Rapt up a life within a flaming cart,
His coat imblaz'd with bleading heart,
When Jesabel the monster of her sexe,
His harmless soul upon the earth did vexe
Her Prophets false to Babylon that ran,
He quite consum'd, and scarcely left a man
To carry newes of that unwonted fire,
Which fell upon them at his just desire.
That Cherubim upon the right hand plact
Which time himselfe hath with his favour gract,
In all the world how well I may compare,
To azed Henoch walking in the air
Within whose days when God his body rapt
Above the clouds in innocency lapt,
Before such time as Moses Law was gaved,
By Mercy only all the world was saved.
The other damsel which my pen doth lim,
The sweetest last and loveliest Churubim,
That time himself upon the left hand set,
And which my Muse can never well forget,
If that we read the holy sacred booke
How near her person (all divine) doth looke.
To that Desciple which the rest survived
In Pathmos Isle into the heavens arriv’d:
Ravisht in spirit on a sacred day,
Within a coffin did his body lay,
And round about a light there shined bright,
The Coffin caught quite out of all their sight.
The lesson still that he did ever preach,
Both in his life, and by example teach,
In all his workes like to the turtle Dove,
Throughout his bookes was little else but love.
That Cherubin which stood before the face
Of sacred Justice in that reverent place:
Like to an infant that his nurse doth weane,
Whose face is smiling, fingers ends are cleane.
All full of truth, not knowing how to faine,
Dissemble falsly all the world to gaine.
How well I may compare her settled look
To Gods eternal ever blessed booke.
These Cherubins all glorious to behold,
Surpassing farre the purest burnisht gold:
The radiant splendor of whose sacred rays,
Resemble those adorn'd within our days,
Justice divine, much like to God himself
That scorneth bribing and all ill got pelfe,
And shewes by judgements feareful past
examples,
How all the world under his feete he tramples.
Mercy again much like to Christ his Son,
That hath the crowne of glory for us won,
And from the heavens descended to the Earth,
To make us happy in his welcome birth,
Whose panting soul had never minutes rest,
Suffring those torments not to be exprest,
Surpassing farre the greatest learned wits,
To see how he at Gods right hand now sits,
Triumphing over sin, world, death and hell,
In joyes eternall which no tongue can tell
Thrice ever blessed be his glorious name,
It was his mercy made him do the same.
Then Charity much like the God of love,
I mean no Cupids which to folly move,
But that great spirit ere the world was made,
Upon the waters through the deep did wade,
By whom the vergin happily conceived,
To bring forth him that Justice wrath appeased,
When afterwards by Jordans silver sides,
From Lebanon to Sodoms lake that glides,
Along the plaines where Jesus was baptized
The holy Ghost in shape of dove disguised
Heavens windows ope, thus speaketh in their sight,
This is my Son in whom I take delight.
When all was finisht, and to heaven Christ went,
Then downe came he to give us all content:
As Justice, Mercy, both with Love are linck't
So God is one, the Persons three distinckt.
These altogether as the heavens decree'd,
The tree of Life protect from Adams seede,
The world itself with wonderment fill,
Their meate is knowne to do their fathers will,
Who all this while is with their Sisters sweete,
His eldest daughter as 'twas ever meete.
When Time had done, discharged full his due
Above the clouds up to the Heavens God flew,
Where he remains leaving the world and all,
Which ever yet was known upon this ball,
To the protection of that noble Dame,
That to the Earth with love her Sister came,
So well affected, labouring what she can,
That all her care is but for sinfull man,
Let him his mind to goodnesse always bend,
And nature ever is his loving friend.
Great God of heaven, now is thy Justice showne,
Thy love and mercy with thy nature knowne,
Time hath thy face and glorious brow es unmaskt,
And thus at first my Rurall Muse hath task't,
Heere brought forth truth from her hath never
sturd:
Reveal'd the same wrapt in thy holy word,
Of Paradise the sacred curtaine drawne,
The Sabaoth shew'd, on no man's vice doth fawne,
Of all the world hath sung the first beginning,
Told Adams faults and Eves offensive sinning,
Their seede defac't in breaking of thy lawes,
And heere I'll stay, and sit me downe and pause.
THE END OF THE FIRST AGE.
BY THOMAS PEYTON, OF LINCOLNES INNE, GENT.
LONDON: Printed by BERNARD ALSOP, for LAWRENCE CHAPMAN, and are to be sold at his Shop
over against Staple Inne.
JOHN B. ALDEN, PUBLISHER.
PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY,
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