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| Satyre III. |
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| Kinde pitty chokes my spleene; brave scorn forbids |
| Those teares to issue which swell my eye-lids, |
| I must not laugh, nor weepe sinnes, and be wise, |
| Can railing then cure these worne maladies? |
| Is not our Mistresse faire Religion, |
| As worthy of all our Soules devotion, |
| As vertue was in the first blinded age? |
| Are not heavens joyes as valiant to asswage |
| Lusts, as earths honour was to them? Alas, |
| As wee do them in meanes, shall they surpasse |
| Us in the end, and shall thy fathers spirit |
| Meete blinde Philosophers in heaven, whose merit |
| Of strict life may be imputed faith, and heare |
| Thee, whom hee taught so easie wayes and neare |
| To follow, damn'd? O if thou dar'st, feare this. |
| This feare great courage, and high valour is; |
| Dar'st thou ayd mutinous Dutch, and dar'st thou lay |
| Thee in ships woodden Sepulchers, a prey |
| To leaders rage, to stormes, to shot, to dearth? |
| Dar'st thou dive seas, and dungeons of the earth? |
| Hast thou couragious fire to thaw the ice |
| Of frozen North discoueries, and thrise |
| Colder then Salamanders? like divine |
| Children in th'oven, fires of Spaine, and the line, |
| Whose countries limbecks to our bodies bee, |
| Canst thou for gaine beare? and must every hee
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[CW: Which] |