Betwixt the stirrup and the ground / Mercy I asked, mercy I found.

Mercy to him that shows it, is the rule.

The quality of mercy is not strained; It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed- It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes.

Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God, My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee.

Mercy is not itself, that oft looks so; Pardon is still the nurse of second woe.

Sweet Mercy! to the gates of Heaven This minstrel lead, his sins forgiven; The rueful conflict, the heart riven With vain endeavour, And memory of earth's bitter leaven Effaced forever.