Pietatis Lachrymae. TEARS of devotion.  
Temporis praeteriti fructus est compunctio, futuri flos est devotio.  — Bernard. 
LONDON, Printed by Edward Allde, and are to be sold at the long shop under S. Mildred's Church in the Poultry. 1602.   

To the Right worshipful, learned and virtuous, Sir Thomas Kitson Knight: earths good here, and heavens bliss hereafter.  

THere was a world (but now that world is not,)  
When Virtue was within men's hearts inroulde:  
But now that world is almost clean forgot,  
For vildest things do men's affections hold.   

There was a time (but now, more grief, 'tis not)  
When men (though mortal) seemed half divine:  
There was a golden age, that age forgot,  
When men (in charity) not wealth did shine.   

There was a time when men relieved the poor,  
But he's now counted wise that keeps his own:  
There was a time, when men did heaven implore,  
But now who thinks of heaven is scarcely known.   

There was a tim● when most men lived in God,  
And men's perfections all on high were placed:  
But now in Mammon most men have abode,  
Earth is preferred fore heaven, and Saints disgraced.   

But in that soul who heaven doth only mind,  
Divinest wisdom will for ever dwell:  
If such a soul in thee she cannot find,  
Where such a soul to find I cannot tell.   

For nothing can thy soul from comfort sever,  
In him that bought thee dear, and loved thee ever.   
Your Worships ever most humbly devoted William Euans.   

To the Right worshipful and no less virtuous Lady, the Lady Elizabeth Kitson, wife to Sir Thomas Kitson Knight: earths prosperity, and Celestial happiness.  

EXpound Tabithai, and 'tis Dorcas name,  
And Dorcas is a Roebuck sharp of eye:  
In this respect Tabithai won her fame,  
That from the earth her soul did pierce the sky.  
By faiths pure work true grace's quality,  
Her mortal life won immortality.   

Is there none like Tabithai? God forbid,  
Yes some there are, but of those some too few:  
Many make show, but do not as she did,  
But give me leave to give your deeds their due.  
Many have faith, no works, their faith is vain:  
Your works approve Tabithai lives again.   
From the admirer of your virtues. William Euans.   

In Authorem.  

INspired souls breathe but the thoughts of bliss,  
Whose humble hearts in heaven are only placed  
and while the worldlings run their course amiss,  
In Grace's eyes, are gracious spirits graced.   

So may I say of that which here I see,  
Drawn from the fountain of a heavenly spring:  
Where those best humours always nourished be,  
That make the soul of heavenly comforts sing.   

Continue therefore this good course of thine,  
And God will bless, and his blessed love thee:  
And such as know what comforts are divine,  
Will smile at them, that blindly will reprove thee.   

And for myself, I find thy labours such,  
I cannot love nor praise thy work too much.   
Nich. Breton Gent.   

In eundem.  

WIth some fantastic foolish brain or other,  
(Causeless) thy weeping lines may be disgraced  
While wisdoms wit their folly doth discover,  
And thou thereby in better thoughts be placed.  
Thy lines (no Panimne toys) thy Text divine,  
Exhales such darkening clouds that Sun may shine.   

Go on to weep, and weeping laugh at those,  
That do the pangs of thy sick soul despise:  
While thou dost weeping win, they laughing lose,  
The crown that is ordained for thy sad eyes.  
While I go sit me down, and musing wonder,  
To see thy heart for sin nigh torn asunder.   

Sweet is the Music that thy passion sings,  
A high-fetcht note surpassing Ela's strain:  
Sucked from the waters of those Hesbon springs,  
That rise and flow, to never ebb again.  
Who would not (taught by thee) do his endeavour?  
Learn so to weep, that he may live for ever.   
Phil. Holland Gent.   

An Introduction:  

A Way vain youth that studies nought but praise  
The soul's Inchauntrix, and the woe to man:  
When sharpest theme in weeping Oadases,  
Is all too little wretch do what thou can.  
For to manure the odour of thy sin,  
That thou from mercy's seat, mayst mercy win.   

Devote thy wits to love and venery,  
Base subject, fit to add sin unto sin:  
Be-witch men's souls with beauty's foppery,  
By Venus' forged-Goddesse praise to win.  
Only let me for my sins feat a rod,  
Learn how to live, and not offend my God.   

Illuminating God, fair milk-white Dove,  
The soul's best teacher, Tutor unto bliss:  
AffliCtions comfort, Ghost of eternal love,  
Clean Guest, that loves to Inn, where no sin is.  
Licence my soul to weep with those true eyes,  
That heavens implore, and all the world despise.    

