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.

II.

PART 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.

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II. PART II.

Cap. IV.

1. Then Eliphaz the Temanite answered and said,

Job having thus attempted to express
That inward grief, which did his Soul oppress,
One of his three Friends, Eliphaz, by name,
Did him thus tartly for his passion blame.

2. If we essay to commune with thee, wilt thou be grieved? but who can withhold himself from speaking.

Should we, says he, with thee expostulate,
And, on the matter, enter in debate;
We see the heat of thy impatience
Is such, as our discourse may give offence.
Yet though thou should'st be vext, and curse us all,
As thou hast done thy birth-day, nothing shall
Make us forget our duty (for reprove
The errors of a man we so much love;
We must indeed) then pray who can forbear
To answer thee, when such discourse we hear
Of thy great zeal, and piety of late,
Thy grace thy virtue, and I know not what,
By which thou'd make us think forsooth, that he
Who cannot act unjustly, punish'd thee
Without a fault preceeding—very fair,
Pray, who with patience can such language hear?
Should in our hearing one of God complain
Unjustly and from answering we abstain?

3. Behold thou hast taught many, and hast strengthened the wearied hands

No, no, my friend, we came not here indeed,
To hear thee in thy Passions exceed
The rage of mad-men, or allow thee so
To cry, and overact a man of woe.
For shame—how mean a thing it is to see
Thy mind thus discompos'd, that such as thee
Whose eminent prudence, virtue, piety
And long experience o'th' worlds vanity,
We thought had taught thee to know better things,
That such as thee, in foolish murmurings
Should bluster thus.—

4. Thy words have confirmed him who was falling, and thou hast strengthened the weak-knees.

Thou who didst others in affliction teach
How to behave, would to them patience preach,
And how with crosses they should be content,
Thy self to become thus impatient!
Thou, who in troubles others hast restor'd,
Canst thou no comfort to thy self afford?

5. But now it is come upon thee, and thou art grieved, it toucheth thee, and thou art troubled.

Others thou'd check, when in Adversity,
As thou dost now, they'd passionately cry,
And curse their Birth-day, as thou now hast done;
Afflictions at length are come upon
Thy self, and thou art griev'd, it toucheth thee
I'th' quick, and thou art all in flames, we see.

6. Is not this thy fear, thy confidence, thy patience, and the uprightness of thy ways?

Where's now thy fear of God? thy confidence
In him? thy Uprightness? thy Patience?
Where are those Virtues now?—what—are they fled,
At such time, as thou most of them hast need?

7. Remember I pray thee, whoever perished being innocent, or where were the upright destroyed.

Why should'st, my friend, like mad-man then cry out,
In view of all thy Neighbours round about?
And set out thy condition, with such Art,
As if, without cause, thou afflicted wer't?
Have not thy sins call'd for thy punishment?
Prethee forbear then this thy vain Complaint,
Who ever perish'd being Innocent?
Pray, call to mind how thou hast liv'd before,
As other sinners, and complain no more.
Revise the Annals of thy former time,
And thou wilt surely find the hidden Crime,
For which we all of us perceive indeed
Thou now art most severely punished.

8. As I have seen those that plow iniquity, and sow wickedness, reap the same.

Consider this pray, and without debate,
Thou'lt not so with thy God expostulate.
He acts according to most upright Laws,
And punishes no man, without a Cause.
But I've observ'd that Antecedent sin,
(How slow soever) still doth usher in
Punishment to it self proportionate,
Which still attends the sinner, soon, or late.
So, in his Judgement on his sins may read,
And see the Cause, from whence his woes proceed.
For I have often seen that such as Plow
Your heathy Ground, and corrupt Seed do Sow,
For all their Labours, when their Harvest came,
They'd Reap no other, but the very same.

9. With the blast of God they perish, and with the breath of his nostrils they are consumed.

Vain men! who, cause not punish'd instantly,
Mistake forbearance for indemnity:
At least they think, when Judgements God designs,
He'l be so kind, as by some outward Signs,
To give them Warning, and proclaim the War,
By th'Herauldry of some Portentuous Star.
In prævious threatnings he'l the work begin,
And not surprize them napping in their sin:
So, ere th'arryval of their punishment,
They may have some small leasure to repent,
By which perhaps they may these ills prevent.
Poor fools, who grossely do themselves abuse
With such wild notions, as if God should use
What methods they prescrib'd, and give them time
First to Commit, then mourn for every Crime.
But let's suppose that God Almighty now
To Sinning men such warnings should allow
In that case, pray what would these wretches do?

Would they repent? I doubt they would not:—nay
I think they'd rather crave a longer day;
That they might mourn, with more convenience,
And so perhaps some hours, ere they go hence,
They'd drop a Tear, or two, and openly
Confess, what they no longer dare deny,
So fraught with hopes, and sins, they'd shrewdly dy.

Thus then we see to warn, and to surprize
Is all one thing, for no man, while he dies
Thinks on Repentance, and it may be then
With a few puling words, opprest with pain,
He'l say he's truly griev'd to think upon
His former Actings, and begin annon
To settle his affaires; and possibly
Emit some pious groans before he dye.
Vain, hoping sinner! on what grounds should he
Thus make account? when we may dayly see
How when a many swell with boystrous Pride,
And undervalue all Mankind beside,
Death, or Destruction suddainly appears,
And pulls them out o'th' world by the Ears.

1. The roaring of the lyon, and the voice of the lyonness, and the teeth of the lyons whelps are broken.

For instance see some proud imperious thing,
Amongst its Neighbours keep such Revelling,
As Lyons, and their Broods in Forrests do
Amongst their Fellow-bruits: for mark but how,
By the same Law, as those do bear away
What e're they find, proclaiming it their prey,
So the oppressing wretch, under pretence
Of Law, and Justice, by plain violence,
Seizes on all his Neighbours Lands around,
And then with Law-suits doth them so confound,
They'r glad at length for Aikers to compound,
And be his Tennents. Yet for all his Pride,
When in Oppressions triumph he doth Ride,
God strikes this lofty Tyrant on the Face,
And layes him ith' Dust, with all his cursed Race.

11. The lyon perisheth for lack of prey, and the lyons whelps are scattered abroad.

As dead he lyes, and no man doth bemoan him,
From every corner Pleas break out upon him:
All those, whose means by force he did retain,
Are soon restored to their own again.
Then this poor Lyon starves, for lack of food,
None pity him, although he roar aloud,
And all his Whelps are scattered here, and there
To rake the Dung-hill, for their dayly fare.

12. But a thing was brought to me secretly, and mine ear received a little thereof:

But now, my friend, that thou may'st not suppose
Those words to be my own, I must unclose
The Secrets of my Heart, and plainly tell
What God, of late, did to my Soul reveal.

13. In the thoughts of the vision of the night, when sleep falleth on man.

About the time, when Mortals wearied,
With anxious Thoughts, do tumble in their Bed,
And one small nap after another catch,
As if they did not mean to sleep, but watch.

14 Fear came upon me, and dread, which made all my bones to tremble.

Fear came upon me, terrours did assemble,
Before me, which made all my joynts to tremble;
My nerves grew stiff, my heart did shrewdly beat,
And I all o're lay daubling in cold sweat.

15. And the wind passed before me and made the haires of my flesh to stand up.

The winds did rage and bluster in my sight,
Which made my haires for fear, to stand upright,
And all my flesh to quiver, nay my bones
Keep'd such a ratling, as a bag of stones
Beat by an Artists hand, do what I please,
I could not shun the grinding of my knees.

16. Then stood one, and I knew not his face, an Image was before mine eyes, and in silence I heard a voice saying.

Then see I one, whose face I did not know
Before my eyes appear'd a glorious show,
Which goodly sight did soon my fear allay,
And horrid night to me became as day.
So, when these thundring feares composed were,
In serene silence I a voice did hear
Which thus exprest it self.—

17. Shall man be more just, than God, or shall a man be more pure then his maker?

Upon the earth, what mortal man is he,
Can be more just then God; who e're he be
That in his own eyes thinks himself more pure
Then is his maker, he mistakes it sure.

18. Behold he found no stedfastness in his servants, and lay'd folly upon his Angels.

For, when his very Angels he did check
And them for folly soundly did correct:
When for his pride, one mighty Angel fell
From highest Heavens to th'lowest pit of Hell,
When in those heavenly creatures he did find
No constancy according to his mind:

19. How much more in them, that dwell in houses of clay, whose foundation is in the dust, which shall be destroyed before the moth.

Can sinful man, that mean, and silly tool,
Who lives in Huts of clay be such a fool,
As think he can perfection attain.
To which, who ere Aspyres does toyle in vain.
He, who from dust derives his Pedegree,
Compos'd of dust, who dwells in dust, shall he
Pretend to that perfection in his pride,
Which to his Angels God has even deny'd.
Poor dying wretch! shall he, with those compare,
Who dwell in heavens, and immortal are.

20. They be destroyed from the morning to the evening, they perish for ever without regard.

Ah don't we see how vain man perisheth,
And every day augments the rolls of death:
He's alwayes on his march, his Passing-bell
From morn, to night doth, every minute, knell.
Yet no man doth consider seriously
The importance of this mortality.

21. Doth not their dignity go away with them? do they not dye, and that without wisdom?

Do not their honours, with them, fly away?
And stoop to wasting time, as well, as they,
Who did enjoy them? I their dignity
Crumbles to dust, and when the wretches dye,
They drown ith' Ocean of Eternity.
Yet no man doth regard this, none so wise,
As, after all this, once to cast his eyes
Upon this subject, which so much concerns
All men to know; yet never mortal learns
The art of dying, though each hour we hear
Sad lectures of it sounded in our eare;

And every moment doth such meanes afford,
As may instruct us, while deaths raging sword
To none giues quarter, but doth every day,
Sweep us, and all our hopefull things away.
For, as they live, alace how many dye,
Pregnant examples o'th' worlds vanity.

Cap. V.

1. Call now; if any will answer thee, and to which of the Saints wilt thou turn?

Consider then, and ponder well, I pray
These my discourses, marke me what I say:
Thy plagues I see, indeed, are very great
Yet is thy grief no less intemperate.
Others have been, and as thou art, now are,
For thy condition is not singular.
Many belov'd of God, whil'st here below,
Have suffered more, then thou didst ere yet know,
In mind, and body have endur'd much pain,
Yet none of them, as thou didst, did complaine.
And where are all the Saints, who now enjoy
Eternal rest? how did they here employ
Their time, when plagues so thick upon them fell,
Their lives became the Portraiture of Hell;
Why none of them did raile, as thou dost now,
But calmely would before their maker bow,
And gently all their blows receive. none ere
Of those did in their humours thus appear,
As thou dost now.

2. Doubtless anger kills the foolish, and envy slayeth the Ideot.

For, when a man doth in affliction lye,
What bootest him, like a child, to weep, and cry?
Such houlings, and repinings sure are vaine,
And 'stead of easing, do encrease the pain.
But I've observ'd when any man of wealth
Is once depriv'd of riches, or of health:
Although before heed seem to represent
In all his actings something of a Saint.
Yet then he cryes, then he repines amain,
Then he complaines of poverty, and pain:
O then he railes upon that providence,
Which was, in former times, his sole defence.
For now—all sorrow, wrath, and desperation
He thinks on nothing less then restauration,
Whereas before he thought he was so sure,
His wealth to generations would endure.

3. I have seen the foolish well rooted, and suddainly I cursed his habitation, saying.

Well I have seen some Gallant in his pride
Insulsly laugh at all the world beside,
Fix'd, and firme-rooted, as he did suppose,
And proof against the batterie of his foes,
When, on a suddain providence would frowne,
And this same fool would tumble headlong down,

With all his sins about him, in a tryce,
Kill'd by the fall from glories precipice.

6. His children shall be farr from salvation, they shall perish in the gate, and there shall be none to deliver them

Then would I say this man deservedly
Doth fall, and with him all his family,
Is levelled with dust, because he did
In such vain, transitory things confide.
For by fair justice he shall be destroy'd,
And all his unjust purchases made voide,
Then, after he has justly forfeit all,
He, without pity shall most justly fall.

5. The hungry shall eat up his harvest, yea they shall take it from among the thorns, and the thirsty shall drink up their substance.

Those, who are hungry shall eat up his grain,
And reap the profit of his nine Months pain:
Nay they shall sweep his grounds, and fields so clean
As his poor children shall find nought to glean.
The thirsty travellers, who for rain doth gape,
Shall drink up all the substance of his grape.

6. For misery cometh not forth of the dust, neither doth affliction spring out of the earth.

For thou must know afflictions do not come
By accident, as is suppos'd by some,
On any man, nor do Heavens noble laws
Allow that any one without a cause
Should suffer punishment,—no not at all,
There's no such thing, as that you fortune call:
'Tis a meer notion, a device of men
To palliate their sins, and entertain,
A proud opinion of their innocence,
And lay the blame of all on Providence,
Which they call fortune, and conclude from thence
When any are afflicted at the rate,
As thou art now, that they're unfortunate,
Unlucky, and I know not what—alace
Why should we with such fopperies, as these,
Abuse our selves, when certainly we know,
Who know there is a God, things are not so:
But that our God doth formally arraigne
For every sin convict, and punish men.
Then know—

7. But man is born to travel, as sparks fly upward.

That no affliction comes by accident,
But that all Judgements to our doors are sent
By rule of Heavens Court where information,
Is made, and prov'd, preceeding condemnation.
Besides as sparks, by nature upwards fly,
So man to sorrows born doth live and dye;
In a continued sweat of toyle, and care,
With dregs of anger, for his daily fare.
Tortures of mind, and body all at once
Do suck the marrow from his very bones:
Nor can he pleasure to himself project,
Or joy, and comfort, in this earth expect.

8. But I would enquire of God, and turn my talk unto God.

Were I then in thy lamentable case,
I'd not repine, but humblie make address,
To my good God, from him I would demand
A patient mind, and learn to understand
From whence such floods of evils do proceed,
And in my sorrows I my sins would read.

9. Which doth great things, and unsearchable things without number.

To him alone my self I would apply,
To whom the world belongs, who sits on High,
To whom all Creatures in subjection are,
Whose Jurisdiction doth exceed by far
All Powers on Earth; who things unsearchable
Performes, of which we are not capable
To give a Judgement, things beyond our reach,
Things, which to act no humane Art can Teach.

10. He giveth rain upon the earth, and poureth rain upon the streets:

'Tis he, who makes the Rain from Clouds to fall,
By which the Earth made pregnant, yeelds us all
Our Hearts can wish, affords us dayly Bread,
Drink, Cloaths, and Med'cine, and what else we need
For Maintnance of that Fabrick, which he fram'd,
To Lodge the Soul, and it the Body nam'd.
—The Body,—O a thing most excellent!
For whose Subsistence, we should even torment
Our Souls: a very precious thing indeed,
That on the Labours of the Soul should feed!
The Body! a meer piece of useful Dust
Demis'd, for some time, to the Soul, in Trust,
Though for its use, the too kind Soul, at best,
Payes a severe, and dreadful Interest:
Whilst to afford it pleasure, legally
It forfaults its own true Felicity.

What is't we hugg then? what do we esteem?
A dying thing, which scarce deserves a name!
A thing, so long as Soul doth it inspire,
Moves for a time, like Puppet on a Wyre;
That gone, it moves, it prats, it squeeks no more,
But a dull piece of Clay, as't was before,
Breathless, and Sapless on the Ground it lies,
Yet, in its Fall, its Maker glorifies,
As well, as in its Frame; because from thence,
We learn what Honour, and Obedience
We owe to him, who this fair Fabrick raises,
And by a Breath destroyes it when he pleases.
Besides, who'd not in Duty be exact,
When still before his Eyes he sees the Rack,
The Axe, the Gibbet, and in Mind doth feel
Sad apprehensions of the dreadful Wheel?
Is not our case the same? do we not see
How many thousand, Shapes of Death there be
Dayly presented to our view to show,
That after all, all to the Grave must go.

From this fair Topick, let us argue then.
He is our God, and we poor sinful men,
Therefore since to him we owe Life, and Breath,
We should live well, that, when invading Death
Approaches, he may find us on our Guard,
Not by his gastly looks to be out-dar'd.
For though he seize the Body, yet on high
The Soul shall live to perpetuity.

11. And setteth up on high them that are low, that the sorrowful may be exalted to salvation.

'Tis he, the mighty God, 'tis he alone,
Who in the Heavens has set up his Throne,

From whence he orders all things, and doth raise
This man to honours, and that man debase;
That to th'afflicted he may comfort give,
And make those, whom the world abhorreth live.

12. He scattereth the devices of the crafty, so that their hands cannot accomplish that, which they do enterprise.

The subtile plottings of our knowing men
He disappoints, and makes their projects vain:
He laughs at all their consults, and despises—
Both them, and all their silly state devises.
So that what e're those Crocodiles project,
Their Machinations never take effect.

13. He taketh the wise in their craftiness, and the counsels of the wicked are made foolish.

He spoiles their counsels, and makes all their wit
Like salt, whose savour's lost, down-right unfit
For any thing, save at a round of Ale,
To be the subject of some Country tale.
For the Worlds wisdom in Gods eyes is folly
Their Art but th'product of dull Melancholly.

14. They meet with darkness in the day time. and grope at noon-tide, as in the night.

Their reasoning is notional, and vain
Erring in things even evident, and plain:
Things manifest, things clear, as noon-tide-light,
To them are dark, as to one in the night
Who nothing sees, gropes, but no rode can find,
And stands confounded betwixt raine, and wind,
Whil'st at each justling shrub his joints do tremble.
Thinking the Night-thieves, round him do assemble.

Lord what is all we brag of then for what
Keep we such toyl on earth?—is't only that
We may be thought more wise, than others are
And be esteemed wits, 'tis very fair:
A rare designe indeed, well worth our pain,
When after all we learn, or can retain
All our fine wisdom in Gods eyes is vain.

15. But he saveth the poor from the sword, from their mouth, and from the hand of the violent man.

For when our Politicians counsel take
How they the just, and pious man may break,
Partly by law, partly by violence,
Th'Almighty soon appears in his defence:
He rescues him from all their calumnies
Their false Inditements, and the Batteries
Of their foul mouths, and powerfully withstands
The rude attaques of their all-seizing-hands,
That grasp at person, chattels, fame, and lands.

16. So that the poor hath his hope, but iniquities shall stop his mouth.

Thus from the snare the just man doth escape
And saves his meanes, for which those fools did gape,
As all had been even ready now to fall
Into their hands: whilst the unjust Cabal
Now disappointed of their former hope,
Are forc'd at length, their ravenous mouth to stop,
And all with shame confounded, to confesse
Gods justice, and their own vile foolishness.
Our God alone the just mans cause maintaines,
And with strong Bitt, and seasonable Reins,
He curbs the fury of th'oppressing beast,
Who, to enrich himself, would lay all waste.
Who formally denies that Laws were made
For such as him, to check his roving trade:

But boldly claimes all that his armes can take
And, in his Wars doth no distinction make
Betwixt his Allies, and his open foes,
But treates them all at the same rate, God knows,
Our God shall sure attaque this foolish thing,
Whil'st all his friends do yet his triumphs sing,
And 'midst his pleasures, make unwelcome death
Rob him of both his Lawrels, and his breath.

17. Behold blessed is the man, whom God correcteth, wherefore refuse not thou the chastising of the Almighty.

Then since the case is thus, let's be content
With whatsoever plague, or punishment
Our God inflicts upon us, for, be sure,
To such as us his kindness doth endure.
O happy is that man, whom God corrects,
And for his leud, and sinful courses checks!
Thrice happy he, whom, when his sin abounds,
And makes him proud, God in his mercy wounds,
And brings him low, that on his former state,
In bed of sorrow he may meditate
Counting what time he hath in folly spent,
And, in return, how his sad punishment
Makes all his ballance. Let's then understand
Our selves, and patiently th'Almighties hand
Endure, and in our minds rest satisfy'd,
That for our good, we're with afflictions try'd.

18. For he maketh the wound and he bindeth it up, he smiteth & his hands make whole.

For as he gives the wound, with the same hand
He binds it up: he never wants a band,
A Salve, a Plaster ready, in such cases,
Which he applyes to all th'affected places.
He wounds, he cures, makes sick, and doth restore
Men to their health; what can we ask for more?

19. He shall deliver thee in six troubles, and in the seventh the evil shall not touch thee.

Though troubles upon troubles, woes, on woes
Should tumble on us, as the Ocean flows:
And the rude tempests of adversity
Should drive us on the rocks of poverty;
Where sure to suffer Shipwrack, we despair
Of all relief, then will our God take care
To rescue us, that so we may perceive
'Tis he alone, who doth his people save,
Let's praise him then, pray to him, and obey
His word, and we shall no more salvage pay,

20. In famine he shall deliver thee from death, and in battel from the power of the sword.

When by oppression all our meanes are seiz'd
And we, and all our familyes are sqees'd
Within the Compasse of a hazle nut,
For our Provisions, and our bread is cut,
Like Sugar-tablets, in small lozanges,
T'allay the hunger, which doth sore oppress
Our little ones, and makes them often cry,
With teares, for crums of bread, or else they dye:
Of which when each so hunger-starv'd, and pain'd
In graines, and scruples has its dividend,
These scrambling morsels rather doe incite
Then quash the fury of their appetite.
Whilst thus, I say, we hunger-sick shall lye
Under Deaths Talons, and upbraidingly

Our Enemies shall laugh out all around,
Whilst we, and ours do tear the very Ground,
For Foots, and Vermine, or what ever may
Detain the poor life but one single day;
Then shall our God appear, and furnish store
Of Bread for us, and all our Infants, more
Then we could even ha' wish'd, and let us see
Th'unjust for want of Food may dye, but he
Who trusts in God shall ne're want sustenance,
For I've been Young, in Age I now advance,
Yet all my time I never could observe
One man that fear'd our God for hunger starve.
Nor could I ever see the just mans Seed
Like those o'th wickeds offspring, begging Bread.

Nay when the men of War shall roar around us,
And with their threatning Oaths shall so confound us,
As we shall not know whether we should flye
To save our Lives, and Goods—
When the enraged Sword shall hew down all,
And Old, and Young do by its fury fall;
Then shall the Lord make Angels us Environ
To Guard us from the blows o'th' dreadful Iron
So, whilst behind, on both sides, and before
The hungry steal, our Neighbours shall devour
To us, and ours, God shall be Tutelar,
And save us from all miseries of War.

21. Thou shalt be hid from the scourge of the tongue, and thou shalt not be afraid of destruction when it cometh.

Nay further, when another Sword doth rage
And with us doth more cunningly engage;
The Sword o'th' Tongue then that of Steel, more feirce,
(For this the Body, that the Soul doth peirce)
A killing Sword, and yet invisible;
A Sword, whose wound is inperceptible,
By outward Signs: like Thunder, wounds the Heart,
The Body still untouch'd in any part.
A Sword that kills us always unprepar'd
For fight, whose blows the bravest cannot ward.
A Sword, that whet with Malice, day, and night
Is still in Edge, yet ne're within the sight
Of him it wounds, the subtlest of all ills,
Like {Basilisk}, unseen, it sees, and kills.
Amuseless Sword in open fields, and tame,
But in dark Rooms makes havock of our Fame.
The Champions, who this famous Sword do use
Are the 'meer Dross of Nature, the Refuse
Of Mankind, who by secret Calumnies,
Foul Characters, false Oaths, and serious lyes,
Vain Apprehensions, Jealousies, and Fears,
Endeavour to set all the World by th'Ears.
Whilst the false decoyes hugg themselves to see
The wish'd effects of their vile Treachery.
Poor Caterpillars!—who 'cause no man can
Find out their Wakes, escape th'revenge of man,
Yet God has Spyes on those malicious fools,
Ferrets them out of all their lurking Holes,

Though here they scorn the Ear, the Sight, the Scent,
Yet God will bring such out to Punishment,
Those ugly crawling Toads, with malice swell'd
Shall be at length destroy'd in open field;
To show how God abhors the very Race
Of Back-biters, as they still shun the Face
Of those they injure, and will vindicate
The just from their aspersions soon, or late.
From this same Sword, which others doth devour,
Thou shalt be free, and fear its Edge no more,
Than those, who in Proof-armour do not feel
The furious Gashes of the Murdring Steel.

22. But thou shalt laugh at destruction, and death, and shalt not be afraid of the beast of the earth.

But when both War, and Famine do appear,
And Food shall be intolerably dear:
When wicked men shall howl, and make a noise,
For lack of Bread, thou freely shalt rejoyce,
And be of want of Meat no more afraid
Than those, who have their Stores in Garners laid.

23. For the stones of the field shall be in league with thee, and the beasts of the field shall be at peace with thee.

The very stones o'th' field shall seem to be
At such time, in firm allyance with thee,
And in their several stations shall produce
Something, that to thy welfare may conduce:
Each Beast its throat shall offer to the Knife,
With emulation; to support thy Life.

