Chapter 7 No.7

Great joy no less than grief doth murder men.

The thief, even at the gallows, may be killed

If, while through every vein with fear he's chilled,

Sudden reprieve do set him free again.

Thus hath this bounty from you in my pain

Through all my griefs and sufferings fiercely thrilled,

Coming from a breast with sovereign mercy filled,

And more than weeping, cleft my heart in twain.

Good news, like bad, may bring the taker death.

The heart is rent as with the sharpest knife,

Be it pressure or expansion cause the rift.

Let thy great beauty which God cherisheth

Limit my joy if it desire my life-

The unworthy dies beneath so great a gift.