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.

XX.

XXI.

XXII.

XXIII.

XXIV.

Cap. 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. XXIV.

1. Why seing times are not hidden from the Almighty, do they that knew him not, see his days.

Job having thus in words of modest passion,
Deny'd his Charge, and put in protestation
Of his unspotted zeal, and innocence
In all his actings, as his chief defence.
Now he makes answer to the second part
Of this sams Charge, in which his friends assert,
That God Almighty had prefix'd set times,
For hearing, trying, and punishing of Crimes,
As Judges in their Circuits use to set
Days for each County, where the Shrievs must wait
Upon the Court, and give up Rolls of all
Delinquents in their Precincts, at a call,
What are their misdemeanors, where they lie,
If under Bail, or in safe custodie,
And so proceed to Jayl-deliverie.
For this, as all the rest of their positions,
Without exceptions, limits, or conditions,
They hold to be infallible, and presse
The truth of it by many instances.
To this Job here doth calmly answer make,
Endeavouring to show them their mistake.

How comes't, says he, since God has set such times
Here upon Earth, for punishing of Crimes;
And since his Dyets are so peremptor,
As you affirm, that at a certain hour,
This, or that man, his tryal may expect,
How comes't these methods of which you do speak,
Were never known before to such as fear
His holy Name? 'tis strange they should not hear.
Who daily do frequent his Courts, till now
Of his procedure? strange, he'll not allow
That they should know such things as well as you.
For my part, I of knowledge am not proud,
But with such Parts as God has me endu'd,
I've us'd my time, and have in general,
Observ'd as much as any of you all:
Yet am I still a stranger to what you
Of God affirm, and never heard while now,
That he had fix'd his grand Court Criminall
On Earth, where he doth use to summon all
Delinquents, at such Dyets to appear,
On tryal to receive their Sentence here.
'Tis true, I have observ'd some instances
Of this procedure, and I must confesse,
God sometimes is so kind, as he will show,
Before he doth the wicked overthrow,
Some signs of his displeasure, as he did
To those before the Flood.—

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And then because his Prophets they contemn,
He will such Wretches suddenlie condemn
To punishment on this side time: I know
It is his custom often to do so:
Nor would I have you think, my friends, that I
His universal prescience denie;
Or question his eternal purposes
Of punishing all kinds of wickedness,
Even in this life, in some men, but that all
Under the compass of that Statute fall,
And suffer here on Earth, I do denie,
For on the contrair I do formallie,
As I have often done before, contend
That God on all men doth not Judgments send
Who do deserve them here, and visiblie
Doth punish all, who of impietie
Shall be convict, reserving no mans trial
Till after death.—
But that he suffers many such in ease
To pass their days, doing even what they please,
And after all shut up their eyes in peace.

2. Some remove the land-marks, they violently take away flocks, and feed thereof.

To prove the truth of this, I shall adduce
In the first place, a crime too much in use
Amongst us now a days, a loud-tongu'd crime,
Which may be term'd Iniquity in its prime,
The grand sin of Oppression, a sin
Which makes my hair stand, when I do begin
To speak of it, a sin so black, and foul,
As all good men abhor it with their soul.
A sin so black, as I can hardlie find
Words to express its nature to my mind.
A sin so vile, that, if what you have said
Were true, would never scape unpunished,
On this side time: and yet we dailie see
How many such from punishments go free,
Whilst here in life: which that in terms of Art
I may demonstrate as I do assert;
I shall, with your good liberty and peace,
Deduce this sin in all it species;
And show you plainlie how they all escape
Unpunish'd in this life.—
And first we see how some men openlie
Encroach upon their Neighbours propertie:
Others their Neighbours cattel drive away:
And keep them, as they were their lawful prey.

3. They drive away the ass of the fatherless, they take the widows ox for a pledge.

The Ass, which the poor Orphan now retains,
As th'onlie reliques of his Fathers Means;
Which driving dailie to some neighbouring Town
With Loads of Brushes, Faggots, Turf, or Broom,
To furnish those, who do such triffles need,
Makes a hard-shift to gain his dailie bread:
This very beast some of these cruel men
On some pretence or other do distrain:

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The Ox, which the poor Widows ground should plow,
Pretending 'tis their pledge, they seize on too.

