University of Virginia Library

TRANSLATIONS FROM THE BIBLE

48 ECCLESIASTES 1.

I, Salamon, Dauids sonne, King of Ierusalem,
Chossen by God to teach the Iewes and in his lawes to leade them,
Confesse vnder the sonne that euery thing is uayne,
The world is false, man he is fraile, and all his pleasures payne.
Alas! what stable frute may Adams children fynde
In that, they seke by sweate of browes and trauill of their mynde.
We that liue on the earthe, drawe toward our decay;
Ower childeren fill our place a whille, and then they fade awaye.
Such chaunges maks the earthe, and doth remoue for none,
But sarues us for a place too play our tragedes vppon.
When that the restles sonne, westwarde his course hathe ronne,
Towards the east he hasts as fast, to ryse where he begonne.
When hoorrey Boreas hathe blowen his frosen blaste,
Then Zephirus, with his gentill breathe, dissolues the ise as fast.
Ffludds that drinke vpp smale broks and swell by rage of rayne,
Discharge in sees which them repulse, and swallowe strayte againe.
These worldly pleasures, Lord, so swifte they ronne their race
That skace our eyes may them discerne, they bide so littell space.
What hathe bin, but is now, the like hereafter shall.
What new deuice grounded so suer, that dreadeth not the fall?
What may be called new, but suche things in tymes past
As time buryed and dothe reuiue, and tyme agayne shall waste?
Things past right worthey fame, haue now no brute at all;
Euen so shall dey suche things as now the simple, wounders call.
I that, in Dauides seate, sit crowned and reioyce,
That with my septer rewle the Iewes and teache them with my uoyce,
Haue serchied long to know all things vnder the sonne,
To see how, in this mortall lyef, a suerty might be wonne.
This kyndled will to knowe, straunge things for to desyer,
God hathe grafte in our gredye breasts, a torment for our hier.
The end of eache trauell, furthwith I sought to knoo;
I found them uaine, mixed with gall, and burdend with muche woo.
Defaults of natures wourke no mans hand may restore,
Whiche be in nomber like the sandes vppon the salte floods shore.
Then, vaunting in my witte, I gan call to my mynd
What rewles of wysdom I hadde taught, that elders could not find;
And as, by contraries, to treye most things, we use,
Mens follies and ther errors, eke, I gan them all peruse,
Thyerby with more delight, to knowledge for to clime.
But this I found an endles wourke of payne and losse of tyme,
Ffor he, to wisdomes skoole, that doth applie his mynd,
The further that he wades ther in, the greater doubts shall find.
And such as enterprice, to put newe things in ure,
Of some, that shall skorne their deuise, may well them selfes assure.

