Jeremiah's CONTEMPLATIONS On Jeremiah's LAMENTATIONS: OR, ENGLAND'S Miseries matched with ZIONS Elegies.  
Being Described and unfolded in five ensuing Scenes;  
By JEREMIAH RICH, Student.  JOB 22. v. 21. 
Acquaint thyself with God, and be at peace, thereby good shall come unto thee.  
LONDON: Printed for JOHN STEVENSON, and are to be sold at his shop, at the Sun below Ludgate Hill. 1648.   

TO THE RIGHT Honourable, ELINOR RICH, Countess of Sussex and Warwick, Vicountesse Baronesse Fitzwalter, Lady Egremond, Burmel, Mortimer, and Leez, Beloved Consort to the Right Honourable, Robert, Earl of Warwick, Baron of Leez, and Lord High Admiral of England: JEREMIAH RICH wisheth health here, and happiness hereafter.  
HAving (most Honoured Lady) perused the Lamentations of Jeremiah, I found them suitable to the Complaints of England; and when I called to mind, that these two Ladies, Israel and England, were the Darlings of God, the Daughters of Heaven, the Wonder of the Earth, and yet the Envy of the World; and then beheld them in the bitterness of Sorrow, and in their silent sadness, despised, disgraced, rejected, depopulated, distracted, and abused; I could not choose but sometimes bathe my Subject with my Tears, and following the precedent of the sad Prophet, wish, that mine eyes were Rivers of Waters, that I might weep day and night for the slain of the Daughter of my people: Indeed, Israel was elder in Joy, and England younger in Sorrow; the Wars of Israel was farther from our apprehension, the Woes of England nearer us in relation: And who that sees her sequestered Husband, her disobedient Children, her frowning Brethren, her bowing Battlements, her weakened Bulwarks, her numerous Enemies, and divided Armies, but will say, The glory of England is departed? But it is not so: for through the Gate of Mercy we may espy a Door of Hope; I rather take these Divisions for a Purge, that will purify; or a Qualm, that will qualify; or an Antidote, to expel Poison; and the dark Cloud of England's War, to be a short Thunderclap, to clear the corrupted Air,  
Madam, these Contemplations are sad, yet Divine; as Divine, fit for all times; and as sad, only fit for these.  
When I first composed them in Measure, I intended them for my private Solace; but through the importunity of some (whom Nature hath bound me to obey) I have committed them now to public Censure, which I must expect to be hard enough; yet fare more charitable, if they fly through the world under the shadow of your Honour's wings.  
These (Honourable Lady) are the First-Fruits of my Poetry (either Moral or Divine) which I humbly offer to your Honour: To commend them, I cannot; and discommend them, I will not: Few will deny the goodness of the Subject, though many may carp at the Object; and these will only be the Scholars of Zoylus, who find fault with all things, yet can mend nothing.  
Think it not presumption (my Honoured Lady) that I have intruded so fare upon your Goodness, in presenting so unworthy an Offering; and let the Error consume in his Zeal, who is no less, nor can beg to be any more, than your Honour's servant,  
JEREMIAH RICH.   

TO THE READER.  
THe orient lustre of Virtue shineth through the interposing Cloud of Envy, and Love lasheth Malice sometimes with Rods of Roses. This little Manuel (dear Reader) may keep thee from future falls, and guard thee from present fears. It may be a Glass for thine eye, a Lantern for thy foot, a Weapon for thine hand, a Curb for thy tongue, and a Precedent for thy Pen. If by any thing here thou gainest profit, lay its memorial foundation in a building of practice: And if thine eye behold an Error, rebuke me silently, and inter it in the sepulchre of Oblivion. I say no more, but wish thee all perfection in perusing, understanding in the reading, and charity in the judging of these five Scenes, which at least was intended well by him who is at thy service,  
JEREMIAH RICH   

To his Friend JEREMIAH RICH, Upon his Contemplations.  

RICH, to thy praise, thou art enriched with wit  
Beyond thy years; thy friends are proud of it.  
I've read thy Contemplations, and admire  
That Youth unto such Gravity should aspire.  
The holy Prophet, with inspired skill,  
Penciled the Funeral Song of Israel,  
And thy laborious Pen hath here descried  
The fears of England for her former Pride;  
Thou hast not lashed the Errors of this Age  
With feigned Dreams on the vainglorious Stage,  
But in a holy, mild, and gentle stile  
Lamentest the Transgressions of this I'll.  
Go on to write, and we'll not cease to praise,  
And to the highest pitch thy Merits ra●se:  
Such honour as the ancient Romans gave  
To their admired Poets, thou shalt have;  
We will, in sign of thy deserved renown,  
Impale thy Temples with a Laurel Crown.   
ROBERT SLATER.   

The Author's Entertainment.  

'twere folly to disgrace, or else commend  
This Book; Oh Reader, if thou art my friend,  
It is enough: and wherefore then should I  
Set a dull Candle to thy darkened eye,  
Until the day appear, but that thy sight  
Would be amazed with that glorious light  
That shines in midst of darkness, lest it rise  
Too soon, and quickly dim thy darkened eyes?  
Now, if this Candle falter in its glory,  
Blame me, not that Colestiall Story  
That was my Subject; for too bright a day  
May cause a Traveller to lose his way:  
But if to guide your feet this Candle shine,  
Mine is the labour, but the gain is thine.  
Go on then, Reader, read and understand,  
And may thy heart be bett'red by my hand  
To all Eternity, and let it be  
The Epilogue of England's Tragedy:  
And so adve; yet thus much I make known,  
Read it to purpose, or let it alone.   
Farewell.   

 printer's or publisher's device 
john Aston  Jeremiah's CONTEMPLATIONS UPON Jeremiah's LAMENTATIONS.  

CHAP. I.  

Verse 1.  
HOw sad doth Zion sit? how doth she hid  
Her face in mourning? Like a forlorn Bride  
Whose husband is departed, when deaths charms  
Doth separate Lovers from each others arms;  
How doth she weep? the famous City now  
Is weak and desolate, her Bulwarks bow  
Their proud imperious necks to the vain glory  
Of the proud Enemy, and is tributory.   

(2)  
Her lovely cheeks, and her enchanting eye,  
Where sat enthroned a Princely Majesty,  
Are bathed in silent streams of flowing fears,  
As if she'd make them lovely with her tears:  
Among her amorous Lovers there are none  
Can give her comfort, but increase her moan;  
Nay all her Lovers they forsake her too,  
And do as all dissemblers use to do.   

(3)  
Victorious Judah she doth prisoner lie,  
Fettered in chains, in strong captivity;  
Against the prisoners cry she stopped her cares;  
And now the rampant Lion's full of fears:  
Now glorious Judah, she that bore the bell  
From the twelve Tribes of warlike Israel,  
Now dwells among the heathen: and the head  
Of Kingly Zion is dishonoured.   

(4)  
Those fragrant walks, and those alluring ways,  
Do seem to mourn, because no mirth, nor praise,  
No Feast, nor Sacrifice is in her gate.  
Ah! lovely Land, how art thou desolate!  
The holy Priest with tear bedewed eyes  
Laments and sighs: the maiden's Lover dies,  
And now poor Zion must her body dress,  
In dark, in dismal, mournful heaviness.   

(5)  
Her thundering Foes are lofty, they are high  
That are the Actors of her Tragedy;  
Her Pride and Insolence first brought this Rod,  
Nor is it more than just that Israel's God  
Should sometimes lash his own: since their own Crimes  
Spurred on their ruin to these dismal Times.  
The Father's sins have wrought the children's woe:  
The children's grief the Father's overthrow.   

(6)  
That lovely beauty which did often shine  
More glorious than the day with grace divine:  
Those amorous glances once which had the art  
To blind the Lover's eye and steal his heart,  
Are now deformed; and the ashy hand  
Of death hath spoiled the glory of the Land.  
The Royal Princes which possessed the Throne  
Of Kingly Majesty are fled and gone.   

(7)  
Now sad Jerusalem sits and calls to mind  
All her Rebellion: Ah she was unkind  
To sin against her Lord, who checked Kings  
For Zions sake, and gave her pleasant things;  
Had she but clavae to him, as he was just,  
She had not laid her honour in the dust;  
Nor been a scorn for fools which sometimes say,  
What gained Israel by the Sabbath day?   

(8)  
And wonder not Jerusalem is so mocked  
Of all that hate her; for her sins have rocked  
Her senses to a slumber, none do show  
The sad approaching of her overthrow;  
The lovely City now they much despise,  
Who sometimes honoured her, their lofty eyes  
Look scornful one her in her misery; thus  
That face is loathed that was so amorous.   

(9)  
Her shame lies hid to none both foe and friend,  
Yet she remembered not her latter end,  
Therefore her fall was wondrous sudden; oh  
Why went poor Zion slumbering to her woe?  
And who shall comfort poor Jerusalem now?  
O glorious God look on my miseries, thou  
Art alsufficient, thou canst blow aside  
The hopes of Mortals in their height of pride.   

(10)  
And now the furious Foe hath stretched his hand  
On her rich Ornaments, and pleasant Land:  
And 'cause he thought this not enough to do,  
Thy Sanctuary is polluted too:  
Although O Lord thou once didst give command  
That no false stranger in a foreign Land  
Should dare to come with his unhallowed eyes  
Where thine Anointed offer Sacrifice.   

(11)  
Ah me, who shall relieve me with some bread?  
Our hearts are faint with hunger, fear and dread  
Hath filled my tottering soul, where shall I fly  
That Famine find me not and so I die?  
My Garments, Jewels, Bracelets, and my Rings,  
Houses, and Vineyards, all my pleasant things  
I give for bread unto the angry foe;  
Thou seest O Lord our souls are wondrous low.   

(12)  
Look bacl ye travellers, O cast your eye  
Ye wand'ring strangers that are passing by;  
If you have any pity come and see  
If any Nation were so low as me;  
What sorrow is like mine? what sufferings can  
Compare with Zions, that befalleth man?  
While the displeasure of my angry God  
Sweeps off my glory with his lashing Rod?   

(13)  
The burning fury of the high Jehove  
Makes faint my heart, his jealousy above  
Prevails against me, and I sit in doubt  
How to get in his favour, or how out  
Of his displeasure; ah there is a net  
Spread for my feet: a scorching furnace her  
To burn me from my dross, that I may be  
Refined from sin, and Satan's Empery.   

(14)  
All my transgressious as a heavy yoke  
Are fastened by his arm, and every stroke  
Is laid upon my neck: my heart is weak  
Since my accused soul those Laws did breako  
Which I was bound to keep; the Almighty hand  
Of Israel's God hath wasted Israel's Land;  
My glory is departed, and mine eyes  
Behold no means for ever to arise.   

(15)  
Those mighty Warriors which did shelter round  
The Gates of Zion, whose brave deeds redound  
To Israel's glory, and their Enemy's wonder,  
Lie bleeding on the ground, and trodden under;  
The Lord hath called a counsel to confound  
All Iudah's glory on the Crimson ground;  
The bleeding bodies of the young men join,  
He trod them under as they tread the Vine.   

(16)  
For these things do I weep, mine eye, mine eye,  
Doth wash my Cheeckes; oh, what felicity  
Can sad jerusalem have in these diasters! nay,  
Those that should comfort me arefar away;  
My Land is desolate, all my friends are lain  
In strong Captivity, and my Children slain:  
My God hath left me to the Enemy's power,  
Ah, who will caseme in this troubled hour?   

(17)  
Now lovely Zion sits with silent moans;  
She would implore some help by her deep groans,  
Alas, but there is none; the furious Foe  
Desireth nothing but her overthrow.  
The Lord hath laid a mighty siege about  
The Tents of jacob: and she sits in doubt  
Of her deliverance, while her Foes deride  
And loathe her Actions as a wanton Bride.   

(18)  
And yet our God is just and righteous too,  
Though sad jerusalem knows not what to do;  
The Royal City dow does mourn because  
She oft rebelled against his righteous Laws.  
Ye neighbouring Nations that Spectators be,  
That sometimes look upon my Tragedy,  
Behold my Virgins and my young men go  
To long Captivity and lingring woe.   

(19)  
My dearest lovers which should have relieved me,  
As sometimes Lovers do, they quite deceived me;  
The Priest, and Elders both for hunger fail,  
Their looks are wan, their countenance is pale,  
Their bodies weak, and giddy is their head,  
Their strength does fail their wills for lack of bread;  
They seek for food and find their labour vain,  
Famine, and Death doth in the Kingdom reign.   

(20)  
Yet O my Lord, how do my bowels yearn  
For mourning Israel, the Foes are stern,  
My bowels swell, my heart is turned too  
With woe and grief, what shall poor Zion do?  
How can Jerusalem's sorrows but possess▪  
My troubled soul with woe and heaviness?  
At home the Famine reigns, the people die,  
Abroad the Sword doth complete misery.   

(21)  
jerusalem knows I daily fit and weep;  
Ah, had security ne'er lulled asleep  
This glorious Nation, earth's admired prize,  
We should not then have drenched our watery eyes  
In tears for Israel's woe, nor been so sad:  
But now our Enemies scoff, our Foes are glad;  
Our Nation once was high and glorious,  
But now are poor; Lord make our Enemies thus.   

