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 |
 |
|
| I. | [[PART 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. |
| XXXI. |
| IV. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| V. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
 | The grand Tryal |  |
1
I. [[PART I.]]
CAP. I.
1. There was a man in the land of Uz, whose name was Iob, and that man was perfect and upright, and one that feared God, and eschewed evil.
From Egypt did his captive People bring:
Where th'Heirs of promise, in a sad estate,
As Criminals, by Sentence relegate,
For many years, did, with much sweat and toyl,
Earn a poor Living in a forraign soyl.
Before the Law of God was published,
Before his Standard was on Earth display'd;
Before his Church did visible appear,
And he had only Chapels here and there,
In that vast Canton of Arabia, known
By th'name of Desart, where with Sands o'reflow'n
Whole Regions in a constant deluge ly,
Unfit for humane use, where Husbandry,
Planting, Inclosing, and such Policy
Is hardly known; only amongst the Rocks
Th'Inhabitants do ramble with their Flocks
For pasturage, and like their Beasts, with ease,
And simple food themselves entirely please.
Or else through sandy Valleys, where the Sun
Is almost by his own reflex out-done,
They travel with their Camels, as they are
Employ'd by Merchants, to transport their Ware
From Mart, to Mart, in all the Countreys round,
Where Industry, and Trading doth abound.
Unless perhaps on some small Rivers side,
(Which in that Country too is rarely 'spy'd)
Some fertile Acres fit for Husbandry,
Mix'd with a slender marle a squandring ly;
And there some Castles, Houses, Cottages,
2
Make a small Landskip, and perhaps afford
A Dwelling for some great Arabian Lord.
But generally the Country is so bare
Of Policy, as a Geographer
For a large hire, would hardly undertake
A travelling survey of that Land to make.
Hence are those Idle, Vagrant, Sun-burnt-creatures,
Of cunning, fiery, and malicious Natures:
Hot as their Soil; and by their looks confess
Within their breasts a no less barrenness
Of Piety, and Virtue, then their grounds
To th'eye express: besides they know no bounds
In villany, but live most barbarously
By rapine more, then lawful industry.
In this same High-land-country 'mongst those men,
Who all things good, and sacred did profane,
Whom length of time, and commerce to this day
Have not yet civiliz'd.
In this so barren Land a man did dwell,
Whose name was Job, a man, who did excell
Most of that Age in Piety, a man,
Upon whose heart in lively colours drawn
The picture of true Virtue did appear,
A man, who did his God devoutly fear;
A just, and upright man, who fully knew
The Art of moderation (known to few)
A man, whom all the Vices of his Age
Could not from true Religion disengage,
A man obedient to his Makers Will,
Practising good things, and eviting ill.
Who all things good, and sacred did profane,
Whom length of time, and commerce to this day
Have not yet civiliz'd.
In this so barren Land a man did dwell,
Whose name was Job, a man, who did excell
Most of that Age in Piety, a man,
Upon whose heart in lively colours drawn
The picture of true Virtue did appear,
A man, who did his God devoutly fear;
A just, and upright man, who fully knew
The Art of moderation (known to few)
A man, whom all the Vices of his Age
Could not from true Religion disengage,
A man obedient to his Makers Will,
Practising good things, and eviting ill.
The Land in which he liv'd is called here
The Land of Uz, though, as it doth appear
From Sacred Writ, one of the Race of Sem,
Who, (as it stands Recorded) bore that name
Of old did with a colony repair
To th'lesser Syria, where now the fair
Damasco stands, whence all that Tract of Ground
Was call'd the Land of Uz. 'Tis also found
That one of that same Name of Esaus Race
So call'd his Dwelling in another place:
From hence a part, at least, of Idumæa
Scituate in Arabia Petræa
Is call'd the Land of Uz. But that, which here
Is nam'd, by observation doth appear
T'have been that Land, which one of Nahors Race
Bearing the same Name, for his Dwelling place
Of old did choose; and is a part of that
Arabia call'd Deserta, scituate,
As by our modern Maps, we dayly see,
Betwixt the twice, and the thrice tenth degree
Of Northern Latitude: Bord'ring on the West
With the Red Sea, the Persian Gulf on th'East,
Arabia Fælix on the South, Judæa
Upon the North, with part of Idumæa;
Hence our Geographers do plainly tell
This is the Country, where once Job did dwell.
The Land of Uz, though, as it doth appear
From Sacred Writ, one of the Race of Sem,
Who, (as it stands Recorded) bore that name
Of old did with a colony repair
To th'lesser Syria, where now the fair
Damasco stands, whence all that Tract of Ground
Was call'd the Land of Uz. 'Tis also found
That one of that same Name of Esaus Race
So call'd his Dwelling in another place:
From hence a part, at least, of Idumæa
Scituate in Arabia Petræa
Is call'd the Land of Uz. But that, which here
Is nam'd, by observation doth appear
T'have been that Land, which one of Nahors Race
Bearing the same Name, for his Dwelling place
Of old did choose; and is a part of that
Arabia call'd Deserta, scituate,
As by our modern Maps, we dayly see,
Betwixt the twice, and the thrice tenth degree
Of Northern Latitude: Bord'ring on the West
With the Red Sea, the Persian Gulf on th'East,
Arabia Fælix on the South, Judæa
3
Hence our Geographers do plainly tell
This is the Country, where once Job did dwell.
As for his Family 'tis thought he was
Descended of a branch of Abrams race,
By one of his three Sons with Ketura,
Who, some think, planted in Arabia:
Others affirm, with more authority,
He was a branch of Nahors Family:
How e're it was, his Actions do express
He was a man of honourable Race.
Descended of a branch of Abrams race,
By one of his three Sons with Ketura,
Who, some think, planted in Arabia:
Others affirm, with more authority,
He was a branch of Nahors Family:
How e're it was, his Actions do express
He was a man of honourable Race.
This man was with a goodly Issue bless't
(Which of all Earthly blessings, is the best)
Seven Sons, three Daughters, all of comely Features,
Complaisant Humors, and obedient Natures
Did call him Father, nor was all around
The Neighbour-hood, a fairer Issue found,
Then that of Jobs: for as they did encrease
In Years, so in true Piety, and Grace
They made a large advance; and prudently
Studied true Virtue, and Frugality.
(Which of all Earthly blessings, is the best)
Seven Sons, three Daughters, all of comely Features,
Complaisant Humors, and obedient Natures
Did call him Father, nor was all around
The Neighbour-hood, a fairer Issue found,
Then that of Jobs: for as they did encrease
In Years, so in true Piety, and Grace
They made a large advance; and prudently
Studied true Virtue, and Frugality.
But lest this fair, and hopeful Progeny,
This numerous, and growing Family
Might have prov'd chargeable, as now a days
We see it frequent: God did also raise
This man in Wealth; his Labours he so bless't
That every Year his Revenue encreas't:
For his projections he so surely laid,
As of their Success he was not afraid;
But made his Grounds afford by Pains, and Art
What Nature had deny'd: nay every part
Of his Possessions clearly did express
Their Masters virtue, care, and painfulness.
His Revenue consisted, as appears,
In what was only us'd in former Years,
Corn, Sheep, and Cattel, for the Hills did keep
To him a Stock of some seven thousand Sheep,
From which each Year to him there did accrew
No small proportion of his Revenue.
He had a Stock too of three thousand Camels,
That fed upon his Grounds, both Males, and Females;
Most of which useful Beasts he did let out
For hire to all the Merchants without doubt,
Who traded through that Country, and did bear
From place to place the rich and costly Ware
Of Persia, Egypt, and Arabia
The Happy, Palestine, and Syria:
Because those Beasts can only tolerate
The Sand, the Drought, the Hunger, and the Heat
Which travelling in that Country doth require
And thence for such, a good, and constant hire
Is still afforded.
He had five hundred Yokes of Oxen too,
Which (if we reckon four Yoke to a Plow,
The most we in those Northern Countreys use)
Doth make a labouring of a hundred Plowes,
And five and twenty, so we make account
His Labouring did his Pasturage surmount.
For thirty Acres being the labouring
Of every Plow, we make a reckoning
More then three thousand Acres he possess'd
Of fruitful grounds, and may be also guess'd
To have been one of the few Valleys there,
Watred with Rivers, and Manur'd with care.
He had five hundred Shee-asses to boot,
Which he for lesser burdens did let out
To Labourers, and Merchants all about,
Who had occasion for them.
Now, as he was a man of fair Estate;
(For by our modern reckoning, we may rate
This man, by what's in short related here
T'have had of Rent ten thousand pounds a Year).
So to his Birth, and outward Quality
Was added Power, and Authority:
A man he was, no doubt, of Reputation,
In great esteem 'mongst those of his own Nation,
Chief President, at least, as we may guess
Of th'Courts of Justice in those Provinces,
Which lay contiguous with his dwelling place.
This numerous, and growing Family
Might have prov'd chargeable, as now a days
We see it frequent: God did also raise
This man in Wealth; his Labours he so bless't
That every Year his Revenue encreas't:
For his projections he so surely laid,
As of their Success he was not afraid;
But made his Grounds afford by Pains, and Art
What Nature had deny'd: nay every part
Of his Possessions clearly did express
Their Masters virtue, care, and painfulness.
His Revenue consisted, as appears,
In what was only us'd in former Years,
Corn, Sheep, and Cattel, for the Hills did keep
To him a Stock of some seven thousand Sheep,
From which each Year to him there did accrew
No small proportion of his Revenue.
He had a Stock too of three thousand Camels,
That fed upon his Grounds, both Males, and Females;
Most of which useful Beasts he did let out
For hire to all the Merchants without doubt,
Who traded through that Country, and did bear
From place to place the rich and costly Ware
Of Persia, Egypt, and Arabia
The Happy, Palestine, and Syria:
Because those Beasts can only tolerate
The Sand, the Drought, the Hunger, and the Heat
Which travelling in that Country doth require
And thence for such, a good, and constant hire
Is still afforded.
He had five hundred Yokes of Oxen too,
Which (if we reckon four Yoke to a Plow,
4
Doth make a labouring of a hundred Plowes,
And five and twenty, so we make account
His Labouring did his Pasturage surmount.
For thirty Acres being the labouring
Of every Plow, we make a reckoning
More then three thousand Acres he possess'd
Of fruitful grounds, and may be also guess'd
To have been one of the few Valleys there,
Watred with Rivers, and Manur'd with care.
He had five hundred Shee-asses to boot,
Which he for lesser burdens did let out
To Labourers, and Merchants all about,
Who had occasion for them.
Now, as he was a man of fair Estate;
(For by our modern reckoning, we may rate
This man, by what's in short related here
T'have had of Rent ten thousand pounds a Year).
So to his Birth, and outward Quality
Was added Power, and Authority:
A man he was, no doubt, of Reputation,
In great esteem 'mongst those of his own Nation,
Chief President, at least, as we may guess
Of th'Courts of Justice in those Provinces,
Which lay contiguous with his dwelling place.
But all this Wealth, this Power, and Quality
Had serv'd for nothing, had his Family
Been dis-unite: nor had he car'd for these,
Unless he had enjoy'd Domestick Peace.
This he had too, and that in so great measure,
As far exceeded all his Wealth and Treasure.
For his seven Sons (who, we suppose had now
Attain'd mans age, and that he did allow
T'each of'em distinct Farms off his Estate)
Did mutually each others kindly treat.
In Peace, and Plenty they their hours did waste,
And call'd their Sisters, when they mean't to Feast.
Had serv'd for nothing, had his Family
Been dis-unite: nor had he car'd for these,
Unless he had enjoy'd Domestick Peace.
This he had too, and that in so great measure,
As far exceeded all his Wealth and Treasure.
For his seven Sons (who, we suppose had now
Attain'd mans age, and that he did allow
T'each of'em distinct Farms off his Estate)
Did mutually each others kindly treat.
In Peace, and Plenty they their hours did waste,
And call'd their Sisters, when they mean't to Feast.
But Job considering, in such jollity,
How many strong temptations do ly,
For sinful lewdness, scarce to be evited,
By such, whose Blood, and Brains by Wine are heated;
He would next morning early stir, and pray
That God would pardon sins o'th' by-past day
Committed by his Children. For, sayes he,
I do suspect (how ere the matter be)
There's something sinful in the case, since Feasting
Is still at least accompany'd with Jesting.
Thus, with himself in private reasoning,
Hee'd for each Child make a Burnt-offering;
And, whilst their Feasting lasted, every day,
Job for his Childrens sins would Fast and Pray.
In short, if Jobs Felicity we rate
By Birth, and Knowledge, Honour, and Estate,
A goodly Issue bless't with unity
Amongst themselves, unspotted Piety,
Sincerity in all his Dealings, Grace,
Frugality, and Virtue, we may trace
All Histories, with which the World doth swell,
And 'mongst them all not find his parallel.
