Weekly Contest
Classic poem of the day
I.
Launch forth, my soule, into a maine of teares,
Full fraught with griefe, the trafficke of thy mind;
Torn sailes will serue, thoughts rent with guilty feares:
Giue Care the sterne, vse sighs in lieu of wind:
Remorse, thy pilot; thy misdeede thy card;
Torment thy hauen, shipwrack thy best reward.
II.
Shun not the shelfe of most deserued shame;
Sticke in the sands of agonizing dread;
Content thee to be stormes' and billowes' game;
Diuorct from grace, thy soule to pennance wed;
Fly not from forraine euils, fly from thy hart;
Worse then the worst of euils is that thou art.
III....