A passion of an afflicted soul.  

NO sooner had the Sun all showed his face,  
Measuring the welkin, by a furlongs space:  
But that I sat free from his scorching beam,  
Under an Oak fast by a silver stream.  
Not long I sat, but soon I heard one cry,  
Distilling showers of tears from his sad eye.   

And with those tears that did from him proceed,  
Came sighs (true partners in each woe & need)  
And with those sighs, came words, to hear, a wonder,  
which thought-torne-hart had almost broke asunder,  
Nearer I stepped, but yet I stood aside,  
to see the end, and what might him betide.   

When soon me thought I might this man behold,  
Placing his arms a cross, with an enfold:  
Casting his looks to heaven, sometimes to earth,  
When offering speech, fear stopped his vital breath.  
Yet truce he took with fear, heart-grieved man,  
and with a mournful voice, these words began.   

Peter denied his Christ for fear of danger,  
And swore (being asked) he was to him a stranger:  
O false forsworn, vilde-wretch that knew him well,  
Who loved him more than any tongue can tell.  
Yet he his fault no sooner 'gan to see,  
But he repented and from sin was free.   

Saul did torment the servants of the high,  
Clad all in arms to work their Tragedy:  
And martyred Steven, that high sweet Sa. in heaven  
Was by his means of his dear life be-reaven.  
Of this great sin, he likewise was forgiven,  
Whom, we Canonize Saint, as blessed Steven.   

David did heap one sin upon another,  
That so the first, the last might better smother:  
Murder, black murder, and adultery,  
The least brings man to hell's foul misery.  
He also was of this wild fault forgiven,  
And now with God, enjoys a place in heaven.   

These all did sin, but yet were freed from fear,  
But my sin's greater than I well can bear:  
Christ came a Saviour that we all might live,  
Yet my sins such, as would he would forgive.  
Yea sin doth cause me to be so forlorn,  
As makes me wish I never had been born.   

O grieved soul why dost thou sighing cry?  
Why spring such floods from thy immortal eye?  
Art thou surcharged with sin? plunged in woe?  
Thy tears say yea, though silence tell me no.  
Oh (out alas) that I might once be free,  
Where thou (O God) might have no power to see.   

If I climb up to heaven, (oh) thou art there,  
And at thy right hand sits my Saviour dear:  
Whose salving wounds, my soul so much neglected  
That force, perforce, I needs must be rejected.  
And by those dooming words thou breathest in ire,  
Be headlong cast into eternal fire.   

Heaven gates are shut sweet mercy there in none,  
Then to black foggy hell i'll get me gone:  
That kingdom's privileged, perhaps and free  
From sight of him, who all things else doth see.  
Oh! but my fearful conscience wills me know,  
As God rules heaven above, so hell below,   

And says, those gates stand open to let souls in,  
Fit place of torture for their grievous sin:  
And as the heavens, so doth he hell retain,  
Death dooming-torture never-dying pain.  
Why then be gone poor soul, post hence away,  
For here thou mayst not, nay thou dar'st not stay.   

Oh! that I had Aurora's wings to fly  
Beyond those Seas, where farther parts do lie;  
Or to some country which no eye hath seen,  
Where never creature hath been bred or been,  
But 'tis in vain, for thy farre-reaching hand,  
Can quickly pull me, from that unknown land.   

Be dim oh brighest Sun, toarch-man to day,  
Let thy moist oil decrease, thy light decay:  
Fair Luna let not thy bright beams be spied,  
For peradventure, darkness may me hide.  
Oh (says my conscience) trust not to black night,  
For with thy God darkness is as the light.   

Well I could wish that some huge high-topt mountain,  
Or else some vast-known bottomless deep fountain  
Would take my life from his all-seeing eye,  
Whose only name, makes me despairing die.  
But all in vain, for if I there would be,  
No rocks nor floods, can hide my sin from thee.   

Where ere I would be, thou O God art there,  
And though not seen, yet I thy voice do heart:  
That voice that to my sinful Grandsire came,  
Enforceth me to say, Lord here I am.  
here's Adam's sinful Offspring known by name,  
First man created, and the first of shame.   

here is a sinful wretch, a Demie Devil,  
Prone unto nothing, but to that is evil:  
Unthrifty in goodness, Merchant in vile sin;  
Exchanging better wares, more worse to win.  
Earth's excrement, (alas) of all men hateful;  
unkind unto myself, to God ungrateful.   

