University of Virginia Library

Let others boast their goodnesse, for my part,
Wretch that I am, I have a sinfull heart,
So ti'de and bound, fetter'd and chain'd within,
So strong a prison, such a Maze of sinne,
That 'tis as farre unlikely for me worme
Ere to winde out, as for to raise a storme,
Or slacke a Tempest; works of wonder stand,
Farre from the reach of mortalls weake command.
None but the hand of God, his speciall grace,
Can pull me forth the dungeon of disgrace.
And shall I then, in impious waies uneven,
Offend so good a God; defend me Heav'n!
Ride thou my soule upon some winged cloud
To'th' Haven' of heav'n; fly to the sacred shroud.
Of sempeternall safety, fly the fight
Of blasing beautie; flaring Earths delight,
Malicious mindes, mischievous mans invention,
Faire lookes, false hearts, stampt in a foule intention.
Take flight my Soule; fly from the dismall Den
Of this darke Age; the impiousnesse of men,
Fly from the pond'rous plummets of blacke Vice
Which pulls to Hell; helpe Prince of Paradise.
I faint, I die, sinne loades my soule with horrour,
The World, the flesh and Divell, all with terrour
Hangs on my fetter'd limbes, Prisoner to care
I live sterv'd, tortur'd, tempted to despaire.
What shall I doe, where, whither shall I fly?
Here, there, I know not where, lie downe and dye.
Vp soule to Heav'n, there get a glorious Crowne:
I am too weake, too vile, sinne pulls me downe.
O my unworthynesse, my shame, my sinne,
When shall I shake thee off? when when begin?
No? wil't not bee? can I not doe the good
I would? must I be rul'd by flesh and blood?
Weepe, weepe poore soule, dissolve hard heart of flint,
Melt, melt thou stony Rock, teares never stint,
Drop Marble mount, drop to a Crimson flood,
Sinke my sinnes, in seas of penitent blood.

While others carelesse of celestiall health,
Greedie like Hell, hunger for worldly wealth,
Preferment, pride, and vainely put their trust
In the forbidden Pathes of tempting lust,
In glassie glory, subtile Court behaviour
In valour, conquest and monarchall favour;
Whiles soules thus erre, O thou the Lord of light,
Make me Heavens Champion, vertues favorite.

Come folded Armes, and you sad eyes, sad heart,
Come soule opprest with sorrow, play thy part.
Haste to some gloomy Grave, there all alone
On the greene mantled earth sigh, sobbe and groane.
Spend precious time with sacred thoughts that beares
Heav'n in their eyes, true vertue in their teares.
Complaine I will to Fortune, not that whore
Which makes leane Art and pale-fac'd Wisedome poore.
Il'e not complaine to her, but to that Ens,
Almighty Fortune in divinest sense.
Groveling on Earth for sinne, I'le cast forth groanes,
Sighes shall convert to Teares, teares into moanes,
Then will I start from ground, my body raise,
Shoote mine eyes upward, against heav'n I'le gaze,
Thinke on my God, my God whose sacred will
I have abus'd; my God most just to kill,
Damme soule and body; my rememb'rance blot
Out of the booke of life; I that forgot
In midst of all vaine joyes, in temp'rate health,
Soule-snaring Chamb'rings, lascivious stealth,
All-seeing Heav'n, a God so greate, so good,
The death of Iesus Christ, my saviours blood,
Slave that I am, where shall I turne mine eye
Vnworthie to looke up? Heav'n heare my cry!
Heare me Eternall Essence, which hath made
My soule to pray; send me thy sacred aide.
“On the bright Sun-beames of thy sweet salvation,
‘Draw Lord, draw up, the dew of my devotion.
Mount soule upon the wings of Charity,
Helpe Heav'n, up heart, fly to Eternity.
Rowze like a towring Falkon in despight
Of Hell and furies, fly to the Makers sight,
Come, come Lord Iesus, O come thou and give
Helpe to my helplesse soule; I that doe live
Like the distressed bird, trapt in a snare
Caught by a lime-twigg flying through the Aire;
In which distresse for comforts sweet releife,
Poore Innocent, with wings adds woe to griefe.
So fares my soule striving sinnes snare to fly,
Trapt by deceit, lives snar'd in misery.
My trembling conscience tells me I have beene
A very fearefull sinner, slave to sinne,
Of all Men, most unworthy of Salvation
My sinnes deserve Heavn'ns wrath, hell and damnation.
Yet mercie, mercy Lord, mercy I crave,
Shield my sad soule from the infernall grave,
“Strangle my growing sinnes in their beginning,
“Demollish (Lord) in me custome in sinning.
“Draw from mine eyes the vaine worlds vaine intice,
“And ravish me with love of Paradice.
“Busie my thoughts with vertue, make me trie
“To live by honest meanes, or let me die.
Pardon all idle prate, sinnes rotten talke
Let not my steps treade that accursed walke
Which leads to lewdnesse; base delights in pleasure,
Desire of Pompe, vaine glory, tottering treasure,
Let not my wandring eyes flame in the fire
Of lust-stung lookes, nor let the loose desire
Of Beauties Bravery, burne out mine eyes
With senselesse gazing; Lord make me to despise
All wanton waies, sinnes of ill govern'd youth,
All wicked customes 'gainst thy sacred Truth.
Make me (my God) in hate to impure lives,
Kicke at that life, which life of heav'n deprives:
Deale not, Lord deale not with me as my merit
Truely deserves; drive out that uggly spirit
Of all uncleannesse from my filthy flesh,
My drooping soule with sanctitit refresh.
Shrow'd me beneath thy sacred Countenance,
Give me thy servant Davids repentance,
The Faith of Abraham, holy Jacobs strife,
Blest Stephens Charity, chaste Iosephs life,
The Patience of Iob; Pauls purity,
And soule-afflicted Peters weeping Eye.
“With holy Teares, (Lord) make me to reject
“The Sinne, I impious sinner most affect!

