Classic Poem

F AIRE in a plot of earthly paradise,
Vpon a hill, the Muses made a Maze:
In midst whereof within a Phœnix eies,
There sits a grace that hath the world at gase:
Which Phœnix is but name vnto a nature
That shows the world hath scarcely such a creature:

This true loues saint, by worthy beauty crowned.
Did seeme to wish but not expresse her will:
When straunge desires were in deuises drowned
To finde out wonders farthest from her wil:
The worlde came in, with presents many a one
But yet alas, her loue could like of none.

Cleare was the day when Phœbus shonne ful bright
But her hartes eie did higher light aspire:
Aprill, brought in both earth and aires delight.
But earth nor aire, could answere her desire:
Fortune? shee skornde: friendes? who durst be a foe?
Seruants? a worlde would serue her will or no.

Welth, was but trash, and health was natures ioie
Honour, a Title, beauty, but a blast:
Power but a trouble, pleasure but a toie
Youth, but a time to quickely ouerpast:
Learning, alas, it liueth in her schoole,
Wisedome, her will knowes worldly wit a foole.

Yet still she wisht, but saide not what shee woulde
When still the worlde, did worke, but still in vaine:
Care with conceite, did all the best he coulde,
Brought in his giftes, but bare them backe againe:
When welth helth, beauty, honor, power nor ease
Wit youth nor learning could her humor please.

Some brought in pearles, most orient to beholde,
Shee knew them pearles, and so did shee regarde them:
Some brought in gemmes, of diamondes set in golde
She knew their worth and so did she rewarde them.
Some brought in workes, of weomans rare deuises,
She knew their paines, and so did giue the prices.

Some brought in musicke of most siluer sounde,
Which all woulde cease, if shee but tucht a string;
Some brought in first the fairest flowers they founde
Shee tooke them as the comforts of the Spring:
Some brought in this and some woulde bringe in that
But yet her wish was still shee knewe not what.

The souldiers came, and brought in all their armes,
Shee smilde to see how beauty made a peace:
The pesants came, and offred vp their farmes
But, shee saide loue did neuer make a lease:
The merchants, came with all their mony treasure
Shee put it off, it did her minde no pleasure.

The lawiers came, and laide downe all their bookes,
Shee knew, that truth was all in yea and no:
The courtiers came with all their lofty lookes,
But when she lookt she made them curtzy low:
The scholars came and brought in all their artes,
Shee knew their practise ere they learned their partes.

The sailers brought their rubies from the rockes.
But, of such toies, her treasure was to full:
The shepards brought the fairest of their flockes,
But shee coulde weare no cloth was made of woll:
Thus euery one did bring in what they coulde,
Yet still she wisht but knew not what shee woulde.

The poets came, and brought in their inuentions,
But well shee knew their fancies were but fained:
The muses brought the truth of their intentions,
Which in their kindes were kindely entertained:
But yet the best, with all her worthines
Toucht not the humor of her happines.

But when the world could not come neare her wish
And saw in vaine it was, her will to seeke:
The earth coulde yeelde no fruite, the sea no fishe,
That coulde be founde, that might her fancy leeke:
Some with a sigh, other with pitteous mone
All went awaie, and left her all alone.

Now when she saw the worlde was gone indeede
Her selfe alone saue but my selfe vnseene:
Oh Loue quod she, this world is but a weede
Who liues on earth, that in the heauens hath beene?
Thou knowest I know the world did know thee neuer.
But I do know, heauens know thou knowest the euer.

Thou art a name that nature neuer knew,
Thou art a knowledge for the earth too high
Thou art the triall of affection true,
Thou art the truth, that cannot make a lie,
Thou art the sweete, that cannot be conceiued.
Thou art the hope that neuer harte deceiued

The Diamond is to thee but dimmèd glasse,
Gold is but drosse, pearles are but fishes eies:
The wisest head, to thee is but an Asse,
What life so proud? but in thy presence dies:
Thou art the Beauty that can neuer fade:
Thou art the sunne what euer be the shade.

Thou leadest the eie vnto his harts delight,
Thou leadest the hart vnto his soules desire,
Thou leadest the soule vnto that liuing light.
Which shewes the heauen wher hope can go no higher:
Thou art the height aboue all heights so high.
As gittes the life where loue can neuer die.

And since I see, such is thy sacred Essence.
As giues the being to each secret blisse:
And vertue hath her highest excellence
In but performing what thy pleasure is:
Some heauenly Muse, let my poore spirit moue
To make the world to wonder at my loue.

Thy face my Loue is fairer then the sunne:
Thy beauty sweete, is brighter then the daie:
Thy shining light before the world begunne,
And cannot fade, though al the world decay:
Where wisedome findes, in state of vertues story.
The grace of Beauty hath her brightest glory.

