The Shorter Poems of Ralph Knevet A Critical Edition by Amy M. Charles |
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The Shorter Poems of Ralph Knevet | ||
[31] Neclect
If Man knew his own blisse,
Or all his capabilityes,
Hee would not nayled bee to this low Center,
Of earthly pleasures,
But would put forth to sea, and boldly venture
For richer treasures.
Or all his capabilityes,
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Of earthly pleasures,
But would put forth to sea, and boldly venture
For richer treasures.
Vaine Man remembers not
The way to blisse./ Hee hath forgott
How that the Lord of life came downe to dye,
That wee might rise
To live./ As if the Gospell were a lye,
In sinne He lyes.
The way to blisse./ Hee hath forgott
How that the Lord of life came downe to dye,
That wee might rise
To live./ As if the Gospell were a lye,
In sinne He lyes.
Sometimes when Hee thinkes on
Christs bloudy Crosse, and passion,
Perhaps Hee'l give a ceremonious breath,
Of aire, and griefe,
But will not droppe a teare upon that death,
Which gave him life.
Christs bloudy Crosse, and passion,
Perhaps Hee'l give a ceremonious breath,
Of aire, and griefe,
But will not droppe a teare upon that death,
Which gave him life.
How doth our Ignorance,
Make us appeare Cimmerians?
Involv'd in outward and in inward shades;
For wee forgett,
How age by minutes growes, and how life fades,
How Time doth flitte.
Make us appeare Cimmerians?
Involv'd in outward and in inward shades;
For wee forgett,
How age by minutes growes, and how life fades,
How Time doth flitte.
Wee to the grave ride poste,
As to some pleasant coast,
Where wee to footles creatures become feasts,
That dwell in tombes,
Who murthers doe avenge of fowles, and beasts
Upon our wombes.
As to some pleasant coast,
Where wee to footles creatures become feasts,
That dwell in tombes,
Who murthers doe avenge of fowles, and beasts
Upon our wombes.
But if we can dispense,
With brutish appetite, and sense,
And momentaneous pleasures lay aside;
Then wee shall rise,
Unto such joyes, as never were descry'd,
By eares or eyes.
With brutish appetite, and sense,
330
Then wee shall rise,
Unto such joyes, as never were descry'd,
By eares or eyes.
The Shorter Poems of Ralph Knevet | ||