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. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. | Cap. 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. XXI.
After this storm of words was overblown
And Zophar, now his utmost skill had shown
In talking, and as one, who had design'd
To speak no more, had fullie spoke his mind.
Without all passion, with a Spirit stay'd
To all this Lecture, which his friend had read,
Thus only Job in calmness answered.
And Zophar, now his utmost skill had shown
In talking, and as one, who had design'd
To speak no more, had fullie spoke his mind.
Without all passion, with a Spirit stay'd
To all this Lecture, which his friend had read,
Thus only Job in calmness answered.
I do not doubt, my freinds, but when by fame
Inform'd of my distress, you hither came,
When hearing of my lamentable state,
(Which has occasion'd so much noise of late
Both far and wide) you thought it worth your pains.
with your own eyes, to visit what remains
Of your old friend.—
When you were pleas'd I say, to be so kind,
I make no doubt, but that you then design'd,
In Sympathetick bowels of compassion,
T'afford me truly all the consolation,
Lay in your power: I make no doubt indeed,
But when you see me first your heart did bleed,
I do believe that you were stupifi'd
When me first, on the Dung-hill you descry'd,
As your kind silence fully testifi'd.
Nay furder, when you spoke, I think you meant
To give me no occasion of complaint,
As since y'have done, but that you did intend,
Some words of consolation for your friend,
I am perswaded you are honest men,
Just, fearing God, and such as entertain
No wicked thoughts, but openly detest,
That man, who is a sinner in his breast,
Though in his words, and looks, he'd fain deceive
The World, and make the neighbour-hood believe
He's truly pious: and that you do hate
The man, whose conscience is adulterat.
I know, my friends, what hitherto ye've said,
Was out of love, and I would fain perswade
My self to think, that all this eloquence
Is not made use of, to give me offence.
Yet after all, my friends, I would request,
You would take notice, for some time at least,
To what I speak, hear me but patiently,
Whilst I expresse my thoughts, and seriously,
I'll take't more kindly in my present state,
Then any thing y' ave spoke, or done as yet.
This will to me more consolation bring,
Then all your talk, and nauseous arguing.
Inform'd of my distress, you hither came,
When hearing of my lamentable state,
(Which has occasion'd so much noise of late
Both far and wide) you thought it worth your pains.
with your own eyes, to visit what remains
Of your old friend.—
When you were pleas'd I say, to be so kind,
I make no doubt, but that you then design'd,
In Sympathetick bowels of compassion,
T'afford me truly all the consolation,
164
But when you see me first your heart did bleed,
I do believe that you were stupifi'd
When me first, on the Dung-hill you descry'd,
As your kind silence fully testifi'd.
Nay furder, when you spoke, I think you meant
To give me no occasion of complaint,
As since y'have done, but that you did intend,
Some words of consolation for your friend,
I am perswaded you are honest men,
Just, fearing God, and such as entertain
No wicked thoughts, but openly detest,
That man, who is a sinner in his breast,
Though in his words, and looks, he'd fain deceive
The World, and make the neighbour-hood believe
He's truly pious: and that you do hate
The man, whose conscience is adulterat.
I know, my friends, what hitherto ye've said,
Was out of love, and I would fain perswade
My self to think, that all this eloquence
Is not made use of, to give me offence.
Yet after all, my friends, I would request,
You would take notice, for some time at least,
To what I speak, hear me but patiently,
Whilst I expresse my thoughts, and seriously,
I'll take't more kindly in my present state,
Then any thing y' ave spoke, or done as yet.
This will to me more consolation bring,
Then all your talk, and nauseous arguing.
Allow me, as you love me, then to speak,
But some small time, for truth I am so weak,
I cannot make long harangues, and indeed
I may complain, but am not fit to plead,
With such as you: what therefore I intend,
To speak, shall very quickly have an end.
My words shall be but few, and when I've done,
You may proceed, as formerly, mock on.
But some small time, for truth I am so weak,
I cannot make long harangues, and indeed
I may complain, but am not fit to plead,
With such as you: what therefore I intend,
To speak, shall very quickly have an end.
My words shall be but few, and when I've done,
You may proceed, as formerly, mock on.
Pray mark, my friends, then I make no complaint
To mortal man: for 'tis most evident,
That my complaint is made to God alone,
To thee all-hearing God, I do bemoan,
My present state: my judgements do not flow,
As you may see, from any hand below;
No they do from a higher hand proceed,
And in them I the wrath of God do read,
From him they do proceed immediatly,
He's th'only author of my misery:
My plagues, alace, are extraordinary,
Not such as usually inflicted are
On other men: no they are such as none,
Have ever yet endur'd but I alone:
No wonder then that I cannot contain
My passion, but do heavily complain.
Nay let us even suppose, my plagues did flow,
From th'hand of man, I pray, my friends, if so,
Why may not I as other men be vex't?
Is it so strange to see a man perplex't
With misery complain, as I do now?
Pray, my good friends, what would you have me do?
Won't you allow me, where I find a pain,
As all men do, a little to complain?
My constitution is but ordinar,
And I'm but Flesh and Blood, as others are.
May not I then exhibit my complaint
To my Creator? since he is content
To hear me, since he doth to me allow
That liberty, I cannot have from you.
And O, amidst my woes, and miseries,
My griefs, my terrors, and anxieties,
With all the pains, that do my soul oppresse,
How happy am I, that I can addresse
My self to God: indeed it were not good
For me, if this grand boon were not allow'd,
For were I to addresse my self to men,
I fear my prayers should be us'd in vain,
And I'd have yet more reason to complain.
To mortal man: for 'tis most evident,
That my complaint is made to God alone,
To thee all-hearing God, I do bemoan,
My present state: my judgements do not flow,
As you may see, from any hand below;
No they do from a higher hand proceed,
And in them I the wrath of God do read,
From him they do proceed immediatly,
He's th'only author of my misery:
My plagues, alace, are extraordinary,
Not such as usually inflicted are
On other men: no they are such as none,
Have ever yet endur'd but I alone:
No wonder then that I cannot contain
My passion, but do heavily complain.
Nay let us even suppose, my plagues did flow,
165
Why may not I as other men be vex't?
Is it so strange to see a man perplex't
With misery complain, as I do now?
Pray, my good friends, what would you have me do?
Won't you allow me, where I find a pain,
As all men do, a little to complain?
My constitution is but ordinar,
And I'm but Flesh and Blood, as others are.
May not I then exhibit my complaint
To my Creator? since he is content
To hear me, since he doth to me allow
That liberty, I cannot have from you.
And O, amidst my woes, and miseries,
My griefs, my terrors, and anxieties,
With all the pains, that do my soul oppresse,
How happy am I, that I can addresse
My self to God: indeed it were not good
For me, if this grand boon were not allow'd,
For were I to addresse my self to men,
I fear my prayers should be us'd in vain,
And I'd have yet more reason to complain.
