The fourth muse.
1
Shrinke not deare soule at sight of death
Nor faint thou at gods call
Hovve oft hast thou hard bells to passe
For frends, for foes, for all.
2
Hovve oft hast thou the sicke bede seene
Of vvights in woe most rife
Hovve oft haue things bine done to death
And all to giue thee life.
3
And canst thou hope that some vvay else
For thee is made in sence
Whē kings, & Prests, & rich, & poore
And all must thus goe hence
4
Passe on my soule, & sing, & ioy
In god that makes the graue,
A place for thee to pass to bliss
And knovves vvhat thou vvouldst haue.
5
Hovve oft hast thou seene eies fall closed
And heard by dint of svvord
Hovve oft vaine men in field haue fought
In fence of a vaine vvord
6
What thē novve dost thou feare my soule
The stage of death is bed,
And graue that rests our bones in peace
That here on earth haue fed
7
Let them feare death vvhose hart, & mind
Is more sicke thē their face
Hovve canst thou feare since novve thy Christ
Hath shed his bloud for grace.
4. Thought.
O giue me light that am set in a
darke place, & shade of death, and giude,
me by thy good grace o Christ to the vvay of peace.
Luck. 1. 79.
