The Temple: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations/Church-rents and schismes
¶ Church-rents and schismes.
BRave rose, (alas!) where art thou? in the chairWhere thou didst lately so triumph and shine,A worm doth sit, whose many feet and hairAre the more foul, the more thou wert divine.This, this hath done it, this did bite the rootAnd bottome of the leaves: which when the windeDid once perceive, it blew them under foot,Where rude unhallow'd steps do crush and grindeTheir beauteous glories. Onely shreds of thee,And those all bitten, in thy chair I see.
Why doth my Mother blush? is she the rose,And shows it so? Indeed Christs precious bloudGave you a colour once; which when your foesThought to let out, the bleeding did you good,And made you look much fresher then before.But when debates and fretting jealousiesDid worm and work within you more and more,Your colour faded, and calamitiesTurned your ruddie into pale and bleak:Your health and beautie both began to break.
Then did your sev'rall parts unloose and start:Which when your neighbours saw, like a north-winde,They rushed in, and cast them in the dirtWhere Pagans tread. O Mother deare and kinde,Where shall I get me eyes enough to weep,As many eyes as starres? Since it is night,And much of Asia and Europe fast asleep,And ev'n all Africk; would at least I mightWith these two poore ones lick up all the dew,Which falls by night, and poure it out for you!