Moeoniae. OR, CERTAINE excellent Poems and spirituall Hymnes:
Omitted in the last Impression of Peters Complaint; being needefull thereunto to be annexed, as being both Diuine and Wittie.
All composed by R. S.
LONDON Printed by Valentine Sims, for Iohn Busbie 1595.
The Printer to the Gentlemen Readers.
Hauing beheld (kind Gentlemen) the numberlesse Iudges of not to be reckoned labours, with what kind admiration you haue entertained the diuine Complaint of holie Peter; and hauing in my hands certaine especiall Poems and diuine Meditations, full as woorthie belonging to the same, I thought it a charitable de ede to giue them life in your memories, which els should die in an obscure sacrifice, gently embrace them, gentle censurers of gentle indeuors: so shall you not be fantastike in diuersity of opinions, nor contradict your resolues by [Page] denying your former iudgements, but still bee your selues discreetely vertuous, nor could I other wish, but that the courteous reader of these labors, not hauing already bought Peters Complaint, would not for so small a mite of money loose so rich a treasure of heauenly wisdome as these two Treatises should minister vnto him, the one so needefully depending on the other. One thing amongst the rest I am to admonish thee of, that having in this Treatise read Maries visitation, the next that should follow is Christs natiuity, but being afore printed in the ende of Peters Complaint, we have heere of purpose omitted; that thou shouldest not be abridged of that and the other like comfort which that other treatise profereth thee.
Yours (kind Gentlemen) in all his abilities. I. B.
The Virgine Maries conception.
OVR second
Eue puts on her mortall shroude▪
Erth breeds a heauen, for Gods new dwelling place,
Now riseth vp
Elias little cloude
That growing, shal distil the showre of grace:
Her being now begins, who ere she end,
Shall bring our good that shall our ill amend,
Both Grace and Nature did their force vnite,
To make this babe the summe of all their best,
Our most, her least, our million, but her mite:
Shee was at easiest rate worth all the rest,
What grace to men or Angels God did part,
Was all vnited in this infants heart.
Foure only wights bred without fault are namde,
And all the rest conceiued were in sinne,
Without both man and wife was
Adam framde
Of man, but not of wife did
Eue beginne,
Wife without touch of man Christs mother was,
Of man and wife this babe was borne in grace.
Her Natiuitie.
IOy in the rising of our Orient star,
That shal bring forth the Sunne that lent her light,
Ioy in the peace that shall conclude our war,
And soon rebate the edge of Sathans spight,
Load-starre of all inclosed in worldly waues,
The care and compasse that from ship-wracke saues,
The Patriarches and Prophets were the flowers,
Which Time by course of ages did distill,
And cal'd into his little cloud the showers,
Whose gratious drops the world with ioy shall fil,
Whose moisture suppleth euerie soule with grace,
And bringeth life to
Adams dying race.
For God on earth which is the royall throne,
The chosen cloth to make his mortall weede,
The quarry to cut out our corner stone,
Soile ful of fruit, yet free from mortall seede,
For heauenly flowre shee is the
Iessa rod,
The childe of man, the parent of a god,
Her Spousals.
WIfe did she liue, yet virgin did she die,
Vntaught of man, yet mother of a sonne▪
To saue her selfe and childe from fatall lie,
To end the web wherof the thred was spon
In mariage knots to
Ioseph she was tide.
Vnwonted workes with wonted wiles to hide
God lent his paradise to
Iosephs care,
Wherein he was to plant the tree of life,
His sonne of
Iosephs child the title bare:
Iust cause to make the mother
Iosephs wife,
O blessed man betroth'd to such a spouse,
More bless'd to liue with such a child in house:
No carnall loue this sacred league procurde,
Al vaine delights were farre from their assent,
Though both themselues in wedlocke bands assurde,
Yet chaste by vow they seald their chaste intent.
Thus had the Virgins, wiues, and widowes crowne,
And by chast child-birth doubled their renowne.
The Virgins salutation.
SPell
Eua backe and
Aue shall you finde,
The first began, the last reuerst our harmes,
An Angels
Aue disinchants the charmes,
Death first by womans weaknes entred in,
In womans vertue life doth now begin.
