Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, GOD'S DETERMINATIONS: THE ACCUSATION OF THE INWARD MAN, by EDWARD TAYLOR


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GOD'S DETERMINATIONS: THE ACCUSATION OF THE INWARD MAN, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: You want cleare spectacles: your eyes are dim
Last Line: If so, how do yee: you and I embrace.
Subject(s): Puritans In Literature


You want Cleare Spectacles: your eyes are dim:
Turn inside out: and turn your Eyes within.
Your sins like motes in th'sun do swim: nay see
Your Mites are Molehills, Molehills Mountains bee.
Your Mountain Sins do magnitude transcend:
Whose number's numberless, and do want end.
The Understandings dark, and therefore Will
Account of Ill for Good, and Good for ill.
As to a Purblinde man men oft appeare
Like Walking Trees within the Hemisphere.
So in the judgment Carnall things Excell:
Pleasures and Profits beare away the Bell.
The Will is hereupon perverted so,
It laquyes after ill, doth good foregoe.
The Reasonable Soule doth much delight
A Pickpack t'ride o'th'Sensuall Appitite.
And hence the heart is hardened and toyes,
With Love, Delight, and Joy, yea Vanities.

Make but a thorow search, and you may spy
Your soul a trudging hard, though secretly
Upon the feet of your Affections mute.
And hankering after all forbidden fruite.
Ask but yourselfe in secret laying neer
Thy head thereto: 'twill Whisper in thine eare
That it is tickled much, though secretly.
And greatly itches after Vilany.
'Twill fleere thee in thy face, and though it say,
It must not tell, it scorns to tell thee nay.
But Slack the rains, and Come a Loophole lower:
You'l finde it was but Pen-coop't up before.
Nay, muster up your thoughts, and take the Pole
Of what walk in the Entry of your Soule
Which if you do, you certainly will finde
With Robbers, Cut-throats, Theives its mostly linde.
And hundred Roagues you'l finde, ly gaming there.
For one true man, that in that path appears.
Your True man too's oft footsore, sildom is,
Sound Winde, and Limb: and still to add to this,
He's but a Traviller within that Way:
Whereas the rest there pitch their Tents, and stay.
Nay, nay, what thoughts Unclean? Lacivious?
Blasphemous? Murderous? and Malicious?
Tyranick? Wrathfull? Atheistick rise
Of Evills New, and Old, of e'ry Sise?
These bed, and board here, make the heart a sty
Of all Abominable Brothlery.
Then is it pure? is this the fruite of Grace?
If so, how do yee: You and I Embrace.





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