For sure this worthy Gentleman appears
T'have been a Patern, for some hundred years,
To all about him: and we here may see
How God thinks fit his Memory should be
To this same day preserv'd; that we may thence
Precisely understand, at what expence
Of true Devotion we should live, and know
When with Afflictions God doth bring us low,
As this same Good man was, how to endure
With Patience the hottest Calenture
Of Sorrows fever: and may likewise see
What silly Expectations those be
On which we feed in our Prosperity,
As if we fancy'd Perpetuity
Of our Enjoyments here: and that our God
Lov'd us so well, he'd never use his Rod;
But with soft Hand would clap our Heads, and lay
Our Pillows every Night, and every Day
Afford us every thing we can project
For our poor Fastings, and our Prayers sake.
No, no that Man, who ere he be, that thus
With fond Delusions doth his Soul abuse,
Doth shreudly erre: for in this Precedent
We may perceive how clear, and evident
The contrair doth appear, and calculate
From thence the folly of a great Estate.
How many strong temptations do ly,
For sinful lewdness, scarce to be evited,
By such, whose Blood, and Brains by Wine are heated;
He would next morning early stir, and pray
That God would pardon sins o'th' by-past day
Committed by his Children. For, sayes he,
I do suspect (how ere the matter be)
There's something sinful in the case, since Feasting
Is still at least accompany'd with Jesting.
Thus, with himself in private reasoning,
Hee'd for each Child make a Burnt-offering;
And, whilst their Feasting lasted, every day,
Job for his Childrens sins would Fast and Pray.
In short, if Jobs Felicity we rate
By Birth, and Knowledge, Honour, and Estate,
A goodly Issue bless't with unity
5
Sincerity in all his Dealings, Grace,
Frugality, and Virtue, we may trace
All Histories, with which the World doth swell,
And 'mongst them all not find his parallel.
For sure this worthy Gentleman appears
T'have been a Patern, for some hundred years,
To all about him: and we here may see
How God thinks fit his Memory should be
To this same day preserv'd; that we may thence
Precisely understand, at what expence
Of true Devotion we should live, and know
When with Afflictions God doth bring us low,
As this same Good man was, how to endure
With Patience the hottest Calenture
Of Sorrows fever: and may likewise see
What silly Expectations those be
On which we feed in our Prosperity,
As if we fancy'd Perpetuity
Of our Enjoyments here: and that our God
Lov'd us so well, he'd never use his Rod;
But with soft Hand would clap our Heads, and lay
Our Pillows every Night, and every Day
Afford us every thing we can project
For our poor Fastings, and our Prayers sake.
No, no that Man, who ere he be, that thus
With fond Delusions doth his Soul abuse,
Doth shreudly erre: for in this Precedent
We may perceive how clear, and evident
The contrair doth appear, and calculate
From thence the folly of a great Estate.
For now, as longest Day must have its Night,
And Darkness must at length succeed to Light:
As greatest Calms do Storms prognosticate,
So greatest Joyes do Sorrowes antidate:
And this Good-man, whom in Serenity,
Under the Zenith of Prosperity,
Wee've lately seen, must now himself prepare
To show his Virtue in another Sphere.
And Darkness must at length succeed to Light:
As greatest Calms do Storms prognosticate,
So greatest Joyes do Sorrowes antidate:
And this Good-man, whom in Serenity,
Under the Zenith of Prosperity,
Wee've lately seen, must now himself prepare
To show his Virtue in another Sphere.
For at a General Sessions of Heaven,
Held at that time, when Liberty was given
To all, that in that Court do make abode
To see the Face of the Almighty God
When Heavens Great Monarch in Majestick State,
Environ'd with his Troops of Angels Sate:
He too, who once was of that Corporation,
As Eminent, as any of that Station;
Until, with foolish Pride he did so swell,
Because he thought he was not us'd so well
As his great Services requir'd, and so
He with some others would a Plotting go
Against his Prince, and think to model too
(As all our discontented States-men do)
The Government of Heavens: but instantly
His Plot was opened, and he, by and by
With all his Friends about him poorly fell
From thence, by Deportation, to Hell.
This wretched Head of Rebels too appear'd
Amongst the Just; demanding to be heard
In some shrewd Accusation patly lay'd
Against some Champions of the praying Trade.
At least that he might shortly understand
Upon what Service God would him command
He there as Serjeant of the Court did waite
To receive Orders at the Utter-Gate.
Held at that time, when Liberty was given
To all, that in that Court do make abode
To see the Face of the Almighty God
When Heavens Great Monarch in Majestick State,
Environ'd with his Troops of Angels Sate:
He too, who once was of that Corporation,
As Eminent, as any of that Station;
Until, with foolish Pride he did so swell,
Because he thought he was not us'd so well
As his great Services requir'd, and so
He with some others would a Plotting go
Against his Prince, and think to model too
(As all our discontented States-men do)
The Government of Heavens: but instantly
6
With all his Friends about him poorly fell
From thence, by Deportation, to Hell.
This wretched Head of Rebels too appear'd
Amongst the Just; demanding to be heard
In some shrewd Accusation patly lay'd
Against some Champions of the praying Trade.
At least that he might shortly understand
Upon what Service God would him command
He there as Serjeant of the Court did waite
To receive Orders at the Utter-Gate.
But, as when Damnster doth in Court appear,
The Condemnation of some Man we fear:
So this Old Rebel did prognosticate
The Alteration of some Persons State,
By his officious presence.
This thing appearing then well known by name
Of Satan, God did ask him, whence he came?
(Not but that all his Wandrings he did know,
With all his Plots, and Projects here below:
But that from his own Mouth he might express
His villanous Toilling, and Unwearyedness
In doing evil, and that since he fell
From Heaven, he every hour doth merit Hell.)
Satan makes answer, I have been abroad
Compassing all this Earth of thine, Great God.
There I have walk'd at randome, to and fro,
And view'd the State of all things here below.
I've seen how thou dost constantly suppress
Me, and my Subjects, by thy watchfulness,
On all our Motions; as if all to thee
Belong'd by Right, and nothing else to me,
But thy displeasure; yet I'le not resign
My claim for all that; nay I still design,
Where ever thou a Colony shall plant
I and my Friends shall all their Meetings haunt,
And make that Church at best but Militant.
For, since I'm not allow'd the Priviledge
Of my Creation, but with bitter rage,
Am to this day secluded from my Right,
Why should not I with all the Force and Might,
That I, and my poor banish'd Friends can raise,
By constant In-roads still disturb the Peace,
Of those, whose constant Prayers do combine
To ruine further yet both me, and mine.
As if already I were not undone,
By thy Displeasure, these forsooth must run
A sharper Scent, and by their Prayers baull,
For my Destruction yet for good, and all.
Nay know, Heavens King (for so I must confess
Thou art indeed) that I am not the less
A Prince on Earth, and will endeavour still
To keep that Right, do with me what you will.
Yes, I'll mentain now what I do possess,
And still will make it my great business
T'enlarge the Limits of my Empire here:
Since in thy Heavens I dare no more appear
As formerly: allow me then Great God
To wander sometimes here, and there abroad
To view my Interest: though yet after all,
I am thy Servant, and obey thy call.
The Condemnation of some Man we fear:
So this Old Rebel did prognosticate
The Alteration of some Persons State,
By his officious presence.
This thing appearing then well known by name
Of Satan, God did ask him, whence he came?
(Not but that all his Wandrings he did know,
With all his Plots, and Projects here below:
But that from his own Mouth he might express
His villanous Toilling, and Unwearyedness
In doing evil, and that since he fell
From Heaven, he every hour doth merit Hell.)
Satan makes answer, I have been abroad
Compassing all this Earth of thine, Great God.
There I have walk'd at randome, to and fro,
And view'd the State of all things here below.
I've seen how thou dost constantly suppress
Me, and my Subjects, by thy watchfulness,
On all our Motions; as if all to thee
Belong'd by Right, and nothing else to me,
But thy displeasure; yet I'le not resign
My claim for all that; nay I still design,
Where ever thou a Colony shall plant
I and my Friends shall all their Meetings haunt,
And make that Church at best but Militant.
For, since I'm not allow'd the Priviledge
Of my Creation, but with bitter rage,
Am to this day secluded from my Right,
Why should not I with all the Force and Might,
That I, and my poor banish'd Friends can raise,
By constant In-roads still disturb the Peace,
Of those, whose constant Prayers do combine
To ruine further yet both me, and mine.
As if already I were not undone,
By thy Displeasure, these forsooth must run
A sharper Scent, and by their Prayers baull,
For my Destruction yet for good, and all.
Nay know, Heavens King (for so I must confess
Thou art indeed) that I am not the less
A Prince on Earth, and will endeavour still
To keep that Right, do with me what you will.
Yes, I'll mentain now what I do possess,
7
T'enlarge the Limits of my Empire here:
Since in thy Heavens I dare no more appear
As formerly: allow me then Great God
To wander sometimes here, and there abroad
To view my Interest: though yet after all,
I am thy Servant, and obey thy call.
Then sayes the Lord, since thou goest every where
A-wandring, since thou couldst not chuse, but hear
Of my great Servant Job: sure thou dost know
How of all Mortals that live there below,
He's the most just; scarce to be equalled
On Earth: him sure thou hast considered
As one of thy chief Enemies, for he
Is a most Loyal Subject still to me.
A Man most Honest, Pious and Upright,
Just, shunning Evil, doing, at my sight,
What I Judge candid good, and equitable,
And for his Heavenly Interest profitable:
One, who by Standart of true Piety
Doth measure all his Actions constantly.
What say'st of him? Is he not such, now say
For all thy Art, can'st fall upon a way,
To make that Man break his Allegiance
To me? can'st thou thy Interest advance
With him, or tempt him to do any thing
That may i'th' least displease his God and King?
A-wandring, since thou couldst not chuse, but hear
Of my great Servant Job: sure thou dost know
How of all Mortals that live there below,
He's the most just; scarce to be equalled
On Earth: him sure thou hast considered
As one of thy chief Enemies, for he
Is a most Loyal Subject still to me.
A Man most Honest, Pious and Upright,
Just, shunning Evil, doing, at my sight,
What I Judge candid good, and equitable,
And for his Heavenly Interest profitable:
One, who by Standart of true Piety
Doth measure all his Actions constantly.
What say'st of him? Is he not such, now say
For all thy Art, can'st fall upon a way,
To make that Man break his Allegiance
To me? can'st thou thy Interest advance
With him, or tempt him to do any thing
That may i'th' least displease his God and King?
Yes, says the Divel, thy Servant Job I know
And have considered too: why be it so
That he is such: as truth I cann't deny
He is; I've view'd his constant Piety.
And great Devotion, and I thank him too
That does, what he is so well hyr'd to do.
Can any man do less, to whom th'hast given
Possession of all Blessings under Heaven:
So well mentain'd he doth but what he ought
To do, then pray doth Job serve thee for nought?
And have considered too: why be it so
That he is such: as truth I cann't deny
He is; I've view'd his constant Piety.
And great Devotion, and I thank him too
That does, what he is so well hyr'd to do.
Can any man do less, to whom th'hast given
Possession of all Blessings under Heaven:
So well mentain'd he doth but what he ought
To do, then pray doth Job serve thee for nought?
Pray now, Great Lord, who would not at this rate
Become thy Servant? yea, who would not state
Himself thy faithful Slave, thus to be us'd
Thus kindly, to have nothing thus refus'd
May contribute for his Convenience here,
As in the case of this Man doth appear.
Why would'st such Favour but to me allow,
As this too happy Man enjoyeth now,
I would become thy Faithful Servant too.
But I, and my poor Friends for ever barr'd,
From thy Cœlestial Favour, and declar'd
Incapable of ever being restor'd
To former Favour, cannot, Mighty Lord,
Expect, upon these terms, to become such,
As those, whose Predecessors err'd as much,
As ever we did: for I know thou hast
A kindness for the Race of Man shall last.
To th'worlds end: and yet those Creatures shall
But prove ungrate to thee, Lord, after all.
For this same Race of Man, this Progeny
Of my old Fellow-Sinner, certainly,
After thou hast them with all Kindness blest,
Will be but Shrubs of the old Root at best.
And as their Fathers did, not long ago,
Provoke thee to a drowning of 'em; so
The Children still their Fathers Steps will trace,
And be to thee the same still, in the case.
Become thy Servant? yea, who would not state
Himself thy faithful Slave, thus to be us'd
Thus kindly, to have nothing thus refus'd
May contribute for his Convenience here,
As in the case of this Man doth appear.
Why would'st such Favour but to me allow,
As this too happy Man enjoyeth now,
I would become thy Faithful Servant too.
