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Yet at the laſt the Lord aroſe,
Environed with angels bright,
And to the wiſe in haſte he goes,
Deſir'd her to paſs out of ſight.

O Lord, quoth ſhe, cauſe do me right,
But not according to my ſin;
Have you not promis'd day and night,
When ſinners knock, to let them in.
He ſaid thou wreſts the ſcripture wrong,
The night is come, thou ſpentſt the day,
In whoredom thou haſt lived long,
And to repent thou didft delay,
Still my commandments thou abusd'ſt,
And vice committed'ſt buſily,
Since now my mercy thou refus'd'ſt,
Go down to hell eternally.

O Lord, my ſoul doth teſtify,
That I have ſpent my life in vain,
Ah! make a wandering ſheep of me,
And bring me to thy flock again.

Thinkſt thou there is no count to crave,
Of all theſe gifts in thee was planted,
gave thee beauty 'bove the lave,
A Pregnant wit thou never wanted.

Maſter, quoth ſhe, it muſt be granted,
My ſins are great, 'give me contrition:
The forlorn ſon when he repented,
Obtain'd his father's full remiſſion.

I ſpar'd my judgements many times,
And ſp'ritual paſtors did thee ſend;
But thou renewd'ſt thy former crimes,
Ay more and more me to offend.