THE GLUTTON'S FEVER. Written by Thomas Bancroft. LONDON, Printed by john Norton, for William Cook, and are to be sold at his shop, at Furnivals-inn gate, in Holborn. 1633. To the nobly accomplished Gentleman, Wolstan Dixie, Esquire. NOt as enamoured on the various plume Of a light fancy, do I here presume To your strait judgement in an oblique line To make my flight, address my first design. For as a vernal Lark, but lately dressed In her first Down, abandoning her nest, Stretcheth her pinìons, her small force assays, Flutters, and falls before her flight she raise, Fears every blast, that scarce commit she dare A Walnuts weight to the light wafting air: So fares my Muse, yet scarcely got on wing, Nor in the Region high enough to sing; Such be the musters of her fears, so much She doubts her strength, and blasting envies touch. But the chaste bay not every songster wears, Nor of Apollo's sons prove all his heirs: 'Tis not for all to reach at Shakespeare's height, Or think to grow to solid johnsons' weight, To bid so fair as Chapman for a fame, Or match (your family) the Beaumont's name, Whose grace, due to the Muses, is your claim Their height, your honour, and their worth your aim. Let such as these draw Nectar from the quill, For freshest Garlands climb the sacred Hill, And with high verse the ears of greatness swell; Whilst I, scarce touching at their Thespian well, With thirst, zeal their happy draughts admire, And, but your censures truth, no test desire. Deign you with clearer knowledge to refine This drossy ore raked from an empty Mine; Deign but to grace my verse, and gild my lines, With that fair splendour from your judgement shines▪ And then let envy all her forces bring, And feed on basilisks, and whet her sting, She shall not wound me with her weaponed rage, But prick me Poet for high virtues stage: There to advance 'boue wretched Envy's spite Mine elevation, with a sacred flight. Next unto heaven, where pleasures most of price The Muse's Garden be my Paradise. T. B. To his friend Mr. Bancroft, on his Poem styled, The Gluttons Fever. BANCROFT, the neat description of thy dream Hath roused my sleepy Muse unto a theme, That may deserve a Phoenix quill; but mine 'S too dull to praise thy verse, that's rare, divine. Me thinks, I may to DIVES Feast compare Thy wel-disht Poem: thou hast dainty fare, As once he had: the difference is this: His niggardly was spared, thine freely is Bestowed on all: but dothed in that alone Dissent? no, his had scraps, but thine hath none: Which being complete, let them for ever fast, And on the Sullen die, that will not taste. Thou wast asleep thou sayest, when that thy brain Did fancy this; sleep so, y●t wake again: If thus thy Muse can warble on a dream, O how't will ravish on a waking theme! When Sol salutes the Tropickes with a ray, He strait withdraws, recoils, and glides away; But that thy lustre may transcend the Sun, Go on fair Muse, that bravely hast begun. THO: DIXIE Gent. THE GLUTTON'S FEVER. IT was in heat of summer height of noon, When at the Sun the Dogstar seem to bay, (Like Wolves of Syria at the shining Moon,) And with hot breath t'inflame the planet's ray; That, flattered forth to pleasures of the day, Where once usurping Richard could not stand I chanced to walk, in centre of this Land. The place did plea●e, ●o ●a●●e was Ambeame hill, That seemed to swell, as proud of royal blood, Which on his border sharpest swords did spill, Where lives, a● cheap as leaves, were in the Wood When down the Valley ran a sanguine Flood, As frighted with the horror of the fight, And Earth did blush at such a savage sight. Here pitched my fancy on the Tyrant's fate, That, for the poisoned dainties of a King, Like a rolled serpent flew upon the State, As direly bend to ruin all to bring; But here, disarmed of ambition's sting, Shot out his soul. Who thus to reach a Crown Through blood doth swim, in blood doth justly drown. Richard, thought I, thy purchase was too dear, With thy souls quiet for a Crown to part, That lashed with scourges of a conscious fear, Whose every stroke sent horror to thy heart, Didst at the glance of every shadow start, As thinking still the hasty fiends did strive To deepest Hell to hurry thee alive. But if these lightnings of infernal fire Thus blast the soul, and strike all comforts dead: Great Thunderer, how heavy lights thine ire, That, when all props are shrunk, all hopes are fled All painted clouds of pleasure vanished, Falls on the wretched soul, and sinks it low With storms of horror, to eternal woe! With these impressions in my cloudy thought, I travelled on in birth of sad conceits, As every object on my fancy wrought, Till near dissolved in the melting heats Whose strong reflex on every creature beats, I made mine eyes my harbingers, to take Some shady room up, till the day did slake. A neighbouring wood a noble Sylvan owes, (Fresh in remembrance of this fatal field,) Which to adorn victorious Henry's brows, That Princely arms so royally did wield, (For Palm, and Laurel,) did tall poplar yield, Whose trembling leaves still cause of terror find As still there were some danger in the wind. 'Twas then the shelter to a panting heard Of falser hearts; whose faces to the rear Had lost their Colours when the foe appeared, But here relieved with many a native spear Put courage on, and amongst the thickest were. In safety here the dainty Pheasant flies, And timorous Hare may sleeping close her eyes, Hither my weight of weary limbs inclined, Where a acquaint arbour, by some lover made Of sharpe-set Holly with faint ivy twined, The emblem of his love with love repaid, Sraight entertained me with a pleasing shade; While the moved leaves seem in the sunny ray, Like guilded Laurel, o'er my head to play. In such a Palace might free pleasure reign, Which the plumed courtiers of the air did haunt, That proud of sunshine, in a lofty strain Did their own praises to their echoes chant, Of highest worth did to their shadows vaunt; And those that seem their symphony to hate Are Owls and Buzzards, birds of wretched fate. Here, like a Corpse, bestucke with Cypress boughs, I hid my sorrows, while dull dreaming sleep, In a dark vapour stealing on my brows, Did softly thence to every member creep, In juice of Mandrake did my senses steep, That, like dejected cowards, now had left Their Fort besieged, of succour quite ber●ft. Deep was my sleep, and deep, me thought, I went Into the bowels of a dark abyss, That woe and horror did as much present, As highest Heaven doth happiness and bliss To glorious ●aints, that worldly snares did miss. It was the cave, where black Destruction lies, Not feared, because not seen with mortal eyes. Here shall they languish in eternal night, Whom prisoners he takes, who ne'er took rest, Nor flying Comfort, nor estranged Delight; But baleful Sorrow with his wounded breast, Harsh Horror, Rage, and Famine most distressed, Pale withered Sickness, Pain, and wrinkled Care, With thousand Woes, his sad attendants are. Here Gluttony, enraged for want of food, Eats Envy's vipers, while the monster tires On her own heart; here in a freshing flood Lust doth his penance for his hot desires; His own life-blood here vengeful Wrath requires, Here Murder burns on piles of dead men's bones, And under mounts of Gold oppression groans. Here lies Ambition, that no bound did know, Rolled in the dust, still sinking in disgrace; Here rugged treason, full of wounds, doth flow, In his blood; here Sloth, to find his pace, Is sharply scourged, and in this dreadful place I, like a plummet to the centre flung, Did seem a while in airy balance