 | Pietatis Lachrymae Teares of deuotion |  |
A passion of an afflicted soule.
No sooner had the Sunne all shewed his face,
Measuring the welkin, by a furlongs space:
But that I sat free from his scorching beame,
Vnder an Oake fast by a siluer streame.
Not long I sat, but soone I heard one crye,
Distilling shewers of teares from his sad eye.
Measuring the welkin, by a furlongs space:
But that I sat free from his scorching beame,
Vnder an Oake fast by a siluer streame.
Not long I sat, but soone I heard one crye,
Distilling shewers of teares from his sad eye.
And with those teares that did from him proceede,
Came sighes (true partners in each woe & need)
And with those sighs, came words, to heare, a wōder,
which thought-torne-hart had almost broke asunder,
Neerer I stept, but yet I stood aside,
to see the end, and what might him betide.
Came sighes (true partners in each woe & need)
And with those sighs, came words, to heare, a wōder,
which thought-torne-hart had almost broke asunder,
Neerer I stept, but yet I stood aside,
to see the end, and what might him betide.
When soone me thought I might this man behold,
Placing his armes a crosse, with an infolde:
Casting his lookes to heau'n, sometimes to earth,
When offring speech, feare stopt his vitall breath.
Yet truce he tooke with feare, heart-grieued man,
and with a mournefull voice, these words began.
Placing his armes a crosse, with an infolde:
Casting his lookes to heau'n, sometimes to earth,
When offring speech, feare stopt his vitall breath.
Yet truce he tooke with feare, heart-grieued man,
and with a mournefull voice, these words began.
Peter denyed his Christ for feare of daunger,
And swore (being askt) he was to him a stranger:
O false forsworne, vilde-wretch that knew him wel,
Who lou'd him more then any tongue can tell.
Yet he his fault no sooner gan to see,
But herepented and from sinne was free.
And swore (being askt) he was to him a stranger:
O false forsworne, vilde-wretch that knew him wel,
Who lou'd him more then any tongue can tell.
Yet he his fault no sooner gan to see,
But herepented and from sinne was free.
Saule did torment the seruants of the high,
Clad all in armes to worke their Tragedy:
And martyr'd Steuen, that high sweet Sa. in heau'n
Was by his meanes of his deare life be-reauen.
Of this great sin, he likewise was forgiuen,
Whome, we Canonize Saint, as blessed Steuen.
Clad all in armes to worke their Tragedy:
And martyr'd Steuen, that high sweet Sa. in heau'n
Was by his meanes of his deare life be-reauen.
Of this great sin, he likewise was forgiuen,
Whome, we Canonize Saint, as blessed Steuen.
Dauid did heap one sinne vpon another,
That so the first, the last might better smother:
Murder, blacke murder, and adultery,
The least brings man to hels foule misery.
He also was of this vilde fault forgiuen,
And now with God, enioyes a place in heauen.
That so the first, the last might better smother:
Murder, blacke murder, and adultery,
The least brings man to hels foule misery.
He also was of this vilde fault forgiuen,
And now with God, enioyes a place in heauen.
These all did sinne, but yet were free'd from feare,
But my sinne's greater then I well can beare:
Christ came a Sauiour that we all might liue,
Yet my sinnes such, as would he would forgiue.
Yea sinne doth cause me to be so forlorne,
As makes me wish I neuer had bin born.
But my sinne's greater then I well can beare:
Christ came a Sauiour that we all might liue,
Yet my sinnes such, as would he would forgiue.
Yea sinne doth cause me to be so forlorne,
As makes me wish I neuer had bin born.
O grieued soule why dost thou sighing crie?
Why spring such flouds from thy immortall eye?
Art thou surcharg'd with sinne? plunged in woe?
Thy teares say yea, though silence tell me no.
Oh (out alas) that I might once be free,
Where thou (O God) might haue no power to see.
Why spring such flouds from thy immortall eye?
Art thou surcharg'd with sinne? plunged in woe?
Thy teares say yea, though silence tell me no.
Oh (out alas) that I might once be free,
Where thou (O God) might haue no power to see.
If I climbe vp to heauen, (oh) thou art there,
And at thy right hand sits my Sauiour deere:
Whose saluing woūds, my soule so much neglected
That force, perforce, I needs must be reiected.
And by those dooming words thou breath'st in ire,
Be headlong cast into eternall fire.
And at thy right hand sits my Sauiour deere:
Whose saluing woūds, my soule so much neglected
That force, perforce, I needs must be reiected.
And by those dooming words thou breath'st in ire,
Be headlong cast into eternall fire.
Heau'n gates are shut sweet mercy there in none,
Then to blacke foggie hell ile get me gone:
That kingdome's priuiledg'd perhaps and free
From sight of him, who all things else doth see.
Oh! but my fearefull conscience willes me know,
As God rules heau'n aboue, so hell below,
Then to blacke foggie hell ile get me gone:
That kingdome's priuiledg'd perhaps and free
From sight of him, who all things else doth see.
Oh! but my fearefull conscience willes me know,
As God rules heau'n aboue, so hell below,
And sayes, those gates stand ope to let soules in,
Fit place of torture for their grieuous sinne:
And as the heauens, so doth he hell retaine,
Death dooming-torture neuer-dying paine.
Why then be gone poore soule, poast hence away,
For heere thou maist not, nay thou dar'st not stay.
Fit place of torture for their grieuous sinne:
And as the heauens, so doth he hell retaine,
Death dooming-torture neuer-dying paine.
Why then be gone poore soule, poast hence away,
For heere thou maist not, nay thou dar'st not stay.
Oh! that I had Auroræs wings to flye
Beyond those Seas, where farther parts doe lye;
Or to some country which no eye hath seene,
Where neuer creature hath bin bred or beene.
But tis in vaine, for thy farre-reaching hand,
Can quickly pull me, from that vnknowne land.
Beyond those Seas, where farther parts doe lye;
Or to some country which no eye hath seene,
Where neuer creature hath bin bred or beene.
But tis in vaine, for thy farre-reaching hand,
Can quickly pull me, from that vnknowne land.
Be dimme oh brighest Sunne, to arch-man to day,
Let thy moyst oyle decrease, thy light decay:
Faire Luna let not thy bright beames be spide,
For peraduenture, darknes may me hide.
Oh (saies my conscience) trust not to blacke night,
For with thy God darknes is as the light.
Let thy moyst oyle decrease, thy light decay:
Faire Luna let not thy bright beames be spide,
For peraduenture, darknes may me hide.
Oh (saies my conscience) trust not to blacke night,
For with thy God darknes is as the light.
Wel I could wish that some huge high-topt mountaine,
Or els some vast-known bottomles deep foūtaine
Would take my life from his all-seeing eye,
Whose onely name, makes me dispayring dye.
But all in vaine, for if I there would be,
No rockes nor flouds, can hide my sin from thee.
Or els some vast-known bottomles deep foūtaine
Would take my life from his all-seeing eye,
Whose onely name, makes me dispayring dye.
But all in vaine, for if I there would be,
No rockes nor flouds, can hide my sin from thee.
Where ere I would be, thou O God art there,
And though not seene, yet I thy voyce doe heare:
That voice that to my sinfull Grandsire came,
Inforceth me to say, Lord heere I am.
Heer's Adams sinfull Of-spring knowne by name,
First man created, and the first of shame.
And though not seene, yet I thy voyce doe heare:
That voice that to my sinfull Grandsire came,
Inforceth me to say, Lord heere I am.
Heer's Adams sinfull Of-spring knowne by name,
First man created, and the first of shame.
Heere is a sinfull wretch, a Demie Deuill,
Proane vnto nothing, but to that is euill:
Vnthrifty in goodnes, Marchant in vile sinne;
Exchanging better wares, more worse to win.