(22)  
Oh Lord let all their sins come up to thee,  
And do to them as thou hast done to me;  
Puff all their glory out, and let them die  
Like to false joy in midst of misery;  
And let us be delivered by thy Will  
Though we have sinned and oft done wondrous ill;  
O hear my sighs, do not forget my moans,  
My ●eart is faint with oft repeated groans.    

CONTEMPLATION.  

ANd is it so? hath Israel's God forsaken  
The Tents of Jacob? Is their City taken,  
And all their young men slain? does the most high  
From his own Israel turn back his eye?  
Does he withdraw himself, and let the Foe  
To glory in poor Israel's overthrow?  
Is judah spoiled, and do the Enemies swell,  
While their black Actions often prosper well?  
Does sweet-faced Zion mourn? woe and alas,  
'Tis so indeed, how came these things to pass?  
Oh how mine eyes could send a flood of tears  
To wash this Paper, while my deafened ears  
Are roused with this alarm, which is hurled  
By heaven's appointment through the circled world.  
But shall we think God is unjust in this,  
To scourge his Children if they do amiss?  
If the wide world had not some sufferings, sure  
The lives of Nations would be too secure;  
Yet heaven not easily moved to send his Rod,  
'Twas Israel's sins offended Israel's God.  
But if the best of Saints so ill do fare,  
Where shall the crew of damned Sinners share  
But in eternal darkness? whose black Tomb  
Shall scare the first, but give the last their doom.  
Go on then Sinners, plunder, kill, and spoil,  
Those harmless Lambs, it is but for a while;  
The time is wondrons short, this Inch of time  
Thou mayst do much: thy swelling heart may climb  
Unto the top of envy, and it may  
Hazard eternity in a short lived day;  
Perhaps a year may finish up thy Course,  
And then thou Son of belial death will force  
Thy soul to long eternity, and thou must thither;  
How will thy trembling knees than knock together  
When thou shalt know Death summons thee to die,  
With thoughts of torment in Eternity?  
And last of all; Is mourning Israel's Land  
So soon subdued by heavens immediate hand?  
Then let not England, though the best of three  
Distempered Lands, dream of security.  
The Nations who possessed the aforesaid place,  
Had greater measure of Celestial grace,  
And yet they were destroyed; can there be peace  
In England's Borders unless sin doth cease?  
Turn to thy God O England, lest his hand  
Doth overturn the glory of the Land.  
The black mouthed Swearer, he doth rend in sunder  
His Maker's Name with Oaths like claps of thunder;  
The proud man's scornful eye does hate to see  
His beggared Neighbour fall'n in misery;  
The lives of Harlots in their capering Schools  
Are kept by young men, Nature's blinded Fools;  
The covetous muckworme he himself hath sold  
To live in service to the God of Gold;  
A little after comes his Son, and he  
Throws all away in prodigality;  
Wonder of wonders, why's not England's glory  
As dim as Sion's, made a bloody Story  
For other Lands to read her downfall, why  
Doth sin survive and yet not England die?  
Why is not London that was sometimes famous  
To the wide Universe now held as heinous  
As was poor Zion? ah her sins abound!  
Why died she not when she received a wound  
In the last fatal War? why has this place  
So much of blessing and so little grace?  
Why doth not fire range in every street?  
Methinks 'twere just that Sword and Famine meet,  
While War did tumble all our Bulwarks down,  
And strangers get the glory of the Crown.  
Indeed 'twere just it should so, while that we  
Are lulled asleep in sad security.  
The Prophet here laments, his weeping eyes  
Are washed with tears, because the miseries  
Of Zion was approaching, often he  
Was bathed in tears for their calamity;  
But we so far from pitying of our Land  
Thus sunk in sin, that with a mighty hand  
We add unto her woe by sin, and think  
The eye of heaven doth but sit and wink.  
Oh glorious God, who art that holy one,  
Lovely in beauty; whose most royal Throne  
Is borne by winged Cherubins most high,  
Where mighty Angels praise thy Majesty;  
What is this microcosmus? what are we  
That thou O Lord shouldst take felicity  
In weak and feeble man, whose borrowed breath  
Doth every minute journey to his death?  
Why shouldst thou labour with this piece of earth  
Thus to protect him whose abortive birth  
Doth but begin his woe; yet sleeps secure?  
The Sun, the Moon, and Stars are too impure  
In thy most glorious eyes; then what is man  
But a deserver of black Hellican.  
Yet oh our God which art the King of Kings,  
Lord of earth's Territories, our pleasant things  
Did all come down from thee; England did flourish  
When thy Almighty Arm so long did nourish,  
And did so long protect us, death and fear  
Were strangers to our Borders, we were dear  
In thy beloved eyes; but ah, our woe  
Was our rebellion, and our overthrow  
Is from ourselves; our blasted Land had been  
Counted earth's Paradise but that for sin;  
Yet Lord unite the Kingdoms, let them be  
No more a Stage for that dull Tragedy  
We fear is yet to play; Let it once cease,  
And sound us now a harmony of peace;  
One Act is passed along, oh let thy hand  
Give to the rest a powerful countermand,  
And let us now be lead by truth and love,  
Those amorous Sisters which do dwell above;  
And in the Laws of love, let England's face,  
Be dressed with ornaments of blushing grace;  
And then the last of our harmonious Scenes  
Shall tell the world what 'tis the Gospel's means;  
Those faithful labourers in this Vineyard shall  
Advance the work with hearts heroical;  
The Epilogue is joy which ends the Play,  
The Church gins to see a happy day,  
Her steps are lovely, sorrows have their date,  
For love doth conquer envy, govern hate.    

CHAP. II.  

Verse 1.  
HOw soon is glory dim? the Lord doth shroud  
The face of Zion with a darkened cloud;  
His anger darkneth judah's borrowed light,  
And her bright glory is as black as night;  
Her beauty is deformed, and that eye  
Where sat enthroned Princely Majesty  
It quite extinguished, and the angry hand  
Or heaven hath spoiled the pleasant promised Land.   

(2)  
The Lord hath mixed gall in judah's cup,  
And in his fury he hath swallowed up  
The strength of Zion, and her famous City  
Is turned to ashes, for he had no pity  
Upon poor Zion, all her holds are humble  
To his high hand; her high battlements tumble,  
To Prince and People folly is imputed,  
And the proud Enemy has the Land polluted.   

(3)  
The Lord hath cut jerusalems' strength and horn,  
And all the treasure that did once adorn  
The royal Land of Israel's battered down;  
His countenance he masked with a frown;  
He hath withdrawn his warlike hand, whereby  
The Camp of Israel made their Enemies fly;  
But now his anger burneth round about  
The Land of jacob, who can put it out?   

(4)  
And as an Archer bends his angry Bow  
To do some ruin suddenly, even so  
He scattereth his Arrows which do vary,  
His right hand threatneth as an Adversary,  
And every thing on which the curious eye  
Did take a prospect, did by Famine die;  
The house wherein they called upon his name  
Is levelled even by a surious flame.   

(5)  
What wrong can Mortals do? their fury high  
Is a weak blast; but ah mine Enemy  
Is my offended Lord, his wrathful cup  
Is poured out, and he hath swallowed up  
My Palaces, and holds are leveled, he  
Hath brought my glory into misery;  
He hath increased my sorrows, oh mine eyes  
Pump floods of tears, with silent nightly cries.   

(6)  
And as a flowered Garden barren made,  
So is his Tabernacle quite decayed,  
And we are now even as a desolate Nation,  
The Lord hath quite destroyed his Congregation;  
The Lord hath caused the solemn Feasts to cease,  
And all her Sabbaths; ah what little peace  
Can mourning Zion see in any thing,  
When God despiseth both her Priest and King!   

(7)  
The Lord hath quite refused his holy place  
Where the high Priest did offer to his Grace  
Their rich Oblations, as they daily do;  
His Sanctuary he abhorreth too;  
The strength and fortress of the pleasant Land  
Is given up into the Enemy's hand,  
Who with unhallowed mouths make harmony  
As in the day of high solemnity.   

(8)  
The Lord long since hath threatened to destroy  
The Land of Israel, and eclipse her joy;  
And now her earthly right she must resign  
Again to him that gave it; for a Line  
Is stretched about our Borders, and we doubt  
How long this Line of woe is measured out;  
The earth laments, the walls do seek redress,  
The Land does mourn in woe and heaviness.   

(9)  
Her Gates are sunk, her mighty Bars destroyed,  
The city's open; how can we avoid  
The fury of the Foe? her Princes gone  
Among the Gentiles, we are left alone;  
The Law is blotted out, and none can lend  
A word of comfort when our miseries end;  
The Lord speaks not by vision, not by dream,  
To tell a period of our dismal Theme.   

(10)  
The Elders they whose knowledge could confute  
Great learned Orators, are still and mute,  
They hid their heads in dust, their aged eye  
Is taught to weep, and sometimes wish to die;  
Their loins in sackcloth they have guirded round,  
And silently they mourn upon the ground;  
The amorous Virgins mourn, their  are rend,  
Their beauty is like sorrows monument.   

(11)  
Oh how mine eyes are blinded with my tears  
Pumped from my sorrows? I am big with fears;  
My Liver's poured out upon the ground  
For our Lands loss, and Kingdoms deadly wound;  
The tender Infants in the streets do lie  
Imploring bread, a little to supply  
Their hungry souls, but yet they with vain moans  
At last do die with oft repeated groans.   

(12)  
A little bread the hungry Children cry  
Most dearest mother ere we quickly die;  
The mother weeps as fast; she feign would give  
Her life for food, that so her Child may live;  
But as the dying Soldiers heart doth pant  
Labouring for life; even so the Infants faint  
For lack of food; the pretty Infant he  
Sleeps with death's Lullaby on his mother's knee.   

(13)  
What need I call a witness for thy woe,  
To what shall I compare thy sorrows? oh  
Most glorious judah! who is like to thee,  
Blasted so soon, so soon in misery?  
How shall I comfort thee, O fairest Land!  
Alas thy ruins are beyond the hand  
Of Art to limne or draw; thy breaches be  
Like mighty surges in the unruly Sea.   

(14)  
Thy Prophets did delude thee, whilst that they  
With Lies foretell thee of a Sunshine day;  
Their lying lips would not declare thy Lust,  
Nor tell thee, Earthly Glory soon would rust:  
Then might thy Times to prosperous State been turned,  
Thy Land not ruined, nor thy City burned;  
But now 'tis levelled even by their Lies,  
Destruction posted on false Prophecies.   

(15)  
And as the foreign Traveller doth pass,  
He shakes his head, and sighs (woe and alas)  
His wondering eyes admiring at the Land,  
Which once was glorified with heavens high hand;  
Is this the City, than the Traveller cries,  
Whose fame invited all the Nations eyes  
To look upon her beauty! This the Town,  
Called Earth's perfection, and her high Renown!   

(16)  
Even thus the Lord hath done his will on us,  
The face of Zion is most leprous,  
Her hideous Crimes are in her forehead read,  
The Lord hath done what he determined,  
For he hath turned her Regal Glory down,  
The Heathen sway the Sceptre, wear the Crown;  
Our Foes on Earth do flourish, they do rise,  
It prospers well with Zions Enemies.   

(17)  
Why goest thou weeping then? oh Zion why  
Art thou thus troubled? heaven cannot lie,  
Though thou thyself art false, what he commands  
Is finished by his unresisted hands;  
Thy horrid sins first furrowed up his brow  
With angry frowns, and there's no pity now  
Dwells in his royal bosom, but the foe  
He makes to glory at thy overthrow.   

(18)  
And now our sinking souls begin to call  
Unto the Lord; oh battered ruin'd wall  
Of dismal Zion, once like shining beams  
Of heaven's glory; Let tears run like streams  
Along thy lovely cheeks, both day and night  
Take they no rest, but let thy conscience fright  
Thy soul from slumber, lest thy darkened eye  
Be lulled asleep in sad security.   

(19)  
Arise and cry the first approaching hour  
Of silent night; and let thy floudgates pour  
Forth streams of brackish tears, mixed with a groan;  
Lift up thy hands before the lofty Throne  
Of high eternity; for the famished Child  
Whose Parent's dead: and so the Babes exiled  
From their dear mother's arms, their lingering breath  
Longeth and waiteth for a welcome death.   

(20)  
Behold O Lord our God, to whom, to whom,  
Hast thou sent forth this heavy sudden doom?  
Oh whom hast thou thus lashed? shall we eat  
Our dearest Children up for want of meat?  
Those pretty newborn Babes, whose harmless eye  
Near knew a sin; must such sweet Infants die?  
And are our Priests and Prophets mangled hear?  
Oh that mine eyes were drowned in a tear.   

(21)  
Oh that mine eyes with silent tears were drowned;  
The young and old lie grovelling on the ground;  
The warlike young men, and the amorous face  
Of spotless Virgins, death doth now displace,  
And lays them in their monuments; they bow  
Their weak mortality to heavens fierce brow:  
If these the ruins be of our sad day,  
With floods of tears I'll weep myself away.   

