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 But thou was daily at my preachings, Both heard and saw, and yet misknaws. Master, quoth she, the scriptures shows, The Jewish woman which play'd the lown, Conform unto the Hebrew laws, Was brought to thee to be put down; But nevertheless thou lett'st her go, And made the Pharisees afraid. Indeed, says Christ it was right so, And that my bidding was obey'd, Woman, he said, I may not cast The childrens' bread to dogs like thee, Although my mercies yet do last, There's mercy here but none for thee. But, loving Lord, may I presume, Poor worm, that I may speak again, The dog for hunger were undone, And of the crumbs they were right fain. Grant me one crumb then that did fall From thy best childrens' table, Lord, That I may be refreshed withal, It will not help enough afford. The gates of mercy now are closed, And thou canst hardly enter in: It is not so as thou supposed, For thou art deadly sick in sín. 'Tis true indeed, my Lord most meek, My sore and sickness I do feel: Yet thou the lame didst truly seek, Who lay long at Bethseda's pool, Of many that thee never sought,