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. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. | Cap. XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| IV. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| V. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
 | The grand Tryal |  |
Cap. XXVII.
Thus having reply'd to what Bildad said,
Expecting some should have an answer made,
Job paus'd a while: but then perceiving how
Those learned men had all concluded now
That he was so perversly obstinate
As not to be reclaim'd at any rate,
And therefore seeing what they spoke before
Prevail'd so little, mean't to speak no more:
Lest he might seem t'approve what they decreed,
He still in his defence did thus proceed.
Expecting some should have an answer made,
Job paus'd a while: but then perceiving how
Those learned men had all concluded now
That he was so perversly obstinate
216
And therefore seeing what they spoke before
Prevail'd so little, mean't to speak no more:
Lest he might seem t'approve what they decreed,
He still in his defence did thus proceed.
Why now, my friends, says he, at length I see
You think't lost labour to dispute with me:
You think all you have spoke has been in vain,
And so from speaking more you'll now abstain:
Why you do well, indeed I'me glad 'tis so,
But should I hold my peace, I firmly know
You would undoubtedlie conclude from thence
That I pass'd from my plea of innocence;
Therefore I still must speak in my defence.
As the Lord lives then, as our mighty God
Eternal in the Heavens keeps his abode,
As he has heard and seen all that has past
Amongst us, and will judgment give at last
Against those of us who have err'd: I here
Before you all most solemnlie do swear,
I'me wholly innocent of all these crimes,
Of which you've me accus'd so many times.
I know not why my Maker thus has vex't
My soul with troubles: why I'me thus perplex't
With griefs, and Sorrows, which I ne're did merit,
At his so gracious hands: or why my spirit
Should thus be crush'd with misery and woe,
Of no crimes yet convict, I do not know.
For I protest, my friends, I firmly still
Assert (let God do with me what he will)
I know no cause for my sad punishment:
For to this hour I'me wholly innocent
Of what th'injurious world lay to my charge,
And which in your discourse you have at large,
To my own hearing told.
You think't lost labour to dispute with me:
You think all you have spoke has been in vain,
And so from speaking more you'll now abstain:
Why you do well, indeed I'me glad 'tis so,
But should I hold my peace, I firmly know
You would undoubtedlie conclude from thence
That I pass'd from my plea of innocence;
Therefore I still must speak in my defence.
As the Lord lives then, as our mighty God
Eternal in the Heavens keeps his abode,
As he has heard and seen all that has past
Amongst us, and will judgment give at last
Against those of us who have err'd: I here
Before you all most solemnlie do swear,
I'me wholly innocent of all these crimes,
Of which you've me accus'd so many times.
I know not why my Maker thus has vex't
My soul with troubles: why I'me thus perplex't
With griefs, and Sorrows, which I ne're did merit,
At his so gracious hands: or why my spirit
Should thus be crush'd with misery and woe,
Of no crimes yet convict, I do not know.
For I protest, my friends, I firmly still
Assert (let God do with me what he will)
I know no cause for my sad punishment:
For to this hour I'me wholly innocent
Of what th'injurious world lay to my charge,
And which in your discourse you have at large,
To my own hearing told.
Nay whilest Gods spirit moves within my breast
And whilst I breath I solemnlie protest:
And whilst I breath I solemnlie protest:
No trouble, no affliction, no oppression,
No pain, no woe, no torment, no occasion
Shall move me in my sorrow to express,
What may be even supposed wickedness.
For whilst I breath, I never do intend
To speak those words, which may my God offend.
No pain, no woe, no torment, no occasion
Shall move me in my sorrow to express,
What may be even supposed wickedness.
For whilst I breath, I never do intend
To speak those words, which may my God offend.
And though, since so much woe, and miserie
Has seiz'd upon me, I might possiblie
Vent some hot words, and have perhaps express't
My self but as a simple man at best.
Yet God forbid that I should ratifie
What you have said, or my integritie
Prejudge i'th' least, no never while I die.
What you have spoke, my friends, is all in vain,
For I will still my innocence maintain.
Has seiz'd upon me, I might possiblie
Vent some hot words, and have perhaps express't
My self but as a simple man at best.
Yet God forbid that I should ratifie
What you have said, or my integritie
Prejudge i'th' least, no never while I die.
What you have spoke, my friends, is all in vain,
For I will still my innocence maintain.
To my uprightness I do still adhere,
Whatever to the contrair you aver:
I'le not bely my Conscience for all
That you have said, or can say, should you baul
Never so much, and bitterly exclaim
Against your poor afflicted friend, and blame
My fervent zeal to own my righteousness,
As a meer humour, as a stubbornness,
And positive opinion in the case.
For while I breath, my heart shall ne're upbraid
My tongue with lying; as it had betray'd
That heart, that upright, and ingenuous heart,
That heart o'th' first mould, void of Craft, and Art;
With any, ne're so small acknowledgment
Of what its altogether innocent.
Whatever to the contrair you aver:
I'le not bely my Conscience for all
217
Never so much, and bitterly exclaim
Against your poor afflicted friend, and blame
My fervent zeal to own my righteousness,
As a meer humour, as a stubbornness,
And positive opinion in the case.
For while I breath, my heart shall ne're upbraid
My tongue with lying; as it had betray'd
That heart, that upright, and ingenuous heart,
That heart o'th' first mould, void of Craft, and Art;
With any, ne're so small acknowledgment
Of what its altogether innocent.
Most innocent, for I again protest,
I do not know that thought within my breast
That for injustice can be quarrelled,
For did I think that one were harboured
Of that kind here, I'de quickly tear it out,
And for that thought abhor my self to boot.
