Sonnet. 20 (Sonnet 20)

AN euill spirit your beautie haunts me still,
Wherewith (alas) I haue beene long possest,
Which ceaseth not to tempt me vnto ill,
Nor giues me once but one poore minutes rest:
In me it speakes whether I sleepe or wake,
And when by meanes to driue it out I trie,
With greater torments then it me doth take,
And tortures me in most extreamitie,
Before my face, it laies all my dispaires,
And hastes me on vnto a suddaine death;
Now tempting me to drowne my selfe in teares,
And then in sighing to giue vp my breath;
Thus am I still prouokde to euery euill,
By this good wicked spirit, sweete Angell diuell.