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The beast (though haunting deeps) not there con-
fin'd,
[head,
Whose haires as pretious decke each great man's
Before like eagles', like a swan's behinde,
Whose feet (as oares) to manage streames are made,
To waste the liquid wayes not needing winde,
Whose tayle his course doth as a rudder leade,
A sparke (falne from a tree) may then confound,
Him with his teeth that now strikes trees to ground.

The otter black where finne-wing'd troups repaire,
Fresh rivers' robber, which his prey doth chuse,
And all that kinde, nor fish, nor flesh that are,
But do two elements (amphibions) use,
Not able to touch th' earth, nor to draw th' aire
In waters they their kindled skinnes infuse:
But yet can refuge finde in neither soile,
They burne on the earth, and in the deeps do boile.
Flouds seeme to groane which beasts' incursion
maymes,

All altered then which look't of late like glasse,
And murmur at the stayning of their streames,
By carkasses flot-flotting in a masse,

A moving bridge whil'st every channell frames,
When as there are no passengers to passe.
With beasts all buried waters are press'd downe,
Whil'st both at once their burdens burn, and drowne.

The crystals quicke which slowly us'd to go,
And others' heat by coldnesse did allay,
(As if then griev'd to be polluted so)
Growne red with rage, boil'd up, pop-popling stay,
And tread in triumph on their breathlesse foe,
Whose ashes with their sands they levell lay.
But Vulcan now a victor in each place,
By violence doth all these nymphs embrace.
The dwellers of the deeps not harm'd in ought,
When first vice all, and next the waters drown'd,
So since by some more sacred still are thought,
As whom sinne's scourge did onely not confound,
The elements not pure to purge now brought,
Are likewise ruin'd by this generall wound.
The fishes then are boil'd in every flood,
Yet finde no eater that can relish food.

All which corruption onely serves to feed,
When it doth end, doth end, so Heaven designes:
Nought save the soule which doth from God proceed,
Over death triumphs, and still is pleas'd, else pynes,
Death not man's essence, but his sinne did breed,
And it with it, the end of time confines.
Then death and life shall never meet againe,
The state then taken always doth remaiue.

Salt seas, fresh streames, the fish which loves to change,

(The rivers' prince esteem'd by dainty tastes)
Which through the ocean though at large he range,
The bounds him bred to see yet yearly hastes;
Ah, man oft wants (O monster more then strange)
This kinde affection common even to beasts.
That salmond fresh for which so many strive,
May then be had, boil'd where it liv'd alive.

The trout, the eele, and all that watrie brood,
Which without feet or wings can make much way,
Then leape aloft, forc'd by the raging flood,
Not as they us'd before, for sport, or prey: [stood,
That which (once freez'd) their glasse to gaze in
Now (turn'd to flames) makes what it bred decay.

Those which to take men did all snares allow,
All without baits, or nets, are taken now.

These flouds which first did fields with streames array,

The rivers foure by sacred writ made knowne, Which (since farre sundry) make their wits to stray,

Who Paradise drawne by their dreames have showne,
As turn'd from it, or it from them away;
In all the earth their strength shall be ore-throwne.
Whom first high pleasures, horrours huge last bound,
(As if for griefe) they vanish from the ground.

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The great which change before they end their race, |
Salt flouds, fresh seas, by mutual bands as past,
Which th'ocean charge, and though repuls'd a space,
Yet make a breach and enter at the last,
Which from the earth (that strives them to embrace)
Now haste with speed, and straight a compasse cast:
They then for helpe to Neptune seeke in vaine,
By Vulcan ravish'd ere his waves they gaine.

The raging rampire which doth alwaies move,
Whose floting waves entrench the solid round,
And (whil'st by Titan's kisse drawne up above)
From Heaven's alembicke dropt upon the ground,
Of fruits and plants, the vitall bloud doe prove,
And foster all that on the Earth are found:
It likewise yeelds to the Eternal's ire,

Loe, all the sea not serves to quench this fire.

Yet did the sea presage this threatned ill,
With ugly roarings ere that it arriv'd,
As if contending all Hell's fires to kill,
By violence to burst, whil'st through it driv'd,
Which must make monstrous sounds jar-jaring still,
As heate with cold, with moisture drynesse striv'd:
Whil'st love-like thundring, Pluto doth grow proud,
Even as when fires force passage through a cloud.

