Saint Peters complaynt With other poems.

SAINT Peters complaynt .

With other Poems .

AT LONDON . Printed by I. R. for G. C. 1595.

The Printer to the Gentlemen Readers .

HAuing beheld ( kind Gentlemen ) the numberlesse Iudges of not to be reckoned labours , with what kind admiration you haue entertained the Diuine Complaint of holy Peter ; and hauing in my hands certaine especiall Poems and diuine Meditations , full as woorthie belonging to the same , I thought it a charitable deede to giue them life in your memories , which els should die in an obscure sacrifice , gently embrace them , gentle censurers of gentle indeuors : so shall you not be fantastike in diuersity of opinions , nor contradict your resolues by denying your former iudgements , but still bee your selues discreetely vertuous , nor could I other wish , but that the courteous reader of these labors , not hauing already bought Peters Complaint , would not for so small a mite of money loose so rich a treasure of heauenly wisdome as these two Treatises should minister vnto him , the one so needfully depending vpon the other . One thing amongst the rest I am to admonish thee of , that hauing in this Treatise read Maries visitation , the next that should follow is Christs natiuity , but being afore printed in the end of Peters Complaint , we haue heere of purpose omitted ; that thou shouldest not be abridged of that and the other like comforts which that other treatise profereth thee .

Yours ( kind Gentlemen ) in all his abilities . I. B.

The Author to the Reader . DEare eye that doest peruse my Muses style . With easie censure deeme of my delight : Giue sobrest countnance leaue sometime to smyle , And grauest wits to take a breathing flight : Of mirth to make a trade may be a crime , But tyred spirites for mirth must haue a time . The loftie Eagle soares not still aboue , High flightes will force her from the wing to stoupe , And studious thoughtes at times men must remoue , Least by excesse before their time they droupe . In courser studies t is a sweete repose , With Poets pleasing vaine to temper prose . Prophane conceits and fayning fits I flie , Such lawlesse stuffe doth lawlesse speeches fit : With Dauid verse to vertue I applie , Whose measure best with measured wordes doth fit : It is the sweetest note that man can sing , When grace in vertues key tunes natures string .

The Author to the Reader . DEare eye that daynest to let fall a looke , On these sad memories of Peters plaints : Muse not to see some mud in cleerest brooke , They once were brittle mould that now are Saints . Theyr weakenes is no warrant to offend , Learne by their faults , what in thine owne to mend . If equities euen-hand the ballance held , Where Peters sinnes and ours were made the weightes : Ounce , for his dramme : Pound , for his Ounce we yeeld : His ship would groane to feele some sinners freightes . So ripe is vice , so greene is vertues bud : The world doth waxe in ill , but waine in good . This makes my mourning Muse resolue in teares , This theames my heauy penne to plaine in prose , Christs Thorne is sharpe , no head his Garland weares : Still finest wits are stilling Venus Rose . In paynim toyes the sweetest vaines are spent : To Christian workes , few haue their tallents lent . Licence my single penne to seeke a pheere , You heauenly sparkes of wit , shew natiue light : Cloud not with mistie loues your Orient cleere , Sweet flights you shoote ; learne once to leuell right . Fauour my wish , well-wishing workes no ill : I mooue the Suite , the Graunt restes in your will .

