The grand Trial: OR, Poetical Exercitations UPON THE BOOK of JOB. WHEREIN, Suitable to each Text of that sacred Book, a modest Explanation, and Continuation of the several Discourses contained in it, is attempted BY WILLIAM CLARK. Nam momentanea est ira ejus, vita vero in beneplacito ejus, ad vesperam accedat fletus licet, sub auroram tamen redit laetitia, Psal. 30. ver. 5. EDINBURGH, Printed by the Heir of Andrew Anderson, Printer to His most Sacred Majesty, Anno DOM. M. DC. LXXXV. TO JAMES EARL OF PERTH, Lord Drummond, and Stobhall, LORD HIGH CHANCELLOR Of the KINGDOM of SCOTLAND. My Lord, BEing now to expose this Poetical Essay to the mercy of the censuring World, and considering, under whose Patronage I might adventure the Publication: I humbly presumed your Lordship, both as a person eminent in Piety, Virtue, and Learning; and by the high Character you bear in the Government as supreme Judge of that Illustrious Court, upon which my Profession as a Lawyer has afforded me a dependence now these many years, to be the only Person, to whom I could with honour dedicate this Proiece; especially being encouraged to it by your Lordship's generous perusal, and approbation of some of the Sheets in private. I do therefore, my Lord, address this Poetical Composure to your Lordship, as to a Person, whose sublime Soul I know entertains the true Sentiments of Mortality, and the transient vanity of this World, of which this admirable Book of JOB affords so large, and spacious a Field for Contemplation, as a Mind but even a little elevate above the Dust of the World, and furnished but with ordinary Parts, may in private Meditations on the several Texts, far exceed my most polished Reflections on the Subject: the exercise of Contemplation being so pleasing to an ingenuous Spirit, as what in other Sciences reiteration renders nauseous, in this it adds fresh Desires, and makes the Soul so enamoured with but even a random Prospect of its true, and permanent Felicity, which it discovers through the Telescope of Conten plation, as it undervalues all the Afflictions of this Life, in the satisfaction of what nothing can parallel on this side Separation. The ground of my Address to your Lordship proceeding then from that esteem, which all this Nation has for you, as a Person, who, in the Affairs of greatest Importance, affords daily Proofs of your eminent Abilities, I do not so much, as approach the borders of Flattery, if I name your Lordship one of the prime Ornaments of the Age, in which you live. For seriously, my Lord, when I compare the Figure you make in the State, with that of your years, (contrary to the Vulgar opinion, That Wisdom only dwells in aged Breasts;) I must acknowledge with the learned young man, who bears no small part in the ensuing Discourses, that— There is a spirit in man, and the instigation of the Almighty giveth understanding. But as your Promotion, my Lord, in so small advance of years to the high Dignity, in which you now move, makes me admire the vivacity, and felicity of your wit, so (to augment the wonder) when I consider your Lordships younger Brother at this same time, shining in that eminent station of Secretary of State, making thus betwixt you the most ●●●ly conspicuous pair of one Family, that has flourished, since the days of the two Illustrious Brothers Dukes of Hamilton; I find myself again obliged with that same Elihu to acknowledge, that the Spirit of God has made you both, and the breathing of the Almighty has given you life. May this bright Constellation long shine in the Orb of our Government, and as you increase in Years, so may you both increase in Piety, and Virtue, advance in His Majesty's Royal esteem, and the love of your Country, until such time, as two such refined Souls being translated to eternal Felicity, may make a fairer appearance in the Court of the King of kings, then mortal Men can make in that of a King upon Earth, to which the good Wishes shall never be deficient of him, whose Ambition is to be esteemed, My Lord, Your Lordship's most humble, most obliged, and most sincerely devoted W. C. Preface. SInce men do no less differ in their Judgements, and apprehensions of what they read, in this then in former Ages, and that some out of envy, others out of malice, or ignorance do either abstain from perusing of Compositions of the nature of the ensuing Treatise; or having perused such (though never so well accommodate with all the embellishments of W●t, and Art) in the same humour decry them, it is usual for Authors to make Apologies for publishing of what many of them pretend were never designed for the Light but importunity of Friends, or Copies surreputiously creeping abroad, obliged them to a Publication, though in reality their only design was an itch of Applause, only to be attained by the brokery of the Press, as if a few polished expressions in the entry of their Writings were able to divert the torrent of the censuring Readers. Hence tedious Prefaces, and joined with these a deal of Encomiums are posted in the Avenues of all our modern Writings, only to put the Readers in an humour before perusal, and invite them to an appetite for their Crudities. But what is here published I acknowledge was originally designed for the Press, and so stands in need of no such inviting Compliment, the Publication being as necessary, by the rules of my Circumstances, as the Composition was, which was so far from being calculate to the Meridian of Applause, as I never projected a favourable reception of it, but made my account, (as I yet do) for censure, and the worst of usage, with all which I am resolved to dispense, in confidence that all ingenuous and impartial Readers will find my design in it has been only to alleviate the severity of my own sad Circumstances. It is true indeed, the publishing my private Reflections upon a Subject of such sacred Importance, as is that admirable Book of JOB, may be esteemed a presumption in one of my Profession, whose business is generally to mind secular Affairs, and not to make such inroads into Divinity; but with the good favour of the learned, and worthy Clergy (for whom no man has greater esteem than I have) I hope it will be acknowledged, that the Scripture being a Theme in which we are all equally concerned as to perusal, and instruction; if I, following the opinions of the best of Commentators on the Subject, have, at my solitary opportunities expressed my thoughts in Poesy upon the several Texts, as I found those of their own Profession have learnedly instructed me in Prose, my greatest Crime in this Publication, is only that I am not of their Order. Neither will it be found, upon perusal by the most severe Inquisitors, that I have deviate from the receive●●pinions of the Divines upon the place, unless possibly in cap. 24. v. 18. where the words are, He is swift as the Waters, etc. I apply the Text to the Crime of Piracy, being induced thereto by the words of the preceding Texts, wherein Job enumerates several special Crimes at Land, and probably might thence take a rise to discourse of that notorious Crime of Piracy, of which in all appearance he had frequently heard, living so nigh the Red-Sea, which was then and is yet much infested with Pirates: and authorised besides by the concourse of the learned Grotius, Vatablus, and our Countryman Mr. Hutchison in the same opinion. I would request then those of that venerable Order to have that charity for me, as to think I did not attempt a work of this importance, hand over head, (as the Proverb is,) but to peruse, and examine the whole, and I hope they will find I have proceeded in it with that deference, as is due to the Subject. To the Vulgar Objection against this Piece, that it has been frequently performed in Verse already by others, I make no further answer then that all I have ever seen, Sylvester, Herbert, and Quarrels, do perform it in a simple transposition of the words of Prose into Rythme, whereas I have not followed that method, but according as the several Texts afforded Subject, I have presumed to expatiate, by way of Poetical Lectures, and (which was the greatest difficulty in all the Composure) have endeavoured to connect the several Texts in continued Discourses, notwithstanding of the abrupt transitions from one Subject to another, and frequent Hebraisms all along, which hardly admit of a genuine exposition in Prose, and by consequence, are more difficult to be coupled in Verse. Nor if I had followed the methods of these Gentlemen exactly, do I commit any novelty in this Essay, if men will consider how many Translations have been published of Virgil, Horace, etc. yet do not these hinder some of the most refined Wits of the Age to publish their Translations of the same Authors to this very day, for were it no more but the new dress of the present and current Language, it makes a great difference from a Translation Fifty Years ago. This Book of JOB I know is by some repute no real History, but a Parable, and to have been writ Originally in Poesy, but I am concluded by the positive words of the Text, There was a man, etc. or if it was, as these suppose, certainly the Mythology is of great use and instruction for all Christians, for, by the whole Contexture I look upon Jobs Troubles to have much consisted in Oppression and Calumny, which are the two hardest species of Affliction for an ingenuous Spirit to bear, as he appears to have been, especially when his Friends, stead of comforting him, seem all along to second those clamourous reports of him, that had been spread through the whole Country on that occasion; so that all his doleful Circumstances considered, his loss of Children, Estate, Reputation, and aggravation of his Afflictions by his too zealous Friends, who maintained his Punishments were nothing but the return of his Sins, he appears to quadrate with that excellent expression of Boetius, in his second Book, de Con●ol. Phil. Hoc tantum dixerim, ultimam esse adversae fortunae sarcinam cum miseri, quae perferunt, meruisse creduntur. Yet how God Almighty in the end doth vindicate him from all those lewd aspersions, and restores him to double what he formerly possessed, is a great ground of comfort for all suffering Christian, wholly under such heavy Pressures, as I myself have done and yet do by the malice of some virulent, vindictive Fellows, who so endeavour to destroy my Reputation, as they have no regard to their own. Upon this consideration I have attempted▪ and finished this Essay, and in a Poetical Strain humoured the several Discourses from the beginning to the end: and if I have been somewhat free in my Characters and Descriptions of the Vices of this present Age, as I found the Texts afforded me Subject, let the Persons concerned, (if any such be) consider, the Spirit of God, in all Ages, as appears by the whole Tract of Sacred Writ, has inveighed against such Villainies; and I following the Text, could do no less in Poesy, than what the Prose in few words seemed to poin out. And for my description of the Adulterer (which some Critics may possibly judge a little too particular,) let them consider Solomon's description of his whorish Woman, which is a sufficient authority for me. Further I have not to say, introductory to the perusal, but if I be judged in this Composition a most presumptuous Interloper in the Trade of Wit, my answer is, I never did, nor do yet pretend to that Character: let the florid Wits of our Age enjoy their Trade entire, for me, a great part of my design in this Composure being only to make atonement for my former wanton excursions in this Art; and if I meet with censure, or applause, I am indifferent: for when I consider how many polished Wits of our Age have employed their Parts of late in Projections destructive to themselves, and their Families; I think the small Parts God has allowed me have been better employed in this unprofitable Composition, which I hope upon perusal will be found to savour neither of a bad Christian, nor a bad Subject; for before I would do any thing contrare to the Character of either, to obtain the reputation of a contriving Wit— Ridenda Poemata malo. Errata. PAge 7. Line 9 read since for sure: ibid. l. 15. add still. p. 13. l. 29. add me. p. 29. l. 11. for putting, r. puling. ibid. l. 42. for nor, r. none. p. 35. l. 41. add are. ibid. l. 46. for express, r. oppress. p. 60. l. 49. r. I am. p. 84. l. 30. r. specious lie. p. 85. 4, and 5. l. of 12. verse, r. on't. p. 110. l. 1. r. be. p. 127. l. 12. of verse 9 for to, r. so. p. 140. l. 1. of verse 2. for shall, r. still. p. 144. l. 26. for ob, r. of. p. 184. l. 15. for should, r. would. p. 191. l. 1. of verse 8. add thou. p. 213. l. 14. of verse 13. for flowers, r. floors. p. 223. l. 23. of verse 17. for properly, r. property. p. 261. l. 1. for my, r. by. p. 262. l. 3. for all, r. at. p. 264. l. 34. for through, r. though. p. 274. l. 9 verse 27. for power, r. hour. p. 287. Text, verse 12. for just, r. unjust. ibid. l. 3. r. untamed. ibid. l. 13. for the, r. thy. p. 301. verse 19 l. 24. for riches, r. virtues. p. 304. verse 13. l. 1. for such, r. since. p. 311. l. 4. for chines, r. chimes. p. 354. verse 21. l. 5. for small, r. tall. If any other Errors appear to the Reader, which may be occasioned by mistake of the Printer, (of which the best corrected Pieces are hardly free,) he is courteously desired to amend them with his Pen. Poetical Exercitations UPON THE BOOK of JOB. CAP. I. IN former times, before Heaven's mighty King 1. There was a man in the land of uz, whose name was job, and that man was perfect and upright, and one that feared God, and eschewed evil. From Egypt did his captive People bring: Where th' Heirs of promise, in a sad estate, As Criminals, by Sentence relegate, For many years, did, with much sweat and toil, Earn a poor Living in a foreign soil. Before the Law of God was published, Before his Standard was on Earth displayed; Before his Church did visible appear, And he had only Chapels here and there, In that vast Canton of Arabia, known By th' name of Desert, where with Sands o'reflow'n Whole Regions in a constant deluge lie, Unfit fo● 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, where Husbandry▪ Planting, Enclosing, and such Policy Is hardly known; only amongst the Rocks Th' Inhabitants do ramble with their Flocks For pasturage, and like their Beasts, with ease, And simple food themselves entirely please. Or else through sandy Valleys, where the Sun Is almost by his own reflex outdone, They travel with their Camels, as they are Employed by Merchants, to transport their Ware From Mart, to Mart, in all the Country's round, Where Industry, and Trading doth abound. Unless perhaps on some small River's side, (Which in that Country too is rarely ' spied) Some fertile Acres fit for Husbandry, Mixed with a slender marvel a squandring lie; And there some Castles, Houses, Cottages, Poor Mercat-towns, and Country-villages Make a small Landscape, and perhaps afford A Dwelling for some great Arabian Lord. But generally the Country is so bare Of Policy, as a Geographer For a large hire, would hardly undertake▪ A travelling survey of that Land to make. Hence are those Idle, Vagrant, Sun-burnt-creatures, Of cunning, fiery, and malicious Natures: Hot as their Soil; and by their looks confess Within their breasts a no less barrenness Of Piety, and Virtue, than their grounds To th' eye express: besides they know no bounds In villainy, but live most barbarously By rapine more, then lawful industry. In this same High-land-country amongst those men, Who all things good, and sacred did profane, Whom length of time, and commerce to this day Have not yet civilised. In this so barren Land a man did dwell, Whose name was Joh, a man, who did excel Most of that Age in Piety, a man, Upon whose heart in lively colours drawn The picture of true Virtue did appear, A man, who did his God devoutly fear; A just, and upright man, who fully knew The Art of moderation (known to few) A man, whom all the Vices of his Age Could not from true Religion disengage, A man obedient to his Maker's Will, Practising good things, and eviting ill. The Land in which he lived is called here The Land of Uz, though, as it doth appear From Sacred Writ, one of the Race of Sem, Who, (as it stands Recorded) bore that name Of old did with a colony repair To th' lesser Syria, where now the fair Damascus stands▪ whence all that T●●●● of Ground Was called the Land of Uz. 'Tis also found That one of that same Name of Esau's Race So called his Dwelling in another place: From hence a part, at least, of Idumaea Scituate in Arabia Petraea Is called the Land of Uz. But that, which here Is named, by observation doth appear T'have been that Land, which one of Nahors Race Bearing the same Name, for his Dwelling place Of old did choose; and is a part of that Arabia called Deserta, situate, As by our modern Maps, we daily see, Betwixt the twice, and the thrice tenth degree Of Northern Latitude: Bordering on the West With the Red Sea, the Persian Gulf on th● East, Arabia Faelix on the South, Judaea Upon the North, with part of Idumaea; Hence our Geographers do plainly tell This is the Country, where once Job did dwell. As for his Family 'tis thought he was Descended of a branch of Abraham's race, By one of his three Sons with Ketura, Who, some think, planted in Arabia: Others affirm, with more authority, He was a branch of Nahors Family: How e'er it was, his Actions do express He was a man of honourable Race. This man was with a goodly Issue blessed 2. And there was born to him seven sons, and three daughters. (Which of all Earthly blessings, is the best) Seven Sons, three Daughters, all of comely Features, Complaisant Humours, and obedient Natures Did call him Father, nor was all around The Neighbourhood, a fairer Issue found, Then that of Jobs: for as they did increase In Years, so in true Piety, and Grace They made a large advance; and prudently Studied true Virtue, and Frugality. But lest this fair, and hopeful Progeny, 3. His substance also was 7000 Sheep, and 3000 Camels, and 500 Yoke of Oxen, and 500 Shee-asses, and a very great Household, so that this man was the greatest man of all the East. This numerous, and growing Family Might have proved chargeable, as now a days We see it frequent: GOD did also raise This man in Wealth; his Labours he so blessed That every Year his Revenue increased: For his projections he so surely laid, As of their Success he was not afraid; But made his Grounds afford by Pains, and Art What Nature had denied: nay every part Of his Possessions clearly did express Their Master's virtue, care, and painfulness. His Revenue consisted, as appears, In what was only used in former Years, Corn, Sheep, and cattle, for the Hills did keep To him a Stock of some seven thousand Sheep, From which each Year to him 〈◊〉 did a●●●ew No small proportion of his Revenue. He had a Stock too of three thousand Camels, That fed upon his Grounds, both Males, and Females▪ Most of which useful Beasts he did let out For hire to all the Merchants without doubt, Who traded through that Country, and did bear From place to place the rich and costly Ware Of Persia, Egypt, and Arabia The Happy, Palestine, and Syria: Because those Beasts can only tolerate The Sand, the Drought, the Hunger, and the Heat Which travelling in that Country doth require And thence for such, a good, and constant hire Is still afforded. He had five hundred Yokes of Oxen too, Which (if we reckon four Yoke to a Blow; The most we in those Northern Country's use) Doth make a labouring of a hundred Ploughs, And five and twenty, so we make account His Labouring did his Pasturage surmount. For thirty Acres being the labouring Of every Blow, we make a reckoning More than three thousand Acres he possessed Of fruitful grounds, and may be also guessed To have been one of the few Valleys there, Watered with Rivers, and Manured with care. He had five hundred Shee-asses to boot, Which he for lesser burdens did let out To Labourers, and Merchants all about, Who had occasion for them. Now, as he was a man of fair Estate; (For by our modern reckoning, we may rate This man, by what's in short related here T'have had of Rent ten thousand pounds a Year) So to his Birth, and outward Quality Was added Power, and Authority: A man he was, no doubt, of Reputation, In great esteem amongst those of his own Nation, Chief Precedent, at least, as we may guests Of th'Courts of Justice in those Provinces, Which lay contiguous with his dwelling place. But all this Wealth, this Power, and Quality 4. And his sons went and feasted in their houses, every one his day, and sent, and called for their three sisters, to eat, and drink with them, Had served for nothing, had his Family Been dis-unite: nor had he cared for these, Unless he had enjoyed Domestic Peace. This he had too, and that in so great measure, As far exceeded all his Wealth and Treasure. For his seven Sons (who, we suppose had now Attained man's age, and that he did allow T'each of'em distinct Farms off his Estate) Did mutually each others kindly treat In Peace, and Plenty they their hours did waste, And called their Sisters, when they meant to Feast. But Job considering, in such 〈◊〉, 5. And when the days of their banqueting were gone about, job sent, and sancti fied them, and rose up early in the morning, and offered burnt-offering according to the number of them all. For job thought it may be, my sons have sinned, and blasphemed God in their hearts, thus job did every day. How many strong temptations do lie, For sinful lewdness, scarce to be evited, By such, whose Blood, and Brains by Wine are heated; He would next morning early stir, and pray That GOD would pardon sins o'th'by-past day Committed by his Children. For, says he, I do suspect (how ere the matter be) There's something sinful in the case, since Feasting Is still at least accompanied with Jesting. Thus, with himself in private reasoning, he'd for each Child make a Burnt-offering; And, whilst their Feasting lasted, every day, Job for his children's sins would Fast and Pray. In short, if Jobs Felicity we rate By Birth, and Knowledge, Honour, and Estate, A goodly Issue blessed with unity Amongst themselves, unspotted Piety, Sincerity in all his Dealings, Grace, Frugality, and Virtue, we may trace All Histories, with which the World doth swell, And amongst them all not find his parallel. For sure this worthy Gentleman appears T'have been a Pattern, for some hundred years, To all about him: and we here may see How God thinks fit his Memory should be To this same day preserved; that we may thence Precisely understand, at what expense Of true Devotion we should live, and know When with Afflictions God doth bring us low, As this same Good man was, how to endure With Patience the hottest Calenture Of Sorrows fever: and may likewise see What silly Expectations those be On which we feed in our Prosperity, As if we fancied Perpetuity Of our Enjoyments here▪ and that our God Loved us so well, he'd never use his Rod; But with soft Hand would clap our Heads, and lay Our Pillows every Night, and every Day Afford us every thing we can project For our poor Fast, and our Prayers sake. No, no that Man, who ere he be, that thus With fond Delusions doth his Soul abuse, D●th shrewdly err: for in this Precedent We may perceive how clear, and evident The contrair doth appear, and calculate From thence the folly of a great Estate. For now, as longest Day must have its Night, 6. Now, on a day when the Children of God came, and stood before the Lord, Satan came also among them. And Darkness must at length succeed to Light: As greatest Calms do Storms prognosticate, So greatest Joys do Sorrows antedate: And this Goodman, whom in Serenity, Under the Zenith of Prosperity, we've lately seen, must now 〈◊〉 prepare To show his Virtue in another Sphere. For at a General Sessions of Heaven, Held at that time, when Liberty was given To all, that in that Court do make abode To see the Face of the Almighty God. When Heavens Great Monarch in Majestic State, Environed with his Troops of Angels Sat: He too, who once was of that Corporation, As Eminent, as any of that Station; Until, with foolish Pride he did so swell, Because he thought he was not used so well As his great Services required, and so He with some others would a Plotting go Against his Prince, and think to model too (As all our discontented Statesmen do) The Government of Heavens: but instantly His Plot was opened, and he, by and by With all his Friends about him poorly fell From thence, by Deportation, to Hell. This wretched Head of Rebels too appeared Amongst the Just; demanding to be heard In some shrewd Accusation patly laid Against some Champions of the praying Trade. At least that he might shortly understand Upon what Service God would him command He there as Sergeant of the Court did wait To receive Orders at the Utter-Gate. But, as when Damnster doth in Court appear, 7. Then the Lord said unto Satan, whence comest thou, and Satan answered the Lord, from compassing the earth to, and fro, and from walking in it. The Condemnation of some Man we fear: So this Old Rebel did prognosticate The Alteration of some Persons State, By his officious presence. This thing appearing then well known by name Of Satan, God did ask him, whence he came? (Not but that all his Wander he did know, With all his Plots, and Projects here below: But that from his own Mouth he might express His villainous Toilling, and Unwearyedness In doing evil, and that since he fell From Heaven, he every hour doth merit Hell.) Satan makes answer, I have been abroad Compassing all this Earth of thine, Great God. There I have walked at random, to and fro, And viewed the State of all things here below. I've seen how thou dost constantly suppress Me, and my Subjects, by thy watchfulness, On all our Motions; as if all to thee Belonged by Right, and nothing else to me, But thy displeasure; yet I'll not resign My claim for all that; nay I still design, Where ever thou a Colony shall plant I and my Friends shall all their Meetings haunt, And make that Church at best but Militant. For, since I'm not allowed 〈◊〉 Privilege Of my Creation, but with bitter rage, Am to this day secluded from my Right, Why should not I with all the Force and Might; That I, and my poor banished Friends can raise, By constant Inroads still disturb the Peace, Of those, whose constant Prayers do combine To ruin further yet both me, and mine. As if already I were not undone, By thy Displeasure, these for sooth must run A sharper Scent, and by their Prayers baull, For my Destruction yet for good, and all. Nay know, Heaven's King (for so I must confess Thou art indeed) that I am not the less A Prince on Earth, and will endeavour still To keep that Right, do with me what you will. Yes, I'll mentain now what I do possess, And still will make it my great business T'enlarge the Limits of my Empire here: Since in thy Heavens I date no more appear As formerly: allow me then Great God To wander sometimes here, and there abroad To view my Interest: though yet after all, I am thy Servant, and obey thy call. Then says the Lord, since thou goest every where 8. And the Lord said unto Satan, hast thou not considered my servant job, how none is like him in the earth, an upright, and just man, one that feareth God, and escheweth evil. A-wandring, since thou couldst not choose, but hear Of my great Servant Job: sure thou dost know How of all Mortals that live there below, He's the most just; scarce to be equalled On Earth: him sure thou hast considered As one of thy chief Enemies, for he Is a most Loyal Subject to me. A Man most Honest, Pious and Upright, Just, shunning Evil, doing, at my sight, What I Judge candid good, and equitable, And for his Heavenly Interest profitable, One, who by Standart of true Piety Doth measure all his Actions constantly. What sayest of him? Is he not such, now say For all thy Art, canst fall upon a way, To make that Man break his Allegiance To me? canst thou thy Interest advance With him, or tempt him to do any thing That may i'th'least displease his God and King? Yes, says the Devil, thy Servant Job I know 9 Then Satan answered the Lord, and said, doth job serve God for nought. And have considered too: why be it so That he is such: as truth I can't deny He is; I've viewed his constant Piety. And great Devotion, and I thank him too That does, what he is so well hired to do. Can any man do less, to whom thoust given Possession of all Blessings under Heaven: So well mentained he doth but what he ought To do, then pray doth Job serve thee for nought? Pray now, 〈◊〉 L●●d, who would not at this rate 10. Hast thou not made an● hedge about him, and about his house, and about all that he hath, on every side, thou hast blessed the works of his hands, and his substance is increased in the land. Become thy Servant? yea, who would not state Himself thy faithful Slave, thus to be used Thus kindly, to have nothing thus refused May contribute for his Convenience here, As in the case of this Man doth appear. Why wouldst such Favour but to me allow, As this too happy Man enjoveth now, I would become thy Faithful Servant too. But I, and my poor Friends for ever barred, From thy Celestial Favour, and declared Incapable of ever being restored To former Favour, cannot, Mighty Lord, Expect, upon these terms, to become such, As those, whose Predecessors erred as much, As ever we did: for I know thou hast A kindness for the Race of Man shall last. To th'worlds end: and yet those Creatures shall But prove ungrate to thee, Lord, after all. For this same Race of Man, this Progeny Of my old Fellow-Sinner, certainly, After thou hast them with all Kindness blest, Will be but Shrubs of the old Root at best. And as their Fathers did, not long ago, Provoke thee to a drowning of 'em; so The Children still their Father's Steps will trace, And be to thee the same still, in the case. Now than this Job, on whom thou hast bestowed, What to few Men on Earth thou hast allowed: Whom, as with hedge, thou hast environed, And guarded all he hath on every side; Whom thou hast raised in Wealth and Dignity, And made him Head of a Great Family: Pray what can he do less, than Fast, and Pray, Kneel down, and make an Offering every day To thee his Patron: and endeavour too To shun all evil, as a many do. For fear of me, and not for love of thee, Because before their Eyes they daily see How inexorable I am to all Those Men of Earth, whom thou dost Sinners call; If in my hands thou once deliver them, Whereas, if they but call upon thy Name, With a few Sighs, and Tears, thou instantly Remit'st them all their Sins, and by and by Th'effect of all thy Heavenly Clemency, Upon the matter, proves indeed no more, Then crossing th'old, upon another score, To sin afresh. for all those breathing things Abuse thy Mercy. Nay they will make a fashion too, when blessed As this Man is, and that their Souls have rest From dunning Pinches, Miseries, and Pains, (Which are some other men's Quotidians,) To use Devotion▪ and perhaps express, In a set Prayer, some small Thankfulness, For these thy Favours, but they always run Upon that Strain, that, as thou hast begun, So thou'd continue always to extend That Peace, and Plenty to them to the end. For if once interrupted, than we see What Frettings, and bold Abjurations be Amongst those formerly fine Supplicants Now crying out of Miseries, and Wants. Stretch therefore out thine Hand, and seize upon 11. But stretch now out thine hand, and touch all that he hath, and see if he will not blaspheme thee to thy face, All that Job has, and thou shalt see anon This unkind dealing will reverse the case, And he'll Plaspheme thee, to thy very Face. Yes, heel Blaspheme thee, and forget that thou Didst good things to him, formerly allow: He'll tell thee plainly thoust disordered All his concerns, and fully ruined His expectations: so that after this He'll tell thee boldly thus, and thus it is To serve a God, who takes no care at all For such as on his Name do daily call. Then said the Lord, well, Satan, thou shalt find 12. Then said the Lord unto Satan, lo all that he hath is in thine hand, only upon himself shalt thou not stretch out thy hand; so Satan departed from the presence of the Lord. My Servant Job is of another kind, Then falling Adam's ordinary Race, As thou shall't soon perceive upon the Case. And to demonstrate this thou mayest go try him, Seize upon all his Substance then, do by him, As thou thinkest fit: only I do Command Upon his Person stretch not out thy Hand, But all hls Goods are thine. No sooner said Then the false Slave of this Commission glad, Runs out on Execution, and Commands His Men to Mischief soon, and cries all hands. Now here Jobs Woes, and Miseries Commence, 13. And on a day, when his sons, and daughters were eating, and drinking wine in their eldest brothers house. His future Troubles take their Rise from hence: For soon the Devil had drawn his Troops together, And they all ready to march quickly whether He should command them: he did only now Wait for an opportunity to do What he intended. So when the Children were a Banqueting I'th' Eldests House, suspecting no such thing, The Devil perceiving their security, Resolves to catch this opportunity Of plundering all: with his wild Arabs hastes, And in the first place drives off all his Beasts. Job on a sudden has the dismal News, 14. Then came a messenger unto job, and said the oxen were ploughing, and the asses feeding in their places. How whilst his Oxen Laboured in the Ploughs, The cattle calmly footing in the Traces, And all the Asses feeding in their places. The Thieving Rogues did violently fall 15. And the Sabeans came violently, and took them, yea they have slain the servants with the edge of the sword, but I only am escaped alone to tell thee. Upon the Beasts in Ploughs, and plundered all, In all his Servants Bowels sheathed the Sword, Burnt all the Barns, and Houses, in a word, Says Currior, who these fatal News did bring, I've only 'scapt, thus to relate the thing. Scarce had he told the Tale, when comes another 16. And whilst he was yet speaking, another came, and said, the fire of God is fallen from heaven, and hath burnt up the sheep and the servants, and devoured them and I only am escaped to tell thee. To give account of News as bad as tother: The Fire of God, says he, from Heaven did fall, And in an instant quite consumed all thy numerous Flocks of fine Wool-bearing Sheep, With all the Servants, who these Flocks did keep, Thus are thy Store-rooms fully desolate, Only I 'scap'd the Tidings to relate. Whilst he yet spoke another comes to tell 17. And whilst he was yet speaking another came, and said, the Chaldeans set out three bands, and fell upon the camels, and have taken them, and have slain the servants with the edge of the sword, but I only am escaped to tell thee. How the Chaldeans in three parties fell Upon the Camels, made them all their prey, Killed all the Herdsmen, carried all away, Of whom, says he, I only did escape To be the Relator of so great Mishap. I' th'neck of this another comes, who shows, 18. And whilst he was yet speaking, came another and said, thy sons, and thy daughters were eating & drinking wine in their eldest brothers house. (In one great Blow, to sum up all his Woes) How, whilst his Children freely did carouse, And drunk Wine in their eldest Brothers House, Eat merrily, conversed, and made good cheer, Enjoying one another without fear. There came, says he, so far as I could guess, 19 Behold there came a great whirlwind from beyond the wilderness, and smote the four corners of the house which fell upon the children, and they are dead, and I only am escaped to tell thee. Out from the fields beyond the Wilderness, A violent, and sudden Hurrycane, The like of which I think yet never Man Has seen, and with such fury patly fell On th'house, where, Sir, your eldest Son did dwell, And where at that time all your others were, With your three Daughters met, to make good cheer, That in an instant one might see the walls Clap closely together, down the Roof-tree falls, Stones, Rafters, Board's, Dust, in a trice fall down, And with the ground the House was leveled soon. Where all your Children smothered in a heap, I left, and by great mercy did escape, To tell thee what I with my eyes did see, And what, with Tears, I now relate to thee. Plunged in deep grief, with sorrows overcome, 20. Then job arose, and rend his garment, and shaved his head, & fell down upon the ground, and worshipped. Job hearing these sad news did sit as dumb, With Eyes dejected low, and Arms a Cross, As if he meant not to survive his Loss; But sudden Dissolution did desire, Hoping he might in some kind sigh expire. Speechless he sat, and seemed not to complain, But having paused a while, at length, with pain He rose, and to his grief was forced t'allow The same Compliance other Mortals do, For though he knew his miseries alone Did come from God, yet being more than Stone, Hearing these sad News, he could not forbear, At least upon the last to drop a Tear, And write in mournful ink from grief swollen Eyes, Upon his Face his children's Elegies. The unexpected loss of his Estate He doth not value (though indeed 'twas great) But O his loving Issue! O the loss Of his dear Children doth him sadly cross: This in some passion makes him tear his hair, Unrip his breast, and to the open air, In some disorder lay his bosom bare. At length o'er come with this sad Exigent, He formally all his apparel Rent, With careless Razor shaved his Head around, Fell down, and grovelling prostrate on the ground. Lord, says he, naked from the Womb I came, 21. And said naked came I out of my mother's womb, & naked shall I return thither, the Lord hath given & the Lord hath taken, blessed be the name of the Lord. And to Earth's Womb I must return the same. What I acquired, was but thy pure Donation, And all the Right that I had was Possession: Then why should I Complaint of Losses make, Since God, who freely gives may freely take. This Morning I was rich in Wealth, and Fame, Now in the Evening I a Beggar am: Plundered of all;— Estate, and issue too, Why sure I shall be no more envied now. Now I'm undone, now absolutely poor, As those, who beg their Bread from Door to Door. Then what do Wealth and Honours signify When, as it were by turning of a die, All I possessed is now entirely lost: Then what is he, who doth of Riches boast! Riches!— the very Dregs of the Creation, A naughty thing, that never came in fashion, Until true Virtue become Poor and Old, What She before did give, was basely sold, As yet it is, for Money:— Riches!— O The Bane of Mankind; from whose Spring do flow Torrents of Falsehoods, Jealousies, and Fears! Riches a lean, dry Nurse of Anxious Cares! A Food, on which we feed with great delight, Yet ne'er allays our ravenous appetite. Man's Life-race running in a crooked Line, A dash, which spoiled the original design Of his Integrity; a thing, which all, Who hug it here, themselves do even call Th'abstract of Madness, when Eternity Appears at hand, and they begin to die. For O what help can Riches then afford To their deluded Owners? in a word No Man of Judgement should of Riches boast, For, when (as mine) they are entirely lost, Then they appear to have been very Dreams, Which none but he, who softly sleeps, esteems. And then, there's Honour too. that taudry thing, Of which poor Mortals make such reckoning: Why I had that, as much as I desired And to no higher Honours I aspired: But now— all's lost— Riches, and Honours too Have all abandoned their old Master now. Then what is this same Idol, of which most Of its proud Owners insolently boast? What is it pray!— a mere Device of Men T'abuse the World, and shiftingly maintain The Reputation of a Bankrupt Race, Which long ago was forfeit in the Case Of the first cadet; when Fraternal Ties Could not obstruct Friends being Enemies For a small trifle: though the World was then But Tripartite, and those unhappy Men Had Elbow-room enough; yet was it State First troubled under that Triumvirate. And then our Native Honour, Truth, and Faith Expired with the first expiring Breath. Since than true Honours lost, why should we cheat Our Reason with its silly counterfeit! And fancy Titles, Names, and Dignities Can make the fallen Race of Mankind rise In Virtue's Orb? Why should we proudly boast We have a thing our Predecessors lost! For to this day (let us say what we can) There's neither Honour, Faith, nor Truth in Man. Why since the substance than is gone, alace Why should vain man its empty shadow chase! It's empty shadow,— yes— its mere reflex, Which only, when it shines, a figure makes. Though, as an Evening shadow to the Eye Extends itself beyond the Symmetry Of what it follows; so this flattering thing By poor deluded Mortals Reckoning Appears t'exceed the true Original, Whilst really it is nothing at all, And disappears with that same swiftness too, As when the Sun sets, all your shadows do. Or if it something be, at best I take it, To be but what each Fool's conceit doth make it, For, as we see how Hobby-horses please Some Children, rattles others; even so these, Who court this honour, are some pleased with that Which only is acquired by toil, and sweat; And venture boldly, without fear, or shame, Only t'attain a military fame, On Fire, and Sword, others themselves do please With what they can attain to with more ease, And less expense, so cunningly practise Mean snaking shifts, and horrid villainies, By which, at length, they climb to Dignities. But as we see how those same very Boys, When come to years, call those things childish toys, Which then they hugged; so, when a man attains To Grace, and Knowledge; Lord how he disdains Those painted Baubles, which he formerly Esteemed, and thinks them now all vanity. And yet both Riches, and great Honours too To some, as blessings God doth still allow, When seasoned with Grace. But nor my Honours, nor my Riches pleased My mind so much, nor was I so much eased In any thing, as that my Family Seemed to perpetuat my poor Memory And that I lost, i'th' twinkling of an Eye. Lord what a folly than it is for men To Trust in things so perishing, and vain As Children are: a piece of Sophistry, By which we'd fain out-wit Mortality, But to no purpose, for do what we will, Death is before hand, with our projects still. Things, which to wish we prone are inclined Though in them we but seldom comfort find. Nay, but that God after the first Creation, Enjoined the useful toil of Generation, No wise man would such methods prosecute, To bring himself in trouble, and dispute, With those of his own Loins, and be in fears Of his, own Children, as they come to years. Issue! an Art, by which we would create Ourselves anew, and so perpetuat Our Names on Earth: nay at a huge expense We purchase too this inconvenience. Whilst truth our Names and Memories are known Better by Characters, in Brass, or Stone, When both our Race, and our Estates are gone. Riches and Honours than I did possess As Blessings, and enjoyed domestic peace: But above all my God was pleased t'allow Something of true Grace to my Spirit too, That I might use them right, so that of late, In Birth, in Parts, in Honour, and Estate, If breathing man can have Felicity, On this side Time; why such a man was I — But now, that thou art pleased, Lord, to divest Me of what but this morning I possessed, Assist me now, now let that Grace appear Which thou allow'd'st me, give me strength to bear My Losses so, as all men may confess Who see me in this miserable case That thou hast not deprived yet of Grace. Lord the● what shall I say; thou giv'st, thou tak'st, Thou raises, thou throws down again, thou mak'st, And thou unmakest▪— O let thy glorious Name Sound in the Trumpet of eternal Fame. For all thy Actings are both just and fair, And well thou knowst what Criminals men are, And what they do deserve; O make me then, Highest of late, but lowest now of men, O make 〈◊〉 wi●● a 〈◊〉 patience, Endure what thou art pleased to dispense. Thus though we see Jobs Grief was answerable ●2. In all this did not job sin, nor charge God feolishly. To his Condition, which was lamentable, Yet in his greatest paroxysm of woe He did not sin, nor treat his Maker so, As if he would accuse him foolishly For th' only author of his Misery. Then happy he, who can his loss sustain With patience, and not of God complain: For when Afflictions Storms from Heavens do fall We ought to suffer, and not cry at all: Because we know that God affliction sends, Upon a many, whom he least intends ● extirpate in his anger; for we shall See this good man's afflictions after all, Converted to a fair, and pleasant Scene, Of Wealth and Honours, and a most serene Aspect of Favour, when our God doth show To Job his Face ex Postliminio. Cap. II. HEre's a Grand-Tryal then, awake all you 1. And on a day the children of God came and stood before the Lord, & Satan came also among them, & stood before the Lord. Who ever in your lives Affliction knew; Sum up your Sorrows, reckon all your Woes And all your wreaking Miseries unclose, Your Crosses, and your Losses all declare, See who with Jobs afflictions can compare; Or with his Patience. For now his Issue, Wealth▪ and Honours gone, His Body must be sadly racked anon, And put to horrid torture, as if what He yet had lost were not proportionate To th' merits of so great a Criminal, He must endure the question after all. See here then God again in Judgement set, Environed with Majesty, and State, Before whom numerous Angels do appear, As if for jury they impanelled were: He, who by Virtue of his late permission, Had to a most deplorable condition Reduced this pious man, appears there too, To see if there was more mischief to do. Satan, from whence, says God, from compassing 2. Then saidthe Lord unto Satan, whence comest thou, and Satan answered from compassing the earth to and fro, and from walking in it. The Earth, and there securely travelling In every corner, doing all I can, Says he, to disappoint the Hopes of Man. I've done what thou allowed, says he, and ●ow I ask if thou hast any more to do For me on earth? is there another there, Whom thou thinkst just, and upright, let me hear, Is there a man for whom thou hast esteem Under the Heavens? pray let me know his name: And, by thy good permission, I shall try The utmost Force of his Integrity: I'll soon reduce him to the same estate, As I have done thy other man of late, And then thou'lt see that all those upright men Are but thy Servants for their private gain, Not so, says Heaven's King,, for yet I see 3. And the Lord said unto Satan, hast not considered my servant job, how none is like him in the earth, an upright and just man, one that feareth God, and escheweth evil, for he yet continueth in his uprightness, although thou movedst me against him, to destroy him without cause. My faithful Servant Job doth honour me. The Man, whom thou so falsely didst accuse, As though he, like a Hireling would refuse To serve me, were his wages taken from him, See now thy malice cannot overcome him. thoust cut off all his Family, and ta'en His means from him, yet he doth not complain. He, thou didst move me, without cause t'oppress, See he continues firm in uprightness. True, says the Enemy of Man, 'tis true, 4. And Satan answered the Lord, and said, skin for skin, & all that a man has, he will give for his life. (To give thy faithful Servant Job his due) He bears his Losses yet, with that Submission, As I expected none in his condition Could well ha' done; for by this time I thought The Bitter Potion would a shrewdly wrought. But yet when I consider these mean Creatures, Whom thou call'st men, I do observe their Natures To be above all things most prone to live, For Skin for Skin, all they possess they'll give For one hours' breath: so yet thy Servant Job, Because, as of his goods, I cannot rob Him of his life, truly he doth dispense With loss of these, since the convenience Of breathing is allowed him still; I know The man is in great misery, and wo. His Losses do oppress his Spirits sore, Yet as a Ship-wrack'd-man, when got ashore, Glad to have 'scap'd with life, doth soon forget His losses, and though wearied, faint, and wet To the next Village he'll a begging go. (For men will rather beg than die we know) So Job, though stripped of all, yet still in health, Already has forgot his former wealth: So glad he's yet alive, he has forgot The loss of Children, Honours, Fame, what not! He with Contentment begs and eats his bread, And only sighs for those are lately dead: Nay now he with some ease doth spend his years, Because he's free of all his former cares. But p●●●●●● now, great God, stretch out thy Hand, 5. But stretch now out thine hand, and touch his bones, and his flesh to see if he will not blaspheme thee to thy face. And touch his Body, let me but demand This favour of the once for all, and then I'll make this Job of all the Race of Men The most impatient, then thou'st quickly see What is his true Opinion of thee: For with his pains I'll alter soon the case, And make him curse thee to thy very face. Then says the Lord his Person's in thy hand, 6. Then the Lord said unto Satan, he is in thy hand, but save his life. But save his Life I strictly do command: And thou shalt surely see all thy designs Soon disappointed by his countermines Of Piety, and Patience. Out flies the Devil, and instantly doth fall 7. So Satan departed from the presence of the Lord, and smote job with fore boils, from the crown of his head, to the sole of his foot. On Job by Execution Personal: He baits his Body with a thousand sores, And makes an humour issue from its pores So pestilentious, hot, and purulent, So foul, so loathsome, and so virulent, As soon his Body doth appear all o'er To be but one continued scabby sore. Merciful Heavens! What a sad sight is here! 8. And job took a potsherd to scrape him, and he sat down among the ashes. Powdered with Ulcers Job doth now appear, All Comforts, and Subsistence from him taken, His Body with a scorching▪ Fever shaken Of loathsome sores:— what shall this poor▪ man do, Thus cruciat in Mind. and Body too! Why patiently he sits on Dung, and As●●s, Not bursting out in angry fits, and flashes As in like case a many sure would do, But, with a piece of broken pitcher now He scrapes the putrid matter from his sores, And silently his sad Estate deplores. But all th' efforts of cruel Poverty 9 Then said his wise unto him, dost thou continue yet in thy uprightness, blaspheme God, and die. With Heavenly thoughts, and smiles of Piety, One of undaunted spirit will make sweet, Though he can neither have to drink, nor eat. Diseases of the Body often too Afford such thoughts, as Health will scarce allow Our Entertainment: for when free of pains, And in the oozy channels of our Veins Our Blood flows smoothly, than we think on pleasures, On Honours, and in hoarding foolish Treasures; And on these things we rest, like silly ●ops, Feeding our Minds with vain fantastic hopes. But when Diseases on our Bodies seize, And in our Veins our Blood begins to freeze: When th' motion of our Pulse seems at a stand, Scarce to be felt ●y the Physician's hand: When with excessive pains our Bones do ache, And all the Pillars of our Bodies shake: With pious thoughts than we ourselves soulage, And by such lenitives abate the rage Of our Distemper: whilst we ●eem to be In love with sickness: and would not be free From pa●n, that we may still have fair occasions To raise the value of our meditations. Yes sore Diseases, loss of all that's dear, An upright man will patiently bear, No outward sorrow can his Mind depress, Providing he enjoy domestic peace. But O when one with sore Afflictions vexed In Mind, and Body grievously perplexed, Endures debates at home, additional To all these Plagues, sure this is worst of all. (For O how wretched must be that Man's Life, That's poor, and sick, and has a scolding Wife) This was the posture, this the present state Of this good Man, who did enjoy of late All happiness on Earth: and here alace To consummate the strangeness of his case He losses, after all, domestic peace. For now his Wife, who should in that sad state, With all the suggred words appropriate To that kind Sex, have mitigate his grief, And from her very Eyes have smiled relief To her afflicted Husband, in this case, (The true design of Wedlock) she alace, Enraged with grief, extravagantly sad, And for her losses furiously mad, Stead of allaying of her Husband's woe, Seems to augment it. Her loss she so impatiently bears, So like a Woman, such a flood of Tears Falls from the well-stored Sources of her Eyes, Which, with her passion constantly do rise: Her Breasts she so doth beat, so tears her Hair, And by her gestures now doth so declare Her discontent, whilst all this while she sits By him on Dunghill: That at length her Wits Appear to be disordered: for she now Upbraids her Husband, and demands him how He so could bear his losses.— Well, she says, And must we now in our declining days, We, who have lived in plenty formerly, Become content with want and penury? Must we yet live? O must we thus survive The loss of all, that's dear to those alive— Yet live— live— only that we may endure, Such miseries as never Mortals sure Before this time did feel!— yet live to see The Vulgar gazing both on thee, and me As horrid spectacles of Heavenly wrath! — Yet live— that we may only wish for Death! Yet live!— to swim in oceans of Tears! And whine away a few unhappy years! Why this is madness!— madness!— yes— to me It appears madness in th' extreme degree, Why Husband then, she says, since all's now lost, How mean 〈◊〉 look▪ in th●●▪ dear friend, to boast Of a fantastic, sullen patience, A Virtue, which no man of common sense Of Wit, or Honour ever yet esteemed, A passive dulness, hardly to be named But with some indignation!— patience! Why here's a thing indeed— must thou dispense With loss of all, only t' obtain the name Of patient, i'th' Records of future Fame! And this forsooth thou must call uprightness, Why here's a stubborn humour I confess: A thing unworthy of a man of Wit A poor contented humour, only fit For luteous Spirits!— still to bear respect To Heavens great Prince, who doth thy cries neglect, Who laughs at all thy pitiful addresses, In these sad times, and openly professes Himself thy enemy; nor will he hear Thy most refined, importuning Prayer. Yet still thou'lt trouble Heavens, and spend thy time In this unpleasant, and ill-sounding Chime I'th' ears of our great God, from such as thee, Whom he, who is not blind may plainly see, He doth abhor: yet thou wilt still proceed, And call to Heaven still, as if indeed Thy bare Devotion could afford us Bread. Then, to conclude, says she, let me advise Him, whom I dearly love, to be more wise, Then thus persisting in his uprightness, To loss himself by his own wilfulness. Dye rather then, she says, if thou'd be free, From the sad pressures which now torture thee; Do, yes, do something that deserveth death, By Law, and unto Justice yield thy Breath. For rather than thou should on Dunghill lie, A Spectacle to every one goes by, I'd have thee fairly curse thy God, and die. O the sad pangs of an afflicted life! 10. But he said unto her thou speakest like a foolish woman, what shall we receive good at the hands of God, and not receive evil, in all this job did not sin with his lips. That one should hear such language from his wife. Such language, as would make this man despair, But that he has a better Comforter, Who bids him hope: to this shrewd Harangue then, He thus makes answer. Thou talk'st like foolish Girl, says he, why Woman, God in his mercy is obliged to no Man: For all the kindness he did ere extend To man, or will do to the world's end Is not th' effect of merits, but indeed From his own goodness solely doth proceed. 'Tis true, dear Wife, he favoured us of late With a fair Issue, and a great Estate; But pray dost think, because he did allow Such Favours to us then, that he should now Indulge us with his former bounty too. Shall we ourselves no better understand Than to be taking good things from his hand, Like Children, with a canine Appetite, And hang upon his table with delight, And Complaisance, while he affords us food, As if he were obliged to do us good Perpetually, and not also take Ill from him kindly for his Justice sake▪ Then, trust me, Woman, what our God has done In our concerns is very just, and none But fools will of his Actions complain, Since he who gives may freely take again. For shame let us then, who Prosperity Have seen, now God has sent Adversity, Bear all our Griefs▪ and Losses patiently. By this officious Fame had published 11 Now when jobs three friends heard of all this evil that was come upon him, they came every one from his own place, Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite, and Zophar the Naamathite, for they had made an appointment together to come to mourn with him. The news of Jobs Afflictions and spread, Strange stories of his losses every where, Which when three worthy Gentlemen did hear, His Blood-relations, (but what yet was more His Friends) they did most heartily deplore His sad condition from their very soul, And so would make a Journey to condole With him in his affliction: for this end, They Messengers did to each others send, Appointed where their meeting place should be, From whence they in a body might go see Their now distressed Friend, whom formerly They had beheld in great Prosperity. Their Names were Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite, Zophar the Naamathite; Men of great wit and parts, and certainly In their own Countries of great quality. Now we must think that Job was all alone, 12 And when they lift up their eyes afar off, and knew him not, they lift up their voice, and wept, and they rend every one his mantle, and sprinkled dust upon their heads toward heaven. For by this time his Wife was surely gone, To shift i' th' Country for convenience, Not able to subsist on patience, But had (good Lady) now determined Not to return to what she once did wed▪ For good and evil, for her Jointure now Was gone, and all the Expectation too Of her afflicted Husband's Restauration, Which made her soon abandon him in passion. When then his friends did to the place draw nigh, Where the afflicted man did pensive lie; When first they see his face they were afraid, And thought their guide had possibly betrayed Them by some trick, and stead of their old friend, Had brought them there to see some Ghost, or Fiend. But when anon they did perceive 'twas he, 'T was he indeed, whom they did mean to see, How sadly then they mourned! how sore they weeped, Rend all their clothes, and on their heads they heaped Great quantity of dust, as is the fashion In those parts to express their Lamentation. Then down beside him on the ground they sat, 13 So they sat down with him on the ground seven days, and seven nights, and none spoke a word to him, for they saw that his grief was very great. Where seeing how his grief was dumbly great, In Complaisance they also silence keep't. Seven Days, and Nights, and only sighed, and weeped. But when they spoke, the comfort they did bring Was little better, than his female thing Afforded lately: for we soon shall see Those wise men with their Patient disagree; And fly in passion, whilst they constantly Maintain a point, which Job doth still deny. That man lives not on earth, who never errs, Good men may sometimes be bad Comforters. Cap. III. BUt when much time they had in silence spent, 1. After this job opened his mouth, and cursed his day. At length Jobs Turned up Sorrow must have vent Else he will burst— His Heart with strong fermenting Grief oppressed, Can now maintain its Post within his Breast No longer, overpowered with numerous woes, Who now began its passages to close, With th' Rubbish of his Body, which was now Propped up, and kept in joints with much ado. For all th' assistance Sighs and Groans could make, In pumping up his Sorrows seemed to weak, Against such swelling Griefs; though he appears T'have voided much in cataracts of Tears, Which all this while had issued from his Eyes; Yet if not rescued quickly by supplies Of cleansing words▪ and passionate expressions, (Which most alleviate Grief at such occasions) he's gone.— When then he saw that he was forced to speak, Before his Heart should all in pieces break, He thus began.— Cursed be the day, says he, 2. And job spoke, and said, That to the World brought such a Wretch as me, O thrice accursed be that unlucky day, On which the Sun in complementing Ray, Made its first visit, and with smile did see, In Infant posture such a thing as me. Pregnant with grief than he begun to cry 3. Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said there is a man child conceived. I'th'extream labour of his Agony,— Let the day perish wherein I was born, And ne'er be named hereafter but with scorn. Let the night, says he, in which it was said A Man child is Conceived by overspread With a perpetual Cloud of darkness, spite Of Fire and Tapers, Lamps and Candle-light. In darkness let my Birthday have its shrine, 4. Let that day be darkness, let not God regard it from above▪ neither let the light shine upon it. Let Heavens great Light no more upon it shine, Let Providence of that day take no care, Let it be dashed out of the Calendar. Let it be wrapped up in a horrid Wreath, 5. Let darkness and the shadow of death slain it, let a cloud dwell upon it, let the blackness of the day terrify it. Of its own colours, let the shade of Death Mantle that fatal day, let sable cloud, I●s Noon-tide glory in sad darkness shroud. Let Astrologues, when they the Year survey, Mark that with Rubric, as a dismal day, 6. As for that night, let darkness seize upon it, let it not be joined to the days of the year, let it not ●●me into the num●●● of the months. Let everlasting darkness damn that night, Which was by too officious Candle light Assisted, when any Mother did cry out, And for my sake did in great labour shout. O that same dismal night! that night! that night! O that unhappy night! which with despite I'll ever name. O that accursed night, let it be known, To prying Devils, and wand'ring Ghosts alone. Nay let it never so much honour bear, As t'usher in the meanest day o' th' year. Let other nights with it no Commerce keep: In it let never mortal Creature sleep: Let all the other months o' th' year abhor This cursed night, and ne'er allow it more The former freedom of their Corporations, Nor ever name i● in their Computations. O that abominable night! that dire, 7. Let that night be solitary, let no joyful noise be heard therein. And cruel point of time! let never Fire Shine in that night! O let it never be From falling Stars, and stinking Vapours free. Let such as do intend in Jollity To spend some hours in cheerful Company Abhor that fatal Season, and delay Their merry meetings to the break of day. Let all, who in extreme necessity, 8. Let them curse it that curse their day, being ready to renew their mourning. Abhor the hour of their Nativity Here bring their Curses, and with great despite, Throw thousand Maledictions on that night.— — O that thrice damned night!— let all conclude That night,— that only must be understood T' have truly been the night in all the year, In which their dreadful woes did first appear. That fatal night,— that night,— that woeful night, 9 Let the stars of the twilight thereof be dark, let it look for light, but have none, neither let it see the dawning of the day. O let it never be adorned with Light. The Stars, which in its twilight do appear Let them a sullen Russet Livery wear, Whilst thoseof all the other nights shine clear. O let the hopes of that unpitied night Be disappointed, whilst Heavens Glorious Light Disdains its fulsome Vapours to dispel, But leaves it, as he found it, black as He●●. Because it Sealed ●ot up my Mother's Womb, 10. Because it shut no●●p the doors of m● mother's womb, 〈◊〉 hid sorrow from ne'er eyes. That in that Cell I might ha' found my Tomb, That so I ne'er a living Soul had been, And those poor Eyes had ne'er such sorrow seen. Ah why was I not stifled in the Birth! 11. Why did I not die from the womb? why did I not give up the ghost, when I came from the belly. Why did my unkind Mother bring me Forth! Why was I not in Gobbets cut for shame, That such a Monster from the Belly came! But O, since my poor Mother was constrained 12. Why did the knees prevent me, or why the breasts that I should suck. To cast me out, what further than remained, But that those Women, who were present there, Had laid my Body in the open Air. Would, when she was of me Delivered, The Midwife than had knocked me in the Head. Would she had on the Pavement let me fall▪ Or, with main force, had dashed me 'gainst the wall. O would she— would she had done any thing, Might ha' prevened my present suffering. Nay, since we think that some of those can guests, From th' Infant's forehead of its future case, Could she not have discovered in my face My present state!— could she not plainly see What a sad creature I in time should be! Yes— sure she did:— O then why did she not In kindness to me cut my tender Throat! Alas how the good woman was to blame,, That did not kill me, to prevent my shame! O why did women on their unkind knees Lay me, as soon as born!— O why did these Linens, and Swaddling clothes for me provide, Whilst had they left me naked, I had died. Why did the Breasts in feeding Liquor flow, And offer suck to such an Embryo! For, but for these unhappy Courtesies, 13. For now I should have lain still, and been quiet, & should have slept, then had I been at rest. Those most unseasonable Civilities, Now in earth's bosom I had lain at rest And not been with those, akeing woes oppressed. I might ha'sleeped with Kings and Counsellors, 14. With Kings and Counsellors of the earth, who built desolate places for themselves. Who, in their lives erected costly towers, And Pyramids, in Deserts, to proclaim By such wild Trophies, how they courted fame. With Princes that had Silver heaped in store, 15. Or with Princes that had gold, who filled their houses with silver. And keeped their Chests brimful with precious Ore, The grand Horseleeches of the Universe, Th' earth's high, and most Illustrious Scavengers. Who, with what Nature gave them, not content, Do rack her Bowels for her Excrement. Why as untimely Birth was I not hid, 16. Or as an hidden untimely birth, I had not been, as infants, who never see the light. And with some kindly toillet covered! Or as a still born Child, who sees no light, Wrapped in the dusky Blankets of the night! But O that all things should ha' contribute 17. There the wicked cease from troubling▪ there the weary be at rest. Thus to destroy me! since, without dispute, Had I then died, my happiness had been As great this very day as is my pain. For I had now secure from trouble sleeped, And in the silent grave my quarter keep't. I— in the grave— the grave to be envied, And wished beyond all Palaces beside. 'Tis there, 'tis there, 'tis there where only all The groaning world themselves can happy call. There both those who oppressed, and were oppressed On earth, enjoy uninterrupted rest. There all are Friends: there all our Picques and Jars, Our Plots, our Foreign, and our Civil Wars Lie buried with us; I, we all appear To be so many dormant Brethren there. The boisterous Tyrant, who in life did rage, To whom no sleep could give an hours Soulage; Who betwixt King, and Prisoner spent his years, Amidst a thousand jealousies and fears: In death's cold arms when he encircled lies, he's free from all his Royal Miseries. The valiant Warrior, who, in life, enjoyed But little rest, and was most part employed In action, ready still to march, or fight, And knew no difference betwixt day, and night: Free from Alarm of Trumpets, under ground He sweetly sleeps, until last Trumpet sound. Poor Prisoners, who were in life distressed, 18, There the Prisoners rest together, they hear not the voice of the oppressor. And by their cruel Creditors oppressed, In grave together comfortably rest. No Usurer against them doth declare In Court, no Action lies against them there. Free from the gingling noise of Chains, and Keys, And weekly threatenings, for their weekly Fees, In Death's low Rooms the Wretches sleep with ease. There, there both poor, and rich, both low and high 19 The small and great are there, and the servant is free from his master. Princes, and Peasants undistinguished lie. Those, who in life imagined, they excelled All others, and with vain Opinion swelled Of their own parts, do in the grave appear But even as those, whom they call Dunces here. The Servant there is from his Master free, No former quarrels make them disagree. The slave, who all his life-time made no gain, But what he earned betwixt the whip and chain, Who oft his freedom would, with tears, demand, And longed to be turned by his Master's hand, But still denied, in grave that blessing hath, And only owes his liberty to death. O Death!— who can thy Excellence declare! What state of life can we with thine compare! In life we waste a few unhappy years, In a continued Labarinth of tears, 'Twixt envy, and compassion here we breath, Preferring worst estate of life to death. For O this notion of life, this bare, And mean conception of a breathing here, Doth in our wanton ears so sweetly sound, That we abhor the thoughts of underground. Fools▪ who'd be rather tossed 'twixt wind and wave, Than sleep on Bed of Roses in the grave! Whilst all bedaubed with sweat in noon-tide-light, Does not the wearied Labourer long for night? That free from toil, he may enjoy, at best, But the poor Favour of a few hours rest. Though quickly roused, before the Sun appear, With morning-blush upon our Hemisphere. he's forced again to toil.— Then O how much, then o how much should those, Who in this sleep of life find no repose, Wish sor the sleep of death, in which they may, Beyond the fear of interrupting day, Though thunder round this lower world should roar, Sleep undisturbed, while Heavens shall be no more. Then why should one be thus compelled to live, 20. Wherefore is light given to him that is in misery, and life to the bitter in soul? That fain would die? Why should th' Almighty give A Lease of Life to one, who seriously Hates it so much that he doth long to die! For what is life to one, that's destitute Of all the favours it can contribute? What man is he on earth that can be able, When of what even doth make it tolerable This life is spoiled, ah who is he, who then For love of life would suffer so much pain As I endure.— Then why should one desire to live, who lies Environed with a thousand miseries? A wretched man,— a man, who hardly knows What life is now▪— only he doth suppose, By th' figure of his present suffering, This life must be some very naughty thing. Some naughty thing!— yes sure it must be such, 21. Who long for death, but it cometh not, and dig for it more than for hid treasures. As wise men never can despise too much: A thing it is esteemed by none, but Fools A thing, which Boys are even taught at Schools To undervalue: nay each man doth boast Himself the bravest, who contemns it most. The Cob▪ web-product of a toiling breath Never complete, while finished by Death. A silly toy, which, as we come to years, Still to us more ridiculous appears. 'Tis true this lise bestows all empty pleasures On men on earth, it gives them Honours, Treasures, Revenge, and Success, yes these Life doth give, For which these Airy Fools desire to live. As those who dream to sleep; but after all; When they on serious Contemplation fall: When their own minds do tell them all is vain, Which they thought here was Permanent,— O then O then how they abhor this Life, and fain Would be out of its Intrigue: yes at length, When they perceive how all their wit, and strength Is baffled by some pitiful disease, Which on their bodies then begins to seize: Lord how they be vexed, and penitently think Of Life, as men next morning after drink; When the sad pleasures of their Cups now make Their Stomaches sick, their Heads with horror ache: I then, as these their Cups, so these abhor Their Lives, and swear they'll never love them more. But wearied of the Inconvenience Which Life affords, with great Impatience, O how they long to be a trudging hence, With groans they hast the Journey of their breath, And never rest till they arrive at Death. Should any then extravagantly sad, 22. Who rejoice exceedingly, and are glad when they find the grave. As I am now, be yet alace so mad, As wish to live!— no sure, or if he do, That man deserves no pity— For a poor living man, with grief oppress●t, I— horrid grief,— should have in mind no rest, Whilst clogged with Fetters of a lingering Breath, But, in his Torments, force resisting Death; Yes, and in Joys mad excess, fond rave, When he's so happy, as to find his Grave. Then why is Life upon a man bestowed, 23. Why is light given to a man who is hid, and whom God hath hedged in? That would of Death be insolently proud! Of Death— I and esteem that favour more, Then all the Blessings he enjoyed before. — O then, kind Death, now let me see thy Face: O wilt thou me in thy cold Arms embrace: Make haste— make haste, for I'm with Life oppressed, If thou hast any love for me, make haste, Haste,— haste,— for Heaven sake— haste— For why is Life upon a man bestowed, To whom his God no Comfort hath allowed! Why should I be condemned to Live, when all What in this World I could Pleasure call Is gone:— when Felons are allowed to Dye, After the Fisque has stripped them,— why should I Not yet,— not yet convict of any Crime, Bear the sad threatenings of insulting Time! — Insulting Time! that doth my Case proclaim, Whilst gentle Death would cover all my shame. Then let me die,— yes die— and never more 24. For my sighing cometh before I eat, and my roar are poured out like the waters. The benefit of a poor Life implore: — Of a poor Life, a Life so poor and mean, A Life so larded with sad grief, and pain, As if his mortal foe a man would curse, All his invention could not wish him worse, Than I am now,— then I am— ay— sad I Who, that I may be sadder, must not die. — Lord how my Sighs— with force ingeminate Pump up whole floods of Tears, which, when I eat, Are now the only Sauces to my Meat. For, from my Eyes, these, as from Waterspout Like Rain: swollen Torrents, issue always out. Then let me die,— O let me quickly die 25. For the thing which I greatly feared, is come upon me, and that which I was afraid of is come unto me. As others do, and not so cruelly Be forced thus to survive my Loss, and see Under the Heavens no sinful man, like me. No sinful man,— no none of all that Race So much oppressed as I am— none alace Of Heaven's foes suffering so much as I, Who lived by th' Laws, and Rules of Piety: As I, who always studied to shun Those Courses, which a many Mortals run: As I, who always shunned to give occasion To my (indeed kind God) of provocation: But now I plainly see my former Zeal And Piety could not with him prevail T' avert this blow— no— no— my clouds of Prayers Are now dissolved in deluges of Tears▪ And I must suffer now what never man Endured before me, since the world began. Indeed in th' affluence of my former bless, I still would fear this sad Catastasis: And these same thoughts did so my Spirit seize, As, in the night time my o'er wearied eyes Had little sleep: for I could ne'er endure In all my prosperous time, to live secure, As some, who on their earthly Blessings rest, Which makes me so uneasily d●gest My present troubles.— O then let me die For since alace my ●eal and Piety, My Prayers, my Tears, my daily Offerings Could not prevent my present Sufferings: How should I think they can me extricate Out of this sad, and miscrable state. Then let me die— O let me die again— I beg it, Lord— let me be out of pain At any rate— let not thy dreadful wrath Deprive me of the benefit of death; As it has done of all things here below, N●— my good God— permit it not, for so I shall in horror live, and possibly, After long sufferings, in despair shall die. O let me die then— for thy mercy's sake, Lord let me die— and force me not to take Those resolutions, which some other men Would take, if in such misery, and pain. — Burst then, poor heart— O split— burst speedily, That I may have the happiness to die. — To die, and then I know my Maker's wrath For all this, will be by my single death Quickly appeased, and in the grave I shall Rest sweetly free of troubles, after all. O death, what mortal can thy worth esteem! Who's he can thy intrinsic value name! All states of life are daily to be sold, But thou death art not, to be had for gold▪ Though th' world of life but one great mercat be, Yet all's bought up, and there's none left for me, But that, which even mad men would abhor: Then why should I this life keep any more. — This life— this hellish life— O now, kind death Ease me of this, and take my parting Breath. Then burst, sad heart— what cannot all my Art Be able yet to burst one broken heart! — Yes sure— burst quickly— let me quickly die, And in this ugly ●●unghill, where I lie Let me be buried— but, my Friends, take heed My Body with much earth be covered. Under a heap of stones, lest Labouring Men Digging this Dung hill in the Season, when They dung their grounds, should find my Carcase here, For if uncovered▪ will infect the Air. PART II. Cap. IU. JOB having thus attempted to express 1. Then Eliphaz the Temanite answered and said, That inward grief, which did his Soul oppress, One of his three Friends, Eliphaz, by name, Did him thus tartly for his passion blame. Should we, says he, with thee expostulate, 2. If we essay to commune with thee, wilt thou be grieved? but who can withhold himself from speaking. And, on the matter, enter in debate; We see the heat of thy impatience Is such, as our discourse may give offence. Yet though thou should▪ st be vexed, and curse us all, As thou hast done thy birthday, nothing shall Make us forget our duty (for reprove The errors of a man we so much love; We must indeed) then pray who can forbear To answer thee, when such discourse we hear Of thy great zeal, and piety of late, Thy grace thy virtue, and I know not what, By which thou'd make us think forsooth, that he Who cannot act unjustly, punished thee Without a fault preceding— very fair, Pray, who with patience can such language hear? Should in our hearing one of God complain Unjustly and from answering we abstain? No, no, my friend, we came not here indeed, 3. Behold thou hast taught many▪ and hast strengthened the wearied hands To hear thee in thy Passions exceed The rage of madmen▪ or allow thee so To cry, and overact a man of woe. For shame— how mean a thing it is to see Thy mind thus discomposed, that such as thee Whose eminent prudence▪ virtue, piety And long experience o'th' world's vanity, We thought had taught thee to know better things, That such as thee, in foolish murmurings Should bluster thus.—— Thou who didst others in affliction teach 4. Thy words have confirmed him who was falling, and thou hast strengthened the we●k knees. How to behave, would to them patience preach, And how with crosses they should be content, Thyself to become thus impatient! Thou, who in troubles others hast restored Canst thou no comfort to thyself afford? Others thou'd check, when in Adversity, 5. But now it is come upon thee, and thou art grieved, it toucheth thee, and thou art troubled. As thou dost now, they'd passionately cry, And curse their Birthday, as thou now hast done; Afflictions at length are come upon Thyself, and thou art grieved, it toucheth thee I'th' quick, and thou art all in flames, we see. Where's now thy fear of God? thy confidence 6. Is not this thy fear, thy confidence, thy patience, and the uprightness of thy ways? In him? thy Uprightness? thy Patience? Where are those Virtues now?— what— be they fled, At such time, as thou most of them hast need? Why shouldst, my friend, like madman then cry out, 7. Remember I pray thee, whoever perished being innocent, or where were the upright destroyed. In view of all thy Neighbours round about? And set out thy condition, with such Art, As if, without cause, thou afflicted were't? Have not thy sins called for thy punishment? Prithee forbear then this thy vain Complaint, Who ever perished being Innocent? Pray, call to mind how thou hast lived before, As other sinners, and complain no more. Revise the Annals of thy former time, And thou wilt surely find the hidden Crime, For which we all of us perceive indeed Thou now art most severely punished. Consider this pray, and without debate, 8. As I have seen those that plough iniquity, and sow wickedness, reapthe same. Thou'lt not so with thy God expostulate. He acts according to most upright Laws, And punishes no man, without a Cause. But I've observed that Antecedent sin, (How slow soever) still doth usher in Punishment to itself proportionate, Which still attends the sinner, soon, or late. So, in his Judgement on his sins may read, And see the Cause, from whence his woes proceed. For I have often seen that such as Blow Your heathy Ground, and corrupt Seed do Sow, For all their Labours, when their Harvest came, They'd Reap no other, but the very same. Vain men! who, cause not punished instantly, 9 With the blast of God they perish, and with the breath of his nostrils they are consumed. Mistake forbearance for indemnity: At least they think, when Judgements God designs, He'll be so kind, as by some outward Signs, To give them Warning, and proclaim the War, By th' Heraldry of some Portentous Star▪ In praevious threatenings he'll the work begin, And not surprise them napping in their sin: So, ere th' arryval of their punishment, They may have some small leisure to repent, By which perhaps they may these ills prevent. Poor fools, who grossly do themselves abuse With such wild notions, as if God should use What methods they prescribed, and give them time First to Commit, then mourn for every Crime. But let's suppose that God Almighty now To Sinning men such warnings should allow In that case, pray what would these wretches do? Would they repent? I doubt they would not:— nay I think they'd rather crave a longer day; That they might mourn, with more convenience, And so perhaps some hours, ere they go hence, They'd drop a Tear, or two, and openly Confess, what they no longer dare deny, So fraught with hopes, and sins, they'd shrewdly die. Thus than we see to warn, and to surprise Is all one thing, for no man, while he dies Thinks on Repentance, and it may be then With a few putting words, oppressed with pain, He'll say he's truly grieved to think upon His former Actings, and begin anon To settle his affairs; and possibly Emit some pious groans before he die. Vain, hoping sinner! on what grounds should he Thus make account? when we may daily see How when a many swell with boisterous Pride, And undervalue all Mankind beside▪ Death, or Destruction suddenly appears, And pulls them out o' th' world by the Ears. For instance see some proud imperious thing, 10. The roaring of the lion, and the voice of the lioness, and the teeth of the lion's whelps are broken. Amongst its Neighbours keep such Revelling, As Lions, and their Brood's in Forests do Amongst their Fellow bruits: for mark but how, By the same Law, as those do bear away What e'er they find, proclaiming it their prey, So the oppressing wretch, under pretence Of Law, and Justice, by plain violence, Seizes on all his Neighbours Lands around, And then with Lawsuits doth them so confound, They're glad at length for Aikers to compound, And be his Tenants. Yet for all his Pride, When in Oppressions triumph he doth Ride, God strikes this lofty Tyrant on the Face, And lays him i'th' Dust, with all his cursed Race. As dead he lies, and no man doth bemoan him, 11. The lion petisheth for lack of prey, and the lion's whelps are scattered abroad. From every corner Pleas break out upon him: All those, whose means by force he did retain, Are soon restored to their own again. Then this poor Lion starves, for lack of food, Nor pity him, although he roar aloud, And all his Whelps are scattered here, and there To ●ake the Dunghill, for their daily fare. But now, my friend, that thou may'st not suppose 12. But a thing was brought to me secretly, and mine ear received a little thereof. Those words to be my own, I must unclose The Secrets of my Heart, and plainly tell What God, of late, did to my Soul reveal. About the time, when Mortals wearied, 13. In the thoughts of the vision of the night, when sleep falleth on man. With anxious Thoughts, do tumble in their Bed, And one small nap after another catch, As if they did not mean to sleep, but watch. Fear came upon me, terrors did assemble, 14. Fear came upon me, and dread▪ which made all my bones to tremble. Before me, which made all my joints to tremble; My nerves grew stiff, my heart did shrewdly beat, And I all o'er lay daubling in cold sweat. The winds did rage and bluster in my sight, 15. And the wind passed before me, and made the hairs of my flesh to stand up. Which made my hairs for fear, to stand upright, And all my flesh to quiver, nay my bones Keeped such a rattling, as a bag of stones Beat by an Artists hand, do what I please, I could not shun the grinding of my knees. Then see I one, whose face I did not know 16. Then stood one, and I knew not his face, an Image was before mine eyes, and in silence I heard a voice saying. Before my eyes appeared a glorious show, Which goodly sight did soon my fear allay, And horrid night to me became as day. So, when these thundering fears composed were, In serene silence I a voice did hear Which thus expressed itself.— Upon the earth, what mortal man is he, 17. Shall man be more just, than God, or shall a man be more pure than his maker? Can be more just than God; who e'er he be That in his own eyes thinks himself more pure Than is his maker, he mistakes it sure. For, when his very Angels he did check 18. Behold he found no stead fastness in his servants, and said folly upon his Angels. And them for folly sound did correct: When for his pride, one mighty Angel fell From highest Heavens to th' lowest pit of Hell, When in those heavenly creatures he did find No constancy according to his mind: Can sinful man, that mean, and silly tool, 19 How much more in them, that dwell in houses of clay, who● foundation is in the dust, which shall be destroyed before the moth. Who lives in Huts of clay be such a fool, As think he can perfection attain, To which, who ere Aspyres does toil in vain. He, who from dust derives his Pedigree, Composed of dust, who dwells in dust, shall he Pretend to that perfection in his pride, Which to his Angels God has even denied. Poor dying wretch! shall he, with those compare, Who dwell in heavens, and immortal are. Ah don't we see how vain man perisheth, 20. They be destroyed from the morning to the evening, they perish for ever without regard. And every day augments the rolls of death: He's always on his march, his Passing-bell From morn, to night doth, every minute, knell. Yet no man doth consider seriously The importance of this mortality. Do not their honours, with them, fly away? 21. Doth not their dignity go away with them? do they not die, and that without wisdom? And stoop to wasting time, as well, as they, Who did enjoy them? I their dignity Crumbles to dust, and when the wretches die, They drown i'th' Ocean of Eternity. Yet no man doth regard this, none so wise, As, after all this, once to cast his eyes Upon this subject, which so much concerns All men to know; yet never mortal learns The art of dying, though each hour we hear Sad lectures of it sounded in our ear; And every moment doth such means afford, As may instruct us, while death's raging sword To none gi●es quarter, but doth every day, Sweep us, and all our hopeful things away. For, as they live, alace how many dye, Pregnant examples o' th' world's vanity. Cap. V. COnsider then, and ponder well, I pray 1. Call now; if any will answer thee, and to which of the Saints wilt thou turn? These my discourses, mark me what I say: Thy plagues I see, indeed, are very great Yet is thy grief no less intemperate. Others have been and as thou art, now are, For thy condition is not singular. Many beloved of God, whilst here below, Have suffered more, than thou didst ere yet know, In mind, and body have endured much pain, Yet none of them, as thou didst, did complain. And where are all the Saints, who now enjoy Eternal rest? how did they here employ Their time, when plagues so thick upon them fell, Their lives became the Portraiture of Hell; Why none of them did rail, as thou dost now, But calmly would before their maker bow, And gently all their blows receive▪ none ere Of those did in their humours thus appear, As thou dost now. For, when a man doth in affliction lie, 2. Doubtless anger kills the foolish, and envy slayeth the Idiot. What boot'st him, like a child, to weep, and cry? Such houling, and repine sure are vain, And ●●ead of casing, do increase the pain. But I've observed when any man of wealth Is once deprived of riches, or of health: Although before he●'d seem to represent In all his actings something of a Saint. Yet than he cries, than he repines a main, Then he complains of poverty, and pain: O than he rails upon that providence, Which was, in former times▪ his sole defence. For now— all sorrow, wrath, and desperation He thinks on nothing less than restauration, Whereas before he thought he was so sure, His wealth to generations would endure. Well I have seen some Gallant in his pride 3. I have seen the foolish well rooted, and suddenly I eviled his habitation, saying. In●ulsly laugh at all the world beside▪ Fixed, and firme-rooted, as he did suppose, And proof against the battery of his foes, When, on a sudden providence would frown, And this same fool would tumble headlong down, With all his sins about him, in a trice, Killed by the fall from glories precipice. Then would I say this man deservedly 6. His children shall be far from salvation, they shall perish in the gate, and there shall be none to deliver them Doth fall, and with him all his family, Is leveled with dust, because he did In such vain, transitory things conside. For by fair justice he shall be destroyed, And all his unjust purchases made void, Then, after he has justly forfeit all, He, without pity shall most justly fall. Those, who are hungry shall eat up his grain, 5. The hungry shall eat up his harvest, yea they shall take it from among the thorns, and the thirsty shall drink up their substance. And reap the profit of his nine months' pain: Nay they shall sweep his grounds, and fields so clean As his poor children shall find nought to glean. The thirsty travellers, who for rain doth gape, Shall drink up all the substance of his grape. For thou must know afflictions do not come 6. For misery cometh not forth of the dust, neither doth affliction spring out of the earth. By accident, as is supposed by some, On any man, nor do Heavens noble laws Allow that any one without a cause Should suffer punishment,— no not at all, There's no such thing, as that you fortune call: 'Tis a mere notion, a device of men To palliate their sins, and entertain, A proud opinion of their innocence, And lay the blame of all on Providence, Which they call fortune, and conclude from thence When any are afflicted at the rate, As thou art now, that they're unfortunate, Unlucky, and I know not what— alace Why should we with such sopperies, as these, Abuse ourselves, when certainly we know, Who know there is a God, things are not so: But that our God doth formally arraign For every sin convict, and punish men. Then know— That no affliction comes by accident, 7. But man is born to travel, as sparks fly upward. But that all Judgements to our doors are sent By rule of Heaven's Court where information, Is made, and proved, preceding condemnation. Besides as sparks, by nature upwards fly, So man to sorrows born doth live and die; In a continued sweat of toil, and care, With dregs of anger, for his daily fare. Tortures of mind, and body all at once Do suck the marrow from his very bones: Nor can he pleasure to himself project, Or joy, and comfort, in this earth expect. Were I then in thy lamentable case, 8. But I would inquire of God, and turn my talk unto God. I'd not repine, but humbly make address, To my good God, from him I would demand A patient mind, and learn to understand From whence such floods of evils do proceed, And in my sorrows I my sins would read. To him alone myself I would apply, 9 Which doth great things, and unsearchable things without number. To whom the world belongs, who sits on High, To whom all Creatures in subjection are, Whose Jurisdiction doth exceed by far All Powers on Earth; who things unsearchable Performs, of which we are not capable To give a Judgement, things beyond our reach, Things, which to act no humane Art can Teach. 'Tis he, who makes the Rain from Clouds to fall, 10. He giveth rain upon the earth, and poureth rain upon the streets▪ By which the Earth made pregnant, yields us all Our Hearts can wish, affords us daily Bread, Drink, clothes, and Medicine, and what else we need For Maintnance of that Fabric, which he framed, To Lodge the Soul, and it the Body named. — The Body,— O a thing most excellent! For whose Subsistence, we should even torment Our Souls: a very precious thing indeed, That on the Labours of the Soul should feed! The Body! a mere piece of useful Dust Demised, for some time, to the Soul, in Trust. Though for its use, the too kind Soul, at best, Pays a severe, and dreadful Interest: Whilst to afford it pleasure, legally It forfaults its own true Felicity. What is't we hug then? what do we esteem? A dying thing, which scarce deserves a name! A thing, so long as Soul doth it inspire, Moves for a time, like Puppet on a Wire; That gone, it moves, it prats, it squeeks no more, But a dull piece of Clay, as't was before, Breathless, and Sapless on the Ground it lies, Yet, in its Fall, its Maker glorifies, As well, as in its Frame; because from thence, We learn what Honour, and Obedience We owe to him, who this fair Fabric raises, And by a Breath destroys it when he pleases. Besides, who'd not in Duty be exact, When still before his Eyes he sees the Rack, The Axe, the Gibbet, and in Mind doth feel Sad apprehensions of the dreadful Wheel? Is not our case the same? do we not see How many thousand, Shapes of Death there be Daily presented to our view to show. That after all, all to the Grave must go. From this fair Topick, let us argue then▪ He is our God, and we poor sinful men, Therefore since to him we owe Life, and Breath, We should live well, that, when invading Death Approaches, he may find us on our Guard, Not by his ghastly looks to be outdared. For though he seize the Body, yet on high The Soul shall live to perpetuity. 'Tis he, the mighty God, 'tis he alone, 11. And setteth up on high them that are low, that the sorrowful may be exalted to salvation. Who in the Heavens has set up his Throne, From whence he order all things, and doth raise This man to honours, and that man debase; That to th' afflicted he may comfort give, And make those, whom the world abhorreth live. The subtle plottings of our knowing men 12. He scattereth the devices of the crafty, so that their hands cannot accomplish that, which they do enterprise. He disappoints, and makes their projects vain: He laughs at all their consults, and despises— Both them, and all their silly state devises. So that what ere those Crocodiles project, Their Machinations never take effect. He spoils their counsels, and makes all their wit 13. He taketh the wise in their craftiness, and the counsels of the wicked are made foolish. Like salt, whose savour's lost, downright unfit For any thing, save at a round of Ale, To be the subject of some Country tale. For the World's wisdom in God's eyes is folly Their Art but th' product of dull Melancholy. Their reasoning is notional, and vain 14. They meet with darkness in the day time, and grope at noon-tide, as in the night. Erring in things even evident, and plain: Things manifest, things clear, as noon-tide-light, To them are dark, as to one in the night Who nothing sees, gropes, but no road can find, And stands confounded betwixt rain, and wind, Whilst at each justling shrub his joints do tremble. Thinking the Night-thieves, round him do assemble. Lord what is all we brag of then for what Keep we such toil on earth?— is't only that We may be thought more wise, than others are And be esteemed wits, 'tis very fair: A rare design indeed, well worth our pain, When after all we learn, or can retain All our fine wisdom in God's eyes is vain. For when our Politicians counsel take 15. But he saveth the poor from the sword, from their mouth, and from the hand of the violen▪ man. How they the just, and pious man may break, Partly by law, partly by violence, Th' Almighty soon appears in his defence: He rescues him from all their calumnies Their false Inditements, and the Batteries Of their foul mouths, and powerfully withstands The rude attaques of their all-seizing-hands, That grasp at person, chattels, fame, and lands. Thus from the snare the just man doth escape 16. So that the poor hath his hope, but iniquities shall stop his mouth. And saves his means, for which those fools did gape, As all had been even ready now to fall Into their hands: whilst the unjust Cabal Now disappointed of their former hope, Are forced at length, their ravenous mouth to stop, And all with shame confounded, to confess God's justice, and their own vile foolishness. Our God alone the just man's cause maintains, And with strong Bit, and seasonable Reins, He curbs the fury of th' oppressing beast, Who, to enrich himself, would lay all waste. Who formally denies that Laws were made For such as him, to check his roving trade: But boldly claims all that his arms can take And, in his Wars doth no distinction make Betwixt his Allies, and his open foes, But treats them all at the same rate, God knows, Our God shall sure attaque this foolish thing, Whilst all his friends do yet his triumphs sing, And 'midst his pleasures, make unwelcome death Rob him of both his Laurels, and his breath. Then since the case is thus, let's be content 17. Behold blessed is the man whom God correcteth, wherefore refuse not thou the chastiting of the Almighty. With whatsoever plague▪ or punishment Our God inflicts upon us, for, be sure, To such as us his kindness doth endure. O happy is that man, whom God corrects, And for his lewd, and sinful courses checks! Thrice happy he, whom, when his sin abounds, And makes him proud, God in his mercy wounds, And brings him low, that on his former state, In bed of sorrow he may meditate Counting what time he hath in folly spent, And, in return, how his sad punishment Makes all his balance. Let's then understand Ourselves▪ and patiently th' Almighty's hand Endure, and in our minds rest satisfied, That for our good, we're with afflictions tried. For as he gives the wound, with the same hand 18. For he maketh the wound and he bindeth it up, he smiteth & his hands make whole. He binds it up: he never wants a band, A Slave, a Plaster ready, in such cases, Which he applies to all th' affected places. He wounds, he cures, makes sick, and doth restore Men to their health; what can we ask for more? Though troubles upon troubles, woes, on woes 19 He shall deliver thee in six troubles, and in the seventh the evil shall not touch thee. Should tumble on us, as the Ocean flows: And the rude tempests of adversity Should drive us on the rocks of poverty; Where sure to suffer Shipwreck, we despair Of all relief, then will our God take care To rescue us, that so we may perceive 'Tis he alone, who doth his people save, Let's praise him then, pray to him, and obey His word, and we shall no more savage pay, When by oppression all our means seized 20. In famine he shall deliver thee from death, and in battle from the power of the sword. And we, and all our familyes are sqeesed Within the Compass of a hazle nut, For our Provisions, and our bread is cut, Like Sugar-tablets, in small lozanges, T'allay the hunger, which doth sore express Our little ones, and makes them often cry, With tears, for crumbs of bread, or else they die: Of which when each so hunger-starved, and pained In grains, and scruples has its dividend, These scrambling morsels rather do incite Then quash the fury of their appetite. Whilst thus, I say, we hunger-sick shall lie Under Death's Talons, and upbraidingly Our Enemies shall laugh out all around, Whilst we, and ours do tear the very Ground, For ●oots, and Vermin, or what ever may Detain the poor life but one single day; Then shall our God appear, and furnish store Of Bread for us, and all our Infants, more Than we could even ha' wished, and let us see Th' unjust for want of Food may die, but he Who trusts in God shall ne'er want sustenance, For I've been Young, in Age I now advance, Yet all my time I never could observe One man that feared our God for hunger starve. Nor could I ever see the just man's Seed Like those o'th' wickeds offspring, begging Bread. Nay when the men of War shall roar around us, And with their threatening Oaths shall so confound us, As we shall not know whether we should fly To save our Lives, and Goods— When the enraged Sword shall hew down all, And Old, and Young do by its fury fall; Then shall the Lord make Angels us Environ To Guard us from the blows o'th' dreadful Iron So, whilst behind, on both sides, and before The hungry steal, our Neighbours shall devour To us, and ours, God shall be Tutelar, And save us from all miseries of War. Nay further, when another Sword doth rage 21. Thou shalt be hid from the scourge of the tongue, and thou shall not be afraid of destruction when it cometh. And with us doth more cunningly engage; The Sword o'th' Tongue, then that of Steel, more fierce, (For this the Body, that the Soul doth pierce) A kill Sword, and yet invisible; A Sword, whose wound is inperceptible, By outward Signs: like Thunder, wounds the Heart, The Body still untouched in any part. A Sword that kills us always unprepared For fight, whose blows the bravest cannot ward. A Sword, that whet with Malice, day, and night Is still in Edge, yet ne'er within the sight Of him it wounds, the subtlest of all ills, Like Basilisk, unseen, it sees, and kills. An useless Sword in open fields, and tame, But in dark Rooms makes havoc of our Fame. The Champions, who this famous Sword do use A ●e the mere Dross of Nature, the Refuse Of Mankind, who by secret Calumnies, Foul Characters, false Oaths, and serious lies, Vain Apprehensions, Jealousies, and Fears, Endeavour to set all the World by th' Ears. Whilst the false decoys hug themselves to see The wished effects of their vile Treachery. Poor Caterpillars!— who 'cause no man can Find out their Wakes, escape th' revenge of man, Yet God has Spies on those malicious fools, Ferrets them out of all their lurking Holes, Though here they scorn the Ear, the Sight, the Scent, Yet God will bring such out to Punishment, Those ugly crawling Toads, with malice swelled Shall be at length destroyed in open field; To show how God abhors the very Race Of Backbiters, as they still shun the Face Of those they injure, and will vindicate The just from their aspersions soon, or late. From this same Sword, which others doth devour, Thou shalt be free, and fear its Edge no more, Than those, who in Proof-armour do not feel The furious Gashes of the Murdering Steel. But when both War, and Famine do appear, 22. But thou shalt laugh at destruction, and death, and shalt not be afraid of the beast of the earth. And Food shall be intolerably dear: When wicked men shall howl, and make a noise, For lack of Bread, thou freely shalt rejoice, And be of want of Meat no more afraid Than those, who have their Stores in Garners laid. The very stones o'th' field shall seem to be 23. For the stones of the field shall be in league with thee, and the beasts of the field shall be at peace with thee. At such time, in firm alliance with thee, And in their several stations shall produce Something, that to thy welfare may conduce: Each Beast its throat shall offer to the Knife, With emulation; to support thy Life. In fine shalt be so happy, thou shalt know 24. And thou shalt know that peace shall be in thy tabernacle, and thou shalt visit thine habitation, and shalt not si●. No want of any Blessing here below, Firm peace within thy walls, thy family Shall live with thee in perfect amity: All thy Relations shall thee kindly own, And to undo thy Fame shall join with none. As some, who on small Piques, and petty Jars Do lay foundations of fierce, lasting Wars; Against their nighest Friends, and Blood-Relations And will not hearken to accommodations: Whose wretched malice doth admit no change, But with a most implacable revenge, Pursue their foolish quarrels, never cease From Railing, and have in their Minds no Peace. No Wars like those amongst Friends, no Piques so hot, As those in the same Family begot: When Blood itself in several streams divides, And checks its common Course, by Counter-tides, Of Envy, Malice, Pride, Revenge, and Hate, O how much to be pitied is the State Of that accursed unhappy Family, Where such sad Piques have broke its Unity. Thou shalt be ignorant of all such, and scarce Think there are such things as domestic Jars, Thy Blood shall in a peaceful Channel flow, And all its Course no other Banks shall know, Than those of Love, and Friendship, all thy Life Shall have no Quarrels, and perceive no Strife. Shalt see thy loving issue multiply 25 Thou shalt perceive also that thy seed shall be great, and thy posterity as the grass of the earth. Into a fair, and numerous Family; Whose large extent should one intend to trace, Might as well reckon every pile of Grass That grows i'th' field, or calculate the motion Of waves, and billows in the foaming Ocean. Full fraught with years, at length thou shalt descend Into the pleasant grave, and put an end 26 Thou shalt go to thy grave in a fulage, as a rick of corn cometh in due season to the barns. To those enjoyments of thy mortal state, As those, who with their Feasting satiate Lie down to sleep, or as the Corn is brought Into the Barn, when it by time is wrought To full perfection: or as Fruits do fall From Trees when over-ripe: so truly shall Thy exit with felicity be crowned, And thou shalt sleep most sweetly under ground. Thus, friend, we have enquired, and thus have found, 27 Lo thus have we enquired of it, and so it is, hear this, and know it forty self. Nor is our Doctrine without solid ground. Thus than it is, if we be understood, For what we speak is only for thy good. Cap. VI AS prisoner at bar for crimes arraigned, ● 1 But job answered, and said, Hears his Indictment read, and is constrained To hold his peace, in such an exigent, Although he knows he's truly innocent, Of what he is accused, but after all He pleads not guilty, and begins to fall To his defence: so with attentive ear, Job all this while this reasoning did hear, Not interrupting, till at length his friend Of his so learned discourse had made an end: Then, as his sorrows would permit, he speaks, And argues thus. O, says he, that my ponderous griefs were weighed 2 O that my grief were well weighed, & my miseries were laid together in the balance. And all my miseries were in balance laid. Poised by a steady, and impartial hand, Then, my good friend, you soon would understand What is my case, what my disease, and pain, And how much reason I have to complain. It would be found most unsupportable, 3 For it would be now heavier than the sands of the seas, therefore my words are swallowed up. The sands with it were not comparable. No pain so great, no grief so heavy sure, As this, which I poor mortal do endure. I can't express it, I want eloquence, And cannot with that grace make my defence, As you accuse me, grief will not allow Me the same liberty of speech, as you Do use in your discourse: your figured words, And pretty Tropes, which like so many Swords, Cut out a passage for your arguments, And make a Lane for your unjust Complaints, T' oppress my Spirit, do your wit express, But what do all such Flowers of Art as these To one, in my condition signify, Who am already dead with misery? Why do you then accuse so dull a thing, That doth not understand your Reasoning? A silly Creature, that makes no defence, But only strives t' express its innocence, By pious Sighs; you had as good forbear Your Rhetoric, and with me drop a Tear, In kind compliance with my kill grief, To which your pointed words bring no relief, You see my case, beyond expression, sad Then why d'ye affliction to affliction add? See how th' Almighty's Arrows in my Heart 4. For the arrows of the Almighty are in me, the venom whereof drinketh up my spirit, and the terrors of God fight against me. Are fixed, beyond all remedy of Art. Th' envenomed Shafts have sucked my Moisture dry, And caused the Wounds they made, to putrify, Spreading a foul contagion every where, Yea even my very Soul they do not spare. Besides I feed a flame within my Breast, By which my pain is every hour increased, A flame that burns with heat, and violence, Beyond belief:— a flame of Conscience, A flame that makes us waste our days in fear, For who a wounded Conscience can bear? A wounded Conscience!— ah a dreadful thing! What Art can this express: whence shall I bring Similitudes to point it out! O whence Shall I bring homeward so much Eloquence, As to express a wounded Conscience! A Sting of Conscience!— O a horrid thing! Not the most virulent and sharpest Sting Doth hurt the Body, as this doth the Mind, No, no this Sting is of another kind, Then all your S●ings on Earth, no poisoned Dart, Composed by the subtlest Rules of Art, Makes such a wound, as doth a Conscience When God allows it once a perfect Sense Of its own Strength: then, than it wounds indeed, And makes the Heart of hardest Metal bleed. What tempered Steel can make a wound so deep, As doth a Conscience roused out of its sleep, By Divine Power, it Rages, Stairs, and Foams, Like one out of his Wits, that haunts the Tombs, It Stings, it Bites, it Pierces, Cuts, and Strikes Practising all the Feats of Lunatics: For when of sin we have a lively sense, No Torment with a frighted Conscience Can be compared. Yet this, this Torment I endure, alace, There's none can pity one in such a case, But, he that hath the like affliction known, And so can guests my Torment by his own. Why do you then condemn my just Complaint 5. Doth the wild ass bray, when he hath grass? or loweth the ox when he has fodder? As if it did exceed my Punishment? Why so severe, to vex a poor forlorn Unhappy wretch, as ever yet was born? A thing, Of which my Country is ashamed, And thinks not fit that I should ere be named, Hereafter, but as Malefactors are, Who suffer for their Crimes, with shame, and fear. Indeed you try me by too Bloody Laws, When you affirm I cry without a cause. Pray does the wild Ass bray, and make a noise, When it has Grass for Pasture, at its choice? Does the Ox Low, when Fodder lies before it, Or cease from Lowing, whilst it doth implore it. D' ye think I'm proud of suffering? God knows 6. That which is unsavoury, shall it be eaten without salt? or is there any taste in the white of an egg? I take no pleasure to express my woes. I had as ●●●ve be silent, but that you Force me to speak, because you won't allow Me to sigh out my Breath, and hid my Face Amongst those ashes, whilst I hold my peace. Can any man take pleasure in his pain? Or by stupendious Poverty make gain? No sure, no more than you'll with pleasure eat, White of an Egg, or such unsavoury Meat, Without some Salt; such my affliction is, And needs no help of this periphrasis, T' express its nature: such my Sorrows are, With which no Earthly Torments can compare For what my Soul did formerly abhor, 7. Such things as my soul refused to touch, as were ●●rrows, are my me●●. Is now my Meat, what I disdained before To touch is now to me familiar, And (O sad change!) my only daily Fare. O then that God would grant me my request, 8. O that I might have my desire, and that God would grant me the thing I long for. And what I long for would vouchsafe at least: O that with my strong wishes he'd comply, And kindly suffer me at length to die! To die!— O that's the thing, which I desire. 9 That is that God would destroy me, that he would let his hand go, and cut me off. Yea, in this very moment to expire, Would God but stretch his arm of Providence, And cut me off, that so I might go hence, And be no more: would he but condescend To what I ask, and there should be an end Of all my earthly pain, and misery, O then that God would suffer me to die. Then should I yet have comfort, than some rest 10. Then should I yet have comfort though I burn with sorrow, let him not spare, because I have not denied the words of the holy One. My Soul might find, and I be free at least From these huge pains:— O that he would allow me The favour, without sparing, to undo me. Though I'm in sorrow, yet let him not spare To give the blow, lest I perhaps despare: For hitherto I never have denied Gods Holy Word, or i' th' least signified, In all my Torments any diffidence Of his just, kind, overruling Providence. Alace what strength have I thus to endure, 11. What power have I that I should endure, or what is my end, if I should prolong my life? The force of Heaven, which never Mortal sure Was able to support.