University of Virginia Library


79

XIX.

[Lighten, heavy hart, thy spright]

Lighten, heavy hart, thy spright,
The joyes recall that thence are fled;
Yeeld thy brest some living light:
The man that nothing doth is dead.
Tune thy temper to these sounds,
And quicken so thy joylesse minde;
Sloth the worst and best confounds:
It is the ruine of mankinde.
From her cave rise all distasts,
Which unresolv'd Despaire pursues;
Whom soone after Violence hasts,
Her selfe ungratefull to abuse.
Skies are clear'd with stirring windes,
Th'unmoved water moorish growes;
Ev'ry eye much pleasure findes
To view a streame that brightly flowes.