|
| .15. |
| What yf this present were ye worlds last night? [f. 36v] |
| Looke in my Hart, O Soule, where thou dost dwell |
| The picture of Christ crucifyde and tell |
| Whether yt countenance can thee affright? |
| Teares in his eyes quench the amazing Light |
| Blood fills his frowns wch frō his pierc'd head fell. |
| And can yt toung adiudge thee vnto hell |
| Wch prayed forgiuenes for his foes ranck spight? |
| No, No; but as in myne idolatree |
| I sayd to all my prophane Mistressis |
| Bewty of pity, foulnes only is |
| A Signe of rigor; So I say to thee |
| To wicked Sprights are horrid Shapes assignd, |
| This bewteous forme assures a piteous mind. |
|
| .16. |
| Batter my hart, three-persond God, for you |
| As yet but knock, breathe, shine, & seeke to mend; |
| That I may rise, & stand, orethrow me; and bend |
| Your force to breake, blow, burne, & make me new. |
| I like an vsurp'd towne to'another dew |
| Labor to'admit you, but Oh to no end. |
| Reason your viceroy in me, me should defend, |
| But is captiv'd and proves weake or vntrew. |
| Yet dearly Ilove you, & wouldbe loved faine: |
| But ame betroth'd vnto your enemy: |
| Diuorce me, vnty or breake yt knott agayne, |
| Take me to you, emprison me, for I |
| Except you enthrall me neuer shalbe free, |
| Nor euer chast except you rauishe mee. |