I long for Life, vnlike to Death

SO runnes the Tenor of the Treble Ills
Existing by the Meane of three fel Foes,
The Flesh, the World the Deuill euer spills
Vs miserable miserable Men with mortal Bloes.
Yet, like Fiends, taking pleasure but in paine,
[In paine that to noe perfect profit tends]
We seeke to rule, and if we can to raigne;
And rule, and raigne but for vnruly Ends.
O Rest [the Image of that Saboth sweete
Wherein sweete Saints do from their Labours rest!
O riche repose of Spirit, for Angells meete!]
How do I toile to bee of Thee possest?
Then Slouth it is not that delights my Will,
Nor, would mine Vnderstanding idle bee;
But, both desire to bee in Action still,
Yet rest in action like the Trinitie!
The Date of my lifes Lease is neere expird,
Yet labour I for life, sith still I swimme
In Sorrowes Seas, as one as neerely tride
As hee is neere the Bottome, or the Brym.
I scarse can keepe me Head aboue the Waues
With all my Laboures, my Starres are so crosse!
Yea, vnder Water oft my Science saues
From Death, my Life, which Stormes of Troubles tosse.
But as the Deluge, swelling more, and more.
Made th'Arke thereby to Heau'n-warde mount a pace:
So, when Afflictions Waues increase their Store
They lift me vp thereby the more to Grace.
Yet, as they multiplie, their struggle so
That they turmoile my Bodie, toyle my Mynd:
For, both in anguishe flote when Sorrowes flo;
And, sorrowes flow from Fortunes Ebbe, by kind.
So, that I cannot yet that Rest attaine
Which my poore Soule, and Spirit so requires;
I, longing, labour for it, yet in vaine:
For, base Defect withstands my high Desires.
And by how much the more for it I longe
So much the more I do Worlds weale neglect;
Wherein my selfe and my Desires I wrong:
That are the more supprest by that Defect.
I was not moulded, sure in earthlie Mould,
(Though of the Filth thereof my Fleshe was fram'd)
For, if I were, then sure it fitt mee should;
But, nothing lesse, whereof I am asham'd.
I see some Men (who when wee weigh their Witt,
Wee, as miraculous, their wealth admire]
To this Worlds Mould do make them selues as fitt
As if their Witt, and Mettall were all Fire!
Yea some meere Blocks, that are as bluut, as base,
Rise from still lying but in Dut, and Dung,
To high estate [which standeth with therir Case]
Though Fate, through too much right, them too much wrong!
Yet I [whose Braines are plac'd in bette Cells
And haue the influence of clearer light)
Can compas nothing by Wits magick-Spells
[These charming Numbers] but mine owne delight.
I stoln am from my self, by nine sweet Queenes
[Who do predominate my Witt, and Will)
While Time steals from me both my Life, and Meanes;
And leaues mee nought to liue with, but my Skill.
Yet from Times Wings I steale his blackest Plumes
(The Night) to rest in motion of my Muse;
And til my Witt by tealth of Time consumes,
In spight of Want, this wealth of Witt Ile vse.
And with Aurora [raiser of the Muse]
Ile wake if Rests friend [Sleepe] should rest mine Eyes:
To steale from Time, what I may iustle vse,
So to supplie Times want with's owne Supplies!
And for the Stuffe whereof Ile draw my Lines
It shall bee such as from his Throne shall come,
Whose Muse-immortalizing Spirit them twines,
And (Silkeworme like) Ile worke me in my Tombe.
Where, though I, poore Worme, from my Labours rest
My Works well wou'n by some more dextrous Witt
May line perhapps the Note-bookes of the best;
Yea, for Apparrell of the Mind be fitt.
And though the Viperous Iron Teeth of Time
May gnaw away, to wrack, through my Works Wombe,
Yet if my Spirit, thereby aboue Him climbe
Lett my Lines ruynd bee, to giue Him Roome:
For, though content, I could bee, dead, to liue
In Fames strongst Fort (though Paper be the Wall,
And Sense of Fame my life cannot suruiue)
Yet if I rise thereby lett my Fame fall:
For, what feeles Naso that a Worke compos'd
That liues, and shall, till Time bee Toothlesse quite,
Sith hees disposd, where now hee's indisposd
To feele a Winde that is so vaine, and light?
Yet heers the Winde that beares the World away
Though it bee weaker then the lightest Mynd:
Then, weake is That so weake a Winde doth swaie;
And ie they ough that liue but for such Winde.
But, Vertue for hir selfe (and not for Fame
That as an Hand-maide hir attendeth still)
I chiefly do desire, and let my name
Die in hir life, so shee may make my Will,
And, with hir leaue, to giue (and make no waste)
My Time to draw Diuine Lines to the last.