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. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. | Cap. XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| IV. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| V. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
 | The grand Tryal |  |
251
Cap. XXX.
1. But now those that are younger than I have me in derision, whose fathers I would have disdained to have set with the dogs of my flocks
Of men, who liv'd in miserable case:
The brood of such, as were no more esteem'd
Than Slaves, with whom all good men were asham'd
To haunt, or converse.—
Poor Tag-rag-fellowes, men so low, and mean
As scarce such wretches now are to be seen,
The race of Scoundrels, sillie, needie rogues,
Whom I'de scarce trust with feeding of my dogs:
Because by hunger such might ha' been drawn,
To cheat more useful creatures of their brawn.
The race of such as in unbridled rage,
Of sin had spent the vigour of their age,
And in a most luxuriant idleness,
Had wasted their most profitable dayes:
Whence in declining years, poor, hunger-starv'd,
Feeble, and doating they for nothing serv'd:
So that such creatures, as those Wretches were
No man to service ever would prefer.
Of sin had spent the vigour of their age,
And in a most luxuriant idleness,
Had wasted their most profitable dayes:
Whence in declining years, poor, hunger-starv'd,
Feeble, and doating they for nothing serv'd:
So that such creatures, as those Wretches were
No man to service ever would prefer.
Hence living idle, and in horrid want
They'd in the day-light 'bout the Shambles haunt,
Begging the Draughts of Beasts, and so would cheat
The verie Butchers Mastives of their meat.
And in the night in some dark entrie creep,
Where on the Staires they would securelie sleep;
At length when th'careful Justice of the Place
Would give out orders to secure the Peace,
Then were we quit of all such Rogues as these.
For of their evil courses conscious,
And so afraid of a Grand Mittimus:
They'd truss up all their Rags, and silentlie,
Sneak out o'th' townes, and to the Desarts flie;
They'd in the day-light 'bout the Shambles haunt,
Begging the Draughts of Beasts, and so would cheat
The verie Butchers Mastives of their meat.
And in the night in some dark entrie creep,
Where on the Staires they would securelie sleep;
At length when th'careful Justice of the Place
Would give out orders to secure the Peace,
Then were we quit of all such Rogues as these.
For of their evil courses conscious,
And so afraid of a Grand Mittimus:
They'd truss up all their Rags, and silentlie,
Sneak out o'th' townes, and to the Desarts flie;
Where amongst Wild-beasts, wandring here, and there,
Many a poor shift for their dailie fare,
Those abject creatures made.—
Mallows, and such Salt-herbs, as none would eat.
But those that were nigh starv'd for want of meat,
Juniper Roots, Thistles, or any thing,
That might preserve them from meer perishing,
They'd cut up for their food, which, with delyte,
They'd eat, t'allay their clamorous appetite.
Many a poor shift for their dailie fare,
Those abject creatures made.—
Mallows, and such Salt-herbs, as none would eat.
But those that were nigh starv'd for want of meat,
Juniper Roots, Thistles, or any thing,
That might preserve them from meer perishing,
They'd cut up for their food, which, with delyte,
They'd eat, t'allay their clamorous appetite.
Nor dur'st those villains to the Towns repair
To purchase food, or ask it any where,
As licenc'd Beggers do, no not at all,
For if they did, the very Dogs would fall
Upon them, and the Countrey by and by
Would arm, and follow them, with Hue, and Cry.
To purchase food, or ask it any where,
As licenc'd Beggers do, no not at all,
For if they did, the very Dogs would fall
Upon them, and the Countrey by and by
252
Hence those poor Rascalls wholly banished
From Humane converse, all of 'em were glad
To dwell in Cliffs of Rocks, in hollow Caves,
Or any holes but differing from Graves,
As Pools from Quagmires, where they might sustain
A miserable life, and sleep with pain,
Whilst hungry Tygers howling in the Night,
These sculking Wretches in their Dreams would fright,
And Lyons roaring all the Fields around
In those mens ears would make a dreadful sound.
From Humane converse, all of 'em were glad
To dwell in Cliffs of Rocks, in hollow Caves,
Or any holes but differing from Graves,
As Pools from Quagmires, where they might sustain
A miserable life, and sleep with pain,
Whilst hungry Tygers howling in the Night,
These sculking Wretches in their Dreams would fright,
And Lyons roaring all the Fields around
In those mens ears would make a dreadful sound.
Nay of the wild beasts they were so affraid
As 'mongst the Bushes they like Asses bray'd
For fear, and hunger: and in clusters creep't
Amongst the Briars and Nettles, where they keep't
Their grand Assemblies, and their business,
Was only to consult, in such distress,
From whence they might have Food, else suddenly
They and their wretched Families should die.
As 'mongst the Bushes they like Asses bray'd
For fear, and hunger: and in clusters creep't
Amongst the Briars and Nettles, where they keep't
Their grand Assemblies, and their business,
Was only to consult, in such distress,
From whence they might have Food, else suddenly
They and their wretched Families should die.
O brave Republick! famous Corporation!
And what d'ye think too was their Generation?
Who were the Fathers of those beastly Men,
Of whose insulting Brats I now complain?
Why they were Fellows most obscurely base,
Meer Vagabonds rambling from place to place,
Void of all Virtue, Honour, Wit, and Grace.
Fellows, whom I my self have caused seize,
And put i'th' Stocks, because they broke the Peace:
Then let 'em go in hopes of reformation,
But finding after all their conversation
Was still the same, in Villany engross't,
I'de send them next time to the whipping Post:
At length oblig'd by their increasing Crimes,
I'de send such men by dozens oftentimes,
Fairly to th'Gibbet: men so despicable
As they were no less hated by the Rabble,
Then Wolves, and Foxes: men so villanous,
And in their lives so grossly vitious,
As all disdain'd to bear them company,
But from such men would as from Serpents fly.
And what d'ye think too was their Generation?
Who were the Fathers of those beastly Men,
Of whose insulting Brats I now complain?
Why they were Fellows most obscurely base,
Meer Vagabonds rambling from place to place,
Void of all Virtue, Honour, Wit, and Grace.
Fellows, whom I my self have caused seize,
And put i'th' Stocks, because they broke the Peace:
Then let 'em go in hopes of reformation,
But finding after all their conversation
Was still the same, in Villany engross't,
I'de send them next time to the whipping Post:
At length oblig'd by their increasing Crimes,
I'de send such men by dozens oftentimes,
Fairly to th'Gibbet: men so despicable
As they were no less hated by the Rabble,
Then Wolves, and Foxes: men so villanous,
And in their lives so grossly vitious,
As all disdain'd to bear them company,
But from such men would as from Serpents fly.
Such was indeed the Line, and Parentage
Of those vile men, those Scandals of their Age
Of whom those Scabs, who now do openly
In Ballads, Rhimes, and bitter Raillery,
Upbraid me to my face, are lineally
Descended:—
From whence alace it clearly doth appear,
Those wanton Youngsters, who so patly jeer,
And laugh at me now in my present case,
Are both of low Birth, and of cursed Race.
Yet do those sons of Earth, those upstart Knaves,
Who draw their line from men far worse then Slaves,
Those Mushrome-cracks, those men of yesterday,
Those make me now the subject of their play.
Those Rat-catchers, whom I'd scarce heretofore,
Allow to walk before my Parlour door,
Those base-born Mangrels, whom my Serving-men,
Thought not their equals, but with great disdain,
When at their Table, they'd presume to eat,
Would neither drink to them, nor carve their meat.
Yet those men now laugh at my misery,
And point at me: unhappy poverty!
There's nought from thee more heavily we take,
Then that, thou men ridiculous dost make.
Of those vile men, those Scandals of their Age
Of whom those Scabs, who now do openly
In Ballads, Rhimes, and bitter Raillery,
Upbraid me to my face, are lineally
Descended:—
From whence alace it clearly doth appear,
Those wanton Youngsters, who so patly jeer,
And laugh at me now in my present case,
Are both of low Birth, and of cursed Race.
Yet do those sons of Earth, those upstart Knaves,
Who draw their line from men far worse then Slaves,
Those Mushrome-cracks, those men of yesterday,
Those make me now the subject of their play.
253
Allow to walk before my Parlour door,
Those base-born Mangrels, whom my Serving-men,
Thought not their equals, but with great disdain,
When at their Table, they'd presume to eat,
Would neither drink to them, nor carve their meat.
Yet those men now laugh at my misery,
And point at me: unhappy poverty!
There's nought from thee more heavily we take,
Then that, thou men ridiculous dost make.
