THIS LAST AGES LOOKING-GLASSE: OR ENGLANDS SAD ELLIGIE.
By S. H.
Quandoque bonus dormitat Homerus,
Aspiciunt occulis superi mortalia Justis.
Printed at York by Stephen Bulkley, 1642. With Licence.
COVRTEOVS READER.
IF thou look for a large Epistle to this little Pamphlet, thy expectation is Frustrate; for I am affraid to fall into the Citizens of MINDAS disease, that my Book should run out at the Portall. If thou finde any thing Worth thy Reading, make Vse of it; Looke not at the rudenesse either of the Phrase or the Verse, but the well-meaning of the Author. Looke not for Polished Lines, but Matter pointing at the Times. It is the first Born, if it miscarry or prove Abortive [Page] it will be an obstruction to the Second Birth, to hinder the bringing forth; But however, if thou Like it, take it; if not, leave it and begone; So Farewell.
Thine as Thou Ʋsest Him,
S. H.
Seeing.
WHat Age is this that we behould?
Where war is bought, & peace is sould
When we look each one at his own,
Reaping the seeds others have sown:
O how we make our Christall Eyes!
Of Villainies vile to be the Spies:
We see the Moate, but not the Beame,
Other faults great, ours small we deeme.
As the Eagle we are quick of sight,
Bringing anothers deeds to light;
But as blind beetles we cannot see,
Our own sad wofull miserie.
We waile the Judgment, and the Rod,
But not our sins offending God;
We as the Dog, look at the stone,
But at our sins, few or none
Will once look back, and see the thing
That doth Gods vengeance swiftly bring.
We see, neither cause, nor sender,
But vengeance for wrath we render,
We see all things but what we should,
Lord cast us in a better mould,
And grant mine Eyes may see the thing,
That may please God and eeke my King.
Hearing.
WHat Age is this wherein I Heare?
Such sound of Treason in mine Eare,
Such contumelies, and such Lyes,
As deafs mine Ears and blinds mine Eyes.
Of sterne War such dreadfull rumors,
But to satiate some mens humors;
Whose sole delight is onely bloud,
That they may bathe in Crimson floud.
If they laugh, who weep they care not,
Yea, to ruine all they spare not.
Ist Religion, or Reason?
That keeps no Time, Tune, or Season;
What Blasphemies do some relate?
Against Our God, our King, and State;
Some cry out of Church Government,
Some to ruine the Temple are bent,
And some cannot endure to Heare
The Sound o'th' Organ in their Eare,
Nor yet our Churches Bells sweet sound,
They doe their fiery zeale confound.
The Charmers Voice they will not Heare,
His Tongue not chained to their Eare:
But God grant I may Heare the thing,
That Sound may well to God and King▪
Smelling.
WHat Age is this wherein I Smell?
Such noysome stench from hatefull Hell;
Such unsavoury poysoned Weeds,
That in this Land Infection breeds;
Infecting so the healthfull Ayre,
Raysing sterne Stormes for Weather faire.
Are these the Nosegaies of Delight?
Please they the Sence, the Nose, or Sight,
Me thinks the stench ascends the Brain,
Poysoning the Stomack and each Vain▪
Diffusing venom through the Joints,
And at Destruction only points;
Putting the Body out of frame,
Making all things seem not the same.
Oh! how it poysoned hath my Nose,
To Smell the Hemlock for the Rose,
For odoriferous Sents most Sweet,
To Smell the Channell in the Street.
For Practise, I have found but show;
Mark how this new-found Age doth grow:
Me thinks now here I smell a Knave,
That speaks this thing, and that would have;
But Lord grant me my Smelling well,
That I with God and King may dwell.
Tasting.
WHat Age is this wherein I rest?
To
Taste things baske for what are best,
Sowre things for pleasant do not well,
For vain shaddows the substance sell;
This bargain is a bad exchange,
Good soiles leaving, on Heathes to range:
To drink puddle in stead of Meed,
May danger in the body breed.
It cannot well my
Tasting relish,
The Dish of Treason it is Hellish;
Hath no Savour to good Pallats,
Resembling right to weedy Sallats
That have a rank and noysome
Taste,
Most fit on Dung-hill to be caste,
That neither rellish well, nor feed,
Let us detest this fruitlesse seed:
Oh how I have my Coyne layd out
For fruitlesse food (I fear, I doubt)
My Mouth it is clean out of season,
To see Men live so voide of Reason;
To
Taste all things they do refrain,
But what are tempered in their Brain.
But God grant I may
Taste the thing,
That relish may my God and King.
Touching.
WHat Age is this wherein I stand?
That I should now lift up a Hand
'Gainst Him, whom God did sole Annoint,
Ile racked be from joynt to joynt,
And each Limbe be pull'd asunder,
Before I make the World wonder
At such vile trayterous Acts of mine,
My thoughts and deeds I will refine,
And in that mould my Actions frame,
That may me spotlesse leave to Fame.
