For to break forth did convert so,
That terror could it not repress ;

The which, by words, since preachers know
What hope is left for to redress,
By unknown means it liked me

My hidden burthen to express,
Whereby it might appear to thee
That secret sin hath secret spite;
From justice' rod no fault is free,
But that all such as work unright,
In most quiet are next ill rest.

In secret silence of the night
This made me, with a rechless breast,
To wake thy sluggards with my bow:
A figure of the Lord's behest,

Whose scourge for sin the Scriptures show:

That, as the fearful thunder's clap

By sudden flame at hand we know,

Of pebble stones the soundless rap,

The dreadful plague might make thee see
Of God's wrath, that doth thee enwrap;
That pride might know, from conscience free,
How lofty works may her defend ;

And envy find, as he hath sought,

How other seek him to offend :

And wrath taste of each cruel thought,
The just shape higher in the end :

And idle sloth, that never wrought,
To heaven his spirit lift may begin :
And greedy lucre live in dread,
To see what hate ill-got goods win;
The lechers, ye that lusts do feed,
Perceive what secrecy is in sin :

And gluttons' hearts for sorrow bleed,

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Awaked, when their fault they find;

In loathsome vice each drunken wight, To stir to God this was my mind.

Thy windows had done me no spite; But proud people that dread no fall, Clothed with falsehood and unright, Bred in the closures of thy wall.

But wrested to wrath in fervent zeal Thou hast to strife my secret call.

Indured hearts no warning feel.

Oh! shameless whore! is dread then gone?
Be such thy foes, as mean thy weal?
Oh! member of false Babylon!

The shop of craft! the den of ire!
Thy dreadful doom draws fast upon.
Thy martyrs' blood by sword and fire,
In heaven and earth for justice call.

The Lord shall hear their just desire!
The flame of wrath shall on thee fall!

With famine and pest lamentably Stricken shall be thy lechers all.

Thy proud towers, and turrets high
Enemies to God, beat stone from stone:

Thine idols burnt that wrought iniquity:
When none thy ruin shall bemoan,
But render unto the righteous Lord,

That so hath judged Babylon,

Immortal praise with one accord.

A DESCRIPTION OF THE HEARTLESS STATE OF THE LOVER

WHEN ABSENT FROM THE MISTRESS OF HIS HEART.

THE Sun, when he hath spread his rays,
And show'd his face ten thousand ways,
Ten thousand things do then begin,
To show the life that they are in.
The heaven shows lively art and hue,
Of sundry shapes and colours new,
And laughs upon the earth; anon,
The earth, as cold as any stone,
Wet in the tears of her own kind,
'Gins then to take a joyful mind.
For well she feels that out and out
The sun doth warm her round about,
And dries her children tenderly,
And shows them forth full orderly;
The mountains high, and how they stand!
The valleys, and the great main land!
The trees, the herbs, the towers strong,
The castles, and the rivers long!
And even for joy thus of this heat
She showeth forth her pleasures great,
And sleeps no more; but sendeth forth
Her clergions,1 her own dear worth,
To mount and fly up to the air,
Where then they sing in order fair,
And tell in song, full merrily,
How they have slept full quietly
That night, about their mother's sides.

And when they have sung more besides,

"Clergions:' little clerks, generally applied to children employed in choirs.

Then fall they to their mother's breast,
Whereas they feed, or take their rest.
The hunter then sounds out his horn,
And rangeth straight through wood and corn.
On hills then show the ewe and lamb,
And every young one with his dam.
Then lovers walk and tell their tale,
Both of their bliss and of their bale;
And how they serve, and how they do,
And how their lady loves them too.
Then tune the birds their harmony;
Then flock the fowl in company;
Then everything doth pleasure find
In that, that comforts all their kind.
No dreams do drench them of the night,
Of foes, that would them slay, or bite,
As hounds, to hunt them at the tail;
Or men force them through hill and dale.
The sheep then dreams not of the wolf:
The shipmen forces not the gulf;
The lamb thinks not the butcher's knife
Should then bereave him of his life.
For when the sun doth once run in,
Then all their gladness doth begin;
And then their skips, and then their play;
So falls their sadness then away.

And thus all things have comforting
In that, that doth them comfort bring;
Save I, alas! whom neither sun,

Nor aught that God hath wrought and done,

May comfort aught; as though I were

A thing not made for comfort here.
For being absent from your sight,
Which are my joy and whole delight,

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My comfort, and my pleasure too,
How can I joy? how should I do?
May sick men laugh, that roar for pain?
Joy they in song, that do complain?
Are martyrs in their torments glad?
Do pleasures please them that are sad?
Then how may I in comfort be,

That lack the thing should comfort me?
The blind man oft, that lacks his sight,
Complains not most the lack of light;
But those that knew their perfectness,
And then do miss their blissfulness,
In martyrs' tunes they sing, and wail
The want of that which doth them fail.
And hereof comes that in my brains
So many fancies work my pains;
For when I weigh your worthiness,
Your wisdom, and your gentleness,
Your virtues and your sundry grace,
And mind the countenance of your face;
And how that you are she alone
To whom I must both plain and moan;
Whom I do love, and must do still;
Whom I embrace, and aye so will,
To serve and please eke as I can,
As may a woful faithful man;
And find myself so far you fro,

God knows what torment and what woe
My rueful heart doth then embrace;
The blood then changeth in my face;
My sinews dull, in dumps1 I stand,

No life I feel in foot nor hand,

'Dumps :' gloomy meditation, or evil plight. Every one remembers Withrington's 'dumps,' as, in Chevy Chase,' he fought upon his stumps.'

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