No, no, my friends, I utterly detest
The very thoughts of sin; nor, in the least
Will I allow my heart to entertain
Such guests as those, of which you do complain.
For of all men, I truly do esteem
Those Godless livers you so often name,
(However in this world they daily thrive,)
To be the most unhappy men alive.
No greater judgments would I imprecate,
On any, whom my very soul doth hate,
Then that they live, and die in those mens state.
I do not know that thought within my breast
That for injustice can be quarrelled,
For did I think that one were harboured
Of that kind here, I'de quickly tear it out,
And for that thought abhor my self to boot.
No, no, my friends, I utterly detest
The very thoughts of sin; nor, in the least
Will I allow my heart to entertain
Such guests as those, of which you do complain.
For of all men, I truly do esteem
Those Godless livers you so often name,
(However in this world they daily thrive,)
To be the most unhappy men alive.
No greater judgments would I imprecate,
On any, whom my very soul doth hate,
Then that they live, and die in those mens state.
I therefore do beseech you now, my friends,
In charity to alter here your minds,
And not believe that I am on of those,
Whom you call Hypocrites, th'Almighty knows
I am not such; nor would you ere conclude
That I were such, if you but understood
The difference betwixt a Hypocrite
And one that's pious, and in heart upright.
For, but observe now, here's the difference,
The Hypocrite, whilst in great affluence,
Of worldly blessings he consumes his time,
And his felicity is in its prime.
Then he rejoyces, is above all hope,
'Cause all his wishes have attain'd their scope:
Then in Gods goodness he is confident,
Speaks piously, and passes for a Saint.
Yet he will tell you—
He'll tell you, when his Gold in heaps doth ly,
That all these Riches are but vanity,
Things of no moment, only stamped Dust,
And therefore no wise man should put his trust,
Or place his confidence at any rate,
In such a mean return of humane sweat:
That product of the toyl of many years,
That ballance of so numerous cares, and fears,
As all the profit, after just account,
Those Riches do afford, do scarce amount
To so much, as may countervail the loss,
Which we sustain in purchasing such Dross.
Whilst he himself doth place such confidence
In this same Dross, that he concludes from thence
His happiness, as Riches do encrease,
And how much Land, and Cash he doth possess,
'Has as much Faith exactly, and no more,
And all his Hope he measures by his Store.
For he himself in this so valueth,
As he doth laugh at all the Powers of Death.
Nor can the weeklie Sermons he doth hear:
To which he most attentive doth appear:
Delivered with much zeal, and force of art,
Find any passage into this mans heart.
For, notwithstanding all that men can say,
And all the Burials, which he everie day
Under his Windows sees, that plainlie teach
More Death, than all the art of man can preach.
Yet this rich Worldling never can believe
That oft repeated Fable of the Grave:
But in his mind rejects, and privatlie
Derides the Storie of Mortalitie.
For, while in health, he minds his business,
And has no leisure for such thoughts as these.
But change the Scene a little, homewards bear
The Plot, and let approaching Death appear:
Let this bold Sinner be imprisoned
Within the narrow compass of a Bed,
Lay the poor Carrion on his back, and then
He is the most disconsolate of men.
His troubled Conscience nothing can appease,
When now before his eyes that thing he sees,
Of which he oft had heard, that gastly thing,
Of which before he made small reckoning:
Appear at his Bed-side with confidence,
And peremptorily charge him to go hence.
Then all Confusion, Horrour, and Despair,
He quites all hope, and onlie now doth fear:
He fears, he fears, he trembles all apace,
When he considers on his future case:
Thinks all the Wealth, that he has purchased
Is very Dross, and nothing now indeed
But stamped Dust, whilst, when his Chests are full,
Death his reluctant Soul begins to pull
Out of his Body:—
But on the contrair, one upright, and just
Is full of hope, and in his God doth trust,
When that sad hour arrives: in confidence
Of future bliss, he for his journy hence,
Prepares himself, with great alacrity,
Welcomes his stroak, and smilinglie doth dy.
Or if perhaps in miserie he fall,
And by Heavens Wrath he is bereft of all
As I am now: his Spirits never drop,
But firmly rooted in a solid hope,
On God, as on his anchor he relies,
And all the roaring Waves of Hell defies.
In charity to alter here your minds,
And not believe that I am on of those,
Whom you call Hypocrites, th'Almighty knows
I am not such; nor would you ere conclude
That I were such, if you but understood
The difference betwixt a Hypocrite
And one that's pious, and in heart upright.
For, but observe now, here's the difference,
The Hypocrite, whilst in great affluence,
Of worldly blessings he consumes his time,
And his felicity is in its prime.
Then he rejoyces, is above all hope,
'Cause all his wishes have attain'd their scope:
Then in Gods goodness he is confident,
Speaks piously, and passes for a Saint.
Yet he will tell you—
He'll tell you, when his Gold in heaps doth ly,
That all these Riches are but vanity,
Things of no moment, only stamped Dust,
And therefore no wise man should put his trust,
Or place his confidence at any rate,
In such a mean return of humane sweat:
That product of the toyl of many years,
That ballance of so numerous cares, and fears,
218
Those Riches do afford, do scarce amount
To so much, as may countervail the loss,
Which we sustain in purchasing such Dross.
Whilst he himself doth place such confidence
In this same Dross, that he concludes from thence
His happiness, as Riches do encrease,
And how much Land, and Cash he doth possess,
'Has as much Faith exactly, and no more,
And all his Hope he measures by his Store.
