The Temple: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations/Dialogue
For works with similar titles, see Dialogue.
¶ Dialogue.
SWeetest Saviour, if my soulWere but worth the having,Quickly should I then controllAny thought of waving.But when all my care and painsCannot give the name of gainsTo thy wretch so full of stains;What delight or hope remains?
What (childe) is the ballance thine,Thine the poise and measure?If I say, Thou shalt be mine,Finger not my treasure.What the gains in having theeDo amount to, onely he,Who for man was sold, can see,That transferr'd th'accounts to me.
But as I can see no merit,Leading to this favour;So the way to fit me for it,Is beyond my savour.As the reason then is thine;So the way is none of mine:I disclaim the whole designe:Sinne disclaims and I resigne.
That is all, if that I couldGet without repining;And my clay my creature wouldFollow my resigning.That as I did freely partWith my glorie and desert,Left all joyes to feel all smart———Ah! no more: thou break'st my heart.