Verse > Anthologies > Edward Farr, comp. > Elizabethan Poetry
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Edward Farr, ed.  Select Poetry of the Reign of Queen Elizabeth.  1845.
 
Psalme VI
XII. William Hunnis
 
Domine, ne in furore. The first Part.

O LORD, 1 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,        5
  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,        10
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        15
  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        20
 
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,        25
  But quicke did swallow in,
Corah, Dathan, and Abiron,
  By reason of their sin.
 
Also because king David did
  His people number all,        30
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,        35
  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.        40
 
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        45
  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,        50
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; 2
But with thy mercie shadowe me,        55
  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;        60
 
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,        65
  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,        70
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,        75
  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. 3        80
 
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,        85
  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;        90
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        95
  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.        100
 
My soule is troubled verie sore
  By reason of my sin:
But, Lord, how long shall I abide
  Thus sorrowfull therein? 4
 
I doubt not, Lord, but thou, which hast        105
  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:        110
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        115
  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.        120
 
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        125
  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,        130
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,        135
  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.        140
 
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.
 
Note 1. XII. William Hunnis.—He was a gentleman of the Royal Chapel under Edward the Sixth, and afterwards chapel-master to Queen Elizabeth. He was the author of “Certayne Psalmes chosen out of the Psalter of David, and drawen forth into English metre;” “A Handfull of Honeysuckles;” “A Hive full of Honey;” “Various Paraphrases of portions of Scripture History;” and “Seven Sobs of a Sorrowful Soule for Sinne, comprehending those Seven Psalmes of the Princelie Prophet David, commonly called Pœnitentiall.” It is from these various works that these extracts are derived. [back]
Note 2. Verse 1. Domine, ne in furore tuo arguas me: neq’ in ira tua corripias me. [back]
Note 3. Verse 2. Miserere mei, Domine, quoniam infirmus sum: sana me, Domine, quoniam conturbata sunt omnia ossa mea. [back]
Note 4. Verse 3. Et anima mea conturbata est valde: sed tu Domine vsquequo? [back]
 
 
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