For he himself in this so valueth,
As he doth laugh at all the Powers of Death.
Nor can the weeklie Sermons he doth hear:
To which he most attentive doth appear:
Delivered with much zeal, and force of art,
Find any passage into this mans heart.
For, notwithstanding all that men can say,
And all the Burials, which he everie day
Under his Windows sees, that plainlie teach
More Death, than all the art of man can preach.
Yet this rich Worldling never can believe
That oft repeated Fable of the Grave:
But in his mind rejects, and privatlie
Derides the Storie of Mortalitie.
For, while in health, he minds his business,
And has no leisure for such thoughts as these.
But change the Scene a little, homewards bear
The Plot, and let approaching Death appear:
Let this bold Sinner be imprisoned
Within the narrow compass of a Bed,
Lay the poor Carrion on his back, and then
He is the most disconsolate of men.
His troubled Conscience nothing can appease,
When now before his eyes that thing he sees,
Of which he oft had heard, that gastly thing,
Of which before he made small reckoning:
Appear at his Bed-side with confidence,
And peremptorily charge him to go hence.
Then all Confusion, Horrour, and Despair,
He quites all hope, and onlie now doth fear:
He fears, he fears, he trembles all apace,
When he considers on his future case:
Thinks all the Wealth, that he has purchased
Is very Dross, and nothing now indeed
But stamped Dust, whilst, when his Chests are full,
Death his reluctant Soul begins to pull
Out of his Body:—
But on the contrair, one upright, and just
Is full of hope, and in his God doth trust,
When that sad hour arrives: in confidence
Of future bliss, he for his journy hence,
Prepares himself, with great alacrity,
Welcomes his stroak, and smilinglie doth dy.
Or if perhaps in miserie he fall,
And by Heavens Wrath he is bereft of all
219
But firmly rooted in a solid hope,
On God, as on his anchor he relies,
And all the roaring Waves of Hell defies.
Next do you think, that when this wretched man
In trouble lyes, let him say what he can,
That God will hear him, let him sigh, and groan,
Let him his by-past actions bemoan:
Let him his sins so cunninglie lament,
As one would think him truly penitent:
No, after all, such crying is in vain;
For he from God no audience can obtain.
For well God knows, he understands full well,
Not love to him, but trouble doth compel
This man to pray, and were he out of pain,
He'd soon return to his old wayes again:
And therefore our Creator stops his ear
To such a subtile, and time-serving prayer,
But he that trusts in God, no sooner prays,
Then God doth hear him, and his soul doth raise
Out of the Quag-mire of adversity,
As soon as he to Heavens for help doth cry.
In trouble lyes, let him say what he can,
That God will hear him, let him sigh, and groan,
Let him his by-past actions bemoan:
Let him his sins so cunninglie lament,
As one would think him truly penitent:
No, after all, such crying is in vain;
For he from God no audience can obtain.
For well God knows, he understands full well,
Not love to him, but trouble doth compel
This man to pray, and were he out of pain,
He'd soon return to his old wayes again:
And therefore our Creator stops his ear
To such a subtile, and time-serving prayer,
But he that trusts in God, no sooner prays,
Then God doth hear him, and his soul doth raise
Out of the Quag-mire of adversity,
As soon as he to Heavens for help doth cry.
Again, when this man into sickness falls,
Then, not while then, upon Gods name he calls:
Then sighs, and prayes, because he feels some pain,
And of his sins doth bitterly complain,
But 'cause with pain, not with delight he prays,
His new patch'd up Devotion soon decayes;
When Heavens afford no answer, but delayes.
For how d'ye think a man not formerly
Accustom'd to the works of piety,
Who ne'r before upon Gods name did call,
'Till now he's forc'd to do't for good, and all:
Can, when in trouble, bring his earthly mind,
That never to Devotion was inclin'd,
In love with prayer, a thing it never knew,
Before that time, whose name to it is new.
Especially, when no return is made
As he expects, but that he's still delay'd;
Whilst God his Supplication will not hear,
Though every hour he's at expence of prayer.
Why truly after he some time has spent,
In proving of this new Experiment,
Which men call prayer: and perceiving still
His pains encrease, let him pray what he will,
He gives it over, and will pray no more,
But even continues as he did before
In worldly thoughts, and when approaching Death
Begins to stop the passage of his Breath.
Then he doth pass a vote of None-address
'Gainst Heavens, and falls to earthly business.
Calls for his Books, his Bonds, and Evidents,
His Leases, and judicial Instruments;
Makes Notes of 'em, and quickly sums up all,
Both Land, and Money to a capital.
Is anxious to settle his Affairs,
That he may leave no trouble to his Heirs:
Pays what he owes, will die in debt to none,
And clears accounts with all, but God alone.
Which when h'has done, he thinks to find some rest,
Or, after all, to die in peace, at least.
But O! he's disappointed, for now all
His friends, and kindred do about him craul,
As Crows about a dying Beast, and claim
Some portion of his substance, each of 'em
They buzz about him, with such outward show
Of kindness, and torment his spirit so
With their expecting looks, as he can find
No way to ease his now distracted mind,
Until he satisfie them all, and then
He thinks his spirit may be eas'd of pain.
So makes his Will, and names some Legacie
For each of'em, then thinking he may die
In peace, and ease, he bids them all begone,
Since they have got their asking, but anon
Physicians, Lawyers, Scriveners appear
And each of them too do pretend a share
In that rich Booty.—
These for their labour during his Disease,
Expecting more then ordinary Fees:
These others for the pains, which they have ta'ne
In his Affairs pretend to no small gain:
Hence wearied of his Life, and seeing now
With Riches he can have no more to do,
He signs, and seals whatever these advise
And piece-meals in a thousand Legacies,
His once beloved Dross: then after all
Is gone, he faintly doth for Preachers call:
'Tells them that he has given all away,
And therefore thinks it now high time to pray.