O thou the King of those Eternall fires
That spangles Heav'n; good God grant my desires,
Infuse in me thy Grace, or I shall stray,
And so become a fearefull Cast-away.
I, that am poore, weake, feeble, and too apt,
By the worlds whorish waies to be intrapt,
Beseech thy pardon, forgive my coldnesse
In serving thee, pardon that damned boldnesse.
Let Mercy every Evening which does keepe
Me, from day-dangers, death-resembling sleepe,
Be to my soule a Prayer booke to imprint
Teares in mine Eyes; griefe in my heart of flint:
Be it so Mighty Maker unto mee,
To me and every one, make us to see
And shunne sinnes custome; with thy sacred wings,
Guard us from dangers, blessed King of Kings,
Thou art my onely comfort in distresse,
Foode, rayment, all my cure in heavinesse,
My true Physitian, in unruly madnesse,
Soule-ravishing Musicke in my deepest sadnesse,
When all the world forsakes me God is kind,
He comfort gives to my disconsolate mind.
O thou the Lord of Thunder, Heav'n and Earth,
Mercifull maker, thou that didst give me breath.
Thou that can'st muster Angells in the Skie,
To safeguard soules from blacke impiety,
Thou that dost feede, and cloath, and still persever
To give me health; be mercifull for ever.
“Lord teach me for to prize the world at naught,
“Vpon thy blessednesse be all my thought.
“Take from mine eyes, the vaine worlds vaine entice
“And rayish me with love of Paradise.
“Blesse me each Morne, and blesse me ev'ry Ev'n,
“Blesse Wife and Children, bring us all to Heav'n
In thy good time; and during lifes short space,
Grant us Lord Iesus thy abundant grace.
Graft thy Grace inwardly in our hearts, that wee
Never like straying sheepe, stray Lord from thee.

Heare me Miraculous Majestie, and give
A period to my cares; let me not live
Frustrate of Honest meanes; O send redresse,
Imploy my Pen, keepe me from Idlenesse,
From all ill Company, all waies unjust,
Sinne, Satan, and the Labyrinth of lust.
Like Ioseph, Mighty Maker, make me fly
The tempting Bates of Beauties bravery.
Suffer me Worme unworthy, not in vaine
To call on thee; let me some solace gaine
Or kneele for ever; happie man were I
To kneele, and pray, and at my Prayers die.
To live for ever; ever more to sing
Glory to thee O God; Heavens glorious King.

