A paraphrase on the Book of Job As likewise on the Songs of Moses, Deborah, David: On Four Select Psalms: Some Chapters of Isaiah, and the Third Chapter of Habakkuk. By Sir Richard Blackmore |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
Ch. XXI.
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| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
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| LIII. |
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Ch. XXI.
A paraphrase on the Book of Job |  |
90
Ch. XXI.
And then afflicted Job reply'd: Forbear
To interrupt me thus, with Patience hear
And weigh my Arguments, while I proceed
In my Defence; this I'll accept instead
Of all the Consolation which from you
Is to a Friend in such Affliction due.
Sedately hear my Reasons out, and then
Reproach and mock your suff'ring Friend agen.
To interrupt me thus, with Patience hear
And weigh my Arguments, while I proceed
In my Defence; this I'll accept instead
Of all the Consolation which from you
Is to a Friend in such Affliction due.
Sedately hear my Reasons out, and then
Reproach and mock your suff'ring Friend agen.
When I in bitter Anguish make my moan,
Do I complain of cruel Man alone?
I oft with Reason do, and must declare,
That God's vindictive Arm is too severe.
That I the mark of all his Weapons stand,
While Men more guilty scape his vengeful Hand.
But what if I of Man alone complain?
Is my Complaint unjust, because 'tis vain?
Have I not reason to indulge my Grief,
When neither Man nor God afford Relief?
Consider well my sad afflicted State,
My unexampled Suff'rings will create
Astonishment, and make you hold your Peace,
And from reproaching me for ever cease.
When I reflect, that Providence Divine
Does on the Wicked, as on Fav'rites shine,
That vile and irreligious Wretches cloy
Their pamper'd Senses with Delight and Joy;
Whose Skins grow smooth, and sleek with Fat and Rest,
And no Invaders Arms their Peace molest:
While the mean time the Just and Godlike Kind,
From Heav'n and Earth alike hard measure find;
Are mark'd and singled out to undergo
Th' Almighty's Anger, and th' Oppressors blow;
Puzzled, confounded and amaz'd I stand,
And can't forbear a Reason to demand
Of this unequal Distribution, why
The Impious thrive, the Just despairing lye.
Here I from Heav'n Instruction would implore
How to defend the Justice I adore.
Do I complain of cruel Man alone?
I oft with Reason do, and must declare,
That God's vindictive Arm is too severe.
That I the mark of all his Weapons stand,
While Men more guilty scape his vengeful Hand.
But what if I of Man alone complain?
Is my Complaint unjust, because 'tis vain?
Have I not reason to indulge my Grief,
When neither Man nor God afford Relief?
Consider well my sad afflicted State,
My unexampled Suff'rings will create
Astonishment, and make you hold your Peace,
And from reproaching me for ever cease.
When I reflect, that Providence Divine
Does on the Wicked, as on Fav'rites shine,
That vile and irreligious Wretches cloy
Their pamper'd Senses with Delight and Joy;
Whose Skins grow smooth, and sleek with Fat and Rest,
And no Invaders Arms their Peace molest:
91
From Heav'n and Earth alike hard measure find;
Are mark'd and singled out to undergo
Th' Almighty's Anger, and th' Oppressors blow;
Puzzled, confounded and amaz'd I stand,
And can't forbear a Reason to demand
Of this unequal Distribution, why
The Impious thrive, the Just despairing lye.
Here I from Heav'n Instruction would implore
How to defend the Justice I adore.
Why do the Wicked unmolested thrive,
Flow in Abundance, and in Pleasure live?
In Mirth and Ease they pass their Days away,
Healthful in Riot, and in Age not Gray.
In Triumph they the Regal Throne ascend,
And far around their Empire they extend.
With Health and Vigour blest, they live to see
A flourishing and numerous Progeny.
Protected from Assaults they dwell secure,
And ne'er th' Almighty's scourging Rod endure.
Their fruitful Flocks engender on the Hill,
And with their Young their Herds the Vally fill.
Their verdant Meadows pour such Riches forth,
Strong Mowers groan to heave th' unweildy Birth.
Their unexhausted, never-failing Field,
Does a rich Harvest to the Reaper yield.
Their Gardens flourish, and the Golden Fruit
Bend down the laden Boughs, and kiss the Parent Root.
