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A11360
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The history of Ioseph a poem. VVritten by Sir Thomas Salusbury, Barronet, late of the Inner Temple.; Life of Joseph
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Salusbury, Thomas, Sir, d. 1643.
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1636
(1636)
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STC 21620; ESTC S116522
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52,210
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126
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as when Saul From the rais'd Prophet heard his sudden doome And the sad ruin of his house to come Some with a scorn as when Goliah spide So weake a Champion come t'afront his pride With staffe and sling with like beleefe of fate Ensuing they began to vent their hate And are we born fond-dreamer to obey Must we indeed thy vassalls be cry'd they Must we adore thine eyes and seeke grace thence Whom Time and Nature gave preheminence What frantick pride transports thy fancy thus Shall such a boy as thou reign over Vs And thus they swel'd to a more high contempt Of him because he told them what he dreampt Yet this informing Genius left him not But newer fancies in his braine begot Such and of like presage which mindles he Of all their bitter flouts and mockery Freely vents out ev'n to his fathers eare Not caring though his envious brethren heare Iosephs second dreame Me thought the Sun and Moone did mee adore And th'elev'n Stars as did the sheaves before Quoth he with like obeisance Now his Syre In whose ag'd bosom rag'd th'un-usual fire Of indignation this relation mov'd Him in this sort to check the childe he lov'd What hast thou dreampt fond boy What shall we all Thy Father Mother and thy Brethren fall In reverence to thee Trust not these vaine And fond illusions of an idle braine Shall then that blessing leave me that hath gon Still an inseparable companion Of comfort with me That which Isaac gave And that which purchas'd I with lamenesse have Of my touch't thigh when all the night I strove With heav'nly powers discended from above Till I obtain'd And shall my name which men Us'd sacred in their deepest Oaths and when They speake to any unbeleeving eare By Abraham Isaac Jacob's God they sweare Shall this name stoope to thine Must thou indeede Be only blest of all the promis'd seede Thus chek't he him Yet ner'e the lesse each part Of Joseph's tale he treasur'd in his heart So did his brethren too though their intent From their good fathers was farre different They store his sayings up as fuel fit To feed their-hel-bred fire and nourish it Blown to too great a height already by Him that first chang'd the warmth and purity Of fire to scorching heate that it might be A meete reward to perpetuitie For his demerits who thus damn'd to flames To make all partners of his torture aimes Here and for ever and to that end he Tormenteth some with burning jealousie Others with flames of hate and rancorous ire Prepares as charcoales for eternall fire ' Mongst all in generall as they are inclin'd He casts these sparks which kindled once a wind From any thing hee 'l rayse to fan withall The heate more furious not a word can fall From harmlesse Joseph which not somthing hath That ads to his incensed brethrens wrath By this time grown to such a hellish flame That nothing but his blood can quench the same Exod. 20 But God that 's True and Gracious pitty takes Ev'n unto thousands for their fathers sakes Their Sins cannot old Jacob's service blot Nor may his oath to Abraham be forgot But unto all their goods his love converts The ill meant spleene of their malicious hearts Loe how to future times doth this foretell The childrens stubbornnesse of Jsrael From their beginning ag'd but one discent Their plot is murther of the innocent So mischievous their minds so bent on blood They spar'd not those that did or meant them good 'T was early in the morn when they were gon Forth with their Fathers flocks to feede upon The plaines of Sechem where they not above A few short houres had spent when Jacob's love Mov'd his desire to know what had befell Them since their parting whether all were well Amongst their flocks and them if they had found Good shades to rest in or good feeding ground There for their sheep and heards and thus inclinde He calls yong Joseph to him bids him finde His brethren out where they in Sechem are See them and bring me knowledge how they fare The youth is soon commanded which he shewes In quick obedience forth he gladly goes On this kind errand to perform the will Of him that sent him never fearing ill Because he meant no harm So innocent Was his great Master from his Father sent To their curst Of-spring who not only bred From cruell loynes but more experienced In blood and murther having slayn ev'n all That came and would them to repentance call So wicked as they are they send t' his grave Him that brought peace to all and came to save Who with an unmov'd soule as cheerfull went To give his Fathers will accomplishment Ev'n to the death though hence the difference grew He that his Fathers wisedome was fore-knew His danger Joseph went in little doubt o th' sad event to finde his brethren out And comes by this to Sechem cals and cries Aloud upon them but there 's none replies Untill as in their quest he roving ran Thus through the spacious fields he met a man Who finding him demanded what might be The cause of his so busie search quoth he I seek my brethren Sir can you I pray Direct my wandring steps or tell where they Have led their flocks I have to find them out Traverst the vale of Hebron and about The plaines of Sechem runne with fruitlesse speed Meeting with none could tell me where they feed No quoth the man then in good time I may Give thee some ease at last I heard them say Let us to Dothan hence Scarce had he said Dothan when Joseph but to thank him staid Then with much haste making this news his guide Posts after them whom when from far they spide Their colours chang'd and their distracted blood Eb'd to their hearts and streight gush't like a flood Into their face and eys and glowing there Made their long carried coales in flames appeare And then a murmur doth amongst them runne Like the winds strugling ere the storm 's begunne When the foure Elements assembled are From all the corners of the Earth to warre In some great Tempest when the Ayre and Fire Against the Earth and swelling-Seas conspire Thunder 's their trumpet at whose noyse they fall In a rude conflict mixt and threaten all Their poore inhabitants Lightnings would dry The Seas and they to quench heav'ns fires do try And hel's flames too where having falne they rise With a new crotchet now to strike the Skies The earth and ayr mean while as 't were dissolv'd Into one ill mixt body look involv'd Thus altogether rude and shapelesse as Old Chaos ere the worlds creation was Nothing but darknesse now no light is found More then in wretched man in passions drown'd Reason extinguish't man 's a world compos'd Of all the elements which lye enclos'd In severall humours from them bred whence flow Our passions which being bound and ordered so By reason as the
THE HISTORY OF IOSEPH A POEM VVritten by Sir Thomas Salusbury Barronet late of the Inner Temple LONDON Printed by Thomas Harper for Roger Ball and are to be sold at his Shop at the signe of the Golden Anchor in the Strand neere Temple-Barre 1636. PErlegi hunc librum cui titulus the life of Joseph c. in quo nihil reperio sanae fidei aut bonis moribus contrarium Tho. Weeks Epis Lond. Cap. domest TO MY HONOVRED Grand-mother the LADY Middleton Late Wife to the right Worshipfull Sir Thomas Middleton Knight and Alderman somtimes Major of the City of LONDON Honour'd Madam I Have now unto your Ladiships acceptance and the worlds censure adventured these unripe fruits of a forced Muse which if you shall accept as they are truly meant in witnesse how ready an observer I am of your commands I shall arming my self with patience and humility the hand-maids of obedience humbly submit and patiently resolve to bear all just blame the world may lay upon my rudenes however your Ladiship will be able to excuse the betraying so worthy a subject to so weake a verse It shall suffice mee that the world take notice that my endevours are only ambitious to satisfie the ingagements whereby your Ladiships love hath obliged me unto you by none so paraleld as by that of Iacob to his Grand-children who made Ephraim and Manasses as Iudah and Simeon his owne The like from my youth hath beene your care and tendernesse over me which I have no way to requite but by my thankfulnesse respect and obedience to your commands In observance whereof I commend this Poem to your patronage and my self to do you service Your dutifull Grand-child Thomas Salusbury To the Noble Barronnet Sir THOMAS SALUSBURY upon his Ioseph I Must commend thy judgement that could chuse A subject so well fitted to thy Muse That they adorne each other that they share In equall glory that thy Ioseph dare And without danger thus himselfe expose To th' envy of his friends as well as foes And Confident of thy iust