Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Edward Farr, ed. Select Poetry of the Reign of Queen Elizabeth. 1845.

Psalme VI

XII. William Hunnis

O LORD, when I myself behold,

How wicked I haue bin,

And view the paths and waies I went,

Wandring from sin to sin;

Againe to thinke vpon thy power,

Thy iudgement and thy might;

And how that nothing can be hid,

Or close kept from thy sight;

Euen then, alas! I shake and quake,

And tremble where I stand,

For feare thou shouldst reuenged be

By power of wrathful hand.

The weight of sinne is verie great;

For this to mind I call,

That one proud thought made angels once

From heauen to slide and fall.

Adam likewise, and Eve his wife,

For breaking thy precept,

From Paradise expelled were,

And death thereby hath crept

Vpon them both, and on their seede,

For euer to remaine,

But that by faith in Christ thy Sonne

We hope to liue againe.

The earth not able was to beare,

But quicke did swallow in,

Corah, Dathan, and Abiron,

By reason of their sin.

Also because king David did

His people number all,

Thou, Lord, therefore, in three daies’ space,

Such grieuous plague letst fall,

That seuentie thousand men forthwith

Thereof dyde presentlie;

Such was thy worke, such was thy wrath,

Thy mightie power to trie.

Alas! my sins surmounteth theirs,

Mine cannot numbred bee;

And from thy wrath, most mightie God,

I knowe not where to flee.

If into heauen I might ascend,

Where angels thine remaine,

O Lord, thy wrath would thrust me forth

Downe to the earth againe.

And in the earth here is no place

Of refuge to be found,

Nor in the deepe, and water-course

That passeth vnder ground.

Vouchsafe therefore, I thee beseech,

On me some mercie take,

And turne thy wrath from me awaie,

For Jesus Christe’s sake.

Lord, in thy wrath reprove me not,

Ne chast me in thine ire;

But with thy mercie shadowe me,

I humblie thee desire.

I know it is my grieuous sinnes

That doo thy wrath prouoke:

But yet, O Lord, in rigour thine

Forbeare thy heauie stroke;

And rather with thy mercie sweete

Behold my heauie plight;

How weake and feeble I appeare

Before thy blessed sight.

For nature mine corrupted is,

And wounded with the dart

Of lust and foule concupiscence,

Throughout in eu’rie part.

I am in sinne conceiu’d and borne,

The child of wrath and death,

Hauing but here a little time

To liue and drawe my breath.

I feele myselfe still apt and prone

To wickednesse and vice,

And drowned thus in sinne I lie,

And haue no power to rise.

It is thy mercie, O sweet Christ,

That must my health restore;

For all my bones are troubled much,

And vexed verie sore.

I am not able to withstand

Temptations such as bee:

Wherefore, good Lord, vouchsafe to heale

My great infirmitie.

Good Christ, as thou to Peter didst,

Reach forth thy hand to me,

When he upon the water went,

There drowned like to be.

And as the leaper clensed was,

By touching with thy hand;

And Peter’s mother raised up

From feuer whole to stand:

So let that hand of mercie thine

Make cleane the leprosie

Of lothsome lust vpon me growne

Through mine iniquitie.

Then shal there strength in me appere,

Through grace, my chiefe reliefe;

Thy death, O Christ, the medicine is

That helpeth all my griefe.

My soule is troubled verie sore

By reason of my sin:

But, Lord, how long shall I abide

Thus sorrowfull therein?

I doubt not, Lord, but thou, which hast

My stonie hart made soft,

With willing mind thy grace to craue

From time to time so oft,

Wilt not now stay, but forth proceed

My perfect health to make:

Although awhile thou doost deferre,

Yet is it for my sake.

For, Lord, thou knowst our nature such,

If we great things obtaine,

And in the getting of the same

Do feel no griefe or paine;

We little doo esteeme thereof:

But, hardly brought to passe,

A thousand times we doe esteeme

Much more then th’ other was.

So, Lord, if thou shouldst at the first

Grant my petition,

The greatnes of offenses mine

I should not thinke vpon.

Wherefore my hope still bids me cry

With faithfull hart in brest;

As did the faithful Cananite,

Whose daughter was possest.

At least, if I still knock and call

Vpon thy holie name,

At length thou wilt heare my request,

And grant to me the same:

As did the man three loaues of bread

Vnto his neighbour lend,

Whose knocking long forst him to rise,

And shew himselfe a frend.

Lord, by the mouth of thy deare Son

This promise didst thou make,

That if we knocke, thou open wilt

The doore euen for his sake.

Wherefore we crie, we knock, we call,

And neuer cease will wee,

Till thou doo turne to vs, O Lord,

That we may turne to thee.