4. They turn the needy out of the way, the poor of the earthhide themselves together.

Nay, which is yet more cruel, when they've seiz'd
On all they have, yet are their minds not pleas'd,
Until they have these Wretches in the tail,
And either under lock, or under bail.
Hence 'tis that men dare hardly keep the street,
For fear of such; but in dark corners meet:
Suspecting these same men upon pretence,
Of Debt, or Trespass, may perhaps commence
Some Suit against them, and in some mad fit,
Assoon as they perceive them, serve a Writ
Against their persons; in the ears of all
So dreadful are their names!

5. Behold as wild asses in the desart, go they forth to their work, rising betimes for a prey, the wilderness yieldeth food for them, and for their children.

But yet those men have always some pretence
Of Law, which they cast up for their defence,
But there be others of that Corporation,
Who openly avow this damn'd Profession.
Who fly at all, and plunder openly,
In view o'th Sun, without all modesty.
For don't we in our Neighbouring-mountains see
How many powerful Families there be,
That live by open pillaging of all,
And sometimes in amongst our Flocks do fall,
In numerous troops, (as all may see alace,
Not many days ago was my own case.)
They breed their Children, from their Infancy,
In all the active points of robbery:
And when they come to age, they send them out
To earn their Bread in all the Fields about,
By Petit-larcin, which, if cunninglie
They do perform; they mount them by and by
In every point, as their unlawful Trade
Requires, Bow, Arrows, Target, Shearing-blade,
Short-knife, and Poinyard, and then formallie
They send them out to open Robberie:
Where by the High-ways, sculking here, and there,
They seize upon th'unwary Passenger,
Of all his Mony, Goods, and Cloaths they pill him
And think th'oblige him, if they do not kill him.
But when they see the Travellers advance,
Before them, in well ordered Caravans;
They stand aloof, and suffer them to pass,
Not daring to look Merchants in the face,
When in such order, but keep off for fear,
And hover at a distance on the rear.
Whilst others of 'em on the flanks do watch,
With careful eyes, to see if they can catch
The Straglers, and if anie they do find
On tyred Jades unluckilie behind
The companie, upon them straight they fall,
And, without mercie, kill, and plunder all.
Nay, when the Sun declining in the West,
Invite the wearied Travellers to rest:

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These wretches do not sleep, but still in arms,
Beat up their quarters, and give sad alarms
On every hand, and will be sure at length
To catch some prey, by policy, or strength.
'Strange, what a sinful life those rogues do lead,
They know not what it is to earn their Bread
By honest Callings, Means, or Trades, not they,
But wandring idly, only live on prey.
And yet in peace, and plenty they abound,
And hardly one amongst them all is found
To dye of famine: for they do increase
In number, and the very wilderness
Affords them a subsistence, and provides
All pleasures, which their hearts desire besides.
Except perhaps a few of 'em, who stray
Amongst our fields, and missing of their way,
By Providence i'th' hands of justice fall,
And dye, on Wheel, or Gibbet, and that's all:
But the main body of'em still subsist
Pillaging, killing, doing what they list,
Without controul, for many Generations,
Under the names of Families and Nations,
Contemning Laws, and making plain profession
Of that accursed species of oppression.

6. They reap every one his corn in the field, and they gather the vintage of the wicked.

What honest men do sow, those thieves do reap,
And 'mongst themselves such correspondence keep,
As when the Vintage season doth draw nigh,
Whole troops of'em do meet, and suddenlie
On the Wine-labourers with great fury fall,
Wound, drive away, kill, and make prize of all,
Without distinction, whether friends or foes
Be owners of'em, for these men (God knows)
Have no regard at all to any man,
But from both good, and bad, take what they can;
And then draw off to th'mountains with their prey,
Divide the spoil, in their accustom'd way,
Disband their troops, and suddenly retire
Each to his lurking hole, where sword, and fire
Can hardly find them out.
Nay some there be of those wild Mountaineers,
VVho having for a tract of many years,
Vex'd those i'th' valleys with sad Robbery,
Our predecessors were compell'd to buy
Their peace, and ease, from them at any rate,
Acknowledging those Thieves, as a free state,
By payment of a Tribute annual,
Not without reason, call'd by some black-mail:
VVhich, if precisely we neglect to pay,
Then do these men in troops without delay,
Fall down amongst us, and drive all away.
Under our windows they our Corns do seize,
Riffle our Stables, and do what they please.
Then they return in order, whence they came
VVith all our goods, and openly proclaim

