Pietatis lachrymæ. = Teares of deuotion

Pietatis lachrymæ. = Teares of deuotion

Table of contents

Title page

To the Right worshipfull, learned and vertuous, Sir Thomas Kitson Knight: earthes good heere, and Heauens blisse heereafter.

To the Right worshipfull and no lesse vertuous Lady, the Lady Elizabeth Kitson, wife to Sir Thomas Kitson Knight: Earthes prosperity, and Caelestiall happines.

In Authorem.

In eundem.

An Introduction:

A passion of an afflicted soule.

Teares Efficacy, and Sinnes pardon. Or Mary Magdalens Lachrymae.

The soules comfort in Middest of affliction. Or the penitent theefes passion.

Deus mihi totum in toto.

Mors Christi, mihi vita.

Diues in his passion.

Lazarus in his happines.

A passion of the soules desire.

Christes Crowne is sharpe.

Doloris finis gaudium.

Benedictus deus in eternum.

The sinful soules sob.

Laqueus contritus est.

Par nulla figura dolori.

Non est Deus sicut noster.

A passion.

His farewell to the world.

§

§

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Pietatis Lachrymae. TEARES of deuotion.

Temporis praeteriti fructus est compunctio, futuri flos est deuotio.

—Bernard.

LONDON, Printed by Edward Allde, and are to be sold at the long shop vnder S. Mildreds Church in the Poultrey. 1602.

To the Right worshipfull, learned and vertuous, Sir Thomas Kitson Knight: earthes good heere, and Heauens blisse heereafter.

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THere was a world (but now that world is not,)

When Vertue was within mens hearts inroulde:

But now that world is almost cleane forgot,

For vildest things doe mens affections holde.

There was a time (but now, more griefe, tis not)

When men (though mortall) seemed halfe deuine:

There was a golden age, that age forgot,

When men (in charity) not wealth did shine.

There was a time when men relieu'd the poore,

But he's now counted wise that keepes his owne:

There was a time, when men did heauen implore,

But now who thinkes of heau'n is scarcely knowne.

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There was a tim [...] when most men liu'd in God,

And mens perfections all on high were placed:

But now in Mammon most men haue aboad,

Earth is prefer'd fore heau'n, and Saints disgraced.

But in that soule who heauen doth onely minde,

Deuinest wisdome will for euer dwell:

Jf such a soule in thee she cannot finde,

Where such a soule to finde J cannot tell.

For nothing can thy soule from comfort seuer,

In him that bought thee deare, and lou'd thee euer.

Your Worships euer most humbly deuoted William Euans.

To the Right worshipfull and no lesse vertuous Lady, the Lady Elizabeth Kitson, wife to Sir Thomas Kitson Knight: Earthes prosperity, and Caelestiall happines.

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EXpound Tabithai, and tis Dorcas name,

And Dorcas is a Roe-bucke sharpe of eye:

In this respect Tabithai wonne her fame,

That from the earth her soule did pierce the skie.

By faithes pure worke true graces quallity,

Her mortall life wonne immortality.

Is there none like Tabithai? God forbid,

Yes some there are, but of those some too fewe:

Many make shew, but doe not as she did,

But giue me leaue to giue your deeds their due.

Many haue faith, no workes, their faith is vaine:

Your workes approoue Tabithai liues againe.

From the admirer of your vertues. William Euans.

In Authorem.

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INspired soules breath but the thoughts of blisse,

Whose humble hearts in heauē are onely placed

and while the worldlings run their course amisse,

In Graces eyes, are gratious spirits graced.

So may I say of that which heere I see,

Drawne from the fountaine of a heauenly spring:

Where those best humours alwaies nourisht be,

That make the soule of heau'nly comforts sing.

Continue therefore this good course of thine,

And God will blesse, and his blessed loue thee:

And such as know what comforts are deuine,

Will smile at them, that blindely wil reprooue thee.

And for my selfe, I finde thy labours such,

I cannot loue nor praise thy worke too much.

Nich. Breton Gent.

In eundem.

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WIth some fantasticke foolish braine or other,

(Causles) thy weeping lines may be disgraced

While wisdomes wit their folly doth discouer,

And thou thereby in better thoughts be placed.

Thy lynes (no Panimne toyes) thy Text deuine,

Exhales such darkning clouds that Sun may shine.

Goe on to weepe, and weeping laugh at those,

That doe the pangs of thy sicke soule despise:

While thou dost weeping win, they laughing lose,

The crowne that is ordain'd for thy sad eyes.

While I goe sit me downe, and musing wonder,

To see thy heart for sinne nigh torne asunder.

Sweet is the Musicke that thy passion sings,

A high-fetcht note surpassing Ela's straine:

Suckt from the waters of those Hesbon springs,

That rise and flow, to neuer ebbe againe.

