Sighs and grones

O Do not use meAfter my sinnes! look not on my desert,But on thy glorie! then thou wilt reformAnd not refuse me: for thou onely artThe mightie God, but I a sillie worm;O do not bruise me!

O do not urge me!For what account can thy ill steward make?I have abus'd thy stock, destroy'd thy woods,Suckt all thy magazens: my head did ake,Till it found out how to consume thy goods:O do not scourge me!

O do not blinde me!I have deserv'd that an Egyptian nightShould thicken all my powers; because my lustHath still sow'd fig-leaves to exclude thy light:But I am frailtie, and alreadie dust;O do not grinde me!

O do not fill meWith the turn'd viall of thy bitter wrath!For thou hast other vessels full of bloud,A part whereof my Saviour empti'd hath,Ev'n unto death: since he di'd for my good,O do not kill me!

But O reprieve me!For thou hast life and death at thy command;Thou art both Judge and Saviour, feast and rod,Cordiall and Corrosive: put not thy handInto the bitter box; but O my God,My God, relieve me!