Poetical fragments heart-employment with God and it selfPoetical fragments heart-imployment with God and it self

Flesh. Religion is a dull and heavy thing, Whereas a merry Cup will make me sing. Love's entertainments warm both heart and brain: And wind my fancy to the highest strain.

Spirit. Cupid hath stuck a Feather in thy Cap; And lulled thee dead asleep on Venus's lap: Thy brains are tippled with some wantons eyes: Thy Reason is become Lust's sacrifice. Playing a game at Folly, thou hast lost Thy wit, and soul, and winnest to thy cost. Thy Soul now in a filthy channel lies, While fancy seems to soar above the Skies. Beauty will soon be stinking loathsome Earth: Sickness and Death mar all the wanton's mirth. It is not all the pleasure thou canst find. Will countervail the sting that's left behind. Blind, brutish Souls! that cannot love their God! And yet can dote on a defiled clod! ⟨p. 69⟩Why should I think of what will be to morrow? An ounce of mirth is worth a pound of sorrow.

Spirit. Cupid hath stuck a Feather in thy Cap; And lull'd thee dead asleep on Venu's lap: Thy brains are tipled with some wantons eyes: Thy Reason is become Lust's sacrifice. Playing a game at Folly, thou hast lost Thy wit, and soul, and winnest to thy cost. Thy Soul now in a filthy channel lies, While fancy seems to soar above the Skies. Beauty will soon be stinking loathsom Earth: Sickness and Death marr all the wanton's mirth. It is not all the pleasure thou canst find. Will countervail the sting that's left behind. Blind, brutish Souls! that cannot love their God! And yet can dote on a defiled clod! ⟨p. 69⟩Why should I think of what will be to morrow? An ounce of mirth is worth a pound of sorrow.

Spirit. But where's that mirth when sorrows overtake thee? Will it then hold when Life and God forsake thee? Forgetting Death or Hell will not prevent it: Now lose thy day, thou'lt then too late repent it.