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Or shivering, shaking of his sturdy joints,
95. Ah cursed Caine the scourge of all thy race, Now thou hast got a blacke and murdering face, For God above (in justice) hath ordaind, Thy offspring all should to this day be stained, Unto the griefe and terror of their soules, For laying Habel in cold dusty moulds, No other cause the world could ever tell, To make them looke as if they came from Hell, Amongst the devils at every step to start, The fatal place where thou (vile wretch) now art.
96. Some have alledg’d out of their brains and wit, The sun himselfe to be the cause of it, That in the hot and torrid burning Zone, Under the line there Phaeton alone Must drive his cart and team a little higher, Or else again the world would be on fire, The heate extreme their bodyes doth inflame, Their flesh it parches, and their stomackes tame, Their blood it dries, their humors all adust, As if their skin were overgrowne with rust :
If this be true, how is it that there bee
98. And other men have other reasons found To shew the cause which to like
sound : There be that say, the dryness of the soil, May be the cause that doth their bodies soil, To make them look worse than a Colliers Elfe, Much like the Devil and cursed Cain himselfe, From top to toe, from head unto the foot, As if with grease they were besmeard and soot.
99. Unto such men I would but know and try, If the Libian desarts be far more dry, Whose people parch't, the very sun doth roast, Yet are they white or tawny at the most, The want of water with the Sun and sand, May be the cause that they so much are tanned: But yet in negro land the people have, Of water store in every ditch and cave : For Niger great, even from his very source, Just through the midst hath ever kept his course, And all the land on every side and round, Even like to Niles overflowes the ground, The drinesse of their reason we may wave, Because tis known they water plenty have.
100. Those that ascribe it proper to the Earth, And see us there even from our birth,
How we and they are born within one place,
102. Others there be above the clouds do fly, To search the secrets of their destiny, Whose wits and learning sure must wander farre, To a constellation or some fixed starre, I would the cause they would unto us teach, And not to flye so farre above our reach, Until which time I shall be well content, To think it was Gods righteous punishment, On Cursed Caine, and all his offspring lewd, For doing that which I before have shew'd.
103. I must confess
upper face, Of this wide Ball almost in every place, Variety we see in strange attire, Complexion, Colour, Nature and Desire, Shape, gesture, face, the belly, limbs and back, But none more differ than the white from black, The Indian born there where the Sun doth rise, Is palest, ashey, with redflaming eyes, The American which we but late have seene, Is Olive coloured of a sad French green, The Libian dusky in his parched skin, The Moor all tawny both without and in, The Southern man, a black deformed Elfe, The Northern white like unto God himselfe:
And thus we see, even still upon the Earth,
105. So hath Damascus seldome beene at rest, Whose fatall name bewrayes her bloudy brest, When Benhadad, Hazael, Rezin, fierce, The scarlet sinewes of her Heart did pierce, There were the Titans murthered by the Blade, Of Jupiter, that all their army laid, In such a sleepe as till the Earth be shak't, By powre divine will never more be wak’t, Great Babilon, the Tyrant of the East, The Saracens and Egypt in her pierst, Brave Pompey wan it in sad mournfull sort, And Tamberlaine, he made them all amort; Jerusalem, which lov’d her deerly well, Even in her streets hath told her passing Bell. Haalon, the Tartar in his lowring warre, Within her bowels made a fearful skarre: The Persian, Grecian, Christian, Romane last, The crual Turkes have all their fortunes cast, And fill'd the ayre with pitteous shreikes and
grones, Piling up heapes of dead mens skuls and bones, As if the place where Habels bloud was laid, The burial ground of all the world were made. Even as the bloud of deere Adonis slaine, By cruell Mars, faire Venus love to gaine,
Stain'd all the ground, bedyde the crimson grave,
of that detested fact,
106. Ah dearest muse, here in this world of woes, Mongst Tigres fell, and cruell barbarous foes, Frodigeous men, (inhumain) in their minds, Devouring Beasts that all to powlder grinds The Infants face, the Innocent to hurt, The Lambe to teare, and throw him in the durt. How blest are we, which have such wholesome