hung. But what I heard, what mortal tongue can tell, Or ear contain, and not in sunder rive? It was the moan the Glutton made in Hell, That, from his own, unto Heaven gates did drive Poor Lazarus, the wretchedst soul alive; But now of friends, wealth, pleasures all forsook, With hideous cries this empty Kingdom shook. Now, memory, be faithful to my muse; Tell how he begged, that erst so swelled in pride, And what high language Abraham did use, T'vpraid his life, that misery defied, Tell to his speeches what the wretch replied, Who, like an Ox of fatal garlands proud, Thus in his fall began to roar aloud. Infernal sergeants, whether will ye hale A wretched creature? to what depth of woe Must I descend in this Cimmerian vale? Into this yawning furnace must I go, Whose roaring entrailes pitchy horrors throw, To whose fierce flames a thousand Aetna's are As smallest sparks, extinguished with compare? How far, how far from all supernal Light Am I thrust down by rude imperious hands? How deep ingulfed in this cave of night? How wracked, and swallowed, as in Seas, and Sands? How fast chained up in everlasting bands, Here to abide th' Almighty's fiercest ire, Whose frown a flash, whose wrath's eternal fire? Fair Prince of light, that with thy robe of Gold Doth deck the world, that in cold darkness lay, Let me (O) still thy joyful beams behold, To these sad shades remove thy court of day, Vouchsafe the splendour of one smiling ray; At lest once more unto my comfort shine, And all the beauties of the Heavens be thine. What hideous storm of all confused woes My sense with pain, my soul with horror smites? What dreadful ambush of unnumbered foes Hath me begirt, whose ruthless rage delights To force these yells, whose ghastly form affrights 'Boue all the whips of vengeance, or the darts Of grimmest death, opposed to guilty hearts? Hath Nilus left no issue on his strand, But all his monsters in this dungeon penned? Are there no Serpents on the Libyan sand, But hither all transported to torment With scorching stings, and poisons deadly sent? Which how it doth, (all comfort quite to kill,) With baneful steames this odious prison fill? The sulp'hrous fumes, that from the flaming skies Blast the poor infant in the burdened womb, Th'abhorred caves, where Plague, and Famine lies, Where never beam, nor breath of Heaven hath come, When the long buried vapours break their tomb, Vent not so sick a damp, so foul a breath, As here enwrappes me in a Cloud of death, Ah doleful echo of this dreadful cave! At once to hear the wailing Dragons moan, The hungry Lion roar, the frantic rave, The weeping Hart bray, and the Mandrake groan, The cries of captives in confused tone, Would with less horror grate my tender sense, Than these harsh woes, that cry all comfort hence. Such is the music made of dying moans In this rude chantry, that no mean doth know, But treble shrieks the base of deepest groans, With heavy texour of lamenting woe, Taught by tormentors, that no pity show. Strange consort, which no harmony commends, And yet keeps time, that never never ends! That impious faction, Corahs' rebel crew, Whom greedy vengeance snatched alive to Hell, When the cleft Earth did grimmest horror show▪ And all on heaps to deepe-mouthed ruin fell, Sent not so sharp a shrieke, so loud a yell, As here from thousand throats with piercing sound Strikes every ear, and leaves a ghastly wound. Where fiends and Furies all at once unchained, With poisoned scourges to afflict me here, Where every part with sense of torture pained, And every sense his part of woe doth bear, Nor ever glimpse of comfort doth appear? Hath only here dire Mischief chose to dwell, And heaviest Sorrow sunk his cave to Hell? For Tyrian purple, and Achaean bysse, Here do I lie close wrapped in sheets of fire; For sumptuous fare (my more than Heavenly bliss,) Here thirst, and hunger on mine entrailes tyre; For mirth, here mischiefs to my pain conspire; For a bright palace, here's black Ruins stage, Where actors howl and hissing serpents rage. What tyrant joined these adamantine bands? What Fury in my bowels built her Hell? Is all my flesh a fire? My bones the brands? My sinews all divul'st with passion fell? Do all my veins with liquid sulphur swell? Crack all mine arteries with tortures tried, Yet must more storms, more wrackful woes abide? Great Heaven, that dost that Starry brow advance, Thou, that the measures of quicke-turning time About the world eternally dost dance, Cannot so high these restless dolours climb? Cannot these cries, that drown th'harmonious chime Of all thy spheres, some tender pity move? Is there no beam of mercy shines above? Why dost thou mock with ever-blazing fires These ceaseless torments, to enrage my woe? O could my fury armed with strong desires Strike out those lights, that never comfort show, And on that proud roof rusty darkness throw: Into how blind, and rude a Chaos should Those wheels of time, thy giddy orbs be rolled? What tempest fights thus sharply in my pains, That, in the ardours of this quenchless fire, Shivers a hundred winters through my veins, Nor suffers once my torments to respire? Fond wretched soul to chase a wild desire To this sad fall, and for frail earthly toys Lose an eternal jubilee of joys? Abhorred Sin, that on the world didst pluck Vast ruin down, too heavy to be borne! Thou, that a scar on nature's brow hast stuck, With thorns and thistles hast her beauties torn, And stripped her of her robes divinely worn! Thou, deadly plague, the poisoned spring of all Man's fatal woes, mayst triumph in my fall. Damned hag, that all in mischief hast out gone, Whose very breath infects all vital air! Seven-headed monster, that to senseless stone Dost turn the heart, and sink it in despair, To th'vgli●st shape transform'st the creature fair! How have I trodden all thy flowery, sweet, But cursed paths, that in this dungeon meet! O Pride, high traitor, eldest child of hell, Apparent heir of misery, and shame! Thou bane of bliss, that mad'st bright Angels swell Till they burst Heaven, and down in legions came! Bold mischief at the highest throne to aim! How have I followed all thy steep desires, And flashing riots, to these flaming fires! And thou, foul Gluttony, deep gulf of sin, Full Sea of mischiefs, that with swelling tide Dost bring lust, sloth, with train of sorrows in, And rankely spring'st each vicious weed beside; How (like a stalled beast) by thee, and pride Have I been fed, and dressed for greedy hell, That I thus deep into his bowels fell! O eyes, why were yea blind to heavenly light? O ears, why deaf unto the prophet's sound: O hands, why were yea lame to render right? O knees, why stiff, and strange to hallowed ground? O feet, why slow to have safe virtue found? Cursed be yea all, vile traitors, most unkind, That with his foes against your Lord combined. Cursed be this tongue, base organ of deceit; Cursed be this brain, that did high pride admire; Cursed be this heart, that burned in lustful heat; Cursed be this spirit, that still blew the fire; Cursed be this flesh, the forge of lewd desire; Cursed be all senses, parts; and powers of mine, That did all ways of blessed life decline. How have I rauelled out the knotty thread Of mortal life, that in our prime of years Hides worms and dust within a flowery bed? Betwixt Earth and Earth 'tis but a strait of tears, A helpless palsy of weak faithless fears, A storm of sighs, a bubble filled with breath, That swells, and shines, but vanishes in death. Did I enjoy, (or were they all but dreams?) All sweets of pleasure, heights of all delight, That with swift motion, as the