Immanuel, or, The mistery of God, manifested in the flesh sung in the severall cantoes of Urania, Astræa, Melpomene / by Will. Wishartt ...

The Advent.

CANTO 5^o.

AS they who for their Zenith have the Pole, When Titan first renews his Caprioll, In their Horizon, on their tip-toes stand, To get th' approach of his long look'd for brand, And write the welcom of his good new yeer In bloody Rubricks of their Calender: So now, whilst long and desolate night, of deep Discomforts, have made Syon's daughters weep; Their glorious new-born Titan's happy byrth, A wakes the powers both of heav'n and earth, In a melodious harmony to ring A peale of Hale-lu-jahs to their King.

And so it is, for whiles these shepheard boyes, Who Pan-like pipe their pastorall Oades and Joyes

On oaten reeds, had softly laid them down To watch their flocks from stealth's confusion, Lo! th'Angell Gabriel, from heav'ns glorious throne, Is sent t'unclasp heav'ns long clasp'd sanction, And tell them that their greater Pan was borne, Whose stafe and sheep-hook should be made of thorn: Feare not, says he, my frends, I come t'unfold The sweetest news that ever yet was told In heav'ns high Senat, or in earths deaf-eare, Let such then as have eares to heare mee, heare; For lo! In Bethlehem there's born, to day, That Hyerarchick-prince, whose hands must sway The trinall-Mace of heav'n, of earth, and hell, And all those armies in then bosom dwell.

Thus hath hee spoke, and straight a glorious Chore Of Angels in a Diapason's loare Second his message, with the sweetest sound That in D-la-sol, or in E-la's found: Glory, say they, be to the Lord on high, To men all peace and all prosperity, And upon earth let blessings and good-will Each hungry maw and empty cup full-fill: Ne're did the fractions of a ratling thunder, When first it bursts the roarid-clowd asunder, Bring more affrightning terror to the eare Of some weake stripling, conquered by feare, Then doth this Vision wound the soule and sence Of these poore shepheards, fraught with ignorance:

Yet up, say they, goe let us quickly try The truth of this so strange a Heraldry; For sure hee must bee some great Potentate, Of whom so great things be prognosticate,

And he whom these Seraphick Chores adore Must own an earthly Monarchy, and more: To Bethleems walls then in all haste they run, Before Aurora could display the Sun, And finde the Saviour of the world display'd, And in poore Bethleems armes despis'd and layd, Not usher'd nor attended, but with wake, Neglect and penury, for our plenties sake.

Here, O what find they! or, what find they not? A Lamp of light, ecclips'd with darknesse blot; A new-born Babe, yet got before all time; A spotlesse Lamb, yet spotted with our crime; A King of Kings, yet served as a slave; A Lord of life, yet vassal'd to the Grave? A very God, yet cloath'd with flesh and bone; A Prince, yet harbour'd in Confusion. What's here, I pray, that carnall eyes or sense Can honour with Religious reverence? A Carpenter, a Hand-maid, and a child, A Cottage, and a Crib with beasts defil'd; Yet loe! for all that basenesse, they behold, They tell to Mary, what the heav'ns have told To them: whose heart doth all those sayings hide, Till God and Time her doubtings should decide.

But, ay me! happy, happy Virgin-maid, Me thought of late my staggering Mase had stray'd Too farre, in pointing out thy humbled station In thy Sonnes dark eclipsed Incarnation: But ah, I see sublunar griess doe still Renew their Tides; for e'r they obbe, they sill And glut themselves with our afflictions load, Untill our grave become our last aboad:

Needs therefore must I rouze, once more, my quill, And make her drink once more the Nectar'd rill Of divine Numbers, that I may expresse Those teares, that toyle, and bitter wofull case With which thy harmlesse heart is pierced thorow, Whilst thy deare suckling our first griefs doth borrow.