24. And thou shalt know that peace shal be in thy tabernacle, and thou shalt visit thine habitation, and shalt not sin.

In fine shalt be so happy, thou shalt know
No want of any Blessing here below,
Firm peace within thy walls, thy family
Shall live with thee in perfect amity:
All thy Relations shall thee kindly own,
And to undo thy Fame shall joyn with none.
As some, who on small Piques, and petty Jars
Do lay foundations of fierce, lasting Wars;
Against their nighest Friends, and Blood-Relations
And will not hearken to accommodations:
Whose wretched malice doth admit no change,
But with a most implacable revenge,
Pursue their foolish quarrels, never cease
From Railing, and have in their Minds no Peace.
No Wars like those 'mongst Friends, no Piques so hot,
As those in the same Family begot:
When Blood it self in several streams divides,
And checks its common Course, by Counter-tides,
Of Envy, Malice, Pride, Revenge, and Hate,
O how much to be pitied is the State
Of that accurs'd unhappy Family,
Where such sad Piques have broke its Unity.

Thou shalt be ignorant of all such, and scarce
Think there are such things as domestick Jars,
Thy Blood shall in a peaceful Channel flow,
And all its Course no other Banks shall know,
Than those of Love, and Friendship, all thy Life
Shall have no Quarrels, and perceive no Strife.

25. Thou shalt perceive also that thy seed shall be great, and thy posterity as the grass of the earth.

Shalt see thy loving issue multiply
Into a fair, and numerous Family;
Whose large extent should one intend to trace,
Might as well reckon every pile of Grass
That grows ith' field, or calculate the motion
Of waves, and billows in the foaming Ocean.

26. Thou shalt go to thy grave in a fulage, as a rick of corn cometh in due season to the barns.

Full fraught with years, at length thou shalt descend
Into the pleasant grave, and put an end
To those enjoyments of thy mortal state,
As those, who with their Feasting satiate
Lye down to sleep, or as the Corn is brought
Into the Barn, when it by time is wrought
To full perfection: or as Fruits do fall
From Trees when over-ripe: so truly shall
Thy exit with felicity be crown'd,
And thou shalt sleep most sweetly under ground.

27. Lo thus have we enquired of it, and so it is, hear this, and know it for thy self.

Thus, friend, we have enquir'd, and thus have found,
Nor is our Doctrine without solid ground.
Thus then it is, if we be understood,
For what we speak is only for thy good.

Cap. VI.

1. But Iob answered, and said,

As prisoner at bar for crimes arraign'd,
Hears his Inditement read, and is constrain'd
To hold his peace, in such an exigent,
Although he knows he's truly innocent,
Of what he is accus'd, but after all
He pleads not guilty, and begins to fall
To his defence: so with attentive ear,
Job all this while this reasoning did hear,
Not interrupting, till at length his friend
Of his so learn'd discourse had made an end:
Then, as his sorrows would permit, he speaks,
And argues thus.

2. O that my grief were well weighed, & my miseries were laid together in the ballance.

O, says he, that my ponderous griefs were weigh'd
And all my miseries were in ballance laid.
Poys'd by a steddy, and impartial hand,
Then, my good friend, you soon would understand
What is my case, what my disease, and pain,
And how much reason I have to complain.

3. For it would be now heavier than the sands of the seas, therefore my words are swallowed up.

It would be found most unsupportable,
The sands with it were not comparable.
No pain so great, no grief so heavy sure,
As this, which I poor mortal do endure.
I cann't express it, I want eloquence,
And cannot with that grace make my defence,
As you accuse me, grief will not allow
Me the same liberty of speech, as you
Do use in your discourse: your figured words,

And pretty Tropes, which like so many Swords,
Cut out a passage for your arguments,
And make a Lane for your unjust Complaints,
T'oppress my Spirit, do your wit express,
But what do all such Flowers of Art as these
To one, in my condition signify,
Who am already dead with misery?

Why do you then accuse so dull a thing,
That doth not understand your Reasoning?
A silly Creature, that makes no defence,
But only strives t'express its innocence,
By pious Sighs; you had as good forbear
Your Rhetorick, and with me drop a Tear,
In kind complyance with my killing grief,
To which your pointed words bring no relief,
You see my case, beyond expression, sad
Then why d'ye affliction to affliction add?

4. For the arrows of the Almighty are in me, the venome whereof drinketh up my spirit, aud the terrors of God fight against me.

See how th'Almighties Arrows in my Heart
Are fix'd, beyond all remedy of Art.
Th'envenom'd Shafts have suck'd my Moysture dry,
And caus'd the Wounds they made, to putrify,
Spreading a foul contagion every where,
Yea even my very Soul they do not spare.
Besides I feed a flame within my Breast,
By which my pain is every hour encreas't,
A flame that burns with heat, and violence,
Beyond belief:—a flame of Conscience,
A flame that makes us waste our days in fear,
For who a wounded Conscience can bear?
A wounded Conscienc!—ah a dreadful thing!
What Art can this express: whence shall I bring
Similitudes to point it out! O whence
Shall I bring homeward so much Eloquence,
As to express a wounded Conscience!
A Sting of Conscience!—O a horrid thing!
Not the most virulent and sharpest Sting
Doth hurt the Body, as this doth the Mind,
No, no this Sting is of another kind,
Then all your Stings on Earth, no poysoned Dart,
Composed by the subtilest Rules of Art,
Makes such a wound, as doth a Conscience
When God allowes it once a perfect Sense
Of its own Strength: then, then it wounds indeed,
And makes the Heart of hardest Mettal bleed.
What tempered Steel can make a wound so deep,
As doth a Conscience rouz'd out of its sleep,
By Divine Power, it Rages, Stares, and Foames,
Like one out of his Wits, that haunts the Tombs,
It Stings, it Bites, it Pierces, Cuts, and Stricks
Practising all the Feats of Lunaticks:
For when of sin we have a lively sense,
No Torment with a frighted Conscience
Can be compar'd.
Yet this, this Torment I endure, alace,

There's none can pity one in such a case,
But he that hath the like affliction known,
And so can guess my Torment by his own.

5. Doth the wild asse bray, when he hath grass? or loweth the ox when he has fodder?

Why do you then condemn my just Complaint
As if it did exceed my Punishment?
Why so severe, to vex a poor forlorn
Unhappy wretch, as ever yet was born?
A thing, Of which my Countrey is ashamd,
And thinks not fit that I should ere be nam'd,
Hereafter, but as Malefactors are,
Who suffer for their Crimes, with shame, and fear.
Indeed you try me by too Bloody Laws,
When you affirm I cry without a cause.
Pray does the wild Ass bray, and make a noise,
When it has Grass for Pasture, at its choice?
Does the Ox Low, when Fodder lyes before it,
Or cease from Lowing, whilst it doth implore it.

6. That which is unsavoury shall it be eaten without salt? or is there any taste in the white of an egg?

D'ye think I'm proud of suffering? God knows
I take no pleasure to express my woes.
I had as lieve be silent, but that you
Force me to speak, because you won't allow
Me to sigh out my Breath, and hid my Face
Amongst those: sh[illeg.]s, whilst I hold my peace.
Can any man take pleasure in his pain?
Or by stupendious Poverty make gain?
No sure, no more then you'l with pleasure eat,
White of an Egg, or such unsavoury Meat,
Without some Salt; such my affliction is,
And needs no help of this periphrasis,
T'express its nature: such my Sorrows are,
With which no Earthly Torments can compare.

7. Such things, as my soul refused to touch, as were sorrows, are my meats.

For what my Soul did formerly abhor,
Is now my Meat, what I disdain'd before
To touch is now to me familiar,
And (O sad change!) my only dayly Fare.

8. O that I might have my desire, and that God would grant me the thing I long for.

O then that God would grant me my request,
And what I long for would vouchafe at least:
O that with my strong wishes he'd comply,
And kindly suffer me at length to dye!

9. That is that God would destroy me, that he would let his hand go, and cut me off.

To dye!—O that's the thing, which I desire.
Yea, in this very moment to expire,
Would God but stretch his arm of Providence,
And cut me off, that so I might go hence,
And be no more: would he but condescend
To what I ask, and there should be an end
Of all my earthly pain, and misery,
O then that God would suffer me to dye.

10. Then should I yet have comfort, though I burn with sorrow, let him not spare, because I have not denyed the words of the holy One.

Then should I yet have comfort, then some rest
My Soul might find, and I be free at least
From these huge pains:—O that he would allow me
The favour, without sparing, to undo me.
Though I'm in sorrow, yet let him not spare
To give the blow, lest I perhaps despare:
For hitherto I never have deny'd

Gods Holy Word, or i'th' least signify'd,
In all my Torments any diffidence
Of his just, kind, o're-ruling Providence.

11. What power have I that I should endure, or what is my end, if I should prolong my life?

Alace what strength have I thus to endure,
The force of Heaven, which never Mortal sure
Was able to support.—
Ah then, why should I live, or to what end
Should I prolong my Life thus to attend
A lingring Death, which I might have at hand,
But that my Conscience doth me countermand.

12. Is my strength the strength of stones or is my flesh of brass?

Alace what strength have I,—what strength have I
T'endure these Torments,—what congruity
Is now betwixt my Person, and my Pain.
Of which I must be suffered to complain:
Am I compos'd of Stone, or Brass, that I
Should suffer all these Tortures, and not dye?

13. Is it not so that there is in me no help, and that strength is taken from me.

Have not I call'd for help, but could find none
And now my Substance, and my Strength is gone;
My Nerves are stiff, my Blood to Phlegm is shrunk,
My Eyes in Wells of brinish Tears are sunk;
My tottering Body Wyre-strung, Bone by Bone
Makes but the figure of a Skeleton.

14. He that is in misery ought to be comforted of his neighbours, but men have forsaken the fear of Almighty.

Ah is there no man that will pity have
Upon a Carrion dropping in its Grave;
He that's in sorrow still is understood,
To find some Comfort from his Neighbour-hood,
But I find none,—
But 'tis no wonder men their friends forsake,
When now a days, their Faith to God they break.

15. My brethren have deceived me, as a brook, and as the rising of the rivers, they pass away.

Take it from me, who by experience know
False friends too well, to whose base tricks I owe
No small proportion of my present grief,
From such, in time of want, there's no relief—
To be expected, more than from a Brook,
Where if for Waters you in Summer look,
'Tis dry, in Winter frozen, but when Rain
Falls in abundance, and we're in no pain
For Water, then it overflows its Banks,
Offering its Service, without Hire, or Thanks.
So when we're Rich, such friends will flock about us,
They cannot Live, Eat, Drink, or Sleep without us,
They cringe, they bow, they saun, and us present
With foolish smiles, and aery complement:
Protesting friendship at so high a rate,
As none would think they did equivocat.
But draw the Courtain, and let Poverty
Appear, with its Companion Misery,
Within our Walls, then all those Wasps are gone,
And as their friends they will us no more own.
Than who'd not rather sleep in faithful Dust,
Than Live, and in such friends o'th' fashion trust?

16. Which are blackish with ice, and wherein the snow is hid.

Friends did I call them,—no I do mistake,
Such are not friends, who do their friend forsake
In Misery, for at such time alone,

As by a Test, true friendship should be known.
But such have Hearts as hard, and black, as Ice,
They'r of no value, no esteem, no price.
Rugged, unpolish'd, cold, as is the snow,
Instinct of Nature sure they do not know.

17. But in time, they are dryed up with heat, and are consumed, and when it is hot they fail out of their places.

Friends for a Sun-shine of Prosperity,
O worthy friends! but when the troubled Skye,
Portends a Storm, and Clouds begin to reel,
Then those Fair-weather-friends bid us farewel.

18. Or they depart from their ways and their course, yea they vanish, and perish.

Friends for well furnish'd Tables, Friends for Food,
Friends of the Pantry, Friends for nothing good,
Save that such Friends as these might serve for foyles,
To set true frindship off: like Scabs, and Boyls,
They drop away, when th'humour is run dry
Which fed them, and until Prosperity
Return, like Crans, they to warm Countreys flye.

19. They that go to Tema considered them, and they that go to Sheba, waited for them.

For as a Traveller in th'Arabian Sands,
Thinks to find Water, where a thousand hands
At constant work will find their Labour vain
In digging for it, where the Sun doth drain,
The innate Moisture, and by scorching Beams,
Choaks up the Veins of Rivers, Springs, and Streams.

20. But they were confounded, when they hoped, they came hither, and were ashamed.

But can find nothing save sterility,
So those, who on such barren Friends rely,
When they stand most in need of them shall find
Like those dry Sands, they fly before the Wind,
And make no help to such in their distress,
But rather by their Malice do encrease
Their friends affliction.

21. Surely now you are like unto it, you have seen my fearful plagues, and are afraid.

Why, my good friends, such friends I think you are,
And I may safely you with such compare,
My case you see, my miseries you know,
And none of you are strangers to my woe
You see my dreadful Plagues, and are afraid,
Such Judgements may upon your selves be laid,
Yet, stead of Comfort, which I justly might
From you expected, in this doleful plight,
Your bitter words my Torments do augment.
Your tart Reproofs encrease my punishment.

22. Was it because I said, bring unto me, or give me a reward of your substance.

Ah what's your quarrel 'gainst a dying wretch?
Why do you thus insult? I do beseech
The favour of you, that you'll let me know
If I have injur'd any of you, or no?
Have I been grievous t'any of you, my Friends?
Have I demanded any of your Means?
Or have I proudly claim'd of your Supply?
Or vext you with my Bill of Charity?
Why then should I be so severely us'd
By any of you? have I e're refus'd
To serve your interest, and your reputation?
Before my late, and total Desolation?

23. And deliver me from the enemies hand, or ransom me out of the hands of yrants.

Did ever I of you, my friends, demand
That you would free me from my En'mies hand?
Did, I when Captive, any of you pray,

That of your Bounty you'd my Ransome pay?

24. Teach me, and I will hold my tongue, and cause me to understand wherein I have erred.

Pray teach me then, my friends, and let me know
Where lyes my Error in the case, and so
Being convinc'd, I shall from answering cease,
And, as a Mute, hereafter hold my peace.

25. How stedfast are the words of righteousness, and what can any of you reprove?

But whilst you thus accuse me, I must still
Assert my Innocence, say what you will
To th'contrair: for my upright Conscience
Doth plead my Cause, and prompt me with Defence,
'Gainst all the Pleas you do against me move,
Then, wherein justly can you me reprove?

26. Do you imagine to reprove words, that the talk of the afflicted should be as wind?

Won't you permit a man in misery,
His troubled Mind so much to lenify,
As by some sad expressions to declare,
What the vexations of his Spirit are?
D'ye think but men, in my condemn'd estate,
May have at least some liberty to prate?
See you not how my pain my speech doth force,
And none should stop a dying mans Discourse.

27. You make your wrath to fall upon the fatherless, and dig a pit for your friend.

But you on those in sorrow vent your wrath,
And to your half-dead Friend you threaten Death,
Your unkind words, like Grins, and Snares you lay,
By which your Friend you shrewdly may betray.

28. Now therefore be content to look upon me, for I will lye, before your face,

Now therefore pray at length, impartially
Look on me, and consider whether I
Have reason thus t'expresse my grief, or no,
When I endure what none of you can know:
Assure your selves then I take no delight.
Thus to complain, I am no Hypocrite,
As you pretend, my sorrows are no less
Then I esteem them, nay could I expresse
My inward griefs, they'r more in number sure,
Then mortal man did ever yet endure.

29. Return I pray you, let there be no iniquity, return I say, and you shall yet see my righteousness in that behalf: is there iniquity in my tongue? doth not my mouth feel sorrows.

Forbear then, pray,—at my desire, forbear,
From such Discourse, so rigid, so severe,
As wound my Heart more than my Sorrows do,
With all my Plagues, and Torments, pray allow
My grief some vent, or (as my present case is)
Should I be silent, I should burst to pieces.
Have patience but a while, and you shall see,
There's no so great iniquity in me,
As you alleage: when my survey is made,
And with my woes, my words in Scales are laid.

Cap. VII.

1. Is there not an appointed time for man upon earth? and are not his days, as the days of an hireling?

Then what am I?—a man—and what is he!
A breathing Bauble—now pray let us see
What is this man,—of what should he be proud?
What more than t'other Creatures is allow'd

To this same taudry piece of Flesh, and Bone,
This painted Glow-worm, this Cameleon,
That casts it self in every Form, and Shape,
And fain would something of its Maker Ape.
Is there not to this glorious Creature set
A certain time? his days are limitate,
As are those of a Hireling, his abode
Upon this Earth has its own period;
Beyond which no man of the greatest strength,
Can pass—vain man must dye—vain man at length
Must drop into his Grave, and there become
The very Dross, the Caput mortuum
Of Lifes projection, fitted for no use,
Yet is this all his labour doth produce.
Although he fancies to himself he may,
Exceed the reputation of Clay
In high conceits, and even seems to hold
Within his Clutch whole Magazines of Gold,
Like one, who in a Dream great Booties takes,
But finds himself deceiv'd, when he awakes.
On what alace then should this silly Tool
Value it self!—this Hypocondriack fooll,
For what should he himself so much esteem,
When all his Life is but a very Dream.

2. As a servant longeth for the shadow, and as a hireling looketh for the end of his work.

Have you not seen a Labourer all the day,
Long for the happy night, wherein he may
Refresh his wearied Bones, and think the Sun
Spite of him, with too slow a pace doth run.
And with impatience doth his Task attend,
Longing to have his Labours at an end.

3. So have I had as an inheritance the moneths of vanity, and painful nights have been appointed to me.

This is my very case, for so have I
Toil'd all the day long of my vanity,
And long'd extreemly for th'approach of night,
In which I pleas'd my self to think I might
Enjoy some Rest; but here the difference lay
'Twixt the Labourer, and me, the night, and day
To me were both alike; no rest I found
In either, at no rate I could compound
With sleep for one hour of its company,
But on my Bed, I'd sick, and tossing lye,
With Eyes unclos'd, and Spirit much perplex't,
Fainting with grief, in Mind, and Body vex't.
So runs my Time, so do my Years advance,
I' have indeed had for Inheritance,
Long dayes of pain, and months of vanity,
Which makes my Life a Scene of misery.

4. If I laid me down, I said when shall I arise, and measuring the evening, I am even full with tossing too, and fro, unto the dawning of the day.

So soon as I my self compose to Rest,
Thinking to cach some slender Nap at least,
Before I shut up my o'rewearied Eyes,
Now I lye down, but when shall I arise
I say, how shall I pass the tedious night?
When shall I see again the morning light?
The night I do by Moments Calculate,
And with impatience for the Morning wait

With tossing too, and fro upon my Bed,
My Body is sore pain'd, and wearied.

5. My flesh is cloathed with worms and filthiness of the dust, my skin is rent, and become horrible.

My Body tortur'd with a strange Disease,
Whose fury no soft Ointments can appease:
What art to such as I am can bring ease?
My Flesh with Vermine is all overspread,
See how with Dust, and Mud I'm covered.
My Skin to pieces is all rent, and torn,
Was ever man to such sad Judgements born?
My Pains, and Torments are all visible,
With Ulcers I am become horrible.

6. My days are swifter then a weavers shuttle, and they are spent without hope.

My days do pass with more celerity,
Than Weavers Shuttle through the Web doth fly.
Amidst a thousand Sorrows, Cares, and Fears,
I spend some inconsiderable Years.
They flye, they flye, nothing in Earth, or Air,
In swiftness, can with humane years compare,
Out all sight they flye, they flye amaine,
Never intending to return again.
Time turns its Hour-glass, and ore'turns us all,
No Mortal Creature can its Time recal.

7. Remember that my life is but a wind, and that mine eye shall not return to see pleasure.

Consider then, good Lord, what thing I am,
And how I must return from whence I came,
In a few days: my Life is but a blast,
And like a puff of Wind, is quicklie past.
Then shall my Eyes, with darkness black, as night,
Be sealed up, and to my earthly sight,
Nothing that's pleasant shall again appear,
For what to me most precious was and dear,
I have alreadie lost, and now remains,
What to preserve, is hardlie worth my pains.
For why, alace, should such a one as I
Desire to live in pain, and misery,
Of which I cann't be free, unless I dye.

8. The eye that hath seen me, shall see me no more, thine eyes are upon me, and I shall be no longer.

In a short time (for which I do implore)
Th'Eye that hath seen me, shall see me no more.
Thy Eyes, O Lord, are on me, and annon
Shal't strike me dead, and so I shall be gone.
I shall no longer in this state remain,
For Death shall put an end to all my pain.

9. As the cloud vanisheth, and goeth away, so he that goeth down to the grave shall come up no more.

As Clouds do quickly vanish into Air,
And in full Bodies do no more appear,
So he that once goes down to silent Grave,
To Life again shall no more access have.

10. He shall return no more to his house, neither shall his place know him any more.

Shall not return unto his dwelling place,
For even his Servants, who ador'd his Face,
To whom, on Life, his presence was most dear,
If after Death, to them he shall appear;
His gastlie looks will make them quicklie run,
Nor can these very underlings be won,
With their old Friend, and Master to converse,
By all the Rhetorick of the Universe.
Though all such apparitions as these,
Are but meer phantasms, and delude our Eyes.

With empty Shadows of composed Air,
But the True Body never doth appear:
That rests in Grave, and shall not rise before,
The Fabrick of this Earth shall be no more.

11. Therefore will I not spare my mouth, but I will speak in the trouble of my spirit, and muse in the bitterness of my mind.

Then since no other lenitive can be found,
T'allay my grief, ere I go under ground,
But only words, by which I may express,
Those inward ills, that do my Soul oppress,
I will not spare my mouth, but openly
Unto my ever-living God I'le cry.
I'le speak, as one in Spirit sore perplex't,
As one with Plagues, and Torments shrewdly vex't.
I'le speake, I'le speak, I will not hold my Tongue,
But roar out my oppressions all day long.

12. Am I a sea, or a whale-fish, that thou keep'st me in ward?

Lord, I'le say, what am I! an Ocean!
A Whale, or any thing that's more than man!
That to destroy me thou shouldst take such pains,
Whilst to undo all that of me remains,
Were but a small Task for a Gnat, a Flee,
A Wasp, a Hornet, or a humble Bee:
Why shouldst then be at so much pains, good Lord,
To kill a thing, which of its own accord,
Will quickly dye, a thing, that by thy Wrath,
As yet deny'd the liberty of Death,
Doth only some small sparks of Life retain,
And like a Dying Creature, breaths with pain.
One entire Ulcer, a meer lump of Boyls,
A heap of Sores, one loaden with the Spoiles,
Of all Diseases; one so fully spent
In Body and in Mind so discontent,
No pleasure, which the World affords, can hire
My Soul to Live: pray let me now expire;
Or else I fear, that through impatience
Of my afflictions, I may give offence.

12. When I say my couch shall relieve me, and my bed shall give me comfort in my meditation.

For when I say my Couch shall me relieve,
And in my Bed I shall some comfort have,
When I imagine I may find some ease,
In sleep to dull the edge of my Disease.
When I suppose I may find Consolation,
I'th' pleasure of a few hours Meditation:
And whilst on Pillow I my Head do lay,
To sleep away the sorrows of the day,

14. Then fearest thou me with dreams and astonishest me with visions.

Then dost thou put my Soul all in a fright,
With fearful Dreams, and Visions of the night.
In a cold sweat I lye, my Flesh, and Bones,
My Joints, and Sinews tremble all at once.
Strugling with pain, upon my Bed I rowl,
Whilst horrid Objects do night-mare my Soul,
And to my troubled fancie represent,
What neither Tongue can speak, or hard can paint.
Hells Terrors plainlie are to me reveal'd,
Whilst with amusing sleep my Eyes are seal'd;
On which reflecting when I do awake;
Fear damps my Soul, and makes my Body shake.

15. Therefore my soul chuseth rather to be strangled, and to dye, then to be in my bones.

Hence Drowning, Smothering, Strangling of the Breath,
Or any of the numerous kinds of Death
My Soul to Life prefers; my generous Soul
Abhorrs to live in such a lurking hole,
As is this body; such a vile Hog-sty,
A Brutish Soul would even disdain to ly
Within its Walls: a Cottage so unclean,
So Cob web-furnish'd, so obscure, and mean,
As none but one of Life that's wearyed
In such a villanous Cave would lay his bed.
What Soul so poor and mean exceeding but
The small Dimensions of a Hazel nut
Would stoop so low, as condescend to dwell
In such an ugly, smelling nasty Cell,
As is this body, which I do call mine,
So thin, the Sun doth clearly through it shine,
Is this a Lodging for a Thing Divine?
A tottering Fabrick, which the rotten Bones
Not able to support, down all at once
Will quickly fall: is this a dwelling place
For any thing come of a Heavenly Race?
No, no, fly hence my Soul, fly hence, make haste
Why dost not fly? for such a Noble Guest
There's here no room, no fit Accomodation,
This body can afford no Habitation,
For such as thee, Dear Soul.—
O let me dy then, let me dy, good Lord,
O let me dy, Death surely will afford
Such comfort, as I here expect in vain.
Why should I live then in such grievous pain?
And as a mark to all sad torments stand
When pitying Death doth offer help at hand.