(22)  
Thou bring'st my foes about my naked wall;  
Thou giv'st them cause to glory in my fall,  
And they do do it: wherefore dost thou lay  
Woes to my soul as in a Solemn day?  
Thy wrath was kindled, few or none remain;  
To scape from killing, it was counted vain:  
Those that I nourished with mine own Cup,  
My raging Enemy hath swallowed up.    

CONTEMPLATION II.  

THe labouring Watch is idle, if the Spring  
Be not wound up; and thus in every thing  
There is a Motion; for the Soul doth trace  
The Laws of Nature, or the Rules of Grace:  
Our hearts are cold, and various, like the Moon,  
Each minute changing; if the righteous Sun  
Shine not upon us, all the world may mark  
Our Motion standing, and our Glory dark.  
But when the high Creator shows his face,  
And clothes the Mortal with diviner Grace,  
The brave Heroic heart aspires to shroud  
His Contemplation loftier than a Cloud.  
What amorous beauty in the world can shine  
Like to the Graces of a Soul Divine?  
No black Disaster here can ever mask  
That lovely Face, no troubles stay her Task;  
No mists of misery eclipse her motion,  
Nor no delusion hinder her devotion.  
The Soul is full of Raptures, and her eyes  
Reacheth Eternity, above the Skies;  
Th'amorous Soul on Earth is wondrous coy,  
Desiring nothing else but heavenly joy.  
Yet can it be, as this lamented story  
Makes evident, that Heaven should hid Glory  
From such an honoured Soul, which even 〈◊〉  
Hath glorified from all eternity?  
And doth he give the Enemy his own Place?  
Hath God, like Janus, got a double face?  
Doth the base Enemy so high aspire,  
Whom oft he threatneth with consuming fire?  
Yea, and their prosperous State does oft redound,  
To magnify the honour of Heaven's Crown.  
The Usurer, whose back bears all the Curses  
Of his poor neighbour, could he fill his Purses  
By being godly, he would venture too  
To pray to Heaven, as the godly do;  
And could the base Adulterer bring to pass  
His filthy ends, and meet a handsmooth Lass  
Each Sabbath day at Church, this fellow he  
Would be an ugly hearer constantly:  
The proud man he would make an ugly face,  
And pray, and hear, if this would give a place  
Of gain and honour to his high Ambition;  
Thus holy Writ should serve each base condition.  
But now, the glorious Soul which Heaven aspires,  
His heart is warmed by Diviner fires;  
His life is circumspect, his blushing face  
Wears the high ornaments of heavenly Grace:  
This Soul is nobly righteous, and it leans  
On its Creator in the most extremes.  
If sin assaults the Soul, it soon will fly  
To the high mansion of Eternity  
For its protection; there, with trembling fears  
She baths her bosom with repenting tears:  
The lovely Heaven borne Soul has no false ends;  
The fear of Enemies, nor the love of friends,  
Shall ne'er ensnare her from those Joys above;  
For why? th'amorous Soul hath fixed her love  
Upon her glorious Saviour: nevertheless,  
She oft may sit in woe and heaviness,  
And be in many an earthly contemplation;  
When Heaven brings War and Ruin on a Nation,  
Then earthly reasonings may whisper loud,  
When Heaven is covered with a sable Cloud  
Of bloody War and Famine, when they pour  
Those dismal drops in such a dreadful Shower  
On one distracted Kingdom, than what way,  
When darkness does eclipse the light of day,  
Is there for souls to wander, when its eyes  
Are bloudshot to behold those villainies  
Which bloody Actors play; when War shall reign  
In height of envy, numerous bodies slain  
Embracing gentle earth; when death shall veil  
Man in mortality, all faces palls  
Because of hungry famine; when the Child  
For want of friend and food is far exiled  
From present necessaries, and therefore lies  
With deaths pale Image in his tender eyes;  
And when heavens darts shall fly like Sim & Jim,  
The soul is sad, her funeral lights burn dim;  
When life is turned to death, and food to fear,  
She sometimes weeps as did the Prophets here;  
Yet with a laden heart, and watery eye,  
The soul doth sometimes mutter this reply.  
Unconstant state of earth, shall any he  
That is but dust, direct eternity  
By his vain babbling? can mortal man  
Guide the Celestial Orbs by wisdom? can  
He rule the earth by power? can he stay  
The Steeds of Phoebus, and tie up the day?  
Nay, can he rule himself, or guide his mind?  
Are not his ways as wavering as the wind?  
And wilt thou teach thy Maker? since thy birth,  
What hast thou been thou piece of moving earth?  
What, hath thy tottering soul no faith at all?  
Or is thy love to heaven so wondrous small?  
Hath all this Un verse so little rest  
To give a tired heart? and yet possessed  
With love of this low earth my Saviour died,  
That through his death I might be glorified;  
And shall I now resuse to die for him?  
Hath fin made these dark eyes so quickly dim?  
No, let this earthly man through fire be tried,  
My soul shall live with him for whom I died;  
Where in the Canopy of his beauteous breast,  
I shall sleep safe with undisturbed rest;  
Have I so little power to control  
The assaults of sin and death? Alas poor soul!  
Be gone my numerous fears, away, away,  
After a tempest comes a shining day;  
See, see, what dazzling glory is behind  
You darkened cloud, look up my muzzled mind,  
Fly on the wings of contemplation; see,  
Thy journey's end is high Eternity.  
And this, dear Reader, does most oft redound  
To heaven's honour, when earth's troubles drown  
The Saints sometimes in sorrow; earth's a toy,  
And this disjunction fits the soul for joy;  
When on the other side, if heaven should give  
A royal Legacy that Saints might live  
On earth most long and happy, then might vice  
Count heaven a pain, and earth a Paradise;  
And if the world should often hear or see  
That Saints did live in high prosperity,  
Each wretch would turn a Saint for his own end,  
Looking for earth by making heaven his friend.  
But now go on brave soul, do thou contemn  
All worldly pomp; a royal Diadem  
Shall crown thy arched brows, thy present pain  
Thou wilt not reckon when thou comest to reign;  
Heaven shall receive thee, earth shall raise thy name  
In spite of sinners or their blasted fame;  
And as thy body rests in deaths dark tent,  
This verse shall stand upon thy monument:  
This valiant mortal by a second birth,  
Enjoyed a Crown in heaven, conquered earth.    

CHAP. III.  

Verse 1.  
WHerefore should Mortals labour thus to shroud  
Their public Sorrow, in a darkened Cloud  
Of Silence? Why should Blackness cover all  
The mourning March of Zions Funeral?  
I am the Man of Sorrow, and Heavens Mark;  
I am the chasened Bird, the early Lark:  
His furious Rod hath seized upon me;  
On me, the Monument of Misery.   

(2)  
Who ever saw this glorious Eye of Day  
Eclipsed in Darkness? And this Ball of Clay  
Wrapped in a Sable Mantle, like black Night  
Covering the world with Mists, whose Terrors fright  
All Mortals in their slumbers? Thus mine eyes,  
Dimmed with their tears, do weep whole Elegies  
Of Lamentations, while his hand hath dressed  
My Soul in Troubles, banished from her Rest.   

(3)  
My Soul is sad enough, I need no more  
Such change of Torments than I had before;  
I need no other Foe, to come and slay  
My dying self: and why then all the day  
Does my incensed Lord against me stand?  
Why at a Mortal doth he turn his hand?  
What will he fight with Earth? Alas, before  
Much time is spent, we shall be seen no more.   

(4)  
How soon is Beauty lost, and Nature's Book  
Quite blotted out, and with an earthly look  
Departs this troubled world, soon broke as Glass?  
The flesh's Glory, is but withering Grass:  
Sin brings in Sorrow, Grief makes Beauty old,  
The Dross is intermingled with the Gold;  
The least of Heaven's displeasure, if he frown,  
It is enough to bring Earth's Glory down.   

(5)  
Dull piece of feeble Earth, and mortal Man,  
A show of something, yet art nothing; can  
Th'almighty not consume thee, lest he shall  
Build up a Work against a tottering wall?  
What means th'almighty hand of the most high  
Thus to surround us, whose mortality  
Will bring us soon to Dust? each day we fall,  
Ensnared with Sorrow, Bitterness, and Gall.   

(6)  
Time's black haired daughter night, that locks all eyes  
And hearts in silent slumbering lullabies;  
This swarthy nurse with dark and horrid themes,  
That frights all mortals with her nightly dreams,  
Does with her curled mantle and her charms,  
Enchant my soul to slumber in her arms;  
Thus lulled in woe to misery I went,  
As hearses march to their dull monument.   

(7)  
Oh why does the Almighty hedge us round?  
Can this base earth be lower than the ground?  
The lightfoot Roebuck with his threatening horn  
Swallows the ground up; and his eyes do scorn  
The swift pursuer, we enclosed about  
Where food cannot get in, nor Famine out;  
What grief or sorrow do I not possess  
In chains of darkness, woe and heaviness.   

(8)  
The helpless Infant who with grief is pressed,  
Seeks Sanctuary in his mother's breast;  
And where should hungry souls direct their cry,  
But to the Palace of eternity:  
And yet O Lord, how oft do we Implore  
Relief of thee, for we are wondrous poor;  
But when our torments make us cry aloud,  
Thou wrapst thy glory in a gloomy cloud.   

(9)  
The prison is most dreadful to the eye  
Of the sad soul that wears Captivity  
About his shackled heels; the gingling chain  
Afflicts the prisoner's memory with pain:  
Thus we are captived, ah, what shall we do,  
Inclesed, inchained, and imprisoned too;  
My foes, my blows, my crooked ruin'd ways  
Cuts off with scosse the number of my days.   

(10)  
Can endless love be angry? will wrath never  
Be pacified, will it live for ever  
In the Almighty's bosom, and his mind  
ne'er harbour pity, but be still unkind  
Against his chosen people, thus to tear  
Like a sierce Lion or a surious bear?  
Why doth thy Rod in secret places lie?  
Alas poor we are ever in thine eye.   

(11)  
Thus vain is worldly pomp, the slourishing crown  
Of earthly glory must be trampled down;  
The shadowed beauty of man's little world  
Survives a moment, than away 'tis hurled  
Into a mist of nothing, all my ways  
Are turned backward, and my numerous days  
Are now cut shorter; thus to every Nation  
By sin comes ruin, death, and desolation.   

(12)  
The skilful Archer with his threatening hand  
Draws forth his Arrow, and his eyes do stand  
Full fixed on the Mark; his furious breath  
Sends early summons of ensuing death  
Unto the thing he aims at: so, even so,  
My angry God hath bend his angry Bow;  
Where shall I hid me? Oh, the world's too narrow,  
To hid a mortal from his flying Arrow.   

(13)  
'Tis vain, my trembling heart, for to endever  
To take thyself to flight, for that can never  
Save thee a minute from his flying Dart,  
'Twill quickly reach thee: Oh my dying heart,  
His winged shafts have hit me; Oh the pain  
Of a sad wounded Soul on earth: how vain  
A thing is Pleasure, Pride, and Profit? why  
Doth man so hug deceitful Vanity?   

(14)  
Scoff on, my angry Foes, and let your wiles  
Be painted over with deceitful smiles;  
Be merry Gallants, let your Laughter rise,  
With Tones of Music, to the lofty Skies;  
Drink Healths to Zions Ruin; and yet know,  
This is the Church's glory, and thy woe:  
No kingdom's conquered, but it is by loss,  
No Saint is crowned, but he wears the Cross.   

(15)  
Urge me no more, my soul is filled with Gall,  
And bitter-tasted Wormwood: Is this all  
The joy that Earth can yield? Oh, what delusion  
Hath lying Vanities, to bring confusion  
Upon a tottering soul! A flattering Kiss  
Of Earth robs man of everlasting bliss;  
Thus Folly is exalted, for a Toy  
Poor short-lived man doth part with endless Joy.   

(16)  
Man's Work is vain, his Treasure is but travel,  
Man pines in pain, his Greatness is but gravel;  
We fast, we famish too, these are our moans,  
Our teeth, in stead of food, are broke with stones.  
Thus do we suffer by th'immediate hand  
Of Heaven, and the beauty of our Land  
Is turned a heap of ashes; while we have  
On Earth no Heritance, but in the Grave.   

(17)  
Thus my o'rwhelmed Soul beeame a stranger  
To Joy and Peace; and dwelling near to danger,  
I sometimes taught my most discensolate heart  
These following words: Ah timorous flesh, why art  
Thou filled with fears? the time is almost here,  
When thy Redemption, Zion, draweth near:  
My Soul forgot her songs, for glory dies  
Like shining Glow-worms to benighted eyes.   

(18)  
Ah sinful soul, hath Satan got such scope  
Of man's bad reason, that there is no hope;  
Not trust thy God fond Mortal? did thine eye  
Or ear perceive him ever falsify  
With his poor Creatures, but he secure sent?  
Go rocky heart, away thou monument  
Cut out of marble, do not hurt my sense  
With unbelief, with shame and diffidence.   

(19)  
And yet 'twas reason (when I called to mind  
The monstrous earthquakes, and the huffling wind  
Which turned Israel's glory upside down,  
And gave the foes the honour of the Crown)  
That I should weep, when I remembered all  
The bitter wormwood and the poisonous gall:  
Weep gentle heart, pump from my watery eyes  
The silent streams of mourning Elegies.   

(20)  
My soul is sad indeed, 'tis truest moan  
When the poor Orphan sits and grieves alone;  
Alone said I, ah me, I need not, we  
Have thousand spirits more in misery,  
Whose burdened sorrows overwhelm their kind;  
What are our words, alas they are but wind;  
Only remembering mine afflictions, they  
Shall humble me in this my cloudy day.   

(21)  
The Malefactor smiles to think on favour  
From the stern Judge; Sinners have a Saviour,  
Yet they are always angry, and cast down,  
As if their glory were in earth's base Crown;  
A Crown! what if thou hast a Crown? earth's glory  
Is various, vain, false, and transitory:  
Considering this, sad heart thou hast good scope  
To rest thy tired self and live in hope.   

(22)  
I cannot hold, my heart must needs confess;  
Be witness endless love, judgements were less  
Than our transgressions; when they cried aloud  
To the high heavens, and earth's darkened cloud  
Looked angry at our folly; oh if thou  
Shouldst blast us into nothing, even now  
Our souls should justify thee, 'cause poor we  
Know, heaven loved us from eternity.   

(23)  
As oft as Phoebus lights the darkened skies  
With mourning rays, dazzling all mortals eyes  
With fullness of his glory; Writers say,  
A blushing Evening brings a Sunshine day;  
Even thus our Sun spreads-forth Celestial wings  
Of brightest glory, and away he flings  
Those hasty mists of darkness, which enfold  
The tried Silver, and corrupts the Gold.   

(24)  
But Heaven is my Souls portion, and my part,  
Filling the vastness of my Soul, my heart  
Cannot contain the treasure of this wealth,  
'Tis sick of Love, and yet in perfect health;  
Glory and honour doth attend the man  
With highest joy, that hath this Dowry: can  
There be a lack? though Famine be so near,  
Fear darkneth Faith, and Faith destroyeth Fear.   

(25)  
The tired Traveller in Summer days  
Seeks for some cooling shade, to keep the rays  
Of hot Apollo from his fainting head;  
When flaming Phoebus, and his fiery Steeds  
Are in their high Career, the Dogstar flies,  
Barking with heat through Heaven's Canopy;  
Christ is this cooling shade, his Kingly mind  
Rewards the worker; he that seeks shall find.   

(26)  
Thrice happy Traveller, that this journey made,  
To seek a shelter in this pleasant shade:  
What greater portion on the Earth than this?  
And in the Heavens what higher Paradise?  
Mortals y'are cozened, worldly Wit and Strength,  
Pride and Vainglory fails poor man at length:  
Where then is sure protection from all harms?  
I'll tell thee where, 'tis in th'Almighties arms.   

(27)  
The Warlike Horse, whom Nature doth bedeek  
With strength and vigour, and his thundering neck  
Is dressed with youth and fortitude, his eye  
Sends furious summons to the enemy;  
While strength is in his loins, his courage can  
Breathe out defiance to the armed man:  
'Tis good in youth to taste afflictions loss,  
He that will wear the Crown, must bear the Cross.   

(28)  
Canst thou be silent, when thy God is near?  
Canst thou be sad, and hast no cause of fear?  
Canst thou be dazzled with thy sin's reflection?  
Canst thou be fearful, when thou hast protection?  
Why dost thou mourn for Zions misery?  
Pride was the Prologue to her Tragedy;  
Rather than murmur for deserved ill,  
Close thy lips ever, Soul be silent still.   

(29)  
A Child of Heaven early doth begin  
To honour virtue, and to trample sin  
Under his careless feet; his scornful eye  
Takes but slight notice of Earth's vanity:  
Sweet-faced Humility is Honour's Mother,  
He that hath one, will quickly have the other;  
They both are matched with Glory, happy he  
That comes to Honour by Humility.   

(30)  
Is it such honour to be humble then?  
Are mourning mortals most the happiest men?  
Where lies their glory, says the world? for we  
See no such honour in humility;  
theyare ' tired with rags, and they are fed with fears,  
Reproaches, scandals, and the people's jeers:  
And is this honour? yea, and this story  
Is the Saint's evidence for highest glory.   

(31)  
Time darkeneth the Skies, Time brings the Day;  
Time glads the eyes, Time puffes all joy away;  
Time builds a Kingdom, Time o'erthrows a Nation,  
Time writes a story of their desolation:  
Time hath a time, when Time shall be no more;  
Time makes some rich, and Time makes rich men poor;  
Time is, when God will be his Church's friend,  
When Times eternity shall never end.   

(32)  
For though, fond man, thou taste afflictions sorrow  
This gloomy evening, joy will come to morrow;  
Indeed a night or two thy sorrows may  
Eclipse thy glory, but a shining day  
Will soon appear, to glad thy longing eyes,  
Like shining Phoebus in the blushing Skies:  
Man shall find mercy, sinners may intrude  
To rest their souls in mercy's multitude.   

(33)  
The chafing Horse breaks through th'armed Ranks  
With his proud Rider, and his bleeding flanks  
Are witnesses of haste; his courage brave  
At last is cooled, and measureth out his grave  
Upon the bloody earth: thus we begin,  
Rid by vainglory, and spurred on with sin,  
To break heavens high Command; so Death is just,  
Our pride and honour lieth in the dust.   

(34)  
And yet his blessings are fare more than blows;  
Men use to trample down their conquered foes  
Under their Horse's fetlocks, few will give  
Their wounded enemy an hour to live:  
Yet Israel's God, whose high victorious hand  
Can crush the sinful prisoners of the Land  
Into a piece of nothing; still his strife  
Is but to give dead man eternal life.   

(35)  
Have we a Right to these Terrestrial Toys,  
And yet a Title to Celestial Joys?  
This is on Earth, and that above the Skies;  
The first, the Promise; and the last, the Prize;  
He that hath this, will quickly have the last,  
Glory comes posting, when our grief is past:  
If God deny us not this Earthly Ball,  
He'll give us Heaven, which is best of all.   

(36)  
He takes no pleasure when he doth subvert  
The Cause of man, nor doth it glad his heart  
To overturn a mortal in his pride;  
He takes no glory, for to blow aside  
The prosperous state of man; it is his badness,  
That brings him misery when he may have gladness:  
If sin brings sorrow then, and blindness blows,  
Blame thy bad deeds (O man) they are thy foes.   

(37)  
What King can clip the flying wings of Time,  
With all his Majesty? Although he climb  
Unto the top of Honour, can his Power  
Stay swift-foot Phoebus chafing Steeds an hour.  
To wait upon him? Or what Prince can say,  
I'll bring to pass my purpose the next day?  
Unless the Lord command these earthly things,  
The least is higher than the reach of Kings.   

(38)  
The world shall pass away, and all therein  
Shall be no more, as if they had not been;  
As if they never were, they all shall fade;  
They all were moving since they first were made:  
Each word of God is good, and there's no Clause  
Of threatening ruin in those righteous Laws  
To him that keeps those blessed Commands, for he  
Reward shall have unto eternity.   

(39)  
Why weep'st thou then (O man) why doth thine eyes  
Implore relief with watery obsequies?  
Why dost thou teach thy heavy heart to mourn  
In silent corners? why dost thou adorn  
Thy Soul in sable weeds? why dost thou dress  
Thyself in sorrow, woe, and heaviness?  
Oh, why complainest thou? it is thy sin  
Bars out thy joy, and bringeth judgements in.   

(40)  
Search every corner of thyself, sad Soul,  
Try all thy actions, let not darkness roll  
Thee in her lulling arms, but now embrace  
The glorious purchase of Heaven's proffered grace;  
Yet mourning Soul return, yet sinner wake  
From thy security; go, high thee, take  
Thy well-prepared venison, Heaven will stay,  
And double bless thee, ere he part away.   

(41)  
The Sun being set, all mortals go to rest,  
Our sorrow rises; then each soul's possessed  
With fear and horror, and each man complains  
Of mighty losses, and of little gains;  
We lift our hands to Heaven sometimes for aid,  
We cast our eyes up when we are afraid;  
But when do Hearts, and Hands, and Eyes, agree  
With Faith and Love, Truth and Sincerity.   

(42)  
Oh Sin, my fatal Foe, how bad is gain  
Contracted from thee? pleasure is but pain;  
How false is sinner's joy? their Mines are moss,  
Their work is toilsome, yet their labour's loss;  
Their blossome's blasted with a minute's breath,  
Their light is darkness, and their life is death:  
Sin doth destroy the glorious Soul, for why,  
The Soul that sinneth shall be sure to die.   

(43)  
Ah me, how quickly doth this house of man  
Decay? his ways are like a feathered fan,  
Which wav'reth with the wind; his strength & prime  
Is wondrous weak, and his swift-posting time  
Is very short: though sometimes he be high,  
Like a tall Cedar, which doth dare the Sky,  
And swelleth in his pride; a little Rub  
Of sickness makes the Cedar but a Shrub.   

(44)  
Where shall we hid us? is there ne'er a mountain  
To o'r-shadow us? or a pleasant fountain  
For tired Souls to bathe in, while the Cloud  
Of Thunder is blown over? may we shroud  
Our Souls in no protection, while our tears  
Shall wash our bosoms, and invite the ears  
Of Heaven to listen, that our cries may be  
Lodged in the Palace of Eternity?   

(45)  
Th'glory is departed, Israel's Land is taken,  
Judah's hollow-hearted, therefore is forsaken;  
And in the dust doth Zions honour lie,  
To be a Proverb for the passers by:  
Who is more slighted, and who more reviled,  
Then the bad Servant, or the stubborn Child?  
If Heaven's Children disobedient be,  
Their sure reward is Earth's indignity.   

(46)  
The looks of Envy, and the mouth of Fame,  
Act both their hateful Parts, to wound and shame  
Our Souls: Oh this unwelcome hour!  
Why is our glory in th'enemies' power?  
And what can we expect from these our foes,  
But wry-mouthed slander, slavery, and blows?  
Oh Lord deliver us from th'enemies' hand,  
And blast their malice with a countermand.   

(47)  
May not the first suffice; Fear, and a Snare?  
Alas, it is enough; what mortal dare  
Challenge a single Duel with these here?  
Fear brings a Snare, and Snares begetteth Fear;  
The next is Hate, and Ruin, and these be  
The four Contrivers of our Tragedy:  
Lord strike the Epilogue, and change the Stage,  
And make a Golden of our Iron Age.   

(48)  
As when Apollo doth his glory shroud  
Behind the Curtain of some darkened Cloud,  
The Air, lamenting Phoebus' absence, pours  
Upon the Earth some drops of weeping showers;  
Thus doth our Sun set, and our sorrows rise,  
Darkening the light of our benighted eyes,  
And makes our floodgates send forth showery streams,  
For the sad loss of heavens illustrious beams.   

(49)  
Will not the Heaven's clear? and will the Day  
Ne'er break these chains of Night and come away?  
Why doth this Cypress Girdle often bind  
The circled world? Ah, are we still confined  
To sit in these dark shadows? Must our tears  
Be still as constant as our nightly fears?  
Our eyes are springs, whose streams can never stay,  
Rise sweet-faced Phoebus, rise, and bring the Day.   

(50)  
Although my heavy heart be thus oppressed,  
Although my tottering soul be kept from rest,  
Although mine eyes with looking up are blind,  
Although my misery hath overwhelmed my mind;  
Yet, Lord, cast but a splendour from thy Throne,  
My heart shall cease to grieve, my soul to groan;  
Mine heart, my mind, my tongue, and memory,  
Shall all in one set forth thy Majesty.   

(51)  
The eye is but the prospect of the heart,  
A little member, yet it doth take part  
Of every sorrow, and our inward grief  
The eye relenting, doth implore belief:  
The heart is hid, so are our secret fears,  
But the eye shows them with its gushing tears;  
What my still troubles are, mine eyes do speak,  
And were it not for tears, my heart would break.   

(52)  
Run not so fast, O ye my following Foes,  
Let me a little breathe between your blows;  
Strike not so thick on my disarmed head,  
Let not your cruel hate so fare be led,  
To bring me as a Bird into Death's snare;  
Let me have freedom, howsoe'er I far:  
Let me but serve my God in his high Hill,  
And do your worst, my Foes, do what you will.   

(53)  
Pride and Presumption did me once commit  
To the low Dungeon, where my soul did sit  
enveloped in darkness, and cold clay,  
Not making difference 'twixt the night and day;  
And on the mouth of which they cast a stone,  
To keep me sure; or fearing that my moan  
Should reach the ears of Heaven, thus their doom  
Interred and laid me in Earth's hollowed womb.   

