5 From life discharg'd and parted quite Among the dead to sleep And like the slain in b.l.o.o.d.y fight That in the grave lie deep. 20 Whom thou rememberest no more, Dost never more regard, Them from thy hand deliver'd o're Deaths hideous house hath barr'd.

6 Thou in the lowest pit profound'

Hast set me all forlorn, Where thickest darkness hovers round, In horrid deeps to mourn.

7 Thy wrath from which no shelter saves Full sore doth press on me; 30 *Thou break'st upon me all thy waves, *The Heb.

*And all thy waves break me bears both.

8 Thou dost my friends from me estrange, And mak'st me odious, Me to them odious, for they change, And I here pent up thus.

9 Through sorrow, and affliction great Mine eye grows dim and dead, Lord all the day I thee entreat, My hands to thee I spread. 40 10 Wilt thou do wonders on the dead, Shall the deceas'd arise And praise thee from their loathsom bed With pale and hollow eyes?

11 Shall they thy loving kindness tell On whom the grave hath hold, Or they who in perdition dwell Thy faithfulness unfold?

12 In darkness can thy mighty hand Or wondrous acts be known, 50 Thy justice in the gloomy land Of dark oblivion?

13 But I to thee O Lord do cry E're yet my life be spent, And up to thee my praier doth hie Each morn, and thee prevent.

14 Why wilt thou Lord my soul forsake, And hide thy face from me, 15 That am already bruis'd, and *shake *Heb. Prae Concussione.

With terror sent from thee; 60 Bruz'd, and afflicted and so low As ready to expire, While I thy terrors undergo Astonish'd with thine ire.

16 Thy fierce wrath over me doth flow Thy threatnings cut me through.

17 All day they round about me go, Like waves they me persue.

18 Lover and friend thou hast remov'd And sever'd from me far. 70 They fly me now whom I have lov'd, And as in darkness are.

Finis.

COLLECTION OF Pa.s.sAGES TRANSLATED IN THE PROSE WRITINGS.

[From Of Reformation in England, 1641.]

Ah Constantine, of how much ill was cause Not thy Conversion, but those rich demains That the first wealthy Pope receiv'd of thee.

DANTE, Inf. xix. 115.

Founded in chast and humble Poverty, 'Gainst them that rais'd thee dost thou lift thy horn, Impudent whoore, where hast thou plac'd thy hope?

In thy Adulterers, or thy ill got wealth?

Another Constantine comes not in hast.

PETRARCA, Son. 108.

And to be short, at last his guid him brings Into a goodly valley, where he sees A mighty ma.s.s of things strangely confus'd Things that on earth were lost or were abus'd.

Then past he to a flowry Mountain green, Which once smelt sweet, now stinks as odiously; This was that gift (if you the truth will have) That Constantine to good Sylvestro gave.

ARIOSTO, Orl. Fur. x.x.xiv. 80.

[From Reason of Church Government, 1641.]

When I die, let the Earth be roul'd in flames.

[From Apology for Smectymnuus, 1642.]

Laughing to teach the truth What hinders? as some teachers give to Boys Junkets and knacks, that they may learne apace.

HORACE, Sat. 1. 24.

Jesting decides great things Stronglier, and better oft than earnest can.

IBID. i. 10. 14.

'Tis you that say it, not I: you do the deeds And your unG.o.dly deeds find me the words.

SOPHOCLES, Elec. 624.

[From Areopagitica, 1644.]

This is true Liberty, when free-born Men, Having to advise the Public, may speak free, Which he who can, and will, deserv's high praise; Who neither can nor will, may hold his peace, What can be juster in a state then this?

EURIPIDES, Supp. 438

[From Tetrachordon, 1645.]

Whom do we count a good man, whom but he Who keeps the laws and statutes of the Senate, Who judges in great suits and controversies, Whose witness and opinion wins the cause?

But his own house, and the whole neighbourhood See his foul inside through his whited skin.

HORACE, Ep. i. 16. 40.

[From The Tenure of Kings and Magistrates, 1649.]

There can be slaine No sacrifice to G.o.d more acceptable Than an unjust and wicked king.

SENECA, Herc. Fur. 922.

[From History of Britain, 1670.]