The Works of William Fowler Secretary to Queen Anne, Wife of James VI. Edited with introduction, appendix, notes and glossary by Henry W. Meikle |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
 |
Ps. 6. |
|
|
|
|
 | The Works of William Fowler |  |
Ps. 6.
What wight more wretched is than I who am so sore assayld,
so pressed with the wardes of woe, that all my ioyes ar skaild?
quhat wight more wretched is than I, outraged on al syds,
and wounded be my conscience a farther wound abyds?
The touch of my trespasses all hath pearcst me Through and through,
Thy soft correcting hand is nou becommed more hard and rough;
and nou at brink of that great deip and dungeon of dispair,
my bodye with al euils oruhelmd and corsps inuolud in cair,
my mynde in sorrous plundged so, and with al torments torne,
dois reu The houer whairin it was so creat, framed, and borne.
so pressed with the wardes of woe, that all my ioyes ar skaild?
quhat wight more wretched is than I, outraged on al syds,
and wounded be my conscience a farther wound abyds?
The touch of my trespasses all hath pearcst me Through and through,
Thy soft correcting hand is nou becommed more hard and rough;
and nou at brink of that great deip and dungeon of dispair,
my bodye with al euils oruhelmd and corsps inuolud in cair,
my mynde in sorrous plundged so, and with al torments torne,
dois reu The houer whairin it was so creat, framed, and borne.
Quhat shal I do? quhat sal I say? or whether sal I goe?
or quhat May I find in my self bot subiects for my woe,
and causis of my suffering for brekking Thy command?
who thairfor then sal succour me or help be helping hand?
or quhat May I find in my self bot subiects for my woe,
and causis of my suffering for brekking Thy command?
who thairfor then sal succour me or help be helping hand?
if to the heauen I cast my eyes, I see in heauens my Iudge;
The sunn, The great Eye of the uorld, dois beare me deadlye grudge,
The sunn, I say, which hath me seene so often to offend
his maker great and also myne, to summon me dois tend,
and semes to giue the uorld light, and bot his beames explaine,
for to behold me whilst I thoale my iust deserued paine.
The sunn, The great Eye of the uorld, dois beare me deadlye grudge,
The sunn, I say, which hath me seene so often to offend
his maker great and also myne, to summon me dois tend,
and semes to giue the uorld light, and bot his beames explaine,
for to behold me whilst I thoale my iust deserued paine.
276
The night which semes to couer al with her dark mantle blak,
alas! quhat dois sche als portend bot for to scheu my wracke?
for sooth sche semes to doubled hath her darknes double more
in lothsome hatred of my sinnis in which I long did glore.
alas! quhat dois sche als portend bot for to scheu my wracke?
for sooth sche semes to doubled hath her darknes double more
in lothsome hatred of my sinnis in which I long did glore.
It yrks The earth for to sustaine a createur so curst:
Me Thinks I see her solid plaines a sunder for to burst;
Me thinks I see alreddie sche hath opned vp the throate
off her great gulf to suallou me and burie in her goate;
me thinks my self into her self sche nou dois redamand,
as hauing much abusd that mass of which I formed stand;
Me Thinks I see her solid plaines a sunder for to burst;
Me thinks I see alreddie sche hath opned vp the throate
off her great gulf to suallou me and burie in her goate;
me thinks my self into her self sche nou dois redamand,
as hauing much abusd that mass of which I formed stand;
Me thinks The nurishment which dois my bodye intertaine
is only geuin me to prolong my lyffe in longar paine;
Me thinks That death her self recails, and from me her astrayes,
and semeth by her lothing me for to protract my dayes,
lest sche suld seme to giue at least some senslesnes of greif,
and lest this bodye miserable by death suld find releif.
is only geuin me to prolong my lyffe in longar paine;
Me thinks That death her self recails, and from me her astrayes,
and semeth by her lothing me for to protract my dayes,
lest sche suld seme to giue at least some senslesnes of greif,
and lest this bodye miserable by death suld find releif.