Mark what I say then, mark, and be afraid,
And let your hands upon your mouths be laid.
Mark me, I pray, observe my sad estate,
And then I hope you will no more debate
Upon the subject, with such violence,
But will confesse with me, that Providence
Sends plague on men, with great indifference.
Remark me, pray, observe how God, in me,
Points out so clear, that all the world may see,
What mean esteem he has of mortal race;
View me, I pray, look but upon my face,
And there behold a sad Epitome
Of Heavens displeasure.—
O were there no more worth your noticing,
Then this alone, 'tis such a dismal thing,
As if you take it in consideration,
Affords a subject of sad contemplation;
Such as might make you all asham'd to speak,
As you have done, and I'm convinc'd would check
The heat of your discourse, give ear then pray,
As you would be inform'd to what I say.
And let your hands upon your mouths be laid.
Mark me, I pray, observe my sad estate,
And then I hope you will no more debate
Upon the subject, with such violence,
But will confesse with me, that Providence
Sends plague on men, with great indifference.
Remark me, pray, observe how God, in me,
Points out so clear, that all the world may see,
What mean esteem he has of mortal race;
View me, I pray, look but upon my face,
And there behold a sad Epitome
Of Heavens displeasure.—
O were there no more worth your noticing,
Then this alone, 'tis such a dismal thing,
As if you take it in consideration,
Affords a subject of sad contemplation;
Such as might make you all asham'd to speak,
As you have done, and I'm convinc'd would check
The heat of your discourse, give ear then pray,
As you would be inform'd to what I say.
For when I think upon my former state,
How in the World I flourished of late,
How all my wishes did attain their aim,
And I no sooner could a blessing name,
But assoon God would send it to my door,
And blesse me so till I could ask no more.
And now how wretch'd, how poor and miserable,
In yours, and all mens eyes, how despicable,
And quite undone, I here on Dung-hill ly,
Th'hyperbole of pain, and misery.
When I amidst my groans, and lamentations,
Reflect upon the various, Dispensations
Of our great God, and weigh them seriouslie
I quake, I sweat, I tremble, by, and by,
I shake all over, I am dampt with fear,
Like one out of his wits I do appear:
Infernal horror on my Soul doth seize,
And I become all stupid by degrees,
When I consider on this sad occasion,
What unexpected fearful alteration
I've seen of late: Oh I am all confounded,
My Soul with fear and terror is surrounded.
When I consider how th'Almighty raises
This, or that man, and throws down whom he pleases.
Without regard to all these mean Defences,
Which mortals use, these pitiful Pretences,
Of Piety, and Virtues by which some
Would plead forsooth Exemption from his Doom,
Whilst he with great indifference on all
Sends out his plagues, then I a-trembling fall;
Then I perceive that what you all assert,
And labour to evince with so much art.
Concluding firmly God doth punish none,
Nor sends afflictions, but on those alone,
Whose Sins do call for Judgments, and from thence
By an unquestionable consequence,
Infer that I am such: then, then I see
(What ever errors you would fix on me)
That your Position is both false, and vain,
Below such men as you are to maintain.
Since then my friends, by sad experience;
I know what you, who never yet had sense,
Of such afflictions cannot understand,
Me thinks I may with reason now demand
Your firm atention to what I shall speak,
Upon the subject, which you may expect
Shall be sincere: for who can so express
The Justice of th'Almighty in the case,
As he who feels it; as the man, God knows,
Who's tasted both Prosperitie and Woes?
How in the World I flourished of late,
How all my wishes did attain their aim,
And I no sooner could a blessing name,
But assoon God would send it to my door,
And blesse me so till I could ask no more.
And now how wretch'd, how poor and miserable,
In yours, and all mens eyes, how despicable,
And quite undone, I here on Dung-hill ly,
Th'hyperbole of pain, and misery.
When I amidst my groans, and lamentations,
166
Of our great God, and weigh them seriouslie
I quake, I sweat, I tremble, by, and by,
I shake all over, I am dampt with fear,
Like one out of his wits I do appear:
Infernal horror on my Soul doth seize,
And I become all stupid by degrees,
When I consider on this sad occasion,
What unexpected fearful alteration
I've seen of late: Oh I am all confounded,
My Soul with fear and terror is surrounded.
When I consider how th'Almighty raises
This, or that man, and throws down whom he pleases.
Without regard to all these mean Defences,
Which mortals use, these pitiful Pretences,
Of Piety, and Virtues by which some
Would plead forsooth Exemption from his Doom,
Whilst he with great indifference on all
Sends out his plagues, then I a-trembling fall;
Then I perceive that what you all assert,
And labour to evince with so much art.
Concluding firmly God doth punish none,
Nor sends afflictions, but on those alone,
Whose Sins do call for Judgments, and from thence
By an unquestionable consequence,
Infer that I am such: then, then I see
(What ever errors you would fix on me)
That your Position is both false, and vain,
Below such men as you are to maintain.
Since then my friends, by sad experience;
I know what you, who never yet had sense,
Of such afflictions cannot understand,
Me thinks I may with reason now demand
Your firm atention to what I shall speak,
Upon the subject, which you may expect
Shall be sincere: for who can so express
The Justice of th'Almighty in the case,
As he who feels it; as the man, God knows,
Who's tasted both Prosperitie and Woes?
If it be true then, what you all assert
That sin is only punish'd, for my part,
I'de gladlie know why Heavens King doth give
Blessings to those, who merit not to live?
Why doth the race of sin the earth possess?
Why thus in Issue, Honor, Wealth encrease?
Do we not dailie see how sinful men
Do in their several stations attain
To all that in this life can be desir'd
Wish'd or projected?—
Nor doth the Tide of prosprous daies encrease
To its full height, but for a season last,
No, as their sins, so do their blessings grow;
The current of Gods mercies still doth flow
In those mens lives, whatever they demand,
To feed the sense is granted out of hand:
In a most smooth, uninterrupted stream,
Of earthly blessings, like a pleasant dream,
They're gently wafted without Wind, or Wave,
Into the spacious Ocean of the Grave,
That sin is only punish'd, for my part,
I'de gladlie know why Heavens King doth give
Blessings to those, who merit not to live?
Why doth the race of sin the earth possess?
Why thus in Issue, Honor, Wealth encrease?
Do we not dailie see how sinful men
Do in their several stations attain
To all that in this life can be desir'd
Wish'd or projected?—
Nor doth the Tide of prosprous daies encrease
To its full height, but for a season last,
No, as their sins, so do their blessings grow;
The current of Gods mercies still doth flow
In those mens lives, whatever they demand,
167
In a most smooth, uninterrupted stream,
Of earthly blessings, like a pleasant dream,
They're gently wafted without Wind, or Wave,
Into the spacious Ocean of the Grave,
Thus live and dy they, but this is not all,
For were these blessings meerly personal,
And perish'd with themselves, we might suppose,
That their poor issue, who their eyes did close,
Shut up with these, all their felicity,
And became heirs to utmost misery.
