Selected quad for the lemma: body_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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ID |
Title |
Author |
Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication) |
STC |
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A00460
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Pietatis lachrymæ. = Teares of deuotion
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Evans, William, poet.
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1602
(1602)
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STC 10597.5; ESTC S105560
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13,060
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64
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Notorious for thy sinne in this our Citty Yes sure I am will ye not therefore open May not a sinners teares mooue ye to pitty Whos 's that saith Christ Mary shews her repentance O let her in thus mercy giues me entrance Woman come foorth saith he stand not behinde May I a wretch O Lord obtaine such fauour Mercy to penitents is alway kinde O kinde Phisition say on my Sauiour For neuer shall these teares of me be spent Till thou bid rise sinne pardon'd penitent Pardon thou hast be free from Sathans den Arise and sinne no more good God Amen The soules comfort in Middest of affliction Or the penitent theefes passion TO whom shal death th' Almighties Trumpeter Seeme sowerie sharpe fell-cruell-bitter paine When meager death is but as messenger To tell our soules that we with God shall raigne Come gentle death since t is my Sauiours will O blessed will to dye I am not sorry Seaze on an Essence which thou canst not kill Whilst Angels waft it to the place of glory He that is framer of the earth and heauen Telles me that these my now fraile mortall eyes So soone as soule from body is bereauen Shall see heauens Pharus blessed-Paradise This day my soule mercy infusing grace O triple happie soule t' obtaine such fauour In Angels blisse shall see him face to face That did descend from heau'n to be my Sauiour This day my life shall dye in blisse to raigne This day I shall be free'd from euery foe This day I dye a death to liue againe This day I cease to weepe and laugh at woe This day 's the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 of an eternall raigne And the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 of my now dying paine Since it is so sweet death come let me dye Whilst mercy shuts the windows of mine eye Deus mihi totum in toto LEt wicked worldlings fall away from God No earthlie crosse shall cause my soule to feare Afflictions staffe and persecutions rod True patience willes me and I well can beare Who would not suffer heere a little paine And dye to liue that he with God may raigne If I of friends and countrie be neglected Yet ere I loose my faith I le beg my bread He that from youth hath alway me protected From his foode-giuing hand shall I be fed He keeps the fragments of a feast in store Where mercy willes me knock at bounties doore If poorest roofe disdaine to couer me Ny building 's not on earth but all on hye Meane while the Dens and Rock shal succour me And stubborne earth shall welcome miserie Better it is mong Wolues to haue aboad Then liue in house and not to liue in God If I with prisons chaine fast fettred be My persecutions chaine shall prooue a crowne If all the world oppose it selfe at me And death the worst to feare begin to frowne Yet he that for my life his life did giue Will kâ—â—â— my death that I with him may liue What though no 〈◊〉 see me buried T is not a toombe that I desire to haue What bootes that earth to earth be carried My blisse is not contained in a graue And for an vnction to this bitter gall Heau'n couers him that hath no buriall Heare me sweet Iesu heare mee when I call Since thou to my poore soule art all in all Mors Christi mihi vita TH' Eternall Father guider of the heauen To his all-glorious and immortall Hoast No other licence to them hath he giuen But that their garlands and their crownes of cost While heau'nly quiers doe sing as it is meete Be laid at his great Sonnes immortall feete Yet see the malice and the crueltie Of these hard-hearted and inhumaine men With purple cloth aye me in mockerie They cloath the flesh of this great God and then To him they bend the knee their sinne the more Whom Angels worship the Saints adore See see from his deepe wounds out issues bloud Dying the purple Dye more perfect red Woe 's me that for my sin should spring that floud Great was his loue that so my comfort bred Dye oh my God make purple my hard heart So shall it cloath thy wounds my sinne thy 〈◊〉 Ego sum tus causa 〈◊〉 Diues in his passion RIch men laugh at me your fill Since to laugh it is your will Make a iest of me and hell Till ye buy that I would sell. Christ did tell ye but in vaine Of my torture and my paine I as ye at hell did smile Sathan so did me beguile Were I now to liue againe Life should be a liuing paine Ye should laugh but I would weepe I would wake when ye should sleepe Ye should not relieue the poore I would so bestowe my store You not I should hunt for hell I not ye with God would dwell But ô my soule plung'd in paine Doe not Eccho thus in vaine Worldlings laugh to heare thee moane Harder hearts then hardest stone For the raine makes flintes to mourne When that Athiests teares doe scorne But those scorners all shall dye And hell laugh when they shall crye Lazarus in his happines POore men if yee beggers be Learne to beare your Crosse of me Crosses are the way to blisse VVhere true patience leader is Patience poore mens treasure chiefe That doth giue the soule reliefe Such reliefe as rich men want That the beggers almes is scant Ioy in heart ye poorest soules Whom the hand of heau'n inrowles In the care of worldlings crosse VVhile the rich dye with their drosse Grieue not that the dogs doe licke yee Hellish stings shall neuer pricke yee Let them sing while ye doe crye Ye shall liue when they shall dye Ye shall liue in endles ioyes They liue dying in annoyes They in soule tormented sore Ye reioycing euermore Doe but then the difference see That twixt rich and poore may be They with Diues lye in hell Ye with me in heauen shall dwell A passion of the soules desire OH had I wings to flye vnto that place Where Hierarches Angels praise my God That I might taste of that eternall grace That frees the faithfull from afflictions rod. Then should I heare the Cherubins that sing To God all holie holie Sanctities Then I my selfe vnto my God and King Should humbly tune their heau'nlie vnities Then should I be a free man of that Cittie The gates whereof are pearle the barres of golde The Lamps no starres but glories Maiestie And Saints the soules that there their freedom hold Then should I see the Prophets in their blisse And the Apostles seated on bright thrones Then should I see that world where no woe is While Angels hands do crowne the Martirs grones Then should I see the Virgins freed from teares Crown'd in the heauens for holy Chastitie Blest should I see those babes whose tender yeares Aboad the stinge of sharpest crueltie Then should I see that now I cannot see Through the darke hindrance of my deadlie sinne Yet mercie