4. And as he knows _all things are naked and opened unto the eyes of him with whom we have to do_, so he sees himself, naked, stript of all the fig-leaves which he had sewed together, of all his poor pretences to religion or virtue, and his wretched excuses for sinning against God. He now sees himself, like the ancient sacrifices, τετραχηλισμένον, cleft in sunder, as it were, from the neck downward, so that all within him stands confest. His heart is bare, and he sees it is all sin, _deceitful above all things, desperately wicked_; that it is altogether corrupt and abominable, more than it is possible for tongue to express: that there dwelleth therein no good thing, but unrighteousness and ungodliness only; every motion thereof, every temper and thought, being only evil continually. 5. And he not only sees, but feels in himself, by an emotion of soul which he cannot describe, that for the sins of his heart, were his life without blame, (which yet it is not, and cannot be: seeing _an evil tree cannot bring forth good fruit_) he deserves to be cast into _the fire that never shall be quenched_. He feels, that the _wages_, the just reward _of sin_, of his sin above all, _is death_; even the second death, the death which dieth not, the destruction of body and soul in hell. 6. * Here ends his pleasing dream, his delusive rest, his false peace, his vain security. His joy now vanishes as a cloud: pleasures, once loved delight no more. They pall upon the taste; he loaths the nauseous sweet; he is weary to bear them. The shadows of happiness flee away, and sink into oblivion. So that he is stript of all, and wanders to and fro, seeking rest, but finding none.