Earths excrement, (alas) of all men hatefull;
vnkinde vnto my selfe, to God vngratefull.
Proane vnto nothing, but to that is euill:
Vnthrifty in goodnes, Marchant in vile sinne;
Exchanging better wares, more worse to win.
Earths excrement, (alas) of all men hatefull;
vnkinde vnto my selfe, to God vngratefull.
From these ill wishes I must needs refraine,
Since all my wishes are both fond and vaine:
Or what I wish for, if I could obtaine,
Those things I wish for, would soone prooue my paine.
What ere I wish for, or doe most desire,
The things I wish prooue ministers of yre.
Since all my wishes are both fond and vaine:
Or what I wish for, if I could obtaine,
Those things I wish for, would soone prooue my paine.
What ere I wish for, or doe most desire,
The things I wish prooue ministers of yre.
The things obscurest thou O Lord canst see,
No place from thy world-seeing-eye is free:
The secretst parts that in my body lye,
They all lye ope to thy all-seeing eye.
Thou likwise brought me frō my mothers wombe,
And thou shalt Iudge me at thy fearefull doombe.
No place from thy world-seeing-eye is free:
The secretst parts that in my body lye,
They all lye ope to thy all-seeing eye.
Thou likwise brought me frō my mothers wombe,
And thou shalt Iudge me at thy fearefull doombe.
The Prince of darknes doth likewise accord,
Bids me dispaire in my death-dying Lord;
Caytiffe saith he, looke not to heau'n for grace,
Since heau'n and earth see thy sin-couered face.
Earth looks at heau'n, heau'n at the earth doth wonder
That earth vp-holding sin, rents not a sunder.
Bids me dispaire in my death-dying Lord;
Caytiffe saith he, looke not to heau'n for grace,
Since heau'n and earth see thy sin-couered face.
Earth looks at heau'n, heau'n at the earth doth wonder
That earth vp-holding sin, rents not a sunder.
Tels me that wealth, was my hearts chiefest treasure;
Sayes that in pride, I tooke my sweetest pleasure:
Enuy and malice, doing neighbour wrong,
All these I doe confesse, I lou'd too long:
Murder blacke murder, and fowle leachery,
Were coupled Actors in this tragedy.
Sayes that in pride, I tooke my sweetest pleasure:
Enuy and malice, doing neighbour wrong,
All these I doe confesse, I lou'd too long:
Murder blacke murder, and fowle leachery,
Were coupled Actors in this tragedy.
He further saies, that God shall prooue vntrue,
If he forgiue to whome reuenge is due:
That God's not God, except he doe prooue iust,
That he reuenge for sinne needs render must.
Tis true, tis true, ô whether shall I run?
Would God my life were now but new begun.
If he forgiue to whome reuenge is due:
That God's not God, except he doe prooue iust,
That he reuenge for sinne needs render must.
Tis true, tis true, ô whether shall I run?
Would God my life were now but new begun.
Now wold I sowe, whē Autumne yeelds ripe corne
Now well nigh dead, now doe I wish new borne:
Long haue I liu'd, out-liuing manie men,
passing the age of foure-score yeeres and ten.
And now the Deuill for to adde more paine,
Saies my huge sin calles but for grace in vaine.
Now well nigh dead, now doe I wish new borne:
Long haue I liu'd, out-liuing manie men,
passing the age of foure-score yeeres and ten.
And now the Deuill for to adde more paine,
Saies my huge sin calles but for grace in vaine.
Diues, let not the sluces of thine eyes,
Make thy teares passage vnto Paradise:
Intreate not Abram send vs Lazarus,
No, for if that heau'nling come among vs,
Hee'le but delate of that I feare to know,
Hell, Death, Destruction, Deuils, Torture, Woe.
