No More Learning

If poysonous mineralls, and if that tree,
Whose fruit threw death on else immortall us,
If lecherous goats, if serpents envious
Cannot be damn'd; Alas; why should I bee?
Why should intent or reason, borne in mee, 5
Make sinnes, else equall, in mee more heinous?
And mercy being easie, and glorious
To God; in his sterne wrath, why threatens hee?
But who am I, that dare dispute with thee
O God? Oh! of thine onely worthy blood, 10
And my teares, make a heavenly Lethean flood,
And drowne in it my sinnes blacke memorie;
That thou remember them, some claime as debt,
I thinke it mercy, if thou wilt forget.


[IX. _1635-69_, _B_, _O'F_, _S96_, _W:_ V. _1633_, _A18_, _D_,
_&c. _]

[1 poysonous] poysons _1639-54_

and if that] or if the _B_, _O'F_, _S96_]

[2 (else immortal) _1635-69_]

[5 or] and _B_, _O'F_, _S96_]

[6 mee] mee, _1633_]

[8 God;] God, _1633_]

[9-10 thee O God? _W:_ thee? O God, _1633-69_]

[12 memorie;] memorie, _1633_]

[14 forget. ] forget, _1633_]




X.

Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee, 5
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell, 10
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.


[X. _1635-69:_ VI. _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _&c. :_ XI. _B_, _O'F_,
_S96_, _W_]

[4 mee. ] mee; _1633_]

[5 pictures _1633 and MSS. :_ picture _1635-69_]

[8 deliverie. ] deliverie _1633-69_]

[9 Chance, _W:_ chance, _1633-69_]

[10 dost] doth _1633_

dwell,] dwell. _1633_]

[12 better] easier _B_, _O'F_, _S96_, _W_]

[13 wake] live _B_, _S96_, _W_]

[14 more; death, _Ed:_ more, death _1633-69_]




XI.

Spit in my face you Jewes, and pierce my side,
Buffet, and scoffe, scourge, and crucifie mee,
For I have sinn'd, and sinn'd, and onely hee,
Who could do no iniquitie, hath dyed:
But by my death can not be satisfied 5
My sinnes, which passe the Jewes impiety:
They kill'd once an inglorious man, but I
Crucifie him daily, being now glorified.
Oh let mee then, his strange love still admire:
Kings pardon, but he bore our punishment. 10
And _Iacob_ came cloth'd in vile harsh attire
But to supplant, and with gainfull intent:
God cloth'd himselfe in vile mans flesh, that so
Hee might be weake enough to suffer woe.


[XI. _1635-69:_ VII.