The poems of Alexander Hume ... Edited from the text of Waldegrave (1599) with notes, appendices, and glossary by Alexander Lawson |
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| I. | I. HIS RECANTATION. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IIII. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
 | The poems of Alexander Hume |  |
11
I. HIS RECANTATION.
Alace, how lang haue I delayed,
To leaue the laits of youth?
Alace, how oft haue I essayed,
To daunt my lasciue mouth?
And make my vaine polluted thought,
My pen, and speach prophaine,
Extoll the Lord, quhilk made of nocht,
The heauen, the earth, and raine?
To leaue the laits of youth?
Alace, how oft haue I essayed,
To daunt my lasciue mouth?
And make my vaine polluted thought,
My pen, and speach prophaine,
Extoll the Lord, quhilk made of nocht,
The heauen, the earth, and raine?
Skarse nature yet my face about,
Hir virile wob had spun,
Quhen als oft as Phœbea stout:
Was set agains the Sun:
Ȝea, als oft as the fierie flames,
Arise and shine abrod,
I minded was with sangs and Psalmes,
To glorifie my God.
Hir virile wob had spun,
Quhen als oft as Phœbea stout:
Was set agains the Sun:
Ȝea, als oft as the fierie flames,
Arise and shine abrod,
I minded was with sangs and Psalmes,
To glorifie my God.
12
Bot ay ye cancred carnall kind,
Quhilk lurked me within,
Seduced my hart, withdrew my mind,
And maid me sclaue to sin.
My sensis, and my saull I saw,
Debait a deadly strife,
Into my flesh I felt a law,
Gainstand the law of life.
Quhilk lurked me within,
Seduced my hart, withdrew my mind,
And maid me sclaue to sin.
My sensis, and my saull I saw,
Debait a deadly strife,
Into my flesh I felt a law,
Gainstand the law of life.
Euen as the falcon high, and hait,
Furth fleeing in the sky,
With wanton wings hir game to gait
Disdaines her callers cry:
So led away with liberty,
And drowned in delight,
I wandred after vanitie,
My vice I giue the wight.
Furth fleeing in the sky,
With wanton wings hir game to gait
Disdaines her callers cry:
So led away with liberty,
And drowned in delight,
I wandred after vanitie,
My vice I giue the wight.
Bot (Lord) now from thy haly throne,
Bow downe thy luifing eye,
At last I mourne, I make my mone,
I turne my selfe to thie.
Oh: If this fragil flesh uncleane,
Had neuer had na lust,
Or that I had not formed bein,
Of filthie wormes and dust.
Bow downe thy luifing eye,
At last I mourne, I make my mone,
I turne my selfe to thie.
Oh: If this fragil flesh uncleane,
Had neuer had na lust,
Or that I had not formed bein,
Of filthie wormes and dust.
Ah: if I neuer had bin thrall,
To these infirmities,
Quhilk causes men so oft to fall,
In foolish fantasies:
Or had nocht had a sinful hart
Ingraffed in my breast,
Quhilk makes me from my God depart,
Ilk houre of day at least.
To these infirmities,
Quhilk causes men so oft to fall,
In foolish fantasies:
13
Ingraffed in my breast,
Quhilk makes me from my God depart,
Ilk houre of day at least.
Then shuld I haue from sin bin free,
And neuer seene the graue:
Bot (Lord) be mercifull to me,
I knaw not what I craue.
Thy wonders are not wrought to please,
Mans foolish appetite,
Bot as seemes gud into thine eyes,
And for thine owne delite.
And neuer seene the graue:
Bot (Lord) be mercifull to me,
I knaw not what I craue.
Thy wonders are not wrought to please,
Mans foolish appetite,
Bot as seemes gud into thine eyes,
And for thine owne delite.
For to our wauering wit, thy warks,
Maist secreit are not shawin,
And to what end thy wisedome marks,
To catiues is vnknawin,
Euen things impossible (think we)
Thy prouidence diuine,
Brings them to pas as pleaseth thee,
And all the praise is thine.
Maist secreit are not shawin,
And to what end thy wisedome marks,
To catiues is vnknawin,
Euen things impossible (think we)
Thy prouidence diuine,
Brings them to pas as pleaseth thee,
And all the praise is thine.
Bot suffering Lord to anger slaw,
To mercie reddie bent,
Mair glad on sinners grace to shaw,
Nor thay are to repent:
That Zoar sau'd for luife of Lot,
And cause of Godly men,
Wald haue remitted Sodoms spot,
And Gomorah for ten.
To mercie reddie bent,
Mair glad on sinners grace to shaw,
Nor thay are to repent:
That Zoar sau'd for luife of Lot,
And cause of Godly men,
Wald haue remitted Sodoms spot,
And Gomorah for ten.
