The modest sinner stood behind,
Who whilome wont with amorous belgardes,
To captivate each wanton mind;
But now in humble sort, she earth regardes,
Not dareing to lift up her eye,
‘Cause shee had sinn’d against Heaven high.
Her penitentiall teares did flow:
Into the deepes of true repentance, shee
Did launche, while dreary sighes did blow
To drive her barke upon the silver lee,
Shee doubled the Cape of good Hope,
And mercy kenn’d from the maine toppe.
Then to the God of sea, and land,
Who had preserv’d her from a dismall wracke,
Shee payd Her vowes, and with her hand
The pretious boxe of fragrant spikenard brake,
And with this unguent did besmeare,
The temples of her Saviour deare./
(Ralph Knevet)
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