THE MIRROUR OF MERCY IN THE MIDST OF MISERY OR Life triumphant in Death where in Free-will is abolished and Free-grace exalted WITH The large wonders of Loves wounds Written in a fit of Sicknesse By JEREMIAH RICH. LONDON Printed by J. G. for Nath Brook at the Ange. in Corne-hill 1654. To the Right Honourable the Lord JOHN BRADSHAW I Have read of some of the Saints of old that have prayed for life as David and Hezekiah others that have desired to be dissolved as Paul and Eliah yet those that desired to dye had abundance of contentment here and the others that laboured for life had assurance of glory hereafter Alas my life was not worthy the name of life 't was not a life 't was but a piece of childhood throwne away yet in my sicknesse I desired to escape death by dying daily since I have been taught that he that is dead while he lives shall live when he dyes How direfull are the thoughts of Death how grievous the remembrance of the Grave yet when we call to minde how it was sweetned by our deare Saviour methinkes Death is not so dreadfull nor Life so desireable Death is but a freedome from danger and the bank of Rottennesse is now a bed of Roses where Innocency may dwell secure nothing assaults us there I have thought to dye is lesse than to be borne 't is a quiet resting from all Iniquity a conclusion of troubles an end of fiery trialls where in dust we shall be lost a while as is the Sun that must permit the base and sordid Earth to smother up his Glory for a night that the next morning when he arises as from a bed of Roses burnish'd in all his bravery he might be the more wondred at so when our hearts are pure and when our sighs are past and when our griefes are gone and when our wiped eyes shall weep no more then nor will it be long we shall be snatcht up from the conversations of Sinners to the habitations of Angels where Mortality shall be swallowed up of Life May it please your Honour I thought to have done something in answer to Free-will but that I wanted Free-will to doe it therefore I have left the Matter almost as imperfect as the Author yet had I had time I had either added more or have done this better As it is I humbly offer it to your Honour for a Memento mori that when we put off our garments of Mortality we may launch into the gulf of ever blessed Eternity I meane at that time when we have time to say no more but in manus tuas domine commendo spiritum meum Your Lordships devoted Servant Jer Rich. TO THE LADIES AND Gentlewomen of ENGLAND IT hath been reported by some who have had more vices in their mouths than vertues in their mindes that what Books I have printed formerly were not mine owne because they have said my countenance doth not promise so much I could answer them but I will not brawle with such poore blasts for Solomon saith that which is done hath been done and there is no new thing under the Sun therefore since my adversaries have not wit enough to rule like Judges on the Bench I will let them braul like Prisoners at the Bar I confesse Righteousness doth crosse the recreations of the rich and Purity is against the opinion of the poore Piety hath been estranged from Princes and Poetry is a mysterie to Pedlers therefore my Poems are unfit for the Pockets of the one or the Pallats of the other Indeed though I have been perswaded by some eminent persons yet I never did intend to write againe till Providence gave me such an occasion to Pen my strange recovery from Death which I have vowed to beare about me as a perpetuall memoriall Thus from the secresies of night have I stolne Time from sleep to picture out from my vetired thoughts the melancholy of my minde And Ladyes I present it to you It is a Maske of Cupid and Death you cannot run from the one though you may raile at the other and you will have no reason for though the first part be fearfull the last is delightfull that if one cannot winne you the other may wound you let it lie in your laps and at least be read by your lips or hold it in your hands till you have it in your hearts that it may help to make you lovely with inward graces when age and sicknesse with their ashy hands have swept the beauty from your amorous eyes Jeremiah Rich. The mirrour of MERCY IN The midst of MISERY WHen Kingly Phoebus drove his Chariot downe Into the Southern Kingdomes there to crowne Those People with his glory when the Aire Was cold intemperate neither foule nor faire But wond'rous various and the Earth the whiles Casts off her amorous glaunces and sweet smiles Her costly Ornaments Livery of Greene Her Robes of Gallantry and lies unseen Lamenting for her Lover when she feeles Delay waites on his absent Chariot wheeles Just then it was when Titan's Throne was gone And Cinthia doth possesse the darkned throne Usurping to her selfe halfe of the yeare And rules it with her sable Hemisphere When you might see Nights Empress ride in state And all the