_Resp._ O Lord! hast Thou for ever closed up Thine ear? Wilt Thou never more the desolate's prayer hear? Wilt Thou still turn away Thy face from my distress? Wilt Thou clean forsake me and leave me comfortless? The secret sighs, and sobs, and prayers of mine heart, Shall they not forever Thine eyes to me convert? I grant that mine offences have so much deserved; But for whom, save sinners, is this mercy reserved? [Thou reservst it] so, which hitherto hath been just; Despair, Lord! I will not; nor Thy goodness mistrust. Lo[ok] down on my distress! and for Thy glory sake, Though I be ill worthy it, mercy on me take! _Miser._ Now will I speak to her. _Resp._ Who maketh me afeard? _Miser._ No, I will thee comfort: God hath thy prayer heard; And now, Respublica, be of good hope and trust! _Resp._ O Lord! now do I see that Thou art ever just. _Miser._ I am sent to recomfort thee, Respublica! _Resp._ O Lady Compassion! Misericordia! _Miser._ What say ye to me? What, woman! can ye not speak? I am come down, all your sorrows at once to break. Speak, woman! _Resp._ Misericordia! _Miser._ Out, comfortably! Ye shall have now no more cause to speak despairably. _Resp._ My heart, in God's mercy, is so dilated, That my very spirit to heaven is elated. O Lady Compassion! welcome, verament! Ever be God praised that you, to me, hath sent! _Miser._ Now that I have put you in sure hope of relief, I must go fet Verity to try out all your grief. Verity shall oper how your decay hath grown; And then, the causers thereof shall be overthrown. _Resp._ Who be the causers thereof I cannot discern: But yond cometh one of them that do me govern. _Miser._ What is his name? _Resp._ Policy! _Miser._ Policy is good; He doth work you many good things of likelihood. _Avar._ A vengeance upon him! and God give him His curse! I am besieged now of every cutpurse; I can go nowhere now; in city, neither town, But Piers Pickpurse playeth at organs under my gown. _Miser._ What talketh he? _Avar._ Who speaketh yond, Respublica? _Resp._ What of the pickpurse? _Avar._ Forsooth, dame Respublica! I said, an we had two pillories mo, 'twere no the worse; For it is a light thing now to meet Piers Pickpurse. God preserve you, right fair lady! and Christ you save! Who are you? and what would ye in this country have? _Resp._ This same is the Lady Misericordia, Sent from God purposely. _Avar._ Unto you, Respublica? _Miser._ Yea!