Spew out thy Filth, thy Flesh abjure,

Let not Contingents thee defile;

For Transients only are impure,

And empty Things thy Soul beguile.

Unfelt, unseen let those things be,

Which to thy Spirit were unknown,

When to thy blessed Infancy

The World, thy Self, thy God, was shewn.

All that is Great and stable stood

Within thy harmless View at first;

All that in Visibles is Good,

Or Pure, or Fair, or Unaccurst.

Whatever els thou now dost see

In Custom, Action, or Desire,

Is but a part of Misery

Wherin all Men at once conspire.