UNTOWARD passions, peace: I'm wearied quite: I will allow Only my Anger now, To lash herselfe, & you: Rise @3Anger,@1 rise and arme; 'tis time to fight. Is it not time, now faint ignoble @3feare@1 By Cowardize Numbers her Victories; And ever as She flyes Leaves conquer'd Mee Captive to helplesse Care? Is it not time, now @3Love,@1 that Towring Thing, Forgets to fly At Objects brave & high, And heer content to lie In filthy puddles wets his Noble Wing? Is it not time, now fond @3Greife@1 wasts my Teares (And all in vaine) Not on my soules foule staine, Which both their Springs might draine But on some idle disappointed Cares? Is it not time, when @3Zeale@1 hath lost its Eyes, Yet runs as fast As when ye Northern Blast Makes its most headlong hast And knows as little to what end it flies? Is it not time, when Thou thy Selfe art spent, But not on Mee Nor on thy Selfe, though wee Are onely fit to bee The marks at which thine Arrows should be bent? 'Tis time to fight. But oh! I am betray'd! These Rebells are Allready got so far Into my Heart, no care Of mine will help: Sweet @3Jesu@1 lend me aid. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GRANDMITHER, THINK NOT I FORGET by WILLA SIBERT CATHER KUBLA KHAN by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS by ALFRED TENNYSON LAODAMIA by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH MOON AND VENUS by ABUL MUGHIRA OUR SOLDIERS' SANTIAGO SONG by DAVID GRAHAM ADEE |