Remains, Poem 6 – Poem 7
A Deſcription of Paul's Shipwrack. Act. xxvij.
WEll rig'd Paul in a various tempeſt's toſt,
Yet ne're by ſhip-wrack faith or conſcience loſt.
When boiſt'rous winds broke from the hollow caves
Of helliſh breaſts 'gainſt Paul, himſelf he ſaves,
Taking occaſion by appeal to God,
To Rome's great Caeſar, and it muſt be ſo.
Paſſing by various Iſlands 't length they came
To the Fair Havens, ſo they had their name.
But the Sun's ſpirit's ſpent, his languid cares
Shortens their work by ſhort'ning of the days,
Now the cold damps like rebel ſubjects plays
Their rackets in the skies, (a Prince though wiſe,
In age may have his ſubjects mutiniſe.)
They gather head, white round bullets form,
Wherewith they pelt us in a furious ſtorm;
Their pointed ſpears in Icicles they make,
Which they againſt our trembling bodies ſhake:
Then they contract winds into skins of clouds,
Which breaking like to drums they rattle loud.
Thus in a mutiny they tumults raiſe
In woods, in groves, in ſea amongſt her waves.
This grave ſage Paul well weighing, did adviſe
To Sea they would not ſet in any wiſe.
But the bold Captain otherwiſe inſpir'd,
The owners bad; gain had his ſpirits fir'd:
Wind, wave, or billow could not now allay
His heats, he muſt lanch out that very day.
Unty her cables, to his men doth cry,
Unpinion all her wings, and let her fly.
Thetis her ſtraight did in her mantles wrap,
And kindly ſeem'd to dandle't in her lap;
Plowing the waves, look how ſhe on doth haſte,
Like to a nimble-ſteed that is well pac't!
Or like a nimble Hind doth jump away
O're tops of hills, low dales, without all ſtay.
Thus wantonly ſhe had not poſted far,
There roſe a wind that all the ſport did mar;
Wide-jaw'd Boreas out his cheeks doth ſtretch,
And from his lungs a long-breath'd blaſt doth fetch;
Which beating full upon the teeming ſails,
Makes them miſcarry, ſo the journey fails.
Lank-bellied Canvas now no longer could
Help for to waft them where the Captain would:
When men deſpair, the next means ſeems the beſt,
They throw her reins, ſo wiſh the voyage bleſt.
The Ship being Maſter Pilot to her ſelf,
Had almoſt run them all upon a ſhelf;
A little embrio of a Ship that play'd
By the Dams-ſide, the Cock-boat was faſt lay'd;
Fear wings their hands and arms, their ſinews ſtout,
With much ado at length they pull'd it out;
Which drawing up, they laid it in the breaſt
Of her big mother, there to lye at reſt.
Juſt like the Poſſive when ſhe danger ſpies,
Her young in belly laps, and 'way ſhe flies.
But leſt her wieldy body which yet ſafe did ride,
Or moves, ſhould ſtick, they undergird her ſide;
At their wits ends, and almoſt of their lives,
They do unplume the Ship, and on ſhe drives,
Daring not truſt her winged as before;
Once they did truſt her, but will truſt no more.
The churliſh winds, and now the grumbling waves
They do petition, and their mercy craves.
Their ſaileleſs Ship now helpt with wind and tide,
More ſlow, yet with more jolting trots doth ride;
Like pamper'd ſteeds now great curvets doth take,
Yet no great riddance in their journey make.
Now you might ſee a billow ſtooping low
To take its burthen on its back below,
Which ſtraight with ſwift career ſhe lifts on high
With ſuch a noiſe, as if 'twould ſtorm the sky.
The ancient Gyants once a war would wage
With God, 'gainſt whom a Babel in their rage
They rais'd; if they this way had found
By Sea, their war they'd manag'd none on ground:
But ſoon the billow with Ship both fall down,
Like horſe and rider, tumbling, ſhake the ground.
Now you would think in ſome deep pit they lay,
And that they ne're again ſhould ſee the day:
Or that the watry walls whoſe tops paſt ſight
Would have confin'd them to eternal night.
Thus in their ſwimming priſon up they're toſt,
Then down, ſo in a wood of waves they're loſt.
Thus lay the Ship a tipling night and day
Up Neptune's Nectar, reeling every way;
Both ſides and ſtern, and keel do drink amain,
And out by pumps they ſpew it up again.
The Mariners to know each others minds,
With ſhouts do mingle voices with the winds;
Now under deck, now up again, they call
Now for this thing, and then for that they bawl;
Such great confuſions in their voices ſeem,
That th' Ship a Babel one would truly deem.
