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George Herbert - Dooms-Day
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               Come away,
          Make no delay.
Summon all the dust to rise,
Till it stirre, and rubbe the eyes;
While this member jogs the other,
Each one whispering, Live you, brother?

               Come away,
          Make this the day.
Dust, alas, no musick feels
But thy trumpet: then it kneels,
As peculiar notes and strains
Cure Tarantulaes raging pains.

               Come away,
          O make no stay!
Let the graves make their confession,
Lest at length they plead possession:
Fleshes stubbornnesse may have
     Read that lesson to the grave.

               Come away,
          Thy flock doth stray,
Some to the windes their bodie lend,
And in them may drown a friend:
Some in noisome vapours grow
To a plague and publick wo.

               Come away,
          Help our decay.
Man is out of order hurl`d,
Parcel`d out to all the world.
Lord, thy broken consort raise,
And the musick shall be praise.
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