SAINT PETERS Complaynt . LAunch foorth my Soule into a maine of teares , Full fraught with griefe the traffick of thy mind : Torne sayles will serue , thoughts rent with guilty feares : Giue care the sterne : vse sighes in lieu of wind : Remorse , thy Pilot : thy misdeede , thy Carde ? Torment thy Hauen : Shipwracke , thy best reward . Shun not the shelfe of most deserued shame : Sticke in the sandes of agonizing dread : Contènt thee to be stormes and billowes game : Diuorc'd from grace thy soule to pennance wed : Flie not from forreine euils , flie from thy hart : Worse then the worst of euils is that thou art . Giue vent vnto the vapours of thy brest , That thicken in the brimmes of cloudie eyes : Where sinne was hatch'd , let teares now wash the nest : Where life was lost , recouer life with cryes . Thy trespasse foule : let not thy teares be few : Baptize thy spotted soule in weeping dewe . Flie mournefull plaintes , the Ecchoes of my ruth ; Whose screeches in my freighted conscience ring : Sob out my sorrowes , fruites of mine vntruth : Report the smart of sinnes infernall sting . Tell hartes that languish in the soriest plight , There is on earth a farre more sorry wight . A sorry wight , the obiect of disgrace , The monument of feare , the map of shame , The mirrour of mishap , the staine of place , The scorne of time , the infamy of fame : An excrement of earth , to heauen hatefull , Iniurious to man , to God vngratefull . Ambitious heades dreame you offortunes pride : Fill volumes with your forged Goddesse prayse . You fancies drudges , plung'd in follies tide : Deuote your fabling wits to louers layes : Be you ô sharpest griefes , that euer wrung , Texte to my thoughtes , Theame to my playning tung . Sad subiect of my sinne hath stoard my minde . With euerlasting matter of complaint : My threnes an endlesse Alphabet do finde , Beyond the panges which Ieremy doth paint . That eyes with errors may iust measure keepe , Most teares I wish that haue most cause to weepe . All weeping eyes resigne your teares to me : A sea will scantly rince my ordur'de soule : Huge horrours in high tides must drowned bee , Of euery teare my crime exacteth tole . These staines are deepe : few drops , take out no such : Euen salue with sore : and most , is not too much . I fear'd with life , to die ; by death to liue : I left my guide , now left , and leauing God . To breath in blisse , I fear'd my breath to giue : I fear'd for heauenly raigne , an earthly rod . These feares I fear'd , feares feeling no mishaps : O fond , ô faint , ô false , ô faultie laps . How can I liue , that thus my life deni'd ? What can I hope , that lost my hope in feare ? What trust to one , that truth it selfe defi'de ? What good in him , that did his God forsweare ? O sinne , of sinnes , of euils , the very worst : O matchlesse wretch : ô catiffe most accurst . Vaine in my vaunts I vowd if friends had fail'd Alone Christs hardest fortunes to abide : Giant in talke , like dwarfe , in triall quaild : Excelling none , but in vntruth and pride . Such distance is betweene high words and deeds : In proofe the greatest vaunter seldome speedes . Ah rashnes hastie ryse to murdering leape , Lauish in vowing , blind , in seeing what : Soone sowing shames , that long remorse must reape : Nurcing with teares , that ouer-sight begat ; Scout of repentance , harbinger of blame , Treason to wisedome , mother of ill name . The borne-blind begger , for receiued sight , Fast in his faith and loue , to Christ remain'd , Hee stouped to no feare , he feard no might : No change his choice : no threats his truth distain'd . One wonder wrought him in his dutie sure : I , after thousands did my Lord abiure . Could seruile feare of rendring natures due , Which growth in yeeres was shortly like to claime , So thrall my loue , that I should thus eschue A vowed death , and misse so faire an ayme ? Die , die , disloyall wretch , thy life detest : For sauing thine , thou hast forsworne the best . Ah life , sweet drop , drownd in a sea of sowers , A flying good , posting to doubtfull end , Still loosing months and yeeres to gaine new howers : Faine , time to haue , and spare , yet forst to spend ; Thy growth , decrease , a moment , all thou hast : That gone , ere knowne : the rest : to come , or past . Ah life , the maze of countlesse straying waies , Open to erring steps , and strow'd with baits , To winde weake sences into endlesse strayes , A loofe from vertues rough vnbeaten straights ; A flower , a play , a blast , a shade , a dreame , A liuing death , a neuer turning streame . And could I rate so high a life so base ? Did feare with loue cast so vneuen account , That for this goale I should runne Iudas race , And Caiphas rage in crueltie surmount ? Yet they esteemed thirtie pence his price , I , worse then both , for nought deny'd him thrise . Ma The mother sea from ouerflowing deepes , Sends forth her issue by diuided vaines : Yet backe her of-spring to theyr mother creepes , To pay theyr purest streames with added gaines ; But I that drunke the drops of heauenly flud , Bemyr'd the gyuer with returning mud . Is this the haruest of his sowing toyle ? Did Christ manure thy hart to breed him bryers ? Or doth it need this vnaccustomd soyle , With hellish dunge to fertile heauens desires ? No , no , the Marle that periuries doth yeeld , May spoyle a good , not fat a barraine field . Was this for best deserts the duest meede ? Are highest worthes well wag'de with spitefull hire ? Are stoutest vowes repeal'd in greatest neede ? Should friendship at the first affront retire ? Blush crauen sott , lurke in eternall night : Crouch in the darkest caues from loathed light . Ah wretch , why was I nam'd sonne of a doue , Whose speeches voyded spight , and breathed gall ? No kin I am vnto the bird of loue : My stony name much better sutes my fall , My othes were stones ; my cruell tongue the sling : My God , the marke : at which my spight did fling . Were all the Iewish tiranies too few , To glut thy hungry lookes with his disgrace : That thou more hatefull tirannies must shew : And spit thy poyson in thy Makers face ? Didst thou to spare his foes put vp thy sword : To brandish now thy tongue against thy Lord ? Ah tongue , that didst his prayse and Godhead sound , How wert thou stain'd with such detesting words That euery word was to his hart a wound , And launst him deeper then a thousand swordes ? What rage of man , yea what infernall spirite , Could haue disgorg'd more loathsome dregs of spite ? Why did the yeelding sea like marble way Support a wretch more wauering then the waues ? Mat Whom doubt did plunge , why did the water stay , Vnkind , in kindnesse ; murthering , while it saues ? O that this toung had then been fishes food , And I deuour'd before this cursing moode . Their surges , depthes , and seas vnfirme by kinde , Rough gusts , and distance both from ship and shoare , Were titles to excuse my staggering minde , Stout feete might falter on that liquid floare . But here , no seas , no blastes , no billowes were , A puffe of womans winde bred all my feare . O coward troupes far better arm'd then harted , Whom angry words , whom blowes could not prouok , Ioh. Whom though I taught how sore my weapon smarted , Yet none repaide me with a wounding stroke . O no : that stroke could but one moitie kill , I was reseru'd both halfes at once to spill . Ah , whether was forgotten loue exilde ? Where did the truth of pledged promise sleepe ? What in my thoughts begat this ougly child , That could through rented soule thus fircely creepe ? O viper , feare their death by whom thou liuest , All good thy ruynes wrecke , all euels thou giuest . Threats threw me not , torments I none assayde : My fray , with shades : conceits dyd make me yeeld , Wounding my thoughts with feares : selfely dismayd , I neyther fought nor lost , I gaue the field ; Infamous foyle : a Maidens easie breath Dyd blow me downe , and blast my soule to death . Titles I make vntruths , am I a rocke ? That with so soft a gale was ouer-throwne ? Am I fit Pastor for the faithfull flocke , To guide theyr soules , that murdred thus mine owne ? A rock of ruine , not a rest to stay , A Pastor , not to feed , but to betray . Fidelitie was flowne , when feare was hatched , Incompatible brood in vertues nest : Courage can lesse with cowardise be matched , Prowesse nor loue lodg'd in deuided brest ; O Adams child , cast by a sillie Eue , Heire to thy Fathers foyles , and borne to greeue . In Thabors ioyes I eger was to dwell , An earnest friend while pleasures light did shine , But when ecclipsed glory prostrate fell , These zealous heates to sleepe I did resigne ; And now , my mouth hath thrise his name defil'd , That cry'd so loud three dwellings there to build . When Christ attending the distressefull hower , With his surcharged brest did blesse the ground , Prostrate in pangs , rayning a bleeding shower , Me , like my selfe , a drowsie friend he found ; Thrise in his care , sleepe closde my carelesse eye , Presage , how him my tongue should thrise deny . Parting from Christ my fainting force declin'd , With lingring foote I followed him a loofe , Base feare out of my hart his loue vnshrind , Ma● Lu● Huge in high words , but impotent in proofe ; My vaunts did seeme hatcht vnder Sampsons locks , Yet womans wordes did giue me murdring knocks . So farre luke warme desires in crasie loue , Farre off in neede with feeble foote they trayne : In tydes they swimme , low ebbes they scorne to proue , They seeke their friends delights , but shun their paine . Hire of a hireling minde is earned shame : Take now thy due : beare thy begotten blame . Ah , coole remisnes , vertues quartane feuer , Pyning of loue , consumption of grace : Old in the cradle , languor dying euer , Soules wilfull famine , sinnes soft stealing pace , The vndermining euill of zealous thought , Seeming to bring no harmes till all be brought . O portresse of the doore of my disgrace ; Whose toung , vnlockt the truth of vowed minde ; Whose wordes , from cowardes hart did courage chase , And let in death-full feares my soule to blinde , O , hadst thou been the portresse to my tombe : When thou wert portresse to that cursed roome . Yet loue , was loath to part ; feare , loath to die : Stay , daunger life , did counterplead their causes : I fauouring stay , and life , bad daunger flie : But daunger did except against these clauses . Yet stay , and liue , I would , and daunger shunne : And lost my selfe , while I my verdict wonne . I stayde , yet did my staying farthest part : I liu'd ; but so , that sauing life , I lost it : Daunger I shun'd , but to my sorer smart : I gayned nought , but deeper domage crost it , What daunger , distance , death is worse then this , That runnes from God and spoyles his soule of blisse ? O Iohn my guide into this earthly hell , 16 Too well acquainted in so ill a court , Where rayling mouthes with blasphemies did swell , With taynted breath infecting all resort . Why didst thou lead me to this hell of euills : To shew my selfe a fiend among the diuels ? Euill president , the tyde that wafts to vice , Dumme Orator , that woes with silent deedes , Writing in workes lessons of ill aduise , The doing tale that eye in practise reedes : Taster of ioyes : to vnacquainted hunger : With leauen of the olde seasoning the yonger , It seemes no fault to doe that all haue done : The number of offenders hides the sinne : Coatch drawne , with many horse doth easely runne . Soone followeth one where multitudes begin . O , had I in that court much stronger bin ; Or not so strong as first to enter in . Sharpe was the weather in that stormie place , Ioh Best suting hearts benum'd with hellish frost , Whose crusted malice could admit no grace , Where coales were kindled to the warmers cost . Where feare , my thoughts canded with ysie colde : Heate , did my tongue to periuries vnfolde . O hatefull fire ( ah that I euer saw it ) Too hard my hart was frozen for thy force , Farre hotter flames it did require to thawe it , Thy hell resembling heate did freeze it worse . O that I rather had congeal'd to yse : Then bought thy warm'th at such a damning price . O wakefull bird , proclaimer of the day , Whose piercing note doth daunt the Lions rage : 6. Thy crowing did my selfe to me bewray , 4. My frights , and brutish heates it did aswage . But ô , in this alone vnhappie cocke : That thou to count my foyles wert made the clocke . O bird , the iust rebuker of my crime , The faithfull waker of my sleeping feares : Be now the daylie clocke to strike the time , When stinted eyes shall pay their taske of teares . Vpbraide mine eares with thine accusing crow : To make me rew that first it made me know . O milde reuenger of aspiring pride , Thou canst dismount high thoughts to low effects : Thou mad'st a cocke me for my fault to chide , My lofty boastes this lowlie bird corrects . Well might a cocke correct me with a crow : Whom hennish cackling first did ouer-throw . Weake weapons did Golias fumes abate , 17. Whose storming rage did thunder threates in vaine : His bodie huge harnest with massie plate , Yet Dauids stone brought death into his braine . With staffe and sling as to a dog he came : And with contempt did boasting fury tame . Yet Dauid had with Beare and Lyon fought , His skilfull might excusd Golias foyle : The death is easd that worthy hand hath wrought , Some honour liues in honorable spoile . But I on whom all infamies must light : Was hisd to death with wordes of womens spight . Small gnats enforst th' Egiptian king to stoupe , Yet they in swarmes and arm'd with piercing stings : Exod● Smart , noyse , annoyance , made his courage droupe , No small incombrance such small vermine brings : I quaild at words that neither bit nor stoung , And those deliuered from a womans toung . Ah feare , abortiue impe of drouping mind : Selfe ouer-throw ; false friend ; root of remorce : Sighted , in seeing euils ; in shunning blind ; Foyld without field ; by fancie not by force ; Ague of valour ; phrensie of the wise ; True honours staine ; loues frost ; the mint of lies . Can vertue , wisedome , strength by women spild In Dauids , Salomons and Sampsons falls , 2. R● 3. R● Iud● With semblance of excuse my errour guild , Or lend a marble glose to muddy walles ? O no their fault had show of some pretence , No veyle can hide the shame of my offence . The blaze of beauties beames allur'd their lookes , Their lookes , by seeing oft , conceiued loue : Loue , by affecting , swallowed pleasures hookes : Thus beautie , loue , and pleasure them did mooue . These Syrens sugred tunes rockt them a sleepe : Enough , to damne , yet not to damne so deepe . But gratious features dazeled not mine eies , Two homely droyles were authors of my death : Not loue , but feare , my sences did surprize : Not feare of force , but feare of womans breath . And those vnarm'd , ill grac'd , despisd , vnknowne : So base a blast my truth hath ouer-throwne . O women , woe to men : traps for their fals , Still actors in all tragicall mischances : Earthes necessarie euils , captiuing thralls , Now murdring with your tongs , now with your glances , Parents of life , and loue : spoylers of both , The theeues of harts : false do you loue or loth . In time , ô Lord , thine eyes with mine did meete , In them I reade the ruines of my fall : Their chearing raies that made misfortune sweete , Into my guiltie thoughts pourd floods of gall , Their heauenly lookes that blest where they beheld , Darts of disdaine , and angrie checks did yeeld . O sacred eyes , the springs of liuing light , The earthly heauens , where Angels ioy to dwell : How could you deigne to view my deathfull plight , Or let your heauenly beames looke on my hell ? But those vnspotted eyes encountred mine , As spotlesse Sunne doth on the dounghill shine . Sweet volumes stoard with learning fit for Saints , Where blisfull quires imparadize their minds , Wherein eternall studie neuer faints , Still finding all , yet seeking all it finds , How endlesse is your laborinth of blisse , Where to be lost the sweetest finding is ? Ah wretch how oft haue I sweet lessons read , In those deare eyes the registers of truth ? How oft haue I my hungrie wishes fed , And in their happie ioyes redress'd my ruth ? Ah that they now are Heralds of disdaine : That erst were euer pittiers of my paine . You flames diuine that sparkle out your heats , And kindle pleasing fires in mortall hearts : You nectar'd Aumbryes of soule feeding meates , You gracefull quiuers of loues deerest darts : You did vouchsafe to warme , to wound , to feast : My cold , my stony , my now famishd brest . The matchles eyes , match'd onely each by other , Were pleasd on my ill matched eyes to glaunce : The eye of liquid pearle , the purest mother , Broch'd teares in mine to weepe for my mischance ; The cabinets of grace vnlockt their treasure , And did to my misdeed their mercies measure . These blazing Comets , lightning flames of loue , Made me their warming influence to know ; My frozen hart theyr sacred force did proue , Which at their lookes did yeeld like melting snow , They did not ioyes in former plentie carue , Yet sweet are crums where pined thoughts do starue . O liuing mirrours , seeing whom you shew , which equall shadows worths with shadowed things : Yea make things nobler then in natiue hew , By being shap'd in those life-gyuing springs ; Much more my image in those eyes was grac'd , Then in my selfe , whom sinne and shame defac'd . All-seeing eyes , more worth then all you see , Of which one is the others onely price : I worthlesse am , direct your beames on mee , With quickning vertue cure my killing vice . By seeing things , you make things worth the sight , You seeing , salue , and beeing seene delight . O Pooles of Hesebon , the bathes of grace , Ca 〈…〉 Where happy spirits diue in sweet desires : Where Saints reioyce to glasse theyr glorious face , Whose banks make Eccho to the Angels quires ; An Eccho sweeter in the sole rebound , Then Angels musick in the fullest sound . O eyes , whose glaunces are a silent speech , In ciphred words high misteries disclosing : Which with a looke all Sciences can teach , Whose textes to faithfull harts neede little glosing : Witnesse vnworthy I , who in a looke , Learn'd more by rote , then all the scribes by booke . Tough malice still possest theyr hardned minds , I , though too hard , learn'd softnes in thine eye , Which yron knots of stubborne will vnbinds , Offring them loue , that loue with loue will buy , Thys did I learne , yet they could not discerne it , But woe , that I had now such neede to learne it . O Sunnes , all but your selues in light excelling , Whose presence , day , whose absence causeth night , Whose neighbour course , brings Sommer colde expelling , Whose distant periods freeze away delight . Ah , that I lost your bright and fostring beames , To plunge my soule in these congealed streames . O gracious spheres where loue the Center is , A natiue place for our selfe-loaden soules : The compasse , loue , a cope that none can mis: The motion , loue that round about vs rowles : O Spheres of loue , whose Center , cope and motion , Is loue of vs , loue that inuites deuotion . O little worlds , the summes of all the best , Where glory , heauen , God , sonne : all vertues , stars ; Where fire , a loue that next to heauen doth rest , Ayre , light of life , that no distemper marres ; The water , grace , whose seas , whose springes , whose showers . Cloth natures earth with euerlasting flowers . What mixtures these sweet elements do yeeld , Let happy worldlings of those worlds expound , But simples are by compounds farre exceld , Both sute a place , where all best things abound . And if a banisht wretch gesse not amisse : All but one compound frame of perfect blisse . I , out-cast from these worlds exiled rome , Poore Saint , from heauen , from fire cold Salamander : Lost fish , from those sweet waters kindly home , From land of life , stray'd pilgrim still I wander . I know the cause : these worlds had neuer hell , In which my faults haue best deseru'd to dwell . O Bethelem cesterns , Dauids most desire , 2. Reg. From which my sinnes like fierce Philistims keepe , To fetch your drops what champions should I hire , That I therein my withered heart may steepe . I would not shed them like that holy king , His were but tipes , these are the figured thing . O turtle twins all bath'd in virgins milke , Vpon the margin of full flowing bankes : Can. 5. 