But scarce these good men do begin to speak,
When the poor Worm becomes so faint and weak,
As he is ready to expire, and then
He has no time to hear those pious men:
Only when thoy desire, out of his store,
He may appoint some small thing for the Poor:
He tells them all's now gone, 'has nothing left,
No Means, no Cash, he's now of all bereft:
Then in the view of all, with staring eyes,
Sad grinnings, bitter words, and horrid crys,
He sees his soul depart, and cursing dies.
Thus lives, and dies the wretched Hypocrite,
Who never in devotion took delite:
But O the man, on whom our gracious God
Has Grace bestow'd, walks in another road.
For he acquainted in Prosperity
With daily Prayer at least, when Misery
Doth seize upon him, never doth give or'e
But still the more it doth increase, the more
He prays, and take delight at all occasions,
To rouze his Soul with pious contemplations.
'Tis true indeed, in excess of his pain,
A piousman may possibly complain
Th'Almighty doth not hear him, when he prays,
And flights his cryes, but O! what then he sayes,
Is but the Language of his fearful sense,
For in his heart, he still with confidence
Believes that God doth hear him, when he cries,
And in the midst of all his miseries,
Perswades himself that God will after all
Those flying Parties of his wrath recall,
And yet restore him to his former state,
And free him from his troubles, soon, or late.
Then, not while then, upon Gods name he calls:
Then sighs, and prayes, because he feels some pain,
And of his sins doth bitterly complain,
But 'cause with pain, not with delight he prays,
His new patch'd up Devotion soon decayes;
When Heavens afford no answer, but delayes.
For how d'ye think a man not formerly
Accustom'd to the works of piety,
Who ne'r before upon Gods name did call,
'Till now he's forc'd to do't for good, and all:
Can, when in trouble, bring his earthly mind,
That never to Devotion was inclin'd,
In love with prayer, a thing it never knew,
Before that time, whose name to it is new.
Especially, when no return is made
As he expects, but that he's still delay'd;
Whilst God his Supplication will not hear,
Though every hour he's at expence of prayer.
Why truly after he some time has spent,
In proving of this new Experiment,
Which men call prayer: and perceiving still
His pains encrease, let him pray what he will,
He gives it over, and will pray no more,
But even continues as he did before
In worldly thoughts, and when approaching Death
Begins to stop the passage of his Breath.
Then he doth pass a vote of None-address
'Gainst Heavens, and falls to earthly business.
Calls for his Books, his Bonds, and Evidents,
His Leases, and judicial Instruments;
Makes Notes of 'em, and quickly sums up all,
220
Is anxious to settle his Affairs,
That he may leave no trouble to his Heirs:
Pays what he owes, will die in debt to none,
And clears accounts with all, but God alone.
Which when h'has done, he thinks to find some rest,
Or, after all, to die in peace, at least.
But O! he's disappointed, for now all
His friends, and kindred do about him craul,
As Crows about a dying Beast, and claim
Some portion of his substance, each of 'em
They buzz about him, with such outward show
Of kindness, and torment his spirit so
With their expecting looks, as he can find
No way to ease his now distracted mind,
Until he satisfie them all, and then
He thinks his spirit may be eas'd of pain.
So makes his Will, and names some Legacie
For each of'em, then thinking he may die
In peace, and ease, he bids them all begone,
Since they have got their asking, but anon
Physicians, Lawyers, Scriveners appear
And each of them too do pretend a share
In that rich Booty.—
These for their labour during his Disease,
Expecting more then ordinary Fees:
These others for the pains, which they have ta'ne
In his Affairs pretend to no small gain:
Hence wearied of his Life, and seeing now
With Riches he can have no more to do,
He signs, and seals whatever these advise
And piece-meals in a thousand Legacies,
His once beloved Dross: then after all
Is gone, he faintly doth for Preachers call:
'Tells them that he has given all away,
And therefore thinks it now high time to pray.
But scarce these good men do begin to speak,
When the poor Worm becomes so faint and weak,
As he is ready to expire, and then
He has no time to hear those pious men:
Only when thoy desire, out of his store,
He may appoint some small thing for the Poor:
He tells them all's now gone, 'has nothing left,
No Means, no Cash, he's now of all bereft:
Then in the view of all, with staring eyes,
Sad grinnings, bitter words, and horrid crys,
He sees his soul depart, and cursing dies.
Thus lives, and dies the wretched Hypocrite,
Who never in devotion took delite:
But O the man, on whom our gracious God
Has Grace bestow'd, walks in another road.
For he acquainted in Prosperity
With daily Prayer at least, when Misery
Doth seize upon him, never doth give or'e
221
He prays, and take delight at all occasions,
To rouze his Soul with pious contemplations.
'Tis true indeed, in excess of his pain,
A piousman may possibly complain
Th'Almighty doth not hear him, when he prays,
And flights his cryes, but O! what then he sayes,
Is but the Language of his fearful sense,
For in his heart, he still with confidence
Believes that God doth hear him, when he cries,
And in the midst of all his miseries,
Perswades himself that God will after all
Those flying Parties of his wrath recall,
And yet restore him to his former state,
And free him from his troubles, soon, or late.
