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
Cool'd as the angry North when Jove makes bold To clâ—ath the Universe with freezing cold Sometimes I was in Heaven or else not farre Below it where I saw each wandring Starre Move in their severall Orbs Sometimes mine eyes Beheld great wonders as if all the Skies Were pav'd with Pearles and Rubies then I 'de run To view the glittering Palace of the Sun Where I beheld how Phoebus drove his throne Over the Spangled vault and I made moane He went so swift away with hot desire Lashing his Horse with whips of flaming Wier Then to the middle Region of the Aire My fancy would retire to view the rare Agreement of the Elements how they Keep in their bounds and every houre obey The Ordinance of Heaven and then my minde Would thinke how clouds rode on the winged winde Now horrid Aeolus who is heard too oft And wide-mouth'd Boreas raises stormes aloft â—he sable Clowds have blotted all the Skies And to the apprehension of all eyes â—ave banishâ—d the Sunnes glory all is black With angry Clowds the Poles do seem to crack The Axeltrees to rend the Fabrick shakes The Exalations and the Vapours makes The flashy Lightnings and the Winds to flie With Thunder-bolts from Jove's Artillerie Then on the suddaine all is hush and gone And smiling Phoebus in his kingly Throne The roaring Thunder now is quite given o're And angry Jove will fire his Guns no more Neptune appeares to calme the swelling maine Delus and Boreas now are friends againe The Clowds are vanish'd and the Heavens do smile As if they did but fright us all this while And all was done in jest but to invoak Us to believe a God with that I'woke What horrid shape is that that calls dim Night To hide my torments that abjure the light With that like thunder or like flashy fire His fury rose Wherefore dost thou inquire Sayes he I am the King of feares and I Was sent with summons from Eternity I dwell in that dark Vault where the black line Of Death is drawne where Pluto Proserpine Proud Beelzebub and Mephestophilus Pale-sac'd Oblivion horrid Cerberus Millions of Haggs and fearefull Furies haunt Grim Charon and the churlish Rhadamant Where Etna's hill doth pour her hideous flames Into the starry Region and proclaims A terrour to the world by soaring higher Than flashy lightening or feeble fier While the amazed Marriner from a sarre Looking aloft admires what blazing Starre Threatens the aged Moon because they be Fearfull fore runners of a tragedie At this turn'd my face and wept till all My châ—â—kâ—â— were bath'd and is my Funerall So suddaâ—ly to be and is there none Will send a sigh to heaven a tear a grone Will no one begg for me that heaven would stay His hand a while and give me longer day Unhappy mâ—ther where are all your gaines Poore satisfaction for your nine moneths paines Was it for nought but this oh rather why Did not weep a shower of teares and die Within my Nurses armes Then might I have No fostering but a cradle and a grave Oh beauteous Innocence how blest art thou Sweet Vertue too oh might I tarry now How should I love thee then I should not feare To flie into the bosome of my Deare Where lifted up ravisht I should behold That shining City built of burnisht gold Like to transparent glass then should I dare To travaile through the dwellings of the aire To immortality where I might see Wonders deny'd to our capacity There is perpetuall Youth perpetuall Spring â—o evening cold no heat nor no such thing â—s time or feeble age nor timorous feare â—nvy deceipt and pride are strangers there â—here is no dread of horror to perplexâ— â—o poverty to curb no care to vexe â—o fearâ— of Theeves to rob no Moth to rust â—o winking fraud no trembling distrust â—o trading there nor trafiâ—king for toyes â—ut every man his owne desires enjoyes â—here troops of glorious Angels shall surprize Having rare pleasures sitting on their eyes â—he new-come Soule in white transparant vailes â—esembling Snow their garments deckt with trailes Of Orient Pearle with which you may behold â—right Diamonds their girdles are of Gold â—heir eyes like morning rayes but shine more raâ—e â—ike threds of fringed Gold their frizled haire â—heir countenances sweet where Love incloses â—he Lillies with a bed of fragrant Roses â—nd send a thousand thousand graces downe â—rom their faire eyes to welcome me and crowne My Soule with endlesse pleasures and delights Of rarities their Snowy hands invites â—o their rare walkes where that Immortal love â—ts richly shadowed in a hallowed grove â—here pleasures still are length'ned with device â—heir food is swelling fruit of Paradice Where on a banke of Violets our eares â—hall drinke the ravishing musick of the spheres While we sing Hallelujahs to 't and cry No Joy no triumph to Eternity