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PASSION. XVII. (Book 17)
ENgendr•…•…d griefe from seede of pleasures vaine,
Inforcing still the agents of my smart,
From sinnes aspect, my minde could not refraine,
For fretting lust did cynge my broyled heart,
Till loth to yeilde, yet could not choise but yeild,
When as remorce perforce did win the field.
Then of two harmes making a choise of one,
To salue my soule, I paunde my life a thrall,
And gaue consent to that which makes me moane,
Whereof proceedes the fruite of bitter gall,
Which pen'd my minde that s•…•…ared in the skies,
In basest sould, where in dispaire it lies.
An abiect throwne before the face of wrath,
That date not view what I of late enioyed,
Of new-cut grasse naught but a rotten swath,
After the raine the vertue hath destroyed,
My drooping thoughts forsake their wonted se•…•…,
And back decline their sorrowes to repeate.
Thus feeling smart opens the new s•…•…ar'd vaine,
That bled so fast till lifes blood neere is spent,
And now inclos•…•…d in Laborinth of paine,
I still expect the MIMOTAV•…•… to rent,
The bondes which doe restraine my libertie,
Clos'd in the •…•…ue of woefull miserie.