 | Saint Peters complaint (1595) |  |
Life is but losse.
By force I liue in will I wish to dye,
In plaint I passe the length of lingring dayes,
Free would my soule from mortall body flye,
And tread the tracke, of deaths desired wayes;
Life is but losse, where death is deemed gaine,
And loathed pleasures breede displeasing paine.
In plaint I passe the length of lingring dayes,
Free would my soule from mortall body flye,
And tread the tracke, of deaths desired wayes;
Life is but losse, where death is deemed gaine,
And loathed pleasures breede displeasing paine.
VVho would not dye to kill all murdering greeues,
Or who would liue in neuer dying feares?
VVho would not wish his treasure safe from theeues,
And quit his hart from pangues, his eyes from teares?
Death parteth but two, euer fighting foes,
VVhose ciuill strife, doth worke our endlesse woes.
Or who would liue in neuer dying feares?
VVho would not wish his treasure safe from theeues,
And quit his hart from pangues, his eyes from teares?
Death parteth but two, euer fighting foes,
VVhose ciuill strife, doth worke our endlesse woes.
56
Life is a wandring course to doubtfull rest,
As oft a cursed ryse to damning leape;
As happie race to winne a heauenly crest,
None being sure, what finall fruites to reape.
And who can like, in such a life to dwell,
VVhose wayes are straite to heau'n, but wyde to hell.
As oft a cursed ryse to damning leape;
As happie race to winne a heauenly crest,
None being sure, what finall fruites to reape.
And who can like, in such a life to dwell,
VVhose wayes are straite to heau'n, but wyde to hell.
Come cruell death why lingrest thou so long,
VVhat doth withhold thy dint from fatall stroke?
Now prest I am alas thou doest me wrong,
To let me liue more anger to prouoke:
Thy right is had, when thou hast stopt my breath,
VVhy should'st thou stay, to worke my double death?
VVhat doth withhold thy dint from fatall stroke?
Now prest I am alas thou doest me wrong,
To let me liue more anger to prouoke:
Thy right is had, when thou hast stopt my breath,
VVhy should'st thou stay, to worke my double death?
If Saules attempt in falling on his blade,
As lawfull were, as ethe to put in vre:
If Sampsons leaue, a common law were made,
Of Abels lot if all that would were sure.
Then cruell death thou should'st the tyrant play,
VVith none but such as wished for delay.
As lawfull were, as ethe to put in vre:
If Sampsons leaue, a common law were made,
Of Abels lot if all that would were sure.
Then cruell death thou should'st the tyrant play,
VVith none but such as wished for delay.
Where life is lou'd, thou ready art to kill,
And to abridge with sodaine pangues their ioy,
VVhere life is loath'd thou wilt not worke their will,
But dost adiourne their death to their annoy,
To some thou art a fierce vnbidden guest,
But those that craue thy helpe thou helpest least.
And to abridge with sodaine pangues their ioy,
VVhere life is loath'd thou wilt not worke their will,
But dost adiourne their death to their annoy,
To some thou art a fierce vnbidden guest,
But those that craue thy helpe thou helpest least.
Auant ô viper, I thy spight defie,
There is a God that ouer-rules thy force,
VVho can thy weapons to his will apply,
And shorten or prolong our brittle course:
I on his mercie, not thy might relye,
To him I liue, for him I hope to dye.
There is a God that ouer-rules thy force,
VVho can thy weapons to his will apply,
And shorten or prolong our brittle course:
I on his mercie, not thy might relye,
To him I liue, for him I hope to dye.
57
I dye aliue.
O life what lets thee from a quicke decease?
O death what drawes thee from a present pray?
My feast is done my soule would be at ease,
My grace is said, ô death come take away.
O death what drawes thee from a present pray?
My feast is done my soule would be at ease,
My grace is said, ô death come take away.
I liue, but such a life as euer dies,
I die but such a death, as neuer ends,
My death to end my dying life denies,
And life my liuing death no whit amends.
I die but such a death, as neuer ends,
My death to end my dying life denies,
And life my liuing death no whit amends.
