So gnaws the grief of conscience evermore,

And in the heart it is so deeply grave,

That they may never sleep nor rest therefor,

Nor think one thought but on the dread they have.

Earl of Dorset.

The soul’s rough file that smoothness does impart;

The hammer that does break the stony heart!

The worm that never dies! the “thorn within,”

That pricks and pains! the whip and scourge of sin!