Book II, 76: On the Sight of a Plague bill

Five thousand in a weeke, in one poore City?
Because it was thy Pleasure, twas no pity;
Why should thou pity us, Just God, when we
Could never finde a time to pity thee?
Thou never strik'st without a reason why,
Nor often, then: We easily cast our eye
Vpon the punishment, but blinde toth' sin,
That farre transcends the judgement it calls in:
O, if the weekly Bills of our Transgression
Could but appeare, and make as deepe impression
In our sad hearts, to make our hearts but know
As great a sorrow, as our Plague-bills doe;
No doubt, no doubt but Heav'ns avenging hand
Would turne a Stranger to our prosprous Land
O, if that weekly Catalogue of Si
Could, with our City Bills be brought but in;
And be compar'd wee'd think our Bills not high,
But rather wonder there are men, to dye.