“See, Father, what first-fruits on Earth are sprung From thy implanted grace in Man⁠—these sighs And prayers, which in this golden censer, mixed With incense, I, thy priest, before thee bring; Fruits of more pleasing savour, from thy seed Sown with contrition in his heart, than those Which, his own hand manuring, all the trees Of Paradise could have produced, ere fallen From innocence. Now, therefore, bend thine ear To supplication; hear his sighs, though mute; Unskilful with what words to pray, let me Interpret for him, me his advocate And propitiation; all his works on me, Good or not good, ingraft; my merit those Shall perfect, and for these my death shall pay. Accept me, and in me from these receive The smell of peace toward Mankind: let him live Before thee reconciled, at least his days Numbered, though sad; till death, his doom (which I To mitigate thus plead, not to reverse), To better life shall yield him, where with me All my redeemed may dwell in joy and bliss, Made one with me, as I with thee am one.”