49 ECCLESIASTES 2.

From pensif fanzies, then, I gan my hart reuoke,
And gaue me to suche sporting plaies as laughter myght prouoke;
But euen such uain delights, when they moste blinded me,
Allwayes, me thought, with smiling grace, a king did yll agre.
Then sought I how to please my belly with muche wine,
To feede me fatte with costely feasts of rare delights and fine,
And other plesures, eke, too purchace me with rest,
In so great choise to finde the thing that might content me best.
But, Lord, what care of mynde, what soddaine stormes of ire,
With broken slepes enduryd I, to compasse my desier!
To buylde my howses faier then sett I all my cure;
By princely acts thus straue I still to make my fame indure.
Delicius gardens, eke, I made to please my sight,
And grafte therin all kindes of fruts that might my mouthe delight.
Condits, by liuely springs, from their owld course I drewe,
For to refreshe the fruitfull trees that in my gardynes grewe.
Of catell great encreace I bred in littell space.
Bondmen I bought, I gaue them wifes, and sarued me with ther race.
Great heapes of shining gold, by sparing gan I saue,
With things of price so furnyshed as fitts a prince to haue.
To heare faier women sing, sometyme I did reioyce;
Rauyshed with ther pleasaunt tunes, and swetnes of their voyce.
Lemans I had, so faier and of so liuely hewe
That who so gased in their face myght well their bewtey rewe.
Neuer erste sat theyr king so riche, in Dauyds seate;
Yet still me thought for so smale gaine the trauaile was to great.
From my desirous eyes I hyd no pleasaunt sight,
Nor from my hart no kind of myrth that might geue them delyght;
Which was the only freute I rept of all my payne,—
To feade my eyes and to reioyce my hart with all my gaine.
But when I made my compte, with howe great care of mynd
And hertes vnrest that I had sought so wastfull frutt to fynde,
Then was I streken strayte with that abused fier,
To glorey in that goodly witte that compast my desyer.
But freshe before myne eyes grace did my fawlts renewe:
What gentill callings I hadd fledd, my ruyne to purswe,
What raging pleasurs past, perill and hard eskape,
What fancis in my hed had wrought the licor of the grape.
The erroure then I sawe that their fraile harts dothe moue,
Which striue in vaine for to compare with him that sitts aboue.
In whose most perfect worcks suche craft apperyth playne
That to the least of them, their may no mortall hand attayne;
And, like as light some day dothe shine aboue the night,
So darke to me did folly seme, and wysdomes beames as bright.
Whose eyes did seme so clere, mots to discern and fynde,
But will had clossed follies eyes, which groped like the blynde.
Yet death and time consume all witt and worldly fame,
And looke what ende that folly hath, and wisdome hath the same.
Then sayd I thus, “Oh Lord, may not thy wisdome cure
The waylfull wrongs and hard conflicts that folly doth endure?”
To sharpe my witt so fine then why toke I this payne?
Now finde I well this noble serche may eke be called vayne.
As slanders lothsome brute soundes follies iust rewarde,
Is put to silence all be time, and brought in smale regarde,
Eun so dothe tyme deuoure the noble blast of fame,
Which showld resounde their glories great that doo desarue the same.
Thus present changes chase away the wonders past,
Ne is the wise mans fattal thred yet lenger spunne to last.
Then, in this wredtched vale, our lief I lothed playne,
When I beheld our frutles paynes to compasse pleassurs vayne.
My trauayll this a vaile hath me produced, loo!
An heire unknowen shall reape the frute that I in sede did sowe.
But whervnto the Lord his nature shall inclyne,
Who can fore knowe, into whose handes I must my goods resine!
But, Lord, how pleasannt swete then seamd the idell liefe,
That neuer charged was with care, nor burdened with stryefe;
And vile the grede trade of them that toile so sore,
To leaue to suche ther trauells frute that neuer swet therfore.
What is that pleasant gaine, which is that swet relief,
That showld delay the bitter tast that we fele of our gref?
The gladsome dayes we passe to serche a simple gaine,
The quiete nights, with broken slepes, to fead a resteles brayne.
What hope is left us then, what comfort dothe remayne?
Our quiet herts for to reioyce with the frute of our payne.
Yf that be trew, who may him selfe so happy call
As I, whose free and sumptius spence dothe shyne beyonde them all
Sewerly it is a gift and fauor of the Lorde,
Liberally to spende our goods, the ground of all discorde;
And wretched herts haue they that let their tressurs mold,
And carrey the roodde that skorgeth them that glorey in their gold.
But I doo knowe by proofe, whose ryches beres suche brute,
What stable welthe may stand in wast, or heping of suche frute.

