University of Virginia Library

O Lord, as I the have both prayd and pray,
(Altho in the be no alteration
But that we men, like as our sellffes we say,
Mesuryng thy Justice by our Mutation)
Chastice me not, o lord, in thi furour,
Nor me correct in wrathfull castigation.
Ffor that thi arrows off fere, off terrour
Of sword, of sekenes, off famine and fyre
Stikkes diepe in me. I, lo, from myn errour
Ame plongid vp, as horse owt of the myre
With strok off spurr: such is thi hand on me,
That in my fleshe for terrour of thy yre
Is not on poynt of ferme stabilite,
Nor in my bonis there is no stedfastnes:
Such is my drede of mutabilite,
Ffor that I know my frailefull wykednes.
For why? my sinns above my hed ar bownd,
Like hevi wheyght that doth my force oppresse
Vnder the wych I stopp and bowe to grownd,
As whilow plant haled by vyolence;
And off my fleshe ech not well curyd wound,
That festred is by foly and neclegens,
By secrete lust hath ranklyd vnder skyn,
Not duly Curyd by my penitens.
Perceyving thus the tyranny off sin,
That with his wheit hath humblid and deprest
My pryd, by gruging off the worme within
That neuer dyth, I lyve withowten rest.
So ar myn entrayles infect with fervent sore,
Fedyng the harme that hath my welth oprest,
That in my fleshe is lefft no helth therfore.
So wondrus gret hath bene my vexation
That it hath forst my hart to crye and rore.
O lord thow knowst the inward contemplation
Off my desire, thou knowst my syghes and plaintes
Thow knowst the teres of my lamentation
Can not expresse my hertes inward restraintes.
My hart pantyth, my force I fele it quaile,
My syght, myn Iyes, my lok dekays and fayntes.
And when myn enmys did me most assayle,
My frendes most sure, wherein I sett most trust,
Myn own vertus, sonest then did ffaile,
And stoud apart, reson and witt vniust,
As kyn vnkynd were fardest gone at nede.
So had thei place theire venim owt to thrust
That sowght my deth by nowghty word and dede:
Theire tonges reproche, theire wittes did fraude aplye,
And I like deffh and domme forth my way yede,
Lyk one that heris not, nor hath to replye
One word agayne, knowyng that from thi hand
Thes thinges procede and thow o lord shalt supplye
My trust in the wherein I stikk and stand.
Yet have I had gret cawse to dred and fere
That thou woldst gyve my foos the ouerhand;
Ffor in my ffall they shewd suche plesant chere,
And therwithall I alway in the lashe
Abyd the strok: and with me euery where
I bere my fawte, that gretly doth abashe
My dowlfull chere; ffor I my fawt confesse,
And my desert doth all my conffort dashe.
In the mene while myn Enmys saffe encresse
And my provokars herby do augement,
That withowt cawse to hurt me do not cesse.
In evill for good agaynst me they be bent,
And hinder shall my good pursuyte off grace.
Lo now, my god, that seist my hole Intent,
My lord, I ame, thow knowst well, in what case.
Fforsak me not, be not farre from me gone:
Hast to my help, hast, lord, and hast apace,
O lord, the lord off all my helth alone.