Thy wisedome doth all wonder comprehend
Thy valure is aboue all power victorious,
Without beginning, and can neuer ende.
Thy vertue is in heauen and earth al glorious:
Thy prayses are aboue all praise raysèd,
Where mercy is in highest glory praysèd.

Health is no health, but in thy happy hand,
Life is but death, that thy loue doth not cherish
Earth hath no fruit except thou blesse the land,
Thoughts prosper not wher thou wilt haue them perish
Power, is no power, but where thou doest assist,
Downe goes the world that doth thy will resist.

Thy wil, sweete loue, is but the summe of wel
Thy well, is well, wel, better, and the best:
That with thy loue, thy liuing soules may dwell.
Safe in the hope of their eternal rest;
Thy rest the ioie, the soule cannot conceiue,
Thy soules, the Saintes, thy Mercy doth receiue.

Thy comfort is the tuchstone of true kindenes,
Thy kindenesse is the very life of loue:
Thy loue is light, all other light but blindenesse
Thy light is life that death can neuer proue:
Thy death, was life, thy life is ioie for euer,
Vnto the soules, that loue and leaue thee neuer.

What was? or is? or on the earth shall be,
But that thou knowst, and knowst al what they are
And that they haue, their beeing but in thee,
Made by thy hande, and gouernd by thy care:
Which thou dost prosper comfort, or defende
And when thou wilt, shal wholy make an ende.

Grast is the king whom thou dost only crowne
And wise the wit that only knowes thy wil
Happy the State, where, thou dost blesse the towne
And blest, the hart, that thou dost keepe from ill:
But yet the soule, doth in her faith approue
The life, the life is onely in thy loue.

Shall I describe thy sweete and glorious seate?
But, as thou art vnto thy seruants seene
Or shall my spirite humbly else entreate?
Some Angels help, that in the heauens hath beene?
That to the world such glory may vnfolde.
Or sale it is too glorious to beholde.

Thy throne is Iudgement Iustice is thy sworde
Mercy and Truth are still before thy face:
Loue, is thy law and Wisedome is thy worde:
Vertue thy loue, and Bounty is thy grace:
Pitty thy state, where patience is the story
Grace is thy gift and Mercy is thy glory.

Thus in the seate of sacred excellence,
With Virgins, Saints, and Angels all attended
Dost thou possesse that princely residence:
Till Iudgement passe and Ioies be neuer ended,
When all the host of heauen and heauens doth sing
An Alleluia to their beauenly king.

Where trembling Ioyes distill the teares of loue,
And louing feare doeth bring forth blushing faces
And blushing faces, in their faith approue,
Vnworthy creatures, to behold their graces.
Which graces doe this glorious musicke moue.
The life of life is in thy heauenly loue.

Now for thy loue, it cannot turne to hate,
Thou hatest the life, that once doth alter loue:
It is the staie of an eternall state,
A mansion house, that neuer can remoue:
Which, on the rocke of true Religion standes
And neuer feares the seas of errors sandes.

Now, thy Religion is the rule of life,
Whose chiefest blessing is the ioie of peace:
Where loue cuts of the cause of euery strife,
And sweete accord, doth bring out loues encrease:
And loues encrease is such a ioie to see
As bring the soule vnto his life in thee.

Alas, alas, all treasure is but trashe,
Where loue is banisht by the state of strife:
The sweetest wine is but as swinish wash
Vnto the water, of the well of life:
No, no, the pleasures, that the world can proue
Are all but sorrowes to thy heaunly loue.

But, let me see what fruite, thy fauour yeeldes
Or in thy loue, what happy life is founde.
When sea, and lande, hils, dales, and fairest fieldes
Doe all, but in thy blessed giftes abounde:
Besides the peace, wherewith the hart is blest
To bring the soule to thy eternall rest.

Thou dost not ioie to see a sinners death,
But true repentaunce pleaseth thee farre better:
Yea, thou wilt helpe at latest gaspe of breath,
To make the soule confesse it selfe thy debter:
And where the soule, such comforts doth approue
Can there be thought a comfort like thy loue?

No, no, this worlde is full of wanton toies,
Which oft keepes backe the comfort of thy care:
And many waies doth worke the harts anoies,
When fortunes hope doth proue but heauy fare:
Oh heauens, who knew but halfe thy blessednes,
Woulde hate the worlde with all his wretchednes.

Where shew of faith doth shape but falshods cloke
When fancies teares, proue drops of fonde desire:
Where free conceites, will yeeld to kindenes yoke
When sorrow paies repentance for their hire;
While in thy loue maie liuing faith vnfolde,
Hart may her hope hope may her heauen beholde.