Hence then, my friends, I'd have you understand,
(That I may now apply to th'case in hand
What I have spoke) I am no Hypocrite,
But one indeed, who truly takes delite
In Prayer, and what e're my sorrows be,
Yet still have hopes, as you may plainly see,
In all my carriage, since you hither came,
However you're unkindly pleas'd to blame
My reasonable, though I must confess,
Too oft complainings in my sad distress.
But now, since you allow me time to speak,
I'le teach you, as my God shall me direct,
What is the truth, and wherein you have err'd,
Whilst in your arguing you have still preferr'd
Your own opinions, to what all of you
Cannot but know is evidently true.
(That I may now apply to th'case in hand
What I have spoke) I am no Hypocrite,
But one indeed, who truly takes delite
In Prayer, and what e're my sorrows be,
Yet still have hopes, as you may plainly see,
In all my carriage, since you hither came,
However you're unkindly pleas'd to blame
My reasonable, though I must confess,
Too oft complainings in my sad distress.
But now, since you allow me time to speak,
I'le teach you, as my God shall me direct,
What is the truth, and wherein you have err'd,
Whilst in your arguing you have still preferr'd
Your own opinions, to what all of you
Cannot but know is evidently true.
I'le tell you nothing, but what you have seen
With your own eyes, although you do maintain
Opinions flatly opposite, I'le show
No more but what observing men do know.
I'le tell you of the various dispensations
Of the Almighty upon all occasions,
Which of his power are no smal demonstrations.
For sure Gods actings are must wonderful
In all our eyes, and there is none so dull,
But may perceive his providence is such,
As all of us cannot admire too much.
His government o'th' world is so sublime,
As those poor souls, who know no more of him,
Then by effects, and do not understand,
As we do, how his high and mighty hand
All things below doth solely regulate,
Yet do admire him, by the name of Fate.
With your own eyes, although you do maintain
Opinions flatly opposite, I'le show
No more but what observing men do know.
I'le tell you of the various dispensations
Of the Almighty upon all occasions,
Which of his power are no smal demonstrations.
For sure Gods actings are must wonderful
In all our eyes, and there is none so dull,
But may perceive his providence is such,
As all of us cannot admire too much.
His government o'th' world is so sublime,
As those poor souls, who know no more of him,
Then by effects, and do not understand,
As we do, how his high and mighty hand
All things below doth solely regulate,
Yet do admire him, by the name of Fate.
Since then, my friends, as I do understand
That all along the Question in hand
Has been amongst us, whether God doth prove
Infallibly his anger, and his love
By blows, and blessings: which, though formerly
We've agitate to the extremity
Of reasoning: yet that you all may see,
How in the Question we may soon agree,
If passion, and private interest,
For your own wit did not possess your breast;
I'le show you (to give your discourse its due)
What you have spoke, is in some cases true,
For all this while I never did deny,
But that our God his wrath doth testify
Against bad men, by judgements visible,
And that sometimes they are infallible,
And open signs of his displeasure, when
He has a mind to plague the worst of men
With sad afflictions.—
Yet I acknowledge in his providence,
Oft-times indeed he makes a difference
Betwixt the just, and unjust man, and shows,
By the ones blessings, and he others woes,
Whom he doth love, and whom he truly hates,
By demonstrations in their different states.
The portion of the wicked, I confess,
Is in my apprehension, nothing less,
Then what their foul and loud-tongu'd sins do merit,
And all bad livers justly should inherit.
That all along the Question in hand
Has been amongst us, whether God doth prove
Infallibly his anger, and his love
By blows, and blessings: which, though formerly
We've agitate to the extremity
222
How in the Question we may soon agree,
If passion, and private interest,
For your own wit did not possess your breast;
I'le show you (to give your discourse its due)
What you have spoke, is in some cases true,
For all this while I never did deny,
But that our God his wrath doth testify
Against bad men, by judgements visible,
And that sometimes they are infallible,
And open signs of his displeasure, when
He has a mind to plague the worst of men
With sad afflictions.—
Yet I acknowledge in his providence,
Oft-times indeed he makes a difference
Betwixt the just, and unjust man, and shows,
By the ones blessings, and he others woes,
Whom he doth love, and whom he truly hates,
By demonstrations in their different states.
The portion of the wicked, I confess,
Is in my apprehension, nothing less,
Then what their foul and loud-tongu'd sins do merit,
And all bad livers justly should inherit.
For, let's observe now, though God for a while
Upon the wicked man doth seem to smile;
And all the blessings, which his very heart
Can wish, he freely to him doth impart.
Though he permits his Race to multiply,
In figure of a numerous Family,
Yet they by Sword, and Famine all shall dye.
Upon the wicked man doth seem to smile;
And all the blessings, which his very heart
Can wish, he freely to him doth impart.
Though he permits his Race to multiply,
In figure of a numerous Family,
Yet they by Sword, and Famine all shall dye.
Nay such of 'em as shall escape both these,
Shall in great want, and misery end their dayes,
In some dark corner they shall meet with death,
VVho privatly shall rob them of their breath;
And then their Corps expos'd to publick view,
To see if any own them, but by few
Known, or regarded, without Pomp and State,
At length by warrand from the Magistrate,
In publick Bear, to th'grave are carried
By Pioneers, and simply buried,
VVithout all Ceremonious Obsequies,
Or sumptuous noise of Mercenary cries:
Nay, their own Widows shall so much abhore
Their loathsome Corps, that they shall not deplore
Their Husbands Funerals, or Mourning wear
At such a sad occasion, but appear
VVell satisfi'd that such bad men are gone,
And shall not think it lawful to bemoan
The Fate of such vile wretches, who deserv'd
No milder death, then to be stobb'd, or starv'd.