16. I abhore it, I shall not live always, spare methen, for my days are but vanity.

In this condition, I do do life abhorr,
I hate it, and shall never love it more.
What should I for a few hours breathing give?
For 'tis impossible I can longer live.
O spare me then for some small time at least
That these o're wearyed bones may have some rest,
And in this life I may find ease, before
I take my Journey hence, and be no more:
E're I be wrapp'd up in Eternity,
For all my days are but meer vanity.

17. What is man, that thou shouldest magnify him, or that thou settest thy heart on him?

Then what is Man that thou shouldst look upon him?
This wretched thing, that thou shouldst so much own him.
Thou dost thy heart too much upon him set,
Which makes the silly Toad it self forget,
Valuing it self so much on thy esteem
As it hath purchas'd to its self a name,
Beyond the other Creatures of thy hand:
Whereas if it, it self did understand,
'Tis but as dust, that 'fore the Wind doth fly,
A passing thought, th'abstract of vanity.
Since thou canst then, Lord, by one word destroy
This Creature, why shouldst so much time employ

In Torturing of it thus, once, and again,
And not by one blow put me out of pain.
One blow of favour, Lord, I do implore,
Kill me, and then I shall complain no more.

18. And dost visit him every moment, and tryest him every morning.

But still I cannot fancy, why shouldst thou,
Before whom all in Heavens, and Earth do bow,
Have this same Creature Man in such esteem
This flying Shade, this passage of a Dream,
A thing so mean, not worth thy Observation,
Why should'st allow it so much Reputation?
That thou the great Creator every day
Shouldst of this pismire make so strict survey.

19. How long will it be, ere thou depart from, thou wilt not let me alone whilst I may swallow down my spittle.

How long, Lord, shall I in these Torments lye!
Ah is there no end of my Misery!
Some respite, Lord, I beg, I do request,
Some breathing time, even so long time at least,
Free from these pains, as I may swallow down
My Spittle: Oh, good God, let me alone
But for a Moment, that I may but try
Thy goodness once, again, before I Dye.

20. I have sinned, what shall I do unto thee, O thou preserver of men, why hast thou set me, as a mark against thee, so that I am a burden to my self.

Lord I have sinn'd, 'tis true, I do confess
My Error, and my black unrighteousness.
What shall I do! how shall I answer find
To thee, the great preserver of Mankind!
As worst of sinners, Lord, thou dost me treat,
For as my Sins, so are my Judgements great.
Th'hast set me gainst thee, as a Mark, or Butt,
At which thy pointed Arrows thou dost shoot,
With Torments hast me so o'reloadened,
That long ago of Life I'm wearied.

21. And why dost thou not pardon my trespass? and take away mine iniquity, for now shall I sleep in the dust, and if thou seekest me in the morning, I shall not be found.

Why should thy wrath continually burn,
'Gainst a poor sinner! O let Grace return,
Pardon my sins: wash from iniquity
The Soul thou gavst me, Lord, before I dye.
Let me of Mercy hear the joyful sound,
For in an instant I shall not be found.
I dye, I dye, my Passing Bell doth Toul,
Have Mercy, Lord, have Mercy on my Soul.

Cap. VIII.

1. Then answered Bildad the Shuhite, and said.

Thus have we seen how Job with grief opprest,
By night and day, has in his Mind no rest.
In this sad case, with great impatience,
Appears to quarrel even Providence.
For those his Friends, of whom he did expect
Some Comfort, rather sharplie did him check,
For th'Errors of his Life, and openly
Reprov'd him for his gross Hypocrisie:
We've seen with how much Art and Eloquence,

One of his friends has given evidence
Against him, now another undertakes,
Th'argument, and thus he answer makes.

2. How long wilt thou talk of these things? and how long shall the words of thy mouth be as a mighty wind?

How long, sayes he, friend, wilt thou thus exclaim
Against that justice, which the Heavens did frame,
To what do all thy imprecations tend?
What means this clamour? shall there be no end
Of this thy idle talking? shall we be
Oblig'd to hear, what none, but such as thee
Would stammer out? what one in sober case
Would be asham'd to speak: such words as these,
Which thou in foolish passion hast us'd
Against our God: would hardly be excus'd,
Out of a mad-mans mouth: but when they flow
From such as thee, friend, whom we all do know
To be of more than ordinary Sense,
We must condemn, thy gross impatience.

3. Doth God pervert judgement, or doth the Almighty subvert justice.

Dost' think that God, whose great and mighty Name,
All things Created, dayly do proclaim,
Can in his judgements err, can any thing
Invert the firm Decrees of Heavens King?
He who himself is Justice, can he do
What is unjust? dost think that he'l allow
Vain man t'imagine that he can dispense
With what injustice is, in any Sense?
Dost think he can be Brib'd, as dayly here
Our Judges are, either by Hope, or Fear,
With all th'efforts of humane Art, and Skill
T'alter th'Eternal Purpose of his Will.

4. If thy sons have sinned against him, and he hath sent them to the place of their iniquity.

Why if thy Children did their God offend,
And for their sins, were brought t'untimely end:
Why dost'regrate the loss so bitterly,
Of those who for their Crimes deserv'd to dye?
No sure thou shouldst not such thy Children call,
But rather take example by their Fall;
T'abstain from sin, and not provoke the Wrath
Of him, who in his Hand has Life, and Death.

5. Yet if thou wilt early seek unto God, and pray to the Almighty.

Yet if thou'lt call on God, and earnestlie
Implore assistance from his Majesty,
If with a heart, and hands uplifted thou,
Humbly before thy great Creator bow.

6. If thou be pure and upright, then surely he will awake up unto thee, and he will make the habitation of thy righteousnesse prosperous.

If with a cordial true sincerity,
Thou to thy Maker dost thy self apply;
Then will he hear thy Pray'r and after all,
What now thou dost most grievous Torments call,
He'l re-establish thee, and make thee see,
How much, for all thy Plagues, he valueth thee.
He'l blesse thy dwelling House with Righteousness,
And crown thy Life with Honour, Wealth, and Peace.

7. And though thy beginning be small, yet thy latter end shall greatly encrease.

Nay tho thou now dost in affliction lye,
Complaining of thy Pains, and Agony.
Although thy present Case seems to declare,
No Remedy is left thee, but despare.
Yet shall thy latter end with joyes be bless't

And thou of great abundance be possest.

8. Enquire therefore I pray thee of the former age, and prepare thy self to search of thy fathers.

Now if thou wilt not credit what we say,
Go too, enquire, search all Records I pray,
Dig in the bowels of Antiquity,
Where Times immense spare-treasury doth ly.
Where our Creators Glorious Works of old,
Are to be read in Characters of Gold.
There shalt thou see, what mercies God hath shown
To those he loves: how much he for his own
At all times hath appear'd: enquire now pray,
For, truth is, we are but of Yesterday.

9. For we are but of yesterday, and know nothing, and our days upon earth are but as a shadow.

Just drop't into the World, meer Novices,
Have no deep thoughts, and can at best but guess,
Men of no reach, nor is there time allow'd,
For us to learn on earth, although we wou'd.
For, as a shadow, so our years do pass,
Our Days by time are eaten up like Grass.

10. Shall not they teach thee, and tell thee, and utter the words of their heart?

But O let Venerable Antiquity
Inform thee plainly how the case doth ly,
Ask Councel of dead Wise Men, in a word
Let what those Fathers left upon Record
Teach thee, let their Authority prevail,
For what we speak, perhaps thou think'st a Tale.

11. Can a rush grow without mire, or can grass grow without water?

Inform thy self then, and thou'lt surely find.
We are thy real Friends, and are more kind
Than thou imagin'st, for we do not mean
To flatter thee: but hearing thee complain
Of thy sad usage, as if thou wert one
Void of all sin, and it could not be known
What mov'd our God so sore to punish thee,
We tell thee, we the reason plainly see.
Sins usher Judgments, as the Flames do heat,
And as when Serpents Mouth, and Tail doth meet,
It makes a Circle, so the sin goes round,
Then meeting with the Judgment doth confound
It self with th'substance of that pois'nous thing,
And so the Sin, and Plague make up one Ring:
In which Ingraven we may plainly read
The cause, from whence the judgment doth proceed.
For Sin and Judgment are so link'd together
As he who sees the one may see the other.
Let's argue then, my Friend, I do desire,
Can a Rush grow up, where there is no Mire?
Can Grass, unless by water moistened
Grow up, and with fair Coverlet o're spread
Both Hills, and Valleys: as is daily seen,

12. Whilst it is yet in its greenness, and not cut down, it withereth before any other herb.

The Grass which withers, whilst is yet green
It doth require no toil to cut it down,
For it doth fade, before it can be mown.
Before all other Herbs it withereth,
For all its Beauty quickly perisheth.

13. So are the paths of all that forget God, and the hypocrites hopes shall perish.

Such is the case of those, who do forget
Their God, and on vain things their minds do set.
Of whom, I look upon the Hypocrite

A creature, who it self a Saint doth write,
Pretending to a singular Purity,
And gulls the World, with show of Piety;
To be the chief: this wretch I do esteem
The worst of men, not meriting the Name,
Even of a Moral Man, so base a Creature,
So supercilious, of so false a Nature,
As no man can his word, or promise trust,
An abject sinner, nothing fram'd of Dust
God hates so much: and therefore let him Treat
His Conscience, as he will; and basely cheat
The credulous World, with a Formality,
God will not suffer such Hypocrisie
To flourish long: but in a moments space
This painted Flower shall wither, like the Grass;
For God shall soon, for all his lofty top,
Dash him to thousand pieces with his hope.

14. His confidence also shall be cut off, and his trust shall be as the house of a spider.

He'l disappoint his hateful confidence,
And cut him off for all his formal sense,
Those earthly things, in which he put his trust,
Shall in an instant be transform'd to dust:
Of no more value, than a Spiders house,
To every besome so obnoxious,
As what appears most neatly wrought to day,
To morrow is most nearly sweep't away.

15. He shall lean upon his house, but it shall not stand, he shall hold him fast by it, yet it shall not endure.

Shall soon perceive the flattering vanity,
Of such as think t'erect a family
On villany, and fraud (for desolation,
Is only built on such a weak foundation)
His out-side piety shall no more prevail,
For all those cunning Tricks, and Arts shall fail
By which he did the World abuse; his name
Shall not be mention'd, but with scorn, and shame.
Let him do what he can to magnify
The reputation of his Family.
Let him hoord up his Means in Chests of Iron,
And round the same with Grats of Brass environ:
Let him grasp close the things he loves so well,
And 'mongst his quickly purchas'd Treasures dwell:
Watching them, with great trouble night, and day,
Yet shall those darling Riches fly away.

16. But the tree is green before the sun, and the branches spread over the garden thereof.

But, as in view o'th' Sun a tender Tree
Still verdant flourisheth, although it be
Transplanted from one place t'another, yet
It growes apace, and nothing doth abate
Of its most pleasant shape, and former strength,
Till it become a lofty pine at length.

17. The roots thereof are wrapped about the fountain, and are folden about the house of stones.

Although its Roots in Earth do scattered lye,
Like Mettals in the Veins, so as no eye
Can trace them, some about the Fountain wrap't,
Some close to th'Arbours, and the stone-house clap't,

18. If any pluck it from his place, and it deny, saying I have not seen the.

Yet pluck it up, and to another Ground
Transplant it, as no vestige can be found
Of its first seat, so that no eye can know

Whether a Tree did e're grow there, or no.

19. Behold it will rejoyce by this means, that it may grow in another mould.

T'will soon shoot up amain, and flourish more,
In that new soile, than ere it did before.
Even so the Godly, though it be their case,
To be transplanted here from place to place:
Toss'd with afflictions, and with sorrows vex't,
With grief overwhelm'd, with poverty perplex't,
Yet shall they laugh at length, whilst others mourn,
And all their woes shall to their profit turn.

20. Behold God will not cast away an upright man, neither will he take the wicked by the hand.

For God an upright man will not neglect,
Nor will he th'injust in his wayes protect;
He will not thee, friend, in this state desert,
But after all will truly take thy part;

21. Till he have filled thy mouth with laughter, and thy lips with joy.

Nor will he leave thee, till he has restor'd,
All he has taken from thee, in a word,
He'll fill thy Lips with joy, and make thee glad
At length, indeed, more than thou now art sad.

22. They that hate thee shall be cloathed with shame, and the dwelling of the wicked shall not remain.

Then such as thee contemn'd in poverty,
When they perceive thee in prosperity,
Shall be asham'd of what they did before,
And shall thy friendship by all means implore.
But if thou in thy stubborn ways persist,
And think it lawful to do what thou list;
Then shall thy sorrows, 'stead of growing less,
Be more, and thy afflictions shall encrease.

Cap. IX.

1. Then Iob answered, and said.

During these learn'd digressions of Wit;
Job all the while most pensively did sit.
For as to one condemn'd, before he dye
The Judge from Bench doth use himself t'apply
In exhortations, laying out his Crime.
Resumes his Case, and whilst it is yet time,
Conjures him to Repentance, so, while these
Did open thus Jobs Case, he held his peace;
At length perceiving he had no defence,
'Gainst their Insults, but his own Innocence.
Thus mildly answers.

2. I know that it is so: for how should man compared unto God be justified?

Why, my dear friends, you tell me God is just,
And in him only I should put my Trust.
To me this is no new thing, for I know,
And always was convinc'd that it was so.
Gods justice, I confess, is admirable,
Impartial, Pure, beyond what I am able,
By all the parts allow'd me, to express;
Gods Justice is most powerful, I confess.
Compar'd with which, all that we can acclaim
Of Righteousness, doth not deserve the name
Of moral vertue; for should we be try'd,

By Law of God, who can be justify'd?
In Courts of Men, we use to lay Defence,
Against the Bill, the Jury, th'Evidence,
Refuse the Words o'th' Law, and plead the Sense:
But in Gods Court no such Procedure is,
His Laws are clear, need no Paraphrasis,
The Bill is so well founded, it is found
Without Removal from the Court: 'tis own'd
By all as true: it needs must be confess't,
Who can deny't? when from our very Breast,
Both Evidence are brought, and Jury too,
What Court such fair Procedure can allow?

3. If he would dispute with him, he could not answer him one thing of a thousand.

When God Arraigns us Mortals, who's the'man
Dare, plead not guilty? who is he, that can
Make answer to his Charge? hold up his Face,
And with his Maker dares dispute the Case?
T'one of a thousand Questions he'l demand,
When at the Barr of our Great Judge we stand,
Who's he can frame an answer? or deny
His Errors, or himself can justify,
I'th' smallest point? who can his Charge refuse
His Vices palliat, or his sins excuse?

4. He is wise in heart, and mighty in strength, who hath been fierce against him, and hath prospered?

Who can express the glorious qualities
Of our Great God? he's admirably wise:
In boundless force, and power most formidable,
And in all things, that's good, incomparable.
Who ever yet did with his God contend,
And boasted of his success in the end?

5. He removeth the mountains and they feel not when he overthroweth them in his wrath.

The highest Mountains, which to humane eyes
Appear to be contiguous with the Skyes,
Whose proud Imperial tops themselves do shroud
I'th' tiara of a continual Cloud:
He pulls up by the roots with little care,
And like so many Peebles, here, and there,
He throws them from his hand, with wondrous ease,
Some in the Pools, and Lakes, some in the Seas:
Some in the Isles, the Main-land, and the Shore,
And Hills are now, where Valleys were before:
Nor do those stubborn Mountains feel his Blows,
When in his anger, he them overthrows.

6. He removeth the earth out of her place, that the pillars thereof do shake.

This Center of the Universe, which all
Admire so much, and with good reason call
Earths glorious Fabrick, which for certain Term,
Our God to Mankind has Let out in Farm.
This Earth adorn'd with so much bravery,
And with such fair, and rich variety
Enammeled: as no Art can imitate;
For atomes whereof we so much debate:
Buzzing about this Globe, like Bees in Hive,
Where who each other shall out-toile, we strive,
Whilst mean time one poor lease for life is all
We here on Earth our Property can call.
Nay happy, could it so long time endure,
That each man could his Turff for Life ensure:

But ah where on those precious Clods retains,
To death, and leaves the fruit of all his pains
To those he loves, ten thousand, ere they dy,
Are strip'd of all, and in sad Poverty,
Consume their hopeless years, and so do I.
This Glob of Earth he tosses too and fro,
As one doth Ball with Racket, high, or low,
As he thinks good, he makes its surface quake,
Its body twirle, and all its Pillars shake.

7. He commandeth the sun, and it riseth not; he closeth up the stars, as under a signet.

The Sun, who, like a Conqueror every day
His Glory doth triumphantly display:
Whose splendid Beams afford such radiant light
As scattereth all the vapours of the night.
With such bright Lustre doth this Glob surround,
As its fair influence every where is found.
Who in his Motion doth observe such Grace,
No force, or Art will make him change his pace;
But 'round th'Horizon makes such pretty tours,
In his Diurnal, and his Annual Course,
Check'd by no snare, obstructed by no fear,
With great exactness measuring out the year;
As one would soon conclude, without dispute
This Creature were a Monarch absolute.
Our God prohibits this same Sun to rise,
And couching like a Spanniel, closs he lies
Below the foot of our Almighty God,
Nor for the World, dares he peep abroad,
Until licens'd, by the same Divine Power,
Which him confin'd, and which from hour to hour
He doth expect: whilst we poor Mortals ly
Plung'd in a horrid, deep Obscurity:
Where in our nasty holes, like Toads we craul,
And grope, like Blind-men 'bout this earthen Ball,
Until by warrand in our Hemisphere
This most Illustrious Prince doth re-appear.

Poor toiling Spiders, inconsiderat things,
Who call themselves here Emperours and Kings!
Whose great ambition is to imitate
This Splendid Creature in his Pomp and State:
Dreaming themselves in a most happy case,
When by the World esteemed of his race:
Who cause themselves be pictur'd, with their heads
Environ'd with his Rayes: that he who reads
Their aery Motto's, may perceive how much,
These Fools affect to be imagin'd such,
As is that Creature in his Noon-tide glory;
And in that pride transmit themselves to story.
Ah how I pity those poor crowned toyes,
Who fool themselves, to pleasure Girles, and Boyes:
The Spring-tide of whose Souls no higher rises,
Than to abuse us with such State Devices.
When this same glorious, bright Original,
The mean Apprentice-copies whereof all
Those Buzzards do at most aspire to be

Esteem'd, who is not blind, may plainly see
Is but a Vassal to th'Almighty Lord,
Answers his call, and watches by his Word.

Those lights, which in their Rowes so eminent
Make such a Figure in the Firmament:
And with such beauty in their Orbs appear,
As one would think the Heavens pellucid were:
Those pleasant Stars, who with their sparkling light
Allay the Horrour of a Winters Night.
Who teach th'almost despairing Mariner,
In blustring Storms, how he his Course may steer:
And when his Sea-card, and his Compass fails,
Instructs him how to tack and ply his Sails.
These troops of pointed Lights, Heavens numerous Eyes
In Packs, and Bundles the Almighty tyes:
Then with his Signet doth those Bundles seal,
As one doth Wares, and merchandize for sale:
So that their twinkling light appears no more,
And darkness reigns, where Lamps did shine before.

8. He himself alone spreadeth out the heavens, and walketh upon the hieght of the sea.

The Canopy of Heavens he stretches out,
And makes those Orbs, like Whirle-winds, roul about
This fixed Mass of Earth: 'tis he alone
Directs their Motions, and makes every one
Of those great Engins in their circles move,
Some quick, some in a course more slow, above
What human art can imitate, 'tis he,
Who walketh on the surface of the Sea:
Where stoutest Ships like drunken men do reel,
And forc'd by strength of waves, turn up their Keel.
On those proud billows doth our Mighty God
Walk unconcern'd, as on a beaten road.

9. He maketh the stars, Arcturus, Orion, Pleiades, and the climats of the south.

The Stars in several bodies he doth frame,
To each of which he gives a proper name:
Such as Arcturus, Orion, Pleiades,
And quarters them through all the Provinces
Of his vast Empire; where those bodies ly,
Each settled in its own Locality,
The standing Forces of Heavens Monarchy.

10. He doth great things and unsearchable, yea marvellous things without number.

Great things he acts; O things most admirable!
Beyond our reach, things most innumerable!
Things, which no human Language can express,
Though every Language doth the same confess.

11. Lo when he goeth by me, I see him not, and when he passeth by, I perceive him not.

Why even those works, which daily to our eyes
In course are obvious, our Capacities
By many thousand Stages do transcend,
Nor can our groping reason comprehend
The meanest of his actings, or espy
This Mighty Monarch. when he passeth by,
And makes his splendid Progress through the Sky.
Nor can our eyes perceive his Royal Seat,
Though, every day he shows himself in State.

12. Behold when he taketh a prey, who can make him to restore it, who shall say unto him, what doest thou?

When this great King would Justice execute,
What man dares his Authority dispute?
Who's he that dares Declinator alledge,

Against his Court, or offer to repledge
The highest Prince, whom he intends to try?
Or save his Life, whom he commands to dye?
When he our Goods, and Substance doth distrain,
Who can compel him to restore again
What he hath taken? who's that Mortal, pray,
Dares offer to resist his Power? or say
He does unjustly? or in Court dares bring
A quo warranto, 'gainst this mighty King!

13. God will not withdraw his anger, and the most mighty helps do stoop under him.

No, all's in vain, no force of Eloquence,
No Laws, no proofs, can clear the Innocence
Of him, whom God condemns; no surely he,
Unhappy Creature, (who so e're he be)
After his reasoning, praying, after all,
A victim to the Divine wrath must fall.
Nay, you, my friends, for all your wit and parts,
Which doth afford you talk, though in your hearts,
You think not what you speak, even you must dye,
When God pronounces Sentence, from on high,
Against you, nor will all your Art can say
In Rhet'ricks sweetest flowers procure delay
For one small moment: no, his Sentence must
Be execute, and you return to Dust.

14. How much less shall I answer, him, or how shall I find out my words with him?

Since you then even with all your Eloquence,
'Gainst his Procedure can make no defence:
Ah how can I a wretch so despicable,
Void of all Reason, Wit, and Parts, be able
To make him answer? where shall such as I
Find sugred words t'obtain indemnity?

15. For though I were just, yet I could not answer, but I would make supplication to my judge.

Nay though perswaded of my innocence,
Yet 'gainst his Justice I'de make no defence.
All he layes to my Charge, I would confess,
And then to his sole Mercy make address.
I would not plead, but say I firmly knew,
All my Inditement to be simply true:
And then exibit, with great veneration,
Before my Judge my humble supplication,
Wherein I'de ask, that he by me would do,
As he thought fit; but if he pleas'd t'allow
Some breathing time, that I might yet implore,
(Before I trindle hence, and be no more)
His pardon for my sins, I'de only say,
This favour would oblige me still to pray.
For should I in this manner supplicat,
I'de hope that God would me commiserat.
'Tis but what he can grant me out of hand,
Though more than I deserve, or dare demand.
Fools, with their Maker, do expostulat,
And think by words themselves to liberat,
But pious men, who better things do know,
Upon Gods Mercy still themselves do throw.
For when th'Almighty doth in Judgement sit,
All that are knowing will to him submit.
He, who to search the Records is inclin'd,

Of that high Court of Justice, soon will find
No formal pleadings there, no exculpations,
But only prayers, and humble supplications.
These are the most prevailing arguments
With the great Judge o'th' World, the glorious Saints,
When them for Crimes th'Almighty would accuse,
In all their tryals, ne're did other use.

16. If I cry, and he answer me, yet would I not believe that he heard my voice.

Now, though I know that God doth hear the cry
Of those, who from the pit of misery
Do make address to him, and that our Lord
In his good time to such will help afford:
Yet in my present pain, and agony
I do believe, with some difficulty,
That God will hear my prayer, or if he do,
That he to me such favour will allow
As he to others grants: since only I
Condemned to perpetual misery,
Can hope for no relief, then pray excuse
These hot expressions, which you hear me use,
For I'me undone with grief: my case is sad,
And still oppression makes a wise man mad.

17. For he destroys me with a tempest, and woundeth me without a cause.

Like a strong tempest, God his wrath lets out,
Which will at length destroy me, without doubt.
The torrent of his anger swells so high,
And rushes on my Soul so furiously,
As all the art of humane patience
Cannot resist its force, and violence.
I'm wounded by the order of his Laws,
Most justly, though as yet I know no cause.
My plagues, and torments sensibly I feel,
And know the measure of my woes full well,
But such my dulness is, I cannot yet
Perceive those ugly sins, which did beget
Those monstruous Evils; of which I complain,
And call for reparation, but in vain.

18. He will not suffer me to take my breath, but filleth me with bitterness.

For I'm so harrass'd by that Heavenly wrath,
As I can find no time to take my breath.
Continued sorrows do my Soul oppress,
My Heart is brim-full of sad bitterness.

