The
James Marshall
and Marie-Louise
OSBORN
Collection

There is the day and there is never night.

There ever joy and there is never sorrow.

There never wrong but there is ever right.

There ever have, and never need to borrow.

There ever love and there is never hate.

Never but their was ever such a state.

There all the Graces do agree in one.

There lie the brotheren in one linek of love :

There all the S. do serve one kinge, alone :

Who gives the blisse of highest hartes behoue:

There is the place of perfect paradise :

Where Conscience liues, and comforte never dyes.

There is the Sunne, the beauty of the Skie :

The Moones and starres, the candells of the night:

There is the essence of that heauenly eye :

That blindes the proude, and giues the humble light.

There is the rainbow bended by that hande:

That doth both heauen earth, sea, and hel comande.

There

There sitteth God in glory of his throne.
With Virgins Saintes and Aungells al attended.

Who in his Tre hath kingdoms ouerthrowne:
And in his loue hath little thinges defended.

Whole glory more then may by man be knowne:
And glory melt is in his mercy showne.

There doth hee sitt in highest of his power:
Calling the poore unto his ritche releife:

Sowing the sweet that killeth every lower:

Giving the salve that healeth every greife:

Making them liue that long were dead before:
And so to liue that they can dye no more.

By him alone the dumbe does speak againe:
Of him alone the blind receiue their seing:

With him alone is pleasure without payne:

In him alone haue blessed hartes their being:

To him alone and only but unto him:

All glory due that al the world may do him.

What doest thou thinke, now all thy fences faile
What doest thou saye by pleasures here is wonne
How doest thou now thy passed life bewaile
How doest thou wishe, thy course were new to ronne
What wouldst thou doe now ending life to saue
What wouldst thou giue for that thou canst not haue.

Thy bodie now must from thy soule departe
Thy landes and goodes another must poffesse
Thy loyes are past on which thou sett'st thy harte
Thy paynes to come no creature can expresse
Ese here the fruite and gaine of all thisie syme
Thy lift must end, thy death must now beginne.

Thy former faultes are sett before thine eies
And monsterous shewes, w seem'd before so small
To follow thee dispaire in secreete lies
And all thy synnes with terrouer thee apale
With scalding sighes they moue now to mone
And in thy soule with sorrow thou does't grone

Thou

To merite now no paines thou wouldest refuse
Nor spare thy goodes to ease thy wofull state
Of all thy sinnes thy self thou wouldest accuse
And call for grace when calling comes to late
For synne thou didst whiles life and power did last
And leauest now when force to synne is past

What booteth it thy lewdenesse to repent
And leaue of synne when synne for saketh thee
What canst thou doe when all thy force is spent
Or will our Lord with this appeased bee
Thy life thou leadest in servance of his feet
And seruest him when life thou must forgoe

Then had I wist with sorrow thou should saye
But after witts repentance euer breede
The hower is come thy debts thou needs must paye
And yeald to death when life thou most neede
Thy breath is stoppt in twinkling of an eye
Thy body dead in vglye forme doth lye-

Thy carcase now like carrion men do shunne

Thy freinds do haſt thy buriall to procure

Thy ſeruants ſeeke from thee away to runne

Thy lothſome ſtench no creature can inſure

And they wth rooke in thee their moſt delighte

Doe hate thee moſt and moſt abhorre thy ſlighte.

Thy ſleſh shall ſerue to maggotts as a praye

For pampering wth both ſea and land was ſoughte

Thy body must transſormed bee to claye

For whole delight ſuch costly clothes were boughte

Thy pride in duſt thy glorie in thy grave

Thy ſleſh one earth they rending now ſhal haue.

Bchould the place in which thou must abide

Dyſ lothſome darke unsweet and uery streight

With rotten bones beſett on euery ſide

And crawling wormes to feed on thee due weight

O hard exchanng oh vile and harmful place

Where earth and filth thy carcase must embrace.

