THE
Expostulation
.
I.
HOw
long
,
great
God
,
a
wretched
captive
here
,
Must
I
these
hated
marks
of
bondage
wear
?
How
long
shall
these
uneasy
chains
controul
The
willing
flights
of
my
impatient
Soul
?
How
long
shall
her
most
pure
intelligence
Be
strain'd
through
an
infectious
screen
of
gross
,
corrupted
sence
?
II
.
When
shall
I
leave
this
darksome
house
of
clay
;
And
to
a
brighter
mansion
wing
away
?
There's
nothing
here
my
thoughts
to
entertain
,
But
one
Tyr'd
revolution
o're
again
:
The
Sun
and
Stars
observe
their
wonted
round
,
The
streams
their
former
courses
keep
:
No
Novelty
is
found
.
III
.
The
same
curst
acts
of
false
fruition
o're
,
The
same
wild
hopes
and
wishes
as
before
;
Do
men
for
this
so
fondly
life
caress
,
(
That
airy
huss
of
splendid
emptiness
?
)
Unthinking
sots
:
kind
Heaven
let
me
be
gone
,
I'm
tyr'd
,
I'm
sick
of
this
dull
Farce's
repetition
.