Show me, deare Christ, thy spouse so bright and clear.
What! Is it is She, who on the other shore
Goes richly painted? Or, who, robb'd and tore,
Laments and mournes in Germany and here?
Sleeps she a thousand, then peeps up one yeare?
Is she selfe truth, and errs? now new, now outwore?
Doth she, and did she, and shall she evermore
On one, on seven, or on no hill appeare?
Dwells she with us, or like adventuring knights
First travaile we to seeke, and then make love?
Betray, kind Husband, thy spouse to our sights
And let myne amorous soule court thy mild dove,
Who is most trew, and pleasing to Thee, then
When she is embrac'd and open to most men.
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