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But who shall give thee that grace to begin? * |
Oh make thy self with holy mourning black, |
And red with blushing as thou art with sin; |
Or wash thee in Christs bloud, which hath this might |
That being red, it dies red souls to white. |
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V. |
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I am a little world made cunningly |
Of Elements, and an Angelike spright, |
But black sin hath betraid to endless night |
My worlds both parts, and (oh) both parts must die. |
You which beyond that heaven which was most high, |
Have found new sphears, and of new land can write, |
Pour new seas in mine eyes, that so he might |
Drown my world with my weeping earnestly, |
Or wash it if it must be drown'd no more: |
But oh it must be burnt, alas the fire |
Of lust and envy burnt it heretofore, |
And made it fouler, Let their flames retire, |
And burn me oh Lord, with a fierie zeal |
Of thee and thy house, which doth in eating heale. |
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VI. |
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This is my playes last scene, here heavens appoint |
My pilgrimages last mile; and my race |
Idly, yet quickly run, hath this last pace, |
My spans last inch, my minutes latest point, |
And gluttonous death will instantly unjoynt |
My body and soul, and I shall sleep a space, |
But my ever-waking part shall see that face, |
Whose fear already shakes my every joynt: |
Then, as my soul, to heaven her first seat, takes flight, |
And earth-born body in the earth shall dwell,
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[CW: So] |