Starres and Royall Armies wait Upon her high Commands when you might see The Giant Orien in the Canopie Walking the nightly Circles as if none But he should rule the World Nights sable Throne Is drawne by winged Pegasus and shee With Cyreus Procean and Andromache Rides o're the milky way when Sol retires To light the World with their dim feeble Fires It was October and the very day Sol entred into Scorâ—io then I say When all my Actions were unsound uneven Me thoughts I heard a threatning from Heaven Which fill'd my troubled fancy full of feares And ringed Deaths Alarum in mine eares Am I a God and did I raiâ—e this World From her first Chaos to have blacknesse hurld Against my sparkling Throne Shall my pure eyes Behold these Sinnes and base enormities Without revenge What! did my fingers frame This Universe for th' glory of my name And made Man Lord of all that he might be In a capacity to honour me And am I thus rewarded I 'le goe spurne Away the World her glory and I 'le turne Time from his Chariot wheeles I 'le rend in sunder Her Axletrees and with a clap of Thunder I 'le puffe this spacious Fabrick aside And blast these mortalls in their height of pride At this I started my distemper'd braines Did ake my head was tortered with great paines My body shivered and my blood did boyle Like fiery Aetna or the burning oyle That Drunkards quaffe in Hell my heart was saint My tongue too weake to utter a complaint Though I were full I knew not what to say Nor scarce could tell where 't was my torment lay Sometimes I burnt like the Promethean Fire That came from Heaven and sometimes my desire
Presence O Perhaps he comes but to encrease my woe And tell me what high glory I have lost And what rare pleasures oh my hopes are crost I have offended Heaven by sinne and now He 's angry and does furrow up his brow Or else it may be he is come to jest A while and rock me to eternal rest And in a trance shew me that glorious Throne Where high borne Saints attend the Holy One Glob'd by the breath of Angels that poor I Mâ—ghtin my sorrowes Swan-like singing die So said the Vision then approached nigher Rare flashes of delightfull love and sier Glanc'd from his eye his tressels dangled downe By Art his head was arched with a Crowne And in his hand a glass that made such way Whose lab'ring sands strove to outrun the day And tire his horse the mantle that he wore Lapt under his right arm embroidered o're With starrs of orient Pearl that strove to shrowd Their glimm'ring glory in an airy Clowd It was of Azure and the purest die Not much inferiour to the mid-day skie When Sol is in his glory 't was made fast With a rich Diamond his face surpast The Queen of Love and his right arm did hold A rising Sun imbost with purest Gold Thus in this gallant posture having laid His hand upon his hour-glasse he said Time's Message Know fearful mortals I Apollo am Who hearing of these sorrowes hither came From my bright Palace and high spangled Throne Aloft to put a period to thy moan I dwell above higher than Eagles wings The breath of Fame or majesty of Kings There where the lovely grey-ey'd morn perfumes Her rosie Chariot with Sabean fumes Where Geminies are link'd with Cupids Yoaks And Jove sits crowned with a grove of Oaks From Jealous Juno where Sols horse to gaine Thâ— olympick hill doth champ the frothy Reine In fury and with flaming nostrils dare The frozen Artique and the snowy Beare It 's I that chase the regions of the night Away those horrid shadowes that affright Languishing Lovers whose unknowne desires Are vertuous those circles of blue fires That doe from the infernall darknesse rise Amaine and glaunce before unquiet eyes That none of these from the Iberian glades May black the world with their inveterate shades And so it was in that same houre when thou Didst ope thy lips in that most holy vow That if the King of Heaven would please to smile And to thy time adde but a little while Then thou wouldst spend the remnant of thy years In raining from thy eye-lids showers of teares For thy black crimes and then thy following dayes Should passe in purity and be spent in praise Heaven heard thy words and his all-piercing eye Relented for thy sorrows he did spye Thy low estate and sent me post away To stop deaths hand and give thee longer day And here my message endeth all thy score Is wip't away see that thou sinne no more Lest Heaven be deaf when next thou dost complain Live happy thus I turne my glasse againe Simile At this Time vanish too and I began To gather strength Have you beheld a Man New risen from a swound whose wandring eyes At first can scarce discover where he lies Till by the help of Art and Nature he Gathers a little more capacity To know the standers by and with some paine Gets up upon his feeble feet againe So I recovered new risen from the dead And live to pay what I have promised Which I shall doe but this discourse I 'le