In-Text |
but the Dayes, and Months, and Years, and Ages, of the torments of Tophet, are numberlesse, which makes the frying Soul cry out, Fountains cool me, Mountains cover me, Rocks hide me, Sea swallow me up, that I may be freed from this bottomlesse Sea of misery. |
but the Days, and Months, and years, and Ages, of the torments of Tophet, Are numberless, which makes the frying Soul cry out, Fountains cool me, Mountains cover me, Rocks hide me, Sea swallow me up, that I may be freed from this bottomless Sea of misery. |
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