Marie Magdalens Lamentations for the Losse of her Master Iesus [by Gervase Markham] |
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Marie Magdalens first Lamentation
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 | Marie Magdalens Lamentations for the Losse of her Master Iesus |  |
Marie Magdalens first Lamentation
At the Tombe of Iesus.
What climat will affourd a mournfull mate,
All wo-begon, that vollies out hir grones,
Whose griefs do equallize my sad-grown state,
Whose heart poures forth a sea of helpelesse mones?
If to my care, companion such there be,
Ile helpe her mourne, if she will mourne with me.
All wo-begon, that vollies out hir grones,
Whose griefs do equallize my sad-grown state,
Whose heart poures forth a sea of helpelesse mones?
If to my care, companion such there be,
Ile helpe her mourne, if she will mourne with me.
But sure, no such associat there is,
My Muse may tell a greefe without compare,
A blacke rehearse of metamorphos'd blis,
And sad memoriall of untimely care,
Lugubre Carmen fitteth best my use,
In vvaining state best fits a wailing Muse.
My Muse may tell a greefe without compare,
A blacke rehearse of metamorphos'd blis,
And sad memoriall of untimely care,
Lugubre Carmen fitteth best my use,
In vvaining state best fits a wailing Muse.
The deepest passion of true burning love
That ever any love-sicke heart possest,
(Drown'd in distresse) I silly vvoman prove,
Whose ardent zeale is nurse of mine vnrest,
But even to death (O haplesse death) alone
I ru'd his death vvhen other friends vvere gone.
That ever any love-sicke heart possest,
(Drown'd in distresse) I silly vvoman prove,
Whose ardent zeale is nurse of mine vnrest,
But even to death (O haplesse death) alone
I ru'd his death vvhen other friends vvere gone.
I did behold my loves too cruell death,
With these sad eyes, made red vvith brinish teares:
My soule did sorrow for his losse of breath,
By vvhose sweet life, my life vvas free from feares.
Oh had I dy'd, vvhen he dy'd on the crosse,
I needed no complaint to vvaile my losse.
With these sad eyes, made red vvith brinish teares:
My soule did sorrow for his losse of breath,
By vvhose sweet life, my life vvas free from feares.
Oh had I dy'd, vvhen he dy'd on the crosse,
I needed no complaint to vvaile my losse.
But that (too sweet a favour) vvas deny'de,
I might not I, consort my lover dying,
My course of life doth sorrow still betyde,
Which moves my soule to such a ceaselesse crying:
Oh haplesse soule, so clog'd vvith care and greefe,
For losse of him that vvas thy comfort cheefe.
I might not I, consort my lover dying,
My course of life doth sorrow still betyde,
Which moves my soule to such a ceaselesse crying:
Oh haplesse soule, so clog'd vvith care and greefe,
For losse of him that vvas thy comfort cheefe.
My Lord is dead, to vvhom my soule did live,
He dy'd for me, I vvretch am left alive,
Now to the dead I lasting praise must give,
Sith light is lost, vvhich did my life revive,
And all in darkenesse I desire to dwell,
In deaths dread shade my saddest griefes to tell.
He dy'd for me, I vvretch am left alive,
Now to the dead I lasting praise must give,
Sith light is lost, vvhich did my life revive,
And all in darkenesse I desire to dwell,
In deaths dread shade my saddest griefes to tell.
My Jesus Tombe my mansion is become,
My vvearie soule hath there made choise to inn,
Vpon his coarse my comfort shall consume,
And ioies shall end vvhere ioies did first begin.
Oh eies gush forth your fast distilling force
Of Ocean tears, upon his Tombe and corse.
My vvearie soule hath there made choise to inn,
Vpon his coarse my comfort shall consume,
And ioies shall end vvhere ioies did first begin.
Oh eies gush forth your fast distilling force
Of Ocean tears, upon his Tombe and corse.
Oh life-containing Tombe of my dead Lord,
From thee no chaunce shall hale me hence away,
Ile linger here vvhile death doth life affourd,
And being dead, my twining armes shall stay,
And cleave unto thee; nor alive or dead
Will I be drawne from where my Lord is laid.
From thee no chaunce shall hale me hence away,
Ile linger here vvhile death doth life affourd,
And being dead, my twining armes shall stay,
And cleave unto thee; nor alive or dead
Will I be drawne from where my Lord is laid.