From these ill wishes I must needs refrain,  
Since all my wishes are both fond and vain:  
Or what I wish for, if I could obtain,  
Those things I wish for, would soon prove my pain▪  
What ere I wish for, or do most desire,  
The things I wish prove ministers of ire.   

The things obscurest thou O Lord canst see,  
No place from thy world-seeing-eye is free:  
The secretest parts that in my body lie,  
They all lie open to thy all-seeing eye.  
Thou likewise brought me from my mother's womb,  
And thou shalt judge me at thy fearful doom.   

The Prince of darkness doth likewise accord,  
Bids me despair in my death-dying Lord;  
Caitiff saith he, look not to heaven for grace,  
Since heaven and earth see thy sin-covered face.  
Earth looks at heaven, heaven at the earth doth wonder  
That earth up-holding sin, rends not a sunder.   

Tells me that wealth, was my heart's chiefest treasure;  
Says that in pride, I took my sweetest pleasure;  
Envy and malice, doing neighbour wrong,  
All these I do confess, I loved too long:  
Murder black murder, and fowl lechery,  
Were coupled Actors in this tragedy.   

He further says, that God shall prove untrue,  
If he forgive to whom revenge is due:  
That God's not God, except he do prove just,  
That he revenge for sin needs render must.  
'tis true, 'tis true, o whether shall I run?  
Would God my life were now but new begun.   

Now would I sow, when Autumn yields ripe corn  
Now well nigh dead, now do I wish new borne:  
Long have I lived, outliving many men,  
passing the age of fourscore years and ten.  
And now the Devil for to add more pain,  
Says my huge sin calls but for grace in vain.   

D●ue●, let not the sluices of thine eyes,  
Make thy tears passage unto Paradise:  
Entreat not Abram send us Lazarus,  
No, for if that heau'nling come among us,  
he'll but delate of that I fear to know,  
Hell, Death, Destruction, Devils, Torture, Woe.   

Thus might I see this poor wretch plunged in woe,  
Almost receiving foul sins overthrow:  
And now his Sea of tears moist drops past number  
Lull him (sad pensive) in a heavy slumber.  
Not long he slept, but grief owle-scriching cries,  
Beat paths for passage through his ceaseless eyes.   

Now combats his good Genus with the Devil,  
maugre the bad, the good expels the evil:  
Satan did tempt him much, & sore did shake him,  
Yet the good spirit would not so forsake him.  
Though flesh be frail now he defieth sin,  
And with fresh tears doth thus his passion gin.   

O Shipwrecked soul, drenched in a Sea of tears.  
Laden with Evils and full fraught with fears,  
Let bitter floods fall from thy restless eyes,  
Make heavens to pity thy hearts woeful cries.  
Never, o never cease heaven to implore,  
Till peace of conscience heavens to thee restore.   

Swim O my soul, break through the floods of sin,  
See if with P●eter thou the Shore canst win:  
And at thy landing rest, thou shalt embrace  
A golden wreath the Lamb, the Child of grace:  
And heavenly Quires for to welcome thee,  
Shall sound the music of heavens melody.   

Think no work great enough this bliss to gain;  
Great is the joy that comes of this thy pain:  
Trouble like wings must hurl thee up and down,  
Before thou mayst receive th'imperial crown.  
" Thou unto days & weeks, to months & years,  
" Must owe the hourly rent of stintless tears.   

Apprentice-like bind thou thy years to care,  
The heart thy shop, God's sacred word thy ware;  
Goo● thought thy Chapmen, and good works thy gain  
Thy che● the poor, & thy rejoicing, pain.  
" Days pass in plaints, thy nights without repose;  
" Awake to weep and sleep in waking woes.   

Let Wisdom be thy head, Compunction Mother;  
Thy friends the Angels, & the Lamb thy Brother.  
Take for thy souls sweet Spouse death's memory,  
Thy kinsfolks sighs, thy children Lachrymae.  
This right-hand path leads not thy soul amiss,  
But eftsoon brings thee to the bower of bliss.   

Consider further, o my soul (quoth he)  
Sinners beside myself there many be;  
Many have stained the honour of their place,  
And yet in heavens bright eye not lost their grace.  
And though I sin, in lives book I am noted,  
Since now to my dear God, I am devoted.   

Moreover by his death it doth appear,  
How great the love is that my God doth bear  
To me sins Monster and most worthy blame;  
The badge of ignomy and Map of shame.  
Th'abuser of rich Time, a lump of ill,  
Too slow, in good too bad, too swift in will.   

