Alas weak man, hadst thou in honour stood
How heavenly blest, thrice happy been thy blood?
And all thy aged issue to this day
Had liv'd secure, as in the month of May.
What need had we, that any should have died
Upon the Cross, our sinful souls reviv'd?
And that Messiahs, God himself the son,
Should here descend to put our nature on,
To live dejected, poore, contemn'd, forlorn'd,
Derided, beate, tost upside down and scorn'd.
And more, to bear for this thy woful fall,
Than ever man which lived upon this ball.
Curst be that Devill that first thy sense belied;
If thou hadst lived, then we had never died.
Oh God! to purchase with that bloody cost,
Our soules redeem'd when they were fully lost.
Here is a love which farre surmounts the skies,
My senses wrapts and dazles both mine eyes.
But tell me Adam, what might be the cause
That thou shouldst break thy holy Makers lawes.
When of a thousand which might make us weepe,
In all the world thou hadst but one to keepe,
And that but light? Alas couldst thou not see,
But touch and taste that one forbidden tree,
Which in the midst of all the garden grew,
An ill known tree to make thy off-spring rue?
What pleasant taste or relish had the same?
How were thy senses dim'd and much to blame,
That had the Garden sole at thy command
And all the fruits within thy sight to stand:
Farre better, pure, more daintier every way,
Than such an apple painted like a gay :
Fit for a woman or some lickorish foole,
A silly child, or one that goes to schoole.
Thy wilfull, foul, absurd and gross abuse,
Against thy God, admits no just excuse,
Tis not the losse of one poor Apple mist
That thou didst grapple in thy sinfull fist,
Could be the cause his anger to procure,
Fierce heavy wrath eternal to endure.
It was not that he did so much respect,
But thy foul error, wilfull, bad neglect :
Contempt of him, rebellion, treason, pride;
And all the sins within the world beside,
That linked were within thy fault at first,
Chain'd to thy act, and in thy folly nurst.
What may we think of that ambitious Pope, Which dar'd to scoffe under heavens glorious
Against that God, that in his sacred frown
Turns up his heels, and hurles his pride soon down?
When having miss'd a simple childish toy,
A Peacock bird which seem'd his only joy.
Distempered much began in heat to chide,
That few men could his holy presence bide.
And afterward asham'd of what was past,
To shew his chollor not long time did last;
Excused himself, that he might angry be,
As well for that, as was the Trinitie.
When discontented for an apple lost,
Both Eve and Adam to their pain and cost,
From Paradise were thrust quite out and beaten,
And much disgrac'd for one poor Apple eaten.
Now tell me Rome, that thinkst thyself the minion,
Christs only Vicar in thine owne opinion?
And shouldst his sheep still to this day have fed : Where was thy Church when Julius was thy head?
Thy Papacy I may not here dispute,
As yet my tongue must of that thing be mute.
And back to Adam whence I last digrest
Too fortunate my Muse had been and blest,
Had it but sung thy first estate and all,
And never known the horror of thy fall.
A greater love on man was never shewn,
Nor on the Earth as yet was ever known,
Then all the world to be at thy command,
Still to this day to serve thy turn and stand:
All that again, for this he did require,
To keep the Garden that was his desire,
At other times to his immortall fame,
That thou shouldst praise his glorious holy name.
Here was thy calling (Adam) naught; beside,
His owne example must thy actions guide.
Sixe dayes to worke, to till that holy ground;
And in the Seventh, thy Makers prayers
sound.
For as at first, thou wast a body framed;
So time and place himself he hath ordain'd,
Design'd, appointed for his service pure,
Not for a day, but ever to endure.
By this thou knowst that he thy person blest,
To give thee then his holy sacred rest,
And sanctifie the Sabaoth to thy good;
Aye to be kept in all thy future blood.
Those that refuse to keepe his Sabaoth holy,
Gods owne example may convince of folly.
But soft, I hear some Laodicean make,
Even Sinon like, the ground of all to shake.
To stay my pen with such a question strange;
As first from Rome, now o'er the world doth
range.
How God could rest, which never wrought as
For he that workes, his labour must be great
To frame a matter of so huge a worth,
As is the fabrick of the spatious Earth,
The sea and Heavens, the Firmaments and all,
Which ever yet within thy sight could fall.
Oh righteous God that sinfull man should make,
Within his mouth thy holy world to take:
And by the same thy sacred actions taxe,
To wring them now like to a nose of wax.
To make a doubt and question of that Rest,
Which to the world for ever thou hast blest.
Tis true, I know when God first fram'd the world,
The waters all within their limits curled,
The Firmaments and every living thing,
Out from the dust he then did Adam bring:
Made him a man, a demi-God in birth,
Plac'd him his Vice-roy here upon the Earth.
And by his power all sacred and Divine,
So framed the world as if he had wrought by line,
Set all in order working in their time,
Like to the wheels within a clock or chime,
To serve the turn of Adam and his race,
And all these made but full in six days space.
Then did he rest and sate himself down to view, And to the heavens up again he flew:
And from the work which by his word he wrought,
In sixe days space, and seeing none was nought,
But from creating any further matter,
He only ceas'd and lest the same might scatter,
And so return to what it was at first,
His providence his works hath ever nurst:
Aye by his power, his wisdome and his might,
The Heavens and Earth are governed aright.
He worketh still preserving what was made,
Far more than can by any man be said:
His arms supporting all this weighty ball,
Else would the same dissolve againe and fall.
O God thy rest hath ever been admired,
Seene of thy Saints, and of my soul desired!
The Pagan people to this day that slept
In ignorance, have yet a Sabaoth kept!
The Jew at first with Manna wondrous fed,
His Sabaoth kept by thy example led:
Though now in error great he snores and sleeps,
The Saturday his Sabaoth still he keepes.
No Christian State is so uncivil rude,
But keeps thy rest as thou hast him endued: With grace and goodness from the Prince of Peace,
The Sunday he from all Worlds worke doth
Led thereunto by that all rising Son,
On Easter day, that rose again and won
The eternal crown in Paradise first lost
A bloody prize to his great pain and cost.
Besides the examples of thy dearest saints,
Thine institution and the holy plaints,
Of all th' apostles, famous men and Martyrs,
In all the world within her utmost quarters:
Which ever used to preach thy word and pray,
And sanctifie the sacred Sabaoth day.
The Ethiopian, lest he should offend
To break thy rest in superstition pend,
The Saturday and Sunday both he keeps,
And in those days he often prays and weeps,
That thou wouldst pardon all his former sins,
There is his rest, his happinesse begins:
In childish toys, in gaming, sports and plays,
He spends small time but keeps his Sabaoth
days.
Their royal Queene which came so many miles
(With cunning questions, witty speeches, wiles)
To tempt, to hear and see the courtly guise,
The wit and words of Solomon the wise,
May rise in judgement at that dreadful hour,
When Christ may also on our faces lower,
That more respect our pleasures work and play,
Than him to serve upon his sacred day.
What shall we think when Christ the Lord of
Which shed his blood to end our mortal strife?
Shall speake these words out of his holy lips.
And not a word as yet that ever slips :
But still hath been most weighty powerful round,
One jot thereof hath never fell to th' ground.
When he himself shall thus pick out their Prince,
To warn us all our follys to convince,
May we not think as well he meant her land,
Now at this day as it is known to stand,
Shall likewise rise at his last trump and call,
To stain our lives and shame our actions all.
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