Job, Chapter 2

Againe when all the radiant Sonnes of Light
Before his Throne appear'd, whose only sight
Beatitude infus'd: Th'inveterate foe,
In fogs ascending from the depth below,
Profain'd their blest Assembly: what pretence,
Said God, hath brought thee hither? and from whence?
I come, said he, from compassing the Earth:
Their Travels seene who spring from humane birth.
Then God: hast thou my Servant Iob beheld?
Can his rare pietie be paralel'd;
His Iustice equal'd? can alluring vice,
With all her Sorceries, his Soule intice?
His daily Orisons attract our Eares;
Who punishment, lesse then the trespasse, feares:
And still his old Integritie retaines
Through all his woes, inflicted by thy traines.
When he, whose labouring thoughts admit no rest,
This answer threw out of his Stygian brest:
Iob to himselfe is next, who will not give
All that he hath, so his owne Soule may live?
Stretch out thy hand; with aches pierce his bones,
His flesh with lashes; multiply his grones:
Then if he curse thee not, let thy dire Curse
Increase my torments, if they can be worse.
To whom the Lord: Thou Instrument of strife,
Enjoy thy cruell wish: but spare his Life.
The Soule of Envy, from his presence went;
And through the burning Aire, made his descent.
To execution falles: The blood within
His veines inflames, and poysons his smooth skin.
Now all was but one sore: from foot to head
With burning Carbuncles, and Vlcers spread;
He on the Ashes sits, his fate deplores:
And with a pot-sheard, scrapes the swelling Sores.
His frantick wife, whose patience could not beare
Such waight of Miseries, thus wounds his eare:
Is this the purchase of thy Innocence?
O Foole, thy Piety is thy offence.
He whom thou serv'st, hath us of all berest:
Our Children slaine, and thee to torments left.
Goe on; his Iustice praise: O rather flye
To thy assur'd reliefe; Curse God, and dye.
Thou wretch thy Sexes folly; he reply'd:
Shall we who have so long his Bounty try'd,
And flourish'd in his favour, now not beare
Our harmes with patience; but renounce his Feare?
Thus his great Minde his Miseries transcends:
Nor the least accent of his lips offends.
Now was his ruine by the breath of Fame
Divulg'd through all the East: when Zophar came
From pleasant Naamath: wise Eliphas
From Theman, rich in Palmes, but poore in grasse:
And Bildad from Suïtah's fruitfull Soile;
Prais'd for the plentie of her Corne and Oyle.
These meete from severall Quarters to condole
With their old Friend, and comfort his sad Soule.
Yet at the first, unknowne: his Miseries
Had so transform'd him, knowne, they joyn'd their cryes,
Wept bitterly, their sable Mantles tare,
Rais'd Clouds of Dust, that fell upon their haire.
Seven Dayes they sate besides him on the ground;
As many Nights, in silent Sorrow drown'd.
For yet they knew the Torrent of his woe
Would by resistance more outragious grow.