Petrarchs seven penitentiall psalms paraphrastically translated: With other Philosophicall Poems, and a Hymne to Christ vpon the Crosse. Written by George Chapman |
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| PETRARCHS SEVEN PENITENTIALL PSALMES. |
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| II. |
| III. |
| IIII. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
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 | Petrarchs seven penitentiall psalms |  |
1
PETRARCHS SEVEN PENITENTIALL PSALMES.
PSALME I. Heu mihi Misero.
1
O me wretch, I haue enrag'dMy Redeemer; and engag'd
My life, on deaths slow foote presuming:
I haue broke his blessed lawes,
Turning with accursed cause,
Sauing loue to wrath consuming.
2
Truths straite way, my will forsooke,And to wretched bywaies tooke,
Brode, rough, steepe, and full of danger.
Euery way, I labour found,
Anguish, and delights vnsound,
To my iourneyes end a stranger.
2
3
Rockes past fowles wings, tooke my flights,All my dayes spent; all my nights;
Toyles and streights though still repelling.
One or other beast I met,
Shunning that for which I swet;
Wild beasts dens were yet my dwelling.
4
Pleasure, that all paine subornesMaking beds of ease, on thornes,
Made me found with ruine sleeping.
Rest, in Torments armes I sought,
All good talkt, but all ill thought,
Laught, at what deseru'd my weeping.
5
What is now then left to do?What course can I turne me to?
Danger, such vnscap't toyles pitching.
All my youths faire glosse is gone,
Like a shipwracke each way blowne,
Yet his pleasures still bewitching.
6
I delay my Hauen to make;3
On her left hand euer erring:
I a little see my course,
Which in me, the warre makes worse,
Th' vse of that small fight deferring.
7
Oft I haue attempted flight,Th'old yoke casting, but his weight
Thou Nature to my bones impliest.
O that once my necke were easde,
Straight it were; were thy powre pleasd,
O, of all things high, thou highest.
8
O could I my sinne so hate,I might loue thee yet, though late;
But my hope of that is sterued;
Since mine owne hands make my chaines:
Iust, most iust, I grant my paines;
Labour wrings me most deserued.
9
Mad wretch, how deare haue I boughtFetters with mine owne hands wrought?
4
I made; and the foe disposde
Nets that neuer will be losde.
More I striue, the more enthralling:
10
I look't by, and went secureIn paths slipperie, and impure;
In my selfe, my sinne still flattering.
I thought youths flowre still would thriue,
Follow'd as his storme did driue,
With it, all his hemlockes watering:
11
Said; what thinke I of th' extreamesEre the Meane hath spent his beames?
Each Age hath his proper obiect.
God sees this, and laughs to see.
Pardon soone is go[illeg.]; My knee
When I will repent, is subiect.
12
Custome then his slaue doth claime,Layes on hands, that touch and maime;
5
Flight is then, as vaine, as late;
Faith too weake, to cast out Fate,
Refuge past my reach is euer.
13
I shall perish then in sinne,If thy aide Lord, makes not in,
Mending what doth thus depraue me;
Minde thy word then, Lord, and lend
Thy worke thy hand, crowne my end.
From the iawes of Sathan saue me.
All glorie to the Father be,
And to the Sonne as great as he:
With the coequall sacred Spirit;
Who all beginnings were before,
Are, and shall be euermore.
Glorie, all glorie to their merit.
And to the Sonne as great as he:
With the coequall sacred Spirit;
Who all beginnings were before,
Are, and shall be euermore.
Glorie, all glorie to their merit.
6
PSALME II. Inuocabo quem offendi.
1
I will inuoke whom I inflam'd;Nor will approch, his fierie throne in feare;
I will recall, nor be asham'd
Whom I cast off, and pierce againe his eare.
Hope, quite euen lost, I will restore,
And dare againe to looke on heauen;
The more I fall, inuoke the more;
Prayre once will speed, where eare is euer giuen.
2
In heauen my deare Redeemer dwels,His eare yet let downe to our lowest sounds;
His hand can reach the deepest hels;
His hand holds balmes for all our oldest wounds.
I, in my selfe, do often die;
But in him, I as oft reuiue;
My health shines euer in his eye;
That heales in hell, and keepes euen death aliue.
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3
Feare all, that would put feare on me;My sinne most great is, but much more his grace:
Though ill for worse still alterd be:
And I in me, my eagrest foe embrace:
Yet Truth in this hath euer stood,
The blackest spots my sinnes let fall,
One drop of his most precious blood;
Can cleanse and turne, to purest Iuorie all.