What meaning hath his head declined but this?  
To give my sinful soul a gracious kiss.  
His heart's all open, for to let me see,  
A heart that hath such love, none hath but he.  
His hands are stretched out for to embrace me,  
That he in Angel's bliss, may after place me.   

Yea all his precious corpses (alas) are wounded,  
That though I sin, sin, death & hell confounded.  
His body's life, fell-death doth also sever,  
Yet he kills death, that I may live for ever.  
Mercy sweet jesus mercy let me win,  
Since now I hate myself, & loathe my sin,   

This he no sooner said, but I might see  
A man well seeming Angell-Saint to be;  
Of comely hue of gold his pleated hairs,  
More grave in Wisdoms book, than aged years.  
His feet instead or sandals trod the air,  
And winds for wings, did this Celestial bear.   

His first arrival was with this sad wight,  
Whose sinful soul justice did so affright:  
To whom, such balm for medicine he did give,  
As dead in sin, by it are raised to live.  
O blessed Lord that in each time of need,  
Sends comfort from above, sick souls to feed.   

Do not despair (quoth he) thou woeful man,  
Doubt not, but he that made all, all things can;  
Think not that he that breathed into thee breath,  
Will ought rejoice in thy souls fearful death.  
No wretched man thy God wills thee to know,  
sins red as scarlet, he makes white as snow.   

Seal this (O Lord) clear my sinne-spotted-Den,  
Tears beg the warrant, jesus say Amen.   
Nemo renascitur in Christi corpore, nisi prius  
nascatur in peccati corruption.  S. August.  

Tears Efficacy, and sins pardon. Or Mary magdalen's Lachrymae.  

WHen Anna wept the tears ran down amain,  
From forth the Floodgates of her watery eyes;  
When Agar wept that water she might gain,  
Tears, sobs, & sighs were only Sacrifice.  
When Susan falsely was condemned to die,  
Her innocent true tears did pierce the sky.   

They had the things that they with tears required,  
Oh who can tell the force of such true tears?  
Wonder of wonders for to be admired,  
Since eyes, as keys do open mercies ears.  
Never came wretch to God with true contrition,  
But did obtain, so it were just petition.   

Sad humble tear, shed by a soul divine,  
What mayst thou not account of as thine own?  
wilt thou a kingdom? why? heavens kingdom's thine  
wilt thou a seat thou hast the lambs bright throne.  
Wilt thou be strong? let one tear, heaven be sent  
And it shall doom all hell to banishment.   

Meat for the soul thou art, strength for the sense,  
Guerdon of Virtue, Assosiate of Grace;  
The blotter out of vice and great offence,  
The Font that lavers filth from foulest face.  
The drink and repast of the penitent,  
Swift billow, wafting to amendment.   

Best health of new-returning innocence,  
The Angel food of reconciliation;  
Chief joy of an appeased conscience,  
And the strong hope of soul's election.  
The Odour of the joys of bliss to come,  
The best companion in the day of doom.   

Since tears are of such force, who would not weep?  
And weeping weep for sin, with tears an Ocean:  
A flood within his heart who would not keep?  
To drench the entrance of each sinful motion.  
Yes says my soul, Lord of my soul I will.  
Mary that most hath need will weep her fill.   

Close thou thine eyes, o righteous jeremy,  
Let not thy tears lament the faults of other,  
My sighs, my sobs, my eyes, my Lachrymae,  
Shall wash my soul, & my soules-sinnes discover.  
ay, only I myself, myself alone,  
Will wash in tears and my huge sin bemoan.   

Michah, why weep'st thou, said the men of war?  
Why dost thou us pursue? is not all well?  
Why hast thou strayed from thy home so far?  
Nay sigh not grieved man but quickly tell.  
My God (quoth he) whom I with care did keep,  
Ye'ave stolen from me, and ask ye why I weep?   

Michah with grieved heart doth much lament,  
The loss of his forg'd-fained-golden God:  
And shall not floods of tears of me be spent,  
For loss of him that was my lives abode?  
Shall Michah wail his loss, and shall not I?  
Yes, while I live I'll weep, and weeping die.   

The nimble Hart when he's beset with Hound,  
Seeing no way te'scape pale greedy death:  
Before he feel the first life-killing wound,  
Weeps out a groan, & then yields air his breath;  
And makes the Hunter's heart (though hard as stone)  
By reason of his sighs, his death to moan.   

