_Jonas._ This is the day wherein the Lord hath said That Nineveh shall quite be overthrown; This is the day of horror and mishap, Fatal unto the cursèd Ninevites. These stately towers shall in thy watery bounds, Swift-flowing Lycus, find their burials: These palaces, the pride of Assur's kings, Shall be the bowers of desolation, Whereas the solitary bird shall sing, And tigers train their young ones to their nest. O all ye nations bounded by the west, Ye happy isles where prophets do abound, Ye cities famous in the western world, Make Nineveh a precedent for you! Leave lewd desires, leave covetous delights, Fly usury, let whoredom be exil'd, Lest you with Nineveh be overthrown. Lo, how the sun's inflamèd torch prevails, Scorching the parchèd furrows of the earth! Here will I sit me down, and fix mine eye Upon the ruins of yon wretched town; And, lo, a pleasant shade, a spreading vine, To shelter Jonas in this sunny heat! What means my God? the day is done and spent; Lord, shall my prophecy be brought to naught? When falls the fire? when will the judge be wroth? I pray thee, Lord, remember what I said, When I was yet within my country-land: Jehovah is too merciful, I fear. O, let me fly, before a prophet fault! For thou art merciful, the Lord my God, Full of compassion, and of sufferance, And dost repent in taking punishment. Why stays thy hand? O Lord, first take my life, Before my prophecy be brought to naught! [_A serpent devours the vine._ Ah, he is wroth! behold, the gladsome vine, That did defend me from the sunny heat, Is wither'd quite, and swallow'd by a serpent! Now furious Phlegon triumphs on my brows, And heat prevails, and I am faint in heart. _Enter the_ Angel. _Angel._ Art thou so angry, Jonas? tell me why. _Jonas._ Jehovah, I with burning heat am plung'd, And shadow'd only by a silly vine; Behold, a serpent hath devourèd it: And lo, the sun, incens'd by eastern wind, Afflicts me with canicular aspéct. Would God that I might die! for, well I wot, 'Twere better I were dead then rest alive. _Angel._ Jonas, art thou so angry for the vine? _Jonas._ Yea, I am angry to the death, my God.