When I the sense of better things have lost
And chang’d my heavenly heat for hellish fire,
Passion is blind, but virtues piercing eye
Approching danger can from farre espie.
And what thou dost Pedantickly object
Concerning my rude rugged uncouth style,
As childish toy I manfully neglect,
And at thy hidden snares do inly smile.
How ill alas! with wisdome it accords
To sell my living sense for livelesse words.