Shall this mild heart (O Mary) full of evils  
Sigh forth the farewell of his lives decay?  
And shalt not thou that art beset with Devils,  
That rend thy soul as ravenous dogs their prey?  
Yes I will weep sigh, sob, and never cease,  
Till heaven have mercy, and my sins release.   

If holy David did so much lament,  
Th'untimely death of his rebellious Son:  
If he upon the dead corpses these words spent,  
O loss! o Absalon! o Absalon!  
Then needly must I weeping say each hour,  
O loss! no loss to my soul's Saviour.   

As was the sound of Aaron's silver bell,  
Whose sweet alarm caused each man to hear:  
So Mary let thy griefs sin-weeping knell,  
Rung by the virtue of an hearty tear,  
Sound such a loud, and doleful pleasing ditty,  
That it may move thy God, thy woes to pity.   

Few drops (men say) force hard stones asunder.  
Not by compulsion but by often fall:  
See! stubborn stones to moist drops yield; o wonder!  
And shall not God, when tears for mercy call?  
sins tears; almost (me thinks the very name,  
Should be sufficient for to blot my shame.   

O therefore high thee wretched Magdalen,  
To him that sin hath power to forgive:  
Entreat him cleanse thy foul defiled den,  
Desire to die to sin, in him to live.  
Let not thy God, from Simons board be risen,  
Till thou unto thy God be truly shriven.   

As an enraged cold ta'en in thy breast,  
If it continue, proves but little good:  
So will thy sin disturber of thy rest,  
If thou to greater sin dost let sin bud.  
O therefore take thy time, while time thou may,  
For who can tell, how swift time glides away.   

Nor be not thou ashamed before them all,  
Of thy wild sin to make confession:  
But bend thy knee, and bid thy salt tears call,  
Of thy great sin to have remission.  
Defer no time, no week, no day, no hour,  
But plead with tear, best pleading Orator.   

Confess (I say) with a true broken heart  
(For who can tell the force of such confession?)  
Thy sin, and by thy sin, thy just desert,  
And for the same thy soul's contrition.  
With such confession learn for to accord,  
For such regains thy now lost living Lord.   

It joys the Saints, make clear the conscience,  
Cancels the bond of sin, it's hope of pardon:  
It's Brideler of fear, best pleasing incense,  
Heaven opening key, sweet satisfaction.  
Best motive moving thy dull soul to rise,  
From wretched earth, to blessed Paradise.   

jesus I thirst, but not for David's draft,  
Not of the Cistern of Philistines spring:  
'tis not that water though so dearly bought,  
That any comfort to my heart can bring.  
That which the Angel's love, and Saints require,  
That holy water doth my soul desire.   

Open thy gate kind hearted Pharisee,  
Oh give me way, and leave to enter in:  
That I may prostrate, humbly on my knee,  
Show to my God the greatness of my sin  
On stage of black, the Actor be my heart,  
My soul the Chorus, and my sin the part.   

O but (saith one) art not thou Magdalen,  
Notorious for thy sin in this our City?  
Yes sure I am; will ye not therefore open?  
May not a sinners tears move ye to pity?  
Whose that saith Christ? Mary shows her repentance:  
O let her in; thus mercy gives me entrance.   

Woman come forth saith he, stand not behind,  
May I a wretch (O Lord) obtain such favour?  
Mercy to penitents is alway kind,  
O kind Physician! say on my Saviour.  
For never shall these tears of me be spent,  
Till thou bid rise, sin pardoned penitent.  
Pardon thou hast, be free from Satan's den,  
Arise, and sin no more: good God Amen.    

The soul's comfort in Midst of affliction. Or the penitent thieves passion.  

TO whom shall death, th'Almighties Trumpeter  
Seem sowerie sharp, fell-cruell-bitter pain:  
When meager death is but as messenger,  
To tell our souls, that we with God shall reign.   

Come gentle death, since 'tis my saviours will,  
(O blessed will to die I am not sorry)  
Seize 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 heaven,  
Tells me that these my now frail mortal eyes:  
(So soon as soul from body is bereaven)  
Shall see heavens Pharus blessed-Paradise.   

This day my soul, mercy infusing grace,  
(O triple happy soul, t'obtain such favour:)  
In Angel's bliss shall see him face to face,  
That did descend from heaven to be my Saviour.   

This day my life shall die, in bliss to reign,  
This day I shall be freed from every foe:  
This day I die a death to live again,  
This day I cease to weep, and laugh at woe.  
This day's the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 of an eternal reign,  
And the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 of my now dying pain.   

