A Christians nightly Care.
WHen thou hast spent the longsom day,
in pleasure and delight,
And after toile, and wearie way,
does seek thy rest at night,
Into thy pain and pleasure past,
eke this in labour yet:
Ere sleep close up thine eyes too fast,
do not thy God forget.
But search within thy secret thoghts,
what deeds did thee he fall:
And if thou find a misse in ought,
to God for mercie call,
But if thou find nothing amisse,
that thou canst call to minde:
Yet evermore remember this,
there is the more behinde:
And look how well soever it be,
that thou hast spent this day:
It came of God, and not of thee,
so to direct thy way.
Thus if thou try thy daily deeds,
and pleasure in this pain:
Thy life shall cleanse thy corn from weeds
and thine shall be the gain.
But if thy sleepy sinfull eye,
will venter for to wink,
Before thy wilfull will may try,
how far thy soul may sink:
Beware and walk, or else thy bed
which soft and smooth is made:
Shall heap more evil upon thy head,
then stroak of enemies blade.
But if thy pain procure thine ease,
in bed as thou dostly,
I'm sure it will not God displease,
to sing this soberly.
I see that sleep is lent me here,
to ease my wearie bones,
As death
[...]t length will once appear,
to ease my grievous groanes.
My daily sports with bellie fed,
would cause my sleepy eye,
To sleep so sound in quiet bed,
whereby my soul might die:
The stretching arms, the ganting breath,
that in my bed I use:
Are portraicts of the pangs of death,
when life shall me refuse:
And as my bed each sundry part,
in shadows doth resemble:
Then sundry shapes of death, whose dart
will make my heart to tremble:
My bed it selfe is like the grave,
my sheets, the winding sheet:
My cloathes, the moulds which I must have
to cover me most meet.
The hungry flaes, that lowp most fresh
to worms I can compare,
Which greedily will eat my flesh,
and leave my bones right bare:
The waking Cock that airly crowes,
to put the night away,
Puts me to minde the Trump that blowes
before the latter day,
Then as I rise us lustily,
when sluggish sleep is past,
So hope I to rise joyfullie,
to judgement at the last.
Thus will I wake, thus will I sleep,
thus will I hope to rise.
Thus will I neither wail nor weep,
but sing in holy guise.
My bones shall in this bed remain,
my soul in God shall trust:
By whom I hope to rise again
from death and earthly dust,
All laud and praise be to the Lord,
and also to his Sonne
And likewise to the holy Ghost,
and so my song is done.
Sad Marshall to the singing Larke,
O Blessed bird, whose soaring Song,
declares the lightsome day!
I'm forc'd to blesse thy little tongue,
for thy solacious Lay,
Yea, whilst I think on thine estate,
and hear thine Harmonie,
I find my self to be ungrate,
who sad and silent lie;
For thou hast neither Lands, nor Rent,
nor Riches laid in store:
And yet doest sing as sull content,
and with thy Song doest soar,
But I to whom the loving Lord
hath been more liberal,
I sigh and cannot sing a word,
nor move no mirth at all.
What is the cause that I deplore,
whilst thou so sweetly sings,
But that I bunt to have much more
than yet my fortune brings:
But thou into thy mind's at rest,
contented with thy Lot:
Whilst I with cares am thus opprest,
thou chant'st a chearfull note,
The mean to move me unto mirth,
then is to be content:
And eke with thee to leave the Earth,
and peirce the Firmament;
For here below is nothing else,
but crosse, with changing toyes,
But they that in the highest dwell
have everlasting Joyes.
My blessed bird, tyre not thy tune,
move on thy musick sweet,
For I with cares was quite undone,
till thou reviv'd my Spirit,
And now, since thou hast me restor'd,
with thee I'll soar, and sing:
Giving all laud unto the Lord,
my high and heaven lie King
Finis, quod
Marshal.
The Reply of the Lark.
O Man! sigh on, for thou hast cause
to sorrow for thy sin,
GOD unto me hath giv'n no Lawes,
to lead my life therein:
But by his will be me ordains,
to sing, and show the day:
But thou, O man! who grief sustains;
should bow thy knee, and prey.
Man! thou shouldst be more sad than I,
more dangerous is thy state:
The world, the flesh, and old
[...]by,
thou hast with to debate.
High is the pryze, if thou take care,
that GOD shall to thee gi
[...]
Hard is the case, if thou despa
[...],
or yet secure lie live.
Short while thou hast for to d
[...]plore:
far shorter
I to sing.
A year, or two, or little mor
[...],
to me my date shall bring,
And when the winter waxeth bold,
my layes shall lurk full lov:
For I must shield me in some hold,
till brumal blasts o'reblow.
Yea, fragrant flowrs in summer fair
shall then both droup and die:
Fish in the floods, fowls in the Air,
have their adversitie.
For every time is not the Spring:
no state stands ay at ones
There is a time for us to sting,
a time for sighs and groans.
Take everie state to come from God,
both wealth, want, weal, and wo,
And when he layes on thee his Rad,
thy visitation know:
Yea, when he makes thy cup to flow,
think on adversitie:
Lest that thy wealth thy wit o'rgrow;
in thy prosperitie.
Yet le
[...] no sadnesse thee o'rthrow,
for trifles which thou tires:
Oft whilst t
[...]e earth is clad with snow,
the Sun most brig
[...]tlie shines,
Though for un
[...]wn, be not afraid
each cloud is not a shower
When griefe is gone, and thou art glad,
it shall be sweet that's sowre
No mortal man may climb the top
of full felicitie:
We do but seldom hit our Scope,
how low soever it be,
Though thou wer't mounted to the hight
whereto thy thoughts aspir
[...]s.
Some higher object out o
[...] sight
would kindle new desires.
Then let no world lie vanitie
in vain oppresse thy sp'rit,
Come. soar with me above the Skie,
to thy Redeemer sweet,
Sing of thy lasting libertie,
when all these pains are past:
Sing of thy joyfull jubilie,
thou shalt enjoy at last,
So shall thy wishes be compleat,
to the most high degree:
So shall thy present crosse be sweet,
how sowre soever it be,
Then sing, and sigh; sigh and sing,
till thou enjoy that Day
Of perfect joy, with Christ thy King,
where thou shalt sing for ay.
FINIS.