Who wold not (taught by thee) do his endeuour?

Learne so to weepe, that he may liue for euer.

Phil. Holland Gent.

An Introduction:

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A Way vaine youth that studies nought but praise

The soules Inchauntrix, and the woe to man:

When sharpest theame in weeping Oadases,

Is all too little wretch doe what thou can.

For to manure the odour of thy sinne,

That thou from mercies seate, mayst mercy win.

Deuote thy wits to loue and venery,

Base subiect, fit to adde sinne vnto sinne:

Be-witch mens soules with beauties fopperie,

By Ʋenus forged-Goddesse praise to winne.

Onely let me for my sinnes feate a rod,

Learne how to liue, and not offend my God.

Illuminating God, faire milke-white Doue,

The soules best teacher, Tutor vnto blisse:

AffliCtions comfort, Ghost of eternall loue,

Cleane Guest, that loues to Inne, where no sinne is.

License my soule to weepe with those true eyes,

That heauens implore, and all the world despise.

A passion of an afflicted soule.

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NO sooner had the Sunne all shewed his face,

Measuring the welkin, by a furlongs space:

But that I sat free from his scorching beame,

Vnder an Oake fast by a siluer streame.

Not long I sat, but soone I heard one crye,

Distilling shewers of teares from his sad eye.

And with those teares that did from him proceede,

Came sighes (true partners in each woe & need)

And with those sighs, came words, to heare, a wōder,

which thought-torne-hart had almost broke asunder,

Neerer I stept, but yet I stood aside,

to see the end, and what might him betide.

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When soone me thought I might this man behold,

Placing his armes a crosse, with an infolde:

Casting his lookes to heau'n, sometimes to earth,

When offring speech, feare stopt his vitall breath.

Yet truce he tooke with feare, heart-grieued man,

and with a mournefull voice, these words began.

Peter denyed his Christ for feare of daunger,

And swore (being askt) he was to him a stranger:

O false forsworne, vilde-wretch that knew him wel,

Who lou'd him more then any tongue can tell.

Yet he his fault no sooner gan to see,

But he repented and from sinne was free.

Saule did torment the seruants of the high,

Clad all in armes to worke their Tragedy:

And martyr'd Steuen, that high sweet Sa. in heau'n

Was by his meanes of his deare life be-reauen.

Of this great sin, he likewise was forgiuen,

Whome, we Canonize Saint, as blessed Steuen.

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Dauid did heap one sinne vpon another,

That so the first, the last might better smother:

Murder, blacke murder, and adultery,

The least brings man to hels foule misery.

He also was of this vilde fault forgiuen,

And now with God, enioyes a place in heauen.

These all did sinne, but yet were free'd from feare,

But my sinne's greater then I well can beare:

Christ came a Sauiour that we all might liue,

Yet my sinnes such, as would he would forgiue.

Yea sinne doth cause me to be so forlorne,

As makes me wish I neuer had bin born.

O grieued soule why dost thou sighing crie?

Why spring such flouds from thy immortall eye?

Art thou surcharg'd with sinne? plunged in woe?

Thy teares say yea, though silence tell me no.

Oh (out alas) that I might once be free,

Where thou (O God) might haue no power to see.

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If I climbe vp to heauen, (oh) thou art there,

And at thy right hand sits my Sauiour deere:

Whose saluing woūds, my soule so much neglected

That force, perforce, I needs must be reiected.

And by those dooming words thou breath'st in ire,

Be headlong cast into eternall fire.

Heau'n gates are shut sweet mercy there in none,

Then to blacke foggie hell ile get me gone:

That kingdome's priuiledg'd, perhaps and free

From sight of him, who all things else doth see.

Oh! but my fearefull conscience willes me know,

As God rules heau'n aboue, so hell below,

And sayes, those gates stand ope to let soules in,

Fit place of torture for their grieuous sinne:

And as the heauens, so doth he hell retaine,

Death dooming-torture neuer-dying paine.

Why then be gone poore soule, poast hence away,

For heere thou maist not, nay thou dar'st not stay.

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Oh! that I had Auroraes wings to flye

Beyond those Seas, where farther parts doe lye;

Or to some country which no eye hath seene,

Where neuer creature hath bin bred or beene,

But tis in vaine, for thy farre-reaching hand,

Can quickly pull me, from that vnknowne land.

Be dimme oh brighest Sunne, toarch-man to day,

Let thy moyst oyle decrease, thy light decay:

Faire Luna let not thy bright beames be spide,

For peraduenture, darknes may me hide.

Oh (saies my conscience) trust not to blacke night,

For with thy God darknes is as the light.

Wel I could wish that some huge high-topt mountaine,

Or els some vast-known bottomles deep foūtaine

Would take my life from his all-seeing eye,

Whose onely name, makes me dispayring dye.

