 | The Anatomie of Hvmors |  |
Euery way of a man, is right in his owne eyes:
but the Lord God pondreth their hearts.
Pro. 21. Cap.
but the Lord God pondreth their hearts.
Pro. 21. Cap.
TO HIS EVER-HONOVRED LORD AND MAISTER, MY LORD Grahame, Earle of Montrois, &c. Con il tempo.
TO HIS EVER-HONOVRED LADY, MY LADY COVNTESSE of Montrois, &c.
Great is the worth of thy triumphing Fame,
With Faith, Hope, Loue, in thy sweet soule inshrind,
A endlesse world shall eternise thy name,
And crowne the glorious vertue of thy mind.
With Faith, Hope, Loue, in thy sweet soule inshrind,
A endlesse world shall eternise thy name,
And crowne the glorious vertue of thy mind.
Thy feruent faith to Christ is so inclind,
Which makes ritch hopes vp to the Heau'ns aspire
From thence thy loue, descends in ruthfull kinde,
And helps the poore in their distress'd desire.
Which makes ritch hopes vp to the Heau'ns aspire
From thence thy loue, descends in ruthfull kinde,
And helps the poore in their distress'd desire.
Long may thou liue, and long may God aboue
Increase, confirme, reward, faith, hope, and loue.
Increase, confirme, reward, faith, hope, and loue.
S. Grahame.
TO HIS EVER-HONOVRED LADY, MY LADY COVNTESSE of Erroll.
Sweet Lady looke & grant this begd-for-grace,My seruile Muse doth craue vpon her knees,
Now here she comes before thy sacred face,
And of her Labours makes a sacrifees,
Then ouer-spread them with thy glorious eyes,
Let luster faire inritch my rurall rime,
Thou hast the power (great Potent) if thou plees,
To register my verse in endlesse time,
If quicknes of thy wit finde any crime,
In thy discretion sepulchrize my wrong,
For why thou know'st my Muse in youthfull prime
Did what she could to please thee in her song:
Great is the glory of my wish'd-for-gaines,
If deerest Dame, thou patronize my paines.
S. Grahame.
2
THE ANATOMIE OF HVMORS.
[Thou earthly God, whose ouer-ruling hand]
Thou earthly God, whose ouer-ruling handThe Scepter swayes, and doth vnsheath the sword.
Now seruile Kingdomes stoupes at thy command?
Who dare controle thy vnrecalled word.
Thou with great glorie of thy triple crowne,
Erecks the good, and throwes the wicked downe.
11
[How blest is he whose happy dayes are spent]
How
blest is he whose happy dayes are spent
Far from the Court, and liues at home in ease:
It's onely he whose ritch with sweete content
And builds no nest on top of Cædar trees:
No storming strife, nor yet no Viprich kinde
Of treasons gilt, doth harbor in his minde.
Far from the Court, and liues at home in ease:
It's onely he whose ritch with sweete content
And builds no nest on top of Cædar trees:
No storming strife, nor yet no Viprich kinde
Of treasons gilt, doth harbor in his minde.
He eats that bread, which sweating labor yeelds,
With open doores, secure in his repose;
He walks alone, abroad on spatious fields,
Goe where he please, he needs not feare his foes:
He trades on that, which proud ambition brings,
And scornes the threatning terror of great Kings
With open doores, secure in his repose;
He walks alone, abroad on spatious fields,
Goe where he please, he needs not feare his foes:
He trades on that, which proud ambition brings,
And scornes the threatning terror of great Kings
I grudge to see when many a scurvie Clowne,
Of no desert triumphs, in their desire,
And from the top of Honor doth throwe downe
Heroyk spirits, presuming to aspire:
shame wher's thy blush? cā heauens contēt with this
To see good Kings, deceaued with Judas kis.
Of no desert triumphs, in their desire,
And from the top of Honor doth throwe downe
Heroyk spirits, presuming to aspire:
shame wher's thy blush? cā heauens contēt with this
To see good Kings, deceaued with Judas kis.
Thou hellish Court where cut-throat flattrie dwels,
Where simple trueth no kinde of shailter findes,
Where baser mindes, with pride and enuy swels
Where rueling hearts are like inconstont winds,
Where Forton blinde playes to a poultrons chance,
And makes deceat in glittring robs to dance.
Where simple trueth no kinde of shailter findes,
Where baser mindes, with pride and enuy swels
Where rueling hearts are like inconstont winds,
Where Forton blinde playes to a poultrons chance,
And makes deceat in glittring robs to dance.
You painted snakes, whose bitter poysning gall,
With want of pittie, plagues the poore mans purse,
Gaiping damnation, doth attend you all,
With want of pittie, plagues the poore mans purse,
Gaiping damnation, doth attend you all,
[19]
[Sweet louely flower, in gallant flourish faire]
Fronte Capelata est
Sed post Ocasio Calua.
