Book III, 37: On a Tenis-Court

Man is a Tenis-Court: His Flesh, the Wall:
The Gamesters God, & Sathan. Th'heart's the Ball:
The higher and the lower Hazzards are
Too bold Presumption, and too base Despaire:
The Rackets, which our restlesse Balls make flye,
Adversity, and sweet Prosperity:
The Angels keepe the Court, and marke the place,
Where the Ball fals, and chaulk out ev'ry Chace:
The Line's a Civill life, we often crosse,
Ore which, the Ball not flying, makes a Losse:
Detractors are like Standers-by, that bett
With Charitable men: Our Life's the Sett;
Lord, In this Conflict, in these fierce Assaults,
Laborious Sathan makes a world of Faults;
Forgive them Lord, although he ne'r implore
For favour: They'l be set upon our score:
O, take the Ball, before it come toth'ground,
For this base Court has many a false Rebound:
Strike, and strike hard, but strike above the Line:
Strike where thou please, so as the Sett be thine.