The Works of the English Poets, from Chaucer to Cowper;: Shakspeare, Davies ...

STIRLING'S
What leaden weight the soules of them doth lode,
(Like those in waters, bubbles but of breath,)
With words outragious, who contest with God,
Though oft even here made spectacles of wrath,
By ruine's axe, not by correction's rod,
But are for ever tortur'd after death:
What they must suffer cannot be devis'd,
When judg'd by him whom they so long despis'd.

He thundring vaunts, who did his pride proclaime,
And bright with brasse, like Rhodes' great statue
shin'd,

With launce more grosse then any weaver's beame,
The masse most monstrous of the gyant's kinde,
Whil'st braving God, by seeking Israel's shame,
He first amaz'd, then fill'd with feare each minde:
An oxe in strength, and death, lesse in the last,
A small stone fell'd him which a boy did cast.

That moving mount of earth with others dread,
Who (trusting their owne strength) did God despise;
That king of Bashan (from his iron bed)
Who to oppugne God's people did arise;
Some who, like wolves, with flesh of men were fed,
As he whose eye Vlysses did surprise: [restraines,
Though huge, they quake, whil'st feare their pride
And with their strength, proportion'd are their paines.
With those who rail'd on God with horrour nam'd,
Stands Rabsache, whose breath the ayre defil'd,
And one who answer'd was when he exclaim'd,
Tell of the carpenter what doth the childe,
That he for him a fatall coffin fram'd,
Whom death soone seizing from the world exil'd:
Such did pursue, where nothing could be wonne,
Like foolish dogges that barke against the Sunne.
There Christ must make that barbarous king afraid,
From whose fierce rage for him, babes were not free,
That with just scorne, the great Augustus laid,
It better was his sow then sonne to be:
One durst God's praise usurpe, till quite dismaid,
Hisflattering troupes a judgment rare did see, [sum'd,
Whil'st him who, swolne with pride, so much pre-
A loathsome death by meanes most vile consum'd.

Great is the wrath which doth all them pursue,
That from the sabbath did profanely stray,
Gave man too much, to God not what was due,
Where all was ow'd, who nothing would repay;
Whose course ingrate, oft guerdon'd thus we view,
Their years are curs'd, who scorn'd to keep one day:
Nor doth his rage lesse flames against them raise,
Who seeke by it their sport, and not his praise.

Of those the griefe no soule save theirs conceives,
Who parents scorne, like nothing but their states;
By Cham's eternall curse, who not perceives
How much the Lord rebellious children hates?
Since all his race (hereditary slaves)
Are sold like beasts, and at more easie rates:
A monstrous merchandise, unnaturall gaine,
Bat thirst of gold, what dost thou not constraine?

Those soules which once enlightned were with grace,
Yet in Heaven's way abandon'd had their guide,
This present world (like Demas) to embrace,
Yea, worse, did fiercely fall, not weakely,slide,
What fooles were they, who did give over their race,
For falsenesse, faintnesse, or preposterous pride?

Since, like their Lord, they needs would fall from light,

With him darke dungeons they deserve of right.

The man most mark'd amidst this damned traine,
Whose foule defection numbers did annoy,
Is he from schooles who Christians did restraine,
By ignorance the truth bent to destroy;
Who fondly did too deepe a wit imploy:
With him (well match'd) his master doth remaine,
Vile Porphyry, how wretched is thy state,
Who bought thy learning at too deare a rate?

Yet even then these, whose falles were marked most,
A number now are farre more guilty found,
These but themselves, they many thousands lost;
These seene were shunn'd, they seeming friends did
wound,

And where made captaines, did betray the host,
Such teachers false, high indignation move,
Not forward march'd, did but the trumpet sound:
Who, plac'd for lampes, did rockes of ruine prove.

They (whil'st their faith for worldly causes faints)
Who were made shepheards, do undoe their sheep,
Religion's casks, church dregges, dissembled saints,
Where trusted watch-men who fall first asleep ;
For loosing them whom they were bound to keep!
O with what palenesse feare their faces paints,
Such pastors now stand for all those dismaid,
By their example, or neglect, who strai'd.
He (even as spurning at a wall of brasse)
Who (though God's priest) his people would misguid,
Where bound to blesse, who there to curse did passe,
Seem'd to consult, yet God to tempt but tri'd,
Then it more grosse which first the angel spi'd;
Who forc'd (when left) him to obey his asse,
Deare proves his counsell when their plaints begin,
Whom he by beauty did betray to sinne.