And as for men they ather be my foes and ennemeis strong,
or ells such freinds as haue no might for to remeid my wrong.
quhat sal I say? wheare sal I go? or whether sal I go
bot Euen to The, eternal god, although I be thy foe?
for quhat aduantage can I gett auay from The to run,
whose presence present is alwheare, which I no wayes can schun?
who can me hyde from him which sees these things which ar vnseene?
what createur, althought it culd, my querrell dois maintene?
yea, if it culd, what would ensewe bot thair ruine and myne,
my fall thair loss, my death thair doole, and both our wraks in fyne?
now since my greif and my disease none can remeid save the,
to quhome then shuld I haue recourse, to whome then shuld I flie,
bot vnto the, eternal god, more great then greatnes self?
behold him than who hes him cast vpon this sandye schelf;
behold him who is nothing les, onles his gretest yll
be something which may giue the caus both lyfe and soule to kill.
or ells such freinds as haue no might for to remeid my wrong.
quhat sal I say? wheare sal I go? or whether sal I go
bot Euen to The, eternal god, although I be thy foe?
for quhat aduantage can I gett auay from The to run,
whose presence present is alwheare, which I no wayes can schun?
who can me hyde from him which sees these things which ar vnseene?
what createur, althought it culd, my querrell dois maintene?
yea, if it culd, what would ensewe bot thair ruine and myne,
my fall thair loss, my death thair doole, and both our wraks in fyne?
now since my greif and my disease none can remeid save the,
to quhome then shuld I haue recourse, to whome then shuld I flie,
bot vnto the, eternal god, more great then greatnes self?
behold him than who hes him cast vpon this sandye schelf;
behold him who is nothing les, onles his gretest yll
be something which may giue the caus both lyfe and soule to kill.
Creator great! thy creature behold disfigurat quyte:
o louer man! behold him that contemnd the in despyte:
perfectlye good behold him that conceaved is in sinn,
borne in iniquitie, and long conteneued hes thairin:
behold the timbar drye and trees now sett against the fyre.
how can it then so hardye be to speik or the requyre?
his miserie constranis him, lord, some remedie to seik;
thy goodnes dois him boldnes giue that thus wayes he dar speik;
thy favour, lord, off which the world hes such ane oppen proofe,
dois oppen my mouth to crye to the, and call in my behoofe.
Lord, in thy wreath reproue me not, nor in thyne yre correct,
auert thairfor, o lord, thy rage for Iesus christs respect.
o god, that hes so often sayd, the way not to be Iudge
is for to Iudge our selfs, and haue to the our whole refuge,
behold me, most vnhappy man, that dois in treuth confes
before the angells, heaven, and earth, that sore I do transgres
and hes transgrest against the, lord, yea, many thousand tymes,
and, guyltie off thy precepts all, committed guyltie crymes.
o louer man! behold him that contemnd the in despyte:
277
borne in iniquitie, and long conteneued hes thairin:
behold the timbar drye and trees now sett against the fyre.
how can it then so hardye be to speik or the requyre?
his miserie constranis him, lord, some remedie to seik;
thy goodnes dois him boldnes giue that thus wayes he dar speik;
thy favour, lord, off which the world hes such ane oppen proofe,
dois oppen my mouth to crye to the, and call in my behoofe.
Lord, in thy wreath reproue me not, nor in thyne yre correct,
auert thairfor, o lord, thy rage for Iesus christs respect.
o god, that hes so often sayd, the way not to be Iudge
is for to Iudge our selfs, and haue to the our whole refuge,
behold me, most vnhappy man, that dois in treuth confes
before the angells, heaven, and earth, that sore I do transgres
and hes transgrest against the, lord, yea, many thousand tymes,
and, guyltie off thy precepts all, committed guyltie crymes.
yet what emboldeneth me, my god, thy mercyeis for to sew,
bot euen thy pittie and thy grace and thy compassions trew,
which so muche greatar ar, for that they to the worthles streache,
abounding most whair sin surmounts deaths plagues for to impeache?
I dust and asses am, o lord, yet suffer me suppose
so bold in the, not in my self; my state I now disclose.
O euerleving god, I learned euen in thyne house be the,
and in my self by thy great grace which thow hes schawen to me,
that thow a fathers angar hath, and als a Iudges yre:
I worthy am, lord, of the last, yea, and of hellish fyre;
I mereit it, lord, I confes, bot I beseache the turne
the same from me, and with thy plagues which maks me now to murne.
the other I will not refuse becaus it buildeth vp,
for who be chaistisd those be loued, and drinks of ple cupp.
bot euen thy pittie and thy grace and thy compassions trew,
which so muche greatar ar, for that they to the worthles streache,
abounding most whair sin surmounts deaths plagues for to impeache?
I dust and asses am, o lord, yet suffer me suppose
so bold in the, not in my self; my state I now disclose.