O Virgins breast the heauens to thee incline,
In thee they ioy, and soueraigne thee agnize,
Too meane their glorie is to match with thine,
Whose chaste receit God more then heauen did prize,
Haile fairest heauen, that heauen and earth do blesse,
Where vertues starre Gods sunne of iustice is,
With hauty minde to godhead man aspirde,
And was by pride from place of pleasure chac'de,
With louing minde our manhood God desirde,
And vs by loue in greater pleasure plac'de,
Man labouring to ascend procurde our fall,
God yeelding to discend cut off our thrall.
The Visitation.
PRoclaimed Queene and mother of a God,
The light of earth, the soueraigne of Saints,
With Pilgrim foote, vp tiring hils she trod,
And heuenly stile with handmaids toile acquaints
Her youth to age, her selfe to sicke she lends,
Her heart to God, to neighbours hand she bends,
A prince she is, and mightier prince doth beare,
Yet pompe of princely traine she would not haue,
But doubtles heauenly Quires attendant were,
Her child from harme her selfe from harme to saue,
Word to the voice, song to the tune she brings,
The voice her word, the tune her dittie sings,
Eternall lights inclosed in her breast,
Shot out such piercing beames of burning loue,
That when her voice her cosens eares possest,
The force thereof did cause her babe to moue,
With secret signes the children greet each other,
But open praise each leaueth to his mother.
His circumcision.
THe head is launst to worke the bodies cure,
with angry salue it smarts to heal our woūd
To faultlesse sonne from al offences pure,
The faulty vassals scourges do redound,
The Iudge is cast the guilty to acquite,
The sunne defac'd to lend the starre his light,
The vine of life distilleth drops of grace,
Our rocke giues issue to an heauenly spring,
Tears from the eies, blood runnes from wounded place
Which showers to heauen, of ioy a haruest bring▪
This sacred dew let angels gather vp,
Such sacred drops best fit their nectared cup.
With weeping eies his mother rewd his smart,
If blood from him, teares came from her as fast,
The knife that cut his flesh did pierce his heart,
The paine that Iesus set did
Mary taste,
His life and hers hung by one fatall twist,
No blow that hit the sonne the mother mist.
The Epiphanie.
TO blaze the rising of this glorious sunne,
A glittering starre appeareth in the east,
Whose sight to pilgrims toile three sages wun
To seeke the light they long had in request:
And by this starre to nobler starre they pace,
Whose armes did their desired sinne imbrace:
Stall was the sky wherein those plannets shinde,
And want the cloud that did eclipse their raines,
Yet through this cloud their passage they did finde,
And pierc'd these sages hearts by secret waies,
Which made them know the ruler of the skies,
By infant tongue and lookes of babish eies,
Heauen at her light, earth blushes at her pride,
And of their pompe these peeres ashamed be,
Their crownes, their robes, their traines they set aside.
When Gods poore cottage, clouts, and crew they see,
All glorious things their glorie now despise,
Sith God Contempt doth more then glory praise,
Three gifts they bring, three gifts they beare away,
For incense mirre, and gold, faith, hope, and loue,
And with their gifts the giuers hearts do stay,
Their mind from Christ, no parting can remoue,
His humble state, his stall, his poore retinew
They fancy more then all their rich reuenew.
The Presentation.
TO be redeemed the worlds Redeemer brought
Two silly turtle doues for ransome paies,
O wares with empires worthy to be bought,
This casie rate doth sound, not drowne thy praise,
For sith no price can to thy worth amount,
A doue, yea loue, due price thou doest account,
Old
Simeon, cheape penny worth and sweete,
Obteind when thee in armes he did imbrace,
His weeping eies thy smiling lookes did meet,
Thy loue his heart, thy kisses blest his face,
O eies, O hart, meane sights and loues auoyde,
Base not your selues, your best you haue enioyde,
O virgin pure thou dost those doues present
As due to lawe, not as an equall price,
To buy such ware thou wouldst thy selfe haue spent,
The world to reach his worth could not suffice,
If God were to be bought, not worldly pelfe,
But thou wert fittest price next God himselfe.