sunny beams, took wing, and with irrevocable flight Left me to horrors of this endless night, (Like a shot star,) from pride's high turrets thrown To Stygian deeps, where comfort never shone? Where's now that wealth would counterpoise my woes? Ill-honoured Mammon, that with daring hand Dost cast at Kingdoms, and of Crowns dispose, Yet art a God of such a short command! And you, faint friends, that by our fortunes stand, How soon you lose us in a maze of grief, Nor ever will be found to yield relief! Prodigious world! the rende'vouz of Hell! Vast Sea of danger! Nursery of woes! Great shop of vanities, where all will sell! Black stage of mischiefs! Field of mortal foes! Rude garden-plot of vice, where rankely grows In every bed, lust; in each border, pride, Amongst choicest plants some baneful weeds beside! Old faithless bawd! Enchantress! More untrue Than treasons heart! More various than the Moon! More counterfeit than the Camelians hue! How hast thou clipped my golden hopes so soon, Blasted and darkened all my joys at noon! How hast thou borrowed all my time and strength, And paid me home with miseries at length! There's not a path in all thy spacious round, But is with snares and traps, and serpents stored; No piece of all thy painted beauties sound, But for some blemish or disease abhorred; No limb but lame, and for some wound deplored: Now have I followed all my guileful trains, And pleasing dangers, to these lasting pains! Shall I ne'er more thy joyful face behold, Thy face, O Heaven, where lasting beauties shine? Nor (that which fairer seemed,) my glittering Gold? Did I at once my treasures all design? Where are my Robes? my junkets? and my Wine? My swarms of friends? like busy Gnats, each one Filled, and flown off, all in an instant gone. Where is that coast, where safety doth reside? Those bounteous Fields with Olive blessed, and Vine? Those swelling Hills, the lofty walks of pride? Rich Vales? fair Brooks, whose straying course, like mine, So pleasant seemed, and downward did decline? In one dead sea are all my pleasures drowned, All comforts wracked, and never to be found? For now false pleasures, that no sooner wed But were divorced, no sooner gained but gone, Hath my damnded soul, in errors night misled, Lost the true treasures to the world unknown, The rich possession of a heavenly throne, With the blessed vision of that form divine, Where thousand suns of light and glory shine! Were Fates so kind, as to the coasts of light To send me back, and thread my life again: O Heaven, how for thy Kingdom would I fight! How strive, and climb the blessed Palm to gain, In that high Court of happiness to reign! How should mine ages second course abound With fruits of grace, to be with glory crowned! My meat should be the dainties of the Word, Strongly concocted with the heat of zeal; My Wine, such as the Bridegroom doth afford, My mirth, sweet heavenly mercies to reveal, And my whole age but one continued meal. So would I prove a Glutton then, and spend My life's revenue to that grateful end. My garment should be Innocence, as white As Chastity could blanche it, spangled round With Gold of pure example shining bright, Embroidered with rich virtues on the ground, With constancy's rare border fairly bound. So would I then be proud, and loath to hide From the world's eyes such ornaments of pride. My house should be the Hospital of poor▪ My Barn their granary, my Gold their rent; Still should the Altars smoke, and on the floor Of the blessed Temple should my knees be bend, Mine eyes should flow, my beaten breast relent; On Heaven's pure beauties would I fix my heart, Nor should the stroke of thunder make it start. Thus to her lodestar should my soul incline, My breathed flesh still panting up the hill; My studies should be height of things divine, My teacher, truth; till happiest in my skill I did my heart with sacred wisdom fill, And knew the mysteries of Heaven as well. As now (alas!) the mysteries of Hell. Dire Conscience! what thunder broke thy rest. And did not dash thy prisoner to air! How dost thou now lie worming in my breast, That raging Hell doth not more grimly stare Then thy wild looks of horror, and despair! How hast thou hung each action upon times Neglected file, and registered my crimes! Why dost thou twit me with voluptuous pride, How ill I spent the treasure of my time, My thoughts mis-centerd, all mine actions wried In falsest aims; yet in my pleasures prime, Whose headlong course did steepest dangers climb, Wouldst never prompt me how this fall to shun, Whilst I to Hell in full career did run? As a high Rock, hung on the craggy side Of some steep Mountain, swelling with disdain Of the low Region prostrate to his pride, Shaken with an Earthquake, tumbling down amain With thundering terror on the trembling plain, That the tossed air from every cave rebounds, And deafs the Vales with loud confused sounds: So, hurried on, to ruin did I haste, Whilst yawning fiends my funerals did yell, That on my treasures mount had pitched so fast, As nought should shake me, ere I headlong fell; So firmly, as a Rock, I seemed to dwell, And rocked a sleep in downy pleasure lay, Till mischief roused, and seized her cursed prey. Injurious Time, that unto light doth bring The worst of things, yet me to darkness sent! Cannot I pluck one feather from thy wing, Recall one hour of thousands vainly spent, Wherein I might my wretched age lament? 'Twere worth a Kingdom, wert thou now my friend, A dearer favour Time could never lend. Then would I purge the venom of my heart, And beat my breast, that did the viper keep; With sharp compunction every sense should smart, My clouded brain with sad defluxion weep, And all my sins lie drowned in sorrows deep: So some few minutes might my loss repay, And crown a black night with a joyful day. What heavy darkness, highest Lord of Light, Doth thus oppress me in this dreadful place? Ah! might I once enjoy thy blissful sight! T' admire new worlds of wonder in thy face! How were I happy in so high a grace! Once to behold, (though then for ever blind,) In one blessed knot, all beauties sweet combined! High-honoured Victor's, joined in glorious Quivers To sing his praises, that your conquest crowned, Where hosts of Angels, like bright mounting fires, Tread the dimmed Stars in measure to the sound; Whilst wretched I sighs, plaints, and cries confound, T' have lost at once both Crown and State divine, For pleasures base, for sins deceitful shine! If I have mourned to see that Prince of day, When the pale lovesick Lady of the main In a kind treason clipped his golden ray, But strait restored it to the world again, How should mine eyes these bitter floods refrain, But weep his absence, at whose glory bright A thousand sunny Lamps their beauty's light? Have I not seen a daring vapour rise High into air, ambitious to ascend, But strait imprisoned in the cloudy skies, How it spits lightning, roars, and seems to rend Those glittering curtains, as at once to spend. The angry engines of hot Heaven, to fright, And start old Chaos from the deeps of night? How then must I for ever damned thrall, Barred from my bliss, and centre of my rest, The sovereign prize, and source of pleasures all; That only feasts the spirit, fills the breast, In endless honours doth the soul invest; How must I here in woes, that know no bound, Then the whole world a dearer soul confound! Those slumbering years, I did in pleasure spend, Why did they wake in death, in woe expire? Or, sith so soon they started to their end, Stopping the torrent of my wild desire, Why should my torments in this ruthless fire