My hand-kerchef to dry my eyes

My hand-kerchef to dry my eyes

Lord:) sithence the best
Of thine
Their portions have
Of Sorrow, Sicknes, and the Grave
Why should the worst repine
Though (Thou) lockst up their chiefest joyes in rest

Joyes heer but Lent
And soe
'Tis of meer mercy we can say
W'enjoy them for a day
Yet whilst we have nothing but what we owe
The land-lord must destrain to have his rent

This the unthrifty course we take
Begetts
Whilst pitty-moovd He tells
Us, Hee'l repair our tottring sells
And quite strike ofe our former debts
If with contentment, thankfullnes partake

These against sadnes are
An Andidote
Preventing its could poyson, and
A heat-allaying Jewlipe wher (Thy) hand
Doth (Thy) displeasure in a feaver note;
They stile the Grave whither't be neer, or far
T'be but a Bed; wherin when all must sleep
Let them rest envide; for our sinns wee'l weep.
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