Perfects her lesson of confusion.
Sick soul! what cure shall I for thee devise,
Whose leprous state corrupts all remedies?
What medicine or what cordial can be got
For thee, who poison'st thy best antidote?
Repentance is thy bane, since thou by it
Only reviv'st the fault thou didst commit.
Nor griev'st thou for the past, but art in pain,
30For fear thou mayst not act it o'er again.
So that thy tears, like water spilt on lime,