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. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
Ch. XXX
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| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
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| LIII. |
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Ch. XXX
A paraphrase on the Book of Job |  |
Ch. XXX
Now Providence Divine has chang'd my State,
Such are my Wants, and such my Woes of late,
That those young Men my Poverty deride,
To whose intreating Fathers I deny'd
The Priviledge my numerous Herds to keep,
Or with my Dogs to sit and guard my Sheep.
For they were grown, their Manly Vigour spent
With Vice and Age, so Weak and Impotent;
They were no more for useful Labour fit,
But wander'd Hoary Beggars thro' the Street:
Opprest with Want and Famine, till at last,
They were, like Thieves, from every City chas'd.
Trembling with fear, to shun their Neighbour's sight,
To solitary Woods they took their Flight,
Roam'd o'er the Plains by Day, and skulk'd in Hills by Night.
In thorny Dens and rocky Caves they lay,
To Lyons Hunger, or their own, a Prey.
Of Juniper they Eat the bitter Root,
Unsavory Herbs, and wild, unwholsome Fruit.
To ease their Hunger with Supplys of Food,
They made the Mountains bare, and stript the Wood.
Brambles and Thorny Branches they devour,
Beneath whose shelter they had lodg'd before.
A Stock so Vile, a Progeny so base,
Ne'er brought on Humane Nature more disgrace,
Ne'er was a Kingdom curst with such a Race.
Yet to their Sons I am a standing Jest;
So low is Job, so Poor, and so Opprest.
What Contumelious Insults have I born
From these vile Men, what unexampled Scorn?
With bitter Scoffs they suff'ring Job revile,
And pass me by with a disdainful Smile.
They have me in Contempt, abhor my sight,
And as from one Infected, take their Flight.
They dare affront, and mock me to my Face,
Since God is pleas'd on Job to bring disgrace,
And to afflict me does his Power engage,
They too unbridle all their savage Rage.
Young Striplings, poor afflicted Job despise,
And to obstruct my way, against me rise.
No Methods, no Devices they neglect,
Which likely seem my Ruin to effect.
My Righteous Actions they perversly wrest,
And by their Taunts my Anguish is increast.
Still to invent new Slaunders they proceed,
And are so fruitful, they no Helper need.
On me they come, as conquering Soldiers rush
Into a Town, or as a mighty Flush
Of rapid Waters, which have broken down
Th' opposing Banks, and then the Vally drown.
Like pressing Waves their Terrors on me roll,
And as a Storm my Foes pursue my Soul.
My Joy and Peace dissolve and melt away,
As morning Mists before the rising Day.
And now my Soul is griev'd, my Flesh diseas'd,
And dismal Woes have me their Pris'ner seiz'd.
All Night I lye extended on a Rack,
My Bones are tortur'd, and my Sinews crack.
The Putrefaction from my running Boils,
In loathsome manner all my Vest defiles:
Close to my Sores it sticks, as to my Throat,
The narrow Collar of my seamless Coat.
Me deep in Mire God has in Anger spurn'd,
Ev'n while alive, I seem to Ashes turn'd.
I cry unto thee, but am never heard,
I make my Moan, but does the Lord regard?
The gracious God is grown to me severe,
Quite chang'd his very Nature does appear.
His mighty Hand, from which I hop'd Relief,
Is now extended to augment my Grief.
Like Chaff I'm caught up by the Wind, and tost,
And this and that way driv'n, till I have lost
My Flesh and Substance, which I once could boast.
I find the Tomb must quickly me receive,
The general Rendezvous of all that live.
His Hand th' Almighty will not stretch to save
A Wretch, that seems already in the Grave.
Not all the Crys that by my Friends are sent
To Heav'n, my sure Destruction shall prevent.
Such are my Wants, and such my Woes of late,
That those young Men my Poverty deride,
To whose intreating Fathers I deny'd
The Priviledge my numerous Herds to keep,
Or with my Dogs to sit and guard my Sheep.
For they were grown, their Manly Vigour spent
With Vice and Age, so Weak and Impotent;
They were no more for useful Labour fit,
But wander'd Hoary Beggars thro' the Street:
Opprest with Want and Famine, till at last,
They were, like Thieves, from every City chas'd.
Trembling with fear, to shun their Neighbour's sight,
To solitary Woods they took their Flight,
Roam'd o'er the Plains by Day, and skulk'd in Hills by Night.
In thorny Dens and rocky Caves they lay,
To Lyons Hunger, or their own, a Prey.
Of Juniper they Eat the bitter Root,
Unsavory Herbs, and wild, unwholsome Fruit.
To ease their Hunger with Supplys of Food,
They made the Mountains bare, and stript the Wood.
Brambles and Thorny Branches they devour,
Beneath whose shelter they had lodg'd before.
128
Ne'er brought on Humane Nature more disgrace,
Ne'er was a Kingdom curst with such a Race.
Yet to their Sons I am a standing Jest;
So low is Job, so Poor, and so Opprest.
What Contumelious Insults have I born
From these vile Men, what unexampled Scorn?
With bitter Scoffs they suff'ring Job revile,
And pass me by with a disdainful Smile.
