Songs of sundrie natures

Lord in thy rage rebuke me not,
for my most grievous sin,
nor in thine anger chasten me,
but let me favour win,

Have mercy Lord on me, because
my state is weak to see,
heal me, O Lord, for that my bones
are troubled sore in me.

Right blest are they whose wicked sins,
by God remitted be,
and whose defaults are covered,
through his great clemency.

The man is blest, to whom our Lord
hath not imputed sin,
nor in his sprite deceit is found,
nor takes delight therein. 

Lord in thy wrath correct me not,
nor in thy furie vexe,
give teares, give grace, give penitence,
unto my sinfull sexe,
for that the arrowes of thy wrath,
are fixed in my hart,
and thou hast layd thine hand on me,
for my most just deseart. 

O God which art most mercyfull, 
have mercy Lord on me, 
according to thy mercy great, 
let me releaved be. 
And put away my wickednesse, 
which sundery waies hath beene, 
according to the multitude, 
of thy compassions seene. 

Lord heare my prayer instantly,
which I before thee make,
and let my crye come unto thee,
do not the same forsake.
Turne not away thy face from me
when troubles me opresse,
each day inclyne thine eare to me
and succour my distresse.

From depth of sinne, O Lord to thee
I have made humble cry,
Lord heare my voice, make it assend
Unto thy throne so hye.

Unto the voyce of my request,
Pour'd out before thy sight,
Lord let thine eares attentive be,
To heare me day and night.

Attend mine humble prayer Lord,
with thine attentive eare,
even in thy truth and justice Lord,
vouchsafe my sute to heare,

And into judgement enter not,
with thy poore servant heere,
because none shalbe justified
and stand before thee cleere.

Susanna fair some time assaulted was
by two old men, desiring their delight,
which lewd intent they thought to bring to pass,
if not by tender love, by force and might,
to whom she said, if I your suit deny,
you will me falsely accuse, and make me die.

And if I grant to that which you request,
my chastity shall then deflowered be,
which is so dear to me, that I detest
my life, if it berefted be from me,
and rather would I die of mine accord,
ten thousand times, than once offend our Lord.

The Nightingale so pleasant & so gay,
in greenewood groves, delights to make his dwelling,
in fields to flye, chanting his roundelaye,
at lyberty, against the Cage rebelling.
But my poore hart with sorowes over swelling,
through bondayge vyle, bynding my freedome short,
no pleasure takes in these his sports excelling,
nor in his song receiveth no comfort. 

When younglings first on Cupid fix their sight,
and see him naked, blindfold and a boy,
though bow and shafts and firebrand be his might,
yet ween they he can work them none annoy.
And therefore with his purple wings they play,
for glorious seemeth love though light as feather,
and when they have done, they ween to scape away,
for blind men they say, shoot they know not whither.

 ... 

 ... 

But when by proof they find that he did see,
and that his wound did rather dim their sight,
they wonder more how such a lad as he,
should be of such surpassing power and might
but ants have galls, so hath the bee his sting,
then shield me heavens from such a subtle thing.

Upon a Summers day love went to swim,
and cast himselfe into a Sea of teares,
the cloudes cald in their light, and Heaven waxt dim,
and sighes did raise a tempest, causing feares.
The naked boy could not so weld his armes,
but that the waves were maisters of his might,
and threatned him to worke farr greater harmes,
if he devised not to scape by flight.

 ... 

 ... 

Then for a bote his quiver stood in stead,
his bow unbent, did serve him for a mast,
whereby to saile his cloth of vaile hee spread,
his shaftes for ores on either bord he cast,
from shipwracke safe this wag got thus to shore,
& sware, to bath in lovers tears no more.

The greedy hawk with sudden sight of lure
Doth stoop in hope to have her wished prey;
So many men do stoop to sights unsure,
And courteous speech doth keep them at the bay:
Let them beware lest friendly looks be like
The lure whereat the soaring hawk did strike.