But all in vaine, for if I there woud be,

No rockes nor flouds, can hide my sin from thee.

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Where ere I would be, thou O God art there,

And though not seene, yet I thy voyce doe heart:

That voice that to my sinfull Grandsire came,

Inforceth me to say, Lord heere I am.

Heer's Adams sinfull Of-spring knowne by name,

First man created, and the first of shame.

Heere is a sinfull wretch, a Demie Deuill,

Proane vnto nothing, but to that is euill:

Vnthrifty in goodnes, Marchant in vile sinne;

Exchanging better wares, more worse to win.

Earths excrement, (alas) of all men hatefull;

vnkinde vnto my selfe, to God vngratefull.

From these ill wishes I must needs refraine,

Since all my wishes are both fond and vaine:

Or what I wish for, if I could obtaine,

Those things I wish for, would soone prooue my paine▪

What ere I wish for, or doe most desire,

The things I wish prooue ministers of yre.

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The things obscurest thou O Lord canst see,

No place from thy world-seeing-eye is free:

The secretst parts that in my body lye,

They all lye ope to thy all-seeing eye.

Thou likwise brought me frō my mothers wombe,

And thou shalt Iudge me at thy fearefull doombe.

The Prince of darknes doth likewise accord,

Bids me dispaire in my death-dying Lord;

Caytiffe saith he, looke not to heau'n for grace,

Since heau'n and earth see thy sin-couered face.

Earth looks at heau'n, heau'n at the earth doth wonder

That earth vp-holding sin, rents not a sunder.

Tels me that wealth, was my hearts chiefest treasure;

Sayes that in pride, I tooke my sweetest pleasure;

Enuy and malice, doing neighbour wrong,

All these I doe confesse, I lou'd too long:

Murder blacke murder, and fowle leachery,

Were coupled Actors in this tragedy.

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He further saies, that God shall prooue vntrue,

If he forgiue to whome reuenge is due:

That God's not God, except he doe prooue iust,

That he reuenge for sinne needs render must.

Tis true, tis true, ô whether shall I run?

Would God my life were now but new begun.

Now wold I sowe, whē Autumne yeelds ripe corne

Now well nigh dead, now doe I wish new borne:

Long haue I liu'd, out-liuing manie men,

passing the age of foure-score yeeres and ten.

And now the Deuill for to adde more paine,

Saies my huge sin calles but for grace in vaine.

D [...]ue [...], let not the sluces of thine eyes,

Make thy teares passage vnto Paradise:

Intreate not Abram send vs Lazarus,

No, for if that heau'nling come among vs,

Hee'le but delate of that I feare to know,

Hell, Death, Destruction, Deuils, Torture, Woe.

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Thus might I see this poor wretch plung'd in woe,

Almost receiuing foule sinnes ouerthrow:

And now his Sea of teares moist drops past number

Lull him (sad pensiue) in a heauie slumber.

Not long he slept, but griefe owle-scriching cries,

Beate pathes for passage through his ceaseles eyes.

Now combates his good Genus with the Deuill,

Mauger the bad, the good expels the euill:

Sathan did tempt him much, & sore did shake him,

Yet the good spirit would not so forsake him.

Though flesh be fraile now he defyeth sinne,

And with fresh teares doth thus his passion gin.

O Ship-wrackt soule, drencht in a Sea of teares.

Laden with Euils and full fraught with feares,

Let bitter flouds fall from thy restles eies,

Make heauens to pitty thy hearts wofull cries.

Neuer, ô neuer cease heau'n to implore,

Till peace of conscience heau'ns to thee restore.

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Swim O my soule, breake through the flouds of sin,

See if with P [...]eter thou the Shore canst win:

And at thy landing rest, thou shalt imbrace

A golden wreath the Lambe, the Childe of grace:

And heauenly Quiers for to welcome thee,

Shall sound the musicke of heauens melody.

Thinke no worke great enough this blisse to gaine;

Great is the ioy that comes of this thy paine:

Trouble like wings must hurle thee vp and downe,

Before thou mayst receiue th'Imperiall crowne.

"Thou vnto dayes & weekes, to months & yeares,

"Must owe the hourely rent of stintlesse teares.

Apprentice-like binde thou thy yeares to care,

The heart thy shop, Gods sacred word thy ware;

Goo [...] tho [...]ghts thy Chapmen, and good works thy gaine

Thy che [...] the poor, & thy reioycing, paine.

"Daies passe in plaints, thy nights without repose;

"Awake to weepe and sleep in wakinge woes.

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Let Wisdome be thy head, Compunction Mother;

Thy friends the Angels, & the Lambe thy Brother.

Take for thy soules sweet Spouse deaths memory,

Thy kinsfolkes sighes, thy children Lachrymae.

This right-hand path leades not thy soule amisse,

But eftsoone brings thee to the bower of blisse.