What shadowes here doe ouershroude the eie?
While Masking thoughts doe March before the winde:
Where loues conceite, doth but illusion trie.
When careles wit becometh the wilfull blinde.
And Nature findes herselfe still misconceiued.
Where forme for matter hath the soule deceiued.

Where night for daie, for light is darkenes taken
Treason for truth, and hate indeede for loue,
Where death is followed, and the life forsaken,
While ioies mistaken, doe but sorrowes proue:
When in thy loue this life is sweete set downe
The faithfull soule receiues a roìall crowne.

The swanne is white, but whiter is the snow,
The daie is bright, but brighter is the sunne,
But he that coulde but thy loues lustre know.
And where the fire of phebus first begunne,
Woulde saie, to see thy sweet loues shining brightnes.
The sunne hath lost his light, the snow his whitenes.

Fooles, of the earth (alas) could neuer know thee
And thou dost know, the wisest are but fooles:
Thy glorious workes doe in such wonder, show thee
That greatest powers, are plashes to thy pooles:
Height depth, length, breedth, are in thy loue declared
Yet are they nothing to thy loue compared.

Aboue all height, thy loue doeth liue on high,
And who can sounde the depth of thy loues treasure?
Or limit out the length of thy loues eie,
Which heauen and earth doth in thy mercy measure:
No, let all height, depth, length, and bredth confesse
Thy loue is blessèd in all blessednes.

Thy loue giues light, vnto the inwarde eie
Thy loue giues life, vnto the dying hart:
Thou giu'st the comforte, that can neuer die,
Thou giu'st the comfort that can neuer part:
Thou giu'st, but all, that all in all doth proue
All, all, in all, is onely in thy loue.

But, what shoulde I? shall I? or can I giue?
To thee: for all, that thou hast giuen to me:
Whe, by thy loue, my soule doth only loue
And hath her being wholy but in thee:
Nothing I haue, but, if that ought be mine
All doe I giue vnto that loue of thine.

And though my sinnes, haue bard me of thy blessing
By great offences to thy grace diuine,
Yet let my soule, with humble harts confessing
Purchase againe, that gratious loue of thine:
And, let my teares vnto such pitty moue thee,
That I may know, that thou dost know I loue thee.

And while my soule doth to thine honor sing
The heauenly praises of thy holy name,
Oh, let the sounde throughout the world so ring,
That, olde and young, male ioie to heare the same:
And on our knees, al humbly fall before thee,
With hart and minde and soule for to adore thee.

Not that my wits can touch the smallest worth
Of that high wonder worthines of thine:
For, from a sinner, what can issue forth?
And who more sinner then this soule of mine?
Which doth with teares of true repentance moue
Thy gratious helpe to glorifie thy loue.

For, as vnto the sea, a water droppe,
And to the sandes, a little pibble stone.
And as a corne, vnto a haruest croppe,
And vnto infinite the number one:
So are my Muses in their Musicke short
Thy kingly prayse of prayses to report.

But, as a scholer that doth goe to schoole.
To make a letter, ere he learne to write,
And as the wit, that knowes it selfe a foole.
Till higher wisedome teach it to endite:
So let my soule in her submission proue
Hate of the world and honour of thy loue.

For what is heere that can content the hart?
That knowes content, or what it doth containe:
What thought so sweete but brings as sowre a smart
Or pleasure such? but breedes a further paine:
What thing so good? but proues in fine so euil,
As, but for God woulde beare men to the deuill.

What is the Earth? the labour of our life
What is the sea? a gulfe of griezy lakes:
What is the aire? a stuffe of filthy strife,
What is the fire? the spoile of what it takes:
When these are al, whence euery thing doth springe.
What is the worlde? but euen a woful thing.

What thing is man? a clodde of miry claie
Slime of the Earth, a slaue to filthie sinne:
Springes like a weede and so doth weare-awaie.
Goes to the earth, where first he did beginne:
Oh heauens thinke I, when man is wholy such,
What is in man? that man shoulde loue so much.

What hath the worlde to leade the minde to loue?
In true effect, a fardel ful of toies:
Where, wey the pith, what euery one doth proue
The perfectst gems are most vnperfect ioies:
Consider al what fansie bringeth forth,
The best conceite will fal out nothing worth.

What worldely thinges doe follow fansie most?
Welth beutie loue fine diet honor fame:
What findes affect? both loue and labour lost,
Disdaine, disease, dishonor, death, and shame:
Where care, and sorrow, death, and deadly strife.
Doe rule the rost in this accursèd life.

What thing is Beauty? colour quickely gon,
And what is wealth? when riches fal to rust:
What thing is loue? a toy to thinke vpon
Fine diet? drosse, to feede a filthy lust.
What worldly honour? oft vnworthy praise,
What ease? the cause whereby the life decaies.

