The grand tryal, or, Poetical exercitations upon the book of Job wherein suitable to each text of that sacred book, a modest explanation, and continuation of the several discourses contained in it, is attempted / by William Clark.

Cap. VI.

AS prisoner at bar for crimes arraign'd,* 1.1 Hears his Inditement read, and is constrain'd To hold his peace, in such an exigent, Although he knows he's truly innocent, Of what he is accus'd, but after all He pleads not guilty, and begins to fall To his defence: so with attentive ear, Job all this while this reasoning did hear, Not interrupting, till at length his friend Of his so learn'd discourse had made an end: Then, as his sorrows would permit, he speaks, And argues thus.

O, says he, that my ponderous griefs were weigh'd* 1.2 And all my miseries were in ballance laid. Poys'd by a steddy, and impartial hand, Then, my good friend, you soon would understand What is my case, what my disease, and pain, And how much reason I have to complain.

It would be found most unsupportable,* 1.3 The sands with it were not comparable. No pain so great, no grief so heavy sure, As this, which I poor mortal do endure. I cann't express it, I want eloquence, And cannot with that grace make my defence, As you accuse me, grief will not allow Me the same liberty of speech, as you Do use in your discourse: your figured words,

And pretty Tropes, which like so many Swords, Cut out a passage for your arguments, And make a Lane for your unjust Complaints, T' oppress my Spirit, do your wit express, But what do all such Flowers of Art as these To one, in my condition signify, Who am already dead with misery?

Why do you then accuse so dull a thing, That doth not understand your Reasoning? A silly Creature, that makes no defence, But only strives t' express its innocence, By pious Sighs; you had as good forbear Your Rhetorick, and with me drop a Tear, In kind complyance with my killing grief, To which your pointed words bring no relief, You see my case, beyond expression, sad Then why d'ye affliction to affliction add?

See how th' Almighties Arrows in my Heart* 1.4 Are fix'd, beyond all remedy of Art. Th' envenom'd Shafts have suck'd my Moysture dry, And caus'd the Wounds they made, to putrify, Spreading a foul contagion every where, Yea even my very Soul they do not spare. Besides I feed a flame within my Breast, By which my pain is every hour encreas't, A flame that burns with heat, and violence, Beyond belief:—a flame of Conscience, A flame that makes us waste our days in fear, For who a wounded Conscience can bear? A wounded Conscience!—ah a dreadful thing! What Art can this express: whence shall I bring Similitudes to point it out! O whence Shall I bring homeward so much Eloquence, As to express a wounded Conscience! A Sting of Conscience!—O a horrid thing! Not the most virulent and sharpest Sting Doth hurt the Body, as this doth the Mind, No, no this Sting is of another kind, Then all your S••ings on Earth, no poysoned Dart, Composed by the subtilest Rules of Art, Makes such a wound, as doth a Conscience When God allowes it once a perfect Sense Of its own Strength: then, then it wounds indeed, And makes the Heart of hardest Mettal bleed. What tempered Steel can make a wound so deep, As doth a Conscience rouz'd out of its sleep, By Divine Power, it Rages, Stares, and Foames, Like one out of his Wits, that haunts the Tombs, It Stings, it Bites, it Pierces, Cuts, and Stricks Practising all the Feats of Lunaticks: For when of sin we have a lively sense, No Torment with a frighted Conscience Can be compar'd. Yet this, this Torment I endure, alace,

There's none can pity one in such a case, But, he that hath the like affliction known, And so can guess my Torment by his own.

Why do you then condemn my just Complaint* 1.5 As if it did exceed my Punishment? Why so severe, to vex a poor forlorn Unhappy wretch, as ever yet was born? A thing, Of which my Countrey is ashamd, And thinks not fit that I should ere be nam'd, Hereafter, but as Malefactors are, Who suffer for their Crimes, with shame, and fear. Indeed you try me by too Bloody Laws, When you affirm I cry without a cause. Pray does the wild Ass bray, and make a noise, When it has Grass for Pasture, at its choice? Does the Ox Low, when Fodder lyes before it, Or cease from Lowing, whilst it doth implore it.

D' ye think I'm proud of suffering? God knows* 1.6 I take no pleasure to express my woes. I had as ••••••ve be silent, but that you Force me to speak, because you won't allow Me to sigh out my Breath, and hid my Face Amongst those ashes, whilst I hold my peace. Can any man take pleasure in his pain? Or by stupendious Poverty make gain? No sure, no more then you'l with pleasure eat, White of an Egg, or such unsavoury Meat, Without some Salt; such my affliction is, And needs no help of this periphrasis, T' express its nature: such my Sorrows are, With which no Earthly Torments can compare

For what my Soul did formerly abhor,* 1.7 Is now my Meat, what I disdain'd before To touch is now to me familiar, And (O sad change!) my only dayly Fare.

O then that God would grant me my request,* 1.8 And what I long for would vouchafe at least: O that with my strong wishes he'd comply, And kindly suffer me at length to dye!