50 ECCLESIASTES 3.

Like to the stereles boote that swerues with euery wynde,
The slipper topp of worldely welthe by crewell prof I fynde.
Skace hath the seade, wherof that nature foremethe man,
Receuid lief, when deathe him yeldes to earth wher he began.
The grafted plants with payn, wherof wee hoped frute,
To roote them vpp, with blossomes sprede, then is our chief porsute.
That erst we rered vpp, we undermyne agame;
And shred the spraies whose grouthe some tyme we laboured with paine.
Eache frowarde thretning chere of fortune maiks vs playne,
And euery plesant showe reuiues our wofull herts againe.
Auncient walles to race is our unstable guyse,
And of their wether beten stones to buylde some new deuyse.
New fanzes dayly spring, which vaade returning moo;
And now we practyse to optaine that strayt we must forgoo.
Some tyme we seke to spare that afterward we wast,
And that we trauelid sore to knitt for to unclose as fast.
In sober sylence now our quiet lipps we closse,
And with vnbrydled toungs furth with our secret herts disclosse.
Suche as in folded armes we did embrace, we haate;
Whom strayte we reconsill againe and banishe all debate.
My sede with labour sowne, suche frute produceth me,
To wast my lief in contraries that neuer shall agree.
From God these heuy cares ar sent for our vnrests,
And with suche burdens for our welth he frauteth full our brests.
All that the Lord hathe wrought, hath bewtey and good grace,
And to eache thing assined is the proper tyme and place.
And graunted eke to man, of all the worldes estate
And of eache thinge wrought in the same, to argue and debate.
Which arte though it approche the heuenly knowlege moste,
To serche the naturall grounde of things yet all is labor loste.
But then the wandering eyes, that longe for suertey sought,
Founde that by paine no certayne welth might in this world be bought.
Who lieuth in delight and seks no gredy thryfte,
But frely spends his goods, may thinke it as a secret gifte.
Fulfilled shall it be, what so the Lorde intende,
Which no deuice of mans witt may advaunce, nor yet defende;
Who made all thing of nought, that Adams chyldren might
Lerne how to dread the Lord, that wrought suche wonders in their sight.
The gresly wonders past, which tyme wearse owt of mynde,
To be renewed in our dayes the Lord hath so assynde.
Lo! thuse his carfull skourge dothe stele on us vnware,
Which, when the fleshe hath clene forgott, he dothe againe repaire.
When I in this uaine serche had wanderyd sore my witt,
I saw a rioall throne wheras that Iustice should haue sitt;
In stede of whom I saw, with fyerce and crwell mode,
Wher Wrong was set, that blody beast, that drounke the giltles blode.
Then thought I thus: “One day the Lord shall sitt in dome,
To vewe his flock, and chose the pure; the spotted haue no rome.”
Ye be suche skourges sent that eache agreuid mynde,
Lyke the brute beasts that swell in rage and fury by ther kynde,
His erroure may confesse, when he hath wreasteled longe;
And then with pacience may him arme, the sure defence of wronge.
For death, that of the beaste the carion doth deuoure,
Unto the noble kynde of man presents the fatall hower.
The perfitt forme that God hathe ether geuen to man
Or other beast, dissolue it shall to earth wher it began.
And who can tell yf that the sowle of man ascende,
Or with the body if it dye, and to the ground decende.
Wherfore eache gredy hart that riches seks to gayne,
Gather may he that sauery frutte that springeth of his payne.
A meane conuenient welth I meane to take in worth,
And with a hand of larges eke in measure poore it fourth.
For treasure spent in lyef, the bodye dothe sustayne;
The heire shall waste the whourlded gold amassed with muche payne.
Ne may foresight of man suche order geue in lyef,
For to foreknow who shall reioyce their gotten good with stryef.

51 ECCLESIASTES 4.

When I be thought me well, vnder the restles soon
By foolke of power what crewell wourks unchastyced were doon,
I saw wher stoode a heard by power of suche opprest,
Oute of whose eyes ran floods of teares that bayned all ther brest;
Deuoyde of comfort clene, in terroure and distresse,
In whose defence none wolde aryse, such rigor to represse.
Then thought I thus, “Oh, Lord! the dead, whose fatall hower
Is clene roune owt, more happy ar, whom that the wormes deuoure;
And happiest is the sede that neuer did conceue,
That neuer felt the waylfull wrongs that mortall folke receue.”
And then I saw that welth, and euery honest gayne
By trauill woune and swete of browes, gan grow into disdayne
Throughe slouthe of carles folke, whom ease so fatt dothe feade,
Whose idell hands doo noght but waast the frute of other seeade;
Which to them selves perswade that little gott with ease
More thankefull is then kyndomes woon by trauayle and disceace.
A nother sort I saw, with out bothe frend or kynne,
Whose gredy wayes yet neuer sought a faithfull frend to winne;
Whose wretched corps no toile yet euer wery could,
Nor glutted euer wer their eyne with heaps of shyning gould.
But yf it might appeare to ther abused eyne
To whose a vaile they trauill so, and for whose sake they pyne,
Then should they see what cause they haue for to repent
The fruteles paynes and eke the tyme that they in vayne haue spent.
Then gan I thus resolue, “More pleasant is the lyef
Of faythefull frends that spend their goods in commone, with out stryef.”
For as the tender frend appeasith euery gryef,
So, yf he fall that lives alone, who shalbe his relyef?
The frendly feares ly warme, in armes embraced faste;
Who sleapes aloone at euery tourne dothe feale the winter blast.
What can he doo but yeld, that must resist aloone?
Yf ther be twaine, one may defend the tother ouer throwne.
The single twyned cordes may no such stresse indure
As cables brayded thre fould may, together wrethed swer.
In better far estate stande children, poore and wyse,
Then aged kyngs wedded to will, that worke with out aduice.
In prison haue I sene, or this, a wofull wyght
That neuer knewe what fredom ment, nor tasted of delyght;
With such, unhoped happ in most dispaier hath mete,
With in the hands that erst ware giues to haue a septure sett.
And by coniures the seade of kyngs is thrust from staate,
Wheron agreuyd people worke ofteymes their hidden haat.
Other, with out respect, I saw, a frend or foo,
With feat worne bare in tracing such, whearas the honours groo.
And at change of a prynce great rowtes reuiued strange,
Which, faine theare owlde yoke to discharg, reioyced in the change.
But when I thought, to theise as heuy euen or more
Shalbe the burden of his raigne, as his that went before,
And that a trayne like great upon the deade depend,
I gan conclude eache gredy gayne hath his vncertayne end.
In humble spritte is sett the temple of the Lorde;
Wher, yf thow enter, loke thy mouth and conscyence may accorde.
Whose churtche is buylte of loue, and decte with hoote desyre,
And simple fayth; the yolden hoost his marcy doth requyre.
Wher perfectly for aye he in his woord dothe rest;
With gentill care to heare thy sute and graunt to thy request.
In boost of owtwarde works he taketh no delight,
Nor wast of wourds; suche sacryfice unsauereth in his sight.

52 ECCLESIASTES 5.

When that repentant teares hathe clensyd clere from ill
The charged brest, and grace hathe wrought therin amending will,
With bold demands then may his mercy well assaile
The speche man sayth, with owt the which request may not preuaile.
More shall thy pennytent sighes his endles mercy please,
Then their importune siuts which dreame that words Gods wrath appease.
For hart contrit of fault is gladsome recompence,
And praier fruict of faythe, wherby God dothe with synne dispence.
As ferfull broken slepes spring from a restles hedde,
By chattering of vnholly lippis is frutles prayer bredde.
In wast of wynde, I rede, vowe nought vnto the Lord,
Wherto thy hart, to bynd thy will, freely doth not accord;
For humble uowes fulfilld, by grace right swetly smoks,
But bold behests, broken by lusts, the wrath of God prouoks.
Yet bett with humble hert thy frayltye to confesse,
Then to bost of suche perfitnes, whose works suche fraude expresse.
With fayned words and othes contract with God no gyle;
Suche craft returns to thy nown harme, and doth thy self defile.
And thoughe the myst of sinne perswad such error light,
Therby yet ar thy owtward works all dampned in his sight.
As sondry broken dreames vs dyuerslye abuse,
So ar his errors manifold that many words dothe use.
With humble secret playnt, fewe words of hotte effect,
Honor thy Lord; alowance vaine of uoyd desart, neglect.
Thoughe wronge at tymes the right, and welthe eke nede oppresse,
Thinke not the hand of iustice slowe to followe the redresse.
For such unrightius folke, as rule with out dredd,
By some abuse or secret lust he suffereth to be led.
The cheif blisse that in earth the liuing man is lent,
Is moderat welth to nourishe lief, yf he can be content.
He that hath but one felde, and gredely sekethe nought
To fence the tillers hand from nede, is king within his thought.
But suche as of ther golde ther only idoll make,
Noe treasure may the rauen of there hungry hands asslake.
For he that gapes for good, and hurdeth all his gayne,
Trauells in uayne to hyde the sweet that showld releue his payne.
Wher is gret welth, their showld be many a nedy wight
To spend the same, and that should be the riche mans cheif delight.
The sweet and quiet slepes that weryd limmes oppresse,
Begile the night in diet thyne, and feasts of great excesse.
But waker ly the riche, whose lyuely heat with rest
Their charged boolks with change of meats cannot so sone dygest.
An other righteous dome I sawe of gredy gayne:
With busye cares suche treasures oft preseruyd to their bayne;
The plenteus howsses sackt, the owners end with shame;
Their sparkelid goods; their nedy heyres, that showld reioyce the same.
From welthe dyspoyled bare, from whence they came they went;
Clad in the clothes of pouerte as nature furst them sent.
Naked as from the wombe we came, yf we depart,
With toyle to seeke that wee must leue, what bote to uexe the hart?
What lyef leede testeye men then that consume their dayes
In inwarde freets, untempred hates, at stryef with sum alwaies.
Then gan I prayce all those, in suche a world of stryffe,
As take the profitt of their goods, that may be had in lyffe.
For sure the liberall hand that hath no hart to spare
This fading welthe, but powres it forthe, it is a uertu rare.
That maks welth slaue to nede, and gold becom his thrall,
Clings not his gutts with niggishe fare, to heape his chest with all;
But feeds the lusts of kynde with costely meats and wynne,
And slacks the hunger and the thurst of nedy folke that pynne.
Ne gluttons feast I meane in wast of spence to stryue,
But temperat mealles the dulled spryts with ioye thus to reuiue.
No care may perce wher myrth hath tempred such a brest;
The bitter gaull, seasoned wih swet, suche wysdome may digest.

