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George Herbert - Judgement
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Almightie Judge, how shall poore wretches brook
                             Thy dreadfull look,
Able a heart of iron to appall,
                             When thou shalt call
       For ev`ry man`s peculiar book?

What others mean to do, I know not well;
                             Yet I heare tell,
That some will turn thee to some leaves therein
                             So void of sinne,
       That they in merit shall excell.

But I resolve, when thou shalt call for mine,
                             That to decline,
And thrust a Testament into thy hand:
                             Let that be scann`d.
       There thou shalt finde my faults are thine.
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