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But to fit idle on the Houshold hearth,
A burd'nous drone ; to visitants a gaze,
Or picy'd object, thefe redundant locks. ,
Robustious to no purpofe cluftring down,
Vain monument of strength; till length of, years
And sedentary numness craze my limbs
To a contemptible old age obscure.
Here rather let me drudge and earn' my bread,
Till virmin or the draff of feryile food
Consume me, and oft inyocated death
Hasten the welcome end of all my pains.
Man. Wilt thou then serve Philistians with that
Which was expresly gir’n theeto annoy them?
Better at home lye Bed-rid, not only idle,
Inglorious, unimploy'd, with age out-worn.
But God who caus'd a Fountain at thy pray'r
. From the dry ground to spring, thy thirst r’allay After the brunt of Battel, can as easie Cause light again within thy eyes to spring, Wherewith to serve him better than thou hast; And I persuade me fo; why else this strength Mirac'lous yet remaining in those locks? His might continues in thee not for naught,
Nor shall his wondrous gifts be frustrate thus.
Sams. All otherwise to me my thoughts portend, That these dark Orbs no more shall treat with light, Nor th’other light of life continue long, But yield to double darkness nigh at hand: So much I feel my genial Spirits droop, My hopes all flat, Nature within me seems In all her functions weary of her self; My Race of Glory run, and race of shame, And I shall shortly be with them that rest.
Man. Believe not these suggestions which proceed
From anguilh of the mind and humours black,
That mingle with thy fancy. I however
Muft not omit a Father's timely care
To prosecute the means of thy deliverance
By ransome, or how else: mean while be calm,
And healing words from these thy friends admit.
Sams. O that torment should not be confin'd
To the body's wounds and fores,
With maladies innumerable
In heart, head, breast and reins;
But must secret passage find
To th’inmost mind,
There.exercise all his fierce accidents,
And on her purest spirits prey,
As on entrails, joints and limbs
With answerable pains, but more intense,
Though void of corporal sense.
My griefs not only pain me
As a lingring diseafe,
But finding no redress, ferment and rage,
Nor less than wounds immedicable
Rankle, and fester, and gang
To black mortification.
Thoughts 'my Tormenters arm’d.with deadly stings
Mangle my apprehensive tenderest parts,
Exasperate, exulcerate, and raise:
Dire inflammation which no cooling herb
Or medicinal liquor can afswage.
Nor breath of Vernal Air from snowy Alp.
Sleep hath forsook and giv'n me o'er,
To death's benumming Opium as my only cure,
Thence faintings, swoonings of despair,
And sense of Heav'ns defertionistes
I was his nursling once, and choice delight, His destind from the womb,
Promis'd by Heav'nly message twice descending.
Under his special eye
Abstemious I grew up and thriv'd amain;
He led me on to mightiest deeds
Above the nerve of mortal arm
Against the uncircumcisid, our enemies,
But now hath cast me off as never known,
And to those cruel enemies,
Whom I by his appointment had provok'd,
Left me all helpless with th' irreparable loss
Of light, resery'd alive to be repeated
The subject of their cruelty or scorn.
Nor am I in the list of them that hope;
Hopeless are all my evils, all remediless; it is
This one Prayer yet remains, might I be heard,
No long petition, speedy death,
The close of all my miseries, and the balm.
Chor. Many are the Sayings of the Wise
In ancient and in modern books enrollid;
Extolling Patience as the truest fortitude;
And to the bearing well of all calamities;
All chances incident to man's frail life.
With study'd argument, and much persuafion fought
Lenient of grief and anxious thought,
But to th'affficted in his pangs
Little prevails, or rather seems a tune,
Harsh, and of dissonant mood from his complaint,
Unless he feel within
Some source of confolation froń above ;
Secret refreshings, that repair his strength,
And fainting spirits uphold.
God of our Fathers, what is man! That thou towards him with hand so various, Or might I say contrarious, Temper’st thy providence through his short course, Not ev'nly, as thou rul'st Th’Angelick orders and inferior creatures mute, Irrational and brute. Nor do I name of men the common rout, That wandring loose about, Grow up and perish, as the summer flie, Heads without name no more remembred, But such as thou hast folemnly elected, With gifts and graces eminently adorn’d, To some great work, thy glory,