 | Divine poems
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Eleg. 16.
Qvotidian fevers of reproach, and shame,
Have chill'd our Honor, and renowned Name;
We are become the by-word, and the scorne
Of Heaven and Earth; of heaven & earth forlorne;
Our captiv'd soules are compast round about,
Within, with troopes of feares; of foes, without;
Without, within, distrest; and, in conclusion,
We are the haplesse children of confusion;
Oh, how mine eyes, the rivers of mine eyes
O'reflow these barren lips, that can devise
No Dialect, that can expresse or borrow
Sufficient Metaphors, to shew my sorrow!
| Divine poems
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