THE LAMENTATION OF The lost sheep. By G. E. LONDON, Printed by W. jaggard dwelling in Barbycan. 1605. Ibi res humanae nunquam prosper succedunt, ubi negliguntur divinae. Si Christum discis, Nihil est si caetera nescis: si Christum nescis Nihil est, si caetera discis. TO THE RIGHT wonderful sir Francis Castillion Knight, a Gentleman pensioner unto his majesty. THE mighty Emperour Aurelius being demanded what should become of a certain stranger, that audatiouslie entred his pavilion, he answered with words deserving immortal memory: If he come in love let him live, if otherwise, let him bear the price of his presumption. Wherefore though emboldened by a general report of your respective favours to men any ways well quallited, I haue unacquainted, boldly presumed to present this little book unto your worships good acceptance: yet my meaning pretending a love and duteous well wishing, And the subject preferring no idle or unprofitable substance, J hope, you will( with Aurelius) kindly regard the one, and favourably censure of the other: for herein J do but imytate the prescriptions of all former writers, who from time to time haue as well selected strangers, as those of their acquaintance to patronise their endeavours, being known to be louers of learning and virtue. I haue( in the like) heretofore pleased many, and my trust is, J shall not now( in this) displease you, in which hope, J tender my labours to your good liking, And leave your worship to the happy fruition of all your goldly, and hopeful expectations. ever resting At your commandment in all humble duty. G. Ellis. T riumphant famed, like to our saviours star, O nly to point where complete virtues are, T owers aloft unto the Azured sky, H ere in this climb with greatest majesty, E uer beholding, as she soars aloft, R ight virtue placed in Castillions thought, I, thers the Knight, still honoured may he be, G rast by our King, loved in his country, H olinesse itself like lightnings flamme, T race still his steps unto immortal famed, W orthlesse is this poor modren Muse of mine, O ne note to sing, whose descant keeps no time, R ich is my will, but poor my power is, S king then sweet Angels and you Saints of bliss, H elpe me to end, what I haue here begun, I I, help by invocating may be won, P our down the vigour of your living praise, F om sable thoughts my humble Spirit to raise V unto the crystal sky with diamond pure, L et me there writ his Name for to endure, L ike bright Astreas golden helm to shine, S such is his worth, nay, he's more divine, I n the worlds last age there shall still remain, R ecords on him of everlasting famed, F air fortune grant thou ever be his guide, R euerently kneeling by his worthy side, A nd worship thou his virtuous conversation, N o Man whereof can give due estimation, C ome Clio come, bring forth thy golden pen, I f praise immortal thou canst give to men, S ee, see, maecenas in this Knight suruiues, C ome all you Muses that sweet verse contriues, A nd spend the vigour of eternal spirits, S weetly emblasing Castillions merits, T hat when pale death of course shall claim his due, I n spite of death his daies may still renew, L et not desert, and virtue shining faire, L prive in oblivion, base and deep despair, I f you'll but writ what all the world importunes, O r sing sweet lays of him, and his good fortunes, N o Saint of bliss or angel bright but will K eepe consort true unto your Poem still, N ay jove himself for all such Knights as he, I n heauens faire choir assures them place to be, G o worthless lines fall prostrate at his feet, H umbly entreat a pardon for thee meet, T hat he vouchsafe of thee and thy Lost sheep. The lost sheep. 1 above the Clouds, where spangled troops of stars adorn the precious bosom of the sky, where heavenly peace abandons breaking jars, from whence sweet comfort comes in misery: And all the Consort that is tun'de on high. sand forth their delicate melodious sound, That make those crystal vaults with ioy rebound 2 Within the bright Jmperiall orb of rest, Where souls of Saints on golden Altars set, And in the Lambs sweet breath are only blessed, where thousand graces, Millions more beget; Where daies bright shine suffers no sun to set. There mercy is inthron'de in blessed chair, Most gorgeous in attire, most heavenly faire. 3 About her head the swift-wing'd CHERVBINS hover their silver pinions in her eyes, And the sweet spheres with glorions SERAPHINS, Vpon her shining brow with bliss arise, And those bright beams that deck the crystal skies: No stormy cloud can vail her beauteous face, Because there burns the holy lamp of grace. 4 truth richly clothed in milk-white ornament, Stands at the right hand of this happy Saint, From whom the words of righteousness are sent, Whose worth, no wit: whose will, no pen can paint: But as the daughter to the highest power She sits defended in a strong-built Tower. 