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3.3.9: Holy Sonnet 4

  • Page ID
    47085
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    (1635)

    O, my black soul, now thou art summoned

    By sickness, Death’s herald and champion;

    Thou’rt like a pilgrim, which abroad hath done

    Treason, and durst not turn to whence he’s fled;

    Or like a thief, which till death’s doom be read,

    Wisheth himself deliver’d from prison,

    But damn’d and haled to execution,

    Wisheth that still he might be imprisoned.

    Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lack;

    But who shall give thee that grace to begin?

    O, make thyself with holy mourning black,

    And red with blushing, as thou art with sin;

    Or wash thee in Christ’s blood, which hath this might,

    That being red, it dyes red souls to white.


    This page titled 3.3.9: Holy Sonnet 4 is shared under a CC BY-SA license and was authored, remixed, and/or curated by Bonnie J. Robinson & Laura Getty (University of North Georgia Press) .

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