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Bright torch, wch shinest, that I the way may see, [f. 57] |
Oh wth thy owne blood quench thy owne just wrath, |
And if thy holie spirritt my muse did raise |
Deigne at my hands this crowne of prayer & praise.| |
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Sonnett |
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1 |
As due by many tithes, I resigne |
My self to thee; O god, first I was made |
By thee, and for thee, and when I was decayed |
Thy blood bought yt, the wch before was thine |
I am thy sonne, made wth thy self to shine; |
Thy servaunt whose paines thou hast still repaid |
Thy sheepe, thyne Image, and till I betraid |
My self A temple of thy spiritt devine |
Why doth the devill then vsurpe on me? |
Why doth he steale, nay ravish that'es thy right? |
Except thou rise, and for thine owne workes fight |
Oh I shall soone despaire, when I doe see |
That thou lovest mankinde well, yet wilt not chuse me |
And Satan hates me yett is loth to loose mee.| |
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2 |
Oh my black soule, now thou art sommoned
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[CW: By] |