5 Oh thou, that art both mercy and TRVTHS-self, On whom all grace and goodness doth attend, Thou that dost feed thy seruants with such wealth, As may them from the Tyrants jaws defend, ( So they but on thy sacred state depend) With thy dear MFRCIE save me, save thy son, Who melts with grief for what he hath misdone. 6 And may my soul( oh maker) speak with zeal, I stand in danger of a deadly wound, unless thy mercy me in time do heal, The Dragon spews forth poison on the ground. preserve me( Lord) thy saving health reveal: So tongue, so pen, so hart, shal for the same, Speak, writ, sing, laud and praise unto thy name. 7 That Name, which MOSES on his for-head bare, J in my hart will worship and adore: That Name, which IEWES to name did seldom dare, May J presume for mercy to implore? That Name, which Solomon vpon his breast in his divine PENTACVLVM, did wear; That Name Jle love, Jle reverence, and fear. 8 That Name, which Aron wore vpon his head, fixed to his holy mitre, made of gold; That Name, which ANGELS laud, and Furies dread, Whose praise, no tongue can worthily unfold: that Name, which kills the quick, & quicks the dead; That Name, which flesh is too unpure to name, My sinful soul with sacred zeal inflame. 9 By that sweet Name, which Name we invocate, When sable sadness doth oppress the hart: For whose deere sake, our still-declining state finds comfort in the midst of sorrows smart, I pray in my lament thou act a part. Restore me, that in sinful ways am tost, And( shepherd) save thy sheep that's almost lost. 10 o IESVS at whose sacred birth a star, Was the true figure of eternal life: Thou art all peace, by thee surceaseth war: Thy births beginning ended mortal strife, Thou didst bring glad some harts in stead of jars. O let thy mercy guide my wandring soul, And with thy grace, my graceless ways control. 11 Oh light of heaven thou wast extinkt on earth, Yet to our souls celestial life dost give, Thy death our life, thy rising our new birth, Thou with thy heavenly blessings dost relieve: Thou three daies dead, didst make us ever live. Thou at whose death obscured was th'earth and sky Reduce me to the right, that run awry. 12 fountain of grace, from whom doth onely run, Water of life, to save our souls from death, Oh saviour of the world, pure VIRGINS son, That in read earth infused first vital breath, joining thy god-head with humanity: Oh thou whose name was called EMANVELL, My sin-staind soul from danger save of hell. 13 Oh womans seed that didst from God proceed, By prophets said to break the serpents head, Thou, that in grace and virtue dost exceed, Content to die that thou mightst quicken dead, Thou, that ore death the victory didst get: And that didst raise the dead men from the tomb, Oh help thy seruant, raise thy falling son. 14 Ancient of daies, and yet still young in yeares, Oh Godon earth: oh man, yet most divine, poor in this world, the chief of heavenly peers, Whose glory in th'infernal pit did shine, Oh thou whose praise both SAINTS and ANGELS sing, Stay my sin-following steps from deaths dread hands, That threats as many sorrows as are sands. 15 Oh God of times, and yet in time a man, Beforé all times, thy time of being was, And yet in time, thy humane birth began, Least we should fade untimely like the grass, Thou that hast said, thy word shall never pass: And thou that dost al times begin and end, Vouchsafe thy comfort to my sad-soule sand. 16 I come in clouds of grief, with pensive soul, Sending forth vapours, of black discontent: To fill the concave circle of the Pole, And with my tears bedeaw each continent, For straying from the fold of sweet content. Thou art all mercy, from thy MERCIES throne, Make me in number, one amongst thine own. 17 I bring a hart wherein all woes are closed, Mingled with tears, distilled from weeping eyes, And not so much as hope for me reposed, Is left behind, but quiter from me it flies, unless thy favour please to temporize: For which I beg, for which I wail and mone, That thou redeem me that am almost gone. 18 Like NIOBE, that till death ever mourned, For her deere childrens loss, whom PHEBVS slay, And to a senseless ston at last was turned, That in her life did most extremely rue, And with one grief another did pursue: So will I turn my joys to bitter gull, And sighs to tears( so thou be pleased withall) 19 Thou deepest searcher of each secret thought, Infuse in me thy all affecting grace; So shall my works to good effects be brought, While I peruse my ugly sins a space, Which( I confess) in me hath tane deep place, Whose staining filth so spotted hath my soul, As nought will wash, but tears of inward dole. 20 But wo it is to see fond worldlings use, Who most delight in things that unjust be, And( without fear) work virtues foul abuse, Scorning souls rest and all true piety, Following( with hot pursuit) iniquity, As if they made account never to part From this frail life, this pilgrimage of smart. 