The grand Tryal :: :: University of Virginia Library

The grand Tryal

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

Clarke, William (fl. 1684-1688)

II.

III.

Cap. III.

II.

IV.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

XIV.

XV.

III.

XVI.

XVII.

XVIII.

XIX.

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XXI.

XXII.

XXIII.

XXIV.

XXV.

XXVI.

XXVII.

XXVIII.

XXIX.

XXX.

XXXI.

IV.

XXXII.

XXXIII.

XXXIV.

XXXV.

XXXVI.

XXXVII.

XXXVIII.

XXXIX.

XL.

XLI.

XLII.

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Cap. III.

1. After this Iob opened his mouth, and cursed his day.

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.—

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,

2. And Iob spake, and said,

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.

3. Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said there is a man child conceived.

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.

4. Let that day be darkness, let not God regard it from above, neither let the light shine upon it.

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.

5. Let darkness and the shadow of death stain it, let a cloud dwell upon it, let the blackness of the day terrify it.

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.

6. As for that night, let darkness seize upon it, let it not be joyned to the dayes of the year, let it not come into the number of the months.

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.

7. Let that night be solitary, let no joyful noise be heard therein.

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.

8. Let them curse it that curse their day, being ready to renew their mourning.

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.

9. Let the stars of the twilight thereof be dark, let it look for light, but have none, neither let it see the dawning of the day.

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.

10. Because it shut not up the doors of my mothers womb, nor hid sorrow from mine eyes.

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.

11. Why did I not dye from the womb? why did I not give up the ghost, when I came from the belly.

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!

12. Why did the knees prevent me, or why the breasts that I should suck.

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!

13. For now I should have layn still, and been quiet, & should have slept, then had I been at rest.

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.

14.With Kings and Counsellors of the earth, who built desolate places for themselves.

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.

15. Or with Princes that had gold, who filled their houses with silver.

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.

16. Or as an hidden untimely birth, I had not been, as infants, who never see the light.

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!

17. There the wicked cease from troubling: there the weary be at rest.

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.

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.

18. There the Prisoners rest together, they hear not the voice of the oppressor.

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.

19. The small and great are there, and the servant is free from his master.

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.

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.

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.

20. Wherefore is light given to him that is in misery, and life to the bitter in soul?

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.—

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.

21. Who long for death, but it cometh not, and dig for it more than for hid treasures.

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.

22. Who rejoyce exceedingly, and are glad when they find the grave.

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.

23. Why is light given to a man who is hid, and whom God hath hedged in?

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.

24. For my sighing cometh before I eat, and my roarings are poured out like the waters.

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.

25. For the thing which I greatly feared, is come upon me, and that which I was afraid of is come unto me.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.