Sed post Ocasio Calua.
Sweet louely flower, in gallant flourish faire
Whilst beautie's pray'd, doth youthfull fields decore,
Take time in time, for time in time is rare,
Once past and gone, it neuer comes no more,
Than take this time, so long as it's in store,
And hunt not toyes, to perrill thy estate:
Wise may thou be, but yet be wise before
Thou shall repent, and then it is to late:
Deere friend beleeue, I wish thy sad annoyes,
Times altring Fates may turne them all in joyes.
[O that I might, then should I liue content]
O that I might, then should I liue content,And not complaine on Fortunes wotthlesse worth:
Whats gone let goe, it's I must needes repent,
Whilst silence sad, my sorrowes shall set forth:
20
I smile, but none can Iudge my inward smart.
[Whilst I did hazard, for vncertaine toyes]
Si ingratum dixeris omnia dixeris.
Whilst
I did hazard, for vncertaine toyes
Vaine flatt'ring hope, expeld my present feares:
O haplesse I, who for momentall joyes
Must pay long paine with sad repenting teares.
Vaine flatt'ring hope, expeld my present feares:
O haplesse I, who for momentall joyes
Must pay long paine with sad repenting teares.
This inward griefe my burthened soule now beares
With outward shew I striue to make it light:
But when the course of by-past time compeares,
And Tragick-like out-spreads before my sight.
Euen then I giue my rigours rage all right,
With passion strange, transported here and there,
I spend the day and wast the wearying night,
Imparting plaints vnto the idle aire.
O what remedie, time past hath no remorse,
Then must I needes endure this paine perforce.
With outward shew I striue to make it light:
But when the course of by-past time compeares,
And Tragick-like out-spreads before my sight.
Euen then I giue my rigours rage all right,
With passion strange, transported here and there,
I spend the day and wast the wearying night,
Imparting plaints vnto the idle aire.
O what remedie, time past hath no remorse,
Then must I needes endure this paine perforce.
[32]
[Can not thy eyes, the eyes of man command]
Can not thy eyes, the eyes of man command:Hath not thy face sufficient force to kill,
But that thou must vngloue thy juorie hand,
Whose beautie robs proud Cupid of his skill:
So with thy hand thou shootes Cupidous darts,
And shootes at naught but at poore Lovers harts.
33
[Some Martiall men bewitch'd with beautie rare]
Some
Martiall men bewitch'd with beautie rare,
Are intricate in Laborinths of Loue:
And forc'd to trie in fancies flatt'ring snare,
What sweet-mixt-sowre or pleasing paines can proue.
Are intricate in Laborinths of Loue:
And forc'd to trie in fancies flatt'ring snare,
What sweet-mixt-sowre or pleasing paines can proue.
Then Nymph-like-she with strange inticing looke
Doth so enchant the gallant minded men,
The bayte still hides the poyson of the hooke
Till they be fast, and thus betray'd, what then?
Doth so enchant the gallant minded men,
The bayte still hides the poyson of the hooke
Till they be fast, and thus betray'd, what then?
Poore captiue slaues in bondage prostrate lies,
Yeelding vnto her mercie-wanting-will:
She in disdaine scornes all their carefull-cries,
And Circes-like triumphes in learned skill.
Yeelding vnto her mercie-wanting-will:
She in disdaine scornes all their carefull-cries,
And Circes-like triumphes in learned skill.
With ambling trips of beauties gorgeous grace,
Aurora-like in firie colours clad,
And with bright reflex of her fairest face,
She tempting goes with brainsick humors lad.
Aurora-like in firie colours clad,
And with bright reflex of her fairest face,
She tempting goes with brainsick humors lad.
Fearing that if she should but looke below,
Then Beames would from her burning eyes descend
On Juorie brest proud swelling hils of snow
Would melt, consume, and all their beauty spend.
Then Beames would from her burning eyes descend
On Juorie brest proud swelling hils of snow
Would melt, consume, and all their beauty spend.
[34]
And so she lets her curled lockes downe fall,
Which doe allure the gentle cooling winde
To come and play, still wrapping vp in thrall
Chaines of her haire, fond Louers hearts to binde.
Which doe allure the gentle cooling winde
To come and play, still wrapping vp in thrall
Chaines of her haire, fond Louers hearts to binde.
Beautie in prime adorn'd doth feede the sight
From crimson lips sweet Nectars gust forth flowes
Odours perfumes the breath, not Natures right
White Iuorie hands a sacred touch bestowes.
From crimson lips sweet Nectars gust forth flowes
Odours perfumes the breath, not Natures right
White Iuorie hands a sacred touch bestowes.
And when those pearle of Orientall-rankes
With treasure rich of tempting sound deuides
From two bright daintie mouing-corall-bankes
In-circkled eares calme smoothing speeches slides.