At length by ſigns they do at once agree,
T' unlade the Ship of all its trumpery;
Out fly the Trunks, the Cheſts, the Feather-beds,
The Bolſters, Pillows where they laid their heads.
Though they had boxes ſtuſt with maſſie Gold,
Or Pearls, or Diamonds, out they muſt be roll'd:
Sweet life! ſweet life! nothing is thought too brave
For to redeem thee from a loathed grave.
Thus like a ſcatter'd troop that's put to flight,
They throw down all to make themſelves more light:
Down falls the Musket, 'way the Pike is twirld;
Off goes the Scabbard, 'way the Sword is hurl'd;
Here flies their Hats, there their ſhoos do lie;
Nothing they care or fear, but leſt they die.
Or like a bird with prey, when in a fright,
Lets fall the prey, and takes her ſelf to flight.
The Ship far lighter than ſhe was before,
For one curvet ſhe now doth take a ſcore,
To the winds whiſtling ſhe doth dance apace,
Till th' briny ſweats run down her wooden face.
Yet for all this the Ship a burden feels,
That hung as clogs about her nimble heels:
The heedful Captain this obſerving well,
That her ſtretcht-ſide with burden yet did ſwell,
Gave in command that all the Tackling ſhould
Be thrown o're board, to ſwim where e're it would.
The wire-ſinew'd Mariners diſtreſt, with hands
Hard'ned to ſteel, obey their Roy's commands.
This anchor ſome, and that do others heave,
And all their anchors in the Sea they leave:
Some on the Tarry-cables hands do faſten,
And through the Port-holes do with ſpeed them haſten,
One cuts the Tackling, others th' Maſts do mow,
And them with ſail-yards in the Sea they throw.
Fourteen long tedious nights, as many days,
Nor Sun, nor Stars, did yield them any rays;
Black reaking ſmokes from th' boiling Seas did riſe,
Which the bright Heavens with ſad fables dyes:
Thoſe damping vapors that in fleeces flew,
Made the skies flaming tapers burn but blew;
Juſt as where ſcalding liquors fume l've been,
Candles go out, and nothing can be ſeen.
In this black dungeon, hark! the Pris'ners cry,
Who now on heaps, and now aſunder lye
As the Ship toſt them; ſome like ſtatues ſtand,
As pale as thoſe carv'd by the Artiſts hand:
Others with drooping heads and arms a croſt,
Bewail their Gold and Silver they have loſt.
Fool that I was! I could not be content
To ſtay at home with that which God had ſent:
Others their raſhneſs, that they dar'd to venture
Their lives with Seas thus in the depth of winter.
But Divine Paul did nothing thus complain,
Knowing ſuch ſpeeches were but fondly vain;
He wing'd his prayers, and out the ark he ſent
This winged Dove' fore, whom the clouds did rent,
And gave her way, 't length to th' Mercy-throne
She came and light, and there did vent a groan;
When all-eyed mercy there her once did ſpy,
He gave an Olive-branch, and bad her hie
Home to her Maſter, bid her ſpeak him peace,
That out of priſon he would all releaſe:
But that in chief his ſervant Paul ſhould know,
Before great Caeſar he's reſerv'd to go.
The Dove returning, o're his breaſt did hover,
And there this meſſage to him did diſcover:
Good news received, Paul he doth impart
It to them all, which did revive each heart.
Courage my friends! the God of Wind hath ſaid
He will deliver, be not you afraid;
Fear not the wide mouth'd yawnings of the deep,
It ſha'nt you ſwallow, for he will you keep:
We have long faſted, fill'd with grief ye know,
Eat ſomewhat now, then take the reſt and throw
To th' greedy Ocean, whoſe hot ſtomack may
Concoct, digeſt the reſt without delay.
With much ado, each down he gets a bit,
Standing or tumbling, none could hardly ſit:
Beſides, their fears and unbelief together
Spoke in their ſtomacks, 'twas but windy weather;
A poor ſmall morſel ſerv'd, as little beer,
A little ſerves the ſtomack fill'd with fear.
Some joy they had, in that they did diſcover,
That near ſome Iſland their toſt-Ship did hover;
Some anxiouſly lookt on the little boat,
And wiſht with all their hearts it were afloat;
Hoping thereby their dying lives to ſave:
But that told, it would but prove their grave.
At length they all content themſelves to ſtay,
Longingly waiting when it would be day.