19. If we speak of strength, behold he is strong if we speak of judgement, who shall bring me into plead?

But what doth yet encreass my misery,
To th'utmost, is the vast disparity,
'Twixt him, who doth these ills inflict, and me,
He's great, and I as mean, as mean can be.
And, if we speak of strength, why th'Lord of Hosts,
Is strength it self in abstract, he who boasts,
Of any strength, valour, or gallantry.
Compar'd with God is but a butter-fly
Compar'd with Eagle, or a silly Ant,
In scales with a huge, big-bon'd Elephant.
Talk we of Judgement: who shall make address
For me? and bring me in to plead my case?
When I appear before his Majesty,
What shall I say? how shall I justifie?

My actings in this Earth? how shall I frame
Excuse for what to mention is my shame?

20. If I would justify my self, mine own mouth will condemn me, if I would be perfect, he shall judge me wicked.

For if with God I'd enter in debate,
And justifie my self at any rate:
If I desert, or innocence would plead,
Then words which from my own mouth do proceed,
Would prove me guilty: and if I but name
My uprightness: his Justice will proclaim
My misdemeanors, and make evident,
How I in courting sin my time have spent.

21. Though I were perfect, yet I know not my soul, therefore I abhor my life.

Nay though I were upright, yet would I not
Desire to live: my Soul hath quite forgot
Its former kindness to that piece of clay
It lov'd so much before, and every day,
Longs to be from its consort separate;
Whom it doth now with so much reason hate.

22. This is one point, therefore I said, he destroyeth the perfect, and the wicked.

Yet here's my comfort, that I understand,
My God will punish, with impartial hand,
Both just, and unjust, and will evidence,
That 'twixt them both he makes no difference:
Has no respect for persons, no regard
For one, or other; but gives out award
In every point, as he finds just and layes
Every mans Cause in equal ballances.
In unjust Causes he will none maintain,
So of Gods Justice no man should complain.

23. If the scourge should suddainly slay, should God laugh at the punishment of the innocent.

If in his wrath God should the wicked slay,
And root them out, what could those wretches say,
Against Gods Justice, when their Conscience,
Assures them he has done them no offence.
Because Gods Judgements do their sins pursue,
And punishment t'offenders is as due,
As Wages to the Labourer: for each sin
First acts its part, then Judgement does begin,
Where it leaves of: and so pursues the Chace,
Until the breathless sinner end his Race.
This is his Justice, but his Mercie sure,
Eternal, to all ages doth endure.
Must not our God be full of Clemency,
When on the wicked even unwillingly
He executes his Justice: punishment
Is long delay'd, and vengeance seldom sent
'Gainst any but the stiff impenitent.
Who at his Judgement, doth repine, and cry,
Out upon Gods too great severity;
Sure that unhappy Creature doth mistake
Gods Bounty, and his own Condition make
Worse than it was intended: for we know
In Mercy God is quick, in anger slow:
A God of Mercy he himself doth write,
And so in sinners death takes no delite:
Far lesse than should the just, and innocent
Think God takes pleasure in their punishment.

24. The earth is given into the hand of the wicked, he covereth the faces of the judges thereof, if not, where is he, or who is he?

Nor ought we to repine, when we reflect
How God the wicked Lords o'th' earth doth make:
How he puts Pastures, Vineyards, Houses, Lands,
Power Jurisdiction, Honours in their hands;
By which puff'd up a wanton life they lead,
Whilst godly men do toil for daily bread.
Nor how the Judges of the earth abuse
Their Sacred Function, and their Power do use,
T'oppress the Just: whose eyes with avarice
Are sealed up: who boldly set a price
On Justice: and employ their utmost Art
To sell the same, as in a publick Mart.
Who by their Friends use to negotiat
For Quotes of Pleas: and closely stipulat
For so much at the Issue of the cause:
T'attain which point, they cruciat the Laws;
And make them serve their ends so forcibly.
As all the world may see their Bribery.
If we consider how God doth permit
Those men to live on earth, as they think fit,
Because they're none of his, and have no share
I'th' land of Promise: whilst the upright are
In sad afflictions toss'd, and seem to be
O're whelmed by a most impetuous Sea
Of miseries: wee'l find these walk i'th' Road
Of black Damnation; of such Creatures God
Doth take no care: but lets them all run wild,
Like Herds of Asses, in the open field.
But his own Children he doth exercise
In a continual tract of miseries.
That being keep'd in such strict Discipline,
In a full body they may mount the Line,
I'th' daily Seige of Heaven, and in the end
Possess the same; only to be attain'd
By Sighs and Tears: whilst wicked men do run,
Without all order, and so are undone,
Amidst their pleasures, for they do compell
Their Souls instead of Heaven to march to Hell.

25. My days have been more swift than a post, they have fled, and have seen no good thing.

Now were it lawful to repine, did God
Allow to any that do feel the Rod,
To say that his condition were sad
Sure never any Mortal Creature had
More cause than I poor wretch have to complain,
Who've lost my years, and spent my days in vain.
Swifter than Post my days their course have run,
That I might be more speedily undone.
My days are gone, my time is vanished,
My hours are fled, my life is finished.
My wretched life, a Scene of woes has been,
Under the Sun I have small pleasure seen.
Whilst others of obscure, and mean estate,
To Wealth, and Honours have been elevate:
Their modest parts, buoyd up by Friends and Fame,
Purchassing quickly to those Fools a Name:

Which impudently they would attribute
To their abilities, I destitute
Of every thing that's good, do silently
Spin out my days in grief, and penury.
And as the south wind, with a gentle breese,
Breaths on the verdant Plain, and skims the Seas;
With little noise, so I my days have spent,
My view o'th' world was meerly transient.

26. They are pass'd as the most swift ships, and as the eagle that flyeth to the prey.

Have you not seen a Vessel under sail,
Swoln with a stiff, but favourable gale,
Post through the stubborn Seas, and make a Line,
Upon its surface, in a foaming brine?
Or with what wonderful celerity,
The ravenous Eagle to her prey doth flye?
So have my days run out, so have my years
Plough'd through a sea of foaming brinish tears.

27. If I say I will forget my complaint I will cease from my wrath, and comfort me.

Now should I say I will complain no more,
But here my exclamations give o're.
Here to my querullous Notes I'le put a stop,
And from this minute I'le begin to hope.

28. Then I am affraid of all my sorrows, knowing that God will not judge me innocent.

Then all my sorrows, all my woes, and fears,
Would suddainly appear about my ears,
With ghastly looks they'd stare me in the face,
And in their silence publish my disgrace.
Because (however I my self do vent)
I know God will not hold me innocent.

29. If I be wicked, why labour I thus in vain?

If horrid sins then do my Soul distain,
Why do I thus excuse my self in vain?
If to my Maker I have given offence,
Why should I all this while plead Innocence?

30. If I wash my self with snow water, and purge my hands most clean.

No sure, if things be so, all I can say
Is to no purpose: only I betray
My weakness in endeavouring to maintain
My just demeanour, where my guilt is plain.

31. Yet shalt thou plunge me in the pit, and mine own cloaths shall make me filthy.

For certainly, however I pretend
To Piety, and Grace, yet in the end,
The great Heart-searcher will make evident,
That to this minute I my days have spent
In wickedness, and sin, in villany
Not to be nam'd, in stead of purity.
And thou, O Lord, in just conceived rage,
will Sentence such a Scandal of his age
To utmost torment, that the world may see,
How much thou hatest such a one as me,
Whilst all the Fig-leav'd arguments I use
To palliate my sins, and make excuse
For my false dealings, and unrighteousness,
'Stead of concealing, shall my guilt express.

32. For he is not a man as I am that I should answer him, If we come to judgement.

For God Almighty's not a man as I am,
That I should set my face to't, and defye him.
When he to Justice doth himself betake,
That I before my God should answer make.
Ah what am I a moulded piece of Dust,
Consigned to a few years breath in trust?

A walking ghost! a meer night wanderer,
Like th'empty figment of some Conjurer.
That such as I forsooth, should undertake
Harangues befor the King of Heavens to make,
And argue for my self, whilst tacitely
My Conscience tells me I deserve to dye.

33. Neither is there any umpire, that might lay his hand upon us both.

Nor, should I offer to expostulate,
And with my Maker enter in debate,
Is there an Umpire, to oblige us both,
And tye us by Subscription, and Oath,
To stand to his award: for who is he
Dares arbitrate betwixt my God, and me.

34. Let him take away his rod from me, and let not his fear astonish me.

But let him hold a little, and at least
For some small time, forbear, at my request,
To torture me: let him withdraw his Rod,
And let th'hot Pincers of an angry God
Piece-meal my Soul no more: O let his wrath
Be satisfied with a single death.

35. Then would I speake, and fear him not, but because I am not so, I hold me still.

Then would I boldly speak, and without fear,
Before him in my own defence appear:
Then would I argue with such Eloquence,
As in short time would clear my Innocence,
But 'cause at present, I am not in case
For speaking, I think fit to hold my peace.

Cap. X.

1. My soul is cut off, though I live I will leave my complaint on my self, and I will speak in the bitterness of my soul.

My Soul's cut off, and though I seem to breath,
Yet am I coop'd up in the jaws of death.
My Soul is fled, my days of life are gone,
And this poor widow'd Body left alone,
To be the subject of some country fable,
As in its ruines only memorable.
This fashion'd piece of Earth, which formerly
One would ha' thought, would shift Mortality.
For many years: a Body which of late,
In health, and vigour, fully animate
With a most cheerful Soul, seem'd to imply,
As if at least some small felicity
Were to be found below the Heavens: this point
Of the Creation framed joint, by joint,
Into a reasonable shape, at last
By griefs consuming fury quite defac't,
Has now no figure, but doth every day
Like Wax before the Candle, melt away.
For, as a stranded Vessel, by no hands,
To be got off, and sticking on the Sands,
Obnoxious to the rage of every Tide,
Whilst each rude Wave beats ribs out of its side:
In its dimensions every day decreases,

Until at length 'tis shattered all to pieces,
And then what was a statelie Ship before,
In Planks and Boards is cast upon the Shore.
So this frail Body, which in health, and strength,
Look'd like a tall Ship, in its Course, at length,
Stranding upon the Shelves of foul diseases,
In its proportion every hour decreases.
And that it may be ruin'd with dispatch,
Each ulcerous Billow doth large Gobbets snatch
Out of that vigorous Body, which alace,
Is now in a most despicable case.
Hence what remains is that this shattered frame,
Void of all honour, beautie, shape, and name.
Should, like infected Goods by no man own'd,
In Skin and Bones be hurried under ground.

Then what is Life!—O let me but admire,
What idle expectation can hire
Insipid man upon this Earth to dwell,
And love that thing, which we call Life, so well!
Life—like the Mornings-dew upon the Grass,
Exhal'd e're Noon-tide; Life a simple lease,
At will, and pleasure of a homelie Farm
For us to toile in, where we're hardly warm,
In the possession of it, when anon,
Our Lease runs out, and we must all be gone.
Life but the parcels of a few years breath,
Summ'd up at last i'th' capital of death,
Times wast-book: health. and strengths extinguisher,
Heavens great derider: Hells remembrancer.
The old mans profit, and the young mans loss,
The rich mans Idol, and the poor mans cross:
Sins active Pander for some little space,
Then to Repentance a sad looking glass.
Pleasures mean vassal, times obedient slave,
And a most faithful servant to the Grave.
Death charges Time, Time charges Life, by Roll,
To make account of every living Soul:
The grand Collector, by just calculation,
Himself discharges of each Generation.
In deaths exchequer, then begins afresh,
T'exact the impost of all living flesh.

This is that we call Life, this is the thing,
Of which poor Mortals make such reckoning,
As if the sum of all their happiness,
Lay in their breathing for some little space.
Alace that men of reason thus should lye
Sick of an universal phrenesie:
And not rouz'd up at length perceive, for shame,
What is this Life, which they so much esteem.
This Life,—a thing so burdensome to me,
As how I hate it you do clearly see.

May I not then oppress't with Life repine.
Since there's no Life comparable to mine?
The dregs of Life, that do with me remain,

Are but the meer fomenters of my pain:
For who extended night and day, on rack
Would not, with all his heart Death welcome make?
O let me then to God make my address;
O let me to himself my woes express:
He is a God of mercy, and will hear
Th'oppress't, and have regard to every tear
That drops from pious eyes.—
A sore complaint then on my self I'l make,
And in the anguish of my Soul I'l speak.

2. I will say unto God condemn me not, and why dost thou contend with me?

I'l say to God, condemn me not; and why
Wilt thou contend with such a thing as I,
An Eagle take the pains to kill a flee!
Contend with me,!—a thing not to be nam'd,
A thing, of which even Nature is asham'd,
A piece of Earth, that serving for no use,
Is thrown out on the Dung-hill as refuse,
The dross of human frailty, the abstract
Of all, that's mouldy, low, decay'd, and crack't.
A thing now grating at the gates of death,
Retarded only by a gasping breath;
A thing so mean as is not worth thy wrath.

3. Thinkest thou it good to oppress me, and to cast off the labours of thy hands, and favour the wicked?

Then why, good Lord, dost thou take so much pleasure,
T'oppress so mean a thing, beyond all measure?
What doth this to thy Glory contribute?
How doth such usage with thy Justice sute?
Alace I know not how the matter stands,
But thus t'undo the labour of thy hands,
Thus to destroy a Creaure thou didst frame,
And once didst think it worthy of a name:
Nay, as thy Creature, thou was't pleas'd to own,
Thus to reject it, with a sullen frown,
Me thinks is strange.—What may the Atheists say,
When thy own servants are oppress't this way?
Why they will surely, in their scoffing mode,
Blaspheme the ever glorious Name of God.
See here, they'l say, a man, who seriously
Apply'd his mind to th'art of piety,
Who his great God, above all things ador'd;
A most devoted Servant to his Lord.
One, who not pleas'd with what his neighbours us'd,
Despised their Religion, and refus'd
T'acknowledge any of their Deities,
But, in a zealous phrensy, did devise,
A Deitie to himself peculiar,
Out of an humour to be singular.
See now, they'l say, see how his God doth treat him,
See how his Lord, he so much lov'd, doth hate him.
How he doth whip him:—how he takes delite
To vex a man, who us'd himself to write
A most obedient Servant to his God,
See how he beats him with a heavie Rod.
Let him complain, weep, pray, do what he can,
Let him cry out, yet still this pious man

Finds none to comfort, pity, or deplore him,
And for his God, 'has no compassion for him,
But, on the contrair, doth appear t'abhor him.
Sure this will be their language; thus alace,
Those impious wretches will themselves express,
Yes this will be their Table-task, I fear,,
O then forbear, for thy own sake, forbear
Thus to torment me, lest in plaguing me,
These men conclude that all who honour thee
Will be thus us'd—O do not gratify
Those bold professours of impiety,
In my so sad, and grievous punishment,
But please, good Lord, to let thy wrath relent,
And from those cruel torments, set me free,
That such, as do contemn thy Laws, may see
How merciful a God thou art, how just,
How kind to such, as in thee place their trust.

4. Hast thou carnal eyes, or dost thou see, as man seeth.

But why should I presume thus to express,
What thou well know'st, and I at best but guess.
Thou, who didst all things frame, dost all things know
Those hateful sinners will blaspheme thee so,
If thou continue thus to torture me,
Thus I suspect, but thou dost plainly see
Thy eyes, O Lord, are not of humane fashion.
Obnoxious in the least, to fascination:
No, no, my God, I know thy piercing eye
Doth, at one glance, the whole Creation spy,
Its Horizon being sole ubiquity,

5. Are thy days as mans days, or thy years as the time of man.

Nor are thy days, O Lord, like those of man,
So that we might thy time by numbers scane,
No, Lord, thy days surpass our admiration,
And scorn th'endeavours of our Computation,
For who will undertake to calculat
That time, which by no time is limitat?
That immense time, whose vast extent doth lye
'Twixt the two Tropicks of Eternity,
Whose hours, and minutes are innumerable,
As is its durance unimaginable;
I know, good Lord, no time can comprehend
What no Beginning had, and had no End.

6. That thou enquirest of mine iniquity, and searchest out my sin.

Now, since 'tis so, then let me understand,
What is the reason (if I dare demand)
Why thou a God so high, and excellent,
Dost take such pleasure in my punishment?
Why thou shouldst give such out-let to thy wrath,
As to pursue thy servant to the death?
Why thou shouldst make such formal inquisition
After my sins, and call for exhibition
Of all my hidden thoughts: as if thou meant,
By such harsh dealing, to make evident
Thy hatred to thy Creature, and proclaim
To all the World, what I conceal, for shame:
Thy torturing me thus doth plainly speak,
The language of a hot, inveterat picque.

From thee such usage is not ordinar,
For thou'rt not subject as we Mortals are,
To passion, and revenge: then let me know
what have I done, that thou shouldst bait me so,
What have I to thy anger contribute,
That, with such hatred, thou shouldst prosecute
The reliques of a man, the vanity
Of Life, the ruins of Mortalitie?

7. Thou knowest that I cannot do wickedly, for none can deliver me out of thy hand.

Ah Lord, however I have sinn'd before,
Yet now thou seest I can do so no more:
For thou dost keep me in an Iron Cage,
In which I wast the gleanings of my age.
In sad reflections on my by past times,
Calling to mind a thousand horrid Crimes
I have committed, for which constantly
I beg for mercy from thy Majesty.
But now, although I would, I cann't do ill,
My Soul thou so with bitterness dost fill;
No power of sinning doth with me remain,
Unless thou judge it sinful to complain:
And, if complaints be sinful, then alace,
No humane language can my sins expresse.
I am indeed most guilty of that sin,
For, in this moment, I do but begin
My sore complaint. Nay though I cry in vain,
And though I to no purpose do complain,
Yet can I not forbear to give some vent
To that huge grief, which doth my Soul torment.

8. Thine hands have made me, and fashioned me round about, and wilt thou destroy me?

Ah, Lord, didst thou not frame me? didst not thou
To me, at Birth, a humane shape allow?
Didst thou not mould, and fashion me around?
Of many simples didst not me compound?
And wilt thou now this goodly frame destroy.
In whose Composing thou didst Art employ?
Wilt thou this thing, by second operation,
Reduce to th'state of primitive Creation,
And end thy Labours, in annihilation?

9. Remember I pray thee that thou hast made me, as the clay and wilt thou bring me into dust again?

Remember, Lord, how thou of clay didst frame
This Figure, to which thou didst give the Name
Of Body—breath'd upon't, and made it live,
Then to't a certain lease of Life didst give:
Thou taught it how to think, to speak, and act,
And entered with this Creature in Contract,
By which thou didst engage it to maintain,
And wilt thou now unravel all again?

10. Hast thou not poured me out, like milk, and turned me to curds, like cheese?

Didst thou not pour me out, like Milk, and lay
My first foundation in a drop of Whay?
Which in warm Vessels kindly entertain'd,
For some small time, a liquid thing remain'd,
Then from the serous matter separate,
In a moist ball it did coagulate,
of such a form, as on the Cruds would squeeze,
Into the globous figure of a Cheese.

11. Thou cloathed me with skin, and flesh, and joined me together, with bones and sinews.

Then didst thou, by an Art inimitable.
Translate me from a simple vegetable,
Into a well-compacted sensitive,
And, from that hour, appointedst me to live.
With Bones, and Sinews then thou didst me knit,
And wrapp'd me in a Damask Coverlet,
Of Nerves, and Muscles; and (though yet a Brute)
Thou cloathedst me in a most goodly Sate
Of Ivory Skin: a Suite accommodate
For every Season, every Rank, and State:

12. Thou hast given me life and grace and thy visitation hath preserved my spirit.

When thou had thus apparell'd me, and I
Now entered junior of Mortality;
Then I begun to rouze, and stir apace,
And with my Sense my Hunger did increase,
I call'd for Food, which thou didst soon prepare,
And furnish'd me, (though a close prisoner
In the dark Womb) yet didst thou every day,
By secret Canals, to my mouth convey
Fresh Victuals, in good ease: then after all,
Was't please t'infuse the spirits animal,
And I became a creature rational.

Thus having past my course of Generation,
Each hour, I waited for a fair occasion,
To launch out in the Worlds great Ocean,
And enter my Apprentisage to Man.
After nine Months imprisonment, at length
Having obtain'd some tolerable strength,
At a Spring-tide of humours, I set out
Of th'Harbour of the Womb, with such a shout,
With such a dreadful Peal of Groans, with such
Hard tugging, sweating, wrestling, and so much
Sad labour, toile, and crying out (for all,
Who see me launching still more hands did call)
As I begun of passage to despair,
And hadst not thou, my God, of me tane care,
For all my strength, I ne're had pass'd the Bar.

But after all this labour, toile, and sweat,
By which I was almost exanimate,
After, with main force, I had wrestled out,
And now amaz'd, begun to stare about,
And view this New found-world, which to that hour
I ne're had heard of, nor e're seen before:
Then thou, by instinct, mad'st me weep amain,
('Cause all I view'd, was transient, and vain,)
And wish that I were in the Womb again.

Yet, since thou hadst ordain'd that I should live,
Thou, in thy wisdom, didst think fit to give,
Reason and Knowledge to me, whereby I
Might learn to live, by learning first to dye.
Thou didst preserve me by thy Providence,
Thy Grace was to my Soul a strong defence,
'Gainst all temptations: thy Paternal care
Did for my Body daily Food prepare.
To thee alone, Lord, (th'hast oblig'd me so)

My Birth, my Being, all that's good I owe

13. Though thou hast hid these things in thine heart, yet I know that is so with thee.

But what needs further, Lord, I do confess
I owe more to thee, then I can express:
For reckoning all my Life-time o're, and o're,
I find I'm in thy debt still more, and more,
So that at length I'm broke upon the score.
For who so guilty of ingratitude,
What man so void of reason, who so rude,
Whoso unthinking, as when he begins
To reckon up thy mercies, and his sins,
But will acknowledge he's oblig'd to thee,
(Though punish'd, tortur'd, and oppress'd like me)
When he considers how thou formerly
Hast guarded him, since his Nativity,
From what had else befaln him, hadst not thou,
Both own'd him kindly, and supply'd him too,
With all things for his life convenient,
Since the first hour he to the world was sent.
And then, if any man perhaps intend,
Some small proportion of his time to spend,
I'th' ferious, and useful contemplation
Of the so much to be admir'd Creation:
And view the order of thy Providence,
How to each living Soul thou dost dispense
Thy Justice, and thy mercy, instantly
He'd find his Reason in an extasie;
Whilst linking second causes, in a chain,
By thumbing of 'em, he'd attempt, in vain
To fathom, what no Art can comprehend.
And then at length he'd find there is no end
In searching of such things, and so give o're
His inquisition, and will dive no more
In that abyss, but end his contemplation
In a profound, and humble admiration:
Acknowledging that, save to thee alone,
Those Mysteries can not at all be known.

14. If I have sinned then thou wilt strictly look unto me and wilt not hold me guiltless of mine iniquity.

Thou, Lord, hast all things made, dost all things spy?
Nothing can be concealed from thy Eye:
For what man labours, by his foolish art,
To lock up in the Cabin of his Heart,
And thinks a secret, to thee, Lord, is known,
As well, as what to publicque view is shown.
If I have sinn'd then, thou wilt instantly
Look, with a most sever, enquiring Eye
Upon my Errors, and wilt not acquit
Me from the Censure that is just, and fit,
To be on man inflicted, in such cases,
But wilt, most justly, as my sin encreases,
Add to my punishment, and possibly
Entail wy woes on my Posterity.

15. If I have done wickedly, wo unto me, if I have done righteously I will not lift up my head, being full of confusion, because I see my affliction,

Why then, if I have sinn'd, I am undone,
And merit to be pitied by none,

Because I knew thy Justice would not spare
For all excuses, such as guilty are:
Hence if I've sinn'd, my Doom I plainly read:
If not, I will not yet lift up my head,
Or say 'th'least that I am innocent,
Because I fear a furder punishment
But still imagine that I guilty am,
And, in thy presence, hide my face, for shame,
I'l live in great humility, and fear,
For no man in thy sight, can just appear.

16. But let it encrease, hunt thou me as a lyon, return, and show thy self marvellous upon me.

But how soe're o the matter be, good Lord,
Proceed thou to destroy me, in a word,
Let loose the Reins of thy consuming Wrath,
And never leave me, whilst the Gates of Death
Fly open to receive me: Let thy Rage,
By close pursute, abridge my lingring age.
Never give o're, but rouze me every day,
With the same view, as Lyons hunt their Prey:
Break me to pieces, do, and so express,
Thy self admir'd in my unworthiness.

17. Thou renewest thy plagues against me, and thou encreasest thy wrath against me, changes and armies of sorrows are against me.

For, rather than in such sad torments lye,
'Twere better far I instantly should dye.
Let me then quickly be undone, let all
Thy heavie plagues at once upon me fall;
And not by Piece-meal, every day augment
The several species of my punishment,
And thus each hour thy dreadful Chace renue,
As if thou didst take pleasure to pursue
My wearied Soul.—
Armies of sorrows up 'against me draw,
With all the numerous rude Militia
Of foul diseases, which my Body seize,
Whilst I am to such Cannibals, as these
A daily prey, my sores do still encrease,
And in my Spirit I can have no peace.