Their Children from their House in Flocks advance,
Sport in the Streets, and o'er the Meadows dance.
To highten yet the Pleasure of the Day,
They take the Harp, and on the Timbrel play.
They're ravish'd with the Singer's charming Voice,
And at the Organ's chearful Sound rejoyce.
In Ease and Wealth they spend their golden Days,
And wearing by insensible decays,
With years, and not with pains their Shoulders bend,
And ripe with Age, they to the Grave descend.
Therefore elated with prodigious Pride,
Th' Almighty's Power and Precepts they deride.
Religion's Heav'nly Graces they contemn,
And God-like Saints, as cheated Fools, condemn.
Th' obdurate Rebels arrogantly say,
What is th' Almighty? why should we obey?
What shall we get, if we in Praises spend
Our Breath, and Prayers to Heav'n devoutly send?
Flow in Abundance, and in Pleasure live?
In Mirth and Ease they pass their Days away,
Healthful in Riot, and in Age not Gray.
In Triumph they the Regal Throne ascend,
And far around their Empire they extend.
With Health and Vigour blest, they live to see
A flourishing and numerous Progeny.
Protected from Assaults they dwell secure,
And ne'er th' Almighty's scourging Rod endure.
Their fruitful Flocks engender on the Hill,
And with their Young their Herds the Vally fill.
Their verdant Meadows pour such Riches forth,
Strong Mowers groan to heave th' unweildy Birth.
Their unexhausted, never-failing Field,
Does a rich Harvest to the Reaper yield.
Their Gardens flourish, and the Golden Fruit
Bend down the laden Boughs, and kiss the Parent Root.
92
Sport in the Streets, and o'er the Meadows dance.
To highten yet the Pleasure of the Day,
They take the Harp, and on the Timbrel play.
They're ravish'd with the Singer's charming Voice,
And at the Organ's chearful Sound rejoyce.
In Ease and Wealth they spend their golden Days,
And wearing by insensible decays,
With years, and not with pains their Shoulders bend,
And ripe with Age, they to the Grave descend.
Therefore elated with prodigious Pride,
Th' Almighty's Power and Precepts they deride.
Religion's Heav'nly Graces they contemn,
And God-like Saints, as cheated Fools, condemn.
Th' obdurate Rebels arrogantly say,
What is th' Almighty? why should we obey?
What shall we get, if we in Praises spend
Our Breath, and Prayers to Heav'n devoutly send?
But as 'tis impious, so 'tis foolish too,
Such Pride, and such Contempt of Heav'n to shew:
This Man's own hand his Riches can't defend,
On God whom he provokes, he must depend.
Let him be rich, I can't his Conduct praise,
Nor shall I imitate the Sinner's ways.
For tho' 'tis certain that you grosly err,
When you with so much Confidence aver,
That the good Man God's favour still enjoys,
But that his Fury all th' unjust destroys;
Yet by experience taught I must avow,
That tho' not always, yet 'tis often so.
I grant, destruction oft th' unjust invades,
That oft the glory of the Wicked fades.
Their impious Deeds th' Almighty oft incense,
Who does his Judgments on their Heads dispence.
He with his driving Wrath does often chase
From off the Earth, this irreligious Race.
They, as the Chaff, before the Tempest fly,
Or Stubble born by Whirlwinds thro' the Sky.
Their Guilt th' Almighty treasures up with care,
And stores of Wrath does for their Sons prepare.
Their Progeny shall suffer for their Crime,
And they shall live to see that dismal time.
Their Lips shall drink of God's embitter'd Bowl,
And their dim Eyes shall in Destruction rowl.
What Comfort, what Delight shall they derive
From all their Offspring, who shall them survive;
When an untimely Violence has shut
Their Eye-lids, and their Days in sunder cut?
Such Pride, and such Contempt of Heav'n to shew:
This Man's own hand his Riches can't defend,
On God whom he provokes, he must depend.
Let him be rich, I can't his Conduct praise,
Nor shall I imitate the Sinner's ways.
For tho' 'tis certain that you grosly err,
When you with so much Confidence aver,
That the good Man God's favour still enjoys,
But that his Fury all th' unjust destroys;
93
That tho' not always, yet 'tis often so.