Thou art the Altar of all mercie meeke,
The Temple of all truth, the Grave of death,
The Sanctuarie vvhich lost soules doe seeke,
The Cradle of eternall living breath.
Oh sweetest heaven of my ecclipsed Sonne,
Receive this silly star, vvhose light is done.
The Temple of all truth, the Grave of death,
The Sanctuarie vvhich lost soules doe seeke,
The Cradle of eternall living breath.
Oh sweetest heaven of my ecclipsed Sonne,
Receive this silly star, vvhose light is done.
Oh Whale, that my deare Ionas swallowed hast,
Come swallow me (more meet to be thy prey)
Twas I, not he, that should in right have past
This bloodie tempest; I vvas cause I say,
Vnequall doomer, vvhat hast thou misdone,
To rob the earth of her cœlestiall Sonne.
Come swallow me (more meet to be thy prey)
Twas I, not he, that should in right have past
This bloodie tempest; I vvas cause I say,
Vnequall doomer, vvhat hast thou misdone,
To rob the earth of her cœlestiall Sonne.
Oh Cesterne of my Joseph innocent,
Let thy drie bottome take me prisoner,
Sith I, not he (Oh vvretch most impudent)
Gave cause that so enrag'd my brethren vvere.
What pitch clouds darken our translucent vvay,
And on what shore doth Truths sweet preacher stay?
Let thy drie bottome take me prisoner,
Sith I, not he (Oh vvretch most impudent)
Gave cause that so enrag'd my brethren vvere.
What pitch clouds darken our translucent vvay,
And on what shore doth Truths sweet preacher stay?
Aye me accurst, vvhy did I not before
Thinke upon this, vvhich now I aske too late?
Why did I leave him vvhen I had him sure?
To rue his losse, and mone my ruthlesse state.
Oh had I vvatched, as I vvaile him novv,
None could have taken him vvithout me too.
Thinke upon this, vvhich now I aske too late?
Why did I leave him vvhen I had him sure?
To rue his losse, and mone my ruthlesse state.
Oh had I vvatched, as I vvaile him novv,
None could have taken him vvithout me too.
But being too precise to keepe the Lavv,
The lawes sweet maker I have thereby lost,
And bearing to his ceremonies too much awe,
I misse his sweetest selfe, of far more cost,
Sith rather vvith the Truth I should have beene,
Than vvorking that, vvhich but a Tipe vvas seene.
The lawes sweet maker I have thereby lost,
And bearing to his ceremonies too much awe,
I misse his sweetest selfe, of far more cost,
Sith rather vvith the Truth I should have beene,
Than vvorking that, vvhich but a Tipe vvas seene.
The Sabboth day so strickt solemnized,
The standing by his Coarse had not prophan'd;
By vvhich, prophanest things are sanctified,
And that made pure, vvhich earst vvas soulely stain'd;
Whose touch doth not defile the thing that's clean,
But most defiled, maketh faire againe.
The standing by his Coarse had not prophan'd;
By vvhich, prophanest things are sanctified,
And that made pure, vvhich earst vvas soulely stain'd;
Whose touch doth not defile the thing that's clean,
But most defiled, maketh faire againe.
But vvhen I should have staid, I vvent away,
And when it vvas too late, I came againe,
In time of helpe (Ah then) my helpe did stay,
Now I repent my follie (but in vaine.)
My carelesse heed hath brought a heape of care,
And carefull I, must ceaselesse teares prepare.
And when it vvas too late, I came againe,
In time of helpe (Ah then) my helpe did stay,
Now I repent my follie (but in vaine.)
My carelesse heed hath brought a heape of care,
And carefull I, must ceaselesse teares prepare.
Ah let my heart into sad sighs dissolve,
Let eies consume their flouds in brinish teares,
Let soule (cares captive) in dislikes resolve,
To languish still (sunke vvith despaire and feares.)
Let all I have endure deserved paine,
That pennance due, sins losses may regaine.
Let eies consume their flouds in brinish teares,
Let soule (cares captive) in dislikes resolve,
To languish still (sunke vvith despaire and feares.)
Let all I have endure deserved paine,
That pennance due, sins losses may regaine.
But ah my sweetest Iesu (my deare heart)
Thou art not novv, vvhere thou vvert but of late;
And yet, alas, I know not vvhere thou art,
(Oh vvretched case, oh lamentable state:)
Such haplesse state, unhappie I live in,
To better it, I cannot yet begin.
