Thou bears’t the Bottle, I the Bagge (oh Lord)
Which daily I doe carry at my backe,
So stuff’d with sinne, that ready ’tis to cracke:
I have no unfain’d Nectar for thy Gourde,
Mine eyes will no such precious drinke afford:
Yet both my heart, and eyes, are Deserts dry,
Even Lybian sands, where Serpents crawle and fly.
Yea the two extreme Zones tuke up my heart,
For unto good, as cold as ice, I am;
But unto evill, like an
(Ralph Knevet)
More Poetry from Ralph Knevet:
- Rhodon And Iris. Act I (Ralph Knevet Poems)
- Rhodon And Iris. Act III (Ralph Knevet Poems)
- Rhodon And Iris. Act V (Ralph Knevet Poems)
- Rhodon And Iris. Act II (Ralph Knevet Poems)
- Rhodon And Iris. Act IV (Ralph Knevet Poems)
- A Gallery To The Temple. The Incarnation (Ralph Knevet Poems)