But I, and my poor Friends for ever barr'd,
From thy Cœlestial Favour, and declar'd
Incapable of ever being restor'd
To former Favour, cannot, Mighty Lord,
Expect, upon these terms, to become such,
As those, whose Predecessors err'd as much,
As ever we did: for I know thou hast
A kindness for the Race of Man shall last.
8
But prove ungrate to thee, Lord, after all.
For this same Race of Man, this Progeny
Of my old Fellow-Sinner, certainly,
After thou hast them with all Kindness blest,
Will be but Shrubs of the old Root at best.
And as their Fathers did, not long ago,
Provoke thee to a drowning of 'em; so
The Children still their Fathers Steps will trace,
And be to thee the same still, in the case.
Now then this Job, on whom thou hast bestow'd,
What to few Men on Earth thou hast allow'd:
Whom, as with hedge, thou hast environed,
And guarded all he hath on every side;
Whom thou hast rais'd in Wealth and Dignity,
And made him Head of a Great Family:
Pray what can he do less, than Fast, and Pray,
Kneel down, and make an Offring every day
To thee his Patron: and endeavour too
To shun all evil, as a many do,
For fear of me, and not for love of thee,
Because before their Eyes they daily see
How inexorable I am to all
Those Men of Earth, whom thou dost Sinners call;
If in my hands thou once deliver them,
Whereas, if they but call upon thy Name,
With a few Sighs, and Tears, thou instantly
Remit'st them all their Sins, and by and by
Th'effect of all thy Heavenly Clemency,
Upon the matter, proves indeed no more,
Then crossing th'old, upon another score,
To sin afresh, for all those breathing things
Abuse thy Mercy.
Nay they will make a fashion too, when ble'st
As this Man is, and that their Souls have rest
From dunning Pinches, Miseries, and Pains,
(Which are some other Mens Quotidians,)
To use Devotion, and perhaps express,
In a set Prayer, some small Thankfulness,
For these thy Favours, but they alwayes run
Upon that Strain, that, as thou hast begun,
So thou'd continue alwayes to extend
That Peace, and Plenty to them to the end.
For if once interrupted, then we see
What Frettings, and bold Abjurations be
Amongst those formerly fine Supplicants
Now crying out of Miseries, and Wants.
What to few Men on Earth thou hast allow'd:
Whom, as with hedge, thou hast environed,
And guarded all he hath on every side;
Whom thou hast rais'd in Wealth and Dignity,
And made him Head of a Great Family:
Pray what can he do less, than Fast, and Pray,
Kneel down, and make an Offring every day
To thee his Patron: and endeavour too
To shun all evil, as a many do,
For fear of me, and not for love of thee,
Because before their Eyes they daily see
How inexorable I am to all
Those Men of Earth, whom thou dost Sinners call;
If in my hands thou once deliver them,
Whereas, if they but call upon thy Name,
With a few Sighs, and Tears, thou instantly
Remit'st them all their Sins, and by and by
Th'effect of all thy Heavenly Clemency,
Upon the matter, proves indeed no more,
Then crossing th'old, upon another score,
To sin afresh, for all those breathing things
Abuse thy Mercy.
Nay they will make a fashion too, when ble'st
As this Man is, and that their Souls have rest
From dunning Pinches, Miseries, and Pains,
(Which are some other Mens Quotidians,)
To use Devotion, and perhaps express,
In a set Prayer, some small Thankfulness,
For these thy Favours, but they alwayes run
Upon that Strain, that, as thou hast begun,
So thou'd continue alwayes to extend
That Peace, and Plenty to them to the end.
For if once interrupted, then we see
What Frettings, and bold Abjurations be
Amongst those formerly fine Supplicants
Now crying out of Miseries, and Wants.
Stretch therefore out thine Hand, and seize upon
All that Job has, and thou shalt see anon
This unkind dealing will reverse the case,
And heel Blaspheme thee, to thy very Face.
Yes, heel Blaspheme thee, and forget that thou
Didst good things to him, formerly allow:
He'l tell thee plainly th'hast disordered
All his concerns, and fully ruined
His expectations: so that after this
He'l tell thee boldly thus, and thus it is
To serve a God, who takes no care at all
For such as on his Name do dayly call.
All that Job has, and thou shalt see anon
This unkind dealing will reverse the case,
And heel Blaspheme thee, to thy very Face.
Yes, heel Blaspheme thee, and forget that thou
Didst good things to him, formerly allow:
He'l tell thee plainly th'hast disordered
9
His expectations: so that after this
He'l tell thee boldly thus, and thus it is
To serve a God, who takes no care at all
For such as on his Name do dayly call.
Then said the Lord, well, Satan, thou shalt find
My Servant Job is of another kind,
Then falling Adams ordinary Race,
As thou shall't soon perceive upon the Case.
And to demonstrate this thou mayest go try him,
Seize upon all his Substance then, do by him,
As thou thinks't fit: only I do Command
Upon his Person stretch not out thy Hand,
But all his Goods are thine. No sooner sai'd
Then the false Slave of this Commission glad,
Runs out on Execution, and Commands
His Men to Mischief soon, and cries all hands.
My Servant Job is of another kind,
Then falling Adams ordinary Race,
As thou shall't soon perceive upon the Case.
And to demonstrate this thou mayest go try him,
Seize upon all his Substance then, do by him,
As thou thinks't fit: only I do Command
Upon his Person stretch not out thy Hand,
But all his Goods are thine. No sooner sai'd
Then the false Slave of this Commission glad,
Runs out on Execution, and Commands
His Men to Mischief soon, and cries all hands.
Now here Jobs Woes, and Miseries Commence,
His future Troubles take their Rise from hence:
For soon the Devil had drawn his Troops together,
And they all ready to march quickly whether
He should command them: he did only now
Wait for an opportunity to doe
What he intended.
So when the Children were a Banqueting
I'th' Eldests House, suspecting no such thing,
The Devil perceiving their security,
Resolves to catch this opportunity
Of plundering all: with his wilde Arabs hastes,
And in the first place drives off all his Beasts.
His future Troubles take their Rise from hence:
For soon the Devil had drawn his Troops together,
And they all ready to march quickly whether
He should command them: he did only now
Wait for an opportunity to doe
What he intended.
So when the Children were a Banqueting
I'th' Eldests House, suspecting no such thing,
The Devil perceiving their security,
Resolves to catch this opportunity
Of plundering all: with his wilde Arabs hastes,
And in the first place drives off all his Beasts.
Job on a sudden has the dismal News,
How whilst his Oxen Laboured in the Plowes,
The Cattel calmly footing in the Traces,
And all the Asses feeding in their places.
How whilst his Oxen Laboured in the Plowes,
The Cattel calmly footing in the Traces,
And all the Asses feeding in their places.
The Theeving Rogues did violently fall
Upon the Beasts in Ploughs, and plundered all,
In all his Servants Bowels sheath'd the Sword,
Burn't all the Barns, and Houses, in a word,
Sayes Currior, who these fatal News did bring,
I've only 'scapt, thus to relate the thing.
Upon the Beasts in Ploughs, and plundered all,
In all his Servants Bowels sheath'd the Sword,
Burn't all the Barns, and Houses, in a word,
Sayes Currior, who these fatal News did bring,
I've only 'scapt, thus to relate the thing.
Scarce had he told the Tale, when comes another
To give account of News as bad as 'tother:
The Fire of God, sayes he, from Heaven did fall,
And in an instant quite consumed all
thy numerous Flocks of fine Wool-bearing Sheep,
With all the Servants, who these Flocks did keep,
Thus are thy Store-rooms fully desolate,
Only I 'scap'd the Tidings to relate.
To give account of News as bad as 'tother:
The Fire of God, sayes he, from Heaven did fall,
And in an instant quite consumed all
thy numerous Flocks of fine Wool-bearing Sheep,
With all the Servants, who these Flocks did keep,
Thus are thy Store-rooms fully desolate,
Only I 'scap'd the Tidings to relate.
Whilst he yet spoke another comes to tell
How the Chaldeans in three parties fell
Upon the Camels, made them all their prey,
Kill'd all the Herdsmen, carried all away,
Of whom, saies he, I only did escape
To be the Relator of so great Mis-hap.
How the Chaldeans in three parties fell
Upon the Camels, made them all their prey,
Kill'd all the Herdsmen, carried all away,
Of whom, saies he, I only did escape
To be the Relator of so great Mis-hap.
10
I'th' neck of this another comes, who showes,
(In one great Blow, to sum up all his Woes)
How, whilst his Children freely did carrouse,
And drunk Wine in their eldest Brothers House,
Eate merrily, convers'd, and made good chear,
Enjoying one another without fear.
(In one great Blow, to sum up all his Woes)
How, whilst his Children freely did carrouse,
And drunk Wine in their eldest Brothers House,
Eate merrily, convers'd, and made good chear,
Enjoying one another without fear.
There came, says he, so far as I could guesse,
Out from the fields beyond the Wilderness,
A violent, and sudden Hurrycane,
The like of which I think yet never Man
Has seen, and with such fury patly fell
On th'house, where, Sir, your eldest Son did dwell,
And where at that time all your others were,
With your three Daughters met, to make good chear,
That in an instant one might see the walls
Clap closs together, down the Roof-tree falls,
Stones, Rafters, Boards, Dust, in a trice fall down,
And with the ground the House was levelled soon.
Where all your Children smothered in a heap,
I left, and by great mercy did escape,
To tell thee what I with my eyes did see,
And what, with Teares, I now relate to thee.
Out from the fields beyond the Wilderness,
A violent, and sudden Hurrycane,
The like of which I think yet never Man
Has seen, and with such fury patly fell
On th'house, where, Sir, your eldest Son did dwell,
And where at that time all your others were,
With your three Daughters met, to make good chear,
That in an instant one might see the walls
Clap closs together, down the Roof-tree falls,
Stones, Rafters, Boards, Dust, in a trice fall down,
And with the ground the House was levelled soon.
Where all your Children smothered in a heap,
I left, and by great mercy did escape,
To tell thee what I with my eyes did see,
And what, with Teares, I now relate to thee.
Plung'd in deep grief, with sorrows overcome,
Job hearing these sad news did sit as dumb,
With Eyes dejected low, and Arms a Cross,
As if he mean't not to survive his Loss;
But sudden Dissolution did desire,
Hoping he might in some kind sigh expire.
Speechless he sate, and seem'd not to complain,
But having paus'd a while, at length, with pain
He rose, and to his grief was forc'd t'allow
The same Compliance other Mortals do.
For though he knew his miseries alone
Did come from God, yet being more than Stone,
Hearing these sad News, he could not forbear,
At least upon the last to drop a Tear,
And write in mournful ink from grief swoln Eyes,
Upon his Face his Childrens Elegies.
The unexpected loss of his Estate
He doth not value (though indeed 'twas great)
But O his loving Issue! O the loss
Of his dear Children doth him sadly cross:
This in some passion makes him tear his hair,
Unrip his breast, and to the open air,
In some disorder lay his bosome bare.
At length o're come with this sad Exigent,
He formally all his apparrel Rent,
With careless Razor shav'd his Head around,
Fell down, and groveling prostrate on the ground.
Job hearing these sad news did sit as dumb,
With Eyes dejected low, and Arms a Cross,
As if he mean't not to survive his Loss;
But sudden Dissolution did desire,
Hoping he might in some kind sigh expire.
Speechless he sate, and seem'd not to complain,
But having paus'd a while, at length, with pain
He rose, and to his grief was forc'd t'allow
The same Compliance other Mortals do.
For though he knew his miseries alone
Did come from God, yet being more than Stone,
Hearing these sad News, he could not forbear,
At least upon the last to drop a Tear,
And write in mournful ink from grief swoln Eyes,
Upon his Face his Childrens Elegies.
The unexpected loss of his Estate
He doth not value (though indeed 'twas great)
But O his loving Issue! O the loss
Of his dear Children doth him sadly cross:
This in some passion makes him tear his hair,
Unrip his breast, and to the open air,
In some disorder lay his bosome bare.
At length o're come with this sad Exigent,
He formally all his apparrel Rent,
With careless Razor shav'd his Head around,
Fell down, and groveling prostrate on the ground.
Lord, says he, naked from the Womb I came,
And to Earths Womb I must return the same.
What I acquir'd, was but thy pure Donation,
And all the Right that I had was Possession:
Then why should I Complaint of Losses make,
Since God, who freely gives may freely take.
This Morning I was rich in Wealth, and Fame,
Now in the Evening I a Beggar am:
Plundred of all;—Estate, and issue too,
Why sure I shall be no more envy'd now.
Now I'm undone, now absolutely poor,
As those, who beg their Bread from Door to Door.
