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A15968 Certayne psalmes chosen out of the psalter of Dauid, commonlye called the .vii. penytentiall psalmes, drawen into englyshe meter by Sir Thomas Wyat knyght, wherunto is added a prolage of [the] auctore before euery psalme, very pleasau[n]t [and] profettable to the godly reader; Bible. O.T. Psalms. English. Wyatt. Wyatt, Thomas, Sir, 1503?-1542.; Harington, John, d. 1582. 1549 (1549) STC 2726; ESTC S111727 13,698 74

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very force of mynde Cleued to the fleshe and from y e spirite were fledde As desperate thy mercye for to fynde So made I am the soden pellycane And lyke the owle that flyeth by proper kynde Lyght of the day and hath herself betane To ruyne lyfe oute of all companye Wyth waker care that w t this woo beganne Lyke thee sparrowe was I Solytarye That syttes alone vnder y ● houses ●aues This whyle my foes conspyred contynually And dyd prouoke the harme of my dysease Wherefore lyke ashes my bread dyd me sauor Of thy iust word the tast might not me please Wherfore my drinke I tempered wyth lycor Of wepynge teares that from myne eyes dyd rayne Because I knowe the wrath of thy furour Prouoked by ryghte had of my pryde dysdayne For thou dyddest lyfte me vp to throwe me downe To teache me howe to know my selfe agayne Wherby I knowe that helpeles I shuld drowne My dayes l●ke shadow declyne and I doo crye A●d the foreuer eterniti● dothe drowne Worlde wythoute ende dothe last thy memory For thys frayltie that yoketh al man kynde Thou shalt awake and rue this myserye Rue on Syon Syon that as I fynde Is thee people that lyue vnder the lawe For now is tyme the tyme at hāde assynde The tyme so long● that thy seruauntes drawe In greate desyre to se that pleasaunte daye Daye of redemynge Syon frō synnes awe For they haue Ruthe to see in suche decaye In duste and s●ones thys wretched Syon lore Then the gentiles shall dreade thy name alwaye All earthely kynges thy glorye shall honour Then when thy grace thy Syō thus redemeth When thus thou hast declared thy myghtie power The lorde his seruauntes wysshes and so estemeth That hym turnethe vnto y ● power request To our dyscente this to be written semeth Of all compfortes as consolacyon beste And they that then shal be regenerate Shall prayse the Lord therfore bothe moste and leste For he hath loked from the high of hys estate The Lord from heaue● ●n e●rth hath loked on vs To heare thee mone of them that are algate In soche bondage to lose and o● discus The sonnes of death oute frome theyr deadlye bonde Too gyue thereby occasion glorious In thys Syon thys holye name to stonde And in Ierusalem hys laud●s lastynge aye When in one churche thee people of the lande And realmes ben gathered to s●rue to laude to praye The Lorde that is aboue so ius●e and mercyfull But these feble runninge in thee waye My strength fayleth to reache it at the full He hath abredged my dayes they ●re not sure To se that terme that tyme so wonderfull All though I haue with hart wil and cure Prayed to the Lorde take me not awaye In the middes of my yeares thoughe thyne eu●r sure Remayne ete●●e whom tyme can not decaye Thou wroughteste the earthe thy handes the heauens dyd make They shall perysshe thou shalt laste alwaye And all thynges aye shall were and ouertake Lyke clothe and thou shalt chaunge thē lyke apparell Tourne and translate and they in worthe it take But thou thy selfe thy selfe remayneste hole That thou was erste and shall thy yeare extende Then se●s to thys there maye nothynge rebelle The greateste compforte that I can pretende Is that the chyldren of thy seruauntes deare That in the world are gotte shall wythoute ende Before thy face be stablyshed all in feare The Auctor WHen Dauid hadde perceaued in hys breste The spyryte of God retourne that was exyled Because he knewe he hath alone expreste These greate thynges that grea●er spyryte compyled As shawme or pipe lett es out the sounde impreste By musyke arte forged to fore fyled I saye when Dauid hadde perceaued that I wys The spirite of compforte in hym reuyued is ✚ For ther vpon he