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Whose fruite thrue death, On else imortall vs, [f. 58v] |
If leacherous goates, if serpentes envious |
Cannot be damnd; Alas why should I be? |
Why should intent, or reason borne in me |
Make sins, else equall, in me more heynous |
And mercy being easy, and glorious |
To god, in his sterne wrath, why threatens he |
But who am I, that dare dispute wth thee? |
Oh God; oh of thine only worthy blood |
And my teares make a hevenly Letheā flood, |
And drowne in it my Sinns black memory |
That thou remember them, some clayme as debt |
I thinke it mercy, if thou wilt forgett. |
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6. |
Death be not proud, though some have called thee |
Mighty and dreadfull, for thou art not soe |
For those whom thou thinkest thou dost overthrow |
Die not, poore death, nor yett canst thou kill me |
From rest, and sleepe, wch but thy pictures be |
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow, |
And soonest our best men wth thee do goe; |
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie |
Thou art slave to fate, Chance, kings, & desperate men
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[CW: And] |