How tired the Recording Angel must begin To be of setting down the same old sin, The same old folly, year out and year in, Since I knew how to err, against my name! It makes me sick at heart and sore with shame To think of that monotony of blame For thins I fancied once that I should be Quits with in doing; but at last I see All that I did became a part of me, And cannot be put from me, but must still Remain a potent will within my will, Holding me debtor, while I live, to ill. |