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XIII. |
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What if this present were the worlds last night? * |
Mark in my heart, O soul, where thou dost dwel, |
The Picture of Christ crucifi'd, and tell |
Whether his countenance can thee affright, |
Tears in his eyes quench the amazing light, |
Bloud fils his frowns, which from his pierc'd head fell. |
And can that tongue adjudge thee unto hell, |
Which pray'd forgiveness for his foes fierce spight? |
No, no; but as in my Idolatrie |
I said to all my profane Mistresses, |
Beautie, of pity, foulness only is |
A sign of rigour: so I say to thee, |
To wicked spirits are horrid shapes assign'd, |
This beauteous forme assumes a piteous mind. |
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XIV. |
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Batter my heart, three person'd God; for, you |
As yet but knock, breath, shine, and seek to mend; |
That I may rise, and stand, o'rthrow me,'and bend |
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new. |
I, like an usurpt Town, to another due, |
Labour to admit you, but oh, to no end. |
Reason your Viceroy in me, we should defend, |
But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue, |
Yet dearly' I love you' and would be lov'd fain, |
But am betroth'd unto your enemy, |
Divorce me,'untie, or break that knot again, |
Take me to you, imprison me, for I |
Except you 'enthral me, never shall be free, |
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
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[CW: XV.] |