Wittes Pilgrimage, Sonnet 67

WHere shall I hide me from Loues Pow'r? ô where?
If to th'Antipodes from him I fly
Hee Pricks his Flights at me, and hitts me there:
If neere at hand, his Torche my Flesh doth fry.
In Earth, his Shafts haue all fubdu'd to Him;
The Sea's his Mothers Contrie; and beside
He naked is, and so can faster swymme:
And, through the Aire, he on his Wings doth glide.
If to the Fire I flie, its to himselfe:
Then, Heau'n, and Hell, (if Poetts fable not)
Haue felt the great force of the little Ele:
Thus, all, in all, are subiect to his Shot:
Then sith no where I can be safe from these,
Ile hide me no where: That is, in mine ease.