Disdain to warm thee at lust's smoky fires, Scorn, scorn to feed on thy old bloat desires: Come, come, my soul, hoist up thy higher sails, The wind blows fair; shall we still creep like snails, That glide their ways with their own native slimes?

05/15/2018

Disdain to warm thee at lust's smoky fires, Scorn, scorn to feed on thy old bloat desires: Come, come, my soul, hoist up thy higher sails, The wind blows fair; shall we still creep like snails, That glide their ways with their own native slimes?

By FRANCIS QUARLES, Emblems

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MORE ABOUT Disdain to warm thee at lust's smoky fires, Scorn, scorn to feed on thy old bloat desires: Come, come, my soul, hoist up thy higher sails, The wind blows fair; shall we still creep like snails, That glide their ways with their own native slimes?


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