Classic Poem

1.

  Traitor Self, why do I try
  Thee, my bitterest enemy?
  What can I bear,
   Alas! more dear,
 Than is this centre of myself, my heart?
Yet all those trains that blow me up lie there,
Hid in so small a part.
2.

  How many backbones nourish'd have
  Crawling serpents in the grave!
    I am alive,
    Yet life do give
 To myriads of adders in my breast,
Which do not there consume, but grow and thrive,
And undisturbed rest.

3.

  Still gnawing where they first were bred,
  Consuming where they're nourished,
  Endeavouring still
  Even him to kill
 That gives them life and loses of his bliss
To entertain them: that tyrannic ill
So radicated is.

4.

  Most fatal men! What can we have
  To trust? our bosoms will deceive:
  The clearest thought,
  To witness brought,
 Will speak against us, and condemn us too;
Yea, and they all are known. O, how we ought
To sift them through!

5.

  Yet what's our diligence? even all
  Those sands to number that do fall
  Chas'd by the wind:
  Nay, we may find
 A mighty difference; who would suppose
This little thing so fruitful were and blind
As its own ruin shows?