Who (flattering Sirens) some with pleasure charme,
With Balaam now this age a troupe doth match,
Whil'st they like tradesmen do their taske dis-
patch,

Since neither hot, nor cold, spu'd forth luke-warme,
Whose scandalous life choaks what their words do

hatch;

What profit precepts, whil'st examples harme ?
"Of tainted fountains all do flie the streames:
As bright the Sunne, most pure are all his beames.

What great perfection can theologues reach,
Who learne their science as an art to gaine,
And, farre from practice, onely strive to preach?
Such wanting salt would season soules in vaine,
In actions earthly, spirituall but in speech,
Who buy promotions, sell Heaven's goods againe :
Their money curs'd, detasted may they dye,
Who, what none value can, would basely buy.

There are some priests whom foolish pride made

rave,

(Like Isis' asse whose burden was ador'd)
Who of their parts too great opinion have,
And more affect than reason can afford;
Where humblenesse her chiefe abode should have,
Vile avarice, and pride, from Heaven accurst,
A haughty minde must justly be abhorr'd;
In all are ill, but in a church-man worst.

Sinne sinfull still, and vice is vile in all,

But most abhorr'd by guides of soules when done,
Whose faults seeme ugly, though they be but small,
As stains in crystall, darknesse in the Moone;
They when they stumble make a number fall;
Where laws scarce urge, example leads us soone;
Woe to those shepheards who their flocks betray,
Whose trusted steps make all their followers stray.

Next comes a company then these more bad,
Who in some sort made eminent to be,
Did poyson draw, where others honey had,
Blinde by sinne's beams who could it selfe not see,
By curiousnesse grown grosse, by learning mad,
Where Adam rob'd the fruits, who rent the tree:
Confusion's slaves, whose course all union wrongs,
They part men's hearts, where Babel but the tongues.

Those soule's impostours, rocks of ruine borne,
Who what they fancied did too much esteeme,
And of religion held true grounds in scorne,
By strange opinions singular to seeme;
They who the church did teare, their hearts are torne,
Whose spirituall errours nothing could redeeme;
Then all those atheists who the light deny'd
Strai'd hereticks are more pernicious try'd.
Their vaine divisions have much mischiefe wrought,
Christ's coat still torne, for lots (yet question'd) set,
The figures literall, letters figures thought,
Whil'st forging reasons, they the sense forget,
And catching all within their compasse brought,
Like poysnous spiders fram'd in aiery net;
Yet that the world might spie their damned state,
Still jarr'd amongst themselves, did others hate.

None gives religion a more dangerous wound,
(Of which firme union is a certaine signe) [found,
Then schismatics, whose dreames would truth con-
And do divide what faith should fast combine,
When learned doctors do dispute the ground,
How can weake vulgars but from light decline?
Whil'st parts are question'd all the whole in doubt,
First heresie, then atheisme doth burst out.

Whil'st false conceptions do abuse the braine,
Oft monstrous broods have all the world appall'd,
Even when apostles did themselves explaine,
Some strangely strai'd, yet scorn'd to be recall'd,
Whil'st grosly subtle, learnedly prophane,
To sp'rituall bondage voluntarily thrall'd:
Instruction loath'd, they shamelesse in offence,
Of living authors did pervert the sense.
Ere from men's mindes the gospel's purenesse past,
That vaunting sect which holy Iohn did hate,
With drunkards sober, liv'd with wantons chast,
And bragg'd by strength temptations to abate,
Till falne by standing, them their strength did cast,
Whil'st stumbling blocks had fram'd for sinne a bait:
Then faults they fled farre greater did them staine,
Presumption devillish, weaknesse is humane.

From fountains pure what tainted streames did fall, By which made drunke huge troups strange dreames conceiv'd,

Nestorians, Arrians to grosse errours thrall,
The Montanists and Donatists deceiv'd;
The Manichæans, and Pelagians all,

With millions else who admirably rav'd;

And when they once abandon'd had the light, Thought all the world was wrong, they onely right.

These viprous broods whose course no reason rain'd,
Did when first borne their mother's belly teare,
Bred by contention, and by bloud maintain'd,
Who rent the church, pretending it to reare,
Then, with themselves, all who would trust them
stain'd,

And them to Hell led headlong by the eare:
But who for patrons prais'd such once as saints,
They curse them now with multipli'd complaints.

