Saint Peters complaint With other Poemes [by Robert Southwell] |
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A Phansie turned to a sinners complaint. |
 | Saint Peters complaint |  |
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A Phansie turned to a sinners complaint.
Hee that his mirth hath lost,
vvhose comfort is to rue,
vvhose hope is fallen, whose faith is cras'de,
vvhose trust is found vntrue:
vvhose comfort is to rue,
vvhose hope is fallen, whose faith is cras'de,
vvhose trust is found vntrue:
If he haue held them deere,
And cannot cease to mone;
Come, let him take his place by me,
He shall not rue alone.
And cannot cease to mone;
Come, let him take his place by me,
He shall not rue alone.
But if the smallest sweete,
Be mixt with all his sower;
If in the day, the moneth, the yeare,
He feele one lightning hower,
Be mixt with all his sower;
If in the day, the moneth, the yeare,
He feele one lightning hower,
Then rest he with himselfe,
He is no mate for me;
vvhose time in teares, whose race in ruth,
vvhose life a death must be.
He is no mate for me;
vvhose time in teares, whose race in ruth,
vvhose life a death must be.
Yet not the wished death,
That feeles no plaint or lack:
That making free the better part,
Is onely Natures wrack.
That feeles no plaint or lack:
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Is onely Natures wrack.
O no, that were too well,
My death is of the minde;
That alwayes yeelds extreamest pangues,
Yet threatens worse behinde.
My death is of the minde;
That alwayes yeelds extreamest pangues,
Yet threatens worse behinde.
As one that liues in shewe,
And inwardly dooth die;
vvhose knowledge is a bloody field,
vvhere vertue slaine doth lie.
And inwardly dooth die;
vvhose knowledge is a bloody field,
vvhere vertue slaine doth lie.
VVhose hart the Altar is,
And hoast a God to moue:
From whom my ill doth feare reuenge,
His good doth promise loue.
And hoast a God to moue:
From whom my ill doth feare reuenge,
His good doth promise loue.
My phansies are like thornes,
In which I goe by night;
My frighted wits are like an hoast,
That force hath put to flight.
In which I goe by night;
My frighted wits are like an hoast,
That force hath put to flight.
My sence is passions spie,
My thoughts like ruines olde,
vvhich shew how faire the building was,
vvhile grace did it vpholde.
My thoughts like ruines olde,
vvhich shew how faire the building was,
vvhile grace did it vpholde.
And still before my eyes,
My mortall fall they lay;
VVhom grace and vertue once aduaunc'd,
Now sinne hath cast away.
My mortall fall they lay;
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Now sinne hath cast away.
O thoughts, no thoughts but wounds,
Sometime the seate of ioy,
Sometime the store of quiet rest,
But now of all annoy.
Sometime the seate of ioy,
Sometime the store of quiet rest,
But now of all annoy.
I sow'd the soyle of peace,
My blisse was in the spring;
And day by day the fruite I eate,
That Vertues tree did bring.
My blisse was in the spring;
And day by day the fruite I eate,
That Vertues tree did bring.
To Nettles now my corne,
My field is turn'd to flint;
vvhere I a heauie haruest reape,
Off cares that neuer stint.
My field is turn'd to flint;
vvhere I a heauie haruest reape,
Off cares that neuer stint.
The peace, the rest, the life,
That I enioy'd of yore,
vvere happy lot, but by their losse,
My smart doth sting the more.
That I enioy'd of yore,
vvere happy lot, but by their losse,
My smart doth sting the more.
So to vnhappy men,
The best frames to the worst:
O time, ô place, where thus I fell,
Deere then, but now accurst.
The best frames to the worst:
O time, ô place, where thus I fell,
Deere then, but now accurst.
In was, stands my delight,
In is, and shall my woe,
My horrour fastned in the yea,
My hope hangs in the no.
In is, and shall my woe,
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My hope hangs in the no.
Vnworthy of releefe
That craued it too late;
Too late I finde, (I finde too well)
Too well, stoode my estate.
That craued it too late;
Too late I finde, (I finde too well)
Too well, stoode my estate.
Behold, such is the end,
That pleasure doth procure,
Of nothing else but care and plaint,
Can she the minde assure.