Consider further, ô my soule (quoth he)

Sinners beside my selfe there many be;

Many haue stain'd the honour of their place,

And yet in heau'ns bright eye not lost their grace.

And though I sin, in liues booke I am noted,

Since now to my deare God, I am deuoted.

Moreouer by his death it doth appeare,

How great the loue is that my God doth beare

To me sinnes Monster and most worthy blame;

The badge of ignomy and Map of shame.

Th'abuser of rich Time, a lumpe of ill,

Too slowe, in good too bad, too swift in will.

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What meaning hath his head declin'd but this?

To giue my sinfull soule a gratious kisse.

His heart's all open, for to let me see,

A heart that hath such loue, none hath but he.

His hands are stretched out for to imbrace me,

That he in Angels blisse, may after place me.

Yea all his pretious corpes (alas) are wounded,

That though I sin, sin, death & hell confounded.

His bodies life, fell-death doth also seuer,

Yet he kils death, that I may liue for euer.

Mercy sweet Iesu mercy let me win,

Since now I hate my selfe, & loath my sin,

This he no sooner said, but I might see

A man well seeming Angell-Saint to be;

Of comely hue of golde his pleated hayres,

More graue in Wisdoms booke, then aged yeares.

His feete insteed or sandals troade the ayre,

And windes for wings, did this Caelestiall beare.

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His first arriuall was with this sad wight,

Whose sinfull soule Iustice did so affright:

To whome, such balme for medcine he did giue,

As dead in sinne, by it are rais'd to liue.

O blessed Lord that in each time of neede,

Sends comfort from aboue, sicke soules to feede.

Doe not dispaire (quoth he) thou wofull man,

Doubt not, but he that made all, all things can;

Thinke not that he that breath'd into thee breath,

Will ought reioyce in thy soules fearefull death.

No wretched man thy God willes thee to know,

Sinnes red as scarlet, he makes white as snow.

Seale this (O Lord) cleare my sinne-spotted-Den,

Teares beg the warrant, Iesu say Amen.

Nemo renascitur in Christi corpore, nisi prius

nascatur in peccati corruptione.

S. August.

Teares Efficacy, and Sinnes pardon. Or Mary Magdalens Lachrymae.

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WHen Anna wept the teares ran down amaine,

From forth the Flud-gates of her watry eyes;

When Agar wept that water she might gaine,

Teares, sobbes, & sighes were onely Sacrifice.

When Susan falsly was condemn'd to dye,

Her innocent true teares did peirce the skye.

They had the things that they with teares required,

Oh who can tell the force of such true teares?

Wonder of wonders for to be admired,

Since eyes, as keyes doe open mercies eares.

Neuer came wretch to God with true contrition,

But did obtaine, so it were iust petition.

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Sad humble teare, shed by a soule diuine,

What maist thou not account of as thine owne?

wilt thou a kingdom? why? heau'ns kingdom's thine

wilt thou a seate thou hast the Lābes bright throne.

Wilt thou be stronge? let one teare, heau'n be sent

And it shall doombe all hell to banishment.

Meate for the soule thou art, strength for the sence,

Guerdon of Vertue, Assosiate of Grace;

The blotter out of vice and great offence,

The Font that Lauers filth from foulest face.

The drinke and repast of the penitent,

Swift billow, wafting to amendement.

Best health of new-returning innocence,

The Angell foode of reconsiliation;

Chiefe ioy of an appeased conscience,

And the stronge hope of soules election.

The Odour of the ioyes of blisse to come,

The best companion in the day of doombe.

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Since teares are of such force, who wold not weep?

And weeping weep for sin, with teares an Ocean:

A floud within his heart who would not keep?

To drench the entrance of each sinfull motion.

Yes saies my soule, Lord of my soule I will.

Mary that most hath need will weep her fill.

Close thou thine eyes, ô righteous Jeremye,

Let not thy teares lament the faults of other,

My sighes, my sobs, my eyes, my Lachrymae,

Shall wash my soule, & my soules-sinnes discouer.

I, onely I my selfe, my selfe alone,

Will wash in teares and my huge sinne bemone.

Michah, why weep'st thou, said the men of warre?

Why dost thou vs pursue? is not all well?

Why hast thou strayed from thy home so farre?

Nay sigh not grieued man but quickelie tell.

My God (quoth he) whome I with care did keep,

Ye'aue stolne from me, and aske ye why I weep?

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Michah with grieued heart doth much lament,

The losse of his forg'd-fained-golden God:

And shall not flouds of teares of me be spent,

For losse of him that was my liues abode?

Shall Michah waile his losse, and shall not I?

Yes, while I liue Ile weepe, and weeping dye.

