Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth...
Sonnet 146Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
These rebel powers that thee array; Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth, Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? Why so large cost, having so short a lease, Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? Shall worms, inheritors of this excess, Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end? Then soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, And let that pine to aggravate thy store; Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; Within be fed, without be rich no more: So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men, And Death once dead, there's no more dying then. Buy and Download...Click HERE
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You
poor soul, why do you spend so much time and money on outward trappings to make
yourself look good? It’s short-lived and stifles the real life within. Come on,
forget these fripperies, buy into the spiritual futures market instead and nourish
your psyche, not your body.
It’ll turn the tables on mortality and open up eternity.
It’ll turn the tables on mortality and open up eternity.