V. Barnaby Barnes

WHITE spotlesse Lambe! whose precious sweete bloudshed

The whole world’s sinneful debt hath satisfied,

For sinners scorn’d, whippde, wounded, crucified;

Beholde my sinfull soule by Sathan led

Even to the gates of hell, where will be read

My Conscience’s blacke booke; unlesse supplide

Be to those leaves past number thy wounds wide,

Whose purple issue, which for sinners bled,

Shall wash the register of my foul sin,

And thence blot out the vile memoriall:—

Then let thy blessed Angell enter in

My temple purged, and that historiall

Of my sinnes numberlesse in deepe seas cast;

So shall I be new borne and sav’d at last.