If that a sinners sighes, bee Angels food
Or that repentaunt teares bee Angels wine
Accept O Lord in this most pensive moode
These hartie sighes and faithfull teares of mine:
That went with Peter forth most sinfullie
But not with Peter wept most bitterlie

If I had Davids Crowne to mee betide
Or all his purple robes that hee did weare
I would lay then such honor all aside
And onely seeke a sackcloth weede to bearе
His Pallace would I leave that I might show
And mournе in cell for such offence, my woe

Ther should these hands beat on my pensive brest
And sad, to death, for sorrow rend my haire
My voice to call on thee, should never rest
Whose grace I seeke, whose judgement I doe feare:
Upon the ground all groveling on my face
I would beseech thy favour and good grace