 | Saint Peters complaint |  |
73
New Prince, new pompe.
Behold a silly tender Babe,in freesing VVinter night;
In homely manger trembling lies,
Alas a pitteous sight:
The Innes are full, no man will yeeld,
This little Pilgrime bed;
But forc'd he is with silly beasts,
In Crib to shrowd his head.
Despise him not for lying there,
First what he is enquire:
As orient pearle is often found,
In depth of dirty mire,
VVaigh not his Crib, his wooden dish,
Nor beasts that by him feede:
VVaigh not his Mothers poore attire,
Nor Iosephs simple weede.
This stable is a Princes Court,
The Crib his chaire of state:
The beasts are parcell of his pompe,
The wooden dish his plate.
The persons in that poore attire,
His royall liuories weare,
The Prince himselfe is com'd from heauen,
This pompe is prized there.
74
Doe homage to thy King;
And highly praise his humble pompe,
vvhich he from heauen dooth bring.
| Saint Peters complaint | |