The Passion of a discontented minde

THE PASSION of a Discontented Minde . FRom silent night , true Register of mones ; From saddest soule , consum'd with deepest sins ; From hart quite rent , with sighs & heuy grones , My wailing Muse her wofull worke beginnes : And to the world brings tunes of sad despaire , Sounding nought else but sorrow , griefe , and care . Sorrow , to see my sorrowes cause augmented , And yet lesse sorrowfull , were my sorrowes more ; Griefe , that my griefe , with griefe is not preuented ; For griefe it is must ease my grieued sore . Thus griefe and sorrow care's but how to grieue ; For griefe and sorrow must my cares releeue . The wound fresh bleeding must be stancht with teares , Teares cannot come , vnlesse some griefe preceed ; Griefes come but slacke , which doth increase my feares , Feares , lest for want of helpe I still should bleed . Do what I can to lengthen my liues breath , Ifteares be wanting , I shall bleed to death . Thou deepest Searcher of each secret thought , Infuse in me thy all-affecting grace ; So shall my workes to good effects be brought , While I peruse my vgly sinnes a space : Whose staining filth so spotted hath my soule , As nought will waste , but teares of inward dole . O that the learned Poets of this time ( Who in a loue-sicke line so well indite ) Would not consume good wit in hatefull Rime , But would with care some better subiect write : For if their musicke please in earthly things , Well would it sound if straind with heaunly strings . But woe it is to see fond worldlings vse , Who most delight in things that vainest be ; And without feare worke Virtues fowle abuse , Scorning soules rest , & al true piety : As if they made account neuer to parte From this fraile life ; the pilgrimage of smart . Such is the nature of our foolish kinde , When practiz'd sinne , hath deeply taken roote , The way to penance due is hard to finde , Repentance held a thing of little boote . For contrite teares , soules health , and angels ioy , Most men account a meere phantastike toy . Ill working Vse , deuourer of al grace , The fretting moath that wasteth soules chiefe blisse , The slie close thiefe that lurkes in euery place , Filching by peece-meale , til the whole be his . How many are deceiued by thy baite , T' account their sinnes as trifles of no waight ? O cursed custome , causing mischiefe still , Too long thy craft my senses hath misse-led ; Too long haue I bin slaue vnto thy will ; Too long my soule on bitter sweetes hath fed : Now surfetting with thy hell poysned cates , In deepe repent , her former folly hates . And humbly comes with sorrow-rented hart , With blubbred eies , and hands vprear'd to heauen ; To play a poore lamenting Mawdlines part , That would weepe streames of blood to be forgiuen : But ( oh ) I feare mine eies are drain'd so drie , That though I would , yet now I cannot crie . If any eie therefore can spare a teare , To fill the wel-springs that must wet my cheekes ; O let that eie to this sad feast draw neare : Refuse me not , my humble soule beseekes ; For all the teares mine eies haue euer wept , Were now too little had they all bin kept . I see my sinnes arraign'd before my face , I see their number passe the moathes in Sunne , I see that my continuance in this place Cannot be long ; and all that I haue done I see the Iudge before my face hath layde , At whose sterne lookes all creatures are afraide . If he be iust , my soule condemned is ; And iust he is , what then may be expected , But banishment from euerlasting blisse ? To liue like cursed Caine , base , vile , abiected : He in his rage his brothers blood did spill ; I more vnkinde mine owne soules life doe kill . O could mine eies send trickling teares amaine , Neuer to cease till my eternall night , Till this eye-flood his mercy might obtaine , Whome my defaults haue banisht from his sight : Then could I blesse my happy time of crying , But ah too soone my barren springs are drying . Thrise happy sinner was that blessed Saint , Who though he fell with puffe of womans blast , Went forth and wept with many a bitter plaint , And by his teares obtained grace at last : But wretched I , haue falne of mine accord , Tenne thousand times against the liuing Lord . Yet cannot straine one true repentant teare , To gaine the blisse from which my soule is banisht ; My flintie heart some sorrowing doth forbeare , And from my sence all true remorce is vanisht : For heart and sence are cloyd with dregs of sinne , And there s no place for Grace to enter in . No place ( deere Lord ) vnlesse thy goodnesse please To pitty him that worst deserues of any ; And in thy tender mercy grant him ease , As thou tofore hast mercy shewd to many : Yet none of those doe equall me in sinne , Oh how may I hope mercie then to winne . The traitor Iudas heire borne to perdition , Who for a trifle did his Lord betray , In equall doome deserueth more remission , Then my defaults can challenge any way : He solde him once , that once for gaine was done , I oftentimes , yet lesse then nothing wonne . The bloody minded Iewes , in furie mad , Vntill on Christ their cruell rage was fed , In their fell anger more compassion had Then I , for whome his harmelesse blood was shed : Their hellish spite within a day was past , My sinfull fit doth all my life time last . For eu'ry stripe that he from them did take , A thousand deadly sinnes haue I committed ; And eu'ry wound as deepe a wound did make , As did the cordes wherewith my Christ was whipped : Oh hateful caitife , parricide most vile , Thus ( with my sinne ) his pure blood to defile . O sinne , first parent of mans euer woe , The distance large that seuers hell and heauen ; Senses confounder , soules chiefe ouerthrow , Grafted by men , not by the grafter geuen : Consuming canker , wasting soules chiefe treasure , Onely to gaine a little trifling pleasure . Happy were man , if sinne had neuer bin , Thrise happie now , if sinne he would for sake ; But happier farre , if for his wicked sinne He would repent , and hearty sorrow make : Leauing this drosse and fleshly delectation , To gaine in heau'n a lasting habitation . There is the place wherein all sorrowes die , Where Ioy exceedes all ioyes that euer were ; Where Angels make continuall harmony , The minde set free from care , distrust , or feare : There all receiue all ioyfull contentation , Happied by that most heau'nly contemplation . Now see ( alas ) the change we make for sinne , In steede of heau'n , hel is become our lot ; For blessed Saints , damned fiends we euer winne ; For rest and freedome , lasting bondage got : For Ioy , content , eternall loue and peace , Griefe , dispaire , hate , iarres that neuer cease . The worme of conscience stil attendeth on vs , Telling each houre , each instant we shall die ; And that our sinnes cannot be parted from vs , But where we are , thither they likewise flie : Still vrging this , that death wee haue deserued , Because we fled from him we should haue serued . What greater sinne can touch a humane hart ? What hellish furie can be worse tormented ? What sinner liues that feeleth not a part Of this sharpe plague , vnlesse he haue repented ? And yet Repentance surely is but vaine , Without full purpose , not to sinne againe . And is it not then plaine follies error , To couet that that brings with it contempt , And makes vs liue in feare , distrust , and terror , Hating at last the thing wee did attempt ? For neuer sinne did yet so pleasing taste , But lustfull flesh did loathe it when t' was past . Witnes my wofull soule , which well can tell , In hiest top of sinne 's most fresh delight ; Although my frailety suffred mee to dwell , Yet being past , I loath'd it with despight . But like the swine , I fed mine owne desire , That being cleane , stil coueteth the mire . So greedy is mans beastly appetite , To follow after dunghill pleasures still ; And feede on carrion like the rauening kite , Not caring what his hungry maw dooth fill : But worketh euermore his wills effect , Without restraint , controlement , or respect . O , why should man , that beares the stamp of heauen , So much abase heauens holy will and pleasure ? O , why was sence and reason to him giuen , That in his sinne cannot containe a measure : He knowes , he must account for euery sinne , And yet committeth sinnes that countlesse bin . This to peruse ( deere God ) doth kill my soule , But that thy mercy quickeneth it againe ; O , heare me , Lord , in bitternesse of dole , That of my sinnes do prostrate heere complaine ; And at thy feet , with Mary , knocke for grace , Though wanting Maries teares to wet my face . She , happy sinner , saw her life misse-led , At sight whereof , her inward hart did bleede , To witnes with her outward teares were shed . O blessed Saint , and O most blessed deede : But wretched I , that see more sinnes than she , Nor greeue within , nor yet weepe outwardly . When she had lost thy presence but one day , The want was such , hir heart could not sustaine ; But to thy tombe alone she tooke her way , And there with sighs and teares she did complaine : Nor from her sense , once moou'd or stirr'd was shee , Vntil againe she got a sight of thee . But I haue lost thy presence all my dayes , And still am slacke to see thee as I should ; My wretched soule in wicked sinne so stayes , I am vnmeete to see thee , though I would : Yet , if I could with teares thy comming tend , I know I should ( as she ) finde thee my frend . Teares are the key that ope the way to blisse , The holy water quenching heau'ns quicke fire ; The attonement true twixt God and our amisse ; The Angels drinke , the blessed Saints desire : The ioy of Christ , the balme of grieued hart , The spring of life , the ease of eu'ry sinart . The second King of Israel by succession , When with Vriahs wife he had offended , In bitter teares be waild his great transgression , And by his teares found grace , and so repented : He , night and day in weeping did remaine ; I , night nor day to shed one teare take paine . And yet my sinnes , in greatnesse , and in number , Farre his exceede ; how comes it then to passe , That my repentance should so farre be vnder ; And graces force , deere God , is as it was : Truth is , that I , although I haue more neede , Do not , as he , so truely weepe indeede . O wherfore is my steely heart so hard ? Why am I made of mettall vnrelenting ? Why is all ghostly comfort from me bard ? Or , to what end do I deferre repenting ? Can lustfull flesh , or flattring world perswade me , That I can scape the power of him that made me ? No , no , the secret Searcher of all hearts , Both sees , and knowes each deede that I haue done , And for each deede wil pay me home with smart , No place can serue , his wil decreed to shunne ; I should deceiue my selfe , to thinke that he For sinne would punish others , and not me . Our first borne sire , first breeder of mans thrall , For one bare sinne was of perfection reft , And all mankinde were banisht by his fall From Paradise , and vnto sorrowe left : If he for one , and all for him feele paine , Then , for so many , what should I sustaine ? The Angells made to attend on God in glorie , Were thrust from heau'n , and only for one sinne , That but in thought ( for so recordes the Storie ) For which they still in lasting darkenesse bin : If those , once glorious , thus tormented be , I ( basest slaue ) what will become of me ? What wil become of me , that not in thought , In thought alone , but in each worde and deed ; A thousand thousand deadly sinnes haue wrought , And still doe worke , whereat my hart doth bleed : For euen now , in this my sad complaining , With new made sins , my flesh my soule is staining . O that I were remou'd to some close caue , Where all alone retired from delight , I might my sighes and teares vntroubled haue , And neuer come in wretched worldlings sight ; Whose ill bewitching company still brings Deepe prouocation , whence great danger springs . Ill company , the cause of many woes , The sugred baite , that hideth poysned hooke ; The rocke vnseene , that shipwrackt soules o'rethrowes , The weeping crocodile , that killes with looke , The readiest steppe , to ruine and decay , Graces confounder , and helles nearest way . How many soules do perish by thy guile ? How many men without all feare frequent Thy deadly haunts , where they in pleasure smile , Taking no care such dangers to preuent ? But liue like Belials , vnbrideled or vntamed , Not looking they shall for their faults be blamed . Alas , alas , too wretched doe we liue , That carelesly thus worke our owne confusion , And to our willes such libertie doe giue ; Ay me , it is the diuells meere illusion , To flatter vs with such sense-pleasing traines , That he thereby may take vs in his chaines . This well foresaw good men of auntient time , Which made them shunne th' occasions of foule sinne , Knowing it was the nurse of euery crime , And Syren-like would traine fond worldlings in : Alluring them with shew of musickes sound , Vntill on sinnes deepe shelfe their soules be drownd . But he is held no sotiable man , In this corrupted age , that shall