Divine Fancies | ||
10. On Man.
Man is a mooving Limbeck, to distillSweet smelling Waters; wherewithall to fill
Gods empty Bottle: Lord doe thou inspire
Thy quickning spirit; Put in thy sacred Fire;
And then mine eyes shall never cease to droppe,
Till they have brimd thy Bottle: to the Toppe:
I can doe nothing, Lord, till thou inspire:
I'm a cold Limbeck, but expecting Fire.
Divine Fancies | ||