O euerleving god, I learned euen in thyne house be the,
and in my self by thy great grace which thow hes schawen to me,
that thow a fathers angar hath, and als a Iudges yre:
I worthy am, lord, of the last, yea, and of hellish fyre;
I mereit it, lord, I confes, bot I beseache the turne
the same from me, and with thy plagues which maks me now to murne.
the other I will not refuse becaus it buildeth vp,
for who be chaistisd those be loued, and drinks of ple cupp.
now then, my god and gracious lord, correct bot not confound,
smyte bot keip in the violence that in this blow is bound,
an[d] in a word tak pittie, lord: for who hath neid of grace
bot he that guyltie is, and dois so feare thyne angrye face?
who craveth confort bot euen those who ar of confort voyd,
or who dois physick bot the sicke who ar with sickenes noyd?
smyte bot keip in the violence that in this blow is bound,
278
bot he that guyltie is, and dois so feare thyne angrye face?
who craveth confort bot euen those who ar of confort voyd,
or who dois physick bot the sicke who ar with sickenes noyd?
Bot yet againe who can or may raise vp the wreched wight,
orwhelmed with the weght of sinne In his and al mens sight,
so beaten by thy puissant hand, and crushed, bones and all,
Disparing in his conscience, and in dispair to fall,
bot thow, great god and glorious god, who by thyne onlye word
giuis being to all that is or was, and through this wark is glord?
confirme then that which remanis of thy great pouer In me,
or rather wourk that work anew which is vndone by me.
how long wilt thow, my gracious god, to thole me languish soe?
how long sal I crye yet onhard and vnreliued of woe?
how long sal I thy mercyeis waite or for thy grace attend?
o lord, how long wilt thow delay my sorroues for to end?
Lord, suffer that my dollour may this language lairglie vse,
yet craving pardoun for my fault my boldnes to excuse.
orwhelmed with the weght of sinne In his and al mens sight,
so beaten by thy puissant hand, and crushed, bones and all,
Disparing in his conscience, and in dispair to fall,
bot thow, great god and glorious god, who by thyne onlye word
giuis being to all that is or was, and through this wark is glord?
confirme then that which remanis of thy great pouer In me,
or rather wourk that work anew which is vndone by me.
how long wilt thow, my gracious god, to thole me languish soe?
how long sal I crye yet onhard and vnreliued of woe?
how long sal I thy mercyeis waite or for thy grace attend?
o lord, how long wilt thow delay my sorroues for to end?
Lord, suffer that my dollour may this language lairglie vse,
yet craving pardoun for my fault my boldnes to excuse.
turne then, I say, o god, againe to me thy Ioyful face,
which with one look the deid reviues, and death euen doith deface:
lay furth these great compassions to heale my fainting soule,
for only on thy grace I suit, my suit, lord, not controule.
which with one look the deid reviues, and death euen doith deface:
lay furth these great compassions to heale my fainting soule,
for only on thy grace I suit, my suit, lord, not controule.
O god, thow knowest quhat great desyre I haue to be the meane
and instrument of thy great glore, as dois to me pertaine,
and to employ my voyce and lipps, my mouth, my hart, and toung,
thy prayses, lord, to publish all the sonnes of men among.
alas! then, lord, sal these my sinnis, thus sending me to death,
be able to repress my course or stopp my purposd breath?
for being dead and lying In dust my good intent wer crost,
my purposs brokken off wer voyd and resolutioun lost,
my memorie shuld the forgett, my toung suld speik no more
off the, nor yet my mouth suld it force [?] to praise or speik thy glore;
and to be short, this wrethced corss, this poore corss of grace denud,
whairin suld it serve ather the or do to others good?
Besydes this, lord, if I not die this ordinarye death,
bot euen sal die so smitten with yre of thy consuming wreath,
o god! my god! how can I then remember the that houer
in which death shal her triumphe mak, and bring me in her pouer?
how can I call vpon the, lord, so in my gretest neid,
whils then the memorie of my sinne thy mercyies sal exceid?
what shal become of me, o wrechte, who going to a Iudge
aireddie hes condemned me, and sentence shawen with grudge?
oh god! great god eternal! save me from this woe of woes,
restrengh this lyfe within my corss that so forlorned goes,
assuire my soule with suired sings, be wittnes in this cace
that both thyne yre and anger is appaised by thy grace,
that quhen that veglie death sal come and to me sal appeir,
no messinger of terrour it nor post sal be off feare,
bot rather to bring newes of Ioy and tiddance of trew grace,
of lasting lyfe to be Inioyd within that heuinlye place.
and instrument of thy great glore, as dois to me pertaine,
and to employ my voyce and lipps, my mouth, my hart, and toung,
thy prayses, lord, to publish all the sonnes of men among.
alas! then, lord, sal these my sinnis, thus sending me to death,
be able to repress my course or stopp my purposd breath?
for being dead and lying In dust my good intent wer crost,
my purposs brokken off wer voyd and resolutioun lost,
my memorie shuld the forgett, my toung suld speik no more
off the, nor yet my mouth suld it force [?] to praise or speik thy glore;
279
whairin suld it serve ather the or do to others good?
