The Thraldom – The Poetry Monster

I came, I saw, and was undone;

Lightning did through my bones and marrow run;

A pointed pain pierc’d deep my heart;

A swift cold trembling seiz’d on every part;

My head turn’d round, nor could it bear

The poison that was enter’d there.

So a destroying angel’s breath

Blows-in the plague, and with it hasty death;

Such was the pain, did so begin,

To the poor wretch, when Legion enter’d in.

“Forgive me, God!” I cry’d; for I

Flatter’d myself I was to die.

But quickly to my cost I found,

‘T was cruel Love, not Death, had made the wound;

Death a more generous rage does use;

Quarter to all he conquers does refuse:

Whilst Love with barbarous mercy saves

The vanquish’d lives, to make them slaves.

I am thy slave then; let me know,

Hard master! the great task I have to do:

Who pride and scorn do undergo.

In tempests and rough seas thy galleys row;

They pant, and groan, and sigh; but find

Their sighs increase the angry wind.

Like an Egyptian tyrant, some

Thou weariest out in building but a tomb;

Others, with sad and tedious art,

Labour i’ th’ quarries of a stony heart:

Of all the works thou dost assign

To all the several slaves of thine,

Employ me, mighty Love! to dig the mine.