A01981:586
The saints sacrifice
The saints sacrifice: or, a commentary on the CXVI. Psalm Which is, a gratulatory psalm, for deliverance from deadly distress. By William Gouge, D.D.The saints sacrifice: or, a commentarie on the CXVI. Psalme Which is, a gratulatory psalme, for deliverance from deadly distresse. By William Gouge, D.D.
London: printed by George Miller for Edward Brewster, 1632
Title page typeset from the transcription.
Modern spelling is a reading aid: the words are the author’s, only the spelling is modernized. Original shows the page as printed, with the transcription marks.
Cib. With patience And manly fortitude beyond belief, Takes glory in his sufferings, and becomes More unrelenting now then heretofore.
Cib. With patience And manly fortitude beyond beliefe, Takes glory in his sufferings, and becomes More unrelenting now then heretofore.
Ars. What a strange nature hath this savage man, Will nothing work upon it? cannot love Persuade him, nor the force of punishment Compel him to humanity? some Tigress Or she Wolfe in the forest was his nurse. Is there no hope he will relent in time?
Ars. What a strange nature hath this savage man, Will nothing worke upon it? cannot love Perswade him, nor the force of punishment Compell him to humanity? some Tigresse Or she Wolfe in the forest was his nurse. Is there no hope he will relent in time?
Cib. Our labour's lost in the attempting it, He hath Cariclea still before his eyes, Lodgeth her in his heart, his mouth expressed it; I heard him to exclaim thus, dear Cariclea, My love, my life, my heart, thy only name Makes me despise my torments, and in […] I'm comforted what ever fall to me; Whereby I'm confident she is his wife, Or secret mistress, wherefore if you please, Lets (as the proverb saith) cast our last anchor, And seek some means to •id her of her life, For when he knows she's dead, tis very likely ⟨image 33⟩He'll change his mind, when hope of love is gone.
Cib. Our labour's lost in the attempting it, He hath Cariclea still before his eyes, Lodgeth her in his heart, his mouth express'd it; I heard him to exclaime thus, deare Cariclea, My love, my life, my heart, thy onely name Makes me despise my torments, and in I'm comforted what ever fall to me; Whereby I'm confident she is his wife, Or secret mistris, wherefore if you please, Lets (as the proverbe saith) cast our last anckor, And seeke some meanes to id her of her life, For when he knows she's dead, tis very likely