|
| Which could not stick to thee, |
| O let it not returne to us againe, |
| But Patient and Physitian being free, |
| As sinne is nothing, let it no where be. |
|
| Vpon the trāslation of the Psalmes by Sir Phi- |
| lip Sydney, and the Countesse of Pembroke |
| his Sister. |
|
| Eternall God, (for whom who ever dare |
| Seeke new expressions, doe the Circle square, |
| And thrust into strait corners of poore wit |
| Thee, who art cornerlesse and infinite) |
| I would but blesse thy Name, not name thee now; |
| (And thy gifts are as infinite as thou:) |
| Fixe we our prayses therefore on this one, |
| That, as thy blessed Spirit fell upon |
| These Psalmes first Author in a cloven tongue; |
| (For 'twas a double power by which he sung |
| The highest matter in the noblest forme;) |
| So thou hast cleft that spirit, to performe |
| That worke againe, and shed it, here, upon |
| Two, by their bloods, and by thy Spirit one; |
| A Brother and a Sister, made by thee |
| The Organ, where thou art the Harmony. |
| Two that make one Iohn Baptists holy voyce, |
| And who that Psalme, Now let the Iles rejoyce, |
| Have both translated, and apply'd it too, |
| Both told us what, and taught us how to doe. |
| They shew us Ilanders our joy, our King, |
| They tell us why, and teach us how to sing.
|
[CW: Make] |