Petrarchs seven penitentiall psalms paraphrastically translated: With other Philosophicall Poems, and a Hymne to Christ vpon the Crosse. Written by George Chapman |
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| I. | PSALME I. Heu mihi Misero. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IIII. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
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 | Petrarchs seven penitentiall psalms |  |
PSALME I. Heu mihi Misero.
1
O me wretch, I haue enrag'dMy Redeemer; and engag'd
My life, on deaths slow foote presuming:
I haue broke his blessed lawes,
Turning with accursed cause,
Sauing loue to wrath consuming.
2
Truths straite way, my will forsooke,And to wretched bywaies tooke,
Brode, rough, steepe, and full of danger.
Euery way, I labour found,
Anguish, and delights vnsound,
To my iourneyes end a stranger.
2
3
Rockes past fowles wings, tooke my flights,All my dayes spent; all my nights;
Toyles and streights though still repelling.
One or other beast I met,
Shunning that for which I swet;
Wild beasts dens were yet my dwelling.
4
Pleasure, that all paine subornesMaking beds of ease, on thornes,
Made me found with ruine sleeping.
Rest, in Torments armes I sought,
All good talkt, but all ill thought,
Laught, at what deseru'd my weeping.
5
What is now then left to do?What course can I turne me to?
Danger, such vnscap't toyles pitching.
All my youths faire glosse is gone,
Like a shipwracke each way blowne,
Yet his pleasures still bewitching.
6
I delay my Hauen to make;3
On her left hand euer erring:
I a little see my course,
Which in me, the warre makes worse,
Th' vse of that small fight deferring.
7
Oft I haue attempted flight,Th'old yoke casting, but his weight
Thou Nature to my bones impliest.
O that once my necke were easde,
Straight it were; were thy powre pleasd,
O, of all things high, thou highest.
8
O could I my sinne so hate,I might loue thee yet, though late;
But my hope of that is sterued;
Since mine owne hands make my chaines:
Iust, most iust, I grant my paines;
Labour wrings me most deserued.
9
Mad wretch, how deare haue I boughtFetters with mine owne hands wrought?
4
I made; and the foe disposde
Nets that neuer will be losde.
More I striue, the more enthralling:
10
I look't by, and went secureIn paths slipperie, and impure;
In my selfe, my sinne still flattering.
I thought youths flowre still would thriue,
Follow'd as his storme did driue,
With it, all his hemlockes watering:
11
Said; what thinke I of th' extreamesEre the Meane hath spent his beames?
Each Age hath his proper obiect.
God sees this, and laughs to see.
Pardon soone is go[illeg.]; My knee
When I will repent, is subiect.
12
Custome then his slaue doth claime,Layes on hands, that touch and maime;
5
Flight is then, as vaine, as late;
Faith too weake, to cast out Fate,
Refuge past my reach is euer.
13
I shall perish then in sinne,If thy aide Lord, makes not in,
Mending what doth thus depraue me;
Minde thy word then, Lord, and lend
Thy worke thy hand, crowne my end.
From the iawes of Sathan saue me.
All glorie to the Father be,
And to the Sonne as great as he:
With the coequall sacred Spirit;
Who all beginnings were before,
Are, and shall be euermore.
Glorie, all glorie to their merit.
And to the Sonne as great as he:
With the coequall sacred Spirit;
Who all beginnings were before,
Are, and shall be euermore.
Glorie, all glorie to their merit.
| Petrarchs seven penitentiall psalms | |