18. Wherefore then hast thou brought me out of the womb, O that I had perished, and that no eye had seen me.

Then O why didst thou bring me from the Womb?
Why did I from my Native Cottage come?
Where I no sorrow knew, no trouble felt,
But most secure in peace, and plenty dwelt.
Was it for this that to the World I came!
For this—that ever I was born—for shame!
For this—that e're my Mother should ha' known
The pangs of Child-birth, nay one single groan,
In bringing forh a Creature destinate,
For grief, and sorrow; one, whom God doth hate;
'Gainst whom he doth his angry Sword unsheath,
And every day doth wound him in his Wrath.
But ne're will bless him with the blow of Death.
Would I had perish'd in the Womb, at least
Would I a still-born Embryo, at best
Had dropp'd into the World, and instantly
Had been Box'd up, and Buried, so no eye
Had seen me this side of Mortalitie.

19. And that I were as I had not been, but brought from the womb to the grave.

Would I had been, as though I ne're had been,
Without existence, never heard, or seen:
Would Providence for me had never car'd,
Would my fond Parents had their labour spar'd,
And I a thing without all form, and shape,
Had been conceal'd in Natures modest Lap:
When from the Womb soft hands did me receive,
Would I had fairly slipt into the Grave.

20. Are not my days few, let him cease, and leave off from me, that I may take a little comfort.

But since I am condemn'd,—O since I must,
In a few days, incorporat with Dust:
Since thou, O Lord, wilt call for what is thine;
And I to Worms this Body must resign:
Some little respite, for thy Mercy sake
Allow me, that I may some comfort take.

21. Before I go, and shall not return, even to the land of darkness, and shadow of death.

Before I to the Land of darkness go,
A dismal Land, which never Light did know,
Whence I shall not return, a dreadful Land,
Where pale-fac'd horrour doth in chief command:
Where Worms with Death in council sit, and call
For an account of every Funeral:
Where empty Sculls in heaps are gathered,
And with dry Bones the Land is overspread.

22. Into a land I say, dark as darkness it self, and into the shadow of death where is no order, & the light is there as darkness.

A Land so very dark, no art can trace,
Its true dimensions, or by Map express
Its Scituation, a most barbarous Land,
Whose Laws, and Language none can understand:
A Land of mourning, where no joy is known,
But Mirth, and Sorrow there are both as one.

Cap. XI.

1. Then answered Zophar the Naamathite, and said.

Thus Job had spoke, thus had himself express't,
Whilst his poor troubled Soul could find no rest:
For 'stead of sleeping, he did still complain,
Keep't waking by the torture of his pain:
But (which is worse) when he had made an end
Of speaking, and, it may be, did intend
To take a Nap; then some of those, who keep't
Him company, and (as we fancy) sleep't
By turns, would fall a speaking, and with heat,
Engage him in a most unkind debate.
Thus when he now had spoke, thus instantly,
Zophar his friend made him this tart reply.

2. should not the multitude of words be answered, or should a great talker be justified.

Who can with patience, thy vain humour bear.
Or, says he, so much idle talking hear?
From whence this torrent of discourse? from whence
This foolish bragging of thy innocence?
From whence this clamour? whence this sad complaining,

Whence all this crying out? what is the meaning
Of all these blustring words? whence all this noise?
Dos't think, my friend, thou hast to do with Boy's?
Dos't think us fools? dost think us Novices?
Dos't think we do not understand thy case?
Pray 'to what purpose shouldst complain so sore?
Dos't think we never see such things before?
Then what dost mean by such a multitude
Of puling words? dost think we will conclude,
From all these fine expressions thou art just,
And so believe thou'rt innocent, on trust.

3. Should men hold their peace at thy lyes? and when thou mockest others, should none make thee ashamed?

Should men, with silence, hear thy precious lyes?
Or when thou dost make faces, shut their eyes?
As if, forsooth, 'twere sinful to behold
Such a sad Object.—
Dost think but we all, with compassion see
Thy case, although we cann't comply with thee,
In all thy doleful, foolish exclamations.
Nor second thee, in thy expostulations,
Thou, who so often hast thy Neighbours blam'd
For such vain talk, shouldst thou not be asham'd
To prate so idly?—

4. For thou hast said, my doctrine is pure, and I am clean in thy eyes.

Shouldst thou not be asham'd thus to assert
Thy uprightness, when he who knows the heart,
Doth laugh at thee, pray' with what impudence
Dost thou upbraid us, with thy innocence?
Thinkst thou that we believe that all is true
Which now thou speaks't?—no, if thou hadst thy due,
And all thy words, were well considered,
'Stead of being pitied, shoulds't be punished.
Thou blameless in thy Life! thou innocent!
Thou one, of whom no man can make complaint!
Thou in the sight of God, upright, and clear!
Bless us!—what foolish arrogance is here!
Was ever wise man in discourse so weak!
Did ever man, so like a mad man speak!
Was e're such talking heard? wouldst thou lay claim
To what no Mortal can attain?—for shame,
Forbear such words, forbear this canting strain,
And of thy Maker do no more complain,
For all thy exclamations are in vain.

3. But O that God would speak and open his lips against thee.

But since we cann't prevail with thee, and since
I see we are not able to convince
The of thy Errors: O that he would speak,
Who fram'd the Tongue, that for his Justice sake,
(Since what we argue, is but lame, and faint)
Himself would please to take up th'argument:
And lay thy sins before thee all a row,
That so we might, by demonstration, show
How much thou'rt in the wrong, and let thee see
In short, how like, for all the world, to thee
The fool doth prate, who when in humour cross't,
And overpower'd with judgements, thinks all's lost.

6. That he might shew thee the secrets of wisdom, how thou hast deserved double according to right, know therefore that God hath forgot thee for thy iniquity.

O that our God himself would take in hand
To answer thee, and make thee understand
Wisdom's true value, which if thou didst know,
Thou wouldst not through impatience bluster so,
As now thou dost, nor clamour at this rate,
For were thy punishment proportionat
With thy foul sins, as thou hast merited,
Thou shouldst indeed be doubly punished;
Know therefore that because of thy offence
God hath forgot thee, and will not from hence
Acknowledge thee, as he has done before,
And, in his presence shall't appear no more.

7. Canst thou by searching, find out God? canst thou find out the Almighty to his perfection?

But say now thou, who dost to Wit lay claim,
And thy own Knowledge dost so much esteem:
Thou, who thy friends, and neighbours fools do'st call,
And think'st thou knowest much more than we do all,
Vexing us with a pitiful relation,
Of all thy former Life, and Conversation:
With Tales of thy pretended patience,
And formal Stories of thy Innocence.
Cans't thou, my friend, conclude, with all thy art,
What trulie God is? cans't thou, for thy heart,
Reduce thy Maker to his proper kind?
Or thy Creator in perfection find?
Say, canst thou do this? wilt thou take in hand,
To answer me the question I'l demand?

8. The heavens are high, what canst thou do? deeper than hell, how canst thou know it?

In the first place then, I desire to know
How high the Heavens are? say now canst thou show
What bounds that spacious Vault doth comprehend?
How far it doth from East to West extend?
On what foundations the proud Pillars stand,
Which that vast arch support? what mighty hand
Did found them? in each of 'em how much space
Doth lye betwixt the Chapter, and the Base?
No 'tis in vain, thou mayst thy labour spare,
Such things beyond thy scantling knowledge are.
For, as Heavens are immeasurably high,
So the Foundations of those Pillars lye
Deeper then Hell itself: thou canst not reach
Their true dimensions, which no art can teach,
Nor can the same by Theorems express,
For all your Artists do but faintly guess
What really and truly these things are.
For O how mean, and low they do appear
Demonstrat in a Map, a Globe, or Sphere,
By our vain plodding Charlatans of Art,
Who cannot comprehend the smallest part
Of the Creation, and yet soar so high,
As nought below th'Empyrean Canopy,
Can satisfie their curiosity.

9. The measure thereof is longer then the earth, and it is broader then the sea.

Nay even those, who pretend by art to know
The measure of the Heavens, and boldly show
Their Longitude by Lines imaginary,

Even those same fools in their opinions vary,
And cann't agree what bounds they should allow
For that capacious Fabrick: far less thou,
Void of all art, canst make us understand
How far that Powerful, All-creating Hand,
The wings of Heaven beyond the Earth has spread,
How much, in breadth they do the Seas exceed.

10. If he cut off, and shut up, or gather together, who can turn him back?

Yet, if our God at any time intend
To pull down all this Pile, and make an end
Of what, with admiration, we behold,
And so esteem, its worth cannot be told?
If God intend to cut the Heavens assunder,
And blast the universal Globe with Thunder,
Pray who can stop him? who can turn him back?
Or to desist from his intentions make?

11. For he knoweth vain man, and seeth iniquity, and him that understandeth nothing.

If once he thus intend, he'l surely do it,
And see what any Mortal dares say to it.
For O he knows vain men, he knows us all
Full well, and what we Wit, and Parts do call,
He names meer folly, and can clearly show
The wisest man on Earth doth nothing know.
He knows our private Cabin-thoughts full well,
In vain from him our sins we do conceal,
He knows them all: no winged thought can flye
From Pole to Pole so soon, but instantly
Our God discovers from whose Breast it came,
And, in that instant, can its owner name.
He sits in all the Councils of the Heart,
And, undiscovered, laughs at all our Art,
By which we mannage every close design,
So covertly, as those, who dig a Mine,
Unseen by any, yet he plainly sees
What we intend by all such thoughts as these.

12. Yet vain man would be wise, though man new born is like a wild asles colt.

Yet would vain man fain be esteemed wise,
And think each one injures him, who denys
To him, that goodlie Epithet, although
This self conceited fool doth nothing know:
Stupid, insipid, ignorant, and dull,
Rude, as a Boobie, of a thick, hard scull
Is this same man at best, a very brute,
And, while refin'd by art, without dispute,
Like a wild Asses Colt; so dull a Creature
As he appears no more oblig'd to Nature,
Then rugged Flints, untill by Artists hand
Polish'd, and cut.—

13. If thou prepare thine heart, and stretch out thine hands toward him,

But after all, though mankind in his eyes
Be of no value, yet he still will prize
Religious thoughts, and quickly understand
True sighs, and pious motions of the hand.

14. If iniquity be in thine hand, put it far away, and let no wickedness dwell in thy tabernacle.

If evil from thy heart thou'lt banish far,
And against sin declare a formal War;
If thou, in thy own house, as Judge wilt sit,
Acting, in all things what is just, and fit,
Suff'ring no Crime within thy walls to sleep,

But, in a most assiduous method, keep
Strict watch upon thy actions, and practise
Good things, and use Religious exercise.
When thou art private with thy Family,
As an instructer in true Piety.

15. Then shalt thou truly lift up thy face, without fear and shalt be stable, and shall not fear.

Then shalt thou glory in thy Innocence.
And, in thy well Reformed Conscience,
Enjoy a sweet, serene tranquility,
Beyond the reach of Malice, and envy.
Then, without stain thou shalt hold up thy face,
In brisque defyance of the Worlds disgrace,
In resolutions fix'd thou shalt appear,
Above all the impressions of fear.

16. But thou shalt forget thy misery, and remember it, as waters that are past.

Shalt end thy days in calm prosperity,
Forgetting all thy former misery:
And shalt remember on thy woes, at last,
As men remember dreams when they are past.
Or, as when water streams passe quickly by,
They'r no more notic'd by the Travellers eye:
So shall thy troubles be at length, forgot,
Obliterat, extinguish'd, dash'd, what not?

17. Thine age shall also appear more clear, then the noonday, thou shalt shine, and be as the morning.

Then shal't th'appear more flourishing, and gay,
Than doth the Sun at Noon-tide of the day:
Or, as he from his Morning Couch doth rise,
And with his sweet Carnation-blushes, dies
The Mountain-tops, so then thou shalt appear,
And, like him, shine most beautiful, and clear.

18. And thou shalt be bold, because there is hope, and thou shalt dig pits, and shalt ly down safely.

Founded in hope, thou shalt, with confidence,
Boldly rely upon thy Innocence:
Enjoy the good things of' the Earth, in store,
And shalt know want, and penury no more.
Thou shalt, with safety, Furrow up the Ground,
And, where Earths hidden Treasures can be found,
Securely dig, and reap those goodly things,
Which here beget us Emperours, and Kings,
Nay thou shalt with thy Riches have more peace,
And sleep more soundly, than the best of these.

19. For when thou takest thy rest, none shall make thee afraid, yea many shall make sute unto thee.

For in profound tranquility of mind,
Thou shalt great ease, and satisfaction find:
With soft, domestict peace thou shalt be blest,
No rude allarum shall disturb thy rest.
Thy proud Relations shall not thee despise,
But, maugre all their envy, thou stalt rise
In wealth, and reputation, and encrease
In all the goodly perquisits of peace.
For, stead of cursing, with uplifted hands,
They shall present thee with their mean demands,
And, with sad groanings, and submission plead
The favour of some petty Loaves of bread,
T'allay the Famine, and compesce the cryes
Of their decaying, half-starv'd Families.

20. But the eyes of the wicked shall fail, and their refuge shall perish, and their hope shall be sorrow of mind.

But such as in their sins do persevere,
And with high lifted hands do boldly Err:
Such, as on wrath, and malice are intent,

And have no Inclination to repent
God shall destroy: all their fair hopes shall fail,
Nor shall their Death-bed-tears with him prevail.
He with great justice, shall reject their Suit,
And, when they are accus'd, they shall be mute.
Sorrow of mind, anxiety, and care,
Black Horrour, sad Remembrance, and Despair,
Shall be with those poor men familiar.

Cap. XII.

1. Then Iob answered and said.

With pious silence Job had all this time
Heard Zophar shreudly aggravat his crime:
Made to his talk no interruption,
As many, in his case, would sure ha' done,
But, so soon as his friend an end had made,
To his discourse he only answered.

2. Indeed because you are the people only wisdom must dy with you.

Indeed, my friends, I see you are so wise
'Tis to be fear'd, with you all Wisdom dies.
You feel no pains, and torments, as I do,
And therefore think all my Expressions now
Are but like School-boyes whinings, when chastis'd
For their own good: for such indeed you're pleas'd
T'esteem my carriage.
You who have never yet affliction known,
On whose soft faces no rude wind has blown:
Have ne'r known sorrow, or the use of tears,
But smilingly enjoy'd your peaceful years;
'Tis easy for you, in such words as these
T'accuse th'afflicted of what crimes you please.

3. But I have understanding as well as you, and am not inferior to you, yea who knoweth not such things?

Then after all this Torrent of Discourse,
Sure you imagine that by very force
Of reason, you've oblig'd me to confess
That I'm now punish'd for my wickedness.
You think you have my case so opened,
In arguments not to be answered,
And so ensnar'd me by your Art, and Skill,
As I a Fool, a Mad-man, what you will,
Must as a man found guilty hold my peace,
And hear my Sentence read upon my knees.
But seriously, my friends, I'd have you know
You're much deceiv'd, if you imagine so:
I know no difference betwixt you, and me
In any thing, but what you all do see,
My sad affliction.
I'm scandalously poor, I must confess,
But I was never tax'd with foolishness:
For follow your discourse, and you shall find,
Although I cannot so express my mind,
As you do in your Flowres of Eloquence,

Yet truly I lack neither Wit, nor Sense,
Memory, Judgment, or what Parts you call,
And understand as much, as you do all.

4. I am as one mocked of his neighbours, who calleth upon God, and he heareth, him, the just, and the upright is laugh'd to scorn.

Whence this insulting then? pray to what end
Do all your vain Expostulations tend?
Whence all these Accusations? alace
D'ye mean to mock me in my very face?
Because God, in his mercy, grants you all,
Your hearts desire, aud hears you, when you call,
Therefore a man afflicted, and opprest
Must be the subject of your unkind jest.
You think perhaps that God doth favour none,
Or has respect, but for your selves alone;
Because you're rich, because you never yet
Have known the pangs of a distress'd Estate.
Hence, (though upright, and just) the poor with you
Have no esteem; to such you don't allow
The Character of simple Innocence,
But laugh at all such, with great Insolence.

5. He that is ready to fall is as a lamp despised in the opinion of the rich.

For O how meanly you Rich Men do prize
The Poor, though Pious, Virteous, Learn'd, and Wise
Yes you on Riches only set your hearts,
And weigh men by their Mony, not their Parts.
Hence I've observ'd, my friends, that such as you
Do undervalue, and (I know not how)
As on a Lamp, or Link extinguished,
On all, that are not rich, you proudly tread.

6. The tabernacles of robbers do prosper, and they are in safety that provoke God, whom God hath enriched with his hand.

But what needs more:—tis so, and still will be,
For wicked persons do encrease we see,
And men of unjust Principles do rise
In Wealth, and Power, erecting Families
Upon the Ruines of the Just, and those
Who understand no Piety (God knows)
Do live in safety: with his bounteous hand,
God doth enrich them, and they fill the land.
Why this to me is no strange thing, I knew
How God did rule the World as well as you.

7. Ask now the beasts and they shall teach thee and the souls of the heaven, and they shall tell thee.

Nay who's so stupid, who so void of sense
As doth not understand how Providence
Earths Governor, chief Minister of state
To our Great God, doth all things regulate
Below the Sun, allowing t'every Creature
Its Shape, its Substance, Virtue, Food, and Nature.
For ask the Beasts that toil for daily fare,
On Earth, and those, who in the open Air
Keep constant Commerce, and they'll plainly tell
What you have lately preach'd to me, as well
As any of you all; they'll fully show
How much all Creatures to their Maker owe.

8. Or speak to the earth, and it shall show thee, or the fishes of the sea, and they shal declare unto thee.

Or speak to th'Earth, and it will soon proclaim
The Power of God, and his most Glorious Name,
Nay very insects, things so despicable
As some o'th' learned hold it questionable

Whether they be of primitive Creation,
Or meerly by equivocque Generation,
Begot on putrid matter by the Sun,
When through the hot Signs he his course doth run.
Or speak to the Fishes, who do every day,
Amidst the rude waves, unconcern'dly play,
All these will clearly speak how deep a sense,
They have o'th' gracious power of Providence.

9. Who is ignorant of all these, but that the hand of the Lord hath made these?

Then to what purpose all your talk? pray why
Should you obtrude your mean Philosophy
Upon your friend? alace I'd have you know
Your wisdom's common to all here below.
Why so dogmatick, when you only preach,
What the Creation every hour doth teach?
Must we esteem you wise, because that you
Know as much as the Brutal Creatures do?
Or shall we think that you deserve esteem,
Because you can descantupon a Theme,
Well known to all men? for who's ignorant
Of what you speak? though you do proudly vaunt,
You are the only knowing men, alace,
How much do I commiserate your case.
For ah, who knows not how Gods mighty hand
Hath all things fram'd in Heavens, Air, Sea, and Land.

10. In whose hand is the soul of every living thing, and the breath of all mankind.

That mighty hand, that hand, which doth contain
The precious Soul of every living man:
That hand, which grasps at once both Life, and Death,
That hand, which stops, and lets out every Breath:
That mighty hand we know hath formed all,
Without the help of what you wisdom call.
That powerful hand, that right hand, which alone
Acts by true wisdom, is most surely known,
Beyond what all your wisdom can rehearse,
To be the Author of the Universe.

11. Doth not the ear discern the words, and the mouth taste meat for itself.

For lets observe but, who did frame the Ear,
And for what use: why it will soon appear
If once we speak: for then articulate,
And distinct words entring that narrow Gate;
Through the Ears winding Turnpikes progress make,
And are conducted to the Intellect,
In decent order, have quick audience,
And from the council of the common Sense,
As quick returns: for words are instantly
Dispatch'd in answer: twinkling of an eye,
Th'ears of both speakers do these words convey.
T'each others judgements i'th' same form, and way.
Let us observe then, how this useful sense,
By special licence from high providence,
Enjoys its place, and faculty, nor are
Those many towrs, and windings in the ear,
There to no purpose, since experience
Demonstrats every day their excellence.
For, as we see in Princes Pallaces,
How all the avenues, and passages

Are strictly guarded, to oppose the rude
Tumultuous entries of the Multitude:
Whilst civil persons, who have business,
Pass through the Guards, and dayly make address
To th'Princes ear: so all the Guards o'th' brain
To civil courteous words do make a Lane,
Which passing forward to the Intellect,
Are there receiv'd with kindness, and respect.
But, if in throngs, and with a hideous shout,
They chance to make approach, to keep such out,
The Drum o'th' Ear doth quickly beat to Arms,
Yet by the frequent use of such allarms,
Those Guards are oft-times overcome, and thence
Men lose the use of that most useful sense.
That useful sense, to which indeed we owe,
The greatest part of what we learn, or know,
So that were't even but in that curious sense,
We may admire the work of Providence.
Observe the Mouth too, how it tastes the Meat,
To try if it be wholesome, sowr, or sweet,
Ere to the Stomach, whether it doth tend,
It can have access, that it may defend,
The Body from all Food, that's destructive,
To health, and make its charge securely live.
Now from such topicks, though there were no moe,
Who may not soon, th'Almighties Glory know?
Forbear then all your arguing, pray forbear
And let's no more of your vain Lectures hear
Upon this subject, since no art can show
The full extent of what we only know,
From such external signs, for what indeed
The Power of God is, whence all things proceed,
Which here we see: how things are regulate
In Heavens, and Earth: how he did Fabricate
This vast stupendious Globe, which still the more
We view, the more the Framer we adore
Is what exceeds our reach.

12. Amongst the ancient is wisdom, and in the length of days is understanding.

'Tis true indeed, (and I do not deny)
But even on this side of Mortality,
There is a wisdom, which one may attain
By serious thoughts, and labour of the Brain,
There is a thing I know, which in some sense
May be thought wisdom, call'd experience,
Which 'mongst ag'd persons keeps its Residence.
Seldom in other company we see
This grave Instructer, whom I take to be
A thing made up of many passages
Of foolish Life, by which it seems to guess
At future Events, and would wisely cast
By th'vanity of things already past,
The issues of new Counsels, but alace,
When we perceive how still new passages
Occur, which we have never known before,
Then we admire, and can presage no more.

And then, when we reflect what vast Expence
Acquaintance with this same Experience
Doth cost us daily, and how, ere we can
Improve to its full height the wit of man,
The life of man runs out: who'd not assert
That all the knowledge, all the wit, the art,
And all the cunning; which we can attain
Below the Heavens is absolutely vain.
Vain, and inconstant, frail, and perishing
A very inconsiderable thing,
Not worth our pains to know: for don't we see
'Mongst all alive on earth how few there be
Can teach us, which obliges us to crave
Instructions from the Records of the Grave,
Their sayings we esteem, their Works we read,
And borrow all our Knowledge from the Dead.

13. With him is wisdom, and strength, he hath counsel, and understanding.

But O how mean, how poor, and despicable
This Wisdom looks! how like a very bable!
A thing of no esteem, compar'd with that,
Which did this Glorious Universe creat!
That,—that's true Wisdom! that—O that indeed
Doth all your Human Wisdom far exceed.
For with our God, Wisdom, and Strength doth dwell,
In understanding he doth all excel.
No more than of that thing you Wisdom call,
Here's Wisdom that gives silence to you all.
A Divine Wisdom, which no art can teach!
A perfect Wisdom, far above our reach!
A Wisdom infinit! incomparable!
Vastly profound! simply inimitable,
By us poor Mortals! O the Excellence
Of this eternal pure intelligence!
This uncreated Wisdom! this so fair,
Unspotted Knowledge! this so singular
And precious Wisdom! this so eminent
And glorious Prescience, which did all invent
This solid Understanding! this so clear,
And pointed Wisdom, which should only bear
The name of Wisdom! this doth plainly show
We have no Wisdom, we do nothing know:
But all the Wisdom we can here attain,
Is (without question) evident, and plain
(Though on it we bestow a goodly name)
But like the sparks, that issue from the flame.
Or as we see in a contracted Ray
O'th' Sun how Atoms wantonly do play,
Which were but dust, while by that glorious Beam
Rais'd from the Dung-hill: then to men they seem
To be some things of moment, and become
The subject of grave arguing to some
More curious Brains; as they're of admiration
To duller judgments; and of meditation
To pious Breasts: yet let the Sun recall
His Animating Ray, and after all

Those things appear but transient, and vain,
And soon incorporat with the dust again.
Just so all Humane Knowledge animat
By wisdom from above we estimat
For some small time, so long as so inspir'd,
But when the Divine Rayes are once retir'd,
Then we perceive what we did late esteem
Was but a Shadow, or an empty Dream.

14. Behold he will break down, and it cannot be built, he shutteth a man up, and he cannot be loosed.

O the great Power of God! who can express
His admirable Strength! we must confess
'Tis he alone that rules, 'tis he alone
That orders all, accountable to none.
'Tis he that builds, 'tis only he erects
Kingdoms and States; 'tis he alone protects
These in their beeing; he alone beats down
Those powerful Corporations, assoon
As he thinks fit: he overturns them all;
At his command to Anarchy they fall.
Those glistering things, which we adore by names
Of Scepters, Robes, Swords, Balls, and Diadems,
He breaks to pieces with his mighty hand,
To let the' admiring world understand
'Tis he alone, by whom all Princes reign;
And fall; and whom he once beats down, in vain
Mortals endeavour to restore again.
Or if they do, he renders their designs
Unsuccessful, and quickly countermines
Their secret Plots: but when they have done all
That men can do, if on his Name they call,
Then he will hear, and by his Power alone
Restore Exiled Princes to the Throne.
When he imprisons men, (who e're they be)
No Friendship, Force, or Law can set them free.

