 | Saint Peters complaint (1595) |  |
61
At home in Heauen.
Faire soule, how long shall veyles thy graces shroud?
How long shall this exile with-hold thy right,
VVhen will thy sunne disperse this mortall cloud,
And giue thy glories scope to blaze their light?
O that a Starre more fit for Angels eyes,
Should pyne in earth, not shyne aboue the skyes.
How long shall this exile with-hold thy right,
VVhen will thy sunne disperse this mortall cloud,
And giue thy glories scope to blaze their light?
O that a Starre more fit for Angels eyes,
Should pyne in earth, not shyne aboue the skyes.
Thy ghostly beautie offred force to God,
It cheyn'd him in the linkes of tender loue.
It woon his will with man to make abode:
It stai'd his Sword, and did his wrath remoue.
It made the rigor of his iustice yeeld,
And Crowned mercie Empresse of the feeld.
It cheyn'd him in the linkes of tender loue.
It woon his will with man to make abode:
It stai'd his Sword, and did his wrath remoue.
It made the rigor of his iustice yeeld,
And Crowned mercie Empresse of the feeld.
This lull'd our heauenly Sampson fast a sleepe,
And laid him in our feeble natures lap.
This made him vnder mortall load to creep
And in our flesh his god-head to enwrap.
This made him soiourne with vs in exile:
And not disdayne our tytles in his stile.
And laid him in our feeble natures lap.
This made him vnder mortall load to creep
And in our flesh his god-head to enwrap.
This made him soiourne with vs in exile:
And not disdayne our tytles in his stile.
This brought him from the rankes of heau'nly quires,
Into this vale of teares, and cursed soyle:
From flowers of grace, into a world of bryers:
From life to death, from blisse to balefull toyle.
This made him wander in our Pilgrim weede,
And tast our torments, to relieue our neede.
Into this vale of teares, and cursed soyle:
From flowers of grace, into a world of bryers:
From life to death, from blisse to balefull toyle.
This made him wander in our Pilgrim weede,
And tast our torments, to relieue our neede.
62
O soule do not thy noble thoughtes abase?
To lose thy loues in any mortall wight:
Content thine eye at home with natiue grace,
Sith God him selfe is rauisht with thy sight.
If on thy beautie God enamored bee:
Base is thy loue of any lesse then hee.
To lose thy loues in any mortall wight:
Content thine eye at home with natiue grace,
Sith God him selfe is rauisht with thy sight.
If on thy beautie God enamored bee:
Base is thy loue of any lesse then hee.
Giue not assent to muddy minded skill,
That deemes the feature of a pleasing face,
To be the sweetest baite to lure the will:
Not valewing right the worth of ghostly grace:
Let Gods and Angels censure winne beliefe,
That of all beauties iudge our soules the chiefe.
That deemes the feature of a pleasing face,
To be the sweetest baite to lure the will:
Not valewing right the worth of ghostly grace:
Let Gods and Angels censure winne beliefe,
That of all beauties iudge our soules the chiefe.
Queene Hester was of rare and pearlesse hew,
And Iudeth once for beautie bare the vaunt,
But he that could our soules endowments vew,
would soone to soules the Crowne of beauty graunt,
O soule out of thy selfe seeke God alone:
Grace more then thine, but Gods, the world hath none.
And Iudeth once for beautie bare the vaunt,
But he that could our soules endowments vew,
would soone to soules the Crowne of beauty graunt,
O soule out of thy selfe seeke God alone:
Grace more then thine, but Gods, the world hath none.
| Saint Peters complaint (1595) | |