English Puritan & Reformed

A Poem Upon Imprisonment of Mr Calamy

Robert Wild (1609-1679) · 956 words · 4 min

The source for this document is https://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo/B06588.0001.001

Project Note

This is licensed under Creative Commons CC BY-NC-ND. This license allows reusers to copy and distribute the material in any medium or format in unadapted form only, for noncommercial purposes only, and only so long as attribution is given to the creator.

The source of this document is the Early English Books Online (EEBO-TCP) website. Those books were transcribed in a character for character manner and can be very cumbersome to read since there was no standard spelling during that time. Many spelling variations such as "unlesse", "vnlesse", and "vnles" regularly appear.

This project was conceived to clean up those books as much as possible and make them more accessible to the interested reader, leading to the creation of a massive list of variant spellings and their corrections. This was used to clean up the text, but is of course only as complete as the list itself. Because of the nature of the original transcription, some words have missing characters or places where the original language (e.g., Greek) was not transcribed. This effort does not change that. Be aware that the original transcription can also be faulty and in some cases entire sentences may be missing.

Although this is no substitute for a properly compared, proofed, and scholarly edition, I believe that the result is a document which is far more accessible, particularly for searching for terms using standard spelling. The document has been cleaned and presented in what I hope is a pleasing and useful format for the vast majority of Christian brothers and sisters who just want access to read these spiritually nourishing works.

However, a word of warning: The Puritans were a very diverse group of people and their age was characterized with godliness, but also much upheaval, disputation and strife. They disagreed on many doctrines and some of these works contain less orthodox or Scriptural views than others. The reader is strongly advised to read with discernment, particularly if it is unknown whether author is trustworthy.

This project took a huge amount of time and skill to bring to fruition. I would particularly like to thank David Jonescue for the initial list of Puritans he found on EEBO and the concept behind this project as well as the continuous, unceasing efforts toward seeing this complete. Without his labor, this would not be available. Alex Sarrouf was invaluable in providing the initial list of over 7,000 spelling variations he had identified and corrected, as well as continuing to review more than 16,000 additions to that list for any typos.

Logan West
(with David Jonescue and Alex Sarrouf)
www.puritansearch.org

A POEM UPON THE Imprisonment of Mr. Calamy IN NEWGATE.

By Robert Wild, D. D. Author of the late Iter Boreale.

        THis Page I send you Sir, your
        
         Newgate
        
        Fate
       
        Not to condole, but to congratulate.
       
        I envy not our Mitred men their Places,
       
        Their rich Preserments, nor their richer
        
         Faces
        
        :
       
        To see them Steeple upon Steeple set,
       
        As if they meant that way to Heaven get.
       
        I can behold them take into their Gills
       
        A dose of Churches, as men swallow Pills,
       
        And never grieve at it: Let them swim in Wine
       
        While others drown in tears, I will not repine;
       
        But my heart truly grudges (I confess)
       
        That you thus loaded are with happiness;
       
        For so it is: And you more blessed are
       
        In
        
         Peters
        
        Chain, than if you fate in's Chair.
       
        One Sermon hath prefer'd you to such Honor,
       
        A man could scarce have had from Bishop
        
         Banner
        
        ;
       
        Whilst we (your Brethren) poor Erraticks be,
       
        You are a glorious fixed Star we see.
       
        Hundreds of us turn out of House and Home,
       
        To a safe Habitation you are come.
       
        What though it be a Goal? Shame and Disgrace
       
        Rise only from the Crime, not from the Place.
       
        Who thinks reproach or injury is done.
       
        By an Eclipse to the unspotted
        
         Sun
        
        ?
       
        He only by that black upon his brow
       
        Allures spectators more; and so do you.
       
        Let me find Honey, though upon a Rod,
       
        And prize the Prison, where the Keeper's
        
         God
        
        :
       
         Newgate
        
        or
        
         Hell
        
        were
        
         Heaven
        
        if Christ were there,
       
        He made the Stable so, and Sepulcher.
       
        Indeed the place did for your presence call;
       
        Prisons do want persuming most of all.
       