O what strange sight, not to be borne with eyes!
That tennis-court where oft the windes too bold,
What still rebounded toss'd unto the skies,
And to the ground from thence have head-longs rol'd,
Doth now in raging rounds, not furrowes rise,
Then hosts of heate, as us'd to be of cold:
All government the liquid state neglects,
Whil'st Vulcan's hammer, Neptune's trident breks.

When this huge vessell doth to boyle begin,
What can it fill with matter fit to purge?
The Earth as else without, if throwne within,
With all her creatures kept but for a scourge,
To wash away the foulenesse of that sinne,
Which on fraile flesh, strong nature oft doth urge:
But ah, my thoughts are vaine, this cannot be,
Seas cleanse not sinne, sinne doth defile the sea.

O foule contagion, spreading still to death,
What pest most odious can with thee compare?
Which first by thoughts conceiv'd, then born with
breath,

Doth straight infect the sea, the earth, the ayre,
Which, damn'd in justice, and chastis'd in wrath,
Doth show that God no creature's spots will spare:
All scourges must be scourg'd, and even the fire,
As but impure, must feele th' effects of ire.

That restlesse element which never sleepes,
But by it selfe, when by nought else, is wrought,
Which joynes all lands, yet them asunder keepes,
It (ruine's rocke) for refuge last is sought,
For troupes doe throw themselves amidst the deeps,
As if death reft, then given, lesse griefe were thought:
"Thus is despaire hot sonne of father cold,
Rash without hope, and without courage bold."

The loving alcion, trusty to her mate,
The which (save this) no other storme could catch,
Whose arke not erres amid'st the going gate,
Though none in it with art the waves doth watch,
To many monsters, as expos'd a bait,
Which moving sits, and in the deepes doth hatch:

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The liquid labyrinth, thou who first did'st prove,
No doubt thy desp'rate heart was arm'd with steele,
Did not the waves and clouds which alwaics move,
(Firme objects wanting) make thy eyes to reele?
Then he who first did steale fire from above,
Thou greater torments do'st deserve to feele:
He onely sought the fire to quicken breath,
And thou the water, as a way to death.
O! hatefull monster, since the world began,
Which with thine owne could never yet be pleas'd,
For lacke of rayment cold, for hunger wan,
With what thou hast, though many might be eas'd,
Thou poison'st first the quiet minde of man,
Whose fury since can never be appeas'd:
But seekes both sea and land with endlesse care,
And wants but wings to violate the aire.
That which encroach'd on every bordering shore,
By oft renu'd assaults asurping myles,
Shall then all ebbe, not flowing as before,
Whilst travelling Thetis doth bring forth new iles,
Which birth soone old, to be embrac'd no more,
She loth to leave, oft turnes, and kissing smiles:
Till all the world one withered masse appeares,
Spoil'd of all moisture, save man's fruitlesse teares.
What hideous object! what a horrid sight!
O terrour strange which even I quake to thinke!
Where all of late was levell at one height, [sinke,
Their mountaine's mount, and fields farre down do
All pav'd with monsters, which if painting right,
Feare would make paper blacke, and pale my inke:
The seas with borrour so arrest my hand,
I must amaz'd retire me to the land.

The land where pleasure lodg'd, where rest did rest,
Which did abound in fruits, in fowles, and beasts,
Of which (all good) none could discerne the best,
In number more (though many) then men's tastes,
Which should refresh fraile nature when distress'd,
Though them fond man superfluously wastes:
Till that the Earth doth to a chaos turne, [burne.
Which since his teares not wash, his sinnes shall
Where are the flowry fields, the fishy streames,
The pasturing mountaines, and the fertile plaines,
With shadowes oft, oft clad with Titan's beames,
As of Heaven's pleasures types, and of Hell's paines?
(Thus in our brest, some thoughts each moment
claimes,

To curbe rash joy with contemplation's raines:)
Where are all those delights in league with sense,
Which make a Heaven when here, a Hell when
hence ?

