Classic Poem

What liquor first the earthen pot doth take,
It keepeth still the sauour of the same.
ffull hard it is a Camocke straight to make,
Or wainscot fyne with crooked logges to frame.
Tis hard to make the cruell Tiger tame.
And so it fares with those haue vices caught:
Naught once (they say) and euer after naught.

this as though it past all cure
ffrom vices vile to vertue to retire:
But this I say, if vice be once in vre,
The more you shall to quite your selfe require,
The more you plunge yo r selfe in fulsome mire,
As he that striues in soakte quicke sirts of sand,
Still sinkes, scarce euer comes againe to land.