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         Tutchin, John, 1661?-1707.
      
       
         
           1692
        
      
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             The earth-quake of Jamaica describ'd in a Pindarick poem / by Mr. Tutchin.
             Tutchin, John, 1661?-1707.
          
           8 p.
           
             Printed, and are to be sold by R. Baldwin ...,
             London :
             1692.
          
           
             First ed. Cf. BM.
             Reproduction of original in Harvard University Libraries.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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           Earthquakes -- Jamaica.
           Jamaica -- History -- Earthquake, 1692.
        
      
    
     
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           THE
           EARTH-QUAKE
           OF
           JAMAICA
           ,
           Describ'd
           in
           a
           Pindarick
           Poem
           .
        
         
           By
           Mr.
           TUTCHIN
           .
        
         
           
             —
             namque
             Diespiter
          
           
             Igni
             corusco
             nubila
             dividens
          
           
             Plerumque
             per
             purum
             tonantes
          
           
             Egit
             Equos
             volucremque
             currum
             ,
          
           
             Quo
             bruta
             Tellus
             &
             vaga
             flumina
             ,
          
           
             Quo
             Styx
             ,
             &
             invisi
             horrida
             Toenari
          
           
             Sedes
             ,
             Atlanteusque
             finis
          
           
             Concutitur
             .
             Valet
             ima
             summis
          
           
             Mutare
             ,
             —
          
           
             Horat.
             lib.
             1.
             
             Ode
             34.
             
          
        
         
           LONDON
           ,
           Printed
           ,
           and
           are
           to
           be
           sold
           by
           
             R.
             Baldwin
          
           ,
           near
           the
           Oxford-Arms
           in
           Warwick-lane
           ,
           1692.
           
        
      
    
     
       
         
         
           
           THE
           Earthquake
           of
           Jamaica
           Describ'd
           in
           a
           POEM
           .
        
         
           
             I.
             
          
           
             WEll
             may
             our
             Lives
             bear
             an
             uncertain
             date
             ;
          
           
             Disturb'd
             with
             Maladies
             within
             ,
          
           
             Without
             by
             cross
             Events
             of
             Fate
             ,
          
           
             The
             worst
             of
             Plagues
             on
             Mortals
             wait
             ,
          
           
             Pride
             ,
             Ignorance
             and
             Sin.
          
           
             If
             our
             ancient
             Mother
             Earth
             ,
          
           
             Who
             gave
             us
             all
             untimely
             Birth
             ,
          
           
             Such
             strong
             Hysterick
             Passion
             feels
             ;
          
           
             If
             Orbs
             are
             from
             their
             Axles
             torn
             ,
          
           
             And
             Mountains
             into
             Valleys
             worn
             ,
          
           
             All
             in
             a
             moments
             space
             ,
          
           
             Can
             humane
             Race
          
           
             Stand
             on
             their
             Legs
             when
             Nature
             Reels
             ?
          
           
             Unhappy
             Man
             !
             in
             all
             things
             cross'd
             ,
          
           
             On
             every
             giddy
             Wave
             of
             Fortune
             toss'd
             :
          
           
             The
             only
             thing
             that
             aims
             at
             Sway
             ,
          
           
             And
             yet
             capricious
             Fate
             must
             still
             Obey
             ;
          
           
             Travels
             for
             Wealth
             to
             Foreign
             Lands
             ,
          
           
             O're
             scorching
             Mountains
             ,
             and
             o're
             desart
             Sands
             ,
          
           
             Laden
             with
             Gold
             ,
             when
             homeward
             bound
             ,
          
           
             Is
             in
             one
             vast
             impetuous
             Billow
             drown'd
             :
          
           
             Or
             if
             he
             reaches
             to
             the
             Shoar
             ,
          
           
             And
             there
             unlades
             his
             Oar
             ,
          
           
             Builds
             Towns
             and
             Houses
             which
             may
             last
             and
             stand
             ,
          
           
             Thinking
             no
             Wealth
             so
             sure
             as
             firm
             Land
             ;
          
           
             Yet
             Fate
             the
             Animal
             does
             still
             pursue
             ;
          
           
             This
             slides
             from
             underneath
             his
             Feet
             ,
             and
             leaves
             him
             too
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             II.
             
          
           
             Environ'd
             with
             Ten
             Thousand
             Fears
             we
             live
             ,
          
           
             For
             Fate
             do's
             seldom
             a
             just
             ▪
             warning
             give
             ;
          
           
             Quicker
             than
             Thought
             its
             dire
             Resolves
             are
             made
             ,
          
           
             And
             swift
             as
             Lightning
             flies
             ,
          
           
             Around
             the
             vast
             extended
             Skies
             :
          
           
             All
             things
             are
             by
             its
             Bolts
             in
             vast
             Confusion
             laid
             .
          
