Gods love and mans unworthiness whereunto is annexed a discourse between the soul & Satan : with several divine ejaculations / written by John Quarles.

Gods Reply

Thou bold fac'd Orator, how darst thou come Before me, or be otherwise then dumb?

Tell me, how dat'st thou interrupt my brest? I hate to see thee, or hear thy Request. Audacious wretch, what, has my Judgments made Thy heart grow peremptory? Have I layd Too small a burthen on thee? If I have, I'le lay a greater, thou apostate slave: I will not note thee, nor I will not hear Thy words, which have usurp'd my deafned ear. Love thee, for what? be't known, sad wretch, I scorn To love a thing so base, so vile, forlorn; And if I cannot love, how can it be, That I can pity such a worm as thee? I'le neither love, nor pity, for my heart Is adamantine; thou shalt feel the smart Of my displeasure: Go, my Soul disdains To look upon thee; thou art fill'd with stains▪ And smel'st too much of fruit to find respect▪ Thou art the subject of my great neglect: Thou art a barren soil, nothing will grow Upon thy heart, except the seeds of woe. Tell me, from what conceit dost thou derive Thy working confidence, that thou dar'st drive Thy language to my ears, and be so bold T'approach my sight, and wilt not be controul'd? Art thou resolv'd to make (what dost thou mean) My ears thy stage, and every word a scean?

Sum up thy small, thy weak deserts, and see What large respects thou hast deserv'd from me. I plac'd thee in a garden, not to eat The ••••uit forbidden, but to keep it neat! Had not the violation of my Laws Mov'd me to anger, thou hadst had no cause T'ave felt the burthen of my weighty stroke, Or live thus much subjected to the yoke Of thine own sins; most shameful is that loss That's crown'd with negligence, & great the cross That's made with a self-hand; and they that clime Above their strengths, impropriate a crime To their own Souls; Destruction is the end Of all Rebellion: Ruine knows no friend.

Suppose I should invest and entertain Your Soul with love, and call thee back again, The tree is still the same, the fruit as sweet, Thy appetite as great, and thou mayst meet A Serpent too, whose oratorious skill May soon intreat thee to enact his will: He has a voyce to tempt, and thou an ear Will re-assume the priviledg to hear; He has a hand to give, and thou another Freely to take: thus wouldst thou quickly smother Thy new delights; therefore I will not trust A heart that can be nothing but unjust.

Thou great Mugul of baseness, cease to plead, Thy tongue's a canker, and thy words are lead; Thy sins have made thee not deserve the air Thou entertain••st hadst than implay'd thy care To serve me, when I lov'd thee, thou hadst had My heart-delighting joys to make thee glad; But now expect no favour, for no art Of thine shall ever captivate my heart. Hie thee unto the shades of grief, bewail Thy sequestrated happiness, no bail Of thy procuring will I take to set Thy Soul at liberty; I will not let The vision of a comfort creep within Thy rambling thoughts, thou art a slave to sin: Hadst thou but lov'd or fear'd me at the first, Th'adst been as happy, as th'art now accurst: If now thou lov'st me, I shall quickly prove It is for fear alone, and not for love▪ Thy heart is steel'd with wickedness, thy faults Are sparks enlivened by thy flinty thoughts. Breathe out thy groans unto a sensless rock, And let thy sighs (like hammers) beat and knock Against her scragged sides, thou shalt as soon Have her consent, as mine, to grant thy boon: 'Tis therefore vain to multiply thy words, For ah, my brest, my hardned brest, affords

Thy Soul no pity; and the more thy cry Attempts my ear, the less I will reply. Alas! thy guilt-o're-burth'ned words renew Fresh thoughts of rage, I cannot hear thee sue Without impatiency; for ah, the longer Thou crav'st, thou mak'st my fury grow the stron∣ger. Avoid my presence, for I will no more Give audience to thy voyce, then cease t'implore.