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O who shall me deliver whole,
From bonds of this tyrannic soul?
Which, stretched up right, impales me so,
That mine own precipice I go;
And warms and moves this needless frame:
(A fever coul ...

Эндрю Мервелл


O who shall, from this dungeon, raise
A soul enslaved so many ways?
With bolts of bones, that fettered stands
In feet; and manacled in hands.
Here blinded with an eye; and there
Deaf with th ...

Эндрю Мервелл

Литературная деятельность Эндрю Мервелл

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