Thou art not novv, vvhere thou vvert but of late;
And yet, alas, I know not vvhere thou art,
(Oh vvretched case, oh lamentable state:)
Such haplesse state, unhappie I live in,
To better it, I cannot yet begin.
Alas my ioy, my hope, my cheefe desire,
How hast thou left me vvavering thus in doubt?
In mazed moodinesse my thoughts to tire,
Wandering in vvoe, and cannot find vvay out.
If I stay here, I cannot find thee so,
To seeke elsewhere, I know not vvhere to goe.
How hast thou left me vvavering thus in doubt?
In mazed moodinesse my thoughts to tire,
Wandering in vvoe, and cannot find vvay out.
If I stay here, I cannot find thee so,
To seeke elsewhere, I know not vvhere to goe.
To leave the Tombe, is for to gaine vnrest,
To stand still helpelesse, is a curelesse paine,
So all my comfort in this plot doth rest,
Helpelesse to stay, or going, hope in vaine.
And to this choise poore soule I am left free,
Which is to say, vvith vvhat death I vvill die.
To stand still helpelesse, is a curelesse paine,
So all my comfort in this plot doth rest,
Helpelesse to stay, or going, hope in vaine.
And to this choise poore soule I am left free,
Which is to say, vvith vvhat death I vvill die.
And yet (even this) too happie a choice vvould be
For me, so vile, so base, unhappie vvretch:
For if to chuse my death it lay in me,
How soone should I that execution catch?
How vvilling vvould I be to stop lives breath,
If I might point the manner of my death?
For me, so vile, so base, unhappie vvretch:
For if to chuse my death it lay in me,
How soone should I that execution catch?
How vvilling vvould I be to stop lives breath,
If I might point the manner of my death?
I vvould be nailed to the selfesame crosse,
With those same nailes, and in the selfesame place,
Where bloudie Iewes did butcher up my losse:
His speare should vvound my hart, his thorns my face.
His vvhips my bodie, I vvould tast all smart,
To tread his steps in an embrued hart.
With those same nailes, and in the selfesame place,
Where bloudie Iewes did butcher up my losse:
His speare should vvound my hart, his thorns my face.
His vvhips my bodie, I vvould tast all smart,
To tread his steps in an embrued hart.
But oh ambitious thoughts, gaze not so hie,
Vpon so sweet divine felicitie,
Thinke not vvith such a glorious death to die,
Whose life is privie to such infamie:
Death I deserv'd, not one, but many a death,
But not so sweet a meane to stop my breath.
Vpon so sweet divine felicitie,
Thinke not vvith such a glorious death to die,
Whose life is privie to such infamie:
Death I deserv'd, not one, but many a death,
But not so sweet a meane to stop my breath.
So sweet a death seasoned vvith such deepe ioy,
The instruments vvhereof, dead corpes vvould raise,
And most impurest soules from sinne destroy,
And make it pure, to yeeld thee pure due praise:
A scourge too much (ah vvhere alas) too small
For my offences to be beat vvithall.
The instruments vvhereof, dead corpes vvould raise,
And most impurest soules from sinne destroy,
And make it pure, to yeeld thee pure due praise:
A scourge too much (ah vvhere alas) too small
For my offences to be beat vvithall.
And therefore am I left, more deaths to tast
Than I live houres, and far more vvoes to shun
Than I have thoughts for my lost ioy to vvast,
Which are in number more then motes in Sun.
Vnhappie me, vvhose vveake estate must beare
The violence of such confused care.
Than I live houres, and far more vvoes to shun
Than I have thoughts for my lost ioy to vvast,
Which are in number more then motes in Sun.
Vnhappie me, vvhose vveake estate must beare
The violence of such confused care.
But sith I cannot as he died, die,
Nor yet can live vvhere he now liveth dead,
To end my dying life, I here vvill lie,
Fast by his grave, and leane my vvearie head
Vpon his tombe, on vvhose most sweet repose
Ile leave to live, and death my eies shall close.
Nor yet can live vvhere he now liveth dead,
To end my dying life, I here vvill lie,
Fast by his grave, and leane my vvearie head
Vpon his tombe, on vvhose most sweet repose
Ile leave to live, and death my eies shall close.
Better it is after his bodies losse,
(His sacred bodie vvhich all creatures ioy'de)
To keepe his sepulchre from farther crosse,
Than loosing one, to let both be destroy'de.