           
             Sometimes
             a
             Flaming
             Comet
             does
             appear
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             very
             Visage
             does
             pronounce
             ,
          
           
             Decay
             of
             Kingdoms
             ,
             and
             the
             Fall
             of
             Crowns
             ,
          
           
             Intestine
             War
             ,
             or
             Pestilential
             Year
             ;
          
           
             Sometimes
             a
             Hurricane
             of
             Fate
             ,
          
           
             Does
             on
             some
             great
             Mans
             Exit
             wait
             ,
          
           
             A
             murder'd
             Cornish
             ,
             or
             some
             Hercules
             ,
          
           
             When
             from
             their
             Trunks
             Almighty
             Jove
             ,
          
           
             Who
             breaks
             with
             Thunder
             weighty
             Clouds
             above
             ,
          
           
             To
             Honour
             these
          
           
             Large
             Pines
             and
             Oaks
             does
             Lop
             ,
          
           
             And
             in
             a
             Whirlwind
             lays
             'em
             upon
             
             Oeta's
             Top.
          
           
             E're
             this
             vast
             Orb
             shall
             unto
             Chaos
             turn
             ,
          
           
             And
             with
             Consuming
             Flames
             shall
             burn
             ,
          
           
             An
             Angel
             Trumpeter
             shall
             come
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             Noise
             shall
             shake
             the
             Massie
             Ground
             ,
          
           
             In
             one
             short
             moment
             shall
             express
             ,
          
           
             His
             Notes
             to
             the
             whole
             Universe
             ;
          
           
             The
             very
             Dead
             shall
             hear
             his
             Sound
             ,
          
           
             And
             from
             their
             Graves
             repair
             ,
          
           
             To
             the
             impartial
             Bar
             ,
          
           
             Those
             that
             have
             been
             in
             the
             deep
             Ocean
             drown'd
             ,
          
           
             Shall
             at
             his
             Call
             come
             to
             receive
             their
             Doom
             .
          
        
         
           
             III.
             
          
           
             But
             here
             ,
             alas
             !
             no
             Omens
             fly
             ,
          
           
             No
             secret
             Whisper
             of
             their
             Destiny
          
           
             Was
             heard
             ;
             none
             cou'd
             divine
          
           
             When
             Fate
             wou'd
             spring
             the
             Mine
             :
          
           
             Safe
             and
             secure
             the
             Mortals
             go
             ,
          
           
             Not
             dreaming
             of
             a
             Hell
             below
             ;
          
           
           
             In
             the
             dark
             Caverns
             of
             the
             gloomy
             Earth
             ,
          
           
             Where
             suffocating
             Sulphur
             has
             its
             Birth
             ,
          
           
             And
             sparkling
             Nitre's
             made
             ,
          
           
             Where
             Vulcan
             and
             his
             Cyclops
             prove
             ▪
          
           
             The
             Thunderbolts
             they
             make
             for
             Jove
             ;
          
           
             Here
             Aeolus
             his
             Winds
             has
             laid
             ,
          
           
             Here
             is
             his
             Windy
             Palace
             ,
             here
             't
             is
             said
          
           
             His
             Race
             of
             little
             puffing
             Gods
             are
             bred
             ,
          
           
             Which
             serve
             for
             Bellows
             to
             blow
             up
             the
             Flame
             ,
          
           
             The
             dire
             Ingredients
             are
             in
             order
             plac'd
             ,
          
           
             Which
             must
             anon
             lay
             Towns
             and
             Cities
             waste
             .
          
           
             Strait
             the
             black
             Engineer
             of
             Heaven
             came
             ,
          
           
             His
             Match
             a
             Sun-beam
             was
             ,
          
           
             He
             swift
             as
             Time
             unto
             the
             Train
             did
             pass
             ,
          
           
             It
             soon
             took
             Fire
             ;
             The
             Fire
             and
             Winds
             contend
             ,
          
           
             But
             both
             concur
             the
             Vaulted
             Earth
             to
             rend
             ;
          
           
             It
             upwards
             rose
             ,
             and
             then
             it
             downwards
             fell
             ,
          
           
             Aiming
             at
             Heaven
             ,
             it
             sunk
             to
             Hell
             :
          
           
             The
             Neighbring
             Seas
             now
             own
             no
             more
             ,
          
           
             The
             sturdy
             Bulwarks
             of
             the
             Shoar
             ,
          
           
             The
             gaping
             Earth
             and
             greedy
             Sea
             ,
          
           
             Are
             both
             contending
             for
             the
             Prey
             ;
          
           
             Those
             whom
             the
             rav'nous
             Earth
             had
             ta'ne
             ,
          
           
             Into
             her
             Bowels
             back
             again
          
           
             Are
             wash't
             from
             thence
             by
             the
             insulting
             Main
             .
          
