For twice the Lord has spoken, twice our hearts
Answered amazed; to treat was human folly
Stemming the tide with brooms; which heeding not us
Bore us from field to field resistless, and on,
Foaming to flood, on to the King's death! No,
We could not-if we would-oppose an ocean!
Authority's from God:-the ord'nance, true,
But the particular disposition man's,
Who, as he makes, unmakes; so, though the world,
Holding its breath a moment's shudder, then,
With universal shout of execration
From kings and dazzled peoples fling to heaven
A thund'rous charge to damn us-why, even then,
A few poor men will dare appear and answer it!
Yet, were it time for fear, there's cause enough;
My heart's friend Robin questions, Vane has doubts,
The Parliament's against me; whom if we force,
Levellers and anarchy! if we submit,
No guarantee for conscience! Then, say some,
Patience, have patience! Oh, I could well be patient!
I love my peace as others, fever and wounds
Rack me no less, calumny seems not sweeter,
Nor resolution easier; if peace were all,
I could lie down to die and count it happiness!
But, while we wear our flesh, there's contradiction, Action and counter-action; 'tis the law
Makes life itself another name for battle,
And labels peace death. If we retire
'Tis not to rest but suffer, take the blows We've merely ceased to ward; if that were all
We might make shift to bear it; but that the soul's
Immortal chalice, where the wine of God
Flashes Him back His heaven's perennial splendor,
That this should risk pollution, this be shook
From glassing as it may the face of Christ,
And whirled in muddy tumult! Oh, no, no,
Not while I live! What! the free act of prayer
Timed like an hour-glass, rules prescribed to con
The torrent of faith bound in a formal bed,
And for the least divergence prison and fine
Portioned by wrangling priests! Not while I live!
Patience be theirs who own it, I'm for action!
Yet-Robin doubts, so many doubt, good men too!
To force a Parliament-to kill a king—
Then-what? Were reason all, I too could pause,
Doubting myself; but reason, being but human,
Is variable as men are. Never an act
But had some argument to recommend it,
And some, as good, against; the last decision
Speaks in the soul, where God speaks. Sudden events
Call for as sudden choice, whence faith is born
To mock at calculation. Who set me here
General of all the troops from Huntingdon?
Who planned, proposed, succeeded? Who? Not I,
Nor any man! 'twas God who, using me,
Wraps His own ends in darkness. I resist?
I were a fool! Though all men stand and question,
This way and that, one shall make bold to act.
To-morrow Pride shall do it, no stop for me!
Perish the king! If ever a man deserved
Death, it is he! And what shall happen next,
Why, let it happen! We do but what we can,
And where we err, may dare to ask forgiveness.
To London then! The tide is near the flood.
John Lilburne before the Council
[Lilburne was one of the leaders of the democratic faction known as Levellers, and the author of "England's New Claims Discovered," a pamphlet directed against the Government of 1649. For this he was summoned before the Council of State, and sent to prison to wait his trial.]
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