A captive Wretch removing to and fro,
A Man of Strife and exercis’d in Woe,
On Thee my Friend I call by Griefs opprest,
And pour my Soul into thy faithful Breast,
Its heaviest Load with ling’ring Pain impart,
And wound reluctantly thy tender Heart.
Thy tender Heart hath oft my Burden borne,
Nor e’er rejoic’d when I was call’d to mourn,
Thy tender Heart with softest Sympathy
How will it now lament and grieve for me!
For me, by Foes, and treacherous Friends pursu’d,
Pierc’d with the Darts of keen Ingratitude,
Mangl’d by filial Hands, and forc’d to groan
Beneath the Crimes of an apostate Son,
A Rebel thirsting for his Father’s Blood,
As Moloch cruel, and as Belial lewd,
Stubborn, revengeful, fierce, implacable,
And proud and harden’d as the Prince of Hell,
My faithful Brutus, mine egregious Ham,
Nor need I add that W[illiams] is his Name.
Poor reckless Prodigal, by Grace Divine
Drawn from his Husks, his Harlots, and his Wine,
My Arms receiv’d him with a fond Embrace,
I kiss’d the Filth and Sorrow from his Face,
For him I join’d th’ acclaiming Host above,
And lov’d him with my heavenly Father’s Love,
Cared for his Soul with never-wearied Care,
Son of my Choice and Burden of my Prayer,
Rejoic’d and gloried when he did run well,
Labour’d his Faults and Follies to conceal,
In Toils and Tears my kind Concern exprest
And cherish’d the young Viper in my Breast,
Till by my Friendship warm’d he shot his Dart,
His Sting of subornation to my Heart.
See the bold Wretch, again for Satan bold,
By Pride to every desperate Evil sold,
Head of a Ruffian Band in malice join’d,
Scum of the Church and Scandal of Mankind,
Choice Synagogue, by dire Revenge allied,
Worthy of such a Cause and such a Guide,
Whose calmer Thought may moderate their Zeal,
Give each their Part and stroke them to his Will,
Whose Wisdom may in League offensive join
The tutor’d Harlot and the Sound Divine,
Their horrid Tale more plaus’bly to indite,
And teach th’ infernal Frogs to croak aright.
Fit Instrument for Satan’s rage t’ employ,
To stop the Work he never can destroy,
His dreaded Foes to blacken and defame
And charge his Conqueror with his Church’s Shame.
As Satan would by those himself expel,
Spoil his own Realms, and shake the Gates of Hell,
While Thousands whom from him to God we turn,
Bless the glad Day that ere these Hypocrites were born.
Yet O my Friend I feel the recent Wound,
No Medicine for a broken Heart is found,
Shall I from Thee my deepest Anguish hide?
The Rod hangs fasten’d in my bleeding Side.
No mean Abhorrence of the destin’d Cross,
No Fear that God should not maintain his Cause,
But sore Distress afflicts ev’n those I love,
Even those whom Satan never yet could move,
Whom all th’ opposing World could never part,
Or tear them from the Fibres of my Heart.
But now they stand far off, nor dare draw nigh,
Aw’d by a bold authenticated Lie,
Shrink from the foul Reproach, th’ injurious Shame,
And leave me brand’d with a Felon’s Name.
Leave me—for O the wise Decree is past!
Leave me into the Den of Lions cast,
Give up their Friend to all th’ Accuser’s Power,
And Honour’s Signet seals the Dungeon Door.
Honour, the Mede’s unalterable Law,
Hath bound my Friends and kept their Love in awe,
Struck off their promis’d Aid and far remov’d
From one whom once in Jesus’ Love they lov’d.
Who dares in such a Wretch’s Cause appear?
Ah tender Souls, I feel the modest Fear,
The Test for human Virtue too severe!
What Strength sufficient to support my Wrong,
Or stand the Torrent of so lewd a Tongue,
Sustain so huge a Crash, and stem the Tide
With Fear and Blasphemy on every Side,
While high and low in one Design conspire,
The shameless Parasite and Reverend Sire,
And Men and Fiends the righteous Sentence give,
“It is not fit for such a Wretch to live.”
