Telle me (my Soule) how doth thy comfort flow? Ech.
Low
What thoughts dos’t Thou retaine of Melancholy? E.
Holy
What made thine holy sorow thus to rise? E.
eyes
What object did thine eyes to thee designe? E.
Sinne
What made thee sinne, and thus thy God incense? E.
Sense
What punishment thy great offence succedeth? E.
Death
Cans’t Thou for death find any remedye? E.
I.
Where growes this blessed Balme of sanctimony? E.
On high
Then seeke thy God with a pure holy will. E.
I will
And Thou shalt find that cure which Thou desirest. E.
I rest./
(Ralph Knevet)
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Based on Topics: Death & Dying Poems, Sense & Perception PoemsBased on Keywords: sorow, ech, growes, designe, desirest, retaine, balme, remedye