The nimble Hart when he's beset with Hound,

Seeing no way te'scape pale greedy death:

Before he feele the first life-killing wound,

Weeps out a groane, & then yeelds ayre his breath;

And makes the Hūters hart (though hard as stone)

By reason of his sighes, his death to moane.

Shall this milde Hart (O Mary) full of euils

Sigh foorth the farewell of his liues decay?

And shalt not thou that art beset with Deuils,

That rent thy soule as rauenous dogs their pray?

Yes I will weep sigh, sob, and neuer cease,

Till heau'n haue mercy, and my sinnes release.

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If holy Dauid did so much lament,

Th'vntimely death of his rebellious Sonne:

If he vpon the dead corpes these words spent,

O losse! ô Absalon! ô Absalon!

Then needly must I weeping say each houre,

O losse! no losse to my soules Sauiour.

As was the sound of Aarons siluer bell,

Whose sweet alarum caus'd each man to heare:

So Mary let thy griefes sin-weeping knell,

Rung by the vertue of an harty teare,

Sound such a lowd, and dolefull pleasing ditty,

That it may mooue thy God, thy woes to pitty.

Few drops (men say) force hard stones asunder.

Not by compulsion but by often fall:

See! stubborne stones to moyst drops yeeld; ô wonder!

And shall not God, when teares for mercy call?

Sinnes teares; almost (mee thinkes the very name,

Should be sufficient for to blot my shame.

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O therefore hye thee wretched Magdalen,

To him that sinne hath power to forgiue:

Intreate him clense thy foule defyled den,

Desire to dye to sinne, in him to liue.

Let not thy God, from Simons boord be risen,

Till thou vnto thy God be trulie shriuen.

As an inraged colde tane in thy brest,

If it continue, prooues but little good:

So will thy sinne disturber of thy rest,

If thou to greater sinne dost let sinne bud.

O therefore take thy time, while time thou may,

For who can tell, how swift time glides away.

Nor be not thou asham'd before them all,

Of thy vilde sinne to make confession:

But bend thy knee, and bid thy salt teares call,

Of thy great sinne to haue remission.

Deferre no time, no weeke, no day, no houre,

But pleade with teare, best pleading Oratour.

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Confesse (I say) with a true broken heart

(For who can tell the force of such confession?)

Thy sinne, and by thy sinne, thy iust desert,

And for the same thy soules contrition.

With such confession learne for to accord,

For such regaines thy now lost liuing Lord.

It ioyes the Saints, make cleare the conscience,

Cancels the bond of sinne, it's hope of pardon:

It's Brideler of feare, best pleasing incense,

Heau'n opening key, sweet satisfaction.

Best motiue moouing thy dull soule to rise,

From wretched earth, to blessed Paradise.

Iesu I thirst, but not for Dauids draught,

Not of the Cisterne of Philistines spring:

Tis not that water though so dearely bought,

That any comfort to my heart can bring.

That which the Angels loue, and Saints require,

That holy water doth my soule desire.

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Open thy gate kinde hearted Pharise,

Oh giue me way, and leaue to enter in:

That I may prostrate, humbly on my knee,

Shew to my God the greatnes of my sinne

On stage of blacke, the Actor be my heart,

My soule the Chorus, and my sinne the part.

O but (saith one) art not thou Magdalen,

Notorious for thy sinne in this our Citty?

Yes sure I am; will ye not therefore open?

May not a sinners teares mooue ye to pitty?

Whose that saith Christ? Mary shews her repentance:

O let her in; thus mercy giues me entrance.

Woman come foorth saith he, stand not behinde,

May I a wretch (O Lord) obtaine such fauour?

Mercy to penitents is alway kinde,

O kinde Phisition! say on my Sauiour.

For neuer shall these teares of me be spent,

Till thou bid rise, sinne pardon'd penitent.

Pardon thou hast, be free from Sathans den,

Arise, and sinne no more: good God Amen.

The soules comfort in Middest of affliction. Or the penitent theefes passion.

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TO whom shal death, th'Almighties Trumpeter

Seeme sowerie sharpe, fell-cruell-bitter paine:

When meager death is but as messenger,

To tell our soules, that we with God shall raigne.

Come gentle death, since tis my Sauiours will,

(O blessed will to dye I am not sorry)

Seaze 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 heauen,

Telles me that these my now fraile mortall eyes:

(So soone as soule from body is bereauen)

Shall see heauens Pharus blessed-Paradise.

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This day my soule, mercy infusing grace,

(O triple happie soule, t'obtaine such fauour:)

In Angels blisse shall see him face to face,

That did descend from heau'n to be my Sauiour.

This day my life shall dye, in blisse to raigne,

This day I shall be free'd from euery foe:

This day I dye a death to liue againe,

This day I cease to weepe, and laugh at woe.

This day's the [...] of an eternall raigne,

And the [...] of my now dying paine.