What is disdaine, the skorne of proud conceit
And what disease? the death of discontent:
Dishonour next? the fruite of foule deceite
And what is death? but ende of ill intent:
Now what is shame? a shamefull thing to tell
And thus the world but euen the way to hell.

For beasts and birds, for fishes, flowers and trees,
And al such things created for our vse:
What thing is man? to take such things as theese
By want of grace, to turne vnto abuse:
Oh wretched world, when man that should be best
In beastly things proues worse then al the rest.

But when I see the wretched state of man.
And al the world at such a woful passe:
That since the course of humane care began.
More ful of wo, good nature neuer was.
When this my soule doth with her sorrow see,
Lord saies my Loue that I might liue with thee.

And leauing so the world with all his woes,
And looking vp to heauen and heauenly ioies.
And to the grace where vertues glory goes,
Noting the life, that neuer loue anoies:
When in my soule, I doe this sweetnes proue,
Lord saies my soule, how sweet art thou my loue.

I see the sunne, the beauty of the skie.
The moone and stars, the candles of the night:
They haue their essence in thy heauenly eie,
That blindes the proude, and giues the humble light:
I see the raine-bow, bended by thy hand,
That doth both heauen earth sea and heauen command.

Thou gauest the sunne, the moone and stars a course
Which they obserue according to thy will:
Thou makest the tides to take their due recourse
And setst the Earth, where it doth settle stil.
Thou framdst the substance of each Element
And settst thy foote vpon the firmament.

Thus dost thou sitte in glory of thy throne,
With al the hoast of highest heauens attended:
Who, in thine ire, hast kingdoms ouerthrowen
And in thy loue hast little things defended:
Whose glory more then may by man be knowen
And glory most is in thy mercy showen.

Thus thou dost sit in honor of thy power
Calling the poore vnto thy rich reliefe,
Sowing the sweete, that killeth euery sower
Giuing the salue that healeth euery griefe:
Making them liue, that long were dead before
And liuing so, that they can die no more.

Thou madst the worlde and what it doth containe
Onely but man, thou madst vnto thy loue:
And mans good will was thy desirèd gaine,
Till proude attempt did high displeasure moue:
Thou plagst his pride yet when thou sawst his paine
Thou gau'st the salue that heald the wound againe.

Vngratefull man, whom thou didst onely make
In loue to loue, and with thy loue prescruest
And for his loue, enduredst for his sake,
Such death of life as dearest loue deseruest:
What cursèd hart woulde to displeasure moue thee.
That giuing all askes nothing but to loue thee.

Oh loue, sweete loue, oh high and heauenly loue.
The onely line, that leades to happy life:
Oh loue, that liu'st, for louing harts behoue
And makst an ende of euery hatefull strife:
Happy are they that kindely can attaine thee,
And how accurst that dare but to disdaine thee.

Thy loue was cause, that first we were created.
Loue is the life, that thou wilt haue vs leade:
Loue is the cause, we neuer can be hated
Loue is our life, when other life is dead:
Loue is thy grace, that highest good doth giue
Loue me then lorde and I shall euer liue.

And with that worde proceeding from her hart
The trickeling teares distillèd downe her eies:
As if her sence possest in euery part.
A secret ioie that did the soule suprise:
When lifting vp her handes, oh loue quod shee,
My soule is sicke she can not be with thee.

And from the mercy of thy maiesty,
Beholde the sorrowes of my wounded soule:
Let pitties care of loues calamitie,
My ruthfull teares, thy register enrowle:
And thinke vpon the passions that I approue
For, truely lorde my soule is sicke of loue.

And sicke it is, and so well maie it bee,
A sweeter sickenes then a worldly health:
A healthfull sickenes, to be sicke for thee,
Where Natures want doth proue the spirits wealth:
While hart hath set her highest happines.
But to beholde thee in thy holines.

But, I am sicke, and sicke, in euery vaine,
Sicke to the death, but not to die to thee:
For why thy loue assures me life againe,
And there to liue where death can neuer be:
Oh sweetest sicknes, where the soule may see
The way through death to come to liue with thee.

To liue with thee, oh cuerliuing loue,
Oh let me die, that I may liue no more.
Till in thy loue, I may the life approue,
That may confesse I neuer liu de before:
Life is but death where thy loue shineth neuer
Onely thy loue is happy life for euer.

My sinnes my sinnes with sorrow and with shame
Of faultes and follies couered haue my face:
Death is my due, I haue deseru'd the same
Wo to the hart, in such vnhappy case:
But if repentance mercy may obtaine,
Looke on me loue and I am well againe.