12. Whose gracefull plume surmounts the finest silke , Whose sight enamoreth heauens most happie rankes , Could I forsweare this heauenly paire of doues , That cag'd in care for me were groning loues . Twice Moses wand did strike the stubborne rocke , Ere stony veynes would yeeld their christall blood : Exod. 1 verse . 6 . Thy eyes , one looke seru'd as an onely knocke , To make my hart gush out a weeping flood . Wherein my sinnes as fishes spawne their frye , To shew their inward shames , and then to dye . But ô , how long demurre I on his eyes , Whose looke did pearce my hart with healing wound : Launcing impostumd sore of periurd lyes , Which these two issues of mine eyes hath found : Where runne it must , till death the issues stop , And penall life hath purgd the finall drop . Like solest Swan that swimmes in silent deepe , And neuer sings but obsequies of death , Sigh out thy plaints , and sole in secret weepe , In suing pardon , spend thy periurd breath . Attire thy soule in sorrowes mourning weede : And at thine eyes let guiltie conscience bleede . Still in the limbecke of thy dolefull breast , These bitter fruits that from thy sinnes do grow , For fuel , selfe accusing thoughts be best , Vse feare , as fire the coales let pennance blow : And seeke none other quintescence but teares , That eyes may shed what entred at thine eares . Come sorrowing teares the of spring of my griefe , Scant not your parent of a needefull aide ; In you I rest , the hope of wish'd reliefe , By you my sinnefull debts must be defraide . Your power preuailes , your sacrifice is gratefull , By loue obtayning life to men most hatefull . Come good effects of ill deseruing cause ; Ill gotten impes , yet vertuously brought forth : Selfe-blaming probates , of infringed lawes , Yet blamed faults redeeming with your worth ; The signes of shame in you each eye may read , Yet while you guiltie proue , you pittie plead . O beames of mercy beate on sorrowes clowde , Poure suppling showres vpon my parched ground : Bring forth the fruite to your due seruice vowde , Let good desires with like deserts be crownd . Water young bloming vertues tender flower , Sinne did all grace of riper groth deuower . Weepe Balme and mirrhe you sweet Arabian trees , With purest gummes perfume and pearle your ryne : Shed on your hony drops you busie bees , I barraine plaint must weepe vnpleasant bryne , Hornets I hyue , salt drops their labour plyes , Suckt out of sinne , and shed by showring eyes . If Dauid night by night did bath his bed , Esteeming longest dayes to short too mone : Psal. 6 Inconsolable teares if Anna shed , Who in her sonne her solace had forgone . Tob , Then I to dayes , and weekes , to months and yeares , Do owe the hourely rent of stintlesse teares . If loue , if losse , if fault , if spotted fame , If daunger , death , if wrath or wrecke of weale , Entitle eyes true heires to earned blame , That due remorse in such euents conceale , Then want of teares might well enroll my name , As chiefest Saint in Calender of shame . Loue , where I lou'd , was due , and best deseru'd , No loue could ayme at more loue-worthy marke , No loue more lou'd then mine of him I seru'd , Large vse he gaue , a flame for euery spark . This loue I lost , this losse a life must rue , Yea life is short to pay the ruth is due . I lost all that I had , and had the most , The most that will can wish , or wit deuise : I least performd , that did most vainely boast , I staind my fame in most infamous wise . What daunger then , death , wrath , or wreck can moue , More pregnant cause of teares then this I proue ? If Adam sought a veyle to scarfe his sinne , Taught by his fall to feare a scourging hand , 〈…〉 3 , 7 , If men shall wish that hils should wrap them in , When crymes in finall doome come to be scand : What mount , what caue , what center can conceale My monstrous fact , which euen the birds reueale ? Come shame the liuery of offending minde : The ougly shroud , that ouershadoweth blame : The mulct , at which foule faults are iustly fynde , The dampe of sinne , the common sluce of fame . By which impostum'd tongues , their humors purge , Light shame on me , I best deseru'd the scourge . Caines murdering hand imbrude in brothers blood , More mercy then my impious toung may craue : Gene 〈…〉 He kild a riuall with pretence of good , In hope Gods doubled loue alone to haue . But feare so spoild my vanquisht thoughts of loue : That periurde oathes my spightfull hate did proue . Poore Agar from her phere enforc'd to flye , Wandring in Barsabeian wildes alone : Doubting her child throgh helples drought would dye , Laide it aloofe and set her downe to moane . The heauens with praiers : her lap with teares she fild , A mothers loue in losse is hardly stild . But Agar now bequeath thy teares to me , Gene , 〈…〉 Feares , not effects , did set aflote thine eyes : But wretch I feele more then was feard of thee , Ah , not my sonne , my soule it is that dyes . It dyes for drought yet had a spring in sight , Worthy to dye , that would not liue and might . Faire Absolons foule faults compard with mine , 2 , Re 〈…〉 Are brightest sands , to mud of Sodome lakes . High aymes , yong spirits , birth of royall line , Made him play false where kingdomes were the stakes , He gazd on golden hopes , whose lustre winnes Sometime the grauest wittes to grieuous sinnes . But I whose crime cuts off the least excuse , A kingdome lost , but hop'd no mite of gaine , My highest marke , was but the worthlesse vse , Of some few lingring howres of longer paine ; Vngratefull child , his parent he pursude , I , Gyants warre with God himselfe renude . Ioy infant Saints , whom in the tender flower 〈…〉 2. A happy storme did free from feare of sinne , Long is their life that die in blisfull hower , Ioyfull such ends as endles ioyes begin . Too long they liue , that lyue till they be nought , Life sau'd by sinne , base purchase deerely bought . This lot was mine , your fate was not so fearce , Whom spotlesse death in cradle rockt a sleepe , Sweet Roses mixt with Lillies strow'd your hearce , Death virgin white in martirs red did steepe . Your downy heads both pearles and rubies crownd , My hoary locks did femall feares confound . You bleating Ewes that waile thys woluish spoyle , Of sucking Lambes new bought with bitter throwes , To balme your babes your eyes distill theyr oyle , Each hart to tombe her child wide rupture showes ; Rue not theyr death whom death did but reuiue : Yeeld ruth to me that liu'd to die aliue . With easie losse sharpe wreacks dyd he eschew , That Sindonles aside did naked slyp , Once naked grace no outward garment knew , Rich are his robes whom sinne did neuer stryp , I that in vaunts displaid prides fayrest flags , Disrob'd of grace , am wrapt in Adams rags . When traytor to the Sonne , in Mothers eyes , I shall present my humble sute for grace , What blush can paint the shame that will arise , Or write my inward feeling in my face ? Might she the sorrow with the sinner see , Though I dispisde : my griefe might pittyed bee . But ah , how can her eares my speech endure , Or sent my breath still reeking hellish steeme ? Can Mother like what did the Sonne abiure , Or hart deflowr'd a virgins loue redeeme ? The Mother nothing loues that Sonne doth loath , Ah lothsome wretch detested of them both . O sister Nymphes the sweet renowned payre , That blesse Bethania bounds with your aboade : Shall I infect that sanctified ayre , Or staine those steps where Iesus breath'd and trode ? No : let your prayers perfume that sweetned place : Turne me with Tygers to the wildest chase . Could I reuiued Lazarus behold , 11. The thyrd of that sweet Trinitie of Saints ? Would not astonisht dread my sences hold ? Ah yes , my hart euen with his naming faints ; I seeme to see a messenger from hell , That my prepared torments comes to tell . O Iohn , ô Iames , we made a triple corde 17. Of three most louing and best loued friends : 〈…〉 8. My rotten twist was broken with a word , Fit now to fuel fire among the fiends ; It is not euer true , though often spoken , That triple twisted corde is hardly broken . The dispossessed deuils that out I threw , In Iesus name , now impiously forsworne , Triumph to see mee caged in theyr mew , Trampling my ruines with contempt and scorne ; My periuries were musick to their daunce , And now they heape disdaines on my mischaunce . Our rock ( say they ) is riuen , ô welcome hower , Our Eagles wings are clypt that wrought so hie : Our thundering Cloude made noise but cast no shower , He prostrate lyes that would haue scal'd the sky ; In womans tongue our runner found a rub , Our Cedar now is shrunke into a shrub . These scornefull wordes vpbraid my inward thought , Proofes of their damned prompters neighbour voice : Such vgly guests still wait vpon the nought , Fiends swarm to soules that swarue from vertues choise , For breach of plighted truth , this true I trie : Ah , that my deede thus gaue my word the lie . Once , and but once , too deere a once to twice it , A heauen , in earth , Saints , nere my selfe I saw ; Sweet was the sight , but sweeter loues did spice it , But sightes and loues did my misdeed with-draw . From heauen and Saints to hell and diuels estrang'd , Those sights to frights , those loues , to hates are chang'd . Christ , as my God , was tempted in my thought , As man , he lent mine eyes their dearest light ; But sinne , his temple hath to ruine brought : And now , he lightneth terrour from his sight , Now of my lay vnconsecrate desires , Prophaned wretch I tast the earned hires . Ah sinne , the nothing that doth all things file ; Out-cast from heauen , earths curse , the cause of hell : Parent of death , author of our exile , The wrecke of soules , the wares that fiends do sell. That men to monsters ; Angels turnes to diuels : Wrong , of all rights ; selfe ruine : root of euils . A thing most done , yet more then God can doe , Dayly new done ; yet euer done amisse : Friended of all , yet vnto all a foe , Seeming a heauen , yet banishing from blisse . Serued with toyle , yet paying nought but paines Mans deepest losse , though false , esteemed gaine . Shot , without noyse : wound without present smart : First seeming light ; prouing in fyne a lode ▪ Entring with ease , not easily wonne to part , Far in effects from that the showes abode : Endorc'd with hope , subscribed with dispaire ; Vgly in death , though life did faine it faire . O forfeiture of heauen : eternall debt , A moments ioy ; ending in endlesse fires : Our natures scumme ; the worlds entangling Net : Night of our thoughts : death of all good desires . Worse then all this : worse then all tongues can say , Which man could owe , but onely God defray . This fawning viper , dumme till he had wounded , With many mouthes doth now vpbraid my harmes : My sight was vaild till I my selfe confounded , Then did I see the dissinchanted charmes . Then could I cut the anotomy of sinne , And search with Linxes eyes what lay within . Bewitching euill , that hides death in deceits , Still borrowing lying shapes to maske thy face , Now know I the deciphring of thy sleights , A cunning , deerely bought with losse of grace ; Thy sugred poyson now hath wrought so well , That thou hast made me to my selfe a hell . My eye , reades mournfull lessons to my hart , My hart , doth to my thought the griefes expound , My thought , the same doth to my tongue impart , My tongue , the message in the eares doth sound ; My eares , back to my hart theyr sorrowes send , Thus circkling griefes runne round without an end . My guilty eye still seemes to see my sinne , All things Charecters are to spell my fall , What eye doth reade without , hart rues within , What hart doth rue , to pensiue thought is gall ; Which when the thought would by the tongue disgest The eare conuayes it backe into the brest . Thus gripes in all my parts do neuer fayle , Whose onely league is now in bartring paines , What I in grosse , they traffique by retayle , Making each others miseries theyr gaines ; All bound for euer , prentizes to care , While I in shop of shame trade sorrowes ware . Pleasd with displeasing lot I seeke no change , I wealthiest am when richest in remorce ; To fetch my ware no seas nor lands I range , For customers to buy I nothing force . My home-bred goods at home are bought and sold , And still in me the interest I hold . My comfort now is comfortlesse to liue , In Orphan state deuoted to mishap : Rent from the roote , that sweetest fruit did giue , I scorn'd to graffe in stocke of meaner sap . No iuice can ioy me but of Iesse flower , Whose heauenly roote hath true reuiuing power . At sorrowes dore I knockt , they crau'd my name ; I aunswered one , vnworthy to be knowne ; What one , say they ? one worthiest of blame . But who ? a wretch , not Gods , nor yet his owne . A man ? O no , a beast ; much worse , what creature : A rocke : how cald ? the rocke of scandale , Peter , From whence ? from Caiphas house , ah dwell you there . Sinnes farme I rented , there , but now would leaue it ▪ What rent ? my soule ; what gaine ? vnrest , and feare , Deere purchase . Ah too deere , will you receiue it ? What shall we giue ? fit teares , and times , to plaine me ▪ Come in , say they ; thus griefes did entertaine me . With them I rest true prisoner to theyr Iayle , Chain'd in the yron linkes of basest thrall , Tyll grace vouchsafing captiue soule to bayle , In wonted See degraded loues enstall . Dayes , passe in plaints : the nights without repose , I wake , to weepe , I sleepe in waking woes . Sleepe , deaths allye , obliuion of teares , Silence of passions , balme of angry sore , Suspence of loues , securitie of feares , Wrathes lenitiue , harts ease , stormes calmest shore , Sences and soules repriuall from all cumbers , Benumming sence of ill , with quiet slumbers . Not such my sleepe , but whisperer of dreames , Creating strange chymeraes , fayning frights : Of day discourses giuing fansie theames , To make dumme shewes with worlds of antick sights , Casting true griefes in fansies forging mold , Brokenly telling tales rightly fore-told . This sleepe most fitly suteth sorrowes bed , Sorrow , the smart of euill , Sinnes eldest child ▪ Best , when vnkind in killing who it bred , A racke for guiltie thoughts , a bit , for wild . The scourge , that whips , the salue that cures offence : Sorrow , my bed , and home , while life hath sence . Heere solitary Muses nurse my griefes , In silent lonenesse burying worldly noyse , Attentiue to rebukes , deafe to reliefes , Pensiue to foster cares carelesse of ioyes : Ruing lifes losse vnder deathes dreary roofes , Solemnizing my funerall behoofes . A selfe contempt , the shroud : my soule , the corse : The beere , an humble hope : the herse cloth , feare : The mourners , thoughts , in blacks of deepe remorse : The herse , grace , pittie , loue , and mercy beare . My teares , my dole : the priest , a zealous will : Pennance , the tombe : and dolefull sighes , the knill . Christ , health of feuer'd soule , heauen of the mind , Force of the feeble , nurse of Infant loues , Guide to the wandring foote , light of the blind , Whom weeping winnes , repentant sorrow moues . Father in care , mother in tender hart : Reuiue and saue me slaine with finnefull dart . If king Manasses sunke in depth of sinne , With plaints and teares recouered grace and crowne : A worthlesse worme some milde regard may winne , And lowly creepe , where flying threw it downe . A poore desire I haue to mend my ill ; I should , I would , I dare not say , I will . I dare not say ; I will , but wish I may , My pride is checkt , high wordes the speaker spilt : My good , ô Lord , thy gift ; thy strength my stay : Giue what thou bidst , and then bid what thou wilt . Worke with me what thou of me do'st request : Then will I dare the most , and vow the best . Prone looke , crost armes , bent knee , and contrite hart , Deepe sighes , thicke sobs , dew'd eyes & prostrate praiers , Most humbly beg release of earned smart , And sauing shroud in mercies sweete repaires . If iustice should my wrongs with rigor wage : Feares , would dispaires : ruth , breed a hopelesse rage . Lazar at pitties gate I vlcered lye , Crauing the reffues crummes of childrens plate : My sores , I lay in view to mercies eye , My rags , beare witnesse of my poore estate : The wormes of conscience that within me swarme : Proue that my plaints are lesse then is my harme , With mildnesse , Iesu , measure my offence : Let true remorse thy due reuenge abate : Let teares appease when trespasse doth incense : Let pittie temper thy deserued hate . Let grace forgiue , let loue forget my fall : With feare I craue , with hope I humbly call . Redeeme my lapse with raunsome of thy loue , Trauerse th' inditement , rigors doome suspend : Let frailtie fauour , sorrowes succour moue , Be thou thy selfe , though changling I offend . Tender my sute , clense this defiled denne , Cancell my debts , sweet Iesu , say Amen . The end of Saint Peters complaint .