maketh argumente Of reconsylyng vnto the Lordes grace Al thoughe somtyme to prophecy hathe lente Bothe brute beastes and wycked hartes a place But oure Dauid iudgeth in hys entente Hym selfe by penaunce cleane oute of thys case Whereby he hathe remissyon of offence And begynneth to alowe hys payne and penitence ☞ But wh●n he weyt● the fa●●● and recompense He dampneth hys dede and fyndeth playne Attwene them two no what equiualence Whereby he takethe all outwarde dedes in vayne To beare the name of ryghtfull penitence Whych is alone the harte returned agayne And sore contryte hart that doth his faulte bemone And outward dede the synne or ●●●te alone ✚ Wyth thys he dothe defende the slye assaulte Of vayne aloweance of hys owne deserte And all the glorye of hys forgeuen faulte To God alone he dothe it hole conuerte Hys owne meryte he fyndeth in defaulte And whyles he pondered these thing●s in hys harte Hys knee hys arme hys hande susteyned hys chinne When he hys songe agayne thus dyd begynne Deprofundis clamaui ad te domine FRom depth of synne from depe dispayre Frō depth of deeth frō depth of hart●s sorowe Frō this depe caue of darken●s depe repayre The haue I called O Lorde to be my borowe Thou in my voyce O Lorde perceaue and heare My harte my hope my playnte my ouerthrowe My wyll to ryse and let by graunt appeare That to my voyce t●yne ●●●es do well attende No place so farre that to the is not neare Noo depthe so depe that thou ne mays●e extende Thyne eare sett● therto heare thē my wofull playnte For Lord yf thou doo obserue what men doo offende And putte the natyue mercye in restreynte Yf iuste exactyon demaunde recompence Who maye endure O Lorde who shall not faynte At soche accompte dede and no reuerence Shoulde so runne at large but thou sekest rather loue For in thy hande is mercyes resydence By hope wher●of thou doeste oure hartes moue I in the Lorde haue sette my confydence My soule soche trueth dothe ●uermore approue Thy holye worde of eterne exc●ll●nce Thy mercyes promyse ● that is all wa●e iu●●e Haue b●n my staye my piller and pr●t●nce My soule in God● hath● mor● desyrous ●ru●● Then ha●h t●e wa●●●m●● loking for 〈…〉 By 〈…〉 ●●pe 〈…〉 Fo● gr●●●●●●●●uor ●re hys pr●pet●●● Pl●●●eou●●●ansome● shall com● wyth hym I ●a●● And shall redeme all oure iniquitie The Auctor THys worde redeme that in his mouthe dyd sounde Dyd putte Dauid it semeth vnto me As in a traunce to stare vppon thee g●ounde And wyth hys thoughte the hyghte of heauen to see Where he beholdes thee worde that shulde confounde The worde of death by humilite here to be In mortall mayde in mortal habite made Eternallye in mortall vayle too shade ☞ He seyth that worde whē ful rype tyme shulde come Doo awaye that vayle by feruente aff●ction Tourne of wyth deathe for deathe shulde haue her dome And lepeth lyghter frome soche corruption The glute of lyghte that in the ayre dothe lome Man redemeth death hathe h●r destruction That mortall vayle● hathe immortalyt●e Too Dauid assuraunce of hys iniquitie ☞ Wherby he frames thys reason in hys harte That goodnes whych doth not forbeare hys sonne From d●ath for m●● and can therby conuerte My death to lyf●● m● synne to saluation Bothe can and wyll a smaller grac● departe To hym that sueth by humble supplication And syns I haue thys larger grace assayde To aske thys thinge why am I thē affrayde ☞ He graunteth moste to them that moste do craue And he delyghtes in suit wythoute r●●p●cte Alas my sonne pu●sues me to the graue Suffered by God my synnes for to ●orr●c●e Bu● of my synnes syns I may pardon hau● My sonnes suyte shall shortelye be reiec●e Then wyll I craue wyth sute confydence And thus b●gynne the sucte of hys pretence Domine ●x●●di orationem meam HEar● my prayer o lord heare my requeste Complyshe my bone supply thou my desyre● Not for my desert but for thyne owne behest In whose firme truth thou promist myne empyre To stande stable and after thy iustyce Performe o● Lorde that thynge that I requyre But of law after the forme and guise To enter iudgement wythe thee thrall bonde slaue To plede hys right for in soch maner wyse Before thy syghte noo man hys ryghte shall