The flight into Egypt.
ALas our day is forst to flie by night
Light without light, and sunne by silent shade,
O nature blush that suffrest such a wight,
That in thy sunne thy darke eclipse hast made,
Day to his eies, light to his steps denie,
That hates the light which graceth euery eie,
Sunne being fled the starres do loose their light,
And shining beames, in bloodie streames they drench▪
A cruell storme of
Herods mortall spight
Their liues and lights with bloody showers do quench
The tyrant to be sure of murdring one,
For feare of sparing him doth pardon none.
O blessed babes, first flowers of christian spring,
Who though vntimely cropt faire garlandes frame,
With open throats and silent mouthes you sing,
His praise whom age permits you not to name,
Your tunes are teares, your instruments are swords,
Your ditty death, and blood in hew of wordes.
Christs returne out of Egypt.
VVHen death and hell their right in
Herod claime,
Christ from exile returnes to natiue soile:
There, with his life more deepely death to maime
Then death did life by all the infantes spoile.
He shewed the parents that the babes did mone,
That all their liues were lesse then his alone.
But hearing
Herods sonne to haue the crowne,
The impious offspring of the bloudy sire,
To
Nazareth (of heauen beloued) towne,
Flowre to a flowre he fitly doth retire,
For he is a flower, and in a flower he bred,
And from a thorne now to a flowre he fled.
And well deserud this flower his fruit to view
Where hee inuested was in mortall weede,
Where first vnto a tender bud he grew
In virgin branch vnstaind with mortall seede.
Young flower, with flowers, in flower well may he be:
Ripe fruit he must with thornes hang on a tree.
Christes bloody sweat.
FAt soile, full spring, sweete oliue, grape of blisse,
That yeelds, that streams, that powers, that dost distil
Vntild, vndrawne, vnstampt, vntoucht of presse,
Deare fruit, cleare brookes, faire oile, sweete wine at will:
Thus Christ vnforst preuents in sheeding blood
The whips, the thornes, the naile, the speare, and roode.
He Pelicans, he Phenix fate doth proue,
Whom flames consume when streames enforce to die,
How burneth bloud, how bleedeth burning loue?
Can one in flame and streame both bath and frie?
How would he ioine a Phenix fiery paines
In fainting Pelicans still bleeding vaines?
Christs fleeping friends.
WHen Christ with care & pangs of death opprest
From frighted flesh a bloody sweate did raine,
And full of feare without repose or rest
In agony did watch and pray in vaine
Three sundrie times he his disciples findes
With heauie eies, but farre more heauie mindes,
With milde rebuke he warned them to wake:
Yet sleepe did still their drousie sences hold.
As when the sunne the brightest shew doth make
In darkest shrouds the night birds them infolde,
His foes did watch to worke their cruell spight,
His drousie friends slept in his hardest night.
As
Ionas sayled once from
Ioppaes shoare,
A boystrous tempest in the aire did broile,
The waues did rage, the thundring heauens did roare,
The stones, the rockes, the lightnings threatned spoile,
The shippe was billowes game, and chaunces pray,
Yet carelesse
Ionas mute and slumbring lay:
[Page 13] So now though
Iudas like a blustring gust,
Do stirre the furious sea of Iewish ire,
Though storming troopes in quarrels most vniust
Against the barke of all our blisse conspire,
Yet these disciples sleeping lie secure,
As though their wonted calmes did still endure.
Ionas once his heauie limmes to rest,
Did shrowd himselfe in iuy pleasant shade,
But lo, while him a heauy sleepe opprest,
His shadowy bowre, to withered stalke did fade,
A cankered worme did gnaw the root away,
And brought the glorious branches to decay▪
O gracious plant, O tree of heauenly spring,
The paragon for lease, for fruit and flower,
How sweete a shadow did thy branches bring
To shrowd these soules that chose thee for their bower,
But now while they with
Ionas fall asleepe,
To spoile their plant an enuious worme doth creepe.
Awake you slumbring wights, lift vp your eies,
Marke
Iudas how to teare your roote he striues,
Alas the glory of your arbor dies,
Arise and guard the comfort of your liues.
No
Ionas iuy, no
Zacheus tree,
Were to the world so great a losse as he.
The virgin Mary to Christ on the Crosse.
WHat mist hath dimd that glorious face, what seas of griefemy sun doth tosse?
The golden raies of heauenly grace lies now ecclipsed on the crosse.
Iesus my loue, my sonne, my God, behold thy mother washt in teares:
Thy bloody wounds be made a rod, to chasten these my latter yeares.
You cruel Iewes come worke your ire, vpon this worthlesse flesh of mine.
And kindle not eternall fire by wounding him which is diuine.
Thou messenger that didst impart, his first discent into my womb,
Come helpe me now to cleaue my heart, that there I may my sonne intombs.
You Angels all that present were, to shew his birth with harmony,
Why are you now not ready here, to make a mourning symphony.
The cause I know you waile alone, and shed your teares in secresie,
Lest I should moued be to mone, by force of heauie company.
But waile my soule, thy comfort aies, my wofull wombe lament thy fruit,
My heart giueteares vnto my eies, let sorrow string my heauy lute.
A holy Hymne.
PRaise, O Sion, praise thy Sauiour,
Praise thy Captaine and thy Pastour,
With hymnes and solemne harmony.
What power affords performe indeede,
His works all praises farre exceede:
No praise can reach his dignity.
A speciall theame of praise is read,
A liuing and a life giuing bread
Is on this day exhibited
Within the supper of our Lord,
To twelue disciples at his bord,
As doubtlesse twas deliuered.
Let our praise be lou'd and free,
Full of ioy and decent glee,
With mindes and voices melody.
For now solemnize we that day,
Which doth with ioy to vs display.
The priuy vse of this mistery
At this borde of our new ruler,
Of new Law, new pascall order.
[Page 16] The ancient rite abolisheth.
Old decrees by new annild,
Shadowes are in trueth fulfilld:
Day former darkenes finisheth,
That at supper Christ performed
To be done he straightly charged,
For his eternall memory.
Guided by his sacred orders
Bread and wine vpon our altars
To sauing host we sanctifie,
Christians are by faith assured,
That to flesh the bread is changed,
The wine to blood most precious,
That no wit nor sence conceiueth
Firme and grounded faith belieueth
In strange affects not curious.
Vnder kindes two in appearance
Two in shew bnt one in substance,
Be things beyond comparison:
Flesh is meat, blood drinke most heauenly:
Yet is Christ in each kinde wholy.
Most free from al diuision.
None that eateth him doth chew him,
None that takes him doth denie him
Receiued he whole perseuereth.
Be there one or thousands housoled.
[Page 17] One as much as all receiued,
He by no eating perisheth.
Both the good and bad receiue him,
But effects are diuers in them,
True life, or true destruction,
Life to the good, death to the wicked:
Marke how both alike receiued
With farre vnlike conclusion:
When the priest the hoast deuideth,
Know that each part abideth:
All that the whole hoast couered,
Forme of bread not Christ is broken,
Not of Christ but of his token
Is state or stature altered.
Angels bread made
Pilgrimes feeding,
Truely bread for childrens eating
To dogs not to be offered:
Signd by
Isacke on the alter
By the Lambe and paschall supper,
And in the manna figured.
Iesu food and feeder of vs,
Here with mercie feede and friend vs,
Then grant in heauen felicitie,
Lord of all whom here thou feedest,
Fellow heires, guests with thy dearest,
Make vs in heauenly company.
S. Peters afflicted minde.
IF that the sicke may grone,
Or Orphane mourne his losse:
If wounded wretch may rue his harmes▪
Or caitife shew his crosse:
If heart consumde with care
May vtter signes of paine,
Then may my brest be sorrowes home,
And tongue with cause complaine.
My maladie is sinne,
And langour of the minde,
My body but a lazars couch,
Wherein my soule is pinde.
The care of heauenly kinde
Is death to my reliefe,
Forlorne and left like Orphan child
With sighs I feede my griefe.