To dye!—O that's the thing, which I desire.* 1.9 Yea, in this very moment to expire, Would God but stretch his arm of Providence, And cut me off, that so I might go hence, And be no more: would he but condescend To what I ask, and there should be an end Of all my earthly pain, and misery, O then that God would suffer me to dye.

Then should I yet have comfort, then some rest* 1.10 My Soul might find, and I be free at least From these huge pains:—O that he would allow me The favour, without sparing, to undo me. Though I'm in sorrow, yet let him not spare To give the blow, lest I perhaps despare: For hitherto I never have deny'd

Gods Holy Word, or i' th' least signify'd, In all my Torments any diffidence Of his just, kind, o're-ruling Providence.

Alace what strength have I thus to endure,* 1.11 The force of Heaven, which never Mortal sure Was able to support.— Ah then, why should I live, or to what end Should I prolong my Life, thus to attend A lingring Death, which I might have at hand, But that my Conscience doth me countermand.

Alace what strength have I,—what strength have I* 1.12 T' endure these Torments,—what congruity Is now betwixt my Person, and my Pain. Of which I must be suffered to complain: Am I compos'd of Stone, or Brass, that I Should suffer all these Tortures, and not dye?

Have not I call'd for help, but could find none* 1.13 And now my Substance, and my Strength is gone; My Nerves are stiff, my Blood to Phlegm is shrunk, My Eyes in Wells of brinish Tears are sunk; My tottering Body Wyre-strung, Bone by Bone Makes but the figure of a Skeleton.

Ah is there no man that will pity have* 1.14 Upon a Carrion dropping in its Grave; He that's in sorrow still is understood, To find some Comfort from his Neighbour-hood, But I find none,— But 'tis no wonder men their friends for sake, When now a days, their Faith to God they break.

Take it from me, who by experience know* 1.15 False friends too well, to whose base tricks I owe No small proportion of my present grief, From such, in time of want, there's no relief— To be expected, more than from a Brook, Where if for Waters you in Summer look, 'Tis dry, in Winter frozen, but when Rain Falls in abundance, and we're in no pain For Water, then it overflows its Banks, Offering its Service, without Hire, or Thanks. So when we're Rich, such friends will flock about us, They cannot Live, Eat, Drink, or Sleep without us, They cringe, they bow, they ••aun, and us present With foolish smiles, and aery complement: Protesting friendship at so high a rate, As none would think they did equivocat. But draw the Courtain, and let Poverty Appear, with its Companion Misery, Within our Walls, then all those Wasps are gone, And as their friends they will us no more own. Than who'd not rather sleep in faithful Dust, Than Live, and in such friends o' th' fashion trust?

Friends did I call them,—no I do mistake,* 1.16 Such are not friends, who do their friend forsake In Misery, for at such time alone,

As by a Test, true friendship should be known. But such have Hearts as hard, and black, as Ice, They'r of no value, no esteem, no price. Rugged, unpolish'd, cold, as is the snow, Instinct of Nature sure they do not know.

Friends for a Sun-shine of Prosperity,* 1.17 O worthy friends! but when the troubled Skye, Portends a Storm, and Clouds begin to reel, Then those Fair-weather-friends bid us farewel.

Friends for well furnish'd Tables, Friends for Food,* 1.18 Friends of the Pantry, Friends for nothing good, Save that such Friends as these might serve for foyles, To set true frindship off: like Scabs, and Boyls, They drop away, when th' humour is run dry Which fed them, and until Prosperity Return, like Crans, they to warm Countreys flye.

For as a Traveller in th' Arabian Sands,* 1.19 Thinks to find Water, where a thousand hands At constant work will find their Labour vain In digging for it, where the Sun doth drain, The innate Moisture, and by scorching Beams, Choaks up the Veins of Rivers, Springs, and Streams.

But can find nothing save sterility,* 1.20 So those, who on such barren Friends rely, When they stand most in need of them shall find Like those dry Sands, they fly before the Wind, And make no help to such in their distress, But rather by their Malice do encrease▪ Their friends affliction.

Why, my good friends, such friends I think you are,* 1.21 And I may safely you with such compare, My case you see, my miseries you know, And none of you are strangers to my woe: You see my dreadful Plagues, and are afraid, Such Judgements may upon your selves be laid, Yet, stead of Comfort, which I justly might From you expected, in this doleful plight, Your bitter words my Torments do augment. Your tart Reproofs encrease my punishment.

Ah what's your quarrel 'gainst a dying wretch? Why do you thus insult? I do beseech* 1.22 The favour of you, that you'll let me know If I have injur'd any of you, or no? Have I been grievous t' any of you, my Friends? Have I demanded any of your Means? Or have I proudly claim'd of your Supply? Or vext you with my Bill of Charity? Why then should I be so severely us'd By any of you? have I e're refus'd To serve your interest, and your reputation? Before my late, and total Desolation?

