Have I not blest Thee? Then go forth; nor fear Or spice, or fish, or fire, or close-stools here. But with thy fair Fates leading thee, Go on With thy most white Predestination. Nor thinke these Ages that do hoarcely sing The farting Tanner, and familiar King; The dancing Frier, tatter'd in the bush; Those monstrous lies of little Robin Rush: Tom Chipperfeild, and pritty-lisping Ned, That doted on a Maide of Gingerbred: The flying Pilcher, and the frisking Dace, With all the rabble of Tim-Trundells race, (Bred from the dung-hils, and adulterous rhimes,) Shall live, and thou not superlast all times? No, no, thy Stars have destin'd Thee to see The whole world die, and turn to dust with thee. He's greedie of his life, who will not fall, When as a publick ruine bears down All, | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FOUR LITTLE FOXES by LEW SARETT TO THE GARDEN THE WORLD by WALT WHITMAN THE TRANCE by LASCELLES ABERCROMBIE PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 54. AL-KAWI by EDWIN ARNOLD PSALM 140 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE A VOICE FOR EDWARD by GLEN BLANCH THE ESCAPE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |