Iob Militant: Section 16

Elihu Iob reproves, reproves
His Friends alike; he pleades the case
With Iob in Gods behalfe, and moves
Him to recant, and call for Grace.

THus Iob his ill defended Cause adjournes,
And silence lends free liberty of turnes,
To his unjust Accusers, whose bad cause
Hath left them grounded in too large a pause,
Whereat Elihu (a young stander-by,)
Whose modest eares, upon their long reply
Did wait, his angry silence did awake,
And (craving pardon for his Youth) bespake.
Young Standers-by doe oftentimes see more
Than elder Gamesters: Y'are to blame all foure:
T'ones cause is bad, but with good proofs befrien-ded,
The others just and good, but ill defended:
Though reason makes the man, Heaven makes him wise,
Wisdome in greatest Clerks not alway lyes:
Then let your silence give me leave to spend
My judgement, whilst your heedfull eares attend.
I have not heard, alone, but still expected
To heare what more your spleenes might have ob-jected
Against your wofull Friend, but I have found
Your reasons built upon a sandy ground.
Flourish no Flags of Conquest: Vnderstand,
That he's afflicted by th' Almighties hand:
He hath not fail'd to crosse your accusations;
Yet I (though not with your oule exprobations)
Will crosse him too. I'me full, and I must speake,
Or like unvented vessels, I must breake;
And with my tongue, my heart will be reliev'd,
That swells, with what my patience hath conceiv'd:
Be none offended, for my lips shall tread
That ground (without respect) as Truth shall lead;
God hates a flattering language: then how can I
Vnliable to danger, flatter any?
Now, Iob, to thee I speake, O, let my Errant
Be welcome to thine ares, for truth's my warrant
They are no slender trifles that I treat,
But things digested with the sacred heat
Of an inspired knowledge; 'Tis no rash
Discharge of wrath, nor wits conceited flash;
I'le speake, and heare thee speake as free, for I
Will take no vantage of thy Misery.
Thy tongue did challenge to maintaine thy cas
With God, if he would veile his glorious face:
Be I the man (though clad with clay and dust,
And mortall like thy selfe) that takes the trust
To represent his Person: Thou dost terme
Thy selfe most just, and boldly dost affirme,
That Heaven afflicts thy soul without a reason.
Ah Iob! these very words (alone) are treason
Against th' Almighties will: Thou oughtest rather
Submit thy passion to him, as thy Father,
Than plead with him, as with thy Peere. Is he
Bound to reveale his secret Will to thee?
God speaketh oft to man, not understood,
Sometimes in dreames, at other times thinkes good
To thunder Iudgement in his drowzy eare;
Sometimes, with hard afflictions scourge, doth teare
His wounded soule, which may at length give eas
(Like sharper Physicke) to his foule Disease:
But if (like pleasing Iulips) he afford
The meke Expounders of his sacred Word,
With sweet perswasions to recure his griefe,
How can his sorroes wish more faire Reliefe?
Ah, then his body shall wax young and bright;
Heavens face that scorcht before, shall now delight,
His tongue with Triumph, shall confesse to men,
I was a Leper, but am cleare agen.
Thus, thus that Spring of Mercy oftentimes
Doth speak to man, that man may speak his crimes?
Consider, Iob; my words with judgement weigh;
Which done (if thou hast ought) then boldly say;
If otherwise, shame not to hold thy peace,
And let thy wisedome with my words encrease.
And you, you Wisemen that are silent here,
Vouchsafe to lend my lips your ripened ear,
Let's call a parly, and the cause decide;
For Iob pleads guiltlesse and would faine be try'd;
Yet hath his boldnesse termd himselfe upright,
And tax't th' Almighty for not doing right;
His Innocence with Heaven doth he plead,
And that unjustly he was punished:
O Purity by Impudence suborn'd!
He scorn'd his Maker, and is justly scorn'd:
Farre be it from the heart of man, that He
Who is all Iustice, yet unjust should be.
Each one shall reape the harvest he hath sowne,
His meed shall measure what his hands hath done
Who is't can claim the Worlds great Soveraignty?
Who rais'd the Rafters of the Heavens, but He?
If God should breathe on man, or take away
The breath he gave him, what were man but Clay
O, let thy heart, th'unbridled tongue conuince!
Say; Dare thy lips defame an earthly Prince?
How darst thou then maligne the King of Kings,
To whom great Princes are but poorest things?
He kicks down kingdoms, spurns th'emperial crown
And with his blast, puffes mighty Monarchs down.
'Tis vaine to strive with him, and if he strike,
Our part's to beare, not fondly to mislike,
(Misconstruing the nature of his drift)
But husband his corrections to our thrift.
If he afflict, our best is to implore
His lessing with his Rod, and sin no more.
What if our torments passe the bounds of measure?
It unbefits our wils, to stint his pleasure,
Iudge then, and let th'impartiall world advise,
How farre (poore Iob) thy judgement is from wise:
Nor are these speeches kindled with the fire
Of a distempred spleene, but with desire
T'inrich thy wisdome, lest thy fury tye
Presumption to thy rash infirmity.