15. Behold he withholdeth the waters and they dry up, but when he sendeth them out they destroy the earth.

When he seals up the Clouds, then by, and by
The Floods and Rivers of the Earth run dry.
The parched Ground no moisture doth retain,
But every thirsty Clod doth gape for Rain.
And all the beasts o'th' field with drowth opprest,
Hang out their tongues, and can enjoy no rest.
But when he sends them out, they furnish all
Men, Beasts, Birds, Insects, Creatures great and small
With Liquor in abundance: and o'rflow
Earths surface quite if he will have it so.

16. With him is strength & wisdom, he that is deceived; & he that deceiveth are his.

With him is Strength, and Wisdom, no thing can,
Without his licence, be perform'd by man.
Nay Sin it self, tho man to it make sute,
Without permission, dares not contribute
To its own beeing: he who means to make
Unlawful gain, dares not yet undertake
Without Gods special tolerance to do it,
Who will permit it, though he don't allow it.

17. He causeth the Counsellors to go as spoiled, and maketh the judges fools.

'Tis he, who turns the Counsels of the Wise
To down right folly: he who vilifies
Their closs Projectings, and doth laugh at all

What these Intrigues, and Cabin councils call.
'Tis he makes Dotards on the Benches sit,
And Beardless fools, when ever he thinks fit,
To plague a sinful Nation: 'tis he
That raises men of base, and low degree
To be our Rulers: he takes Princes down,
And brings th'unweildie Distaff to the Crown:
That he a sinning Nation may vex,
With all the passions of that humorous Sex.
He cuts of aged Princes; he alone
Sets Fools, and sucking Infants on the Throne:
And for the faults of an unrulie Land,
Makes many Princes stead of one, command.

18. He looseth the collar of kings, and girdeth their loins with a girdle.

He snatches Scepters from the greatest Kings,
Pulls off their Robes, and makes those crowned things
Fetter'd, and pinion'd, beg their dayly Meat,
With fear, and trembling at the Conquerours feet.

19. He leadeth away the princes as a prey, and overthroweth the mighty.

Whole Nations in a herd he drives away,
And of their Princes makes a lawful Prey.
The high and mighty he doth overthrow
Annuls their Powers, and makes the proudest low.

20. He taketh away the speech from the faithful councellors, and taketh away the judgement of the ancient.

He makes the faithful Counsellours speech to fail,
And what they talk, sound, like an idle tale.
He makes their mouths to furnish Evidence,
Sufficient to condemn their Eloquence.
He makes the ag'd, and prudent stammer out
Their minds like fools; and make the audience doubt;
Although they see their Senators i'th' face,
If these be they, or mad men in their place.

21. He poureth contempt on princes and maketh the strength of the mighty weak.

Your Soveraign Princes, who to day appear
In wealth and honour, void of any fear
Of being overturn'd, and dayly fleece
Their poor o're toiling Subjects as they please,
To morrow he contemptible doth make 'em,
And makes all these they thought their friends, forsake 'em.

22. He discovereth the deep places from their darkness, and bringeth forth the shadow of death to light.

Deep subterraneous Caverns, where the Beams
O'th' Sun ne're pierc'd; dark places, void of names;
Unseen, unheard of, never known before,
Replete with noisome vapours to that hour,
And killing Damps, foul Kennels, black as Hell;
He clears, their darkness he doth soon dispel:
At his command those Fogs do flye away,
And these dark holes, like Noon-tide of the day
Appears, so clear, and so transparent bright,
As if they always had been full of Light.

23. He encreaseth the people, and destroyeth them, he enlargeth the nations, and bringeth them in again.

That Nation which our God intends to bless,
He makes to flourish in all happiness.
He makes the people in prosperity
And wealth to live, and daily multiply.
Under his own vine, ignorant of fear,
Makes each man with his Neighbour keep good chear,
Furnishes to 'em all the best of Meat,
Which under their own Fig-tree they do Eat.
Proof of all Writs, these people do not care

For th'heavy clutch o'th' pinching Usurer.
The dismal News of an approaching term,
Which frights the most of men does not allarm
That happy Nation. who in plenty live,
And spend as freely, as their God doth give
They know no Contributions, Raps, or Force,
Quart'rings, or transient March of Foot, and Horse,
No they are free of all these Curses, far
From all the sad calamities of War.
Whilst other Nations howl, they live at ease,
Enjoying all the Benefits of Peace.
But when a long continued peace has bred
Foul luxury; and all the Land's o'respread
With unclean Acts, and scenick wantonness,
Then farewell all their former joys, and peace.
Their loud-tongu'd sins no sooner make a noise
In Gods Ears, but he instantly destroys
That foolish people, whom he so much bless't,
And throws them out, like Chaff, he doth detest
Their very memory; makes them soon a prey
To Barbarous Nations, who drive all away
They find within that peoples Land, before 'em;
Nor will afford them food, though they implore 'em;
With cryes, and tears, would burst the very stones,
Yet these unmov'd with all their sighs, and groans,
'Stead of all answer to these sad demands,
Shall poinard those poor wretches, wash their hands
In their hearts-blood; cut off their heads, and show
Them on their spear points, not consented so
Ravish their Virgins, and unrip their Wives,
Brain all their Children, and with bloody Knives,
On their dead Corps their cruelty repeat,
And throw large Collops to their Dogs to eat.
Without regard to either sex, or age,
These men shall glut their Military rage.
Burn all their Houses, Towns, and Villages,
Waste all, and leave no memory of peace.
But after all, he will his ear afford
To some small remnant, who have scapt the Sword:
When in their Chains, and fetters they do cry
To Heavens for mercy, then he instantly
Will hear their pray'rs, release them from their pain,
And soon restore them to their own again.

24. He taketh away the hearts of them, that are the chief over the people of the earth, and maketh them to wander in the wilderness out of the way.

When he intends a final desolation,
And means, in anger, to destroy a Nation;
Let them give out Commissions of array,
And raise well modell'd Armies under Pay:
With great allowance, and large hire engage
The most accomplish'd Captains of their age
To be their Generals: give them full Command,
Put all their Force, and Treasure In their hand.
Who may Encamp these Troops in every part,
By all the Rules of Military Art:
Decamp, March, Counter-march, and make a halt,

Lay ambushes, besiege, and make assault;
Do all that brave, and skilful Chiftans dare,
By the exactest Discipline of War.
Assur'd of Victory, yet after all,
A Pannick Fear shall on these Captains fall:
Their Blood shall cool, their Courage shall decay,
And they shall be the first shall run away,
When action comes: their Troops shall be defeat,
And stand in fear of every one they meet.
Their broken Squadrons squandring in their way,
Through all the Countrey shall become a prey
To Boyes and Peasants: Hills, and Dales to boot
Shall not secure them from the hot pursuit.
Three of'm in a body shan't remain
Most of'm being captivat, or slain
Without all hopes of Rallying again.

25. They grope in the dark without light, and he maketh them to stagger like a drunken man.

But as men in the dark do feel, and grope,
So shall those scattered Forces without hope,
Benumm'd with fear, in lamentable case,
Whilst the feirce Conquerors closs pursue the Chase,
Through Ditches, Pools, and Quag-mires, here and there
Woods, Mountains, Corn-fields, Pastures, every where,
Run to preserve their Lifes, but all in vain,
Staggering, like so many Drunken Men.

Cap. XIII.

1. Lo mine eye hath seen all this, mine ear hath heard, and understood it.

All this mine ears have heard, mine eyes have seen,
And to my knowledge, some such things have been
In my own time: I have observ'd with care,
What Changes, Turns, and Revolutions are
In all Conditions of this Life, I know
There's nothing fix'd and solid here below.

2. I know as much as you know, I am not inferior to you.

All this I know, my friends, to show you how
I'm not inferiour to the best of you.
And were't not for the present wo, and pain
I do endure, I think I could explain
My self, in manner as methodical,
And as good Words, as any of you all.

3. But I will speak to the Almighty, and I desire to dispute with God.

But I intend my Language to direct
Onlie to God; only to God I'le speak.
With the Almighty I'le expostulate,
I do desire to enter in debate
With him alone: for though I understand
What has befall'n me is by Gods command;
And his pure Justice, because while such time,
As God has found, and try'd, and prov'd the crime,
Of him he means to punish: he will never
Send out his Vengeance, for what suit soever
Our Enemies make to him; in a word,

In Justice only he doth draw the Sword,
Against poor sinners, yet I fain would know
For what black crimes I am tormented so.

4. For indeed you forge lies, you are Physicians of no value.

I know from God I may such answer have,
As may hereafter all your labour save.
I know he will me fully satisfy,
And tell me plainly where the cause doth lye,
Of my disease: and so proceed to cure,
By Principles, and Medicines more sure,
Then what you can afford: I may expect
From him true comfort, but what you direct
Is but like Oyl pour'd on the Flames: alace,
You talk, but do not understand my case.
Only you boldly vent some foolish lies,
Which to condemn your friend, you do devise,
But you're Physitians of no worth, or price.

5. O that you would hold your tongue, that it might be imputed to you for wisdom.

Indeed, my friends, I am asham'd to hear
Such idle talking: and I cann't forbear
At length to tell you in plain terms, that you
Might truly to your selves great kindness doe;
If you would hold your peace; and speak no more,
Of my concerns, and what you've spoke before
I shall excuse: then once, my friends, again,
I must beseech you free me of the pain
Of your discourse, and to your selves allow,
By holding of your peace some favour too:
For foolish talkers all men do despise,
But such, when silent, are esteemed wise.

6. Now hear my disputation, and give ear to the arguments of my lips.

This granted, I desire the liberty
To argue with you for some time, that I
May show you in your reas'ning, where you err,
And so convince you that what you aver
Is not agreeable with Piety,
And tell you where the fallacy doth ly.
For here's your error now, upon pretence,
That you forsooth appear in Gods defence,
You talk at random, your disord'red zeal
Over your wit, and reason doth prevail.
I thought in you some comfort to have found,
But 'stead of that, your bitter speeches wound
My poor afflicted Soul, for you still beat
Upon one string, and frequently repeat,
That God doth send afflictions on noné,
But those, whose sins do merit them alone,
From whence subsuming I have merited,
You do conclude I'm justly punished.
This is your constant doctrine, this is all
The argument, on which, by turns you fall,
Though truth it is but what Logicians call
A begging of the question: for I
Your major proposition still deny:
And for your minor that I'm such a man,
As you assert, endeavour what you can
To make it out, I still deny that too,

So that I only make this answer now,
Of what you charge me I am innocent,
And therefore merit no such punishment,
As I endure.—

7. Will you accept his person? or will you contend for God?

Whence all this noise, my friends, then? to what end
This tumult of Discourse? if you intend
Still to oppose, why I must still Defend.
Or if you do intend to personate
Your glorious Maker, and for him debate,
Then will I make no answer; I'l not speak,
Nor Harangues in Gods vindication make,
As you have done: for why, my friends, would you
Have me to bluster out my folly too,
And treat th'Almighty with such liberty,
Only forsooth to bear you company?

8. It is well that he should seek of you? will you make a lye for him, as one lyeth for a man?

Indeed your carriage is unwarrantable,
Your proud demeanour is intolerable.
I know my God will no such thing allow,
That such presumptous Orators, as you
Should undertake his Interest to plead,
'Gainst any here on Earth, he has no need
Of your assistance: nor will he demand
Advice of you: pray' therefore understand
Your pregnant folly, and, in common sense,
Reflect upon your impious insolence.
You undertake to plead for God? will you,
(As for their Clients some crack'd Lawyers do)
Give to your passions foolish liberty,
And, with great art, set out a specious lye,
To gain your point. This method some indeed
Do use for men. but if for God you plead,
You must be solid, sure and circumspect,
In everything you counsel, act, or speak.

9. He will surely reprove you if you accept any person secretly.

Observe then pray, our God will not permit
Such pleadings for him, for when he thinks fit
To show the Justice of his actings, when
He would convince the stolid race of men
Of their gross sins, and openly detect
Their hidden faults, then he himself will speak.

10. Shall not his excellency make you afraid, and his fear fall upon you.

Yes he will speak, and strongly plead his cause
By quoting his own equitable Laws.
He'l speak, he'l speak, and show what difference
Is betwixt his, and humane Eloquence.
The King of Heavens will speak, and show you how
His cause is mangled by such things, as you.
Our God himself will make it evident
You cannot mannage such an argument.
And when he speaks, why at his very Breath,
His Orators will look as pale, as Death:
In great disorder, betwixt shame, and fear,
When they see God in his own cause appear:
That mighty God, for whom, in pur-blind Zeal,
They thought they had both plead, and preached well,
Whilst mean time, all their Eloquence, at best

Did only serve some Paltry interest,
Which they'd glaze over with the Name of God,
As if his Glory were their period.
Though in their hearts, those men, who preach too much
Upon that Subject, are not alwayes such
As they pretend: howe're they would deceive
The credulous vulgar, and make all believe,
That what they spoke were upright, and sincere,
Whilst really, their Eloquence, I fear,
Is but like that at Bar, even so infus'd,
As by their Clients they are kindly us'd:
But when God speaks, a suddain fear shall fall
Upon those Preachers, and confound them all.

11. Your memory may be compared to ashes, and your bodies to bodies of clay.

For when he speaks, he'l tell you in your face,
You have provock'd him, and abus'd his Grace.
He gave you Parts, 'tis true, and Eloquence,
But never mean't that you, in his defence,
Should use those Gifts, or offer to debate.
For him, unless you were commissionat
By special warrant from himself, for those
Who, in Enthusiastick fits, suppose
Men of all stations, and degrees may preach,
And silly women, if they please, may teach;
Those, who, like you, all others do despise,
And thinks there's no man holy in their eyes,
But such, as are of their opinion, say
They're only perfect, walk in Gods own way;
Sure these men grossly err, for God doth own,
No such presumption, and it is well known,
God in all ages doth such men select,
As he thinks fit should by commission speak,
For him to th'people: and will sure destroy
Those preaching fools, whom he doth not employ.
Then you, my friends, must know, that having spoke
For him, without commission, you have broke
His divine Statutes, and, in Heavens Court
Incurr'd a premunire: to be short,
For this your great presumption, your name
Shall be extinguish'd, and your race, for shame,
Shall shun mens converse: this at length, shall be
The profit of such actings, this the fee
Of those officiously who undertake,
Without commission, for their God to speak.

12. Hold your tongues in my presence then, and let me speak, let come upon it What will.

Then pray now from your foolish arguing cease;
And, while I speak, be pleas'd to hold your peace,
Forbear your talk for some time, and be still,
For I intend to speak, (come on't what will.)
Come on't what will, I'l speak, I'l boldly speak,
And to my Maker my discourse direct.

13. Wherefore do I take my flesh in my teeth, and put my soul in my hand;

I'l say, Lord, why am I thus punished?
Thus cudgell'd, stead of being comforted?
Thus sharply tax'd by three comforting men,
As if, without a cause, I did complain.
Good Lord, that I should be reprov'd by those,

Who, if they felt the tenth part of my woes,
Would instantlie cry out, and make a noise,
Using such faint expressions, as Boys,
When whipp'd at Schools: such, as if they did feel
What I endure, would stagger, foam, and reel,
Like mad men, such, as if they knew the care:
And grief I know, would instantlie despair.
Yet such, forsooth must censure me, good Lord,
That those my friends, who comfort should afford
To me in this condition, when they see
What are my plagues, and what my torments be,
By signs so manifest, so plain, and clear,
As when, for pain, my very flesh I tear,
When all o'r grown with Ulcers, all o'r run
With putrid sores, contemptible, undone,
I here on Dunghill sit, and fain would crie
To thee, my God, if I had libertie,
And were not interrupted by those men,
Who by me sit: thou know'st, O Lord, how fain
In private, I'd pour out my very Soul,
If those men, who've come hither to condole
My sad condition, as they do pretend,
Did not obstruct me: how I fain would spend
The small remainder of my troubled days
In picus sighs, and setting out thy praise,
By what I have observ'd, and heard, by fame,
From others, since first to this world I came:
How fain I'd pray, how fain my sins bemoan,
If those tormenters would let me alone.
It seems indeed, Lord, thou design'st to make
My case extreamlie sad; for this I take
As not the least part of my punishment,
That thou to me such comforters hath sent.

14. Loe though he slay me, yet will I trust in him, and I will reprove my ways in his sight.

Yet, Lord, I'l still apply to thee, I know
There is no other comfort here below:
Compassion, pitie, mercie there is none,
But what proceeds from thee good God, alone.
I'l therefore trust in thee,—in thee, good Lord,
I'l onlie trust,—I'l hope, and—in a word.
Do with me what thou wilt, let even thy wrath
Be satisfi'd with no less than my death:
Yes, kill me, Lord, cut me to pieces, do
As thou thinks't fit, yet here I firmlie vow,
This heart, this poor oppressed heart shall never
Deviat from it's love to thee, what ever
Come of my person:—nay even when I die,
In my last gasping breath, I'l formallie
Express my love to thee: in thee I'l trust
My gracious Maker; for, as thou art just,
So thou art merciful: besides, good Lord,
I know thou only comfort can'st afford
To men afflicted: let me then be freed
Of my officious friends, who boldlie plead
Against me, 'stead of comforting, for I

Esteem my greatest woe their company:
I do indeed, for I had rather choose
Be plagu'd by thee, then comforted by those.

Now, Lord, to them though I will not confess
My sinful errors, yet my wickedness,
Before thee, I acknowledge, as the cause
Of all my woes: Lord, I have broke thy Laws,
And merit no less censure in thy sight,
Than instantly to be destroy'd down-right.

15. He shall be my salvation also, for the hypocrite shall not come before him.

But after all, I know, O Lord, that thou
Wilt use me better than these talkers do.
Thou'lt be more kind, and whilst I am in pain,
For some small time, allow me to complain,
And then restore me to my strength again.
For after all this trial, thou shalt clear
My innocence, and make, at length, appear
That I in sin have taken no delite,
And show these men—I am no hypocrite.

16. Hear diligently my words, and mark my talk.

Now then, my friends, observe, be pleas'd to hear
What I discourse, For seriouslie I fear,
In all your talk of late, you have abus'd,
Your selves more than the man you have accus'd.

17. Behold now, if I prepare me to judgement, I know I shall be justified.

For you have said, because of my offence,
That I'm by God rejected, and from thence,
You did affirm I might expect no more
To see his face, as I had done before.
Ay me!—a sentence cruel, and severe!
A doom, in which great malice doth appear!
Now pray, my friends, by what authoritie
Act you these things? who gave you libertie
To give out Judgment thus? for to this hour
I never heard that any of you had power
From our Great God to excommunicat
The poorest Wretch on Earth.—
I therefore hope I quicklie shall be able
To make appear how most unwarrantable
Your sentence is, for this I surelie know;
As God excels in acts of justice, so
In acts of mercy he doth so abound
As no man needs despair: he's always found
Of such as seek him, and I know he'l be
As merciful, as formerlie to me.
But were it so, my friends, as you have said,
That I'm of God rejected, then indeed,
Indeed, in that case, I should soon despair,
And be o'th' same opinion as you are
Nor should you from my mouth hereafter hear
Words of assurance, words of confidence
By which I do alleviat my sense
Of present sufferings: for I firmly know
I know my God hath not determin'd so,
As you alledge: I know he is more just
Than to reject a man, that puts his trust

In him alone, a man, who never yet,
In all his sad, and suffering estate,
From his first Principles has deviat.
For I do still believe that God has sent,
Upon me now this heavy punishment,
Only to try my faith, that men might know,
Whether I be a hypocrite, or no:
For were I such, in this my horrid case,
I'd be so far from trusting in his Grace,
As I'd abjure him to his very face,
But O I know, I know my God will never
Exclude me from his mercies act, however
He's pleas'd to vex me now: I know indeed
He will not to an outlawry proceed,
Against a man, who's willing to appear,
And answer all:—no, no I do not fear,
I fear not that he has rejected me,
As you pretend, for, by what I can see,
Should I just now before my God be try'd,
I doubt not but I would be justify'd.

18. Who is he that will plead with me now? for if I hold my tongue, I dye.

Then who's the man, pray that with me will plead,
And prove that for my sins I'm punished?
Pray let me know the man, that so I may
Debate the case a little with him, pray
Let him appear; this favour, friends, allow,
That I may know with whom I have to do.
Pray let me know, and I will instantly
Argue my case, with all sobriety,
For, if I once should hold my peace, I dye.

19. But do those two things to me, then will I not hide my self from thee.

Will no man plead? will no man undertake
The argument? then my address I'le make
To God alone: two things I will implore
Of his large bounty, and demand no more.
Two things preliminary, Lord I must
Request of thee, which! as thou'rt good, and just
I know thou wilt allow, that so I may
With freedom speak all that I have to say
In my defence.

28. withdraw thy hand from me, and let not thy fear make me afraid.

First then, some small time, Lord, forbear thy wrath,
That I may have some leasure, but to breath:
That I may have but a few hours soulage,
And not be quite consumed in thy rage.
Next, O my gracious God, let not thy hot
And wasting anger fright my soul, let not
Thy lifted hand so terrible appear,
Nor damp my Spirit, with a killing fear.

21. then call thou, and I will answer thee, or let me speak, and answer thou me.

Then what thou pleasest of me to demand,
I'l answer, so far as I understand,
Or, if thou think it fit, that I should speak
I shall, Lord, and in favour, I'l expect
Thou'lt answer me.—
For, if I be allow'd this liberty,
With boldness, then, good Lord; I will reply,
To all the questions thou to me shalt state,

And with my God take pleasure to debate.

22. How many are mine iniquities, and my sins, show me my rebellion, and my sin.

If I must speak then,—I demand, good Lord,
How many are my sins!—pray in a word,
How many are they!—tell me—am I able
To calculat them!—are they numerable!
What are my sins, Lord, of what quality?
How black, how uglie, of how deep a dye.
Why, Lord, it seems, that since the world began,
Of all the sins practis'd by mortal man,
Sure mine must be the foulest, mine must be
Most venomous sins of the first degree,
For—
Whilst others sins, with modesty have call'd
For Judgements, it appears that mine have baul'd,
And, with great clamour, furious zeal, and heat,
Have ask'd as due, rather than supplicat,
For Divine vengeance, and with open voice,
At Heavens Gates made a tumultuous noise,
As idle Beggars for their Alms do crie,
And so, by clamorous importunitie,
Extorted from a mild, and gentle God,
Th'unwilling usage of an angry Rod.
My sins have, in a Cluster, cri'd aloud
For punishment, no mercie has withstood,
The rude attaques of their impetuous sute,
But suffered them to gain, without dispute,
Th'Almighties Ear: who has accordinglie
Sent Judgements out, in such varietie,
And has me so severelie punished,
As all my Neighbours never suffered
So many ills at once, as I do now,
Besides what I may lay account for too,
Ere all be done, for I perceive the wrath
Of God encreases everie hour, Whilst death
Keeps at a distance, and appears to smile
Unkindly at my torments all this while.
Nay (which is worst of all) men, on pretence
Of comforting me, with great violence,
Oppress my little spirits that remain,
And, with their bitter words augment my pain.

23. Wherefore hidest thou thy face, and takest me for thine enemy?

What are my sins then, Lord, ah let me know,
What have I done, Lord, to be punish'd so!
What have I done! what sins have I practis'd,
What horrid Treason have I e're devis'd
Against Heavens King? what are my faults, good Lord,
Again I beg thee, tell me in a word,
That so I may perceive the reason why
I'm punish'd with so much severity.

Now pardon, Lord, my great presumption,
In these demands, let my condition
Plead some excuse: let me some pity find:
Some pity, Lord, to ease my troubled mind.
Have pity then, have pity on my case,
And for thy Names sake, do not hide thy face,
Because in that I all my comfort place.

Why then, good Lord, do'st thou to me deny
Thy countenance? I am no enemy
To thee, my God, but one, I dare avow,
(As far as humane frailty will allow)
Loves thee with all his Soul, and still shall do.

25. Wilt thou break a leaf driven to and fro? and wilt thou pursue the dry stuble?

Why then am I thus punish'd? why oppress't
With grief? Why doth my Soul enjoy no rest?
Why is a Creature,—a poor dying Creature,
Debarr'd from dying by the course of Nature?
Why to suck in again a parting Breath
Is it compell'd, only t'endure thy Wrath?
To break a Leaf, that's driven to and fro,
I humbly think it is a thing below
The Majesty of God!—why such am I?
Or like the Stuble, withered, and dry,
When lightly it before the Wind doth fly.