Vnhappy hart that euer thee offended,
Vnworthy eies, thy blessings to beholde:
Vncarefull eare, that euer tale attended.
But to the truth that hath thy mercy tolde:
Vnfaithful soule that euer thought did moue
From euerliuing with thine onely loue.

But, now the hart is dead to worldes delight,
And eies in teares, pronounce repentance truth:
The care is deafe vntill the hart be right.
To see the life, that of thy loue ensueth:
The faithfull soule of pleasure is depriued
Dead, till her life be by thy loue reuiued.

Nor, let me tempt that truest loue of thine
To hasten time beyonde thy holy will:
But only looke, vpon this soule of mine
That in thy loue may be her liuing still:
Till shee may heare this ioifull sounde of thee
Come away loue and euer liue with me.

But, yet my loue, me seems I see thee looke,
As though my soule had thee displeasèd sore.
But, hath my loue so high displeasure tooke?
That he will looke vpon my loue no more:
Oh, yes, my loue will not be angry euer,
And where he loues he will be angry neuer.

Then, though thou chide, yet be not angry loue
But in thy kindenes giue thy sweete correction
That humble hart maie in repentance proue
The dearest passage of thy loues direction:
Whose blessed ende may in this only be
To liue to die to die to liue to thee.

To liue to thee, in thee, and but with thee
My dearest life, and onely truest loue:
Where heauen and earth doe all the comfort see
That faithfull passions in the soule may proue:
Come lambe, come loue, come ly betwixt my brests
Where zealous loue and true repentance rests.

Some say sweete loue, there is a Phœnix birde
Of which there was, is, nor will be but one:
Which Phœnix sure, I thinke is but a worde
For such a birde I thinke is surely none:
But that it doeth, in figure onelie tuch,
Some heauenly thing; ou earth was neuer such.

For why the birde, is saied to bee alone
And thou didst male, and femall all create:
And as for birdes were neuer two in one
That euer trueth in reason did relate:
No, no, the figure surely doeth intende,
More then the world can easily comprehend.

They saie she hath a kinde of fiery vaine.
For that she liues and dies but in the sunne
Consumes with heat, and so reuiues againe,
But, by the heate, whereby her death begunne:
Which strage conceit makes me coiecture this
Some high construction of the figure is.

And high it is, that to the heauens doth reach
And heauen it is, that such a reach intendeth
And high intent, doeth such a reason teach
That onely faith this figure comprehendeth:
When in thy passion patience doth approue
The rising life of euerliuing loue.

For by the sunne is surely vertue ment,
Which doth enflame the soule with sacred loue:
The flying high, the faithfull hearts intent
Where loue must worke but for the liues behoue:
The ashes, are olde Adam, dead and gon,
The new life Christ thy loue anew put on.

And didst thou die, to compasse thy desire?
And thy desire, but to preserue thy loue?
And, could in thee, loue, kindle such a fier?
To leaue thy life? thy constant loue to proue?
Then of thy loue, let this the figure be
If euer there were Phœnix thou art he.

And since thou didst, that sweete example giue
By thine owne death to show thy dearest loue:
That we might learne the onely way to liue
Is, by thy crosses comforts to approue:
Oh let my soule beseech her sacred rest
But in the ashes of the Phœnix nest.

Me thinkes, I see, that glorius seate of thine
Whereto thy Saints and Angels al assemble
And in the presence of thy power diuine,
With ioifull feare, how euen the highest tremble:
And when those spirits, doe such passions proue
Shall I presume to think vpon thy loue?

Oh sweetest loue, that carries such a force
As keepes the hart of humble hope in awe:
And sweete againe, that caries such remorse
As hath cut off, the curses of the lawe:
And sweetest yit, that in the soule doth proue
There is no sweete indeede but in thy loue.

Which feeds the hugry with a heauenly bread
And cooles the thirsty from the liuing Rocke,
Which heales the sicke, giues life vnto the dead
And wakes the careful, with the morning cocke:
Which breedes the peace, that stinteth euery strife
And giues the fountaine of the well of life.

It is the key that opes the doore of grace,
Vnto the care that thou hast constant proued
And shewes the fauour of thy shining face
Vnto the blessed of thy deare beloued:
It is in summe, the infinite sweete pleasure,
Of tried faith and true Repentance treasure.

Oh ioy of ioies, what hart can comprehend thee?
Oh sweete of sweets, what sence that can coceiue thee?
Blest be the harts that truly doe attend thee,
And ten times blest that in their soules receiue thee:
And fairely blest whom thou hast faithful proued
But chiefly blest whom thou hast chiefly loued.

