George Herbert - Sin's Round lyrics

Sorry I am, my God, sorry I am, That my offences course it in a ring. My thoughts are working like a busy flame, Until their co*katrice they hatch and bring: And when they once have perfected their draughts, My words take fire from my inflamed thoughts. My words take fire fro m my inflamed thoughts, Which spit it forth like the Sicilian hill. They vent their wares, and pa** them with their faults, And by their breathing ventilate the ill. But words suffice not, where are lewd intentions: My hands do join to finish the inventions. My hands do join to finish the inventions: And so my sins ascend three stories high, As Babel grew, before there were dissentions. Let ill deeds loiter not: for they supply New thoughts of sinning: wherefore, to my shame, Sorry I am, my God, sorry I am.