V. Barnaby Barnes

WHERE shall I, vexde, my sinfull head repose?

If that in errour and conceived vice,

Which with deceitful blandishments intice

My feeble nature, mortified with sinne;

Then Hope shall gates of my salvation close

Against my soule, and my despaire beginne:

If that in open sight, then open shame

The scarlet of my conscience will disclose,

And sound the shameful trumpet of my fame:

Where shall I then my vexed soul dispose?

If not in blind obscuritie nor light,

Then there, even there, in penitence with those

Which weepe downe teares of comfort, to delight

Their soule enlarged from eternall night.