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THE VIIITH CANTO, UNPERFITE.
WHEN I bethinke me on that speech whyleare1
Me seemes, that though she all unworthy were
And love of things so vaine to cast away;
Short Time shall soon cut down with his consuming sickle!
Then gin I thinke on that which Nature sayd,
Of that same time when no more change shall be,
But stedfast rest of all things, firmely stayd
Upon the pillours of Eternity,
That is contrayr to Mutabilitie:
For all that moveth doth in change delight:
But thenceforth all shall rest eternally
O! that great Sabaoth God, grant me that Sabbaths sight!*
2 Tickle, uncertain.
1 Whyleare, formerly.
* CC "By what means this unfinished canto and the two preceding cantoes were preserved, the first editor of them has left no particulars. They are usually termed the Seventh Book of the poem. The fragment exhibits a very fine specimen of Spenser's sublime invention." - TODD.