Logos Virtual Library: George Herbert: The Temple: The Church: Conscience

George Herbert

George Herbert (1593-1633)

The Temple

Conscience

Peace pratler, do not lowre:
Not a fair look, but thou dost call it foul:
Not a sweet dish, but thou dost call it sowre:

Musick to thee doth howl.

By listning to thy chatting fears

I have both lost mine eyes and eares.

Pratler, no more, I say:
My thoughts must work, but like a noiselesse sphere;
Harmonious peace must rock them all the day:

No room for pratlers there.

If thou persistest, I will tell thee,

That I have physick to expell thee.

And the receit shall be
My Saviours bloud: when ever at his board
I do but taste it, straight it cleanseth me,

And leaves thee not a word;

No, not a tooth or nail to scratch,

And at my actions carp, or catch.

Yet if thou talkest still,
Besides my physick, know there’s some for thee:
Some wood and nails to make a staffe or bill

For those that trouble me:

The bloudie crosse of my deare Lord

Is both my physick and my sword.