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Them as their lawful prey: the Countrey then,
Rise, and with hue and cry, pursue those men,
Thinking to overtake them, but in vain.
For in small bodies, they march speedily,
And to the Mountains soon, like Lightning, fly.
Then do we send up Deputies, to treate
For restitution, but they come to late,
For all those men are quickly dissipate.

7. They cause the naked to lodge without cloathing, that they have no covering in the cold.

Some there be also of that thieving race,
VVho in their robbing are so merciless,
As having stripp'd men of their Goods and Purses,
Yet not contented with so easie purchase,
They strip them all of their apparrel too,
And will not out of Charity allow
So much as may protect them from the cold,
But make them wander without house, or hold,
Along the Mountains, whilst they naked go,
Benumm'd with cold, above the knees in Snow.

8. They are wet with the showers of the mountains, and embrace the rock for want of a shelter.

All wet, and weary, those poor Souls do crawl
Amongst the hanging Rocks, and after all,
They think they're happy, if they find some Cave,
VVhere for some time they may their bodies save
From down-right-perishing in cold, or rather
Avoid the present fury of the VVeather.
Then having rested, in great fear, and pain,
Betake them quickly to their Feet again;
And night, and Day, through hills and deserts roam,
Until half-buried, they at length get home.

9. They pluck the fatherless from the breast, and take a pledge of the poor.

Nay very Infants from the breasts they pluck,
And will not let their Mothers give them Suck,
To the full time, unless they give a pledge,
T'assure them of them, when they come to age.
These in great numbers they do yearly sell
For slaves, or otherwayes, by force compel
The miserable Parents to redeem them
At whatsoever ransom they esteem them.

10. They cause him to go naked without cloathing and they take away the sheaf from the hungry.

All men they rob, all families they spoil,
And what the poor ones do with daily toil
Amongst the reapers glean, they take away,
Making the sheaves of th'hunger-starv'd their prey.

11. Which make oyl within their walls, and tread their wine presses, and suffer thist.

Nay though our Peasants for security,
From these shrewd thieves, within doors silently,
Tread out their Wines, and with great care and toyl,
Do in some hidden corner make their Oyl:
Yet maugre all the shifts they can devise,
Those cruel men before their very eyes,
Take all away, and cunningly do cheat
Those anxious souls of both their Drink, and Meat:
So that for want of sustenance they dye,
And in the fields their bodies scattered lye:
As food for Crows, unburied here, and there,
And, with contagious scent, infect the aire:
VVhich quickly doth engender Pestilence,
That in its rage making no difference

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Betwixt the rich, and poor, doth sweep away
Some thousands at a Muster every day:
Where both the guilty, and the innocent,
In the same Coffin, to the Grave are sent,
On shoulders of poor Slaves, and Pioneers,
Whilst not a man of all their friends appears
At the Graves-mouth in mourning, to condole
The Dead, or say a requiem to their Soul:
So that a man may well infer from thence,
Oppression is some cause of Pestilence.

12. Men groan from out of the city, and the soul of the wounded cryeth out, yet God layeth not folly to them.

And yet though Heavens are hourly battered
With cryes of many thousands ruined
By such Oppressours: though the Towns exclaim,
And all the Countys bitterly do blame
The Magistrate, who should by force restrain
The frequent in-rodes of those barbarous men:
Though Ghosts of all the Murthered round about,
With a loud voice, for vengeance do cry out,
Yet God appears to slight, this joint address,
And still permits those Varlets to oppress.