Of all the gifts that garnish mortals here,
Though for perfection learning most imparts,
And to the deity draws her followers neare,
Scarce lesse then angels, more then men for parts,
Yet their accounts some scholars worst can cleare,
Who lodg'd their knowledge in corrupted hearts:
Whil'st lengthning life by memorable lines,
In spite of death extending bad designes.

Ah, of that troupe who can the torments dreame,
Of all Hell's hosts which with most horrour howls,
The scorne of knowledge, and the Muse's shame,
Who with vaine pleasures do empoyson soules,
And (reaching ruine) whil'st they toile for fame,
Do vomit volumes of contagious scrouls, [take)
Which bent for glory (though vaine thoughts they
Do but their sinnes, not them immortall make?

When dead to sinne, to ruine from the grave, Though hid in th' earth infecting still the ayre! What greater mischiefe could the Devill conceive, Then like himselfe make men? what authors rare? That they with life can wickedness not leave, Whil'st bounding in one place, ore all a snare, That course doth never end which they begin: Death but their dayes, scarce doomsday bounds their sinne.

Of each divine who thoughts to time commits, (Whil'st cosening conscience)racking reason's bounds, With subtle logicke intricating wits, (Sophisticating truth) which faith confounds, Whose aguous fancies with infective fits, The world abus'd, abusing sacred grounds; Their writs which (wresting words) much mischiefe wrought,

To damne the author are in judgment brought.

Of these brave spirits (neglecting vulgar dates)
The tongues of time, interpreting the dead,
Who entertaine intelligence 'twixt states
By registring all what was famous made,
Of them I heare too many curse their fates,
(When trusted guides) who others wrong did leade;
And partially a lye for truth gave forth,
To colour vice, or derogate from worth.

And therefore, Muse, thy purenesse do not spill,
(Though griefe do make thee passionate to prove)
Loath them to taxe whom thou do'st reverence still,
But passe not publicke wrongs for private love,
And whil'st such faults all minds with feare do fill,
This them who live to change their course may
move;

Ah,that Heaven's lampe might still direct our wayes, Whom starres should crowne, and not terrestrial

bayes.

Whil'st always drunke they from no fault were free,

Till last by beggery that they bounded be.

Though base, not pass'd even beggars here are rife,

Who with procur'd or counterfeited sores,
That they might live, did lose all use of life,
Not entring churches, begg'd but at the doores,
Urg'd charity, and yet were still at strife,
By hand who helps them, them in heart abhorrs:
The sinks of sinne, as poore in soules, as state.
Adultrers, theeves, blasphemers, and ingrate,

Now mustring pride, no pompe, nor power protects, Whil'st none so great as dares (when damn'd) reply,

Nor none so low whom this great Iudge neglects,
Life's strict accounts when come in wrath to try;
Contempt, nor reverence, worke no such effects:
Mysts, whence they rose return'd, vaine vapours dre
For state or birth, all duties due time frees,
(Save parting paines) no difference in degrees.

Not onely soules for deeds are damn'd to fire,
Whose witness'd wrongs were from all colours free,
But even intentions, wishes, and desire,
Which (though none else) yet God himselfe did see;
The heart advanc'd, what member can retire ?
The author it, the rest but actors be:
These bent for ill, whom casuall lets did bound,
Then some who acted are more guilty found.

Not onely now all these to paine must part,
Whom harmfull deeds well witness'd do accuse,
And who not seene (corrupted in the heart)
No, no, with them a number more must smart,
Were big with thoughts which Satan did infuse:
This judgment generall all to triall brings,
Who had more treasure then they daign'd to use:
Both for committed and omitted things.

These wealthie ones, whose steps the poore did trace,

Not help'd, not mark'd, not seene from such a height;
These who had power, and eminent in place,
Yet had no pitty when support they might;
These who had knowledge, and some seeds of grace,
Yet would with none communicate their light:
Woe, woe to them with whom God ventred most,
Whose talents hid (since not encreas'd) were lost.

DOOMES-DAY;
OR,

THE GREAT DAY OF THE LORD'S IVDgment.

THE EIGHTH HOURE.

THE ARGUMENT.

The patriarchs, kings, and prophets most renown'd,
Who came with God by conference friends to be,
And (whil'st his law was of their lives the ground)
By him from wants and dangers were made free,
And in all temporall blessings did abound,
Yet did but Christ by types and figures see:
O how they joy now to behold his face,
Whom they by faith did whil'st they liv'd imbrace!

