Seauen Satyres Applyed to the weeke, including the worlds ridiculous follyes. True faelicity described in the Phoenix. Maulgre. Whereunto is annexed the wandring Satyre. By W. Rankins |
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Ashwednesday.
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 | Seauen Satyres |  |
37
Ashwednesday.
O holyest holy three, yet wholy one,
Vouchsafe the piercing splendor of thine eye,
My soules true Martyrdome to looke vpon,
Where thou mayst in borne penitence espy,
Without the cloke of false hypocrisy:
And though my tong proclaimes not publike fast,
Yet prayers to prayse thee is my spirits repast.
Vouchsafe the piercing splendor of thine eye,
My soules true Martyrdome to looke vpon,
Where thou mayst in borne penitence espy,
Without the cloke of false hypocrisy:
And though my tong proclaimes not publike fast,
Yet prayers to prayse thee is my spirits repast.
Behold, to cinders haue I burnt my sinnes,
An acceptable sacrifice to thee,
Which heauenly ioyes in heauenly mansion wins,
The ashes on my sad heart scatterd be,
The pensiue patient of all misery:
In my brest mourning sits she like a doue,
And fears through sin to lose sweet Christ her loue.
An acceptable sacrifice to thee,
Which heauenly ioyes in heauenly mansion wins,
The ashes on my sad heart scatterd be,
The pensiue patient of all misery:
In my brest mourning sits she like a doue,
And fears through sin to lose sweet Christ her loue.
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And though I weare no shirt of Cammels haire,
A boasting shew the flesh to macerate,
Nor lash my body with the whips of care,
Nor on my knocking brest my prayers debate,
Nor with high voice my faults deliberate:
Although I strew no ashes on my head,
Nor with beguiling abstinence am fed.
A boasting shew the flesh to macerate,
Nor lash my body with the whips of care,
Nor on my knocking brest my prayers debate,
Nor with high voice my faults deliberate:
Although I strew no ashes on my head,
Nor with beguiling abstinence am fed.
Yet see my heart prickt with true faiths desire,
With longing to behold thy sacred face,
Whipt with the feare of thy inraged fire,
Which will the pride of all weake brags deface,
And my soule knocks to haue thy promist grace:
With lowly voyce the ashes of my sinnes,
Scatterd abroad: and so my fast begins.
With longing to behold thy sacred face,
Whipt with the feare of thy inraged fire,
Which will the pride of all weake brags deface,
And my soule knocks to haue thy promist grace:
With lowly voyce the ashes of my sinnes,
Scatterd abroad: and so my fast begins.
When I do this, I walke not in the streete,
And tell the world my base dissembling guile,
Nor tread the cold stones with vncouered feete,
Such hypocrites their wretched wayes defile:
No let the heart true parts of griefe compile,
That is the sweete Ashwensday I obserue,
Fast still to this, and thou shalt neuer sterue.
And tell the world my base dissembling guile,
Nor tread the cold stones with vncouered feete,
Such hypocrites their wretched wayes defile:
No let the heart true parts of griefe compile,
That is the sweete Ashwensday I obserue,
Fast still to this, and thou shalt neuer sterue.
| Seauen Satyres | |