Thus still I dye, yet still I do reuiue,
My liuing death by dying life is fed:
Grace more then nature keepes my hart aliue,
VVhose idle hopes and vaine desires are dead.
My liuing death by dying life is fed:
Grace more then nature keepes my hart aliue,
VVhose idle hopes and vaine desires are dead.
Not where I breath, but where I loue I liue,
Not where I loue, but where I am I dye:
The life I wish, must future glory giue,
The deathes I feele, in present dangers lye.
Not where I loue, but where I am I dye:
The life I wish, must future glory giue,
The deathes I feele, in present dangers lye.
58
What ioy to liue.
I wage no warre, yet peace I none enioy,
I hope, I feare, I fry in freezing cold,
I mount in mirth still prostrate in annoy,
I all the world embrace, yet nothing hold.
All wealth is want where chiefest wishes faile,
Yea life is loath'd, where loue may not preuaile.
I hope, I feare, I fry in freezing cold,
I mount in mirth still prostrate in annoy,
I all the world embrace, yet nothing hold.
All wealth is want where chiefest wishes faile,
Yea life is loath'd, where loue may not preuaile.
For that I loue, I long, but that I lack,
That others loue I loath, and that I haue:
All worldly fraights to me are deadly wrack,
Men, present hap, I future hopes doe craue.
They louing where they liue, long life require,
To liue where best I loue, death I desire.
That others loue I loath, and that I haue:
All worldly fraights to me are deadly wrack,
Men, present hap, I future hopes doe craue.
They louing where they liue, long life require,
To liue where best I loue, death I desire.
Heere loue is lent for loane of filthy gaine,
Most friends befriend thēselues with friendships shew
Heere, plentie perril, want doth breed disdaine,
Cares common are, ioyes faulty, short & few.
Here honour enuide, meanenes is dispis'd,
Sinne deemed solace, vertue little pris'd.
Most friends befriend thēselues with friendships shew
Heere, plentie perril, want doth breed disdaine,
Cares common are, ioyes faulty, short & few.
Here honour enuide, meanenes is dispis'd,
Sinne deemed solace, vertue little pris'd.
Heere beauty is a baite that swallowed choakes,
A treasure sought still to the owners harmes:
A light that eyes to murdring sighs prouokes,
A grace that soules enchant with mortall charmes.
A luring ayme to Cupids fiery flights,
A balefull blisse that damnes where it delights.
A treasure sought still to the owners harmes:
A light that eyes to murdring sighs prouokes,
A grace that soules enchant with mortall charmes.
A luring ayme to Cupids fiery flights,
A balefull blisse that damnes where it delights.
59
O who would liue, so many deaths to try?
VVhere will doth wish that wisedome doth reproue,
VVhere nature craues that grace must needs denie,
VVhere sence doth like, that reason cannot loue,
VVhere best in shew, in finall proofe is worst,
VVhere pleasures vpshot is to die accurst.
VVhere will doth wish that wisedome doth reproue,
VVhere nature craues that grace must needs denie,
VVhere sence doth like, that reason cannot loue,
VVhere best in shew, in finall proofe is worst,
VVhere pleasures vpshot is to die accurst.
Lifes death loues life.
Who liues in loue, loues least to liue,
And long delayes doth rue:
If him he loue by whom he liues,
To whom all loue is due.
And long delayes doth rue:
If him he loue by whom he liues,
To whom all loue is due.
VVho for our loue did choose to liue,
And was content to die:
VVho lou'd our loue more then his life,
And loue with life did buy.
And was content to die:
VVho lou'd our loue more then his life,
And loue with life did buy.
Let vs in life, yea with our life,
Requite his liuing loue,
For best we liue when least we liue,
If loue our life remoue.
Requite his liuing loue,
For best we liue when least we liue,
If loue our life remoue.
VVhere loue is hote, life hatefull is,
Their grounds doe not agree:
Loue where it loues, life where it liues,
Desireth most to be.
Their grounds doe not agree:
Loue where it loues, life where it liues,
Desireth most to be.
60
And sith loue is not where it liues,
Nor liueth where it loues:
Loue hateth life, that holdes it backe,
And death it best approues.
