Deliver us for thy descent Into the Virgin, whose wombe was a place 155 Of middle kind; and thou being sent To'ungratious us, staid'st at her full of grace; And through thy poore birth, where first thou Glorifiedst Povertie, And yet soone after riches didst allow, 160 By accepting Kings gifts in the Epiphanie, Deliver, and make us, to both waies free. XIX. And through that bitter agonie, Which is still the agonie of pious wits, Disputing what distorted thee, 165 And interrupted evennesse, with fits; And through thy free confession Though thereby they were then Made blind, so that thou might'st from them have gone, Good Lord deliver us, and teach us when 170 Wee may not, and we may blinde unjust men. XX. Through thy submitting all, to blowes Thy face, thy clothes to spoile; thy fame to scorne, All waies, which rage, or Justice knowes, And by which thou could'st shew, that thou wast born; 175 And through thy gallant humblenesse Which thou in death did'st shew, Dying before thy soule they could expresse, Deliver us from death, by dying so, To this world, ere this world doe bid us goe. 180 XXI. When senses, which thy souldiers are, Wee arme against thee, and they fight for sinne, When want, sent but to tame, doth warre And worke despaire a breach to enter in, When plenty, Gods image, and seale 185 Makes us Idolatrous, And love it, not him, whom it should reveale, When wee are mov'd to seeme religious Only to vent wit, Lord deliver us. XXII. In Churches, when the'infirmitie 190 Of him which speakes, diminishes the Word, When Magistrates doe mis-apply To us, as we judge, lay or ghostly sword, When plague, which is thine Angell, raignes, Or wars, thy Champions, swaie, 195 When Heresie, thy second deluge, gaines; In th'houre of death, the'Eve of last judgement day, Deliver us from the sinister way. XXIII. Heare us, O heare us Lord; to thee A sinner is more musique, when he prayes, 200 Then spheares, or Angels praises bee, In Panegyrique Allelujaes; Heare us, for till thou heare us, Lord We know not what to say; Thine eare to'our sighes, teares, thoughts gives voice and word. 205 O Thou who Satan heard'st in Jobs sicke day, Heare thy selfe now, for thou in us dost pray. XXIV.