The Muses Sacrifice [by John Davies] |
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The Sinner inueighes against his fleshes
frailtie, desiring God to strengthen it with his pow'r, and Grace.
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 | The Muses Sacrifice |  |
[70]
The Sinner inueighes against his fleshes frailtie, desiring God to strengthen it with his pow'r, and Grace.
Vile
Flesh, why dost thou so my Spirit impugne,
That still the Sonne of Righteousnesse I wrong
who di'd to make you liue?
No Moment breathe I, but I breathe out Sinne
That ends with shame, where Sorrow doth beginne,
which makes me glad to grieue.
That still the Sonne of Righteousnesse I wrong
who di'd to make you liue?
No Moment breathe I, but I breathe out Sinne
That ends with shame, where Sorrow doth beginne,
which makes me glad to grieue.
In thee fraile Flesh, I feele my bloud to boyle
With heate of such desires as make the Soile
but Sinne, in graine, to beare.
My Spirits (that in that Bloud doe swim with paine,
Yet floate they, sith false pleasures them sustaine)
are neere the wracke I feare.
With heate of such desires as make the Soile
but Sinne, in graine, to beare.
My Spirits (that in that Bloud doe swim with paine,
Yet floate they, sith false pleasures them sustaine)
are neere the wracke I feare.
I feare the Rocke of refuge to the Iust:
For, how, in Truth, should Treason put her trust?
Then, truthlesse Traitor, I
May iustly feare, that Grace, in Iustice, will
My gracelesse Soule, for Fleshes Treasons, spill,
which makes me (liuing) dye.
For, how, in Truth, should Treason put her trust?
Then, truthlesse Traitor, I
May iustly feare, that Grace, in Iustice, will
My gracelesse Soule, for Fleshes Treasons, spill,
which makes me (liuing) dye.
73
I liuing dye, not as one mortifide
To sinne; wherein, as dead, aliue, I bide;
The more my griefe and blame:
I faine would dye to liue; but, Flesh doth draw
My Life to Death, sith I obserue the Law
of Sinne, which is my shame.
To sinne; wherein, as dead, aliue, I bide;
The more my griefe and blame:
I faine would dye to liue; but, Flesh doth draw
My Life to Death, sith I obserue the Law
of Sinne, which is my shame.
O thou, whom Iacob wrastled with a space,
Strengthen my Faith to wrastle with thy Grace,
that it may let me goe
(Although it lame my Loynes, and crack my Thighes,
Wherein strong Sinne still domineering lyes)
into thy Weale through Woe.
Strengthen my Faith to wrastle with thy Grace,
that it may let me goe
(Although it lame my Loynes, and crack my Thighes,
Wherein strong Sinne still domineering lyes)
into thy Weale through Woe.
| The Muses Sacrifice | |