All under various Names adore and love
One Pow'r Immenfe, which ever rules above.
If you've Religion, keep it to your felf;
Atheists will elfe make ufe of Toleration,
And laugh you out on't. Never fhew Religion,
Unless you mean to pafs for Knaves of Confcience,
And cheat believing Fools that think you honest.
Now wretched Oedipus, depriv'd of Sight,
Led a long Death in everlasting Night;
But while he dwells where not a chearful Ray
Can pierce the Darkness, and abhors the Day;
The clear, reflecting Mind, prefents his Sin
In frightful Views, and makes it Day within;
Returning Thoughts in endless Circles roll,
And thoufand Furies haunt his guilty Soul.
REPENTANCE.
Oh my Offence is rank! it fmells to Heav'n ;
It has the primal eldest Curfe upon it,
A Brother's Murther! Pray, I cannot,
Tho' Inclination be as sharp as Will,
My stronger Guilt defeats my strong Intent,
And like a Man, to double Bus'nefs bound,
I ftand in Paufe where I shall first begin,
And both neglect: What if this curfed Hand
Were thicker than it felf with Brother's Blood,
Is there not Rain enough in the fweet Heav'ns,
To wash it white as Snow? whereto ferves Mercy,
But to confront the Vifage of Offence?
And what's in Prayer but this twofold Force,
To be foreftalled e'er we come to fall,
Or pardon'd being down? Then I'll look up :
My Fault is paft: But oh what Form of Prayer,
Can ferve my Turn? Forgive me my foul Murther!
That cannot be, fince I am ftill poffefs'd
Of thofe Effects for which I did the Murther!
My Crown, my own Ambition, and
my Queen.
May one be pardon'd, and retain th' Offence?
In the corrupted Currents of this World,
Offence's gilded Hand may fhove by Juftice:
And oft 'tis feen, the wicked Prize it felf
Buys out the Law: but 'tis not fo above.
There is no Shuffling, there the Action lies
In its true Nature; and we our felves compell'd,
Ev'n to the Teeth and Forehead of our Faults,
To give in Evidence: what then? what refts?
Try what Repentance can! what can it not?
Yet what can it, when one cannot repent?
Oh wretched State ! Oh Bofom black as Death!
Oh limed Soul! that, ftruggling to be free,
Art more engag'd: Help, Angels! make Effay !
Bow ftubborn Knees; and Heart, with ftrings of Steel,
Be foft as Sinews of the new-born Babe:
All may be well.
No! while our former Flames remain within, Repentance is but want of Pow'r to fin.
On the other fide they faw that perilous Rock, Threatning it felf on them to ruinate,
On whoes fharp clifts the ribs of vessels broke,
And shiver'd Ships, which had been wrecked late,
Yet ftuck with Carcafes exanimate,
Of fuch, as having all their Subftance spent
In wanton joyes, and luftes intemperate,
Did afterwards make fhipwreck violent,
Both of their life and fame for ever fouly blent.
For why, this hight the Rock of all Reproach,
A dangerous and deteftable place,
To which nor Fish nor Fowle did once approche, But yelling Meaws with Seagulles hoars and bafe, And Cormoyrants, with birds of ravenous race,
Which still fate waiting on that waftfull clift, For fpoile of wretches whoes unhappy cafe, After loft credit and confumed thrift,
At laft them driven hath to this dispairful drift.
REPUTATION.
Good Name in Man or Woman,
Is the immediate Jewel of our Souls:
Who fteals my Purfe, fteals Trash: 'tis fomething,
'Twas mine, 'tis his; and has been Slave to thousands. But he that filches from me my good Name,
Robs me of that, which not enriches him,
Eliffia, (fo the eldest hight) did deeme
So entertainment bafe, ne ought would eat,
Ne ought would fpeak, but evermore did feeme
As difcontent for want of mirth or meat;
No folace could her Paramour entreat
Her once to show, ne court, nor dalliance:
But with bent lowering browes, as she would threat,
She fcould, and fround with froward contenaunce,
Unworthy of fair ladys comely governaunce.
RESURRECTION.
Now Monuments prove faithful to their Truft,
And render back their long committed Dust,
Now Charnels rattle; fcatter'd Limbs, and all
The various Bones obfequious to the Call,
Self-mov'd advance; the Neck, perhaps to meet
The distant Head; the diftant Legs, the Feet:
Dreadful to view! fee thro' the dusky Sky
Fragments of Bodies in Confufion fly,
To diftant Regions journying, there to claim
Deferted Members, and compleat the Frame.
Farre in the Foreft by a hollow glade, Covered with moffie fhrubs, which fpredding broad, Did underneath them make a gloomy shade ; Where foot of living creature never troad,
Nay fcarce wild beaste durft come,there was this wights
That all the worlds gay fhowes, which we admire, Be but vaine fhadowes to this fafe retire
Of life, which here in lowlinefs
ye lead,
Fearlefs of Foes, or Fortune wrackfull yre,
Which toffeth States, and under foot doth tread
The mighty ones, affraid of every changes dread.
Thrice happy they! who in Retirement find
The sweetest Joys of an ingenuous Mind.
Whofe Barks have fcap'd the Shipwracks of a Court,
And ride at Anchor in a quiet Port.
Thee, Shepherd, thee the pleafurable Woods,
The painted Meadows, and the cryftal Floods,
Claim, and invite thee to their fweet Abodes.
There fhady Bow'rs, and fylvan Scenes arife,
There Fountains warble, and the Spring fupplies,
Or Flow'rs to please the Smell, or charm the Eyes.
(Brome.
As compafs'd with a Wood of Spears around,
The Lordly Lion ftill maintains his Ground:
Grins horrible, retires, and turns again,
Threats his diftended Paws, and shakes his Mane;
He lofes, while in vain he preffes on,
Nor will his Gourage let him dare to run;
So Turnus fares: And unrefolv'd of Flight,
Moves tardy back, and just recedes from Fight;
And with flow Paces measures back the Field, | And inches to the Walls. Dryd. Virg.
What tho' his mighty Soul his Grief contains,
He meditates Revenge who least complains :
And like a Lion, flumb'ring in his way,
Or Sleep diffembling while he waits his Prey,
His fearless Foes within his distance draws,
Conftrains his roaring, and contracts his Paws;
'Till at the last, his Time for Fury found,
He shoots with fuddain Vengeance from the Ground:
The proftrate Vulgar paffes o'er and spares,
But with a Lordly Rage his Hunters tears.
(Dryd. Abf.& Achit. Revenge is but a Frailty incident
To craz'd and fickly Minds; the poor Content
Of little Souls, unable to furmount
An Injury, too weak to bear Affront.
Now might I do it; now he is praying,
And now I'll do it, and fo he goes to Heav'n!
And fo am I reveng'd? That would be fcann'd.
A Villain kills my Father, and for that
I his foul Son do this fame Villain fend
To Heav'n! O this is Hire, and Sallary, not Revenge.
He took my Father grofsly, full of Bread,
With all his Crimes broad blown, and frefli as May;
And how his Audit ftands, who knows fave Heav'n?
But in our Circumftance and Courfe of Thought,
'Tis heavy with him. Am I then reveng'd,
To take him in the purging of his Soul,
When he is fit and feafon'd for his Paffage ?
No! up Sword, and know thou a more horrid Bent,
When he is drunk, afleep, or in his Rage,
Or in th' incestuous Pleasure of his Bed,
At gaming, fwearing, or about fome Act
That has no Relish of Salvation in it,
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