wave Onely three words I have brought from the grave Unto three sorts of persons they l refer To th'Souldier Poet and Astrologer And first to thee thou Noble Son of Fame That from deep wounds didst strive to make thy name Ride o're the world and for a little breath Of praise durst gaze upon the face of death I like that humour well in them that doe Such things with Valour and with Vertue too But you Hells Instrument that often dye The earth with crimson blood untill the cry Of Widows Mothers Orphans too are faine With showers of teares to wash it white againe You that dispeople Earth and poyson Aire And murder young and old both soule and faire Children and Scholars these that cannot stand Against the opposition of your hand That strew your walks with bloud and fire and pay The tribute of a bleeding wound a day Thou canst not sight with death he with a frowne Will make thee trembling lay thy weapons down Like a base coward though thy body be Wall'd round about with armour Cap-a-pe And you that by the magick of your quill Write language that can make alive or kill And with your brazen Epitaphs endeavour To make the dead survive and live for ever That out-charme Orpheus Amphion Mercurie Apollo Cleo or Melpomene That write in hidden mysteries and can prate In rapture and are Poets Laureat Ye Sonnes of Phoebus you that can display Upon the top of high invention say What will you answer Death Will all the charmes Of Rhetorick redeem thee from his armes Or if the twy fork'd mountaine hide thee will Death feare to clamber up Parnassus hill No then thy sweetest lines and choisest sense High Rhetorick is but fruitlesse eloquence Thou canst not charm him with a lyrick strain Nor can the Muses fetch thee back againe And last to thee that unto Heaven dost flie And with the Eagle mak'st thy nest on high That with thine Ephemeridis canst see Saturne Jove Mars Sol Venus Mercurie With all their Angulars and Variations Their Sextiles Squares Trines Retrogradations Conjunctions Oppositions fixed Signes Circular Ecliptique Equinoctiall Lines And calculatest for the following yeare Starres Tropicks Horoscoqe and Hemisphere And art exceeding skilfull in the seaven Celestiall Orbs say Register of Heaven Why dost not flie from Death Dâ—st thou not care For the grim Monster Why dost not prepare For his approach Or is thy wisdome shewn In telling others fortunes not thine owne Were I a Merlin or a Rabulis Skill'd like to Prolomee or opernicus I 'd take the winged morning and go shrowd Into the bosome of an airy clowd Or saddle winged Pegasus anâ— flee With the swift Eagle and Andromeche Into Joves palace where obscured I Might live eternally and never dye But Oh that will not be there is a power Higher than these and that same dismall hower Of death is hid from all who can withstand The blow and ward the terrour of his hand And on the other side so no disease Can take us off sooner then heaven please No evill constellations of the Starrs Perills at Sea nor wounds of bloody Warres Dangers of death nor sorrowes which impaire Our health infections nor corrupted aire Which I have found when I lay at the doore Of death and all my hopes were given o're Just then Sols Chariot being in his fall Entred the house they Domus mortis call And Luna entred Scorpio which to me Presaged nothing but mortalitie And yet I
live and better too for here I behold Angels of a higher Spheare Which sung me amorous Eclogues lullabyes And charm'd soft sleep into my troubled eyes Eas'd my deluded fancy put my braine And my Souls Organs into tune againe Oh how shall I adore you you whose fiers With hallowed flames so sweetly did inspire This better soule of reason and did see My paine and came from Heaven to pity me How shall I serve you now and die so pure That I may come to that sweet place where you are Where Saints and Angels arme in arme doe walke Through those blest groves whose sweet discourse talk Is love where we each other may behold In everlasting glory uncontroul'd To all Eternity And Oh my God! Hide all my faults in love let not thy rod Afflict for ever why dost thou take such paines With wormes Oh wash away my guilt staines With thy deare merits that which is above Desert crown me not with Laurels but with love And then Oh then though foolish fancies fill My measured lines and undervalued quill With scorne and though the basest of all men On earth slight the Geometry of my Pen Yet I will now goe soare a little higher And light my blazing torch with holy fire That my poore Tapor may resemble thine Whose sparkling glories are of fire Divine And when these lips shall faile to speak Oh then When all my earthly worke is done and when My pen is dull'd and when I shall restore Nature her debt when I shall be no more Then grant without a blemish I may flee Into the Palace of Eternity Or shew me here the promised Land that I May live and wander thither when