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. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. | C. XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
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| LIII. |
 | C. XXXIX. A paraphrase on the Book of Job |  |
C. XXXIX.
Know'st thou the Time when the wild Goats bring forth,
And to the flinty Rock commit their Birth?
Know'st thou the Months which pregnant Hinds compleat,
And when to Calve they to the Brakes retreat?
In Pangs they bow themselves, and in the Wood
At once their Sorrows and their Birth exclude.
The Calves not only all their pains survive,
But as with Corn supply'd, grow fat and thrive.
To seek their Meat they range the Forrest o'er,
And to the Mother-Hind return no more.
And to the flinty Rock commit their Birth?
Know'st thou the Months which pregnant Hinds compleat,
And when to Calve they to the Brakes retreat?
In Pangs they bow themselves, and in the Wood
At once their Sorrows and their Birth exclude.
The Calves not only all their pains survive,
But as with Corn supply'd, grow fat and thrive.
To seek their Meat they range the Forrest o'er,
And to the Mother-Hind return no more.
Who did, O Job, to the wild Asse's Heart
A noble Sense of Liberty impart?
Bravely impatient of the Bit and Rein,
The Beast with gen'rous Pride, a Master do's disdain.
He do's the Crib and proffer'd Corn refuse,
And Thistles joyn'd with native Freedom chuse.
From pop'lous Towns, he do's to Mountains flee,
Oft Hunger feels, but never Slavery,
Whatever are his wants, the noble Beast is free.
No Ignominious Burdens will he bear,
His Flesh no Driver's Whips, or Rider's tear.
He never pants upon the Sandy Road,
Choak'd with the Dust, and groaning with his Load.
The Hills and Forrests Pasturage afford,
There he can range, and there command as Lord.
With Freedom blest he'll not the Desart quit,
But mocks th' ignoble Ass, that tamely does submit.
A noble Sense of Liberty impart?
Bravely impatient of the Bit and Rein,
The Beast with gen'rous Pride, a Master do's disdain.
He do's the Crib and proffer'd Corn refuse,
And Thistles joyn'd with native Freedom chuse.
From pop'lous Towns, he do's to Mountains flee,
Oft Hunger feels, but never Slavery,
Whatever are his wants, the noble Beast is free.
No Ignominious Burdens will he bear,
His Flesh no Driver's Whips, or Rider's tear.
He never pants upon the Sandy Road,
Choak'd with the Dust, and groaning with his Load.
The Hills and Forrests Pasturage afford,
There he can range, and there command as Lord.
173
But mocks th' ignoble Ass, that tamely does submit.
Will the wild Bull, be willing to obey,
And a tame Lab'rer with thy Oxen stay?
Will he receive the Yoke, submit to toyl,
And plough up Furrows in thy fertile Soil?
Will he of any Master stand in Aw,
And the sharp Harrow o'er the Vally draw?
Because his Strength is great, wilt thou presume
To let him bring thy gather'd Harvest home?
And a tame Lab'rer with thy Oxen stay?
Will he receive the Yoke, submit to toyl,
And plough up Furrows in thy fertile Soil?
Will he of any Master stand in Aw,
And the sharp Harrow o'er the Vally draw?
Because his Strength is great, wilt thou presume
To let him bring thy gather'd Harvest home?
With curious Colours who the Peacock dy'd?
Whence has his sweeping Train its painted Pride?
Say, who the Honour to himself assumes,
Of forming by his skill, the noble Plumes,
And spacious Wings which the vast Ostrich wears;
Which by her Bulk a feather'd Beast appears?
She does her Eggs to the wild Desart trust,
And leaves her unform'd Offspring in the Dust;
Mean time forgets how soon it may be prest
And crusht by Trav'lers, or a roaming Beast.
The careless Bird do's from her Young retreat,
Expecting that the Sand's prolific Heat,
Her huge Conceptions, should at last compleat.
When she exalts her Neck amidst the Skys,
She does the Horse and Rider's Arms despise.
Whence has his sweeping Train its painted Pride?
Say, who the Honour to himself assumes,
Of forming by his skill, the noble Plumes,
And spacious Wings which the vast Ostrich wears;
Which by her Bulk a feather'd Beast appears?
She does her Eggs to the wild Desart trust,
And leaves her unform'd Offspring in the Dust;
Mean time forgets how soon it may be prest
And crusht by Trav'lers, or a roaming Beast.
