A Dialogue Between The Soul And Body

 Soul
O Who shall, from this Dungeon, raise
A Soul inslav'd so many wayes?
With bolts of Bones, that fetter'd stands
In Feet ; and manacled in Hands.

Here blinded with an Eye ; and there
Deaf with the drumming of an Ear.

A Soul hung up, as 'twere, in Chains
Of Nerves, and Arteries, and Veins.

Tortur'd, besides each other part,1
In a vain Head, and double Heart.


Body
O who shall me deliver whole,
From bonds of this Tyrannic Soul?
Which, stretcht upright, impales me so,
That mine own Precipice I go;
And warms and moves this needless Frame:
(A Fever could but do the same.
)
And, wanting where its spight to try,
Has made me live to let me dye.

A Body that could never rest,
Since this ill Spirit it possest.


Soul
What Magic could me thus confine
Within anothers Grief to pine?
Where whatsoever it complain,
I feel, that cannot feel, the pain.

And all my Care its self employes,
That to preserve, which me destroys:
Constrain'd not only to indure
Diseases, but, whats worse, the Cure:
And ready oft the Port to gain,
Am Shipwrackt into Health again.


Body
But Physick yet could never reach
The Maladies Thou me dost teach;
Whom first the Cramp of Hope does Tear:
And then the Palsie Shakes of Fear.

The Pestilence of Love does heat :
Or Hatred's hidden Ulcer eat.

Joy's chearful Madness does perplex:
Or Sorrow's other Madness vex.

Which Knowledge forces me to know;
And Memory will not foregoe.

What but a Soul could have the wit
To build me up for Sin so fit?
So Architects do square and hew,
Green Trees that in the Forest grew.

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