Book III, 61: On Mans Love

When think we, Lord: on thee! & when we doe,
How feeble are our thoughts, & sinfull too!
How basely doe our crooked Soules engage
Themselves to heav'n? We make thy Glory, Page
To our Salvation: Mans more servile heart
Loves what he'd have thee, Lord, not what thou art:
This is the very best of Man; wherein
W'are apt to think we merit more, then Sin.
But there's a baser Love: Our chiefe respects
Have meere relation to our owne Defects,
Like Dogs we fawne upon our Masters Lapps,
With dirty feet, and only love for Scrapps.
But there's a baser yet: We love for feare,
Finding, like Kain, more then we can beare,
And, were it not for shame, our hearts would be
As warme to Sathan, as, great God, to Thee:
But there's a baser yet: And baser none:
We love thee, to be lov'd of man alone:
We force a Zeale; usurpe the name of Pure;
That we may sin more closely, more secure,
We love thee onely to abuse thee, just
As Whores love Husbands, but to cloke their lust:
How art thou martyr'd in our lustfull Fyres!
How made a Stale to catch our wilde desires!
Lord, I will love as farre as lyes in me,
Thee for thy selfe, and all things else in Thee: