Last night I drew up mine account, And found my debits to amount To such a height, as for to tell How I should pay 's impossible. Well, this I'll do: my mighty score Thy mercy-seat I'll lay before; But therewithal I'll bring the band Which, in full force, did daring stand Till my Redeemer, on the tree, Made void for millions, as for me. Then, if thou bidst me pay, or go Unto the prison, I'll say, no; Christ having paid, I nothing owe: For, this is sure, the debt is dead By law, the bond once cancelled. _Score_, debt or reckoning. _Band_, bond. _Daring_, frightening. 108. GOOD MEN AFFLICTED MOST. God makes not good men wantons, but doth bring Them to the field, and, there, to skirmishing. With trials those, with terrors these He proves, And hazards those most whom the most He loves; For Sceva, darts; for Cocles, dangers; thus He finds a fire for mighty Mutius; Death for stout Cato; and besides all these, A poison, too, He has for Socrates; Torments for high Attilius; and, with want, Brings in Fabricius for a combatant: But bastard-slips, and such as He dislikes, He never brings them once to th' push of pikes. 109. GOOD CHRISTIANS Play their offensive and defensive parts, Till they be hid o'er with a wood of darts. 110. THE WILL THE CAUSE OF WOE. When man is punish'd, he is plagued still, Not for the fault of nature, but of will. 111. TO HEAVEN. Open thy gates To him, who weeping waits, And might come in, But that held back by sin. Let mercy be So kind to set me free, And I will straight Come in, or force the gate. 112. THE RECOMPENSE. All I have lost that could be rapt from me; And fare it well: yet, Herrick, if so be Thy dearest Saviour renders thee but one Smile, that one smile's full restitution. 113. TO GOD. Pardon me, God, once more I Thee entreat, That I have placed Thee in so mean a seat Where round about Thou seest but all things vain, Uncircumcis'd, unseason'd and profane. But as Heaven's public and immortal eye Looks on the filth, but is not soil'd thereby, So Thou, my God, may'st on this impure look, But take no tincture from my sinful book: Let but one beam of glory on it shine, And that will make me and my work divine. 114. TO GOD. Lord, I am like to mistletoe, Which has no root, and cannot grow Or prosper but by that same tree It clings about; so I by Thee. What need I then to fear at all, So long as I about Thee crawl? But if that tree should fall and die, Tumble shall heav'n, and down will I. 115. HIS WISH TO GOD.