File:Emblems, divine and moral (1818) (14745526092).jpg

Identifier: emblemsdivinemora00qua (find matches)
Title: Emblems, divine and moral
Year: 1818 (1810s)
Authors: Quarles, Francis, 1592-1644 Whittingham, Charles, 1767-1840, printer Jennings, Robert, bookseller Chiswick Press, printer
Subjects: Emblems Emblem books, English
Publisher: Chiswick : Printed at the Chiswick Press, by C. Whittingham London : Sold by R. Jennings, Poultry
Contributing Library: University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign
Digitizing Sponsor: University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign

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d, and not our guiltThouseest not what thou mayst, but what thou wilt:The hand that formd us is enforcd to beA screen set up betwixt thy work and thee:Look, look upon that hand, and thou shalt spyAn open wound, a thoroughfare for thine eye;Or if that wound be closd, that passage beDenyd between thy gracious eye and me,Yet view the scar; that scar will countermandThy wrath: O read my fortune in thy hand. 144 EMBLEMS. BOOK 3. S, Chrvs. Horn, iv. in Joan.Fools seem to abound in wealth, when they wantall things; they seem to enjoy happiness, when in-deed they are only most miserable; neither do theyunderstand that they are deluded by their fancy,till they be delivered from their folly. S. Greg, in Mor. By so much the more are we inwardly foolish, byhow much we strive to seem outwardly wise. Epig. 2. Rebellious fool, what has thy folly done?ControUd thy God, and crucifyd his Son ?How sweetly has the Lord of life deceivd thee!Thou sheddst his blood, and that shed blood hassavd thee. BOOK 3.
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145 PSALM VI. I.Have mercy, Lord, upon me, for I am weak; OLord, heal me, for my bones are vexed, SOUL. JESUS. Soul. Ah ! Son of David, help. Jes.What siuful cryImplores the son of David? Soul. It is I.Jes. Who art thou? Soul. Oh! a deeply woundedbreastIhats heavy laden, and would fain have rest. K H6 EMBLEMS. BOOK 3. Jes. I bave no scraps, and dogs must not be fed,Like household children, with the childrens bread. Soul. True, Lord; yet tolerate a hungry whelpTo lick their crumbs : O Son of David, help. Jes. Poor soul, what ailst thou ? Soul. O I burn,I fry,I cannot rest, I know not where to fly.To find some ease; I turn my blubberd faceFrom man to man; I roll from place to placeT avoid my tortures, to obtain relief,But still am doggd and haunted with my grief:My midnight torments call the sluggish light,And, when the mornings come, they woo the night. Jes. Surcease thy tears, and speak thy free de-sires. Soul. Quench, quench my flames, and suage thosescorching fires. Jes. Canst thou

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