That was to wraik in fortie dayes,
The men of Niniuie,
Bot when they left their wicked waies,
Forgaue them fatherlie:
That did not from thee plaint thine eares,
Nor yet the vile dispise,
Of Magdalene nor Peters teares,
Quha thee denyed thrise.
The men of Niniuie,
Bot when they left their wicked waies,
Forgaue them fatherlie:
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Nor yet the vile dispise,
Of Magdalene nor Peters teares,
Quha thee denyed thrise.
Avert thy wraith, my saull releeue,
Within my body bun,
My greeuous sinnes of grace forgiue,
Throw Jesus Christ thy sun:
Thy halie sprit in me let rest,
To teach me what to craue,
For why? thy wisedome knawes far best,
Whereof I mister haue.
Within my body bun,
My greeuous sinnes of grace forgiue,
Throw Jesus Christ thy sun:
Thy halie sprit in me let rest,
To teach me what to craue,
For why? thy wisedome knawes far best,
Whereof I mister haue.
Grant that these instruments of shame,
Quhilks dayly do offend,
May serue and sanctifie thy name,
Unto my livis end.
Bot sen so lang as in the race,
Of mortall men I rin,
I cannot of my selfe, alace!
Abstaine fra vice and sin.
Quhilks dayly do offend,
May serue and sanctifie thy name,
Unto my livis end.
Bot sen so lang as in the race,
Of mortall men I rin,
I cannot of my selfe, alace!
Abstaine fra vice and sin.
Ȝit neuer suffer me to fall,
So deepely in disdaine,
That there na farder hope at all,
Of mercie may remaine:
Or may be frustrate of the fude,
Whereof thy saincts are sure,
Or of that blist beatitude,
Which euer sall endure.
So deepely in disdaine,
That there na farder hope at all,
Of mercie may remaine:
Or may be frustrate of the fude,
Whereof thy saincts are sure,
Or of that blist beatitude,
Which euer sall endure.
15
Oh, let me not the merites lose,
Of my redeemer deare,
Bot when I waill with weeping vose,
Lord, to my plaint give eare.
Ye though I oft decline from thee,
And greeuously doo fall,
Let Jesus bitter death ay be,
Ane recompense for all.
Of my redeemer deare,
Bot when I waill with weeping vose,
Lord, to my plaint give eare.
Ye though I oft decline from thee,
And greeuously doo fall,
Let Jesus bitter death ay be,
Ane recompense for all.
O mightie God! quhilk for thy gloir,
May animat the stains,
And make the sowking babes adore,
Thy maiestie atains:
That maid thy Prophets mouths reveill,
Thy mysteries grit to cum,
And did the tung inutile heill
Of Zacharie that was dum.
May animat the stains,
And make the sowking babes adore,
Thy maiestie atains:
That maid thy Prophets mouths reveill,
Thy mysteries grit to cum,
And did the tung inutile heill
Of Zacharie that was dum.
That gaue thy seruant Dauid king,
A scepter for a staffe,
Syne made him sacred Psalmes to sing,
A hundreth and a halfe,
And thine Apostles preaching sweit,
With vertue did inspire,
And send them downe thy haly spreit,
In clouen tungs of fire.
A scepter for a staffe,
Syne made him sacred Psalmes to sing,
A hundreth and a halfe,
And thine Apostles preaching sweit,
With vertue did inspire,
And send them downe thy haly spreit,
In clouen tungs of fire.
Lift vp mine hart, my lips disclose,
My tendered tung vntie,
Then sall my singing saull reioyce,
And flee aboue the skie:
Blis thou my work, be my support,
My teacher, and my guyde,
Then sall my mouth thy praise report,
Through all the world so wide.
My tendered tung vntie,
Then sall my singing saull reioyce,
And flee aboue the skie:
Blis thou my work, be my support,
My teacher, and my guyde,
Then sall my mouth thy praise report,
Through all the world so wide.
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Then sall my sacred pen delite,
Induring all my dayes,
Thy wondrous works in verse to write,
Fiue hundred diuers waies:
Euen on my iolie Lute, by night,
And trimling trible string,
I sall with all my minde and might,
Thy glorie gladlie sing.
Induring all my dayes,
Thy wondrous works in verse to write,
Fiue hundred diuers waies:
Euen on my iolie Lute, by night,
And trimling trible string,
I sall with all my minde and might,
Thy glorie gladlie sing.
Then they that sall thy puissance heir,
And tender clemencie,
Sall mooued be with luife and feare,
To praise and worship thee:
Ȝee when my spirit is past away,
Among the godlie gostes,
Yet sall the reader sigh, and say,
Blist be the Lord of hostes.
And tender clemencie,
Sall mooued be with luife and feare,
To praise and worship thee:
Ȝee when my spirit is past away,
Among the godlie gostes,
Yet sall the reader sigh, and say,
Blist be the Lord of hostes.
| The poems of Alexander Hume | |