Did ever I of you, my friends, demand* 1.23 That you would free me from my En'mies hand? Did, I when Captive, any of you pray,

That of your Bounty you'd my Ransome pay?

Pray teach me then, my friends, and let me know* 1.24 Where lyes my Error in the case, and so Being convinc'd, I shall from answering cease, And, as a Mute, hereafter hold my peace.

But whilst you thus accuse me, I must still* 1.25 Assert my Innocence, say what you will To th' contrair: for my upright Conscience Doth plead my Cause, and prompt me with Defence, 'Gainst all the Pleas you do against me move, Then, wherein justly can you me reprove?

Won't you permit a man in misery,* 1.26 His troubled Mind so much to lenify, As by some sad expressions to declare, What the vexations of his Spirit are? D' ye think but men, in my condemn'd estate, May have at least some liberty to prate? See you not how my pain my speech doth force, And none should stop a dying mans Discourse.

But you on those in sorrow vent your wrath,* 1.27 And to your half-dead Friend you threaten Death, Your unkind words, like Grins, and Snares you lay, By which your Friend you shrewdly may betray.

Now therefore pray at length, impartially* 1.28 Look on me, and consider whether I Have reason thus t' expresse my grief, or no, When I endure what none of you can know: Assure your selves then I take no delight. Thus to complain, I am no Hypocrite, As you pretend, my sorrows are no less Then I esteem them, nay could I expresse My inward griefs, they'r more in number sure, Then mortal man did ever yet endure.

Forbear then, pray,—at my desire, forbear,* 1.29 From such Discourse, so rigid, so severe, As wound my Heart more than my Sorrows do, With all my Plagues, and Torments, pray allow My grief some vent, or (as my present case is) Should I be silent, I should burst to pieces. Have patience but a while, and you shall see, There's no so great iniquity in me, As you alleage: when my survey is made, And with my woes, my words in Scales are laid.

Notes

• * 1.1

  •• 1 But Iob answered, and said,
• * 1.2

  2 O that my grief were well weighed, & my miseries were laid together in the ballance.
• * 1.3

  3 For it would be now heavier than the sands of the seas, therefore my words are swallowed up.
• * 1.4

  4. For the arrows of the Almighty are in me, the venome whereof drinketh up my spirit, and the terrors of God fight against me.
• * 1.5

  5. Doth the wild asse bray, when he hath grass? or low∣eth the ox when he has fodder?
• * 1.6

  6. That which is unsavoury, shall it be eaten without salt? or is there any taste in the white of an egg?
• * 1.7

  7. Such things as my soul refused to touch, as were ••••r∣rows, are my me••••.
• * 1.8

  8. O that I might have my desire, and that God would grant me the thing I long for.
• * 1.9

  9. That is that God would destroy me, that he would let his hand go, and cut me off.
• * 1.10

  10. Then should I yet have comfort though I burn with sorrow, let him not spare, because I have not denyed the words of the holy One.
• * 1.11

  11. What power have I that I should endure, or what is my end, if I should pro∣long my life?
• * 1.12

  12. Is my strength the strength of stones or is my flesh of brass?
• * 1.13

  13. Is it not so that there is in me no help, and that strength is taken from me.
• * 1.14

  14. He that is in misery ought to be comforted of his neighbours, but men have forsaken the fear of Almighty.
• * 1.15

  15. My brethren have deceived me, as a brook, and as the ruing of the rivers, they pass away.
• * 1.16

  16. Which are blackish with ice, and wherein the snow is hid.
• * 1.17

  17. But in time, they are dryed up with heat, and are consumed, and when it is hot they fail out of their places.
• * 1.18

  18. Or they de∣part from their ways and their course, yea they vanish, and pe∣rish.
• * 1.19

  19. They that go to Tema considered them, and they that go to Sheba, waited for them.
• * 1.20

  20. But they were confounded, when they hoped, they came hither, and were a∣shamed.
• * 1.21

  21. Surely now you are like unto it, you have seen my fearful plagues, and are afraid
• * 1.22

  22. Was it because I said, bring untome, or give me a reward of your substance.
• * 1.23

  23. And deliver me from the enemies hand, or ransomme out of the hands of yrants.
• * 1.24

  24. Teach me, and I will hold my tongue, and cause me to understand wherein I have er∣red.
• * 1.25

  25. How stedfast are the words of righ∣teousness, and what can any of you re∣prove?
• * 1.26

  26. Do you ima∣gine to reprove words, that the talk of the afflicted should be as wind?
• * 1.27

  27. You make your wrath ••o fall upon the fatherless, and dig a pit for your friend.
• * 1.28

  28. Now there∣fore be content to look upon me, for I will lye before your face.
• * 1.29

  29. Return I pray you, let there be no iniquity▪ return I say, and you shall yet see my righteousness in that behalf: is there iniquity in my tongue? doth not my mouth feel sor∣rows.