Ridiculous indeed, as ever man
Was made by men, since first the World began
Am I now made.—
And by young fools too, fellows light, and vain,
Shrewdly debauch'd, and openly prophane,
Who flock to see me in this doleful state,
As others do, and to expresse their hate,
Reproach me with foul words, aud bitterly
Insult o're me, in my calamity:
Put on me all affronts imaginable,
And use all means to make me despicable.
Was made by men, since first the World began
Am I now made.—
And by young fools too, fellows light, and vain,
Shrewdly debauch'd, and openly prophane,
Who flock to see me in this doleful state,
As others do, and to expresse their hate,
Reproach me with foul words, aud bitterly
Insult o're me, in my calamity:
Put on me all affronts imaginable,
And use all means to make me despicable.
But now I think on't, I should not admire,
To see the Race of Criminals conspire
Against me, in this miserable state,
Because, when formerly a Magistrate;
I did indeed correct their Fathers so,
As till this time those slaves durst never show
Their heads in publick; yes I did indeed,
And to this day I think those men may read
My justice plain, and clear before their eyes,
I'th' Histories of their several Families.
For formerly, when my Authority
Did flourish, these men living quietly,
And within bounds, durst never give offence
To any man, lest my intelligence
Might reach their actings, and by Law declare
These Rogues, all Out-laws, as their Fathers were.
To see the Race of Criminals conspire
Against me, in this miserable state,
Because, when formerly a Magistrate;
I did indeed correct their Fathers so,
As till this time those slaves durst never show
Their heads in publick; yes I did indeed,
And to this day I think those men may read
My justice plain, and clear before their eyes,
I'th' Histories of their several Families.
For formerly, when my Authority
Did flourish, these men living quietly,
And within bounds, durst never give offence
To any man, lest my intelligence
Might reach their actings, and by Law declare
These Rogues, all Out-laws, as their Fathers were.
But now, alace, that God himself hath broke
My power, and turn'd my Honour all to smoke:
Now that his heavy hand doth on me ly,
And I am overcharg'd with misery:
Even those mean things now from their Kennels crawl,
And bark at me with open mouths, nay, all
Who formerly did to my person bear
Great reverence, now openly appear
My greatest enemies, insultingly
Reflecting on my former Dignity,
Of which I'm now robb'd, as is ordinar,
In time of Troubles, Mutinies, and War,
When by the Rabble Prisons are broke ope,
And Malefactors arm'd, no House, or Shop,
Is sooner riffled, than those which belong,
To th'Magistrat, 'bout, which in Troops they throng,
Where all's pull'd down, and with difficulty,
To save their persons, they are forc'd to fly.
And leave all in this lamentable case
To th'fury of the hot-bruin'd populace.
My power, and turn'd my Honour all to smoke:
Now that his heavy hand doth on me ly,
And I am overcharg'd with misery:
Even those mean things now from their Kennels crawl,
And bark at me with open mouths, nay, all
Who formerly did to my person bear
Great reverence, now openly appear
My greatest enemies, insultingly
Reflecting on my former Dignity,
Of which I'm now robb'd, as is ordinar,
In time of Troubles, Mutinies, and War,
When by the Rabble Prisons are broke ope,
And Malefactors arm'd, no House, or Shop,
Is sooner riffled, than those which belong,
To th'Magistrat, 'bout, which in Troops they throng,
Where all's pull'd down, and with difficulty,
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And leave all in this lamentable case
To th'fury of the hot-bruin'd populace.
So these same lewd, and insolent young men,
Whom formerly, by Law I did restrain,
Now by my fall from inquisition freed,
Uninterrupted, hourly do proceed,
By all the arts, and tricks, they can invent
To make my case most sad, whilst they torment
My soul, by frequent looking on my face,
And pointing out to all men my disgrace.
Whom formerly, by Law I did restrain,
Now by my fall from inquisition freed,
Uninterrupted, hourly do proceed,
By all the arts, and tricks, they can invent
To make my case most sad, whilst they torment
My soul, by frequent looking on my face,
And pointing out to all men my disgrace.
