An Epigram upon the Translation of Master Calvin's Commentary upon the Prophecy of Isaiah

Three times happy, England, if you knew your bliss, Since Christ's eternal gospel in you shone You are, He's beetle-blind that sees not this, Brutishly ingrate that with a thankful mind Does not acknowledge God's great grace herein, And learn thereby to forsake his sin.

God's word has long in you been soundly taught, The sound thereof has rung throughout the land, And many a soul by fishers' net been caught, Which once lay thrall in Satan's cruel band: This favor great by none can be expressed, But such as have it felt in their own breast.

Your native sons in your own bowels bred, Like faithful shepherds have done worthily, And you with store of heavenly manna fed, Forcing the wolves to leave their cruelty, To slink aside, and hide themselves in holes, In caves and dens, like purblind [reconstructed: Bats] and moles.

Tyndall, Frith, Philpot, father Latimer, The gospel preached by word, by life, by death: Jewel, Fox, Reynolds, Fulk and Whitaker To second them have spent their vital breath In hot pursuit of that great Romish boar, Who spoiled quite this English vine before.

I spare to speak of Deering's silver voice, Of Greenham's zeal, of Perkins' labors sound, Of hundreds more of Zion-builders' choice, The like whereof can scarce elsewhere be found: Such groundwork they of God's truth here have placed As never shall by Hell's whole force [reconstructed: be razed].

Besides all these, of foreign lights the chief, Beza, and Ursinus, many other more, Martyr, Musculus, for your more relief Are seen in English garb abroad to go, From place to place in every shire and town, To teach the truth and throw all errors down.

And here [reconstructed: presented] is to your sight The Royal prophet Isaiah's evangel: For so I think I may it term aright, That prince of holy prophets does so well, So lively Christ's whole history presage, As if he had lived in that same very age.

Whose oracles great Calvin does unfold In your own native tongue for your soul's health. Here you may gather precious stones and gold, And store up heaps of heavenly lasting wealth; Here you may find with very little pain Which you would not lose for a thousand worlds again.

Here you may see the black-mouthed atheists Confounded quite by demonstration clear; The cunning papist put to his shifts, And made in his right colors to appear; Here's Christ, his truth, and life, set before you, Heaven's gates set open wide: what would you more?

By Francis Hering, Doctor in Physic.