Shall in great want, and misery end their dayes,
In some dark corner they shall meet with death,
VVho privatly shall rob them of their breath;
And then their Corps expos'd to publick view,
To see if any own them, but by few
Known, or regarded, without Pomp and State,
At length by warrand from the Magistrate,
In publick Bear, to th'grave are carried
By Pioneers, and simply buried,
VVithout all Ceremonious Obsequies,
Or sumptuous noise of Mercenary cries:
Nay, their own Widows shall so much abhore
Their loathsome Corps, that they shall not deplore
Their Husbands Funerals, or Mourning wear
At such a sad occasion, but appear
VVell satisfi'd that such bad men are gone,
And shall not think it lawful to bemoan
The Fate of such vile wretches, who deserv'd
No milder death, then to be stobb'd, or starv'd.
Now, as we see, hee's punish'd in his race,
Ev'n so he shall be in no better case
As to his means, for let him silver heap,
Like very dust, let him in Prison keep
Whole Tuns of Gold: and in his Wardrobe lay
Rich changes of apparrel every day:
By which vain signs, he may his wealth expresse,
And fancy to himself some happinesse,
In these enjoyments, whilst he seems to fear
No prospect of a revolution here.
Ev'n so he shall be in no better case
As to his means, for let him silver heap,
Like very dust, let him in Prison keep
223
Rich changes of apparrel every day:
By which vain signs, he may his wealth expresse,
And fancy to himself some happinesse,
In these enjoyments, whilst he seems to fear
No prospect of a revolution here.
Why let him do so, let him purchase Lands,
Draw all the Countreys Cash into his hands,
Build stately Houses, furnish them with all
What Merchants can import, and proudly call
His Summer-dwelling this, his Winter that,
These Rooms for Service, these for Pomp and State;
And for his pleasure, and convenience.
Enclose whole Mannors within Wall, and Fence,
Raze Office-houses, Chappels, Villages,
Hew down great Rocks, cut Woods, drain Marishes,
And all the Hands, Horse, Carts o'th' Countrey use,
For beautifying of his Avenues.
Let him in rich, and costly Garb appear,
And flatter every season of the year,
With changes of apparrel: let him do
What ever he thinks fit: let him allow
All kinds of pleasure to himself, and play
In idle fancies all his time away.
Yet of all these things he has but the trust,
He's only a provisor for the just,
For when God thinks it time.
By just decree, he'll re-assume that all,
Which this poor man his property doth call:
And let it fall to those, by pure donation,
From whom this man, by cunning, and oppression,
Had wrested all this opulent Estate,
And in his person fully terminate
The expectation of his memory,
Whilst his unpitied, starving Family,
Shall on the Streets, and High-ways beg their bread,
Or else in Prison, on the Basket feed.
Draw all the Countreys Cash into his hands,
Build stately Houses, furnish them with all
What Merchants can import, and proudly call
His Summer-dwelling this, his Winter that,
These Rooms for Service, these for Pomp and State;
And for his pleasure, and convenience.
Enclose whole Mannors within Wall, and Fence,
Raze Office-houses, Chappels, Villages,
Hew down great Rocks, cut Woods, drain Marishes,
And all the Hands, Horse, Carts o'th' Countrey use,
For beautifying of his Avenues.
Let him in rich, and costly Garb appear,
And flatter every season of the year,
With changes of apparrel: let him do
What ever he thinks fit: let him allow
All kinds of pleasure to himself, and play
In idle fancies all his time away.
Yet of all these things he has but the trust,
He's only a provisor for the just,
For when God thinks it time.
By just decree, he'll re-assume that all,
Which this poor man his property doth call:
And let it fall to those, by pure donation,
From whom this man, by cunning, and oppression,
Had wrested all this opulent Estate,
And in his person fully terminate
The expectation of his memory,
Whilst his unpitied, starving Family,
Shall on the Streets, and High-ways beg their bread,
Or else in Prison, on the Basket feed.
For as that silly Insect, call'd a Moth,
Takes up its Lodging in the finest Cloath,
With a full resolution there to dwell,
But the poor Worm is hardly settled well
In its new quarter, when the cleansing Brush
Doth sweep it out, and all its Projects crush.
Or, if it scape the Brush, and longer there
'Tis suffered to remain: why, all its care
Is to secure its house: yet every day
It wasts some part of its own house away.
For gnawing through the cloath in every fold,
It eats it self both out of house, and hold.
Or, as we see, how Pedlers do at Fairs,
Set up their Booths, where they expose their Wares
For a few days, and when the time is gone
Allow'd for Sale, they quickly take them down.
Even so this vain possessing-fool, who dreams
On nothing, but uninterrupted streams
Of pleasures here on Earth, perpetually
Drunk with the notion of a memory,
Which he with care endeavours to erect
In Lands, and Houses, whilst he doth expect
No stop to his design: Deaths cleansing Brush
Sweeps him away, not valuing a rush
His long possession: or, if at the best,
He lives yet longer, why he doth but waste
What he enjoys, and eats out all at last,
For when his Merchant-time on Earth is gone,
His Pedling-booth shall soon be taken down.
Takes up its Lodging in the finest Cloath,
With a full resolution there to dwell,
But the poor Worm is hardly settled well
In its new quarter, when the cleansing Brush
Doth sweep it out, and all its Projects crush.
Or, if it scape the Brush, and longer there
'Tis suffered to remain: why, all its care
Is to secure its house: yet every day
It wasts some part of its own house away.