Time paid their waitings, night-ſhades did begin
To fleet away, while the thick fogs grew thin;
The huge black raven of the blackeſt night
Draws up her wings, and yieldeth to the light;
Great Holypheer awaking, lent his eye,
By which a creek and ſhore they did eſpy:
Weary of waters, thither they would fain
Have thruſt their Ship, to leave the cruel Main;
One plies the rudder, others anchors tug,
Which with main force they into Ship do hug;
Others hoiſt up their titter'd-tatter'd fails,
Strugling for ſhore, yet all their labour fails.
Two Seas had meeting ſtrugled thereabout,
Which in contention and a furious rout,
Caſting up gravel at each others face,
Had piled a huge mount upon that place;
Thither their Ship they fearleſs drew in haſt,
Which ran a ground, and in her keel ſtuck faſt:
One part did ſwim, another ſands ſtuck in,
And ſo another conteſt did begin.
Both land and water doth a little plead
Whoſe is the Ship, they neither are agreed;
One ſays ſhe's mine, th' other doth deny,
And ſo the wrangling conteſt doth grow high:
Neptune pleads title from the end ſhe's made,
And that her back doth fit his back he ſaid:
But the Land ſays th' materials are hiſn,
But one to th' other would not yield to liſſen;
They both conclude no longer to contend,
But by main force the hot diſpute to end:
One tugs behind, the other holds before,
And ne'r left tugging till they had her tore;
One ſnatcht a rib, th' other held the skin;
One broke a piece without, th' other one within.
Th' trembling Paſſengers this fray did ſee,
They did conclude on either ſide to be;
They court the waves for parcels of her prey,
And o're thoſe planks their ſhiv'ring bodies lay,
Making for land as faſt as they could carry,
Which if they toucht, would kiſs, and ever tarry.
A Sinners unregenerate inſide turn'd outſide: Or the language of the Kingdom of Darkneſs.
SUrely the fool hath ſaid,
'Twas not God the Heav'ns made,
If he be, he muſt be blind,
That our actions cannot mind;
Whether we do ill or well,
He in Heav'n cannot tell.
When one dies, who doth know
VVhither doth his ſpirit go?
Heavens glory is a toy,
So are all the tales of joy.
Hell is but a childs bug-bear,
Only ſilly fools can ſcare.
Him I count a fool that ſaith,
I do live a life of faith.
He talks idly that doth ſay,
I got bread by pray'r to day:
Thou maiſt have as full a purſe,
VVhether pray, or whether curſe:
He ſhall prove the richeſt man
That both cheat and cozen can.
But thou blind fool! if Heaven and Hell prove true,
Thou theſe black ſpeeches ſhalt moſt ſadly rue.
How if they do? thou blinded muffled buzzard,
Thou art a fool ſuch weighty things to hazard.
Grace is but a fancied dream,
Nothing, yet doth ſomething ſeem,
A conceit of melancholy,
There is nothing that is holy.
Drunkards do more joys inherit
Than thoſe that do pray by the Spirit.
I am proud, and that's a ſin,
I will then be proud again:
I do ſwell in oſtentation,
That is my ſweet recreation.
I ambitious am of place,
That I count my ſweeteſt grace.
But contentious I am,
I have always lov'd the ſame.
I a hater am of men,
I profeſs it, well what then?
I ſpeak to mens faces fair,
When for them I do not care.
He that takes from me a pin,
To ſtrive to hang him is no ſin.
Thoſe that the world above me prize,
I will ſpatter them with lyes.
If an action I do well,
I love thoſe that will me tell;
It doth much delight my ſoul,
When I hear my neighbours ſcowl.
It my joy doth much enhance
To put my friends at variance.
I matter not who th' loſer be,
So the gain doth come to me.
So much for my Father care,
That I wiſh in Heav'n he were:
For I think his money can
When he's dead make me a man.
Yet what were this mother of ruſt,
If it w'ant to ſerve my luſt.
If the Harlot doth command,
It commandeth Sea and Land,
Spreads my table, fills my pot,
Then deſtroyeth all the ſhot.
If a God I would adore,
Gold 't ſhould be to pay my ſcore.
Fidlers, Tapſters company,
Love I more then th' Pageantry
Of the holy brotherhood,
And I think my judgment's good.
This talking beaſt, what he doth plainly utter,
Sinner! but think thy heart doth only mutter.
The foul beast that I deſcribe:
Is of the Pharontick tribe,
Where the Babylonian King
Grazed, we muſt put him in:
Let them lye out both together,
Both expos'd to wind and weather;
Let them in the fields abide,
While night-dews do wet their hide:
When they do lament their ſin,
Turn them into men again.