Oh let that Hand for ever rot,
That 'gainst my Liege doth Act a Plot
That may his patient Spirit move,
Or any way estrange his Love;
Nor in the Land let any Live,
That would His Grace ill Councell give.
Shall any harpe upon that string?
To take up Arms against their King,
The Lords Annoynted for to touch,
A wicked Heart I have none such.
I hate the waies of such a wight,
they are not pleasing in Gods sight.
God grant I may touch on that string,
That may please God and eeke my King.
Common Sences.
WHat Age is this, say Common
Sence?
Worse cannot be by consequence;
I see few Men that look at Peace,
or strive to make the VVarrs to cease:
they do pretend Peace in their VVords,
Whilst they are brandishing their Swords:
I Heare no tidings of Concord,
Look down upon us now O Lord;
Each Day brings forth more cruell things.
In each Eare wofull tidings Rings.
I
Smell nothing that pleasant is,
Sorrow is neer, but far is Blisse;
For beauty burning, for sweet smells stink,
For pleasant VVine, we VVorm wood Drink.
I
Taste nothing that gives content,
Our sweet meats now we must Repent,
We had the Dainty fare of Peace,
But now we must forgoe our ease.
My
Touch and
Feeling I have lost,
These things too dearely have me cost,
I
Touch nothing but am defil'd,
With Chaffe for Corne, I am beguil'd.
Will
Common Sence nothing availe?
Will not the naked
Truth prevaile?
[Page] These things are strange, and very rare,
Lord free this Land of broken ware;
O smite these Rebels in the Head,
And with dread Thunder, strike them Dead,
That all may
See, Touch, Taste, and
Heare,
And Learn our God to dread and
Feare,
That I and All, may quickly
Smell,
That God and King them all will quell.
Stay, Let me wonder once again,
What Flouds of
Tears run down amain?
What wofull shreeks, what trembling Hands?
What Fear to lose, Lives, Goods, and Lands?
Oh how we Weep, we Mourn, and Waile,
Thongh it doe us but small availe,
To
See the Times thus distracted,
To heare Laws, that are inacted,
'Gainst Subjects Liberties and Rights:
Alas poor Soules, Oh wofull wights,
That once so fairely flourished,
Are now quite Dead and Perished.
What Age is this wherein we live?
All takes away, and none will give,
Takes what our chiefest Joys increase,
Our choisest Jem, our Jewell Peace,
This Nations chiefest Ornament,
Yet none doe Sorrow or Repent.
[...]
[Page] Some muddie makes the Christall streame,
Others of better times doe dreame.
But as for me ile serue and feare,
The Lord my God, and King most deare.
O wofull age that ere was seen,
How neare to falling have we been?
Somtimes by sword of Forraigne foe,
Somtimes home broyles, Domesticke woe,
We have beene scourg'd with famine great,
The poore have di'd for want of meat.
Yea further Gods most heavie hand,
With Pestilence hath plagu'd this land.
But still in safetie we have slept,
For sinfull crimes we have not wept:
But to our selves have cried peace,
Living securely▪ and at ease:
When as our sins are as the sand,
'Gainst God himself we warlike stand.
But marke we now, how times do turne;
In staed of mirth we now must mourne.
One griefe another up doth call,
Our drinke is teares mingled with gall,
Sorrow we doe, we cannot speake,
Our hearts with griefe are like to breake
Some are possest with Jealous feares,
drunk with worm wood tearse.
[Page] But I'm resolved firmely still,
To keep Gods and my Soveraigns will.
Yea stranger still doth seem this Age,
The poore opprest, the wicked rage,
With Murders, Rapines, and with Theft,
This Land is poll'd, and nothing left.
No man living scarcely can say,
This is mine own, for't I did pay,
He that hath felt the smart can tell
That strongest bears away the Bell:
Yet some fatted to the slaughter
Spend their time in Mirth and Langhter,
Merrily quaffing off their VVine,
Vainly spending precious Time;
Though Sword be drawn and Bow be bent,
And all the wicked must be shent,
How idly still their daies are spent.
Their hearts are heard, they'l not relent;
But putting off the evill day,
To turn from sin they do delay,
In sinfull crimes, they live and dye,
Which in their bosoms hidden lye:
Gods word by them is set by light,
Those sacred Lines do dim their sight.
But firme and constant I will prove,
My God to fear, my King to love.
[Page] Was ever Age in such a case?
To bring forth such a Rebels Race,
To sheathe his Sword in's Fellows side,
To Lye, Dissemble, and cog beside,
Judas-like each other betray,
For Peace few Preach, for Love few Pray,
We, are taught a quite contrary way,
None caring what they speake or say.
It's as common to vent Treason,
As t'is to speake sence and Reason.
