In-Text |
And yet alas 'tis but the Comfort of an hogge in a stye, a bird in a cage, thou laughest and sing'st in the midst of thy slavery, 'tis but from the teeth outward, no sound Joy, the worme of remorse gnawes thee within, thou hast not a Crumme of true Consolation, much lesse that continuall feast with the sonnes of GOD. |
And yet alas it's but the Comfort of an hog in a stye, a bird in a cage, thou laughest and singest in the midst of thy slavery, it's but from the teeth outward, no found Joy, the worm of remorse gnaws thee within, thou hast not a Crumb of true Consolation, much less that continual feast with the Sons of GOD. |
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