Since it is so, sweet death come let me die,  
Whilst mercy shuts the windows of mine eye.    

Deus mihi totum in toto.  

LEt wicked worldlings fall away from God,  
No earthly cross shall cause my soul to fear  
Afflictions staff, and persecutions rod,  
True patience wills me, and I well can bear.  
Who would not suffer here a little pain,  
And die, to live, that he with God may reign?   

If I of friends and country be neglected,  
Yet ere I lose my faith, I'll beg my bread:  
He that from youth hath alway me protected,  
From his foode-giving hand shall I be fed.  
He keeps the fragments of a feast in store,  
Where mercy wills me knock at bounties door.   

If poorest roof disdain to cover me,  
Nigh building's not on earth but all on high:  
Mean while the Dens and Rock, shall succour me,  
And stubborn earth shall welcome misery.  
Better it is, 'mong Wolves to have abode,  
Then live in house and not to live in God.   

If I with prison's chain fast fettered be,  
My persecutions chain shall prove a crown:  
If all the world oppose itself at me,  
And death (the worst to fear) begin to frown.  
Yet he that for my life, his life did give,  
Will k●●● my death, that I with him may live.   

What though no 〈◊〉 see me buried,  
'tis not a tomb that I desire to have:  
What boots that earth, to earth be carried,  
My bliss is not contained in a grave.  
And for an unction to this bitter gall,  
Heaven covers him that hath no burial.   

Hear me sweet jesus, hear me when I call,  
Since thou to my poor soul art all in all.    

Mors Christi, mihi vita.  

TH'eternal Father, guider of the heaven,  
To his all-glorious and immortal Host:  
No other licence to them hath he given,  
But that their garlands, and their crowns of cost  
(While heavenly quires do sing, as it is meet)  
Be laid at his great Sons immortal feet.   

Yet see the malice and the cruelty,  
Of these hard-hearted and inhuman men:  
With purple cloth (ay me) in mockery,  
They cloth the flesh of this great God; and then  
To him they bend the knee (their sin the more)  
Whom Angel's worship, & the Saints adore.   

See, see, from his deep wounds out issues blood,  
Dying the purple Dye, more perfect red;  
Woe's me that for my sin should spring that flood,  
Great was his love that so my comfort bred.  
Dye (oh my God) make purple my hard heart.  
So shall it clothe thy wounds, my sin, thy 〈◊〉.  
Ego sum tus causa 〈◊〉.    

Dives in his passion.  

RIch men laugh at me your fill,  
Since to laugh it is your will:  
Make a jest of me and hell,  
Till ye buy that I would sell.   

Christ did tell ye but in vain,  
Of my torture and my pain:  
I, as ye, at hell did smile,  
Satan so did me beguile.   

Were I now to live again,  
Life should be a living pain:  
Ye should laugh, but I would weep,  
I would wake, when ye should sleep.   

Ye should not relieve the poor,  
I would so bestow my store:  
You, not I, should hunt for hell,  
I, not ye, with God would dwell,   

But o my soul plunged in pain,  
Do not Echo thus in vain:  
Worldlings laugh to hear thee moan,  
Harder hearts, than hardest stone.   

For the rain makes flints to mourn,  
When that Atheists, tears do scorn:  
But those scorners all shall die,  
And hell laugh when they shall cry.    

Lazarus in his happiness.  

Poor men if ye beggars be,  
Learn to bear your Cross of me:  
Crosses are the way to bliss,  
Where true patience leader is.   

Patience poor men's treasure chief,  
That doth give the soul relief:  
Such relief as rich men want,  
That the beggars alms is scant.   

joy in heart, ye poorest souls,  
Whom the hand of heaven inrowles:  
In the care of worldlings cross,  
While the rich die with their dross.   

Grieve not that the dogs do lick ye,  
Hellish stings shall never prick ye:  
Let them sing while ye do cry,  
Ye shall live when they shall die.   

Ye shall live in endless joys,  
They live dying in annoys:  
They in soul tormented sore,  
Ye rejoicing evermore.   

Do but then the difference see,  
That twixt rich and poor may be:  
They with Dives lie in hell,  
Ye, with me, in heaven shall dwell.    

A passion of the soul's desire.  

OH had I wings to fly unto that place,  
Where Hierarches & Angels praise my God:  
That I might taste of that eternal grace,  
That frees the faithful from afflictions rod.   

Then should I hear the Cherubins, that sing  
To God, all holy holy Sanctities:  
Then I myself unto my God and King,  
Should humbly tune their heavenly unities.   