They have me in Contempt, abhor my sight,
And as from one Infected, take their Flight.
They dare affront, and mock me to my Face,
Since God is pleas'd on Job to bring disgrace,
And to afflict me does his Power engage,
They too unbridle all their savage Rage.
Young Striplings, poor afflicted Job despise,
And to obstruct my way, against me rise.
No Methods, no Devices they neglect,
Which likely seem my Ruin to effect.
My Righteous Actions they perversly wrest,
And by their Taunts my Anguish is increast.
Still to invent new Slaunders they proceed,
And are so fruitful, they no Helper need.
On me they come, as conquering Soldiers rush
Into a Town, or as a mighty Flush
Of rapid Waters, which have broken down
Th' opposing Banks, and then the Vally drown.
Like pressing Waves their Terrors on me roll,
And as a Storm my Foes pursue my Soul.
129
As morning Mists before the rising Day.
And now my Soul is griev'd, my Flesh diseas'd,
And dismal Woes have me their Pris'ner seiz'd.
All Night I lye extended on a Rack,
My Bones are tortur'd, and my Sinews crack.
The Putrefaction from my running Boils,
In loathsome manner all my Vest defiles:
Close to my Sores it sticks, as to my Throat,
The narrow Collar of my seamless Coat.
Me deep in Mire God has in Anger spurn'd,
Ev'n while alive, I seem to Ashes turn'd.
I cry unto thee, but am never heard,
I make my Moan, but does the Lord regard?
The gracious God is grown to me severe,
Quite chang'd his very Nature does appear.
His mighty Hand, from which I hop'd Relief,
Is now extended to augment my Grief.
Like Chaff I'm caught up by the Wind, and tost,
And this and that way driv'n, till I have lost
My Flesh and Substance, which I once could boast.
I find the Tomb must quickly me receive,
The general Rendezvous of all that live.
His Hand th' Almighty will not stretch to save
A Wretch, that seems already in the Grave.
Not all the Crys that by my Friends are sent
To Heav'n, my sure Destruction shall prevent.
130
Did not my Soul for Men in Trouble mourn,
Did not my moving Bowels in me turn,
And o'er the Poor touch'd with Compassion yern?
Yet (fatal Disappointment!) sore Distress
Came, when I most expected Joy and Peace.
While I was waiting for the chearful Light,
Darkness o'erspread me, and a dismal Night.
My Soul in restless Agonys of Grief
Tormented lay, and hopeless of Relief.
So unawares was my Affliction sent,
The suddain Stroke did quick-ey'd Fear prevent.
To solitary Seats I love to creep,
And dark Recesses, where I groan and weep.
To antient, lonesome Ruins I repair,
And mossy Heaps, in damp, unwholsome Air;
A Desolation wild, as my Despair.
There I so long have cry'd, and made my moan,
That to the salvage Beasts my Story's known.
Well pleas'd, with Owls and Ravens I converse,
And the sad Series of my Woes rehearse.
They Scriech and Croak, and from ill-boding Throats,
To my sad Grief return becoming Notes.
By Night midst Wolves I well acquainted sit,
Howling Companions, for my Sorrow fit.
Serpents my hissing Friends, with me abide,
And with my Brother Dragons I reside.
I am with Horror now familiar grown,
To all the Terrors of the Desart known,
And friendly Satyrs take me for their own.
My Bones quite dry'd by scorching Heat within,
Start out, and break my black and wither'd Skin.
I now no more my tuneful Harp employ,
Sad Tears and Crys succeed my banish'd Joy.
No longer to the Organ I rejoyce,
I've for the Mourner's chang'd the Singer's Voice.
Did not my moving Bowels in me turn,
And o'er the Poor touch'd with Compassion yern?
Yet (fatal Disappointment!) sore Distress
Came, when I most expected Joy and Peace.
While I was waiting for the chearful Light,
Darkness o'erspread me, and a dismal Night.
My Soul in restless Agonys of Grief
Tormented lay, and hopeless of Relief.
So unawares was my Affliction sent,
The suddain Stroke did quick-ey'd Fear prevent.
To solitary Seats I love to creep,
And dark Recesses, where I groan and weep.
To antient, lonesome Ruins I repair,
And mossy Heaps, in damp, unwholsome Air;
A Desolation wild, as my Despair.
There I so long have cry'd, and made my moan,
That to the salvage Beasts my Story's known.
Well pleas'd, with Owls and Ravens I converse,
And the sad Series of my Woes rehearse.
They Scriech and Croak, and from ill-boding Throats,
To my sad Grief return becoming Notes.
By Night midst Wolves I well acquainted sit,
Howling Companions, for my Sorrow fit.
Serpents my hissing Friends, with me abide,
And with my Brother Dragons I reside.
I am with Horror now familiar grown,
To all the Terrors of the Desart known,
And friendly Satyrs take me for their own.
131
Start out, and break my black and wither'd Skin.
I now no more my tuneful Harp employ,
Sad Tears and Crys succeed my banish'd Joy.
No longer to the Organ I rejoyce,
I've for the Mourner's chang'd the Singer's Voice.
|
Ch. XXX
A paraphrase on the Book of Job | |