Thou who thy thoughts from no fond course reclaimes,

But do'st thy eyes with pleasant objects cloy,
And let'st thy heart have all at which it aymes,
Bent of the sonnes of men to want no joy;
Those to thy sleeping soule are all but dreames,
Which waking findes this treasure but a toy :
Thinke, thinke, when all confounded thus remaines,
If temporall joy be worth eternall paines.

Those stately townes, whose towres did brave Heaven's rounds,

Their kingdome's quintessence for wealth and skill, A state's abridgement drawn in little bounds, Which are (whil'st them guests of all lands doe fill) Mappes of the world, deduc'd from divers grounds Where all life's parts are act'd, both good and ill,

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Brave citizens which have resisted long,
Till their dismantled towne all naked stands,
And are by weakenesse left unto the strong,
All taken, kill'd, or sold (like beasts) in bands,
As bound of right to suffer all the wrong,
Of railing tongues, or of outragious hands:
They of this last assault no type can see;
Even worse then was, or can imagin'd be.

Ah! if one house when onely fir'd by chance,
Doth straight confound a city all with feare,
What minde can think, though thoughts the same

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Base miser, thou who by all meanes hast us'd,
To bruise the poore, and on their spoiles to feed,
In measure, weight, and quality abus'd,
Whil'st of all evils, dearth is the least they dread,
That wealth by thee even to thy selfe refus'd,
Which might of thousands have releey'd the
need:

Shall all in flames upbraid thee with Hell's fire,
Whose use then at thy hands-God will require.

Thou who to riches wast preferr'd from nought,
Though once but poore, contemn'd, of base degree,
For whom at length all realmes by shippes were
sought,

So that no winde could blow but serving thee,
Yet would not comfort those who starv'd in ought,
Not mindefull what thou wast, nor what to be:
As naked born, thou naked shalt returne,
Else kept to see thy wealth, thy selfe next burne.

Those stately statues which great townes doe grace,
And monuments (as rare) which mindes amaze,
The world's seven wonders, wondred at a space,
Whil'st strangers long did on their reliques gaze,
If that ere then time doe them not deface,
A little flash shall even their ruines raze,
Which onely serve to witnesse to each sight,
Their idle builder's vanity and might.

Those palaces amongst rare things enrol'd,
Which architectors' numbrous art bewray,
With interlaced roofes, emboss'd with gold,
On marbled walles which costly workes array,
Though rich without, yet worthy but to hold,
A richer riches, which within doth stay,
Past emulation, admiration's marke;
All their great pompe doth perish with a sparke.

Those second Edens, gardens of delight,
Where time's bright patron justly parts the houres,
Where men to gaze, all objects doe invite,
In alwaies lying walkes, and growing bowres,
In smelling beds with pleasure ravish'd quite,
Whil'st wandring in a labyrinth of flowers,
Where art with nature still for praise contends,
A strife though oft times judg'd, which never ends:

Where Flora's treasures with Pomona's strive,
Low shining groves with shadow'd lights above,
Whil'st art (by engines rais'd,) doth water drive,
Borne through the ayre an uncouth way to prove,
And by all sounds which creatures can contrive,
To melt in mirth, would melancholy move:
Those pleasant parts shall straight abhorr'd remaine,
As where salt sowne, or showres of brimstone raine.

Those walking worms, which (with worms' spoiles array'd)

Would purchase homage from each credulous eye,
And yet (as asses) worth an asse not weigh'd,
Whil'st having nought of worth, but what they buy,
They shall see that which so their fancies sway'd,
The Tyrian purple, and th' Assyrian dye:
Of pride the badges, and the baits of lust,
Though kept with toile from dust, all turn'd to dust.

Those glorious roomes of darkenesse, robbing night,
Where even the walls rich garments doe invest,
Where ivory beds, with gold all glancing bright,
Are made for show, as others are for rest,
And objects need to entertaine the sight,

Then every one of them to Hell repaires, Or else a greater heat doth drink up theirs.

Great monarchs, whom ambitious hopes do drive,
To raise their owne by razing others' thrones,
Who spare no wayes that there they may arrive,
Through orphan's teares, man's bloud, and woman's
grones,
[strive,
And an those earthly mindes which for th' earth
By passing bounds, and altering setled stones;
All such that day not lords of their owne grave,
Shall have no earth, nor them no earth shall have.

