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SONNET. II.
SWeete Sauiour from whose fiuefold bleeding wound,
That comfortable Antidote distilde:
Which that rancke poyson hath expeld and kild,
In our old wretched father Adam found.
In Paradise when he desertlesse crown'd,
Receau'd it as th' enuenomde Serpent willde,
In steede of lustfull eyes with arrowes fillde:
Of sinfull loues which from their beames abound.
Let those sweete blessed wounds with streames of grace,
Aboundantly sollicite my poore spirite:
Rauish'de with loue of thee that didst debase
Thy selfe on earth that I might heauen inherite,
O blessed sweete wounds fountaines of electre,
My wounded soules balme, and saluations nectre.
SWeete Sauiour from whose fiuefold bleeding wound,
That comfortable Antidote distilde:
Which that rancke poyson hath expeld and kild,
In our old wretched father Adam found.
In Paradise when he desertlesse crown'd,
Receau'd it as th' enuenomde Serpent willde,
In steede of lustfull eyes with arrowes fillde:
Of sinfull loues which from their beames abound.
Let those sweete blessed wounds with streames of grace,
Aboundantly sollicite my poore spirite:
Rauish'de with loue of thee that didst debase
Thy selfe on earth that I might heauen inherite,
O blessed sweete wounds fountaines of electre,
My wounded soules balme, and saluations nectre.
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