        
         
           
             IV.
             
          
           
             The
             Old
             and
             Young
             receive
             alike
             their
             Doom
             ,
          
           
             The
             Cowards
             and
             the
             Brave
             ,
          
           
             Are
             buried
             in
             one
             Grave
             ;
          
           
             For
             Fate
             allows
             'em
             all
             one
             Common
             Tomb.
          
           
             The
             Aged
             and
             the
             Wise
          
           
             Lose
             all
             their
             Reason
             in
             the
             great
             Surprise
             .
          
           
             They
             know
             not
             where
             to
             go
             ,
          
           
             And
             yet
             they
             dare
             not
             stay
             ,
          
           
             There
             's
             Fire
             and
             Smoak
             below
             ,
          
           
             And
             the
             Earth
             gaping
             to
             receive
             the
             Prey
             :
          
           
             If
             to
             the
             Houses
             Top
             they
             Crawl
             ,
          
           
             These
             tumble
             too
             ,
             and
             downwards
             fall
             :
          
           
           
             And
             if
             they
             fly
             into
             the
             Street
             ,
          
           
             There
             grizly
             Death
             they
             meet
             ;
          
           
             All
             in
             a
             hurry
             dye
             away
             ,
          
           
             The
             wicked
             had
             not
             time
             to
             pray
             .
          
           
             The
             Soldier
             once
             cou'd
             teach
             grim
             Death
             to
             kill
             ,
          
           
             In
             vain
             is
             all
             his
             Skill
             ,
          
           
             In
             vain
             he
             brandisheth
             his
             Steel
             :
          
           
             No
             more
             the
             Art
             of
             War
             must
             teach
             ,
          
           
             Bnt
             lyes
             Fates
             Trophy
             underneath
             the
             Breach
             :
          
           
             The
             good
             Companions
             now
             no
             more
             Carouse
             ,
          
           
             They
             share
             the
             Fate
             of
             the
             declining
             House
             ,
          
           
             Healths
             to
             their
             Friends
             their
             Bumpers
             Crown'd
             :
          
           
             But
             while
             they
             put
             the
             Glasses
             round
             ,
          
           
             Death
             steps
             between
             the
             Cup
             and
             Lip
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             would
             it
             let
             'em
             take
             one
             parting
             Sip.
             
          
        
         
           
             V.
             
          
           
             The
             Mine
             is
             sprung
             ,
             and
             a
             large
             Breach
             is
             made
             ,
          
           
             Whereat
             strong
             Troops
             of
             Warring
             Seas
             invade
             ;
          
           
             These
             overflow
             ;
          
           
             Where
             Houses
             stood
             and
             Grass
             did
             grow
             ,
          
           
             All
             sorts
             of
             Fish
             resort
             :
          
           
             They
             had
             Dominions
             large
             enough
             before
             ,
          
           
             But
             now
             unbounded
             by
             the
             Shoar
             ,
          
           
             They
             o're
             the
             Tops
             of
             Houses
             sport
             .
          
           
             The
             Watry
             Fry
             their
             Legions
             do
             extend
             ,
          
           
             And
             for
             the
             new
             slain
             Prey
             contend
             ;
          
           
             Within
             the
             Houses
             now
             they
             roam
             ,
          
           
             Into
             their
             Foe
             ,
             the
             very
             Kitchen
             ,
             come
             .
          
           
             One
             does
             the
             Chimney-hearth
             assail
             ,
          
           
             Another
             flaps
             the
             Kettle
             with
             his
             slimy
             Tail.
          
           
             No
             Image
             there
             of
             Death
             is
             seen
             ,
          
           
             No
             Cook-maid
             does
             obstruct
             their
             Sway
             ,
          
           
             They
             have
             entirely
             got
             the
             day
             .
          
           
             Those
             who
             have
             once
             devour'd
             been
          
           
             By
             Mankind
             ,
             now
             on
             Man
             do
             Feed
             :
          
           
             Thus
             Fate
             decides
             ,
             and
             steps
             between
             ,
          
           
             And
             sometimes
             gives
             the
             Slave
             the
             Victors
             meed
             .
          
           
             The
             Beauteous
             Virgins
             whom
             the
             Gods
             might
             love
             ,
          
           
             Cou'd
             not
             the
             Curse
             of
             Heav'n
             remove
             ;
          
           
           
             Their
             goodness
             might
             for
             Crimes
             Atone
             ,
          
           
             Inexorable
             Death
             spares
             none
             .
          
