Classic Poem

201

Ye sinful wights, and cursed sprights,
that work Iniquity,
Depart together from me for ever
to endless Misery;
Your portion take in yonder Lake,
Where Fire and Brimstone flameth:
Suffer the smart, which your desert
as it's due wages claimeth.

202

Oh piercing words more sharp than swords!
what, to depart from Thee,
Whose face before for evermore
the best of Pleasures be!
What? to depart (unto our smart)
from thee Eternally :
To be for aye banish'd away,
with Devils company!

203

What? to be sent to Punishment ,
and flames of Burning Fire ,
To be surrounded, and eke confounded
with Gods Revengful ire .
What? to abide, not for a tide
these Torments, but for Ever :
To be released, or to be eased,
not after years, but Never .

204

Oh, fearful Doom ! now there's no room
for hope or help at all:
Sentence is past which aye shall last,
Christ will not it recall.
There might you hear them rent and tear
the Air with their out-cries:
The hideous noise of their sad voice
ascendeth to the Skies.

205

They wring their hands, their caitiff-hands,
and gnash their teeth for terrour;
They cry, they roar for anguish sore,
and gnaw their tongues for horrour.
But get away without delay,
Christ pitties not your cry:
Depart to Hell, there may you yell,
and roar Eternally.

206

That word, Depart , maugre their heart,
drives every wicked one,
With mighty pow'r, the self-same hour,
far from the Judge's Throne.
Away they're chaste by the strong blast
of his Death-threatning mouth:
They flee full fast, as if in haste,
although they be full loath.

207

As chaff that's dry, and dust doth fly
before the Northern wind:
Right so are they chased away,
and can no Refuge find.
They hasten to the Pit of Wo,
guarded by Angels stout;
Who to fulfil Christ's holy will,
attend this wicked Rout.

208

Whom having brought, as they are taught,
unto the brink of Hell
(That dismal place far from Christ's face,
where Death and Darkness dwell:
Where Gods fierce Ire kindleth the fire,
and vengeance feeds the flame
With piles of Wood, and Brimstone Flood,
that none can quench the same,)

209

With Iron bands they bind their hands,
and cursed feet together,
And cast them all, both great and small,
into that Lake for ever.
Where day and night, without respite,
they wail, and cry, and howl.
For tort'ring pain, which they sustain
in Body and in Soul.

210

For day and night, in their despight,
their torments smoak ascendeth.
Their pain and grief have no relief,
their anguish never endeth
There must they ly, and never dy,
though dying every day:
There must they dying every ly,
and not consume away.