A wonderful Example of Gods Justice shewed upon one Jasper Conningham, a Gentleman born in Scotland, who was of opinion that there was neither God nor Devil. To the Tune of, O Neighbour Robert.
|
IT was a Scotch-man,
|
a Scotch man lewd of Life,
|
That long had lived
|
unlawful from his wife:
|
His name was Jasper Conningham,
|
as I did understand?
|
Whose dwelling was at Aberdeen,
|
a town in fair Scotland.
|
He had a sister
|
which was both fair and bright,
|
Worshipfully wedded,
|
unto a worthy Knight,
|
Godly, wise and vertuous
|
in every thing was she:
|
A fairer comely Lady,
|
in Scotland could not be.
|
Her wicked Brother
|
such inward pains did prove,
|
That with his fair Sister
|
he greatly was in love:
|
He watches time and woes her,
|
he shews to her his mind,
|
And still he says sweet sister
|
be not to me unkind.
|
This comly Lady
|
in mild and gentle wise,
|
Unto her Brother
|
thus modestly replies;
|
The Lord forbid dear brother
|
I should consent at all,
|
To such a damned accion
|
to bring our souls in thrall.
|
Are not great torments
|
prepar'd for hateful sin?
|
Is not God as righteous
|
as ever he hath been?
|
Is not hell prepared
|
with quenchless flames of fire,
|
To give such wicked persons,
|
their due deserved hire?
|
Wherefore dear brother
|
repent and call for grace,
|
Let not these motions
|
within your heart take place:
|
Consider how to judgment,
|
we shall one day be brought,
|
To answer for our follies
|
which in our lives we wrought,
|
Her brother hearing
|
her Godly Christian talk,
|
Within the Garden
|
as they alone did walk
|
Blasphemously replyed,
|
as shameless as he stood,
|
Saying she had declared
|
a tale of Robin Hood.
|
You are deceived
|
fair sister then said he,
|
To talk of Heavens Glory,
|
or hells Plagues unto me;
|
These are devised fables
|
to keep poor souls in fear,
|
That were by wise men written,
|
though no such things there were.
|
You spake of a reckoning,
|
and of a judgment day:
|
And after life is ended,
|
and flesh consum'd away:
|
And of a God most justly,
|
will plague all things amiss,
|
And those that do believe it,
|
are much deceiv'd I wis.
|
Alas, said he, my sister,
|
these things are nothing so.
|
No God nor Devil is 'biding,
|
in heaven nor hell I know:
|
All things are wrought by nature
|
the Earth, the ayr, and Sky,
|
There is no joy nor sorrow
|
after that men do dye.
|
Therefore let me have pleasure
|
while hear I do remain
|
I fear not Gods displeasure
|
nor hells tormenting pain:
|
No sooner had he spoken
|
this foul blasphemous thing,
|
But that a heavy judgment
|
upon him God did bring,
|
For in the Garden,
|
whereas he did abide,
|
Suddenly a fire
|
sprung up on every side,
|
Which round about inclosed
|
this Damned wretch that Day
|
Who rora'd and cry'd most grevous
|
but could not start away.
|
THis fearfull fire.
|
up to his knees did rise,
|
Burning blew like brimstone
|
in most outrageous wise:
|
The Lady which beheld it,
|
ran crying in for aid
|
To pluck away her brother
|
which in the fire staid.
|
But nought prevailed,
|
for all that they could do,
|
Long staves and also pitchforks
|
theye reached him unto;
|
Becaus they durst not venture
|
neer to the fiery flame.
|
He taking hold upon them
|
to draw him out of the same.
|
But not a finger
|
nor hand that he could move,
|
His arms hung dead behind him
|
great pains that he did prove
|
And now he bans and curses
|
the day that he was born,
|
And wishes that his carcass
|
by devils might be torn.
|
Now feel I surely,
|
quoth he, there is a god,
|
That sore doth plague me,
|
with his strong iron rod.
|
O hide me from his presence,
|
his looks are death to me,
|
Nothing but wrath and vengeance,
|
about him I do see.
|
I have despised him,
|
but can no whit repent,
|
My heart is hardened,
|
my mind cannot relent,
|
No pitty nor compassion,
|
nor mercy is in store.
|
For me vile wretched creature
|
despis'd for evermore
|
I am in hell tormented
|
and to endless pain,
|
Look how the devils torment me
|
in strething every vein,
|
Look how they swarm about me,
|
oh what hell fiends are these,
|
Who Worth the time thet ever,
|
I did the Lord displease.
|
I burn in flaming fire,
|
yet do no whit consume,
|
My conscience doth torment me,
|
that did in sin presume,
|
Alas my loving Sister,
|
now I do know full well,
|
There is a God most righteous,
|
and eke a devil in hell.
|
And with these speeches
|
his eyes fell from his head,
|
And by the strings hung dangling
|
below his chin stark dead.
|
See how the devils then he said,
|
have pluck t my eyes out quite,
|
That always was unworthy
|
to view the heavenly light.
|
Then from his mouth there fell
|
his foul blasphemous tongue,
|
In very ugly manner it
|
most pitteously it hung.
|
And there away it rotted
|
in all the peoples sight,
|
By lice and filthy vermine,
|
it was consumed quite.
|
With gastly groaning
|
and Shrieks that sounded high,
|
Two hours after
|
this cursed man did lye,
|
And there at length he dyed,
|
and then the fire ceast
|
His carcase stunk more filthy
|
than any carrion beast.
|
No man was able
|
for to endure the smell,
|
Nor yet to come to bury him,
|
as true report doth tell;
|
Untill he was consumed
|
he laid above the ground,
|
The doors about the garden,
|
therefore was Locked round.
|
Let all Blasphemers
|
take warning by this thing,
|
Lest that Gods vengeance
|
they do upon them bring,
|
And Lord grant all Christians
|
thy holy grace and fear,
|
They may think on the punishment
|
that Conningham had here,
|
|
FINIS.
|
|
|
|