— Ah then, why should I live, or to what end Should I prolong my Life, thus to attend A lingering Death, which I might have at hand, But that my Conscience doth me countermand. Alace what strength have I,— what strength have I 12. Is my strength the strength of stones or is my flesh of brass? T' endure these Torments,— what congruity Is now betwixt my Person, and my Pain. Of which I must be suffered to complain: Am I composed of Stone, or Brass, that I Should suffer all these Tortures, and not die? Have not I called for help, but could find none 13. Is it not so that there is in me no help, and that strength is taken from me. And now my Substance, and my Strength is gone; My Nerves are stiff, my Blood to Phlegm is shrunk, My Eyes in Wells of brinish Tears are sunk; My tottering Body Wyre-strung, Bone by Bone Makes but the figure of a Skeleton. Ah is there no man that will pity have 14. He that is in misery ought to be comforted of his neighbours, but men have forsaken the fear of Almighty. Upon a Carrion dropping in its Grave; He that's in sorrow still is understood, To find some Comfort from his Neighbourhood, But I find none,— But 'tis no wonder men their friends for sake, When now a days, their Faith to God they break. Take it from me, who by experience know 15. My brethren have deceived me, as a brook, and as the ruing of the rivers, they pass away. False friends too well, to whose base tricks I owe No small proportion of my present grief, From such, in time of want, there's no relief— To be expected, more than from a Brook, Where if for Waters you in Summer look, 'Tis dry, in Winter frozen, but when Rain Falls in abundance, and we're in no pain For Water, than it overflows its Banks, Offering its Service, without Hire, or Thanks. So when we're Rich, such friends will flock about us, They cannot Live, Eat, Drink, or Sleep without us, They cringe, they bow, they ●aun, and us present With foolish smiles, and airy compliment: Protesting friendship at so high a rate, As none would think they did equivocat. But draw the Curtain, and let Poverty Appear, with its Companion Misery, Within our Walls, than all those Wasps are gone, And as their friends they will us no more own. Than who'd not rather sleep in faithful Dust, Than Live, and in such friends o' th' fashion trust? Friends did I call them,— no I do mistake, 16. Which are blackish with ice, and wherein the snow is hid. Such are not friends, who do their friend forsake In Misery, for at such time alone, As by a Test, true friendship should be known. But such have Hearts as hard, and black, as Ice, They're of no value, no esteem, no price. Rugged, unpolished, cold, as is the snow, Instinct of Nature sure they do not know. Friends for a Sunshine of Prosperity, 17. But in time, they are dried up with heat, and are consumed, and when it is hot they fail out of their places. O worthy friends! but when the troubled Sky, Portends a Storm, and Clouds begin to reel, Then those Fair-weather-friends bid us farewell. Friends for well furnished Tables, Friends for Food, 18. Or they depart from their ways and their course, yea they vanish, and perish. Friends of the Pantry, Friends for nothing good, Save that such Friends as these might serve for foils, To set true friendship off: like Scabs, and Boils, They drop away, when th' humour is run dry Which fed them, and until Prosperity Return, like Crans, they to warm Country's fly. For as a Traveller in th' Arabian Sands, 19 They that go to Tema considered them, and they that go to Sheba, waited for them. Thinks to find Water, where a thousand hands At constant work will find their Labour vain In digging for it, where the Sun doth drain, The innate Moisture, and by scorching Beams, Chokes up the Veins of Rivers, Springs, and Streams. But can find nothing save sterility, 20. But they were confounded, when they hoped, they came hither, and were ashamed. So those, who on such barren Friends rely, When they stand most in need of them shall find Like those dry Sands, they fly before the Wind, And make no help to such in their distress, But rather by their Malice do increase▪ Their friend's affliction. Why, my good friends, such friends I think you are, 21. Surely now you are like unto it, you have seen my fearful plagues, and are afraid And I may safely you with such compare, My case you see, my miseries you know, And none of you are strangers to my woe: You see my dreadful Plagues, and are afraid, Such Judgements may upon yourselves be laid, Yet, stead of Comfort, which I justly might From you expected, in this doleful plight, Your bitter words my Torments do augment. Your tart Reproofs increase my punishment. Ah what's your quarrel against a dying wretch? Why do you thus insult? I do beseech 22. Was it because I said, bring untome, or give me a reward of your substance. The favour of you, that you'll let me know If I have injured any of you, or no? Have I been grievous t' any of you, my Friends? Have I demanded any of your Means? Or have I proudly claimed of your Supply? Or vexed you with my Bill of Charity? Why then should I be so severely used By any of you? have I e'er refused To serve your interest, and your reputation? Before my late, and total Desolation? Did ever I of you, my friends, demand 23. And deliver me from the enemy's hand, or ransomme out of the hands of yrants. That you would free me from my Enemies' hand? Did, I when Captive, any of you pray, That of your Bounty you'd my Ransom pay? Pray teach me then, my friends, and let me know 24. Teach me, and I will hold my tongue, and cause me to understand wherein I have erred. Where lies my Error in the case, and so Being convinced, I shall from answering cease, And, as a Mute, hereafter hold my peace. But whilst you thus accuse me, I must still 25. How steadfast are the words of righteousness, and what can any of you reprove? Assert my Innocence, say what you will To th' contrair: for my upright Conscience Doth plead my Cause, and prompt me with Defence, Against all the Pleas you do against me move, Then, wherein justly can you me reprove? Won't you permit a man in misery, 26. Do you imagine to reprove words, that the talk of the afflicted should be as wind? His troubled Mind so much to lenify, As by some sad expressions to declare, What the vexations of his Spirit are? D' ye think but men, in my condemned estate, May have at least some liberty to prate? See you not how my pain my speech doth force, And none should stop a dying man's Discourse. But you on those in sorrow vent your wrath, 27. You make your wrath ●o fall upon the fatherless, and dig a pit for your friend. And to your half-dead Friend you threaten Death, Your unkind words, like Grins, and Snares you lay, By which your Friend you shrewdly may betray. Now therefore pray at length, impartially 28. Now therefore be content to look upon me, for I will lie before your face. Look on me, and consider whether I Have reason thus t' express my grief, or no, When I endure what none of you can know: Assure yourselves then I take no delight. Thus to complain, I am no Hypocrite, As you pretend, my sorrows are no less Than I esteem them, nay could I express My inward griefs, they're more in number sure, Then mortal man did ever yet endure. Forbear then, pray,— at my desire, forbear, 29. Return I pray you, let there be no iniquity▪ return I say, and you shall yet see my righteousness in that behalf: is there iniquity in my tongue? doth not my mouth feel sorrows. From such Discourse, so rigid, so severe, As wound my Heart more than my Sorrows do, With all my Plagues, and Torments, pray allow My grief some vent, or (as my present case is) Should I be silent, I should burst to pieces. Have patience but a while, and you shall see, There's no so great iniquity in me, As you allege: when my survey is made, And with my woes, my words in Scales are laid. Cap. VII. THen what am I?— a man— and what is he? 1. Is there not an appointed time for man upon earth? and are not his days, as the days of an hireling? A breathing Bauble— now pray let us see What is this man,— of what should he be proud? What more than t' other Creatures is allowed To this same taudry piece of Flesh, and Bone, This painted Glow-worm, this Chameleon, That casts itself in every Form, and Shape, And fain would something of its Maker Ape▪ Is there not to this glorious Creature set A certain time? his days are limitate, As are those of a Hireling, his abode Upon this Earth has its own period; Beyond which no man of the greatest strength, Can pass— vain man must die— vain man at length Must drop into his Grave, and there become The very Dross, the Caput mort●um Of Life's projection, fitted for no use, Yet is this all his labour doth produce. Although he fancies to himself he may, Exceed the reputation of Clay In high conceits, and even seems to hold Within his Clutch whole Magazines of Gold, Like one, who in a Dream great Booties takes, But finds himself deceived, when he awakes. On what alace then should this silly Tool Value itself!— this Hypocondriackfooll, For what should he himself so much esteem, When all his Life is but a very Dream. Have you not seen a Labourer all the day, 2. As a servant longeth for the shadow, and as a hireling looketh for the end of his work. Long for the happy night, wherein he may Refresh his wearied Bones, and think the Sun Spite of him, with too slow a pace doth run. And with impatience doth his Task attend, Longing to have his Labours at an end. This is my very case, for so have I 3. So have I had as an inheritance the months of vanity, and painful nights have been appointed to me. Toiled all the day long of my vanity, And longed extremely for th'approach of night, In which I pleased myself to think I might Enjoy some Rest; but here the difference lay 'Twixt the Labourer, and me, the night, and day To me were both alike; no rest I found In either, at no rate I could compound With sleep for one hour of its company, But on my Bed, I'd sick, and tossing lie, With Eyes unclosed, and Spirit much perplexed, Fainting with grief, in Mind, and Body vexed. So runs my Time, so do my Years advance, I'have indeed had for Inheritance, Long days of pain, and months of vanity▪ Which makes my Life a Scene of misery. So soon as I myself compose to Rest, 4. If I laid me down, I said when shall I arise, and measuring the evening, I am even full with tossing too, and fro, unto the dawning of the day. Thinking to cach some slender Nap at least, Before I shut up my o'rewearied Eyes, Now I lie down, but when shall I arise I say, how shall I pass the tedious night? When shall I see again the morning light? The night I do by Moment's Calculate, And with impatience for the Morning wait? With tossing too, and fro upon my Bed, My Body is sore pained, and wearied. My Body tortured with a strange Disease, 5. My flesh is clothed with worms and filthiness of the dust, my skin is rend, and become horrible. W●ose fury no soft Ointments can appease: What art to such as I am can bring ease? My Flesh with Vermine is all overspread, See how with Dust, and Mud I'm covered. My Skin to pieces is all rent, and torn, Was ever man to such sad Judgements born? My Pains, and Torments are all visible, With Ulcers I am become horrible. My days do pass with more celerity, 6: My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle, and they are spent without hope. Than Weavers Shuttle through the Web doth fly. Amidst a thousand Sorrows, Cares, and Fears, I spend some inconsiderable Years. They fly, they fly, nothing in Earth, or Air, In swiftness, can with humane years compare, Out all sight they fly, they fly amain, Never intending to return again. Time turns its Hourglass, and ore'turns us all, No Mortal Creature can its Time recall. Consider then, good Lord, what thing I am, 7. Remember that my life is but a wind, and that mine eye shall not return to see pleasure. And how I must return from whence I came, In a few days: my Life is but a blast, And like a puff of Wind, is quickly passed. Then shall my Eyes, with darkness black, as night, Be sealed up, and to my earthly sight, Nothing that's pleasant shall again appear, For what to me most precious was. and dear, I have already lost, and now remains, What to preserve, is hardly worth my pains. For why, alace, should such a one as I Desire to live in pain, and misery, Of which I can't be free, unless I die. In a short time (for which I do implore) 8▪ The eye that hath seen me, shall see me no more, thine eyes are upon me, and I shall be no longer. Th'Eye that hath seen me, shall see me no more. Thy Eyes, O Lord, are on me, and anon Shalt strike me dead, and so I shall be gone. I shall no longer in this state remain, For Death shall put an end to all my pain. As Clouds do quickly vanish into Air, 9 As the cloud vanisheth, and goeth away, so he that goeth down to the grave shall come up no more. And in full Bodies do no more appear, So he that once goes down to silent Grave, To Life again shall no more access have. Shall not return unto his dwelling place, 10. He shall return no more to his house, neither shall his place know him any more. For even his Servants, who adored his Face, To whom, on Life, his presence was most dear, If after Death, to them he shall appear; His ghastly looks will make them quickly run, Nor can these very underlings be won, With their old Friend, and Master to converse, By all the Rhetoric of the Universe. Though all such apparitions as these, Are but mere phantasms, and delude our Eyes. With empty Shadows of composed Air, But the True Body never doth appear: That rests in Grave, and shall not rise before, The Fabric of this Earth shall be no more. Then since no other lenitive can be found, 11: Therefore will I not spare my mouth, but I will speak in the trouble of my spirit, and muse in the bitterness of my mind. T'allay my grief, ere I go under ground, But only words, by which I may express, Those inward ills, that do my Soul oppress, I will not spare my mouth, but openly Unto my everliving God I'll cry. I'll speak, as one in Spirit sore perplexed, As one with Plagues, and Torments shrewdly vexed. I'll speak, I'll speak,, I will not hold my Tongue, But roar out my oppressions all day long. Lord, I'll say, what am I! an Ocean! 1●. Am I a sea, or ●whale-fish, that thou keep'st me in ward▪ A Whale. or any thing that's more than man! That to destroy me thou shouldst take such pains, Whilst to undo all that of me remains, Were but a small Task for a Gnat, a Flee, A Wasp, a Hornet, or a humble Bee: Why shouldst then be at so much pains, good Lord, To kill a thing, which of its own accord, Will quickly die, a thing, that by thy Wrath, As yet denied the liberty of Death, Doth only some small sparks of Life retain, And like a Dying Creature, breathes with pain. One entire Ulcer, a mere lump of Boils, A heap of Sores, one loaden with the Spoils, Of all Diseases; one so fully spent In Body, and in Mind so discontent, No pleasure, which the World affords, can hire My Soul to Live: pray let me now expire; Or else I fear, that through impatience Of my afflictions, I may give offence. For when I say my Couch shall me relieve, 12. When I say my couch shall relieve me and my bed shall give me comfort in my meditation. And in my Bed I shall some comfort have, When I imagine I may find some ease, In-sleep to cull the edge of my Disease. When I suppose I may find Consolation, I'th' pleasure of a few hours Meditation: And whilst on Pillow I my Head do lay, To sleep away the sorrows of the day, Then dost thou put my Soul all in a fright, 14. Then fearest thou me with dreams and astonishest me with visions. With fearful Dreams, and Visions of the night. In a cold sweat I lie, my Flesh, and Bones, My Joints, and Sinews tremble all at once. Struggling with pain, upon my Bed I roll, Whilst horrid Objects do nightmare my Soul, And to my troubled fancy represent, What neither Tongue can speak, or hard can paint. Hell's Terrors plainly are to me revealed, Whilst with amusing sleep my Eyes are sealed; On which reflecting when I do awake; Fear damps my Soul, and makes my Body shake. Hence Drowning, Smothering, Strangling of the Breath, 15. Therefore my soul chooseth rather to be strangled, and to dy● then to be in my bones. Or any of the numerous kinds of Death My Soul to Life prefers; my generous Soul Abhors to live in such a lurking hole, As is this body; such a vile Hog-sty, A Brutish Soul would even disdain to lie Within its Walls: a Cottage so unclean, So Cob web-furnished, so obscure, and mean, As none but one of Life that's wearied In such a villainous Cave would lay his bed. What Soul so poor and mean exceeding but The small Dimensions of a Hazel nut Would stoop so low, as condescend to dwell In such an ugly, smelling nasty Cell, As is this body, which I do call mine, So thin, the Sun doth clearly through it shine, Is this a Lodging for a Thing Divine? A tottering Fabric, which the rotten Bones Not able to support, down all at once Will quickly fall: is this a dwelling place For any thing come of a Heavenly Race? No, no, fly hence my Soul, fly hence, make haste Why dost not fly? for such a Noble Guest There's here no room, no fit Accommodation, This body can afford no Habitation, For such as thee, Dear Soul.—— O let me die then, let me die, good Lord, O let me die, Death surely will afford Such comfort, as I here expect in vain. Why should I live then in such grievous pain? And as a mark to all sad torments stand When pitying Death doth offer help at hand. In this condition, I do do life abhor, 16. I abhor it, I shall not live always, spare methen, for my days are but vanity. I ba●e it, and shall never love it more. What should I for a few hours breathing give? For 'tis impossible I can longer live. O spare me then for some small time at least That these o▪ re wearied bones may have some rest, And in this life I may find ease, before I take my Journey hence, and be no more: ere I be wrapped up in Eternity, For all my days are but mere vanity. Then what is Man that thou shouldst look upon him? 17. What is man, that thou shouldest magnify him, or that thou ●ettest thy heart on him? This wretched thing, that thou shouldst so much own him. Thou dost thy heart too much upon him set, Which makes the silly Toad itself forget, Valuing itself so much on thy esteem As it hath purchased to its self a name, Beyond the other Creatures of thy hand: Whereas if it, itself did understand, 'Tis but as dust, that 'fore the Wind doth fly, A passing thought, th' abstract of vanity. Since thou canst then, Lord, by one word destroy This Creature, why shouldst so much time employ In Torturing of it thus, once, and again, And not by one blow put me out of pain. One blow of favour, Lord, I do implore, Kill me, and then I shall complain no more. But still I cannot fancy, why shouldst thou, 18. And dost visit him every moment, and tryest him every morning. Before whom all in Heavens, and Earth do bow, Have this same Creature Man in such esteem This flying Shade, this passage of a Dream, A thing so mean, not worth thy Observation, Why shouldst allow it so much Reputation? That thou the great Creator every day Shouldst of this pismire make so strict survey. How long, Lord, shall I in these Torments lie ● 19 How long will it be, ere ●●ou depart from, thou wilt not let me alone whilst I may swallow down m●spittle. Ah is there no end of my Misery! Some respite, Lord, I beg, I do request, Some breathing time, even so long time at least, Free from these pains, as I may swallow down My spital: Oh, good God, let me alone▪ But for a Moment, that I may but try Thy goodness once, again, before I Dye. Lord I have sinned, 'tis true, I do confess 20. I have sinned, what shall I do unto thee, O thou preserver of men, why hast thou set me, as a mark against thee, so that I am a burden to myself. My Error, and my black unrighteousness. What shall I do! how shall I answer find To thee, the great preserver of Mankind! As worst of sinners, Lord, thou dost me treat, For as my Sins, so are my Judgements great. The hast set me 'gainst thee, as a Mark, or Butt, At which thy pointed Arrows thou dost shoot, With Torments hast me so o'reloadened, That long ago of Life I'm wearied. Why should thy wrath continually burn, 21. And why dost thou not pardon my trespass? and take away mine iniquity, for now shall I sleep in the dust, and if thou seekest me in the morning, I shall not be found. Against a poor sinner! O let Grace return, Pardon my sins: wash from iniquity The Soul thou gav'st me, Lord, before I die. Let me of Mercy hear the joyful sound, For in an instant I shall not be found. I die, I die, my Passing Bell doth Toul, Have Mercy, Lord, have Mercy on my Soul. Cap. VIII. THus have we seen how Job with grief oppressed, 1. Then answered Bildad the Shuhite, and said. By night and day, has in his Mind no rest. In this sad case, with great impatience, Appears to quarrel even Providence. For those his Friends, of whom he did expect Some Comfort, rather sharply did him check, For th' Errors of his Life, and openly Reproved him for his gross Hypocrisy: We've seen with how much Art and Eloquence, One of his friends has given evidence Against him, now another undertakes, Th' argument, and thus he answer makes. How long, says he, friend, wilt thou thus exclaim▪ 2. How long wilt thou talk of these things? and how long shall the words of thy mouth be as a mighty wind? Against that justice, which the Heavens did frame, To what do all thy imprecations tend? What means this clamour? shall there be no end Of this thy idle talking? shall we be Obliged to hear, what none, but such as thee Would stammer out? what one in sober case Would be ashamed to speak: such words as these, Which thou in foolish passion hast used Against our God: would hardly be excused, Out of a madman's mouth: but when they flow From such as thee, friend, whom we all do know To be of more than ordinary Sense, We must condemn, thy gross impatience. Dost ' think that God, whose great and mighty Name, 3. Doth God pervert judgement, or doth the Almighty subvert justice. All things Created, daily do proclaim, Can in his judgements err, can any thing Invert the firm Decrees of Heaven's King? He who himself is Justice, can he do What is unjust? dost ' think that he'll allow Vain man t' imagine that he can dispense With what injustice is, in any Sense? Dost think he can be Bribed, as daily here Our Judges are, either by Hope, or Fear, With all th' efforts of humane Art, and Skill T' alter th' Eternal Purpose of his Will. Why if thy Children did their God offend, 4. If thy sons have sinned against him, and he hath sent them to the place of their iniquity. And for their sins, were brought t' untimely end: Why dost ' regrate the loss so bitterly, Of those who for their Crimes deserved to die? No sure thou shouldst not such thy Children call, But rather take example by their Fall; T' abstain from sin, and not provoke the Wrath Of him, who in his Hand has Life, and Death. Yet if thou'lt call on God, and earnestly 5. Yet if thou wilt early seek unto God, and pray to the Almighty. Implore assistance from his Majesty, If with a heart, and hands uplifted thou, Humbly before thy great Creator bow. If with a cordial true sincerity, 6. If thou be pure and upright, then surely he will awake up unto thee, and he will make the habitation of thy righteousness prosperous. Thou to thy Maker dost thyself apply; Then will he hear thy Prayer and after all, What now thou dost most grievous Torments call, He'll re-establish thee, and make thee see, How much, for all thy Plagues, he valueth thee. He'll bless thy dwelling House with Righteousness, And ' crown thy Life with Honour, Wealth, and Peace. Nay though thou now dost in affliction lie, 7. And though thy beginning be small, yet thy latter end shall greatly increase. Complaining of thy Pains, and Agony. Although thy present Case seems to declare, No Remedy is left thee, but despare. Yet shall thy latter end with joys be blessed And thou of great abundance be possessed. Now if thou wilt not credit what we say, 8. Inquire therefore I pray thee of the former age, and prepare thyself to search of thy fathers. Go too, inquire, search all Records I pray, Dig in the bowels of Antiquity, Where Times immense spare-treasury doth lie. Where our Creator's Glorious Works of old, Are to be read in Characters of Gold. There shalt thou see, what mercies God hath shown To those he loves: how much he for his own At all times hath appeared: inquire now pray, For, truth is, we are but of Yesterday. Just dropped into the World, mere Novices, 9 For we are but of yesterday, and know nothing, and our days upon earth are but as a shadow. Have no deep thoughts, and can at best but guess, Men of no reach, nor is there time allowed, For us to learn on earth, although we would. For, as a shadow, so our years do pass, Our Days by time are eaten up like Grass. But O let Venerable Antiquity 10. Shall not they teach thee, and tell thee, and utter the words of their heart? Inform thee plainly how the case doth lie, Ask Council of dead Wise Men, in a word Let what those Fathers left upon Record Teach thee, let their Authority prevail, For what we speak, perhaps thou think'st a Tale. Inform thyself then, and thou'lt surely find. 11. Can a rush grow without mire, or can grass grow without water? We are thy real Friends, and are more kind Than thou imagin'st, for we do not mean To flatter thee: but hearing thee complain Of thy sad usage, as if thou wert one Void of all sin, and it could not be known What moved our God so sore to punish thee, We tell thee, we the reason plainly see. Sins usher Judgements, as the Flames do heat, And as when Serpent's Mouth, and Tail doth meet, It makes a Circle, so the sin goes round, Then meeting with the Judgement doth confound Itself with th' substance of that poisonous thing, And so the Sin, and Plague make up one Ring: In which Engraven we may plainly read The cause, from whence the judgement doth proceed. For Sin and Judgement are so linked together As he who sees the one may see the other. Let's argue then, my Friend, I do desire, Can a Rush grow up, where there is no Mire? Can Grass, unless by water moistened Grow up, and with fair Coverlet o'er spread Both Hills, and Valleys: as is daily seen, The Grass which withers, whilst is yet green: 12. Whilst it is yet in its greenness, and not cut down, it withereth before any other herb. It doth require no toil to cut it down, For it doth fade, before it can be mown. Before all other Herbs it withereth, For all its Beauty quickly perisheth. Such is the case of those, who do forget 13. ●o are the paths of all that forget God, and the hypocrites hopes shall perish. Their God, and on vain things their minds do set▪ Of whom, I look upon the Hypocrite A creature, who itself a Saint doth write, Pretending to a singular Purity, And gulls the World, with show of Piety; To be the chief: this wretch I do esteem The worst of men, not meriting the Name, Even of a Moral Man, so base a Creature, So supercilious, of so false a Nature, As no man can his word, or promise trust, An ●bject sinner, nothing framed of Dust God hates so much: and therefore let him Treat His Conscience, as he will; and basely cheat The credulous World, with a Formality, God will not suffer such Hypocrisy To flourish long: but in a moment's space This painted Flower shall wither, like the Grass; For God shall soon, for all his lofty top, Dash him to thousand pieces with his hope. He'll disappoint his hateful confidence, 14. His confidence also shall be cut off, and his trust shall be as the house of a spider. And cut him off for all his formal sense, Those earthly things, in which he put his trust, Shall in an instant be transformed to dust: Of no more value, than a Spider's house, To every bosom so obnoxious, As what appears most neatly wrought to day, To morrow is most neatly sweeped away. Shall soon perceive the flattering vanity, 15. He shall ●ean upon his house, but it shall not stand, he shall hold him fast by it, yet it shall not endure. Of such as think t' erect a family On villainy. and fraud (for desolation, Is only built on such a weak foundation) His outside piety shall no more prevail, For all those cunning Tricks, and Arts shall fail By which he did the World abuse; his name Shall not be mentioned, but with scorn, and shame. Let him do what he can to magnify The reputation of his Family. Let him hoard up his Means in Chests of Iron, And round the same with Grats of Brass environ: Let him grasp close the things he loves so well, And amongst his quickly purchased Treasures dwell: Watching them, with great trouble night, and day, Yet shall those darling Riches fly away. But, as in view o' th' Sun a tender Tree 16: But the tree is green before the sun, and the branches spread over the garden thereof. Still verdant flourisheth, although it be Transplanted from one place t' another, yet It grows apace, and nothing doth abate Of its most pleasant shape, and former strength, Till it become a lofty pine at length. Although its Roots in Earth do scattered lie, 17. The roots thereof are wrapped about the fountain, and are folden about the house of stones. Like Metals in the Veins, so as no eye Can trace them, some about the Fountain wrapped, Some close to th' Arbours, and the stone-house clap't: Yet pluck it up, and to another Ground 18. If any pluck it from his place, and it deny, saying I have not seen the. Transplant it, as no vestige can be found Of its first seat, so that no eye can know Whether a Tree did ere grow there, or no. IT will soon shoot up amain, and flourish more, 19 Behold it will rejoice by this means, that it may grow in another mould. In that new soil, than ere it did before. Even so the Godly, though it be their case, To be transplanted here from place to place: Tossed with afflictions, and with sorrows vexed, With grief overwhelmed, with poverty perplexed, Yet shall they laugh at length, whilst others mourn, And all their woes shall to their profit turn. For God an upright man will not neglect, 20. Behold God will not cast away an upright man neither will he take the wicked by the hand. Nor will he th' injust in his ways protect; He will not thee, friend, in this state desert, But after all will truly take thy part; Nor will he leave thee, till he has restored, 21. Till he have filled thy mouth with laughter, and thy lips with joy. All he has taken from thee, in a word, He'll fill thy Lips with joy, and make thee glad At length, indeed, more than thou now art sad. Then such as thee contemned in poverty, 22. They that hate thee shall be clothed with shame, and the dwelling of the wicked shall not remain. When they perceive thee in prosperity, Shall be ashamed of what they did before, And shall thy friendship by all means implore. But if thou in thy stubborn ways persist, And think it lawful to do what thou list; Then shall thy sorrows, ●stead of growing less, Be more, and thy afflictions shall increase. Cap. IX. DUring these learned digressions of Wit; 1. Then job answered, and said. Job all the while most pensively did sit. For as to one condemned, before he die The Judge from Bench doth use himself t'apply In exhortations, laying out his Crime. Resumes his Case, and whilst it is yet time, Conjures him to Repentance, so, while these Did open thus Jobs Case, he held his peace; At length perceiving he had no defence, Against their Insults, but his own Innocence. Thus mildly answers. Why, my dear friends, you tell me God is just, 21 I know that it is so: for how should man compared unto God be justified? And in him only I should put my Trust. To me this is no new thing, for I know, And always was convinced that it was so. God's justice, I confess, is admirable, Impartial, Pure, beyond what I am able, By all the parts allowed me, to express; God's Justice is most powerful, I confess. Compared with which, all that we can acclaim Of Righteousness, doth not deserve the name Of moral virtue; for should we be tried, By Law of God, who can be justified? In Courts of Men, we use to lay Defence, Against the Bill, the Jury, th' Evidence, Refuse the Words o' th' Law, and plead the Sense: But in God's Court no such Procedure is, His Laws are clear, need no Paraphrasis, The Bill is so well founded, it is found Without Removal from the Court: 'tis owned By all as true: it needs must be confess't, Who can deny't? when from our very Breast; Both Evidence are brought, and Jury too, What Court such fair Procedure can allow? When God Arraigns us Mortals, who's the man 3. If he would dispute with him, he could not answer him one thing of a thousand. Dare, plead not guilty? who is he, that can Make answer to his Charge? hold up his Face, And with his Maker dares dispute the Case? T' one of a thousand Questions he'll demand, When at the Bar of our Great Judge we stand, Who's he can frame an answer? or deny His Errors, or himself can justify, I' th' smallest point? who can his Charge refuse His Vices palliate, or his sins excuse? Who can express the glorious qualities 4. He is wise in heart, and mighty in strength, who hath been fierce against him, and hath prospered? Of our Great God? he's admirably wise: In boundless force, and power most formidable, And in all things, that's good, incomparable. Who ever yet did with his God contend, And boasted of his success in the end? The highest Mountains, which to humane eyes 5. He removeth the mountains and they feel not when he overthroweth them in his wrath. Appear to be contiguous with the Skies, Whose proud Imperial tops themselves do shroud I' th' tiara of a continual Cloud: He pulls up by the roots with little care, And like so many Pebbles, here, and there, He throws them from his hand, with wondrousease, Some in the Pools, and Lakes, some in the Seas: Some in the Isles, the Main-land, and the Shore, And Hills are now, where Valleys were before: Nor do those stubborn Mountains feel his Blows, When in his anger, he them overthrows. This Centre of the Universe, which all 6. He removeth the earth out of her place, that the pillars thereof do shake. Admire so much, and with good reason call Earth's glorious Fabric, which for certain Term, Our God to Mankind has Let out in Farm. This Earth adorned with so much bravery, And with such fair, and rich variety enameled: as no Art can imitate; For atoms whereof we so much debate: Buzzing about this Globe, like Bees in Hive▪ Where who each other shall out-toile, we strive, Whilst mean time one poor lease for life is all We here on Earth our Property can call. Nay happy, could it so long time endure, That each man could his Turf for Life ensure: But ah where on those precious Clods retains, To death, and leaves the fruit of all his pains To those he loves, ten thousand, ere they die, Are stripped of all, and in sad Poverty, Consume their hopeless years, and so do I. This Glob of Earth he tosses too and fro, As one doth Ball with Racket, high, or low, As he thinks good, he makes its surface quake, Its body twirl, and all its Pillars shake. The Sun, who, like a Conqueror every day 7. He commandeth the sun, and it riseth not; he closeth up the stars, as under a signet. His Glory doth triumphantly display: Whose splendid Beams afford such radiant light As scattereth all the vapours of the night. With such bright Lustre doth this Glob surround, As its fair influence every where is found. Who in his Motion doth observe such Grace, No force, or Art will make him change his pace; But ' round th' Horizon makes such pretty tours, In his Diurnal, and his Annual Course, Checked by no snare, obstructed by no fear, With great exactness measuring out the year; As one would soon conclude, without dispute This Creature were a Monarch absolute. Our God prohibits this same Sun to rise, And couching like a Spaniel, closely ●e lies Below the foot of our Almighty God, Nor for the World, dares he peep abroad, Until licenced, by the same Divine Power, Which him confined, and which from hour to hour He doth expect: whilst we poor Mortals lie Plunged in a horrid, deep Obscurity: Where in our nasty holes, like Toads we craul, And grope, like Blinde-men 'bout this earthen Ball, Until by warrant in our Hemisphere This most Illustrious Prince doth reappear. Poor toiling Spiders, inconsiderate things, Who call themselves here Emperors and Kings! Whose great ambition is to imitate This Splendid Creature in his Pomp and State: Dreaming themselves in a most happy case, When by the World esteemed of his race: Who cause themselves be pictured, with their heads Environed with his Rays▪ that he who reads Their airy Mottoes, may perceive how much, These Fools affect to be imagined such, As is that Creature in his Noon▪ tide glory; And in that pride transmit themselves to story. Ah how I pity those poor crowned toys, Who fool themselves, to pleasure Girls, and Boys: The Springtide of whose Souls no higher rises, Than to abuse us with such State Devices. When this same glorious, bright Original, The mean Apprentice-copies whereof all Those Buzzards do at most aspire to be Esteemed, who is not blind, may plainly see Is but a Vassal to th' Almighty Lord, Answers his call, and watches by his Word. Those lights, which in their Rows so eminent Make such a Figure in the Firmament: And with such beauty in their Orbs appear, As one would think the Heaven's pellucid were: Those pleasant Stars, who with their sparkling light Allay the Horror of a Winter's Night. Who teach th' almost despairing Mariner, In blustering Storms, how he his Course may steer: And when his Sea-card, and his Compass fails, Instructs him how to tack and ply his Sails. These troops of pointed Lights, Heavens numerous Eyes In Packs, and Bundles the Almighty ties: Then with his Signet doth those Bundles seal, As one doth Wares, and merchandise for sale: So that their twinkling light appears no more, And darkness reigns, where Lamps did shine before. The Canopy of Heavens he stretches out, 8. He himself alone spreadeth out the heavens, and walketh upon the hieght of the sea. And makes those Orbs, like Whirlwinds, roll about This fixed Mass of Earth: 'tis he alone Directs their Motions, and makes every one Of those great Engines in their circles move, Some quick, some in a course more slow, above What human▪ art can imitate, 'tis he, Who walketh on the surface of the Sea: Where stoutest Ships like drunken men do reel, And forced by strength of waves, turn up their Keel. On those proud billows doth our Mighty God Walk unconcerned, as on a beaten road. The Stars in several bodies he doth frame, 9 He maketh the stars, Arcturus, Orion, Pleiades, and the climates of the south. To each of which he gives a proper name: Such as Arcturus, Orion, Pleiades, And quarters them through all the Provinces Of his vast Empire; where those bodies lie, Each settled in its own Locality, The standing Forces of Heaven's Monarchy. Great things he acts; O things most admirable! 10. He doth great things and unsearchable, yea marvellous things without number. Beyond our reach, things most innumerable! Things, which no human Language can express, Though every Language doth the same confess. Why even those works, which daily to our eyes 11. Lo when he goeth by me, I see him not, and when he passeth by, I perceive him not. In course are obvious, our Capacities By many thousand Stages do transcend, Nor can our groping reason comprehend The meanest of his actings, or espy This Mighty Monarch. when he passeth by, And makes his splendid Progress through the Sky. Nor can our eyes perceive his Royal Seat, Though, every day he shows himself in State. When this great King would Justice execute, 12. Behold when he taketh a prey, who can make him to restore it, who shall say unto him, what dost thou? What man dares his Authority dispute? Who's he that dares Declinator allege, Against his Court, or offer to repledge The highest Prince, whom he intends to try? Or save his Life, whom he commands to die? When he our Goods, and Substance doth distrain, Who can compel him to restore again What he hath taken? who's that Mortal, pray, Dares offer to resist his Power? or say He does unjustly? or in Court dares bring A quo warranto, against this mighty King! No, all's in vain, no force of Eloquence, 13. God will not withdraw his anger, and the most mighty helps do stoop under him. No Laws, no proofs, can clear the Innocence Of him, whom God condemns; no surely he, Unhappy Creature, (who so e'er he be) After his reasoning, praying, after all, A victim to the Divine wrath must fall. Nay, you, my friends, for all your wit and parts, Which doth afford you talk, though in your hearts, You think not what you speak, even you must die, When God pronounces Sentence, from on high, Against you, nor will all your Art can say In Rhet ' ricks sweetest flowers procure delay For one small moment: no, his Sentence must Be execute, and you return to Dust. Since you then even with all your Eloquence, 14. How much less shall I answer him, or how shall I find out my words with him? Against his Procedure can make no defence: Ah how can I a wretch so despicable, Void of all Reason, Wit, and Parts, be able To make him answer? where shall such as I Find sugared words t'obtain indemnity? Nay though persuaded of my innocence, 15. For though I were juli, yet I could not answer, but I would make supplication to my judge. Yet against his Justice I'd make no defence. All he lays to my Charge, I would confess, And then to his sole Mercy make address. I would not plead, but say I firmly knew, All my Indictment to be simply true: And then exibit, with great veneration, Before my Judge my humble supplication, Wherein I'd ask, that he by me would do, As he thought fit; but if he pleased t'allow Some breathing time, that I might yet implore, (Before I trindle hence, and be no more) His pardon for my sins, I'd only say, This favour would oblige me still to pray. For should I in this manner supplicat, I'd hope that God would me commiserat. 'Tis but what he can grant me out of hand, Though more than I deserve, or dare demand. Fools, with their Maker, do expostulat, And think by words themselves to liberat, But pious men, who better things do know, Upon God's Mercy still themselves do throw. For when th'Almighty doth in Judgement sit, All that are knowing will to him submit. He, who to search the Records is inclined, Of that high Court of Justice, soon will find No formal plead there, no exculpations, But only prayers, and humble supplications. These are the most prevailing arguments With the great Judge o'th'World, the glorious Saints, When them for Crimes th'Almighty would accuse, In all their trials, ne'er did other use. Now, though I know that God doth hear the cry 16. If I cry, and he answer me, yet would I not believe that he heard my voice. Of those, who from the pit of misery Do make address to him, and that our Lord In his good time to such will help afford: Yet in my present pain, and agony I do believe, with some difficulty, That God will hear my prayer, or if he do, That he to me such favour will allow As he to others grants: since only I Condemned to perpetual misery, Can hope for no relief, then pray excuse These hot expressions, which you hear me use; For I'm undone with grief: my case is sad, And still oppression makes a wise man mad. Like a strong tempest, God his wrath lets out, 17. For he destroys me with a tempest, and woundeth me without a cause. Which will at length destroy me, without doubt The torrent of his anger swells so high, And rushes on my Soul so furiously, As all the art of humane patience Cannot resist its force, and violence. I'm wounded by the order of his Laws, Most justly, though as yet I know no cause. My plagues, and torments sensibly I feel, And know the measure of my woes full well, But such my dulness is, I cannot yet Perceive those ugly sins, which did beget Those monstruous Evils; of which I complain, And call for reparation, but in vain. For I'm so 〈◊〉 by that Heavenly wrath, 18: He will not suffer me to take my breath, but filleth me with bitterness. As I can find no time to take my breath. Continued sorrows do my Soul oppress, My Heart is brimful of sad bitterness. But what doth yet encreass my misery, 19 If we speak of strength, behold he is strong if we speak of judgement, who shall bring me into plead? To th' utmost, is the vast disparity, 'Twixt him, who doth these ills inflict, and me, He's great, and I as mean, as mean can be. And, if we speak of strength, why th' Lord of Hosts, Is strength itself in abstract, he who boasts, Of any strength, valour, or gallantry. Compared with God is but a butterfly Compared with Eagle, or a silly Ant, In scales with a huge, big-boned Elephant. Talk we of Judgement: who shall make address For me? and bring me in to plead my case? When I appear before his Majesty, What shall I say? how shall I justify? My actings in this Earth? how shall I frame Excuse for what to mention is my shame? For if with God I'd enter in debate, 20. If I would justify myself, mine own mouth willcondemn me, if I would be perfect, he shall judge me wicked. And justify myself at any rate: If I desert, or innocence would plead, Then words which from my own mouth do proceed, would prove me guilty: and if I but name My uprightness: his Justice will proclaim My misdemeanours, and make evident, How I in courting sin my time have spent. Nay though I were upright, yet would I not 21. Though I were perfect, yet I know not my soul, therefore I abhor my life. Desire to live: my Soul hath quite forgot Its former kindness to that piece of clay It loved so much before, and every day Longs to be from its consort separate; Whom it doth now with so much reason hate. Yet here's my comfort, that I understand, 22. This is one point, therefore I said, he destroyeth the perfect, and the wicked. My God will punish, with impartial hand, Both just, and unjust, and will evidence, That 'twixt them both he makes no difference: Has no respect for persons, no regard For one, or other; but gives out award In every point, as he finds just and lays Every man's Cause in equal balances. In unjust Causes he will none maintain, So of God's Justice no man should complain. If in his wrath God should the wicked slay, 23. If the scourge should suddenly slay, should God laugh at the punishment of the innocent. And root them out, what could those wretches say, Against God's Justice, when their Conscience, Assures them he has done them no offence. Because God's Judgements do their sins pursue, And punishment t' offenders is as due, As Wages to the Labourer: for each sin First acts its part, than Judgement does begin, Where it leaves of: and so pursues the Chase, Until the breathless sinner end his Race. This is his Justice, but his Mercy sure, Eternal, to all ages doth endure. Must not our God be full of Clemency, When on the wicked even unwillingly He executes his Justice: punishment Is long delayed, and vengeance seldom sent Against any but the stiff impenitent. Who at his Judgement, doth repine, and cry, Out upon Gods too great severity; Sure that unhappy Creature doth mistake God's Bounty, and his own Condition make Worse than it was intended: for we know In Mercy God is quick, in anger slow: A God of Mercy he himself doth write, And so in sinner's death takes no delight: Far less than should the just, and innocent Think God takes pleasure in their punishment. Nor ought we to repine, when we reflect 24. The earth is given into the hand of the wicked he covereth the faces of the judges thereof, if not, where is he, or who is he? How God the wicked Lords o'th' earth doth make: How he puts Pastures, Vineyards, Houses, Lands, Power Jurisdiction, Honours in their hands; By which puffed up a wanton life they lead, Whilst godly men do toil for daily bread. Nor how the Judges of the earth abuse Their Sacred Function, and their Power do use, T' oppress the Just: whose eyes with avarice Are sealed up: who boldly set a price On Justice: and employ their utmost Art To sell the same, as in a public Mart. Who by their Friends use to negotiate For Quotes of Pleas: and closely stipulat For so much at the Issue of the cause: T' attain which point, they cruciat the Laws; And make them serve their ends so forcibly, As all the world may see their Bribery. If we consider how God doth permit Those men to live on earth, as they think fit, Because they're none of his, and have no share I' th'land of Promise: whilst the upright are In sad afflictions tossed, and seem to be O'er whelmed by a most impetuous Sea Of miseries: we'll find these walk i' th'Road Of black Damnation; of such Creatures God Doth take no care: but le's them all run wild, Like Herds of Asses, in the open field. But his own Children he doth exercise In a continual tract of miseries. That being keeped in such strict Discipline, In a full body they may mount the Line, I' th' daily Siege of Heaven, and in the end Possess the same; only to be attained By Sighs and Tears: whilst wicked men do run, Without all order, and so are undone, Amidst their pleasures, for they do compel Their Souls instead of Heaven to march to Hell. Now were it lawful to repine, did God 25. My days have been more swift than a post, they have fled, and have seen no good thing. Allow to any that do feel the Rod, To say that his condition were sad Sure never any Mortal Creature had More cause than I poor wretch have to complain, who've lost my years, and spent my days in vain. Swifter than Post my days their course have run, That I might be more speedily undone. My days are gone, my time is vanished, My hours are fled, my life is finished. My wretched life, a Scene of woes has been, Under the Sun I have small pleasure seen. Whilst others of obscure, and mean estate, To Wealth, and Honours have been elevate: Their modest parts, buoyd up by Friends and Fame, Purchassing quickly to those Fools a Name: Which impudently they would attribute To their abilities, I destitute Of every thing that's good, do silently Spin out my days in grief, and penury. And as the south wind, with a gentle breeze, Breathes on the verdant Plain, and skims the Seas; With little noise, so I my days have spent, My view o'th' world was merely transient. Have you not seen a Vessel under sail, 26. They are passed as the most swift ships, and as the eagle that flieth to the prey. Swollen with a stiff, but favourable gale, Post through the stubborn Seas, and make a Line, Upon its surface, in a foaming brine? Or with what wonderful celerity, The ravenous Eagle to her prey doth fly? So have my days run out, so have my years Ploughed through a sea of foaming brinish tears. Now should I say I will complain no more, 27. If I say I will forget my complaint I will cease from my wrath, and comfort me. But here my exclamations give o'er. Here to my querullous Notes I'll put a stop, And from this minute I'll begin to hope. Then all my sorrows, all my woes, and fears, 28. Then I am afraid of all my sorrows, knowing that God will not judge me innocent. Would suddenly appear about my ears, With ghastly looks they'd stare me in the face, And in their silence publish my disgrace. Because (however I myself do vent) I know God will not hold me innocent. If horrid sins than do my Soul distain, 29. If I be wicked, why labour I thus in vain? Why do I thus excuse myself in vain? If to my Maker I have given offence, Why should I all this while plead Innocence? No sure, if things be so, all I can say 30. If I wash myself with snow water, and purge my hands most clean. Is to no purpose: only I betray My weakness in endeavouring to maintain My just demeanour, where my guilt is plain. For certainly, however I pretend 31. Yet shalt thou plunge me in the pit, and mine own clothes shall make me filthy. To Piety, and Grace, yet in the end, The great Heart-searcher will make evident, That to this minute I my days have spent In wickedness, and sin, in villainy Not to be named, in stead of purity. And thou, O Lord, in just conceived rage, will Sentence such a Scandal of his age To utmost torment, that the world may see, How much thou hatest such a one as me, Whilst all the Fig-leaved arguments I use To palliate my sins, and make excuse For my false dealings, and unrighteousness, ' Stead of concealing, shall my guilt express. For God Almighty's not a man as I'm, 32. For he is not a man as I am that I should answer him, If we come to judgement. That I should set my face to't, and defy him. When he to Justice doth himself betake, That I before my God should answer make. a what am I a moulded piece of Dust, Consigned to a few years' breath in trust? Awalking ghost! a mere night wanderer, Like th' empty figment of some Conjurer. That such as I forsooth, should undertake Harangues before the King of Heavens to make, And argue for myself, whilst tacitly My Conscience tells me I deserve to die. Nor, should I offer to expostulate ', 33. Neither is there any umpire, that might lay his hand upon us both. And with my Maker enter in debate, Is there an Umpire, to oblige us both, And tie us by Subscription, and Oath, To stand to his award: for who is he Dares arbitrate betwixt my God, and me. But let him hold a little, and at least 34. Let him take away his rod from me, and let not his fear astonish me. For some small time, forbear, at my request, To torture me: let him withdraw his Rod, And let th' hot Pincers of an angry God Piece-meal my Soul no more: O let his wrath Be satisfied with a single death. Then would I boldly speak, and without fear, 35. Then would I speak, and fear him not, but because I am not so, I hold me still. Before him in my own defence appear: Then would I argue with such Eloquence, As in short time would clear my Innocence, But 'cause at present, I am not in case For speaking, I think fit to hold my peace. Cap. X. MY Soul's cut off, and though I seem to breath, 1. My soul is cut off, though I live I will leave my complaint on myself, and I will speak in the bitterness of my soul. Yet am I cooped up in the jaws of death. My Soul is fled, my days of life are gone, And this poor widowed Body left alone, To be the subject of some country fable, As in its ruins only memorable. This fashioned piece of Earth, which formerly One would ha'thought, would shift Mortality, For many years: a Body which of late, In health, and vigour, fully animate With a most cheerful Soul, seemed to imply, As if at least some small felicity Were to be found below the Heavens: this point Of the Creation framed joint, by joint, Into a reasonable shape, at last By griefs consuming fury quite defaced, Has now no figure, but doth every day Like Wax before the Candle, melt away. For, as a stranded Vessel, by no hands, To be got off, and sticking on the Sands, Obnoxious to the rage of every Tide, Whilst each rude Wave beats ribs out of its side: In its dimensions every day decreases, Until at length 'tis shattered all to pieces, And then what was a stately Ship before, In Planks and Board's is cast upon the Shore. So this frail Body, which in health, and strength, Looked like a tall Ship, in its Course, at length, Stranding upon the Shelves of foul diseases, In its proportion every hour decreases. And that it may be ruined with dispatch, Each ulcerous Billow doth large Gobbets snatch Out of that vigorous Body, which alace, Is now in a most despicable case. Hence what remains is that this shattered frame, Void of all honour, beauty, shape, and name. Should, like infected Goods by no man owned, In Skin and Bones be hurried under ground. Then what is Life!— O let me but admire, What idle expectation can hire Insipid man upon this Earth to dwell, And love that thing, which we call Life, so well! Life— like the Mornings-dew upon the Grass, Exhaled ere Noon-tide▪ Life a simple lease, At will, and pleasure of a homely Farm For us to toil in, where we're hardly warm, In the possession of it, when anon, Our Lease runs out, and we must all be gone. Life but the parcels of a few years' breath, Summed up at last i'th' capital of death, Time's wast-book: health. and strengths extinguisher Heavens great derider: Hell's remembrancer. The old man's profit, and the young man's loss, The rich man's Idol, and the poor man's cross: Sins active Pander for some little space, Then to Repentancea sad looking glass. Pleasure's mean vassal, times obedient ●alve, And a most faithful servant to the Grave. Death charges Time, Time charges Life, by Roll, To make account of every living Soul: The grand Collector, by just calculation, Himself discharges of each Generation▪ In deaths exchequer, then begins afresh, T'exact the impost of all living flesh. This is that we call Life, this is the thing, Of which poor Mortals make such reckoning, As if the sum of all their happiness, Lay in their breathing for some little space. Alace that men of reason thus should lie Sick of an universal frenzy: And not roused up at length perceive, for shame, What is this Life, which they so much esteem. This Life,— a thing so burdensome to me, As how I hate it you do clearly see. May I not then oppress't with Life repine, Since there's no Life comparable to mine? The dregs of Life, that do with me remain, Are but the mere fomenters of my pain: For who extended night and day, on rack Would not, with all his heart Death welcome make? O let me then to God make my address; O let me to himself my woes express: He is a God of mercy, and will hear Th'oppressed, and have regard to every tear That drops from pious eyes.— A sore complaint then on myself I'll make, And in the anguish of my Soul I'll speak. I'll say to God, condemn me not; and why 2. I will say unto God condemn me not and why dost thou contend with me? Wilt thou contend with such a thing as I, An Eagle take the pains to kill a flee! Contend with me,!— a thing not to be named, A thing, of which even Nature is ashamed, A piece of Earth, that serving for no use, Is thrown out on the Dunghill as refuse, The dross of human frailty, the abstract Of all, that's mouldy, low, decayed, and cracked. A thing now grating at the gates of death, Retarded only by a gasping breath; A thing so mean as is not worth thy wrath. Then why, good Lord, dost thou take so much pleasure, 3. Thinkest thou it good to oppress me, and to cast of the labours of thy hands, and favour the wicked? T'oppress so mean a thing, beyond all measure? What doth this to thy Glory contribute? How doth such usage with thy Justice suit? Alace I know not how the matter stands, But thus t'undo the labour of thy hands, Thus to destroy a Creaure thou didst frame, And once didst think it worthy of a name: Nay, as thy Creature, thou was't pleased to own, Thus to reject it, with a sullen frown, Me thinks is strange.— What may the Atheists say, When thy own servants are oppress't this way? Why they will surely, in their scoffing mode, Blaspheme the ever glorious Name of God. See here, they'll say, a man, who seriously Applied his mind to th'u'rt of piety, Who his great God, above all things adored; A most devoted Servant to his Lord. One, who not pleased with what his neighbours used, Despised their Religion, and refused T'acknowledge any of their Deities, But, in a zealous frenzy, did devise, A Deity to himself peculiar, Out of an humour to be singular. See now, they'll say, see how his God doth treat him, See how his Lord, he so much loved, doth hate him. How he doth whip him:— how he takes delight To vex a man, who used himself to write A most obedient Servant to his God, See how he beats him with a heavy Rod. Let him complain, weep▪ pray, do what he can, Let him cry out, yet still this pious man Finds none to comfort, pity, or deplore him, And for his God, ' has no compassion for him, But, on the contrair, doth appear t'abhor him. Sure this will be their language; thus alace, Those impious wretches will themselves express. Yes this will be their Table-talk, I fear,, O then forbear, for thy own sake, forbear Thus to torment me, lest in plaguing me, These men conclude that all who honour thee Will be thus used— O do not gratify Those bold professors of impiety, In my so sad, and grievous punishment, But please, good Lord, to let thy wrath relent, And from those cruel torments, set me free, That such, as do contemn thy Laws, may see How merciful a God thou art, how just, How kind to such, as in thee place their trust. But why should I presume thus to express, 4. Hast thou carnal eyes, or dost thou see, as man seeth. What thou well know▪ st, and I at best but guess. Thou, who didst all things frame, dost all things know Those hateful sinners will blaspheme thee so, If thou continue thus to torture me, Thus I suspect, but thou dost plainly see Thy eyes, O Lord, are not of humane fashion. Obnoxious in the least, to fascination: No, no, my God, I know thy piercing eye Doth, at one glance, the whole Creation spy, Its Horizon being sole ubiquity, Nor are thy days, O Lord, like those of man, 5. Are thy days as man's days, or thy years as the time of man. So that we might thy time by numbers scane, No, Lord, thy days surpass our admiration, And scorn th' endeavours of our Computation, For who will undertake to calculat That time, which by no time is limitat? That immense time, whose vast extent doth lie 'twixt the two Tropics of Eternity, Whose hours, and minutes are innumerable, As is its durance unimaginable; I know, good Lord, no time can comprehend What no Beginning had, and had no End. Now, since 'tis so, then let me understand, 6. That thou enquirest of mine iniquity, and searchest out my sin. What is the reason (if I dare demand) Why thou a God so high, and excellent, Dost take such pleasure in my punishment? Why thou shouldst give such out let to thy wrath, As to pursue thy servant to the death? Why thou shouldst make such formal inquisition After my sins, and call for exhibition Of all my hidden thoughts: as if thou meant, By such harsh dealing, to make evident Thy hatred to thy Creature, and proclaim To all the World, what I conceal, for shame: Thy torturing me thus doth plainly speak, The language of a hot, inveterat picque. From thee such usage is not ordinar, For thou'rt not subject as we poor Mortals are, To passion, and revenge: then let me know what have I done, that thou shouldst bait me so, What have I to thy anger contribute, That, with such hatred, thou shouldst prosecute The relics of a man, the vanity Of Life, the ruins of Mortality? Ah Lord, however I have sinned before, 7. Thou knowest that I cannot do wickedly, for none can deliver me out of thy hand. Yet now thou seest I can do so no more: For thou dost keep me in an Iron Cage, In which I wast the glean of my age. In sad reflections on my by past times, Calling to mind a thousand horrid Crimes I have committed, for which constantly I beg for mercy from thy Majesty. But now, although I would, I can't do ill, My Soul thou so with bitterness dost fill; No power of sinning doth with me remain, Unless thou judge it sinful to complain: And, if complaints be sinful, then alace, No humane language can my sins express. I am indeed most guilty of that sin, For, in this moment, I do but begin My sore complaint. Nay though I cry in vain, And though I to no purpose do complain, Yet can I not forbear to give some vent To that huge grief, which doth my Soul torment. Ah, Lord, didst thou not frame me? didst not thou 8. Thine hands have made me, and fashioned me round about, and wilt thou destroy me? To me, at Birth, a humane shape allow? Didst thou not mould, and fashion me around? Of many simples didst not me compound? And wilt thou now this goodly frame destroy. In whose Composing thou didst Art employ? Wilt thou this thing, by second operation, Reduce to th'state of primitive Creation. And end thy Labours, in annihilation? Remember, Lord, how thou of clay didst frame 9 Remember I pray thee that thou hast made me, as the clay and ●il● thou bring me into dust again? This Figure, to which thou didst give the Name Of Body— breathed upon't, and made it live, Then to't a certain lease of Life didst give: Thou taught it how to think, to speak, and act, And entered with this Creature in Contract, By which thou didst engage it to maintain, And wilt thou now unravel all again? Didst thou not pour me out, like Milk, and lay 10. Hast thoú not poured 〈◊〉, like milk, and turned me to curds, like cheese? My first foundation in a drop of Whey? Which in warm Vessels kindly entertained, For some small time, a liquid thing remained, Then from the serous matter separate, In a most ball it did coagulate, of such a form, as on the Cruds would squeeze, Into the globous figure of a Cheese. Then didst thou, by an Art inimitable. 11. Thou clothed me with skin, and flesh, and jo●●ed me together, with bones and sinews. Translate me from a simple vegetable, Into a well compacted sensitive, And, from that hour, appointedst me to live. With Bones, and Sinews than thou didst me knit, And wrapped me in a Damask Coverlet. Of Nerves, and Muscles; and (though yet a Brute) Thou cloathedst me in a most goodly Suit Of Ivory Skin: a Suit accommodate For every Season, every Rank, and State: When thou had thus apparelled me, and I 12. Thou hast given me life, and grace and thy visitation hath preserved my spirit. Now entered junior of Mortality; Then I begun to rouse, and stir apace, And with my Sense my Hunger did increase, I called for Food, which thou didst soon prepare, And furnished me, (though a close prisoner In the dark Womb) yet didst thou every day, By secret Canals, to my mouth convey Fresh Victuals, in good case: then after all, Was't please t'infuse the spirits animal, And I became a creature rational. Thus having past my course of Generation, Each hour, I waited for a fair occasion, To launch out in the World's great Ocean, And enter my Apprentisage to Man. After nine months' imprisonment, at length Having obtained some tolerable strength, At a Springtide of humours, I set out Of th' Harbour of the Womb, with such a shout, With such a dreadful Peal of Groans, with such Hard tugging, sweeting, wrestling, and so much Sad labour, toil, and crying out (for all, Who see me launching still more hands did call) As I begun of passage to despair, And hadst not thou, my God, of me ta'en care, For all my strength, I ne'er had passed the Bar. But after all this labour, toil, and sweat, By which I was almost exanimate, After, with main force, I had wrestled out, And now amazed, begun to stare about, And view this New found-world. which to that hour I ne'er had heard of, nor e'er seen before: Then thou, by instinct, mad'st me weep amain, ('Cause all I viewed, was transient, and vain,) And wish that I were in the Womb again. Yet, since thou hadst ordained that I should live, Thou▪ in thy wisdom, didst think fit to give, Reason and Knowledge to me, whereby I Might learn to live, by learning first to die. Thou didst preserve me by thy Providence, Thy Grace was to my Soul a strong defence, Against all temptations: thy Paternal care Did for my Body daily Food prepare. To thee alone, Lord, (th' hast obliged me so) My Birth, my Being, all that's good I owe But what needs further, Lord, I do confess 13. Though thou hast hid these things in thine heart, yet I know that is so with thee. I owe more to thee, than I can express: For reckoning all my Life-time o'er, and o'er, I find I'm in thy debt still more, and more, So that at length I'm broke upon the score. For who so guilty of ingratitude, What man so void of reason, who so rude, Whoso unthinking, as when he begins To reckon up thy mercies, and his sins, But will acknowledge he's obliged to thee, (Though punished, tortured, and oppressed like me) When he considers how thou formerly Hast guarded him, since his Nativity. From what had else besaln him, hadst not thou, Both owned him kindly, and supplied him too, With all things for his life convenient, Since the first hour he to the world was sent. And then, if any man perhaps intent, Some small proportion of his time to spend; ●th' serious and useful contemplation Of the so much to be admired Creation: And view the order of thy Providence, How to each living Soul thou dost dispense Thy Justice, and thy mercy, instantly He'd find his Reason in an exta●●e; Whilst linking second causes, in a▪ chain, By thumbing of 'em, he'd attempt, in vain To fathom, what no Art can comprehend. And then at length he'd find there is no end In searching of such things, and so give o'er His inquisition, and will dive no more▪ In that abyss, but end his contemplation In a profound, and humble admiration: Acknowledging that, save to thee alone, Those Mysteries can not at all be known. Thou, Lord, hast all things made, dost all things spy▪ 14. If I have sinned than thou wilt strictly look unto me and wilt not hold me guiltless of mine iniquity. Nothing can be concealed from thy Eye: For what man labours, by his foolish art, To lock up in the Cabin of his Heart, And thinks a secret, to thee, Lord, is known, As well, as what to public view is shown. If I have sinned then, thou wilt instantly Look, with a most sever, enquiring Eye Upon my Errors, and wilt not acquit Me from the Censure that is just, and fit, To be on man inflicted, in such cases, But wilt, most justly, as my sin increases, Add to my punishment, and possibly Entail why woes on my Posterity. Why then, if I have sinned, I am undone, 15. If I have done wickedly, ●o unto me, if I have done righteously I will not lift up my head, being full of confusion, because I see my affliction, And merit to be pitied by none, Because I knew thy Justice would not spare For all excuses, such as guilty are: Hence if I've sinned; my Doom I plainly read: If not, I will not yet lift up my head, Or say● ' th' least that I am innocent, Because I fear a further punishment: But still imagine that I guilty am, And, in thy presence, hide my face, for shame, I'll live in great humility, and fear, For no man in thy fight, can just appear. But how soe'er the matter be, good Lord, 16. But let it increase, hunt thou me as a lion, return, and show thyself marvellousupon me. Proceed thou to destroy me, in a word, Let lose the Reins of thy consuming Wrath, And never leave me, whilst the Gates of Death ●ly open to receive me: Let thy Rage, By close pursuit, abridge my lingering age. Never give o'er, but rouse me every day, With the same view▪ as Lions hunt their Prey: Break me to pieces, do, and so express, Thyself admired in my unworthiness. For, rather than in such sad torments lie, 17. Thou renewest thy plagues against me, and thou increasest thy wrath against me, changes and armies of sorrows are against me. 'Twere better far I instantly should die. Let me then quickly be undone, let all Thy heavy plagues at once upon me fall; And not by Piece-meal, every day augment The several species of my punishment, And thus each hour thy dreadful Chase renew, As if thou didst take pleasure to pursue My wearied Soul.—— Armies of sorrows up against me draw, With all the numerous rude Militia Of foul diseases, which my Body seize, Whilst I am to such Cannibals, as these A daily prey, my sores do still increase, And in my Spirit I can have no peace. Then O why didst thou bring me from the Womb? 18. Wherefore then▪ hast thou brought me out of the 〈◊〉▪ O that I had perished, and that no eye had seen me. Why did I from my Native Cottage come? Where I no sorrow knew, no trouble felt, But most secure in peace, and plenty dwelled▪ Was it for this that to the World I came! For this— that ever I was born— for shame! For this— that e'er my Mother should ha'▪ known The pangs of Childbirth, nay one single groan, In bringing forh a Creature destinate, For grief, and sorrow; one, whom God doth hate; Against whom he doth his angry Sword unsheathe, And every day doth wound him in his Wrath. But ne'er will bless him with the blow of Death. Would I had perished in the Womb, at least Would ● a stillborn Embryo, at best Had dropped into the World, and instantly Had been Boxed up, and Buried, so no eye Had seen me this side of Mortality. Would I had been, as though I ne'er had been, 19 And that I were as I had not been, but brought from the womb to the grave. Without existence, never heard, or seen: Would Providence for me had never cared, Would my fond Parents had their labour spared, And I a thing without all form, and shape, Had been concealed in Nature's modest Lap: When from the Womb soft hands did me receive, Would I had fairly slipped into the Grave. But since I am condemned,— O since I must, 20. Are not my days few, let him cease, and leave off from me, that I may take a little comfort. In a few days, incorporate with Dust: Since thou, O Lord, wilt call for what is thine; And I to Worms this Body must resign: Some little respite, for thy Mercy sake Allow me, that I may some comfort take. Before I to the Land of darkness go, 21. Before I go, and shall not return, even to the land of darkness, and shadow of death▪ A dismal Land, which never Light did know, Whence I shall not return, a dreadful Land, Where pale-faced horror doth in chief command: Where Worms with Death in council sit, and call For an account of every Funeral: Where empty Sculls in heaps are gathered, And with dry Bones the Land is overspread. A Land so very dark, no art can trace, 22. Into a land I say, dark as darkness itself, and into the shadow of death where▪ is no order, & the light▪ is there as darkness. It's true dimensions, or by Map express Its Situation, a most barbarous Land, Whose Laws, and Language none can understand: A Land of mourning, where no joy is known, But Mirth, and Sorrow there are both as one. Cap. XI. THus Job had spoke, thus had himself expressed, 1. Then answered Zophar the Naamathite, and said, Whilst his poor troubled Soul could find no rest: For 'stead of sleeping, he did still complain, Keep't waking by the torture of his pain: But (which is worse) when he had made an end Of speaking, and, it may be, did intend To take a Nap; then some of those, who keep't Him company, and (as we fancy) sleeped By turns, would fall a speaking, and with heat, Engage him in a most unkind debate. Thus when▪ he now had spoke, thus instantly, Zophar his friend made him this tart reply. Who can with patience, thy vain humour bear? 2. should not the multitude of words be answered, or should a great talker be justified. Or, says he, so much idle talking hear? From whence this torrent of discourse? from whence This foolish bragging of thy innocence? From whence this clamour? whence this sad complaining, Whence all this crying out? what is the meaning Of all these blustering words? whence all this noise? Dost think, my friend, thou hast to do with Boy's? Dost think us fools? dost think us Novices? Dost think we do not understand thy case? Pray'to what purpose shouldst complain so sore? Dost think we never see such things before? Then what dost mean by such a multitude Of puling words? dost think we will conclude, From all these fine expressions thou art just, And so believe thou'rt innocent, on trust. Should men, with silence, hear thy precious lies? 3. Should men hold their peace at thy lies? and when thou mockest others, should none make thee ashamed? Or when thou dost make faces, shut their eyes? As if, forsooth, 'twere finful to behold Such a sad Object.—— Dost think but we all, with compassion see Thy case, although we can't comply with thee, In all thy doleful, foolish exclamations▪ Nor second thee, in thy expostulations, Thou, who so often hast thy Neighbours blamed For such vain talk, shouldst thou not be ashamed To prate so idly?—— Shouldst thou not be ashamed thus to assert 4. For thou hast said, my doctrine is pure, and I am clean in thy eyes. Thy uprightness, when he who knows the heart, Doth laugh at thee, pray with what impudence Dost thou upbraid us, with thy innocence? Thinkst thou that we believe that all is true Which now thou speaksed?— no, if thou hadst thy due, And all thy words, were well considered, ' Stead of being pitied, shouldsed be punished. Thou blameless in thy Life! thou innocent! Thou one, of whom no man can make complaint! Thou in the sight of God, upright, and clear! Bless us!— what foolish arrogance is here! Was ever wise man in discourse so weak! Did ever man, so like a mad man speak! Was e'er such talking heard? wouldst thou lay claim To what no Mortal can attain?— for shame, Forbear such words, forbear this canting strain, And of thy Maker do no more complain, For all thy exclamations are in vain. But since we can't prevail with thee, and since 5. But O that God would speak and open his lips against thee. I see we are not able to convince The of thy Errors: O that he would speak, Who framed the Tongue, that for his Justice sake, (Since what we argue, is but lame, and faint) Himself would please to take up th'▪ argument: And lay thy sins before thee all a row, That so we might, by demonstration, show How much thou'rt in the wrong, and let thee see In short, how like, for all the world, to thee The fool doth prate, who when in humour crossed, And overpowered with judgements, thinks all's lost. O that our God himself would take in hand 6▪ That he might show thee the secrets of wisdom, how thou hast deserved double according to right, know therefore that God hath forgot thee for thy iniquity. To answer thee, and make thee understand Wisdom's true value, which if thou didst know, Thou wouldst not through impatience bluster so, As now thou dost, nor clamour at this rate, For were thy punishment proportionat With thy foul sins, as thou hast merited, Thou shouldst indeed be doubly punished; Know therefore that because of thy offence God hath forgot thee, and will not from hence Acknowledge thee, as he has done before, And, in his presence shall't appear no more. But say now thou, who dost to Wit lay claim, 7. Canst thou by searching, find out God? canst thou find out the Almighty to his perfection? And thy own Knowledge dost so much esteem: Thou, who thy friends, and neighbours fools dost call, And think'st thou knowest much more than we do all, Vexing us with a pitiful relation, Of all thy former Life, and Conversation: With Tales of thy pretended patience, And formal Stories of thy Innocence. Canst thou, my friend, conclude, with all thy art, What truly God is? canst thou, for thy heart, Reduce thy Maker to his proper kind? Or thy Creator in perfection find? Say, canst thou do this? wilt thou take in hand, To answer me the question I'll demand? In the first place then, I desire to know 8. The heavens are high, what canst thou do? deeper than hell, how canst thou know it? How high the Heavens are? say now canst thou show What bounds that spacious Vault doth comprehend? How far it doth from East to West extend? On what foundations the proud Pillars stand, Which that vast arch support? what mighty hand Did found them? in each of'em how much space Doth lie betwixt the Chapter, and the Base? No 'tis in vain, thou mayst thy labour spare, Such things beyond thy scantling knowledge are. For, as Heavens are immeasurably high, So the Foundations of those Pillars lie Deeper than Hell itself: thou canst not reach Their true dimensions, which no art can teach, Nor can the same by Theorems express, For all your Artists do but faintly guests What really and truly these things are. For O how mean, and low they do appear Demonstrat in a Map, a Globe, or Sphere, By our vain plodding Charlatans' of Art, Who cannot comprehend the smallest part Of the Creation, and yet soar so high, As nought below th' Empyrean Canopy, Can satisfy their curiosity. Nay even those, who pretend by art to know 9 The measure thereof is longer than the earth, and it is broader than the sea. The measure of the Heavens, and boldly show Their Longitude by Lines imaginary, Even those same fools in their opinions vary, And can't agree what bounds they should allow For that capacious Fabric: far less thou, Void of all art, canst make us understand How far that Powerful, All-creating Hand, The wings of Heaven beyond the Earth has spread, How much, in breadth they do the Seas exceed. Yet, if our God at any time intent 10. If he cut off, and shut up, or gather together, who can turn him back? To pull down all this Pile, and make an end Of what, with admiration, we behold, And so esteem, its worth cannot be told▪ If God intent to cut the Heavens asunder, And blast the universal Globe with Thunder, Pray who can stop him? who can turn him back? Or to desist from his intentions make? If once he thus intent, he'll surely do it, 11. For he knoweth vain man, and seeth iniquity, and him that understandeth nothing. And see what any Mortal dares say to it. For O he knows vain men, he knows us all Full well, and what we Wit, and Parts do call, He names mere folly, and can clearly show The wisest man on Earth doth nothing know. He knows our private Cabin-thoughts full well, In vain from him our sins we do conceal, He knows them all: no winged thought can fly From Pole to Pole so soon, but instantly Our God discovers from whose Breast it came, And, in that instant, can its owner name. He sits in all the Councils of the Heart, And, undiscovered, laughs at all our Art, By which we manage every close design, So covertly, as those, who dig a Mine, Unseen by any, yet he plainly sees What we intent by all such thoughts as these. Yet would vain man fain be esteemed wise, 12. Yet vain man would be wise, though man new born is like a wild asles colt. And think each one injures him, who denys To him, that goodly Epithet, although This self conceited fool doth nothing know: Stupid, insipid, ignorant, and dull, Rude, as a Booby, of a thick, hard scull Is this same man at best, a very brute, And, while refined by art, without dispute, Like a wild Ass' Colt; so dull a Creature As he appears no more obliged to Nature, Then rugged Flints, until by Artists hand Polished, and cut.— But after all, though mankind in hIs eyes 13. If thou prepare thine heart, and stretch out thine hands toward him, Be of no value, yet he still will prise Religious thoughts, and quickly understand True sighs, and pious motions of the hand. If evil from thy heart thou'lt banish far, 14. If iniquity be in thine hand, put it far away, and let no wickedness dwell in thy tabernacie. And against fin declare a formal War; If thou, in thy own house, as Judge wilt sit, Acting, in all things what is just, and fit, Suffering no Crime within thy walls to sleep, But, in a most assiduous method, keep Strict watch upon thy actions, and practise Good things, and use Religious exercise. When thou art private with thy Family, As an instructor in true Piety. Then shalt thou glory in thy Innocence. 15. Then shalt thou truly lift up thy face, without spot, and shalt be stable, and shall not fear. And, in thy well Reformed Conscience, Enjoy a sweet, serene tranquillity, Beyond the reach of Malice, and envy. Then, without stain thou shalt hold up thy face, In brisk defiance of the World's disgrace, In resolutions fixed thou shalt appear, Above all the impressions of fear. Shalt end thy days in calm prosperity, 16. But thou shalt forget thy misery, and remember it as waters that are past. Forgetting all thy former misery: And shalt remember on thy woes, at last, As men remember dreams when they are passed. Or, as when water streams pass quickly by, They're no more noticed by the Traveller's eye: So shall thy troubles be at length, forgot, Obliterat, extinguished, dashed, what not? Then shalt the appear more flourishing, and gay, 17. Thine age shall also appear more clear, than the noonday, thou shalt shine, and be as the morning. Than doth the Sun at Noon-tide of the day: Or, as he from his Morning Couch doth rise, And with his sweet Carnation-blushes, dies The Mountain-tops, so than thou shalt appear, And, like him, shine most beautiful, and clear. Founded in hope, thou shalt, with confidence, 18. And thou shalt be bold, because there is hope, and thou shalt dig pits, and shalt lie down safely. Boldly rely upon thy Innocence: Enjoy the good things of'the Earth, in store, And shalt know want, and penury no more. Thou shalt, with safety, Furrow up the Ground, And, where Earth's hidden Treasures can be found, Securely dig, and reap those goodly things, Which here beget us Emperors, and Kings, Nay thou shalt with thy Riches have more peace, And sleep more sound, than the best of these. For in profound tranquillity of mind, 19 For when thou takest thy rest, none shall make thee afraid, yea many shall make suit unto thee. Thou shalt great ease, and satisfaction find: With soft, domestict peace thou shalt be blessed, No rude alarm shall disturb thy rest. Thy proud Relations shall not thee despise, But, maugre all their envy, thou stalt rise In wealth, and reputation, and increase In all the goodly perquisits of peace. For, stead of cursing, with uplifted hands, They shall present thee with their mean demands, And, with sad groan, and submission plead The favour of some petty Loaves of bread, T' allay the Famine, and compesce the cries Of their decaying, half-starved Families. But such as in their ●ins do persevere, 20. But the eyes of the wicked shall fail, and their refuge shall perish, and their hope shall be sorrow of mind. And with high lifted hands do boldly Err: Such, as on wrath, and malice are intent, And have no Inclination to repent God shall destroy: all their fair hopes shall fail, Nor shall their Death-bed-tears with him prevail. He with great justice, shall reject their Suit, And, when they are accused, they shall be mute. Sorrow of mind, anxiety, and care, Black Horror, sad Remembrance, and Despair, Shall be with those poor men familiar. Cap. XII. WIth pious silence Job had all this time 1. Then job answered and said. Herd Zophar shrewdly aggravat his crime: Made to his talk no interruption, As many, in his case, would sure ha' done, But, so soon as his friend an end had made, To his discourse he only answered. Indeed, my friends, I see you are so wise 2. Indeed because you are the people only wisdom must die with you. 'Tis to be feared, with you all Wisdom dies. You feel no pains, and torments, as I do, And therefore think all my Expressions now Are but like Schoolboys whinings, when chastised For their own good: for such indeed you're pleased T'esteem my carriage. You who have never yet affliction known, On whose foft faces no rude wind has blown: Have ne'er known sorrow, or the use of tears, But smilingly enjoyed your peaceful years; 'Tis easy for you, in such words as these T'accuse th'afflicted of what crimes you please. Then after all this Torrent of Discourse, 3. But I have understanding as well as you, and am not inferior to you, yea who knoweth not such things? Sure you imagine that by very force Of reason, you've obliged me to confess That I'm now punished for my wickedness. You think you have my case so opened, In arguments not to be answered, And so ensnared me by your Art, and Skill, As I a Fool, a Madman, what you will, Must as a man found guilty hold my peace, And hear my Sentence read upon my knees. But seriously, my friends, I'd have you know You're much deceived, if you imagine so: I know no difference betwixt you, and me In any thing, but what you all do see, My sad affliction. I'm scandalously poor, I must confess, But I was never taxed with foolishness: For follow your discourse, and you shall find, Although I cannot so express my mind, As you do in your Flowers of Eloquence, Yet truly I lack neither Wit, nor Sense, Memory, Judgement, or what Parts you call, And understand as much, as you do all. Whence this insulting then? pray to what end 4. I am as one mocked of his neighbours, who calleth upon God, and he heareth, him, the just, and the upright is laughed to scorn. Do all your vain Expostulations tend? Whence all these Accusations? alace D'ye mean to mock me in my very face? Because God, in his mercy, grants you all, Your hearts desire, and hears you, when you call, Therefore a man afflicted, and oppressed Must be the subject of your unkind jest. You think perhaps that God doth favour none, Or has respect, but for yourselves alone; Because you're rich, because you never yet Have known the pangs of a distressed Estate. Hence, (though upright, and just) the poor with you Have no esteem; to such you don't allow The Character of simple Innocence, But laugh at all such, with great Insolence. For O how meanly you Rich Men do prise 5. He that is ready to fall is as a lamp despised in the opinion of the rich. The Poor, though Pious, Virtuous, Learned, and Wi. Yes you on Riches only set your hearts, And weigh men by their Money, not their Parts. Hence I've observed, my friends, that such as you Do undervalue. and (I know not how) As on a Lamp, or Link extinguished, On all, that are not rich, you proudly tread. But what needs more:— 'tis so, and still will be, 6. The tabernatles of robbers do prosper, and they are in safety that provoke God, whom God hath enriched with his hand. For wicked persons do increase we see, And men of unjust Principles do rise In Wealth, and Power, erecting Families Upon the Ruins of the Just, and those Who understand no Piety (God knows) Do live in safety: with his bounteous hand, God doth enrich them, and they fill the land. Why this to me is no strange thing, I knew How God did rule the World as well as you. Nay who's so stupid, who so void of sense 7. Ask now the beasts and they shall teach thee, and the fouls of the heaven, and they shall tell thee. As doth not understand how Providence Earth's Governor, chief Minister of state To our Great God, doth all things regulate Below the Sun, allowing t' every Creature Its Shape, its Substance, Virtue, Food, and Nature. For ask the Beasts that toil for daily fare, On Earth, and those, who in the open Air Keep constant Commerce, and they will plainly tell What you have lately preached to me, as well As any of you all; they will fully show How much all Creatures to their Maker owe. Or speak to th'Earth, and it will soon proclaim 8. Or speak to the earth, and it shall show thee, or the fishes of the sea, and they shall declare unto thee. The Power of God, and his most Glorious Name, Nay very infects, things so despicable As some o'th'learned hold it questionable Whether they be of primitive Creation, Or merely by equivocque Generation, Begot on putrid matter by the Sun, When through the hot Signs he his course doth run. Or speak to the Fishes, who do every day, Amidst the rude waves, unconcernedly play, All these will clearly speak how deep a sense, They have o'th'gracious power of Providence. Then to what purpose all your talk? pray why 9 Who is ignorant of all these, but that the hand of the Lord hath made these? Should you obtrude your mean Philosophy Upon your friend? alace I'd have you know Your wisdom's common to all here below. Why so dogmatic, when you only preach, What the Creation every hour doth teach? Must we esteem you wise, because that you Know as much as the Brutal Creatures do? Or shall we think that you deserve esteem, Because you can descantupon a Theme, Well known to all men? for who's ignorant Of what you speak? though you do proudly vaunt, You are the only knowing men, alace, How much do I commiserate your case. For ah, who knows not how Gods mighty hand Hath all things framed in Heavens, Air, Sea, and Land. That mighty hand, that hand, which doth contain 10. In whose hand is the soul of every living thing, and the breath of all mankind. The precious Soul of every living man: That hand, which grasps at once both Life, and Death, That hand, which stops, and le's out every Breath: That mighty hand we know hath form all, Without the help of what you wisdom call. That powerful hand, that right hand, which alone Acts by true wisdom, is most surely known, Beyond what all your wisdom can rehearse, To be the Author of the Universe. For lets observe but, who did frame the Ear, 11. Doth not the ear discern the words, and the mouth taste meat for itself. And for what use: why it will soon appear, If once we speak: for then articulate, And distinct words entering that narrow Gate; Through the Ears winding Turnpikes progress make, And are conducted to the Intellect, In decent order, have quick audience, And from the council of the common Sense, As quick returns: for words are instantly Dispatched in answer: twinkling of an eye, Th' earsof both speakers do these words convey, T' each others judgements i'th'same form, and way. Let us observe then, how this useful sense, By special licence from high providence, Enjoys its place, and faculty, nor are Those many towers, and windings in the ear, There to no purpose, since experience Demonstrats every day their excellence. For, as we see in Prince's Palaces, How all the avenues, and passages Are strictly guarded, to oppose the rude Tumultuous entries of the Multitude: Whilst civil persons, who have business, Pass through the Guards, and daily make address To th' Prince's ear: so all the Guard o'th' brain To civil courteous words do make a Lane, Which passing forward to the Intellect, Are there received with kindness, and respect. But, if in throngs, and with a hideous shout, They chance to make approach, to keep such out, The Drum o'th' Ear doth quickly beat to Arms, Yet by the frequent use of such alarms, Those Guards are ofttimes overcome, and thence Men lose the use of that most useful sense. That useful sense, to which indeed we owe, The greatest part of what we learn, or know, So that were't even but in that curious sense, We may admire the work of Providence. Observe the Mouth too, how it tastes the Meat, To try if it be wholesome, sour, or sweet, Ere to the Stomach, whether it doth tend, It can have access, that it may defend, The Body from all Food, that's destructive, To health, and make its charge securely live. Now from such topics, though there were no moe, Who may not soon, th' Almighty's Glory know? Forbear then all your arguing, pray forbear And let's no more of your vain Lectures hear Upon this subject, since no art can show The full extent of what we only know, From such external signs, for what indeed The Power of God is, whence all things proceed, Which here we see: how things are regulate In Heavens, and Earth: how he did Fabricate This vast stupendious Globe, which still the more We view, the more the Framer we adore Is what exceeds our reach. 'Tis true indeed, (and I do not deny) 12. Amongst the ancient is wisdom, and in the length of days is understanding. But even on this side of Mortality, There is a wisdom, which one may attain By serious thoughts, and labour of the Brain, There is a thing I know, which in some sense May be thought wisdom, called experience, Which mongst aged persons keeps its Residence. Seldom in other company we see This grave Instructor, whom I take to be A thing made up of many passages Of foolish Life, by which it seems to guests At future Events, and would wisely cast By th'vanity of things already past, The issues of new Counsels, but alace, When we perceive how still new passages Occur, which we have never known before, Then we admire, and can presage no more. And then, when we reflect what vast Expense Acquaintance with this same Experience Doth cost ' us daily, and how, ere we can Improve to its full height the wit of man, The life of man runs out: who'd not assert That all the knowledge, all the wit, the art, And all the cunning, which we can attain Below the Heavens is absolutely vain. Vain, and inconstant, frail, and perishing A very inconsiderable thing, Not worth our pains to know: for don't we see Mongst all alive on earth how few there be Can teach us, which obliges us to crave Instructions from the Records of the Grave, Their sayings we esteem, their Works we read, And borrow all our Knowledge from the Dead. But O how mean, how poor, and despicable 13. With him is wisdom, and strength, he hath counsel, and understanding. This Wisdom looks! how like a very babble! A thing of no esteem, compared with that, Which did this Glorious Universe create! That,— that's true Wisdom! that— O that indeed Doth all your Human Wisdom far exceed. For with our God, Wisdom, and Strength doth dwell, In understanding he doth all excel. No more than of that thing you Wisdom call, Here's Wisdom that gives silence to you all. A Divine Wisdom, which no art can teach! A perfect Wisdom, far above our reach! A Wisdom infinite! incomparable! Vastly profound! simply inimitable, By us poor Mortals! O the Excellence Of this eternal pure intelligence! This uncreated Wisdom! this so fair, Unspotted Knowledge! this so singular And precious Wisdom! this so eminent And glorious Prescience, which did all invent This solid Understanding! this so clear, And pointed Wisdom, which should only bear The name of Wisdom! this doth plainly show We have no Wisdom, we do nothing know: But all the Wisdom we can here attain, Is (without question) evident, and plain (Though on it we bestow a goodly name) But like the sparks, that issue from the flame. Or as we see in a contracted Ray O'th'Sun how Atoms wantonly do play, Which were but ●ust, while by that glorious Beam Raised from the Dunghill: then to men they seem To be some things of moment, and become The subject of grave arguing to some More curious Brains; as they're of admiration To duller judgements; and of meditation To pious Breasts: yet let the Sun recall His Animating Ray, and after all Those things appear but transient, and vain, And soon incorporate with the dust again. Just so all Humane Knowledge animat By wisdom from above we estimat For some small time, so long as so inspired, But when the Divine Rays are once retired, Then we perceive what we did late esteem Was but a Shadow, or an empty Dream. O the great Power of God who can express 14. Behold he will break down, and it cannot be built, he shutteth a man up, and he cannot ' be loosed. His admirable Strength! we must confess 'Tis he alone that rules, 'tis he alone That orders all, accountable to none. 'Tis he that builds, 'tis only he erects Kingdoms and States; 'tis he alone protects These in their being; he alone beats down Those powerful Corporations, assoon As he thinks fit: he overturns them all; At his command to Anarchy they fall. Those glistering things, which we adore by names Of Sceptres, Robes, Swords, Balls, and Diadems, He breaks to pieces with his mighty hand, To let the admiring world understand 'Tis he alone, by whom all Prince's reign; And fall; and whom he once beats down, in vain Mortals endeavour to restore again. Or if they do, he renders their designs Unsuccessful, and quickly countermines Their secret Plots: but when they have done all That men can do, if on his Name they call, Then he will hear, and by his Power alone Restore Exiled Princes to the Throne. When he imprisons men, (who e'er they be) No Friendship, Force, or Law can set them free. When he seals up the Clouds, then by, and by 15. Behold he withholdeth the waters and they dry up, but when he sendeth them out they destroy the earth. The Floods and Rivers of the Earth run dry. The parched Ground no moisture doth retain, But every thirsty Clod doth gape for Rain. And all the beasts o'th'field with drought oppressed, Hang out their tongues, and can enjoy no rest. But when he sends them out, they furnish all Men, Beasts, Birds, Infects, Creatures great and small With Liquor in abundance: and overflow Earth's surface quite if he will have it so. With him is Strength, and Wisdom, no thing can, 16. With him is strength & wisdom. he that is deceived; & he that deceiveth are his. Without his licence, be performed by man. Nay Sin itself, though man to it make suit, Without permission, dares not contribute To its own being: he who means to make Unlawful gain, dares not yet undertake Without God's special tolerance to do it, Who will permit it, though he don't allow it. 'Tis he, who turns the Counsels of the Wise 17. He causeth the Counsellors to go as spoiled, and maketh the judges fools. To down right folly: he who vilifies Their closely Projectings, and doth laugh at all What these Intrigues, and Cabin councils call. 'Tis ne makes Dotards on the Benches sit, And Beardless fools, when ever he thinks fit, To plague a sinful Nation: 'tis he That raises men of base, and low degree To be our Rulers: he takes Princes down, And brings th'unwieldy Distaff to the Crown: That he a sinning Nation may vex, With all the passions of that humorous Sex. He cuts of aged Princes; he alone Sets Fools, and sucking Infants on the Throne: And for the faults of an unruly Land, Makes many Prince's stead of one, command. He snatches Sceptres from the greatest Kings, 18. He looseth the collar of kings, and girdeth their loins with a girdle. Pulls off their Robes, and makes those crowned things Fettered, and pinioned, beg their daily Meat, With fear, and trembling at the Conquerors feet. Whole Nations in a beard he drives away, 19 He leadeth away the princes as a prey, and overthroweth the mighry. And of their Princes makes a lawful Prey. The high and mighty he doth overthrow Annuls their Powers, and makes the proudest low. He makes the faithful Counselors speech to fail, 20. He taketh away the speech from the faithful councillors, and taketh away the judgement of the ancient. And what they talk, sound, like an idle tale. He makes their mouths to furnish Evidence, Sufficient to condemn their Eloquence. He makes the aged, and prudent stammer out Their minds like fools; and make the audience doubt; Although they see their Senators i'th' face, If these be they, or mad men in their place. Your Sovereign Princes, who to day appear 21. He poureth contempt on princes and maketh the strength of the mighty weak- In wealth and honour, void of any fear Of being overturned, and daily fleece Their poor o'er toiling Subjects as they please, To morrow he contemptible doth make'em, And makes all these they thought their friends, forsake 'em. Deep subterraneous Caverns, where the Beams 22. He discovereth the deep places from their darkness, and bringeth forth the shadow of death to light. O▪ th'Sun ne'er pierced; dark places, void of names; Unseen, unheard of, never known before, Replete with noisome vapours to that hour, And killing Damps, foul Kennels, black as Hell; He clears, their darkness he doth soon dispel. At his command those Fogs do fly away, And these dark holes, like Noon-tide of the day Appears, so clear, and so transparent bright▪ As if they always had been full of Light. That Nation which our God intends to bless, 23. He increaseth the people, and destroyeth them, he enlargeth the nations, and bringeth them in again. He makes to flourish in all happiness. He makes the people in prosperity And wealth to live, and daily multiply. Under his own vine, ignorant of fear, Makes each man with his Neighbour keep good cheer, Furnishes to 'em all the best of Meat, Which under their own Figtree they do Eat. Proof of all Writs, these people do not care For th'heavy clutch o'th' pinching Usurer. The dismal News of an approaching term, Which frights the most of men does not alarm That happy Nation, who in plenty live, And spend as freely, as their God doth give- They know no Contributions, Raps, or Force, Quart'rings, or transient March of Foot, and Horse, No they are free of all these Curses, far From all the sad calamities of War. Whilst other Nations howl, they live at ease, Enjoying all the Benefits of Peace. But when a long continued peace has bred Foul luxury; and all the Land's o'erspread With unclean Acts, and scenick wantonness, Then farewell all their former joys, and peace. Their loud-tongued sins no sooner make a noise In God's Ears, but he instantly destroys That foolish people, whom he so much blessed▪ And throws them out, like Chaff, he doth detest Their very memory; makes them soon a prey To Barbarous Nations, who drive all away They find within that people's Land, before'em; Nor will afford them food, though they implore'em, With cries, and tears, would burst the very stones, Yet these unmoved with all their sighs, and groans, ' Stead of all answer to these sad demands, Shall poinard those poor wretches, wash their hands In their heartsblood; cut off their heads, and show Them on their spear points, not consented so Ravish their Virgins, and unrip their Wives, Brain all their Children, and with bloody Knives, On their dead Corpse their cruelty repeat, And throw large Collops to their Dogs to eat. Without regard to either sex, or age, These men shall glut their Military rage- Burn all their Houses, Towns, and Villages, Waste all, and leave no memory of peace. But after all, he will his ear afford To some small remnant, who have scaped the Sword: When in their Chains, and fetters they do cry To Heavens for mercy, than he instantly Will hear their prayers, release them from their pain, And soon restore them to their own again- When he intends a final desolation, 24. He taketh away the hearts of them, that are the chief over the people of the earth, and maketh them to wander in the wilderness out of the way. And means, in anger, to destroy a Nation; Let them give out Commissions of array, And raise well modelled Armies under Pay: With great allowance, and large hire engage The most accomplished Captains of their age To be their Generals: give them full Command, Put all their Force, and Treasure In their hand. Who may Encamp these Troops in every part, By all the Rules of Military Art: Decamp, March, Countermarch, and make a halt, Lay ambushes, besiege, and make assault; Do all that brave, and skilful Chistans dare, By the exactest Discipline of War. Assured of Victory, yet after all, A Panic Fear shall on these Captain's fall: Their Blood shall cool, their Courage shall decay, And they shall be the first shall run away, When action comes: their Troops shall be defeat, And stand in fear of every one they meet. Their broken Squadrons squandring in their way, Through all the Country shall become a prey To Boys and Peasants: Hills, and Dales to boot Shall not secure them from the hot pursuit. Three of'm in a body shan't remain Most of'm being captivat, or slain Without all hopes of Rallying again. But as men in the dark do feel, and grope, 25. They grope in the dark without light, and he maketh them to stagger like a drunken man. So shall those scattered Forces without hope, Benumbed with fear, in lamentable case, Whilst the fierce Conquerors closely pursue the Chase, Through Ditches, Pools, and Quag-mires, here and there Woods, Mountains, Cornfields, Pastures, every where, Run to preserve their Lives, but all in vain, Staggering, like so many Drunken Men. Cap. XIII. ALL this mine ears have heard, mine eyes have seen, 1. Lo mine eye hath seen all this, mine ear hath heard, and understood it. And to my knowledge, some such things have been In my own time: I have observed with care, What Changes, Turns, and Revolutions are In all Conditions of this Life, I know There's nothing fixed and solid here below. All this I know, my friends, to show you how 2. I know as much as you know, I am not inferior to you. I'm not inferior to the best of you. And were't not for the present woe, and pain I do endure, I think I could explain Myself, in manner as methodical, And as good Words, as any of you all. But I intent my Language to direct 3. But I will speak to the Almighty, and I desire to dispute with God. Only to God; only to God I'll speak. With the Almighty I'll expostulate, I do desire to enter in debate With him alone: for though I understand What has befallen me is by God's command; And his pure Justice, because while such time, As God has found, and tried, and proved the crime, Of him he means to punish: he will never Send out his Vengeance, for what suit soever Our Enemies make to him; in a word, In Justice only he doth draw the Sword, Against poor sinners, yet I fain would know For what black crimes I am tormented so. I know from God I may such answer have, 4. For indeed you forge lies, you are Physicians of no value. As may hereafter all your labour save. I know he will me fully satisfy, And tell me plainly where the cause doth lie, Of my disease: and so proceed to cure, By Principles, and Medicines more sure, Than what you can afford: I may expect From him true comfort, but what you direct Is but like Oil poured on the Flames: alace, You talk, but do not understand my case. Only you boldly vent some foolish lies, Which to condemn your friend, you do devise, But you're Physicians of no worth, or price. Indeed, my friends, I am ashamed to hear 5. O that you would hold your tongue, that it might be imputed to you for wisdom. Such idle talking: and I can't forbear At length to tell you in plain terms, that you Might truly to yourselves great kindness do; If you would hold your peace, and speak no more, Of my concerns, and what you've spoke before I shall excuse: then once, my friends, again, I must beseech you free me of the pain Of your discourse, and to yourselves allow, By holding of your peace some favour too: For foolish talkers all men do despise, But such, when silent, are esteemed wise. This granted, I desire the liberty 6. Now hear my disputation, and give ear to the arguments of my lips. To argue with you for some time, that I May show you in your reas'ning, where you err, And so convince you that what you aver Is not agreeable with Piety, And tell you where the fallacy doth lie. For here's your error now, upon pretence, That you forsooth appear in God's defence, You talk at random, your disordered zeal Over your wit, and reason doth prevail. I thought in you some comfort to have found, But 'stead of that, your bitter speeches wound My poor afflicted Soul, for you still beat Upon one string, and frequently repeat, That God doth send afflictions on none, But those, whose sins do merit them alone, From whence subsuming I have merited, You do conclude I'm justly punished. This is your constant doctrine, this is all The argument, on which, by turns you fall, Though truth it is but what Logicians call A begging of the question: for I Your major proposition still deny: And for your minor that I'm such a man, As you assert, endeavour what you can To make it out, I still deny that too, So that I only make this answer now, Of what you charge me I am innocent, And therefore merit no such punishment, As I endure.— Whence all this noise, my friends, then? to what end 7. Will you accept his person? or will you contend for God? This tumult of Discourse? if you intent Still to oppose, why I must still Defend. Or if you do intend to personate Your glorious Maker, and for him debate, Then will I make no answer; I'll not speak, Nor Harangues in God's vindication make, As you have done: for why, my friends, would you Have me to bluster out my folly too, And treat th' Almighty with such liberty, Only forsooth to bear you company? 8. It is well that he should seek of you? will you make a lie for him, as one lieth for a man? Indeed your carriage is unwarrantable, Your proud demeanour is intolerable. I know my God will no such thing allow, That such presumptuous Orators, as you Should undertake his Interest to plead, 'Gainst any here on Earth, he has no need Of your assistance: nor will he demand Advice of you: pray therefore understand Your pregnant folly, and, in common sense, Reflect upon your impious insolence. You undertake to plead for God? will you, (As for their Clients some cracked Lawyers do) Give to your passions foolish liberty, And, with great art, set out a speciously, To gain your point. This method some indeed Do use for men, but if for God you plead, You must be solid, sure, and circumspect, In everything you counsel, act, or speak. Observe then pray; our God will not permit 9 He will surely reprove you if you accept any person secretly. Such plead for him, for when he thinks fit To show the Justice of his actings, when He would convince the stolid race of men Of their gross sins, and openly detect Their hidden faults, than he himself will speak. Yes he will speak, and strongly plead his cause 10. Shall not his excellency make you afraid, and his fear fall upon you. By quoting his own equitable Laws. He'll speak, he'll speak, and show what difference Is betwixt his, and humane Eloquence. The King of Heavens will speak, and show you how His cause is mangled by such things, as you. Our God himself will make it evident You cannot manage such an argument. And when he speaks, why at his very Breath, His Orators will look as pale, as Death: In great disorder, betwixt shame, and fear, When they see God in his own cause appear: That mighty God, for whom, in purblind Zeal, They thought they had both plead, and preached well, Whilst mean time, all their Eloquence, at best Did only serve some Paltry interest, Which they'd glaze over with the Name of God, As if his Glory were their period. Though in their hearts, those men, who preach too much Upon that Subject, are not always such As they pretend: howe'er they would deceive The credulous vulgar, and make all believe, That what they spoke were upright, and sincere, Whilst really, their Eloquence, I fear, Is but like that at Bar, even so infused, As by their Clients they are kindly ased: But when God speaks, a sudden fear shall fall Upon those Preachers, and confound them all. For when he speaks, he'll tell you in your face, 11. Your memory may be compared to ashes, and your bodies to bodies of clay. You have provocked him, and abused his Grace. He gave you Parts, 'tis true, and Eloquence, But never meant that you, in his defence, Should use those Gifts, or offer to debate. For him, unless you were commissionat By special warrant from himself, for those Who, in Enthusiastic fits, suppose Men of all stations, and degrees may preach, And silly women, if they please, may teach; Those, who, like you, all others do despise, And thinks there's no man holy in their eyes, But such, as are of their opinion, say They're only perfect, walk in Gods own way; Sure these men grossly err, for God doth own, No such presumption, and it is well known, God in all ages doth such men select, As he thinks fit should by commission speak, For him to th' people: and will sure destroy Those preaching fools, whom he doth not employ. Then you, my friends, must know, that having spoke For him, without commission, you have broke His divine Statutes, and, in Heaven's Court Incurred a praemunire: to be short, For this your great presumption, your name Shall be extinguished, and your race, for shame, Shall shun men's converse: this at length, shall be The profit of such actings, this the fee Of those officiously who undertake, Without commission, for their God to speak. Then pray now from your foolish arguing cease, 12. Hold your tongues in my presence then, and let me speak, let come upon it What will. And, while I speak, be pleased to hold your peace, Forbear your talk for some time, and be still, For I intent to speak, (come out what will.) Come out what will, I'll speak, I'll boldly speak, And to my Maker my discourse direct. I'll say, Lord, why am I thus punished? 