O wretched state, oh most unhappie man
Yet were it well if nothinge were behinde
Y yet might end as here it first began
Some hope there were and ending for to finde
For then as god of nothing thee did frame
By course againe thou shouldst become the same

But live thou must a thousand deaths to die
And dyeing still yet newer whome dead
T thou must appeare before the Judg on highe
And have rewards as thou thy life hast lead
T the tyme is come thou canst no longer staye
The Judg is sett and bootelesse is delave

B should his power whome here thou didst offend
For some delights which were but more decipte
B should on him how angels do attend
And all that courtes doth for thy cominge weite
B should his throne of glory in the skyes
And see how wrath doth Sparkle from his eyes

Loe this is hee which every thinge doth make
Whom heauen and earth do prayse both night & daye

See here the locke at which the angels quake
Loe here the Lord which al thinges doth obaye

His will is law and none it can withstand
His wrath consumes and killeth out of hande.

O filthy soule how may this wrath bee borne
Or can a worme his fury now abide

The angels al doe laughe thy filth to scorne
They loath thy sinne and hate thee for thy pride

They shine with beames farre brighter then the sonne
And call on God that justice may bee donne

Each creature cryes that punnisht thou mayst bee
Whome in thy life thou lewdly didst abuse

Both heauen and earth are foes profest to thee
And all thy thoughts of sinne, do thee accrue

Thy words and decedes against thee now are brought
And al thy filthe with sinne in thee hath wrought.

I non

T
hou cited art a Just accompt to shew
How farre thou sought thy self for to deme
How al thy landes and wealth thou didst bestow
And with thy goodes thy brothers want supplie
What care thou hadest thy makers name to prayse
What paynes thou tookest to walke in al his wyes.

T
he Judg doth alke how all thy time was spent
If from offence thy senses thou didst keepe
If in thy soule thou truly didst repent
And for thy Syme with harty sorrow weepe
If thou his feare didst sett before thine eyes
And for his loue al worldly ioyes desist.

V
if of thy freueng thou hast not sought
If to thy freindes thou neuer wert unkinde
V
f earthly pompe thou euer sett at nought
Of secret hate thou keepest not in minde
V
f thou alike didst ioy and sorrow tuke
And with thy hart al carnal lustes forsake.

Thy

Thy thoughts and words the judge doth open lay
And asketh now a straight accompt of al
How often thou didst his motions here obay
And for his grace with Ernest prayer call
Yea for thy life on earth thou leadest right
And in his love didst settle thy delight.

What canst thou plead thy self before to excuse
When truth shall prove in all thou didst offend
The Judge is just thou canst him not refuse
The cause is nought thou canst it not defend
To look for help as it is in vayne
The cause is past no grace thou canst obtaine.

Our Lord doth say how couldst thou use me so
Sith I to thee both soule and body gaue
How durst thou seeke and serve my mortal foe
Since I did dye thy self from death to gaue
I gaue thee al and me thou didstмет
He gaue thee nought yet wholy the possèd

Thy

Thy landes and life did from my goodnes flowe
Thy flesh and bones I did of nothing frame
Both wealth and wit I did on the bestowe
And gave thee al to prayse my holy name,
Yet with them al against me thou didst fight
And flyst to hym that heares mee greatest spight

When I said speake thou seemedst deaf and dumbe
When I did cal thou madest him aunswere straight
Hce neuer stava but in did quickly come
And I without inforced was to wayte
O thanklese wretche thou me shall see no more
But dwell with hym who had thy harte before

Thou shalt with hym for euer mon remayne
To whom thy self for pleasure thou haft soule
His wil thou wrought and mine thou didst disdaine
His right thou art I cannot thee with houlsde
I thinke owne deserts haue made thee his to bee
The choice was thine, no wrong is donne to thee.

