 | A Divine Centvrie of Spirituall Sonnets |  |
Sonnet. LXXXVI.
[That loathsome spirite of vayne stinking pride]
That loathsome spirite of vayne stinking pride,Which (with contempt and detestable scorne)
Begets all sinnes to condemnation borne:
That selfe consuming Enuie, that foule bride
Of filthie lust that gulfe still gaping wide
For treasures numberlesse: that poignant thorne
Of wraths fel passion, furious and forlorne:
That sincke of gluttony: that slothfull guide
Which to destruction and all sickenesse brings:
None of these mortall vices which abounde
In sinfull creatures, but in sorrowe stings
The troubled carkase with a curelesse wounde:
And none of these but doth the soule dismay
With restlesse guilt, and it to death betray.
| A Divine Centvrie of Spirituall Sonnets | |