ODE LV.
[Slip on, Sad Infants, of a groneing Time]
1
Slip on, Sad Infants, of a groneing Time,
Till all your Sand be Spent;
Poor Minutes! flye,
And yet be innocent;
Or man will Apprehend you to his Crime,
And filthilye,
Abuse you, to the lust of his intent.
2
Or might your carefull Mother rather ioy
In an Abortive brood;
Then have you live
Gviltye of Tears and Blood
In your first Light; and live but to destroy
What you should give;
Order, in all the Creature, as it Stood.
3
Rather pull in your fearfull Heads, and shrinke,
Nameles, backe to her wombe,
Then breath this Light;
Let Chaos be a Tombe
To close you, yet vnknowne; let Motion winke;
And all the bright
Glories of Day run backe from whence they come.
4
Ah man, vnhappie man! the Infant Day
Peepes with a blubber'd Eye,
To looke vpon
The Night's dire Tragedie;
Sad for our Sins. The Night, in Darke dismay,
Puts mourning on
For our Day Crimes; more Sensible then wee.
5
How many Tears for vs fall everie night!
Besides those of the Day.
If Pittye faile,
Terror might vs Affray;
Correcting winds, and Thunder's horrid Light.
But these availe
Not man to Stop, one foot, in his owne way.