        Thanks to the Bishop and his good Lord Mayor,
       
        Who turned the Den, of Thieves into a House of Prayer:
       
        And may some Thief by you converted be,
       
        Like him who suffered in Christ's company.

        Now would I had fight of your Mittimus;
       
        Fain would I know why you are dealt with thus.
       
        Jailor, set forth your Prisoner at the Bar,
       
        Sir, you shall here what your offenses are.

        First, It is proved that you being dead in Law
       
        (As if you cared not for that death a straw)
       
        Did walk and haunt your Church, as if you would scare
       
        Away the Reader and his Common-Prayer.
       
        Nay 'twill be proved you did not only walk,
       
        But like a
        
         Puritan
        
        your
        
         Ghost
        
        did talk.
       
        Dead, and yet Preach! these
        
         Presbyterian
        
        slaves
       
        Will not give over Preaching in their Graves.

         Item,
        
        You played the Thief, and ifit be so,
       
        Good reason (Sir) to
        
         Newgate
        
        you shall go:
       
        And now you're there, some dare to swear you are
       
        The greatest Pick-pocket that ere came there:
       
        Your Wife too, little better than yourself you make,
       
        She's the Receiver of each Purse you take.
       
        But your great Theft, you act it in your Church,
       
        (I do not mean you did your Sermon lurch,
       
        That's crime
        
         Cononical
        
        ) but you did pray
       
        And preach, so that you stole men's hearts away.
       
        So that good man to whom your place doth fall,
       
        Will find they have no heart for him at all:
       
        This Felony deserved Imprisonment;
       
        What cannot you
        
         Nonconformists
        
        be content
       
        Sermons to make except you preach them too;
       
        They that your places have, this Work cannot do.

        Thirdly, 'tis proved, when you pray most devout
       
        For all good men, you leave the Bishops out:
       
        This makes Seer
        
         Sheldon
        
        by his powerful spel
       
        Conjure and lay you safe in
        
         Newgate
        
        -hell:
       
        Would I were there too, I should like it well.
       
        I would you durst swaft punishment with me;
       
        Pain makes me fitter for the company
       
        Of roaring Boys; and you may lie a bed,
       
        Now your Name's up; pray do it in my stead,
       
        And if it be denied us to change places,
       
        Let us for sympathy compare our cases;
       
        For if in suffering we both agree.
       
        Sir, I may challenge you to pity me;
       
        I am the older Goal-bird; my hard fate
       
        Hath kept me twenty years in
        
         Cripple-gate
        
        ;
       
        Old
        
         Bishop Gout,
        
        that Lordly proud disease,
       
        Took my fat body for his Diocese,
       
        Where he keeps Court, there visits every L
        
         〈…〉
        
        And makes them (
        
         Levite
        
        -like) conform to him,
       
        Severely he doth Article each joint,
       
        And makes inquiry into every point:
       
        A bitter enemy to preaching; he
       
        Hath half a year sometimes suspended me:
       
        And if he find me painful in my station,
       
        Down I am sure to go next Visitation:
       
        He binds up, looseth; sets up and pulls down;
       
        Pretends he draws ill humors from the Crown:
       
        But I am sure he maketh such ado,
       
        His humors trouble Head and members too:
       
        He hath me now in hand, and ere he goes,
       
        I fear for
        
         Heretics
        
        he will burn my toes.
       
        O! I would give all I am worth, a fee,
       
        That from his jurisdiction I were free.

        Now Sir, you find our sufferings do agree,
       
        One Bishop clapt up you, another me:
       
        But oh! the difference too is very great,
       
        You are allowed to walk, to drink and eat,
       
        I want them all, and never a penny get.
       
        And though you be debarred your liberty,
       
        Yet all your Visitors I hope are free,
       
        Good men, good women and good Angels come
       
        And make your Prison better than your home.
       
        Now may it be so till your foes repent
       
        They gave you such a rich Imprisonment.
       
        May for the greater comfort of your lives,
       
        Your lying in be better than your Wives.
       
        May you a thousand friendly papers see,
       
        And none prove empty, except this from me.
       
        And if you stay, may I come keep your door,
       
        Then farewell Parsonage, I shall never be poor.

FINIS.