Classic and Contemporary Poetry
S. PETER, by JOSEPH BEAUMONT First Line: True, 'tis thy time foule nero; thou Last Line: The way of life & glory streames. Subject(s): Peter, Saint (c. 64 A.d.) | ||||||||
TRUE, 'tis thy time foule Nero; Thou Mayst be more then Devill now, And venture on this Saint, wch Hell Hath often felt & fear'd: full well This Work thy monstrous Hand doth fit, Which blusheth not itself to wet In thine owne Mothers Heart, & write The King of Tyrants. just & right It is ye Emperour should see His conquerd God revenged bee: Now thy bruised Simon dies This other Simons Sacrifice; It will become Thee Him to slay Who of thy God hath won ye Day. Foolish Tyrant, dost Thou know What Thou art about to doe? Know'st Thou that Thou takst away Not thy Tutor Seneca, But ye Worlds great Master, One On whom ye education Of greater Things then Thou depends, One, whose school it selfe extends Much further then thy Empire, by Thy stoutest Eagles wings could fly? Knowst Thou that thine owne hand shall be The ladder, by whose Service He To Heavn shall climbe, who but ev'n now Thy soaring God pulld downe so low? Thither shall He climbe & yet Leave firm & sure his reverend Seat; For thy proud Rome shall see his Throne Flourish, when thine is dead & gone. What though He but a Fisher be? Illustrious is his Trade, for He Useth no bait, but what is more Worth, then this Imperiall store: His Hook's a noble Crosse, & this With a Kingdome baited is; Eternall Crowns are fastned on it; Blisse & all Heavn hang upon it; Doe Thou thy Selfe but Bite, & He Can catch, & thither draw up Thee. Yet if His Blood be all that thy Desire does thirst for, He can Die: He can Die with more delight Then Thou canst Live: thy fiercest Spight Can mingle no such deadly Cup But He can thirst to drink it up, And find Life in its bottome: He Counts it but Death to Live wth Thee, Seing his Lord & Life long since Was returned home from hence. And hearty thanks He gives unto Thy furie, which contrives it so, That by ye same illustrious step After his Lord He may goe up. Had He his choise of all thy store Of Torments, none would tempt Him more Then this fair Crosse, wch bounteous Thou On his Ambition doth bestow, Who would not halfe so willing be To climbe thy Royall Throne wth Thee. This is that Tree, wch reacheth up To highest Heavns its Noble Top; Whose boughs through all ye world doe spread, And a wholesome shadow shed; Whose foot tramples ye Head of Hell, And all its envious Powers doth quell: The Tree, wch bare no fruit but God When in Calvarie it stood. Look now how rare Humilitie Plucks back ye Saint from this fair Tree: This Altar is too great, He cries, For so mean a Sacrifice; My Masters Throne of Torment is Too Royall for my Worthlessnesse: Were some Cherub here to die, This Ingine Him would dignifie; Alas any unhonourd way Of Death would serve poor Me to slay; The best of Crowns, dear Martyrdome Though in ye meanest Shape it come, Will bring sufficient Glory. Yet If needs I must aspire to it, May I have leave to show that I Desire'd not in this Pompe to die: So hang Me that my Head below Its dying Kisses may bestow Upon the reverend foot of this Great Seat my Master once made His. None but this fashion can agree With my unequall Dignitie; When their Kings honours Servants crowne Tis fit ye upside should be downe. Thou hast thy Wish, meek Saint, to this Request ye Tyrant liberall is; And smiles that He has learnd to day To Crucifie a new found way. Now doe thy feet point to ye Place Whither Thou must straitway passe; And turned quite away art Thou Allready from all Things below; A sweet Advantage by thy new Torment doth to Thee accrew, Which with thy humble Project's even Now Thou lookest downe to Heavn. Heaven a Place to Thee well knowne Into whose hand ye Keys were throwne, A Place wch will to Thee restore Thy Heart lodgd there so long before; A Place much higher, Nero, then He is falln below a Man. A Place, where Thou shalt meet wth thine And with Heavns Blisse, ye most Divine Eyes of JESUS, from whose Beames The Way of Life & Glory streames. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MEANING OF THE LOOK by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE LOOK by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING I SHALL KNOW WHY, WHEN TIME IS OVER by EMILY DICKINSON THE VISION OF ST. PETER by JOHN MILTON HAY PETER AND JOHN by ELINOR WYLIE ROADSIDE POEMS: SAINT PETER by GEORGE MACDONALD THE TRAITOR by JOHN COWPER POWYS THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO ST. PETER by AGNES MARY F. ROBINSON Γενεθλιακον by JOSEPH BEAUMONT Γενεθλιακον by JOSEPH BEAUMONT A CONCLUSORIE HUMNE TO THE SAME WEEK; & FOR MY FRIEND by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |
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