Then what do Wealth and Honours signify
When, as it were by turning of a dye,
All I possest is now entirely lost:
Then what is he, who doth of Riches boast!
Riches!—the very Dregs of the Creation,
A naughty thing, that never came in fashion,
Until true Virtue become Poor and Old,
What She before did give, was basely sold,
As yet it is, for Money:—Riches!—O
The Bane of Mankind; from whose Spring do flow
Torrents of Falshoods, Jealousies, and Feares!
Riches a lean, dry Nurse of Anxious Cares!
A Food, on which we feed with great delyte,
Yet ne'r allays our ravenous appetite.
Mans Life-race running in a crooked Line,
A dash, which spoil'd the' original design
Of his Integrity; a thing, which all,
Who hugg it here, themselves do even call
Th'abstract of Madness, when Eternity
Appears at hand, and they begin to dye.
For O what help can Riches then afford
To their deluded Owners? in a word
No Man of Judgment should of Riches boast,
For, when (as mine) they are entirely lost,
Then they appear to have been very Dreams,
Which none but he, who softly sleeps, esteems.
And to Earths Womb I must return the same.
What I acquir'd, was but thy pure Donation,
And all the Right that I had was Possession:
Then why should I Complaint of Losses make,
11
This Morning I was rich in Wealth, and Fame,
Now in the Evening I a Beggar am:
Plundred of all;—Estate, and issue too,
Why sure I shall be no more envy'd now.
Now I'm undone, now absolutely poor,
As those, who beg their Bread from Door to Door.
Then what do Wealth and Honours signify
When, as it were by turning of a dye,
All I possest is now entirely lost:
Then what is he, who doth of Riches boast!
Riches!—the very Dregs of the Creation,
A naughty thing, that never came in fashion,
Until true Virtue become Poor and Old,
What She before did give, was basely sold,
As yet it is, for Money:—Riches!—O
The Bane of Mankind; from whose Spring do flow
Torrents of Falshoods, Jealousies, and Feares!
Riches a lean, dry Nurse of Anxious Cares!
A Food, on which we feed with great delyte,
Yet ne'r allays our ravenous appetite.
Mans Life-race running in a crooked Line,
A dash, which spoil'd the' original design
Of his Integrity; a thing, which all,
Who hugg it here, themselves do even call
Th'abstract of Madness, when Eternity
Appears at hand, and they begin to dye.
For O what help can Riches then afford
To their deluded Owners? in a word
No Man of Judgment should of Riches boast,
For, when (as mine) they are entirely lost,
Then they appear to have been very Dreams,
Which none but he, who softly sleeps, esteems.
And then, there's Honour too, that taudry thing,
Of which poor Mortals make such reckoning:
Why I had that, as much as I desir'd
And to no higher Honours I aspir'd:
But now—all's lost—Riches, and Honours too
Have all abandon'd their old Master now.
Then what is this same Idol, of which most
Of its proud Owners insolently boast?
What is it pray!—a meer Device of Men
T'abuse the World, and shiftingly maintain
The Reputation of a Bankrupt Race,
Which long ago was forfeit in the Case
Of the first cadet; when Fraternal Tyes
Could not obstruct Friends being Enemies
For a small triffle: though the World was then
But Tripartite, and those unhappy Men
Had Elbow-room enough; yet was its State
First troubled under that Triumvirate.
And then our Native Honour, Truth, and Faith
Expired with the first expiring Breath.
Of which poor Mortals make such reckoning:
Why I had that, as much as I desir'd
And to no higher Honours I aspir'd:
But now—all's lost—Riches, and Honours too
Have all abandon'd their old Master now.
Then what is this same Idol, of which most
Of its proud Owners insolently boast?
What is it pray!—a meer Device of Men
T'abuse the World, and shiftingly maintain
The Reputation of a Bankrupt Race,
Which long ago was forfeit in the Case
Of the first cadet; when Fraternal Tyes
Could not obstruct Friends being Enemies
For a small triffle: though the World was then
But Tripartite, and those unhappy Men
Had Elbow-room enough; yet was its State
First troubled under that Triumvirate.
And then our Native Honour, Truth, and Faith
Expired with the first expiring Breath.
12
Since then true Honours lost, why should we cheat
Our Reason with its silly counterfeit!
And fancy Titles, Names, and Dignities
Can make the fallen Race of Mankind rise
In Virtues Orb? Why should we proudly boast
We have a thing our Predecessours lost!
For to this day (let us say what we can)
There's neither Honour, Faith, nor Truth in Man.
Why since the substance then is gone, alace
Why should vain man its empty shadow chace!
Its empty shadow,—yes—its meer reflex,
Which only, when it shines, a figure makes.
Though, as an Evening shadow to the Eye
Extends it self beyond the Symmetry
Of what it follows; so this flattering thing
By poor deluded Mortals Reckoning
Appears t'exceed the true Original,
Whilest really it is nothing at all,
And disappears with that same swiftness too,
As when the Sun sets, all your shadows do.
Or if it something be, at best I take it,
To be but what each Fools conceit doth make it,
For, as we see how. Hobby-horses please
Some Children, rattles others; even so these,
Who court this honour, are some pleas'd with that
Which only is acquir'd by toile, and sweat;
And venture boldly, without fear, or shame,
Only t'attain a military fame,
On Fire, and Sword, others themselves do please
With what they can attain to with more ease,
And less expence, so cunningly practise
Mean snaking shifts, and horrid villanies,
By which, at length, they climb to Dignities.
But as we see how those same very Boyes;
When come to years, call those things childish toyes,
Which then they hugg'd; so, when a man attains
To Grace, and Knowledge; Lord how he disdains
Those painted Baubles, which he formerly
Esteem'd, and thinks them now all vanity.
Our Reason with its silly counterfeit!
And fancy Titles, Names, and Dignities
Can make the fallen Race of Mankind rise
In Virtues Orb? Why should we proudly boast
We have a thing our Predecessours lost!
For to this day (let us say what we can)
There's neither Honour, Faith, nor Truth in Man.
Why since the substance then is gone, alace
Why should vain man its empty shadow chace!
Its empty shadow,—yes—its meer reflex,
Which only, when it shines, a figure makes.
Though, as an Evening shadow to the Eye
Extends it self beyond the Symmetry
Of what it follows; so this flattering thing
By poor deluded Mortals Reckoning
Appears t'exceed the true Original,
Whilest really it is nothing at all,
And disappears with that same swiftness too,
As when the Sun sets, all your shadows do.
Or if it something be, at best I take it,
To be but what each Fools conceit doth make it,
For, as we see how. Hobby-horses please
Some Children, rattles others; even so these,
Who court this honour, are some pleas'd with that
Which only is acquir'd by toile, and sweat;
And venture boldly, without fear, or shame,
Only t'attain a military fame,
On Fire, and Sword, others themselves do please
With what they can attain to with more ease,
And less expence, so cunningly practise
Mean snaking shifts, and horrid villanies,
By which, at length, they climb to Dignities.
But as we see how those same very Boyes;
When come to years, call those things childish toyes,
Which then they hugg'd; so, when a man attains
To Grace, and Knowledge; Lord how he disdains
Those painted Baubles, which he formerly
Esteem'd, and thinks them now all vanity.
And yet both Riches, and great Honours too
To some, as blessings God doth still allow,
When seasoned with Grace.
But nor my Honours, nor my Riches pleas'd
My mind so much, nor was I so much eas'd
In any thing, as that my Family
Seem'd to perpetuat my poor Memory
And thar I lost, i'th twinkling of an Eye.
To some, as blessings God doth still allow,
When seasoned with Grace.
But nor my Honours, nor my Riches pleas'd
My mind so much, nor was I so much eas'd
In any thing, as that my Family
Seem'd to perpetuat my poor Memory
And thar I lost, i'th twinkling of an Eye.
Lord what a folly then it is for men
To Trust in things so perishing, and vain
As Children are: a peice of Sophistry,
By which we'd fain out-wit Mortality,
But to no purpose, for do what we will,
Death is before hand, with our projects still.
Things, which to wish we pronely are inclin'd
Though in them we but seldom comfort find.
Nay, but that God after the first Creation,
Enjoyn'd the useful toile of Generation,
No wise man would such methods prosecute,
To bring himself in trouble, and dispute,
With those of his own Loines, and be in fears
Of his, own Children, as they come to years.
Issue! an Art, by which we would create
Our selves anew, and so perpetuat
Our Names on Earth: nay at a huge expence
We purchase too this inconvenience.
Whilst truth our Names and Memories are known
Better by Characters, in Brass, or Stone,
When both our Race, and our Estates are gone.
To Trust in things so perishing, and vain
As Children are: a peice of Sophistry,
By which we'd fain out-wit Mortality,
But to no purpose, for do what we will,
Death is before hand, with our projects still.
Things, which to wish we pronely are inclin'd
13
Nay, but that God after the first Creation,
Enjoyn'd the useful toile of Generation,
No wise man would such methods prosecute,
To bring himself in trouble, and dispute,
With those of his own Loines, and be in fears
Of his, own Children, as they come to years.
Issue! an Art, by which we would create
Our selves anew, and so perpetuat
Our Names on Earth: nay at a huge expence
We purchase too this inconvenience.
Whilst truth our Names and Memories are known
Better by Characters, in Brass, or Stone,
When both our Race, and our Estates are gone.
Riches and Honours then I did possess
As Blessings, and enjoyed domestick peace:
But above all my God was pleas'd t'allow
Something of true Grace to my Spirit too,
That I might use them right, so that of late,
In Birth, in Parts, in Honour, and Estate,
If breathing man can have Felicity,
On this side Time; why such a man was I.
—But now, that thou art pleas'd, Lord, to divest
Me of what but this morning I possest,
Assist me now, now let that Grace appear
Which thou allow'd'st me, give me strength to bear
My Losses so, as all men may confess
Who see me in this miserable case
That thou hast not depriv'd me yet of Grace.
As Blessings, and enjoyed domestick peace:
But above all my God was pleas'd t'allow
Something of true Grace to my Spirit too,
That I might use them right, so that of late,
In Birth, in Parts, in Honour, and Estate,
If breathing man can have Felicity,
On this side Time; why such a man was I.
—But now, that thou art pleas'd, Lord, to divest
Me of what but this morning I possest,
Assist me now, now let that Grace appear
Which thou allow'd'st me, give me strength to bear
My Losses so, as all men may confess
Who see me in this miserable case
That thou hast not depriv'd me yet of Grace.
Lord then what shall I say; thou giv'st, thou tak'st,
Thou raises, thou throws down again, thou mak'st,
And thou unmak'st.—O let thy glorious Name
Sound in the Trumpet of eternal Fame.
For all thy Actings are both just and fair,
And well thou know'st what Criminals men are,
And what they do deserve; O make me then,
Highest of late, but lowest now of men,
O mak me with a serene patience,
Endure what thou art pleased to dispense.
Thou raises, thou throws down again, thou mak'st,
And thou unmak'st.—O let thy glorious Name
Sound in the Trumpet of eternal Fame.
For all thy Actings are both just and fair,
And well thou know'st what Criminals men are,
And what they do deserve; O make me then,
Highest of late, but lowest now of men,
O mak me with a serene patience,
Endure what thou art pleased to dispense.
Thus though we see Jobs Grief was answerable
To his Condition, which was lamentable,
Yet in his greatest paroxism of woe
He did not sin, nor treat his Maker so,
As if he would accuse him foolishly
For th'only author of his Misery.
Then happy he, who can his loss sustain
With patience, and not of God complain:
For when Afflictions Storms from Heavens do fall
We ought to suffer, and not cry at all:
Because we know that God affliction sends,
Upon a many, whom he least intends
T'extirpate in his anger; for we shall
See this good mans afflictions after all,
Converted to a fair, and pleasant Scæne,
Of Wealth and Honours, and a most serene
Aspect of Favour, when our God doth show
To Job his Face ex Postliminio.
To his Condition, which was lamentable,
Yet in his greatest paroxism of woe
He did not sin, nor treat his Maker so,
As if he would accuse him foolishly
For th'only author of his Misery.
Then happy he, who can his loss sustain
With patience, and not of God complain:
For when Afflictions Storms from Heavens do fall
We ought to suffer, and not cry at all:
Because we know that God affliction sends,
Upon a many, whom he least intends
T'extirpate in his anger; for we shall
See this good mans afflictions after all,
Converted to a fair, and pleasant Scæne,
14
Aspect of Favour, when our God doth show
To Job his Face ex Postliminio.
Cap. II.
1. And on a day the children of God came and stood before the Lord, & Satan came also among them, & stood before the Lord.
Who ever in your lives Affliction knew;
Sum up your Sorrows, reckon all your Woes
And all your wreaking Miseries unclose,
Your Crosses, and your Losses all declare,
See who with Jobs afflictions can compare;
Or with his Patience.
