Secondly, the deepness is yoked with darkness; such a dungeon fits the Tares, they committed works of darkness, and are cast into utter darkness; a darkness that may be felt, thick Clouds that may be handled, damps and mists that strike at their hearts with sensible griefs. This is that bottomless pit in the heart of the earth: there shines no Sun, no Moon, nor Stars; there is no light of Candle, Torch, or Taper; shine the Sun never so fair, it is still night there; the Dungeon is dark, and this makes the place more sad, more uncomfortable. Let Poets feign of Tantalus tortures, Prometheus Vultures, Ixion's Wheel, and Charon's rowing, these come far short to express the pains of those that rage in hell: there plagues have no ease, cries ⟨p. 135⟩have no help, time has no end, place no redemption: it is the dark prison where the Tares are chained, and the wicked bound in fetters of fire and darkness. Could men have a sight of hell whiles they live on earth, I doubt not their hearts would tremble in their bosoms: yet view it in a way of meditation, and see what you find? are there not wonderful engines, sharp and sore instruments of revenge, fiery Brimstone, pitchy Sulphur, red hot chains, flaming whips, scorching darkness? will you any more? the worm is immortal, cold intolerable, stench endurable, fire unquenchable, darkness palpable: This is that prison of the damned, then whose eyes dare behold such amazing objects? but if not see, yet listen with your ears, is there any charm in hell to conjure away Devils, or to ravish souls? what music affords the place, but roaring, and crying, and holing? cursing their Hymns, wailing their tunes, blasphemies their ditties, lachrymae their notes, lamentations their songs, screeching their strains, these are their evening and their morning songs; Moab shall cry against Moab, one against another, all against God. O fearful Prison! what torments have the Tares that lye here fettered? their feet are chained in the stocks, and the Iron pierceth their souls; it is a Dungeon where the light never shined, but the walls are as black as pitch, the vaults are smoked as Chimneys, the roof as dark as hell, nay the Dungeon is hell, where the Tares lie bound and fettered. Think of this Jail, ye offenders of Gods Law, and Majesty;
Secondly, the deepness is yoaked with darkness; such a dungeon fits the Tares, they committed works of darkness, and are cast into utter darkness; a darkness that may be felt, thick Clouds that may be handled, dampes and mists that strike at their hearts with sensible griefs. This is that bottomless pit in the heart of the earth: there shines no Sun, no Moon, nor Stars; there is no light of Candle, Torch, or Taper; shine the Sun never so fair, it is still night there; the Dungeon is dark, and this makes the place more sad, more uncomfortable. Let Poets faign of Tantalus tortures, Prometheus Vultures, Ixions Wheel, and Charons rowing, these come far short to express the pains of those that rage in hell: there plagues have no ease, cryes ⟨p. 135⟩have no help, time has no end, place no redemption: it is the dark prison where the Tares are chained, and the wicked bound in fetters of fire and darkness. Could men have a sight of hell whiles they live on earth, I doubt not their hearts would tremble in their bosomes: yet view it in a way of meditation, and see what you find? are there not wonderfull engines, sharpe and sore instruments of revenge, fiery Brimstone, pitchy Sulphur, red hot chains, flaming whips, scorching darkness? will you any more? the worm is immortall, cold intolerable, stench indurable, fire unquenchable, darkness palpable: This is that prison of the damned, then whose eyes dare behold such amazing objects? but if not see, yet listen with your eares, is there any charm in hell to conjure away Devils, or to ravish souls? what musick affords the place, but roaring, and crying, and houling? cursing their Hymnes, wailing their tunes, blasphemies their ditties, lachrymae their notes, lamentations their songs, scrieching their streins, these are their evening and their morning songs; Moab shall cry against Moab, one against another, all against God. O fearfull Prison! what torments have the Tares that lye here fettered? their feet are chained in the stocks, and the Iron pierceth their souls; it is a Dungeon where the light never shined, but the walls are as black as pitch, the vaults are smoaked as Chimneys, the roof as dark as hell, nay the Dungeon is hell, where the Tares lie bound and fettered. Think of this Iayle, yee offenders of Gods Law, and Majesty;