Make thy teares passage vnto Paradise:
Intreate not Abram send vs Lazarus,
No, for if that heau'nling come among vs,
Hee'le but delate of that I feare to know,
Hell, Death, Destruction, Deuils, Torture, Woe.
Thus might I see this poor wretch plung'd in woe,
Almost receiuing foule sinnes ouerthrow:
And now his Sea of teares moist drops past number
Lull him (sad pensiue) in a heauie slumber.
Not long he slept, but griefe owle-scriching cries,
Beate pathes for passage through his ceaseles eyes.
Almost receiuing foule sinnes ouerthrow:
And now his Sea of teares moist drops past number
Lull him (sad pensiue) in a heauie slumber.
Not long he slept, but griefe owle-scriching cries,
Beate pathes for passage through his ceaseles eyes.
Now combates his good Genus with the Deuill,
Mauger the bad, the good expels the euill:
Sathan did tempt him much, & sore did shake him,
Yet the good spirit would not so forsake him.
Though flesh be fraile now he defyeth sinne,
And with fresh teares doth thus his passion gin.
Mauger the bad, the good expels the euill:
Sathan did tempt him much, & sore did shake him,
Yet the good spirit would not so forsake him.
Though flesh be fraile now he defyeth sinne,
And with fresh teares doth thus his passion gin.
O Ship-wrackt soule, drencht in a Sea of teares,
Laden with Euils and full fraught with feares,
Let bitter flouds fall from thy restles eies,
Make heauens to pitty thy hearts wofull cries.
Neuer, ô neuer cease heau'n to implore,
Till peace of conscience heau'ns to thee restore.
Laden with Euils and full fraught with feares,
Let bitter flouds fall from thy restles eies,
Make heauens to pitty thy hearts wofull cries.
Neuer, ô neuer cease heau'n to implore,
Till peace of conscience heau'ns to thee restore.
Swim O my soule, breake through the flouds of sin,
See if with P{oe}ter thou the Shore canst win:
And at thy landing rest, thou shalt in brace
A golden wreath the Lambe, the Childe of grace:
And heauenly Quiors for to welcome thee,
Shall sound the musicke of heauens melody.
See if with P{oe}ter thou the Shore canst win:
And at thy landing rest, thou shalt in brace
A golden wreath the Lambe, the Childe of grace:
And heauenly Quiors for to welcome thee,
Shall sound the musicke of heauens melody.
Thinke no worke great enough this blisse to gaine;
Great is the ioy that comes of this thy paine:
Trouble like wings must hurle thee vp and downe,
Before thou mayst receiue th'Imperiall crowne.
“Thou vnto dayes & weekes, to months & yeares,
“Must owe the hourely rent of stintlesse teares.
Great is the ioy that comes of this thy paine:
Trouble like wings must hurle thee vp and downe,
Before thou mayst receiue th'Imperiall crowne.
“Thou vnto dayes & weekes, to months & yeares,
“Must owe the hourely rent of stintlesse teares.
Apprentice-like binde thou thy yeares to care,
Thy heart thy shop, Gods sacred word thy ware;
Good thoughts thy Chapmen, and good works thy gaine
Thy chere the poor, & thy reioycing, paine.
“Daies paste in plaints, thy nights without repose;
“Awake to weepe and sleep in wakinge woes.
Thy heart thy shop, Gods sacred word thy ware;
Good thoughts thy Chapmen, and good works thy gaine
Thy chere the poor, & thy reioycing, paine.
“Daies paste in plaints, thy nights without repose;
“Awake to weepe and sleep in wakinge woes.
Let Wisdome be thy head, Compunction Mother;
Thy friends the Angels, & the Lambe thy Brother.
Take for thy soules sweet Spouse, deaths memory,
Thy kins folkes sighes, thy children Lachrymæ.
This right-hand path leades not thy soule amisse,
But eftsoone brings thee to the bower of blisse.
Thy friends the Angels, & the Lambe thy Brother.
Take for thy soules sweet Spouse, deaths memory,
Thy kins folkes sighes, thy children Lachrymæ.