(54)  
Th'aspiring surges of the swelling Ocean,  
(That sometimes kiss the Clouds) whose motion  
Is backed with Thunder; Ship and men  
First tossed up toward Heaven, than again  
They come as swiftly downward to the brink;  
Sometimes they soar aloft, and sometimes sink:  
Sometimes my Faith did blow a pleasant gale,  
Till I was sinking, than my Faith did fail.   

(55)  
Out of the bowels of Earth's hollowed Womb  
I sometimes whispered; Ah, is this my Tomb?  
Am I interred in Earth? and am I sent  
To lie for ever in this Monument?  
Ah, hath the Lord forgot his grace? and why  
Doth wrath so long lodge in th'Almighties eye?  
Breathe joy to my sad Soul, dear Lord, thy breath  
Gives light in darkness, and a life in death.   

(56)  
How unbelieved is the heart of man?  
How base and fearful, and how vain? who can  
Know the delusions that are lodged there?  
How fare from Faith, how full of slavish fear,  
My Soul can witness? Lord, thou hearest my cry,  
What need I then use this tautology?  
But that it strengtheneth Faith, which would decay;  
The more thou promisest, the more we'll pray.   

(57)  
Love, Power, and Fear did all at once agree,  
In a low heart to make a harmony:  
First, Love doth  the Soul with sweetness, and  
Heaven gives base Earth a powerful countermand,  
And therefore riseth as a Lion strong,  
And thus proclaims; Who dares to offer wrong  
To this most amorous Soul, while Heaven is here?  
Blessed is the heart, where dwells Love, Pour, and Fear.   

(58)  
The valiant Champion, whose deeds may claim  
A share of Honour, and the breath of Fame,  
His Truth and Valour hath no other Laws,  
For the descending of the weaker Cause,  
But love to Faith and Virtue; even thus  
Heaven makes his Name on Earth most glorious,  
By blowing of our dangers, and our harm,  
With power, and wonder, from his Warlike Arme.   

(59)  
My Lord, I'm wronged, th'accused Prisoner cries,  
Th'Indictment's false, th'envious Witness lies;  
You know, my Lord, the man tells nothing true,  
I will appeal to Heaven and to you;  
Yet may the blinded Judge, against the Laws,  
Hang the poor Prisoner, and condemn his Cause:  
But, Lord, thou art a Witness of our state,  
Our Judge, our Father, Friend, and Advocate.   

(60)  
Rocks cannot save thee, nor high mountains hid thee,  
Seas will not have thee, nor the Earth abide thee,  
Day not adorn thee, darkness not protect thee,  
Thy foes will scorn thee, and thy friends reject thee;  
Night cannot hid thy black-mouthed malice, nay,  
Thy misty mid-night's like the midst of day;  
And if the glorious day shall show my wrong,  
It is not long to day, it is not long.   

(61)  
And as the dazzling beams of heavens bright eye,  
Rising aloft in his high Majesty,  
Discov'reth all disasters which are hurled  
With shades of darkness in the mantled world;  
Even so, my God, thy piercing eye, thine care,  
Is quick in seeing, and most swift to hear,  
Thou seest their consultations; judge my Cause  
By the true tenor of thy righteous Laws.   

(62)  
Ah foolish enemy, why dost thou wrong  
Thy silly self? I know, thy envious tongue  
Would poison those whose actions God doth love,  
But they this piece of hatred are above;  
Thy plots or black compliance (O thou Drone)  
What needst thou whisper, when thy heart is known:  
But yet go on, thou shalt not lose thy hire  
In th'infernal Lake of furious fire.   

(63)  
Doth mirth become a fool? it is not fit  
They should be merry that have got no wit:  
Did I say wit? 'tis wisdom that I mean;  
There may be wit where wisdom ne'er was seen:  
If wisdom were with wit, their Songs would be  
Not dressed with Lines of nonsense Poetry:  
Sing on vain Drunkards, laugh, your merry jeers  
I doubt will change, there is a time for tears.   

(64)  
Reward of good, is glory; and the hire  
Of Satan's instruments, is endless fire;  
His work being done on Earth, he shall commence  
In never dying flames, Hell's recompense:  
Strike them with dreadful thunder, Lord, and flashes  
Of fearful Lightning; lay on thy lashes  
Upon their naked shoulders, let them see  
Thy wrath pursues them to eternity.   

(65)  
And since they would thy Precepts disannul,  
Lord make them stupid, let their brains be dull,  
Let them not see where Truth and Error lies;  
Give them a deafened care, and blinded eyes,  
Give them a sinking soul, that may soon faint,  
Make it erroneous, hard, and obstinant:  
O make their memory loathed, when they shall vade▪  
From the world's prospect, like an evening shade.   

(66)  
Three Acts are passed along our bloody Stage,  
And there is two to come; our mournful Age  
Is a sad precedent to all eyes; O may  
Our enemies fall fill up the following Play:  
Now let our enemies act their dismal part,  
Let each foe strike his fellow to the heart,  
So let them die; Lord blast them, let them be  
The Epilogue of our sad Tragedy.    

CONTEMPLATION III.  

WHat means the Joy that Worldlings take on Earth,  
Triumphing in false Glory, and vain Mirth?  
Why are their faces dressed with flourished smiles  
Of jovial merriment, and yet the whiles  
Their souls do sink with sorrow? Can they bear  
The checks of Conscience with so little care?  
What? is the Soul asleep, while mortals act  
Their merry Comedies, while they contract  
Gild on th'accused Conscience, while they lie  
Rocked in security, with this Lullaby?  
What means the prosperous pomp of such a Blade,  
Whose earthly honour may a while persuade  
The world there is no God; the sinner's state  
Doth always flourish, and is fortunate?  
he's decked with antic Robes of the best fashion,  
He blasphemes Heaven in each Recreation:  
Look on the wretch; he hath all earthly glories,  
Brave Buildings, stately Works, Heroic Stories  
Wrought with laborious Needles, where the hand  
Of curious Art doth give a countermand  
To the world's ignorance; while Nature's eye  
In looking, praiseth Ingenuity.  
He hath both wealth and wit, a warlike arm  
That's strong and valiant, oft in offering harm,  
High honour, great advancement, praise of men,  
And love of Ladies, which are offered when  
The man is full of Money: thus he walks  
In his vainglory, and he always talks  
Of great affairs; his Honour doth defy  
To tell the Truth, and yet he hates the Lie  
Should be returned on him, while his face  
Is a red emblem of sins black disgrace.  
Vile wretch, how safe thou art, while Conscience she  
Doth lie entombed in obscurity?  
There is a time for flames, or else for fears,  
A time for torments, or a time for tears.  
Retire into thy Closet, take thy Pen,  
Go muse on the mortality of men,  
Writ the disasters that attend the Crown  
Of earthly Royalty; go thou wretch, sit down  
In thy retired Chamber half a day,  
Let Conscience speak, and Conscience thus will say.  
Ah man, obdurate man, why wast thou borne  
Into the world, or why did Heaven adorn  
Thy Soul with immortality? why did Love,  
Whose rare transcendency is fare above  
The world's desert, or reason, ever stretch  
Those sweet embraces to so vile a wretch,  
To so deformed a wretch as thou? O piece of Clay,  
Didst thou deserve it, blinded sinner, say?  
What canst thou answer me, proud mortal, why  
Thou shouldst not have thy judgement now to die?  
What art thou, feeble Earth? a little dust;  
What's Beauty's blossom? it will quickly rust;  
What is this spacious Universe, but a Theme?  
What is man's dignity, but an idle Dream?  
What is thy wealth? a weathercock of woe;  
And what is honour, but man's overthrow?  
And what are all thy friends? they pass away  
Like short-lived Actors in a Tragic Play:  
Friends, wealth, wit, honour, beauty, have no power  
To save thee from the King of fears one hour.  
Bid now farewell unto those hours, whose strife  
With thriftless joy hath spun a weary life,  
A life of vanity, whose very name  
Masketh the ornaments of Virtue's fame;  
Yet dearest soul return, yet hark to me,  
Yet be thou mindful of eternity;  
Yet hear poor Conscience speak, since time almost  
Hath run his swift-foot hours, and thou art lost:  
Did I say lost? Ah, Soul, thou'rt happy then,  
If Earth could hid thee in her darkened Den:  
If thou wert lost indeed from heavens bright eye,  
If Death could shade thee in obscurity;  
If Earth, and Sea, and Hell, and Death should wind thee,  
In their dark shadows, yet thy Judge would find thee.  
And then, Oh then, the sinner being found,  
How will the eyes of the Almighty wound  
Thy now condemned Soul? while thou before  
The high Tribunal howling, shalt implore  
Some Rock to  thee, yet denied  
That slender shelter; how wilt thou abide  
Before the dreadful Throne, from whence shall come  
Thy damned Sentence of eternal Doom?  
And is this all? No; then thou shalt retire  
To never-quenched flames of furious fire,  
Whose everlasting fuel shall extend  
To all eternity, and never end.  
In Hell's dark, hideous, and hollow Vaule,  
(Where souls converse with fiends) for every fault  
There is a several plague: Gluttons are fed  
With scalding Lead and Brimstone; and the dead  
Besotted Drunkard, as he every day  
Drunk Healths to Hell, to pass the time away,  
So in eternal torment, endless toil,  
His throat is washed with quaffs of burning oil:  
The stubborn Child the wrathful Furies hold,  
with long-tormenting lashes;  
Th'Usurer drinks whole Draughts of molten Gold:  
And there the cruel Murderer doth lie,  
Always a stabbing, yet can never die:  
There lies the Wanton, who Loves fire did feel,  
Stretched upon torturing racks of burning Steel;  
Heat by eternal flames, blown with the breaths  
Of thousand thousands neverdying deaths.  
Then dearest Soul repent, 'tis not too late  
To beg for mercy, that most glorious Gate  
Is seldom shut; come spend thy after-yeares,  
If thou hast any, in repenting tears;  
In true repenting tears bathe oft thy breast,  
Let not thy slumber lull thee to thy rest,  
Till thou hast got a pardon: dost thou know,  
How highly glorious is th'overthrow  
Of Sin, and Death, and Hell? what royal favour  
Is in the lovely eyes of such a Saviour?  
What chaste embraces, and what sweet communion?  
What rare discoveries, what ravished union?  
What present providence from Earth's annoys?  
What after-evidence of endless joys?  
What wise directions through threatening harms▪  
What safe protections in th'almighty Arms  
Of such a blessed Saviour, whose sweet b …  
Gives health in sickness, and a life in death?  
And this would change thee, sinner; this, even this  
Would turn thy Closet to a Paradise:  
This sweet Repentance would adorn thy face  
With Heavens amours, and with blushing grace  
For thy forepast Rebellion; this would give  
A learned Precedent, how thou mightst live  
To reign in endless glory; this would try,  
If thou dost live before thou comest to die.  
Read this third Chapter, mark but who they be  
That Heaven exposeth to calamity;  
The Prophet here cries out, I am the man  
Whose back is galled with lashes, therefore can  
Another look for safety? Shall Heavens Child  
Be lost, be lashed, rejected, and reviled  
Of the world's Peacocks; and shalt not thou,  
A sinner, feel the furrows of his brow.  
See how their Land's defaced, their Wives defiled,  
How Famine kills, and brings the hungry Child  
To his untimely grave, whose friends are lost;  
Virgins are ravished, new borne Infants tossed  
Upon the soldier's Spears the women ripped  
Up great with Child, and so the Babe is stripped  
From th' Bed of his Creation: Elders lies  
Having Death's prospect in their aged eyes,  
Embracing lowly Earth with tears, to trave  
A little favour to find out their Grave.  
See while their City burns, their eyes are drowned  
In streams of flowing 〈◊〉, they do abound  
In fullness, yet have wane: oh, ask not why;  
They long for life, and yet they wish to die;  
The tenderest love is mixed now with hate;  
They're full of people, yet are desolate;  
They have some pleasure, yet it ●s but pain;  
Their gain is loss, and yet their loss is gain.  
For, from the thirty Verse of this third Chapter,  
Our ears sometimes may drink a heavenly rapture  
From the harmonious Spheres, which even then  
Dropped down these Elegies from the Prophet's pen,  
And tells the world, that Heaven takes no delight  
To overturn a mortal from his right  
On Earth; it is his wicked sinful ways,  
That brings in Death, to cut his short-lived days:  
Thus Love is mixed with anger, sweets with sour,  
Joy midst of sorrow, weakness matched with power;  
Honey is mingled with our poisoned gall,  
Love with our Lashers; Love's the cause of all.  
Love's in our labour, Love is in our loss;  
Love wears the Crown, and Love must bear the Cross;  
Love makes our Union, Love's in our division;  
Love's our direction, Love's in our derision;  
Love's in prosperity, Loves in disaster;  
Love is our servant, and yet Love's our Master;  
Love seems to be a foe, yet Love's a friend;  
Love did begin our woes, and Love will end  
Our dismal dangers; Love commenced the fray,  
And Love will turn our Night to shining Day.  
Our Land had been too too unfortunate,  
Like ruin'd Zion, but that Love doth wait  
Upon the hand of Justice, and is Crowned;  
Love gives a Salve, when Justice gives a Wound.  
What need we then grudge at Calamity?  
What is Mortality to Eternity?  
Since our best actions are but gilded air,  
And words are wavering wind: is it so rare  
For us to suffer trouble? do we merit  
With our Rebellion? that we should inherit  
The Palace of high Glory, and not think  
That Me … s eyes will shut? Love sometimes winks,  
To try our purchased Graces, and to know  
Our best of carriage in the worst of woe.  
But what's the cause then, that the Proph●t here,  
In the tumultuous storms of trembling fear,  
Doth pray against his foes? what, is it well,  
To cry our worst of enemies down to Hell?  
Yea, it is well; not as they are to us,  
Disquiet, hateful, base, malicious;  
For here, in stead of foes, they are our friends,  
While they conduct us to our journeys ends  
The best and nearest way; and then our breast  
Doth more embrace that undisturbed rest,  
In swelling soft eternity; beside,  
Our strength of faith could not so well be tried  
As by the force of envy: but as he  
Which is our foe is Heaven's enemy,  
We ought to beg for his soon dissolution,  
For his conversion, or for his confusion.  
Even so let them all perish, let each foe,  
O Lord, be dashed with one, one final blow  
From thine Almighty Arm: as thou hast made  
Them moving shadows, so, much like a shade  
Let them soon vanish; let thine enemies die,  
And be forgot, like their loathed memory.  
And then, oh then, when the world shall behold  
The Dross is purged from the purest Gold,  
Which once was intermingled, than each knee  
Shall bow unto thy sacred Majesty  
With lowly adoration, and thy Name  
Shall be exalted with eternal fame;  
And with a low incomparable grace,  
Thy Saints shall sing in thy most holy place  
Those ravished hallelujahs; though we here  
Do bathe our silent bosoms with a tear.    

