Classic Poem

Thou wandring Spirit , to whom Jove doth commit
(Of this my Body fraile) the government:
Why, gadding thus from Truth so farre dost flit?
Why, are thine eyes with wilfull blindnes pent?
 Why, dost not marke what Danger is at hand?
 What damned Death doth at thine elbow stand?

Ah, be not flattred with this poysenous LOVE,
But call thy former Wits to thee againe:
Those wicked Thoughts roote out, and hence remove,
Whilst Life in thee to do it doth remaine,
 What Mortall is, by mortall Death suppresse,
 Thy Gaine shall be the more, thy Losse the lesse.

Heaven once thy Mansion was, and dwelling place,
Now Hell thou seekst by running thus astray,
Unhappie Soule to be in such a case,
So wilfully to seeke thine owne Decay:
 Thou woundst thy selfe , to God a Rebbell th'art,
 And only striv'st to please the World in Hart.

Alas, in whom now dost thou put thy trust?
On whom dost thou relie, or hope on now?
Ah turne, and (still) live shalt thou with the Just ,
Ah turne againe, and trebble blessed thou:
 Thou, then shalt be, whereas the Blessed are,
  Pure Soule , mongst Soule , mongst Stars , a brightsome Starre .