English Puritan & Reformed

The Tragedy of Christopher Love

Robert Wild (1609-1679) · 1,133 words · 5 min

The source for this document is https://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo/A66015.0001.001

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

THE TRAGEDY OF CHRISTOPHER LOVE AT TOWER HILL August 22. 1651.

Prologue.

         NEw from a slaughtred Monarchs Herse I come,
        
         A mourner to a Murthr'd Prophet's Tomb:
        
         Pardon, Great
         
          Charles
         
         his Ghost, my Muse had stood
        
         Yet three years longer, till sh'had wept a flood;
        
         Too mean a Sacrifice for Royal Blood.
        
         But
         
          〈◊◊〉
         
         Heaven do by Thunder call
        
         For her attendance at Love's Funeral.
        
         Forgive Great Sir, this Sacrilege in me,
        
         The
         
          〈◊〉
         
         Tear he must have, it is his Fee;
        
         'It is due to him, and yet 'tis stol'n from Thee.

ARGUMENT.

         'Twas when the raging Dog did rule the Skies,
        
         And with his Scorching face did tyrannize,
        
         When cruel
         
          Cromwell,
         
         whelp of that mad Star,
        
         But sure more firery than his Syre by far;
        
         Had dried the Northern Fife, and with his heat
        
         Put frozen
         
          Scotland
         
         in a Bloody sweat:
        
         When he had Conquered, and his furious Traine
        
         Had chas'd the North-Bear, and pursued
         
          Charle's
         
         wane
        
         Into the
         
          English
         
         Orb; then 'twas thy Fate
        
         (Sweet
         
          Love
         
         ) to be a present for our State.
        
         A greater Sacrifice there could not come,
        
         Then a Divine to bleed his welcome home
        
         For He, and
         
          Herod,
         
         think no dish so good,
        
         As a
         
          John Baptists
         
         Head served up in blood.

ACT I.

         The
         
          Philistines
         
         are set in their High Court,
        
         And
         
          Love,
         
         like
         
          Samson's,
         
         fetched to make them sport:
        
         Unto the Stake the smiling Prisoner's brought,
        
         Not to be Try'd, but baited, most men thought;
        
         Monsters, like men, must worry him: and thus
        
         He fights with Beasts, like
         
          Paul
         
         at
         
          Ephesus.
         
          Adams, Far
         
         and
         
          Huntingdon,
         
         with all the pack
        
         Of foysting Hounds were set upon his back.
        
          Prideaux
         
         and
         
          Keeble
         
         stands and cries A'loe;
        
         It was a full Cry, and it would not do.
        
         Oh how he foil'd them, Standers-by did swear,
        
         That he the Judge, and they the Traitors were:
        
         For there he proved, although he seemed a Lamb,
        
         Stout, like a Lyon, from whose Den he came!

ACT II.

         It is Decreed; nor shall thy Worth, dear
         
          Love,
         
         Resist their Vows, nor their revenge remove.
        
         Though prayers were join'd to prayers, & tears to tears,
        
         No softness in their Rocky hearts appears;
        
         Nor Heaven nor Earth abate their fury can,
        
         But they will have thy Head, thy Head, good Man.
        
         Sure some She sectary longed, and in hast
        
         Must try how Presbyterian Blood did taste.
        
         'It is fit she have the best, and therefore thine,
        
         Thine must be broach'd, blest Saint, its drink Divine.
        
         No sooner was the dreadful Sentence read,
        
         The Prisoner straight bowed his condemned Head:
        
         And by that humble posture told them all,
        
         It was an Head that did not fear a fall.

ACT III.

         And now I wish the fatal stroke were given;
        
         I am sure our Martyr longs to be in Heaven,
        
         And Heaven to have him there; one moments blow
        
         Makes him triumphant; but here comes his woe,
        
         His enemies will grant a months suspense
        
         Ifit be but for the nonce to keep him thence:
        
         And that he may tread in his Savior's ways,
        
         He shall be tempted too, his forty days:
        
         And with such baits too, cast thyself but down,
        
         Fall, and but worship, and your life's your own.
        
