Affliction (II)

                    KIll me not ev’ry day,

Thou Lord of life; since thy one death for me

            Is more then all my deaths can be,

                    Though I in broken pay

Die over each hour of Methusalems1 stay.

                    If all mens tears were let

Into one common sewer, sea, and brine;

            What were they all, compar’d to thine?

                    Wherein if they were set,

They would discolour thy most bloudy sweat.

                    Thou art my grief alone,

Thou Lord conceal it not: and as thou art

            All my delight, so all my smart;

                    Thy cross took up in one,

By way of imprest, all my future mone.