I grant, destruction oft th' unjust invades,
That oft the glory of the Wicked fades.
Their impious Deeds th' Almighty oft incense,
Who does his Judgments on their Heads dispence.
He with his driving Wrath does often chase
From off the Earth, this irreligious Race.
They, as the Chaff, before the Tempest fly,
Or Stubble born by Whirlwinds thro' the Sky.
Their Guilt th' Almighty treasures up with care,
And stores of Wrath does for their Sons prepare.
Their Progeny shall suffer for their Crime,
And they shall live to see that dismal time.
Their Lips shall drink of God's embitter'd Bowl,
And their dim Eyes shall in Destruction rowl.
What Comfort, what Delight shall they derive
From all their Offspring, who shall them survive;
When an untimely Violence has shut
Their Eye-lids, and their Days in sunder cut?
Thus that the wicked suffer I assert,
But 'tis not all, nor yet the greatest part.
I grant, the Just too sometimes prosp'rous are,
But they more often Pain and Trouble bear.
Yet who shall to th' Almighty's ways object?
Who shall to guide the World, his Hand direct?
Must always God flagitious Men consume,
And ne'er the Righteous to Affliction doom?
Must this distinction always be exprest,
Because you fancy this becomes him best?
Does not th' All-searching God exactly know,
And judge blest Saints above, and mighty Kings below?
Who then to teach him, Knowledge will pretend,
And show him how his Government to mend?
One in his Vigour, and his Strength full grown,
To whom enfeebling Aches are unknown,
Whose Breasts and Sides congested Fat distends,
And thro' whose Bones a Marrow Flood descends,
Shall lye extended in the Grave beneath,
Lopt by an unexpected stroke of Death:
Another wretched Suff'rer who has spent
His mournful days in Grief and Discontent,
In tort'ring Pains and bitter Anguish lies,
Nor till he's worn with ling'ring Sickness, dies.
The friendly Grave does both alike embrace,
And all Distinction's former marks efface:
The Worm alike does on their Bodies feast,
And mingling Dust, the Dead together rest.
But 'tis not all, nor yet the greatest part.
I grant, the Just too sometimes prosp'rous are,
But they more often Pain and Trouble bear.
Yet who shall to th' Almighty's ways object?
Who shall to guide the World, his Hand direct?
Must always God flagitious Men consume,
And ne'er the Righteous to Affliction doom?
94
Because you fancy this becomes him best?
Does not th' All-searching God exactly know,
And judge blest Saints above, and mighty Kings below?
Who then to teach him, Knowledge will pretend,
And show him how his Government to mend?
One in his Vigour, and his Strength full grown,
To whom enfeebling Aches are unknown,
Whose Breasts and Sides congested Fat distends,
And thro' whose Bones a Marrow Flood descends,
Shall lye extended in the Grave beneath,
Lopt by an unexpected stroke of Death:
Another wretched Suff'rer who has spent
His mournful days in Grief and Discontent,
In tort'ring Pains and bitter Anguish lies,
Nor till he's worn with ling'ring Sickness, dies.
The friendly Grave does both alike embrace,
And all Distinction's former marks efface:
The Worm alike does on their Bodies feast,
And mingling Dust, the Dead together rest.
Thus Troubles Men promiscuously invade,
And Death alike befalls the Good and Bad.
These Dispensations no regard express
To this Man's Crimes, or that Man's Righteousness.
Nor does the Love or Wrath of God appear
By what he gives, or makes us suffer here.
I know my Friends, by what you have exprest,
Th' imaginations lodg'd within your Breast.
Your inward thoughts your suff'ring Friend abuse,
And tho' the wicked only you accuse
In gen'ral Speeches, yet I plainly see
What you assert of them, you aim at me.
For often you disdainfully demand,
Where does the wicked Prince's Palace stand?
Who does the Dwelling where he flourish'd know?
Who its Remains and Monuments can show?
But can't the meanest Man that passes by,
To this demand convincingly reply?
Ask of the next you meet, and he will tell,
Where now the wicked unmolested dwell.
He'll point, and show the Towers where they abide,
The marks and tokens of their prosp'rous Pride.
'Tis plain, they often flourish, tho' 'tis true,
That Vengeance sometimes does their Crimes pursue
From present Troubles some are kept with care,
For greater Shame, and Judgments more severe.