Yee flintie stones? what? not relent?
To see this sadd, and dire Event
Of times wicked inclination,
Which threates ruine to this Nation.
Our Sins the Skies haue Ascended,
Yet our lives are not Amended,
Still drawing downe Gods irefull rod,
Procureing emnitie with God,
without whose freindship there's no peace,
Nor hope of (Judgments great) release.
But a fearfull expectation,
Of destruction, to this Nation.
But Lord thy favour let me finde,
That God and King may haue my minde.
Alas pore age, what is the cause?
Force guides thee now, and not the lawes,
[Page] That formerly haue rul'd this Land,
All gvided were by their command,
But how are they infringed now?
Old statuts to the new must bow,
Surely there was no wisdome then,
This Age hath got far wiser men,
True it is, but is't not most strange?
That these times should so quickly change,
And be as though they ne'rc had bene:
The oldest man this true hath seene.
Sins are the sole procureing things,
That alterations alwayes bringes,
Yet this full litle is regarded,
Though sin's never unrewarded
:
Yet till wee feele the wofull smart,
Wee will not lay our sins to heart.
Wee put our trust in horses strength,
Measuring God by our owne length,
To our Nets thus Sacrificing,
Not regarding evils rising.
Lord grant on thee I may depend,
And serve my god and King to th'end.
Did ever age know such a thing?
For Songs of Joy, we Sorrow sing;
Our joyfull notes are changed quite,
And mournefull tunes we Sing each night,
[Page] With frights and feares we stand agast,
To see these times, and what is Past:
But when we thinke of times to come
We stricken speachles are and dumbe;
Our peace is turned into warre,
We one with other seeke to jarre,
Envie hath up her Kingdome set,
Hatred this Nation hath beset,
Divisions great from Sects doe spring,
Which have devided People and King,
All truly are at variance;
Oh sad estate, oh wofull chance,
And silence up our mouthes haue shut,
Pride and arrogance bravely strut:
Yea beggars ride, Kings goe on foot,
Swolne ambition rules, looke too't.
Each one dare not trust another,
Brother persecutes the brother:
But I detest such tunes to sing,
Ile love my God and my good King.
An age indeed to see the times,
Bespread with ribauldries, and rimes:
Striking at scepters, yea Kings wounding,
Royall Monarchie confounding:
Seeking to eclipse his name,
Whose worth shall outlive time and fame.
[Page] Yea flourish still and fairely shine,
'Mongst men on earth ane Saints divine:
His peacefull raigne begot a storie,
To Crowne his yeares with lasting glorie.
Which evill tongues can never blast,
But shall all Ages farr out last.
Nay here their malice doth not bound,
What Sacred things have they left sound?
With strange Sects we are devided,
Law and Gospell are derided;
Decent order is neglected,
Church government disrespected,
All ceremonies now must downe,
They with Garlands their actions Crowne.
Great distractions full this Land,
Tell me then? Can this Kingdome stand?
I'me dumbe Lord teach me what to say,
That I to God for King may pray.
Now having taken this short view,
Of things not good, yet too too true:
Of things not heard in times before,
Which ages now may well deplore;
No Age that's past can paralell
These times wherein we live and dwell;
Yea after Ages shall admire,
Flourishing
England now on fire.
[Page] Let us now look another way,
And unto God Almighty pray.
Lord look down from Heaven and see,
This Nations wofull miserie:
Behould our languishing Estate,
Let not our sorrow come too late.
We are at the pit ready to fall,
From sinking, Lord do us recall
:
Make up the breaches, Thou'rt the Man
Of the distrest Physitian.
If thou hold off, what are we then?
Most miserable of all Men.
O succour Lord, and help us send,
Thou art our God, be thou our friend.
That I in heart and voice may sing,
To God be prayse, and to my King.
Help Lord for thou art onely hee,
Or els we never shall agree,
We are arrived at that height,
That thou alone canst make us straight;
O we are rent and wounded sore,
Our wounds increase still more and more;
Each one seeking to have his will,
But few the Law for to fulfill;
It is a curb that keeps us in,
We strive to free us from this gin,
[Page] Lord cut off those rotten Members,
That of these broiles are the senders,
That in this Land run to and froe,
To hatch the Eggs of wretched woe,
Whose hearts and minds are wholly bent,
To cause this Land sadly lament,
Sowing seditious wicked seed,
Thou Lord root out that sinfull Breed;
And let the World see and wonder,
At them struck dead, with thy Thunder.
But let them live in Joyes increase,
That love the Olive branch of Peace,
Who Joy to heare of
Sions Joy,
Let no dire mischiefe them anoy,
But let them live and flourish still,
And guard them strongly from all ill.
Lord teach my heart to prayse thy name,
Let tongue and voyce eeke doe the same,
Let
Charles glorie through
England ring,
Let Subjects say,
God Save the King.
FINIS.