13. Wherefore do I take my flesh in my teeth, and put my soul in my hand; Thus cudgelled, stead of being comforted? Thus sharply taxed by three comforting men, As if, without a cause, I did complain. Good Lord, that I should be reproved by those, Who, if they felt the tenth part of my woes, Would instantly cry out, and make a noise, Using such faint expressions, as Boys, When whipped at Schools: such, as if they did feel What I endure, would stagger, foam, and reel, Like mad men, such, as if they knew the care● And grief I know, would instantly despair. Yet such, forsooth must censure me, good Lord, That those my friends, who comfort should afford To me in this condition, when they see What are my plagues, and what my torments be, By signs so manifest, so plain, and clear, As when, for pain, my very flesh I tear, When all o'er grown with Ulcers, all o'er run With putria sores, contemptible, undone, I here on Danghill sit, and fain would cry To thee, my God, if I had liberty, And were not interrupted by those men, Who by me sit: thou knowst, O Lord, how fain In private, I'd pour out my very Soul, If those men, who've come hither to condole My sad condition, as they do pretend, Did not obstruct me: how I fain would spend The small remainder of my troubled days In pious sighs, and setting out thy praise, By what I have observed, and heard, by fame, From others, since first to this world I came: How fain I'd pray, how fain my sins bemoan, If those torments would let me alone. It seems indeed, Lord, thou rain'st to make My case extremely sad; for this I take As not the least part of my punishment, That thou to me such comforters hath sent. Yet, Lord, I'll still apply to thee, I know 14. Lo though he slay me, yet will I trust in him, and I will reprove my ways in his sight. There is no other comfort here below: Compassion, pity, mercy there is none, But what proceeds from thee good God, alone. I'll therefore trust in thee,— in thee, good Lord, I'll only trust,— I'll hope, and— in a word, Do with me what thou wilt, let even thy wrath Be satisfied with no less than my death: Yes, kill me, Lord, cut me to pieces, do As thou thinkest fit, yet here I firmly vow, This heart, this poor oppressed heart shall never Deviat from its love to thee, what ever Come of my person:— nay even when I die, In my last gasping breath, I'll formally Express my love to thee: in thee I'll trust My gracious Maker; for, as thou art just, So thou art merciful: besides, good Lord, I know thou only comfort canst afford To men afflicted: let me then be freed Of my officious friends, who boldly plead Against me, 'stead of comforting, for I Esteem my greatest woe their company: I do indeed, for I had rather choose Be plagued by thee, then comforted by those. Now, Lord, to them though I will not confess My sinful errors, yet my wickedness, Before thee, I acknowledge, as the cause Of all my woes: Lord, I have broke thy Laws, And merit no less censure in thy sight, Than instantly to be destroyed downright. But after all, I know, O Lord, that thou 15. He shall be my salvation also, for the hypocrite shall not come- before him. Wilt use me better than these talkers do. Thou'lt be more kind, and whilst I am in pain, For some small time, allow me to complain, And then restore me to my strength again. For after all this trial, thou shalt clear My innocence, and make, at length, appear That I in sin have taken no delight, And show these men— I am no hypocrite. Now then, my friends, observe, be pleased to hear 16. Hear diligently my words, and mark my talk. What I discourse, For seriously I fear, In all your talk of late, you have abused, Yourselves more than the man you have accused. For you have said, because of my offence, 17. Behold now, if I prepare me to judgement, I know I shall be justified. That I'm by▪ God rejected, and from thence, You did affirm I might expect no more To see his face, as I had done before. Ay me!— a sentence cruel, and severe! A doom, in which great malice doth appear! Now pray, my friends, by what authority Act you these things? who gave you liberty To give out Judgement thus? for to this hour I never heard that any of you had power From our Great God to excommunicate The poorest Wretch on Earth.— I therefore hope I quickly shall be able To make appear how most unwarrantable Your sentence is, for this I surely know; As God excels in acts of justice, so In acts of mercy he doth so abound As no man needs despair: he's always found Of such as seek him, and I know he'll be As merciful, as formerly to me. But were it so, my friends, as you have said, That I'm of God rejected, then indeed, Indeed, in that case, I should soon despair, And be o' th' same opinion as you are Nor should you from my mouth hereafter hear Words of assurance, words of confidence By which I do alleviat my sense Of present sufferings: for I firmly know I know my God hath not determined so, As you allege: I know he is more just Than to reject a man, that puts his trust In him alone, a man, who never yet, In all his sad, and suffering estate, From his first Principles has deviat. For I do still believe that God has sent, Upon me now this heavy punishment, Only to try my faith, that men might know, Whether I be a hypocrite, or no: For were I such, in this my horrid case, I'd be so far from trusting in his Grace, As I'd abjure him to his very face, But O I know, I know my God will never Exclude me from his mercy's act, however He's pleased to vex me now: I know indeed He will not to an outlawry proceed, Against a man, who's willing to appear, And answer all:— no, no I do not fear, I fear not that he has rejected me, As you pretend, for, by what I can see, Should I just now before my God be tried, I doubt not but I would be justified. Then who's the man, pray, that with me will plead, 18. Who is he that will plead with me now? for if I hold my tongue, I die. And prove that for my sins I'm punished? Pray let me know the man, that so I may Debate the case a little with him, pray Let him appear; this favour, friends, allow, That I may know with whom I have to do. Pray let me know, and I will instantly Argue my case, with all sobriety, For, if I once should hold my peace, I die Will no man plead? will no man undertake 19 But do those two things to me, then will I not hide myself from thee. The argument? then my address I'll make To God alone: two things I will implore Of his large bounty, and demand no more. Two things preliminary, Lord I must Request of thee, which as thou'rt good, and just I know thou wilt allow, that so I may With freedom speak all that I have to say In my defence. First then, some small time, Lord, forbear thy wrath, 28. withdraw thy hand from me, and let not thy fear make me afraid. That I may have some leisure, but to breath: That I may have but a few hours soulage, And not be quite consumed in thy rage. Next, O my gracious God, let not thy hot And wasting anger fright my soul, let not Thy lifted hand so terrible appear, Nor damp my Spirit, with a kill fear. Then what thou pleasest of me to demand, 21. then call thou, and I will answer thee, or let me speak, and answer thou me. I'll answer, so far as I understand, Or, if thou think it fit, that I should speak I shall, Lord, and in favour, I'll expect Thou'lt answer me.—— For, if I be allowed this liberty, With boldness, then, good Lord, I will reply, To all the questions thou to me shalt state, And with my God take pleasure to debate. If I must speak then,— I demand, good Lord, 22. How many are mine iniquities, and my sins, show me my rebellion, and my sin. How many are my sins!— pray in a word, How many are they!— tell me— am I able To calculat them!— are they numberable! What are my sins, Lord, of what quality? How black, how ugly, of how deep a dye. Why, Lord, it seems, that since the world began, Of all the sins practised by mortal man, Sure mine must be the foulest, mine must be Most venomous sins of the first degree, For————— Whilst others sins, with modesty have called For Judgements, it appears that mine have bauled, And, with great clamour, furious zeal, and heat, Have asked as due, rather than supplicat, For Divine vengeance, and with open voice, At Heaven's Gates made a tumultuous noise, As idle Beggars for their Alms do cry, And so, by clamorous importunity, Extorted from a mild, and gentle God, Th' unwilling usage of an angry Rod. My sins have, in a Cluster, cried aloud For punishment, no mercy has withstood, The rude attaques of their impetuous suit, But suffered them to gain, without dispute, Th' Almighty's Ear: who has accordingly Sent Judgements out, in such variety, And has me so severely punished, As all my Neighbours never suffered So many ills at once, as I do now, Besides what I may lay account for too, Ere all be done, for I perceive the wrath Of God increases every hour, Whilst death Keeps at a distance, and appears to smile Unkindly at my torments all this while. Nay (which is worst of all) men, on pretence Of comforting me, with great violence, Oppress my little spirits that remain, And, with their bitter words augment my pain. What are my sins then, Lord, ah let me know, 23. Wherefore hidest thou thy face, and takest me for thine ●remy? What have I done, Lord, to be punished so! What have I done! what sins have I practised, What horrid Treason have I e'er devised Against Heaven's King? what are my faults, good Lord, Again I beg thee, tell me in a word, That so I may perceive the reason why I'm punished with so much severity. Now pardon, Lord, my great presumption, In those demands, let my condition Plead some excuse: let me some pity find: Some pity, Lord, to ease my troubled mind. Have pity then, have pity on my case, And for thy Names sake, do not hide thy face, Because in that I all my comfort place. Why then, good Lord, dost thou to me deny Thy countenance? I am no enemy To thee, my God, but one, I dare avow, (As far as humane frailty will allow) Loves thee with all his Soul, and still shall do. Why then am I thus punished? why oppress't 25 Will't thou break a leaf driven to and fro? and wilt thou pursue the dry stubble? With grief? Why doth my Soul enjoy no rest? Why is a Creature,— a poor dying Creature, Debarred from dying by the course of Nature? Why to suck in again a parting Breath Is it compelled, only t'endure thy Wrath? To break a Leaf, that's driven to and fro, I humbly think it is a thing below The Majesty of God— why such am I? Or like the Stubble, withered, and dry, When lightly it before the Wind doth fly. Then why in such sad torment? Why so vexed 26 For thou writest bitter things against me, and makest me to possess the iniquities of my youth. In Soul, and Body? Why so sore perplexed In Spirit? Why so bitter Judgements sent Each moment, to recruit my punishment? Such Judgements make me now, Lord, call to mind Those sins, which wasting time had cast behind Its Shoulder;— sins, which I thought thou hadst not Recorded:— sins, which I had quite forgot. But now the Errors of my wanton years Appear afresh:— hence all these sighs, and tears: Hence these sad words, which issue from my mouth, Since for the sins of my disordered youth, I'm punished thus:— why, Lord, I must confess, Those whiffling errors do deserve no less Than I now suffer: yet I still must cry For mercy from my God, or clse I die. For mercy, Lord, I must thee still implore, 26. Thou puttest my feet also in the stocks, and lookest narrowly into all my paths and makest the print thereof in the heels of my feet. I'll call to Heavens (for I can do no more) For mercy still:— this liberty, at least, I hope thou'lt not deny:— this small request To a poor dying man:— allow me pray, Allow me, Lord, that what I have to say In a few dying words, I may express, And then do what thy Majesty shall please, With me thy prisoner, thy wretched slave, One (save to be the stopple of a Grave) That serves for nothing:— do then what thou wilt, Dispatch me, Lord, or if my horrid guilt, Require that I should live some longer time, Why let it be so, let my horrid Crime. (If possible, it e'er can be content) Be glutted with my horrid punishment. For I am thy close prisoner, good Lord, No power on Earth can me relief afford: Escape I cannot— no— my feet are bound, My hands tied up, all naked on the ground, More than half-dead, o'er grown with sores I lie, Am I not punished yet sufficiently! Not yet!— not yet!— OH may it not suffice That I am wrapped in such calamities, As hardly any one has suffered, But I must yet be further punished? Shall there be no end of my Misery! May not I now have liberty to die? For thou hast filled my body with such pain, 27 Such an one consumeth like a rotten thing, and as a garment that is motheaten. As in me there doth no more life remain, Than what doth serve to make me sensible Of what I suffer:— O most terrible Consuming Wrath!— now let me die good Lord, — I can endure no more:— pray now afford This favour to a man in dying case, That, like Motheaten Garment, rots apace. Then since I cannot live, O let me die, Since Life itself is but Mortality, For mortal man, at best, I do conceive To be a thing, that, like a Floating-wave, Swells in the Cradle, breaks upon the Grave. Cap. XIV. MAN of a Woman born in cares, and tears, 1 Man that is born of a woman, is of few days, and full of trouble. Enjoys a few, but miserable Years. He sucks in sorrow, with his infant Breath, And. in his husk, he bears the seeds of death, In his short life he nothing doth perceive, But Seas of troubles, Wave succeeding Wave. He knows no pleasure, nor contentment he, Nor is he ever from some passion free. Yet must this wretch be born.—— Though it were better for him certainly He were not born,) than thus be born to die. 'Twere better for him he lay buried, With all his hopes about him, covered With the thin notion of an entity, Under the arch of possibility, Then that he should exist.—— But O he must be born, he must appear On Earth's wide, and capacious Theatre, To act, with mighty pomp, and vanity, His part o'th' fable of mortality, Though 'twere but fool o'th' play.—— For whilst i' th' womb he safely lies immured Free of all woe, of aliment secured By others labour, yet he thinks he's there, At best, but a well treated prisoner. Hence in the belly languishing he lies, And fain would make escape, to feed his eyes, On things abroad, and fully satiate His Virgin-longing, with— he knows not what.— At length impatient of this kind restraint, He'll be no longer in this Cloister penned, But with his fellow-mortals he'll b'acquaint, At any rate, what ere the event be, And in this humour, justles out to see This foolish world.——— This world, of which he fancies some such things, As Beggars, when they dream they're mighty kings: And yet no sooner into it he peeps, Then instantly the changeling cries, and weeps; Appearing in some inward perturbation, As disappointed of his expectation: In it he wastes his time in fear, and pain,, And oft of being born he doth complain, Yet when he goes out of it, weeps again. As if unwilling, after all, to part, (Sad as it is) from what his soul, and heart Doth truly love, which that he might possess, He could dispense with all its painfulness. Inconstant Creature!— whom no state can please, To whom nor life, nor death can purchase ease; Whose humorous fancy nought can satisfy: Who knows not whether he should live, or die! Yet is this man, of so much worth, and fame, Whom all the Creatures have in great esteem. This, this is he, who is so vainly proud Of the three souls, which God has him allowed, Whilst those, who do his actions strictly view, Hardly believe that he has more than two: For of the third he takes so little care, As one would say his reason lay not there: So that of all endued with growth, and sense, He lest deserves that heavenly influence. This, this is man, who doth no sooner come A native, naked Beggar, from the womb, Then assoon Food, and Raiment God provides For him, with every other thing besides, Of which he stands in need:— ordering all The other Creatures to attend his call. Yet, after all, when he's accommodat By Providence, at such a princely rate, The wretch becomes to him the most ungrate Of any thing, that lives.—— For, as we know Beggars can bear no wealth, So, now endued with riches, health, and strength, In these external things he puts his trust, And quite forgets, who raised him from the dust. This is that formal piece of d●llest clay, That moulded, and unmoulded every day. A thing from Heavens only with breath inspired, That he, who gave this breath might be admired, And not the thing, that breaths: yet on this breath The Grasshopper himself ●o valueth; As he, with lofty pride, and arrogance, Above his fellow creatures doth advance, And thinks the world his sole inheritance. Whilst many Brutes (as we may daily see) Both longer time, and with more peace, than he, Possess the same: for he poor soul— alace, Can scarce enjoy, but for one half hours space, The full possession of what Life, and breath Affords him, when an enemy called Death, Doth turn him out of all, and then anon, Ere he can view it well, he must be gone. This is the Source, from which, by progress springs, The Stream of all our Emperors, and Kings, Those men, who with an armed foppery, Blow up the pipes of vain Chronology: Those men, who, when in their career withstood, Will make the world swim around in blood, Only to purchase to themselves a name, And never think to have their fill of fame, Whilst mean time, (ah poor souls! how Iregrate There as ridiculous, as illustrious state!) With all their glorious power they but appear To us like squibs, that squandring here and there, Put the admiring rabble in a fear, Who know not what they are, but men of sense Are not afraid of of their imper●nence; For in an instant, as with crackling noise, Affording only sport to wanton Boys, These fly in smoke, so these men in a trice, After they've damped us with their cruelties, Afford us sport in their own Tragedies. This then is Man who rambles every where, To catch a name who doth no labour spare T'attain his point: running, he cares not whether, Killing, and spoiling, mixing all together, In his hot fury: sparing no expense, To show the world his great magnificence: Whilst really, he's but like one of those, Who, at our Fairs, do set up public Shows; And with his Drums, and Trumpets makes a noise, In Streets, and Lanes, assembling all the Boys, And Girls about the Town but by and by, His Licence now run out, he silently Packs up his Trinkets, and by break of day, Out of the Town he meanly sneaks away. So man, on Earth, for a small term of years, Makes no small noise, and then he disappears. Have you not seen a silly Butter-flee Attacque the flaming light, and wantonly Hover about it, for some little space, Until its wings begin to burn apace; And then the helpless Creature, in a trice, Sticks to the Candle, spurns a while, and dies. So on this dangerous Earth—— Stuck full of all the species of death Th' adventuring mortal armed with single breath, Boldly appears.— what next?— why in he flies, Buzzes a while about the world, and dies. Is this the thing than we call Man! alace This the Heir Male of the first mortals race! This Man of Woman born, whose foolish years Are wasted in a tract of cares, and tears! If this be he, that proud and, lofty creature, Who calls himself the Masterpiece of Nature, Why sure he seems to me so mean a thing, As he is hardly worth our mentioning. Strange then kind Females should be at such pain▪ In bringing to the world a thing so mean! A thing, which valued by just Estimation, Is scarcely worth the pains of Procreation. Yet, after all, (say of him, what we can,) This empty thing is all we have for Man. Yes in this very piece of miniature, So long indeed, as Heavens, and Earth endure, We see the Image, Glory, Wit, and Power, Of him, who framed him; so that, to this hour, In this same Man, with no small admiration, We read th' Abridgement of the whole creation. This is the Lord of Earth:— yes this is he, Who holds o' th' King of Heaven, in capite, This goodly Manor, and that as appears, In Mort main too, to him, and all his Heirs, For payment only of some Tears and Prayers. I this same fair and fruitful Seignory Was once indeed his settled Property, For ever in his Person to endure, Full, and in peace, before the forfeiture. But, O th●u man, to whom in Paradise, This fair Appanage God did first demise, Man not of Woman ●orn, thou poorly sold, (What was not to be purchased for Gold) Both thine, alace, and our felicity, For a mean toy; and for thy fault, we die. Ah! hadst not thou, with dull indifference, Exchanged thy opulent state of Innocence, For this poor mortal state, which we possess, What Art could have expressed man's happiness? He could for ever have retained his breath, And bid defiance to the force of death; He had, with great convenience, eat his Bread, And called himself the Lord of Earth indeed. But now, that in continued miseries, He lives a while, then miserably dies, He owes to thee: and for thy curious Crime, He and his Race are eaten up by time, As Oxen eat up Grass.— Then what are all these things we pleasures call, Wealth, Honours, Issue, Fame!— What are they all? When man must die!— when he must formally Abandon all these pleasant things, and die! Yes die, e and as into the world he came, Naked, and poor, go out of it the same. For, as a flower its beauty doth display, 2. Hr shooteth forth as a flower, & s●cut down, he flieth ●●o as a shadow, & continueth not. And suddenly doth moulder, and decay: So man in g●y, and verdant youth appears, Most glorious in the Summer of his years; Void of all sorrow, and anxiety, Spread like a Garden-flower: but by, and by, When he is crossed with thoughts, and business, His Tulip-colours disappear apace. And, as a shadow, when the Sun is gone, Appears no more, but vanisheth anon, So all his beauty vanisheth, and now Wrinkles succeed it, and, with much ado, His face is known to those, who formerly Knew him i' th' days of adolescency. At length Time fairly turns his Glass; and now The Fable's done, and there's no more to do But that—— Wrapped up in Homespun Winding-sheet (O brave! The Lord of Earth be thrown into his Grave. Almighty God what fluctuating thing 3. Yet dost thou open thine eyes on suen a one, and bringst me into judgement with thee. Is this same Man! how frail, and perishing! How subject to himself! how much a slave To passion, from the Belly to the Grave! Nay such a piece of mere formality, (Though Mantled with a glorious vanity Of Wit, Birth, Riches, Learning, Honours, all, Which he doth his appurtenances call) That even himself, when, with impartial eye▪ In Reasons Looking glass, he doth survey His worldly state, perceives that all he can Pretend, at most to, is— to be a Man. A man of woes, and sorrows, cares and fears, A poor retainer to some painful years. A short-li●d man, who rarely doth attain To th' age of sixty, and doth still complain Either of pains of Body, or of Mind, So long as within bounds of Life confined. So that, if th' hadst not let him understand, He's chief of all the Labours of thy Hand; He'd think himself, in this same contemplation, The very meanest part of the Creation. Yet dost thou, Lord, thou high, and Heavenly King, Take special notice of this foolish thing: Thou look'st upon him, with a careful eye, And tak'st the pains, for his security, T' enclose him, with a wall of Providence, And keepsed a constant Watch, for his Defence, Both day, and night: so that the power of Hell Cannot against him with their Plots, prevail, Whilst guarded thus, and so well for tified By his Creator's Art on every side▪ Yes, and of late too, I was one of those, Whom thou, with a strong Rampart didst enclose: But now thou'hast deserted me, and I Unfenced lie open to the Enemy. Now my accusers, in great throngs, do bring Their several Charges before thee, my King: Before thee I as Criminal appear At Bar, and am environed with fear: Now thou dost try me: now thou dost intend To bring me quickly to a shameful end. Lord, what am I!— a wretched dying thing, 4. Who can bring a clean thing out of an unclean! no not one. Not worth thy wrath, not worth thy noticing: Why try'st ' me then, with such severity, And of my actings maksed such scrutiny, As if, of all men, I had most transgressed Thy Divine Laws: thou hearest I have confessed I am a sinner:— dost thou Lord, expect That mortal man can other answer make, When thou dost charge him with impiety, Then I do now:— I do not, Lord, deny That all the Judgements I do now endure Were merit long ago: for I am sure That man was never born, since Adam's Fall, That can affirm he never sinned at all. What then wouldst ' have me say?— I do confess I am all sin, I am all guiltiness: Can any thing that's good from me proceed? No sure, then judge me, for I cannot plead Not guilty: I'm unclean, and who can bring That which is clean, out of an unclean thing? Then, since it is so, since I can't deny 5. Are not his days determined? the number of his months are with thee, thou hast appointed his bounds, which he cannot pass. I have abounded in iniquity: Since I'm found guilty, and condemned, why then, I ask but what is granted amongst men, On such occasions, to a Criminal, Who freely at the Bar confesses all Of what he hears himself accused, and so Himself on mercy of the Court doth throw. Then what I beg, great Judge, what I demand Is not to live (because I understand, As I, am sadly circumstantiat now, Death will oblige me more, than Life can do.) But only, since I have confessed my Crime, I may be but reprived for some time: That I may have some leisure to repent, And not, at least, out of the World be sent, With all my sins about me.— Remember, Lord, how man is in his prime, But a poor Gleaner of a scattered time: A calculator of some trifling years: An Almanac of sorrows, woes, and tears▪ Are not his days, and months determined? His bounds designed, which he cannot exceed? Let then his bitter persecution cease, 6. Turn from him than that he may cease, until his desired day, as an hireling. That, for some time this Creature may have peace: That he, at least, may be allowed to live, Until the time appointed shall arrive When he must die:— the day, wherein he must Quite this vain world, and return to Dust. For, as a Hireling. labourer doth attend The hour, which to his Work may put an end, That he may have his Wages, and some rest From his hard labour: so, with cares oppress't, Poor Man for his appointed time doth wait Wherein his foolish labours soon, or late May have an end; that so the wearied slave May quietly lyedown, and sleep in Grave. That he may sleep in Grave, and be no more 7. For there is hope of a tree, if it be ●ut down, that it will yet sprout, and the branches thereof will not cease. A slave to sorrow, as he was before Though he should there, without all hopes remain, Of ever seeing his dear World again, His darling World, which he so much esteemed; Of which scarce more than Embryo, he dreamed: But, when in Grave, he thinks no more upon His World, for all these notions than are gone. Those thoughts do with the Carrion buried lie, And for his Soul, ' 'tis all Eternity. Thus then, alace!— ah thus we plainly see Man's in a worse condition than a Tree: For of a Tree cut down there's still some hope It yet may sprout, and spread its lofty top; Although its scattered roots now old, and dry, 8. Though the root thereof wax old in the earth, and the stock thereof be dead in the ground. Sapless, and barren, under Ground may die: And what of Trunk remains may every day, In Dust, and Powder moulder and decay. Yet sucking moisture from some Rivulet, 9 Yet by the scent of water it will bud, and bring forth boughs like a plant. Whose frugal Streams doth scarce its Channel wet, It quickly will revive, and bud again, And, in short time, spread out its Boughs amain, As formerly, and so arrive, at length Unto its wont comeliness, and strength, But ah poor man upon his Sickbed lies, 10. But man is sick, and dyeth, man perisheth, and where is he? Sighs out his Breath, and like a Candle dies Drowned in its Socket, without hopes, alace! Of ever living in his former case, Without all hopes, not sprouting like a Tree, Only falls sick, and dies— and where is he? Ah where is he!— he who did once appear; 11. As the waters pass from the sea & the flood decayeth and drieth up. And thought of nothing less than death, while here: Where is he now?— where is this rambler gone? What's become of him?— pray what has he done? What has Earth's darling done, that he should die, And slip out of the World so shamefully? Why Man is gone: he's now no more:— he's dead, He's now in deep oblivion buried: There's no more of him.— For as Floods, and Seas Are dried up, when Waters from them pass To other Channels: so man vanisheth, And is an empty nothing after death. A nothing!— nay— hold here, I must correct 12. So man sleepeth, and riseth not, for he shall not awake again, nor be raised from his sleep while the heavens be no more. My error, and in this my passion check. For, though to outward view, and reasoning, Man in his Grave appears to be a thing Useless, trod under foot, esteemed by none But hurried in supine oblivion: Yet this same Trunk, which under ground doth lie Wants not its hope of Immortality, For, after many years it may revive, Shake off its Circumambient Dust, and live More firm, and solid than it did before, In a continued peace, and die no more. Yes, as the waters from the Ocean flow▪ Through Subterraneous Passages, that so They in Earth's Bowels may be purified, And free ' of former saltness, gently slide Through cliffs of rocks, and unknown passages Into some thirsty Channel, and increase Its dwindling Streams, then by degrees amain Return to their own Ocean again. So from the Sea of Life man softly flows Into the Grave, where he doth only loss His former saltness, and acidity, And there in closely Repositure doth lie, While he be fitted for Eternity. 'Tis true he sleeps, and shall not rise before Th' appointed time that Heavens shall be no more: But when that time shall come, that blessed time, No new-blowen Rose, no Lily in its prime Shall smell so fragrant, and appear so fair, So lively, so in beauty singular, So fresh, so gay, so bright, so purified, As this same man, who we supposed had dieed, Shrunk into dust, and in cold earth engrossed, This man, whom we had given o'er for lost; When that blessed time arrives, shall reappear More pure, and act in a most glorious Sphere, Than ere the Scenick Creature could do here. Thrice happy those then, who in grave do rest, 13. O that thou wouldst hide me in the grave, and keep me secret until thy wrath were passed, and wouldst give me a term, and remember me. Whom no sad crosses of this life infest! How much I envy their Felicity! How fain would I enjoy their company. Lord, then that thou wouldst hide me in this grave! Good Lord, that such a wretch as I might have The benefit of that closely Sanctuary, In which I might, but for a season, tarry, Until thy wrath were passed, thy anger gone, And those had storms of Judgements overblown: Then, of thy goodness, please to let me know How long I must those Torments undergo: How long my sufferings must endure, and then▪ Remember me, in mercy, once again. O let me find thy kindness, once before I drop out of this World, and be no more. But O I see my torments do increase, 14. If a man die, shall he live again? all the days of my appointed time will I wait till, while my change come. And, whilst I live, shall enjoy no peace. I therefore wish to die, as th●se oppress't With toil, and labour, wish to be at rest. Now, if a man once in this Gulf of Death Be drowned, pray shall he reassume his Breath? Shall he revive?— yes,— yes— he shall indeed, And never more again be buried. I'll therefore wait, I'll therefore patiently Attend th' arrival of Eternity. At least I'll wait, until the hour shall come That must restore me; which although to some It be a question, it to me is none, For, with assurance, I rely upon My Maker's goodness, and believe that God Will to my sufferings set a period. Then shall my God me once again embrace, 15. Thou shalt call me, and I shall answer thee, thou lovest the work of thine own hands? And to me every hour extend his Grace. Then shall I Make address to him, in prayer, And shall no sooner speak, than he shall hear, ‛ Shall answer every thing I can demand, And make me, with great pleasure▪ understand The language of the Saints.— But now, alace, Lord, thou dost calculat. 16. But now thou numbrest my steps, and dost not delay my sins. My very thoughts: thou dost enumerat My errors, one by one; and by, and by, In order they appear before thy eye. There's no concealing of the smallest sin, (Though in the breast yet) when thou dost begin To reckon with us; neither hope, nor fear, Can shelter them from eyes so sharp, and clear, But streightways all above board must appear When thou dost call. Then all must be revealed, 17. Mine iniquity is sealed up, as in a bag, and thou addest to my wickedness. And, on the square be summed, tied up, and sealed, Like Money in a Bag, that thou mayst know, What each man's judgements ' to his sins do owe. Nay, with so strict a survey not content, Thy anger doth my wickedness augment. For even my moral sins are mustered Before thee, strictly viewed, and numbered, And I alace, am shrewdly punished For sins, which in some others virtues are, And, in the World's eyes, lawful do appear. Then must I thus be punished, good Lord? 18. And surely as the mountain cometh to nought, and the rock that is removed from his place. Thus— without pity?— wilt thou not afford But some small respite to my wearied Soul, That I may have some leisure to condole My sad disasters:— Lord have pity then On me the most disconsolat of men. Some respite I beseech, some interval, Some breathing time, though it were ne'er so small! So many judgements, for one poor man's share! Sure, Lord, such dealing is not ordinar. Who can endure thy anger? at this rate, 'Twould tear the very Rocks out of their Seat, 'Twould make the proudest Mountains tumble down, And crumble into thousand pieces soon. Such wrath would make the wounded Ocean roar, 19 As the waters break the stones. when thou overs●●● est the the things ●●●ion grow in the dast of the earth, 〈◊〉 thou destroyest the hope of man. And spread its Billows far beyond its Shore. 'Twould cause a Deluge in the Earth:— such wrath Would kill all Cratures, that on it do breath. For, as the Waters hardest stones do break, When through the grounds a rapid course they take, So, by thy anger Man is broke to pieces, Pounded to dust: and as thy wrath increases, So all his hopes decay, and in a trice. Poor pensive Man whines out his life, and dies. Unhappy Man!— alace his hopes still fail, 20. Thou prev●●l●st against him, so that he passeth away, he changeth his face, when thou castest him away. And against him, Lord, thou always dost prevail. Thy hand doth reach him, when he lest doth dream, Of danger, then, with infamy, and shame, He steals out of the World, he slips away, Like the Night-vapours, at approach of day. And, as a Thief, whom hue, and cry doth chase, Lest he be catched, disfigures all his face, So, with sad grinnings, Man to Grave doth pass, He dies,— he dies,— he's buried anon, 21. And he knoweth not if his sons shall be honourable, neither shall he understand concerning them, if they be of low degree. And with him all his Troops of hopes are gone. His Sons survive him, but he knows not how Those men demean themselves, nor what they do: To what profession they they themselves betake, What Figure in this Life those Fools do make: What part they act: what state they represent, I' th' Theatre of the World: whether content With the sweet Blessings of a private Life, Or, if involved in a continual strife, In tedious Pleas, in Fraud, and Perjury, To raise a thing men call a Family. No,— he knows not what men his Sons shall be, Preferred to honours, or of low degree. Though here, with great anxiety, and care, 22. But while his filesh is upon him, he shall be sorrowful, and while his soul is in him, it shall mourn. He eats his own Flesh, for his daily Fare. In flames of grief his very Heart doth burn, And. whilst his Soul is in him, it doth mourn, When he but thinks, in what condition His Family shall be, when he is gone. Whilst, with a Female curiosity, He endeavours to learn, before he die, What shall be th' state of his Posterity. He'd fain ascertain his ill- purchased wealth Upon his brats, what he has got, by Stealth, By Fraud, by Rapine, Lying, and Debate, Upon his Race he'd fain perpetuat. Entails, in strictest form he causes draw, As if he would to Providence give Law: As if he'd regulat the Winds, and show Out of what Point they constantly should blow: Or fetter up the raging Ocean, And make it always calm:— so foolish man, By strong Entails, in form of Covenant, Stuffed up with threatening cl●●ses irritant, With substitutions, and— I know not what— (All legal fetters,) fain would captivat Some little spot of Earth, and there enstate His Family, with that perfection, That Providence on Earth allows to none. Thus vainly toils this Mole, but after all, When Death for him doth peremptorly call, He leaves these thoughts, and so he leaves his Race, To save, or spend, and live, even as they please. Cap. XV. HOw delicate! how admirably good! 1. Then answered Eliphaz the Temanite, and said. How learned! how pious! (if well understood,) How grave! how solid! how elaborat Was Jobs discourse!— what Mortal in his state, Oppressed with sorrow could himself express, So firmly, and with so much steadiness, Of Mind, as this afflicted man has done, Yet after all.— His friend, as formerly, must him reprove, (Whether from envy this proceeds, or love, May be a question) and accordingly Eliphaz all this while who patiently Had heard him speak, at length resolves once more, To argue with him, as he did before. And thus, in terms severe, and violent, Takes up his Brother Zophars argument. And should a wise man thus express his mind, 2. Shall a wise man speak words of the wind? and fill his belly with the east-wind? In words, says he, inconstant, as the wind? Words of no value, foolish idle words, Such, as a discomposed mind affords. Words so extrinsic to the case in hand, As, truth, I think thou dost not understand What thou dost speak: words so extravagant, So course, so dull, so insignificant, Such whining words. so childish, and so mean, So far below a man, so poor, and lean, As one, that were not in his judgement weak, I'm confident would be ashamed to speak. Unequal words: words scarce articulate; Words, Like a Turtles chattering, at this rate Parrots, and Mag●yes might be taught to prat. Then should a wise man use such words, as these? 3. Shall he dispute with words, that are no: comely? or with talk, that is not profitable? Or, with such Language, his sick fancy please? Language, by which thou dost thy cause abuse. Language, which none, but Lunatics would use: Provoking words, discourse not tolerable, And as thy case is, quite unprofitable: Yet, in such gibberish, thou must vent thy mind, But, from my heart, I'd wish thou'd be more kind To thy poor self, and not excruciate, With sad complaints, and cry, at this rate, Thy troubled Soul. I'sed not enough that thou Shouldst chide thy Friends?— but thus thy Maker too T'upbraid forsooth, and that so bitterly, As if our God could do an injury To thee, my friend, or any of us all: Then why shouldst thou exclaim? why shouldst thou bawl? When God in justice doth inflict what he Judges has ever been deserved by thee. Indeed, my friend, I'm sorry to perceive 4. Sure thou hast casten off fear, and restrains prayer before God. Thy sad condition, and I truly grieve, To hear thee cry, and rave incessantly In this thy fever of impiety. Why now, alace, my friend, thou dost appear Designedlie t' have shaken off all fear Of God Almighty: thou who used to pray, And pour thy Soul out, both by night, and day, Before thy Maker: now, alace I fear The hast totally fogot the use of prayer: And seem'st to be, by thy unruly passions, In desuetude of pious meditations. Else how should such Expressions, as these 5. For thy mouth declareth thy iniquity, seeing thou hast chosen the tongue of the crafty. Proceed out of thy mouth? such passages Of simple folly, as no wise man's ear Can so much idle talk with patience hear. For truth ' thou talk'st, like one, who wantonly Makes Table▪ jests of Grace, and Piety▪ Who laughs at God, and all that he hath made, Blasphems his holy name, and makes a trade To treat en ridicule, all Providence. Arguing boldly all things come by chance. Sure thou deserv'st extremely to be blamed, 6. Thine own mouth condemneth thee. & not I, and thy lips testify against thee. That, in the eyes of God art not ashamed To talk, like one of those, whose hearts are sealed, To whom our God at no time has revealed His Divine Grace: but le's them foolishly Run out the Course of their Impiety. And never stop, till some Disease do quell Their hot Carrier, and then the thoughts of Hell The apprehensions of tormenting Devils With the sad prospect of all kind of Evils May some Remorse from those poor Souls procure, But these good thoughts no longer do endure, Than their Disease. for, let its force abate, And then return they to their former state. Like one of those, thou talk'st, alace, my friend, When wilt wilt to those expressions put an end? For thus thy mouth condemns thee, and not I, Thy conscious lips against the testify. Thou talksed, thou talksed, and like a foolish wretch, Wouldst fain discourse of things above thy reach, And seem'st to question, in thy frantic sense, The sovereign power of Divine Providence. Thou talk'st with God, as wouldst with one of us, — Why thus oppressed? why am I punished thus▪ Sayst thou, why are my steps thus calculat? And all my errors so enumerat? As if forsooth, he who commands on high, Should find himself obliged to satisfy Thy rude demands: as if forsooth that he Should stoop so low, as answer such as thee, In all thy Schoolboys questions, and assign A reason for his actings. Dost think that he, who did us all Create, And with his own Breath did us animate, From whence this reason (of which were so proud) Flows in a channel, can be understood To act by other rules, than only those Of undisturbed reason? dost suppose That he, who governs all by upright Laws, Would punish such as the, without a cause? Prithee, my friend, then let me understand Why so presumptuous as to demand A reason, why thou art thus punished? Dost think such language can be suffered? A reason from the God of reason! sure No pious ears such pratting can endure: Dost ' think he'll give account to every fool, On whom he uses justice, by what rule He doth proceed: no sure, he will not do it, The Majesty of his Laws will not allow it. But if thou wilt from men a reason know▪ 'Tis only this, our God will have it so, That he may keep aspiring spirits low. This is the reason, prithee rest content 7. Art thou the first man that was born, and wast thou made before the hills? With this then, and no more thyself torment With ask questions, why thus punished? Why thus afflicted? why thus buffeted? We've heard too much of such unwarrantable, And shrewd discourse, discourse unsufferable: Forbear then pray, for all those sad complaints Are to no purpose, but weak arguments Of innocence, and rather do imply A heart replenished with impiety, Which now thou labourest to conceal, in vain, And so bewrayst thy Conscience by thy pain. Whence all this arguing then? this violence On reason, to maintain thy innocence! What need of all this reasoning, what need Of words, if thou be innocent indeed! For innocence still for itself will plead. Then, by thy favour, friend, I must demand What, in a word wouldst have us understand By all those brisk expressions? dost conceive, Thy hollow talking will make us believe That what thou, in thy passion dost express Must be received as learned sentences, And so admired, in future ages look, Like the dark Riddles in some ancient Book? Art thou of men most aged, grave, and wise? Hadst thou a Being, ere the Hills did rise? Art thou of Council to th' Almighty Lord, 8. haste thou heard the secret council of God? and dost thou restrain wisdom to thee? Who framed▪ and ordered all things by his word? Dost thou advise him? dost thou influence His Spirit in his Works of Providence? Art thou the only wise man now alive? Hast thou attained what all in vain do strive To purchase,— wisdom in perfection? can Thy Parts advance thee 'bove the reach of man? Prithee, le's hear now what thou further know'st 9 What knowest thou, that we know not? and understandest that is not in us? Than we do? of what learning canst thou boast, Unknown to us? what Arts, or Sciences, For all thy blustering words, dost thou profess To understand, of which we're ignorant? Then what's this knowledge, of which thou dost vaunt? This extraordinar wisdom? prithee show What are the things thou knowest, we do not know. With us are men both ancient, and sage, 10. With us are both ancient, and very aged men, far older than thy father. Men, that do far exceed thy Father's age. Men learned, and knowing, men of lives upright, Men truly sober, men, whose piercing sight None can escape; men, who distinctly know The causes, whence all things in course do flow, For every trifle can assign a reason, And show that all things have their proper season, In which they shut up, flourish, and decay, And, with submissive reverence, obey The orders of the first, and mighty Cause, To whose perpetual Edicts, Rules, and Laws, All other causes do subjection own, And can do nothing by themselves alone, In short, there's nothing to those men unknown Yet thou, forsooth, dost undervalue such, 11. Seem the consolation of God small unto thee? is this thing strange unto thee? As all men do, who think they know too much. Thy self-conceited pride will not permit Thee to believe that any has more wit Than thou hast; hence thou dost all men despise, And we're but very dunces in thy eyes. But be assured 'tis no small thing, my friend, That God to thee should consolation send By such as us, men, who exactly know Thy weakness, and most readily can show The cause of thy disease, and plainly tell The proper remedy: men, who wish thee well, Who pity thee, but on no terms will lie, Who know all Arts but that of flattery: And therefore what we speak, thou mayst believe Is for thy good: for, though we truly grieve, To see thee in such sad calamity, Yet, of a truth, we cannot justify Those rash expressions, which we hear thee use, But as thy friends, we fain would dis-abuse Thy wavering mind; and make thee fully know What, in affliction Man to God doth owe. 'Tis not that one should thus complain, or that 12. Why ' doth thine heart take thee away? and what do thine eyes mean? He with his Maker should expostulat, As thou hast done, or by his looks express, What inward sorrow doth his mind oppress, Or, with such self-conceited impudence, Upbraid th' Almighty with his innocence. Or, in his language thus prevaricat, 13. That thou answerest thy God at thy pleasure, and bringest such words out of thy mouth. And with th' All-knowing-God at random prat, As if with his familiars he did speak, And▪ in his passion, show himself so weak, As to repine▪ and bitterly exclaim Against God's Justice, and so rashly blame, That ne▪ re too much to be admired God, Who, though in anger he doth use the Rod; Yet, in that anger, mercy doth abound, As in afflictions it is always found By those, to whom our God allows the grace Of its right use, for still in such a case, As from most bitter Herbs, and acid Plants, Menuse t'extract wholesome Medicaments; So from afflictions Limbeck gently flows True Piety.—— O then, my friend, for thy own sake forbear Those rankling words: pray let me no more hear Such dangerous Thunderclaps of fiery passion, By which thou temp'st thy Maker, in that fashion, As 'tis a wonder he has all this time Herd thee with patience: for a smaller Crime, Many have by his justice been destroyed, But thou, my friend, hast all this while enjoyed Thy Breath, at least: and if thou understood, How much our converse serves to do thee good: Thou art so far from those extremities Of misery, which from afflictions rise, That I should rather think, in sober sense, Thou mightst with all those trifling ills dispense, Assisted by such comforters;— indeed Thou meritsed further to be punished, If in these mad expressions thou proceed. Thou just! thou clean from sin! thou innocent▪ 14. What is man that he should be clean, and he that is born of woman, that he should be just? What sober person thus himself would vent? Can any man be clean? can man be just? Can any thing, that has its rise from dust, Be without blemish? can a silly creature, That sucks Corruption from the Mother's Nature, A creature black, with sin Original, Before it well its self a man can call: One, whose defect doth with its life begin, And in the Womb becomes acquaint with sin; Can he be clean? can such a one, as he, For all the World be esteemed free From all, that's evil? Man of a Woman born, can he be clean? Pray what by such expressions dost thou mean? Can any thing, that's good from one proceed, Who so much mischief to the World doth breed? Who plagues us all with sin; that cursed root, Which, in its season, yields no other fruit, But sin alone, which we do soon disperss Through all the corners of the Universe A fruit, in which men drive a constant trade, And toil as much, as for their daily bread, To purchase this dear fruit; at any rate, In this all mortals do negotiate. But, after all this Traffic, when at last Man, on his Deathbed doth begin to cast Th'accounts of this same dismal trade, alace How doth he look! when all the passages Of his past life before him doth appear, And he, poor soul, already dead with fear, Sees, by account what profit he has made Through all the course of this unlucky trade: — Sin upon Sin, Loss upon Loss! he cries Shuts up his Books, curses this trade, and dies. Yet is this all, that Woman doth produce, Beseech thee, then, my friend, do not abuse Thyself with fancies, as if any thing That's good, from such a tainted root, can spring. No, no— we're all unclean: we're sinful all, 25. Behold he found no stead fastness in his saints, yea the heavens are not clean in his sight. No man on earth himself can upright call. What!— while the very Saints, while travelling here, Bedaubed with sin did in his sight appear, Nay even the Heavens themselves are in his eye Grossly unclean, full of Deformity. Will man pretend that he is clean? will he, 16. How much more 〈◊〉 man abominable, & filthy who drinketh iniquity, like water? Who's sin, in the superlative degree: Who in provocking God takes such delight, As in his food, and sins, with appetite: Who greedily sucks in iniquity, Shall he pretend i'th' least to purity? No sure:— thou errest, my friend, but, if thou'lt hear 17. I will tell thee, hear me, and I will declare what I have seen. What's for thy good. I freely will declare What I have seen, and in my time have learned, What with great pains, and labour I have earned. I'll tell thee things, which prudent men of old 18. Which wise men have told▪ as they heard of their fathers, and have not keeped secret. Have by their Reverend Ancestors been told▪ What these did not think fit to be concealed, But for their children's benefit revealed, Who by learned Sayings, and wise Apothegms In History have Eternised their Names. Who by their Prudence did so moderate 19 To whom alone the land was given, & no stranger passed through them. And manage that, which God had allocate To them for their inheritance so well, With such Discretion, and did so excel I'th' art of Government, mentaining peace With all their Neighbours, living in such case Amongst themselves, as none durst undertake T▪ invade them, or attempt i'th' least to break Their firm confederacy, which of old They had so founded, as nor Steel▪ nor Gold Could cut that Knot: nor could the smiling tricks Of Statesmen countermine their Politics. In short they did possess, and govern all, As if their Land had been Allodial, As if it had belonged to them alone, And, (save o'th' King of Heavens,) they held of none. Those men have told us that the wicked are 20. The wicked man is as one that traveleth continually with child, & the number of years is hid from the tyrant. Most miserable, in continual fear. In pains, like those of Childbirth, still they lie Exclaiming, in the extreme agony Of a sad troubled conscience, which alace Allows them ease, scarce a small moment's space▪ The cruel man is never void of fear, But fancies Death attends him every where. For, when he calls to mind by what Oppressions He has enlarged his Titles, and Posessions: How many he has ruined, and undone, And eat up all their means, since he begun To set up for himself; how cunningly ‛ Has turned out many a goodly family, And sent them all a begging: he from thence Infallibly concludes.— All hate him, curse him, do his name abhor, And, as they ask their alms from door to door They tell by whose oppression they are poor. Then when he thus reflects, and calls to mind How hateful he▪ s become to all mankind: The unjust Tyrant doth not think it strange That all the world should meditate revenge Against their common Enemy: a man Proscribed, and outlawed by the public Ban Of all just pious men, who in their prayers, With fervent zeal, and floods of bitter tears, Accuse them to their God, and constantly For Justice,— Justice— in Heaven's Court do cry, Against him,— then he stairs, and looks about, And even his own Domestics he doth doubt Upon his life have some design, and those Who break his bread, are now become his foes. With horror thunderstruck, with care oppress't 21. A found of fear is in his ears, and in his prosperity the destroyer shall come upon him. This miserable soul can have no rest. Before his eyes strange visions appear, His mind is sore belaboured, his ear Is still infested with a noise of fear. A dreadful noise, like that of Passing-bell, Which doth his nigh-approaching death foretell; In which he's not deceived, for by, and by, (Even in the solstice of prosperity) Down from the Mountains falls some injured Lord, Who, and his hungry crew, with fire and sword, This mighty man's Dominions invade, And wasting all before them make a Trade Of pillaging, appearing every where, Like lightning, sometimes here, and sometimes there, So through his territories nimbly fly, Seizing his Towns, and Castles speedily: Advancing still, in a vindictive rage, Until in Battle with him they engage, Defeat his Forces, put them all to flight, Then to his glory he bids long-good-night. Thus ends the whip, and terror of his age, 22. He believeth not to return out of darkness, for he seeth the sword before him. For to him so his mind did still presage, I'th' noon-tide of his bliss: he durst not hope, Or fancy any other horoscope Then a most wretched and miserable end, Which makes him in perpetual horror spend The best of all his time, enjoys no ease, But is disturbed in mind, for still he sees The raging Sword before him, and he fears His Enemies are still about his ears. At length, when misery doth come indeed, 23. He wandreth to, and fro for bread, where he may, he knoweth that the day of darkness is prepared at hand. Like one, that wanders to, and fro for bread, So doth this great man ramble every where, And makes what shifts he can for daily fare. Careless of Honour, outward Pomp, and State, And costly Diet, now content of what Nature affords: a simple Peasant's Food To him is pleasant, and he finds it good. He eats, he sleeps, no more he doth demand, Because he knows his death is nigh at hand. Anxiety, affliction, grief, and care, 24. Affliction, and anguish shall make him afraid, they shall prevail against him, as a king ready to the battle. Which stir up good men's hopes▪ make them despair, Despair downright, in fiery rage exclaim 'Gainst-what the precious fool doth Fortune name, And, in his humours, openly blaspheme. Transported, drunk with fury, he cries out, In fits, and like a mad man runs about The Towns, and Countrey-fields, vents all his passions In angry wrath, and horrid execrations. Against him at length despair doth so prevail, He becomes faint, and all his spirits fail: Cursed be the Stars, that ruled my Birth, he cries, With a strong sigh, thrusts out his Soul, and dies. O thus let all Oppressor's end! thus all 25. For he hath stretched out his hand against God, and made himself strong against the Almighty. The enemies of God Almighty fall! Let thus such men, who in prosperity Lift up their faces, and their God defy: Who laugh, with pleasure. at Omnipotence, And make a formal jest of Providence: Who, in their actings, do their God deride, And spit against the Heavens in their pride: Let them all perish thus; O let them die, Without compassion, in great misery. For▪ though vain man may to the World pretend, 26. Therefore God shall run upon him, even upon his neck, against the most thick part of his shield. He's proof of judgements, can himself defend Against th' assaults of Heaven, and proudly boasts, In Power he's equal with the Lord of Hosts, Our God doth smile, and for some time permits This fool to Revel in his frantic Fits: But, when he's blown up to the height of pride. And undervalues all the World beside, Then will he fall upon him, overthrow All his defences, bring this Champion▪ low, And make th' insulting Rebel understand The difference 'twixt an Almighty-hand, And that of Flesh: his choicest Coat of Mail Shall not resist his thrusts, God shall prevail Against all his strength, that men may learn to know, What great submission to their God they owe. And not imagine, in prosperity, 27. Because he hath covered his face with his fatness, and has collops in his flank. Because in wealth, and honour they are high, They can the strength of our great God defy. For, whilst in plenty we our years do waste, Void of all sorrow, with no care oppress't, But in our Myrtle Groves deliciously We feed, and sleep in deep security▪ Whilst hopeful Children do about us stand, Like Guards o'th' Body, and on every hand Our Friends, Dependants Servants, in a row, By their attendance do their kindness show, As well as their submission, and we fear No enemy, but all things do appear, As tributary to our happiness, And we all Earthly blessings do possess, Then, then alace, we do become such fools, As to forget that God Almighty rules This lower World, and think ourselves so sure In our Possessions; as we can endure heavens wrath, and not be moved.—— But let us once but tumble in distress, 28. Though he dwell in desolate cities, and in houses which no man inhabit, but are become heaps. Then we're at length obliged to confess That God is all in all, that he alone, Rules all from Spade, and Shovel to the Throne. And though those impious fools, who here despise The Power of God, and think themselves so wise, As they can purchase Lands in sovereignty, And independent of God's Majesty, The Princes here on Earth: may vainly dream They're fully blessed, yet in his esteem They are accursed; condemned, and destinate For Wrath, and Torment, dire Revenge, and Hate. Let them, to purchase to themselves a name Erect stupendious Monuments of fame. Repair waste houses, City's desolate Rebuild, and their design to found a seat For them, and there accursed Posterity ‛ Spite of that Mighty God, that lives on high: Nay let them languish in the Golden-itch, 29. He shall not be rich, neither shall his substance continue, neither shall he prolong the perfection thereof in the earth. And by all means endeavour to be rich; Yet shall their toil, and labour be in vain Nor shall they have more profit for their pain Than daily bread: nay that ere all be done Shall be deficient too, and they anon As in a Glass their folly shall behold, And see on what they have bestowed their Gold. Those high fllow'n Projects, which their airy minds Did entertain; those fancies of all kinds Which did their heads possess shall now be broke, And all their notions vanish into smoke. Their buildings none shall ever see complete, For all their substance shall evaporat Before the Roofs are set on; and these fair And sumptuous Fabric, to the open air Shall be exposed; they never shall grow old For their Materials shall be bought and sold To pay the Workmen's Wages: and if ought (The naked walls perhaps) remain unbought, Why these shall be a simple Volary Where ill-presaging Owls by nights do cry Rooks, and Jackdaws by day do make a noise, And he who raised the Building, scarce enjoys A covered corner in that spacious Nest, Where he with his poor Family may rest. Where he with his poor Family may dwell, 30. He shall never depart out of darkness, the flames shall dry up his branches, and he shall go away with the breath of his mouth. And with sad groans, and numerous sigh tell The story of his former life, and show The vanity of all things here below. Where he may teach his Children to take care, By his example never to outdare Th' Almighty God: or think that any thing Can here be blessed to us when Heavens King Has vowed the contrair: or imagine that We can be happy here at any rate, Unless God favour us: then, with a groan, Shut up his story, and retire alone To some dark hole, where he intends to lie, And pass his days in sad obscurity, Until the time arrive that he should die. But ere he die, he shall spread flowers, and leaves, Tempered with tears on all his children's graves. His branches thus lopped off, the Sapless Trunk Withered, and dry, in grief, and sorrow sunk, At length shall burst, and in a flood of Tears O'er whemled, shall end the Legend of his years. Thus shall he die, whom, while his sun did shine, 31. He believeth not that he erreth in vanity, therefore vanity shall be his change. And every thing appeared to combine To raise his happiness, and make him glad, No power of Eloquence could ere persuade That all his glory, all his gallantry Was but mere air, and glittering vanity. Therefore, since he such speeches would not hear, Nor to grave admonitions give ear By which good men endeavoured to teach What thoughts were proper for him, and did preach Faith, and Repentance to him every day, But not regarding what they all did say, Would still continue in his high conceit, Laugh at those serious Councillors, and treat Their grave advices, as ridiculous, And mere cunned Lessons, serving for no use, But to keep fools and children, every where, By such Predictions, in continual fear. Therefore his end shall be all Vanity; And he th'example of inconstancy In Human Glory, laughed to scorn by all, Poor, wretched, and unpitied shall fall. Poor, and bereaved of issue he shall die, 32 His branch shall not be green, but shall be cut off before his day. And of him there shall be no Memory, Only his name like Beacon shall appear In History, to warn all men to steer Another course than he, who wilfully Did Shipwreck on this Rock of Vanity. For as sour Grapes unpleasant to the taste, 33 God shall destroy him, as the vine her sauce-grape, and shall cast him off, as the olive doth her flower. Not worth the eating, but Hogs-food, at best, Men use to spit out: as the Olive tree Doth cast her Flower; so he, who ere he be, Who thus doth live, who thus consumes his time Shall by our God be cast off in his Prime. For all the Race of those poor Souls, who hate 34 For the congregation of the hypocrite shall be desolate, and fire shall devour the houses of bribes. Their Great Creator shall be desolate. Such as by Poling, Cheats, and Bribery Have from the Dunghill raised a family, And become Men of Substance, by oppressions Shall all at length from their unjust Possessions Be by the God of justice totally Ejected, and their masked Villainy Shall to the World be published that from thence All men may learn to place their confidence In God alone; and not believe that all The Wit of Mankind can prevent their Fall When God intends it, who did all create Of nothing, and can all annihilat. For such men pregnant with all kind of ill, 35 For they conceive mischief, and bring forth vanity, and their belly hath prepared deceit. Let them Hoodwink their conscience, as they will, After great labour and perplexity, Are all delivered of mere vanity. Of all their stale devices here's the end, what ere they plot doth to their ruin tend. PART. III. Cap. XVI. TH' afflicted man, whom all this while we must 1. And job answered, and said. Suppose on Dunghill, parched with blowing dust, His Body all with grievous sores o'er spread, With Blood, and Ulcerous run pargetted. (Such as would make a man in health forbear To sit by such a Carrion, through fear He might b'infected) putrified, unclean, Shrunk into bones, all withered, and lean. with Boils, and Scabs, so loathsome, and so foul, So noisesome to inhabit, as his soul Can scarce have Lodging, yet the loving thing, For all his Sores, for all his suffering, Will not forsake him, and for all that's past, Resolves by shifts to hold it out to th'last. For as when Floods in Winter suddenly, Break into lower Rooms, men use to fly Up to their Garrets, to preserve their Lives: So to his head his soul doth fly, and strives, Whilst all below with sores are overflown, And there's no room undrowned, but that alone, There to reside, though in a doubtful case, Until the Water's violence decrease. Amidst these storms there it resolves to dwell, And fortify that goodly Citadel, Which if by strength of Art it can hold out, Against those numerous foes, it doth not doubt, But though it gives the Body now as lost, As but a breathing Skeleton at most; Yet after all these woes, by art and pain, It may be soon recovered again. Job then, all soul, with reason yet supplied, Doth think himself still so well fortified; As he'll not yield: such courage this affords, As all these furious batteries of words, Used by his friends against his innocence, Cannot prevail, but still to his defence He means to stand: and though he's now so weak, So fully spent, as he can hardly speak, Yet answers, though he rather seems to squeak. Job then I say, we must imagine now, To this so learned discourse has much ado To make an answer: for we must suppose This Eliphaz to be as one of those, Who to a Castle by long Siege become At length esteemed untenable by some; With Forts on every side environed, And to mere rubbish almost battered; Is peremptorly with last summons sent, And Job, as speaking from the battlement. Alace, my friends, said he, what comfort brings, 2. I have oft times heard such things miserable comforters are you all. This long discourse, I've often heard such things As you have spoke: and I perceive you trace All the same steps, and from one common place Draw all your arguments: and still repeat, (As if in speech you were confederate) Each one another's words, so palpably, As though almost here without sense Ilye; Yet seriously I am ashamed to hear Men of your parts: men who to all appear Of a deep reach, with so much toil and pain Speak the same lesson o'er, and o'er again. If this be that, which comforting you call, Most miserable comforters you're all. Still to repeat this harangue o'er and o'er, 3. Shall there be no end of words of wind, or what maketh thee bold so to answer? And tell me nought, but what I knew before, Is very hard, pray what d'ye take me for? D'ye think for all the torments, sores, and pains Which I endure, but that there still remains, Some small reserve of reason not yet spent, By which I may withstand your argument. Yet for some time, I am not yet o'ercome So much with sorrow, as I should be dumb, Hearing of such discourse: my conscience Doth still assure me of my innocence; And therefore I must let you know that I Do still all your insulting words defy. My God, in whose Name, you so much accuse Your miserable friend, knows you abuse His Majesty, whilst you would seem to be Of council to him, as if all you three Were blameless, without sin, beyond the reach Of Laws, and only I a sinful wretch. Shall there be no end of such airy prating? And what makes thee, friend, in expostulating So violent, so bitter, so severe, In words so piquant, as you'd hardly bear From one another, yet must I sustain All these reproachful words, and not complain. This 'tis to be afflicted: this to lie Under the mercy of sad penury. This to be poor, this to be miserable, When words by me before intolerable, Words, which incensing Choler in my breast, In the same heat I had returned at least, I'm now compelled with patience to digest. D'ye think but I could speak as well as you, 4. I could also speak as you do, but would God your soul were in my souls stead, I could keep you company in speaking, and could shake my head at you. And use the same unkind expressions too, Nay more severe, and pique you to the bones, Were we in equal terms, but for the nonce, All you can say with patience I must bear, For now it seems I am condemned to hear All you can speak. But would that any of you Felt but the twentieth part of what I do, Would that but for a week, a day, an hour, You had some feeling of what I endure, That for my satisfaction I might see In such a case what might your carriage be, Should I but rate you thus as you do me. In such a case I would indeed assert, Though you set up for Saints, yet in your heart You were all sinners, men who take delight To counterfeit the puling hypocrite. Men, who deserved what ever you endured, And therefore plead that you might be assured God had rejected you: as all of you Affirm he has done me; and argue too Against your impatience in your agony, And by harsh words augment your misery. I could insult, I could your woes deride; And jestingly pass by, and shake my head When I might see you thus on Dunghill sit, As I do now, and puzzle all your wit, (Though in the eyes o'th' world pretended saints) To make an answer to my arguments. All this I could perform, were I inclined 5. But I would strengthen you with my mouth, and the comfort of my lips should assuage your sorrow. On such occasions to be so unkind To you, as you are all of you to me, And try your patience to that same degree As you do mine; I could indeed express My thoughts of, you with as much bitterness As you do now of me. But God forbid, were your estate so sad, I should affliction to affliction add. Or convocat my wits, and rack my brain, For shrewd inventions, to augment your pain, And smartly tax you when you did complain. No, no, but on the contrair, from my soul, I would your sad affliction condole. I'd cherish you with soft, and cordial words, Such as true friendship, at such times, affords: I'd tell you that afflictions are sent From Heaven upon us with no ill intent; But all our woes, if rightly understood, Do rain upon us only for our good. I'd tell you too, that Wheat the best of Grain, Doth in Earth's surface almost dead remain, All the long Winter buried in Snow, Yet maugre all those Storms it still doth grow. And in the Summer, when the Sun draws nigh, Makes an appearance with more bravery, More Weight, and Substance than all other Grains, Which in Green Liveries do adorn the Plains; Though none of those in shivering cold were sown, As was the Wheat; or had such pinching known, As this same precious feeding Grain had done. I'd tell you how the finest Gold is found, Not in the Valleys, and the fruitful Ground, But amongst barren Rock, and Desert places, Where nothing fit for Humane Food increases. I'd tell you also where the Coral grows, Which every Mortal doth esteem, who knows Its use and value: not in open Plains Amongst the pleasant Shrubs, and useful Grains, Not in enclosed Grounds, on every side With Palisades of Quickset fortified; Not in fair Gardens, closely Walled around, Parks, Orchards, Forests, Woods, or some such ground, Where other Plants do flourish and increase, No this doth grow i'th' bottom of the Seas. This fair ingrained Vermilion Plant doth grow, Where huge Sea-monsters ramble to and fro, Devouring every thing which they can eat: And were this Coral for these fish's meat, Man never would possess it. There it grows Where horrid darkness all things overflows. In a most barren ground, an useless land, Made up of pickled rocks, and furrowed sand. Yet there it grows, and there its virtue saves, Amidst the boisterous seas, and sullen waves. And though indeed, whilst in that dismal place, Its form, and beauty are in no good case, Buried in Seaweeds, tender, pale, and soft, Yet when by divers art 'tis brought aloft, Anon it becomes hard, of Scarlet-hue Both profitable, and pleasant to the view. So in affliction virtue doth increase Though buried in the bottom of the Seas Of Woes, and Sorrows: for it still retains Its true intrinsic value, and remains Amidst these rude insulting Waves entire, As a true Diamond doth amidst the Fire. Thus, thus, my friends, were you as I am now, With such smooth Language I would comfort you, And with such sug'red words, and pleasant trops, Alloy your sorrows, and refresh your hopes. With healing words I would compesce the rage Of your afflictions, and your grief assuage. But O you'll say, since I can thus express 6 But though I speak, my sorrow cannot be assuaged; though I cease, what release have I? Myself, so smoothly in another's case, Since I to others can such comfort speak, Why to myself do I not comfort take? Why here it is now, thus 'tis to be vexed With sore affliction, thus to be perplexed In mind, and body: here's the difference Betwixt a bare Opinion, and Sense. These are your thoughts now, and you do suppose Your wretched Friend to be as one of those Who can give others good advice, and show Where they may find true comfort in their wo. Can others teach, when with sad losses crossed And amongst the billows of affliction tossed: How they should inconvenience avoid, And not be with their miseries annoyed: What Sail they should in such a Tempest bear Hot solid Course, in prudence, they should steer To save their lives, and souls: but change the case, And let such men themselves be in distress. Let but afflictions waves upon them break, And to themselves they can no council take, But tie up th' helm, and let all go to wrack▪ This you imagine, 'cause you have no sense Of those sad pains, which I do feel, and thence Conclude that when you hear me thus complain I am the most unduiiful of men, Who knowing better things do wilfully Against my knowledge sin, and foolishly Behave myself in misery like those Who nothing understand. Thus you suppose Thus you conclude, and so by consequence Return me guilty of impatience. But pray, my friends, observe, I said indeed, Thus I could do, thus, were you in my stead, And I, as ye are, from afflictions freed. But, O there's great, and vast disparity Betwixt the thought, and sense of misery! As much as is betwixt a real thing, And that in fancy, or a suffering True blows of Death, and those upon a Stage: Or 'twixt a real tempest, where the rage Of cruel waves some hundreds doth devour, Where dying men with hideous cries out-roar The boisterous noise, which wind, and seas afford, And such a thing in Picture: in a word Unless you felt those sorrows really Which I do feel, and your prosperity Were to affliction turned: unless your sense Were with such things acquaint, no inference From suppositions; no Imagination Of what they are, by Picture, or Relation, No Map of such, though ne'er so plain, and fair Can make you understand, what sorrows are. All those Ideas, wichh your brain doth frame, When you with pleasure of affliction dream: Are but weak notions, mean conceptions, And best of'em but faint Comparisons, By which you cannot know what I endure, Or learn what true affliction is, no sure, Unless, as you see mine, your case be this, You cannot fancy what affliction is. But I do know, alace I know too well What only you conceive, but I do feel. I am the man have seen, and can declare By sad experience what afflictions are. I am the man that have affliction seen In its true colours, and have sadly been Oppressed with grief▪ I am the man that knows Beyond all others, true, and real woes. Those wasting sighs, in which insensibly, The Soul out of its Earthly Cage doth fly: Those heavy groans, which Life can hardly bear, To me, are become so familiar, As when a few another man would kill, I can emit a thousand, when I will, And yet not die. Those hateful passages Of humane Life, which make our woes increase, Fraud, and oppression, hard for any man T'endure, are become my quotidian. Tears from my eyes incessantly do flow, As when in Summer heaps of melted Snow Falls from the Mountains, with such violence, As I have almost lost my optic sense, Yet still I live: my Body is o'er grown, With putrid sores, my Spirit overflown, With seas of grief, yet am I not undone. What shall I do then, shall I live, or die, Sleep, or awake, on this, or that side lie? Even what I will, 'tis all one in the case, For no invention can procure me ease. Speaking, and silence is to me one thing, For neither of'em can me comfort bring. Comfort, alace, a thing so strange to me, 7. For now he maketh me weary, O God thou hast made all my congregation desolate. I cannot fancy what it is; nor see From whence it should proceed: I scarce can dream Of such a thing, I hardly know its name. Now pray where is this comfort to be had? Is it in commerce? do men make a trade In venting of it? is it to be sold? Can it be had for Money, or for Gold? If so, than you, my friends, may comfort buy, You may acquire it by your Means, not I, Who stripped of all, here a poor Beggar lie. Poor, and diseased, o'er burdened with wrath, Depressed with sorrow, wearied to the death, With heavy loads of grief.— I faint,— I faint; My spirits now I hope are fully spent. O let me die, since God has dissipat The hopes of both my Family, and Estate. Since thou hast scattered both my Means, and Race, And brought me in contempt, and sad disgrace, With all my friends; who will not own me more, Nor converse with me as they did before, Because the hand of God hath made me poor. Since thou hast made me odious to all, And none do pity, or lament my fall: But even, my friends, men, who I thought had known My temper, and at such time would ha' shown Their kindness to me in my sad distress, By their proud words afford me nothing less. Nay those whom blood to me had rendered dear, Insult upon my woes, and now appear More fierce, more cruel, more in Rancour died, Than all my prating Enemies beside. Then let me die! at length, Lord, let me die, That I may here shut up the History, Of a most miserable Life, and close In my last Groan, the Fable of my woes. For why, Lord, should I any longer see 6. And hast made me full of wrinkles, which is a witness theirof, and my leanness riseth up in me, testifying the same in my face. The light of Heaven, who am condemned by thee! No, with my Mantle wrapped about my head, Let me be to the place of dying led; Where I may quickly find what I desire, And in the twinkling of an eye expire. Expire? O happy word! to ease my pain, Let me but once repeat that word again: Expire!— alace I fear that favour yet Will not be granted. I must longer wait For that last blow: and in this panting breath Still live, yet feel the horrid pains of Death. A thing that should not live, yet cannot die; Lord what a goodly spectacle am I! Poor, Lean, Diseased, Sun-dryed, and Withered, My Face with Wrinkles deeply furrowed, All these do show it is not fit that I Should live, and yet I'm not allowed to die. Was ever man in such a dismal case? 7. His wrath hath torn me, & he hateth me, and gnasheth upon me with his teeth, mine enemy hath sharpened his eyes against me. Was ever mortal tortured thus? alace I'm torn to pieces, by the Divine Wrath, And yet denied the Liberty of Death. I'm become odious in God's sight, he hates The very thoughts of me, he meanly rates All my Pretensions: nay he frowns upon me, Denies his presence, will hear no more on me. As a notorious Traitor I am used, The privilege of council is refused, To me, and which is worse, obliged down right▪ To answer my Indictment, without sight. And 'cause th' Almighty doth me thus despise, My Enemies in wrath against me rise, They rise against me with great Violence, And with sharp words assault my innocence. With grinding teeth, and eyes all in a flame, They stare about them, when they hear my name, With such disdain they do upon me smile, As if forsooth it were not worth their while To notice such as I appear to be, Or eye such a poor wretched soul as me. With mouths wide open they upon me gape 10. They have gaped upon me with their mouth, they have smirten me upon the cheek, reproachfully they have gathered themselves together against me. As if they'd me devour, and seem to ape The Hectors of the Ocean, when they chase With open mouths before them through the seas Shoals of small Fishes; and most bitterly With Tongues, like Scorpions, they continually Do whip my Soul: they whisper to each other They go aside, and there consult together How they may vex me further: they devise With all their force, and art that in them lies How to undo me, and bring evidence, T' invalidat my Plea of Innocence. Now it appears alace that God indeed 11. God hath delivered me to the ungodly, and turned me over into the hands of the wicked. Has me rejected, and delivered Me as a slave into the hands of those Who are both his, and my declared foes. I was in Wealth, and Honour, and Esteem, 12. I was at ease, but he hath broken me asunder, he hath also taken me by my neck, and shaken me to pieces, & set me up for his mark. In great respect, of all who heard my name: I knew what plenty was, I lived at ease; And no cross-dealing did disturb my peace, Now I am poor, now I am desolate, And forfeit both of Honour, and Estate. Now I am pinched, and in great Penury, Now I am poor, and on the Dunghill lie, Like an old useless Jade exposed to die. The Wrath of God has shattered me to pieces, And yet that wrath against me still encreaies. As Grim-faced Archers, Executioners 13. His archers compass me round about, he cleaveth my reir asunder, & doth no spare, he poureth my gall upon the ground Of earthly justice do themselves disperse In quest of Malefactors; beat the Woods, Willows, and Reeds, that grow among the Floods, Survey the Mountains, and the Champaign Ground, And give not over, while their prey be found, So have Gods Archers compassed me around. I'm now their Captive, by those I am led Whether they list, pinioned, and fettered. They spare me not, their fury knows no bounds, They've made me all a Mass of Blood, and Wounds. With heavy strokes, and blows ingeminat, 14. He hath broken me with one breaking upon another, and runneth upon me, like a giant. I'm broke to pieces: I'm excoriat, By Furrowing Stripes: such cruel usage sure Never yet breathing Mortal did endure. As a fierce Giant, with his monstrous Spear, Banded, and pointed, beyond ordinar, With violence, upon his foe doth run, So by the strength of God I am undone. For this cause I upon my Skin have sowed 15. I have sowed a sackeloath upon my skin, & have abased my horn to the dust. A doleful Sackcloth, and my head have bowed Low to the ground; for this cause I lament, For this cause I my clothes have torn, and rend, My head have shaved, and in this sad Estate, Each minute I my Threnody repeat. My face with weeping is all withered, 16. My face is withered with weeping, and the shadow of death is upon my eyes. Death o'er my eyes its coverlet hath spread. The pretty guardians, which did formerly Protect my wearied eyes from injury, Now weak, and sore, with watching overspent. And by uninterrupted weeping faint, Have quite their stations, and take no more care Of their poor charge, but now quite useless are. O let me once again then but demand 17. Though there be no wickedness in my hands and my prayer be pure. Of my great God, that I may understand From him what is the cause of all my woe; Just King of Heavens!— why am I punished so. I am not conscious of such horrid guilt, As may deserve this: do then, what thou wilt; Cut me to pieces, let my flesh be thrown To Dogs for food; my bones dispersed, and sown Upon the highways, that each Passenger, Who travels on the Road, may, without care▪ Trample upon them; yet I still must cry O my good God, with thy good liberty, I bear a heart, that doth entirely love Its great Creator: and each hour doth prove By fervent prayer, with what alacrity It doth perform all works of piety; And is not guilty of hypocrisy. O Earth! to Mortals common Source, and Grave! Who kindly dost all breathless dust receive, 18. O earth cover not thou my blood, and let my crying find no place. If I be such, as men would have me be, Let my foul blood no shelter find from thee, But let my Corpse exposed upon the place, Be to Spectators shown with open face, That, if I die foe great a Criminal, As men would have me, I may by all Voted unworthy of a burial. Why be it so then, let me be condemned 19 For lo now my witness is in heaven, and my record is on high. By man on Earth, let me be thus esteemed A lying Rogue, a Hypocrite, a Cheat, Of Principles false, and adulterate; Yet the great Judge o'th' World doth know my cause, And well I hope by trial of his Laws, To be acquit, my witness is on high, My Records in the Heavens securely lie: By those, one day, I hope to make appear, How from those Crimes I'm innocent, and clear. Then to my unkind friends, who on pretence 20. My friends speak eloquently against me, but mine eye poureth out tears to God. Of consolation, vent their eloquence, Against the most unpitied of men, Accusing me (poor wretch) once, and again, Present I shall no other answer make, Then that my God I hope at length will speak, And from his mouth resolve undoubtedly, Which of us have most erreà, they, or I: Whilst I myself no other way defend, But by those tears, which from my eyes descend, By which to God my cause I recommend. Yet, would to God that one in my estate, 21. O that a man might plead with God, as he doth with his neighbour. As with his Neighbour, freely might debate With his Creator: then would I demand For what sad misdemeanours doth the hand Of God thus lie upon me? why alace Am I in such a lamentable case? Is it because the season of my years, 2a. For the years accounted come, & I shall go the way, whence I shall not return. Proper for such afflictions appears: And that the strength, and vigour of my age, Seems able with such tortures to engage. Why be it so:— yet after all— alace, Me thinks my God should now extend some grace, And not for ever show an angry face. Yea sure, me thinks he should some pity have, Now when I am even stepping to my Grave. For oh!— My time appointed quickly shall run out, My years shall vanish soon, and then I doubt, Some friend will kindly drop a tear, and mourn For one, who goes, whence he shall not return. Cap. XVII. MY Lungs are wasted, and I find my breath 1. My breath is corrupt, my days are cut off, the grave is ready for me. Is corrupt, and has now the scent of Death. The current of my Life is now run out, And, when on all hands I do look about, I find there's no way how I can escape The Grave, for every spot of Earth doth gape For this poor Carrion; and I wish it were Fairly interred, and not i'th' open air Exposed, to be the Food, and daily Fare, Of Beasts, and Birds of prey.— I drop into the Grave,— I breath with pain, 2. There are none but mockers with me, and mine eyes continueth in their bitterness. And nothing of a man doth now remain. But some small reason, and a voice, that's shrunk Into the accent of a hollow Trunk. Yet in this sad condition fain would I Expect the good hour, wherein I must die. I'd fain resign my breath, and trindle hence, With satisfaction, that my innocence, Though questioned here, is to my Maker known, And I must make account to him alone. Fain would I in the Grave lie down, and rest My wearied Bones: where I might find at least After so many pains, and sorrows, ease, But these men will not let me die in peace. For, stead of comfort, in this exigent, With bitter words, they do my Soul torment. Were any of those men now in my case, How would they take it pray? if in their face, While they were dying, one should them upbraid, And call them Hypocrites?— I am afraid For all their fair pretended patience, Were they but conscious of their innocence, And in such sad distress, as I am now, Their warm Religion, and their Morals too, In such a case, would have enough ado. To curb just Indignation, which, no doubt, As well, as mine, would suddenly burst out. Sure they'd complain, and tax th' Upbraiders too O● Barbarous, unkind Usage, as I now Do them for their harsh dealing thus with one, Whose Innocence even to themselves is known. For no so Sauvage Nation ever yet Allowed that dying men at such a rate Should be insulted, but most courteously Have still indulged to such the Liberty To use their own Devotions, and die, Yet this to me my unkind Friends deny. Since things are so, with these I'll no more speak, 3. Lay down now, and put in surety for thee, who is he, that will touch my hand? But to th' Almighty I'll my speech direct▪ I must a little with my God debate, With my Good God I must the question state: For I perceive, (let me say what I can) My case cannot be understood by man: I will debate with God then. Say, Good Lord, Wilt thou to me this liberty afford? Wilt thou with me join issue in the case? And let us argue frreely, face to face, As one doth with another here below, And plead th' affair in open Court, if so, Be pleased to put in surety for that end: Now who'll ba●l God, as one would do his Friend? Go to then,— since I must debate my case 4. For thou hast hid their heart from understanding, therefore shalt thou not set them up on high. With God, who understands it, not with these, Who neither understands it, nor will be, (By all that I can speak) informed by me. First then, my God (let these say what they will) I lay it as a solid Principle, That, though when sins of wicked men do cry To Heavens for justice, on whom by, and by Thou send'st thy numerous Plagues in troops abroad, And puttest those wretches under thy blackrod: Yet those are not the only men, whom thou Appoin't'st for sorrow, but to just men too Sad tokens are of thy displeasure sent, By way of Trial not of Punishment. For I deny ●o● but Afflictions are The just rewards of sin nor will I dare T' aver the contr●●: Yet O Lord, I know Oft times thou dost afflict thy own, that so Thou mayst by humbling of'em, let them see How much all Mankind should depend on thee, Who all things hast created, and canst send Judgements, or Mercies, where thou dost intend. And yet, when thou dost Good Men persecute, Thou dost not mark them, as (without dispute) Men who deserved such usage at thy hand; No certainly, for none who understand The method, which thy Divine Providence Doth use with men, and what's the difference Betwixt a Trial, and a Punishment, Will make up such an unkind Argument, As these out of my sad afflictions do; But notwithstanding all my plagues, allow I am not yet so guilty, as those men By very Strength of Rhetoric, would fain Persuade me to believe: whilst they assert As a firm Axiom, and by rules of art Argue it boldly,— that no man can be Afflicted by the hand of God, but he Whose sins are horrid, and abominable: A strange opinion! an intolerable, And impudent assertion, such as none, Who have regard to their own Souls would own. What!— thus to circumscribe th' Almighty God As if he should not use his angry rod On any but his open enemies, In m●er revenge, and not his own chastise, To keep them in their duty:— this indeed Is Doctrine no way to be suffered. Poor inconsiderate Fools! they'll not allow That privilege to God, which Mortals do Freely enjoy, without impediment, For, should one now retort their argument Upon themselves, and seriously check Those knowing persons, when they do correct, With loving stripes, those of their Family, Whom they do most esteem: then by, and by They'd tell us what they do is not revenge, Hatred, or Wrath, but Love: and yet 'tis strange They should assert that God afflicteth none But those he hates—— Thus I perceive then, Lord, th' hast hid from these The true, and genuine meaning of my case. But, Lord: I know all comes alike to all, And thou, in Wisdom, lets thy Judgements fall On just, and sinful men promiscuously, And wilt not show the world a reason why Thou thus dost act: that so both good, and bad May know thy Mighty Hand, and be afraid T' incur the hazard of thy hot displeasure, When thou demonst●ates to 'em, with what measure, Thou fadom'st all men's actions: for, as thou, Where wrath is merited, wilt not allow The party punished should plead innocent, And say thou'rt cruel in his punishment, So, when thou send'st afflictions on the just, And godly men, who in thy mercy trust, Thou'lt not permit that any should conclude, From thence, that such men must be understood Guilty of all, that's evil: for, if so The blessed Saints in Heaven might undergo The censure of the most ungodly men That ever lived on Earth; since it is plain, None ever such afflictions endured, As those, and yet to say their sins procured All that they suffered, and that all they felt, Whilst in the land of misery they dwelled. Was but the product of their faults: and that Their judgements hardly were proportionat To their foul Crimes, were inallowable, Since thou, O Lord, hast made them capable Of thy eternal favour. Nay this were To prove Religion were no more but Air, That none were pious, that no man did call Upon God's Name aright, no— none at all: But that all those goodly Inhabitants Of Heaven known to us by the name of Saints Were the mere dregs o'th' World.— Since in this Earth, they knew no other state Of life, than what we do commiserat, Even though deserved in any, whom we see In sad affliction, (though none pity me.) I do concclude then, 'twere a consequence Of dangerous import, if we should from thence Infer that because that good men do endure Afflictions in this life, that therefore sure Such men are impious, vile, and execrable, For shame, let none be so uncharitable, As to maintain this error.— For I'm persuaded, Lord, that one may be Under griat troubles, and yet loved by thee. Next, Lord, I hold it as a rule, that all, By thy just Statutes are not Criminal, Who black with sorrow, and o'er come with pain, Of their afflictions modestly complain: If, joint with such complaints they prayers send To Heavens, and from their hearts do recommend To thy kind mercy the consideration Of their estate, and mildly plead compassion. Lastly I am persuaded, after all, That though sad woes, like sheets of Snow should fall From Heavens upon a man, who puts his trust In his Creator; yet, like blowing dust, These clouds of woes shall vanish into air, And their succeeding life shall look more fair, Then that in sorrow gloomy did appear. These are my principles, good Lord, from whence, (With thy good leave) I would by consequence Infer that I'm unjustly taxed by these, Who call themselves my friends: who proudly raise Themselves against me▪ and do argue still, My numerous sins alone (say what I will) Have brought upon me all that I endure, And therefore hold me guilty. and impure. Thou seest then, Lord, how these my case mistake, 5. For the eyes of his children shall fail▪ that speaketh flattery to his neighbour. Then why should they themselves my Judges make? Who in their Censures are so partial, And to their own opinions wedded all, Methinks themselves they rather should decline, Then, by joint council, cunningly combine, Under pretence of friendship to increase My troubles, by such arguments, as these. Should they be Judges? they who openly Do value men by their prosperity: And look on those, who in afflictions waves Do swim with pain, as men do look on slaves Coupled in chains.—— Such flattery our God will not permit To go unpunished, but when he thinks fit, Upon those flatterers he'll such judgements send, As in a few day's space may make an end, Not only of their persons, but of all, What these proud fools a memory do call. Shall all their worldly pageantry deface, And, in his anger, root out all their Race. Now I remember, whilst my sun did shine 6. He hath also made me a byword of the people, and I am a tabret before them. In its full Orb, and all things did combine To make me happy, as a man might be In this vain world▪ then would I daily see My friends, in crowds, within my walls appear Protesting nothing to them was so dear, As was my interest, and with cast-up-eyes, Persuading me that they would sacrifice Their Means, their Lives, and should occasion call, To do me service, they would venture all That men call dear:— I'm become poor of late, By th'hand of God, I'm become desolate, With sorrows, on all hands, environed, And all my noon-tide friends are vanished. My life is changed, and all my friends are gone▪ And, in distress I'm visited by none, But three, whose visits, I may say have been The worst affliction I have ever seen. (For truly I esteem those Visitants No Comforters, but subtle Disputants) Men, who retain no pity in their hearts, But would on this occasion, show their parts On me, in this deplorable estate, Not meaning to condole, but to debate. Would they had spared their unkind kindness too And left me here as well as others do, Then had I been more easy, than I'm now. For all my other friends, those Parasites, Those Cuckoos of my life, those Hypocrites, That gull the World with a fair pretence Of Love, and Friendship are all marched hence. Nay would their venomous malice rested there, And, as they've quit me, so they would forbear The mention of my name; and when they meet At their Festivals, would they would forget That ever such a thing was born, as I am, Would that some other Subject might supply'm With new Discourse, and I had Liberty At least, in dark oblivion here to die. But O I'm now become the Table-talk Of all my friends, nay all men, when they walk In Streets, or Fields, of my afflictions prate, And speak, with pleasure, of my sad estate. I'm now the rabble's talk at Wakes and Fairs, My present sorrows sounding in their Ears, Like a melodious Consort, and (God knows) Hearing of my calamities, and Woes▪ Those Clowns are no less pleased, than when they hear The noise of Tabret, Fife, or Dulcimer. Nay so my foes have now their malice spread, As those, who never knew me, never had Acquaintance of me, when they hear my name So much bespattered by a foul-mouthed fame, Admire what cursed, and wicked thing I am. My eyes with weeping for this cause, are dim, 7. Mine eye therefore is dim with grief, and all my strength is like a shadow. (My heart, with springs of grief swollen to the brim Both Day, and Night affording new supplies Of brinish liquors) for, as water rise, By force of Pump: so from my bursting heart By force of Sighs, without all help of art Fresh Streams are sucked up hourly, issuing out Through either eye, as through a Waterspout. By this uninterrupting Flux, at length With sorrows I perceive my former Strength Is quite exhausted, and I now appear Like a mere shadow, or a Damp of air. This, at first view, may all good men surprise, 8. The righteous shall be astonished at this, and the innocent shall be moved against the hypocrite To see a man plunged in such miseries, A man, who thinks at least God doth not hate His Person, nor doth so excruciate Him, as a Malefactor, though▪ he knows That all his sorrows, all his pains, and woes Are but his Merits: these my sufferings May possibly occasion murmurings Amongst the best of men, when they perceive My sad condition (which though some believe To be the product of my sins, yet these Know better things) and viewing of my case, Upon their own Deportment, do reflect, And, with themselves think what they may expect, When such as I, who hopes all don't maintain, That in God's sight I am the worst of men, Am so unkindly used, but when they check Their errors, and begin to recollect Their minds, and fall to solid Contemplations, Of the true Order of God's Dispensations, Then do they understand that God doth try His own by so exact a scrutiny, And, with such Judgements doth their lives infest, As puts their patience to the utmost test: Yet still he loves them▪ and will not permit The Floods to rise higher than he thinks fit, Because good men, men just and innocent Do at his hands deserve no punishment. But for the couz●ning Hypocrite, sad wrath Shall rain upon him; he shall wish for Death, But shall not find it, and his miseries Shall be augmented by his unheard cries. Because God knows those men the World do cheat With a fair show of zeal, and shrewdly treat The just, and upright, whilst they would maintain They were themselves the only pious men. Then good men their afflictions shall forget, When they see men, whom God doth truly hate, So justly punished, men, who have provoked By Villainy, Fraud, and Oppression cloaked With piety, one, that will not be mocked. Then shall the righteous men new Spirits take 9 But the righteous will hold his way▪ & he, whose hands are pure, shall increase his strength. When they consider how God doth correct The good, but utterly destroys the bad, And makes their case irreparably sad. Then though in dreadful misery, and pain, Yet shall they no more of their God complain, Then will a Patient, who doth understand His good Physician will not set his hand To any Order, or, for any bribe, Be hired by his Enemies to prescribe Such Medicines to him, but what he knows, (At least he doth, by rules of art, suppose) Are for his Health: to those Religious Men In the most boiling Calenture of pain, Shall not repine, but, with great constancy Endure all the assaults of misery, And still hold bravely out, until at length, God shall relieve them, and renew their strength. And now, my friends, though I designed no more 10. All you therefore turn you, and come no● and I shall not fi●● one ●ise man among you. To argue with you, as I did before. Yet on this subject I cannot forbear But once again must in all calmness here Complain of you, who so mistake my case, And, 'cause afflicted, tell me in my face, I'm a cursed Person, a vile Reprobat, One, whom his Maker doth abhor, and hate: When you yourselves, for shame will not deny, But that th' Almighty, when he means to try The faith of those he loves, will exercise Such with unheard of woes, and miseries; That when such fiery trial they endure With patience, they may become more pure Then formerly, and (as yourselves aver) After such sufferings, in God's sight appear More just, and righteous, than they were before, Like Gold refined in Furnace o'er, and o'er. But, since you've taken up an argument, To prove that no man can be innocent. Who is afflicted, but that only those, Whose sins do cry for judgements suffer woes: You do resolve, although your reasons were Ill founded, and of no more weight than air, Yet still your reputation to maintain, By a continued reasoning, and vain Expressing of your Parts, albeit you know You are i'th'wrong, yet you will have it so; Because you are wisemen, and cannot err, Whereas, my friends, by what doth yet appear, (I know not what you wit, and prudence call) But, truth, I find none wise amongst you all. But O I will no more expostulat 11. My days are past, mine interprises are broken, and the thoughts of my heart. With men, who love to entertain debate, On every trifle, and in foolish pride, Think they know more, than all mankind beside. No— such men are too wise for me, and I Now am not for debates:— I die,— I die, My days are spent, all my designs are quashed, My poor endeavours are to pieces dashed. My thoughts are now so with afflictions clouded, 12. They have changed the night for the day, and the light that approacheth for the darkness. My judgement with the vail of woes so shrouded, As now my sad confusion I see, When things most clear are dubious to me. Then why should I my time in arguing waist? My small time, that remains? my days are past, Then why should I desire to live, when those, From whom, in this sad state, I did suppose I might find comfort, by their tart discourse, Have rendered my condition ten times worse, Then when they found me:— O had not these men Come hither, sure I had been out of pain, Before this time, for, in my solitude, I had been stifled by the multitude Of wasting sighs, and groans:— sure I had died, And been so happy too, as none had spied My face, when dying, none had interposed Themselves 'twixt me, and death, no hand had closed My glaring eyes: none had officiousl▪ Impeded me, when I designed to die. But in some silent hour, unseen, unknown, Unheard, uninterrupted, all alone, As one, that falls asleep I had expired, And gently from the Worlds view retired. — How sweetly had I died, how quietly Had I been shiffled in eternity, Betwixt the utmost gasp of parting breath, And the i'll blowing of approaching death. My wearied soul, ere now, from whence it came, In the vehicle of a pleasant dream, Had been transported: and my Body laid In the cold Ground had its last tribute paid. For, though I with some reason hope, that I 13. Though I hope yet the grave shall be my house, and I shall make my bed in the darkness. May see my sun return before I die. And though I fancy to myself that yet, The time may come, in which I may forget All these afflictions, which I now sustain, And no more of consuming want complain. The time may come, in which my Body may In its own sphere its former strength display; And this poor soul, which now with heavy groans, And floods of tears, its miseries bemoans, May from the Dunghill yet be elevate, And so restored to its former state. Yet to what purpose all these hopes! alace To what end serve those fanir appearances! Those airy expectations, which uphold The drooping spirits, of both young, and old. Those pleasing notions, by which we deceive Our lingering hours, and make ourselves believe We may, when vapours of the night are gone, Yet view our sun in its full horizon. That smiling prospect of our future bliss, Which for some time, allays our grievances. That painted idol, in whose downy lap, Our wearied sorrows sometime take a nap: For what do all those serve, when after all, Death at our doors doth peremptorly call, — To Grave,— to Grave— make haste.— my hour draws on, Dispatch— dispatch— up— I most wait on none, Bestir yourselves,— 'tis high time to be gone. Then where are all our hopes! where all our joys, And pleasures which did here make so much noise! When that sad Summons in our ears doth sound, Ah where is then our Lifeguard to be found? Those Champions of the World! I doubt they are, By that time bravely vanished into Air. Away all foolish hopes, then, for I know, I know this Body to the Grave must go, And after all those mournful passages, I know the Grave must be my dwelling place. Where in close darkness, and long night I must Attend, until my Soul return in Dust. And when I there have fixed my habitation, 14. I shall say to corruption thou art my father, and to the worms, you are my mother, & my sisters. I shall take pleasure in the contemplation Of that dark subterraneous Soil, and strive To learn more there, than when I was alive On earth: there I shall quickly know what all Which here we honour, Riches, Beauty call, Strength, Learning, Judgement, Worldly Policy, With all the Product of Mortality, Do in those dismal Regions signify. There, there I fear I soon shall learn to know There is no difference betwixt High, and Low: Betwixt the Rich, and Poor, the Strong, and Weak, But there all of 'em the same figure make. I shall perceive that all those qualities, Which we esteem in life, afford no price Amongst the inhabitants of these Provinces, Who barter nothing, but for Species Of simple bodies void of cost, or art Do only trade, and, in return, impart Dire Putrefaction, pestilentious Vapours, Thick, rotten air, that would extinguish Tapers, Black Sculls, dry Bones, with Matter purulent, O goodly Trade!— O Wares most excellent! Yet these are th' only Product of the Grave, These, these are all, which, in return we have For bodies of the goodliest Form, and Shape, For stately Bodies, which no art can ape. How many healthful bodies, in their prime, Are hurried hourly hence, by pruning time, To Death's Plantations: where that of a King, And that of a poor Clown is all one thing. That in its youth, and that with age consumed, That wrapped up in its rags, and that perfumed With Aromatic Odours. Nay, although To coasts of grave those latter will not go, But elsewhere trade, and brag much of their gain, How free from Putrefaction they remain By trading to deep Caverns, under ground, Where putrifying moisture is not found: Where by the help of Powders, Spices, Oils, With other rich Ingredients (the Spoils Of some fair Provinces) they do endeavour, To keep their figure under ground, for ever, Yet at long run, their trading doth amount To the same Profit, to the same account, As do all others: for, in sober sense, I can indeed perceive no difference, Betwixt a Body, that embalmed doth lie, In a Lead Coffin, wrapped up decently, In costly Wax-cloathes, Bowelled, and perfumed, And that, which with a tabid ill consumed, Putrid, and withered under ground doth rest In a poor Wooden Coffin: for, at best, Both are but food for Vermin: only this, (As those, who live in open Villages, Are by th' Invaders sooner overrun, Brought in Subjection, plundered, and undone Than those in Garrisons) doth sooner feed Those hungry infects, than that wrapped in Lead. But even that too to wasting time, at length Is forced to yield, for all its formal Strength, And the poor Carrion which itself did trust To those firm Walls becomes at length all Dust. As well as that, which in the open Grave Was sooner eat up: seeing all things have Their own duration, and their period Set by th' appointment of th' Almighty God. Now even those under ground, preserved, and dried Do become black, and almost petrified, As we may daily see, without all shapes, Flat, and deformed, not so like Men, as Apes, Nay, in a short time, even to powder too Their flesh doth crumble. Whilst their rich Coffins studded every where With Characters of Gold, do still appear Sound, and untouched, which we should not admire, If we consider that in Shell entire A rotten Kernel oftentimes is found, So these, by long retention under ground, Not with such dwellings in their lifetimes us▪ d, Though well prepared, yet are at length reduced By a contagious, subterraneous air, To that Condition, in which they appear. Then O for all this wit, for all this art How do those bodies to the world impart As perfect Emblems of life's vanity, As any records of Mortality Afford.— For don't see these withered things, Those musty relics of our glorious Kings, Who, in their lives, with art, and vast expense, T' express their Grandeur, and magnificence, Caused dig deep Caverns out of solid Rocks, In which their bodies, as in Marble box, Might from the rage of infects sleep secure, And firm to all Eternity endure. Pray done't we see how those same Corpse are made Through much o'th' world the subject of a trade? O this vain World! how ridiculous To see a Prince's Body serve the use Of each Plebeian!—— To see those things, for all their foolish hopes, Exposed in Apothecaries Shops, As well as other Drugs, to public Sale, And, in small parcels vented by retail! Alace how mean, and how much differing From the first project of a Mighty King! But the great King of Heavens will have it so, That to proud Mankind he their pride may show, For as from dust they sprung, again they must By course of nature, all return to dust. 'Tis Dust alone, for which those Country's deal, The only traffic of that Common-weall; All things imported these to Dust convert, And, soon, or late, by a laborious Art, Expose that Dust to public view again, To show corruption only their doth reign. That Governs all, whilst no eye can perceive The cunning Manufacture of the Grave. Let bodies swim in oil, and carefully Preserved in Glasses, boast Eternity. Let them be swallowed down, let them be kept In Fishes bellies, or confusedly heaped, One 'bove another, in some nasty hole, Or in small atoms reach from pole to pole, Or squandered in the bottom of the Seas, Yet certainly, at length, all by degrees, Must become Dust, which when I shall perceive, With men on Earth, I'll no more commerce have, But keep firm correspondence with the grave, Corruption I will my Father call, The Worms my Mother, Brethren, Sisters all. Then where are all my hopes? what look I for 15. Where is now then my hope, or who shall consider the thing I hoped for? On this side time? why should I labour more, T' uphold my spirit, in vain expectation, Of future bliss, and worldy restauration? When after all I clearly may perceive There is no hope for me, but in the Grave. In that dark dwelling I must only rest, And in Death's silent shades must only taste, That, which, on Earth, I never can attain, That ease, which I from Life expect in vain. Then farewell all my hopes;— I'll hope no more, But here all expectations give o'er. Let others hope to see their misery Turn to a Sunshine of prosperity. Let others hope to see their sorrows crowned With a fair issue, and themselves abound In wealth, and peace, my hope is under ground, Thither,— O thither only will I go, And in those Regions finish all my woe. Let others then hope still, when I am gone, Let others live, I am for death alone. All Earthly hopes are vain, and perishing, 16. They that go down into the bottom of the pit, surely they shall lie together in the dust. The course of life is a mere changeling. There's nothing here, that we can lasting call, The joys of Mankind are mere cozenage all. Wit, Honours, Riches, Courage, Titles, Fame, Are but the hiccups of the World's esteem In which vain man buoyed up doth proudly swim. But when the black clouds of adversity Begin to gather, and the angry Sky Threatens a storm, than one may plainly see What timorous, insipid things those be, Which we so much admire, for, in a trice, Those men, with all their glorious qualities, At first approach of woes begin to shrink, And then (their Bladders-bursting) downright sink. Down to the bottom of the Pit they fall, Where, in a moment, they are huddled all, In one great mass of Dust, no difference 'Twixt a poor Beggar and a splendid Prince There to be seen, but all in heaps do lie In the large Garner of Mortality, As all were but one Grain; and there's an end Of all we speak, act, fancy, or intend. All the proud Boasters of the World at length, For all their Riches, Honour, Wit, and Strength, In which they placed their confidence, and trust, Assemble all together in the Dust. O then, let no man put his confidence In earthly blessings, nor permit his sense To have command, where reason should preside, But let it, with Religion for its guide, Order his march of life so prudently, As he may still look to Mortality, As the last stage of humane vanity. Cap. XVIII. THus having long discoursed, and become faint, 1. Then answered Bildad the Shuhite, and said. With speaking much, Job would have been content, T' have had some respite for a while, but that His friends had still resolved to debate Upon the subject, and still meant t'evince, That he was only punished for his sins. Then Zophar now, and learned Eliphaz Supposing they had argued the case So fully, as that no more could be said, Thinking it needless any more to plead; Bildad, a man, who had not spoke much yet, But listened most o'th' time to their debate, Resolves now with his friend to argue too, And try what his brisk Rhetoric can do. When, says he, will thy flaming passions cool, 2. When will you make an end of your words? cause us understand, and then we will speak. When wilt thou cease to act the angry fool? Why so enraged? why with such bitterness, Against thy friends dost thou thyself express? What have we done, that thou shouldst thus accuse Thy best of friends? in this thou dost abuse Our gentle nature: I would then advise Thee in thy language to become more wise, And not upbraid us thus, as if thou thought We were all Idiots, Dunces, men of nought. Thou treat'st us with expressions of scorn, Words of contempt, words hardly to be born By men of worth, and ingenuity, Men, who do live by rules of piety, As well, as ever thou didst hitherto, And, in the fear of God, exceed thee now. For thou dost rave, and sometimes wilt direct Thy speech to God, in such a Dialect, In such expostulating words, as though, For all the torture thou dost undergo, Thoved challenge him as Author: him, who sends Judgements, where he thinks fit, what he intends None can oppose: him, who on high doth sit, And judges all the World as he thinks fit. Yet with this God, forsooth, thou dar'st debate, And with thy Maker thus expostulat, And that in words too so impertinent, As none that feared that Majesty would vent, Words so imperious, words so arrogant, Words so unusual, and extravagant, Words so approaching open Blasphemy That we're afraid to bear thee company. Thou talksed with God, as if thou didst not know 'Tis he, that made the Heavens, thou blustrest so, As if thou talked with men, and dost so shake In fits of passion, in discourse so weak, As one should say— I know not what I speak. Consider well now pray, if thou wouldst dare Address in language so familiar, Thyself to any Prince on earth, as now Thou dost to th' King of Kings; Consider too How much already thou hast roused his wrath, And make him not pursue thee to the Death. Thus dost thou speak to God, and then anon, Like one in frantic Fits, thou fallest upon Thy honest Friends, men, who do pity thee, And are indeed much troubled thus to see One whom they always loved, one they esteemed, One, whom they never, (but with honour) named: One, whose-afflictions from their very soul, They're now come hither merely to condole, In such disorder. But proceed, my friend, Only let's know, when thou wilt put an end To thy Discourse: pray let us understand, (For all the ills we merit at thy hand) Only when thou hast done; we ask no more, But teach us when thy speech thou wilt give o'er, When thou'lt an end of all this language make, That we may know when it is time to speak. Pray what dost mean, my friend, that thou shouldst treat, 3. Why are we counted as beasts, & are vile in your sight? Men of our Reputation at this rate? Pray what dost take us for? dost think but we Can all express our minds as well as thee, Were we inclined, with as much foolish heat Thy rude expressions to retaliat? Compared with thee forsooth, it seems we're all But very beasts, or what thou'rt pleased to call, In thy sharp passion, men esteemed by none To be such bruits, but by thyself alone. We're all forsooth but Boobies in thy eyes: How long is't, friend, since thou became so wise? Sure it must be of late, for formerly, When thou didst flourish in prosperity, We knew thee, at the best, but even such, As we're ourselves: but now thou talk'st as much, As though thy Wit were more than natural, And thou of late knew more than we do all. Pray let us know from whence this Wisdom then Proceeds, in which beyond all other men Thou dost excel: pray let us know, my friend, By what unheard of means, thou hast attained To so much Wisdom in so short a space, For, since we see thee, in thy prosperous case, Not many months are past, and truly than We thought thee no more wise than other men. Then cannot I conjecture whence indeed, This so transcendent wisdom doth proceed; Nor from what source it has its derivation, Unless it flow frim sudden inspiration. But seriously, my friend, when I reflect 4. Thou art as one that teareth his soul in his anger: shall the earth be forsaken for thy sake; or the rock removed out of its place? On what I've heard, what I did not expect From such a man as Job: and when I see How most unjustly we're accused by thee, As men come hither, without all intent Of comforting, but merely to torment Thy soul, with bitter words: and multiply Thy sorrows by our unkind company; Whilst, with debates we make thy pains increase, When, God knows, we endeavour nothing less. When thus, I say, in sadness, I reflect On the rash words, which I have heard thee speak, As, if thou were't in pure vindictive rage, Resolved for lewd, and horrid crimes to stage, Not only us, who are but silly men, Such as thyself, but even to arraign The Government of Heavens: as if that God Did upon thee unjustly use his Rod: On thee, a creature just, and innocent; Who never yet knew what transgression meant, And, on that ground, thou dost conclude that he Must be unjust, who thus tormenteth thee. When I reflect on this, and seriously Observe thy carriage in this misery, I think thou art so far from being more Prudent, and knowing then thou wert before, That thou art downright mad.