The careless Bird do's from her Young retreat,
Expecting that the Sand's prolific Heat,
Her huge Conceptions, should at last compleat.
When she exalts her Neck amidst the Skys,
She does the Horse and Rider's Arms despise.
Hast thou, O Job, giv'n to the gen'rous Horse,
His Confidence, his Spirit and his Force?
The deep thick Mane that cloaths the noble Beast,
The graceful Terror of his lofty Crest,
Is it thy work? canst thou his Courage shake?
And make him like a wretched Insect quake?
With native Fire his dreadful Nostrils glow,
And smoke and flame amidst the Battle blow.
Proud with Excess of Life he paws the ground,
Tears up the Turf, and spurns the Sand around.
He pricks his Ears when the shrill Trumpet sounds,
And to the Music Capers, leaps, and bounds.
When from afar he hears the Foe's alarms,
He forward springs to meet the Warriour's Arms.
Fearless he runs on Swords, the Files invades,
And makes his Passage thro' the thick Brigades.
He mocks the Weapons which the Horsemen weild,
The ratling Quiver, and the blazing Shield.
In his fierce Rage he beats and bites the Ground,
Nor does he start at the loud Trumpet's sound:
Pleas'd with the Martial noise he snuffs the Air,
And smells the dusty Battle from afar,
Neighs to the Captain's Thunder, and the shouts of War.
His Confidence, his Spirit and his Force?
174
The graceful Terror of his lofty Crest,
Is it thy work? canst thou his Courage shake?
And make him like a wretched Insect quake?
With native Fire his dreadful Nostrils glow,
And smoke and flame amidst the Battle blow.
Proud with Excess of Life he paws the ground,
Tears up the Turf, and spurns the Sand around.
He pricks his Ears when the shrill Trumpet sounds,
And to the Music Capers, leaps, and bounds.
When from afar he hears the Foe's alarms,
He forward springs to meet the Warriour's Arms.
Fearless he runs on Swords, the Files invades,
And makes his Passage thro' the thick Brigades.
He mocks the Weapons which the Horsemen weild,
The ratling Quiver, and the blazing Shield.
In his fierce Rage he beats and bites the Ground,
Nor does he start at the loud Trumpet's sound:
Pleas'd with the Martial noise he snuffs the Air,
And smells the dusty Battle from afar,
Neighs to the Captain's Thunder, and the shouts of War.
Didst thou instruct the Hawk to rove abroad
A murth'ring Robber on th' Aerial Road?
By thee enabled does he wing his Flight,
Thro' the thin Gulph, swift as a Ray of Light?
What Feather'd Trav'ller beats the Plains of Air,
That with the Eagle's can his Strength compare;
Midst cloudy Meteors that can soar so high,
Or with such swiftness cut the liquid Sky?
Gav'st thou the noble Bird her mighty Force,
And proper Wings to make her rapid Course?
Didst thou direct her where to build her Nest,
Where no Invader might her Peace molest?
She as a Fortress, does her dwelling keep
Midst craggy Cliffs, insuperably steep.
Tow'ring upon the Rock's impending Brow,
She sees with decent Pride th' ignoble Birds below.
She with a glance does all the Vale survey,
And like a Bolt of Thunder, makes her way
Down thro' the yeilding Heav'ns, to truss her prey.
Then to her Young, her crooked Pounces bear
The bloody Banquet swiftly thro' the Air.
A murth'ring Robber on th' Aerial Road?
By thee enabled does he wing his Flight,
Thro' the thin Gulph, swift as a Ray of Light?
What Feather'd Trav'ller beats the Plains of Air,
That with the Eagle's can his Strength compare;
Midst cloudy Meteors that can soar so high,
Or with such swiftness cut the liquid Sky?
175
And proper Wings to make her rapid Course?
Didst thou direct her where to build her Nest,
Where no Invader might her Peace molest?
She as a Fortress, does her dwelling keep
Midst craggy Cliffs, insuperably steep.
Tow'ring upon the Rock's impending Brow,
She sees with decent Pride th' ignoble Birds below.
She with a glance does all the Vale survey,
And like a Bolt of Thunder, makes her way
Down thro' the yeilding Heav'ns, to truss her prey.
Then to her Young, her crooked Pounces bear
The bloody Banquet swiftly thro' the Air.
| C. XXXIX. A paraphrase on the Book of Job | |