Tixall Poetry/Conscience
Conscience.
Internall Cerberus! whose griping fangs,That gnaw the soul, are the mind's surest pangs.Thou greedy vulture! that dost gorging tireOn hearts corrupted by impure desire:Subtle and buzzing hornet! that dost ringA peal of horrour ere thou givst the sting The soul's rough file that smoothness does impart!That hammer that does break a stony heart!The worm that never dies! the thorn within,That pricks and pains; the whip and scourge of sin:The voice of God in man! which, without rest,Doth softly cry within a troubled breast;To all temptations is that soul left freeThat makes not to itself a curb of thee!