Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, UNREASONABLE REASON, by JOSEPH BEAUMONT



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

UNREASONABLE REASON, by             Poem Explanation        
First Line: All christian soules beware; hell never went
Last Line: Is in thy blessed bosome to expire.
Subject(s): Christianity; Faith; God; Religion; Temptation; Belief; Creed; Theology


ALL Christian Soules beware; Hell never went
More politickly clad, Nor wiselyer bent
Her dangerous powers: Active & quick as Thought
Her fair well-spoken Serpents glide about,
And by ye fatall Unsuspected Tree
Of Knowledge still contrive our Miserie;
That Wee more wisely might be fooles, & gain
By Profound Art, a far Profounder Pain
Reason they breath: Such reason as at first
Their Father spake in Paradise; Accurst
And stupid Reason, wch presumes to trie
Her wretched Strength against ye Majestie
Of Gods eternall Wisdome, God ye Son
Must not exceed Her Comprehension.
Thus is a Syllogisme Her God, & Three
Spruce Propositions, Her great TRINITIE.
Alas ye Silly World deluded quite
By grosse illiterate Faith, had lost its sight,
And in ye Midst of Blind Devotion
Had hudled up its Christ & God in one.
Yea Christ forgot his word, as loth to keep
From this so gainfull Errour Us his Sheep:
Till Sacred Arius fir'd wth zealous love
Did vindicate ye Godhead, & remove
Intruded Christ. This this was heavnly He
Whose Wisdome could Reforme ye Dietie.
But stay & view him well: what ailes ye Saint?
Is it ye Aire of Nice yt makes Him faint?
Suspects He yt his God cannot requite
His courtesie, & with his Thunder fright
That of ye Councills? Hath his zeale forgot
It selfe? All Hell ev'n now was not so hot
As Hee: What qualm is this, whose power can make
The Mighty Champion of ye Godhead shake?
Alas see how ye helplesse Serpent winds
To scape ye Blow: & yet no shift he finds,
But to disgorge his poyson, & confesse
His feigned zeale was Reall Wickednesse.
Fond Hypocrite! & didst Thou think to play
With dreadfull Jesus? Was't enough to say
Hee's ye True God, whilst thy proud heart defies
Thy Tongues Repentance, & as stoutly cries
Against that Godhead? No: Hee'l teach thee hence
To know & feel his true Omnipotence.
Goe then ye Worlds foule Excrement; thy home
Is in ye Common Draught: there thy just doom
Will find Thee out. The Churches bowels Thou
With Viperous Teeth hast boldly torne, & now
Thine owne must answer them. Just Vengeance! Thus
Damn'd Judas dy'd, and thus dyes Arius.
Come now, who will be next, & bravely trie
To teare down Christ from his Eternitie?
Who strives to follow these great steps, & prove
How far his Noble Logik is above
His Saviours Godhead? Lo, I see ye Sage,
A reverend Mitre crownes his awfull age:
Forth at his Eyes looks Wisdome, zeale doth flame
In his Designes, Photinus is his Name.
And well He quit him too; far ventur'd He
Against ye face of pure Divinity;
And doubtlesse much he might have done, but that
A thunder-clap from Sardis spoiled his plot.
Whence overborne by ye Strong Curse, He fell,
Unhappy Wight aforetime sent to Hell.
Then look we lower; as they older grow
The times may wiser prove, & better know
How to assert poor Truth, that ye big Name
Of Church & Councills may no longer shame
Sinceer Religion, nor bear up so high
Th' Usurping Crest of Catholik Tyrannie.
Our, our sure is ye Age from whose blest Wombe
Both naked Truth, & Her Protector come.
And oh who is it? Who but valiant Hee
Reasons new Master, Wits Epitomie,
The Prince of Syllogismes, ye worthy Heire
Of learned Arius, fit to repaire
His failing Brood, Hee, whose more reverend Fame
Can change ye simple Antiochian Name,
And by Arts vast Profoundnes make a Man
Of foolish Christian, wise Socinian?
Peace then, once more vain Church, peace idle Creed,
Peace doting Fathers, & with reverend heed
Hear what Resolves ye Holy Oracle makes:
Peace all ye World, 'tis great Socinas speaks:
And now h'as spoke, what is ye Thing h'as said?
Has but blaspheemd more deeply, & betrayd
His timorous Predecessor: Tender He
Durst never belch forth such broad Impietie.
O how Socina's thrift improves ye Stock
That Arius left! Tis now a Mighty flock,
And by his prudent Husbandry alone
Is made ten thousand Heresies of one.
Look how ye Traytour steales ye Spirits Sword
And with ye word of God wounds God ye WORD.
Thus Belzebub of old did with Him fight
Masking with Scripture his Infernall Spight.
And what does all that Scripture make for Thee
Which thou propoundst but in a fallacie?
Thy Major & thy Minor cannot prove
Any such Termes to dwell in God above.
How many Texts proclaime thy trayterous Tongue
All black with Blasphemies, exactly wrung
Out of ye Dregs of Darknes! O how plain
Speak those Great Words, & antidate thy vain
Sophistik Answers, so yt Thou thenceforth
Wert many ages damn'd before thy Birth.
Scorne simple Faith; We like it ne'r ye lesse:
Turks may believe as much as you professe.
Behind Him wretched Viper: Never trie
To tempt ye Lord thy God with Sophistrie.
Reason it selfe laughs at thee, & defies
Thy Spurious Art, with Sounder Subtlities.
The Syllogismes a Catholike Hand doth frame
Put all thy juggling Tricks to putid Shame.
The utmost strength of thy profoundest sence
And disingenuous shifts and Impudence;
Whose vain but peevish furie doth confesse,
How strong is Faith, & how weak wickednesse.
May now ye Curses of all Christian Tongues
Fall sure upon thine Head. May what belongs
To thy first Father Satan & his Hell,
In thy black Memorie for ever dwell;
May all thy damned Brood where'r it creep
Feel their own Vipers stings, which now they keep
Close in their studies. May Confusions Blast
Dared so long, come thundring downe at last.
May their fowle Names prevent ye Destinie
Of their vile Corps, & rot before they die.
Be hate their Portion: May to Them our Spight
Be like our love to Christ, both infinite,
Unlesse they'l not be too wise to imbrace
For horrid Monsters, Truths all-beauteous face.
Be toads more fair; be Adders hisses sweet;
Be Dragons comely; May these rather meet
In my poor Bosome, then my Heart should drink
But ye least Drop of ye Socinian sink.
All hail fair Truth, whose Senioritie
Stops ye vain Claime of upstart Heresie.
Hail Noble Faith, may thy Triumphant Throne
Stand sure upon th' Eternall Corner-stone.
Hail Holy Church, thy reverend Wisdome knows
The countlesse Greatnesse of thy Sacred Spouse.
How dear to Thee is His Divinitie!
That Thou holdst sure, That sure upholdeth Thee.
Thou hast ye Keys, lock fast in their dark Cell
Socinas, & all other Gates of Hell.
Crush those fell Powers, which war wth God & Thee,
And in thy Militant State Triumphant bee.
Thou hast ye Keys, Dear Mother open wide
The golden Gates of Heavn, & safely guide
Thy humble Sons, whose HOPE, & wholl DESIRE
Is in thy Blessed Bosome to expire.





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