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Oh my Offence is rank! it smells to Heav’n ;
It basike primal eldest Curse 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'ness bound,
I stand in Pause where I shall first begin,
And both neglect : What if this curled Hand
Were thicker than it self with Brother's Blood,
Is there not Rain enough in the sweet Heav'ns,
To wash ie White as Snow? Whereto ferves Mergy,
But to confront the Visage of Offence ?
And what's in Prayer but this twofold Force,
To be forestalled 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 serve my Turn ? Forgive me my foul Murther!
That cannot be, since I am still possess’d
Of those Effects for which I did the Murther !
My Crown, my own Ambition, and my Queen.
May one be pardon'd, and retain th'Offence ? Shak. Hams.
No! while our former Flames remain within,
Repentance is but want of Pow'r to fin. Dryd. Pal. Arc
In the corrupted Currents of this World,
Offence's gilded Hand may shove by Justice :
And oft 'tis seen, the wicked Prize it self
Buys out the Law : But 'tis not so above.
There is no Shuffing, there the Action lies
In its true Nature, and we our selves compelld
Ev'n to the Teeth and Forehead of our Faults,
To give in Evidence: What then ? What rests ?
Try what Repentance can! what can it not ?
Yet what can it, when one cannot repent ?
Oh wretched State! Oh Bosom black as Death!
Oh limed Soul! that, struggling to be free,
Art more ingag'd : Help, Angels! make Effay!
Bow stubborn Knees, and Heart with Strings of Steel,
Be soft as Sinews of the new-born Babe.
All may be well.
For true repentance never comes too late ;
Alloon as born, ihe makes herself a Shrowd,
The weeping Mantle of a fleecy Cloud;
And swift as Thought her airy Journey takes,
Her Hand Heav'n's Azure Gate with trembling strikes,
The Stars do with Amazement on her Look,
She tells her Story in so sad a Tone,
That Angels frart from Bliss, and give a Groan. Lee Mas. of Par.
So cheers some pious Saint a dying Sinner, Who trembled at the Thoughts of Pains to come, With Heav'ns Forgiveness, and the Hopes of Mercy: Ac length the Tumult of his Soul appeas'd, And ev'ry Doubt and anxious Scruple eas'd, Boldly he proves the dark uncertain Road; The Peace his holy Comforter bestow'd, Guides and protects him like a Guardian God. Roro. Tamerl.
REPUTATION. Good Name in Man or Woman, Is the immediate Jewel of our Souls. Who steals my Purse steals Trash; 'tis something, nothing; 'Twas mine, 'cis his, and has been Slave to thousands: But he that filches from me my good Name, Robs me of that which not enriches him, And makes me poor indeed.
Shak. Othel. RESURRECTION. Th'Arch-Angel's Trumpet shakes the trembling Ground: The startled Dead awaken at the Sound; The Grave resigns her antient Spoils, and all Death's adamantine Prisosis burst and fall : The Souls that did their forc'd Departure mourn, To the fame Bodies with swift Flight return. The crowding Atoms re-unite apace, All without Tumult know and take their Place: Th'assembled Bones leap quick into their Frame, And the warm Blood renews a brighter Flame. The quicken’d Dust feels fresh and youthful Heats, While its old Task the beating Heart repeats. The Eyes, enliven’d with new vital Light, Open, admiring whence they had their Sight. The Veins too twine their bloody Arms around The Limbs, and with red leaping Life abound. Hard-twisted Nerves new-brace, and faster bind The close-knit Joints, no more to be disjoin'd. Strong new-fpun Threads immortal Muscles make, That justly fix'd, their antient Figure take. Brisk Spirits take their upper Seats, and darc Thro’ their known Channels thence to ev'ry Part. The Men now draw their long forgotten Breath, And striving, break th'unweildy Chains of Death. Victorious Life to ev'ry Grave resorts, And rifles Death's inliofpirable Courts : Its Vigour through those dark Dominions spread, From all cheir gloomy Mansions frees the Dead.
Now ripe Conceptions through the Earth abound,
And new-sprung Men stand thick on all the Ground.
The Sepulchres are quick, and ev'ry Tomb
Labours with Life, and grows a fruitful Womb.
Whom Thunder's dismal Noise,
And all that Prophets and Apostles louder fpake,
And all the Creatures plain conspiring Voice,
Could not, whilst they liv'd a wake ;
This mightier Sound Ihall make,
When dead arise :
And open Tombs, and open Eyes,
To the long Sluggards of five chousand Years ;
This mightier Sound Thall make its Hearers Ears.
