The world's a theatre. The earth, a stage
Placed in the midst: where both prince and page,
Both rich and poor, fool, wise man, base and high,
The world's an Inn; and I her guest.
I eat; I drink; I take my rest.
My hostess, nature, does deny me
Nothing, wherewith she can supply me;
They're like the Priest and Clerk at Belial's altar;
One makes the Sermon; t'other tunes the Psalter.
Eternal God! O Thou that only art
The sacred fountain of eternal light,
And blessed loadstone of my better part,
E'EN like two little bank-dividing brooks,
That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams,
And having ranged and search'd a thousand nooks,
Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames,
And were it for thy profit, to obtain
All sunshine? No vicissitude of rain?
Think'st thou that thy laborious plough requires
Not winter frosts as well as summer fires?
And am I here, and my Redeemer gone ?
Can he be dead, and is not my life done ?
Was he tormented in excesse of measure,
And doe I live yet? and yet live in pleasure ?
Now rests my love : till nuw her tender brest,
Wanting her joy, could finde no peace, no rest;
I charge you all, by the true love you beare
To friendship, or what else you count most deare,