_I will cut off the Judge from the Midst thereof._
You who false Judgment do pronounce, For filthy Lucre’s Sake, From Midst of Crowds and Judgment-Seat, I, Death, will quickly take.
To Fate’s just Laws ye must submit, Nor ye, alone, contest That pow’r which every Son of Man Has hitherto confest.
_A prudent Man foreseeth the Evil, and hideth himself: But the Simple pass on, and are punished._
The crafty Man the Crime perceives, The Guilty does protect; The Cause of just but needy Men, He ever does reject.
The Poor and Guiltless are oppress’d By Justice’ vain Pretence, And Gold, than Laws, is found to have A greater Influence.
_Whoso stoppeth his Ears at the Cry of the Poor, he also shall cry himself, but shall not be heard._
The Rich and Wealthy readily To Suiters rich give Ear, And scorn the poor and needy Man, His Pray’r refuse to hear:
But when themselves, in the last Hour, To God shall earnest cry, Their anxious Pray’rs he shall reject, And their Request deny.
_Woe unto them that call Evil Good, and Good Evil; that put Darkness for Light, and Light for Darkness; that put Bitter for Sweet, and Sweet for Bitter._
Woe to you impious Hypocrites, Who Evil Goodness term; And Evil to be truly Good, With equal Fraud affirm:
Who Dark for Light, with Falsehood great, And Light for Dark embrace; Bitter for Sweet who substitute, And Sweet for Bitter place.
_I myself also am a mortal Man, like to all._
The holy Sacrament, behold, Celestial Gift, I bear, The sick Man, at the Hour of Death, With certain Hope to cheer.
Ev’n I myself am mortal too, And the same Laws obey, And shall like him, when Time shall come, To Death be made a Prey.
_Such as sit in Darkness, and in the Shadow of Death, being bound in Affliction and Iron._
Some Men, the World to circumvent By Fraud and Falsehood try, By feign’d Religion, Sin to hide From ev’ry mortal Eye:
Of Piety an ardent love They outwardly profess; But inwardly they are the Sink Of all Voluptuousness:
But when the End shall be at Hand, They like Reward shall have, And Death, by Myriads, shall mow down The Wicked to the Grave.
_There is a Way which seemeth Right unto a Man; but the End thereof are the Ways of Death._
Why dost thou, pale and envious Death, A sacred Maid affright? Small Glory to thee can arise From Victories so slight.