Then should I be a free man of that City,  
The gates whereof are pearl, the bars of gold;  
The Lamps no stars, but glories Majesty,  
And Saints the souls that there their freedom hold.   

Then should I see the Prophets in their bliss,  
And the Apostles seated on bright thrones:  
Then should I see that world where no woe is,  
While Angels hands do crown the martyrs groans   

Then should I see the Virgins freed from tears,  
Crowned in the heavens for holy Chastity:  
Blest should I see those babes whose tender years,  
Abode the sting of sharpest cruelty.   

Then should I see, that now I cannot see.  
Through the dark hindrance of my deadly sin:  
Yet mercy says, his wounds makes sinners free,  
His blood the key that lets them enter in.   

O than my God make this world hell to me,  
That I in heaven may see all this with thee.    

Christ's Crown is sharp.  

THe cruel thorns with which our Lord was crowned  
Were sorely sharp that shed his sacred blood:  
A gracious love, in glorious life renowned,  
To hurt itself to do his servants good.   

But while those points did prick his sacred head,  
Sin, death, and Satan, all were deadly wounded:  
O blessed Christ that so my comforts bred,  
As by thy death, both death and hell confounded!   

Blest were the drops of so divine a nature,  
As shed by sinners were the death of sin:  
And blessed Christ that so didst bless thy creature,  
As by thy death didst his best life begin.   

Yet let me weep to see his head so bleeding,  
That is my heart and spirits only feeding.    

Doloris finis gaudium.  

MY heavy soul have patience with thyself,  
The tides will turn the ebb may haule a flow  
A Ship sometime may run upon the shelf,  
And yet be saved from her overthrow.   

Say that thy griefs do gripe thee every hour,  
While that thy life is near the point to die:  
And weakened nature hardly hath the power,  
To bear the burden of thy misery.   

Yet, do thou know, thy sinful soul deserveth,  
far greater death, if justice do thee right:  
And know withal that mercy still preserveth,  
A Sunney blessing for the faithful sight.   

Where thou shalt find that all the world's annoy▪  
Is far unworthy of the smallest joy.    

Benedictus deus in eternum.  

SOme wicked spirit thought my heart accursed,  
Because it saw, how I was woe begon me;  
Sorrow, and death and hell, did seek their worst,  
With all their forces, all to fall upon me.   

Sorrow, did lock my heart with many a sob,  
And brought my life unto the door of death:  
And when death saw how my poor heart did throb  
He show'd the horror of the hell beneath.   

But, when my God did in his mercy see,  
My soul besieged thus on every side:  
With one fair look he made their forces fly,  
Nor death, nor hell, nor sorrow durst abide.   

But left my soul in such a blessed case,  
By mercy's living love to be relieved:  
That I must sing in glory of his grace,  
That helped my soul when it was so aggrieved.    

The sinful souls sob.  

SOrrow and Sin, to my heart are no wonder,  
Since sin and sorrow rend my heart asunder:  
My soul in sin, hath long time had abode,  
While sorrow wept that I offended God.   

My Sin (I must confess) is much more great,  
Then is the sorrow of my grieved heart:  
Yet sorrow wills me humbly to entreat  
For mercy, to assuage my woeful smart.   

Therefore to thee, that canst throw down to hell,  
And after fetch into the Heaven of bliss:  
To thee in whom sweet mercy still doth dwell,  
In whom all comfort was, shall be, and is:   

To thee a wretched soul nigh drowned in sin,  
With sorrow weeps, that he may mercy win.    

Laqueus contritus est.  

Sin and despair, both at a banquet met,  
And in their feasting that they might have joy:  
My yielding soul in haste from me they fet,  
And made it drunk, and drowned it in annoy.   

But tasting of sins cheer▪ I wot full well,  
Despair, that never wished the soul but harm:  
Had well nigh brought my life to that same hell,  
Where sins more thick than Bees in summer swarm.   

Which when I did perceive all woe begon me,  
With bleeding heart I looked up on high:  
And God in mercy so did look upon me,  
And to my grief such medicine did apply:   

That b●ing healed of my despairing sin,  
I might by faith his gracious favour win.    

Par nulla figura dolori.  

IF I were set to seek out sorrows muses,  
And all at once, were come to wait upon me:  
With all the grief that greatest sorrow uses,  
To show the world how I am woe begon me.   

If all the world had brought their woes together,  
And all set down, in their extremest kind,  
And all the kinds had brought their crosses hither,  
To show the death of a tormented mind.   