With treasure rich of tempting sound deuides
From two bright daintie mouing-corall-bankes
In-circkled eares calme smoothing speeches slides.
Each sencelesse sence on doting pleasure fast
Doth in a carelesse Register inroule:
Wishing that course of swift-wing'd Time to last,
Which spots the spotlesse substance of the soule.
Doth in a carelesse Register inroule:
Wishing that course of swift-wing'd Time to last,
Which spots the spotlesse substance of the soule.
But oh behold, Nature in mourning weede
Weepes to be wrong'd with superstitious Art,
For what can braines of rare inuention breede?
Or what's vnsought which pleasure may impart?
Weepes to be wrong'd with superstitious Art,
For what can braines of rare inuention breede?
Or what's vnsought which pleasure may impart?
The sharpest wit whose quicke deceauing still
Makes restlesse musing of their minde to trie
Uaine trifling snares, mixtur'd with Magicks skill,
So Art adds that which Nature doth denie.
Makes restlesse musing of their minde to trie
Uaine trifling snares, mixtur'd with Magicks skill,
So Art adds that which Nature doth denie.
35
And thus much more sweet Syrens songs she sounds,
To charme, conjure, and tempt his listning eare:
Oh, then the poore Captiued wretch abounds
In peruerse vowes, and monstrous oathes to sweare.
To charme, conjure, and tempt his listning eare:
Oh, then the poore Captiued wretch abounds
In peruerse vowes, and monstrous oathes to sweare.
By furious force of Fancie more than mad,
With fond desire in restlesse course he hunts:
Blinde Loue can not discerne the good from bad,
When on the eye-plum'd tayle of pride it mounts.
With fond desire in restlesse course he hunts:
Blinde Loue can not discerne the good from bad,
When on the eye-plum'd tayle of pride it mounts.
The curious minde makes choise of good or ill,
Then scales the Fort of his Engine to clym
Aboue the top of Art exceeding skill,
Perfect in that predominates in him.
Then scales the Fort of his Engine to clym
Aboue the top of Art exceeding skill,
Perfect in that predominates in him.
Drunke with the wonders of a worthlesse worth,
From prospect of a looking-glasse he takes
Strange Apish trickes to set his folly forth,
Mock'd with the gesture that his shadow makes.
From prospect of a looking-glasse he takes
Strange Apish trickes to set his folly forth,
Mock'd with the gesture that his shadow makes.
When foolish feates no waies will serue his turne,
All hope is drown'd in despaires groundlesse deepe:
In restlesse bed (he martir'd man) must mourne,
Thoughts, sighes, and teares admit no kind of sleepe.
All hope is drown'd in despaires groundlesse deepe:
In restlesse bed (he martir'd man) must mourne,
Thoughts, sighes, and teares admit no kind of sleepe.
Thus layes the Conquest Conquerour of fields
On his hurt heart he caries Cupids skarre.
The scuruie fainting Coward basely yields
To idle Loue the enemie of warre.
On his hurt heart he caries Cupids skarre.
The scuruie fainting Coward basely yields
To idle Loue the enemie of warre.
[36]
Now Trumpets sound, braue Martiall musick turnes
To fidling noise, or else some am'rous song,
That glorious Fame her wings of worth now burnes,
When golden youth in prime must suffer wrong.
To fidling noise, or else some am'rous song,
That glorious Fame her wings of worth now burnes,
When golden youth in prime must suffer wrong.
Thus gallant sprights doe quintesence their wits,
Spending the rare invention of their braines
On idle toyes, at which high honor spits,
Nor memoriz'd memorials remaines.
Spending the rare invention of their braines
On idle toyes, at which high honor spits,
Nor memoriz'd memorials remaines.
37
[If haples, I had harbord in my heart]
If
haples, I had harbord in my heart
The festred sting of euer-tortring greefe,
Reuthles disdaine had neuer scornd my smart,
Nor I haue baisde my selfe to beg releefe:
But O, my Mistres, hath a womans minde,
Who loues her best, there proues she most vnkinde.
The festred sting of euer-tortring greefe,
Reuthles disdaine had neuer scornd my smart,
Nor I haue baisde my selfe to beg releefe:
But O, my Mistres, hath a womans minde,
Who loues her best, there proues she most vnkinde.
Doe what she can, O cruell faithles faire,
Be still ingrate, and neuer grant me grace:
For why? the proud triumph of my Despare
Hath lade my hopes before her slaughtring face:
There must they sterue, murthred with mis-regarde,
My Loue is loath'd, and I haue no rewarde.
Be still ingrate, and neuer grant me grace:
For why? the proud triumph of my Despare
Hath lade my hopes before her slaughtring face:
There must they sterue, murthred with mis-regarde,
My Loue is loath'd, and I haue no rewarde.
