Sonnets: Idea XX

An evil spirit, your beauty, haunts me still, Wherewith, alas, I have been long possessed! Which ceaseth not to tempt me to each ill, Nor give 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 provoked to every evil, By this good wicked spirit, sweet angel-devil.