The Earth, as glorying in her changed state,
With face all bright with flames, seemes lightning
smiles,
Whil'st free from wounds and toils, indur'd of late,
Oft burn'd, oft freez'd, which every day defiles,
Though forc'd she must conceive (a fertile mate)
Her husband's hopes who often times beguiles.
And as she would revenge all troubles past,
She yeelds up man whom she had hid at last.

That element which, onely needing aid,
May be made more, and doth on others feed,
Whose piercing powers can in no bounds be staid;
Such bodies small that thickned rarenesse breed,
The onely essence, which can not be weigh'd,
And void of weight, doth alwayes upward speed.
That soone may seize on all when once set frée,
Which infinitly multipli'd may be.

But lest my furie be too farre declin'd,

Which lodge (since great) a seldome sleeping guest: That with the flames to flie have striv'd in vaine,

Now at this last alarme to them who live,
They then a cottage no more comfort give..

Those pretious stones which most in worth excell,
For vertue least, for vanity much sought,
Pearles, rubies, diamonds, from rocke, from shell,
Fro depths of flouds, from mountains' entrails
brought,

Made gods with men, whose Heaven is hatching Hell,
Prys'd by opinion, but by substance bought:
The sweet perfumes, and all which is esteem'd,
Wast (by the owners' wish) not once redeem'd.

That dreadfull storme as striving to begin,
Mount Etna's flames, which roare while as supprest,
And that which swallowing Nature's student in,
Did him digest, who could it not digest,
And all those hills whence streames of sulphur run,
Shall with their fires, then fortifie the rest :
Whose generall floud, whil'st it the world ore-comes,
None knowes where kindled first,nor whence it comes.

The lucrous coal (though black) a pretious stone,
Whose force as Vulcan will, makes Mars to bend,
Of Albion's jewels second unto none,
To art and nature both a speciall friend,
Then when of it the needfull use is gone;
What it maintain’d, it likewise helps to end,
And thus the Earth (though cold)with fire then stor❜d,
To burne it selfe materials doth afford.

Those bathing springs which free physitians prove,
Yet for all evils one onely cure can show,
The which may seeme whil'st boyling up above,
A part of Phlegeton ore-flow'd below:

I must a space within my selfe confin'd,
Fresh succours seek to charge of new againe ;
So great amazement hath ore-wbelm'd my minde,
That now I in an agony remaine.

But he who did in fierie tongues descend,
As through the fire, will leade me to the end.

DOOMES-DAY;

OR,

THE GREAT DAY OF THE LORD'S IVdgement.

THE FOURTH HOURE.

THE ARGUMENT.

A hideous trumpet horriblie doth sound;
Who sleep in graves a mighty voyce doth wake;
By angels (messengers) charg'd from each ground,
All flesh comes forth that ever soule did take;
Seas give account of all whom they have drown'd;
The Earth her guests long hid in haste gives backe
Those who then live are at an instant chang'd,
Though not from life, yet still from death estrang'd.

So great a power my sacred guide imparts,
That still my Muse doth raise her vent'rous flight,
Though with confusion compass'd on all parts,
My troubled thoughts dare on no object light;

But for man's health nought can from thence remove,The world by flames (a charmer) justly smarts, Where he doth dwell who would the world orethrow.

Whose ashes now seeme to upbraid my sight;

Though feares would quench those fires my breast | Such bosomes serpents nurse whose stings they try, Pride, æmulation, envy, ielousie.

that burne,

Yet I must sing, that thousands else may mourne.

To plague proud man who look'd of late aloft,
The Earth still pure, till made by him uncleane,
By whome, as fierce for blood, or by lust soft,
She (forc'd to beare) in both abus'd had beene,
Straight (as a strumpet prostituted oft)
Now by her lovers naked shall be seene;
An odious masse (even in her owners' eyes)

(As bruis'd by thunder) whilst she with'red lyes.

Now of all states the fatall period comes,

As prick'd with thorne some in their beds doe roule, Whilst charg'd with thoughts, which but their cares abuse,

And make that mettall idols of their soule;
Which in a calfe the lewes great Iudge did bruise;
Their greedy course whilst nothing can controule,
Though having more then they themselves can
use;

Like them who drinke more then they can digest,
Who keepe the appetite, but not the taste.