For now his Issue, Wealth, and Honours gone,
His Body must be sadly rack'd anon,
And put to horrid torture, as if what
He yet had lost were not proportionate
To th'merits of so great a Criminal,
He must endure the question after all.
See here then God again in Judgment set,
Environed with Majesty, and State,
Before whom numerous Angels do appear,
As if for jury they impannelled were:
He, who by Virtue of his late permission,
Had to a most deplorable condition
Reduc'd this pious man, appears there too,
To see if there was more mischief to do.
Environed with Majesty, and State,
Before whom numerous Angels do appear,
As if for jury they impannelled were:
He, who by Virtue of his late permission,
Had to a most deplorable condition
Reduc'd this pious man, appears there too,
To see if there was more mischief to do.
Satan, from whence, says God, from compassing
The Earth, and there securely travelling
In every corner, doing all I can,
Says he, to dissappoint the Hopes of Man.
I've done what thou allowd, says he, and now
I ask if thou hast any more to do
For me on earth? is there another there,
Whom thou thinkst just, and upright, let me hear,
Is there a man for whom thou hast esteem
Under the Heavens? pray let me know his name:
And, by thy good permission, I shall try
The utmost Force of his Integrity:
I'le soon reduce him to the same estate,
As I have done thy other man of late,
And then thou'lt see that all those upright men
Are but thy Servants for their privat gain,
The Earth, and there securely travelling
In every corner, doing all I can,
Says he, to dissappoint the Hopes of Man.
I've done what thou allowd, says he, and now
I ask if thou hast any more to do
For me on earth? is there another there,
Whom thou thinkst just, and upright, let me hear,
Is there a man for whom thou hast esteem
Under the Heavens? pray let me know his name:
And, by thy good permission, I shall try
The utmost Force of his Integrity:
I'le soon reduce him to the same estate,
As I have done thy other man of late,
And then thou'lt see that all those upright men
Are but thy Servants for their privat gain,
Not so, says Heavens King, for yet I see
My faithful Servant Job doth honour me.
The Man, whom thou so falsly didst accuse,
As though he, like a Hireling would refuse
To serve me, were his wages taken from him,
See now thy malice cannot overcome him.
Th'hast cut off all his Family, and tane
His means from him, yet he doth not complain.
He, thou didst move me, without cause t'oppress,
See he continues firm in uprightness.
My faithful Servant Job doth honour me.
The Man, whom thou so falsly didst accuse,
15
To serve me, were his wages taken from him,
See now thy malice cannot overcome him.
Th'hast cut off all his Family, and tane
His means from him, yet he doth not complain.
He, thou didst move me, without cause t'oppress,
See he continues firm in uprightness.
True, says the Enemy of Man, 'tis true,
(To give thy faithful Servant Job his due)
He bears his Losses yet, with that Submission,
As I expected none in his condition
Could well ha' done; for by this time I thought
The Bitter Potion would a shreudly wrought.
But yet when I consider these mean Creatures,
Whom thou call'st men, I do observe their Natures
To be above all things most prone to live,
For Skin for Skin, all they possess they'll give
For one hours breath: so yet thy Servant Job,
Because, as of his goods, I cannot robb
Him of his life, truly he doth dispense
With loss of these, since the convenience
Of breathing is allow'd him still; I know
The man is in great misery, and wo.
His Losses do oppress his Spirits sore,
Yet as a Ship-wrack'd-man, when got a-shore,
Glad to have 'scap'd with life, doth soon forget
His losses, and though wearyed, faint, and wet
To the next Village hee'll a begging go.
(For men will rather beg than dye we know)
So Job, though stripp'd of all, yet still in health,
Already has forgot his former wealth:
So glad hee's yet alive, he has forgot
The loss of Children, Honours, Fame, what not!
He with Contentment begs and eats his bread,
And only sighs for those are lately dead:
Nay now he with some ease doth spend his years,
Because hee's free of all his former cares.
(To give thy faithful Servant Job his due)
He bears his Losses yet, with that Submission,
As I expected none in his condition
Could well ha' done; for by this time I thought
The Bitter Potion would a shreudly wrought.
But yet when I consider these mean Creatures,
Whom thou call'st men, I do observe their Natures
To be above all things most prone to live,
For Skin for Skin, all they possess they'll give
For one hours breath: so yet thy Servant Job,
Because, as of his goods, I cannot robb
Him of his life, truly he doth dispense
With loss of these, since the convenience
Of breathing is allow'd him still; I know
The man is in great misery, and wo.
His Losses do oppress his Spirits sore,
Yet as a Ship-wrack'd-man, when got a-shore,
Glad to have 'scap'd with life, doth soon forget
His losses, and though wearyed, faint, and wet
To the next Village hee'll a begging go.
(For men will rather beg than dye we know)
So Job, though stripp'd of all, yet still in health,
Already has forgot his former wealth:
So glad hee's yet alive, he has forgot
The loss of Children, Honours, Fame, what not!
He with Contentment begs and eats his bread,
And only sighs for those are lately dead:
Nay now he with some ease doth spend his years,
Because hee's free of all his former cares.
But prethee now, great God, stretch out thy Hand,
And touch his Body, let me but demand
This favour of the once for all, and then
I'le make this Job of all the Race of Men
The most impatient, then thou'st quickly see
What is his true Opinion of thee:
For with his paines I'le alter soon the case,
And make him curse thee to thy very face.
And touch his Body, let me but demand
This favour of the once for all, and then
I'le make this Job of all the Race of Men
The most impatient, then thou'st quickly see
What is his true Opinion of thee:
For with his paines I'le alter soon the case,
And make him curse thee to thy very face.
Then says the Lord his Person's in thy hand,
But save his Life I strictly do command:
And thou shalt surely see all thy designs
Soon disappointed by his countermines
Of Piety, and Patience.
But save his Life I strictly do command:
And thou shalt surely see all thy designs
Soon disappointed by his countermines
Of Piety, and Patience.
Out flies the Devil, and instantly doth fall
On Job by Execution Personal:
He baits his Body with a thousand sores,
And makes an humour issue from its pores
So pestilentious, hot, and purulent,
So foul, so loathsome, and so virulent,
As soon his Body doth appear all o're
To be but one continued scabby sore.
On Job by Execution Personal:
He baits his Body with a thousand sores,
And makes an humour issue from its pores
16
So foul, so loathsome, and so virulent,
As soon his Body doth appear all o're
To be but one continued scabby sore.
Merciful Heavens! What a sad sight is here!
Pouldred with Ulcers Job doth now appear,
All Comforts, and Subsistence from him taken,
His Body with a scorching Feaver shaken
Of loathsome sores:—what shall this poor man doe,
Thus cruciat in Mind, and Body too!
Why patiently he sits on Dung, and Ashes,
Not bursting out in angry fits, and flashes
As in like case a many sure would doe,
But, with a peice of broken pitcher now
He scrapes the putrid matter from his sores,
And silently his sad Estate deplores.
Pouldred with Ulcers Job doth now appear,
All Comforts, and Subsistence from him taken,
His Body with a scorching Feaver shaken
Of loathsome sores:—what shall this poor man doe,
Thus cruciat in Mind, and Body too!
Why patiently he sits on Dung, and Ashes,
Not bursting out in angry fits, and flashes
As in like case a many sure would doe,
But, with a peice of broken pitcher now
He scrapes the putrid matter from his sores,
And silently his sad Estate deplores.
But all th'efforts of cruel Poverty
With Heavenly thoughts, and smiles of Piety,
One of undaunted spirit will make sweet,
Though he can neither have to drink, nor eat.
Diseases of the Body often too
Afford such thoughts, as Health will scarce allow
Our Entertainment: for when free of pains,
And in the ouzy channels of our Veins
Our Blood flows smoothly, then we think on pleasures,
On Honours, and in hoording foolish Treasures;
And on these things we rest, like silly fops,
Feeding our Minds with vain fantastick hopes.
But when Diseases on our Bodies seize,
And in our Veins our Blood begins to freeze:
When th'motion of our Pulse seems at a stand,
Scarce to be felt hy the Physicians hand:
When with excessive pains our Bones do ake,
And all the Pillars of our Bodies shake:
With pious thoughts then we our selves soulage,
And by such lenitives abate the rage
Of our Distemper: whilst we seem to be
In love with sickness: and would not be free
From pain, that we may still have fair occasions
To raise the value of our meditations.
Yes sore Diseases, loss of all thats dear,
An upright man will patiently bear,
No outward sorrow can his Mind depress,
Providing he enjoy domestick peace.
But O when one with sore Afflictions vex't
In Mind, and Body grievously perplex't,
Endures debates at home, additional
To all these Plagues, sure this is worst of all.
(For O how wretched must be that Mans Life,
That's poor, and sick, and has a scolding Wife)
This was the posture, this the present state
Of this good Man, who did enjoy of late
All happiness on Earth: and here alace
To consummat the strangeness of his case
He losses, after all, domestick peace.
For now his Wife, who should in that sad state,
With all the suggred words appropriate
To that kind Sex, have mitigate his grief,
And from her very Eyes have smil'd relief
To her afflicted Husband, in this case,
(The true design of Wedlock) she alace,
Enrag'd with grief, extravagantly sad,
And for her losses furiously mad,
Stead of allaying of her Husbands woe,
Seems to augment it.
Her losse she so impatiently bears,
So like a Woman, such a flood of Tears
Falls from the well-stor'd Sources of her Eyes,
Which, with her passion constantly do rise:
Her Breasts she so doth beat, so tears her Hair,
And by her gestures now doth so declare
Her discontent, whilst all this while she sits
By him on Dung-hill: That at length her Wits
Appear to be disordred: for she now
Upbraids her Husband, and demands him how
He so could bear his losses.—Well, she says,
And must we now in our declining days,
We, who have liv'd in plenty formerly,
Become content with want and penury?
Must we yet live? O must we thus survive
The loss of all, that's dear to those alive—
Yet live—live—only that we may endure,
Such miseries as never Mortals sure
Before this time did feell!—yet live to see
The Vulgar gazing both on thee, and me
As horrid spectacles of Heavenly wrath!
—Yet live—that we may only wish for Death!
Yet live!—to swim in oceans of Tears!
And whine away a few unhappy years!
Why this is madness!—madness!—yes—to me
It appears madness in th'extream degree,
With Heavenly thoughts, and smiles of Piety,
One of undaunted spirit will make sweet,
Though he can neither have to drink, nor eat.
Diseases of the Body often too
Afford such thoughts, as Health will scarce allow
Our Entertainment: for when free of pains,
And in the ouzy channels of our Veins
Our Blood flows smoothly, then we think on pleasures,
On Honours, and in hoording foolish Treasures;
And on these things we rest, like silly fops,
Feeding our Minds with vain fantastick hopes.
But when Diseases on our Bodies seize,
And in our Veins our Blood begins to freeze:
When th'motion of our Pulse seems at a stand,
Scarce to be felt hy the Physicians hand:
When with excessive pains our Bones do ake,
And all the Pillars of our Bodies shake:
With pious thoughts then we our selves soulage,
And by such lenitives abate the rage
Of our Distemper: whilst we seem to be
In love with sickness: and would not be free
From pain, that we may still have fair occasions
To raise the value of our meditations.
Yes sore Diseases, loss of all thats dear,
An upright man will patiently bear,
No outward sorrow can his Mind depress,
Providing he enjoy domestick peace.
But O when one with sore Afflictions vex't
In Mind, and Body grievously perplex't,
Endures debates at home, additional
To all these Plagues, sure this is worst of all.
(For O how wretched must be that Mans Life,
That's poor, and sick, and has a scolding Wife)
This was the posture, this the present state
Of this good Man, who did enjoy of late
All happiness on Earth: and here alace
To consummat the strangeness of his case
He losses, after all, domestick peace.
17
With all the suggred words appropriate
To that kind Sex, have mitigate his grief,
And from her very Eyes have smil'd relief
To her afflicted Husband, in this case,
(The true design of Wedlock) she alace,
Enrag'd with grief, extravagantly sad,
And for her losses furiously mad,
Stead of allaying of her Husbands woe,
Seems to augment it.
Her losse she so impatiently bears,
So like a Woman, such a flood of Tears
Falls from the well-stor'd Sources of her Eyes,
Which, with her passion constantly do rise:
Her Breasts she so doth beat, so tears her Hair,
And by her gestures now doth so declare
Her discontent, whilst all this while she sits
By him on Dung-hill: That at length her Wits
Appear to be disordred: for she now
Upbraids her Husband, and demands him how
He so could bear his losses.—Well, she says,
And must we now in our declining days,
We, who have liv'd in plenty formerly,
Become content with want and penury?
