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Tels her his face was nothing else but tan'd, With walking much about his new plow'd land : And that the colour of his face which lay, Would cleane be washt and skored all away.
121. She him beleives, and so from thence they went, Like Vagabonds without a passport sent: Roming about until at last they found, A pleasant, sweet, delicious, dainty ground, Just to the East, hard to the lowring face Of sacred justice in that orient place. Far from their friends, their country and their God, To live with ease within the Land of Nod.
122. Heere first they stayd, and to secure their state, They built a house of Timber, stones and slate, Turfe, Morter, Durt, and every thing they finde, They pile up close to keepe off showers and winde, And at the length as if they were afraid, That afterwards their lives might be betrayd, By savage beasts, inhumane monsters fell, Such as himselfe hath hatch't below in Hell, Revengefull Tyrants, murthering men and all, About his house he builds a spacious wall, And in the same he lives for many years His conscience stuft with horrour, drad and fears.
123. At length his wife brings forth her first borne
child, A bloudy Elfe, deformed, fowle and wilde, Like to the sire, so is his picture drawne, Brought up to sweare, cheate, couzen lye and
fawne, No God to know, his tongue to curse and fret, With envious face, for like doth like beget, And he again his sister rude doth take, Makes choyce of her to be his only snake, That she and he and all the rest beside, Which in that place within the walls did bide : The cursed spawne of Caines adulterous race, Did in short time so overswarme the place, With multitudes of that incestuous rout, Poligamy from this vile race sprang out,
That in seven hundred twenty yeares and ten
125. The city Caine by Henochs name did call, His eldest sonne whom most he loved of all, Some say the same by Libanus was fram’d But afterwards by others (Oenus nam’d) And some affirme the building Jesca leid, Great Jebab manly were his only deede, And Tehe, Celet, cities sixe in number, Were raiz'd by him with such a world of lumber,
As in our dayes those that behold the place,
127. So Babilon the Tyrant of the Earth, And Rome Usurper since her Popish birth, How were they built but in the crimson gore, Of thrice ten millions of mens soules and more, Nimrod the hunter of Gods fearful flock, First rais'd that Tower which seem'd to heavens
to mock By tyranizing on the feeble weake, As in my worke hereafter I shall speake And Romulus the monster of his age How did he murther in his barberous rage, His brother Remus, in whose scarlet bloud, Rome first was built by Tybers treacherous flood, And since the sink of superstition made, For every wretch within her walls to trade, Idoll of Nature sprang at first from hell, As afterwards I shall have cause to tell.
128. But what make we (dear Muse) within the walls, Of traiterous Townes and citties ful of braules, Where nothing favours wholesome, sweete and
faire But earthly bad to putrifie the ayre,
Let us retire into the Country coates,
all, How night and day their smooth sweet tunes do
130. From thence as one distracted for the time, With deepe conceit of this so foule a crime, Surcharg'd with sorrow, overgrowne with griefe, He hates the place as author of it chiefe, And with his wife and all his children left, He bids adieu unto the ground and wept, Travels along like to a Pilgrim poore, Or as a Hermit with small little store; Till at the last, it was their chance to stay, In Canaan, and there their bones to lay, As in this rugged, ragged, rurail verse, I hope ere long (divinely) to reherse.
131. But sacred Muse, here we must stay awhile, And with Sethes birth the posting time beguile, That sweet born babe of Heaven itself befriended, From whom the Church is lineally descended, Just at a hundred twenty years and ten Of Adams age into this world of men, He was begat, tipe of that promist Lambe, To save the world, into the world first came, Preaching repentance all our lives to mend, Whose Government shall never Earthly end, Untill the Trumpet in the skyes shall sound, To summon soules from their dead sleepe i’ th’ ground:
132. How did the Heavens even in his infant birth, Rejoyce and dance about the Ball i' th’ earth, Melodiously their sacred organs went, To see young Seth into the world thus sent, In minor yeeres their fortunes on him showred, And on his head their deerest blessings powred, Enduing him with towardnes and wit, That on his temples all the Arts did sit; About his browes the Lawrell wreath have wound, As the first man that ever letters found, How did the Saints at this thy fortune smile, True Isralite in whom there is no guile.
133. Thy manly dayes they were not oversway’d, With fond conceits but in Religion stay’d, Envy, opression, Lust, and Ravine base, Within thy heart could never find a place, Nor yet the thought of any deede unkind, Could once be found to liarbour in thy mind, But full of peace like to thy father deere, Or God himselfe in all his works most cleare, So art thou blest to bring forth such a Sonne, From whom the Church successively must runne, True Picture of thy Body, mind and thought, Enoch the man to God himself that brought, The sacred fock which wandering almost lame, And taught them first to call upon his name,