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SONNET XVII.
There are, whose pearl of price is richly set
In mountings choice of intellectual gold,
And polish'd high by graces manifold;
Some such have I in life's brief journey met,
Whom, once beheld, I never can forget;
But thou wast fashion'd in a coarser mould;
And nature, by religion uncontroll'd
For many a year, will needs be nature yet.
But though I deem thy soul's full beauty marr'd,
Its stature dwarf'd, by much infirmity,
I honour thy strong faith, still struggling hard
With sin and Satan for the mastery;
Nor deem I that Heaven's gates can e'er be barr'd
To one who pants and toils for it like thee.
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