For where I would endure with patience,
My present sorrows, these mens insolence
Do cross my resolutions, and raise
My Spleen to some disorder, whilst they please
Themselves to see me in this sad estate,
(Which visits all ingenuous spirits hate)
And by false accusations, bitter tales,
Clamours, unjust reproaches, or what else
Those virulent vindictive fellows art,
Can in their Cups devise, or for their heart
Contrive to vex me, I am sore opprest,
And from their Spur-gall'd Jests can have no rest,
Nor need they great mens help to countenance
Th'abusive progress of their petulance,
For of themselves by their intolerable
Proud, wanton carriage, truly they are able
To do their business, with convenience,
As I have found by sad experience.
My present sorrows, these mens insolence
Do cross my resolutions, and raise
My Spleen to some disorder, whilst they please
Themselves to see me in this sad estate,
(Which visits all ingenuous spirits hate)
And by false accusations, bitter tales,
Clamours, unjust reproaches, or what else
Those virulent vindictive fellows art,
Can in their Cups devise, or for their heart
Contrive to vex me, I am sore opprest,
And from their Spur-gall'd Jests can have no rest,
Nor need they great mens help to countenance
Th'abusive progress of their petulance,
For of themselves by their intolerable
Proud, wanton carriage, truly they are able
To do their business, with convenience,
As I have found by sad experience.
For these licentious Youths have ta'ne delite
To gaze upon me here with great despite,
Whilst other clamorous Villains on pretence
Of wrongs sustain'd from me, with violence
Have rush'd on my possessions, and seiz'd
All my effects, disposing as they pleas'd
On what belong'd to me, whilst each of them
Parts of my means, as by reprysals, claim.
So that ev'n as a Town besieg'd I ly
Beset on all hands, by the enemy;
Who by continual Batteries have ply'd
Its Walls, and made at length a breach so wide,
That, as a Torrent, with great violence
Breaks through the strongest Banks, and Water-fence
O're-running all it meets, so at the breach
The Souldiers enter with a shout, and stretch
Their Front so wide, as they appear at least
Pell-mell to throng a hundred in a breast.
Even so at that great breach, which th'hand of God
Has made on me, as through a beaten road,
The dregs o'th' Countrey, men of low estate,
And scarcely in Apparel, till of late,
Have in this day of my calamity,
Rush'd in upon me, and maliciously
Seiz'd on my Goods, and Chattels, riffling all,
And left me nothing, which I now may call
My own, for even what my wild neighbours spar'd,
These men have plunder'd having no regard
To Conscience, Honour, Law, or Equity,
But take advantage of me, where I lye,
Floating in this huge gulf of misery.
And now those Donatars of my forfaulture
Those vile oppressours, those base villains, sure
Are now perswaded I am wholly gone,
Never to be restor'd, and all's their own.
To gaze upon me here with great despite,
Whilst other clamorous Villains on pretence
Of wrongs sustain'd from me, with violence
Have rush'd on my possessions, and seiz'd
All my effects, disposing as they pleas'd
On what belong'd to me, whilst each of them
Parts of my means, as by reprysals, claim.
So that ev'n as a Town besieg'd I ly
Beset on all hands, by the enemy;
Who by continual Batteries have ply'd
Its Walls, and made at length a breach so wide,
That, as a Torrent, with great violence
Breaks through the strongest Banks, and Water-fence
O're-running all it meets, so at the breach
The Souldiers enter with a shout, and stretch
Their Front so wide, as they appear at least
Pell-mell to throng a hundred in a breast.
Even so at that great breach, which th'hand of God
Has made on me, as through a beaten road,
The dregs o'th' Countrey, men of low estate,
And scarcely in Apparel, till of late,
Have in this day of my calamity,
Rush'd in upon me, and maliciously
Seiz'd on my Goods, and Chattels, riffling all,
255
My own, for even what my wild neighbours spar'd,
These men have plunder'd having no regard
To Conscience, Honour, Law, or Equity,
But take advantage of me, where I lye,
Floating in this huge gulf of misery.
And now those Donatars of my forfaulture
Those vile oppressours, those base villains, sure
Are now perswaded I am wholly gone,
Never to be restor'd, and all's their own.
'Tis true indeed, as far as man can see
I'me lost for ever, there's no hopes of me,
No hopes that ever I can be restor'd;
And so my case is much to be deplor'd.