Since it is so, sweet death come let me dye,

Whilst mercy shuts the windows of mine eye.

Deus mihi totum in toto.

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LEt wicked worldlings fall away from God,

No earthlie crosse shall cause my soule to feare

Afflictions staffe, and persecutions rod,

True patience willes me, and I well can beare.

Who would not suffer heere a little paine,

And dye, to liue, that he with God may raigne?

If I of friends and countrie be neglected,

Yet ere I loose my faith, Ile beg my bread:

He that from youth hath alway me protected,

From his foode-giuing hand shall I be fed.

He keeps the fragments of a feast in store,

Where mercy willes me knock at bounties doore.

If poorest roofe disdaine to couer me,

Ny building's not on earth but all on hye:

Meane while the Dens and Rock, shal succour me,

And stubborne earth shall welcome miserie.

Better it is, mong Wolues to haue aboad,

Then liue in house and not to liue in God.

[Page]

If I with prisons chaine fast fettred be,

My persecutions chaine shall prooue a crowne:

If all the world oppose it selfe at me,

And death (the worst to feare) begin to frowne.

Yet he that for my life, his life did giue,

Will k [...] my death, that I with him may liue.

What though no [...] see me buried,

Tis not a toombe that I desire to haue:

What bootes that earth, to earth be carried,

My blisse is not contained in a graue.

And for an vnction to this bitter gall,

Heau'n couers him that hath no buriall.

Heare me sweet Iesu, heare mee when I call,

Since thou to my poore soule art all in all.

Mors Christi, mihi vita.

[Page]

TH'Eternall Father, guider of the heauen,

To his all-glorious and immortall Hoast:

No other licence to them hath he giuen,

But that their garlands, and their crownes of cost

(While heau'nly quiers doe sing, as it is meete)

Be laid at his great Sonnes immortall feete.

Yet see the malice and the crueltie,

Of these hard-hearted and inhumaine men:

With purple cloth (aye me) in mockerie,

They cloath the flesh of this great God; and then

To him they bend the knee (their sinne the more)

Whom Angels worship, & the Saints adore.

See, see, from his deepe wounds out issues bloud,

Dying the purple Dye, more perfect red;

Woe's me that for my sin should spring that floud,

Great was his loue that so my comfort bred.

Dye (oh my God) make purple my hard heart.

So shall it cloath thy wounds, my sinne, thy [...].

Ego sum tus causa [...].

Diues in his passion.

[Page]

[Page]

RIch men laugh at me your fill,

Since to laugh it is your will:

Make a iest of me and hell,

Till ye buy that I would sell.

Christ did tell ye but in vaine,

Of my torture and my paine:

I, as ye, at hell did smile,

Sathan so did me beguile.

Were I now to liue againe,

Life should be a liuing paine:

Ye should laugh, but I would weepe,

I would wake, when ye should sleepe.

Ye should not relieue the poore,

I would so bestowe my store:

You, not I, should hunt for hell,

I, not ye, with God would dwell,

[Page]

But ô my soule plung'd in paine,

Doe not Eccho thus in vaine:

Worldlings laugh to heare thee moane,

Harder hearts, then hardest stone.

For the raine makes flintes to mourne,

When that Athiests, teares doe scorne:

But those scorners all shall dye,

And hell laugh when they shall crye.

Lazarus in his happines.

[Page]

POore men if yee beggers be,

Learne to beare your Crosse of me:

Crosses are the way to blisse,

VVhere true patience leader is.

Patience poore mens treasure chiefe,

That doth giue the soule reliefe:

Such reliefe as rich men want,

That the beggers almes is scant.

Ioy in heart, ye poorest soules,

Whom the hand of heau'n inrowles:

In the care of worldlings crosse,

VVhile the rich dye with their drosse.

Grieue not that the dogs doe licke yee,

Hellish stings shall neuer pricke yee:

Let them sing while ye doe crye,

Ye shall liue when they shall dye.

[Page]

Ye shall liue in endles ioyes,

They liue dying in annoyes:

They in soule tormented sore,

Ye reioycing euermore.

Doe but then the difference see,

That twixt rich and poore may be:

They with Diues lye in hell,

Ye, with me, in heauen shall dwell.

A passion of the soules desire.

[Page]

OH had I wings to flye vnto that place,

Where Hierarches & Angels praise my God:

That I might taste of that eternall grace,

That frees the faithfull from afflictions rod.

Then should I heare the Cherubins, that sing

To God, all holie holie Sanctities:

Then I my selfe vnto my God and King,

Should humbly tune their heau'nlie vnities.

Then should I be a free man of that Cittie,

The gates whereof are pearle, the barres of golde;

The Lamps no starres, but glories Maiestie,

And Saints the soules that there their freedom hold.