CHAP. IU.  

Verse 1.  
HOw dull's the finest Gold? how quickly dim  
Is the bright Glory of that Diadem  
That once adorned Jerusalem's Brows in State?  
Where is the King, the Priest, and Potentate?  
Her Priests do faint, and in each corner swound;  
Those orient Pearls are scattered on the ground,  
As if they were most needless; high and low  
Do all fall blasted, to complete our woe.   

(2)  
Where are those Noble Worthies Fame presents,  
Sons of high honour, Nature's ornaments,  
And Zions glory; in whose serious eye  
Knowledge was seated in high Majesty,  
To judge each lose offender? Ah me! may  
Such Clouds of Thunder now be Clods of Clay?  
Can the high Potter make such Vessels poor?  
Away vain honour, and delude no more.   

(3)  
Is Love and Nature banished and exiled?  
Can the fond Mother once forget her Child?  
She can, and will, she does: Oh wondrous strange!  
How doth the Glory of Jerusalem change?  
The careless Ostrich, and the swinish Boar,  
The poisonous Dragon, and the Lion's rose  
For lack of food, yet give their young the breast,  
But Famine lulls these Babes to endless rest.   

(4)  
Alas, poor Babe, why doth thy dying soul  
Strive to live longer, and thy heart control  
Death's summons to the grave, whose ashy hand  
Shall pass thy soul into the promised Land?  
His tongue is parched with thirst, he cannot speak,  
He would implore some Bread, but none will break  
It to his pining soul; at last his eye  
Is closed, in slumbering endless Lullaby.   

(5)  
How is our labour Alchymized to loss?  
How is our Gold and Silver turned to dross?  
How is our Beauty metamorphosed? how  
Doth furious Famine furrow up our brow?  
He that did feed in Silver, drank in Gold,  
Now starved for hunger, almost pined with Cold;  
And she that once could boast of honoured birth,  
Lies now embracing of her Mother Earth.   

(6)  
And is there nor a Cause, oh wretched we,  
That we are followed with Calamity?  
Are not our sins more great than Sodoms' Cries,  
Which pierced the Air, and filled the Azure Skies  
With Clouds of dreadful Thunder? Goods and Names,  
In the descending and aspiring flames,  
Were burnt to ashes in a hasty hour,  
By the Almighty's unresisted power.   

(7)  
Those comely Nazarites, whose lovely faces  
Resembled Snow, enriched with amorous graces  
Of uncontroubled Love, and were more red  
Than polished Saphir; on whose hoary head  
Were threads of tangled Gold in stead of hair,  
Where Love united Art, Neglect, and Care;  
Love, Art, and Beauty, Honour, Grace, and Wit,  
Were the endowments of a Nazarite.   

(8)  
How quickly are they blasted? even now  
Deformity hangs lurking on that brow,  
That was a while so fair, now black as coals,  
Pined with the anguish of their hungry souls;  
Love is deformed, Grace is unregarded,  
Wisdom despised, Honour unrewarded,  
Their skin is with'ted; now the Nazarite he  
Is a black emblem of Deformity.   

(9)  
There are degrees in Death, yet all do tend  
To usher man unto his journeys end:  
Some die for love, and some by hate do die;  
Some end their days through pining poverty,  
And some by too much riches: some, the Sword  
Doth part in sunder; others, by a word  
Receive their Death's alarm: all must fall,  
But Death by Famine is the worst of all.   

(10)  
A Feast is made for mirth, but mourners shall  
Attend our Banquet to our Funeral,  
And see the tender Mother, full of fears,  
Bathing her Infant with her watery tears;  
Yet must she kill the pretty harmless Dove,  
The Laws of Famine blot the Line of Love:  
Go sweet-faced Babe, this feast was not for laughter,  
Thou go'st before, thy Parents follow after.   

(11)  
Come, let's be sad, O Zion, let our eyes  
Pump floods of tears, to drown this sacrifice  
Of indignation, lest th'aspiring flames  
Lick up our Kingdom, and consume our names;  
The Sword doth range, and now the fire doth climb  
To meet the Stars, and scorch the wings of Time;  
The proudest Pinnacle, and the highest Tower,  
Is fare too weak to grapple with their Powre.   

(12)  
Come, let's be sad, Oh Zion, while our tears  
Confute the Nations that were full of jeers:  
Why was the darkened world so blinded? why  
Did the proud King think Heaven would falsify?  
Why would you not believe, that the high hand  
Of powerful Babylon should take our Land?  
Know now, vain mortals, heavens not like to you,  
For he is faithful, holy, just, and true.   

(13)  
Oh sin, now hast thou drawn thy Curtain round  
The darkened world? and how are mortals drowned  
In thy in chanting streams? the Prophet lies,  
The Priests are foolish that are counted wise,  
The wise and hardy sinner's courage cools,  
And those are wisest that are counted fools:  
Even the jest man, although he suffer here,  
The day of his Redemption draweth near.   

(14)  
Have you beheld the blind, with what a pace  
He walks along, guarding his tender face  
And body with his staff, for fear of hurt,  
And yet at last he tumbleth in the dirt?  
Thus blind men wandered, and for want of eyes  
They tumble in the bloody sacrifice  
Of many a bleeding body, which by hate  
Were hurt and slain, poor, vile, unfortunate.   

(15)  
Depart, polluted Israel, cry the foes, depart  
From Zions territories; set not your heart  
Upon her glory, that so quickly dies;  
Your feet, your hands, and your unhallowed eyes  
Are too unholy; now no prayers will pierce  
Th'ears of Heaven, the spacious Universe  
Will give you no prosperity; for why,  
Sin is the cause that makes man's glory die.   

(16)  
Dare man, that feeble Worm, and transitory  
Forgotten Dream, think it a piece of glory,  
To war against th'almighty? Can he make  
The Earth to tremble, or by Power shake  
The fabric of the World, or blast the name  
Of the proud enemy, in their height of fame?  
But as you have begun your mischief, so  
The Lord shall make an end, presumptuous fo●.   

(17)  
How blind are our vain eyes with folly? Can  
There be a certain help from helpless man?  
We thought th' Egyptians Army sure would save  
Our starved bodies from the hungry grave,  
But they were weak; and now our foes affaile us,  
Our foes offend us, and our friends do fail us:  
Can any mortal save himself from harm?  
Put then no trust (O man) in thy weak arm.   

(18)  
Like tired Hearts we are ensnared round  
With lightfoot Hunters, and the following Hound,  
And now our tired souls, for lack of breath,  
Yield themselves prisoners to pursuing Death:  
Our Sun is set, the labouring sands are run  
From Times swift Hourglass, our Day is done:  
'Tis done indeed, Time always did attend us,  
Time did begin us, therefore Time must end us.   

(19)  
The joftie Eagle, in his high Career,  
Aspires to touch the starry Hemisphere,  
And in his height of pride, he feign would be  
Inheriter of Luna's Canopy;  
Eagles are not so swift, to make their way  
Through the light Air, as is this Ball of Clay,  
This uncollected man, whose hate doth meet  
My wand'ring footsteps in the desolate street.   

(20)  
The King, our Royal King, our verybreath,  
Was a sad offering, sacrificed to death,  
Whose down fall sinks our souls; yet what was he,  
But a weak emblem of mortality?  
His dignity a dream, his honour fades  
Like morning shadows, or the evening shades;  
Hath Wealth, Health, Honour, and Preferment wings?  
So have their hopes, that put their trust in Kings.   

(21)  
And now, Oh Edom, joy falls thick on joy  
On thy poor self; our torments were a toy  
To thee; laugh on, or rather learn to steep  
Thy soul in sorrow, teach thine eyes to weep:  
O Land of Us, the Cup comes o'er to thee,  
The Cup of Poison and Calamity;  
The world, the Edom which did ring thy name,  
Shall see the sorrow of a sinner's shame.   

(22)  
But, gentle Zion, now the heavens are clear,  
The morning riseth, and thy darkened sear  
Is set, the glorious lustre of heavens eye  
Disperseth darkness from th'Orient Sky:  
Our Woe is past, but Edom next must be  
Our following fellows to Captivity;  
Whose sad destruction to the world will show  
A second mourning Monument of Woe.    

CONTEMPLATION IU.  