My wounds with mortall smart
My dying soule torment,
And prisoner to mine owne mishaps
My follies I repent,
My heart is but the haunt
Where all dislikes do keepe:
And who can blame so lost a wretch,
Though teares of blood he weepe.
S. Peters remorse.
REmorse vpbraids my faults,
Selfe blaming conscience cries,
Sinne claimes the hoast of humbled thoughts,
And streames of weeping eies▪
Let penance Lord preuaile,
Let sorrow sue release,
Let loue be vmpier in my cause,
And passe the doome of peace,
If doome go by desert,
My least desert is death,
That robs from soule immortall ioies,
From body mortall breath▪
But in so high a God,
So base a wormes annoy
Can adde no praise vnto thy power,
No blisse vnto thy ioy.
Well may I frie in flames
Due fuell to hell fire,
[Page 20] But on a wretch to wreake thy wrath
Can not be worth thine ire.
Yet sith so vile a woorme
Hath wrought his greatest spight,
Of highest treason well thou maist
In rigor him endite▪
But mercy may relent
And temper iustice rod:
For mercy doth as much belong
As iustice to a God.
If former time or place
More right to mercy winne,
Thou first wert author of my selfe,
The vmpier of my sinne.
Did mercie spin the thread
To weaue in Iustice loome,
Wert thou a father to conclude
With dreadfull Iudges doome?
It is a small reliefe
To say I was thy child,
If as an ill deseruing foe
From grace I am exilde.
I was, I had, I could,
All words importing want▪
They are but dust of dead supplies,
Where needefull helpes are scant.
[Page 21] Once to haue beene in blisse
That hardly can returne,
Doth but bewray from whence I fell,
And wherefore now I mourne.
All thoughts of passed hopes
Encrease my present crosse:
Like ruines of decaied ioies,
They still vpbraide my losse.
O milde and mightie Lord,
Amend that is amisse:
My sinne my soare, thy loue my salue,
Thy cure my comfort is.
Comfirme thy former deedes,
Reforme that is defilde:
I was, I am, I will remaine
Thy charge, thy choice, thy childe.
Man to the wound in Christs side.
O Pleasant port, O place of rest,
O royall rist, O worthy wound,
Come harbour me a wearie guest,
That in the world no case haue found,
I lie lamenting at thy gate,
Yet dare I not aduenture in:
I beare with me a troublous mate,
And cumbred am, with heape of sinne▪
Discharge me of this heauie load,
That easier passage I may finde.
Within this bowre to make aboade,
And in this glorious tombe be shrin'd▪
Here must I liue, here must I die,
Here would I vtter all my griefe:
Heere would I all those paines discrie,
Which heere did meete for my releefe
Here would I view the bloudy sore,
Which dint of spitefull speare did breed,
[Page 23] The bloody wounds laid there in store
Would force a stony heart to bleede.
Heere is the spring of trickling teares,
The mirror of all mourning wights,
With dolefull tunes, for dumpish cares
And solemne shewes for sorrowed sights.
O happie soule that flies so hie,
As to attaine this sacred caue:
Lord send me wings that I may flie,
And in this harbour quiet haue.
Vpon the Image of death.
BEfore my face the picture hangs,
That daily should put me in mind
Of those cold names and bitter pangs,
That shortly I am like to finde:
But yet alas full little I
Do thinke hereon that I must die.
I often looke vpon a face
Most vgly, grisly, bare and thinne,
I often view the hollow place,
Where eies, and nose, haue sometimes bin
I see the bones acrosse that lie:
Yet little thinke that I must die.
I reade the Labell vnderneath
That telleth me whereto I must,
I see the sentence eake that saith,
Remember man that thou art dust:
But yet alas but seldome I
Do thinke indeede that I must die.
[Page 25] Continually at my beds head,
A hearse doth hang which doth me tel,
That I yer morning may be dead,
Though now I feele my selfe full well:
But now alas, for all this I
Haue little mind that I must die.
The gowne which I do vse to weare,
The knife wherewith I cut my meate,
And eke that old and ancient chaire,
Which is my onely vsuall seate:
All those do tell me I must die,
And yet my life amend not I.
