Vii

One thing must be thine instant, anxious care, Which on thine honour thou dar’st not refuse. Long time our people now the habit lose Of speech consecutive (which man should wear Upon him like a garment, fit and fair) And through some faulting of the brain abuse Thought’s flowing vesture of a thousand hues, Oft shorn to shreds, all fluttering in the air. I mark and grieve; for in this lost control We trace the weakness of these breathless times, When man no longer keeps his nature whole, Nor governs his spirit; and it chimes With the unruly in us, deadliest threat Our English liberty hath fronted yet.

HESEPE, 17th June