HOw Orient is bright Phoebus in each Ray,  
Promising the glory of a Sunshine Day  
●n some bright newborn Morning? but ere he  
Aspires the height of Heaven's Canopy,  
O'r-rid in highest Noon, his beauty shrouds  
Itself in sable Curtains of dark Clouds,  
The Heavens now look angry, and the Air,  
That was so calm, so clear, so pleasant, fair,  
Is dressed with horrid darkness, while in sunder  
The Spheres do seem to rend with claps of thunder,  
And dreadful fiery flashes, which do fly  
More swift than thought along the darkened Sky.  
Ah world! thus various art thou, and thus strange?  
Thus apt to alter, and thus apt to change?  
Thus oft dost promise, and more oft dost break,  
While thou pretendest power, and yet art weak?  
Sometimes thou hast a Smile, sometimes a Frown;  
Sometimes thou sett'st us up, than pullest us down;  
Sometimes th'Heavens are clear, and sometimes dark,  
The Morning calm, yet in th'Evening hark  
What showers and dreadful thunder-cracks there be,  
Ere Phoebus cools him in the Western Sea:  
Sometimes we have our health, and ease; then, oh,  
A little sickness brings us wondrous low;  
Sometimes  wealth, and then our winged store,  
Like Hawks, fly from our fist, and we are poor  
In a short moment; sorrow comes too soon  
Upon the back of joy, and like the Moon  
We : sometimes Love makes Envy cease,  
Sometimes we live in War, sometimes in Peace;  
We rise aloft, we aspire, we sit on high,  
Then we descend, decease, lie down and die.  
The often changing of the various weather,  
Is a true emblem; whither wilt thou, whither,  
O Earth, conduct us? but, me thinks, our eye  
Knows too too well thy various vanity.  
And for our precedent, poor Zions loss  
Will teach us well, their Gold was turned to dross,  
Their precious stones to pebbles, and their place  
A ruin'd heap, their honour to disgrace;  
Their fullness now is Famine, and their Soil  
Is barren too, their pleasure is a spoil;  
Their beauty is deformity, their power  
Is weak, and in few waste and flying hours  
The hope of Earth's eternitie's cut off,  
The Land is lost, the Kingdom is a scoff  
To the wide Universe, their Comedy  
Is metamorphosed to a Tragedy,  
Their highest dignity is disregarded,  
Their wisdom slighted, honour unrewarded.  
What Nation fought with greater bravery  
Then warlike Isr'el, which their foes slavery  
Can often manifest? what Valour might  
Be matched to theirs, while in each bloody fight  
Each longed to be the foremost, to inga …  
A troop of Lions in their rampant rage,  
Was a poor figure of their noble hearts,  
While Heaven was darkened with those numerous darts  
That flew along the Air, backed with the breath  
Of Fury, and each Arrow ripped with Death.  
There might you hear the wounded Heathen, cry  
To their false gods, while that the blashing Sky  
Did echo their implorement, th'Earth being hid  
With heaps of murdered Heathens; here a head  
Lies tumbling, while the base unwor thy brain  
Is found too foolish to be knit again  
Unto the for lost shoulders, or comply  
In any Plot, or treacherous Villainy.  
Not fare from that, there lies a Hand and Arm,  
With signs of peace, too feeble for a harm  
Against poor Zion; there a Leg doth lie,  
Which should have served his Master for to fly  
To some strong Rock of Resuge; now the day  
Hath crossed his speed, he cannot run away:  
There was brave Gallantry in Israel's eye,  
Each strove with honour who the first should die;  
Fight on heaps of their bemang led foes,  
They made renown to wait upon their blows;  
Where in the Clouds of Darts, with winged speed  
Death galloped through the Armies with a Reed,  
To measure out the Graves of them which he  
Had sent to wander to eternity.  
Thus valiant Israel, who now doth yield,  
Hath slain their threescore thousand in a field;  
While Heaven did ead them, then high israels name  
Road on the wings of everlasting fa●…e;  
The Stars did light in order, and the Moon  
Stood still, and in the 〈◊〉 height of Noon  
Sw●ft Phoebus did his 〈◊〉 Horses stay  
From t … Career and length'●ed out the day,  
To see those games of Death p … yed, where each blow  
foretell the enemy of his ov … hr●w.  
But where's that Valour n●w that Royalty  
So quickly turned into 〈◊〉?  
What, slaved themselves 〈…〉 serve even them  
Which once were servants to Jerusalem?  
What, must their Crown be veiled must they go down,  
While Heathens arch their temples with their Crown '  
Are they subdued by the Conquered,  
And must the blind man by the blind be led?  
If this be true, this Motto than makes known,  
Thy power was Heavens (Zion) not thine own;  
And hadst thou been obedient to his will,  
Thy warlike arm might have subdued still  
Those thy unconquered foes: then, like a Bride,  
Heaven would have guarded, loved, and dignified  
His own peculiar people; then his Arm  
Would have embraced thee, and have banished harm  
From these thy ruin'd Borders; then his Eye  
Had loved thee with Celestial jealousy.  
Ah, holy Land, if thou wert ruined thus,  
How shall we far, what shall become of us?  
If thou wert smitten, as the Prophet's pen  
Doth manifest, we monumonts of men,  
Drunk with the wine of folly, how shall we  
Escape from a more dolesome Tragedy?  
I often read, Israel was of one mind,  
But England's ways are wavering, like the wind;  
Israel was circumspect, and serious,  
But England blind, unconstant, various:  
Their Armies fought like one, one armed man,  
We numerous multitudes of Divisions; can  
We look for peace in this distracted mould,  
Not knowing who to help, nor where to hold.  
The Citizens implore the Armies may  
Disband, the valiant Soldier asks his pay  
Ere he lays down; some foolish fellows fling  
Libels abroad, of Loyalty to the King;  
But it is false: alas, their wicked aim  
Is to involve the City in a flame.  
A fourth Contriver, with his shallow crown,  
Holds best to pull the two Assemblies down;  
He rails against the Peers and Commons too,  
Reviles them all, yet cannot tell you who  
It is that doth disturb him: others chat  
Against Divines, yet cannot tell for what;  
Another he would have new Members chose,  
And yet he knows no ill by none of those;  
The rest would have a new Militia hold,  
Yet can they find no fault against the old:  
Thus, in their various minds, and mutinies,  
The people fall to Contrarieties.  
The poor would have Meat at a lower rate,  
But that the Farmers and the Butchers hate  
Should ever take effect: some think, that Beer  
Is brewed too small, and that 'tis sold too dear:  
But him the Victualler doth soon advise  
To be content, because they pay Excise.  
Another says, did not the rich men sweep  
Up all the Cloth, Clothes would be better cheap;  
And him the Clothier presently persuades,  
Were't not for these, they could not keep their Trades.  
The Courtier he doth out of zeal defy  
The Parliament, swears he's for's Majesty;  
One cries him up, another cries him down;  
A third would have the Prince to wear the Crown;  
A fourth will none of that, says 'tis a thing  
Not needful, that there should be any King.  
The Separate rails at all the Priests attendants,  
The Presbyterian checks the Independants:  
Alas, says one, how could we ever look  
For better times, since that the holy Book  
Of Common Prayer went down? then those that went  
But for a Token, had the Sacrament:  
What, are we wiser than our Fathers? they  
Without the Service-Booke would never pray.  
But now this fellow's silenced by another,  
That thinks he's somewhat wiser than the other:  
Quoth he, what difference 'twixt the Church and Stable?  
The Service-Booke was most abominable,  
A Library sent from Rome, wherein was't rare,  
They prayed for foul weather when we should have fair:  
And why is humane Learning thus affected?  
The Seribes and Pharises they were neglected  
By our dear Saviour, he cast lovely eyes  
Upon the simple, and refused the wise.  
And thus, good Reader, there is no confusion  
Like that, which hath such strong delusion  
Of liking and disliking; some dispraise  
The man, whom others would have Fortune raise  
To high preferment: Ah, what hath our Lands,  
But double tongues, false hearts, divided hands,  
And a distracted brain, a poisonous breath  
Of Envy, and a life expecting death,  
Or death in midst of life? oh, why are we  
The only Monuments of Misery?  
Most blessed Faith and Love, you never   
From your first blessedness, nor act contrary  
Unto your blessed Natures from above,  
Love dotes on Faith, and Faith engendereth Love.  
O glorious God, thy Saints ne'er disagree  
In Heaven, when they possess high dignity,  
Loves Banner is displayed about thy Throne,  
Thy holy Angels are no more than one:  
But man (oh that wretch man) is like th'Ocean,  
Who now is calm, and hath a gentle motion,  
And in a moment makes his billows run  
Aloft, and shoots his surges at the Sun.  
And since Divisions to destructions tend,  
What follows ruined England, but her end?  
Cease then, oh England, from this pitch of Pride,  
And end, oh, sad Divisions end beside  
Yourselves; Earth's Power, Device, and all  
The help of Hell can never work our fall.  
Come sweet-faced Virtue, come, and banish Vice;  
Come Union, make our Land Earth's Paradise;  
Come Loves triumphant Laws, and you shall be  
The Precedents of our Tranquillity.  
You orient glittering Pearls, that Earth count Toys,  
Show us some glances of Celestial joys,  
By Virtue's rarity; Truth, Peace, and Love,  
You are those Sisters which do dwell above,  
Arched in the highest Glory, are no less  
Then Royal Twins in matchless blessedness.  
Oh, if our blackness may not blast your bloom,  
Or if our stammering words may find a room  
In your most sacred ears, let Truth expel  
Those damned Errors that arise from Hell,  
And let harmonious Peace heal up our Scar,  
And give a countermand to threatening War;  
And then the last and loveliest of the three,  
●et Beauty look upon Deformity,  
And make us like to you: oh, let our shame  
Love your blessed memory in immortal fame;  
And as you move in your harmonious Spheres,  
So guide our earthly bodies; let our tears  
Wash off Deformity, which did annoy,  
Make us an emblem of Love's highest joy;  
Or else we shall (if not by you thus blest)  
●ine out those days we number to our rest.    

CHAP. V.  

Verse 1.  
REmember, Lord, our evils, let them be  
Charactered in Gold, in thy blessed Memory,  
That lasting Register, that righteous Scroll;  
Conscience, Vice-royall to th'immortal Soul,  
Shall stand to witness, while the sinner cries  
To some vast mountain, to eclipse his eyes  
From the Tribunal Throne; then, Lord, make room  
For Fury, let th'enemy have his doom.   

(2)  
Our fair Inheritance, like a short Song,  
Is done, and gone, and thus we pass along;  
Like Time's benighted Shadows, so are we  
Tired in pursuit of Earth's Vanity,  
Yea, Vanity indeed: were it not thus,  
Why is the world so constant various?  
Why should our Houses, Vineyards, and our pain,  
Be our enraged enemies present gain.   

(3)  
Our dearest Fathers, in their honoured Age,  
By Death were summoned from Earth's troubled Stage,  
And now they slumber, now they rest, and lie  
Rocked in Death's Chariot, with lost Lullaby:  
Our tender Mothers having lost their Loves,  
Mourn like th'amorous Widowed Turele-Doves;  
And we their sons, who live in desolate Tents,  
Are silent Ruins of their Monuments.   

(4)  
The pleasant Rivers, whose sweet erystall streams  
Refreshed our souls with plenty, like the beams  
Of orient Phoebus, when he makes his way  
To clothe all mortals with a Sunshine day;  
Yet these our Waters and our Wood is sold  
By weight and measure for the price of Gold,  
Nay, more than Gold, our Bondage, that may tell  
Coin with affliction hath no parallel.   

(5)  
The almost-tyred Horse would rest his Load  
From his galled shoulders in the dusty Road,  
But for the Driver; thus poor we would borrow  
An inch of respite, for an age of sorrow:  
We are as Horses to th'enemies yokes,  
Laden with burdens, and pursued with strokes  
Of our foes envy; now we know how blest  
Is the rare royalty of purchased Rest.   

(6)  
What heaped-up Plenty had our flourished Land  
Once for to glory in, when her high hand  
Was stretched to other Nations in relief?  
For wealth and honour she was counted chief  
Among Earth's Royal Princes; now even she,  
Of late enthroned in Earth's Majesty,  
Is sold to Egypt, and to Ashur, so  
We earn our bread, to linger out our woe.   

(7)  
And it is just we should so, while that we  
Live in known Folly and Iniquity:  
Our Fathers they have sinned, we bear their Names,  
And their Rebellion, and why not their shames?  
Our Father's finned, and died, and are we better  
Than our forefathers? was not man a debtor  
Since th'old words Creation, by folly? why  
Doth sinful man than think so much to die?   

(8)  
What in the world is more accounted vain,  
Then servants for to rule, or fools to reign  
Over th'honoured Age? even such are we,  
While we are captived to Captivity:  
Thus Earth is various, and man's renown  
Is but a Dream, not worth the writing down;  
And if his glory be an idle Theme,  
Who can expect reality in a Dream?   

(9)  
Famine is feeble, yet the hungry soul  
Is strong and valiant, and he dares control  
A thousand eminent dangers, if that he  
May feed his hunger and necessity:  
Thus with the peril of our dearest breath,  
We got our living in the spite of death,  
In bondage, slavery, labour, toil, and pain,  
While the Sword randevouzed upon the plain.   

(10)  
Those Alabaster bodies, whose rare faces  
Were dressed with sweetness, fit for th'embraces  
Of undefiled Love; now, now, alas,  
Those flourishing flowers are but like the grass,  
The withering dying grass, parched up with heat,  
Black as the Oven; thus for want of meat,  
Poor Zion is deformed with sin and shame,  
While War and Famine hath eclipsed our fame.   

(11)  
Now wickedness is ripe, now sin doth climb,  
Now Pride aspireth to the wings of Time;  
Now fire is kindled in th'adulterer's eye  
With hideous flames, whose wand'ring sparkles fly  
To catch at every object which he may,  
Showing black impudence in height of day,  
Deflowering Maidens, and defiling Wives,  
They make their memory stink like their loathed lives.   

(12)  
The valiant Prince, whose Royalty did shine  
Through Clouds of Envy, now the foes combine  
By Death to dim his Glory, and the head  
Of the wise Elder is dishonoured:  
Base Earth, these are thy gifts, and therefore we  
Dishonour Virtue, by our honouring thee;  
Let thine own servants love thee, which do spend  
Time in vain folly, to an idle end.   

(13)  
How is illustrious Zion now declined  
From her high Dignity? her young men grind  
In the laborious Mill; the flowered Age,  
Whose strength and valour taught them to engage  
In fields of bloody War, when the proud foe  
Can often witness their own overthrow,  
Though now we are in woe, our Children cry  
Under their heavy burdens; till they die.   

(14)  
Those Laws are cancelled too, which sometimes we  
Did memorise in immortal memory;  
The holy Elder sits not in the Gate,  
With heavens authority, to predominate;  
Our mirth is alcumized to funeral Songs,  
And like sad Elegies, to tell our wrongs  
To other Nations, while our following tears  
Feeds our sad eyelids, as our mirth the ears.   

(15)  
The royal Tones which sometimes was afforded  
From the rare Instrument, whose strings recorded  
A well-measured evenness, whose sweet story  
Emblem'd the harmony of highest glory,  
And Loves eternal joy; now all is gone,  
Our Dance is ended, merriment is moan,  
Our Music metamorphosed, and our mirth  
Sings this sad Song; oh false deluding Earth.   

(16)  
Oh false deluding Earth, honour and power,  
And all thy glory, is as a swift-run hour,  
Whose hasty minutes, whose laborious sand  
Doth run to overtake the wand'ring hand  
Of Sols beshadowed Dial; thus our Crown  
Of Earthly Royalty, Time trampleth down:  
Woe to our souls that we have sinned, for why,  
Sin makes up misery with mortality.   

(17)  
Therefore our hearts are sad, therefore our sleep  
Forsakes our eyelids, therefore do we weep;  
Therefore our souls are heavy, like a stone,  
And our bathed bosoms Monuments of moan,  
Or Brazen Epitaphs, if such there be,  
Which keep the dead in lasting memory;  
Leave me a while, my tears bid me adve,  
Mine eyes ere long shall do as much for you.   