That pleasure doth procure,
Of nothing else but care and plaint,
Can she the minde assure.
Forsaken first by grace,
By pleasure now forgotten,
Her paine I feele, but graces wage,
Haue others from me gotten.
By pleasure now forgotten,
Her paine I feele, but graces wage,
Haue others from me gotten.
Then grace, where is the ioy
That makes thy torments sweete;
VVhere is the cause that many thought,
Their deaths through thee but meete.
That makes thy torments sweete;
VVhere is the cause that many thought,
Their deaths through thee but meete.
VVhere thy disdaine of sinne,
Thy secret sweete delight;
Thy sparks of blisse, thy heauenly ioyes,
That shined erst so bright?
Thy secret sweete delight;
Thy sparks of blisse, thy heauenly ioyes,
That shined erst so bright?
O that they were not lost,
Or I could it excuse;
O that a dreame of fained losse,
My iudgement did abuse.
Or I could it excuse;
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My iudgement did abuse.
O fraile inconstant flesh,
Soone trapt in euery ginne;
Soone wrought thus to betray thy soule,
And plunge thy selfe in sinne.
Soone trapt in euery ginne;
Soone wrought thus to betray thy soule,
And plunge thy selfe in sinne.
Yet hate I but the fault,
And not the faulty one:
Ne can I rid from me the mate,
That forceth me to moane.
And not the faulty one:
Ne can I rid from me the mate,
That forceth me to moane.
To moane a sinners case,
Then which, was neuer worse;
In Prince or poore, in young or olde,
In bliss'd, or full of curse.
Then which, was neuer worse;
In Prince or poore, in young or olde,
In bliss'd, or full of curse.
Yet Gods must I remaine,
By death, by wrong, by shame;
I cannot blot out of my hart,
That grace writ in his name.
By death, by wrong, by shame;
I cannot blot out of my hart,
That grace writ in his name.
I cannot set at naught
vvhom I haue held so deere:
I cannot make him seeme a farre,
That is in deede so neere.
vvhom I haue held so deere:
I cannot make him seeme a farre,
That is in deede so neere.
Not that I looke hence-forth
For loue that earst I found;
Sith that I brake my plighted truth,
To build on fickle ground.
For loue that earst I found;
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To build on fickle ground.
Yet that shall neuer faile,
vvhich my faith bare in hand:
I gaue my vow, my vow gaue me,
Both vow and gift shall stand.
vvhich my faith bare in hand:
I gaue my vow, my vow gaue me,
Both vow and gift shall stand.
But since that I haue sinn'd,
And scourge none is too ill;
I yeeld me captiue to my curse,
My hard fate to fulfill.
And scourge none is too ill;
I yeeld me captiue to my curse,
My hard fate to fulfill.
The solitarie VVood
My Cittie shall become,
The darkest dennes shall be my Lodge,
In which I rest or come.
My Cittie shall become,
The darkest dennes shall be my Lodge,
In which I rest or come.
A sandie plot my board,
The wormes my feast shall be,
vvhere-with my carcasse shall be fed,
Vntill they feede on me.
The wormes my feast shall be,
vvhere-with my carcasse shall be fed,
Vntill they feede on me.
My teares shall be my wine,
My bed a craggy Rock;
My harmonie the Serpents hisse,
The screeching Owle my clock.
My bed a craggy Rock;
My harmonie the Serpents hisse,
The screeching Owle my clock.
My exercise remorse,
And dolefull sinners layes,
My booke remembrance of my crimes,
And faults of former dayes.
And dolefull sinners layes,
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And faults of former dayes.
My walke the path of plaint,
My prospect into hell;
vvhere Iudas and his cursed crue,
In endlesse paines doe dwell.
My prospect into hell;
vvhere Iudas and his cursed crue,
In endlesse paines doe dwell.
And though I seeme to vse
The faining Poets stile,
To figure forth my carefull plight,
My fall, and my exile:
The faining Poets stile,
To figure forth my carefull plight,
My fall, and my exile:
Yet is my greefe not fain'd,
vvherein I starue and pine,
vvho feeles the most, shall think it least,
If his compare with mine.
vvherein I starue and pine,
vvho feeles the most, shall think it least,
If his compare with mine.
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