Must we yet live? O must we thus survive
The loss of all, that's dear to those alive—
Yet live—live—only that we may endure,
Such miseries as never Mortals sure
Before this time did feell!—yet live to see
The Vulgar gazing both on thee, and me
As horrid spectacles of Heavenly wrath!
—Yet live—that we may only wish for Death!
Yet live!—to swim in oceans of Tears!
And whine away a few unhappy years!
Why this is madness!—madness!—yes—to me
It appears madness in th'extream degree,
Why Husband then, she says, since all's now lost,
How mean it looks in thee, dear friend, to boast
Of a fantastick, sullen patience,
A Virtue, which no man of common sense
Of Wit, or Honour ever yet esteem'd,
A passive dulness, hardly to be nam'd
But with some indignation!—patience!
Why here's a thing indeed—must thou dispense
With loss of all, only t'obtain the name
Of patient, i'th' Records of future Fame!
And this forsooth thou must call uprightness,
Why here's a stubborn humour I confess:
A thing unworthy of a man of Wit
A poor contented humour, only fit
For luteous Spirits!—still to bear respect
To Heavens great Prince, who doth thy crys neglect,
Who laughs at all thy pitiful addresses,
In these sad times, and openly professes
Himself thy enemy; nor will he hear
Thy most refined, importuning Prayer.
Yet still thou'lt trouble Heavens, and spend thy time
In this unpleasant, and ill-sounding Chyme
I'th' ears of our great God, from such as thee,
Whom he, who is not blind may plainly see,
He doth abhor: yet thou wilt still proceed,
And call to Heaven still, as if indeed
Thy bare Devotion could afford us Bread.
How mean it looks in thee, dear friend, to boast
Of a fantastick, sullen patience,
A Virtue, which no man of common sense
Of Wit, or Honour ever yet esteem'd,
A passive dulness, hardly to be nam'd
But with some indignation!—patience!
Why here's a thing indeed—must thou dispense
With loss of all, only t'obtain the name
Of patient, i'th' Records of future Fame!
And this forsooth thou must call uprightness,
Why here's a stubborn humour I confess:
A thing unworthy of a man of Wit
A poor contented humour, only fit
For luteous Spirits!—still to bear respect
To Heavens great Prince, who doth thy crys neglect,
Who laughs at all thy pitiful addresses,
18
Himself thy enemy; nor will he hear
Thy most refined, importuning Prayer.
Yet still thou'lt trouble Heavens, and spend thy time
In this unpleasant, and ill-sounding Chyme
I'th' ears of our great God, from such as thee,
Whom he, who is not blind may plainly see,
He doth abhor: yet thou wilt still proceed,
And call to Heaven still, as if indeed
Thy bare Devotion could afford us Bread.
Then, to conclude, says she, let me advise
Him, whom I dearly love, to be more wise,
Then thus persisting in his uprightness,
To loss himself by his own wilfulness.
Dye rather then, she says, if thou'd be free,
From the sad pressures which now torture thee;
Do, yes, do something that deserveth death,
By Law, and unto Justice yeeld thy Breath.
For rather than thou should on Dung-hill ly,
A Spectacle to every one goes by,
I'de have thee fairly curse thy God, and dye.
Him, whom I dearly love, to be more wise,
Then thus persisting in his uprightness,
To loss himself by his own wilfulness.
Dye rather then, she says, if thou'd be free,
From the sad pressures which now torture thee;
Do, yes, do something that deserveth death,
By Law, and unto Justice yeeld thy Breath.
For rather than thou should on Dung-hill ly,
A Spectacle to every one goes by,
I'de have thee fairly curse thy God, and dye.
O the sad pangs of an afflicted life!
That one should hear such language from his wife.
Such language, as would make this man despair,
But that he has a better Comforter,
Who bids him hope: to this shreud Harangue then,
He thus makes answer.
Thou talkst like foolish Girle, says he, why Woman,
God in his mercy is oblig'd to no Man:
For all the kindness he did ere extend
To man, or will do to the worlds end
Is not th'effect of merits, but indeed
From his own goodness solely doth proceed.
'Tis true, dear Wife, he favoured us of late
With a fair Issue, and a great Estate,
But pray' dost think, because he did allow
Such Favours to us then, that he should now
Indulge us with his former bounty too.
Shall we our selves no better understand
Than to be taking good things from his hand,
Like Children, with a canine Appetite,
And hang upon his table with delite,
And Complaisance, while he affords us food,
As if he were oblig'd to do us good
Perpetually, and not also take
Ill from him kindly for his Justice sake.
That one should hear such language from his wife.
Such language, as would make this man despair,
But that he has a better Comforter,
Who bids him hope: to this shreud Harangue then,
He thus makes answer.
Thou talkst like foolish Girle, says he, why Woman,
God in his mercy is oblig'd to no Man:
For all the kindness he did ere extend
To man, or will do to the worlds end
Is not th'effect of merits, but indeed
From his own goodness solely doth proceed.
'Tis true, dear Wife, he favoured us of late
With a fair Issue, and a great Estate,
But pray' dost think, because he did allow
Such Favours to us then, that he should now
Indulge us with his former bounty too.
Shall we our selves no better understand
Than to be taking good things from his hand,
Like Children, with a canine Appetite,
And hang upon his table with delite,
And Complaisance, while he affords us food,
As if he were oblig'd to do us good
Perpetually, and not also take
Ill from him kindly for his Justice sake.
Then, trust me, Woman, what our God has done
In our concerns is very just, and none
But fools will of his Actions complain,
Since he who gives may freely take again.
For shame let us then, who Prosperity
Have seen, now God has sent Adversity,
Bear all our Griefs, and Losses patiently.
In our concerns is very just, and none
But fools will of his Actions complain,
Since he who gives may freely take again.
For shame let us then, who Prosperity
Have seen, now God has sent Adversity,
Bear all our Griefs, and Losses patiently.
19
By this officious Fame had published
The news of Jobs Afflictions and spread,
Strange stories of his losses every where,
Which when three worthy Gentlemen did hear,
His Blood-relations, (but what yet was more
His Friends) they did most heartily deplore
His sad condition from their very soul,
And so would make a Journey to condole
With him in his affliction, for this end,
They Messengers did to each others send,
Appointed where their meeting place should be,
From whence they in a body might go see
Their now distressed Friend, whom formerly
They had beheld in great Prosperity.
Their Names were Eliphaz the Temanite,
Bildad the Shuhite, Zophar the Naamathite;
Men of great wit and parts, and certainly
In their own Countries of great quality.
The news of Jobs Afflictions and spread,
Strange stories of his losses every where,
Which when three worthy Gentlemen did hear,
His Blood-relations, (but what yet was more
His Friends) they did most heartily deplore
His sad condition from their very soul,
And so would make a Journey to condole
With him in his affliction, for this end,
They Messengers did to each others send,
Appointed where their meeting place should be,
From whence they in a body might go see
Their now distressed Friend, whom formerly
They had beheld in great Prosperity.
Their Names were Eliphaz the Temanite,
Bildad the Shuhite, Zophar the Naamathite;
Men of great wit and parts, and certainly
In their own Countries of great quality.
Now we must think that Job was all alone,
For by this time his Wife was surely gone,
To shift i'th' Country for convenience,
Not able to subsist on patience,
But had (good Lady) now determined
Not to return to what she once did wed
For good and evil, for her Jointure now
Was gone, and all the Expectation too
Of her afflicted Husbands Restauration,
Which made her soon abandon him in passion.
For by this time his Wife was surely gone,
To shift i'th' Country for convenience,
Not able to subsist on patience,
But had (good Lady) now determined
Not to return to what she once did wed
For good and evil, for her Jointure now
Was gone, and all the Expectation too
Of her afflicted Husbands Restauration,
Which made her soon abandon him in passion.
When then his friends did to the place draw nigh,
Where the afflicted man did pensive ly;
When first they see his face they were afraid,
And thought their guide had possibly betray'd
Them by some trick, and stead of their old friend,
Had brought them there to see some Ghost, or Fiend.
But when anon they did perceive 'twas he,
'Twas he indeed, whom they did mean to see,
How sadly then they mourn'd! how sore they weep't,
Rent all their Cloaths, and on their heads they heap't
Great quantity of dust, as is the fashion
In those parts to express their Lamentation.
Then down beside him on the ground they sat,
Where seeing how his grief was dumbly great,
In Complaisance they also silence keep't.
Seven Days, and Nights, and only sigh'd, and weep't.
But when they spoke, the comfort they did bring
Was little better, than his female thing
Afforded lately: for we soon shall see
Those wise men with their Patient disagree;
And fly in passion, whil'st they constantly
Maintain a point, which Job doth still deny.
That man lives not on earth, who never errs,
Good men may sometimes be bad Comforters.
Where the afflicted man did pensive ly;
When first they see his face they were afraid,
And thought their guide had possibly betray'd
Them by some trick, and stead of their old friend,
Had brought them there to see some Ghost, or Fiend.
But when anon they did perceive 'twas he,
'Twas he indeed, whom they did mean to see,
How sadly then they mourn'd! how sore they weep't,
Rent all their Cloaths, and on their heads they heap't
Great quantity of dust, as is the fashion
In those parts to express their Lamentation.
Then down beside him on the ground they sat,
Where seeing how his grief was dumbly great,
In Complaisance they also silence keep't.
Seven Days, and Nights, and only sigh'd, and weep't.
But when they spoke, the comfort they did bring
Was little better, than his female thing
Afforded lately: for we soon shall see
Those wise men with their Patient disagree;
And fly in passion, whil'st they constantly
Maintain a point, which Job doth still deny.
That man lives not on earth, who never errs,
Good men may sometimes be bad Comforters.
20
Cap. III.
But when much time they had in silence spent,
At length Jobs Tunn'd up Sorrow must have vent
Else he will burst—
His Heart with strong fermenting Grief opprest,
Can now maintain its Post within his Breast
No longer, over-power'd with numerous woes,
Who now began it's passages to close,
With th'Rubbish of his Body, which was now
Prop't up, and kep't in joynts with much adoe.
For all th'assistance Sighs and Groans could make,
In pumping up his Sorrows seem'd to weak,
Against such swelling Griefs; though he appears
T'have voyded much in cataracts of Tears,
Which all this while had issued from his Eyes;
Yet if not rescu'd quickly by supplies
Of cleansing words, and passionate expressions,
(Which most alleviate Grief at such occasions)
Hee's gone.—
At length Jobs Tunn'd up Sorrow must have vent
Else he will burst—
His Heart with strong fermenting Grief opprest,
Can now maintain its Post within his Breast
No longer, over-power'd with numerous woes,
Who now began it's passages to close,
With th'Rubbish of his Body, which was now
Prop't up, and kep't in joynts with much adoe.
For all th'assistance Sighs and Groans could make,
In pumping up his Sorrows seem'd to weak,
Against such swelling Griefs; though he appears
T'have voyded much in cataracts of Tears,
Which all this while had issued from his Eyes;
Yet if not rescu'd quickly by supplies
Of cleansing words, and passionate expressions,
(Which most alleviate Grief at such occasions)
Hee's gone.—
When then he saw that he was forc'd to speak,
Before his Heart should all in peices break.
He thus began.—Curs'd be the day, says he,
That to the World brought such a Wretch as me,
O thrice accurs'd be that unlucky day,
On which the Sun in complementing Ray,
Made its first visit, and with smile did see,
In Infant posture such a thing as me.
Before his Heart should all in peices break.
He thus began.—Curs'd be the day, says he,
That to the World brought such a Wretch as me,
O thrice accurs'd be that unlucky day,
On which the Sun in complementing Ray,
Made its first visit, and with smile did see,
In Infant posture such a thing as me.
Pregnant with grief then he begun to cry
I'th' extream labour of his Agony,—
Let the day perish wherein I was born,
And ne're be nam'd hereafter but with scorn.
Let the night, says he, in which it was said
A Man-child is Conceiv'd by overspread
With a perpetual Cloud of darkness, spite
Of Fire and Tapers, Lamps and Candle-light.
I'th' extream labour of his Agony,—
Let the day perish wherein I was born,
And ne're be nam'd hereafter but with scorn.
Let the night, says he, in which it was said
A Man-child is Conceiv'd by overspread
With a perpetual Cloud of darkness, spite
Of Fire and Tapers, Lamps and Candle-light.
In darkness let my Birth-day have its shrine,
Let Heavens great Light no more upon it shine,
Let Providence of that day take no care,
Let it be dash'd out of the Calendar.
Let Heavens great Light no more upon it shine,
Let Providence of that day take no care,
Let it be dash'd out of the Calendar.
Let it be wrapp'd up in a horrid Wreath,
Of its own colours, let the shade of Death
Mantle that fatal day, let sable cloud,
Its Noon-tide glory in sad darkness shroud.
