Henry Charles Beeching, ed. (1859–1919). Lyra Sacra: A Book of Religious Verse. 1903.
| |
| I STRUCK 1 the board, and cry’d, No more. | |
| I will abroad. | |
| What? shall I ever sigh and pine? | |
| My lines and life are free; free as the road, | |
| Loose as the wind, as large as store. | 5 |
| Shall I be still in suit? | |
| Have I no harvest but a thorn | |
| To let me blood, and not restore | |
| What I have lost with cordial fruit? | |
| Sure there was wine | 10 |
| Before my sighs did dry it: there was corn | |
| Before my tears did drown it. | |
| Is the year only lost to me? | |
| Have I no bays to crown it? | |
| No flowers, no garlands gay? all blasted? | 15 |
| All wasted? | |
| Not so, my heart: but there is fruit, | |
| And thou hast hands. | |
| Recover all thy sigh-blown age | |
| On double pleasures: leave thy cold dispute | 20 |
| Of what is fit and not: forsake thy cage, | |
| Thy rope of sands, | |
| Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee | |
| Good cable, to enforce and draw, | |
| And be thy law, | 25 |
| While thou didst wink 2 and wouldst not see. | |
| Away; take heed: | |
| I will abroad. | |
| Call in thy death’s head there: tie up thy fears. | |
| He that forbears, | 30 |
| To suit and serve his need, | |
| Deserves his load. | |
| But as I raved and grew more fierce and wild | |
| At every word, | |
| Methought I heard one calling, Child: | 35 |
| And I replied, My Lord. | |