Besides, alace, within my breast I find
Oppressions of a more destructive kind:
Terrours of Conscience, ah! strange terrours now
O'rewhelm my spirit:
For as a Cloud before the Wind doth roul,
So by sad thoughts my over-wearied soul
Is driven forward most impetuously,
And broke to pieces, as a Cloud doth fly,
When scattered into Air, such is my case,
And of my restauration, alace
There's no more hopes, I fear, I now may say
Then of a Cloud that vanisheth away.
I'me lost for ever, there's no hopes of me,
No hopes that ever I can be restor'd;
And so my case is much to be deplor'd.
Besides, alace, within my breast I find
Oppressions of a more destructive kind:
Terrours of Conscience, ah! strange terrours now
O'rewhelm my spirit:
For as a Cloud before the Wind doth roul,
So by sad thoughts my over-wearied soul
Is driven forward most impetuously,
And broke to pieces, as a Cloud doth fly,
When scattered into Air, such is my case,
And of my restauration, alace
There's no more hopes, I fear, I now may say
Then of a Cloud that vanisheth away.
What am I then, my friends, pray let me know
Whether I breath, whether I live, or no?
Am I a man yet? Do I yet retain
Some vestiges of reason? pray be plain.
Am I a Creature rational? or can
Such, as now see me, call me yet a man?
Is not my strength exhausted? are not all
My spirits wasted? how then shall I call
My self a living creature?—
—Is not my soul the source of life, and strength,
By heat of woes evaporate at length?
Yes, and the part that's left of me, appears
But like the Ship-wracks of an hundred years.
A very lump of dust, a lifeless thing,
A piece of earth not worth the valuing:
A Creature so deform'd, so overspread
With hideous sores, as one can hardly read
Its title in its fore-head, or perswade
Himself, that such a thing a man was made
—In this condition, in this sad estate—
You see, my friends, then, how my God of late
Has molt me in the Furnace of his wrath,
Dissolv'd me, and yet after all I breath.
Whether I breath, whether I live, or no?
Am I a man yet? Do I yet retain
Some vestiges of reason? pray be plain.
Am I a Creature rational? or can
Such, as now see me, call me yet a man?
Is not my strength exhausted? are not all
My spirits wasted? how then shall I call
My self a living creature?—
—Is not my soul the source of life, and strength,
By heat of woes evaporate at length?
Yes, and the part that's left of me, appears
But like the Ship-wracks of an hundred years.
A very lump of dust, a lifeless thing,
A piece of earth not worth the valuing:
A Creature so deform'd, so overspread
With hideous sores, as one can hardly read
Its title in its fore-head, or perswade
Himself, that such a thing a man was made
—In this condition, in this sad estate—
You see, my friends, then, how my God of late
Has molt me in the Furnace of his wrath,
Dissolv'd me, and yet after all I breath.
I only breath, I live to feel the pain,
Which in my bones, and sinews I sustain:—
Such horrid pain, as cannot be exprest,
Such pain, as does allow my soul no rest
For in the nighttime, in the hour, when all
Submit themselves to sleep, at Natures call;
Then,—then,—O then, my Bones so shrewdly ake,
As I'm compell'd by force of pain t'awake.
Which in my bones, and sinews I sustain:—
Such horrid pain, as cannot be exprest,
Such pain, as does allow my soul no rest
For in the nighttime, in the hour, when all
256
Then,—then,—O then, my Bones so shrewdly ake,
As I'm compell'd by force of pain t'awake.
Alace such is the strength of my disease,
As no invention can my pains appease;
For by the course of matter purulent,
Which issues from my Sores, and represent
The foul ingredients of a common Shore
My Garments are so stiff with bile, and gore,
That though, as formerly I now could say
I might change my Apparrel every day,
Yet would I by that shifting find no ease,
Nor would the torrent of my Ulcers cease,
But in their course run most impetuously
Upon my Cloaths, and never let them dry?
But make them so fast to my Body stick,—
Th'expression makes me both asham'd, and sick.—
As no invention can my pains appease;
For by the course of matter purulent,
Which issues from my Sores, and represent
The foul ingredients of a common Shore
My Garments are so stiff with bile, and gore,
That though, as formerly I now could say
I might change my Apparrel every day,
Yet would I by that shifting find no ease,
Nor would the torrent of my Ulcers cease,
But in their course run most impetuously
Upon my Cloaths, and never let them dry?