21 Such was the nature of our foolish kind, When practised sin hath taken deep-set roote, The way to pennance due is hard to find, REPENTANCE, held a thing of little boot, Such is the foul corruption of mans mind, That contrite tears, souls health, and Angels ioy, Men now account, a mere fantastic toy. 22 Ill working use, devourer of all grace, The freting moth, that wasteth souls chief bliss, The sly close thief, that lurks in every place, Filching by weal, till the whole be his, Teaching corrupted minds to do amiss; How many are deceived by this bait, T'account their sins as trifles of no weight? 19 Oh cursed CVSTOME, causing mischief still, Too long thy craft my sences hath misled, Too long I haue been thrall unto thy will, Too long I haue been Luld in pleasures bed, Too long my soul on bitter sweets hath fed; That surfeiting with thy hell-poysoned cates, I now repent faire virtues former hate. 20 And humbly come with sorrow-rented hart, With blubered eyes, and hands vpreard to heaven, To play a poor lamenting LOST sheeps parte, That would weep streams of blood to be forgiven. So that heauens joys may not from me be-reauen. But( oh) I fear, mine eyes are draind so dry That though I would, enough I cannot cry. 25 If any eye therefore can spare a tear, To fill the well-springs that must wet my cheeks, Oh let that eye to this sad feast draw near, Refuse me not my humble soul be-seekes, With weeping moans help me to fill the air: For all the tears mine eyes haue ever wept, Were now too little had they all been kept. 26 I see my sins arraigned before my face, I see their number pass the motes in sun: I see that my continuance in this place Cannot be long: for since my life begun, All I haue said, all that I haue misdone, I see the judge before my face hath laid, At whose stern looks, all creatures are afraid. 27 If he be just my soul condemned is, And just he is. What then may be expected? But banishment from everlasting bliss, To live like cursed Cain, base, vile, abjected, And from the flock of Gods dear fold rejected? He in his rage his brothers blood did spill: I( more unkind) mine own souls life do kill. 28 Oh could mine eyes sand trickling tears amain, never to cease till my eternal night, till this eie-flood thy mercies might obtain, Whom my defaults hath banished from thy sight, ( Sending forth sighs of true repenting spirit) Then could I bless my happy time of crying: But( ah) too soon my barren springs are dying. 29 Thrice happy sinner was that blessed Saint, Who though he fell with puff of womans blast, Went forth and wept with many a bitter plaint, And by his tears, obtained grace at the last: For in his weeping tears he did not faint. I, having lost myself of mine accord, Haue fallen ten thousand times from my dear Lord. 30 Yet cannot strain one true repentant tear, To gain the bliss from which my soul is banished: My flinty hart such sorrowing doth forbear, And from my sense all true remorse is vanished, So haue my follies lead me without fear, That hart and sense are cloyed with dregs of sin, And ther's no place for grace to enter in. 31 No place( dear Lord) unless thy goodness please To pitty him that worst deserves of any, And in thy tender mercy grant him ease, As thou tofore hath mercy shew'd to many, With th'oile of grace curing their foul disease: Yet none of those do equal me in sin, How may I hope thy mercy then to win? 32 The traitor JVDAS, heire-borne to Perdition, Who for a trifle did his Lord betray, In equal doom deserveth more remission, Then my defaults can challenge any way, That thus haue lost myself and run astray: He sold him once: that once for gain was done, I often times; yet less then nothing won. 33 The bloudy-minded IEWES, in fury mad, until on thee( deere Lord) their rage was fed, In their fell anger more compassion had, And less in self destruction surfeited Then I, for whom thy harmless blood was shed: Their hellish spite within a day was past, My sinful fit doth all my life time last. 34 For every stripe from them my Lord did take, A thousand deadly sins I haue committed, And every sin as deep a wound did make, As did the cords wherewith my CHRIST was whipped For straying from him, now my soul is nipped. Oh hateful caitiff, PARRICIDE most vile, Thus with my sin his pure blood to defile. 35 Oh sin, first parent of mans euer-woe, The distance long, that severs hell and he auen, Sences confounder, souls chief overthrow, Grafted by Men, not by the Grafter given, against true bliss, a secret-working foe: Consuming CANKER, wasting souls chief treasure, Only to gain a little trifling pleasure. 