Tixall Poetry.
5
But Thou, who with thy powrefull word
Couldst draine that Ruddy Ocean dry,
And bid the rock full brookes afford
In such a wildernesse as I;
Oh stop that ocean of blood,
And turn my rocky brest into a flood.
Couldst draine that Ruddy Ocean dry,
And bid the rock full brookes afford
In such a wildernesse as I;
Oh stop that ocean of blood,
And turn my rocky brest into a flood.
Methinkes, in midst of all thy smart,
I heare thee cry thou thurst'st for me;
Then (wounded hart) speke to this hart,
That's sick to death as well as thee;
Speke to this hart, my soûles Phisician,
And it will yeeld us waters of Contrition.
I heare thee cry thou thurst'st for me;
Then (wounded hart) speke to this hart,
That's sick to death as well as thee;
Speke to this hart, my soûles Phisician,
And it will yeeld us waters of Contrition.
By this the tempest of her sighs
Had all her pregnant sorrow seas'd:
She clos'd her lypps, and op't her eyes;
She wrung her hands, and beat her brest;
She wayling tore her golden haires,
And spake the rest, more eloquent, in teares.
Had all her pregnant sorrow seas'd:
She clos'd her lypps, and op't her eyes;
She wrung her hands, and beat her brest;
She wayling tore her golden haires,
And spake the rest, more eloquent, in teares.
