Peace, peace! I blush to hear thee; when thou art
A dusty story
A speechlesse heap, and in the midst my heart
In the same livery drest
Lyes tame as all the rest;
When six years thence digg'd up, some youthfull Eie
Seeks there for Symmetry
But finding none, shal leave thee to the wind,
Or the next foot to Crush,
Scatt'ring thy kind
And humble dust, tell then dear flesh
Where is thy glory?

2.

As he that in the midst of day Expects
The hideous night,
Sleeps not, but shaking off sloth, and neglects,
Works with the Sun, and sets
Paying the day its debts;
That (for Repose, and darknes bound,) he might
Rest from the fears i'th' night;
So should we too. All things teach us to die
And point us out the way
While we passe by
And mind it not; play not away
Thy glimpse of light.

3.

View thy fore runners: Creatures giv'n to be
Thy youths Companions,
Take their leave, and die; Birds, beasts, each tree
All that have growth, or breath
Have one large language, Death .
O then play not! but strive to him, who Can
Make these sad shades pure Sun,
Turning their mists to beams, their damps to day,
Whose pow'r doth so excell
As to make Clay
A spirit, and true glory dwell
In dust, and stones.

4.

Heark, how he doth Invite thee! with what voice
Of Love, and sorrow
He begs, and Calls; O that in these thy days
Thou knew'st but thy own good!
Shall not the Crys of bloud,
Of Gods own bloud awake thee? He bids beware
Of drunknes, surfeits, Care,
But thou sleep'st on; wher's now thy protestation,
Thy Lines, thy Love? Away,
Redeem the day,
The day that gives no observation,
Perhaps to morrow.