(untitled)

LEt us each day enure our selves to dye,
If this (and not our feares) be truly Death,
Above the Circles both of Hope and Faith
With faire immortall Pinnions to flie;
If this be Death, our best Part to untye
(By ruining the Jaile) from Lust and Wrath,
And every drowsie languor here beneath,
To be made deniz'd Citizen of Skie:
To have more knowledge than all Books containe,
All Pleasures even surmounting wishing Pow'r,
The fellowship of Gods immortall Traine,
And these that Time nor force shall e're devoure?
If this be Death, What Joy, what golden care
Of Life, can with Deaths ouglinesse compare?