Oh! If the King of Heaven would please to smile And to my dayes adde but a little while A little little longer that poor I Might learne to live before I come to dye How should I prize it then with regenerate feare Would I goe bathe my eye-lids with a teare For my black crimes how should I slight this ball Of Earth and tread and trample upon all The glory of the world then should my dayes Be past in purity and spent in praise But now I see my labouring sands are run From times swift houre glasse the dayes bright Sun Is hurryed to the shades where envious night Will hide the lustre of his glorious light And now 't is vaine for me thus to implore I must be gone and shall see Man no more Death I have out-stayed my patience let 's away Together yonder comes the dawning day And still we linger on cease thy vaine prayers They are too tedious and my waighty affaires Will not admit delay thy weake desire Is vaine thus thus I 'le quench my flameing Ire Time Hold I command thee hold or by my powers Yeares ages seasons moneths dayes minutes houres And by the spangled Palace of the Sun By all their glories ere my glasse is run Strike if thou dar'st strike look here this hand Hath brought from heaven a powerful countermand I 'le puff thy power away and banish thee To that low vault of black eternity Stand back or to the shades thou shalt be hurld I 'le make thee cease triumphing o're the world At this Death vanisht and who ever saw Those timerous people that were struck in awe With that great Comet that did once appeare Within the Horizon of our Hemisphere May guesse how we all wondred at the story Being much amazed at this Persons glory Therefore 'twixt grief or feare joy hope or rage I thus replyed What mean these Changes What has Time or Age To do with us What sodaine Change is this What glorious Guest What Bird of Paradise Does here attend us What bright Aâ—gel's he Has left the Palace of Eternity To grace my Funerall with his
Crowns policy of States purity of Saints nor power of Angels that could redeem thee from eternall death till I did pay the price and wilt not thou believe me now except my profferred love and let me lead through this darkned vale thou canst not finde the way alone see if I will not bring thee to my Fathers house and lay thee under the Canopie of Love though dangers were before thee as thick as Starres above thee my hand should crush them all and with an angry breath I 'le blast their fury in their height of pride Soul Oh my deare let me not see paradice in a vision that when I wake it may appeare a dreame I know thou canst doe all things but I am so stained with Spots and drest in raggs of such deformity that I shall but fall as dirt upon thy Cheeks or Ashes in thine Eyes the best I have is but unwilling willingnesse why dost thou descend below thy incomparable throne to trouble thine eares with me Alas what can I give thee for all thy paines but Rebellion and sure the saving of such a wretch as I will not advance thy glory but speak apace my Sighs my best Orators I faine would resigne my will to thee for ever Oh guide and direct me for I am wholly thine Christ How comely are thy eyelids in their Tears which sit upon thy face like Arythrian Pearl with a Vermylian dye they shine like to the eye-lids of the morne for when the Sun retires behinde a cloud a while to weep alone unseen methinkes he lookes like thee those drops upon thy cheeks are like the early dew that comes to kisse the Rose and in a Summer morne doth fall into the bosome of a flower the Courts of Kings or Princes Palaces are poor habitations I had rather live with thee than with the greatest Monarchs of the World Soul Oh what is there in me worthy of love I shall be the unworthiest Instrument that ever was made to celebrate thy praise The Organs of my soul are all untuned and every noble faculty of my spirit is obscure I am poore and despis'd and the world rejects me but 't is no matter if thou wilt love me though I be hated of all but how shall I spend my weary houres when thou art gone away Christ I 'le send the Spirit to beare thee company when thou dost sit alone and sometimes dropst a teare his hand shall wipe it away and glad thy heart teach sorrow how to sing and when thou walkest abroad a guard of Angels shall secure thee from injury my love Soul When I am sad alone my busie thoughts shall fly on wings of contemplation and see thee in Heaven and I will watch and pray till stealing slumbers with soft and airy wings shall bring my languishing Spirit to the Visions of Eternity where I may dream of thee and when I wake I 'le walk and view the world and when I see the spangled Canopie and behold the wondrous motion of the Orbs I 'le thinke upon thy glory there Christ I 'le goe prepare a place for thee a place in eternity