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III. |
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O might those sighes and teares returne againe |
Into my breast and eyes, which I have spent, |
That I might in this holy discontent |
Mourne with some fruit, as I have mourn'd in vaine; |
In mine Idolatry what showres of raine |
Mine eyes did waste? what griefs my heart did rent? |
That sufferance was my sinne I now repent, |
'Cause I did suffer I must suffer paine. |
Th'hydroptique drunkard, & night-scouting thiefe, |
The itchy Lecher, and selfe tickling proud |
Have the remembrance of past joyes, for reliefe |
Of comming ills. To (poore) me is allow'd |
No ease; for, long, yet vehement griefe hath beene |
Th'effect and cause, the punishment and sinne. |
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IV. |
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Oh my black Soule now thou art summoned |
By sicknesse, deaths herald and champion; |
Thou art like a pilgrim, which abroad hath done |
Treason, and durst not turne to whence he is fled, |
Or like a thiefe, which till deaths doome be read, |
Wisheth himselfe delivered from prison;
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[CW: But] |