How courtesy would seem to cover sin,
When what is done is like an hypocrite,
The which is good in nothing but in sight!
If it be true that I interpret false,
Then were it certain you were not so bad
As with foul incest to abuse your soul;
Where now you’re both a father and a son
By your uncomely claspings with your child
(Which pleasures fits a husband, not a father),
And she an eater of her mother’s flesh
By the defiling of her parent’s bed;
And both like serpents are, who though they feed
On sweetest flowers, yet they poison breed.
Antioch, farewell, for wisdom sees those men
Blush not in actions blacker than the night
Will ’schew no course to keep them from the light.
One sin, I know, another doth provoke:
Murder’s as near to lust as flame to smoke;
Poison and treason are the hands of sin,
Ay, and the targets to put off the shame;
Then lest my life be cropp’d to keep you clear,
By flight I’ll shun the danger which I fear.