---

George Herbert - Frailtie
Work rating: Low

Lord, in my silence how do I despise
                         What upon trust
Is styled honour, riches, or fair eyes;
                         But is fair dust! 
       I surname them guilded clay,
       Deare earth, fine grasse or hay;
In all, I think my foot doth ever tread
                         Upon their head.

But when I view abroad both regiments,
                         The world`s, and thine;
Thine clad with simplenesse, and sad events;
                         The other fine,
       Full of glorie and gay weeds,
       Brave language, braver deeds:
That which was dust before, doth quickly rise,
                         And prick mine eyes.

O brook not this, lest if what even now
                         My foot did tread,
Affront those joyes, wherewith thou didst endow,
                         And long since wed 
       My poore soul, ev`n sick of love;
       It may a Babel prove,
Commodious to conquer heav`n and thee
                         Planted in me.
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.