JUDGMENT AND MERCY,

&c.

PART THE SECOND.

COURTEOUS READER,

NOW, when the theme of every

man's discourse is his sad losses in these

times, your author bids me tell you, that in these he had not the least share; for from him his very religion was stolen away: nay, yet more cruel, even then when he had the most need of it-in the time of his sickness-I mean this small Essay (the epitome of his ejaculatory soul) was then taken from him by a sly hand, and presently printed without his knowledge; so that, as in

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like cases it always happens, it came · forth much unsuitable to the author's mind, both in the form and matter of it. I, therefore, though I cannot restore to him his lost treasure, being now dead, yet in this edition have restored his treasure to itself again, putting it out so that it now answers his own directions, and reforms many mistakes of the former plagiary: so that now thou mayest fully find him whom his sad widow hath lost.

URSULA QUARLES.

175

THE WEARY MAN.

His Burden.

GOD, who in himself is the fulness and perfection of all glory, who needed no tongue to praise it, no pen to express it, no work to magnify it, created a world for his own pleasure, furnished it of his own goodness, made man out of his own mere motion, appointed him his lieutenant here upon earth, and as a witness and an instrument of his glory, the sole end of his creation. But man grew proud, transgressed against his first commandment, and fell; and by his fall destroyed his then unborn posterity. Sin entered the world, and death by sin; and I, poor miserable creature, born in sin, have turned his glory to dishonour, my due obedience to rebellion, and my happiness to eternal death. How

intolerable is the burden of this sin! how insufferable is the weight of my offences! If I but think of Heaven, it clogs my contemplations; if I but pray to Heaven, it presses down my devotion. devotion. I have lost the favour of my God, I have frustrated the end of my creation, I have broke the peace of my conscience, I have clipped the wings of my faith, I have dashed the comfort of my hopes; good angels have forsaken me, my conscience hath accused me, God's Prophets have condemned me, and Hell gapes for me-what shall I do? or whither shall I fly? Shall I flee to Angels? alas! I have turned them away displeased; they will not hear me, or if they would, they cannot help me. Shall I fly to my own. conscience? alas! that will fly on me. Shall I trust to my own merits? alas! they are false lights, and will light me to my own ruin; or shall I take the wings of the morning, and fly to the utmost parts of the earth? alas! my

sins will follow me, my sins will haunt me wheresoever I go. Poor miserable man that I am, who shall deliver me from this burden? Poor miserable man that I am, who shall release me from this bondage? Is there no comfort for a poor distressed soul? Is there no ease for a poor disconsolate sinner? Is there no balsam for a wounded heart?-no. refuge for a guilty penitent?

O MY Soul, why art thou so sad? and why is thy spirit so disquieted within thee? put thy trust in God, who hath said:

Come unto me all you that are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Matth. xi. 28.

Matth. xi. 29.

Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in heart, and ye shall have rest unto your souls.

N