MARY MAGDALENS BLVSH . THE signes of shame that staine my blushing face ▪ Rise from the feeling of my rauing fits , Whose ioy , annoy : whose guerdon , is disgrace : Whose solace , flyes : whose sorrow , neuer flits : Bad seede I sow'd : worse fruite is now my gaine : Soone dying mirth begat long liuing paine . Now pleasure ebbes : reuenge beginnes to flow : One day doth wreake the wrath that many wrought : Remorse doth tcach my guiltie thoughts to know , How cheape I sould , that Christ so deerely bought . Faults long vnfelt doth conscience now bewray , Which cares must cure , and teares must wash away . All ghostly dynts that grace at me did dart , Like stubborne rocke I forced to recoyle ; To other flights an ayme I made my hart , whose wounds , then wel-come , now haue wrought my foyle . Woe worth the bow , woe worth the archers might , That draue such arrowes to the marke so right . To pull them out , to leaue them in , is death : One , to this world : one , to the world to come : Wounds may I weare , and draw a doubtfull breath : But then my wounds will worke a dreadfull dome . And for a world , whose pleasures passe away : I lose a world , whose ioyes are past decay . O sence , ô soule , ô had , ô hoped blisse , You wooe , you weane , you draw , you driue me back . Your crosse encountring , like their combate is , That neuer end but with some deadly wrack . When sence doth winne , the soule doth loose the field , And present haps , make future hopes to yeeld . O heauen , lament : sence robbeth thee of Saints : Lament ô soules , sence spoyleth you of grace . Yet sence doth scarse deserue these hard complaints , Loue is the thiefe , sence but the entring place . Yet graunt I must , sence is not free from sinne , For theefe he is that theefe admitteth in .

