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A35338 The history of Ioseph a poem / written by Daniel Cudmore, Gent. Cudmore, Daniel, 17th cent. 1652 (1652) Wing C7462; ESTC R20251 50,447 84

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THE HISTORY OF IOSEPH A POEM Written by DANIEL CUDMORE Gent. Say not my hand this work to end hath brought Nor this my vertue hath attained to Say rather thus this God by me hath wrought God's th' Authour of the little good I do Du Bart. in Quadrians of Pabr LONDON Printed by T. Warren for the use of the Author 1652. To his much respected Vncle Mr. ZACHARY CUDMORE all health and happiness SIR PRomises are due debt you were pleased not long since so far to encourage my endevours as to claim this Poem which I having nothing which I might truly arrogate to my self but you might justly challenge yours as purchas'd by your favours thankfully promised and now at length like Pharaohs Butler on the consideration of your manifold Curtesies being check'd to a remembrance of my promise humbly tender and with it like the poor Spaniard who when a Father of the Inquisition desired but the Fruit presented him the Tree present my self accept this with the like candour of mind as I devote it with it really and I shall esteem my hopes anchor'd in a happy Bay If any upbraid me being a Poet with the fatall name of a begger I answer with the sweet Singer of Israel Adhuc vilior fiam so I may but herein do God the least service and so render my self gracious to your acceptance nor doubt I but time may so midwife it that hereafter I may tender some thing which may if not redeem some of my engagements yet induce your courtesie to forbear the debts wherein stands obliged Your observant Nephew DAN CUD To the Reader Courteous Reader I Here present thee with the History of Joseph which as I could seldome pass over without tears so I could not but digest them into matter through the Lymbeck of my Quill though into such a form as my mose easie Genius lead me 't is a subject I confess which seems to claim both a more elaborate Brain and a more accurate Pen than mine yet shall I neither esteem my labour lost nor my time ill-bestow'd if I may herein prove but the Foyl of those who have writ more gravely on the same matter that in my weakness may the more clearly appear their worth If thou object that in the p●ssage between Joseph and his wanton Mistris I have rendred my self Pathick than Pathetick I may answer first that I have described her Passion in as grave a Wantonnest as the tenour of her broad expressions would permit Secondly for the frequency of it the Text tells me that it was her daily practice Thirdly I have an example from Solomon himself who doubtless guided by Gods Spirit sets forth a Harlot thus in her courteous vanities In the last place I hope His modest answers which struck for the present the impatient opponent dumb will take off a judicious censure from reply What I here present thee is mine own what thou hast here is no Crambes bis cocta no Page furtivis ornata coloribus nor can my fancy upbraid my Pen as 't is to be fear'd God will one day our new compounded fashions Hoc non est opus meum imago mea Farewell The history of Joseph The Proem I Sing of Joseph's fate our Saviour's type Then heaven bee auspicious to my pipe What though my fancie 's dull my stile 's unfil'd My Pia-mater be an infant-infant-child This be a task for Angells each whose page If fully peraphras'd would crave an age Each Angel is my muse Sion the hill Whose sacred raptures shall intrance my quill And if divine Apollo tune my harp Let Zoilus censure and let Momus carp Then where the Dove-like Spirit daignes us matter Let Owles forbear to screech and Pies to chatter Here is a story each whose circumstance Is to b'ascrib'd to providence not chance Compar'd to this all humane eloquence Doth scarce deserve the bounteous name of sense Here is a story whose sublime invention So farr transcends mans reach and weak dimension A story here whose fancie 's towring hight Doth soar so high beyond our dull conceit All wits should here their conquer'd lawrels bring Their Helicons are puddles to this spring Then sacred Three in One who in this story Didst from mans wickedness procure thee glory O let my weaknesse tun'd in slender layes Advance thy honour and promote thy praise Then I 'll invoke no Heliconian dame If thou but rarifie the smoakie flame That actuates my fancy and but drain From ' its polluted dreggs my youthfull brain My pen thus dipt in the true Thespian stream Thus do I prosecute my sacred theam THE heav'nly register of sacred truth Records old Jacobs age blest with a youth Joseph by name whose vertue from the rest Had won the chiefest room in Jacobs brest Th' equall proportion of both face and limb Requir'd in outward beauty was in him So here was that more noble Symnetry A heav'nly heart the rarer harmony For though no Architect will ever choose The stately marble but to noble use And in a palace what a stately guest Is entertain'd may by the pomp be ghest Beautie 's oft Bawd to vice a heav'nly fiend Sin oft abounds where beauty doth transcend Whose Angells image as it oft appears The superscription of the Devill bears Our Joseph's lovely visage some that viewd Thought Adams native beauty here renewd His spotlesse innocence by others was Compar'd to Adam in his state of grace For he must most be void of all offence Who was the perfect'st type of innocence God who in mercy did to Abraham swear That he should vie a child with ev'ry star Here of his promise as the Interest Fixt Joseph as a star to guide the rest Fixt star nay rather planet since his fate Was to be exil'd by his Brethrens hate Time now had writ old age on Jacobs skull And long since chang'd his down to rougher wooll When faint disease did on his members creep Hee to his sons resign'd his charge of sheep Joseph was always at his fathers beck Each frown a wound did seem a death each check And who but wondring saw that he should bring So full an harvest in his youthfull spring Which much in Jacobs thoughts did him promote Who clad him in a parti-colour'd coat His Brethren see'ng their Father so inclin'd At his indulgence proudly thus repin'd He 's Jacobs seed elixard we the dreggs Base chicken we born of unhappy eggs Quoth one we to no other end are born But t'wear out wooll or to consume the corn Joseph the white hens chick he Fortunes minion His childish face hath purchas'd this opinion Yet is no more like to my lad God knows Than is you cowslip to a verdant rose A Kid t' a Lamb my Ewe to yonder Goat Yet he 's invested in a gawdy coat Now since disease which still attends on age Confin'd had Jacob to an Hermitage And he whose discipline was wont to awe His sons and give unto their deeds a law The Sunshine of