In-Text |
My conscience is clogged, when I behold the bloudy wounds of my soule the voyce of ioy and mirth 〈 ◊ 〉 gone from me, I am deepely plu•ged in discomfort, I haue neithe• worth to appease thy wrath, no patience to endure thine indigna•tion. |
My conscience is clogged, when I behold the bloody wounds of my soul the voice of joy and mirth 〈 ◊ 〉 gone from me, I am deeply plu•ged in discomfort, I have neithe• worth to appease thy wrath, no patience to endure thine indigna•tion. |
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