But make them so fast to my Body stick,—
Th'expression makes me both asham'd, and sick.—
And now, like Sow in puddle, I appear,
Wallowing in my own sores, and mired here,
As one in marish stranded, all o're run
With loathsome Ulcers totally undone,
With putrid scabs, which from my Skin do fall,
When dry, and make me look, as I were all
A heap of Dust, and Ashes, Boils, and Sores,
With all that's ugly—
Nay, I am now so low, so mean, and base,
No language my condition can expresse.
Wallowing in my own sores, and mired here,
As one in marish stranded, all o're run
With loathsome Ulcers totally undone,
With putrid scabs, which from my Skin do fall,
When dry, and make me look, as I were all
A heap of Dust, and Ashes, Boils, and Sores,
With all that's ugly—
Nay, I am now so low, so mean, and base,
No language my condition can expresse.
But, O, what's worst of all, and doth exceed
All torments, I as yet have suffered,
My great Creator, to whom I do pray,
And cry aloud, a hundred times a day,
Seems unconcern'd, no notice of me takes,
But 'fore my eyes his flaming Sword he shakes,
In token of his Wrath, and now appears
To second all my jealousies, and fears,
By this bad usage; Lord, how frequently,
As a poor Beggar at thy gates do I
Implore for thy own sake, some Charity.
How oft have I, good Lord, to thee complain'd,
But have as yet no grace from thee obtain'd?
Wilt thou not help me, Lord? wilt thou not hear
Me when I pray? ah, wilt thou not give ear
To my sad crys? good Lord, what shall I say?
—Shall I at all times to no purpose pray?
Wilt not concern thy self, O mighty Lord,
With my afflictions? wilt thou not afford
One gracious answer? wilt thou still stand by?
A meer spectator of my misery,
And make no help to me, but in this case,
Suffer me to expire in great disgrace?
All torments, I as yet have suffered,
My great Creator, to whom I do pray,
And cry aloud, a hundred times a day,
Seems unconcern'd, no notice of me takes,
But 'fore my eyes his flaming Sword he shakes,
In token of his Wrath, and now appears
To second all my jealousies, and fears,
By this bad usage; Lord, how frequently,
As a poor Beggar at thy gates do I
Implore for thy own sake, some Charity.
How oft have I, good Lord, to thee complain'd,
But have as yet no grace from thee obtain'd?
Wilt thou not help me, Lord? wilt thou not hear
Me when I pray? ah, wilt thou not give ear
To my sad crys? good Lord, what shall I say?
—Shall I at all times to no purpose pray?
Wilt not concern thy self, O mighty Lord,
With my afflictions? wilt thou not afford
One gracious answer? wilt thou still stand by?
A meer spectator of my misery,
And make no help to me, but in this case,
Suffer me to expire in great disgrace?
Alace, good Lord, I find thy wrath so hot,
That I had rather die upon the spot,
Then live in thy displeasure, for I now
Perceive there's nothing I can ever doe,
Can purchase so much as a short Cessation,
From Persecution; for thy indignation
Against me doth with cruelty increase,
And there's no means left to procure my peace.
That I had rather die upon the spot,
Then live in thy displeasure, for I now
Perceive there's nothing I can ever doe,
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From Persecution; for thy indignation
Against me doth with cruelty increase,
And there's no means left to procure my peace.
For in Afflictions Ocean, I'me so toss't
'Twixt Wind, and Wave, beyond all sight of Coast,
Beyond all hopes of Calm: now rais'd aloft
Each Minut by the Surge, and then as oft
Amongst the gaping Waves precipitate,
As I'me no better then ingurgitate
In this Abyss of Troubles.—
—Now all this Tempest by thy mighty hand
Is rais'd against me, Lord, at thy command,
All these Infernal Woes assembled are,
By which I see, O Lord, thou dost appear
My open Enemy: and in thy wrath
Resolv'st even to pursue me to the death.
'Twixt Wind, and Wave, beyond all sight of Coast,
Beyond all hopes of Calm: now rais'd aloft
Each Minut by the Surge, and then as oft
Amongst the gaping Waves precipitate,
As I'me no better then ingurgitate
In this Abyss of Troubles.—
—Now all this Tempest by thy mighty hand
Is rais'd against me, Lord, at thy command,
All these Infernal Woes assembled are,
By which I see, O Lord, thou dost appear
My open Enemy: and in thy wrath
Resolv'st even to pursue me to the death.
