Epitaph On Mr. Bridgeman
One pitt containes him now that could not dye
Before a thousand pitts in him did lye;
Soe many spotts upon his flesh were shewne
'Cause on his soule sinne fastned almost none.
poem by William Strode
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Related quotes
On Sir Thomas Savill Dying Of The Small Pox
Take, greedy death, a body here entomd
That by a thousand stroakes was made one wound,
Where all thy shafts were stuck with fatall ayme
Untill a quiver this thy marke became,
Had Cæsar fifty wounds to let in thee
Because a troop of men might seeme to bee
Comprised in that great Spirit, this had more
Whose deaths were equalld with the fruitfull store
Of hopefull vertues, though each wound did reach
The very heart, yet none could make a breach
Into his soule, a soule more fully drest
With vertuous gemmes than was his body prest
With hatefull spotts, and therefore every scarr
When death itselfe is dead shall be a starre.
poem by William Strode
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Holy Sonnet VI: This Is My Playes Last Scene
This is my playes last scene, here heavens appoint
My pilgrimages last mile; and my race
Idly, yet quickly runne, hath this last pace,
My spans last inch, my minutes latest point,
And gluttonous death, will instantly unjoynt
My body, and soule, and I shall sleepe a space,
But my'ever-waking part shall see that face,
Whose feare already shakes my every joynt;
Then, as my soule, to'heaven her first seate, takes flight,
And earth-borne body, in the earth shall dwell,
So, fall my sinnes, that all may have their right,
To where they're bred, and would presse me, to hell.
Impute me righteous, thus purg'd of evill,
For thus I leave the world, the flesh, the devill.
poem by John Donne
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On A Gentlewoman That Had Had The Small Poxe
A Beauty smoother than the Ivory playne
Late by the Poxe injuriously was slayne:
Twas not the Poxe: Love shott a thousand darts,
And made those pitts for graves to bury hearts:
But since that Beauty hath regaynde her light,
Those hearts are double slayne, it shines so bright.
poem by William Strode
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From William of Orange to William Pitt the younger there was but one man without whom English history must have taken a different turn, and that was William Pitt the elder.
quote by Albert Bushnell Hart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Oh my blacke Soule! now thou art summoned
Oh my black Soule! Now thou art summoned
By sicknesse, deaths herald, and champion;
Thou art like a pilgrim, which abroad hath done
Treason, and durst not turne to whence hee is fled,
Or like a thiefe, which till deaths doome be read,
Wisheth himselfe deliverd from prison;
But damn'd and hal'd to execution,
Wisheth that sill he might be imprisioned;
Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lacke;
But who shall give thee that grace to beginne?
Oh make thy selfe with holy mourning blacke;
And red with blushing, as thou art with sinne;
Or wash thee in Christ's blood, which hath this might
That being red, it dyes red soules to white.
poem by John Donne
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Your Shoe-Size
Your shoe-size fits me but,
I don't sleep with my legs wide open;
Your head cover fits me but,
I don't pray with my hands down;
I have been longing for many years to see you.
Let us pursue the things which are peaceful,
Like life in the land of monkeys;
Let us pursue the things which are joyful,
Like life in the land of donkeys;
But do cancel my records out of your mind if,
You don't want me.
Twenty-three thousand fell in one day,
But flesh and blood cannot inherit the Kindom of Yahweh;
Death is the string of sin so,
Do cancel my name out of your history book.
Men have one flesh,
Birds have another flesh,
Beasts have another flesh,
Fish have another flesh,
But all flesh is not the same!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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On The Death Of Mrs. Mary Neudham
As sinn makes gross the soule and thickens it
To fleshy dulness, so the spotless white
Of virgin pureness made thy flesh as cleere
As others soules: thou couldst not tarry heere
All soule in both parts: and what could it bee
The Resurrection could bestow on thee,
Allready glorious? thine Innocence
(Thy better shroude) sent thee as pure from hence
As saints shall rise: but hee whose bounty may
Enlighten the greate sunn with double day,
And make it more outshine itselfe than now
It can the moone, shall crowne thy varnish'd brow
With light above that sunn: when thou shalt bee
No lower in thy place than Majesty:
Crown'd with a Virgin's wreath, outshining there
The Saints as much as thou did'st mortalls heere.
Bee this thy hope; and whilst thy ashes ly
Asleepe in death, dreame of Eternity.
poem by William Strode
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On The Death Of Dr. Lancton President Of Maudlin College
When men for injuryes unsatisfy'd,
For hopes cutt off, for debts not fully payd,
For legacies in vain expected, mourne
Over theyr owne respects within the urne,
Races of tears all striveing first to fall
As frequent are as eye and funerall;
Then high swolne sighes drawne in and sent out strong
Seeme to call back the soule or goe along.
Goodness is seldome such a theam of woe
Unless to her owne tribe some one or two;
But here's a man, (alas a shell of man!)
Whose innocence, more white than silver swan,
Now finds a streame of teares; such perfect greif
That in the traine of mourners hee is cheife
Who lives the greatest gainer; and would faine
Bee now prefer'd unto his loss againe.
