Or shivering, shaking of his sturdy joints,
That every way his body reels and points,
Feares, quivers, trembles in that dradful case,
As most of us have seen before our face:
Or some such thing apparent to each eye,
That every man may his foul fact espy,
Yet what it was, who found this vast abbisse,
When reason blind leades every man amisse.
Tis true, the world in every states Dominion,
Is now of this, and then of that opinion;
For none alive (which on the Earth do dwell)
Can shew what 'twas, or yet for certain tell,
But by conjecture (likeliest) to be guest,
The ground and sum of all mens judgements best,
Reveald by study in the arts divine,
To all the sisters, learned muses nine,
That Cains most feareful punishment and marke, For raking up his brother in the darke:
Was that his skin was all to blacknesse turn'd, Like to a coale within the fire half burnd.
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.
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
In Africa, America to see
Under the line both people white and faire,
As many men that now in Europe are,
There borne and bred by courteous natures lawes, A pregnant signe that cannot be the cause.
Againe, the Sun with labour great and paine,
If that the line but once he doth attaine
Though to the earth he seemeth somewhat nigher
Yet in his spheare he's mounted farre more higher,
More temperate there, the people live and well,
Than do the men under the Tropicks dwell,
And twice a yeere he useth there to burne,
When once a yeere (i' th' Tropicks) serves his turne.
And other men have other reasons found
To shew the cause which to like purpose 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.
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.
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, And we are white, and they are black and base, May sit them downe and well may take a pause, To think with us that cannot be the cause.
And some there be which to this day affirme,
That 'tis the blacknesse of the Parents sperm,
To be the cause and for a ground it take,
But how came they so close a search to make?
If it be black, which some men have denied,
How came it so imprinted on their hide,
That in their youth just in their prime and bud,
Then is their skin as red as any blood?
And in their age when perish't is their sight,
From top to toe they are all yellow quight,
And if you try to throw one in a ditch,
To wash him white, hee'll stay as black as pitch. 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.
I must confess upon the 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,
God shewes his workes both in our lives and birth.
The fatal place where Habels blood was shed,
Is call'd Damascus, Arams chiefest head,
Gem of the Earth, the eye of all the East,
Pearle of the world, where Jupiter did rest,
In Siria Land, the goodliest citty seene,
And sister to (Jerusalem) the Queene,
Sweete Parragon, a royall Empresse borne,
That all the world with glory didst adorne,
Until the second Habels deerest bloud,
Ran downe thy streets like to a crimson floud,
Then was thy fields with bloud and slaughter dide,
And made the stage to all the world beside,
Whereon fierce Tyrants in their barberous hearts,
With murdering minds have acted all their parts.
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 tol'd 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, That powers divine willing his worth to save, From darke Oblivion black forgetfull night; Which smothers all in silence from the sight, With Nature joyn'd to bring forth such a signe As shall forever to all ages shine,
In memory of that detested fact,
Which murthering Mars did in his fury act:
Upon the body of that lovely youth,
Though some perhaps will hardly think it truth,
But rather by the ancient Poets fain'd,
Yet they I say have to this day ordain'd,
That from the bloud of deere Adonis young,
The safron flowers of all the Earth first sprung.
So
may I say that from the scarlet blood
Of Habel shed, like to a crimson flood
Within the midst of rich Damascus plains,
When Caine unkindly pasht out all his brains.
It pleased God to his immortal Fame,
That still the soil should testify the same
With the fragrant flowers, adorning all the ground,
As no where else in all the world is found:
That some have thought of this vile deed accurst,
The Damaske rose sprang from his grave at first.
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 lawes,
To keep us safe out from the murdring pawes
Of rancorous men, that in their deadly rage
Would (else no doubt) straight shorten all our age,
By macerating blowes to wound and braine
And spill our blood, as did that damned Caine.
But yet we cannot say, that we live free
From as fowle sinnes, and hateful treacherie;
Now murders, Treasons, envious deeds begun,
Must close be kept, and privately be done,
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