What if this present were the worlds last night?
Marke in my heart, O Soule, where thou dost dwell,
The picture of Christ crucified, and tell
Whether that countenance can thee affright,
Teares in his eyes quench the amasing light, 5
Blood fills his frownes, which from his pierc'd head fell.
And can that tongue adjudge thee unto hell,
Which pray'd forgivenesse for his foes fierce spight?
No, no; but as in my idolatrie
I said to all my profane mistresses, 10
Beauty, of pitty, foulnesse onely is
A signe of rigour: so I say to thee,
To wicked spirits are horrid shapes assign'd,
This beauteous forme assures a pitious minde.
[XIII _1635-69:_ IX. _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _&c.:_ _om. B_,
_S96:_ _among_ Other Meditations. _O'F:_ XV. _W_]
[2 Marke] Looke _W_]
[4 that _A18_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC_, _W:_ his _1633-69_, _D_,
_H49_]
[6 fell. _1639-69:_ fell _1633-35_]
[8 fierce] ranck _W_]
[14 assures _A18_, _D_, _H49_, _N_, _O'F_, _TC_, _W:_ assumes
_1633-69_]