|
OF |
THE PROGRESSE |
OF THE SOULE. |
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The second Anniversary. |
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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.
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[CW: As] |