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OF
THE PROGRESSE
OF THE SOULE.
The second Anniversary.
Nothing could make me sooner to confesse
That this world had an everlastingnesse,
Then to consider, that a yeare is runne,
Since both this lower worlds, and the Sunnes Sunne,
The Lustre and the vigour of this all
Did set; 'twere blasphemy to say, did fall.
But as a ship which hath strooke saile, doth runne
By force of that force which before it wonne:
Or as sometimes in a beheaded man,
Though at those two Red seas, which freely ranne,
One from the Trunke, another from the Head,
His soule be sail'd, to her eternall bed,
His eyes will twinkle, and his tongue will roll,
As though he beckned and call'd back his soule,
He graspes his hands, and he puls up his feet,
And seemes to reach, and to step forth to meet
His soule; when all these motions which we saw,
Are but as Ice, which crackles at a thaw:
Or as a Lute, which in moist weather, rings
Her knell alone, by cracking of her strings.
So struggles this dead world, now she is gone;
For there is motion in corruption.

[CW: As]