The Gnat

ONE Night all tyred with the weary Day,
And with my tedious selfe, I went to lay
My fruitlesse Cares
And needlesse feares
Asleep.

The Curtaines of the Bed, & of mine Eyes
Being drawne, I hop'd no trouble would surprise
That Rest with now
Gan on my Brow
To creep.

When loe a little flie, lesse then its Name
(It was a Gnat) with angry Murmur came.
About Shee flew.
And lowder grew
Whilst I

Faine would have scorn'd the silly Thing, & slept
Out all its Noise ; I resolute silence kept.
And laboured so
To overthrow
The Flie.

But still with sharp Alarms vexatious Shee
'Or challenged, or rather mocked Mee.
Angry at last
About I cast
My Hand.

'Twas well Night would not let me blush, nor see
With whom I fought ; And yet though feeble Shee
Nor Her nor my
Owne Wrath could I
Command.

Away She flies, & Her owne Triumph sings ;
I being left to fight with idler Things,
A feebler pair
My Selfe and Aire.
How true

A worme is Man, whom flies their sport can make !
Poor worme ; true Rest in no Bed can he take,
But one of Earth,
Whence He came forth
And grew.

For there None but his silent Sisters be,
Wormes of as true & genuine Earth as He,
Which from the same
Corruption came :
And there

Though on his Eyes they feed, though on his Heart
They neither vex nor wake Him ; every part
Rests in sound sleep,
And out doth keep
All feare.