survive all ages, and my griefs amount To higher sums, than ever time shall count? Oft have I known an exhalation try The centres strength, and trembled to behold How it shook Mountains, and drank Rivers dry. Still thirsty of revenge, as if it would (For false imprisonment) the Earth have rolled From her deep seat, the massy base upblowne. And the huge frame to vast confusion thrown. And do I here, impaled in floods of fire, That trembles to behold the farthest light, Struggle with dying pangs, and ne'er expire; Yet armed with rage, my miseries to right, Confound not Heaven, and Earth in fell despite; That I might see, though in ●he ruined sky, Some sparks of joy, before all comfort die? Up Snaky vengeance, in a fiery storm Bring on thy Furies, all the cursed band; I shall outface thee in thy ugliest form; Shake all thy whips, and kindle every brand, Thou shalt not fright, nor force me from my stand: Let me, that here all hosts of Heaven defy, Thy Stygian troops, all plagues infernal try. Come grisly torturers of ruthless Hell, My coale-blacke scorpions, (i● no blacker art Hath charmed your rage, that chained in darkness dwell,) Fix all your stings in centre of my heart, With poignant anguish strike through every part; And where more strong some vital force remains, Set to your tortures, sharpen all my pains. O for some pyramid, to proudest fame Reared high as Babel, on whose mounting spire, (Sith I must perish in a cursed flame,) Like some dire meteor streaming blood and ire, I might stand centred in this hellish fire, That with hot fury might his axle burn From the main globe and all to cinders turn. 'T were worth my ruin amongst the stars to fall, Like Lucifer shot headlong for his pride; To see the bolts of vengeance grind the ball Of the cursed Earth, benighted nature slide To her first dungeon, and all creatures hide Their forms in darkness; 't were a sport to make Confusion shout, and hell with laughter shake. But whither runs my madness? how I rave? Must woe and mischief ever be my theme? Still must I call for death, yet keep the grave? Through rage and anguish must I still blaspheme, And fry, and freeze, with heat, and cold extreme? Still must I howl at heaven, and bite my chain, And gnash my teeth through horror of my pain? Were I more years than time hath minutes spent, Or this burst frame would into atoms fly, In all the plagues, deep hell could ere invent, Adjudged to languish, and unpitied lie; Yet lastly live, or, lost in darkness, die: Still were my hope a Halcyon, to appease These angry storms, and calm these boiling Seas. Were the hot engines, all that ever flew With red-winged lightning, to my torture cast; Unto more flames, than ever Aetna threw, Were I condemned and yet released at last, When thousand myriads of slow years were passed: 'T w●re yet a solace, that, in darksome night Of heaviest woes, would show my sorrow's light. But (Oh the grief!) this ever-raging fire, Which the incensed breath of heaven doth feed, Th'immortal death, that on my heart doth tyre, This cursed heart, that evermore must bleed, How far it doth the direst thought exceed! How quite confound me in a state of woe, That only hell is deep enough to know! But stay, what wonders do mine eyes behold? What strange impressions in so high a sphere? Two suns at once embeamed with flaming Gold? Rather two Saints, that in that State appear? What thrones they hold? what Palms in triumph bear? What Diadems they wear? what Robes, that shine (Not like my purple, but) like rays Divine? 'Tis Abraham, for Faith so far renowned, With that Saint-begger, was so low debased With wants and sores, but now with glory Crowned. Blessed Lazarus! how highly is he graced! With how dear arms of amity embraced! His lifes poor stock he might with comfort spend, That was assured of such a bosom-friend. I will assay what mercy reigns above That with some truce affliction may befriend. Dear Patriarch, if pain may pity move, If sorest throws, that ever heart did rend, If heaviest sorrows may so high ascend, To a sad captive cursed to blackest woe With favour shine, and some sweet comfort show. Thou that, enthroned upon the golden Poles, Dost drink rich Nectar from th' immortal spring To thy joyed children there triumphant souls, (So may fresh armies serve thy Heavenly King, And unto thee glad news of conquest bring,) Do not in honours happy court disdain A wretch's plaint, the language of my p●ine. Let from thy bosom Lazarus descend, With one cold drop my burning tongue to slake, One drop of water on his finger's end: For (oh!) my torments in this fiery Lake, At whose dread Name the peccant soul should quake, Who can express? my sorrow's boundless are, As are thy joys, and both beyond compare. For cursed Sodom didst thou strongly plead, When o'er their sins incensed vengeance hung; But more dire drops this gory heart hath bled, Then on those heads the flaming tempest flung, A hotter storm broils this bewailing tongue: Then let thy pity to my plaints awake, And on my woes some dear compassion take. He ended; when, as if the spheres had rung Some tuneful change, or thunder learned to chide In milder language, or some Cherub sung; With powerful voice, that Hell to silencetyed, From his high throne the Patriarch replied, Whose sacred words, first steeped in heavenly dew, Thus from his lips in golden volleys flew. What change is this? what wonder strikes mine ear? Art thou the man that did supinely sleep On pleasures couch, unto the world so dear, That now, benighted in th' infernal deep, Dost thus ra●e out thy sorrows, howl, and weep; While I scorned wretch, that at thy gates did pine, Doth in full Orb of heavenly glory shine? Where's now your power, you, that proudly could Led your blind Goddess in a golden chain? Where now your robes so gorgeous to behold? Your mounts of Gold raised in your worldly reign? Of friends and parasites your pompous train? Did all like leaves, fly with your flitting breath, And leave you naked in that storm of death? Fond prodigal to spend an age of Gold, And act at last a woeful beggar's part, When nought avails thy sorrows to unfold! A thousand times unhappy that thou art, That 'boue thy dish wouldst never raise thy heart, When mercy smiled upon thee from the skies, How canst thou now lift up those wretched eyes? Do but thy times of pleasure now record, That didst no God, but Gluttony, confess; For whom thy house a Temple did afford, Whose Altar was thy table of excess, Which still the fattest Sacrifice did press; The hallowed water was delicious wine, The fire, thy lust, that never did decline. Amongst thy cups, with Rosy garlands crowned, Censed with perfumes, in Princely purple dressed, All cares extinct, all sorrows deeply drowned, Still didst thou sit, becalmd with ease and rest, Mirth in thy face, and solace in thy breast; But as for Heaven, it was (a Pole) to high For thy bruit sense, that would to pleasure fly. On basest Earth was centred all thy rest, That drossy mass, exposed to lowest scorn; Which how it seems like some foul wormy nest, Of nature quite abandoned and forlorn, Closed in the thicket of sharp rending thorn, Whose prickles, cares, whose leaves, deceitful arts. And stony fruits are hard unfruitful hearts? 