The grand Tryal :: :: University of Virginia Library

The grand Tryal

or, Poetical Exercitations upon the book of Job. Wherein, Suitable to each Text of that sacred Book, a modest Explanation, and Continuation of the several Discourses contained in it, is attempted by William Clark

Clarke, William (fl. 1684-1688)

II.

Cap. II.

III.

II.

IV.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

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.

XXXVIII.

XXXIX.

XL.

XLI.

XLII.

Collapse All | Expand All expand section

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.

Here's a Grand-Tryal then, awake all you
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.

2. Then said the Lord unto Satan, whence comest thou, and Satan answered from compassing the earth to and fro, and from walking in it.

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,

3. And the Lord said unto Satan, hast not considered my servant Iob, how none is like him in the earth, an upright and just man, one that feareth God, and escheweth evil, for he yet continueth in his uprightness, although thou movedst me against him, to destroy him without cause.

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.

4. And Satan answered the Lord, and said, skin for skin, & all that a man has, he will give for his life.

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.

5. But stretch now out thine hand, and touch his bones, and his flesh to see if he will not blaspheme thee to thy face.

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.

6. Then the Lord said unto Satan, he is in thy hand, but save his life.

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.

7. So Satan departed from the presence of the Lord, and smote Iob with sore boyls; from the crown of his head, to the sole of his foot.

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.

8. And Iob took a potsherd to scrape him, and he sat down among the ashes.

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.

9. Then said his wife unto him, dost thou continue yet in thy uprightness, blaspheme God, and die.

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,

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.

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.

10. But he said unto her thou speakest like a foolish woman, what shall we receive good at the hands of God, and not receive evil, in all this Iob did not sin with his lips.

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.

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.

11. Now when Iobs three freinds heard of all this evil that was come upon him, they came every one from his own place, Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite, and Zophar the Naamathite, for they had made an appointment together to come to mourn with him.

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.

12. And when they lift up their eyes afar off, and knew him not, they lift up their voice, and wept, and they rent every one his mantle, and sprinkled dust upon their heads toward heaven.

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.

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.

13. So they sat down with him on the ground seven dayes, and seven nights, and none spoke a word to him, for they saw that his grief was very great.

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.