Selected quad for the lemma: cause_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A16741
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A diuine poeme diuided into two partes: the rauisht soule, and the blessed vveeper. Compiled by Nicholas Breton, Gentle-man.
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Breton, Nicholas, 1545?-1626?
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1601
(1601)
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STC 3648; ESTC S104780
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13,485
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48
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desir'd For heauenly grounds of graces confirmation And God himselfe so neere himselfe will set you In graces seate where mercy so will loue you That faiths regard will neuer more forget you Nor â—inne nor death nor deuill shall remoue yoâ— But where the Saints and Angels are reciting The heau'nly trueth of high Iâ—houahs story Your rauisht soule in such diuine â—â—diting Shall euermore be singing of his â—lory To the assured hope of which high grace In humble prayer let my poore humble penne In your good fauour begge that blessed place Where my poore heart may happ'ly say Amen Gloria in excelsis Deo The blessed Weeper MY thoughts amaz'd I knowe not how of late Halfe in a slumber and more halfe a sleepe My troubled senses at a strange debate VVhat kind of care should most my spirit keepe Me thought I sawe a silly woman weepe And with her weeping as it seem'd so pleas'd As if her heart had with her teares beene eas'd The place neere which she sate was like a graue But all vncouer'd and the bodie gone VVhere in her care she nothinge seem'd to craue But that stolne bodie how to looke vpon VVhen weeping so appear'd to her anon Two blessed Angels and one Lord of blisse VVho came to comfort this poore wretch of his But ere they came how she in bitter teares Bewail'd the losse or lacke of her deâ—re loue As to her words my vision witnesse beares And my remembrance may for truth approoue The whole discourse her passions seem'd to moue In hearts deepe griefe soules high â—oy conceiued Was as I write were not my thoughts deceiued If euer sorrow in a sinâ—ers hart Liud ' to distill those droppes of bitter teares That to the world in passions can impart Part of that paine the troubled spirit beares Smoothring the woes wherein all pleasure weares Oh let her shewe the deepest of her skill In drawing out the essence of mine ill The losse of health the heart may somewhat craze The losse of wealth distemper may the minde The losse of honouâ— is a fearefull Maze The losse of freends a care of greeuous kinde But all these woes vpon one heart to winde Were much to thinke but much more to beleeue How it could liue whom farre more Crosses greeue But from the bagge of naked pouertie To haue more wealth then all the world can giue And from the care of all calamitie In all the comfort of content to liue Where settled ioy all greefe away doth driue And sodenly growe sicke and poore againe Who câ—n conceiue the plague of such a paine I wretched I the out-cast of all grace And banisht for my sinne from heauenly blisse I that to Hell did headlong runne my race Not caring how my soule was led amisse While I was cosoned by the Serpents hisse I Caitiffe wretch of all the world the worst By sinnes iust doome â—o endlesse sorrow curst I wretched soule whome sinne had bared so As left me naked of all Natures grace I sinke of sinne and also full of woe As knew not how in heauen to haue a place And in the depth of all this desperate case To be relieu'd and cloth'd grac't and belou'd And on the sodaine from all these remou'd To lose the Vesture of that vertues grace That cloth'd my naked soule asham'd of sinne To lose the beautie of that blessed face Where mercies loue did comforts life beginne To lose the ioyes that heauens were glad to winne To lose the life of such a louely Freend Oh let me weepe and neuer make an end The child that hath his Father deerely louing Who sees his faults and greatly doth abhorre them Yet so from wrath will haue his thoughts remoouing As he will neither checke nor chide him for them But puts them backe while pitie standes before them And doth not onely all his faults forgiue But makes him kindely in his grace to liue That happie Child that in his heart hath felt The blessed life of such a Fathers loue Thinke how his heart must needes in sorrow melt That must the losse of such a Father prooue And curse the death doth such a life remooue And as a Creature in all comforts freendlesse Bleede out his time in teares of sorâ—ow endlesse That wicked Child of too much ill am I That had a Father held me all too deere Who from my sinnes did turne his angrie eye And on my sorrow shew'd a smyling cheere And to his grace did take my soule so neere As when asham'd to come his face before He sayd but this Take heede thou sinne no more My sinnes forgiuen what ioy my soule receiu'd None can expresse but the repentant heart Nor can that sorrow euer be conceiu'd To see that Father from that Child depart But in that soule that in the bitter smart Of the true feeling of that Fathers loue Had rather death then his departure prooue The carelesse Seruant that the goods misspends Which his kinde Maister to his trust committâ—â—â— And his neat house to Theeues and Varlets lends And cares for nought but what his humour fitteth That gracious Lord that all such faults remittteth And in his goodnesse doth so deerely loue him That from his fauour nothing shall remooue him So â—ll a Seruant that doth finde the loue Of such a Lord as neuer like was found And in the midst of all his ioy must prooue The death to see his comfort all a ground His blessed Lord by Theeues and Varlets bound Scoft scourg'd beaten sorrowing sighing dying How can that Seruant cease continuall crying That wicked Seruant wâ—etched wretch am I That louing Maister was my liuing Lord Whose gratious giftes abus'd vngratiously VVhose house my soule fowle spirits laide aboard Fild full of sinnes of graces all abhord Yet for all this and all that I â—ould doe My Lord forgaue me and did loue me too He cleans'd my soule from all my filthy sinne And with my teares did wash it cleane againe Draue out the Feends and kindly entred in With grace to heale that sorrow would haue slaine And in his loue did so my teares retaine That euerie droppe that fell vpon his feete Vnto my soule did giue a heauenly â—weet Now such a Maister as was neuer such So good vnto a Seruant none so ill So much abus'd abuses oh too much A cursed crue to worke their hellish will Like rauening VVoolues a silly Lambe to kill Foule darkenesse so to gouerne ouer light VVho would not weepe to death at such a sight A sorrie Sister that hath such a brother As for her loue would venter losse of life And her vnkindnesse so in kindnesse smother As twixt their loâ—es should kill all cause of strife Though her ill course were his hearts cutting knife To see that brother lose his liuing breath How can that Sister choose but weepe to death That Sister I that brother was my Lord VVho in his loue laide downe his life for me VVhose death oh Câ—osse of crosses to record