Poem by Edward Herbert

Ditty

Deep sighs, records of my unpitied grief,
Memorials of my true though hopeless love,
Keep time with my sad thoughts, till wished relief
My long despairs for vain and causeless prove.
Yet if such hap never to you befall,
I give you leave, break time, break heart and all.

Lord, thus I sin, repent, and sin again,
As if Repentance only were in me
Leave for new Sin; thus do I entertain
My short time, and Thy Grace, abusing Thee
And Thy long suffering, which, though it be
Ne'er overcome by Sin, yet were in vain
If tempted oft: thus we our Errors fee
Before our Punishment, and so remain
Without Excuse: and, Lord, in them 'tis true
Thy Laws are just; but why dost Thou distrain
Ought else for life save life? That is Thy due,
The rest Thou mak'st us owe, and may'st to us
As well forgive. But, oh! my sins renew,
Whilst I do talk with my Creator thus. 

1. Epitaph on King James
2. Ditty in Imitation of the Spanish Entre Tanto Que L'Avril
3. To Her Face
4. To Her Hair
5. Upon Combing Her Hair

Thomas Hardy Ditty ("BENEATH a knap where flown")

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