— For who, but one that's rap't out of his wits, Whose mind is troubled by invading fits, Would make so great a noise? thus cry, and howl, And in his anger tear his very Soul, As thou dost now thyself in wrath express, As though thou were't first Martyr in the case. How from my Soul do I commiserat A man in such a sad distracted state: Why dost thou think but other men as well As thou, my friend, the same afflictions feel? Thy case indeed is no ways singular, Nor are thy sufferings extraordinar: Then why, my friend, art thou become so vain, To think thou shouldst not feel, what other men As good, as thee, do daily undergo, And make not half this noise of it, if so, I do, with sorrow look upon thy state, And think indeed it is more desperate Than that of those shut up in Hospitals, For most of these have lucid intervals, But thou hast none; their fury may be tamed, By strength of Medicine, and they reclaimed By time to their own wits: thine doth increase, And seems to be a madness in excess. Thy fury seizes on thee more, and more, Beyond the approved cure of Hall●bore. For thou dost think that God, to favour thee, Should alter his established decree, And even be pleased, on thy account, to change The so well ordered course of Nature:— strange That any mortal man endued with reason, Should dar to hatch within his breast such treason Against Heaven's King! dost think that God will make The lofty Rocks within their Sockets shake, Or mash the Frame of Nature, for thy sake? Dost think he'll make the Earth turn desolate, To compliment thee in thy sad estate? Or make Men, Beasts, Birds, Fishes in the Sea, Endure the same afflictions with thee? That the whole Universe, from Pole, to Pole, Might, with one voice thy miseries condole. Alace, my friend, thou ravest, thou ravest indeed, 5. Yea the light of of the wicked shall be quenched, and the spark of his fire shall not shine. If thou foment such fancies: pray take heed What thou dost think, at lest what thou dost speak, For thy expressions show thy judgement weak. And (which is yet a sign more evident Of thy distemper, and an argument Of thy disordered mind) with confidence, Because we seem to doubt thy innocence, Thou callest us fools, and dunces, which implies As much as thou think'st thou art hugely wise. Whilst all wise men conclude, without debate, That every man wise in his own conceit, I● but a fool: of which alace I see, A too true demonstration in thee. And therefore, with more reason, I'd request, Then thou hast us, thou would not speak at least, For, in this troubled state, I'd thee advise To hold thy peace, and we shall think thee wise, At least, as we have heard, with patience All thy discourse, and taken no offence At thy injurious words, so thou wouldst hear What I intent to speak, which, though I fear Will quadrat too much with thy case, yet I With all discretion, shall forbear t'apply, But only shall endeavour to express, In a few words, wy judgement on the case. I see, my friend then (though thou still dost plead, Not guilty) yet a man may plainly read, In thy afflictions what's the cause of all Thy miseries; which I do freely call Thy crying sins; thy unjust dealings:— hence Those woes, from these thy sufferings commence. Thy judgements clearly do thy sins express To all of us, though thou wilt not confess: But cunningly wouldst still plead innocent, And truly there's no greater argument Of guilt then still denying, when impeached: But, for all thy defences, God has reached Thee in his justice, and has punished thee For thy foul sins, in manner, as we see. Now, as in wrath our God is formidable, So all his orders are inviolable: He lets the wicked man in villainy Proceed and flourish, undisturbedly, For a long time, until he doth attain To the full Zenith of his joys, and then He draws the Reins, and doth his pride compesce, In the bright noon-tide of his happiness: So from his earthly glory in a trice, He tumbles down, as from a precipice. His radiant lustre shall be no more seen, 6. The light shall be dark in his dweling, and his candle shall be put out with him. But his great name, as though he ne'er had been, Shall be razed out of the Records of Fame, And none shall know he was, or whence he came; Nay, those who knew him in prosperity, Shall now abhor his very memory. His wealth, and power, in which he did confide, 7. The steps of his strength shall be rest●●●●d, and his own council shall cast him down. Shall fail him: all his arts and tricks beside, By which he used to cozen other men, Shall be most quaintly disappointed then. His council shall be overturned all, And by his own devices he shall fall. The course of life he in this Earth doth steer, 8. For he is taken-in the net by his feet and he walketh upon the snares. Shall be like Ships amongst shelves, in constant fear, With dreadful thoughts he shall be overlaid, Of his own shadow he shall be afraid. Sad apprehensions shall upon him seize, 9 The grin shall ta●● him by the heel, and the thief shall co●● upon him. And, in his spirits, he shall find no ease. For, when he means by pleasures, to divert His sorrows, and alleviate his heart By serene thoughts, his conscience by, and by Shall lay before him his impiety: Which shall him also in his sleep affright, And steal upon him, like a Thief, by night. Shall apprehend that plots are every where 10. A snare is laid for him in the ground and a trap for him in the way. Laid for his life, and that men do prepare Actions, Indytements, Jurors, evidence Against him, and his frighted conscience Makes him believe that men do lie in wait To catch him, and that every man doth hate Both him, and all his execrable race, And that he's the discourse of every place. When on his pillow he shall lay his head, 11. Fearfulness shall make him afraid on every side, and shall drive him to his feet. Thinking by sleep from terrors to be freed, Then shall fresh terrors, like a rapid stream Break in upon his fancy, in a dream. Then shall he start out of his sleep, and call For Sword, for Helmet, Corslet, Shield▪— for all, Then sleep again, but, in a trice awake, And nimbly to his feet himself betake: So sleep, and wake, and wake, and sleep, by fits, All the long night, like one out of his wits. His Creditors on all his Means shall seize, 12. His strength shall be famine, and destruction shall be ready at his side. Turn out his Family, bring him by degrees To such a sad, penurious exigent, As he, and his shall have no aliment. Then wasting sorrow, want of sleep, and food, 13. It shall devour the inner parts of his skin, and the first born of death shall devour his strength. With all things, that to nature are allowed, Shall in his Loins, his Body, and his Head, A complication of diseases breed: By which the hateful wretch shall every day, In some dark corner, rot, and pine away. Then all his hopes, by which he formerly, 14. His hope shall be rooted out of his dwelling, & shall cause him to go to the king of fear. In th' hottest fits of his adversity, Would cheer his drooping spirits, and recall His almost parting soul, then shall they all Abandon him, and he shall then appear Upon all hands environed with fear. Like a poor Malefactor, who has ta'en His leave of all his friends, and with some pain Mounted the Ladder? when he looks about, Of death's approach he makes no longer doubt, Concluding 'cause attended now by none, But th' horrid Executioner alone, Sure he must die,— for all his hopes are gone. Fear, while he lives, shall dwell within those walls, 15. Fear shall dwell in his house, because it is not his, and brimstone shall be scattered upon his habitation. Which his indeed he most unjustly calls; Because by fraud, and rapine purchased, In his own Chamber fear shall make its bed, Fear with him shall at Table daily feed. Until at length, for all his art, and pain, By which he would his purchases retain: An unseen Moth shall enter his Estate, Which in short time most sensibly shall eat▪ The fruit of all his Labours: then, when all His miseries do seem apace to fall Upon him, he begins to stir, and fain Would weather out his troubles, but in vain, For soon he sees (let him do what he can) It quite surmounts the art, and wit of man, To save those ill-got Means, which every day, Like gangrened Members, sensibly decay. Then all his joints do quiver, when anon He by his Books perceives that all is gone. All's gone: all's lost, all his so vast Estate Like hidden smoke, is now evaporat: His Lands, his Means, all his effects are now Consumed to ashes, and he knows not how. Thus shall he perish, 'spite of all his wit, And thus at length upon the Dunghill sit, Ask a farthing of each one goes by, A sad example of humane vanity. But that's not all, for, lest some spurious brat, 16. His roots shall be●lvyed up beneath, and above his branches shall be cut down. Sprung from his Loins might yet repullulat. And, in his life, revive the memory Of such a man, th' Almighty by, and by, Doth, at on blow, his Family destroy, And leaves this Creature neither Girl, or Boy: The World of his whole Issue he doth cleanse, And utterly consumes him, root, and branch. His memory on no record shall stand, 17. His remembrance shall perish from the earth, and he shall have no name in the street. But if thereafter any shall demand, (Who may be curious in such things, as these) When they perceive some scattered vestiges, Of stately buildings- who did this erect? The neighbours shall no other answer make, Save, that they know not, nor did ever hear, That any great man did inhabit there. His memory all Writers shall disclaim, And, in discourses, he shall have no name. His name shall wholly be obliterat, 18. They shall drive him out of the light into darkness, and chase him out of the world. And, with oblivion be consolidat: It shall be chased out of the World, for shame That e'er men should of known so vile a name, And never man shall after of it dream. His memory shall be condemned, and none, 19 He shall neither have son. nor nephew among his people, nor any posterity in his dwellings. Brother, or Sister▪ Daughter, Grandchild, Son, Nephew, or Niece shall him survive, to show If ever such a man did live, or no. For none shall represent him, none shall dar Own Blood with him, or call himself his Heir. But even those wretches, who by Law might claim His Honours, shall b'obliged to change their name. Posterity shall, with amazement, hear 20. Posterity shall be astonished at his day, and fear shall come upon the ancient. His fall, and shall be Thunder— struck, with fear, Nay the most grave, and stayed amongst them all Shall tremble, when perhaps to mind they call, That such a thing once in the World did live, Which to its maker such offence did give. Sure these the Exits of the wicked are,, 21. Surely such are the inhabitations of the wicked, and this is the place of him, that honoureth not God. In which Gods Justice doth itself declare: These are the goodly Dwellings, in which all, Who on their Riches, not on God do call. Do here, on earth, reside: there all their Treasures Are hoarded up, there all their worldly Pleasures: This is the Dwelling, this the firm abode Of those unhappy men, who fear not God. Cap. XIX. THus Bildad spoke, thus in a flowing strain 1. But job answered, and said. This learned Orator briskly did maintain The good old Cause: though those, who spoke before Had on the Subject said as much, and more Than he could add with all his Eloquence, Only the words were Bildad, but the sense Was still the same, with that which Eliphaz And Zophar had discoursed upon the case. When he had then this New-old-lecture read Job, with more calmness, answered him, and said. Why so, my friends, I see you shall intend 2. How long will you vex my soul, and torment me with words? To vex my Soul: ah! shall there be no end Of your Discourses? will you ne'er give o'er, But still your old Position more, and more Pursue with all the reason you can make, As if your Reputation lay at Stake, To prove that I were one that merited These Ills I suffer, and were punished Most justly for my sins: in this Design You seem all by your reas'ning to Combine. This doth appear to be the utmost scope, Of your Discourse, by which at length you hope To force me to confess, what, to this hour, I have denied; if it were in your power. But I'll persuade you, all that you can speak Will not procure it, I am not so weak As yet, that by the force of Eloquence, I should be charmed out of my Innocence. No, no, my friends, for all that you can say, I will not by Confession betray My Conscience, and acknowledge what unless I should belly it, I cannot confess. Though I confess some men in my condition E'er they'd endure such frequent Repetition Of Injuries, would acknowledge any thing, T' avoid the torture of your reasoning. Ten times you have reproached me to my face, 3. You have now ten times reproached me, and are not ashamed, you are impudent toward me. Yet not ashamed, you still pursue the chase. Indeed your malice now is evident, For, in your talk, you're become impudent. I now perceive what all this while has been▪ Your aim, I understand now what you mean. I see your only purpose is to try How a poor Soul involved in misery Is able to endure, besides the pain In which he lies, the rude insults of men. Unkindly done! if this be your intent, 4. And though I had indeed erred mine error remaineth with me. Not to condole with me, but to torment My Soul with arguing, whilst my present state Requires smooth language, and not rough debate. Thus by discourse, obliging me to speak, In answer to you, when I am so weak, As I can hardly move my lips: when all My Teeth do jingle, when my Chaps do fall, And my slow words are merely guttural. If for this end you three be hither come, Indeed you had as good a stayed at home. For I conceive this kind of disputing, Can to afflicted men no comfort bring. No, no more, then if one should see his friend Fallen in a pit, and should be so unkind, As 'stead of helping of him out, to tell him, 'Tis for his sins this accident befell him. So when you see me in this desolate Condition, in this lamentable state, ' Stead of upholding my decaying spirits, You always tell me, thus each Mortal merits To be afflicted, who hath done offence To his Creator: whose own Conscience Tells him he's guilty, yet pleads innocence. But what says all this to the case in hand? Pray now, my good friends, let me understand, In these my sins where your concern doth lie? For my escapes, whether must you, or I Make answer pray? sure I conceive that none Must make account for those, but I alone. Then what are you concerned? if I have erred, The worse is mine: and if I have preferred My pleasures to that duty, which I owe To my so kind Creator, sure I know, He'll none of you for these in judgement call, But I alone must make account for all. Nay further, my dear friends, should I allow That I have sinned, yet sure to none of you I ever gave offence: my sins at least, Were acted in the closet of my breast, My converse was to outward view upright, My sins were perceptible by the sight Of God alone: and so such Godly men As you are, of no scandal can complain, Proceeding from my carriage: pray then why Should you upbraid me thus continually With sins, which were you put to prove, I fear For all your art you could not make appear That I were guilty of'em? why should you Who are wise men, such liberty allow To your hot passions? why should you exclaim Against a poor afflicted man? for shame Forbear this bitter railing, pray forbear And if you be Comforters, let me hear Some words of comfort, pray now let me see If you be such, as you pretend to be. But if in railing you will still proceed, 5. If indeed you will magnify yourselves against me, & plead against my reproach. And think you do perform a noble deed, In whipping one with words already spent With sad afflictions, whilst you would torment A dying creature, I will teach you how To manage this trade better than you do. I'll furnish you with store of arguments, Better than those, which your poor wits invents: And let you see, where your advantage lies, Which yet indeed, for all that you're so wise You have not hit, I'll teach how t'upbraid, And how to say more than you yet have said, Though after all 'tis but a scurvy trade. I'd have you then, my friends, to understand, 6. Know now that God has over thrown me, and has compassed me with his net. That by the Power of an Almighty hand, I'm totally undone, I'm overthrown, And all my glory turned up side down. I am entangled in afflictions net, With wounding sorrows I am round beset: And still the more I struggle to get out, I stick the faster, when I look about For help from man: I easily perceive, That of all my acquaintance none do grieve, To see their old friend in this woeful case, But all upbraid me to my very face. I cry out of Oppression, Rapine, Force, 7. Behold I cry out of wrong, but I am not heard cry aloud but there is no judgement. Plain Depredation, or what else is worse, Yet from heavens Court there's yet no answer made, I call, but there's no justice to be had. All do abhor me, all do do say 'tis just, That I should have my dwelling in the Dust, Because in wealth I many did exceed, And had in store all things that Mortals need: From whence as't were a Crime, they do infer, 'Tis just that such as I should now be here. For those who me in peace, and wealth did know, Are out of envy glad to see me low. This is my lot, this is my present state, 8. He hath fenced up my way that I cannot pass, and he hath set darkness in my paths. This is the woeful, and disconsolat Condition of my life: I now appear Like a distressed night-wandering Traveller, Who sometimes falls on stones, sometimes doth rush Amongst the prickles of some silent bush: Sometimes in Quag mires falls, from whence got out With arms at length out stretched, he grops about I' th' horrid darkness of the night, and fain Would follow out his way, but all in vain; For the poor soul no sooner extricats Himself from troubles, then in other straits He quickly falls: now on some precipice He finds himself advanced, then in a trice He casts about him, and not many paces From thence, the Trunk of some old tree embraces, Anon from some steep Rock he tumbles down, And finds himself amongst the Brambles soon▪ Engaged with Wild goats: thence with toil, and pain He wrestles out: and by, and by again Falls in some Quag-mire to the Knees, and thence He makes a passage with some violence, And falls anon into some Ditch, at length O'er toiled with wand'ring, and now wanting strength To wrestle any more with Shrubs, and Bushes, Ditches, and Quick-setts Quag-mires, Pools, Bulrushes▪ Willows, and Elms, which ever, and anon He doth encounter: fairly he sits down On the cold ground, and there in pain, and fear, Resolves to watch it out, while day appear Even such am I, such is my dismal case, My way is closely fenced, all passages Blocked up on every side, and every road Stopp'd, as with trees a cross, by th' mighty God, So that, I cannot pass.— Inward, and outward so my troubles now, Do multiply, I know not what to do. As waves upon each others back do ride, In a full body at a growing Tide, And with such fury fall upon the Shore As if they would the very earth devour: And as one breaks, another doth succeed With the same force, and in that others steed, Another, and so wave on wave doth break So after one sad cross, I still expect Another, and another on the back Of that, and so until all go to wrack. I cannot see how these rude waves will cease, But that my woes each moment will increase Until I be destroyed: I cannot see What th' issues of these miseries may be. Or where my sorrows raging course will stop Only upon a slender plank of hope I still do ●it, expecting, after all, The pride of these insulting waves may fall, A calm may come, and I may get ashore And live in plenty as I did before. 9 He hath stripped me of my glory and the crown is taken from my head. But now the hand of God upon me lies Most heavily, my woes and miseries Are not to be expressed: my prosperous state In which I was conspicuous of late, Is now renversed, my Honour's rent, and torn, And I exposed to the rabble's scorn. He who created me, he who employed 10. He hath destroyed me on every side, and I am gone, and mine hope he hath removed like a tree. His Breath in framing me, has now destroyed, What formerly the did appoint to live, And for that end did such allowance give Out of heavens treasure, as might well express, Both his own glory, and the happiness Of him he loved. But now I am undone, My expectation is quite overthrown. And as when th' Earth doth in her bowels find, Strong torments of a subterraneous wind; She trembles, as in Ague fit, and then To ease herself of that sad inward pain, Like one in Childbirth, for sometime she roars, Then quickly bursts asunder, and devours Towns, Castles, Mountains, Houses, Villages, And by the root pulls up the tallest Trees, Though ne'er so firmly knit; though ne'er so sure Fixed in the Rocks, yet they cannot endure That furious shock of Nature, but must all In Earth's dark Caverns, find their Burial. So am I swallowed up alive, and none Can help me now, for all my hopes are gone. Against me God his Ban has issued, 11. He hath also kindled his wrath against me, and he counteth me as one of his enemies. Proscribed me, set a price upon my head. And now as for an Outlaw every where Search is made for me, neither here, nor there Am I secure; but still I am espied, My God has hemmed me in on every side. And as a skilful wary General, 12. His troops come together, and raise their way against me, and encamp round about my tabernacle. ere he to close Siege of a Town doth fall, First with light Troops invests the place around, Shut up all Passages, takes up his Ground, As he thinks proper, then begins his Lines, Raises his Batteries, labours in his Mines, Makes his approaches, and doth never cease, By night, or day, until he gain the Place. So I am now besieged: his Troops invest My fortress on all quarters, and infest Me with alarms, and with all the power Of Heavens I am assaulted every hour. Expecting no relief, I do perceive, That all my hopes depend upon the Grave. For all those Creatures, which we Kindred call, 13. He hath put my brethren far from me, and mine acquaintance are verily estranged from me. My Brothers, Sisters, Nephews, Cousins, all From whom I might expect relief, have now Forsaken me: none of'em will allow Me one kind visit: but are pleased to hear How I am tortured, and can scarce forbear From smiling when they see me in this state? All my acquaintance too, with whom of late I kindly did converse, are now ashamed To hear their old, but poor acquaintance named. My kinsmen, ah! those men whom every hour, I would oblige by what lay in my power. 14. My kinsfolk have failed, and my familiar friends have forgotten me. Those men, to whom I have great favours shown, And studied more their interest then my own, These horrid monsters of ingratitude, Neither with virtue, nor Gods fear endued, Those Vipers, whom I in my House have bred, And many years have at my Table fed, Else they had starved: these have abandoned me, These have insulted o'er me, now I see What 'tis to become poor. Nay my Domestic servants, who did sleep 15. They that dwell in my house, and my maids count me for a stranger, I am an alien in their sight. Under my Roof, who did my Substance keep, And all those Creatures, who did eat my bread Those men do look upon me now as dead. Those, whom I with my money purchased; Who in my Fields, and Vineyards laboured, And all those numerous maids, who formerly Did earn their bread within my Family: When they perceive me in so sad a case, Are now afraid to look upon my face. They do not know me, I cannot persuade them, That I'm the person, formerly, who fed them: No they will not believe that I am he, Whom but of late in plenty they did see, Whom they did honour, whom they did esteem, Whom they respected, at whose very name Those slaves would tremble, but in their conceit, They look upon me as some counterfeit. Of late I to a Servant called for aid, Not by command, but as one would persuade 16. I called my servant, and he gave me no answer, I entreated him with my mouth. A stranger, but the man no answer made. I called another, but he would not hear, A third, a fourth, but no man would appear To do me service; all a distance kept, And through the Hedges at their Master peep't, As those, who were afraid of Pestilence To be infected, all my Eloquence, My prayers, my sighs, my tears, in any sort, Could not from these one single word extort. But O sad judgement! which is worst of all, I from my very Wife for help did call: 17. My breath is strange to my wife, though I entreated her for the children's sake of my own body From her, whom many years I entertained, Not as my slave, but as my bosom friend; In whose embraces lay depositat The greatest treasure of my prosperous state: From her, from my own Wife, from this same Creature, I called for help by all the ties of Nature: By all the dearest pledges of our love I did conjure her, but nothing would move This unkind Woman who has now forgot She is my Consort, and remembers not Our former love, but in my present state, Unhappily is become so ungrate, She'll not come nigh me, as she did before, And ne'er desires to see me any more. She hates me, she abhors me, she denies My converss, I am loathsome in her eyes. She tells me now my breath is become strange, But what alace makes her affection change So suddenly? 'tis not my ulcerous case, Nor all the furrows in my withered face, Nor yet the Scent of my infectious Breath, As she pretends, by which approaching Death Is clearly presaged, for she tells anon She cannot converse with a Carrion. No— no these reasons have no weight at all, Fig-leaved excuses; mere pretences all, 'Tis none of these: 'tis only poverty Occasions this Desertion;— for why As any man in wealth decays, or grows, So a bad wife's affection ●bbs, or flows. Yea little boys, who seeing me before, 18 Yea young children despised me, I arose, and they spoke against me. Would veil their Caps, respect me now no more Than one who begs his bread from door to door. They point at me, they laugh, do what they list, And though I check them, yet they still persist, Insulting o'er me in my misery, They tell each other there poor Job doth lie. No wonder, when the parents me despise I should be hateful in the children's eyes. My dearest friends too, men, whom for my heart 19 All my inward friends abhorred me, and they whom I loved are turned against me. I did entirely love, have now ta'en part With all my other enemies▪ even those. In whom I trusted are become my foes, My greatest foes, yet each of them contends, (How ere I take it) they are all my friends. And now that I this History may close, 20 My bones cleaveth to my skin, and to my flesh, and I am escaped with the skin off my teeth. And in one passage sum up all my woes: See where with sores all covered I sit, Plastered with Scabs, and Boils, for nothing fit, But at some tree Root to be buried, As Carrions are, and there like dung, to feed The sucking Vegetable: O did I Enjoy my health, and strength, as formerly How would I undervalue all my losses, Of Means, and Children, with my other crosses: How bravely would I bear it out, how fair Would the Effigies of my life appear, For all that's past: did I enjoy my health That would be to me Children, Honour, Wealth, Furnished with Health I'd make the Devil give o'er, And be ashamed to vex me any more. But O my sorrows! O the grievous pain Which I endure! no part doth now remain Of all my body from these Ulcers free No part untouched, (as every one may see) Only my mouth, not yet by these invaded Nor by these numerous Boils yet barricaded Serus for a passage to my loadened heart, By which it may its grief to th' world impart, But not blaspheme, as some men would of done In my condition.— No no, let God do with me what he will, My heart and mouth shall be abstemious still From all such inclination to evil, And such bad instigations, of the Devil, For (come what will on't) I had rather lie In this sad case of life perpetually, Before I should once curse my God, and die. Have pity then, for heavens sake, all my friends, Have pity on me, let your angry minds 21. Have pity upon me, have pity upon me, O ye my friends, for the hand of God hath touched me. Be now appeased, let all your Choler cease, When you perceive me in this woeful case. You see how God has punished, me you see How all the plagues of Hell have seized on me. How God has set me as a mark, for all The sorrows of this world, both great, and small, To levelly at: O may not this appease Your wrath against me, when such ills, as these Do triumph o'er me, when I'm led in chains Attended by a thousand woes, and pains, O may not this suffice; have pity then Have pity on me; friends, as you are men, Let all your hearts be moved with compassion, When you behold me tortured in this fashion. Have pity then, have pity now upon me. O ye my friends! forth ' hand of God is on me. The hand of God doth heavy on me lie, 22. Why do you persecute me as God, and are not satisfied with my flesh? I am involved in such perplexity In such sad Circumstances, such distress, No humane art, or language can express. Yet still your persecution doth proceed Against me, the Oil of malice still doth feed Your burning wrath, you never do give o'er But still oppress my Spirit more, and more With bitter words: is't not enough you see My body thus piece-mealed, but you must be, (While you pretend my losses to condole) The cruel Executioners of my soul. Is't not enough you see my body pined, But you must likewise thus distract my mind? Ah will your tedious arguing never cease? Would as for seven days, you did hold your peace. When first you hither came: so to this hour You ne'er had spoke: alace how lean, and poor All your Discourse is on my present state Expressing not so much your wit, as hate, Still varieing, still mistaking of my case, Still anvilling on one poor common place; As if't were meritorious to assert, Though pious in my words, yet in my heart I am a rotten Hypocrite: indeed If you intent in railing to proceed, In my opinion truly it were fit, You should at least those threadbare tropicks quite, You should your former Batteries neglect, And on new grounds new arguments erect: And, truth, I think by what I've spoke of late, I've furnish▪ d you with matter adequat, To more than any of you hath spoke as yet. Proceed, my friends, then, do your worst, let all Your wits joint forces brisquely on me fall, All your insults I shall with patience Endure, and with my miseries dispense, When I reflect on my own innocence. My innocence I ever will assert, 23. O that my words were now written. O that they were printed in a book. For not your logic, not your wit, and art, Shall wheadle me into acknowledgement Of your so oft repeated argument. No, no, I never will confess, what you To have conceded, keep so much ado, No, I'm so far from being ashamed of what I've spoke, since we did manage this debate, That I could wish my words were registrat. I care not who hereafter do revise The memoirs of my woes, and miseries. I am indifferent who hereafter read My Plea, and see how I have answered Your pointed arguments, I care not who In after ages do peruse what now I speak: although the words that from my mouth, Do issue, are not so polite, so smooth, So fine, so acquaint, so fraught with Eloquence, As yours are, yet I do presume the sense Imports as much, as if you had abused Your Parts, and most injuriously accused A man, who 'spite of all your argument,, And pungent talk; will still plead innocent. O that my words were keep't upon record! O that my God such favour would afford, That what I speak in this my agony, Might be transmitted to Posterity: In such a fair, and lasting character, As all our Edicts, Laws, and Statutes are. Would they were graven with an Iron pen, 24. That they were graven with an iron pen in the lead, and in the rock for ever. In Lead. or Brass, that all the race of men Might still remember on this conference, And see how firm I've stood to the defence Of my, as yet, unspotted innocence. Nor would I have you think, my friends, that I 25. For I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth. Value myself on my integrity. Or boldly plead my innocence, because I fall not under reach of humane Laws. Or that I did on Earth no trial fear, Because my Padlock't-sins did not appear, By evidence exposed to public view, But cunningly were all concealed from you. No, God forbid that e'er I should assert My innocence i'th'least, if in my heart By strictest search I found on record that, Which my assertion might invalidat, No, no, such practices I do detest, I keep a constant Jury in my breast, By which I'm hourly tried, no allegation, No feigned excuse no specious information, No falsehood, no corrupted evidence, In that impartial Court of Conscience, Will ever be received, at any rate, From this same Court I have certificate Of my pure innocence. For I'm persuaded my Redeemer lives, I firmly do believe 'tis he that gives Assurance to all those, whom he doth love, That he will interceded for them above. I know in him I have some interest, And upon that security I rest. I know he will at last on Earth appear, And make the sinful World quake for fear Of his approach, when like a mighty king, He shall i'th' Clouds appear, and in a ring Oh heavens great Host stand circled all around, Issue his Edicts, and by Trumpet sound Command both dead, and living to appear In Judgement, where each mortal thing may hear His just Procedure: there he will indite Him, whom you call the cunning Hypocrite, As well as th' open sinner, him he will Find guilty, and condemn for all his skill; If I be such then, as you'd have me be, In that great day, my friends, you'll clearly see, What shall become of me. For after this my Body Worms have eat, 29. And though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God. And with their substance 'tis incorporate: After my Bones are squandered in the Ground, And of my Flesh no vestige can be found: My Scull, my Arms, and Thigh-bones, thrown aloft, By th' Shovel of the Grave-maker as oft, As for new Guests, new Rooms he doth provide, And in the Earth my Corpse are putrified: After my Dust about the Grave is rolled, Yet in the Flesh I shall my God behold, Yes with these eyes, these individual eyes, 27. Whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and not another, though my reins be consumed within me. With which, I now behold these glorious Skies; I then shall see, that glorious Architect, Who for his glory, did the Heavens Erect. For though some think our Bodies made of Clay, Which crumble in the Grave, on rising day, Shall not stand up; but some of thinnest Air Composed shall in their place that day appear. Yet I'm convinced that this numerical, This Earthly Body, this organical Composure which we here a Body name, Shall on that day appear the very same. Only as Earth when vitrifyed, is still But Earth, though richly polished by the skill Of knowing Artists: so this piece of Clay Shall be refined, and at appearance day, Shall with such beauty, grace, and glory shine, As God thinks proper for the grand design Of its perpetual true Felicity, Which joined with Soul, in heavenly harmony, It shall enjoy: impassable of all Those thwarting ills, which here we troubles call. Then in this Body, with those very eyes I shall perceive him, with none else, but these I shall behold my Saviour: I believe Firmly, that in the Flesh I shall perceive My blessed Redeemer: though my very Reins Are shrunk within my Back, and all my Veins Choked up with stagnant, and corrupted Blood, Are now like Ditches full of Dirt, and Mud. Although my moisture is all spent and gone, And I am nothing now but skin, and bone: Though I all humane shape, and form have lost, And in the eyes of all more like a Ghost, Then like a living man I do appear, And no man will come nigh me now, for fear Of my contagious breath: yet after all, This body, this same individual And putrid body shall again revive, And I again, as formerly shall live, And my Redeemer with those very eyes, I clearly shall behold, when from the skies He shall descend to judge the Quick, and Dead, And with those very eyes I then shall read The Journals of his Actings: then I shall Before my Heavenly Judge convince you all I am no Hypocrite; as you assert, But innocent, and upright in my heart. Then O, my friends, why do you persecute 28. But you should say, why persecute we him? seeing the root of the matter is found in me. A poor man thus? why do ye contribute All your endeavours, why is all your wit Employed to prove that I am Hypocrite? Ah why so cruel, why so inhuman As still to doubt me, still to entertain Bad thoughts of me: although you clearly see (What e'er my faults, and outward failings be,) Yet God to me some kindness doth impart, And his true Grace is rooted in my heart. Then, if for my sake you will not forbear By strength of argument to make appear That I am guilty: be at least so kind To your own selves: as though you in your mind Suppose I am such, yet to hold your peace, And not so smartlie tell me in my face That I am of the number of those men, Whom God doth hate: when you perceive how plain And evident appears from what I speak, (Although my body be consumed, and weak) Yet is my living Soul inspired with faith, With which supported, never while I breath Shall you evince by all your wit, and art That I'm an Outside saint, but in my heart A rotten Sinner: truth you should be blamed For this Discourse, indeed I am ashamed To see wise men so overreached with passion, In words out run their reason in this fashion- Now to conclude, my friends, I would advise 29 Be ye afraid of the ●●●rd, for wrath bringeth the punishments of the sword. You all hereafter to become more wise, Than of your parts to be so proud, and vain, As thus t' insult on poor afflicted men. As thus to stretch your argument so far, Thus to conclude that none afflicted are, But those who've sinned, a Principle indeed Of dangerous import: pray my friends take heed, How ye give Judgement i' th' afflict case, How ye pronounce them guilty: for alace Why should you thus presume, why should you dare T'affirm what God himself doth not declare: For he has never yet declared that all, Those men who in afflictions Quag-mire fall Are mere sinners: or that sorrows are Still signs of God's Displeasure, pray be'ware How you affirm this: for you may incense God's wrath by such your saucy Eloquence: And what you all so often do repeat, Shall be the wretched and miserable state O' th' wicked in this world; if you persist In these opinions, argue, as you list, I fear shall be your own: for you provock Your God to wrath, and openly do mock His Providence, and inwardly displease Your Maker by such Arguments as these: But when your prosperous days are vanished, And in your Judgements you your sins do read, When your high pride is levelled with the dust, ‛ Then you will clearly see that God is just. Pray then forbear, for heavens sake pray forbear This foolish arguing: let me no more hear Those vain Debates, but if you do intend To comfort me, beseech you put an end To this Discourse, and plainly let me know Whether you be my real friends or no. For, if you be, seeing how I abhor, This trifling talk, you'll argue so no more, And if you be not, pray you then begun, And leave me here rather to die alone, Than a sad life in such a converse lead, As all my other sorrows doth exceed. Cap. XX. AS one at Bar is to be pitied, Who having well and eloquently plead 1. Then answered Zophar, the Naamathite, and said. His innocence, and made the same appear By evidence, as Sun at noon-tide, clear: Yet after all, let him do what he can, This friendless Creature, this unhappy man Must be condemned: he must to Gibbit go, Because the partial Judge will have it so. This is this goodman's case: for all this time, As one Arraigned for an atrocious Crime, He has by force of reason laboured To purge himself, and for that end has made Ample confession of his Faith, yet all These reasons cannot with his friends prevail, They still esteem him guilty, and maintain (However of injustice he complain) That he had grossly in his life provoked His God to wrath, though cunningly he cloaked His murdered sins, with such a specious vail Of Piety, and World-deceiving zeal, He closely kept those murmuring faults concealed, From sight of men, yet now they were revealed. For God at length had heard their shameful cry, And by his punishment did testify, How much he did abhor hypocrisy. Let us observe then here with how great heat, Zophar the words doth faithfully repeat, Which Eliphaz himself, and Bildad too Had spoke already, yet this wise man now, In his old strain will lisp them out once more, As if they never had been spoke before. When first, says he, fame to our ears did bring 2. Therefore do my thoughts cause me to answer, and for this I makchaste. The dismal news of thy sad suffering, When of thy many losses we did hear, No men could be more troubled than we were: We did thy griefs as heavily bemoan, As if thy losses had been all our own: Nor could we in our troubled minds have peace, When men informed us of thy woeful case, Until we see thyself, and so forsook All that was dear to us, and undertook A tedious journey to this place, that so We might perform, what every man doth owe To real friendship: that we might condole Thy sufferings, and from our very soul Lament with thee, as one, for whom we still Bore great respect (think of us what thou will) Therefore with more than ordinary speed, We hasted hither, not that we might feed Our eyes with such a woeful spectacle, As now alace we do behold, or fill The appetites of envy, and revenge, With observations on so sad a change. No we come hither only to declare, That as thy friends we meant to bear a share In thy afflictions, and so thou didst see, Seven days we sat in complaisance with thee, With Garments rend, and ashes on our Head, Not speaking word more than we had been dead. We beat our breasts, we bowed, we sighed, and weeped, And with thy sorrows a true cadence kept. We had resolved on silence. But when we heard thee with great violence, Exclaim against the works of Providence: When we did hear thee bitterly arraign The Justice of our God once, and again; When with great fury thou didst execrat The hour, that gave thee Birth, and with such heat Pursue thy foolish wishes; as if he, Who out of meanest Dust Created thee, Who By his powerful Breath did make thee live, Who did to thee, wealth, honours, issue give, Were still obliged to keep thee in that state, And had no freedom to eradicate Thee, and thy race, as well, as other men, Who surely, (were it lawful to complain) Could in as sad, and mournful tone declare, How they did once live, and what now they are. When we did hear thee, with such impudence, At all occasions plead thy innocence, As if our God had been unjust, indeed We might ha' feared to ha' been punished As well as thou, if we had held our peace, And not maintained his Justice in the case. For who I pray could such discourses hear, And after all from answering forbear? On this account we've spoke, and spoke again, And for the love we bear to thee, would fain Reclaim thee from thy errors, but alace I fear 'tis all in vain: we do express Ourselves, as men, that really do fear Their God, in all our words, and do appear To be thy friends, but hitherto we see There's no convincing such a man, as thee. For it appears that thou art obstinate In error, and with all thy soul dost hate To be reform: esteeming none thy friend, Who in discourse will be so free, and kind, As tell thee of thy faults, and let thee see, How many men have been as well as thee Oppressed in spirit, and in body too, And yet have never kept so much ado, As thou hast done in all their sufferings, Nor used so many sinful murmurings Against their Maker: not to speak of us, Thy friends, whom thou dost openly abuse. For I've observed, friend, that when Eliphaz Did learnly speak, thou told him, in his face, He did not understand so much as thou Did know of God's great works: when Bildad too Expressed his mind in golden Eloquence, And truly spoke, with as much deference To thy condition, as men did of late, When thou didst triumph in thy prosperous state, Thou said his tale had formerly been told, And, so on what he spoke, thou laid no hold, For he knew nothing, but to rail, and scold. As for myself, however I did speak, Thou told me all my arguments were weak. For my part therefore, seeing 'twas in vain To speak, I was resolved to abstain From further talking, but that now I see thou'rt pleased of late forsooth to challenge me, As one who has injured thee, hence I find Myself obliged again to speak my mind. My thoughts are numerous, and my brimful heart Will burst, if I the same do not impart, In words, for which those numerous thoughts do call, And therefore I'm constrained to utter all I think with freedom, and I must make haste To speak too, for this speech shall be the last That I shall use to thee: hear me and then Thou shalt have no more reason to complain Of my discourse; let thy two other friends, (As they most learnly can express their minds) Continue to expostulate with thee, Thou shalt hear no more arguing from me. Allow me then, my friend, to vindicat 3. I have heard the check of my reproach, and the spirit of my understanding causeth me to answer. Myself from those aspersions of late thou'rt pleased to throw upon me: for I'm touched, To hear myself so frequently reproached, Even in my face: what man will be so used, And hold his peace, I must then be excused, If I make answer to thy late Oration, Reflecting so much on my reputation. Why then, my friend, were I as much a slave To passion, as alace I do perceive Thou art: should I give vent to wrath as thou Hast all this time done, without more ado, I'd fall a railing on thee, all my words Should be like pointed knives, or shearing swords, My Tongue I'd with such acrimony whet, Stare with my Eyes, and in such order set My Teeth against thee, and with clutched Fist, (Whilst in my burning fury I persist) To menace thee so thunder out my wrath As should make thee, I doubt wish more for Death Than yet thoust done: I'd so belabour thee With whips of speech as thou shouldst quickly see Thy foolish error in provoking me. I would so threaten terror, and revenge As I suppose, would make thy colours change For all thy courage: I'd so tartly speak, As would make all thy joints and sinews quake. But God forbid that I should be so mad, As to practise such an unlawful trade: That I should to my passion give such vent, Of which hereafter I'd no doubt repent: No, my good friend, indeed thou dost mistake If thou believe that yet I am so weak: No, thou shalt hear me, with great calmness speak. For since thou hast reproached me to my face, I cannot sure in honour, hold my peace, But must make answer to what thou hast said, Though after all indeed I am afraid I'll have not better success than before, Only since I intent to speak no more, Hear me but for some time with patience, And then descant upon thy innocence, Even as thou wilt; for seriously I shall In a few mild Expressions, sum up all What I intent to speak: so I have done And then if thou think'st fit, I shall be gone. I doubt not, friend, but thou art fully read 4. Knowest thou not this of old, since man was placed upon earth. In Naturals, and hast much laboured To know the real true Origination, Of all the glorious work of the Creation. I also know by reading History, Thou hast great knowledge of antiquity; Whence I conclude sure thou dost understand, How that, since with a high and mighty hand, The King of Heavens did first the Earth Create, And in its full possession enstate That ungrate thing called Man.— Since that time sure, thou canst not choose but know 5. That the triumph of the wicked is short, and the joy of the hypocrite is but for a moment. How God Almighty brings the wicked low. For that accursed man, who doth despise His great Creator, though in wealth he rise Above his neighbours, and in honour's sphere, A Star o'th' greatest magnitude appear. Though like a tall Oak, he doth overtop, The lower shrubs o'th' World, and in his hope, Devours whole Kingdoms, Cities, commonweals, States, Empires, Districts, or what ever else, May bring him profit, honour, and delight, And answer his voracious appetite; Although he triumphs in the spoils of those, Whose riches only make great men their foes, And seizes on all that unhappy ground, (Belong to whom it will) where can be found That Idol of the World, which men call Gold: To purchase which, that Creature will make bold, To swim through seas of blood, and venture all, For what wars, Nerves, and Sinews he doth call. Yet are his triumphs all but empty shows And all his bloody purchases (God knows) Of which that Heavens-contemning fool doth boast Are scarce well settled, when they're wholly lost. His joys do only for a moment last, And when his glorious days are overpast, And troubles to his former joys succeed, What miserable life shall that man lead? Each moment haunted by the memory, Of his few years spent in prosperity, Which galls him more than he had never seen Those whiffling days; nor in his life had been Above the rank of those, who meanly beg, Along the high ways, and will make a leg, For a poor farthing, for its owned by all That he, who for his pride of old did fall From that great share of heavenly happiness, Which, whilst he feared his God, he did possess, Is now more torture▪ d by the memory, Of his so poorly lo●t felicity, Then he had ne'er those higher Regions known, Or seen the splendour of the heavenly Throne, But had been still in horrid darkness bred, And from his first Creation Billeted, I'th' Bowels of the Earth, where, for his pride, He's now condemned for ever to reside. That man I say, than who doth God despise▪ 6. Though his excellency mount up to the heavens, and his head reacheth unto the clouds. Although in wealth, and honour he Should rise Above all others, and in height of pride, Should undervalue all the world beside, Yet shall that man so high and excellent, 7. Yet he shall perish for ever like his own dung▪ they who have seen him shall say where is he? Be looked upon but as the Excrement Of mankind: all his splendid acts shall die His Fame in dark oblivion shall lie, Fettered, and speechless, to Eternity. Those who have seen his flatterers to him bow▪ Shall then demand, where is this gallant now? For he shall quickly vanish, like a dream, 8. He shall fly away as a dream. and shall not be found, yea, he shall be chased away as a vision of the night. No Antiquary shall find out his name. That Meteor shall soon p●sse out of sight, As doth an Ignis fatu●s in the night. The eye which see him with the morning rise, 9 They also who saw him, shall see him no more, neither shall his place any more behold him. Shall not perceive him, when the evening sky▪ Approach the Earth: those glorious Palaces, In which he thought he fully did possess All that he could desire, shall then appear As dreadful monuments, serving to declare What once he was, that from these topics all, May well conclude the greatness of his fall, Now after he is fallen, pray let us see, 10. His children shall seek to ●lease the poor, and his hands shall restore their goods What will the state of this poor Creature be? It shall be low, it shall be poor indeed, His Children shall from Beggars beg their Bread, And from their Father's Slaves compassion plead. Then for his Person (pity him who will) 11. His bones are full of the sins of his youth, which shall lie down with him in the dust. He soon becomes a horrid spectacle, His Flesh is larded with his youthful sins, And in his vigrous years, old age begins To seize upon him, dreadful fits o'th' Stone, Relics of Pox, and pains of Gout anon, Begin their work, and take down piece, by piece, That goodly Fabric, which in former days Seemed to enjoy a lease of many years: But now this stately Body soon appears. Like an old tottering weather-beaten house, With windows cracked, and walls so ruinous, As they can scarce support the falling roof, So that the boldest Artist stands aloof, And e'er he to repair it doth begin, He propsed without, and standarts it within, Yet ' spite of those supporters, after all, This aged building to the ground doth fall. So this poor wretch now paralytic grown, With tottering head, and joints all overflow'n, With Goutish humours, teeth all hanging loose Within their sockets,: a distilling Nose, Eyes full of brackish liquor: shoulders stooping, Under-lip in a constant spittle drooping: Lungs with a sharp, and wasting cough oppress▪ t, Which doth bereave him of his nightly rest, Pumped up the Wind-pipes, with a raging froth, In lobs, and parcels issuing from his mouth. His Skin with Boils, and Ulcers diapered, (Of his lascivious sports the sad reward) His Stomach useless, and his Bowels weary With th' torture of a constant disentery. His legs now rotting to the Bones apace, In a consuming Eres●pelas. Som' doz'n issues, in his Shoulders, Arms, And Neck appearing, like so many Charms, And spells upon his Body: all his Veins Choked with a s●●my pituite, his Reins Buried in sand, which squandring every where, Along the Channels of each ureter, Mixed with some rugged pebbles, doth so stop Those Conduits in their Course, that drop, by drop, The damned up Urine issues with such pain, As he would rather wish he could retain It in his Body, than thus let it go, With such infernal agony, although Barred in its Current, it should upwards rise, And force a passage at his very Eyes, Mouth, Nose, or Ears, rather than tolerat, His Vessels to be so excoriat With those sharp stones, as from that narrow spout, More drops of blood than Urine issue out. With hands by drunken excess in his youth, So trembling, that they scarce can to his mouth Convey his food: such swelings in his feet, As, when in cut out Shoes he walks in Street, Amongst the busy crowd he dares not go, Lest some perhaps might tread upon his toe. But with great leisure by shop-doors doth crawl, Contemned, abhorred, and pointed at by all; Where on he dwindles▪ in great wrath, and chaff, To see how now even Boys do at him laugh, Supported by the buttress of a staff. This man, I say, in such a tottering state, Of Means, as well as Health evacuat, Propped up by art may for some time subsist, But let him use what Medicines, he list, His ruinous mouldy Carcase, after all, Shall split, and in the Grave, in pieces fall, And with it all those sad effects of Lust, And other pleasures shall lie down in Dust, These only he shall carry with him hence, As dismal vouchers, and sad evidence, Of days ill spent, these with this man shall die, These with him, under the cold Turf shall lie. Here, here's the end of him, who takes delight 12. Though wickedness be sweet in his mouth, though he hid it under his tongue. In acts of sin, whose curious appetite, Feeds upon sin, dressed up with sauce of youth, Which makes it taste like Honey in the mouth▪ Of him who takes such pleasure in his vice, 13. Though he spare it, and forsake it not, but keep it still within his mouth As he esteems himself in Paraclise, When tumbling amongst the downs of soft delight, In the embraces of some catamite, Or some rank Whore: of the lewd man, who swears, There's nothing to his eye so fair appears, As those fine pleasures, which perpetually, The preaching-fools, with violence decry, Who hugs sin in his bosom, clings about it, Who cannot eat, drink, wake, or sleep without it. O thus shall end the man, who in his youth, 14. Yet his meat in his bowels is turned, and it is the gall of asps within him. As one keeps Sugar-tablet in his mouth, And cause 'tis sweet, he will not let it o▪ r, Until it melt, but sucks it more, and more▪ With great delight: so sweetly sucks the juice Of sin, as if it were his only choice. For as a poisoned morsel to the taste, By art is rendered pleasant, but at last, When in the Stomach it begins to boil, And throws up noisome fumes like sealding Oil, Not Rhubarb, gall of Asps, or Hemlock root, Can be more bitter: so beyond all doubt Sin, when the pleasure of its act is gone, And man's hot blood begins to cool anon. Becomes so bitter, so severely tart, As makes the poor deiuded sinners heart, Sink in a sea of griefs, and meanly faint, At thoughts of sin: but O how few repent, At these sad doings! O how few abstain, For all that sorrow, all that grief, and pain, From shrewd repeating of those sins again. With the same pleasure he who swallows down, 15. He hath swallowed down riches, and he shall vomit them up again, God shall cast them out of his belly. Great quantity of worldly means, assoon As he has got according to his mind, His bargain's closed, the writings sealed, and signed, The Evidents, and Keys Delivered, His Title fixed, his Right ascertained, Both of his Purchase, and his Warrandice, And with his own convenience paid the price. So that he cannot fancy for his heart, Where lies th' encumbrance on which Lawyers art Can found Eviction.— Then God, in anger, on this fool doth look, And as one angles Fishes, by a Hook, So neatly busked, and covered with a Fly, As in the Water to a vulgar eye, It appears real: so when wealth entices, This cunning worldling, by his own devices, He's quickly catched, and hooked, all he has got, His Houses Manors, Treasures, and what not, Are quickly taken from him, and amain He vomits all he swallowed, up again. Like one that sucks the poison of an Asp, 16. He shall suck the poison of asps, the viper's tongue shall s●ay him. Or Viper's Tongue, who to his utmost gasp, Continues in a constant vomiting, So shall this Creature, once so flourishing: By loss succeeding loss continually, See himself stripped of all before he die. Those great contentments which he did project 17. He shall not see the rivers, the floods, the brooks of honey, and butter. In all his actings, which he did expect, As the reward of all his toil and pain, Whilst he would fancy in his idle brain▪ How in the affluence of all earthly pleasure, He'd spend his years, at his own ease and leisure, He never shall enjoy, nor shall he see, Or understand what those contentments be. No, he shall ever see those happy days, 18. That which he laboured for he shall restore, and shall not swallow it down, according to his substance shall the restitution be, and he shall not rejoice therein. Which in his great transactions. he always Projected to himself; for though some men, Their sinful acquests for some time retain, Yet others for a moment scarce enjoy Those things, in purchase whereof they employ Much precious time; so this unhappy man, Shall see his Lands, and Means (do what he can) Ere he by shirking methods, and oppression, Has got the same well in his own possession, Quickly restored, and all he had of late, In a few minutes wholly dissipat. Nor must he think his substance to divide, And that God's justice will be satisfied With restitution of his sinful gain, Whilst what he fairly had, he may retain, No, he must no such fancy entertain. For as a few prohibit Merchandise, In time of War, will make a Loadning Prize, To boot, with Ship, in which these goods are found, If to the Ports of Enemies 'tis bound; So all his wealth, without distinction fall, Under the Mene-tekel on his wall, And for oppression he must forfeit all. For to enrich himself, has ruined many, 19 Because he hath oppressed, and hath forsaken the poor, because he hath violently taken away an house which he builded not. Where his advantage lay, not sparing any. Without all Law, he did oppress the poor, Distrained their goods, and turned them to the door, Half naked, with their Families to feed, In charity, and when they begged their bread From him, he'd bid those wretches quick be gone, Or he'd cause lay them in the Stocks anon, Because this avaricious man, God wot, Has seized on houses which he builded not. Therefore this man shall in his mind possess 20. Surely he shall not feel quietness in his belly, he shall not save of that which he desired. No real peace, nor solid quietness, Because so oft he hath the poor oppress't, In his roused conscience he shall have no rest, He sees his numerous losses antedate, His death: his substance all dilapidate. Before his eyes; nor can he so much save, As may defray his charges to the Grave, In decent order of a Funeral, But dies deserted, and abhorred by all. None of his kindred shall his death bemoan, 21. There shall none of his meat be left▪ therefore shall no man look for his goods. Or take up Inventar when he is gone, Of his effects, no man for his Estate Shall sue, no kinsmen amongst themselves debate Who shall succeed him: none crave sequestration Of Writs, or put in for administration: No, no, for all his former wealth and store, Now he is gone, he shall be found so poor, Shall neither have Heir, nor Executor. And when d'ye think shall this oppressor fall? 22. In the fullness of his sufficiency he shall be in straits, every hand of the wicked shall come upon him. Even in the height and affluence of all Worldly delights, and pleasure, in the prime Of his enjoyments, in the pruning time, Of all his projects, when his life appears, Entitled to many happy years. When he doth triumph in his high-swollen paunch, Then shall he be destroyed, root and branch: Then shall his fellow-sinners fall upon him, Kill him▪ and so there shall be no more on him. Have you not seen what pleasure, and delight, 23. When he is about to fill his belly, God shall cast the ●ury of his wrath upon him while he is eating. A young man of a lusty appetite, Expresses at the sight of luscious meats, Falls to them greedily; but no sooner eats A few small morsels, then incontinent He changes colours, and begins to faint, Finding the poison in its operation, Abridge his hours beyond imagination: Then in a fever violent and hot, Unconquerable by any antidote; Studded with spots, and poisonous signs, he lies For a small time, sighs out his life and dies. So when this man expects he may enjoy, What he has purchased, then will God destroy Him utterly, and send him, with his hopes, To lie in dust amongst those silly ●ops, Who the same thoughts in life did entertain, But now too late, perceive they're all but vain. Nay though he may by policy prevent 24. He shall fly from the iron weapon, and the bow of steel shall strick him through. Th' effects of an unlucky accident, And by his cunning art stave of another, Yet after he has scaped both one, and tother, A third shall reach him which he least of all Suspects, and make him quickly headlong fall Down from the turret of his happiness, And in a few hours do his business. As he who from the raging sword doth fly, When come to handy blows, is by and by, By Arrow from a Crossbow in his flight, Wounded, or with a Bullet shot downright. And as when one pursues his enemy, 25. It is drawn, & cometh out of the body, yea the glistering sword cometh out of his gall, terrors are upon him. With shot as thick as hail, whilst he doth fly, And beats him down, so when with furious speed, He gallops up, and finds him not yet dead, He draws his Arrow from the deadly wound, Whilst the poor soul doth gasp upon the ground, And whilst he breathes, from striking never ceases, Till with his sword has hewed him all to pieces. So in his anger, God will still persist, And ne'er from beating of this man desist, With vengeance, upon vengeance, till he grind him To powder, so that those who think to find him, Dead in some ditch, and when his Corpse are found, Would be at charge to hide it under ground, Shall make search for his Body here, and there, But they may as well ramble in the Air, A hunting of the wild Boar, Fox, or Hare. Let them search, as they will, yet without doubt, For all their Art, shall never find him out. Nor will our God, when he doth once begin, 26. All darkness shall be hid in his secret places▪ a fire not blown shall consume, it shall go ill with him, that is left in his tabernacle. To plague this wicked person for his sin, In his proceedings so much favour show, To this same man, as at one single blow To cut him off: no, he must not expect That God will him at once to pieces break, No, no, 'tis not his custom so to deal, With such vile Malefactors, but piece meal, He'll take him down, as thou perhaps ha●t seen, In thy own time, how some rich man has been, Whilst flourishing in Wealth, not instantly, But by degrees, reduced to poverty. For first some attach upon his reputation, Is fixed, which puts his credit out of fashion, Then all those men, who deal with him suspect, There may be something in't, and lest he break, With all their Goods, and many in his hands, Where his effects do lie, each one demands, And he's secure, can first extend his Lands. Then for his person, he dares not abide, Th' assaults of law, but is constrained to hide Himself in some dark corner, out of sight, And cast up his Accounts by Candle-light. Or if in obscure nights he steals abroad, Thinking to find a way, by some By-road, To his own dwelling, he retires assoon To his sad kennel, as he sees the Moon Peep through the Clouds, at length the Catchpole's eye, Doth find him out, and he is by and by Clapped up in Jail: the news no sooner spread, But all of his Imprisonment are glad, And on him soon a many Actions laid. Thus now in Firmance, his effects all seized, Oppressed with sorrow, crazy, and diseased: His desolate, and starving Family, With open mouth, for Aliment do cry: But he has nothing left, to purchase bread, And cannot now upon his credit, feed Those hungry things, but for one single day, So that they're forced to shift another way, Truss up their little Furniture, and so All hand in hand fairly â begging go. The news of this so shrewdly doth torment Th'imprisoned man, that now (his spirits spent) With his last breath, he pays his Creditors, And makes the Worms his sole Executors. Even so this grand Oppressor, whilst his Sun Doth clearly shine, is by degrees undone, And all his friends and followers every where, When this man falls, shall in his Judgement share. Nor need his Judges be at so much pains, 27. The heaven sha●l reveal his iniquity, and the earth ●●all the up against him. As against this man to search for evidence. For heavens themselves (though all men silent were) Shall his bad actings openly declare; And when this sinner, with up-lifted hand, Arraigned, for hundred Crimes, at Bar shall stand: The Earth in Judgement too shall then appear, And make out all his Crimes, so full and clear, As of his guilt that Court shall no more doubt, But against him sentence speedily give out. Then shall the Witness first of all, lay hands On this poor soul, and as the Law commands, Beat him to Death: that all the world may see, With what impartial measures such as he Are judged, and punished.— Thus shall this tall, and famous sinner die 28. The increase of his house shall depart, and his goods shall flow away in the day of his wrath. Himself: and for his poor posterity, They shall themselves like Rivulets disperse, Some here, some there, through all the universe. Poor peddling Miscreants, in great straits, and wants, A scattered rabble, the Inhabitants Of all the World; a sad Society Of hateful Slaves, without all property, Without all order, Laws and Government, Pillaged by all, and yet dare not resent: Nor shall this so late numerous Family, Amongst them all erect one Colony, That may preserve this great man's Memory. And for his Goods and Chattels, in the day Of God's hot Wrath, they shall all melt away Thus all bad men shall perish, thus they shall, 29. This is the portion of a wicked▪ man▪ and the heritage appointed to him by God. Who do contemn their great Creator, fall. Presumptuous Persons God doth punish so, These judgements every one shall undergo, Who with bold language doth his God upbraid, And is not of his flaming Wrath afraid: When he sees others punished, but persists In Sin, thinks, speaks, and acteth what he lists. Cap. XXI. AFter this storm of words was overblown 1. Put job answered and said. And Zophar, now his utmost skill had shown In talking, and as one, who had designed To speak no more, had fully spoke his mind. Without all passion, with a Spirit stayed To all this Lecture, which his friend had read, Thus only Job in calmness answered. I do not doubt, my friends, but when by fame 2. Heat diligently my speech, and let this be your consolation. Informed of my distress, you hither came, When hearing of my lamentable state, (Which has occasioned so much noise of late Both far and wide) you thought it worth your pains. with your own eyes, to visit what remains Of your old friend.— When you were pleased I say, to be so kind, I make no doubt, but that you then designed, In Sympathetick bowels of compassion, T' afford me truly all the consolation, Lay in your power: I make no doubt indeed, But when you see me first your heart did bleed, I do believe that you were stupifis▪ d When me first on the Dunghill you descried, As your kind silence fully testified. Nay further, when you spoke, I think you meant To give me no occasion of complaint, As since y'have done, but that you did intend, Some words of consolation for your friend, I am persuaded you are honest men, Just, fearing God, and such as entertain▪ No wicked thoughts, but openly detest, That man, who is a sinner in his breast, Though in his words, and looks, he'd fain deceive The World, and make the neighbourhood believe He's truly pious: and that you do hate The man, whose conscience is adulterate. I know, my friends, what hitherto ye've said, Was out of love, and I would fain persuade Myself to think, that all this eloquence Is not made use of, to give me offence. Yet after all, my friends, I would request, You would take notice, for some time at least, To what I speak, hear me but patiently, Whilst I express my thoughts, and seriously, I'll take't more kindly in my present state, Then any thing y'ave spoke, or done as yet. This will to me more consolation bring, Then all your talk, and nauseous arguing. Allow me, as you love me, then to speak, 3. suffer me that I may speak, and after that I have spoken, mock on. But some small time, for truth I am so weak, I cannot make long harangues, and indeed I may complain, but am not fit to plead, With such as you: what therefore I intent, To speak, shall very quickly have an end. My words shall be but few, and when I've done, You may proceed, as formerly, mock on. Pray mark, my friends, than I make no complaint To mortal man: for 'tis most evident, 4. As for me, is my complaint to man? if it were so, why should not my spirit be troubled? That my complaint is made to God alone, To thee all-hearing God, I do bemoan, My present state: my judgements do not flow, As you may see, from any hand below; No they do from a higher hand proceed, And in them I the wrath of God do read, From him they do proceed immediately, He's th' only author of my misery: My plagues, alace, are extraordinary, Not such as usually inflicted are On other men: no they are such as none, Have ever yet endured but I alone: No wonder then that I cannot contain My passion, but do heavily complain. Nay let us even suppose, my plagues did flow, From th' hand of man, I pray, my friends, if so, Why may not I as other men be vexed? Is it so strange to see a man perplexed With misery complain, as I do now? Pray, my good friends, what would you have me do? Won't you allow me, where I find a pain, As all men do, a little to complain? My constitution is but ordinar, And I'm but Flesh and Blood, as others are. May not I then exhibit my complaint To my Creator? since he is content To hear me, since he doth to me allow That liberty, I cannot have from you. And O, amidst my woes, and miseries, My griefs, my terrors, and anxieties, With all the pains, that do my soul oppress, How happy am I, that I can address Myself to God: indeed it were not good For me, if this grand boon were not allowed, For were I to address myself to men, I fear my prayers should be used in vain, And I'd have yet more reason to complain. Mark what I say then, mark, and be afraid, 5. Mark me, and be astonished, and lay your hands upon your mouth. And let your hands upon your mouths be laid. Mark me, I pray, observe my sad estate, And then I hope you will no more debate Upon the subject, with such violence, But will confess with me, that Providence Sends plague on men, with great indifference. Remark me, pray, observe how God, in me, Points out so clear, that all the world may see, What mean esteem he has of mortal race▪ View me, I pray, look but upon my face, And there behold a sad Epitome Of Heaven's displeasure.—— O were there no more worth your noticing, Then this alone, 'tis such a dismal thing, As if you take it in consideration, Affords a subject of sad contemplation; Such as might make you all ashamed to speak, As you have done, and I'm convinced would check The heat of your discourse, give ear then pray, As you would be informed to what I say. For when I think upon my former state, 6. Even when I remember I am afraid, and trembling taketh hold on my flesh. How in the World I flourished of late, How all my wishes did attain their aim, And I no sooner could a blessing name, But assoon God would send it to my door, And bless me so till I could ask no more. And now how wretched, how poor and miserable, In yours, and all men's eyes, how despicable, And quite undone, I here on Dunghill lie, Th' hyperbole of pain, and misery. When I amidst my groans, and lamentations, Reflect upon the various Dispensations Of our great God, and weigh them seriously I quake, I sweat, I tremble, by, and by, I shake all over, I am dampt with fear, Like one out of his wits I do appear: Infernal horror on my Soul doth seize, And I become all stupid by degrees, When I consider on this sad occasion, What unexpected fearful alteration I've seen of late: Oh I am all confounded, My Soul with fear and terror is surrounded. When I consider how th' Almighty raises This, or that man, and throws down whom he pleases. Without regard to all these mean Defences, Which mortals use, these pitiful Pretences, Of Piety, and Virtues by which some Would plead forsooth Exemption from his Doom, Whilst he with great indifference on all Sends out his plagues, than I a-trembling fall; Then I perceive that what you all assert, And labour to evince with so much art. Concluding firmly God doth punish none, Nor sends afflictions, but on those alone, Whose Sins do call for Judgements, and from thence By an unquestionable consequence, Infer that I am such: then, than I see (What ever errors you would fix on me) That your Position is both false, and vain, Below such men as you are to maintain. Since than my friends, by sad experience; I know what you, who never yet had sense, Of such afflictions cannot understand, Me thinks I may with reason now demand Your firm atention to what I shall speak, Upon the subject, which you may expect Shall be sincere: for who can so express The Justice of th'▪ Almighty in the case, As he who feels it; as the man, God knows, Who's tasted both Prosperity and Woes? If it be true then, what you all assert 7. Wherefore do the wicked live, and become old, yea, are mighty in power. That sin is only punished, for my part, I'd gladly know why Heavens King doth give Blessings to those, who merit not to live? Why doth the race of sin the earth possess? Why thus in Issue, Honour, Wealth increase? Do we not daily see how sinful men Do in their several stations attain To all that in this life can be desired Wished or projected?—— Nor doth the Tide of prosperous days increase To its full height, but for a season last, No, as their sins, so do their blessings grow; The current of God's mercies still doth flow In those men's lives, whatever they demand, To feed the sense is granted out of hand: In a most smooth, uninterrupted stream, Of earthly blessings, like a pleasant dream, They're gently wafted without Wind, or Wave, Into the spacious Ocean of the Grave, Thus live and die they, but this is not all, 8. Their seed is established in their sight, and their offspring before their eyes. For were these blessings merely personal, And perished with themselves, we might suppose, That their poor issue, who their eyes did close, Shut up with these, all their felicity, And became heirs to utmost misery. No, no, these outward blessings, are so far, From dying with themselves, as they appear, Entailed upon their Family, and Race, And settled so on their appanages, As if inherent in the several fees. Nay (which is more) those men whom you do call, The worst of sinners, do perceive this all, In their own time they see their Families Flourish like verdant plants, before their eyes; They see the hopes of numerous Generations, And view the rise of many famous Nations; In their fair Offspring: they perceive their seed, In peace, and plenty, fully established. Their children's Children, grow up in their sight, As Heirs apparent to their Fathers Right. In fine, those wretches see their memory, Run on the lines of perpetuity. These sinful men, within doors live at ease, 9 Their houses are safe from fear, neither is the rod of God upon them. Free from all jars, blessed with domestic peace, They know no discords, no, nor quarrels they, No, picques, or humours, lie across their way, But all the day, they plentifully feed, With pleasant converse, and at night to bed They drill, encircled, in each others arms; Free from all passions, clamours, fears, alarms. And as in plenty within doors they dwell, 10. Their bull gendereth, and faileth not, their cow calveth and casteth not her calf. So with these men, all without doors goes well; Their Cattle thrive, their Grounds are well manured, Their beasts are from ill accidents secured, Their Revenues are punctually paid, Their Acts of Court-leet faithfully obeyed; Their Tenants too, do live in wealth and peace, Enjoying each an undisturbed lease For many years, and richly cultivat, Each one his parcel, of his Lord's Estate; In short, these men, are fully blessed in all They can desire, their Vassals at a call Attend their motions: every one contends▪ Who most shall serve them, and be most their friends. Around the neighbouring fields, their wings they spread, 11. They send forth their little ones like a flock, and their children dance. And all the Campaign soil is overlaid, With numerous Branches of their Families, Which soon dilate themselves in Colonies. And People, Countries, far remote from these, Which first their Predecessors did possess, Amongst themselves they make firm alliance, And when they meet, they revel, sport, and dance; They Correspond in mutual harmony, And spend their time in mirth and jollity. For when they meet at their grand Festivals, 12. They take the timbrel, and harp, & rejoice at the sound of the organ. They eat, and drink, and then with Masques, and Balls, They entertain themselves, the Harp, and Lute, The Viol, Organ, Timbrel contribute, T' increase their jovialty, and all their care Is only for their sports, and daily fare. In peace, and plenty, with great affluence, 13. They spend their days in wealth, and in a moment go down to the grave. Of worldly blessings, and convenience, Of every thing that humane life requires, They waste their days, and when their lease expires, And sullen death commands them to remove, And quite those fields, which with their souls they love, Then do not these men die, as others do In pain and torment:—— But as soft slumber on the eyes doth creep, And gently moves, when men would fall asleep. Or as a Candle burning nigh the end, Its light in twinkling by degrees doth spend, So in the Grave, those men do gently roll, Not troubled with the progress of the soul, Not anxious whither it should take its course, After this life, for better, or for worse, They care not whether, all is one to them, For they think Soul and Body are the same, And as they lived together, so they die, Returning both to dust by sympathy: They think reunion not imaginable, And hold the Resurrection but a fable. Thence void of apprehensions, after death, With great indifference, they shut up their breath. Nor are these men, to whom God is so kind, 14. Therefore they say unto God, depart from us, for we desire not the knowledge of thy ways. O'th' better sort, more polished and refined, Then common sinners are: no they are such, As hug their sins, and honour vice so much, In foulest shape, with so high veneration, They're not ashamed to make it their profession: Such as our God so little do esteem, They think his glory but a sounding name: Such as affirm the works of Providence, The checks, and dictates of a Conscience, To be but stale devices forged by those Envious men, whom Fortune doth oppose: Men who enraged because they can't possess, That which themselves acknowledge happiness, Picked to see others, in a better state, Then they themselves invent, they know not what, To cross their joys, and fain by art would move The World to credit, what they cannot prove, For when outwitted by Philosophy, They run to th're fuge of a mystery. Yet God is even kind to such as these; Who think so of him, and speak, what they please, Who boldly laugh at Death, Heavens, Hell, and all, In principles so Atheistical, As they to God dar impiously say, Prithee begun, disturb us not we pray: Let us alone, torment us pray no more, With admonitions which our souls abhor: Forbear thy curses, and dire menaces, Vex us no more, but let us live in peace, And when we die, thou mayest dispose of us, Even as thou wilt; but whilst we live, we'll thus Employ our time in mirth and jollity, And take our hazard of Eternity. For who, say they, shall ever us persuade, Or make believe that thou a soul hast made, A something, which doth after death exist, A thing which preachers call even what they list; That such a thing of thy own essence part, Infused into us by thy special art, Should after separation be condemned To endless torments, and by thee esteemed As useless dross, because the thing did take Pleasure in that, which thou thyself did make, Why this, we are persuaded were to hate Thyself, and so thyself excruciate, For others errors: this is somewhat strange, And in our thoughts, a very poor revenge, Give orders, pray then, to thy preaching men, Who in this World spend much talk in vain, To spare their lungs, for they shall ne'er persuade Any of us, that thou a soul hast made, A subtle Idea, a thing Divine, Limbecked to th' height, sublimat sopra fine, To be destroyed eternally: No let us live, say they, even as we please, On Earth, let us enjoy our mirth and ease, Not all thy art our pleasures shall control, Nor shall the silly notion of a soul, Ever be able in the least to check What we resolve, by what we may expect. Pray who's this God, say they, let's understand 15. Who is the Almighty that we should serve him, and what profit should we have if we pray unto him. Who's this Almighty Lord, at whose command We all must live, and die? pray let us know Who is this Prince, to whom all here below Must pay such homage? who's this Heavenly King, To whom all Mortals on their knees must bring Their praying tribute, twice a day at least, And once a week give audience to some Priest, Who calls himself this King's Ambassador, Whilst he repeats his Message o'er and o'er, In such a saucy, and incensing strain, As those who hear him hardly can abstain From choler, when he is so bold to say, All men shall be chastised, who do not pray To this Great God:—— For what end should we pray who stand in need Of nothing from him, those whose daily bread Comes from his Table, those who do possess No part of earthly Joy and happiness, As we do all: those whom unlucky fate Has plunged into a miserable state, Those men may lie a begging at Heaven's Gate. But, as for us, who live in afluence, Who spend our time in great convenience, Why should we pray? what can he give us more, Than we enjoy, nay whom should we adore? Shall we adore an unknown Prince, who shrouds Himself behind the Curtains of the Clouds? And treats the Sons of Men with such Disgrace, As he disdains to let us see his face. The Sun, and Moon, we know, and daily see, But for this God of Heaven, pray who is he? Or if such adoration, we allow him, What profit shall we make by praying to him? Have any fortunes by this praying made? Are any wealthy by this idle trade? Do not we see, how those, who daily call On this same God are miserable all? Poor, and Deformed, Contemptible, and Mean, By want of food, most scandalously lean: Praying, and sleeping by a formal Rule, Treated by all the world in Ridicule. Why then should we to him ourselves apply, Who live in Wealth, since only Poverty Is the return of Prayer? shall we request That we may become such? no let us waste Our Years in mirth, and not ourselves betray To misery, but chase all cares away, By frolic sports, whilst Fools and Beggars pray. Yet such, even such the God of Heavens doth bless, 16. Lo their God is not in their hand, the counsel of the wicked is far from me. Such cursed things in Honour, Wealth, and Peace, Do flourish here on earth, those wretched men Have in their lives no reason to complain: They know no judgements, nor afflictions they, Whilst ' those, who from their tender Years do pray, And in Devotion early exercise Their spirits, are involved in miseries, For shame forbear, my friends, then to assert That punishments are merely by desert Inflicted, when the contrair doth appear, By what I've said so evident, and clear: Nor would I, my dear friends, you should mistake My meaning, or suppose by what I speak, Whilst I express how happy those men are, That I envy them, or i'th' least appear To harbour any thoughts of discontent, Whilst those means plenty, with my punishment, And wretched state of life, I do compare, Or that I would be happy as they are. No, God forbid, that I should entertain Such impious thoughts, or any way complain Of God's good Dispensations:—— No, I'm so far from that, as seriously I think, what those men call Prosperity, Doth not deserve the name of happiness, But is at best, but like a gentle breeze, Which blows before a Storm: I do believe What those poor Souls, do fillilie conceive. To be the true supreme Felicity Is on the matter, downright Misery. O let those men's prosperity to me Be never known: let these eyes never see Plenty on earth, as I have seen before, Let my kind Maker never me restore, To any thing which men call happiness, Rather than I should be as one of those. And now my friends, as I have thus expressed 17. How oft is the candle of the wicked put out, and how oft cometh their destruction? How much the wicked in this life are blessed, So I would have you know that what I say, I do not as a firm position lay: Nor do I think it proper on my part, That I should so tenaciouslie assert That all such prosper, as you stiffly plead, That such by him, are only punished. No, my good friends, I am not to maintain A point, whereof the contrair is so plain; I'm not so much in love with vain debate, Nor am so wedded to my own conceit, As you appear to be, that I should call What I have said, so purely general, As it of no exception can admit, No, I do not pretend to so much wit, As to maintain, with Reason's full extent, The truth of such a foolish Argument. For I do only say that some, not all Of those same men, whom you do wicked call, Are blessed on earth: because I understand As well as you, that on the other hand, Many of them do in this life sustain The Wrath of God; and undergo much Pain, Much Hatred, much Contempt, and Poverty, Whilst here on earth; and suffer Misery, In its extreme Degree: I know that some Unhappy men are wholly overcome With Plagues, and Sorrows, and before they die, Reap the reward of their impiety. Though such as in this earth are punished, And by afflictions terrors visited, Are not so numerous, if we do compare Their list with those on Earth, who blessed are. How oft, pray, do we see such sinful men, Exposed to God's displeasure? one of ten Perhaps are so: 'tis true, when God doth fall Upon those villainous men, root, branch, and all, He doth destroy, their glory quickly dies, As doth the spark from flame that upward flies, Or as the light of Candle, when its head Is turned down, is soon extinguished, It's splendid lustre instantly is spent, Evaporating in a noisome scent. As Chaff, or Stubble, driven 'fore the Wind, 18. They are as stubble before the wind, and as chaff, that the storm carrieth away. Scattered along the Fields we daily find, Such, when God is incensed shall be the state Of those poor men, they shall be dissipat Upon the face of Earth, their Families Shall go to ruin, and their Memories Shall with themselves expire, their former glory, Shall not be entered in the Page of Story. Nay, that they may be further punished, 19 God layeth up his iniquity for his children, he rewardeth him, and he shall know it. Their misery shall not be limited To their own persons, for before their eyes, They shall perceive horrid calamities, Invading of their so late happy Race, Destroy their pleasures, and disturb their peace. Shall see their dearest Children beg their Bread, And with sad roots, their hungry Stomaches feed. Shall see them scattered every where abroad, Sitting half-naked in each common Road, With lift up hands most lamentably cry, For Alms, from every one that passeth by. All this they shall perceive, and quickly know, 20. His eyes shall see his destruction, & he shall drink of the wrath of the Almighty. When God for any man designs a blow, Though he's long-suffering, and slow to wrath, And takes no pleasure in a sinner's death: Yet when his Choler once begins to rise, Judgements like Lightnings issue from hit Eyes, Upon these wretches, which with sudden flash, Them and their issue all to pieces dash: For when Heaven's Monarch doth in wrath appear, His Judgements are so heavy and severe, No Mortal Shoulders can his loadning bear. And where they'd cheer their spirits formerly, 21. For what pleasure hath he in his house after him, when the number of his months is cut off in the midst. With expectation, that their memory Might be preserved, and men may clearly read Their glorious names engraved, when they were dead, I'th' several Foreheads of their fruitful Race, Which might proclaim their worth from place to place. Alace what pleasure now can these men have? When all their Race is swallowed by the Grave In their own time? when all their pleasure dies, And all their memories are before their eyes, By th' very hand of God obliterat, So that no vestige of their former state Doth now remain: and they are in their prime, (e'er they're well entered in the books of Time,) Shiffled out of the World, and quickly sent To their so oft derided punishment. Since then, my friends, our God is pleased to bless 22. Shall any reach God knowledge, seeing he judgeth those that are high. Some sinful wretches, letting them possess All pleasures here on Earth, and makes them die As they had lived, in soft tranquillity. Whilst others of 'em are so sore oppress't By plagues on Earth, as they can have no rest, But wearied of their lives, incessantly Cry our for help from death, until they d●▪ Who's he dares say that none are punished But sinful men? that God has limited His Judgements only to such men as these, Whilst all the truly godly live in peace? What man is he will undertake to teach God what he ought to do? or vainly preach Upon a text so far above his reach? So then, my friends, I hope you will allow, Th' Almighty God knows better things than you, And is not to be taught at any rate, How he his Judgements should proportionat, With this, or t'other subject, as you dream, And in your crazy judgements do esteem. No, no, my friends, as God doth fully know, So he doth fully judge both high, and low. Even as he pleaseth: nor can humane wit Prescribe to God methods so just and fit, As he doth use, in all his dispensations Upon the sons of men.— Yet must we not imagine, or suppose, That he who all men most exactly knows, Who all things framed, who all things did create, Who judges men, of every rank and state, With a true knowledge, and deliberately, That he should let his plagues at random fly, On this or tother, as it were by chance, No, none are punished but by ordinance, And firm decree of Heaven, in which doth shine, The glory of his Majesty Divine. For though indeed we cannot understand 23. One dyeth in his full strength, being wholly at case & quiet. The Almighty's ways, when we perceive his hand Sometimes on this, sometimes on t'other fall, As if he did observe no rule at all, In governing o'th' World; yet if we do, In sad sobriety, observe but how He lets some live in wealth and happiness, Whilst others, in great sorrow, and distress, Consume their days: how some in peace do die Larded with riches, to whom penury Was never known; whose calm and quiet years, Void of all cares, anxieties, and fears, In a course so serene, so smooth, and slow, As streams do gently through the Meadows flow, Slide softly to the grave, as one should think Those men knew nothing, but to eat and drink. How with such plenty those same men are blest, 24. His breasts are full of milk, and his bones are moistened with marrow. As scarce by Humane Art can be expressed; Their bodies healthful, strong and vigorous, As tempered Steel, nothing obnoxious To th' force of any violent disease, But as they lived, so go to death with ease, Their breasts with milk, their bones with marrow fall In earthly pleasures become soft and dull. Whilst others of those men our God permits 25. And another dyeth in the bitterness of his soul, & never eateth with pleasure. To live, and die, in such tormenting fits, Of Poverty, Fear, and Anxiety, With all the species of Adversity. As all their lives, they have no other fare But tears, and do not know what pleasures are: In tears they sleep, in tears they do awake, Their hearts with sorrow always seem to break, Oppress't with tears, and sighs, they eat and drink, Nor can their minds on any pleasure think, But in the bitter anguish of their Soul, Conjure all living Creatures to condole Their sad disasters, fretting constantly At others blessings, and so cursing die. Should we, I say, in serious meditations, 26. They shall lie down alike in the dust, and the worms shall cover them. Observe the course of God's great Dispensations, And carfully remark how all things go With wicked men, we certainly would know That all Gods Ways to our instruction tend, For if of both these we behold the end, Why all are huddled in the dust together; Where home-bred-worms have no regard to either; Nor make distinction betwixt any there, But look on all flesh as their ordinar, What ever price men put upon it; hence On rich and poor, with great indifference, As on their daily Commons, they do feed, Considering no more, but that such are dead. So that, as in the grave we cannot know▪ Whether those men were punished or no, Whilst here on life, with peace and plenty blest, Or whether ne'er, while now, enjoying rest. Even so, my friends, we cannot understand The various motions of God's mighty hand; Nor give a reason, why this wicked man, Not that is punished, more than any can Assign a reason, why God did create Man's body, in such vigour, form, and state, Only to become silly infects meat. And now, my friends, that I have argued 27. Behold I know your thoughts, and the devices which you wrongfully imagine against me. So fully on the case, and laboured To state the question betwixt you, and me So clearly, 'tis because I plainly see All your Discourse, since first you hither came, (Though modestly you do forbear to name The persons, whom you mean) is really Designed for me, and my poor family; For I perceive by all your Rhetoric, (Whose nauseous Tropes would make one truly sick, Who's in good Health,) that all you do intend Is not to comfort, but condemn your friend. For, though you'd with the fashion of the times, 28. For ye say where is the house of the Prince? and where are the dwellings of the wicked? Conceal the persons, but reprove the crimes; Yet, when you tell me ever, and anonn, In your proud way, that God afflicteth none But sinful men, and argue thence so much Since I'm afflicted, I must sure be such. I then perceive that I am all the butt Of your Discourse.—— Why you had as good speak it plainly out, And not with so much cunning, go about To palliate your thoughts; for when you say Where's now this Prince? where is his dwelling, pray? Where's he, who swelling with felicity, Was lately the head of a great family? Where's he, who keeped his Neighbours all in awe, And would to warring Nations give Law? He who so late, with Glory and Renown, Dwelled in this place, pray whither is he gone? When thus, I say you speak, I clearly do Perceive your meaning, how that all of you Conclude, that 'cause the Hand of God doth lie Heavy upon me, so undoubtedlie I must by all that know me be repute The worst of sinners, and without dispute A person hated by Almighty God, Because so beaten by his angry rod. Why this is strange that you will still maintain 19 Have you not asked them that go by the way, and do you not know their token? This false Position, pray what do you mean? Would you by this express your wit, and show The world, that whether this be true or no, Yet 'tis enough that you will have it so. In this if I should hate your Arrogance, Or have compassion on your Ignorance, I hardly know: only I'll freely say If you but ask the Traveller by the way, he'll tell you that the things, which you assert, In such as you show neither Wit, nor Art, For 'tis a thing so generally known, That to this hour it is denied by none, But you, my friends, that God's true love, or hate Is not at all to be commensurate By blessings or afflictions, since we see How many famous passages there be Extant ith'world to show how God doth bless Both just, and wicked, as all do confess, That as of pious lives no argument From blessings can be drawn, so punishment Infers not always guilt.— Be pleased my friends, then to inquire I say, Even at the silly Traveller by the way; He'll tell you plainly that he understands, When travelling through our neighbouring Hills, and Sands, Where numerous Tombs of sinful men are placed, Not by consuming Time as yet defaced, Ranged at some distance by the highway side, Serving him as so many Poles to guide Him him in his Road; how underneath these stones, The hateful Carrions, and accursed Bones Of sinful wretches do securely rest, Whilst good men here with sorrows are oppressed. He'll tell you plainly that he thinks those men, 30. That the wicked is reserved to the day of destruction, they shall be brought forth to the day of wrath. Though here on life, they fully did attain To all the pleasures, which they could project, And died in peace, yet can they not expect To rest for ever, for in Cells of Death, They're only keeped, unto the day of wrath. Unto the day when all the World around, Th' Almighty King of Heavens by Trumpet sound, Shall summon every Mortal to appear, At Bar of Justice, where each one may hear The history of his life in public read, And then accordingly be punished, For all his sins; then, then, those wretched men Shall be condemned to perpetual pain; And stead of Graves, wherein their Bones do dwell, They shall be quartered in the Pit of Hell. Now then, that I may to a period 31. Who shall declare his way to his face? and who shall repay him what he hath done. Draw my discourse, we see how th' mighty God Thinks fit, not only in his Providence, To let some wicked livers travel hence, As they desire, but even those hateful men, Who so by force of laws their sins maintain, As none dare of their injuries complain: Even those he suffers to depart in peace, And lets their sinful Bodies rest at ease. He lets them under stately Tombstones lie, 32. Yet shall he be brought to the grave, and remain in the tomb. Admired by every one that passeth by. Their Statues too in Brass, or Marble wrought, With great expense, and toil, from far are brought, And placed upon those glorious Monuments, To serve to all that view, as arguments Of their fine Grandour, all their Honours too, Are fixed about them, to demonstrat how They lived in Earth, and all do serve t'express Their worldly splendour, pomp, and happiness. Here in Earth's bowels they shall sweetly rest, 33. The clods of the valley shall be sweet unto him, and every man shalldraw after him. And as in life, so in their death be blessed, The slimy clods shall then become their beds, Where, as on pillows, they shall lay their heads, To the same place all mankind shall repair As were before them, many thousands there. Since then, I say, we see how providence 34 How then comfort you me in vain, seeing in your answers remaineth falsehood. Doth not at all time's favour innocence: But that our God is oftimes pleased to bless Even the professors of gross wickedness: Why would you undertake to comfort me By such discourse, in which I plainly see The strength of all your arguments doth lie That cause afflicted of impiety I'm guilty, which I constantly deny. Cap. XXII. NOW one might think after so long debate 1 Then Eliphaz the Temanite answered and said, With so much counter-arguing, and such heat Upon the subject, where those Learned men With all their Art endeavoured to maintain, That all the Plagues, and woes which God had sent Upon their friend, were but due punishment For his foul sins, because they firmly laid This for a maxim, that none suffered At th'hand of God, but wicked men alone, And that by such distinctions they were known From upright men, and so would fain persuade Th'afflicted man, that he had merited All he did undergo; and with what art On th'other hand he laboured to assert His innocence, and without heat, or passion, Did prove by many a lively demonstration, That where men's antecedent sins did call For punishment, on earth, yet after all Heaven's gracious Monarch freely did permit Those men to live, and die, as they thought sit. Whilst pious men were often visited With sad afflictions, and overlaid With plagues, and torments: and that some of those Whom they called sinful, suffered many woes, Even in this life; from whence he did conclude What they affirmed, must not be understood To be a general rule, which did admit Of no exception; and that all their wit Was misemployed on such an argument, And that they'd surely fail of their intent, If by the threatening of their Eloquence, They thought to fright him from his Innocence; One might ha'thought, I say, those learned men Would now no longer labour to maintain A thing not only so ofttimes denied, But proved so learnly to be false beside; Yet will they not their arguing give o'er, But still assert, as stiffly, as before, Their former Doctrine: for to all was said The Temanite this stubborn answer made. Why, friend, says he, I have, with patience, 2 Can a man be profitable unto God, as he that is wise can be profitable to himself. Herd thee descant upon thy Innocence: I've heard thee talk much like those quibbling fools, Who for the reputation of their Schools, Will upon any subject frame debate, And even deny what is homologat By all the knowing World: who will assert Falshoid itself, t'express their prurient art: And argue pro, or con, on what you will, (As Jugglers shift their Balls, to show their skill:) Nay they'll not stick to prove by argument, That the Sun shines not in the Firmament; And by their pestilentious parts are able To make all things created disputable. So thou, to show thy wit, art not ashamed T'affirm such things as ought not to be named. Thou tell'st us thou art pure, and innocent, And why should the Almighty thus torment One in the reputation of a Saint? I see indeed thou fain wouldst us persuade 'Tis not for sin that thou art punished: No, not at all, for thou insistest much That thou art just, and always hast been such, Even in the height of thy prosperity, And still abhoredst all impiety: And being yet such (in thine own conceit At least) why thy Creator doth think fit T'afflict a man, pure, just, and innocent, Only to try a new experiment, That he may know how good men will behave Under his Rod, not that men should conceive That all afflictions are th'reward of Sin, No, by no means; for if they should begin To entertain such thoughts, they might conclude, The very Saints cannot be understood To have been just, since none ere suffered, In all the world more sorrows than they did: And then demandst us, if God punish none, As we affirm, but sinful men alone: Why do these wretches, who in sin abound Flourish on Earth, why are so many found Guilty of Sin, and yet not punished? Why, here's a contradiction indeed, Sayst thou, a Riddle, which I cannot read. This is thy Doctrine, in this error thou Endeavourest to maintain, with much ado, Thy innocence; but, trust me, 'tis in vain For we perceive how evident, and plain Thy misdemeanours are,— For even in this, that thou so frequently Valuest thyself upon thy Piety, And boast est so much of thy righteousness, Thou sin'st, though there were no more in the case: For I do lay it as a principle, Beyond all question most infallible, That let a man be never so devout, Zealous, and just in heart, it booteth not: For this to God no profit doth afford, It yields him no advantage, in a word, All we can do, all that our hearts are able To muster out, is no ways profitable To our great God: for let us fast and pray, Let us give alms, and labour every day By all the lawful means, which mortals use To make their Court with Heaven, we but abuse Our judgements, if by these we do suppose To merit favour of him, for God knows, When we have laboured and done all we can, To serve our Maker, be performed by man; Yet one with reason may us freely call Unprofitable servants after all. For 'tis not so with God, as 'tis with men, Where one by parts, and prudence may attain To profit, and enrich his mind with all The Revenues of what we knowledge call. Or feast his Soul with Heavenly Contemplations, And frequently employ in Meditations His heart with pleasure, and so happily Improve the noble art of Piety. No, no, all these God values not a whit Of all our works he makes no benefit. Then what avails it for a man to boast 3. Is it any pleasure to the Almighty ●●at thou art right. ●●us? or is it gain to him that thou makest thy ways perfect. Of what God doth not value? what at most Yields but some profit to himself, and so I must with calmness tell thee, that although Thou wert even such, as thou pretendest to be Just, Upright, Zealous, and from Errors free, (As we conceive thou are not:) yet alace Thus to brag of it as a great trespass. Next then, my friend, as he who sits on high 4. Will he reprove ●he● for fear of thee? ●●ll 〈◊〉 enter with 〈◊〉 into judgement. Reaps no advantage by thy Piety. So on the other hand, I'd have thee know, He fears no hurt from thee, nor doth he show Himself offended at thy righteousness, As in thy passion thou dost oft express; No, no, mistake it not, for certainly God quarrels no man for integrity, Nor doth he think it is his interest, That such an one as thou should be suppressed, Lest if perhaps thou shouldst become too wise His Majesty might suffer prejudice By thy practising with his enemies. For as th'Almighty doth not apprehend Thy merits to be such, as do transcend The power of his reward;—— So fears he not thou wilt become so great, But that by his eternal rules of State, (Though thou shouldst to the Highest pitch attain In power with him, can be acquired by men) Yet he with ease can take thee down again. Since then for what is good, we plainly see The God of Justice doth not punish thee, Nor any man, because his upright Laws Ordain that no man should without a cause Be punished, why sure we must conclude, These thy afflictions must be understood Either to be thy punishment for sin, Or else for nothing; And how absurd it were for one t' assert I'th'least the verity of the latter part Of this alternative, I freely leave it To th' judgement of good men, but I conceive it To be an error of so deep a dye, As falls within the verge of blasphemy. And now, dear Friend, at length I must be free, 5. Is not thy wickedness great, and thine iniquities infinite. And tell thee out what are my thoughts of thee: Since thou wert pleased to say, that all this time We spared thy person, and reproved thy Crime; 'Tis true indeed, in pity of thy case, We did forbear to tell thee in thy face, Thou were't the unjust man, whom we did mean, But since thou puttest me to ' 't, I shall be plain, For thus I argue. He whose wickedness Caused many cry to Heaven for redress: He who was not ashamed to make profession Of that foul sin, which men do call Oppression: That man, I say, 'tis plain and evident, Deserves from God severest punishment: This I have still esteemed from my youth, A proposition of eternal truth. But so it is, thou in thy life hast been, (As is but too well known) the worst of men; In sin thou didst thy Neighbours all exceed, And therefore thou art justly punished. But here, because I know thou wilt deny 6. For▪ thou hast taken a pledge from thy brother ●ornoght and stripped the naked of their clothing. What I subsume, I'll prove it instantly; Here is my charge then, stand to thy defence, For thus I do impeach thy innocence. Who's he of us that cannot say his ears Have been infested now these many years With th'horrid noise of thy lewd practices, Whilst thou without distinction didst oppress Each living Soul, that came within thy reach, And seized on all, as far as thou couldst stretch Thy grasping Talons: may as we have heard Thy avarice so palpably appeared, And thy ●oul dealings were so understood By all the people of thy Neighbourhood, As no men durst with thee negotiate, Save those who better understood to cheat. Then thou didst, and we hear they were but few Besides thyself, my friend, who so well knew The art of Cozening: nay besides we hear Thy cruelty was such, thou wouldst not spare Thy nearest Kinsmen, but, at all occasions, Wouldst justle them out of their just Possessions. When having lent them money in their need, Upon a Mortgage, by some Counter-deed, After true payment of the Principal, Just, Interest, Expenses, Costs, and all, Under the Title of some scurvy lease, After Redemption, thou wouldst still possess: And, lest thy Title should be quarrelled, Thoved quickly purchase in some Latent-deed Which carried the reversion, and then Th' extinguished Mortgage openly retain. Nay more, thou didst not only strangers use, After this fashion, but wouldst even abuse Thy very Brother, if necessity Obliged him to demand from thee supply. For thou wert rigid, cruel, and severe; In all thy dealings as most rich men are, And for thy Soul alace thou took'st no care. Interest allowed by Law would not content Thy covetous mind, but even cent per cent Thoved take from some, and Pledges to the boot Worth thrice the money; which thou didst lend out. Then, lest the Statutes might thy dealings reach, And thee for bloody usury impeach: Thoved licitat the Goods, and for the fashion, Cause a led Jury put a Valuation Upon them, far below the sum thou lent, And then wouldst sell them to the full extent. Nay, which is strange, as we're informed, the poor, Who daily begged their alms from door to door. Thou sometimes with provisions wouldst supply, And make the glean of thy Usury, In public pass for acts of Charity. But how prey didst thou order thy affair With those poor Souls? say now, didst thou forbear To take a Pledge from such, for what thou lent Nay, my good friend, 'twas never thy intent. For e'er thou'd wanted all, thou even wouldst seize On their poor rags, and make such things as these Yield thee some profit.