A wonderfull example of Gods justice, shewed upon Jasper Conningham a Gentleman borne in Scotland, who was of opinion, That there was neither God, nor Divell, nor Heaven, nor Hell. To the tune of, O neighbour Robert.
|
IT was a Scotchman,
|
a Scotchman lewd of life,
|
That long had lived
|
unlawfull from his wife:
|
His name was Jasper Conningham,
|
as I doe understand,
|
Whose dwelling was in Aberdine,
|
a Towne in faire Scotland.
|
He had a Sister
|
which was both faire and bright,
|
Worshipfully wedded,
|
unto a worthy Knight:
|
Godly, wise, and vertuous,
|
in every things was she,
|
A fairer comely Lady
|
in Scotland could not be.
|
Her wicked brother,
|
such inward paines did prove,
|
With his faire Sister
|
he greatly fals in love:
|
He watches time, he woes her,
|
and shewes to her his mind,
|
And still he sayes sweet Sister
|
be not to me unkind.
|
This comely Lady,
|
in mild and gentle wise,
|
Unto her brother,
|
thus modestly replies,
|
The Lord forbid deare brother,
|
I should consent at all,
|
To such a damned action,
|
to bring our soules in thrall.
|
Is not great torments
|
prepar'd for hatefull sin?
|
Is not God as righteous
|
as ever he hath beene?
|
Is not he well prepared
|
with quenchlesse flames of fire,
|
To give such wicked persons
|
their due deserved hire?
|
Wherefore deare brother,
|
repent and call for grace,
|
Let not those motions
|
within your heart take place:
|
Consider unto judgement
|
we shall one day be brought,
|
To answer for the follies
|
that in this life are wrought,
|
Her brother hearing
|
her goldly Christian talke,
|
Within the Garden
|
as they alone did walke:
|
Blasphemously replyed,
|
as shamless as he stood,
|
Saying she had declared
|
a tale of Robin Hood.
|
You are deceived
|
faire Sister then, said he,
|
To talke of Heavens glory,
|
or Hels plagues to me:
|
These are devised Fables,
|
to keepe poore fooles in feare,
|
That were by wisemen written
|
though no such there were.
|
You speake of a reckoning
|
and of a judgement day,
|
And after life is ended,
|
and flesh consum'd away:
|
And of a God most justly,
|
will plague all things amisse,
|
And those that doe beleeve it
|
are much deceiv'd I wis,
|
Alas he said, my Sister,
|
these things are nothing so,
|
No God nor Divell is biding,
|
in Heaven nor Hell I know:
|
All toings are wrought by nature,
|
the, Earth, the Ayre, and Skye,
|
There is no joy nor sorrow,
|
after that man doth dye.
|
Therefore let me have pleasure,
|
while here I doe remaine,
|
I feare not Gods displeasure,
|
nor Hels tormenting paine:
|
No sooner had he spoken,
|
this foule blasphemous thing,
|
But that a heavy Judgement
|
the Lord did on him bring.
|
For in the Garden
|
whereas he did abide,
|
Suddenly a fire,
|
sprang up on every side;
|
Which round about inclosed
|
this damned wretch that day,
|
Who roar[']d and cry'd most grievous,
|
but could not start away.
|
|
|
|
|
The second part, to the same tune.
|
THis fearefull fire
|
up to his knees did rise,
|
Burning blew like Brimstone,
|
in most outragious wise:
|
The Lady which beheld it
|
ran crying in for ayde,
|
To plucke away her brother,
|
which in the fire staid.
|
But nought prevailed,
|
for ought that they could doe,
|
Long staves and also pitchforks,
|
they reached him unto:
|
Because they durst not venture,
|
neere to the fiery flame,
|
He taking hold upon them,
|
to draw him out the same.
|
But not a finger,
|
nor hand that he could move,
|
His armes hung dead behind him,
|
great paines that he did prove:
|
And now he bans and curses
|
the day that he was borne,
|
And wishes that his carcasse
|
by Devils might be torne.
|
Now feely 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 lookes are death to me,
|
Nothing but wrath and vengeance,
|
about him I doe see.
|
I have despis'd him,
|
but can no whit repent,
|
My heart is hardened,
|
my mind cannot relent:
|
No pitty nor compassion,
|
no mercy is in store,
|
For me vile wretched creature,
|
despis[']d for evermore.
|
I am in Hell tormented,
|
and to endlesse paine,
|
Looke how the Devill torments me,
|
in stretching every vaine:
|
Looke how they swim about me,
|
O what Hel fiends are these?
|
Woe worth the time that ever
|
I did myselfe displease.
|
I burne in flaming fire,
|
yet doe no whit consume,
|
My Conscience doth torment me;
|
that did in sinne presume;
|
Alas my loving Sister,
|
now doe I know full well
|
There is a God most righteous,
|
and eke a Devill in Hell.
|
And with these speeches
|
his eyes fell from his head,
|
And by his strings hung dangling
|
below his chin starke dead:
|
See how the Devills then he said,
|
have pluckt mine eyes out quite,
|
That alwayes were unworthy
|
to view the Heavens light.
|
Then from his mouth there fell
|
his foule blasphemous tongue,
|
In ugly manner,
|
most pitteously it hung:
|
And there away it rotted,
|
in all the peoples sight,
|
By Lice and filthy Vermine,
|
he was consumed quite.
|
With gastly groaning,
|
and shriekes that sounded hye,
|
Two houres after
|
this cursed man did lye:
|
And there at length he dyed,
|
and then the fire ceast,
|
His carkasse stanke more filthily
|
then any carrion beast.
|
No man was able
|
for to endure the smell,
|
Nor yet come to bury him,
|
as true report doth tell,
|
Untill he was consumed
|
he lay above the ground,
|
The doores about the Garden,
|
therefore were locked round.
|
Let all Blasphemers
|
take warning by this thing,
|
Lest that Gods vengeance
|
they doe upon them bring:
|
And Lord grant all Christians
|
thy grace and holy feare,
|
They may thinke on the punish,
|
that Conningham had here.
|
|
|
|
|