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 mightie 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 blinde me!

I have deserv'd that an Egyptian night

Should thicken all my powers; because my lust

Hath still sow'd fig-leaves 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 empti'd hath,

Ev'n unto death: since he di'd 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!