above the teeth of time there where the grey-ey'd morne ushers the flaming Chariot of the day surrounded in brightnesse and glory where we will dwell in temples not made with hands in streets of Gold like to transparant glasse and when the houre-glass of thy life is run and time hath brought thy journey to an end I le dresse thy temples in a victors Orbe and arch them with a Crowne Soul Well while I live here I 'le be exceeding humble and if I can holy in all my actions I 'le resemble thee If sinfull thoughts begin to staine my Soule I 'le weep them o're ere I have thought them out If I am abused I will get upon the wings of prayer and tell thee all my wrongs my life shall be a continuall repentance I will not back-slide rather than so I will wast my Soule with Sobs and Sigh away my Body into aire Christ Farewell dearest farewell make hast and meet me in Heaven let not the assaults of sin daunt thee but with an Heroick heart stand the fiery trialls remaine as spotlesse as my love I will goe before to the Palace of Peace scituated in Eternity the purest milke white robes shall be our vestments for the Marriage day and our Musick the Halleluja's of Angels run then with patience for when thou comest to the end of the race I will welcome thee home And wee 'l knit fast the bands Of Marriage and in glory joyne our hands Soul And doth this empty world deserve thus much of me to steale my heart in the prime of all my age that I should lift up my voice in my best tunes chaunting amorous Sonets hourely to its praise no every of these have left me now dull melancholy the picture of my sorrow Oh how the object of my Soules delight did please himselfe to incourage me did I enjoy that happinesse for ever I should have some of Heaven here but now what joy have I to live whose life is but a trouble this world this poore this low this transitory world is but a scene of sorrow 't is but a dying life or living death and that which troubles me is how long it will be ere I shall have his company againe when he went away me thoughts he resembled the flod Sun when downe the Westerne world he drives his teem leaving the Vniverse in a mantle of mourning and I could wish my night were coming too why do I languish thus since I cannot see his face I will goe heare his word that I may learne to doe his will methoughts he had me fight against temptations and look for fiery tryalls I will doe it and for the love of him I will passe a thousand dangers In which my courage shall Stand up Victorious or in battle fall Ye Sons of Honour Heires of Glories Crown whose sacred feet must trample the Holy Fields what is it that makes you sing in sorrow and gloâ—y in your shame that crownes your hearts with courage and beautifies your faces with a smile that sets fortitude upon your browes and places sweetnesse in your amorous eyes that doth advance you in adversity makes you rich in poverty and glory in indignity is it not Love 〈◊〉 what is it that will keep up your spirits at that Dreadfull Day when the Trumpet shall be sounded the World shall be startled the Graves shall be opened the Dead shall be raised and the Unjust shall be Judged will it not be Love when the Fabrick of the World shall be shaken and the Axletrees or the Earth broken and Time shall lose his way when the Kings of the Earth and all their mighty Armies shall looke pale and their winged Bulwarks grapple and their battered Kingdomes fly about their eares in clouds of dust when the Spheres are sweltting in flames the Earth surrounded by fire and bufling windes beat Thunder out of Aire when with terror from on high the day shall be as black as if Don Phoebus frighted from his chaite left ugly darknesse on his Chariot wheels and indeed Love may be compared to Wine with which Kings sometimes have drunke themselves to such a height of kindnesse that they have remembred Majesty no more alas every Christian hath his crosse every day its difficulty every time its trouble and every action a a severall temptation the best of what is here is but Sunshine mixt with Raine sweet with fower and every smile intermingled with a frowne but then ye shall put off your flâ—shly garments â—â—…corruption and be drest in the habit of Heaven out of the wardâ—â—p of glory and be entertained with the pleasures of Paradice where there are incomparable delicates for the taste sweet persumes for the smell rare musick for the Eare ravishing objects for the Eye where thou shalt lye on a Bed of Roses in swelling soft Eternity and be lul'd in Angels armes but it being beyond description too high for imagination impossible for the minde to conceive it unlawfull for the tongue to utter it I shall conclude the Book for methinkes a gloomy Cloud doth stop the passage of my Pen and I can write no more FINIS