Classic Poem

In th' Act of sinne the guilt of Conscience
Doth spoile our sport, sith our Soules (fainting) bleed:
For, that Worme feeds vpon our inward sense,
More than sinnes Manna outward sense doth feed.

But he on whom Gods glorious face doth shine,
The more his Griefes, the more his Ioyes abound:
For, who are drunke with diuine Pleasures Wine,
Can feel no Torments which the senses wound.

Then, 'ts a Torment nere to be tormented
In Vertues cause; nor, for Sinnes fowle default:
And, no worse Tempting, than nere to be tempted;
For, we must peace attaine by Sinnes assault:
Then blessèd is the Crosse that brings the Crowne
And glorious is the Shame that gaines Renowne.