The Temple: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations/Dooms-day
¶ Dooms-day.
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 whispring, Live you brother?
Come away,Make this the day.Dust, alas, no musick feels,But thy trumpet: then it kneels,As peculiar notes and strainsCure Tarantulaes raging pains.
Come away,O make no stay!Let the graves make their confession,Lest at length they plead possession:Fleshes stubbornnesse may haveRead that lesson to the grave.
Come away,Thy flock doth stray.Some to windes their bodie lend,And in them may drown a friend:Some in noisome vapours growTo 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.