Classic and Contemporary Poetry
UNREASONABLE REASON, by JOSEPH BEAUMONT 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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MYSTIC BOUNCE by TERRANCE HAYES MATHEMATICS CONSIDERED AS A VICE by ANTHONY HECHT UNHOLY SONNET 11 by MARK JARMAN SHINE, PERISHING REPUBLIC by ROBINSON JEFFERS THE COMING OF THE PLAGUE by WELDON KEES A LITHUANIAN ELEGY by ROBERT KELLY 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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