Is Love a boy? What means he then to strike?
Or is he blind? Why will he be a guide?
Is he a man? Why doth he hurt his like?
Is he a God? Why doth he men deride?
No one of these, but one compact of all,
A wilful boy, a man still dealing blows,
of purpose blind, to lead men to their thrall,
a God that rules unruly, God he knows.

 ... 

 ... 

Boy, pity me that am a child again,
blind be no more, my guide to make me stray,
man use thy might to force away my pain,
God do me good, and lead me to my way:
and if thou be'st a power to me unknown,
power of my life, let here thy grace be shown.

Wounded I am, and dare not seek relief,
For this new stroke, unseen but not unfelt;
No blood nor bruise is witness to my grief.
But sighs, but sighs and tears,
wherewith I mourn and melt.
If I complain my witness is suspect.
If I contain with cares I am undone,
sit still and die, tell truth and be reject,
tell truth and be reject,
O hateful choice that sorrow cannot shun,

 ... 

 ... 

Yet of us twain whose loss shall be the less?
Mine of my life, or you of your good name,
light is my death regarding my distress,
but your offence cries to your defame:
A virgin fair hath slain for lack of grace,
the man that made an Idol of her face. 

From Citheron the warlike boy is fled
And smiling sits upon a Virgin's lap,
Thereby to train poor misers to the trap,
Whom Beauty draws with fancy to be fed:
And when Desire with eager looks is led,
Then from her eyes
The arrow flies,
Feather'd with flame, arm'd with a golden head.

 ... 

 ... 

There careless thoughts are freed of that flame
Wherewith her thralls are scorched to the heart:
If Love would so, would God the enchanting dart
Might once return and burn from whence it came!
Not to deface of Beauty's work the frame,
But by rebound
It might be found
What secret smart I suffer by the same.

 ... 

If Love be just, then just is my desire;
And if unjust, why is he call'd a God?
O God, O God, O Just! reserve thy rod
To chasten those that from thy laws retire!
But choose aright (good Love! I thee require)
The golden head,
Not that of lead!
Her heart is frost and must dissolve by fire.

O Lord my God, let flesh and blood thy servant not subdue,
nor let the world deceive me with his glory most untrue,
let not, O Lord, O mighty God, let not thy mortal foe,
let not the fiend with all his craft, thy servant overthrow:
But to resist, give fortitude, give patience to endure,
give constancy that always thine I may persever sure.

While that the sun with his beams hot
Scorchèd the fruits in vale and mountain,
Philon, the shepherd, late forgot,
Sitting beside a crystal fountain,
  In shadow of a green oak tree,
  Upon his pipe this song play'd he:
Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love,
Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu, Love!
Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.

So long as I was in your sight
I was your heart, your soul, your treasure;
And evermore you sobb'd and sigh'd
Burning in flames beyond all measure:
  -- Three days endured your love to me
  And it was lost in other three!
Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love,
Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu, Love!
Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.

Another Shepherd you did see
To whom your heart was soon enchainèd;
Full soon your love was leapt from me,
Full soon my place he had obtainèd.
  Soon came a third your love to win,
  And we were out and he was in.
Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love,
Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu, Love;
Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.
  
Sure you have made me passing glad
That you your mind so soon removèd,
Before that I the leisure had
To choose you for my best belovèd:
  For all my love was past and done
  Two days before it was begun: --
Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love,
Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu, Love;
Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.

 ... 

Chorus
  Rejoice, rejoice, with heart and voice,
  In Christ his birth this day rejoice.

 ... 

Chorus
  Cast off all doubtful care, exile and banish tears,
  To joyful news divine, lend us your list'ning ears.

Weping full sore, with face as fayre as silver,
not wanting rose nor lily white to paint it,
I saw a lady walke, fast by a river,
uppon whose bankes Dianaes Nimphes all dawnced,
her beauty great had divers gods inchaunted,
among the which love was the first transformed,
who unto her his bow and shafts had graunted,
and by her sight, to adament was turned.
Alas quoth I, what meaneth this demeanure,
so faire a dame to be so full of sorowe:
No wonder, quoth a Nimphe, she wanted pleasure,
her teares and sighes ne ceasse from eave to morow:
This lady, Rich is of the gifts of beauty,
but unto her, are gifts of fortune daynty.