WHAT Sudden lightning cleares my cloudie brow,
And bends faint hopes to follow forth their aimes?
At Christ's right hand a band more bright doth bow,
Then summer's Sun when mustring all his beams;
The prospect of my thoughts is pleasant now;
Joy doth disperse all melancholy dreames;
Hence, hence all ye whose sprits are still prophane,
This sacred ground no vulgar foot must staine.

The first of them that throng about the throne,
Is he, save God, who once no fellow had;
Of all the syre, and yet a sonne to none,
Was rich when naked, never poore till clad;
Long'd not, nor loath'd, nor griev'd, when as alone,
What could displease, where he was best, none bad?
Though never childe what childishnesse more
Who for an apple Paradise did change? [strange,
To that brave garden with all pleasure stor'd,
When banish'd Adam heavily look'd back,
As griev'd to thinke of what he had beene lord,
Whil'st every object anguish more did make;
An angry angel bragg'd him with a sword,
God threatned had, how could he comfort take?
A prince depriv'd, forc'd servile works to try,
So tortur'd first, and then condemn'd to dye.

But that short griefe, to endlesse joy is chang'd,
He lives more happy, that he once was dead,
The promis'd seed (so Evah was reveng'd)
Sting'd in the heele, did bruise the serpent's head;
O monstrous worke, from reason far estrang'd!
What harm'd him most, hath him more happy made:
He lives (where first he was in feare to fall)
(Free from restrictions) to no danger thrall.

Two doe succeed to this great sonne of slime,
(Though one was elder) eldest borue to light,
Who heard their father sigh forth many time,
His fall, wive's weakenesse, and the serpent's slight,
Not for the losse, griev'd onely for his crime,
And so much more, that it had wrong'd their right:
While as they him, and he his Maker lov'd,
His wail'd rebellion their obedience mov'd.

Loe, (next to Eden's) Adam's greatest losse, [taint,
That faithfull sheepheard, whom no staine could
First gold refin'd (all upright) free from drosse,
In whom (it seemes) Heaven piety would paint,
Since first (thus goodnesse mischiefe straight must
Whom persecution did designe a saint: [tosse)

An innocent for gratefull offring slaine, Whose suffring did a martyr's glory gaine.

The old man's griefe with comfort to asswage (God's owne when weake are strengthened still by grace)

I here see Seth, who after Cain's rage

(A pledge of favour) fill'd his brother's place,
With other ancients of that infant age,

Most part of whom from him deriv'd their race:
In his sonne's time (whil'st vice had flow'd ov'r all)
On God againe, who then began to call.

He most is mark'd amidst this glorious traine,
Who walk'd with God, when here, as wholly his,
And such perfection did below attaine,
That death not tooke him as the custome is,
But as secur'd by priviledge from paine:
The fabulous Grecians fondly glaunc'd at this,
Yet fail'd in forme, and did pervert the sense,
No eagle, no, but angels bare him hence.

Shem, father's heire, a lampe of light design'd,
Melchisedech, a mighty prince, or priest,
With whom God did communicate his minde,
A speciall labourer after Noah's rest,
I see with him some others of his kinde,
Till Abram rose, who follow'd him for best:
Arpashad, Shelah, Eber, Pelag stand,
Reu, Serug, Nahor, Terah in one band.

Of laphet's race at first, some forward throng,
(The rest, turn'd Gentiles, godliness did leave)
Who surfetting on nature's pleasures long,

At last (quite stumbling) drunke with vice did rave,
And when once stray'd, still more and more went
wrong,

Till last recall'd, the Lord their seed did save:
In tents of Shem, since laphet came to dwell,
His numbers now doe all the rest excell.

Who shines so bright? I must to marke him stay,
The churche's stocke, from whom it did descend,
The first cleare lampe who did directHeaven's way,
Perfection's patterne, imitation's end,
Whom righteousnesse did as a robe array,
Who eate with angels, was profess'd God's friend:
Of all the faithfull, call'd the father still,
Whose pleasure was to doe his Maker's will,

A straying stranger, he (whil'st poore he seem'd)
Gave Lot his choice of lands, so peace to bring,
And him when captive by the sword redeem'd,
Both liberall, valorous, yet a greater thing,
His friend once free, no treasure more esteem'd,
Who scorn'd to be beholding to a king:
Was onely weake when he disclaim'd his wife,
Not firme with God, or else too fond on life.