4
Strike, Lord, and breake the rockes that growIn these red seas of thy offence in me:
And cleansing fountaines thence shall flow,
Though of the hardest Adamant they be.
As cleare as siluer, seas shall rore,
Descending to that noysome sinke,
Where euery houre hels horride Bore
Lies plung'd, and drownd, & doth his vomits drinke.
5
Race, Lord, my sinnes inueterate skarres,And take thy new-built Mansion vp in me:
Though powre failes, see my wils sharpe warres,
And let me please euen while I anger thee.
Let the remembrance of my sinne,
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And when the morning light breakes in,
Let health be seene, and all my skies be cleare.
6
Thus though I temper ioyes with cares,Yet keepe thy mercies constant, as my crimes:
Ile cherish, with my faith, my prayres,
And looke still sighing vp for better times.
My selfe, I euermore will feare,
But thee, my rest, my hope, still keepe:
Thy darkest clouds, thy lightnings cleare,
Thy thunders rocke me, that breake others sleepe.
7
My purgatorie O Lord makeMy bridall chamber, wedded to thy will:
And let my couch still witnesse take,
In teares still steep't, that I adore thee still.
My body Ile make pay thee paines,
Hell iawes shall neuer need to ope.
Though all loues faile, thine euer raignes,
Thou art my refuge, last, and onely hope.
All glorie to the Father, &c.
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PSALME III. Miserere Domine.
1
Stay now, O Lord, my bleeding woes,The veine growes low and drie;
O now enough, and too much flowes,
My sinne is swolne too hie.
2
What rests for the abhorr'd euent?Time wasts, but not my woe:
Woes me, poore man, my life is spent
In asking what to do.
3
Pale Death stands fixt before mine eyes,My graue gaspes, and my knell
Rings out in my cold eares the cryes
and gnashed teeth of hell.
4
How long shall this day mocke my hope,With what the next will be?
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My lockt vp way to thee?
5
Ease Lord, my still-increasing smart,Salue not, but cure my wounds:
Direct the counsels of my heart,
And giue my labours bounds.
6
As in me, thou hast skill infusd,So will, and action breath:
Lest chidden for thy gifts abusd,
I weepe and pine to death.
7
See, bound beneath the foe I lie,Rapt to his blasted shore:
O claime thy right, nor let me die,
Let him insult no more.
8
Tell all the ransome I must giue,Out of my hourely paines:
See how from all the world I liue,
To giue griefe all the raines.
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9
What is behind, in this life aske,And in these members sums:
Before the neuer ending taske,
And bedrid beggerie comes.
10
Shew me thy way, ere thy chiefe lightDowne to the Ocean diues:
O now tis euening, and the night,
Is chiefly friend to theeues.
11
Compell me, if thy Call shall faile,To make thy straight way, mine:
In any skorn'd state let me wayle,
So my poore soule be thine.
All glorie to the Father be,
And to the Sonne as great as he,
With the coequall sacred Spirit:
Who all beginnings were before,
Are, and shall be euermore.
Glorie, all glorie to their merit.
And to the Sonne as great as he,
With the coequall sacred Spirit:
Who all beginnings were before,
Are, and shall be euermore.
Glorie, all glorie to their merit.
12
PSALME IIII. Recordari libet.
1
Once let me serue, Lord, my desire,Thy gifts to me recounting, and their prise,
That shame may set my cheekes on fire,
And iust confusion teare in teares mine eyes.
Since quite forgetting what I am,
Adorn'd so Godlike with thy grace,
I yet neglect to praise thy name,
And make thy image in me, poore and base.
2
Thou hast created, euen for me,The starres, all heauen, and all the turns of time;
For of what vse are these to thee,
Though euery one distinguisht by his clime?
Thou Sunne and Moone, thou Nights and Dayes,
Thou Light and Darknesse hast disposd:
Wrapt earth in waters nimble wayes,
Her vales, hils, plains, with founts, floods, seas enclosd
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3
Her rich wombe thou hast fruitfull made,With choyce of seeds, that all wayes varied are:
And euery way, our eyes inuade
With formes and graces, in being common, rare.
In sweete greene herbes thou cloth'st her fields,
Distinguishest her hils with flowres.
Her woods thou mak'st her meadowes shields,
Adorn'd with branches, leaues, and odorous bowres.
4
The wearie thou hast rest prepar'd,The hote refreshest with coole shades of trees,
Which streames melodious enterlar'd,
For sweete retreats, that none but thy eye sees:
The thirstie, thou giu'st siluer springs;
The hungrie, berries of all kinds;
Herbes wholesome, and a world of things,
To nurse our bodies, and informe our minds.
