Classic Poem

Apon this question how doe, you doe.

Who can be well
Whilst here they dwell
In an imperfect. sinfull, stat
Stilling, bowing down under the weight
Of Sin, which dwells within
And ther doth sprout, & spring

It cannot be
heare, well with me
Whilst I am absent from my king
My joy, my comfort, & my spring
and fountain of delight
to whom I'de take my flight

I cannot say, / I'me well one day
Because I am imprisoned
And in times net entangled
So that I cannot fly
into eternity

Saten doth vex / and still perplex
Whilst I live here, he will not rest
but by temptation, still molest
How then should I be well
whilst in the world I dwell

But it may be
you'l say to me
That I do wrest, by violence
The question this is not your sence
you meane my health, & ease
I'le answer you, and cease
Tis true that healths, good in it self
But'th more I find of health & ease
the more I find my pain encrease
and inward, restlese strife
for fear, of a long life.

Tis you then must
resovle me first
Which way, I may, speak truth when you
Do say to me, how doe you doe
Till then be silent, and
put me not to a stand.

Ask me noe more
till hence I soare
Out of this world, of misery
into a blest, eternity
then you may know I'me well
though I cant come to tell.