Classic Poem

181

A crime it is, therefore in bliss
you may not hope to dwell;
But unto you I shall allow
the easiest room in Hell
The glorious King thus answering,
they cease, and plead no longer:
Their Consciences must needs confess
his Reasons are the stronger.

182

Thus all mens Pleas the Judge with ease
doth answer and confute,
Until that all, both great and small,
are silenced and mute.
Vain hopes are cropt, all mouths are stopt,
sinners have nought to say,
But that 'tis just, and equal most
they should be damn'd for ay.

183

Now what remains, but that to pains
and everlasting smart,
Christ should condemn the Sons of men,
which is their just desert;
Oh, rueful plights of sinful wights!
Oh wretches all forlorn:
'T had happy been that ne're had seen
the Sun, or not been born.

184

Yea, now it would be good they could
themselves annihilate,
and cease to be, themselves to free
from such a fearful state
Oh happy Dogs, and Swine, and Frogs:
yea Serpents generation,
Who do not fear this doom to hear,
and sentence of Damnation!

185

Their is their state so desperate:
their sins are fully known;
Their vanities and villanies
before the world are shown
As they are gross and impious,
so are their numbers more
Than motes i'th' Air, or then their hair,
or sands upon the shore.

186

Divine Justice offended is
and Satisfaction claimeth:
God's wrathful ire kindled like fire,
against them fiercely flameth.
Their Judge severe doth quite cashier
and all their Pleas off take,
That never a man, or dare, or can
a further Answer make.

187

Their mouths are shut, each man is put
to silence and to shame:
Nor have they ought within their thought,
Christ's Justice for to blame.
The Judge is just, and plague them must,
nor will he mercy shew
(For Mercies day is past away)
to any of this Crew.

188

The Judge is strong, doers of wrong
cannot his power withstand:
None can by flight run out of sight,
nor scape out of his hand
Sad is their state: for Advocate
to plead their Cause there's none:
None to prevent their punishment,
or misery bemone.

189

O dismal day! whither shall they
for help and succour flee?
To God above, with hopes to move
their greatest Enemee:
His wrath is great, whose burning heat
no floods of tears can slake:
His word stands fast, that they be cast
into the burning Lake.

190

To Christ their Judge, he doth adjudge
them to the Pit of Sorrow;
Nor will he hear, or cry, or tear,
nor respite them one morrow
To Heav'n alas, they cannot pass,
it is against them shut;
To enter there (O heavy cheer)
they out of hopes are put.