For deliuerance from a publike Sicknesse

WHen thou would'st, LORD, afflict a Land,
Or scourge thy People that offend,
To put in practise thy command,
Thy Creatures all on thee attend;
And thou, to execute thy Word,
Hast Famine, Sicknesse, Fire, and Sword.

And here among vs, for our sinne,
A sore Disease hath lately raign'd,
Whose fury so vnstayd hath bin,
It could by nothing be restrain'd;
But ouerthrew both weake & strong,
And tooke away both old and young.

To thee our cries we therefore sent,
Thy wonted Pitty, LORD, to proue;
Our wicked wayes we did repent,
Thy Visitation to remoue;
And thou thine Angell didst command,
To stay his wrath-inflicting hand.

For which thy loue, in thankfull wise,
Both hearts and hands to thee we raise,
And in the stead of former cries,
Doe sing thee now a Song of Praise;
By whom the fauour yet we haue,
To scape the neuer-filled Graue.