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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.| |
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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.|
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[CW: 3d] |