Lewd Love Is Loss
Misdeeming eye! that stoopest to the lure
Of mortall worthes, not worth so worthy love;
All beautye's base, all graces are impure,
That do thy erring thoughtes from God remove.
Sparkes to the fire, the beames yeld to the sunne,
All grace to God, from Whome all graces runne.
If picture move, more should the paterne please;
No shadow can with shadowed thinge compare,
And fayrest shapes, whereon our loves do ceaze,
But sely signes of God's high beautyes are.
Go, sterving sense, feede thou on earthly maste;
Of mortall worthes, not worth so worthy love;
All beautye's base, all graces are impure,
That do thy erring thoughtes from God remove.
Sparkes to the fire, the beames yeld to the sunne,
All grace to God, from Whome all graces runne.
If picture move, more should the paterne please;
No shadow can with shadowed thinge compare,
And fayrest shapes, whereon our loves do ceaze,
But sely signes of God's high beautyes are.
Go, sterving sense, feede thou on earthly maste;
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