         Thus cried his Enemies, and 'twas their pride
        
         To wound his Body, and his Soul beside.
        
         One plot they have more, when their other fail,
        
         If Devils cannot, disciples may prevail.
        
         Lets tempt him by his friends, make
         
          Peter
         
         cry
        
         Good Master spare thyself, and do not die.
        
         One friend intreats, a second weeps, a third
        
         Cries your Petition wants the other word:
        
         I will write it for you, saith a fourth; your life,
        
         Your life Sir, cries a fifth; pity your wife,
        
         And the Babe in her: Thus this Diamond's cut,
        
         By Diamonds only, and to terror put.
        
         Me thinks I hear him still, you wounding heart;
        
         Good friends forbear, for every word's a dart:
        
         'It is cruel pity, this I do profess,
        
         You'ld love me more, if you did love me less:
        
         Friends, Children, Wife, Life, all are dear I know,
        
         But all's too dear, if I should buy them so.
        
         Thus like a Rock that routs the waves he stands,
        
         And snaps a sunder,
         
          Sampson
         
         -like these bands.

ACT IV.

         The day is come, the Prisoner longs to go,
        
         And chides the lingering Sun for tarrying so.
        
         Which blushing seems to answer from the sky,
        
         That it was loath to see a Martyr die.
        
         Me thinks I heard b
         
          •
         
         headed Saints above
        
         Call to each other, Sirs, make room for
         
          Love.
         
         Who, when he came to tread the fatal Stage,
        
         Which proved his glory, and his Enemies rage.
        
         His blood never run to his Heart, Christ's Blood was there
        
         Reviving it, his own was all to spare:
        
         Which rising in his Cheeks, did seem to say,
        
         Is this the blood you thirst for? Takit I pray.
        
         Spectators in his looks such life did see,
        
         That they appeared more like to die than he.
        
         But oh his speech, me thinks I hear it still;
        
         It ravished Friends, and did his enemies kill:
        
         His keener words did their sharp Axe exceed,
        
         That made his head, but he their hearts to bleed:
        
         Which he concludes with gracious prayer, and so
        
         The Lamb lay down, and took the butchers blow:
        
         His Soul makes Heaven shine brighter by a Star,
        
         And now we are sure there's one Saint
         
          Christopher.

ACT V.

          Love
         
         lies a bleeding, and the world shall see
        
         Heaven Act a part in this black Tragedie.
        
         The Sun no sooner spide the Head o'th' floor,
        
         But he pulled in his own, and looked no more:
        
         The Clouds which scattered, and in colors were,
        
         Met all together, and in black appear:
        
         Lightnings, which filled the air with Blazing light,
        
         Did serve for Torches all that dismal night:
        
         In which, and all next day for many hours,
        
         Heaven groaned in Thunder, and did weep in showers.
        
         Nor do I wonder that God Thundred so
        
         When his Bonarges murdered lay below:
        
         Witnesses trembled,
         
          Prideaux, Bradshaw, Keeble,
         
         And all the guilty Court looked pale and feeble.
        
         Timerous
         
          Ienkins,
         
         and cold-hearted
         
          Drake
         
         Hold out, you need no base Petitions make:
        
         Your enemies thus Thunder-struck no doubt,
        
         Will be beholding to you to go out.
        
         But if you will Recant, now thundering Heaven
        
         Such approbation to
         
          Loves
         
         Cause hath given.
        
         I will add but this; Your Consciences, perhaps,
        
         Ere long, shall feel far greater Thunder-claps.

Epilogue.

         But stay, my Muse grows fearful too, and must
        
         Beg that these Lines be buried with thy dust:
        
         Shelter, blessed
         
          Love,
         
         this Verse within thy shroud,
        
         For none but Heaven dares takes thy part aloud.
        
         The Author begs this, least if he be known,
        
         Whilst he bewails thy Head, he loose his own.

FINIS.