Plight Of The Store-house Keeper
I am the secret sharer,
The burden bearer.
(Cast off your problems, give them to me.)
A great fist to the chest,
Bolts me from my juggled rest.
(Cast off your worries, give them to me.)
In me, a great sea of troubles,
And no arms to pierce their leadening bubbles.
(Cast off your hidden truths, give them to me.)
I want not what I have clutched tight;
Yet others clamor, with cunning pleas and threatened might.
(Cast off your weights, give them to me.)
How should I end this store-house in me?
Should I pour out these putrid vaults,
And let us examine each other's faults?
Or should I suffer quietly?