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Reward my muses, whight sincerity [f. 55]
But what thy thorny crowne gained, yt give me,
A Crowne of glorie wch doth flower alwaies,
The ends crowne our works, but thou crownst or ends;
For at our end beginnes our endless rest
The first last end, now zealousy possest,
Wth a strong sober thirst my soule attends,
Tis tyme yt hart and voice be lifted high
Salvatōn to all that will is nigh.|
2
Salvatōn to all y.t will is nighe
That all, wch alwaies is all every where
Wch cannott sin, and yett all sins must beare,
Wch cannott dye, yett cannott chuse but die;
Loe faithful virgin yeilds himself to lye
In prison, in thy tombe, and though he there
Can take no sinne, nor thou give, yett he will weare
Taken from thence, flesh wch deaths force may try
Ere by the spheares tyme was created, thou
Wast in his mind, who is thy sonn, and brother
Whom thou conceivest, Conceivd, yea thou art now
Thy makers maker, and thy fathers mother
Thou hast light in darke, and shuttst in little roome
Immensity cloystered in thy deare wombe.|

[CW: 3d]