13. They are of those that rebel against the light, they know not the ways thereof, nor abide in the paths thereof.

And now that I have spoke sufficiently
Of those, whose trade is sin, who openly
Practise it, and esteem it no disgrace
To be descended of a thieving race.
Now I shall show you how on th'other part,
Some men do sin as much, but with great art
Endeavour closely to conceal the same,
Not for its guilt, but to avoid its shame.
There be indeed some, who commit offence
Against the light of their own Conscience,
And therefore, as asham'd of what they do,
Because they dare not openly avow
Their sinful actings, they abhore the light,
And wrapp'd up in the mantle of the night,
Practise the works of darkness with delight.
Yet those, most part escape the censure too,
Which you affirm to wicked men is due,
And flourish in this life.—
Of these I shall give you some instances,
For if I should endeavour to express
The several kinds of such, who do offend,
I fear that my discourse should have no end.

14. The murderer rysing with the light, killeth the poor, and needy, & in the night is as a thief.

I'le not then reckon all, but satisfie
My self with Murder and Adultery;
Two loud-tongu'd sins, as to the world are known,
And which are able of themselves alone,
To bring down Judgements, which might overthrow
Whole Kingdomes, States, and Nations at a blow.
Two sins, that in a constant Threnody,
Do call for vengeance, whilst most bitterly
They do accuse their actors, and in crouds,
Make for themselves a way through thickest Clouds,
Each day from hence, not resting while they be
Familiar in the Court of Heavens, and see

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The very face of God, yet after all,
Although for justice every hour they call,
God will not hear them, for great reasons known
To his Eternal Majesty alone.
For let's observe but how the Murderers,
Before the Sun with morning blush appears,
On th'utmost confines of our Horizon:
Are ready, arm'd, and to their work are gone,
Enter some Countrey-dwellings silently.
And cut the throats of all the Family;
Then riffle every Room, take all away,
And get them home before it is yet day.

15. The eye also of the adulterer waiteth for the twilight, saying no eye shall see him, and disguiseth his face.

Th'Adulterer too knowing the proper time,
In which he may with safety act his Crime;
Longs for the twilight, when he poorly may
To his poor pleasures, his poor Soul betray:
For whilst he sick with last nights surfeit sleeps
Till noon-tide, then attires himself, and keeps
Within Doors at his Book, and violin,
To put himself in humour for his sin;
The closs dissembling night draws on apace,
Then doth he with great art disguise his Face,
As all who go a rambling.—
Wrappp'd in long-cloak he sneaks along the streets,
Unknown, as he conceives to all he meets:
To th'evening-walks, he doth direct his march,
Where he, with great anxiety doth search,
In every Grove, and arbour o're, and o're,
Until he find out his beloved Whore;
Whom when he finds, in a most lustful passion,
He hurries to the place of assignation.

16. In the dark they dig through houses, which they had marked for themselves in the day-time; they know not the light.

Sometimes in publick, on design he walks,
And seemingly unconcern'd, converses, talks,
With one, or other, whilst still privatly
Upon some Window he doth cast an Eye,
Where some bewithching face he doth espy.
Then on the door he sets a private mark,
That he may find the place out in the dark;
Thence to his Pandress quicklie drives, and there
What he has now discovered doth declare,
A beauty, O most excellent, and rare.
Th'old sinner views her Books, with care to see
Who this same so much cry'd up Whore can be:
At length by his account she seems to guess,
And tells him she will do his business,
And cunningly appoints both time, and place,
Where these do meet, and at their ease, and leasure
Until the morning, glut themselves with pleasure.

17. For the morning is to them even as the shadow of death: if one know them, they are in the terrors of the shadow of death.

