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His speech what hee could say for himselfe.
O wretched
Caitiffe! what perswasiue breath,
Can cal back this iust Sentence of quick death?
I begge no boone, but mercy at Gods hands,
(The King of Kings, the Soueraigne that cōmands
Both Soule and Body) O let him forgiue
My Treason to his Throne, and whilst I liue,
Iebbits and Racks shall torture limme by limme,
Through worlds of Deaths I'l breake to fly to him.
My Birth-day gaue not to my Mothers wombe,
More ease, then this shall ioyes, when e'r it come.
My body mould to earth, sinnes sink to Hell,
My penitent Soule win Heauen, vain world farewell.
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