Margaret Dicksons penetential Confession,
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WHat former Friend may ease my trou-
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bled Thought
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When Mid-night Darkness comprehends me
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round,
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And I'm before the dread Tribunal brought,
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Call'd by the last and awful Trumpet's
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Sound.
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My former Crimes I to my Mind now
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call,
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And all the gross Trespasses think upon
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Where I've an Actor been; no Wretch alive
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Deserves more certain and more sure a
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Doom.
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The whole Creation was ordain'd by God,
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The Wonders of his Truth to magnify,
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But he'll them chasten with his awful Rod,
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When they slight Grace that's set before
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their Eye.
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My younger Days I lavished away
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In Frailties that's too common unto Youth,
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And to each Sin I made my self a Prey,
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By which my Vices were in every Mouth.
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But yet that awful God, whose Frown can
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make
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The Vassal Globe of his Creation shake,
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Did mark my Steps, brandished my Sin
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Of Murder, and I was caught therein.
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Before the Justice Seat soon was I born,
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Where lives no Fraud, nor Witness are
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subborn,
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Who found me guilty of that barbarous
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Crime,
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And did, by Law, end this wretched Life
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of mine.
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But God, whose Mercy does so far extend,
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That from one Pole to th'other it doth not
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end,
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Did me preserve, as an Example high
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Of divine Omnipotence, which humane
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Sight can't spy.
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So I'm absolved from Men's servile Laws,
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Who dive into th' Effects, but not the Cause.
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A Life of Sanctity I purpos'd hence to lead,
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But nat'ral Corruptions did almighty Graco
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exceed.
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Had it but pleas'd my Great, Almighty
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Maker,
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To take my Soul when finish'd was the
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Creature,
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Into his High, Celestial Courts above,
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Then I'd been blest with his Almighty Love;
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At his Tribunal then could I appear
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With joyful Face, nor sh[e]d a sinful Tear:
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My Life, I hope, shou'd ended been in Glory,
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And not relaps'd to a more fatal Story,
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But all of new my Crimes I do repeat,
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Nor thinks upon the Terrors of my Fate.
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O thou, my God, my Soul do thou enligh[t]en,
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That so my Faith, by Christ, I soon may
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heighten.
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'Tis not the painful Agonies of Death,
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Nor all the gloomy Horrors of the Grave,
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Were these the worst, unmov'd I'd yeild
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my Breath,
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And, with a Smile, the King of Terrors
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brave.
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But there's an After-day, 'tis that I fear,
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Ah, who shall hide me from that angry Brow,
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Already I the dreadful Accents hear,
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Depart from me, and that forever too.
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