Drag out that Naboth! set him up on high,
By hostile Hands let the Blasphemer die.
Adulterer, Hypocrite! th’ Fact is plain:
Would Harlots take the Name of God in vain?
Did ere Revenge so foul a Venom shed,
Or load with Crimes so black the guiltless Head?
Who ever heard that Renegades would lie,
Or Liars urg’d rise up to perjury?
Away with him, nor suffer his Reply.
Down the swift Stream of popular Rancour borne,
Away with him! the Witnesses have sworn
O’rerule his idle Athanasian Plea
’Gainst Treason, Murder, and Adultery:
Stand forth ye Witnesses, your Charge repeat,
Stone the vile Hypocrite, his Doom complete,
And lay your Garments down at his Assailants’ Feet.
Rejoice ye Philistines, the Way is found
T’ afflict my Soul with a perpetual Wound,
Securely arm’d in every other Part,
This only Avenue could reach my Heart;
This only dire Device had power to rend
That constant Spirit from its injur’d Friend:
Not all the Rage of Fiends and Men could move,
Nor Chains nor Dungeons rob me of her Love;
Nor Racks nor Fires could force her to disown
A Man of God and Preacher of his Son:
But O can purest Light with Darkness dwell,
A Man of God uphold a Child of Hell?
No, Ruffians, no, if your Report were true,
Devils alone are fit for such as you.
Nor will your Lord who set your Tongues on Fire,
Defraud his faithful Labourers of their Hire.
Open to meet you with its muster’d Bands,
Not Potiphar’s but Satan’s Prison stands.
Who love or make a Lie shall there appear,
And ye who scorn or God or Man to fear
Shall gnaw the Tongue ye used so vilely here.
Till then, if sworn to perish in your Crime,
Fill up your Measure and sin out your Time.
Poor dying Worms enjoy your short-liv’d Boast,
And vex a Captain of the Lord of Hosts.
Vex him ye cannot hurt, with Lies molest,
Defame, swear on, and drive me to my Rest.
Fulfil my Wish and seem your own to have,
Haste, and bring down my Hairs with Sorrow to the Grave.
Thou faithful Partner of my bleeding Heart,
Whom Hell could never from thy Pastor part,
Will Thou not join my long-continu’d Prayer,
And ask a Period to my hapless Care?
O what is Life to one undone like me?
Bitterness all, and [Grief], and Agony!
For what, while Angels beckon me away,
For what should I on Earth imprison’d stay?
Perchance to see the swift Destruction come,
Our Nation’s Downfall and our Country’s Doom,
The wasting Fire, the desolating Sword,
And all the Plagues of Heaven’s avenging Lord.
To see the general Wreck I cannot share,
Safe in the Gulf of temporal Despair;
Kingdoms may rise or fall, my Change is ore,
Sceptres depart, but I can lose no more.
O what a Loss is mine, where no Relief
Can ever ease me of a Moment’s Grief!
Commensurate with Life the Sorrow flows,
Wave after Wave, and Woes succeeding Woes;
My Brethren’s Sympathy, my Church’s Fears,
And fond Concern, and unavailing Tears;
The Triumph of the proud Philistines’ Host,
As all were with one useless Shepherd lost,
As God’s whole Work would in my Ruin end,
And Christ had left his Flock with my departed Friend.
Nay, but the mighty Loss is all my own,
I fall by Ruffian Hands, and fall alone.
Their Rage is emptied on my single Head,
Their Charge against my only Soul is laid:
A Charge so horrible my Soul defies,
Though strengthen’d by ten thousand Perjuries:
And can my Friend the hellish Tale receive?
She seems alas! t’ assent—and yet I live!
O God for what am I reserved? or why
Held on the Rack of Life? Forbad to die,
Constrain’d beneath thy heaviest Plague to stand,
And feel the Bruisings of thy vengeful Hand?
Why hath thy Wrath let loose these Dogs of Hell?
Thy Ways and Judgments are unsearchable!