'Tis but a Field, where sin corruption sows, Where every breath's infection blasts an ear, Against the grain where every creature goes: Yet on this sandy base, that nought will bear, How high thou didst thy bold ambition rear, Whose honour 'fore the thunderclap of death Was but a flash, and vanished with thy breath? Look how a Porpoise, in the boiling Main, joyed with the news of some tempestuous blast, Plays in the waves, as in the winds disdain; While the poor Seaman sadly climbs his Mast, Folds up his sails, and in his frights aghast Heaves his pale eyes these powers to implore, To waft his light Bark to the restful shore: So, let high Heaven, that with a piercing beam Disclouds each thought, his wrathful forehead bend: Still wouldst thou wallow in full pleasures stream: Let poor pined Lazarus all day extend His bloodless hands and throat with clamours rend: Yet, as thy heart had from some Rock been hewed, Nor storm it feared, nor calm of pity showed. Now shall thy judge thy cruelty requite, And strike that fire from out thy flinty breast, Shall to his glory lend a forced light: Nor shall the throws of anguish ever wrest The tuneful heart, with heavenly virtue blessed, Nor sin still trumph, but too late shall think Vengeance ne'er sleeps, though justice seem to wink Still, still ingulfed in that Brimstone-flood, That rowles about those grisly vaults of night, Shalt thou bewail that lost eternal good, Whereof this Saint enjoys the joyful sight, A plenilune of never-waining light, Whose very glimpse would clear all clouds of woe, And make to life dead seas of sorrow flow. Behold this Bower, reared so high above Those jarring elements their heat and cold, Those cloudy Tents, that with the wind remove, Or restless Orbs with rapid motion rolled: No Earth quake undermines this happiest hold, Upon these battlements no tempest falls, No thunder batters these imperial Wals. It is that Palace, built to lasting joys, Into whose height the King of glory goes, That in his hand the mundane Globe doth poise, And to the blessed a world of pleasure shows; To whom he doth rich Diadems dispose, That here, (as pendant on the golden threads Of their pure lives,) adorn their happy heads. Walled all with jasper is this lofty Bower, Which, as his base, unualued gems uphold; The Porters, Angels high in place and power; Each gate, a pearl of bright celestial mould; The pavement, Stars, fixed in eternal Gold; Roofed, as with Silver, with condensed flame Of glorious light, that fills th' immortal frame. In dazzling splendour of ten thousand days Shines the high Monarch, that all glory lends, Sunning all treasures in those precious rays, On whom the heavenly hierarchy attends, As on whose Throne all vital joy depends. In his pure beams let flights of Angels soar, And with presented Crowns all Kings adore. Pay worlds of Nations tribute to this King, That doth their States in happiness invest; Let his high praises with the Sun take wing, And clear the Firmament from East to West. Great glorious Lord, by all thine Armies blessed; Thou, in whose hand I see that golden reed, Measure my heart, and let my zeal proceed. Pure Majesty, that mayst all Crowns refine! Thrice hallowed flame of light, of life, of love! Bright Orb of grace, that doth to glory shine! High treasurer of honours stored above! Circle, and centre unto all that move! Nature's sweet Organist! thy highest strain What voice can reach, to sing thy happi'st reign? One beam of thine outshines a world of light, One call would start corruption from the graves, One glance would clear the cloudy brow of night, One nod becalm the Ocean's surging waves, One smile send sorrow sighing to his canes, One Altar-sparke of thine in sightless Hell Would kindle day, and all the shades dispel. Of Heaven's rich beauties to the ravished sight One mirror here all treasures do reflect, One Globe all beams of glory doth unite, One lodestar all the voyagers direct, One sovereign power in safety all protect, One banquet here both souls and senses feasts, And fills▪ and feeds, nor ever cloys the guests. The tenfold curtain of these azure spheres Serves but to veil this Ark from fleshly eyes; But when her head the soul exultant rears, With open wings where heavenly glory flies, What wonder doth her faculties surprise! How doth she here extend her powers wide To drink in pleasures from the boundless tide! A glittering Ocean of clear waving glass Melts from the Throne of Majesty divine, That Eden's floods in pureness doth surpass, Where several drops the galaxy outshine, That, mixed, would change the brackish waves to Wine, And the black lake, where Sodom erst did burn, To precious streams of liquid Crystal turn. So, when the planets lovely Prince doth fix His dazzling beauties on some spongy cloud, Where the brave beams in gorgeous colours mix, The rorid vapour of such honour proud, To be in Heaven so gloriously embowed, Dissolves in joy, and 'bout the burning skies In silver drops the melting treasure flies. Here the glad pilgrim, crowned with lasting wealth, Views his bathed limbs from every blemish clear. Nor cares to weed the wont fields for health: Here mounts that tree, whose flourish all the year For sacred guests doth sovereign banquets bear, In whose rich taste delicious pleasure flows Into all forms, and heavens all sweetness shows. Not Angels dainties in the Desert shared, Nor honeyed milk of Cana'ns flowery breast, Have with this plants rare delicates compared; Under whose shadows sleeps eternal Rest With joys surcharged, of treasured hopes possessed: Who taste this fruit the Serpent have beguiled, Nor with foul lusts their shiny souls defiled. No thirst nor hunger shall their joys devour, No wanes of sorrow shall their brows enfold, No boisterous storm their vernant prime deflower; Where beauty knows not age, nor age makes old. O wondrous change of base inglorious mould! Blessed souls, that in afflictions roughest maine Wracking their sins, this heavenly Haven gain! Here are no pageants to invite the sight, No syren-songs to rock the slumbering ear, No generous wines t'exalt the appetite, No odorous fumes that spirits wont to cheer, No amorous clasp to draw affection near; And yet a fullness, where all fair and sweet, All lines of life, all paths of pleasure meet. A glorious triumph with high honours blessed, An air of harmony that fills the quires, A rich rare banquet, an ambrosiac feast, A sweet perfume that with no time expires, A joy sublimed in love's high sacred fires, A pleasures maze, an Ocean, where to drown Is depth of bliss, a Kingdom and a Crown. Hark, how these Hero's, that in honoured quest Of higest bliss did to this mount aspire, Shout out their joys, with language not expressed; How Zealous David, cleared with heavenly fire, Shrilles out his ditties to his golden lyre; Whilst the rapt Angels with immortal lays Make up the music, and their Maker's praise. Here may the soldier, that with painful march Did to such height of happiness ascend Hang up his arms in this triumphal arch. And treasures share, that time shall never spend: The Sea-sick voyager let hither bend A dextrous course; though now he plow the main, A bounteous harvest shall reward his pain. Who ever noon with midnight did compare, A hallowed Temple with a pestered room, The beams of Majesty with clouds of care, A marriage-chamber with a fatal tomb, Or to the spacious world the narrow womb; Let him to Heaven all earthly joys oppose, And all his lines in deeps of wonder lose. Were I again to walk the worldly round, A thousand hopeful Isa'cs would I slay, Till with dear blood I had the Mountains drowned, To gain one glimpse of this eternal day; Which might my faithful sons but once survey, How would they imp their hearts with fleet desire To mount this pitch, and to these joys aspire! What is life's winter to this spring of years, But a loose meteor in frail beauties skies, Dispersed with sighs, and dropped away in tears? 