Then fare-well Loue, a woman is a toy,
Which being got, some other gets againe:
Curst be that man, whose jelousie is joy,
And yeelds him seruile to a Sluaish paine:
Who courts a woman, must not thinke it strange,
That want of wit, still makes her minde to change.
Which being got, some other gets againe:
Curst be that man, whose jelousie is joy,
And yeelds him seruile to a Sluaish paine:
Who courts a woman, must not thinke it strange,
That want of wit, still makes her minde to change.
O man whom GOD his cheefest wonder made,
And Treasure ritch of his al-seeing Eye,
The winter blast, thy floorish fare shall fade:
Swift-posting-time, still tels thee you must dye:
In fansies lap spend not thy dayes for shame,
Go spend thy dayes where honour liues with fame.
And Treasure ritch of his al-seeing Eye,
The winter blast, thy floorish fare shall fade:
Swift-posting-time, still tels thee you must dye:
[38]
Go spend thy dayes where honour liues with fame.
Then get you gone, sweet Syrins of deceat,
Full well I knowe your strange inchanting skill:
I scorne that Coward of a base conceat,
That Pandor-like waits on a womans will:
O let him dye deceaud, that will not doubt you,
And happiest he, who best can liue without you.
Full well I knowe your strange inchanting skill:
I scorne that Coward of a base conceat,
That Pandor-like waits on a womans will:
O let him dye deceaud, that will not doubt you,
And happiest he, who best can liue without you.
59
[The mal-content hunts Fortune here and there]
The
mal-content hunts Fortune here and there,
His euer-tortring-thoghts disturbs his braine,
Till all his hopes be drown'd in deepe despare,
Then Time tels him his travels are in vaine.
O earthly-wretch, what glory canst thou gaine?
When fruteles-labor-thy short life hath spent:
A restles minde with stil-tormenting paine,
Even whom a world of worlds could not content.
His euer-tortring-thoghts disturbs his braine,
Till all his hopes be drown'd in deepe despare,
Then Time tels him his travels are in vaine.
O earthly-wretch, what glory canst thou gaine?
When fruteles-labor-thy short life hath spent:
A restles minde with stil-tormenting paine,
Even whom a world of worlds could not content.
Frō such base thoghts heavens make my heart aspire,
And with a sweete contentment crowne desire.
And with a sweete contentment crowne desire.
61
[It's true indeede this age is very strange]
It's
true indeede this age is very strange,
For why? behold great men of ritch renowne,
Time comes by turnes with vnexpected change,
And from their Tower of pride doth pull them downe:
Then what are we? but fooles of selfe-conceate,
All what we haue stands in a stag'ring state.
For why? behold great men of ritch renowne,
Time comes by turnes with vnexpected change,
And from their Tower of pride doth pull them downe:
Then what are we? but fooles of selfe-conceate,
All what we haue stands in a stag'ring state.
Wee weeping come into this world of cares,
And all our life's but battels of distresse,
Scarse is our prime when wint'ring age declares
What weightie griefe our body doth oppresse,
Bred with sinne, borne with woe, our life is paine,
Which still attends vs to our Graue againe,
And all our life's but battels of distresse,
Scarse is our prime when wint'ring age declares
What weightie griefe our body doth oppresse,
Bred with sinne, borne with woe, our life is paine,
Which still attends vs to our Graue againe,
Then earthly slime wherein consists thy pride?
Sith all thy glory goes into the ground,
That bed of wormes wherein thou shalt abide,
Thy fairest face most filthy shall be found:
Our sunne-shine joyes, time swiftly sweepes away,
This night we liue, and dies before the day.
Sith all thy glory goes into the ground,
[61]
Thy fairest face most filthy shall be found:
Our sunne-shine joyes, time swiftly sweepes away,
This night we liue, and dies before the day.
Homo natus de muliere breui tempore viuens
repletur multis miserijs.
63
THE SPIRIT OF GRACE
To the wicked sinner.
Let the wicked forsake his wayes, and the vnrighteous
his owne imaginations, and returne vnto the Lord,
and our Godwill haue mercie vpon him.
Isay. 55. Cap.
O man the treasure of Gods glorious eye,
Thou art ingrate, and to thy selfe vnkinde;
Poore Caitiue wretch who sees and will not see,
Nor to eternall blisse will turne thy minde:
Rise sloathfull rise, forth of thy senslesse sleepe,
And for thy sinnes, go sigh, bewaile, and weepe.
Thou art ingrate, and to thy selfe vnkinde;
Poore Caitiue wretch who sees and will not see,
Nor to eternall blisse will turne thy minde:
Rise sloathfull rise, forth of thy senslesse sleepe,
And for thy sinnes, go sigh, bewaile, and weepe.
