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My self, a temple of thy spirit divine; *
Why doth the devil then usurp on me?
Why doth he steal, nay ravish that's thy right?
Except thou rise, and for thine own work fight,
Oh I shall soon despair, when I shall see
That thou lov'st mankind well, yet wilt not choose me,
And Satan hates me, yet is loth to lose me.
III.
O Might those sighs and tears return again
Into my breast and eyes, which I have spent,
That I might in this holy discontent
Mourn with some fruit, as I have mourn'd in vain;
In mine Idolatry what showrs of rain
Mine eyes did waste? what griefs my heart did rent?
That sufferance was my sin I now repent,
'Cause I did suffer I must suffer pain.
Th'hydroptick drunkard, and night-scouting thief,
The itchy Lecher, and self-tickling proud
Have the remembrance of past joyes, for relief
Of coming ills. To (poor) me is allow'd
No ease, for long, yet vehement grief hath been
Th'effect and cause, the punishment and sin.
IV.
Oh my black Soul now thou art summoned
By sickness, deaths herald and champion;
Thou art like a pilgrim, which abroad hath done
Treason, and durst not turn to whence he is fled,
Or like a thief, which till deaths doom be read,
Wisheth himself delivered from prison;
But damn'd and hal'd to execution,
Wisheth that still he might be imprisoned;
Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lack;

[CW: But]