No, no, these outward blessings, are so far,
From dying with themselves, as they appear,
Entail'd upon their Family, and Race,
And settled so on their appanages,
As if inherent in the several fees.
Nay (which is more) those men whom you do call,
The worst of sinners, do perceive this all,
In their own time they see their Families
Flourish like verdant plants, before their eyes;
They see the hopes of numerous Generations,
And view the rise of many famous Nations;
In their fair Off-spring: they perceive their seed,
In peace, and plenty, fully established.
Their Childrens Children, grow up in their sight,
As Heirs apparent to their Fathers Right.
In fine, those wretches see their memory,
Run on the lines of perpetuity.
For were these blessings meerly personal,
And perish'd with themselves, we might suppose,
That their poor issue, who their eyes did close,
Shut up with these, all their felicity,
And became heirs to utmost misery.
No, no, these outward blessings, are so far,
From dying with themselves, as they appear,
Entail'd upon their Family, and Race,
And settled so on their appanages,
As if inherent in the several fees.
Nay (which is more) those men whom you do call,
The worst of sinners, do perceive this all,
In their own time they see their Families
Flourish like verdant plants, before their eyes;
They see the hopes of numerous Generations,
And view the rise of many famous Nations;
In their fair Off-spring: they perceive their seed,
In peace, and plenty, fully established.
Their Childrens Children, grow up in their sight,
As Heirs apparent to their Fathers Right.
In fine, those wretches see their memory,
Run on the lines of perpetuity.
These sinful men, within doors live at ease,
Free from all jars, bless'd with domestick peace,
They know no discords, no, nor quarrels they,
No, picques, or humours, ly a-crosse their way,
But all the day, they plentifully feed,
With pleasant converse, and at night to bed
They drill, encircled, in each others arms;
Free from all passions, clamours, fears, allarums.
Free from all jars, bless'd with domestick peace,
They know no discords, no, nor quarrels they,
No, picques, or humours, ly a-crosse their way,
But all the day, they plentifully feed,
With pleasant converse, and at night to bed
They drill, encircled, in each others arms;
Free from all passions, clamours, fears, allarums.
And as in plenty within doors they dwell,
So with these men, all without doors goes well;
Their Cattle thrive, their Grounds are well manur'd,
Their beasts are from ill accidents secur'd,
Their Revenues are punctually pay'd,
Their Acts of Court-leet faithfully obey'd;
Their Tennents too, do live in wealth and peace,
Enjoying each an undisturbed lease
For many years, and richly cultivat,
Each one his parcel, of his Lords Estate;
In short, these men, are fully bless'd in all
They can desire, their Vassals at a call
Attend their motions: every one contends,
Who most shall serve them, and be most their friends.
So with these men, all without doors goes well;
Their Cattle thrive, their Grounds are well manur'd,
Their beasts are from ill accidents secur'd,
Their Revenues are punctually pay'd,
Their Acts of Court-leet faithfully obey'd;
Their Tennents too, do live in wealth and peace,
Enjoying each an undisturbed lease
For many years, and richly cultivat,
Each one his parcel, of his Lords Estate;
In short, these men, are fully bless'd in all
They can desire, their Vassals at a call
Attend their motions: every one contends,
Who most shall serve them, and be most their friends.
Around the neighbouring fields, their wings they spread,
And all the Campaign soil is overlaid,
With numerous Branches of their Families,
Which soon dilate themselves in Colonies.
And People, Countreys, far remote from these,
Which first their Predecessors did possesse,
Amongst themselves they make firm allyance,
And when they meet, they revel, sport, and dance;
They Correspond in mutual harmony,
And spend their time in mirth and jollity.
And all the Campaign soil is overlaid,
With numerous Branches of their Families,
Which soon dilate themselves in Colonies.
168
Which first their Predecessors did possesse,
Amongst themselves they make firm allyance,
And when they meet, they revel, sport, and dance;
They Correspond in mutual harmony,
And spend their time in mirth and jollity.
For when they meet at their grand Festivals,
They eat, and drink, and then with Masques, and Balls,
They entertain themselves, the Harp, and Lute,
The Viol, Organ, Timbrel contribute,
T'encrease their jovialty, and all their care
Is only for their sports, and daily fare.
They eat, and drink, and then with Masques, and Balls,
They entertain themselves, the Harp, and Lute,
The Viol, Organ, Timbrel contribute,
T'encrease their jovialty, and all their care
Is only for their sports, and daily fare.
In peace, and plenty, with great affluence,
Of worldy blessings, and convenience,
Of every thing that humane life requires,
They waste their days, and when their lease expires,
And sullen death commands them to remove,
And quite those fields, which with their souls they love,
Then do not these men dy, as others do
In pain and torment:—
But as soft slumber on the eyes doth creep,
And gently moves, when men would fall asleep.
Or as a Candle burning nigh the end,
Its light in twinkling by degrees doth spend,
So in the Grave, those men do gently roul,
Not troubled with the progress of the soul,
Not anxious whither it should take its course,
After this life, for better, or for worse,
They care not whether, all is one to them,
For they think Soul and Body are the same,
And as they liv'd together, so they dy,
Returning both to dust by sympathy:
They think re-union not imaginable,
And hold the Resurrection but a fable.
Thence void of apprehensions, after death,
With great indifference, they shut up their breath.
Of worldy blessings, and convenience,
Of every thing that humane life requires,
They waste their days, and when their lease expires,
And sullen death commands them to remove,
And quite those fields, which with their souls they love,
Then do not these men dy, as others do
In pain and torment:—
But as soft slumber on the eyes doth creep,
And gently moves, when men would fall asleep.
Or as a Candle burning nigh the end,
Its light in twinkling by degrees doth spend,
So in the Grave, those men do gently roul,
Not troubled with the progress of the soul,
Not anxious whither it should take its course,
After this life, for better, or for worse,
They care not whether, all is one to them,
For they think Soul and Body are the same,
And as they liv'd together, so they dy,
Returning both to dust by sympathy:
They think re-union not imaginable,
And hold the Resurrection but a fable.
Thence void of apprehensions, after death,
With great indifference, they shut up their breath.
Nor are these men, to whom God is so kind,
O'th' better sort, more polish'd and refin'd,
Then common sinners are: no they are such,
As hugg their sins, and honour vice so much,
In foulest shape, with so high veneration,
They're not asham'd to make it their profession:
Such as our God so little do esteem,
They think his glory but a sounding name:
Such as affirm the works of Providence,
The checks, and dictats of a Conscience,
To be but stale devices forg'd by those
Envious men, whom Fortune doth oppose:
Men who enrag'd because they can't possesse,
That which themselves acknowledge happinesse,
Pick'd to see others, in a better state,
Then they themselves invent, they know not what,
To crosse their joyes, and fain by art would move
The World to credit, what they cannot prove,
For when outwitted by Philosophy,
They run to th'refuge of a mystery.
