Classic Poem

So runnes the Tenor of the Treble Ills
Existing by the Meane of three fel Foes:
The Flesh, the World the Deuill euer spitts
Vs miserable Men with mortal Bloes.
Yet like Fiends, taking pleasure but in paine
[In paine that to noe perfect profit tends]
We seeke to rule, and if we can to raigne;
And rule, and raigne but for vnruly Ends
O Rest [the Image of that Saboth sweete
Wherein sweete Saints do from their Labours rest!
O riche repose of Spirit, for Angells meete!]
How do I toile to be of Thee possest?
Then Slouth it is not that delights my Will
Nor, would mine Vnderstanding idle bee;
But both desire to bee in Action still,
Yet rest in action like the Trinitie!
The date of my lifes Lease is neere expird,
Yet labour I for life, sith still I swimme
In Sorrowes Seas, as one as neerely tride
As bee is neere the Bottome, or the Brym.
I scarse can keepe me Head aboue the Waues
With all my Laboures, my Starres are so crosse!
Yea, vnder Water oft my Science saues
From Death, my Life, which Stormes of Troubles tosse
But as the Deluge, swelling more, and more,
Made th' Arke thereby to Heau'n warde mount apace:
So, when Afflictions Waues Increase their Store
They lift me vp thereby the more to Grace:
Yet, as they multiplie, their struggle so
That they turmolle my Bodie, toyle my Mynd:
For, bothe in anguishe flote when Sorrowes flo;
And, sorrowes flow from Fortunes Ebbe, by kind
So, that I cannot yet that Rest attaine
Which my poore Soule and Spirit so requires:
I, longing, labour for it, yet in vaine:
For, base Defect withstands my high Desires
And by how much the more for it I longe
So much the more I do Worlds weale neglect:
Wherein my selfe and my Desires I wrong:
That are the more supprest by that Defect
I was not moulded, sure in earthlie Mould,
(Though of the Filth thereof my Fleshe was fram'd)
For if I were, then sure it fitt mee should;
But, nothing lesse, whereof I am asham'd.
I see some Men [who when wee weigh their Witt,
Wee, as miraculous, their wealth admire]
To this Worlds Mould do make them selues as fitt
As if their Witt and Metall were all Fire!
Yet some meere Blocks, that are as blunt, as base
Rise from still lying but in Durt and Dung
To high estate [which standeth with their Case]
Though Fate, through too much right them too much wrong!
Yet I [whose Braines are plac'd in better Cells
And haue the influence of clearer light)
Can compas nothing by Wits magick Spells
[These charming Numbers] but mine owne delight.
I stoln am from my self, by nine sweet Queenes
[Who do predominate my Witt, and Will)
While Times steales from me both my Life, and Meanes;
And leaues me nought to liue with, but my skill
Yet from Times Wings I steale his blackest Plumes
(The Night) to rest in motion of my Muse;
And til my witt by stealth of Time consumes,
In spight of Want, this wealth of Witt Ile vse
And with Aurora [raiser of the Muse]
Ile wake if Rests friend [Sleepe] should rest mine Eyes;
To steale from Time what I may lustlie vse,
So to Supplie Times want with's own Supplies!
And for the Stuffe whereof Ile draw my Lines
It shall bee such as from his Throne shall come,
Whose Muse immortalizing Spirit them twines,
And (Silke worm like) Ile worke me in my Tombe.
Where, though I, poore Worme, from my Labours rest
My Works well wou'n by some more dextrous Witt
May line perhapps the Note bookes of the best;
Yea, for Apparrell of the Mind be fitt
And though the Viperous Iron Teeth of Time
May gnaw away, to wrack, through my Works Wombe
Yet if my Spirit, thereby aboue Him climbe
Lett my Lines ruynd bee, to giue Him Roome:
For though content, I could bee, dead, to liue
In Fames strongst Fort (though Paper be the Wall,
And Sense of Fame my life cannot suruiue)
Yet if I rise thereby lett my Fame fall:
For, what feeles Naso that a Worke compos'd
That liues and shall, till Time bee Toothlesse quite
Sith hee's disposd, where now hee's indisposd
To feele a Winde that is so vaine, and light?
Yet heers the Winde that beares the World away
Though it bee weaker then the lightest Mynd:
Then, weake is That so weake a Winde doth swaie:
And die they ought that liue but for such Winde
But Vertue for hir selfe (and not for Fame
That as an Hand maide hir attendeth still)
I chiefly do desire, and let my name
Die in hir life, so shee may make my Will,
And, with hir leaue, to giue (and make no waste)
My Time to draw Diuine Lines to the last.