Священные сонеты

O might those sighs and tears return again

Into my breast and eyes, which I have spent,

That I might in this holy discontent

Mourn with some fruit, as I have mourned in vain;

In mine Idolatry what showers of rain

Mine eyes did waste! what griefs my heart did rent!

That sufferance was my sin; now I repent;

‘Cause I did suffer I must suffer pain.

Th’ hydropic drunkard, and night-scouting thief,

The itchy lecher, and self-tickling proud

Have the remembrance of past joys for relief

Of comming ills. To (poor) me is allowed

No ease; for long, yet vehement grief hath been

Th’ effect and cause, the punishment and sin.