The works of George Swinnock, M.A

His review of his past actions, his remembering of his slighting Christ for a brutish pleasure, or a little fading treasure, or a base lust, and provoking God, and continuance in sin, against mercies, judgements, warnings, the light of conscience, the motions of the spirit, are as so many envenomed Arrows sticking in his side, and piercing him through with many sorrows, but the thoughts of his necessity of dying, and his fore-thoughts of the consequent of death, how hell rides upon its back, and eternal torments attend it; how he must fry in unquenchable flames, and take up his everlasting lodging amongst roaring Lyons, frightful Dragons, and the hellish crew sink him quite down. To add some more Gall and Wormwood to his cup of bitterness, the Devil now steps in, and showeth him his sins in their black hew, in their bloody colour and countenance, to make him hopeless and desperate. The poor creature in this miserable plight and plunge, knoweth not what to do, whether to go for relief. ⟨p. 669⟩Dye he would not, but must; live he would, but canno•. Now he wisheth that he had prayed and served God, and minded his soul and salvation more, and gratified his flesh, and embraced the pleasures and honours of the World less; Now he desireth that he might live a little longer, and thinks, O how would I redeem time, and follow after holiness, and walk with God, what would I not do and suffer to lay up some comfort, some cordial against such an hour! But whilst he is thus in the midst of his vain wishes, Death tells him by the violence of his distemper, that the time of his departure is at hand; His eyes now begin to sink, his speech to falter, his breath to shorten, and his heart to fail him, and a cold sweat to seize on his whole body. He strives and struggleth with all his might to continue here, but Death like a Cruel Serjeant, drags him to the bar of God, whence he is immediately with frowns and fury dismissed and haled to the dreadful and eternal Dungeon of Hell. O the howlings, the screeching, the groans, the grief which possesseth this poor soul, when he is attached by Devils, those merciless Officers, and carried by them to the lake that burns with fire and brimstone for ever.

His review of his past actions, his remembring of his slighting Christ for a brutish pleasure, or a little fading treasure, or a base lust, and provoking God, and continuance in sin, against mercies, judgements, warnings, the light of conscience, the motions of the spirit, are as so many envenomed Arrows sticking in his side, and piercing him through with many sorrows, but the thoughts of his necessity of dying, and his fore-thoughts of the consequent of death, how hell rides upon its back, and eternal torments attend it; how he must fry in unquenchable flames, and take up his everlasting lodging amongst roaring Lyons, frightful Dragons, and the hellish crew sink him quite down. To add some more Gall and Wormwood to his cup of bitterness, the Devil now steps in, and sheweth him his sins in their black hew, in their bloody colour and countenance, to make him hopeless and desperate. The poor creature in this miserable plight and plunge, knoweth not what to do, whether to go for releif.