For gnawing through the cloath in every fold,
It eats it self both out of house, and hold.
Or, as we see, how Pedlers do at Fairs,
Set up their Booths, where they expose their Wares
For a few days, and when the time is gone
Allow'd for Sale, they quickly take them down.
Even so this vain possessing-fool, who dreams
224
Of pleasures here on Earth, perpetually
Drunk with the notion of a memory,
Which he with care endeavours to erect
In Lands, and Houses, whilst he doth expect
No stop to his design: Deaths cleansing Brush
Sweeps him away, not valuing a rush
His long possession: or, if at the best,
He lives yet longer, why he doth but waste
What he enjoys, and eats out all at last,
For when his Merchant-time on Earth is gone,
His Pedling-booth shall soon be taken down.
And, as we see, when one lyes down to sleep,
Whilst slumber on his eyes doth gently creep,
How, on a suddain, from the spongious brain
Thin pituite, upon his Lungs doth rain,
With such impetuous force, as, e're his eyes
Are fully opened, in this sad surprize,
Chock'd with increasing Phlegm, he quickly dyes.
So a rich fool, when he himself doth please
With his enjoyments, lives at his own ease.
And 'mongst his Coffers, in his Closet sits,
With head on arm, a racking of his wits,
By what sure methods, he may regulat
The several intrigues of his vast Estate:
And in his anxious mind doth seem to doubt,
With many a groan, whether he shall give out
That useless Coine which in his Trunks doth ly,
On Lands, or on some firm Security.
When the poor soul of nothing lesse doth dream,
Death siezes on him, like a suddain flame,
'Mongst Flax, or Hemp, and in a moments space,
Doth all his projects utterly deface.
Whilst slumber on his eyes doth gently creep,
How, on a suddain, from the spongious brain
Thin pituite, upon his Lungs doth rain,
With such impetuous force, as, e're his eyes
Are fully opened, in this sad surprize,
Chock'd with increasing Phlegm, he quickly dyes.
So a rich fool, when he himself doth please
With his enjoyments, lives at his own ease.
And 'mongst his Coffers, in his Closet sits,
With head on arm, a racking of his wits,
By what sure methods, he may regulat
The several intrigues of his vast Estate:
And in his anxious mind doth seem to doubt,
With many a groan, whether he shall give out
That useless Coine which in his Trunks doth ly,
On Lands, or on some firm Security.
When the poor soul of nothing lesse doth dream,
Death siezes on him, like a suddain flame,
'Mongst Flax, or Hemp, and in a moments space,
Doth all his projects utterly deface.
For though our God permits this fool to live
Even as he pleases, and doth freely give
All that he can demand, yet after all,
When this rich Mole, he to account doth call
How he has liv'd, how he his time hath us'd,
How he that wealth has shamefully abus'd,
Which God did give him: how he has employ'd
Those peaceful years, which he so long enjoy'd.
How he has us'd those Parts, and Qualities,
With which he was endu'd, whilst all mens eyes
Were fix'd upon him, and from so much wit
Expected some fine things, yet he thought fit
To make no use of such, but like a Clown,
To waste his time, in scrambling up, and down,
Amongst his Tennents, scraping all together
Against next Term, and never did consider
How Death approach'd, who'd squander in a trice,
All he had heap'd up by his avarice.
How he was now become the very jest,
And scandal of his age: and was at best,
For all his riches, all his toil, and care,
Esteem'd but a penurious Usurer.
When then, I say, this man's examined,
And all his silly actions canvassed:
God doth not punish him by halfs, or show
Some signs of wrath, e're he inflict a blow:
No, at one single thrust, he doth him maul,
And payes him home severely once for all.
For whilst before, he liv'd in wealth, and ease,
Enjoying of himself, like Mouse in Cheese,
The blow from Heavens is given, and anon,
E're he knows whence it comes, the man is gone.
Even as he pleases, and doth freely give
All that he can demand, yet after all,
When this rich Mole, he to account doth call
How he has liv'd, how he his time hath us'd,
How he that wealth has shamefully abus'd,
Which God did give him: how he has employ'd
Those peaceful years, which he so long enjoy'd.
How he has us'd those Parts, and Qualities,
With which he was endu'd, whilst all mens eyes
Were fix'd upon him, and from so much wit
Expected some fine things, yet he thought fit
To make no use of such, but like a Clown,
To waste his time, in scrambling up, and down,
Amongst his Tennents, scraping all together
Against next Term, and never did consider
How Death approach'd, who'd squander in a trice,
All he had heap'd up by his avarice.
How he was now become the very jest,
And scandal of his age: and was at best,
For all his riches, all his toil, and care,
225
When then, I say, this man's examined,
And all his silly actions canvassed:
God doth not punish him by halfs, or show
Some signs of wrath, e're he inflict a blow:
No, at one single thrust, he doth him maul,
And payes him home severely once for all.
For whilst before, he liv'd in wealth, and ease,
Enjoying of himself, like Mouse in Cheese,
The blow from Heavens is given, and anon,
E're he knows whence it comes, the man is gone.
What shall I say then? how shall I expresse
The violence, the force, the suddainnesse
Of this mans fall? why? even as Rivers swell'd
With rains, will be no more by Banks with-held,
But in the silence of the night, when all
Are fast asleep, break down their Dikes, and fall
On Neighbouring Villages, and suddainly
Transport some thousands to Eternity,
Before they can awake, by force of streams,
Without once interrupting of their dreams,
But in a rapid torrent bear away
All to the Ocean, e're it is yet day.
