Prison-Pietie or, Meditations Divine and Moral. Digested into Poetical Heads, On Mixt and Various Subjects. Whereunto is added A Panegyrick to The Right Reverend, and most Nobly descended, Henry, Lord Bishop of London. By Samuel Speed, Prisoner in Ludgate, London |
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On the Conscience. |
 | Prison-Pietie |  |
On the Conscience.
Corruption now adays doth spring so fast,So regarded,
And rewarded,
That if my tender Conscience would be sold,
Or if for it a Dispensation
Could be but got,
I doubt it not,
I'd store up wealth in this our Nation.
One spark of Flattery would so increase
My evil goods,
So that my woods
Would make a lasting fire, when I decease.
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If I could tell
The way to sell
The little honesty that I have got.
Were but this World my home, perhaps I might
Be apt to trade,
But here things fade:
Give me the Riches wherein Saints delight.
Though now I live in a corrupted Cell
Which doth annoy,
I would enjoy
The peace of Conscience there where Angels dwell.
Love upon Earth is good whilst that doth last;
But the choice love
Of God above
Is everlasting, and doth never wast.
Tush, wicked World, Heav'n is my Merchandize;
If in my way
My sight should stray,
My home shall be the curtains of mine eyes.
A desp'rate fate it is the Worldlings run,
A Pearl to sell
To purchase Hell:
They must be great, or to be just undone.
| Prison-Pietie | |