Deare Friend, sit down, the tale is long and sad:

And in my faintings I presume your loue

Will more complie, then help. A Lord I had,

And have, of whom some grounds which may improve,

I hold for two lives, and both lives in me.

To him I brought a dish of fruit one day,

And in the middle plac'd my heart. But he

(I sigh to say)

Lookt on a seruant, who did know his eye

Better then you know me, or (which is one)

Then I my self. The servant instantly

Quitting the fruit, seiz'd on my heart alone,

And threw it in a font, wherein did fall

A stream of bloud, which issu'd from the side

Of a great rock: I well remember all,

And have good cause: there it was dipt and di'd,

And washt, and wrung: the very wringing yet

Enforceth tears. Your heart was foul, I fear.

Indeed ‘tis true. I did and do commit

Many a fault more then my lease will bear;

Yet still askt pardon, and was not deni'd.

But you shall heare. After my heart was well,

And clean and fair, as I one even-tide

(I sigh to tell)

Walkt by my self abroad, I saw a large

And spacious fornace flaming, and thereon

A boyling caldron, round about whose verge

Was in great letters set AFFLICTION.

The greatnesse shew'd the owner. So I went

To fetch a sacrifice out of my fold,

Thinking with that, which I did thus present,

To warm his love, which I did fear grew cold.

But as my heart did tender it, the man

Who was to take it from me, slipt his hand,

And threw my heart into the scalding pan;

My heart, that brought it (do you understand?)

The offerers heart. Your heart was hard, I fear.