Iob Militant: Section 18

God questions Iob, and proves that man
Cannot attaine to things so high,
As divine secrets, since he can
Not reach to Natures; Iobs reply.

FOrth from the bosome of a murm'ring Cloud,
Heavens great ehovah did, at length unshroud
His Earths-amazing language (equally
Made terrible with Feare and Majesty)
(Challeng'd the Duell) he did undertake
His grumbling servant, and him thus bespake,
Who, who art thou, that thus dost pry in vaine,
Into my secrets, hoping to attaine,
With murmuring, to things conceal'd from man?
Say (poreblinde mortall) Who art thou that can
Thus cleare thy crimes, and dar'st (with vaine ap-plause)
Make me defendant in thy sinfull cause?
Ioe, here I am; Engrosse into thy hands
Thy soundest weapons: Answer my demands:
Say, where wert thou, when these my hāds did lay
The worlds foundation? canst thou tell me? Say,
Was earth not measur'd by this Arme of mine?
Whose hand did ayde me? was I help't by thine?
Where wert thou, when the Planets fist did blaze,
And in their sphears sang forth their Makers praise?
Who is't that tames the raging of the Seas,
And swathes them up in mists, when e're he please?
Did'st thou divide the darknesse from the Light?
Or know'st thou whence Aurora takes her flight?
Didst ere enquire into the Seas Abysse,
Or mark'd the Earth of what a bulk she is?
Know'st thou the place whence Light or Darknesse spring
Can thy deepe age unfold these secret things?
Knowst thou the cause of Snow or haile, which are
My fierce Artill'ry in my time of warre?
Who is't that rends the gloomy Clouds in sunder,
Whose sudden rapture strikes forth fire & thunder?
Or who bedewes the earth with gentle showres,
Filling her pregnant soyle with fruits and flowres,
What father got the raine? from what chill wombe
Did frosts, and hard-congealed Waters come?
Canst thou restraine faire Maja's course, or stint her
Or sad Orion ushering in the Winter?
Will scorching Cancer at thy summons come?
Or Sun-burnt Autumne with he fruitfull wombe?
Know'st thou Heavens course above, or dost thou know
Those gentle influences here below?
Who was't inspir'd thy soule with understanding?
Ad gave thy spirit the spirit of apprehending?
Dost thou command the Cisternes of the Skie
To quench the thirsty soyle; or is it I?
Nay, let thy practice to the earth descend,
Prove there, how farre thy power doth extend;
From thy full hand will hungry Lions eate?
Feed'st thou the empty Ravens that cry for meae
Sett'st thou the season, when the fearfull Hind
Brings forth her painfull birth? Hast thou assign'd
The Mountaine-Goate her Time? Or is it I?
Canst thou subject unto thy soveraigntie
The untam'd Vnicorne? Can thy hard hand
Force him to labour on thy fruitfull land?
Did'st thou inrich the Peacock with his Plume?
Or did hat Steele-digesting Bird assume
His downy Flags from thee? Didst thou endow
The noble Stallion with his strength? Canst thou
Quaile his proud courage? See, his angry breath
Puffes nothing forth, but fears summ'd up in death
Marke with what pride his horny hoofes doe tabor
The hard resounding Earth; with how great labour
How little ground he spends: But at the noyse
And fierce Alar'm of the hoarse Trumpets voyce
He breaks the ranks amidst a thousand Speares
Pointed with death, undaunted at the feares
Of doubfull warre, he rushes like a Ranger,
Through every Troop, & scorns so brave a danger
Doe lofty Haggards cleave the flitting Ayre,
With Plumes of thy devising? Then how dare
Thy ravenous lips thus, thus at randome runne
And countermaund what I the Lord have done?
Thinkst thou to learne (fond Mortall) thus, by di-ving
Into my secrets, or to gaine by striving
Plead then: No doubt but thine will be the Day;
Speake (peevish Plaintiffe) if th'aft ought to say.
Io then replyde: (Great God, I am but Dust,
y heart is sinfull, and thy hands are just;
I am a Sinner (Lord,) my words are wind,
My thoughts are vaine, (Ah Father) I have sinn'd:
Shall dust reply? I spake too much before,
Ile close these lips, and never answer more.