« ForrigeFortsett »
Sickness and weakness, loss, disgrace, and sorrow,
Leave me no learning that a man may see,
An house I had (an heart, I mean), so wide,
That viewing it I thought I might do well,
Such guests as came : I did ; But what befell
A guest I had (alas ! I have her still)
The vast content of hell, Corruption.
Each day, each hour, almost, she brought forth
dit, and so
The charge grew great. I, that had lost before
For all the charges of their maintenance In dooms-day book : Whoever knew't would say The least sum there was more than I could
pay, When first 'twas due, besides continuance, Which could not choose but much the debt en
To ease me first I wish'd her to remove :
And begg’d the Court of heaven but in vain
That, whilst both lived, I should entertain,
No help then, but or I must die or she ;
For one death I had died already then,
And twist them both into a third, which when It once hath seized on, never looseth men.
Her death might be my life; but her to kill
Whilst I delay'd, My guest still teem'd, my debts still greater grew; The less I had to pay, the more was due.
The more I knew, the more I was afraid : The more I mused, the more I was dismay'd.
At last I learn’d, there was no way but one:
Save men from death, and kill Corruption :
His heart was pierced ; out of his side there ran
This precious balm I begg'd, for pity's sake,
What Grace and Truth do offer liberally.
Hope waiting upon Faith said instantly,
And so she died, I live. But yet, alas !
Cleaves fast unto me still, looks thro' mine eyes, Speaks in my tongue, and museth in my mind, Works with mine hands: her body's left behind,
Although her soul be gone. My miseries
I loathe myself, because I leave her not;
fears : All which for vengeance call with a loud voice, And drown my comforts with their deadly noise.
and as many
Dead bodies kept unburied quickly stink
Corruption noisome, even mortified ?
Or will not credit, until they have tried,
But mortified Corruption lies unmask'd,
To all that understand her. That do none
Then dote they on her, as upon their own,
But woe is me! One part of me is dead ;
Or rather carried captive unto sin,
The worse part of the better, oft doth win :
The scent would choke me, were it not that grace Sometimes vouchsafeth to perfume the place
With odours of the spirit, which do ease me, And counterpoise Corruption. Blessed spirit, Although eternal torments be my merit,
And of myself Transgressions only please me, Add grace enough being revived to raise me.
Challenge thine own. Let not intruders hold
Having no state myself, but tenancy,
O speak the word, and make these inmates flee: Or, which is one, take me to dwell with thee.
XLIV. THE CURB.
Peace, rebel thought: dost thou not know thy King,
My God, is here?
Make thee forbear?
Are but his spies :
Thy words were lies.
My God, e’en now a base rebellious thought
Began to move,
Me from thy love :
And thou might both
And neither loathe
And part again.
ich do it
naner, I grant
Tell me, my God, how this may be redrest :
The fault is great,
I must be beat.
Though to my pain;