— Whilst overcome with cold and penury, Those naked creatures in the streets would die. In fine, both rich and poor thou used to rob, For no such famous Usurer as Job Did in these Countries live: this was thy Trade, By this a great Estate th'hadst lately made, And for this now on Dung hill thou art laid. Then as thou did in avarice abounds 7. Thou hast not given water to the weary to drink, and thou hast witholden bread from the hungry. So in thy petri●yed heart was found No room at all for love, and charity, For thou the thirsty never would supply With one cold cup of water, or in need, Afford the hungry one poor loaf of bread, But, O, in these days, there was no complaining 8. But as for the mighty man, he had the earth, and the honourable man dwelled in it. On such as thee: as there was no regaining Of what thou took'st, thou then didst rule the land, And hadst both power, and statutes in thy hand, Men knew no other laws, but thy command. And though thou wouldst unmercifully treat The poor, yet thou wouldst fawn upon the great, And rich men of the land, and countenance Them in their law-suits, that thou mightst advance The interest of thyself and family, And raise thy brats by open bribery. Lastly (which is the greatest of oppressions) 9 Thou hast sent widows away empty, and the arms of the farherless have been broken. When some poor widows would at general Sessions, Implore for justice, where thou didst preside, Protesting they did starve for want of bread; And therefore begged their suits might come to trial, To this thy answer was a flat denial; Either, because some great men were concerned, In these same actions, or that thou hadst learned, It was the interest of some puny friend, Those people's trials should not have an end, The orphans too when thou in Judgement sat, And acted, as a bribing Magistrate, Did starve for want of sustenance, and cried Aloud, when dying, Justice was denied. Hence 'tis that woes environ thee around, 10. Therefore snares are round about thee, and sudden fear troubleth thee. And sudden fears thy spirits do confound. Hence 'tis that thou art levelled with the Dust▪ 'Cause whilst thou wert a Judge, thou wast unjust. Hence 'tis, that thou art every way undone, 11. Or darkness that thou canst not see, and abundance of waters cover thee. And with a flood of sorrows overrun: Hence 'tis that spoiled of goods, health, family, In an abyss of troubles thou dost lie. But, O, whilst thy proud honours did endure, 12. Is not God in the height of heaven? and behold the height of the stars, how high they are. Thou thought'st thou were from punishment secure, For God, saidst thou, who lives above the sky, And has his habitation more high, Then that of fixed stars, can never know What we do act, who live so far below The pavement of his Heavenly Residence: Will he be at the pains to view from hence, The base and silly actions of men? No 'tis below him sure to entertain Such worldly thoughts; sure he has no regard, To our mean actings, but as we're debarred From seeing of him, so his Majesty Employed in thoughts more elevate, and high, Disdains to keep intelligence with such, Whose practices he doth not value much. Thick vapours, saidst thou, all our actions shroud 13. And thou sayst how doth God know? can he judge through the dark cloud? From him, can he perceive through darkest cloud What we do here on Earth? pray can he see, What daily passes betwixt thee, and me? Can't be imagined that he doth perceive 14. Thick clouds are a covering to him, that he seeth not, and he walketh in the circuit of heaven. What here we act? or shall a man believe, That through so many Orbs as roll between The Heavens and Earth, our actions can be seen? No, no, wrapped up in coverlets of clouds, He sees us no more, then in thickest woods, We can perceive the Sun, he knows no more How we do live, than men upon the shore, Can tell us what the several motions be, Of Fishes in the bortom of the Sea. No● he knows neither what we act, or talk, But undisturbed in Heavens large Court doth walk. Further, my friend, I tremble to repeat What were thy thoughts of God, whilst thou were great, For, as most men in grandeur vainly think, That at their splendid errors God doth wink; And on the rabble only judgements sends, To keep the great-men of the Earth his friends; So thou didst think, when thou didst live in state, God thought it fit thou shouldst be always great, As being one so justly qualifis▪ d For Government, as there were none beside▪ In all the Country to supply thy place, Were't thou undone, and therefore if in peace, His Majesty would govern all above, He thought it not his interest to remove From Government so great a Minister, As thou were't: hence, thou vainly didst infer, That having left all to thy management, Reward thou might, but never punishment Expect from God. O principles most Atheistical! Opinions to be abhorred by all! Dost think that God, who all things did create, Who placed us all in every rank, and state, That he, whose eye views all things, should not know What all of us think, speak, or act, below His Heavenly Throne? dost think the thickest cloud, From him, who holds them in his hands, can shroud Our actings here on Earth? dost think but he, Whose eyes see clearly through the thickest Sea: And through the body of the Earth can tell, What all those things do act, who live in Hell; Dost think but he with far more ease doth see Through all those rolling orbs, and clouds, what we Act here on Earth? dost think that he'll permit The sons of men to live, as they think fit: Whilst as a mere spectator he looks on Indifferent, and concerns himself with none? No, sure thou thinkst not as thou speak'st, for so Thou mightst as well pretend thou didst not know Whether there were a God in Heavens or no. For to conclude with thee that Providence Doth rule the World with such indifference, As sometimes here it strikes, and sometimes there, Sending out plagues, or blessings every where, As th' fatal die doth turn upon the square As points out each man's Destiny, were even To fancy a grand Lottery in Heaven: Or think that God, who all men fully knows, Should by mistake, at any time send blows Where blessings should be sent: allow me then To tell thee that none but the worst of men Should vent such errors, in which thou appears To be involved over head, and ears: For thou thinkst not enough thus to deny That providence doth rule with equity But dost thy error proudly justify. Thou arguest too by reason, as do all Those, whom the knowing world do Atheists call▪ But were there no more arguments to confute Thee, and those prating Fellows, who dispute The actions of their Maker, this alone May teach you all, God will be fooled by none, That though those wretches firmly do believe There is no God, yet still they do conceive There's some such thing, for in their mind they doubt (Although they are ashamed to speak it out) Whether what they believe be really true, Or not, for (to give providence its due,) They find all's ordered by some supreme hand, Though whose it is, they will not understand. So, though in their opinions positive, Yet by their doubtings we may well perceive That they with contrare thoughts are still oppressed, And, maugre all their braving, cannot rest On such opinions, but still apprehend God out of heavens will view them in the end, And on their old-age heavy judgements send▪ Take heed, I do beseech thee then, from hence, My friend, how thou dost talk of Providence, And ask no questions, pray, why wicked men To great enjoyments in this life attain, Whilst pious men are strictly punished: As if here Providence did err, take heed And do not think such things, for if thou dost, Assure thyself thou art for ever lost. Then use no more that▪ trivial defence So oft repeated of thy innocence. For we are all persuaded that our God, Without just cause, doth never use the Rod. Remark but th' History of former times, Thou'lt see how men have suffered for crimes. Hast thou not heard, how men before the Flood 15 Hast thou marked the old way which men have trodden? Behaved themselves, as if they had withstood The power of Providence, and would not bow To the great Prince of princes, or allow That homage to him, which the Creature owes To its Creator, he did so dispose, Those Clouds in which thou think'st he's wrapped a▪ round, As in a few days all those men were drowned. He who by power of his Almighty Hand, Cleared all the Marches betwixt Sea and Land, 16 Who were cut down out of time, whose foundations was overflown with a flood. And by the same power doth restrain the Floods Above us in Borrachios of Clouds, Was pleased then in his wrath t'untie them all, Which caused a Deluge Epidemical. That race of Creatures, which not long before He had created, he did then abhor Because they had his Government disclaimed, And all his reverend Orators contemned, Whom he had sent, with open mouths to tell 'em Of those sad things, which afterwards befell 'em▪ But they with open mouths, those men did mock, And told them, that they knew not what they spoke. Nay, when the Goodman, whom the Lord designed To be the great Restorer of Mankind, By special Direction did begin In view of all, to build an Ark, wherein The Seeds o'the World might be preserved entire, Whilst all the rest did in the Floods expire; Those silly Fools did laugh at his intent, And oft would ask what the old Fellow meant, So in their errors these men did proceed, Still living, as they were accustomed, In wanton pleasures, regulating still Their Lives by order of their foolish will. Hence when the Cataracts of Heaven did swell, And Floods out of the Skies upon them fell, They were catched napping in their Festivals, And minding nothing but their Bacchanals, Were in that universal Deluge drowned, With all their sins about 'em. But O, the man who as they thought had raved, Was in that Ark, which they derided, saved, With all his Family, he safety found Amidst those rolling Waves in which they drowned And the Good-Master of Heavens only Bark, With all his Passengers did in his Ark O'r'e-top the Floods.— Then on might see, when that Springtide was full, The Stock of Mankind floating in a Hull: The hopes o'th' world, the Origination Of every future Kingdom, State and Nation, Shut up below Decks, under Board's and Dails', Without the help of Masts, Ropes, Oars, or Sails, Rudder, or Compass, Steer they knew not whither, Upon the Waters many days together; And yet at length, as well as any now▪ Who with great Art, and Skill, the Ocean plough, Arrive at their wished Port of Ararat, From whence they quickly did Disseminat In fruitful Colonies, giving Birth to all, Who now do scramble 'bout this Earthen-ball. Such wicked men, than did not die in peace, 17 Which said unto God depart from us, and what can th' Almighty do for them. Nor did they step into their Graves with ease, Who said to God, depart from us, good Lord, What more than we enjoy canst thou afford, And generally were so insolent In sin, as they disdained to repent, As thou affirmest, no they were visibly, While living, punished for Impiety. Yet after all, with thee I must confess, ●8 Yet he filled their houses with good things▪ but the counsel of the wicked is far from me. 'Tis strange to think how our good God did bless Those sinful men, for many generations, Making them, Fathers of illustrious Nations, He blessed them, and their Families with all Those things on Earth, which men do blessings call; But if such things be all such men expect, If these be all that men on Earth project, I don't envy them: I had rather be Involved in sad afflictions with thee, Than blessed with such, Lord let me never think That though long time thou at men's ●ins dost wink, And mak'st them happy here, but after all, Thou wilt them to account most strictly call; And send a punishment proportionate To each man's sins, and errors, soon, or late. And when these men are justly punished 19 The righteous see it and are glad, and the innocent laugh them to scorn. All truly pious, honest men are glad, They laugh at them now in their misery, As they at them in their prosperity Were wont to do. When they remember how, in former times, Those sinful men did glory in their Crimes, And with what foolish insolence, and pride, They undervalved men, and did deride Even Providence itself, as if in all, They had been so secure, they could not fall: Now they observe with what a silly mine, Those fellows, scarce desirous to be seen Appear in public, with dejected Eyes, Because they know that all men do despise Their persons, for their former insolence, And look, as if by their own Conscience, They were condemned▪ already, whilst they see Their sins before 'em: and how all agree, That they at length have justly forfalted Their former grandeur, and are punished As they deserve, whilst those who formerly Run to them Cap in hand, now slightingly Without a salutation pass them by. Indeed they do appear so despicable, And in their daily conference with the Rabble Express so much fear, and solicitude, As those who see them, firmly do conclude Those men for all their grandeur, to have been Men of no parts, but Spirits low and mean; Nay such as knew them in their former state With pain believe those men were ever great. Thus shall our God in vengeance overthrow 20 Whereas our substance is not cut down but the remnant of them the fire consumes. The wicked, but with th'just it is not so: For we, who fear the Lord shall still be blest, Not with contempt, or penury oppressed, But whilst the wicked toil, we shall have rest. Our substance shall be settled on our Heirs, And when we're sick, we shall be free of cares O'th' world, and without all anxiety, Or fearful notions of uncertainty, We shall lift up our hands, and calmly die. And thus, my Friend, that Ihave fully shown 21 Acquaint now thyself with him and be at peace, thereby good shal● come unto thee. How thou hast erred, now in another tone, I must cheer up thy spirits, and declare How thou may'st become happy, as we are. 'Tis only thus, make haste, and be acquaint With our great God, and seriously repent For all the sins, of which thou guilty art, Do quickly from the bottom of thy Heart; Conclude firm peace with God, make no delay, But use thy time well, do, this very day, As thou'd desire he would thy plagues remove, And change his present hatred into love. No more complaining then, my friend, no more 22 Receive I pray thee the Law from his mouth, and lay up his words in thine heart. Of these expressions we have heard before: But be attentive, prithee, and give ear To what our God commands thee, let his fear Possess thy Soul, hear what he doth impart From his own Mouth, and keep it in thy heart, To be a sovereign cure at all occasions, When e'er thou shalt encounter with Temptations. Return, my Friend, to God, from whom thou hast 23 If thou return to the Almighty, thou shalt be built up, thou shalt put away iniquity far from thy tabernacles. Most treacherously revolted, and at last, Thou shalt be settled in thy former state, And be more happy than thou wert of late: Sin, and its dire effects thou shalt expel Out of thy house and with contentment dwell, Environed with thy numerous Family, In Houses void of all Iniquity. Like Dust in Shovels thou shalt heap thy Gold, 24 Thou shalt lay up gold as du●●▪ and the gold of Ophire as the stones of the brooks; Large Granaries shall scarce thy Treasure hold, And when thy Coffers are brim full with Ore, So closely packed as they can hold no more: And when with Silver, all thy bags thou hast, 25 Yea, the Almighty shall be thy defence, and thou shalt have plenty of silver. Shall be stuffed full, sealed, locked up, and made fast, Then as thy Brokers find security, According to thy mind, thou by and by Shall us & all thy neighbouring friends, supply. But (which is best of all) whilst others store Runs out in riot, and appears no more, Our God himself shall be they Thesaurer, So that thou shalt not Thiefs or Robbers fear, Nor the wild humours of a rich man's Heir▪ For then in prayer thou shalt take delight, 26, For than thou shalt have thy delight in the Almighty, and shalt ●●ft up thy face unto God. And for Devotion still have appetite, Fresh and renewed, shall have more real pleasure In God, than in thy Family and Treasure. Then Prayers shall become habitual 27. Thou shalt make thy prayer unto him, and he shall hear thee, and thou shalt pay thy vows. To thee, and thou on thy kind God shalt call, With confidence, for he will surely hear Those, who address with reverence and fear, To his high Throne, and thou shalt quickly know By the return of them, that it is so. With God thou shalt become familiar 28. Thou shalt also declare a thing, & it shall be established unto thee, and the light shall shine upon his ways. And shalt before him, at all times appear, As one who doth possess much of his ear▪ In all things he shall firmly by thee stand, And bless what ever thou dost take in hand. In all thy actings he shall thee direct, And from temptations still thy soul protect. Whilst others grovelling in calamities 29. When men are cast down▪ then thou shalt say, there is a lifting up▪ and he shall save the humble person. Shall tear the very heavens with doleful cries: Thou shalt know nothing of what these endure, But live in great contentment, firm, and sure. Nay those, who are in want, and misery, To thee, as to God's favourite, shall apply To interceded for them, which thou shalt do, Succeeding in thy intercession too. God will deliver for a just man's sake 30. He shall deliver the Island of the innocent, and it is delivered by the pureness of thy hand. Whole Towns, and Kingdoms that would go to wreck, Were't not that he did hear the prayers of such Amongst these people, whom he values much, Th'unspotted pureness of one just man's hand Doth make atonement oft for all the land. Cap. XXIII. WHen the insulting Temanite had thus Opened his charge, by which he did accuse 1. Then job answered and said. His friend, of gross Oppression, Bribery, Uncharitable Dealings, Usury, Nay Atheism itself, for which he said God him at length had justly punished: And by so many special instances, Of Villainy, endeavoured to press The truth of what he boldly did assert, By all the rules of eloquence, and art: The poor afflicted soul, who all this while Lay in great torment, and would sometimes smile, To see his friend, who formerly had spared To tax his person, now without regard Ol old acquaintance, and the sacred ties, And rules of friendship, thus in choler rise: And formally accuse him of such crimes As he, who knew him well in former times, Could not esteem him guilty, were he called To be upon his jury: and yet galled To hear his friend, with so much impudence, Endeavour to convel that innocenc, On which himself he so much valued, As sure of that, all that he suffered He undervalued, though now faint, and weak, Yet he no longer could forbear to speak. But after h'had with sighs ingeminate, Rememb'red sadly on his former state, As soon as heavy groans, which constantly Oppressed his spirit, would to words give way, To his Indictment with great modesty. He thus put in his answer. My friends, says he, I see with how much art You all endeavour to undo my heart: Even to day is my complaint bitter, my 〈…〉 heavier than my groaning. And strive one after tother, by your words, To hew me down, as with so many swords: Unkindly done! For now indeed, at length I plainly see, All those reflections have been meant for me, Which you from the beginning have related, Since first the question betwixt us was stated. I see you use no more your feigned Stories, Your painted figures, and your Allegories, But in plain terms, you formally do charge Me with those numerous crimes, of which, at large In the third person, you have formerly Discoursed, but now you tell me openly I'm guilty of them all. But to all you have said, my sole defence, I still do found upon my innocence. Your bitter Charge I utterly deny, I plead not guilty, and will justify Myself at all occasions, against all Who of such villainies shall me guilty call. D'ye think, my friends, but an ingenuous heart Has much ado in earnest, for its part, T'endure such language, as you're pleased to vent Against one, who knows himself most innocent, Of all the Crimes you talk of, pray, consider, Were it the case of any of you, whether Would you with patience such rude language bear, As from your mouths I am constrained to hear. Alace, what man from passion can abstain, Hearing himself thus taxed once, and again; Then why do you complain, that I complain; Indeed my Soul is in more heaviness, Then I by my complaining can express. The very torments that afflict my Bones, Are more in weight, and number, than my groans. You tell me, I should turn to God, alace, 3. O that I knew where I might find him? that I might come even to his feat. I fain would do't, if I could see his face: Would I could find him, would I could know where He shows himself to men, I would repair To him indeed, but since that cannot be Allowed me, since his face I cannot see: Yet in regard I am condemned by you, Who are my Parties, and my Judges too: Knowing, that he both sees, and hears me well, To him, as supreme Judge I do appeal. But O again, I wish I were allowed 4. I would order my cause before him, and fill my mouth with arguments. Free access to him, there indeed I would So order my affair, and so deduce My Case before my God, I would so use That liberty, and with such moderation, Plead my just cause, as I should find compassion From him, I would so argue, and debate, Upon the subject of my present state, Before that Judge, as I am confident, His Majesty would find me innocent. Then would I hear, then would I understand, 5. I would know the words which he would answer me, & understand what he would say unto me. What can be said upon the other hand, Against my so well known integrity, To which, with freedom I might make reply. O that to God than I might access have, 6. Will he plead against me, with his great power? no, but he would put strength in me. Let him but hear me, and no more I crave: Let him but hear me, and before his Throne, I shall so manage my just cause alone, Without the help of counsel, as I shall Be able soon to overthrow them all, That do accuse me: let me but appear Before my Maker, and I do not fear What man can say against me, for I know He will not do, as Judges here below, Who biased by some private interest, In Plaintiff, or Defendant, use to wrest The Laws, to serve their turn, and sullenly, With stern looks, and expressions terrify The Prisoner at Bar: nor will he watch My fearful words, to see if he can catch Any advantage from them, or allow Cross questions, and such tricks, as those men do, To make me guilty, and then state the case To th' listening Jury with a double face. No, my Creator would take no such way, But hear me calmly what I had to say In my defence, he would not terrify, My panting soul with his authority: But on the contrair, he would hear me plead, Without once interrupting me, and stead Of vexing me with questions, he'd afford Arguments for my safety, in a word, Should I appear before him, I am sure, My trial could for no long time endure: For he would soon acquit me, and release My Soul from pains, could I but see his face. O blessed face▪ could I have liberty To see it, I should be immediately Free from all censure, clamo●●, calumny. There may a just man boldly plead his cause, 7. There the righteous might dispute with him, so should I be delivered for ever from my judge. Not fearing danger from ambiguous Laws▪ There he may speak with freedom, there he may Unfold at large all that he has to say, In his defence, what e'er he can pretend, He may allege, he may himself defend Fully, for God will hear him to an end. There, O there should I have the happiness To be once tried, how should my righteousness In view of all be clearly vindicat From these asperssions, which some men, of late Have laboured to fix upon me, then, They should perceive their malice was in vain, For being once acquit, I shall for ever Be absolutely free from trial, never To be again for any fault, or crime Brought to the Bar; nay, after posting Time Has run its course out, and the day shall come, Which shall appear most terrible to some Whose names are in the Rolls then to be tried, I shall be found already justified. But, O, my Soul, why shouldst thus complain, 8. Behold I go forward, but he is not there, and backward, but I cannot perceive him. Thou canst not see him: why should thou in vain Crave access to a God invisible, Infinite, and incomprehensible? A mighty God, who no where doth appear, And yet is truly present every where. A God, whose saving wings do thee surround, Who walks with thee, and yet cannot be found, By all thy Art: why should thou thus in vain Make search for him, whom no place can contain? Forward, or backward, whither shall I go To find my God, why, truth, I do not know, For 'tis all one to me, what course I steer, Since he's to be be discovered no where. For should I fancy that Heaven's King doth stand, 9 On the left hand where he doth work, but I cannot behold him, he hideth himself on the right hand that I cadnot see him. As some conceive, the North on his left hand; Where he doth wonders, where he daily shows His glory, and his Cab'net doth unclose, In which his greatest rarities he keeps, Beyond the Arctic Circle, in the deeps, Where, Whales, like floating Castles, do appear, The terror of the Ocean, and declare Their great Creator's power, where Nations dwell, Who do our southern people far excel; In strength and courage; or if I in search Of him should to the Pole Antarctick march, Where he in glory is no less renowned, Why after all, he is not to be found. But what needs more, since he will not allow me 10. But he knoweth the way that I take, when he hath tried me, I shall come forth as gold. Access, yet foolish men shall not undo me, By their false accusations, for I still Deny my Charge, enforce it, as you will. And here before my God I do protest, Who knows the hidden thoughts within my breast, That all my life-time I have ta'en delight In calling on his Name, both day and night: How I have lived, he knows, and hitherto Behaved myself, and with what fervour now I pray unto him, in my woeful case, Though he denys to let me see his face: Though I his favour now have forfaulted, And from his presence sadly banished, As an example of his wrath I lie Here upon Dunghill, yet he knows that I Have still endeavoured since my infancy To honour him, and in whatever station, To order still aright my conversation. So that I fully do myself persuade, When of my virtue he has trial made; When in Afflictions Furnace, o'er, and o'er, I'm melted down, yet ever as before, In substance, weight, and price I shall be found The same, and in my Conscience pure, and sound: And after all my sufferings I am bold To think, I shall be taken out like Gold. Indeed, I've sometimes had the happiness, 11. My foot hath held his steps, his ways I have keeped, and not declined. To know what did belong to righteousness; I have devoutly all God's Laws obeyed, And in my conversation have not strayed From his Commands, I have not deviate From the true road, although it seems of late You have perceived, my friends, that I have erred, And firmly do believe what you have heard Through all the Country from my enemies: Which, trust me, are but lies, and calumnies. Alace, my friends, I'd fain have you believe 12. Neither have I gone back from the commandments of his lips, I have esteemed the words of his mouth, more than my necessary food. Of all my torments there is none doth grieve My Soul so much: as that you should arraign Me for such horrid Crimes, and still maintain These to be true, which I do still deny, Why this is even the height of Cruelty. For still before my God I do protest I don't remember ever in the least That I from his Commandments have erred, What e'er to th' contrair is by you averred. His Words I have esteemed, and understood The same to be more necessary than food. But all that I can speak, protest, or plead 13. But he is of one mind, and who can turn him, and what his ●●●eth, even that he doth. Is to no purpose, for God takes no heed To my Discourse: his mind is still the same, For he's resolved that in afflictions flame, I shall continue, he's inexorable To all my cries.—— Than since it must be so, I'll not contend With God, but suffer all, and here's an end. For God does what he lists, he's abbsolute O'er all his Creatures, and who dares dispute What he commands: then let him harrass me Even as he will, why not, his acts are free. For what he from my Birth had ordered 14. For he performeth the thing that is appointed for me, and many such things are with him. I should endure, that I have suffered, And am to suffer yet upon that score What has appointed for me, and no more. And now I think on't, my afflictions are By God's Determination ordinar For other men t'endure, as well as me, As in our converse we may daily see, So that these being, his common practices, With men on earth, my hopes are still the less, That e'er he from afflicting me will cease. In thoughts of this with grief I'm overlaid, 15 Therefore am I troubled at his presence, when I consider I am afraid of him. I die with weeping, for I am afraid My sad afflictions shall continue still, Let me both do, and say even what I will. For I perceive God is too strong for me, 16. For God maketh my heart soft, and the Almighty troubleth me. And in my sad afflictions I see His Mighty Hand has made me soft, and tame, So that to fear I much obnoxious am. I fear, I fear my troubles shall endure 17. Because I was not cut off before the darkness, neither has the darkness covered my face. Longer than you do all expect, for sure Had he not ordered from Eternity That I should in afflictions Furnacely, Until I were consumed, ' had cut my days, That I might ne'er have seen such woes as these. Cap. XXIV. Job having thus in words of modest passion, 1. Why seeing times are not hidden from the Almighty, do they that knew him not, see his days. Denied his Charge, and put in protestation Of his unspotted zeal, and innocence In all his actings, as his chief defence. Now he makes answer to the second part Of this sams Charge, in which his friends assert, That God Almighty had prefixed set times, For hearing, trying, and punishing of Crimes, As Judges in their Circuits use to set Days for each County, where the Shrieus must wait Upon the Court, and give up Rolls of all Delinquents in their Precincts, at a call, What are their misdemeanours, where they lie, If under Bail, or in safe custody, And so proceed to Jayl-deliverie. For this, as all the rest of their positions, Without exceptions, limits, or conditions, They hold to be infallible, and press The truth of it by many instances. To this Job here doth calmly answer make, Endeavouring to show them their mistake. How comesed, says he, since God has set such times Here upon Earth, for punishing of Crimes; And since his Diets are so peremptor, As you affirm, that at a certain hour, This, or that man, his trial may expect, How comesed these methods of which you do speak, Were never known before to such as fear His holy Name? 'tis strange they should not hear. Who daily do frequent his Courts, till now Of his procedure? strange, he'll not allow That they should know such things as well as you. For my part, I of knowledge am not proud, But with such Parts as God has me endued, I've used my time, and have in general, Observed as much as any of you all: Yet am I still a stranger to what you Of God affirm, and never heard while now, That he had fixed his grand Court Criminal On Earth. where he doth use to summon all Delinquents, at such Diets to appear, On trial to receive their Sentence here. 'Tis true, I have observed some instances Of this procedure, and I must confess, God sometimes is so kind, as he will show, Before he doth the wicked overthrow, Some signs of his displeasure, as he did To those before the Flood.— And then because his Prophets they contemn, He will such Wretches suddenly condemn To punishment on this side time: I know It is his custom often to do so: Nor would I have you think, my friends, that I His universal prescience deny; Or question his eternal purposes Of punishing all kinds of wickedness, Even in this life, in some men, but that all Under the compass of that Statute fall, And suffer here on Earth, I do deny, For on the contrair I do formally, As I have often done before, contend That God on all men doth not Judgements send Who do deserve them here, and visibly Doth punish all, who of impiety Shall be convict, reserving no man's trial Till after death.— But that he suffers many such in ease To pass their days, doing even what they please, And after all shut up their eyes in peace. To prove the truth of this, I shall adduce 2. Some remove the landmarks, they violently take away flocks, and feed thereof. In the first place, a crime too much in use Amongst us now a days, a loud-tongued crime, Which may be termed Iniquity in its prime, The grand sin of Oppression, a sin Which makes my hair stand, when I do begin To speak of it, a sin so black, and foul, As all good men abhor it with their soul. A sin so black, as I can hardly find Words to express its nature to my mind. A sin so vile, that, if what you have said Were true, would never scape unpunished, On this side time: and yet we daily see How many such from punishments go free, Whilst here in life: which that in terms of Art I may demonstrate as I do assert; I shall, with your good liberty and peace, Deduce this sin in all it species; And show you plainly how they all escape Unpunished in this life.— And first we see how some men openly Encroach upon their Neighbour's property: Others their Neighbour's cattle drive away: And keep them, as they were their lawful prey. The Ass, which the poor Orphan now retains, 3. They drive away the ass of the fatherless, they take the widow's ox for a pledge. As th' only relics of his Father's Means; Which driving daily to some neighbouring Town With Loads of Brushes, Faggots, Turf, or Broom, To furnish those, who do such trifles need, Makes a hard-shift to gain his daily bread: This very beast some of these cruel men On some pretence or other do distrain: The Ox, which the poor Widow's ground should plow, Pretending 'tis their pledge, they seize on too. Nay, which is yet more cruel, when they've seized 4. They turn the needy out of the way, the poor of the earth hide themselves together. On all they have, yet are their minds not pleased, Until they have these Wretches in the tail, And either under lock, or under bail. Hence 'tis that men dare hardly keep the street, For fear of such; but in dark corners meet: Suspecting these same men upon pretence, Of Debt, or Trespass, may perhaps commence Some Suit against them, and in some mad fit, Assoon as they perceive them, serve a Writ Against their persons; in the ears of all So dreadful are their names. But yet those men have always some pretence 5. Behold as wild asses in the desert, go they forth to their work, rising betimes for a prey, the wilderness yieldeth food for them, and for their children. Of Law, which they cast up for their defence, But there be others of that Corporation, Who openly avow this damned Profession. Who fly at all, and plunder openly, In view o'th' Sun, without all modesty. For don't we in our Neighbouring-mountains see How many powerful Families there be, That live by open pillaging of all, And sometimes in amongst our Flocks do fall▪ In numerous troops, (as all may see alace, Not many days ago was my own case.) They breed their Children, from their Infancy, In all the active points of robbery: And when they come to age, they send them out To earn their Bread in all the Fields about, By Petit-larcin, which, if cunningly They do perform; they mount them by and by In every point, as their unlawful Trade Requires, Bow, Arrows, Target, Shearing-bl●d●, Short knife, and Poniard, and then formally They send them out to open Robbery: Where by the Highways, skulking here, and there, They seize upon th' unwary Passenger, Of all his Money, Goods, and clothes they pill him And think th' oblige him, if they do not kill him. But when they see the Travellers advance, Before them, in well ordered Caravans; They stand aloof, and suffer them to pass, Not daring to look Merchants in the face, When in such order, but keep off for fear, And hover at a distance on the rear. Whilst others of 'em on the flanks do watch, With careful eyes, to see if they can catch The Stragglers, and if any they do find On tired Jades unluckilie behind The company, upon them strait they fall, And, without mercy, kill, and plunder all. Nay, when the Sun declining in the West, Invite the wearied Travellers to rest: These wretches do not sleep, but still in arms, Beat up their quarters, and give sad alarms On every hand, and will be sure at length To catch some prey, by policy, or strength. Strange, what a sinful life those rogues do lead, They know not what it is to earn their Bread By honest Callings, Means, or Trades, not they, But wand'ring idly, only live on prey. And yet in peace, and plenty they abound, And hardly one amongst them all is found To die of famine: for they do increase In number, and the very wilderness Affords them a subsistence, and provides All pleasures, which their hearts desire besides. Except perhaps a few of 'em, who stray Amongst our fields, and missing of their way, By Providence i'th'hands of justice fall, And die, on Wheel, or Gibbet, and that's all: But the main body of 'em still subsist Pillaging, killing, doing what they list, Without control, for many Generations, Under the names of Families and Nations, Contemning Laws, and making plain profession Of that accursed species of oppression. What honest men do sow, those thiefs do reap, 6 They reap everyone his corn in the field, and they gather the vintage of the wicked. And amongst themselves such correspondence keep, As when the Vintage season doth draw nigh, Whole troops of 'em do meet, and suddenly On the Wine-labourers with great fury fall, Wound, drive away, kill, and make prize of all, Without distinction, whether friends or foes Be owners of 'em, for these men (God knows) Have no regard at all to any man, But from both good, and bad, take what they can; And then draw off to th' mountains with their prey, Divide the spoil, in their accustomed way, Disband their troops, and suddenly retire Each to his lurking hole, where sword, and fire Can hardly find them out. Nay some there be of those wild Mountaineers, Who having for a tract of many years, Vexed those i'th'valleys with sad Robbery, Our predecessors were compelled to buy Their peace, and ease, from them at any rate, Acknowledging those Thiefs, as a free state, By payment of a Tribute annual, Not without reason, called by some black-mail: Which, if precisely we neglect to pay, Then do these men in troops without delay, Fall down amongst us, and drive all away. Under our windows they our Corns do seize, Riffle our Stables, and do what they please. Then they return in order, whence they came With all our goods, and openly proclaim Them as their lawful prey: the Country then, Rise, and with hue and cry, pursue those men, Thinking to overtake them, but in vain. For in small bodies, they march speedily, And to the Mountains soon, like Lightning, fly. Then do we send up Deputies, to treat For restitution, but they come to late, For all those men are quickly dissipate. Some there be also of that thieving race, 7 They cause the naked to lodge without clothing, that they have no covering in the cold. Who in their robbing are so merciless, As having stripped men of their Goods and Purses, Yet not contented with so easy purchase, They strip them all of their apparel too, And will not out of Charity allow So much as may protect them from the cold, But make them wander without house, or hold, Along the Mountains, whilst they naked go, Benumbed with cold, above the knees in Snow. All wet, and weary, those poor Souls do crawl 8 They are wet with the showers of the mountains, and embrace the rock for want of a shelter. Amongst the hanging Rocks, and after all, They think they're happy, if they find some Cave, Where for some time they may their bodies save From down-right-perishing in cold, or rather Avoid the present fury of the weather. Then having rested, in great fear, and pain, Betake them quickly to their Feet again; And night, and Day, through hills and deserts roam, Until half-buried, they at length get home. Nay very Infants from the breasts they pluck, 9 They pluck the fatherless from the breast, and take a pledge of the poor. And will not let their Mothers give them Suck, To the full time, unless they give a pledge, T' assure them of them, when they come to age. These in great numbers they do yearly sell For slaves, or otherways, by force compel The miserable Parents to redeem them At whatsoever ransom they esteem them. All men they rob, all families they spoil, 10 They cause him to go naked without clothing▪ and they take away the sheaf from the hungry. And what the poor ones do with daily toil Amongst the reapers glean, they take away, Making the sheaves of th' hunger-starved their prey. Nay though our Peasants for security, 11 Which make oil within their walls, and tread their wine presses, and suffer thi●t. From these shrewd thiefs, within doors silently, Tread out their Wines, and with great care and toil, Do in some hidden corner make their Oil: Yet maugre all the shifts they can devise, Those cruel men before their very eyes, Take all away, and cunningly do cheat Those anxious souls of both their Drink, and Meat: So that for want of sustenance they die, And in the fields their bodies scattered lie: As food for Crows, unburied here, and there, And, with contagious scent▪ infect the air: Which quickly doth engender Pestilence, That in its rage making no difference Betwixt the rich, and poor, doth sweep away Some thousands at a Muster every day: Where both the guilty, and the innocent, In the same Coffin, to the Grave are sent, On shoulders of poor Slaves, and Pioners, Whilst not a man of all their friends appears At the Graves-mouth in mourning, to condole The Dead, or say a requiem to their Soul: So that a man may well infer from thence, Oppression is some cause of Pestilence. And yet though Heavens are hourly battered 12 Men groan from out o● the city, and the soul of ●●e wounded ●●ver● out, yet God laveth not folly to them. With cries of many thousands ruined By such Oppressors: though the Towns exclaim, And all the Counties bitterly do blame The Magistrate, who should by force restrain The frequent in roads of those barbarous men: Though Ghosts of all the Murdered round about, With a loud voice, for vengeance do cry out, Yet God appears to slight, this joint address, And still permits those Varlets to oppress. And now that I have spoke sufficiently 13 They are of those that rebel against the light, they know not the ways thereof, nor abide in the paths thereof. Of those, whose trade is sin, who openly Practise it, and esteem it no disgrace To be descended of a thieving race. Now I shall show you how on th' other part, Some men do sin as much, but with great art Endeavour closely to conceal the same, Not for its guilt, but to avoid its shame. There be indeed some, who commit offence Against the light of their own Conscience, And therefore, as ashamed of what they do, Because they dare not openly avow Their sinful actings, they abhor the light, And wrapped up in the mantle of the night, Practise the works of darkness with delight. Yet those, most part escape the censure too, Which you affirm to wicked men is due, And flourish in this life.— Of these I shall give you some instances, For if I should endeavour to express The several kinds of such, who do offend, I fear that my discourse should have no end. I'll not then reckon all, but satisfy 14 The murderer rising ●ith the light, 〈◊〉 the poor and needy, & in the night is as a thief. Myself with Murder and Adultery; Two loud-tongued sins, as to the world are known, And which are able of themselves alone, To bring down Judgements, which might overthrow Whole Kingdoms, States, and Nations at a blow. Two sins, that in a constant Threnody, Do call for vengeance, whilst most bitterly They do accuse their actors, and in crowds, Make for themselves a way through thickest Clouds, Each day from hence, not resting while they be Familiar in the Court of Heavens, and see The very face of God, yet after all, Although for justice every hour they call, God will not hear them, for great reasons known To his Eternal Majesty alone. For let's observe but how the Murderers, Before the Sun with morning blush appears, On th' utmost confines of our Horizon: Are ready, armed, and to their work are gone, Enter some Countrey-dwellings silently. And cut the throats of all the Family; Then riffle every Room, take all away, And get them home before it is yet day. Th' Adulterer too knowing the proper time, 15 The eye also of the adulterer waiteth for the twilight, saying no eye shall see him, and disguiseth his face. In which he may with safety act his Crime; Longs for the twilight, when he poorly may To his poor pleasures, his poor Soul betray: For whilst he sick with last night's surfeit sleeps Till noon-tide, then attires himself, and keeps Within Doors at his Book, and violin, To put himself in humour for his sin; The closely dissembling night draws on apace, Then doth he with great art disguise his Face, As all who go a rambling.— Wrappped in long-cloak, he sneaks along the streets, Unknown, as he conceives to all he meets: To th' evening-walks, he doth direct his march, Where he, with great anxiety doth search, In every Grove, and arbour o'er, and o'er, Until he find out his beloved Whore; Whom when he finds, in a most lustful passion, He hurries to the place of assignation. Sometimes in public, on design he walks, 16 In the dark they dig through houses, which they had marked for themselves in the daytime; they know not the light. And seemingly unconcerned, converses, talks, With one, or other, whilst still privately Upon some Window he doth cast an Eye, Where some bewitching face he doth espy. Then on the door he sets a private mark, That he may find the place out in the dark; Thence to his Pandress quickly drives, and there What he has now discovered doth declare, A beauty, O most excellent, and rare. Th' old sinner views her Books, with care to see Who this same so much cried up Whore can be: At length by his account she seems to guests, And tells him she will do his business, And cunningly appoints both time, and place, Where these do meet, and at their ease, and leisure Until the morning, glut themselves with pleasure. But O the morning! O the rising Sun! 17 For the morning is to them even as the shadow of death: if one know them, they are in the terrors of the shadow of death. When that appears, this man is quite undone. Upon his night's achievements he reflects, And finds himself assaulted by the checks Of an enraged Conscience, and appears As one distracted betwixt lusts, and fears, Leaps from his Bed, attires himself anon, Calls for a Bill, and fain he would begun; Whilst th' Whore yet sleeps, because he apprehends, If he should tarry longer, by some friends, Who early stir about their business, He may be seen from that unlawful place Come out, and so these men may soon proclaim Through all the City both his sin, and shame. On th' other hand he judges he may stay Within doors, with more safety, while the day Be spent, and in the evening steal away. In these reflections, and sad apprehensions, Each moment he doth alter his intentions; His resolutions waver to, and fro, He knows not whether he should stay, or go. Cold fear invades his Nerves, his Blood doth frieze, His Joints do tremble, and Death's terrors seize Upon his Soul, for in this panic fear, He thinks he sees the Husband every where, Whom he has injured, with Stiletto armed Ready t'assault his Person:— He thinks he hears him swear in every place, He shall be soon revenged of his disgrace. At length 'twixt hope and fear, he issues out, Down next blind-lane he slips, and veers about By many dirty windings here and there, Until to the next fields he doth repair, Where he doth walk, as if he took the Air: But by and by, he to the Woods doth fly, For now he doth suspect the Hue, and Cry Is out against him: thus he doth declare, How for his sin he punishment doth fear, Resolving from such actions to forbear In all time coming.— But when his Lust begins again to to flow, Forgetting wholly all his former woe, To the same place, like madman, he returns, 18. He is Twist as the waters, their portio●ts cursed in the ci●●h he beholdeth not the way of the vineyard. And in those unclean flames, again he burns. There's one Crime more, of which I do expect You will permit me yet, my friends, to speak, A Crime well known by th' name of piracy, Which is on Sea an open robbery: I have already spoke of that on Land, And now 'tis fitting you should understand, How that on Sea is no less openly Practised, as from those men, who live hard by The Coasts of the Red-sea, we daily hear, Where in great Fleets those Picaroons appear. They▪ re men who having tried all Trades on Land, And finding nothing, which they took in hand Succeeded to their wish: in hopes of gain, At length they became downright High-way-men. Then outlawed, and by justice every where Pursued, they found there was no living there, And so at last to Sea-towns they repair. Where buying some small Pinnace, with a few Hatchets, and Swords, and mustering a crew Of Rake-hells, like themselves, to Sea they go, And plunder all they meet, both friend, and foe. They spoil all Trade, they make the Merchant's groan, And to all States, and Nations bemoan Their daily losses, by such men as these, Who against all justice do infest the Seas. They seldom come on Land, or if they do, 'Tis in some Creek, where for a day or two, They do refresh themselves, and with great pain, Carine their Barks, and so to Sea again. At length, when by this vill'nous roving trade, Those Sea-opprssours have great Booty made, To some small Island, where they are not known They steer, and there themselves they boldly own To be the Subjects of some mighty State, Where they as Merchands do Negotiate With th' islanders, and riotously spend, What by their privateering they had gained. These in their little Wherryes skim the Seas, And ramble on the Ocean with ease, Killing, and Robbing, doing what they please. Who, though each moment they have fair occasions, T' enrich their Souls with pious Meditations, Viewing Gods wonders in the deep:— Yet do they still their sinful Trade practise, And both the Laws of God, and man despise: Though floating shrewdly betwixt Winds, and Waves, And not four inches distant from their Graves. Thus than we see, my friends, how at all times, 19 Drought, and heat consume the snow waters, so doth the grave those who have sinned. Men take delight to act most horrid Crimes, In a continued tract of villainy, Pray let us see now how these men do die. Why not bereaved of Life, by Rope, or Sword, Not drowned, not cut in pieces, in a word, After they have grown old in sin, and known No other trade, but that of Hell alone, As in some places, Snow doth still appear, Until the Summer Solstice of the year, And undissolved in heaps itself doth show, Until by heat it doth in waters flow: So these grown old in sin, and now no more Able to act it, as they did before, Do softly dwindle to the Grave, and there Lie down, and rest, without all fear, or care. Nay with such calmness, and tranquillity, 20. The womb shall forget him▪ the worm shall feed sweetly on him, he shall be no more remembered, and wickedness shall be broken as a tree. As if they meant to sleep, they softly die, And with so little violence, or pain, As even their very Mothers do abstain From weeping at their death, and making noise Above their Corpse, but rather do rejoice, To see their Children in th' extremity, Of age, wealth, honours, and discretion die. The worms upon their Corpse do sweetly feed, And they in Grave do find as soft a bed, As do the bodies of those pious men, Of whom no man had reason to complain, Nay, though those men with sin so soul, and black, May well be named villainy in th' abstract, Yet in their Death, there's nothing singular, Nor do they die in horror and despair, But like an aged Trunk, fallen to decay, Insensibly they moulder quite away. Now here, my friends, I thought t'have given o'er, 21 He evil entreateth the barren, that beareth not, and doth not good to the widow. And of oppression to have spoke no more, But that I think on't, there's a species, Of those unhappy men, who do oppress, Of whom I have not spoke as yet: there are Some, who for neither rich, nor poor do care: But bolstered up with vain authority, Against all persons they promiscuously Do vent their rage: men full of picquant-wrath Who threaten still Destruction, and Death To all, who give them but the least offence, And to th' afflicted, with great violence They add affliction. They take great pleasure, tartly to upbraid, All those, on whom the hand of God is laid. The barren woman, who in doleful tone, In private doth her barrenness bemoan, They call an useless wretch, a barren fool, A dry She-ass, a pitiful Night owl. The widow too, whose lamentable state, All truly pious men compassionate, Those men, with all their force, and art oppress, And makes her Life a Scene of bitterness. Nay, on the wealthy too, their hand they stretch 22 He draweth also the ●ighty by his 〈…〉 riseth up, and ●o man is sure of life. And fleece them all, as far, as they can reach, By heavy Fines, give way to Informations Against them, and encourage accusations On slender grounds, which with great art they draw Out of the very Excrements of Law: T' attain the lives and means of those they hate, And satiat their Revenge at any rate. Their dire Revenge, which no man can endure, For who is he can of his life be sure, If once those men by their intelligence, Can find against them any evidence, Then must they die for all their innocence. Yet these, these are the men, who do possess 23 Though it be giust to him to be in 〈◊〉, whereon he ●●●●th, yet his eyes are on their ways. The good things of the earth: these men in peace Do spend their time, whilst good and righteous men Of want of bread, do every day complain, But after all, though these men sillily Suppose they sin, with great security, And think God doth not eye them, nor remark At least their hidden actings in the dark, Yet he doth eye them, and will surely bring Those men to an account, and reckoning, For all these villainous deeds, and make them know, That though he be a God to anger slow, Yet when inflamed with a just indignation, He'll of his anger make clear demonstration, And cut off all their race by extirpation. For wicked men, though in the world's eyes 24 They are exalted for a little while, but are gone, and brought low, they are taken out of the way as all other, and cut off as the tops of the ears of corn. They seem to swell, and in great foamings rise, Blown up by winds of pride, to th'hight of all, That which poor mortals happiness do call. Yet are their honours, titles, dignities, But mere delusions, vain uncertainties; Things of no value, trifles, empty shows, And but of short duration, God knows: For in a few years' time we shall perceive Them, and their honours shut up in the Grave: And their successors prodigally fall A wasting, spending, and consuming all, What those poor Caterpillars had with pain Amassed together in their lives, and then There shall be no more memory of those men. Now to conclude then, if what I have said, 25 And if it be not so now, who will make me a liar? and make my speech nothing worth? Shall not be able fully, to persuade Your minds, my friends, that what I speak is true, Come let me hear, I pray now which of you Will undertake the question to decide, And make appear that I have erred, or lied. Cap. XXV. BIldad it seems did undertake to do it, 1 Then answered Bildad the Shuhite, and said, And in a short discourse, he thus spoke to it. Why is it so? says he, that thou must still 2 Dominion, and fear are with him, he maketh peace in his high places. Hold such opinions, argue what we will To th'contrair? what has all that we have said Of our good wishes, no impression made In thy poor Soul? are all our labours vain? And shall we still have reason to complain, That after all what we can do, or speak, We are as yet not able to correct The fury of thy hot impatience, But still thou tell'st us of thy innocence? Ah! wilt thou never be convinced? wilt thou Still wildly rave, what ever we can do To bring thee to thy wits? art'not ashamed. To speak thus of thy Maker, who has framed Both thee, and us of very simple Dust, That yet for all this thou wilt still be just, What ere he say to th' contrair, why my friend, Is't fit thou with thy Maker shouldst contend? With him, who all perfection doth transcend? With him is fear, dominion, power, and state, Honour, and glory: pray who can debate With our Almighty God: with God on high, Under whose feet we Mortals grovelling lie? Wilt thou contend with him whom all obey Whom no command or power dare gainsay? A God unlimited, and absolute In all his actings, and wilt thou dispute With such a one? His mighty armies are innumerable, 3. Is there any number of his armies, & upon whom doth not his light arise? By which, at all occasions he is able To make all men from Wars, and Tumults cease, And keep the whole Creation in peace: He makes his Sun on every Creature shine, Without distinction, who then should repine, Or say that he is partial? when his care For all his Creatures equal doth appear. O then, since God is absolute, and high, 4. How then can man be justified with God? or how can he be clear, that is born of a woman? Unlimited, in power, and sovereignty, Allseeing, wise, impartially just, And best of men is but a mass of dust: Who's he that in his presence dares assert That he is clean, and upright in his heart? Who's he dares undertake to justify Himself before his Maker, or deny That he is sinful, and by consequence Deserves to be chastised for his offence? Who's he of Woman born that can be clean? Was ever yet that Mortal heard, or seen That came into the World without Sin, Since our first Parents did of old begin To lay the first foundation of offence, Entailing firmly on their race, from thence A sad inheritance of sin, a black, And ugly spot, in a continued tract Of Generation from the dismal time That these (till then unknown) durst act a crime. Then how dar'st thou affirm that thou art pure 5. Behold the moon and it shineth not, yea the stars are not pure in his sight. I'th'sight of God? dost think we can endure To hear a man so impudently speak Of what but even to think deserves a check? Pray but behold the Moon: observe, I pray How now at Nights it doth its beams display In imitation of the light of day. View but the Stars too, and observe how these Shine, like bright Tapers in Kings Palaces, And though not great, yet yield an useful light T' allay the horror of the tedious night. Now one should think those glorious Heavenly Creatures, By their own Constitutions, and Natures Were pure and clean: but 'tis a great mistake, For those, what ever figure they do make Of bright unspotted glory, in which sure They mankind do exceed, and are more pure Than any of us all, yet in his eyes Those glorious Creatures with Impurities Are overspread, and in his sight appear Unclean, and Daple-spotted every where. Then how much more unclean, foul, and deform, 6. How much less man that is a worm, and the son of man, which is a worm? Is man before him? man a very Worm, A Moth, an Aunt, a Spider, any thing That may be thought not worth the valuing. Man a mere Frog, a thing both mean, and base A silly Worm, both he, and all his race. Cap. XXVI. TO hear such language without some offence, 1. But job answered, and said▪ Required in Job a solid patience. Who though he's now nigh spent, and hardly able To speak, yet hearing how his friend did table The same Discourse, which had so oft before Been argued on both sides, o'er and o'er: With some disdain, and seeming Indignation, He thus put in his answer. Pray now, good friend, if I without offence 2. How hast thou helped him, that is without power, how savest thou the arm that hath no strength To your so oft displayed eloquence May ask the question, pray now let me see What comfort brings all this Discourse to me? What comfort, pray my friend? is this the way, Are these the methods, these the means, now pray, By which you would afford me some solace, In this my sad, and lamentable case? No sure, for what by your Discourse appears, Your only aim is to augment my fears: For you still tell me that my God is great, Absolute, Boundless, and Unlimitat, And how compared with him, we're all but dust, And so conclude none can be pure, and just In sight of our great God. Is this to comfort pray? is this t'allay The Fever of my Soul? is this, I say, The way to comfort one in sad distress, By Baiting of him, with such words, as these? Words stuffed with terror: words of dreadful sense, And to th' afflicted of sad consequence: Words that with comfort so repugnant are, As they'd provoke one rather to despair▪ Words of severest rigour; words of death, Words, that would shake a very solid faith: Is this the comfort you intend? alace, This all the pity you have on my case To fright me with such passages as these? For when you tell me that my sins do merit All I endure, you do so crush my spirit, You do so damp my wearied soul with fear, As I am almost ready to despair: And were't not that my God in mercy yet Sustained my spirit; I would soon forget My duty to him, and undoubtedlie, As my impatient Wife did formerly Advise me, I should curse his Name, and die. But O my Soul, do thou his Glorious Name, In gratitude, to every age proclaim: His Name, who thee so graciously supports, When men against thee make such strong efforts. Pray then, my dear friend, if I may demand, Without offence: let me but understand, 3. How hast thou counselled him that hath no wisdom, and how hast thou plentifully declared the thing, as it is? What dost thou by this short Discourse intend, What wouldst infer from thence? pray to what end Dost thou with so much art delineat The Power of God, and so expatiat Upon his works, as if thou thought'st that I Did any of his Atributes deny? Are these the methods, by which you intent T' instruct your shallow, and unthinking friend? You say I've erred, why truth it may be so, But by what you have spoke, I do not know As yet in what: For I, as well as you, A firm that God to no man doth allow Such purity, as he may arrogate Th' inheritance of an immortal state, T' himself from thence: I do with you agree, That God is great and just, and as for me, I'm but a Worm indeed, a very Gnat, A Fly, a Wasp, a thing, I know not what, So mean, so low, and of so small esteem, As baseness is itself, compared with him. I do agree with you that sinful men, On this side time, are often overta'en With punishment; nor do I yet deny But God doth his Displeasure signify, By previous signs, to such, ere he doth fall, Upon them in his Wrath, for good and all. But that he sends afflictions on none, But those whose sins do merit Hell alone. I still deny, and in that Confidence, To all your bold, and cruel Eloquence, I still oppose my Faith, and Innocence. On these, and on God's mercy I rely, And if you think I argue foolishly, Convince me, pray, by other arguments Than I have heard as yet. But thus to treat me, thus to aggravate My woes: to comfort me at such a rate, By adding to my sorrows, is, indeed, A comforting, of which I have not read: 'Tis such a method, as I think that none Did ever yet practise, but you alone. I do confess, indeed, my grief is such, As may have prompted me to speak too much Upon the Subject; and I don't deny, But in my sore, and bitter agony, Some words might fall, I cannot justify. But when you see me in this dire estate, With griefs and sorrows so exasperate, And plagued with such sad exercise of mind, I did expect you would a'been so kind, As to afford me counsel, and advice; That such a fool as I, by men so wise As you are, might b'instructed in the case, But stead of that, you tell me in my face, I'm lost, undone, and may in justice fear More pains, and torments, than I yet do bear; Such comforting did ever Mortal hear! What spirit moves thee thus, my friend, to speak? 4. To whom hast thou uttered words, & whose spirit came from thee? Dost thou imagine I am yet so weak, But that I understand as well as thou, What is God's greatness, and his justice too? What spirit then doth move thee thus to speak? Dost thou intend to comfort or correct Thy poor afflicted friend? do, let me know, Whether thou meansed to comfort me, or no? For what thou speaksed doth nothing contribute T' uphold my swooning spirits, or recruit My so much wasted strength: I cannot see What comfort all thy speeches yield to me. For with such zeal, and fervour thus to press Once, and again, what all men do confess: God's power, and greatness thus still to repeat Were to suppose that we did now debate The truth of these things, and that I denied, What you so eagerly affirm; beside If any man should chance to hear us now Upon this Subject, and observed but how Thou, and my other friends, with all the Art, That Learning can afford, do still assert What I deny: he'd presently conclude That you are pious men, and I a lewd Ungodly person, whereas you all know, And are convinced yourselves, things are not so. Pray then forbear this way of comforting, By such reiterated arguing, And telling of me things I don't deny: For what doth all this talking signify TO a poor afflicted man? and if you please Pray use such words as may afford some ease To one in a deplorable estate, And let me hear no more of your debate: For what you speak, if I do understand, Doth not concern the question in hand. But here, my friends, that you may no more Preach 5. Dead things are framed from under the waters, and the inhabitants thereof. Upon this Theme, as if you meant to teach One that is dull, and ignorant, I'll show How I God's Greatness, and his Justice know As well as any of you all, and how I can descant upon his wonders too. Allow me then his Greatness to express, As you have done, by as few instances. First then, that my discourse may method keep, Let us observe his wonders in the deep; Let's there begin, and see how providence So vast, so powerful, so profound, immense, Active, and quick at all occurrences, Doth reach even to the bottom of the Seas. There he doth rule, as well as on the Land, There all the Creatures, which his mighty hand Hath framed, submit themselves to his command. Those Monsters of the Ocean, who affright Th' admiring Seaman, with their very sight: Those dreadful Creatures of such various frames, As we do hardly yet know all their names: Those numerous Giants of the deep, who scour The Ocean with an Arbitrary power, Swallowing their fellow-creatures with such ease, As if they claimed dominion of the Seas. Who, when they mean to sport themselves, will make Th' unbroken Waves with their strong motion shake, Like troubled Waters, and anon, to show Their force, whole Tuns of Water up they throw From their prodigious Snouts, as if they'd dare By force of Water to subdue the Air. Those huge portentous Creatures, though they seem In their own Sphere to be of some esteem, To have some power, dominion, and command, Yet are they governed by his mighty hand, And do submit their necks, with deference To his great Lord-Lieutenent Providence: Who, when he sees those Creatures wantonly Sporting along the Ocean, by and by With single nod commands them to be gone, Then like so many Slaves they trembling run To the Seas bottom, where they grovelling lie, Until from him they have the liberty To swim aloft; and there they roam about At every prey, till their Verloof run out. Dead things he also orders in the Seas, Such as Pearls, Amber, Coral, Ambergrease, And Sperma cete, which for humane use, He makes them as a yearly Rent, produce. Now as he rules i'th'bottom of the Seas, 6. Hell is naked before him, and destruction hath no covering. So in the earth he order all with ease. He views its darkest Caverns, and descries What is impervious to all humane eyes. The Grave before him opens up her Womb, His eyes doth pierce the closest Marble Tomb. No place affords a shelter from his wrath, Not all the winding Labyrinths of death; Not Hell itself, in whose closely Vaults do lie The burning Tares of poor Mortality; Where damned Souls eternally bemoan Their idle progress here on earth, whilst none Can make them help, and to no purpose groan. Where grining Fiends by his permission rule, And treat our glorious World in ridicule, Making the highest amongst the lowest lie, Where all are Cudgelled to conformity. Yet of this Dungeon he doth keep the Keys, And every moment doth survey with ease The actions, postures, tears of all in Hell, And the sad living knows exactly well Of all those Souls, who nigh Earth's Centre dwell. With curious Art he doth expose to th'eye 7. He stretcheth out the north over the empty place, and hangeth the earth upon nothing. That large and glorious Azure Canopy, Which round this Earthen Glob, he doth expand, Whilst in its Centre, with a mighty hand He makes this Glob so spacious and fair Unfixed, unproped, unfounded any where, Hang, like a Water-bubble in the Air. Here then let admiration fix its eyes, And highflown Art, its Artless self despise, When it considers, how beyond all Art, And contrair to what reason doth impart, A solid Body, which should downwards tend, By Nature, and is apt still to descend, Should in this posture Pendulous remain, And by its own weight, it's own weight sustain. To see gross Earth, and heavy Water mixed, Stand so unmoving, so secure, so fixed, Amidst the Light, thin Element of Air, That unresisting Element, that rare And tenderest Cobweb of the whole Creation, Is that, which doth exceed all admiration. When even its Wing'd-Inhabitants, how e'er They at some distance to us do appear To stand sometime i'th'Air: yet coming nigh We see they do not stand, but softly fly, For sure, without some motion, they could ne'er Subsist, but a few minutes in the Air. To see a Mass with gravity depressed On such a Downy Pillow sweetly rest, And yet that Pillow firm, and solid still, On which it rests appear: say what you will, Is that which doth all reason far transcend, And if to know it more we do intend, Of idle searching there shall be no end. Now let us from the Earth a while remove 8. He bindeth up the waters in his thick cloud, and the cloud is not rend under him Our eyes, and see what order kept above. Let's make a progress through this spacious Air, And view what curiosities are there Remarkable; i'th' first place let us see, What glomerating Bodies these may be, Who nimbly tumble all along the Air, And no small figure make in their own Sphere. Those glorious embroideries of the Skies, Whose various colours feast the curious eyes. Those Clouds, which do above our heads appear, What are they, ' pray? for what use are they there? What service do they make? why, we must know, That even in those, God doth his wonders show. For as we see in Gardens, how the care And cautious foresight of the Gardener, Large quantities of waters doth retain In Cisterns, to supply the want of Rain, Whereby his Plants he moistens now and then. So though the Earth is moistened with the Seas, Who wash it on all hands, and by degrees, Through all its Bowels squirt themselves, and so At length in Springs, and Rivers gently flow For that same end; yet he takes further care Of this great Garden, as great Gardener: And l●st those Springs at any time run dry, And so the Earth grow sterile, by and by, Whole Oceans he pumps up to the Sky. By a great engine called Exhalation, And in those airy Clouds to admiration, Those waters, he doth firm, and sure retain, And only sifts them gently out in rain, As through the Cribrous snout of Waterpot▪ The Gardener softly wets his Garden Plot: So he from thence this Earth doth irrigate; For should one Cloud but burst, without debate A Deluge would ensue. But O, the care Of Providence, that in those Bags of Air; Those Handkerchiefs of condensed vapours, those So spongious Tankards he should keep so close, Such quantities of Waters Turned, and Paled, As sure, as if in Bottles, Corked, and Sealed; When one would think (by rules of Art to speak) Those shoulders for such burdens were too weak; And that the weight o'th' waters they contain, Might make those vaporous Bottles burst in twain. Thus than we see those Clouds created were, 9 He holdeth back the face of his throne and spreadeth his clouds upon it. To serve the useful Water-works i'th' Air. For in these, Liquor stored in Magazine, Is kept in Cask entire, upon design, Not to be drawn off, but when he'd supply The drouthy Earth, what time it becomes dry. And yet those brimful Clouds sometime appear, So settled, and almost transparent clear: As if no waters in their belly were. And then we seem to view the Heavenly Throne, In its full glory; but when God anon, Intends this glory from our eyes to shroud, 'Tis but to interpose a sable Cloud: A sable Cloud, which he can quickly make Out of the clearest: as if one should shake A Crystal Bottle, in which, for some space, Liquor preserved appears clear as the Glass; Because by time its Dregs being separate From th' spirits; in the bottom take their seat, But once being shaked, what formerly was clear, Now muddy, thick, and troubled doth appear. So a few Clouds, shaked by his mighty hand, In a thick Curtain soon themselves expand, Which he lets fall betwixt us and the light, And what was clear before, is dark as night: Yet by obscuring of his glory so, At seasons, he doth make its value grow; And causes us poor Mortals earnestly, Long for his re-appearance in the Sky: As those for day, who under th' Pole do lie. Now since so many Pales with Water full Do hang above our heads; what simple, dull, 10. He hath compassed the waters with bounds until the day, and night come to an end. Insipid Creatures must we Mortals be, That done't the love of our Creator see? In all his Dispensations, for if e'er His loving care of mankind did appear In any thing: in this 'tis evident, That he thus bridles that wild Element Of Water, which would otherwise overflow Us all, but that he binds its fury so, As neither those, who 'bout the Earth doth roar, And, were it in their power, would soon devour The Land, and be by Shore's hemmed in no more. Nor yet for all their daily threatenings dar Those Waters, which hang over us i'th' air, Upon this Earth in bodies rudely fall, But are restrained by him, who governs all: And still shall be by that high power restrained, Until all what we see shall have an end. How kind a God how much to him we owe, 11. The pillar of heaven tremble, and are astonished at his reproof. Who for our Being such concern doth show! How should we love him! how should we forbear T'incense that God, to whom we are so dear! O, how should we to rouse his choler fear! For, if this God do once appear in wrath, Hell in his eyes, and in his looks is Death: With one stern aspect, he will quickly make Heavens most entire, and strongest pillars shake. At his reproof the Mountains cleave asunder By Earthquakes, and the Air is rend by Thunder, At his command, Fire out in lightning flies, And there's a great commotion in the Skies: All things created do a trembling fall, The sudden fear is epidemical, And we expect a period of all. And yet amidst this anger still his care, 12. He divideth the sea with his power, and by his understanding he smiteth through the proud. And love for man doth eminent appear. For though he sometimes makes the Ocean swell, To that extent, as if it would compel The Heavens to give it way to quarter all Its furious billows on this Earthen Ball. When with high-winds blown up beyond Springtide; It swaggers with intolerable pride, Making whole heaps of Froth on high to rise, As if it boldly meant t' assault the Skies: Yet in an instant, he can, when he will, Make this rude Monster silent, and tranquil; And make it soon return for all its pride, To th' progress of an ordinary tide. And last of all, since Earth, Sea, Hell, and Air, 13. By his spirit he hath garnished the heavens, his hand hath form the crooked serpent. We've viewed, le's to Heavens-pallace now repair. That he hath garnished in such curious sort, And beautified so his Empyrean-Court, As no eye can behold, no tongue set forth, No Art esteem, or calculate its worth. For what created Optics can perceive That which the mind doth even with pain believe! What mortal eye can view the precious things, That in the palace of the King of kings Are to be seen! When even in some Kings-pallace here below, Pearls, Rubies, Diamonds make such glorious show, With Silks, and Silver, Walls and Flowers o'erlaid, Cupboards with Gold, and Crystal vessels spread: Pictures and Statues to such value wrought, As only by great Monarches can be bought, Make such a strange appearance, as the eyes Are dazzled with the sight, and do surprise Th' uncurious, homebred, unexpecting mind, When they present it Ideas of that kind. Nay those who've seen those glorious passages, When they relate such goodly sights, as these, They're not believed, and every one who hears Their Stories, think them lying Travellers. Then O if these so glorious do appear, Which if with Heaven's rich palace we compare, Are but as Cottages; what must that be, Which none but with the eye of Faith can see! Yes, with the piercing eye of Faith alone, Must we discover the celestial Throne, Which when we see, our minds shall then abhor All other sights, and wish to see no more. The Sun, and Moon, who in their Orbs appear Most necessary for his Glory here; Are there of no more use, than Candles be, After the Day is broke, for than we see These little Rays, which sparkled in the night, Are fully swallowed in the greater light. So where God in his Majesty doth shine, These most resplendent Beams, those Rays Divine Do so much light afford, as there's no need Of Sun, and Moon: this light itself doth spread So brightly, and so fully over all That other Lights we may but Tapers call. But hear, my friends, pray, even admire with me Heavens outward Fabric, which we daily see, Let us with admiration cast our eyes Upon those very Heavens, and view the skies, How Glorious, how Beautiful, and Fair, When Sun at Noon-tide shines, they do appear. When nothing in our Horizon we view, But a Sun Radiant in a Field of Blue: Which, like a spacious Arch, appears to th'eye, Whilst we, as sitting under Canopy Do eat in state: anon, when he inclines To rest, and taketh good-night, in Oblique-lines, How sweetly on the Mountain tops he shines! Whilst round his squinting beams the skies appear, In such bright various Colours here, and there, So curiously damasked at that rate, As Artists yet, but faintly imitat That evening Picture, and at length confess No Pencil can such glorious shows express; Whilst, most part of that Field which now we view Is shadowed Scarlet, which before was Blue. At length, when after all, the Sun is gone, And Darkness doth invade our Horizon: Then of what colour is this Canopy? How do the heavens appear then to the eye? Why then we see the Moon, and Stars do yield A comely Figure in a Russet Field: Under which spacious covering we sleep, Till from the Seas the Sun again doth peep: And then, what Russet was before, we view Now of a mixed Pearl, Orient, Grace, and Blue. Then if these outward Heavens themselves display In changes of attire four times a day, And with such rare, and goodly Variation, Affords us so much cause of admiration: Ah! how much more should we admire, if we The Inner-court of the third Heavens could see The Heavens of Heavens, where in Magnificence The Great Creator keeps his Residence! How should we be surprised, if we could see, What glorious sights in these Apartments be. Where he who framed all things doth sit in state, When we so much admire the utter Gate. Now as those curious Heavens his Hands did frame Which every hour his Greatness do proclaim, So, as a Limner, when to show his skill, He makes his Pencil draw what shapes he will; The Great Creator to express his art, That from the highest to the lowest part, This Universe might be replenished With these so various works his hands had made: The Infects too, which on the Earth do crawl, He framed, to show his Glory shines in all, What we can see, or fathom in our mind, And writes his name on things of every kind. Then, to conclude, since those few passages 14. Lo these are parts of his ways, but ●ow little a 〈◊〉 is heard of him, but the thunder of his power who can understand. Do so much of his Glorious Power express: Since what with our dull eyes of flesh we see, Which may by Computation hardly be The hundred thousand part of that great whole Of which the Great Creator is the soul: Affords such grounds of serious contemplation, How should it far exceed all admiration! Were I, my friends, but able to relate His Glory in its true, and real state, But ah, there's no man able to do that. And thus, I hope, I have demonstrate now, I understand these things as well as you. Let these suffice then, let these things, my friends, Of which I've spoke, fully possess your minds. Debate no more, I pray, but let us all Upon this subject to admiring fall, That Great Creator, at whose very name We mortals should our faces veil for shame, And prostrate on the ground in ashes lie, When we consider that great Deity: That chief, and supreme Being, that so vast Extent of Power, that glorious first, and last: Compared with whom man is a cheaper thing, Then is a Beggar balanced with a King, Ten thousand times. Then O let these suffice And let us no more in contention rise Concerning things we cannot comprehend, Which all our art, and reason do transcend, In painting out of which there is no end. Cap. XXVII. THus having replied to what Bildad said, 1, Moreover job continued his parable, and said. Expecting some should have an answer made, Job paused a while: but then perceiving how Those learned men had all concluded now That he was so perversely obstinate As not to be reclaimed at any rate, And therefore seeing what they spoke before Prevailed so little, meant to speak no more: Lest he might seem t' approve what they decreed, He still in his defence did thus proceed. Why now, my friends, says he, at length I see 2. As God liveth, who hath taken away my judgement, and the Almighty, who hath vexed my soul. You think't lost labour to dispute with me: You think all you have spoke has been in vain, And so from speaking more you'll now abstain: Why you do well, indeed I'm glad 'tis so, But should I hold my peace, I firmly know You would undoubtedlie conclude from thence That I passed from my plea of innocence; Therefore I still must speak in my defence. As the Lord lives then, as our mighty God Eternal in the Heavens keeps his abode, As he has heard and seen all that has passed Amongst us, and will judgement give at last Against those of us who have erred: I here Before you all most solemnly do swear, I'm wholly innocent of all these crimes, Of which you've me accused so many times. I know not why my Maker thus has vexed My soul with troubles: why I'm thus perplexed With griefs, and Sorrows, which I ne'er did merit, At his so gracious hands: or why my spirit Should thus be crushed with misery and woe, Of no crimes yet convict, I do not know. For I protest, my friends, I firmly still Assert (let God do with me what he will) I know no cause for my sad punishment: For to this hour I'm wholly innocent Of what th' injurious world lay to my charge, And which in your discourse you have at large, To my own hearing told. Nay whilst God's spirit moves within my breast 3. All the while my breath is in me, and the spirit of God is in my nostrils. And whilst I breathe I solemnly protest. No trouble, no affliction, no oppression, 4. My lips shall not speak wickedness, nor my tongue utter deceit. No pain, no woe, no torment, no occasion Shall move me in my sorrow to express, What may be even supposed wickedness. For whilst I breath, I never do intend To speak those words, which may my God offend. And though, since so much woe, and misery 5. God forbid that I sheuld justify you; till I die I will not remove my integrity from me. Has seized upon me, I might possibly Vent some hot words, and have perhaps expressed Myself but as a simple man at best. Yet God forbid that I should ratify What you have said, or my integrity Prejudge i'th' least, no never while I die. What you have spoke, my friends, is all in vain, For I will still my innocence maintain. To my uprightness I do still adhere, 6. My righteousness I hold fast, and will hot let it go, my heart shall not reproach me so long as I live. Whatever to the contrair you aver: I'll not belly my Conscience for all That you have said, or can say, should you bawl Never so much, and bitterly exclaim Against your poor afflicted friend, and blame My fervent zeal to own my righteousness, As a mere humour, as a stubbornness, And positive opinion in the case. For while I breath, my heart shall ne'er upbraid My tongue with lying; as it had betrayed That heart, that upright, and ingenuous heart, That heart o'th' first mould, void of Craft, and Art; With any, ne'er so small acknowledgement Of what its altogether innocent. Most innocent, for I again protest, 7. Let mine enemy be as the wicked, and he that riseth up against me, as the unrighteous. I do not know that thought within my breast That for injustice can be quarrelled, For did I think that one were harboured Of that kind here, I'd quickly tear it out, And for that thought abhor myself to boot. No, no, my friends, I utterly detest The very thoughts of sin; nor, in the least Will I allow my heart to entertain Such guests as those, of which you do complain. For of all men, I truly do esteem Those Godless livers you so often name, (However in this world they daily th●●●e,) To be the most unhappy men alive. No greater judgements would I imprecate, On any, whom my very soul doth hate, Then that they live, and die in ●●ose men's state. I therefore do beseech you now, my friends, 8. For what is the hope of the hypocrite, though he hath gained, when God takes away his soul? In charity to alter here your minds, And not believe that I am on of those, Whom you call Hypocrites, th' Almighty knows I am not such; nor would you ere conclude That I were such, if you but understood The difference betwixt a Hypocrite And one that's pious, and in heart upright. For, but observe now, here's the difference, The Hypocrite, whilst in great affluence, Of worldly blessings he consumes his time, And his felicity is in its prime. Then he rejoices, is above all hope, 'Cause all his wishes have attained their scope: Then in God's goodness he is confident, Speaks piously, and passes for a Saint. Yet he will tell you— He'll tell you, when his Gold in heaps doth lie, That all these Riches are but vanity, Things of no moment, only stamped Dust, And therefore no wise man should put his trust, Or place his confidence at any rate, In such a mean return of humane sweat: That product of the toil of many years, That balance of so numerous cares, and fears, As all the profit, after just account, Those Riches do afford, do scarce amount To so much, as may countervail the loss, Which we sustain in purchasing such Dross. Whilst he himself doth place such confidence In this same Dross, that he concludes from thence His happiness, as Riches do increase, And how much Land, and Cash he doth possess, ‛ Has as much Faith exactly, and no more, And all his Hope he measures by his Store. For he himself in this so valueth, As he doth laugh at all the Powers of Death. Nor can the weekly Sermons he doth hear: To which he most attentive doth appear: Delivered with much zeal, and force of art, Find any passage into this man's heart. For, notwithstanding all that men can say, And all the Burials, which he every day Under his Windows sees, that plainly teach More Death, than all the art of man can preach. Yet this rich Worldling never can believe That oft repeated Fable of the Grave▪ But in his mind rejects, and privately Derides the Story of Mortality. For, while in health, he minds his business, And has no leisure for such thoughts▪ as these. But change the Scene a little, homewards bear The Plot, and let approaching Death appear: Let this bold Sinner be imprisoned Within the narrow compass of a Bed, Lay the poor Carrion on his back, and then He is the most disconsolate of men. His troubled Conscience nothing can appease, When now before his eyes that thing he sees, Of which he oft had heard, that ghastly thing, Of which before he made small reckoning: Appear at his Bedside with confidence, And peremptorily charge him to go hence. Then all Confusion, Horror, and Despair, He quites all hope, and only now doth fear: He fears, he fears, he trembles all apace, When he considers on his future case: Thinks all the Wealth▪ that he has purchased Is very Dross, and nothing now indeed Bus stamped Dust, whilst, when his Chests are full, Death his reluctant Soul begins to pull Out of his Body:— But on the contrair, one upright, and just Is full of hope, and in his God doth trust, When that sad hour arrives: in confidence Of future bliss, he for his journey hence, Prepares himself, with great alacrity, Welcomes his stroke, and smilinglie doth die. Or if perhaps in misery he fall, And by Heaven's Wrath he is bereft of all As I am now: his Spirits never drop, But firmly rooted in a solid hope, On God, as on his anchor he relies, And all the roaring Waves of Hell defies. Next do you think, that when this wretched man 9 Will God hear his cry; when trouble comes upon him? In trouble lies, let him say what he can, That God will hear him, let him sigh, and groan, Let him his bypast actions bemoan: Let him his sins so cunningly lament, As one would think him truly penitent: No, after all, such crying is in vain; For he from God no audience can obtain. For well God knows, he understands full well, Not love to him, but trouble doth compel This man to pray, and were he out of pain, He'd soon return to his old ways again: And therefore our Creator stops his ear To such a subtle, and time-serving prayer, But he that trusts in God, no sooner prays, Then God doth hear him, and his soul doth raise Out of the Quag mire of adversity, As soon as he to Heavens for help doth cry. Again, when this man into sickness falls, 10. Will he delight himself in the Almighty? will he always call upon God? Then, not while then, upon God's name he calls: Then sighs, and prays, because he feels some pain, And of his sins doth bitterly complain, But 'cause with pain, not with delight he prays, His new patched up Devotion soon decays; When Heavens afford no answer, but delays. For how d'ye think a man not formerly Accustomed to the works of piety, Who ne'er before upon God's name did call, Till now he's forced to do't for good, and all: Can, when in trouble, bring his earthly mind, That never to Devotion was inclined, In love with prayer, a thing it never knew, Before that time, whose name to it is new. Especially, when no return is made As he expects, but that he's still delayed; Whilst God his Supplication will not hear, Though every hour he's at expense of prayer. Why truly after he some time has spent, In proving of this new Experiment, Which men call prayer: and perceiving still His pains increase, let him pray what he will, He gives it over, and will pray no more, But even continues as he did before In worldly thoughts, and when approaching Death Begins to stop the passage of his Breath. Then he doth pass a vote of None-address Against Heavens▪ and falls to earthly business. Calls for his Books his Bonds, and Evidents, His Leases, and judicial Instruments; Makes Notes of 'em, and quickly sums up all, Both Land, and Money to a capital. Is anxious to settle his Affairs, That he may leave no trouble to his Heirs: Pays what he owes, will die in debt to nove, And clears accounts with all, but God alone. Which when h'has done, he thinks to find some rest, Or, after all, to die in peace, at least. But O! he's disappointed, for now all His friends, and kindred do about him craul, As Crows about a dying Beast, and claim Some portion of his substance, each of 'em They buzz about him, with such outward show Of kindness, and torment his spirit so With their expecting looks, as he can find No way to ease his now distracted mind, Until he satisfy them all, and then He thinks his spirit may be eased of pain. So makes his Will, and names some Legacy For each of 'em, then thinking he may die In peace, and ease, he bids them all begone, Since they have got their ask, but anon Physicians, Lawyers, Scriveners appear And each of them too do pretend a share In that rich Booty.— These for their labour during his Disease, Expecting more than ordinary Fees: These others for the pains, which they have ta'en In his Affairs pretend to no small gain: Hence wearied of his Life, and seeing now With Riches he can have no more to do, He signs, and seals whatever these advice And piece meals in a thousand Legacies, His once beloved Dross: then after all Is gone, he faintly doth for Preachers call: ‛ Tells them that he has given all away, And therefore thinks it now high time to pray. But scarce these good men do begin to speak, When the poor Worm becomes so faint and weak, As he is ready to expire, and then He has no time to hear those pious men: Only when thoy desire, out of his store, He may appoint some small thing for the Poor: He tells them all's now gone, gone has nothing left, No Means, no Cash, he's now of all bereft▪ Then in the view of all, with staring eyes, Sad grinnings, bitter words, and horrid cries, He sees his soul depart, and cursing dies. Thus lives, and dies the wretched Hypocrite, Who never in devotion took delight: But O the man, on whom our gracious God Has Grace bestowed, walks in another road. For he acquainted in Prosperity With daily Prayer at least, when Misery Doth seize upon him, never doth give o'er But still the more it doth increase, the more He prays, and take delight at all occasions, To rouse his Soul with pious contemplations. 'Tis true indeed, in excess of his pain, A piousman may possibly complain Th' Almighty doth not hear him, when he prays, And slights his cries, but O! what then he says, Is but the Language of his fearful sense, For in his heart, he still with confidence Believes that God doth hear him, when he cries, And in the midst of all his miseries, Persuades himself that God will after all Those flying Parties of his wrath recall, And yet restore him to his former state, And free him from his troubles, soon, or late. Hence then, my friends, I'd have you understand, 11. I will teach you by the hand of God, that which is with ●he Almighty I will not conceal. (That I may now apply to th' case in hand What I have spoke) I am no Hypocrite, But one indeed, who truly takes delight In Prayer, and what ere my sorrows be, Yet still have hopes, as you may plainly see, In all my carriage, since you hither came, However you're unkindly pleased to blame My reasonable, though I must confess, Too oft complain in my sad distress. But now, since you allow me time to speak, I'll teach you, as my God shall me direct, What is the truth, and wherein you have erred, Whilst in your arguing you have still preferred Your own opinions, to what all of you Cannot but know is evidently true. I'll tell you nothing, but what you have seen 12. Behold, all yourselves have seen it, why then are you thus altogether vain? With your own eyes, although you do maintain Opinions flatly opposite, I'll show No more but what observing men do know. I'll tell you of the various dispensations Of the Almighty upon all occasions, Which of his power are no small demonstrations. For sure God's actings are must wonderful In all our eyes, and there is none so dull, But may perceive his providence is such, As all of us cannot admire too much. His government o'th' world is so sublime, As those poor souls, who know no more of him, Then by effects, and do not understand, As we do, how his high and mighty hand All things below doth solely regulate, Yet do admire him, by the name of Fate. Since then, my friends, as I do understand 13. This is the portion of a wicked man with God, and the heritage of oppressors, which they shall receive from the Almighty. That all along the Question in hand Has been amongst us, whether God doth prove Infallibly his anger, and his love By blows, and blessings: which, though formerly We've agitate to the extremity Of reasoning: yet that you all may see, How in the Question we may soon agree, If passion, and private interest, For your own wit did not possess your breast; I'll show you (to give your discourse its due) What you have spoke, is in some cases true, For all this while I never did deny, But that our God his wrath doth testify Against bad men, by judgements visible, And that sometimes they are infallible, And open signs of his displeasure, when He has a mind to plague the worst of men With sad afflictions.— Yet I acknowledge in his providence, Oft-times indeed he makes a difference Betwixt the just, and unjust man, and shows, By the one's blessings, and he others woes, Whom he doth love, and whom he truly hates, By demonstrations in their different states. The portion of the wicked, I confess, Is in my apprehension, nothing less, Than what their foul and loud-tongued sins do merit, And all bad livers justly should inherit. For, let's observe now, though God for a while 14. If his children be multiplied▪ it is for the sword▪ and his offspring shall not be satissiest with bread, Upon the wicked man doth seem to smile; And all the blessings, which his very heart Can wish, he freely to him doth impart. Though he permits his Race to multiply, In figure of a numerous Family, Yet they by Sword, and Famine all shall die. Nay such of 'em as shall escape both these, 15. Those that remain of him shall be buried in death, and and his widows shall not weep. Shall in great want, and misery end their days, In some dark corner they shall meet with death, Who privately shall rob them of their breath; And than their Corpse exposed to public view, To see if any own them, but by few Known, or regarded, without Pomp and State, At length by warrant from the Magistrate, In public Bear, to th' grave are carried By Pioners, and simply buried, Without all Ceremonious Obsequies, Or sumptuous noise of Mercenary cries: Nay, their own Widows shall so much abhor Their loathsome Corpse, that they shall not deplore Their Husband's Funerals, or Mourning wear At such a sad occasion, but appear Well satisfied that such bad men are gone, And shall not think it lawful to bemoan The Fate of such vile wretches, who deserved No milder death, then to be stobbed, or starved. Now, as we see, he's punished in his race, 16. Though he heap up silver as the dust, and prepare raiment as the clay. Even so he shall be in no better case As to his means, for let him silver heap, Like very dust, let him in Prison keep Whole Tuns of Gold: and in his Wardrobe lay Rich changes of apparel every day: By which vain signs, he may his wealth express, And fancy to himself some happiness, In these enjoyments, whilst he seems to fear No prospect of a revolution here. Why let him do so, let him purchase Lands, 17. He may prepare it, but the just shall put it on, and the innocent shall divide the silver. Draw all the Country's Cash into his hands, Build stately Houses, furnish them with all What Merchants can import, and proudly call His Summer-dwelling this, his Winter that, These Rooms for Service, these for Pomp and State; And for his pleasure, and convenience. Enclose whole Manors within Wall, and Fence, Raze Office-houses, Chapels, Villages, Hue down great Rocks, cut Woods, drain Marshes, And all the Hands, Horse, Carts o'th' Country use, For beautifying of his Avenues. Let him in rich, and costly Garb appear, And flatter every season of the year, With changes of apparel: let him do What ever he thinks fit: let him allow All kinds of pleasure to himself, and play In idle fancies all his time away. Yet of all these things he has but the trust, He's only a provisor for the just, For when God thinks it time. By just decree, he'll reassume that all, Which this poor man his properly doth call: And let it fall to those, by pure donation, From whom this man, by cunning, and oppression, Had wrested all this opulent Estate, And in his person fully terminate The expectation of his memory, Whilst his unpitied, starving Family, Shall on the Streets, and Highways beg their bread, Or else in Prison, on the Basket feed. For as that silly Insect, called a Moth, 18. He buildeth his house as a moth, and as a booth that the keeper maketh. Takes up its Lodging in the finest Cloth, With a full resolution there to dwell, But the poor Worm is hardly settled well In its new quarter, when the cleansing Brush Doth sweep it out, and all its Projects crush. Or, if it scape the Brush, and longer there 'Tis suffered to remain: why, all its care Is to secure its house: yet every day It wastes some part of its own house away. For gnawing through the cloth in every fold, It eats itself both out of house, and hold. Or, as we see, how Pedlars do at Fairs, Set up their Booths, where they expose their Wares For a few days, and when the time is gone Allowed for Sale, they quickly take them down. Even so this vain possessing-fool, who dreams On nothing, but uninterrupted streams Of pleasures here on Earth, perpetually Drunk with the notion of a memory, Which he with care endeavours to erect In Lands, and Houses, whilst he doth expect No stop to his design: Deaths cleansing Brush Sweeps him away, not valuing a rush His long possession: or, if at the best, He lives yet longer, why he doth but waste What he enjoys, and eats out all at last, For when his Merchant-time on Earth is gone, His Pedling-booth shall soon be taken down. And, as we see, when one lies down to sleep, 19 The rich man shall lie down, but he shall not be gathered he opens his eyes, & he is not. Whilst slumber on his eyes doth gently creep, How, on a sudden, from the spongious brain Thin pituite, upon his Lungs doth rain, With such impetuous force, as, ere his eyes Are fully opened, in this sad surprise, Chocked with increasing Phlegm, he quickly dies. So a rich fool, when he himself doth please With his enjoyments, lives at his own ease. And amongst his Coffers, in his Closet sits, With head on arm, a racking of his wits, By what sure methods, he may regulat The several intrigues of his vast Estate: And in his anxious mind doth seem to doubt, With many a groan, whether he shall give out That useless Coin which in his Trunks doth lie, On Lands, or on some firm Security When the poor soul of nothing less doth dream, Death seizes on him, like a sudden ●lame, Amongst Flax, or Hemp, and in a moment's space, Doth all his projects utterly deface. For though our God permits this fool to live Even as he pleases, and doth freely give All that he can demand, yet after all, When this rich Mole, he to account doth call How he has lived, how he his time hath used, How he that wealth has shamefully abused, Which God did give him: how he has employed Those peaceful years, which he so long enjoyed. How he has used those Parts, and Qualities, With which he was endued, whilst all men's eyes Were fixed upon him, and from so much wit Expected some fine things, yet he thought fit To make no use of such, but like a Clown, To waste his time, in scrambling up, and down, Amongst his Tenants, scraping all together Against next Term, and never did consider How Death approached, who'd squander in a trice, All he had heaped up by his avarice. How he was now become the very jest, And scandal of his age: and was at best, For all his riches, all his toil, and care, Esteemed but a penurious Usurer. When then, I say, this man's examined, And all his silly actions canvassed: God doth not punish him by halfs, or show Some signs of wrath, ere he inflict a blow: No, at one single thrust, he doth him maul, And pays him home severely once for all. For whilst before, he lived in wealth▪ and ease, Enjoying of himself, like Mouse in Cheese, The blow from Heavens is given, and anon, ere he knows whence it comes, the man is gone. What shall I say then? how shall I express 20. Terrors take hold of him like waters, a tempest stealeth him away in the night. The violence, the force, the suddenness Of this man's fall? why? even as Rivers swelled With rains▪ will be no more by Banks withheld, But in the silence of the night, when all Are fast asleep, break down their Dikes, and fall On Neighbouring Villages, and suddenly Transport some thousands to Eternity, Before they can awake, by force of streams, Without once interrupting of their dreams, But in a rapid torrent bear away All to the Ocean, ere it is yet day. Or as the East-wind from the Persian Shore 21. The east wind carrieth him away, & he departeth, and, as a storm, hurleth him out of his place. Upon our Coasts doth suddenly flee o'er, And with such fury doth our fields invade, As Trees, and Houses, on the ground are laid, I'th'▪ twinkling of an eye, and men are tossed On Land, as if at Sea, and many lost In most impetuous storms, of blowing-sand, Which Eastern-winds do raise within this land. So sudden shall this rich-man's down-fall be, Thunderstruck from above, ere he can see The hand that gives the blow: he's hurried With fury hence, and quickly buried In his own ruins, whilst no man can tell How, or by what means, this tall Cedar fell. For, O, the blow, the blow from God alone, 22. For God shall cast upon him, and not spare, he would fain flee out of his hand. From his high hand, resistible by none, Truly proceeds: from his Almighty hand, Which holds the Tr●ncheon of supreme command, O'er all created things: from that alone Judgements, as stones out of a sling, are thrown Upon this sinning man; sorrows in heaps Are cast upon him, whilst th' Almighty keeps Himself at distance from him: and denys To hear his Prayer, when he sadly cries. No, God in Wrath shall so pursue this man, As let him run, let him do what he can T'escape his blow, yet all shall be in vain, For he by judgements shall be overta'en, Where e'er he goes: let him run any where, And in great horror ramble here, and there, On Sea, on Land, and often change his Clime, Yet still his judgement doth attend his Crime. God's heavy wrath pursues him constantly, And finds him out, where ever he doth fly. For still the more, he thinks to fly, the more, His wrath pursues him, and doth ne'er give o'er, Until it lay this Rebel in the Dust, And beat him all to pieces.— For none, but such as he, who does not know The good, and just inflicter of his blow, Who with Heaven's King is wholly unacquaint, Will strive to fly, at such an exigent, From his all-reaching-hand: but rather lie Flat on their face, when him in wrath they spy; And by degrees endeavour still to creep Nigh to his Footstool; for he doth not keep His wrath against such, as in adversity Do thither run, as to a Sanctuary, But plagues those only, who from him doth fly. Hence all good men, when they perceive the Rod, Endeavour quickly to draw nigh to God, Knowing 'tis only as a warning sent, That they his further anger may prevent, By application, to the Throne of Grace, To which the humble freely may address, At all times, and occasions, and so, By fervent prayer, they escape the blow. And when the day shall come, that God thinks fit, 23. Men shall clap their hands at him, and shall hiss him out of his place. Against this great man to issue out his writ: When he intends this Giant to destroy, His neighbours all around shall shout for joy: And at his down-fall openly proclaim, How much they did abhor his hateful name, Whose sins did so far antedate his shame. Cap. XXVIII. THus than you see, how friendly I allow 1. Surely there is a vein for the silver, and a place for the gold, where they fine it. What you assert, but I must tell you now, That after all, 'tis my opinion still, (Reason to th' contrair, as much as you will) That though th' Almighty on the wicked sends Those ills, I have related, yet, my friends, We must not thence conclude at any rate, That in his actings God is limitat, To punish only such as plagues do merit, For I do hold that as he is a Spirit, Infinite, and incomprehensible, So all his actings are unsearchable. And therefore, of a truth, I see not well, How we can longer on this subject dwell, And dive into the knowledge of such things, As far exceed all humane reasonings: Or strive to comprehend, without offence, The various windings of his Providence. 'Tis true, the wit of man, may safely pry In things on Earth, and with security, Unriddle all the mystic passages, Which in the Book of Nature, do express His Power, and Glory, and which he thought fit T' abscond, that he might try his Creatures wit, In finding of them out, 'tis true indeed, A man with satisfaction may read The works of God: as by his mighty hand, Has writ them in the Caverns of the Land, And bottom of the Seas: yea, we suppose, One may all Nature's Cabinet unclose, By force of art: and happily find out Each private shuttle, whilst he looks about For things concealed, nay, there he safely may By his own art, discover every day The greatness of his God: especially When in Earth's bowels, with an Artists eye In search of Mines, and Minerals he doth pry. Yes, in all these, 'tis lawful for a man To try his wit, and labour what he can To trace those By-roads of obscurity, Which lead to th' Caverns, where Earth's Treasures lie. For our great God not only doth allow Such curious search, but assists him too In his endeavours, so as he doth find, Besides great wealth, a mean t'enrich his mind, By knowledge of those Mines, which certainly, Fully compenses all his industry. Whilsed he admires to see in every Mine, How much the glory of his God doth shine, And, as he works, discovers more, and more, His worth, and sees his power in every Ore. For who'd not take delight to understand, How in Earth's womb that high and mighty hand Which all things framed, has framed those Metals too, About which Artists keep so much ado. Whilst some do think that in the first Creation, All Stones, and Metals, in the very fashion, As now we see them, did exist complete, Against which opinion, others do debate, That they're not of Original Creation, But are produced by daily Generation, 'Twixt sulphur, as they think, and Mercury, Which in Earth's hidden Veins do scattered lie: Of which, that Male, and this, they Female call, From whose congression, every Mineral They say doth spring, and to conceal the same, That soe●id spirit, this dry-water name. Yet, though from this Congression they hold All other Metals flow, they say that Gold, As a most perfect, pure, and solid Creature, Without all mixtion, is produced by Nature. Others again, who make it their profession, To know such things, say from the same congression, Gold doth proceed: for if the mixture be In just proportions, and they both agree In quantity, then by a temperate, And soft Decoction, with a moderate heat, I' th' bowels of clean earth, and there condensed With Moisture Radical, earth washed and cleansed From all corruption, they at length become A fusile thing, and this is held by some To be pure Gold; next when that mixture fails, And Sulphur over Mercury prevails, Then Silver is produced, which they esteem As base, and Gold's younger Brother name. Then, when the substance of these is impure, And they're not mixed with aequilibrature, Nor in earth's bowels duly tempered, They do become Tinn, Iron, Copper, Led. Against this too, there's others do debate, And say all Minerals are procreate From th'mixture of thin Earth, with whitest Water, Which they affirm to be the only matter Whence Metals do proceed, and that 'tis so, They prove, 'cause Metals do like Water flow, By strength of Fire: from whence they do assert, As all things are reduced, by Rules of Art, To their first Principles, so when we see Those Metals flow, their Matter sure must be Some liquid thing: for so they say 'tis plain, When they by cold are soon condensed again As waters are. Others again assert, And labour to make out, by Rules of Art, That out of Earth, and Water mixed, adust, And in Earth's Oven, baked into a Crust: Springs Vitriol, which doth all Metals breed, From which, as their first Matter, they proceed. Because all Metals, when dissolved, appear Like Vitriol: besides they say, 'tis clear, That Oil from Vitriol Sublimat is drawn, By which all Metals are reduced again To their first Matter. Others there be yet; Who on this Subject eagerly debate, That from earth's entrails a dry breath ascends, Which mixed with watery vapours upward tends, And, as it meets with earth accommodate, And by its matter become Sublimate, Condensed by cold, this, or that Metal flows, And it Gold, Silver, Led, Iron, Copper grows. And last of all, there's others that debate That Metals are all truly procreate 'Twixt th'elements, which do give both to all, And those we name Bodies Celestial. But whatsoever be their generation, Sure 'tis a matter worth our admiration, To think Earth's bowels doth such things prepare As frets us all to know what things they are. Mystical creatures whose origination In vain we search; and trace their procreation, But by uncertain rules; for after all We must acknowledge every Mineral Is framed by th' hand of God; and seriously, After all Arts, profound subtlety, What we suppose, their birth must be confess't Are but sublime conjectures at the best. Then to proceed to th' several species, Of that so vagrant subterraneous race: First let's observe what we in Silver see, Which from Earths-center, branches like a Tree, And its small roots so cunningly doth spread, Some here, some there, on purpose scattered, As though it feared to be discovered, By th' Art of Miners, yet the Art of man Finds out this Mineral do what it can To hide itself in Nature's most recluse, And private Cells; and for a public use Brings it above Ground, where the silly Ore, Which in Earth's bowels signified no more Than its own Sparr: and in no more esteem Than Led, or Copper, soon procures a name. After its washen, sifted, melted, cast In massy Ingots, stamped, and coined at last, Above its fellow Minerals, and doth hold In men's esteem the second place to Gold. To Gold, why there too is a boasting Ore, Though in its Veins it signifies no more Than other Metals, yellow Earth at best, Mere coloured Dust, but once brought to the Test, 'Tis no more dust, 'tis no more simple Ore, No more a heap of Sand, as't was before: But now a most illustrious name it bears, Beyond all Metals, and indeed appears To be the World's Idol. This, O this, Metal! this dear Mineral! This Earth's Elixir! this fair all in all! This Princely Dust! what figures doth it make Amongst poor Mortals! how oft doth it break The bonds of Conscience, and Morality, Th' interest of Blood, and common Honesty; Makes Wars and Tumults amongst the race of men, And quickly reconciles them all again. Ties, and untyes, kills, wounds; and heals apace, Leads men in favour, brings them in disgrace: Sets up with this hand, and with that pulls down, What 'ere it lists, from th' Budget to the Crown, This is the Standart, which doth regulate The actions of men; and sets a Rate, On every Head, this puts a Valuation On every Kingdom, State, and Corporation. In short, this Gold makes such a mighty sound, And keeps such Domineering, above ground, As it gives Laws to all the World around. For Gold, for Gold, alace all's bart'red now For that proud Metal; and with much ado; A few poor souls, who generously soar Above the scent of that infecting o'er Escape, which, were they catched, would soon be sold, Amongst so many thousands too for Gold. Yet that I may give this same Gold its due, As't has its Vices, so its Virtues too Are Eminent, which Artists do relate, Who of the state of Minerals do treat. 