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But, oh! when she that bare thee, babe, comes to my mind, Then do I stand as drunk with bitterest woe,

To think that she, whose worth were such to all, should find
Such usage hard, and I to cause the blow,

Of her, such sufferance, that doth pierce my heart,
And gives full grief to every other part.

Hence comes the cause, that each tear striveth to be first,
As if I meant to stint them of their course.

No salted meats: that done, you know my heart would burst
With violent assaults of
your great force.

But when I stay you, 'tis for that I fear,

Your gushing so will leave me ne'er a tear.

But, ah! this doubt, Grief says, I never need to fear,
For she will undertake t' afford me store;

Who, in all her knowledge, never cause of woe did hear
That gall'd her deeper, or gave witness more

Of earth's hard usage, that does punish those
That guiltless be, with Fortune's cruellest blows.

Though further cause of more than utterable grief,
As others loss, I could dilate at large,

Which I am cause of, yet her suffering being chief
Of all their woes that sail in this deep barge
Of sorrow's sea; I cannot but reflect

Hereon more deeply, and with more respect.

On which dear object when I look with grieved mind,
Such store of pities see I plead her case,

As hardest heart cause of compassion there would find,
To hear what could be said before that face,

Which I have wrong'd in causing so to weep,
The grief whereof constrains my pen to sleep.

JESUS MARIA.

WHO's that which knocks? Oh, stay, my Lord, I come:
I know that call, since first it made me know
Myself, which makes me now with joy to run,
Lest he be gone that can my duty show.

Jesu, my Lord, I know thee by the Cross
Thou offer'st me, but not unto my loss.

Come in, my Lord, whose presence most I crave,
And show thy will unto my longing mind.
From punishments of sin thy servants save,
Though he hath been to thy deserts unkind.

Jesu, forgive, and strengthen so my mind,
That rooted virtues thou in me may'st find.

Stay still, my Lord, else will they fade away,
As marigold that mourns for absent sun;
Thou know'st thou plantest in a barren clay,
That chokes in winter all that up is come.

I do not fear thy summer's wished heat,
My tears shall water where thy shine doth threat.

PETTER, DUFF, AND CO., CRANE COURT, FLEET STREET.

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