As they that in the state of nature dy
Passe but from misery to misery.
Consider this my soule, yet not despaire,
To comfort thee again let this suffice,
There is a Well of grace, whereto repaire,
First wash away thy foul enormities
With teares proceeding from a contrite heart,
With thy beloved sins thou must depart.
Inordinate affections, and thy Will,
And carnall wisdom, must thou mortify,