Me thinkes I see, how sweetly thou dost ride
Aboue the heauens, vpon the Cherubs high
With all thine angels set on euery side,
With all the sound of sweetest harmony:
Where all and some, their sweetest notes do frame
To sing the praises of thy holy name.

Me thinkes I see the holy Martyrs crowned,
On huble knees cast down their crowns before thee:
And cry alowd, be thou alone renowned
Let heauen and earth, and all the world adore thee.
When, my poore soule, with sinne oppressèd sore.
Can say Amen yet, though it say no more.

Oh that my soule could see that sacred light.
That might but leade me to thy holy will,
And learne the rule that keepes the soule aright
In perfect faith thy precepts to fulfill:
And might so neere vnto thy hand abide,
As from thy loue might neuer steppe aside.

But, what am I? a worme and wretched thing
Vnworthy creature, made of earth and claie:
Once to presume to speak vnto my King,
On whom the state of highest heauens doth staie:
Let no presumption thy displeasure moue
But in thy pitty looke vpon my Ioue.

For I am sicke, oh Sauiour sende me health,
My hart is hurt, come heale my deadly wounde:
And I am poore relieue me with thy wealth.
Yea, I am dead, oh raise me from the grounde:
My health, my wealth my only resurrection,
Let my soule liue but in thy loues perfection.

Beholde the teares of my repentaunt truth,
And wey my sorrowes, by my sighing sobbes:
And in the rule but of thy heauenly ruth,
Feele my poore hart, in horror how it throbbes:
And when thou seest my soule thus wo begun her.
In thy sweete mercy sweet loue looke vpon her.

And from the dew of thy deare blessed loue
Let fall one droppe vpon my drièd hart:
Wherein my soule such comfort may approue
As may asswage the rigour of my smart:
And being so by thy sweete hand relieued.
Male so reioice, as neuer more be grieued.

Lorde who dare looke against thy liuing power?
Or what doth liue? but onely in thy loue:
The sweete of sweets where there was neuer sower
But ioies of ioies, that can no sorrow proue:
Oh purest proofe, of loue and lifes perfection
Blest be the soule, that liues by thy direction.

But my heart pantes, my soule doth quake for feare
And sorrowes paine possesseth euery part:
My heape of sinnes, to heuy for to beare
Presse downe desire with terror of desart:
And in great dread of deepe dispaire doth crie
Grace giue me life for in my sinnes I die.

For still the flesh is subiect to offende,
While yet the spirit, groneth for thy grace:
But thou hast power the weakest to defende
That vnto thee, reueale their heauy case:
Then from that hande, and mighty arme of thine,
Strengthen, this weake and wounded soule of mine.

Thou that hast saide prowde Esaw was thy hate
And humble Iacob, was thy chosen loue:
That doth the power of worldly pride abate,
And workst the heauen of humble hartes behoue:
Make Esawes life with Iacobs loue agree:
Or kill the flesh, the soule maie liue with thee.

And from despaire, that poisned sting of death
Deliuer Lorde, the sorrowes of desire:
And at the latest houre, and gaspe of breath
Let humble hart, the hope of heauen aspire:
Where faithfull soules maie in thy fauour see
That onely loue doth onely liue in thee.

What booteth me the worlde for to possesse
And want the iewell of my heauenly ioie:
What earths delight? but is to me distresse,
When natures health, doth proue the soules anoye:
No, my sweete loue, let this poore soule of mine,
Neuer haue life but in that loue of thine.

One precious droppe of thy pure oill of grace,
Power downe, sweete loue into my wounded hart
And to my faith, to turne thy louing face
That from thy fauour I maie neuer part:
Looke on thy Mary with her bitter teares,
That washt thy feete and wipte them with her heares.

The greater depts forgiuen the greater loue
Thy worde hath saide, and it saies euer true:
When patience life, in pitties loue doth proue
In greatest mercy, greatest glory grue:
Where one mans sinne procurèd all mens paine
And one mans grace, gaue all men life againe.

Oh high creator of all creatures liuing,
Who nothing wantst that all thinges dost possesse:
What hath the world that may be worth the giuing
Vnto the honor of thy holines:
But onely thankes, that thy true spirit moueth
In that true hart that thy true mercy Ioueth.

But still I see my loue is sore displeasde
And tels me of my great vngratefulnes,
When so my soule, with sorrow is diseasde,
As in my hart, findes nought but hatefulnes:
And with the teares of true repentance crieth
Lorde saue the life that in thy mercy lieth.

For, thou art loue, the euerliuing God,
And onely God and onely of the liuing,
Who, though thou smitst thy children with thy rod
Sweete is the care of thy corrections giuing:
In which thy sweete and kindest care correct me
But in thy mercy neuer doe reiect me.

