Wit's Pilgrimage - Part 81

If the Egyptian , and the Troglodite
Ouer whose Heads the Sunne directly stands
But one meere Moment daily, in his height
Do hardly scape quite burning by his Brands,
How then should I (bright- Faire! ) not quite bee brent
With those bright Beames, sholt fro, those Sunnes thine Eyes,
Sith still they are to me directly sent
As from my Zenith , in thy Beauties Skies?
Of with those Raies exhale from Mercies Seas
Some Dropps of Grace , & showre the downe on me,
To coole the firie heate of my Disease,
That so my sore, and salue maie come from Thee:
If not, yet shall those Cloude-dissoluing Beames,
Melt my Care Clouded Eies to cooling Streames.
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