The Minor Poems of Joseph Beaumont ... Edited from the autograph manuscript with introduction and notes by Eloise Robinson |
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The Gnat
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 | The Minor Poems of Joseph Beaumont |  |
31
The Gnat
One Night all tyred wth ye weary Day,
And wth my tedious selfe, I went to lay
My fruitlesse Cares
And needlesse feares
Asleep.
The Curtaines of ye Bed, & of mine Eyes
Being drawne, I hop'd no trouble would surprise
That Rest wch now
Gan on my Brow
To creep.
And wth my tedious selfe, I went to lay
My fruitlesse Cares
And needlesse feares
Asleep.
The Curtaines of ye Bed, & of mine Eyes
Being drawne, I hop'd no trouble would surprise
That Rest wch now
Gan on my Brow
To creep.
When loe a little flie, lesse then its Name
(It was a Gnat) with angry Murmur came.
About Shee flew,
And lowder grew
Whilst I
Faine would have scorn'd ye silly Thing, & slept
Out all its Noise; I resolute silence kept,
And laboured so
To overthrow
The Flie.
(It was a Gnat) with angry Murmur came.
About Shee flew,
And lowder grew
Whilst I
Faine would have scorn'd ye silly Thing, & slept
Out all its Noise; I resolute silence kept,
And laboured so
To overthrow
The Flie.
But still wth sharp Alarms vexatious Shee
Or challenged, or rather mocked Mee.
Angry at last
About I cast
My Hand.
'Twas well Night would not let me blush, nor see
With whom I fought; And yet though feeble Shee
Nor Her nor my
Owne Wrath could I
Command.
Or challenged, or rather mocked Mee.
Angry at last
About I cast
My Hand.
32
With whom I fought; And yet though feeble Shee
Nor Her nor my
Owne Wrath could I
Command.
Away She flies, & Her owne Triumph sings;
I being left to fight with idler Things,
A feebler pair
My Selfe and Aire.
How true
A worme is Man, whom flies their sport can make!
Poor worme; true Rest in no Bed can he take,
But one of Earth,
Whence He came forth
And grew.
I being left to fight with idler Things,
A feebler pair
My Selfe and Aire.
How true
A worme is Man, whom flies their sport can make!
Poor worme; true Rest in no Bed can he take,
But one of Earth,
Whence He came forth
And grew.
For there None but his silent Sisters be,
Wormes of as true & genuine Earth as He,
Which from ye same
Corruption came:
And there
Though on his Eyes they feed, though on his Heart
They neither vex nor wake Him; every part
Rests in sound sleep,
And out doth keep
All feare.
Wormes of as true & genuine Earth as He,
Which from ye same
Corruption came:
And there
Though on his Eyes they feed, though on his Heart
They neither vex nor wake Him; every part
Rests in sound sleep,
And out doth keep
All feare.
| The Minor Poems of Joseph Beaumont | |