Let neuer death against thy life preuaile,
Nor euer hate once looke against thy loue
Nor faithfull hope thy heauenly fauour faile
But harts contrition happy comfort proue:
And let the soule, euen at the dore of death,
Liue by the aier but of thy heauenly breath.

Mine eies are dimme, my flesh, bare skin and bone
My sinewes shroncke and all my limmes are num
Mine eares are deafe but to the sound of mone.
My speech, is but to sorrow stroken dum:
My blood dried vp my heart with sorrow soken
Oh helpe the soule before the heart be broken.

Behold the sorrowes, that my soule doeth make
And see what torments teare my heart asunder
Where euery teare, doth other ouertake;
Where fearefull care, puts faithfull comforts vnder:
Oh my sweete life though I be deadly wounded
Let not my faith be vtterly confounded.

And since oh king, that thou art onely able,
To helpe the helples onely but in thee,
And by one crumme, from thy true mercies table
The wofull soule may well relieuèd be:
Of that sweete foode, oh let my faith so tast
That by thy loue my life may euer last.

What life is this, that wretches here we leade?
Caring and carking for our fleshly liues,
Neuer wel fild, when we are too much fedde
Where strange conceits for true contentment striues:
Tearing our harts, and tiring out our minds,
For that, in fine, which but repentance findes,

Where kindnes proues a kinde of leude conceite
Leading the heart to lothsomnes of loue,
While wisest wits on wanton humours waite
And wilfull fancies doe but follies proue:
Where power and pride, so plage the world with woes,
That peace and vertue all to ruine goes.

Where gold is helde a God, siluer a Saint,
And durt and drosse, are dearest in regarde:
Where friendship failes, and faith beginnes to faint
And curses rule, whilé blessed thoughts are barde:
And all and some doe in conclusion proue,
Wo to the world, that liues not by thy loue.

Where valure proues but foolish hardines.
And greatest wit, is wicked wilines,
And honour gotten by vnworthines,
Fils all the world with all vnhappines,
While vertue sighes, at sinners wickednes,
And Angels mourne for our vngodlines.

Where parents griue at childrens stubbornes,
And children smile, at parents childishnes
Where masters sigh, at seruants idlenes,
And seruants laugh at masters wantonnes,
While faithfull soules in sorrowes wretchednes,
Looke but in heauen to haue their blessednes.

Where subtle heads, are simple harts illusion,
While tyraunt thoughts vniustly make intrusion,
And outward shewes, are inward thoughts allusion,
While strange delightes are strong desires delusion:
And heedles care, doeth make vp this conclusion
That lacke of grace is all the worlds confusion.

Where brightest truth, by treason often blamed is,
While faithles hart, with falshood all inflamed is.
And carefull age, with sorrow all ashamed is,
That careles youth so long at large vntamed is,
That, where good nature, all (alas) misnamed is.
The faith of honour vtterlie defamed is.

Where sore decaies the care of true Gentility
And strong disquiet standeth for tranquility.
And vertue is of too much imbecility:
Where faith is found but ful of al fragility,
When honors loue, that liues by hopes humility
Must walke among the beggars for ability.

Oh wicked fruit, of woful hearts affection,
When once the soule is toucht by sins infection.
And wil not learne, by care of thy correction
To leade a life, but by thy loues direction,
Where in the fire of thy bright sunnes reflexion
They maie behold of height of their perfection.

But, what is Earth? and what but earth are we?
A goodly brag, begunne and endes in dust,
Where old and young, and all the world may see
From whence we came, and whetherto we must:
Short time we liue, no sooner dead then rotten
And scarce wel buried but wee are forgotten.

O Lord thou knowest, this world is all but wo,
Where sinne doth seeke to get the vpper hand:
The flesh would faine the spirit ouerthrow,
But that her stay doth in thy mercy stand:
But, since the soule may conquer sinne by thee
Lord let thy mercy onely fight for me.

Let me but looke vpon thy holie loue,
And sucke my honie from that heauenlie hiue:
Wherein my soule such sweetnes maie approue
That with that foode shee maie for euer liue:
And feeding so vpon thy sacred will,
When shee is fedde yet maie shee hunger still.

Oh bring me home, that long haue beene abroade,
And leade me streight, that long haue gone astraie:
And raise me vp that haue beene ouertroade,
And on thy mercie, let me onlie staie:
That my poore soule, maie in thy comfort proue
Lo, what it is, to liue but in thy loue.

Some wish for golde, and some for golden graces,
Some wish for wit, and some for worldely pleasure
Some wish for power, and some for stately places,
And some, alone, doe wish for worldely treasure:
But, let my will those wishes all displace,
And wish alone, thy fauour and thy grace.

