now like Ditches full of Dirt, and Mud.
Although my moisture is all spent and gone,
And I am nothing now but skin, and bone:
Though I all humane shape, and form have lost,
And in the eyes of all more like a Ghost,
Then like a living man I do appear,
And no man will come nigh me now, for fear
Of my contagious breath: yet after all,
This bodie, this same individual
And putrid bodie shall again revive,
And I again, as formerly shall live,
And my Redeemer with those verie eyes,
I clearlie shall behold, when from the skies
He shall descend to judge the Quick, and Dead,
And with those verie eyes I then shall read
The Journals of his Actings: then I shall
Before my Heavenlie Judge convince you all
I am no Hipocrite; as you assert,
But innocent, and upright in my heart.

28. But you should say, why persecute we him? seing the root of the matter is found in me.

Then O, my friends, why do you persecute
A poor man thus? why do ye contribute
All your endeavours, why is all your wit
Employ'd to prove that I am Hypocrite?
Ah why so cruel, why so inhumane
As still to doubt me, still to entertain
Bad thoughts of me: although you clearlie see
(What e're my faults, and outward failings be,)
Yet God to me some kindness doth impart,
And his true Grace is rooted in my heart.
Then, if for my sake you will not forbear
By strength of argument to make appear
That I am guilty: be at least so kind
To your own selves: as though you in your mind
Suppose I am such, yet to hold your peace,

151

And not so smartlie tell me in my face
That I am of the number of those men,
Whom God doth hate: when you perceive how plain
And evident appears from what I speak,
(Although my body be consum'd, and weak)
Yet is my living Soul inspir'd with faith,
With which supported, never while I breath
Shall you evince by all your wit, and art
That I'm an Out-side saint, but in my heart
A rotten Sinner: truth you should be blam'd
For this Discourse, indeed I am asham'd
To see wise men so over-reach'd with passion,
In words out run their reason in this fashion-

29. Be ye afraid of the sword, for wrath bringeth the punishments of the sword,

Now to conclude, my friends, I would advise
You all hereafter to become more wise,
Than of your parts to be so proud, and vain,
As thus t'insult on poor afflicted men.
As thus to stretch your argument so far,
Thus to conclude that none afflicted are,
But those who've sinn'd, a Principle indeed
Of dangerous import: pray my friends take heed,
How ye give Judgment i'th' afflicteds case,
How ye pronounce them guilty: for alace
Why should you thus presume, why should you dare
T'affirm what God himself doth not declare:
For he has never yet declar'd that all,
Those men who in afflictions Quag-mire fall
Are meerlie sinners: or that sorrows are
Still signs of Gods Displeasure, pray be'ware
How you affirm this: for you may incense
Gods wrath by such your sawcy Eloquence:
And what you all so often do repeat,
Shall be the wretch'd and miserable state
O'th' wicked in this world; if you persist
In these opinions, argue, as you list,
I fear shall be your own: for you provock
Your God to wrath, and openly do mock
His Providence, and inwardly displease
Your Maker by such Arguments as these:
But when your prosp'rous daies are vanished,
And in your Judgments you your sins do read,
When your high pride is level'd with the dust,
Then you will clearly see that God is just.
Pray then forbear, for Heav'ns sake pray forbear
This foolish arguing: let me no more hear
Those vain Debates, but if you do intend
To comfort me, beseech you put an end
To this Discourse, and plainly let me know
Whether you be my real friends or no.
For, if you be, seeing how I abhorr,
This trifling talk, you'l argue so no more,
And if you be not, pray you then begone,
And leave me here rather to die alone,
Than a sad life in such a converse lead,
As all my other sorrows doth exceed.