MEanwhile the hainous and despightfull act
Of Satan done in Paradise, and how
Hee in the Serpent, had perverted Eve,
Her Husband shee, to taste the fatall fruit,
Was known in Heav'n; for what can scape the Eye
Of God All-seeing, or deceave his Heart
Omniscient, who in all things wise and just,
Hinder'd not Satan to attempt the minde
O Lord, my praying hear; Lord, let my cry come to thine ear. Hide not thy face away, But haste, and answer me, In this my most, most miserable day, Wherein I pray and cry to thee.
My days as smoke are past; My bones as flaming fuel waste, Mown down in me, alas. With scythe of sharpest pain. My heart is withered like the wounded grass; My stomach doth all food disdain.
My God, most glad to look, most prone to hear, An open ear, oh, let my prayer find, And from my plaint turn not thy face away. Behold my gestures, hearken what I say, While uttering moans with most tormented mind, My body I no less torment and tear. For, lo, their fearful threat’nings would mine ear, Who griefs on griefs on me still heaping lay, A mark to wrath and hate and wrong assigned; Therefore, my heart hath all his force resigned To trembling pants; death terrors on me pray; I fear, nay, shake, nay, quiv’ring quake with fear.
Then say I, oh, might I but cut the wind, Borne on the wing the fearful dove doth bear:
Thy mercy, Lord, Lord, now thy mercy show: On thee I lie; To thee I fly. Hide me, hive me, as thine own, Till these blasts be overblown, Which now do fiercely blow.
To highest God I will erect my cry, Who quickly shall Dispatch this all. He shall down from heaven send From disgrace me to defend His love and verity.
NO more of talk where God or Angel Guest With Man, as with his Friend, familiar us'd To sit indulgent, and with him partake Rural repast, permitting him the while Venial discourse unblam'd: I now must change Those Notes to Tragic; foul distrust, and breach Disloyal on the part of Man, revolt, And disobedience: On the part of Heav'n
"As certain also of your own poets have said"— (Acts 17.28) Cleon the poet (from the sprinkled isles, Lily on lily, that o'erlace the sea And laugh their pride when the light wave lisps "Greece")— To Protus in his Tyranny: much health!
DECAMERON, x. 7 There is no woman living that draws breath So sad as I, though all things sadden her. There is not one upon life's weariest way Who is weary as I am weary of all but death.
1 Sometime now past in the Autumnal Tide, When Phoebus wanted but one hour to bed, The trees all richly clad, yet void of pride, Were gilded o’re by his rich golden head. Their leaves and fruits seem’d painted but was true Of green, of red, of yellow, mixed hew, Rapt were my senses at this delectable view.
2 I wist not what to wish, yet sure thought I, If so much excellence abide below, How excellent is he that dwells on high? Whose power and beauty by his works we know. Sure he is goodness, wisdom, glory, light,
PIERCE &CUDDIE Cuddie, for shame hold up thy heavye head, And let us cast with what delight to chace, And weary thys long lingring Phoebus race. Whilome thou wont the shepheards laddes to leade, In rymes, in ridles, and in bydding base: Now they in thee, and thou in sleepe art dead.
CUDDY Piers, I have pyped erst so long with payne, That all mine Oten reedes bene rent and wore: And my poore Muse hath spent her spared store, Yet little good hath got, and much lesse gayne, Such pleasaunce makes the Grashopper so poore, And ligge so layd, when Winter doth her straine.
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