Classic Poem

The Sunne hath no long journey now to goe
While I a progresse have in my desires,
Disasters dead-low-water-like do show
The sand, that overlook'd my hop'd-for hyres.

Thus I remaine like one that's laid in Briers,
Where turning brings new paine and certaine woe,
Like one, once burn'd bids me avoid the fires,
But love (true fire) will not let me be slow.

Obedience, feare, and love doe all conspire
A worth-lesse conquest gain'd to ruine me,
Who did but feele the height of blest desire
When danger, doubt, and losse, I straight did see.
Restlesse I live, consulting what to doe,
And more I study, more I still undoe.