Then

Then comes the devil and to our lordes doth say
O righteoues Judg this wretch I ought to have

For in his life he did not thee obaye
But with his harte himself to mee hee gaue
My precept were his practise day & night
And mee to please he made his whole delighte

Him-self hee vowed to serue mee al his dayes

His eyes were fixte vppon my counsel stil

His fecte were bent to walke in al my waves

His hart was sett for to performe my wil

His life and landes I drew him on to spend
Jnaing that w might thee most offend

Thy power hee skorn'd and quite refus'd thy grace

Thy bitter paynes he banisht from his eyes

Thy precious bloode he neuer would embrace

Thy greivous woundes he euer did despise

Thy threats for Syme he reckoned as a Jest

Thy wordes and wil in al hee did detest

In

Thy glorious loves hee seemed to disdayne
And followed that in which hee found delight

For serving thee hee tooke not any paine

But al thy loue with hate hee did requite
What reason now thy glorie hee should see
Of which hee shewed so carelesse for to bee

Thou didst him make and on him al bestowe
I nothing gaue nor him to being broughte

Yet thee he leste to whome he loue did owe

And me hee served who neuer gaue him oughte
What wouldst thou more thou usest none to wronge

And hee to mee in Justice doth belonge

Behold on foule how god doth the refuse

And how his foe doth clayme thee as his owne

Thy conference doth in horrow thee accuse

And reape then must as thou before hast given

The forde of fordes doth the condempne to dye

In their frames where living thou shall dye.

O wretched soule what shall become of thee
What greater payne can any hart deuise
Yet worse there is if worse there yet may bee
Thy body must to judgment shortly rise
And both alike in hell must suffer smarte
And both on earth in synne had equal parte.

A synners layne would shunne this dreadful day
And wist he were without there perill pust
The feare alone thy hart must needes diuay
The signes appeare and on it cometh fast
Behold the sunne is darke which shined brighte
The starres do fall the moone hath left her light.

Behold how men are withered quite with age
And cannot finde a harbour now of rest
Behold eech where how senseles they do goe
There faces pale there hearts with feare or preest
Behold each where how beautes for Herrs eye
And marke how men already seems to die.

Beehold how bloodeth the trees and branches sweete
And how each thing doth tremble quaile and quake
Beehold the sea against the land doth beat
And roaring lowde doth force the earth to shake
Her surges mount her swelling fury shewes,
And on the land her fife with ride shee threeses.

The clouds like smoke doth thicken in the sky
The mountaynes move the earth doth open wide
The blustering windes with stormes & tempestt rise
The stoutest hartes there faces seeke to hide
Bothitch and poore from eityes are flede
And al in caues do runne to shroudeth their head.

Each living thing for help doth cry and call
The savage beagts unto the citye fly
The earth doth quake the strongest towers do fall
And beagts remaine where meat is not use to flye
The course begins of nature here to flye
The beauteous bee morne and all things now do quaile.

The

The Angel lowde his dreadful trumpet sounde
And Summons al that ever lift posselte
The earth with woe and terror al abounde
The dead do rise that longe have lye in rest
Both quick and dead assembled round doth stande
And waite his will whose cominge is at hand.

Behold how low both heauen and earth doe bow
And prostrate al his fallour do desire
Behold how Christ in glory cometh now
And in the ayre appeares the floode of fire
The earth for feare doth tremble at his sight
The sea is arvod the hilles are molten guyte

The hardest rockes are turned into dust
His furious wrath no creature can abide
There paynes were sweete which now were proved dust
And need not seeke in corners them to hide
Our Lord doth seeke as merite hee doth finde
Thrice happy they that have a quiltere minde.

O cursed soule how art thou drownde in care

When al this sight is sett before thine eyes

Thy passing fear no creature can declare

Thy body darke lik death doth seeme to rise

Thy hope is past for easing of thy smarte

Thy synnes are prickes to wounde thy dyeing hart

Behold thou then no favour here canst gett

Nor from thy foes by any meanes escape

Thy right hand is with al thy synne besett

Beneath thee hel to swallow the doth gape

Thy fearful freindes uppon thy lefte hand frowne

And lye in waite to throwe thee heallong downe.

