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Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie |
Thou art slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, |
And doth with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell. |
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well, |
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then? |
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally, |
And death shall be no more, death thou shalt die. |
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VII. |
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Spit in my face you Jewes, and pierce my side, |
Buffet, and scoffe, scourge, and crucifie mee, |
For I have sinn'd, and sinn'd, and onely hee, |
Who could do no iniquitie, hath dyed: |
But by my death can not be satisfied |
My sinnes, which passe the Jewes impiety: |
They kill'd once an inglorious man, but I |
Crucifie him daily, being now glorified; |
Oh let mee then, his strange love still admire: |
Kings pardon, but he bore our punishment. |
And Iacob came cloth'd in vile harsh attire |
But to supplant, and with gainfull intent |
God cloth'd himselfe in vile mans flesh, that so |
Hee might be weake enough to suffer woe.
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[CW: VIII.] |