Wittes Pilgrimage, Sonnet 18

TO touch on Sylla, yet to scape the same,
And yet be drowned in the Hauens mouth,
Is of all griefes the great'st, and greatest blame
To Fortune, or Discretion, Paines, or Slouth.
But I, that scapt the Gulphe and Rock of Wrack,
(Which in the Ocean of my boundlesse loue
I found to draw me on, and put me back)
Am like, in my Hopes Haun, the like to prooue;
For when I hopt I had Thee as myne owne
(O too too credulous!) am like to those
That loue, by which for mine, thou long wast knowne,
Through winds of misreport, which Enuie bloes:
But, if these bitter blasts thee from me beare,
My Hopes sinke, causelesse, where there was no feare.