A bone thee sits the judge al fild with rage

Whome in thy life thou fewely didst offend

No help then halt his fury to assage

His brow's bee doth with anger freely bend

And al the synnes of men bee doth repeat

Which forceth row his fury to bee great.

Within.

Within thee gnawest thy conscience vrayd of grace
And al the il to which thou didst consent
Without thee stundes thy freindes in wyse thy ease
And do thy state with bitter greife lament
O n every side the world doth thee affrighte
With the terror shevres and flaming burneth brighte.

If forward now thou takest on thy waye
Thou hedlonge doest unto thy ruin runne
The devills watch thy going backe to staye
No meane is left misfortune for to shunne
What wilt thou doc in virond thus with woe
For neither backe nor forward canst thou goe.

O wretched man how heavy is thy barte
How doest thou wish for that which cannot bee
How doest thou sighe and quake in every parte
How must thy freindes bee suuered thus from thee
For field with icy in glory they shal raiyne
And ful of greife thou torment must stayne.

The

The Judges wordes are like a burning fire
Which wasteth al it cometh to embrace
It looketh not his mercy to require
The time is past of calling now for grace
Behold the Judge doth thee condempne to hel
Where thou in paine for synne shall ever dwell

O deleful wordes oh most unhappie wighte
Thy head to shroud for mountaines thou doest cal
Thy future paynes are present in thy sighte
Thou cursest now the causes of thy fal
Thy birth and life to late thou dost repent
Det wayleft both and doth in wayne lame £

What tongue, what penne, what creature can expresse
Those deadly greifes which alway thou shall tayt
The longer tyme the comfort is the lome
Thy hope decayes thyorrowes neuer wast
O bitter savet which earthly pleasures breede
Thy living death al torments doth exceede

Thy

Thy wanton eyes these hellish monsters see

Where bluddy mindes thy ruine did conspire

Whole nezinges seems like lightninge for to bee

Whole ously mouth do cast out streames of fire

Whole nostreells smoke whose eyes are glowing red

Whole whole delight by others smarte is bred.

Thy wretched cares which harkened unto yes

Doe here how fiendes doe rage withal desight

Noe nayes is there but shreekes and hideous cyes

Which able are the stoutest harts to fright

Where some blaspheame and some their state bewrayle

Where others curse and ever seeme to rayle.

Thy daintie nose which had perfumes eech daye

A lothsome stench for ever must abide

Which riseth up from damned bodies ayre

That heaped there do ly on every side

Doe here the sweete thy smelling to content

No worldly filth can yeld so fowle a lent.

Thy

Thy curiouſe taſt doth hunger there
Sustayne

Which did in meats ſuch rare deviſes craue

With burning thurſt thou ſufferest greuous payne

And yet to eele no water canſt thou haue

No droppes uſt there thy thirſting ſor to eade

Nor hope of help that may thy greif appeare.

Thy feeling yet the greatest payne doth beare

Which ſiery flames in euery parte torment

A n Icy cold thou also findest there

With gnallſing teeth it makes thee to lament

Thy teares with heate in ſtreames are dayſt ſhead

Thy teeth for could do chatter in thy head.

D ſ for a while no creature can indure

In earthly fire one member here to bee

What torment do thy paffed ioyes procure

In endles flames thy members al doe see

What greif what payne what ſorrow they doe breede

Which earthly flames thy members al exceede.

The Devils with flutes do laughe thee now to scorne

Thy flesh and bone in sunder they do teare

Thy cursed skinne with cruel whippes is worne

Thy woful hart is filled ful of feare

With inward woe thy soule is fore opprest

With outward paine thy bodie findes no rest.

Thy torments Straunge do breed thee bitter greife

And rest in thyne imagination stil

Thyne owne conceipt which now should yeald releif

Both labour more with sorrow thee to fill

Thou thinkest most what most thou wouldest eschew

And greues thy thoughts and thoughts thy greif re-
new.

Thy memorie doth call unto thy minde

The short delights of all thy pleasures past

It woundes thy barte these paynes for them to finde

Which greuous are and shal for ever last

Thy desperat case no comfort can obtayne

Thy pased years encreas thy present payne.