'Tis but a flourish 'fore the fall prize, A knot of miseries, that death unties: And what desire's so impotent, so base, T'adore a cloud, when Heaven presents his face? In his prime virtues did the world consist; All precious bounties did the Earth afford, Which off that stage the baneful Serpent hissed In all the wealth her ample womb doth hoard Were man ensphered, and of great Nature Lord: Were he new stamped, and all his powers, amed By his sleep fall, in strait perfection framed; Were all the sweets, that ever Zephyre blew, Wrapped in one cloud, and for his solace brought; All fruits and flowers, that in Eden grew, Were they distilled for his delicious draught; Were every sense with highest rapture caught; Were his clear heart to heaven erected right To measure heights of joy, and pure delight: Yet were the joys of that delightful state, (Though freed from bonds of misery and pain, From time's vicissitude, and stroke of fate,) But as poor rivulets to the bondlesse Main Of these high pleasures, but as scattered grain To these large fields whose harvest doth abound, That all the year is with rich plenty Crowned, If with just wonder mortal eyes behold One rising planet his refulgent grace, Wrapping the newborn day in sheets of gold, All Heaven enflaming with his loveliest face; Whilst from his throne he doth in conquest chase Usurping darkness, that with mournful night, Winged with black vapours, sadly takes her flight: What height of rapture doth the soul surprise, To see the Sunshine of ten thousand days, With all the splendour of th'illustrious skies, Meet in full circle with united rays, That to the view all heavenly treasures lays! How shall this glory bless with vital light Those longing eyes, that hither bend their sight! Into one Pandect were the spheres compiled, With Tropickes clasped, with Hemicycles bound; Were for my penns the Angel's wings despoiled: Mine ink, this Ocean, precious and profound; My characters, new Stars, of Heavenly sound; Should I more leaves then ever Autumn shook With wonders fill, in this Celestial Book: Yet should I scarce these treasured joys unfold, In whose rich fullness Lazarus doth flow, And far beyond all flight of time shall hold; Whilst thou, damned Glutton, in excess of woe Shalt surfeit still, nor health, nor comfort know: Thou wouldst not give one crumb all heaven to gain, Nor mayst thou hope one drop to ease thy pain. From this bright Mount, where happiness doth sit, 'Boue earthly change and heavenly motion placed, To the deep darkness of th'infernal pit, The distance large, the latitude is vast, Nor ever embassy betwixt them past: Cast is their lot, unchanged rests their state, That once have passed the broad, or narrow gate. Drop out thine eyeballs in a briny shower, And beat thy heart, that would no sooner mourn: Though vast eternity shall time devour, And in one flame the general machine burn, Still shall thy wheel of torment sharply turn, When thou hast wearied all the Stars in sky, And sands on Earth, to sum thy sorrows by. Here closed the music of that Heavenly tone; When, as in depth of Hinnons gloomy vale, Some wretched infant on the Altar thrown, The bloody Priests with sacred horrors pale, (Whilst the poor dying birth did shrieke and wail,) Raised high their noise, and hideously did wound The ears of Heaven, that on the mischief frowned: Amongst thousand thralls to plagues and tortures sent So wailed the Epicure, more deep distressed; Thrice did he crack his chains, and thrice he rend The clinging Snakes from off his gory breast; What wild despair could to his thought suggest He taught his rage: and thus, with flaming breath, Gasped in the pangs of everlasting death. O gulf of horror! poison of my fate! O depth of woe, that never thought could gauge! O weight of misery! O doleful state! How quenched my comfort! and how hot this rage Of torment, which no pity doth assuage! Ah that a creature frozen in despair These flames should 'bide, and not dissolve to air Cursed that I am, how can my heart contain So vast a sorrow? will the joyful day Of gracious mercy never dawn again? Wracked is my hope? and to this desert bay Will my lost comfort never find the way? Must I for anguish ever howl among These hideous fiends, and gnaw this baneful tongue? Woe to the authors of this woeful state, That poisoned nature with contagious seed: Woe to the womb, where first I took my fate, Why did it not some Snake, or Scorpion breed? Woe to the nurse did such a monster feed, And not some panther from the desert sent, That piecemeal might her cursed corpse have rend. Woe to the light, that first my life descried: Fate strike each minute of that hateful day: That ominous circuit when the Sun doth ride, Let him in cloudy darkness lose his way, And to the farthest frozen regions stray: That with his heat those Icy mountains steep May melting flow, and seem my woes to weep. When first I sucked the poisons of the world, Why drew I not destruction from the skies? Why were not sheets of flaming sulphur hurled Upon my cradle? nor did mischief rise In earthly damps to blast my hateful eyes, That never fixed on Heaven? how sadly slow Was vengeance, armed to strike the deadly blow? Dread Lord, that mounted on the radiant spheres Dost as the dust the cloudy vapours raise, Let thy black whirlwind, that the Mountain's tears, Wrack me at once, and drown these doleful lays, Tear, toss, drive, lose me in thy stormy ways: Thou, that movest all things, unto nothing turn The cursedst brand, that in these flames doth burn. Thou, that with swiftest embassy dost send The dreadful lightning from the darkened sky, O let thy fierce cloud-bursting vengeance rend Through deepest Hell, and in thy tempest fly My fiery soul, but strait flash out and dye: That I may once more see thy glorious light, Though then to vanish into endless night. Thus all in vain, as against both tide and wind, My sorrow sails, as every sigh doth drive: But of five brethren, which I left behind, Whose pride and luxury doth mine survive, What shall become? if here they once arrive, How sharply will their miseries rebound Upon my heart, and gall each bleeding wound? Dearest of Saints, that art divinely styled The friend of God, befriend his image so, As unto these with worldly soil defiled To let thy Lazarus▪ with a message go, And unto them this depth of danger show; How for those sins, that feed their lewd desires, I pine, thirst, burn in these unquenched fires. Let him to light this horrid darkness bring, These sulphurous floods, and fell tormentors rage, That they may seem to feel these serpent's sting; Let him the glory of Heaven's ample stage And beauty blaze, that fears no dint of age; That burning then with heavenly love they might These flames prevent, and find that blissful light. Nature's first light, said Abraham, displays A sacred shine, that clears the darkest mind, And beautifies her sphere with heavenly rays: This be their prospect; be they ne'er so blind, They may in her the great Creator find: Religions noble seed, that rarely grows In fields of flesh, in every breast she sows. She as a volume doth her work bestow, In every race of creatures draws a line; Each plant her leaves doth for their learning show, And not an Asteri●ske doth faintly shine In Heaven's high front, but is a mark divine: No worm, weed, pebble wants his native worth, But creeps, grows, rests to set his Author forth. These robes of State, the high imperial skies, Powdered with Stars, what dulness doth behold; And not the greatness of that King descries, That in these vestures doth the world enfold? Who sees the Sun enthroned in burning Gold, And not the Father of