Sorry I am, my God, sorry I am,
That my offences course it in a ring.
My thoughts are working like a busy flame,
Until their cockatrice they hatch and bring:
And when they once have perfected their draughts,1
My words take fire from my inflamed thoughts.
My words take fire from my inflamed thoughts,
Which spit it forth like the Sicilian hill.2
They vent their wares, and pass them with their faults,
And by their breathing ventilate the ill.
But words suffice not, where are lewd intentions:
My hands do join to finish the inventions.
My hands do join to finish the inventions:
And so my sins ascend three stories high,
As Babel grew, before there were dissentions.
Let ill deeds loiter not: for they supply
New thoughts of sinning: wherefore, to my shame,
Sorry I am, my God, sorry I am.
1At Christian Classics Ethereal Library they define draught as
[d]rawing or pulling. The act of pulling, as with horses…. The act of pulling a net to catch fish or birds. Also the catch from the net.
I’d think it more likely means “a current of air,” since, for one thing, the word is not used as a verb here, but a noun, and for another, Herbert is referring to starting a fire. What say ye?
2 According to CCEL, this refers to Mount Etna.
George Herbert poetry posted previously: