✚ The wofull lamentation of Edward Smith, a poore penitent prisoner in the Iayle of Bedford, which he wrote a short time before his death.

To the tune of, Dainty come thou to me.
I Am a Prisoner poore,
Opprest with misery:
O Lord doe thou restore
that faith which wants in me.
In woe I waile and wéepe,
In griping griefe I cry,
In dungeon darke and déepe,
In fetters fast I lye,
Sighing I sit and moane,
My foule offences all,
My loathsome life is knowne,
which makes me liue in thrall.
Ned Smith I am, the wight
In prison that remaines,
Tormented day and night,
with bands and iron chaines.
My ioyes are turn [...]d to nought,
My hopes are worne away,
My wickednesse hath wrought
my downe-fall and decay.
Those gifts that God gaue me,
My wants for to supply,
Abused much I haue,
To please my fantasie,
My name I did denie,
In Bapti [...]me giuen me,
That Sacrament whereby
Regenerate I should be.
No wit nor strength may serue
The Law to satisfie:
For death I doe deserue,
In right and equity.
For I offended haue
Nobles of high degrée,
What fauour can I craue
For life or liberty?
But hope of life is past,
My acts so hainous be:
And liberty is lost,
Till death doe set me frée.
All men both old and young
Which are at liberty,
And heare my dolefull song,
Example take by me.
Be true, and trust in God,
Fly theft, and vice eschew,
Lest Gods most heauy rod
Correct your déeds vntrue.
Would I had ne'er bin borne
To doe such wicked déeds,
Which makes me liue in scorne
And shame that sore excéeds.
But that which passed is,
I cannot now recall:
My sinnes and my amisse,
O Lord forgiue them all.
Woe worth ill company,
Fie on that filthy crue:
Accurst the day may be
That euer I them knew.
If life and death were set
Before me for to chose,
Though I might pardon get,
My life first would I lose,
Then runne that wicked race,
And doe as I haue done,
Sweet Iesus giue me grace,
That life so lewd to shun.
Farewell my louing wife,
Who sought to turne my minde,
And make me mend my life,
Thy words ful true I finde.
Farewell my children all,
My tender Babes adue:
Let this your Fathers fall,
Be warning good for you.
Deare wife, and Infants thrée,
Serue God, remember this,
That you true subiects be,
Though I haue done amisse.
Farewell my Musick swéet,
And Cittron siluer sound,
Mourning for me is méet,
My sinnes doe so abound.
O Lord, on bended knées,
And hands lift vp on hie,
Cast on me gracious eyes,
With grace my wants supply.
Lay not vnto my charge,
The things that I haue done,
Though I haue runne at large,
And plaid the vnthrift sonne.
Yet now I doe repent,
And humbly come to thée,
My sinnes I doe lament,
Swéet Iesus comfort me.
O Lord I doe lament,
And onely ioy in thée,
To praise thée day and night,
For thou redeemedst me.
Lord saue our royall King
Whose prisoner poore am I,
Prolong his dayes on earth,
With fame and victory.
Against his Maiesty,
I haue offended sore,
Committing Felony,
And now I die therefore.
A dolefull death, God knowes,
Which once I did defie:
Thus must I end my woes
Which I take patiently.
By thée O Sauiour sweet,
In heauen I hope to rest,
In ioy where I shall meet,
Those soules whom thou hast blest,
Where we shall sing thy praise,
O God, with voyces high,
When I shall end my dayes,
And liue eternally.

Printed at London for C. W.

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