God shall in solemn Triumph lead them forth,
To suffer publique, ignominious Wrath.
They Fat for Ruin, and for Slaughter fed,
With Garlands crown'd, and Crouds around them spred,
Are to Destruction's bloody Altar led.
Oft on the Wicked dreadful Judgments wait,
But Power and Plenty is their usual Fate.
And Death alike befalls the Good and Bad.
These Dispensations no regard express
To this Man's Crimes, or that Man's Righteousness.
Nor does the Love or Wrath of God appear
By what he gives, or makes us suffer here.
I know my Friends, by what you have exprest,
Th' imaginations lodg'd within your Breast.
95
And tho' the wicked only you accuse
In gen'ral Speeches, yet I plainly see
What you assert of them, you aim at me.
For often you disdainfully demand,
Where does the wicked Prince's Palace stand?
Who does the Dwelling where he flourish'd know?
Who its Remains and Monuments can show?
But can't the meanest Man that passes by,
To this demand convincingly reply?
Ask of the next you meet, and he will tell,
Where now the wicked unmolested dwell.
He'll point, and show the Towers where they abide,
The marks and tokens of their prosp'rous Pride.
'Tis plain, they often flourish, tho' 'tis true,
That Vengeance sometimes does their Crimes pursue
From present Troubles some are kept with care,
For greater Shame, and Judgments more severe.
God shall in solemn Triumph lead them forth,
To suffer publique, ignominious Wrath.
They Fat for Ruin, and for Slaughter fed,
With Garlands crown'd, and Crouds around them spred,
Are to Destruction's bloody Altar led.
Oft on the Wicked dreadful Judgments wait,
But Power and Plenty is their usual Fate.
Aw'd by their Wealth and Greatness, Men forbear
To tell them what their Crimes and Dangers are.
Elated, and impatient of Reproof,
They at the wisest Admonitions scoff.
They 're Great above the fear of Punishment,
Too wise to own their Errors, and repent.
The proud Oppressor's Death will often vye
With his past Life, and great prosperity;
For, as he liv'd in Pride and State, he'll dye.
His mourning Friends with sad magnificence,
With honourable Pomp, and vast expence,
Shall in the Dust th' ungodly heap inter,
And paint and carve his stately Sepulcher.
The Corps embalm'd with wondrous Cost and Art,
Shall rest entire, and sound in every part,
That 'twill a living Watchman posted there
To guard the Dead, not a Dead Corps appear.
He in the Grave shall find a sweet repose,
From Cares deliver'd, and from threatning Foes.
The Men who live, or who are yet unborn,
Shall follow him, and all File off in turn.
He is not more unhappy than the rest,
His Fate is common to the worst and best.
Why then do you pretend, that prosp'rous days
I yet might see, would I amend my ways?
Experience your Assertion contradicts,
And shows, that Heav'n the Righteous oft afflicts:
That the best Men prodigious Suff'rings bear,
While God is pleas'd great Wickedness to spare.
To tell them what their Crimes and Dangers are.
Elated, and impatient of Reproof,
They at the wisest Admonitions scoff.
96
Too wise to own their Errors, and repent.
The proud Oppressor's Death will often vye
With his past Life, and great prosperity;
For, as he liv'd in Pride and State, he'll dye.
His mourning Friends with sad magnificence,
With honourable Pomp, and vast expence,
Shall in the Dust th' ungodly heap inter,
And paint and carve his stately Sepulcher.
The Corps embalm'd with wondrous Cost and Art,
Shall rest entire, and sound in every part,
That 'twill a living Watchman posted there
To guard the Dead, not a Dead Corps appear.
He in the Grave shall find a sweet repose,
From Cares deliver'd, and from threatning Foes.
The Men who live, or who are yet unborn,
Shall follow him, and all File off in turn.
He is not more unhappy than the rest,
His Fate is common to the worst and best.
Why then do you pretend, that prosp'rous days
I yet might see, would I amend my ways?
Experience your Assertion contradicts,
And shows, that Heav'n the Righteous oft afflicts:
That the best Men prodigious Suff'rings bear,
While God is pleas'd great Wickedness to spare.
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Ch. XXI.
A paraphrase on the Book of Job | |