N01010:499
War with the devil, or, The young man's conflict with the powers of darkness,…
War with the devil, or, The young man's conflict with the powers of darkness, in a dialogue discovering the corruption and vanity of youth, the horrible nature of sin, and deplorable condition of fallen man, also, a description of the power and rule of conscience, and the nature of true conversion. : To which is added, an appendix, containing a dialogue between an old apostate and a young professor, worthy the perusal of all, but chiefly intended for the instruction of the younger sort. / By B.K. author of Zion in distress, or The groans of the Protestant church.War with the devil, or, The young man's conflict with the powers of darkness, in a dialogue discovering the corruption and vanity of youth, the horrible nature of sin, and deplorable condition of fallen man, also, a description of the power and rule of conscience, and the nature of true conversion. : To which is added, an appendix, containing a dialogue between an old apostate and a young professor, worthy the perusal of all, but chiefly intended for the instruction of the younger sort. / By B.K. author of Sion in distress, or The groans of the Protestant church.
New York: printed by William Bradford, 1707
Title page typeset from the transcription.
Modern spelling is a reading aid: the words are the author’s, only the spelling is modernized. Original shows the page as printed, with the transcription marks.
These Deaths, and worse, those monsters did contrive. We see how they have dealt with every Nation; And shall we think at last to find compassion? The piteous Cries of Parents ne'er could move Them to extend the smallest dram of love. The Tears that ran from dying Infants eyes Like plenteous showers from the darkened Skies, Whose great abundance might have made a River, Yet all these floods of british Tears could never Enter a Papists heart so hard condensed, So void of pity, and all humane sense. To hear the doleful shrieks, and dying groans Of poor distressed Babes, who make their moans, To Soul-Afflicted-parents ere they part, These are the things delight a Papists heart; To see the dying gasps before the Death Of tortured Souls, whose life-forsaken breath Had waited many a tedious hour past, When their tormented Souls should breath their last. Whose dolorous sighings penetrate the Skies, Those objects do delight a Papist's eyes. And can we now at last expect to find •hat Rome's grown merciful, and Papists kind? No, no, we cannot do't, if we but fix Our serious thoughts upon late Sixty Six: When London was consumed, that Famous City, •ts Ruins do be-speak them void of pity. By Rome's contrivance was fair London burned, Englands Metropolis to ashes turned. Their Merchants of their Riches quite bereft, To day Rich men, to morrow nothing left. ⟨p. 146⟩Their Wives and Children harbourless became, Their substance all consumed in the Flame; To day this Famous City's decked in Gold, To morrow an amazement to behold. The doleful Shrieks, and lamentable Cries, The floods of Tears that ran from weeping eyes, As true resemblances, bid represent, The sorrows that our Neighbours underwent. And can we think that Hell-begotten Rage, That did provoke so many to engage In such an Act, far worse then the' Powder Treason, Can we suppose, if we consult with Reason, The Fury of their Hellish Rage expired So soon as ere that famous place was fired? No, no, (good Sir) your Pardon, I presume, Those Hell-engendered Flames that did consume So fair a City in so short a space, Hell gave those flames Commission down to raze, Not only London, but every Soul that hath A heart resolved to maintain the Faith Of JESUS, Protestants, both great and small, Rome hath determined their eternal fall.
These Dea•hs, and w•rse, those monsters did contrive. We see how they have dealt with every Nation; And shall we think at last to find compassion? The piteous Cries of Parents ne're could move Them to extend the smallest dram of love. The Tears that ran from dying Infants eyes Like plenteous showers from the darkned Skies, Whose great abundance might have made a River, Yet all these floods of briish Tears could never Enter a Papists heart so hard condens'd, So voide of pity, and all humane sence. To hear the doleful shrieks, and dying groans Of poor distressed Babes, who make their moans, To Soul-Afflicted-parents e'er they part, These are the things delight a Papists heart; To see the dying gasps before the Death Of tortured Souls, whose life-forsaken breath Had waited many a tedious hour past, When their tormented Souls should breath their last. Whose dolorous sighings penetrate the Skies, Those objects do delight a Papist's eyes. And can we now at last expect to find hat Rome's grown merciful, and Papists kind? No, no, we cannot do't, if we but fix Our serious thoughts upon late Sixty Six: When London was consum'd, that Famous City, ts Ruins do be-speak them void of pity. By Rome's contrivance was fair London burn'd, Englands Metropolis to ashes turn'd. Teir Merchants of their Riches quite bereft, To day Rich men, to morrow nothing left.