Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE SLUGGARD, by JOSEPH BEAUMONT First Line: The world awoke, & op'd his flaming eye Last Line: To rise indeed, fairer then did this day. Subject(s): Idleness; Morning; Prayer; Laziness; Sloth; Indolence | ||||||||
THE World awoke, & op'd his flaming Eye, Which darted through ye skie The broad daylight; And at ye sight The virgin Morne, though Shee Were up & drest before, Yet blushed all o're In Heavnly Modestie, As if s'had slept too long, & were Asham'd ye Sun should look on her. Being but newly risen, and arrayd In a gray Mantel like some homely Maid. Yet all this while in spight of this Sweet Light, Mine Eyes huggd Sleep & Night. I snorting lay, As if ye Day Some foure houres off had been: I who had much to doe, Further to goe, And more to loose or winne, Then had ye Morning, yet let Her Be up & gone, e'r I did stirr. Perhaps She blush'd to see how drowsy I Slep'd out all Shame, whilst Shee had flown so high. At length ye Sunne growne high enough to look In at ye window took His view & spy'd Out my Bedside. The Curtaines were of my Lazie Conspiracie. But Carefull He Sent a quick Ray to pry Into ye Tent of Sloth, & mark Why in ye Morne it should be dark. This found me out, & glaring on mine eyes Stood wondring at Me, why I did not rise. The sleepy Mists thus chased from my Brow, I woke, I knew not how: I cannot say Whither like ye Day I blushed in my Rise Or no; though surely I Had more cause why; For as I rubbd mine Eyes A sudden Consort filld mine eare; Plaine were ye Notes, but sweet & clear, The honest Birds up long, long before Mee Were at their Mattens on a Neighbour Tree. And does ye Day rise more for Birds then Mee That they should earlyer bee At work then I, Who have to flie Higher then they, & bring A Morning-Sacrifice Of Greater price Unto my God & King! Up tardy Heart for Shame; but downe Lower againe upon thine owne Imploring Knees; that is ye surest way To Rise indeed, fairer then did this Day. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AGAINST WHATEVER IT IS THAT'S ENCROACHING by CHARLES SIMIC NIKOS AT 42 by REETIKA VAZIRANI ODE ON INDOLENCE by JOHN KEATS IDLENESS by SILAS WEIR MITCHELL VAIN EXCUSE by WALTER CONRAD ARENSBERG Γενεθλιακον by JOSEPH BEAUMONT Γενεθλιακον by JOSEPH BEAUMONT A CONCLUSORIE HUMNE TO THE SAME WEEK; & FOR MY FRIEND by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |
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