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Holy Sonnets. 1.|
Thou hast made me, & shall thy worke decay? [f. 33]
Repaire me now, for now myne end do'th hast.
I run to death, & death meets me as fast,
And all my pleasures are like yesterday.
I dare not moue my dimme eyes any way.
Dispaire behind, & death before doth cast
Such terror, & my febled fleshe doth wast
By Sin in it, wch towards hell doth weigh.
Only thou art above; & when towards thee
By thy leaue I can looke, I rise agayne.
But or old subtile foe so tempteth mee
That not one hower I can my selfe sustayne.
Thy grace may winge me, to preuent his art
And thou like Adamant, draw myne Iron hart.
.2.
As due by many titles I resigne
My selfe to thee (O God) first I was made
By thee, & for thee, & when I was decayde
Thy blood bought that, the wch before was thyne.
I ame thy Sonne made wt thy selfe to shyne.
Thy Servant, whose paines thou hast still repayde.
Thy Sheepe, thyne Image; & (till I betrayde
My selfe) a Temple of thy Spirit divine.
Why dothe the deuill then vsurpe in mee?
Why doth he steale, nay ravish that's thy right?
Except thou rise, & for thyne owne worke fight
O I shall soone dispayre, when I do see
That thou lov'st Mankind well, yet wilt not chose me,
And Satan hates me yet is loth to loose mee.