26. For thou writest bitter things against me, and makest me to possess the iniquities of my youth.

Then why in such sad torment? Why so vex't
In Soul, and Body? Why so sore perplex't
In Spirit? Why so bitter Judgements sent
Each moment, to recruit my punishment?
Such Judgements make me now, Lord, call to mind
Those sins, which wasting time had cast behind
Its Shoulder;—sins, which I thought thou had'st not
Recorded:—sins, which I had quite forgot.
But now the Errors of my wanton years
Appear afresh:—hence all these sighs, and tears:
Hence these sad words, which issue from my mouth,
Since for the sins of my disorderd youth,
I'm punished thus:—why, Lord, I must confess,
Those whiffling errors do deserve no less
Than I now suffer: yet I still must cry
For mercy from my God, or else I dye.

26. Thou puttest my feet also in the stocks, and lookest narrowly into all my paths, and makest the print thereof in the heels of my feet.

For mercy, Lord, I must thee still implore,
I'l call to Heavens (for I can do no more)
For mercy still:—this liberty, at least,
I hope thou'lt not deny:—this small request
To a poor dying man:—allow me pray,
Allow me, Lord, that what I have to say
In a few dying words, I may expresse,
And then do what thy Majesty shall please,
With me thy prisoner, thy wretched slave,
One (save to be the stopple of a Grave)
That serves for nothing:—do then what thou wilt,
Dispatch me, Lord, or if my horrid guilt,
Require that I should live some longer time,
Why let it be so, let my horrid Crime.
(If possible, it e're can be content)
Be glutted with my horrid punishment.
For I am thy close prisoner, good Lord,
No power on Earth can me relief afford:
Escape I cannot—no—my feet are bound,
My hands ty'd up, all naked on the ground,
More than half-dead, o'r grown with sores I lye,
Am I not punish'd yet sufficiently!

Not yet!—not yet!—O may it not suffice
That I am wrap'd in such calamities,
As hardly any one has suffered,
But I must yet be further punished?
Shall there be no end of my Miserie!
May not I now have libertie to die?

27. Such an one consumeth like a rotten thing, and as a garment that is moth-eaten.

For thou hast fill'd my bodie with such pain,
As in me there doth no more life remain,
Than what doth serve to make me sensible
Of what I suffer:—O most terrible
Consuming Wrath!—now let me die good Lord,
—I can endure no more:—pray now afford
This favour to a man in dying case,
That, like Moth-eaten Garment, rots apace.
Then since I cannot live, O let me die,
Since Life it self is but Mortality,
For mortal man, at best, I do conceive
To be a thing, that, like a Floating-wave,
Swells in the Cradle, breaks upon the Grave.

Cap. XIV.

1. Man that is born of a woman, is of few days, and full of trouble.

Man of a Woman born in cares, and teares,
Enjoyes a few, but miserable Years.
He sucks in sorrow, with his infant Breath,
And, in his husk, he bears the seeds of death.
In his short life he nothing doth perceive,
But Seas of troubls, Wave succeeding Wave.
He knows no pleasure, nor contentment he,
Nor is he ever from some passion free.
Yet must this wretch be born.—
Though it were better for him certainly
He were not born, than thus be born to dye.
'Twere better for him he lay buried,
With all his hopes about him, covered
With the thin notion of an entity,
Under the arch of possibility,
Then that he should exist.—
But O he must be born, he must appear
On Earths wide, and capacious Theater,
To act, with mighty pomp, and vanity,
His part o'th' fable of mortality,
Though 'twere but fool o'th' play.—

For whilst i'th' womb he safely lyes immur'd
Free of all woe, of aliment secur'd
By others labour, yet he thinks he's there,
At best, but a well treated Prisoner.
Hence in the belly languishlng he lyes,
And fain would make escape, to feed his eyes,
On things abroad, and fully satiate

His Virgin-longing, with—he knows not what.—
At length impatient of this kind restraint,
He'l be no longer in this Cloyster pent,
But with his fellow-mortals he'l b'acquaint,
At any rate, what e're the event be,
And in this humour, justles out to see
This foolish world.—
This world, of which he fancies some such things,
As Beggars, when they dream they're mightie kings:
And yet no sooner into it he peeps,
Then instantly the changeling cryes, and weeps;
Appearing in some inward perturbation,
As disappointed of his expectation:
In it he wastes his time in fear, and pain,
And oft of being born he doth complain,
Yet when he goes out of it, weeps again.
As if unwilling, after all, to part,
(Sad as it is) from what his soul, and heart
Doth truly love, which that he might possess,
He could dispense with all its painfulness.

Inconstant Creature!—whom no state can please,
To whom nor life, nor death can purchase ease;
Whose humorous fancy nought can satisfy:
Who knows not whether he should live, or dye!
Yet is this man, of so much worth, and fame,
Whom all the Creatures have in great esteem.
This, this is he, who is so vainly proud
Of the three souls, which God has him allow'd,
Whilst those, who do his actions strictly view,
Hardly believe that he has more than two:
For of the third he takes so little care,
As one would say his reason lay not there:
So that of all endu'd with growth, and sense,
He least deserves that heavenlie influence.

This, this is man, who doth no sooner come
A native, naked Beggar, from the womb,
Then assoon Food, and Rayment God provides
For him, with every other thing besides,
Of which he stands in need:—ordering all
The other Creatures to attend his call.
Yet, after all, when he's accommodat
By Providence, at such a princelie rate,
The wretch becomes to him the most ungrate
Of any thing, that lives.—
For, as we know Beggars can bear no wealth,
So, now endu'd with riches, health, and strength,
In these external things he puts his trust,
And quite forgets, who rais'd him from the dust.

This is that formal piece of dullest clay,
That moulded, and unmoulded every day.
A thing from Heavens only with breath inspir'd,
That he, who gave this breath might be admir'd,
And not the thing, that breaths: yet on this breath
The Grashoper himself so valueth;

As he, with lofty pride, and arrogance,
Above his fellow-creatures doth advance,
And thinks the world his sole inheritance.
Whilst many Brutes (as we may daily see)
Both longer time, and with more peace, than he,
Possesse the same: for he poor soul—alace,
Can scarce enjoy, but for one half hours space,
The full possession of what life, and breath
Affords him, when an enemy call'd Death,
Doth turn him out of all, and then annon,
Ere he can view it well, he must be gone.

This is the Source, from which, by progresse springs,
The Stream of all our Emperours, and Kings,
Those men, who with an armed foppery,
Blow up the pipes of vain Chronology:
Those men, who, when in their carreer withstood,
Will make the world swim around in blood,
Only to purchase to themselves a name,
And never think to have their fill of fame,
Whilst mean time, (ah poor souls! how Iregrate
There as ridiculous, as illustrious state!)
With all their glorious power they but appear
To us like squibs, that squandring here and there,
Put the admiring rabble in a fear,
Who know not what they are, but men of sense
Are not afraid of of their impertinence;
For in an instant, as with crackling noise,
Affording only sport to wanton Boyes,
These fly in smoak, so these men in a tryce,
After they've damp'd us with their cruelties,
Afford us sport in their own Tragedies.

This then is Man who rambles every where,
To catch a name, who doth no labour spare
T'attain his point: running, he cares not whether,
Killing, and spoiling, mixing all together,
In his hot fury: sparing no expence,
To show the world his great magnificence:
Whilst really, he's but like one of those,
Who, at our Fairs, do set up publick Shows;
And with his Drums, and Trumpets makes a noise,
In Streets, and Lanes, assembling all the Boyes,
And Girles about the Town but by and by,
His Licence now run out, he silently
Packs up his Trinkets, and by break of day,
Out of the Town he meanly sneaks away.
So man, on Earth, for a small term of years,
Makes no small noise, and then he disappears.

Have you not seen a silly Butter-flee
Attacque the flaming light, and wantonly
Hover about it, for some little space,
Until its wings begin to burn apace;
And then the helpless Creature, in a tryce,
Sticks to the Candle, spurns a while, and dyes.
So on this dangerous Earth.—

Stuck full of all the species of death
Th'adventuring mortal arm'd with single breath,
Boldlie appears.—what next?—why in he flies,
Buzzes a while about the world, and dies.

Is this the thing then we call Man! alace
This the Heir-Male of the first mortals race!
This Man of Woman born, whose foolish years
Are wasted in a tract of cares, and tears!
If this be he, that proud and, lofty creature,
Who calls himself the Master-peece of Nature,
Why sure he seems to me so mean a thing,
As he is hardly worth our mentioning.

Strange then kind Females should be at such pain,
In bringing to the world a thing so mean!
A thing, which valued by just Estimation,
Is scarcely worth the pains of Procreation

Yet, after all, (say of him, what we can,)
This empty thing is all we have for Man.
Yes in this very piece of miniature,
So long indeed, as Heavens, and Earth endure,
We see the Image, Glory, Wit, and Power,
Of him, who fram'd him; so that, to this hour,
In this same Man, with no small admiration,
We read th'Abridgment of the whole creation.
This is the Lord of Earth:—yes this is he,
Who holds o'th' King of Heaven, in capite,
This goodly Mannor, and that as appears,
In Mort main too, to him, and all his Heirs,
For payment only of some Tears and Pray'rs.
I this same fair and fruitful Seigniory
Was once indeed his settled Property,
For ever in his Person to endure,
Full, and in peace, before the forfeiture.

But, O thou man, to whom in Paradise,
This fair Appanage God did first demise,
Man not of Woman born, thou poorly sold,
(What was not to be purchassed for Gold)
Both thine, alace, and our felicity,
For a mean toy; and for thy fault, we dye.
Ah! hadst not thou, with dull indifference,
Exchang'd thy opulent state of Innocence,
For this poor mortal state, which we possess,
What Art could have express'd man's happiness?
He could for ever have retain'd his breath,
And bid defyance to the force of death;
He had, with great convenience, eat his Bread,
And call'd himself the Lord of Earth indeed.
But now, that in continued miseries,
He lives a while, then miserably dies,
He owes to thee: and for thy curious Crime,
He and his Race are eaten up by time,
As Oxen eat up Grass.—

Then what are all these things we pleasures call,
Wealth, Honours, Issue, Fame!—What are they all?

When man must dye!—when he must formally
Abandon all these pleasant things, and dye!
Yes dye, and as into the world he came,
Naked, and poor, go out of it the same.

2. He shooteth forth as a flewer, & is cut down, he flyeth also as a shadow, & continueth not.

For, as a flower its beauty doth display,
And suddainly doth moulder, and decay:
So man in gay, and verdant youth appears,
Most glorious in the Summer of his years;
Void of all sorrow, and anxiety,
Spread like a Garden-flower: but by, and by,
When he is cross'd with thoughts, and businesse,
His Tulip-colours disappear apace.
And, as a shadow, when the Sun is gone,
Appears no more, but vanisheth annon,
So all his beauty vanisheth, and now
Wrinkles succeed it, and, with much ado,
His face is known to those, who formerly
Knew him i'th' days of adolescency.
At length Time fairly turns his Glass; and now
The Fable's done, and there's no more to do
But that—
Wrapp'd up in Home-spun Winding-sheet (O brave!
The Lord of Earth be thrown into his Grave.

3. Yet dost thou open thine eyes on such a one, and bringst me into judgement with thee.

Almighty God! what fluctuating thing
Is this same Man! how frail, and perishing!
How subject to himself! how much a slave
To passion, from the Belly to the Grave!
Nay such a piece of meer formality,
(Though Mantled with a glorious vanity
Of Wit, Birth, Riches, Learning, Honours, all,
Which he doth his appurtenances call)
That even himself, when, with impartial eye,
In Reasons Looking glass, he doth survey
His worldly state, perceives that all he can
Pretend, at most to, is—to be a Man.
A man of woes, and sorrows, cires and fears,
A poor retainer to some painful years.
A short-lif'd man, who rarely doth attain
To th'age of sixty, and doth still complain
Either of pains of Body, or of Mind,
So long as within bounds of Life confin'd.
So that, if th'hadst not let him understand,
He's chief of all the Labours of thy Hand;
He'd think himself, in this same contemplation,
The very meanest part of the Creation.

Yet dost thou, Lord, thou high, and Heavenly King,
Take special notice of this foolish thing:
Thou look'st upon him, with a careful eye,
And tak'st the pains, for his security,
T'enclose him, with a wall of Providence,
And keeps't a constant Watch, for his Defence,
Both day, and night: so that the power of Hell
Cannot against him with their Plots, prevail,
Whilst guarded thus, and so well fortified

By his Creators Art on every side.
Yes, and of late too, I was one of those,
Whom thou, with a strong Rampart did'st enclose:
But now thou hast deserted me, and I
Unfenc'd lye open to the Enemy.
Now my accusers, in great throngs, do bring
Their several Charges before thee, my King:
Before thee I as Criminal appear
At Bar, and am environed with fear:
Now thou dost try me: now thou dost intend
To bring me quickly to a shameful end.

4. Who can bring a clean thing out of an unclean? no not one.

Lord, what am I!—a wretched dying thing,
Not worth thy wrath, not worth thy noticing:
Why try'st' me then, with such severity,
And of my actings maks't such scrutiny,
As if, of all men, I had most transgress'd
Thy Divine Laws: thou hear'st I have confess'd
I am a sinner:—dost thou. Lord, expect
That mortal man can other answer make,
When thou dost charge him with impiety,
Then I do now:—I do not, Lord, deny
That all the Judgements I do now endure
Were merit long ago: for I am sure
That man was never born, since Adams Fall,
That can affirm he never sinn'd at all.
What then wouldst' have me say?—I do confess
I am all sin, I am all guiltinesse:
Can any thing that's good from me proceed?
No sure, then judge me, for I cannot plead
Not guilty: I'm unclean, and who can bring
That which is clean, out of an unclean thing?

5. Are not his days determined? the number of his months are with thee, thou hast appointed his bounds, which he cannot passe.

Then, since it is so, since I cann't deny
I have abounded in iniquity:
Since I'm found guilty, and condemn'd, why then,
I ask but what is granted amongst men,
On such occasions, to a Criminal,
Who freely at the Bar confesses all
Of what he hears himself accus'd, and so
Himself on mercy of the Court doth throw.
Then what I beg, great Judge, what I demand
Is not to live (because I understand,
As I, am sadly circumstantiat now,
Death will oblige me more, than Life can do.)
But only, since I have confess'd my Crime,
I may be but reprived for some time:
That I may have some leasure to repent,
And not, at least, out of the World be sent,
With all my sins about me.—

Remember, Lord, how man is in his prime,
But a poor Gleaner of a scattered time:
A calculator of some triffling years:
An Almanack of sorrows, woes, and tears.
Are not his days and months determined?
His bounds design'd, which he cannot exceed?

6. Turn from him then that he may cease, until his desired day, as an hireling.

Let then his bitter persecution cease,
That, for some time this Creature may have peace:
That he, at least, may be allow'd to live,
Until the time appointed shall arrive
When he must die:—the day, wherein he must
Quite this vain world, and return to Dust.
For, as a Hireling labourer doth attend
The hour, which to his Work may put an end,
That he may have his Wages, and some rest
From his hard labour: so, with cares oppress't,
Poor Man for his appointed time doth wait
Wherein his foolish labours soon, or late
May have an end; that so the wearied slave
May quietly lye down, and sleep in Grave.

7. For there is hope of a tree, if it be cut down, that it will yet sprout, and the branches thereof will not cease.

That he may sleep in Grave, and be no more
A slave to sorrow, as he was before,
Though he should there, without all hopes remain,
Of ever seeing his dear World again,
His darling World, which he so much esteem'd;
Of which scarce more than Embryo, he dream'd:
But, when in Grave, he thinks no more upon
His World, for all these notions then are gone.
Those thoughts do with the Carrion buried lye,
And for his Soul, 'tis all Eternity.

Thus then, alace!—ah thus we plainly see
Man's in a worse condition than a Tree:
For of a Tree cut down there's still some hope
It yet may sprout, and spread its lofty top;

8. Though the root thereof wax old in the earth, and the stock thereof be dead in the ground.

Although its scattered roots now old, and dry,
Sapless, and barren, under Ground may dye:
And what of Trunk remains may every day,
In Dust, and Pouder moulder and decay.

9. Yet by the scent of water it will bud, and bring forth boughs like a plant.

Yet sucking moisture from some Rivolet,
Whose frugal Streams doth scarce its Channel wet,
It quickly will revive, and bud again,
And, in short time, spread out its Boughs amain,
As formerly, and so arrive, at length
Unto its wonted comliness, and strength,

10. But man is sick, and dyeth, man perisheth, and where is he?

But ah poor man upon his Sick-bed lyes,
Sighs out his Breath, and like a Candle dyes
Drown'd in its Socket, without hopes, alace!
Of ever living in his former case,
Without all hopes, not sprouting like a Tree,
Only falls sick, and dyes—and where is he?

11. As the waters pass from the sea, & the flood decayeth and dryeth up.

Ah where is he!—he who did once appear,
And thought of nothing less than death, while here:
Where is he now?—where is this rambler gone?
What's become of him?—pray' what has he done?
What has Earths darling done, that he should dye,
And slip out of the World so shamefully?
Why Man is gone: he's now no more:—he's dead,
He's now in deep oblivion burried:
There's no more of him.—For as Floods, and Seas
Are dryed up, when Waters from them pass

To other Channels: so man vanisheth,
And is an empty nothing after death.

12. So man sleepeth, and riseth not, for he shall not awake again, nor be raised from his sleep while the heavens be no more.

A nothing!—nay—hold here, I must correct
My error, and in this my passion check.
For, though to outward view, and reasoning,
Man in his Grave appears to be a thing
Useless, trod under foot, esteem'd by none
But hurryed in supine oblivion:
Yet this same Trunk, which under ground doth lie
Wants not its hope of Immortality,
For, after many years it may revive,
Shake off its Circumambient Dust, and live
More firm, and solid than it did before,
In a continued peace, and die no more.
Yes, as the waters from the Ocean flow
Through Subterraneous Passages, that so
They in Earths Bowels may be purifi'd,
And free of former saltness, gently slide
Through clifts of rocks, and unknown passages
Into some thirsty Channel, and encrease
Its dwindling Streams, then by degrees amain
Return to their own Ocean again.
So from the Sea of Life man softlie flowes
Into the Grave, where he doth onlie loss
His former saltnesse, and aciditie,
And there in closs Repositure doth lie,
While he be fitted for Eternity.
'Tis true he sleeps, and shall not rise before
Th'appointed time that Heavens shall be no more:
But when that time shall come, that blessed time,
No new-blowen Rose, no Lilly in its prime
Shall smell so fragrant, and appear so fair,
So livelie, so in beautie singular,
So fresh, so gay, so bright, so purifi'd,
As this same man, who we suppos'd had die'd,
Shrunk into dust, and in cold earth engross't,
This man, whom we had given o're for lost;
When that bless'd time arrives, shall re-appear
More pure, and act in a most glorious Sphere,
Than ere the Scenick Creature could do here.

13. O that thou wouldst hide me in the grave, and keep me secret untill thy wrath were past, and wouldst give me a term, and remember me.

Thrice happy those then, who in grave do rest,
Whom no sad crosses of this life infest!
How much I envy their Felicity!
How fain would I enjoy their company.
Lord, then that thou wouldst hide me in this grave!
Good Lord, that such a wretch as I might have
The benefit of that closs Sanctuary,
In which I might, but for a season, tarry,
Until thy wrath were past, thy anger gone,
And those had storms of Judgments overblown:
Then, of thy goodnesse, please to let me know
How long I must those Torments undergo:
How long my sufferings must endure, and then
Remember me, in mercy, once again.

O let me find thy kindnesse, once before
I drop out of this World, and be no more.

14. If a man dye, shall he live again? all the days of my appointed time will I wait till, while my change come.

But O I see my torments do encreasse,
And, whilst I live, shall enjoy no peace.
I therefore wish to dye, as those oppress't
With toile, and labour, wish to be at rest.
Now, if a man once in this Gulf of Death
Be drown'd, pray shall he re-assume his Breath?
Shall he revive?—yes,—yes—he shall indeed,
And never more again be buried.
I'l therefore wait, I'l therefore patiently
Attend th'arrival of Eternity.
At least I'l wait, until the hour shall come
That must restore me; which although to some
It be a question, it to me is none,
For, with assurance, I relye upon
My Makers goodnesse, and believe that God
Will to my sufferings set a period.

15. Thou shalt call me, and I shall answer thee, thou lovest the work of thine own hands.

Then shall my God me once again embrace,
And to me every hour extend his Grace.
Then shall I Make addresse to him, in prayer,
And shall no sooner speak, then he shall hear,
'Shall answer every thing I can demand,
And make me, with great pleasure, understand
The language of the Saints.—

16. But now thou numbrest my steps, and dost not delay my sins.

But now, alace, Lord, thou dost calculat.
My very thoughts: thou dost enumerat
My errors, one by one; and by, and by,
In order they appear before thy eye,
There's no concealing of the smallest sin,
(Though in the breast yet) when thou dost begin
To reckon with us; neither hope, nor fear,
Can shelter them from eyes so sharp, and clear,
But streightways all above board must appear

17. Mine iniquity is sealed up, as in a bag, and thou addest to my wickedness.

When thou dost call. Then all must be reveal'd,
And, on the square be summ'd, ty'd up, and seal'd,
Like Money in a Bag, that thou mayst know,
What each mans judgements to his sins do owe.
Nay, with so strict a survey not content,
Thy anger doth my wickednesse augment.
For even my moral sins are mustered
Before thee, strictly view'd, and numbered,
And I alace, am shrewdly punished
For sins, which in some others virtues are,
And, in the Worlds eyes, lawful do appear.

18. And surely as the mountain cometh to nought, and the rock that is removed from his place.

Then must I thus be punished, good Lord?
Thus—without pity?—wilt thou not afford
But some small respite to my wearied Soul,
That I may have some leasure to condole
My sad disasters:—Lord have pity then
On me the most disconsolat of men.
Some respite I beseech, some interval,
Some breathing time, though it were ne'r so small!
So many judgements, for one poor mans share!

100

Sure, Lord, such dealing is not ordinar.
Who can endure thy anger? at this rate,
'Twould tear the very Rocks out of their Seat,
'Twould make the proudest Mountains tumble down,
And crumble into thousand pieces soon.

19. As the waters break the stones, when thou over-flowest the the things which grow in the dust of the earth, so thou destroyest the hope of man.

Such wrath would make the wounded Ocean roar,
And spread its Billows far beyond its Shore.
'Twould cause a Deluge in the Earth:—such wrath
Would kill all Cratures, that on it do breath.
For, as the Waters hardest stones do break,
When through the grounds a rapid course they take,
So, by thy anger Man is broke to pieces,
Pounded to dust: and as thy wrath encreases,
So all his hopes decay, and in a tryce.
Poor pensive Man whines out his life, and dyes.

20. Thou prevailest against him, so that he passeth away, he changeth his face, when thou castest him away.

Unhappy Man!—alace his hopes still fail,
And 'gainst him, Lord, thou alwayes dost prevail.
Thy hand doth reach him, when he least doth dream,
Of danger, then, with infamy, and shame,
He steals out of the World, he slips away,
Like the Night-vapours, at approach of day.
And, as a Thief, whom huy, and cry doth chace,
Lest he be catch'd, disfigures all his face,
So, with sad grinnings, Man to Grave doth pass,

21. And he knoweth not if his sons shall be honourable, neither shall he understand concerning them, if they be of low degree.

He dyes,—he dyes,—he's buried annon,
And with him all his Troops of hopes are gone.
His Sons survive him, but he knows not how
Those men demean themselves, nor what they do:
To what profession they they themselves betake,
What Figure in this Life those Fools do make:
What part they act: what state they represent,
I'th' Theatre of the World: whether content
With the sweet Blessings of a privat Life,
Or, if involv'd in a continual strife,
In tedious Pleas, in Fraud, and Perjury,
To raise a thing men call a Family.
No,—he knows not what men his Sons shall be,
Preferr'd to honours, or of low degree.

22. But while his fllesh is upon him, he shall be sorrowfull, and while his soul is in him, it shal mourn.

Though here, with great anxiety, and care,
He eats his own Flesh, for his dayly Fare.
In flames of grief his very Heart doth burn,
And, whilst his Soul is in him, it doth mourn,
When he but thinks, in what condition
His Family shall be, when he is gone.
Whilst, with a Femal curiosity,
He endeavours to learn, before he dye,
What shall be th'state of his Posterity.
He'd fain ascertain his ill-purchas'd wealth
Upon his brats, what he has got, by Stealth,
By Fraud, by Rapine, Lying, and Debate,
Upon his Race he'd fain perpetuat.
Entails, in strictest form he causes draw,
As if he would to Providence give Law:

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As if he'd regulat the Winds, and show
Out of what Point they constantly should blow:
Or fetter up the raging Ocean,
And make it alwayes calm:—so foolish man,
By strong Entails, in form of Covenant,
Stuff'd up with threatning clauses irritant,
With substitutions, and—I know not what—
(All legal fetters,) fain would captivat
Some little spot of Earth, and there enstate
His Family, with that perfection,
That Providence on Earth allows to none.

Thus vainly toyls this Mole, but after all,
When Death for him doth peremptorly call,
He leaves these thoughts, and so he leaves his Race,
To save, or spend, and live, even as they please.