O you, that stand on Pinacles of state,
Let not the World deceive you, left too late,
From off your slipprie height you come in thrall,
To pash your selves in peeces past recall!
Sell not faire Lordships to keepe Ladiships,
Nor sucke damnation from a Strumpets lips.
Touch not those spells of Sparta, let 'em rot,
When Vertue lives in man, lust is forgot.
One onely Iemme, that's all the store I have,
Great of that little, nothing, which shall crave
Of Heav'ns great Ens, not for my selfe alone,
But for thee Reader; thee, and every one
Rarenesse of rare example, and withall
An everlasting skie of Grace to fall
Vpon our Warre on Earth; desiring Heav'n,
For waies on Earth are crooked, all unev'n.
O Heav'nly Father, glorious Diety,
Pardon, O Pardon my impiety,
I, that have imperfections on my head,
Past Starres in number; or those sands that spread
The Vast Seas bottome; shall not I confesse,
How oft 'gainst God, I desp'rately transgresse,
Put off Repentance still from day to day,
Abuse his mighty Patience, still delay
His dread Command; and like a sencelesse sot,
Vnmindfull of his mercles; minde them not.
No sooner doe I finde a good thought take me;
But from that vertue flesh and bloud doe shake me.
Forgive me, O forgive me thou that art
Heav'ns universall searcher, cure my heart.
At my dull follies Ile no longer winke,
Sorrow shall be my Pen, sad teares my Incke,
Misery my Paper, whereon I'le write
The sorrowes of my soule, my youthes delight,
My pathes of pleasure, Prodigall expences,
My Scarlet Crimes, and all my blacke offences:
This Booke, I'le dedicate unto my heart,
My heart, chiefe Actor, in sinnes Tragicke part.
My heart, unprincely, Revelling within
My body, that Banquetting house of sinne;
There, Chain'd to 'th Magicke Musicke of free will,
Riots in poyson'd pleasure, lewdly ill.
All that belongs to th'body, ev'ry part,
(My soule alone excepted) serves my heart,
Best pleas'd; and best at ease, with pleasures bane,
Most glad, to be most bad; and in that vaine
Traitor to Truth; each limbe a Mortall foe,
To worke my universall overthrow.
O false, false heart, false to thy dearest freind,
Wound me no more; for pittie make an end,
I pitty thy blacke life; nor can forbeare,
For thee, to shed many a bleeding teare.
Thou art my foe: and yet to see thee feed,
Fat for Hells Shambles, my poore soule dos bleed;
Bleeds inward, indiscern'd of any eye,
Except my God, and my owne misery.
What shall I doe? faine would I shunne the sinne
My frailty most delights to wander in:
And yet I cannot; when I strive 'gainst vice
To stand most firme, I'me tript up in a trice.
“O What a mis'ry 'tis to have a minde
“For to be truely honest; well inclinde,
“And not to be sufferd; such is the state,
“Of my sad bleeding soule unfortunate.
“Field honour's but a Vapour; the sound brest,
“Puts on Church-Armour Faith, and sleights the rest.
“In Love to Vertue and true godly feare,
“Dwells Honour; not in Dart, Bowe, Sling or Speare,
Not in vaine Beauty, strength, the pride of Wit,
Presuming Riches, Learning, Valour, Credit,
High Birth, Nobility, nor gravitie,
Humanity, nor yet Virginity,
But in the humble soule whom holy storie,
Speaks to maintaine God, and the Gospels glory;
The King and Kingdomes safety; Churches peace,
The Virgins right, Widdowes and fatherlesse;
These are the noble steps that ever waite,
On Vertues Court; 'tis the true Prop of state,
Save me, O save me thou Eternall terrour,
To damned soules, I doe confesse each errour,
The many thousand sinnes, unseene, unfelt,
Which long, too long, in my hard heart have dwelt,
To thee, to thee thou everlasting being,
Of an Eternall Majestie; all seeing,
With Penitent heart, I come, I call, I cry,
Pittie me wretch, helpe thou all viewing eye.
My armes are spread, come sempeternall Essence,
Ravish my soule; come blessed Penitence
Give me thousand stabbs, my soule has neede,
Of many thousand teares; then let it bleede!
Pierce, pierce my stubborne heart, make that the Inne
Of Grace, which yet, is but the house of sinne;
Looke downe soule saving sacred God of Truth,
Forgive th' infinite follies of my youth,
Shield me Divinity from Sathans ginnes,
Lord lay not to my charge my Parents sinnes:
Glory of goodnesse in thy mercy, heare me,
Let hate, Revenge, nor Envie ne're come neare me,
Let neither Pride, nor hope of gaine deceive me,
Nor pleasure, nor the want of meanes bereave me
Of sence; lest sencelesse wholy I despaire
And so become the wretched child of Care.
O sacred saviour; give me grace to fly
Delight in sinne; I beg it earnestly,
In all my prayers enable me to be
(Blessed Lord Iesus) pleasing unto thee.
Make me to doe thy will Lord; make me grow
Great in thy love, thou that dost truely know,
Of all Earths blessings unto mortalls giv'n,
My sole desire on Earth, is Grace from Heav'n,
Grace to be good; grace to avoide hels ginnes,
And grace to grieve, for nothing but my sinnes,
So shall thy mercy, ne'r forgetfull stand,
While I have Tongue, a Pen, a head, a hand.