Seven times hath Titan now, with swift Cariere, Run all th'Ecclyptick of his bandilier; And couching seven times in th'Atlantick deep, Hath lull'd as oft Earths drowsie globe asleep: Loe now his eight, and new approaching Ray Hath call'd on Phaeton to proclaim the Day; And by the sacred Ceremonious Rites Of Legall sanctions, now the Heav'n invites The ever blessed Virgin-maid to sacre Her Sonne, by Circumcision, mans Peace-maker.

But ah, great Nymph, what dost thou now? and why Greet'st thou thy Sonne with such a cruelty? That ev'n in stead of those sweet warbling aires That should his griefes beguile, and charm his cares, Thou mak'st the Runnals of his pretious blood Distain the ground in so impetuous flood? What, hast thou quite forgot that pitious strain, Which Nature, wafting in affections Main, On all that tender Progeny bestowes, Which from her bowels and her belly flowes? Or, tell me, dost thou think that this poor vail Of flesh, wherein th'Eternall's Sonne doth dwell, Although it truly was assum'd in thee, Can ev'r partake thy sinfull Leprosie? No, no, I feare, dread Nymph, I wrong too sore Thy Loves deep Ocean, and thy Faiths rich store;

For ne're a drop of that his Crimson dye Fall's to the ground, but with a Sympathy Of griefes, of teares, and sorrow-ringing-knell, Thou didst his scriechings and his teares bewail: Yea, what is more, I finde thee, Royall Dame, So wrapt 'twixt Faith and Fear's obstrep'rous flame, That whilst th'intend'st by Circumcisions stroak To consecrate thy Sonne to beare our yoak, No sooner dost thou precognosc his teares, Or yet presage his smart by thy weak feares, When loe, me thinks, I heare thee sweetly say, My hope, my help, my love, my life, my stay, Ah, shall I live, and be reserv'd to see My hearts delight, and Soules sole balm thus be Both cut and carved, by the butch'rous knife Of any Flamine, who did e're take life? No, no, my Love, my Darling, my Delight, Love cannot so her Gordian knot bequite, As once to make thee but become a pray To bloody rigour in a legall way: Back Phoebus, back for shame, goe hide thy head And golden Tresse in Thetis watry shade, Look not on such a savage sight, nor see So foule a Scean presented unto thee: Earth, stop thy mouth, and doe thou drink no more These crimson drops of blood, and spotlesse gore, Which my poor babe distills; but rather mourne, And to thy wonted Chaos straight returne: And, O thou Flamine, whosoe're thou be, Whose hand's accustom'd to this butchery, Here I adjure thee by that sumptuous All Which Heav'n or Earth doth sacred count or call,

Touch not my Sonne with such a bloody knife, For in his wound I bleed, and lose my life; But rather, kneeling at his De'ties throne, Know that his wounds and scars should be thy own: Yet whilst againe thou ruminat'st th'Abysse Of Gods unshun'd decree and Righteousnesse, O, how I see thee bound thy fraile desire, And what thou canst not comprehend, admire.

For since th'Eternall gives this strict command, That every male inhabiting this Land Of Promise, should by Circumcisions badge Be known a Co-heire of his heritage; O how thou daunt'st thy thoughts, and curb'st thy tongue As sacrilegious instruments of wrong, And though thy flesh a while had th'upper hand; Yet now I see the Spirit doth countermand The fraile suggestions of thy naturall will, And to his righteous lore subject them still.

For thus, me thinks, I heare thee plead: Altho 'Tis hard to see my Sonne dismembred so; Yet since 'tis God, who hath my comfort been, Whose Love my life doth every way maintain, Whose never failing Care doth still advance My Cup, my Table, and Inheritance, Who thus exacts thy body to be rent, What am I, wormling, that I should relent The meanest parcell of his blessed pleasure For all the worlds rich pomp and perishing treasure? No, no, I am no Zippora, to say, Thou art a bloody Mate to me this day: But since thy will must, or by us be done, Or else upon us, let Subjection

