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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
Their hatefull stocke grew to a world of men,
This was this age that Caine did live some say,
When then began his fatell lowring day,
For justice alwayes in mans life or death,
Will yet at length her flaming sword unsheath,
Lamech the fifth, from his own bloud descended,
With one hard blow his vitall life straight ended:
Just judgement of the Highest ever still,
To make the blind to execute his will,
That though man runs unpunisht all his dayes,
Yet in the end he payes him many wayes,
And when the least of all his time he thinkes,
Then is he caught, under Gods vengence sinkes.

124.
For as the Rabbyes of the Jewes do tell,
This monster Caine about these parts did dwell,
And was the first that ever city built,
Led thereunto by his fowle murthering guilt,
More to secure him in so strong a wall,
And shun the curse than anything at all,
Even where sinne most of all the Earth was bred,
He layes him downe and makes that place his bed,
There wallow es, tumbles, spends his aged dayes,
In wicked workes ten thousand kind of wayes;
When at the last he for a beast was slaine,
By Heavens just act in trecherous Tubal-Caine,
Guiding the hand of Lamech being blind,
To murther Caine against his fathers mind,
And Tubal Caine had his just guerdon paid,
For Lamech struck him that all dead he laid,
His bleeding corps upon the cold greene ground,
What they wrought others, they themselves have
found.

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,
May see their ruines in Caines wofull case.

126.
You cities all, how were you framed at first ?
But in the sin of wicked Caine accurst,
Was not your morter tempered with the bloud,
And slaughter vile of righteous Abel good?
Is not the Earth her bowels rent and torne,
Your walls to build and lofty towers adorne ?
Great Thetis lap is all beflic't and cut,
To bring forth treasures in your wombs to put,
The lofty Cedars, Timber Trees of worth,
Are hack’t downe flat, and level'd with the Earth,
Base gold and silver that many mind appals,
Where doth it nest but in your cankred walls ?
How are your streetes with Paracides bepestered,
With noisome air (contagious) fowly festered,
So baneful growne, that from you, all or some,
Hels antechrist the Prince of Devils shall come.

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,
To heare Heavens birds to chirp ten thousand

noates,
About the woods on every side along,
Sweete Nightingales to warble forth their song,
The Linnet, Larke, the Blackbird, Thrush and

all, How night and day their smooth sweet tunes do

call,
Melodiously unto the God of fame,
To sound forth prayses to his glorious naine,
And where our Grandsire Adam last was left
When Caine his brother of his life bereft.

129.
Whether the soule of Habels body slaine,
By the curst hand of treacherous damnd Caine,
His Genius spirit angell, bloud, or Saint,
Or God himself did Adam first acquaint,
With the sad news of this so vile a deede,
Or that suspicion in his breast might breede,
Abroad he walkes, and finds the bleeding quarre,
Of Habell slaine under a fatal star
Weepes and laments, grieves to have lost his sonne,
Caine, daughter, Brother all of them undone,
He loving father piles a wondrous heape,
(Colossus like) of massy stones not cheape,
And with much care his dying name to save
Builds a heigh mount upon his crimson grave.

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,

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