Besydes this, lord, if I not die this ordinarye death,
bot euen sal die so smitten with yre of thy consuming wreath,
o god! my god! how can I then remember the that houer
in which death shal her triumphe mak, and bring me in her pouer?
how can I call vpon the, lord, so in my gretest neid,
whils then the memorie of my sinne thy mercyies sal exceid?
what shal become of me, o wrechte, who going to a Iudge
aireddie hes condemned me, and sentence shawen with grudge?
oh god! great god eternal! save me from this woe of woes,
restrengh this lyfe within my corss that so forlorned goes,
assuire my soule with suired sings, be wittnes in this cace
that both thyne yre and anger is appaised by thy grace,
that quhen that veglie death sal come and to me sal appeir,
no messinger of terrour it nor post sal be off feare,
bot rather to bring newes of Ioy and tiddance of trew grace,
of lasting lyfe to be Inioyd within that heuinlye place.
And as thow hast had now ane Eye and straightlye markt my sinnis,
which thow dois mak me throughlye feale, which al my corss owrinns,
considder now my chainged mynde, mark, lord, the chainged man,
which dois condemne which he approued and that to lyke began.
I haue long sleped in my ioyes, in plesour, and in rest,
bot now my sleip disturbed is by sighing in my brest.
heare, o yow nights! that hertofore wer wittnes of my noyes,
and off tenthousand vaner thoughts and vaine Imagened Ioyes,
and off the schamefull sequel of these vyld and curst conceates,
which wittnes now these wailings all which all these ioyes awaits;
and thow my secretar, o bed, a bed eearewhile of rest,
bot ill employed all in sinn which sathan did suggest,
be moystned with these fontanis tuoe as it but weill affears!
fleit thow in surging wawes of woe, and swim thow with my teares!
which thow dois mak me throughlye feale, which al my corss owrinns,
considder now my chainged mynde, mark, lord, the chainged man,
which dois condemne which he approued and that to lyke began.
I haue long sleped in my ioyes, in plesour, and in rest,
bot now my sleip disturbed is by sighing in my brest.
heare, o yow nights! that hertofore wer wittnes of my noyes,
and off tenthousand vaner thoughts and vaine Imagened Ioyes,
and off the schamefull sequel of these vyld and curst conceates,
which wittnes now these wailings all which all these ioyes awaits;
and thow my secretar, o bed, a bed eearewhile of rest,
bot ill employed all in sinn which sathan did suggest,
be moystned with these fontanis tuoe as it but weill affears!
fleit thow in surging wawes of woe, and swim thow with my teares!
280
O [Sunne, the great light of the uorld! O Sunn! o Sunn! I say,
whose brightnes I vnworthye am for to behold this day,
my dimmed eyes, tuoe sinful pairts so iustlye plagued, alace,
no more beholds the golden beames nor yet thy glancing face,
they being soaked in my heade, and drawen drye by teares
that they haue shed for my trespass which wittnes weill my feares;
they be with yrksomnes, I say, and heavines quyte worne,
the wittnesses which vexes me, and makst me most forlorne.
bot quhat, sal I then peirish, lord? then is thair no more hope?
am I without recoverye, or must I lose the scope
and butt to which I did intend? sal so dispair possess
my marred mynde sans hop of grace that faith may grow the les?
No, no, my god, thow wilt not so: for this my plaint for sinne,
whense cummis it, lord, or yet this trust to call thy name heirin?
whense growes this hatred of my self, or this desyre to mend?
whense cummes it that I in my soule my sinfull deids expend?
It certes is thy grace, my god, from whense al grace dois grow:
for whense cummis any good but from the or from the dois flow?
o mightie maker of the heaven, how woundrowes be thy wayes,
Incomprehenseble by witt, and so all wight asseyes!
for can it be thyne yre, o god, that may me quyet make?
or can it be my heavines that courage causs me tak?
or can my death the causer be of this more Ioyfull lyfe?
or can my warrs me peace proceur, or can ease come be stryfe?
no, no, my god, that bennefeit no white of one proceids,
nor is it any work of myne, nor cummis it be my deids.
bot, lord, In wourking against him as much as in him lay,
who had vndone and wrakt him self, thow shewest by this the way
the self to be the self same god that al of nothing wrought,
and out of darknes canst bring light, as thow hes euer brought.
grace cummeth then from the to me my self from self to driue,
that I may find my self and weill and both in the to liue.
whose brightnes I vnworthye am for to behold this day,
my dimmed eyes, tuoe sinful pairts so iustlye plagued, alace,
no more beholds the golden beames nor yet thy glancing face,
they being soaked in my heade, and drawen drye by teares
that they haue shed for my trespass which wittnes weill my feares;
they be with yrksomnes, I say, and heavines quyte worne,
the wittnesses which vexes me, and makst me most forlorne.
bot quhat, sal I then peirish, lord? then is thair no more hope?
am I without recoverye, or must I lose the scope
and butt to which I did intend? sal so dispair possess
my marred mynde sans hop of grace that faith may grow the les?