53 PSALM 8.

Thie name, O Lord, howe greate is fownd before our sight!
Yt filles the earthe and spreades the ayre, the great workes of thie might.
For even unto thie powre the heavens have geven a place,
And closyd it above their heades a mightie lardge compace.
Thye prayse what clowde can hyde, but it will sheene agayne,
Synce yonge and tender sucking babes have powre to shew it playne;
Whiche, in despight of those that wold this glorye hide,
Hast put into such infantes mowthes for to confounde their pryde.
Wherefore I shall beholde thy fygurde heaven so hye,
Whiche shews suche printes of dyvers formes within the clowdye skye
As hills and shapes of men, eke beastes of sondrie kynde,
Monstruous to our outward sight and fancyes of our mynde;
And eke the wanishe moone whiche sheenes by night also,
And eache one of the wondring sterres whiche after her doth goe;
And how to kepe their course, and whiche are those that stands,
Because they be thie wonderous workes and labours of thie hands.
But yet among all theise I aske, “What thing is man,
Whose tourne to serve in his poore neede this worke thow first began?
Or whate is Adames sonne that beares his fathers marke,
For whose delyte and compforte eke thow hase wrought all this warke?
I see thow myndest hym moch that doste rewarde hym so,
Beinge but earthe, to rule the earthe wheare on hymself doth go.
Ffrom aungells substaunce eke, thow madeste hym differ small,
Save one dothe chaunge his lif awhyle, the other not at all.
The sonne and moone also, thow madeste to geve hym light,
And eache one of the wandring sterrs to twynckle sparkles bright.
The ayre to geve hym breathe, the water for his health,
The earth to bring forth grayne and frute for to encrease his wealth.
And many mettalls to, for pleasure of the eye,
Whiche, in the hollow sowndyd grownd, in previe vaynes do lye.
The sheepe to geve his wool, to wrapp his boddie in,
And for suche other needefull thynges the oxe to spare his skynne.
The horsse, even at his will, to bear hym to and fro,
And as hym list eache other beaste to serve his turne also.
The fysshes of the sea lykewyse, to feede hym ofte,
And eke the birdes, whose feathers serve to make his sydes lye softe.
On whose head thow hast sett a crowne of glorye to,
To whome also thow didest appoint that honour shuld be do.
And thus thow madeste hym lord of all this worke of thyne:
Of man that goes; of beast that creapes, whose lookes dothe downe declyne;
Of ffysshe that swymme below; of ffowles that flyes on hye;
Of sea that fyndes the ayre his rayne; and of the land so drye.
And underneath his feet thow hast sett all this same,
To make hym know and playne confesse that marveilous is thie name.
And Lord, whiche art our Lord, how merveilous is it fownd
The heavens doth shew, the earth doth tell, and eke the world so rownd.
Glorie therefore be geven to thee first, whiche are three,
And yet but one almightie God, in substance and degree.
As first it was when thow the darcke confused heape
Clottid in one, didst part in fowre, which elementes wee cleape,
And as the same is now, even heare within our tyme,
And ever shall here after be, when we be filth and slyme.”