Let Astrologues, when they the Year survey,
Mark that with Rubrick, as a dismal day.
Of its own colours, let the shade of Death
Mantle that fatal day, let sable cloud,
Its Noon-tide glory in sad darkness shroud.
Let Astrologues, when they the Year survey,
Mark that with Rubrick, as a dismal day.
Let everlasting darkness damn that night,
Which was by too officious Candle light
Assisted, when any Mother did cry out,
And for my sake did in great labour shout.
O that same dismal night! that night! that night!
O that unhappy night! which with despite
I'le ever name.
O that accursed night, let it be known,
To prying Devils, and wandring Ghosts alone.
Nay let it never so much honour bear,
As t'usher in the meanest day o'th' year.
Let other nights with it no Commerce keep:
In it let never mortal Creature sleep:
Let all the other months o'th' year abhor
This cursed night, and ne're allow it more
The former freedom of their Corporations,
Nor ever name it in their Computations.
Which was by too officious Candle light
Assisted, when any Mother did cry out,
21
O that same dismal night! that night! that night!
O that unhappy night! which with despite
I'le ever name.
O that accursed night, let it be known,
To prying Devils, and wandring Ghosts alone.
Nay let it never so much honour bear,
As t'usher in the meanest day o'th' year.
Let other nights with it no Commerce keep:
In it let never mortal Creature sleep:
Let all the other months o'th' year abhor
This cursed night, and ne're allow it more
The former freedom of their Corporations,
Nor ever name it in their Computations.
O that abominable night! that dire,
And cruel poynt of time! let never Fire
Shine in that night! O let it never be
From falling Stars, and stinking Vapours free.
Let such as do intend in Jollity
To spend some hours in cheerful Company
Abhor that fatal Season, and delay
Their merry meetings to the break of day.
And cruel poynt of time! let never Fire
Shine in that night! O let it never be
From falling Stars, and stinking Vapours free.
Let such as do intend in Jollity
To spend some hours in cheerful Company
Abhor that fatal Season, and delay
Their merry meetings to the break of day.
Let all, who in extream necessity,
Abhor the hour of their Nativity
Here bring their Curses, and with great despite,
Throw thousand Maledictions on that night.—
—O that thrice damned night!—let all conclude
That night,—that only must be understood
T'have truly been the night in all the year,
In which their dreadful woes did first appear.
Abhor the hour of their Nativity
Here bring their Curses, and with great despite,
Throw thousand Maledictions on that night.—
—O that thrice damned night!—let all conclude
That night,—that only must be understood
T'have truly been the night in all the year,
In which their dreadful woes did first appear.
That fatal night,—that night,—that woful night,
O let it never be adorn'd with Light.
The Stars, which in its twilight do appear
Let them a sullen Russet Livery wear,
Whilst those of all the other nights shine clear.
O let the hopes of that unpitied night
Be disappointed, whilst Heavens Glorious Light
Disdains its fulsome Vapours to dispel,
But leaves it, as he found it, black as Hell.
O let it never be adorn'd with Light.
The Stars, which in its twilight do appear
Let them a sullen Russet Livery wear,
Whilst those of all the other nights shine clear.
O let the hopes of that unpitied night
Be disappointed, whilst Heavens Glorious Light
Disdains its fulsome Vapours to dispel,
But leaves it, as he found it, black as Hell.
Because it Seal'd not up my Mothers Womb,
That in that Cell I might ha' found my Tomb,
That so I ne're a living Soul had been,
And those poor Eyes had ne're such sorrow seen.
That in that Cell I might ha' found my Tomb,
That so I ne're a living Soul had been,
And those poor Eyes had ne're such sorrow seen.
Ah why was I not stiffled in the Birth!
Why did my unkind Mother bring me Forth!
Why was I not in Gobbets cut for shame,
That such a Monster from the Belly came!
Why did my unkind Mother bring me Forth!
Why was I not in Gobbets cut for shame,
That such a Monster from the Belly came!
But O, since my poor Mother was constrain'd
To cast me out, what further then remain'd,
But that those Women, who were present there,
Had laid my Body in the open Air.
Would, when she was of me Delivered,
The Mid-wife then had knock'd me in the Head.
Would she had on the Pavement let me fall:
Or, with main force, had dash't me 'gainst the wall.
O would she—would she had done any thing,
Might ha' preveen'd my present suffering.
Nay, since we think that some of those can guess,
From th'Infants forehead of its future case,
Could she not have discovered in my face
My present state!—could she not plainly see
What a sad creature I in time should be!
Yes—sure she did:—O then why did she not
In kindness to me cut my tender Throat!
Alas how the good woman was to blame,
That did not kill me, to prevent my shame!
O why did women on their unkind knees
Lay me, as soon as born!—O why did these
Linnens, and Swadling cloaths for me provide,
Whilst had they left me naked, I had dy'd.
Why did the Breasts in feeding Liquor flow,
And offer suck to such an Embryo!
To cast me out, what further then remain'd,
But that those Women, who were present there,
Had laid my Body in the open Air.
Would, when she was of me Delivered,
The Mid-wife then had knock'd me in the Head.
Would she had on the Pavement let me fall:
22
O would she—would she had done any thing,
Might ha' preveen'd my present suffering.
Nay, since we think that some of those can guess,
From th'Infants forehead of its future case,
Could she not have discovered in my face
My present state!—could she not plainly see
What a sad creature I in time should be!
Yes—sure she did:—O then why did she not
In kindness to me cut my tender Throat!
Alas how the good woman was to blame,
That did not kill me, to prevent my shame!
O why did women on their unkind knees
Lay me, as soon as born!—O why did these
Linnens, and Swadling cloaths for me provide,
Whilst had they left me naked, I had dy'd.
Why did the Breasts in feeding Liquor flow,
And offer suck to such an Embryo!
For, but for these unhappy Courtesies.
Those most unseasonable Civilities,
Now in earths bosome I had lay'n at rest
And not been with those, akeing woes opprest.
Those most unseasonable Civilities,
Now in earths bosome I had lay'n at rest
And not been with those, akeing woes opprest.
I might ha' sleep't with Kings and Counsellors,
Who, in their lives erected costly Tow'rs,
And Pyramids, in Desarts, to proclame
By such wild Trophies, how they courted fame.
Who, in their lives erected costly Tow'rs,
And Pyramids, in Desarts, to proclame
By such wild Trophies, how they courted fame.
With Princes that had Silver heap'd in store,
And keep'd their Chests brimful with precious Ore,
The grand Horse-leeches of the Universe,
Th'earths high, and most Illustrious Scavengers.
Who, with what Nature gave them, not content,
Do rack her Bowels for her Excrement.
And keep'd their Chests brimful with precious Ore,
The grand Horse-leeches of the Universe,
Th'earths high, and most Illustrious Scavengers.
Who, with what Nature gave them, not content,
Do rack her Bowels for her Excrement.
Why as untimely Birth was I not hid,
And with some kindly toillet covered!
Or as a still-born Child, who sees no light,
Wrapt in the dusky Blankets of the night!
And with some kindly toillet covered!
Or as a still-born Child, who sees no light,
Wrapt in the dusky Blankets of the night!
But O that all things should ha' contribute
Thus to destroy me! since, without dispute,
Had I then dy'd, my happiness had been
As great this very day as is my pain.
For I had now secure from trouble sleep't,
And in the silent grave my quarter keep't.
I—in the grave—the grave to be envy'd,
And wish'd beyond all Palaces beside.
'Tis there, 'tis there, 'tis there where only all
The groaning world themselves can happy call.
There both those who opprest, and were opprest
On earth, enjoy uninterrupted rest.
There all are Friends: there all our Picques and Jarrs,
Our Plots, our Forraign, and our Civil Wars
Ly buryed with us; I, we all appear
To be so many dormant Brethren there.
Thus to destroy me! since, without dispute,
Had I then dy'd, my happiness had been
As great this very day as is my pain.
For I had now secure from trouble sleep't,
And in the silent grave my quarter keep't.
I—in the grave—the grave to be envy'd,
And wish'd beyond all Palaces beside.
'Tis there, 'tis there, 'tis there where only all
The groaning world themselves can happy call.
There both those who opprest, and were opprest
On earth, enjoy uninterrupted rest.
There all are Friends: there all our Picques and Jarrs,
Our Plots, our Forraign, and our Civil Wars
Ly buryed with us; I, we all appear
To be so many dormant Brethren there.
The boistrous Tyrant, who in life did rage,
To whom no sleep could give an hours Soulage;
Who betwixt King, and Pris'ner spent his years,
Amidst a thousand jealousies and fears:
In deaths cold arms when he encircled lyes,
Hee's free from all his Royal Miseries.
The valiant Warriour, who, in life, enjoy'd
But little rest, and was most part employ'd
In action, ready still to march, or fight,
And knew no difference betwixt day, and night:
Free from Allarm of Trumpets, under ground
He sweetly sleeps, until last Trumpet sound.
To whom no sleep could give an hours Soulage;
23
Amidst a thousand jealousies and fears:
In deaths cold arms when he encircled lyes,
Hee's free from all his Royal Miseries.
The valiant Warriour, who, in life, enjoy'd
But little rest, and was most part employ'd
In action, ready still to march, or fight,
And knew no difference betwixt day, and night:
Free from Allarm of Trumpets, under ground
He sweetly sleeps, until last Trumpet sound.
Poor Prisoners, who were in life distrest,
And by their cruel Creditors opprest,
In grave together comfortably rest.
No Usurer against them doth declare
In Court, no Action lies against them there.
Free from the gingling noise of Chaines, and Keyes,
And weekly threatnings, for their weekly Fees,
In Deaths low Rooms the Wretches sleep with ease.
And by their cruel Creditors opprest,
In grave together comfortably rest.
No Usurer against them doth declare
In Court, no Action lies against them there.
Free from the gingling noise of Chaines, and Keyes,
And weekly threatnings, for their weekly Fees,
In Deaths low Rooms the Wretches sleep with ease.
There, there both poor, and rich, both low and high
Princes, and Peasants undistinguish'd lye.
Those, who in life imagin'd, they excell'd
All others, and with vain Opinion swell'd
Of their own parts, do in the grave appear
But even as those, whom they call Dunces here.
Princes, and Peasants undistinguish'd lye.
Those, who in life imagin'd, they excell'd
All others, and with vain Opinion swell'd
Of their own parts, do in the grave appear
But even as those, whom they call Dunces here.
The Servant there is from his Master free,
No former quarrels make them disagree.
The slave, who all his life-time made no gain,
But what he earn'd betwixt the whip and chain,
Who oft his freedom would, with tears, demand,
And long'd to be turn'd by his Masters hand,
But still deny'd, in grave that blessing hath,
And only owes his liberty to death.
No former quarrels make them disagree.
The slave, who all his life-time made no gain,
But what he earn'd betwixt the whip and chain,
Who oft his freedom would, with tears, demand,
And long'd to be turn'd by his Masters hand,
But still deny'd, in grave that blessing hath,
And only owes his liberty to death.
O Death!—who can thy Excellence declare!
What state of life can we with thine compare!
In life we waste a few unhappy years,
In a continued Labarinth of tears,
'Twixt envy, and compassion here we breath,
Preferring worst estate of life to death.
For O this notion of life, this bare,
And mean conception of a breathing here,
Doth in our wanton ears so sweetly sound,
That we abhorre the thoughts of under-ground.
Fools! who'd be rather toss'd 'twixt wind and wave,
Than sleep on Bed of Roses in the grave!
Whilst all bedaub'd with sweat in noon-tide-light,
Does not the wearied Labourer long for night?
That free from toyl, he may enjoy, at best,
But the poor Favour of a few hours rest.
Though quickly rouz'd, before the Sun appear,
With morning-blush upon our Hemisphere.
Hee's forc'd again to toil.—
Then O how much, then o how much should those,
Who in this sleep of life find no repose,
Wish for the sleep of death, in which they may,
Beyond the fear of interrupting day,
Though thunder round this lower world should roar,
Sleep undisturb'd, while Heavens shall be no more.
What state of life can we with thine compare!
In life we waste a few unhappy years,
In a continued Labarinth of tears,
'Twixt envy, and compassion here we breath,
Preferring worst estate of life to death.
For O this notion of life, this bare,
And mean conception of a breathing here,
Doth in our wanton ears so sweetly sound,
That we abhorre the thoughts of under-ground.
Fools! who'd be rather toss'd 'twixt wind and wave,
Than sleep on Bed of Roses in the grave!
Whilst all bedaub'd with sweat in noon-tide-light,
Does not the wearied Labourer long for night?
That free from toyl, he may enjoy, at best,
But the poor Favour of a few hours rest.
