Improvement of Imprisonment, Ballad – Poem 5
Another Meditation, (or Ballad as the World perhaps, will call it) compoſed by the ſame Priſoner ſince his Commitment to Newgate.
I.
MY Soul, ſince we are left alone,
In our Confinement here,
Where we diſturbed are of none,
To God, come, draw we near.
For, part of his three dreadful WOES,
Are now, ſo carrying on,
That, if to him, we cling not cloſe
We may be quite undone.
II.
Our ſelves, let us examine ſo,
That though our foes condemn,
We may, for what we did miſdo,
Make now our Peace with him;
Leſt, when the world hath fully try'd,
How, here we may be vext,
We, greater miſeries muſt abide
Where, ſhe will throw us next.
III.
SIN, to full ripeneſs, is not come,
nor malice, to her heights;
And, we e're they receive their Doom
May look for more deſpights.
Theſe, which we have endured yet,
Have been ſuſtain'd with eaſe;
But, GOD, it may he will permit
Much harder things then theſe.
IV.
'Tis but the Suburbs unto Hell,
whereto, we now are ſent;
And (for the future) none can tell
What, hereto us is meant.
To better men, worſe things befall
Then ſeem to be our Meed;
And, our Afflictions are but ſmall,
To thoſe, which may ſucceed.
V.
We have not that dark Dungeon ſeen
Wherein, is endleſs Night;
Nor in thoſe, Lowſie lodgings been
Which ev'ry ſence affright;
We feel not that, which many lack;
Nor Bolts, nor Gives we wear,
Fit things for Belly and for Back,
As yet, ſupplyed are.
VI.
With ſickneſs, we are not oppreſt,
In body, or in mind;
No outward cares diſturb our reſt
No Inward fears we find.
For, all the ſuff'rings wherewith we
As yet, afflicted ſeem
Are onelyonly ſuch as grievous be,
In other mens eſteem.
VII.
But, ſhould I, (being old and poor)
Diſeaſed grow within,
With Aches, have my Limbes made ſore,
Or, with an Vlcer'd skin
Be turn'd into the Common Jail
To lie upon the ground,
And, all thoſe outward helpes quite fail
Which I have lately found.
VIII.
Should this befall us, where might then
Our hope and courage be?
This, happens oft to Righteous men,
And, this, may fall on me.
What, but complaints and mournful cryes
Would then, be in this place;
Harts aking, or ſtill weeping eyes,
Scorns, and deſpaire of Grace?
IX.
Theſe will be then the beſt Reliefs,
That, Fleſh and Blood can ſee,
To cure or Mitigate their Griefs
Where ſuch Deſertious be.
Yet, be of nought (my Soul) afraid,
For, by his Angels, then,
Shall GOD's Aſſiſtance be convaid
When thou art left of men.
X.
They came unto the Rich mans doer
At which the Lazar dy'd,
And, him to reſt Eternal bore
To whom, he Crums deny'd;
And when Elias had of bread
The meanes deprived quite,
He by the Ravenous Fowls was Fed
At Morning, and at night.
XI.
Their GOD is mine; and if in him,
My Truſt, I ſtill repoſe,
He, will to me, be as to Them,
To ſave me from my Foes.
Or, if of that depriv'd I am
which fed me to this day,
I know he will ſupply the ſame
As well, another way.
XII.
The Earth is his, with her increaſe,
And waſted were her ſtore,
He hath within a Richer place,
Enough, to ſend me more;
And, till it comes; That which doth ſtarve,
Diſcomfort and deſtroy;
My life (whilſt uſeful) ſhall preſerve,
And more increaſe my Joy.
XIII.
The Plagues, which others to Deſpair,
And to Blaſpheming move,
Shall ſtir me up, to Praiſe, and Prayer,
And fill my heart with Love.
Yea, that which on the Kings of Earth
Will dreadful horrors bring,
Shall make me with Triumphant Mirth,
A HALLELVJAH Sing.
XIV.
The Purging Fire, which them doth burn,
Who, therein Raving, lye,
Thy Droſſe (my Soul) to Gold ſhall turn,
Thy Silver, Purifie.
And, when thy Fiery-tryal's paſt,
No loſs will come to thee,
If thy works Fixt on CHRIST, thou haſt,
Though built of Straw they be.
XV.
Reſolves, which I had not before,
Theſe Muſings do beget;
And though, her Furnace ſeven times more,
The World, henceforth ſhall heat,
My Soul, return thou to thy Reſt;
For, GOD, hath me aſſur'd,
That, where I ten times more oppreſt,
It ſhould be well endur'd.
XVI.
How bleſſed is that Heav'nly Place,
Where thou, Oh CHRIST, doth dwell!