5
Now let me cast mine eye, and seeWith what choice creatures, strangely form'd and faire,
All seas, and lands, are fil'd by thee:
14
Whose names or numbers who can reach?
With all earths powre, yet in thy span:
All which, thy boundlesse bounties preach,
All laide, O glorie! at the foote of man.
6
Whose body, past all creatures shines,Such wondrous orders of his parts thou mak'st,
Whose countenance, state, and loue combines:
In him vnmou'd, when all the world thou shak'st.
Whose soule thou giu'st powre, euen of thee,
Ordaining it to leaue the earth,
All heauen, in her discourse to see,
And note how great a wombe, went to her birth.
7
Vnnumberd arts thou add'st in him,To make his life more queint and more exact:
His eye, eternesse cannot dim.
Whose state he mounts to, with a mind infract:
Thou shew'st him all the milke-white way,
Op'st all thy Tabernacles dores.
Learn'st how to praise thee, how to pray,
To shun, and chuse, what likes and what abhorres.
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8
To keepe him in which hallowed path,As his companions, and perpetuall guides,
Prayre thou ordainst, thy word and faith,
And loue, that all his foule offences hides.
And to each step his foote shall take,
Thy couenants stand like wals of brasse,
Which, from thy watch towre, good to make,
Thou add'st thine eye for his securer passe.
9
All this deare (Lord) I apprehend,Thy Spirit euen partially inspiring me:
Which to consort me to my end,
With endlesse thanks, Ile strew my way to thee.
Confessing falling, thou hast staid:
Confirm'd me fainting, prostrate raisd,
With comforts rapt me, quite dismaid,
And dead, hast quickn'd me, to see thee praisd.
All glorie to the Father be,
And to the Sonne, &c.
And to the Sonne, &c.
16
PSALME V. Noctes meæ in mœrore transeunt.
1
Yet, Lord, vnquiet sinne is stirring,My long nights, longer grow, like euening shades:
In which woe lost, is all waies erring:
And varied terror euery step inuades.
Wayes made in teares, shut as they ope,
My lodestarre I can no way see:
Lame is my faith, blind loue and hope,
And, Lord, tis passing ill with me.
2
My sleepe, like glasse, in dreames is broken,No quiet yeelding, but affright and care,
Signes that my poore life is forspoken:
Lord, courbe the ill, and good in place prepare.
No more delay my spent desire,
Tis now full time, for thee to heare:
Thy loue hath set my soule on fire,
My heart quite broke twixt hope and feare.
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3
No outward light, my life hath graced,My mind hath euer bene my onely Sunne:
And that so farre hath enuie chaced,
That all in clouds her hated head is runne.
And while she hides, immortall cares
Consume the soule, that sense inspires:
Since outward she sets eyes and eares,
And other ioyes spend her desires.
4
She musters both without and in me,Troubles, and tumults: she's my houshold theefe,
Opes all my doores to lust, and enuie,
And all my persecutors lends releefe.
Bind her, Lord, and my true soule free,
Preferre the gift thy hand hath giuen:
Thy image in her, crowne in me,
And make vs here free, as in heauen.
All glorie to the Father be,
And to the Sonne, &c.
And to the Sonne, &c.
18
PSALME VI. Circumuallarunt me inimici.
1
My foes haue girt me in with armes,And earthquakes tost vp all my ioynts,
No flesh can answer their alarmes,
Each speare they manage hath so many points.
2
Death, arm'd in all his horrors, leades:Whom more I charge, the lesse he yeelds:
Affections, with an hundred heads,
Conspire with them, & turne on me their shields
3
Nor looke I yet, Lord, to the East,Nor hope for helpe, where I am will'd:
Nor, as I ought, haue arm'd my breast;
But rust in sloth, and naked come to field.
4
And therefore hath the host of starresNow left me, that before I led:
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Frō whose height falne, all leaue me here for dead.
5
In falling, I discern'd how sleight,My footing was on those blest towres.
I lookt to earth, and her base height,
And so lost heauen, and all his aidfull powres.
6
Now, broke on earth, my bodie lies,Where theeues insult on my sad fall:
Spoyle me of many a daintie prise,
That farre I fetcht, t'enrich my soule withall.
7
Nor ceasse they, but deforme me too,With wounds that make me all engor'd:
And in the desart, leaue me so,
Halfe dead, all naked, and of all abhorr'd.
8
My head, and bosome, they transfixt,But in my torne affections rag'd:
Wounds there, with blood, and matter mixt,
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9
There, Lord, my life doth most misgiue,There quickly thy white hand bestow:
Thou liu'st, and in thee I may liue.
