V. Barnaby Barnes

SWEETE Saviour! from whose fivefold bleeding wound

That comfortable antidote distilde,

Which that ranck poyson hath expeld and kild,

In our old wretched father Adam found

In Paradise, when he desertlesse crown’d

Receav’d it as th’ envenomde Serpent willde;

Insteede of lustfull eyes with arrowes fillde

Of sinful loves, which from their beames abound,

Let those sweete blessed wounds with streams of grace

Aboundantly sollicite my poor spirite,

Ravishde with love of Thee, that didst debase

Thyselfe on earth, that I might heaven inherite.

O blessed sweet wounds! fountains of electre!

My wounded soul’s balm, and salvation’s nectre.