saue For o● my self lo thys my righteousnesse By scorge and whyppe and priekynge spurr●s I haue Scant rysē vp such is my beas● lynes For that myne enemyes hath put sued my lyfe And in the duste hathe soyled my lustynes Forreyn● r●almes to fl●● hys rage ●o ry●e Be hath● 〈…〉 hyde my 〈◊〉 And for bycaus● 〈…〉 at st●y●e My har●e 〈…〉 ●orce war●s●●●● I had recoue●●● to 〈…〉 paste And dyd rememb●● t●●●ea●●s in al my drede And dyd peru●e● thy ●or●k●s ● euer last Wherby I knowe a●●ue the ● wonders al Thy mercyes were th●n lyfte I vp in hast My handes to the●● 〈◊〉 soule ●o the dyd call Lyke bare soyle for moyster o●●hy grace Haste to my helpe O lord a●or● I fall For euer I fele my spiryte doth fainte apace Turne not thy face from me● y t I be layede In compt of them that headlinge downe doo passe Into the pyt shewe me be tunes thyne ayde For on thy grace I holly do depende And in thy handes since all my helth is stayed Do me to know what way thou wylte I bende For vnto the I haue raysed vp my mynde Rydde me oh lorde from them that do entende My foes to be for I haue me assigned Alwaye wythin thy secrete protectyon Teache me thy wyl that I by y t may fynde The way to worke the same in a●fectyon For thou my god thy blessed spirite vpryght In laude of truthe shall be my dyr●ctyon Thou for thy name shal reuiue my spiryte Wythin the ryght that I receiue by the Wh●reby my l●●● of daunger shal be quyte T●ou haste fo● done the greate iniquy●ye T●a● v●●r● 〈…〉 ●ou shalt also c●n●o●n●● ●●y foes 〈◊〉 ●or thy be●ignitt● For thyne am I thy seruaun●● moste bounde FINIS ¶ ●um Preuil●gio ad imprimendum S●lum M. T.XLIX The last day of December
hys fingers he pretendes Without hearyng or Iudgement of the sounde Downe of hys eyes a streame of teares discendes Wythout felynge that tryckell on the grounde Is 〈◊〉 that bledes in vayne● ryghte so Intendes Thaltred sences to that that the● are bound● But lyghe and wepe he can no●● other thynge And loke vp styll vnto the heaue● kynge ☞ But who hath ben w●thoute the caue mouthe And ●earde thee tea●es● and syghes that hym dyd strayne He wold haue sworne ther had oute of the ●outh● A luke warme wynd brought forth a ●moky rayne But that so close the caue was a●d vnkoweth That none but god was r●corde of hys payne ●●s hadde the ●ynde blowen in all Israell ●ares Of theyr kynge the wofull playnte and teares ✚ Of why●h sonne part whē he vp s●pped had Lyke as he whō hys owne thought● affayres He turnes hys loke hym semed that the ●hade Of hys offen●e aga●ne hys force assayes ●y vyolente dispayre on hym too ●ade St●rrynge lyke hym whom sodayn dispayre dismayde His herte he straynes and from his harte oute bringes Thys songe that I note wether he cryeth or synges Miserere mei deus RUe on me Lord for thy goodnes and grace That of thy nature arte so bountifull For that goodnes● that in thy worde dothe brace Repugnant natures● in quiet wōderfull And for thy me●cyes nōber with oute ende In heauen and earth perc●aued so plentifull That ouer al they do them selfe ● extende For hys mercye moche more then man can synne Do a way my synne that thy grace offende Ofte tymes agayne wasshe me but washe me well wythin And from my synnes that thus makes me afrayde Make thou me cleane as euer thy wonte hath ben● For vnto thee nowe none can be layde For too prescrybe ●emyssyon of synne I● harte r●tourned as thou thy selfe has●e sayde And I besnowe my faulte and ●ny neglygence In my syghte my synnes is fix●d fas●e Therof too haue● more perfecte penytence To the abo●e● to the haue I tres●●s●e For none can cure my fault but thou alone For in thy syght I haue not ben agaste For to offend iudging thy sight as none So that my faulte were hydde from syghte of man Thy maiestye so from my sight was gone Thys knowe I and r●pent pardon thou then Wherby thou shalte kepe● stylle thy worde stable Thy iustyce pure and cleane because that when I pardoned am then forth with iusticiable Iuste I am iudged by iustice of thy grace For I my selfe loo thinge moste vnstable Formed in offence conceaued in lyke case Am nought● but synne from m● natyuytie Be not these sayde for myne excuse ah alas But of thy