Though I have lost the Saint of clearest shine,
I vvill at least have care to keepe the shrine.
(His sacred bodie vvhich all creatures ioy'de)
To keepe his sepulchre from farther crosse,
Than loosing one, to let both be destroy'de.
Though I have lost the Saint of clearest shine,
I vvill at least have care to keepe the shrine.
And to this shrine Ile sacrifice my heart,
Though it be spoiled of the soveraigne host,
It shall the altar be and sacred part,
Where I my teares vvill offer vvith the most,
My teares destilled from my hearts deepe paine,
Which going out, my sighs shall blow againe.
Though it be spoiled of the soveraigne host,
It shall the altar be and sacred part,
Where I my teares vvill offer vvith the most,
My teares destilled from my hearts deepe paine,
Which going out, my sighs shall blow againe.
Here in this place (oh happie place) Ile lead,
Yea, lead and end my vvofull loathed life,
That at the least my cold grave may be made
Neare to this tombe, vvhere I have told my griefe.
Near this stone-couch, my eies their light shall lose,
Which my Lord made the place of sweet repose.
Yea, lead and end my vvofull loathed life,
That at the least my cold grave may be made
Neare to this tombe, vvhere I have told my griefe.
Near this stone-couch, my eies their light shall lose,
Which my Lord made the place of sweet repose.
It may be so, this Sindon lying here,
Thus emptie left and serving to no use,
This tombe being open vvithout any there,
May pierce some piteous heart for to peruse
My naked bones, whose rights for to preferre,
This shroud may wrap, & this sweet tomb interre.
Thus emptie left and serving to no use,
This tombe being open vvithout any there,
May pierce some piteous heart for to peruse
My naked bones, whose rights for to preferre,
This shroud may wrap, & this sweet tomb interre.
But oh too fortunat a lot to crave,
For her that is a vvretch so unfortunate,
No, no, I seeke not such a blisse to have,
Alas, I dare not beg so good estate:
But yet if such a sinne may passe unblam'd,
I vvould forgive by vvhom it first vvas fram'd.
For her that is a vvretch so unfortunate,
No, no, I seeke not such a blisse to have,
Alas, I dare not beg so good estate:
But yet if such a sinne may passe unblam'd,
I vvould forgive by vvhom it first vvas fram'd.
And if to vvish, no more presumption vvere
In me alive, than to permit it dead,
If I knew him that first should passe me here,
My teares should vvoo to have my corpes so laid,
And vvith my praiers I that man vvould hire,
To blesse me vvith this blisse vvhich I desire.
In me alive, than to permit it dead,
If I knew him that first should passe me here,
My teares should vvoo to have my corpes so laid,
And vvith my praiers I that man vvould hire,
To blesse me vvith this blisse vvhich I desire.
And though I dare not vvish that anie do it,
Yet this vvithout offence to all I say,
This Sindon hath my love so ty'de unto it,
Above all clothes I love to it will pay.
And this same Tombe my heart more deare doth deeme,
Than anie Princes Hearse of most esteeme.
Yet this vvithout offence to all I say,
This Sindon hath my love so ty'de unto it,
Above all clothes I love to it will pay.
And this same Tombe my heart more deare doth deeme,
Than anie Princes Hearse of most esteeme.
Yea, and I thinke that coarse is favoured much,
That shall my Lord in this same Tombe succeed:
And for my part (as my resolve is such)
Vpon this plot to meet Deaths fatall deed;
So doe I vvish, that in the readiest grave,
My breathlesse bones the right of buriall have.
That shall my Lord in this same Tombe succeed:
And for my part (as my resolve is such)
Vpon this plot to meet Deaths fatall deed;
So doe I vvish, that in the readiest grave,
My breathlesse bones the right of buriall have.
But this is all, and I dare say no more,
My bodie I vvill leave to what befals,
And in this paradise all ioy vvill store
For my poore soule, vvhich flesh and bloud inthrals,
Which frō this brittle case shall passe even than,
Into the glorious Tombe of God and Man.
My bodie I vvill leave to what befals,
And in this paradise all ioy vvill store
For my poore soule, vvhich flesh and bloud inthrals,
Which frō this brittle case shall passe even than,
Into the glorious Tombe of God and Man.
| Marie Magdalens Lamentations for the Losse of her Master Iesus | |