Penelope that longed for the sight,
of her Ulisses, wandrying all to long,
felt never joy, wherein she tooke delyght,
although she lyv'd in greatest joyes among,
so I poore wretch, posesing that I crave,
both live and lacke, by wrong of that I have.
Then blame me not, although to heavens I cry,
and pray the gods, that shortly I myght dye.

Compell the Hawke to sitt that is unmand,
or make the Hound untaught, to draw the Deere,
or bring the free against his will in band,
or move the sad a pleasant tale to heare,
your time is lost, and you are neare the neere:
So Love ne learnes by force the knot to knit,
he serves but those that feele sweete fancyes fit.

See those sweet eyes,
those more than sweetest eyes,
eyes whom the starres exceede not in their grace:
See Love at gaze,
Love that faine would devise,
but cannot speake to plead his wondrous case.

 ... 

When I was otherwise then now I am,
I loved more but skilled not so much,
faire words & smiles, could have contented than,
my symple age and ignorance was such:
But at the length, experience made me wonder,
that harts and tongues did lodge so farre asunder.

As watermen which on the Thames doe row,
Looke to the East, but West keepes on the way,
My Soveraigne sweet, her countenaunce setled so,
To feede my hope while shee her snares might laie,
And when shee saw, that I was in her danger,
Good God, how soone she proved then a ranger.

I could not choose but laugh although to late,
To see great craft dissifered [deciphered] in a toy,
I love her still, but such conditions hate,
Which so prophaines my Paradice of joy.
Love whets the wits, whose paine is but a pleasure,
A toy, by fits, to play with all at leasure.

When first by force of fatal destenie,
from Carthage towne the Troian knight dyd sayle,
Queene Dido fayre, with wofull weeping eye,
his strange depart did grevously bewaile,
And when no sighes nor teares could ease her smart,
with sword ful sharp, she pearst her tender hart.

I thought that love had beene a boy, with blinded eies,
or else some other wanton toy, that men devise,
like tales of fayries often told,
by doting age that dies for cold.

O dear life, when shall it be 
  That mine eyes thine eyes may see;
  And in them thy mind discover,
Whether absence hath had force,
Thy remembrance to divorce
  From the image of thy lover?

O if I myself find not,
Though my parting aught forgot :
  Nor debarr'd from Beauty's treasure,
  Let no tongue aspire to tell 
In what high joys I shall dwell,
  Only Thought aims at the pleasure. 

Thought, therefore, I will send thee
To take up the place for me:
  Long I will not after tarry:
There, unseen, thou may'st be bold,
Those fair wonders to behold, 
  Which in them my hopes do carry.

 ... 

 ... 

Love would discharge,
the dewty of his hart,
in beauties praise, whose greatnes doth denye,
wordes to his thoughts,
& thoughts to her desart,
which high conceyts since nothing can supply.

Love heere constraynd,
through conquest to confesse,
byds silence sighe,
that tongue cannot expresse.

From Virgin's womb this day did spring
The precious seed that only saved man,
This day let man rejoice and sweetly sing
Since on this day our Saviour first began,
This day did Christ man's soul from death remove
With glorious saints to dwell in heaven above.

Chorus
  Rejoice, rejoice, with heart and voice,
  In Christ his birth this day rejoice.

This day to man came pledge of perfect peace,
This day to man came love and unity,
This day man's grief began for to surcease,
This day did man receive a remedy
For each offence and every deadly sin
With guilty heart that erst he wandered in.

In Christ his flock let love be surely placed,
From Christ his flock let concord hate expel,
Of Christ his flock let love be so embraced,
As we in Christ, and Christ in us, may dwell.
Christ is the author of sweet unity,
From whence proceedeth all felicity.

O sing unto this glittering glorious king,
O praise his name let every living thing,
Let heart and voice like bells of silver ring
The comfort that this day to man doth bring,
Let Lute, let Shalm, with sound of sweet delight
These joys of Christ his birth this day recite.

