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Sonnet 11 by Thomas Lodge
My frail and earthly bark, by reason's guide,
Which holds the helm, whilst will doth wield the sail,
By my desires, the winds of bad betide,
Hath sailed these wordly seas with small avail,
Vain objects serve for dreadful rocks to quial
My brittle boat from haven of life that flies
To haunt the sea of mundane miseries.
My soul that draws impressions from above
And views my course, and sees the winds aspire,
Bids reason watch to 'scape the shoals of love;
But lawless will enflamed with endless ire
Doth steer empoop, whilst reason doth retire.
The streams increase; love's waves my bark do fill;
Thus are they wracked that guide their course by will.
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