Then should I see the Prophets in their blisse,

And the Apostles seated on bright thrones:

Then should I see that world where no woe is,

While Angels hands do crowne the Martirs grones

[Page]

Then should I see the Virgins freed from teares,

Crown'd in the heauens for holy Chastitie:

Blest should I see those babes whose tender yeares,

Aboad the stinge of sharpest crueltie.

Then should I see, that now I cannot see.

Through the darke hindrance of my deadlie sinne:

Yet mercie saies, his wounds makes sinners free,

His bloud the key that lets them enter in.

O then my God make this world hell to me,

That I in heau'n may see all this with thee.

Christes Crowne is sharpe.

[Page]

THe cruel thornes with wc our Lord was crowned

Were sorely sharpe that shed his sacred blood:

A gratious loue, in glorious life renowned,

To hurt it selfe to doe his seruants good.

But while those points did pricke his sacred head,

Sinne, death, and Sathan, 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 deuine a nature,

As shed by sinners were the death of sin:

And blessed Christ that so didst blesse thy creature,

As by thy death didst his best life begin.

Yet let me weepe to see his head so bleeding,

That is my heart and spirits onely feeding.

Doloris finis gaudium.

[Page]

[Page]

MY heauy soule haue patience with thy selfe,

The tydes wil turne the ebbe may haule a flow

A Ship sometime may run vpon the shelfe,

And yet be saued from her ouer-throw.

Say that thy griefes doe gripe thee euery houre,

While that thy life is neere the point to dye:

And weakned nature hardly hath the power,

To beare the burthen of thy miserie.

Yet, doe thou know, thy sinfull soule deserueth,

Farre greater death, if Iustice doe thee right:

And know withall that mercie still preserueth,

A Sunney blessing for the faithfull sight.

Where thou shalt finde that all the worlds annoy▪

Is farre vnworthy of the smallest ioy.

Benedictus deus in eternum.

[Page]

SOme wicked spirit thought my heart accurst,

Because it saw, how I was woe begon me;

Sorrow, and death and hell, did seeke their worst,

With all their forces, all to fall vpon me.

Sorrow, did locke my heart with many a sob,

And brought my life vnto the doore of death:

And when death saw how my poore hart did throb

He shew'd the horrour of the hell beneath.

But, when my God did in his mercie see,

My soule besiedged thus on euery side:

With one faire looke he made their forces flye,

Nor death, nor hell, nor sorrow durst abide.

But left my soule in such a blessed case,

By mercies liuing loue to be relieued:

That I must sing in glory of his grace,

That helpt my soule when it was so agreeued.

The sinful soules sob.

[Page]

SOrrow and Sinne, to my heart are no wonder,

Since sinne and sorrow rent my heart asunder:

My soule in sinne, hath long time had aboad,

While sorrow wept that I offended God.

My Sinne (I must confesse) is much more great,

Then is the sorrow of my grieued heart:

Yet sorrow willes me humbly to intreate

For mercie, to asswage my wofull smart.

Therefore to thee, that canst throw downe to hell,

And after fetch into the Heau'n of blisse:

To thee in whome sweet mercy still doth dwell,

In whom all comfort was, shall be, and is:

To thee a wretched soule nigh drown'd in sinne,

With sorrow weepes, that he may mercy win.

Laqueus contritus est.

[Page]

SInne and dispaire, both at a banquet met,

And in their feasting that they might haue ioy:

My yeelding soule in hast from me they fet,

And made it drunke, and drown'd it in annoy.

But tasting of sinnes cheare▪ I wot full well,

Dispaire, that neuer wisht the soule but harme:

Had well nigh brought my life to that same hell,

Where sins more thick thē Bees in summer swarme.

Which when I did perceiue all woe begon me,

With bleeding heart I looked vp on high:

And God in mercy so did looke vpon me,

And to my griefe such medicine did apply:

That b [...]ing heal'd of my dispayring sinne,

I might by faith his gratious fauour winne.

Par nulla figura dolori.

[Page]

IF I were set to seeke out sorrows muses,

And all at once, were come to waite vpon me:

With all the griefe that greatest sorrow vses,

To shew the world how I am woe begon me.

If all the world had brought their woes together,

And all set downe, in their extreamest kinde,

And all the kinds had brought their crosses hether,

To shew the death of a tormented minde.

If all the figures that the Poets faine,

Should in their nature truely be expressed:

And euery sorrow in a sun drie vaine,

Could shew the horror of a heart distressed.

If these and more then euer yet were knowne,

To crucifie a poore vnhappie creature:

In pleasures spirit wholy ouerthrowne.

Could shew the pride of sorrow in her nature.

[Page]

I thinke they all would fall out short in fine,

To sound but where the depth of my distresse,

And leaue this heart, and wofull soule of mine,

Vnto the comfort of the comfortlesse.

But since I see God onely knowes my griefe,

Which is too great for any man to gesse:

And in his mercie liues my soules reliefe,

And he alone can giue my heart redresse.

I will beseech his Maiestie deuine,

In mercies height the hope of happines:

For to receiue this humble soule of mine,

And bring my heart out of this heauines.

Non est Deus sicut noster.

[Page]

AT Christes Ascention heau'ns-vast wombe did wonder,

whilst Angels harts did bleed & cleaue a sunder;

Immortal passions so did wound and paine them,

That all amort they sit and thus complaine them.

O thou bright morning star thou glories glory,

Make vs partakers of a wofull story.

By thee we know, sin, death, & hell confounded,

But cannot shew how wisdom came thus woūded;

Then gan the spirit of that be-slaughtered lambe,

To tell how by those wounds his goodnes came.

Amid the Center 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 liues they kil'd and put to paine,

My harme, their good, sowre, sweet, my losse their gaine.

[Page]O fountaine of all mercy, mercies wonder,

What heart can heare this and not burst asunder?

Twas I (woe's me therefore) that caus'd thine end,

Whom thou in mercie dost accompt a friend.

Within the closure of some obscure Cell,

My soule be-murdering-Lord till death shal dwel;

There shall it weeping sit, and read this story,

Till heau'n assume it for to see thy glorie.

A passion.

[Page]

LEt me goe seeke some for-lorne place,

Where nothing liues but sorrows loue:

Where I may sit and waile my case,

Vnto the blessed heau'ns aboue.

For to the world to tell my woes,

It were a breath but spent in vaine:

A labour that my soule might lose,

Or with a sigh returne againe.

For all the thoughts of pitties eye,

On earth are buried long agoe:

And all the waies of miserie,

Are to dispaire, or dye in woe.

For vertue she that heauenlie Queene,

That onelie keeps the soule a crowne:

Whose faith hath in her fauours been,

Though heere by fortune beaten downe,

[Page]

Euen she is forc'd to keepe her seate,

Among the Angels blessed armes:

Because she sees the world intreate,

Her seruants with such wicked harmes.

And since I doe so plainlie see,

That in the world there is no place

For vetue, pitty, not for me,

Nor any in my heauie case.

Let me goe seeke some sorrie Caue,

With sorrowes loue to sit alone:

And like a Ghoast within the graue,

Vnto the heau'ns to make my mone.

For in the heau'ns I know he is,

Who hath subdu'd the power of hell:

And in that heauenly hand of his,

Doth my assured comfort dwell,

Where Vertue, Mercy, Loue and I,

Shall liue together in such ioy:

As though vnto the world I dye,

My soule shall thinke of no annoy.

His farewell to the world.

[Page]

VAine world adew, since vaine is thy best pleasure,

Thy selfe a toy:

In better things then thine consistes my treasure,

In heau'n's my ioy.

A ioy that doth detest Such pleasing goods,

As sorrow brings the heart in flowing floods.

Thy baites are sweet at first, yet sower in end,

From heau'n they part;

A Bee 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 vpon it.

[Page]

Thy best things are in fine a world of woe,

A sincke of ill:

A garden where bad weedes are set to grow,

The soule to kill.

Thy Paradice a dungeon, layle, or hell,

Where light in darke for euermore doth dwell.

Thy glorie hath no Sun-shine, but a mist

To blinde the eye:

And therefore let them loue thee they that list,

So will not I.

I seeke a glorie that is all aboue,

Sweet Iesu I seeke thee my truest loue.

When most thou smilest then thou most dost frowne,

And seek'st to kill:

Thou dost aduance to honour then pull'st downe,

Such is thy will.

Sing in the sweetest key thou canst deuise:

While I with wisdomes wit stop eares and eyes▪

FINIS.

[Page]

Information about this book

Title statement

Pietatis lachrymæ. = Teares of deuotion

Evans, William, poet.

Edition statement

1602

Publication

Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

Place of publication

Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) :

Date

2005-12 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).

ID [DLPS]

A00460

ID [STC]

STC 10597.5

ID [STC]

ESTC S105560

ID [EEBO-CITATION]

99841287

ID [PROQUEST]

99841287

ID [VID]

5861

Availability

This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal. The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.

Series

Early English books online.

Notes

(EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A00460)

Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 5861)

Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1475-1640 ; 771:08)

Source

— Pietatis lachrymæ. = Teares of deuotion, Evans, William, poet..

Extent

[64] p.

Printed by Edward Allde, and are to be sold at the long shop vnder S. Mildreds Church in the Poultrey,. London :: 1602.. (Dedication signed: William Euans.) (In verse.) (Signatures: A-D.) (The first leaf is blank except for signature-mark "A"; the last leaf is blank.) (Identified as STC 10596 on UMI microfilm.) (Reproduction of the original in the Henry E. Huntington Library and Art Gallery.)

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