This right-hand path leades not thy soule amisse,
But eftsoone brings thee to the bower of blisse.
Consider further, ô my soule (quoth he)
Sinners beside my selfe there many be;
Many haue stain'd the honour of their place,
And yet in heau'ns bright eye not lost their grace.
And though I sin, in liues booke I am noted.
Since now to my deare God, I am deuoted.
Sinners beside my selfe there many be;
Many haue stain'd the honour of their place,
And yet in heau'ns bright eye not lost their grace.
And though I sin, in liues booke I am noted.
Since now to my deare God, I am deuoted.
Moreouer by his death it doth appeare,
How great the loue is that my God doth beare
To me sinnes Monster and most worthy blame;
The badge of ignomy and Map of shame.
Th'abuser of rich Time, a lumpe of ill,
Too slowe, in good too bad, too swift in will.
How great the loue is that my God doth beare
To me sinnes Monster and most worthy blame;
The badge of ignomy and Map of shame.
Th'abuser of rich Time, a lumpe of ill,
Too slowe, in good too bad, too swift in will.
What meaning hath his head declin'd, but this?
To giue my sinfull soule a gratious kisse.
His heart's all open, for to let me see,
A heart that hath such loue, none hath but he.
His hands are stretched out for to imbrace me,
That he in Angels blisse, may after place me.
To giue my sinfull soule a gratious kisse.
His heart's all open, for to let me see,
A heart that hath such loue, none hath but he.
His hands are stretched out for to imbrace me,
That he in Angels blisse, may after place me.
Yea all his pretious corpes (alas) are wounded,
That though I sin, sin, death & hell confounded.
His bodies life, feil-death doth also seuer,
Yet he kils death, that I may liue for euer.
Mercy sweet Iesu mercy let me win,
Since now I hate my selfe, & loath my sin.
That though I sin, sin, death & hell confounded.
His bodies life, feil-death doth also seuer,
Yet he kils death, that I may liue for euer.
Mercy sweet Iesu mercy let me win,
Since now I hate my selfe, & loath my sin.
This he no sooner said, but I might see
A man well seeming Angell-Saint to be;
Of comely hue of golde his pleated hayres,
More graue in Wisdoms booke, then aged yeares.
His feete insteed of sandals) troade the ayre,
And windes for wings, did this Cælestiall beare.
A man well seeming Angell-Saint to be;
Of comely hue of golde his pleated hayres,
More graue in Wisdoms booke, then aged yeares.
His feete insteed of sandals) troade the ayre,
And windes for wings, did this Cælestiall beare.
His first arriuall was with this sad wight,
Whose sinfull soule Iustice did so affright:
To whome, such balme for medcine he did giue,
As dead in sinne, by it are rais'd to liue.
O blessed Lord that in each time of neede,
Sends comfort from aboue, sicke soules to feede.
Whose sinfull soule Iustice did so affright:
To whome, such balme for medcine he did giue,
As dead in sinne, by it are rais'd to liue.
O blessed Lord that in each time of neede,
Sends comfort from aboue, sicke soules to feede.
Doe not dispaire (quoth he) thou wofull man,
Doubt not, but he that made all, all things can;
Thinke not that he that breath'd into thee breath,
Will ought reioyce in thy soules fearefull death.
No wretched man thy God willes thee to know,
Sinnes red as scarlet, he makes white as snow.
Seale this (O Lord) cleare my sinne-spotted-Den,
Doubt not, but he that made all, all things can;
Thinke not that he that breath'd into thee breath,
Will ought reioyce in thy soules fearefull death.
No wretched man thy God willes thee to know,
Sinnes red as scarlet, he makes white as snow.
Teares beg the warrant, Iesu say Amen.
Nemo renascitur in Christi corpore, nisi prius nascatur in peccati corruptione.
S. August.
| Pietatis Lachrymae Teares of deuotion | |