36 happy were Man, if sin had never been; Thrice happy now, if sin he would forsake, But happier far, if for his wicked sin He would repent, and hearty sorrow make, And for his comfort, true CONTRITION take: leaving this dross, and filthy delectation, To gain in heaven, a lasting habitation. 37 There is the place wherein all sorrows die, Where ioy exceeds all joys that ever were; Where ANGELS make continual harmony, The mind set free from care, distrust, and fear: Where vertu's crwoned with eternal glory. There all receive like joyful Contentation, Happied by that most heavenly contemplation. 38 Now do I see the change we make for sin: In stead of heaven, Hell is become our lot; For blessed Saints, we damned fiendes do win; For rest and freedom, lasting bondage got. Such payment, and such interest is sins shot. For ioy, content, eternal love, and peace; grief, despair, hate, and jars that never cease. 39 The worm of CONTIENCE still attendeth on me, Telling each hour, each instant I shall die, And that my sins cannot be partend from me, But where I am, thither they likewise fly, Working my souls heart-breaking misery, urging this stil, that death I haue deserved, Because I fled from him I should haue served. 40 What greater sin can touch a human heart? What hellish FVRIE can be worse tormented? What sinner lives, that feeleth not a part Of that sharp plague, unless he haue repented, And with remorseful tears sins scourge prevented? And yet I find REPENTANCE is but vain, Without full purpose not to sin again. 41 And ist not then follies contagious error, To covet that, which brings with it contempt, And make us live in fear, distrust and terror Hating at last the thing we did attempt, Pursuing still our courses with black horror: For never sin did yet so pleasing taste, But lustful flesh did loathe it, when twas past. 42 witness my woeful soul, which well can tell, In highest top of sins most fresh delight Although my frailty suffered me to dwell, Yet being past, I loathed it with despite, And then( methought) it seemed a second hell: Yet like the SWINE, I see mine own desire, That being clean, do covet still the mire. 43 So greedy is mans beastly appetite, To follow after dunghill pleasures still, And feed on carrion, like the ravening Kite, Not caring what his hungry maw doth fill, So he may please his fond affecting will: He worketh still, a self-conceit effect, Without constraint, controlment, or respect. 44 Oh, why should man, that bears the stamp of heaven, So much abase heauens holy will and pleasure? Or why was sense and reason to him given, That in his sin cannot contain a measure? But still neglect his souls celestial treasure: He knows he must account for every sin, And yet committeth sins that countlesse been. 45 This to peruse( dear God) doth kill my soul, But that thy mercy quickeneth it again; Oh hear me( Lord) in bitterness of dole, That of my sins do prostrate here complain, And for the same poure forth my tears amain. And at thy feet with mary knock for grace, Though wanting MARIES tears to wet my face. 46 She happy sinner saw her life misled, At sight whereof, her inward hart did bleed: To witness with her, outward tears were shed, Oh blessed SAINT, and oh most blessed dead: ( For on the tears of sinners ANGELS feed) But wretched I, that see more sins then shee, Nor grieve within, nor yet weep outwardly. 47 When she had lost thy presence but one day, The want was such, her hart could not sustain, But to thy tomb, alone she took her way, And there with mournful sighs she did complain, And down her face tears trickled like the rain: Nor from her sense once stirred or moved was she, until again she got a sight of thee. 48 But I haue lost thy presence all my daies, And stil I am slack to seek thee as I should, My wtetched soul in wicked sin so stays, I am vnmeet to seek thee, though J would, J haue so strayed from thee in byways: Yet if I could with tears thy coming tend, I know, I should( as she) find thee my friend. 49 tears are the key, that ope the way to bliss, The holy water, quenching heauens quick fire: Th'atonement true twixt God and our amiss, The ANGELS drink, the blessed SAINTS desire: ( happy is he that sings in this sweet quire) The ioy of thee( OH CHRIST) the balm of smart, The spring of life, ease to a grieved heart. 50 The second king of ISRAELL by succession, When with VRIAHS wife he had offended, in bitter tears bewailde his great transgression, And by his tears found grace and so repented, For at the same almighty God relented. He night and day in weeping did remain, I, night nor day, to shed one tear take pain. 51 And yet my sins in greatness and in number, Far his exceed. How comes it then to pass, That my REPRNTANCE should so far be under, And graces force( dear God) is as it was? Why is CONTRITION now so far asunder? Truth is; that I, although I haue more need, Do not as he, so truly weep indeed. 