54 PSALM 55.

Giue eare to my suit, Lord! fromward hide not thy face.
Beholde, herking in grief, lamenting how I praye.
My fooes they bray so lowde, and eke threpe on so fast,
Buckeled to do me scathe, so is their malice bent.
Care perceth my entrayles, and traueyleth my spryte;
The greslye feare of death enuyroneth my brest;
A tremblynge cold of dred clene ouerwhelmeth my hert.
“O!” thinke I, “hadd I wings like to the symple doue.
This peryll myght I flye, and seke some place of rest
In wylder woods, where I might dwell farr from these cares.”
What speady way of wing my playnts shold thei lay on,
To skape the stormye blast that threatned is to me?
Rayne those vnbrydled tungs! breake that coniured league!
For I decyphred haue amydd our towne the stryfe:
Gyle and wrong kept the walles, they ward both day and night;
And whiles myscheif with care doth kepe the market stede;
Whilst wickidnes with craft in heaps swarme through the strete.
Ne my declared foo wrought me all this reproche;
By harme so loked for, yt wayeth halfe the lesse,
For, though myne ennemyes happ had byn for to prevaile,
I cold haue hidd my face from uenym of his eye.
It was a frendly foo, by shadow of good will,
Myne old fere and dere frende, my guyde, that trapped me;
Where I was wont to fetche the cure of all my care,
And in his bosome hyde my secreat zeale to God.
Such soden surprys quicke may them hell deuoure,
Whilst I inuoke the Lord, whose power shall me defend.
My prayer shall not cease from that the sonne disscends
Till he his haulture wynn and hyde them in the see.
With words of hott effect, that moueth from hert contryte,
Such humble sute, O Lord, doth pierce thy pacyent eare.
It was the Lord that brake the bloody compackts of those
That preloked on with yre to slaughter me and myne.
The euerlasting God whose kingdom hath no end,
Whome, by no tale to dred he cold divert from synne,
The conscyence vnquyet he stryks with heuy hand,
And proues their force in fayth whome he sware to defend.
Butter fales not so soft as doth hys pacyence longe,
And ouer passeth fine oyle, running not halfe so smothe;
But when his suffraunce fynds that brydled wrath prouoks,
He thretneth wrath, he whets more sharppe then any toole can fyle.
Friowr, whose harme and tounge presents the wicked sort
Of those false wolves, with cootes which doo their ravin hyde,
That sweare to me by heauen, the fotestole of the Lord,
Who though force had hurt my fame, they did not touch my lyfe;—
Such patching care I lothe as feeds the welth with lyes.
But in the thother Psalme of David fynd I ease:
Iacta curam tuam super dominum et ipse te enutriet.

55 PSALM 88.

Oh Lorde, vppon whose will dependeth my welfare,
To call vppon thy hollye name syns daye nor night I spare,
Graunt that the iust request of this repentaunt mynd
So perce thyne eares that in thy sight som fauour it may fynd.
My sowle is fraughted full with greif of follies past:
My restles bodye doth consume and death approcheth fast;
Lyke them whose fatall threde thy hand hath cut in twayne,
Of whome ther is no further brewte, which in their graues remayne.
Oh Lorde, thow hast cast me hedling to please my fooe,
Into a pitt all botomeles, whear as I playne my wooe.
The burden of thy wrath it doth me sore oppresse,
And sundrye stormes thow hast me sent of terrour and distresse.
The faithfull frends ar fled and bannyshed from my sight,
And such as I haue held full dere haue sett my frendshipp light.
My duraunce doth perswade of fredom such dispaire
That, by the teares that bayne my brest, myne eye sight doth appaire.
Yet did I neuer cease thyne ayde for to desyre,
With humble hart and stretched hands for to appease thy yre.
Wherefore dost thow forbeare, in the defence of thyne,
To shewe such tokens of thy power, in sight of Adams lyne,
Wherby eche feble hart with fayth might so be fedd
That in the mouthe of thy elect thy mercyes might be spredd?
The fleshe that fedeth wormes can not thy loue declare,
Nor suche sett forth thy faith as dwell in the land of dispaire.
In blind endured herts light of thy lively name
Can not appeare, as can not iudge the brightnes of the same.
Nor blazed may thy name be by the mouth of those
Whome death hath shitt in sylence, so as they may not disclose.
The liuelye uoyce of them that in thy word delight
Must be the trumppe that must resound the glorye of thy might.
Wherfore I shall not cease, in chief of my distresse,
To call on the till that the sleape my weryd lymes oppresse.
And in the morning eke, when that the slepe is fledd,
With floods of salt repentaunt teres to washe my restles bedd.
Within this carefull mynd, bourdynd with care and greif,
Why dost thow not appere, Oh Lord, that sholdest be his relief?
My wretched state beholde, whome death shall strait assaile;
Of one from youth afflicted still, that never did but waile.
The dread, loo! of thyne yre hath trod me vnder feet;
The scourgis of thyne angrye hand hath made deth seme full sweet.
Like to the roring waues the sunken shipp surrounde,
Great heaps of care did swallow me and I no succour found.
For they whome no myschaunce could from my loue devyde
Ar forced, for my greater greif, from me their face to hyde.

