4

III.

Then Thel astonish'd viewit the Worm upon its dewy bed.

Art thou a Worm? image of weakneſs, art thou but a Worm?
I see thee like an infant wrapped in the Lillys leaf:

Ah weep not little voice, thou canst not speak, but thou canst weep:
Is this a Worm? I see thee lay helplesſ & naked: weeping,
And none to answer, none to cherish thee with mothers smiles.

The Clod of Clay heard the Worms voice, & raised her pitting head:
She howd over the weeping infant, and her life exhal'd
In milky fondneſs, then on Thel she fix'd her humble eyes.

C beauty of the vales of Har, we live not for ourselves,
Thou seest me the meanest thing, and so I am indeed;
My bosom of itself is cold, and of itself is dark,

But