Emblemes by Fra: Quarles

VI. IOB. VII.XX. I have sinned: What shall I doe unto thee, O thou preserver of men, why hast thou set me as a marke against thee?

LOrd I have done: and Lord, I have misdone; 'Tis folly to contest, to strive with one, That is too strong; 'tis folly to assaile Or prove an Arme, that will, that must prevaile? Iv'e done, I've done; these trembling hands have throwne Their daring weapons downe: The day's thine owne: Forbeare to strike, where thou hast won the field; The palme, the palme is thine: I yeeld, I yeeld. These treach'rous hands, that were so vainly bold To try a thrivelesse combat, and to hold Selfe-wounding weapons up, are now extended For mercy from thy hand; that knee that bended Vpon her guardlesse guard, does now repent Vpon this naked floore; See, both are bent, And sue for pitie; O, my ragged wound Is deep and desp'rate; it is drench'd and drown'd In blood, and briny teares: It does begin To stinke without, and putrifie within: Let that victorious hand, that now appeares Iust in my blood, prove gracious to my teares:

Thou great Preserver of presumptuous man, What shall I do? What satisfaction can Poore dust and ashes make? O, if that blood That yet remaines unshed, were halfe as good As blood of Oxen; if my death might be An offring to attone my God and me, I would disdaine injurious life, and stand A suiter, to be wounded from thy hand. But may thy wrongs be measur'd by the span Of life? or balanc'd with the blood of man? No, no, eternall sin expects for guerdon, Eternall penance, or eternall pardon: Lay downe thy weapons; turne thy wrath away; And pardon him that hath no price to pay; Enlarge that soule, which base presumption binds; Thy justice cannot loose what mercy finds: O thou that wilt not bruise the broken reed, Rub not my sores, nor prick the wounds that bleed: Lord, if the peevish Infant fights, and flies, With unpar'd weapons, at his mothers eyes, Her frownes (halfe mixt with smiles) may chance to shew An angry love-trick on his arme, or so; Where, if the babe but make a lip, and cry, Her heart begins to melt; and by and by, She coakes his deawy cheekes; her babe she blisses, And choaks her language with a thousand kisses. I am that child; loe, here I prostrate lie, Pleading for mercy; I repent, and cry For gracious pardon: let thy gentle eares Heare that in words, what mothers judge in teares: See not my frailties, Lord, but through my feare, And looke on ev'ry trespasse through a teare: Then calme thy anger, and appeare more mild: Remember, th'art a Father; I, a child.

S. BERN. Ser. 21. in Cant.

Miserable man! Who shall deliver me from the reproach of this shamefull bondage? I am a miserable man, but a free man: Free because like to God; miserable, because against God: O keeper of mankind, why hast thou set me as a marke against thee? Thou hast set me, because thou hast not hindred me. It is just that thy enemy should be my enemy, and that he who repugnes thee, should repugne me: I who am against thee, am against my selfe.

EPIG. 6.

But form'd, and fight? But borne, and then rebell? How small a blast will make a bubble swell? But dare the floore affront the hand that laid it? So apt is dust to fly in's face that made it.