| Oh might those sighes and teares return againe
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| Into my breast and eyes, which I have spent,
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| That I might in this holy discontent
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| Mourne with some fruit, as I have mourn’d in vaine;
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| In mine Idolatry what show’rs of rain
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| Mine eyes did waste? |
| What griefs my heart did rent?
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| That sufferance was my sinne; |
| now I repent
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| 'Cause I did suffer, I must suffer paine.
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| Th’hydroptique drunkard, and night scouting thief,
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| The itchy lecher and self-tickling proud
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| Have the remembrance of past joyes, for relief
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| Of coming ills. |
| To poore me is allow’d
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| No ease; |
| for long, yet vehement griefe hath been
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| Th’effect and cause, the punishment and sinne. |