The seuenth muse.
1
Hast thou o soule no mind to rest
In all thy paine, and toyle?
But vvilt thou still goe on, & drudge
By lott on sea, on soyle.
2
Hovve oft haue vvights in vvoe, & greefe
Bought death to ease their paine
Hath death found thee, & vvilt thou not
To goe from greefe be faine
3
Doth name of death the fright my soule
What if mē call sleepe death
Wilt thou be fraid to close thine eies
Or feare to loose thy breath.
4
What hurt vvill cōe to thee by that
The first man vvas in sleepe
Whē god a vvife made him for helpe
The man in ioy to keepe.
5
And vvhat if novve thy god for [illeg.]
Whilst thou dost sleepe in [illeg.]
Doth make thy soule a spouse to [illeg.]
His face, his grace to haue[illeg.]
6
My death o soule but parts the frēds
That each hath led the vvay,
And novve shake hands but for a space
Till meete in rest thy may.
7
Goe then my soule to this sure gaine
Part vvith a frend a space
The tyme vvill come vvhen this dust
Shall see thy Christ his face.
7. Thought.
The due of sinne my soule is death
& graue, & hell. but the gift of god is life,
ioy, and blisse by Christ my lord, & god
Rom, 6. 13.