52 Oh, wherefore is my steelie hart so hard? Why am J made of mettall unrelenting? why is all ghostly comfort from me bard? Or to what end do J refer repenting? Why am J not of after-claps afraid? Can lustful flesh, or flattering world persuade me, That I can scape the power of him that made me? 53 No, no, the secret searcher of all harts, Both sees and knows the deeds that I haue done, And for each deed will pay me home with smart, No show can shadow what I haue misdone; No place can serve his will decreed to shun: I should deceive myself, to think that he For sin would punish others, and not me. 54 Our first-borne Sire, first breeder of mans thrall, For one bare sin, was of perfection reft, and all mankind was banished by his fall From paradise, and unto sorrow left, and former comfort was from him bereft. if he for one, and all for him feel pain, Then for so many, What shall I sustain? 55 The ANGELS, made t'attend on God in glory: Were thrust from heaven, and, onely for one sin, That but in thought( for so records the story) For which they still in lasting darkness been, And cannot suins bright shining comfort win. If these once glorious thus tormented be, J poor LOST sheep, what will become of me. 56 What will become of me, that not in thought, In thought alone, but in each word and deed, A thousand, thousand, deadly sins haue wrought, and still do work, whereat my hart doth bleed; Being by sin out of the right way lead? Which makes me thus bewail, lament, and grieve, For grief, and sorrow, must my cares relieve. 57 Now do I curse the time, J ever went In sins black path, that leadeth to damnation: Now do J hate the houres I haue misspent In idle 'vice, neglecting souls SALVATION, Now do I grieve I lost that was but lent. And to redeem the time J haue misse-worne, I wish this hour I were again new born. 58 But vain it is, as saith the wisest man, To call again the day that once is past. Oh! let me see what best is for me than, To gain thy favour whilst my life doth last, ( For worldlings favours are but as a blast) That in the next, J may but worthy be, even in the meanest place to wait on thee. 59 J do as did the prodigal son sometimes, Vpon my knees with hearty true CONTRITION And weeping eyes confess my former crime, Not hiding any wilful sins transgression, But humbly beg, vpon my low submission, That thou wilt not of former faults detect me, But like a loving father now respect me. 60 And thus will J in sorrow spend my breath, And spot my face with neuer-dying tears, Till aged wrinkles MESSENGERS of death, Haue purchased mercy, and removed fears, And brought true hope in stead of false despairs. And then the world within my looks shall red The piteous wrack unbridled sin hath bread. 61 Oh that I were removed to some close cave, Where all alone, retired from delight, I might my sighs and tears vntroubled haue, And never come in wretched worldlings sight, In whose ill deeds misfortune works despite. Whose ill bewitching company still brings, deep provocation, whence great DANGER springs. 62 Jll company, the cause of many woes, The sugared bait, that hideth poisoned hook, The rock unseen, that shipwrecked souls ore-throwes The weeping CROCODILE, that kills with look, The Siren, that can never virtue brook; The readiest step to ruin and decay, Graces confounder, and hels nearest way. 63 How many souls do perish by thy guile? How many men do without fear frequent Thy deadly haunts? where they in pleasure smile, Taking no care such danger to prevent, Nor sorrowing for their youthful time misspent: But live like BELIALS, senseless and vnta'md, Not looking for their faults they shall be blamed. 64 alas, alas, too wretched do we live, That carelessly do work our own confusion, And to our wills such liberty do give: ay me It is the divels mere illusions, Who spareth not to practise lewd conclusions; To flatter us with such SENCE-pleasing trains, That he thereby may take us in his chains. 65 This well fore-saw good men of ancient time, Which made them shun th'occasions of foul sin, Knowing it was the nurse of every crime, And SIREN-like would train fond worldlings in; And never cease until their souls they win. Aluring them with show of politics sound, until on sins deep gulf their souls were drowned. 66 But better tis beleeue me in my trial, To shun such hell-hounds Factors of the divell, And give them leave to grudge at your denial, Then to partake with such in sin and evil, Treading the open way that leads to hell: For, if that God in iustice then should stay us From hell and horror who( alas) could stay vs. 67 Good God: the just( as he himself hath spoken) Should scarce be saved, oh terror vnremoueable! What should they that never had a token, Or sign of grace( souls comfort most behouable, Bringing to good minds joys unspeakable) But graceless lived, and al good works did hate, What hope of them that live in such a state? 