 | Saint Peters complaint (1595) |  |
65
Loues Garden griefe.
Vaine loues auaunt infamous is your pleasure,
Your ioy deceit,
Your iewels iests, & worthlesse trash your treasure,
Fooles common bait.
Your pallace is a prison that allureth
To sweet mishap, and rest that paine procureth.
Your ioy deceit,
Your iewels iests, & worthlesse trash your treasure,
Fooles common bait.
Your pallace is a prison that allureth
To sweet mishap, and rest that paine procureth.
Your garden griefe, hedg'd in with thornes of enuie,
And stakes of strife:
Your Allyes errour graueled with iealousie,
And cares of life.
Your bankes are seates enwrapt with shades of sadnes,
Your Arbours breed rough fittes of raging madnes.
And stakes of strife:
Your Allyes errour graueled with iealousie,
And cares of life.
Your bankes are seates enwrapt with shades of sadnes,
Your Arbours breed rough fittes of raging madnes.
Your beds are sowne with seedes of all iniquitie,
And poys'ning weedes:
VVhose stalks euill thoughts, whose leaues words full of vanitie,
VVhose fruite misdeedes.
VVhose sap is sinne, whose force and operation,
To banish grace, and worke the soules damnation.
And poys'ning weedes:
VVhose stalks euill thoughts, whose leaues words full of vanitie,
VVhose fruite misdeedes.
VVhose sap is sinne, whose force and operation,
To banish grace, and worke the soules damnation.
Your trees are dismall plants of pyning corrosiues,
VVhose roote is ruth.
VVhose barke is bale, whose timber stubborne fantasies:
VVhose pyth vntruth.
On which in liew of birdes whose voyce delighteth:
Of guiltie conscience screching note affrighteth.
VVhose roote is ruth.
VVhose barke is bale, whose timber stubborne fantasies:
VVhose pyth vntruth.
On which in liew of birdes whose voyce delighteth:
Of guiltie conscience screching note affrighteth.
Your coolest summer gales are scalding sighings,
Your showers are teares,
Your sweetest smell the stench of sinfull liuing,
Your fauoures feares
Your gardener sathan, all you reape is miserie:
Your gaine remorse and losse of all felicitie.
Your showers are teares,
Your sweetest smell the stench of sinfull liuing,
Your fauoures feares
Your gardener sathan, all you reape is miserie:
Your gaine remorse and losse of all felicitie.
| Saint Peters complaint (1595) | |