When Sodome's ruine justly was design'd,
God to this man whom he so dearely lov'd,
Would (ere effected) justifie his minde,
By his applause, as glad to be approv'd,
Who durst contest, but could ten good not finde,
Else by his meanes, Heaven's army was remov'd,
In league with God by sacrament receiv'd,
Who true religion heretable leav'd.

His lifted hand had aym'd the fatall wound,
(A course most strange, which thoughts can scarce
embrace)

Yet not distracted, but in judgment sound,
To kill his sonne, and all the promis'd race; [bound)
(Whil'st faith triumph'd, both sense and reason
Till him an angell stayd (O wondrous case!)
"Her birth, who barren was, an offring made,
Had been by nature's course, not borne, nor dead."
He in whose bosome saints have had their rest,
Who was for God from friends and soile estrang'd,
Hath still his nephew neere (a wandring guest)
On fields too faire, his roying flockes who rang'd,
Which he at last, as ugly, did detest,
Hiswife transform'd, himselfe deform'd, both chang'd:
He, though not burn'd, yet smoak'd, had Sodome's
smell,
[fell.

Whil'st fled from flames, when safe, as choak'd he

That sacrifice (though offered) who not dy'd,
First type of Christ, his suffering who presag'd,
For whom God did (when famine was) provide,
And for dig'd fountaines budding broyles asswag'd,
Yea, was for father's cause, his guard and guide,
Till at his wealth for envy, heathens rag'd:

Though substance thought, that but a shadow darke
Scarce of his riches pointed at a sparke.

There that great wrestler, halfe of one time's brood,
Who was ere borne against his brother bent,
And last us'd fraud, when force could doe no good,
(The meanes were bad, though happy the event)
But with Heaven's Monarch bravely struggling stood,
Till blest by force, he thence a victor went:
To dreame of angels, who on th' earth did lye,
A stone his pillow, curtain'd by the skye.

He thus whom God nor man could not appall,
(By beauty onely to turne captive mov'd)
Twice seven years sold, was made a wretches thrall,
And yet the time seem'd short because he lov'd;
Still when high thoughts his hopes to minde did call,
Rough blasts seem'd smooth, even suffrings pleasant
No storme him mov'd, save onely Rachel's frowne,
prov'd:
Whose leavy garland did his labours crowne.

O happy shepheard! flattring but his flocke,
In minde a monarch, but more free from toyles,
Whose crowne an ivy wreath, whose throne some
His staffe a scepter, lord of many soiles, [rocke,
At night the stars, all day the Sunne his clocke,
He fed his sheep, they him, proud of their spoiles:
And whil'st corrívall'd by encroaching beames,
Her eyes his glasse, and her's some crystall streames.

Whil'st poore, thus pleas'd, nought could occurre
save good,

But straight when rich, he tortur'd did remaine,
His daughter ravish'd, sonnes involv'd in bloud,
The best belov'd (as he imagin'd) slaine,
When old and weake, forc'd farre to shift for food,
Whence (save his bones) nought was brought back

againe :

"His dayes both few and evill, he last confest, Not wealth nor honour, death yeelds onely rest".

But what rare beauties ravish now mine eyes,
Of which I thinke her one, who grosly fail'd.
By whom first man was borne, all mankinde dyes,
Whose errour still her ruin'd race hath wail'd?
But (rack'd with pangs which all her sexe oft tryes)
Whilst breeding more to plant the world withall,
No doubt repentance many times prevaile:
In place of one, whom she had made to fall.

She, whose great beauty, kings in vaine did crave,
First of her sexe, whom sacred pennes applaud,
Who yong, still barren, did when old conceive,
Yet (fondly curious) did her selfe defraud,
And made a mayd her equall of a slave,
Her rival's raiser, her owne husband's bawd:
For which due paine, she justly did abide,
"Of slaves preferr'd, none can endure the pride."

From drawing water, an attending mayd,
Whilst nobly humble, honourably kinde,
Straight (highly match'd) with gorgeous robes
array'd,

By struggling twins, a mother was design'd,
She boldly ventred, though her mate was blinde,
Of which for one (as franke affection sway'd)
Whom she beguil'd, not wrong'd, and(calme in strife)
Though alwaies faithfull, was a cunning wife.

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