Yet suffer me to ask why didst Thou give
That fatal Gift, and let th’ Abortive live,
Rear’d by a Miracle (of Wrath or Grace?)
Why hast Thou kept me all my youthful Days?
In Deaths so oft, ah, wherefore wouldst Thou save
From the kind Fever, and the watery Grave,
In sorer Ills exert thy guardian Care,
Save me from Sin and break the Fowler’s Snare,
Preserve from every great Transgression free,
And shew forth all thy saving Power in me.
Surely Thou didst as at my Birth instil
A sacred Horror of external Ill.
I durst not tread the Path by Sinners trod,
Do this great Crime and Sin against my God.
Thou know’st, for all our Hearts to Thee are seen,
Thou know’st I am not here like other Men,
Though born in Sin, the Seeds of every Vice,
Anger, Desire, and Pride, and Avarice,
My Soul hath oft with deep Abhorrence found,
Yet still thy Grace did above Sin abound,
Thy Grace restrain’d my every mean Desire,
And kept the Bush unburnt amidst the Fire,
Thy Grace hedg’d up my Way on every Side,
And held me from the Paths of Vice and Pride.
Thou know’st, for Thou hast wrought the Work alone,
For Thou my Soul hast in Temptation known,
Nor can I from thy Sight a Thought conceal,
Searcher of Hearts I dare to Thee appeal,
Thou knowest I am not wicked —
Have I not then misspent my useless Fears,
And lost an Ocean of unwonted Tears,
Have I not toil’d with unavailing Pain,
And wash’d my Hands in Innocence in vain,
While Devils in the Dust mine Honour tread,
And human Fiends ride ore my guiltless Head,
Fill all my Entrails and my Soul with Gall,
While innocent beneath their Rage I fall,
And perish by the Hand of this infernal Saul?
Father of Mercies and Compassions hear
The broken Accents of my dying Prayer,
God of unbounded Love my Sorrow see,
My Shame, and let thy Bowels answer me!
Dost Thou take pleasure in thy Creature’s Pain,
Or willingly afflict the Sons of Man?
O no, thy Nature is to save and bless,
Thy Pleasure is our Life and Happiness.
Tho’ what thy Wisdom doth I know not now,
To thy permissive Will my Soul I bow,
Thy secret Mercy in the Judgment own,
And sink into the Depths of Love unknown.
Could Thou have won me with my Sin to part,
And cast the Idol Honour from my Heart,
Thy tender Hand would never have applied
This burning Caustic to consume my Pride.
Whom then have I t’ accuse? A sinful Man,
Why should I of my Punishment complain?
If chasten’d less than my Desserts I am,
Worthy of Death and everlasting Shame,
Shall I not wisely kiss th’ afflicting Rod,
And stoop beneath the mighty Hand of God?
With Patience to my penal Cure submit,
The bitter Herbs with meek Submission eat,
And sing the Paschal Psalm, my God adore,
And never faint and never murmur more.
Down stubborn Heart with that rebellious Sigh,
Thou art not suffer’d yet to break and die!
Alas how fruitless all my Strife and Pain,
My best Resolves how impotent and vain!
I would submit, but Lord I want the Power,
And all I am cries Save me from this Hour!
Father if possible this Cup remove,
The Cup of Life embitter’d, from above
Send down thy Hand, and take my Spirit up.
Out of the mighty Waters feed my Hope,
Wondrous Impossibility to see,
A Blessing in mine End reserv’d for me.
Till then my agonising Strength repair,
And let the Loss torment, the Vultures tear
Mine growing Heart, but Thou my Soul sustain
Or quell or stem my Pain.
But give me Eyes of vital Faith to see
Thy Hand as reaching out the Cup; of Thee
May I receive the Draught, of Thee alone,
The cursing Shimei and the rebel Son.
No Respite of my Punishment I crave,
No Joy, no Place of Refuge but the Grave.
Here only let me spend my Life in Sighs,
But wipe at last the Sorrow from my Eyes,
And save my Soul from Death, the Death that never dies.