'Tis proved by these, then in their Operations, (Which surely are the best of Demonstrations) That gold is such a Metal, as the fire, (In which all other Minerals expire, At least much of their Weight and Substance lose In every trial) though from Bellows nose, Supplied with constant aid; yet after all Can not subdue this solid Mineral; Or make it quit the very smallest grain, Of Weight, which in its Ore it did contain. Next as a mark of its true purity, We see it has this singular quality, Above all other Metals: that it never Leaves any Tincture on the hand, however It frequently be handled: then again Sharp Juices, which all other Metals slain, And by degrees corrodes: if Gold do lie In such, it nothing of its quantity Doth lose: nay, to the brim a Vessel fill With Water, than but sink it in with skill, A lump of Gold, yet th'water shall not spill, Or in the least run over, by which sign Artists find out, what Gold is purely fine. For if but allayed with the smallest Grain Of other Metals, 't will, run o'er. Again This Gold, though pure, and soft, yet 'tis not frail, Nor can the Hammer in the least prevail To break this Metal: as 't would do a Stone, In little pieces, no, for 't is well known, By strength of hand, upon the Anvil beat, In such thin Leaves it doth itself dilate, As out of one Grain fifty Leaves, or more Have been beat out by th'hammer: whence we know Of what pure Matter Gold consists. Again This Metal seems for ever to remain In its perfection, for when eating Rust Reduces other Minerals to Dust, By length of wasting-time, on upright Gold, What eats all other Metals, takes no hold: On Gold: no Rust, no Verdi greese appears, Though buried under ground a thousand years: But after all, its Weight, and Quantity, Pure Substance, solid Grain, and Quality Will be the same, as when at first prepared By Artists hand. Then if we do regard Its usefulness for Humane Life, no Mine Produces such a Cordial Medicine, As is this Gold: for being cold and dry, It guards the heart by its Frigidity, From all infecting Exhalations, hence Princes not only for Magnificence, But out of Cups of Gold for Health do drink, As out of Wholes me Metal, for some think Gold for its dryness powerfully resists All Putrid Humours.— Then for Splenetic Vapours, Plates of Gold Made often hot i'th'fire, as often cooled In Earthen Vessels, full of purest Wine Drunk up by such, whom that Disease doth pine, Doth quickly cure 'em: nay this Liquor too, As most of our Physicians avow, And some inform us by Experience, Is a firm Antidote against Pestilence, And these intected Cures. But what needs more, 'Twould take up too much time to reckon o'er Its numerous qualities: now let us see What other Minerals in Earth's Closet be, Why there is Iron, a Mineral that's found 2. Iron is taken out of the earth, and brass is molten out of the stone. Not much below the Superfice o'th' ground, By th' art of man, a rugged heavy stone, Appearing of no value, but anon Brought to the Mill, and Furnace, smelted, cast In Bars: to th' fire, and Anvil brought at last, Becomes so firm a Metal, so entire, And solid, as a man cannot desire A thing more useful: for if he intent In sweet Agriculture, his life to spend, Without this Metal he can nothing do, He cannot cut down Woods, he cannot plough, He cannot make the Earth that Grain afford, Which feeds the stock of Mankind: in a word, He who intends this honest life to lead, Must by his Iron win his daily bread. Or if in War he rather takes delight, And hating Peace he doth incline to fight: Why without this bold Metal, in his hand, Had as good stay at home, and plough the Land, As go th' Camp: but with that furnished, He soon gains reputation by the Blade. Or if on th' other hand his inclination Makes him in love, with Trade, and Navigation, Without this Metal, he's a fool that dares To the uncertain Ocean trust his Wares. By this the Board's are fixed, which do compose Th' adventuring thing, in which to Sea he goes, By this, when Wind-swoln waves do proudly roar, On every side, and threaten to devour The trembling Oak, in which this man doth steer, Even ready to expire for very fear, When, in good earnest he doth now perceive Th' insulting Billows offer him a Grave: And views the Scaly Champions of the Seas, Who wait on such occasions as these, (As Birds of prey for Carrions at Land) Assemble in great Troops on every hand, To feed upon his flesh: by this I say He doth procure a merciful delay From gracious Providence. On this to Hauser tied and then let drop To the Seas bottom, under God, his hope Alone depends; on this nailed to the Ground He safely rides, while Death doth him surround, And Clouds of terror on all hands environ, He owes his life to this small piece of Iron, Which holds all sure: and when the Storm is gone? With joy he weighs this useful thing anon; Ties it to his Ships-bow; then on his knees, When he perceives a calmness in the Seas, Thanks God for his delivery, and then Hoises his Sails, and so to Sea again Upon his lawful Trade. Then if for Handy-crafis he do incline, Without this Metal, he who doth design A Manufacture; labours but in vain; For, without Iron, he never can obtain What he intends; but by it easily Can all the World with useful things supply! Nay further, if perhaps a man inclines To become rich by Minerals and Mines, And th' other Oars, in Earth's dark Kennesl trace, 'Tis only Iron must do his business: The Pick-ax, and the Shovel, without doubt, Are th' only tools can find that treasure out. In fine this Metal, this same rugged stone; Doth for so many uses serve, that none O'th' other Metals can with it compare, And were this vulgar Mineral as rare As Gold, and Silver, since so many call For it to humane use; it would them all Exceed in value, and be quickly able T' attain the title of inestimable. The wit of man doth find out Copper too By Art, and Labour, and with much ado, Brings it to ' th' Furnace, where it smelts it down By a strong well fomented fire, and soon Casts it in Plates; by Artists hand, anon This Ore mixed with th' Calaminary Stone, And smelted down together in a Mass, Becomes that compound Metal we call Brass. An useful Metal, durable and fair, And save with Gold, and Silver may compare With all the other Oars, which in its Veins Scaturient here and there the earth contains. Now in all these a man may lawfully 3. He setteth an end to darkness, and searcheth out all perfection, the stones of darkness, and the shadow of death. Improve his art, and by his Industry Unrip Earth's Womb, and openly reveal What Nature in the dark would fain conceal. Yes by this art, and labour every day To his dear Ore he may cut out his way, Through horrid darkness, which by Candle light He clears, and lays all open to the sight, What prudent nature from earth's serous part Had separate, and without help of Art, Attracted to its Meseraick Veins, And scattered here and there in lobs and grains; But yet so cunningly, that after all What man on earth can pain and labour call, 'Tis so concealed, for all his art, no doubt, He has enough ado to find it out. Their humane art, and wicked lahour too, Finds out those Stones, to which we do allow No small esteem; nay in that value hold, As some are hardly to be bought for Gold. In search of these then, and his darling Oars, He ventures forward, and the earth so boreas On every side, where he perceives the Vein But half-inch-thick, as with much toil and pain, He digs around it, as much scantling waste, As may afford him lodging on his breast, Upon which creeping, with his Tools and Sticks The Ore out of its Veins in Grains he picks, Which put in little Bags, th'one to his Breast, Across, the other to his Back tied fast, At least now forty fathoms under ground, Whilst horrid damps his Senses so confound, As he is almost stifled: yet at last He climbs above ground: thinks all danger past When he perceives the Sun so brightly shine, To which he was a stranger in the Mine. Yet many who below ground dig for Ore, Choked with bad vapours, see that light no more. Nor meet they only with Malignant Air, 4. The flood breaketh out from the inhabitants, even the waters forgotten of the foot, they are dried up, they are gone away from men. Who to these Mineral-regions repair: But also whilst they labour under ground, By Waters which from hidden Springs arround Rush in upon the Mines, they're almost drowned. Yet doth the wit of man, with much ado, At length o'ercome this great obstruction too, By carrying on of levels, in which all The Neighbouring Springs, as in a Cistern fall, And in that Trough are secretly conveyed, And emptied at some petty River's side; Whose twinkling Streams do trindle in a Line, Parallel with the Basis of the Mine. Or if this Mine they work in, deeper lies, Than any part o'th' Neighbouring Superfice, Then, in this Canal, safely carried To the Shafts bottom, they're delivered, In numerous Buckets, which do there attend, And are let down in hundreds for that end: And by these brought aloft, are emptied In the next Ditch; and thence securely spread Amongst the Neighbouring Fields. Or if they do not by these Levels drain, And fit for work this profitable Vein; Then by the strength of Pumps, they suck up all Those Waters which infest the Mineral, And render it so easy by degrees, As they dig out their precious Ore, with ease: Nor are they only with infecting Air, 5. As for the earth out of it cometh bread, and under it is turned up as it were fire. And Waters, sorely vexed who labour there; But with Fire too: for though earth's Superfice Affords us Bread at a convenient price, Of wholesome labour, and contentedly Returns the product of our industry: As willing to be Ploughed and Furrowed, Yet if in labour further we proceed, And with presuming tools, dare undertake T' unrip her Belly, and with pleasure rake Her very Bowels, to find out those Oars, There kept by Nature in concealed Stores. Then she grows angry, than she convocats All aid she can, from her Confederates, Bad Air, foul Water, and consuming Fire, Which with her every minute do conspire, T' undo the Miners hope. For sometimes, when she meets with Sulphur Veins, (Which alloy almost every Mine contains) Some Sparks, that from their Lamps, or Candles fall, Kindle that combustible Mineral, Which flaming quickly, with a noisome smoke, Doth often times the half-breathed Miner choke: But in a trice by Humane Industry, This flame is quenched, and Miners by and by Do freely dig, and follow out the Vein, How e'er their angry Mother Earth complain. Their Mother Earth, who angry to the heart, 6. The stones thereof are the place of Saphires, and it hath dust of gold. To see herself Piece-mealed, by Miners Art Doth spare no labour, but endeavours still T' obstruct their works, (let them dig as they will) For when she sees that neither Water, Fire, Nor Air can stop their covetous desire, With Stones and Dust she stops the passages, And all the Avenues embarrasses, Which to the so much long '▪ for Vein do lead; Yet in his journey he doth still proceed. He breaks those Stones, and pounds them, sifts their dust, In which to find some Saphires he doth trust. Because such Stones are usually found Wrapped up amongst such baggage, under ground; Or else to find there, some small scattered Grains Of extravasat God, which it contains Most usually, and of all his pains, May pay the uncost. So then after all, The art of man doth pierce this stony wall; Beats down those rattling Barricades of dust, And by main force himself doth further thrust, Into Earth's Inner-works, advances still, Let the enraged thing do what it will, T'obstruct his passage:) yet he still makes way, Until at length her hoard becomes his prey. A way indeed he makes unknown to all, 7. There is a path which no fowl knoweth, neither hath the Praetors eye seen. Save those alone who hunt for Mineral. No Birds of prey, whose sharp and piercing eyes, Discover every private hole, where lies The lesser timorous Bird, and lurks for fear Of those voracious Tyrants of the Air, Do know this way.— Nay, even the Vulture, who hath sharpest eyes, Of any ravenous murderer that flies, And for his prey doth ramble high, and low, Through every way, yet this way cannot know. To th' Lion too, who for his prey doth range, 8. The lion's whelps have not trodden it, nor the fierce lion passed by it. Both far, and near, the Miners way is strange; For in that way such various windings are, As no By-roads above ground can compare, With its Maeanders, nor can we conceive, How squib-like here, and there, the digging slave Doth squirt himself into each hidden poor, To find the seat of this same lurking Ore: Were but the Lion entered in this way And there let lose a hunting of his prey, For all his wit, he'd surely go astray. Yet the same way is so exactly known, To him who digs for Minerals alone; 9 He putteth forth his hand upon the rock, he overturneth the mountains by the roots. As they know all the turns, and windings there, As well as these, who walks i'th' open Air, Know all the high ways, on which men repair. Nor will he quite this way, but still go on, For all that either Water, fire, or Stone, Bad Air, or Dust can do: nay, further when He meets with Rocks, he spairs no toil, or pain, But through their hearts, with Pickax cuts his way, Though in the space of a long Summer's day, Scarce can he so much pick out of the Rocks, After a many sad, and ponderous strokes, As but one little Hamper can contain, Nor in his way to his beloved vein, Can he advance but one poor foot of ground, But is with Time obliged to compound, For half a foot per diem; yet at length He breaks this Rampart too, by art, and strength. Then when the Earth perceives that nothing can 10. He cuteth out rivers among the rocks, and his eye seeth every precious thing. Withstand the restless endeavours of man. That all her Fireworks, Water-works, and Air, Stones, Rocks, and Flints, which posted every where, Guard all the Passes, by which searching men Can to her hidden Magazines attain; Do serve for nothing, but that, maugre all, She can do, he will have this Mineral: She convocats at last her Arrierban, Of evil Spirits, to confound this man: These of a little bulk, but humane shape Appear i'th' Vein, and sometimes seem to ape The Miners labour, and indeed affright The stoutest of those Diggers, with their sight, At the first View, but seeing here, and there, Those scattered Daemons only sent to scar His labour, he's at length familiar With those poor harmless Devils, and nothing dreads Those flying parties, but for all proceeds, Upon his work, as if he did despise The Earth, with this her last, and stale device. For now he's Lord of his long looked for Vein, And his possession firmly will maintain, Against all her strength, and art, he's settled now In that fair Province, which with much ado, And vast expense, has fairly purchased, By length of time.— And now the conquered, when she doth perceive, All's lost, to save her life, becomes his slave: At his command, she opens every where Most patiently, and doth her Veins prepare For th' Minors Lance, where e'er he means to strike, Tamed by his Art, and of resistance sick. Thus master of his wish, he first cuts out The slender canals, through the Rocks about The Mine, where he doth work, which may convey The subterraneous waters quite away; Which else would spoil his labour, and in these, Sometimes his Oars too, he doth wash with ease, Whilst all Earth's Treasure, every hour he sees. That done, and free from Water, he goes on, 11. He bindeth the floods from overflowing, and the thing that is hid, he bringeth forth to light. And from the Chinks of every Rock, and Stone, Which seems to arch the Mine, with Iron Pinch, He scrambles out his Ore. Or if upon the sides of Rocks, the Veins Of Metals lie, with Hammer he takes pains To beat it off, at last if none of these Can bring it out, he doth his business, By strength of Fire, and so by heat unlocks These Treasures which lie hid in cliffs of Rocks. At length when he has found this precious Ore, Before he doth proceed to work it more, He of its finesse, and its purity, Makes trial in a little quantity, When by excoction, finding it doth hold With the true Standart, whether th' Ore be Gold, Or it be Silver, Copper, Tinn, or Led, Then in his work, with joy he doth proceed. First his rude Ore, as drawn out of the Vein, Before the name of Metal it obtain, He in a close, and solid Mortar throws, Which (quickly broken, by redoubled blows, From Iron Pestles, which by Water-mills Made turn by Canals from the Neighbouring Hills, Are moved, to serve the purpose,) he takes out, Then in some Pool, that's digged out there about, For that same end, he carefully doth washed, Sifts it when dry, than pounds it, and at last, He putteth this Earth, now become fusible, Within the belly of a Crucible, Which in the Furnace, almost vitrified, Appears excandent upon every side, Where quickly it dissolves, and Liquifyes, Then in large Iron Spoons;— He takes his Metal out, and in a Mould, He pours it, than his silver and his Gold In little Barrs, and Ingots, soon are cast, In Plates his Copper, Led in Pigs at last, All weighed, and stamped, entered, and registrate, In Books, by these he reckons his Estate. Then next, because he doth perceive one Vein, Two different Metals often do contain: (For naturally with all Silver o'er, And Copper, Grains of Gold, some less, some more, Are always mixed, with Silver too some Lead, And Iron with Copper i'th' same Vein do breed: In Lead, and Iron, some Silver too is found, As from the Veins he draws them under ground) He quickly finds a way to separate, The mixed Metals, at an easy rate. By Aqua Fortis Gold from Silver Ore. To which i'th' Vein, 'twas married before, Is soon divorced; and other Metals are By Alum and Nitre, separate with care- But lastly, when he has all separate, One would suppose he'd Nature imitat, When mixing all those Metals once again, Some in the same proportion with the Vein, Others in such proportions, great and small, As for his ends are fit, which he doth call Temperatures out of these mixtures too, (He's so acquainted with all Metals now) He frames new Metals: as when by his art, To four of Gold, of silver a fifth part He adds, he quickly a new Metal frames, Out of that Mass, which he Electrum names: With many others, such as those we call Bell-mettal, Soldure, Pot-mettal, and all, That are not Metals i'th' Original. But what needs more, I think by what I've said, Any impartial man I may persuade, That God is great above what we can reach By art, which even those Minerals do teach, Suppose all th' Works of his Omnipotence, Could not afford another evidence Of his great Worth, and Glory: Yet man may bring those hidden things to light, Though one should think they to perpetual night Were by his Divine Ordinance confined, Yet he may bring them out, and please his mind, As with the Search, before they can be found, So with the enjoyment of 'em above ground. But, O, should man employ his wit, and art 12. But where shall wisdom be found, & where is the place of understanding? In searching after things, which for his heart He cannot find; as if he'd run the Scent, And trace the steps of Heaven's Government, Or study to find out the reason why, This, or that good man, lives in misery, Whilst sinners revel in prosperity. Should he attempt by the same rules to know The things above, as he doth these below, Should he his Reason couple with his Sense, And go a hunting after Providence, And proudly think, when he has found it out, From it he'll have intelligence no doubt, Of all God's Cabin-thoughts, and thence may know, The reasons of his actings here below. Should he thus use his wit, thus entertain His mind, thus foolishly torment his brain, In studying to find out his policy, By which this universal Monarchy Is governed, by which all God's actings are Amongst us, mortals, brought upon the square. Why, this same study were not only vain, Foolish, presumptuous, full of useless pain, But shrewdly sinful, and unlawful too, For such high knowledge, God will not allow To mortal race.— Nor will he let them know at any rate, What is not fit, should be communicate To humane wit, because he wisely knows, If we did know such hidden things, as those, And what to each man were predestinate, (Which must be sent upon him soon, or late) 'T would certainly cause so much pride, and fear, As what betwixt presumption, and despair, The world would split in two, and men should know Too much to damn them all, if things were so. To th'case, my friends, then why should you debate On things above your reach! why should you state The Question in the works of Providence, To which, we cannot sure, without offence, Prescribe those Rules, by which our actings here Are ruied, from whence it plainly doth appear There is a Wisdom, which we cannot reach, A Divine Knowledge, which no Art can teach, A Wisdom to our God peculiar, With which no Earthly Wisdom can compare. A knowledge which to know our fond desire On no account should foolishly aspire. Then O where is this wisdom to be found, This heavenly knowledge, which doth quite confound, And with one simple dash oblit'rat all That which we vainly understanding call. Where is it pray! whence is it to be had! On what Coast do we for this wisdom Trade! This wisdom! O this wisdom! this divine And Godlike knowledge! from what secret Mine Is it extracted! in what hidden Poor, In heavens or Earth, doth this Seraphic o'er Branch out its Veins! this wisdom mystical! This Art of Arts! this supernatural And un-born knowledge! whither shall we run To find this wisdom! shall we with the Sun Take Journey, and view all the World about with searching eye, to find this wisdom out! Or shall we, on the wings of contemplation, Fly upward in some pious meditation, In search of what on earth we cannot find, And reach that thing by labour of the mind. That hands cannot perform! a thing in vain Our curious reason studies to attain! A thing our Faith, which Reason doth transcend, On this side time, can hardly comprehend. For what it is no mortal man can know, 13. Man knoweth not the price thereof, neither is it found in the land of the living. Or where 'tis to be found, 'tis hidden so By him who all things framed: we can't conceive What thing it is, but only must believe, This divine wisdom is not to be found By Art of man: 'tis not a thing the ground, The Seas, or Air afford: 'tis not a thing To which we can attain by reasoning. No, 'tis a thing, of which we neither know 14. The depth says it is not in me, and the Sea says, it is not with me. Its being, nor its value: for although We search, with Reason's Taper in our hand, The darkest Creviss, both in Sea and Land, To find it out, our toil is all in vain, For to its knowledge we can ne'er attain: But after that, by strength of contemplation, We think of it to learn some information, We're forced at length to rest in admiration. In admiration! yes contentedly 15. It cannot be gotten for gold, neither shall silver be weighed for the price thereof. We must admire, what all our industry, Our wit, art, thinking, cannot comprehend, A wisdom that all value doth transcend. 'Tis not in Commerce, 'tis inestimable, 'Tis not by Gold, or Silver purchasable. No, no, this thing cannot be bought, or sold 16. It cannot be valued with the gold of Ophir, with the precious Onyx or the Sapphire. At any rate: not Tunns of Ophir Gold, Not Cargoes of that precious Mineral, Not heaps of Stones, and Jewels, which by all Are valued at the highest estimation, Can for this knowledge make a valuation. Not finest Gold, nor Crystal of the Rock, 17. The Gold and the Crystal cannot equal it, and the exchange of it shall not be for Jewels of fine Gold. O' th' purest hue, can make a bartering Stock For such a rich Commodity, not all What Merchants here inestimable call, Can make provisions suitable to buy Such an inestimable Commodity. Talk not of Coral, 'tis a mean Seaweed, 18. No mention shall be made of Coral, or Pearls, for the price of wisdom is above Rubies. Nor Pearl, which with us silly Oysters breed; No, nor of Rubies, though their Crimson Dye Appears most rich and glorious to the eye: Nor of their beauty cut in Faucet tell, For this high wisdom doth them all excel. Your Aethiopian Topaz bright and fair, 19 The Topaz of Ethiopia shall not equal it, neither shall it be valued with pure Gold. Highly esteemed, because it is so rare, With this in value never can compare The finest Gold, which we poor Mortals hug, Compared with this is but a very Drugg. From whence this wisdom then! from whence, from whence 20. Whence then cometh wisdom, & where is the place of understanding. This sacred wit! this high intelligence, Which doth all humane knowledge far exceed, Whence doth it spring, in what place doth it breed! Where doth it breed, pray! where is't to be found, 21. Seing it is hid from the eyes of all living, and kept closely from the fowls of the air. In Fire or Air, above, or under ground! What shall we do then, shall we yet inquire What thing it is? or our invention tire, In finding out its place, which yet no eye, Even the most piercing ever did espy. A thing which still the more we strive to know, The less we in its knowledge forward go: A thing, as not conspicuous to our eyes, So far exceeding the abilities Of our created Souls, to comprehend A thing in search whereof there is no end. 'Tis true, we may, by long experience, 22. Destruction & death say, we have heard the same thereof with our ears. Attain some knowledge of its excellence: We may indeed by daily observations Upon Gods great, and various dispensations, Attain some random-notions of the thing, Especially, when by canvasing Th' affairs o' th' world, and viewing carefully, With serious eyes, the instability Of humane state: we see what shines to day Most brightly, and is gloriously gay, To morrow is obscured: what now is high Beat down anon, in lowest dust doth lie; Thence in some measure, we may learn to know What is this Wisdom. For when we do observe, how Providence Amongst mortal things doth make no difference, But sometimes here, and sometimes there le's fall Blessings or Plagues, without regard at all To this man's well improven Piety, Or' t'others gross habitual villainy; Yes, when we see how all our art, and care, In guarding of our Souls by daily prayer, In thinking, speaking, doing what is good, (Though of our claim to Heaven we are not proud) Nay even our pure, and Dovelike innocence Can not prevent a blow, when Providence Thinks fit t' afflict us; and on th' other hand, How wanton sinners do securely stand Rooted in their Possessions; and appear As safe from danger as they are from fear. Then sure in some proportion, we may guests What is this Wisdom by such acts as these. For God, with good intention, beats his own, That he from thence may make their virtue known, Which in the Sunshine of Prosperity, Even in the best of men, but soberly Makes an appearance, like a Candles-light, Which only shines i'th' dark or in the Night. And for those others, who their God do hate, And yet their Bread, in peace, and plenty eat. Nay to our outward senses do appear Not ordinarily to their Maker dear: Why if we look aright upon their case, We'll find God only suffers such as these, To live in plenty, 'cause he doth not care What becomes of 'em, and doth only spare Those slaughter-fed, Bread eaters; for some space, That they their little, short lived Happiness, (All they desire) may peaceably possess. But, of destruction certain, they at last, When all their days of jollity are passed Perceive there is a Divine Wisdom too, As well as Earthly, which they never knew Till now, and find that by its ordinance, Hell, and Damnation's their Inheritance. But O to our great God, to him alone 23. God understandeth the way thereof, and he understandeth the place thereof. This Divine Wisdom is exactly known. To him, to him, it is appropriate, And no man with him can participate, In that high Knowledge: for by that alone, He giveth directions from his lofty Throne For th'Government o'th' World: for well he knows, He knows exactly what we but suppose, Or faintly guests: although indeed we find No little satisfaction to our mind, When having in our recess, meditat, By what strange means, what hidden Rules of state; This World is governed, whilst by what we here Observe in earthly courts; these do appear To counter-act all wise proceedings there. When we, I say, with contemplations eyes, Have viewed at random, what beyond the skies, Is the procedure in the Government, Of this vast Fabric: and how evident In it that Divine Wisdom doth appear, Which is not to be learned or valued here, Then finding how our curious Thoughts have reached Their ne p●●s ultra,— From Heavens high Court we modestly retire, And with great pleasure do these things admire, We cannot learn, since to our God alone The Government o' th' world is only known. For who can manage this vast Government, 24. For he looketh to the ends of the earth, & seeth under the whole Heaven. But he alone, who is Omniscient? Who every moment views, with searching eye, All that lies under Heaven's Canopy. Who only knows, who only understands How this great body, which his mighty hands Have framed, and moulded must be governed, Who by his wisdom has so ordered, And all affairs disposed so prudently, As far exceeds all Human Policy. For not one puff of wind i' th' air doth blow, 25. To make the weight for the winds, and he weigheth the water by measure. Nor from the clouds do any waters flow, Without his special Tolerance, for when By his Decree some quantity of rain 26. When he made a decree for the rain, & away for the lightning of the thunder. Is on the earth let out, or when from high, Out of his Cage swift Lightning is let fly: When all these for their sudden march are clear, 27. Then did he see it, and declare it, he prepared it, yea he searched it out. Ere they dare move, before him they appear, Where, with a serious, and perpending eye, He taketh review of them, and carefully, These fierce Invaders strength doth estimat, And sees it only be proportionat, For his Design, whether for Punishment, A second Deluge lies in his intent, Or that he means by lightning to destroy Men, Beasts, and Fruits o' th' earth, and thence annoy Some sinning Nations, whose lewd practices Have called to Heavens for such returns as these, That they may not be able to offend The passive World, more than he doth intend. From whence, my friends, 'tis plain, and evident, That the eternal solid Government Of all things which his mighty hands have made Is by this Divine Wisdom managed. Then to conclude, my friends, from henceforth pray 28. And unto man he said, behold the fear of the Lord that is wisdom. Let us forbear, let us forbear, I say, To argue on the Rules of Providence, For sure we cannot well, without offence, Make enquiry in things, which certainly The King of Heavens, from all Eternity, Resolved should from his Creature be concealed And to himself belong.— No more debating then, but let us here Content ourselves with things that do appear Obvious to our reason: and inquire No further in God's secrets, but admire His Government o' th' world: for after all, To know this thing we Divine Wisdom call Is not our business; but if we would learn To know what our Salvation doth concern. Of all that Knowledge here's th' abreviat, Let us fear God, all sinful courses hate, Our Neighbour's love, to each his right allow, And in this world we have no more ado. This, this is all the Knowledge; this is that We ought to study, without more debate, For this alone, for this we should implore, For who endeavours to know any more Will find i' th' end he spends his time in vain, In searching what he never can obtain, But this by prayer may be purchased, Whilst that to Mortals is prohibited. Cap. XXIX. AFter by all the strength of argument, Job had endeavoured to make evident 1. Moreover, job continued his parable, and said. How much his friends did err, whilst they maintained That God on no man did afflictions send, But such, whose sins for punishment did call, Which as a proposition general, They did assert, whilst on the other hand. This good man, by his reason did withstand, What they did often press, with so much heat, From whence resulted their so long debate, Upon the Subject; and endeavoured too To show that their Great Judge did not allow Such curious questions to be canvassed, As by what Laws, and Rules he governed His Native Subjects, or what unknown fashion He used in ordering of his own Creation, Now he subsumes.— That his own case was a strong evidence O' th' truth of what he spoke, and that from thence All knowing, and impartial men might see How much his sad condition did agree With that of many, whom their God did love, Whilst here on Earth, and now enjoyed above, Eternal rest: so he, for all they spoke, Did not believe, this sad, and fearful stroke, Under which now he lay, was merited By his preceding sins, but only laid Upon him, for a trial, by his God, Who in his Divine Wisdom used his Rod, As oft on those of his own Family, To keep them strictly in conformity With what is good, and just: as upon those, For punishment, who are his open foes: And therefore thus proceeds, as formerly, Maintaining still his own integrity, And from that head, doth modestly regrate The doleful figure of his present state. O that I were, says he, as I have been! 2. O that I were as in months past, as in the days when God preserved me. O those fair Hal●yon-days that I have seen! O those sweet times! O those delightful hours, Which I have seen! which like the fragrant flowers, That shine upon Earth's surface in their prime, With fairest shows did beautify my time! O that I were, as all my Neighbours know I was indeed not many years ago! When my good God did think me worth his care, When he would hear, and grant my daily Prayer: When he'd preserve me by his Providence, And guard me from each inconvenience, Had else befallen me; when he'd lovingly, With all my wishes every hour comply. When in my Person he did take delight, 3. When his candle shined upon my head, and when by his light I walked through darkness. And with him I was no small Favourite: When Gods great Mercies were so eminent, As all, who knew me see how evident His love was to me; when they cast such light About me round, as Candles in the Night Afford, so that if Troubles on me fell At any time, they did not with me dwell, As now they do, but merely transient, They scarce did hurt me, when their force was spent. O that I were again. as I have been! 4. As I was in the days of my youth, when the secret of God was on my tabernacle▪ O those blessed golden hours that I have seen! O that I were, as I was formerly▪ In the smooth current of Prosperity! As I was in the days of verdant Youth, When, like the gentle breezes from the South, Which with such kindness breath upon the Fields, As to their courtship Nature quickly yields▪ And all things, in their seasons, doth produce, That any way doth suit with humane use; So God did breath upon me in his love, And rain such showers of blessings from above, On me, and my poor house, that I from thence, Might well perceive the large munificence, Of my great Patron, who did every day Hear my request, oftener than I could pray. When the Almighty yet was pleased t' express, 5. When the Almighty was yet with me, when my children were about me. For my concerns great love, and tenderness: When my dear Children lived, who now are dead, When they, on whom base Vermin now do feed, Like Olive-plants about me flourished. When they for beauty, health, wit, vigour stood Against the greatest of our neighbourhood, When fraught with hopes, of what each day did grow, My total satisfaction here below, Lay in those children's souls depositat, And by their health, I reckoned my Estate. When in their converse, I did take such pleasure, As oftentimes I▪ d steal some hours of leisure, To enter with them in some conference, That I their Wit, and Parts might know from thence. When under my poor Roof some hundreds fed, To whom I did afford their daily Bread; Who by my orders, twice at least a day, Assembled in my Chappel-room, to pray, Whilst with uplifted hands, all on our knees, We'd offer a sweet smelling sacrifice Of prayer, and in our private exercise, Address ourselves to him, who hears alone All prayers: but now these happy days are gone. Those happy days are gone, those hours are spent, And darkness now succeeds:— I faint, I faint,— — Alace, I faint,— when I do call to mind, And sadly think in former times how kind, My great Creator at all times appeared, And all my prayers with attention heard; But now I such devotion may spare, For when I cry aloud, he will not hear: He will not hear me, nor will he allow, That I should bow the knee before him now. O then that I could have once more again, 6. When I washed my steps with butter, and the rock poured me out rivers of oil. But even a Prospect of what I have seen In former times! O, that I could once more, But live a little, as I've done before: When I had all things so accommodate, And had so well improven my Estate, As all the Hills around did Tribute pay, In Honey, Milk, and Oil; nay, every day They did me so much of their Growth afford, As three parts of my Rent I might ha' stored, And with the fourth, supplied my Famlly, Through all the year well, and conveniently: When all my Cornfields yearly did produce, Three times as much as served my private use: When all my cattle pleasantly did feed▪ In their own Pastures, and did yearly breed, With so great increase, as (my Stock entire) I had all profit that I would desire. When with a great attendance, I would go, 7. When I went out to the gate through the city, when I prepared my ●eat in the strcet. To th' Court of Justice, and myself would show Upon the Bench, where all would make address To me, who in that Court had business: And when some times with clamour I would meet, Of shrewd oppression, in the open Street, I'd stop, and hear both parties in their suit, For a small time: then without more dispute, When I had heard them both, and fully tried The truth of all, as I found just, decide. At my approach, young men would by and by 8. The young men saw me, & hid themselves, and the aged arose and stood up. Slip out o'th' way, scared by my gravity: Old men, as I did pass, would, in a row, Salute me, and their bodies humbly bow; Nor would they one Punctilio neglect, Of courtesy, in paying their respect. The Lords o'th' Country, who at home, in State, 9 The princes refrained talking, and laid their hands on their mouths. Did govern all, when I in Judgement sat, Would with submission, in the Court appear, And from debates amongst themselves forbear, Whilst all their Counsel I would calmly hear. And when I did give Judgement in the case, They'd stop their mouths, and freely acquiesce To what I did determine: none repined At my procedure: none of them declined My Jurisdiction: none of them complained, But all obeyed, what I had once ordained. What I had once ordained did fully stand 10. The nobles held their peace, and their tongues cleaved to the roof of their mouths. For Law, my Sentence was a firm command: The greatest of them all would silently, Forthwith with my Decisions comply: Such was my Justice: so by Rules of Law, I gave decisions: that all stood in awe To ask a further hearing, 'cause they knew What I did order, needed no review. In all the time of my authority, (God knows, I speak this without vanity) By his assistance, I did judge so well, I ne'er so much as heard of an appeal. For in my judging, I had no respect 11. When the ear heard me, than it blessed me, & when the eye saw me, it gave witness to me. To persons, nor did information take From private mouths, to this man's prejudice, Or the other: nor did I the qualities Of Plaintiff, or Defendant ere regard, But freely my opinion still declared, As by the Laws and Statutes of the place, I found should be adjudged upon the case. I never would encourage my relations, And friends to ply me with solicitations, On any man's behalf, whose suit did lie In Court before me: but would still deny Access to all, that for their friend would speak, Except in open Court: I ne'er would take A Bribe from any: neither would I hear, Or look on such, as whisper in the ear, And offer private compacts: nor allow My servants to exact, as others do, From Parties, who in Court had business, That they to me might make these men's address. Nor would I e'er allow, at any rate, That any of my Children should debate In Court for any man; lest men might think I might their Party favour; or might wink At their contrivance, and adjudge the case, T'advance their foul, and unjust purchases. Nor would I ever suffer in the least Defendants in their Pleas, should be oppressed, By powerful men, to whom it was thought fit The Plaintiffs oft times should their Suits transmit. No, for by rules of Court, I openly Forbid such unjust dealings, and would try Each Parties Title, ere I suffered Either of them upon the fact to plead. For as I all oppression did detest, So on concussion, as none of the least O' th' many species of that loud-tongued Crime, I always looked thence if at any time, Such cases did occur, I'd carefully Restrain such active, cunning tyranny. For this cause all men blessed me, for this cause, Of all who knew me I had great applause. Because the poor whose daily cries did grieve 12. Because I delivered the poor that cried, and the fathersess, and him that hath none to help him. My very soul, I quickly did relieve From sad oppressions, under which they groaned, And only by the rabble were bemoaned. The Orphan too, and him that destitute Of counsel in the Court did move his suit, I freely heard, and without much debate, In their possessions I would reinstate. Those, who in Lawsuits all their means had spent, 13. The blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon me, and I caused the widow's heart to sing for joy. And at the Court-gates daily did present Petitions on their knees for Aliment. I'd frequently relieve, and in return Procure their blessings; Widows, who did mourn, And kept a howling with their Girls, and Boys, Before I left the Court, I'd make rejoice. Nor did I act thus to procure the name 14. I put on righteousness, and it clothed me: my judgement was as a robe, and a diadem, Of a just Judge, or by a running fame, T● abuse the World; but merely, I protest, Out of a principle, which in my breast I entertained, that taught me to deny All fellowship with partiality. For I in simple justice took delight, And as no threatenings did my mind affright, So was I not by Female-pity moved To do injustice; nay, I ever loved To hear both parties fully, how so e'er The one's pretensions often did appear More favourable than the others were. For, In my judgement I'd not contribute To th' verifying of either party's suit; But by the rules of Justice, and in that Myself indeed I valued; for I sat, Not as a friend to any, but to all, A Judge most upright, and impartial. As such indeed I did myself esteem, More than if I had worn a Diadem. For such, as could not their own case relate, 15. I was eyes to the blind, and feet to the lame. In terms of Law, I would the question state, And even their Counsel, where 'twas evident In point of Law, they were deficient, By my own knowledge I would oft supply, And help their Plead, yet impartially. Nay, where I see a Cause like to miscarry, Through th' influence of a potent adversary, Though just, and fair, I would indeed from thence, Appear for th' Party, and in his defence, Bestir myself, as wholly opposite To all oppression, nay I took delight To crush the projects of those powerful men, And make their Congees, and attendance vain. I was indeed a father to the poor, 16. I was a father to the poor, and the cause which I knew not, I searched, out. And always would protect them from that hour, I see their Cause was just, and would withstand, On their behalf, the greatest in the land. For where by Lawyers wrangling, and debate, Their Causes had been rendered intricate, I'd call for th' Process, and with careful eye, In private every Article survey, Not trusting to my Clerks, as others do, But with my own eyes, I'd go fully through, The several pieces, and next day report My judgement on the case, in open Court. So that, when the oppressor judged his prey 17. And I broke the power of the wicked, and plucked the spoil out of his teeth. Was now his own, and without more delay, He'd seize on all the poor man did possess, Then on a sudden would I turn the chase, And as a man out of a Lion's paws, Would tear his spoil, so the poors dying Cause, I'd rescue by the very strength of Laws. Yea, not so only, but I would allow Such costs to the prevailing Parties too, And whip the faillers with such damages, As they should not be able to oppress, As they had done; but thence forth should forbear, In such foul, unjust actions, to appear. Thus firmly rooted, thus established, 18. Then I said. I shall die in my nest, and I shall multiply my days as the sand. Thus flourishing, thus branching, I could read In all those figures, and fair instances. The History of my own happiness. Then said I, Lord, how hast thou blessed me now, In every thing, what have I more to do, Then thus to live in Honour, Wealth, and Peace, And when the motion of my Lungs shall cease, Crowned with the Laurels of Felicity To lay myself down, and in triumph die. For my enjoyments daily did increase, 19 My root was spread out by the waters, and the dew lay all night upon my branches. My joys were greater than I could express, And there was no bounds to my happiness. I lived in plenty, and in confidence, Of God's great favour, and a permanence Of all his kindness: never did I dream On what I now perceive, but did esteem Myself so fixed in my enjoyments here, As not unlike a Tree I did appear, That planted by a River with its roots, Socket in the Waters, always freshly sprouts, And 'twixt the Water, and the Dew▪ which lies Each Night upon its branches, multiplies So in its growth, as one might judge from thence This Tree might be of long continuance. I thought my honour never should decay 20. My glory was fresh in me, and a●y bow was renewed in my hand. For I might well perceive how every day My reputation as a Judge increased, And I all men's affections possessed. Yea, as I used to judge impartially, So armed with Power, and Authority All my Decrees I would see execute, And my Commands obeyed without dispute. Without dispute, for I remember well 21. Unto me men gave ear and waited, and keeped silence at my counsel. In parts, and prudence I did so excel, And did my Reputation so maintain, In every point amongst my Countrymen, That whilst on any point of Law▪ or State I chanced to speak, all with attention sat, And with great patience heard me to an end, Whilst what I counselled they would still commend. Yes, though before I spoke they would debate 22. After my words, they spoke not again, and my speech dropped upon them. The points in hand, and argue with some heat, No sooner I'd arise, then instantly They'd shut up all their Mouths, and by, and by Hushed up in silence seriously give ear To what I spoke: and greedily would hear What my opinion was upon the case; And after I had spoke they held their peace. My words were to them as a casting vote, 23. And they waited for me as for the rain, and they opened their mouths wide as for the latter rain. For to what I held out, they replied not: Because they always bore great deference To my opinion, and with reverence Would acquiesce to my determination Of whatsoever was in agitation. Indeed, my friends, such was my reputation, 24. If I laughed on them, they believed it not, and the light of my countenance they cast not down. So was I loved and honoured in my station: Such was th' ambition of all knowing men To be of my acquaintance.— That if at any time I'd cast an eye, On any of 'em somewhat courteously, They'd from that very moment calculate Their happiness, and reckon their estate By th' figures of my smiles: yet would not dare For all that, to become familiar With me at any rate, but warily Would keep due distance: and not saucily, Encroach on my good humour, but forbear All idle Divinations of my ear From such Prognostics: or suppose that I Could ere be merry out of Levity. But what needs more! alace I do with tears, 25. I chose out their way, and sat chief, & dwelled as a king in the army, as one that comforteth the mourners. Reflect on th' beauty of my former years; When all at my Devotion were, when all Obeyed my orders, as their General. When in all their Assemblies still I sat Amongst them as Lord Paramount, in state, And ordered all affairs, yet would not I At any time use that Authority But with Discretion, and would rather aid All men with Counsel, than make them afraid Of me, because I in my hand did bear That, by which men procure both love, and fear. In fine my Grandeur, and Authority Differed but little from pure Sovereignty, For as a Prince, I in these days did live, And no man questioned my Prerogative. Cap. XXX. BUt now the young Knaves laugh at me, the race 1. But now those that are younger than I have me in derision, whose fathers I would have disdained to have set with the dogs of myflocks Of men, who lived in miserable case: The brood of such, as were no more esteemed Than Slaves, with whom all good men were ashamed To haunt, or converse.— Poor Tag-rag-fellowes, men so low, and mean As scarce such wretches now are to be seen, The race of Scoundrels, silly, needy rogues, Whom I'd scarce trust with feeding of my dogs: Because by hunger such might ha' been drawn, To cheat more useful creatures of their brawn. The race of such as in unbridled rage, 2. Yea, whereto might the strength of their hands profit me, in whom old age was perished. Of sin had spent the vigour of their age, And in a most luxuriant idleness, Had wasted their most profitable days: Whence in declining years, poor, hunger-starved, Feeble, and doting they for nothing served: So that such creatures, as those Wretches were No man to service ever would prefer. Hence living idle, and in horrid want 3. For want, and famine, they were solitary, flying into the wilderness▪ formerly desolate, and waste. They'd in the daylight 'bout the Shambles haunt, Begging the Draughts of Beasts, and so would cheat The very Butcher's Mastiffs of their meat. And in the night in some dark entry creep, Where on the Stairs they would securely sleep; At length when th' careful Justice of the Place Would give out orders to secure the Peace, Then were we quit of all such Rogues as these. For of their evil courses conscious, And so afraid of a Grand Mittimus: They'd truss up all their Rags, and silently, Sneak out o' th' towns, and to the Deserts fly; Where amongst Wild-beasts, wand'ring here, and there, 4. Who cut up mallows by the bushes, and juniper-roots for their meat. Many a poor shift for their daily fare, Those abject creatures made.— Mallows, and such Salt-herbs, as none would eat. But those that were nigh starved for want of meat, Juniper Roots, Thistles, or any thing, That might preserve them from mere perishing, They'd cut up for their food, which, with delight, They'd eat, t'allay their clamorous appetite. Nor durst those villains to the Towns repair 5. They were driven forth from among men, they cried after them, as after a thief. To purchase food, or ask it any where, As licenc'd Beggars do, no not at all, For if they did, the very Dogs would fall Upon them, and the Country by and by Would arm, and follow them, with Hue, and Cry. Hence those poor Rascals wholly banished 6. They dwelled in the cliffs of the valleys, in caves of the earth, and in the rocks. From Humane converse, all of 'em were glad To dwell in Cliffs of Rocks, in hollow Caves, Or any holes but differing from Graves, As Pools from Quagmires, where they might sustain A miserable life, and sleep with pain, Whilst hungry Tigers howling in the Night, These skulking Wretches in their Dreams would fright, And Lions roaring all the Fields around In those men's ears would make a dreadful sound. Nay of the wild-beasts they were so afraid 7. Amongst the bushes they brayed, under the nettles they were gathered together. As amongst the Bushes they like Asses brayed For fear, and hunger: and in clusters creeped Amongst the Briars and Nettles, where they keep't Their grand Assemblies, and their business, Was only to consult, in such distress, From whence they might have Food, else suddenly They and their wretched Families should die. O brave Republic! famous Corporation! 8. They were children of fools, yea children of base men, they were viler than the earth. And what d'ye think too was their Generation? Who were the Fathers of those beastly Men, Of whose insulting Brats I now complain? Why they were Fellows most obscurely base, Mere Vagabonds rambling from place to place, Void of all Virtue, Honour, Wit, and Grace. Fellows, whom I myself have caused seize, And put i'th' stocks, because they broke the Peace: Then let 'em go in hopes of reformation, But finding after all their conversation Was still the same, in Villainy engrossed, I'd send them next time to the whipping Post: At length obliged by their increasing Crimes, I'd send such men by dozen oftentimes, Fairly to th' Gibbet: men so despicable As they were no less hated by the Rabble, Then Wolves, and Foxes: men so villainous, And in their lives so grossly vicious, As all disdained to bear them company, But from such men would as from Serpents fly. Such was indeed the Line, and Parentage 9 Yet now am I their song, yea I am their byword. Of those vile men, those Scandals of their Age Of whom those Scabs, who now do openly In Ballads, Rhimes, and bitter Raillery, Upbraid me to my face, are lineally Descended:— From whence alace it clearly doth appear, Those wanton Youngsters, who so patly jeer, And laugh at me now in my present case, Are both of low Birth, and of cursed Race. Yet do those sons of Earth, those upstart Knaves, Who draw their line from men far worse than slaves, Those Mushrome-cracks, those men of yesterday, Those make me now the subject of their play. Those Rat-catcher's, whom I'd scarce heretofore, Allow to walk before my Parlour door, Those base-born Mangrels, whom my Servingmen, Thought not their equals, but with great disdain, When at their Table, they'd presume to eat, Would neither drink to them, nor carve their meat. Yet those men now laugh at my misery, And point at me: unhappy poverty! There's nought from thee more heavily we take, Then that, thou men ridiculous dost make. Ridiculous indeed, as ever man 10. They all abhor me, they fly far from me, and spare not to spit in my face. Was made by men, since first the World began Am I now made.— And by young fools too, fellows light, and vain, Shrewdly debauched, and openly profane, Who flock to see me in this doleful state, As others do, and to express their hate, Reproach me with foul words, and bitterly Insult o'er me, in my calamity: Put on me all affronts imaginable, And use all means to make me despicable. But now I think on't, I should not admire, 11. Because he hath loosed my cord, and an●●c●●● m●, they have also l●● lose the bridle before me. To see the Race of Criminals conspire Against me, in this miserable state, Because, when formerly a Magistrate; I did indeed correct their Fathers so, As till this time those slaves durst never show Their heads in public; yes I did indeed, And to this day I think those men may read My justice plain, and clear before their eyes, I'th' Histories of their several Families. For formerly, when my Authority Did flourish, these men living quietly, And within bounds, durst never give offence To any man, left my intelligence Might reach their actings, and by Law declare These Rogues, all Outlaws, as their Fathers were. But now, alace, that God himself hath broke My power, and turned my Honour all to smoke: Now that his heavy hand doth on me lie, And I am overcharged with misery: Even those mean things now from their Kennels crawl, And bark at me with open mouths, nay, all Who formerly did to my person bear Great reverence, now openly appear My greatest enemies, insultingly Reflecting on my former Dignity, Of which I'm now robbed, as is ordinar, In time of Troubles, Mutinies, and War, When by the Rabble Prisons are broke open, And Malefactors armed, no House, or Shop, Is sooner ristled, than those which belong, To th' Magistrate, 'bout, which in Troops they throng, Where all's pulled down, and with difficulty, To save their persons, they are forced to fly. And leave all in this lamentable case To th' fury of the hot-brained populace. So these same lewd, and insolent young men, 12 Upon my right hand ●ife the youth, they push away my feet, and they raise up against me the ways of their destruction. Whom formerly, by Law I did restrain, Now by my fall from inquisition freed, Uninterrupted, hourly do proceed, By all the arts, and tricks, they can invent To make my case most sad; whilst they torment My soul, by frequent looking on my face, And pointing out to all men my disgrace. For where I would endure with patience, 13 They mark my paths, they set forward my calamity, they have no helper. My present sorrows, these men's insolence Do cross my resolutions▪ and raise My Spleen to some disorder, whilst they please Themselves to see me in this sad estate, (Which visits all ingenuous spirits hate) And by false accusations, bitter tales, Clamours, unjust reproaches, or what else Those virulent vindictive fellows art, Can in their Cups devise, or for their heart Contrive to vex me, I am sore oppressed, And from their Spur▪ galled Jests can have no rest, Nor need they great men's help to countenance Th' abusive progress of their petulance, For of themselves by their intolerable Proud, wanton carriage, truly they are able To do their business, with convenience, As I have found by sad experience. For these licentious Youths have ta'en delight 14 They came upon me, as a wide breaking in of waters; in the desolation they rolled themselves upon me. To gaze upon me here with great despite, Whilst other clamorous Villains on pretence Of wrongs sustained from me, with violence Have rushed on my possessions, and seized All my effects, disposing as they pleased On what belonged to me, whilst each of them Parts of my means, as by reprysals, claim. So that even as a Town besieged I lie Beset on all hands, by the enemy; Who by continual Batteries have plied Its Walls, and made at length a breach so wide, That, as a Torrent, with great violence Breaks through the strongest Banks, and Water-fence O're-running all it meets, so at the breach The Soldiers enter with a shout, and stretch Their Front so wide, as they appear at least Pellmell to throng a hundred in a breast. Even so at that great breach, which th' hand of God Has made on me, as through a beaten road, The dregs o' th' Country, men of low estate, And scarcely in Apparel, till of late, Have in this day of my calamity, Rushed in upon me, and maliciously Seized on my Goods, and Chattels, riffling all, And left me nothing, which I now may call My own, for even what my wild neighbours spared, These men have plundered; having no regard To Conscience, Honour, Law, or Equity, But take advantage of me, where I lie, Floating in this huge gulf of misery. And now those Donatars of my forfeiture Those vile oppressors, those base villains, sure Are now persuaded I am wholly gone, Never to be restored, and alis their own. 'Tis true indeed, as far as man can see 15. Terrors are turned upon me, they pursue my soul as the wind, and my welfare passeth away as a cloud. I'm lost for ever, there's no hopes of me, No hopes that ever I can be restored; And so my case is much to be deplored. Besides, alace, within my breast I find Oppressions of a more destructive kind: Terrors of Conscience, ah! strange terrors now overwhelm my spirit: For as a Cloud before the Wind doth roll, So by sad thoughts my overwearied soul Is driven forward most impetuously, And broke to pieces, as a Cloud doth fly, When scattered into Air, such is my case, And of my restauration, alace There's no more hopes, I fear, I now may say Then of a Cloud that vanisheth away. What am I then, my friends, pray let me know 16. And now my soul is poured out upon me, the days of affliction have taken hold on me. Whether I breath, whether I live, or no? Am I a man yet? Do I yet retain Some vestiges of reason? pray be plain. Am I a Creature rational? or can Such, as now see me, call me yet a man? Is not my strength exhausted? are not all My spirits wasted? how then shall I call Myself a living creature?— — Is not my soul the source of life, and strength, By heat of woes evaporate at length? Yes, and the part that's left of me, appears But like the Shipwrecks of an hundred years. A very lump of dust, a lifeless thing, A piece of earth not worth the valuing: A Creature so deformed, so overspread With hideous sores, as one can hardly read Its title in its forehead, or persuade Himself, that such a thing a man was made — In this condition, in this sad estate— You see, my friends, then, how my God of late Has moult me in the Furnace of his wrath, Dissolved me, and yet after all I breath. I only breath, I live to feel the pain, 17. My bones are pierced in me in the night season, and my sinews take no rest. Which in my bones, and sinews I sustain:— Such horrid pain, as cannot be expressed, Such pain, as does allow my soul no rest For in the night time, in the hour, when all Submit themselves to sleep, at Nature's call; Then,— then,— O then▪ my Bones so shrewdly ache, As I'm compelled by force of pain t'awake. Alace such is the strength of my disease, 18. By the great force of my disease, my garment is changed, it bindeth me about as the collar of my coat. As no invention can my pains appease; For by the course of matter purulent, Which issues from my Sores, and represent The foul ingredients of a common Shore) My Garments are so stiff with bile, and gore, That though, as formerly I now could say I might change my Apparel every day, Yet would I by that shifting find no ease, Nor would the torrent of my Ulcers cease, But in their course run most impetuously Upon my clothes, and never let them dry? But make them so fast to my Body stick,— Th' express on makes me both ashamed, and sick.— And now▪ like Sow in puddle, I appear, 19 He hath cast me into the mire, & I am become like dust and ashes. Wallowing in my own sores, and mired here, As one in marish stranded, all o'er run With loathsome Ulcers totally undone, With putrid scabs, which from my Skin do fall, When dry, and make me look, as I were all A heap of Dust, and Ashes, Boils, and Sores, With all that's ugly—— Nay, I am now so low, so mean, and base, No language my condition can express. But, O, what's worst of all, and doth exceed 20. I cry unto thee, and thou dost not hear me. I stand up, and thou regardest me not. All torments, I as yet have suffered, My great Creator, to whom I do pray, And cry aloud, a hundred times a day, Seems unconcerned, no notice of me takes, But 'fore my eyes his flaming Sword he shakes, In token of his Wrath, and now appears To second all my jealousies, and fears, By this b●d usage; Lord, how frequently, As a poor Beggar at thy gates do I Implore for thy own sake, some Charity. How oft have I, good Lord, to thee complained, But have as yet no grace from thee obtained? Wilt thou not help me, Lord? wilt thou not hear Me when I pray? ah, wilt thou not give ear To my sad cries? good Lord, what shall I say? — Shall I at all times to no purpose pray? Wilt▪ not concern thyself, O mighty Lord, With my afflictions? wilt thou not afford One gracious answer? wilt thou still stand by? A mere spectator of my misery, And make no help to me, but in this case, Suffer me to expire in great disgrace? Alace, good Lord, I find thy wrath so hot, 21. Thou art become cruel to me, with thy strong hand thou opposest thyself against me. That I had rather die upon the spot, Then live in thy displeasure, for I now Perceive there's nothing I can ever do, Can purchase so much as a short Cessation, From Persecution; for thy indignation Against me doth with cruelty increase, And there's no means left to procure my peace. For in Afflictions Ocean, I'm so tossed 22. Thou liftest me up to the wind, thou causest me to ride upon it, and dissolvest my substance▪ 'Twixt Wind, and Wave, beyond all sight of Coast, Beyond all hopes of Calm: now raised aloft Each Minute by the Surge, and then as oft Amongst the gaping Waves precipitate, As I'm no better then ingurgitate In this Abyss of Troubles.—— — Now all this Tempest by thy mighty hand Is raised against me, Lord, at thy command, All th●se Infernal Woes assembled are, By which I see, O Lord, thou dost appear My open Enemy: and in thy wrath Resolv'st even to pursue me to the death. I know thou dost, nay I am very sure 23. For I know that thou wilt being me to death, and to the house appointed for all living. My Wounds are mortal past all hopes of cure, And I must quickly die, good Lord, I know, There is no remedy, but I must go, To th' House appointed for all here below. To the cold Grave, where huddled up do lie, The mouldy Records of Mortality: Where all the pride of Earth, its pomp, and glory Are to be found in a large Repertory Of Dust, and Ashes, thither Lord, I know,— — Thither anon, O thither I must go,— Where entered in Death's Book, my life, I fear Shall a more famous Precedent appear Of Humane Frailty, and the vanity, Of this poor World, than a whole Century Before my time can show; whilst all in me May a most evident example see Both of thy Goodness, and thy sad displeasure, Dispensed in an extr'ordinary measure. Yet here's my comfort, that when I descend 24. Howbeit he will not stretch out his hand to the grave, though they cry in his destruction. To Earth, my Troubles shall be at an end: The War of my Afflictions shall cease, And in the Grave at least I shall have peace: For sure my God will not pursue me there, Or make me in worse state than others are, Who in that melancholy Cloister dwell, But will permit me there to rest, as well, As all my Predecessors in that place, And when I come that length, give o'er the chase. For whilst I live, I never do expect T' have any rest, what ere I may suspect Shall be my state of life, when life is gone For on the matress of the Grave alone I may have ease, but here I shall have none. Strange! that with grief I should be thus oppress't! 25. Did not I weep for him that was in trouble? was not my soul grieved for the poor? Why had I ever lodged within my breast, A heart of Flint, that never could comply With others woes by rules of Sympathy: Or had I been so cruelly severe, As in my life I never would give ear To th' cries of those, who did sad troubles feel, And amongst the billows of Afflictions reel; But unconcerned at all their misery, Had suffered them unpityed to die: Then had I merit all those griefs, and woes, I now endure: but on the contrare those, Who were in trouble, I did pity so, As oftentimes, tears from my eyes would flow, When any I beheld in sad estate; Though far from being tortured at this rate, As I am; yet my kind, and tender soul Would these men's troubles heartily condole▪ Nay when I'd hear th' afflicted wretches groan, I'd look on their condition, as my own: Yet ah, when I expected better things, 26. When I looked for good, then evil came unto me, and when I waited for light, there came darkness. For this compliance; with sad Sufferings, I only meet; all the reward alace, Of all my sighs, and pious tenderness, Is nothing but the utmost of distress: Barbarous usage, Cruelty, Oppression, Blows, Unkind dealings, Pains beyond expression, Ingratitude, Horror, and Poverty, Are all the product of my Charity. For even now whilst I speak, I find such pain, 27. My bowels boiled, and rested not▪ the days of affliction prevented me. As I'm not able longer to sustain The weight of my Afflictions;— Oh I faint! — I faint indeed, now all my strength is spent— — Nay in my bowels only I do find Such pain, as would distract a constant mind. For this cause I go mourning all the day, 28. I went mourning without the sun, I stood up, and I cried in the congregation. And in dark Holes, and Corners take my way, To Caverns, where the Sun beams are unknown And find some comfort to be there alone; Where I my woes with freedom may bemoan. For when at any time I do appear In public, O how I'm ashamed to hear My own sad exclamations: alace— — Now every day I see my own disgrace: And O, my friends, d' ye think but such as I, Who but of late lived in Authority, Amongst those people, do now think it sad, To be thus gazed on, as if I were mad. To be thus gazed on, thus constrained, by pain, 29. I am a brother to dragons▪ and a companion to owls. To cry aloud, before these very men, Who but of late did see me in this place, In great respect, but now in sad disgrace They see me here: for this cause do I fly To Woods, and Deserts; where no Humane eye May in the least perceive me: there I howl, And screigh, like Dragon, there the dismal Owl, I in my nightly crying imitate, And these and I are now associate, For we are all wild, sad, and desolate. These are my brethren, these, and I are now Well known t' each other: for with these I do Converse all day long, and all night we keep A doleful consort, whilst all others sleep 'Tis so indeed, for who but such as these 30. My skin is black upon me, and my bones are burned with heat. Would converse with a Creature in my case: With me, a thing so fully miserable, As all that I can speak is hardly able, To prove I'm living man; for who alace Would think me such, by looking on my face. Am not I black, deformed, and withered, And (save that I am not yet fully dead,) From those below Ground nothing differing, But suitable to them in every thing. Hence all my mirth is gone, my former joys 31. My harp also is turned to mourning, and my organ to the voice of them that weep. Are now extinguished, and there is no noise Of Music in my House, as formerly Was heard, i' th' days of my prosperity. My Harp doth now in a dead Gamut sound, And there's no other Music to be found, Within my Walls, but howling night, and day, For all my smiling days are shrunk away. Cap. XXXI. ANd now, my friends you see, you plainly see, 1. I made a covenant with my eyes, why then should I think upon a maid. What formerly you only heard of me: You see a sad change of my former state, You see me now on Dunghill, who of late On the chief Bench most highly honoured sat. This is my case then, here you see me lie An evidence o' th' instability Of Humane Grandeur, a sad precedent Of God's displeasure: hither I am sent By his appointment, that the World may see His love▪ and hate alternative in me. One, whom his bounty formerly did raise And blest with a long tract of golden days, Free of all Sorrow, Poverty, and Pain, And now his wrath has taken down again. Why this is all, my friends, 'tis all you see, This is the sum of what you read in me. Now therefore, as a man about to die, Allow me, pray my friends, the liberty In a few words to make a short relation Of my short life, and show how in my station, I laboured still to live without offence, To God, and Man: so that when I am hence, You may bear witness to the World what were My dying words, and from this time forbear To call me guilty of what all of you Make it your work to fix upon me now. Then hear me pray, for after this I shall Use no more words—— First then, my friends, I'd have you know that I Have always studied since my Infancy The Art of Continence: for in the least An unclean thought never possess't my breast. I always hated wanton Company, And still disliked that Foolish Raillery, In which young men their time do poorly waste, Making their sin the Subject of their Jest. Nor did I ere desire to be acquaint With those, whose eyes do make our blood ferment. No, in such Intrigues, I would ne'er engage, Lest I might perish by Love's cozenage, And like the foolish young men of our time, To purchase pleasure, think no sin a crime. For this cause, knowing that such Fooleries Do steal in at the Wicket of the Eyes: With these I quickly did confederate, And in my Treaty, firmly stipulate, They should not see a Maid at any rate. They should not on that pleasant Object look, Because the Bait did usher in the Hook: But eat to see that curious piece of Nature▪ Lest I were tempted with its lovely feature. For with myself I still considered 2. For what portion of God is there from above? and what inheritance from the Almighty on high. This was a sin by Law prohibited, A crying sin, and therefore to be feared In Heaven's Court it would be sooner heard Then I myself, and make the Divine wrath Pursue me, and my Family to death. I thought too with myself, should those, who claim An Interest in Heaven be barred, with shame, From God's good presence by the hateful means Of a poor nasty sin: hence I took pains, So to secure my heart, that, at no time, The thoughts of this abominable crime Might slip into it: and for one short pleasure, I came to forfault an eternal Treasure. Yes an eternal Store, a Happiness 3. Is not destruction to the wicked, and a strange punishment to the workers of iniquity. No Humane Art, or Language can express, For one poor Moment's pleasure, Lord how sad To think that any man should be so mad, As for a trifle (think on't what he list) Which rather in the Fancy doth subsist Then in Fruition; he should wilfully Quit all his interest in Eternity. For sure those men, whom God doth wicked call, In his good time shall be destroyed all: Destroyed, yes, and that by singular And unknown methods, not as others are, But my remarkable calamities, Upon their Persons, and their Families They shall be rooted out: and men shall know That God is just. Besides I know that his allseeing eye, 4. Doth not he see my ways, and count my steps. Was not to be deceived by secrecy: Nor could my sin so cunningly be hatched, But in the very thought I should be catched: My heart should be exposed to his sight, And all my hidden councils brought to light. Now, as▪ I▪ lived in spotless continence, 5. If I have walked with vanity, or if my foot hath hasted to deceit. So, further, to improve my innocence; In all my dealings I was just, and square, With every man, my actions were fair, Sincere, ingenuous, honest, regular. For proof of which, I wish my God would try, 6. Let me be weighed in an even balance, that God may know my integrity. The value of my life's integrity, And all my actions as in balance poise, Then 'twould be fully seen what was my choice. Yes 'twould be seen, and that so clearly too, 7. If my step hath turned out of the way and my heart walked after my eyes, and if any blot hath cleaved to my hands. As from that weighing, without more ado, The world might see how much I took delight In God, and that I▪ am no hypocrite. For if I ever have endeavoured To cozen mortal man, or studied How to compel a man o'ergrown with debt, To let me have his Lands below the rate: Or in my bargains such advantage ta'en, As would ha' been, perhaps, by other men On such occasions; where necessity Obliged th' unwilling Borrower to comply With th' avarice o' th' Lender, nay, if e'er I in a dirty action did appear: Then of afflictions would I not complain, 8. Then let me sow, and let another eat, yea, let my off spring be rooted out. Nor thus with sighs resent my present pain. Nor would I think it strange at all to see How others feed, on what was sown by me. How others now my Lands, and Means possess▪ And worse than any Beggar, here, alace, I who was Lord of all you see around, Deformed, and dying, grovel on the ground; Nor How my goodly Family of late, Now either is in grave, or dissipate, Like Chaff before the Wind, and I alone Survive these losses, only to bemoan What cannot be recovered; and stead Of living, only do envy the dead. No, I would not think all these judgements strange, 9 If mine heart hath been deceived by a woman, or if I have laid wait at my neighbour's door. Nor, in that case would I deplore my change, But O, such things I never would practise, O no, I never would permit my eyes To look upon an object, how so e'er, I' th' eyes o' world beautiful, and fair, That might occasion sin: no, at no rate, But all those things I did abominate. I did abhor those hateful practices, And all the names of Whores and Mistresses, I'd stop my ears: I never had design Upon my Neighbour's Wife, or Concubine. For if at any time a Female eye Hath raised and swollen my passion so high, As I should venture on Adultery: If I have been enticed by a Whore, Or have set Spies before my Neighbour's Door, T' observe the glances of his amorous Wife, Or robbed him of the pleasures of his life, By close appointments, and dark assignations, Where I have had my will at all occasions: Then were it just my Wife should be so used 10. Then let my wife grind unto another, and let others bow down upon her. As I myself had others Wives abused, 'Twere just that she herself should prostitute For hire, without he trouble of a suit To every Porter, Footman, Slave, or Groom, And for all Comers keep an open open Room, That all l've injured (in that humble state) May their affronts on her retalliate. Besides, I know this was a sin so foul, 11. For this is an heinous crime, yea, itis an iniquity, to be punished by the judge And so provocking, as my very soul Did still abhor it: I did still detest This treacherous Crime, nor would I in the least By any means into ●s Clutches fall; Nor would I hearken to th' Adulteress call, Though by the Laws it were not capital. A sin I always thought in Heaven's sight 12. For it is a fire that consumeth to destruction, & would ●●o● out all mine increase. So black and ugly, that it hates the light No more than God hates ●t: a dreadful sin, From whence his wrath doth usually begin Against its Actors, and pursues the Chase To th'utmost extirpation of their Race. This was my life, this was my conversation, 13. If I did despise the cause of my manservant▪ o● of my maid-servant, when they contended with me. Thus without blemish in my reputation, I always lived, and never deviate From Virtues narrow road: and, as with hate I still rejected all incontinence. So in the peace of a good Conscience, I lived secure, whilst I administrate Both in my public, and my private state, Justice to all men: for to th' meanest slave Within my Walls, I'd the same way behave In point of right, when they'd to me complain Of any wrong, as to the greatest men I'th' Country, in their suits, and after all, I thought it but my duty.— For in my mind I oft considered 14. What then shall I do when God riseth up, and when he visiteth what shall I answer him. That those poor slaves, though they by Law were made My servile Subjects, yet both they and I Were subject to that King who sits on high That Supreme Judge, who deals impartially With all men.. So that if I during my eminence, To any of these men had done offence; Had I refused to hear their exclamations, Or of their wrongs refused them reparations; Had I abused that authority, Which I had o'er those wretches, what could I, Pray what could I with reason have expected Might be my doom? for if I had neglected My duty to the meanest here below, Or e'er denied them justice, even so When God in justice against me should proceed, I might my sin then in my judgement read. For with myself, my friends, I always thought 15 Did not he that made me make him? and did not one tashion us in the womb? That though those men I had with Money bought, And so by Law had power of life and death Over them all, and might have in my wrath Killed them, like beasts, yet these poor souls were men, As well as I, and that a time was, when Those now distinguished by Law, and I Did undistinguished in the belly lie. For in the womb what the Almighty frames This only Man, and that he Woman names: No more distinction there: no in that Cell Without Precedence all as Brethren dwell; There is no Master, there's no Servant there; For in the sight of God all do appear But as one Plastic matter, out of which His mighty hand doth form both poor and rich. He whom the world doth honourable name, And he whom mean, and base, is there the same. There's no such thing there, as we birth do call, For there's but one birth in the th' Original, One common source, from whence we trindle all. Though as we daily see how from one spring Several petty Rivers issuing, Swollen up by other Rivers in the stream, Do purchase to themselves a lofty name. So the poor airy notion of blood, Though in the fountain barely understood To be one species (what so ere esteem Th' applause of men put on it in the stream) As it in several Veins scaturiats, Is valued by the World's Book of Rates. Which slights the Fountain, but respects the Streams, And this Blood base, and that Blood Noble names. But in the Mass there is no difference, No formal quality, no excellence. Nor even in the stream can sharpest eye Perceive a Physical disparity 'Twixt this, and t' other Blood, for all appear Of the same colour all are equal there: Yes, let a Princes, and a Peasant's Veins Be Lanced together, there's no difference Betwixt the two: for both of them to th' eye Appear to be of a bright Scarlet die. Only as Iron, Copper, Led, or Brass, Esteemed but base Metals in the Mass. Are soon, by Prince's orders raised as high, As Gold in value: and do signify As much in Commerce, and in Bargains go, At no less rate if they will have it so. Even so a Prince's favour, when it shines, On this, or another's Blood, in direct Lines, It raises soon the value of the thing, And this, or another's Blood to height doth bring. Which were as mean as others in the spring. Yet let me tell you, in a sober sense, I truly think there is great difference Betwixt that Blood stamped by a Prince, and that, On which unspoted Virtue sets a rate, The first, like vapours by the Sun exhaled From Lakes, and Ditches, justly may be called, Which do not firmly in the Clouds remain, But quickly either in Hail, Snow, or Rain, Do from their stations tumble down again. For as by Prince's smiles, that Blood was raised, So by their frowns, it is as soon debased. Their anger taints that current in a trice; On which their favour lately set a price, Which now diverted from its former course, Appears as low, and cheap as in the source. But that by virtue raised, we may compare To Elemental waters, which do there Dwell, with a firm design of remanence, And are not easily to be pumped thence. For that by virtue raised, cannot be stained, So long as that its motion doth attend, Which gave its Being: and through Prince's wrath, The owner of that Blood may bring to death, Yet still it lives in his Posterity, And runs i'th' Channel of a Memory, For Virtue's only true Nobility. Then where's the man, that boasts of Noble Race▪ Can he his Blood from other Fountain trace, Then that o'th' Womb, in which the poorest slave, Who has no foot of Earth besides his Grave, Has as much interest, as he, and can Derive his Line from th' ancient House of Man, As well as those, who, with great vanity, Can point the series of their Family. O then, what fools must these be understood, Who void of Virtue, only boast of Blood! Who think their Birth affords them liberty, Beyond the vulgar, in all villainy, And sin according to their quality. Sure these must be the worst of men, sure these Of humane blood must be the very lees: Yet such there are, and such will always be, Who by the fable of their Pedigree, Make way through every sin, as if, what shame Forbids the Vulgar, were allowed to them. And when they've made a way in luxury, Their own Estates, then do they by, and by, Practise new arts, and fall on several ways, How they may live, and waste some foolish days, Though they at last should beg from door, to door, Yet whilst they can, they feed upon the poor. Why now should all these men of quality, Consider, but sometime, as well as I, Have always done, that as we all do flow From the head fountain of the Womb, even so When we in streams have squandered here, and there Where, in the eyes o'th' world, we do appear, One raised in value far above another, And now disdain to give the name of Brother, To such as are indeed as good as we, In th' eves of God: not dreaming we shall see Those Monuments of our low Birth once more, In the same rank with us, as we before Have seen, why after all, alacc, we find, We're all but Dust, all of one common kind. For in our pride, when we have run our course, As once we lay together in the source, So Noble, Base, and Mean, all die as men, And in the Grave we poorly meet again. And then brave Blood! thou acquaint device of men! How wilt thou rank thy Lineages then! Pray, what will be thy value, what thy rate, When in the Grave we're all incorporate: When in the cloisters of Mortality, As in the Womb we undistinguished lie, What's then the use of thy vain Heraldry All poor, and low, all naked there appear, And we know none of thy distinctions there. Then why should I have done the least offence, To any Creature, who in Nature's sense, Is of as good Extraction, and as dear, Doth in God's sight, as I my self appear. These were my thoughts, these were my meditations, 16. If I have withheld the poor from their desire, or have caused the eyes of the widow to fail. These were my reasons, which at all occasions, Moved me for all men, to have Charity: So that with no man I dealt cruelly. But, on the contrair, when the poor man's cause Was ruined by the rigour of the Laws; (As oft it happens) their severity. I'd temper with some grains of equity, And do him all the favour I could do With a safe Conscience: the poor widow too, Whose Cause before me lay, I'd cheerfully Assist: and to period speedily Conduct her suit. Nor was I less kind in my private state 17. Or have I eaten my morsel myself, and the fatherless hath not eaten thereof. To all in want, for I would never eat, Nor with contentment, take my daily fare, Unless some Orphans with me had a share. For from my youth I had great tenderness 18. For from my youth he was brought up with me, as with a father, and I have guided her from my mother's womb. Both for the Widow, and the Fatherless: To these, when some Relations had refused, And others of 'em craved to be excused From being Tutors, I'd in Charity, Take on myself th' office of Tutory Of these poor Creatures, though th' administration I knew would yield me nothing but vexation, And that,— When with great pains, I had recovered Their squandered means, and in some fashion made Provisions for them, when they came to be Of age (though truly strangers all to me) Why after all my toil, I might conclude, To meet with nothing but ingratitude From these my Pupils▪ as is ordinar, For most of honest men who Tutors are, Yet knowing well that men in Charity Each others wants are obliged to supply, Though with their own loss, an in such a case, Had I refurd that Office to embrace, Why those poor Orphans had become a prey To every Pettifogger, who'd betray Their Pupils interest, and not care a whit, To ruin them, for their own benefit, That I might this prevent without regard To th' trouble of it, or my bad reward, I never would refuse at all occasions To take upon me such administrations. But not to these alone my charity 19 If I have seen any p●●ish for want of clothing, or any poor without covering. Extended, whose weak pupularity Did render them obnoxious to the tricks Of all contriving Guardian Empyricks: But even to those of age, whom poverty Had hurried into want, and misery, At all times I'd extend my charity. I'd give them food, I'd give them raiment too, And pensions out of my own stores allow For their subsistence: so that I may say With a safe Conscience,— If ever mortal stood before my door, Whom th' only hand of God had rendered poor, (For of such canting Rogues, as do oppress The Country with a begging idleness, I do not mean) but if e'er he, I say, Who truly merit Alms, did go away, When begging at my door, without supply Of both food and apparel, or did lie Without my walls, in winter's cold, and snow, Naked, so far as ever I did know. For on the contrare, I did with much care 20. If his ●o●nes have not blessed me, and if he ●●re not warmed with the fleece of my sheep, Clothing provide for those, who truly were Objects of Charity, that every day Those Creatures, for my well-being, would pray, And when they on their Garments looked, would bless The man who kindly clad them with his Fleece. If ever I took pleasure to oppress, 21. If I have lift up my hand against the fatherless, when I ●aw my help in the gate. Or, in the least injure the fatherless, By unjust suits: though by my influence Upon the Judges, I might have from thence Expected what I pleased, and they had been Well pleased to favour me, though they had seen On my side flat injustice: yet would these Jump o'er the belly of the Laws, to please So great a man as I was: no, my friends, I scorned to use my power for such bad ends, I did abhor such shifts, and did detest Those sneaking Judges, who would dar to wrest Justice, to favour any man, or bend The bow of Law so high, to please a friend. If ever then, I say, I did practise 22. Then ●et mine arm fall from my shoulder bla●●, and mine 〈◊〉 be broken from the bone. Such unjust courses, or did make a prize Of any Orphan, as I might ha' done In former times, had I been such an one, As I've been represented, when my state Was high, and powerful, thus I imprecate, If I be guilty of such villainy, Then let this arm you see be instantly ▪ Torn from my shoulder, let the flesh anon In a foul Gangreen rot off from the bone. For why should I, who firmly did believe, 23. For destruction from God, was ● terror to me, and by reason of his highness. I could not endure. The eye of God did all men's ways perceive, And that, that God, who surely hears the cry Of all oppressed, will undoubtedly In his good time, upon such wicked men, Death, and Destruction, plentifully rain. Why, my good friends, should I who stood in awe, Of his great Power, ha' violate his Law: No, no, I knew my Maker was too high To be outbraved by such a one as I, And therefore I such practices forbore, Through fear of him: and truly did abhor All unjust dealings, that I might comply In all my actings with that Majesty, Who is all justice, and pure equity. Again, because I did myself persuade, 24. If I have made gold my ho●●, or have said to ●●ne gold thou art my confidence. Gold was the root of every thing that's bad; And that the love of Riches did entice, The best of men to be in love with vice; (For he, whose Soul doth in his Coffers dwell, With Bag, and Baggage, marches strait to Hell.) For this cause, when in wealth I did abound, And my huge riches made a mighty ●ound Amongst my neighbours, I would never rate My happiness by th' bulk of my Estate. No, no, I looked on all I did enjoy Not worth my thoughts, nor would I e'er employ The least part of my time in valuing Myself in that contentment Gold doth bring: For, though as much as many I possess't, Yet on that dust my spirit did not rest, I never looked on't as a sure defence Against misery, nor placed my confidence In that weak Rampart, as if all my store, (Although I had possessed some ten times more) Had e'er been able to withstand one hour, The Battery of Divine Wrath. No, no▪ what's all, that we on Earth possess, Our Lands, our Stores, our Money, what, alace, Do all these trifles signify when wrath From Heaven assault us! or approaching Death Hangs out his bloody Flag, and bids us soon Yield up our Fortress, or he'll throw it down. O where are all our Stores, and Treasures then! Where all our Wealth, which with much toil, and pain, We'd had reared up, as a most sure defence Against all troubles! where's that confidence, Which in our countenance did before appear, Where's all our hope! where all our courage! where Are all our mighty Allies, where is all The valour of our boasting Mineral! Oh, where is all its force when death appears, And we're invested by an host of fears! Nay, where are they, when Heaven's King in wrath, Against their master doth his Sword unsheathe, Why, these same peaceful Warriors assoon, As they perceive the enemy take down Their glorious Ensigns, pack up all anon, And in a moment they are fled, and gone, Leaving their hopeless master all alone. Tendure the Siege. O brave Assistants! O stout Legionaries! O hopes of men! O firm Auxiliaries! Who make your owners foolishly believe You can do wonders, when they do perceive, What glorious show you make in time of peace, But dar not look an enemy i'th' face. Who then would trust to those same cowardly troops, In time of trouble? who would place their hopes In such a crew of airy painted things, Which we call riches! Creatures that have wings; And on the high boughs of prosperity Do sweetly chirp, but when adversity Begins to fire, away like smoke they fly. In such vain things than would I never trust, Nor valued them more than as useful dust, By which we live with some convenience, But in them ne'er would place my confidence. Because I knew such empty things as these, 25. ●f I rejoiced because my 〈…〉 ●●cause mine hands had gotten much. Were only the Concomitants of Peace: And when afflictions winds began to roar, In rising Billows signified no more, Then wicker anchors, hawsers made of dust, Or Ropes of Feathers, in which none would trust. Therefore, my friends, I never valued Myself, upon what I had purchased: I never thought I should be more esteemed, ▪ 'Cause I was rich, or should be happy named, Because in plenty: or 'cause Means encreassed, To be repute above my neighbours blessed; Or, because wealthy, that I lived in ease: No, I knew always better things, than these I knew indeed, and to this hour I know, There's nothing more ridiculous here below, Nothing more silly, nothing more absurd, Nothing more indiscreet: yea, in a word, Nothing more wilfully irrational, Amongst us mortals, then for men to call This, or that Person Prudent, Knowing, Wise, Only because he's rich, and to despise Others, 'cause poor, and say they have no wit, Because they have not reaped such benefit In their transactions, as those others have, And so by each man's success do conceive He's wise, or foolish. Whereas commonly, The first are men of small sagacity, Dull, and Phlegmatic, and the latter are Often in parts, and prudence singular. For God has ordered, in his Providence, It should be so, that men may learn from thence Th' Art of contentment, whilst they seriously Observe, with what discreet variety, He doth bestow his Gifts, Knowledge to these, Wealth to these others: and that none possess All blessings upon Earth: for he whom Wealth Doth crown with plenty, usually of health Is destitute; whilst he whom poverty Puts to sad pinches, with his Family, Enjoys it fully▪ he whom parts adorn Is despicably poor, and laughed to scorn, By those whom Means have rendered boldly proud, Whil●● of rich fools the world doth talk aloud, As th' only wise men. To some he allows Wealth without issue, others he endows With a fair Offspring: but scarce competence For feeding of 'em with convenience. To others he gives both, but thinks not fit, T' enrich them with a treasury of wit: And all that God to us would signify, By this remarkable variety Of Dispensations is undoubtedly This only.—— That since all blessings do from him alone Proceed, and that 'tis in the power of none To become masters of these qualities, And be Rich, Fruitful, full of Health, and Wise, Or to attain by toil, or strength of art, That which he only freely doth impart, To whom he will, that men may not be proud Of what to them is by his Grace allowed, Nor boast of any prosperous condition, Which can't be said to be their acquisition. Besides, if we'll but think how mean esteem God has for Riches, we will quickly blame That vulgar apprehension, which doth pitch, It's silly slubbering fancy on the rich; Who generally are but men of base, Unworthy, and unhallowed Principles, Men of mean spirits, and deceitful hearts, Great Master of the most pernicious arts Of cozening, and oppression: men of wealth, Termed by the world, because by cunning stealth They've raised Estates: men they are seldom bred In any Learning, scarce entitled To moral virtue: men who take no pleasure In any Science, but upon their treasure Do fix their Souls: and yet dare do no more, Then with devout eyes, gaze upon their Ore, But thinkest a sin to touch that sacred score. Hence those poor Silkworms, with great toil, and pain, Spin out their Bowels, to make orhers gain: Not living, mean time, on the precious fruit Of their own Labours (which without dispute, Is none of theirs,) on Leaves they meanly feed. And 'midst their riches are half-famished, They're men, whose sordid labours have no end, For when great store of riches they have gained, They vex themselves no less in the tuition, Of these sad toys, then in their acquisition. For there's a certain Idol, on which all Those Sons of Earth do every moment call An Idol by these had in great esteem, Which in their phrase security they name, This they with vows, this they with offerings load, This is their patron, this their household god: Yet that security they can never find, For all their art, in which their troubled mind Doth fully rest, for still some point doth lake, Of this, or another's evident to make A complete Right, and sure establishment Of what these men, have purchased, or lent. So on they go in all the Chicanries, Which their well hired scriveners can devise To make it out: though to make them secure, Many an honest Fam'ly should endure Great want, and hunger, for they seize on all Their Debtors means, and constantly do bawl About the Courts of Justice, for supply Of legal Forces; for security, Of what they've seized, whilst in a modest sense, They call these rascally actings diligence. They're men, whose riches one would apprehend, 'Bove want had raised them, so as they might spend Their days in peace, without all anxious cares, Yet are they night-mared with continual fears, That all their wealth may be before they die, Converted to a scene of poverty; Or if their treasures they entire should save, And never bid them farewell, till the Grave Should shroud them from their sight, yet still their fear Increases, and they anxious appear, In all their looks, for still they fear at least, Their idle Heirs may prodigally waste In a few years, what they in many gained, And that dear wealth luxuriously spend; Which they had purchased with much sweat, and toil, That wealth, they fear, shall now become the spoil Of Whores, and Gamesters: hence most anxiously, They waste their days, in great perplexity, How they should mould, and order their affairs, That they may from the rapine of their Heirs, Preserve their Means. Besides, although they are For most part without issue, yet their care Is not a whit the less, then that of these Whose gaping mouths; but not their Means increase, For then they're tortured with anxieties, How their Estates they firmly may devise, And answer all men's importunities, Who do expect.— At length when they have cruciat their brain, In settling on't, and o'er, and o'er again, Have formed their Wills, vexed with a thousand fears, Not knowing whom to institute their Heirs: Whilst all their friends, and languishing relations, Do feed themselves with airy expectations, And by their several interests do strive, To be their Heirs, whilst they are yet alive; Age, and diseases creeping on apace, Makes them in haste resolve upon the case, They make some deeds, and all to these transmit, Who lest expected: yet for all their wit, It oft eells out, the deeds, which they cause draw At such times in formality of Law Are defective: so that they're hardly cold, When th' Tables being opened, some lay hold On this, or another's clause: hence angry Pleas Burst out on all hands, and each one doth seize On what he can: suits are commenced, and all The disappointed to their actions fall: With heat, and clamour each of 'em pretends His Title to it, and what Gold, and Friends Can do is then essayed: much time is spent, In their loud plead, many an argument Is shot on all hands: whilst they do debate, Like fools, and children, with great noise, and heat, For the possession of a fools Estate. At last, when with such bawling wearied, And by their actions much impov'rished, All those, who are concerned incline to treat, And their expense begin to calculat, They find that Lawyers, Proctors, Scriviners, And Clerks, not they, have been the truest Heirs Of the poor Mole: and that which now remains, Scarce countervails their loss of time, and pains. These are your rich-men now, these are the men Whom you call wise, of whom scarce one of ten, As I've observed, do either live, or die, Like men of wit, and judgement, these are they Whom th' world esteem; though neither happy, wise, Nor learned, nor moral; whilst they do despise All that are owners of those qualities, Because perhaps they're poor.— O, partial world, that puts no other rate. On men, but by the weight of their Estate! Who from thy unjust scales record'st no more, Then only this man's rich, and that man's poor. Who naked virtue slights, and puts a price, At all occasions, upon guilded vice: Allowing nought for value, though men do By daily commerce, in the weight allow A fifth part less, to fine Wares in the pound, Then to course Ware; but riches make a sound, And proudly triumph all the world around. Hence are their owners held in great esteem, Though of small parts, whilst men the poor do name But fools, and dunces, though these do possess Within their breasts, more solid happiness, Then riches can afford, and generally Are men of Virtue, Learning, Piety: Men of true solid Knowledge, men of Wit, Men, who do reap more lasting benefit, I'th' product of one single contemplation, Reduced thereafter into conversation, By art and prudence in the application, Then rich, laborious Spiders do possess I'th' thoughts of all their Cobweb-purchase▪ Yet all rich men, my friends, I do suppose Are not of this kind: no, I mean of those Only, who set their souls upon their dust, And in their changeling riches put their trust. For I know many, who great means possess, Yet as the least part of their happiness, They do esteem them; but as piously They live, so with contentment, when they die, They leave their means to their posterity. Nay such, as waste their profitable years, Without a mixture of some worldly cares, Pleasing themselves with things o'th' present tense, And lay up nothing for convenience, In their old age: nor labour t' entertain Their Fam'lies by some sober, lawful gain; If it be in their power; though men of parts, Of Virtue, Knowledge, Literature, and Arts, I hold for Fools, and Sinners: I confess I never was in love, with Idleness, In any man; nor do I think it just Men should live idly, and pretend they trust In Providence; no, there's great difference, 'Twixt trusting in, and tempting Providence. For, though, at first, th' Almighty did demise To man this vast, and spacious superfice O'th' Earth, to have, and hold it for his use; That without manuring, it might produce All that the state of Humane Life required Or th' interest of Society desired, Yet was this noble Grant original Quickly renversed, and cancelled by the Fall; For now perceiving that such affluence Was inconsistent with man's innocence After the forfeiture in Paradise, On other terms, he did this Earth devise To th' sons of men, that it should yield them nought, But what with labour, and great toil they bought. Hence 'tis if any man should think t' obtain The good things of this Earth, without some pain, For all his Virtue, Wit, and Literature, 'Tis just that by a second forfeiture, His portion of this Earth he should amit, And be condemned to live upon his Wit, 'Cause contrair to the tenor of his Grant, He doth not labour to supply his want. As you have heard me then impartially Discourse of that stupendious vanity, Which we call Wealth: I hope you will believe My friends, that I, when Rich, did not conceive Myself the happier cause I did possess Those things, which only Fools call Happiness. No, for if I could in Prosperity, Have only bragged of Riches, certainly Then had I merit in all just men's eyes T' ha' been thought neither happy, just, nor wise. And now, my friends, since you have patiently 26. If I beheld the sun, when it shined, or the moon walking in brightness. Herd an account of my Morality, In the next place, I must request of you To hear th'account of my Religion too: That when I'm gone, you freely may declare These passages of me, which now you hear, And, as good men, your justice testify, At least in showing how you heard me die: That th' unjust World at length may be ashamed To have me without Reason so defamed: From such just men, as you, I do expect No less; to you therefore I shall direct, My full, but last Confession of Faith, That, if not in my life, yet after death Has stopped my mouth, when you hear any speak, Of your deceased friend, with disrespect, You may assure them, I was no such man, As I was represented: nay you can, (If you believe what I now speak is true) You can, I say that Argument pursue, With so much Candour, Art, and Eloquence, As you may soon persuade all men of sense How much I've been abused, how much injured By bloody Tongues, and they may be assured That all the ill things they have heard of me, When I've been censured in a high degree By foul-mouthed Tiplers, ' have been only Lies, Unjust Reproaches, and base Calumnies. First then, my friends, I since my Infancy, Firmly believed, that from Eternity There was one God, who all things did create, One only God; whose Power doth regulate The universal World in Sovereignty, And doth by a Supreme Authority Give Laws to all: and save that God alone, Man of a Woman born should worship none. And therefore those, that did the Sun adore, The Moon, or Stars, I truly did abhor. Nay, though those splendid Creatures I esteemed 27. And my heart hath been secretly enticed, or my mouth hath kissed my hand. Beyond all others, which his hands had framed, Yet were those glorious parts of the Creation Only the subject of my admiration, But not of my devotion: for indeed As in a Picture, I in these would read The immense Power of him, whose mighty hand At first did mould them, by whose sole command They did exist; and to this Power obey Their first directions: whilst the Sun by day, The Moon, and Stars by night the World survey, By his sole order, and acknowledge none For their Superior, but Heaven's King alone. Hence would I look on them with admiration, But at no time, with secret veneration, Only as those at Court a leg will make TO th' Prince's Servants, for their Master's sake: So when I'd see the Sun, at morning rise, With great devotion, I would turn my eyes To th' East, and with uplifted hands, confess God's greatness, and my own unworthiness, T' approach the Throne of that bright Deity, Who keeped such servants in his Family, As was that Creature, in one single beam Darting more splendour, than all those we name Kings here on Earth, with all their glorious shows, Patched up in one can on the World impose. Again, when I this Creature could espy Shining at Noon-tyde in his Majesty; Then would my soul fly out in admiration, Of him, who's Author of the whole Creation, When such a member of it in its Sphere So worthy admiration doth appear, And through that glorious Prospect I'd descry The beauty of the Divine Majesty- As at great distance. When again at night I'd see it from the World withdraw its light, Then would I think, what's all our glory here, When even th' illustrious Sun, which did appear In stately splendour, but some hours ago, Is now extinct, with all it pompous show. Then, when I'd see the Moon, and Stars draw out, Like the Night-watch, and walk the Round about This spacious Globe; I'd think, O what must he, Who entertains such Guards, what must he be! What must he be, to whom those glorious things, Perform such service! sure he's King of kings: For there's no Prince on Earth, with all his power That can command those Forces, for one hour To stop their march: nay not the Sun by day, Nor in the night will Moon, and Stars obey Their Edicts, but proceed in their Career, And on their duty still by turns appear, As their instructions from their Master bear. Thus, for respect to him, who these did frame, 28. This also were an iniquity to be punished by the judge, for I should have denied the God that is above. Which, as so many Heralds do proclaim His Glory far, and wide; at all occasions, I'd honour them with pious Contemplations, As Servants of that Heavenly Majesty, Under whose feet all things created lie: And by the splendour of such things, as these I would the glory of their Maker guests; As Artists, by Proportions Rules will show The Body's bulk, by measure of the Toe. But, all my life-time, I would ne'er allow To any of 'em that honour, which is due To God alone: though such Idolatry Were not by Law repute Grand Felony. Hence in this God alone I put my trust, 29. If I rejoiced at the destruction of him that hated me, or lift up myself when evil found him. And 'cause he was impartially just: When any one did me an injury, To him alone I would myself apply. I never was vindictive, never knew That humour, which is but unknown to few, That prompts men to revenge: I'd never strive T' encroach upon his high Prerogative, To whom alone Revenge doth appertain, But would (shut up in patience) remain: Until that God did think it proper time For him to punish, and revenge the Crime. Yea though my cruel Enemies, God knows, 30. Neither have I suffered my mouth to sin, by wishing a curse to his soul. Would every day, when from their Bed they rose, Bitterly curse me, and my Family Instead of Morning Prayer, yet would not I Though these did hate me, as I hate the Devil, To their unguarded souls wish any evil. Nay though my followers, when they would perceive 31. If the men of my tabernacle said not, O that we had of his flesh▪ we cannot be satisfied. How much I was injured: would truly grieve To see my usage, and at all occasions Would own my Quarrel with dire imprecations, And often wish it were to them allowed To take revenge, angry they were withstood By my commands: and often would repeat, Would we had of those Villain's flesh to eat, Who have injured our Master, we would make Those Slaves a bloody Victim for his sake. Yet would I ne'er consent, I'd ne'er agree That ever man should take revenge for me: But on the contrair I would pardon those Who wronged me, were they even my greatest Foes: I never on revenge would meditate, Nor thought myself obliged at any rate, To quarrel those, who did me injuries, Which rather than resent I would despise. But O I took delight in Charity. 