all heavenly light, That doth advance this mirror to the sight? The wrath of Heaven who feels and trembles not? Who knows his Armoury with terrors stored, His Wildfire, Lightning, and his Thundershot, His burning Lance, his dart, and blazing Sword, Kindled and brandished by his powerful Word; Who hears on high th' embatteled tempests roar, And falls not down the great God to adore? Who views the Earth in airy balance weighed, With all her offspring on that ample floor, With River's caru●d, with Minerals in-laid; Who sees the Ocean with his scaly store, His watery Mountain's rolling to the shore; And doth not thence in high reflection move A heavenly beam unto this Throne above? Those wondrous powers of the subtle soul, That with deep thoughts unto the centre flies, But in an instant mounts above the Pole, And links a chain of causes to the skies, May they not learn her to be heavenly wise, To know where rest and happiness are placed, And thither bend her motion, thither hast? But that so various ●and so vast a frame, As the main Orb, so many turns should last, Still kept in motion, still remains the same, With every wheel so firm, each pin so fast, That not a joint is wrenched, nor part displaced; How can it not the soul transported move To pay the heavenly tributes, fear and love? Like a great Watch, whose maker is the Spring, Is nature's frame, that every shortest hour Should strike the soul, and make it loudly ring: And sound the praises of th' all-moving Power, That thus invites her to his heavenly ●ower, Thus in each creature, like inferior Kings, By picture woos, and all to knowledge brings. But his own Language may thy brethren hear, From Heaven's high Region doth his voice resound; The Temple and the Synagogues are near, To these alone is their attention bound; Plant they their feet upon the hallowed ground, Whence let the flames of ardent zeal arise; So shall they clear their sins, and climb the skies. Let them the volumes of great Moses turn, And learn what high jehovah did ordain, When to match Heaven the cloudy Mount did burn, Thunder and Trumpet did confound amain Th' embattled terrors, that Earth shook again; Thus to inflame and strike with sacred awe Each mortal breast, t' embrace th' eternal Law. Let them behold the Prophet's heavenly flight, Those towering Eagles, that their eyes to prove Pierced to the brightest Sun, the Lord of Light, That the dark soul illumines from above: Those from the Mountain could the cloud remove, And let in sight to mysteries profound; Truth is their spirit, happiness their sound. There is that Antidote that foils the grave, To clear eternity there shines the way; 'Tis by that book the Almighty judge doth save; It is that Port of light, that opens day, The powerful influence that doth convey Life to the soul, the happy seed that springs With humblest growth, but highest glory brings. There may they taste on stony Tables set That precious food, that time shall never waste; Though fiercest Tyranny from Hell were fet, And with the world her cruelty should last: Where Death stood sentinel this Word hast passed, And as the sun, (but with more heat and light,) Shall clear the world, nor ever yield to night. There may they see in antique leaves enrolled That gracious charter, granted from above; There may they fair Theosophy behold, Ennobled by her Serpent, and her Dove; There may they reach linked by divinest love The sacred virtues, as a chain let down, T' exalt the soul to her celestial Crown. Great work of truth, whose structure doth excel! Canon of justice, that to lowest ground Beats down the forts of sin, and batters Hell! Organ of mercy! how for ever bound Is this blessed Choir to its celestial sound, That hath repaired those ruins wrought by pride, And all these thrones with Kingly States supplied! The warbling murmurs of the Silver floods, The numerous swarms that on fresh Hybla light, The whistling gales that fan th' Arabian woods, The Swan's high rapture at his lowest flight, Strike not an accent of that sweet delight, That in this message of dear Heaven is found, Whose every note doth precious Music sound. Build all by that, as by a rule of Gold, Their lives fair structure; in the mirror bright Let them the souls each lineament behold, And dress her beauties by that heavenly light, Which unto all, that travel day or night Through the world's desert to this promised land, Doth for a cloud, and fiery pillar stand. The lamps of heaven, and light ambitious fire Let planet-strooken Persia still adore, Nor higher let her sunne-burnt zeal aspire; Her Eagles aid let fight Thebes implore; Fall Babylon her mighty Whale before; On monsters Memphis dote, and deep in ground Seek her green gods, in every Garden found. Let the blind Ethnics, barred from happier lights, Thus forge their gods in fancies least divine, And wrong religion with unhallowed rites: Those clearer souls, that unto Heaven incline, Must aim at God in his directing line: Unto his precepts must they upright stand, Or headlong fall, and feel his dreadful hand, As in a strait amongst Rocks, and Shelves, and Sands Is man emplunged, nor happy course can steer; But on the mount his great Director stands, Gives him his Word, he shall find safety nea●e; When if he headlong rush, nor care to hear, What hope remains him, or what reason why, But he should split, and wrack, and sink, and die? God, rich in goodness doth his bounties shower On every creature: but with ample flood His precious blessing upon man doth pour: Man that, unkind, forsakes that sovereign good, Leaves the sweet Fountain for th' infectious mud, And justly bears his wraths eternal weight, Whose awful Law his wilful lust did sleight. Deep in a prison full of worms and snakes Lies every soul, to hopeless bondage sold, But on the Patient, God compassion takes, And strives to raise her from that noisome sold: Where if she fail to fix her faithful hold On present aid, what future end remains Save endless sorrows, plagues, and woes, and pains▪ Then Let thy brethren, purged from fowl excess, From baneful pride, and brutish cruelty, To safer paths their needful steps address: Let them to Heaven's blessed oracles apply A chaster ear, and fix a faithful eye On those high hopes, whereof the heavenly Lord Assures the soul by truths eternal Word. There flows that spring, that with a current fair Through Rocks of cruelty doth passage find, Through Hills of pride, through Valleys of despair, Through Vaults of ignorance in darkness blind, Through Mines of avarice with Hell conjoined: Through every soil doth happily convey His precious streams, and clears his narrow way. There may they drink, not surfeit need to fear, And bathe securely, though in floods profound; 'Tis that their sins foul leprosy will clear, Will cure the ulcers of their souls unsound, And 'swage the rancour of that festered wound, Which the cursed Serpent with a baneful sting Did erst inflict on nature's tender spring. Let them that fair, that facile means embrace, On sacred truth, that firm foundation, stay; And that dear Lord so sweet in gifts of grace, That with his love's fresh flowers doth array The naked world, and strews the Heavenly way, Let them above the clouds his mercies raise, And fill their mouths with his immortal praise. Thus if the treasure● of their age they spend, Lightened of sin that Heaven cannot sustain, They to these thrones of glory shall ascend: But, be their days extinct in pleasures vain, Wha● but eternal darkness shall remain? While their loathed bodies feed the wormie grave, Their souls shall wail in that infernal eve. Here in a flood of