If thou canſt bring ſuch Joy and Peace,
Into this Earthly Hell?
He, with whom, thou ſtill preſent art,
What ere on him is laid,
If, thee he loves with all his heart,
Needs, no where be afraid.
Mewgate, Sept. 3. 1661.
A Return, in Anſwer to ſome of them, who ſent to know how it fares with me in my Impriſonment.
GOD, gave me Grace; by Grace I did conceive
A ſaving Faith; by ſaving Faith I live.
My life of Faith, hath had a preſervation,
By Hearing, Acting, and by Meditation.
By Meditation, I reduce to Words
What my Experience in this life affords.
By that Experience which I have attain'd,
A Patience in my troubles I have gain'd;
My Patience hath ſuch hopefulneſs begot,
That, this diſgraceful Priſon ſhames me not.
Though I am poor (and, as our Proverb ſayes)
As poor as Job) unto my God be praiſe,
I am no Beggar; for, I have not yet,
Been forc'd to ask for Money, Clothes, ot Meat;
Nor tempted (having dayly bread) to borrow
Through fear of wants, that may befal to Morrow:
And, well remembring, who was pleas'd to ſay
There's Care enough belonging to each Day,
I, for a day to which I may not live,
Will not of what I have, my ſelf deprive.
With my Condition, I am pleas'd, and merry,
Of my long-ſuff'rings I am not grown weary.
And wiſh thoſe who purſue me with moſt hate
No worſe, then to enjoy the like eſtate,
Except my Bands. I have acquir'd this reſt,
By thoſe Means and Degrees, afore expreſt,
And, this, unfeignedly, to you declares
How, at this preſent time, with me it fares.
Sept. 7. 1661. from Newgate. George Wither.
A Paſs-By, in Relation to thoſe, who ſeem offended at my Frequent-Scriblings, as they call them.
ME thinks, I hear ſome ſay, who look upon
Theſe Papers; will this fellow ne'r have done?
Which Queſtioniſts, I, with a ſmile contemn,
Suppoſing, labour loſt, in anſwering them:
For, nothing is more pleaſing to their ears
Then Scurril Pamphlets, Bawdy Rimes, and Jeers.
To them alone, therefore, who take delight
In wholſome words, Ile ſhew why ſtill I write;
Preſuming, that my Reaſons will not ſeem
To merit, altogether, diſeſteem.
Although my former Poems, and my Muſings
Had not until of late Dayes, thoſe peruſings
Which I expected, nor now valued be
Of many, they have much refreſhed me;
And, otherwile, for ſupplements have ſtood
Inſtead of ſleep, of Rayment, and of Food.
In Troubles, me, they more content have made
Then Wealth, Repute, and all the Friends I had.
They cauſe me to be fearleſs of my Foes;
When I am vext, my ſpirit they compoſe;
When I am Poor, they are in ſtead of Wealth.
When I am Sick, they help repair my Health;
When I am Well, they are my Recreation,
When tempted to Deſpair, Hopes Reparation.
Thereby, when Sadneſs comes, to Mirth I turn it;
When I am ſlieghted, they do make me ſcorn it.
In Priſons, when my Body is confin'd
They do ſo many wayes inlarge my Mind
That, doubting whether will for me prove beſt,
The Freedom loſt, or that which is Poſſeſt,
I uſe the means of Both; but, wholly leave
The choice to GOD; and what he gives receive.
They are Companions, when I'm left alone;
They find me work to do, when I have none.
By day, me from ill Company they keep;
Make nights leſs tedious, when I cannot ſleep.
They eaſe me, when I am oppreſt with wrongs;
When I want Muſick, they do make me Songs.
To Friends, who like them (where's no better cheer)
They, acceptable Entertainments are:
Oft, likewiſe, I make uſe of them, inſtead
Of Charms, when, I of Fools would fain be rid;
For, if I read them, but a page or two,
They ſtrait, grow weary, and away they go.
They fix thoughts, which would quite ſlip out of mind,
And, when writ down, I them, know where to find;
Yea, other men, thereby, have oft received
Refreſhments, if their words may be believed:
And (which is more then all this) to GOD's praiſe,
They are, and may be uſeful, ſundry wayes.
For theſe reſpects, whoever ſhall appear
Pleas'd or diſpleas'd, to me my Muſings are
Conſiderable; and if any one
They do offend, them, he may let alone;
For, though they have been tendred unto many,
I never, yet, inforced them on any,
Againſt their wills; except perhaps it were
To ſave them, whoſe deſtruction I thought near;
And, (I will not be ſhie the Truth to ſay)
No men, have worſe requited me, then they:
But peradventure, if that dead I were,
None daring to be their Remembrancer,
(As I have been) they may more miſchief'd be
Through want of one, then troubled now by me.