XIII.
Those mercyes which Thy Mary found,
Or who Thy crosse confes't and crown'd;
Hope tells my heart, the same loues be
Still aliue, and still for me.
XIV.
Though both my prayres and teares combine,
Both worthlesse are; for they are mine.
But Thou Thy bounteous Self still be;
And show Thou art, by sauing me.
XV.
O when Thy last frown shall proclaim
The flocks of goates to folds of flame,
And all Thy lost sheep found shall be;
Let 'Come ye blessed,' then call me.
XVI.
When the dread 'Ite' shall diuide
Those limbs of death, from Thy left side;
Let those life-speaking lipps command
That I inheritt Thy right hand.
XVII.
O hear a suppliant heart, all crush't
And crumbled into contrite dust.
My hope, my fear! my Iudge, my Freind!
Take charge of me, and of my end.