Heare how thy Saviour Iesus Christ doth call,
Come wearied and you burth'ned both to me,
Come, come, sayes he, I will refresh you all,
What sweeter words would thou haue said to thee?
Thou art that sheep, which wādring went astray,
Christ on his back will bring thee to thy way.
Come wearied and you burth'ned both to me,
Come, come, sayes he, I will refresh you all,
What sweeter words would thou haue said to thee?
Thou art that sheep, which wādring went astray,
Christ on his back will bring thee to thy way.
Thou sinfull man is so with sinne allur'd,
That pleasure of thy sinne doth hold thee fast;
Thy wit, thy will, thy reason all obscur'd,
And now behold, forgets thy God at last:
Thou art intrapp'd within ten thousand snares,
And blindlins rins to hell, thou never cares.
That pleasure of thy sinne doth hold thee fast;
Thy wit, thy will, thy reason all obscur'd,
And now behold, forgets thy God at last:
Thou art intrapp'd within ten thousand snares,
And blindlins rins to hell, thou never cares.
The flying motions of thy minde still burnes,
And forward goes, her furie to fulfill:
Youth and desire, whose raging humor turnes
To execute the horrour of their ill
With no les price, thē with thy soule is bought,
And whē all's got, they are but things of nought.
And forward goes, her furie to fulfill:
Youth and desire, whose raging humor turnes
[63]
With no les price, thē with thy soule is bought,
And whē all's got, they are but things of nought.
Both day and night thou doth thy selfe annoy,
To worke great mischiefe with thy owne misdeeds,
Lesse travaile farre would gaine eternall joy,
Which sweet Reward, all earthly paines exceeds:
But thou art mad, and in thy madnesse strange,
To quit thy God, and take the devill in change.
To worke great mischiefe with thy owne misdeeds,
Lesse travaile farre would gaine eternall joy,
Which sweet Reward, all earthly paines exceeds:
But thou art mad, and in thy madnesse strange,
To quit thy God, and take the devill in change.
At threatning ever senslesse, deafe, and dumb,
Thou never lookes on thy swift-running-Glasse;
Nor terror of the Judgement for to come,
But still thou thinks, thy pleasure can not passe:
All is deceit, and thou hast no regard,
Gods wrath at last, the sinner will reward.
Thou never lookes on thy swift-running-Glasse;
Nor terror of the Judgement for to come,
But still thou thinks, thy pleasure can not passe:
All is deceit, and thou hast no regard,
Gods wrath at last, the sinner will reward.
To pray to God: why? then thou art asham'd,
For sinne in thee shall suffer seandalies,
Thy rusty filth of conscience shall be blam'd,
Besides, thy soule hath spoil'd her faculties:
Thus doth the deuill so hold thee still aback,
Euen to the death, and then thy soule doth take.
For sinne in thee shall suffer seandalies,
Thy rusty filth of conscience shall be blam'd,
Besides, thy soule hath spoil'd her faculties:
Thus doth the deuill so hold thee still aback,
Euen to the death, and then thy soule doth take.
Alas poore soule, when God did first thee frame,
Most excellent, most glorious and perfit:
But since thou in that carnall body came,
Thy favour's lost, spoil'd is thy substance quite:
O that thou would repent, and turne in time,
God wil thee purge, & clange thee of thy crime.
Most excellent, most glorious and perfit:
But since thou in that carnall body came,
Thy favour's lost, spoil'd is thy substance quite:
O that thou would repent, and turne in time,
God wil thee purge, & clange thee of thy crime.
64
God is a God of vengeance, yet doth stay,
And sparing, waites if thou thy life will mend
With harmlesse threatnings oft he doth assay,
And oft he doth sweet words of comfort send:
If thou repent, his anger will asswage:
If not, he will condemne thee in his rage.
And sparing, waites if thou thy life will mend
With harmlesse threatnings oft he doth assay,
And oft he doth sweet words of comfort send:
If thou repent, his anger will asswage:
If not, he will condemne thee in his rage.
The sonne of God, he for thy sinfull sake,
To saue thy soule, with care he did provide,
Mans filthy nature on him he did take,
That he both cold, and hunger might abide:
He many yeers on earth great wōders wrought,
Still persecute, and still his life was sought.
To saue thy soule, with care he did provide,
Mans filthy nature on him he did take,
That he both cold, and hunger might abide:
He many yeers on earth great wōders wrought,
Still persecute, and still his life was sought.
When as his time of bitter death drew neere,
The agony was so extreame he felt,
That when he pray'd vnto his Father deere,
In sweating drops of bloud he seem'd to melt:
Nail'd on the Crosse he suffer'd cruell smart,
vvhen as they pierc'd his hands, his feet, his hart.
The agony was so extreame he felt,
That when he pray'd vnto his Father deere,
In sweating drops of bloud he seem'd to melt:
Nail'd on the Crosse he suffer'd cruell smart,
vvhen as they pierc'd his hands, his feet, his hart.