No, no, my god, thow wilt not so: for this my plaint for sinne,
whense cummis it, lord, or yet this trust to call thy name heirin?
whense growes this hatred of my self, or this desyre to mend?
whense cummes it that I in my soule my sinfull deids expend?
It certes is thy grace, my god, from whense al grace dois grow:
for whense cummis any good but from the or from the dois flow?
o mightie maker of the heaven, how woundrowes be thy wayes,
Incomprehenseble by witt, and so all wight asseyes!
for can it be thyne yre, o god, that may me quyet make?
or can it be my heavines that courage causs me tak?
or can my death the causer be of this more Ioyfull lyfe?
or can my warrs me peace proceur, or can ease come be stryfe?
no, no, my god, that bennefeit no white of one proceids,
nor is it any work of myne, nor cummis it be my deids.
bot, lord, In wourking against him as much as in him lay,
who had vndone and wrakt him self, thow shewest by this the way
the self to be the self same god that al of nothing wrought,
and out of darknes canst bring light, as thow hes euer brought.
grace cummeth then from the to me my self from self to driue,
that I may find my self and weill and both in the to liue.
281
yow then my foes who wened haue to cast me flat on ground,
shal yow now dar your faces shaw or any more be found?
And thow malicious satan vyld, the authour first of ill,
quhat ganest thow to throw me low, or yet me seik to kill,
save thairbie that my victorie and conquest much is more
to be remarked and renouned, more notableye thairfor?
for, maugre the, thow seest that god will triumphe ouer In the,
and be my weaknes the orthroe, and force the for to flie.
And thow my self, vnto my self my most and dangerous foe,
yeild vnto god thy self againe, gainst him no further go;
whome whilst as thow withstood with rage, and more did him resist,
the more thow camest ner to death, and whils that least thow wist.
And yow, o cursed miser man, whose trade is to do ill,
and yow who hes these many yeres so sought my blood to spill,
and yow who me perseued, I stand In fray of yow no more,
nor do I feare yow al this houer Though feard I was afore.
shal yow now dar your faces shaw or any more be found?
And thow malicious satan vyld, the authour first of ill,
quhat ganest thow to throw me low, or yet me seik to kill,
save thairbie that my victorie and conquest much is more
to be remarked and renouned, more notableye thairfor?
for, maugre the, thow seest that god will triumphe ouer In the,
and be my weaknes the orthroe, and force the for to flie.
And thow my self, vnto my self my most and dangerous foe,
yeild vnto god thy self againe, gainst him no further go;
whome whilst as thow withstood with rage, and more did him resist,
the more thow camest ner to death, and whils that least thow wist.
And yow, o cursed miser man, whose trade is to do ill,
and yow who hes these many yeres so sought my blood to spill,
and yow who me perseued, I stand In fray of yow no more,
nor do I feare yow al this houer Though feard I was afore.
for the eternal which hes semed to cast me off but cair
hes sene my teares, and hard my sighs, which perced hes the air;
and he which semed to rander me into your cursed hands,
through huimble prayers of my hart against yow fechting stands.
and thairfor ye who ouerbold hes sought to wourk my shame,
hes sene my teares, and hard my sighs, which perced hes the air;
and he which semed to rander me into your cursed hands,
through huimble prayers of my hart against yow fechting stands.
and thairfor ye who ouerbold hes sought to wourk my shame,
go, get yow hence, for now the lord your misheifs will proclame.
as this I speik, me thinks I see yow euerye one forlorne,
and leave your interpryse in shame with great reprochte and scorne,
a chainge so much more wounderfull, a chainge more hard and rair,
as it hes cumd beyond al hope when less thairof was cair.
as this I speik, me thinks I see yow euerye one forlorne,
and leave your interpryse in shame with great reprochte and scorne,
a chainge so much more wounderfull, a chainge more hard and rair,
as it hes cumd beyond al hope when less thairof was cair.
deo gloria.
| The Works of William Fowler | |