1My heart, why dost thou throb so in my breast?
2What dost thou ail
? What causeth thy unrest? 3Dost thou not know that as the flames ascend,
4So man in sorrow doth begin and end?
5The spritely
lark
, how cheerfully she sings 6Until the hawk her little neck off wrings,
7Yet thou to sigh and sob dost never cease
8Because thy sorrows with thy years increase.
9The milk-white lamb that on the altar lies
10Yields himself up a quiet sacrifice,
11But thou wouldst have the course of nature turn
12Rather than in affliction’s furnace burn.
13The phoenix
doth assume her funeral pyre, 14And in those flagrant
odours doth expire, 15But thou, my soul, unwilling art to die
16And in thy grave obliviated
lie, 17Although it would thy drossy part calcine
18Away, and infinitely refine
19Thy flesh, that it more gloriously may shine.