¶ Marie Magdalens complaynt at Christes death . SIth my life from life is parted : Death come take thy portion . Who suruiues , when life is murdred , Liues by meere extortion . All that liue , and not in God : Couch their life in deaths abod . Seely starres must needes leaue shining , When the sunne is shaddowed . Borrowed streames refraine their running , When head springs are hindered . One that liues by others breath , Dieth also by his death . O true life , since thou hast left me , Mortall life is tedious . Death it is to liue without thee , Death of all most odious . Turne againe or take me to thee , Let me dye or liue thou in mee . Where the truth once was , and is not , Shaddowes are but vanitie : Shewing want , that helpe they cannot : Signes , not salues of miserie . Paynted meate no hunger feedes , Dying life each death exceedes . With my loue , my life was nestled In the somme of happinesse ; From my loue , my life is wrested To a world of heauinesse . O , let loue my life remoue , Sith I liue not where I loue . O my soule , what did vnloose thee From thy sweete captiuitie ? God , not I , did still possesse thee : His , not mine , thy libertie . O , two happie thrall thou wart , When thy prison , was his hart . Spightfull speare , that break'st this prison , Seate of all felicitie , Working this , with double treason , Loues and liues deliuerie : Though my life thou drau'st away , Maugre thee my loue shall stay .

