Cyriack, this three years day these eys, though clear

Cyriack, this three years day these eys, though clear To outward view, of blemish or of spot; Bereft of light, thir seeing have forgot, Nor to thir idle orbs doth sight appear Of Sun or Moon or Starre throughout the year, Or man or woman. Yet I argue not Against heavns hand or will, nor bate a jot Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask? The conscience, Friend, to have lost them overply'd In libertyes defence, my noble task, Of which all Europe talks from side to side. This thought might lead me through the worlds vain mask Content though blind, had I no better guide.