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When he would speak ;
Man, ere he is aware,
As yet to spare.
Sweet were the days, when thou didst lodge with Lot,
Thy words were then, Let me alone.
One might have sought and found thee presently
List, ye may hear great Aaron's bell.
But now thou dost thyself immure and close
To gain thy thirds and little part.
I see the world grows old, when as the heat
Doth closet up itself, and still retreat,
And calling Justice, all things burn.
LORD, let the Angels praise thy name. Man is a foolish thing, a foolish thing;
Folly and Sin play all his game.
Man is but grass,
How canst thou brook his foolishness ?
Bid him but temper his excess ;
As he will swear,
What strange pollutions doth he wed,
No man shall beat into his head
They are of cloth,
The best of men, turn but thy hand For one poor minute, stumble at a pin :
They would not have their actions scann'd,
Though it be small,
They quarrel thee, and would give over
Holds them unto it, and doth cover
Not suffering those
My God, Man cannot praise thy name : Thou art all brightness, perfect purity;
The Sun holds down his head for shame,
How shall infection
As dirty hands foul all they touch, And those things most, which are most pure and fine :
So our clay hearts, even when we crouch
Yet either this
Man cannot serve thee; let him
He doth not like this virtue, no;
These Preachers make
O foolish man! where are thine eyes ?
Thou pull’st the rug, and wilt not rise,
There let them shine,
The bird that sees a dainty bower
Wonders and sings, but not his power
But Man doth know
And yet, as though he knew it not, His knowledge winks, and lets his humours reign:
They make his life a constant blot,
Ah, wretch! what verse
Indeed at first Man was a treasure, A box of jewels, shop of rarities,
A ring, whose posie was, My pleasure:
Glory and grace
But sin hath foold him. Now he is
To raise him to the glimpse of bliss :
Nay, his own shelf:
When first my lines of heavenly joys made mention,
My thoughts began to burnish, sprout, and swell, Curling with metaphors a plain intention, Decking the sense, as if it were to sell.
Thousands of notions in my brain did run,
As flames do work and wind, when they ascend;
Of what an easy quick access,
May our requests thine ear invade!
Of what supreme Almighty power Is thy great arm which spans the East and West,
And tacks the Centre to the Sphere ! By it do all things live their measured hour : We cannot ask the thing, which is not there, Blaming the shallowness of our request.