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To Sr Edward Herbert at Iulyers |
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Man is a Lump where all beasts kneaded bee [206] |
Wisedome makes him an Arke where all agree |
The foole, in whome these beasts do liue at iarr, |
Is sport to others, and a Theater. |
Nor scapes hee so, but is him selfe theyr pray, |
All wch was man in him is eate away |
And now his beasts on one another feede |
Yet couple in Anger and new Monsters breede. |
How happy's hee who hath due place assignd |
To his beasts, and disaforrested his mind? |
Empal'd himselfe, to keepe them out, not in, |
Can sowe, and dares trust corne where they haue bin |
Can vse his Horse, Goate, Wolfe, and every beast |
And is not Asse himslefe to all the rest? |
Else Man not onely is the Heard of Swine |
But hee's those diuells too w.ch did encline |
Them to a headlong rage, and made them worse |
ffor man can add weight to heauens heauyest curse. |
As soules (they say) by our first touch take in |
The poysonous Tincture of originall sinne: |
So to the punishments wch god doth fling |
Our apprhension contributes the sting |
To vs, as to his Chickens, hee doth cast |
Hemlock, and wee as men his Hemlock tast. |
Wee doe infuse to what hee ment for meate |
Corrosiuenesse, or intense Cold or heate |
ffor God no such specifique poyson hath |
As kills, men knowe not how; his fiercest wrath
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[CW: Hath__] |