But O the morning! O the rising Sun!
When that appears, this man is quite undone.
Upon his nights atchievments he reflects,
And finds himself assaulted by the checks
Of an enraged Conscience, and appears

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As one distracted betwixt lusts, and fears,
Leaps from his Bed, attires himself anon,
Calls for a Bill, and fain he would begone;
Whilst th'Whore yet sleeps, because he apprehends,
If he should tarry longer, by some friends,
Who early stir about their businesse,
He may be seen from that unlawful place
Come out, and so these men may soon proclaim
Through all the City both his sin, and shame.
On th'other hand he judges he may stay
Within doors, with more safety, while the day
Be spent, and in the evening steal away.
In these reflections, and sad apprehensions,
Each moment he doth alter his intentions;
His resolutions waver to, and fro,
He knows not whether he should stay, or go.
Cold fear invades his Nerves, his Blood doth frieze,
His Joints do tremble, and Deaths terrors sieze
Upon his Soul, for in this pannick fear,
He thinks he sees the Husband every where,
Whom he has injur'd, with Stiletto arm'd
Ready t'assault his Person:—
He thinks he hears him swear in every place,
He shall be soon reveng'd of his disgrace.
At length 'twixt hope and fear, he issues out,
Down next blind-lane he slips, and veers about
By many durty windings here and there,
Until to the next fields he doth repair,
Where he doth walk, as if he took the Air:
But by and by, he to the Woods doth fly,
For now he doth suspect the Hue, and Cry
Is out against him: thus he doth declare,
How for his sin he punishment doth fear,
Resolving from such actions to forbear
In all time coming.—
But when his Lust begins again to to flow,
Forgetting wholly all his former woe,
To the same place, like mad-man, he returns,
And in those unclean flames, again he burns.

18. He is swift as the waters, their portion is cursed in the earth, he beholdeth not the way of the vineyard.

There's one Crime more, of which I do expect
You will permit me yet, my friends, to speak,
A Crime well known by th'name of piracy,
Which is on Sea an open robbery:
I have already spoke of that on Land,
And now 'tis fitting you should understand,
How that on Sea is no lesse openly
Practis'd, as from those men, who live hard by
The Coasts of the Red-sea, we daily hear,
Where in great Fleets those Picaroons appear.
They're men who having try'd all Trades on Land,
And finding nothing, which they took in hand
Succeeded to their wish: in hopes of gain,
At length they became down-right High-way-men.

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Then out-law'd, and by justice every where
Pursu'd, they found there was no living there,
And so at last to Sea-towns they repair.
Where buying some small Pinnace, with a few
Hatchets, and Swords, and mustering a crew
Of Rake-hells, like themselves, to Sea they go,
And plunder all they meet, both friend, and foe.
They spoil all Trade, they make the Merchants groan,
And to all States, and Nations bemoan
Their daily losses, by such men as these,
Who 'gainst all justice do infest the Seas.
They seldom come on Land, or if they do,
'Tis in some Creek, where for a day or two,
They do refresh themselves, and with great pain,
Carine their Barks, and so to Sea again.
At length, when by this vill'nous roaving trade,
Those Sea-opprssours have great Booty made,
To some small Island, where they are not known
They steer, and there themselves they boldly own
To be the Subjects of some mighty State,
Where they as Merchands do Negotiat
With th'Islanders, and riotously spend,
What by their privateering they had gain'd.
These in their little Wherryes skim the Seas,
And ramble on the Ocean with ease,
Killing, and Robbing, doing what they please.
Who, though each moment they have fair occasions,
T'enrich their Souls with pious Meditations,
Viewing Gods wonders in the deep:—
Yet do they still their sinful Trade practise,
And both the Laws of God, and man despise:
Though floating shrewdly betwixt Winds, and Waves,
And not four inches distant from their Graves.

19. Drought, and heat consume the snow waters, so doth the grave those who have sinned.

Thus then we see, my friends, how at all times,
Men take delite to act most horrid Crimes,
In a continued tract of villany,
Pray let us see now how these men do dye.
Why not bereav'd of Life, by Rope, or Sword,
Not drown'd, not cut in pieces, in a word,
After they have grown old in sin, and known
No other trade, but that of Hell alone,
As in some places, Snow doth still appear,
Until the Summer Solstice of the year,
And undissolv'd in heaps it self doth show,
Until by heat it doth in waters flow:
So these grown old in sin, and now no more
Able to act it, as they did before,
Do softly dwindle to the Grave, and there
Lye down, and rest, without all fear, or care.