           
             Their
             tender
             Flesh
             lately
             so
             plump
             and
             good
             ,
          
           
             Is
             now
             made
             Fishes
             and
             Sea-monsters
             Food
             ;
          
           
             In
             vain
             they
             cry
             ,
          
           
             Heav'n
             is
             grown
             Deaf
             ,
             and
             no
             Petition
             hears
             ,
          
           
             Their
             Sighs
             are
             answer'd
             like
             their
             Lovers
             Pray'rs
             ,
          
           
             They
             in
             the
             Universal
             Ruin
             lye
             .
          
        
         
           
             VI.
             
          
           
             Nor
             is
             inexorable
             Fate
             content
          
           
             To
             ruine
             one
             poor
             Town
             alone
             ;
          
           
             More
             Mischief
             by
             the
             Blow
             is
             done
             :
          
           
             Death
             's
             on
             a
             farther
             Message
             sent
             .
          
           
             When
             Fate
             a
             Garrison
             does
             Sack
             ,
          
           
             The
             very
             Suburbs
             do
             partake
          
           
             Of
             Martial
             Law
             ,
          
           
             Its
             Forces
             draw
          
           
             To
             every
             Mountain
             ,
             Field
             and
             Wood
             ,
          
           
             They
             Ravage
             all
             the
             Neighbourhood
             .
          
           
             Worse
             than
             the
             weak
             Assaults
             of
             Steel
             ,
          
           
             Its
             Instruments
             of
             Death
             all
             places
             feel
             .
          
           
             They
             undiscover'd
             ,
             like
             fell
             Poison
             kill
             ,
          
           
             Its
             Warriours
             fierce
             ,
          
           
             The
             Earth
             ,
             the
             Air
             ,
             and
             Men
             do
             pierce
             ;
          
           
             And
             mounted
             ,
             fight
             upon
             the
             winged
             Winds
             .
          
           
             Here
             a
             great
             Mountain
             in
             a
             Valley's
             thrown
             ,
          
           
             And
             there
             a
             Valley
             to
             a
             Mountain
             grown
             .
          
           
             The
             very
             Breath
             of
             an
             incensed
             God
             ,
          
           
             Makes
             even
             proud
             Olympus
             Nod.
          
           
             Chang'd
             is
             the
             Beauty
             of
             the
             fruitful
             Isle
             ,
          
           
             And
             its
             fair
             Woods
             lopp'd
             for
             its
             Funeral
             Pile
             .
          
           
             The
             moving
             Earth
             forms
             it self
             in
             Waves
             ,
          
           
             And
             Curls
             its
             Surface
             like
             the
             Rowling
             Seas
             ;
          
           
             VVhilst
             Man
             (
             that
             little
             thing
             )
             so
             vainly
             Raves
             ;
          
           
             Nothing
             but
             Heaven
             can
             its
             own
             VVrath
             appease
             .
          
        
         
           
             VII
             .
          
           
             But
             Fate
             at
             length
             thought
             fit
             to
             leave
             its
             Toil
             ,
          
           
             And
             greedy
             Death
             was
             glutted
             with
             the
             Spoil
             .
          
           
           
             As
             weary
             Soldiers
             having
             try'd
             their
             Steel
             ,
          
           
             Half
             drown'd
             with
             Blood
             ,
             do
             then
             desist
             to
             kill
             .
          
           
             More
             Ruin
             wou'd
             a
             second
             Deluge
             make
             ,
          
           
             Blot
             out
             the
             Name
             of
             the
             unhappy
             Isle
             .
          
           
             It
             fares
             with
             her
             as
             when
             in
             Martial
             Field
             ,
          
           
             Resolv'd
             and
             Brave
             ,
             and
             loath
             to
             yield
             ,
          
           
             Two
             num'rous
             Armies
             do
             contend
             ,
          
           
             And
             with
             repeated
             Shouts
             the
             Air
             do
             Rend
             .
          
           
             VVhilst
             the
             affrighted
             Earth
             does
             shake
             ,
          
           
             Some
             large
             Battalions
             are
             entirely
             lost
             ,
          
           
             And
             VVarring
             Squadrons
             from
             the
             mighty
             Host
             :
          
           
             Here
             by
             a
             Shot
             does
             fall
          
           
             Some
             Potent
             General
             ;
          
           
             And
             near
             to
             him
             ,
          
           
             Another
             loses
             but
             a
             Limb.
          
           
             Part
             of
             the
             Island
             was
             a
             Prey
             to
             Fate
             ,
          
           
             And
             all
             the
             rest
             do
             ▪
             s
             but
             prolong
             its
             date
             ,
          
           
             'Till
             injur'd
             Heav'n
             finds
             ,
          
           
             Its
             Bolts
             a
             Terror
             strike
             on
             humane
             Minds
             ;
          
           
             Sure
             we
             may
             hope
             the
             Sinners
             there
             Repent
             ,
          
           
             Since
             it
             has
             made
             their
             lewdest
             Priest
             Relent
             .
          
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
         
      
    
     
  

