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  In powring precious oyle on thyne,
That thou shouldst showre more precious blood on myne?

  Is this the peace thou gav'st my hart?
  Is this the victory I winne,
  For cheusing thee, the better part?
  Is this the pardoning my sin?
  Did my eyes wash thy feet t' intice
Thy bleeding feet to wash my blood-shott eyes?

  Oh take thy blood and pardon back:
  Restore the teares and sinnes I lost:
  To me hell's dearer for thy sake,
  Then heaven at so deare a cost:
  Though my sight ran astray, is't meet
My wandring eyes should draw thy weepeing feet?

  And have thees springs forgot to keepe
  Their floodgates ope? What mountain stopps
  Their currents, that they dare not weepe
  With thee? Without thos corrall dropps,
  Thees christall waves can be no sea;
Without thees perles, that blood no Erithre.