Sions Elegies: Threnodia I, Eleg. 14

O! How unsufferable is the waight
Of sinne! How miserable is their state,
The silence of whose secret sinne conceales
The smart, till Iustice to Revenge appeales!
How ponderous are my crimes, whose ample scroul
Weighs downe the pillars of my broken Soule!
Their sowre, masqu'd with sweetnes, overswai'd me
And with their smiling kisses, they betrai'd me,
Betraid me to my Foes, and what is worse,
Betraid me to my selfe, and heavens curse,
Betraid my soule to an eternall griefe,
Devoid of hope, for e're to finde reliefe