| |
| MY hovering thoughts would fly to heaven | |
| And quiet nestle in the sky, | |
| Fain would my ship in Virtue’s shore | |
| Without remove at anchor lie. | |
| |
| But mounting thoughts are halèd down 1 | 5 |
| With heavy poise of mortal load, | |
| And blustring storms deny my ship | |
| In Virtue’s haven secure abode. | |
| |
| When inward eye to heavenly sights | |
| Doth draw my longing heart’s desire, | 10 |
| The world with jesses 2 of delights | |
| Would to her perch my thoughts retire, | |
| |
| Fond Fancy trains to Pleasure’s lure, 3 | |
| Though Reason stiffly do repine; | |
| Though Wisdom woo me to the saint, | 15 |
| Yet Sense would win me to the shrine. | |
| |
| Where Reason loathes, there Fancy loves, | |
| And overrules the captive will; | |
| Foes senses are to Virtue’s lore, | |
| They draw the wit their wish to fill. | 20 |
| |
| Need craves consent of soul to sense, | |
| Yet divers bents breed civil fray; | |
| Hard hap where halves must disagree, | |
| Or truce of halves the whole betray! | |
| |
| O cruel fight! where fighting friend | 25 |
| With love doth kill a favouring foe, | |
| Where peace with sense is war with God, | |
| And self-delight the seed of woe! | |
| |
| Dame Pleasure’s drugs are steeped in sin, | |
| Their sugared taste doth breed annoy; | 30 |
| O fickle sense! beware her gin, | |
| Sell not thy soul to brittle joy! | |
