 | Silex Scintillans |  |
30
The Call.
Come my heart! come my head
In sighes, and teares!
'Tis now, since you have laine thus dead
Some twenty years;
Awake, awake,
Some pitty take
Upon your selves—
Who never wake to grone, nor weepe,
Shall be sentenc'd for their sleepe.
In sighes, and teares!
'Tis now, since you have laine thus dead
Some twenty years;
Awake, awake,
Some pitty take
Upon your selves—
Who never wake to grone, nor weepe,
Shall be sentenc'd for their sleepe.
2
Doe but see your sad estate,how many sands
Have left us, while we careles sate
With folded hands;
What stock of nights,
Of dayes, and yeares
In silent flights
Stole by our eares,
How ill have we our selves bestow'd
Whose suns are all set in a Cloud?
3
Yet, come, and let's peruse them all;And as we passe,
What sins on every minute fall
Score on the glasse;
Then weigh, and rate
Their heavy State
Untill
The glasse with teares you fill;
That done, we shalbe safe, and good,
Those beasts were cleane, that chew'd the Cud.
| Silex Scintillans | |