Great torment more was laid, on him alone,
For thee and all mankind who will beleeue:
Thou was not bought, with siluer, gold, nor stone,
But Christ his life and precious bloud did giue:
O let not then his bloud be shed in vaine,
Whil'st thou hast time, turne to thy God againe.
For thee and all mankind who will beleeue:
Thou was not bought, with siluer, gold, nor stone,
But Christ his life and precious bloud did giue:
O let not then his bloud be shed in vaine,
Whil'st thou hast time, turne to thy God againe.
[64]
THE SORROVVFVLL SONG
Of A Converted Sinner.
I haue sinned, what shall I doe vnto thee? (O thou preseruer of mankinde.)
Job. 7. Cap.
Led with the terrour of my grievous sinnes,
Before Gods mighty Throne I do compeare,
The horrour of my halfe-burst heart begins
To strike my sinfull soule with trembling feare.
Before Gods mighty Throne I do compeare,
The horrour of my halfe-burst heart begins
To strike my sinfull soule with trembling feare.
Where shall I seeke secourse, or finde redresse?
Who can my fearefull tort'ring thoughts devorce?
Who can me comfort in my great distresse?
Or who can end the rage of my remorce?
Who can my fearefull tort'ring thoughts devorce?
Who can me comfort in my great distresse?
Or who can end the rage of my remorce?
I at compassions dore hath begg'd so long,
That I am hoarce, and yet can not be heard
Amids my woes, sad silence is my song,
From mirthlesse me, all pleasure is debard.
That I am hoarce, and yet can not be heard
Amids my woes, sad silence is my song,
From mirthlesse me, all pleasure is debard.
O time (vntimely time) why was I borne?
To liue sequestred solitar alone
Within a wildernesse of Cares forlorne,
Which grants no limit to my mart'ring Mone.
To liue sequestred solitar alone
Within a wildernesse of Cares forlorne,
Which grants no limit to my mart'ring Mone.
My mart'ring Mone with wofull words doth pierce
The aire, and next from hollow Caues rebounds
This æquiuox my sorrow doth rehearse,
And fills my eares with tributarie sounds.
The aire, and next from hollow Caues rebounds
This æquiuox my sorrow doth rehearse,
And fills my eares with tributarie sounds.
65
These sounds discends within my slaught'red hart,
And there transform'd in bleeding drops appeares
Next to my eyes drawen vp with cruell smart,
In water chang'd, and then distill'd in teares.
And there transform'd in bleeding drops appeares
Next to my eyes drawen vp with cruell smart,
In water chang'd, and then distill'd in teares.
My teares which falls with force vpon the ground,
Jn numbers great of little sparks doth spread,
And in each spark my dolefull pictures found,
J in each picture tragick stories read.
Jn numbers great of little sparks doth spread,
And in each spark my dolefull pictures found,
J in each picture tragick stories read.
I read Characters both of sinne and shame,
Drawne with the colours of my owne disgrace,
In figures black of impious defame,
Which painted stands in my disastred face.
Drawne with the colours of my owne disgrace,
In figures black of impious defame,
Which painted stands in my disastred face.
I breathlesse faint with burthen of their woes,
Such is my paine it will not be expell'd,
Doe what I can, I can finde no repose,
All hope of help against me is rebell'd.
Such is my paine it will not be expell'd,
Doe what I can, I can finde no repose,
All hope of help against me is rebell'd.
Gods mercie's great, I will expell dispaire
With praying still: I shall the heavens molest
Both night and day, vnto my God repaire,
He will me heare, and help my soule opprest.
With praying still: I shall the heavens molest
Both night and day, vnto my God repaire,
He will me heare, and help my soule opprest.
The thought of hell makes all my haires aspire,
Where gnashing teeth sad sorows doth out-sound,
Where damned soules still boiles in flaming fire,
And where all endlesse torment doth abound.
Where gnashing teeth sad sorows doth out-sound,
Where damned soules still boiles in flaming fire,
And where all endlesse torment doth abound.
[65]
Had they but hope, it might appease their griefe,
That in ten thousand yeares they should be free:
But all in vaine, despaire without reliefe,
Gods word eternall, most eternall be.
That in ten thousand yeares they should be free:
But all in vaine, despaire without reliefe,
Gods word eternall, most eternall be.
When as our Christ in Judgement shall appeare,
Cloath'd with the Glory of his shining light,
And when each soule the trūpets sound shal heare,
They with their corps must com before Gods sight.
Cloath'd with the Glory of his shining light,
And when each soule the trūpets sound shal heare,
They with their corps must com before Gods sight.
The Angels all, and happy troups of heaven,
Incirkled rounds theatred in each place,
A reck'ning sharp of eu'ry one is given
Before the Saints, and Gods most glorious face.
