[p2]
  So I blinde wretch, whome Gods enflamed ire
With pearcing stroke hath throwne unto the ground,
Amidde my sinnes still groveling in the myre,
Finde not the way that other oft have found,
Whome cherefull glimse of gods abounding grace
Hath oft releved and oft with shyning light
Hath brought to joy out of the ugglye place,
Where I in darke of everlasting night
Bewayle my woefull and unhappy case,
And fret my dyeng soule with gnawing paine.
Yet blinde, alas, I groape about for grace.
While blinde for grace I groape about in vaine,
My fainting breath I gather up and straine,
Mercie, mercie to crye and crye againe.

[p3]
  But mercy while I sound with shreking crye
For graunt of grace and pardon while I pray,
Even then despeir before my ruthefull eye
Spredes forth my sinne and shame, and semes to saye
In vaine thou brayest forth thy bootlesse noyse
To him for mercy, O refused wight,
That heares not the forsaken sinners voice.
Thy reprobate and foreordeined sprite,
For damned vessell of his heavie wrath,
(As selfe witnes of thy beknowyng hart,
And secrete gilt of thine owne conscience saith)
Of his swete promises can claime no part:
But thee, caytif, deserved curse doeth draw
To hell, by justice, for offended law.

[p4]
  This horror when my trembling soule doth heare,
When markes and tokens of the reprobate,
My growing sinnes, of grace my senselesse cheare,
Enforce the profe of everlastyng hate,
That I conceive the heavens king to beare
Against my sinfull and forsaken ghost:
As in the throte of hell, I quake for feare,
And then in present perill to be lost
(Although by conscience wanteth to replye,
But with remorse enforcing myne offence,
Doth argue vaine my not availyng crye)
With woefull sighes and bitter penitence
To him from whom the endlesse mercy flowes
I cry for mercy to releve my woes.

[p5]
  And then not daring with presuming eye
Once to behold the angry heavens face,
From troubled sprite I send confused crye,
To crave the crummes of all sufficing grace.
With foltring knee I fallyng to the ground,
Bendyng my yelding handes to heavens throne,
Poure forth my piteous plaint with woefull sound,
With smoking sighes and oft repeted grone,
Before the Lord, the Lord, whom synner I,
I cursed wretch, I have offended so,
That dredyng, in his wrekefull wrath to dye,
And damned downe to depth of hell to go,
Thus tost with panges and passions of despeir,
Thus crave I mercy with repentant chere.