helpe to shewe necessitie inwarde For loo thou louest the truthe of the harte Whych yet dothe lyue in mooste fydelite Thoughe I haue fallē by frayle ouertha●rte For wylfull malyce leade me not the way● So moche as hathe thee flesshe dr●●en me aparte Wherfore O Lord● as thou hast ●one alwaye Teache me the hydden wysdom of thy lore Since that my faythe dothe not ●●t decaye And as the Iewes to heale thee ●●pper ●ore Wythe Isoppe clense clense me and I am cleane Thou shalte me washe and more then snowe therfore I shal be whyte howe fowle my faulte hath bene Thou of my health shall gladsome tydinges bringe When from aboue remissiō shal be sene Discende on earth thou shal●e for ioye vpspringe The bones that were before ●●●●sumed to duste Loke not oh Lorde vppon my●● offendynge But do awaye my dedes that are vniu●●e Make a cleane hart in the middell of my bres●● Wyth spyryt● v●r●●g●t ●oyded from ●ylthy● lus●● From thyne eyes ●●re ●ast me not in v●res●e Nor take from me thee spyryte of holynesse Render to me● ioye of thy helpe h●ste My wylle confyrme wyth the spirite of stedfastnesse And by thys shall these godlye thynges ensue Synners I shall into thy wayes addresse They shall returne to the and thy grace sue My tongue shall prayse thy iustification My mouth shal spreade thy glorious prayse true But of thy selfe o God thys operation It muste procede by purgynge me from bloode Amonge the ●uste● tha● I m●y● haue relatyon And of thy la●des for to let ●ut the floode Thou muste oh lord● my lyppes ●yrste vnlose For yf thou haddeste es●emed pleasaunt good The outwarde dedes that outewarde men disclose I wold haue offered vnto the sacrifice But thou delytest not in no soche glose Of outeward dede as men dr●ame and d●uyse The ●acrifice that the lorde lyketh moste Is spirite contryte lowe harte in humble wyse Thou do●ste acc●pte o God for pleasaunt hoste Make Syon Lorde accordynge to thy wyll Inward Syon the Syon of the hoste Of hartes Ieru●alem strengthe thy walles stylle Then shalte thou take for good the outwarde dedes Of a sacrifice thy pleasure too fulfyll The Auctor OF deape secretes that Dauid ther dyd synge Of mercye or fayth of frayltie of grace Of goddes goodnesse and of iusty●yinge Thy goodnesse dyd so astony hym 〈◊〉 ●● who myght sa●e who hath ●x●●●ssed thys thynge ● synner I● what haue I saide● a● 〈◊〉 That gods goodnesse wold● with 〈◊〉 ●onge entr●a● L●● me agayne consyder and repeate ☞ And so he doth but expressed by worde But in hys harte● he turnethe and payseth Eche worde that hys lyppes myght foorde abrode He poīteth he pawseth he wōdreth he prayseth The mercy that hydethe of iustyce the sworde The iustyce that so hys promyse accomplysheth For hys wordes sake to worthyles deserte That gratis hys grace to mē dothe departe Here hath he comfort when he doth measure Measureles mercye to measureles fautes To prodygalle synners Infinytye treasure Treasure celestyall that neuer shal ●efaulte Ye when that synne shall fayle and may not endure Mercy shal reigne agayne whome shal not assaute Of hell preuayle by whome loe at thys daye Of heauen gates remyssyon is thee kaye And when Dauid had pondered wel and tryed A●d seeth hym selfe not outterly depryued For lyght of grace that dar●ke of synne dyd hyde He fyndeth hys hoope moche there with reuyued He importeth on the lorde on euery syde For he knowethe wel that to mercy is ascribed Respecteles labor importune crye and call And thus begynneth hys sōg there wythall Domine exaudi orationem meam LOrd heare my praier let my crye passe Unto the lord without Impedyments Do not frō me tourne thy mercyful face Unto my selfe le●uynge my gouernement In tyme of trouble and aduersytye Enclyne vnto me thyne eare thyne entente And when I call helpe myne necessytye Redely graunte theffecte of my desyre Boldelye too please thy Maiestye And eke my case soch haste doth well requyre For lyke a synke my dayes are past awaye My bones dryed vp as a fornace with the fyre My harte my mynde is wythered vp lyke haye But I haue forgott to take 〈◊〉 breade My breade of lyfe thee worde o● truthe I saye And for my paynfull syghes my dreade My bones my strength my