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What if this present were the worlds last night? [32] |
Marke in my Heart ô Soule where thou dost dwell |
The picture of Christ crucifyd, and tell |
Whether that Countenance can thee affright. |
Teares in his eyes quench the amazing light |
Bloud fills his frownes* wch from his pierc'd head fell |
And can that tongue adiudge thee vnto hell |
W.ch prayd forgiuenesse for his foes fierce spight? |
No, no, but as in my Idolatry |
I sayd to all my prophane mistresses |
Beauty of pitty, foulenesse onely is |
A signe of rigour; So I say to thee |
To wicked sprights are horrid shapes assignd |
This beauteous forme assures a pitteous mind. |
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Batter my Heart, Three-persond God, for you |
As yet but knocke breath shine and seeke to mend |
That I may rise and stand, or'e throw mee, and bend |
Your force to breake blow burne, and make mee new |
I, like an vsurpd towne to another due |
Labour to admitt you, but o to no end |
Reason yor viceroy in mee mee should defend |
But is captiu'd and proues weake or vntrue |
Yet dearely I loue you, and would bee loued fayne |
But am betrothd vnto yor enemy |
Diuorce mee, vntye, or breake that knott agayne |
Take mee to you, emprison mee, for I |
Except you enthrall mee never shall bee free |
Nor ever chast except you rauish mee.|
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[CW: In what] |