1 Lord behold my heart, which thou pi∣tiedst in the bottomless pit. Aug. Conf. lib. 4. cap. 2.LOrd! dost thou see,This ruddy piece of clay how it doth flieUp towards thee!Ambitious of a sweet tranquillity!Within thy bosome, loeHow speedily 't doth go?Featherd by active fire,Whereby it mount's and towers up higherThen its own groveling thoughts could reachBefore that thou didst teach,How doth it throwAnd leave belowThose which wear shackles, but now trophies are?Oh how it flashesReduc't to ashes?Yet were alive till now.Those darts are med'cines which destructive wereAnd cut but beds for balm to flowilst the ascending day forgets 'twas ere below.2Yet this was onceGrave to it self, bound in most potent chaines (Corruptions)Whilst a chil'd poison did congeal my veines,0