Be our best service; for 'tis known that thou Exalt'st the humble, and the proud dost bow: No, no, my Sonne, bow, bow thy selfe, obay The yoak which he upon thy neck doth lay; He is thy Father, and thou art his Sonne, His grace must guide thee, till thy race be run: Cease therefore you my teares, my sighs, and all My sorrowes, to your rest your selves recall; For though my Sonne, my Love, and Darling rather Be deare to me, he must obey his Father, And by his sufferings in the flesh allay His fury, whose disdain works our decay: 'Tis true, thou in thy selfe canst have no need By Circumcisions stroak and wound to bleed, For in thee no such sinfull spot doth dwell As needeth Circumcision for a Seal; Only for us, poore sinners, thou'rt content To seale thy selfe with our sinnes Sacrament, [unspec 1] That as old Abraham was the first put on This, as the seale of his adoption, Thou by this Seale wilt shew thy selfe that seed In whom our blessing first was promised: [unspec 2] Next, that the Law in thee may cleerly see Thou cam'st not to destroy it's liberty, But to fulfill it; by the Lawes great Seale Thou tak'st our debt on thee, and art our baile. [unspec 3] Thirdly, that in thy Circumcision, we Our Fore-fathers salvations map might see, Thou'rt made the whole worlds Saviour altogether,* 1.1 To day, to morrow, and the same for ever. And what is more, thou must be circumcised, [unspec 4] And in some short succeeding time baptized,

That wee may learn to circumcise our hearts As well's our outward and our carnall parts,* 1.2 For God is no waies like to frantick man, VVho only doth the outward count'nance scan, But rather chooseth to behold the heart, And what in it doth sweetly smile or smart, That by a righteous recompence he may Our actions and affections both repay: [unspec 5] And last of all, that all the world may learn Thy true humanitie rightly to discern; Thou must bee circumcis'd, and in the sight Of Priest and people both, declare the right, That thou art true man, having flesh and bone, Like us in all things save corruption.

Thus have I weakly with a darkned cole Lim'd out the secret passions of the Soule Of this great Nymph, and hop'd t'have bid farewell To all the terrors which her Soule could feel; But ô I see my selfe intrench'd again In those meandring paths of toyle and pain, VVherein poore worldlings run a circled course Of joyes and greefs, of better and of worse.

O how my pen denies to point that story To which it cannot yeeld deserved glory, For in this Scean of hers nothing is common, But all dread wonders, shee a wondrous woman: Come then, brave Nymph, come, let me ask thee why Thou dost in danger and difficulty Revisit Salems sacred Temple, that With legall sanctions, and I wot not what A world of Ceremonious Rites, thou may Thy presuppos'd Impur'ty purge away?

Well might'st thou, Mary, and besides thee none, Have claim'd immunity and exemption From all those shadowes and Levitick showes Which Sinne and Trespasse on their owners throwes; Not that thou in thy selfe art voyd and free From sinnes infective spot and leprosie; No, no, that were a grace of too great note For any Child that Adam ev'r begot, Since all who from old Adams loynes discend In Adams loynes doe still by sinne offend, He onely being except, who from thy wombe, A second Adam, to the world hath come: No, this is all that I averre, That by That heav'nly spring which from thy womb did fly There flow'd no such contagious spot and staine As once could make thee legally uncleane: 'Tis true, those Mothers which in sinne conceive A Race by sinne re-oblig'd to the Grave, And by their sinne unto the Law stand tyde May by the Law seek to be purified: But since thy Darling by himselfe ne're knew, Save for our sakes, how sinne doth man subdue, What needest thou by Turtles of Purgation T'enact the Scean of thy Purification?

