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OW Bell-man of night, if I about shall go For to deny my Master, do thou crow! Thou stop'st Saint Peter in the midst of sin; Stay me, by crowing, ere I do begin; Better it is, premonish'd, for to shun A sin, than fall to weeping when 'tis done. 252. TO HIS CONSCIENCE Can I not sin, but thou wilt be My private protonotary? Can I not woo thee, to pass by A short and sweet iniquity? I'll cast a mist and cloud upon My delicate transgression, So utter dark, as that no eye Shall see the hugg'd impiety. Gifts blind the wise, and bribes do please And wind all other witnesses; And wilt not thou with gold be tied, To lay thy pen and ink aside, That in the mirk and tongueless night, Wanton I may, and thou not write? --It will not be: And therefore, now, For times to come, I'll make this vow; From aberrations to live free: So I'll not fear the judge, or thee. 253. TO HEAVEN Open thy gates To him who weeping waits, And might come in, But that held back by sin. Let mercy be So kind, to set me free, And I will straight Come in, or force the gate. 254. AN ODE OF THE BIRTH OF OUR SAVIOUR In numbers, and but these few, I sing thy birth, oh JESU! Thou pretty Baby, born here, With sup'rabundant scorn here; Who for thy princely port here, Hadst for thy place Of birth, a base Out-stable for thy court here. Instead of neat enclosures Of interwoven osiers; Instead of fragrant posies Of daffadils and roses, Thy cradle, kingly stranger, As gospel tells, Was nothing else, But, here, a homely manger. But we with silks, not cruels, With sundry precious jewels, And lily-work will dress thee; And as we dispossess thee Of clouts, we'll make a chamber, Sweet babe, for thee, Of ivory, And plaster'd round with amber. The Jews, they did disdain thee; But we will entertain thee With glories to await here, Upon thy princely state here, And more for love than pity: From year to year We'll make thee, here, A free-born of our city. 255. TO HIS SAVIOUR, A CHILD; A PRESENT, BY A CHILD Go, pretty child, and bear this flower Unto thy little Saviour;
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