(18)  
Because of the high mountains which surround  
The fair Jerusalem, my head is drowned  
With my tormenting tears; that lofty Hill,  
From which the Traveller might look his fill  
About the promised Land, when midday Sun  
Surveyed the circled word; now Foxes run  
Upon those ruin'd Territories, which is  
In spite of Envy the world's Paradise.   

(19)  
But ah, why do we murmur? what, shall he  
That is but Dust, dispose Eternity  
To his fond reasoning? Lord, thou shalt remain,  
Although mortality be counted vain,  
And soon shall vanish, yet thou art for aye,  
Thou art not mortal, as the sons of Day;  
And if thy Throne before all Time begun,  
Then thou shalt rule when Times swift race is run.   

(20)  
Wherefore so soon dost thou forget us then?  
Or why so long are we, poor sons of men,  
Forgotten of thee? wherefore didst thou make us  
A pleasant Paradise, and then forsake us?  
Can Souls stay here on Earth, when Death bereaves them?  
Can Bodies live, when once the Soul doth leave them?  
Can Mortals prosper then, when God doth dress  
His face with anger, and forgetfulness?   

(21)  
Turn us, O Lord, and we shall turn indeed;  
And if thou turn us not, our Land may bleed  
In after-Ages, since no power at all  
Is in fond man, since man at first did fall;  
Renew those ancient days, that prosperous time,  
When Zion once was seated in the prime  
Of Princely Royalty; why hast thou hurled  
Deformity on the glory of the world?   

(22)  
But ah, what solace can poor Isr'el spy  
Within this darkened Orb, when heavens bright eye  
Is furrowed up with frowns? if thou reject us,  
What Land can save us, or what Arm protect us?  
Oh, dearest Lord, how doth thine anger pain  
Our fainting Souls? oh, how exceeding vain  
Is the world's dignity? alas, our years  
Begun with troubles, and must end with tears.    

CONTEMPLATION V.  

OUr labouring sands are run, yet Reader stay,  
There is an Epilogue to the Tragic Play,  
And it shall not be tedious; yet what he  
That dips his Pen in Divine Poetry,  
And on so rare a Subject, but must spend  
Some weary hours ere his Work will end.  
But ah, how dull is my dark Genius in this story?  
I do but veil sweet Loves Celestial Glory  
With a black Curtain, while the holy Writ  
Is dressed with Lines of my unworthy wit:  
Oh, I could rail aloud at my dull Muse  
For this her ignorance; I could accuse  
My dulled Pen; my hand, that ere I took  
Such heavenly Oracles, to make a Book  
Of such poor valuation; and oft times  
In anger I could rend these idle Rhymes  
In thousand pieces, for my Glass is run,  
And I must end before I have begun.  
For should I now my Subject here define,  
Each line's a sentence, and each word a line  
In these high Oracles: but I do wrong  
The Reader much, to keep him off so long  
From the last Contemplation, which may smell  
Like costly Odours, some may like it well;  
Then pray good Reader, that it may be blest,  
Something He show thee, study out the rest.  
It was a Custom, when th' Arcadian Kings  
Would ask an Oracle for weighty things  
Of god Apollo; they durst not presume,  
Without a Cloud of Smoke, and rich Perfume,  
To smother their Oblations, with their Cry  
To urge the ears of the deaf Deity.  
These blinded Heathens have outstripped us; they,  
Although they knew no God, would sometimes pray;  
When imminent dangers were even at the door,  
Each cried unto his god, each did implore  
Some help from unknown Powers; they would cast  
Their bodies on their knees, they'd mourn and fast,  
And yet could have no answer; all their pain  
Was labour lost, their gods themselves were vain.  
But oh, deluded England, though thy knee  
Hath rocked dull man into a lethargy  
Of sensual pleasures, and hast glut his sense  
In a fool's paradise of Earth's evidence;  
Though we have slept in thy embracing arms,  
Dreaming of Heaven, till these numerous swarms  
Of fears did come and wake us; yet we know,  
We have a God, that with one final blow  
Can turn this spacious Universe aside,  
And blast Hell's Princes in their height of pride.  
Yet do but mark how fare we are behind  
The Heathen world, that were both deaf and blind,  
Yea, dead in ignorance: we all can say,  
That prayer is prevalent, yet few do pray,  
And fewer pray aright; few that can tell  
The truest way, few do this duty well,  
And those that do it best, how slack they be?  
Where is the man that prayeth constantly?  
Yet what more comely, than this sweet devotion?  
Prayer is the wings that gives the Soul a motion  
To high eternity, it is the hand  
That reacheth Clusters from the promised Land  
Of sweet illustrious glory, it is the Arms  
Thatch Soul wears against ensuing harms.  
Prayer backed with Faith, is of fare greater force  
Then Warlike footmen o'er the trampling Horse;  
It conquers mighty Armies, wins the field,  
Strengthens the weak, and makes the mighty yield,  
Gives feet unto the lame, eyes to the blind,  
Courage to Cowards, virtue to the mind,  
And honour for disgrace, Credit for shame,  
In stead of bad reports, a righteous Name;  
It gives us food, when Famine doth commence,  
It blunts the Sword, and stops the Pestilence;  
It gives the sick recov'rie of his health,  
And sends the poor man unexpected wealth,  
And what is more desired, who can tell?  
It open'th Heaven, and it conquers Hell;  
It makes the Furies tremble, makes them flee  
To that low Vault of black eternity,  
With all their Plots of mischief, which the Arts  
Of Fiends contrived, it blunts the fiery darts  
Of Satan, and it gains a Royal Crown  
Of endless glory, and unmatched renown:  
And when the Earth is dry, like parched Grain,  
It flies to Heaven, and it fetcheth Rain;  
And if the Corn be drowned in water, than  
Prayer Jocks up those stormy showers again:  
It calms the swelling Ocean, and it tames  
The burning Furnace, and the fiery flames;  
It stays the Lion's force, without a wound  
It lays the sons of Anak on the ground;  
It gives the tired Soul a little breath,  
Gains immortality, and conquers Death.  
And is 〈◊〉? Then for our troubled Times  
Here is a Copy of Prophetic Rhymes,  
That tells the world there is a Death at hand  
Unto the foes of Heaven, and our Land:  
Mistake not, Reader, if at all thou lack  
The sense hereof, this is no Almanac:  
I do not speak an end of England's Wars,  
By the strange motion of the wand'ring Stars,  
(Though it be plain) it would not be so well,  
To write Predictions, or to parallel  
The wondrous course of Heaven, and each Star:  
No, no, good Reader, 'tis no Calendar,  
For they may sometimes lie; but even you,  
Whom it concerns, shall find this Book is true.  
The holy Prophet with inspired skill  
foretell your Doom, he never used his Quill  
In vain; what man ere found the Prophet lied?  
He writ your Ruin, when he prophesied,  
And then he prayed for't too; if prayer may  
Not work your fall, why did the Prophet pray?  
But to our Scene, why are our foes so hearty  
In their dark deeds? there is a praying party  
Waits at the gate of Heaven for a Seal,  
To bind the Furies up in burning Steel,  
And send the foes of Heaven to travel on  
Fearful Cocytus, and black Phleaeton,  
And the infernal Styae; than you shall share  
In endless torments of the Church's Prayer.  
Nay, you will know the price of Prayer, before  
That Death hath quite wiped out Dame Nature's Score,  
When your sick souls upon your lips shall sit,  
And Death shall ' rest you with a high Court Writ,  
And when thy feet and han●● by Death are bound,  
And all about thee seem to dance the Round,  
And when thy envious eyes are almost blind,  
And when Hells hort or hath possessed thy mind  
With their tormenting fears, and when the Bell  
Shall tell thy torturing Conscience, that new Hell  
Is ready to receive thee; when the thing.  
Thy cozened Soul did love, are o● 〈◊〉 ●ings  
〈◊〉 fly away; when they shall sell and pawn  
Thy … pt-up goods, and when the curtain's drawn,  
And all thy friends shall leave thee, with a Cry,  
And Death gins to close thy darkened eye.  
How would thy Soul then prise one hour, to pray,  
And give a thousand worlds, that Death would stay  
His summons but a while, and let him speak  
A word to Heaven, though his words be weak?  
But now it is too late: alas, the ears  
Of Heaven's shut, and neither cries nor tears  
Cannot avail: what can the sinner say?  
His heart is hardened, and he cannot pray:  
Oh, that he could! then one repenting story  
Of faithful prayer, turns misery to glory;  
And then an Habeas corpus comes apace,  
To bring the Prisoner to another place;  
This changes Death for Life, all misery  
Into a Palace of Eternity,  
Makes him to be Love's Monument; beside,  
Death is no Jailer, but a gentle Guide.  
If Prayer have this power, then why am I  
So long in telling you their destiny,  
That are the bloody Actors of these Times,  
And sons of Horror? why do these my Rhymes  
Wrong thus your patience, and my weary Pen  
Not character the rudeness of these men?  
I'll tell you why, indeed I did intent,  
But know not to begin, nor how to end.  
Is the world mad? do giddy mortals see  
Their Souls consist of immortality;  
And shall th●● short lived Stage, this transitory  
Unworthy 〈◊〉, still be the worldling's glory?  
Why is the Land in such a hurry? why  
Doth Envy lodge in every lofty eye?  
Why are our enemies of their wits bereaven?  
Why, in their fury, do they rage's at Heaven?  
And why thus ruin Earth? and think it well,  
To cut their passage to the Gates of Hell  
With their bloodthirsty Blades? what shall I say?  
There is a godly party that doth pray,  
My foes, for your sad Ruin; these are them  
That are the Citizens of Jerusalem,  
And the world's wondrous Warriors, whose clean hands  
Are winged battlements for these weakened Lands.  
By such as these, th' Assyrians mighty Host,  
Whose General blasphemed Heaven, and did boast  
Of Fortitude and Valour, yet did run  
With fear and horror, ere the fight begun;  
And yet they had good cause to run and ride,  
A hundred, fourscore, and five thousand died  
That dismal evening, by an unseen Arm,  
And Death did triumph in that numerous swarm  
That measured out their graves; others did fly,  
When none pursued them, with a mighty Cry.  
'Twas Prayer delivered Paul, the Church's pain  
Set Peter lose, knocked off his gingling Chain,  
And saved Barnabas: if it be so,  
Then this foretelleth our enemy's overthrow;  
Sing, Drink, and Swear, Curse, Vapour, Spoil, and Play,  
The Church ere long will keep a holiday  
In memory of your Ruin, for mine eye  
Beholds the Day is near when you shall die,  
And your black Actions fall, 'tis very near,  
In a dark Cloud; my foes you well may fear,  
'Tis even at your doors, I am sure you shall  
Have both a sudden and a final fall;  
And in your graves, when you shall sleep in dust,  
Your glory dies, your Brazen Records rust,  
Like to your rotten Names, you shall lay down  
A weary body, and a wicked Crown:  
Then a weak Child may travail by your grave,  
Nay, trample on your honour, yet not have  
〈…〉 at his bosom; you will be  
〈…〉 Death lulls you to eternity.  
〈…〉 this all proud man can ever do?  
〈…〉 ●…owning Envy, sleep in ashes too.  
〈…〉 oh, had now my hand an eagle's Quill,  
〈◊〉 writ high Rhetoric, or had I skill  
●o picture those rare pleasures in my Lines,  
Or paint those orient beams that ever shines  
In Love's illustrious Glory; I could spend  
Perpetual Ages, ere I made an end  
Of embling Immortality for those  
That are the friends of Heaven, and the world's foes;  
Those brave heroic hearts, that ever are  
Above the Clouds, upon the wings of Prayer  
And lofty Contemplation; those who fears  
Sin's guilt and horror, and with silent tears  
Do bathe their amorous eyelids: but I'll miss  
The Caract'ring so rare a Paradise,  
Lest I am lost, and you too soon be drowned,  
Sweet Readers, in amazement, and I wound  
Your bosoms with Love's arrows, lest your eye  
Should slumber too much in Love's Lullaby:  
Who can describe their glory, lest he be  
Himself wrapped first into eternity?  
And so dear Land adve, let Loves sweet Boy  
Crown thee with harmony of Peace and Joy,  
And purest milk-white Robes, cast off thy moans,  
And let thy voice utter some ravished Tones,  
〈◊〉 a well-measured evenness; let thy days  
Be passed in purity, and spent in praise:  
Oh do but banish sin, than a few years  
Will wear out quite the memory of thy fears;  
Then Heaven will puff away this darkened storm,  
And arch thy brows in a victorious form,  
Give thee all Royalty, and thou shalt ride  
In Honour's Chariot, and be dignifyed;  
Adorn thy beauteous face with Virtue's Gem,  
Impale thy glory with a Diadem:  
For present times thou shalt have Lessons sent,  
For after-Ages a learned Precedent;  
He will not leave thee, if thy gentle eye  
Can learn the part of the Spouse loyalty.  
England farewell, go dearest Nurse adve,  
Forget not Heaven, he will think of you;  
His lovely Arms thy body shall surround,  
If thy arched brows be with sweet Virtue crowned:  
Though I may fall, yet let this Infant be  
Thy Guider, and a Monument for me.    
FINIS.