Lord, with what care hast Thou begirt us round! Parents first season us; then schoolmasters deliver us to laws; they send us bound to rules of reason, holy messengers, pulpits and Sundays, sorrow dogging sin, afflictions sorted, anguish of all sizes, fine nets and stratagems to catch us in, bibles laid open, millions of surprises, blessings beforehand, ties of gratefulness, the sound of glory ringing in our ears: without, our shame; within, our consciences; angels and grace, eternal hopes and fears. Yet all these fences and their whole array one cunning bosom-sin blows quite away.
Learn weeping, and thou shalt laugh gaining.
Sorrow was all my soul; I scarce believed, Till grief did tell me roundly, that I lived.
He that lives not well one yeare, sorrowes seven after. [He that lives not well one year sorrows seven years after.]
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