Contention, Like A Horse, Full

My Hands Are Of Your Color, But I Shame To Wear A Heart So White.

Teach Not Thy Lip Such Scorn, For It Was Made For Kissing, Lady, Not For Such Contempt.

Her Virtues, Graced With External Gifts, Do Breed Love's Settled Passions In My Heart; And Like As Rigour Of Tempestuous Gusts Provokes The Mightiest Hulk Against The Tide, So Am I Driven By Breath Of Her Renown Either To Suffer Shipwreck Or Arrive Where I May Have Fruition Of Her Love.

But As The Unthought-on Accident Is Guilty To What We Wildly Do, So We Profess Ourselves To Be The Slaves Of Chance, And Flies Of Every Wind That Blows.

God Shall Be My Hope, My Stay, My Guide And Lantern To My Feet.