Yet God is even kind to such as these;
Who think so of him, and speak, what they please,
Who boldly laugh at Death, Heavens, Hell, and all,
In principles so Atheistical,
As they to God dar impiously say,
Prethee begone, disturb us not we pray:
Let us alone, torment us pray no more,
With admonitions which our souls abhor:
Forbear thy curses, and dire menaces,
Vex us no more, but let us live in peace,
And when we dy, thou mayest dispose of us,
Even as thou wilt; but whilst we live, we'll thus
Employ our time in mirth and jollity,
And take our hazard of Eternity.
For who, say they, shall ever us perswade,
Or make believe that thou a soul hast made,
A something, which doth after death exist,
A thing which preachers call even what they list,
That such a thing of thy own essence part,
Infus'd into us by thy special art,
Should after separation be condemn'd
To endlesse torments, and by thee esteem'd
As useless dross, because the thing did take
Pleasure in that, which thou thy self did make,
Why this, we are perswaded were to hate
Thy self, and so thy self excruciat,
For others errors: this is somewhat strange,
And in our thoughts, a very poor revenge,
Give orders, pray then, to thy preaching men,
Who in this World spend much talk in vain.
To spare their lungs, for they shall ne'r perswade
Any of us, that thou a soul hast made,
A subtile Idea, a thing Divine,
Limbeck'd to th'hight, sublimat sopra fine,
To be destroyed eternally:
No let us live, say they, even as we please,
On Earth, let us enjoy our mirth and ease,
Not all thy art our pleasures shall controle,
Nor shall the silly notion of a soul,
Ever be able in the least to check
What we resolve, by what we may expect.
O'th' better sort, more polish'd and refin'd,
Then common sinners are: no they are such,
As hugg their sins, and honour vice so much,
In foulest shape, with so high veneration,
They're not asham'd to make it their profession:
Such as our God so little do esteem,
They think his glory but a sounding name:
Such as affirm the works of Providence,
The checks, and dictats of a Conscience,
To be but stale devices forg'd by those
Envious men, whom Fortune doth oppose:
Men who enrag'd because they can't possesse,
That which themselves acknowledge happinesse,
Pick'd to see others, in a better state,
Then they themselves invent, they know not what,
To crosse their joyes, and fain by art would move
The World to credit, what they cannot prove,
169
They run to th'refuge of a mystery.
Yet God is even kind to such as these;
Who think so of him, and speak, what they please,
Who boldly laugh at Death, Heavens, Hell, and all,
In principles so Atheistical,
As they to God dar impiously say,
Prethee begone, disturb us not we pray:
Let us alone, torment us pray no more,
With admonitions which our souls abhor:
Forbear thy curses, and dire menaces,
Vex us no more, but let us live in peace,
And when we dy, thou mayest dispose of us,
Even as thou wilt; but whilst we live, we'll thus
Employ our time in mirth and jollity,
And take our hazard of Eternity.
For who, say they, shall ever us perswade,
Or make believe that thou a soul hast made,
A something, which doth after death exist,
A thing which preachers call even what they list,
That such a thing of thy own essence part,
Infus'd into us by thy special art,
Should after separation be condemn'd
To endlesse torments, and by thee esteem'd
As useless dross, because the thing did take
Pleasure in that, which thou thy self did make,
Why this, we are perswaded were to hate
Thy self, and so thy self excruciat,
For others errors: this is somewhat strange,
And in our thoughts, a very poor revenge,
Give orders, pray then, to thy preaching men,
Who in this World spend much talk in vain.
To spare their lungs, for they shall ne'r perswade
Any of us, that thou a soul hast made,
A subtile Idea, a thing Divine,
Limbeck'd to th'hight, sublimat sopra fine,
To be destroyed eternally:
No let us live, say they, even as we please,
On Earth, let us enjoy our mirth and ease,
Not all thy art our pleasures shall controle,
Nor shall the silly notion of a soul,
Ever be able in the least to check
What we resolve, by what we may expect.
Pray who's this God, say they, let's understand
Who's this Almighty Lord, at whose command
We all must live, and dy? pray let us know
Who is this Prince, to whom all here below
Must pay such homage? who's this Heavenly King,
To whom all Mortals on their knees must bring
Their praying tribute, twice a day at least,
And once a week give audience to some Priest,
Who calls himself this Kings Ambassador,
Whilst he repeats his Message o'r and o'r,
In such a saucy, and incensing strain,
As those who hear him hardlie can abstain
From choller, when he is so bold to say,
All men shall be chastis'd, who do not pray
To this Great God:—
For what end should we pray who stand in need
Of nothing from him, those whose dailie bread
Comes from his Table, those who do possess
No part of earthlie Joy and happiness,
As we do all: those whom unluckie fate
Has plung'd into a miserable state,
Those men may lie a begging at Heavens Gate.
But, as for us, who live in afluence,
Who spend our time in great convenience,
Why should we pray? what can he give us more,
Than we enjoy, nay whom should we adore?
Shall we adore an unknown Prince, who shrouds
Himself behind the Curtains of the Clouds?
And treats the Sons of Men with such Disgrace,
As he disdains to let us see his face.
The Sun, and Moon, we know, and dailie see,
But for this God of Heaven, pray who is he?
Or if such adoration, we allow him,
What profit shall we make by praying to him?
Have any fortunes by this praying made?
Are anie wealthie by this idle trade?
Do not we see, how those, who dailie call
On this same God are miserable all?
Poor, and Deform'd, Contemptible, and Mean,
By want of food, most scandalouslie lean:
Praying, and sleeping by a formal Rule,
Treated by all the world in Ridicule.
Why then should we to him our selves applie,
Who live in Wealth, since onlie Povertie
Is the return of Prayer? shall we request
That we may become such? no let us wast
Our Years in mirth, and not our selves betray
To miserie, but chase all cares away,
By frolick sports, whilst Fools and Beggars pray.
Who's this Almighty Lord, at whose command
We all must live, and dy? pray let us know
Who is this Prince, to whom all here below
Must pay such homage? who's this Heavenly King,
To whom all Mortals on their knees must bring
Their praying tribute, twice a day at least,
And once a week give audience to some Priest,
Who calls himself this Kings Ambassador,
Whilst he repeats his Message o'r and o'r,
In such a saucy, and incensing strain,
170
From choller, when he is so bold to say,
All men shall be chastis'd, who do not pray
To this Great God:—
For what end should we pray who stand in need
Of nothing from him, those whose dailie bread
Comes from his Table, those who do possess
No part of earthlie Joy and happiness,
As we do all: those whom unluckie fate
Has plung'd into a miserable state,
Those men may lie a begging at Heavens Gate.
But, as for us, who live in afluence,
Who spend our time in great convenience,
Why should we pray? what can he give us more,
Than we enjoy, nay whom should we adore?
Shall we adore an unknown Prince, who shrouds
Himself behind the Curtains of the Clouds?
And treats the Sons of Men with such Disgrace,
As he disdains to let us see his face.
The Sun, and Moon, we know, and dailie see,
But for this God of Heaven, pray who is he?
Or if such adoration, we allow him,
What profit shall we make by praying to him?
Have any fortunes by this praying made?
Are anie wealthie by this idle trade?
Do not we see, how those, who dailie call
On this same God are miserable all?
Poor, and Deform'd, Contemptible, and Mean,
By want of food, most scandalouslie lean:
Praying, and sleeping by a formal Rule,
Treated by all the world in Ridicule.
Why then should we to him our selves applie,
Who live in Wealth, since onlie Povertie
Is the return of Prayer? shall we request
That we may become such? no let us wast
Our Years in mirth, and not our selves betray
To miserie, but chase all cares away,
By frolick sports, whilst Fools and Beggars pray.
Yet such, even such the God of Heavens doth bless,
Such cursed things in Honour, Wealth, and Peace,
Do flourish here on earth, those wretched men
Have in their lives no reason to complain:
They know no judgments, nor afflictions they,
Whilst those, who from their tender Years do pray,
And in Devotion earlie exercise
Their spirits, are involv'd in miseries,
For shame forbear, my friends, then to assert
That punishments are meerlie by desert
Inflicted, when the contrair doth appear,
By what I've said so evident, and clear:
Nor would I, my dear friends, you should mistake
My meaning, or suppose by what I speak,
Whilst I express how happy those men are,
That I envie them, or i'th' least appear
To harbour any thoughts of discontent,
Whilst those mens plentie, with my punishment,
And wretched state of life, I do compare,
Or that I would be happy as they are.
No, God forbid, that I should entertain
Such impious thoughts, or any way complain
Of Gods good Dispensations:—
No, I'm so far from that, as seriouslie
I think, what those men call Prosperitie,
Doth not deserve the name of happiness,
But is at best, but like a gentle breeze,
Which blowes before a Storm: I do believe
What those poor Souls, do sillilie conceive.
To be the true supream Felicity
Is on the matter, down-right Misery.
O let those mens prosperity to me
Be never known: let these eyes never see
Plenty on earth, as I have seen before,
Let my kind Maker never me restore,
To anie thing which men call happiness,
Rather than I should be as one of those.
Such cursed things in Honour, Wealth, and Peace,
Do flourish here on earth, those wretched men
Have in their lives no reason to complain:
They know no judgments, nor afflictions they,
Whilst those, who from their tender Years do pray,
And in Devotion earlie exercise
Their spirits, are involv'd in miseries,
For shame forbear, my friends, then to assert
That punishments are meerlie by desert
Inflicted, when the contrair doth appear,
By what I've said so evident, and clear:
Nor would I, my dear friends, you should mistake
My meaning, or suppose by what I speak,
Whilst I express how happy those men are,
That I envie them, or i'th' least appear
171
Whilst those mens plentie, with my punishment,
And wretched state of life, I do compare,
Or that I would be happy as they are.
No, God forbid, that I should entertain
Such impious thoughts, or any way complain
Of Gods good Dispensations:—
No, I'm so far from that, as seriouslie
I think, what those men call Prosperitie,
Doth not deserve the name of happiness,
But is at best, but like a gentle breeze,
Which blowes before a Storm: I do believe
What those poor Souls, do sillilie conceive.
To be the true supream Felicity
Is on the matter, down-right Misery.
O let those mens prosperity to me
Be never known: let these eyes never see
Plenty on earth, as I have seen before,
Let my kind Maker never me restore,
To anie thing which men call happiness,
Rather than I should be as one of those.
And now my friends, as I have thus express'd
How much the wicked in this life are bless'd,
So I would have yow know that what I say,
I do not as a firm position lay:
Nor do I think it proper on my part,
That I should so tenaciouslie assert
That all such prosper, as you stifflie plead,
That such by him, are onlie punished.
No, my good friends, I am not to maintain
A point, whereof the contrair is so plain;
I'm not so much in love with vain debate,
Nor am so wedded to my own conceit,
As you appear to be, that I should call
What I have said, so purelie general,
As it of no exception can admit,
No, I do not pretend to so much wit,
As to maintain, with Reasons full extent,
The truth of such a foolish Argument.
For I do onlie say that some, not all
Of those same men, whom you do wicked call,
Are bless'd on earth: because I understand
As well as you, that on the other hand,
Many of them do in this life sustain
The Wrath of God; and undergo much Pain,
Much Hatred, much Contempt, and Povertie,
Whilst here on earth; and suffer Miserie,
In its extream Degree: I know that some
Unhappie men are whollie overcome
With Plagues, and Sorrows, and before they die,
Reap the reward of their impietie:
Though such as in this earth are punished,
And by afflictions terrors visited,
Are not so numerous, if we do compare
Their list with those on Earth, who blessed are.
How oft, pray, do we see such sinful men,
Expos'd to Gods displeasure? one of ten
Perhaps are so: 'tis true, when God doth fall
Upon those villanous men, root, branch, and all,
He doth destroy, their glory quickly dyes,
As doth the spark from flame that upward flyes,
Or as the light of Candle, when its head
Is turned down, is soon extinguished,
Its splendid lustre instantly is spent,
Evaporating in a noisome scent.
How much the wicked in this life are bless'd,
So I would have yow know that what I say,
I do not as a firm position lay:
Nor do I think it proper on my part,
That I should so tenaciouslie assert
That all such prosper, as you stifflie plead,
That such by him, are onlie punished.
No, my good friends, I am not to maintain
A point, whereof the contrair is so plain;
I'm not so much in love with vain debate,
Nor am so wedded to my own conceit,
As you appear to be, that I should call
What I have said, so purelie general,
As it of no exception can admit,
No, I do not pretend to so much wit,
As to maintain, with Reasons full extent,
The truth of such a foolish Argument.
For I do onlie say that some, not all
Of those same men, whom you do wicked call,
Are bless'd on earth: because I understand
As well as you, that on the other hand,
Many of them do in this life sustain
The Wrath of God; and undergo much Pain,
Much Hatred, much Contempt, and Povertie,
Whilst here on earth; and suffer Miserie,
In its extream Degree: I know that some
Unhappie men are whollie overcome
With Plagues, and Sorrows, and before they die,
Reap the reward of their impietie:
Though such as in this earth are punished,
And by afflictions terrors visited,
Are not so numerous, if we do compare
172
How oft, pray, do we see such sinful men,
Expos'd to Gods displeasure? one of ten
Perhaps are so: 'tis true, when God doth fall
Upon those villanous men, root, branch, and all,
He doth destroy, their glory quickly dyes,
As doth the spark from flame that upward flyes,
Or as the light of Candle, when its head
Is turned down, is soon extinguished,
Its splendid lustre instantly is spent,
Evaporating in a noisome scent.
