Classic Poem

Full 7. times foure of yeeres my life hath runne,
Whil'st to my selfe a heavy Burthen sore,
To others I a gainelesse charge become,
Soyled with beastly Thoughts uncleanly gore:
 Whil'st in true Light being blind I farther goe
 From Reasons path which Judgement did me show.

Slow to good works, but too too swift to ill,
My Soule abroad with flitting wings doth flie,
And in the worlds darke bottom of Selfe will ,
Mongst 1000. Snares she carelesly doth lie.
 Where sensuall Sense and Ignorance astray
 Her doubtfull leades, quight out of her right way.

Too obstinate she headlong forward runnes,
In greatest Light she tumbleth in most darke,
Nor takes she thought what of her selfe becomes,
Be it right or wrong her course she doth not marke:
 So that although Immortall she should live,
 Most mortall Death she seekes her selfe to give.

But now thanks to the Soveraigne King of all,
She (no more blinde) the dangers gins to spie,
And looking backe unto her former fall,
She doth repent through faith most heartily:
 Where she doth see of Heaven the narrow Gate,
 Which (once) was shut, now ope for her escape.