Philosophers have measured mountains, Fathom’d the depths of seas, of states, and kings, Walk’d with a staff to heaven, and traced fountains But there are two vast, spacious things, The which to measure it doth more behove: Yet few there are that sound them; Sin and Love. Who would know Sin, let him repair Unto Mount Olivet; there shall he see A man, so wrung with pains, that all his hair, His skin, his garments, bloody be. Sin is that Press and Vice, which forceth pain To hunt his cruel food through every vein. Who knows not Love, let him assay, And taste that juice,Read More →