Incirkled rounds theatred in each place,
A reck'ning sharp of eu'ry one is given
Before the Saints, and Gods most glorious face.
The sloathfull sinner then shall be asham'd,
Who in his life would neither mend nor mourne
To heare that sentence openly there proclaim'd:
Goe wicked to eternall fire, and burne.
Who in his life would neither mend nor mourne
To heare that sentence openly there proclaim'd:
Goe wicked to eternall fire, and burne.
And to his blessed company, he sayes,
The Angels to my Kingdome shall convoy
With endlesse mirth, because ye knew my wayes,
Come rest with me in never-ending joy.
The Angels to my Kingdome shall convoy
With endlesse mirth, because ye knew my wayes,
Come rest with me in never-ending joy.
O let me Lord be one of thy elect,
And once againe thy loue to me restore,
Let thy inspiring grace my spirit protect,
With thee to bide, and never part no more.
And once againe thy loue to me restore,
Let thy inspiring grace my spirit protect,
With thee to bide, and never part no more.
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Once call to minde how deerly I am bought,
When thy sweet corps was spred vpon the Rood,
Thy suff'ring torment, my saluation wrought
Thy paines, thy death, and shedding of thy blood.
When thy sweet corps was spred vpon the Rood,
Thy suff'ring torment, my saluation wrought
Thy paines, thy death, and shedding of thy blood.
O seeke not then my soule for to assaile
Against thy might: how can I make defence,
Thy bleeding death for me will naught auaile,
If thou should damne me for my lewd offence?
Against thy might: how can I make defence,
Thy bleeding death for me will naught auaile,
If thou should damne me for my lewd offence?
Try not thy strength, against me wretched worme,
I am but dust before thy furious winde,
Nor haue I force to bide thy angry storme,
Then rather farre, let me thy favour finde.
I am but dust before thy furious winde,
Nor haue I force to bide thy angry storme,
Then rather farre, let me thy favour finde.
I Caitiue on this earth doth loure and creepe,
I prostrate fall before the heavens defaite,
On thee sweet Christ with mourning tears I weepe
To pittie this my weake and poore estate.
I prostrate fall before the heavens defaite,
On thee sweet Christ with mourning tears I weepe
To pittie this my weake and poore estate.
My poore estate which rob'd of all content,
And nothing else but dolours doth retaine,
The treasure of my griefe is never spent,
But still in secret sorrow I complaine.
And nothing else but dolours doth retaine,
The treasure of my griefe is never spent,
But still in secret sorrow I complaine.
Heare my complaint, mark wel my words, ô Lord,
Thou searcher of all hearts in euery kinde,
Thou to my true conuertion beare record,
And sweepe away my sinnes out of thy minde.
Thou searcher of all hearts in euery kinde,
Thou to my true conuertion beare record,
And sweepe away my sinnes out of thy minde.
[66]
I sacrifice to thee my Saviour sweet,
And patient God who gaue me leaue to liue
My sighing-teares, and bleeding heart contreit,
I haue naught else nor ritcher gift to giue.
And patient God who gaue me leaue to liue
My sighing-teares, and bleeding heart contreit,
I haue naught else nor ritcher gift to giue.
Thou God the Father, thou created me,
And made all things obedient to mans will:
Thou sonne of God to saue my soule didst die,
And Holy ghost thou sanctifiest me still.
And made all things obedient to mans will:
Thou sonne of God to saue my soule didst die,
And Holy ghost thou sanctifiest me still.
Thou Father, Sonne, thou holy Ghost divine,
On my poore soule, let your ritch glory shine.
On my poore soule, let your ritch glory shine.
FINIS.
72
TO THE GHOST OF THE right Honorable John Grahame Earle of Montrois, sometime Vice-Roy of North-Britaine.
Thy meriet great to Honor gaue a Crowne,In Invyes-spight thy spotles-Faith did shine,
Thy stately Fame inthrond thy ritch renowne,
And Deaths triumph hath made thy soule divine.
Death kild thy mortall Corps,
But not thy glorious Name:
Whose life is stil with wings-born-vp
Of Honor, Faith and Fame.
73
AGAINST TIME.
SONNET.
Goe Traytour Time and authorize my wrong,My wrack, my wo, my wayting on bewray;
Looke on my heart, which by thy shifts so long
Thou Tyranniz'd with Treason to betray,
My hopes are fled, my thoughts are gone astray,
And senslesse I haue sorrow in such store
That paine it selfe, to whom I am a pray
Of me hath made a mart'red-man and more.
Goe, goe then Time, I hatefull thee implore,
To memorize my sad and matchlesse mone
Whilst thy decepts by Death I shall decore,
My losse of life shall make them known each one,
So I (poore I) I sing with Swan-like-song,
Goe Traytour Time and Authorize my wrong.
