Selected quad for the lemma: cause_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A86134
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This last ages looking-glasse: or Englands sad elligie. By S. H.
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S. H.
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1642
(1642)
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Wing H125; Thomason E124_2; ESTC R4702
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5,262
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19
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THIS LAST AGES LOOKING-GLASSE OR ENGLANDS SAD ELLIGIE By S. H. Quandoque bonus dormitat Homerus Aspiciunt occulis superi mortalia Justis Printed at York by Stephen Bulkley 1642. With Licence COVRTEOVS READER IF thou look for a large Epistle to this little Pamphlet thy expectation is Frustrate for I am affraid to fall into the Citizens of MINDAS disease that my Book should run out at the Portall If thou finde any thing Worth thy Reading make Vse of it Looke not at the rudenesse either of the Phrase or the Verse but the well-meaning of the Author Looke not for Polished Lines but Matter pointing at the Times It is the first Born if it miscarry or prove Abortive it will be an obstruction to the Second Birth to hinder the bringing forth But however if thou Like it take it if not leave it and begone So Farewell Thine as Thou Vsest Him S. H. Seeing WHat Age is this that we behould Where war is bought peace is sould When we look each one at his own Reaping the seeds others have sown O how we make our Christall Eyes Of Villainies vile to be the Spies We see the Moate but not the Beame Other faults great ours small we deeme As the Eagle we are quick of sight Bringing anothers deeds to light But as blind beetles we cannot see Our own sad wofull miserie We waile the Judgment and the Rod But not our sins offending God We as the Dog look at the stone But at our sins few or none Will once look back and see the thing That doth Gods vengeance swiftly bring We see neither cause nor sender But vengeance for wrath we render We see all things but what we should Lord cast us in a better mould And grant mine Eyes may see the thing That may please God and eeke my King Hearing WHat Age is this wherein I Heare Such sound of Treason in mine Eare Such contumelies and such Lyes As deafs mine Ears and blinds mine Eyes Of sterne War such dreadfull rumors But to satiate some mens humors Whose sole delight is onely bloud That they may bathe in Crimson floud If they laugh who weep they care not Yea to ruine all they spare not I st Religion or Reason That keeps no Time Tune or Season What Blasphemies do some relate Against Our God our King and State Some cry out of Church Government Some to ruine the Temple are bent And some cannot endure to Heare The Sound o' th' Organ in their Eare Nor yet our Churches Bells sweet sound They doe their fiery zeale confound The Charmers Voice they will not Heare His Tongue not chained to their Eare But God grant I may Heare the thing That Sound may well to God and King Smelling WHat Age is this wherein I Smell Such noysome stench from hatefull Hell Such unsavoury poysoned Weeds That in this Land Infection breeds Infecting so the healthfull Ayre Raysing sterne Stormes for Weather faire Are these the Nosegaies of Delight Please they the Sence the Nose or Sight Me thinks the stench ascends the Brain Poysoning the Stomack and each Vain Diffusing venom through the Joints And at Destruction only points Putting the Body out of frame Making all things seem not the same Oh! how it poysoned hath my Nose To Smell the Hemlock for the Rose For odoriferous Sents most Sweet To Smell the Channell in the Street For Practise I have found but show Mark how this new-found Age doth grow Me thinks now here I smell a Knave That speaks this thing and that would have But Lord grant me my Smelling well That I with God and King may dwell Tasting WHat Age is this wherein I rest To Taste things baske for what are best Sowre things for pleasant do not well For vain shaddows the substance sell This bargain is a bad exchange Good soiles leaving on Heathes to range To drink puddle in stead of Meed May danger in the body breed It cannot well my Tasting relish The Dish of Treason it is Hellish Hath no Savour to good Pallats Resembling right to weedy Sallats That have a rank and noysome Taste Most fit on Dung-hill to be caste That neither rellish well nor feed Let us detest this fruitlesse seed Oh how I have my Coyne layd out For fruitlesse food I fear I doubt My Mouth it is clean out of season To see Men live so voide of Reason To Taste all things they do refrain But what are tempered in their Brain But God grant I may Taste the thing That relish may my God and King Touching WHat Age is this wherein I stand That I should now lift up a Hand ' Gainst Him whom God did sole Annoint I le racked be from joynt to joynt And each Limbe be pull'd asunder Before I make the World wonder At such vile trayterous Acts of mine My thoughts and deeds I will refine And in that mould my Actions frame That may me spotlesse leave to Fame Oh let that Hand for ever rot That ' gainst my Liege doth Act a Plot That may his patient Spirit move Or any way estrange his Love Nor in the Land let any Live That would His Grace ill Councell give Shall any harpe upon that string To take up Arms against their King The Lords Annoynted for to touch A wicked Heart I have none such I hate the waies of such a wight they are not pleasing in Gods sight God grant I may touch on that string That may please God and eeke my King Common Sences WHat Age is this say Common Sence Worse cannot be by consequence I see few Men that look at Peace or strive to make the VVarrs to cease they do pretend Peace in their VVords Whilst they are brandishing their Swords I Heare no tidings of Concord Look down upon us now O Lord Each Day brings forth more cruell things In each Eare wofull tidings Rings I Smell nothing that pleasant is Sorrow is neer but far is Blisse For beauty burning for sweet smells stink For pleasant VVine we VVorm wood Drink I Taste nothing that gives content Our sweet meats now we must Repent We had the Dainty fare of Peace But now we must forgoe our ease My Touch and Feeling I have lost These things too dearely have me cost I Touch nothing but am defil'd With Chaffe for Corne I am beguil'd Will Common Sence nothing availe Will not the naked Truth prevaile These things are strange and very rare Lord free this Land of broken ware O smite these Rebels in the Head And with dread Thunder strike them Dead That all may See Touch Taste and Heare And Learn our God to dread and Feare That I and All may quickly Smell That God and King them all will quell Stay Let me wonder once again What Flouds of Tears run down amain What wofull shreeks what trembling Hands What Fear to lose Lives Goods and Lands Oh how we Weep we Mourn and Waile Thongh it doe us but small availe To See the Times thus distracted To heare