 | A Divine Centvrie of Spirituall Sonnets
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Sonnet. LIX.
[My soule, my soule I feele, I feele is vexed]
My
soule, my soule I feele, I feele is vexed,
My mind and thoughts in vncouth forte distressed,
My braynes with fearefull dreames by night oppressed,
My hart with strange discouragement perplexed,
My soles vnneathes vnto my feete annexed,
My spirit with faint languor still distressed,
And helpe (Lord) helpe my soule, my soule addressed,
(By Melancholics poyson) is connexed
In fetters serpentine of foule dispaire:
Death almost my lifes ceasure hath begunne,
And (after) Sathan will his bookes prepare
Blotted with vgly sinnes, past number donne.
Oh my God, my deare God, helpe and assist:
Sinne, death, and hell, my safetie doe resist.
| A Divine Centvrie of Spirituall Sonnets
| |
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