Times goe by turnes . THE lopped tree in time may grow againe , Most naked plants renew both fruit and flower : The soriest wight may finde release of paine , The dryest soyle sucke in some moystning shower . Times goe by turnes , and chaunces chaunge by course : From foule to faire : from better happe , to worse . The sea of fortune doth not euer flowe , She drawes her fauours to the lowest ebbe : Her tydes hath equall times to come and goe , Her Loome doth weaue the fine and coursest webbe . No ioy so great , but runneth to an end : No hap so hard , but may in fine amend . Not alwaies fall of leafe , nor euer spring , No endles night , yet not eternall day : The saddest birds a season find to sing , The roughest storme a calme may soone alay . Thus with succeeding turnes God tempereth all : That man may hope to rise , yet feare to fall . A chaunce may winne that by mischaunce was lost , The net that holdes no great , takes little fish ; In some things all , in all things none are crost , Fewe , all they neede : but none , haue all they wish , Vnmedled ioyes here to no man befall , Who least , hath some , who most , hath neuer all .

Looke home . REtyred thoughts enioy their owne delights , As beautie doth in selfe beholding eye : Mans mind a mirrour is of heauenlie sights , A briefe wherein all meruailes summed lye . Of fayrest formes , and sweetest shapes the store , Most gracefull all , yet thought may grace them more . The mind a creature is , yet can create , To natures patterns adding higher skill : Of finest works wit better could the state , If force of wit had equall power of will . Deuise of man in working hath no end , What thought can think an other thought can mend . Mans soule of endlesse beauties image is , Drawne by the worke of endles skill and might ; This skilfull might gaue many sparkes of blisse , And to discerne this blisse a natiue light , To frame Gods image as his worthes requird , His might , his skill , his word , and will conspird . All that he had his image should present , All that it should present he could afford : To that he could afford his will was bent , His will was followed with performing word . Let this suffize , by this conceiue the rest , He should , he could , he would , he did the best .

Fortunes falshood . IN worldly meriments lurketh much miserie , Slie fortunes subtilties in baites of happinesse Shrowd hookes , that swallowed , without recouerie Murder the innocent with mortall heauinesse . She sootheth appetites with pleasing vanities , Till they be conquered with cloaked tyrannie , Than , changing countenance , with open enmities , She triumphes ouer them , scorning their slauerie . With fawning flatterie deaths doore she openeth , Alluring passengers to bloodie destenie : In offers bountifull , in proofe shee beggereth ; Mens ruines registring her false felicitie . Her hopes are fastened in blisse that vanisheth , Her smart inherited with sure possession , Constant in crueltie , shee neuer altereth , But from one violence , to more oppression . To those that follow her , fauours are measured As easie premises to hard conclusions ; With bitter corrosiues her ioyes are seasoned , Her highest benefits are but illusions . Her wayes , a laborinth of wandring passages : Fooles common pilgrimage , to cursed deieties : Whose fond deuotion and idle menages Are wagde with wearinesse in fruitlesse drudgeries . Blind in her fauorites foolish election , Chaunce is her arbiter in giuing dignities : Her choyse of visions , shewes most discretion , Sith welth the vertuous might wrest from pietie . To humble suppliants tyrant most obstinate : She suters aunswereth with contrarieties : Proud with petition , vntaught to mitigate Rigour with clemencie in hardest cruelties . Like Tygre fugitiue from the ambitious , Like weeping Crodocile to scornefull enemies Suing for amitie where shee is odious , But to her followers forswearing curtesies . No wind so changeable , no sea so wauering , As giddie Fortune in reeling varieties ; Now mad , now mercifull , now fierce , now fauoring : In all things mutable , but mutabilities .

Scorne not the least . WHere wards are weake , & foes encountring strong : Where mightier doe assault , then doe defend : The feebler part puts vp enforced wrong , And silent sees , that speech could not amend . Yet higher powers must thinke , though they repine , When sunne is set : the little starres will shine . While Pike doth range , the silly Tench doth flie , And crouch in priuie creekes , with smaller fish : Yet Pikes are caught when little fish goe bie : These , fleet a flote ; while those , doe fill the dish . There is a time euen for the wormes to creepe : And sucke the dew while all their foes doe sleepe . The Marlyne cannot euer sore on high , Nor greedy Grey-hound still pursue the chase : The tender Larke will finde a time to flie , And fearefull Hare to runne a quiet race . He that high growth on Ceders did bestow : Gaue also lowly Mush-rumpts leaue to grow . In Amans pompe poore Mardocheus wept ; Yet God did turne his fate vpon his foe . The Lazar pinde , while Diues feast was kept , Yet he , to heauen ; to hell did Diues goe . We trample grasse , and prize the flowers of May : Yet grasse is greene , when flowers doe fade away .

The Natiuitie of Christ . BEholde the father , is his daughters sonne : The bird that built the nest , is hatch'd therein : The olde of yeares , an houre hath not out-runne : Eternall life , to liue doth now beginne . The word is dumme : the mirth of heauen doth weepe : Might feeble is : and force doth faintly creepe . O dying soules , behold your liuing spring : O dazeled eyes , behold your sonne of grace : Dull eares , attend what word this word doth bring : Vp heauie hartes ; with ioye your ioye embrace . From death , from darke , from deafenesse , from dispaires : This life , this light , this word , this ioye repaires . Gift better then him selfe , God doth not know : Gift better then his God , no man can see ; This gift doth here the giuer giuen bestow ; Gift to this gift let each receiuer bee . God is my gift , himselfe he freely gaue me ; Gods gift am I , and none but God shall haue me . Man altered was by sinne from man to beast ; Beastes foode is haye , haye is all mortall flesh ; Now God is flesh , and lies in Manger prest ; As haye , the brutest sinner to refresh . O happie fielde wherein this fodder grew , Whose tast , doth vs from beasts to men renew .

¶ Christs childhood . TIll twelue yeres age , how Christ his childhood spent , All earthly pennes vnworthy were to write , Such acts , to mortall eyes he did present : Whose worth , not men , but Angels must recite . No natures blots , no childish faults defilde , Where grace was guide , and God did play the childe . In springing locks , lay couched hoarie wit , In semblance young , a graue and auncient port , In lowly lookes , high Maiestie did sit : In tender tongue , sound sence of sagest sort , Nature imparted all that shee could teach , And God supplied , where nature could not reach . His mirth , of modest meane a mirrour was , His sadnesse , tempered with a milde aspect : His eye , to try each action was a glas , Whose lookes , did good approue , and bad correct . His natures gifts , his grace , his word and deede , Well shewed that all did from a God proceede .

A child my choyse . LEt folly praise that fancie loues , I praise and loue that child , Whose hart , no thought : whose tong , no word : whose hand no deed defild . I praise him most , I loue him best , all praise and loue is his : While him I loue , in him I liue , and cannot liue amisse . Loues sweetest mark , lawdes highest theme , mans most desired light , To loue him , life : to leaue him , death : to liue in him , delight . He mine , by gift : I his , by debt : thus each , to others due : First friend he was : best friend he is : all times will try him true . Though young , yet wise : though smal , yet strong : though man , yet God he is : As wise , he knowes : as strong , he can : as God , he loues to blisse , His knowledge rules : his strength , defends : his loue , doth cherish all : His birth , our ioye : his life , our light : his death , our end of thrall . Alas , he weepes , he sighes , he pants , yet doo his Angels sing : Out of his teares , his sighes and throbs , doth buda ioyfull spring . Almightie babe , whose tender armes can force all foes to flie : Correct my faults , protect my life , direct me when I die .