32. The stranger did not lodge in the streets, but I opened my door to the traveller. By taking always opportunity T' assist all Persons, whom I knew to be In want, as oft as they applied to me. The wearied Traveller, whose lean Purse did shrink Below the credit of a cup of Drink; Whose Visage, and Apparel looked so thin, He was a very bugbear to an Inn: All destitute, or'edaubed with Dust, and Sweat, Ready to take up lodgings in the Street; Into my House I'd always kindly take, And entertain him, for his Maker's sake. Now though those Virtues did possess my breast, 33. If I c●●ered my transgression as Adam, by hiding my iniquity in my bosom. And I all sinful courses did detest: Yet, if at any time, I'd chance to fail, And some strong sin against me did prevail Then would I not my Conscience abuse, By framing of some pitiful excuse: As once poor Adam did t' extenuate The error, which he could not pailiate: No no, such stale devices I abhorred, And therefore, when I failed, I'd in a word, Upon my knees, with hands uplifted, cry, Lord I have sinned: Lord I have wilfully Incurred thy anger at this sad occasion, And so deserve to bear thy indignation. For, trust me, such as freely do confess Their sins, and with an open heart address Themselves to God, are always better heard, Then those, whose cautious Mouths, as if afeared T' accuse their Hearts, do mincingly declare What hardly they desire that God should hear. And here, my friends, I must again protest, 34. Did I fear a great multitude, or did the contempt of families terrify me, that I kept silence, and went not out of the door. I don't remember ever in my breast, Such sinful thoughts did entertainment find, As those, to which too many are inclined. For (trust me now) though I in Wealth, and Power Did live for many years, yet to that hour That God was pleased to visit me, I never Would use that Power, on what account soever, To th' prejudice of any man, although, Had I inclined t' have used my Neighbours so, As others did, I might have done with ease, What ever might a rich man's humour please. For I to others could ha' given Law And made all in my District, stand in awe; Yet I'd not injure the most despicable, Nor do offence to th' meanest of the Rabble. But what needs more! O now that God would hear 35. O that one would hear me, behold my desire is that the Almighty would answer me, and that mine adversary had written a book. What I have spoke: O that he would declare, From what I have expressed in my defence, His just opinion of my Innocence. O that my God would hear me, O that he Who knows Hearts-secrets would declare me free, From those Aspersions, Lies, and Calumnies Thund'red against me, by my Enemies. For O should he a hearing once allow, I'd laugh at these, and all their Libels too. Nay let them write a Volumn, if they will Yes, let them rail, and article their fill: Let them paint out my actings, as they please, And break my reputation by degrees: Let them me Rogue, let them me Villain call, Let God but hear me, I'd contemn them all. For all, what these invidious men could say 36. Surely I would take it upon my shoulder, and bind it as a crown to me. Against me, in their wrath, should in the day That God should hear me, prove for my defence, And, stead of sullying, clear my Innocence: For than their malice should itself declare And in its own true Colours should appear: 37. I would declare unto him the number of my steps, as a Prince would I go nigh unto him. But to my Judge I freely could confess My hidden sins: and for the sins, which these Lay to my charge; I'd give such evidence Before him of my injured Innocence, As I should by him be acquit from thence. O let him hear me then, let God but hear My Case himself, and then I do not fear What all the World can say: for I do still Assert my Innocence, (take it as you will.) 38. If my land cry against me, or that the furrows likewise complain. And now, my friends, that I may put an end To my Discourse, because I apprehend You're weary now of hearing, as indeed I am of speaking: I shall therefore plead No more upon the case: but once for all, My great Creator I to witness call; That what I have professed, dear friends, to you, Is not at all devised, but simply true. For all my life, I safely may assert, Before that God, who fully knows my heart; That, to my knowledge, truly I did never, In what state, or capacity soever, Do any unjust thing: for to this day, (What e'er men speak) I can with freedom say, If any man, who served me, can complain That ever I his Wages did retain. If of my ground the increase I have eat, 39 If I have eaten the fruits thereof without money, or have caused the owners thereof to lose their life. Without first paying for the toil, and sweat Of those, who laboured it, or in the least Muzzled the mouths of either man or beast Who did tread out my corns: or did refuse At any time the labourers honest deuce; If ever I did strive to multiply My Revenues by fraud and usury: Then let those grounds (which I do yet expect 40. Let thistles grow in stead of wheat, and cockle in stead of barley. I may possess) be cursed for my sake: Let Cockle, stead of Barley, stead of Wheat, Let Thistles all my grounds emacerate. Now I have done, my friends, shall add no more, But once again, as I have done before, I do conjure you by the love you owe To your own souls, my dearest friends, although You have no love for me; that you'll declare Hereafter to the world, what now you hear: This favour I expect you'll not deny T' allow, for all that's past, to th'memory Of one shrieved by yourselves, but boldly show Th' abused world, more than as yet they know. And tell that Job, whom even good men envied Wicked men hated, and all now deride, Of avarice, hypocrisy, and pride, Did clear himself, and as he lived he died. PART. IV. Cap. XXXII. AND now the long debate is at an end, 1. So these three men ceased to answer job, because he was righteous in his own eyes. For th'other three perceiving how their friend Still unconvinc'd, himself did justify, And would not pass from his integrity, But that to every proof and evidence, Which they adduced, to rouz his Conscience, He still opponed his unstained innocence. All over wearied, and perceiving now 'Twas but in vain t'have any more to do With one, who was beyond their reasoning, Hence now all silent.— As in some plead, you have, after all 2. Then was kindled the wrath of Elihu, the son of Barachel the Buzzite, of the kindred of Ram, against job his wrath was kindled, because he justified himself rather then God. Have spoke, observed th'attorney-general Resume the series of the whole debate, And in good order recapitulate Both Parties Arguments, and then declare Wherein, in his opinion both do err, And where agree with Law: so after these And Job at large had argued the case: One, who had sit by all the while, and heard All that had passed, but had not yet appeared In the debate, one Elihu by name, A pious young man, of the house of Ram, Descended, as is thought of Nahors race, Residing not far distant from the place Where Job did live: come hither to condole As well, it seems, as th' others: this man's Soul Enraged at what he heard both Parties speak, Resolves at length to tell his mind, and check Both of 'em for their errors: and first here Begins with Job, because he did appear To justify himself, and usually Would in his passion ask a reason why He was afflicted thus, as if that he Had known no sin, had been from error free; And God, whom he with fervency and zeal, Had always served, now had not used him well: But laid him low, and so by consequence He was unjust in whipping innocence. Next at his three friends he was angry too, 3. Also against his three friends was his wrath kindled, because they had found no answer, & yet had condemned job. 'Cause they had all this while kept such ado, With long discourses, edged with eloquence, And argued with great heat, and violence, Against a man, whom God had visited With sorrows, as if he had merited Those evils, by his sins: yet after all, They could not prove that he was Criminal Of what they did accuse him; but indeed Did rather for him, then against him plead. Because with all their painted Allegories, Their pitiful, and oft repeated Stories, Of great men's down-falls; and the Tragical Exits of those, whom th'world doth happy call: They were so far from proving what they aimed, As he admired such men were not ashamed To so small purpose to have argued, When he observed to all that he had said, Th'afflicted man had with such gravity, Such polished reason, and solidity, So wisely, and discreetly answered, As they had not yet any progress made In what they undertook, nor could they prove That he was one found guilty from above. Yet had all three concluded he was such As those great men of whom they talked too much. Now this same Elihu, this knowing Youth 4. Now Elihu had waited till job had spoken, because they were elder than he▪ Sat silently not opening of his mouth, During the whole Debate, and with attention, Had heard them speak, what in his apprehension, Might ha' been spared: yet would not undertake To interrupt them, whilst they yet did speak, In reverence to their Age, and that true sense Of things afforded by experience, With which he thought those men were richly stored, And therefore, whilst they argued, not one word Upon the Subject from his mouth did fall, Though in his mind he kept record of all. But now that Job his last Discourse had ended, 5. When Elihu saw that there was no answer in the mouth of these three men, than his wrath was kindled: And he, with patience, had some time attended, To see if any of 'em would answer make, That not succeeding, as he did expect, In indignation, he began to speak. I'm young, says he, 'tis true, and you are old, 6. And Elihu the son of Barachel the Buzite answered, and said, I am young, and you are old, wherefore I was afraid, and durst not show you my opinion. On which account I durst not be so bold, Whilst you persisted in your reasoning, To give you my opinion of the thing: But now, that I perceive you at a Bay, And it appears you have no more to say; Not knowing further, as the Case doth stand, How to pursue the Argument in hand: And that Jobs Reason's strong. yours low, and weak I think it is high time for me to speak. For, truth, I with the Vulgar, had esteem 7. I said, days should speak, and multitude of years should teach wisdom. For every Formal Fop, that bore the name Of solid Judgement huddled up in years, And had a great respect for Silver hairs. But now I see, now I perceive at last, 8. But there is a spirit in man, and the inspiration of the Almighty giveth understanding. (Reflecting seriously on what is past,) The fallacy of this Vulgar Error, now I clearly see, what 'tis to have to do With men of reason; who, as well appears, Are not to be outbraved by boasting years. Now I perceive, what we Experience call And aged Judgement, is mere cozenage all. For when 'tis brought to th' Test, and we expect Our gray-haired Sires, like Oracles should speak, And utter nothing, but grave Sentences; In you, my friends, I've seen, I do profess Nothing but a tenacious wilfulness. For I've observed, with how much heat, and passion You spoke, and used but little moderation In your Discourse: which, if I may divine, The Judgement, by the Tongue, is no good sign Of real wisdom: and I now conceive, That we of younger years, are made believe, Old men, to be the only men of sense, Because enriched with long experience, And that no man, while old can become wise, Merely by th'unperceived artifice Of bare Tradition: as the idle tales Of Fairies, and Hobgoblins, or what else Good women, to affright their babes devise Do pass for truths, though little more than lies. No, trust me, wisdom is not purchased By length of days, nor can a man be said To be an owner of that quality, Which we call wisdom, or solidity, Only because of his antiquity. Alace, you are deceived, if you think so, For, by what I have learned, I tell you no. I tell you no,— for I am confident, There is a Spirit, which from Heaven is sent Into our Breasts, by which we learn to know, What all our toil, and labour here below Cannot attain: for (to be plain with you) I always thought, but am confirmed now, That wisdom is a spark of Divine flame, A piercing glance of him whose hand did frame The Universe: a most conspicuous sign Of what we know, but cannot well define. I think it one of those Celestial Rays, Which neither doth consist in years, nor days: A thing that is not in a Sanguine air, Or a brisk Mine, though one would think that there Great Spirits lodged, nor in a serious eye, Or sad deportment doth this wisdom lie. Nor in a dull, and slow phlegmatic sense, Which doth not yield the world much eloquence, But by a forced frugality of speech, Would make us think what is above its reach, Were jealously shut up within its breast, Whilst this wise thing, knows of all others lest. Nor in a sullen melancholy look, Which seems to order all things by the Book, And in all subtle Arts, and Sciences Knows more, than it has language to express, No, I think wit consists in none of these. 'Tis neither in Earth, Water, Air, nor Fire, But God alone, true wisdom doth inspire. 'Tis true, I know there is a rational, And well prepared soul infused in all The Race of Adam, by which they indeed From other Creatures are distinguished: And that this soul, which (being the same in all The Sons of men,) we do a Spirit call: May be by Art, and curious Industry So much improved, and elevat so hie, 'Twill stoop to nothing, but Divinity: Yet in that Spirit Wisdom doth not dwell, For there's a Spirit, that doth yet excel That Spirit; which we may call Divine Grace, There, there true Wisdom hath its dwelling place, There it resides, and in that Spirit, God, For man's instruction keeps his firm abode. Hence those that are not furnished with this Spirit, Let them all Learning, Parts, and Wit inherit: Let them with stretches of a large dimension, Exceed the reach of humane apprehension, In their high, subtle notions: let them raise Themselves beyond the faculty of praise, Yea, let all men them wise, and prudent call, Without this Spirit, they're but dunces all. For don't we see how those, whom all esteem 9, Great men are not always wise, neither do the aged understand judgement. Prudent, learned, wise, and Politicians name The great eyes of the world: the knowing things Whom we call Statesmen, by whose wisdom Kings Are ruled, who rule us all.— When by their carnal wit, and policy, Void of all grace, they labour foolishly, To do great things; that thence they may attain The reputation of contriving men, When by their wit they make alliances And break them too, to serve their purposes, More than their Prince's interest, for their zeal Neither regards the Crown, nor Common-weal, But their own ends, until the Prince's eye Begins to make some sharp discovery Of their ill actings; then their wit appears, Their great experience, and their length of years To be mere folly, and they now too late Do find that something not precogitate Doth lack, which would ha'made their wits complete For now estranged from their Prince's face, They find their wisdom was not that of grace: And now the poor discarded man of wit, In solitude most pensively doth sit, Whilst with his former greatness he begins, At once to call to mind his former sins: And so concludes, for all his wit and art, He was deceived by a deceitful heart, Which made him still believe that without grace, His parts would fully do his business; But now he sees he's but a very fool, A child, and yet but entering to the School Of real wisdom: and endeavours now In the short time he has with much ado To know but even the Rudiments of that, Which far transcends all guilded Rules of State. Since wisdom then in years doth not consist, 10. Therefore I said, harken unto me, I also will show my opinion. Nor in high knowledge, (think you what you list) For my part, I think one that has not yet Attained to either, freely may debate Upon a subject, where both young and old Are equally concerned: I must be bold To tell you then, of what you three have said, And what our friend has spoke, that I have made My own weak observations, and am now Ready to show you, what I do allow, What not, in all you've spoke.— Then after all your learned reasoning, Be pleased to hear my judgement of the thing. Why then, my friends, during your long debate, 11. Behold I waited for your words. I gave car to your reasons, whilst you searched out what to say. I have observed your words, whilst you did state The Question in hand, and eagerly With all your art maintained the verity Of your assertions: yet me thought, indeed That all the while you never answered The Arguments, which Job in his defence Often adduced, to prove his innocence: So well, and fully, as you might ha' done; But that— ' Stead of refuting of what he maintained, You rather fortined him, and have gained Nothing as I perceive by this debate, But rather seem by him to be defeat. For when I had considered all you spoke, 12. Yea, I attended unto you, and behold there was none of you that convinced job, or that answered his words. I found your reasons were but empty smoke: And all your Arguments to me appeared But a●ryknacks; for yet I have not heard Any of you, for all your pungent wit, In your discourse judiciously hit Upon the point: as truth you should a'done, And you shall hear how I shall do anon. Then do not think that you have overcome 13. Lest you should say, we have found out wisdom, God th●usteth him down, not man. Job with your reasons, and have made him dumb By force of argument, for what you said That God was just, and only punished Such as deserved; which you did all maintain To be a maxim, and once, and again Would urge it strongly, truth I take to be A point debatable; because I see No inconsistence 'twixt the equity Of God th'afflicter, and th'integrity Of him, who is afflicted; for I know God keeps a many worthy persons low, For their own good; whom we must not conceive To be offenders, or with you believe That none but such do suffer: at this rate You've argued all this while, but I shall state The matter otherwise, and plainly show That though this man were innocent, yet so To bluster in his trial, and complain Of his hard usage, as if he'd arraign The God of justice, for iniquity Is such a fault as none can justify. Now then, my friends, as I am not engaged 14. Now he hath not direct his words against me, neither will I answer him with your speeches. In quarrel with this man; nor have I staged Myself his opposite: and with such heat, As you have done, managed a long debate, With one in his sad circumstances, so I will not use your reasons, for I know My friend's distemper, and I will endeavour By other means, than yours, to cure his fever. Especially, because I now perceive 15. They were amazed, they answered no more, they left off speaking. You're silent, I have reason to believe The heat of your sharp arguing now is spent, And you'll no more pursue your argument. For I expected, that in such a case, 16. When I had waited, ●or they spoke not but stood still & answered no more. Your language with your reason would increase, But now I see you're mute, and hold your peace. I therefore think, 'tis now high time for me 17. I sard I will answer also my part, I also will show my opinion. To speak my thoughts, and let you plainly see Your error in the subject, and defend At least, in some points, our distressed friend. For when my Maker's honour lies at stake, 18. For I am full of matter, the spirit within meconstraineth me. If ever, I am now obliged to speak, I'm now obliged to speak; because I find The spirit within me bids me speak my mind. For as new wine in Bottles doth ferment, 19 Behold my belly is as wine, which hath no vent, it is ready to burst like new bottles. And quickly bursts, if it doth find no vent, So, if I speak not, what the spirit now, In a well ordered zeal doth promp me too, I doubt my mind with matter so replete, Will force a passage, and expatiate Itself in some disorder, or at least, My words will issue through my very breast. That therefore to my numerous thoughts I may, 20. I will speak that I may be refreshed, I ●●ll open my lips, and answer. What ere be th' event, make some speedy way, And so refresh my spirits, I must speak, Though possibly in such a dialect, As will not please both parties, yet I must Express my mind, and truth I shall be just To all of you, and so far, as I can, Avoid to give offence to any man. But I must tell you that you may expect, 21. Let me not, I pray you, accept any man's person, neither let me give flattering titles to man. My mind I will impartially speak; I'll flatter none of you, but will express With freedom, what I think upon the case: Without regard to this poor man, who lies On Dunghill now, and whom all men despise, Or you, who think yourselves extremely wise. For I could never to this hour persuade 22. For I know not to give flattering titles, in so doing, my maker would soon ●ake me away. Myself on any terms to learn the trade Of flattering, especially where The Cause of God's in hand, for there, O there, Without regard to men, I must be free, As all of my Profession should be. Else, if I should at any time forbear To speak, what God commands me, out of fear, Of any Earthly Power, or meanly shrink At threats of any, I might justly think, I were unworthy of that Character Which all that speak by inspiration bear. Cap. XXXIII. WHerefore I pray thee, Job, but hear me now, 1. Wherefore job, I pray thee, hear my speeches, & hearken to all my words. And to what I design to speak, allow But some attention, and I shall commend Thy Patience, if thou hear me to an end. For now, dear friend, that I intent to speak 2. Behold now, I have opened my mouth, my tongue hath spoken in my mouth. Upon thy Case, I will indeed expect Attentive silence, whilst impartially I both demonstrate where thy Errors lie, And where thou hast spoke right, for now I see The whole weight of the Matter lies on me. I therefore plainly do intend to show 3. My words shall be of the uprightness of my heart and my lips shall utter knowledge clearly. What I by certain information know: Not what old Women feign, or old men dream, Or what is scattered by injurious Fame Through all the Neighbourhood, on this occasion, But openly, without dissimulation, I'll show thee, what my thoughts are of the thing, On which I have heard so much reasoning. Now, though I am not far advanced in years, 4. The spirit of God hath made me, and the breath of the Almighty hath given me life. And neither Head, nor Face, as yet appears In the grave die of a few withered Hairs. Yet I'm a Man, a Creature rational, And know as much, as any of you all, For that good Spirit, which did me create, Has taught me both to speak, and to debate, On such occasions; and I do not know Why that Almighty God, who first did blow On this poor lump of Clay, might not have then Informed me full as well, as other men, With that high Knowledge, and made me advance Beyond my years, in what, with Arrogance, Our aged Men would to themselves enhance. Again, my friend, I'd have thee to give ear 5. If thou canst answer me, set thy words in order before me, stand up. To what I speak, because I am not here To take advantage of thy misery, And tell thee in thy face, so bitterly, As these thy friends have done, that thou art lost, Undone, adjudged to Wrath, thy Doom engrossed; And that blessed Countenance, that Light divine, Which on all those, whom God esteems doth shine, Is as to thee eclipsed, and will no more Refresh thy Soul, as it has done before. No, in such terms I'll not myself express, Nor use such harsh reflections, as these Upon thy bypast life; which if, or no 'Twas such as they allege, I do not know. Nor will I check thee, when I hear thee speak Of thy Integrity, or answer make To what I charge thee, with firm Protestation, Of thy unspotted Life, and Conversation. No, thou shalt have free liberty for me To answer for thyself, thou may'st be free, In what thou hast to say in thy defence, And openly lay out thy Innocence, With all the art thou canst: take courage then, And be not overcome by what those men Have spoke against thee: for I lay no hold On their assertions; be thou therefore bold, And speak out freely what in thy defence Thou canst allege, with all the eloquence, God has afforded thee; be not afraid Of mortal men, who usually upbraid Their friends with sin, though near so innocent, When they perceive them in this exigent, As thou art now, for if thou truly be Just, innocent, upright, from error free, As thou seem'st to pretend, by all that's past, Why shouldst thou not stand to it to the last. Yes, why shouldst not stand to it, for what thou 6. Behold▪ I am according to thy wish, in God's stead. I also am form out of the clay. Hast all this while desired is granted now: Thou didst desire that thou with God mightst plead, Why do it now, for I am in his stead: I have Commission from our Great Creator To hear thee speak at large upon the matter: Thou didst desire that he would hear thy case, Why then, imagine I am in his place, Appointed as his Auditor, say then, Speak out thy mind, be not afraid of men: For I, although I bear the character Of the Almighty's High Commissioner, Yet I am but a man, as thou art, made Of dust, and clay, be not thou then afraid That I will crush thee, or increase thy woe, By screwing up thy doleful sorrows, no, I will not use such methods, but appear As soft, as if I whispered in thy ear. I will not use thee, as thy friends ha'done, 7 Behold my terror shall not make thee afraid, neither shall my hand be heavy upon thee. Nor shall my Language in their Channel run: Such picquant words, as they have spoke, shall be In my speech on the subject far from me. To tell thee freely then, I must complain 8 Surely thou hast spoken in mine hearing, and I have heard the voice of thy words, saying▪ Of what I've heard thee speak once, and again: I must reprove thee for some rash Expressions, Which thou hast often used in thy Passions; For, to my grief, my friend, I've heard thee speak, What from a wise man I did not expect. O, saidst thou, I am clean, and innocent, 9 I am clean, without transgrassion, I am innocent, neither is there iniquity in me- Free of all sin, in Virtue eminent: I know not what belongs to vice, not I, Nor am acquainted with Iniquity. Yet hath my great Creator punished 10. Behold he findeth occasions against me, he counteth me for his enemy. Me no less, then if I had merited Such Judgements by my sins: his Wrath has seized Upon my very soul; and he is pleased, ' Stead of rewarding my Integrity, To look upon me, as his Enemy: ‛ Has picked a Quarrel with me, and of late ‛ Has sore oppress't me, for I know not what. For, as a Malefactor I am used, 11. He putteth my feet in the stocks, he marketh all my paths Arrested, clap't i'th'Stocks, Arraigned, Accused, Condemned, and Forfault, and yet all this time He'll not let me so much as know my Crime. Why here, it is now, here, my friend, indeed 12. Behold in this thou art most just, I will answer thee, that God is greater than man, Thou grossly errest: and if thou dost proceed In such untained Expressions, as these, Allow me, friend, to tell thee in thy face, Were't thou as upright, innocent, and just As he, whom God did out of pregnant Dust At first create, before his foul Offence Did slain the beauty of his Innocence: Yet thus to talk, thus foolishly to prate, Thus with thy Maker to expostulate, As if he were thy Equal, is, my friend, Such an escape, as no man can defend. This is thy Crime, this is the Fault indeed, Thus guiltily thy Innocence to plead; Thus in asserting thy Integrity T'accuse Heaven's Monarch of Iniquity, Who is all Justice: Pray what dost thou mean, Dost think if thou be from all Error clean, But he is far more clean; if thou be pure, Upright, and just in all thy ways, why sure He, who inspired thee, he who made thee live, He, who to thee these Qualities did give Must be more just, and upright, he must be Far more than thou art, from all Error free. And as he's just, so he is likewise great, 13. Why dost thou strive against him, for he giveth not account of any of his matters. For his Dominion is unlimitate: He rules this spacious Universe alone, And truly is accountable to none For his procedure: why then wouldst contend With him, whose strength, and power doth far transcend Thy weak Capacity: why wouldst dispute With him who is supreme, and absolute I'th' government o'th' World: with him, who sends Blessings or Plagues on Enemies, or Friends, As he thinks fit, and is not tied to give To any curious Mortal that doth live, A reason for his actings; no, not he; And yet forsooth thou think'st he'll humour thee: Thou thinkest he will thy longing satisfy, And condescend t'assign a reason why He thus doth plague thee: O yes, and do that, In complaisance to thee, which he as yet Has never done to any: prithee then Forbear thy fretting, do no more complain; But rest assured as well as other men, That—— For any man, as thou dost to debate With this great God, who all things did create, Is such a piece of folly, as I may, In truth, assert most freely, to this day I have not heard the like: then once again, My friend, I tell thee, do no more complain As thou hast done, for if, with patience, Thou canst endure what God doth now dispense, If thou canst suffer, what he doth ordain At this time for thy Sentence; and abstain From such Debating, and Expostulations, As only sinful men at such occasions Do use, then by that single Argument Thou'led prove that thou art just, and innocent More than by any I have heard, as yet Managed by thee in all thy long Debate. But why all this complaining, why alace 14. For God speaketh once, yea twice, yet man perceiveth it not. Dost thou so much debate upon the Case, As if God sent out Judgements here, and there, Without so much as once declaring War, But catching of his opportunities, Did ruin honest Mortals by surprise. Why here thou errest too: here indeed, my friend, Thou dost with God most foolishly contend: For look you here now, why should we complain That he doth deal surprisingly with men? When every day he doth so openly By th'out-crys of his sweeting Ministry, By Signs, Diseases, Visions, and even By all the dreadful Heraldry of Heaven Forwarn us of his Wrath to come, and yet We understand not, till it be too late This Universal Language, but complain When Judgements come, that we are overta'en By mere surprise, and foolishly cry out We had no warning, whilst in truth I doubt We did not understand the Dialect, Of him, who doth so often to us speak. So that, my friend, thou shouldst not thus exclaim Against thy Maker, for thou art to blame, Who didst not understand such revelations, As usually preceded sad visitations. For certainly, if thou wilt call to mind Thy by past life, I doubt not but thou'lt find thoust had some warnings, were't but in a dream, Of thy afflictions long before they came. Yes, in a dream, for oftentimes I know, 15. In a dream, in a vision of the night, when deep sleep falleth upon men; in ●lumbrings on the bed. God is accustomed seriously to show To men (what often they conceal for shame) Their future state i'th' mirror of a dream. For when the active soul outwearied, With toil o'th' day, at night is brought to bed Of a sound sleep; than it begins to fly, Then liberat from the body's drudgery, It soars aloft, and in another sphere Begins to act: nay, than it doth appear, To be, what we cannot imagine here. For being then as fit for contemplation Almost, as 'twill be after separation, By vision intuitive it sees The state of things to come, and by degrees Becomes so subtle, and doth at that rate, In contemplation then expatiate. With such delight, as if it did not mean, By natural Organs e'er to act again: But when some hours it has thus wandered, And in that time God has discovered, What for its profit he intends at large, Then he commands it to its former charge. Have you not sometimes seen a General, 16. Then he openeth the ears of men, and sealeth their Instruction. His Officers to his Pavilion call, Whilst all the Army do securely sleep, Save a few Companies, who Guard do keep; And there inform them what he would ha' done, Give every one his Orders, and anon, Command each to his Post: so let's suppose, When in profoundest sleep, the eyes are close, The Body, one would think, overcome by death, (Were't not that only it did softly breath.) Th'Almighty then is pleased, as 'twere, to call The soul unto him, and inform it all What he intends to do with it, and then Commands it to the sleeping Corpse again: Whether▪ when come the sad Noctambulant, In a cold sweat, with fear, and rambling faint, Rouzes the Body from its sleep, and then Shows its instructions, and begins t'explain What it has seen, and heard, and plainly shows What Miseries, Calamities, and Woes, They may expect God will to them dispense, If not prevented by true penitence. Then, as if God himself to them did speak, When on these admonitions they reflect, With fear, and horror they begin to quake. For they consider that his sole intent 17 That he may withdraw man from his purpose, and hide pride from man. By these night-warnings, is but to prevent Their total fall, and by such signs, as these, Divert them from those foolish purposes, Which in their hearts they proudly do intend To prosecute, did he not kindly send Such seasonable messages to show What will be th' event, if they forward go, In such mad projects, and by consequence Make them to understand the difference 'Twixt humane power, and his Omnipotence. By Dreams and Visions than he doth alarm 18 He keepeth back his soul from the pit, and his life from perishing by the sword. Th' unwary race of man, and from all harm Preserve both soul and body; which alace Would fall into the dreadful ambushes Of th' enemy o' th' world, were't not that he Who framed both soul and body, thus did free Them both from danger, and did constantly Mind their concerns, with a Paternal eye. For else the murdered body soon would drop Into the grave, the soul without all hope Of pardon, in that deep abyss would fall, Which God in justice has designed for all Whom he doth hate, and dolefully, in Chains, Compare short pleasures, with eternal pains, Thus than we see how much we should esteem The ordinar Phaenomenon of a dream, And not contemn it, because usual, As if a common accident to all Occurring in their sleep, ane a●ry thing, Of which the wiser make no reckoning: For sure those dreams, and visions contain The mind of God, and are not shown in vain. Next, as by dreams, so by diseases too 19 He is chastened also with pain upon his bed, and the multitude of his bones with strong pains. The Spirit of God is pleased to allow Kind warnings to us: for, if understood, All sicknesses of body for our good, Are sent upon us; so that did we know What kindness by diseases God doth show To our poor souls, we never would complain, But think ourselves most happy in our pain. For let's observe now, don't we daily see How man in health from all diseases free, Consumes his precious years so wantonly, As if he never did expect to die. He so employs his time in sinful pleasure, As for devotion he can find no leisure: But when diseases on his body seize, And conquering death approaches by degrees: When th' lungs all overflow'n with constant rain Of Pituite, that falls down from the Brain, Afford scarce room for breathing, when the Blood Is in its Circulation withstood By stagnant humours, when the Bones do ache, And all the Pillars of the Body shake, When for his food he has no appetite, 20 So that his life abhorreth bread, and his soul dainty meat. And in his Table he takes no delight. But every dainty Dish doth nauseate, On which, with pleasure he did feed of late. When all his flesh, in health so plump and fair, 21 His flesh is consumed away that it cannot be seen, and his bones, that were were not seen, stick out. Now rotten, and consumed, doth not appear As formerly, but shrunk quite to the bone, The bones, which were not seen before, anon Stick out i'th'figure of a Skeleton. When in this sad condition on his bed 22 His soul draweth nigh to the grave, and his life to the destroyers. Helyes, and sees that all his hopes are fled, And he must die: when all he can perceive Is nothing but the avenue o'th'grave, And with himself he now considereth There's no avoiding of a certain death. Then he begins with horror to reflect 23 If there be a messenger with him, an interpreter, one amongst a thousand to show man his uprightness. Upon his by past actions, and take Account of all his wander: then he falls On thoughts of Heaven, and for Preachers calls: For pious men, who in this sad occasion, May by their words afford him consolation, And teach him how he may attain salvation. Then all his former ways he doth abhor, Complains on sin, and can endure no more To hear the voice of pleasure in his ears; But buried now in sorrows, pains, and fears, His only thought, his sole consideration Is what shall become, after separation Of his poor soul: how that in death shall far, For which, in life, he took so little care. And if, perhaps (which is rare to be found) A man of God appear, who can expound The matter to him, and before his eyes Draw out the Map of his iniquities, Speak to his soul, and to his anxious heart. The gracious language of the Heavens impart. Then will this good man to his God address, 24 Then he is gracious to him, & saith, deliver him from going down to the pit, I have found a ransom. And say, have pity on this sinner's case, Father of mercy, for I'm confident He of his sins doth seriously repent: Restore him to his health, and let him see How much, O Lord, he is obliged to thee; Who, when thou couldst have ruined him with ease, And made him perish in this sad disease, Art pleased to let him live, that he may yet Express thy glory in his mortal state. To this petition God shall lovingly Make answer well, this sinner sholl not die: For I have found him in this exigent Vexed at his sins, and truly penitent: Then let him live, for I his heart have tried, And for his errors he hath satisfied; I'm reconciled, and freely to him give Full liberty yet for some years to live. At this his sickness shall decrease apace, 25. His flesh shall be fresher than a child's, he shall return to the days of his youth. His spirits shall return, and in his face, The blossoms of new life shall then appear. As when the Spring doth usher in the year: His flesh shall be as soft, and delicate, As it appeared once in his infant state. But that's not all, for as to health restored, 16. He shall pray unto God, and he will be favourable unto him, and he shall see his face with joy, for he will render unto man his righteousness. So God to him most kindly shall afford That sweet communion with himself, which all Esteem so much, who on his Name do call: And that blessed comfort, which afflictions cloud, So long time from this poor man's soul did shroud, Shall then more bright appear, and shine again, As when the Sun triumphant after rain, Unto the longing Earth himself displays, And cheers her up with warm refreshing rays: Then he shall be above all calumny, And shall rejoice in his integrity: Shall pray to God, with success, and no more Sadly suspect, as he had done before, That he, who dwells in Heaven did disdain So much as t' hear him, when he did complain, And all his tears, and prayers were in vain. For our good God in mercy infinite, 27. He looketh upon men, and if any say, I have sinned, and perverted that which was right, and it profited me not. Be sure, my friend, doth take no small delight, To save a sinner that is penitent, When he perceives him heartily repent: For often upon men he casts his eye, Where if he in a corner doth espy Some poor heart-bursting sinner on his knees, Whose outrun eyes are now upon the lees, Whose voice with crying to that note is shrunk, As if he muttered through a hollow Trunk: Who after many a sad, and kill groan, Whose heat would almost melt a heart of stone, In a few words, can only stammer out, Lord, I have sinned,— and now what doth it boot? What doth it boot, good Lord, what after all My trade of sin, can I my profit call? Ay me, good God, to what, by just account? Doth th' provenue of all my sins amount? What have I gained, alace, what have I gained? To what have I by my dear sins attained? How foolishly, good Lord, as now appears, Have I consumed my profitable years, And spent the cream of all my youth, and strength, In prosecution of what now at length, Affords no profit to my soul, but brings The thoughts of sad, and execrable things Into my mind; which though I do deplore, And, by thy grace, intent to act no more, Yet the remembrance of my wanton years, Present a prospect of perpetual fears Before my eyes; and I still apprehend That I shall justly suffer in the end For all my sins, unless that thou in Grace Wilt hear me, and have pity on my Case. This poor convinced sinner God will hear, 28. He will deliver his soul from going into the pit, and his life shall see the light. And to him soon most gracious appear; He will not let him perish, but will save His soul from Hell, his body from the Grave. Thus then by Dreams, by Visions, and Diseases, 29. Lo all these things worketh God oftentimes with man And by his Preachers, whensoe'er he pleases, He warns us of our danger, and commands His kill Angels oft to hold their hands, For a few years at least, that he may see What the effects will of these Warnings be. For in men's ruin he no pleasure takes, 30. To bring back his soul from the pit, to be enlightened with the light of the living. But even suspends his Justice for their sakes, That they may have some leisure to repent, And not be reeking in Offences sent Like Devils, t' endure eternal punishment. But of their foolish Errors undeceived, Spite of themselves they may at length be saved. Then pray; my friend, remark what I have said 31. Mark well, O job, harken unto me, hold thy peace, and I will speak. And to what I have yet to say take heed: Observe me, pray, and to my words give ear For it is fit thou with attention hear What God has by Commission ordered me To speak, dear friend, in reference to thee. Yet if th' hast any thing to say, my friend, 32. If thou hast any thing to say, speak, for I desire to justify thee. In thy defence, I'll not be so unkind, As to command thee silence, but allow Thee liberty to speak, and argue too Against what I have said, for my intent I'th' series of my present Argument, Is, (if I can) to prove thee Innocent. If not, pray hold thy peace, be silent prey 33. If not, harken unto me, hold thy peace, and I shall teach thee wisdom. And with attentive mind mark what I say, Mark what I say, for by his Divine Grace, Who ordered me to speak upon this Case, I'll teach thee Wisdom, more than ever yet Thou understood'st, although thou wert of late Renowned for Wit, and Literature, at least, In Reputation ranked amongst the best, Of those sharp Wits, who live here in the East. Cap. XXXIV. AFter some pause, as if he did expect 1. Furthermore Elihu answered, and said. An answer, seeing Job no answer make To what he said, he thus continued To speak, and argue on the common Head. And now, says he, you see how I am sent, 2. Hear my words, O ye wise men, and give ear unto me ye that have knowledge By warrant from my God, to represent His judgement of the Question in hand, And therefore I must let you understand, (As I'm commanded) with Authority, Where you've done right, and where your Errors lie. Shall then request you of my audience; Whom I esteem men of great eminence, For wit, and parts, to hear with patience, What I am now to speak.— For I am not to speak before a Rabble 3. For the ear trveth words, as the mouth tasteth meat. O'th' Vulgar, but before those, who are able To judge of my Discourse: before such men, As on this Subject, can themselves explain Better than I, and handle, with more wit, The Question, if their Passion would permit. Let's then impartially consider now, 4. Let us choose to us judgement, let us know among ourselves what is good. Without all heat, what 'tis we have to do: With moderation, let's the Question state, And understand on what we're too debate: For I am not ambitious in the least, Nor do I entertain within my breast Such a proud thought, as that I may be said T' have had the better of you, no indeed, I'm none of those, that argue for applause, Or love to preach for reputations' cause, Or in discoursing make it all my care, To angle Ears, and become Popular, By flourishes of studied Eloquence, Or gain the name of learned, with great expense, Of painted Language, as too many now, Of my Profession are in use to do: No, no, my friends, I hate such practices, And only shall in a few passages, Without all Art, a short Relation make, Of what my God has ordered me to speak. To come to th' point then, as I've formerly 5. For job hath said, I am righteous, and God hath taken away my judgement. Shown how th' Almighty, by his Ministry, By Dreams, Diseases, Visions, and such means, Is, in his Mercy, pleased to take much pains, To show the sons of Men what he intends, Before upon them he Afflictions sends, That by the prospect of their Punishment, He may persuade them timely to repent: Especially, when thus before their eyes He lays the scene of their Calamities, By which you see, he deals not, by surprise With any man; (from whence I do maintain, That he who of his Judgements doth complain, As if such Woes, without prediction were Poured out upon him, doth extremely err.) So, in the next place, I intent to show, That when our God is pleased to inflict a blow On any man, I think, in conscience, Th' afflicted man should with great patience, Endure it, as a thing which suddenly Has not befallen him, and not foolishly Cry out, as Job has done, O Lord, thou seest I'm righteous, pure, and just, and yet oppressed By sad afflictions: I am innocent, My uprightness is clear, and evident, My life has still been spotless, and unblamed, Yet without hearing I am now condemned. O, says he, why should I my myself belie, Why should I pass from my integrity 6. Should I lie against my rig●t? my wound is incurable without transgression? For what has yet befallen me, no indeed, Though I'm condemned, though I am punished, Yet will I not, for all that, guilty plead. Here lies the matter then my friends, see here, See here how much the best of men may err 7. What man is like job, who drinketh up scorning like water? Under sad Trials; how much those may fail, Over whose patience Sorrows do prevail. For pray now, let me hear from such as you, Who this wise man in days of plenty knew: Who were entirely with him then acquaint, Before th' arrival of his punishment: Tell me, my friends, did ever you expect, So like a fool, to hear this wise man speak? Did ever man talk so ridiculously, As he doth now of his integrity? Did ever man of Knowledge, Wit, and Sense Insist so much upon his Innocence? His Dovelike▪ Innocence; his Uprightness, His pious Candour, and his Righteousness: When God, in Justice, has thought fit to send Afflictions on him, as if he'd defend Himself, by such weak Arguments, as these, Against the righteous God of Righteousness. And flatly say that such a man as he, An upright man, a man from errors free, A man, in all his Life, and Conversation, So blameless, as he ne'er would give Occasion, By any crime to so much Provocation Of Divine Wrath: that such a man as he Should feel the Wrath of God, to that degree, As if he were the most flagitious, Most openly profane, and vicious Of all the race of Sinners, and repute Of all that live on Earth most dissolute: That such as he should thus be punished Is a most strange Procedure, and indeed, In his opinion, doth import no less, Then if our God did favour Wickedness, And most unjustly punished Righteousness, Yes, thus, or to this purpose he has spoke 8 Who goeth in company with the workers of iniquity, and walketh with wicked men. Oftener than once, as if he seemed to mock Th' Almighty in his works of Providence, And by his Logic, would infer from thence, That he, who lives by rules of Piety, Observes Gods Laws, and studies zealously T' obtain his favour; and the sinful Wretch, Who vainly thinks himself without his reach, And therefore scorns to call upon his Name, But takes his pleasure, without fear, or shame, Are all one on the matter, and as well The one, as th' other may his anger feel, And suffer what he pleases to dispense, This for his sin, that for his innocence, By an unguarded cast of Providence. Yes, to my knowledge, thus I heard him speak Most frequently, although I would not check His lewd Discourse, 'cause you had undertaken By solid Reason to convince the man, Of his Impiety, but when I see You on the matter erred as well, as he, Then would I fain ha' spoke, but still did shun To tell my thoughts on't, until you had done But how can I from speaking now forbear When I do such unruly Language hear? When I do hear a man so sinfully, Assert forsooth his own Integrity, By blaming of his Maker, as if he, To whom both this injurious man, and we, And all the mortal Stock of Mankind owe Our Life, and Being, did not fully know Each individual of his own Creation, And did observe the Life, and Conversation, Of every man alive, and so from thence, Could freely judge, with great convenience Both of men's Gild, and of their Innocence, Could be unjust. What man is he, who this great God doth fear, That can without some indignation hear Such scandalous Expressions? at this rate Th' unwary man seems to homologate The Principles of the most lewd, profane, Sensual livers, and the worst of men. For, when he talked so oft, how God did bless 9 For he hath said, it profiteth a man nothing, that he should delight himself with God. Those, who contemned his Laws, and did oppress His faithful Servants, and did so complain Of his own sad Estate, once, and again, And how that notwithstanding of his zeal, And fear of God, he was not used well: Who would ha' thought, but that he meant from thence, That seeing Piety could be no defence Against God's Wrath, it was not worth th' expense Of so much time and labour, as some men Bestow upon it, but was all in vain. Strange language truly! I beseech you then, 10. Therefore harken unto me, ye men of understanding, far be it from God, that he should do wickedness; and from the Almighty, that he should commit iniquity. Who hear me now, as wise, and prudent men: Did y'ever hear a godly man express His mind, in such unlawful words, as these? Did y'ever hear a man for wit repute, Above his neighbours, so with God dispute? O, how I pity, and would fain reclaim This good man from his errors: though I blame Him not, as you have done, for horrid crimes Committed by him in his prosperous times; For, truth, I think the man was always such, As he doth now assert, but that so much He now insists on his integrity, As if that God had done him injury, In thus afflicting of him, is indeed Such an offence, as can't be suffered. For God forbid, that any of us here, Or through the world, who our great God do fear, Should even but by a random supposition, Imagine him to be in that condition, As that he's of injustice capable, At any rate: no this were palpable, And downright blasphemy; pray God forbid, That any man than should be so misled, But even to rally in such words as these, Were't but to show his wit, for I confess, Though I relate them, on this sad occasion, Merely upon design of refutation Of his gross errors, yet when I do speak, In such prohibit words, my bones do shake. For God's so far from doing injury, 11. For the work of a man, shall he render unto him, and cause every man to find according to his ways. To any man, that he will gratefully, Reward each mortal for his piety, In his own time: for when the day shall come, In which all sinners shall receive their Doom, Then will his kindness unto those appear, Who live by rules of piety, though here, Such is their weakness, and impatience, Consulting only with desponding sense, They see not the design of Providence. Nay, I do lay this for a principle, 12. Yea, surely God will not do wickedly, neither will the Almighty pervert judgement. And firmly hold, that 'tis not possible, For the great God of justice, him, from whom, Both in times past, and in all times to come, All justice flows, (let's fancy what we can) To be injust i'th' least to any man. Besides, how can we think that he, whose power 13. Who hath given him a charge over the earth? or who has disposed the whole world? Did all things frame, and governs to this hour, All he has made, so uncontrollably, By rules of justice, and pure equity, Can be unjust? then who is he so sick In his own judgement, as dares contradict What he, who is accountable to none, In his eternal purpose will have done? For, mark me now, if he, who breath did give 14 If he set his heart upon man, if he gather unto him his spirits, and his breath. To any man, by which he made him live, Be pleased to reassume that breath again, Which is his own, why should a man complain? Why should a man complain? a living man, 15 All flesh shall perish together, and man shall turn again unto dust. Who knows at best his life is but a span; And in a little interval of breath, He lives, but troubled still with thoughts of death: For when his God thinks fit, that he should die, Then must he quit this breath, and instantly In the cold grave lie down, and be no more A living mortal, as he was before. All flesh shall perish, every creature must, At his command be pounded into dust. Then why of God should any man complain? When he injures him not, or why in vain, Should he upbraid him with his innocence, When he's afflicted, as if providence Were tied to th'rules of his convenience. And now because, my friend, what I have said 16 If thou hast understanding, hear this; harken to the voice of my words. Concerns thee most, I'd fain myself persuade That thou dost with attention hear me speak, And dost thy own use of my Doctrine make; If thou hast understanding then, take heed To my discourse, for thus I do proceed. You see then how I've urged all along, 17 Shall even he, who hateth right, govern? and wilt thou condemn him who is most just? That our just God to no man can do wrong: Nor that he, in inflicting punishment, On any man, though ne'er so innocent, Can be esteemed unjust, since he can never Do an ill thing, on what account soever. For, were he such, how could he regulate The Universe in every rank and state, With so much justice, mercy, and compassion, As no created thing can in that fashion Govern some Petty Province, yet doth he With great discretion govern all we see, Although he here, and in heavens, (knows not what 'Tis in dominion to be limitat.) How in thy raving then dar'st thou express Thyself in such unheard of terms, as these Which I have taxed? how dar'st thou thus exclaim Against the justice of thy God? for shame, For shame such exclamations forbear, And let's no more of thy complaining hear. For pray now, let me ask thee, is it fit 18 Is it fit to say to a king, thou art wicked, and to princes, ye are ungodly Dost think for any man of solid wit, To tell an earthly Monarch in his face, That he's unjust, or doth in any case That which is sinful: wouldst thou tell a King he's such, as he deserved not to reign: Wouldst tell him flatly, that his Government Were arbitrary and did represent The seas, whose politics, tyrannical, Allows the great fish to eat up the small. Wouldst speak at this rate, prithee to a King, A Potentate, or any ruling thing That sits in State? I doubt thou wouldst not do So foul a thing, especially thou Who know▪ st all powers on earth from God proceed And upon him depend, as on their head: By him Kings rule, and in their Royal seat, Impartial Justice do administrat To all their Subjects: ' countable to none For any actings, but to God alone. To God alone, whose mighty hands did frame This Universe, and to it gave the name Of earth,— Which he has sliced in many Provinces, And over them has placed those Deputies Whom we call Princes, men of great esteem, Since the great King of kings is pleas▪ d to them To grant Commissions of Lieutenancy, Each, in his own distinct Locality In all the parts of earth's vast Monarchy. Hence all men are obliged in conscience, To pay that due respect, and deference To all in power, which God has ordered, Especially to a Crowned head; Whose individual power in Government, Doth that of heavens more highly represent, Then any other Government as yet Devised by men; for in that single state He represents his God, who gave him power, And who in his great wisdom to this hour Maintains the state of Kings, and will defend The Crown, and Sceptre, to the world's end. His power is such, as none should countermand, Or, when he strikes should bid him hold his hand: Nay, though he act unjustly, yet should none Accuse him for it, since to God alone he's countable; and though he should commit The worst of sins, I do not think it fit Each Subject should reprove him, or because Of his few personal failings, slight his Laws: Or enter into plots of discontent, To alter, or subvert his Government: Because he is not such, as they would have him, Or with their clamorous tongues, and pens outbrave him. No, not at all, for though a Prince may err, As other mortals, we should not infer From thence, that it is lawful to rebel Against him, for as such bad thoughts from Hell Are prompted to us, so we should forbear T'have intercourse with any rebels there, Whose work it is to raise rebellion here. For though the Prince should err, th'authority Is still the same, which flowing certainly From the Almighty, we should all obey, And to our sovereign Kings all honour pay. I ask thee then, wouldst think it fit to use Such language to a King, wouldst thou accuse A Monarch in his face? I think indeed, Thou would not so imprudently proceed, With any such, but rather hold thy peace, Then run the risk, whatever were thy case, Of his displeasure: or, at least, I doubt, Wouldst use smooth words, and be thought wise to boot. If then to Kings on Earth thou wouldst not speak 19 How much less to him, that accepteth not the person of Princes, or regardeth the rich, more than the poor, for they are all the work of his hands. In such rude language, why art thou so weak, As in such jargon boldly to address Thyself to th' King of Kings? I must confess, This is a piece of that extravagance, As I admire thou hast the countenance To look up t' Heavens, when thou dost reflect, How insolently thou didst lately speak Of their great Monarch: one, before whose Throne All Kings most bow, and with submission own Him as their Patron, and their Sovereign too, And think't their greatest honour so to do. One who has no regard for this, or'tother, Who e'er he be, nor one before another Esteems, as we do here, because he's great, Wears costly Diadems, and sits in State; For, they're but all his Creatures, and depend Upon their God, how e'er they may pretend To sovereignty here; whilst they abuse Their power, and with fine titles would amuse Their fellow mortals; but 'tis all in vain, For God alone, above all Kings doth reign: He governs all that Nature comprehends, And fully acts, what ever he intends. Whilst Kings and Princes, with their swords in hand, Before him ready, for performance stand, Of all that he thinks proper to command. Yet none of these can really be said, Actively to concur, and furnish aid To him in all his glorious operations; The thoughts of which exceed our meditations, More than if one should undertake to prove, That wheels in Engines by themselves do move Without a Spring: or that without all air A man can live: which clearly doth declare That all these Monarches, whom we here adore, Not moved by the first Mover, are no more, With all the force they to the field can bring, Then Wheels in Engines are without a Spring. For, as so many puppets here below, By th' hand of God they're hurried to, and fro, While he is pleased to keep up the Show. But when he doth withdraw his mighty hand, They move no more.▪▪ O, this great Monarch of the universe! Who can his glorious Attributes rehearse! Who can the power of this great Prince express! Who can his glory even but faintly guess! He who doth Kings, and Emperors create, As he thinks fit, and orders every state Below the Heavens, as he thinks pertinent, Whether for blessing, or for punishment, Who can describe him!— For, if at any time he doth intend To plague a Nation, thither he doth send Some sullen Tyrant, fraught with Cruelty, Pride, Anger, Avarice, and Impiety: And where he means a blessing to a State, Thither as quickly he doth delegate Some sober, prudent Prince, of generous Parts, A friend to peace, a favourer of Arts, Where either in their stations do move, As they receive directions from above. Sure then, as he's undoubted Lord of all This spacious World, so he's impartial, In all his ways, he no man will despise, 'Cause poor; for rich, and poor are in his eyes, Both the same thing: their riches, and their crimes, He doth reward, and punish at all times, As either of'em in their Orbs do rise, Without distinction of their qualities. For all those powerful Princes, who to day, 20. In a moment shall they d●▪ and the people shall be troubled at midnight, & pa●s away, and the mighty shall be taken away without hand. Appear in Robes most gloriously gay: Who with their present state so proudly swell, They laugh at the Romance of Heaven, and Hell: To morrow you may see them poorly lie, Like other parcels of Mortality, incorporate with Dust, for all must die When God commands, all must resign their breath, Without exception, all must stoop to Death: Nay, greatest men are often suddenly, Conveyed hence i'th'twinkling of an eye: By poison, Dagger, or the blows of War, To which great Monarches most obnoxious are, They're snatched out of the world, and in their fall, Bring on their Subjects sometimes national, And fiery judgements, whilst Competitors, For their Succession muster all the force They can to make their several titles good, And all the People are involved in blood, By their ambition, that the world may see, There is no Monarch absolutely free, But him, who is above all Monarchy, By whom all Earthly Monarches live, and die. Why since it is so then, since Majesty Only belongs to him, who sits on high, Which on the Rock of Justice, firm, and sure Established, to all ages doth endure: Should any breathing thing composed of dust, Dare but to think, that God can be unjust! Besides, my friend, I'd have thee understand 21 For his eyes are upon the ways of man, and he seeth all his goings. That as this Monarch by his mighty hand All that we see has framed, and 'stablished, And governs by the same, what he has made, Above all powers, so his all-piercing eye Views all our thoughts, and actions carefully; For, trust me, at he is Omnipotent, So, without doubt, he is Omniscient. He all things sees, his all-discerning eye 22▪ There is no darkness, nor shadow of death, where the workers of iniquity may hide themselves. Looks through the bowels of obscurity: Not earth's dark Caverns, where perpetual night Doth cover all, can cover from his sight The works of darkness, or i'th'least conceal Those villainies, which he means to reveal, No, let a sinner run from Pole to Pole, From East, to West; not any lurking hole Will the poor Creature find, where he may lie Safely concealed from that all-searching eye. How then should any foolish man suppose That he, who all things sees, and all things knows, Can be unjust? or that he should direct Wilfully, or by error, and mistake, That to be done, in any mortals case, Which is unjust.— No sure, for as he each man's sins doth know; 23 For he will not lay upon man more than right, that he should enter into judgement with God Though wrapped up in the closest thoughts: even so, He knows his strength, he knows what he can bear, And thence, my friend, no living man should fear That what sad woes his Maker has decreed He should endure, will e'er his strength exceed. Since than our God is just, and equitable 24 He shall break in pieces mighty men without number, and set others in their stead. In all his ways; it is not tolerable To hear a man complain, as thou hast done Of him, that can do injury to none. Nay further, though 'twere lawful to complain, Yet all our exclamations are in vain: For he, whose power is full, and absolute Over all mankind, may without dispute, Do what he lists: for done't we daily see How even the greatest Monarches are not free From their afflictions: how the mighty men Who think their grandeur can his wrath sustain, Are broke to pieces in their height, and laid As low as these, who were of them afraid. Without all help, by his own strength alone He pulls the greatest of 'em from his Throne, And, with the same breath, ere the wretch be dead, Sets up another Pageant in his stead. For all their actings he doth carefully ●5 Therefore, he knoweth their works, and he overturneth them in the nigh, so that they are destroyed. Observe, and laughs at all their policy. Their Cabin-Councils are to him revealed (Although by them industriously concealed) Yes, he knows all, and though he doth permit These for a while to do, what they think fit; Yet, when he thinks it time to punish them, He taketh them down, with much disgrace and shame: All their designs he doth annihilate, And cancels their memorial of State: He sweeps them off the world, like dust, and makes Their Subjects feel great judgements, for their sakes. Nay, he doth strike them openly, that all 26 He striketh them as wicked men in the open ●ight of others. May learn, and take example by their fall; What 'tis for men t'abuse that power, which he Entrusts them with, and so may plainly see That all upon that mighty God depend, Whose absolute dominion knows no end. Because his just commands they did despise, 27 Because they turned back from him, and would not consider any of his ways. And did forget they were his Deputies: Nor did remember of his kindnesses Shown to them, in the days of their distress: Nor how he had appeared in their defence, And mercifully by his providence Had saved them from the plots and treacheries Oftener than once, of their great enemies; Nor thanked him for his kindnesses renewed, But stead of that, with great ingratitude, Proudly rejected his authority, And meant to rule by their own Majesty. For, stead of ruling faithfully and well, 28 So that they cause the cry of the poor to come unto him, and he heareth the cry of the ●●●●●ted. They to oppressing of their Subjects fell: Whose cries did mount to heavens, when they complained, And audience quickly from that King obtained, Who rules all Kings below, and doth redress All the afflictions, and just grievances, Of those that are oppressed; hence, by and by, He makes those Kings as low, as they were high: In view of all he doth those men debase, And sets up others quickly in their place. For what he doth intend, who can withstand? 29 When he giveth quietness, who then can make trouble? and when he hideth his face, who then can behold him? whether it be done against a nation or against a man only. Who can resist his high and mighty hand? Who can obstruct his progress? tell me who Can hinder what be has a mind to do? Whether on single men his wrath doth fall, Or that he means a Judgement National: For if to any he gives quientness, What fury can distrub that people's peace? Of if he means to punish them with war, Who can resist him? who are they, that dare Oppose their breasts to th' torrent of his rage, Or, with the Armies of his wrath engage? When he intends to pull a Tyrant down, 30 That the hypocrite reign nor, lest the people be ensnared. And, in his anger reassume that Crown, Which he did lend him, lest his people may, By his example, learn to disobey Their Supreme Monarch, and be cunningly Enamoured with his Apostasy; What counsel, what device, what power below, What leagues, what armies can prevent the blow? And now, my friend, by all that I have said, 31. Surely it is meet to be said to God. I have born chastisement▪ I will not offend any more I have no other aim, but to persuade Both thee, and these who hear me, to forbear Such language, as I am ashamed to hear On this occasion; and in stead of cries, Complaints, rash questions, and apologys', To use another method, and express Thyself in terms more moderate▪ than these Which I have heard: For thus I think indeed, At such a time as this, thou shouldst proceed In thy expressions, and no otherwise, If thou'lt be pleased to follow my advice. Lord, I have sinned, and given provocation, For which I have sustained thy indignation: Pardon me, Lord, and teach me to abhor My former ways, that I may sin no more. If all this while, Lord▪ I have not perceived 32. That which I see not, teach thou me, if I have done iniquity, I will do no more. My errors, but have foolishly believed That I was free of sin, Lord, teach thou me, And now, at length, be pleased to let me see, In what, good Lord, I have offended thee, And I'll do so no more.— Now, choose thee then, my friend, such things are so, 33. Should it be according to thy mind? he will recompense it, whether thou refuse, or whether thou choose, and ●ot I, therefore speak what thou knowest. Whether thou'lt follow my advice, or no, For pray consider seriously, my friend, Is't fit that God according to thy mind Should now dispose of thee: or rather do What he thinks proper? which of these thinkest thou Doth most agree with him, who certainly Knows better what is fit, than thou, or I, For any man t'endure: he does indeed, And will in his own methods still proceed, Whether thou wilt, or no: go to then, speak, See what defence thou for thyself canst make: If thou'lt not follow my advice, speak on, And I shall hold my tongue while thou hast done: Speak out thy mind, but pray remember now, It is with God, not me, thou hast to do: For, if thou in the least canst make appear That I have erred, henceforth I shall forbear To speak upon the subject, but give o'er All my discoursing here, and speak no more. But only this, my friend, I'll boldly say, 34. Let men of understanding tell me, and let a wise man hearken unto me. That men of understanding, who to day Have heard me speak, will fully testify, That what I've said, is naked verity. And that what thou hast spoke, since thou began 35. job hath spoken without knowledge, and his words were without wisdom. T'open thy case, is much below a man Of underctanding, and doth savour so, Of one that his Creator doth not know, That I'm afraid, they'll think what thou hast said In thy defence, rather appears to add To thy offence, and so will find the Bill Against thee, say, or argue what thou will. But after all, my friends, I think it yet 36. My desire is that job may be tried to the end, because of his answers for wicked men. Proper to speak on this man's present state, Because I think he's not yet humbled so As I would have him:— I'd therefore wish his trial might endure Yet for some longer time, until his cure Were perfect, and I might perceive, my friend Converted from his Errors in the end. For by what yet I in his carriage see, 37. For he addeth rebellion to his sin, he clap●eth his hands amongst us, and multiplieth his words against God. Without dissembling, truth, I must be free To tell you all that I perceive no less Then that his sins do, with his pains increase; So that if I my speaking should give o'er, And to his passion make an open door, I fear he will miscarry as before ‛ Has done in his Discourse, I'll therefore speak, And to himself my speech I will direct. Cap. XXXV. UPon the Question in hand intent 1. Elihu spoke moreover, and said, Thus then he prosecutes his Argument▪ Dost think, says he, my friend, thou'rt in the right, 2. Thinkest thou this to be right, that thou saidst, m● righteousness is more than Gods? Or rather dost not sin against thy light, When in thy raving thou art pleased to express Thy thoughts so much of thy own Righteousness, As if thou'd seem to argue all along, That God both just, and good had done thee wrong? For thou hast said 'tis very strange to see 3. For thou saidst what advantage, will it be to thee? and what profit shall I have, if I be cleansed from my sin? That God has no regard to such as thee, Who hast observed his will, and piously Demeaned thyself even from thy Infancy: And therefore think'st Piety is a thing Of no advantage, not worth studying: But to be guilty, or be innocent, Are in themselves but things indifferent. Well I shall answer quickly all these questions, 4. I will answer thee, and thy companions with thee. And easily refute those mean suggestions Of a disordered spirit, and assert, Against thee, and all those Fools, who take thy part, That thus for one (though just, and innocent, Upon whom God has sent a punishment) To argue that it is a vanity, For any man to study Piety, As thou hast done, since God alike regards The just, and unjust, and so ill rewards His faithful Servants, as thy case doth show, That therefore to be guilty yea, or no Is all one thing, since Judgements thus are sent Both on the guilty, and the innocent. Is no less error, than if one should say (As many do) come let us pass away Our time in sin, and not so foolishly Study the useless art of Piety, As this good man has done, and after all, Like him, in saddest of afflictions fall. Are these thy thoughts then? has afflictions force 5. Look unto the heavens, and see, and behold the clouds, which are higher than thou. Driven thy Spirit to such weak Discourse? Have sorrows so distracted thee, my friend, That in such terms thou shouldst express thy mind? Why if thou be with grief so overcome, 'Twere good, in my opinion, thou wert dumb, That whatsoever thou thinkest, might at least Be keep't within the kennel of thy breast, And not break out in such rude eloquence, As to all pious ears doth give offence. For, if thou wouldst but for a moment check The fury of thy passion, and direct Thy eyes to Heaven, then wouldst thou plainly see The difference betwixt thy God, and thee: Then wouldst thou see how high and excellent, (Besides what all on earth do represent,) That Mighty God, whom we both love and fear, Above all things created doth appear. For but observe the clouds, see how they fly Hither▪ and thither through the spacious sky, And often do themselves conglomerate In a thick body, which to dissipate The Sun attempts in vain.— For with a dark line of Circumvallation, They so surround us, that with Consternation We're oftentimes for many days together, Locked up in Prison of bad sultry weather: Whilst all the while the Sun his Chamber keeps, But now, and then, that through the chinks he peeps, For at Noon-tide he dares no more appear, Than one at Change-time, who a Writ doth fear: Yet after all themselves they rarify Into a pleasant, calm serenity. Who is't, dost think, that makes these Vapours march, In so good order through the spacious arch? That makes these clouds condense, and then dilate, Sure this no humane art can operate: What need I tell thee, 'tis our God alone, Who on these clouds doth sometimes place his Throne, That Monarch, who eternally doth live, To question whose Supreme Prerogative, Is a great madness, without all debate, In any thing, that e'er he did create. Since than he is so high, and we so low, As hardly we by Contemplation know What these things are, which o'er our heads do fly, And make such pretty figures in the sky, Since all the Wit, that God has to us given Can hardly seann that Portcullis of Heaven: Since we know no more, what the rambling means I'th' air of all those glorious Machine's, And can the nature of these clouds express, No better, than by art we faintly guests: What must we think of him, pray what must he, Who formed these rolling clouds; what must he be? What must he be, when even we do admire The least part of his Glory? I desire To know of thee, my friend, if ever thou Didst so much spare time to thyself allow As to contemplate even such things, as these, For if thou hadst, thou never wouldst express Thyself so foolishly, as thou hast done Of him, to whom both Clouds, Stars, Moon, and Sun Are but mean Servants, and his Errands run. Considering this, why shouldst so sillily 6. If thou sinnest, what dost thou against him? or if thy transgressions be multiplied; what dost thou unto him? Value thyself on thy integrity? Why brag'st thou so much of thy uprightness, And keep'st such coil about thy righteousness? As if all thou couldst do, with all thy art, (Though to him thou wouldst offer up thy heart) Could add to that bright Glory in the least, Of which already he's so much possessed. Then if thou sin'st, thyself thou dost injure, Not him, who is so glorious and pure, As all the clouds of thine iniquity Cannot offuscate his bright Majesty. If righteous, what dost thou on him bestow? 7. If thou be righteous, what givest thou him? what receiveth he of thine hand? What doth he to thee for thy virtue owe? Is't not thy duty? pray now let me hear How wouldst thou from a hired Servant bear Such saucy Language, as if he'd profess He honoured thee, and for his services Expected of thee mutual kindnesses, Because he had obliged thee? sure anon Thoved tell him all that he had said, or done Was but his duty. Pray consider then What are the actions of the best of men! What are their virtues? what their services? What all their vows? what their performances? What all their prayers? what their pious tears? What their good works! why truly it appears (Though they should oft repeat them o'er, and o'er) To be their duty only, and no more; Like those, who for their services are paid, For to his glory these can nothing add. Or if thy sins should multiplied be, What does he value either them, or thee? 'Tis true, by sin thou may'st perhaps devise 8. Thy wickedness may hurt a man▪ as thou art, and thy righteousness may profit the son of man To such, as thou art, hurt, and prejudice; And by well-doing too, thou may'st perchance Thy Neighbour's interest, or thy own advance. But what's all this to God? thou canst not stretch Thy hand out upon him; nor canst thou reach Him by thy actings, whether bad, or good, For all thy ways are fully understood By him: and, as thy sins he doth deride, So, trust me friend, for all thy zealous pride, Without thy concourse he'll be glorified. I must confess 'tis usual, with men, 9 By reason of the multitude of oppressions, they make the oppressed to cry: they cry out by reason of the arm of the mighty. When under sad Oppressions, to complain: 'Tis usual to cry out, 'tis customary For men at such occasions to miscarry, (As thou of late hast done) in their expressions, Because o'th' multitude of their Oppressions. I know indeed, by Nature men are prone, With bitter exclamations to bemoan The sad Disasters, which they undergo By reason of Oppression: I know Oppression truly in its full career Is hard for any mortal Man to bear, Hence some think they may be allowed to cry, When under such a bitter Agony. 'Tis true indeed this is the usual way Of many godly persons in the day Of their affliction; this is that indeed Which most of men do for their Errors plead. But this is not the method men should use 10. But none saith, Where is God my maker, who giveth songs in the night? Under Oppression: hence I don't excuse Those, usual complaints, and exclamations, In which men vent themselves, at such occasions. For O, if they considered things aright, They would not thus with their afflictions fight, Nor vex at their oppressions, like Fools, Or cry aloud, and weep, like Boys at Schools. No, no, they should to God themselves address, To him alone they should, in their distress, Apply themselves, with zeal, and fervency, For he can only send them remedy In time of Troubles: he alone can give True comfort to them, he can make them live, When they're about to die: when help from men Has failed, and for supply they look in vain From th'arm of Flesh, he unexpectedly Doth bring them out of all their Misery: He makes them change their notes, and gladly sing Amidst their greatest pain and suffering. Nay we should even in gratitude apply 11. Who teacheth 〈◊〉 more than the bea●● of the earth, and maketh us wiser than the fowls of heaven. Ourselves to God, in time of Misery; Because he Reason on us has bestowed, And us with many Qualities endowed, Beyond all beasts o'th'Field, or birds o'th'Air, None of which can i'th'least with Man compare: And therefore we're obliged on all occasions Of such sad Woes, to make our applications To him alone, as we would wish to be, In his good time from our afflictions free. 'Tis true, some men do in affliction cry 12. There they cry, but none giveth answer, because of the pride of evil men. To God, and seem with fervour to apply Themselves to him in prayer, but after all, Th' Almighty doth not hear them, when they call: Because they are not yet sufficiently Humbled for their offences. Besides, Faith of all prayer is the ground, And without that, 'tis but an empty sound. Such as do not by faith themselves address, He will not hear: faith doth his ear possess, Great Master of Requests, chief favourite I'th' Court of Heaven, Protector of the right Of all true Supplicants, this, this alone, Makes all addresses to the Heavenly Throne. No formal, faithless prayer th' Almighty hears, 13. Surely God will not hear vanity, nor will the Almighty regard it. Nor doth he value mercenary tears. No, though all these, whom we on Earth admire, The glorious Chanters of the Heavenly Choir, And all the Saints, and Martyrs with a shout, Should usher in our prayers, and to boot Good works, with all their meritorious sense Should seem to make a Lane, by violence; Yet without faith, all these attempts are vain, For after all this courtly toil, and pain, Such prayers will drop down in our mouths again. As then, my friend, I judge it is a crime 14. Although thou sayst, thou shalt not see him, yet judgement is before him, therefore trust thou in him. For men oppress't with grief, at any time, (As thou dost) of their Maker to complain, So I esteem it absolutely vain, Because I do assert God is so high, And we so low, as to his Majesty▪ We Should ourselves, in humble terms apply; And not in proud, and rash expostulations Bitter complaints, and tragical expressions Of our distressed conditions, as if none Had suffered ere the like as we had done. So I esteem it likewise labour lost, Thus oft of thy integrity to boast, As I have heard thee. Then, I yet do see, Another fault, which I must tax in thee, And that is great despondency. indeed In that thou dost most palpably exceed. For I've observed in all thy frequent fits Of passion, like one out of his wits, Thou used in such expressions to rave, " Why am I tortured thus, can I not have " Access to God himself? can I not see " That mighty Judge, who doth so punish me? " To him I would with confidence address, " To him I'd speak, to him lay out my case, " And show how I am pure, and innocent, " And so deserve not this great punishment. But O, where is he to be found? ah where Doth he reside? shall I search here, or there, North, South, East, West, why all is but in vain, For after all I never can obtain A sight of him: from whence I plainly see There's nothing left, but black despair for me. So that my soul of life is wearied, And would choose even strangling to be freed From its sad pains: O how I life abhor, I hate it, and desire to live no more. O let me die then, for I know his wrath Will never cease, so long as I do breath. For 'tis in vain to think that ever I Can be on this side of mortality Restored to my late prosperity. Why truly, friend, 'tis no small provocation For one to use such terms of desperation, Under sad woes: 'tis true, men without hope Will think upon a Dagger, or a Rope, Not knowing God: but for those men who fear This God, in saddest trials to despair, Is a great sin, a fault intolerable, A foul offence, a crime unpardonable. What, to despair! to give all o'er for lost, When in the Ocean of afflictions tossed! To let our spirits fail, and weakly faint, Like Female souls, in such an exigent, When we have most need to be confident! To show some courage in prosperity, And in the Battle of adversity, When we have most use for it, to have none, Is truly, what I cannot think upon, Without disdain! to sink, when we should swim, To lie flat on the ground, when we should climb To th'mountain tops, so cowardly to shrink, When we should stand to't bravely: is I think A quality which he, who valueth Hath neither courage, prudence, grace, nor faith, Thus to despair, alace how meanly base! And unbecoming one of Abraham's race, Of Abraham, that supereminent Undaunted, constant, and believing Saint; Who in his God such confidence did place, As he could not despair in any case: And for that reason was of all esteemed The father of the faithful,—— Shouldst thou despair then! one who art descended O' th' house of faith, one who hath still depended Upon the promise to thy Fathers made: And as I see, dost yet thyself persuade That thy Redeemer lives, whom no man hath Seen ever yet, but with the eyes of faith: What, one of so much faith thus to despair! 'Tis truly, friend, a thing not ordinar. Yes, one of his integrity so fond, Which should support his faith, thus to despond! Like those, who conscious of some horrid crimes, Spin out their days in melancholy Chines! — What to despair! let's hear no more for shame Of this despair: I hate its very name. — Despair! I know indeed some impious men, Who thinking death will ease them of their pain, Which here they suffer for their sins, and that By it their crimes will be obliterat, Like madmen, at such time for death do bawl, Supposing the kind grave will cover all Their lewd offences; but I hope, my friend, thou'rt none of those who think death puts an end To all our pains, nay surely thou dost know, And firmly dost believe things are not so. For then the fiery trial, but begins, And after death, we're punished for our sins, More than in life: now we are but arraigned And may plead mercy; then we are constrained T' endure those torments, which God has ordain▪ d For unrepenting sinners, and must lie Under his wrath to all eternity. Rouz up thyself then, and despair no more, But trust in God, for he will yet restore Thee to thy former state, and let thee see He doth retain more kindness yet for thee, Then thou dost either merit, or expect: Trust in him then, let faith thy heart direct In this sad trial, do no more despair, For he's a loving God, and will take care Of thee, and thy concerns and after all When he has tried thee fully, he'll let fall His wrath against thee; and in pure compassion, Deliver thee out of this sad temptation? He will restore thee to thy former state, For all that thou hast seen, or suffered yet. And now, my friends, I must again to you 15 But now because i● is not 〈◊〉, he hath united in his anger, yet he knoweth 〈◊〉 not in great extremity. Address myself once more: you see then how This good man is not so much punished For former sins, as he is visited, In wrath, for his despondency, and passion; Though yet our God has used such moderation In trying of him, as he has no cause T' exclaim against the rigour of his Laws, For yet he lives, and may yet live to see Himself from all his present sorrows free. Judge then if he has reason, constantly Thus to complain, and foolishly to cry, When he has suffered no extremity. I therefore do conclude that Job has spoke 1● Therefore doth job open his mouth in vain, h●● mul●●y lieth words without knowledge. Such language in his pains, as might provoke The wrath of God, and make him yet to pour Worse judgements on him, than he to this hour Has ever felt, and it were equity, That he, with whom he has so tenderly Dealt all this while, for his despondency Should yet be further punished, but I hope He'll have compassion on him now, and stop The current of his Wrath; which for my part▪ I wish he may do quickly from my heart: Lest, if his torments be continued, He may in his extravagance proceed: And so his Heavenly Father irritate, As he for ever may exheridate This ungrate wretch, and never own him more To be his Child, as he has done before; This winnowing trial, and may do again, Could he from his unjust complaints abstain. Cap. XXXVI. BReathing a while, till he might recollect 1. Elihu also proceeded, and said. His spirits, he begun again to speak, As formerly, and with a judgement stayed The zealous young man thus continued. Suffer me yet a little while, said he, 2. Suffer me yet a little, and I will show thee, that I have yet to speak on God's behalf. To speak▪ my friend, and I'll impart to thee What further I have yet to plead, and say On God's behalf, suffer me now, I pray To speak but yet a little, in defence Of my great Master, that I may from thence Inform thee of his Power, and Majesty, And thy own dulness, and stupidity, Who all this while hast boldly argued Against his procedure in thy case, and said 'Twas hard to send so great a punishment, Upon a man so just, and innocent As thou art: I shall therefore freely show, How much thou to this mighty God dost owe, Who hath been pleased, with so much patience, To hear thee talk so on thy innocence, And even attempt t'arraign his Providence; Without inflicting yet some harder things, Upon thee, for thy sinful murmurings. Allow me then to speak, for I intent 3. I will fetch my knowledge from afar▪ and I will ascribe righteousness to my maker. Against all opponents stoutly to defend The honour of my Maker; and maintain Against all mortals, who of him complain, That he's all justice, mercy, and compassion, And uses in his wrath great moderation; That he's all virtue, truth, and righteousness, And more than I am able to express. Allow me then to speak, allow me, pray, And seriously advert to what I say Upon the subject; for though my intent Be to pursue my former argument, And show the power of him, who sits on high, Clothed with eternal Light, and Majesty: Yet not from reasons topics, but indeed, From such as do all reason far exceed, I mean to draw my mediums, and prove That the first mover, by whom all things move, Who no beginning had, and knows no end, Is what our reason cannot comprehend. I'll speak of him, as of that Deity, Perceptible by th' spirit, not by th' eye. Who's great beyond our reach, who's all in all, Whose Character is supernatural. Be pleased to hear me then, for seriously 4. For truly my words shall not be false: he that is perfect in knowledge is with thee. I mean to speak, with great sincerity, Upon the matter; I intent to speak Nothing but truth, as God shall me direct. In sober terms, I shall myself express, In what concerns thy present wretchedness, For I do fully understand thy case. First then, that I may speak in vindication, 5. Behold God is mighty, and despiseth not any, he is mighty in strength, and wisdom. Of my great Maker upon this occasion: I'd have thee know that even the best of men Do, but with great difficulty, obtain Some random knowledge of the qualities Of that great God, who dwells above the Skies. The language of his ways we cannot read, Whence all our gross mistakes of him proceed: Our ignorance of him makes us to err In our behaviour to him, whensoe'er He's pleased t'afflict us: and imagine that He censures none, but those, whom he doth hate, That he has no regard to innocence, When such good men are punished, and thence Reflecting on our own integrity, We think he does us no small injury. Advert then pray, and I will teach thee now, By a most lively demonstration, how Thou may'st hereafter know him perfectly, And thence thy former errors, rectify. Behold then, he is mighty, and exceeds In power the reputation of his deeds: He's high, and mighty, and doth far excel All Kings, and Princes that on Earth do dwell: In strength he's highly supereminent, His mighty arm doth shake the Firmament: In wisdom, he so fully doth abound, And is in every knowledge so profound, That all our knowledge, all our art, and wit, Is but mere folly, laid in scale, with it. Yet as he's great, so he is good, and just, And will do wrong to nothing made of dust. Ready at all occasions he appears To do men justice, and he gently hears All their Petitions; he will not despise The poor man in his suit: for in his eyes Both rich, and poor are equal: every man Who with uplifted hands, but faintly can Say, Lord have mercy on me, he will hear, And all may freely, without any fear, To him approach; all may to him address In person, and with ease lay out their case. Access to him is easily obtained, Without the introduction of a friend: Without expense of waiting, and delay; And being shifted still from day to day, As men in Courts of mortal Kings are used, And after all, either their suits refused, Or laid aside; and when their means are gone, Pitied by many, but supplied by none, T'endure the hateful name of hingers on. No, all men may from him have audience, What ever be their case, without expense Of any thing but Prayer; and quickly find Though he is great, yet he is just, and kind To all that truly call upon his Name, And, if we have not audience, we may blame None but ourselves: nay, though we should be mute, If even our hearts but speak, he'll grant our suit. Now, as he's great, and just, so he is kind 6 He preserveth not the life of the wicked, but giveth right to the poor. To all good men: for when he calls to mind, How some bad persons void of conscience, Triumphing in their formal violence, Taking th'advantage of the times, and glad To have occasion to oppress, have laid Themselves to do all mischiefs to those men, Who, when injured only to God complain. Hence, though these godless men have done much wrong To many, and yet God has let them long Live at their ease unpunished; after all Armed with pure Justice, he'll upon them fall; Break them to pieces, seize what they possess, And spoil them of their unjust purchasses: In their estates he'll make a sudden change, And all those poor men's injuries revenge, Upon the Persons, and the Families Of those, who did commit these injuries. And, though he suffer those bad men to live 7 He withdraweth not his eyes from the righteous; but with kings are they on the throne: yea, he doth establish them forever, and they are exalted. Long time, in plenty, and to them doth give What e'er their hearts can wish, yet all the time He spares their persons, he doth mind their crime He lets the righteous suffer misery, And sad distress, but has a watchful eye On all that do them wrong: and in the end, All those good men, that upon him depend, Not only he'll restore, to all which these Oppressors did most inhumanely seize. But will bring them in favour, and esteem With those that wear the Sacred Diadem. Whence they shall be enabled to protect All pious men from the oppressing Sect. Nay; though some time th'Almighty God permits 8 And if they be bound in fetters, and be holden in cords of affliction. Such ravenous men, in their oppressing fits, To do even what they list against his Saints, As if he seemed to slight their sad complaints, Whilst in closely Prison, fettered, manacled, Fast tied with cords, on bread and water fed: Sleeping on boards, and benches at the best, They in their wearied bones can have no rest; Whilst thiefs, and drunkards, Rogues and murderers, Are now their only fellow-prisoners; And lodged in the same room with them, whilst none Dare pity them, or but emit a groan On their behalf, without a strong suspicion, That they are favourers of their superstition. Whilst choked with breathing of the crowd, and stink Of those, who void, and those, who smoke, and drink: Whereall the day is spent, as it were night In a perpetual flame of Candle-light: Whilst their sad ears are pestered constantly With noise of horrid oaths, and ribaldry, So that they find no opportunity For their devotion; whilst arraigned, condemned, And the hour of their execution named. So that, by all appearance, there is none Can think, with reason, but these men are gone: He breaks their fetters; he doth soon untie Their cords, and sets them all at liberty, Who were perhaps next day designed to die. For by all these afflictions his intent 9 Then he shows them their works, & their transgressions, that they have exceeded. Is only, in great love, to represent To these good men, how grossly they have erred, As well as others have done, and preferred Their own conceits to what was right and just, And have not in his mercy put their trust. Hence he persuades them quickly to apply 10 He openeth also their ears to discipline and commands ●hat they return 〈◊〉 iniquity. Their minds to true, and solidpiety, With greater zeal, than they did formerly. By these afflictions he doth them convince Of all their failings, their escapes, and sins; And makes them for the future live so well, As they no more sad persecution feel. For if such men do with unfeigned heart 11 If they obey, and serve him, they shall spend their days ●n prosperity, and their years in pleasure. Return to God; all blessings he'll impart To them, their days in pleasure they shall spend, Their years in honour, joy, and wealth shall end. But if they don't, but follow foolishly 12. But if they obey not, they shall perish by the sword, and they shall die without knowledge. The sinful methods of hypocrisy, As many do, who yet would be esteemed Great saints, and are such by the vulgar named: Whilst in their hearts they think on nothing less, But entertain all sort of wickedness, Which they imagine, may promove i'th'▪ lest▪ The smallest part of their own interest. Then shall they fall like such, then shall they die, Like all the followers of hypocrisy. Hypocrisy! and here's a sin indeed, 13. But the hypocrites in heart heap up wrath: they cry not, when he bindeth them. Which in God's sight doth many sins exceed. A complex sin, made up of many parts, A catalogue of all pernicious Arts: A close concealer of all villainy, A great debaucher of integrity: A guilded sin, composed of all that's bad, A crying sin in pious masquerade: A cozening sin, a sin so intricat, As all, save God, it easily doth cheat. A sin so painted, sized, and varnished, With pious Oils, and so well shadowed, As it can hardly be discovered To be a sin, by any mortal eye. A sin, that seems t'abhor impiety, And yet doth hug it; such a sin indeed, In my opinion doth all sins exceed. And sure I know, God, who doth falsehood hate, Above all others doth abominate This cunning sin; and thence we often read How this close sin God has discovered By his great art. For as we daily see, How many counterfeited Coins there be, By worst of villains stamped, and fashioned, Where Silver is so cunningly allayed With courser Metals, as they will endure The Touchstone, and the File, and seem so pure, As one would think they of true fineness were; Yet put them in a crucible, and there By heat of Fire, the cheat will soon appear. So when the Hypocrite doth pleasantly Enjoy himself in great tranquillity, With such a specious, but adulterate show Of piety, he gulls the people so, As in his Fig-leaved Coat, and zealous paint, He passes current for an upright Saint. But let him once be brought, as others are To th' fiery trial, than he doth appear To be the person that he is indeed, Then all his falsehood is discovered; His timorous spirit soon doth liquify, His soul begins to shrink: he can't apply Himself to God, but passes stupidly His time away, without all meditation, Or thoughts of Heaven, as upon such occasion All good men do: But hardened in his sins, and knowing well How much his former actions merit Hell: He thinks that now 'tis hardly worth his pain T'apply to God for mercy, or complain To him, whom he has so much irritate; But as contented with his present state, Takes of his Masque, and acts now openly, What he before performed more cautiously. Then he lets lose the reins of inclinations, 14. They die in youth, and their life is among the unclean. And runs like mad man into all temptations; Then as in youthful veins, his blood doth rage, And he must find out pleasures to assuage The horrid torment of his melancholy; And so expends some years in sin, and folly. For that so rude, disordered fermentation, O'th' mass of Blood, doth quickly give occasion To sharp Diseases, which do warmly fall Upon his body; and e'er he can call To God, for mercy, without more delay Do hurry him, and all his sins away. Thus then, my friend, we see Afflictions are 15. He delivereth the poor in his affliction, and openeth their ears in oppression. Most necessary, and we must prepare Ourselves for Trials, and severe Temptations, (As thou dost now endure) at all occasions: Because by these, our God is used to try The difference betwixt true Piety, And base sophisticate Hypocrisy. For, as the best of Grain is pestered With the foul mixture of some specious Weed, Which growing up in the same Field with it, Doth the good Grain so slily counterfeit; As while cut down, threshed out, and winnowed, The false Grain cannot be discovered. So in the Summer of Prosperity When true Religion, and Hypocrisy Appear to grow up in one Field together, 'Tis hard for Mortals to distinguish either; But in the Harvest of Adversity, When cut down, threshed, and winnowed, by, and by We can distinguish what is bad, what's good, And Hypocrites are quickly understood In time of Trouble: then indeed, as Wheat Is from the Chaff, by winnowing separate: So Hypocrites are all discovered, And from just, pious men distinguished. But those, my friend, who are in heart sincere, Though their ingrained Afflictions appear To be o'th' deepest die, and do endure, For a long time; yet God at length will sure Deliver them out of them all, and show That neither to themselves, nor friends they owe Such great deliverance, but to him alone, Who's their Redeemer; and forsaketh none In their Afflictions, who upon him call, But hears them, and at length doth grant them all Their hearts can wish; and doth instruct them too What for the future such good men should do T' evite such Troubles. Even so, my friend, if thou hadst put thy trust 16. Even so would he have removed thee out of the straight into a broad place where there is no straitness, and that which should be set on thy table, should be full of fatness. In his great Name, and not ha' been unjust In thy Complaints; he had relieved thee too, Out of thy sad Afflictions, long ere now, Before this time he had thee liberate From these sad pains, and, without all debate. Restored thee fully to thy former state. But thou in thy Afflictions hast raved, 17. But thou hast fulfilled the judgement of the wicked, judgement and justice take hold on thee. And hast so very foolishly behaved, The hast so provoked him, as it would appear, ‛ Had left thee in a Labyrinth of fear, And of thy restitution took no care. And now that I thy Case have opened, 18. Because there is wrath, beware, lest he take thee away with his stroke, than a great ransom cannot deliver thee. And shown'n thee, why thou art so punished; In the next place, I must give thee advice Not to esteem thyself too just, and wise; Nor think that God has done thee injury, By plunging thee in so much misery, When all th' hast suffered must be understood T' have been intended merely for thy good. But, with great calmness, humbly meditate On th' circumstances of thy present state: Confess thy Errors, seriously implore His pardon, and resolve to do no more, As thou hast done: lest, in his burning wrath He prosecute thee closely to thy death: And then no offers of some thousand Prayers, Largitions, Fast, Pennances, and Tears Can ransom thee, for thou must quickly die Without Repentance, and for ever lie In the dark Prison of Eternity. Assure thyself, my friend, this is thy Case, 19 Will he esteem thy riches? no not gold, nor all the forces of strength. If thou repent not quickly, this alace Will be thy final Sentence; this thy Doom, Which thou must suffer in all time to come. And of this Sentence no Reprival can Be purchased by the Art, or Wit of Man: Nor Gold, nor Friendship, nor all Artifices Of Humane Labour: nor the close devices, Of cunning Interceeders can delay The Execution, but for half a day Of this same Sentence: for be confident With Gifts thou canst not bribe th' Omnipotent. But O me thinks I hear thee say, if Death 20. Desire not the night, when people are cut▪ off in their place. Be all that I must suffer in his Wrath: Why let him kill me, I am well content, And shall esteem Death a kind Punishment: For I am wearied of my Life, and know I never shall have rest until I go Down to the Grave. Why here, my friend, again Is a gross error, and I must complain Of thy so frequent wishing thou mightst die, And in the Grave enjoy tranquillity. For though Death be a thing I must confess, Which we ought all to meet with cheerfulness: And every man, who doth th' Almighty fear Should surely, at all times himself prepare To welcome Death, yet thus before the time Designed by God, to wish it is, is a crime. And is, as if one in a raging fit, Should headlong throw himself into a Pit. We must not wish for death, nor foolishly When winds of troubles blow, desire to die: No, we must leave the rules of life and death To God alone, and whilst he gives us breath, We ought to live content with every state, Which he is pleased for us to allocate, From time to time, and when he thinks it fit That we should die: why let us then submit All our concerns, with patience to the blow, And not down to the grave in anger go, As if we'd die whether he would or no. Take heed then pray, lest through impatience 21 Take heed▪ regard not iniquity: for th●s thou hast rather chosen than affliction. Of thy afflictions thou give God offence. For men should rather choose to undergo Even the extremity of pain, and woe, Then by complaining, in some sullen fit, (As thou alace hast often done) commit The least of sin. Nay if thou dost expect That such complaints as these at length may break The stream of thy afflictions, and so Thou through the River of thy woes may'st go With ease, and safety, and be thence relieved From misery, trust me, thou art deceived. For, as young Children vexed with their disease Of Itch, by scratching think to find some ease, But after they have scratched their skin to pieces, In stead of finding ease, their pain increases. So thou, my friend, by such complaints as these, May'st well augment the force of thy disease, But thou canst not allay it; trust me then, 'Tis a great folly for thee to complain. For what's complaining else, but quarrelling 22 Behold God exalteth by his power: who teacheth him? Of Gods procedure? What but murmuring Against his justice? What but ignorance Of what God is, and foolish arrogance, Which thence proceeds? allow me then again, Allow me, pray, a little to explain The Power, Dominion, Wisdom, Majesty, And Equity of him, who sits on high: All which I do intend to evidence Even from the common works of Providence; That I may show thee all thy weaknesses, For, hadst thou understood such things as these, Which are so obvious, and at all occasions, Afford us subject of high Contemplations: Under thy Trial thou hadst not behaved So sinfully, th' hadst not so madly raved In thy expressions, nor, with so much spleen, Quarrelled thy Maker, over, and again. Know then, my friend, whatever be our state, We must not quarrel God at any rate: Or, if we do, we'll find our labour vain And we had better suffer, then complain. For as he is himself exalted far Above all Powers, that e'er created were: So whom he pleases, he doth quickly raise, And others he as quickly doth debase, As he thinks fit: in all which he's so wise, As he from none on Earth doth need advice. And as his Supreme Power doth not allow 23. Who hath enjoined him his way? or who can say, thou hast wrought iniquity? That any man should teach him what to do, So we to what he does should all submit, For he will do whatever he thinks fit. Remember then he is thy God, and know 24. Remember that thou magnify his works, which men behold. How much the whole Creation doth show His Power, and Glory: for by what we see In all his works, we know that none but he Doth rule the World, and by computation, Of what we do admire in the Creation, We may attempt to take his elevation. For even from these common Phoenomena 25. Every man may see it, man may behold it afar off. Some little Maps we may with safety draw, Of the vast Region of his Providence, And through the very Microscope of sense Perceive so much, as we may learn from thence How great he is.—— Yet after all, the best of us I doubt, 26. Behold God is great, and we know him not, neither can the number of his years be searched out. Cannot with all his curious Wit, find out His true Perfection, which no Mortal sure Can further see, then in the Miniature Of his external works: for he is great Beyond what all our Art can calculate. He governed all, before what now we see, Appeared to us: 'twas God, 'twas only he, That ruled all before Infant Time did fly Out of the belly of Eternity: To which (though we on Earth would fain restrain Its rapide flight) it hastes, with speed again. Before it in the World set up a Shop, And sold that necessary Toy called Hope, Which every day we buy at any rate, The Peddling Churl is pleased to estimate, Before this Time appeared, ere it was known, He ordered all things from his heavenly Throne, And will so do, when Time is broke, and gone. Let none attempt then by Philosophy, T'unriddle this great divine mystery Of Providence: but rest content with what May with their reason be proportionat: For even the knowledge of those common things, Which we by art can fathom, surely brings No little satisfaction to our mind: For as in Copper Ore we sometimes find Some grains of Gold lie hidden in the Vein: So, without doubt, God's outward works contain Some scattered grains of his Excellency, Perceptible by a just, serious eye. Though, after all, the knowledge we attain By all these outward signs do not explain What God is fully, no, that is indeed A knowledge, which doth all our art exceed. For God's a thing incomprehensible, Infinite, boundless, and invisible, And by no rules of art definible. Then let us view the Heavens, and see what there, 27. For he maketh final the drops of water, they pour down rain according to the vapour thereof Doth worth our admiration appear: And first we may discern with little pain, Even in that small phenomenon of rain, No small appearance, no small demonstration, O'th' God of Nature's powerful operation, In ordering on't: for he commands the Sun, As in his daily progress he doth run, About the Earth, to suck up here, and there What vapours moist, and unctuous do appear Upon its surface, which he gathereth In several Clouds, and these distributeth In all the quarters of the spacious Air, Whilst out o'th' vapours he doth rain prepare. That finished, and those clouds all mustered Before him, ready, if so ordered, With their whole force upon the Earth to fall, And in a general Deluge drown us all. As once they did loosed by his mighty hand, And would do yet, if he should so command: He kindly doth their violence restrain, And makes them only squirt themselves in rain. So, that, as through a Seive, in little drops, 28. Which the clouds do drop, and distil upon man abundantly. Those waters now do fall, and feed the hopes O'th' Labourer, when he perceives his Grain Spread out its ears, by th' influence of rain: And every drop, which on the Earth doth fall, In its due season prove spermatical. But O, what art, what language can declare 29. Also can any understand he spreadings of the clouds, or the noise of histabernacle. The motions of these Clouds, whilst here, and there In troops they ramble, and to us appear T'observe no order; but so scattering Themselves, as if they went a foraging, Through all the spacious Sky, would make us stand Amazed, if so we did not understand Th' Almighty is their Captain General, That he commands in chief, and gives out all The orders for these motions, so that we Even in those ramblings do his glory see. For when by their great Master ordered, I' th' twinkling of an eye, they'll over spread The face of heavens, and make all darkness there, Where late the Sun most brightly did appear▪ There in Battalia for some time they stand, Expecting further orders; when at hand Another Body of hot Clouds he makes Fall on that Host, which, with great fury breaks That mighty Squadron, yet it doth not yield At first, nor in disorder quit the Field, For all the others fury, but doth make A strong resistance to their fierce attaque: Long time they fight, whilst we with fear and wonder, Expect they'll tear the Universe asunder: For Lightnings in small Parties furiously Burst through the thickest Clouds, and in the Sky Make a strange Figure, and not only there, But even on Earth their fury doth appear, When now and then beasts, buildings, men, what not Are burnt, and wounded by their random shot. Nay Fishes in the Sea, when they do hear Such rumbling in the Firmament, do fear A general Conflagration, and run Down to the bottom of the Seas, to shun The fury of those Combatants: but there They hardly safety find, for every where Those Warring Clouds do make a mighty sound, And fright all both above, and under ground. Yet after all, when we do still expect 31 For by them he judgeth the people, and giveth meat in abundance. Those Clouds of Water will in pieces break, By this so strong collision; when we Confounded quite, by what we hear and see, Do think those Clouds will let their Liquor out, Not as through Sieve, but as through Waterspout, And in great horror, and sad consternation, Expect a full and general inundation; Why then we see how gracious Providence Doth order, that for our convenience, Which we suspected had been ordered For our destruction; and imagined We were all lost▪— For when those Warriors have their fury spent, And with their mutual force, each other rend: The event of this Battle doth produce No more, than what is proper for the use Of every thing that lives: for by and by Those Clouds do only drop, as formerly, In showers of Rain; as they're accustomed, By which the earth is kindly moistened; Rewarding all the labourer's toil and sweat, And by fair Harvest, doth afford us meat. Then if at any time to evidence 32 With clouds he covereth the light, and commandeth it not to shine, by the cloud that cometh betwixt. The vast extent o' th' power of Providence, He should command the Sun to hide his face, (Which so much of his glory doth express) And gathering in his scattered rays to shroud Himself within the mantle of a cloud: Why he's obeyed: and we, for many days, Condole the absence of those glorious rays: Whilst Clouds, Fogs, Rain, are th' only things which now We see about us, and with much ado Deprived of that comfortable light We faintly do distinguish day from night. Yet must we not despair, but still expect That when our God thinks fit, the Sun will take That covering from his face, and by and by Appear as bright, as he did formerly. And now again I must with no small wonder, 33 The voice thereof showeth concerning it, the cattle also concerning the vapour. Speak of this great Phoenomenon of Thunder, This dreadful subject, this stupendious thing, That only should attend so great a King, And in its high, commanding Dialect, The pomp and grandeur of its Master speak. A thing, whose horrid noise doth so confound The race of Creatures all the world around, That those, that live on Earth, in Sea, and Air, At noise of Thunder, tremble all for fear. Cap. XXXVII. AT this I also quake, my heart doth beat, 1 At this also my heart trembleth and is moved out of its place. Frighted almost out of its proper seat: For when on this great work of God I think, The very name of Thunder makes me shrink. Hark how th' Almighty doth his speech direct 2 Hear attentively the noise of his voice, and the sound that goeth out of his mouth. To us in this same thundering Dialect: Hark— even at this time, whilst I yet do speak: Hark— how the noise increases more and more, Whilst all heavens great Artillery do roar: Hark how his words do sound from North to South, In flames, and lightning issuing from his mouth. All under heavens do hear them, and adm 3 He directeth it under the whole heaven, and his lightning unto the ends of the earth. The voice of God amidst those clouds of fire: Not that this Thunder is of such extent, As all that breath below the Firmament, Hear it at once, as if't were general; No, at one time he doth not speak to all; But to what ever people he would speak, Thither assoon he doth himself direct In this same dreadful language, for he will Be heard by all: yes, he will thunder still, Until the deafest, and most hardened ear Do all the words of that loud message hear. For first, before we hear this dreadful voice, 4 After it a voice roareth, he thundereth with the voice of his excellency, and he will not stay them when his voice is heard. Before our ●lower sense can hear the noise, Which, when the mighty Prince of Princes speaks Amidst that heap of rattling Clouds, he makes; We see some Troops of Avant-Curiors fly Hither, and thither, lightly through the Sky, Known by the name of Lightnings, these appear Only to show to mankind, as it were, That the Almighty doth himself draw near. Not, but that first, with reason we suppose The watery Clouds, through whose Battalions those Have made their way by force, are wholly broke, Not able to sustain the furious shock O' th' fiery Clouds, by which the noise is made, But that by th' eye these are discovered, Before the duller, counterwinding ear The noise in its perfection can hear. For the light lightning in an instant flies Through th' Air, and soon appears before our eyes; Whilst th' heavier sound a slower march doth make, And through the Azure by degrees doth break; But in a little, after these appear; Then a most sense-confounding voice we hear: A voice of power, a voice of excellence, A voice of glory, and preeminence Above all voices: a stupendious noise, A most majestic, and commanding voice. Nay, after in the Thunder he doth speak, Yet still these Lightnings light incursions make, Even to our very Gates, yea furiously In at our doors and windows they do fly. As if, whilst the main body of this Thunder Encamped aloft, t'augment our fear, and wonder, These foragers were sent to kill, and plunder. For these Pickeerers, firing here and there, Do with their small Shot raise no little fear, Killing, or making of such subtle wounds, As even their sight the Surgeon's skill confounds, Whilst by a Thunderbolt, the bones within Are broke to pieces, and th' outward skin Untouched: nay sometimes these adventurers will Perform some other pranks, to show their skill In shooting, even on things inanimate, As if with sport they would us sometimes treat, And to allay our fears, would play the wag, Melting a sum of Money in a Bag, This still tied, sealed, and closely, or emptying A Hogshead full of Wine; whilst no such thing Doth to the Cooper, by the Cask appear, That being still untouched, sound, and entire: With many such too numerous to relate, Both on things living, and inanimate, As we may daily see. Yet God will not For all his Thunder, stay those murdering shot. But still permits th' alarumed world to feel Some hurt from those small bombs, which makes them reel Like mad men, and in their reiterate fits, Run almost out of all their little wits. Thus, when our God doth speak, in fire, and thunder, 5. God thundereth marvellously with his voice, great things doth he, which we cannot comprehend. He seems to rend the very Heavens asunder, As if he now to mankind, in his wrath, Did nothing, but a full destruction breath: As if he meant t'unhinge the doors of Nature, And let in death on every living creature. Nay, so he speaks, as if he did intend To bring this goodly Fabric to an end. Yet after all he's still so kind to men, As he shuts up this terrible Campaign, At last in a Cessation of rain. But what needs more, 'twere tedious to relate, How many other things both high, and great, Our God performs: things strange and marvellous, Things neither known, nor understood by us: Things, which our proud philosophy transcend, Things, which our reason cannot comprehend. Of such great things than I shall speak no more, But only here, as I have said before, By these great outward works, we may perceive With how much reason, we do all believe, That he, who made all these, must surely be In greatness far beyond all that we see. On less things now then my discourse shall run, A word of snow, and frost, and I ha' done. He, who did all create, doth all command, 6. For he saith to the snow, be the● on the earth, likewise to the small ●●in, and to the great ●ain of his strength. Holds all the Keys of Nature in his hand, Unlocks the doors of these great Magazines Of rolling Clouds, where vapours of all kinds Are keeped in store.