I know thou dost, nay I am very sure
My Wounds are mortal past all hopes of cure,
And I must quickly die, good Lord, I know,
There is no remedy, but I must go,
To th'House appointed for all here below.
To the cold Grave, where huddled up do ly,
The mouldy Records of Mortality:
Where all the pride of Earth, its pomp, and glory
Are to be found in a large Repertory
Of Dust, and Ashes, thither Lord, I know,—
—Thither annon, O thither I must go,—
Where enter'd in Deaths Book, my life, I fear
Shall a more famous Precedent appear
Of Humane Frailty, and the vanity,
Of this poor World, then a whole Century
Before my time can show; whilst all in me
May a most evident example see
Both of thy Goodness, and thy sad displeasure,
Dispens'd in an extr'ordinary measure.
My Wounds are mortal past all hopes of cure,
And I must quickly die, good Lord, I know,
There is no remedy, but I must go,
To th'House appointed for all here below.
To the cold Grave, where huddled up do ly,
The mouldy Records of Mortality:
Where all the pride of Earth, its pomp, and glory
Are to be found in a large Repertory
Of Dust, and Ashes, thither Lord, I know,—
—Thither annon, O thither I must go,—
Where enter'd in Deaths Book, my life, I fear
Shall a more famous Precedent appear
Of Humane Frailty, and the vanity,
Of this poor World, then a whole Century
Before my time can show; whilst all in me
May a most evident example see
Both of thy Goodness, and thy sad displeasure,
Dispens'd in an extr'ordinary measure.
Yet here's my comfort, that when I descend
To Earth, my Troubles shall be at an end:
The War of my Afflictions shall cease,
And in the Grave at least I shall have peace:
For sure my God will not pursue me there,
Or make me in worse state then others are,
Who in that melancholly Cloyster dwell,
But will permit me there to rest, as well,
As all my Predecessors in that place,
And when I come that length, give o're the chase.
For whilst I live, I never do expect
T'have any rest, what ere I may suspect
Shall be my state of life, when life is gone
For on the matress of the Grave alone
I may have ease, but here I shall have none.
To Earth, my Troubles shall be at an end:
The War of my Afflictions shall cease,
And in the Grave at least I shall have peace:
For sure my God will not pursue me there,
Or make me in worse state then others are,
Who in that melancholly Cloyster dwell,
But will permit me there to rest, as well,
As all my Predecessors in that place,
And when I come that length, give o're the chase.
For whilst I live, I never do expect
T'have any rest, what ere I may suspect
Shall be my state of life, when life is gone
For on the matress of the Grave alone
I may have ease, but here I shall have none.
Strange! that with grief I should be thus oppress't!
Why had I ever lodg'd within my breast,
A heart of Flint, that never could comply
With others woes by rules of Sympathy:
Or had I been so cruelly severe,
As in my life I never would give ear
To th'crys of those, who did sad troubles feel,
And 'mongst the billows of Afflictions reel;
But unconcern'd at all their misery,
Had suffered them unpityed to die:
Then had I merit all those griefs, and woes,
I now endure: but on the contrare those,
Who were in trouble, I did pity so,
As oftentimes, tears from my eyes would flow,
When any I beheld in sad estate;
Though far from being tortur'd at this rate,
As I am; yet my kind, and tender soul
Would these mens troubles heartily condole.
Nay when I'de hear th'afflicted wretches groan,
I'de look on their condition, as my own:
Why had I ever lodg'd within my breast,
A heart of Flint, that never could comply
258
Or had I been so cruelly severe,
As in my life I never would give ear
To th'crys of those, who did sad troubles feel,
And 'mongst the billows of Afflictions reel;
But unconcern'd at all their misery,
Had suffered them unpityed to die:
Then had I merit all those griefs, and woes,
I now endure: but on the contrare those,
Who were in trouble, I did pity so,
As oftentimes, tears from my eyes would flow,
When any I beheld in sad estate;
Though far from being tortur'd at this rate,
As I am; yet my kind, and tender soul
Would these mens troubles heartily condole.
Nay when I'de hear th'afflicted wretches groan,
I'de look on their condition, as my own:
Yet ah, when I expected better things,
For this complyance; with sad Sufferings,
I only meet; all the reward alace,
Of all my sighs, and pious tenderness,
Is nothing but the utmost of distress:
Barbarous usage, Cruelty, Oppression,
Blows, Unkind dealings, Pains beyond expression,
Ingratitude, Horrour, and Poverty,
Are all the product of my Charity.