If all the figures that the Poets feign,  
Should in their nature truly be expressed:  
And every sorrow in a sun dry vain,  
Could show the horror of a heart distressed.   

If these and more than ever yet were known,  
To crucify a poor unhappy creature:  
In pleasure's spirit wholly overthrown.  
Could show the pride of sorrow in her nature.   

I think they all would fall out short in fine,  
To sound but where the depth of my distress,  
And leave this heart, and woeful soul of mine,  
Unto the comfort of the comfortless.   

But since I see God only knows my grief,  
Which is too great for any man to guess:  
And in his mercy lives my soul's relief,  
And he alone can give my heart redress.   

I will beseech his Majesty divine,  
In mercy's height the hope of happiness:  
For to receive this humble soul of mine,  
And bring my heart out of this heaviness.    

Non est Deus sicut noster.  
AT Christ's Ascension heau'ns-vast womb did wonder,  
whilst Angels hearts did bleed & cleave a sunder;  
Immortal passions so did wound and pain them,  
That all amort they sit and thus complain them.  
O thou bright morning star thou glories glory,  
Make us partakers of a woeful story.  
By thee we know, sin, death, & hell confounded,  
But cannot show how wisdom came thus wounded;  
Then 'gan the spirit of that be-slaughtered lamb,  
To tell how by those wounds his goodness came.  
Amid the Centre of an earthly Cell,  
Accompanied with friends I long did dwell:  
At length they wound, & bring me to my end,  
And he that most did hurt was most my friend.  
Life of all lives they killed and put to pain,  
My harm, their good, sour, sweet, my loss their gain.  
O fountain of all mercy, mercy's wonder,  
What heart can hear this and not burst asunder?  
'twas I (woe's me therefore) that caused thine end,  
Whom thou in mercy dost account a friend.  
Within the closure of some obscure Cell,  
My soul be-murdering-Lord till death shall dwell;  
There shall it weeping sit, and read this story,  
Till heaven assume it for to see thy glory.   

A passion.  

LEt me go seek some forlorn place,  
Where nothing lives but sorrows love:  
Where I may sit and wail my case,  
Unto the blessed heavens above.   

For to the world to tell my woes,  
It were a breath but spent in vain:  
A labour that my soul might lose,  
Or with a sigh return again.   

For all the thoughts of pities eye,  
On earth are buried long ago:  
And all the ways of misery,  
Are to despair, or die in woe.   

For virtue she that heavenly Queen,  
That only keeps the soul a crown:  
Whose faith hath in her favours been,  
Though here by fortune beaten down,   

Even she is forced to keep her seat,  
Among the Angel's blessed arms:  
Because she sees the world entreat,  
Her servants with such wicked harms.   

And since I do so plainly see,  
That in the world there is no place  
For virtue, pity, not for me,  
Nor any in my heavy case.   

Let me go seek some sorry Cave,  
With sorrows love to sit alone:  
And like a Ghost within the grave,  
Unto the heavens to make my moan.   

For in the heavens I know he is,  
Who hath subdued the power of hell:  
And in that heavenly hand of his,  
Doth my assured comfort dwell,   

Where Virtue, Mercy, Love and I,  
Shall live together in such joy:  
As though unto the world I die,  
My soul shall think of no annoy.    

His farewell to the world.  

Vain world adieu, since vain is thy best pleasure,  
Thyself a toy:  
In better things than thine consists my treasure,  
In heau'n's mies joy.  
A joy that doth detest Such pleasing goods,  
As sorrow brings the heart in flowing floods.   

Thy baits are sweet at first, yet sour in end,  
From heaven they part;  
A be which hath a sting that doth offend,  
And wound the heart.  
A Friend that sees a life all woe begon it,  
And wisheth ten times more to fall upon it.   

Thy best things are in fine a world of woe,  
A sink of ill:  
A garden where bad weeds are set to grow,  
The soul to kill.  
Thy Paradise a dungeon, jail, or hell,  
Where light in dark for evermore doth dwell.   

Thy glory hath no Sunshine, but a mist  
To blind the eye:  
And therefore let them love thee they that list,  
So will not I.  
I seek a glory that is all above,  
Sweet jesus I seek thee my truest love.   

When most thou smilest then thou most dost frown,  
And seekest to kill:  
Thou dost advance to honour then pullest down,  
Such is thy will.  
Sing in the sweetest key thou canst devise:  
While I with wisdoms wit stop ears and eyes▪   
FINIS.