Content and rich . IDwell in graces court , Enrich'd with vertues rights : Faith , guides my wit : loue , leades my will : Hope ; all my mind delights . In lowly vales I mount To pleasures highest pich : My seely shrowd true honor brings , My poore estate is rich . My conscience , is my crowne : Contented thoughts , my rest ▪ My hart is happie in it selfe : My blisse is in my brest . Enough , I reckon welth : A meane , the surest lot , That lies too high , for base contempt ; Too low , for enuies shot . My wishes are but few , All easie to fulfill : I make the limites of my power , The bondes vnto my will . I haue no hopes but one , Which is of heauenly raigne , Effects attaind , or not desir'd , All lower hopes resraine . I feele no care of coyne , Weldoing is my welth : My minde to me an empire is While grace affordeth health . I clyp high-clyming thoughts , The wings of swelling pride , Their fall is worst that from the hight , Of greatest honour slide . Sith sayles of largest size The storme doth soonest teare , I beare so low and small a sayle As freeth me from feare . I wrastle not with rage While furies flame doth burne , It is in vaine to stop the streame Vntill the tide doth turne . But when the flame is out , and ebbing wrath doth end , I turne a late enraged foe Into a quiet friend . And taught with often proofe , A tempered calme I finde ; To be most solace , to it selfe ; Best cure , for angrie minde . Spare diet , is my fare ; My clothes , more fit , then fine ; I know I feede and cloth a foe : That pamp'red , would repine . I enuie not their happe , Whom fauour doth aduance : I take no pleasure in their paine , That haue lesse happie chance . To rise by others fall , I deeme a loosing gaine : All states with others ruines built , To ruine runne a-maine . No change of fortunes calmes , Can cast my comforts downe : When fortune smiles , I smile to thinke , How quickly shee will frowne . And when in froward moode She proues an angrie foe : Small gaine I found to let her come , Lesse losse to let her goe .

Losse in delayes . SHun delayes , they breed remorse , Take thy time while time doth serue thee , Creeping Snayles haue weakest force , Flie theyr fault least thou repent thee , Good is best when soonest wrought , Lingring labours come to nought . Hoise vp saile , while gale doth last ; Tide and wind stay no mans pleasure : Seeke not time , when time is past , Sober speede is wisedomes leysure : After wits are dearely bought , Let thy fore-wit guide thy thought . Time weares all his lockes before , Take thou hold vpon his fore-head , When he flies he turnes no more , And behind his scalpe is naked , Workes aiournd haue many stayes , Long demurres breede new delayes . Seeke thy salue while sore is greene , Festred wounds aske deeper launcing ; After cures are seldome seene , Often sought scarce euer chauncing , Time and place giue best aduise , Out of season out of prise . Crush the Serpent in the head , Breake ill egges ere they be hatched , Kill bad Chickins in the tread , Fligge , they hardly can be catched . In the rysing , stifle ill , Least it grow against thy will . Drops doe pierce the stubborne flint , Not by force but often falling , Custome kils with feeble dint , More by vse then strength preuailing . Single sands haue little waight , Many make a drowning fraight . Tender twigs are bent with ease , Aged trees doe breake with bending , Young desires make little prease , Growth doth make them past amending . Happy man that soone doth knock , Bable babes against the rocke .

Loues seruile Lot . LOue , mistris is of many minds , Yet few know whom they serue , They reckon least how little loue Theyr seruice doth deserue . The will shee robbeth from the wit , The sence from reasons lore , Shee is delightfull in the rine , Corrupted in the core ; Shee shroudeth vice in vertues vaile , Pretending good in ill , Shee offereth ioy , affoordeth griefe , A kisse where shee doth kill . A honny shower raines from her lyps , Sweet lights shine in her face , Shee hath the blush of virgine mind , The minde of Vipers race . She makes thee seek , yet feare to find , To find , but not enioy ; In many frownes some gliding smiles , Shee yeelds to more anoy . She wooes thee to come neere her fire , Yet doth shee draw it from thee , Farre off she makes thy hart to frie , And yet to freeze within thee . Shee letteth fall some luring baits For fooles to gather vp : Too sweet , too sowre to euery tast Shee tempereth her cup. Soft soules she bindes in tender twist , Small Flyes in spinners webbe , Shee sets a floote some luring streames , But makes them soone to ebbe . Her watrie eyes haue burning force : Her floods and flames conspire . Teares kindle sparkes , sobbes fuell are : And sighes doe blow her fire . May neuer was the Month 〈…〉 one , For May is full of flowers , But rather Aprill wet by kind , For loue is full of showers . Like tyrant cruell wounds she giues , Like Surgeon salue shee lends , But salue and sore haue equall force , For death is both their ends . With soothing wordes , inthralled soules : Shee chaines in seruile bands , Her eye in silence hath a speach , Which eye best vnderstands . Her little sweete hath many fowres , Short hap immortall harmes , Her louing lookes , are murdring dartes , Her songs bewitching charmes . Like winter rose , and sommer I Ise Her ioyes are still vntimely , Before her hope , behind remorse , Faire first , in fine vnseemely . Moodes passions , fancies iealous fits , Attend vpon her traine ; She yeeldeth rest without repose , A heau'n in hellish paine . Her house is slouth , her doore deceite , And slipperie hope her staires , Vnbashfull boldnesse bids her guests , And euery vice repaires . Her diet is of such delight , As please till they be past , But then the poyson kils the hart , That did entise the tast . Her sleepe in sinne , doth end in wrath , Remorse rings her awake , Death cals her vp , shame driues her out , Dispaires her vp-shot make . Plowe not the Seas , sowe not the sands , Leaue off your idle paine , Seeke other mistres for your minds , Loues seruice is in vaine .

Life is but losse . BY force I liue in will I wish to dye , In plaint I passe the length of lingring dayes , Free would my soule from mortall body flye , And tread the tracke , of deaths desired wayes ; Life is but losse , where death is deemed gaine , And loathed pleasures breede displeasing paine . Who would not dye to kill all murdering greeues , Or who would liue in neuer dying feares ? Who would not wish his treasure safe from theeues , And quit his hart from pangues , his eyes from teares ? Death parteth but two , euer fighting foes , Whose ciuill strife , doth worke our endlesse woes . Life is a wandring course to doubtfull rest , As oft a cursed ryse to damning leape ; As happie race to winne a heauenly crest , None being sure , what finall fruites to reape . And who can like , in such a life to dwell , Whose wayes are straite to heau'n , but wyde to hell . Come cruell death why lingrest thou so long , What doth withhold thy dint from fatall stroke ? Now prest I am alas thou doest me wrong , To let me liue more anger to prouoke : Thy right is had , when thou hast stopt my breath , Why should'st thou stay , to worke my double death ? If Saules attempt in falling on his blade , As lawfull were , as ethe to put in vre : If Sampsons leaue , a common law were made , Of Abels lot if all that would were sure . Then cruell death thou should'st the tyrant play , With none but such as wished for delay . Where life is lou'd , thou ready art to kill , And to abridge with sodaine pangues their ioy , Where life is loath'd thou wilt not worke their will , But dost adiourne their death to their annoy , To some thou art a fierce vnbidden guest , But those that craue thy helpe thou helpest least . Auant ô viper , I thy spight defie , There is a God that ouer-rules thy force , Who can thy weapons to his will apply , And shorten or prolong our brittle course : I on his mercie , not thy might relye , To him I liue , for him I hope to dye .

I dye aliue . O Life what lets thee from a quicke decease ? O death what drawes thee from a present pray ? My feast is done my soule would beat ease , My grace is said , ô death come take away . I liue , but such a life as euer dies , I die but such a death , as neuer ends , My death to end my dying life denies , And life my liuing death no whit amends . Thus still I dye , yet still I do reuiue , My liuing death by dying life is fed : Grace more then nature keepes my hart aliue , Whose idle hopes and vaine desires are dead . Not where I breath , but where I loue I liue , Not where I loue , but where I am I dye : The life I wish , must future glory giue , The deathes I feele , in present dangers lye .

