 | Wittes Pilgrimage
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[The Tyrant loue, that martyrs stil the Mind]
The Tyrant loue, that martyrs stil the Mind,
VVe make a God, to which our Pens & Tongus
Do sacrifice their Labours, il assign'd;
And so ore-right the Author of our VVrongs:
Then, this Affections floud we ought to turne
Into the Channel of Celestial Loue;
Sith Angels swim stil in that blessed Boorn
(Leauder-like) to Grace by whom they moue!
VVhere Light of truth (the Land-mark) nere goes out,
And stil the Current runs as calm, as cleare:
Where no misfortunes Flawes, Feare needs to doubt:
Sith holy Loues smooth Floud, excludeth Feare:
This Loue alone, (did our Muse rightly sing)
Should be the Plaine-song of hir descanting.
| Wittes Pilgrimage
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