Selected quad for the lemma: death_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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ID |
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Author |
Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication) |
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A06569
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The temple of glas
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Lydgate, John, 1370?-1451?
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1477
(1480)
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STC 17032; ESTC S120590
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21,378
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66
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oft tyme with hope I am meuyd To tel her all how I am greuyd And to be hardy on me for to take To axe mercy but drede doth me thenÌ„e awake And than wanhop answerth me agayn That better were than she haue disdayn To dye attones vnknowe of ony wight And ther with all biddeth hope anon right Me to be bold and prayen her of grace And fith alle vertues be portreyd in her face Hit were not sittyng that pyte were behynde And right anon withyn my self I fynde A newe plee brought on me with drede That me so maseth that I see no spede Be cause he saith that stonyeth al my blood I am so symple and she is so good Thus hope drede in me wyl not sece To plete and stryue my harmys to entrect But at hardest yet or I be dede Of my distresse sith I can no rede But stande domÌ„ styl as ony stone To fore the goddesse I wil me haste anonÌ„ And compleyne with oute more sermonÌ„ Though deth be fyn and ful conclusion Of my request yet I wyl assaye And right anon me thought I saye This woful man as I haue memorye Ful lowly entre in to an oratorye And knelid a doun in ful humble wyse To fore the goddesse and gan anon deuyse His pitous quarel with a doleful there Sayng right this as ye shall here The compleynt of the man Redresse of sorow O Citherea That with the stremys of thy playsaunt hete Gladest the mounte of al Cirrea Where thou hast chosen thy paleys and sete Who 's bright beames ben wesshen and wete In the ryuer of Elycon the welle Haue now pyte of that I shal you telle And not desdayne ye of your benygnyte My mortal woo O lady myn goddesse Of grace and bounte mercyful pyte Benygnely to helpe and to redresse And thaugh so be I can not wel expresse The greuous harmes that I fele in my herte Haue neuer yet the lesse mercy of my smerte This is to sayne O cler heuenes light That next the sonne sereled han your spere Sith ye me hurte with your dredful myght By influence of your beames clere And that I by your seruyse now so dere As ye me brought in to this maladye Be ye gracyous and shape ye remedye For in you hoolly bieth help of al this â—â—as And knowe best my sorow and al my peyne For drede of deth how I ne dar all as To axen mercy ones ne me compleyne Now with your fyre her hert so constrayne With oute more or I deye atte leste That she may witte what is my request How I no thyng in al this world desire But for to serue fully to myn ende That goodly freshe so womanly of there Without chaunge whyle I haue lyf mynde And that ye wold suche grace sende Of my seruyse that she not disdeyne Sithen her to serue I may not me restreyne And sith that hope me hath yeue hardynes To loue her best and neuer to repente Whylis that I lyue with al my lesynes To drede serue thaugh daunger neuer assente And here vpon ye knowe myn entente How I haue vowed fully in myn mynde To ben her man thaugh I no mercy fynde For in my hert emprynted is so sore Her shap her forme al her semelynes Her porte her chere her godenes more more Her womanhed and eke her gentiles Her trough her faith and her kyndnes With alle vertues eche set in her degre Ther is no lack sauyng only of pyte Her sad demenyng of wyl not variable Of loke benygne and rote of al plesance And eyemplayre to alle that wyl be stable Discrete prudent of wisedom fuffisance Mirrour of witte ground of gouernance A world of beaute compassed in her face Who 's persant loke doth thurgh my hert race And ouer this wonder secrete and true A wel of fredome and right bounteous And euer encrecyng in vertu new newe Of speche goodly and wonder gracyous Deuoyd of pryde to poure not despytous And yf that I shortly shal not feyne Saue vpon mercy I no thing compleyne What wonder the nne though I be with drede Inly supprised for to axen grace Of her that is quence of womanhede For wel I wote in so high a place Hit wil not be therfore I ouer pace And take lowly what wo I ordure Til she of pyte me take to her cure But one auowe plainly here I make That whethir so be she do me lyue or deye I wil not grucche but humbly hit take And thanke god and wilfully obeye For by my trouth my hert shal neuer reneye For lyf ne deth mercy ne daunger Of wil and thought to be at her desire To ben as trewe as euer was antonyus To cleopatre whyle hym lasteth breth Or vnto thesbe yong Piramus That was faithful found til them deptid deth Right so shal I til Antropos me sleth For whele or woo her faithful man be found Vnto my last like as my hert is bound To loue as wel as did Achilles Vnto his laste the fair Polixene Or as the grete famous Hercules For dyanyre that felte the shott kene Right so shal I saye right as I mene Whyle that I lyue her both drede and serue For lack of mercy though she do me sterue Now lady venus to whom nothing vnknowe Is in the world hid ne nought may be For ther nys thing nether hye ne lowe May be conceyled from your pryuete Fro whom my menyng is not now secree But wite fully that myn entent is true And liche my trouthe now on my peyne rue For more of grace than of presumpcion I axe mercy and no thing of dute Of lowly humbles with oute offencion That ye enclyne of your benygnyte Your audience vnto my humylyte To graunte me that to you I clepâ— calle Sum day relees yet of my peynes alle And sith ye haue the guerdon and the mede Of alle louers plenily in your honde Now of grace and pyte take ye hede Of my distrees that am vnder your bonde So lowly bound as ye wel vnderstonde In that place where I toke first my wounde Of pyte suffre ye my helth may be founde That liche as she me hurte with a sight Right so with helth late me hur sustene And as the stremes of her eyen bright Whylom my hert with woundes sharp kene Thurgh persed haue and yet be fresh grene So as she me hurte lete her me socoure Or ellis certayn I may not long endure For lack of speche I can say you no more I haue mater but I can not pleyne My witte is dull to tel al my sore A mouth I haue And yet for al my peyn For want of wordes I may not now atteyn To tel half that doth my hert greue Mercy abydyng til she me list releue But this theffect of my mater fynal With deth or mercy relees for to fynde For hert body thought lyf lust and al With al my reson and