What ioy to line . I wage no warre , yet peace I none enioy , I hope , I feare , I fry in freezing cold , I mount in mirth still prostrate in annoy , I all the world embrace , yet nothing hold . All wealth is want where chiefest wishes faile , Yea life is loath'd , where loue may not preuaile . For that I loue , I long , but that I lack , That others loue I loath , and that I haue : All worldly fraights to me are deadly wrack , Men , present hap , I future hopes doe craue . They louing where they liue , long life require , To liue where best I loue , death I desire . Heere loue is lent for loane of filthy gaine , Most friends befriend themselues with friendships shew Heere , plentie perril , want doth breed disdaine , Cares common are , ioyes faulty , short & few . Here honour enuide , meanenes is dispis'd , Sinne deemed solace , vertue little pris'd . Heere beauty is a baite that swallowed choakes , A treasure sought still to the owners harmes : A light that eyes to murdring sighs prouokes , A grace that soules enchant with mortall charmes . A luring ayme to Cupids fiery flights , A balefull blisse that damnes where it delights . O who would liue , so many deaths to try ? Where will doth wish that wisedome doth reproue , Where nature craues that grace must needs denie , Where sence doth like , that reason cannot loue , Where best in shew , in finall proofe is worst , Where pleasures vpshot is to die accurst .

Lifes death loues life . WHo liues in loue , loues least to liue , And long delayes doth rue : If him he loue by whom he liues , To whom all loue is due . Who for our loue did choose to liue , And was content to die : Who lou'd our loue more then his life , And loue with life did buy . Let vs in life , yea with our life , Requite his liuing loue , For best we liue when least we liue , If loue our life remoue . Where loue is hote , life hatefull is , Their grounds doe not agree : Loue where it loues , life where it liues , Desireth most to be . And sith loue is not where it liues , Nor liueth where it loues : Loue hateth life , that holdes it backe , And death it best approues . For seldome is he wonne in life , Whom loue doth most desire : If wonne by loue yet not inioyde , Till mortall life expire . Life out of earth , hath not aboad , In earth loue hath no place , Loue setled hath her ioyes in heau'n , In earth life all her grace . Mourne therefore no true louers death : Life onely him annoyes , And when he taketh leaue of life , Then loue beginnes his ioyes .

At home in Heauen . FAire soule , how long shall veyles thy graces shroud ? How long shall this exile with-hold thy right , When will thy sunne disperse this mortall cloud , And giue thy glories scope to blaze their light ? O that a Starre more fit for Angels eyes , Should pyne in earth , not shyne aboue the skyes . Thy ghostly beautie offred force to God , It cheyn'd him in the linkes of tender loue . It woon his will with man to make abode : It stai'd his Sword , and did his wrath remoue . It made the rigor of his iustice yeeld , And Crowned mercie Empresse of the feeld . This lull'd our heauenly Sampson fast a sleepe , And laid him in our feeble natures lap . This made him vnder mortall load to creep And in our flesh his god-head to enwrap . This made him soiourne with vs in exile : And not disdayne our tytles in his stile . This brought him from the rankes of heau'nly quires , Into this vale of teares , and cursed soyle : From flowers of grace , into a world of bryers : From life to death , from blisse to balefull toyle . This made him wander in our Pilgrim weede , And tast our torments , to relieue our neede . O soule do not thy noble thoughtes abase ? To lose thy loues in any mortall wight : Content thine eye at home with natiue grace , Sith God him selfe is rauisht with thy sight . If on thy beautie God enamored bee : Base is thy loue of any lesse then hee . Giue not assent to muddy minded skill , That deemes the feature of a pleasing face , To be the sweetest baite to lure the will : Not valewing right the worth of ghostly grace ▪ Let Gods and Angels censure winne beliefe , That of all beauties iudge our soules the chiefe . Queene Hester was of rare and pearlesse hew , And Iudeth once for beautie bare the vaunt , But he that could our soules endowments vew , Would soone to soules the Crowne of beauty graunt , O soule out of thy selfe seeke God alone : Grace more then thine , but Gods , the world hath none .

Lewd Loue is Losse . MIsdeeming eye that stoupest to the lure Of mortall worthes not worth so worthy loue ▪ All beauties base , all graces are impure : That do thy erring thoughts from God remoue . Sparkes to the fire , the beames yeelde to the sunne , All grace to God from whom all graces runne . If picture moue , more should the patterne please , No shaddow can , with shaddowed things compare , And fayrest shapes whereon our loues do seaze : But seely signes of Gods high beauties are . Goe steruing sence , feede thou on earthly mast , True loue in Heau'n , seeke thou thy sweet repast . Gleane not in barren soyle these offall eares , Sith reap thou maiest whole haruests of delight . Base ioyes with griefes , bad hopes do end in feares : Lewd loue with losse , euill peace with deadly fight : Gods loue alone doth end with endlesse ease , Whose ioyes in hope , whose hope concludes in peace . Let not the luring traine of fansies trap , Or gracious features proofes of natures skill , Lull reasons force a sleepe in errors lap , Or draw thy wit to bent of wanton will ; The fayrest flowers , haue not the sweetest smell , A seeming heauen , proues oft a damning hell . Selfe-pleasing soules that play with beauties bayte , In shyning shroud may swallow fatall hooke , Where eager sight , or semblant faire doth waite , A locke it proues that first was but a looke ; The fish with ease into the Net doth glide , But to get out the way is not so wide . So long the flie doth dallie with the flame , Vntill his singed wings doe force his fall , So long the eye doth follow fancies game , Till loue hath left the hart in heauie thrall ; Soone may the minde be cast in Cupids Iayle , But hard it is imprisoned thoughts to bayle . O loath that loue , whose finall ayme is lust , Moth of the mind , eclypse of reasons light , The graue of grace , the mole of natures rust , The wrack of wit , the wrong of euery right ; In summe , an euill whose harmes no tongue can tell , In which to liue is death , to dye is hell .

Loues Garden griefe . VAine loues auaunt infamous is your pleasure , Your ioy deceit , Your iewels iests , & worthlesse trash your treasure , Fooles common bait . Your pallace is a prison that allureth To sweet mishap , and rest that paine procureth . Your garden griefe , hedg'd in with thornes of enuie , And stakes of strife : Your Allyes errour graueled with iealousie , And cares of life . Your bankes are seates enwrapt with shades of sadnes , Your Arbours breed rough fittes of raging madnes . Your beds are sowne with seedes of all iniquitie , And poys'ning weedes : Whose stalks euill thoughts , whose leaues words full of vanitie , Whose fruite misdeedes . Whose sap is sinne , whose force and operation , To banish grace , and worke the soules damnation . Your trees are dismall plants of pyning corrosiues , Whose roote is ruth . Whose barke is bale , whose timber stubborne fantasies : Whose pyth vntruth . On which in liew of birdes whose voyce delighteth : Of guiltie conscience screching note affrighteth . Your coolest summer gales are scalding sighings , Your showers are teares , Your sweetest smell the stench of sinfull liuing , Your fauoures feares Your gardener sathan , all you reape is miserie : Your gaine remorse and losse of all felicitie .

From Fortunes reach . LEt fickle fortune runne her blindest rase : I setled haue an vnremoued mind : I scorne to be the game of fansies chase , Or vane to shew the chaunge of euery wind , Light giddy humors stinted to no rest , Still chaunge their choyce , yet neuer chose the best . My choyse was guided by fore-sightfull heede , It was auerred with approuing will , It shal be followed with performing deede : And seal'd with vow , till death the chooser kill , Yea death though finall date of vaine desires , Endes not my choyse , which with no time expires . To beauties fading blisse I am no thrall : I bury not my thoughts in mettall Mynes , I aime not at such fame , as feareth fall , I seeke and find a light that euer shynes : Whose glorious beames display such heauenly sights , As yeeld my soule a summe of all delights . My light to loue , my loue to lyfe doth guyde To life that liues by loue , and loueth light : By loue to one , to whom all loues are tyde By dewest debt , and neuer equall right . Eyes light , harts loue , soules truest life he is , Consorting in three ioyes , one perfect blisse . FINIS .

Notes, typically marginal, from the original text

Notes for div A12634-e700