Nor liueth where it loues:
Loue hateth life, that holdes it backe,
And death it best approues.
For seldome is he wonne in life,
VVhom loue doth most desire:
If wonne by loue yet not inioyde,
Till mortall life expire.
VVhom loue doth most desire:
If wonne by loue yet not inioyde,
Till mortall life expire.
Life out of earth, hath not aboad,
In earth loue hath no place,
Loue setled hath her ioyes in heau'n,
In earth life all her grace.
In earth loue hath no place,
Loue setled hath her ioyes in heau'n,
In earth life all her grace.
Mourne therefore no true louers death:
Life onely him annoyes,
And when he taketh leaue of life,
Then loue beginnes his ioyes.
Life onely him annoyes,
And when he taketh leaue of life,
Then loue beginnes his ioyes.
61
At home in Heauen.
Faire soule, how long shall veyles thy graces shroud?
How long shall this exile with-hold thy right,
VVhen will thy sunne disperse this mortall cloud,
And giue thy glories scope to blaze their light?
O that a Starre more fit for Angels eyes,
Should pyne in earth, not shyne aboue the skyes.
How long shall this exile with-hold thy right,
VVhen will thy sunne disperse this mortall cloud,
And giue thy glories scope to blaze their light?
O that a Starre more fit for Angels eyes,
Should pyne in earth, not shyne aboue the skyes.
Thy ghostly beautie offred force to God,
It cheyn'd him in the linkes of tender loue.
It woon his will with man to make abode:
It stai'd his Sword, and did his wrath remoue.
It made the rigor of his iustice yeeld,
And Crowned mercie Empresse of the feeld.
It cheyn'd him in the linkes of tender loue.
It woon his will with man to make abode:
It stai'd his Sword, and did his wrath remoue.
It made the rigor of his iustice yeeld,
And Crowned mercie Empresse of the feeld.
This lull'd our heauenly Sampson fast a sleepe,
And laid him in our feeble natures lap.
This made him vnder mortall load to creep
And in our flesh his god-head to enwrap.
This made him soiourne with vs in exile:
And not disdayne our tytles in his stile.
And laid him in our feeble natures lap.
This made him vnder mortall load to creep
And in our flesh his god-head to enwrap.
This made him soiourne with vs in exile:
And not disdayne our tytles in his stile.
This brought him from the rankes of heau'nly quires,
Into this vale of teares, and cursed soyle:
From flowers of grace, into a world of bryers:
From life to death, from blisse to balefull toyle.
This made him wander in our Pilgrim weede,
And tast our torments, to relieue our neede.
Into this vale of teares, and cursed soyle:
From flowers of grace, into a world of bryers:
From life to death, from blisse to balefull toyle.
This made him wander in our Pilgrim weede,
And tast our torments, to relieue our neede.
62
O soule do not thy noble thoughtes abase?
To lose thy loues in any mortall wight:
Content thine eye at home with natiue grace,
Sith God him selfe is rauisht with thy sight.
If on thy beautie God enamored bee:
Base is thy loue of any lesse then hee.
To lose thy loues in any mortall wight:
Content thine eye at home with natiue grace,
Sith God him selfe is rauisht with thy sight.
If on thy beautie God enamored bee:
Base is thy loue of any lesse then hee.
Giue not assent to muddy minded skill,
That deemes the feature of a pleasing face,
To be the sweetest baite to lure the will:
Not valewing right the worth of ghostly grace:
Let Gods and Angels censure winne beliefe,
That of all beauties iudge our soules the chiefe.
That deemes the feature of a pleasing face,
To be the sweetest baite to lure the will:
Not valewing right the worth of ghostly grace:
Let Gods and Angels censure winne beliefe,
That of all beauties iudge our soules the chiefe.
Queene Hester was of rare and pearlesse hew,
And Iudeth once for beautie bare the vaunt,
But he that could our soules endowments vew,
would soone to soules the Crowne of beauty graunt,
O soule out of thy selfe seeke God alone:
Grace more then thine, but Gods, the world hath none.
