Poem for October 12, 2031

An evil spirit, your beauty, haunts me still,

Wherewith, alas, I have been long possess'd,

Which ceaseth not to tempt me to each ill,

Nor gives me once but one poor minute's rest.

In me it speaks, whether I sleep or wake;

And when by means to drive it out I try,

With greater torments then it me doth take,

And tortures me in most extremity.

Before my face it lays down my despairs,

And hastes me on unto a sudden death;

Now tempting me to drown myself in tears,

And then in sighing to give up my breath.

Thus am I still provok'd to every evil

By this good-wicked spirit, sweet angel-devil.