Three

I hine understanding doth thee misery show
And telleth thee, thou art in sathans iawes
For short delights thy louse it makes the knowe
And in thy soule the worme of conscience gnawes
I those fading ioyes in rage thou doest defye
And in despight they make thee thus to cry

My former ioyes a shadowe was in deed
It did not last but passed quite awaye
My present payne al measure doth exceed
No wit nor art my torments can bewraye
A tyme there was when blisse I might have wonne
But tyme is past and al my course is ronne

O cursed tyme in which I tyme forsooke
A little payne had rid mee of this woe
O cursed ioyes in which I pleasure tooke
For pleasing you al pleasures I forgoe
And here in hel each kind of payne I finde
Which wastes my flesh & woundes my woeful minde.

Yf

If my sinnes with sorrow had confest
They had to me bene eane remitted all
In stead of greife I glorie had possessest
If I for grace had bent my minde to cal
O cursed wretch that for soe small a payne
Refusing blifs in torment must remayne.

The greatest ioyes which doe on earth abounde
Can in a world not yeald so much delight
As here by payne is in a moment founde
Whose blazing woe is present still in sight
What fansie then bewitched my wreathed harte
For fayned ioyes to suffer endles smarte.

My parents were the causes of my woe
And al the meate on which I ever feede
My carnal life hath proued my greatst foe
And unto me this misery now hath breed
A coursed bee al that hath my ruine wrought
And every meane whome to being brought.

Thirte

Thrice happy they on earth that never were
Their state is best which never came to line

O blesed womb that children never beare

O happy breast which suck did never give

Oh deadly paine oh most unhappie place
Oh cursed wretch whom al mishappes embrace

Loe here the plaints in this infernal lake
Where scorpian stinge and scourges thee torment

Where hammers beat and devils roaring make

Where hope is past and damned soules lament

Where wormes do crawl and ously serpents creep

Where paines abound and sorrowes make thee tweepe

A gainst our Lord thou ragest with distpighte
And him thou doest with raging words defie

Thou barred art from seeing any lighte
And while he lives thou must for ever dye

Loe here the fruits which worldly pleasures bringe

(Thy payne agrees in measure with thy synne.)

I thy

Thy sweet delights are come to woe and wrack

Thy happy state unto a wretched case

Thy greedie minde is punisht here with lacke

Thy lecherous armes do ugly serpents embrace

Thine enuious soule now howles for deadly paine

Thy haughty harte doth suffer deepe disdaine.

Thou findest smarte in steede of pleasaunt gaines

Thy dainty wines are turn'd to bitter gawle

Thy costly clothes are turn'd to burning flames

Thy lofty pride hath now a lothsome fal

Thou nothing hast which might afford thee ease

And feel'dst al that might the most displease.

Yet chiefly on which al doth far exceed

And as it is none rightly cansteeme

It greives thee most and makes thy harte to bleede

And soynd with it the other nothing seeme

Then iudge what payne this torture brings to thee

When much to it al nothing seemes to bee.

Thy.

Thy senles feel for every lymc a paine
Soo rated there as heere thou tooke delight
And now for that our Lord thou didst disdayne
Thou banisht art for euer from his sight
Thy payne of senle small torment thou dost finde
When thou this lobe dost call unto thy minde.

O grevious lobe which cannot bee expreste
O cause of greift and springe of deadly woe
Thy soule hath lost the censor of her rest
Thy hope thy help and life thou must forgoe
No paine no lobe with this wee may compare
Yet palfeth al and none it can declare :

From hope of joy this is an endles barre
And greatest plague which god on sinne bestowes
Compare with this thy tortures pleasaunt are
And al thy lobe an easie burthen showes
Thy bitterest paynes are trifles in thyne eyes
Thy burninge flames thou seemest to dispense.

What

What woe, what smarte, what payne can be rehearst,
Which wanteth now on thee for to bee laide

With swardes of greife thy harte is dayly prest
With dreadful feare thy senses are dismaide

Thy soule hath lost what most shee doth desire
Thy body burnes in flames of endlesse fire

And if thy paynes an ending might obtaine
When yeres there were as many a thowland runne

As on the earth hath lighted droppes of raine
Since first al this wretched world begunne

Some help this hope might bring into thy minde
When hope were left an end at last to finde

But of them al no ease nor end thou hast
Which in thy soule some comfort might procure

Hoc tyme wil help thy sorrow for to wail
While God is God thy tortures shall endure

Thy payne in truth is more then may be tolde
The sight in thought no creature can beholde

O Dying lift, oh Sea of endless海 smart

Which nature hates and all things do detest

O living death no lift nor death thou arte

For death hath end and life hath some time rest

The worst of both our; orde hath put on thee

That neither rest nor end might ever see.

O damned soule how dost thou roare and cry

What deadly greifes the dayly do oppresse

But lift a while thy curved eyes on bye

And see what ioyes the blessed their possesse

That by the light thy torments may encrease

And for the less thy torments never cease.

And first behold the beauty of the place

Where all the Saints with Christ in glory raigne

Where honour is not mixed with disgrace

Where love is free from any manner payne

Where great rewardes attend on good desartes

And all delights poheseth faithful hartes.

O wicked wretche this city now beholde
Which doth surpalsc the reach of any thought

The gates are pearle the streets of finest golde
With precious stones the walles are wholy wrought

Of sunne or moone their needeth not the light
For euer their lambe is shining bright.

And from his seat a christal riuer flowes
Where life doth runne and pleasures always springs

On either side a tree of comfort growes
Which sauing health to every nation bringes

It worketh rest and stinteth worldly strife
It killeth death and bringeth endlesse life.

This goodly place al beauty doth surmounte
And al this world in largnes passeth fare

The earth it self for lignes in account
Not equal is unto the smallest starre

O worthy place whose glory doth excel
Thrice happy they that their attayne to divel.

No

No Saint is here but brighter seems to be
Then Sunne or moone whose beauties wonder breede
What glory then so many Saintes to see
Which al the starres in number farre exceede
O glorious place where glory doth abounde
O bleſsed state where blisse is ever founde

Archangels are but under SERVANTS here
And angels dee their makers will obaye
Their powers with joye in triumphes do appear
The vertues shine the thrones their beames display
The Cherubines do yeald a glorious light
The Seraphines with joye are burning bright

The Patriarkes here haue ioy for al their payne
The Prophets are as endles ioy bleſt
The Martins do a worthy crowne obtayne
The virgines find a heauen of happy rest
To al there joye in glory their are mett
And now pobeſſe what longe they sought to gett

Those

I those sacred Stremayne in perfect peace,
Which Christ confess and walked in his mayes
They swime in blisse which now shall never ceasse
And singing al his name for euer prayes
Before his throne in white they dayly stande
And carry palmes and triumphe in their hande.

The Angels then and next in their degree
Whole orders rise in number to the nyne
No hart can thinke what ioy it is to see
How al these tropes lik lampes in glory shyne
The ioy is more then writing can express
O happie eyes that may this ioy possesse.

A bone them al the virgin hath a place
Which made the world with comfort to abounde
The beames does shyne in her unspotted face
And with the starres her head is ritchly crowne
In glory shee al creatures paleseth farre
The Moone her shoes the sunne her garmes are.

O quicome

O queene of heauen, oh pure and glorious light

Most blessed thou above all women art

I his city dromke thou makest with delight

And with thy beames remiuest every harte

Our blisse was lost and it thou didst restore

The angels al and men do thee adore.

Loe here the lcoke which angels doe admire

Loe here the Springe from whence algoodnes flowes

Loe here that light which men and Saintes desire

Loe here that stalke on which our comforte growes

Loe this is shee whome heauen and earth embrace

Whome God did chose and filled full of grace

And next to her but in a higher Throne

Our Sainour in his man hooode setteth here

From whome precedes al perfeet joy alone

And in whose face al glory doth appare

I the Sth delight concealed cannot see

When they a man the Lord of angels see.