20. The womb shall forget him, the worm shall feed sweetly on him, he shall be no more remembred, and wickedness shall be broken as a tree.

Nay with such calmnesse, and tranquility,
As if they mean't to sleep, they softly dye,
And with so little violence, or pain,
As even their very Mothers do abstain
From weeping at their death, and making noise

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Above their Corps, but rather do rejoice,
To see their Children in th'extremity,
Of age, wealth, honours, and discretion dye.
The worms upon their Corps do sweetly feed,
And they in Grave do find as soft a bed,
As do the bodies of those pious-men,
Of whom no man had reason to complain.
Nay, though those men with sin so foul, and black,
May well be nam'd villany in th'abstract,
Yet in their Death, there's nothing singular,
Nor do they die in horrour and dispair,
But like an aged Trunk, fall'n to decay,
Insensibly they moulder quite away.

21. He evil entreateth the barren, that beareth not, and doth not good to the widow.

Now here, my friends, I thought t'have given o're,
And of oppression to have spoke no more,
But that I think on't, there's a species,
Of those unhappy men, who do oppress,
Of whom I have not spoke as yet: there are
Some, who for neither rich, nor poor do care:
But bolster'd up with vain authority,
Against all persons they promiscuously
Do vent their rage: men full of picquant-wrath
Who threaten still Destruction, and Death
To all, who give them but the least offence,
And to th'afflicted, with great violence
They add affliction.
They take great pleasure, tartly to upbraid,
All those, on whom the hand of God is laid.
The barren woman, who in doleful tone,
In private doth her barrenness bemoan,
They call an useless wretch, a barren fool,
A dry She-ass, a pitiful Night-owl.
The widow too, whose lamentable state,
All truely pious men compassionate,
Those men, with all their force, and art oppress,
And makes her Life a Scene of bitterness.

22. He draweth also the mighty by his power, he riseth up, and no man is sure of life.

Nay, on the wealthy too, their hand they stretch
And fleece them all, as far, as they can reach,
By heavy Fines, give way to Informations
Against them, and encourage accusations
On slender grounds, which with great art they draw
Out of the very Excrements of Law:
T'attain the lives and means of those they hate,
And satiat their Revenge at any rate.
Their dire Revenge, which no man can endure,
For who is he can of his life be sure,
If once those men by their intelligence,
Can find against them any evidence,
Then must they dy for all their innocence.

23. Though it be given to him to be in safety, whereon he resteth, yet his eyes are on their wayes.

Yet these, these are the men, who do possess
The good things of the earth: these men in peace
Do spend their time, whilst good and righteous men
Of want of bread, do every day complain,
But after all, though these men sillily

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Suppose they sin, with great security,
And think God doth not eye them, nor remark
At least their hidden actings in the dark,
Yet he doth eye them, and will surely bring
Those men to an account, and reckoning,
For all these villanous deeds, and make them know,
That though he be a God to anger slow,
Yet when inflam'd with a just indignation,
He'll of his anger make clear demonstration,
And cut off all their race by extirpation.

24. They are exalted for a little while, but are gone, and broght low, they are taken out of the way as all other, and cut off as the tops of the ears of corn.

For wicked men, though in the worlds eyes
They seem to swell, and in great foamings rise,
Blown up by winds of pride, to th'hight of all,
That which poor mortals happiness do call.
Yet are their honours, titles, dignities,
But meer delusions, vain uncertainties;
Things of no value, triffles, emptie shows,
And but of short duration, God knows:
For in a few years time we shall perceive
Them, and their honours shut up in the Grave:
And their successors prodigally fall
A wasting, spending, and consuming all,
What those poor Caterpillers had with pain
Amass'd together in their lives, and then
There shall be no more memory of those men.

25. And if it be not so now, who will make me a liar? and make my speech nothing worth?

Now to conclude then, if what I have said,
Shall not be able fully, to perswade
Your minds, my friends, that what I speak is true,
Come let me hear, I pray now which of you
Will undertake the question to decide,
And make appear that I have err'd, or ly'd.