anguish, sadly broke, The damned miscreant more deeply drowned, Amongst tears and cries, and sobbing sorrows spoke: Alas! though Moses should himself expound His holiest Laws, they would but s●eig●● his ●ound, At lest no faith, no 〈◊〉 would be len●●▪ On deafened ears is music vainly spent. How oft the sword of vengeance did we see Brandished against our Luxury, and pride, Voluptuous surfeits, lust, and tyranny? Yet to our hearts all passage still denied, All threats and terrors did our height deride: Not all th' Egyptian mischiefs were of force Our lovesick hearts from pleasure to divorce. But from the horrors of this ghastly cave, Or from those mansions of eternal rest, Should some strange Legate, lately sent to grave, Return, to tell what wretched souls unblessed To deepest plagues and torment were oppressed; Or what high joys their painful cares repay, That upward strive, and keep the heavenly way: Then would they, sure, their sinful heart discuss, And, pierced with grief, their wretchedness lament; Had they no hearts, but Rocks of Caucasus Fixed in their breasts, they could not but relent With melting sorrow for their days misspent: Should such a messenger such news relate, They would believe, nor doubt th' eternal State. No more, replied the Father-saint again, Then if blind error, strayed from sightless Hell, With bold delusion should presume to feign, What sums of Angels from their stations fell. And what, unchanged, in brightest glory dwell, How near the world his final period hies, Or what more deep in misty darkness lies. Those sacred sages, that to Heaven did lend New light, that cleared all mysteries divine, That into leaves did golden truth extend, And unto God drew souls with every line, Have open set so full, so rich a mine Of precious wealth, as may each soul suffice, That at just rate doth heavenly treasures prise. So strong is Truth, that hath all fates withstood, Such arteries of life it doth display, Such nerves of power, veins of dearest blood, Of precious soul th'unvalued debt to pay; So brightly shines that pure celestial ray, Sent from the fountain of supernal light, That springs the day, and clears the cloudy night? That who against such evidence offend, Such weight of sense, such Majesty despise, Would not to stranger embassies attend, Though some pale prisoner from the grave should rise, And rip up Hell's black bosom 'fore their eyes: Near will they credit what the tru●● imparts, Whose breasts are stoned with such obdurate hearts. Should Heaven crack thunder, till the melting skies Should drop their stars, and threat an endless night; Whilst, joyed with mischief, grimmest hell should rise, With all her plagues and tortures brought to light; That from the horrors of the dismal sight The Sun should start, and run his golden head In pitchy clouds, whilst day to darkness fled: Yet would the senseless Earth as soon relent, And weep new springs for hopeless humane kind, As impious man his blackest crimes lament, That had become with beams of knowledge blind, Nor the high way to happiness would find: The Key of grace that should the heart unlock When sin excludes, it is but vain to knock. As heaven's high court, so is that humbler way, That thither tends, bestarred with wondrous light, Which through the world their vital beams display: God to his palace every soul invites; Whilst man, regardless of celestial sights, Neglects his call, and bars up every sense, As bend to keep each heavenly blessing thence. Tyrant of nature, from his height deposed, To drown his proud dust in a main of tears! What he●●sh poison hath his senses closed, That, when high God doth from the burning Spheres Denounce hot vengeance, neither sees nor hears, Nor fears his frown, all creatures else doth awe, That with prone homage serve the heavenly Law? Were he not fiercer than the savage flocks, Were he not colder than the stormy air, Were he not harder than the flinty Rocks, Or prouder than th' aspiring Cedars are; He would with shame or sorrow quite despair, To find himself more stupid grown then these Wild beasts, cold blasts, hard stones, and haughty trees. Had those first mortals, in the Deluge drowned, But dived to Hell, and shortly rose again, To tell sad news, what woeful change they found, To those proud builders upon Shinar plain; Had they desisted from attempts so vain? No, their fond thought had meant their Babel high Farther to climb from that infernal fire. Had those swift legates, those celestial scouts, Whom Lot's blessed roof with joy did entertain, Only of torments told those impious routs, Nor burned them down to more infernal pain; What had they done, but with more fell disdain Incensed their jousts, that Heaven did most oppose? So fire, allayed, more strong, more raging grows. What swarms of infects, storms of flaming hail, What pitchy fogs, what waters sadly died, What sores, what deaths stern Egypt did assail, That had those heavenly messengers defied, Ere they could bend the stubborn Tyrant's pride, Who dauntless stood, as 'gainst the Waves a Rock, That proudly seems their foaming rage to mock? Look how a Vessel, near some wrackful strand, hushed by the rage of some impetuous blast Upon an ambush of soft swallowing sand, Whilst to her aid the weeping surges hast Still lower sinks, and strikes more deeply fast; Nor from that bed of ruin ere doth rise, But in one grave both drowned, and buried lies: So whilst frail mortals, in that worldly maine, Where thousand Sirens chant their sweet deceit, Do wildly float in waves of errors vain; Though on their crimes the heavenly heralds beat With strokes redoubled, and sharp vengeance threat; Yet sink they will, (where heaven his ●●nd withdraws,) In sins, as sands, to Hell's devouring jaws. As stony tables, humane hearts contain The heavenly Law, that every soul commands: And must be broke, before they firm remain, Brook by contrition, knocked with mournful hands, For sins unnumbered, as the Libyan sands: Else, be their breasts inscribed ne'er so deep, As Rocks their gems, they useless treasure keep. Not all the sweets of eloquence, distilled From precious flowers: not all the charms of art, That ever soul with so●t affection filled: Not Hell's dire terrors, nor the threatfull dart Of stearnest death can move the sinner's heart, When (sick of wickedness) he senseless grows, And saddest symptoms of destruction shows. That glorious Monarch, at whose dread command Swift Heaven recoils, Earth to her centre rives, He that locks Hell, and chains th' infernal band: He, he it is, that frees from heaviest gyves The pitied thrall, and gasping wretch revives: 'Tis he, whose power numb'ds the hand of death, That else strikes home nor leaves a living breath. That Lord, that doth to every humane sphere Reason, and Will, as Luminaries lend, As duller planets, plants the senses there, Directs their motions to their happiest end: A headlong race else greatest sophies send To black confusion: though aloft they dwell, And shine near Heaven, their shades decline to Hell. Thus far my dream, usurping reasons seat, Played in the working current of my blood: When in loud thunder, after scorching heat, I starting found my fancy in a wood: A keycold jelly on my temples stood, A stupid darkness did be cloud my brain, And stark, as death, did every limb remain, Like the pale Thracian comen from shades below, I seemed a stranger to the face of light: Yet found my way unto that Town to go, Feigned by the Poet's song, and bloody fight, My souls quick journey speedily to write: That this deep dream, until my latest sleep, Might in my mind a clear impression keep. FINIS.