They

They raiusht ire with ioye in seing this
How Christ our Lord the chiefest place obtaynes
They now behold the sea of endles bliſſe
And ioy to see how hee in triumphe raynes
What unto men more honour can beſal
Then here to see a man the head of al

More ioye it yealds then any can deuise
And greater bliſſe then may in words be told
His pearing beames do dazel al there eyes
His brightness scarce his angels can beholde
The Saintes in him there wighed comfort finde
And now enjoy what most contents their minde.

To thinke of this it palſeth humaine witt
The more wee thinke the leſſe wee come to know
Hiee doth uppon his fathers right hand litt
And al the angels their humble ſeruice ſhow
His ſight to them doth endleſſe comfort bringe
And they to him al praises euer ſinge.

O Worthy

O worthy place where such a Lordde is eheife

O glorious Lord that princely seruants keepe

O happy Saints is neuer taft of greife

O bleſſed state where malice euer sleepes

No one is here of base or meane degree

But al are knowne the ſonnes of God to bee.

What higher place can any prince attayne

Then ſonne to him is ruleth all aboute

Yet is there ſtate not ſubieſt to disdayne

But in there mindeſs like bretheren they doe love

No place is leſte for enuy hate or ſcare

But here they al on ſoule and harte do beare.

O happy peace where disorde neuer ſights

The ioyes of al are found in euery breſt

For each as much in others ioy delightes

As is alone it in hym self did rest

In al their ioyes no differene is their knowne

For each accompts them al to bee his owne.

And

And those that take wherein our lorde abounds
As parte of theirs his glorie do they take
Into themselves by union it redounes
And all his ioyes their glory perfect make
So fast are knitt the members to the heade
As over them his ioye is wholly spreade

What ioye is left which here they do not finde
What greater blisse what pleasure can bee more
What comfort can conceiued bee in minde
Which hath not hine seyed here before
Yet on delight behinde as yet remaynes
Which on is al and al in it contaynes

They face to face do God almighty see
And al him as in a perfect glorie
No good there is but here is found to bee
And al delights this vision doth surpass
Each sight doth yeald their hearts al perfect rest
Because no good without him is possible

See

Here present past and future things doth show
And therefore rest there understanding here
There nothing is but they in him do knowe
And to their eyes al playnly doth appeare
They now obtayne what longe they sought to gett
And al their thoughts are wholly on hym sett.

There wil doth last in loving of his light
In which consist al good that can bee thought
She here hath fixte her love and whole delight
And newer wil from loving this bee brought
For here al good and goodnes doth abounde
And neither can without this good bee founde

here whole desire from hence doth neuer parte
But settled here for euer doth abide
This light doth fill the mouth of every harte
And nothing leaves for them to wish he beside
Without desire desire content remaynes
And her desire with full delight contaynes.

Their

Their faith beholds their best beloved Guest
And her belief this light doth here fulfil

Their constant hope her hope hath now possesse
And him enjoys for whom she hoped still

The charity not perfect is before
To perfect state this vision doth restore

O glorious light oh sunne of endless blisse
Which never weares nor never seems to waste

Who ever saw so faire a lighte as this
Who ever did such heapes of comfort taste

What can bee thought that may not here bee had
They ever joy and now are never sad.

They here possess what may content them most
And nothinge want which perfect joy may bringe

Withal delight here breaths the holy Ghost
Which always makes a frelse and endless springe

No day is here no morning noone, nor night
But ever one and always shining bright.

O blessed

O blessed loves which all there soules possesse

O happy fruit that vertue here hath wome

And in degree the bodies finde no lesse

But shine with beames far brighter then the sonne

Not subject more to sickness greife or payne

In glory now immortal they remayne.

And proper loves each sense in private findes

Their eyes behold also that glorious fight

Where nothing wants for to content their mindes

And althinges are which may there eyes delight

There care! are fed with hearing sweetest soundes

And them to please al musiike their aboundes.