The violence, the force, the suddainnesse
Of this mans fall? why? even as Rivers swell'd
With rains, will be no more by Banks with-held,
But in the silence of the night, when all
Are fast asleep, break down their Dikes, and fall
On Neighbouring Villages, and suddainly
Transport some thousands to Eternity,
Before they can awake, by force of streams,
Without once interrupting of their dreams,
But in a rapid torrent bear away
All to the Ocean, e're it is yet day.
Or as the East-wind from the Persian Shore
Upon our Coasts doth suddenly flee o're,
And with such fury doth our fields invade,
As Trees, and Houses, on the ground are laid,
I'th' twinkling of an eye, and men are toss't
On Land, as if at Sea, and many lost
In most impetuous storms, of blowing-sand,
Which Eastern-winds do raise within this land.
So suddain shall this rich-mans down-fall be,
Thunder-struck from above, e're he can see
The hand that gives the blow: he's hurryed
With fury hence, and quickly buried
In his own ruins, whilst no man can tell
How, or by what means, this tall Cedar fell.
Upon our Coasts doth suddenly flee o're,
And with such fury doth our fields invade,
As Trees, and Houses, on the ground are laid,
I'th' twinkling of an eye, and men are toss't
On Land, as if at Sea, and many lost
In most impetuous storms, of blowing-sand,
Which Eastern-winds do raise within this land.
So suddain shall this rich-mans down-fall be,
Thunder-struck from above, e're he can see
The hand that gives the blow: he's hurryed
With fury hence, and quickly buried
In his own ruins, whilst no man can tell
How, or by what means, this tall Cedar fell.
For, O, the blow, the blow from God alone,
From his high hand, resistible by none,
Truly proceeds: from his Almighty hand,
Which holds the Truncheon of supream command,
O're all created things: from that alone
Judgements, as stones out of a sling, are thrown
Upon this sinning man; sorrows in heaps
Are cast upon him, whilst th'Almighty keeps
Himself at distance from him: and denys
To hear his Prayer, when he sadly crys.
No, God in Wrath shall so pursue this man,
As let him run, let him do what he can
T'escape his blow, yet all shall be in vain,
For he by judgements shall be overtane,
Where e're he goes: let him run any where,
And in great horrour ramble here, and there,
On Sea, on Land, and often change his Clyme,
Yet still his judgement doth attend his Crime.
Gods heavy wrath pursues him constantly,
And finds him out, where ever he doth fly.
For still the more, he thinks to fly, the more,
His wrath pursues him, and doth ne're give o're,
Untill it lay this Rebel in the Dust,
And beat him all to pieces.—
For none, but such as he, who does not know
The good, and just inflicter of his blow,
Who with Heavens King is wholly unacquaint,
Will strive to fly, at such an exigent,
From his all-reaching-hand: but rather ly
Flat on their face, when him in wrath they spy;
And by degrees endeavour still to creep
Nigh to his Foot-stool; for he doth not keep
His wrath 'gainst such, as in adversity
Do thither run, as to a Sanctuary,
But plagues those only, who from him doth fly.
Hence all good men, when they perceive the Rod,
Endeavour quickly to draw nigh to God,
Knowing 'tis only as a warning sent,
That they his further anger may prevent,
By application, to the Throne of Grace,
To which the humble freely may address,
At all times, and occasions, and so,
By fervent prayer, they escape the blow.
From his high hand, resistible by none,
Truly proceeds: from his Almighty hand,
Which holds the Truncheon of supream command,
O're all created things: from that alone
Judgements, as stones out of a sling, are thrown
Upon this sinning man; sorrows in heaps
Are cast upon him, whilst th'Almighty keeps
Himself at distance from him: and denys
To hear his Prayer, when he sadly crys.
No, God in Wrath shall so pursue this man,
As let him run, let him do what he can
T'escape his blow, yet all shall be in vain,
For he by judgements shall be overtane,
Where e're he goes: let him run any where,
And in great horrour ramble here, and there,
On Sea, on Land, and often change his Clyme,
226
Gods heavy wrath pursues him constantly,
And finds him out, where ever he doth fly.
For still the more, he thinks to fly, the more,
His wrath pursues him, and doth ne're give o're,
Untill it lay this Rebel in the Dust,
And beat him all to pieces.—
For none, but such as he, who does not know
The good, and just inflicter of his blow,
Who with Heavens King is wholly unacquaint,
Will strive to fly, at such an exigent,
From his all-reaching-hand: but rather ly
Flat on their face, when him in wrath they spy;
And by degrees endeavour still to creep
Nigh to his Foot-stool; for he doth not keep
His wrath 'gainst such, as in adversity
Do thither run, as to a Sanctuary,
But plagues those only, who from him doth fly.
Hence all good men, when they perceive the Rod,
Endeavour quickly to draw nigh to God,
Knowing 'tis only as a warning sent,
That they his further anger may prevent,
By application, to the Throne of Grace,
To which the humble freely may address,
At all times, and occasions, and so,
By fervent prayer, they escape the blow.
And when the day shall come, that God thinks fit,
'Gainst this great man to issue out his writ:
When he intends this Gyant to destroy,
His neighbours all around shall shout for joy:
And at his down-fall openly proclaime,
How much they did abhor his hateful name,
Whose sins did so far antedate his shame.
'Gainst this great man to issue out his writ:
When he intends this Gyant to destroy,
His neighbours all around shall shout for joy:
And at his down-fall openly proclaime,
How much they did abhor his hateful name,
Whose sins did so far antedate his shame.
| The grand Tryal | |