Some in their chariots, some in horses trust
But, be thou still a strong defence to me:
Some heere desire but to possesse their lust
Let my soules loue, be but to liue to thee:
Some wish, but here to purchase worldly fame
Let me but ioie to glorify thy name.

And not, alone in sweetest wordes to moue
The worldly eares to wonder at the same:
But in my workes thy praises I maie proue
I doe but seeke the honour of thy name:
That all true soules maie iustly saie with me.
All that is good directly comes of thee.

Let me but tuch the garment of thy grace
I shall be healèd of my sickest sore:
Let me but looke vpon thy louing face
Such health will come, I shall be sicke no more:
Yea, if thy mercy mitigate my paine,
If I were dead: I should reuiue againe.

Forget, oh lorde the follies of my youth,
And giue me not the death of my desart.
But of the treasures of thy heauenly Truth
Bestow an almès on my needy hart:
That in the secrets of thy sacred loue
My carefull soule her comfort may approue.

Let not mine eare once listen to the sounde
Of vaine conceits, that but deceiue the minde,
Nor, let the worlde so giue my hart a wounde
That, in my soule, mine eie be stroken blinde:
But let my spirit onely make her choise
But in thy loue and mercy to reioice.

Oh, that my waies, were all and whole directed
Vnto the seruice of thy sacred will,
And, that my faith, had in my soule effected
The happy comfort, of that heauenly skill:
That, in true loue, might euer so attende thee,
As in default might neuer more offende thee.

That I might leaue this lothsome world of ours
And chuse the honor of thy children awe,
And in thy heauen, and with thy heauenly powers,
Learne, but obedience to thy blessed lawe:
And with thy Saints and holy Martyrs sing
All lawde and glory to my heauenly king.

Then, should my hart finde out my heauenly rest.
And sorrow then should tuch my soule no more
But hart and soule, both in thy mercie blest.
Should daie and night thy holy name adore:
And make the worlde, by some effectes to see
It is thy loue hath wrought this life in me.

And with that worde, she sweetly fetcht, a sigh
And then a sobbe, and then a bitter teare
As who should saie, that either death was nigh
Or else her hart, was stroken with a feare.
Or else the spirit might be ouercome,
That for the time her tongue was stroken dumme.

But, let it be, all blessed is the traunce,
When so the soule is ouercome with loue,
That vertues choice doth finde it is no chaunce,
When humble faith doth heaunly fauour proue:
And when the sences from their sleepe arise
The spirit findes the life that neuer dies.

So, when it seemde shee wakèd from her sleepe,
Or sodaine traunce, for so I tearme it right,
When such high care did so her sences keepe
That shee awakt, with glory of the light:
Oh sacred loue, and sweetest life, quod shee
What happy figure hath appearde to me?

Did I beholde, that fairest shining light?
That made me shake for feare to see thy face.
And weepe for ioie, that in thy blessed sight,
My sinfull soule, might come, and sue for grace:
And did I see thy loue so sweetely vse mee?
That in thy mercy thou wouldst not refuse me.

And did thy mercy so thy loue entreate?
That iustice gaue her sworde to mercies hande
And did thy mercy sit in iustice seate?
And did the iudgement in thy mercie stande?
Oh blessed loue, where mercie doth approue
The fruite of loue is mercie mercies loue.

I must confesse my conscience did condemme me
Of such offence, as I could not denie:
And of such crime as thou mightst well contene me
When by my due, I had deseru'd to die:
But when thy mercy did my sorrowe see
How in thy pitty she did pleade for me.

Beholde, quod shee, the true repentant hart
Which bleedes in teares with sorrowe of her sinne:
What passions haue perplexèd euery part.
Where penitence doth pitties suite beginne:
Where true confession, doth submission proue
And true contrition cries to me for loue.

Beholde the faith that hath her fairest holde
Vpon the gift of thy especiall grace:
Thy word of truth that to the world hath told
The faithful soule, in heauen shall haue a place
And true repentance shall by me obtaine
The freèd ioyes from euerlasting paine.

When that vile serpent, euery soule accuser
That sought to bring my comforts to decay:
That ougly deuil, al the worldes abuser
In furies rage, methought did fly awaie:
And to the life, but of thy mercy leaue me,
Who to thy seruice sweetely did receiue me.

When all thy Saintes, and martyrs came vnto me
And in their armes thine Angels did embrace me,
And all were glad what comfort they could doe me
And in a seate of paradise to place me:
That al with ioie surprisde these ioies to see,
I wake and praie the vision true may bee.

For, this is it, sweete Lorde, that I woulde haue
The world is short, in sounding my desire:
It is thy mercy that I onlie craue,
Thy vertues loue that set my hart on fire;
And in thy loue, that onely liuing blisse,
That world may wish, but know not what it is.