Classic Poem

Vile Flesh , why dost thou so my Spirit impugne,
That still the Sonne of Righteousnesse I wrong
who di'd to make you liue?
No Moment breathe I, but I breathe out Sinne
That ends with shame , where Sorrow doth beginne ,
which makes me glad to grieue .

In thee fraile Flesh , I feele my bloud to boyle
With heate of such desires as make the Soile
but Sinne , in graine to beare
My Spirits (that in that Bloud doe swim with paine,
Yet floate they, sith false pleasures them sustaine)
are neere the wracke I feare.

I feare the Rocke of refuge to the Iust
For, how, in Truth , should Treason put her trust?
Then, truthlesse Traitor , I
May iustly feare, that Grace , in Iustice , will
My gracelesse Soule , for Fleshes Treasons, spill,
which makes me (liuing) dye.

I liuing dye, not as one mortifide
To sinne ; wherein, as dead, aliue, I bide;
The more my griefe and blame :
I faine would dye to liue; but, Flesh doth draw,
My Lift to Death , sith I obserue the Law
of Sinne , which is my shame .

O thou, whom Iacob wrastled with a space,
Strengthen my Faith to wrastle with thy Grace ,
that it may let me goe
(Although it lame my Loynes , and crack my Thighes ,
Wherein strong Sinne still domineering lyes)
into thy Weale through Woe .