The webb of nerves with subtill branches spred
Over the little world, are in theyr head
Scarce so united as in him were knitt
All his dependants: Hee that strives to sitt
So lov'd of all must bee a man as square
As vertues selfe; which those that fly and feare
Can never hate. How seldome have we seene
Such store of flesh joyn'd with so little sin?
His body was not greater than his soule,
Whose limbs were vertues able to controule
All grudg of sloth: and as the body's weight
Hal'd to the centre; so the soule as light
Heav'd upward to her goale. This civill jarre
Could not hold out, but made them part as farre
As earth and heaven: from whence the one shall come
To make her mate more fresh, less cumbersome.
After so sound a sleepe, so sweet a rest,
And both shall then appeare so trimly drest
As freinds that goe to meet: the body shall
Then seeme a soule, the soule Angellicall:
A beautious smile shall passe from that to this,
The joyning soule shall then the body kisse
With its owne lipps: so great shall be the store
Of joy and love that now thei'l part no more;
Such hope hath dust! besides which happines
Death hath not made his earthly share the lesse,
Or quite bereft him of his honors here,
But added more; for liveing hee did steere
The fellowes only; but since hee is dead
Hee's made a president unto theyr head.
poem by William Strode
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The Harbinger
to the Progresse.
TWo soules moue here, and mine (a third) must moue
Paces of admiration, and of loue;
Thy soule (Deare Virgin) whose this tribute is,
Mou'd from this mortall sphere to liuely blisse,
And yet moues still, and still aspires to see
The worlds last day, thy glories full degree:
Like as those starres which thou ore-lookest farre,
Are in their place, and yet still moued are
No soule (whiles with the luggage of this clay
It clogged is) can follow thee halfe way;
Or see thy flight; which doth our thoughts outgoe
So fast, that now the lightning moues but slow:
But now thou art as high in heauen flowne
As heau'ns from vs; what soule besides thine owne
Can tell thy ioyes, or say he can relate
Thy glorious Iornals in that blessed state?
I enuie thee (Rich soule) I enuy thee,
Although I cannot yet thy glory see:
And thou (Great spirit) which her's follow'd hast
So fast, as none can follow thine so fast;
So farre as none can follow thine so farre,
(And if this flesh did not the passage barre
Had'st caught her) let me wonder at thy flight
Which long agone had'st lost the vulgar sight
And now mak'st proud the better eyes, that they
Can see thee les'ned in thine aery way;
So while thou mak'st her soule by progresse knowne
Thou mak'st a noble progresse of thine owne.
From this worlds carcasse hauing mounted hie
To that pure life of Immortalitie;
Since thine aspiring thoughts themselues so raise
That more may not beseeme a creatures praise,
Yet still thou vow'st her more; and euery yeare
Mak'st a new Progresse, while thou wandrest here;
Still vpward mount; and let thy makers praise
Honor thy Laura, and adorne thy laies.
And since thy Mus[es] head in heauen shrouds
Oh let her neuer stoope below the clouds:
And if those glorious sainted soules may know
Or what we doe, or what we sing below,
Those acts, those songs shall still content them best
Which praise those awfull powers that make them blest.
poem by John Donne
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Holy Sonnet III: O Might Those Sighes
O might those sighes and teares returne againe
Into my breast and eyes, which I have spent,
That I might in this holy discontent
Mourne with some fruit, as I have mourn'd in vaine;
In mine Idolatry what showres of raine
Mine eyes did waste? what griefs my heart did rent?
That sufferance was my sinne; now I repent;
'Cause I did sufffer I must suffer paine.
Th'hydroptique drunkard, and night-scouting thiefe,
The itchy Lecher, and selfe-tickling proud
Have the remembrance of past joyes, for reliefe
Of comming ills. To (poore) me is allow'd
No ease; for, long, yet vehement griefe hath beene
Th'effect and cause, the punishment and sinne.
poem by John Donne
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Your Flesh Is So Nice
(j.buckley)
I want to tell you a story
About a little cutey
She's ass-slappin' pretty
And voluptous fingers
Wanna let her lick me
Stick the thick of my pussy
From across the street
She looks good enough to eat me
Kitty! your flesh is so nice
Your flesh is so nice
Let me take a bite
Your flesh is so nice.
Oh, i take off my belt
Oh, i whip the staircase
(whip the staircase)
Kill all the men
Everything's dead to them
You're the only one i follow
Come on and let me give you that "o".
Your flesh is so nice
I wanna take you twice
Your flesh is so nice
Oooo your flesh is so nice
Your flesh is so nice
Wanna take a bite
Your flesh is so nice
Your flesh is so
Your flesh is so
Your flesh is so
Your flesh is so
Nice
(repeat)
song performed by by Jeff Buckley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Recalling The Thousand Cranes
if you recall i made a thousand
paper cranes too
hoping to save a soul
from the body of the burning
flesh
the ten thousand cranes
were useless
she died.i live.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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For Deliverance from a feaver.