My ancestors are turnd to clay,
And many of my mates are gone,
My yongers dayly drop away,
And can I thinke to scape alone?
No, no, I know that I must die▪
And yet my life amend not I▪
Not
Salomon for all his wits,
Nor
Sampson though he were so strong,
No king nor euer person yet
Could scape, but death laid him along:
Wherefore I know that I must die?
And yet my life amend not I.
Though all the East did quake to heare,
Of
Alexanders dreadfull name,
[Page 26] And all the West did likewise feare.
To heare of
Iulius Cesars fame,
Yet both by death in dust now lie,
Who then can scape but he must die:
If none can scape deaths dreadfull dart,
If rich and poore his becke obey,
If strong, if wise, if all do smart,
Then I to scape shall haue no way.
Oh grant me grace O God that I,
My life may mend sith I must die.
A vale of teares.
AVale there is enwrapt with dreadful shades,
Which thicke of mourning pines shrouds from the sunne
Where hanging clifts yeld short & dumpish glades,
And snowie flouds with broken streames doe runne,
Where eie-roume is from rocke to cloudie skie,
From thence to dales which stormie ruines shroud,
Then to the crushed waters frothie frie,
Which tumbleth from the tops where snow is thow'd:
Where eares of other sound can haue no choice,
But various blustring of the stubburne winde
In trees, in caues, in straits with diuers noise,
Which now doth hisse, now howle, now roare by kinde:
Where waters wrastle with encountering stones,
That breake their streames and turne them into foame,
The hollow clouds ful fraught with thundering groans,
With hideous thumps discharge their pregnant wombe.
And in the horror of this fearefull quier,
Consists the musicke of this dolefull place.
[Page 28] All pleasant birds their tunes from thence retire,
Where none but heauie notes haue any grace.
Resort there is of none but pilgrim wights,
That passe with trembling foot and panting heart,
With terrour cast in cold and shuddring frights,
And all the place to terrour framde by art:
Yet natures worke it is of arte vntoucht,
So strait indeede, so vast vnto the eie,
With such disordred order strangely coucht,
And so with pleasing horror low and hie.
That who it viewes must needes remaine agast,
Much at the worke, more at the makers might,
And muse how Nature such a plot could cast,
Where nothing seemed wrong, yet nothing right:
A place for mated minds, and onely bower,
Where euerie thing doth sooth a dumpish mood.
Earth lics forlorne, the cloudie skie doth lower,
The wind here weepes, her sighs, her cries aloude.
The strugling floud betweene the marble grones,
Then roring beates vpon the craggie sides,
A little off amidst the pibble stones,
With bubling streames a purling noise it glides:
The pines thicke set, hie growne, and euer greene,
Stil cloathe the place with shade and mourning vaile.
Here gaping cliffes, there mosse growne plaine is seene,
Here hope doth spring, and there againe doth quaile.
[Page 29] Huge massie stones that hang by tickle stay,
Still threaten foule, and seeme to hang in feare,
Some withered trees ashamde of their decay,
Be set with greene, and forcde gray coats to weare.
Here christall springs crept out of secret vaine,
Strait finde some enuious hole that hides their graine.
Here seared tufts lament the wants of grace,
There thunder wracke giues terror to the place.
All pangs and heauie passions here may find
A thousand motiues suitly to their griefes,
To feede the sorrowes of their troubled mind,
And chase away dame pleasures vaine reliefes.
To plaining thoughts this vaile a rest may bee,
To which from wordly toyes they may retire.
Where sorrow springs from water, stone and tree,
Where euerie thing with mourners doth conspire.
Sit here my soule mourne teares afloate,
Here all thy sinfull foiles alone recount,
Of solemne tunes make thou the dolefulst note,
That to thy ditties dolor may amount,
When
Eccho doth repeat thy painfull cries,
Thinke that the verie stones thy sinnes bewray,
And now accuse thee with their sad replies,
As heauen and earth shall in the latter day,
Let former faults be fuell of the fire,
For griefe the Limbecke of thy heart to still.
[Page 30] Thy pensiue thoughts, and dumps of thy desire,
And vapoure teares vp to thy eyes at will.
