SOyled in sinnes (O Lorde,) a wretched sinfull Ghoste,
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To thee I call, to thee I sue, that shewest of mercie moste,
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Who can me helpe but thou, in whom all healpe doth rest?
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My sinne is more than man can mends, and that thou knowest best.
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On whom then shall I call, to whom shall I make mone?
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Sith man is mightlesse sinne to cure, I seeke to thee alone.
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In thee I knowe all might and power doth remayne,
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And at thy handes I am well sure, mercie I shall obtaine.
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Thy promisse can not fayle, wherein I me repose:
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To thee alone, (els to no man) my hart wyll sinne disclose.
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The Sinner thou doest save: no Saviour els I finde
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Thou onely satisfied hast for the sinnes of all mankynde.
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The Sacrifice whereof, thou offeredst once for aye:
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Whereby his wrath for Adams gylt, thy father put awaye.
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And by thy death alone, Mankinde restored is,
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There was no meanes mercye for man to get of hym but this.
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Nowe thou hast mercye bought, if man by thee will crave:
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And who that seeketh by other meanes, small mercie might he have.
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Wherefore (O Lorde) on thee, for mercie do I call:
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Let not my sinnes consume me cleane, and I dampned to fall.
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The merites of my workes, were they never so just:
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I here forsake, and them resigne, to suche as in them trust.
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There is no mummynge Masse, can make amendes for me:
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Nor of the Sainctes departed hence, I trust in none but thee.
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No pardon can me purge, but thy pardon alone,
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Nor yet no pillynge Pilgremage, made unto Stocke or Stone.
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No Psalter nor yet Psalmes, saide to thy Creatures:
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No ryng of Belles, no Organe Pypes, nor Song that my soule cures.
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Thy bloud hath bought my soule, and booteth all my bale.
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And not mans workes nor chaunted charmes, devisde in Mammons dale.
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Thou sittest where thou seest, our workes all and some:
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The secrete thoughts of every hart, before thy judgement come.
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Shall I then pleade my workes? thou knowest them bett than I,
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Forget them Lorde, I claime them not, for mercie do I crie.
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Have mercie on me Lorde, forgeve my trespasse wrought,
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And from hence forth graunt me thy grace, to guide me, dede & thought.
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That all my workes maye sounde, due glorye unto thee:
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That Heaven and earth, and all therein, may yeld thee praise for mee.
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For where as ought is done, by man after thy wyll:
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That worke is thyne, and thyne the praise: man can do nought but yll
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For of my selfe I knowe, in me is nought but sinne,
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In Sinne I walckte, in Sinne I suckte: in Sinne I did begin.
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And have I not thy grace, to Sinne againe I shall:
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Without thy grace so weake I am, no choyce for me but fall.
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Shall I than ceace to call, thy grace that I maye have?
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Thy faithfull promisse is to give, to them in faith that crave.
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Of mercy than and grace, my faith doth me assure:
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And by thy death to have at ende, the Joyes that shall endure.
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