I dye Draw me and I will runne after thee THus I poore I in Pilgrims weed obscure Surround the world yet faine away would fly To Heaven for alas I am too sure That if I am intangled here I dye Yet when I see this price is got with paine I set me downe and count my labour vaine Resolving to stand still or wander back againe 2. Sol's flying Horse whose nostrils vomit flames And from their Lungs spit forth quotidian fire His Whips of flaming Wyre their speed proclaimes Yet their Immortall spirits scorne to tyre Till downe th'Olympick hill they make their way In fresh cariere and Tytan's glittering raye Doth hurry to the shades and Sol has done the day 3. But oh I tire some Angells from above Lend me your aid is there no gentle hand To guide me to the Pasace of my love And lead me prisoner to the promis'd land Alas these up-hill wayes are hard to trace I 'm unacquainted with that holy place But run quite out of breath ere I begin the race 4. My weake desires are but like sodaine flashes Of Lightning in unwholsome troubled aire And sin like Thunder every minute dashes Me down my deeds are farre more foule than faire When shall I end my race that run so slow Or how escape from Death that doe not know The way that leads to Life where whither shall I go 5. If should fly to wealth that 's but a trouble And who â—an glory in uncertaine gaine And if I sly to beauty that 's a bubble Wealth is but want and pleasure is but paine Earths gaine is losse her sweets are all but sowre Her highest joy is vanisht in an houre Aals all flesh is grass Death crops the fairest flower 6. To Heavens high Palace therefore will I steere My wandring course Oh that some gentle winde Would fill my Sailes why should I tarry here And in this vaile of misery be confin'd To sin and sorrow Lord let these my wayes Be led by thee and I will waste these dayes Which now I spend in Teares in speaking out thy praise 7. Behold my Body how obscure it lyes Alas Free-will is but an idle story Can my dead heart or these my Leaprous eyes Direct me to the Palace of high glory Phoeb with her sable Hemisphere would stray And every wandring Starre would lose his way If Sol should hide his face the giver of the day 8. Let Love and Terror both together awe me I am the Starre be thou my glorious Sun Thy light must guide me and thy love must draw me I have no strength to stand no power to run Oh wound my bosome with an amorous dart Of holy fire the thoughts of what thou art Invites incites delights my joy my love my heart The Soliloquie IT was in the day when the Soule was armed with Vertue and unarmed Innocencie singing her Epithalamiums among the trees of the Garden like a Bird of Paradice 'T was then when she could spread her airy wings and fly to Heaven chaunting her sonnets with the Hallelujahs of Angels in her well-tun'd Layes to the delight of her Lover Before Sensuality Security Pride Discourtesie Opinion and Disdaine had blinded those well-form'd eyes and blackt so faire a face but now instead of Aspiring he is Descending instead of soaring to Heaven he must goe sow the Earth where his sweaty Pain must curb his aspiring Pride This was the day if it might be called day the latter part whereof was Tragicall wherein I think the Sunne was muffled in a black mantle of clouds which resembled ink put into water and like a curtaine of night did overspread the Universe as if they meant to banish out the day or like another Phaeton into some unknown world to drive the flaming throne The Heavens that sometimes seemed to smile at Mans Innocencie upon whose well-form'd body if the Sun in his pride had shot a burning ray then gentle Zepherus with soft and silken wings would fan coole aire upon him But now the thundring Heavens and stormy Winds strive which shall be loudest the first with their horrid cracks doe shake the Fabrique as if they would break the Axletrees of the Earth and hurle her from her Artique and Antartique Poles The other with roaring gusts of wind boyle up such mighty waves and shoot such angry surges at the Sun as if they meant to drowne the day or in their furie to wash away the world Thus Man is thrust out of Paradice and instead of having converse with Angels he is become a companion for Devils he that aspired so much after knowledge knows nothing now but that which he would not know ah me how is the beauty of Innocency become a map of misery the Man that was made Immortall to live hath now received Sentence to dye ah me how are the mighty fallen he that was once the Image of Heaven the Glory of the Earth the wonder of the World the pride of Nature and the Angels true Idea is now a curse to the Earth and an offence to Heaven borne to misery and banisht out of glory whose dayes of life are hasting whose death comes on poasting having no power to lengthen the one nor friends to lament the other The symptomes of Immortality are gone and sinne hath puft