Then Thall the scatter'd Atoms crowding come
Back to their antient Home ;
.Some from Birds, from Fishes fome,
Some from Earth, and some from Seas,
Some from Beasts, and some from Trees,
Some descend from Clouds on high,
Some from Metals upward fly,
And where th’arrending Soul naked and liv'ring stands,
Meet, falute, and join their Hands;
As dispers’d Soldiers at the Trumpet's Call,
Haste to their Colours all ;
Unhappy moft, like tortur'd Men,
Their Joints new-fer, to be new.rack'd agen:
To Mountains they for Shelter pray,
(Cowl. The Mountains íhake, and run about no less confus'd than they.
As compass'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 loses, while in vain he presses on,
Nor will his Courage let him dare to run:
So Turntus fares; and, unrefolv'd of Flight,
Moves tardy back, and just recedes from Fight :
Dildains to yield,
And with flow Paces measures back the Field,
And inches to the Walls
Exalted Socrates ! divinely brave!
Injur'd he fell, and dying he forgave :
He drank che poys'nous Draught
With Mind frene, and could not wish to see
His vile Accuftr drink as deep as he.
Too noble for Revenge! which still we find
The weakest Frailty of a feeble Mind..
Degenerous Passion, and for Man too base,
It seats its Empire in the female Race;
There rages, and to make its Blow secure,
Puts Flatt’ry on until its Aim be fure.
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 dissembling while
he waits his Prey,
His fearless Foes within his Distance draws,
Constrains 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 passes o'er and spares,
But with a lordly Rage his Hunters tears. Dryd. Abl. d Achit.
Revenge is but a Frailty incident
To craz'd and sickly Minds ; the poor Content
Of little Souls, unable to surmount
An Injury, too weak to bear Affront.
Now might I do it; now he is praying,
And now I'll do it, and so he goes to Heav'n!
And so I am reveng'd ? That would be scann'd.
A Villain kills my Father, and for that
I his foul Son do this fame Villain send
To Heav'n! O this is Hire and Sallary, not Revenge.
He took my Father grofly, full of Bread,
With all his Crimes broad blown, and fresh as May;
And how his Audit stands, who knows fave Heav'n?
But in our Circumstance and Course 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 season'd for his Passage ?
No! up Sword, and know thou a more horrid Bent:
When he is drunk, asleep, or in his Rage,
Or in th’incestuous Pleasure of his Bed,
At gaming, swearing, or about some Act
That has no Relish of Salvation in it;
Then trip him that bis Heels may kick at Heav'n,
And that his Soul may be as damn'd and black
As Hell, whereto it goes. Then I with Wings as swift
As Meditation, or the Thoughts of Love,
Will fweep to my Revenge.
Shak. Haml. A base Revenge is Vengeance on my self. Dryd. Don Seb.
Revenge, at first tho’ sweet, Bitter e'er long back on it self recoils.
For Rhetorick, he could not ope
His Mouth, but out there flew a Trope :
And when he happen'd to break off
I'th Middle of his Speech, or cough,
H'ad Words ready to sew why,
And tell what Rules he did it by.
Elfe when with greatest Art he spoke,
You'd think he talk'd like other Folk.
For all a Rhetorician's Rules,
Teach nothing but to name his Tools.
Rhyme the Rudder is of Verfes,
With which, like Ships, they steer their Courses. Hud.
And those who write in Rhyme, still make
The one Verse for the other's sake;
For one for Sense and one for Rhyme,
I think's sufficient for one time.
Greatness of Mind and Fortune too,
Both their several Parts must do,
In the noble Chace of Fame ;
This without that is blind, that without this is láme.
Nor is fair Virtue's Picture seen aright,
But in Fortune's golden Light.
Riches alone are of uncertain Date ;
And on shore Man long cannot wait.
The Virtuous make of them the best, And put them out to Fame for Interest ;
With a frail Good they wisely buy The folid Purchase of Eternity.
Cowl. Pind. 'Tis Madness sure Treasures to hoard, And make them useless as in Mines remain, To lose th'Occafion Fortune does afford, Fame and publick Love to gain.
Coml, Pind. Of all the Vows the first and chief Request Of each, is to be richer than the reft: And yet no Doubts the poor Man's Draught controul, He dreads no Poyson in his homely Bowl : Then fear the deadly Drug, when Gems divine Enchase the Cup, and sparkle in the Wine. The fearful Paffenger who travels late, Charg'd with the Carriage of a paltry Plate, Shakijac the Moon-fhine Shadow of a Ruth, And íem a Red-Coat rise from ev'ry Bush. The Beggar lings, ev'n when he sees the Place Beset with Thieves, and never mends his Pace,