Of gold all burnished, brighter than sunbeams,
Were those curled locks upon her noble head
Whose deep conceits my true deserving fled.
Wherefore mine eyes such store of tears outstreams.
Her eyes, fair stars ; her red, like damask rose ;
White, silver shine of moon on crystal stream ;
Her beauty perfect, whereon fancies dream.
Her lips are rubies ; teeth, of pearls two rows.

 ... 

 ... 

Her breath more sweet than perfect amber is ;
Her years in prime ; and nothing doth she want
That might draw gods from heaven to further bliss.
Of all things perfect this I most complain,
Her heart is rock, made all of adamant.
Gifts all delight, this last doth only pain.

Behold how good a thing it is,
for bretheren to agree,
when men amongst them do no stryfe,
but peace and concord see,
full lyke unto the pretious balme,
from Arons head that fell,
and did descend uppon his beard,
his garment skirts untyll.

 ... 

 ... 

And as the pleasant morning dew,
the Mountaines doth releeve:
so God will blesse, where concord is,
and lyfe eternall give.

An earthly tree a heavenly fruit it bear,
A case of clay contained a crown immortal
A crown of crowns, a King whose cost and care
Redeemed poor man, whose race before was thrall
To death, to doom, to pains of everlasting,
By His sweet death, scorns, stripes, and often fasting.

Chorus
  Cast off all doubtful care, exile and banish tears,
  To joyful news divine, lend us your list'ning ears.

A star above the stars, a sun of light,
Whose blessed beams this wretched earth bespread
With hope of heaven and of God's Son the sight,
Which in our flesh and sinful soul lay dead.
O faith, O hope, O joys renowned for ever,
O lively life that deathless shall persever.

Then let us sing the lullabys of sleep
To this sweet babe, born to awake us all
From drowsy sin that made old Adam weep,
And by his fault gave to mankind the fall.
For lo! this day, the birth day, day of days,
Summons our songs to give Him laud and praise.

Who made thee Hob forsake the Plough, and fall in love?
Sweet beauty which hath power to bow the gods above,
What, dost thou serve a shepherdess?
Ay, such as hath no peer I guess.
What is her name who bears thy heart within her breast?
Sylvana fair of high desert whom I love best,
Oh Hob, I fear she looks too high,
Yet love I must or else I die.

And thinke ye Nymphes to scorne at love?
as if his fire were but of strawes:
he made the mightie gods above,
to stoope and bowe unto his lawes,
& with his shafts of beautie bright,
he slaies the hearts that scorne his might.

 ... 

 ... 

Love is a fit of pleasure,
bred out of Idle braines,
his fancies have no measure,
no more than have his paines,
his vaine affections like the weather,
precise or fond, we wot not whether.

If in thine heart thou nourish will
and give all to thy lust,
then sorrows sharp and griefs at length
endure of force thou must.

But if that reason rule thy will
and govern all thy mind
a blessed life then shalt thou lead,
a fewest dangers find.

Unto the hills myne eyes I lyft,
my hope shall never fade,
but from the Lord I looke for helpe,
that heaven and earth hath made.

Thy foote he will from slipping save,
& he that doth thee keepe,
with watchfull eye will thee preserve,
without slomber or sleepe.

The Lord thy keeper & shade is,
& stands at thy right arme,
the Sunne by day shall not thee burne,
nor Moone by nyght thee harme.

The Lord shall keepe thee from all yll,
thy soule he shall preserve,
and all thy waies both in & out,
for ever shall conserve.

Christ rising agayne from the dead, now dyeth not. 
Death from henceforth hath no power uppon him. 
For in that he dy'd, he dy'd but once to put away sinne, 
but in that he lyveth, he lyveth unto God. 
In Christ Jesus our Lord.

 ... 

 ... 

Christ is risen againe, the first fruits of them that sleepe, 
forseeing, that by man came death, 
by man also commeth the resurrection of the dead. 
For as by Adam all men do dye, so by Christ 
all men shal be restored to lyfe. Amen.