If faithfull soules be alike glorifi'd br As Angels, then my fathers soul doth see, br And adds this even to full felecitie, br That valiantly I hels wide mouth o'stride: br But if our mindes to these soules be descry'd br By circumstances, and by signes that be br Apparent in us, not immediately, br How shall my mindes white truth by them be try'd? br They see idolatrous lovers weepe and mourne, br And vile blasphemous Conjurers to call br On Jesus name, and Pharisaicall br Dissemblers feigne devotion. Then turne br O pensive soule, to God, for he knows best br Thy true griefe, for he put it in my breast.