HE that has taught ten thousand tongues to speake
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That horrid sinne, that his sad heart doth breake,
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Now scarce can speake himselfe; for Woe denyes
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A begging Voyce, and gives me begging Eyes.
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Me thinkes the Shaddow of this reall thing
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That wretched Mee into this World did bring,
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Stands poynting now, (my guilty Soule to shake)
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To thbloudy wound, this bloudy hand did make,
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That wounds a Mouth; her dead dry bloud, a Tongue,
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That sayes, 'mongst all, the most-forsaken throng,
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That have their lives branded with bloud and shame,
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I stand the formost; have the foulest name.
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Mee thinkes, I heare her tell mee, those pale Hands
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Have gently lapt mee in my swathing bands;
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Have dandled mee; and, when I learn'd to goe,
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Have propt mee, weake, till I too-strong did grow.
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Me thinkes I see Her poynt upon her brest,
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And tell me, there, I have bin us'd to feast;
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Thence oft have fetcht my living; from her bloud,
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By Heav'n converted to my wholesome food.
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And last, me thinkes, Shee poynts upon that place,
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Where all my parts had their due forme and grace,
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With these sad words; Behold th'unhappy wombe,
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Which I could wish, Heaven once had made thy Tombe.
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A heavy wish; yet such a wish indeed,
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As I myselfe now, (with a Heart doth bleed)
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Could sadly breathe; 'cause that untimely birth
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Brought not a Man, but Monster to the Earth.
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From that deepe Dungeon, where, in bands I lye,
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And from a depth, more deepe, I call and cry:
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The depth of anguish; which thy sight most pure;
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Can onely looke on; and thy mercies, cure.
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O cure my soule; 'tis that great worke, I know,
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For which (so High) thou didst descend so low:
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Then, great Phisician, Helpe mee; Heale my wound;
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Great Shepheard, Seeke mee; Let my Soule be found.
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That heavenly invitation, made to those,
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Whose many sinnes, load them with many woes,
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Is made to mee: For onely sinne doth grive mee,
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And not my death; Then (blessed Lord) relieve mee.
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Lord, let my teares be, to my leprous sinne
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As Jordan was, to Naamans leprous skinne;
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And wash it cleane: But, o! so great a good
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Ne'r came by Water, 'tis a worke of Bloud.
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A worke of Bloud: the bloud of that pure Lambe,
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That to purge sinne, and save poore sinners came;
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That precious Bloud: O Lord, that Bloud of thine,
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Apply to mee, to purge this bloud of mine.
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So, as of GOD I begge, I begge of Men,
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Their zealous prayers t'assist mee: And agen,
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To quit that Goodnesse, this Reward I'le give,
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I'le pray, my Death may teach all them to Live.
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