So Many Miseries Have Craz'd My Voice,

Being Holiday, The Beggar's Shop Is Shut.

So Many Miseries Have Craz'd My Voice, That My Woe-wearied Tongue Is Still And Mute.

He That Is Strucken Blind Can Not Forget The Precious Treasure Of His Eyesight Lost.

O Wretched State! O Bosom Black As Death! O Limed Soul That, Struggling To Be Free, Art More Engaged! Help, Angels! Make Assay! Bow, Stubborn Knees! And, Heart With Strings Of Steel, Be Soft As Sinews Of The New-born Babe!

Their Understanding Begins To Swell And The Approaching Tide Will Shortly Fill The Reasonable Shores That Now Lie Foul And Muddy.