Thy fount of life doth euer ouerflow.
10
All this from heauen, thy eyes explore,Yet silent sitst, and sufferst all:
Since all I well deserue, and more;
And must confesse me, wilfull in my fall:
11
And hence tis, that thou letst me bleed,Mak'st all men shun, and skorne my life:
That all my workes such enuie breed,
And my disgrace giues food to all mens strife.
12
But this, since Goodnesse oft doth cause,And tis Goods grace to heare his ill:
Since tis a chiefe point in his lawes,
No thought, without our powre, to make our wil.
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13
Still let the greene seas of their gall,Against this rocke with rage be borne:
And from their height, still let me fall:
Them, stand and laugh, & me lie still and scorne.
14
But, Lord, my fall from thee, ô raise,And giue my fainting life thy breath:
Sound keepe me euer in thy waies,
Thou mightie art, and setst downe lawes to death.
15
Driue thou from this my ruines rape,These theeues, that make thy Phane their den:
And let my innocence escape
The cunning malice of vngodly men.
All glorie to the Father be,
And to the Sonne as great as he:
With the coequall sacred Spirit:
Who all beginnings were before,
Are, and shall be euermore.
Glorie, all glorie to their merit.
And to the Sonne as great as he:
With the coequall sacred Spirit:
Who all beginnings were before,
Are, and shall be euermore.
Glorie, all glorie to their merit.
22
PSALME VII. Cogitabam stare.
1
While I was falne, I thought to rise,And stand, presuming on my thies:
But thighes, and knees, were too much broken.
My haire stood vp to see such bane
Depresse presumption so prophane:
I tremble but to heare it spoken.
2
Yet in my strength, my hope was such,Since I conceiu'd, thou vow'dst as much:
I fain'd dreames, and reioyc't to faine them:
But weighing awake, thy vowes profound,
Their depth, my lead came short to sound:
And now, aye me, my teares containe them.
3
For calmes, I into stormes did stere,And look't through clouds, to see things cleare,
Thy waies shew'd crook't, like speares in water;
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Could winde with that course, I did take:
No Courtier could so grosly flatter.
4
But which way I soeuer bend,Thou meet'st me euer in the end:
Thy finger strikes my ioynts with terrors;
Yet no more strikes, then points the way:
Which, weighing weeping, straight I stay,
And with my teares cleanse feete and errors.
5
But of my selfe, when I beleeueTo make my steps, thy waies atchieue,
I turne head, and am treading mazes:
I feele sinnes ambush; and am vext
To be in error so perplext,
Nor yet can finde rests holy places.
6
I loath my selfe, and all my deeds,Like Rubarbe taste, or Colchean weeds:
I flie them, with their throwes vpon me.
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So checke it, that the stone I rold
Neuer so oft, againe fals on me.
7
No step in mans trust should be trod,Vnlesse in mans, as his in God:
Of which trust, make good life the founder:
Without which, trust no forme, nor art;
Faiths loadstarre is a guiltlesse heart;
Good life is truths most learn'd expounder.
8
With which, Lord, euer rule my skill;In which, as I ioyne powre with will,
So let me trust, my truth in learning,
To such minds, thou all truth setst ope:
The rest are rapt with stormes past hope;
The lesse, for more deepe arts discerning.
9
Blesse, Lord, who thus their arts employ,Their sure truth, celebrate with ioy,
And teare the maskes from others faces;
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Learning but termes to iangle in,
And so disgrace thy best of Graces.
10
Whereof since I haue onely this,That learnes me what thy true will is,
Which thou, in comforts still concludest;
My poore Muse still shall sit, and sing,
In that sweete shadow of thy wing,
Which thou to all earths state obtrudest.
11
As oft as I my fraile foote moue,From this pure fortresse of thy loue:
So oft let my glad foes deride me.
I know my weakenesse yet, and feare,
By triall, to build comforts there,
It doth so like a ruine hide me.
12
My worth is all, but shade, I finde,And like a fume, before the winde;
I gaspe with sloth, thy waies applying:
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Loue onely, but can do no good:
Helpe, Lord, lest I amend not dying.
All glorie to the Father be,
And to the Sonne as great as he,
With the coequall sacred Spirit:
Who all beginnings were before:
Are, and shall be euermore.
Glorie, all glorie to their merit,
And to the Sonne as great as he,
With the coequall sacred Spirit:
Who all beginnings were before:
Are, and shall be euermore.
Glorie, all glorie to their merit,
The end of Petrarchs seuen Penitentiall Psalmes.
| Petrarchs seven penitentiall psalms | |