And Iudeth once for beautie bare the vaunt,
But he that could our soules endowments vew,
would soone to soules the Crowne of beauty graunt,
O soule out of thy selfe seeke God alone:
Grace more then thine, but Gods, the world hath none.
63
Lewd Loue is Losse.
Misdeeming eye that stoupest to the lure
Of mortall worthes not worth so worthy loue:
All beauties base, all graces are impure:
That do thy erring thoughts from God remoue.
Sparkes to the fire, the beames yeelde to the sunne,
All grace to God from whom all graces runne.
Of mortall worthes not worth so worthy loue:
All beauties base, all graces are impure:
That do thy erring thoughts from God remoue.
Sparkes to the fire, the beames yeelde to the sunne,
All grace to God from whom all graces runne.
If picture moue, more should the patterne please,
No shaddow can, with shaddowed things compare,
And fayrest shapes whereon our loues do seaze:
But seely signes of Gods high beauties are.
Goe steruing sence, feede thou on earthly mast,
True loue in Heau'n, seeke thou thy sweet repast.
No shaddow can, with shaddowed things compare,
And fayrest shapes whereon our loues do seaze:
But seely signes of Gods high beauties are.
Goe steruing sence, feede thou on earthly mast,
True loue in Heau'n, seeke thou thy sweet repast.
Gleane not in barren soyle these offall eares,
Sith reap thou maiest whole haruests of delight.
Base ioyes with griefes, bad hopes do end in feares:
Lewd loue with losse, euill peace with deadly fight:
Gods loue alone doth end with endlesse ease,
VVhose ioyes in hope, whose hope concludes in peace.
Sith reap thou maiest whole haruests of delight.
Base ioyes with griefes, bad hopes do end in feares:
Lewd loue with losse, euill peace with deadly fight:
Gods loue alone doth end with endlesse ease,
VVhose ioyes in hope, whose hope concludes in peace.
Let not the luring traine of fansies trap,
Or gracious features proofes of natures skill,
Lull reasons force a sleepe in errors lap,
Or draw thy wit to bent of wanton will;
The fayrest flowers, haue not the sweetest smell,
A seeming heauen, proues oft a damning hell.
Or gracious features proofes of natures skill,
Lull reasons force a sleepe in errors lap,
Or draw thy wit to bent of wanton will;
The fayrest flowers, haue not the sweetest smell,
A seeming heauen, proues oft a damning hell.
64
Selfe-pleasing soules that play with beauties bayte,
In shyning shroud may swallow fatall hooke,
VVhere eager sight, or semblant faire doth waite,
A locke it proues that first was but a looke;
The fish with ease into the Net doth glide,
But to get out the way is not so wide.
In shyning shroud may swallow fatall hooke,
VVhere eager sight, or semblant faire doth waite,
A locke it proues that first was but a looke;
The fish with ease into the Net doth glide,
But to get out the way is not so wide.
So long the flie doth dallie with the flame,
Vntill his singed wings doe force his fall,
So long the eye doth follow fancies game,
Till loue hath left the hart in heauie thrall;
Soone may the minde be cast in Cupids Iayle,
But hard it is imprisoned thoughts to bayle.
Vntill his singed wings doe force his fall,
So long the eye doth follow fancies game,
Till loue hath left the hart in heauie thrall;
Soone may the minde be cast in Cupids Iayle,
But hard it is imprisoned thoughts to bayle.
O loath that loue, whose finall ayme is lust,
Moth of the mind, eclypse of reasons light,
The graue of grace, the mole of natures rust,
The wrack of wit, the wrong of euery right;
In summe, an euill whose harmes no tongue can tell,
In which to liue is death, to dye is hell.
Moth of the mind, eclypse of reasons light,
The graue of grace, the mole of natures rust,
The wrack of wit, the wrong of euery right;
In summe, an euill whose harmes no tongue can tell,
In which to liue is death, to dye is hell.
65
Loues Garden griefe.
Vaine loues auaunt infamous is your pleasure,
Your ioy deceit,
Your iewels iests, & worthlesse trash your treasure,
Fooles common bait.
Your pallace is a prison that allureth
To sweet mishap, and rest that paine procureth.