Then, to unloose this riddle, let us look What Moses hath recorded, in that book Wherein Gods written Law doth give direction For the purgation of our sinnes infection: There it is writ, that if a woman beare A man-child to the world, she shall appeare Before the Lord, but not untill the Sun Full forty times about the world have run;

And when shee dares t'approach and come before him, E're shee doe bend her knees and goe t'adore him, Shee must present a Lamb, and Pidgeons two, The true confessors of her sinfull flow, And these the Priest must on the Altar burn, And to true pur'ty her impur'ty turn; And if shee have no Lamb to sacrifice, Two Turtles or two Pidgeons shall suffice:

Here, here I see thee, Nymph, with severe aw Obtemper the strict sanction of this Law, And as thou hadst been by thy byrth unclean, Thou wilt thy self thus purifie again, Offring two Pidgeons, void of gall or harm, And thy unspotted Lamb born in thine arm.

O blessed Lamb of God, how dost thou now Turn these poor types to what is re'lly true, And as the Index of the clock doth tell The severall motions of three, six, nine, twelve, So by these creatures, thou the great Creator Mak'st them bee cyphers, thee significator. A Lamb did Abel, when the world began, First offer to thy Father; thou'rt the Man Presignified, whose blood hath better dy Then Abel's, in his causless butchery: E're Noab from his pitched Ark came forth, Hee sent a Pidgeon of unspotted worth To view the new workls state, shee turns again The witness of a calm decreasing Maine, And in her Bill, an olive-branch, to show Th'Almighties wrath had stopt his surious flow: Thou art the Man; aspotless Pidgeon rather, Who in thy mouth bringst fromth'Eternall Father

The unexpected Sacrament of Peace, That seales the Sermon of our Love and Grace, And as the Turtle in her widdow-while Is never seen so much as once to smile, But with continuall mourning doth bemoan The loss of her enamour'd Paragon; So thou bewailing that the master-peece Thou didst, at first, seale with thy own impresse Should, by a strangers stamp, be stoln away, And in destructions wandring paths to stray, Com'st now at last, and over Bether trips With loves exulting scalads, shews and skips, And cannot rest, till in thy arms strict hold, Thou doe thy deerest Minion reinfold.

Hence, hence it is, dread Nymph, that sacred thou, Not for a new Moons sake, nor for a vow, But for obedience to the Law wilt goe To Salem's Temple, and in publick showe Be purifi'd; and in thy armes, present The blessed seed that seales our Government: That as unto the first-born did belong The double portion, and revenge of wrong; So in his double portion we may have Grace upon Grace, and our destroying Grave May so bee shut, that wee may sing and cry Death, where's thy sting? Grave, where's thy victory? And that this second Temples lofty frame May far exceed the first house prototheam; And that which God by Haggai's mouth did speake, May now, in time, a full perfection take: Loe here the man, to whom the hid desire Of all the nations, in a zeal-bred fire

Are captivate; doth stand, that all th'opprest By sin, in him, may find true ease and rest: The first house, sure, by ceremonious rites And Typick emblems of spirituall sweets Did lead the Priests and people both, to run And hope th'approach of this imperiall Sun; But now the body's come, the shades evanish, And Titan's new-born rayes night's clouds doth banish And though the Oracles be dumb, though th'Ark Preserve no Manna, nor no budding Mark Of Priest-hood; for on him all those rely'd, He finish'd them, they him presignify'd: Yet loe, this day, the never erring Word Of God, is brought to pass, and doth afford More lively consolation to the Soule, And those sad raptures which our peace controle, Then all the bathings, purgings, exhalations That great Jedidiah put for expiations Could furnish to the sinne perplexed hart, For Antimony 'gainst the Serpents dart: For now the long contesting jar doth cease, That kept at ods, Truth, Mercy, Justice, Peace, Whilst in our flesh, our first begotten brother Makes all those Graces kisse each one another: Blest then be God, who when his Church is tost 'Twixt swallowing Calpe and Abila's coast, Hath sent his Son as Palinure to guide And bring her safe to shore gainst Neptun's pride, And make her, when shee's shut from out Shem's tents, In Japhet's state-house hold her Parl'aments: For he hath sworn that hee will ne're forsake her Till, like a faithfull-Bridegroom, homehee take her.

Notes

• * 1.1

  Heb. 13.8. Rev. 3.8.
• * 1.2

  Deut. 10.16.