As Chaff, or Stuble, driven 'fore the Wind,
Scattered along the Fields we daily find,
Such, when God is incens'd shall be the state
Of those poor men, they shall be dissipat
Upon the face of Earth, their Families
Shall go to ruine, and their Memories
Shall with themselves expire, their former glory,
Shall not be entred in the Page of Story.
Scattered along the Fields we daily find,
Such, when God is incens'd shall be the state
Of those poor men, they shall be dissipat
Upon the face of Earth, their Families
Shall go to ruine, and their Memories
Shall with themselves expire, their former glory,
Shall not be entred in the Page of Story.
Nay, that they may be further punished,
Their misery shall not be limited
To their own persons, for before their eyes,
They shall perceive horrid calamities,
Invading of their so late happy Race,
Destroy their pleasures, and disturb their peace.
Shall see their dearest Children beg their Bread,
And with sad roots, their hungry Stomachs feed.
Shall see them scattered every where abroad,
Sitting half-naked in each common Road,
With lift up hands most lamentably cry,
For Alms, from every one that passeth by.
Their misery shall not be limited
To their own persons, for before their eyes,
They shall perceive horrid calamities,
Invading of their so late happy Race,
Destroy their pleasures, and disturb their peace.
Shall see their dearest Children beg their Bread,
And with sad roots, their hungry Stomachs feed.
Shall see them scattered every where abroad,
Sitting half-naked in each common Road,
With lift up hands most lamentably cry,
For Alms, from every one that passeth by.
All this they shall perceive, and quickly know,
When God for any man designs a blow,
Though he's long-suffering, and slow to wrath,
And takes no pleasure in a sinners death:
Yet when his Choller once begins to rise,
Judgements like Lightnings issue from hit Eyes,
Upon these wretches, which with sudden flash,
Them and their issue all to pieces dash:
For when Heavens Monarch doth in wrath appear,
His Judgements are so heavy and severe,
No Mortal Shoulders can his loadnings bear.
When God for any man designs a blow,
Though he's long-suffering, and slow to wrath,
And takes no pleasure in a sinners death:
Yet when his Choller once begins to rise,
Judgements like Lightnings issue from hit Eyes,
Upon these wretches, which with sudden flash,
Them and their issue all to pieces dash:
For when Heavens Monarch doth in wrath appear,
His Judgements are so heavy and severe,
No Mortal Shoulders can his loadnings bear.
And where they'd cheer their spirits formerly,
With expectation, that their memory
Might be preserv'd, and men may clearly read
Their glorious names ingrav'd, when they were dead,
I'th' several Fore-heads of their fruitful Race,
Which might proclaim their worth from place to place.
Alace what pleasure now can these men have?
When all their Race is swallowed by the Grave
In their own time? when all their pleasure dyes,
And all their memories are before their eyes,
By th'very hand of God obliterat,
So that no vestige of their former state
Doth now remain: and they are in their prime,
(E're they're well entred in the books of Time,)
Shiffled out of the World, and quickly sent
To their so oft derided punishment.
With expectation, that their memory
Might be preserv'd, and men may clearly read
Their glorious names ingrav'd, when they were dead,
I'th' several Fore-heads of their fruitful Race,
Which might proclaim their worth from place to place.
Alace what pleasure now can these men have?
When all their Race is swallowed by the Grave
In their own time? when all their pleasure dyes,
And all their memories are before their eyes,
By th'very hand of God obliterat,
So that no vestige of their former state
173
(E're they're well entred in the books of Time,)
Shiffled out of the World, and quickly sent
To their so oft derided punishment.
Since then, my friends, our God is pleas'd to blesse
Some sinful wretches, letting them possesse
All pleasures here on Earth, and makes them dye
As they had liv'd, in soft tranquillity,
Whilst others of 'em are so sore oppress't
By plagues on Earth, as they can have no rest,
But wearied of their lives, incessantly
Cry our for help from death, until they dy.
Who's he dares say that none are punished
But sinful men? that God has limited
His Judgements only to such men as these,
Whilst all the truly godly live in peace?
What man is he will undertake to teach
God what he ought to do? or vainly preach
Upon a text so far above his reach?
So then, my friends, I hope you will allow,
Th'Almighty God knowes better things then you,
And is not to be taught at any rate,
How he his Judgements should proportionat,
With this, or t'other subject, as you dream,
And in your crazy judgements do esteem.
No, no, my friends, as God doth fully know,
So he doth fully judge both high, and low.
Even as he pleaseth: nor can humane wit
Prescribe to God methods so just and fit,
As he doth use, in all his dispensations
Upon the sons of men.—
Yet must we not imagine, or suppose,
That he who all men most exactly knows,
Who all things fram'd, who all things did create,
Who judges men, of every rank and state,
With a true knowledge, and deliberatly,
That he should let his plagues at random fly,
On this or t'other, as it were by chance,
No, none are punish'd but by ordinance,
And firm decree of Heaven, in which doth shine,
The glory of his Majesty Divine.
Some sinful wretches, letting them possesse
All pleasures here on Earth, and makes them dye
As they had liv'd, in soft tranquillity,
Whilst others of 'em are so sore oppress't
By plagues on Earth, as they can have no rest,
But wearied of their lives, incessantly
Cry our for help from death, until they dy.
Who's he dares say that none are punished
But sinful men? that God has limited
His Judgements only to such men as these,
Whilst all the truly godly live in peace?
What man is he will undertake to teach
God what he ought to do? or vainly preach
Upon a text so far above his reach?
So then, my friends, I hope you will allow,
Th'Almighty God knowes better things then you,
And is not to be taught at any rate,
How he his Judgements should proportionat,
With this, or t'other subject, as you dream,
And in your crazy judgements do esteem.
No, no, my friends, as God doth fully know,
So he doth fully judge both high, and low.
Even as he pleaseth: nor can humane wit
Prescribe to God methods so just and fit,
As he doth use, in all his dispensations
Upon the sons of men.—
Yet must we not imagine, or suppose,
That he who all men most exactly knows,
Who all things fram'd, who all things did create,
Who judges men, of every rank and state,
With a true knowledge, and deliberatly,
That he should let his plagues at random fly,
On this or t'other, as it were by chance,
No, none are punish'd but by ordinance,
And firm decree of Heaven, in which doth shine,
The glory of his Majesty Divine.
