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Poem	O do not use me After my sins! look not on my dessert, But on your glory! Then you will reform And not refuse me: for you only art The mighty God, but I a silly worm; O do not bruise me! O do not urge me! For what account can your ill steward make? I have abused your stock, destroyed your woods, Sucked all your storehouses: my head did ache, Till it found out how to consume your goods: O do not scourge me! O do not blind me! I have deserved that an Egyptian night Should thicken all my powers; because my lust Has still sewed fig-leaves to exclude your light: But I am frailty, and already dust; O do not grind me! O do not fill me With the turned vial of your bitter wrath! For you have other vessels full of blood, A part whereof my Savior emptied hath, Even unto death: since he died for my good, O do not kill me! But O reprieve me! For you have life and death at your command; You are both Judge and Savior, feast and rod, Cordial and Corrosive: put not your hand Into the bitter box; but O my God, My God, relieve me!
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