Cap. XV.

1. Then answered Eliphaz the Temanite, and said.

How delicat! how admirably good!
How learn'd! how pious! (if well understood,)
How grave! how solid! how elaborat
Was Jobs discourse!—what Mortal in his state,
Oppress'd with sorrow could himself expresse,
So firmly, and with so much steadinesse,
Of Mind, as this afflicted man has done,
Yet after all.—
His friend, as formerly, must him reprove,
(Whether from envy this proceeds, or love,
May be a question) and accordingly
Eliphaz, all this while who patiently
Had heard him speak, at length resolves once more,
To argue with him, as he did before.
And thus, in terms severe, and violent,
Takes up his Brother Zophars argument.

2. Shall a wise man speak words of the wind? and fill his belly with the east-wind?

And should a wise man thus expresse his mind,
In words, says he, inconstant, as the wind?
Words of no value, foolish idle words,
Such, as a discomposed mind affords.
Words so extrinsick to the case in hand,
As, truth, I think thou dost not understand
What thou dost speak: words so extravagant,
So course, so dull, so insignificant,
Such whining words. so childish, and so mean,
So far below a man, so poor, and lean,
As one, that were not in his judgement weak,
I'm confident would be asham'd to speak.
Unequal words: words scarce articulat;
Words, Like a Turtles chattering, at this rate
Parrots, and Magpyes might be taught to prat.

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3. Shall he dispute with words, that are not comely? or with talk, that is not profitable?

Then should a wise man use such words, as these?
Or, with such Language, his sick fancy please?
Language, by which thou dost thy cause abuse.
Language, which none, but Lunaticks would use:
Provoking words, discourse not tolerable,
And as thy case is, quite unprofitable:
Yet, in such gibbrish, thou must vent thy mind,
But, from my heart, I'd wish thou'd be more kind
To thy poor self, and not excruciate,
With sad complaints, and cryings, at this rate,
Thy troubled Soul. I's't not enough that thou
Shouldst chide thy Friends?—but thus thy Maker too
T'upbraid forsooth, and that so bitterly,
As if our God could do an injury
To thee, my friend, or any of us all:
Then why shouldst thou exclaim? why shouldst thou baul?
When God in justice doth inflict what he
Judges has ever been deserv'd by thee.

4. Sure thou hast casten off fear, and restrains prayer before God.

Indeed, my friend, I'm sorry to perceive
Thy sad condition, and I truely grieve,
To hear thee cry, and rave incessantly
In this thy feaver of impiety.
Why now, alace, my friend, thou dost appear
Designedlie t'have shaken off all fear
Of God Almighty: thou who us'd to pray,
And pour thy Soul out, both by night, and day,
Before thy Maker: now, alace, I fear
Th'hast totally fogot the use of prayer:
And seem'st to be, by thy unruly passions,
In desuetude of pious meditations.

5. For thy mouth declareth thy iniquity, seing thou hast chosen the tongue of the crafty.

Else how should such Expressions, as these
Proceed out of thy mouth? such passages
Of simple folly, as no wise mans ear
Can so much idle talk with patience hear.
For thruth' thou talkst, like one, who wantonly
Makes Table-jests of Grace, and Piety,
Who laughs at God, and all that he hath made,
Blasphems his holy name, and makes a trade
To treat en ridicule, all Providence,
Arguing boldly all things come by chance.

6. Thine own mouth condemneth thee. & not I, and thy lips testify against thee.

Sure thou deserv'st extreamly to be blam'd,
That, in the eyes of God art not asham'd
To talk, like one of those, whose hearts are seal'd,
To whom our God at no time has reveal'd
His Divine Grace: but lets them foolishly
Run out the Course of their Impiety.
And never stop, till some Disease do quell
Their hot Carrier, and then the thoughts of Hell
The apprehensions of tormenting Devils
With the sad prospect of all kind of Evils
May some Remorse from those poor Souls procure,
But these good thoughts no longer do endure,
Than their Disease for, let its force abate,
And then return they to their former state.

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Like one of those, thou talkst, alace, my friend,
When wilt' to those expressions put an end?
For thus thy mouth condemns thee, and not I,
Thy conscious lips against the testify.
Thou talks't, thou talks't, and like a foolish wretch,
Wouldst fain discourse of things above thy reach,
And seem'st to question, in thy frantick sense,
The soveraign power of Divine Providence.
Thou talkst with God, as wouldst with one of us,
—Why thus oppress'd? why am I punish'd thus?
Sayst thou, why are my steps thus calculat?
And all my errors so enumerat?
As if forsooth, he who commands on high,
Should find himself oblig'd to satisfy
Thy rude demands: as if forsooth that he
Should stoop so low, as answer such as thee,
In all thy School-boyes questions, and assign
A reason for his actings.
Dost think that he, who did us all Create,
And with his own Breath did us animate,
From whence this reason (of which were so proud)
Flows in a channel, can be understood
To act by other rules, than only those
Of undisturbed reason? dost suppose
That he, who governs all by upright Laws,
Would punish such as the, without a cause?
Prethee, my friend, then let me understand
Why so presumptuous as to demand
A reason, why thou art thus punished?
Dost think such language can be suffered?
A reason from the God of reason! sure
No pious ears such pratting can endure:
Dost' think he'll give account to every fool,
On whom he uses justice, by what rule
He doth proceed: no sure, he will not do it,
The Majesty of his Laws will not allow it.
But if thou wilt from men a reason know,
'Tis only this, our God will have it so,
That he may keep aspiring spirits low.

7. Art thou the first man that was born, and wast thou made before the hills?

This is the reason, prethee rest content
With this then, and no more thy self torment
With asking questions, why thus punished?
Why thus afflicted? why thus buffetted?
We've heard too much of such unwarrantable,
And shrewd discourse, discourse unsufferable:
Forbear then pray, for all those sad complaints
Are to no purpose, but weak arguments
Of innocence, and rather do imply
A heart replenish'd with impiety,
Which now thou labour'st to conceal, in vain,
And so bewrayst thy Conscience by thy pain.
Whence all this arguing then? this violence
On reason, to maintain thy innocence!

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What need of all this reasoning, what need
Of words, if thou be innocent indeed!
For innocence still for it self will plead.
Then, by thy favour, friend, I must demand
What, in a word wouldst have us understand
By all those brisque expressions? dost conceive,
Thy hollow talking will make us believe
That what thou, in thy passion dost expresse
Must be receiv'd as learned sentences,
And so admir'd, in future ages look,
Like the dark Riddles in some ancient Book?
Art thou of men most aged, grave, and wise?
Hadst thou a Beeing, ere the Hills did rise?

8. hast thou heard the secret council of God? and dost thou restrain wisdom to thee?

Art thou of Council to th'Almighty Lord,
Who fram'd and ordred all things by his word?
Dost thou advise him? dost thou influence
His Spirit in his Works of Providence?
Art thou the only wise man now alive?
Hast thou attain'd what all in vain do scrive
To purchase,—wisdom in perfection? can
Thy Parts advance thee 'bove the reach of man?

9. What knowest thou, that we know not? and understandest that is not in us?

Prethee, lets hear now what thou furder knowst
Than we do? of what learning canst thou boast,
Unknown to us? what Arts, or Sciences,
For all thy blustring words, dost thou professe
To understand, of which we're ignorant?
Then what's this knowledge, of which thou dost vaunt?
This extraordinar wisdom? prethee show
What are the things thou knowest, we do not know.

10. With us are both ancient, and very aged men, far older then thy father.

With us are men both ancient, and sage,
Men, that do far exceed thy Fathers age.
Men learn'd, and knowing, men of lives upright,
Men truly sober, men, whose piercing sight
None can escape; men, who distinctly know
The causes, whence all things in course do flow.
For every triffle can assign a reason,
And show that all things have their proper season,
In which they shut up, flourish, and decay,
And, with submissive reverence, obey
The orders of the first, and mightie Cause,
To whose perpetual Edicts, Rules, and Laws,
All other causes do subjection own,
And can do nothing by themselves alone,
In short, there's nothing to those men unknown.

11. Seem the consolation of God smal unto thee? is this thing strange unto thee?

Yet thou, forsooth, dost undervalue such,
As all men do, who think they know too much.
Thy self-conceited pride will not permit
Thee to believe that any has more wit
Then thou hast; hence thou dost all men despise,
And we're but very dunces in thy eyes,
But be assur'd 'tis no small thing, my friend,
That God to thee should consolation send
By such as us, men, who exactly know
Thy weaknesse, and most readily can show

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The cause of thy disease, and plainly tell
The proper remedy: men, who wish thee well,
Who pity thee, but on no terms will ly,
Who know all Arts but that of flattery:
And therefore what we speak, thou mayst believe
Is for thy good: for, though we truly grieve,
To see thee in such sad calamity,
Yet, of a truth, we cannot justify
Those rash expressions, which we hear thee use,
But as thy friends, we fain would dis-abuse
Thy wavering mind; and make thee fully know
What, in affliction Man to God doth owe.

12. Why doth thine heart take thee away? and what do thine eyes mean?

'Tis not that one should thus complain, or that
He with his Maker should expostulat,
As thou hast done, or by his looks expresse,
What inward sorrow doth his mind oppresse,
Or, with such self-conceited impudence,
Upbraid th'Almighty with his innocence.

13. That thou answerest thy God at thy pleasure, and bringest such words out of thy mouth.

Or, in his language thus prevaricat,
And with th'All-knowing-God at random prat,
As if with his familiars he did speak,
And in his passion, show himself so weak,
As to repine. and bitterly exclaim
Against Gods Justice, and so rashly blame,
That ne're too much to be admired God,
Who, though in anger he doth use the Rod;
Yet, in that anger, mercy doth abound,
As in afflictions it is always found
By those, to whom our God allows the grace
Of its right use, for still in such a case,
As from most bitter Herbs, and acid Plants,
Men use t'extract wholsome Medicaments;
So from afflictions Limbeck gently flows
True Piety.—

O then, my friend, for thy own sake forbear
Those rankling words: pray let me no more hear
Such dangerous Thunder-claps of fiery passion,
By which thou tempst thy Maker, in that fashion,
As 'tis a wonder he has all this time
Heard thee with patience: for a smaller Crime,
Many have by his justice been destroy'd,
But thou, my friend, hast all this while enjoy'd
Thy Breath, at least: and if thou understood,
How much our converse serves to do thee good:
Thou art so far from those extremities
Of misery, which from afflictions rise,
That I should rather think, in sober sense,
Thou might'st with all those triffling ills dispense,
Assisted by such comforters;—indeed
Thou merits't further to be punished,
If in these mad expressions thou proceed.

14. What is man that he should be clean, and he that is born of woman, that he should be just?

Thou just! thou clean from sin! thou innocent!
What sober person thus himself would vent?
Can any man be clean? can man be just?

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Can any thing, that has its rise from dust,
Be without blemish? can a silly creature,
That sucks Corruption from the Mothers Nature,
A creature black, with sin Original,
Before it well its self a man can call:
One, whose defect doth with its life begin,
And in the Womb becomes acquaint with sin;
Can he be clean? can such a one, as he,
For all the World be esteemed free
From all, that's evil?
Man of a Woman born, can he be clean?
Pray what by such expressions dost thou mean?
Can any thing, that's good from one proceed,
Who so much mischief to the World doth breed?
Who plagues us all with sin; that cursed root,
Which, in its season, yields no other fruit,
But sin alone, which we do soon disperss
Through all the corners of the Universe
A fruit, in which men drive a constant trade,
And toil as much, as for their daily bread,
To purchase this dear fruit; at any rate,
In this all mortals do negotiate.
But, after all this Traffique, when at last
Man, on his Death-bed doth begin to cast
Th'accounts of this same dismal trade, alace
How doth he look! when all the passages
Of his past life before him doth appear,
And he, poor soul, already dead with fear,
Sees, by account what profit he has made
Through all the course of this unlucky trade:
—Sin upon Sin, Loss upon Loss! he cries
Shuts up his Books, curses this trade, and dies.

Yet is this all, that Woman doth produce,
Beseech thee, then, my friend, do not abuse
Thy self with fancies, as if any thing
That's good, from such a tainted root, can spring.

15. Behold he found no stedfastness in his saints, yea the heavens are not clean in his sight.

No, no—wee're all unclean: wee're sinful all,
No man on earth himself can upright call.
What!—while the very Saints, while travelling here,
Bedaub'd with sin did in his sight appear,
Nay even the Heavens themselves are in his eye
Grossely unclean, full of Deformity.

16. How much more is man abominable, & filthy, who drinketh iniquity, like water?

Will man pretend that he is clean? will he,
Who's sin, in the superlative degree:
Who in provocking God takes such delite,
As in his food, and sins, with appetite:
Who greedily sucks in iniquity,
Shall he pretend i'th' least to purity?

17. I will tell thee, hear me, and I will declare what I have seen.

No sure:—thou err'st, my friend, but, if thou'lt hear
What's for thy good. I freely will declare
What I have seen, and in my time have learn'd,
What with great pains, and labour I have earn'd.

18. Which wise men have told, as they heard of their fathers, and have not keeped secret.

I'le tell thee things, which prudent men of old

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Have by their Reverend Ancestors been told.
What these did not think fit to be conceal'd,
But for their childrens benefit reveal'd,
Who by learn'd Sayings, and wise Apothegms
In History have Eterniz'd their Names.

19. To whom alone the land was given, & no stranger passed through them.

Who by their Prudence did so moderate
And mannage that, which God had allocate
To them for their inheritance so well,
With such Discretion, and did so excell
I'th' art of Government, mentaining peace
With all their Neighbours, living in such case
Amongst themselves, as none durst undertake
T'invade them, or atempt i'th' least to break
Their firm confederacy, which of old
They had so founded, as nor Steel, nor Gold
Could cut that Knot: nor could the smiling tricks
Of States-men countermine their Politicks.
In short they did possess, and govern all,
As if their Land had been Allodial,
As if it had belong'd to them alone,
And, (save o'th' King of Heavens,) they held of none.

20. The wicked man is as one that traveleth continually with child, & the number of years is hid from the tyrant.

Those men have told us that the wicked are
Most miserable, in continual fear.
In pains, like those of Child-birth, still they lie
Exclaiming, in the extream agonie
Of a sad troubled conscience, which alace
Allowes them ease, scarce a small moments space.
The cruel man is never void of fear,
But fancies Death attends him every where.
For, when he calls to mind by what Oppressions
He has enlarg'd his Titles, and Possessions:
How many he has ruin'd, and undone,
And eat up all their means, since he begun
To set up for himself; how cunningly
'Has turn'd out many a goodly family,
And sent them all a begging: he from thence
Infallibly concludes.—
All hate him, curse him, do his name abhorr,
And, as they ask their alms from door to door
They tell by whose oppression they are poor.

Then when he thus reflects, and calls to mind
How hateful he's become to all mankind:
The unjust Tyrant doth not think it strange
That all the world should meditate revenge
Against their common Enemy: a man
Proscrib'd, and out-law'd by the publick Ban
Of all just pious men, who in their prayers,
With fervent zeal, and floods of bitter tears,
Accuse them to their God, and constantly
For Justice,—Justice—in Heavens Court do cry,
Against him,—then he stares, and looks about,
And even his own Domesticks he doth doubt
Upon his life have some design, and those
Who break his bread, are now become his foes.

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21. A sound of fear is in his ears, and in his prosperity the destroyer shall come upon him.

With horrour thunder-struck, with care oppress't,
This miserable soul can have no rest.
Before his eyes strange visions appear,
His mind is sore belaboured, his ear
Is still infested with a noise of fear.
A dreadful noise, like that of Passing-bell,
Which doth his nigh-approaching death foretell;
In which he's not deceiv'd, for by, and by,
(Even in the solstice of prosperity)
Down from the Mountains falls some injur'd Lord,
Who, and his hungry crew, with fire and sword,
This mighty mans Dominions invade,
And wasting all before them make a Trade
Of pillaging, appearing every where,
Like lightning, sometimes here, and sometimes there,
So through his territories nimbly fly,
Seizing his Towns, and Castles speedily:
Advancing still, in a vindictive rage,
Until in Battel with him they engage,
Defeat his Forces, put them all to flight,
Then to his glory he bids long-good-night.

22. He believeth not to return out of darkness, for he seeth the sword before him.

Thus ends the whip, and terrour of his age,
For to him so his mind did still presage,
I'th' noon-tide of his blesse: he durst not hope,
Or fancy any other horoscope
Then a most wretch'd and miserable end,
Which makes him in perpetual horrour spend
The best of all his time, enjoyes no ease,
But is disturb'd in mind, for still he sees
The raging Sword before him, and he fears
His Enemies are still about his ears.

23. He wandreth to, and fro for bread, where he may, he knoweth that the day of darkness is prepared at hand.

At length, when misery doth come indeed,
Like one, that wanders to, and fro for bread,
So doth this great man ramble every where,
And makes what shifts he can for daily fare.
Carelesse of Honour, outward Pomp, and State,
And costly Dyet, now content of what
Nature affords: a simple Peasants Food
To him is pleasant, and he finds it good.
He eats, he sleeps, no more he doth demand,
Because he knows his death is nigh at hand.

24. Affliction and anguish shall make him afraid, they shall prevail against him, as a king ready to the battel.

Anxiety, affliction, grief, and care,
Which stir up good mens hopes, make them despair,
Despair down-right, in fiery rage exclaim
'Gainst what the precious fool doth Fortune name,
And, in his humours, openly blaspheme.
Transported, drunk with fury, he cryes out,
In fits, and like a mad man runs about
The Towns, and Countrey-fields, vents all his passions
In angry wrath, and horrid execrations.
'Gainst him at length despair doth so prevail,
He becomes faint, and all his spirits fail:
Curs'd be the Stars, that rul'd my Birth, he crys,
With a strong sigh, thrusts out his Soul, and dyes.

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25. For he hath stretched out his hand against God, and made himself strong against the Almighty.

O thus let all Oppressors end! thus all
The enemies of God Almighty fall!
Let thus such men, who in prosperity
Lift up their faces, and their God defy:
Who laugh, with pleasure at Omnipotence,
And make a formal jest of Providence:
Who, in their actings, do their God deride,
And spit against the Heavens in their pride:
Let them all perish thus; O let them dye,
Without compassion, in great misery.

26. Therefore God shall run upon him, even upon his neck, against the most thick part of his shield.

For, though vain man may to the World pretend,
He's proof of judgements, can himself defend
Against th'assaults of Heaven, and proudly boasts,
In Power he's equal with the Lord of Hosts,
Our God doth smile, and for some time permits
This fool to Revel in his frantick Fits:
But, when he's blown up to the hight of pride.
And undervalues all the World beside,
Then will he fall upon him, overthrow
All his defences, bring this Champion low,
And make th'insulting Rebel understand
The difference 'twixt an Almighty-hand,
And that of Flesh: his choisest Coat of Mail
Shall not resist his thrusts, God shall prevail
'Gainst all his strength, that men may learn to know,
What great submission to their God they owe,

27. Because he hath covered his face with his fatness, and has collops in his flank.

And not imagine, in prosperity,
Because in wealth, and honour they are high,
They can the strength of our great God defy.
For, whilst in plenty we our years do waste,
Void of all sorrow, with no care oppress't,
But in our Myrtle Groves deliciously
We feed, and sleep in deep security:
Whilst hopeful Children do about us stand,
Like Guards o'th' Body, and on every hand
Our Friends, Dependants, Servants, in a row,
By their attendance do their kindnesse show,
As well as their submission, and we fear
No enemy, but all things do appear,
As tributary to our happinesse,
And we all Earthly blessings do possesse,
Then, then alace, we do become such fools,
As to forget that God Almighty rules
This lower World, and think our selves so sure
In our Possessions; as we can endure
Heav'ns wrath, and not be mov'd.—

28. Though he dwell in desolate cities and in houses which no man inhabite, but are become heaps.

But let us once but tumble in distresse,
Then we're at length obliged to confesse
That God is all in all, that he alone,
Rules all from Spade, and Shovel to the Throne.
And though those impious fools, who here despise
The Power of God, and think themselves so wise,
As they can purchase Lands in soveraignity,
And independant of Gods Majesty,

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The Princes be on Earth: may vainly dream
They're fully blessed, yet in his esteem
They are accurs'd; condemn'd, and destinate
For Wrath, and Torment, dire Revenge, and Hate.
Let them, to purchase to themselves a name
Erect stupendious Monuments of fame.
Repair wast houses, Cities desolate
Rebuild, and their design to found a seat
For them, and there accurs'd Posterity
'Spite of that Mighty God, that lives on high:

29. He shall not be rich, neither shall his substance continue, neither shall he prolong the perfection thereof in the earth.

Nay let them languish in the Golden-itch,
And by all means endeavour to be rich;
Yet shall their toil, and labour be in vain
Nor shall they have more profit for their pain
Than daily bread: nay that ere all be done
Shall be deficient too, and they anon
As in a Glass their folly shall behold,
And see on what they have bestow'd their Gold.
Those high flow'n Projects, which their aery minds
Did entertain; those fancies of all kinds
Which did their heads possess shall now be broke,
And all their notions vanish into smoak.
Their buildings none shall ever see compleat,
For all their substance shall evaporat
Before the Roofs ar set on; and these fair
And sumptuous Fabrick, to the open air
Shall be expos'd; they never shall grow old
For their Materials shall be bought and sold
To pay the Workmens Wages: and if ought
(The naked walls perhaps) remain unbought,
Why these shall be a simple Volary
Where ill-presaging Owls by nights do cry
Rooks, and Jack-dawes by day do make a noise,
And he who rais'd the Building, scarce enjoys
A covered corner in that spacious Nest,
Where he with his poor Family may rest.

30. He shall never depart out of darkness, the flames shall dry up his branches, and he shall go away with the breath of his mouth.

Where he with his poor Family may dwell,
And with sad groans, and numerous sighings tell
The story of his former life, and show
The vanity of all things here below.
Where he may teach his Children to take care,
By his example never to out-dare
Th'Almighty God: or think that any thing
Can here be bless'd to us when Heavens King
Has vow'd the contrair: or imagine that
We can be happy here at any rate,
Unless God favour us: then, with a groan,
Shut up his story, and retire alone
To some dark hole, where he intends to lie,
And pass his days in sad obscurity,
Until the time arrive that he should die.
But ere he die, he shall spread flowers, and leaves,
Temper'd with tears on all his childrens graves.
His branches thus lop't off, the Saples Trunk

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With'red, and dry, in grief, and sorrow sunk,
At length shall burst, and in a flood of Tears
O're wheml'd, shall end the Legend of his years.

31. He believeth not that he erreth in vanity, therefore vanity shall be his change.

Thus shall he die, whom, while his sun did shine,
And every thing appeared to combine
To raise his happinesse, and make him glad,
No power of Eloquence could ere perswade
That all his glory, all his gallantry
Was but meer air, and glittering vanity.
Therefore, since he such speeches would not hear,
Nor to grave admonitions give ear
By which good men endeavoured to teach
What thoughts were proper for him, and did preach
Faith, and Repentance to him every day,
But not reguarding what they all did say,
Would still continue in his high conceit,
Laugh at those serious Councellors, and treat
Their grave advices, as ridiculous,
And meer cunn'd Lessons, serving for no use,
But to keep fools and children, every where,
By such Predictions, in continual fear.
Therefore his end shall be all Vanity;
And he th'example of inconstancy
In Human Glory, laugh'd to scorn by all,
Poor, wretched, and unpitied shall fall.

32. His branch shall not be green, but shall be cut off before his day.

Poor, and bereav'd of issue he shall die,
And of him there shall be no Memory,
Only his name like Beacon shall appear
In History, to warn all men to stear
Another course than he, who wilfully
Did Ship-wrack on this Rock of Vanity.

33. God shall destroy him, as the vine her sauce-grape, and shall cast him off, as the olive doth her flower.

For as sower Grapes unpleasant to the taste,
Not worth the eating, but Hogs-food, at best,
Men use to spitt out: as the Olive tree
Doth cast her Flower; so he, who ere he be,
Who thus doth live, who thus consumes his time
Shall by our God be cast off in his Prime.

34. For the congregation of the hypocrite shall be desolate, and fire shall devour the houses of bribes.

For all the Race of those poor Souls, who hate
Their Great Creator shall be desolate.
Such as by Poling, Cheats, and Bribery
Have from the Dung-hill rais'd a family,
And become Men of Substance, by oppressions
Shall all at length from their unjust Possessions
Be by the God of justice totally
Ejected, and their masqued Villany
Shall to the World be publish'd that from thence
All men may learn to place their confidence
In God alone; and not believe that all
The Wit of Mankind can prevent their Fall
When God intends it, who did all creat
Of nothing, and can all annihilat.

35. For they conceive mischief, and bring forth vanity, and their belly hath prepared deceit.

For such men pregnant with all kind of ill,
Let them Hood-wink their conscience, as they will,
After great labour and perplexity,

112

Are all delivered of meer vanity.
Of all their stale devices here's the end,
what ere they plot doth to their ruin tend.