I blinded, thee more blind should choose my guide!
How would’st thou then my muddied mind deceive
With fading shows, that in my errour vile,
Base lust; I love should tearm, vice, virtue stile.
How should my wicked rymes then idolize
Thy wretched power, and with impious wit
Impute thy base born passions to the skies
And my souls sicknesse count an heavenly fit,
My weaknesse strength, my wisdome to be caught
My bane my blisse, mine ease to be o’rewraught.