From songs of praise the St. no momef spare

No teares are seen nor any eye to weep

But in this place the musick is so rare

As half a sound would bringe al hartes a sleepe

And every sense a proper pleasure takes

Which owned in on there glory perfect makes.

No

No eye hath seen what eyes the Stobtayne
Nor ear hath heard what comforts are best set
No harte can thinke in what delight they raigne
Nor penne expresse this happy porte of rest
Where pleasures flow and greife is never seene
Where good aboundes and it is banishte seene.

And of these ioyes no creature end shall see
The longer time the sweeter they do show
While God endures they ended cannot be
And never was but always seeme to grow
When worlds are worne and many millions past
The new begin and shall for ever last.

O state of ioye where endles ioy remaines
O heauen of blythe where none do suffer wracke
O happy house which al delight contaynes
O blessed state which never seeleth lacke
O goodly tree which fruites doth ever bear
O quiet state which daunger need not fear.

O blessed eyes which all there soules possesse
O happy fruit that vertae there hath wome
And in degree the bodies finde no lesse
But shine with beames for brighter then the sonne
Not subject more to sickness greife or payne
In glory now immortal they remayne.

And proper eyes each sense in private findes
Their eyes behold also that glorious fight
Where nothing wants for to content their mindes
And althinges are which may there eyes delight
There cares are fed with hearing sweetest soundes
And them to please al musieke their aboundes.

From songs of praise the S't no mome't spare
No teares are seen nor any eye to weep
But in this place the musick is so rare
As half a sound would bringe al hartes a sleepe
And every sense a proper pleasure takes
Which owned in on there glory perfect makes.

No

The straightest life no payne thou wouldst esteeme
Thy praying would a passing ioy appeare
Thy fasting oft no trouble then would seeme
Nor any greife the hardest penaunce here
A love thou wouldst account the sharpest payne
To seape from hel and endlesse blisse obtayne.

Then must I cal o worldly man to thee
And end where first I did begin to write
That al these loves and paynes which thou dost see
May move thy minde to lead thy lift upright
Thy hart asil melt to thinke upon thy case
If their bee left but half a sparke of grace.

Thou findest here what thou wouldt wisthe at last
And that accompt which none can euer shunne
Then frame thy lift before the tyme bee past
A thou wouldst wish that thou in tyme hadst alone
Eagit thou in tyme dost wale thy wrichted state
When tyme is past and wayhing comes to late.

Fins.

O mixture pure which basest dropse refines
O pleasant place which comfort only brings

O joyful sonne where glory always shines
O firtle soyle where pleasure ever springes

O glorious soules oh bodies highly blest
O sea of good and of al good the best.

O damned wretche the thoughts of this alone
Oppreſſeth the with heapes of deadly care
And sighing now in ſpirit thou doſt groane
When with there blisse thy woe thou doſt compare

Thy greivous lobe doth gnaw thy wretched barte
And it with greif redoobles al thy ſmarte.

If all the world by conquest thou hadst wome
A trifle now thou thinkest al to gene

And on the earth thy race were not begonne
And thou againe were suffered here to liue

A nother course thou wouldst resolve to take
And serving ſ God thy carnal wil forsake.

1

The straitest life no payne thou wouldst esteeme
Thy praying would a passing ioy appeare
Thy fasting oft no trouble then would seeme
Nor any greife the hardest pennaunce here
A love thou wouldst account the sharpest payne
To escape from hel and endless blisse obtrayne.

Then must I cal o worldly man to thee
And end where first I did begin to write
That al those loves and paynes which thou dost see
May move thy minde to lead thy lift upright
Thy hart would melt to thinke upon thy ease
If their bee left but half a sparke of grace.

Thou findest here what thou wouldt wisse at last
And that accompt which none can censure sinne
Then frame thy lift before the tyme be past
A thou wouldst wish that thou in tyme hadst been
East thou in tyme wouldst wade thy wretched state
When tyme is past and wayfaring comes at last.

Fius.