Full of rebellion, I would die,

Or fight, or travel, or deny

That thou has aught to do with me.

O tame my heart;

It is thy highest art

To captivate strong holds to thee.

If thou shalt let this venom lurk,

And in suggestions fume and work,

My soul will turn to bubbles straight,

And thence by kind

Vanish into a wind,

Making thy workmanship deceit.

O smooth my rugged heart, and there

Engrave thy rev’rend law and fear;

Or make a new one, since the old

Is sapless grown,

And a much fitter stone

To hide my dust, than thee to hold.