 | Poems (1872) |  |
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X. ESSEX LASTE VOYAGE TO THE HAUEN OF HAPPINESS.
Welcome sweet Death the kindest freind I haue,
This fleshly prison of my sowle vnlocke;
With all the speed Thou can'st, prouide my graue,
Gett an axe ready and prepare the blocke;
Vnto the Queene I haue a debt to paye
This Febrewarye's fiue and twenty day.
This fleshly prison of my sowle vnlocke;
With all the speed Thou can'st, prouide my graue,
Gett an axe ready and prepare the blocke;
Vnto the Queene I haue a debt to paye
This Febrewarye's fiue and twenty day.
Come, Patience, come, and take me by the hande,
And trew Repentaunce teach myne eyes to weepe;
Humyllity in neede of Thee I stande,
My sowle desires Thy company to keepe;
Base worldly thoughts, vanish out of my mynde,
Leaue not a spott of you nor yours behinde.
And trew Repentaunce teach myne eyes to weepe;
Humyllity in neede of Thee I stande,
My sowle desires Thy company to keepe;
Base worldly thoughts, vanish out of my mynde,
Leaue not a spott of you nor yours behinde.
Vnto Thy glory Lorde I do confesse,
Vaine worldly pleasures haue my youth misled;
I haue inclynd to luste and wantonesse,
My synns are more then haires vpon my hed;
Without, within, and round on euery side,
Folly, vncleanes, vanity and pride.
Vaine worldly pleasures haue my youth misled;
I haue inclynd to luste and wantonesse,
My synns are more then haires vpon my hed;
Without, within, and round on euery side,
Folly, vncleanes, vanity and pride.
Forgett, forgiue, lett not Thy wrath insence!
Sweete Sauiour Christ my mediatour bee;
O pitty Lorde, O pardon myne offence!
From throne of grace lett Mercy looke on me!
View not the euills in Iustice, I haue don,
Lay all my faultes on Thy synne-salueinge Son!
Sweete Sauiour Christ my mediatour bee;
O pitty Lorde, O pardon myne offence!
From throne of grace lett Mercy looke on me!
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Lay all my faultes on Thy synne-salueinge Son!
And Lorde lett my corruptions neuer rise,
As witnesses of horrour, wrath and feare;
Though synne hath suted me in Hell's disguise
Graunt me the wedinge garment saynts do weare,
Sweete Iesus make Thy bloud the only meane,
To washe my stainèd sowle vnspotted cleane.
As witnesses of horrour, wrath and feare;
Though synne hath suted me in Hell's disguise
Graunt me the wedinge garment saynts do weare,
Sweete Iesus make Thy bloud the only meane,
To washe my stainèd sowle vnspotted cleane.
Poure on my harte the sweetest streames of grace,
And feede my hungry hopes with heau'nly loue;
From my complaynts turne not away Thy face,
Reach me Thy hande to lifte my thoughts aboue,
That I before Thy presence may appeere,
Although this fylthy lumpe of flesh stay heere.
And feede my hungry hopes with heau'nly loue;
From my complaynts turne not away Thy face,
Reach me Thy hande to lifte my thoughts aboue,
That I before Thy presence may appeere,
Although this fylthy lumpe of flesh stay heere.
Before I had a beeinge, life or breath,
By Thy great goodnes I obtayn'd creation;
When I was captiue in the jayle of death,
Thy mercy did redeeme me to saluation;
Thou wounded wast, to heale the woundes Syn gaue-me,
And Thou didst dye, only of love to saue-me.
By Thy great goodnes I obtayn'd creation;
When I was captiue in the jayle of death,
Thy mercy did redeeme me to saluation;
Thou wounded wast, to heale the woundes Syn gaue-me,
And Thou didst dye, only of love to saue-me.
O Lorde, assist this my most needfull hower,
Strengthen my weaknes with Thy wondrous myght,
At our ende, Sathan's busiest with his power,
Ayde me in this laste combatt I shall fight;
Helpe Heauen's Kinge, for if Thy hand be by,
I know Hell's coward, will with terrour flye.
Strengthen my weaknes with Thy wondrous myght,
At our ende, Sathan's busiest with his power,
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Helpe Heauen's Kinge, for if Thy hand be by,
I know Hell's coward, will with terrour flye.
And Lorde forgiue me this laste bloudy syn,
That lyes so heauy on my tyrèd sowle;
By which so many of my frends haue bin,
Brought in Death's daunger by the Lawe's controwle;
Offendinge God, our prince, the Realme of state,
Vnto the ruine of our honour's date.
That lyes so heauy on my tyrèd sowle;
By which so many of my frends haue bin,
Brought in Death's daunger by the Lawe's controwle;
Offendinge God, our prince, the Realme of state,
Vnto the ruine of our honour's date.
But Iesus, I do come with fayth to Thee,
My Death's my life, Thy mercy is my merritt;
From slauish syn I now enlarg'd shall bee,
Eternall joyes perpetuall to Inherrit;
Thou art the worke, Thou art the corner stone,
On Thee I rest, on Thee I build alone.
My Death's my life, Thy mercy is my merritt;
From slauish syn I now enlarg'd shall bee,
Eternall joyes perpetuall to Inherrit;
Thou art the worke, Thou art the corner stone,
On Thee I rest, on Thee I build alone.
Now am I ready in the Tower to dye,
And there my death and buriall lett me haue;
Where greate ambitious lords do hedles lye,
As Norfolk's duke, and Gilforde Dudlie's graue;
Northumberland, Buckingame, and lord Gray,
Who loste their heads as I must do this day.
And there my death and buriall lett me haue;
Where greate ambitious lords do hedles lye,
As Norfolk's duke, and Gilforde Dudlie's graue;
Northumberland, Buckingame, and lord Gray,
Who loste their heads as I must do this day.
Tyme's come, Death calls, now sowle on Christ laye hould,
Sue with an humble pitty-pleadinge voyce;
Poore strayinge sheepe, hye thee vnto the foulde,
Thy comeinge home makes angells to reioyce;
Come blessed spirritts, come in Iesus' name,
Receiue my sowle, to Him conuaye the same.
Sue with an humble pitty-pleadinge voyce;
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Thy comeinge home makes angells to reioyce;
Come blessed spirritts, come in Iesus' name,
Receiue my sowle, to Him conuaye the same.
| Poems (1872) | |