FINIS.
[73]
HIS DYING SONG.
Circundederunt me dolores mortis, & pericula inferni in venerunt me.
Now haplesse Heart, what can thy sors asswage,
Since thou art gript with horror of deaths hād
Thou (baleful-thou) becoms the Tragick stage,
Where all my tortring thoughts theatred stand,
Grief, feare, death, thoght, each in a mōstrous kinde
Like vgly monsters muster in my minde.
Since thou art gript with horror of deaths hād
Thou (baleful-thou) becoms the Tragick stage,
Where all my tortring thoughts theatred stand,
Grief, feare, death, thoght, each in a mōstrous kinde
Like vgly monsters muster in my minde.
Thou loathsome bed to restlesse-martred-Mee,
Voide of repose, fil'd with consuming cares;
I will breath forth my wretched life on thee,
For quenchlesse wo and paine, my graue prepares
Vnto pale-agonizing-Death am thrall,
Then must I goe and answere to his call.
Voide of repose, fil'd with consuming cares;
I will breath forth my wretched life on thee,
For quenchlesse wo and paine, my graue prepares
Vnto pale-agonizing-Death am thrall,
Then must I goe and answere to his call.
O Memorie most bitter to that man,
Whose God is Golde, and hoords it vp in store;
But O that blind-deceiuing-Wealth, what can
It saue a life, or add one minute more?
When he at rest, rich-treasure in his sight,
His Soule (poore foole) is tane away that night.
Whose God is Golde, and hoords it vp in store;
But O that blind-deceiuing-Wealth, what can
It saue a life, or add one minute more?
When he at rest, rich-treasure in his sight,
His Soule (poore foole) is tane away that night.
74
And strangers gets the substance of his gaine,
Which he long sought with endles toyles to finde,
This vilde-worlds-filth, and excraments most vaine,
He needs must dye, and leaue it all behinde:
O man in minde remember this, and mourne,
Naked thou cam'st, and Naked must retourne.
Which he long sought with endles toyles to finde,
This vilde-worlds-filth, and excraments most vaine,
He needs must dye, and leaue it all behinde:
O man in minde remember this, and mourne,
Naked thou cam'st, and Naked must retourne.
I naked came, and naked must retourne.
Earths start'ring pleasure is an idle toy;
For now I sweare my very Soule doth spurne,
That breath that froth, that moment-fleeting-joy;
Then fare-well World, let him betrai'd still bost
Of all mischiefe that in Thee trusteth most.
Earths start'ring pleasure is an idle toy;
For now I sweare my very Soule doth spurne,
That breath that froth, that moment-fleeting-joy;
Then fare-well World, let him betrai'd still bost
Of all mischiefe that in Thee trusteth most.
Burnt Candle, all thy store consum'd thou end's,
Thy lightning splendor threats for to be gone,
O how dost thou resemble Mee that spend's,
And sighs forth life in sighing forth my mone?
Thy light Thee lothes, I loth this lothed life,
Full of deceipt, false-envie, grudge and strife.
Thy lightning splendor threats for to be gone,
O how dost thou resemble Mee that spend's,
And sighs forth life in sighing forth my mone?
Thy light Thee lothes, I loth this lothed life,
Full of deceipt, false-envie, grudge and strife.
I call on Time, Tim's alt'red by the change,
I call on Friends, Friends haue clos'd vp their eares;
I call on Earthly-powers, and they are strange,
I call in vaine when Pittie none appeares.
Both Time and Friends, both Earthly-powers and al,
All in disdaine are deafe at my hoarse call.
I call on Friends, Friends haue clos'd vp their eares;
I call on Earthly-powers, and they are strange,
I call in vaine when Pittie none appeares.
Both Time and Friends, both Earthly-powers and al,
All in disdaine are deafe at my hoarse call.
Then Prayer flow from my heart-humbling-knees
To the supreame Cœlestiall power aspire
Shew thou my grief to Heavens-al-seing-eies
Who never yet deny'd my just desire:
Mans-help is nought, O GOD thy help I craue,
Whose spotles-bloud my spotted-soule did saue.
To the supreame Cœlestiall power aspire
Shew thou my grief to Heavens-al-seing-eies
[74]
Mans-help is nought, O GOD thy help I craue,
Whose spotles-bloud my spotted-soule did saue.
Then take my soule, which bought by thee is thine
Earth-harbring-worms take thou my corps of clay
O Christ on me eternall mercy shine,
Thy bleiding wounds wash all my sins away:
I come, I come, to thee O Jesu sweit,
And in thy hands I recommend my spirit.
Earth-harbring-worms take thou my corps of clay
O Christ on me eternall mercy shine,
Thy bleiding wounds wash all my sins away:
I come, I come, to thee O Jesu sweit,
And in thy hands I recommend my spirit.
FINIS.
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