merit slight His Brethrens malice and the Ismaelite Nay thinke his time in Servitude well spent Since now he is become thy Argument Whereby he is advanced farre above What Aegypt could affoord or Pharoh's love So happily thou hast exprest his worth And in such lively colours set him forth That Putiphars wife is blamelesse all confesse There was no guilt in her lasciviousnesse And had that love sicke Lady us'd the Arte Which thy well languag'd Courtship doth impart Vnto her in this story the assault Had conquer'd Ioseph and excus'd the fault The charme had beene so forcible that he Must with his Cloake quit his humanity Or condiscend or had his Mistresse read This Poem and observ'd how thou dost plead For thy chaste Ioseph in as chaste a rime In Detestation of so foule a Crime She had abhor'd her selfe and lou'd him more For 's vertue now then for his face before So potent is thy verse it doth suppresse And quench all looser flames of wantonnesse And kindle in our breasts and cold desires New heate reviv'd by thy Promethean fires Be that thy sole reward and doe not weigh The Censure of the world Some will inveigh Some will commend but most proclaime by me They envy Ioseph that detract from thee D. LL. Dr. I. C. To my honoured friend Sir Thomas Salusbury my opinion of his IOSEPH AS Iosephs Brethrens sheaves did all obay Young Iosephs straite and lofty sheafe so may All other Poets not alone rehearse Thy prayses but doe homage to thy verse Not blasted with those Criticks breaths who spit Malice and throw thy Ioseph in the pit Of Envy making their dull braines the Well To drowne thy fame whose shallow pates excell Poore Iosephs Well for emptinesse the pit Wanted not waters as their heads doe wit Some will be apt to say when first 't is knowne Thy Muse doth bud the Rose is over-blowne The subject's stale it is not good to see Men play and dally with Divinity Thus will those Critickes talke were but thy vaine Such as descended from a love-sicke braine O that were rare and excellent how fine Were those thy verses were they not divine When e're thy Ioseph's sold unto such wights There 's Ioseph sold unto the Ismaelites But since thy Muse of Chastity doth sing Thy Ioseph may finde favour with the King T. Bayly artium Magister IF newes of Ioseph's death o're Iacob have Such forch to bring his gray haires to the grave With sorrow sure with joy my tidings must As powerfull be to raise him from the dust Then Iacob rise and know thy darling Sonne Is yet alive his glory but begunne Then when thou left'st him was he now is more A Favourite then e're he was before Not Pharoh's selfe nor all the Sonnes of Nile Have so much grac'd him as thy lofty stile My friend hath done he in thy verse shall be Ev'n as in heav'n above Mortalitie O how divin's thy Muse then that can blesse And adde to Saints departed happivesse Io. Salusbury Sen. In Authorem Librum I Know it 's worth yet will I not commend Thy Book I do not love to prayse my friend Unlesse some foule Detraction I should heare Of him or his else to commend him were In friendship as absurd as should I write Strong Arguments to prove that snow is white Nor will I yet admire thy work to mee It is a thing not strange at all to see That what thou dost is excellent I know Thy self art absolute and thy works are so Yet mayst thou meet some Censurers too unkind But pity them who punishment shall find Enough in their own errour they condemne Thy work whilst better judgments laugh at them Io. Salusbury Iun. To my ever honour'd Sir T. S. Barronet upon his Joseph SO the sweet singer did of Israel use In holy Layes to exercise his Muse Praysing his God for wonders in the Land Of Egypt by his servant Moses hand Then with Gods mercies sweetly closing there The soule at once he ravish't and the ear But so long since is that that there be those Make scruple yet whether in Verse or Prose The Prophet wrote as if a measur'd line Were more unfit to treat of things divine Such heretiques of Poetry by chance Will in their censure shew their ignorance Of this thy labours worth when they shall hold It as a fruitlesse work if not a bold Deeming the sacred flames that thus inspire Thy brests with holy raptures a strange fire And count thee as prophane that dar'st rehearse The majestie of Scripture in a Verse Whilst men of abler judgments that descry This last worst ages curious nicety Such that Gods sacred word the heavenly bread Of life by most is dully relished Vnlesse in oyle or honey dipt they know He whom the holy Ghosts first penman so Extolled as the type of Christ and square Of vertues for all graces singular Had slept