When Sorrowes had begyrt me rovnd,
And Paines within and out,
When in my flesh no part was sovnd,
Then didst thou rid me out.
My burning flesh in sweat did boyle,
My aking head did break;
From side to side for ease I toyle,
So faint I could not speak.
Beclouded was my Soul with fear
Of thy Displeasure sore,
Nor could I read my Evidence
Which oft I read before.
Hide not thy face from me, I cry'd,
From Burnings keep my soul;
Thov know'st my heart, and hast me try'd;
I on thy Mercyes Rowl.
O, heal my Soul, thov know'st I said,
Tho' flesh consume to novght;
What tho' in dust it shall bee lay'd,
To Glory't shall bee brovght.
Thou heardst, thy rod thou didst remove,
And spar'd my Body frail,
Thou shew'st to me thy tender Love,
My heart no more might quail.
O, Praises to my mighty God,
Praise to my Lord, I say,
Who hath redeem'd my Soul from pitt:
Praises to him for Aye!
poem by Anne Bradstreet
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In Commendation Of Musick
When whispering straynes doe softly steale
With creeping passion through the hart,
And when at every touch wee feele
Our pulses beate and beare a part;
When thredds can make
A hartstring shake
Philosophie
Can scarce deny
The soule consists of harmony.
When unto heavenly joy wee feyne
Whatere the soule affecteth most,
Which onely thus wee can explayne
By musick of the winged hoast,
Whose layes wee think
Make starres to winke,
Philosophie
Can scarce deny
Our soules consist of harmony.
O lull mee, lull mee, charming ayre,
My senses rock with wonder sweete;
Like snowe on wooll thy fallings are,
Soft, like a spiritts, are thy feete:
Greife who need feare
That hath an eare?
Down lett him lye
And slumbring dye,
And change his soule for harmony.
poem by William Strode
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One Hundred Thousand Marching
One hundred thousand marching
One hundred thousand men
One hundred thousand heading
To a place and a time when
One hundred thousand dying
One hundred thousand cold
One hundred thousand praying
Forever young and never old
One hundred thousand lives were lost
One hundred thousand felt the pain
One hundred thousand maimed and slaughtered
And yet those armies march again.
poem by David Keig
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With Penne, Inke, And Paper To A Distressed Friend
Here is paper, pen, and inke,
That your heart and seale may sinke
Into such markes as may expresse
A Soule much blest in heavinesse.
May your paper seeme as fayre
As yourselfe when you appeare:
May the Letters which you write
Looke like black eye-lids on white.
May your penne such fancies bring
As one new puld from Cupid's wing:
That your paper, hand, and seale
His favour, heart, and Soule may steale.
poem by William Strode
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One
One thousand voices
But not one heard
One thousand thoughts
But not one word
One thousand troubles
But no one will know it
Unless I decide to
Finally show it
One thousand cuts
Run down my arm
A tribute to my
Life of self-harm
One thousand scars
That will not heal
One thousand people
Who will not feel
One thousand but no more
I finally decide
There will be one less person
And one more suicide
poem by Anonymous Ghurl
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Look Away
India Eisley, Jason Isaacs, Mira Sorvino, Penelope Mitchell, John C. MacDonald, Harrison Gilbertson, Kristen Harris, Ernie Pitts, Adam Hurtig
by Assaf Bernstein from Look Away (2018)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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In A Thousand Words
IN A THOUSAND WORDS I COULD TELL YOU MY FEELINGS.
IN A THOUSAND WORDS I COULD TELL YOU I'M WILLING.
IN A THOUSAND WORDS I COULD EXPLAIN MY PERSONA.
IN A THOUSAND WORDS I COULD TALK LIKE MY MAMA.
IN A THOUSAND WORDS I COULD SING YOU A LYRIC.
IN A THOUSAND WORDS I COULD SELL YOU A GIMMICK.
IN A THOUSAND WORDS I COULD TELL YOU IT ALL.
IN A THOUSAND WORDS I COULD SAY NOTHING AT ALL.
poem by LaQuandra Baskin
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Suck
There is no God up in the sky tonight
No sign of heaven anywhere in sight
All that was true is left behind
Once I could see now I am blind
Dont want your dreams you try to sell
This disease I give to myself
How does it feel?
How does it feel?
She makes it sweeter than the sun
I get too tight I come undone
I bow my head to confess
The temple walls are made of flesh
Runs up my arms til Im on track
Itches my skin right off of my back
Ill heal your wounds
Ill set you free
Im jesus christ on ecstacy
How does it feel?
How does it feel?
I am so dirty on the inside
I am so dirty on the inside
I am so dirty on the inside
I am so dirty on the inside
How does it feel?
How does it feel?
Suck
Suck
Suck
Suck
A thousand lips a thousand tongues
A thousand throats a thousand lungs
A thousand ways to make it true
I want to do terrible things to you
Everything by:trent reznor
song performed by by Nine Inch Nails
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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