For though indeed we cannot understand
The Almighties ways, when we perceive his hand
Sometimes on this, sometimes on t'other fall,
As if he did observe no rule at all,
In governing o'th' World; yet if we do,
In sad sobriety, observe but how
He lets some live in wealth and happinesse,
Whilst others, in great sorrow, and distresse,
Consume their days: how some in peace do dye
Larded with riches, to whom penury
Was never known; whose calm and quiet years,
Void of all cares, anxieties, and fears,
In a course so serene, so smooth, and slow,
As streams do gentlie through the Meadows flow,
Slide softlie to the grave, as one should think
Those men knew nothing, but to eat and drink.
The Almighties ways, when we perceive his hand
Sometimes on this, sometimes on t'other fall,
As if he did observe no rule at all,
In governing o'th' World; yet if we do,
In sad sobriety, observe but how
He lets some live in wealth and happinesse,
Whilst others, in great sorrow, and distresse,
Consume their days: how some in peace do dye
Larded with riches, to whom penury
Was never known; whose calm and quiet years,
Void of all cares, anxieties, and fears,
In a course so serene, so smooth, and slow,
174
Slide softlie to the grave, as one should think
Those men knew nothing, but to eat and drink.
How with such plentie those same men are blest,
As scarce by Humane Art can be exprest;
Their bodies healthful, strong and vigorous,
As tempered Steel, nothing obnoxious
To th'force of anie violent disease,
But as they liv'd, so go to death with ease,
Their breasts with milk, their bones with marrow fall
In earthlie pleasures become soft and dull.
As scarce by Humane Art can be exprest;
Their bodies healthful, strong and vigorous,
As tempered Steel, nothing obnoxious
To th'force of anie violent disease,
But as they liv'd, so go to death with ease,
Their breasts with milk, their bones with marrow fall
In earthlie pleasures become soft and dull.
Whilst others of those men our God permits
To live, and die, in such tormenting fits,
Of Poverty, Fear, and Anxiety,
With all the species of Adversity.
As all their lives, they have no other fare
But tears, and do not know what pleasures are:
In tears they sleep, in tears they do awake,
Their hearts with sorrow alwaies seem to break,
Oppress't with tears, and sighs, they eat and drink,
Nor can their minds on anie pleasure think,
But in the bitter anguish of their Soul,
Conjure all living Creatures to condole
Their sad disasters, fretting constantlie
At others blessings, and so cursing die.
To live, and die, in such tormenting fits,
Of Poverty, Fear, and Anxiety,
With all the species of Adversity.
As all their lives, they have no other fare
But tears, and do not know what pleasures are:
In tears they sleep, in tears they do awake,
Their hearts with sorrow alwaies seem to break,
Oppress't with tears, and sighs, they eat and drink,
Nor can their minds on anie pleasure think,
But in the bitter anguish of their Soul,
Conjure all living Creatures to condole
Their sad disasters, fretting constantlie
At others blessings, and so cursing die.
Should we, I say, in serious meditations,
Observe the course of Gods great Dispensations,
And carfully remark how all things go
With wicked men, we certainly would know
That all Gods Wayes to our instruction tend,
For if of both these we behold the end,
Why all are huddled in the dust together;
Where home bred-worms have no regard to either;
Nor make distinction betwixt anie there,
But look on all flesh as their ordinar,
What ever price men put upon it; hence
On rich and poor, with great indifference,
As on their daily Commons, they do feed,
Considering no more, but that such are dead.
So that, as in the grave we cannot know
Whether those men were punished or no,
Whilst here on life, with peace and plentie blest,
Or whether ne're, while now, enjoying rest.
Even so, my friends, we cannot understand
The various motions of Gods mighty hand;
Nor give a reason, why this wicked man,
Not that is punish'd, more than anie can
Assign a reason, why God did creat
Mans body, in such vigour, form, and state,
Only to become silly insects meat.
Observe the course of Gods great Dispensations,
And carfully remark how all things go
With wicked men, we certainly would know
That all Gods Wayes to our instruction tend,
For if of both these we behold the end,
Why all are huddled in the dust together;
Where home bred-worms have no regard to either;
Nor make distinction betwixt anie there,
But look on all flesh as their ordinar,
What ever price men put upon it; hence
On rich and poor, with great indifference,
As on their daily Commons, they do feed,
Considering no more, but that such are dead.
So that, as in the grave we cannot know
Whether those men were punished or no,
Whilst here on life, with peace and plentie blest,
Or whether ne're, while now, enjoying rest.
Even so, my friends, we cannot understand
The various motions of Gods mighty hand;
Nor give a reason, why this wicked man,
Not that is punish'd, more than anie can
Assign a reason, why God did creat
Mans body, in such vigour, form, and state,
Only to become silly insects meat.
And now, my friends, that I have argued
So fullie on the case, and laboured
To state the question betwixt you, and me
So clearlie, 'tis because I plainlie see
All your Discourse, since first you hither came,
(Though modestlie you do forbear to name
The persons, whom you mean) is reallie
Design'd for me, and my poor familie;
For I perceive by all your Rhetorick,
(Whose nauseous Tropes would make one trulie sick,
Who's in good Health,) that all you do intend
Is not to comfort, but condemn your friend.
So fullie on the case, and laboured
To state the question betwixt you, and me
So clearlie, 'tis because I plainlie see
175
(Though modestlie you do forbear to name
The persons, whom you mean) is reallie
Design'd for me, and my poor familie;
For I perceive by all your Rhetorick,
(Whose nauseous Tropes would make one trulie sick,
Who's in good Health,) that all you do intend
Is not to comfort, but condemn your friend.
For, though you'd with the fashion of the times,
Conceal the persons, but reprove the crimes;
Yet, when you tell me ever, and anonn,
In your proud way, that God afflicteth none
But sinful men, and argue thence so much
Since I'm afflicted, I must sure be such.
I then perceive that I am all the butt
Of your Discourse.—
Why you had as good speak it plainlie out,
And not with so much cunning, go about
To palliate your thoughts; for when you say
Where's now this Prince? where is his dwelling, pray?
Where's he, who swelling with felicitie,
Was latelie the head of a great familie?
Where's he, who keep'd his Neighbours all in aw,
And would to warring Nations give Law?
He who so late, with Glorie and Renown,
Dwelt in this place, pray whither is he gone?
When thus, I say you speak, I clearlie do
Perceive your meaning, how that all of you
Conclude, that 'cause the Hand of God doth lie
Heavie upon me, so undoubtedlie
I must by all that know me be repute
The worst of sinners, and without dispute
A person hated by Almightie God,
Because so beaten by his angrie rod.
Conceal the persons, but reprove the crimes;
Yet, when you tell me ever, and anonn,
In your proud way, that God afflicteth none
But sinful men, and argue thence so much
Since I'm afflicted, I must sure be such.
I then perceive that I am all the butt
Of your Discourse.—
Why you had as good speak it plainlie out,
And not with so much cunning, go about
To palliate your thoughts; for when you say
Where's now this Prince? where is his dwelling, pray?