Your ioy deceit,
Your iewels iests, & worthlesse trash your treasure,
Fooles common bait.
Your pallace is a prison that allureth
To sweet mishap, and rest that paine procureth.
Your garden griefe, hedg'd in with thornes of enuie,
And stakes of strife:
Your Allyes errour graueled with iealousie,
And cares of life.
Your bankes are seates enwrapt with shades of sadnes,
Your Arbours breed rough fittes of raging madnes.
And stakes of strife:
Your Allyes errour graueled with iealousie,
And cares of life.
Your bankes are seates enwrapt with shades of sadnes,
Your Arbours breed rough fittes of raging madnes.
Your beds are sowne with seedes of all iniquitie,
And poys'ning weedes:
VVhose stalks euill thoughts, whose leaues words full of vanitie,
VVhose fruite misdeedes.
VVhose sap is sinne, whose force and operation,
To banish grace, and worke the soules damnation.
And poys'ning weedes:
VVhose stalks euill thoughts, whose leaues words full of vanitie,
VVhose fruite misdeedes.
VVhose sap is sinne, whose force and operation,
To banish grace, and worke the soules damnation.
Your trees are dismall plants of pyning corrosiues,
VVhose roote is ruth.
VVhose barke is bale, whose timber stubborne fantasies:
VVhose pyth vntruth.
On which in liew of birdes whose voyce delighteth:
Of guiltie conscience screching note affrighteth.
VVhose roote is ruth.
VVhose barke is bale, whose timber stubborne fantasies:
VVhose pyth vntruth.
On which in liew of birdes whose voyce delighteth:
Of guiltie conscience screching note affrighteth.
Your coolest summer gales are scalding sighings,
Your showers are teares,
Your sweetest smell the stench of sinfull liuing,
Your fauoures feares
Your gardener sathan, all you reape is miserie:
Your gaine remorse and losse of all felicitie.
Your showers are teares,
Your sweetest smell the stench of sinfull liuing,
Your fauoures feares
Your gardener sathan, all you reape is miserie:
Your gaine remorse and losse of all felicitie.
66
From Fortunes reach.
Let fickle fortune runne her blindest rase:
I setled haue an vnremoued mind:
I scorne to be the game of fansies chase,
Or vane to shew the chaunge of euery wind,
Light giddy humors stinted to no rest,
Still chaunge their choyce, yet neuer chose the best.
I setled haue an vnremoued mind:
I scorne to be the game of fansies chase,
Or vane to shew the chaunge of euery wind,
Light giddy humors stinted to no rest,
Still chaunge their choyce, yet neuer chose the best.
My choyse was guided by fore-sightfull heede,
It was auerred with approuing will,
It shalbe followed with performing deede:
And seal'd with vow, till death the chooser kill,
Yea death though finall date of vaine desires,
Endes not my choyse, which with no time expires.
It was auerred with approuing will,
It shalbe followed with performing deede:
And seal'd with vow, till death the chooser kill,
Yea death though finall date of vaine desires,
Endes not my choyse, which with no time expires.
To beauties fading blisse I am no thrall:
I bury not my thoughts in mettall Mynes,
I aime not at such fame, as feareth fall,
I seeke and find a light that euer shynes:
VVhose glorious beames display such heauenly sights,
As yeeld my soule a summe of all delights.
I bury not my thoughts in mettall Mynes,
I aime not at such fame, as feareth fall,
I seeke and find a light that euer shynes:
VVhose glorious beames display such heauenly sights,
As yeeld my soule a summe of all delights.
My light to loue, my loue to lyfe doth guyde
To life that liues by loue, and loueth light:
By loue to one, to whom all loues are tyde
By dewest debt, and neuer equall right.
Eyes light, harts loue, soules truest life he is,
Consorting in three ioyes, one perfect blisse.
To life that liues by loue, and loueth light:
By loue to one, to whom all loues are tyde
By dewest debt, and neuer equall right.
Eyes light, harts loue, soules truest life he is,
Consorting in three ioyes, one perfect blisse.
FINIS.
| Saint Peters complaint (1595) | |