56 PSALM 73.

Thoughe, Lorde, to Israell thy graces plentuous be—
I meane to such with pure intent as fixe their trust in the—,
Yet whiles the faith did faynt that shold haue ben my guyde,
Lyke them that walk in slipper pathes my feet began to slyde.
Whiles I did grudge at those that glorey in ther golde,
Whose lothsom pryde reioyseth welth, in quiet as they wolde.
To se by course of yeres what nature doth appere,
The pallayces of princely fourme succede from heire to heire;
From all such trauailes free as longe to Adams sede;
Neither withdrawne from wicked works by daunger nor by dread,
Wherof their skornfull pryde; and gloried with their eyes,
As garments clothe the naked man, thus ar they clad in vyce.
Thus as they wishe succeds the mischief that they meane,
Whose glutten cheks slouth feads so fatt as scant their eyes be sene.
Vnto whose crewell power most men for dred ar fayne
To bend and bow with loftye looks, whiles they vawnt in their rayne
And in their bloody hands, whose creweltye doth frame
The wailfull works that skourge the poore with out regard of blame.
To tempt the living God they thinke it no offence,
And pierce the symple with their tungs that can make no defence.
Suche proofes bifore the iust, to cawse the harts to wauer,
Be sett, lyke cupps myngled with gall of bitter tast and sauer.
Then saye thy foes in skorne, that tast no other foode,
But sucke the fleshe of thy elect and bath them in their bloode:
“Shold we beleue the Lorde doth know and suffer this?
Ffoled be he with fables vayne that so abused is.”
In terrour of the iust thus raignes iniquitye,
Armed with power, laden with gold, and dred for crueltye.
Then vayne the warr might seme that I by faythe mayntayne
Against the fleshe, whose false effects my pure hert wold distayne.
For I am scourged still, that no offence have doon,
By wrathes children; and from my byrth my chastesing begoon.
When I beheld their pryde and slacknes of thy hand,
I gan bewaile the woful state wherin thy chosen stand.
And as I sought wherof thy sufferaunce, Lord, shold groo,
I found no witt cold pierce so farr, thy hollye domes to knoo,
And that no mysteryes nor dought could be distrust
Till I com to the holly place, the mansion of the iust,
Where I shall se what end thy iustice shall prepare
For such as buyld on worldly welth, and dye ther colours faire.
Oh! how their ground is false and all their buylding vayne!
And they shall fall, their power shall faile that did their pryde mayntayne.
As charged harts with care, that dreme some pleasaunt tourne,
After their sleape fynd their abuse, and to their plaint retourne,
So shall their glorye faade; thy sword of vengeaunce shall,
Vnto their dronken eyes, in blood disclose their errours all.
And when their golden fleshe is from their backe yshorne,
The spotts that vnder neth wer hidd, thy chosen shepe shall skorne.
And till that happye daye my hert shall swell in care,
My eyes yeld teares, my yeres consume bitwne hope and dispayre.
Loo! how my sprits ar dull, and all thy iudgments darke;
No mortall hedd may skale so highe, but wunder at thy warke.
Alas! how oft my foes haue framed my decaye;
But when I stode in drede to drenche, thy hands still did me stay.
And in eache voyage that I toke to conquer synne,
Thow wert my guyd, and gaue me grace to comfort me therin.
And when my withered skyn vnto my bones did cleue,
And fleshe did wast, thy grace did then my simple sprits releue.
In other succour then, Oh Lord, why should I trust,
But onely thyn, whom I haue found in thy behight so iust.
And suche for drede or gayne, as shall thy name refuse,
Shall perishe with their golden godds that did their harts seduce.
Where I, that in thy worde haue set my trust and ioye,
The highe reward that longs therto shall quietlye enioye.
And my unworthye lypps, inspired with thy grace,
Shall thus forespeke thy secret works, in sight of Adams race.