Where's he, who swelling with felicitie,
Was latelie the head of a great familie?
Where's he, who keep'd his Neighbours all in aw,
And would to warring Nations give Law?
He who so late, with Glorie and Renown,
Dwelt in this place, pray whither is he gone?
When thus, I say you speak, I clearlie do
Perceive your meaning, how that all of you
Conclude, that 'cause the Hand of God doth lie
Heavie upon me, so undoubtedlie
I must by all that know me be repute
The worst of sinners, and without dispute
A person hated by Almightie God,
Because so beaten by his angrie rod.
Why this is strange that you will still maintain
This false Position, pray what do you mean?
Would you by this express your wit, and show
The world, that whether this be true or no,
Yet 'tis enough that you will have it so.
In this if I should hate your Arrogance,
Or have compassion on your Ignorance,
I hardlie know: onlie I'le freelie say
If you but ask the Traveller by the way,
Hee'l tell you that the things, which you assert,
In such as you show neither Wit, nor Art,
For 'tis a thing so generallie known,
That to this hour it is deni'd by none,
But you, my friends, that Gods true love, or hate
Is not at all to be commensurate
By blessings or afflictions, since we see
How manie famous passages there be
Extant ith' world to show how God doth bless
Both just, and wicked, as all do confess,
That as of pious lives no argument
From blessings can be drawn, so punishment
Infers not always guilt.—
Be pleas'd my friends, then to enquire I say,
Even at the silly Traveller by the way;
He'll tell you plainly that he understands,
When travelling through our neighbouring Hills, and Sands,
Where numerous Tombs of sinful men are plac'd,
Not by consuming Time as yet defac'd,
Rang'd at some distance by the high-way side,
Serving him as so many Poles to guide
Him him in his Road; how underneath these stones,
The hateful Carrions, and accursed Bones
Of sinful wreches do securely rest,
Whilst good men here with sorrows are opprest.
This false Position, pray what do you mean?
Would you by this express your wit, and show
The world, that whether this be true or no,
Yet 'tis enough that you will have it so.
In this if I should hate your Arrogance,
Or have compassion on your Ignorance,
I hardlie know: onlie I'le freelie say
If you but ask the Traveller by the way,
Hee'l tell you that the things, which you assert,
In such as you show neither Wit, nor Art,
For 'tis a thing so generallie known,
That to this hour it is deni'd by none,
But you, my friends, that Gods true love, or hate
Is not at all to be commensurate
By blessings or afflictions, since we see
How manie famous passages there be
Extant ith' world to show how God doth bless
Both just, and wicked, as all do confess,
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From blessings can be drawn, so punishment
Infers not always guilt.—
Be pleas'd my friends, then to enquire I say,
Even at the silly Traveller by the way;
He'll tell you plainly that he understands,
When travelling through our neighbouring Hills, and Sands,
Where numerous Tombs of sinful men are plac'd,
Not by consuming Time as yet defac'd,
Rang'd at some distance by the high-way side,
Serving him as so many Poles to guide
Him him in his Road; how underneath these stones,
The hateful Carrions, and accursed Bones
Of sinful wreches do securely rest,
Whilst good men here with sorrows are opprest.
He'll tell you plainly that he thinks those men,
Though here on life, they fully did attain
To all the pleasures, which they could project,
And dy'd in peace, yet can they not expect
To rest for ever, for in Cells of Death,
They're only keep'd, unto the day of wrath.
Unto the day when all the World around,
Th'Almighty King of Heavens by Trumpet sound,
Shall summon every Mortal to appear,
At Bar of Justice, where each one may hear
The history of his life in publick read,
And then accordingly be punished,
For all his sins; then, then, those wretched men
Shall be condemned to perpetual pain;
And stead of Graves, wherein their Bones do dwell,
They shall be quartered in the Pit of Hell.
Though here on life, they fully did attain
To all the pleasures, which they could project,
And dy'd in peace, yet can they not expect
To rest for ever, for in Cells of Death,
They're only keep'd, unto the day of wrath.
Unto the day when all the World around,
Th'Almighty King of Heavens by Trumpet sound,
Shall summon every Mortal to appear,
At Bar of Justice, where each one may hear
The history of his life in publick read,
And then accordingly be punished,
For all his sins; then, then, those wretched men
Shall be condemned to perpetual pain;
And stead of Graves, wherein their Bones do dwell,
They shall be quartered in the Pit of Hell.
Now then, that I may to a period
Draw my discourse, we see how th'mighty God
Thinks fit, not only in his Providence,
To let some wicked livers travel hence,
As they desire, but even those hateful men,
Who so by force of laws their sins maintain,
As none dare of their injuries complain:
Even those he suffers to depart in peace,
And lets their sinful Bodies rest at ease.
Draw my discourse, we see how th'mighty God
Thinks fit, not only in his Providence,
To let some wicked livers travel hence,
As they desire, but even those hateful men,
Who so by force of laws their sins maintain,
As none dare of their injuries complain:
Even those he suffers to depart in peace,
And lets their sinful Bodies rest at ease.
He lets them under stately Tomb-stones ly,
Admir'd by every one that passeth by.
Their Statues too in Brasse, or Marble wrought,
With great expence, and toil, from far are brought,
And plac'd upon those glorious Monuments,
To serve to all that view, as arguments
Of their fine Grandour, all their Honours too,
Are fix't about them, to demonstrat how
They liv'd in Earth, and all do serve t'expresse
Their worldly splendor, pomp, and happinesse.
Admir'd by every one that passeth by.
Their Statues too in Brasse, or Marble wrought,
With great expence, and toil, from far are brought,
And plac'd upon those glorious Monuments,
To serve to all that view, as arguments
Of their fine Grandour, all their Honours too,
Are fix't about them, to demonstrat how
They liv'd in Earth, and all do serve t'expresse
Their worldly splendor, pomp, and happinesse.
Here in Earths bowels they shall sweetly rest,
And as in life, so in their death be bless't,
The slimy clods shall then become their beds,
Where, as on pillows, they shall lay their heads,
To the same place all mankind shall repair
As were before them, many thousands there.
And as in life, so in their death be bless't,
The slimy clods shall then become their beds,
Where, as on pillows, they shall lay their heads,
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As were before them, many thousands there.
Since then, I say, we see how providence
Doth not at all times favour innocence:
But that our God is oftimes pleas'd to bless
Even the professors of gross wickedness:
Why would you undertake to comfort me
By such discourse, in which I plainly see
The strength of all your arguments doth lie
That cause afflicted of impiety
I'me guilty, which I constantly deny.
Doth not at all times favour innocence:
But that our God is oftimes pleas'd to bless
Even the professors of gross wickedness:
Why would you undertake to comfort me
By such discourse, in which I plainly see
The strength of all your arguments doth lie
That cause afflicted of impiety
I'me guilty, which I constantly deny.
| The grand Tryal | |