Let teares to tunes, and pains to plaints be prest,
And let this be the burthen to thy song,
Come deepe remorse, possesse my sinfull brest:
Delights adue I harbourd you too long.
The prodigall childs soule wracke.
DIsankered srom a blisfull shore, and lancht into the meane of cares
Grown rich in vice, in vertue poore, from freedom faln in fatal snares
I found my selfe on euerie side enwrapped in the waues of wo,
And tossed with a toile some tide, could to no port for refuge go.
The wrastling wind with raging blasts still hold me in a cruel chace.
They breake my anchors, saile, and masts, permitting no reposing place.
The boistrous seas with swelling flouds, on every side did work their spight
Heauen ouercast with stormie clouds, denide the Planets guiding light.
The hellish furies lay in wait, to winne my soule into their power,
To make me bite at euery bait, wherein my bane I might deuoure.
Thus heauen and hel, thus sea land, thus storms aud tēpests did conspire
With iust reuenge of scourging hand, to witnes Gods deserued ire,
I plunged in this heauie plight, found in my faults iust cause to feare:
My darkenesse taught to know my light, the losse whereof enforced teares.
I felt my inward bleeding sores, my festred wounds began to smart▪
Stept far within deaths fatal doores, the pangs wherof were nere my hart
I cried truce, I craued peace, a league with death I would conclude,
But vaine it was to sue release, subdue I must or be subdude.
[Page 31] Death deceit had pitcht their snares & put their wonted proofes in vre
To sinke me in dispairing cares, or make me stoupe to pleasures lure:
They fought by their bewitching charmes, so to enchant my erring sense,
That when they sought my greatest harmes, I might neglect my best defence.
My dazled eies could take no view, no heede of their receiuing shifts,
So often did they alter hew, and practise new deuised drifts:
With sirens song they fed mine eares, till luld a sleepe on errors lap,
I found their tunes turnd into teares, and short delights to long mishap.
For I inticed to their lore, and soothed with their idle toies
Was trained to their prison doore, the end of all such flying ioies:
Where chainde in sinne I lay in thrall, next to the dungeon of dispaire,
Till mercie raisde me from my fall, and grace my ruine did repaire.
Mans ciuill warre.
MY houering thoughts would flie to heauen, and quiet nestle in the skie,
Faine would my ship in virtues shore without remoue at anchor lie:
But mounted thoughts are hailed down with heauie poise of mortal load,
And blustring stormes denie my ship, in vertues hauen sure abode.
When inward eie to heauenly sights doth draw my longing hearts desire,
The world with lesses of delights, would to her pearch my thoughts retire,
Fond fancie traines to pleasures lure, though reason stiffely do repine.
Thogh wisedom woo me to the saint, yet sense would win me to the shrine,
Where reason loathes, there fancie loues, and euer rules the captiue wil
Foes senses; and to vertues lore, they draw the wit their wish to fill.
[Page 32] Neede craues consent of soule to sence, yet diuers bents breed ciuil fray,
Hard hap where halues must disagree, or trust of halues the hole betray,
O cruel fight where fighting frend with loue doth kil a fauouring foe,
Where peace with sense is warre with God and selfdelight the seed of wo.
Dame pleasures drugges are steept in sin, their sugred tast doth breed anoy,
O fickle sense beware her ginne, sell not thy soule for brittle toy.
Seeke flowers of heauen.
SOare vp my soule vnto thy rest, cast off this loathsome lode:
Long is the date of thy exile, too long the strickt abode,
Graze not on worldly withered weede, it fitteth not thy taste,
The flowers of euerlasting spring, do grow for thy repaste.
Their leaues are staind in beauties die, and blazed with their beames,
Their stalks inameld with delight, and limbde with glorious gleames.
Life giuing iuice of liuing loue their sugred vaines doth fill,
And watred with euerlasting showers▪ they nectared drops distill.
These flowers do spring from fertile soile, though from vnmanurde field,
Most glittering gold in lieu of glebe these fragrant flowers do yeeld:
Whose soueraigne sent surpassing sense, so rauisheth the minde,
That worldly weedes needes must he loath, that can these flowers find.
FINIS.