Which showes how time was short, world's great- The Devill in darkenesse held most powerfull still,

nesse small;

Fierce Vulcan's fury Neptune's so orecomes,
That not one drop remaines to weepe his fall;
Loe, all the world one continent becomes,
Whereas save man no creature lives at all;
The sea to earth, the earth all turnes to fire,
A monstrous comet threatning coming ire.

O! what a vault I see of angels' wings,
Whose greater brightnesse makes the fires decline!
A glorious guard fit for the King of kings,
Whilst they (like rayes) about that Sunne doe shine.
But, O! his presence (past expressing) brings
A reall glory all in all divine;

All as from darkenesse looke upon this light,
Whilst flames (as mysts) doe flie before his sight.

Those blessed bands in state of grace which stood, ~(As ministers admitted unto God)

To mortalls sometime which tould tidings good,
And oft did strike with indignation's rod;
They, who till com'd, this time not understood,
With Christ arise all ready at his nod;

And free from envy which did marre their mates,
Doe seeke with joy the partners of their states.

The dregs of Adam's race shall soone disclose
What God's decree involv'd in clouds doth keepe,
That time, that time, which must confound all those,
Whose thoughts are plung'd in pleasure's ground-
lesse deepe,

Even then perchance (that nature may repose)
When all the senses buried are in sleepe;
Ah! how those eyes unclos'd amaz'd remaine,
Which from that time should never close againe.

O ten times curst! whom Christ that time shall finde,
Still hatching evill, defrauding Nature's due,
Whilst darkenesse makes the eyes (though open)
blinde,

And makes the minde what it affects to view, Which (wing'd with thoughts) fare swifter then the winde,

Though (still confin'd) doth all, over all, pursue;
What doubtfull projects flote within his brest,
Who dreames yet sleepes not, lyes, but doth not
rest.

When that crown'd bird which Peter's braggs did

scorne

(As still a friend to light) seemes to cite light,
Some more conceive then ever could be borne,
Whilst big with monsters of imagin'd might,
And 'aiery names with shadowes to adorne,
Doe build high hopes which fall, ere at the height;

Some when retir'd imagine mischiefe strange,
And to shed blood doe dedicate their will,
Whilst tortur'd with a fury of revenge;
More guilty he who in his heart doth kill,
Although his course (if disappointed) change;
Then he who doth by chance one's death pro-
cure,

"No member guilty, if the minde be pure.”
Though beds should be as private graves for rest,
While as death's image doth seize living dust,
Yet some (runne mad) as raging in a pest,
Voluptuouslie their fancies surfet must,
A filthie fury poysoning the brest,
With strange delights of a prodigious lust;
The which whilst walking so corrupts their will,
That when they sleepe, it doth delude them still.

Not onely shall this sudden charge surprise,
Such in their sinnes as do from God rebell,
But even all those who evils by night devise,
As loving darknesse, shall in darknesse dwell:
Who with a conscience calme all feares despise,
Not having hope of Heaven, nor feare of Hell:
Such to an owle make God inferiour be,
As if by night, night's maker nought could see.

Wing'd messengers may then even some arrest,
Who, rioting till quite exhausted all,

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(Whil'st in their vomits wallowing they rest)
From men to beasts, from beasts to nought do
fall:

Those dead (though living) who can but deteste,
As Nature's monsters mankinde to appall?
In them who have their reason drown'd in wine,
No sparke of God's, nor Nature's light doth shine.

Some rating pleasure at too high a price,
Who with the light do lay all shame aside,
Do prostitute their souls to every vice;
If not then free (by beastlinesse) from pride;
Then their whole states oft venture on the dice,
As who in nought but fortune do confide;
By many odious oath such mock God's might,
True works of darkenesse worthy of the night.

Fond worldlings there involv'd in vaine delight,
Who to the senses fraile indulgent are,
And (as soft sounds the courage do favite)
With measur'd madnesse march upon the aire;
Whil'st from themselves by pleasure ravish'd quite,
What it provokes no kinde of sport they spare;
Their eares attending musick's soule to have,
Of this dread blast the first assault receive.

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