— Whence as he judges it convenient, Now this, now that upon the Earth is sent: And but a word he uses, for anon, As he doth speak, the business is done. He says to Snow, go thou, and quickly fall On Earth, and as soon we are powdered all; Woods, Mountains, Valleys, Houses, all below Are wrapped up in a sheet of ivory snow, Anon he calls for rain, both great, and small, And bids now this, now that upon us fall, All do obey him: all do quickly run, Where ordered, and what he commands is done. For instantly down from the Clouds doth fall, 7. He sealeth up the hand of every man; that all men may know his work. Such quantity of rain, as makes us all Give o'er our works i'th' field, and lay aside Our labouring Tools, and within doors abide. Then go the Beasts too to their several dens, 8 Then the beasts go into dens, and remain in their places. And there themselves do shelter, while it reins. Not able to resist the storm, and there The fiercest of them is a Prisoner: Until the rain be over, and the sky Again put on a bright serenity. That rapid wind, which wrapped up in a cloud 9 Out of the south cometh the whirlwind, and cold out of the north. Around us for some time doth roar aloud: The whirlwind, which on all hands blusters so, As if it out of every Point did blow, Doth, as I take it, from the Southern Pole, Upon us, with a deal of fury roll. As by the boisterous Northwind cold is thought To be into our Southern Countries brought. For with that wind the hoary frost appears 10 By the breath of God frost is given, and the breadth of the waters is straitened. With Ice-sickles dangling about his ears: Upon our running Rivers he doth seize, And spite of their swift current makes them freeze, As also Lakes, Pools, Ditches, Marshes; And where before we sailed, now in a trice We run in Sledges all along the Ice. He makes the Clouds, with constant drudgery, 11 Also by watering he wearieth the thick cloud: he seat tereth his bright cloud. (Like Slaves condemned to pump) incessantly Fill all our Canals; and the earth supply, With water at all times, as it doth need, And in that service, they're so hurried Hither, and thither posted, here, and there, In this, or th' other place, nay every where, As he thinks fit; that as't were out of breath, They halt, till with his hand he scattereth Them all along the Sky, and makes them flow In gentle rain, whether they will or no. For all those numerous vapour-chests, which we 12 And it is turned round about by his counsels: that they may do what soever he commandeth them upon the face of the world in the earth. Call clouds, and counter-tumbling daily see Above our heads, by him are ordered, Assembled, or in parties quartered Even as he will: he makes them turn, and reel I'th' Air, like the swift motion of a Wheel; When he thinks fit: he makes them pour out rain In any place o'th' earth he doth ordain. Those Clouds on several errands he doth send, 13 He causeth it to come, whether for correction, or for his land, or for mercy. Some judgements, others mercies do portend: Each of 'em doth its own commission bear, For good, or ill: and none of 'em appear, Without a special warrant any where. And now observe, O Job, take heed I pray, 14 Harken unto this, o ●ob, standfull, & consider the wondrous works of God. Compose thyself, advert to what I say, Consider, pray, consider seriously The works of God; and in sobriety Remark the methods of his providence, His power, his justice, and his excellence. Dost understand those things? dost thou conceive 15 Dost thou know when God disposed them, and caused the light of his cloud to shine? The meaning of those wonders? dost believe That all those Clouds, do march, retire, disband, Or war amongst themselves at his command. Dost understand their motions, here and there, 16 Dost thou know the balancing of the clouds, the wondrous works of him which is perfect in knowledge? Or how by a just Balance in the Air, He makes them hang above us? dost thou know On what they do depend? or canst thou show By what art he doth raise those Clouds on high, Beyond the reach of sight, and by and by, Doth let them down so low, as one with pain, Would think they could be hoist up agaèn. Which certainly is a great demonstration Of his vast knowledge, and with admiration On such things we should look.— Dost understand, my friend, from whence the heat▪ 17 How thy garments are warm, when he quieteth the earth by the southwind? Proceeds, which is so violently great, As sometimes it can scarce be tollerat? When gentle Breezes from the South do blow, But when out of the North, it is not so. Dost understand how he the Air has spread, 18 Hast thou with him spread out the sky, which is strong, & as a molten looking glass? Like a fair Sheet of Lawn above thy head? The thin, and fluid Air, oft broke to pieces By justling Clouds, and violent impresses Of Lightnings: and yet after all, this Air Appears transparent, and so calmly fair, As it in pleasant brightness, doth surpass The beauty of the finest Crystal Glass. If then thou understandest all those things, 19 Teach ●s what we shall say unto him; for we cannot order our speech, by reason of darkness. And wouldst thyself plead with the King of kings, In person: pray be pleased to let us hear, What thou wouldst say, if God should now appear Upon his Throne? if he should show his face, And bid thee freely speak upon thy case? What couldst thou say? or if thou dar'st not speak To him thyself, but dost perhaps expect That we should be thy Proctors, tell us pray, What we to God on thy behalf shall say? For thou, it seems, great knowledge dost enhance, Whilst we are buried in deep ignorance. Then which of us thy friendswouldst have to speak 20 Shall ● betold him, that I speak? it a man speak, surely he shall be swallowed up. To this great God in thy defence, and make Apology for thee: pray let us hear, For, if thou dost desire I should appear In thy behalf, I must demand excuse, For, seriously, my friend, I do not use To plead with God for any man, indeed I do not think it lawful so to plead: But if thou wilt that I should pray for thee To that just God, who doth both hear, and see What passes now amongst us, let me know And I shall quickly do it, for if so, I do but that good office, which I owe To all men: I in Prayer dare address At all times, and for all men, but to press My God to give a reason, why he now Doth punish thee: truth that I dare not do. No, no, for to be free with thee; my friend, There's no man here dares so express his mind, As thou hast done? at least, I'm not the man Dares undertake this; for I neither can Nor dare, by public Program, intimate That I am with my Maker to debate: For, if I did, I might expect a stroke From him▪ whom, by so doing I'd provoke To wrath against me, and for my offence, That I by death should soon be hurried hence. But what needs further, let us cast our eyes, 21 And now men see not the bright light, which is in the clouds: but the wind passeth, and clean set in them. But, at this instant, up into the Skies: Let us observe but how the troubled Air, All overspread with Clouds doth now appear: Who by their throng Eclipse the Heaven's light, And keep the glorious Sun out of our sight. See how those Clouds from every quarter march, In several bodies through the spacious Arch, In dreadful squadrons strong, and numerous, All hastening to the general Rendezvous: T'attend the King of Heavens, who, as I guess, By such great preparations, as these, Intends himself in person to appear;— Hark, how these Clouds do ramble:— dost not hear A noise of Thunder? dost not now espy The Vanguard of his lightnings nimbly fly, In rambling parties through the darkened Air?— Yes sure, our God himself will now appear: For, as by dust afar, we quickly know Th'approach of mighty armies; even so By such prognostics, we may understand, The Lord of Hosts is now himself at hand: Unless the winds do clear that troubled state, And all those foggy vapours dissipate. For, if the Northern winds should blow apace, 22. Fair weather cometh out of the ●●●th, with God is terrible majesty. 'Twould scatter soon those sad appearances; And by its cold, and cleansing blasts restore Th'Air to the same state, as it was before. But still I think th' Almighty God draws nigh, 23. Touching the Almighty, we cannot find him out: he is excellent in power, & in judgement, and in plenty of justice, he will not afflict. Th' Almighty terrible in Majesty, And that these great (though usual preparations) Are but so many signs, and demonstrations Of his approach.— Here then he comes,— he comes— With such a noise, as millions of Drums, Trumpets, and Symbals cannot parallel: Th'Almighty God, who doth in power excel, All that we can imagine now draws near, And he himself in judgement will appear: That after all this tedious debate, 24. Men do therefore fear him, he respecteth not any that are wise of heart. Managed on all hands, with such zealous heat, The supreme Judge o'th' world may decide The controversy: and show either side, Where they have been i'th'right, where in the wrong, And let thee see, my friend, how all along, Upon the matter thou hast erred, and now What thou so oft desired, he will allow: He'll hear thee now himself, he'll challenge thee Now to debate, and thou shalt quickly see What 'tis before th' Almighty God to plead, Yes, now thou shalt perceive, thou shalt indeed, What 'tis to speak with him, remember now, 'Tis not with us thy friends thou hast to do; But 'tis with God, that will not be abused By such wild reasoning, as thou hast used With us: no, don't mistake, thou hast to do With no less than the Judge of Judges now. With thy Creator: one whom mortal Men Cannot esteem too much: prepare thee then To hear him; be attentive, when he speaks, For hear how in the Thunder he directs His speech to thee: I therefore shall forbear Further to speak, since he doth now appear, But what he speaks, shall with attention hear. PART. V. Cap. XXXVIII. THE Storm increasing, and the Clouds appearing 1. Then the Lord answered job out of the whirlwind, and said, Still to augment the Darkness, stead of clearing, The Thunder roaring, and the Lightning flying Before the face of God so terrifying, As both th' afflicted man, his friends, and those, Who then were present, firmly did suppose This threatening Storm would suddenly renverse The goodly Fabric of the Universe: At least they fancied those distracted Clouds Would shake out quickly most prodigious Floods On th' Earth, and by a Deluge general, As once before, again overwhelm them all. In these sad apprehensions, damped with fear, At length out of the Whirlwind, they could hear, After the ceasing of that dreadful noise, A soft, but most intelligible Voice: A Voice so audible, a Voice so free, A Voice, which all could hear, but none could see The mighty Speaker.—— And now both Plaintiffs, and Defendant too Undone with horror, could, with much ado, Retain their spirits, when they see indeed That God himself to Justice would proceed, Himself in Person, and determine what Had been th' occasion of so much debate: Whilst none of 'em would yield t' each other, none Would be determined but by God alone. He therefore, to make all their jarrings cease, Doth thus at length give judgement on the Case. Who's he, says God, presumes thus to debate, 2. Who is he that darkneth council, by words without know ledge? On what I've ordered? who is ●e dares state Himself my Party? who's the man?— who's he, That offers to debate the Case with me? Who, who's the man, that, with such insolence, Dares canvas thus my acts of Providence? Who's he, to whom I've given life, and breath, Dares utter such rebellious words of Death? Show me the man, you Slaves, amongst you all, That dares what I design in question call? Because forsooth, in kindness, I've bestowed A little Reason on you, you grow proud: Why could not I, you Things profusely vain, At first have made you Beasts as well as Men, Nay cannot I reduce you all again To your first Principles, and let you see All your Subsistence doth depend on me? Why then?—— Should such, as I from nothing did create, Presume to be my Secretars of State? Should such as you, whom I've distinguished From other Creatures, offer to implead That Power, which made you such? or when you meet In your wise Consults, offer to debate On my Proceedings? should such Wasps, as you Dare but repine at any thing I do? Should such as only by my favour live, Presume to quarrel my Prerogative? Can any humane Reason comprehend What I have done, or what I do intend? No— know, all of you, I'm your God, and King, No more then of your foolish reasoning. Now as for thee, thou Job, whom I did raise, 3. Gird up now thy loins like a man, for I will demand of thee, and answer thou me. And let thee see a deal of golden Days, Who of all earthly blessings mad'st collection, And lived most happy under my protection, Enjoying all thou couldst project, yet now, Thou ungrate man, thou must be prating too: Thou must be meddling with my Providence, And ask Questions, with great impudence, Why I permit this, or that man to live, At their convenience, and all blessings give To such, as do not merit at my hand, Whilst others at my doors, unserved stand, Whose Piety did merit better things? And so proceeds in foolish murmurings Against my Actings: nay thou dost proceed To greater heights: and dost desire to plead Thy Case with me, and that so freely too, As one man with another man would do. I've heard thee all this while, with patience, Make formal Harangues on thy innocence: I've heard thee speak, and argue all along Against me, as if I had done thee wrong. Because I did think fit to change thy state, Therefore in passion thou'd expostulate With me for doing so: since than thou hast So oft denied to plead with me, at last Shalt have thy wish: and since thou wilt not be Convinced by those, who have discoursed with thee By my appointment, and will yield to none In thy opinions, but to me alone— — It shall be so:— I'll argue now the case Myself with thee, and show thee in thy face How thou hast erred, I'll let thee plainly see I am not such as men take me to be, But am, what neither thou, nor any thing That breathes on earth from woman issuing Can comprehend.— Go too then Job, behave thee, like a man, I'll ask the question, answer if thou can. Say then, poor mortal man, where wast thou— say 4. Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth? declare, if thou hast understanding. When I at first did Earth's Foundations lay? Where wast thou pray, hadst thou a being then? Didst thou exist, wast thou created when I did this Glorious Work at first commence, And ordered all things so by Providence; As I no sooner did this thing intend, Than instantly the work was at an end. Who did the Model of this World design? 5. Who hath laid the measures thereof, if thou knowest? or who hath stretched the line upon it? Who drew the Plan thereof? who stretched the Line From Pole, to Pole, on which as all may see, It yet doth roll, as on an Axletree. Who measured out at first the vast extent Of this huge Glob? or by what instrument Was all, that now the universe is named, At first into a perfect Circle framed? Upon what grounds are the Foundations laid 6 Whereupon are the foundations thereof fastened? or who laid the cornerstone thereof? Of this great Fabric, which my hands have made? Canst thou, O man, by all thy art find out On what this Glob of earth doth rest? I doubt Thou never canst imagine how a thing Of so much weight, i'th' open air can hang, Without some Nail, on which by Chain or String, Such a vast ponderous body should depend: I know this doth thy reason quite transcend. Dost know how every Atom doth support Each other in that Mass in such a sort, As no part upon any part doth rest, Nor are light parts by heavy parts depressed, But altogether solid, firm, and sure, Lie in one lump, by Aequilibrature: And for the Air, that subtle, fluid, thing, Which 'bout this Orb, like a soft rind, doth cling, And fills up every waste, hole poor, or chink, That's in this Glob; what dost thou of it think, Dost think that can so great a weight sustain, That in its own sphere doth subsist with pain Shattered each hour, by Thunder, Lightning, Rain, No truly, it doth upon nothing rest, So that all your opinions at the best Of the supporters of this earthen Ball Are but mere notions, and conjectures all. Then where were't thou when I at first did lay 7. When the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy. The World's Foundations, when the blushing Day Did first appear, and all my numerous crowd Of Angels did for joy cry out aloud, When they perceived all I had done was good. Where wast thou pray, when all that now thy Eye Perceives distinct did in confusion lie. When the luxuriant Seas did issue out 8. Or who shut up the sea with doors when it broke forth, as if it had issued out of the womb? Of Nature's pregnant womb, and grasped about The spongious Earth so close, as by the Floods Its face was covered, as 'tis now by Clouds: When then in these the Earth lay sopped around, And nothing like dry Land was to be found, All being under Water.—— Who did their rage (else boundless) limitate, And within doors, as 'twere incarcerate Those furious Seas, which now with all their power Cannot o'erflow Earth's surface to this hour. Who was it then that first this Earth did drain, 9 When I made the cloud the garment thereof; and thick darkness a swaddling band to it. And from the Land so separate the main, As they should never be unite again? Who was it pray? dost know? why it was I, Thy God, and Maker: I did speedily As with a swaddling Band of darkest Clouds, Tie up those Infant, and disordered Floods. Then in a distinct body I did frame Those rolling Waves, and them a Sea did name. I cast them off the Earth, and by and by I did assign them a Locality, In which they might thereafter domineer And roar their fill, but never more appear Upon the Earth, and overwhelm the Land Without my warrant, and express command. Such bounds I for these Billows measured out 10. And broke up for it my decreed place, and set bars and doors. As I thought good, and fenced them round about, With earthen Ramparts, such as might expel Their fury, when they should begin to swell, And make them tamely within bounds contain, For all their lofty pride, and numerous train, Assaulting oft these Ramparts, but in vain. I said unto them— thus far shall you go: 11. And said, hitherto shalt thou come, but no further: and here shall thy proud waves be stayed. No further, in High spring-tidings shall you flow, I charge you that you do encroach no more Upon the Earth, this Line shall be your Shore. Dost know what light is pray, or to what end 12. Hast thou commanded the morning since thy days? & caused the day spring to know his place. Both this, and darkness, I on Earth did send? Dost know the reasons, which made me conclude At first upon this strange vicissitude Of day and night? or why I overspread The glorious face of Earth, which I have made With clouds of darkness? so that what of late Appeared in a most beauteous pomp, and state, Whilst light did shine, and feasted curious eyes, With all the choice, and rich varieties. That heart could wish, doth suddenly appear An object, not of pleasure, but of fear? When then the Sun is gone, when he is fled, And darkness doth the face of Earth o'erspread: Canst thou command him to return, with light, T'allay the horror of a Winter's night? Or canst thou hire him to diffuse his rays Before his time? didst ever in thy days, Attempt such a light windmill enterprise, As to make day spring ere the morning rise. But when this Sun by my command appears 13. That it might take hold of the ends of the earth, that the wicked might be shaken out of it. Upon Earth's utmost confines, and still bears Upward to his full Orb:—— Then doth your darkness quickly steal away, With all its allies, at the break of day, For when the Sun out of his sleep awakes, Those things like downs from coverlet he shakes, Which do in darkness trade: at sight o'th' Sun Nightwalkers, into holes, and corners run. Whilst th' Earth, which by its absence void of light, 14. It is turned as clay to the seal, and they stand as a garment. Shut up behind the curtains of the night, Appeared without all form; at break of day, As upon washen, and well tempered Clay, A new impression brightly doth appear, Is in her morning dress, most bright, and clear. At break of day, the labourer breaks his rest, 15. And from the wicked, their 〈◊〉 is withholden, and the high aim shall be broken. And to the field, with every working beast, He cheerfully doth march: nothing afraid, Because pursuing of his lawful trade. Whilst Drunkards, Camesters, Whores, Adulterers, Murderers, Lifters, Thiefs, and Burglarers, Who in the nighttime do their business, Assoon's the Sun begins to show his face, Run all into their lurking holes anon, And at the break of day they're broke, and gone. Next, as to darkness:— dost thou comprehend What thing that is? or what I do intend 16. Hast thou entered into the spring of the sea, or hast thou walked in the search of the depth. By this privation, what's the use of it? What is its scope? for what end is it fit? Sure thou who understand'st not what is light, Which every day is obvious to thy sight, Canst never understand obscurity, A thing that's not perceptible by th' eye. Didst ever into the Seas bottom dive? Or canst thou yet, with all thy art contrive A way to trace, and measure the extent Of that dark Land? or know what Government Is used by th'▪ Planters of these Provinces, Situate in the bottom of the Seas? Dost know the Springs, and Conduits, that supply With fresh recruits of Water constantly The restless Ocean? pray now let me hear, Dost know what things the weeping sources are; Dost understand these things? or dost thou know How from the Seas all Springs and Rivers flow. In all thy life-time hast thou ever seen 17 Have the gates of death been opened unto thee? or hast thou seen the doors of the shadow of death? Deaths gates cast open? has thou never been Conversant under ground? didst ere descry That dreadful prospect of mortality, Of those who scattered in earth's bowels lie? Did e'er thy curiosity lead thee there? No. at the gates sure thou hadst died for fear. Dost know earth's true Diameter, canst tell 18 Hast thou perceived the breadth of the earth? declare, if thou knowest it all How far in▪ breadth its Globous bulk doth swell? Canst see both Poles at once by art, or can Thy eye discover each Meridian? Go to then, canst thou point the place, from whence 19 Where is the way where light dwelleth? and as for darkness. where is the place thereof? Light doth proceed? dost know its residence? Dost know the Cave where darkness doth reside, And closely all the day itself doth hide? That thou shouldst trace the way to its abode, 20 That thou shouldest take it to the bound thereof, and that thou shouldest know the paths to the house thereof. And through the windings of that dreadful road Find a safe passage to its dwelling place, And take the picture of its duskly face? I think thou dost not know, nor canst declare 21 Knowest thou it▪ because thou wast then born? or because the number of thy days is great? What things, O man! the light and darkness are Because when I created night, and day, Thou in the belly of first matter lay. Th▪ hadst not a being then, thou wast not made, When light, and darkness I distinguished. Nor canst thou know more, by experience, Then that both this, and that affect thy sense, But what they are, from what hid cause they flow, No art, no length of days, can make thee know. Hast thou observed, with a computing eye, 22 Hast thou entered into the treasures of the snow●? or hast thou seen the treasures of the hail? At any time, and viewed seriously Th'innumerable stores of Snow, and Hail, Which I do keep in heavens great Arsenal? Hast viewed those inexhaustible provisions, 23 Which I have reserved against the time of trouble, against the day of battle and war? How they are stored in several divisions? So that when I intent a war with those Who on this earth do my decrees oppose: Sometimes I use the one, sometimes the other, As I think fit, and sometimes both together, By force of both, or either, in a trice I break the force of my proud enemies. Dost understand how Lightnings separate 24 By what way is the light parted, which scattereth the east wind upon the earth. The Clouds of Wind: and quickly dissipate The strongest Bodies of these vaporous foes, Which do the fury of their course oppose? Dost understand this thing, or dost thou know Why wind doth sometimes from one quarter blow, Sometimes out of another, East, or West, South, North, Nore-west, South-west, or South-South-east. Who doth restrain the torrents of those floods, 25 Who hath divided a water course for the overflowing of waters, or a way for the lightning of thunder? Which after Thunder break from broken Clouds, In such abundant streams, without cessation, As men do fear a total inundation. Who makes deep Canals, into which conveyed Those Waters, as in Levels, gently slide, Both above ground, and under ground with ease, Into the bottom of the spacious Seas? Who makes the Clouds above thy head retain 26 To cause it to rain on the earth, where no man is: on the wilderness, wherein there is no man. Great quantities of Waters, and, in rain, As from a Sponge, thus shake them out again. And that not only upon fertile ground, But on the Deserts, where no man is found. That in due season, they may pasture yield 27 To satisfy the desolate, and waste ground, and to cause the bud of the tender herb to spring forth. To all the beasts, that feed upon the field: And feed those creatures too, whose idleness Makes them frequent the barren wilderness, As also make the Vegetables sprout, And in their Leaves, and Flowers, shoot fairly out From the earth's belly, where they buried were Until the Mid-wife-Season of the year By help of rain doth bring them forth, and spreads Through all the fields the product of those Seeds. Now, if thou think'st this rain is procreate 28 Hath the rain a father? or who hath begotten the drops of dew? As other creatures are, who did beget This useful thing? or who supposest thou Did procreate the Crystal drops of dew? By which the Labourer rising from his bed, Perceives his grounds all kindly watered. And then, as if the Sun had only sent Those little cordial drops, to compliment The widowed earth, that doth his absence mourn, And in sad veil, did long for his return, With warming beams, he suddenly doth drain The earth, and sucks up all those drops again. Dost know what Ice is? whence the same proceeds? 29 Out of whose womb came the ice, and the hoary frost of heaven? who hath gendered it? Who did beget it? in what womb it breeds. 'Tis worth thy knowledge (though thou knew no more) To understand this costive Meteor. Dost see the Rivers, how they sweetly pass 30 The waters are hid as with a stone, and the face of the depth is frozen, In gentle streams through pleasant fields of grass, Whilst Trees, and Shrubs, which in their Banks do grow, By their reflex, do make a goodly show, Upon the Waters, so transparent clear, As through the Streams the very Skies appear: These same pellucid Rivers, in a trice You may see covered with a crust of Ice: And what was lately soft, appear anon As hard, and solid, as if paved with stone: Nay, even the Seas; who not long time before Did break their curled Waves, upon the Shore, And round the Earth triumphed with so much pride, Spreading their boisterous Billows, far, and wide: As if the power of the restraining Ice, (Which fetters inland floods) they did despise; These very Seas at length are forced to bow To conquering Ice, and they are frozen too: So that where tallest Sh●ps did lately steer, Now Sledges, Carts, and Wagons do appear: Nay, as upon firm Land with all their force, Whole armies in baitalias, foot, and horse, Securely march along the frozen Seas, Fight, retiring, skirmishing with ease. Hast then observed this? canst assign a reason, Why waters are bound up so in their season? Or to what end, I make the Rivers frieze, And thus incrustate even the raging Seas? Indeed vain mortals, you do all pretend 31. Canst thou bind the sweet influence of Pleyades? or lose the bands of Orion? By philosophic rules to comprehend The nature of all Meteors, and know By second causes, whence they all do flow: As when such constellations do appear, You guess the several seasons of the year, As this the Spring, that Summer, Harvest that And this cold Winter doth insinuat: 'Cause their appearance is habitual, And custom teaches you: but that is all You understand: you know that such things are, Because to you they frequently appear: But who's the man can tell? who's he doth know The reason why these Stars themselves do show At such set times? art thou the man? canst thou With all thy curious art demonstrat how The Stars were made? why some of them appear In modelled bodies, others here, and there Are singly scattered in the Heavens? dost know Why some are fixed, some ramble to, and fro In their own Orbs, and why too some of these Consume as many years, as others days In running out their course? dost understand The reason of these things? canst thou command These Stars? or make the meanest of 'em all Forbear their course? or vanish at thy call? Canst thou restrain the sweet influences, And pleasant aspects of the Pleyades, Who, when the Sun in Taurus doth appear, Calmly, and gently usher in the year? Or when the sullen, barbarous Orion Attended by an host of storms, leads on The dreadful Winter, which o'er runs you all And makes you with ingeminat groans recall Your ever kind (but then far distant) Sun To your assistance, else you're all undone With killing cold.—— When this same Orion doth then appear In wasting terror to shut up the year; And bury all in Snow, canst thou restrain His violence, and force him back again? Canst thou repel the fury of his Winds, His Rains, his Hail, and Tempests of all▪ kind's? And make that ne'er yet conquered Constellation Draw off his Troops with fear, and consternation? Canst, in his season bring out Mazzaroth 32. Canst thou bring forth Mazzaroth in his season, or canst thou guide Arcturus with his sons? That torrid Constellation of the South, And make him in his Summer garb appear, To celebrate the Solstice of the year? Say— canst thou make this Constellation shine, This Canis major which beyond the Line Lies quartered, and from its pleasant seat▪ Draws out but as a Sammer guard, to wait Upon the motion of the glorious Sun What time he his three greatest heats doth run. Canst thou by Art a certain survey make Of all the Chambers in the Zodiac, That spacious College, that magnificent And stately Inns of Court; that eminent And princely Fabric of great excellence; Where the Twelve Signs do keep their residence. And though they hold their chief Demeurage there, Yet in their several Circuits, appear The twelve conspicuous Judges of the Year. Each Month, by turns: attended by no less, Then the bright Sun himself, with all his rays, Who for the time keeps House, with each of them; Then what canst say to this? would thou reclaim Against this order? or in spite, decry This method? canst thou by authority Inhibit their procedure? and allow No such Apartments but to one, or two Of all the twelve?—— Or canst thou make the Sun, per saltum, pass Into the Ram's head, from the Balances? And baulking the five Melancholy Signs, (In which he rather looks a squint, then shines) Make him continue his warm influence In every corner of the Earth, and thence, By that new, heretofore unknowen device, Evite the trouble of the Winter's Ice. Canst make the Northern Stars live orderly, And rule Arcturus, with his Family? Who in the Harvest season doth appear, Attended with his great, and little Bear, And th'other Troops of the Septentrions, Drawn out of all his Northern Garrisons, T' invest, as't were, the year, whilst Orion With the main body follows quickly on? Canst make celestial bodies influence 33. Know est thou the ordinances of heaven? canst thou set the dominions thereof in the earth? Bodies sublunary? dost ' know from whence That rich, but hidden Virtue doth proceed, Which amongst you mortals, strange effects doth breed? Whilst some Diseases, others Health, afford: Some fair, and some foul weather, in a word Each constellation in its aspect bears A consequence of either hopes, or fears. But not a cause: for that to me alone Belongs, which I communicate to none, Whom I've created: for in sober sense, These Stars have in themselves no influence On any thing, but as determined By second Causes, which are furnished By my appointment, and the Subject Matter, With which they meet.—— Yet, I know some of you (sad Creatures too) Pretend by study to demonstrare how All things are ordered in my Cabinet, Ere they be brought to action, and relate, By knowledge of these Stars, strange passages Of my designs, long ere they came to pass: Fools! whence have you so good intelligence Of my intents, and purposes? from whence Have you this knowledge? is it from the Stars? D'ye think such mean things are my Counsellors? That such as these forsooth should be acquaint With the deep Intrigues of my Government? Presumptuous Mortals! that you thus should dare To think you know what my intentions are, When you own Reason fully may convince You of your folly: for if even a Prince, Of my creation, that on Earth doth dwell, And must make use of Council, can so well Conceal his Secrets, as what he intends, Is neither known to Enemies, nor Friends: How think you then.—— That I, who use no Council in the least, But that which doth reside within my breast, Should of my Secrets take so little care, As any thing in Heavens, Earth, Sea, or Air, Nay even my Angels, who my Court attend Should e'er discover what I do intend, But from my Mouth? yet from a silly Star, With which you correspond, of Peace, and War Intended Famine, Fire, or Pestilence, You Mortals have all your intelligence: Would not you of that Statesman make a sport, Who from the Lackeys of a Prince's Court, Pretended he did draw intelligence, Of all his Cabin-councils, and from thence Would take his measures? pray what else are those, With whom you correspond, do you suppose That I make any other use of these, But as of Grooms, to carry Messages? Nor is it lawful for you to erect Your Figures, on Nativities; and make From thence Conclusions: or by Art to frame, From the conjunctions of the Stars, a Scheme O'th' life, and death of any private man, That lives on Earth: a thing no mortal can, With safety undertake: or if he do, Know all of you that I do not allow Such Practices: for hidden things are known To me who am your Sovereign alone But things revealed to you are only shown. The Knowledge then, in which I do permit The wisest of you all to try your Wit, Is to distinguish, as these Stars appear, The several times, and seasons of the Year; To know them all both fixed, and wanderers, And gaze upon them as Astronomers: To know besides their influences so, As when 'tis time to plant and when to sow: When to set sail, when to return again: When to endure, when to cast off your pain: How in the darkest night your course to steer, At Sea or Land: when to hope, when to fear: When to rejoice, when sadly to Lament, Especially when flaming Stars are sent As Heralds of my Wrath, when to repent. All this I do allow, and you may poor Upon this Knowledge, so far but no more: For none of all these Stars can in the least Have influence on either man, or beast As Causes; but they only do appear As signs to show my actions every where. Canst thou by keeping coil, and noise below, 34. Canst thou lift up thy voice to the clouds, that abundance of waters may cover thee. Persuade the Clouds to let their Vapours go And water all thy Sunburned Grounds with Rain, When they at any time of Drought complain? Canst thou by single lifting of thy hand, 35. Canst thousend lightnings, that they may go, and say unto thee, here we are? Make all the Troops of Lightning understand Thy pleasure, and appear, at thy command. All ready armed, in order instantly, And hotly forward in thy service cry, Lord we are here;— let's have thy orders now, Pray what wouldst have thy Soldiers to do? Give us the Word, and Sign; let's understand Upon what Service thou wouldst us command: For here we're ready, as one man, to act, Whatever thou wouldst have us undertake. But all these things, and many more, than thou 36. Who hath put wisdom in the inward parts? or who hath given understanding to the heart? Or any man can fancy, I can do. I can with ease oblige the whole Creation T' obey my Orders, as I find occasion I can make th' Universe, at my command Return to its first Chaos, Sea, and Land I can confound, and mix them so together, As th' wit of man cannot distinguish either: I can do more than all you can conceive: I can do what you but with pain believe. Nay so much too thou knowst, for frequently I've heard thee in thy sharpest agony, Express thyself, with zeal, and admiration, Upon the copious Theme of the Creation. I've heard thee too, with no small Eloquence, Discourse upon my works of Providence. I ask thee then who made thee understand, Who made thee know, that by my mighty hand All things in Heaven, and Earth were fashioned, And to this hour are daily ordered? Who taught thee these things? who instructed thee, Hadst thou this Wit from any else, but me? Did not I lend thee Parts, and made thee know How from my Power all things created flow? How all your Wisdom, of which you do boast, Is not your acquisition, but at most A simple loan of my benevolence; Which I to this, or that man do dispense As I think good.—— By rules then of your own Philosophy, If from me Wisdom flows, then certainly I who, bestow it must be wiser far, Then the accutest of you Mortals are, Who all your Knowledge do derive from me, Since that for which a thing is such, must be More such itself: I do demand thee then Thou most pretending to it, of all men, Is't fit that any Mortal should be proud, Of what in Loan I only have allowed To him, upon design that he should know What he's himself, and then what he doth owe To me, who made him such; but not to state Himself my Party; or, like thee, debate On my Proceedings, but that he should be Content to know, that he knows all from me. For what is all your Wit? what all your Parts? 37. Who can number the clouds by wisdom, or who can stay the bottles of heaven. What all the subtle Sciences, and Arts, Which you do study, and profess to know, Nay, what is all that Wisdom here below On which you men value yourselves so much? What is it? how d'ye rate it? is it such, As by it you can even but calculate The number of the Clouds? or estimate The value of those Magazines of Rain What quantity of Vapours they contain? Under what Lock, and Key they're all secured? How guarded, by what Policy insured, At all Adventures from the craft, and force Of th'other fiery rambling meteors? Can all your wit, at any time restrain, The falling of the smallest drop of rain, Out of those heavenly bottles, which you see, That both are filled, and emptied by me. For when by drought the Earth to flying dust 38. When the dust groweth into hardness, and the clods cleave fast together. Appears converted, than I let out just As I think fit, such quantities of rain, As may reduce it to soft clay again. Thus much for Heavens; now let's to Earth repair, 39 Wilt thou hunt the prey for the lion? or fill the appetite of the young lions? And see what absolute power I have there, For thou wilt say the Meteors o'th'Air Are far above thee; and it is no wonder, Though rain, and snow, hail, lightning, frost, and thunder, Be things unknown to thee: I'll lead thee then To objects that more obvious to men In the same Earth, with you converse, which though Thou see, and hear them daily, yet I'll show For all thy wit, and art thou dost not know The nature of them, I will show thee then, That there are many things unknown to men, Even in this Earth. Do then but cast thy eyes Upon my Parks, my Ponds, and Votaries, Thou'lt quickly see, that I have creatures there, Which thou knowst hardly either what they are, Or how they live.— First then, you have the Lion such a creature, As best of you do hardly know his nature: A creature full of fury, full of wrath, That to all other creatures threatens death, If once withstood: but when to him they yield, There's no more generous beast in all the field: For his opposers he in pieces tears, But such as do submit to him he spares. Observe this Lion then; he must be fed, As well as thou, he must be nourished: Who therefore taught him, pray to find his prey, And how to feed his young ones every day? Knows then what shifts he uses for his food, And makes provision for his tender brood? In the wild Forest, where there is no trade, Where, for a price no meat is to be had? Dost know how in their Dens they couchant lie 40. When they eouch in their dens, and abide in the covert to lie in wait. To catch th'unthinking beasts that passing by, Do not their cunning ambuscade espy? Next there's the Raven, such a creature too, 41. Who provideth for the raven his food? when his young ones cry unto God, they wander for lack of meat. As lives by prey, as well as Lions do: Who doth provide its food? who entertains This idle creature? who is at the pains To feed its young ones, when the naughty dame, Unkindly in the Nest abandons them? When the raw-chicks do squeak, and crock aloud, Half-starved for want of meat, who gives them food? Who doth with Worms those shiftless creatures feed, Which 'bout the nest, in Raven's dung do breed? Dost understand who is it that supplies Those small forsaken things with Dew, and Flies? Or when as yet pin-feathered they are thrust By th' cruel Dame out of the Nest, and must Make shifts (although not able yet to fly) For their subsistence in the world, or die, Who hears them pray, when they for hunger cry, And doth them, with an Aliment supply? So that for all these hardships, they do grow To a great age, and ramble to and fro, Catching their preys, and live as well as these, Who, from their birth, enjoyed both food and ease. Cap. XXXIX. NExt, I demand thee, knowst thou who it is 1 Knowest thou the time when the wild goats of the rock bring forth? or canst thou mark when the hinds do calve? That doth preserve the several species Of all those Creatures? by what hidden means Are they assisted, when they take their pains? Dost know what art those artless Brutes do use At such occasions? how they do produce Their young ones? who's their Midwife? who takes care Of them, in that estate? who doth prepare All that is suitable? who makes provision Of necessars for them, in that condition? Who lays them up? who cures them of their sores? Who is't, that them to perfect health restores? As first, for instance, the wild Goat, who rambles Amongst the Rocks, and on sharp Briars and Brambles Doth often thrust her Belly, and her Brood, Whilst in the Cliffs she searches for her food: So that a man would think this same unwary, And climbing Creature, surely would miscarry: Who doth take care of her? when doth she bring Her young ones forth, dost know her reckoning? Or knowst thou when the Hinds do calve? what pain These Creatures in their labour do sustain? 2 Canst thou number the months that they fulfil? or know, est thou the time when they bring forth? Canst tell how long those Beasts do pregnant go? Or dost the time of their delivery know? The time of their delivery indeed, 3 They bow themselves, they bring forth their young ones, they cast out their sorrows. Of all the Creatures that on earth do feed, Both rational, and brutal, there is none Endures such torment, as these Hinds alone Do in the birth:— They bow their bodies over, and again, In labour to alleviate their pain: Nay, these weak Creatures too, to make them able T' endure their pains, of a mean Vegetable Make use, and by that natural Midwisery, As well as those, who use much industry, And help of knowing Surgeons to boot, With horrid toil, they cast their sorrows out. Yet the same young ones, though with so much pain 4 Their young ones are in good liking, they grow up with corn, they go forth, and return not unto them. Brought to the world, do not long remain With their kind Dames, but taught by nature, do Run out, and make a shift for Victuals too, For quickly they grow fat, and fed with store Of Corn, and Grass, they see their Dames no more. Then there's the wild Ass, an undocile creature, 5 Who hath sent out the wild ass 〈◊〉 or who hath loosed the bonds of the wild ass? So different from the tame Ass, that by nature, It loves as much its rambling liberty, As th' other stoops to servile drudgery. Who taught this stupid Creature so to prise Its liberty, and proudly to despise Alluring mankind, who would fain entice This thing to serve them, but 'tis all in vain, For not by Dogs, nor Nets it will be ta'en. But to evite the tyranny of man, 6 Whose house I have made in the wilderness, and the barren land his dwelling. It strives as much as any creature can, Against both hunger, parching heat, and snow, And in the Wilderness will undergo A thousand pinches, rather as be tamed, And a poor slave t' its fellow-mortals named. He laughs at all your Citizens, who dwell 7 He scorneth the multitude of the city. neither regardeth he the crying of the driver. In plenty at their ease, and faring well, Laugh at all those in wants, he will not sell His liberty for all those toys, nor be Subject to th' lashing of the Whip, not he, For all the sure allowance he might have Of food, were he, like other beasts, your slave. But rather is content in Wilderness 8 The range of the mountains is his pasture, and he searcheth after every green thing. To make a shift, and feed on acid grass, Salt herbs, or any thing, that may sustain Its life, then under bonds with man remain. Then there's the Unicorn (or if you will, 9 Will the unicorn be willing to serve thee, or abide by thy crib? The wild Bull) pray hast thou attained such skill, As but to catch it? and far less to tame A creature of that strength, or but to dream, Of bringing of that beast at any rate, To serve thy use, who doth all bondage hate? Or being catched, canst thou by feeding bribe This wanton beast to tarry by thy Crib? Canst this fierce Creature to thy labouring break, 10 Canst thou bind the unicorn with his band in the furrow, or will he harrow the valleys after thee? And calmly lay the Yoke upon his neck? Canst make him softly foot it 'fore the Blow, And keep the furrows, as the Oxen do? Or will he draw the Harrows orderly After thee, when thou sowest? or decently Turn at the furrows end, and follow thee With the same pace, as men do daily see The beasts of labour are accustomed, And when unyoked, with th'others tamely feed? Wilt thou be such a fool, because he's strong, 11. Wilt thou trust him, because his strength is great? or wilt thou leave thy labours to him? And able to endure much fatigue long, As trust thy labouring to him? dost expect, That he the yoke will suffer for thy sake? Wilt thou be so unmanned, as in the least, 12. Wilt thou believe him, that he will bring home thy seed, and gather it into thy barn? Be made believe that wild unruly beast, Will in the Harvest yoked in Cart, or wain, From Field, to Barn-yard, carry home thy Grain? For if thou dost, who would not justly thee Suspect to be a greater beast than he. Yet all these beasts (though ne'er so fierce, and wild,) I can by single word make tame, and mild; I can, with ease, make all such creatures bow, And yoked, or unyoked, with submission too, Serve me, what e'er I have a mind to do. For thou must not think that I do in vain, Those savage creatures in the fields maintain, But that I have an use for each of them, As well as men for creatures that are tame. And now to show thee how much those do err, 13. Gavest thou the goodly wings to the Peacock? or wings and feathers unto the Ostrich? In understanding who with me compare: Or think they can by any Science reach, The knowledge of what none but I can teach: I'll question thee on things familiar, Of home bred creatures, such as daily are About thy doors: and thence I'll plainly show, Thou dost not even those creatures fully know. As first who on the Peacock hath bestowed, Such a fair train? Who is it that allowed Such outward beauty to that screeching creature: Who made his neck rise in such comely feature, Adorned with such a changing set of Plums, As proud of his apparel, he presumes To think himself a creature most complete, Were't not that sometimes he doth view his feet, Which black, and loathsome, and so differing From his whole body, makes the lofty thing Despise itself, and seems to let him know▪ That there is nothing that's complete below. Or dost thou know from whence the Ostrich had These curious feathers in her wings, which made, And sowed in plums, adorn the proudest crest, That dares appear, of either man, or beast. And teach you too, that man for all his pride, (In which he undervalues all beside, That live on Earth) to make himself appear More beautiful than other creatures are, Is forced to borrow Plums out of the wing Of a poor naughty Bird, and fairly bring His fairest head-attire from such a creature. As is the most insipid thing in nature. A stupid creature, one that's memorable 14. Who leaveth her eggs in the earth, and warmeth them in the dust. For nothing, but its bulk: and hardly able▪ To rank itself for its sagacity, Amongst the meanest of the birds that fly: A blockish creature, of so dull a sense, As were't not merely for my Providence, Its species would be lost: for when sh'has laid Her Eggs, and with light sand them overspread, She simply thinks her business is done, And without more ado, away she's gone, Whilst to the wide world she her brood doth trust, And carelessly doth leave them in the dust. Forgetting how these things obnoxious lie 15. And forgetteth that the foot may crush them, or that the wild beast may break them. To th'foot of every one that passeth by The place, where she hath left them, nay at least, (Though men may have discretion) yet the beast O'th' Forest, who doth not observe its paces, With its hard hoof, might crush them all to pieces. Thus to her own brood she's unnatural, And seems to have no thought for them at all, 16. She is hardened against her young ones, as if they were not hers, her labour is in vain, without fear. But quite forsakes those poor adventurers, And looks upon them, as they were not hers: So that her labours, and her pains appear T'have been in vain, when thus, without all fear Of what may be the event, foolishly She leaves her issue, and most barbarously, Not only leaves them, but forgets them too, A thing no creature, but herself would do. And what's the reason, why this stolid creature 17. Because God hath deprived her of wisdom, neither hath he imparted to her understanding. Acts contrare to the very rules of nature? Why thus it is: because I thought not fit At first t'allow her so much mother-wit, As even to take a care of what's her own, And as for understanding, she has none. But what she wants of wit, and common sense, I do supply it by my Providence: For of those Eggs by her abandoned, I do take care, and have so ordered, That on the open sand where these do lie, The Sun should th' unkind mother's place supply: And by the heat of his warm, transient rays Should hatch those Eggs, and save her species; Which else by her extreme, supine neglect. Would totally decay, and go to wrack. And yet as dull, and stolid as she is, 18. What time she lifeth up herself on ●ugn, she scorneth the horse, and his ●lder. She may be thought sagacious in this, That when pursued by th' Hunter, she on high Doth lift herself, and though she cannot fly, By reason of her heavy bulk, so well As other birds, yet she appears to sail, And fly, and run together, for with feet And wings, she nimbly makes her way so fleet, As none can overtake her, nay she knows How to defend herself, when Hunters close Approach her with their Poles, for than she throws Behind her with her feet, to stop the chase, Small stones, sand, dust, and gravel in the face, Of those who do pursue her, and defies All their attaques, whilst thus she runs and flies To save her life, with so much art, and force, As she despises both their Foot, and Horse. The Horse, why there's a creature, that indeed 19 Hast thou given the horse strength? hast thou clothed his neck with thunder? In wit, strength, courage, doth as much exceed The most of Beasts, which on the earth do breed, As th' Ostrich doth in dulness: there's a creature For th' use of man accommodate by nature, A lofty thing, that on its Joints doth rise, Stands strait, lifts up his Crest, with flaming eyes: Appears a creature full of generous pride, With other so fair qualities beside. As to serve mankind he is no less able, Then to his fellow-brutes he's formidable. Who gave him this same strength, who made him shake His dangling Main, and Perwig, his neck With horrid curls, and friezlings, when in wrath He seems to threaten nothing less than death? Who gave him so much courage, that he fears Nothing that moving on the earth appears? But with such resolution in he flies Amongst the thickest of his enemies, As unconcerned, as Thunderbolt, which breaks Even where it pleases, so he havoc makes Of all that do oppose him, for he soon. By valour bears the proudest of 'em down. Canst thou then make this noble beast afraid, 20 Canst thou make him afraid as a grasshopper? the glory of his nostrils is terrible. And like a timorous Ass, hang down his head? Canst stop his nostrils, when he fiercely neighs, And with his voice doth seem to pierce the skies? His martial neighing makes the Hills resound, 21 He paweth in the valley, and rejoinceth in his strength: he goeth on to meet the armed man▪ When with his angry hoof, he tears the ground, Erects his Crest, and chaps upon his Bit, With gnashing teeth, 'cause it will not permit His fury to run out as he thinks fit. His Bit, like Soap-ball, rolling in his mouth, Makes him spit out much of his wrath in froth, Whilst with a longing not to be expressed By mortal man, this strong, courageous beast, This most magnanimous, and fearless thing, Longs to be at his sprightly skirmishing: For joy he praunces, and courvetts, when he Doth preparations for the Battle see: When there are sudden hopes of death, and wounds, And nothing in his ears, but terror sounds. When all the fields are covered far and nigh. With thick battalions of stout Infantry And closs-rank'd-Squadrons of brave Cavalry: O how he's tickled with that deathful sight, As if in nothing more he took delight, (For things, which you do black, and dreadful call, He fancies the most pleasant things of all, That life affords) he would not quit the sport He there expects to have, in any sort, For all the whiffling pleasures of a Court. No man for love's fruition has such charms, As he to meet th' enraged man at arms. Yes, all the charms, which do his breast possess, 22 He mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted, neither turneth he back from the sword. He by his frequent neighings doth express, And still expecting with impatience When his beloved Battle should commence. He chaffs and foams at mouth so furiously, As even his Rider, with difficulty, For all his strength, and skill, by force of Rein, Can this now half-engaged Beast restrain. When he perceives the glistering Sword appear, And over Helmet brandished every where, Make no small threatening Figure in the Air: For to affright him, no device is able, The Sword is to him but a very bauble. The rattling Quiver stuck, with Arrows full, 23 The quiver rattleth against him, the glittering spear, and the shield. The Spear, and Shield to him appear but dull, And empty Symbols of approaching War; For he fears nothing that a man can dare. But when he sees the Forces on each side 24 He swalloweth the ground, with fierceness and rage, neither believeth he that it is the sound of a trumpet. Draw up in order, and both far and wide Extend their Front:— O how he hugs himself, because he now Expects some action without more ado: O how he paw●, and with his foot doth wound, In his hot rage, the unprovocking ground; As if the harmless Turf, on which he stood, Withstood his fury: how he neighs aloud, And stretching out his head, once, and again, In passion almost breaks the kerbing Rein. At sound of Trumpet, he's no more afraid, Nor at the thundering noise of Drums dismayed, Then if one whistled through a Flagelet, Or on the bottom of a Barrel beat. For this undaunted Beast doth so rejoice 25 He saith among the trumpets, ha, ha● and he smelleth the battle afar off; the thunder of the captains, and the shouting. In the redoubling of that horrid noise, Which Drums, and Trumpets do afford, and takes Such pleasure in the noise the Army makes: Whilst Officers on Horse back, here and there Traversing through the Ranks and Files, prepare All things for action, and aloud command What they think fit, with Truncheons in their hand▪ That with his neighing he doth answer make, And Echoes all the Language which they speak, With such wild noise, as doth the Air confound; But when the Trumpet doth in earnest sound The signal to the fight— Sa— sa— he cries, Bears down his head, shoots lightning from his eyes, And with top-gallop to the Battle ●yes. Have you not seen a Falcon in his flight, Chase his prey, as in a Line, downright, When far above it in the open Sky, With so great strength, and force upon it fly, As to the ground it bears it by, and by. So this brave beast, so soon as Trumpet sounds, Contemning noise, and clamour, dangers, wounds, Nay death itself, upon its enemies, And on its prey, with mighty valour flies. And now we speak of Hawks: why there is too, 26. Doth the hawk fly by thy wisdom, & stretch her wings toward the south? A noble bird, which I have made to bow For humane use, a roving bird of prey, Which in the air so swiftly cuts a way, With stretched, slow-moving wings, as to the eye; He seems like arrow from a bow to fly, Who taught her so to fly then? pray was't thou Her tutor? didst thou teach her? though 'tis true, By art the meanest of you do attain The knowledge how to tame, and how to train This ravenous bird, and bring her to your lure, And make her for your use her prey secure. But what's all that? by nature she knows more, Than you can teach her, and did know before You catched her, how to catch her prey, and fly, As well as you by all your industry Can e'er instruct her in the thing; although You think you more than such poor creatures know, Well then I'll ask thee When the wild Hawk doth her old feathers cast, And fears en cuerpo, the cold northern blast May do her harm: is't thou who did advise That naked creature to become so wise, As to avoid the winter's cold, in time, To make a progress to a warmer clime, Until her feathers do grow up again? Dost think she's taught so by the art of men? Or doth the princely Eagle soar on high, 27. Doth the Eagle mount up at thy command, and make her nest on high? And to the tops of Rocks, and Mountains fly At thy command? where she doth build her Nest, And with her young ones doth securely rest? For safety she with pleasure doth dispense, 28. She dwelleth, and abideth on the rock, upon the craig of the rock, and the strong place. And amongst the Rocks she keeps her residence: Whilst other birds do lodge in trees, and bushes, In banks of rivers, marshes, bulrushes, Heaths, and cornfields, housetops, and some such places, This bird inhabits, where no humane traces Are to be found, and as the sovereign Of all the winged nation, doth remain In her strong castle, where secure she lies, Under the covert of a precipice. There she resides, in that strong citadel, 29. From thence she seeketh her prey, and her eyes behold a far off. She like a Lady paramount, doth dwell; From whence the country all around she spies, And views afar: her sharp, and vigorous eyes, Make a large Horizon: from thence, with ease, As from a watchtower, she at a distance sees Th' inferior Birds, who unconcernedly fly, And so securely ramble through the Sky, As if indeed they feared no Enemy. Then from her Fortress she flies out amain, Falls in amongst them, and with little pain Snatches so many of 'em, as at least Upon those slaughtered Captives, she may feast Both she, and her voracious Family, For a long Summers-day conveniently. Her raw, and tender young ones for their food, 30. Her young ones also suck up blood, and where the slain is, there is she. Are taught by her betimes to suck up blood: For where the slain in clustered heaps do lie, Thither the Eagle, with her brood doth fly. Cap. XL. THus the Almighty having fully shown 1. Moreover the Lord answered job, and said, What was to the afflicted man unknowen; (For all the wit, to which he laid pretence) From what was said, he draws this inference. Then since, he says, I now do plainly see 2. Shall he that contendeth with the All▪ mighty, ●nstruct him? he that reproveth God, let him answer it. These questions on the Creatures puzzle thee To frame an answer to'em: sure if I Should ask what think'st of my Divinity, And what a mighty one thou didst suppose Thy God must be, who made both thee, and those Of which I've questioned thee, thou'd far less know What answer thou shouldst make; why even so When thou criest out thou art oppressed with pain, And of afflictions dost so oft complain: Ask a reason why thou art thus vexed, Why thus with woes, and miseries perplexed? And gladly wouldst thy Case with me debate, Thou dost not understand what thou dost prate. For if thou dost not understand the Creature, And cannot comprehend the works of Nature, O how much less:—— Wil't understand the works of Providence, Which both transcend thy Reason, and thy Sense? Then be not curious any more to know The reason why thou art afflicted so: Because what state of life doth best agree, And what is most convenient for thee At any time, is only known to me. Though you of Mortal Race imagine when I let Afflictions out on pious men; I seem to counteract what all of you Firmly conclude to Piety is due: So what I long since have premeditate, And from Eternity predestinate, For any of you, when it takes effect, Because it is not such, as you expect, Your ignorance makes you admire to see, What knowingly is brought to pass by me. Forbear hereafter then t'expostulate Upon thy case, or offer to debate With me, who gave thee life: know therefore thou, Who seem'st to teach me what I ought to do, That were it not I have some kindness yet For thee, and will not totally forget Thy former actions: I would let thee see What it is truly to contend with me: And show thee how, when with afflictions crossed Others are humbled, thou appear'st to boast Of thy great merits, and presumptuously Dost think thou meetest with incongruity, In these my Dispensations: know then, know I will not suffer thee to bluster so, In thy mad humours, on my providence; Or canvas thus my actings, but from hence I do command thee silence; speak not then In thy late Gibberish:— do no more complain Of my proceedings— no— for if thou do it. He that reproves his God, let him see to it. And now the man, who formerly did speak 3. Then job answered the Lord, & said. In a bold tone, and lofty dialect; Who thought he so well understood his case, As he could even debate it face to face, With God himself: all overcome with fear, Just like a man condemned, doth now appear: With Joints all trembling, Visage pale, and lean, Eyes sunk so hollow, as if he had been Within an hour to die.— At the appearance of his Judge afraid, Prostrate upon the ground, to all was said, He only this short, humble answer made. Why, Lord, says he, I freely do confess 4. Behold I am vile, what shall I answer thee? I will lay my hand upon my mouth. I am all sin, I am all guiltiness: I am all vileness, nay I am not able By strength of words t' express how despicable And mean a thing I am; what dost expect? What answer, Lord; can such as I am make, To all thy questions? what, good Lord, I pray Can such a silly Worm as I am say To all thou dost demand?— no I will lay My hand upon my mouth: I will forbear My former language, and with silence hear What thou wilt speak, for now I clearly see There's no more arguing in the case for me. Then, since what I have spoke has given offence 5. Once I have spoken, but I will not answer; yea, twice, but I will proceed no further. To thee, good Lord, I shall forbear from hence To speak one word, as I have done before, But here shut up my mouth, and speak no more. To this th' Almighty soon did answer make, 6. Then answered the Lord unto job out of the whirlwind, and said. And out of Whirlwind, thus again did speak. Well now I see thou art convinced that what 7. God up thy loins now like a man: I will demand of thee, and declare thou unto me. In thy wild rave thou hast spoke of late Deserves reproof; I see thou hast some sense Of thy extravagant impatience; But notwithstanding all that thou hast said Has not such total satisfaction made As I require: I'll therefore question thee Again what are thy thoughts concerning me; Go to then, and behave thee like a man I will demand thee, answer if thou can. Thou sayst that thou art righteous, dost not know 8. Wilt thou also disannul my judgement? wilt thou condemn me that thou mayest be righteous? Iniquity i'th' least:— why be it so:— Then here the question lies 'twixt me and thee, Which of us two most righteous must be: For either I in my proceedings must, Or thou in thy complaining be unjust: There is no medium, as the Case doth lie: And thinkst thou this the way to justify Thyself, by quarrelling of my equity? Consider well what thou hast done, reflect Upon thy misdemeanours; recollect Thy Reason, and examine how of late Thou with thy Maker hast expostulate: Then judge thyself, if for what thou hast said Thou dost not merit to be punished. For now I ask thee, canst thou in the least 9 Hast thou an arm like God? or canst thou thunder with a voice like him? Give room to such a motion in thy breast That any thing like parity can be But even supposed betwixt thy God, and thee? That thou shouldst value thy own righteousness At such a rate! and so thyself express, As if t' afflict so good a man as thee, Did savour of iniquity in me. Well wherein then dost think th' equality Can be conceived 'twixt God and thee to lie? Canst ' make huge Armies at thy call assemble, And with uplifted hand make Nations tremble? Canst make the Sco●ts of Lightnings fly abroad, And manage Thunder, with a voice, like God? Canst ' thou appear in splendid majesty, 10. Deck thyself now with majesty and excellency, and array thyself with glory and beauty. Equal in beauty, and excellency; With me? can thou, poor-dying man, display Such glory, and thyself with light array, More bright than th' Sun at Noon-tide of the day? Canst thou send out the Sergeants of thy Wrath, 11. Cast abroad the rage of thy wrath, and behold every one that is proud, and abase him. Bring in the proud, and prosecute to death All those who dare presumptuously dream They're such, as I can hardly humble them: Canst thou, sad Creature, cover such with shame? As I can do? canst in the view of all With great contempt make such high-soarers fall From top of all the hopes, which they conceive Down to the very bottom of the Grave? Canst break the Projects long time harched by such, 12. Look on every one that is proud, and bring him low, and tread down the wicked in their place As are ambitious to command too much: Who vex their Neighbours with unjust Pretences, And will not hearken to their just Defences; But with their Sword in hand, do boldly seize On what they can, and do even what they please: Whom Oaths, and Treaties can no longer tie, Then with fresh Troops they can themselves supply▪ Which done,—— A Quarrel suitable to their design Is slily fabricate, and then the Mine Doth quickly spring, and at the Trumpets sound, The peaceful Nations are involved around In Blood again; whilst the voracious things Mounted aloft upon Ambition's wings, With confidence at no less Prey do fly, Then that of universal Monarchy. Dost thou then,— thou—, thou man of words, dost know The ways and methods how to bring such low? Canst ' take them down? canst their ambition crush, And make those mighty Conquerors sadly blush To see themselves outdone by such as they Did look upon as conquered 't other day? And where their Armies used abroad to roam, Canst ' turn the chase, and give them work at home? Canst ' crumble all these men in dust together, 13. Hide them in the dust, and bind their faces in secret? And send them, with their glory, who knows whither? In some dark corner canst thou make them die, Where they're attended by no weeping eye, And not in public, where the pitying Crowd Of curious Spectators can make proud The dying Wretches, where they can't declaim, Or bribe the favour of a whiffling same, By a set speech: Where none are present, where no standers by▪ Observe with what composed looks they die, And so spoil Death's beloved Pageantry? If all this thou canst do, then I'll confess 14. Then will I confess unto thee that thine own right hand can save thee. And willingly acknowledge thou'rt no less In power than I am, and that thou canst save By thy own strength thy body from the Grave. But since thou are a man so mean, and weak, As thou canst hardly speak what I can act: Then O, poor Mortal, how I pity thee 15. Behold now Behemoth which I made with thee, he eateth grass as an ox. That proudly offerest to debate with me Not knowing, as thou shouldst do, who I am, Nor valuing the glory of my Name At its true rate: for if thou didst but know With whom thou hadst to do, thou hadst not so Expressed thyself, as thou of late has done, Like madman, in the view o'th' open Sun. For thou must know that I who formed both thee And all what thou around dost hear, or see, Must know how all things should be governed, Better than any creature I have made. Know then, that though on Earth there were no more T' express my power, than those of which before I've made relation: yet since they transcend Thy knowledge, and thou canst not comprehend How, and for what use they at first were framed, And why not men, as well as beasts were named, I'll show thee in two special instances, The one on Land, the other on the Seas, How much my creatures do my worth express. Observe then Behemoth a first-rate creature, A beast indeed of a stupendious feature, Which you may think is that which you do call The Elephant:— well then, there's one for all, Observe his body, how he doth exceed In bulk all creatures that on Earth do feed. This same huge Animal I did create: This bulky thing these hands did fabricate: And yet for all his bulk, and vast extent Of bones, and sinews I made him content With the poor Ox, that labours in the plough, To feed on grass, and Hay, and glad so too. Observe then, Job, of how much strength, and force 16. Lo now, his strength is in his loins, and his force is in the navel of his belly. This creature is, exceeding far the Horse, And Lion: for all creatures in the field, To th' Elephant in force, and strength do yield. His legs, like brazen pillars, do sustain His close-built body, which with little pain They bear from place to place, as he doth ramble, Whilst all the other beasts in forest tremble At his appearance: no less honouring That stately creature, than he were their king. When his proboscis in the Air he shakes, 17. He moveth his tail like a cedar, the sinews of his stones are wrapped together. With violence, he such a figure makes, As if a tall, and lofty Cedar spread, Its Trunk, with all its boughs above its head. 'Tis wonderful to think what strength doth lie In this proboscis, what activity, What art, what cunning, what dexterity. When with it, as one with his hand would do, He'll manage Falchion, Sword, and Dagger too? When with it he on man, or beast will seize, Lift them from ground, and throw 'em up with ease, To th' Garrison o'th' Tower upon his back, Where they are killed: the sinews, which do make His Trunk so strong, are twisted so together, As branches of a tree, and move it hither, And thither, as it pleaseth wantonly, Though big, and long, with great agility. Like staves of brass his great bones do appear, 18. His bones are as strong pieces of brass, his bones are like bars of iron. His lesser bones like bars of Iron are. Amongst the beasts he terrible appears, 19 He is the chief of the ways of God, he that made him, can make his sword approach unto him. His Trunk the Horse in battle only fears: The Lion, when he sees him, shrinks apace, The Tiger dares not look him in the face: The Boar, the wild Bull▪ the Rhinoceros, The Unicorn, and Panther are but dross Beside pure metal. when with him compared, The Stag, the Bear, the Wolf, and Leopard Are all afraid of him, and run for fear, When, like a walking-Tower, he doth appear. Yea, man himself no less amazed doth fly, When he perceives this dreadful Beast draw nigh. For when you men do in closely Battle stand, And threatening Swords appear in every hand, With many Bows, and Shields, and many Spears, And pointed Lances, yet he shrewdly fears Th' approach of this fourfooted Warrior; Whose blows and throwings he cannot endure. Yet this same dreadful Beast, I can with ease Beat down, like other creatures, when I please, For though— By reason of his blood's frigidity, He sometimes lives a hundred years, yet I, Who made him live, can make him sooner die. And now this Beast, as dreadful as he is, 20. Surely the mountains bring him forth food: where all the beasts of the field play. Is tame, and gently peaceable in this, That with the other Creatures, who do breed Upon the Mountains, he on Grass doth feed; As if they were his equals every day, Whilst round him all the lesser Beasts do play, Now fearless, not suspecting in the least The kill wrath of this familiar Beast. Yet though by day he on the Hills doth feed, 21 He lieth under the shady trees, in the covert of reeds, and fens, When night approaches he doth make his bed In warmer places, and delights to lie Under the sweet, and spacious Canopy Of some small branching Oak: where this tall Beast As in a Palace doth securely rest: Or under covert of Bulrushes, Reeds, Low-spreading Willows, or thick bushy Weeds, That flourish about Fens, and Marshes, And there he lays him down, and sleeps with ease. Under the shadow of the Trees he lies, 22 The shady trees cover him with their shadow: the willows of the brook compass him about. Couching upon his Belly, with his Thighs And Legs laid under him, and doth not lean Upon the Trunk o'th' Tree, as some do feign, 'Cause wanting Joints, he could not rise again, Should he lie down: no, but as other Beasts, For all his bulk, he feeds, he moves, he rests. When to the River he for drink draws nigh, 23 Behold, he drinketh up a river, and hasteth not: he trusteth that he can draw up jordan into his mouth. Like other Beasts, he drinks not hastily, As if the Huntsman, with his Hounds were by: Nor stands he on the Bank, but boldly wades Into the Channel, and securely treads The oozy Bottom, whilst his bulk doth seem To stop the very current of the stream. For, ere he drink, he plunges for some time, And with his feet doth raise, and mix the slime, O'th'▪ bottom with the current, till it be So thick, and muddy, as he cannot see His feet below him, for he doth not care To drink the water, when 'tis pure, and clear, As other beasts are used to do, but when He has thus troubled all about him, than He drinks securely at his ease, and leisure, Void of all fear, with great delight, and pleasure. Yes, Tuns of Water to appease his drought, He by his Trunk doth pump into his mouth. Nay, should he chance by Jordan's streams to graze He'd drain that River in not many days. For in his thirst he greedily doth seem, ●4 He taketh it 〈…〉▪ his 〈…〉 through 〈◊〉. As at one draught, he'd swallow up the stream: And then he drinks too, with such eagerness, As though both Reeds and Bushes he doth press For water, and what else doth him oppose, He boreas it through with his prodigious nose. Now this same creature, though he doth excel In strength, both thee, and all on earth that dwell; Yet owes he all this strength to me alone, Who gave it to him, and will stoop to none, But me, for while he has my liberty, He lives, when I recall it, instantly For all his strength, he must lie down, and die. Cap. XLI. THus having shown thee how I do command ●● Canst thou draw out Leviathan with a hook? or his tongue with a cord▪ which thou lettest down? All things that have their being on the land: Now I'll inform thee of my power at Sea, And show thee what vast Creatures too there be Within that District, which though they appear To thee, and others, to be Sovereign there; And by their bulks, to those, who Blow the Seas Would something like unlimit power express, Yet they are but my Vassals, and are even Subject to th' Admiralty of Heaven, As well as all the smallest Fishes are, That swimming in the Ocean appear. To give you then for all, one notable, And famous instance, as most suitable To my intent: I'd have thee seriously Observe (but with a meditating eye) The Princely Leviathan, such a creature, As shall hereafter furnish no small matter Of dispute in your solemn Homilies, What this same Leviathan signifies. But whatsoever it be, it is a thing Of such a force, beyond all reasoning, As all the force of man cannot subdue, And where it swimes is yet but known to few. Canst draw this Leviathan then, with ease By simple hook, or line out of the Seas, Like other Fishes? hale him on the Land, By force of rops, and kill him on the sand? Canst thou with angle catch this Fish? canst thou, 2. Canst thou put a hook into his nose? or bore his jaw through with a thorn? When catched, as men with lesser Fishes do, String him upon a hook, a thorn, or cleck, And bear him lightly home upon thy back? Dost think, if thou should catch him, that he'll cry, 3. Will he make many supplications unto thee, will he speak soft words unto thee? To thee for quarter, and degeneratly Offer to be thy slave, as th' Elephant, And all the other beasts will covenant 4. Will he make a covenant with thee? wilt thou take him for a servant for ever? To save their lives? or will he offer thee, As others do, a ransom to be free? Dost think he'll supplicat, and speak thee fair, That thou forsooth in pity shouldst him spare, And not with Hatchet cut him down to pieces, And of his bulk make havoc, as thou pleases? Canst tame him so by art, as thou canst make 5. Wilt thou play with him, as with a bird? wilt thou bind him forty maidens? Thy boys in playing with him pleasure take, As they with other beasts are used to do, And birds of several species? canst thou, As with a pretty linnet, with him dandle? And make him gentle for thy girls to handle? Upon him shalt thou, and thy partners feast, 6. Shall thy companions make a banquetof him? shall they part him among the merchants? And of his fat, and oily bulk make waste? Gobbets of him to friends, as tokens send, And to each merchant give his dividend? Dar'st thou with barbed Irons boldly fall 7. Canst thou fill his skin with barbed irons? or his head with fish spears? Upon this Fish, as men do on a Whale, And when his body is stuck full of these, Let him at ropes-end tumble in the Seas; Till overcome with pain, he forcibly Doth rush his belly on the shore, and die? Do— lay thy hands upon him, than thou'lt see 8. Lay thine hand upon him, remember the battle, and do no▪ more. By sad experience, he is not to be So tamely catched: thou'lt see what he can do, What cunning art he will practise, and how To save his life, he'll all his force assemble, And make the very stoutest of you tremble. Then, as thou wouldst desire to live, forbear 9 Behold the hope of him is in vain, shall not one be cast down even at sight of him? T'assault this warlike thing with hook or spear: That man who thinks to catch him, is not wise, For he can kill one with his very eyes. Since then there's none of you, who dares attack 10. None is so fierce, as dare stir him up: who is then able to stand before me? This mortal creature, which my hands did make: Since no man dares contend with him: who's he That lives on Earth, and dares contend with me? Who's he amongst you all, that dares contend 11. Who hath prevented me, that I should repay him? whatsoever is under the whole heaven is mine. With me? who's he of you, that dares pretend By any merit t'have obliged me so, That I should to him any kindness show? Fools that you are! doth even the best of you, By all your tears, good works, and fastings too, Or any thing that man on Earth can do Suppose you can of Heaven a purchase make, Or of your God, in gratitude expect, Not as a favour, but as a reward, What I have from Eternity prepared, For such of you as I intent to bless, After this life, with so much happiness. A happiness to which no man can claim, And those are fools, that confidently dream, They by their art of living can attain, What all, without my aid, attempt in vain, Nor am I obliged in this Earth to show Kindness to any of you, or bestow A foot of ground upon the best of you, For any good, you by yourselves can do, No all you do possess: all you design, Your property on Earth is simply mine: And what you think your own inheritance, Is only yours by my pure tolerance. I do to this man a large portion give, To th'other hardly whereupon to live. I do allow: from this man I do take What I have given, and I do quickly make The other rich, for all that you can see Under the tract of Heavens, belongs to me, So that,— If what I give, I do assume again, Who's he, that of me justly can complain? When only I dispose of what's my own, As I think fit, as being bound to none For any favour: and what all of you, In your own trifling matters daily do. And now that I may further evidence, 12. I will not conceal his parts, nor his power, nor his comely proportion. Besides the bulk, the worth, and excellence Of this great Leviathan: I will show, What of this creature yet thou dost not know. Who's he so bold, as dares cut off his fin? 13. Who can discover the face of his garment? or who can come to him, with his double bridle? Seize on his body, flay him of his skin? Make a rude bit reverberat his tooth? Or make a double bridle rule his mouth? He, who by main force, can his lips unfold, 14 Who can open the doors of his face? his teeth are terrible round about him, And underprop his jaws, may there behold, How like a Prince's Court his mouth doth show, Where teeth, like Halberdiers, stand all a-row To guard the tongue, which there doth lie in state, And underth ' arched palate keeps its seat. Like a strong shield of proof his scales appear 15. His scales are his pride, shut up together, as with a close seal, So that he doth not any mortal fear, Covered with these, but doth in them confide, And shows in these a great part of his pride. For they together are indented so, 16. One is so near to another, that no air can come between them. As 'twixt their junctures no sharp air can blow. They stick together so conglutinate 17 They are joined one to another; they stick together, that they cannot be sundered. By nature, as no art can separate Those clinging scales, which altogether make A figure, as if he upon his back Did wear a Coat of Steel, of Brass, or Iron, And tempered Metals did him all environ. But when at any time he doth appear 18 By his sneezings a light doth shine, & his eyes are like the eyelids of the morning. Above the Water, what a horrid fear Spreads he upon the Seas, both far and near. For, when from Topmast, Mariners descry This floating Mountain, they do by and by Steer to the weather-hand, to shun his wake, With all the Sail, they for their lives can make, Because, as if he neez'd, he often throws Such quantity of Waters from his nose, Up in the Air, which by the Sun's reflex 19 Out of his mouth go burning lamps, and sparks of fire fly out. Appear at distance, like a flame convex: As no Ships dare approach him, out of fear, He'd overwhelm them, if they should draw near. For from his mouth,— The broken waters flee, like sparks of fire, Which causes the Sea-faring-man admire What Creature this must be, that with such ease Can raise a tempest in the calmest Seas. Smoak from his Nostrils issues out so hot, 20 Out of his nostrils goeth smoke, as out of a seething pot, or caldron. As from a Cauldron, or a boiling Pot, When he doth belch out no small quantity, Of thick, and fulsome vapours in the sky. Yes, for he's able by his breath to blow 21 His breath kindleth coals, & a flame goeth out of his mouth. Fire out of Coals, and out of darkness show A flaming light: for from his mouth, by turns, As at first kindling, when a Coal-fire burns, Now sulphurous smoke, than flames do issue out, And fill with terror all the Seas about. In his thick neck such strength and vigour lies, 22 In his neck remaineth strength, & sorrow is turned to joy before him. As all the force of Iron he defies: For all the power of man he doth not care, And laughs at things which other creatures fear. The fibres of his flesh are joined together 23 The flakes of his flesh are joined together, they are firm in themselves, they cannot be moved. So firmly, that none can distinguish either: So solidly compacted, and compressed Each within other, as nor Fish, nor Beast Can show the like, so strongly grained, and fresh, As it doth rather look like Oak, then Flesh. Now as for strength, he's wonderfully made, 24 His heart is as firm as a stone, yea, as hard as a piece of, the nether millstone. So he in courage all things doth exceed That ever life enjoyed: he knows no fear, But doth a heart of resolution bear: A heart so firm, and so unmoveable By any threats, as 'tis incapable Of that weak passion, with which others are Infected, so well known by name of fear. For he's so far from being capable 25 When he raiseth up himself, the mighty are afraid, by reason of break, they purify themselves. Of fear himself, that he's intolerable In his insults, and able too to raise Such terror amongst th' inhabitants o' th' Seas, As by one look he can make all, that's there Yea, even the swimming Oak, to sweat for fear, And shrewdly damps the stoutest Mariner. For all a-board a Ship, when from the Deck They see the Waters at great distance break: By which, as by an usual Sign, they guess, The Leviathan tumbles in the Seas, As if their death approached, do quickly fall Upon their knees, and to Devotion all Apply themselves, because they sadly think He'll by his Waterspout their Vessels sink. Or if there's any of the Crew so bold, 26 The sword of him that layeth at him, cannot hold, the spear, the dart, nor the habergeon. As thinks upon this creature to lay hold, By force of Arms they do attempt in vain, For this undaunted thing will not be ta'en At any rate: the Sword, Dart, Javelin, Do but make such a noise upon his skin, As one with Steel would strike upon a Bell, And, 'stead of piercing, make it only knell. But where he doth assault, there's no defence Against his blows, with so great violence He rushes on, as he doth soon prevail Against your cuirass, or through Coat of Mail. Iron, as Chaff, and Straw he doth contemn, 27 He esteemeth iron as straw, & brass as rotten wood. And Brass, as rotten Wood he doth esteem. The force of Arrows cannot make him fly, 28 The arrow cannot make him fly: slingstones are turned with him into stubble. Though th' Archer on him his best skill should try: No Engine can prejudge him, life, or limb, Stones from the Sling are but Boyes-play to him. Your pointed Darts, which men do at him throw, 29 Darts are counted as stubble, he laugheth at the shaking of a spear. And think, by force, and art to catch him so, He doth no more, than Straws, or Rushes fear, And laughs aloud at shaking of your Spear. Then for his Lodgings, where do you suppose 30 Sharp stones are under him, he spreadeth sharp pointed things upon the mire. This creature makes his bed? not in the Ouze, As other Fishes, or in muds or mires, Not he, for he no softer quilt desires Then sharpest Rocks in bottom of the Seas, Where, as on Bed of Douns he sleeps with ease. When he doth swim, his motion is so strong, 31 He maketh the deep to boil like a pot, he maketh the sea like a pot of ointment. That one would think the Ocean all along, Where he doth move, by the great scum of Oil, Appears about him, really did boil. Yes, where he moves, he leaves a foaming line 32 He maketh a path to shine after him, one would think the deep to be a hoary head. Behind him, on the surface of the Brine, Which doth, like flames, at a great distance shine. The Waves are with its froth so pouldered, As one would think the deep a hoary head. In fine, he doth in strength so much excel, 33 Ugon earth there is not his like, who is made without fear. The spacious earth has not his parallel. At his approach, the trembling Seas make way, And with profound submission obey His transient orders: furnish him with all What he for his convenience doth call; Where e'er he marches, and allow for meat, What of their subjects he thinks best to eat. All other creatures, with disdainful eye 34. He beholdeth all high things, he is a king over all the children of pride. He views: no creature in conceit so high, Inhabits under Heaven's Canopy. For all that in the Ocean do swim, Daily, and hourly tribute pay to him: They pay whatever they're by him assessed, And dare not whisper that they are oppress't: For if upon their grievances they fall, And of their laws, and privileges bawl, He'll at one breakfast, soon devour them all. Never let crowned head with him dispute, No King on Earth can be so absolute. Cap. XLII. THus the Almighty having opened● 1. Then job answered the Lord, and said, His Cabinet of Nature, and displayed His glory by the works of his Creation, And of them all made wholesome application, To th' present state of this afflicted man, Then Job, with great submission, began To answer; and thus openly confess God's wisdom, and his own great foolishness. Now, says he, Lord, I fully do believe, 2. I know that thou canst do every thing, and that no thought can be withholden from thee. Now, as the light, I clearly do perceive, That thou,— thou art that God Omnipotent, Who has his Throne above the Firmament. Now I'm convinced that never hitherto I fully understood, as I do now How great thou art: although I fancied I knew thee so well, that I did not need Further instruction; but now thou hast shown, That I before this time have nothing known, Of what I ought most to have studied, And now, my God, I do confess indeed, That in my great impatience, all this time, I've foully erred; I do confess my crime. Lord, I knew nothing, but I now do know That thou art he, to whom all things below Do owe their Being: that thy eye doth see Better than we ourselves, what ever we Do act, or speak: that every secret thought Lodged in our breasts, before thy Bar is brought, There tried, convict, condemned, or acquit, As thou our Sovereign Judge think'st just, and fit: I know that all things are to thee revealed, And nothing from thy eye can be concealed. And where's the man now?— where is that so wise 3. Who is he that hideth counsel without knowledge? therefore have I uttered that I understood not things too wonderful for me, which I knew not. And knowing thing, that in his own vain eyes Appeared in much esteem, and thought he knew His Maker fully,— ah— where is he now? I am the man, Lord, I am he, alace, That did my thoughts, in passion, express Of thee below thy worth: I am the man, That of all mortals, since the world began, At thy just hands doth most deserve indeed For his miscarriage to be punished. Nor can I from my passion draw excuse For my great errors, for that were to use One crime, to palliate another:— no, I can make no excuse, because I know To be in passion was itself a crime, And so I have supported all this time One error with an other: I am he Then that hath doubly sinned:— Lord do by me As thou thinks just: I no more deprecate Thy wrath, but in my present sad estate Am still content to live, and patiently Endure it to the last extremity, Without repining; since thou hast decreed, And by thy Providence so ordered, That I should be afflicted for my sins, I shall imagine that my woe begins, Even from this instant, and without all passion, From this hour forward bear thy indignation. Only I do demand the liberty To ask some questions of thy Majesty; 4. Hear, I beseech thee. and I ●ill speak: I will demand of t●●●, and declare thou unto me. Not to debate, (for now I plainly see What 'tis for frail man to contend with thee) I ask then, since I am convinced now Of my late errors, Lord, what shall I do To make atonement, for my great offence; What course of living shall I take from hence, That into so great inconvenience, I may not be by passion led again, But may some favour at thy hands obtain. Before this I have only heard by fame 5. I have heard of thee by the hearing of the ear, but now mine eye seeth thee. Of thy great actings, and thy mighty name: But now, Lord, with my eyes, I thee behold: These eyes have seen thee: now I may be bold, Since I have heard thee speak upon my case, To say that I have seen thee face to face. Myself I therefore utterly abhor, 6. Wherefore I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes. And on my Parts I will presume no more: I'll think I have known nothing all this while, And at my own unknowing-knowledge smile: I'll think I now know more than e'er I did, Since thou, in kindness, hast discovered, How little I in former times have known, Of what I should have studied alone. I thought indeed my knowledge had been such, And by experience I had learned so much, As I, in excess, not defect, might err, But now, alace, it fully doth appear That I knew nothing in regard of what From thy own mouth, I've been informed of late. Now I'm convinced that I have sinned: from hence I'll no more vainly plead my innocence, But for my failings piously lament, And of my errors from my heart repent. Job thus accused, convict, and censured, 7 And it was so, that after the Lord had spoken these words unto job, the Lord said to Eliphaz the Temanite, My wrath is kindled against thee, & against thy two friends: for ye have not spoken of me the thing that is right, as ●y servant job hath. For his impatience: God doth next proceed To show his three Friends, wherein they had erred, Whilst they had stiffly all along averred That Job was sinful, because punished, And so augmented, not diminished The good man's sorrow, which they should ha'done, Had they been his true friends: but they alone, Appear to have accused him, and in stead Of comforting him, to have truly plead He was a man of so much wickedness, As for his sins, he had deserved no less Than what he suffered: and with so much heat, Upon that subject, did with him debate, As if they meant to make him desperate. Now after all, the Supreme Judge thinks fit To show them likewise, how upon their wit, Indeed themselves they valued too much, And out of humour more to be thought such, Then for his glory, they had argued Against their friend on that mistaken head. Thus then to th'wise and learned Eliphaz Th' Almighty sharply did himself address. I do perceive, says he, thou'rt one of those, That do mistake my actings, and suppose That my proceedings must be regulate By Humane Reason, and accommodate To your capacity: for you have said That in affliction one may plainly read His sin, and my displeasure, and that none But sinful, and flagitious men alone Do in affliction tumble, and from thence, (As you thought, wisely) with much eloquence Inferred that Job, whom I long time have known To be upright, and still for such do own: Because afflicted, of necessity, Must be a man of great impiety. Who taught you thus to speak? who taught you so To argue, as if you did fully know The method of my Government, and were Of Council with me? who taught you t'inferr Such positive conclusions, as these From any unaffording premises, Of my proceedings? who gave you commission To speak thus to a man in Jobs condition: As if a man, whom I had visit, you Would in afflicting language visit too. Know then I'm angry with thee, and thy friends, Because you have so rashly spoke your minds Of my proceedings, in the present case Of my good Servant Job.— For you have not talked of my Providence, With that entire respect, and deference, As did become you: nor have you at best, In any of your reasonings expressed Yourselves like men of zeal, and piety, As Job has done, but rather foolishly Maintained your own opinions right, or wrong Against the suffering person all along. Nay, you pretended too, you plead for me, Whilst neither to the other two, nor thee, I ever gave commission so to do; And therefore you have all three erred; but now That I intent to set my Servant free From his afflictions, and let all men see, That what this man has suffered, was meant For trial only not for punishment, And make of him a famous Precedent, In all time coming, of my Providence, And an example of great patience; I'll censure you no more, but for the time Let it suffice that I have touched your crime. Only 'tis fit you go to Job, and make 8. Therefore take unto you now seven bullocks, and seven rams, and go to my servant job, and offer up for yourselves a bu●n-offering, and my servant job shall pray for you; for him I will accept, lest I deal with you after your folly, in that ye have not spoken of me the things which are right, like my servant job. Atonement for your faults, go therefore take, Seven Bullocks, and seven Rams, and offer these As a burnt offering for your trespasses. Go— do what I command, for you have erred, And your own knowledge to my words preferred. But for your sins make a burnt-offering now, And so my servant Job shall pray for you. Him, because truly pious, I will hear, On your behalf, and for his sake forbear To punish you: although what you have said, Since you begun to speak, has merited Much of my wrath: but go— do so no more, And I will pardon what you've done before. Prostrate upon the ground lay Eliphaz, 9 So Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite, and Zophar the Naamathite went and ●●d according as the ●ord had commanded them: the Lord also accepted job. With his two friends, ashamed to show his face, While God did speak, because convinced at length That they had laboured, with the utmost strength Of argument to broach a Heresy, Which had descended to Posterity, As a firm truth, and been received of all As a position fully general, That all Gods actings were determined By those of men, and that none suffered But for their sins: if God had not declared By his just Sentence, that these men had erred. Without replying then to what was laid By God Almighty to their charge, they prayed Their injured friend for them to interceded: Now, all obedience they did quickly bring, As God had ordered, their sin-offering; And with great zeal, did make atonement For their unsound, presumptuous argument. Whilst Elihu, who, as appears, has been A learned youngman, pious, upright, and clean I'th'▪ eyes of God, and had by inspiration, From his great Maker, spoke on this occasion, Is not reproved, and therefore we may guests, He joined his prayer with Job in this address For these three men; which prayer God did hear, And gently for their sake, was pleased to spare Those who had erred. Thus God determined The case of Job: thus he at length decreed, For the afflicted man against his friends, And thus in mercy the grand Trial ends. For now, as when the Sun imprisoned 10. And the Lord turned the captivity of job, when he prayed for his friends, also the Lord gave job twice as much as he had before. Long time amongst thick clouds, begins to spread His rays abroad, and shine as formerly, The proud, insulting vapours by, and by Dissolve themselves into a subtle air, And now the Sun triumphant doth appear In his full splendour, darting every where His warming beams, and makes the Skies again, After the storm, look pleasant, and serene. So now th'Almighty having fully tried The worth of Job, and being satisfied Of his deportment in his misery, Dispels the clouds of his adversity, And puts an end to Jobs captivity. Restores him quickly to his former state, And makes him happier, than he was of late. For he of earthly means doth give him more, By the one half, than he possessed before. And now, the days of mourning being gone, 11. Then came there unto him, all his brethren, and all his sisters, and all they that had been of his acquaintance before, and did eat bread with him in his house, and they bemoaned him, and com●orted him over all the evil that the Lord had brought upon him▪ every man gave him a piece of money, and every one an ear-ring of gold. We must suppose that Job returned anon To his own house, and in tranquillity, Blessed with firm health, and wealth, as formerly, He lived, whilst all his scattered family, Did by degrees return: that every where He viewed his grounds; and daily did repair, What by injurious times had been destroyed, And here, and there, his serving-men employed In Ditching, Fencing, Planting, Labouring, In Pits, and Quarries, Ploughing, Harrowing, Pasturing, Dra●ing, and each other thing That might recover the sad desolation Of his affairs, by th'horrible vastation Made there of late: Not only by th'incursions of those, Who lived on spoil, but even of such, God knows Of his own friends, and unkind countrymen, Who thinking Job would ne'er return again; Upon his whole Estate had fairly seized, And amongst themselves divided, as they pleased, All his Effects: thinking them now their own By Right, since all his Race were dead, and gone, And he a Beggar, countenanced by none. At least they thought, if e'er it should fall out He should return again, beyond all doubt, His Spirits would be so with Sorrows spent, That he'd surrender for an Aliment, During his life, all what they did possess, And not adventure upon tedious Pleas For the recovery of it, but in peace, Desire to end the residue of his years, And then they would be as it were his Heirs. Therefore we may not without ground suppose That seeing God resolved to put a close To all Jobs Woes, and Sorrows, and restore This man ex postliminio, what before His late Affliction to him did pertain Was soon by him recovered again From these Intruders, by a short complaint, Exhibit to those in the Government, Whose hearts now God had moved; unfealed their eyes, And let them see, what wrongs, and injuries His Servant had even by their Laws sustained Whilst poor, and friendless, under Bonds restrained, Absent, and sick, not able to defend His legal Title, and just Interest, He was by formal chicanery oppress't. And therefore now to make full expiation For their Intrusions, and their malversation, In countenancing such illegal deeds, The Court on his Petition, proceeds To a full restitution, and declares All other Titles (save Job and his Heirs) To that Estate to be now null, and void Renversed, rescinded, cancelled, and destroyed. Order him full Possession again, And finds in Law that those intruding men Were violent Possessors, and ordain These to make Compt, and Payment of what Rent They had uplifted, during his Restraint, As violently seized, and fined beside Those men in Costs, and Charges to be paid To th' injured Party, for what Damnages He had sustained:—— For so much some think humbly may be guessed Without offence, from what is here expressed, That seeing God himself did Job restore To twice as much as he possessed before; Why might he not by way of Justice so Have ordered things, as that he might bestow Upon his faithful Servant the Estates Of these, whom for their wickedness he hates. Since that we know God is accustomed, When he by rules of Justice doth proceed Against the race of Sin, to overthrow Them totally, and graciously bestow Their Means on good men, in retaliation Of what they suffered by these men's oppression. And though the Gift the Damnage should exceed By two parts more, yet that doth nothing plead Against God's Justice, since their sins do call Aloud for extirpation general Of them and all their Race: if then he may By Justice take their whole Estates away From them, and theirs, why may he not dispose What is his own undoubtedly, to those Who merit at his hands much better things, As is the custom among earthly Kings To gratify their Subject's Loyalty, By Spoil, and Plunder of the Enemy. But howsoe'er it was, Jobs restauration Is, truth, a most conspicuous demonstration O'th'justice, greatness, goodness, equity, And gratitude of him, who sits on high: For it we ponder all his circumstances, How in Prosperity he now advances; And how, his Clouds of woes now dissipate, His last is better than his first estate: We'll find that God has only laid him low, That when restored he might the better know The real sweetness of Prosperity, By his reflections on his Misery. For those, who all their life-time live at ease, And know no trouble, suffer no disease, But waste their time in dull felicity, Because they do not know its contrary, They do not know itself: since 'tis confess't By all the knowing World that Contrares placed Beside each other make each other known, Better than when considered alone. For if a man shall first some Aloes taste And then some Sugar: why he finds the last Is sweeter far, when he reflects upon The bitterness o'th'first, then if alone He had the latter tasted: even so When Job reflects how miserably low, And scandalously poor he was of late Which by reflection on his former state Was much augmented; so he now esteems His present happiness the more, yet seems With so much moderation to bear His restauration, as if yet he were Upon the Dunghill, and betwixt the two Extremities of both Conditions, now He lives like one, that his Condition knew. Not elevat, when all his Kindred come With joyful voice to bid him welcome home His worthy Kindred! O his kind Relations, Who formerly had in his sad occasions Deserted him, and spoke of him, with hate, Now come, by dozen, to congratulate His happy Restitution. Those who did from him in Affliction fly Are now his stout friends in Prosperity. By turns they feast him, striving who shall treat A man, to whom they would not give of late One Loaf of Bread: but O his great Estate! His Means, and Honours now such figure make As all of them do covet to partake The happiness of his society And wait upon him, with alacrity. With Jewels, and Gold earrings they present him, And with broad Silver Medals compliment him. All his acquaintance too make now addresses To him, and trouble him with fresh caresses, And salutations in Prosperity, Who did not mind him in Calamity. For now—— His Friends, Acquaintance, Kinsmen, in a word, All that e'er knew him, seeing him restored Do crowd about him, every one denies, At least make fashion of Apologies, For their unkindness, whilst he was of late In a most sad, and despicable state: But Job considering that those, who forsook him When in Affliction, if again it took him, Would do the like, did with great moderation, Receive th' addresses of that Corporation: Because he knew such Wardrobe-friends, as these Were not for Storms, but for Festival days. For he's the only friend, who men doth own In trouble: other friendship there is none; And friendship's ne'er, but in Affliction known. Now after this so signal restauration, 12. So the Lord blessed the latter end of Io● more than his beginning: for he had 14000 sheep, and 6000 camels, and 1000 y●ke of oxen. and 1000 she asses. Job used with so much grace, and moderation, His new Prosperity, that God did bless His labour daily, for he did increase In Wealth, and Riches, and did now possess Twice as much Means, and had a greater Store By the one half, then that he had before▪ Upon his Pasture Grounds he now did keep A lusty Stock of fourteen thousand Sheep: And so of Camels, Oxen, Shee-asses, He now just twice the number did possess. In Honours too, and Offices beside No doubt he now was highly magnified: So that the figure of his latter days Appeared more glorious than his former was. But what do Wealth, and Honours signify 13. He had also seven sons, and three daughters. Without the prospect of Posterity? And therefore that in all Job might be blessed His hopeful Issue, with his Wealth increased. For now his Wife, who all this time had strayed, And had belike i' th'Country begged her Bread, During her Husband's Misery; at last Learning by public Fame, what late had passed In his Affair, had to her former station Returned, and lived, in sweet association, With her kind Husband: (for we do not read That ever Job another Wife did wed) By the same Wife then, as it here appears, He had ten Children in his latter years: Seven Males, three Females, and, as here related, Never were Girls more beautiful created. Then were Jobs Daughters, so completely fair, 14. And he called the name of the first, ●emima and the name of the second, Kezia, and the name of the third, Keren-happuch. So brisk, so smooth, so sweet, and debonnair, So amiable, of such comely features, As both their names, and faces with their natures Did fully suit: the eldest Jemima He named, 'cause of complexion bright, as day. The second Kezia, which doth signify One of an odorifick quality, As sweet as Cassia: the third was known By th'name of Keren-happuch, as to none Inseriour in beauty: these Coheirs, 15. And in all the land were no ●●men ●ound ●o 〈◊〉 as the daughters of ●ob▪ & their father gave them inheritance among their brethren. With their seven Brethren, as by th' Text appears Were institute, and without all debate, By equal parts their Father's great Estate They did possess, living in unity Amongst themselves, as if one Family: Free of Law-Suits, each with their Dividend Did live content: none of'em did contend For th'right of Primogeniture, or claimed More than their Father t'each of them had named. And now, to crown this good man's Happiness 16. After this lived job an hundred and forty years, and saw his sons, and his sons sons, even four generations. Full sevenscore years in Honour, Wealth, and Peace, Job after this did live, and fairly see His children's Children to the fourth Degree. At length, as all the Race of Mortals must 17. So job died, being old, and full of days. When Time is spent, return again to Dust: So Job, whom God with both Estates had tried, Old, full of happy days, and blessings died. O so let all with Sorrows now oppress't In thy good Time obtain Eternal Rest: Let all afflicted trust in thee alone Great God, besides thee comfort there is none. Let no man in his Sufferings repine▪ For both Lifes-Sorrows, and Delights are thine, Which to each Mortal, Lord, thou dost dispense As thou thinkest good; O let Jobs Patience Be a grand Copy, which, in my sad state, My anxious Soul may strive to imitate. That pious thoughts each hour may lenify The Paroxisms of my Adversity. FINIS.