Though quickly rouz'd, before the Sun appear,
With morning-blush upon our Hemisphere.
Hee's forc'd again to toil.—
Then O how much, then o how much should those,
Who in this sleep of life find no repose,
Wish for the sleep of death, in which they may,
24
Though thunder round this lower world should roar,
Sleep undisturb'd, while Heavens shall be no more.
Then why should one be thus compell'd to live,
That fain would dye? Why should th'Almighty give
A Lease of Life to one, who seriously
Hates it so much that he doth long to dy!
For what is life to one, that's destitute
Of all the favours it can contribute?
What man is he on earth that can be able,
When of what even doth make it tolerable
This life is spoil'd, ah who is he, who then
For love of life would suffer so much pain
As I endure.—
That fain would dye? Why should th'Almighty give
A Lease of Life to one, who seriously
Hates it so much that he doth long to dy!
For what is life to one, that's destitute
Of all the favours it can contribute?
What man is he on earth that can be able,
When of what even doth make it tolerable
This life is spoil'd, ah who is he, who then
For love of life would suffer so much pain
As I endure.—
Then why should one desire to live, who lyes
Environ'd with a thousand miseries?
A wretched man,—a man, who hardly knows
What life is now.—only he doth suppose,
By th'figure of his present suffering,
This life must be some very naughty thing.
Environ'd with a thousand miseries?
A wretched man,—a man, who hardly knows
What life is now.—only he doth suppose,
By th'figure of his present suffering,
This life must be some very naughty thing.
Some naughty thing!—yes sure it must be such,
As wise men never can despise too much:
A thing it is esteem'd by none, but Fools
A thing, which Boyes are even taught at Schools
To undervalue: nay each man doth boast
Himself the bravest, who contemns it most.
The Cob-web-product of a toiling breath
Never compleat, while finished by Death.
A silly toy, which, as we come to years,
Still to us more ridiculous appears.
'Tis true this lise bestowes all empty pleasures
On men on earth, it gives them Honours, Treasures,
Revenge, and Success, yes these Life doth give,
For which these Aery Fools desire to live.
As those who dream to sleep, but after all;
When they on serious Contemplation fall:
When their own minds do tell them all is vain,
Which they thought here was Permanent,—O then
O then how they abhor this Life, and fain
Would be out of its Intrigue: yes at length,
When they perceive how all their wit, and strength
Is baffled by some pitiful disease,
Which on their bodies then begins to seise:
Lord how they're vext, and penitently think
Of Life, as men next morning after drink;
When the sad pleasures of their Cups now make
Their Stomachs sick, their Heads with horrour ake:
I then, as these their Cups, so these abhor
Their Lives, and swear they'll never love them more.
But wearied of the Inconvenience
Which Life affords, with great Impatience,
O how they long to be a trudging hence,
With groans they hast the Journey of their breath,
And never rest till they arrive at Death.
As wise men never can despise too much:
A thing it is esteem'd by none, but Fools
A thing, which Boyes are even taught at Schools
To undervalue: nay each man doth boast
Himself the bravest, who contemns it most.
The Cob-web-product of a toiling breath
Never compleat, while finished by Death.
A silly toy, which, as we come to years,
Still to us more ridiculous appears.
'Tis true this lise bestowes all empty pleasures
On men on earth, it gives them Honours, Treasures,
Revenge, and Success, yes these Life doth give,
For which these Aery Fools desire to live.
As those who dream to sleep, but after all;
When they on serious Contemplation fall:
When their own minds do tell them all is vain,
Which they thought here was Permanent,—O then
O then how they abhor this Life, and fain
Would be out of its Intrigue: yes at length,
When they perceive how all their wit, and strength
Is baffled by some pitiful disease,
Which on their bodies then begins to seise:
Lord how they're vext, and penitently think
Of Life, as men next morning after drink;
When the sad pleasures of their Cups now make
Their Stomachs sick, their Heads with horrour ake:
I then, as these their Cups, so these abhor
Their Lives, and swear they'll never love them more.
But wearied of the Inconvenience
Which Life affords, with great Impatience,
O how they long to be a trudging hence,
With groans they hast the Journey of their breath,
And never rest till they arrive at Death.
25
Should any then extravagantly sad,
As I am now, be yet alace so mad,
As wish to live!—no sure, or if he do,
That man deserves no pity—
For a poor living man, with grief oppress't,
I—horrid grief,—should have in mind no rest,
Whilst clogg'd with Fetters of a lingring Breath,
But, in his Torments, force resisting Death;
Yes, and in Joyes mad excesse, fondly rave,
When he's so happy, as to find his Grave.
As I am now, be yet alace so mad,
As wish to live!—no sure, or if he do,
That man deserves no pity—
For a poor living man, with grief oppress't,
I—horrid grief,—should have in mind no rest,
Whilst clogg'd with Fetters of a lingring Breath,
But, in his Torments, force resisting Death;
Yes, and in Joyes mad excesse, fondly rave,
When he's so happy, as to find his Grave.
Then why is Life upon a man bestow'd,
That would of Death be insolently proud!
Of Death—I and esteem that favour more,
Then all the Blessings he enjoy'd before.
—O then, kind Death, now let me see thy Face:
O wilt thou me in thy cold Arms embrace:
Make haste—make haste, for I'me with Life opprest,
If thou hast any love for me, make haste,
Haste,—haste,—for Heaven sake—haste—
For why is Life upon a man bestow'd,
To whom his God no Comfort hath allow'd!
Why should I be condemn'd to Live, when all
What in this World I could Pleasure call
Is gone:—when Felons are allow'd to Dye,
After the Fisque has stripp't them,—why should I
Not yet,—not yet convict of any Crime,
Bear the sad threatnings of insulting Time!
—Insulting Time! that doth my Case proclaim,
Whilst gentle Death would cover all my shame.
That would of Death be insolently proud!
Of Death—I and esteem that favour more,
Then all the Blessings he enjoy'd before.
—O then, kind Death, now let me see thy Face:
O wilt thou me in thy cold Arms embrace:
Make haste—make haste, for I'me with Life opprest,
If thou hast any love for me, make haste,
Haste,—haste,—for Heaven sake—haste—
For why is Life upon a man bestow'd,
To whom his God no Comfort hath allow'd!
Why should I be condemn'd to Live, when all
What in this World I could Pleasure call
Is gone:—when Felons are allow'd to Dye,
After the Fisque has stripp't them,—why should I
Not yet,—not yet convict of any Crime,
Bear the sad threatnings of insulting Time!
—Insulting Time! that doth my Case proclaim,
Whilst gentle Death would cover all my shame.
Then let me dye,—yes dye—and never more
The benefit of a poor Life implore:
—Of a poor Life, a Life so poor and mean,
A Life so larded with sad grief, and pain,
As if his mortal foe a man would curse,
All his invention could not wish him worse,
Then I am now,—then I am—I—sad I
Who, that I may be sadder, must not dye.
—Lord how my Sighs—with force ingeminate
Pump up whole floods of Tears, which, when I eat,
Are now the only Sawces to my Meat.
For, from my Eyes, these, as from Water-spout
Like Rain: swoln Torrents, issue always out.
The benefit of a poor Life implore:
—Of a poor Life, a Life so poor and mean,
A Life so larded with sad grief, and pain,
As if his mortal foe a man would curse,
All his invention could not wish him worse,
Then I am now,—then I am—I—sad I
Who, that I may be sadder, must not dye.
—Lord how my Sighs—with force ingeminate
Pump up whole floods of Tears, which, when I eat,
Are now the only Sawces to my Meat.
For, from my Eyes, these, as from Water-spout
Like Rain: swoln Torrents, issue always out.
Then let me dye,—O let me quickly dye
As others do, and not so cruelly
Be forc'd thus to survive my Losse, and see
Under the Heavens no sinful man, like me.
No sinful man,—no none of all that Race
So much opprest as I am—none alace
Of Heavens foes suffering so much as I,
Who liv'd by th'Laws, and Rules of Piety:
As I, who always studied to shun
Those Courses, which a many Mortals run:
As I, who always shunn'd to give occasion
To my (indeed kind God) of provocation:
But now I plainly see my former Zeal
And Piety could not with him prevail
T'avert this blow—no—no—my clouds of Prayers
Are now dissolv'd in deluges of Tears:
And I must suffer now what never man
Endur'd before me, since the world began.
As others do, and not so cruelly
Be forc'd thus to survive my Losse, and see
Under the Heavens no sinful man, like me.
No sinful man,—no none of all that Race
So much opprest as I am—none alace
Of Heavens foes suffering so much as I,
Who liv'd by th'Laws, and Rules of Piety:
As I, who always studied to shun
Those Courses, which a many Mortals run:
As I, who always shunn'd to give occasion
To my (indeed kind God) of provocation:
26
And Piety could not with him prevail
T'avert this blow—no—no—my clouds of Prayers
Are now dissolv'd in deluges of Tears:
And I must suffer now what never man
Endur'd before me, since the world began.
Indeed in th'affluence of my former bless,
I still would fear this sad Catastasis:
And these same thoughts did so my Spirit seize,
As, in the night time my o're wearied eyes
Had little sleep: for I could ne're endure
In all my prosp'rous time, to live secure,
As some, who on their earthly Blessings rest,
Which makes me so uneasily digest
My present troubles.—O then let me dye
For since alace my Zeal and Piety,
My Prayers, my Tears, my daily Offerings
Could not prevent my present Sufferings:
How should I think they can me extricate
Out of this sad, and miserable state.
I still would fear this sad Catastasis:
And these same thoughts did so my Spirit seize,
As, in the night time my o're wearied eyes
Had little sleep: for I could ne're endure
In all my prosp'rous time, to live secure,
As some, who on their earthly Blessings rest,
Which makes me so uneasily digest
My present troubles.—O then let me dye
For since alace my Zeal and Piety,
My Prayers, my Tears, my daily Offerings
Could not prevent my present Sufferings:
How should I think they can me extricate
Out of this sad, and miserable state.
Then let me dye—O let me dye again—
I beg it, Lord—let me be out of pain
At any rate—let not thy dreadful wrath
Deprive me of the benefit of death;
As it has done of all things here below,
No—my good God—permit it not, for so
I shall in horrour live, and possibly,
After long sufferings, in despair shall dye.
I beg it, Lord—let me be out of pain
At any rate—let not thy dreadful wrath
Deprive me of the benefit of death;
As it has done of all things here below,
No—my good God—permit it not, for so
I shall in horrour live, and possibly,
After long sufferings, in despair shall dye.
O let me dye then—for thy mercies sake,
Lord let me dye—and force me not to take
Those resolutions, which some other men
Would take, if in such misery, and pain.
—Burst then, poor heart—O split—burst speedily,
That I may have the happiness to dye.
—To dye, and then I know my Makers wrath
For all this, will be by my single death
Quickly appeas'd, and in the grave I shall
Rest sweetly free of troubles, after all.
Lord let me dye—and force me not to take
Those resolutions, which some other men
Would take, if in such misery, and pain.
—Burst then, poor heart—O split—burst speedily,
That I may have the happiness to dye.
—To dye, and then I know my Makers wrath
For all this, will be by my single death
Quickly appeas'd, and in the grave I shall
Rest sweetly free of troubles, after all.
O death, what mortal can thy worth esteem!
Who's he can thy intrinsick value name!
All states of life are daily to be sold,
But thou death art not, to be had for gold:
Though th'world of life but one great mercat be,
Yet all's bought up, and there's none left for me,
But that, which even mad men would abhor:
Then why should I this life keep any more.
—This life—this hellish life—O now, kind death
Ease me of this, and take my parting Breath.
Who's he can thy intrinsick value name!
All states of life are daily to be sold,
But thou death art not, to be had for gold:
Though th'world of life but one great mercat be,
Yet all's bought up, and there's none left for me,
But that, which even mad men would abhor:
Then why should I this life keep any more.
—This life—this hellish life—O now, kind death
Ease me of this, and take my parting Breath.
Then burst, sad heart—what cannot all my Art
Be able yet to burst one broken heart!
—Yes sure—burst quickly—let me quickly dye,
And in this ugly Dunghill, where I lye
Let me be buryed—but, my Friends, take heed
My Body with much earth be covered.
Under a heap of stones, lest Labouring Men
Digging this Dung hill in the Season; when
They dung their grounds, should find my Carcass here,
For if uncovered 't will infect the Air.
Be able yet to burst one broken heart!
—Yes sure—burst quickly—let me quickly dye,
And in this ugly Dunghill, where I lye
Let me be buryed—but, my Friends, take heed
My Body with much earth be covered.
27
Digging this Dung hill in the Season; when
They dung their grounds, should find my Carcass here,
For if uncovered 't will infect the Air.
| The grand Tryal | |