University of Virginia Library


9

PSALME III. Miserere Domine.

1

Stay now, O Lord, my bleeding woes,
The veine growes low and drie;
O now enough, and too much flowes,
My sinne is swolne too hie.

2

What rests for the abhorr'd euent?
Time wasts, but not my woe:
Woes me, poore man, my life is spent
In asking what to do.

3

Pale Death stands fixt before mine eyes,
My graue gaspes, and my knell
Rings out in my cold eares the cryes
and gnashed teeth of hell.

4

How long shall this day mocke my hope,
With what the next will be?

10

When shall I once begin to ope,
My lockt vp way to thee?

5

Ease Lord, my still-increasing smart,
Salue not, but cure my wounds:
Direct the counsels of my heart,
And giue my labours bounds.

6

As in me, thou hast skill infusd,
So will, and action breath:
Lest chidden for thy gifts abusd,
I weepe and pine to death.

7

See, bound beneath the foe I lie,
Rapt to his blasted shore:
O claime thy right, nor let me die,
Let him insult no more.

8

Tell all the ransome I must giue,
Out of my hourely paines:
See how from all the world I liue,
To giue griefe all the raines.

11

9

What is behind, in this life aske,
And in these members sums:
Before the neuer ending taske,
And bedrid beggerie comes.

10

Shew me thy way, ere thy chiefe light
Downe to the Ocean diues:
O now tis euening, and the night,
Is chiefly friend to theeues.

11

Compell me, if thy Call shall faile,
To make thy straight way, mine:
In any skorn'd state let me wayle,
So my poore soule be thine.
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.