For this complyance; with sad Sufferings,
I only meet; all the reward alace,
Of all my sighs, and pious tenderness,
Is nothing but the utmost of distress:
Barbarous usage, Cruelty, Oppression,
Blows, Unkind dealings, Pains beyond expression,
Ingratitude, Horrour, and Poverty,
Are all the product of my Charity.
For even now whilst I speak, I find such pain,
As I'me not able longer to sustain
The weight of my Afflictions;—Oh I faint!
—I faint indeed, now all my strength is spent—
—Nay in my bowels only I do find
Such pain, as would distract a constant mind.
As I'me not able longer to sustain
The weight of my Afflictions;—Oh I faint!
—I faint indeed, now all my strength is spent—
—Nay in my bowels only I do find
Such pain, as would distract a constant mind.
For this cause I go mourning all the day,
And in dark Holes, and Corners take my way,
To Caverns, where the Sun beams are unknown
And find some comfort to be there alone;
Where I my woes with freedom may bemoan.
For when at any time I do appear
In publick, O how I'me asham'd to hear
My own sad exclamations: alace—
—Now every day I see my own disgrace:
And O, my friends, d'ye think but such as I,
Who but of late liv'd in Authority,
Amongst those people, do now think it sad,
To be thus gaz'd on, as if I were mad.
And in dark Holes, and Corners take my way,
To Caverns, where the Sun beams are unknown
And find some comfort to be there alone;
Where I my woes with freedom may bemoan.
For when at any time I do appear
In publick, O how I'me asham'd to hear
My own sad exclamations: alace—
—Now every day I see my own disgrace:
And O, my friends, d'ye think but such as I,
Who but of late liv'd in Authority,
Amongst those people, do now think it sad,
To be thus gaz'd on, as if I were mad.
To be thus gaz'd on, thus constrain'd, by pain,
To cry aloud, before these very men,
Who but of late did see me in this place,
In great respect, but now in sad disgrace
They see me here: for this cause do I fly
To Woods, and Desarts; where no Humane eye
May in the least perceive me: there I howl,
And sereigh, like Dragon, there the dismal Owl,
I in my nightly crying imitate,
And these, and I are now associat,
For we are all wild, sad, and desolate.
These are my brethren, these, and I are now
Well known t'each other: for with these I do
Converse all day long, and all night we keep
A doleful consort, whilst all others sleep.
To cry aloud, before these very men,
Who but of late did see me in this place,
In great respect, but now in sad disgrace
They see me here: for this cause do I fly
To Woods, and Desarts; where no Humane eye
May in the least perceive me: there I howl,
And sereigh, like Dragon, there the dismal Owl,
259
And these, and I are now associat,
For we are all wild, sad, and desolate.
These are my brethren, these, and I are now
Well known t'each other: for with these I do
Converse all day long, and all night we keep
A doleful consort, whilst all others sleep.
'Tis so indeed, for who but such as these
Would converse with a Creature in my case:
With me, a thing so fullie miserable,
As all that I can speak is hardly able,
To prove I'me living man; for who alace
Would think me such, by looking on my face.
Am not I black, deform'd, and withered,
And (save that I am not yet fully dead,)
From those below Ground nothing differing,
But suitable to them in every thing.
Would converse with a Creature in my case:
With me, a thing so fullie miserable,
As all that I can speak is hardly able,
To prove I'me living man; for who alace
Would think me such, by looking on my face.
Am not I black, deform'd, and withered,
And (save that I am not yet fully dead,)
From those below Ground nothing differing,
But suitable to them in every thing.
Hence all my mirth is gone, my former joys
Are now extinguish'd, and there is no noise
Of Musick in my House, as formerly
Was heard, i'th' days of my prosperity.
My Harp doth now in a dead Gamut sound,
And there's no other Musick to be found,
Within my Walls, but howling night, and day,
For all my smiling days are shrunk away.
Are now extinguish'd, and there is no noise
Of Musick in my House, as formerly
Was heard, i'th' days of my prosperity.
My Harp doth now in a dead Gamut sound,
And there's no other Musick to be found,
Within my Walls, but howling night, and day,
For all my smiling days are shrunk away.
| The grand Tryal | |