I.
Near Wilto, huge heaps of stones are found, But so fused, that her any eye t them just, nor Reason reason try, What force brought them to so unlikely ground.
Ter weights my minds waste soil is bound, Of passion-hills, reag to Reasons sky, From Fancys earth, passing all numbers bound, Passing all guess, wheo me should fly So mazed a mass; or, if i grows, A simple soul should breed so mixed woes.
II.
The Bruertons have a lake, which, when the sun Approag warms, not else, dead logs up sends From hideous depth; which tribute, when it ends, Sore sign it is the lords last thread is spun.
My lake is Sense, whose still streams never run But when my sun her shining twins there bends; Then from his depth with for her begun, Long drowned hopes to watery eyes it lends; But when that fails my dead hopes up to take, Their master is fair warned his will to make.
III.
We have a fish, by strangers much admired, Which caught, to cruel search yields his chief part: With gall cut out, closed up again by art, Yet lives until his life be new required.
A stranger fish myself, not yet expired, Tho, rapt with Beautys hook, I did impart Myself unto th anatomy desired, Instead of gall, leaving to her my heart: Yet live with thoughts closed up, till that she will, By quests right, instead of searg, kill.
IV.
Peak hath a cave, whose narrow entries find Large rooms within where drops distil amain: Till knit with cold, though there unknown remaihat poor place with alabaster lined.
Mine eyes the strait, the roomy cave, my mind; Whose cloudy thoughts let fall an inward rain Of sorrows drops, till colder reason bind Their running fall into a stant vein Of truth, far more than alabaster pure, Which, though despised, yet still doth truth endure.
V.
A field there is, where, if a stake oe prest Deep in the earth, what hath ih receipt, Is ged to stone in hardness, cold, a, The wood above doth soon i.
The earth her ears; the stake is my request; Of which, how much may pierce to that sweet seat, To honour turned, doth dwell in honours , Keeping that form, though void of wonted heat; But all the rest, which fear durst not apply, Failing themselves, with withered sce die.
VI.
Of ships by shipwreck cast on Albions coast, Which rotting on the rocks, their death to die: From wooden bones and blood of pitch doth fly A bird, which gets more life than ship had lost.
My ship, Desire, with wind of Lust long tost, Brake on fair cliffs of stant Chastity; Where plagued for rash attempt, gives up his ghost; So deep in seas of virtue, beauties lie: But of this death flies up the purest love, Which seeming less, yet nobler life doth move.
VII.
These wonders England breeds; the last remains - A lady, ie of Nature, chaste, On whom all love, in whom no love is placed, Where Fairness yields to Wisdoms shortest reins.
A humble pride, a s that favour stains; A womans mould, but like an angel graced; An angels mind, but in a woman cased; A heaven oh, or earth that heaven tains: Now thus this woo myself I frame; She is the cause that all the rest I am.
* * * Thou blind mans mark; thou fools self-chosen snare, Fond fancys scum, and dregs of scattered thought: Band of all evils; cradle of causeless care; Thou web of will, whose end is never wrought:
Desire! Desire! I have too dearly bought, With priangled mind, thy worthless ware; Too long, too long, asleep thou h