68 Oh who will give me tears, that J may wail Both nights and daies, the dangers J haue past? My soul, my soul tis much for thy avail, That thou art gotten from these straits at last, And hast recovered that was almost lost. Oh ioy, but in thy ioy mix tears withal, That I haue time to say, Lord, hear me call. 69 I seek not to conceal my deeds misdone, That I haue sinned 'gainst heaven, J do confess And am unworthy to be called thy son, unless thy mercy make my sin seem less: Though crime be great, Oh let CONTRITION Procure a pitti-yeelding swift relief, That for sins past suffer a harts true grief. 70 Now do I see, and sighing grieve to see, That what we here possess is but a blast, Nothing's found sure in this mortality, But virtues shipwreck, and true honors waste, desert is still by harsh repulse disgraced? Minds meaning well do taste of misery, When harts corrupted are aduanc't on high. 71 From bad to worfe still grows this wicked world, Wherefore I think that PLATOES wondrous year, ( When as the orbs of heaven shall be reuolu'd, To their first course) approacheth very near; The bands of th'element shall be dissolved. And till those daies of consummation come, Cares shal make mute, & sorrows make me dumb. 72 vanity is the mask wherein fond youth Doth march and wander to his own annoy; Folly attends as page.: but care and wrath Are the rewards of soule-seducing ioy. This lesson hath experience taught for truth, That after wits are bit with many cares, And had I wist, is wrapped in sorrows snares. 73 From the green pastures, mounts, and meads, And from the crystal current of heauens joys; The wolf hath cast me, and foul error leads My soone-seduced steps to such annoies, That where I feed, my starving food destroys; seek me deere SHEPHERD, else J shall be lost, From blessed vales, to thorns and thistles tost. 74 Oh seek me( Christ) as once thy mercy sought Downe-falling DAVID from thy mountain laws: oh seek thine own, thine own whom thou hast bought, And keep me from the Draggons open jaws; Where sin betrays for every slender cause. For from the treasure of thy sacred side, Thou paid'st the ransom of accursed pride. 75 With shame-sick ADAM haue I hide my head, Vnparadiz'd, from my ANGELL-like state, And from the presence of thy father fled, My soul sepultur'd in my bodies hate. My heap of sins hath bard that blessed gate Was opened wide, by that deep sluice was made Within that wound, where mercies balm was laid. 76 Paine-pearced shepherd, master of that fold, Old ISRAELL brought into thy spacious field, For which thy self, thy glorious self hath sold, Making a dearth such store of MANNA yield, With which the parched and desert plains were filled; That where thy lambs from sweet repast were driven, They banquet with celestial food from heaven. 77 Thou drankest fretting vinegar with gull, To make their bitter waters hunny-sweet, That spongy moisture, that in deadly thrall, For thy pale lips the sons of men thought meet: From such a holy shepherd who would fleet? None but myself who having lost my mark, Wander alone in shames despised dark. 78 Behold my feet entangled in the briars, And envious brambles tear my fleece away: To loose them( Lord) my gasping soul desires, Least to the ravens J become a pray: Such fruit they reap that run so far astray. Then on thy SHOVLDERS take me to thy fold, The sheep whom thou hast bought, and satan sold. 79 five talents didst thou pay, whereon was framed The seal of death, impressed with crimson blood; Two in thy hands, two in thy feet remained, One in thy side. Those bought that heavenly food, That feeds the soul with his eternal good. Oh bring me then sweet CHRIST, where J may feed On that, for which I sigh, and thou didst bleed. 80 So shall J bid adue to deep despairs, And welcome hearts delight and souls content; So shall J put away distrust and fears, And sing thy praises, till my daies be spent, With joyful hymns, after a sad lament: That this may be thy seruant suite doth make, thy LOST SHEEP begs, even for thine own names sake. The Conclusion. No far-fetched story haue I now brought home, Nor taught to speak more language then his mothers No long dark POEM is from darkness come, To light: It's ill to filch from others. J do lament my wandring deeds misdone, From whence alone proceeds my hate-bred sorrow, which pensive Muse from pining soul doth borrow. I sing not I, of wanton-Loue-sick lays, Or tickling toys, to feed fantastic ears: My MVSE respects no glozing tattling praise, A guilty conscience this sad passion bears: My straying from my Lord hath brought these tears My sinne-sick soul, with sorrow al besprent, Lamenting thus a wretched life misspent. Finis Omnem creed diem tibi diluxisse supremum.