OVILE ingratefull Me, That I should Live, & not in Thee! Not to thy Praise, from whome All this my Life doth come! What Riddle's this, that I should strive Onely against my Life to Live! 2 Against Thee, gentle LOVE, Life of my Life, long have I strove, Still misusing Thy sweet Grace, Still refusing To give place To mine own Bliss, which Thou with thy Milde Yoke about my neck wouldst ty. 3 And thus, alas I have All this wide World but for my grave; Where the Stone Which doth ly Heavy on Me and my Earth-hamperd Thoughts, is onely this Unhappy Hearts Obdurateness. |