Sighs And Grones

O do not use me
After my sinnes! look not on my desert,
But on thy glorie! then thou wilt reform,
And not refuse me: for thou onely art
The mighty 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 blind me!
I have deserv'd that an Ægyptian night
Should thicken all my powers; because my lust
Hath still sow'd fig-leeves to exclude thy light:
But I am frailtie, and already dust:
O do not grinde me!
O do not fill me
With the turn'd viall of thy bitter wrath!
For thou hast other vessels full of bloud,
A part whereof my Saviour emptied hath,
Ev'n unto death: since he died 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 hand
Into the bitter box; but O my God,
My God, relieve me!