refuse To keepe the cursed company now and than ; Nay but a foole , vnlesse he seeme to chuse : Their fellowship , and giue them highest place . That vildest liue , and furthest off from grace . But better t is , belieue me , in my tryall , To shun such hel-hounds , factors of the Diuell ; And giue them leaue to grudge at your deniall , Then to partake with such in sinne and euill : For if that God ( in Iustice ) then should slay vs , From hell and horror , who ( alas ) could stay vs ? Good God ; the Iust ( as he himselfe hath spoken ) Should scarce be saued , O terror vnremouable , What then should they that neuer had a token , Or signe of grace ( soules comfort most behoueable ) But gracelesse liu'd , and all good deedes did hate . What hope of them that liue in such a state ? O who will giue meteares , that I may waile Both nights and dayes , the dangers I haue past ; My soule , my soule , t is much for thy auaile , That thou art gotten from these straits at last : O ioy , but in thy ioy mixe teares withall , That thou hast time to say ; Lord heare me call . I might as others ( Lord ) haue perished , Amid my sinnes and damnable delights ; But thou ( good God ) with care my soule hast cherished , And brought it home , to taste on heau'nly lights : Ay me , what thankes , what seruice can I render To thee , that of my safety art so tender ? Now doe I curse the time I euer went In sinnes blacke path , that leadeth to damnation : Now do I hate the houres , I haue misse-spent In ydle vice , neglecting soules saluation , And to redeeme the time I haue mis-worne ; I wish this houre , I were againe new borne . But vaine it is , as saith the wisest man , To call againe the day that once is past , O let me see what best is for me than , To gaine thy fauour whil'st my life doth last ; That in the next I may but worthy be , Eu'n in the meanest place to waite on thee . I will , as did the prodigall sonne sometime , Vpon my knees with harty true contrition , And Weeping eies , confesse my former crime , And humbly begge vpon my low submission , That thou wilt not of former faults detect me , But like a louing father now respect me . Or , as the wife that hath her husband wronged , So wil I come with feare and blushing cheeke : For giuing others what to thee belonged ; And say , My King , my Lord , and Spouse most meeke , I haue defil'd the bed that thou didst owe ; Forgiue me this , it shall no more be so . Yet , for the world can witnes mine abuse , I le hide my face from face that witcht mine eies ; These gracelesse eies , that had my bodies vse , Till it be withred with my verie cries : That when my wrinckles shall my sorrowes tell , The world may say , I ioy'd not , though I fell . And thus will I , in sorrowing spend my breath , And spot my face with neuer-dying teares , Till aged wrinckles messengers of death Haue purchasde mercy , and remou'd my feares : And then the world within my lookes shall read , The piteous wracke vnbrideled sinne hath bred . And that which was a pleasure to beholde , Shal be to me an euer-griping paine ; All my misdeedes shall one and one be tolde , That I may see what tyrants haue mee slaine : And when I haue thus mustred them apart , I will display on each a bleeding hart . And lest my teares should faile me at most need , Before the face of faith I le fix my Sauiours passion ; And see how his most pretious side did bleed , And note his death and torments in such fashion ; As neuer man the like did vndertake , For freely he hath done it for my sake . If this his kindenesse and his mercy showne , Cannot prouoke me vnto tender crying ; Then will I backe againe turne to mine owne , Mine owne sinne , cause of this his cruell dying : And if for them no teares mine eies can find , Sighs shal cause tears , tears make my poore eies blind . No farre fetcht story haue I now brought home , Nor taught to speake more language than his mothers , No long done Poem , is from darkenesse come To light againe , it 's ill to fetch from others : The song I sing , is made of heart-bred sorrow , Which pensiue Muse from pining soule doth borow . I sing not I , of wanton loue-sicke laies , Of trickling to yes , to feed fantasticke eares , My Muse respects no flattring tatling praise ; A guiltie conicience this sad passion beares : My sinne sicke soule , with sorrow woe begone , Lamenting thus a wretched deede mis-done . FINIS .