Poems, by that most famous wit, William Drummond of Hawthornden

A Translation.

AH! silly Soule, what wilt thou ••ay When he whom earth and Heavens obey Comes Man to judge in the last Day▪

II.

When He a reason askes, why Grace And Goodnesse thou wouldst not embrace, But steps of Vanity didst trace?

III.

That Day of Terrour, Vengeance, Ire, Now to prevent thou should'st desire, And to thy God in haste retire.

IV.

With watry Eyes, and Sigh-swollen Heart, O beg, beg in his Love a part▪ Whilst Conscience with remorse doth smart.

V.

That dreaded Day of wrath and shame In flames shall turne this Worlds huge Frame, As sacred Prophets do proclaime.

VI.

O! with what Griefe shall Earthlings grone When that great Judge set on his Throne Examines strictly every One.

VII.

Shrill-sounding Trumpets through the Aire Shall from dark Sepulchres each where Force wretched Mortalls to appeare.

VIII.

Nature and Death amaz'd remaine To find their dead arise againe, And Processe with their Judge maintaine.

IX.

Display'd then open Books shall lye Which all those secret crimes descry, For which the guilty World must dye.

X.

The Judge enthron'd (whom Bribes not gaine) The closest crimes appeare shall plaine, And none unpunished remaine.

XI.

O who then pitty shall poore me! Or who mi••e Advocate shall be? When scarce the justest passe shall free▪

XII.

All wholly holy dreadfull King, Who freely life to thine dost bring, Of Mercy save me Mercies spring.

XIII.

Then (sweet Jesu) call to mind How of thy Paines I was the End, And favour let me that day find.

XIV.

In search of me Thou full of paine Did'st sweat bloud, Death on Crosse sustaine, Let not these suff'rages be in vaine.

XV.

Thou supreame Judge, most just and wise, Purge me from guilt which on me lies Before that day of thine Assize.

XVI.

Charg'd with remorse (loe) here I groane, Sin makes my face a blush take on; Ah! spare me prostrate at thy Throne.

XVII.

Who Mary Magdalen didst spare, And lend'st the Thiefe on Crosse thine Eare, Shewest me faire hopes I should not feare.

XVIII.

My prayers imperfect are and weake, But worthy of thy grace them make, And save me from Hells burning Lake.

XIX.

On that great Day at thy right hand Grant I amongst thy Sheep may stand, Sequestred from the Goatish Band.

XX.

When that the Reprobates are all To everlasting flames made thrall, O to thy Chosen (Lord) me call;

XXI.

That I one of thy Company, With those whom thou dost justifie, May live blest in Eternity.