XIII.

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_]